Blessed with fertile plains, navigable rivers, abundant forests and majestic mountains, the lands of the East appear to be a paradise. Beneath that rich beauty, however, lies a sickness that infects every inch of the lands, even as it imbues the earth with a mystery and magic that drives successive waves of would-be-conquerors to possess it at all costs. Those who inhabit the lands seem to prosper for a while, but even the strongest eventually succumb to the miasma of corruption cloaking the earth.
Somewhere beneath the Old Country's soil lies the midnight-black heart of the demon Kupala. Each beat of his mighty heart spews forth greater malignancy: hatred, bigotry, terror, unnatural desire, rage, corruption and infection.
—Vampire: The Dark Ages - Transylvania By Night
Now Melkor began the delving and building of a vast fortress, deep under Earth, beneath dark mountains where the beams of Illuin were cold and dim. That stronghold was named Utumno. And though the Valar knew naught of it as yet, nonetheless the evil of Melkor and the blight of his hatred flowed out thence, and the Spring of Arda was marred. Green things fell sick and rotted, and rivers were choked with weeds and slime, and fens were made, rank and poisonous, the breeding place of flies; and forests grew dark and perilous, the haunts of fear; and beasts became monsters of horn and ivory and dyed the earth with blood.
After enough time and sufficient bloodshed, certain locations gain a power of their own. In time, there will not be any truly peaceful places left.
—Ranse Truman, The Suffering: Ties That Bind
This place had once been the seat of an evil older than mankind and wider than the known universe. It was a place of pain and suffering beyond human understanding. [...] Originally, there was an old stone church built on this site in 1788, but the Black Church swallowed up the old sanctuary the way it has swallowed our minds. Now there is nothing left of what was once here, except the mosaic of our Lord and Savior above the front door. Some believe the old sanctuary still exists somewhere, trapped inside this evil edifice. It's primeval inhabitants were a murderous race of creatures whose vile existence contaminated time itself, afflicting history with their sadistic wickedness.
—John Trent, reading from "The Hobb's End Horror", In the Mouth of Madness
Some say that Dystopia was once the spirit world of the perfect city, a spiritual dream of society's grandest goals. In ancient times, this world had different names, such as the Polis or the Mir. The Technocracy - or its fall from grace - changed humanity's visions of the cities of the future. Few visionaries subscribe to the ideas of garden cities of tomorrow any longer. As the Technocracy imposes its edicts on humanity, the dream of a brighter future through science crumbles. The declining quality of life in modern cities has transformed a spiritual monument to the best aspects of society into a testament to the worst elements of the Urban Age.
—Mage: The Ascension - The Book Of Worlds
Tragedy and horror can leave a stain as unwholesome and palpable as blood.
—Lord Deplorable, Twitter
Father Grimaldi: The room was set apart from the world by papal decree! Whatever takes place in there, it is no sin... not in the room.
John Constantine: "Nothing is forbidden, everything is permitted." Sounds like my kinda place... 'Cept, d'you know which pope it was who "set the room apart from the world" as you put it? Pope Alexander VI... otherwise known as Roderic Llancol De Borgia. Yeah, that's right. Those Borgias. He wanted somewhere to rape little boys without being damned for it - so he found a way to hide the room from God.
Father Grimaldi: It-it cannot be - the Holy See would never-
John Constantine: Spare me your papal infallibility crap. You've abused your position as much as he ever did. That room's a black box that's seen some of the nastiest shit ever perpetrated over the last five hundred years. That kind of thing leaves a stain om a room... and maybe something got a whiff of it.
—Hellblazer: Mortification Of The Flesh
Moutnefert: The gardens were beautiful once, like a postcard... until the seal was broken. Then the animals fled, and the palm trees bowed under their own foul fruit.
Nefertari: It's Akhenaten's doing. His sickness remains, festering. Our efforts have come to naught.