The Unfortunate Jake “Magpie” Cooper

Jake Cooper is just one in a long line of seafaring men; his father is a fisherman in the waters off of Port Peril, unconcerned about the pirates that sail around his little fishing boat on a daily basis. His two older brothers take after his father; the eldest helps the old man each day, the younger has secured his own ship and sells his catch with theirs. His grandfather was a pirate swab who retired after a few trips landed him enough money to buy a boat and convince a pretty half-orc carpenter to marry him.

Jake, on the other hand, has spent his life in trouble. He’s an unfortunate man, a kleptomaniac in a world with nothing to help him control it. He alternates between thinking of it as the dark half of himself and a personal demon sent by Dagon to torment him; whispering in the back of his head about how nice all the things around him look, and occasionally just taking his hands and plucking them away from their owners outright.

He used to try to return the things, apologizing for it and trying to explain that he hadn’t intended to do it. His parents did their best to raise him well, after all, and if he’d been born somewhere else he might have been able to get his impulses under control and live a passably normal life. Even if he’d stayed in Port Peril he might have at least found a way to survive, staying on a fishing boat by himself until exhausted, leaving family to sell the catch, or pilfering from beggars and urchins.

Instead, he tried to keep his urges sated by taking to the high seas, signing up aboard the Midnight Gale first. It was too late when he discovered that, rather than having a supply of ships to loot, he was often at sea for weeks or months at a time with no one to pilfer from save his shipmates. For a few years this sufficed; he slipped from one ship to another as crewmates got suspicious, trying to keep his thefts to inconsequential and meaningless trinkets.

Then, to his dismay, he signed up aboard the Wormwood a few months ago. Mister Plugg and Master Scourge were already well-settled, with their harsh discipline in evidence on the backs of the other swabs. Jake was hard-pressed to keep his urges under control and out of sight, keeping his inner demon sated by pilfering the occasional scrap of plunder, stray bits of ship biscuit, and cast-off scraps from ship maintenance, eventually having to discard bits of it overboard when no one was watching to keep his locker from becoming a tangled nest of detritus.

Things came to a head when poor Jake reached into the pouch at his belt for a rag to wipe his face only to discover that he had somehow purloined a small vial of some dark, oily liquid. Something like that, he knew, could only belong to one of two people – the formidable ship’s mage or Mister Plugg’s arsenal of toxic compounds. Neither option was good news for him; one would probably kill him on the spot if he tried to return it, the other would be sure to have him whipped bloody and then keelhauled.

His limited choices were taken away when the bottle was discovered hidden amid the tangled mess in his locker, where he’d hidden it while trying to decide how to get rid of it without drawing attention. The day before the Wormwood was set to take on a load of new swabs, Plugg did an inspection of lockers while Jake was in the rigging, finding the bottle and recognizing it as one of his own.

Plugg, unwilling to openly admit to his stash of poisons and drugs, concocted a story – corroborated by his clique of sycophants – of Jake planning to poison his way into being an officer, bringing it to Captain Harrigan’s ear. Before he knew what had happened, Jake was in the sweatbox, stripped of his fine daggers and left to stew while the ship sat at dock; his punishment to be keelhauling once the ship was underway.

So it is that poor Jake “Magpie” Cooper will be hauled to the deck the evening after the Wormwood sets sail again, his skill as a thief letting him help himself to the brass knives of his fellow pirates as they haul him before the Captain and First Mate to face his fate. As to who he plans to go after… Well.

That’s for the GM (or the accomplice the GM hands him to) to decide. Perhaps he’ll go after Harrigan, trying to avenge himself on the man for letting such a malevolent first mate run things. Perhaps he’ll go for Plugg, the man who framed him for attempted murder. Or perhaps he’ll try to end himself quickly, rather than the slow and savage punishment of being keelhauled.

