The Maw – Part 2 - Ecology of the Maw - Weather and Flora

 

As told by Stumpy MacGee, part naturalist, part cranky tree man. Keep your filters on and your boots off the ooze. — S.M.

The Maw is not just a wound in the land — it’s a new kind of wild. Boreal forest, industrial ruin, and living tar have braided together into an ecosystem that breathes black smoke, glows at night, and occasionally sings in a language that will take your teeth. Rivers here run dark and heavy; trees bloom crystal; mosses dream of smoke. Life didn’t merely survive the Hodgepocalypse — it learned to make money off it. For folk of Fort Mac, the Maw is equal parts providence and predator: it feeds the town, but it will eat an unwary body for dinner if you set your beer down for too long.

Hazards

Toxic Air

Stumpy says:
“Take a deep breath in the Maw and you’ll be coughing up licorice-colored goo ‘fore you finish swearing. Locals don’t call it fresh air — they call it lung paint.”

 

The Maw is wrapped in a constant haze of acrid smoke, where every breath tastes of burning plastic and scorched chemicals. The fumes settle into the lungs like molten tar, scarring breathways and rotting from within. Camps depend on filters, charms, or crude masks, and wranglers say you can always spot a newcomer by how quickly they start coughing black phlegm. To linger without protection is to gamble with your life — and the Maw always wins.

Mechanics:

·       Exposure: After 1 hour of breathing the air without a proper respirator, magical protection (e.g., Protection from Poison), or equivalent filtration, a creature must succeed on a DC 13 Constitution saving throw or gain one level of Exhaustion.

·       Escalation: If a creature already has one or more levels of Exhaustion, failure instead inflicts 1d10 poison damage as lungs burn with chemical fire.

·       Immunity/Resistance: Creatures immune to poison damage or that do not breathe (constructs, undead, certain elementals) are unaffected.

·       Filters: A respirator or magical charm prevents all effects, but filters clog quickly — typically lasting 8 hours before needing replacement.

Runaway Fires

Stumpy says:
“Don’t trust a little campfire here — this land’ll snatch the flame and run with it like a drunk thief in the market. Next thing you know, you’re roastin’ whether you wanted supper or not.”

In the Maw, fire is never far away. Beneath the muskeg, peat smolders endlessly, while petrochemical vapors seep invisibly from tar pits and ooze lakes. All it takes is a stray lantern, a spark from steel, or lightning from a bitumen storm, and the land erupts in an inferno. These firestorms roar across the valley with unnatural speed, consuming camps, machinery, and entire ooze herds overnight. Survivors speak of waking to walls of flame and black smoke moving like predators, the air itself turning against them. Wranglers treat every fire with dread — for in the Maw, fire is not just destruction, it is hunger made visible.

Mechanics:

·       Ignition Chance: Whenever fire (mundane or magical) is used in the Maw, there is a 10% chance per hour (GM’s discretion, higher in muskeg or near vapors) that a runaway fire ignites.

·       Spread: Once triggered, the fire expands in 30-foot-radius bursts each round, consuming terrain, destroying flammables, and heavily obscuring the area with smoke.

·       Damage: Any creature caught in the fire takes 4d6 fire damage per round and must succeed on a DC 15 Constitution saving throw or gain 1 level of Exhaustion from smoke inhalation.

·       Escape: A runaway fire typically lasts 2d6 hours before burning out, but it can shift unpredictably with the wind (GM may roll for random direction each hour).

·       Magic Interaction: Spells like Gust of Wind, Control Flames, or Wall of Water can redirect or slow the spread. Casting fire magic in vapor-rich zones doubles the chance of ignition.

Unstable Terraces

Stumpy says:
“See them stairs down into the pit? They ain’t stairs, they’re a deathtrap holdin’ hands. One good shake and the whole place’ll drop you faster than last year’s union contract.”

