10 November 2004Two more sites, both slaughtered before I arrived. Whatever it was that drew the cult here, they were insistent on getting a foothold, and someone was insistent on stopping them.
I had to assume it was my mystery woman. Once I knew what to look for, I had managed to spot her at both sites, but only briefly. She was always just a step or two ahead, always ready to vanish in the tiniest bit of water, but I had been working on a trick I'd learned back in North America. This time, I was hoping I'd be ready for her. It would have to be enough, if I wanted any answers this way. For all of my searching, I couldn't find evidence of any more cult sites in the area. I wandered this last site in the spiritual realm before investigating. I don't know if she knows what I am, or what I can do, but I had no reason to think she would assume I could slip by her. I did not find her, but I did locate the water source I was certain she would use to escape. I made a note of its location, found the fastest route from the central chamber to it, then went back to the entrance to carry out my work as usual. I was taking notes on the fatal wounds on the last body when I saw her from the corner of my eye. She was watching, from a crevice above me and to the right. I quickly ran through the map in my head, and determined that if I played it just right I could reach the water just before her. I stood, jotted down the last of my notes, then tucked the notebook away. "You know, we could try talking about this." I didn't know if she knew English, but I was certain I knew what she'd do the moment she realized I was speaking to her. Sure enough, she dove down the passageway behind her. I smiled, turned, and took off down the path I'd determined. I leapt over rocks and slid under a narrow passage, trying as best I could to reach the end of our race first. "Saint Hubert," I prayed softly in Latin, "please let me have estimated her speed correctly." As she rounded the last corner and came within sight of the water, she began to change. Her legs gave way to a single, long, serpentine body, and the water started to open. Just as she was about to lunge forward, the water froze and the air in the room dropped to nearly arctic temperatures. Her body grew stiff and she hit the ground hard, gasping in the sharp air. I stepped out from the end of my path, catching my breath as well. She hissed and pulled out her swords. "Do what you came to do, Colonizer," she practically growled in heavily accented English, "but know it will not be easy for you." "I've been hunting this cult for a very long time. Well, long in human years, but I suspect you work on a very different scale." "You...hunt them?" She was breathing very heavy, and I could tell she was having difficulty. "They're a threat. I want to know what you've learned about them." "What do you care? Some ridiculous little group of white people show up in my land and start corrupting the name of our serpents, and you expect me to believe this is somehow a problem for you?" "This is not a local event. I've been tracking them all over the world. Whatever they are, they mean to impose their will everywhere." Her eyes widened for a moment, then narrowed as they fixed on me. "I will consider it. If you let me breathe." "You seem to be talking just fine as we are." "For now. But you want to chat." We watched each other for a long moment, before I sighed. "Give me something. Anything to know you're serious." "Akshainie." "What?" "It is my name. I am Akshainie, of the guard of Iravati." We stared at each other for another moment until I was certain I would get no further assurance, and then I opened my hand and allowed the temperature in the chamber to slowly return to normal. "Now, you said you would talk." "No," she replied with a smile, "I said I would consider it. I never said where." Before I could react, she vanished into the water. I screamed, the rocks around me starting to slightly melt as the water quickly evaporated. After I took some deep breaths and centered myself, I turned and made my way back to the hotel.
