There’s that old saying, “Those who fight monsters become them.” In Nightholme, we take that quite literally. It’s the price of admission, really. You can’t stroll into Grimspawn territory wearing soft, chewable human skin and expect to keep it.
But fear not, darlings. That’s what Nocturn is for.
Just after you drink, you’ll feel yourself change. The archetype you choose will peek through, adapting your puny body to conditions it wouldn’t otherwise survive. You’ll be reshaped just enough to meet the real monsters on their terms and stand a fighting chance. A small one, perhaps, but fighting nonetheless. We do so admire that indomitable human spirit.
So go on. Drink deep. Sprout claws and teeth and oozing tentacles. And when the time is right, push a little further and see what being a Grimspawn really feels like.
The cost? Oh, don’t trouble yourself with that. We’ve found Nocturn works best once you stop keeping count. And in the end, do you really care what it takes from you? You have to stay alive to even miss it.
Join the conversation on Discord:
https://discord.com/invite/nightholme
Bottoms Up
I heard someone say once, “The night will keep.” Some grizzled old Runner, hunched by the fire, scratching a sigil into the flesh of his wrist.
I’d been young then. I scoffed. Jumped up, rushed in.
Later, lost to Nocturn and the whispering Void, the Runner’s words came back.
I understand him now. The night’s not going anywhere. It’ll keep. The question is, will I?
The vial drags my eyes down to where it’s cradled in one palm. Cold glass, sweating, half-filled with red slurry. It weighs like molten lead, too heavy for its size. Burns like it too, going down.
At its core floats a cartilaginous chunk, glossy and pale. Brainstem, maybe, or an eyestalk. Its edges are loose, drifting around. Waving at me.
Madness, what we put in our bodies these days. I knew a guy once who’d crack open the vials and chew the cores. Swore it made him stronger. I can still hear his teeth squeak, biting down.
“You gonna drink it, or buy it dinner first?”
I glance up at a Runner across the fire. Just a kid. Bubblegum-dyed hair and a shine that hasn’t worn off yet. I clock her at one run under her belt. Maybe two.
“Haven’t decided.” I gesture at the vial she’s fiddling with. “What’s your poison?”
“Voorbeast.”
I nod, catching the spark in her eyes. It says something about you, the choice. Some Runners lean toward a shape and never veer away. Ritual instinct.
I have a feeling she’s one of those. She trusts her archetype. Understands how it moves and scents and kills. She accepts it.
I admire that. Runners like me bounce around. Voorbeast one night, Seer the next. Nameless when you’re feeling twitchy. Truly choosing would mean admitting what you are.
I don’t say any of that. I just say, “Wonder if your fur’ll be pink too.”
She grins. Lifts her vial.
“Bottoms up.”
When I don’t reciprocate, she falters.
“What are you waiting for?”
I shrug. Some things you need to sit with. Transformation is nonnegotiable in our line of work. Survival, not desire. And I never want to stop thinking, Maybe tonight’s the night I walk away.
“Not eager,” I say.
Her eyes spark again. “Why?”
That gets a laugh out of me. I wonder what she’d say if I told her to give it a few years. Talked about the names that stop mattering, or the habits that don’t come back. The way your limbs stop feeling like your own.
“Part of you stays behind,” I tell her, nodding at her vial. She’s peeling the label off, like an addict before a fix. “In the glass.”
She considers this. Thoughtfully sniffs the Nocturn—metallic blood, bitter gall, and something else I know but can’t place.
Then that spark goes white-hot. She shrugs, and she knocks it back in one.
I shrug too. Everyone’s got a reason.
Her transformation is a symphony of popping bones. She shudders it out, silent in a way that says she understands pain. When she straightens, I watch something inside her lock into place.
Her fur’s not pink, but that spark’s still there, bright within predator eyes. She smiles at me around a mouthful of teeth.
The night hasn’t gone anywhere. She’s just risen to meet it. And she knows, like I do, that I’ll join her soon.
Come talk with us on on Discord. Share your ideas, give feedback, and connect with other players.
Discord: https://discord.com/invite/nightholme
Stay vigilant, Grimrunners,
— Studio Ellipsis Team