TTRPG creations: 50/365: The Eclipse End

The Eclipse End

 A month of goblins and ghouls. Of skeletons, bogeymen, headless horrors and banal butchers. The eclipse light slowly wanes, the chaotic green oil slick sheen pulls back over the land. The monsters recede into the fantasy cracks of the world. 

Some fade into the sky, others crawl back into bedrock and cave. The eclipses power no longer feeding them and the sun's power draining them. The cursed day returns and with it mortal courage. Believing themselves to be the master of the land. Deep and long beneath the earth they will find the truth. The human spirit is dampened deep under ground, courage lost in the face of darkness.

Prayers are answered, blessings are had and feasts are held. The human population believes that the monsters have been vanquished, struck from this realm. In truth they have only gone into hiding, linking wounds and biding time for another eclipse will come.

TTRPG creations: 49/365: Hallowed Possession

Hallowed Possession

 The subtle specter silently slips into the bed room, gliding across the ground and hovering high above the bed. The air becoming a ice cold winter snap, frost spiderwebs across the the glass panes. Reaching translucent hands down she caresses the sleeping face. With only the slightest hint of effort she pushes her tips into the flesh. Spectral limbs slither along sunken skin, fetid ghost fingers flex in between folds. 

The victim breaks out in a brutal sweat, beads prick up along the skin. The temperature races high sprinting to the finish clashing with the deep freeze from the ethereal being. Veins bulge under skin, the forehead becoming a living road map. The fingers push further and further within to the face caressing fat and fiber until fondling bone. 

Eyes snap open and roll into the head as the ghost claims a new body. She stretches herself into the open orifices reaching through the mouth and eyes. Rolling her new shoulders and twisting her neck around she stands up before stepping out the door.

TTRPG creations: 48/365: The Order of Eclipse

The Order of Eclipse

 Wicked crescent sickles beat on full moon shields. Hordes of black leather clad figures hurl themselves into combat. Jagged, brutal instruments rising and falling in bloody arcs. Round porcelain masks splattered with blood whirl through the brawl. 

The dock hands dispatch barge after barge. With a quick hand signal the torches are snuffed and a carving is made. A barge is cast off aside down river unattended and unnoticed. The torches are lit and the docks are back to business as usual. Two eyes meet and a slight nod is the only evidence.

Deep in drug dens perfumed bodies writhe together. Like a bedding of oversized maggots pulsing. The air thick with laced herb and potent fungi spores. Laid back masked eclipse lords lurk on lounges. Peasants prostrate themselves begging for boons from the masters. 

A lone figure skulks through the night. Melding into the mist, skulking from shadow to shadow. Reaching the building it begins to climb scuttling up the side like an oversized spider. Reaching the window it silently snaps open the log and seems to ooze inside. The full moon mask catching a slight amount of torchlight.

TTRPG creations: 47/365: The Gasping Ghost

The Gasping Ghost

 Corpses left behind, withered husks. Eyes yanked back into sockets like fish on hooks. Skin like light blue flimsy film, brittle and shrunk. Lips pulled and puckered forward, jaws dislocated by force. The pigeon chested torso violently crushed in. The rib cage having compacted the organs, the throat filled with a mixed thick bio paste. Like having been crushed and pulled through the throat.

Other bodies are polar opposites. Only gory explosions remain, pink stains upon the ground. Upper torsos that have had lungs brutally explode within. Heads ruptured, eyes burst, teeth that have shot out of the skull. Flaps of skin litter in her wake.

A dry rasping inward roar, like a reverse hurricane. Every noise is consumed by the sound, dragged kicking and screaming to the undead source. She stands within the center, her head tilted far, far back. Lips puckered and pulling in. Her chest ballooned to unnatural proportions as elephant size lungs swallow the oxygen around her. Her overlong arms ending in claws dug deep into the ground to stabilize her. Birds are brought out of flight desperately struggling in vain. Small animals are laid low by the essence thief. 

Her throat and cheeks swell as she blasts a burst of collected air forward. Shredding, ripping and butchering everything within her way.

TTRPG creations: 46/365: The Memory Cannibal

 The Memory Cannibal

Hunt them down and hang them up. Whites of the eyes, smash rocks into skulls. Rip them to pieces, tear them to shreds. Into the pot, meat of the man. Gristle between teeth. Cracked joints. Bone marrow supped. Eyes mashed into jelly. Claret stained gums, lick them clean. Fingers dig deep into wounds, fishing around in intestine. Grey matter gruel, skulls as cups. Snap off fingers and gnaw on knuckles. Chunks of skin stuffed into mouths. Boil it, roast it and toast it. Shred the white meat and scream to the sky.

