A big flock can suck a cow bloodless in a few minutes, yet your doctor shows up carrying one around a small birdcage in the tip of his staff. Maybe you're better off just learning to live with the kidney stones. . .

A family of semi-retired doomsday cultists, just trying to live a quiet life while tending an apple orchard in the country. Except with complications.

There are some types of evil that are not easily recognizable as such. Much like the mountain-top ascetic or the cloistered saint, there is no obvious sign of the darkness that lurks inside Vodai.

Only after the unicorn hunts ended did the people realize that the unicorns were not returning. Many were saddened to discover that they had killed the last unicorns. Some wept.

But when they returned many long years later, many more would weep.

Everyone knows that firearms are weapons only fit for orcs—smelly, loud, and unreliable. But there are guns made for ogres, too, and the largest of those are called Thunderguns.

How a disgruntled con man managed to kill hundreds, become a saint among death cults, and create plagues of monsters. All by writing a pamphlet.

From Innsmouth to Cthulhutech, a common phrase is “non-Euclidean architecture”. But what is it, and how can it be included in your games in a way that is interesting and fun?

Mondaloa is a name shared by both a city and a deity. Mondaloa, the city, is built on layers of crypts and tombs that are far more opulent and majestic than the city that covers them. Mondaloa, the deity, is the god of rest, peace, and death. There is nothing Mondaloa desires more than to see the dead buried deep in their tombs where they can rest in honor and peace. But there is trouble: something is torturing the dead of the city, and driving them to madness and rage. Now, 500 years of honored ancestors are trickling into the city above, seeking blood and pain and death.

In which more methods are expounded by which one may refine a dungeon to more sublime levels of confusion.

This isn't nonsense--this is logic!

Veglins are fungus-goblin hybrids with a unique life cycle, all of whom are inflicted with inescapable racial dreams. Their biology and psychology are product's of an ancient, evil wizard's plan to get someone else to build his hideouts for him.

'We're nothing new. We've always been here. YOU're the newcomers. You're the animal that forgot that it was a man. Stop crying, you animal, you sleepwalker! If you opened your eyes for only an instant you would see that. You're a race of amnesiacs, of dreaming children. I said STOP CRYING! You disgust me. That's why I'm not going to explain anything else. That's why you will die--screaming--without ever having truly woken up. I will paint every inch of this floor with your blood.'

-An Awakened, formerly Ms. Albright, speaking to Albert Frond, immediately before his murder

After the sorceress Rigalene died, those going through her estate were puzzled. Where were all her books? And how would they find homes for all these cats?

The City of Strangers. The Beautiful City. The City of Gold. The City of Sharks.

A dangerous, alien plane where glowing frog-slimes slither and slurp, metal-skinned bird people rebuff diplomacy, and only the endless subterranean tunnels are safe (just mind the gravity-bending moles). Visitors will have to skulk around in the dark to avoid the curse carried by the sunlight. Because (have I mentioned?) the sun is the source of a powerful curse--one that covers the whole planet.

When a wizard named Mendalus develops a spell that summons an obedient woman named Catherine--exactly like any other summoning spell--it creates chaos in the wizard-metropolis of Meltheria, as many interested parties struggle to understand the nature (and legality) of the Catherine spell, while vast fortunes hang in the balance.

A tree that sends roaming fruit on a singular quest.

We were crossing a ridge when Corgan was lifted off the ground by something. 'Shoot it! Shoot the tyrannosaur!' he screamed as blood streamed from the puncture wounds that had opened up in belly. I fired into the empty space above him to no effect. Then Corgan's ragged corpse dropped to the forest floor, and I was alone. Utterly alone. There was no dinosaur. There was nothing.

Lady Evica is one of the prides of the Hesayan Church--it shows that even monstrous, overtly sexual, colossal mermaids can be brought to worship in Iasu's light. Except not really.