Welcome back, agents

It’s good to reach out again. We hope you and your team are safe. Usually things start getting hairy on day three in the fog. Depends on your luck, really.

We hope this weekend has been filled with adventure and terror. You can pick up your copy through retail now. We are also participating in the Halloween promotion at DriveThruRPG for our digital products. This discount is available for the following items.

• Any digital copies of Eldritch Century: Chronicles of the Wounded Earth
• The novel The Depths and anthology Tales from the Fog
• The graphic novel The Azure Owl
• Our Dossiers starter set, with base rules, sample characters and three adventures to get you hooked into our world
• The Darkest Hour, our first ever full-length adventure

You can get them here

We are also giving away three amazing packages that include both Eldritch Century: Chronicles of the Wounded Earth books, the novel The Depths, anthology Tales from the Fog,, graphic novel Azure Owl and 83 of our 3D printable models. The whole kit is worth around 90 USD and all you have to do is act quick and click here.

The miasma has brought forward all forms of horrors. Even outside its milky boundaries, it seems to have woken something up. This “something” means different things to different people. From vivid, constant nightmares to strange diseases. People everywhere have heard the breathing and the eerie voices suggesting nothingness in the middle of the day. Unlike intrusive thoughts, these are actual, otherworldly, incorporeal voices that communicate in a language new to all linguists.

And yet, people understand them.

They follow no pattern. One person may hear it only once and never even register it, while another dies of starvation or heavy blunt trauma to the head from non-stop exposure. And yet, the second you notice, no music or loud noises can ever mask it. Perhaps when that Providence writer called it the Wounded Earth, he didn’t mean the lost continent, but everything else.

The fog’s presence has also altered the way the peoples of the Wounded Earth celebrate certain traditions. End of year holidays have become a somber effort for everyone involved. Even those who lead ceremonies where applicable do so with their running shoes on, often literally. One exception has called the attention of sociologists everywhere: Halowe’en, and to an extent, any celebration during the cross-quarter night between the autumn equinox and the winter solstice.

A vast majority of people have ceased or greatly transformed their celebrations. Samhein, for instance, continues around the globe, albeit far more hidden than before the fog. Halloween in the Atlantean Alliance has evolved to a week-long celebration, which now includes Dia de Muertos as part of the festival. Disguises, contests, concerts, races, charreadas, everything to celebrate those who left us. To party harder is to truly show respect. Contrastingly to what people believe, the fear of the fog has made the week, the safest of the year. People take the threat of the miasma seriously, and celebrities who pull thrilling stunts do so with great, exhaustive preparation and very little intent to “disrespect the dead, just in case it’s bad for business.”

The Renascent Hegemony celebrates the “Día de la transformación” (Day of transformation) or “transformação” in the portugese speaking territories. On this day, children disguise themselves as what they want to be when they grow up and take their first mutagens. This celebration also applauds those who have not chosen to mutate. Rather than urging them on, they use the constant partying, singing and dancing to remind them that the hegemony will wait for them as long as they need.

Among the many mergers that occured when the Sino-Siberian Mandate came together, a notable example of Chinese tradition remains. The Yue Lan, or Festival of the Hungry Ghost, still takes place throughout China and certain areas of Eastern Russia. The Mandate accommodates any who participate, but that’s about it. It remains a private event among families.

Unlike everyone else, the Oceanic Community simply doesn’t have a celebration for these dates, nor for the spirit of the many festivities celebrated around the globe. The Community has a deeply entrenched relationship with death and the deceased. Far from being cynics, the Oceanics understand that there is a balance in nature and that the only thing holding it together is death. They see it every day and, while still tragic, they know that all who die in some way remain, even if that is decomposing meat at the bottom of the ocean and the memories in those they cherished. Additionally, every crew has its own traditions. These traditions use no monsters, though. They see enough of them almost every day, thank you very much.

By far the biggest celebration takes place in the Empire of the Eclipse; and for good reason. It’s nothing like Halloween everywhere else, but it does follow the same astronomical principles. During the cross-quarter, families, mashin practitioners, communities, all come together to literally commune with the spirits they work with every day. This is a time for people to personally learn about their peers without using a middle party like the mashin.

Have you tried your copy yet? Have you led your players into the hellscape that remains of the Lost Continent? Tell us your stories. You can share them with us on most social media or in our Discord server.

Miasma Day: A retrospective. Part 3

On the morning of May 22, 1980, Edouard Martin woke up. He stood and crossed the Saint Michael Home for the Elderly to find Doctors Oscar Juarez, Bes Chaths Moswen, and Wong Sezja sharing notes. The administration decided that nobody saw Monsieur Edouard until he reached the scientists, at which point everyone became aware of what was going on. The security camera tape shows Monsieur Edouard walking through the hallways, all populated to varying degrees. It also shows how nobody who was there when Monsieur Edouard passed paid any attention to the patient. He made no impression.

