Star Wars: Old Wounds (1)

Rebel pilot Wedge Antilles scanned the darkened cockpit of his T-65 X-Wing fighter, checking that its systems were operational for the third time. Even in the best maintained starships, a single overlooked error or minor mechanical fault could spell death, and the Alliance operated well below ideal conditions. The majority of their fleet was comprised of craft discarded by the rest of the galaxy as junk, held together with salvaged spares and wishful thinking. This wasn't the Imperial Academy, where pilots could jump into any homogenised TIE fighter and have it perform identically to the simulators. Rebel fighters were practically unique, each one handling subtly differently, each with its own particular quirks and weaknesses. The best pilots knew as much about their ships as the mechanics and droids who repaired them. And Wedge wasn't just one of the best. Through countless hours, he'd learned to become one with his X-Wing. He knew how and when to brace during rapid maneuvers, to account for the delay in its inertial dampers. He had learned to compensate for the slightly off centre firing pattern of its quad-cannons.

Finding that everything was exactly as he'd found it not five minutes prior, Wedge sighed as he glanced at the planet Andriss, suspended in the stellar backdrop above him. A minor mining world, one of thousands of similar backwater colonies scattered across the Outer Rim, though even among such planets, Andriss was unremarkable. Its mineral deposits were primarily comprised of common ores of middling quality, trapped in tough, unyielding rock. The planet was surrounded by a dense asteroid field, a natural barrier with a small gap through which the system's meager transport was funneled, known locally as "The Narrow". Wedge's fighter clung to the underside of one of the asteroids at the edge of The Narrow, like a Nuba bird awaiting its prey, along with a second X-Wing and an older Y-Wing bomber. The ships were in low-power mode, to minimize their profile from enemy sensors.

"Stand by, Red Group." Wedge announced into his local comlink to his wingmen. "Report in." Instantly, the bold voice of Wes Janson chimed back.

"Sir, yes sir! This is Red Six, standing by! Sir! Ready and willing to lay down my life for the cause, sir!"

"Cut the chatter, Red Six. We're on assignment." Wedge replied, exacerbated.

"Wedge, there's only three of us on this mission, loosen up. Besides, we've been waiting for over an hour for the Imps to show up. I've got to let off steam somehow." Retorted Wes.

"Which means the target cargo freighter is due any moment. Save your energy for the fight."

"Actually, I'm with Wes on this one." came a third, older voice. "We're Rebels who can't even keep an entire squadron flying simultaneously. We hardly deserve the formalities of an actual unit."

"Red Two, Gramps is agreeing with me and I don't like it. Permission to vaporize him?" Wes asked, feigning panic.

"Denied." Wedge replied, tersely.

"Permission to vent myself into the void then?"

"Also denied. Can you both just try and get along, at least until this mission is complete?"

"Wes started it." added the third voice, gruffly. "It's not my fault he's a hot headed jockey who doesn't know how to keep quiet for more than a few seconds." Wedge closed his eyes and counted to five, while wishing he was dealing with literal children instead. Or trying to herd gundarks. Anything other than trying to deal with these two would have been preferable. After finding a shred of inner calm, Wedge spoke.

"I said, that's enough. Wes can be a bit, talkative, but I expected a man like you to act your age, Dak."

"Ooh, boss called you old, Gramps." Wes cooed, before adding, "You sure you've still got the reactions for this? You are almost as decrepit as that rust bucket of a Y-Wing, after all."

"With me piloting, this rust bucket could fly rings around you anytime." boasted Dak, laughing. Before Wes could come back with another remark however, Wedge's astromech droid began a flurry of frenzied beeps over the comlink.

"Slow down, R4." Wedge said to his droid, as he scanned the translated output on his monitor. "R4 has detected a trace of Hyperspace activity at the edge of the system. Our target is on the way." he added, for the benefit of his comrades.

"When do we go hot, Red Two?" Wes asked, all traces of levity removed from his tone.

"Too busy talking through the briefing?" Dak commented, smugly, before being silenced by Wedge. Wedge sighed again, inwardly as he reflected on his wingmen. Janson had a way of needling his way underneath anyone's skin, true, but at least he knew when to stop. Dak on the other hand, was either to old to care or too old to change, possibly both, Wedge thought. That was the trouble with smugglers though, most of the ones Wedge had met were too independent and head-strong to work as team players. Sadly, the Alliance couldn't afford to turn away anyone who dared stand against the Empire.

