Cthulhu Country

An inversion of the what you expect from a Cthulhu tale, Cthulhu Country is Lovecraft reimagined in the Jim Crow Era Deep South.  Rather than coming from the sea, the threats in this mythos come from the unfathomable depths of the coal mine, from the whispers carried along the breeze in the piney woods, from white robed cultists, and strange creatures that call in the night.  You are one of the few, who have stumbled upon these ancient secrets, and must do your best to keep your sanity, while preventing the uncaring darkness from swallowing the world whole.

The Times, They Are A Changin':
It's a time of turmoil, of chaos.  Although the Civil War was fought and lost almost a hundred years prior, the specter of slavery looms large over the Southern United States.  While the Federal Government is becoming less and less willing to allow the South to wallow in its past, there are those that have lived for generations in a certain way, and refuse to acknowledge their new reality.  They shrink back from it, screaming in abject horror as the future is revealed to them.

All the while, deep within the mountains and the woods, there are those who refuse to give up the Old Ways.  While they know that it's only a matter of time before they are uncovered, they know nothing else, so they suck the sizzling fat from their fingertips, pack up their stills and move deeper into the darkness.

They clutch tightly to their Family Bibles and their shotguns and their Old Ways, and woe to the outsider who stumbles upon their clannish encampments.

Cultists: ...but their dead bodies had told their secrets in dreams to the first men, who formed a cult which had never died. This was that cult, and the prisoners said it had always existed and always would exist, hidden in distant wastes and dark places all over the world until the time when the great priest Cthulhu, from his dark house in the mighty city of R'lyeh under the waters, should rise and bring the earth again beneath his sway. Some day he would call, when the stars were ready, and the secret cult would always be waiting to liberate him. ~The Call of Cthulhu

Shub-Niggurath:  One squat, black temple of Tsathoggua was encountered, but it had been turned into a shrine of Shub-Niggurath, the All-Mother and wife of the the Not-to-Be-Named-One. This deity was a kind of sophisticated Astarte, and her worship struck the pious Catholic as supremely obnoxious. ~ The Mound

Deep Ones: They were mostly shiny and slippery... with prodigious bulging eyes that never closed. At the sides of their necks were palpitating gills... They hopped irregularly, sometimes on two legs and sometimes on four. I was somehow glad that they had no more than four limbs. Their croaking, baying voices, clearly used for articulate speech, held all the dark shades of expression which their staring faces lacked.  ~ The Shadow Over Innsmouth

The Crawling Chaos: And under a ghastly moon there gleamed sights I can never describe, sights I can never forget; deserts of corpse-like clay and jungles of ruin and decadence where once stretched the populous plains and villages of my native land...Around the northern pole steamed a morass of noisome growths and miasmal vapours... From the new-flooded lands it flowed again, uncovering death and decay; and from its ancient and immemorial bed it trickled loathsomely, uncovering nighted secrets of the years when Time was young and the gods unborn. ~The Crawling Chaos

Night Gaunts: Shocking and uncouth black things with smooth, oily, whale-like surfaces, unpleasant horns that curved inward toward each other, bat wings whose beating made no sound, ugly prehensile paws, and barbed tails that lashed needlessly and disquietingly.  All they ever did was clutch and fly and tickle; that was the way of night-gaunts. ~Dream Quest of Unknown Kadath

Out of what crypt they crawl, I cannot tell, But every night I see the rubbery things, Black, horned, and slender, with membraneous wings, And tails that bear the bifid barb of hell. ~ The Fungi of Yuggoth





Ghouls: 

It was a colossal and nameless blasphemy with glaring red eyes, and it held in bony claws a thing that had been a man, gnawing at the head as a child nibbles at a stick of candy. Its position was a kind of crouch, and as one looked one felt that at any moment it might drop its present prey and seek a juicier morsel. But damn it all, it wasn’t even the fiendish subject that made it such an immortal fountain-head of all panic—not that, nor the dog face with its pointed ears, bloodshot eyes, flat nose, and drooling lips. It wasn’t the scaly claws nor the mould-caked body nor the half-hooved feet—none of these, though any one of them might well have driven an excitable man to madness. ~ Pickman's Model

