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1065861 No. 1065861 ID: 681cb5

Wiki and previous threads: https://questden.org/wiki/Scion_of_the_Old_Blood

“Nearly all of the early European settlements circulated stories of a being known as "The Dark Man" that lived in the primordial woods beyond the settlements' borders. Deeply religious and at the same time almost hysterically superstitious, clinging precariously to the edges of an unexplored and therefore terrifying continent, it was only natural for people in those times to project their collective fears onto the unknown. For the predominantly fundamentalist Protestant sects that first colonized the New World, these projections typically were embodiments of the Christian concept of the Devil, while the native population used much baroque names as ‘The Lurker At The Threshold’ ,’The Watcher Beyond The Stars’ or even ‘The Bleeding Eye of The Night’“ – Local Myths of the Miskaton River, ‘The man on the threshold’, page 36.
18 posts omitted. Last 100 shown. Expand all images
No. 1066501 ID: e5709d

Hug her.
"Lucky you! I got married to the current head of said aristocratic family six months ago! No homo, I wuv my husband too much."
No. 1066548 ID: 15a025

Speaking of, there was a very similar symbol on the entrance rug in the mansion as well. I think the puzzle cube as well had similar writing on it.
No. 1066731 ID: 48c015

Do mention that you read several excerpts of family memoirs and casual records that mention an astrological anomaly known as "the red star" that the family took as a personal symbol and it also seems to be a subject related to the building of this monolith.
No. 1066870 ID: 681cb5
File 168816033178.png - (152.41KB , 700x550 , 11.png )

Belle: “Aren’t you in luck,” you give her a playful wink, “I married the current head of said aristocratic family six months ago!”
Josephine: “You married a small hare?” one of her eyebrows slowly ascends across her brow, “And an old blueblood at that?”
Belle: “Hey!” huffing, you put your hands on your hips, “He’s only a year older than me!” looking away from her, you continue, “Not to mention, neither of us knew he was even related to these Kråkholme until a few weeks ago.”
Josephine: “Oh? Now that’s interesting.” She states in matter of fact manner, “Though, seeing how inbreed these Kråkholmes seemed to be from a quick glance, I’m not too surprised that they had to go a long way back to find another branch of the family.”
Belle: “I also work at the university here.” You give her a quick nod towards the large building behind the two of you, “You know, inside the town hall?”
Josephine: “So you can get me inside the old library? The one that’s off limits for visitors?”
Belle: “I… err… Don’t know?”

As you awkwardly scratch the back of your head, the fetid breath of the sea washes over the square, engulfing it in yet more murky mist as well as the smell of rotten fish.

Belle: “Oh, right!” you pull out the note book and flip it to the page were you drew the symbols, “I wanted to compare these symbols with the ones I saw on a painting earlier.” Holding them up to the obelisk, you can quickly see that one set of the symbols matches perfectly, while the other doesn’t. You believe the matching set was from the witch burning painting? “Well, some of them are the same…”
Josephine: “Hmm, yes…” Josephine quickly sketch the symbols into her own note book, “Fascinating… while this set here is the same as on the obelisk, these four aren’t, and I only recognize two of them.” The bat circles three of the symbols seemingly on random and draws an arrow to a third, “Where did you see these?”
Belle: “On a painting back in the mansion.” You point towards the general direction of your new home, realizing too late that it’s impossible to see with the thick mist hanging over the town, “One made by an Emerik K. You know who that is?”
Josephine: “Ah, yes, Emerik Kråkholme. Active in the late 1800th.” She jots something down in her book, “Sadly, while his paintings are fascinating, he lived about two hundred years after the Miskaton river tribe was wiped out, thus the events he depicts on his paintings must be taken by a grain of salt.” The bat scratches her chin with her pen, “But seeing as these clearly are at least inspired by the other symbols, it is possible he has seen the larger obelisk that I’m seeking.” Her gaze travels upwards and meets yours, “You wouldn’t happen to have anything else concerning the past of this town, ma’am?”

The sound of the church bell echoes through town, tearing away the heavy silence that has been suffocating the area.

Belle: “Well, there’s this symbol I keep seeing…” you rub your snout as you continue, “It’s like a golden cross with four lines next to it?”
Josephine: “You mean the Kråkholme crest? The one on the town hall?” Josephine points towards the building next to you, “It was a cross with black wings before they left Europe, but it seems it’s been simplified over the years.”
Belle: “There’s also a lot of mentions of a red star?” you state, “Both the obelisk and paintings seems to be connected with it somehow.”
Josephine: “A red star you say?” the bat flips through her book for a bit, “I cannot say I’ve heard about something like that before… but, the Miskaton River tribe might have worshipped some kind of sky based divinity, possible taking the form of a red star?” she chews a bit on the end of her pencil, “So far, the only thing I’ve seen is they like depicting an eye looking down on them, which I assume is said deity watching over them. Anything else of note?”
Belle: “Well… I found this puzzle cube, which has similar symbols.” You take out the cube and show it to her, “Take a look.”
Josephine: “Hmm?” she quickly snatches it from your hand, turning it around for a better look, “How peculiar…” she then starts to rub it, stroking it as if it was a small pet, “Made of fine birch…” before finally giving it a quick lick, “Clearly copper based red…” She rubs her chin, clearly thinking, before voicing her opinion, “Possibly from the 1400th? Clearly predates the colonization of the new world by centuries. Possible origin… Scandinavia? The Kråkholme’s was from Sweden, after all.”
Belle: “I do believe they were, yes?”
Josephine: “Which is odd, as this cube clearly has symbols associated with the Miskaton River tribe, yet predates European first contact with America by a long time. Is it possible the Vikings found the tribe as well?” the bat puts her ear against the cube and shakes it, “There’s something inside it… do you want me to open it?”
Belle: “Huh?” your eyes widen in surprise, “You can solve it?”
Josephine: “Of course not.” she gives you a look, “I do not have that kind of knowledge about strange antiques like this, but what I do have is the tools to break it open.” Josephine taps the wood, “Of course, while I do believe I can do it without actually destroying it, I might be wrong.” The bat glances over at you again, meeting your own gaze, “Though, you have to promise to help me get into the old library in turn. Deal?”

A murder of crows caws before taking flight somewhere in the mist… followed by the sound of drunken laughter.

Josephine: “I don’t believe I caught your name, Mrs…?”
Belle: “It’s Belle. Belle Knott.”
Josephine: “Well then, Belle.” For the first time since you met her, Josephine gives you a soft smile, “Glad to make your acquaintance.”
No. 1066874 ID: e5709d

Time to prank her. Once she presses a button, start shivering, turn your head sideways while opening your jaw, then wait for her to react.
No. 1066883 ID: 462d8c

Sounds like we have a deal. getting into a library is a lot easier than this thing
No. 1066908 ID: 8f9bc4

uHHHH creepy incoming. Some worrying signs arising. You two may wish to make yourself scarce. Hold off on breaking the cube for now; let's leave damaging centuries old ancient relics to get what was certainly not intended to be gotten as a distant plan B. Josephine may not share your... sensitivity to spooky affairs, so leave her be if she wishes, but pay attention to your surroundings and stay safe.

The fog seems to be rolling in. Ask Josephine where she's staying for the night, and promise to touch bases with her in fairer weather perhaps over a coffee. Also apologize that she misunderstood, you meant that you're very new to working at the university, and doubt you'll have much access to restricted areas for a good while, but you can let her know if certain... opportunities present themselves. You don't want to get fired on your first day though.
No. 1066946 ID: 15a025

Something's definitely coming. Hold the thought and get inside to safety.
No. 1067826 ID: 48c015

Let's appeal to her sense of logic.

"While it would be nice to know what's inside, I believe I would like to figure out the meaning behind those symbols before trying to break it, not to mention it would destroy a fine antique.
I would, however, like to help you research the old library, since I woud also like to know more about the history of this town, since I fear my husband may have the same inheritable disease that made the Krakholme's abrasive and violent, and it might have something to do with the odd experiments Bövel and daughters did back he founded the town."
No. 1068228 ID: 681cb5
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Belle: “While it would be nice to know what’s inside…” you take the cube from her hands, “I believe I rather figure out the meaning behind all these odd symbols on it before destroying it.”
Josephine: “As I said before,” the bat looks slightly annoyed with you, “I believe I can do it without destroying it.”
Belle: “In that case, maybe it’s a deal?” after putting away the puzzle box, you continue, “After all, I wouldn’t mind helping you research a bit, since I too want to know more about the history of this town…” you look up into her eyes, “Especially about the founder, Bövel, and his daughters.”
Josephine: “Bövel, you say?” Josephine arch an eyebrow, “While I am a bit interested in that time frame, I’m more keen to find information about one of his descendants, Sigmund Kråkholm.” She clearly sees that you have no idea who that is, “He was a veteran of the war of independence… and is rumored to be the main reason why the Miskaton tribe isn’t around anymore…” her eyes wander over to the obelisk with a rather somber look,“…or most of their heritage, for that matter.”

The howl of a wolf is heard not far from the plaza, followed by the same laughter as before, only a lot closer this time.

Belle: “Sounds like we have a deal.” you exclaim as you hold out your hand towards the bat, “Getting into the library will probably be a lot easier than getting this thing open.”
Josephine: “Indeed.” She answers in a rather monotone tone, only throwing a quick glance towards your hand before ignoring it completely, “Unless you manage to find someone that can solve a several hundred years old puzzle box from Europe, then I’ll be your best bet, Belle.” Awkwardly, you put your hand back down again before the anthropologist continues, “Now, when you’ve done with your part of the deal, you’ll probably find me either here, inside the town hall or at my camp just north of the town.”
Belle: “Um… maybe we can continue this conversation inside?” you look around you, watching as the mist creeps closer and closer to the plaza, “Possibly over a cup of coffee?”
Josephine: “While a cup of coffee sounds tempting, I’m rather busy.” she waves at you dismissively, “But look me up after you’ve found a way into the library.”

With tentative steps you approach the massive door to the town hall, only throwing a quick glance towards the twin rabbit statues that stand an ever vigilant watch on each side of it. As you pull the old, wooden portal open with a loud creak, you take one last look behind you to make sure the bat is still there, which she is… but you swear you can see humanoid shapes dancing around the now mist covered plaza as a hymn of long dead words is floating through the air. But as you blink twice, it’s all gone… leaving only Josephine and the obelisk.

You hurry inside before anything worse happens, but with your luck you accidently fumble your way right into it. The entrance hall of the building is oddly claustrophobic, as while it is high to the ceiling, the walls are close tougher and seemingly leaning in towards you, making them tower over you with an imposing presence. Of course, it might also be because the room is filled to the brim with death, as every last wall and most of the floor is occupied by long dead animals displayed as macabre trophies.

The worst part though are the eyes, the blood rimmed eyes staring at you, burning into your soul with their madness filled glare. This time, it belongs to a massive painting depicting a “regal” looking hare in full military uniform standing proudly as he looks down at you, as if you’re were an insect to be crushed. The plaque reads “Sigmund Kråkholm, 10-18-1734 to 12-16-1802”.
No. 1068229 ID: 681cb5
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Scampering away from that awful room, you quickly venture deeper into the ancient building. With each step the floor creaks under your feet, and the aroma of old paper and even older wood gets thicker and thicker the further you go. Finally, after what seems to be an eternity walking through a badly lit hallway you find the front desk, which is currently manned by a rather hefty and rotund angler fish lady.

Belle: “Oh, hello, you must be the librarian?” she just stares at you, slowly blinking with one eye at a time, “Um... I want to borrow a book?” the fish points toward a sign that says public library on it, which in turn points towards a door nearby, “I mean, from the restricted archive?” the librarian shakes her head and points towards a sign behind her which states ‘Only employees of the Town Hall or Arkham university is allowed access to the restricted section.’, “Oh…”

The sound of old pages rustling nearby is followed by someone coughing.