Every bite brings back slivers of the self. Soul food takes on a hideous secondary meaning.   Memories slink back into the brain and for brief fleeting moments they become human again. They break from the fog grasping at a past that slips through fingers. A high that feels human but is abhorrent in nature, so potently wicked it unlocks any thought. 

Soon the recollections recede. The fix fades. Another broken and hungry shell hunting for the next meal of memories.

TTRPG creations: 45/365: The Mad Scientist

The Mad Scientist

 Sloppily stitched together grafted grey matter. Neurons snap and fire along spider web pathways. Foreign ideas and thoughts mesh blender style within. An elongated titanium skull custom crafted to hold in the pulsing abomination. The copper pins placed throughout the helmet screwing everything together, jolts of lightning arc crisscross along the metal scalp.

Switches thrown send massive beams of lightning spears from the sky. The helmet becoming a superconductor knife's the electricity directly within. The grafter assistant mimics his former master, silently standing over the work, waiting for a flicker of life.

Two ice blue eyes snap open. Deep stating sapphires contained within twin pits. The titanium skullcap starts to flex in tune with twin heartbeats. The jaw creaks open and a horrifying voice slithers out. Like crushed glass over sandpaper the vocal cords tainted by the black tongue of the dead. The sockets set upon the titan towering over, a click of recognition passes over the face.

The ideas start to pound within the skull, rapid fire, one after the other, non-stop. With a heroic effort the former mad scientist is able to bring his new mind to heel.

The pair have become whole again. Master and creation stand as equals.

TTRPG creations: 44/365: The Forever Child

The Forever Child

 Small, brittle, cracked and yellowed alabaster wooden hands fingers set stuck together. Beetle black beady eyes placed in a fragile painted face. A mop of filthy hair collected from animals or humans crudely glued onto the scalp. Cheap tempera red for blush and smiles, the mouth pulled into a forced rictus, carved into the face. An artificial body now a porcelain prison for what's within.

A distraught parent making deals with anything or one to bring a child back. Creating a vessel for the soul, finding a way to bind it within, giving anything to be with the young again. Crawling through the gutters to skin critters for veins. Skulking through alleyways to butcher beggars for blood. Crafting the perfect soul jar for the little one. 

The final step, giving themselves willingly to buy one back. A soul for a soul. A parents love for a child, strong enough to sacrifice everything to have them. The circle complete, the ritual finished, the being summoned, the deal struck. 

Not everything that comes back is right though. So long spent alone in the dark can twist even the most innocent of souls.

TTRPG creations: 43/365: The Brimstone Bringer

The Brimstone Bringer

 His appearance announced with a deafening thunderclap and the stench of brimstone. A squat, bent and hairy infernal humanoid. Skin that's tough, leathery and dry like a tanners living nightmare. A pair of cats eyes seeming to bore a hole through you, appraising your souls very worth. A long lopsided lizard like smile stretching from stretched ear to stretched ear. Fat, split, wart covered gums that peeled back to reveal flat tombstone teeth like alabaster chisels. A distended stomach stretching far down swinging almost pendulum like. Arms far to long for the body dangling all knobbly and bone. Legs bent up and two flipper feet flapping ending in thick, sharpened toe nails.

A long hardened claw drags through the surrounding stone work screeching as it separates under the unholy heat. Like a knife through lard It leaves behind a faint blood orange and lime green glowing trail. Tufts of smoke spiral lazily from the now scarred wall. It stands up, knees and elbows cracking as it slowly takes a step out from the summoning circle. Horrid eyes adjust to the room around it as it pins you down with a questing look. 

It opens the long toad mouth and with fetid breath burbles out "Let's strike a deal".

TTRPG creations: 42/365: The Storm's Churn

The Storm's Churn

 The sky bright vivid pink to deep orange. Inky black clouds run over head as lightning bolts rip through the air. The oceans waves violently roll over each other, churning and ripping each other apart. Marine life flees before this storm, the sea itself dark black in patches. The peasants know of this storm, that it is indeed an ill omen and only the insane or foolhardy dare seek it. 

