The wind howled through the cornfield and struck the farmhouse like a battering ram. A fine mist of plaster dust filled the air as Yurgen leapt to his feet and struggled to untangle his suspenders. The wind screamed again and the door bowed and strained at its latch. Wood squealed and splintered, but the door held somehow. Outside, too far it seemed, one of the cows’ deep lows rose to a shivering peak before mingling with the cry of the wind and vanishing.
“What in the name of the gods…”
Yurgen leaned his weight against the farmhouse door until he could release the latch,then dodged aside as the door boomed open. A blast of wind roared through the doorway and down the narrow hall of his modest home. It took his breath away and pushed him back into the house, a giant’s hand intent on crushing him where he stood. Thenis crawled to him on her hands and knees and huddled against him, shivering. For a time they could say and do nothing but listen to the screams of the cattle. Thenis tried to ask something but the wind ripped the words from her lips. Seeing the look in her eyes, he could only wrap his arm tighter about her, his hand resting protectively atop her head.
“A storm! A twister!” He screamed into her ear. It was no use, she could not hear him any more than he could understand her.
The earth shuddered then, a booming whump that was felt more than heard. Yurgen gaped as the earth buckled and buldged beneath him, the very ground moving like slop in a pig trough in a thick, brown wave. The walls bucked and lathe cracked. Hunks of plaster crashed upon the couple. Pans rattled from their places and crashed together on the floor. Thenis cried out and clung to him, her tearful sobs turning the white dust on his shirt to mud. They stayed there like that, she crying steadily as he stroked her hair reassuringly, both too shocked to realize the wind had nearly halted or at least dropped in intensity enough for them to hear one another.
“I must get out and see to the farm. Come now!”
The couple struggled to their feet and forced the door back on its tilted jamb. The light was strange, wrong. It was early yet but the sunrise was muted and distant, not the fine, warm, yellow it should have been. Instead, an eerie red light seemed to waver, growing in intensity and then draining away to a sullen grey before building again. The wind had all but died and no sounds, not even the cattle, came to the frightened couple. A thick, musty smell hung on the air, a smell of old rotting moss and stagnant water. Thenis gave Yurgen a worried look. He smiled as best he could and clasped her hand. They stepped outside together.
They might have looked south to see that the fields were stripped of their crop, or west to note that their barn was simply gone, a great cliff in its place. They might have seen these things, but they did not, for their eyes were drawn up, up into a sky full of seething black and red clouds that boiled like a stew upon a hot fire, angry green and blue flashes of lightning playing in their dark, bloody hearts hinting at shapes too monstrous, too maddening to comprehend. And their minds wanted to make what they saw into clouds, those tremendous dangling appendages that hung from the seething soot over their heads, their bases mercifully hidden in the roiling blackness above. Tentacles, though they would not know it, not being fishermen or dwelling near the sea, writhed and raged over the landscape, each so impossibly vast that their minds refused to comprehend what they were seeing. One such tentacle seemed to caress the distant top of Mount Hyli and then it tightened and tore the top entirely away. The huge mound of snow-capped stone seemed but a rock in a child’s hand as the tentacle bashed its prize against the side of the mountain repeatedly before hurling it away, farther northward. A distant crashing eventually washed over them, too muted to serve as a proper harbinger of what had just happened. The broken top of the mountain, a fixture in both their lives since birth, frowned over their battered home like a ruined tooth.
The Coming tells the story of struggle after defeat. The characters are members of a last, desperate insurgency against their mindflayer overlords. Outnumbered, overpowered and beyond all hope, this small band of heroes stands against a terrible, alien foe that feeds with impunity upon humanity.
The Coming is based upon a modified version of the Pathfinder RPG.
Who We Are
We are the Northern Montgomery County Gamers Association (NMCGA), a group of older gamers that have been playing together for more than a decade. Some of our members have been gaming together for more than 20 years. We meet 50+ weeks a year, every Thursday evening for 4-6 hours to tell tales of high adventure, low adventure and just plain destruction.
A typical campaign runs about two years or so. Most recently, we finished a 14-month Savage Worlds campaign called The Weald.