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6 November 2004The spiral on the ground was crude and shallow. Benedict knelt and ran his fingers along it, feeling the jagged edges. It was composed of short straight lines, five or six abreast, with each set slightly angled from the one next to it. From a distance, it could give the illusion of a smooth curve, but it was clearly unfinished. The scratches suggested it had been scraped in quickly, almost frantically. They hadn’t had time to finish it to the state of the others he’d found around the world, and probably never got to the point where it could be painted red. Not that it mattered. The blood that had flowed into it took care of that. Seven bodies in all were scattered around the room. Four of them could probably have been identified by family, a couple years ago when they first died. The gashes across their chests and throats betrayed the use of a sword; a sword that was no longer in the room. The heads of the other three were crushed in. Every one of them smelled like sulfur, a sign of their connection to Nachash that he had picked up ever since waking at Yggdrasil a year and a day after arriving there. Benedict stood and slowly stepped around the corpses to the broken and bloody idol that appeared the likely murder weapon. He picked the idol up, a bust emerging from a pillar, and examined it. It was broken off about three inches below the shoulders, so he carried it over to the disfigured idols and pillars and began testing the fit until he found the one it belonged to. Having found it he looked down at the name engraved on the post and scowled. He didn’t know the language and couldn’t understand what name the idol had, so he set the bust down and pulled his bag around to the front and dug through until he pulled out a notebook and pencil. His superiors had been concerned about his lengthy absence in the Arctic, and now he knew he would need to bring more samples back to justify his globetrotting. As he was taking a rubbing of the engraving, he heard a stone drag across the floor behind him. He turned quickly and looked around, but saw nothing. He'd been tracking information around the world ever since he left Yggdrasil, looking for any lore related to serpents that may give some indication on a source for the Brood of Nachash or at least an idea of what they were seeking. His search had brought him to the region around Lahore, Pakistan, where he had now found three ritual sites claimed by the Brood, all of them filled with dead cultists. He finished his work and then began exploring the rest of the cavern, which had multiple branches cutting off into the rock. As he approached the second side passage, something further down the chamber scraped against the rock. He ran down the passage, following the faint noise of very light footsteps ahead of him. He rounded one corner and got a brief glimpse of her, a woman with twin swords and a movement that flowed like water. She was quick, but he saw enough of her face and arms to recognize her as a local. When he rounded the corner she had disappeared around, he found no evidence of her passing. Just a small stream of water, flowing through the stone, not large enough to hide a person or allow one to escape. He slipped into the spiritual realm and looked around, but found little more than a faint trace that led into the water. He scowled, then turned and headed back to finish his report. 9 October 1997In retrospect, I don't know what we really expected to happen.
We had talked about the investigation of the site as though violence would be a last resort, only used if absolutely necessary. The stated goal had been investigation and, if possible, capture. Bring the Barzai to justice for his murders, let the police crack down on the rest of the organization. The Church had learned long ago that we needed to limit the amount of direct justice we carried out; its why my organization was no longer referred to as an inquisition. But I had also made clear to Tadzio that this was a dangerous force, and I had been sent specifically because I was capable of meeting the violence they could pour out. I had described it as a war, I had prepared for battle, I had let my anger at the Barzai and his little band of murderous zealots and the clergy that fed their cause show and had never sought to temper it. And this was why, when I saw the flash of Tadzio's blade in the candlelight and time seemed to slow to a crawl, I knew I had done this. Every soul that died in this place today was, to some degree, my responsibility. Even the very existence, and therefore the actions, of the Barzai were driven at least partly by my own actions years ago. I wanted to hate them. I wanted to view them as inferior, as foolish lost souls that bought into lies and had no real chance at redemption. I could see the hate in their eyes, and I knew that no mortal would find my rage against them unjust. They sought to destroy the good in humanity, to tear down every institution that had build society, to burn and kill and rampage until the Earth was reduced to a ruin, and they believed fully that this would be the only true freedom for mankind. They were everything I stood against in this world, and they wanted nothing more in this moment to kill us both and carry on their dread work unhindered. "You must never forget this, Bene," Father had told me, as I stood in the doorway to leave for seminary. His hands were on my shoulders, his eyes barely holding back tears. "The people that you serve, the souls you shepherd, every one of them has a chance. Every one of them is doing the best they can with what they