Beneath the waves lay the arms of the sea serpent, the leviathan. From times passed lay evidence of a sea sorrow that waits to swallow man, boat and life itself. A horror entity as long as islands threshes the water with its arms, ripping everything within reach apart. Flesh cables running deep into the water so far down they vanish from sight. 

Deep emerald, sapphire, jade and ebony through the waves as the long arms churn and churn and churn.

TTRPG creations: 41/365: The fall of the Isaiah Tribe

The Fall of the Isaiah Tribe

 It remember the cold. Biting, snapping, draining, leeching. Joints locking up, muscle seizing, blood turning to ice within veins. Watching nations come and go. Some adapted to the ice, others fought it. All eventually submit to the white death.

It remembers the hunger also. The clawing worm at the bottom of the gut. The weakness that comes with it. Feeling strength leave the body, the mind slowly going berserk. The jaw snapping, drool slathering hunger.

The hunters come with mammoth, dog and spear. No strength left to fight them. They hunger as I do, we are the same. They can sate themselves on my flesh. Let the curse be born anew, cannibalistic seeds bury deep within new flesh.

TTRPG creations: 40/365: The Last Betrayer

The Last Betrayer

 A strained yell carries over the hills. Vocal cords not yet used to anything human test the waters. Small hisses and chirps slowly form into the clicks of words. Words that it has heard before, that bring the prey running. It slowly practices them like a mewling babe forming the words, running them over the mouth. It chews on the words, gets the right tone and pitch. Not low, it must be higher, more frantic.

"Help!"

It watches the prey run through the woods, staggering over roots and moss. Studying the way it runs, feet falling flat, hands swaying from side to side. It watches for the little details, it must be convincing. Sweat beading on the brow, the chest rising and falling. 

 "Help!"

It jerks through the undergrowth, a monster remembering how to imitate man. The sloppy jerking motion slowly becoming refined, it remembers the little details. To become truly convincing to trap them. It raises a humanoid head towards the sky and screams again, they will come running.

"Help!"

TTRPG creations: 39/365: The Fall Faced Fox

The Fall Faced Fox

 It wanders through the woods, the sound of faintly falling leafs accompanies. Foot pad step like twigs snapping, each movement stop starting like a needle skipping. Image blurring between the trees, skitter step leaping through the forest. 

It's form is foxlike with a coat of leafs, ranging every colour of fall. Reds, greens, oranges, yellows and browns. Flesh like twisted knotted wood all cracked and split. Its face covered by autumn foliage, a large maple with a crude slash for a mouth. 

It smells of fresh pine fall and moss. Like spotted forest fungi with burnt wood. Of old ancient places forgotten and rediscovered, an endless cycle of nostalgia. As it walks leafs turn colour and gently roll to the ground.

TTRPG creations: 38/365: The Mouldering Muscle

The Mouldering Muscle

Festering folds of fiber. Souring skin sloughing away. Brittle bent blacked bone breaking. Mutilated maggoty muscle mulched. Crimson coagulated claret. Fungal bearing fat freely flowing. Veins viciously vivisected. A ghoulish mockery of eternal life, a joke at the gods plans. 

Fecal matter filling rot holes. Urine soaking into soiled skin. Pus filled tumors squirm and writhe across an ivory green canvas. Ropes of guts hang out of sword slashes. Jaws hang slack, eyes fish milk white and vacant. A swarm of carrion can be seen first, crows and flies grow fat upon the marching undead abattoir.

A hideous wailing follows the horde, each pair of lungs repeating the last cry before death. They all remember the life they had, memories the created. All are still alive within the horde, having to exist within an ever rotting shell.

TTRPG creations: 37/365: The Living Concoction

The Living Concoction

 Everything goes in the pot, a non-stop bubbling brew. Everything vile, nasty, evil, disgusting, toxic, acidic or deadly. Everything that crawls, flies, skitters, hops, claws, screeches and roars. The pot cares not, it accepts one and all. 

Sorcerers, alchemist, druids, necromancer, witches and wizards will add into a pot. Constantly refining the ingredients, adding a pinch of this or a drop of that. Always with a goal in mind and a limit set. 

What then happens to the foolish, the young, the experimenter or simply the mad. What happens on the rare occasion when a pot is pushed beyond its limits. A cauldron collapses in calamity. An alchemical stew surges upwards. It consumes, and it consumes everything in the vicinity with an titanic explosive force like a magical Hiroshima. 

