If you own this book, you can mail it to our address below. Not in Library. Want to Read. Delete Note Save Note. Download for print-disabled. Check nearby libraries Library. Share this book Facebook. November 25, History. This edition was published in by Darwin Press in Princeton, N. Written in English — pages. Subjects Historiography , History , Civilization.
Finding the truth is not a reasonable goal. But you will never find the truth. Each mystery will only lead to more mysteries. It goes against every instinct in the human brain, but if you want to survive, you have to make peace with the fact that all your questioning and searching and attempts to make sense of it are doomed.
The best you can hope to do is record what details you can, and wonder at them. E ach shadow conceals only more shadows. Indeed, some of the most ancient stories that are still told today grapple with the biggest mysteries of all — life, death, creation, redemption and the ongoing struggle of good versus evil.
The stories told in this game are set in the World of Darkness. Superficially, most people in this fictional world live the same lives we do. They eat the same food, wear the same clothes, and waste time watching the same stupid TV shows.
And yet, in the World of Darkness, shadows are deeper, nights are darker, fog is thicker. Or so some neighbors say.
In our world, there are urban legends. In the World of Darkness, there are urban legends whispered into the ears of autistic children by invisible spiders. This book gives you everything you need to create your own collaborative tales. Horror stories, ghost stories, wonder tales, adventures or mysteries.
Stories of people who suspect the truth about what lurks in the shadows, perhaps only after getting an unwelcome glimpse of it. After that, the rest of this book tells how you and your friends can tell your own stories, with simple but broad rules for doing so.
The true measure of success in a Storytelling game is how much your character interacts with the imaginary world he inhabits. Maybe the character you create will uncover some secrets of his shadowed world. Time will tell. This is not my last will and testament.
Take some time to look into the history of our church. Not long after I was first stationed here, I spent some time reading up on the founding of our village. My father was a history professor and my first paying job was doing research for him, so I know my way around libraries and historical documents. Poking around in my spare time over the course of several months, I delved past the superficial accounts found in grade-school history books and tourist museums.
You know the story. Plucky colonists endure an adventurous passage across the Atlantic, find themselves in a strange new land, roll up their sleeves and persevere thanks to a strong work ethic and some help from friendly natives.
The ship that carried the Jamestown colonists — the first permanent colony in the U. And though the Mayflower lost only one passenger on its journey — and hosted the birth of one — it sustained terrible damage in storms and swells, leaving the travelers waterlogged and miserable. At one point the ship was leaking so badly that the group considered turning back. But they were just over halfway there, so it made more sense to press on.
I found several accounts of an illness or plague that struck the voyagers not long after they left England, and that continued right up to their arrival at Plymouth. Frightened crew and passengers forced themselves to stay awake until dawn, hoping to avoid being stricken. History seems to have forgotten this grisly story for the most part. I did come across one magazine article written in by a doctor and amateur historian. There were no symptoms reported, and all the victims seem to have died in their sleep, going to bed healthy and never waking again.
His theory was that the deaths were, in fact, murders. O r perhaps some of the voyagers just went insane from the isolation, discomfort and danger of life at sea. Whatever happened, the article goes, a cover story was needed and a plague was the best they could come up with. They appeared concerned about the mysterious deaths, but no more concerned than they were about the weather or running out of food.
Maybe they were just more circumspect in the way they kept their journals than we are today. The colony had a tough start. Most of the early colonies did. Plymouth lost all but 32 of its original settlers in its first winter. And the Roanoke Island colony in the Virginia territory had no one left when the next wave of settlers arrived. The reason for this startling development is not given. Shortly after I pieced together this account, events took place that distracted me from my hobby.
Some of my congregation took ill and died of pneumonia. It was January of an especially brutal winter. There had been four deaths in the space of two-and-a-half weeks.
Two of the deceased had been residents of a nursing home, one had been a young mother of two, and the fourth an apparently healthy college student. The funerals were bleak.
A few days after the fourth death, I visited a family that lived up the mountain a ways. I got there after dark. Even my four-wheel-drive had some trouble with the ice and snow that night. I parked by the road and walked up to the house. Ice-covered mounds rose on both sides of me like mountains on the moon. The air was so quiet that I thought I could hear the faint ping of each snowflake landing on the ice. The house was a two- or three-bedroom ranch. As I walked to the front door I passed a lit window and happened to glance through.
I could see into the bedroom of their youngest daughter. The girl was sleeping with a faint smile on her face. He was something of an eccentric figure. He had short, white hair, a neatly trimmed silver-white goatee, and was in an allwhite suit and tie. The nightlight was on and he cast a long shadow across her bed.
I prayed with them, gave them some advice about approaching their boy, and suggested some ways to open a line of communication. All told, I was there for about two hours. The next day the girl was pronounced dead of a cerebral aneurysm. As I stood at the pulpit the following Sunday, I felt as if death was laying siege to our community, circling us, picking us off one by one.
