Today I added this mission generator in order to make my days a bit more interesting. It is still in its beta stage, but it is somewhat unlikely that it will cause any sort of dismemberment or death, unless used improperly. Feel free to try it out.

Adventure Mission Generator copyright © 2008 Myke Amend

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“He locked away the Necronomicon with a shudder of disgust, but the room still reeked with an unholy and unidentifiable stench. ‘As a foulness shall ye know them,’ he quoted. Yes – the odour was the same as that which had sickened him at the Whateley farmhouse less than three years before”

First off imagine be sprayed with yellow mustard from giant bottle, being treeted like giant cosmic weiner, then to be called ‘ugly’ or ‘hideous’ by wrinkly old humans I not even know personally, waving their arms about at self all threatening like, screaming at Dunwich Horror when Dunwich Horror not doing anything bad – just happily crusching trees all like “Crunch! Crunch!” minding own business… maybe eat a few humans but it’s okay really.

Then imagine be dissolved from world by meddlesome old people what won’t lend ancient books out and then think you are stinky, and what think brother are stinky which is LIE!

Well, It took long time be conjured back here just to defend myself from terrible old wrinkly man’s malicous comments at Dunwich Horror smell.

I wants to start with saying “Untrue!” at hideous wrinkly human thing what LIE about Dunwich Horror and Dunwich Horror family, want to ruin good name of Dunwich Horror!

Me could explain things about destruction of Earth and sucking it into nother dimension, but not worth dignifying that right now because of more important thing, like, say old man LIE!

Note:

1) Odour was at Whately farm house at SAME TIME Old Man was, then again in library at same time OLD MAN was in library. It does not take a brain genius to figure out this not happenstance or coindicince that SMELL WAS WHERE OLD MAN WAS, both times!

Old man wants to be seen as hero, but in reality, old man make hideous smell – not Dunwich Horror – then wrinkly old man blames hideous smell on Dunwich Horror, and then finds only spell to make Dunwich Horror leave before Dunich Horror tell about him lie to others.

Old Man not hero. Not hero at all! Not banish Dunwich Horror anymore!

Banish Old Man! Banish Old Stinky Man!

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Last night I entered the Miskatonic Archives, and through slight of hand and nimble footing I made it into the professor’s office and lab.

I found no sign of the Necronomicon, nor could I find any of those books that were acquired by the University through the Dunwich incident.

I did however manage to pilfer an impression of Professor Kemy’s scribblings from from a desktop notepad, though nothing as of yet makes much sense at all…

But none of what I found has much to do with my current situation, which I will relay to you now, in case these moments are to be my very last…

Though I had been quite sly and meticulously nimble in my excursion, I neglected to return with my bag… a bag containing a change of clothing, so that I could arrive at the Women’s Cello Society recital well-dressed and in good time for some celebratory drinking.

When I realized this, I was halfway between the University and my intended destination – and, my apartment on Rue d’Auseil being closer, I decided to grab a change of clothing at home instead of returning to Miskatonic University.

I do realize so far this sounds rather mundane and innocuous, but here is the point where things become utterly frightening and disturbing…

I returned to the university tonight, and found that my bag had indeed been discovered… my goggles crushed and broken, my hair pins mauled, brutalized, and perhaps violated… And my hat… MY HAT… 

My hat, I found in a corner, crushed and mutilated almost beyond all recognition. I say that because I was able to recognize it, though only barely…. and I wish I had not….

It was coated in some ghastly, hideous, and likely supernatural white slime, filled with feathers and blood… the organs of what I believe to have been a chicken’s…. and a bloodied deck of playing cards.

It is obvious that some terrible ritual was performed with my precious hat. I am unsure as to whether they have hexed me to die in some short period of time, or perhaps set some hideous beast from beyond on my trail. They may also have simply used it to scrye my name and whereabouts – regardless, I fear my time in this mortal coil may be numbered… with a rather low number… um… of time.

Oh my. I just sneezed… I knew it! This is the beginning of the end for me… I think I am coming down with some sort of unimaginable, terrible, hideous, and gruesomely eldritch illness! I feel faint… FAINT I SAY!

Now I faint.

Sincerly,

Cordelia Atwood,

Rogue Investigator

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Today, I came across a rather strange assortment of artifacts, piled loosely in a duffel bag in the corner of my office. The duffel bag bore no distinguishing marks other than a sticker reading “Abney Park”, what I believe to be a stamp from a possible stop along the way from its unknown origin.

