Jessy's Story

Jessy's Story is told through a series of roleplaying session recaps by Adam Kratz with illustrations by Larissa Darrah on Beyond Elysium, a horror blog. The story follows Jessy Button, born Jessica Buckle, a small town girl turned big city Instagram influencer. As she tries to settle into the world of luxury, Jessy seeks out why people are after the captivating luxury ring left to her by her late mother. Jessy's Story takes place in Toronto, Canada in the universe of the tabletop roleplaying game Kult: Divinity Lost.


Read Here

Arc 1 available now! 

Arc 2 updates every three weeks. 

Jessy's Story contains adult material.


Jessy Button Character Portrait


Jessy gazes into the abyss in her nightmare


On the rooftop, IR heaters are making the cold winter night bearable while the floor is shaken by the bass below. Strong-smelling vape smoke is thick in the air, but Jessy and Tan stand off near the edge to share a joint and speak privately. Tan takes an instant interest in her ring, offering up ridiculous sums of cash for it. Jessy, put on the spot, stammers out that she has to think about it, which Tan accepts for the moment.

The thing moves, and screams, and wails for Jessy to come closer


Jessy attends a pool party

When Artyom stands up, Jessy realizes that he must be well past eight feet tall. A white plastic, expressionless mask has been crudely stapled onto his face with thick, metal clamps. The suit is ill-fitting: Artyom is much too tall, his flayed body stretched and ripped beyond any repair. Gangrene spreads from his head and down his neck, dried and cracked black tissue. Mid-thigh, his legs have been cut off and rusted metal stakes have been forced into his body and screwed into his legs with iron bolts and wires.


Jessy is confronted by Wilma


Jessy places her hand over the wound, and when the blood gushes over her ring, it burns. Something screeches to a halt, far away, and Simon’s agonized crying becomes a choir of likeminded euphoric suffering. Jessy realizes in that moment that the garbage bags surrounding her are filled with body parts, that beyond the barricaded door lies not the hotel but some other place entirely. She can not see Artyom behind her, but she feels him. There is no disguise covering his broken and rebuilt body in this place.


Jessy seeks out Wilma


[...]crates, rotted and wet sleeping bags, and a haphazardly built mound of old, soiled mattresses at its center. Wilma lays atop it, though except the bulging brown eyes with their hateful look she is nigh unrecognizable. Old, and haggard, clad in rags and fine jewelry and covered by stained mattresses, she is anything but the beauty Jessy saw in her dreams. She wouldn’t be able to fight back, if Jessy decided that violence was the answer. The rosy fragrance from earlier comes into the room with Wilma’s underlings, and they close the door behind them.


Jessy with her goat mask and ring.

Jessy's mother acting not entirely herself. 

With officer O’Donovan pacing around the room, Jessy finds it difficult to keep focus on her. The medicine still has her a little dazed, and the image of Ellis gets harder and harder to parse. She’s large, huge even, and beneath the uniform is white, thick skin with wrinkles and calluses. Every part of her body swells out of her clothing, something massive impossibly fit into the police uniform and Ellis’ skin. Jessy stares in confusion at the sight. The way O’Donovan’s black tongue rolls and bounces across her chest as she talks seems to defy all sense. She looks back at Jessy, and a wide smile with sharp little teeth, yellow and filthy, spreads across her face. Her eyes, bulbous and white and shimmering like pearls, bore into Jessy’s. They see each other.


Tan shows Jessy around his downtown condo.


The vision is impossibly vivid. She can smell the suppression and impotent frustrations. A pyramid of flesh, men and women standing on each other’s backs and shoulders and reaching ever higher until, at the top, there is only one. The rest of them are naked, sweaty and in pain, but he is clad in a red robe and wears a heavy golden crown. It rests easy on his brow, but its weight crooks the back and bends the knees of every man and woman beneath him. Below this living construction rages a machinery of bronze and iron, old cogs spinning eternally and patinated pendulums keeping their rhythm. Those humans who cannot bear the burden of their task fall, or throw themselves, into these pounding machines to be devoured, torn asunder entirely by the thrumming contraption. Body parts tumble around amongst the cogs and splatter them with blood. Their only option is to live for upholding the pyramid, or not to live at all. Jessy drifts towards this sight, feeling in her hand the shape of her goat mask.

© 2023 by Odam Lviran. Proudly created with

  • Black Facebook Icon
  • Black Instagram Icon
  • Black Twitter Icon
  • Black Tumblr Icon