Astanael

Tag: chaosium

  • Mountain of the Black Wind

    We hear the drums echoing tonight
    We speaks only whispers to avoid detection
    It’s coming in, on July 21th 1925
    Its moonlit wings reflect those stars that guide towards annihilation
    We stops at the entrance near the top
    Hoping to find some old forgotten clue to stop this blasphemy
    It turned to us as if to say
    “Hurry, boy, my son’s waiting there for you”

    [Chorus]
    You’re gonna take a lot from us and drag us up to you
    There’s nothing that ten thousand men or more could ever do
    I curse the coming of your offspring tonight
    Gonna see the Bloody tong take offerings on the Mountain of the Black Wind (Ooh)

    /* Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook – Porte-mine sur carnet A6 */
    /* Parody of Africa by Toto © Jeff Porcaro & David Paich */
    /* Masks of Nyarlathotep is a Chaosium RPG campaign for Call of Cthulhu designed by Larry DiTillio Lynn Willis */
    /* I’m sorry */

    Au loin les tambours résonnent fortement ce soir
    Nous ne parlons qu’en chuchotant pour ne pas être repérés
    Il arrive, en ce 21 juillet 1925.
    Ses ailes éclairées de lune reflètent ces étoiles qui nous guident vers le néant
    Nous sommes près de l’entrée secrete du sommet
    espérant trouver un indice oublié pour empêcher ce blasphème.
    Il s’est tourné vers nous comme s’il disait
    “Dépêche-toi, mon garçon, mon fils t’attend là-bas”.

    [Chorus]
    Tu vas nous prendre beaucoup et nous traîner jusqu’à toi
    Il n’y a rien que dix mille hommes ou plus ne puissent faire.
    Je maudis l’arrivée de ta progéniture ce soir.
    Ce soir la langue Sanglante accepte les offrandes sur la Montagne du Vent Noir (Ooh).

  • Inktober 2019 – 12 – Dragon

    14 October 1918, Somewhere in the Argonnes Woods, France

    The villagers, they knew. They knew all about the evil forces that drained the life and hope of all Europe, about the hatred and paranoia they spread, about the the sorrow they fed from. They helped the Lloigors, gathering the undead army, making people disappear, losing faith, losing hope. And now, with the help of the black monolith, they will call for the Lloigors, giving them strength, body and substance. 

    Dragons do exists. They do not hoard gold nor jewels, but hatred and sorrow. You can’t see or touch them. Until they fed enough.

    ***

    14 Octobre 1918, Quelque part dans les Ardennes, France

    Les villageois le savaient. Ils savaient au sujet des forces maléfiques qui drainaient depuis quelques années la force de vie et l’espoir de l’Europe, attisant la haine et la paranoïa entre les peuples, se nourrissant du désespoir qu’ils généraient. Ils les ont aidés, ces chose nommée Lloigors, réunissant leur armée morte vivante, faisant disparaître ceux qui en apprenait trop, faisant perdre la foi, perdre l’espoir. Maintenant avec l’aide du monolithe noir, ils vont les appeler, leur donner force, corps et substance.

    Les dragons existent. Ils n’accaparent ni or ni joyaux mais haine et désespoir. On ne peux les voir ni les toucher. Jusqu’à ce qu’ils aient suffisamment dévoré.

    Inktober 2019 – Cultists Edition 

    Ink brush on A6 sketchbook / Encre au pinceau sur Carnet A6
    Conclusion of No-Man’s Land Chaosium scenario for Call of Cthulhu

     

  • Inktober 2019 – 12 – Dragon

    14 October 1918, Somewhere in the Argonnes Woods, France

    The villagers, they knew. They knew all about the evil forces that drained the life and hope of all Europe, about the hatred and paranoia they spread, about the the sorrow they fed from. They helped the Lloigors, gathering the undead army, making people disappear, losing faith, losing hope. And now, with the help of the black monolith, they will call for the Lloigors, giving them strength, body and substance. 

    Dragons do exists. They do not hoard gold nor jewels, but hatred and sorrow. You can’t see or touch them. Until they fed enough.