have and what they know." The Barzai was charging forward. Tadzio's sword was fully drawn and he was moving forward, flowing like water, hundreds of years of training showing in the smallest movement of every muscle. The small crowd of cultists were drawing knives and moving in. "If there is hope for you, there is hope for them," Father said, "there is hope for us all." I knew he was right. I knew where my kind stood in the order of things. If there was a redemption offered for me... I held out my arms. Fire is easy, but this, I had never tried this. I needed to get it just right and didn't have much time to experiment. I exhaled sharply, cleared my mind, focused on every bit of heat in the room. In an arc around Tadzio and I, the air rapidly began to cool as I drew the heat into myself. Let it build. Add to it. Act fast. Don't let it spark. How foolish I was to lose sight of that. Father was old, dying, battling delusions and a loss of memory. He told me in his final days that he would carry his sin to the grave, but I knew he was wrong. I should have known he was wrong, instead of wondering, dwelling, letting myself believe that maybe all of this was for nothing. Maybe there was, in the end, no hope for him, or for me. I forgot what it meant to receive forgiveness. I let myself believe in judgment so much more strongly than redemption that I had killed a man of the cloth in my rage and now stood poised to slaughter an entire room. But I knew better. As I reheated that air well above room temperature, there was an audible crack that echoed through the room. The rapidly expanding air sent Tadzio and the cultists flying backward. They were injured, all of them, but they'd live long enough to get medical help. Tadzio was going to be furious. I snapped my eyes open as the Barzai, undeterred by the blast, threw himself forward and drove me into the stone floor. I used the momentum and threw him back off of me into the wall, and rolled over onto my knees. He crashed to the ground and slithered back to his feet, his body moving unnaturally like a snake's without fully changing form. We each lunged forward and went on the attack. Fists flying, occasionally making contact with ribs, occasionally being deflected. He was fast, angry, and driven to kill, and soon I was finding myself on the defensive more often than not. He was trying to draw my attacks away to get a bite in, and I had to occasionally fend him off with a blast of fire when my hands were occupied. I couldn't get to my gun, despite a part of me screaming in my mind that I needed to. Was capture even a realistic goal here? Could the Barzai ever be stopped while he still lived? I finally managed to get a hold of him and throw him off me. I reached down for my gun, but before I could grab it, Tadzio's sword plunged into the Barzai's side. He screamed and stumbled backward, and I glanced over to see Tadzio standing where he had fallen from the blast. His left arm was hanging limp and his head was bleeding, but his right arm was apparently still in a suitable condition to throw. It was only then I managed to notice the cultists, moaning on the floor, a couple trying to roll over. I stormed forward and pulled the sword from the Barzai's body, causing him to scream again. Putting the sword to his throat, I pushed him back against the wall. "It's over. Come with me," I said. He laughed. "Oh, Father. Next time you underestimate me like that, you'll surely die!" He snapped his fingers and became a mist that suddenly vanished into itself. I fell forward and caught myself against the wall, before spinning around to survey the room. Tadzio was limping toward me. "Well, that didn't go as planned," he said, reaching out for his sword. I returned it to him as soon as he was close enough. "The plan was...revised," I answered. "I noticed. We need to have a chat about that, but first," he turned and pointed at the cultists with his sword, "we need to decide what happens with them." "Don't worry, I know exactly what to do. But first, we need to leave." He stared at me for a moment, then sighed and put his sword away. 9 October 1997"I can't believe you killed a bishop," Tadzio whispered in German as we were laying in the woods, watching the cult site through binoculars. "It wasn't on purpose." "But do you regret it?" There was a long pause, then I lowered the binoculars and rolled onto my back to check my gun. "I'm surprised you care, given your distaste for the Church." "They tried to kill me, Bene! Repeatedly, for years!" "It was an inquisition and you were literally under the constant influence of demonic power." "Yeah, well, torture still sours the relationship. But you're dodging the question." "I don't want to talk about it. You ready?" Tadzio smiled as if he was certain he'd won some argument, then put his binoculars away. "Lead the way, inquisitor," he said, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. The ground floor of the building was dark and damp, having sat undisturbed in the humid air for decades. The rusted frames of hospital beds, broken glass, bits of fallen plaster, and the occasional bit of graffiti or pile of beer bottles and cigarette butts were the only markers still available to trace our path. Occasional holes in the ceiling gave us glimpses that the upper floors were no better, but the floor beneath our feet was as solid as it was filthy. It was probably not enough to tip off the local youth that something was amiss about the location, but Tadzio and I recognized it as evidence that someone was maintaining the lower levels and keeping them hidden from sight. The trick was finding how they got down there.
