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19th of August, 1839
I wish I could ask you how much you remember. I don't know if there will be anything left after I consume this
drink. Don't be afraid Daniel. I can't tell you why, but know this. I choose to forget. Try to find comfort and strength
in that fact. There is a purpose. You are my final effort to put things right. God willing, the name Alexander of
Brennenburg still invokes bitter anger in you. If not, this will sound horrible. Go to the Inner Sanctum, find
Alexander and kill him. His body is old and weak, and yours, young and strong. He will be no match for you. One
last thing, a shadow is following you. It's a living nightmare, breaking down reality. I have tried everything and
there is no way to fight back. You need to escape it as long as you can. Redeem us both Daniel. Descend into the
darkness where Alexander waits and murder him.
Your former self,

Another region rich with lore is Altstadt, deep within the East Prussian woods. For centuries there have been stories
surrounding the hamlet and its neighbor, castle Brennenburg. The quiet forest-clad mountains dressed with scattered
lakes is as picturesque as can be, albeit the area is haunted by the dark. Ask any local and you will hear proof of the
widespread superstition. All travelers should indulge themselves in such conversations since it will certainly serve as
exciting entertainment. All of them have their own twists on the tales, but there are some motifs that keep

This story reaches all the way back to the Thirty Years' War. It is said that soldiers who abandoned their duty got
lost in the cold dark woods and were forever damned to roam the grounds. Their bodies wrought by their tainted
souls have left them disfigured and empty of essence. Many have sighted them over the years and describe them as
horrid revenants. They move silently through the woods, shying away from any beholder. They are
called Gatherersas they seem to follow some ambition to steal living creatures. It is their prey which can be heard
struggling inside damp burlap sacks dragged behind them which reveal their presence. What dark scheme do they

Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa, the well known erudite, visited Altstadt at the start of the 16th century. He resided in
the local inn for a fortnight as he looked for remnants of kingdoms past. During his stay all the prominent members
of society paid notice and he is mentioned in many records of the time. One day he went to investigate a burrow in
the northwestern glades only to never be seen again. Heinrich is known to have passed away in Grenoble some ten
years later. He dismissed the notion of ever visiting Altstadt, which makes you wonder what really happened. Who
was this mysterious man who visited the sleepy hamlet in the woods and what happened to him?

The Baron of Brennenburg lives a reclusive life with his family at his castle nearby Altstadt and like most those of
noble birth, rumors are inherited alongside with the title. Researching the history reveals little before the castle was
consumed by fire in the late 16th century. It was rebuilt by Alexander, a nobleman from the Rhinelands claiming the
role as protector of the Prussian State. Alexander helped the region to flourish and remained popular throughout his
presumed lifetime. The family has always been secretive when it comes to lineage and heritage, therefore the birth
and death of Alexander and his offspring has never been fully recorded. This has fed the idea that the baron is in fact
the one and the same who came from the West over three hundred years ago, lived through the time of occupation,
and joined the coveted Order of the Black Eagle along with the great leaders of this country.

Wilhelm and his fools have endangered my research long enough with their absentminded handling of the human
vessels. The sheriff is keeping a watchful eye on the forest and is killing my trusty servants. It's just a matter of time
until they follow the trail to Brennenburg. I need to lock Wilhelm and his men up to avoid further investigation from
the public. The wine cellar will therefore be sealed off until the matter has been handled. Either the king's men leave
or they will starve. Whatever comes first - they can rot for all I care.
Maybe I will feed them some wine, it would in a sense solve both of my problems.

I hereby offer my full attention and services to Alexander, baron of Brennenburg. This contract will reign for a total
of 3 years when my freedom shall return to me. In addition Alexander, baron of Brennenburg, is to recommend my
services at the Prussian royal court and within the sanctum of the Order of the Black Eagle.
May no man break this seal.
Wilhelm, house of Gerich.

This is my third attempt to produce artificial Vitae. The former compounds lacked the potency I need, but I sense
I'm close. Calamine and Orpiment are a given and the Cuprite binds them well. This time I will attempt Aqua Regia
instead of Aqua Fortis in hope it will produce a more even solution.
The experiment was unsuccessful. The solution is highly acidic and proves impractical to put to any use except as a
detergent. Organic tissue reacts especially violently to the solution and should be handled with the greatest care. I
might be able to use the recipe, but I'm losing hope that I will find an alchemic solution to my predicament.

The lack of a chimney to properly vent the fumes from my most recent experiments has taken its toll on many of my
less stable ingredients in storage. Some seem unaffected, but many are stained by the fumes and will be difficult to
salvage. I shall do what I can and move them to the wine cellar.

My name is Wilhelm, house of Gerich. These are my final words, my confession and testament. Two years ago I
was summoned to the castle Brennenburg. As most of the aristocracy, I was curious about what this supposed knight
of the Order could want from me and accepted the invitation. The baron was friendly and offered me a proposition.
It dawned on me that the nature of the contract was sordid and that the reason I was chosen was because of the
follies of my past and not the honors I've been rewarded with during my time as a soldier. I was to kidnap healthy
humans upon his slightest whim and do so without asking questions. In return he would attest to my character at the
royal court, advancing my position within noble society. I would like to claim that I struggled with my decision, but
it came swiftly and I accepted wholeheartedly.
Ever since that day I've brought men, women, and children to Brennenburg. I can't remember the numbers, but there
were many, perhaps even a hundred. None of whom were ever seen or heard from again.
Tonight the baron invited me and my men down to the wine cellar to celebrate our work. I had my suspicions as we
descended the stairs, but he insisted and joined us in a toast. The wine tasted fine and my men drank without
So begins the punishment for our sins. The baron has locked us up and returned upstairs. Forgive me for what I have
done. I was weak and fell into his diabolic ways. My men are screaming, their skin has been pierced by their own
tangled bones. I feel my insides revolt against their God given nature. Blood has begun to pour from my eyes and I
can no longer...