Mi-Go: They were pinkish things about five feet long; with crustaceous bodies bearing vast pairs of dorsal fins or membraneous wings and several sets of articulated limbs, and with a sort of convoluted ellipsoid, covered with multitudes of very short antennae, where a head would ordinarily be. ~ The Whisperer in Darkness

Settings:

Coal Mine, Distillery, Trailer Park, Meat Packing Plant, Cabin in the Woods

Source Material: 

Movies:

• Deliverance
• Two Thousand Maniacs
• Winter's Bone
• In the Heat of the Night
• Lawless
• Mississippi Burning

Books:

• North 40
• "Off Season" and "Offspring", by Jack Ketchum

Music:

• The Dillards
• John Prine
• Sons of Perdition
• Merle Haggard
• Those Poor Bastards

Gamma World... Is Here! Hornetpocalypse Edition

In case you haven't heard, Giant Hornets are on the rampage in China!

37 people have been hospitalized and over 1600 attacks have been reported.  As you can see from the pictures to the right, the wounds are pretty horrific.
And the worst part?  They could be headed to your neighborhood next (scary newscaster voice)

If you live in England.

If you live in France?

They could already be in your neighborhood (scary newscaster voice).

Apparently a couple escaped china in a crate of pottery and are slowly taking over France, even as we speak.

How long before they turn their baleful, multifaceted gaze upon America?

Stay tuned to find out!

Source: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2442384/Swarms-deadly-hornets-kill-42-people-injure-1-600-China.html

                                     

Late Kickstarter Roundup, GIF Edition

Because I'm standing on the corner of bored and lazy, I'm going to use a gif to describe the status of each of each of my late Kickstarters, and/or how I feel about them.

Dwimmermount -

Myth and Magic -

Ogre - 

Champions of ZED - 

Appendix N Adventure Toolkits - 

Tales From the Fallen Empire - 

Hydra Dice - Necron

Mike Nystul's Projects

Purge: Sins of Science - 

Martin Wallace's Moongha Invaders - 

The Morrow Project - 

Creature & Encounter RPG Card Decks - 

Alas Vegas - 

Setting: Tayxis

I have a.... complicated relationship with the state I live in.  Understand, I was born in New York, and lived there for the first eighteen years of my life, before traveling the states for a living for seven.  Moving back to New York full time, I resolved that if there was one state I would love to live in, it would be Colorado, and if there was one state that I would be happy never to set foot in again, it would be Texas.

Of course, man makes plans/swears oaths and god laughs, so five years later, I found myself sitting in my boss' office, being told that my job now resided in Texas.

Now, I can't say I hate the place - I met my wife here, I've made good friends here, and there are lots of things to do and enjoy here that I wouldn't have access to living in the bowels of Upstate New York. Texas has been good to me, make no mistake.

But I can't say that I love it here, and while I live here, I don't know that I'll ever really feel at home.  Large portions of this state are the cultural equivalent of an irradiated wasteland; the type that glows at night and kills deer that drink from its streams.  I'm confused by the politics, frightened by the politicians, and befuddled when otherwise normal, rational people reveal that they stockpile weaponry like it's the 1770s.  Oh, and my office has a sign telling people not to bring their guns inside the building.  That sign exists, because if it weren't there, they could.  It's like a gun version of the Do Not Call List - if you don't opt out, you're in.

So basically, coming from New York, it's like I moved to another planet.

The fun thing about Texas is that you can talk to anyone from around the world, and regardless of what language they speak, they all know TEXAS.  Probably 70% know it from the show Dallas, and the other 30% from the sheer force of Texan will, which exports its culture in a forceful sort of cultural osmosis.  Texans love Texas, in a bizarre sort of way that I don't think I'll ever understand, and what's more, they love to talk about Texas.  As a result, you can walk into any bar around the world, say "Texas!" and somebody will yell back, "Big hats belt buckles and gun racks!"

