OPERATION CROWN JUBILEE

Handler’s Briefing 2
The Crosswick Monster 2
A Daemon Stone 2
The Mechanicsburg Schism 3
Today 4

INVESTIGATOR INTRODUCTION 7

THE UNRIPENED FRUIT 10

THE VILLAGE OF MECHANICSBURG 11

A Quaint Slice of Old-Fashioned American Life 11
The Sheriff 12
Huh, That’s Weird 13

ON THE TRAIL 15
Amanda Boone 15
Grover Cox 15
Archie Kemp 16
Guy Mayer 17

THE SCENES OF THE CRIMES 19

WILD OUT THERE STUFF 20

Come On, I Was in the Middle of Something 22
Things Best Left Alone 23
Coverage, Disruption, Guile, Destruction 25

CHURCH SUNDAY 28
The Kemps Rise Again 28
Leave It to the Professionals 30
Outsourcing the Unnatural 30

SAN REWARDS AND PENALTIES 32

APPENDIX I: GET OUT OF MY TOWN 33

APPENDIX II: STATISTICS 34

Lloigor-Controlled Quasi-Dinosaurian Construct 34
Monstres and Their Kynde 34

APPENDIX III: HANDOUTS 35

Handout 1 35
Handler’s Briefing

The Crosswick Monster

Rural America is rife with old tales of bizarre creatures roaming through its verdant backyard; some
seemingly harmless and doing their very best to avoid human contact; and others stealing away children
of honest farmers or terrifying lone travelers with monstrous aspects. As many seasoned Agents know,
these yarns sometimes have more basis in truth than many would expect in a time of smartphones and
instant global communication. And occasionally, these legends alarmingly reemerge today, grotesquely
blossoming from inky docility into a fearsome and unspeakable reality.

One such tale involves the so-called “Crosswick Monster” of pastoral Ohio. What started as strange
reports of large, unknown tracks occasionally found over dirt roads or creek trails in 1821 soon turned
into a fatal encounter with something otherworldly. Two young boys were attacked by a “giant reptile
with four thick legs” in May of 1882, and the dextrous creature absconded with one of the boys in its
giant maw, dragging him screaming to a hollow sycamore tree nearby. Working men in the vicinity heard
the boys’ cries, only to find one of them dead and the other hanging from the creature’s great jaws. The
townfolk’s arrival caused the beast to drop the boy and disappear into the hollow of its enormous tree,
distressingly out of reach.

More than sixty residents were soon gathered from Crosswick, Ohio, armed with clubs and axes and
accompanied by trained hunting dogs. The creature was soon forced from its besieged sycamore tree,
leaping from a gap in the top of the hollow and awkwardly running away upright on its hind legs.

Despite a fierce chase, the reptile inexplicably evaded capture and was never seen again in the area --
much to the utter consternation of the pursuing mob and its attendant canines.

Described as standing twelve feet high and covered with black and white scales dappled with dull yellow
spots, many have attributed this story to the unlikely displacement of an outrageously large monitor
lizard. Undoubtedly, the truth of the matter is much more unnatural.

A Daemon Stone
Reverend Jacob Horne, one of the men who first rushed to the two boys’ aid, had dark suspicions about
the Crosswick Monster. In fact, he fell into a great despair, blaming himself for the death he felt he had
wrought. For he had recently taken into his possession an “old Indian stone” of deep viridian, borrowed
from his colleague and close acquaintance in nearby Mechanicsburg. Pastor Shiloh Kemp had confided in
Horne that the stone had been buried in the cellars of the Union Church since before the incorporation
of the city, and it was rumored to contain the “essence of a hellish daemon.” An amateur natural
scientist with a few publications in various enthusiast’s folios circulated in the Northeast, Reverend
Horne convinced his friend to let him examine the stone carefully in his home workshop after hearing of
its peculiar luster and apparent age.
As Reverend Horne studied and tested the stone over several weeks, he began to become more and
more despondent. These black clouds grew powerful in his mind until he was convinced that he was
under some sort of attack. He prayed to his God to keep him strong, but he couldn’t shake the feeling
that something inside the bizarre stone was indeed staring back out at him -- and taking an important
piece of his eternal soul in the process. He fell into a depression and his sermons were abbreviated and
incomplete during this time.

Reverend Horne, despite his dwindling will, continued to obsessively pore over the stone, but he could
not discern anything about its origins except to confirm its incredible age. He had just decided to return
the damnable thing to Mechanicsburg, when he came face-to-face with what he knew had been peering
at him from the other side of the stone -- somehow fully corporealized and seeding terror and death
among Crosswick’s children.

The great reptile, whipping about a young boy in its jagged incisors while another lay cruelly mauled
nearby, seemed to peer with its great black daemonic eye directly at Reverend Horne. In that moment,
his heart sank into a despair greater than any he had yet succumbed to. Upon finally returning the stone
to Pastor Kemp and tearfully begging him to keep it buried underneath his church forever, Reverend
Horne drowned himself in a nearby creek by filling his pockets with rocks.

Reverend Horne was indeed detecting the malicious presence of a dark entity within the viridian stone.
It is a focus for a very injured expression of Lloigor. Due to damage sustained to both the physical focus
and part of the energetic field that comprises this aspect of Lloigor, it is unable to interact with the
material world as adeptly or as intelligently as its more complete brethren.

The Mechanicsburg Schism

Physically removing the stone from its resting place in Mechanicsburg did jar the Lloigor awake.
Handicapped and partially deranged, it began pursuing its innate drive to inject entropy into surrounding
energetic systems and began to both feed and feed off of Reverend Horne’s despair. Soon, it animated a
construct for itself and began to explore its surroundings, finally attempting to Enslave two children to its
will but failing miserably.

Since being returned to the church, it occasionally reached out to the congregation as well as other
nearby townsfolk in Mechanicsburg, gaining nourishment from dreams or encouraging despair and
division, albeit weakly.

In 1820, when the area was settled, the focus and the Lloigor were uninjured. It welcomed the new
settlers to the area by slowly driving brother against brother, neighbor against neighbor, with patience
and subtle nuance. Punishments for minor infractions became incredibly severe and cruel; those with
strong wills were driven out of their homes or brought directly to the cellars of the United Methodist
Church to be directly Enslaved; and travelers went “missing” when making their way through the tiny
village. Rumors of cannibalism and worse became vaguely connected to what appeared at first glance to
be a growing midwestern community.
In 1853 a fracture occurred between those who had recognized the sickness in Mechanicsburg and those
who were enthralled to preserve and increase its hold on the village. One Methodist faction, led by
Pastor Mordecai Kemp, served as a final vanguard of uncorrupted souls. Recognizing that a daemon had
taken control of the town and had nested below holy ground, Kemp drew upon old knowledge that had
resulted in his family’s exile from Virginia and forced them west. Using terrible formulas set out in a
collection of handed-down folios, he was able to greatly damage the demon and its anchor to Earth, but
at the cost of his own life, one of his sons, and several of his devoted congregation. His materials were
also completely obliterated.

But soon after that dire night, when the sky lit up over Ohio with something akin to an aurora, things in
Mechanicsburg began to wind down. It wasn’t immediate, but those folks most sickened or cruel in their
behavior either wandered away, never to be seen again; or they gained back some semblance of
empathetic capacity. The change was imperceptible to all affected, but the overall result was stark.
Mechanicsburg shifted into an idyllic villa as it continued to grow, just a bit more old-fashioned than
most surrounding areas that progressively crept into sleek modernity. Those involved in the meteoric
events of that fateful and cataclysmic night found their recollections hazy, or just utterly and
unbelievably fantastic.

However, the Kemp line kept the knowledge of the true nature of the viridian stone through oral
tradition, emphasizing the utter terror the town would again face if it was disturbed from its hidden
place below the original Methodist Church’s foundations. This was only greatly renewed due to the
foolish meddling of Shiloh Kemp and Jacob Horne.

To this day, the Kemps are aware of the story about the old hidden daemon stone upon which their
forebears struck a holy blow to chase a hell-spawned daemon out of their village, but the mundane
nature of their daily lives have softened their fear. The current generation of Kemps hold little regard for
the old stories handed down to them by their ancestors, and consequential events would need to be set
in motion to change that.