For those looking to use poor young Jake in their own games, I present the stat block:

Jake “Magpie” Cooper CR 1
XP 400
Human (Chelaxian) rogue (pirate) 2
N Medium humanoid (human)
Init +2; Senses Perception +4


AC 14, touch 12, flat-footed 12 (+2 armor, +2 Dex)
hp 15 (2d8+2)
Fort +0, Ref +5, Will -1
Defensive Abilities: Evasion


Speed 30 ft.
Melee brass knife +1 (1d4+1/19-20) or
brass knife +1 (1d4/19-20)
Special Attacks sneak attack +1d6


Str 12, Dex 15, Con 11, Int 9, Wis 8, Cha 10
BAB +1; CMB +2; CMD 14
Feats: Sea Legs, Two-weapon Fighting, Weapon Finesse
Skills Acrobatics +9, Bluff +5, Climb +8, Escape Artist +7, Intimidate +5, Perception +4, Profession (sailor) +4, Sleight of Hand +7, Swim +3
Languages Common
SQ swinging reposition
Other Gear: masterwork leather armor, brass knife x2; Stowed gear: belt pouch, grappling hook, hemp rope (50 ft.), mess kit, mirror, pot

Special Abilities

Evasion (Ex) If succeed on Reflex save for half dam, take none instead.
Sneak Attack +1d6 Attacks deal extra dam if flank foe or if foe is flat-footed.
Swinging Reposition (Ex) Can move 5 feet as a free action after a charge or bull rush when masts and riggings are present.

The Unfortunate Jake “Magpie” Cooper

Piracy on the High Seas!

After some deliberation, questioning, and input from the players, it looks like I’ll be running a somewhat modified rendition of the Skull and Shackles Adventure Path for a group of five. As such, I’ll be looking it over a bit today; I already know some segments will require extra work on my part to have them as the AP suggests, much less modified while keeping them fun.

Why modify it? Partly because some segments are exceptionally brutal, others a near cakewalk, and some simply nonsensical; and partly because one of the players has run the AP before. Were I more thoroughly confident with the group, I’d run Kingmaker for an AP that requires less total work to modify. Perhaps after this AP, if everyone remains on board to continue.

As it stands, the AP theoretically opens with everyone waking up aboard the Wormwood with the kind of horrible hangover that comes from drugs mixed into cheap wine and ale. In practice, I’ll be letting them run around the tavern they get press-ganged from during the first session, so they have some small sense of who each of them are and what they do. Unlike at least one GM who felt ‘you wake up on a ship press-ganged into service’ is too much of a railroad compared to ‘you all meet in a tavern with a mysterious quest-giver’ I’ll be ensuring they get properly drafted before the first session is done.

Important details, for me – Mister Plugg, the primary antagonist of the first book of the AP, is undoubtedly the one who decided what to loot off the characters to be stuffed into Grok’s stores, and he’s likely distributed the leftover coin from the PCs’ initial purchases to the men who helped to cement their loyalty a bit; those sailors are the ones most likely to gamble on the ship, and so the best way for the PCs to get their money back to buy back their gear if they want it.

A certain event on day one – scripted to reinforce how horrific punishment can be aboard – will need modified; I intend to reinforce how powerful the primary officers aboard are, to ensure that the players won’t be trying to capture the Wormwood itself. This is one place where I intend to enlist the help of the other person that’s run the AP already, as he knows what to expect from the officers in question.

Another key point is that Skull and Shackles was written in 2012; since then, a few new options have come out, and I need to evaluate the primary NPCs in light of it. Some of them will also need changed and upgraded because APs tend to be written for a ‘generic’ group concept, while the actual players will bring a different mix of differently-optimized characters to the table.

Speaking of players, here’s what I have for the character lineup so far.

A Chaotic Neutral catfolk swashbuckler with the inspired blade archetype, Besmara’s Blessing as a trait, and a natural climb speed. I expect she’ll be the one to master the rigging competition by that virtue alone. I imagine she’ll be eager to get her rapier back as quickly as she can.

A Neutral Evil undine (native outsider with ancestry from the plane of water) cleric who serves Gozreh, the primal god of nature. Described thus far as unkempt and on the curmudgeonly side; this could go either way with the crew, depending on how the player handles it in the wake of certain events during the early days of the campaign.

A Lawful Evil tiefling (devil-blooded native outsider) alchemist from Cheliax, with the vivisectionist archetype because he’d rather not throw firebombs around the ship. This one has a significant advantage over some other arcane types, since an alchemist’s spells are imbibed rather than cast. Far less likely to draw the ire of a bunch of superstitious pirates if he takes a little care with it. Also a bit of a background as a chef, so he’s liable to be the cook’s mate.

A kineticist who has either water or wind as a first elemental focus; as with the priest of Gozreh, this could go either way depending on how the player handles it. Given the phenomenally obvious nature of kineticist powers, the character may well need to be subtle about it if they don’t want to be the go-to scapegoat for everything going wrong aboard the Wormwood, including some invented by those hostile to the party.

