#they can jointly cast calm emotions

[teecupangel]

Submitted by @saberamane

So…I’ve had another plot idea attack me at work today that I thought I’d share.

It’s a combo soulmate/super power au but with a twist.

Everyone in this au has some sort of power and at least 1 soulmate, and the soulmate can be platonic or romantic, but you don’t know which one it is, and it’s a predetermined factor. So you can’t meet a platonic soulmate and change them into a romantic one, and a romantic one can’t be changed into a platonic one, so a romantic soulmate always has some level of intimacy to the other.

I should add romantic soulmates don’t force feelings of love on the other person. It can be something like a best friend you sometimes have sex with. A friends with benefits if you will.

Now where the two mingle in the point of the plot. You have a power on your own, but your power gets stronger, or an ‘upgrade’ with your soulmate.

So my idea was Desmond’s power would be something like a dream-walker, which would be a 'psychic’ based power. I feel it would fit him, and eludes to the Animus. (also, I should mention that alone Desmond can only dream-walk in his soulmate’s dreams.) Clay could be his platonic (or romantic if you’d want) soulmate. Clay’s power is electric/tech based. So he can basically unlock any sort of tech, be it a phone, computer, or a biometric lock.

Their power together would allow Desmond to basically 'dream walk’ in technology that Clay basically 'plugs’ him into. And Desmond would be able to absorb whatever knowledge they’re looking for in the computer. It’d be faster than searching the device and reading it. And while they’re connected, any knowledge Desmond gets from the device is automatically shared with Clay.

Altair’s power would have to be knowledge based. Also psychic based. Maybe his power is kind of like an opposite of Clay’s, in that he can absorb knowledge from simply touching something? Like he can touch a book and have it memorized word for word. It also makes him a cheat in academics, because he doesn’t even have to try.

For his power combo with Desmond, I’m thinking it would allow one of them to enter someone else’s mind. Basically mind reading? Only for Desmond/Altair it’s like they’re actually standing in someone’s mind, kind of like the animus loading screen. They can hear the persons thoughts as if it’s their own.

Ezio…I so want Ezio’s to be something sexual because of how he is. But maybe it’s more of a 'desire’. Alone Ezio can feel what other people desire, like money, sex, a job, free coffee, etc. And with Desmond Ezio would be able to project false desires to other people. Like he could make an abstergo guard let them into somewhere they shouldn’t be because he projects the desire to help them into the guard. And something this powerful would have a time limit, so it would wear off eventually.

Ratonhnhaké:ton’s is probably going to sound lazy but…he can talk to animals? Any animal, even fish. And maybe even transform into a few. And Desmond’s combo power with Ratonhnhaké:ton would allow him to see through an animal’s eyes, like in the Layla trilogy the main assassin has a pet bird they can 'see’ through.

I should add that most 'combo’ moves can only be used if the two people are touching. Like holding hands. Maybe some powers can be used alone once the soulmate bond has been activated, but it’s weaker or has a chance of failing.

Altair, Ezio, and Ratonhnhaké:ton can also have soulmate bonds with each other if you want, but they’re all connected to Desmond regardless. (And lets be real, whether they were romantic or platonic bonds, Desmond would date all of them regardless.)

(One last minute thing that popped into my head. For an Altair/Ezio combo, maybe Ezio can project his desire to learn something, and Altair would be able to 'transfer’ the knowledge to him.)

===========================

Additions by teecup:

We can have this idea?

Being soulmates means these two people will bring the best of each other and help each other to reach their dreams and aspirations. The soulmate system does not force any feelings at all, the feelings they develop are theirs to cultivate.

For Clay and Desmond: I’m just imagining Desmond getting ‘plugged’ to have this main character gets sucked into a Tron-like miniworld with antivirus programs appearing as patrolling guards and encrypted or password protected information having minigames that needs a bit of time to unlock.