We scoured the entire ground floor; though we were sure from observation that the cult members who frequent the site used a hidden exterior entrance directly to the basement, we suspected there was still a method for reaching the lower levels from the main structure. If we could find such an entrance, especially a forgotten entrance, we could hopefully catch the people below by surprise. When we found nothing, we debated trying to find the main entrance, but ended up deciding to check the other floors just to be safe before we took that step. It was on the second floor, in what appeared to have been an administrator's office, that we had our discovery. One desk was attached to the floor and couldn't be moved, and under it we found a secret switch. On activating it, we watched a rusty and likely forgotten part of the wall hesitantly open to reveal a door marked with the red spiral of the Brood of Nachash. We had our entrance. The elevator that used to connect the office to the subbasement appeared inoperable at a glance, so rather than poke at it and risk alerting the people below, we took to climbing. That much worked, and when we arrived at our destination no one was waiting for us. We agreed on a search pattern, and I stepped into the spiritual realm to take my path as he turned away to find his. As a spirit, I slipped past about a dozen people milling about or praying to their dread gods. In one room I found an assortment of weapons and explosives, with a handful of maps marked with targets. Being that I was alone in the room, I went physical again to gather the maps for future reference and rest my hand on the hinges and latch until they melted. Once the metal hardened behind me, no one was getting in there without magic or running the risk of blowing the whole place. I hoped it would be enough. When I met Tadzio again, he was wiping blood off one of his swords, slipped away in a crevice where I nearly missed him. "Did you run into trouble?" I whispered. He shook his head. "No trouble for me." He briefly explained that he had found a passageway that seemed to lead into catacombs, styled to look old and European, but with the wrong stonework. He'd seen enough of the real thing to recognize it, he said. It was the only clue we had to suggest an inner sanctum, so we went back to follow it. We descended into the dark and narrow passage, feeling our way through winding corners and down precarious stairs. I could have done something to help myself see better, but the turns were frequent enough that I wouldn't see much at a time. I probably should have. We saw light seeping in a side passage ahead, and slowly approached it. We paused while still in shadow, he readying his sword and I offering a quick prayer, before we stepped out together. Spread before us was a large, cave-like room, with rough hewn walls and a vaulted ceiling. From the ground rose a number of jagged pillars, appearing like stalagmites, but flattened about five feet up with idols perched atop. They were scattered around the room in what appeared to our perspective as having no system at all. Among them were about two dozen robed figures with oversized hoods, who all turned to face us as soon as we emerged. "Father!" one cried out, raising his arms. "Have you come to hear our confessions?" "I'm sure they would be among the most interesting in my career," I replied. He laughed, lowering his hands to the sides of his hood. "I didn't get the chance to notice last time that you have a sense of humor," he said, drawing back the hood. I recognized him immediately, the scarred side of his face and his serpentine eye raising every hair on my body. "We were so busy that night, weren't we? Barely got introduced at all. Why, I bet you have all kinds of surprises waiting for me." He smiled and pointed to Tadzio. "Like, you have friends! I wouldn't have expected that." The other figures began to slowly walk toward us. "And I suppose your friends just want to get to know us, too?" "Them? They'll leave you alone, don't worry." His smile grew larger, distorting his face and stretching until two fangs began to emerge from his upper jaw. "Your penance will be special." 26 August 1997Last month, the Diocese of Dallas, Texas lost what was apparently a famous lawsuit over sexual misconduct carried out by one of its priests. It seems there are more monsters in robes than I knew. I had not heard about this matter in rural Germany, but the people of South Carolina have. The lack of trust right now has greatly hindered my investigations. When I went to the police department where the last priest had been found after his encounter with the Brood of Nachash to ask what they knew about the assailant, and admitted that I was not associated with a specific local church on being asked, I was detained and questioned about my credentials and mission and knowledge of misconduct for nearly twenty hours. After that, I decided to be more quiet about my work.
I had to abandon my cassock and opt for street clothes in order to accomplish anything, and even then the trail was hard to find. The local diocese knew about my predecessors arriving and beginning their work, but did not receive regular updates that would help me track their location. The non-Catholics in town seemed disinterested at best in the murder of one priest and mutilation of another, and the Catholics were waiting for news of priestly misconduct to die down before they really spoke to anyone about matters of the Church. When I asked the Cardinal for the records of the previous investigation, he informed me that the priest who had been picked up was too traumatized to tell them where his notes were and very few reports had come in. I am on my own, and must retrace the investigation that came before me to find anything. I believe I'm close, however. The national news suggests that the case in Dallas is not as well-remembered in the rest of the nation as it is here. I suspect someone has used it to encourage animosity toward the Church. My best bet may be to trace that word rather than imitate those who came before me. 15 April 1991We were standing around my table, which was covered in open books and notes. Over the weekend we had touched on all of this as much as we could, but I also had mass to tend to and the church's expectations for my Sunday afternoons, so this was the first time we could really spend a large chunk of time picking at what we knew. It would also probably be the last; we would keep in touch about anything we found, but Henry was flying back to the United States early the next day. In the course of our discussions, I had pieced together that he had met Tadzio while doing fieldwork, the exact nature of which he never explained but seemed related to the half-human child of a water spirit that was particularly important to him. Having never actually met another nephil in my life, I was hoping he would be more talkative about this other one he knew. Sadly, this was a matter he was not interested in discussing.