Today
Jeffrey Jenkins, proprietor of “Wild Out There Stuff,” a roadside attraction off of US Route 36 north of
Irwin, Ohio, has been gathering bizarre specimens of dubious origin for decades. A retired dairy
technician and eternal dabbler, he enjoys his days operating this little curiosity shop and chatting about
every conspiracy under the sun with those who are drawn in by his enormous scrap-metal “Crosswick
Monster:” an impressive cobblework giant that looms over the southern edge of Route 36 and standing
nearly 30 feet tall. He corresponds with dozens of similar enthusiasts on several cryptid and conspiracy
forums online via a crawling modem connection, as well as good old-fashioned snail mail trades with
collectors and frauds alike. He takes as much pleasure receiving a fake “bigfoot pelt” as he does bizarre
artifacts of the Shawnee made from materials even his buddy Mark Shumway in Worthington
(“esteemed member of the Ohio Geological Society!”) can’t identify.
A couple of years ago, Jeff came into possession of “fallen debris from an alien craft.” Jeff calls them
“meta-materials,” and he even had his aforementioned friend (after much cajoling) visit his shop to
announce, with bewilderment, that he couldn’t place their origin. The strange hunk of rock and metal is
the prize of his collection, and it cost him every spare scrap of change he had at Dayton’s 2019
XtraTerresticon.

This year, Jeff was “gifted” a data CD containing 173 individual .jpeg images from an online acquaintance
he knows as “Operator_Glass_777.” Each image is a page from an unnamed but evidently old book. The
images are of poor quality, fragmentary, and suffer from major artifacting due to a low dpi scan rate. It is
likely they are photographs of photocopies.

Jeff is not an academic, nor is he a particularly bright individual. With the aid of Google Translate, he has
attempted to decipher the strange writings, convinced that they are of some forbidden tome from the
Vatican’s Black Library. However, the mere investigation of these scattered pages in the proximity of so
many artifacts of dubious origin is the equivalent of a primate banging together stone and flint -- and
sometimes sparks fly forth and land somewhere only to unexpectedly enkindle. With what little he truly
understood, he also engraved certain runes on an old buck knife -- a tool he uses as a focus when
reading certain passages.

As a result, Jeff’s health entered a steep decline. A lack of sleep and spotty eating schedule were the
least of his problems. Haunting, dark dreams entertained his evenings with vistas of unnamed black
spires and a dreaded planet-spanning abyss. His regulars didn’t notice much difference in the typically
scatterbrained proprietor, and others just thought him deeply but quite appropriately eccentric.

Jeff’s experiments ended up killing him, in a certain fashion -- a likely outcome for those who ignorantly
dabble within the unfastened confines of hypergeometric principles. However, his constant rock-banging
activated his “meta-materials” and dislodged many features of the local energetic strata, fed by
mathematical dynamos that now persist in causing bizarre phenomena in and around his shop. Nearby
locales have been affected by the growing disturbances, including Mechanicsburg.

Whether it was one of the singular passages Jeff finally properly pronounced while waving his dagger
over a smoking bowl of mandrake root, or perhaps some of the other dormant artifacts in his cryptical
collection reacting to his nearly constant ministrations -- the Lloigor has once again fully awoken, still
terribly injured but driven to pursue its abominable instincts.

It has been able to animate a construct, a malformed quasi-dinosaurian form with a wide toothy maw
and four thick legs bristling with hooks and claws. This creature has begun attempting to force the
Lloigor aspect’s will upon nearby human beings in order to Enslave them. It has repeatedly failed as the
construct ranges through claustrophobic rum tunnels underneath Mechanicsburg and emerges from
ravines and sinkholes to stalk the unwary through nearby fields and woods. It is slowly learning from its
mistakes, however, and is getting closer to Enslaving its first Servitor. The Lloigor is frustrated that it must
use this construct in order to best focus these efforts in its injured state, but it is nothing if not patient
and persistent.

Soon it will cease with physical altercations altogether and use its construct to merely lie in wait to
provide an anchor so that it may properly Enslave a chosen servitor over time. Until then, it is deranged,
injured, and confused. Iit leaves a bloody trail in its addled wake as it continues to fail to achieve its goal.
Those unfortunates who it attempts to convert are left dead and impossibly changed by their encounter.

If left to heal itself, and its focus stone under United Methodist Church is not disrupted, the Lloigor will
soon recover just enough to be nearly as dangerous as its uninjured counterparts, and the town of
Mechanicsburg may be just the first of many locations that experience the full force of its malevolent
alterations.
INVESTIGATOR INTRODUCTION
Early Spring, 2021.

The Agents are all instructed to appear for a briefing at the FBI office on Nationwide Boulevard in
Columbus, Ohio, at 2PM. Where applicable, travel vouchers have been provided through Agents’ federal
employers for a joint task force training exercise. Otherwise, the Agents are on their own.

When they arrive, each Agent will be escorted by armed security to a mid-sized presentation room on
the first floor. Security appears tight, and the door is opened only by a biometric thumbprint.

The room is set up like a corporate boardroom, although there are no windows. Sound baffling panels,
made from a crusty spaghetti-like material, sprout out from the otherwise nondescript walls. There is a
projector in the middle of the ceiling and fourteen chairs spaced evenly around a rather cheap-looking
conference table.

Agents have the chance to settle in and acknowledge one another but not much else. Agent SNEDEGAR,
a potentially familiar Case Officer, will soon enter and tersely thank the Agents for coming. An already
serious and severe man, his forthright demeanor is augmented by the black suit he is wearing -- a
departure from the casual clothing he has perhaps worn in previous encounters with the Agents. He’ll
insist they take a seat and receive the briefing, sternly asking them to save their questions until the end.

● A series of attacks have occurred in rural Ohio spanning the last two weeks. Attributed by local
experts and law enforcement to a deranged or rabid brown bear ranging abnormally far south,
many joint hunting sorties have been put together to track the man-eater down but to no avail.
● The Program is now very interested in this rogue bear, due to consistent abnormalities found
within the bodies of those attacked.
● When the most recent victim had a state-ordered autopsy, the medical examiner discovered
alarming internal mutations: what she first thought was an enlarged heart turned out to be two
structurally distinct organs fused by a mass of connective tissue. Further analysis revealed that
the additional four chambers, though otherwise connected seamlessly with the victim’s
circulatory system, had never contained pumped blood during the life of the victim.
● SNEDEGAR will tell the Agents that The Program flagged the case for takeover, and Agent
GARRETT was assigned to probe further.
● Autopsies were ordered for the other three victims, requiring state-approved exhumations
which were eventually granted through GARRETT’s bureaucratic efforts. Findings were as follows
(reproduced in Handout 1):
○ Victim #1, Amanda Boone. Female, 65 yoa, retired. Found one week ago east of
Mechanicsburg on the bank of Little Darby Creek. She often walked the creek looking for
fossils. The autopsy revealed 6 lobes in the right lung, 5 lobes in the left. The victim also
appeared to have a redundant, semi-parallel duodenum.
○ Victim #2, Grover Cox. Male, 25 yoa, student (University of California, Berkeley).
Discovered one week ago southwest of Mechanicsburg near the site of Carl Potter
 Mound. According to family, he was on a multi-week road trip through the country to
“write the next great novel of America’s true history.” The autopsy showed abnormal
developments in the legs, including fully formed tendons and ligaments unattached to
joints alongside several sets of redundant muscle groups. This autopsy had to be
conducted at the San Francisco Medical Examiner’s Office.
○ Victim #3, Archie Kemp, Male, 13 yoa, son of local Mechanicsburg Methodist pastor.
Body located five days ago north outside the village in a field. Autopsy was refused by
the family, but eventually pushed through by Agent GARRETT. Spinal cord and nervous
ganglia riddled with cancerous growths, indicating severe metastasis for over a decade.
No associated symptoms with such a virulent and debilitating cancer were ever
previously reported or noted by the Kemp family physician.
○ Victim #4, Guy Mayer. 38 yoa, homesteader/hunter. Discovered three days ago, with his
hunting dogs, south of Mechanicsburg in the woods. Autopsy revealed abnormal
mutation in heart, revealing a dual pump system with eight chambers, four of which
appeared unused after the pericardium was further analyzed. GARRETT pursued
necropsies for the canines, but they had already been destroyed/cremated.
● Clear indications of heavy, clawed feet reportedly of a brown bear were discovered at all the
scenes. Any attempt to follow these tracks or uncover a trail have thus far been fruitless.
● GARRETT is not on the ground in Ohio as she is not a field Agent. In fact, she has already been
reassigned. This is where the team comes in. The Program is ready to track this thing down and
put a stop to it before it can continue its attacks.
● The Agents are expected, and local law enforcement has been informed that they are with the
Department of the Interior to “evaluate, capture or destroy” what appears to be a man-eater.
Their local contact operates out of the Champaign County Sheriff’s Office in Urbana: Sheriff
Martin Mevlin.
○ The Sheriff has been utilizing the county’s 28 full-time and part-time deputies in
conjunction with the 9 police officers in Mechanicsburg to organize hunting sorties with
deputized locals in order to attempt to track down the dangerous animal. He has also
issued a 5PM curfew for Mechanicsburg, despite the fact that most of the attacks likely
occurred during daylight hours.
○ Agent SNEDEGAR believes the Sheriff will expect the team to be acting as an expert
contingent of the above ongoing efforts, providing organizational and tactical support on
the ground. SNEDEGAR will warn the Agents that the Sheriff is certainly not “read in”
and could be a potential liability or a roadblock. The tragedy associated with these
attacks has him fully dedicated to personally taking down the bear through these
organized hunting sorties.
○ Agent SNEDEGAR will provide both the contact information for the County Sheriff’s
Office, as well as a cell number for direct communication with Sheriff Mevlin.

