Deep beneath the languid surface of Everything the nodegel stirs turgidly. Strange things lurk unseen in the depths, pushing through the fronds with silent menace, and sometimes lashing out at the unsuspecting with noisome bursts of psychic turbulence.
The people of Everything go about their business warily. They talk and laugh and love in their small community, bringing their children into the world with love and hope. Yet a quick glance or a slight stammer betrays their knowledge that the elder gods move among them still.
Indeed, dark and frightening things shamble half-seen through the shadows, raising goosebumps on innocent flesh and weakening the knees of the mighty. The town's constabulary cut sinister figures in their heavy cloaks as they patrol the dark and misty streets, stopping frequently to confer with the town mortician and his mad assistant lounging on the spacious front veranda of their capacious, gothic and always busy funeral home. Sometimes the town's bold mayor appears on the murky streets to render judgment or offer advice, both beautiful and terrible in his radiant cloak of office.
Yet, even these worthy entities, inured to horrors beyond human imagining, know the crawling touch of fear. Any one of the humble citizens may unknowingly stumble upon the arcane formula for summoning forth the one force that can truly imperil the entire town and its citizenry. The mayor says "Let the aggrieved come to me, and I shall deal with them." Yet the constables know that the mayor is as much style as substance, and the darkness would surely snuff his radiance as quickly as a candle in the wind.
Thus I, your humble correspondent, take it upon myself to exceed the mayor's mandate from time to time, to cull the sickness before it can spread and imperil us all. Sometimes I must take a loved one from the arms of a townsperson. Little do the citizens realize that these offspring are not their own flesh and blood, but horrible changelings which have taken the place of their own seed. Learn to recognize the signs, citizen! It is not too late to save yourselves!
This month starts with such a slaughter. Wandering among us I found uprooted children of H. P. Lovecraft. Lest their psychic emanations lead their dark guardians to us, to take terrible vengeance, I slew them. The following lists of empty vessels remain, needing to be filled with critical commentary and fair use before the darkness can take root once more.
Old Nodes Home
The node adult contemporary could use a decent writeup, all current writeups are by fled users.
The node phlogiston could use a decent writeup to replace fled user quaternion's work.
Dungeons and Dragons experts might want to look at SpellJammer too (quaternion's only other writeup) to see if it can be fleshed out.