Libuse, late winter in the year of the Griffin, 633

It was the weirdest awakening ever. Did something go horribly wrong with Dr. Mrkva's hypnosis therapy? Were the intrepid investigators suspended in a realm of dreams and illusions? Everything seemed quite real in the bedroom, though. Sturdy beds with straw-filled mattresses, a single candle burning on a small table in the center of the room. The fellow investigators looked out over the rooftops of a strange town that clearly wasn't Prague. Some of the investigators had experienced bodily changes as well. Felex Jeremiah was ravenously hungry, but he could not see how this might be connected to his hairy and oversized feet. Franz Alter quickly noticed that he awas lacking his characteristic moustache, and that the world weighed so heavily on his shoulders. Many of his usual aches and pains had gone away, though. And where was Mackie?

The Intrepid Investigators found mush of their equipment, or rather artisanal copies of their equipment, in an adjacent room. Conversation and flute music was heard from down the stairs, and the entire building seemed to be some form of inn or hotel, but with a decidedly medieval look. As the investigators slowly walked down the stairs, they were greeted by the proprietor of the inn, a man named Aro, who merrily told the investigators that they had meal and board at the Red Rider Inn paid by a burgomeister named Edelard. Since the investigators were quite hungry, and especially Felix, they all sat down for a hearty meal accompanied by tankards of very good beer. There were at least some similarities to Prague!

Aro the Innkeeper

As the Intrepid Investigators were finishing their meal, and with Felix orderings seconds, a bald man with a moustache approached the table together with what seemed like two bodyguards. He introduced himself as Edelard, the burgomeister or mayor of Libuse. He could not at all explain how the investigators had ended up in this strange place, but he did know that there was a key, the Key of Nefren, that in all likelihood would allow the investigators to return to their own plane of existence. The thing was that the key was the forgotten passageways underneath Castle Imbril, where the wicked Countess Josina held court. Burgomeister Edelard did, however, have an old map of the passageways, including what he claimed to be a secret and hopefully forgotten side entrance. He could also tell the investigators about the strange place they had ended up in:

Edelard the Bold (or Bald, since he keeps his head shaved).

Libuse is a very old city, older than the Brotherhood of Naar, but not as old as Viktra. There have been many dwellings on this spot, and the tunnels and passageways under the city are numerous, especially under Castle Imbril, which is overlooking Libuse from Imbril Hill. Libuse is ruled by the elderly Countess Josina, and she is known to be a particularly cruel ruler. However, she tends to focus on her fiefdom, The County of Carrelon and Lake. Everyday affairs of Libuse are usually run by the mayor, This county is part of a loose confederation of small fiefs, kingdoms, and principalities known as the Iron Circle, which is ruled by the High King in Dragonport.

If one goes north, a traveler will eventually reach the warm shores of the Inner Sea. To the east lies the great kingdom of Belrovia, while beyond the Western Mountains there are vast plains, and beyond them the archenemy of Belrovia, the cruel Principality of Herghest. South lie most of the small kingdoms of the Iron Circle, and beyond those can be found the chilly Anculian Sea. There are several seafaring realms beyond that sea along a temperate coastline.

The High King Carol in Dragonport is, however, dying. He seems to have been unwell for a long time, but this is the end. There is unrest throughout the realm, and both hostile tribesmen and strange beasts are flocking around the western borderlands.

Libuse is awash in rumors, one more fantastic than the other: it is for example said that the great priest Silvander will be visiting Libuse this fall. It is also said that tunnels in the abandoned dwarven mines have collapsed, opening a passage to forgotten treasures. Another rumor concerns the champion knight Sir Sebastian, who is said to be assembling a group of intrepid warriors to rid Libuse of the orcish bandits that are infesting the woods south of the town.

Burgomeister Edelard was kind enough to equip the investigators, and it turned out that the special, well, characteristics of the individual investigators had been adapted to this strange plane of existence. Jules Pollack was a swordsman extraordinaire, skilled in stealth and concealment. Felix Jeremiah had become a halfling with even greater skills in climbing and acting unseen and unheard. Moira Butler was a warrior priestess of Noime, the Goddess of the Coast. She was soon wielding a mighty battle flail, while being able to channel the energies of the Goddess. Howard Lake was a powerful warrior, skilled in the use of the crossbow, but also swordplay, while Frau Claire Bonhofer was standing tall on high-heeled boots and looking down from her chainmail-clad bosom with her trusty whip at her side. Franz Alter had somehow been transformed into a High Elven alchemist, albeit with a yarmulke in his pack. They were ready to take on Castle Imbril!