Canis Lupus Familiaris - 1658, April 12
After a short study it is clear that the agitation found among humans can be found in the dog. Fear and pain induce
stress which seems to trigger an endogenous response, causing the animal to burst with energy. I believe that the
catalyst is produced in the brain. It is difficult to determine exactly where and what it is, but I can sense it, it reeks of
cosmic genesis.
There is an inherent problem in harvesting this energy since the creature is bound to die from the exercise. I must
refine this process of torture to enable any real work to be done. More experiments must be performed, but it seems
that only human beings are able to produce the amount necessary. It might be their ability to appreciate the severity
of the process that ultimately augments their experience of terror.

To my most trusted student and friend Johann Weyer.
The most remarkable thing happened as I was traveling through the Prussian woods this summer. I finally found one
of the orbs I have been looking for the last twenty odd years. It is as inexplicable as the Heliodromus described it in
the Hortus Conclusus. It was as it was told about, an underground Mithraic temple crowned with the unearthly
artifact. The orb was big enough to fill my cupped hands and the texture was smooth and jagged - its color washed
while rich. Contrast is not enough to describe its nature. It was an impossibility, an artificial paradox captured within
I was staying in a nearby village called Altstadt, investigating one of the antiquated trails, when I finally found the
cavern. I went inside and suddenly I could verify the truth of these enigmatic artifacts - they were real.
As you can understand, this is the most important discovery of my life, but it has also become my greatest fear. As I
entered the underground chamber I could feel that I was trespassing. Because of my curiosity I did my best to fight
these instincts and fetched the orb from its place. I scrambled out of the chamber and into the woods. I could sense
something was following me, it bayed loudly as it closed in. The beast, this guardian of the orb, was relentless in its
I made my way to a nearby ravine where I stumbled upon some men fishing in the lake. I tried to warn them as I
passed, but fortunately they remained as I continued my escape. When I heard their cry of pain echo through the
valley, I felt such a tremendous sense of relief, thinking I would be spared.
Suddenly a blue shimmering light engulfed me and the colors of the forest were washed away before my eyes. I kept
running through the bleak surroundings, the trees had turned charcoal black with leaves of cinder, the ground
covered in murky water. I pressed on through the drenched land as the glowing ember gave way to the rising wind
and rained on me. I could hear pleading screams in the distance and I joined in as pain and fear overtook me. I fell to
the ground gasping for air.
This certainly must sound strange, but I had been carried miles away across the Alps to a grassy field outside Genoa.
The guardian had taken the orb from me, but still until this day I fear its return. Sometimes I lay awake at night
listening for the howling cry I heard in the forest. It has been nearly a decade since that day and I still haven't been
able to write about the incident.
The last time we spoke you told me about your interest and ongoing research into the mythic orbs and I realized I
owed you the truth about my visit to Altstadt.

Your friend and mentor,
Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa.

1658, January 9
Further disappointment. The antiquarian's latest findings yielded nothing. I'm still unable to grasp the inner workings
of life and its relation to the power I sense within it. I shall pursue more books on the subject, but I suspect it will be
in vain. Since no research has been made in my particular interest I must attempt to fill that void myself. Clearly
humans emanate more of the energy I seek, but I hope animals will suffice as they would prove less of a hassle to

If the elevator breaks down again, make sure to use the steam engine to build up pressure before channeling it into
the machinery.
Adjust the levers to get the right amount of pressure inside the chamber. The meters should read: Up 8 & Down 8.
Make sure the flow is set according to the following chart:
- Trinity Steam Set Functions
- Four-phase Amplitude
- Complete Steam Flow Cycle
Note that the machine will not check proper configuration until all rods are inserted.

I have prepared the explosives you needed for clearing the flood drain. I can't stress enough how important it is that
the mixture is handled with care. Please try to tell your featherbrained servants this before you go ahead with your
plans. The liquids are not by themselves explosive and should be kept separated to avoid further mishaps. I have
arranged two large vats in the next room for the ingredients. All you need to do is to mix the liquids and you are
ready to go.

Note that there are only two spare rods left in the storage for the elevator machinery. Make sure to only discard the
ones which are badly damaged and keep the others in the inner Study rooms in case all three would crack again.

If a full set of three rods is unavailable, there is one rod in the inner Study rooms which might work in case the
elevator breaks down again. Unless it is absolutely necessary, always use the spare rods in the storage before using a
mended one.

The vaccine enabling my men to work in the fungi-ridden sewer is a definite success. Unfortunately, only a few of
the servants have been remedied as the procedure proved difficult. The others will perish, and eventually I will have
to create more of them to keep my experiments running.
Note that an injection of vaccinated blood will work as a shield long enough to pass the sewers without any risk of
infection. It will do fine for prisoner transport.

The strange deaths among the servants and the prisoners have finally been resolved. It seems that the drain sewer
which has recently been opened up for use as a means of transport is plagued by a peculiar poisonous fungi.
The victims seem to have suffered an extremely quick outbreak of sickness affecting the entire body. Some of my
men, including myself, are blissfully spared by this calamity but it is clear that this cripples my progress. The
prisoners die quickly and their contaminated vitae lacks the energy I seek.
I shall immediately start working on a vaccine.

13th January, 1799
The work I have put into this machine is unequaled by the reasoning of any man. The thought that generations of
men have passed away since I first attempted to reconstruct the design is most tiring. The limitations of this world
have made my work incredibly difficult. It has forced me to build the thing almost a hundred times larger than the
delicate contraption it tries to emulate.
Not to mention the flow of tamed lightning crudely replaced by pressured steam pushing its way through pipes and
turbines. It shames me to think of what the inventor would have thought of my monster. Where he works with a
magnifying glass to carefully fix all the parts, I push five men to erect a tower of wrought iron in the hope it will
have even the tiniest hint of the power found in a Traveller's Locket.

Weyer taunts me from the other side. I trusted him with my true reason for my efforts and still he insists on me
releasing Agrippa. How an enlightened man can show such lack of compassion in a seat of power disgusts me. I
can't bring myself to part from Agrippa as he is and has been for centuries my only link to the worlds beyond.
Weyer claims he tries his best to release me from my banishment, but that he needs me to give him Agrippa first so
he too can help. If he could guarantee success, I would happily oblige, but how am I to part from him if my return
might be denied. I know what they are capable of, I have seen their deception.
Optimism is a most hopeless feeling, but I must retain it. I shall prepare for his release.
To release Agrippa without killing him, Weyer told me to feed him a tonic made from a paralyzer, vitae,
and Tampter.
The poisonous fungi should work as a paralyzer if I can find the internal gland from a large specimen. The Choir
seems to be a fertile grounds for this sort. I should then be able to extract its contents with the proper tools.
The vitae could be extracted as usual from any agonized human victim's blood. I just need large amounts to distill it
properly. Remember to collect this during the next torture session.
Tampter on the other hand will prove more difficult. I don't think it exists in this world. Simply writing the word
with these letters looks wrong. I believe it's a property of the secretion in the water dwelling Kaernk. I will have to
address Weyer with this as he will have to supply me with a host. Also a properly prepared well should suffice to
contain it.