As my wife, proud Texan that she is, would be quick to point out, it's not exactly fair.  Dallas, to a certain extent, and definitely Austin, are not stereotypically Texan cities.  I go days in Dallas without hearing a drawl ("y'all" excepted - that, at least, is universal), and for it's, for the most part, a thriving metropolis.

But, the presence of so many stereotypes, elevated to legendary status world wide, begs for stories to be told in their shadows.  Garth Ennis gets this - it's one of his "things" - the man loves him some Texas.  Preacher mythologized Texas to a degree I haven't seen elsewhere, and it was glorious.

So, to make a long story short, I've started writing up some things.  I'm calling the setting Tayxis, a gonzo version of Texas, turned up to 11.

In Tayxis, Big Oil Men own everything, and Luchadores wage a shadow war to free the oppressed.  Blonde
Bombshells cozy up to Gun Nuts for protection from the G-Men.  High Plains Drifters blow into town and square off against Cartel Assassins at high noon.  Preachers scream on street corners, warning that the Devil is buried out in Palo Duro Canyon, and he's stirrin' brother, he's a stirrin'!  Meanwhile, Antipostles vomit down the airwaves and screech from the pulpits of megachurches.  They rake in the cash, paving the way for their master to come again, and only Santeria priestesses bar their way.  Down on their luck, drunken Country Music Singers wander the highways and byways, gee-tar strapped to their back, putting the spirits of the dead to rest with a song.

There are Strip Malls, where you can buy any kind of flesh you could ever need, live or dead - cow, chicken, lamb or human.  There are trailer parks full of ninjas, and subdivisions full of the Walking Dead. Otherworldly chimera gather up tumbleweed into golems that terrorize the countryside, and only the shamen from the Rez can stop them.  And from deep beneath the Alamo, the Immortal 32 haved lived up to their name.  The streets of San Antone run red with blood, as they emerge each night to fight the Battle over and over again, cutting down any Mexican "invaders" they come across.

Don't worry, though, the Pigs are out in force, keeping things in check with their badge and a gun, but if they're the ones you're scared of, as Sons of Liberty have had enough of Big Government taking away their freedoms, and they're bringing the fight to the streets.

What is Tayxis?  Tayxis is six feet of crazy in a five foot glass.  It's a ten gallon hat on a midget.  It's God, Guns, and Guts.  It's the Wild West and the Deep South with a double bourbon chaser.  It's sharp dressed men and rough boys.  It's taxmen, texas floods and blue eyes cryin' in the rain.

Oh, and it's got the best darn Barbecue you'll ever eat.

Welcome to Tayxis.  Ya'll come back now, y'hear?

The Effects of Nuclear Weapons

Wandering through Half Price Books yesterday, I happened to spot this book sitting on a cart.  It's plain cover, sitting amongst the garish colors of its neighbors, caught my eye, and I picked it up.

Commissioned by the Department of Defense, these books were first published in 1951, but were updated several times since, expanding in size as our knowledge grew.  Originally only 99 pages, by the time the 1993 revision came out, it weighed in at over 5500 pages across 27 volumes.  I picked up the 1966 edition, which was the last edition compact enough to be held in a single volume.

Much of the information presented within is quite obviously not designed for the layman, while some is so stark it could be understood by almost anyone.

If you're interested, a later version has been scanned and is available online here.

Of particular interest, however, was what I found at the back of the book.  Tucked into a paper envelope glued to the inside back cover was what is billed as a "Nuclear Bomb Effects Computer".

At the time this was published, you could send the US Government $1 and they would mail you one of these puppies if you weren't lucky enough to get your hands on this book.  Basically,  by specifying the weapon yield (kT or MT), the crater depth and radius can be determined. By also specifying the range, the maximum overpressure (PSI), the maximum wind speed (MPH), the estimated dose (rem) and the thermal radiation (cal/cm2) can be determined. The weapon yield can be determined from the radius of the fireball, or vice versa.
Of course, when I saw it, the first thing I thought was that it was a really advanced version of this bad boy:

Seeing as how it's government issue, and as such copyright free, I'm surprised Twilight 2000 didn't slip one of these in their box sets - as crunchy as it was, it would have fit right in, and I doubt anyone would have batted an eyelash.

