Saturday, November 28, 2015

[Mage 2: The Dethroned Queen] Youkai: Separating Fact from Myth by Talon Indra

((Chronicle: Mage 2: The Dethroned Queen
Venue: Mage: The Awakening
Chronicle Storyteller: Jerad Sayler
Authored by Alanna Keith))


Youkai: 
Separating Fact from Myth
By Talon Indra




What they are:

Trying to come up with a concise, manageable definition for youkai is difficult - it is like trying to describe what animals are to someone who has no idea.  There are many different kinds of animals - insects, amphibians, mammals, birds, reptiles, arachnids, fish, crustaceans... the same is true of youkai.  To the Japanese, youkai is a term that is (mistakenly) applied to almost any supernatural entity, creature, or phenomena beyond normal human understanding.  Bakemono, obake, etc... are also used as a broad brush to name things that are *weird*. 
To help correct this common misconception that a youkai can be anything and everything weird under the sun (or moon), we are going to list some defining traits and tell you what youkai definitely are not.



Defining Traits:

Youkai Aura

All youkai have an aura, not to be confused with the natural energy aura that all living, spirit, and many undead things emanate (which youkai also possess).  This youkai aura is directly representative of a youkai’s power and is also reflective of its true nature.  The youkai aura emanates from the youkai like a strange mist, smoke, or miasma.  It is invisible to natural visual perception and to many magical sights, however it often gives off a distinct smell and a variety of emotional effects.

Sometimes settling near the floor, like smoke from a fire, sometimes filling a whole room like a fog, the exact characteristics of the aura varies depending on the type of youkai.  An aura can permeate an entire area, helping to keep intruders out and mark territory, getting stronger as the distance to its source decreases.
Many auras, especially those associated with evil youkai are poisonous miasmas, unsafe to enter without safety precautions.  The vile stench of these auras are usually a good warning sign.

With the right perception or sights, other supernatural creatures, whether they be vampires, werewolves, mages, hunters, etc, will be able to see the aura.  Mages need active Spirit or Prime sights to see a youkai aura.  Unless the youkai has an association with Death, Death sights will not perceive the aura.

True Form

All youkai have a true form, unique to the species and individual.  This true form, like the youkai aura, is highly representative of the youkai’s power, often gaining in size and complexity as power increases or as the youkai ages.  Although youkai can be powerful no matter what their form, the true form is the ultimate expression of raw power.  Although many youkai have the ability to change their form or shapeshift, and typically do so to smaller, more physically useful forms, weaker youkai tend to remain in their true form, or something closely approximating it (ex. umbrella youkai). 
A youkai can be compelled to return to its true form by certain magical spells or religious rituals.

What they are not:

Japanese terms:

Akuma – Youkai are not akuma.  The connotation for the word akuma is typically what westerners would normally think of as an evil demon.  Although youkai can be evil, youkai are not akuma.

Oni – Oni are more like a Japanese ogre.  They have very specific physical attributes and traits – bipedal, red skin, horns.

Yuurei - Yuurei is strictly used to describe ghosts, typically those ghosts whose human counterparts had either unfinished business or an unpleasant death.

Other Terms:

Changing Breeds – The supernatural beings known collectively as ‘Changing Breeds’ have formed close bonds with the soul of a natural animal.  Although these are shapeshifters, and many of their abilities are supernatural, they are not youkai.

Demons – As noted above with akuma, youkai are not demons.

Ghosts – Ghosts are the remnants of living things that are now dead.  Youkai are not ghosts – although some may be ghostlike in appearance and ability, they are not dead.

Shapeshifters – While youkai may shift shape, not all youkai are able to do so.  Shapeshifting may be a common ability, but it is not a defining trait.