 

The investigators wasted no time, and they were let out through the city gates discreetly with help from the Burgomeister. It was a cold night, with snowy fields being lit by a gibbous moon. The party was to approach Castle Imbril from the south, to avoid being seen by the guards and alerting the supposedly semi-sentient statue of Marwan, the grotesque Toad God that guarded the main entrance of Castle Imbril. Felix Jeremiah climbed up the steep side of Imbril Hill, and he did indeed find a passage into the hill, although it was covered by lots of snowy underbrush as well as shoddy brickwork. A silence spell took care of the problem of breaking open the brickwork, and the party entered the cold and narrow passages under Castle Imbril. Well. Jules Pollack managed to lose his grip in a rather spectacular fashion, and he entered the passageway being bruised, wet, and miserable. The passageway ended in a confrontation with two horrifying giant spiders in what seemed to be an entrance to what might have been the barracks of some long-forgotten castle guard. The encounter with the spiders proved almost fatal, with several party members facing terrible wounds as well as the nauseating effects of spider venom, but Franz Alter was able to provide antidotes from his portable pharmacy. 

As it turned out, the guards were still on duty, albeit in a zombified state. This is when Moira's powers came into great use, with her commanding voice banishing the zombies in the name of Noime, the Goddess of the Coast. Her commanding voice did however not work on the long row of traps that guarded wide staircases to the inner chambers, but Felix Jeremiah and Howard Lake took care of that - for the most part. The inner chamber turned out to be a tomb, and as one might guess, the denizen of the tomb was restless and demanded to know who disturbed his rest.

 

A fierce melee followed, with the undead horror seemingly impervious to normal weapons. Fortunately, Moira enchanted her flail and started bashing the animated remains of a warrior long gone. The other party members engaged the remaining zombified guards, while Lake managed to take an ancient sword from the tomb. Together, Moira and Lake destroyed the undead warrior with mighty blows.

This gave the party time to both loot the tomb, and find the Key of Nefren. The following inscription was found on the tomb: “Here lies Hothgar, the Champion of Ruin (201-243). May his life make thee think twice”. The party also found 55 old gold pieces, a small gilded cup with semi-precious gemstones, a beautiful longsword with griffon designs and “Excelsior” written at the base of the blade as well as a round shield with a gilded spiked boss, and finally a horned helm with a nose protector and aventail.

The Key of Nefren was indeed found where it was supposed to be. To the horror of the party, though, the handle of the large key was decorated with an image of a figure they clearly recognized: Nyarlathotep! 

 

I am the Passenger

 A conversation on the train from Berlin to Prague on the morning of Thursday, January 13. The Intrepid Investigators are battered, bruised and without even a change of clothing, since they did not have the option of going back to Villa Alter in the Grünewald. Moira Baker and Karen barely made it to the train, and she was almost denied buying a ticket, being dressed as a gypsy and carrying a cage with a wild-eyed hen. 

"So we were framed by Proletkult, those Soviet bastards! Lake was particularly disappointed, having had to leave his very special teacher Adele Christo without even a simple goodbye. "Yes, and they almost succeeded in having us arrested and tried for murder of poor Hubert Bosch. We were incredibly lucky. And just imagine if Proletkult had managed to bring The Pnakotic Manuscripts to Moscow after snatching the tomes from the Neues Museum. Soviet Shoggoths." Jules Pollack whispered the last sentence. The mere thought of this possibility made him reach for his hip flask. "Now, Rosa Klebb and Janis Sarts clearly did not anticipate that we would go after them, and by the way, the house fire that you arranged as a diversion was outstanding!"  Franz Alter nodded towards Felix Jeremiah, who smiled and pointed at Alter. "But the comeuppance of that evil police officer was impressive, but horrifying. I had never seen such a weird creature before. And the wings! What were they? They do not match the descriptions of the flying space creatures, you've mentioned, the ones with the brain cylinders." Felix Jeremiah looked at the investigators that had been part of the strange and disturbing events that culminated in the explosion of the Topfield power station outside Arkham. Mackie shook her head. "No, this beast was larger. It would have swallowed for example a midget whole. Also, the 'Fungi from Yuggoth' seemed highly intelligent. This creature seemed more animal-like" Felix Jeremiah let the snarky comment pass.

