There are places, you have to understand, where the dimensions-I'm not talking about that parallel dimension metaphysical stuff, I mean dimensions like length and breadth and time-where they curl into themselves, and begin to fester. Where foul things evolve and spread...
The Totem of Nehual is something of a Maltese Falcon. Many have spent long periods of their life searching for it, spending vast sums of money, and in the end never finding it, or only finding it long enough to lose it.
It's always the creepy little kids
Guilt is a powerful force
The Tulu are an evil and devious race, demonstrating the canny wickedness of Faustian devils and the perverse pleasures of hentai tentacle pornography.
The door to the building is open, but inside is nothing but darkness. The lights are out: What do you do?
A few quick and techniques any GM can use to make a zombie apocalypse campaign a success without becoming to stressful or repetitive for to run over the long term:
"Living in a town that sits on a dimensional nexus can wear thin after a while. It's not so much the crawling shadows, bizarre weather, or late night visitors from places that never existed; but carrying on with your normal life and trying to act like nothing out of the ordinary is going on in your little corner of the world that gets to you."
A small rural town with surreal secrets, that happens to be situated on a dimensional crossroads, suitable for modern day supernatural/mystical/horror campaigns.
Bob and Alice are being chased by something/someone dangerous. They move into a new area, and the pursuit suddenly is nowhere to be found. What does the pursuer know that our heroes don't?
The Diary of young girl who finds herself trapped in purgatory, searching salvation and trying to make sense of that which is deliberatly insane. (A prelude to the entry found in my Chasers submission.)
Ideally the creatures described within this (ongoing) sub will be detailed in turn as their own seperate submissions eventally painting a complete picture of purgatoy.
A horror short story that was inspired by of one of my Kult rpg characters background. Disturbing content, adult language, graphic descriptions, and horrifying situations are contained within, reader discretion is advised.
From that silent place fear flows in unseen waves, like white fog. The shadows are many, and the wind breathes cold through the broken battlements and casements. Through it's frowning walls and dark window openings there's a lantern of the spirit which none see by but those who bear it.
"Captain's log, date unknown. We have been exploring a region of dead space, wandering between the dull cinders of dying suns, looking for an explanation to what happened in this sector of space. Our charts show that this sector should be bursting with life - young stars and verdant worlds - but all we have seen is a stellar wasteland." -Log entry recovered from a derelict exploratory vessel on the fringe of the Miros Waste
"It was just after nightfall when it came; a horrible, rotten mass of bone and flesh, with a voice that was like a thousand screams braided together. I only survived because I ran - I ran and I've never stopped running, because I know it's after me. Me, and everyone else who was there when the city of Vesta was slaughtered." -Hans, Former Captain turned nomad
Silent and invisible, the only herald of the arrival of Kayrun the Disintegrator is the screams of his victims.
Most weapons of legend are made in the days of legend; Nightfall is an exception, birthed in violence and vengeance.
"Yes, there are some unusual patterns to these - her patients, but we have nothing to prove anything other than statistical anomalies."
The large blades slowly rotate, feeding on the wind, you have seen the image before. But could these be feeding on something more?
“There’s something not right, up on that hill. Something about that place makes men go mad. The de Lahsk family never should have built the mansion there. That only made it worse.”
Be wary, adventurer, of the smoke of Mal’Mennoth, that dread, choking cloud that blots out the very sun! Be wary, adventurer, of the demon’s dread shadow, of the things that prey on your mind!
Among the assortment of organized criminals who live in the great city, few command greater fear the Moonbeard Order.
They of course do not call themselves that, but have earned the moniker from their fashion of dying their large beards with lye to produce a distinctive crescent shape running from earlobe to earlobe. This is meant as a taunt for their enemies, for it clearly outlines their throats.
They also wear garb similar to the northern tribesman, carefully tooled leather and showing multiple, colourful glyphs.
They are feared due to the intense discipline that their group maintains, due to their origins as a warrior-sect.
They serve as paid thugs, enforcers and assassins within the city, with the client simply ordering a service from the organization, not hiring an individual. Apart from making the request and providing payment in full in advance, the order completes the assignment themselves.
Their order has many moles through the organizations of the city, and more than a couple of nobles. As such, no organized move has been made against them since their chief activity is directed against other members of the crime world. It is said that their services have been useful for those in power as well, further protecting them from persecution.
Their religion holds that their time in this world is vanishingly brief, and largely unimportant except as training for the Great Battle.
The order is very utilitarian with weapons choice - they simply use the tool needed for the occasion, though not without having trained extensively with it beforehand. Daggers, garrottes, swords, bows, battle axes, polearms, wagons, even siege engines have been used to carry out their contracts.