Spirits – Youkai, unlike spirits, are not primary ephemeral entities, and do not usually reside in the Shadow.  A good many of them exist as physical entities, however, some may also have the ability to be ephemeral.  Many youkai do primarily reside in and interact with the physical world.  There are, however, rumors of entire youkai villages residing in the spirit world, perhaps as a way to distance themselves from the ever expanding humankind.  Although youkai and spirits are distinctly separate beings, there are a few similarities (the need for essence), leading to the theory that perhaps they are distantly related.

Werewolves – Werewolves are specific supernatural creatures that are part wolf, part human, and have ties to both the spirit and real worlds.  Although there are wolf youkai, they are distinctly separate creatures and have no spirit ties.

Evil – Youkai are not typically evil – they are much like humans and can be good, evil, mischievous, and anything in-between.



Friday, November 27, 2015

[The Secret World] Kingsmouth - Interview with Jack Boone

Venue: The Secret World
Created by: Funcom
Location: Campsite outside of Kingsmouth, Solomon Island, Maine





Interview with Jack Boone
1 November 2013
Immediately after the start of the Solomon Island blockade incident



Jack Boone has a campsite on the main road leading into Kingsmouth.  He guards the area from zombies, and speaks with agents about studying how the zombies function and operate. Figuring them out, he believes, will bring him one step closer to being rid of them.

Me: Um, hi.

Jack: Don't worry, kid, you haven't gone back in time. I just happen to be the last of the cowboys.  Got your Southern welcome right here. Mesquite beans, Texas style.  Good oughta face evil on a full stomach.

Name's Boone. I'm a troubleshooter.  You and I need to have a pow-wow before you go shooting for trouble.  Illuminati may have legacy on Solomon Island, but you folks gave that up for the high life, and the low road.  Sure you can be divided in purpose, but we gotta stand united against darkness.  This ain't my first rodeo, I know we're gonna need all the unity we can get.  Don't mean to say you've stepped into Hell, but when the wind blows west, you can just about smell the brimstone.

Me: What happened here?

Jack: All we know is death and fog came from the sea, or someone brought it back with them.  If I was a gambling man, I'd put money on that someone still being around.  Bunch of survivors holed up in Kingsmouth town.  Follow that main road and the sound of gunfire, you'll come to the sheriff's office.

Kid, whatever your reasons for being here, find out what those people died for.  And you bring a reckoning.

Me: So, what did you want to pow-wow with me about?  (Beginning of Mission: For a Fistful of Zombies)

Jack: This forest crawls. Gets my fingers itching for two matters.  One...  The other, to figure out a way to keep 'em down.  It ain't right the way the dead walk the earth. They deserve their six feet, same as everyone else.  Now I'm sworn to keeping guard here and you've got places to be.  Nothing's stopping you from culling the herd as you go... Hell, figure out what makes them tick and how to make that ticking stop  and I'll buy you a beer at the Apocalypse So go on, kid, saddle up!  The end of the world waits for no man.

Me: Alright,  I'll finding out more about the zombies, what makes them tick, could go a long way towards solving this problem.  But First I have a couple questions, could help me go into town with a little more intel.

Jack: *Jack makes a growling sound*

Me: Who's side are you on?  What faction?

Jack:  I come from the South…the real old South. My partner Wolf and I ride for a higher authority. When you need to know us, you’ll know us. You got a whole lot to learn about the secret world first, kid. And when you’re all learned up, then you gotta understand what you learned. Kinda like peeling the layers off an onion. Probably be as much weepin’ involved too, won’t lie to you. Won’t talk down to you neither. You and me, we’re the same, I’m just more experienced, is all. And experience don’t count for much these days. We’ve been stretched out thin as gauze, and we need all the cool heads and steady hands we can get. Thought I had a measure of the absolute darkness in this world. The darkness waiting its turn, patient as all hell, to come through. Turns out I was wrong. So, guess we both got some learning to do.



Me: What do you know about Solomon Island? Why here and now?

