Cthulhu Kid's page

35. Tasty Treat

Running from the (insert monster here) you fall into a pit of loose stones.

After eventually escaping, you realize the pit into which you tumbled was more than it seemed--it was full of teeth! Apparently many different kinds.

You pull off some stuck into your skin and shake some from your boots. Now, every animal with teeth eyes you longingly ... And hungrily. Even herbivores ... even some of your companions, too (though they deny it completely).

33. Bankrupted Water Economy

After two days of unexpectedly arid lands and sere conditions, you find yourself with no water rationed for the persons in your group. You take refuge from the scorching sun under the thatch-roofed, mud-walled huts of an abandoned hamlet.

Some scouting work turns up nothing of value, but a well was found in the center of the town in a stout, well-built structure. The well is protected from the sun and is enclosed, presumably, to prevent the winds from drying up its contents.

A drawing bucket is improvised and the party pulls thirstily at the sweet pail-loads precious prize.

Before long, you begin the feel sluggish and experiences visions of people walking about the town and living communal, pleasant lives. Your friends are gone and your environment is clearly restored to what it once was--perhaps you have travelled to the past.

Long, apprehensive minutes pass without interaction from these ghostly figures as you sweat off the oppressive daze so full of lens flare, halos, and (your own) drunken ambulation.

A woman with a bucket of water appears and you feel compelled to follow her. She leads you back to the central building, which is now adorned with intricate carvings, fine cloth curtains, and metal objects; you burp heavily and avoid the pounding details that cause your temples to throb and threaten about of sick-up.

Eventually, you stand before a woman in childbirth, the bucket of water used to soak rags and clean away the blood from the process. Your agony is hers; the tearing fleshing in her loins is as your headache. Through your pain, you notice the afterbirth and birth-fluids caught in a blue bowl at the foot of the table on which the woman writhes.

You and your companions come to, each sickened, but unwilling to discuss the details of their personal tribulation. As you depart this town and the smell of rain fills the air, you shudder inwardly and outwardly. You hope never again to see, hear of, or recall a woman emptying a bowl into a well.

31. Into The Woods

You stand before a massacre of a dozen men--lumberjacks by trade, it would seem. Half have been flayed and their skins are wrapped about the bases of young tree trunks. The other half of the men appear to have been chopped into fist-sized pieces and liberally sprinkled about the bases of four trees in particular. Divots and evidence of blood pools are concentrated amongst damaged tents, bedrolls, and ground cloths; however, the blood seems to have been gathered and splashed on the four trees some distance away, perhaps ritualistically.

It is noted that bloody axes are glued or otherwise bound somehow in the upper branches of the four gilded trees. Recovering those tools could yield valuable clues to whodunnit. None of the able-bodied, young men seem willing to climb to those risky heights to look any deeper into this disconcerting, morbid affair.

30. Sweet Dreams

While popping a squat to relieve yourself, you think about the events of the day, tongue some annoying sores that sprung up on the inside of your cheeks, and--most importantly--keep your eyes and ears keen lest a beast (or, more likely, a perverted joker among your companions) creep up on you.

The numerous, delicate ulcers in your mouth are annoyingly painful. You force yourself to still your tongue, though it writhes against the nearest teeth as its set boundaries; it's anxious to violate your rules when the urge becomes too powerful. This helps take your mind off the difficult time you're having defecating. You almost inaudibly grunt as you bear down, but are taken aback when you hear light clinking sounds underneath your posterior.

With some apprehension, you closely inspect your stool, seeing what appears to be several tiny, metallic belts crafted for beings that could be hardly larger than your longest finger. You poke about with a stick and notice tiny, pointy spear-twigs also in your scat. Several of them. Most broken. Some undigested lumps look like tiny, mud-caked footwear, but you're probably just imaging it now.

As you look about uncomfortably, brow crinkled with confusion, you recall the briefest bit of your dream last night. All you can remember is the word "Brownies" and the feeling that you had dreamed of eating copious amounts of some sweet delicacy.

As you roll a twig-spear between your fingers (and a leaf, of course!) you reason that sleep-chewing while you dreamt is the best explanation for your numerous mouth sores.

28. Sleep Tight

You float happily amongst dreams of boisterous taverns, large bonfires, foamy-ale stupors, and well-received romantic advances. As you bat your eyes and turn away from the pre-dawn glow, your first coherent thoughts are that you are surprisingly warm despite the dewy, chilly morning you would have expected.

Your arm momentarily glides beyond its snug position amongst the bedroll and touches something cozily warm, but surprisingly ... wet? You crawl forward, gathering your elbows underneath your shoulders and blinking repeatedly, you coax your eyes to focus this brisk, early morning.

Unaware that you had made a noise, you find yourself responding to your companions as they seem to be alarmedly talking you down. Thick, viscous blood stretches between your fingers, but you barely register these facts ... your mind is busy dealing with the ridge of thick molars jutting from pink viscera wrapped about your torso, a tongue lolling about lazily, a horrified eye looking skyward by your hip ...

When all is said and done (that is, after everyone's screams of surprise and disjointed shake-off dances of unexpected, icky violation have ended), you comprehend that everyone in your party had their bedrolls wrapped in a cow turned inside-out ... while ... they ... slept! Even the jerk who was supposed to be on watch was wrapped in one when he apparently dozed off against the log in front of the campfire.

The most coldly logical and unafraid comrade observes that no tears or cuts exist in the once-cows. These are probably the same ones you passed many miles back yesterday, but what could have transported and so altered these beasts, you'd prefer not to imagine ...