In the Future We Will All Be Anime

Well, according to a scientist and an artist, that is.

And, y'know... it's Forbes.  So.

Lamm says this is “one possible timeline,” where, thanks to zygotic genome engineering technology, our future selves would have the ability to control human biology and human evolution in much the same way we control electrons today.

Lamm speaks of “wresting control” of the human form from natural evolution and bending human biology to suit our needs.  The illustrations were inspired by conversations with Dr. Alan Kwan, who holds a PhD in computational genomics from Washington University.

Kwan based his predictions on what living environments might look like in the future, climate and technological advancements. One of the big changes will be a larger forehead, Kwan predicts – a feature that has already expanding since the 14th and 16th centuries. Scientists writing in the British Dental Journal have suggested that skull-measurement comparisons from that time show modern-day people have less prominent facial features but higher foreheads, and Kwan expects the human head to trend larger to accommodate a larger brain.

Kwan says that 60,000 years from now, our ability to control the human genome will also make the effect of evolution on our facial features moot. As genetic engineering becomes the norm, “the fate of the human face will be increasingly determined by human tastes,” he says in a research document. Eyes will meanwhile get larger, as attempts to colonize Earth’s solar system and beyond see people living in the dimmer environments of colonies further away from the Sun than Earth. Similarly, skin will become more pigmented to lesson the damage from harmful UV radiation outside of the Earth’s protective ozone. Kwan expects people to have thicker eyelids and a more pronounced superciliary arch (the smooth, frontal bone of the skull under the brow), to deal with the effects of low gravity.

The remaining 40,000 years, or 100,000 years from now, Kwan believes the human face will reflect “total mastery over human morphological genetics. This human face will be heavily biased towards features that humans find fundamentally appealing: strong, regal lines, straight nose, intense eyes, and placement of facial features that adhere to the golden ratio and left/right perfect symmetry,” he says.

Read the rest here

Gamma World... Is Here! Brazilian Treehopper Edition

What the hell is this thing?

This can't be real, I think, I mean, it's a drawing, so surely someone made this up, right?

Well here are photos!  Not saying that they couldn't be 'shopped, but it provides a little certainty anyways. The best part about these things/  Scientists have no idea what those balls are, or what they're for.

Read about them here and here.  It's also worth going to the Italian Wikipedia page, as for some reason, they have different pictures associated with them.  

And you know what, if they don't exist - they should....


IN GAMMA WORLD.

Real Life Adventurers: Bill Tilman

Taken from his wikipedia page:

Major Harold William "Bill" Tilman, CBE, DSO, MC and Bar (14 February 1898–1977) was an English mountaineer and explorer, renowned for his Himalayan climbs and sailing voyages.

Early years and Africa

Tilman was born on 14 February 1898 in Wallasey in Cheshire, the son of a well-to-do sugar merchant John Hinkes Tilman and his wife Adeline Schwabe (née Rees). He was educated at Berkhamsted Boys school. At the age of 18, Tilman was commissioned into the Royal Field Artillery and fought in the First World War, including the Battle of the Somme, and was twice awarded the Military Cross for bravery. His climbing career, however, began with his acquaintance with Eric Shipton in Kenya, East Africa, where they were both coffee growers. Beginning with their joint traverse of Mount Kenya in 1929 and their ascents of Kilimanjaro and the fabled "Mountains of the Moon" Ruwenzori, Shipton and Tilman formed one of the most famed partnerships in mountaineering history. When it came time to leave Africa, Tilman was not content with merely flying home but rode a bicycle across the continent to the West Coast where he embarked for England.