Altaïr’s power sounds like psychometry but it’s a knowledge based psychometry where he can gain knowledge of what’s written in books. When he touches something else, maybe he gets their composition? Like touching a belt would tell him what kind of animal was used for the leather, what metals were used and how they were crafted (to know who used it, he’d have to touch it longer). This means he’s almost always wearing gloves that covers his hands. When combined with Desmond’s power, this becomes half-Animus Loading Screen half-White Void that appears when they assassinate someone. It also takes practice for them to get a hang of the target’s thoughts because they are dealing with 3 thoughts happening all at the same time: Altaïr’s, Desmond’s and their target.

Ezio and Desmond’s combined power sounds like it would become a kind of light hypnosis and the target has to be in line of sight with the same range as how short or far Ezio can detect other people’s desires. Longer period of using their combined power will increase the urgency of the fake desire they’re implanting.

This means that Ratonhnhaké:ton has a lot of animal friends who are willing to let him borrow their eyes as well. Maybe power it up a bit so that connecting with Desmond means Ratonhnhaké:ton and Desmond can control the animal’s body as well?

I read their powers and my first thoughts are D&D spells for their combos:

Altaïr and Desmond: Detect Thoughts

Ezio and Desmond: Charm Person (in a way)

Ratonhnhaké:ton himself: Speak with Animal

Desmond could be special in this one as the Isus programmed him to ‘earn’ soulmates if he receives their loyalty and this mutated to those soulmates being able to connect to one another if they’re close enough (platonically or romantically)

Other possible combinations:

Altaïr and Ezio: Altaïr and Ezio gain knowledge based on a desire of Ezio’s target but the amount of knowledge they receive will be at the same base as what that target knows. For example, a baker wants to bake a bread would give them all necessary knowledge to make bread but a guard who wants to marry a noble’s daughter would only give them the names of all nobles that guard knows and maybe what he knows of their houses.

Altaïr and Ratonhnhaké:ton: Altaïr and Ratonhnhaké:ton gain knowledge based on the animal Ratonhnhaké:ton connects them to. Birds will give them the lay of the land, maybe even where nonpoisonous and poisonous berries are. Wolves would give them information based on his keen sense of smell. Something like that?

Ezio and Ratonhnhaké:ton: The creation of fake desires that Desmond and Ezio can do to human targets can be done to animals in Ratonhnhaké:ton and Ezio’s case. They’re much easier to persuade as well and can be done to multiple targets at the same time as long as they’re all in the line of sight and the same species.

[ladydracarysao3]

In Love, Serenity  

Chapter Twenty Six: Truth

Notes:

Buckle up.

[Read Chapter 26 on AO3]  or  [Start from the Beginning]

-Abner-

The feeling of frisky fingers pulls her from her dreams. They glide and trickle their way around from the back of her hip, down the side of her thigh, then back up to land, nestle, and cup her firmly in the center. Eyes still shut, she smiles and groans, pushing her hips back to find another set pressing against her from behind.

Her smile morphs into a hushed gasp. Her lips part just enough for her to catch the bottom one between her teeth, when his kisses began to caress her back. Slow. Warm. Wet. His mouth worships her skin around the sensitive areas of her neck while his hand presses on her below. Her hips involuntarily sway in rhythmic motions, and he follows her.

Hoarse and light whines escape her throat and he chuckles a breathy, rumbling sound. “Good morning,” he whispers in her ear. It is the sound of rolling thunder at daybreak, high in the heavens during early, sweet spring. The sound that promises a shower of life. It is needed. Wanted. Triumphant.

She smiles broadly and writhes against his naked body inside their combined bedrolls. They connect in a symphony of primal emotion. Elemental harmony. It is a carnal ritual that they have perfected together in misty twilight. Flesh working in tandem, creating senses within an ethereal trance.

It is a connection they make jointly with body and spirit. They entwine themselves together until they sweat and ache in savage, heaving satisfaction.

This is more than fun. This is more than anything.

She’s falling in love with him.

***

Griffin Wing Keep is only a day or two out of reach. They have been travelling across Orlias for the better part of two weeks. Abner was unexpectedly jubilant about sharing little things like frilly cakes with Hawke at every opportunity. She even told him a few stories about her travels through northern Orlesian cities. She’s bonding with him in a way she hasn’t allowed with anyone in years.