The Maw is carved into the land like a staircase to nowhere, its walls a patchwork of crumbling earth, slag, and ooze-slick stone. These terraces shift constantly under the weight of Ol’ Scoopy’s endless digging and the oozes’ slow erosion. Whole sections collapse without warning, sending avalanches of rubble and tar cascading into the pit. Camps tell stories of herds swallowed in seconds, wranglers buried alive, and scavenger rigs vanishing into black muck. Every descent into the Maw is a gamble, for even the ground itself refuses to stay still.

Mechanics:

·       Collapse Chance: When creatures travel along the walls of the Maw, there is a 1-in-6 chance per hour (GM’s discretion, increased after storms, tremors, or nearby ooze activity) that a terrace collapses.

·       Warning: Characters actively scouting may attempt a DC 15 Wisdom (Perception) or DC 15 Intelligence (Investigation) check to notice cracks, shifting stone, or ooze seepage before collapse. Success gives 1 round of warning.

·       Effect: A collapsing terrace creates a 60-foot-long, 20-foot-wide avalanche of rubble and ooze. All creatures in the area must succeed on a DC 16 Dexterity saving throw or take 6d6 bludgeoning damage + 3d6 acid damage, be restrained, and buried under debris. On success, they take half damage and are pushed to stable ground.

·       Escape: Buried creatures must succeed on a DC 18 Strength (Athletics) check to free themselves, or allies may dig them out with an action and proper tools. Without aid, suffocation rules apply.

·       Magic Interaction: Spells like Mold Earth, Move Earth, or Wall of Stone can stabilize or redirect collapse zones, while tremor-causing magic (like Earthquake) greatly increases the collapse chance.

Weird Weather

Stumpy says:
“Folks keep askin’ me, what’s worse in the Maw — the critters, the oozes, or the ground fallin’ out from under ya? Truth is, it’s the sky. Summer tries to choke ya, winter tries to freeze ya solid, and the in-betweens’ll pelt ya with plastic snow or set the air on fire just to keep things interestin’. Out here, even the weather’s got murder on its mind.”

Weather in the Maw is as hostile as the land itself, a toxic brew of northern Alberta’s harsh climate and the magical corruption of the Hodgepocalypse. Summers choke with smoldering haze and petrochemical storms, while winters plunge the valley into frozen darkness, where even tar oozes and stiffens, then shatters. Plastic snow, resin hail, and burning fog mingle with real-world blizzards and –40° winds, turning every step outside into a gamble. For the camps, the weather is not background — it is a living hazard that shapes daily survival, culture, and the constant fight to endure in a land that seems determined to kill.

Bitumen Storms

Stumpy says:
“Ever been sandblasted with hot asphalt? I don’t recommend it.”
Field Guide: High winds whipping tar particles, reducing visibility and searing exposed skin.

Filter Burn Winds

Stumpy says:
“Wind out here don’t just blow your hat off — it chews through your mask and sets your beard on fire. Seen more than one wrangler go up like a lantern ‘cause they thought a cigarette was worth the risk.”

Field Guide:
Filter Burn Winds are dust-choked gusts that shred non-magical breathing filters within an hour and make open flames dangerously unstable. Fire spells or exposed flames may flare violently, forcing nearby creatures to save or risk burns.

Frozen Firestorms

Stumpy says:
“Only place I’ve seen ice burn ya bloody. Air gets so foul it freezes solid, then the wind snaps it loose and turns the sky into a knife storm. Best shelter up, ‘cause no scarf’s thick enough for that nonsense.”

Field Guide:
Frozen Firestorms occur when petrochemical vapors crystallize into brittle icicles that shatter in high winds. Shards lash the landscape, dealing piercing and cold damage each hour of exposure, with critical strikes causing bleeding until tended.

Heat Mirage

Stumpy says:
“Ever chase a trail that weren’t there? Out here the air cooks itself till even your own shadow lies to you. Worst part? Sometimes the lie hardens, and you’re the bug in the bottle.”

Field Guide:
Heat Mirages warp reality like boiling air, leading travelers astray. Navigation is unreliable, exhaustion builds from disorientation, and in rare cases mirages solidify into tar-glass cages that must be broken to escape.

Plastic Rain

Stumpy says:
“Smells like melted toys. Burns like melted toys.”
Field Guide: Acidic rainfall laced with polymer residue. Damages gear and lungs.