Jack: Too much going wrong for such a little island. But this is how it always starts, as I’ve born witness more times than I’d care to remember. Begins with a single act, usually someone being damn stupid, damn greedy or both – let me tell you, kid, that kid is the worst kind. Then…then it just piles on and piles on. Once that cellar door is open, ain’t no one wedging the damn thing shut again. You won’t find ordinary people in a place like Solomon Island. They’ve all been touched. Because, you see, here’s the thing about the secret world: it’s the kind of secret that spreads. The kind that sticks. Hell, that’s how myth and legend get going, on a whisper, passed door-to-door, gone viral. Mighty dangerous things to get into people’s heads. That’s why most myths are ninety-nine percent warning. Yeah, heh, about as effective as the ones they slap on a packet of smokes.

Me: You know the Illuminati, do you know what The Templars are?

Jack: It’s a big storm that can reach all the way from New England to the old one. Storm of the century. Gotta say it’s an impressive sight, the army of the Templars on the march. So’s a herd of buffalo, and you don’t want to find yourself standing in front of one of those. Or be riding with them when they go over a cliff, neither. It’s good work you do, and proud, but that can make for a blinkered combination. Can get you all tangled up in trying to prove you’re prouder and more good than the next guy. Think your bosses would have sent you special delivery if it didn’t kick dirt on the Illuminati’s shoes? Well, you listen kid, I ain’t here to pass no judgement. Find the measure of yourself, and if it should match up with the company you keep, well then, I tip my hat to you. Society is what keeps us apart from the dark.

Me: Ha, I'm not a Redcoat.  What have you heard about The Dragon?

Jack: Sign of the times, to see your people back in circulation. The Dragon. He-he. You play your cards with one hell of a poker face, and then, then the casino goes up in smoke and you were never there. Hell of a coincidence. The other societies are pissing in their pants, you know that, don't you? Afraid of what you might mean. That all the empires they're been building up brick by brick for centuries gonna mean squat in the end. Could be you're right, but hell, I never wrapped my head around "chaos theory." Even if what happened here was because a butterfly flapped its wings or somesuch, I'd find it hard to begrudge the butterfly. Well, I heard you guys have whole orchards of the critters.

Me: Not a Lizard either.  Have a good one!



Mission "For a Fistful of Zombies" Faction After Action Reports





FROM: The Dragon
TO: Dante Zelas (D17) of the Shadowfang
SUBJECT: For a Fistful of Zombies

Your report about the habits of the dead is interesting. It appears they can be lured like dogs, but unlike dogs, they show no signs of learning the lessons of the whip.
Use this to your advantage. If a tactic is effective, be merciless.
Their biology is curious: no heartbeat, no flow of blood, and no evidence of brain activity. So how will you know when the dead are really dead?
You will simply know.


The Labyrinth (The Illuminati)
TO: Casstiel (Mastigos) of the Five Horsemen
SUBJECT: For a Fistful of Zombies
Good job. Your findings fit with what we know about the reanimated dead: they're a total bitch, but you should have no trouble outwitting them tactically.
We're familiar with two types: the recent dead are quicker; the long buried show less spunk, but pose a more significant numbers problem.
The big breed - the corpse gorger - that's not an aberration we've seen before. Either that was the captain of the football team, or we're dealing with some form of mutation.
Ciao-ciao


FROM: Temple Hall
TO: Eos (M-Eos) of Malleus Maleficarum
SUBJECT: For a Fistful of Zombies
Good work on the report. The information regarding the reanimated dead is useful, though not particularly surprising.
Jack Boone - now there's a familiar name. He pops up in reports everywhere. The man travels far and wide, and always seems to be on-site before our agents. His factional allegiances are unknown, though he does not appear to be associated with either the Illuminati or the Dragon.
It would pay to keep an eye on him.
R. Sonnac



FROM THE BUZZING:  (Lore: The Illuminati)

Our wisdom flows so sweet. Taste and see.

TRANSMIT - initiate pyramid signal - RECEIVE - initiate NOW frequency - DOWNLOAD - initiate Big Brother broadcast - NEW AND IMPROVED - initiate Sex, Drugs, & Rockefeller Prerogative - THAT'S THE WAY TO DO IT! - initiate the Crowley cadence - YOU MUST BE PRESENT TO WIN - the blue spectrum - WITNESS - The Illuminati.