Having worked tirelessly throughout the day to ascertain their origin, I found about midway through spectographics and other means, that these items were by no means ancient, or even old. However, knowing that there exist modern-times dabblers and adepts in the metaphysical arts and aether-scientific spheres, I decided it would be a good idea to inspect these items more closely.

The first of these items – what seemed to be a pair of flight goggles, with a crudely fashioned set of secondary lenses bound by brass arms, which for some reason did not seem to bend or swing in ways that would be expected for functionality, or even bend at all. In trying to manipulate the lenses, I eventually broke one of these arms, and spent my first hours rather panicked that I may have irreparably damaged something of great importance.

Next I tried the simple approach of wearing the goggles. Whether a result of my error, or simply a matter of design, I found that though I do look quite smashing in them, the goggles do absolutely nothing, nothing at all.

The next items were a pair of what seemed to be hat pins, strange in their making due to the presence of gears and cogs at their tops, these gears not leading to other gears, I thought at first they might be some sort of key, perhaps to some sort of advanced alchemical device yet to be found. In trying to turn these gears, to ascertain how advanced the inner workings might be, I ended up breaking one of these gears from the pin, only to find it the gear was simply bound in place by a sort of jewelers’ glue.

Lastly, there was a top hat, not recently made but certainly by no means old. On it were a variety of things, including more of these rudimentary arms and lenses, some ribbons, and an insignia pin – showing promise in its obscurity. I spent the last hours of my day trying to decode this sigil, to no avail, and finally I surmised what only an educated man such as myself would… that perhaps it was a magical hat – the likes worn by those tricksters and charletans on the square, and by actual practitioners of the ancient arts as well. The only sensible place to go from here was to test this theory.

First, I tried the simple route, taking a nearby glass of goat’s milk, and pouring it into the hat to see if the milk disappeared, or perhaps turned into confetti. The end result was a desk covered in milk, a somewhat saturated hat, and a rather perturbed and milk-drenched dean as a result of my efforts to demonstrate the hat’s presumed powers of milk-to-confetti transmography.

The next test was to insert a pigeon into the hat, and see if it either vanished or turned into a string of joined handkerchiefs, or perhaps a balloon… I like balloons. In order to contain the pigeon, I placed a board over the opening, and set a heavy weight atop the board. This ended only in completely destroying the hat, and regrettably, its contents.

After a long hard day of work, including many many tests, leading to disassembly, and ultimately frustration in having wasted an entire day, I found that these items were all fakes of some sort, perhaps placed in my office by entities from competing universities or perhaps from BEYOND, towards the purpose of distracting me from something groundbreaking and important – such as my research or possibly even tea time.

The fiend, whoever they may be, did manage at both of these – I am however more determined than ever to succeed at whatever it is this miscreant or spectre sought to distract me from – beginning with tea and descending by order of importance.

If anyone has any knowledge regarding the perpetrators of this prank, hoax, or scheme, I would ask that they contact me in my study as soon as humanly or inhumanly possible.

Annoyededly,

Prof. Aden M. Kemy

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This memo is in protest to the memo previously left by Ms. Babel-Jean Teahymn, and for the purpose of disputing my status as a former employee, ex-employee, demised employee, or employee who has otherwise ceased to be.

This letter is being transcribed by intern Tom Lazythint, as for some reason or another I have become temporarily incompatible with objects on the material plane of existence – a mere phase which I am sure will pass in time, and something I am sure must happen to most people my age at some point or another. Regardless, this statement is a disclaimer against possible typos and other displays of intern daftness which might occur within this transcription.

I would like to say that in fact, I feel quite fine, and very well up to my duties regardless of my current state, and declare that I will fight tooth and nail with anyone who even as much as attempts to park their autocar in my assigned parking spot, parks their grimy feet on my fine brazilian cherrywood desk, or even thinks to attempt to raid my tobacco stocks, pilfer my chocolate stores, violate my taxidermied werebeasts, or as you whippersnapper deviants tend to say “yiffing the howlers”.

I do realize that the corpse found in the bath may in some ways resemble my own proud and well-bred visage in various ways such as height and remarkably well-tailored swimwear, and in this I can see where this confusion may have stemmed from. I do however assure you that I am right as rain and feeling as though I am well in my prime.

