The Dismal Room There is a stain within a certain room within that decaying house upon the hill, that animals and even monsters dare not venture near. It appears seemingly as a blotch of paint; carelessly dabbed upon the hard wooden floors, themselves rotting with neglect and age.
No one lingers for long within that room; all who hastily withdraw speak of an oppressive presence, its malign glare settling upon one's soul and laying it bare like so much useless paper.
All who have been in the room dream of rotting teeth and putrid flesh replacing the moon; that drips and shudders onto the firmament. This persists for two weeks, after which their dreams return to normal.
Sanguineum, Ex Sanguinius The City does not shy away from violence. It permeates and underlies every action and reaction. From extortion and muggings to the cruelty and barbarity of the so-called Justice Courts, violence is as much the existential reality of the City as its soul.
It was unsurprising then, when the bodies started turning up. It was the children who discovered them, floating in sewers or washed up along the harbor, rotting and drowned in a vile stench. Bloated from prolonged immersion within the Salty Drink.
To a place as violent as the City, this was nothing if not unusual; murders happened every day and accidents were always poised for the unwary and superstitious alike.
What drew the eye to these unfortunates was not so much the manner of their deaths or condition of their bodies (their state of decay notwithstanding), it was the curious nature of the marks left upon their bruised throats. To all perception and knowledgeable eye, it was almost as if the noose of a rope was left permanently imprinted upon the skin, yet the positioning of the marks suggested the physical act of strangulation.
What then, what act, could leave such massive trauma upon the body?
As ever, darker legends prevail. It is rumored that such acts, such gross violations are the means to express the unsanctionable - exsanguination to feed a perverse desire for blood. Detractors have dismissed this claim of course, the act of strangulation is so far removed from the systematic act of exsanguination that any comparison is laughable if not asinine.
These ones present an altogether different take, that the act is the means to express penance. That the method is the means to expel sin from the body. That all targeted were at least criminals - oxygen thieves.
Perhaps there is an even more horrific explanation; that all the suggestions and conjectures so put forward are correct...to a point. In the lunatic ravings of asylum inmates and the irrevocably insane can be found a singular clarity that cuts through all deceptions.
These ones offer a single theory. The act is the means to draw blood, but it is not for the base purpose of expelling sin, it is the means to derive nourishment and the means to perpetuate hate. These ones suggest that all murdered were not criminals, but members of faith. That the killer in question harbors an irrational and psychotic need to murder, having been grievously wronged in the past. That all killed were clerics. The imprint of the noose to is both to signify the irony and ignominy of their deaths.
The darkest myths claim that was taken was not blood, but something all together more precious, the soul.
Jungle of Broken Dreams Legends are replete with stories of buried treasure, sunken loot, and lost cities filled to overflowing with precious gems and gold.
Across the ages, many have dared to brave treacherous terrain, depraved foes, and wild weather, to reach otherwise viciously inhospitable locales so that their legends may soar upon currents of reputation while turning a mean profit.
Their stories are littered with inglorious failures and untimely deaths; the strands of fate cluttered with spent twine. What then could be so enticing to send otherwise competent mortals to such ignominious fates? What could so change the nature of a man?
From antiquity, tales have whispered of a hidden island, a pristine eden upon which nature is sanctified and preserved. To reach it means braving the perilous Black Maelstrom, so named due to lashing winds and crashing waves so brutal that the very color of the seas turns back.
Within this seeming tranquility lies another secret, a lost city, a remnant of a lost civilisation, perhaps a precursor to the myriad mortal races. It is said within this city lies treasure that shines as if a miniature sun settled from the firmament upon the earth.
Rumors speak of its streets as a glowing stream, a literal river of gold; of buildings encased in solid platinum, its affectation accentuated with precious gems. That even one theft of the multitudinous wealth could set up an adventurer for life, to even the Great Beyond.
However, as always, there are darker myths. The city is always abandoned; a constant consistency that permeates all tellings. The reasons behind this are unknown; creating a darkened shadow where the illumination of knowledge dares not cast its light.
For these shadows conceal horrific truths. That on the night of a full moon, everything in the city is stained with the blood of a hundred thousand sacrifices. That everything within the city glares so intently, perhaps not so much due to the inherent iridescence of gold or platinum but to the blood that covers all things.
Adventurers 'ware when exploring this cursed city.
Woeful Moon Each night for the past two weeks, the moon looks as if something has taken a bite out of it; each day, the total area consumed gets progressively bigger. To the point that the moon will be entirely devoured come the full month.
Animals are becoming increasingly agitated, attacking strangers, passerbys and any owners. Each night, the still silence is punctuated by a terrifying, piercing scream.
Blood begins to drip from trees and teeth flower in plants. Animals begin to ram themselves bodily against trees, causing their forms to explode.
Once the moon is entirely devoured, the cycle resets to the time before any of this happened; no one or thing has any memory of this event ever occurring.