World of darkness pdf download

They're real. And now that you have glimpsed this world of darkness, there's no place to hide. Get World of Darkness Chicago Books now! Five visions. Get A World of Darkness Books now!

Download or read online Heart of Darkness written by Anonim, published by Unknown which was released on. Get Heart of Darkness Books now! Get The World of Darkness Books now! Not all magicians move the world. So-called hedge wizards ply their arts in the shadows, wresting secrets from musty tomes and hidden glades. Pay What You Want. Follow Your Favorites! Sign in to get custom notifications of new products! World of Darkness.

Start Over. Advanced Search. Newest Titles in This Section. Need help? Common Questions FAQ. Submit Suggestion. Contact us. My Library. Affiliate System. Gift Certificates. Create Content for your Favorite Games. About Us. Privacy Policy. Our Latest Newsletter. Product Reviews. Newsletter RSS Feed. Start Over Advanced Search. Products found in this section If you accept that you and everyone like you is cursed by God, why cling to His word?

When you return from the other side as a blood-drinking monster, what purpose serves belief? Kindred build and are drawn to faiths for myriad reasons. The exertion of power over a flock. Children of the Blood Vampire: the Masquerade 5th Edition Do you know who considers faith among the dead a trivial concept — or worse, a new one?

Dullards and con artists. These vampires want you to believe that religion is a new phenomenon among Kindred. They want you to believe only vampires on the periphery subscribe to the worship of higher powers or seek a greater cause. They want you Kindred lure victims into their webs and form a ring of protection and sustenance around themselves. And spiders, like vampires, are cunning. They ensnare the small and the weak, but some Vampire: the Masquerade 5th Edition Vampire: The Masquerade is the original and ultimate roleplaying game of personal and political horror.

You are a vampire, struggling for survival, supremacy, and your own fading humanity — afraid of what you are capable of, and fearful of the inhuman conspiracies that surround you. The classic that changed roleplaying This Mage 20th Anniversary Edition sourcebook expands on the mystique of the elite with an exploration of how the real movers and shakers operate when you throw magick into their world as well. Let the Streets Run Red Vampire: the Masquerade 5th Edition What motivates an undead body to go on walking, talking, plotting, and biting?

The Hunger is an obvious motivation. It drives all vampires to commit foul acts in the name of sustenance. The Beast, too, gives a Kindred drive. Whether in fear of the Beast within or in attempts to master it, that constant nagging growl makes an undead monster march on. M20 Technocracy Reloaded Welcome to the Future As the third decade of the 21st century dawns, the Technocratic Union stands on the cutting edge of a future imperiled.

Despite global telecommunications, Vampire: The Masquerade 20th Anniversary Edition Vampire: The Masquerade exploded into hobby games in and inspired a generation of fans the likes of which the game industry had never seen before or since. The cultural significance Vampire left on not just the gaming world but on modern vampire-related pop culture can be seen and felt at virtually every turn and in every medium today. Vampire: The Masquerade - 20th Anniversary World of Darkness: Ghost Hunters The abandoned lover, waiting for her paramour to return, only to die, alone.

Now she waits in her house forever. The serial killer, who never made his tally complete in life, now determined to possess This book contains a condensed but complete ruleset, a primer on Enlightened Science and the Paradox a Technocrat risks when pushing the boundaries of consensus too Reality is ours to bend.

To subvert. To command. We have that power — all of us. Not everyone knows what to do with it, or uses it well. Most of us never realize just what it is we are or how much we can do. Those of us who do … well, some of us are monsters. And the rest of us never see that monster Claim a haven on the Gold Coast.

Carve a place of this bustling metropolis for yourself. Subjugate a handful of the living on Michigan Avenue. Take a few deep drinks from some of the intoxicating vessels we have around here. Discover the nightlife. 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. It would also help to have economic resources at your disposal. Money buys privacy and discretion. They are also sighted at exclusive resorts, nightclubs and hotels.