"Just so we're ALL clear on the plan," Wedge stated, with particular emphasis, "Wait for the transport to approach The Narrow. As it does so, we detach and strike the cruiser. Delay it until orbital drift moves The Narrow out of the transport's trajectory, that'll also slow any reinforcements from the planet below. Wes and I will deal with the fighter escort..."

"Allowing me to swoop in and disable the transport. What these Y-Wings lose in maneuverability, they more than make up for with firepower." Dak interjected. Wedge coughed abruptly before speaking over the smuggler's comments.

"Then, I signal our support ship to jump in and board the Imperial transport, they relieve the Imps of precious supplies, and we jump away before they can retaliate."

After a moment, Wedge spoke again, his voice as cold as the void beyond his cockpit canopy. "And Dak? Any further insubordination and you will be facing a demotion at best. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal." Dak replied, lightly. If he was concerned by the ultimatum he'd received, he certainly didn't show it.

J&L: Emissary of the Eldritch (11)

PGL: "I've been wondering about these corridors we're racing through..."

HGJ: "Save your architectural admiration until we're all out of harms way."

PGL: "It's just... if Valgthoth is an entity embodying chaos and thus not a strictly physical presence, who built all this, and for what purpose?"

Guide: "These profane hallways were constructed by the acolytes, what you refer to as frogmen. Poor lost souls who succumbed to the dark forces of this realm. Twisted beyond recognition, they are little more than beasts. As for why they built these structures, who can say? Some think it to be in veneration of their supposed God. Others, that some vestigial memories of home call to them."

HGJ: "Poor devils."

Guide: "It is a tormented existence, bound to the will of Valgthoth. Indirectly, of course."

PGL: "Similar to the immune system then? They fight off infections and preserve the host, without the host directly controlling it?"

Guide: "Exactly. Now, enough chat. If I recall, the courtyard is through here... A-ha!"

PGL: "There's Professor Fenchurch!"

HGJ: "And he's holding Howie by the scruff of the neck. By jingo the kid is still kicking, that's the spirit."

PGL: "Who are those other two, they seem to be bound together and unconscious?"

Guide: "That would be the boy's mother and grandfather. Fenchurch is using them as insurance, holding their lives in his hand to force the boy to comply. An effective strategy."

PGL: "He intends to what, sacrifice Howard to Valgthoth?"

Guide: "In a manner of speaking. There's something in the boy's bloodline, some latent link that makes him sensitive to the arcane realms. Spilling that blood, in the sanctum of Valgthoth's realm, would be a large enough source of power to draw his attention towards Earth. No doubt Fenchurch believes his God will purify a corrupt world. Fool. Valgthoth cares not for our morals, he will only devour."

HGJ: "Then we've got to act now, to save Howie!"

PGL: "We can't just race in. He's got the boy in the centre of the courtyard, at least twenty yards away. But look around, skulking in the archways around the circumference, there must be dozens of the frogmen, all watching, waiting, and ready to strike."

HGJ: "We've got to do something. But how? There's no way we can take on that many foes, all at once."

Guide: "I have an idea. I can distract them, keep them from interfering, but you two must be ready to rush in."

PGL: "You can't seriously expect to hold off all of them?!"

Guide: "In fact, I do. I can cast a ward of protection around the courtyard, an impenetrable circle of fire, provided I'm not disturbed. It'll require my undivided attention to maintain the barrier, so you'll have to act alone."

HGJ: "If you're sure then. Thank you, and good luck."

Guide: "Be ready... Once I begin you'll lose the element of surprise... here goes nothing!"

PGL: "Quickly Henry!"

HGJ: "Right you are George!"

PAF: "What the...?! Acolytes, attack! What sorcery is this? I don't need their help anyway. Oh, very well, stop right there, both of you!"

HGJ: "Not blooming likely."

PAF: "Stop, or the child dies. That's it, much more civilized. Now then, Litefoot, I didn't take you for the conjuring sort. How did you create the barrier?"

PGL: "Funny, I didn't take you for the devil worshipping sort. You really never can tell, can you?"

PAF: "Droll, to the end, George. It doesn't matter, anyway. Nothing does. Not in the cruel cesspool which we all hail from: a world of violence, drugs, sins of pleasure and excess, disease and famine. Soon, the great cleanser will wipe away the scum of the Earth."