Entry 1 - Rockefeller is a famous millionaire
Entry 1 - Crowley is a famous occultist

Cue curtain. The Punch & Judy Show.

O child-wandering-in-the-dark, do you remember the puppet show? See Mr. Punch beat puppet after puppet with his stick. The lesson: we all fall down. See the puppet master manipulating the brutal slapstick and drinking from a hidden flask. Behold the conspiracy of conspiracies, the most secretest society.

Entry 2 and 15 - Punch and Judy is a puppet play where Punch would often beat the other 
characters/puppets with a big stick, including his wife Judy, and even the devil.

They began in Egypt, during the Old Kingdom. We came to them on the tears of Ra. But that was not the first beginning. Sweetling, do you really think this in the first age? Ever dream of the Long Ago? Ever gasp awake, remembering beginnings birthed before the Below?

Cue curtain. A New Age.

Time moves not in lines, but in circles. Ancient ideals pass down the generations, transcend cataclysms. Old becomes new, different yet same. Powerful mystics take the stage, form a cabal, and call themselves the Enlightened Ones.

Initiate Latin translation: "Illuminati."

The children of Eye and Pyramid fertilise the Nile. Can you see them, sweetling, through the time refraction in our text? They pollinate the skulls of scribes, viziers, priests, and philosopher kings. Thoughts germiante and bloom. They vie to guide humanity towards an esoteric culture, influence the world through the houses of Pharaohs.

Pluck the petals. The centuries tumble like she-loves-me-nots. The scenes change - Jericho, Damascus, Alexandria, Babylon, Jerusalem, Rome - but the plots and plays remain the same. Always, the Illuminati gather occult writings and treasures. They rise behind each new throne. And always, they encounter the Templars.

Entry 6 - Jericho, Damascus, Alexandria, Babylon, Jerusalem are all real-world cities in the middle-east and northern Africa

The secret society siblings snatch kings, generals, and great thinkers like coveted toys. The dolls break in the tug-of-war. The Illuminati grab guilds and banks. The Templars clutch the military. Vicious games of tag ensue. Sometimes one flees, sometimes the other - that familiar dance.

The Illuminati skip east, fostering high culture in Byzantium. In Asia, they meet the Dragon. Tag, you're it. They skip back west. Now three great factions dance.

These secret societies - these migratory birds flying from one kingdom to the next, according to geological seasons. Always there is the prize: the lands of milk and honey, the most powerful nations.

Entry 7 - Byzantium is a city in Turkey that that later became Constantinople and then Istanbul

Cue curtain. The New World.

A misstep in the dance. A sprang. The Illuminati limp west. On the new continent, away from their enemies, the children of Eye and Pyramid weave a new backdrop infrastructure so tightly that none of the other factions have been able to gain a foothold there since.

Cue psychic currency exchange. Cue the viral pyramid. The one dollar bill is always watching.
Defeats in Europe taught the Illuminati to play more subtly. Since then, they have been the most secretive of the three siblings.

Their clever fingers learnt to make shadow puppets. Decoy ciphers dance on the dank wall. While conspiracy theorists chase the echoes of Freemasons, Bilderbergs, and Bohemians, the true Illuminati have room to work.

Cue curtain. The dark days.

The Eye and Pyramid area a well-oiled machine, serrated cogs lubricated on aptitude, ambition, and ruthlessness. In this epoch of information and equality, the Illuminati is king. The ruled do not complain if they detect no ruler. The Illuminati spill seminal thoughts into the gravid heads of the masses, while the other factions flail to the old dance.

Cue the ritual chant: "Fuck or be fucked."
Conventional warfare is obsolete. Cue the paradigm war. The Illuminati strive to ascend as a pantheon of zeitgeists.

