Boone and I, we go way back. We may disagree on many things – often and vehemently – but we do agree on what’s important. We share a common goal. As long as there’s darkness, we will carry the torch. Here, everywhere. Nothing will grow, if the seed be not sown. I see us as gardens of the mind. We instill hope where we can, the will to fight where possible, the spirit to persevere where necessary. How did we end up here? This is where it all begins. There are places worse off, more dangerous, darker – but it begins here. It begins now. Where it all leads, I don’t know, neither does Boone. We’re going to see it through, wherever it takes us. Human life is like the dew of morning. The body of man is like a flicker of lighting, existing only to return to nothingness. But that doesn’t mean that we won’t take up arms when that infinite darkness comes to claim us. It’s not the sun that threatens the dew of mankind, or electricity coursing through clouds. Hm. It’s something unnatural, something old and angry, and bitter. And it has no place here.
The Secret World
Before I learned the mysteries of this world, I saw mountains as mountains, oceans as oceans, and earth as earth. When I began to gain knowledge, I came to the point where I saw that mountains are not mountains, oceans are not oceans, and earth is not earth. But now that I have got its very substance, I’m at rest. Once again I see mountains as mountains, oceans as oceans, earth as earth. The secret world is truly not. It’s the world in front of us, above and beneath us, no more secret than the sun and moon in the sky. Of course there are places and things concealed to most. I lived once in a place I cannot return to. Can’t find again. I’ve searched everywhere, but it’s lost to me. Many Masters have told me that I’ll only find it once I stop searching for it, but how can I? It’s like asking a man blinded to stop looking for the sun. It’s impossible. I believe it has nothing to do with me searching for it or not. When Miracle wants me back, it will have me back, not before then. So I keep searching, and one day, maybe, that place will reveal itself to me once again.
The League of Monster Slayers
The forests that now crawl with the insectoid ak’ab were once the training ground of the League of Monster Slayers, a generational club of local teens. Was the League a product of childish imaginations, or did they truly face down the occult? Their clubhouse may hold the answers.
Black Goat Wood
Inside the treehouse I discovered the League’s initiation ritual:
God Cave (a.k.a. Agartha Entrance)
At the end of the initiation I discovered the God Cave and a note with a dagger holding it to the rock that read:
It is not coincidence that the will of the Dragon is found in the voice of a child. In childish terrors are the fates of a hundred worlds. In a child's single-mindedness, events are laid bare to their most secret conclusions. This "League of Monster Slayers" saw the hidden world more clearly than the Templars or Illuminati ever did. See as a child did; unburdened by false goals or the scrabble for understanding, you will act because you must. Speak as those who rendered themselves mute; actions echo louder than words.
Taking the Purple
John Wolf is keeping a close eye on the Atlantic Island Park. He suspects he’s not the only one doing so either. Why is the park so interesting to a third party?
I followed a string of dead bodies to an abandoned farmhouse guarded by Phoenician ambushers. Once they were dispatched, I entered the cellar. Booby-trapped of course. I eventually found a computer to access.
Atlantic Park Surveillance Terminal -- Surveillance Logs -- --- Arrival --- Airdropped into the middle of Hell...this mission went FUBAR faster than anything I have ever seen. We hadn't even been in the area for a few hours when shit just started coming at us out of the sea... Kept the squad together and located a safehouse. Contacted HQ and said to stick to the primary objective: Atlantic Park. --- Camera Setup --- We spent the day setting up surveillance. All primary cameras are in place. Tracking has been set up for each of them to make them easy to find again. We saw Winter's son in the carpark - apparently unharmed. One additional camera was placed to give us a good idea on his movements. We need to know where his father hid those plans. --- The Plan --- I don't know what the significance of Atlantic Park is to the organization...but this is madness. Three of the squad are already dead - the local wildlife saw to that. I don't know the plan - but I hope this park is worth it. --- Requesting Backup --- Two more men have been lost to Solomon Island. Worse, it seems that other parties have taken an interest. The cameras are showing new groups penetrating the area. Some of them are clearly affiliated - we have identified Illuminati and Templar agents. Request for backup has been sent. --- Extraction request --- This is out of hand. There are enemy agents all over the island. We are abandoning the safehouse for a tactically sounder location. I will monitor the location remotely, and have rigged security on the surveillance which I will check daily.
I will need to locate and destroy those cameras and any remaining Phoenicians as well.
We are secret societies for a reason. Violence between us is typically concealed as much as possible. A poisoned Q-Tip. A fatal prescription. A hired hoodlum in the street. We dare anyone to prove it was us. The Phoenicians keep to the shadows as well as anyone – operating out of New Carthage, a base of ships shrouded in mystery. Hiding is their strength. Something about the park draws them into the open. It is an investment they are willing to pay a great price for. Uncharacteristically, willing even to die for. Perhaps we should be investigating also.
The Black House
The burnt-out shell of the Black House sits like an accusation among Solomon Island’s picket fences and townhouses. Its owner gone but not forgotten, a witch’s curse is said to linger in the property, preying on trespassers.
Searching the Black House began to reveal the story of a women wrongly accused; one who’s own burial wishes were not adhered to. Time to set things right.
LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF CARRIE KILLIAN
I, Carrie Killian, a resident of Solomon Island, State of Maine, declare this to be my Last Will and Testament.
In the first case, I wish for the proceeds of my estate to be gifted to charity, on the condition that such organization is outside this island. I have given these people all the charity I had, and been shown precious little in return. I suspect they will be glad to be rid of my memory.
In the second case, I wish for my body to be cremated upon death.
In the third case, I ask that my ashes are not buried in this bleak and hard soil. Instead, scatter them on the sea, where time and tide might carry me away from the events that have transpired here.
What is a ghost but resistance to change? They are the result of a lifetime spent dutifully piling weights upon the soul. An imprint so heavy that not even death can be a moving on. You have freed Killian from the chains of routine, delivered her from mortal concerns into absolute harmony. Unbound, she is no one. Beyond rumor, beyond shadow, beyond even the reach of the Dragon. Perfect silence. Enshrine this moment. In playing your part, you will commit a hundred, a thousand more acts such as this one.
Jack O’Lantern has bad history with the old Henderson farm, and John Wolf has seen him skulking around the pumpkin patch from time to time. He wants nothing to do with him, but won’t stop the curious from finding out more.
The times turn Jack the Lad into a pitiful figure. The local horror story - the one children have long been taught to fear - must now accept that he is not the only terror in town. And certainly not the greatest. There are no children now, and skipping through Archie Henderson's farm is hardly the worst you can do at night. We do not mind playing Jack's old nightmare game. However, there is little room for pity in the world of chaos. The next time you play with Jack, consider his misery and make it the last.