Do Not Disturb Carcass Kid.

Do not disturb Carcass Kid.

What goes bump in the night? Who’s riled and ready for a fright? Why it’s these three mischievous young knaves of course, Dhorpor, Mharghy and Carcass Kid. This tricky trio is comprised of orphans who were brought into the halls of the great Eolasug of Drynyra for their particular proficiencies as promising prodigies of the scientific disposition.

Dhorpor! A rough one he is, but judging from how well he ended up taking rending his skull open to prod at his chronic brain trauma and consequently stitching it all back together this bald bespectacled kid is a tough nut to crack. Found among the filth of a sty rife with lardy beasts of burden by the outer parts of the municipality, his abilities of dissection and amputation surely came from his tendency towards cruelty and sadistic behaviour. Rather than the mud-rollers of the past, he helps the good cullahs of the halls with surgery and even excels quite well in his extraction of tumors and painful growths. Many a limb and many an organ have been skimmed and skewered under his blade to the express agony of many patients, of course a small price to pay in the way of the alleviation of dismay and the prospect of making it to the next wretched day. A playful loud mouth and energetic assistant, this boy might only be a few articles on anatomy and years in the plague-ridden city from becoming a true butcher of men.

Mharghy! The lanky cranky teen of one eye may appear to only bear half of her vision about her, however her wicked wits and careless creativity are never to be seen as anything half-minded or half-handed. A terrible team of infections took about her body in the midst of her adolescence, leaving her with a wary wavy spine and a socket of her skull compromised. Rather than seeking the dubious treatments of the looming quarters of the city, she took needle and thread upon herself to mend her own wounds. Such a determined dedication to the work of seasoned skin stitching translated into her task of bringing patchworked patients back together. Reconnecting innards and reconciling internals is no simple deed, a grizzly process which ought to leave one standing with most of (if not more) of their limbs and organs. A snarky sardonic cynic of the surgical sort, this girl can’t hold in a hardy laugh at the woes of others, even if it means her glass eye popping out.

…Carcass Kid? A relatively recent arrival from a lonely land in the heart of Talukod, this strange and stiff… kid reportedly was one among a band of travelers who involved themselves in niche mysteries. Their putrid presence seems to submerge and stifle the high spirits of any chamber they happen to stalk as some who have come into contact with this corpse-like character would come to claim. Their face is often obscured by the damp hood which adorns their noggin at all times, beyond a twisted black thicket of hair lies there a face both youthful and terribly skeletal, a ghastly pale visage of calm yet unsettling emotion. They rarely can be heard speaking as their voice remains soft and whispery, however this does not appear to trouble their companions Dhorpor and Mharghy. The particular proficiency of this unusual youngster is quite certainly difficult for most to get a grim grasp on, as they seem to know death on a level which few in these halls of progress can conceive. Some have spread rumors that the wise citizen scientist Prydlyn Pyrmarbh has taken to conferring with this young mystic concerning pseudoscience and snake oils, possibly spurred on by a rising internal distrust and only made stronger through a prejudice against those from partially-integrated border communities. As far as can be parsed from what brief interactions have been made with this poorly understood child they seem to especially enjoy the company of their companions, be that in strenuous study or simply wandering the sullen sickly streets of Drynyra bearing with them some of the last remaining jolly juvenile joy around.

This is true actually, take the Ever Expanding Bunker as an example.

It's a sad fact that every long running universe based upon themes and tones of isolation, limiality, and cosmic horror gets worn down by overexplanation, overpopulation of the universe with entities, overuse, and eventually irony and financial exploitation. Derlething happened to Lovecraft, it happened to SCPs, it happened in record times to the backrooms.

Folk of all different lands, be they blacksmiths gone mad in Jannon, men of faith in the Aurvam of Ar-Shhramoush, soldiers of a bygone army on the banks of the Syffa Delta or perhaps well-to-do tradesmen among the scattered isles of the Straits of Charnasya, may all share in the same timeless struggles which mire this wretched world.

Speb and Vadivawu, an unlikely pairing of greedy sea-swept ship captain and reedy leg-fused insular quartermistress. The Tartartartartariog is their ship to command upon the high and grizzly seas west of Vayavarpa and beyond, with enough luck and a little help against that tyrant Ptagmokar they might just make it through without a gruesome death at sea.

As it would happen, entering a craftsman’s shop for the first time only to come across little puppets made in your image is not considered creepy in several regions. While it might be an older practice, many folk still find the making figures of their potential clients as a form of welcoming and endearment. In lands such as Connlaib and Wydlaib, where idols and votives are often used to represent deities or ancestral guardians, this practice signifies that one has already been accepted into another’s household as a guest. Alternatively, the crafting of such things lends itself to traditional beliefs of control as old stories speak of cullahs (medicine men/doctors) who had been wronged by rowdy rompers using their hands to manipulate and strangle those who had transgressed them through dolls like these.

Lower than the worms she is