SNEDEGAR will finish the briefing by underscoring the core mission of OPERATION CROWN JUBILEE:
investigate, contain, and conceal. Only then will he open the floor for questions. SNEDEGAR knows
nothing else aside from the briefing, and he will lament the lack of good forensics analysis at the old
scenes -- he notes this is not unexpected in rural settings. Photographs were taken, and will be made
available to the team if asked. However, they will indicate nothing Unnatural. SNEDEGAR will also add
that these have been pored over by those “at a higher pay grade.”

Photographs of the tracks show that it could be from any large land mammal with clawed pads, and a
south-roaming brown bear is indeed most likely.

If Agents wish to see the bodies or further examine them, SNEDEGAR will reluctantly agree. He indicates
he would much rather the Agents focus their energies on hunting down the killer as the Program has
already dedicated resources to gleaning any clues from the victims’ bodies. He’ll sigh and reiterate that
the conclusions of those efforts have just now been transferred to the team.

The remains -- excluding those of Grover Cox, which are in California -- are being held at the Franklin
County Forensic Science Center. He will make a call to set up an appointment today with Program
Friendly Dr. Meredith Baker.

SNEDEGAR will provide short dossiers on each of the victims written by GARRETT, including addresses
and contact information for next of kin (Handout 1). He again will recommend at least checking in with
the Sheriff before beginning any overt action. He also provides the Agents with FBI smartphones that will
need to be biometrically keyed before they leave the room. He lets them know that this is the only
method of contact back to him once they leave Columbus.

Once the briefing is completed, the Agents are directed to file out to the FBI motor pool where a black
GMC SUV with government plates has been issued to them for use.
THE UNRIPENED FRUIT
Tenacious and seasoned Agents will hardly let a medical examination opportunity pass them by, no
matter how discouraging their Case Officer may be. Franklin County Forensic Science Center houses the
Coroner’s Office and processes all autopsy requests for local and federal law enforcement. Dr. Meredith
Baker has a long history with The Program, and despite the horrors she has faced within the confines of
various surgery halls, she remains curiously upbeat and sarcastic whenever dealing with the often dour
and serious Program Agents who come her way for advice and expertise.

The smiling woman will meet the Agents near the front office entry and guide them cheerfully through
several security checkpoints down into the sublevel. She is an old hand at these types of encounters, and
she will have already cleared any other staff from the area of the morgue where the bodies are being
stored.

Dr. Baker is happy to report on her findings and will also exhibit the victims’ bodies, each contained in a
separate drawer, if asked. The first victims are in later stages of decomposition, but Dr. Baker will point
out indications of the maulings and the deep, clawlike gouges that could indeed be that of a bear’s fury
-- or “maybe one of your ‘ghoulies,’ ” the doctor may smirk without further explanation.

She will also highlight the bizarre internal mutations -- not unheard of within the breadth of recorded
congenital defects in human beings, but impossible in these cases for several reasons:

● The victims would likely have had some record of these abnormalities through conventional and
incidental medical visits throughout their lives, especially the debilitating cancers found in the
Kemp boy.
● The organ redundancies in all the victims seem to be “new” -- this is especially apparent in the
pericardium of Guy Mayer, as it is “younger” in all visual and biophysical aspects when compared
to the “other side” of his double-heart.
● FORENSICS will reveal, to an Agent who has reviewed each cadaver, that a similar type of dirt or
grime is present under each victim’s fingernails. Microscopic analysis shows that in each case, it
is a unique type of lichen indigenous to subterranean environments.
● MEDICINE will prompt a 1/1D4 SAN from Unnatural upon examining the impossible mutations
present -- they are fully linked to the victims’ nervous and circulatory systems, and inexplicably
show biological evidence of “budding” from the original organs.
THE VILLAGE OF MECHANICSBURG

A Quaint Slice of Old-Fashioned American Life

Founded in 1814, settlers from in and around Virginia were awarded parcels of land in what would soon
be incorporated as Mechanicsburg in 1834. The small village has waxed and waned through the decades,
always seeming to suffer outbreaks of strife or fractionalization that did not do much to help the
settlement grow at a pace akin to nearby townships. “Today, Mechanicsburg has maintained an
old-fashioned small-town lifestyle, with an emphasis on preserving historic architecture. Where livery
stables and blacksmith shops once flourished, auto dealerships now grow; and gift shops, antique shops,
and boutiques fill the spaces once occupied by tinsmiths, harness-makers, and millinery shops. The
public library, founded in 1934, now provides not only books and magazines, but boasts videos, CD’s,
DVD’s, software, and a high-speed Internet connection to their computers for public use” (Retrieved
from https://www.mechanicsburgohio.org/history). The village population has recently been in decline
and is currently just under 1600 residents.

The oldest church, now the Mechanicsburg United Methodist, started as a wood structure built in 1820
and simply dubbed “Union Church.” It was soon replaced in 1838 with a brick building, and great cellars
were dug beneath the church for a vestry and -- rumor has it -- was used by the Underground Railroad.
Despite slavery being barred in the territory since 1802, black immigration was banned for the most part
perhaps with an eye toward maintaining good relations with slave-owning Kentucky across the river. The
cellars were connected to a series of tunnels that were later expanded for a group of rum runners, who
used them to store and move illegal spirits before and during Prohibition. These tunnels are now mostly
impassable, and known entrances are barred by various old barricades to keep the curious out due to
the danger of collapse. In 1976, a sinkhole appeared outside the village and revealed a
previously-unknown portion of the sprawling tunnels. Although now filled-in, the discovery was a
reminder that the exact range of the deteriorating tunnel system is unknown and will most likely forever
remain so.

In 1853, the Methodist congregation split over some half-forgotten (but certainly serious at the time)
disagreement, into the Trinity Methodist and First Methodist groups. Only 103 years later did both
groups finally reintegrate. The current church is built on the original site, and the structure was
dedicated in 1894. It is a Gothic Revival style edifice and was placed on the historical register in 1985.

Here are some of the thoughts older Mechanicsburgians may share about the ancient schism if asked:

● Church Elders Shiloh Kemp and Barrabas Bechler had always feuded, and finally the personal
animus grew into an unstoppable rage. Two powerful, charismatic leaders ended up causing the
split themselves, guiding those most loyal to each in opposite directions to pursue each man’s
idea of the “proper” way to praise God.
● Kemp’s daughter was found cavorting with Bechler’s no-good son, and the feud between the two
went bloody. Several congregation members became involved and it seemed it was only a
 matter of time before life was lost. The village mayor brokered a deal between the feuding
parties, and they all agreed to worship separately for one hundred years.
● A meteor stone landed in the middle of Main Street, causing all sorts of strange lights in the sky.
The religious folks took it as a bad sign from God Almighty that the feud between elders in the
Church needed to end, and they went into a state of shock and grief for 40 days and nights as
the night sky stayed lit up with divine energies. Only when Pastors Kemp and Bechler agreed to
split the congregation and praise God in their own unique ways did the signs from above end.
The meteor stone, always too hot to the touch, disappeared soon after -- sunk into Earth directly
to Hell.

Talking to any of the church members will yield much of the same -- meandering, contradictory tall tales.
Speaking directly with Pastor El’azar Kemp is probably already on the Agents’ minds as his son was one of
the recent attack victims. See section: Archie Kemp for what he may have to say about the Church’s
history.

Mechanicsburg is something out of Pleasantville -- happy, smiling, and helpful folk wave and say
“howdy” to each other as they go about their business. The villagers are talkative and treat strangers as
friends they just haven’t yet met. Folks’ clothes seem vaguely anachronistic, but not overly such. The
Blue Plate Diner serves enormous portions at prices far below those the Agents are used to. Stepping
into the village and walking its cobbled streets truly feels like traveling to another era.

The Sheriff
Sheriff Martin Mevlin is a large, round-faced man with a trim, brown moustache. He is usually a cheery
individual, in part due to the fact that his responsibilities have never once extended to overseeing such
violent and brutal attacks in his county. However, he has steadfastly dedicated himself to using all the
resources at his disposal to hunt down the man-eating bear, and he personally oversees daily hunting
sorties as the area is meticulously canvassed. He grew up in rural Ohio, knows nearly everyone in
Champaign County, and takes great umbrage at a bunch of “Park Rangers” showing up to tell him and his
men how to hunt.

Depending on how the Agents approach the Sheriff, he will -- as Agent SNEDEGAR predicted -- likely
become a problem (see Get Out of My Town).