Belle: “Oh! Right! I got an employee card!” you dig through your pockets and retrieve your wallet, which includes your university card, “Will this do?” she nods, “So I can enter?” she shakes her head.

The roof creaks above you, signaling that someone is walking across the floor above you... and you swear you can hear someone mutter something in Latin up there.

Belle: “Why not?” the angler fish points towards another sign, this one stating ‘To retrieve a book from the restricted section, please ask a librarian on duty to do so. Just state the title, author or subject and they will retrieve it for you. You are also required to sign your name before and after retrieving a book.’ to which the angler fish helpfully points towards a book full of signatures, including a rather familiar looking one, “So I just need to ask you and sign the register before getting a book and leaving?” She points toward the sign again, which reads ‘Restricted books may not leave the town hall!’, “Oh, right…”

You catch someone staring at you from across the hall in the corner of your eye, but when you turn to look there’s nothing there by slowly moving shadows.

Belle: “Would it be possible to let someone else lend a book in my name?” once again, she points toward a sign ‘Non-authorized personnel may not handle restricted books under any circumstances!’, “But if I’m here when they read it?”, she points at the sign again, indicating that no, you may not, “What if I read it too them?” another sign that reads ‘Nor may know the content of said books.’, “So I can’t-” the angler fish huffs annoyingly at you, picks up a pen and write something down before putting up a post it note next to the other signs that just says ‘No!’, “Alright, I get it.”

Mutterings of some unknown language can be heard bouncing between the bookshelves, followed by a suffocating silence. You can feel those horrid eyes bore into your back, even if the painting is out of sight. There’s no point hiding anymore…

Strange Flute
Puzzle Box
Old Photo album
Oil lamp
Child’s Diary
Edwards’ Diary
Your Wedding ring  
Memory of a golden orb
No. 1068236 ID: 8f9bc4

What to do here? You don't know what books there are in the Restricted section, but you can ask for a book by title, author or subject. Titles are probably a no go. Which authors might be in the Restricted section? Which subjects?

The Miskaton Tribe is still fresh in your mind from speaking with that polite if somewhat miffed woman by the obelisk, so maybe start with that? They won't have any books themselves, but books about them might have clues. Diaries might also be possible to request, if Sigmund's journal is restricted, or maybe something that doctor has written.
No. 1068245 ID: e5709d

She's very... attractive.
...Too attractive. There's something... well... fishy about her. Literally fishy. Nothing you can do yet.

>Restricted books
Okay, this is what I meant by cult stuff. If this intel was classified it would be locked up in City Hall or placed in a bank, not kept tantalizingly out of reach in the Public Library!

Go look for whoever's spying on you and see if they're the rule-breaking type of junior spy.
No. 1068416 ID: 48c015

I think asking for books about the miskaton tribe and culture, particularly by Bövel and Sigmund, would a good place to start. We may also inquire about the subject of the Red Star later on.
No. 1068670 ID: 681cb5
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>If this Intel was classified it would be locked up in City Hall or placed in a bank, not kept tantalizingly out of reach in the Public Library!
…This is the Town Hall? So yes, it is locked up in the Town Hall.
>Go look for whoever's spying on you and see if they're the rule-breaking type of junior spy.
As much as you try, you can’t spot anyone who might have been the one staring at you. It’s like they just disappeared into thin air! …or maybe you just imagined things?

Either way, as you have no idea what titles and authors may be hidden in the vault of forbidden knowledge, you instead opt to ask for different subjects matters. Specifically, The Miskaton Tribe as well as anything they have on the Kråkholme’s, especially Bövel or Sigmund. You almost ask for anything on the red star, but in the last second you change your mind and ask for any local myths instead. The angler fish disappears for a minute or two, before returning with a massive tome, a decently sized book and finally a small booklet, barely a few pages long. With a gesture she tells you to sign the register with both your name and book titles, and when you do you can’t help but notice a familiar handwriting just above your own. Your husband read a book here yesterday, which coincidently is one of the books that you now have in your possession, the large tome to be exact. With a nod, you thank the librarian before finding a place to sit and read these things.

The first book you decide to leaf through is “Local Myths of the Miskaton River Valley”, the very same book your husband was reading yesterday when you called him. It’s a large tome that would take hours to go through completely, but luckily for you, one of your husband’s cute little quirks is to use a lot of small bookmarks in every book he touches, three of which is currently sticking out from the book in question. Turning to the page marked by the first bookmark, you find a chapter about a “Strangling Mist”.

Rather unique to the lower Miskaton River Valley, this tale centers around a seemingly malevolent fog that roams the forests and lonely night roads, choking the unwary traveler with invisible, untouchable hands. The experience of being attacked by this strange entity is described in an 1855 journal as: "...lyke as thowe a deade man were to put his corpsey fingers downe yr throate withe one hande, & up yr nostrille withe the other..."

No two telling can agree on the origins of this terrible mist. Some accounts insist that it is a spirit of the restless dead; others attribute the effect to malicious hobgoblins. Other versions implicate witchcraft, a pirate's curse, swamp faerie... the list goes on. Some of the more esoteric explanations seem to indicate that the legend was adapted by white settlers from native superstitions held by the tribes indigenous to the Miskaton region; however, there is no evidence as yet that the "strangling mist" existed in any form prior to the appearance of Europeans.

The only theme that reoccurs in several of the telling is that it is possible to tame the mist. Supposedly, by playing an instrument attuned to the tune of the correct harmonic resonant, the mist can be dispelled momentarily and allow safe passage.

The second bookmark is for a chapter titled “The man on the threshold”. Nearly all of the early European settlements circulated stories of a being known as "The Dark Man" that lived in the primordial woods beyond the settlements' borders. Deeply religious and at the same time almost hysterically superstitious, clinging precariously to the edges of an unexplored and therefore terrifying continent, it was only natural for people in those times to project their collective fears onto the unknown. For the predominantly fundamentalist Protestant sects that first colonized the New World, these projections typically were embodiments of the Christian concept of the Devil. The Dark Man generally takes the form of a man of unknown species, sometimes of large or even giant stature but more often no larger than a natural anthro, who is invariably dark-furred with glowing red eyes and featuring several extra arms. He is regularly portrayed as the consort of witches. He has many names: The Dark Man, The Grinning Man, Old Scratch, Springheel Jack, The Evil One, etc., but always his formal, Biblical appellation, "Lucifer" or "Satan", is scrupulously avoided, a holdover from the tradition that to speak a demon's name is to attract his attention and perhaps even summon him.

More interesting to the folklorist are the names that harken further back than these simple Christian superstitions, recalling a more pagan portrayal of the dark and unknown. These tales, which originate from the more reclusive colonies, often bring out the more animalistic, nature-worshipping aspect of the Dark Man. He is sometimes pictured as being a feral creature, or having aspect of several species at once, resembling classical images of a chimera. His names are more obscure: The Wicker (or Wicca) Man; The Black Goat With A Thousand Young. Therein lie tantalizing clues offering the enterprising folklorist still deeper glimpses into the collective unconscious.

A few rare instances of The Dark Man have been uncovered that point beyond even these antiquated references -- bizarre aspects that seem to reflect some of the less understood concepts of Native American mysticism. Such baroque names as "The Lurker At The Threshold”, "The Watcher Beyond The Stars" or even “The Bleeding Eye of The Night” point to a substratum of human mythology as yet untouched. These versions typically describe not physical manifestations, but rather abstract concepts of Evil and Time that some scholars have linked to the pre-Roman god Saturn, before he became characterized as merely the father of Zeus, when he was instead identified with the Ouroburos Dragon, Devourer of Worlds. The biggest find concerning this myth was discovered in New England, where several old Misquat artifacts has been dug up connected to it, most often depicting the creature as a red rimmed eye looking down from the sky. Hopefully, as more archaeological evidence is uncovered, we will be able to speak of these primordial connections with greater confidence.

The third bookmark is for a chapter that deals with the strange mythology surrounding the person of Bövel Kråkholme, the first of the American Kråkholme, who immigrated from the Dales region of Sweden in the early 1600s. He settled in the Miskaton Valley and there helped establish the small fishing port soon to be known as Crowmoor. Bövel sired six raven-haired daughters and schooled all of them at home. The girls were reclusive and odd of habit, and by the time the eldest turned fifteen the town had all but openly accused them of witchcraft. The townsfolk shunned the Kråkholme daughters and called them "the Old Man's Coven of Crows" -- although never within earshot, since Bövel was already a very powerful and influential man in that region.

Although he never had a son, Bövel apparently sired a number of grandsons by more than one of his daughters, ostensibly to keep the Kråkholme blood pure, such practice being not uncommon in the more secluded and xenophobic early settlements. However, most of the male children were born dead, or horribly deformed, or both, and there were furtive whispers that Bövel was practicing some form of dark sorcery on his progeny. It did not help matters that Bövel had lost his right arm in an unspecified accident before this, playing into the common fear at the time of those that uses their left hand being aligned with evil forces. The fact that Bövel fell ill on the day that the first healthy male child was born (to his youngest daughter), and died before day's end, did not go unnoticed.

After Bövel died, the townspeople turned against the "coven", burning all of them to death on the 12th of February, 1652, except for Cristina, the youngest, who managed to escape along with her infant son, Marius. She returned some years later, after an outbreak of smallpox wiped out much of the town's older population, including the Calvinist minister and every last man and woman who had participated in the burning of Kråkholme's brood.

…huh, Chris has written something on the bookmark… “Need to check the dates. IMPROTANT”…
No. 1068671 ID: 681cb5
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The next booklet you look at is the one titled “Misquat, the lost tribe of Miskaton River Valley”

Little is known about the enigmatic Misquat Indians. They are believed to have occupied a small, unobtrusive area around southeastern Massachusetts, along the banks of the river which now bears their name. At the time that this book was published, various property disputes prevented any thorough archaeological investigation of the area; information regarding this tiny, sequestered tribe is therefore scarce and based largely on hearsay and folklore. Analysis of the only known fossil -- a partial skull -- has led some anthropologists to conclude that the Misquat were not indigenous to the region. One popular theory holds that the tribe is most closely related to certain degenerate branches of the northern Esquimeaux, and was perhaps driven from their original sub-arctic clime and forced to settle in exile in what would become the northeastern United States.

Although precious few physical artifacts have been recovered, chief among them a pair of ritual masks marked with an eye and hand, as well as a crudely carved, seven-holed wind instrument, tall tales of Misquat ritual abounds. They appear to have been a unilaterally reviled tribe. Most of the whispered stories involve horrid, ululating chants around blazing bonfires in the dead of winter night, grotesque copulations performed in honor of bestial gods, and of course abundant human sacrifice. The Misquat were generally known as child-stealers, creeping through open windows at night to perpetrate foul kidnappings. None of these claims can of course be verified; nearly all Indian tribes encountered by the first European settlers have been subject to such prejudices at one time or another.

It is known that the Misquat were most likely star-worshippers, and possessed what was likely a quite complex theology involving entities that dwelled beyond "the bowl of tiny fires", their term for the night sky. These entities granted wisdom or insanity, bestowed prosperity or famine, according to how well or how laxly the tribe performed its ritual appeasements. The rituals attempted to contact or possibly summon aspects of these entities through elaborately carved "beacons", mounds of stones or obelisks placed at significant geographical locations. The few eroded hieroglyphs left by them (oddly, the Misquat were one of the few North American tribes to have developed a system of writing prior to any contact with Europeans) have proved a compelling but so far intractable puzzle for linguists today; all further detail about their ritual and mythology remains yet a mystery.