Pause for laughter. The only residents are the staff of a scientific research facility located at the center of the zone. I found this to be the case when I visited as a graduate student. N ot only were our radios and televisions unable to receive signals, our walkie-talkies were inoperable. Our first day there, we were on our way to the research facility when our jeep stalled. As we were bent over it trying to find the problem, we heard footsteps behind us.

I remember turning around and wondering if I was imagining things. I saw a tall person standing there. I tend to think it was a man. The truth is, he could have been either male or female. He had long hair that was so blond it was almost white. He wore simple clothes. A pale shirt, gray shorts, unremarkable hiking boots.

My professor said hello and asked if the stranger was from the research center. He nodded. We stared at each other for a few awkward moments. The stranger had a slight smile on his face the whole time. By the time we turned back to the stranger, he was gone. The incident left us both badly shaken. We realized later that the stranger had carried no water bottle or hiking gear of any kind.

N ot even a sun hat. And even though the terrain around us was flat as a pancake, the stranger had vanished in seconds, leaving not even a footprint. When we reached the research facility, the staff assured us that there was no one in the area who met that description.

Certainly no one could have hiked that far into the zone without provisions, and a routine aerial survey later that day showed no evidence of any vehicle but our own. The Outsiders The third group, outsiders, might also be termed zoophantoms, suggesting something that takes the illusion of an organism but may be of a different order altogether.

But I believe that a detached, clear-minded approach to investigating them is the best tack. S lide 6 , pause for laughter Outsiders come in many forms, from animated balls of light to spectral visitations to simulacrums of seeming flesh and blood. Sometimes they resemble a deceased loved one, or a stranger whose identity is discovered later. Some of them seem to act mindlessly, wandering without purpose or repeating the same behavior over and over again. Others may act deliberately or even maliciously.

Habitat Careful observation of the data, and application of simple models of animal behavior, yields some interesting theories about these cryptids. First of all, they seem very territorial. Outsiders do not seem to like crowds. Outsiders have an affiliation with human emotion. They tend to turn up at places of emotional turmoil.

These places appeal to them, but only after the action is over, sometimes centuries after. If human emotions leave behind some type of subtle energy or vibration, perhaps these ephemeral creatures feed on them. If their choice of territory proves unlucky — the house is sold, the old castle is refurbished — they rely on startling behavior to try to reclaim their areas. Example: Cemetery of St. James, London, England Two years ago a friend of a friend described what seemed to me to be incidents of outsider activity.

I was particularly intrigued because the events occurred in a cemetery. To me, the possibility added credence to the idea that outsiders are not the souls of the restless dead. After all, nobody actually dies in a cemetery, and the deceased usually had no attachment to the place during life. There are plenty of visitors to provide sustenance, but no permanent residents to intrude on your privacy.

Long story short, we spend the night in the acre Cemetery of St. James, in the Highgate section of north London. Over 16 7 , people are buried there. Every so often a disinterred body is found, causing quite a stir. My associate had connections that got us permission to remain on the grounds after dark. After the sun went down, the gravestones and monuments seemed to take on different shapes in the corners of your eyes. Or so we thought. Maybe some of you will figure it out.

History is a lie. If creatures that walk and talk like people exist, how long have they been here? Ancient legends certainly seem to describe some of these beings. Are the superstitious ravings of our ancestors true? Maybe there really are such things as vampires, werewolves and sorcerors — and always have been. Are there beings who actively work to falsify the evidence of the past, covering their tracks from all records, written or otherwise?

Perhaps the facts are right but the reasons are wrong. What if he was transporting something away from the Old World and into the New, a land he knew existed thanks to legends and map fragments? Ridiculous, of course. Contemplating these sorts of wacko conspiracies helps us to imagine that all conspiracies are merely the result of overactive imaginations. But what about less prominent events in history, those that are still shrouded in mystery?

For instance, what caused the Tunguska Crater in Siberia? The official explanation is that it was a meteor. And yet, in the World of Darkness, nomadic hunters of the time reportedly swore to a French journalist that strange creatures were sighted in the region.