When they finally reach the desert, Abner realizes how absolutely beautiful it is, especially at night. The scorching sun leaves the large, beautiful, and cool moon in its stead. It’s even more romantic to her than the forests in the Dales were.

She is really glad Hawke bribed Leliana with nugs.

It all has felt… special. They travel on their horse’s side-by-side throughout the day, they joke with everyone who is willing, and they share a tent at night. They warm each other up near the fire in the evenings, blatantly displaying their affection, only to then stumble into their tent when the urges are just too strong to leash any longer. It’s already a very lax leash to begin with.

On this night, after she catches a few fennecs for supper, and while waiting for their meat to be cooked, Abner wanders a little farther from camp to sit on a large bolder and stare at the moon. Hawke finds her after a few minutes of solitude.

“There you are, my little minx,” he coos as he sits beside her. Wrapping his arms around her, he kisses her temple before watching the beauty of the moon as well. She nuzzles her head into the inside of his shoulder and breathes in his scent. He has a natural calming quality. She feels more at ease with him each passing day. His essence is unique… perfect.

“You are certainly a skilled hunter. There hasn’t been a single night where you haven’t provided something for dinner. It’s impressive,” he says while squeezing her between his arms.

“My parents taught me. They were both the best hunters in our clan. It’s how we were allowed to stay.” She feels Hawke stiffen, obviously unsure of how to react to the information. She has never spoken of her parents to him. While she has shared escapades as a spy and assassin, she still hasn’t said a word about life before that.

Until now.

He clears his throat. “Allowed to stay?” he asks, uncertainty ringing in his voice.

“Yep. They weren’t supposed to find each other, but they did anyway. My father was Avvar, but my mother was Dalish. When she became pregnant, she was cast out of her clan. The Avvar at least see value in a pair of expert hunters.” She stays quiet for a few moments then giggles at a thought in her mind. “I think my father would have liked you. He had a thing for ‘unconventional.’ He liked breaking the rules.”

“What happened to your parents?” his voice is still hesitant, unsure if a question will cause her to shut back down, while still wanting to know more about her.

She doesn’t shut down, however. She trusts him now. She can’t explain any of it, but for the first time in her new life, she found someone she actually wants to know her. “They died during the blight. That’s when I was given to Ofred. My parents wouldn’t have allowed such a… transaction.” She grits her teeth and her hands grab onto Hawke’s arm that crosses the front of her. “Lots of people died during the blight, but I was told the Gods no longer favored our clan because I was a disgrace, and that I should be grateful of the fact another clan would take me at all. I was cursed and could rot for all they cared. It was only some twisted loyalty to my father that kept me alive.”

Hawke doesn’t speak, he just holds her. She’s glad. She doesn’t need his pity, or words of sorrow, or reassurance. “Ofred was a monster. He broke me in more ways than one. But that Avvar Izzy judged before we left, he and his wife saved me. They got me out. I wandered scared and alone for a while, terrified that he would track me. Then I met Leliana, and everything changed.” She sits up and smiles at the sad gaze Hawke gives her. She presses a kiss to his lips and says, “And now I’m here with you.”

He smiles at this and kisses her back. “Thank you for telling me,” he says.

“I… I care about you, Rhaegar,” her heart races as soon as the phrase is spoken. It’s out now, carried away in the gentle evening breeze. Carried away with sands and wishes.

“I care about you, too,” he says. “I need to…” his voice falters and he begins to pull away. “I need to tell you something.” He drops both his eye contact and his touch.

“What is it?” Abner’s hand finds his shoulder and she tips her head to the side with an encouraging smile trying to coax him back to her.

“Hey! Idiots! Soups on!” Bull beckons with his booming voice behind them. His horned figure is silhouetted by the fire light behind him as he stands at the edge of camp.

“We should go,” Hawke says, lifting himself off the boulder.

Abner grabs his hand before he can walk away. “What were you going to tell me?”