World War II

He later volunteered for service in the Second World War, seeing action in North Africa, and on the beaches at Dunkirk. He then was dropped by parachute behind enemy lines to fight with Albanian and Italian partisans, was awarded the Distinguished Service Order for his efforts, and the keys to the city of Belluno which he helped save from occupation and destruction.

Mount Everest & Nanda Devi

Tilman was involved in two of the 1930s Mount Everest expeditions - participating in the 1935 Reconnaissance Expedition, and reaching 27,200 feet without oxygen as the expedition leader in 1938. He penetrated the Nanda Devi sanctuary with Eric Shipton in 1934, and in 1936 he went on to lead an Anglo-American expedition to Nanda Devi. With the support of a team which included Peter Lloyd and H. Adams Carter, Tilman and Noel Odell succeeded in making the first ascent of the 7,816 metres (25,643 ft) mountain, which remained the highest summit climbed by man until 1950. Tilman later described their arrival on the summit:

Odell had brought a thermometer, and no doubt sighed for the hypsometer. From it we found that the air temperature was 20 °F (−7 °C) but in the absence of the wind we could bask gratefully in the friendly rays of our late enemy the sun. It was difficult to realise that we were actually standing on top of the same peak which we had viewed two months ago from Ranikhet, and which had then appeared incredibly remote and inaccessible, and it gave us a curious feeling of exaltation to know that we were above every peak within a hundred miles on either hand. Dhaulagiri, 1,000ft higher, and 200 miles away in Nepal, was our nearest rival. I believe we so far forgot ourselves as to shake hands on it.

In 1939, Tilman was the first man to attempt climbing in the remote and unexplored Assam Himalaya, exploring the Southern approaches of Gori Chen, 6538 metres, before his team succumbed to malaria. In 1947 he attempted Rakaposhi, then made his way to Kashgar to join up with Eric Shipton in a lightweight attempt on Muztagh Ata, 7546 metres, which nearly succeeded. On his way back to India, he detoured through Afghanistan's Wakhan Corridor to see the source of the river Oxus. During his extensive exploration of the areas of Langtang, Ganesh and Manang in Nepal in 1949, Tilman was the first to ascend Paldor, 5896 metres, and found the pass named after him beyond Gangchempo.

Sailing

Following his military career behind enemy lines in the Second World War, Tilman took up deep sea sailing. Sailing in deep seas on the Bristol Channel pilot cutter Mischief, which he purchased in 1954, and subsequently on his other pilot cutters Sea Breeze and Baroque, Tilman voyaged to Arctic and Antarctic waters in search of new and uncharted mountains to climb. On his last voyage in 1977, in his eightieth year, Tilman was invited to ship as crew in En Avant with mountaineers sailing to the South Atlantic to climb Smith Island. The expedition was led, and the boat skippered, by the youthful Simon Richardson. He and his crew aboard the old, converted steel tug made it successfully and without incident to Rio de Janeiro. Thereafter, en route to the Falkland Islands, they disappeared without trace - it was presumed the ship had foundered with all hands.

Epic Metal in the Land of Fire and Ice

Another post from the road.  My wife and I continue our honeymoon and, having left Arizona behind, are now slowly making our way back to Texas.  We started off yesterday morning in Gallup, and I'm writing this from a hotel in Santa Fe.  We're hunkered down here for Thanksgiving, and plan to head out again on Friday morning.

On our way out to Arizona this past Saturday, we passed by several signs along the side of the highway for something called, "The Land of Fire and Ice".  Looking into it, we found that there was an exploded Volcano sitting right next to a cave full of ice that never rises above 31 degrees, no matter the temperature above.

Well, "Hell Yeah!", we said, and on our way back, we veered off of the highway to see this elemental badassery.  Right off the bat, we were struck by how desolate the location was.  It was twenty miles, through a national park, just to get to the sign telling us to turn off the road.  From there it was another couple of miles along a dirt road, and suddenly there it was - the Trading Post.  $22 later, and we were on our way.  There were trails running to either side of the building, the one to the right leading to the Bandera Volcano, the one to the left to the Ice Cave.

