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Description
The newcomers to this town and the possible significance they pose, in aide or determent, to his submerged omnipotence have caused me to spend less of my daylight hours in contemplative slumber and more in the abandoned hilltop asylum - a place of interest to outsiders and doubtless the epicenter of this whole rotten incursion of madness from the false prophets of G'Lkap'pka.

As I walk between the worlds, in search of he who has already been blessed with his presence, by far the most prevalent malefactor I see are the twisted limping wretches I have chosen to name the 'Victim'. Probably conjured from the daymares of the town doctor, Elias Anderson and to a lesser degree the priest, Razmus Kowalski. They seem to mirror the bubbling skin and rotted whimpers of those effected by the gas attacks of the great war. While far from uniform, these creature invariably have at one limb sheared into sharpened bone. Possibly relating to the foot the father lost.

They wander aimlessly, possibly with useless eyes, moaning piteously until they notice someone at which point they begin to flail and shriek muffled cries. Whether or not this onslaught of oddly strong limbs and bone spurs is intend as an attack or whether the creature is desperately seeking aide is inconsequential. Their attack is brutal and the only help they can be offered is oblivion.

They are , not surprisingly the most popular target of the Stag head.

If they even notice me, they do not attack. Maybe they believe in the glory of the true god, Glaaki. Maybe they just know when something is truly worth avoiding. Truly terrible.

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Wonder who wrote this...

Description
The newcomers to this town and the possible significance they pose, in aide or determent, to his submerged omnipotence have caused me to spend less of my daylight hours in contemplative slumber and more in the abandoned hilltop asylum - a place of interest to outsiders and doubtless the epicenter of this whole rotten incursion of madness from the false prophets of G'Lkap'pka.

As I walk between the worlds, in search of he who has already been blessed with his presence, by far the most prevalent malefactor I see are the twisted limping wretches I have chosen to name the 'Victim'. Probably conjured from the daymares of the town doctor, Elias Anderson and to a lesser degree the priest, Razmus Kowalski. They seem to mirror the bubbling skin and rotted whimpers of those effected by the gas attacks of the great war. While far from uniform, these creature invariably have at one limb sheared into sharpened bone. Possibly relating to the foot the father lost.

They wander aimlessly, possibly with useless eyes, moaning piteously until they notice someone at which point they begin to flail and shriek muffled cries. Whether or not this onslaught of oddly strong limbs and bone spurs is intend as an attack or whether the creature is desperately seeking aide is inconsequential. Their attack is brutal and the only help they can be offered is oblivion.

They are , not surprisingly the most popular target of the Stag head.

If they even notice me, they do not attack. Maybe they believe in the glory of the true god, Glaaki. Maybe they just know when something is truly worth avoiding. Truly terrible.

*******************
Wonder who wrote this...