Last is an occultist, who’ll probably be able to conceal a small implement on themself so that when press-ganged they aren’t totally helpless. On the up side, occultist spells are psychic magic, which is much less flashy than most arcane or divine magic. I’ll give them player Bluff checks, likely, to convince people that they’re not the source or focus of whatever magic they do while on board.

Truth be told, this party sounds like the start of a bad joke of some sort. “An alchemist, swashbuckler, kineticist, occultist, and grumpy old priest of Gozreh walk into a pirate bar…” Who knows? Maybe the barkeep at the Formidably Maid will decide all these weird people in the bar need to go, and helpfully dose them all with some added sleeping poison even before good* old** Mister Plugg starts trying.

Tomorrow, I may introduce everyone to Jake “Magpie” Cooper, a ratty little man who starts the AP in quite a bit more trouble than he realizes***.

* – All things considered, “good” isn’t even a stretch as a descriptor of Plugg; it could qualify as slander, however.

** – He’s also only twenty-one years old, which makes his position as First Mate aboard the Wormwood a little surprising and perhaps a bit dubious.

*** – I’ll just say that keelhauling is a phenomenally ugly punishment and leave it at that. Go look it up if you perhaps want a bit of nightmare fuel; worse is that if you survive the experience, you get killed anyway and tossed into the sea just the same.

Piracy on the High Seas!

Pathfinder: Picking An Adventure Path

So, as you might’ve guessed from my previous post, the attempt to run a two-person campaign collapsed in on itself. As such, I’m in the process of scavenging for new players to pick up a campaign, and it looks like I’ll probably run a Pathfinder AP to save myself a little prep and energy. Mind, I never run things exactly to spec, because no plan survives contact with the players – particularly players who’ve played, run, or read the APs in question – so there’s a limit to how much my prep time diminishes.

So today I’ll go over the Pathfinder Adventure Paths that I own presently, and consider which ones are in the running to be used for a first-time-together group of players. I know that at least one prospective player, while not new to the system, is new to the setting, and so that itself has to be something to keep an eye on. I’ll only be looking at those using the Pathfinder system, in addition, as I’ll have enough to do without conversion from 3.5 on top of it.

Rise of the Runelords is basically the go-to AP for that Welcome To Pathfinder feeling; it has the classic adventure vibe to it, plenty of enemies from a wide range so no one gets bored, an ancient evil looking to make a return, and an epic-feeling scope. It’s set in Varisia, and it’s the AP that set much of the tone and feel of the campaign setting as a whole. From the creepy chanting goblins to the giant legions commanded by extraplanar forces beholden to the Runelord, you never lack for variety or flavor. With the PFRPG 5-year update, it made the whole campaign stronger by tying each book together and adding extra foreshadowing. The problem, of course, is that this is the AP that everyone not brand new to Golarion has probably already played in; if I want to use this, it’ll take extra effort to tweak and modify so that no one uses meta-knowledge, even accidentally. Still, it’s in the top three of APs I’m considering.

Council of Thieves was the first Pathfinder system AP; unfortunately, it shows, as all too often the campaign is a little disjointed-feeling. I like the urban adventure effort, but I’ll wait for Curse of the Crimson Throne to be updated later this year if I want that. Still – it’s heroic freedom fighters in devil-inclined Cheliax, and that’s something worth considering. Getting it to really work well will probably take more effort than I want to sink into it for a first-time group, though, and so I’ll put this one on the back burner.

Kingmaker is one of the two APs I most want to get to play in, and if I were doing this offline Kingmaker would be my choice in a heartbeat. It has room for all kinds of adventuring parties, kingdom-building, heroic escapades to rescue the innocent and not-so-innocent, military battles, extraplanar threats, and more. You – and the players – can set the pace to whatever you want, and even do side games where you play the role of low-level characters hired to deal with nuisance threats by your high-level kingdom-rulers. The sole reason I have not to do it is that I know perfectly well how players tend to faff about on the book-keeping part of things like this, and there’s a lot of that in this AP.

Serpent’s Skull has, to put it politely, a reputation. That reputation is that it’s rough, ugly, and prone to killing entire parties in ways that can dishearten even veteran groups. Even with support from the Paizo forums, I’m going to write this one off as a Someday Project to polish up and run.