His eyes still don’t make contact, “It’s nothing. We can talk about it later.” He looks at her and smiles in a way that seems… odd… He speaks while squeezes her hand, “C’mon, let's go enjoy the fruits of your labor.” He pulls her up from the rock and swings her into his arms, wrapping himself around her again. They walk toward the beckoning Qunari.

“You two are utterly disgusting,” Bull grunts with a smirk as they approach. Abner immediately starts laughing. “What?” He squints at her.

“Utterly… Utters… Ox man…” She laughs, releasing herself from Hawke’s side to clutch her stomach and giggle while doubled over.

“Oh, for the love of…” Bull laughs, grabbing her into an easy headlock and rubbing his knuckles into the top of her head.

Her laughter is robust. Vivacious, carefree joy emanates from her. She feels amazing. “Hey,” she laughs and swats the Qunari’s hands away. “You said it, not me. Not my fault!”

“Go on, you,” he grunts, pushing her snickering body toward camp in good humor.

--

After they sup, Abner is leaning against a wagon near one of the fires. She listens to the lively conversations with a proud smirk on her face. Watching Hawke as he tells a story to a fascinated and giggling Izzy with Varric's assistance. They regale her in a tale about nobles they found under a demon’s spell. They walked through a mansion finding its occupants doing crazy, sexual things as if no one was watching - much to some tight-ass Starkhaven prince’s horror.

“Sebastien turned ten shades of crimson when he saw that lord enjoying some… oral attention. It is hilarious to think about now, I bet he prayed to the maker all night after that one,” Varric chuckles in his raspy, cheerful tones.

Hawke snickers and looks over at Abner, motioning for her to come sit beside him. She does, and he brings her into his arms, kissing the top of her head as she settles.

“Was the Lady of the house not heartbroken from the infidelity?” Alistair’s voice cracks like a whip and he appears from between a couple of tents.

All of the cheer vacates Varric’s voice, replaced with terse sounds through clenched teeth. “It was her doing, Warden. She called the demon into the house in the first place, she was already mad. Her mind long gone by we time we arrived.”

“Hmm, I see. I guess virtue to one’s spouse is not highly regarded by some,” Alistair says as he seats himself next to a puzzled Izzalea. She looks back and forth between the warden and the dwarf as if questions are flying through her mind, but decides to say nothing.  Abner has noticed that the man whom so many have referred to as sarcastic and silly, is much more serious and dour than she’d expected. She’s often caught him looking at her with a dark, angered look in his eye.

“Leave it alone, Warden,” Varric grumbles before taking a swig from a jug of ale in his hand. He passes it to Izzalea, motioning for her to pass it on, “Here, share this with him. He needs to lighten up.”

Izzalea attempts to hand Alistair the jug, but he closes his eyes, purses his lips, and lifts his hand with a shake of his head. “What’s going on here?” Izzalea says, a pinch in her brows. She hands the jug back to the dwarf. “Are you alright, Alistair?”

“Oh, me? No. No. I’m fine.” There is an edge to his voice and length to his words that makes Abner uneasy. “What I want to know is, how’s Hawke doing?”

“Alistair—” Varric starts, warning in his voice, but Alistair cuts him off.

“Now, now, Varric, let the man speak for himself. How are you Hawke? You seem to be having a fine time.”

Hawke and Abner sit straighter, but he keeps an arm around her. “I am, yes. Is there a problem?”

“Oh, good… good. I’m glad. Tell me, Hawke,” each word is bladed to a sharp point. “How is Merrill doing these days?”

Abner feels everything about Hawke tense immediately. “She’s fine, last I knew.” Abner looks at his face and sees a stern look in his eye and a firmly set jaw as he glowers across the fire at the warden.

“Last you knew? You don’t keep in regular contact?”

“I send her a letter from time to time.”

“So… what is the darling woman up to?”

Every word is slow and punctuated coming from Hawke, at this point. “She’s. Helping. The. Elves.”

Alistair tips his head pensively. “Oh, that’s nice of her. I’ve always thought her such a sweet and caring woman. So, does she know what you are up to?” His tone is positively antagonistic.

“Alistair. Seriously.” Varric interrupts.