All is lost. I must once again start over. Ever since I recovered the Orb first found by Agrippa, I have depended on it
for my research. The incident with Wilhelm made me most impetuous. Fearing a paucity of prisoners, I proceeded
with the Final Ritual without proper foresight. The Orb cracked and fell into six parts.
I have tried everything, but have of yet to mend the thing. Unless I can think of a way to piece it together, I will have
to find another. There is still life in the pieces and even if the Orb isn't restored, I might be able to salvage some of
its power for some other purpose.
Centuries have past in vain and I begin to wonder if I will ever be able to see my love again. How much longer can I
sustain my life?

There are quite a few things to be said about torture. I had figured that the reaction I would get from the victims
would be highly individual. Thankfully this is not the case. The humans all have a very similar approach to dealing
with physical pain and the terror of anticipation.
I can't stress enough the importance of restraining the victims before proceeding. Even the most timid creature can
break out in fits of violence where their strength exceeds their expected prowess. If proper care has been put into
breaking the victim, this should not be a problem, but it will also hinder the effect I am after. The right steps to take
are, therefore: to restrain while the victim is still dazed, proceed by presenting the form of torture you are about to
apply,and then to continue with the actual act.
The point of presentation is to infuse terror. The human mind is extremely efficient, as it will trigger itself into
greater fear simply by imagining it. While applying pain, make sure to avoid massive damage as it will prove more
efficient if the process can be sustained. Also, apply the pain in doses, if possible with breaks to let the body settle.
If you are whipping or cutting the victim, strike once, wait for the pain to subdue, then strike again.
As long as the body suffers it will continue to produce the vitae and saturate the blood with its properties. Only with
careful performance will the victim yield maximum effect. If the victim doesn't behave as expected, it is likely that
all will be for naught. Before this happens, feed them the Amnesia drink and try again later.

There is little left to say. I write solely to prevent myself from revisiting the memories of these last few days. If I am
fortunate, I will fall asleep and time will pass without effort. I have begun to wean myself of my prison.
When I first arrived I felt like I was being buried inside a tomb, but now I feel the close walls comforting me. As
long as I am in here there is no pain, the walls protect me from the outside. I even laughed earlier as one of my
wardens dropped a key down the pipes. It gave me hope for a second, thinking I could escape if only I could
somehow reach it from here.
In my dreams, Alexander, I am king. In my dreams I best you and escape your clutches, and return with all the
knights of the realm carrying pistols and sabers. In my dreams...

17th May 1839
Early afternoon. It has come to my attention that there has been an accident. Daniel, my research assistant, has been
trapped inside the burial chamber. All men are ordered to lift the massive stone hinder.
Recovered Daniel after one hour of entrapment. After some preparation the workers hoisted the heavy stone with
block and tackle.
Daniel is delirious and his mind is slowly recovering. I have decided to have him leave for England. It would be
foolish of me to risk not just his life, but the expedition's success by keeping him here.
20th May 1839
Those imbeciles. How dare they sacrifice my expedition to their superstition. The camp is in chaos and they blame
the Orb. They won't get their hands on it. I shot one of them to put them in their place. It can't be helped, they are
animals, all of them. They killed four men in the most gruesome way. Their skinless bodies torn apart. They say the
desert took them, but I know murder when I see it. I have sent Abdullah to contact the French in Algiers.
22th May 1839
That thing is after me. It has been hunting me for days. But I keep out of its trail, so I will persevere. I can see a
settlement at the edge of the desert. I'm getting closer. I can see it. But it is not me, it is Abdullah. Through his eyes I
see, his mind I hear. Confined to myself, I see only death dressed in the Orb's darkest shadow.

Le 22 avril 1858
Salutation, Inspector Marot of the Sret Nationale,
As you very well know, the chief of police in Calais has turned down my request to pursue Justine Florbelle for
stealing my son. Ever since their affair started, Alois, my son, has forsaken his duties to his family and failed to
pursue his career. Since the law seems unable to find a crime within the realm of Mademoiselle Justine's actions, I
will ask you to retrieve Dr. Victor Fournier later this week. He is a respectable aliniste, an expert in the human
psyche and he believes he may have found a legal way to incarcerate her. If he is able to diagnose her as a hysteric,
it would provide you an ample excuse to have her locked up. I trust you and your agency will not turn us down.
Cordialement, Lucien Racine.

Justine, my love, I know I am not as talented as Malo or as strong as Basile, but I am certain my love is truer. Do not
my scars tell you so? I will continue to cut myself as long as it pleases you. I would even kill Basile if you wish. I
know you say you like it, but he is hurting you. I will trick him to consume the Bromide. Poor Justine, I will help,
just ask me to help.

Travesty at the Conservatory
Many Parisians had gathered last night to enjoy the performance of violin virtuoso, Malo de Vigny. It was to be the
grand premiere of several new arrangements of songs by fellow composer George Bizet, but the evening took an
unexpected turn.
Young Malo de Vigny turned up visibly intoxicated. His violin cried as the bow was jerked across the strings. The
audience seemed forgiving at first, but started to boo the man off stage as he defaced the beloved song, La rose et
l'abeille. The stress apparently got the best of the young musician as he threw his bow into the audience and finally
Mademoiselle Justine Florbelle, who is according to rumors romantically involved with Monsieur de Vigny, looked
quite amused by the event and had two of her friends, Basile Giroux and Alois Racien [sic] carry him off the stage.
The evening was saved by other musicians at the conservatory who was able to perform a most delightful
impromptu concerto in Malo de Vigny's absence. The audience showered their saviors with praise and calls for
encore were awarded with spectacular pieces by both Offenbach and Chopin.