Carrion Crown is another top-tier pick for me, not the least because of the horror elements in it. It’ll likely require some polish to really form it up; some bits of it have connectivity issues, a few NPCs need fixing up, and the ultimate foe needs telegraphed earlier and more clearly to make it feel less out of left field. Even with that, the strange and gloomy ambiance of Ustalav is great, and you can easily play here without needing to know about Varisia, Avistan, Garund, or Tian Xia. It’s in the top three, right there with Rise of the Runelords.

Jade Regent is a no-go, partly because of the callbacks it does to previous Adventure Paths, and partly because the players would need to know a fair bit more about the world and lore than I really expect anyone (except perhaps my wife) to know. Add to that the problem that there are a lot of complaints about the NPC cast coming off as the stars rather than the PCs, and this is something I’d need to fix up and make sure the group has a good grounding in the world before trying to run. It can go with Serpent’s Skull for now.

Skull and Shackles can really be summed up by singing “Do you wanna be a pirate?” to the tune of “Do You Wanna Build A Snowman?” Aside from the railroading built into the campaign – which can be made to feel natural by a reasonably skilled GM – it just needs a bit of polish to make it fit a given group and it’s ready to go. Don’t bring your paladin or your inquisitor of Iomedae, but feel free to cheer for Cayden Cailean, really. Be as heroic or nefarious as you want, as long as everyone agrees on it. I’d need to do a bit of work, but I’d put it in the top three pick with Carrion Crown and Rise of the Runelords. You don’t need to know much about the world beyond the Shackles to play this campaign, and you get to be a pirate. What’s not to love? (Unless you manage to get sick of pirates, that is.)

Shattered Star  is another no-go, but that’s only because you need to be able to recognize the call-backs to previous APs to really appreciate it. It’s an AP I want to run, but not as the first-in for a group. It’s also a bit dungeon-crawl-happy, so I’d need to make sure a group was down for delving in old crypts, tombs, catacombs, and the like before busting this one out. It’d need the absolute least amount of work on my part, though, as the group is predestined to all be members of the Pathfinder Society. Perhaps someday, but not now.

Reign of Winter is one that the malevolent part of me sincerely appreciates. After all, anyone who knows their mythology knows exactly how deep you have to be in it for Baba Yaga to need you to mount a rescue mission to get her out of a mess. That’s exactly what this AP is, and I dearly love the concept, plus the presence of the age-old question of how D20 fantasy characters would fare against Earth’s military forces; in this case, the weirdly modified forces of Russia during World War One. On the other hand, it’s exactly the kind of thing that could easily go horribly awry and take entirely too much trouble for me to make work when a player does something absolutely absurd and causes a mess. Alas, Reign, perhaps another time.

Wrath of the Righteous is the only AP that I desperately want to play in more than Kingmaker. Mythic-level power, epic heroism, a fight against at least one demon lord, if not more, and a struggle to rid the world of a cancerous evil? Wrapped up in a campaign themed around redemption and heroism? Sign me right up. Unfortunately, those same tropes are exactly why I hesitate to even touch Wrath with anything but a carefully vetted group of players that I know I can trust to play genuinely heroic and noble characters. We set it aside with my last group because the characters that got pitched were much more in line with a pack of vaguely heroic murder hobos than a group of mythic champions of good. So, as much as I want to yell “YES!” and swing this AP around, I’m going to set it aside again. One day, I will get to play in this.

And so it comes down to three real options – Rise of the Runelords, Carrion Crown, and Skull and Shackles. Each of them have the advantage of being part of a strongly thematic part of Golarion, each one gives some measure of freedom in gameplay and/or character design, and each one has a vibe that can get players excited without them needing to be strongly tied to Golarion already.

We’ll see which one it shakes out as being, once I manage to work out synchrony between the schedules of prospective players.

Pathfinder: Picking An Adventure Path

When Campaigns Fall Apart

It happens, inevitably; a gaming group is going along fine, life rears up, and before you know it you’re down to either just yourself or yourself and a player who isn’t feeling the urge to go without the rest of a group to play off against. Often this happens before a campaign really gets going, so it usually isn’t too tragic of a loss, aside from whatever you’d invested in prepwork. The good news there is that prepwork is never wasted, just archived until it becomes useful again.