Beneath the Brooklyn streets, they experiment with thaumaturgy and technomancy. In their labs, demons shriek as they beat the walls of hard-drive purgatories, circuits soldered in patterns forming Enochian words. Old bleeds into new, the cutting edge fornicates with the antediluvian.

Entry 12 - Enochian is a supposed "Language of the Angels" written by occultist John Dee

The three siblings have a choice: battle the sleeping horrors ready to engulf the world or toil on in the struggle to define those who rule and those who are ruled. The children of the Eye and Pyramid so long to rein, and diabolic rumours follow them like a fouled cloak. Yet despite these ambitions, they have no intention of giving their planet to monsters. Perhaps they will fight back the darkness, and find a tidy profit in it.

And yet, you little termites war with each other over your little termite mounds, and somewhere in the Outer Dark, hungry mouths made of event horizons salivate and grin.

Dear sweetling, did you pay attention to that gruesome puppet show as a child? We hope so. The Illuminati is Mr Punch and hidden in that nonsense play is their plot. They have a big stick and conspire to bludgeon all competing puppets, and then the Devil himself. And if you get in their way...you will be another broken Judy, splayed on the floor.

Cue the shrill voice from the Outer Dark: "That's the way to do it!"


Cue curtains.




Thursday, November 26, 2015

[The Secret World] Kingsmouth - Interview with Sheriff Helen Bannerman

Venue: The Secret World
Created by: Funcom
Location: Sheriff's Office, Kingsmouth, Solomon Island, Maine






Interview with Sheriff Helen Bannerman
1 November 2013

Immediately after the start of 
the Solomon Island blockade incident


Sheriff Helen Bannerman is a resident of Kingsmouth and the primary contact for what little remains of the population. Fairly pragmatic about her situation she had us help with a number of tasks for a willing pair of hands, especially if they were armed.

Me: Sheriff we are here to help.

Helen: Heck if I know where you folks keep coming from. But anyone who walks through that door alive pretty much gets my amnesty. Something in your past colors you sourly to a badge, I'd ask you to call it quits in return. We agreeable?  

Me: Yes Ma'am.

Helen: Well then. I'm Sheriff Bannerman. And this down-home little state of emergency is what's left of my jurisdiction.  Sure we tried to hold as much of the town as we could, at first. More out of nostalgia than any civil defense plan. I won't tell you Kingsmouth was a slice of heaven in a snow globe... but it was ours. Now it ain't.

There was always something running under in this town, maybe what's spilled out now.  If that's how it works, I couldn't say hand on heart we didn't have it coming.  But that fog, and the things in it, they didn't pick and choose when they came in. Most folks didn't stand a chance.

Now, I can see you're armed, I won't kick up and fuss about that.  Straight truth is you'll need to be. Just don't go thinking that means you're deputized or such.  Heaven knows, if there was ever a time and place for the right to bear 'em, you're looking at it.  Henry has his Word of God, that Roget woman has her crystal ball and Norma out on the point's got a 12-gauge.  My money's on Norma.

Me: How are you holding up Sheriff?

Helen: Well, I don’t mind telling you, this makes no damn sense to me. And I hate to be the one drawing a blank on Final Jeopardy. But right now, folks just need me to look like I’ve got all the answers. The questions, they come later, along with the grieving. Then after a little time, folks’ll lose their hankering for the questions. Fact is, a few of ‘em in high places get downright evasive about it. I never do quit. It’s a bad habit. I’m just a sheriff after all, not some forensic detective like on that CSI. Thought I had it the worst when the ravens came around, years ago. Was an ugly time for Kingsmouth, not the kind that makes it to the news. The kind we keep inside. Now I see those ravens are all back in town. They with you, or should I be bringing them in for questioning?

Me: No, we don't have anything to do with those but its probably connected to what's going on.  What about the rest of Solomon Island?