    ***

    14 Octobre 1918, Quelque part dans les Ardennes, France

    Les villageois le savaient. Ils savaient au sujet des forces maléfiques qui drainaient depuis quelques années la force de vie et l’espoir de l’Europe, attisant la haine et la paranoïa entre les peuples, se nourrissant du désespoir qu’ils généraient. Ils les ont aidés, ces chose nommée Lloigors, réunissant leur armée morte vivante, faisant disparaître ceux qui en apprenait trop, faisant perdre la foi, perdre l’espoir. Maintenant avec l’aide du monolithe noir, ils vont les appeler, leur donner force, corps et substance.

    Les dragons existent. Ils n’accaparent ni or ni joyaux mais haine et désespoir. On ne peux les voir ni les toucher. Jusqu’à ce qu’ils aient suffisamment dévoré.

    Inktober 2019 – Cultists Edition 

    Ink brush on A6 sketchbook / Encre au pinceau sur Carnet A6
    Conclusion of No-Man’s Land Chaosium scenario for Call of Cthulhu

     

  • Masks of Nyarlathotep
    The End

    Somewhere underneath Egypt, March 1925

    As the entity fades away, Muhamad couldn’t resist to ask one more question. One more inquire about their fate. The Black Pharaoh seemed to know so much about everything, from the fate of the cosmos and the stars to the smallest trivia of his relatives day to day life. He saw Him reduce Vishnathan to a pile of dust with a flick of his finger, and noticed the strange air disturbances on each side of the throne has wings. But the need to know was too strong.

    – How can we get out of here ?

    With a smirk the Black Pharaoh responded :

    – YOU WON’T.

    Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook
    Excerpt from an ongoing run of the “Mask of Nyarlathotep” campaign for the Chaosium “Call of Cthulhu” RPG

    ***

    Quelque part sous l’Egypte, Mars 1925

    Alors que l’entité s’évanouissait, Mohamed ne put résister à l’envie pressante de poser une ultime question. Une dernière requête. Le Pharaon Noir semblait tout savoir, du destin des Astre et du Cosmos aux détails le plus insignifiants de la vie quotidienne de ses proches. Et bien qu’il l’ait vu de ses propres yeux réduire Vishnathan en poussière d’un geste du doigt et entraperçu des ailes dans les tourbillons d’air de part et d’autre du trône, le besoin de savoir était plus fort que lui.

    – Comment sortir d’ici ?

    Avec un rictus,le Pharaon Noir répondit :

    – EN MOURANT.

    Criterium sur carnet A6
    Extrait d’une session JdR de la campagne “Les Masques de Nyarlathotep” pour l’Appel de Cthulhu (Chaosium/Sans Détour)

  • Masks of Nyarlathotep
    The End

    Somewhere underneath Egypt, March 1925

    As the entity fades away, Muhamad couldn’t resist to ask one more question. One more inquire about their fate. The Black Pharaoh seemed to know so much about everything, from the fate of the cosmos and the stars to the smallest trivia of his relatives day to day life. He saw Him reduce Vishnathan to a pile of dust with a flick of his finger, and noticed the strange air disturbances on each side of the throne has wings. But the need to know was too strong.

    – How can we get out of here ?

    With a smirk the Black Pharaoh responded :

    – YOU WON’T.

    Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook
    Excerpt from an ongoing run of the “Mask of Nyarlathotep” campaign for the Chaosium “Call of Cthulhu” RPG

    ***

    Quelque part sous l’Egypte, Mars 1925

    Alors que l’entité s’évanouissait, Mohamed ne put résister à l’envie pressante de poser une ultime question. Une dernière requête. Le Pharaon Noir semblait tout savoir, du destin des Astre et du Cosmos aux détails le plus insignifiants de la vie quotidienne de ses proches. Et bien qu’il l’ait vu de ses propres yeux réduire Vishnathan en poussière d’un geste du doigt et entraperçu des ailes dans les tourbillons d’air de part et d’autre du trône, le besoin de savoir était plus fort que lui.

    – Comment sortir d’ici ?

    Avec un rictus,le Pharaon Noir répondit :

    – EN MOURANT.

    Criterium sur carnet A6
    Extrait d’une session JdR de la campagne “Les Masques de Nyarlathotep” pour l’Appel de Cthulhu (Chaosium/Sans Détour)

  • Masks of Nyarlathotep
    The Black Pharaoh appears !