I looked at the faces of my congregation and wondered who would be next. I tried to sound upbeat and confident during my sermon, but it was obvious to me that my words were powerless, empty, unable to have any true effect. Walking to the graveside, a marble statue capped with snow made me think of the man in white. I recalled glimpsing him in a hallway, wondering at his unusual way of dressing.
I thought about that for several minutes, and as we gathered around the small casket, I remembered.
I was visiting the nursing home on Route 11, just west of town. A woman there died of pneumonia later that week. A few days after my recollection I asked Mr. I decided to spend some time looking through church records.
It seemed impossible to steer my congregation through this dark, cold winter. I wanted to see what my predecessors had done during times of crisis.
On the second day of investigating, I found a box of some very old papers that had apparently been mislabeled. And at the very bottom of the stack, sealed in some sort of plastic or laminate, was a parchment whose appearance gave every indication of being hand-written in the 17th century. I felt a thrill of discovery, which quickly turned to horror.
We have eaten the horses and dogs. The children cry. There is talk of eating the corpses. But I shall return, fifty years hence, and take what I must from thirteen of you and your kin, and each fifty years do likewise. And should there be one who withholds my payment, all shall be slaughtered. But do as I bid and your village shall prosper always, this I vow. It is so cold.
And so those of us fresh with youth now will, as we grow gray, wait for the return of the One in White. They were death records, carefully annotated. Just fifty years ago, there had been thirteen deaths among the parishioners in the month of January.
Fifty years earlier, the same. And fifty years before that. Clearly someone with an active imagination had put all these pieces together, then boxed them up and moved on to something else. But— I visited the family whose little girl had been lost. They were taking it hard, as was to be expected. We prayed and talked. At one point I asked as casually as I could muster if they had ever seen anyone in the parish who was thin, had white hair, and who favored white clothing?
They immediately became uneasy. They claimed not to know who I was talking about, but their eyes were hesitant, agitated. Part of the grief reaction? The thing was, five people had died since January 1st. And it was only January 23rd. That weekend I spent a lot of time working on my sermon. A resurrection story. I read it slowly and clearly during the Sunday service. Then I started my sermon. Death, I said, is not the ultimate power. Jesus triumphed over death, and through him, so will we all.
How we have personified it into the form of the grim reaper. Imagine if death was a man, I went on. If he walked among us, picking us out like a farmer choosing lambs for the slaughter. I connected that to the image of Christ as the lamb of God, who triumphed over death. But if death is a man dressed in white, then Christ comes clothed in garments purer than white.
I finished the sermon in a more conventional way, urging prayer, trust in God and support of each other. But I had seen some of the parishioners shift in the pews, glancing at each other uncomfortably. I was sure my words had an effect. That evening there was a knock on my office door. I replied and in walked Mr. Crane along with five other men and women. The church council. None of them did. I can take it. Why all the long faces? Eckerd, I think. I left a message. How did you know that? Eckard chimed in.
The others gave her a dirty look. They looked shocked, their eyes bulging at the mention of the number. Crane licked his lips. Eckard added. Who could I talk to about this? I only knew of one person, and I resolved to go down to the chapel and speak with Him. My desk faced the only door. There was no way anyone could have entered unseen. It was as if my muscles had been turned to stone.
My head refused to turn. Crane said. Instead, I felt the pressure of a hand on my shoulder. Moving my eyes to the right brought slender fingers just into view. Pale fingernails with fine white hair on the knuckles.
The sleeve of a white suit-jacket. We each have our place in Creation. Its touch had been very light. Something more precious than you can know.
Now that I know about you? A connection was tripped in my brain. I staggered across the room and grabbed a bookcase for balance. There was no one else there with me, no one I could perceive. But everything reinforces the realization I came to that night. It waits in the shadows, hovering over our heads, crouched behind the bushes. Worse, it might draw the attention of the thing we want to ignore. Now I realize my duty is to keep them closed. To keep from them the awful truths that would strip away their ability to function.
Like the church council that night. They were dimly aware of what was happening and struggled to keep a newcomer in the dark, all the while straining not to learn more than they already knew. The Elements of Stylish Horror This book presents rules for playing a type of roleplaying game called Storytelling.
In this type of game, the traditional elements of a story — theme, mood, plot and character — are more important than the rules themselves. The rules serve to help you tell stories about your characters in an interactive experience. The triumphs and tragedies of your characters as they try to survive and even thrive in the World of Darkness are the main focus, not dice rolls or lists of traits. Storytelling games involve at least two, although preferably four or more players.
Here are some of the key elements that both players and Storytellers should keep in mind when telling stories in the World of Darkness. Merely asking overarching questions is enough to capture a theme. Those who participate in these conspiracies should uncover as much of them as they can, lest investigators become unwitting pawns in the games of greater forces.
But drawing back the curtain on one mystery reveals even more curtains, each hiding new secrets. Yet, characters can certainly work to reveal more than would otherwise be known, and so free themselves from these dark influences.