Helen: If you’re planning on striking out of town, Kingsmouth hospitality dictates I gotta set you right. And I need you to keep this on the down-low, but there’s worse out there than our undead problem. Worse than anything that shuffles on two legs, that’s for sure. I’m about as pleased as can be that I didn’t catch a better look. Could be the kinda thing that gives a nightmare nightmares. You want to stay in the light, keep out of the trees, out of the fog. We’ve got a few folks left holding out across the island. Well…there was last time I could check, and I’m an optimist. Pays to see the donut, not the hole. Red’s shack at Tolba Bay, the Innsmouth Academy, the Wabanaki Indian grounds – they should still be safe. Could be the others like you, that Wolf fella, have set up camp out there. Toasting marshmallows and such. And steer clear of the pumpkin patch, hey? Just a feeling.

Me: We will have to keep an eye out for survivors and see about shoring up their defenses.  How did you survive when the Fog rolled in?

Helen: Guess you could say I got lucky. Around the time this mess kicked off, I was up at the old lighthouse, checkin’ in on Sam Krieg. Maine’s best-selling export. Oh sure, we do that fancy book-learnin’ round these parts too. Never much cared for horror stories, or the man himself. Wavin’ a rifle around in a dressing-gown, juiced up, heck of a disturbance of the peace. Well, turns out that was the last of the peace. “I gotta write this down, Sheriff, this is goddamn manna from heaven,” he says to me when the fog let go. I left him magnuming that opus and high-tailed it back to town. Tried to bring Ellie Franklin with me, but kingdom coming couldn’t pry her from that mansion. Real-monster house in the west island, you can’t miss it. I’d appreciate you letting them know we’re still here, for when they’re done playing survivalists.

Me: Will do. Deputy Gardener made it sound like there has been a little bit of strange business over the last century on Solomon Island.  How has your term as sheriff been before now? (Beginning of Mission: Supply Run)

Helen: Ain't this a heck of a thing. Three years without firing a shot, other than putting down some animal got itself hit by a truck. These past nights we've gone through bullets like candy at Halloween. I used a jail cell to dry out old paperwork, mostly, or Bill Dexter when he'd had a bad one. Now I've got all these good folks good as locked in here, and no sleeping it off for the morning either. The way things are headed, I'm seeing us outlasting our supplies. Not by much, if it comes to that. Andy finds what he can, but with the cruisers stuck propping up the barricade...So I'm obliged to anyone who'll poke around town apiece, bring in the essentials. We can call it requisitioning. I don't think the store owners will be writing this one off as an act of God.

Helen: The survivors and what's left of my police force at the station are running out of supplies. Could you go around to the stores and businesses of Kingsmouth and look for food and other things we might need?

Me: Sure, we will get started.  Is there anything else we can do to help? (Beginning of Mission: Horror Show)

Helen: Well. Sure wasn't in our yearly budget to put the town under martial law. No, the good old boys on the council were all about thrifty spending – at least above the table. So I squirrelled away where I could for some surveillance equipment. Police business, sure, let's call it “civic awareness.” I'm talking your web cams, your motion sensors- Aw, don't look so surprised. Kingsmouth might be out in the sticks, but we have electricity and everything. Running water in tourist season. Come back when this whole damn mess has blown over, I'll give you the tour far as the old lighthouse. But to get to the point of it. Seems to me we should bring the gear out of the mothballs and get it hooked up around town. Gives me some early warning, and the others a break from my collection of Jeopardy reruns.

Helen: So, I believe that mounting that surveillance equipment near the police station could provide advance warning of any impending attacks. We needs help to find useful equipment around town.

Me: You got it.  One last question Sheriff, did you know any of this was real before now?

Helen: You sure you want to be talkin’ to me about all this stuff? I mean, I’m probably flattered that you think I’m in on it all. Truth is, I’m always the last to be invited to the midnight meetings at Town Hall. Reckon I must be all thumbs when it comes to secret handshakes. I know this island’s cut from a different cloth, a damn weird cloth. Sure as there’s a difference between being homely and being plain stupid. Take it from me, no one round these parts is a dope, not all the time. Everybody knows, or knows someone who knows. Salem’s got nothin’ on us, we had an episode with torches and pitchforks only..pfff twenty-five years ago now? But my job, I gotta do it wearin’ this police jacket, not a robe and wizard hat.




