In this Relaunch Prelaunch episode, you’ll hear excerpts from Drabblecast resident Cryptozoologist Connor Choadsworth’s past adventures, and also about how you can help fund his next adventure by helping us reach our 45K Kickstarter stretch goal!
Category: Fantasy (Page 1 of 25)
Join cryptozoologist Connor Choadsworth as he treks across the Gobi desert in search of a mythical acid-spitting, lightning sh*tting annelid.
This original series was created by Norm Sherman for the Drabblecast. Keep your eyes and ears open as Connor Choadsworth will be returning for an all new adventure very soon!
For now, the Mongolian Deathworm—the deadliest worm in all of Mongolia.
It is subject to a number of extraordinary claims by Mongolian locals. Such as the ability of the worm to spew forth sulfuric acid that upon contact will turn anything it touches yellow. It kills humans. And it’s purported ability to kill at a distance by means of electric discharge… through its anus…
This series was originally serialized across five Drabblecast Episodes:
- Drabblecast #131 – Storms Comes A’ Callin’
- Drabblecast #132 – Double Header IV
- Drabblecast #134 – Bone Sigh
- Drabblecast #142 – The Golden Age of Fire Escapes (Part 1)
- Drabblecast #143 – The Golden Age of Fire Escapes (Part 2)
Now you can enjoy the complete nature documentary series right here!
In Search of the Mongolian Deathworm
Imitation and authenticity are as much a part of the H.P. Lovecraft mythos as any of the Old Ones in today’s open source fiction universe. If one theme pierces all of Lovecraft’s work it is that the laws of reality are anything but absolute.
At R’lyeh Funland, you never entered the tower unless summoned. That’s because our boss, Mr. Whatley (no relation to those Whatleys–you know the ones), only called people up for one of three things: to chew you out, scapegoat you, or fire you. So when he called for La’vonne over the loudspeakers, I knew nothing good would come of it.
Awareness terrified the golem, but the burning paper in his mouth and the word written on it gave him comfort. It filled him with wonder and fear, knowledge and life. Saint Darwin had fashioned the paper from a certain bush on an Egyptian mountainside that was impervious to fire. When the golem’s life dissipated, the flames would sputter out but the mystical paper would never be consumed.
Standing over the boy, Worgly raised his shaggy brown arms and roared with his terrible roar. “You’re going to eat me!” And the monster gnashed his terrible teeth, and rolled his terrible eyes, and showed his terrible claws.
The boy’s expression changed from terror to puzzlement. “You want me to eat you?”
“Yes!” shouted Worgly. “Wait… No.”
I was born again on New Year’s Eve, full of broken promises, and slick and sticky with two kinds of blood. One of them was a ghost’s. That didn’t surprise me, though. I’ve seen my share of ghost blood.
I’d spent most of my life working with spirits and principalities — tracking ghosts, and making demands of them. That’s what people hired me for. But I wasn’t one of Darwin’s spiritualists, though I’d read his Origin of the Spirits and wore the goggles he’d fashioned. No, the spiritualists aided the spirits, providing a bridge between the living and the dead to help care for them. Me? I took all of Charlie Darwin’s studies and tools, and crossed those bridges to make certain demands of ghosts. I was a spiritual extortionist.
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