The Trail Guide recommended we take the Volcanic path first.  It's longer and steeper, and the exertion would warm us up, and then we could head to the Ice Cave to cool down.  Taking the advice, we headed up the trail to the Volcano.  The first thing we noticed was huge amount of lichen, covering almost all of the lava rock surfaces.  According to the pamphlet we received, the formation of this primitive life is the first step towards breaking down the lava rocks, a process which occurs over a ridiculously long period of time.

As we ventured forth, we started noticing all these ridiculously twisted and evil looking trees.  Apparently, it's hard for trees to put down roots in the cooled lava.  It can do so, but it ends up causing the trees to look wicked.

Caves and inlet dotted either side of the trail, dark and mysterious.  Some sat right by the trail, inviting investigation, while others crouched behind the treeline.  Who knows where they lead?  They were all the result of lava tubes cooling in different shapes

The lava fields became denser and denser, to the point where even if we wanted to leave the trail, it would have been difficult, if not impossible, to traverse the landscape.

Finally we reached the site of the ancient violence, an inverted cone all that remained of the site where, 10,000 years ago, the earth itself swelled and rose up, before bursting like an infected boil, spewing liquid fire across the land.

We headed back down the mountainside, past the Trading Post and out towards the Ice Cave.  The trail was easier, but more thickly wooded, and the cries of birds surrounded us as we headed deep into the trees.

Along the way, there were actual ruins to be seen off to the side of the path, with rocks arranged in specific patterns, as though indicative of ancient, perhaps blasphemous rites performed long ago, and walls, arranged to keep something, or some things, out.  

Snow began to dot the landscape as we descended, with patches appearing hither and yon, and small entrances to caves appearing along the path.  This was but a preview of what was to come.

Finally, we came upon the entrance to the cave, the rocks hanging over the entrance menacingly.  As we descended, the rocks took on a greenish hue, as more and more moss was attracted to the moisture in the cave below.

Finally, we reached the base of the cave, where we were confronted by the ice itself.  It's estimated that the first bit of ice was created down here almost 2,000 years ago, by uncertain means.  Since then, it has become a self-perpetuating system, with the existing ice keeping the temperature low enough that rainwater that runs into the cave is turned to ice, and so on.  The moss and lichen in the area has given the ice its signature greenish hue.  

The back of the cave was inaccessible, but hinted at dark mysteries hidden in its unseen depths.

At this point, we headed back down the trail, picked up a few post cards at the Trading Post, and jumped back into the truck.  As we started back towards the highway, we took in the desert around us, the mountains looming in the distance, the wind howling across the vast expanse, and, as if on cue, the most epic song on one of the most epic albums of all time made its way to the top of our playlist, To Wander the Void, by While Heaven Wept.  Between this song, and the sights I'd seen, things began to percolate in my brain.

The album has art by John Martin for its cover, so you know it's gonna be awesome, but check out the lyrics:

A million miles from everything the emptiness is everywhere

The lone and level sands stretch as far as I can see

Nothing but the hollowed eyes of skulls and ancient bones despair

Remains of those who wandered this wasteland vast before me

Fatigue and famine render every step a tribulation

Beneath the blistering sun sabulous winds just a mockery

Lost within an infinity of dust and desolation

The vultures circling overhead await my lonely expiry

Maintaining this course to nowhere I have traveled so far

Far beyond the valley's carnage and death's silent repose

Compelled to journey onward by the calling of the morning star

Haunted by visions and voices, memories or madness providence only knows

I can't remember when or how I'd first lost my way

Thirsting even a tear of solace knowing naught will ever come

Siren celestial have mercy on me allow my flesh into dust decay

And carry my soul far beyond this damned and forsaken kingdom

I fell to my knees as the last trace of strength slowly faded away

With stone in throat I knew I'd never reach the hallowed and promised land

I conceded my carcass a vulture's feast, my soul eternal umbrae

Once a king, now nameless, forgotten, swallowed by the seas of sand

Yeah, it was an epic freakin' detour.