"This is the earliest reference to Nachash as an actual being that I own," he said, resting his hand on the reprint of a book originally printed during the Spanish Inquisition as I entered the room. "I know of an earlier reference, a mysterious book so rare I get conflicting accounts of what it's even called, printed around 1270. But nothing earlier." "So this is a relatively new religious order?" I asked, setting a mug of coffee in front of him and then taking a sip from my own. He absently lifted it to his lips and then set it aside again, looking over to a page of notes he had nearby. "To a European Catholic, sure." "So we know when the Brood of Nachash was formed?" "No. We know that there are no surviving records of any reference to Nachash as an actual being from before the late thirteenth century. It does seem somewhat unlikely that the cult existed very long by that date, given the complete silence in the record, but we can't really know. The most likely alternative is that they existed but called their god something different." "But before then, Nachash was just...what?" "An Anglicized version of the Hebrew word for 'serpent' used in the Fall narrative of Genesis 3. Outside of language studies of that actual passage, I have found little evidence to believe it had any use outside of Hebrew until either the cult or the spirit appropriated it." "Is is possible that other groups that center on serpents are related to it?" I sat down and picked up one book, which included a brief reference to Nachash among a number of chaotic deities. "It's worth looking into, I guess. It is, at least, possible that the cult will have borrowed imagery from other serpentine orders or even folklore, even if there's no direct relationship." As we looked over the information we had, it was decided that we needed to expand the scope of our studies. Henry had other matters to address, so he agreed to be available for the occasional bit of research, but had to keep his focus elsewhere. I knew that my resources were going to be limited as long as the Vatican had me off the case, so I thanked him for the help and admitted that it may be a while before I can contact him with anything new. I hated to put the matter aside, but I was growing concerned that I would soon have no other choice. 29 June 1989I arrived in Southport having already stepped out of the physical reality. I knew that the sheriff was likely not the only member of the cult who could see into the spiritual realm, the effort involved seemed unlikely they would be doing so without some reason to believe I was there. It was, therefore, necessary that I not be seen arriving in the town.
My day was largely spent bartering with a water spirit for access to the island without using a mortal ferry, which required significant discussion as such beings have a general distaste for my kind. By the time I made it to the island, it was late afternoon, and no one had yet arrived. After some hunting around, I found what I believed was the location of the ritual, marked with a similar circle to the one I'd seen in the basement of the hotel. There were only a couple buildings on the island, and all of them seemed temporary, and the circle occupied almost the entirety of one of them. I found a place outside the window where I could keep an eye on things, and waited. 22 June 1989Finding traces of the cult was surprisingly easy. Ensuring no one knew that I was doing so was the difficult part.
The little things helped quite a lot, really. Bits of graffiti in ancient scripts hidden in underpasses, whispers in the right bars just before last call, and local folklore all played a role in pointing me to some small islands off the coast. I was able to call Flitwick every few days with what information I had gathered, and usually by that time he had researched what I found the time before and would give me the information I needed. Last night, we were able to narrow down a date. The evidence suggested that the ritual was going to happen on June 29, late at night. We knew the location would be somewhere on the islands around Southport, and I have a week to figure out which one. Flitwick informed me that he had to take a trip for work, some summer training in his field, and he would not be available before the date of the ritual to help me any more. He wished me luck, and I prayed for safe travels. I am on my own now, but I believe I have all that I need. 1 June 1989When I woke again, the sun was bearing down hard on me, in long strips broken apart by the shadows of trees, from near the western horizon. The only noise were the cicadas, early crickets, and the late birds, and the soft tone of a river further down the slope where I had passed out. My notes and clothes were scattered all around me, and the marks from the sheriff's fangs ached. The grass around me looked like it had been singed, but never caught fire. I gathered my things, got dressed, and made my way down to what I found was actually a creek. The water hissed and steamed when I placed my hands in it, so I stopped and began to focus. I had to get my body back under control, I couldn't return to my superiors like this. When I was finally ready to drink, I began to wonder if I could return to them at all yet. I determined that Flitwick would be the best place to start. I had not yet made contact with him, so there was no reason for the cult to watch for me there; and his relationship with the Church meant that he could get a quiet message sent along. I wanted to rest some more but had no desire to test the limits of providence that prevented me from being found already. It was time to move. It was late into the night before I found the professor's house. He was, thankfully, a light sleeper and I was able to rouse him enough to be welcomed in with little fuss that would alert his neighbors. When I tried to convince him of the urgency of my mission, he patted me on the shoulder and informed me that no one was coming here and that he would be useless to me without at least a little more sleep. Satisfied at his own answer, he returned to his bed, leaving me with permission to make myself comfortable. The only comfort I could find in that moment, however, was understanding the nature of this cult.
