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I recall that the people went about with pale and worried faces, and whispered warnings and prophecies which no one dared consciously repeat or acknowledge to himself that he had heard. A sense of monstrous guilt was upon the land, and out of the abysses between the stars swept chill currents that made men shiver in dark and lonely places.
–H.P. Lovecraft, Nyarlathotep

Jun. 19th, 2017


For this week, there will be no sudden loss of control for those who have signed their souls away for the greater good. As long as they're in the Curio Shop by 6:05 PM on Monday, nothing out of the ordinary will happen. All they must do is knock on the shop's door, carefully as if to not draw attention towards themselves, and the door will creak open by itself much like the previous week.

As per usual, inside this strange room they'll find Craftly seated at a round table. Shelves of antiques line the walls and the smell of peppermint tea wafts through the air. A thin tendril slips across the table from Craftly's sleeve, hooking around his cup of tea. As smug as ever, he smiles to the group.

"Come in, Hunters. It's time for us to begin".




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