Plastic Snow:

Stumpy says:
“Looks pretty comin’ down, like the north remembers how to snow. Then you taste it. Nothin’ like coughin’ up melted grocery bags to remind you winter ain’t your friend.”

Field Guide:
Plastic Snow drifts as shredded flakes that leave an oily residue in the lungs. Prolonged exposure forces Constitution saves to resist poison damage and coughing fits, while travel slows to a crawl in the choking drifts.

Resin Hail

Stumpy says:
“Ever been brained by a golf ball made of glue? Helmets optional, funerals guaranteed.”
Field Guide: Hardened petrochemical hailstones; blunt-force hazard.

 Smolder Fog

Stumpy says:
“Smells like every tire fire from here to Redwater crawled back for revenge. Can’t see past your nose, lungs get heavy quick — but I’ll grant you this, it’s fine cover if you don’t mind coughin’ up black tar after.”

Field Guide:
Smolder Fog is dense, tire-scented smoke that limits sight to 10 feet. Creatures risk exhaustion without protection, while stealth becomes easier and vision-based perception harder in its choking haze.

The Long Glow:

Stumpy says:
“Sky goes the color of a jack-o’-lantern left too long on the porch, and that’s when the oozes get restless. Don’t bother countin’ sheep — the whispers’ll keep ya up ‘til you’re half-mad.”

Field Guide:
The Long Glow stains the night sky orange and agitates local oozes, making them aggressive. It disrupts sleep and weakens minds, imposing disadvantage on psychic saves and risking exhaustion during attempted long rests.

Weird Weather of the Maw (d10)

d10	Weather Event	Description	Mechanical Effect
1	Bitumen Storms	Black, oily rain coats everything in tar; lightning arcs unnaturally across the pit.	All surfaces become difficult terrain. Creatures must make a DC 15 Dex save when lightning strikes (once per hour) or take 3d10 lightning damage. Fire damage dealt during the storm ignites nearby ooze for 1d6 splash fire damage in a 10 ft. radius.
2	Filter Burn Winds	Dust-laden gusts shred filters and make fire flare violently.	All non-magical breathing filters clog within 1 hour. Open flames or fire spells risk flaring: creatures within 10 ft. of the source make a DC 12 Dex save or take 1d6 fire damage.
3	Frozen Firestorms	Petrochemical vapors freeze into brittle icicles that explode on the wind.	Shards whip through the air; creatures outside shelter take 2d6 piercing + 2d6 cold damage per hour. Critical hit on a shard attack causes bleeding (1d4 damage at start of turn until stabilized).
4	Heat Mirages	Reality twists like boiling air, trails vanish, and echoes distort.	Navigation checks are at disadvantage. Each hour, roll a DC 14 Wis save or suffer 1 level of exhaustion from disorientation. On a natural 1, the mirage becomes solid: creature is trapped in a tar-glass cage (AC 15, 20 HP).
5	Plastic Rain	Sticky droplets harden into brittle flakes; they sting and crawl when saturated with magic.	All creatures must make a DC 13 Con save after 1 hour or take 1 level of exhaustion. Casting a spell during the storm animates plastic shards (use Swarm of Insects stats, but slashing damage).
6	Plastic Snow	Shredded bag-like flakes fall; oily residue melts into lungs.	Creatures must succeed on a DC 12 Con save each hour or take 1d6 poison damage and suffer coughing fits (concentration checks at disadvantage). Travel speed is halved.
7	Resin Hail	Chunks of flame-willow sap fall like amber meteors, some sticky, some explosive.	Every 10 minutes outdoors, creatures must succeed on a DC 14 Dex save or take 2d6 bludgeoning damage. Shattered resin ignites in a 5 ft. radius, dealing 1d6 fire damage. Harvesting cooled resin requires a DC 15 Survival check.
8	Smolder Fog	Thick smoke rolls in, reeking of scorched tires.	Visibility is reduced to 10 ft. All creatures must succeed on a DC 13 Con save every 30 minutes or take 1 level of exhaustion. Stealth checks gain advantage in the fog, but Perception checks relying on sight are at a disadvantage.
9	The Long Glow	The night sky burns orange, oozes stir, and whispers fill the air.	Oozes within the area become aggressive, attacking on sight. All saving throws vs. psychic effects are at disadvantage. Characters attempting a long rest must succeed on a DC 15 Wis save or gain 1 level of exhaustion from disturbed sleep.
10	Calm Before	The air is still, the skies clear — but wranglers mutter it means worse is coming.	No immediate effect, but the next weather event occurs at double the severity.