There isn’t much more information to gleam from that text, so you move on to the next, a volume named “The Righteous Invasion: a History of Indian/Settler Conflicts in the Colonial Period”. Glancing through the table of contents, trying your best to ignore the clear biased this author had against the indigenous people, you notice that there is a short chapter on the Misquat Indians. Curious, you flip to the page.

The fate of the Misquat tribe, states the author, is an enigma which may never be solved. Diplomatic relationships with the original river valley settlers seemed doomed from the beginning. Documents from the period paint the tribe as aggressively pagan, degenerate savages. Nevertheless, Bövel Kråkholme managed to hammer out a peace treaty of sorts with the tribal leader, and the two groups led an uneasy coexistence for over a century. The exact circumstances which led up to the "battle" of Quattac Bend in 1772 are unclear. One document makes mention of an "uprising", although since as far as is known, the Misquats were never in a subservient relationship to the Crowmoor settlers, the use of this term is more puzzling than revealing. In fact, no evidence has yet been discovered that corroborates the notion that the Misquat Indians initiated any sort of hostility whatsoever.

What is known is this: the Battle of Quattac Bend took place in the dead of night. It was led by Bövel's descendant, Sigmund Kråkholme, and "fought" by some twenty town men, who crept through the woods and ambushed the small tribe during one of its holy ceremonies. There are no lists of casualties, although the diary of one soldier tells of many prisoners being taken, there is no mention of where these prisoners were kept or what was eventually done to them. No known document makes even the vaguest allusion to the Misquat Indians after 1772. From that date onward, the tribe effectively ceases to exist.

Geez, you can spend weeks if not months reading through all these… and the worst part is, you’re not even sure what’s helpful or not! Looking up from your research, you spot the Angler woman staring at you with unblinking eyes, probably making sure that you don’t scamper off with the books… or possible her head is just empty of thoughts and you just happened to be in her line of sight. Either way, you need to figure out a way to get Josephine access to these books if you want to get that cube opened up… but how?
No. 1068730 ID: 15a025

See if you can at least take notes? After all, what kind of researcher doesn't takes notes to reference for their work.

Though who knows, maybe they won't allow it out of fear you'd just write entire pages down word for word.
No. 1068763 ID: 8f9bc4

OK hopefully you have a good memory. This is... a lot. A choking mist that no longer exists, possibly some sort of volcanic activity releasing toxic gasses. Nothing particularly worrying. There are some connections with Red Star iconography in ancient history, perhaps even before the migration that would colonize the new world, which is what Josephine was already speculating. She might be able to make some use of that book, but well... why on earth is something like this restricted? At least remember the "Bleeding Eye of The Night” and how Saturn was related to Ouroboros.

> sired a number of grandsons by more than one of his daughters

Oh eww, more of this? Thank all the heavens you aren't a Kråkholme yourself. Your children should be quite healthy and not inbred at all.

So the young rabbit in that painting is Cristina carrying Marius, with the implication that this rare male was used to perpetuate their bloodline and... ensure that the Red Star would continue to come for them. But how did the Kråkholme's blood get such supernatural properties in the first place?

> children were born dead, or horribly deformed, or both

Maybe you'll... table the notion of having children with Chris for now.

> Need to check the dates. IMPROTANT”

The dates of the various births? Of the male births? Bövel's death is a single date not "dates" but ohh, how to tell what dates are important? You need to speak with Chris about this right away!

So the Misquat were Eskimos. They used obelisks, or mounds of stones to contact their star gods. Aaaand Sigmund was a senseless mass murderer, he certainly has the eyes for it. But maybe he was in some way trying to stop something that had been working through the Misquat, something they in their search beyond the stars had made contact with? Why would Sigmund's blood herald the coming of the Red Star though? Surely he wasn't the only family in that settlement who had children with Misquat natives?

Well, you can't get Josephine access to these books at the moment. Have to make sure the fish lady isn't around before you do that. You can tell your friend what you've found though, to get a better idea of how to discretely gain her access to that restricted section. You... might need to get fired on your first day after all, since there are in fact only two days remaining.
No. 1068791 ID: f72b35

There's a bird above your head. Try to not get pooped on!

>Josephine access to books?
That bird got in here somehow, so that means there's gotta be a way to sneak in here.
No. 1070167 ID: 681cb5
File 169188091028.png - (69.75KB , 700x550 , 16.png )

>Why on earth is something like this restricted?
While the information isn’t anything special, these books seem rather old and rare, thus valuable. There’s also a note in them that states; “Part of the Crowmoor private collection, funded by the Kråkholme estate. May not be put into public use.”
>So the young rabbit in that painting is Cristina carrying Marius, with the implication that this rare male was used to perpetuate their bloodline and... ensure that the Red Star would continue to come for them. But how did the Kråkholme's blood get such supernatural properties in the first place?
Where does this story even start? How? Why? And is there even a red star to begin with or is it just old myths and hearsay? You need more information, that’s for sure.

You catch a shadow in the corner of your eye, staring at you from the floor above, but when you look up, it’s gone.

>Maybe you'll... table the notion of having children with Chris for now.
After all you’ve gone through the last few days, having a child is far down on the list of things you want to do.
>Need to check the dates. IMPROTANT? The dates of the various births? Of the male births? Bövel's death is a single date not "dates" but ohh, how to tell what dates are important? You need to speak with Chris about this right away!
Hmm, maybe if you can find a register of their dates of births you might find something? Or you can just ask Chris what he meant, yeah… speaking of your hubby, the amulet should have been blessed by now. Might be time to start heading for the church after you’re done here.

The sound of a child screaming in terror jolts your body awake, but you calm down as you hear their mother comfort them.

>OK hopefully you have a good memory. This is... a lot.
While you have a good memory, it’s not that good! Besides, Josephine probably wants more than just hearsay.
>See if you can at least take notes? After all, what kind of researcher doesn't take notes to reference for their work?
Hmm, it would be possible… but then again, there’s just too much here to really write down in a reasonable timeframe. Besides, you neither have a computer or a typewriter nearby to use, as you prefer those compared to pen and paper.

A group of old men are whispering nearby… and you swear you can hear the name Chris mentioned several times, but you can’t be sure…

>There's a bird above your head. Try to not get pooped on!
Right above you, a massive murder of crows is perched on the crisscrossing ceiling beams, their crimson eyes focusing on you and following each motion. As they notice you looking back, they start to caw loudly, as if they are trying to scare you away… and seeing as you rather not get pooped on, you grab the books and leave the table you were sitting at. Wait… their poop? Where is the poop? There are at least two dozen birds up there, but you can’t see any sign of any bird poop anywhere... which means they must have gotten in not long ago.
>That bird got in here somehow, so that means there's gotta be a way to sneak in here.
It takes a minute of you observing the birds, but you finally spot one disappearing somewhere on the second floor…
No. 1070168 ID: 681cb5
File 169188092784.png - (42.68KB , 700x550 , 17.png )

Following the bird, you soon find an open window in a hidden alcove, whose entrance is barely visible behind an old bookshelf of barely read books. Looking outside, you can see how the heavy fog has settled over Crowmoor, suffocating the town under a damp cover of gloomy smog. It’s is nearly impossible to see farther than some meter in this weather, but you’re sure you can see the hidden shape of the old mill in the distance. It wouldn’t be hard to climb down from here, even with the books in tow.

The smell of rotten fish permeates the air in the streets…

While the thick mist makes it impossible to see anything far away, its smothering effect doesn’t make the world silent, at least not yet. A loud crash can be heard from the mill further down the street, followed by the cawing of crows. Old wood is creaking loudly somewhere nearby, nearly drowned out by the whining of metal bending. Then, the shattering of glass echo’s through the streets, which is quickly accompanied by the sound of a drunk crying. Finally, the familiar melody of a violin being played soothes your soul as it washes over you.

One on the street lights flickers briefly… and the lights of a nearby window shuts off.
No. 1070169 ID: 8f9bc4

It may be far down on the list, but considering only you have two days remaining, you should make good use of what little time you have!

And you can do that by hatching a plan with Josephine to get her into the library, and certainly not by doing anything silly with your husband. All you need is a good sturdy length of rope, a grappling hook, and someone who knows how to use a good sturdy length of rope and a grappling hook!

...maybe you should check on the pastor instead. So you'll have your little gift ready for when you see your husband again.

Who's playing that violin? Where is that music coming from?
No. 1070176 ID: 15a025

Best get the amulet soon. Dream Chris mentioned it might have an unexpected use.
No. 1070392 ID: 2a0ef1

I wonder why Chris took the liberty to write down that he should check the dates especially since he left the bookmark behind, sounds like he deliberately left a clue for someone else.

Either way, since time is of the essence, maybe we should:

1) Request more books, this time of local cults and faiths in the region, as well as the detailed genealogy of the krakholmes.
2) Check and write down the dates.
3) Leave the library and make a plan for Josephine to sneak into the library through the window after hours.
4) Ask for a book about how anglerfish people were percieved throughout history before regular anglerfish got doscovered a couple decades ba- okay, maybe not.

Hmm, maybe we should pay a visit to that french magician guy after retrieving the amulet from the priest. Let's not bring up the dream we had, but maybe he knows where that ex-crow doctor is right now.
No. 1070394 ID: 681cb5
File 169239920070.png - (58.96KB , 700x550 , 18.png )

>Who's playing that violin? Where is that music coming from?
Somewhere in that labyrinth of twisted streets, a small shop of trinkets and curios sits. The agile hands of its owner, a French Catfish, dances across the violin, making it sing the siren song that beckons you so. Hmm… if it wasn’t for his song, you don’t think you would be able to find your way back to Bernard’s shop at all.
>All you need is a good sturdy length of rope and a grappling hook to get Josephine into the library.
Hmm, or just a ladder? Maybe she’s a good climber, even? Still, you just need to make sure this window stays open, and you’ll be set to go!

As you’re leaving your newly found hiding spot, you almost immediately run into the anglerfish receptionist, as she’s clearly been following you. Crossing her arms, she gives you a rather annoyed look. Apparently she doesn’t appreciate you running out of sight with the books. After sheepishly returning them and writing your name in the book of records, you leave the library to once again enter the fog covered streets. Looking around, you are unable to spot Josephine anywhere. The bat probably already left, as it would be pointless to continue working in this heavy mist.

A murder of crows sits in silence on the roof of the town hall, judging you… before flying away in all directions when the sound of a scream morphing into a mad laughter scares them away. Whoever is making all that ruckus, they aren’t far away, hidden in the murky haze.
No. 1070395 ID: 681cb5
File 169239921046.png - (83.07KB , 700x550 , 19.png )

>Best get the amulet soon. Dream Chris mentioned it might have an unexpected use.
It should be midday by now, even if it’s impossible to see the sun in this heavy fog. Making your way through the streets, you have to focus to make sure you don’t get lost, as at times it’s almost impossible to tell where you are in thanks to the white smog around you. But soon enough, following the sound of its bell ringing, you make your way to the church.

The woods outside creak and whine, as if the miasma choking the town is warping the very trees around you, twisting them into grotesque shapes, their shadows dancing right on the edge of your sight.
As you enter the church ground, you’re met with several strangers, most of who are elderly. Today is Sunday, and it seems like Father Elijah is about to have a sermon.