When the Agents arrive in Mechanicsburg, the Sheriff and several deputies will make it their business to
be waiting for them. These are hardy, corn-fed midwesterners, each with prodigious beer guts and
atypically-large sidearms. The Agents may have never been involved in jurisdictional strife among law
enforcement entities, but this experience will be a rude awakening.

In no uncertain terms, Sheriff Mevlin will make it clear to the Agents that he’s putting together another
sortie to go out tonight at dusk -- and the Agents are not needed. He appreciates them making the trip,
but “frankly, we can’t have a bunch of folks from out of town falling in a ravine or sinkhole ‘cause they
don’t know the land.” He will urge the Agents to leave it to those best suited. Instead, he’s happy to
provide the locations where the victims’ remains were found, but warns them to be careful in the rocky
woods south of the village: “Lots of unstable ground thereabouts. Every other year a kid falls into a cave
or tunnel and has to be pulled out by rope. Watch your step.”

It will take SURVIVAL (-20%) and a PERSUADE to get the Sheriff to soften on joining the evening’s
hunting sorties. Other creative efforts are encouraged, but the Sheriff is very much against bringing
these “feds” out into the field while he directs his deputies and other volunteers as party leader. If they
manage to convince him, he grumbles that they’ll need their own rifles, and that they “best not be late
to meet out by the Old Kemp place” right before sundown.

Hunting sorties that are not focused on the subterranean aspects of Mechanicsburg and the outlying
areas will not meet with success, though the Agents may find the villagers much more friendly toward
them and the Sheriff more forgiving of later potential transgressions.

Huh, That’s Weird

Call for an ALERTNESS check when the Agents are moving between houses and streets to visit and
interview the kin of the victims. They will start to notice phenomena that may seem quite bizarre, but
are explainable or fleeting enough to initially only promote unease. Some examples to introduce
throughout the following (and later) village scenes, in order of increasing strangeness:

● A flickering and pulsing “mirage haze” in localized spots around the village that dissipates when
approached, but can be successfully circumnavigated from afar: above an old-fashioned lamp
post on Main Street; in the second story window of an old milliner’s building (faded painted
advertisements have been preserved on the brick facade) hosting a coffee nook and barber’s
shop; outside of the village in nearby fields.
● One lucky Agent periodically spots a five-legged black cat darting between buildings, scampering
across a balcony, chasing a butterfly in a nearby field, or any other number of feline-favorite
activities.
● The Agents pass by a florist’s -- outside, a sorrowful aproned man is shaking his head, gathering
up bunches of dead bouquets and potted plants. What was once an obviously vivid and
expansive array of flowers is now completely withered into dried and brown petals and leaves.
The man will be bewildered if questioned and remark helplessly “this is the second time in a
month that all of ‘em have done this in an afternoon -- how could this happen? Some kids’
prank?”
● Near the edge of one of the many garden squares downtown is a facsimile of a covered wagon --
it’s a mobile knick-knack shop called “Those Were The Day’s” [sic]. The elderly proprietor can be
seen yelling obscenities to passersby who in turn look concerned. A younger woman is
attempting to hurry the woman away, and the Agents might hear “she’s been doing this lately,
I’m so sorry, Doc says it’s an age thing, I’m so sorry.”
● If Agents stick around Mechanicsburg until well after nightfall, they will see -- no ALERTNESS
required -- particularly active Aurora Borealis in the sky. Locals may be stretching their necks
nearby to watch, and may also comment that “you don’t typically see Northern Lights this far
 south, but the last few nights it’s been quite active.” Another might mention that they
sometimes can see shapes in the displays -- “like old towers or cities or something.”
● A cherry red 1958 Chevy Corvette roars down main street every day at 1:42pm. Shop owners are
getting fed up, and have no idea who the car belongs to. If Agents follow the vehicle, staking out
the phenomena, it will head northeast out of town for a few miles. Soon, Agents will see the
driver lose control and speed off the highway through a fence and into a late harvest corn field,
flattening stalks and soon disappearing under the amber waves. Investigation turns up no trace
of the vehicle if Agents explore the field (SAN 1/1D4 from Unnatural). Research into the area
may turn up a drunk driving accident where a vehicle that fits the above description belonging to
a joyrider out of Dayton was found offroad in this area, the driver deceased from injury.
● When visiting the Church, the Agents may discover that some of the members are “speaking in
tongues” to one another -- and if approached politely, they continue to do so with the Agents.
Before things get too concerning, Pastor Kemp will swoop in and politely nod to his congregants,
and then let the Agents know that some of his flock have been recently touched by God. He says
that being seized by the Holy Spirit in this way is rare, but Martha and Demi have been quite
passionate and continue to help greatly around the Church. Many in the congregation are
invigorated by their “condition.” Unnatural reveals the language as Aklo (SAN 1/1D4 from
Helplessness). OTHER LANGUAGE (SUMERIAN, ETRUSCAN, COPTIC, AKKADIAN, or ANCIENT
GREEK) will reveal that this is not glossolalia -- the language spoken is structured and similar to
several dead languages, but is not precisely any of them -- and it is too divergent to be a mere
dialect. A linguist of any profession could ascertain the same after engaging with the congregants
for an extended amount of time.
ON THE TRAIL
Agent SNEDEGAR provided addresses and next of kin contact information for those who were victims of
the south-ranging brown bear. The Agents will likely wish to speak to these people in order to gather as
many clues as possible.

Amanda Boone
Amanda Boone had no next of kin, but if the Agents make the trip they will find her Mechanicsburg
home unlocked. If the team approaches this without some degree of finesse, entering the single-story
home will be inevitably noticed by attentive busybodies in the neighborhood, and word will certainly get
back to a likely-furious Sheriff Mevlin (see Get Out of My Town).

Her home is a rather impressive museum of gewgaws and trinkets, and it appears she had a penchant for
old Coca-Cola toys and ornaments from the early 20th century. However, the most notable section of her
collection is a wide array of fossils: trilobites, corals, bivalves, crinoids, and cephalopods -- she has them
all. A few are of monstrous size -- truly amazing finds for an amateur -- with her largest being a tabulate
coral that eerily resembles a massive human brain.

She has no computer in the home and doesn’t appear to even own a television set. However, she does
have a landline with a tape recorder answering machine. Although there are no pending messages, she
has scribbled many notes on a pad nearby. The majority seem utility-related. The most recent scribbling
(from a few days before she was found) reads: “Jeff from WOTS about the coral again.”

Agents with knowledge of prehistoric technology will be able to easily discover that this voice message
still exists on the tape -- it has not yet been overwritten and one can just press “play” on the answering
machine to hear it.

Hey, it's Jeff again. Listen, I'm not much of a negotiator, but uh I gotta tell ya, you got something
real special over there! Let me paint you a picture. Special backroom exhibition, classy glass
cases, felt-lined. I'm thinking "Secrets of Mu! A True Record of Our World!" Can you just see it!?
They'll be lining up around the block. Now, you know I ain't got much, so we'll call it a donation
for the tax man, but I'll give you uh... 25% of the entry fee for each truth seeker through the door.
Let me know, I got the space all set up!

Grover Cox
Calling up the parents of Grover Cox will be met with limited success. If the Agents do get them on the
phone, they will be relatively unwilling to speak for very long and nuance and finesse will likely be
necessary. They are still grief-stricken from the loss of their son, and they have no insights to impart
about the tragedy that befell him so far from home.

He was healthy, with no medical abnormalities except for a wisdom tooth abscess that required surgery.
He was an aspiring writer and loved American tall tales and cryptozoological mysteries. He promised his
parents, jokingly, that he would be back with a sasquatch riding shotgun and a freshly-penned
manuscript for his epic novel.

Archie Kemp
Out of all the recent tragedies, the killing of the young son of Pastor El’azar and N’gathlia Kemp has hit
the village of Mechanicsburg the hardest. There is a small shrine in the entry hall of the United
Methodist Church, decorated with photographs, letters of condolence, and fresh flowers. His parents are
horrified that their son’s remains were disturbed after a sudden court order, and they will be incredibly
reticent to speak at length in an open manner with federal investigators.

Approached either at home or at the Church, the couple must be persuaded or otherwise convinced to
sit for an interview. Their bitterness is tangible, and they will avoid any formal meeting by first politely
declining, and finally escalating to outbursts of anger toward the Agents for “digging up their boy.”

It is worth the Agents’ time to pursue the Kemps. With a conscientious strategy (perhaps themselves
coming from a religious background), they will be able to schedule some time to speak with them.

Archie was a great kid who helped with Church upkeep, assisting with services, and running
extracurricular activities. He was a straight-laced child and beloved by the community. The Kemps have
no idea what he was doing ranging north of the village, and they will outspokenly wonder why God is
testing them and the community in this way.