Peasants whispered for years that those who traveled too close to the crater at night would sleepwalk for months afterward. Rubbish, some people say. Case solved. Viewing history through the lens of supernatural machination allows us to mine the past for stories. The entire tapestry of history, from the invention of agriculture to the nuclear bomb, can be interpreted in a sinister light, with warring forces of occult beings and secret societies using ignorant humans as pawns in their eternal games.

What could we achieve if only we could remove the veil from our eyes and see things as they are? Human potential is limitless, hampered only by our own unwillingness to question and deal with the ramifications of reality. Beware, however, to whom you address any questions, lest you become enlisted into the armies of the night and wage their wars instead of your own. And that was how I learned the secret history of the world. After a time, the ancients desired servants to dwell with them, servants who walked upright and had 5 7 5 6 5 pleasing shapes, and who could speak.

But these animals retained their wildness and did not make good servants. They were the Second Children, whom men called demons. And these were the Third Children, called mankind. And mankind served the ancients in peace and contentment. Mankind knew not death then. Those whose bodies became worn and aged were sent to sleep in the shadow of the Earth and returned after a time restored to health and youth.

The Ancients commanded their servants to build a great city, a city so vast that a child setting out to walk its length would be an old man before reaching the other side.

Calling on the power of the god-machine, the Ancient Ones raised their city into the dome of the sky, fixing it at the place where the orbit of the moon crossed the orbit of the sun. And in the city they placed a third of mankind to serve them as vassals and slaves. Why do the Ancients enjoy the pleasures of this city when it is our labor that built it?

It is not right that we be enslaved. Will you not look on us with favor? What has fallen may rise again. Finally, they decided that it was the will of the god-machine that they raise themselves from slavery. Determined to kill the Ancients and take their place as the favored of the god-machine, the men of the city plotted carefully. When the time came, they fell upon the Ancient Ones in their sleep, murdering them with their own weapons and devices in a single night of betrayal.

The streets of the celestial city ran red with blood. A great cry rose up from the Earth, and the mountains shook and the skies were filled with storms.

The Ancients struck back at their servants, but too late. Just eight of the Ancient Ones survived. The first Fury was named Silence, and fled to the center of the Sun. It cursed mankind to forget the art of speaking to and receiving the signals of the god-machine.

The second Fury was named Death, and fled to the hidden side of the moon. It cursed mankind to forget the way back from the shadow of the Earth. The third Fury was named Torment, and fled to the star Venus.

It cursed mankind to be split into two beings, wyff-man and wo-man, each imperfect and forever seeking its opposite.

The fourth Fury was named Fear, and fled beneath the highest mountain on the Earth. It cursed mankind to be hated and dreaded by all the beasts and birds and fish and all creatures everywhere. Of the other four surviving Ancient Ones nothing here can be said, for they chose to withhold their curses until such time as they saw fit. And then the city of the Ancients shook to its foundations. The men marveled at what happened but could not stop it.

The city was loosened from the moorings that held it to the firmament. The men cried out in horror, rushing to flee the city before it crashed to earth. Some set upon the roads of light that the Ancients had built, and became lost among the stars. Some reached the silver-sailed boats and descended safely.

But many were trapped within the city, and screamed their last as it fell. And when the city crashed and sank beneath the waves, the world shook, the sun hid its face and everywhere people were afraid. And here the angel paused, regarding me with a hundred eyes. For the news I bear is this: The god-machine has not turned its eye from your home. But the way will not be easy. The First Children are set in judgment over you, and the Second Children seek to trap you.

It is their workings that take your world through its turnings. Their handiwork appears again and again throughout history. Regard the mighty Sphinx of Egypt. Recent studies of the water erosion on its rocky surface indicate that the monument dates back to the days when the Sahara was green and lush. Far older than the pyramids it guards, the Sphinx comes from a time close to the fall of the Ancients.

The Second Children roamed freely through the world then, greater than man in power and knowledge. The demons shaped primitive man into a civilization that revered them as gods. But their hubris was against the will of the god-machine, and they failed.

The great civilizations of Egypt, Sumer and Babylonia rose later from the dim memories of that failure, revering gods with the forms and features of beasts. They considered it the source of all wisdom and knowledge.