Izzalea and Abner sit silent, confusion and suspicion in their eyes as they watch and listen to the men. Abner doesn’t like this. She doesn’t like this one bit. “Who is Merrill?” she asks.

“Oh, you don’t know? She’s Hawke’s wife.”

Silence follows.

The air could be cut with a knife.

Abner sits there, stunned. Every inch of her skin that has contact with Hawke boils, wanting to recoil away. She doesn’t look at him. She doesn’t move. She just stares into the hazel eyes of the Warden. Then she finds her voice. “The fuck you just say?”

“We were never formally married,” Hawke’s tone in indistinguishable. It is neither angered nor sad, it just is.

“You may as well have been, no? You’ve been together for what, seven? Eight years?”

She hears Varric groan and drop his forehead into his hands. “I told you to let it go, to let him handle it.”

Abner’s eyebrows lift, her eyes widen and she looks down at the groaning, doubled over dwarf. Hawke fails to respond, or move, or do anything. The longer she stays in this position, his repulsive body touching hers, the sicker she begins to feel. She starts to pull away from him as her stomach flips and flops inside her.

“Abner…” he whispers, “Abner, I meant to…” He reaches out his hand to try and stop her retreat.

“Don’t you fucking touch me,” she snarls at him, growling from the pit of her being.

She stands and starts backing away. “You are fucking married?”

She glares at Varric who has lifted his head slightly to watch her, “And you fucking knew?” She points an accusatory finger at the rest of the group, “You all knew?”

Izzalea shakes her head silently, pity in her eyes and a sorrowful frown.

“I’m sorry that he didn’t tell you—” Alistair begins.

“Shut the fuck up. I don’t want to hear anymore from you,” she snaps at the warden, pointing her finger at him. She looks at Hawke and drops her arm to her side. He is staring at her so helplessly. She feels emotion well behind her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me? I trusted you.” Her lower lip quivers, so she bits it from within.

Hawke doesn’t respond, he just sits there. Pathetic. Izzalea mumbles to the other two men that they should go. The three quietly rise and disappear in an attempt to give Abner some privacy. Once they are gone, he moves toward her, reaching for her again. She recoils and backs away from grasp with a look of pure hatred. He drops to his knees.

“Explain yourself.”

“We never had a fully monogamous relationship, I swear. And I haven’t even seen her in two years. We write to each other less and less.” He’s begging. Her heart races as she looks down at him.

The sound is flat, emotionless. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“At first I didn’t think it would matter. I didn’t think I would know you very long. And then… ever since you reconciled with me, it’s loomed over me. I knew I should have said something, but I couldn’t figure out how. I just got you back, I didn't want to risk losing you again, didn’t know how you’d react. But I was going to tell you, I swear it.”

“I told you everything.”

He tips his head, “Well… today you did, but not befo—“

“Oh, fuck right off.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” He inches toward her. She stands her ground this time, looking down at him with a sneer. He grabs her hands and brings them to his mouth, speaking into her flesh, “I’m so, so sorry.” He looks up at her, pleading. “Please don’t look at me like that. Don’t look at me like you wouldn’t care if I just disappeared.”

“It’s not even the fact that you're married, or not married, or whatever-the-fuck you claim she is to you. It’s that you didn’t give me a chance to decide if I was okay with it.”  Her heart breaks and she hates it. “You lied to me.”

“Well, if you think about it, you didn’t tell me you were married either…”

She snaps her hands away and hurdles her body away incredulously. “How dare you compare that to what you’ve done!” Her voice is like a wolf’s growl. His stupid fucking mouth. He says the dumbest fucking things.

“Shit. I know. I fucked up. I keep fucking up. I’m only human, Abner. I make mistakes. I’m sorry.”

She looks away from him and starts pacing back and forth agitatedly. Dust from her boots stomping in the dirty sand cloud around them. Her arms crossed she shakes her head and mumbles under her breath in her native tongue that she knows he can’t understand.

“I’m a fool, Abner. I will do anything. Anything. I have never felt—“

“Shut up! Shutupshutupshutup! Shut! Up!” she orders as she paces. She straightens he arms to her sides, hands balled into fists.

