Time-worn faces adorn the surface of a clay relief set into the wall like a door. It cannot be moved, it cannot be broken, but something in its centre gleams in the torchlight. Thin layers of clay have fallen away over time, exposing a blood-red gem the size of a man’s fist. The sculpted faces seem to be twisted towards the gem in sorrow.
If a character removes the gem, ask about those they hold most dear, of friends, of family, of lovers. Make a list of 2d6 of them. The clay seal soon crumbles and falls without the gem to bind it.
Long limbs that emerge and contract carry a bulbous mass of flesh from the space beyond in a shambling riot of locomotion. The whole surface of its skin writhes with the faces of the only people the character cares about, they moan and cry and beseech as it crashes forward with grasping appendages.
If it catches hold of a character it will pull them in towards the distending mouth of the person they care about most. A lover, their mother, a mentor, the quivering lips wrap around their body while the creature’s gnarled hands struggle to push them further in until they are gone.
Once someone is within it, the creature will flee if it can.
The creature’s limbs constantly wither and re-emerge, removing them does nothing.
Successful attacks against the creature’s body will instantly destroy a random face, cutting deep and silencing their pleas, black muck spilt from limp hanging skin like a burst blister.
The amount of damage caused determines the affect on the person whose face was imitated.
|2||They develop an unrelenting irrational hatred for the PC.|
|3||They grow pallid, their hair falls out and their limbs atrophy.|
|4||They become zealously devoted to the Ninth Cult of the Black Dawn, plucking their eyes from their head, seeing life anew.|
|5||They lose all memory, left with the mental state of an infant.|
|6||They fall deep in lust with one of the PC's most hated enemies.|
|7||Their belly swells as if pregnant, but in the 8th term their stretched skin grows sour, sores open and putrefy, after another two weeks they birth a brood of black hounds.|
|8||They dissolve into a pile of reeking filth. They keep appearing in the middle of the PC's dreams, off to the side, unrelated, their back turned and weeping. They want to find a way back.|
|9||They are murdered and cannibalised by their closest relative.|
|10+||They go out late at night. Local children disappear. They refuse to be seen without clothing. Their body is not what it used to be.|
When the last face has been destroyed the creature will instantly collapse, devoid of life. Anyone that was swallowed in the last hour can be cut out from its mass, apparently unharmed, but over the coming weeks the lesions on their torso come more and more to resemble the faces of people dear to their companions.
If no one was swallowed, the person whose face was last destroyed grows ill, their body swells, they constantly ask after the family of others, and their limbs grow spindly, disconcertingly long..
Possibly the blackest yet. I wonder what the histrionic folks on rpg.net would think of your work.
They might like the cat name table?
This sick filth is perfect.
Haha thanks Jack.
Glad to see that you’re going to be posting again too, even if it’s just about video games or whatevs.
This is awesome. I’m in love with this disgusting site.