At some point during the interview, El’azar Kemp will wonder aloud if the town is truly cursed, and then
quickly hand-wave his own question aside as his wife comforts him. PERSUADE will be necessary
(perhaps bolstered by previous efforts) to get him to go into this comment in more detail, and he will
reluctantly and half-embarrassed relay part of the Kemp family history to the Agents.

It’s been passed down in his family that since the day Mechanicsburg was founded in 1814, every new
settler fell under the spell of the new land’s curse. Perhaps the malaise was set upon them from the
Shawnee who were said to actively avoid and venerate the area. Or maybe some aspect more sinister
and unknowable targeted the plucky settlers for its own whims. The God-fearing people at the time all
noted that the series of accidents, community strife, and strange mirages and lights in the sky during
those first decades had to be attributed to something more than man’s nature. At one point, the
Methodist Church split in two, with opposing factions arguing with one another about the religious
direction the community should take -- details unfortunately lost to history but known in the Kemp
family to be solely caused by this supposed curse. The congregations eventually re-unified over a
hundred years later.

Pastor Kemp says his forebear, Mordecai Kemp, starved himself in an act of abject piety and prayed away
the land’s evil at the cost of his own life soon after the schism. Even though it took many more decades,
the Kemp family believes this act of sacrifice is what has allowed the community to heal and recover
from the chaos of its nascency.
Now, with the attacks in and around Mechanicsburg, the Kemps will again wonder if the curse may have
returned. They will tell the Agents they are praying daily for God’s guidance on the matter.

When visiting a second time after shutting down the strangeness at Wild Out There Stuff, the Kemps will
be instrumental in showing the Agents the ancient cellars beneath the Church and tell them about the
daemon stone that has been supposedly buried there since old Mordecai Kemp gave his life to save the
village.

Guy Mayer
A longtime resident of the area, Guy Mayer was a homesteader and avid hunter. Before the discovery of
his body, he attended the first sortie put together by Sheriff Mevlin immediately after the death of the
Kemp boy. He, like many, took Archie’s gruesome end particularly badly, and against Mevlin’s
recommendations often went out at night to search for the killer bear. Mayer abandoned a consistent
sleep schedule and spent all his time outside the homestead on the hunt.

Mayer lived alone, surrounded by a menagerie of chickens, goats, and an expansive set of fabric-tarped
greenhouses. Currently, his neighbor Judith Greene is taking care of his animals while it is decided how
best to deal with his property. He has no recorded next of kin and no formal will.

If the homestead is visited, the Agents will find a crabby Judith within a large, wire-caged chicken coop
trying to keep the fowl from befouling their own water trough. “Have no idea why Guy didn’t opt for an
automatic waterer like everyone else,” she may curse as she wipes her gloved hands and emerges to chat
with the Agents.

She knew Guy well, and he often worked on her own ranch a few miles up the road as a hand for hauling
lumber or putting up fences. She couldn’t bear to see his good animals go hungry, and she and her
husband have been pulling double homesteading duties to keep them healthy.

She’ll openly say that Guy was a stubborn man, but he loved the kids of the village. He worked with the
Mechanicsburg Area Senior High School’s Gun Club and taught most of the kids gun safety and survival
basics. He went a “bit off the bend” with the news of Archie, and Judith knows he was hunting and
ranging around the area at all hours hoping to be the one to put a bullet into that “damned bear’s skull.”

She’s happy to give the Agents access to anything at the homestead that might help the “bear task
force.” Guy’s home is a testament to a life of a proud hunter, with trophies decorating his walls, several
chest freezers full of plastic-wrapped elk and deer meat, and a rifle collection that would rival the nearby
National Guard Armory.

Guy Mayer apparently was also an amateur taxidermist, and his garage has been fitted to provide all the
necessary tools and chemicals for the hobby. Reeking of preservatives, the Agents will find that his most
recent project -- the bizarre fusion of several deer necks and heads onto one body -- is still unfinished.
Judith will laugh when this is brought up. “Guy and old Jeff from the weirdo store on the 36 used to
make little novelties for the shop -- Jeff still has Guy’s first jackalope under glass up there. This was going
to be a masterpiece: the great Cervidae Cerberus!” She will chuckle and shake her head.

Judith is happy to talk about the eccentric Jeff Jenkins, who has been a fixture in the area for years with
his bizarre roadside shop. She’s not much into that kind of thing herself, but she knows Jeff brings in
passersby by the dozens and has a sort of “showman’s energy” about him that endears folks. She’ll give
the Agents directions if they don’t already know about Wild Out There Stuff, exclaiming that his
“Crosswick Monster” statue alone is worth the trip.
THE SCENES OF THE CRIMES
The Agents will likely wish to visit some of the locations where the victims were discovered. These are
outdoor, uncontrolled environments, and there will be little to glean at this stage. The Handler is
encouraged to echo SNEDEGAR’s warnings about this if the Agents seem persistently drawn to these
sites.

If the team insists, at least reward a successful SURVIVAL (-20%) with the insight that the
weather-affected tracks at the latest scene (Mayer’s) do indeed resemble a bear’s paw print in size and
weight distribution, but the number of claws seem off -- nine impressions are clear in several of the
time-marred tracks. The trail leads north, but soon becomes invisible and can no longer be traced.
WILD OUT THERE STUFF
From Route 36, Wild Out There Stuff looks like a mishmash of shabby buildings that have malignantly
spawned other corrugated steel and wooden addendums over time for no real reason other than to
grotesquely inhabit this highway-adjacent stretch of scrubland. There is an expanse to the left of the
misshapen structures that resembles a rusty junkyard, full of weatherbeaten kitchen appliances,
hollowed-out vehicle frames, and other oxidized skeletons from another era.

But the main attraction is the 30-foot tall TIG welded masterpiece towering over the highway: what
appears to be an enormous scrap metal dinosaur with strong-looking forearms and opposable digits
holding the shop’s neon signage for all travelers to view.

Agents may be dismayed to see the shop is currently closed. The sign hanging in the door’s window
reads “Closed - The Truth is Out There and so am I!”. No store hours are posted, and the listed phone
number rings twice before heading to the business’ generic voicemail. However, the front door is
unlocked.

Walking around the property before entering reveals more junk appliances and other unidentifiable
objects stacked in heaps. There is a curiously clean clawfoot bathtub half-sunken in dried mud in the
back, though no apparent additional entrance to the building. There is only one car in the gravel parking
lot, and it appears to belong to the proprietor if judged by the exceptional number of Wild Out There
Stuff stickers appended to its bumper and rear window.

Inside the front entryway, visitors are greeted by a six-foot tall carbon fiber statue of a smiling
chupacabra flashing a cartoonish but toothy grin. Rows of shelves, display cases, racks, and exhibition
stands line the floor beyond, creating a haphazard maze of crypto-ambrosia. Jeff Jenkins could be
described as a hoarder, and truly no specimen that he ever once found compelling could be prohibited
from his shop’s floor. As such, the shop is littered with toys and knick knacks as well as obvious hoax
articles with tongue-in-cheek placards lovingly appended.

There is a rack of handmade brochures near the clerk’s counter which is covered in bigfoot, Martian, and
various cryptid gewgaws that are for sale. The brochures are clearly made in-house:

● “UFO Watchers Guide!” (A list of spots in the local area to camp and watch for alien activity)
● “The Great Crosswick Monster (and other local mysteries)!” (Shows a picture of a poorly drawn
lizard next to a photograph of the statue outside the shop. Tells the story of the Crosswick
Monster and hints that “it may still lurk even today!” while listing a plethora of recent
“sightings” that do not have enough detail to follow up on)
● “Ghost Tour!” (A list of haunted spots in the area. The claims here are very dubious, but it could
make good reading for those who enjoy gory murder stories)