Elijah: “Ah, Mrs. Knott, right on time.” the old tortoise greets you, as he’s shepherding his flock into the halls of the divine, “Your amulet is ready.” His hand slides into a hidden pocket, before pulling out the amulet you got from Bernard yesterday, “Here, take it.”
Belle: “Thank you, Elijah.” You tell him as you carefully take the necklace from him, “I can’t even begin to say how grateful I am.”
Elijah: “Do not mention it.” Elijah states, giving you a barely visible, but genuine, smile, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a sermon to hold.” The priest turns a bit and watches an old rat lady make their way into the church, before gesturing towards the great double doors, “Unless you wish to join my… ah… congregation?”
Belle: “Oh, no thanks, Father.” you’ve never been the religious type, though with all that’s been happening lately, that might change, “Maybe next time?” Pocketing the amulet, you glance behind you before looking back at the tortoise, “I have something important that I must do.”
Elijah: “Then I will take my leave. Good luck, Mrs. Knott, I hope for the best.” he turns to leave, but right before he pull close the large double gates, you looks back at you and says, “May God be with you, my child.”

As you’re once again alone in the bewildering brume, you suddenly get the feeling that you’re being watched. The hairs on the back of your neck raises, your hands quivers as your breathing get heavier and your heart starts beating like mad. Looking back over your shoulder, you watch as the barely visible shadows of the trees mocks you, their forms crocked and contorted, reaching out towards you with gnarled fingers. Taking no chances, you run. You run as fast as your legs can carry you back to the mansion.

Behind you, a child’s laughter can barely be heard, coming from somewhere deep in the weald.
No. 1070396 ID: 681cb5
File 169239921863.png - (68.19KB , 700x550 , 20.png )

Barging into the main hall, you immediately realize something is wrong. A heavy silence is screaming in your ears, the old halls once again empty of life.

Belle: “Chris?” you call out, “Are you there?”

But your voice is drowned out by the deafening silence...
No. 1070397 ID: 8f9bc4

This is now an escape room quest

Note on the dresser. Is it still the note from your broker, Daniel Brerwood?

Be wary, silence does not mean you are alone. Your husband may be here but hiding. Check the kitchen.

At least you know old Blue Eyes is still outside.
No. 1070441 ID: 15a025

Looks like another note from Daniel?
I agree we should check the kitchen first.
No. 1070485 ID: e5709d

Get a doorstopper and jam the front door wide open.

That rug looks ruffled, take it off for cleaning.
No. 1070497 ID: 681cb5
File 169265066376.png - (74.19KB , 700x550 , 21.png )

>That rug looks ruffled, take it off for cleaning.
Everything in this godforsaken house is ruffled and need to be cleaned, but now is not the time for that! You have a hubby to find!
>Note on the dresser. Is it still the note from your broker, Daniel Brerwood?
Picking up the note, you immediately recognize the handwriting. It’s from Chris.

“Gone out for a walk, will be back before dinner.”

It’s even signed with the sunflower he usually uses on his letters for only your eyes.

Looking over your shoulder, you watch as the thick fog outside turn the whole world into nothing but a white mess. There is no way anyone would be able to find anything out there right now... heck, you might even have passed him on the way home none the wiser! You can only hope that he isn’t lost out there somewhere, that he just went down to O’mally’s pub… or better yet, changed his mind and stayed home. After all, you can’t shake the feeling you’re not alone here.

For some odd reason, instead of going up and checking the office Chris is supposed to be working in, you decide to head towards the kitchen… and as you approach, you can hear the sound of someone moving in there. Grabbing a fire poker as you pass the fireplace, you start to creep towards the kitchen door…
No. 1070498 ID: 681cb5
File 169265067146.png - (88.04KB , 700x550 , 22.png )

…only to find that old homeless crow making a sandwich? What?

Sophia: “Ah, the woman of the house finally makes an appearance!” the crow mutters with her mouth full, “I hope you don’t mind little old me making myself at home in your carcass of evil.” After swallowing loudly, Sophia continues, “After all, your little devil left the door open when he went.”
Belle: “Wha-” shaking your head, you lower the fire poker, “Even if the doors unlocked, you can’t just come in and make a sandwich!”
Sophia: “Unlocked? I didn’t say unlocked.” the old doctor takes another bite, “He left the door wide open. You should be glad I closed it so this horrid miasma of death didn’t break in.” suddenly, her expression grows grim, “It’s his breath, after all… the breath of the devil himself!”
Belle: “Breath of… oh, you mean the mist.” you start massaging your temple with a sigh, “Just… tell me where my husband went, please.”
Sophia: “How would I know?” she shrugs, “All I know is that the worms are out… and the miasma is suffocating out there.” The crow spots your worry and quickly adds, “Do not worry, they won’t hunt the one they worship… but you?” she shakes her head before continuing, “You should stay inside. Trust me.” Her focus returns to the sandwich, as she takes another big bite, spilling lettuce all over the floor, “But if you really want to find him… maybe he left a clue somewhere?” She gives you a dark chuckle, “It’s your untimely death, after all… not mine… no, I’m safe here… safe in my little hidey hole… at least for now…”
Belle: “Safe from what? The worms?” you point the fire poker at her questioningly, “What even are these worms? Literal worms or…?”
Sophia: “They seek… they hunt…” the crow places the sandwich on the table behind her and grabs the sides of her head, “They will come for me, but I’m hidden, gone…” she giggles, clearly losing it again, “But one is following you… will it find us? A wolf stalking its prey… the blood beckoning it…” her breath quickens as she continues, “Doesn’t matter, I will be gone before it comes… hidden again…”
No. 1070499 ID: e5709d

"Let's discuss RENT."
No. 1070502 ID: a63b1b

You can't stay inside all day. You have an appointment at the church.
No. 1070513 ID: 8f9bc4

Well, it's good that she came in to stay safe then. That fog certainly did seem to have a foul air to it. You should mention to the old crow that you heard Björn out there, and you need to go check to make sure that his ehh... entrance into the house is secure.

Just running out into the fog to find Chris won't accomplish anything. Where would he leave a clue to his whereabouts, if not in the note that he left you?
No. 1070769 ID: 8f9bc4

Oh, that newspaper. Did she bring that in? Maybe Chris was reading it before he left.
No. 1070988 ID: 15a025

He could be heading out somewhere to check on those dates.
No. 1071080 ID: 681cb5
File 169324217001.png - (98.65KB , 700x550 , 23.png )

>You can't stay inside all day. You have an appointment at the church.
…you’ve already been at the church, remember? Just a few minutes ago? You’re even wearing the amulet you were going to get from there right now.

>Oh, that newspaper. Did she bring that in? Maybe Chris was reading it before he left.
It’s today’s Arkham Herald, which must have arrived after you left this morning. You guess Chris brought it in? Flipping through the pages, you pass by a few articles about world events, like “Turkish military launches incursion into Iraq: Syria may be next!”, “Y2k bug will doom us all!” and “The First Night by Monica is topping the USA music charts!”. Nothing you’re really interested in… but then, near the end of the paper, there’s suddenly half a page missing. Someone has clearly been here with scissors and removed an article… but for what purpose? You glance up towards the old Crow, but she just shrugs.

>He could be heading out somewhere to check on those dates.
That’s possible… but where would he go to check out people’s date of birth?

Belle: “Hey, Sophia…” you ask as you put away the paper, “If I want to find out when someone was born, where should I look?”
Sophia: “Someone in the world? The library, of course. If it is someone in town, then the town hall has records, yes?” with a face of disgust, she growls, “But if it’s about the disease which festered within these walls, then I’m sure you can find something right here. Those narcissistic abominations wouldn’t miss the chance for self-indulgent titillation. Of course they would have a family tree in the library or the office right here in the house!”
Belle: “Oh, right, the office. Chris was supposed to be working there…” you glance toward the ceiling, as if you were able to look through the wood between the floors, “When did he leave again?”
Sophia: “Right after this thick fog started to roll in.” the crow chuckles quietly, “I was on my way to my little hidey hole among the dead when I saw him, yes, I saw him! He was leaving, walking away into the mist, leaving the door wide open for the miasma to enter.”
Belle: “When the mist rolled in?” you rub your snout, “That’s not long after I left! Surely, if he was heading for the town hall library, I would have seen him there!”
Sophia: “Then maybe he went somewhere else, hmm?” she gives you a not at all genuine smile, “The worms crawls out from their nests in this fog, leaving the way open for those that seek their secrets, hehe…”

Belle: “Either way, it’s a good thing you came in to stay safe…” the smog is thick enough that you can’t even see out the windows anymore, “If this fog is as dangerous as you say it is. It did certainly have a foul air to it.”
Sophia: “It will choke you, as if it was a wrathful husband with too much to drink…”
Belle: “And I think I heard Bjö-”
Sophia: “DO NOT SAY THAT THINGS NAME!” she interrupts you, spittle splashing into your face as she screams, “No, no, he’s dead! DEAD!” putting her hands on her temples, it looks like she’s about to cry, “His coffin is in the crypt, protected and whole… he is dead.”
Belle: “Maybe I should make sure the attic is locked up tight.” Once again you glance toward the ceiling, “Just in case he tries to come home again.”
Sophia: “Hehe… No need… the boy has grown big, big, so very big…” the crow lets go of her head, instead leaning on the nearby cupboard, “He won’t fit in his crib any more… to big… all too big…”
Belle: “Speaking of home…” crossing your arms, you give her a stern look, “If you’re going to sleep here and eat our food, we might need to discuss RENT.”
Sophia: “Oh, look at the time!” she exclaims loudly, turning around and grabbing the knob on the backdoor, “I need to go before the worms come! Need to hide with the dead again, yes yes…”
Belle: “Hold it!” you stop her right as she’s about to head out into the mist, “This is my house and you’re staying right here until I’m done with you.”
Sophia: “Bah!” Sophia waves around a bit dismissingly, “Just don’t mention that horrid R word again… or those horrid names…” she shakes her head, putting it in her hands, “Names… names… names all around me, staring down at me… hehehe…”

Ugh, you need to focus… what was it you were doing again? You got the amulet, which means…

[Current objectives:]
Find Chris and give him the Amulet.
Open the puzzle box.
What’s up with the strange flute?
Get access to the crypt.
Find a way into the dome at the top of the house.
Figure out where the orb of gold you saw in your dream is.
Figure out what’s so important about dates.

Strange Flute
Puzzle Box
Old Photo album
Oil lamp
Child’s Diary
Edwards’ Diary
Your Wedding ring  
No. 1071111 ID: 8f9bc4

Huh, sounds like Sophia found a hiding place in a cemetary. Don't worry about the flute. Check Chris's office. Maybe he has some note about the dates in there. You're still convinced that the orb of gold has something to do with the golden domed observatory at the top of the house. Some sort of key to get in it, maybe?
No. 1071112 ID: 8f9bc4

Also tell Sadie that charging RENT is positively ridiculous, if it's only for a few days. You'd never think of asking money from someone who only needs a place to hide.
No. 1071115 ID: 918cdb

"Eesh lady, I get he was extremely malformed, but that's no reason to freak out and abandon medicine forever. Why do you have to assume a family is evil just because one of them is ugly?

And did you say I'm being chased by a worm who is like a wolf? You mean that angry wolf guy who works at the docks and is addicted to the local wine? Who even is selling it to him?"

On that note, we should find ourselves a knife or gun or something against
those weird Junkies.
No. 1071492 ID: 15a025

Ask if she might know anything about a gold orb here? Otherwise head up to Chris's office, maybe he has notes on his research.
No. 1071498 ID: e5709d

Explain that rather than collect money from her every week, you want her services as a personal doctor at your beck and call. She doesn't need much, and she doesn't want to do work most of the time, so this works out for both of you.
And really, she can't refuse. Aren't there specific laws against squatting in homes that are used regularly?
No. 1071506 ID: 273c18

>His coffin is in the crypt
We should probably see what's in that coffin at some point.
No. 1071713 ID: 681cb5
File 169394483745.png - (174.64KB , 1550x550 , 24.png )

>On that note, we should find ourselves a knife or gun or something.
A knife? No, you’re more of a blunt force trauma kind of gal… maybe there’s an old knights mace or something similar hidden around here? As for guns… well, you’ve never actually held one before, let alone used one? The priest did have that massive elephant rifle, didn’t he? …or will that be a bit of an overkill?