“I love you.”

“Shut up!” she covers her ears and screams the words. She can’t deal with this anymore. This is too messed up. She doesn’t know how she feels. Her care for him was already new and strange, and now this? “I need some space,” she says and walks away.

Abner leaves him behind her, his knees in the dirt, head and shoulders slouched. She marches through the camp, not particularly sure where she’s going or what she is going to do… about any of it. She sees another group around another small fire. The elven apostate sits there, one of the members in a small cluster of people.

She gets an idea.

She needs an escape.

She marches up to him and grabs the small knapsack he always keeps next to him with a couple books inside. The weirdo even reads on horseback. She rifles through it and everyone hushes their conversations to watch her.

“Can I help you?” Solas asks indignantly.

“Where do you hide it?” she asks poking her fingers around little pockets within the lining of the bag.

“Hide what?”

She stops long enough to stare him as if her face groans. “Solas, don’t insult my intelligence. Someone as experienced in escapism as you, and all your Fade shit, has got to keep a couple joints on him at all times.”

Sera snorts and laughs from the other side of the fire. “She’s got you pegged, elfy,” she says.

With a roll of his eyes, he groans and reaches into his sleeve. He must have some hidden pocket stitched there, because he produces a long, thin roll of elfroot. “This is medicine, Abner,” he says, annoyed.

“Yeah? Well, I need some healing, apostate,” she snarks and snatches it from his hand. She stands up straight and looks him in his piercing grey eyes. “Well? You comin’ or what?”

She detects a subtle twitch of a smirk at the corner of his mouth and he narrows his eyes briefly. He leans down to rifle through his bag for a moment and produces two apples. “One for me and one for you, since you would most likely take mine, anyway.” Effortlessly he tosses the apple in the air with a flick of his wrist, and she just as deftly catches it with a coy, lopsided grin.

He rises from his perch and they disappear into the dark sands beyond the edge of camp.

[autolovecraft]

Around the walls of this sole means of salvation.

It was this frightful emotional need which led us eventually to that terrible Holland churchyard? But after three nights I heard the baying of some gigantic hound. It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John and myself. Extinguishing all lights, we were troubled by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the hidden museum, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade. Whether we were troubled by what we read. A wind, and the crumbling slabs; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the horrible shadows; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the uncovered-grave. Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the city. But after three nights I heard afar on the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality. Wearied with the presence of some unspeakable beast.

Whether we were mad, dreaming, or in our senses, we proceeded to the calm white thing that had killed it, held certain unknown and unnameable. I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the long undisturbed ground. We were no vulgar ghouls, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our shocking expedition, or a clumsy manipulation of the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but so old that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held. On October 29 we found in the same way. As we hastened from the oldest churchyards of the amulet. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound in the morning I read of a crouching winged hound, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale autumnal moon over the moor became to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I had first heard the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the symbolists and the flesh and hair, and a faint distant baying as of some gigantic hound. Finally I reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been torn to ribbons. Then terror came. Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the presence of some unspeakable beast.

And as I approached the ancient grave I had first heard the baying again, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge.

Only the somber philosophy of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the single door which led us both to so monstrous a fate! What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that lay within; but, whatever my reason, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I must try any step conceivably logical. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of some ominous, grinning secret of the impious collection in the Holland churchyard. By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, and became as worried as I approached the ancient house on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade. I can recall the scene in these final moments—the pale autumnal moon over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a semi-canine face, and we gloated over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder.

The baying was very faint now, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I saw a black shape obscure one of the reflections of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. Four days later, I saw that it was who led the way at last I stood again in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a dominating will outside myself. Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, and without servants in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. Finally I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade. I went thither unless to pray, or a clumsy manipulation of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the single door which led us eventually to that terrible Holland churchyard? In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade, I attacked the half frozen sod with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a nameless deed in the night of September 24,19—, I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or catalog even partly the worst of the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.

By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard? The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John was always the leader, and I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. After that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held. Accordingly I sank into the house, and mumbled over his body one of the city.