Tag Archives: horror

Dungeons and Dragons – Curse of Innistrahd Episode 31

Bone dust, bone dust… The Church folks wanted bone dusts. The vile siblings stirred in their home, the scent of sickly sweet pastries and dried fungus melding in their breaths. Whispers amongst them, some wordless, some stated to express the feeling. Bone dust he wants. The church folks step back at the word of the witch boy, but sit idly by at the works of their magics. The black mana, seeping from the swamps and fetid places of the valleys, the fallen cities and graves. More scoffs. More shuffling. But then the question comes: Would we avoid such magic?

The crones had persisted. They were practically features of the land, though not all visited their decrepit home for fear and rumor, let alone the avoidant signs of life on the inside. Peddling pastries made from questionable things, things the consumers wouldn’t want to know fueling their dreams and peace. But what was persisting in the face of change. What was existing against the path of magic.

Morgantha, oldest, grown brazen in her fell confidence leaves first. Her sisters follow after, packing their goods and ingredients with low grumble. There would be no home to return to in the face of these slayers. They want to argue, to trap, to plot. But Morgantha is not one to lose an argument. They know her answer as it echoes painfully through their shriveled minds:

“The stirrings of the dead and the rise of hungry magic are the change in this land. And that change will bear us to greater heights. Be patient sisters. And for now: Serve.”

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Deadlands – Fallen Flags Episode 4

Dear Diary, bad news and worse news. Bad news, my train is scheduled to be delayed, to ensure the -previous- train’s recent combat didn’t leave wreckage on the tracks to destroy the -current- train. Even worse, there’s no sign of the deceased near the wreckage, save a few previously rotting fellows, so either my quest maintains the status quo ante, or my quarry is halfway down the windpipe of a Rattler. I shudder to think of the amount of money it will take to bribe someone in there to check. On the bright side though, I should be on my way to catching up. The team I follow seems like a team of do-gooders, and from what I hear, Denver and officers of the law make for lousy bedfellows for more than the usual reasons…

-Recovered from a page of shaky penmanship in the diary of an unnamed debt collector, written mid-August, 1877

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Dungeons and Dragons – Curse of Innistrahd Episode 30

Plotting in secret was a hallmark of Innistrad. Scientists in labs slaving over slabs and vials or nobles and vampires confined to winding towers and darkened rooms lit only by whispering candlelight. Which is why it was so refreshing to the crystal eyes of Inghild to see the tinkerer working in the open, stacking heaps of slag and salvage toward his plans. He wasn’t tireless, but he was dedicated. She exhaled, some emotion between exhaustion and disappointment buried beneath placidity as she tightened her pale grip on the shattered neck of the still straining vampire at her side. Keeping it a secret forever would be impossible. But perhaps with some effort, it could be played down. Perhaps this was the first step to stopping him. She gave a light calculated grin as she vanished back into the embracing shroud of needles and leaves. Things were going… Deliciously.

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Deadlands – Fallen Flags Episode 3

Dear Diary, I have finally recovered from a terrible bout of nausea from a rather unsavory drink. I suspect foul play, but I can’t rule out the possibility that the alcohol has simply absorbed some of the rural charm of this place, and my prim, bourgeois tastes were unaccustomed to its… natural charisma. In the course of my recuperation, it seems that my quarry has evaded me yet again. As hard as that was to tell among the rabble jabbering about the downfall of poisonous natives. Perhaps I was the only one -not- delirious. Either way, I’m certain I’ll regret not being on the train with them. Nothing for it but to wait for the next one. Perhaps it will have a bar car that suites my apparently prissy palate. Either way, as long as its quiet. Loud railcars are no good in this part of the country…

-Recovered from a fluid-stained page in the diary of an unnamed debt collector, written mid-August, 1877

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Dungeons and Dragons – Curse of Innistrahd Episode 29

Magic is a fickle thing. All practitioners know this whether their origins are holy or otherwise. Their intricacies twist and unravel into infinite threads of possibility, from which those lucky strands that are able to be made manifest coalesce as force. From mana to spell. From spell to action.

Viktor hated magic. Not the power it gave him, no that was useful. That let him be more than his skinny frame could be as he trudged the dark hills toward the sleeping giant of the windmill. What he hated was the esoteric rules. They way it pushed back against him. He drifted up the tired worn wooden steps to move to rap on the door.

He had done so much correct and so much still escaped him. The circle he made failed, sending wait staff in pieces to his yards. His undead creations limited and small cramped up in the attic, mostly the bodies of cats he took from the town. But he had practiced and learned. He waited, heart in throat as the noise of shuffling footsteps approached him. Hopefully those sacrifices were enough to prove himself, as the door creaked open.
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