But now you’re there, and there’s the question of What Now? Suddenly the block of time you had scheduled to play a game is wide open, all the time you were going to be doing prep is wide open, and you’re not sure you can scrounge anyone up to get things rolling again. What’s a GM to do?

First, decide if you want to even try to get a new group

Maybe the group fell apart because you, the world-builder, were getting burned out; perhaps everyone you can think of is either already occupied or not a good fit for anything you’d be even remotely interested in doing. Either way, take the time to stop and ask yourself if you really want to jump back behind the screen right away. Maybe you’ll find you want to take a month or two off to do other things and let those particular creative cells recharge, or you’ll realize that the prospects in the area would make you consider joining Witness Protection after a couple sessions.

There’s nothing wrong with taking some personal downtime or realizing that certain groups would be horrible for your mental health.

Next, if you want to pick up, sound out your prospects

It may turn out that more than a few of the people you’d like to game with are going to have schedules that clash; in a hobby where some of the professionals have been in it long enough to hit retirement age, most of us aren’t going to be the once-emblematic group of teenagers and twenty-somethings with wild amounts of free time. The odds are pretty good that this, in some form, is what crippled your last group, so you’re probably already prepared to try to work around this. Just don’t be surprised if it proves insurmountable, and do your best to resolve it before it can bite you.

You might be surprised by how many people are desperate enough for a hint of a game that they’ll swear to their availability even when they know they won’t be reliable.

Take the time you need to pick the game, setting, and campaign

This shouldn’t be any different from the usual campaign prepwork, but if you just had a game fall apart you might be tempted to toss it back into play for the new group. Don’t do this; that game was made with other people in mind, and you’ll put as much effort into tweaking it to fit the new players as you would spinning up a new campaign from scratch. Worse, one of the new people might have an aversion to that game or that setting. Work out your options and pitch it to your prospective players. See what sticks. Feel free to include the old game as an option, but acknowledge that you’ll need to rework it.

Don’t skip any steps. No, seriously, treat it like everything is completely new. It is.

This means getting the players together and building characters, working them into the story, getting them hyped up for the game itself, and making sure that all your stuff is together and ready to roll before the first game night. If you’ve decided you Know What Went Wrong, you’re going to be tempted to skimp on the other bits of game prep to make sure that that bit is perfect – which just means that you’ll likely skimp on something some of your players will deem vital and the new game will suffer for it.

Above all else, remember that a failed game isn’t a judgment on you

Games can just fail, and often will. Sometimes you’ll do something that screws it up and upsets the players badly enough that it kills the game. When that happens you will know it. If you’re wondering if it was something you did, you probably shouldn’t be; unless you’re utterly oblivious to the discomfort of others, the warning signs should be obvious. A failed game is mostly due to mundane causes, and you shouldn’t stress over it – nor should you be overly vigilant about the new game. Spend your energy on game prep instead of on stressing over whether or not the game is going well.

So go take a look at your options, look who you can find, and decide where you’re headed from here. There are stories to be told and adventures to be had. Get to it!

When Campaigns Fall Apart

Eclipse Phase: The Bud

Situated on a small asteroid in an Earth-crossing trajectory, the Bud is something of a cross between a heavily genehacked lifeform and a habitat. Brought to the rock shortly after the events of the Fall, the original inhabitants planned to grow the Bud as a tribute to the loss of their homeworld. As might be expected in the shell-shocked aftermath, things didn’t quite go as intended.

Seen from a distance, the Bud is a dark green lump in space, with odd curves and projecting spines that give away the organic nature of it. Some three times the size of the original asteroid at this point, it’s well on its way to becoming notable as the most vividly green object in Sol space that isn’t a scum barge. Get closer, and you can see solar panels attached to many of the spines, with curious open ‘flowers’ on the surface at several points.

Settle into one of these flowers, tickle the thick hairs that line the inside, and they’ll close up around you before swallowing you into the Bud itself, where a matching flower has just opened to spit you out. Just take care not to land on the purple or red ones; those are for volatiles and raw materials for the plants, respectively. Being trapped in a nearly-frozen water reserve or slowly digested by the Bud itself isn’t a good way to go.

Once inside, you’ll find yourself in an eerie zero-G habitat where the air is thick with floral perfumes, engineered insects flit around tending to the flowers that grow everywhere, and the toughest resources to come by are living space and privacy. The ‘rooms’ the Bud produces off the internal passages are often small, not designed with transhuman habitation in mind, and they operate according to their own plant logic, not transhuman desires.

