Everyone knew the Whateleys were bad news, but no one knew just how bad.  They kept things in their basement--spawn of humans and devils that have festered for centuries in their own hate.  Wilhelmina cut these demon-spawn loose, and all o’ Gomorra felt their bite.  Now, with the mother lode found and pure chaos roamin’ loose on the streets, this clan of inbred sorcerers is ready to take the final step: raisin’ their master from the pits o’ Hell.

Fantasy Flight Games

Hezekiah Whateley surveys the house with satisfaction. His Dupont cousins have done well for themselves here in Ghost Creek. Not only have they established themselves as a local power, but they have won the trust and respect of the townspeople - a feat the Gomorra Whateleys were never able to accomplish. Abigail Dupont was correct when she said a little philanthropy can go a long way.

The Dupont estate is humming with activity now that Hezekiah has arrived. Other Whateleys - some from Gomorra, some from elsewhere - continue to drift in, drawn by the insidious increase in arcane energies. The stage is being set for the family’s greatest triumph. But before the curtain can rise, Hezekiah must ensure that Ghost Creek is firmly under control. He and his kin must strike now, before opposition can arise, if they want to prevent another fiasco like what happened in Gomorra.

*   *   * 

In the silent darkness of the basement, Abigail can feel the witches around her, supporting her, strengthening her spirit with their own.  Together, the sisters begin to chant softly.  Their voices grow louder as the tempo increases.  Their words grow gutteral.  Their dark supplications echo off the walls around them. 

There is a knock at the front door.  The chanting stops.  A moment later, a family servant appears at the top of the basement stairs. 

"Madame," he calls softly, 'you have a visitor.  He says he has been sent by a Mr. LaCroix... and that you are expecting him."

"Thank you, Harold," says Abigail.  "I'll be right up."

She knows it is imprudent to let assassins wait at the doorstep.

Last Story

Lost, are we?

more darkness