Once within a millennium something rare will happen. The consumed humanoid will be absorbed by the explosion but will also bond with the concoction. Becoming a living, sentient goo. An alchemical abortion that takes small flecks of everything that was placed within the cauldron. A living breathing cancer upon the land.

TTRPG creations: 36/365: The Swamp's Parasite

The Swamp's Parasite

 It trudges amongst the bottom of the lagoon, great glistening green gills filtering out foul fungi and flotsam. Dinner plate sized webbed hands push aside muck and debris as it writhes through the black sludge water. Large hooked feet steadily tread through the water ripping up rocks and branches with its passing. A broad gnarled body like that of an ancient oak. A shaggy mane of algae hair that runs down the back. Two piercing reptilian eyes lurking underneath fungi covered brows.

Slowly the swamp itself seems to become sentient  around this monster, nature itself bending to its will. Water ebbs, flows and swirls around it. The ground softens to be moved and hardens to be trod on. Branches bend and roots creep away from it. The creature has tracked every path around the swamp, it has spent weeks, months and finally years within this place in a previous life.

 So much time spent within the swamp that it has become a living part of it, and the swamp a living part of the man that once was.

TTRPG creations: 35/365: The Calcium Caller

The Calcium Caller

 Footsteps like dice rolling across the ground, skittering piano key plinks lightly plod along floor boards. A horror stalks the farmstead moving from cabin to cabin, barn to barn. With each stall explored the intruder seems to have grown larger, fuller, denser. The once light footsteps have becomes thudding, booming footfalls. Following the tracks the prints seem to jump in size rapidly from a child, adult and finally to giant. 

Each victim left behind has become a puddle of flesh and muscle. Any trace of a bone has been stripped out and sucked clean. Nothing remains to keep the poor soul straight and upright, horrified eyes swim in a pile of putty like tissue. 

An odd whistling can be heard upon the wind, eerily dry and quiet like old parchment and sandpaper. Upon the hill it plays, twisting and turning, leaping and spinning all the while playing its bone flute.

TTRPG creations: 34/365: The Brilliance Luna

The Brilliance Luna

 White winter wings whip on winds. Traces of orange and black along paper thin membrane. It flies overhead turning and tumbling, spinning as it soars through the sky. All the while a blanket of spores fall from its wings. Like oil sheen dandelion seeds these airborne invaders spin through the air taking on a life. 

Anything they touch begins to turn in some wicked way. Livestock becomes rabid, breathing hard and heavy while growth like tumours sprout from the body. Plants become unnatural things, either dying suddenly only to regrow black and tainted or surge with new life veins popping out amongst flesh. Humans become much much worse. As the seeds syringe stick into flesh the host begins to warp. Skin melts and runs like fat bring held to a candle. Organs grow in size or multiply. Digits join together or become great bushels of fingers and toes.

The great Moth brings everlasting change, a way to transcend humanity. 

TTRPG creations: 33/365: The heavens star

Space Hopper

 A star falling from the heavens, roaring and soaring across the eclipse sky. Black billowing smoke trails behind it as it rips through the atmosphere. Villagers make hand gestures to ward off ill omens, others close windows and lock door. In this month nothing good can come from whatever the heavens have vomited up.

The star smashes into the forest churning the ground and pulping trees, leaving a long trail before finally coming to a stop. The spider men approach the orb, red hot and glowing it burns everything around it. Clicks can be heard from within and a pressurised whistle sounds out as a door opens up. The spiderlings cautiously approach from all sides primitive weapons help at the ready.

As the door opens an inner light silhouettes the occupant, a titanic being standing well over ten foot tall. Stepping out of the craft it stops and studies the beings surrounding it. Raising a single hand a force wave emits from the being, the spider raiding party feel an alien presence forcing them to lower arms. Approaching the leader of the spiderlings the space giant reaches out a long jointed digit and touches its forehead, a flash illuminates the forest. 

TTRPG creations: 32/365: Amon The Pumpkin Lich

Amon The Pumpkin Lich

 Buried, long forgotten, locked away, sealed up and left. The body broken beyond repair, trapped inside the mind for an eternity. What once gave power is now the forever jail cell, a titanic intelligence unable to lift a finger. The Hor'kast's mightiest hero of old having cast you down, broken your body and sentenced you. The empty underground halls of your forgotten kingdom store naught but dust, artifacts and treasure long since plundered. Triumphant cries and mocking laughter as they sat you upon the twilight throne.