"So, are Klebb and Sarts truly dead? Like, really, really dead?" Moira Baker looked skeptical. "Look, Moira." Howard Lake made a gun with his hands. "I nailed them pretty darn good. I guess that only one of those brain containers could have saved them." "Not fun! Not!" Jules Pollack reached for his hip flask yet again. After a hefty swig he looked at his fellow passengers. "Swell. We'll be arriving at Prague's Central Station in just under one hour. We have no money, no clothing except what we're wearing, and it is winter. Just fantastic. Has anyone ever been to Prague?" Frau Clare Bonhofer raised her hand. "Jawohl!"

The police-devouring creature.

The Charles' Bridge, looking west.

Main square (Rathausplatz), looking east.

Wenzelsplatz from the east.

Wenzelsplatz looking east

The Astronomic clock by the main square (Rathausplatz).

Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?

 A conversation between the intrepid, but very tired and shaken, investigators, January 10, 1927.

"What a party that was!" Mackenzie MacNamara was of course referring to the New Years' party thrown by Frau Clare Bonhofer's extravagant friend Ramon Hofstädter at the Haus Hofstädter with some fifty guests from the Berlin cultural and/or queer elite, sort of. "Just imagine, Felix Jeremiah almost being smooched by that fat Nazi, Ernst Röhm." Felix Jeremiah glared at Mackie. "I was not amused. His compund stench of alcohol, tobacco, and cheap perfume clung to me for hours afterwards. And remember, our friend Hubert Bosch at the Berlin Polizei told us to lie low for a bit after the explosion at the Nollendorf abattoir. Ha!"  

Hubert Bosch of the Berlin Polizei (NOT at the party).

 
Ramon Hofstädter and Ernst Röhm.

Frau Bonhofer chimed in: "You know that Ramon used to be the em-cee of the El Dorado Club, and he was quite known for hosting lavish and deliciously decadent private parties. I, for one, very much enjoyed putting out lit cigarettes with my trusty Peitsche, not to mention using my Peitsche to disrobe that dastardly fellow Ramon." Franz Alter looked terrified and disgusted when Frau Bonhofer mentioned her antics. He left the living room to was his long, gaunt hands. Meanwhile, Howard Lake was trying to pick out a cigarette from his silver cigarette case, but he fumbled and spilled out the contents. Cursing while picking up the contents with shaky hands, he added: "Mackie I saw how you looked rather hungrily at that fashionista and designer, Birgitte La Perla." Mackie looked indignant. "Should I? She was only in need of some, well, counselling. She did actually have some really relevant questions regarding this... occult mess we've been encountering over the last couple of years. Sg4he had actually heard of us and some of our findings, and she wanted advice regarding horrible nightmares that had been recurring for some time and left her imagination quite dry. Not a good thing for a fashion designer. And then I think she may have introduced me to Siegwald von Mansfeld, the guy who asked me about an artifact, a statuette of a faceless pharaoh in black stone. That's how we ended up at his Krummbeck manor outside Rostock.

 
Brigitte La Perla and Siegwald von Mansfeld.

"I had a really good time, though." Moira Baker smiled and gazed upwards. The food, the ten-man (and woman!) band, the celebrities, like Conrad Veidt, Asta Nielsen, and Thea von Harbou. What a nutter she is by the way! Almost as brown as Röhm. I'd say. It only took a bottle of champagne or two to get the Nationalists flailing about. Well, verbally, at least. And Hofstädter had a fountain in his apartment!"

 
Asta Nielsen, Thea von Harbou, and Conrad Veidt.

"And that's how you ended up outside Rostock, at Krummbeck Manor. I see." Jules Pollack had missed out both on the party and the dreadful events some days later, since he'd been both down with a cold and then fully occupied with the Zukunst store close Nollendorfplatz, the occult, fine arts, and bric-a-brac store managed by Moira Baker in outlandish gypsy garb.