There are some truly puzzling items in this roadside museum of the weird. The Handler is encouraged to
add to this list, bringing in memorable but otherwise insignificant items from past operations.
● A small vial of white liquid under a glass case, labeled “Real Blood from a Zeta Reticulan!” If
Agents examine it closely or shine a bright light on the vial, they will see the strange, viscous
liquid move around of its own accord then soon return to stillness.
○ Handler’s Note: this is a relatively harmless amount of Protomatter. However, if it is
removed from its vial and allowed to touch a human being’s skin, it will startlingly sink
through the epidermis and disappear, leaving behind only a chilly sensation. This will not
cause any immediate negative effects, but the affected person will not know this. 1/1D4
SAN from Unnatural.
● A large unidentifiable crustacean that has been carefully painted with a preserving enamel,
partially damaged and missing some of its exoskeleton and legs. If it was uncurled from its sickly
fetal position, it would measure about a foot and a half long. For a biologist or zoologist it clearly
doesn’t conform to any known species and must be a mutant or a manmade facsimile. A
FORENSICS expert might note that the damage seems to be from a 9mm bullet. A plaque reads
“Found in the stomach of an unlucky soul! What might be hitching a free ride right now with
YOU!”
● A few slivers of quartz gems. The plaque reads “Alien Energy Crystals, might still work!” These
are for sale, $4.99 a piece. There are no additional instructions provided.
○ Handler’s Note: these are damaged Enolsis crystals. Interacting with them is likely
harmless, unless certain meditative states are attempted. In this unlikely case, effects
could be incredibly unpredictable and likely lethal. See the classic scenario: “The New
Age.”
● A strange tarot card in a sleeve case and behind a glass display. The artistic detail is quite
intricate. It is titled “IV: L’Empereur.” The figure depicted is a hunched, yellow-hooded man
holding a mask in front of his face. It appears to have long horns emanating from the eye
sockets. The man is wearing a crown and appears to be judging the viewer. Anyone who takes
particular notice of this card will feel like it reminds them of something, but they won’t be able
to quite place what that is. Taking possession of the card will open the Agent up to the
corruptive influence of the King in Yellow.
● “Notebook of spree killer Michael Wei!!!” reads another placard. Underneath the glass is a
tattered black and white composition book. It does not appear significant in the least.
○ Handler’s Note: This is a set of handwritten notes containing reams of mathematical
formulae. Only an Agent trained in SCIENCE (Mathematics) or SCIENCE (Physics) can
make any sense of them. Treat the notebook as an Unnatural Tome in terms of study
time, which should take months. SAN Loss is 3D6. The Agent will begin to notice the
“Laqueus Equation” everywhere, losing an additional 1D6 SAN a day. They will soon find
that the numbers are “leading them somewhere.” If and when they hit their Breaking
Point, they will become obsessed with the Equation and eventually they will be led to
committing heinous acts (see scenario: “The Last Equation”).
● A monstrous-looking petrified uncloven hoof on an exhibit stand. It appears 3-6 times larger
than a typical modern-day horse. It seems ancient, but could easily be a convincing facsimile. A
placard reads “That’s right, kids! Touch the great hoof of the Owlshead Screamer! Shed while
 running away from a brave hunter and hard as a rock! Wouldn’t want to run into this big guy in
the dark!”
● Guy Mayer’s very well-crafted Jackalope, under glass. “Finally caught one of these little devils!
Behold the ancient and feared Jack-a-lope!”
● Finally, what appears to be the prize of Jeff’s collection near the entrance to his workshop will
fall into view. A large, head-height exhibition case has been shattered, and what was once on
display is certainly no longer present. The placard reads “Meta-materials: unknown alien alloys
from a crashed spaceship!!” FORENSICS makes it clear the glass was shattered from inside.

The Agents will find the array of artifacts bewildering in scope. There are a total of thirteen separate and
very diverse “pelts of the Sasquatch!” scattered about, decreasing in impressiveness as one encounters
them, until the final specimen appears to be a “Husky” child’s Halloween costume spray-painted a fading
silver color.

At a point best chosen by the Handler, Agents will pass through the curtained divider leading into an
“Employees & Fellow Travelers Only! No Narcs!” section of the building. Immediately inside, Agents will
find a junk-scattered hallway lined with wooden shelves and fasteners. Cleaning supplies and brooms, as
well as boxes of Funko toys and other stock line the walls. Passing through the closed door at the end
leads directly to Jeff’s workshop and sealed garage.

Come On, I Was in the Middle of Something

Jeff has been exploring his digital copy of Monstres and Their Kynde now for several weeks. Until most
recently, the only wisdom his research yielded was a surefire method to distract himself from a healthy
sleep schedule. But soon that all changed, and with his blind experimentation came a cascade of
unpredictable alterations to his nearby surroundings, some with dire and far-reaching effects.

Beyond stirring the vibrational energies of a nearby dormant Lloigor expression, Jeff succeeded in
performing a feat that would “...pulleth in the ancient thoughts of out’r gaze’rs, across collied eon.”

The Intelligence that Jeff inexplicably wrenched from “across the lines of twisting beasts and blinded
gods” bellowed in agony as it bled its essence across unknowable spans, forced by Jeff’s ignorant and
flawed practices into a tiny, cumbersome, and absolutely limited husk. It took the Intelligence a little
over fourteen hours to regain some semblance of coherence. Unfortunately, the process took much
energy, and the consciousness of Jeff had to be slowly consumed in the process.

Standing up in its new environs, the Intelligence began to take stock of its prison. It appeared to be a
damaged vehicle with severely restricted perceptions and an incredibly finite amount of energy available
to perform the most basic of tasks. The Intelligence wandered the workshop and the exhibit floor for a
few hours, piecing together the scope of its fate, and it soon understood the urgent severity of its new
condition.
Unfortunately for the ponderous Intelligence, Jeff had customers. As it wandered through Wild Out
There Stuff in a daze, hands stiffly poised above Jeff’s head in an attempt to approximate a sensory
apparatus it was more familiar with, the entity presented a more-than-eccentric appearance to those
unfamiliar with the shop. Visitors either ignored the strange man, or attempted cautiously to ask him
retail-specific questions. These were often answered at-length, but with puzzling expressions that caused
consternation and frustration in these would-be patrons. A Yelp review has recently been penned
outlining the poor service from the “weirdo owner.”

The Intelligence, slowly gaining a muted sense of comfort in its restricted surroundings, continued to
interact with customers, asking in its own stilted fashion for “assistance with the organization of
piezoelectric divergence,” until a particularly frustrated truck driver flipped the shop’s sign to Closed.
Since then, there have been no visitors, though the Intelligence has watched many travelers stop to take
pictures with the enormous statue outside, emotionlessly staring at them through a window.

In the last 72 hours, the Intelligence has been using items from in and around Wild Out There Stuff to
create the proper conditions to send itself somewhere else, hopefully at least where it is somewhat
more comfortable. It realizes that it has little time, as its mere presence in Jeff’s body is causing it to
degrade at a rapid pace -- and Jeff’s body wasn’t in great shape to begin with. To this end, it is currently
lying on the bare concrete floor of Jeff’s workshop, surrounded above by three strange, flickering orbs
that seem to pulse and crackle with silent energy. Each is a dull purple hue, and stepping too close to
them can be lethal. A strange black chunk of rock and metal orbits midair in a lazy ellipse, passing
through all three orbs as it completes its journey, over and over. The material appears to be full of
hexagonal tubules and does not appear natural. Other metal objects -- tools, nuts and bolts, trays,
appliances -- inexplicably hang motionless in the air, suspended by some unseen web.

Jeff himself -- or the entity within him -- lies in the center of this maddening display, a dried puddle of
blood underneath him and a wicked-looking dagger lodged in his abdomen. All color has left his face, but
he remains conscious. He has been on the floor, slowly bleeding, for almost seven hours.

Things Best Left Alone

To truly take in this panorama of impossible violations of implicit reality means a SAN 1/1D4 from
Unnatural. The stillness of the scene, and apparent lack of imminent danger, softens the psychological
blow of seeing the laws of physics completely upended in this localized area of the shop. As Agents begin
to walk forward among a plethora of floating, immovable objects, one of the large purple orbs will begin
to pulse faster and faster, emanating a dull hum that scratches persistently at the base of their skulls. At
this moment, Jeff will open his eyes and turn his head to face them.

“Do not engage without coverage. The fracture will take from you too quickly.”

His voice is soft, effete, and lilting; not at all suitable for the bearded and paunchy man sprawled and
bloody before them. His shirt reads “GET WILD AT WILD OUT THERE STUFF ROUTE 36” with a crude
graphic of the Crosswick Monster. A dagger hilt is conspicuously lodged directly into the chest of the
cartoon lizard.

The Agents, heeding the man’s warning, will avoid losing one Willpower per round by continuing
forward and attempting to avoid the many floating obstacles between them and the clearing where Jeff
lies injured. Those who fall to 0 WP due to the effects of the orbs will then proceed to lose 1 POW per
round until dead or removed from the area of effect. The latter loss is permanent.

The Agents will have many questions for Jeff. Below are some provided dialogue examples for how this
scene might play out.

● Agent: “Who are you?”

Jeff: “A prisoner, a mote captured in dark light, a bending of finite lengths over a bisected, infinite
sphere.”

● Agent: “What happened here?”

Jeff: “Sparks, begetting more sparks. Failed to complete my sending, keys were sooty, and black.”

● Agent: “You’re bleeding! We should help you!”

Jeff: ”The fracture will take from you too quickly without coverage. I took great care not to break
the largest structures inside the prison. Still have a couple hours.”

● Agent: “What...what can we do?”

Jeff: “Finish. Open fracture to breach. Let me leave.”

● Agent: “How?”

Jeff: “Coverage. 1s22s22p63s23p1. Or disruption, but then you must start again and I am too weak.
1s22s22p63s23p63d104s24p64d105s25p64f145d106s26p65f66d07s2.”