The tests have been going well. The most long term, and in a sense the most promising one, is the Light Box.
Having Justine choose a slide, essentially a mood, for everyday is a great way to see the larger overall development
of her mind. She definitely reads things into the slides I had not foreseen. Her remarkable imagination turns the
characters into just about anything and she is able to effortlessly reduce all her experiences into one of the four
character slides.
Using the Puzzle Lock has proven more difficult as she tends to always choose two slides with characters facing the
same way. I have asked her why this is, but she doesn't fully seem to understand what I am asking.

Justine, age 8
Today I played outside with Clarice. We saw a bird pick at a snail. It carried it off and landed on the lawn fence. The
snail had a shell and it cracked. Clarice cried and I comforted her. The new maid heard us and came out and scolded
Clarice for playing with me, the bird took off into the air.
Today I was the one with open arms.
Justine, age 9
Today I played with the slides from fathers Light Box. Above all I like the man standing to the right. Father asked
why, I said, he see things he likes.
Today I was the right one.
Justine, age 10
Father said I picked the wrong slide yesterday when I made the chambermaid cry. He wanted me to pick the one
with the sword, while I picked the man on the right. I never pick the one with the sword.
Today I was the one kneeling.
Justine, age 11
Today father came for me in my room. I still couldnt look him in the eyes. He said I shouldnt feel ashamed and
that I only tried to fill the void left by mother. When he wasnt looking, I took the star stone from his collection.
Today I was the one with the sword.

12 January 1839
Dear Monsieur Florbelle,
I am sorry to hear about your daughter Justines unruly behavior. Rest assure that this does not diminish your work,
nor does it make your idea of the natural developing mind less appropriate as a field of study. I have plenty of
scholars here in London enthralled by your hypothesizes and stated that it could be one of the most important ideas
of the modern era.
It has been suggested that the mind is not only molded by experience, but it could also be stricken with disease
without physiological sign. Perhaps this line of thinking could be applied to your child.
I wish I could devote my letter to consolidation, however I write to you with a request. I require passage into Algeria
and I need Frenchmen of good standing to vouch for my person. I am certain the name Florbelle would greatly speed
the process and grant me the permits I require. It pains me to ask this of you in your time of distress, but if you could
suffer my inconvenience, I would be greatly in your debt.
Yours Sincerely, Herbert.

7 July 1839
Monsieur Florbelle,
My name is Daniel, a friend and colleague of Professor Herbert. As I have come to understand, you are among his
most trusted friends and confidantes, therefore I shall reveal my predicament in hope that you can shed some light
on the matter.
Earlier this year, Herbert and I set out on an expedition to the deserts of Algeria. While looking for the legendary
tomb of Tin Hinan we happened upon a cavern temple buried deep within the sand. In its inner sanctum I retrieved a
stone orb which cracked and split into several pieces. Due to exhaustion, I was sent back to Britain and awaited his
I have since lost all contact with Herbert and I find myself deeply troubled by the whole affair. I believe Herbert
knew more than he was telling and that he sent me back to protect me from whatever ancient horror we may have
If you can share any insight on the matter I would be most grateful.
Forever in your debt, Daniel

Le 2 fvrier 1839
I have contacted the consulate and they will send you the permits you need for visiting Algeria. I wish you good
luck on your search and that your findings will come at a lower price than mine.
I am at loss with my studies. My daughter has become distraught and distant. I did very little to control her behavior,
yet I believe the very notion of my observation has made her this way. My scientific indifference to our tests has not
left her with an indifferent opinion. She finds my lack of reaction disappointing. She judges me, and most
importantly herself, by the results of these tests.
The reason I have trouble finding any consistency within her character, is because she tries to different approaches
to provoke me and her actions only become more and more disturbing. Yesterday I lost myself and scolded her, she
was terrified and humiliated.
It saddens me greatly to bring my studies to a close without seeing it to the end, but I can no longer justify my
research, I have to mend my relationship with my daughter

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16th of May 1839
The unflinching African sun has continued to plague our expedition, making it impossible to dig until dusk. How
Professor Herbert managed to find the location in these vast plains of nothingness remains a mystery to me. When I
asked him about the tomb again, he told me about the legend of Tin Hinan, "the mother of us all". An interesting
story in its own right, but I can't help feeling there's more. Later that evening, we uncovered a passage beneath the
dunes leading to a sand-covered stone structure. The professor was confident it was the tomb we sought and ordered
the others to clear the way-- late into the dark cold night.
Tomorrow, I shall lead the men into the ancient structure, hoping to reach the burial chamber. No matter what the
professor is keeping from me, the dig should yield something interesting to take back to London and the British
17th of May 1839
My hands tremble as I write. I feel a need to document my tribulation for I fear that my memory will fail me if I
Today I took some men and ventured into the dark ancient passage we uncovered. Our torches burned faintly in the
murky air as we slowly made our way underground. The men were superstitious and fearful. They argued loudly and
I felt their strange language getting to me. I mustered my strength and yelled at them to continue down the slopes
and broken steps.
The crudely carved passage confused me. It looked much older than the 4th century structure we had expected. The
twisting path emerged into a great ante-chamber. The walls were lined with statues unlike any I'd ever seen. Despite
their unearthly quality I felt a strange familiarity toward them, which haunts me still. At the far end of the chamber,
a great slab of stone sealed off whatever lay ahead. I gave the order to raise it, and as I pushed through the narrow
space, the heavy stone suddently dropped, sealing me inside.
I was trapped.
17th of May 1839 - Inside Chamber
After pounding the unforgiving stone wall for what seemed like an eternity, I realized it was hopeless. I was trapped.
I fell to the ground gasping for air, trying to focus. That's when I saw a faint blue shimmer.
My weakened body was heavy to carry, but I managed to push myself towards the enchanting light. It was waiting
for me. Enclosed in dark nothingness, I felt myself drawn to the mystic light. I reached out closing it in my hands.
The faint glow escaped my fingers and began to spark brightly and spirit me away. Unlocking alien memories of
spiraling towers, endless deserts, and impossible geometry.
The next thing I can remember is the grating sound of stone being lifted. The voices of the Arabs pulling me to
safety. And grasped firmly in my hands was the broken pieces of a most peculiar relic.