Thousands of years have come and gone, civilisations have risen up in power only to be cast down upon the stone. And slowly life has trickled down to you, a sea of creeping vines have penetrated defenses in which your armies never could. They feed into your ancient bones slowly recharging you, plant matter becomes veins, muscle and organs. The crack of cartilage is like a tree snapping in the wind. You have survived, existing not hatred, anger or vengeance, you have survived on the thought of bringing the land to a close. Snapping it shut, snuffing it out, bringing total annihilation. 

Your body restoring itself, soon it will be time to destroy this world and with it your former clan and your brothers memory.

TTRPG creations: 31/365: Sovereign Bat

Sovereign Bat

 Black mass punches through the air an ear shattering explosion follows it. Twisting and tumbling weaving about the air in figure eight patterns. Soaring up high, hurtling into the clouds like an arrow. The men on the ground stand confused, fearful and wide eyed. Inky clouds spit out the beast, it lances towards the ground like jagged ebony lightning. 

Its face pulls itself in as the chest swells, an ear breaking shriek erupts forward. Twin claws rip down threshing men and ground. Ranks break, sound the retreat. Cover can't save them, running is redundant the beast picks them off one by one. Sliding in between trees at extreme speeds it reaps souls. Picking them up and dragging them across the ground reducing them to meat. Ripping, tearing, grinding, shredding it pulls everything apart bit by bit.

TTRPG creations: 30/365: The Unluckiest Cat

The Unluckiest Cat

 Darting from shadow to shadow, slinking from cover to cover. A thief in the night, the eclipse's perpetual twilight brings endless opportunities. Twisting and turning like ribbon caught in the wind, no normal spine could stand the odd angles and pressure brought on by this. Scurrying up drainage pipes, working through open grates exploiting  any weakness. Like your favourite contortionist's contortionist it loops, folds and flattens finding ways into anywhere. 

Once it finds the sleeping target it begins its work. Slowly, gently it wraps them in its feline centipede form. Like a maggot in a wound it injects misfortune into its prey. A wound that starts to cause ill luck in small doses. Dropping plates, tripping on a crack, dropping a silver down a hole. The target only becomes even more unlucky over time.  The wound festers and the effects increase spreading out to everyone around them. 

With time communities will remove these living omens believing them to be cursed. They board them up and shut them off taking drastic measures lest the curse fall upon others. With no hope and only misery left, at the bleakest possible moment the cat comes to feast. It swirls around the victim like a furred anaconda, each paw caressing curves. It slowly squeezes the misery and hopelessness out of them, wringing them dry.

TTRPG creations: 29/365: The Monarch Crow

The Monarch Crow

 Midnight black circling murder, a thousand glinting beady doll eyes watch from up high. A titanic nest running upwards in spinning spirals, pockets house nests every few feet. The floor is packed thick with feathers and stool creating a living, breathing, rotting carpet. Every nest is filled with baubles and trinkets, they glitter in the dying eclipse light, from afar the tower lights up as if on golden fire. At the very top of the tower sits the oldest of all his kind. 

His nest is a collection of the truly grand. Scraps of holy writ paper, the skin of wizards, long dead kings crowns, dragons membranes, the wrung out ink from krakens, the head of Oto'sh the last lord of the giants, devils tears and angels rage. The monarch crow has personally collected them all, his gallery spans the entire tower, he knows all, he sees all, every secret word whispered. Only the mad or madly desperate seek an audience to acquire a part of the collection. The monarch crow will have what you need, but the price paid is usually far steeper.

The size of a castle he slowly pulls himself upright. His wings unfurl and snap open like the sails on a ship. His entire frame is like a vantablack jet, light itself revolts against his touch, recoiling away from his inky appendages. The defiled king drips the darkness leaving behind a permanent leak into another world. His eye surveys all below him, watching and waiting, planning and plotting and always on the lookout for beings to use, manipulate and violate.

TTRPG creations: 28/365: The Aware Wolf

 Slavering jaws snap down, scarlet laced spittle slides along canines. A ten foot terror stalks the lands baying for blood under an eclipse. The muzzle twitches, nostrils flare as gums retract back, a long devilish tongue unfurls itself. Under the bewitching eclipse light hundreds of eyes observe all directions, pupils rolling around while others jitter and zigzag. A panorama for spotting prey, a three hundred and sixty kill vision.