● Agent: “Wait, what does that mean?”

Jeff: “Coverage, or disruption. Then you can use the keys and finish.” He will nod toward a bloody,
open laptop that floats motionless next to his shoulder -- the screen just out of view of both him
and the Agents.

● Agent: “So we can’t just make our way in there and grab that laptop?”
 Jeff: “The fracture will take from you too quickly. It will take from you and feed
that-which-has-been-disturbed. You will heal it. And it will hunt again. All connected. An
obscenity beyond ken.” Jeff’s voice will become choked, almost as if he is about to sob. No further
emotion can be detected.

● Agent: “Whoa, what? That sounds like the thing we’re looking for!”

Jeff: “The webworm below, writhing in tunnels. Listening to prayers. Eating the dreams.”

● Agent: “How do we find it? How do we kill it?”

Jeff: “Focus point is cracked. Break it further with flame and powder. Bury the remains behind
stone and forget. The hardest is to forget. Remove the memories or it may vibrate again.”

● Agent: “What if we just...blow everything in here up? Or light it on fire?”

Jeff: “Then I will not be sent.”

Coverage, Disruption, Guile, Destruction

The Intelligence will directly ask the Agents to finish the Ritual it had begun in order to free itself from
Jeff’s body. This means following a very simple formula:

1. Close in on Jeff’s Dell laptop, which is currently displaying pages 58-59 of Monstres and Their
Kynde;
2. Read the marred pages to Jeff;
3. Once Jeff has realized his previous miscalculation, follow his subsequent instruction to remove
the runed buck knife from his abdomen and then drive it into the space below his solar plexus.

Upon completing these steps, all of the floating objects in the workshop will crash upon the concrete
floor nearly simultaneously. The energetic purple orbs will blink out of sight, and the orbiting
“meta-materials” will fall to the ground with a dull thud. And Jeff will slump to the ground, imparting a
few final words, before finally dying (SAN 1/1D6 from Violence for the participant, 1/1D4 from
Helplessness for spectators).

Getting to the laptop and assisting Jeff, however, is no simple task. Due to the bizarre arrangement of
immovable items, getting through this obstacle course is nearly impossible. Even the smallest washer or
nut cannot be moved and could force even the greatest contortionist to reevaluate their approach to the
center of the workshop floor. The question is one of time -- how long can one last before the orbs kill
them?

Due to the nature of what the Intelligence has done, there is no way to fend off the effects of the orbs
and the “meta-materials.” It will normally take someone 20 rounds to maneuver through the strange
kaleidoscope of fixed garbage. It will take another 20 rounds to read one of the passages to Jeff. It will
take 3 more rounds to stab Jeff, ending the lethal effect.

● A LUCK roll decreases the initial navigation rounds by 6

● An ATHLETICS roll decreases the initial navigation rounds by 4
● An INTELLIGENCE roll decreases the initial navigation rounds by 6
● A LUCK roll decreases the reading rounds by 10 -- the Agent chose a relevant passage to recite
from the two viewable pages, and Jeff grokked the previous miscalculation quickly
● A MELEE WEAPON roll decreases the number of rounds needed to stab Jeff to 1

Certain Rituals or Artifacts may inform the Agents that they need to stock up on WP, likely also through
Unnatural means, before attempting to force their way to the laptop. Otherwise, they are likely to fall
unconscious, or worse.

The Intelligence will envision the electron configurations of substances it knows are present in its current
environs. The first string of numbers refers to Aluminum; the second, to Plutonium.

SCIENCE (Physics, Chemistry) sparks the Agent’s attention, and they realize what the strings of numbers
and letters correspond to immediately, perhaps using their smartphone to decipher them -- Jeff is happy
to repeat them on request, ad nauseum. Any other SCIENCE needs to be made at -20%. INT is at -40%.

● If “Coverage/Aluminum” is used -- the Agents will find that using store-bought aluminum foil to
cover their heads seems to ward off the effects of the orbs. Jeff will nod with appreciation and
encouragement as the newly-capped Agents make their way to him at the center of the
workshop.

● If “Disruption/Plutonium” is used, the Agents will need to first get their hands on the substance.
Micrograms can be obtained through legitimate research channels from Oak Ridge National
Laboratories. This is a very high profile acquisition. The Program will likely be unable to assist,
and treat any attempts to obtain Plutonium through other channels as Extreme. Unshielding
even one microgram in the vicinity of the orbs will slowly limit their effectiveness over the
course of several hours until they blink away. Jeff will then guide the Agents to start at the
beginning of the Ritual, asking them to rub thermal paste on their brows and sip from a nearby
ashtray what looks like mercury (Lethality 10%). They will need to speak -- in tandem -- several
lines from Montres and Their Kynde, and then proceed to re-orient the knife within Jeff’s chest
as above.

● Guile. There are other ways to view the turned-away laptop screen and read the passages to Jeff.
Ingenious Agents may use much of the junk and spare equipment outside of Wild Out There
Stuff to rig up a telescoping apparatus with an old automobile mirror attached to the end. Crude,
but effective. Any other creative approaches should be rewarded with success.
 ● Destruction. Agents can destroy the unnatural event using explosives or arson. This will forever
trap the Intelligence in the charred remains of Jeff, where it will rail against its imprisonment for
untold eons. Its pain and tortured moans will be heard by others of its kind, eventually, and they
will seek out a sort of emotionless retribution for one or more of the Agents at some appropriate
time determined by the Handler. However, SAN from Violence or Helplessness losses aside, this
will halt the dangerous phenomena at Wild Out There Stuff.

Upon receiving the dagger into his chest, Jeff will appear quite serene as blood pours forth in great gouts
from the new wound onto the floor. “The one you hunt will keep hunting. Find the focus, the stone,
underneath where masses sing. Break it with fire, with powder. Bury it all behind stone. Forget. I will
watch. I will look at you. Forever.”
CHURCH SUNDAY
The Agents have encountered a preternatural Intelligence at Wild Out There Stuff, and one way or
another have sent it on its way. However, it left them with haunting words: Jeff’s efforts which caused
the Intelligence to inhabit his body has created ripples of malignant alteration across the region -- the
most notable being awakening a hunter-like being that moves through the subterranean tunnels below
Mechanicsburg. The Intelligence has pointed the Agents toward the United Methodist Church to further
“break the focus point” and hopefully stop the thing’s spree.

The Agents are likely to encounter Pastor El’azar Kemp again at some point and attempt to convince him
to help them understand the Intelligence’s strange instructions. However, many options exist for the next
scenes, including merely pointing the Sheriff and his hunting retinues to the old tunnels underneath the
village with convincing argument or conjured evidence. The team might simply sit back and wait for the
men to stalk the unknown creature on their behalf. What follows are brief scenes for the Handler’s
convenience to provide guidance for the majority of options the Agents may employ. As always, creative
approaches should be rewarded, no matter how seemingly doomed to failure.

The Kemps Rise Again

Re-engaging the Kemps either at the United Methodist Church or at their home with wild tales of buried
magic stones and hunting horrors will, surprisingly, persuade El’azar to open up about more of his
family’s history. With eyes wide, he will tell the Agents that his forebear Mordecai was said, in the
moments immediately before his death, to have called down a great bolt of fire from the sky to strike a
cursed daemon stone at the center of the town’s troubles. He will also relate that when the vestry was
remodeled back in the 80s, his grandfather showed him the “old bones” of the church. He told young
El’azar that bootleggers’ tunnels ran all around and underneath the church, and one of the old entrances
was right beneath their vestry. El’azar recalls seeing the hard-packed dirt ravines from above during the
lengthy foundation work, supported only by flimsy wooden braces. He also spotted what looked like old
bunks, which his grandfather told him were sometimes used to hide slaves who had just come over from
Kentucky.

Young El’azar was fascinated by the tunnels, and more than once snuck into the empty worksite to
explore as far as he could with a tiny toy flashlight. When his grandfather found out, he was furious.
Normally a restrained and stoic man, he seemed full of a rage fueled by burning fear. He chastised El’azar
and swatted him until his rear turned purple. His grandfather desperately admonished his grandson,
telling him that Mordecai’s daemon stone lay buried down there and could never be disturbed.

The work was soon finished, and El’azar always afterward remained fearful of dark, enclosed spaces. He
was not so frightened of the tunnels themselves -- but instead feared the unseen cause behind the
incredible transformation and sudden pusillanimous trembling from his stately grandfather. El’azar
doesn’t know what’s down there, but he fears whatever caused the elder Kemp such terror.

However, if the Agents are certain that the stone needs to be unearthed -- and that the daemon within
has become free and indeed cruelly murdered his dear boy in perhaps some sort of revenge on the
Kemp line -- he will muster his courage and vigor, kiss N’gathlia Kemp, and march down into the vestry
with the (hopefully) well-armed Agents in tow.