As Monsieur Edouard delivered his testimonial, the miasmic trail we noticed on our arrival continued to bring him in and out of focus.

“It started breathing on that day, you know? Ma Mirelle saw it and she ran as fast as she could from it. She arrived at the house where we lived and she was winded. She could not tell me what she saw, but I have only ever seen the frozen panic on her face on my own in the mirror ever since.

“I see it too, you know? She passed it on to me somehow. In the back of my head, I always see the same thing, like a favorite memory you carry with you, but heavy…and loud. In this memory, I use her hands, and my left eye is covered. I never knew she left the house for the trenches. I could never guess that while my children learned in the safehouse school, she was ducking behind cover and carrying men to safety. I wondered for years how she managed to sleep at all.

“And with her hands, I disinfect a man’s side and drop the alcohol as I hear a tremendous roar inside of my skin. Something primal and not from here. And I run. And I leave the men behind and I run for my life. And I don’t see where it came from, but I feel it biting at my toes as I sprint and forget to breathe. And I find safety at last because I know it will cease.

“And then it starts over.”

Upon finishing his testament, Monsieur Edouard calmly walked himself back to his bed, where he returned to his catatonic state. With permission from the administration and Edouard’s representatives, we began running tests on his body, hoping to find out more about miasmic trails.

Cam,

I think I found something of a pattern in certain miasmic trails. Hear me out. It’s like your thing.

I THINK some of the remnants we picked up last week share the exact same miasmic trail. They were incredibly close in the miasma and now they both speak the last word of every other sentence with two different tones of voice.

It. Is. Bananas. I think I can emulate the effect with one of the radios.

I’d really hate it if there is a minuscule 0.000005th of a millisecond difference that brings down my theory.

Dyl

Monsieur Edouard Martin passed away on the afternoon of May 22nd, 1980.

Before he did, we learned that the optical effect present on his skin is present throughout his body to a molecular level. Perhaps even on the DNA. What is more, when we ran his blood test, he came back with two blood types. One was arguably his original Type, B+, and the other was a unique composition. The rest of the samples, had they been taken in the first place, would have been moved to an undisclosed location. Furthermore, we cannot confirm nor deny that we took more samples.

The team debated all sorts of hypotheses surrounding the blood type and its connection to the arrival of the miasma. Having only ever taken just enough samples for the required tests and no more, we had no manner of testing any of the theories. We can only hope that we hear about more survivors or that Mademoiselle Amelie returns our calls.

Doctor Wong suggested an intriguing idea: the type is not the trail itself. “We have tested too many remnants with trails. We would have caught it sooner. It is instead a miasmic event of its own, possibly linked to the trails, but independent. Adventuring into the emotional: I want to believe that Mirelle and Edouard Martin shared a miasmic trail. Whether this is because they both survived the arrival of the fog or whether it was something completely random that occurred well after 1918, it is far too early to tell.”

Oscar,

You must be so glad that you told me so, but this guy is officially grasping at straws. Do not be confused. He is not entirely wrong; he has simply overstayed his welcome.

The first thing I learned while talking to this guy is that he has broken into four different arson scenes. He has recorded all of them. Fortunately, his latest works are super convenient for us. Maybe I’ll give him a picture from before my naming. Maybe I can get away with charging him for it.

The arsonist’s MO, as seen in the papers and confirmed in the final cry of cinematic perfection, is pretty impressive and I am yet to find a motive that makes sense for this MO. He always finds an easy, peaceful way into the house. He always starts at the top of the building, usually the attic, and then quietly scatters the fire with the same canister, which he then leaves to pulverize the rest of the house. Bold, dangerous, and incredibly idiotic, it has worked every time. He never leaves any victims, but the families are never present to see their homes in shambles, nor do they return in the future.

I’m no detective or shaman, but I am almost certain that he is placing them somewhere else. That, or the Atlantean Alliance is spreading their love for just buying new things to Canada. That last fire gets all the more confusing. You’d imagine that with a process as outlandish as his, he would have gone out in this huge explosion that would make the news for some award dedicated to Charles Darwin. Instead, the attic of the final house looks closer to someone who started a fire, got ready to move it down the stairs, and then replaced the canister for a pile of sand, poured it on the fire and then took the time to vacuum. Maybe he was finished?

The families are exclusively strangers to one another, even branching out. Not even distant cousins.

I attached a picture of the miasmic trail that lingered in the house after the interrupted fire. It’s the squiggles that warp the floor a little bit on the upper left corner. It will freak you out a lot when you first see it, but you’ll get used to it soon. I’ll keep poking around. Maybe we’re on to something.

Dylan