26. The Battered Door

As you search the darkened chambers and lonely hallways of this decaying structure, you find a door that seems as though it ought not belong--timbers reinforced with iron bands and thick nails throughout. Despite its heaviness, the door has been smashed outward, though the layers of iron sheets hold it together and prevent visualization of the room behind. It is locked, but can be forced (especially in its state of disrepair).

The door gives way, slowed by the corpse of a man-sized being whom you sweep behind the door as you enter. The walls of the room differ in décor and composition, as does the ceiling height and architectural scheme. A shift in the airflow brings the smell of decay, dust, and old mold toward you.

The scene before you is a gruesome one. A minstrel, half a dozen servants (in foreign garb), and what appear to be two dignitaries are strewn about the table, savagely slain. Many bodies are piled at the farthest end of the table, which is broken and lays atop a few bodies, dishes scattered loosely. A battle axe is wedged ominously in the wall nearby. Aside from lethal axe-strokes on the majority of the deceased, all have had their hands severed.

When your attention is turned to the husk behind the door, you notice several severed hands clutching the tunic, tangled in handfuls of red beard, and crushing the throat of this man. Closer inspection reveals fingers, bone fragments, and a hand with some broken bones hanging out of the man's mouth like a crab crushed clumsily by a poorly fitted door. Broken tooth fragments roll loose in his mouth, as does a signet ring still on the bone. This man's hands, too, are missing, but the shriveled wrists reveal no wounds ... almost as if they were cauterized. His large, muscular build supports that it may have been he who kicked the door *outward*. Under the door handle, a hand hangs limply from a finger thrust through the ring of a key in the battered door's lock.

When you leave the room and pull the door shut, the door falls from the wall and shatters, leaving behind what appears to be shards of stained-glass a similar color to the door's timber. No room exists beyond where the battered door stood. As your friends puzzle over this occurrence and attune themselves to the environment they delved into initially (so different from the room behind the door), the keener of you hears claws scratching stone emanating from who-knows-where. Rats, you hope.

25. Silent Inn

Thick mists have slowed your progress on the road and you are doomed to reach your destination shortly after dawn ... after which, of course, you'll be expected to entertain questions, run down folks who know what's what, and try to avoid being used as pawns in local politics. As you consider the likely fines for someone bloodying a local in their sleep-deprivation, you happen upon an unexpected Inn on the edge of the road.

The Innkeeper is a woman who is quiet and serene, offering you an unbelievably low price for the night; however, there is no food to be made this late in the evening. Mounts are taken away and tied up in a shoddy stable, each person is taken to a room, and the daughters--who look like less weathered images of their mother--take you to your rooms without a word. Glimpses of the Innkeeper's husband are caught while getting settled; a greasy, unkempt man of thin, yet hunched, build eyes you suspiciously while sucking meat off the bones of his supper and keeping a hesitant, tacit distance. The wife sees to everything with humility and reserve, commenting how "Few people visit these days."

In the morning, each person finds themselves to have slept sealed in a mausoleum (An escape must be managed from each, but gear brought in is accessible). Mounts are found with their reins tied to headstones in the shape of holy symbols. It is there that the party will notice the statues, which clearly had the wife and daughters as their subjects. They, too, will also notice a freshly disturbed grave with its recently interred occupant half out. This individual was half-eaten, and teeth marks on his leg bones are evident to those who more than glance. Your destination, thought hours away, is just around the bend. You slept in its cemetery, yet somehow failed to notice a 'ghoul problem,' which everyone is on about.

24. Put Away ... Things

You bolt awake in the middle of the night--your sentry has given hue and cry. As you jump up and prepare for imminent melee, your companion relates that you've been robbed. The culprits were not caught in the act, but items from that group of [insert goblinoid here] are gone. Hurriedly, all are roused and the haul is inventoried.

The weapons you took from the fallen enemies appear to be made of sticks and boards. Armors are now scant cloths. Gems are marbles, precious stones are skipping stones, and gold pieces are paint chips and bits of brass. The blood, however, that was on these items remains. Another puzzling detail is that the clothing no longer seems large enough for those you encountered. The "treasure" is essentially a worthless hoarding of shiny bits, pretty cloth, and mock "equipment." No discernable tracks, other than your own, lead to or from your encampment.

(Should the party return to the scene of battle, the remains of their enemies are seen to be children--either from the original race or from their own race. Unlike the slain children, fallen comrades are found to be asleep where they fell or were carried ... or were buried. Critical injuries, it seems, were all in the mind and the wounds suffered were merely subdual damage. The slaughtered children, on the other hand, took the full brunt of your lethality.)

23. Hole In the Ground

The party hastily makes camp after a long day's hike. You drew the lot to dig the sh!thole, among other chores. Your mind drifts off to whether it'll be cold rations or a warm meal tonight while absent-mindedly scooping away the dirt. You observe some friendly chatter as others rush about their tasks, but when you look back down to see if the hole is deep enough, you see the musculature and skeletal remains of a human(oid) head buried in the cold ground.

You jump back, looking at the tool with which you were digging in time to see the face of a party member's wife slide off the instrument and hit the ground with an audible 'fff-whop.' Before you can alert your friends, something pulls the body deeper into the ground--loose dirt filling its trail. The face, when you try to turn it over to confirm you aren't mad, comes apart as though it were disturbed, viscous muck atop a stagnant pool. Two beetles with iridescent patterns eeriely like the eyes of your companion's wife scurry off into the surroundings. You are left to wonder if the faint snaps and pops you hear are the sticks in the campfire ... or bones being crushed below.