Greetings people,

who else thinks Cthulhu Mythos is too sophisticated to be at most a fictional realm?

I do not mean all of it, but I am quite sure some elements, are based on ancient occult systems!

Your search for answers about the vanishing of an entire town has carried you further than you ever imagined—across weathered maps and whispered myths, through riddled accounts and the sharp tang of half-truths. The trail was a patchwork of the unreliable, stitched together by stories that unraveled when pulled too tightly. But one stood out—a sailor’s slurred mutter over a cracked mug of something that reeked of turpentine. He spoke of a survivor. A thread, delicate and frayed, left hanging from the tapestry of whatever tore that town from the world.

That thread brought you here: the continent’s ragged edge, to a city that seems to defy cartography, where the streets curl like question marks and the ocean listens more keenly than it speaks. Fathom’s Port—a place cobbled together from compromise and ruin, part stone, part shipwreck, held together by salt, storms, and stubbornness. Its docks groan under the weight of crates and ceaseless footfalls, while buildings tilt toward one another, their crooked spines suggesting whispered secrets exchanged in the dark.

The Salty Mermaid—half tavern, half confession booth—feels like the city bottled and poured into a single, warped room. It hums with an uneasy kind of life: not joyous, but not quite mournful. The patrons lean over battered tables with the air of people trying to forget something they dare not name. Smoke lingers like restless ghosts, mixing with the tang of stale ale and the faint whiff of spilled blood, long since scrubbed away but never truly gone. The chairs and tables are pocked with scars—stories etched in wood by knives and impatience, with no one left to tell their endings.

You and your companions sit in a corner, shadows pooling around your table like an old acquaintance. The light from a hanging lantern sways uncertainly, throwing fractured shapes onto the walls as you watch the door. You’re looking for a man you’ve never seen but somehow feel you’ll know when you see him. The hours stretch, syrup-thick and heavy, and the room shifts around you—voices rising and falling, the scrape of boots against warped planks, a spill of laughter that dies too quickly.

Then the music begins again. At first, it’s nothing remarkable—a wandering melody, as aimless as the drinkers who hum it under their breath, paired with lyrics steeped in betrayal and heartbreak. The sort of tune that drifts unnoticed, lost among the clamor. But something shifts. The words twist just enough to make you pause, drawing your focus to the singer's voice, which rises, curling like smoke into the corners of the room.

You glance at your companions. They’re transfixed, their eyes pinned to the stage as though caught on barbed hooks, and you feel the certainty of it settle over you like a chill

The Archive Cabinet is a Patreon based project that provides its members with the necessary tools to create evidence for your TTRPG's investigation! As of right now, there are over 80 .psd files ready to use, all you have to do is insert the text that best suits your needs! The project also provides with a variety of symbols that you can use in your handouts as a cult's crest, the visual representation of a ritual or spell, etc.

Check out Archive Cabinet's Patreon page for more information and some free content!

https://preview.redd.it/571vehdb06ee1.jpg?width=1818&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=bf0fec3ad6ce72d70aeacd07743763abf134dc22