While each story has its own central theme, the looming theme behind them all explores the dramatic ramifications of a world of supernatural secrets. Storytellers and players alike should be mindful of this theme when they feel the need to return to the roots of the game. Where are they? People pretend nothing is out of order and go about lives as usual. Whether this behavior can be traced back to the ancient depredations of supernatural creatures or to fear of the occult, people refuse to recognize it.
They are asleep to the realities around them and refuse to open their eyes. Even those who do confront the shadows do so with a sense of dread. Exploring the unknown promises rewards, but also risks unforeseen consequences. Are the potential rewards worth the risks? Every step into mystery is onto unsafe ground, and few march boldly into the night. Atmosphere — Threatening Symbolism Combine theme and mood in the fog-bound streets, rave clubs, towering penthouses, midnight woods and cloistered sanctums of the World of Darkness.
Everything in the World of Darkness has foreboding significance. Nothing is necessarily what it seems. A dead tree might secretly harbor a bitter spirit. A car might be a reservoir for magical energies that could kill the unwary. Everything is a cipher for something else, lending mysterious significance to otherwise coincidental events.
Dare you open the letter? The World of Darkness rarely communicates its secrets directly. Instead, mysteries can be read in places and things all around — symbols of deeper, unsettling truths. Many people are willfully blind to these messages, fearing what they reveal.
Meaningless happenstance. Looked at from a global perspective, it seems the same. Looking closer, though, the details differ. Nobody goes to the old quarry anymore. That new nightclub is so cool, but creepy.
Did you see that guy who kept staring last night? The advantage to playing a game of contemporary horror is that it can take place in your own backyard, literally. You can populate your hometown with all manner of secret terrors, imagining how the local conveniencestore clerk might really be the thrall of a supernatural creature. Perhaps he helps his master to feed by collecting the corpses of the homeless people who sleep in the bushes out back. Or your blowhard mayor might be a member of a secret society dedicated to keeping the spoils of power within a small clique, preventing others from awakening to their true potential.
Characters in the World of Darkness can blur the line between reality and the occult. Exploring a world of mystery that tries to keep itself hidden.
A world that punishes those who look too deep. But those who refuse to look suffer even worse. There are no easy answers, and knowing is not half the battle. Cancelled following Dr. Some people think of me as some kind of Indiana J ones. P ause for laughter. They imagine I spend my time pushing through cobweb-infested catacombs or hacking through the jungle with native guides at my heels. W e continue to search for cryptids, whose existence is hinted at by folklore, cultural tradition and physical evidence.
These animals and others draw the attention of thousands of cryptozoologists every year, many of whom are credible scientists. But I propose the existence of a special category of cryptids. These sorts of beings turn up in our history and folklore time and time again. And about half the time, the escapees are never recovered. That includes larger beasts like monkeys, ungulates and big cats. F erals If you wanted to hide from humans, the most obvious solution would be to place yourself as far from civilization as possible.
The key strategy for finding out more about them is, I think, not to go looking for them in their own environment. All you can do is hope to get lucky.
The edge of a field, where an ice pack blends with the ocean, the border between a desert and a savannah. These are all classic edge environments, where organisms can easily be observed moving from one ecoclime to another. In the case of feral anthrocryptids, an edge environment is a place where a relatively small human community abuts a large, undeveloped wilderness. Even at that, the ocean passages are difficult to cross, especially in fall and spring. There are no towns or any permanent structures on the island.
Among the most notable is the case of Oscar Johnson in H e was a logger who was taking time off to do some fishing.
H e reported that one night while sleeping on the beach, he was picked up in his sleeping bag and carried almost five miles inland. When he was finally set down and able to get out of his bag, he found himself surrounded by a group of large, hirsute creatures that had the combined features of men and apes. He said he was kept prisoner for six days and given meals of water and raw fish before he escaped. The beach is pristine and the forest, just a hundred yards away, towers over you like an army of giants.
At night the northern lights seem close enough to touch. Yet one night my guide and I were awoken to what sounded like the howling of wolves. The next morning, there were several rows of footprints slide 4 that led from the beach straight into the surf. These are clearly some type of animal print. But as you can see from the tape measure in this picture, the prints are huge. They continue right into the water. Drink w ater. Put off questions till later. The Unearthly There are other ways to keep a low profile than to hide.
An approach successfully used by many organisms is camouflage. There are many variations on this strategy, from protective coloration — blending into the background — to mimicking another species. I also have several citations of them being encountered in airports.
Descriptions of these beings vary, but there are two commonalities to most encounters. The first is their physical appearance. Their voices are musical, strangely accented, and they wear cologne with complex scents. Habitat What would it take to conceal yourself among a large group of human beings? First of all, your best bet would be to set yourself up among a large, cosmopolitan group, the more diverse the better. In areas where people are used to crossing paths with a range of ethnicities, languages, clothing styles and behaviors, any flaws in your disguise are less likely to stand out.
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