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Ah, Strange Aeons. Of all the adventure paths I've run, that was my favorite. And, not coincidentally, the one that did the most lasting psychological trauma to my players. Pfft. Weenies still eye-twitch at the words "lovecraftian horror".
Based on how my regulars eye-twitch and trauma-scream at the mere mention of things like "tooth fairies," "yellow fog," or the shout 'Teke-li-li!', I'd guess therapy must not be for everyone.
Once again, my work here is done.
I don't how it is in your areas, but here the aisles are maybe 10 feet apart so it would not only crush the queue but the shelves around as well.OMG I want one of these for the grocery store lines... Worth it. Sacrifices must be made.
You say that like it's something to be ashamed of. I've been trying to cut back.
That which does not kill a thread, only makes it stronger.When necromanting a thread, one should be ware that the thread does not necromant oneself. Do not call up any Thread that ye cannot also put down.
Playing Call of Cthulhu: INVESTIGATOR: I'm going to go to the NY Public Library to research that strange symbol we found carved into the corpse's forehead. *rolls a fumble* ME: Ooo... not good. Instead of a volume on occultic symbols you find... the novelization of Thor: Love & Thunder. Roll a Sanity Check.
I'm sure that can't be true. And people certainly shouldn't try to figure it out, especially not by chanting their decryption aloud near some Essential Saltes...
In maybe unrelated news, the worst answer you can receive to "When was the last time you checked the filter in the bottom of the dishwasher?" is "There's a filter in the dishwasher?" Euh! There's some places even *I* won't sleep dreaming...
*dreams*
I'd say "good luck" but, well, it's cosmic horror... so...
File this under Things Man Was Not Meant to Know, please...
Would you accept an Elder Puppet?
Has anyone seen my essential Saltes?
I said they scream. Didn’t say I didn’t like it…
I dunno. Mortals are pretty much just Happy Meals that scream.
“I do not recall distinctly when it began, but it was months ago. The general tension was horrible. To a season of political and social upheaval was added a strange and brooding apprehension of hideous physical danger; a danger widespread and all-embracing, such a danger as may be imagined only in the most terrible phantasms of the night. I recall that the people went about with pale and worried faces, and whispered warnings and prophecies which no one dared consciously repeat or acknowledge to himself that he had heard. A sense of monstrous guilt was upon the land, and out of the abysses between the stars swept chill currents that made men shiver in dark and lonely places. There was a daemoniac alteration in the sequence of the seasons—the autumn heat lingered fearsomely, and everyone felt that the world and perhaps the universe had passed from the control of known gods or forces to that of gods or forces which were unknown…” -Nyarlathotep, H.P. Lovecraft
Pfft. Tourists.
Was it a Ftaghn Explorer?
Welp, I know what I'm doing the rest of the night... *lays awake till 2:00 staring into abyss and thinking of lovecraftian car puns*
Yes... yes...
Oi! Language!
Old McDonald had a shoggoth
Get off my lawn!!!
*eldritch dutch ovens*
*snores quietly*
Ayup.
Welp, had the first fatality of my Strange Aeons campaign last night. Fortunately, it was only a PC's cohort. Still, they'd grown to love the stuffy, pedantic cleric of Nethys who had followed them through so many dark adventures, always ready with a healing spell or to correct someone's pronunciation... Na Alu, you will be missed. Turns out, two proto-shoggoths was one too many for your delicate all-to-human flesh... *dances happy prospector dance, but with, like, tentacles*
Sumab~%*~ shot me in the face.
It's...complicated. And uses Geometry, the worst mathematics class I ever took. Tell me about it... you ever try to bisect a squamous angle using only tentacles and an Escher-edge? *mind quietly blows*
Everyone in Briarstone. Except Winter Klaczka and four amnesiac former employees of Count Hasterton Lowls IV. The Tatterman dropped half the party, stable but dreaming fevered dreams and surely dying soon. The remaining PCs couldn't beat his regeneration. Aided by Winter, they rolled their unconscious companions from the open second-story wall, whence late the oneirogens had spewed their yellow fog. The fall was rough, but not enough to kill the unconscious characters. The bhole stirred again, its nightmares flaring as Hastur's dream-creature stepped into the waking world. As the Tatterman ripped the flesh from what remained of the Apostles in Orpiment, the earth heaved. The fragile remaining walls of Briarstone toppled. Unseen by the handful of survivors, the ceiling of the chapel dropped, smashing the shrine of Desna. The Dimension of Dreams forced its way into Golarion. Screams and gibbers and mad visions filled the sky. Briarstone Asylum collapsed on itself. The force of the blast hurled the amnesiacs and Winter to the ground. When their eyes cleared of dust and fog, the century-old complex was gone. In its place, an arid waste of yellow sand. Fragments of alien architecture thrust up through the drifting dunes. The perpetual rain and chill of Ustalav refused to touch the eldritch blight at the island's heart. Five survivors made their way to a rowboat, to carry the mad tale to Thrushmoor...
Heh. One the players in my Strange Aeons campaign just emailed to say he'd drifted off for an afternoon nap and had a dream about Ustalav... Muhahahaha! I helpfully told him that if his character died in the dream, he dies in real life.
Wooo! My weeknight group just finished Emerald Spire. So I'm getting back into the GM seat to run Strange Aeons. Lovecraftian amnesia horror! Woooooo!
Fhtagn.
That which is not living
If the Eldest get to come in, you have to take the Mythos gods too! It’s only ftaghn!
Back street's back... That which is not living can never really die, something something something, their dance moves are really fly.
I remember finding the absolutely hilarious results of training a bot on Lovecraft and telling it to complete sentences form a cookbook. Can't remember where, though. Ah... the Necronomnomnom...
*waits dreaming*
*de-inks*
If you get a large rumbling box labeled FREE CALAMARI, just don't even open it.
ToMAYto, tenTAHcles.
This is one of those stories that ends with someone standing on an iceberg, watching tentacles rip apart a burning ship as it sinks into the arctic waters, isn't it? Keep your parka close.
*Eats Yog-Sothoth*
That which is not living, can never truly die,
A better question would be "Why doesn't everyone start at level one?"Or "why do people keep making posts asking incredulously why other people have different gaming styles?" There are some things Man Was Not Meant To Know... someday we will learn why people are incredulous when confronted with other people's subjective preferences for leisure time activity... and we will go mad, and flee to the safety of a new dark age... Between you and me, I can't wait. |