I would also like to inform that putting an end to my pay and benefits, or allowing anyone access to my office, would be very ill-advised, considering that I am a storehouse of information – information which this fine establishment would most likely prefer to have limited solely to this fine establishment, rather than in the hands of entities such as perturbed villagers and inquisitive constables.

Yours, if you know what is good for you,

Mint T. Zloty

P.S. Oh drat! I seem to have slipped through my chair again… no! don’t type that you boob! Just help me up or I swear you will receive the caning of your life! You there! I said stop typing you knitwitted son of a diseased mongoloid poopsmith! Just what do you think you are doing?! Get me out of this floor God blast it!

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Attention Archive Staff:

It has been brought to my attention that someone has purchased a sinusoidal bath as part of the replacement equipment for the baths in the gymnasium that were destroyed by that localized storm.

May I remind all staff that all equipment brought into the facility must follow proper installation protocol and be maintained or observed as needed for the safety and well-being of all Archive staff.

The electrified remains of elder archive staff member Mint T. Zloty were found in the sinusoidal bath still smoking early this evening. Consequently, Professor Zloty is said to be in the south wing reading presently. As an added sidenote – please keep in mind that smoking is strictly prohibited anyplace other than the smokers’ lounge, the walk-in humidore, the library, or your own personal laboratory.

If someone would be so kind – please seek out Mint and please inform him that he is dead and we will not be expecting him to show up for work in the morning.

Thank you.

Sincerely, Babel-Jean Tea Hymn

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Myke Amend grew up in a sleepy little town called Cincinnati, Ohio, a place not far from Earth, nestled at the outer edge of the Milky Way galaxy.

Since long before his anticipated arrival, he has spent many aeons painting, drawing, engraving, and dreaming the death of mankind and the end of all life was we know it —and dreaming the days gone by (He also designs handbills and aethernet ‘sites’ for the evil corporate faces of the mysterious Elder gods).

In a time heavily influenced by hotel heiresses, boy bands, game shows, reality TV, and people who wrestle each other for spheroids, he has been influenced greatly by Earth ages present and past — longing for a return to those days where human society turned its ugly head towards more meaningful things such as science and invention, exploration, literature, and the arts.

Out of this comes a love for anachronistic art mediums, styles, and concepts—mixing them with modern materials, themes, or subject matter, and twisting them into horrid, the surreal, or the bizarre for reasons most humans are incapable of fathoming, even in their most horrid nightmares.

His style reflects a love for strange fiction and tales of the weird, ancient futuristic relics from a Victorian era aside our own.

Myke is believed to reside in the future and the past, somewhere on the Northern American content, lurking within the mists or swimming in the surrounding shadows, as the driving force behind approaching storms, or in the darkest corners of our mortal minds.

We are unsure of how or why these artifacts, painted, carved, or forged by Myke Amend, have fallen into our hands, but we are proud the share them here.

below: “The Wait” (painting) and “Hope: the Light at the End” (painting)

All of these artworks are available through the Miskatonic Archive Electric Store.
Many are also available at www.mykeamend.com

above: “Heptameron” (digital painting) and “Awake” (engraving)

All images within this post are copyright © 2008 Myke Amend, and used with permission by this site.

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Attention Archive Staff:

It has been brought to my attention that someone has allowed a Mi-go into the Archives.

I would just like to take this opportunity to once again refer staff members to our rules and guidelines about the calling forth and summoning of any creature that can be considered a hostile threat to the overall well being of the Archive, its staff and interns.

Our guidelines strictly state that experiments or conjuring of any kind not addressed to and sanctioned by the elder Archive Staff are only permitted within your own dorm or lodgings, where you will take full responsibility for whatever doom you bring upon yourself.

At the time of this writing the Mi-go was last seen in the north wing preparing to operate on an intern. It is a crustacean-like entity that can be identified by any manner of unique traits such as multiple appendages and antennae where its head should be. And if these things are not a good visual indicator, someone was good enough to fix it with a red collar and a tag that identifies it as Fido.

The person or persons responsible for this will be found through proper means or less scrupulous channels and will be responsible for replacing said intern. For anyone needing a refresher on allowed or proper creature conjuring, please see the the bulletin board on the west wall of the library.

Thank you for your attention and any volunteers willing to help with capture and clean up should see me in my office first thing in the morning.

Sincerely,

 Babel-Jean Tea Hymn.

PS It would appear that another of our interns is lacking his brain. Please be on the look out for any brain size containers. A watchful eye and a little team work might help us avoid losing this man’s brain to Pluto and setting us back another intern.

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