"Yes, and then just after recuperating from our New Years' hangovers we travelled north, to Rostock on the Baltic Sea." Lake was still fumbling with his cigarettes as Franz Alter reappeared. "You were not suffering, Mr. Lake. I had made sure of that. You are making this up. I take care of all good suffering." The room went quiet for a second or two as Franz Alter looked at all of the Intrepid Investigators. Lake dropped his cigarette case again. Jules coughed. "So, you were off to Krummbeck Manor outside Rostock?" Mackie picked up the lead. "Yes, and we were met by Siegwald von Mansfeld, and we had a very nice evening, even if the weather was atrocious. Atrocious, I'm telling you! And then strange things started happening. Suffice to say, it seems as if Siegwald had been told by his batshit crazy mother (in the attic, of course) to bring home fresh meat for her to consume. We were the appetizer, main course, and dessert in one serving. Well, Felix was the appetizer of course." Felix rolled his eyes as Mackie laughed at her own joke. "May I remind you", Felix interjected with a raised finger, "that we very well might have been turned into morsels. Remember Siegwald's ox-like and half-witted brother, Gustave? It was touch and go there for a bit, and it seemed as if the mother claimed that she was receiving instructions from some dark-skinned..." Mackie interrupted: "Yes, the statuette, right. And then we torched the place, and now we're back here in Franz Alter's mansion in Grünewald!"

 

Krummbeck Manor during happier times.

Investigators vs. The Salvation Army

Friday, February 11, 1927. 

Officer Gallo left the office after an additional cup of coffee, and the PIs were intrigued. The case of Annamaria Brady's dog Rover was indeed weird, and somehow there seemed as if there might be a connection between what was going on in the old warehouses by the Miskatonic River and those strange entities that apparently were working hard to retrieve the weird and disturbing jewelry that had been found on board the S/S Ladylove back in December last year. The Arkham PD may have been doing a mighty fine job, but the PIs and investigators felt that some additional friendly questioning might be in place. The jewelry was concealed under a loose stone in the very old basement that the much more modern building that housed the PI office and three other businesses, not to mention three small converted studio apartments for Cannon, Doctorow, and Lockwood.

Lockwood remained in the office, just in case, while Doctorow, Cannon, Coleridge and Madame Tekla took a trip to the Arkham PD for some additional questions regarding the case, as well as some more general inquiries. The office was warm and cozy, and Bill Lockwood soon dozed off. It was not long before his nap was haunted by horrifying images, all seemingly led by the grotesque caped figures in stovepipe hats, and an image of a gargantuan mouth devouring somebody at sea. Fortunately, Lockwood's nightmares of being devoured at sea were dissipated by the return of his dear friends. It even seemed as if the ghostly stovepipe hats had managed to enter the PI office, and Lockwood could share his impressions of the apparitions leaning down towards him, silent and menacing. 

It was decided to John and Carrie Brady on 22 East Main Street, the parents of Annamaria. The investigators piled into Bessie 2 and drove off on a beautiful winter afternoon. Mrs. Brady was already entertaining a visitor, a woman from the Salvation Army, and Mrs. Brady was quite concerned, if polite. The killing of poor Rover just didn't seem, well, natural, and Mrs. Brady was worried about her daughter. However, the moves of the intrepid investigators may have been anticipated, or had they been followed? The friendly call to the Bradys ended in mayhem, though. The woman from the Salvation Army turned out to be none less than Hortensia Robinson, and she attacked Frank Cannon. Meanwhile, the stovepiped hats had appeared on the street a few houses down, and they were subverting the very minds of the investigators in general and Lockwood in particular, pitting friend against friend and testing the sanity of the investigators. Shots were fired, and the stovepipes retreated into an unseasonal mist that mysteriously appeared from the Miskatonic River. Hortensia Robinson was eventually overpowered by Frank Cannon, despite her uncanny physical strength, and she was trussed up and transported to the PI office and subsequently to a shabby motel outside Arkham. The stovepipes seemed to have escaped into a disused warehouse, and the investigators were planning a visit!

Hortensia Robinson.

Later that Friday night, the Intrepid Investigators changed into more suitable garments: coveralls, heavy coats, and filled bags and pockets various types of equipment, including firearms. It was time to put an end to the unearthly creatures that were preying on humanity!