HGJ: "Then let him start with you. You disgust me. You dare to rave about cruelty while threatening the life of a child?"

PAF: "You're wrong. Absolutely. Because I don't threaten. Watch."

HGJ: "No!"

PGL: "Howard!"

HGJ: "You stabbed him!"

PAF: "And now I drop him. Right in the centre of this circle of power, where his blood can seep into the foundation stones of this paradise. It is done."

HGJ: "Rrrrrraghhhh!"

PAF: "Get off me, you ignorant oaf."

PGL: "Oh, Howard. Hold on, I've got you. Gently now, let me get a look at that wound. It's bad, but not as bad as I feared. The blade pierced the abdomen, but seems to have missed all major organs. Lots of blood though. Let's see if we can't staunch that flow, shall we?"

HGJ: "You vile cove! You brigand! How could you?!"

PAF: "Come now, all things die, it is the natural way. All I've done is accelerate the process. Unhand me before I am compelled to do something uncouth."

PGL: "*inwardly* Oh Henry. I wish I could help you in your struggle, but if I don't keep pressure on this wound, Howard will die. I'm not even sure if I can save him as is."

HGJ: "What's the matter, getting tired? Oh, my you're strong for a bookworm."

PAF: "Your ceaseless prattle won't save you from my blade. I've had enough of your tiresome interference. Be gone!"

HGJ: "Ugh!"

PGL: "No, Jago!"

HGJ: "Oof, that smarts. Slit me right across my palm. Aahhh, the pain. Bloody stings that."

PAF: "There's more where that came from, I assure you. But now, behold! The Absent Lord awakes from his slumber! Feel the quaking below, gaze upwards into the infinite majesty, see how the sky blazes with radiant light!"

HGJ: "Looks more like a tear to me. A great and terrible rending of the heavens."

PGL: "No, not a tear. Look closer, it's cracking open... it's an eyelid!"

HGJ: "Gracious! An enormous eye, filling the very sky itself."

PAF: "God gazes upon us! The reckoning cometh!"

HGJ: "I wouldn't count on it, Professor. You've made a fatal mistake, turning your blade on me."

PAF: "What are you playing at?"

HGJ: "I don't claim to understand much of what's going on here, but I'm willing to bet that the man upstairs won't take kindly to your offering if it's tainted."

PAF: "What? No, you don't know what you're doing! Stop!"

HGJ: "You cut my palm wide open, I'm just letting the blood fall... where it can mix with Howard's."

PGL: "Good show Henry, dilute Fenchurch's offering. I doubt Valgthoth will be best pleased if he feels cheated."

PAF: "My Lord, I am sorry! These heathens have spoiled the sacrifice I've laid before you, but I can redeem myself. I shall bring you a hundred more, nay, a thousand. I'll find others, with a lineage as powerful as the boy's. I... urk.... no.... please!"

HGJ: "How revolting."

PGL: "His skin is flaking, falling away like ash, revealing... are those scales?"

Guide: "Watch as his limbs twist and grow, his teeth lengthen and his body becomes... amphibious. I told you, the acolytes are the unfortunate who succumb to the powers of this realm."

HGJ: "Well, he deserves everything that comes to him. George, how's poor Howie?"

PGL: "He's in a bad way. A very bad way. I'm not sure what else I can do."

HGJ: "Then we've failed him."

Guide: "Not quite, gentlemen. Allow me to share a little more energy. Just enough of a healing force to knit the wound back together. We have a few moments before the acolytes attack. They feel compelled to venerate their God first."

PGL: "The marvels you can perform, whoever you are."

Guide: "Healing the boy is not difficult. It helps that our destinies are entwined, in a manner of speaking."

HGJ: "More riddles."

Guide: "It is done. He will need rest, but he will heal, in time. At least, his body will. The mind is a more fragile thing. I've left him in an amnesiac state, to spare him the exact trauma of the day. But his dreams will remain haunted by flashes of this nightmare. His guardians too will not retain their memories. The human brain has a propensity to filter out anything that does not conform to its expectations of reality. Most live in a blissful ignorance."

PGL: "How do we escape? And hasn't Valgthoth's attention been drawn to Earth? We have to stop him."

Guide: "We couldn't even if we wanted to. He is a foe beyond any of us. The best we can do is destroy the book. Break the link between both worlds, and cut off this avenue."