    Somewhere,
    March 1925

    A
    line in the dark, a fall upwards and inwards, a shift through
    veils… How can they describe the passage through the headstone?
    Words struggles to express the incredibly weird twisting of
    perspectives and still movement perceived in what they can only name
    the non-space.
    Time and velocity have no meaning here.. Is this even a here? Is this
    what eternity feels like? Awnya feels a sudden acceleration and a
    gust of wind rushing to her face. She made a few steps in total
    obscurity, feeling stone underneath her feet and slowly readjusting
    herself to gravity. By the time she raised her scepter to make some
    light, she hears another loud noise and saw Keeva appearing out of
    nowhere. 

    –
    Wha.. .Where are we? This is not…

    Keeva
    didn’t finishes. From the echoing of her voice and what she can
    distinguish in the faint light of Awnya scepter and collar, she
    starts to realize that this is not indeed the valley of the Kings.
    There’s no stars, only decorated walls, some columns… and another
    throne, black and massive. Another noise. signaling the arrival of
    Vishnathan. He immediately starts to growl. Keeva tries to calm him
    but the dog is really scared and won’t stay in place. She finally
    grabs him by the collars to make him still while Awnya tries to make
    more light, searching for an issue. With another noise, Muhammad
    appears. He fell on the floor, struggle to get up but only manage to
    stumble upon his back. He crawls back looking the place from where he
    came, panicked.

    –
    They’re coming! Get ready!

    Awnya
    and Keeva steps back, waiting for the incoming threat. The same
    indescribable noise echoes through the place, but instead of frantic
    cultists jumping through the portal they just took, a shower of blood
    and body parts gushes out of thin air and splats on the ground,
    spraying them thoroughly. Finally managing to get up, Muhammad goes
    straight to Keeva brandishing the belt and the knife. 

    –
    I got them! Let’s do it! Now!

    Startled,
    Keeva takes the knife and stroke the belt still in Muhamad hands with
    one mighty blow, right in the buckle. The magnificent red stone
    shatters, exploding in a thousand fragment sprinkling to the
    ground. They stays silent for a while. still waiting for what’s
    coming next. They can see the room much better now. Single room.
    Large carved walls, decorated with numerous writings and some some
    maps, Six columns, each topped by strange crystals snow shining
    brilliantly. One door, all walled up. No exit. 

    –
    Did we did it? 
    –
    I think yes, She cannot come back without her belt. Thanks for the
    light, Awnya.
    –
    But I didn’t make any… 
    –
    So that’s it? Did we thwarted Nictocris resurrection?
    –
    YES YOU DID. 

    Awnya
    quickly grabs the others and throw them on the floor. The
    previously unoccupied throne is now filled with a presence, something
    not from this world.

    –
    AAAH…. GROVELING LIKE THE INSECTS YOU ARE… 

    Awnya
    muttered  “Don’t look. Don’t talk. ”

    –
    GOOD… I GRANT YOU AUDIENCE, VERMIN. NOW, TALK!

    Pencil
    doodle on A6 sketchbook
    Excerpt from an ongoing run of the “Mask
    of Nyarlathotep” campaign for the Chaosium “Call of
    Cthulhu” RPG

    ***

    Quelque
    part, Mars 1925

    Une ligne dans le noir, une chute
    immobile, mouvement sans vélocité, passage du voile… Comment
    décrire le passage à travers le portail de la stèle ? Les mots
    perdent leur sens devant cette perversion extrême de la perspective
    et des lois naturelles de ce qui se trouve entre les lieux,
    l’interstice. Le temps et l’espace n’ont plus de sens ici..
    Est-ce même un ici ? Est-ce un avant-goût de l’éternité ? Awnya
    senti soudain une accélération subite et le vent souffler à son
    visage. Luttant pour conserver son équilibre, elle fait quelques pas
    dans le noir absolu, sentant des dalles de pierre séculaires sous
    ses pieds. Se réajustant au retour de la gravité familière, elle
    lève le sceptre pour faire un peu de lumière quand un grand bruit
    de succion l’interrompt alors que Keeva apparait soudainement à ses
    cotés

