Something is evolving down
at the lab and it’s not getting any more bearable, any more pleasant or
relishable. Seemingly some entities are best left
alone. Our drama unfolds in the gothick
backwater of New Lynsmouth, West Cernyw , a seething cauldron of archaic and primeval forces, bubbling
over with unknown and unutterable things.
It’s no tale
for a greenhorn, mark me well, as greenhornhood be the mark of the
unmarked. Now, blow wind, blow, and on
with our tale. Let the players take the
stage as the trumpets sound a breezy fanfare blow and the clouds zephyr slither
o’er tumbling rich dripping streets of slumbering eldritch slitherers.
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