22nd of June 1839
It's been more than a month since my last entry. After the event inside the underground chamber in Algeria,
professor Herbert insisted I return to England. He said he didn't want to risk forfeiting the entire expedition lest I
took a turn for the worse. An excessive decision in retrospect, but I'm glad it turned out that way.
I found my journal this morning in the haphazard collection of things brought home from Africa. Next to it lay the
broken stone orb wrapped in cloth. I tried to assemble it, but I couldn't. The pieces wouldn't fit together, as if they
weren't from the same object. Could I have imagined it all? Was there ever a complete orb?
25th of June 1839
I feel the need to continue this journal, even though it was intended for my journey in Africa. This must be
something very important, I just know it. I've taken it upon myself to piece the orb back together, but it' s been more
difficult than one might think. The pieces are behaving strangely. They seem to change color, shape and texture, but
ever so slightly.
Yesterday I took careful measurements and notated any significant markings. Today, I confirmed my suspicions.
They were changing. I was terrified and rushed off to see the finest geologist in London, Sir William Smith. I
approached the subject with care, and we discussed how rocks change form. He told me about the nature of glass,
how it eventually collapses on itself, like ice slowly melting over the course of centuries.
Smith eased my mind a bit, but I can't escape the feeling that these shards have otherworldly properties.

2nd of July 1839
I received a letter today from the Algerian governor's office disclosing the fate of Herbert's expedition. About a
week after my departure, Abdullah, one of the men traveling with us, returned from the desert. He was badly
injured, as if maimed by a lion. The man rambled deliriously about the expedition being attacked by something
The French quickly dispatched a search party to look for the expedition. After searching for days, they found the
camp abandoned without any trace of Herbert or his men. Tomorrow I'll retrieve the things they recovered from
Herbert's tent at the customs house. I don't know what to make of it, but I'm worried for him.
3rd of July 1839
Today I picked up Herbert's things at the custom's house. I dug through the trove of documents he had carried and
found a log detailing the expedition. The nature of this text ranged from quick notes to colourful accounts of
transpired events. I skimmed the pages, trying to figure out what might have happened.
May 17th, the day I was trapped inside the orb chamber, Herbert dryly states:
"Recovered Daniel after one hour of entrapment."
This confused me greatly. I was suffocating within minutes. How could I have lasted an hour?
I continued reading the peculiar text. Herbert states his facts without judgement or passion, but suddenly I could
read frustration into his text. He pushed his men to investigate the underground tomb, an effort which seems to have
strained the minds of his men. Madness spread through the ranks, and Herbert had to take some extreme measures to
continue. He finally visits the chamber himself, where he retrieves the orb to the surface.
His account confuses me greatly. If he has the orb, what are those pieces in my drawing room?
4th of July 1839
It's done! The orb is assembled. I was awakened by an exhausting nightmare. Shaking and sweating, I retired to the
drawing room with a cup of tea. The relic pieces lay spread across the table as I'd left them. But somehow, I knew
how it was supposed to be. I fetched the tar, which I had prepared to fix the pieces together, and without fault, I
joined them, producing the orb I remembered so clearly. The tar proved unnecessary. It was pushed out from the
joining pieces as they merged on their own with no adhesive.
The ancient stone relic now rests on my table. Its immaculate surface and perfect shape could have been molded by
a factory. This is all too strange.

5th July 1839
Today I went to the university looking for answers. I was able to sneak into Herbert's office and pick up an address
book along with some relevant text books.
Professor Taylor at the faculty of history was very helpful and I managed to approach the subject of the orbs. The
most interesting aspect was the prevalent trace they had left in our culture. The mythic orbs may in fact have
inspired the Globus Cruciger which so many royal regalia holds to this day. In ancient times the orbs were held by
priests as a symbol of the sun and its power.
As I was leaving I overheard a disturbing conversation. Sir William Smith, the geologist, was killed last night. Less
than a fortnight had passed since I'd asked for his expertise. I know it's silly, but I can't help feeling responsible
14th July 1839
I've read every book I can find on the subject. While rich in legend and hearsay, my knowledge is lack for the
insight I crave. I've sent letters to many in Herbert's address book, and received answers of varying importance.
Today I got one which differed greatly from the others--- from a baron in Prussia. He said nothing about the quaint
stories of priests in underground temples. He didn't even mention them. He simply wrote:
"I know. I can protect you. Come to Brennenburg castle." Signed Alexander.
What am I to make of this? Protect me from what? Is someone after me? I looked up Brennenburg and traced it to
the Prussian woods near the Baltic Sea. While being the least informative letter I've received, it causes me greatest
distress and interest.
As I write my thoughts are drawn to my nightmares in which a most disturbing sound calls to me. A sound defying
description, a voice from the void. The last few weeks have been awful with so many sleepless nights dreading a
repeat of those horrid dreams. Tomorrow I shall visit my physician, doctor Tate, in hope that he can provide me with
sedatives to help me sleep.
17th July 1839
How has this escaped me? They're all dead. Limbs scattered, heads split down the middle, their skin flayed as if
boiled. I feel like I'm falling into myself. What's happening? Sir William Smith, professor Taylor and now doctor
Tate. Is it following me? How can it not be? It's the damned thing I brought from Africa. Something is after me.
I have no choice but to trust the baron. He better know what he claims. If he is wrong, I suspect he'll regret it as