Mission "Supply Run" Faction After Action Reports

FROM: The Dragon
TO: Dante Zelas (D17) of the Shadowfang
SUBJECT: Supply Run
Your report offers insight into the landscape of Kingsmouth. Further mapping of the town will be essential going further.
Do not be fooled by the stubbornness of local law enforcement. The sheriff's battle with the dead is the equivalent of a clumsy shogi game - one in which neither player can see more than one move ahead.
Chaos is the only authority in the region.


The Labyrinth (The Illuminati)
TO: Casstiel (Mastigos) of the Five Horsemen
SUBJECT: Supply Run
The efforts of local law enforcement are symbolic at best. You're there to contain the situation and find out what happened, not be the gofer for a lost cause.
However, your data on Kingsmouth's layout is useful and we want more. We need to know as much as possible about hotspots of activity in order to form an action plan.
Fun fact: the town's population is 1,547 and we're estimating a 98% conversion rate.
Ciao-ciao


FROM: Temple Hall
TO: Eos (M-Eos) of Malleus Maleficarum
SUBJECT: Supply Run
Aiding the locals in the face of the inevitable – your tenacity is admirable, though perhaps a bit blue-eyed.
On a positive note, you have provided us with some useful data of Kingsmouth Town. We have a clearer picture of the situation at hand… and it doesn’t look good, at least for the unfortunate civilian population. But we still have a decent chance of containing the threat, and that’s what you’re there for.

R. Sonnac




Mission "Horror Show" Faction After Action Reports

FROM: The Dragon
TO: Dante Zelas (D17) of the Shadowfang
SUBJECT: Horror Show
Very well,
Data from these cameras is being transferred to important monitors. Eyes will be assigned to watch these monitors at all times. Now the Dragon will see our enemies in Kingsmouth, as well as the enemies of our enemies - the Templars and the Illuminati.
The cleaning man - he showed symptoms of a very rare, very old disease. He was not like the living, and not like the dead. Tentacles do not come from the head without reasons.
Please provide more information about reasons.


FROM: The Labyrinth (The Illuminati)
TO: Casstiel (Mastigos) of the Five Horsemen
SUBJECT: Horror Show
Good news,
Data from your surveillance system is now feeding into our server. This means we have visual contact with the enemy and can make more detailed assessments of the situation. It also means I can keep tabs on you.
The janitor in the basement showed signs of a strange tentacular mutation. Disgusting, frankly. It's not clear if he boobytrapped his surroundings to protect himself or to try and protect others. Regardless, it was clever, and that's not something we like to see from our enemies.
Keep me posted on all tentacle-related phenomena.
KG


FROM: Temple Hall
TO: Eos (M-Eos) of Malleus Maleficarum
SUBJECT: Horror Show
Good news,
The camera system you've installed is up and running on our end as well. It is tactically useful for the local officers to see incoming threats. However, we are particularly keen to analyse visual data of the enemy from an R&D perspective.
The janitor you encountered showed symptoms of an unfamiliar infection. There were signs of humanity in the midst of his tentacular mutation. We hesitate to classify him without more data.

R. Sonnac





FROM THE BUZZING:  (Lore: The Lady Margaret)

Our wisdow flows so sweet. Taste and see.

TRANSMIT - initiate New England signal - RECEIVE - initiate the Caledfwlch frequency - THE WEATHER STARTED GETTING ROUGH, THE TINY SHIP WAS TOSSED - initiate echinoderm syntax - WITNESS - Lady Margaret.

Entry 1 - Caledfwlch is the Welsh name for the sword Excalibur
Entry 1 - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Echinoderm Echinoderm] is a Phylum of animals that include starfish, sea urchin, and sea cucumbers

There is a horror story bobbing in Kingsmouth's harbour. Its name is Lady Margaret. Listen.
Eee-ah! Eee-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah!

