History is written by the victors—or at least by whomever
has the most ink and quills to hand after the fighting stops. Which is why so many groups of people are
named in fashions that originally marked them as alien, other, or less:
barbarians (from barbaros, meaning
the opposite of citizen, as well as babbling), for instance, or the Welsh (from
wealas, strangers). And so in first D&D and now Pathfinder we
have troglodytes, who clearly did not name themselves.
We always talk about troglodytes as a degenerate race, which
clearly means there had to be an original (generate? pregenerate?) race out
there: the xulgaths. Not only are they
more physically powerful than troglodytes, but their mental powers are also on
point—able to telepathically communicate, share information quickly, and
manipulate minds and senses. Even their
version of the legendary troglodyte smell isn’t smell at all—it’s a psychogenic
aura that recalls the worst thing the victim has ever smelled (which is just
freaky)!
Between the Occult Bestiary and the Monster Codex, there’s plenty
of information out there about xulgaths, troglodytes, and their decline to
inspire adventures in the xulgaths’ canal-lined temple cities, both in the
Golarion setting and beyond. With that
in mind, here are a few other ways to approach these psychogenic threats…
The Silent Jungle
is so named because those who enter it are never heard from again. The cause is an isolated branch of the xulgath
race who have retained their ancient psychic powers. Traveling in hunting
packs—usually accompanied by well-trained and even awakened deinonychus dinosaurs—they carve up all interlopers they
encounter without exception.
The troglodyte race
didn't fall into degeneration—it was poisoned. The same chthonic energies that power the
drow and duergar nations sapped the strength and intelligence of the hapless
lizard races. Those xulgaths who
survived were of a priestly caste that worshiped a god of drowning. Traveling endlessly on barges they poled
through the dark waterways of the Lands Below, they stayed healthy as their kin
sickened from soil-born radiation. Even
now they build vast temple cities that are permanently afloat, and they
sacrifice captives to their dark lord in a vigorous display of thanks.
The Aromaeum is a
wonder of the world: a library that catalogs the smells, sensations, and
mental imagery of ages past. Here you
can bathe in the brine that sank Morella, taste the timbers of the Wooden Titan
that the Chell foolishly let pass their gates, and waft the incense that Yaenah
smelled as he tattooed his one and only poem on the flayed skin of his bride. The strange many-towered and many-tiered
ziggurat library hosts mesmerists, occultists, and psychics of all kinds, but
it was made by and for the xulgath race.
Awash in the scents and memories of their storied past, these xulgath
librarians alone remained undiminished while the troglodyte race
foundered. They rule the Aromaeum with
iron (and clawed) fists, and every decision they make is calculated to preserve
their control and restore their race.
After all, the smell of a mammal’s blood as it dies is the sweetest
smell of all, very worth cataloging for the museum...especially if they are
calling your name when you start to devour them…
—Occult Bestiary
61
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