2nd August 1839
I have arrived at the village of Altstadt. It's a haven in the midst of a vast forest and it's the last stop before my final
destination, Castle Brennenburg. It's late in the evening and the outrider, who has been with the coach since Bremen,
advised me to wait until morning before I venture further.
I have arranged for a bed at Der Mhle, the village's only inn, and am now waiting for the sun to rise. I try to sleep,
but as I close my eyes I see the men who fell victim in London. My fear and shame forces me to witness the same
scenes over and over.
They are dead because of me.
3rd August 1839
I feel like I have fled the world and all its worries. Brennenburg is a majestic creation perched upon a forest-clad hill
with towers reaching well above even the highest pine trees. Following the winding road leading to the gates gives
the impression of discovering something forgotten, as if journeying with Marco Polo to the hidden Xanadu.
Alexander, the baron, is a peculiar but gracious man. He seems well versed in worldly matters and is not at all as
eccentric as I assumed. My room is exquisite and I am confident that no hotel for miles could even hope to match it.
As the sun sets on Brennenburg its fairy-tale varnish turns to an eerie gloom. Alexander's strange servants are never
far away. They are a quiet lot and their behavior could only be described as skulking. Alexander seems pleased by
my presence. As he puts it, it seems like I got here just in time.
4th August 1839
The nightmares woke me up in the early morning and for a moment I forgot where I was. Shortly after there was a
knock on my door. Alexander had heard my screams and asked me to join him in the parlor.
As we drank our tea, Alexander began to tell me what he knew. It seems like the orb I found casts a long and dark
shadow. It is not only a powerful item, but a dangerous one. Simply by touching it you invoke the powers within and
if you are too weak to control it, it will devour you. The shadow is a sluggish thing lagging behind the wielder,
killing anyone or anything in its path to reclaim the Orb.
I said I didn't care about its powers and that I should throw it away. Alexander advised against this as I would still be
a part of the path to the Orb and eventually suffer death. Having the Orb, I would at least have the chance to fight
back when the time came. I asked Alexander what he meant when he said he could protect me and he answered that
things can be done- but at a price.

7th of August 1839
There is no denying that Alexander puts a lot of faith into what I can only describe as magic. I'm not surprised, even
while traveling across Europe I assumed I would have to embrace the supernatural to save my mind and life. As a
novice I do everything in my power to stay focused and not dwell too much on my own doubts.
Alexander woke me up early and told me it was time we got started on our work. He was obviously excited to get
going and we headed downstairs to the old dungeon where he preferred to attempt his rituals.
It turns out that Alexander is a true Renaissance man, paralleled only by Da Vinci, I'm sure. He showed me several
rooms fitted for specific research such as anatomy studies, alchemy and botany. The crown of Brennenburg must be
the Inner Sanctum, a most hallowed ground, where we shall attempt to permanently banish the orb's shadow.
8th of August 1839
I could never be certain until today that I was on the right path. Using my Orb, Alexander managed to channel its
powers unto us. The Inner Sanctum flared with blue fiery light and I could feel the same things I felt in the dark
chamber in Algeria. It was like standing in a mad whirlpool of impressions. It was terrifying, but Alexander kept
calm and wielded strange tools of science in order to tame the storm.
Suddenly the blue light was stained by strains of red and the walls burst with pulsating tissue resonating with the
scene. Alexander quickly covered the Orb in some cloth and the unspeakable thing vanished. Apparently, the Orb's
shadow is closer than Alexander thought. He says I should prepare for a warding ritual tomorrow. I'm not sure what
he expects, but I have a bad feeling about this.
9th of August 1839
It is still early and Alexander is busy preparing for the ritual later today. Seeing him this worked up makes me
question, why? What does he stand to gain? I realize he is curious about it all, but surely there must be more. Is he
so foolish he will attempt to tame the power of the Orb?
I must admit that yesterday when Alexander flooded the Inner Sanctum with blue light, I realized we had but grazed
the Orb's true potential. This might turn out to be more than escaping a creeping shadow. It might be the beginning
of something truly extraordinary.

9th of August 1839
I can't stop sweating and shaking. The warding ritual was not something of a sane mind! I did not even realize the
dungeon was still in use. Alexander had his servants bring one of the prisoners, a murderer, he told me. Alexander
made all of the arrangements but he said I had to perform the ritual in order to have the right effect. The Shadow
could be led astray by the blood of another. Killing the man would provide us precious time. What else could I do?
Alexander said it had to be done. He is saving my life, I don't have the luxury of argument.

12th of August 1839
Banishment ritual is taking longer than expected and we have to do what is needed. I spend my time helping out
with the prisoners. Being around these degenerates makes me ill. None of them even tries to face their punishment
with any kind of dignity. They taunt me with their lies of innocence and their cowardly pleas of mercy. What can
make a man fall so far from the grace of a civilized existence. They are all wicked men and I remind myself of it
constantly. Still, I am thankful for God sending these monsters our way, as they will serve as the instruments of my
salvation. I try to study the different tools in the torture chamber and learn how to use them effectively. Last time
was messy and the effect suffered from my inexperience. When the next warding is to be performed, I shall be

15th of August 1839 The Sacrifice
The blood wards are failing. The shadow beckons and its cry disarms my actions. Hurry, no time to spare. You have
to kill another. Alexander produces a knife. He wants me to cut the flesh. Do it, save yourself. He is a murderer,
Daniel. He is evil a cold blooded killer. Hurry.
Alexander, you must let me be. I have to concentrate. Paint the man, cut the lines, cut the flesh, watch the blood
spill let it come.
Please, I didnt do anything. Paint the man, cut the lines. Paint the man, cut the lines! Please! the man cries.
Hush, hush now you sleep.
I did well! One life for another. You hear me, Guardian of the Orb? I did all this for you! Now, once more, withdraw
your shadow from my domain!
Alexander, there isnt much time. I can feel it. We must act swiftly. I will do whatever it takes.

18th of August 1839 The Kidnapping
Tonight, we will unlock the power of the Orb and ultimately banish the shadow hunting me. I feel it closing in on
me and I fear for my life more than ever.
Just outside Altsdadt lies a small settlement where Zimmerman, a dairy farmer, lives with his wife and three
children. We took the coach and went there. Our visit was unexpected and Alexander was able to strike Herr
Zimmerman down without alerting the others. As he went to take care of the farm hands, I began to look for the
We should have more than enough prisoners to finish the ritual now.

18th of August 1839
I cannot believe what I have become. One of the girls escaped and I chased after her all the way upstairs. I hunted
her down and...
What is a life worth? How many lives can I take before I surrender my own? Sure, I would kill a murderer to save an
innocent. But to kill an innocent to save myself a cold blooded murderer!