The Aware Wolf forces mass evolution, pushing its body beyond the breaking point to remain constantly aware of its surroundings. Growing additional eyes along the body, having nostril slits grow out of hands, taste buds along its feet. Mandatory growth to become the lands top predator. 

Molding the body to fit every situation, every tactic, every weapon and every prey, The Aware Wolf.

TTRPG creations: 27/365: The Galant Ghoul

The Galant Ghoul

 Sparkling silver edged plate armour, gleams gallantly for all. A closed full visor, hawk beak like protruding with predatory birds feathers running behind. A thrice polished shield that beams when even a slight amount of light touches it. And a magnificent long sword wrapped in a brilliant blood red scabbard. Truly the epitome of a majestic knight, the very textbook example of one.

Then the smell hits your nose.

A sickly sweet rot, of corpse bloom and carrion. Of high iron and claret. You notice the flock of flies that buzz around the champion. The slight liquid leak that comes from the bottom of sabatons. Somethings off, from a distance he looks ever the part of the knight. But up close something is hideously off. A plated hand lifts up the vizor and behind lurks a predatory face. White and feral, a stark contrast to the polished protection, like a horror hermit crab you realise late you have fallen into a trap.

Nothing happens, the ghoul merely nods his head, snaps the guard back down and continues on his journey.

TTRPG creations: 26/365: The Gibbering Bastard

The Gibbering Bastard

 Little bastard, cowardly ass, cancer wretch, nonsense screecher, filth monger, target practice, thieving prick, the gods sense of humour. Hated by all, loved by noone the disgusting little snot green gremlin. 

With an comically large mouth filled with razor sharp needle teeth. A long hooked nose tipped with a bulbous wart. Knobbly long strangler hands ill fitting for one so small. Yellow beady watery eyes, like two half cracked eggs yolks. And a voice of sandpaper dragged over a salt block. Tinny and high-pitched, so grating even saints start to wrap hands around neck. 

And what a voice, screeching every hate filled idea that pops into its head. Every syllable pregnant with venom. Anything it can use as ammunition in its verbal assault. And when it has thoroughly annoyed the hell out of a target it draws them in further. Those hands are brilliant at tinkering, every nasty little creation to be tested.

Inflated bladders of excrement, dropped jars of centipedes, compacted cobwebs of fishing line and hooks, mind altering fungi bombs, thrown frozen vomit, flocks of foul fowl unleashed down corridors. A genius mind unfortunately fascinated with causing pain. The disgusting emerald wretch, the gibbering bastard. 

TTRPG creations: 25/365: The myth witch

The Myth Witch

 Ogre snot and basilisk eye. Ghost shroud and Ghoul fang. Spiders legs and goblins nose. Skeleton marrow and merman gills. Trolls vomit and man guts. All placed in the cold cast iron cauldron by gnarled hands. More ingredients are needed for the myth brew. 

The snap of fingers and the pot lumbers to life. Pivoting on four squat legs, turning sideways and marching alongside its master like a metal crab. The horrid concoction spilling out at times, the ground sizzling as the oil slick sheen neon green goop hits the ground. Further and further the two walk, the crone often stopping to add in a found bug or the odd mushroom. 

On and on, up and up they go. This ritual can't be rushed, everything must be in place. Reaching the summit, between the three mentors the pot stops, planking itself down on a mound of ancient ash. The full moon beams down, the stars click into place and it begins. Old elven oak is placed below and lit, fiery Fey fire burns furiously. The witch climbs within and waits.

As the moon passes overhead the pot glows, brighter and brighter until putting the stars around to shame. Smoke and steam violently splutter, a sharp whistles sets teeth on edge and the ground is scorched anew. With a deafening crack the pot splits and out spews every myth and nightmare unto the world. 

The witch born anew collects the pieces of pot. Much work to be done before the next myth ritual is ready.

TTRPG creations: 24/365: The Eternal addict

The Eternal addict

Seconds of sanguine. Minutes of madness. Hours of horror. Days of desire. Months of mutilation. Years of yearning. Decades of decent. Centuries of chaos. Waking up to the same calling, the same craving. The need for sustenance. Being unable to say no to it, the crawling demon on your back. Finger biting, hand shaking, toe tapping, fist clenching need. 

At first you could fight it off for days, taking your time until you needed to go out for another hit. As time stretched out your time between lessened. You needed more, bodies piled on. The random adventurer became whole parties which in turn became whole villages. You have tried every type and colour under the cursed sun. 