HGJ: "Will that really work?"

Guide: "To a point. It prevents him from crossing over using this gateway. But there will be others like Fenchurch. There always are. We have done all we can. What happens in other places and times, we cannot control."

PGL: "Did you say other times?"

Guide: "Yes. Time flows differently here, outside of the laws of relative causality. In this realm, moments are simultaneous, not concurrent. Now, we must act. Litefoot, fetch the book."

PGL: "Here it is. Now what?"

Guide: "Open it, and set it down by the mother."

HGJ: "It worked, the portal opened again."

PGL: "I trust it leads back to the bookshop, and not some other foul dimension?"

Guide: "No need to worry. It's quite safe. As safe as anything can be when dealing with incomprehensible forces. Let's start by sending the two adults through."

HGJ: "OK Litefoot. I've got Howie. His guardians have been safely sent away, so now we should follow before the frogmen come to their senses."

PGL: "A moment, Jago. I have to ask, one more time. Who is our mysterious guide? How does he know so much,and why is he so eager to help us?"

Guide: "Have you really not worked it out? I told you already, that time works differently here. I know what happens, because for me it's already happened. My name is Lovecraft. Howard Phillip Lovecraft."

HGJ: "*spluttering* But... what... how.... I don't follow."

Guide: "It's alright Henry. You don't need to. Just think of me as a guide."

HGJ: "But, I'm holding you as a lad. And you're standing before me..."

Guide: "Time travel has always been possible in dreams."

PGL: "Let's not fret over it Henry. A good stuff drink in the Red Tavern should help you collect your thoughts. Howard, I thank you."

Guide: "Don't thank me. You're the ones who found me, cared for me, and reunited me with my dear mother. All I've don't is aid myself."

PGL: "I suppose this is goodbye then? We travel through the gateway, then burn the book, and that's the end of Valgthoth?"

Guide: "The end? Oh no, definitely not. Chaos can only ever be postponed. But it's where our dealing with him ends, yes. But before you go, I have one final warning."

HGJ: "What is it?"

Guide: "There is something coming. Something evil stalks the astral planes. Unlike Valgthoth this force is malicious and intelligent. Beware the King of Worms, for he comes for you both. A reckoning long overdue awaits you. I'm sorry I cant be more specific that's all I can see."

PGL: "Most ominous."

HGJ: "Goodbye, Howard. Safe travels."

Guide: "You too, Henry. And to you, George."

*The portal hums with energy as the pair traverse it's threshold, with young Howard in Jago's arms."

HGJ: "We're back then. All present and accounted for?"

PGL: "Seems to be. Now, to burn that book, once and for all."

Grandfather: "My head... You there, can someone tell me what's going on? I... can't seem to remember..."

HGJ: "Ah, you're awake. Good."

Grandfather: "Who... why... Hold on. You'd better have a damn good reason as to why you're holding my grandson. And what the devil happened to him?"

HGJ: "I can explain. Oh corks, can I? You see, the thing is..."

PGL: "Ah, good to see you up and about. My name is Professor George Litefoot, a police pathologist. It seems you and your family were the victims of a rather violent mugger. There was an altercation which resulted in you, your daughter and grandson being rendered unconscious, which may account for any hazy memories."

Grandfather: "What?"

PGL: "You're undoubtedly confused by the whole ordeal. However, I can assure you that there will be no lasting damage to any of your family members. A flood nights rest should see you right as rain."

Grandfather: "What about compensation? We come to your country and get taken prisoner by some street thug?"

HGJ: "Allow me to help with that, sir. Inspector Quick, of Scotland Yard. This isn't exactly protocol, but given your status as tourists to our fine country, an exception can be made. The vagabond ran a bookshop, presumably as a front for his criminal dealings. Now, money in his safe is technically evidence, but I'm sure a few pounds could be overlooked. To cover your incurred expenses, travel and accommodation. Things of that nature."

Grandfather: "It'll do, I suppose. Now give me the child, I need to tend to my family."

HGJ: "Of course sir."

PGL: "*aside* That was some quick improvisation, Inspector."

HGJ: "*aside* First thing I could think of."

PGL: *aside* At least Howard is back where he belongs. They'll be OK. We know so, we've met his future self."

HGJ: "*aside* Still gives me a headache, trying to wrap my head around it."

PGL: "*aside* Never mind. Let's just see to it that these lot get on their way, then we can have a nice, relaxing drink at the Red Tavern."