 

Flora (Twisted Boreal Growth)

Ash Moss

 Stumpy says:
“People ask if you can smoke it—folks, you can smoke anything once. Do it with this stuff and don’t come cryin’ when your left shoe starts givin’ you orders.”

Field Guide:
A wiry, star-leaf moss that carpets toxic spoil and rusted rigs, its sharp points splaying into unmistakable little constellations. Fresh tufts glow green, fading to gray-green or blackish with age; burned, the ash-sweet smoke paints the mind in hard, bright hallucinations.

Crystal Willows

 Stumpy says:
“Trees shouldn’t hum. These do. Lean too close, and the crystals will sing you your sins — don’t say Stumpy didn’t warn you.”

Field Guide:
Peachleaf Willows twisted by the Maw bear long, drooping branches studded with translucent crystal leaves that pulse like tuning forks. Their shards are prized as charms, coin, and spell foci — though some whisper secrets into the minds of those who hold them too long.

Flame Willows

Stumpy says:
“Trees that scream like tea kettles right before they blow. Smells like a tire fire, tastes like regret. Chop one if you need resin — just run after.”

Field Guide:
Resin-heavy trees that ignite when cut or damaged. Their sap burns hot and long, often sparking wildfires in the terraces. Resin is valuable but harvesting is risky.

Plastic Blooms

 Stumpy says:
“Pretty little flowers made of melted shopping bags. Smell like bad soup. Spores’ll get in your nose and in your dreams.”

Field Guide:
Fungal growths warped into melted, petal-like forms that shimmer like colored plastic in the dim light. Their spores drift in oily plumes, irritating the lungs and conjuring fever-dream hallucinations. Harvested blooms are rendered into crude waterproofing or brewed into dangerous intoxicants.

Iron Bulrushes

 

 Stumpy says:
“Ever seen a bird’s nest made of razor blades? That’s what these suckers make. Pretty, dangerous, and terrible for trousers.”

Field Guide:
These towering cattail lookalikes grow in stagnant marshes, their seed heads hardened into metallic spears that gleam in the dim light. Birds weave nests among the stalks, but the razor-sharp edges cut flesh and cloth alike. Gatherers prize the seeds, which can be smelted down into crude iron for tools and trade.

Tar Pines

 

 Stumpy says:
“Tar Pines bleed like a drunk lumberjack. Sap’ll stick to your boots till you throw the whole leg away.”

Field Guide:
Dark-needled lodgepole pines warped by the Maw ooze thick, black resin that drips like tar. The sticky sap ignites with terrifying ease, fueling fires that race out of control. Harvesters prize it for fuel, glue, and cruel traps — but a single spark can turn a grove into an inferno.

Whip Willow

Stumpy says:
“Looks like a blackberry patch. Bend too close, and you’ll find it’s got more snap than a snake and worse manners than your uncle after payday. I’ve seen wolves trail ‘em like groupies, waitin’ for the branches to beat supper half to death before takin’ their share.”

Field Guide:
A bramble-born terror twisted by Harvester meddling, the Whip Willow is a snarled bush draped in pink-white blossoms and clusters of black fruit. Its thorned branches coil like serpents, striking with whip-like lashes that leave victims bloodied and bound. Though not carnivorous, its violent thrashings drive prey into reach of scavengers and predators. Opportunists risk harvesting its berries, which — boiled long enough — yield a tart delicacy prized in Maw cookpots. Yet even inedible, the plant is mobile, dragging itself across soil and shallow water in search of moisture and solitude.

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