Your once marvelous appearance reduced to a wretch. Eyes sunken and ancient, skin like yellow parchment, teeth long, black and chipped. Blue veins like a city roadmap across your alabaster skin. You have lost everything, descended to nothing, a hopeless addict forever linked to that sanguine source.

TTRPG creations: 23/365: The Coral Empire

The Coral Empire

 Sunlight bounces off the sea waves, calm blue salt ocean. Fishing ships bob along like flotsam in a pond, drawling across the endless azure. Life finds a way under the surface, fields of rainbow hue coral, houses hundreds. Entire ecosystem survive and thrive throughout the emerald and sapphire.

Deeper and deeper we go, in places in which the sun cannot. It's piercing burning gaze holds no power down here. Total blackness amongst the deepest currents. Further down that any lung could hold air a pinprick of life exists.

The pinprick grows the closer one gets, larger and larger until a full fake sun blazes into the underwater world. Amongst the sea of colour stand colossal buildings. Statues to long best forgotten gods, hundred armed, multi faceted square heads. Ruby coral eyes enchanted to float along side statue skulls. 

Amongst the building ancient roads run rampart in spiderwebs through a sprawling city. Teams of slaves use kelp rope to pull blocks of cut coral, rail road thin humans with gills gruesomely grafted to flesh. As one of the slaves goes limp they float up. Far above the city schools of sharks circle waiting for fresh meat.

With trident and whip, mutants keep a watchful eye over the operation. Order are barked out, sea weed whips crack and sodden slate tridents poke and prod. Great undersea wizard kings watch from up high in coral towers dotted with pearl and shell. Slowly bit by bit they will retake the world which damned them.

TTRPG creations: 21/365: The Horseman

The Horseman

 A titanic figure towering above all. Shining black plate with burning emerald runes. A monstrous charcoal black horse churning roads to rubble. Green fiery prints that scar the land. The rasp of a long sword that silenced every noise around. An explosion of raw green lights the country side as a soul wrenching scream tumbles down hills. The Horseman comes

A body is found head and spine stolen, hung from a tree, side of a road, out in a field it matters not. The next night he rides again a new head fixed to the armour, screeching and screaming in torment. The Horseman comes

The month long Eclipse heralds his coming. Villages once warm to all now ice cold, turning away any stranger who would bring ill or omen upon them. Holy symbols hung, hymns hummed, and the Horseman comes.

TTRPG creations: 22/365: The Toll Troll

The Toll Troll

 Lumbering, large, huge, giant, colossal, titanic, a behemoth that believes it's good at general math. Take the cut-throat nature of the markets, the suaveness of the salesmen, a dash of the shark like attitude of a money lender and a pinch of murderous intent then dull all of it. Give it a big club, a big table and a bridge and lower its intelligence to just above a plant.

With an insatiable appetite for flesh and the bullying bulk to back up any threat the Toll Troll will set up shop on any bridge, thoroughfare, road or pit stop that is out of the way but not remote. Understanding more out of primal awareness then actual business sense that extended attention can be a negative.

The Troll doesn't grasp the mechanics of a business however, while It mimics the actions of its former murdered master it doesn't understand the concept. Screaming words like "money, dividends, accounts!" While pulping people to paste with a horrible club. Demanding percentages on loot without grasping what a percentage actually is. Placing the broken ends of two bottles on the bridge of its nose while pretending to ponder deals. It would be almost adorable if not for the fact the Troll enjoys ripping animals, people, objects and yourself limb from limb. 

TTRPG creations: 20/365: Grey matter grafter

Grey matter grafter

 They thought me a fool, that I was insane. Obsessed with the secrets of life, forever figuring out what lay beyond death. To step into the realm of the gods. I will bring him back no matter the cost, I am already considered a monster for what I have done.

I have poured over pages, studied sheets and examined everything I could get my hands on. I have prepared the list of forbidden goods, all I need is the cover of night. 

A mix of grey matter from both adults and children will create a mind that will increase in volume while maintaining density. With copper stitching connecting white to grey to spine I can increase the neuron speed through the body.

The cranium will need far more room to accommodate for the additional growth. I will need to fuse several plates of bones to cover any exposed tissue. An occult cap will be put in place and steel bolts used to hold everything together.

I have the thirteen metal masts connected at the perfect height. During the lunar Eclipse storm all thirteen shall be struck sending the bolt of life into my master. He shall live again, he shall have vengeance against the peasants.