19th of August 1839
Its not fair! Im not to blame. Ive been manipulated by that demon. He played my guilty conscience and duped me
into facing the shadow alone. That vile, conspiring man. He expects me to meet my death as he steals power beyond
Alexander, I will kill you for what you have done. If only the shadow had caught me in London or Algeria, I
wouldnt have to suffer this humiliation. You made me a murderer, a monster!
And now, I merely await my death. I'm too weak to press on. I can hardly stand as my knees fail me, I cannot see, as
my eyes are dressed in tears. I'm as broken as the men I've tortured. If only I could wipe my fear away as we did
with them.


One day I will return. If it wasn't for the thought of you, my love, I wouldn't be able to go on. When I find myself
doing terrible things, I take comfort in you.
As long as I am able to think of you and long for a life together, I know I'm better than the others. I weep for them,
they lust for power without restraint, where I only crave fair judgment and a safe return.

When will it be my turn? Have I not shown restraint? My patience spans centuries. From where I came, mankind is
not even wasted a breath, yet I bow to you.
I have done so much for you and I have gained nothing in return. Agrippa, I trusted you. It was I who in all fairness
should have entered that gate.

I fear for Daniel, for he is reckless. He is tainted by the approaching shadow and will not be able to pass the gate.
Will he be able to accept this in the end?
My love, I've seen evil in him. How am I to trust him with the truth? What cruel irony that I have to do unto him
what Agrippa did unto me.

Is it you, my love, I miss the most, or is it perhaps myself? I know what I have become, I am not blind. I am a
monster to them, a demonic sultan perched on a dark mountain top. There is little I can do to redeem myself.
The Black Eagle fears me and after Napoleon's defeat it is only a matter of time before they will demand my head on
a platter. I must remove myself from this land. This time it must work. If I can't return home now, I shall perish.

In court, the order of the Black Eagle spew their politics at each other while I sit quietly in place, willfully forgotten.
Once in a while someone will notice me and lose themselves in a silent cower before regaining their senses.
They all know I am the one and same Alexander who helped their fathers and grandfathers to found this great Order.
I've seen them take their fathers' places, and they too will grow old and pass away. While I remain the same, aged
not by time, but by anguish.


A blood-stained piece of cloth from a young woman's dress.

She clenched her fist, shielding the woven pouch filled with sage, and prayed. The men urged them to alight from
the carriage and forced them through the castle gates.



The murderer's limbs were tied to the spokes of the wheel. They turned the wheel slowly, but with intent so the rope
secured around his leg stretched and cracked the bone. He no longer had the strength to scream. The two men looked
at each other knowingly and took a hammer and struck the victim's chest in a final act of mercy.
Iron Maiden
The forger stood absolutely still. The casket had been closed but a faint light made its way inside. A myriad of
spikes pointed at him. Glittering as they waited for his body to slip just for a moment. His knee jerked and he felt
blood trickle down his leg. In pain his head fell slightly forward. It took him a while to realize his eye had ruptured
and begun to leak.
Brazen Bull
The traitor did not know what to think of the brass bull as he was forced to enter it. Only when the heat of fire began
to scorch his skin and cook his flesh did he realize it was to be his tomb. His screams of pain echoed inside the brass
chamber and travelled through the complex instrument which was the bull's head. Outside the men could hear the
brazen bull bellow.
Judas Cradle
The arsonist kept crying as he was slowly lowered on and off the impaler. It didn't take much to break him. They
had meant for him to die, but the torture was working beyond their expectations. It wasn't the method, it was the
arsonist, he was different from the others. They could make him forget again.
The rapist hanged upside down, his tears soiled with blood flooding from his belly. The saw between his legs had
lodged itself in the hip and wouldn't move any further. The men stepped back and waited for the victim to drain.
The kidnapper sat on her knees with her hands tied behind her back. She felt her hands being lifted and her body
followed. Her shoulders gave away to the weight of her own body and cracked loudly. The suspended woman cried
hysterically as the men contemplated their next step.


The other children cheered him on. His name voiced in a steadily rising pace, urging him to do it. Am I
really doing this?, the young boy thought and struck his victim with a rock.
He fell to the kitchen floor. Tears were beginning to well in his eyes as he received the first kick in his
stomach. Hazel remained hidden, in fear she too would be punished.
A fragrant taste of rose lingered his mouth. Turkish Delights, he thought, just like the ones at the consulate in
Traveling to Dover meant going through Canterbury. He made sure to pay a visit to avoid the sense of guilt
connected with neglect of family.
The door slammed shut behind him and he knew he would never again see the old tailor at Berkeley Square.
Another lone soul in London-seemed appropriate somehow.
Alexander became silent. He didn't know what to say. He could no longer recognize his friend sitting across
the carriage.
The crying had stopped and he could hear a whisper coming from the cell. They were up to something and he
would have to punish them.

The desert dunes were like waves in a sluggish sea. While the caravan moved the land appeared motionless,
but in camp the hills moved.
The sand gave way to his tired body as he fell from the camel's back. He felt the wind gently sweep across
his face and his dry, crusted lips.
It was done, the men said. The tomb had been revealed. Tin Hinan awaits, grinned the toothless foreman.
The statues were praying - gazing into the dark domed ceiling.
The stone slab looked like a safety measure. It wasn't meant to be moved ever again.
A handful of sand trickled from the crumbling stone ceiling and pushed down on the brim of his hat. He
braced himself as the cavern suddenly shifted and settled.

He sat down by the Casbah wall gasping for air. Sweat poured from his forehead and onto the sand veiled
After Enduring three days in Algiers, a sailboat was finally arranged to take him across the Mediterranean
Sea to Gibraltar. Having reached British territory, it was just a matter of reserving a cabin on SS Hortensia,
headed for London.
The cloth smelled of desert and damp musk. The pieces lay scrambled on top. Too many of them, he thought,
or perhaps too few.
It became impossible to avoid. The commotion in the streets begged for his attention. As he opened the
shutters the French soldiers opened fire on the two young men fighting back. Their voices silenced in a haze
of gun smoke.

He crashed through the surface. The dark Atlantic water smothered him as he struggled to make sense of the
Something large brushed against his leg and he felt himself being dragged along by the current of the beast.
He pushed himself above the surface. Help!, he cried as the ocean swallowed him again.
He felt himself being hoisted out of the ocean. The lacquered hull of SS Hortensia glittered in the soothing
warm light of a setting sun. He turned his head to the calm ocean reaching towards the coast of Portugal and
thought, "Is this another dream?".

