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)