>Huh, sounds like Sophia found a hiding place in a cemetery.
Belle: “…is there a cemetery around here?” you cross your arms as you look over at the old crow, “Within walking distance?”
Sophia: “Around here? No…” rubbing the underside of her beak, she continues, “No, the closes garden of corpses is far away from the worms… far away from the mist… near the old town of Arkham, they are…”
Belle: “I see…”
>We should probably see what's in that coffin at some point.
Visiting the crypt at all is probably a good idea… but the key is gone, remember? Someone has already palmed it before you even… wait…
Belle: “Don’t tell me…” leaning forward, you point at her and growl a bit, “You’re the one who’ve stolen the Crypt key, aren’t you? That’s where you’ve been hiding!? Among the dead Kråkholme’s!”
Sophia: “It’s possible…” she gives you a smirk, “Probable even…”
Belle: Taking a moment to rub your temples, you ask, “Can I please have the key back? I’ll even return it after I’m done with it?”
Sophia: “NO!” she screams, making you jump a bit, “It is mine! I’ve hidden it and you can’t have it!” taking a step away from you, she hunches over, as if she’s trying to hide herself, “Your smell will lead the worms right to my hiding place, letting them find me!”
Belle: “And if I somehow make sure they don’t find you?” placing one arm across your chest, you gesture with the other towards her, “Or find a better place for you to hide?”
Sophia: “No… no, that won’t…” she shakes her head… but then suddenly stops and smiles, “Yes, I got it… find me protection, yes?” she glances over her shoulder, looking you right in the eyes, “Find me something that will keep me hidden from the devils eyes and his worms, and I’ll trade you the location of the key, yes?”
Belle: “Protection huh?” you sigh, “I’m guessing you don’t mean finding you somewhere where you can to lock yourself inside for the night, huh?”
Sophia: “No…” her eyes darts around, looking for anyone that might eavesdrop, “It needs to protect me from his gaze… from the eye in the sky!”

>Ask if she might know anything about a gold orb here?
Sophia: “Gold?” she gives off an evil sounding cackle, “If there was gold here, I would have found it ages ago! I’ve plundered this den of pure evil on all that has value!”
Belle: “…you know…” you scratch your snout, “Just because his son was a bit malformed doesn’t mean they were evil… nor a reason why you should have abandoned medicine in the first place for that matter.”
Sophia: “A bit malformed!?” With heavy stomps, she move towards you and almost stabs you with her finger as she angrily point it right at you, “That THING was not a creature of this earth! A festering abomination, whose mere existence is an affront to all that is pure!!!” her breath quickens and a lone tear travels down her cheek, “And the girl… it shouldn’t have happened to the girl. Only seventeen, she was, still a child when he… when that red-eyed MONSTER took her…” her eyes suddenly darkens, her fists clenches, “HIS OWN DAUGHTER, GOD FUCK ‘EM! SHOULDN*T HAVE DONE THAT TO HIS OWN DAUGHTER! GODS FUCK ‘EM ALL!!!!!”
Belle: “Whoa there…” you whisper, “Calm down.”
Sophia: “Fuck them… fuck them all…” she yells into the air, “They are all evil, those red-eyed freaks, and deserve to burn for what they’ve done…”
Belle: “…um…” sensing that it’s the time to change the subject, you ask, “Hey, didn’t you say I’m being chased by an angry wolf worm?” crossing your arms, you continue, “Like the angry wolf guy that works at the docks?”
Sophia: “It wears the skin of a wolf as it crawls…” she chuckles to herself, “But don’t be fooled… its putrid stench goes far deeper than just a drunken fool.” before looking over at you and smiling a very unnerving smile, “The worms crawls inside him… and soon… he will hatch, like the others, hehe…”
Belle: “What…?” you ask, but she’s stopped focusing on you, mumbling something about the worms of hands that crawls from the sky. “What did you…?” you try and get her attention, but it’s no use. She’s once again off in her own world, talking gibberish to herself. Probably best to just leave her for now… “Never mind…”

>Head up to Chris's office, maybe he has notes on his research.
Leaving the kitchen, you make your way up the stairs and towards the office, but as you pass the library you notice something. Someone has been ransacking this place, tearing out books at seemingly random and throwing them onto the floor, as well as knocking over anything that was lying on the tables. Did Chris do this? …and why?
No. 1071714 ID: 681cb5
File 169394484783.png - (101.74KB , 700x550 , 25.png )

Entering the office, you can’t help but notice that Chris has already unpacked your computer and booted up Doors98. So he did do some work here before he left… in what seems to have been in a hurry considering that the chair is lying on the floor…

The room itself is rather small, containing just a few shelves with knickknacks on them, a table for the computer, an old broken clock, a window which only show a sea of white as the fog consumes the whole house and finally… those god damned paintings! Once again, their horrid blood rimmed eyes stare down at you, their gaze filled with rage and disgust. You are not welcome here, worm, and you will be crushed beneath his boot. What can you even hope to accomplish? He will return… he always returns for his blood…

You shake your head a bit, dismissing those intrusive thoughts before taking a closer look on the paintings. They are nothing but paint and canvas, after all. On the top left there is a familiar face, Dragomir Kråkholme, grandfather of Edward (and possible father as well). His suit and tie does not help any to disguise the madness behind his eyes. Next to him you spot the Hare that was depicted dancing in that painting downstairs… and according to this, they are none other than Emerik Kråkholme, the painter of… well, most paintings you’ve seen. Then, right under Dragomir, there’s Sigmund Kråkholme, being depicted in what is clearly a replica of the painting at the town hall. Finally, the last painting depicts Father Marius Kråkholme, the son of Bövel himself, sired from his youngest daughter. He inherited not only his father red rimmed eyes, but the stern looks and dour demeanor. Not to mention, he’s clearly some kind of priest, just like his pa?

But moving away from those horrid eyes, you focus your attention on your computer.
No. 1071715 ID: 681cb5
File 169394485494.png - (14.00KB , 700x550 , 26.png )

Huh? What’s this? Password needed? Since when? Chris and you have always kept your profiles open before… this is odd…

Even as you stare into the light of the screen, you can feel those horrid eyes glare at you, borrowing into your back and strangling your very soul with their nightmarish gaze. You can’t help but shudder…

There’s only two days left…
No. 1071720 ID: 8f9bc4

So the doctor thinks this is some sort of madness inducing parasitic infestation. That's quite plausible! You're sure you've read a spooky story about brain worms even once. You might consider that the old crow could suffer from ordinary dementia, which was only compounded by her experience with Bjorn, so she might be natty bonkers not by anything she's seen, but by fate and circumstance.

I see lots of self-indulgent titillation here, but they aren't birth dates. You can endure the red-eyed glare by now, just remind yourself that every tyrant thinks himself a god before he's wrong. But you need to cover up that portrait on the lower left. That moustache is far too intimidating.

As for the password, the most important date... is... I guess two days from now? If that doesn't work, try your wedding date.
No. 1071723 ID: a7a180

The second date, of course.
No. 1071728 ID: 21f5b5
File 169395746597.gif - (1.27MB , 640x480 , c31dbe06dcec92b85a3019802d3a9c94.gif )

...welp, this is too perfect. Do what the image does.
No. 1071755 ID: e5709d

I keep forgetting we could be OP with casual time travel.
Hey, if you survive, try hacking into the government and post eeeverything they have on Maudi Saurabia.
...What? A country that literally grinds up its ancestors' burial mounds and sells their liquified remains as exports totally deserves to be humiliated!
No. 1071843 ID: 918cdb

We could trade the blessed amulet to Sophia for the key.

Oh, right! Those passwords from the old '98 system. Okay, here's what have to do:

First put on some gloves from the kitchen.
Next, clean the keyboard thoroughly, make sure no tools or scraps fall inside.
Next, look at the screen, memorize each icono.
Then click the "X" at the top right and use the computer as usual. Thanks for cleaning the board.
No. 1071921 ID: 681cb5
File 169410650913.png - (44.55KB , 700x550 , 27.png )

>We could trade the blessed amulet to Sophia for the key.
She might be willing to do that trade, yes… but you were supposed to give Chris the amulet, remember? Maybe you can just lend it to her for a bit, until you find a better solution? Hmm…

While you haven’t had the chance to use Doors98 for long, you do believe you’ve read somewhere that it is rather easy to circumvent. How did you do it again? Press the “?” first and… or was it the “X” button? Nevermind, you’ll start to guess a few passwords first before trying to hack your way in.

Let’s start with… tomorrow, as it seems to be such an important date what with all the “only two days remains” stuff. 10051998…
[The Doors password you typed is incorrect.]
Hmm… maybe with a few letters? OCT05 1998…
[The Doors password you typed is incorrect.]
...most important date? Maybe it’s our wedding day? 03261998…
[The Doors password you typed is incorrect.]
[The Doors password you typed is incorrect.]
…oh, right, Chris always writes the day first, like a European, what with most of his family still living over the pond. 26MAR1998…

With a small hum, the screen changes into the familiar desktop. You really need to add a background image, but you didn’t have the time before you came here. Now, let’s see…

Most of files are just the standard fare, with the exception of a folder titled University that’s filled with old work documents, as well as three odd document saved right to the desktop. While the university files aren’t that interesting, the out of place text files are worth investigating.

The first, which is named a bunch of gibberish, is filled to the brim with… more gibberish? Wait, no… there is a pattern here. You can spot some names… like Kråkholme, Crowmoor and Edward, but the rest is just a bunch of random letters. It might be written in another language, seeing as there’s a bunch weird letters in the text, but it’s impossible to tell seeing how it lacks both spaces and punctuations.

The second file, which is unnamed, says the following…
“I cannot sleep.

Or perhaps I should say: I must not sleep, since I am perfectly capable of sleep. In fact, lately sleep has come to me more easily, more quickly, and more insidiously than it ever has before. But I don't want to sleep.

I have been hoping that the terrible dreams would prove to be stress-related, that they would fade once the move was behind us and we had finally settled in, but that has not turned out to be the case. They're stronger than ever. Red-rimmed eyes pursuing me through strange corridors, and the voice, the whisperer who tells me I am not who I am. The whisperer tells me secrets of this house, secrets of those who lived here, they are my blood, and he tells me he always returns to his blood. He tells me of secret keys and combinations; I don't know what they open yet but I have an idea…

I must go down to the cellar and take the key, before venturing out to seek the house sheltering the machines. I must see if the things revealed to me in that terrible book are true, and if I can stop them.

I know she is worried about me. I want to tell her, but… I can’t… for her sake…”

Chris… what have you been up to, hubby?
No. 1071922 ID: 681cb5
File 169410652002.png - (131.74KB , 700x550 , 28.png )

Finally, the last text file, labeled Family Tree, is exactly what it says it is… your husband’s family tree. Looking through it, you can see he has recently mapped out just how exactly he is related to Edward and the rest of the Kråkholme line. Apparently, Bövel’s father had a sister whose descendant, about 400 years later, had Chris. So, while they are related, Chris is not a direct descendant of Bövel or any other Kråkholm for that matter. Heck, Bövel came to America in the 1600s, while Chris Grandfather came here in the 1920s.

Going further into the document, you can see that he’s been looking into Bövel himself and the family branches that sprouts from him… though, removing all the daughters that didn’t bear offspring, it’s more of a line than anything. Let’s see…

Bövel Kråkholme (??? >>> 3-11-1651)
married Ingrid Kråkholme (8-13-1605 >>> 11-25-1634)
who had a daughter named Cristina Kråkholme (11-22-1634 >>> 4-8-1686)
Cristina then sired a son, Marius, with an unknown man.