    – Que… Où sommes-nous ? Ce n’est pas…

    Keeva
    laissa sa phrase inachevée. A l’‘écho de sa voix et grâce à la
    lumière du sceptre et du collier d’Awnya, elle comprends qu’ils ne
    sont pas sorti à l’air libre devant le Sphinx comme espéré. Pas
    d’étoiles, seulement des murs décorés, encore plus anciens que
    ceux qu’ils avaient arpentés. Quelques colonnes… et un autre
    trône. Noir. Massif. Un nouveau bruit résonne et Vishnathan surgit.
    Le chien se met immédiatement à gronder, l’obligeant à le saisir
    par le collier pour le calmer et le tenir tranquille. Il a peur et ne
    tient pas en place. Keeva sent sa soeur faire plus de lumière, et
    dans un autre bruit, voit Mohamed apparaître de nulle part, tomber à
    la renverse et lutter pour se relever. Alors qu’elle se précipite
    vers lui, il tente de se relever mais retombe sur son séant, une
    expression de panique intense sur son visage.

    – Ils
    arrivent ! Tenez vous prêt !
     
    L’horrible bruit
    retentit de nouveau mais à la place d’une horde de fanatiques, c’est
    une gerbe de sang et de lambeaux déchiquetés de chair qui apparaît
    de nulle part, jaillissant dans toutes les directions avant de se
    répandre sur le sol et les asperger copieusement. Mohamed parvient
    enfin à se relever et se précipite vers Keeva, brandissant la
    ceinture et la dague

    – Je l’ai ! Maintenant !

    Surprise,,
    Keeva se reprends et attrape la dague rituelle des mains de Mohamed.
    D’un geste puissant, elle la plonge en plein coeur du cabochon. Le
    rubis se brise en mille morceaux qui à leur tour se répandent sur
    le sol. Anxieux, ils attendent. Dans un silence seulement troublé
    par leurs respirations et les grognement du chien, ils prennent enfin
    le temps de contempler la salle à la lumière des colonnes. De
    grands murs couverts hiéroglyphes et de cartes, six colonnes montant
    à hauteur d’yeux soutenant chacune un étrange cristal luisant. Une
    porte dans son arche, murée. Pas de sortie.

    – C’est bon
    ?
    – Je pense, oui. Sans la ceinture, ils ne peuvent pas
    effectuer la cérémonie. Merci pour les lumière, Awnya.
    – Je
    n’ai allumé aucune lum… 
    – Donc C’est vraiment bon ? On
    a empêché la résurrection de Nictocris ?
    – OUI. VOUS L’AVEZ
    EMPÊCHÉ.

    Dans un réflexe salvateur, Awnya attrape les
    deux autres par le col et les jette à terre avec elle. Le regard
    fixé sur le sol, elle le sens, Une présence sur le
    trône d’obsidienne, une présence hors de ce monde, incroyablement
    puissante et malveillante. Il est arrivé.

    –
    AAAH OUI….RAMPEZ TELS LES INSECTES QUE VOUS ÊTES… 

    Surmontant
    sa peur, Awnya chuchote aux autres :“Ne regardez pas. Ne parlez
    pas." 

    – BIEN… JE VOUS ACCORDE AUDIENCE. PARLEZ, VERMISSEAUX.
     
    Criterium
    sur carnet A6
    Extrait d’une session JdR de la campagne "Les
    Masques de Nyarlathotep” pour l’Appel de
    Cthulhu (Chaosium/Sans Détour)

  • Terror on the Orient-Express
    William Wellington

    January the 6th, 1923, Lausanne (Switzerland)

    The door bell rang downstairs. Edward get up of his chair and said :
    – Pleas excuse me for a moment, I was expecting someone that you might want to meet too. I’ll be right back.
    The moment Edgar left the small and cumbered kitchen, a large man came in, opened a shelve, took a bottle and sat at the table. There was a long awkward silence, only ruptured by the noise of James that fled to the stairs, causing no reaction from the giant whatsoever.
    Henry tried a “hello” and some other greetings, only getting back a long and uncomfortable blank stare. Choura joined in, but after a few pointless minutes of one-sided conversation there was still no response. The colossus took a notebook and painstakingly started to wrote some words, then proceeded to show them to Henry.