The Friday night was cold, but it seemed as if some of the unnatural mist was lingering around the warehouse, despite the frigid temperature. A single dim light was shining from a filthy window, and the Miskatonic waterfront, the "Old Port" was mostly silent. Even the obscure vagrants that typically frequented the Old Port seemed to have taken refuge from the biting cold. Doctorow managed to open up the door to the warehouse, and the Intrepid Investigators were met by compact silence. Some light was streaming in through dirty windows, and a car was parked almost in the middle of the building. There was what might be an office in the corner and a top floor or landing with various crates. The Intrepid Investigators stepped in quietly, securing the top floor and then splitting up, with some of the investigators proceeding to the upper landing. One of the boxes did contain an impressive amount of cash, and this was confiscated by the investigators to cover any charges incurred.

As the Intrepid Investigators entered the office, the quiet was shattered. The stovepipes had apparently prepared an ambush. What were these creatures? Were they even human? The issue was solved when Madame Tekla opened up with her Springfield rifle, hitting one of the stovepipes in the head, and clearly proving their mortality. It was touch-and-go, though, as the investigators proved vulnerable to the mind-control powers of the remaining stovepipe, pitting the investigators against each other with grevious bodily damge as a result. However, the awesome bitch-slapping power of Bessie Coleridge proved decisive, and the investgigators snapped out of their possessed states long enough to take down. The remaining stovepipe.

Madame Tekla ready for action!

Beware of Bessie!

But what about that trapdoor in the office? Did it lead down to the Miskatonic River itself? And what about that sloshing sound. The investigators had all firearms at the ready as they opened the trapdoor, sonly to see a staircase and a gigantic horror of indescribable proportions in the beams of their flashlights! Several rounds were fired, but the unanimous decision was to slap the trapdoor shut, pile furniture on top of it and leave the premises with utmost haste. 

Epilogue: Sunday, February 13. The PIs and investigators at the office of Professor Harold De Winter together with Professor Henry Armitage, Head of the Orne Library at the Miskatonic Univerity.

"I warned you! Death or worse! You were incredibly lucky!" Professor De Winter was almost scolding the investigators after their horrifying experiences. 

"All of this, and Hortensia Robinson escaped. It was however interesting that she apparently changed her name from DeLuca to Robinson. She's related to both the Saunders family and to the old man Waite himself." Doctorow was fidgeting with his strax hat. He had to get a new one. This one was starting to look suspiciously ratty.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the Miskatonic University will gladly become the custodian of the jewelry that seems to be causing so much trouble in and around Arkham. The jewelry will be safe from various other... interested parties. Trust me on that one. Meanwhile, perhaps you should all take some time and recuperate after this mess, and then leave Arkham for a bit. I know that the Ashford fgamily estate will welcome you as guests again, thanks to Mr. Cannon's connections. I also have a favor to ask. Would you be able to attend a meeting for me? It takes place in New York, but I am afraid that I cannot go myself." Armitage handed an envelope to Brad Doctorow. 

Dear Professor Armitage,

I am happy to inform you that the next meeting of the Arbiter's Society will take place on March 15, 1927. The meeting will be held at Happy Harry's Bar, conveniently located behind Mushnik's Flower Shop on the corner of 15th Street and 9th Avenue. RSVP before February 30 to "Jolly Roger".

Professor Henry Armitage

In Vitro

Yes, the Intrepid Investigators were indeed (in)famous, and they realized that they had better figure out what was going on with the dead young women dug out of fresh graves and relieved of their private parts through horrifying mutilation, not to mention Werner Haupt, Dr. Erich Kaminski, and the abhorrent Proletkult! There was the lead to the abandoned abattoir in the vicinity of Nollendorfplatz, but the Intrepid Investigators felt like more reconnaissance was required. So why not open a store in the area? That Monday and Tuesday, December 20 to 21, say a flurry of activity. A storefront was found and rented, the surrounding flea markets and bric-a-brac shops were raided for "interesting" goods relating to the occult, no, spiritual character, photography, and fetish. Very Berlin. A business plan was drafted by Jules Pollack for the store, which was to be named Zukunft. Both Felix Jeremiah and Howard Lake took turns staking out the abattoir in various ways. Moira Baker adopted the role of medium, dressing up in her very own interpretation of a gypsy, with scarves and crystal balls galore, while Mackie made snide remarks at anyone entering the store.