Marius Kråkholme (3-11-1651 >>> 10-18-1734)
married Kärstin Kråkholme (3-13-1672>>> 11-25-1717)
who had a daughter named Malin Kråkholme (5-14-1717 >>> 1-26-1742)
Malin then sired a son, Sigmund, with an unknown man.

Sigmund Kråkholme (10-18-1734 >>> 12-16-1802)
married Tina Kråkholme (8-8-1760 >>> 11-25-1786)
who had a daughter named Rut Kråkholme (5-11-1786 >>> 4-16-1820)
Rut then sired a son, Emerik, with an unknown man.

Emerik Kråkholme (12-16-1802 >>> 1-30-1886)
married Stina Kråkholme (12-10-1825 >>> 11-25-1870)
who had a daughter named Christina Kråkholme (3-14-1870 >>> 1-25-1904)
Christina then sired a son, Dragomir, with an unknown man.

Dragomir Kråkholme (1-30-1886 >>> 4-26-1960)
married Elizabeth Kråkholme (5-1-1921 >>> 11-25-1937)
who had a daughter named Anna Kråkholme (8-13-1937 >>> 2-13-1987)
Anna then sired a son, Edward, with an unknown man.

And finally, Edward Kråkholme (4-26-1960 >>> 3-14-1997) then married Julia Kråkholme (5-4-1964 >>> 1-10-1997)

There is an obvious pattern here… the Kråkholm “patriarch” marries a woman from outside the family, sires at least one daughter who in turn sires exactly one son, who then becomes the next patriarch of the Kråkholm and repeat the process. You shouldn’t be surprised that they are this obsessed with keeping to traditions…

But what did Chris means with the dates? What’s so important about them?
No. 1071923 ID: 681cb5
File 169410652960.png - (45.15KB , 700x550 , 29.png )

>I see lots of self-indulgent titillation here, but they aren't birth dates. You can endure the red-eyed glare by now, but you need to cover up that portrait on the lower left. That moustache is far too intimidating.
Ugh, you need to cover up all four of them! Those red-rimmed eyes are just way to creepy! Though, seeing as you can’t find anything to cover them with nearby, you simply grab them and flip them over to the other side… or at least you try to. As you pull on the edge of the painting depicting Sigmund, it opens like a hatch and reveals a safe behind it. Here you though painting safes were just in the movies. It’s locked though, and something tells you it won’t be your wedding day that’s the combination this time…

…hmm, have you seen a safe combination somewhere before?
No. 1071927 ID: 8f9bc4

Obsessed to keeping traditions, or possessing of a genetic error that expresses itself in male children, such that any male sired by a Kråkholme is severely malformed and/or perishes. Perhaps inbreeding somehow cancels out this error, so the only way for a Kråkholme to have a healthy son is to... wait for one of his daughters to come of age. All the other genetic errors would be activated by the inbreeding, so... not ideal.

Best strategy: stop reproducing and give up you awful people you're fighting a losing battle and it's time to lay your cursed family to rest because that means every generation had a daughter who had to bed her own father and—oh hey, a secret wall safe!

Now where was that combination...
No. 1071931 ID: f8083d

Each freshly married mother died within months of her daughter's birth. That's highly suspicious.

And the "next patriarch" is always of unknown father, which is... "helpful" in keeping the family name. It's also horrifyingly possible for this "unknown man" to always be the previous patriarch...

Wait... Each patriarch died the day his grandson (and possibly son) was born!
No. 1071933 ID: 8f9bc4


> Each freshly married mother died within months of her daughter's birth. That's highly suspicious.

That's not suspicious. This is suspicious.

> Ingrid Kråkholme (8-13-1605 >>> 11-25-1634)
> Kärstin Kråkholme (3-13-1672 >>> 11-25-1717)
> Tina Kråkholme (8-8-1760 >>> 11-25-1786)
> Stina Kråkholme (12-10-1825 >>> 11-25-1870)
> Elizabeth Kråkholme (5-1-1921 >>> 11-25-1937)

> 11-25-1634
> 11-25-1717
> 11-25-1786
> 11-25-1870
> 11-25-1937
No. 1072024 ID: e5709d

Try each of the dates you just saw, starting with Dragomir since his portrait was hiding the safe. If this seems insecure, remember that the dates were classified and Chris locked the computer when he found out.
No. 1072062 ID: 15a025

Agreed. How come they all died on that same day of the year? This might be something Chris was looking into. Seems like Julia is the only wife mentioned here that didn't die on the 25th of November.
No. 1072073 ID: 8f9bc4


It's rather obvious how. Recall the portrait "Passing On the Blood." Clearly it's a metaphor not for butchery, but for the ritualistic sacrifice of every woman who marries into the Kråkholme family. Julia is the exception because Edward went insane, killed her and then himself, before whatever that ritual was going to be to sacrifice her on 11-25.

Why though? What's special about "the blood" of people who aren't even related to the Kråkholmes? Because every one of those women weren't; they just took their husband's name when they married him.

My guess is it has something to do with the lifecycle of these parasitic brain worms that old crow keeps going on about.
No. 1072127 ID: 681cb5
File 169437718153.png - (57.50KB , 700x550 , 30.png )

>Obsessed to keeping traditions, or possessing of a genetic error that expresses itself in male children, such that any male sired by a Kråkholme is severely malformed and/or perishes. Perhaps inbreeding somehow cancels out this error…
You’ve seen enough weird shit in this godforsaken town that you can say with certainty that there’s something supernatural going on here. Whatever is going on here, it’s not some genetic disease! What it is, is some kind of dark magic or other horrible malevolent force. And you’re going to put a stop to it. For your hubby sake.

>Try each of the dates you just saw, starting with Dragomir since his portrait was hiding the safe.
It was Sigmund’s painting it was hidden behind, not Dragomir… but dates might work…

As you start turn the knob, you notice something beneath the thick layer of dust on the safe. Someone has carved numbers into it. All the dates are here, as well as some other strange symbols and words, though going by this none of the combinations worked. Hmm, these carvings can’t be more than a year or two old…
Still, not taking any risks, you start to enter each important date into the safe. None of them works, but you do notice something else...
Each patriarch died on the very same date as the next one was born… as if they replaced each other. It is as there always had to be one Kråkholme, but only ever one, alive at any given time. But… why?
Then there’s the wives… they all died shortly after their youngest daughter was born, at the exact same date. The 25th of November. What’s so important about that date?

Julia is the odd one out. Not only didn’t she die on the same year as her youngest daughter, but she didn’t die on the 25th either. Did Edward try and break the cycle by killing his family and then himself? To ensure the Kråkholme bloodline died out? Hmm, the painting downstairs, the “Passing on the Blood” that depicted the old man teaching the younger one to butcher… can it be a metaphor for is happening to all the wives? That they are sacrificed for the next generation? …but that doesn’t make sense, as each father dies when the son is born… and the son is born years after the wife is already dead. Bah, maybe you’re overthinking this…

>Now where was that combination...
You know you’ve seen a combination somewhere… but where!? Gah!
No. 1072128 ID: 681cb5
File 169437719393.png - (80.88KB , 700x550 , 31.png )

Needing to get away from those horrid eyes you make your way out of the office to breathe a bit. Ugh, things are just getting more and more complicated! Weird dates and hidden safes… what is going on in this house? This town?

Right, you need to figure out your next move…

Do you want to trade the amulet to Sophia for the key to the crypt? The whole point of it was to give it to Chris, after all… yet, you have this feeling that you really need to get into the crypt for some reason. It’s important.

Then there’s the puzzle box… and the flute… and the safe you just found… not to mention the dome and the golden orb… *sigh*, where do you even start?

…and why is the son born on the day the father dies? Why does he return for his blood? He always returns for his blood…

[Current objectives:]
Find Chris and give him the Amulet.
Open the puzzle box. (Josephine said she could break it open, but is there another way?)
Open the office safe.
What’s up with the strange flute?
Get access to the crypt. (Trade amulet to Sophia for the key?)
Find a way into the dome at the top of the house.
Figure out where the orb of gold you saw in your dream is.
Why are the sons and father’s death and birth the same?

Strange Flute
Puzzle Box
Old Photo album
Oil lamp
Child’s Diary and Edwards’ Diary (Read: https://questden.org/kusaba/questarch/res/1053691.html#1063067)
Your Wedding ring  
Fire poker (For defense)
No. 1072137 ID: 8f9bc4

Waitasec. What are those things on the fireplace to your left there? They look like decorative torches with golden um, orbs in them?
No. 1072183 ID: 918cdb

Oh, right, now I remember! The combination was in Edwards journal, 12-53-2!

There was also a line about the clue to entering the secret cellar door behind the labeled bottles being the family names. We now have a list of those names, we can open it now!

On second thought, it's true, Chris may need the amulet more. We should tell Sophia about our dream, and how the world, or at least the town and its surroundings, are going to be overtaken by the worms in two days.
She will at least let us peak in the crypt for a bit if we push her fear that not letting us in will end up worse for her than if she does.
No. 1072293 ID: 681cb5
File 169461852204.png - (37.65KB , 700x550 , 32.png )

>On second thought, it's true, Chris may need the amulet more. We should tell Sophia about our dream, and how the world, or at least the town and its surroundings, are going to be overtaken by the worms in two days.
Why do you have the feeling that making her panic even more is a bad idea? Not to mention, she seems way too stubborn to give up the key that easily… but it’s worth a try, you guess?

>The combination was in Edwards journal, 12-53-2!
With a click, the safe door swings open. Inside, you find an old letter still sealed inside its envelope, a few ink stained pages ripped from a book and… is that a hand? There, in the corner, is a rabbit hand, clearly intentionally preserved. Covered with bandages, it’s been dried out and embalmed, to ensure it survived for gods know how long. The words “I will return for my blood” is written on the palm. While creepy, it’s not that different than the elk head stuffed downstairs, is it? … … …you pick it up and put it in your pocket. You just got this feeling you’ll need it later.

Leaving the macabre trinket for a moment, you move your focus to the pages littering the bottom of the safe. A quick glance confirms your suspicion. This is indeed the pages ripped out from Edwards dairy, the one you found down in the basement. Picking them up, you try your best to read them, but they are in such bad shape it’s hard to make out most words, let alone full sentences.

“-zzle box that cannot be open by mortal hands, at least according to the man I bought it from at the Cauldron. This should be enough to keep their grubby hands away from the lens. I gave my old amulet for it, even if he refused at first. Only b-”
“-asked them about the Cauldron, but no one has heard of the shop. Why can’t I find it again in those twisting lanes!? Is this his work!?”
“-that old hobo keeps following me around, even after I yelled to her to get lost. She said that she knew my mother and older brother, but my mother is long dead and my brother was stillborn, so it’s clear she is lying. She’s probably just some loony old coot that has had too much to-“
“-buried with William, but I haven’t dared open his coffin. Maybe I won’t need the music box or it’s key. Maybe the instrument is something-“
“-the lens and the flute are safe behind the bookcase. It’s the least I can do if he would return again.”
“-hide it in wine cellar, in one of the bottle holders. No one will find it there and read my secrets!”

Finally, there’s the unopened letter. The envelope lacks a stamp, but there’s a rather detailed description on how to get to the house, get into this very safe and that the letter should be left in here. Oh, and it’s addressed to “whom it may concern”. Ripping it open, you find a neatly folded paper smelling of disinfectant.