HGJ: "And what of Howard's warning? This King of Worms?"

PGL: "A problem for another day, Henry."

J&L: Emissary of the Eldritch (10)

HGJ: "Where the devil are we?"

PGL: "I have no earthly idea, Henry. But then again, that is rather the point, I suppose. Wherever we are, it's not Earth."

HGJ: "This is no time for levity George! Those ichthyological invaders took poor Howie to this foul realm. I mean, look at it all... We're stood on this obsidian outcrop, surrounded by a sea of soupy slime. Bubbling away like the Devil's cauldron."

PGL: "Not to mention the sky! A haunting expanse of viridian gloom. Almost beautiful, in a bleak sort of way."

HGJ: "More like unsettling, if you ask me. The portal which brought us here has vanished, so where do we go now?"

PGL: "An excellent question, but one whose answer is elusive. There's a sort of structure over there, some kind of rocky protrusion. It's the only notable landmark I can spy, but dashed if I know how to get there."

HGJ: "I don't particularly fancy swimming that distance. Not in this odious ooze."

Guide: "Then perhaps a guide can assist."

HGJ: "What the blazes?!"

PGL: "Who are you and what do you want?  Speak plainly, we're in no mood for games."

Guide: "Both of you, please, be calm. I am here to help. I know you seek the boy, and I know there is still time to save him. Him, and the world at large."

HGJ: "How do you know? Eh? And how can we be sure you're trustworthy? For all we know, you could be in league with the frogmen. You could be behind all of this!"

PGL: "It is convenient to find another human in this evil place, especially one who claims to have such answers."

Guide: "Gentlemen. I understand your reticence, but we have little time to act if we are to prevail."

HGJ: "Then I suggest you explain quickly."

Guide: "Very well. I am a traveller, and a wanderer. I walk between worlds, inhabiting the spaces between, prowling the cracks and the voids woven among realities. I dance across the dimensions, observing and studying. There are a myriad of realms beyond the understanding of most men. Creatures and domains dreamed only by the most visionary of minds. To the humble flea, a dog is the entire universe. It cannot comprehend the expanse beyond its world."

PGL: "How very poetic. So, why do you appear human? Some disguise to put us at ease?"

Guide: "I am as human as you are."

HGJ: "Nonsense. How does a human travel as you claim to?"

Guide: "How did you come to be here? You found a gateway. In your case the gateway was tangible. Physical. You were transported here. It is an experience I long for, as I am only able to wander the realms in my dreams."

PGL: "You claim to be some kind of spirit walker?"

Guide: "I use astral projection to decouple my mind from my body, and let my essence drift on the tidal forces of the universe. It is an acquired talent, one practiced by several exotic monastic groups. Most practitioners barely manage an out of body experience, but I've always had a certain affinity with the wider world. I've always seen things differently to others, after all."

PGL: "I would find this a hard story to stomach, where it not for the fact that we've crossed paths with others who have demonstrated a similar talent. But it's still rather a coincidence that you've found us, here, now. And you happen to know about us."

Guide: "Something to which I have a valid explanation. But one I cannot share. Not yet. Not while things remain in flux."

HGJ: "Well, if you can't explain yourself to us, maybe you could explain who Valgthoth is, and why the child is so important."

Guide: "Very well, but I must remain brief. This is the heart of the dimension where the entity known as Valgthoth resides. Now, he has a reputation as an evil spirit, a force of malevolent destruction bent on invading our realm and annihilating all things. This is both factually incorrect, and rather a selfish line of thought. Valgthoth is a being beyond our understanding, he exists on a scale far in excess of our ability to rationalize. We are all of us insignificant insects to him, barely worthy of notice. To call him evil is to call a hurricane angry."

PGL: "So, he's more of an anthropomorphic force of nature than a living being?"

Guide: "Still a simplification, but about as accurate as we can be, yes. Consider him the embodiment of chaotic entropy. A universal law, the inescapable end state of all things."

HGJ: "But what about the cults? The insidious incantations and repulsive rites?  If Valgthoth is beyond humanity, why would he care for such token pageantry?"

