My Fellow Gentlemen
This message comes with a reassurance of my senses, for that my deepest thanks to you Professor Woest. Presently my mind wheels with the possibility of the truth in all this and shudder. My tale is not madness but a keen series of observations of the extra physical properties of this world around us. A world which now flaunts its eldritch ichor much like a cheap harlot in the wanton districts of the city.
Emboldened though, I begin a tale of truth that will seem a tale of wild fiction. For even without the kind Professors missive I again prowled the darker wolds and copse that bespeckled the park. Last eve I strolled out of my residence with the sunset but did not return until well after the middling hour of the evening. Herein I recount what transpired.
Far I wandered last eve hoping to find some sheltered blind that one could well observe the vastness of the southern park. My sojourn not in vain I found a depressed crag at the apex of a rise that was discrete. From my vantage I could well apprehend much of the green way and expanse. I tucked with my hide hold shortly after darkness set in and waited.
The weather fair and many of the grassy denizens served as company, it was not unpleasant. The nocturnal bowing of insects a gentle hum to while away the hours. My revery was soon interrupted by lights. Somewhere far off figures prowled unknowing of their exact presence I would guess them somewhere in the local of the copse of trees I have described previously. From this location words of incantation arose and with time the green fire. I can say little of the composition but this emerald flame clutched at the very soul of me. It lined and illuminated creatures that should not be; a horde or host of them. And they marched in the direction of Yeats abode.
Needless to mention my fear I waited some time until safety permitted a withdraw. In these dark hours of the night I again saw or rather heard these figures. From them a single word or rather name. Crowley.
Here I am again mystified my friends, perhaps one of you will have words for me.
Your restored servant
J.L. Reichl
This message comes with a reassurance of my senses, for that my deepest thanks to you Professor Woest. Presently my mind wheels with the possibility of the truth in all this and shudder. My tale is not madness but a keen series of observations of the extra physical properties of this world around us. A world which now flaunts its eldritch ichor much like a cheap harlot in the wanton districts of the city.
Emboldened though, I begin a tale of truth that will seem a tale of wild fiction. For even without the kind Professors missive I again prowled the darker wolds and copse that bespeckled the park. Last eve I strolled out of my residence with the sunset but did not return until well after the middling hour of the evening. Herein I recount what transpired.
Far I wandered last eve hoping to find some sheltered blind that one could well observe the vastness of the southern park. My sojourn not in vain I found a depressed crag at the apex of a rise that was discrete. From my vantage I could well apprehend much of the green way and expanse. I tucked with my hide hold shortly after darkness set in and waited.
The weather fair and many of the grassy denizens served as company, it was not unpleasant. The nocturnal bowing of insects a gentle hum to while away the hours. My revery was soon interrupted by lights. Somewhere far off figures prowled unknowing of their exact presence I would guess them somewhere in the local of the copse of trees I have described previously. From this location words of incantation arose and with time the green fire. I can say little of the composition but this emerald flame clutched at the very soul of me. It lined and illuminated creatures that should not be; a horde or host of them. And they marched in the direction of Yeats abode.
Needless to mention my fear I waited some time until safety permitted a withdraw. In these dark hours of the night I again saw or rather heard these figures. From them a single word or rather name. Crowley.
Here I am again mystified my friends, perhaps one of you will have words for me.
Your restored servant
J.L. Reichl
Dear Sirs,
My deepest apologies accompany my
sincerest greetings, as my travels had taken me afar from the civilized
world of writ and epistle. My current research into matters of
the phantasmagorical, took me deep within the darkness of an angry
jungle, and it was there I took company with the Congolese natives, a
people whose roots are well remembered, and connected, intertwined
within stories of "the Great Old Ones." It was as if the stories
themselves unleashed something darker than any shadow. My spirit
whirling in madness as I saw something that was...the truth of it
all...something pure, and untouched by man's internal workings of lust
and greed. Albeit wrapped in horror, it was a truth nonetheless. It was
in the heart of darkness I was witness to something of a universe when
compared to a grain of sand. Yes, it was just that!!! An absolute truth,
a universe overwhelming every part of my existence.
I know you must think me mad, and until I read
Mr. Reichl's account, I could only agree. Yet, here I stand, my back
crawling with shivers like a million tiny bugs consuming my fleshy case.
You see, I did see that same green hue, and amongst the ashes of what
was once a great fire....My God, what did we unleash? What is this
horror? What now possesses the Earth that was once sleeping in the
annals of time?
I beg of you, Mr. Reichl, or any fellow included in
this correspondence, please tell more of this green hue, and the flaming
wreckage?
Sincerely,
Prof. Cornelius R. Woest
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