I took over his dining room, spreading my notes around the table and jotting down new ones based on my encounter the night before. For hours I poured over the connections and the gaps, trying to understand what event they were preparing for and how to stop it. They were planning to gather victims for sacrifice, and I had no idea how to stop them from doing that. As I attempted to piece everything together, I didn't notice the sun rise, or Flitwick preparing coffee or rejoining me. I leapt when his hand casually reached over and lifted my drawing of the circle in the basement of the inn. "This is very old magic," he muttered, sitting down and resting his mug on the nearest clear space. I took a deep breath and reclaimed my seat opposite him. "Seemed lively as ever." "You know well enough that magic does not age." He set the page down and began looking over my scattered notes, taking a particular interest in the drawings. "What do you know about this cult?" "They are not a minor nuisance, as we expected. The cell I encountered is part of a larger organization, led by a Barzai, with plans to 'free' mankind of the influence of gods and religion. They are violent, they perform human sacrifices, and their leaders at the very least have access to dangerous magic." "Fascinating. What do you know about this plan?" I leaned forward, resting my forehead on my hand. "Less than I would like. It seems to be a summoning, they appear to believe that the serpent of Eden is a singular being, a Great Serpent, who they can call upon to finish corrupting mankind. I don't know what, exactly, they will summon if they succeed, but I fear they will certainly be able to summon something. And I know whatever is coming, is coming soon." He picked up my drawings of the markings in the cave. "Wait," he said, grabbing the other circle from the inn. "I think there's a clue here. Do you know the geographic orientation of these markings?" "Oh," I said, sitting up, "No, I don't. Why?" He went into the next room and returned with a stacks of road atlases, shoving a section of papers aside to lay it down and open the first to a map of Tennessee. "Show me where the inn is, and the cave, if you can." I rose and stood over the map, scanning for anything I knew. I pointed out the town where the inn was and was able to identify the general area of the cave. He noted the county, and then dug through the stack until he found a more detailed county road map. We found both locations, and after a discussion about the orientation of the basement compared to the front door, and the way the cave angled, he felt he had an idea on how everything was laid out. "This has been very interesting, professor, but will it help us?" "Yes! Okay, look here. The circle in the inn is a summoning circle. It has these markings around the outside, here, see? One of them, and only one, matches markings you identified in the cave. If the geographic orientation is important, and they usually are for things like this, then there should be more sites at each of these symbols. We just have to determine the scale." "How do we do that?" "I have no idea. Something attempting to summon a creature to oppose God Himself would have to be huge so it could collect a lot of energy. But if the scale is too large, then some places would have to be in the ocean. Which...well, there's this large empty area here..." He began tracing out the circle, and then pulled out an atlas of North America and started trying to match up locations. "The largest I think this could be, since there is an area with no sites that would probably be in the ocean, would be if this lower site is in Bermuda, and this other site in the Bahamas, and that would put the central site somewhere here in North or South Carolina, near the border, on the coast. I think that needs to be your next destination." "The sheriff talked about gathering people for sacrifice, though. I need to stop him before I can just drive off to the beach." Flitwick waved his hand dismissively. "I'll call the state police, they can handle a murderous sheriff. My guess is that there won't be any record of this...Jimmy's death on their official rolls, and that alone should raise reason to investigate. You have bigger problems, Father de Monte. I suggest you address them." I was hesitant to admit he was right, but there was little more I could do here. I needed to track down the ritual and learn how to counter the magic they would be using, and had very little time to do so. Flitwick drove me to the nearest Greyhound station and bought me a ticket to Wilmington to begin my search. I was only on the bus a few minutes before I drifted off. 1 July 1989Records Taken From The Debriefing Of Father Benedict De Monte At The Close Of His Initial Investigation In North America |
AboutEvidence compiled for use during the trial of Father Benedict de Monte. Boost on TopWebFictionTall Tales: Volume Two now available
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