Friday, April 15, 2016
Sunday, September 13, 2015
To Whom It May Concern.
Salutations!
While
my heart and blood shall always call to the Americas (a land which I may never
see again unless the view come from the end of a rope), my circumstances find
me content and not-yet-hanged within the borders of her Majesty’s endless
fiefdom. I am a curious man with curious friends who have all seen curious
things, and I would place a wager that eyes that find this letter are
themselves not so common.
Our
coalition of intrepid peoples hail from backgrounds far too varied to
adequately describe in a thousand volumes, but we have all seen the wriggling,
chittering things that spew from the prolific womb of darkness that grows more
swollen by the day. For all those differences, we share a singular vision, and
cobble together what resources we may find natural to push against the
ever-thickening tide of darkness lest it smother what is left of the world.
To
this end, you’ve been called to Hollyside; a fair name for a bleak place which
I shall now take the time to describe. Perhaps you are familiar here. Perhaps
you are not. Apologies to those who find the information repetitive…
A Brief History
Once
a bustling port city in the midst of an industrial renaissance, a tragic and
massive factory fire spread throughout the vast majority of the city,
devastating a great portion of the place. To this day, the cause of the blaze
is wreathed in shady detail and mystery, and few argue against foul play being
involved, though not even a suspect was ever officially confirmed.
The
hideous damage of this calamitous inferno forever stunted the growth and
advancement of the place. New factories were loathe to set up shop anywhere
near such a famous disaster, and rebuilding efforts were found to be plagued
(some say “Cursed”) from the onset. After years of red tape and delay, attempts
at restoration were abandoned, and the entire city seemed to stagnate while the
rest of the Empire blossomed into the industrial wonder that most under the
Crown enjoy today.
Picking the Bones
Alas,
when a corpse is fresh, the carrion shall come. It didn’t take long for
Hollyside to devolve into a grand lure for the criminal element. With
unemployment and desperation rampant, the baser instincts of man clawed their
way to the surface, shredding whatever semblance of civility that had been.
Today, Hollyside is known as a place where the scoundrel truly finds his kin.
Frankly,
I prefer the company of scoundrels. The jackal, at least, is honest in its
approach and direct about its intention.
Hollyside Harbor
I
would sooner die than live away from the sea, and fond memories about my former
occupation flood my mind and race my pulse when I think of Hollyside Harbor.
The place is an outdated, nigh-ancient ghost of ports long ago, echoing an age
now consumed with gaslight and copper wire. The undermanned security of the
Harbor and general disrepair of the place make Hollyisde an exquisite place to
smuggle contraband of all sorts into jolly old England, only adding to the
heady, exciting brew of general danger that seems to hang thick, along with the
scent of sulfur, in the salty air.
The
Harbormaster is a good man, as well as a good friend of mine. He takes no joy
in the bad name of his Port, but lacks the manpower and resources to do much
about it. When one of his legendary hunches about a particularly vile bit of
cargo strikes him, he often comes to us for aid, rather than waste his time
attempting to find justice among…
The Constabulary
In
our peculiar line of work, run-ins with the law are frequent. Rest assured, the
Bobbies are almost, to a man, on the take. You’d sooner find an avalanche in
Africa than an honest Constable here, so we cannot depend on them for aid or
cooperation. When we must avoid their notice (this happens often), our clandestine
organization is not above providing a bribe or two ourselves to keep things
relatively quiet.
Keeping Informed
A
copy of the Hollyside Haddock will keep you abreast of all things going on in
Hollyside (both real and imagined), and within its cluttered pages, one can
find both amusement and information from the leading newspaper of the City. The
famous tagline of the Haddock is “Always fishing for the truth!”--Perhaps
someday they’ll actually catch some.
Home, Sweet Home
Liddenwald
Arms is where we ply our fierce trade. It’s a sprawling and grand Hotel in
simply horrendous condition in an even more horrendous part of town. Tales of
interlopers wandering near the Arms and never emerging are kept in healthy
circulation (often spread by the place’s sparse residents) to ward off unwanted
visitors, and a fierce patrol of rather unfriendly dogs deliver the message
that the tenants of Liddenwald value their privacy.
Those
who know about our keen interest in all things strange and sordid can leave
inquiries, tips and requests for aid in various places that are checked
regularly. Rest assured, we read them all…eventually.
When
you arrive in Hollyside, do stop by The Liddenwald, won’t you? I do believe
that we have so very much to discuss.
Calm
seas and full sails to you.
Captain
Desmond Allendry
Formerly
of the vessel Neptune’s Wench
(Shipwrecked)
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