Guide: "Another excellent question. The answer is energy. By themselves, the rituals are meaningless. But through iteration, and faith, the actions have been imbued with a certain energy. Powered by belief, a sort of potential energy. And sometimes, rarely, these actions are inherently powerful, by utter random chance. Certain energies when released, can tug at the stands of the higher dimensions. Cutting a single thread can cause the entire cloth to unravel. This energy, these ripples resonate across the cosmos, where creatures like Valgthoth can feed on the raw power."

HGJ: "This is a bit beyond me, I'm afraid. I'm not following."

PGL: "I think what our mysterious guide is attempting to explain, in simple terms, is that the cult's meddling is only serving to draw Valgthoth's attention to our otherwise unremarkable world, which will result in untold chaos. In much the same way unsafe blasting in a mine can bring about a cave-in, or earthquakes."

HGJ: "How are we supposed to stop an earthquake?"

Guide: "You can start by preventing the misguided Professor Fenchurch from doing any more damage. Allow me to clear the way."

HGJ: "My word! You made those rocks rise up out of the sea, with nothing more than a hand gesture."

Guide: "The perks of being attuned to this reality. I can call upon the unique forces of this dimension with ease. But don't go trying anything yourselves, it takes years of practice, and runs the risk of inviting other spirits into your forms."

PGL: "I wouldn't dream of it! I don't like messing with things I don't understand."

HGJ: "Magic is best left on the stage, in my view. In the hands of the professionals. And entirely in the purview of trickery and theatrics."

Guide: "I must say, you're both taking all of this very well. I've seen this kind of knowledge tear men's minds apart."

PGL: "We've seen our fair share of extraordinary phenomena in our time. Though I suspect in this case, our lack of full comprehension of our surroundings is keeping us from such raving madness."

Guide: "Indeed. Now, let us move onward. The boy does not have much time remaining. Run!"

J&L: Emissary of the Eldritch (9)

PGL: "I'll check the doors and windows, make sure we're secure. Jago, you find something to arm yourself with, and prepare for trouble."

HGJ: "A sterling plan, George. Ah... right... now... weapons. Oh, lummie. Need to find something useful, focus Henry. What have we here, a carving knife, lacks a decent range, no. A chair perhaps? I could fend off these fishy frogmen like a lion tamer... too awkward."

*The creatures thump and pound on the glass window. The frame creaks under the pressure.*

HGJ: "Corks! That perilous pane won't hold the coves for long... A-ha! That's just the ticket, a fire poker, perfect. I'm not exactly the swashbuckling type, but I'll have to make do. Engarde!"

*With a thunderous crash, the window gives way.*

HGJ: "Come on then, have at you! Yeah-hah! Stay back, I'm warning you...  I once toured the south of England, in my youth, in a production of Treasure Island. *ugh* It taught me everything I needed to know about swordplay. True, my character was stabbed in the first act, but you get the point..."

*One of the frogmen cries in pain*

HGJ: "Quite literally, in fact. But there are rather a lot of you, aren't there? Oh, where's Litefoot gotten to?"

PGL: "Right behind you, Jago!"

HGJ: "Thank heavens for that! About time you got back here, I... is that...?"

PGL: "My father's old hunting rifle? Indeed. Though it hasn't been used since we took care of the giant rat of Weng Chiang."

HGJ: "Let's hope it still fires then."

*A crack of gunfire*

HGJ: "You missed!"

PGL: "I wasn't aiming for the creatures. There's too many of them anyway. I'm just trying to distract them, make some noise."

HGJ: "It seems to be working!  The creatures aren't advancing."

PGL: "It's unlikely a noise like that will go unnoticed. Our assailants have lost the element of surprise now. Maybe it's enough to force a retreat?"

*Another crash of broken glass echoes through the house, from father away*

PGL: "That sounded like it came..."

HGJ: "From upstairs!"

Both: "Howard!"

HGJ: "They must have scaled the ivy to reach his room, while we were busy defending the dining room."

PGL: "How could we have been so blind?"

HP: "Jago, help!"

HGJ: "We're coming Howie, just hold on!"

PGL: "No! We're too late..."

HGJ: "Those brigands can move sharpish when they need to."

PGL: "They're carrying the boy like he's nothing more than a sack of potatoes. Come on, we've got to hurry, they've already reached the drive."

HGJ: "Hold on Howie, we're coming, don't you worry!"

***

PGL: "Oh, it's no use. We can barely see anything in this gloom, nor can I hear young Howard's cries any longer."

HGJ: "Damn it Litefoot, we can't just give up. A child's life hangs in the balance, and it's all our fault."