Pastor Kemp will take a wrecking bar from church storage and pry away some of the stone tiles from the
vestry floor. This will only take a few minutes before it’s clear that there are great hollows beneath the
Church’s old foundation beams -- hollows that connect to what Kemp identifies as “the old rum-runner
tunnels.” Carrying flashlights, weapons, and any other tools they may need, the Agents and Pastor Kemp
begin making their way through the most accessible branch of tunnels connected to their newly-forced
entrance. Pastor Kemp seems to know the tunnels well, retracing his childhood steps with both naive
nostalgia and heavy trepidation.

Some of the tunnels allow for standing height, with enough space for three people to walk abreast.
Sometimes they become quite cramped, forcing the team to crouch and move in single file. Before long,
the Agents end up in a large room with more wooden supports than any of the tunnels they have yet
traveled through. There are alcoves here, mostly empty. However, a few appear to contain a dirty linen
cloth covering what must be human remains. The ceiling is about eight feet high, and the entire
dirt-walled chamber is about thirty feet in diameter, peppered with many vertical wooden supports.

Pastor Kemp will gasp and exclaim, “This -- this is the old church’s original vault. I had no idea there were
still remains interred here!”

Astute Agents will notice large, clawed and padded tracks everywhere in this room, leading not only back
into the tunnel they just emerged from, but to several other exits around the periphery of the chamber.
It’s clear that these tracks were not left by a brown bear, if that question indeed arises. Pastor Kemp will
-- as reverently as he can muster -- carefully check the remains interred in the room. As he does so, call
for an ALERTNESS. The sound of something heavy and thick sliding underneath the chamber can be
heard, and perhaps felt, below the Agents’ feet.

The Lloigor construct is incredibly resilient, and within these enclosed spaces the Agents have little hope
of surviving going toe-to-toe with it. Despite its incomplete nature and significant derangement, it will
use the twisting tunnels to move in and out of the chamber, snake-like, and attack or grab any unwitting
Agent in the process, likely killing them. It is recommended to allow for plenty of DODGE rolls and other
acrobatic feats as the creature weaves in and out of the room, cutting through their ranks like a knife
through butter.

It is recommended to play fast and loose here. The Construct toys with the Agents (as with its previous
victims), crawling past them and allowing for brief glimpses of its enormous bulk. The Agents will see
sudden glances of a multitude of crawling, grasping legs lining its svelte and scaly body, growing and
shrinking in size as it skitters impossibly fast through the chamber. Thick forelegs propel the thing,
bristling with talons across several seemingly gratuitous points of articulation. Its wide, toothy mouth
resembles that of a monitor, though it has no eyes or other apparent sensory features.
At some point, Pastor Kemp will discover the remains of his great forebear, Mordecai Kemp, and will
exclaim his discovery in the middle of the chaos. He will call for the Agents to rush over, and they will
find a large, cracked viridian stone in the hands of a blackened corpse. Its skeletal hands are inexplicably
fused into the stone, shadowed bone twisting into the object and appearing as contorted, spiralling veins
beneath the stone’s glossy surface.

Now is the time for the Agents to make their move -- hopefully setting a charge and running for their
lives out of the tunnels. Or perhaps they take the stone with them -- an approach certain to keep a
sizable pursuer hot on their heels. Harming the stone with “fire and powder” will immediately cause the
Lloigor construct to cease all movement as energies reflexively return to the focus stone and attempt to
stave off fatal damage. This could dramatically occur just in the nick of time if the Agents are very lucky.

Whatever the approach: a dramatic exit from the tunnels into the gloomy Methodist vestry as the
survivors choke up dust and scramble out of the collapsing tunnels is unquestionably called for.

Leave It to the Professionals

The Agents may decide to go it alone, stealing into the United Methodist Church during the dead of night
to search for hidden passages to the rumored tunnel system. Or, they may have located sinkholes or
dangerous ravines in the surrounding area already and attempt to use those in the hopes that they will
connect to the area under the Church hinted at by the Intelligence.

This is a far more difficult task, and the Agents will need to be very skilled and very lucky to traverse and
map the tunnel system without Pastor Kemp. This could take days or weeks, and may be extremely
dangerous. However, tenacious and skilled Agents should find the old church vault and the above scene
should play out similarly.

During such expeditions, other victims of the Lloigor construct will be found. The Handler is encouraged
to choose casualties most appropriate to drive the urgency of the task at hand.

Outsourcing the Unnatural

The Agents may shrewdly decide that the town should take care of the creature on its own. They may lay
out clues, directives, or outright mandates that the Sheriff’s sorties focus their attention on the tunnel
systems. This will undoubtedly result in the deaths of many as the locals take on a protracted and
difficult labor to traverse dangerous and unstable subterranean terrain. The hunters will eventually cause
an accidental collapse that ends up disturbing the foundations of part of downtown Mechanicsburg. A
mammoth sinkhole will appear, very suddenly, and two historical buildings will crumble into dust. A
massive cloud will hang over the city as first responders from all over the state travel to dig through the
rubble and attempt to locate any sign of survivors. The horrific incident will receive national coverage,
and the remains of over thirty villagers will eventually be found.
The unnatural phenomena in Mechanicsburg, however, will indeed cease as both the construct and the
chamber housing its focus stone are completely buried under tons of rock -- sealing the evil away for
another spell or two.
SAN REWARDS AND PENALTIES

● The construct has been destroyed or trapped (+1D10)

● The viridian stone has been sealed behind “stone” (+1D4)
● The Agents and Kemps have been “made to forget” (+1D20)
● Pastor Kemp was killed, ending the Kemp line forever (-1D6)
● Tragedy has struck Mechanicsburg, with either wide scale tunnel collapse or the continued
operations of the Lloigor (-1D8)
APPENDIX I: GET OUT OF MY TOWN

Sheriff Mevlin will not abide any disregard for his authority in all matters concerning the people of
Champaign County or the hunting down of the dangerou man-eating brown bear. Disrespect or threats
will only harden his stance, and he is someone who will have the Agents arrested if they perform any
extralegal action without his explicit say-so.

Threats or coercion fall flat with him. He simply doesn’t care if the Governor himself walks down Main
Street to tear him a new one -- he simply won’t have a bunch of high-falutin’ feds making a mess of his
operation. Kids’ lives are at stake, and these strangers need to butt out.

If the Agents do end up imprisoned, the Program will eventually send word down to the Sheriff’s Office
that they are to be immediately released. The Sheriff will have his deputies strip the Agent’s down to
their underclothes and drop them off outside Dayton city limits, throwing their guns and possessions out
of a departing Sheriff’s vehicle window.

It’s best to make nice with the man from the get-go.
APPENDIX II: STATISTICS

Lloigor-Controlled Quasi-Dinosaurian Construct

STR 41 CON 41 DEX 11 INT 29 POW 21
HP 41 WP 21
ARMOR: 8 points of scaly integument (see RESILIENT)
SKILLS: Alertness (30%), Surgery (90%)
ATTACKS
● Huge, bony talons (70%), Lethality 20%, Armor Piercing 5
● Savage Bite (50%), Lethality 30%, Armor Piercing 10
● Tail Sweep (50%) (see TAIL SWEEP)
RESILIENT: A successful Lethality roll does not destroy the construct, but inflicts HP damage equal to the
Lethality rating.
TAIL SWEEP: The construct can sweep all characters in a broad arc behind it. On a successful attack, roll
2D10. If the total is higher than a swept character’s DEX, the character is knocked prone. Apply the higher
of the two dice as damage to all characters hit. Attempts to Dodge the sweep are at −20%.
TELEKINETIC FOCUS: While possessing/operating a construct, the Lloigor TELEKINESIS power costs half
the usual WP.
UNNATURAL BIOLOGY: The construct’s physiology would baffle any biologist. Making a called shot for
“vitals” or another apparently vulnerable area inflicts normal damage, with no special game effect.
SAN LOSS: 0/1D6

Monstres and Their Kynde

English, author unknown, 16th c. (1577 ed)

A single folio version of the handwritten book existed and that was stolen from the British Museum in
1898. Rumors of other copies continue to persist to this day, though none has been verified. Contains a
jumble of topics drawn from the Necronomicon, Book of Eibon, and a variety of other tomes. Many
entities are discussed, including Cthulhu, Yog-Sothoth, and Lloigor. This particularly damaged collection
of poor digital copies provides incomplete insight, but it is nonetheless incredibly dangerous.

SAN Loss 1D3

Unnatural +1/+3
Study: 18 weeks
Rituals: Command Outer Gazers (Summon/Bind Yithian), Call ye Serpent Invisible (Summon/Bind Star
Vampire), and Hail Thy Steed (Summon/Bind Byakhee).
APPENDIX III: HANDOUTS

Handout 1