The story is encoded in seagull cries. The seagulls eat the bloated bodies, and in the alchemy of their bellies those dead secrets fuse to the essence of the birds.

Owah! Owah-ow-ow-owah!

Can you decipher it, sweetling? No? Those vestigial bits have not fully developed yet - your skull is in its pupa stage - but they spasm when you hear the ranting of the gulls. We can decipher. The gory story drips into the tides, one part per million, and still we can taste it. We will regurgitate it to you - feed you as a mama bird does.

Initiate the seagull scream cadence.

They thought the fishing boat lost. Then it returned to port weeks overdue. It brought no relief. It brought no comfort. It only brought the fog.

Eee-ah-ah-ah-ow-ow-owah!

A great storm caught the crew of the Lady Margaret - twisting clouds and waves as tall as houses washing over the deck. Prayers were said, the final kind. The tempest beat the boat, and the crew scrambled to save their cargo. In their toil, a sudden swell washed a mate overboard. The rest watched helplessly as their fellow's head rose twice with the waves. There was no third time.
The waters calmed, and the Lady Margaret remained. A thick fog crept in like a cancer. Mechanical madness. None of the instruments worked. The crew tried to maneuver the craft, but there were no bearings, no direction, no mercy from the sea.

Time passes, first in hours, then in days.

The fog parted as a freak show curtain, revealing a graveyard of ships. Rusty steel, ancient wood Dhows, Viking long-boats, modern frigates, oil tankers, and luxury cruise liners - they all dipped and bobbed in the same water - vessels from all times, all cultures, all covered in red.

What happened next, sweetling? Seagulls are compulsive liars. Let us say an object was found, floating on a driftwood raft. Let us say that a man, designation Joe Slater, dove in and brought it up. Let us say that at that moment, the fog closed on the Lady Margaret with the purpose of a vampire squid's mantle.

Perhaps the boat rotated, caught in the beginnings of a maelstrom. Perhaps the men looked upon the rotting hulks and saw the glistening movement of lean, slimy bodies writhing in red seaweed like undead otters cracking open skulls for their fruit. Perhaps the fog and the dark conspired to play tricks.
There are fragments of older tales embedded in the seagull screams - mariners' tales of things birthed in dead bodies and dark water. Putrid souls, stippled with eel holes, these unquiet dead, these hungry dead, with their milk-cataract stare. A few seagulls even remember the name. Draug-draug-draug-draug!

We can suppose the Lady Margaret fled both maelstrom and monsters. The engine came back to life. Some instruments found lucidity. The boat made it's way back to Kingsmouth. The fishermen kept the strange object they found to themselves. Some argued to sell it on the Internet. Others said it should be brought to Innsmouth Academy for identification. They decided to bring it to the esoteric school.
The next day brought the fog. Time passes, first in screams and then in moans.

Joe Slater is the only one left. One by one, his fellows, went away, like the deceptively vicious plot of a children's rhyme. Each is a tiny story in the belly of a different gull. And then there was Joe. But he is just barely Joe. Perhaps it was the object, or the primordial soup he swam through to get it, that passed on the fish-oil leprosy.

It started with stomach spasms that felt like writhing lamprey nests hatching in his belly. Then Joe could hear the hag-fish singing in the crushing depths, even when he pretended he could not, even with the Q-tips snapped in half is his bloody ears. Madness bubbled in his brain like the bends. Then pale flesh. Then barnacle sores and wriggling growths and sea cucumber discharges. Now Joe feels the itch and burn as different species of coral battle for primacy of his chest, splitting up their digestive enzymes in time-lapse warfare. Something scuttles out of one body cavity to be eat by something hiding in another.


And though the seagulls scream a hundred thousand stories, all Joe can hear is, "Draug-draug-draug-draug-draug!"





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