UPDATE: The fiends at The Storm Crow Shop have issued the discount code SHOGGOTH for 25% off all their products.
As you rise from the sleep that is not death and is not life, you make yourself a stygian elixir of crushed roasted beans of far of Arabia, it’s charnel color swirling like a deadly whirlpool in your chalice, and then you head off into the stars… tumbling forth into strange new vistas amongst throngs of others, all unknowingly participating in the same dire ritual.. and when you go to consume your unholy elixir of unnatural endurance.. you find it’s gone cold.
This is truly an abysmal fate for any cultist. Luckily, our dear and depraved friends at The Storm Crow Shop have come up with a solution for every good cultist. Their cursed artificers have created a double (that’s two) walled steel travel mug. It should hold 12oz of whatever sort of ichor you need. They just restocked so hurry and get yours before they sell out once again!
As our kickstarter continues, we had an extra scenario come up that couldn’t make it’s way into the book. In normal form, we are opting to share this scenario with you dear readers! There is still time to back Terrors of the OctoberNomicon! Consider this scenario a free preview of what’s awaiting you in the finished book. That said, we bring you… Bread of heaven!
So the fine folks at Golden Goblin Press have been working on a secret project with us. We’re very proud of our yearly Octobernomicon, and they’re fans too. So we sat down and put all of our twisted little heads together and came up with a secret project I’m announcing now…
Each victim brought to the stone in the forest invigorates the Waves and drives them to hunt out the weak, but each victim also awakens the Thirsting Tide a little more.
In the middle of a private forest of a large, rundown estate, sits a lush and verdant glade. The plants and trees grow tall and strong, often lasting through the winter without losing their flowers and leaves. The animals thrive: the local prey turning on normal predators, the local predators cutting swathes through normal prey.
At the glade’s heart is a spherical stone almost 2m across, smooth and iridescent, of no earthly rock or hue. It has partially sunk into the earth over the ages. Around it is a stride of bare earth and desiccated plant life, the remains of animal bones, most eroded down to fragments.
Once upon a time, a certain tourist lost consciousness during one of his lone trips. He wakes in a ruined house, a couple of years later, unshaven and filthy. He doesn’t know who he is, nor how he got here. He discovers with horror that his internal organs (almost his whole systema digestorium) were replaced by some bizarre, aberrant, and obscure technology, and now he has lost the ability to taste and consume food other than human or animal blood. He doesn’t know it, but this technology derives from the mi-go’s brain cylinders. His body was also forced to receive implants in the form of claw-shaped blades which were placed inside the bones of the fingers (which is why their extension always causes pain) and retractable needle-fangs, with which he became terribly effective at stealing blood from his victims, leaving strange, surgical-like punctures.
Their rough shape is the only semblance of humanity that remains. They are more like their god now than man. Gaunt, potbellied, skin turned to a browned leather. Thin skin stretches from their wrists to their hips, making weak wings. Their faces are a horrifying blend of human and bat. There isn’t a one that is not caked in blood. Always clicking. Always hissing. If there such a place as Hell, it is populated by these things.
Alternative names: vampires, camazotz, ghala, the wretched
In nightmare warrens beneath Appalachia, Central Africa, and Mexico teem the Olitiau. Once human members of a depraved cult dedicated to Tsathoqqua, the god blessed them for their devotion. It granted them immortality, so they may spend their days in ecstatic worship. Over time their bodies changed to better resemble their god.
It’s the nature of time that the old ways must give way to the new. But what happens when the old ways are not superstitions? What happens when they’re immortal and very very real?
Szepassony is the “beautiful lady” of Hungarian folklore. She was a spirit of romance, fertility, birth, death, and also storms and rain. Midwives and expectant mothers would pray to her for a safe childbirth, and she was also prayed to in matters of love.
With the dawn of Christianity, Szepassony was reviled as a demon. A temptress who led men astray and caused the deaths of babies that nursed at her breast. If you were out in a rainstorm, caught cold, and died, you had incurred the wrath of the demon Szepassony.