the cold seas grew tendrils and rolled bones across the seabed

black lines breathing rivers through corridors of ash

winter at dusk the fire burns differently when no one is looking whispers of dancing and celebration fill the solemn temple of flesh

would you believe me if I told you that the dragons disappeared into the silver between the lightning

AMOK

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https://elancharan.itch.io/amok

You are fury incarnate. A tempest barely contained.

In AMOK, you embody a soul driven by primal rage—whether a forgotten gladiator, a cursed berserker, or a broken prophet screaming warnings into the void. This is a game of losing control, of surrendering to the violent pulse that beats beneath your skin, and of reckoning with what remains in the aftermath.

Each session begins with the roll of a single d6, igniting sparks of fury drawn from betrayal, injustice, loss, or survival. You’ll choose: resist the pull of your anger, or embrace it fully and unleash the storm within. Every choice carries a cost. Every outburst leaves scars—on your body, your spirit, and the fragile remnants of your humanity.

The more you run amok, the more you change. Your rage grants you terrifying power, but it also threatens to consume everything that made you who you were.

In the end, only one question matters:

Are you the master of your fury… Or its prisoner?

Features:

Simple Mechanics: All you need is a d6, a pen, and your journal.
Dynamic Rage System: Choose to resist or embrace your anger, each with lasting consequences.
Unique Character Abilities: Six archetypes with thematic powers that reflect the many faces of fury.
Scar System: Every outburst leaves its mark—physical, emotional, or spiritual.
Endgame Reflection: After ten sessions, confront the true cost of your rage and decide whether you’ve mastered it—or been devoured by it.

Run amok. Lose control. Discover what’s left of you when the fury fades.

a vow- not to be hunted not be tamed never to sleep under the banners of fragile men

the prophecy was torn in half each half transformed into a phoenix that lived for a few breaths and turned into ash and from the ashes the prophecy was made whole again

only you bare skinned and burning dancing at the edge of the world

in the marrow of the forest sentience grows veins of mycelium untangle from nature’s web

the mad gods gather round a table draped in white velvet to feast on bone and ruin