This would be less of a problem if attempting to modify the interior of the Bud didn’t provoke an aggressive reaction; trying to cut between two rooms to create a large space prompts the plant to pump pheromones into the air near the injury that drive the tending insects into an aggressive frenzy, while also producing a thick white sap at the injury that seals it with all the strength of a heavy-duty industrial weld.

The Bud would be little more than a curious anomaly of transhuman space, were it not for the fact that it can be programmed, when a new pocket forms, to produce a wide variety of biochemical compounds – including psi-impacting drugs. The residents of the Bud are one of the primary Inner System suppliers of such compounds to groups like Ozma and Cognite in their research into the effects of drugs on asyncs. They’ve flown under Firewall’s radar so far, simply because there haven’t been any significant incidents where the products they make can be traced back to them.

It’s only a matter of time until something happens, however, and once Firewall realizes they can make async drugs, the paranoid faction will be urging the nuclear destruction of the green habitat for fear of it being an exsurgent threat in gestation. Cooler heads will likely prevail, at least at first, since the abrupt destruction of a habitat in the inner system will attract attention, and there’s nothing to suggest the habitat is infected by anything.

In truth, there’s nothing exsurgent about the Bud at all; it’s a programmable biochemical factory that also happens to be semi-habitable, as long as you don’t mind the weird shapes and sizes of the available space and occasionally getting pollinated by a space bee. It’s a place where you can pick up most kinds of Rep, if you’re willing to play drug courier for a given group, and where you can get your own custom compounds set up as a long-term production with only a bit of overhead and a deal to help keep the Bud supplied.

Of course, that might change if someone goes and seeds the Bud with the exsurgent virus or some piece of exotech that produces a pheromone-incited alien zombie plague or something. Unless something like that happens, though, the Bud is just a potentially profitable and likely alarming place for players to visit.

Eclipse Phase: The Bud

Eclipse Phase: The Phantasm Strain

Among the various mutations of the exsurgent virus is a nanobot strain that would almost seem quaint in contrast with its more aggressive cousins; the Phantasm strain is a slow-acting and subtle version of the virus that infects people and slowly modifies their sensory input to make them jumpy, paranoid, and isolated. The resulting breakdown in social order when this strain has infected a habitat can leave it vulnerable to other strains, outright exsurgents, TITAN war machines, or attacks by those outsiders who know of it.

The virus initially has no effect other than turning the host into a highly contagious vector for itself; for organic hosts, each week after the initial infection the host must make a SOM x 2 check. If they fail, they express signs of a mild cold, with sniffling, sneezing, and coughing that spreads the virus to anyone near them. Synths during the same period must make a SOM x 2 check or suffer a -5 penalty on all checks involving physical movement as the virus converts miniscule portions of their body into more of the virus.

After the first month, the virus has wired itself into the victim’s nervous system, and for the next month it actually increases their impulse toward being social; victims gain a Modified Behavior trait that encourages them toward social activities while ramping up how infectious they are; anyone in their vicinity gets a SOM x2 check to avoid infection.

Every month after the second requires a WILL x 3 check, with a progressive -10% penalty for each month after the third. Failure at this check indicates that the virus has entered the terminal phase, adjusting the victim’s sensory inputs to cause them to begin hallucinating snippets of sound – often resulting in them hearing voices from their past calling their name – as well as movement at the edges of their vision. It also begins to tap the user’s mesh inserts at this point, searching for broadcasts from post-terminal instances of the virus, which it incorporates into the hallucinations.

The terminal phase inflicts 1d10 Stress per week, with the resulting insanity being inclined toward paranoia and isolationism. An infected character should have the sense of being under siege by ghosts and nightmares; this effect should only amplify as post-terminal cases begin to occur

Should a victim die while in the terminal stage, they move to the post-terminal phase; the virus will build an interface with their cortical stack and begin burst-transmitting snippets of their stored memories onto the local mesh. This has the effect of infesting the local mesh with extremely detailed hallucinations and phantasms, compounding the other terminal cases in the area.

The only reliable cure for the Phantasm strain is a thorough purge, preferably by reducing everything involved to plasma.

Eclipse Phase: The Phantasm Strain