Herbert's trunk was wrapped in rope. The lock had been broken, by thieves he assumed. He wondered if
anything had been left considering all the hands it had passed.
He climbed out of the bed and looked out the window. It was completely dark. He waited, glanced at the old
clock, and waited some more. Four o' clock, he thought, it's enough.
The thin cold mist brushed his face as he stepped outside. London weather could be cruel, but it was the kind
of cruelty he could handle.
"Is this another dream?", he thought, and screamed at the top of his lungs.
He returned the tea cup to the saucer and picked up the orb as one would an apple, and pondered on the
strange happenings.
He tried to fit the pieces together, but like the sand dunes, they shifted when you weren't looking.

He flipped though the Book of Monarchs looking for etchings and counted. Nine different kings from all
over Europe had been depicted with an orb resting in their hands.
Sir William Smith had been marked. There was no way for him to know that the young man from the other
day cast such a terrible shadow.
Professor Taylor was the second death caused by his damned curiosity.
He panted heavily, trying his best to keep himself from screaming. The medicine cabinet had been
overturned and lay collapsed on the floor. He reached through the broken glass door and grabbed all the
sedatives he could find.
The strange letter frightened him, but it was the only one which offered him some comfort.

The dark towers of Brennenburg rose above the forest and were silhouetted against the snow white moon. He
couldn't help feeling sad for some reason.
Carefully treading the unknown land, he looked over his shoulder at his travel companions. The outrider
touched the brim of his hat as a final farewell.
The morning sun flickered between the pine trees as the carriage approached the castle. A faint memory of
reflections in the window pane repeated itself over and over.
The servants avoided him, yet he knew they were there. They all smelled of spiced wine, a mystic scent
permeated by clove and sage.
He unraveled the cloth protecting the orb. Alexander reached out, picked it up, and held it up against the
light. "Cover it", he said, "Keep it covered at all times".
Moving that orb was like pushing a star in the night sky. It wasn't supposed to happen. The Shadow isn't
some vengeful spirit, it is the universe catching up with itself.

The red taint burst from the walls as if they had begun to bleed. He cried out in fear as the spectacle began to
consume the blue shimmer.
He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but no shape or contour appeared.
The beautiful wild orchid seemed a testament to nature's strength, being able to grow inside Brennenburg.
Alas, it was Alexander's studies and care which enabled the flower to blossom.
Alexander knew there must be a way to finish the ritual before it was too late. He had to teach his friend to
harvest the vitae. That much was certain.
The purpose of the Inner Sanctum had always been to study the orbs and find a way to force them to yield
their power. However, he was still unaware of this.
The blue light blinded him as it had done inside that murky tomb in Algeria. It was just as enchanting and he
tried to approach it, but the baron's firm hand held him back.

Henry Bedloe went to class carrying the anger of his bitter mother. He never cried, he made others cry
instead. Pain is like that, you either become sad or you become angry. Henry always chose the latter.
There is never any escape. Things like this live with you always. How could he know if Henry would show
up down the road or even at his house? Is he that mad? Would he do that?
He wasn't particularly afraid of the dark, but he had always disliked going into the basement. His father
urged him on to fetch the red dye. As he stepped into the dark, he thought, "I will never escape this".
The blue colored tint came crashing down. His father heard the jar break and yelled from upstairs. There was
no need for punishment. He could already feel the sting of his father's belt.
He cried like the little boy he was. All alone in the dark basement, broken glass tearing at the flesh of his
naked feet, and blood mixed with blue tint.

Hazel spent all summer in bed. He used to read to her after helping father with his work. In his mind he was
like Scheherazade, and as long as he kept telling the story she would not die.
When Hazel turned fifteen she had lived three years longer than doctor Tate had foreseen. Her parents had
given up from exhaustion and decided to have her committed for permanent treatment at Canterbury
Hospice, but she was still alive. She had embraced him and wished him a grand adventure in Algeria.

Such filth, he thought. Good men can safely cheer departure as they are nothing but a burden to mankind.
They shall not be missed.
Carefully cutting the man open made him think. This is how father must feel about his craft. Being an
artisan, relying on one's skill to perform something so delicate, grants a certain form of pride.
Something died inside of him that day. Watching that man slip away was more than his mind was willing to
The fear had begun to drown him again. He reached once more the empty bottle of Laudanum. In frustration
he smashed it against the bedpost.
It had gone too far. The man was suffocating as he could no longer breathe properly between the lashes.
Displeased, he started to look for the Damascus rose oil.
The thick liquid spread across his tongue. He swallowed excessively to consume every drop. He looked
through the window at the widespread forest and the morning sun. Will this ever end?, he thought.

She cried and struggled as he pulled at her arm. Her flowered Sunday dress ripped and she fell into the mud.
The sight of her lifeless body crippled his psyche. He tried to remove himself from the scene, but he could
not. Instead he fell to his knees and begged her for forgiveness.
All his life he had thought that he was a good man. Terrible deeds were only committed by terrible people,
like Henry Bedloe, the bully in school, but now he had seen what he himself could do.
He had turned angry. It was easy to take her insolence and make her the villain in this story. But she didn't
deserve to die. Even he could see that.
Alexander saw that the evening had taken a toll on his friend's mind and barred him from the Inner Sanctum.
He could no longer be trusted to be a part of the ritual.
If it wasn't for Alexander, he would still be innocent and be able to die so.

Justine had overdosed on Lithium before and had a pretty good idea of what effects to expect.
Could it be that she was not herself anymore, she thought. It was time to find out.
The downstairs library still reminded her of father. All those hours spent there had fostered a sense of shelter.
Justine was not a person who would go about planning. The Cabinet came about as her whimsy collided with
other people's misfortune.
The gloomy place downstairs became a playground - a mysterious place for Justine to discover with her
Abacinating the suitors had not been a part of the original plan, but she liked the added excitement.
They knew that they would have to capture the men, but what to ultimately do with them, was a decision that
had to be postponed.
When she first imagined the cabinet, it was for her amusement, but since it had grown into something more
important - an opportunity to reveal her most suppressed desires.
The basement had been extended well beyond the manor during the time of the first revolution. Justine was
not to enter without permission, but now there was no one left to ask.

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