…it’s blank? It’s just a blank piece of paper? That’s disappointing.
No. 1072294 ID: 681cb5
File 169461853931.png - (119.50KB , 700x550 , 33.png )

>There was also a line about the clue to entering the secret cellar door behind the labeled bottles being the family names. We now have a list of those names, we can open it now!
While you might be able to figure out the password, you still have no idea how to actually interact with those bottles in the first place. Nothing you did actually made them move, remember?

>Waitasec. What are those things on the fireplace to your left there?
It’s a stone hand holding an orb… an orb of brass. The polish gleams over the sphere, making it shine in the light. Your reflection is like a tiny doll trapped inside it, in a world tinged by the color of brass. Your face swells and stretches as you stare back at yourself through the curved, distorted walls, giving you an odd sense of déjà vu. Have you seen this orb before somewhere?

…it’s the orb Chris gave to you… in your dream.

Hesitantly, you put your hand on it, and twist it…
No. 1072295 ID: 681cb5
File 169461854780.png - (63.94KB , 700x550 , 34.png )

The stone wails as it starts to move, grinding against each other in a painful obligation, as the back of the fireplace opens up. Behind it, a secret tunnel inside the very walls of this depraved estate. Wasting no time, you crawl inside.
No. 1072296 ID: 681cb5
File 169461855626.png - (82.94KB , 700x550 , 35.png )

The air feels heavy in here… and the stench of decay and rotting flesh drifts in from somewhere deeper inside. The moist planks that lines the walls and floor move slightly as you walk on them, groaning under your weight. The rest… is silence. You can’t help but shudder.

You look down the twisting and turning corridor leading into the deepest, blackest depths. The passage seemingly goes on forevermore. Yet… how can it? These distorted wooden beams go far beyond the confines of the wall. In fact, you merely have to take a step forward and you should be standing in the very office you were just in. Yet, her you are. Looking down a passage that is impossible. But, as you continue looking into the abyss, it almost feels like it’s warping before your eyes, distorting itself with ill intent as if it’s taunting you to venture further.

A soft, rhythmic beating from the left contaminates the silence…
No. 1072299 ID: 8f9bc4

It's... just some strange architecture, like that bit up in the attic. Explore further. You have a lot to think about with knowing what is in the box was precious enough for Edward to gave away his amulet. You'll be returning the puzzle box to Jacques after this is all over; it's only fair. You need to survive that long. Explore further.
No. 1072308 ID: cc6f99

The letter must have some manner of invisible ink. The most well-known one is thermally revealed, you can try delicately heating the paper (fire is a big no-no though -- do you have a clothes iron?)
No. 1072335 ID: 273c18

Go in. Take a look through the peepholes.
No. 1072359 ID: 273c18

>a neatly folded paper smelling of disinfectant.
What kind of disinfectant? Lemon-scented perhaps? If so, you merely need to hold it up to a lit candle to find the hidden message.
No. 1072409 ID: 681cb5
File 169480196599.png - (96.96KB , 700x550 , 36.png )

>What kind of disinfectant? Lemon-scented perhaps? If so, you merely need to hold it up to a lit candle to find the hidden message.
Lemon? No… it smells more like a hospital. One of those where the stench of death hangs in the air. It reminds you way to much of your grandmother and her last few weeks. As for revealing its secrets, you’ll be on the lookout for a candle… or something warm… or worst case scenario, you’ll dig up your old clothes iron from the boxes downstairs.

>You have a lot to think about with knowing what is in the box was precious enough for Edward to give away his amulet.
Just the more reason why you need to open it! Whatever it is, Edward called it a lens… but a lens for what?
>You'll be returning the puzzle box to Jacques after this is all over; it's only fair.
You’ll throw the pieces of it at him after you smash it! Why couldn’t he sell it with instructions on how to open it!?

>It's... just some strange architecture, like that bit up in the attic. Explore further.
With a hesitant step, you start your journey down the corridor. A thick cloud of dust dances around in the light of your torch. The smell of fungus and rotted meat makes you gag. It feels like this will be your coffin. The boards below your feet creak with each step, releasing more dust into the air and making the air even harder to breathe. It doesn’t help that the floor is tilting slightly upwards, making it feel like you’re losing your balance. And the walls. The walls are getting close and closer, crushing you between them ever so slowly. After what feels like an eternity, you reach a pair of holes drilled into the wall, only visible because of the light shining through them. Though, even further ahead there are at least half a dozen more of them. Points of light hidden in the darkness...

Thump… thump… thump… the sound of something banging against the wood grows louder with each step you take.
No. 1072410 ID: 681cb5
File 169480197627.png - (42.47KB , 700x550 , 37.png )

>Go in. Take a look through the peepholes.
… … …w-what? Those are… t-that’s… that’s the living room on the first floor! The one with that horrid painting of Bövel! But… how!? You’re supposed to be looking into the office on the second floor, not a room that’s a floor below it on the other side of the house! This… no, this can’t be… has someone been watching you?

You move on to the next pair of holes… which shows the child’s bedroom on the second floor… and the third pair shows the foyer…

The pounding increases in intensity, both in sound and speed. You can almost feel the wall throb with each thud.
No. 1072411 ID: 681cb5
File 169480198648.png - (31.32KB , 700x550 , 38.png )

The next pair of peepholes is located in the ceiling, but when you stretch yourself to look into them, you’re met by a top down view of the kitchen. The old crow is there, hiding under the table, gnawing on her sandwich. Is she… hiding from something?

You move on, taking a peek through each pair of openings you pass. The wine cellar… the library… the office… the gallery… your bedroom. Every last room in the house can be seen from this corridor. What… how… who built this? And why!?

…rhythmic beating, always from the left. No matter how you turn, it’s always coming from the left.
No. 1072412 ID: 681cb5
File 169480199864.png - (55.89KB , 700x550 , 39.png )

Wait, where did you come from? You’ve gotten yourself turned around in the dark and can’t remember where you came from. Taking a direction at random, you start ascending a pair of stairs into the darkness. No, that’s not right… you were walking upwards before, so the exit has to be downhill, right? Turning around, you start to ascend the stairs into the black void.

The beating from the left is getting louder… and is starting to match your own heart in rhythm.

…you shine the light up the stairs, unable to see the top of it. Looking behind you, you can see the stairs going upwards, but there doesn’t seem to be an end to them. Closing your eyes, you take a step back up the stairs… and then a step forward up the stairs. You jump downwards and land further up the stairs. You give up and sit down further up the stairs… and when you blink you’re even further up the stairs.

You scream.

In a panic, you run in a random direction. No matters where you go the stairs get steeper and steeper, forever going upwards. The walls are getting closer… the ceiling lower… you’re getting crushed. You can’t breathe. You can’t think. The torch flickers and you can’t see. The glass cracks as you drop it. The stairs keep going upwards as the heart of the house starts beating harder and faster, making the left wall pulse and bend. No matter how you turn, the stairs always go up and the beating is from the left. You can’t see you can’t breathe you can’t escape always up always up always up. The walls are closing in, trapping you in a coffin alive, no matter how fast you run or how loud you scream. They keep going upwards. The stairs…

…there’s a light at the top of the stairs.
No. 1072413 ID: 681cb5
File 169480200916.png - (154.93KB , 700x550 , 40.png )

Stumbling through the doorway, you manage to escape the beating heart of the house, instead finding yourself in a large domed room with a telescope in it. Is this… the observatory? How in the… fuck, you’re not going to question how you got here. Something is clearly wrong with this house. So fucking wrong.

The beating heart slows down, disappearing back into the void behind you…

[Current objectives:]
Find Chris and give him the Amulet.
Open the puzzle box. (Josephine might be able to break it open. Was bought from Bernard.)
What’s up with the strange flute?
Get access to the crypt. (Trade amulet to Sophia for the key?)
Search the observatory for clues.
Why are the sons and father’s death and birth the same?

Strange Flute
Puzzle Box
Old Photo album
Oil lamp
Child’s Diary and Edwards’ Diary
Your Wedding ring  
Fire poker (For defense)
Empty note (Secret message?)
Mummified hand of a hare (why?)
No. 1072414 ID: 8f9bc4

Didn't you... cover up the painting of Bovel? It could be cameras, giving you a view from the ceiling, through the ceiling. That heartbeat though. The old crow said the mansion was a carcass of evil, but she's wrong this place is very much alive. Try not to think about just how you're going to get out of this observatory.

No need to inspect the telescope, you know exactly where that damn thing is pointed and you do not need to be reminded of the stakes right now. You have some things to look at here though. The diagram above the... entrance, what's written there? The constellation map has that diamond symbol with the line through it on the left side, but what about the rest of the symbols? You might look at the one scroll that's left on the table, and that bottle of something next to it. And finally that book... what does it contain, and what happens when you put the rabbit's hand on the indentation? Maybe you can find something that would give you enough reason to go to the crypt, even if you couldn't get your husband the amulet. Your dream Chris did say it would help in an unconventional way, after all.

Don't worry about the flute.
No. 1072415 ID: 273c18

Alright, so we've learned that the house's twisted passages are inherently dangerous. How are we going to get back out of this room? Look for another exit.

Check out the scrolls. Look around for something to light a candle with so you can check the note for lemon-ink. Be careful not to burn it.
No. 1072435 ID: 8f9bc4

Oh also the telescope probably doesn't even work, as it's likely missing a lens.
No. 1072485 ID: 15a025

Ooooh! Glowing book! Read the book.
No. 1072488 ID: e5709d

I don't care how you do it, but smash a wall through the observatory so you can fast-travel back here with a ladder.
No. 1072554 ID: 681cb5
File 169498972768.png - (76.61KB , 700x550 , 41.png )

>How are we going to get back out of this room? Look for another exit.
It’s rather obvious that this place only have one entrance. There aren’t even any bookcases or fireplaces around to hide a secret passage. Heck, even the telescope is built into the ceiling!
>I don't care how you do it, but smash a wall through the observatory so you can fast-travel back here with a ladder.
There’s no way you’re getting through these walls, unless you manage to find a sledgehammer hiding in here somewhere.

>Look around for something to light a candle with so you can check the note for lemon-ink. Be careful not to burn it.
You manage to find an old matchbox from the early 1900s. Surprisingly it still works! Of course, you can’t help but consider just how much an old matchbox like this might be worth… heck, there’s probably a lot of stuff lying around here that might fetch a nice prize if you find a collector. You leave these greedy thoughts behind when you notice the blank page transform in front of your eyes. Holding it up to a candle, hidden text appears…

“My name is Edward Kråkholme, and this is my testament: I am utterly, utterly mad.
This task shall be my last on earth; when I am finished, I shall dash my brains out against the cell window. The last of the Kråkholme will be dead, and the world made a slightly brighter place thereby.

From as early as I can remember, I could feel the lurking presence of the man on the threshold. He stalked the boundaries of my mind, seeking a means of entrance, of condemning my soul to limbo and taking up a fresh, new abode in my young limbs. His evil, red-rimmed eyes haunted my every dream and overshadowed even my waking hours. The amulet my mother gave me while I was still in the crib protected me, for the creature cannot abide its presence, and must flee all who wear it, but Mother died while I was still young, and since then my folly has brought tragedy to myself and to all those I love.

The memory of my mother's urgent warnings faded soon after her death. I became embarrassed by the scandal that seemed to hover over my family name like a pall, and was mortified by the superstitious trinket that I still wore around my neck, as if in ignorant servitude to those old myths. The red-rimmed eyes had not given me nightmares since my twelfth birthday, and I dismissed them as an immature fancy that had passed along with my boyhood. At the age of 21, I pawned the amulet at a magic shop somewhere in town, and thereby sealed my doom.

I scoured every street in this cursed town, looking for that magic shop, but I have never found it. In desperation I began delving into old histories and forbidden genealogies, researching the history of the dread Kråkholme name for some solution to my plight. I discovered no answers, only horrors I dare not write down. But I also discovered something worse; the ultimate purpose behind the old demon's nefarious rituals!