PGL: "Oh, Henry... I'm not suggesting we stop our search, merely that we alter our approach. We can't match the blighters in speed, but maybe we can outsmart them."

HGJ: "You have some cunning plan then?"

PGL: "Well, you did manage to stab one of the frogmen in it's torso. I happened to notice it didn't bleed, at least not like a human would. The wound oozed a dark, purple, viscous ichor. Ah, look here! Several droplets of just that substance, fresh upon the cobblestones."

HGJ: "And you think we could track it by following this trail left by the injury?"

PGL: "It depends on a number of factors, the coagulant rate of the fluid for one, and it assumes the injured one remained with the one who took Howard..."

HGJ: "It's still our only hope George. And if it doesn't lead us to Howard directly, I'm sure we'll be led straight to whomever is behind this entire ordeal."

***

HGJ: "This way, I think. Dash it all, the trail is thinning out. It seems to lead into that shop there."

PGL: "I was afraid we'd end up here."

HGJ: "You know the place?"

PGL: "Unfortunately. That establishment, my friend, is owned by none other than Quentin Renwick."

HGJ: "The bounder! What are we waiting for, let's go meet the cad."

PGL: "Henry, wait! It could be... dangerous. And he's already inside. So much for any chance of a stealth approach then."

HGJ: "Mr. Renwick? Come out you monster. Give us back the boy and maybe we won't inform the authorities about your little schemes. I... ugh... that stench... foul and fetid, thick and tangy. It's so thick I can hardly breathe, an odour that fills the throat."

PGL: "That is the cloying smell of death, I'm afraid. Blood and decay if I'm not mistaken, with a hint of incense or some other ritualistic tokens."

HGJ: "Blood? It can't be, surely not..."

PGL: "I don't think so, no. There's a hint of rot in the air. The blood that was spilled here must be a few hours old, I reckon, so it can't be Howard's. But going by the strength of the stench, I fear we shall find rather a lot of it."

HGJ: "Look here! Is that... oh corks! A body!"

PGL: "My word, Quentin?! That's Quentin Renwick, and he's most certainly dead."

HGJ: "So he's not behind all this then? Unless those fish faces turned on him for some reason."

PGL: "I don't know, Jago. I'll see what I can tell from his injuries... Yes, see here, his throat was slit."

HGJ: "I'd rather not, if I'm honest. I'll take your word for it."

PGL: "The flesh isn't torn, so a sharp blade was likely used. Possibly ritualistic in nature. No signs of struggle, or bruising. However it wasn't self inflicted."

HGJ: "Ah, because the knife is missing?"

PGL: "Something more glaring, Jago. There's also no blood. Barely a drop int his clothes or around the wound even."

HGJ: "But it must be around here somewhere. I can smell it."

PGL: "Then I suggest we follow our noses, though I fear what we may uncover."

HGJ: "It seems to be stronger towards that curtained off section at the rear of the shop."

PGL: "Quentin's private collection, where he kept the book pertaining to Valgthoth."

HGJ: "Well then, let's see what we find then. Ahem. You first. You have the stronger stomach when it comes to sickening sights."

PGL: "Very well then. My goodness!"

HGJ: "You were right about the ritual then. Are those..."

PGL: "Human skulls, yes. Arranged in a circle in the middle of the room, surrounded by dribbling candles."

HGJ: "Never mind the candles, I'm more concerned with the arcane symbols adorning the floor, painted in blood!"

PGL: "Someone definitely attempted to perform some dark ritual here."

HGJ: "Followers of Valgthoth? Those frogmen? And to what end? Are we too late to prevent whatever evil end this rite was supposed to cause?"

PGL: "I think the answers are contained in Quentin's book. The book on the lectern at the centre of the circle."

HGJ: "Careful Litefoot."

PGL: "It's just a book Henry. What could possibly..."

*A sudden hum of energy fills the room.*

HGJ: "George? What's going on? I can't see you through the glare!"

PGL: "It's the book Henry. Its emitting a sort of green glow. I can feel it, tugging at me."

HGJ: "Close the book! Close it!"

PGL: "I can't... move... some force is drawing me inwards..."

HGJ: "I feel it too! Oh, corks. I never expected my cause of death to read 'devoured by a dictionary'."

*both men cry out until the humming ends abruptly, and the book slams shut, leaving nothing but a lingering silence*