The Nollendorf Abattoir.

Moira Baker's new look.

Berlin's premier shop for the strange and outright bizarre?

With the shop in operation, the Intrepid Investigators could stay away from the Berlin police and focus on the abattoir. Both Werner Haupt and Dr. Erich Kaminski seemed to frequent the wretched location, and on the Thursday before Christmas Eve, the investigators decided to enter the building once Haupt and Kaminski had left. They were all well prepared with the handgun they had secured, a quite limited amount of ammunition, various tools, and winter clothing 

Despite the supposedly joyful season, the area around Nollendorfplatz seemed to display a very limited amount of Chrustmas spirit. The neighborhood could conveniently be described as 'drab', but this included cold, moisture, smoke, and what seemed to be a whiff of several thousand unwashed human bodies. The half-melted snow on the streets did not provide even an inkling of holiday cheer. There were no carols to be heard.

From the diary of Felix Jeremiah:

What was that place? We have seen so many weird and strange things, but this may be one of the most disturbing encounters ever! I am so grateful that we all kept it together, but yet, my hands are shaking as I am pinning down my impression of that horrifying night. God! I wish it could be erased from my mind, but it seems to be our curse to never forget, and only repeat. Why has the world decided to undo its form and display these abominations from parallel existences, or are they even that? Am I just permanently stuck in an awful dream, while my true self is thrashing and turning in a comfortable bed somewhere?

I managed to scale the outside of the abattoir to a broken window on the third floor, despite the surface being slippery due to ice and humidity as well as unhealthy patches of lichen infesting the walls of the disused building. The inside was even more dismal than the outside, with chains and weird implements hanging from the ceiling and a profound stench of putrefaction. Strange and disturbing noises could be heard from the bowels of the building. Having climbed down inside the building, I opened the front door to my comrades.

From the diary of Howard Lake:

An effigy of days. Memories of infinite darkness, utterly out of the cosmos, yet parallel to the mundane spheres of the mortal. A maze of time, a closed gate open.

This one tried to kill us.

This one just wanted to be killed.

From the diary of Frau Claire Bonhofer:

I had really not believed these strange foreigners when they whispered about ancient evil hidden in the corners of the world and sneaking out from alternate universes. However, the events of that Thursday night may have changed my opinions. They had done such horrible experiments, creating such wretched forms of existence, abominations in the most true sense of the word. We killed all but one, a small girl with so many pairs of arms and legs. Some of these parodies of life were violent, while others were just begging for someone to take them out of their misery. These were mercy killings, all of them.

Cans on strings to alert the creatures inside of trespassers?

From the diary of Mackenzie MacNamara:

Tentacles and a gargantuan vulva. A gargantuan vulva with half-inch thick pubes. Bizarre reproductive parts. Being dragged into a aforementioned giant vagina while juggling gasoline bombs. It is just another day in my life, Nevertheless, the giant birth or breeding contraption that probably had been engineered by Werner Haupt and Dr. Erich Kaminski with the help of Proletkult was terrifying, and seemingly sentient. I did not feel like ending my life by being sucked into a giant vulva. No. Not today. Good thing the police came. Too bad that the place exploded with so many of the Berlin police still inside. This makes me queasy.

Possible segment of giant vulva.

  

From the diary of Jules Pollack:

The office.

We secured a couple of stacks of paper from the desk in their sort-of office, and now that I have had time to go through them, I am convinced that the USSR and Proletkult are working on a dreadful and very dangerous plan. It does seem - although I am still examining the texts - that Haupt, Kaminski and Proletkult have been trying to use the instructions in the Pnakotic Manuscripts to create what they call Cho-goths. These masses of protoplasm seem to be similar to what we found beneath the pyramid we ventured into in Central America as members of the doomed MacNamara expedition. And Proletkult were in Central America as well! My thoughts shudder when I ponder what an army of such vile beasts could do to the world if they were controlled by the Soviet Union?

From the diary of Moira Baker:

They may have retained their sanity, but I have been working on their physical injuries for days. I am really getting to know my friends well.