He plans to unleash a primordial evil such that the earth could not possibly survive. I have seen the plans and the blueprints; I have read the dread tome in the observatory; I have used the obsidian lens that is not true obsidian, and I have looked upon what that madman means to draw down onto this earth! He and this town, his foul congregation of fanatics and madmen! They are all a part of it! They have been watching me, waiting for the return of their monstrous high priest!!

It was then that I realized that killing only myself would not be enough. He always returns to his blood…

I did the only thing I could do… Julia, I am so terribly sorry, but I will be with you soon, I could not let him have you, or Gertrude or Sonia, and I will not let him have me. Say good-bye to the last of the Kråkhome; there will be no blood for him once I am gone.”
No. 1072555 ID: 681cb5
File 169498973979.png - (215.19KB , 700x550 , 42.png )

>No need to inspect the telescope, you know exactly where that damn thing is pointed and you do not need to be reminded of the stakes right now.
Even if you wanted to use it you can’t. It’s clearly missing a lens… a lens that Edward hid in the puzzle box you found. Still, he did think the lens was important enough to hide, didn’t he? Maybe a quick peek won’t hurt?
>Maybe you can find something that would give you enough reason to go to the crypt, even if you couldn't get your husband the amulet. Your dream Chris did say it would help in an unconventional way, after all.
Edwards journal mentioned something hidden in the crypt, right? It might be something you’ll need. It feels important.

Looking around the room, you carefully start examining any object that might be interesting. Most of it is star charts written in some different languages. Sometimes in what you believe is Latin. Other times in some strange, vaguely Arabic-looking alphabet. Neither is a language you can actually read. Most of the scrolls are filled with the same strange texts accompanied by weird symbols and patterns, making them useless to you. There are also several bottles and flask lying around, but none of them are marked and you rather not try and figure out what’s in them by experimentation. What little you can figure out from all this madness is that someone has been following the movements of the stars for a long, long time. They have been doing this for at least 400 years… and it all seems to point to one single date. Monday the 5th of October, when the moon is full… which is to say, tomorrow night. There is only two days remaining…

Moving aside some papers, you spot something else… interesting. It seems to be an anatomical diagram of… something. Something you rather never meet. You have no idea what’s being written about it, but who ever made this sketch was clearly interested in this abomination.

Next to it is a blueprint of a tower of some sort. Once again, the writing is in a language you don’t understand, but you can clearly see that whoever designed this needed it built to a very specific spec. Oh wait, someone has written something on the corner of the blue print...

Notice: Make sure the glass lens is of the correct measurements, using the wrong glass lens will be devastating for the ritual. Do not handle the glass lens without clean gloves, as any fingerprints or grease stains will ruin it. Do not try and clean said stains by normal means, as even if the lens will look clean to the naked eye, the small unevenness on its surface is enough to disturb the beacon, instead seek up your supervisor for aid.”

That last number has been circled several times…
No. 1072556 ID: 681cb5
File 169498974820.png - (96.98KB , 700x550 , 43.png )

>Didn't you... cover up the painting of Bovel?
…you did. Did… did fall off? Or did someone remove it?
>It could be cameras, giving you a view from the ceiling, through the ceiling.
There is no way a live video feed can be that sharp! Not to mention, there clearly wasn’t a screen on the other side of those holes either… no, that wasn’t something done with technology at all…

>Ooooh! Glowing book! Read the book.
A large tome without a title sits on a podium, it’s only markings are odd, golden runes on its spine and a glowing handprint on its front. The leather covers are worn and cracked; the metal corner fittings tarnished; the pages yellow and brittle. Even then, try as you might, you can’t get it to open. Is there a hidden lock on it somewhere?
>What happens when you put the rabbit's hand on the indentation?
Against your better judgment, you place the severed hand of a hare onto the book and it fits perfectly into the carved handprint on the front. Then, with a cyan glow, the hand fuses with the front of a book, showing of that diamond symbol for just a second before growing dim. While you can’t remove the hand, the tome is now open for you to read.
No. 1072557 ID: 681cb5
File 169498975705.png - (107.14KB , 700x550 , 44.png )

Inscribed on the title page are the words “Haermoniacon: Manual of the Atonal Servitors” beneath what you presume must be the same words written in that strange, vaguely Arabic-looking alphabet. There is also the name of the author on the bottom of the page; Bövel Kråkholme.

The greater portion of the book is written in an incomprehensible, flowing cipher; however, the margins in several pages are glossed in English. The book appears to contain instructions for traveling to somewhere called "the Domain of Nehilim", and for worshipping or perhaps summoning an entity that dwells there: He Who Is Named Not; nor may that Name be taught among His followers; that Name which may be learned only by gazing upon His Terrible Countenance...

The only specific details involve a ritual used to open a one-way portal into the Womb of Nehilim, allowing the magician to enter or possibly throw some hapless soul into its chaotic, blasphemous depths. The ritual seems to have something to do with music, and requires the magician to "Attune ye Pillars to ye Resonant Haermonicae", whatever that means.

The rest, by only the barest contrast, is nothing but pure raving.

But as you lean closer over the pages to make out the words in this dim light, the letters seem to writhe and crawl across the page, twisting themselves into strange combinations, horrible words that you've never read before... and yet, somehow, you can understand their repulsive meaning. The words crawls into your brain, gorging themselves fat on its succulent flesh before borrowing into its moist folds to infect it with their eggs. You want to tear your eyes from the page in revulsion, but some small, gleefully filthy part of you wants to keep reading. They spell out something about a "Blessed Event", which will happen very soon, and a hideous god whose name may not be spoken... on how the great eye will arrive… and then paradise. But there… hidden beneath it all… there are hints in these decaying words, these rotting truths, that there is a way to stop it. You just need to read more… understand more…

Will you read on? It is the only way to save him… to save your husband… to save Chris. You need to know how to stop this… once and for all.

…will you read on?
No. 1072563 ID: e5709d

Or at least wear the amulet while reading it.

Get to opening a shortcut back to this place.
No. 1072577 ID: 8f9bc4

Close it close it! That book is full of worms. You don't want to be full of worms. You don't need to understand. You need to act. There is a way to stop this, and that book will only lead you further away.

The creature in the diagram is a familiar shape to you, something known as the "Tree of Life" in esoteric Jewish tradition: a diagram of ten, or eleven spheres called sephiroths. As a representation of all creation, a creature with that form would be designed to grasp, control, and... probably devour everything with that mouth in the little known eleventh sephiroth.

You're not sure how you know this because you dabble in mysticism, but you're no Jewish scholar.

Edward said "He and this town, his foul congregation of fanatics and madmen!" So there are people in town who are actually trying to get this thing latched onto your planet. Not all of them though: Sophia's far too frightened, and the catfish seems only tangentially involved. Father Thorne is too open in his condemnation of the rest of the town, he wouldn't be concerned if he was in on it. Everyone else... you just don't know them well enough to say.

"taking up a fresh, new abode in my young limbs" Dragomir wasn't... Dragomir. He was Bövel. They all were Bövel! He's been dying at the birth of his grandson in order to possess their bodies, generation after generation! How is that possible? It must be Edward's madness. That can't happen to Chris, can it? How would you dispel the specter of a man who's been dead over 300 years?

Is there anything in this observatory that resembles a melody, that could be played on a flute?
No. 1072578 ID: 273c18

If that's his motive, why kill his wife? Sonia didn't have any of His Blood... unless it transfers by marriage? But if that's the case... you'd be in danger too. And there's only one amulet.

Not all at once. You need to learn to steel your mind against its influence. Look away. Clear your mind, cleanse your mind. Once you are absolutely sure you've recovered, look again.
No. 1072604 ID: 918cdb

Seems like Bövel, or whoever worshiped this dark crearure before him, has been posessing the bodies of his male descendants for ages.

Poor Edward, he never knew his brother was alive.
And now Björn is the last Krakhölme. A Krakhölme that looks a suspicious lot like the creature in the diagram.

I'd recommend putting on the amulet before continuing.
No. 1072615 ID: 273c18

She's not wearing the amulet right now? Why?
No. 1072629 ID: 681cb5

Just a quick note: She's wearing the amulet, I'm just dumb and keep forgetting to draw it.
No. 1072686 ID: 681cb5
File 169512935860.png - (97.54KB , 700x550 , 45.png )

>Look away. Clear your mind, cleanse your mind. Once you are absolutely sure you've recovered, look again.
You close your eyes, turn your head away and take a deep breath. You just need a moment… but when you open your eyes again you’re still reading the book. Averting your gaze, you try and find anything else to focus on in the room, but no matter where you look, you’re still reading the book, still seeing the words on those brittle, yellow pages. As you spin around, you almost knock down the still lit candle next to you, but even that only give you a second reprieve from the horrid worms that are crawling up your arm from inside the tome.
>Wear the amulet.
You are. It’s under your sweater. It feels like it’s burning up, searing itself into your flesh. It’s the one thing that is allowing you to actually focus on anything but the book, the one thing keeping you from drowning in the abyss of words. A light in the dark made out of the searing heat of suffering.
>Close it, close it! That book is full of worms. You don't want to be full of worms.
You smash the book close and give a sigh of relief, only to notice to your horror that the book is still wide open in front of you. You throw it away from you, making it hit the opposite wall with a heavy thud, but as soon as you blink, the book is there again, in your hands. You were just imagining that you were able to close it, that you were able to throw it away… or even that you had the will to look away. You are weak willed, fox, and you will die for your hubris.
No matter how hard you try, your arms refuse to close it. You need to do something before it consumes you, but you aren’t strong enough to close it on your own!

As your hungry eyes lap up words after blasphemous word, your mind is assaulted by contorted vision of the past, the future and the now. A Tower of light, beckoning the eye ever closer, a mirror within mirrors suited at the top. Blood slowly flowing down an obelisk of bones, the scream of crows as a sacrifice is made. A house of flesh and gore where the beast sleeps, hidden among the pillars of rot and decay. Then, a glint in the darkness… something is there, hidden deep inside a dark abyss filled with death, dug right under the beasts den. It is… important.

The words start to crawl. Their movement making you dizzy as they twist and turn into spirals upon spirals. Your eyes following the bluish ink, hearing the smell that purple taste of, and you can feel your mind giving in, cracking open, getting ready to hatch so that the worms can turn into beautiful butterflies. You can’t look away. You can’t close it. You can’t let go. The burning sensation of the Amulet grows weaker and weaker… and with it, the grasp of your mind.

It has noticed you… and you can’t look away.



No. 1072687 ID: 8f9bc4

No. 1072724 ID: 273c18

Burn it with fire! Walk over to the urn and put the book down behind it so it blocks your vision! Fall over onto your face so you're too close to read it or your arms get knocked away from you! Shake your head to take off your glasses so you can't read at all!

Many solutions.
No. 1072915 ID: e5709d

Blasphemy shall be met with blasphemy
Write in the book! Use your newfound knowledge of this language to inscribe a coded message involving the destruction of the beacons hidden throughout the town.
No. 1072916 ID: 918cdb

You cannot close it, but you can make use of the force that compels you to grip it so.


Tear and pull apart with all your strength!

A rent pupil cannot stare back.
No. 1073013 ID: 15a025

Scream for help, call out to the crow!
Rip and burn the book! Write in it with your claws!
Think NOT of the foul and unholy things the book is inscribing into your brain. Think of your wonderful hubby! Think of spending romantic time with Chris. Focus as much of your thoughts on Chris as you can. Fight it back as much as you can.
No. 1073149 ID: 390e45

lol she has a wedding
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