the spring moon grips the resting mind: ethereal roots fraying and untangling the strands seperating conscious from the subconscious pulling you deep into the realm of dreams
Month: April 2026
paradise after dark shadows stretch from the darkest recesses of the human soul
spring morning the gods of the concrete demand a sacrifice: screams
Froid Train
Froid Train is out now! Play hard and fast, a journaling ttrpg with a focus on the Freudian subconscious and automatic thoughts! Check it out on DriveThruRPG or itch.io at the links below. As always your love and support matters!
You were never meant to ride the train.
You are a sandwiched being, crushed between classes, between laws, between hungers. Too poor to be protected, too useful to be discarded, you lived in the narrow machinery of the world, beneath the towers of the high and above the pits of the broken. You carried messages, debts, ash, names. You learned to survive in the seams.
But the dystopic realm is closing in. Districts are swallowed by ration wars, sleep ministries, furnace cults, and the slow violence of systems that grind the nameless into fuel. Refugees vanish at the checkpoints. Entire neighborhoods are redacted. Language itself is becoming a form of labor.
Then you hear of the train.
The Froid Train moves through forbidden zones, ruin belts, frozen stations, and the last ungoverned edges of the world. Some say it is an escape route. Some say it is a moving border. Some say no one arrives unchanged. Its engine burns words, memory, and thought. To board it is to surrender certainty and feed the furnace with whatever rises in the mind.
You board with nothing stable left but your own fragments.
In this solo micro TTRPG, you play a refugee of class pressure and civil collapse, escaping across a dead world by feeding words into the train’s furnace. Every word pushes the engine forward. Every line reveals what the realm has become. You are not seeking victory. You are seeking passage, survival, and perhaps a self the world failed to crush.
By journey’s end, the question is not only what waits at the last station.
It is whether the person who boarded is still the one who arrives.
divinity tends to its garden: tenderly scattering stardust and watching with keen intent as bones bloom from dark matter
cruel streets wait patiently as the light comes crawling back one ray at a time
across battlefields swollen with bodies and rubble scavengers harvest and remake the world in their vision: brutal
elancharan gunasekaran 