Bodies upon bodies, writhing on each other. All thin, starved. Each had open wounds. None cared. It was a display of utter, animal wantonness. From the middle of that pile of humanity rose a naked figure. Anything that could indicate its sex was gone, replaced with thick scar tissue. Seeping sores and jagged wounds competed for space across its body. Grafted into its skull was a halo-like crown, tarnished, corroded. It spread its hands and spoke with the voice of a sow. “Welcome to Heaven,” it squealed.
Alternative names: Hesychasts, High Ascetics
Cornelius Trafford Hughes was a pioneer of the industrialized slaughterhouse in 19th century America. He was also a sociopathic hedonist. Despite all his wealth could buy him, material things and things of the flesh, Hughes felt an ever-gnawing, ever-growing emptiness. Hughes, along with six others among the existentially dissatisfied and affluent, founded the Pleaides Society.
At first, the society indulged in bizarre, shocking violations of social and religious taboos, hoping to find anything that could sate the demanding void. Then they turned to the mysteries of the occult, learning of names like K’thu’tu, Iaxzo-tot, and Zathokkoa. Hughes and his followers had no real interest in plumbing the mysteries beyond the veil of human experience. The occult was nothing but an excuse to engage in sadistic, blood-filled sex rites. Hughes’ slaughterhouses provided the necessary blood. When other forms of blood and sacrifice were required, the slaughterhouses provided convenient disposal of the evidence.
It was through those rites that Hughes stumbled upon Xopolhiti. There is debate whether Hughes awoke the god-thing or if all the blood and death he spilled created it. One theory is that it’s an aspect of Quachil Uttuas Soon, Xopolhiti taught the Pleiades Society new ways to fuck and kill. And for a moment, they felt something, just a fleeting twinge. It was the hook needed to win their devotion. Xopolhiti festered and grew on the pain and pleasure and death the Pleaides Society fed it.
Near the turn of the century, bloated and bursting, Xopolhiti transformed itself into a place, a pocket dimension astride our own. It made itself a reflection of the cruelties that formed Hughes’ wealth, a sweltering maze of mud and metal, rust-eaten and blood-stained, stinking of pig shit. In places of great suffering, such as warzones, abusive and neglectful hospitals, and the lairs of serial killers, wounds may open between the dimensions. Certain spells, conducted through horrid rituals, may also open those wounds.
A deal was struck. Hughes and his cult were to be made royalty within Xopolhiti, the emptiness within each of them fed for eternity. What they could have possibly offered Xopolhiti, now dubbed the Abattoir, in return is unknown. In 1901, the aged and fading Hughes, his life already unnatural extended by magic, entered the Abattoir with his followers. The Abattoir then created another aspect of itself, known as the Jailer. The Jailer set about freeing each cultist of the humanity that confined them, revealing their true forms, grotesque in their beauty. A lock was placed around the neck of each regent, binding them to the Abattoir forever.
From their coenobium at the center of the Abattoir, the regents rule a prison gilded with corrosion and gore. Despite Xopolhit’s promises, the emptiness within them is never satisfied, and has only grown more consuming. They spend their days in petty conflict with one another, as well as inventing new, mind-blasting depravities to inflict upon each other or any unlucky enough to enter the Abattoir.
Spells and artifacts exist that can contact or summon the Regents. They are master manipulators, offering to fulfill the darkest, worst desires of anyone they encounter. These are lies of course, ploys designed to fool the desperate and wanton into entering the Abattoir. On occasion, when wounds open between Earth and the Abattoir, a Regent can slip through.
One Regent, a wizened, mummy-like figure calling itself Mxilpe, has managed to escape the Abattoir. It rules over a sex-cult in Mexico City.
Temptation: a Regent can reach into the mind of a person, withdrawing dark desires buried so deep the person may not even realize they have them. This requires 1 Magic Point from the Regent and a successful contested POW roll against the victim. Having their darkest desires exposed causes the target 1/1D4 Sanity Points.
The Regent can create powerful illusions to trick a target into believing these desires are being fulfilled. These illusions cost the Regent 1 Magic Point. Unless the victim makes a successful Extreme POW roll to see through them, the illusions last indefinitely. The illusions are strong enough to fool a victim into believing pain is pleasure.
Locks: each Regent has a heavy lock around their neck. This is the source of their power and immortality. If the lock is somehow removed or destroyed, the Regent will regain their human mind and personality, but will be wracked with pain from the mutilation of their body.
Regents, petty tyrants of torment
|STR||4D6 x 5||70|
|CON||3D6 x 5||50|
|SIZ||(2D6+8) x 5||75|
|DEX||3D6 x 5||50|
|INT||3D6 x 5||50|
|POW||6D6 x 5||105|
Average Hit Points: 12
Average Damage Bonus: +1D4
Average Build: 1
Average Magic Points: 21
Attacks per round: 1 (weapon, finger-blades, and incapacitate)
A Regent can use all unarmed attacks and weapons available to humans. They avoid direct conflict if able, using their Temptation ability to incapacitate foes.
|Fighting||55% (27/11), damage per weapon + damage bonus|
Armor: 2 points of thick scar-tissue across their bodies. In addition, mundane attacks do minimum damage. Reduced to zero Hit Points, they will reform with 1D4 weeks in the Abattoir. A Regent cannot be permanently destroyed unless their lock is destroyed.
Sanity Loss: 1/1D10 to encounter a Regent.