    “Today is good day. Hello. Nice to meat you.”

    Henry shivers. Not because of the strange words, or the creepy typo. But because he saw now clearly the broken face of the giant as he lean into the faint light. Steel plaques hastily screwed to the skull, complete facial paralysis, deformed skull… He began to saw a story, the horrible tale of a victim of the great war, scorched by hellfire, shrapnel-mutilated and hastily repaired by a tired field surgeon in some god forsaken mud-filled trenches.

    Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook
    Excerpt from the Terror on the Orient-Express Chaosium Call of Cthulhu RPG campaign

  • Terror on the Orient-Express
    A New player

    January the 6, 1923, Lausanne.
    06:45 am.

    Upon descending the Orient-Express, a cold fog grasped the four friends. pushing them to an open cafe just near the station. The bartender let them stack their heavy pile of luggage in a corner while waiting for the Grand Hotel carrier. They ordered a large breakfast, complete with chocolate dipped croissants, milked cafe, tea and a huge assortment of sweets and little Swiss chocolate squares. This warm and cozy pause is much welcome after such a journey, and the silence of morning in Lausanne was a bliss after the loud aver lasting ambient noise of the train.

    Aaah silence thought Henry… only troubled by the delicate tingling of faience, the song of a lonely bird and the strident screeches of car tires drifting upon snowed pavement.

    From across the place, a vehicle suddenly appears, coming from one the adjacent streets, probably leading down to the Lake. The car literally jumped in the air, and flew for what seemed an eternity before landing brusquely and starting drifting, closing in dangerously to the cafe, only stopping just a few meters before reaching the vitrine.

    Cihat was already up and ready to drag Choura away, when he felt the tight grip of the old russian on his arm. Choura was livid, and so was Carl. They were both looking intensely at the conductor of that just stepped outside of his vehicle.

    – Oscar ? He’s alive !? How could it be ?
    – No, that’s not him. Maybe… James ? His brother, the race pilot ? Oscar told me once about him, but how… ?

    The newcomer went straight for them, his fist tightly clenched. Behind him, the car was still smoking and clanking. On the passenger seat, what seemed like the real owner was livid and still hanging onto his seat as if his life depended on it. Something told Carl James Couteau has not bought the official story of the Lhassa meteor that cost the life of Oscar. This will be a hard and long talk. 

    Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook
    Excerpt from the Terror on the Orient-Express Chaosium Call of Cthulhu RPG campaign

  • Azazoth PCs – Carl Ayerdal

    Carl has a friend. Not any
    ordinary friend, ‘though, he’s pal with Hal Jordan, the owner of Ferris
    Aircraft. Hal is a prominent man in New Orleans and in business circles
    in general, furthermore, they did go to France together some years ago.
    Also, Carl did marry Hal’s sister.
    So when Hal ran into troubles with the strange fate of Sydney Bretz, who could he have called but Carl ?

    A lot happened.

    And
    now, as he returned to his New-York apartment, his own family seemed
    like strangers to him. He didn’t told them about the fate of his New
    Orleans friend, nor about the feats they accomplished and how they saved
    the world from total annihilation, or so they think. He even hide the
    loss of his thumb during this apocalyptic finale in Tibet. He hide it
    because of hope. The hope that the amniotic liquid contained in the
    extraterrestrial brain cylinder found in Garisson can heal his wounded
    flesh as he had before.

    Will it work?  

    Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook
    Player Character from finished Call of Cthulhu Campaign : The Azazoth Offspring

  • Azazoth PCs – Choura Ilianovich

    Choura comes from a wealthy and
    noble family and married to an distant relative of Nicals II. He was
    quite an oddball for a man of his stature, His talents as a sharpshooter
    were unmatched, and he spend long stroll through Siberia honing his
    hunters skills. His deep and powerful voice allowed him to perform on
    several occasions in various Operas all around the world. Thus it was
    easy for him to fled with his family the dreaded events of 1917. They
    ended in New Orleans, and by a strange twist of fate, became involved in
    a occult event that changed forever the way, tying his fate to another
    man…

    Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook
    Player Character from finished Call of Cthulhu Campaign : The Azazoth Offspring