Captain's Log

The X-files is convenient propaganda, making you think intelligence agencies investigating the surreal and paranatual are under funded and out of touch.

The truth of the matter is far worse. There is a branch of CIA that doesn't fill out paper work, doesn't have a budgetary limit, and knows more about the strange than all the night inquirers, imbued mutants, and psychic seers combined.

They show up, they say they're from the government, and suddenly normies just wanna comply with whatever they say. And when things get strange in a way that could be weaponized for the endless capitalist war America is in, they whisk that shit away. A friend claimed to do janitor work for the sixth wing of the pentagon, and said that they had to clean with a blindfold on for those freaks and swears he cleaned up for the vivisection of a man-wolf beast. A spirit wolf no doubt.

These paranormal operatives always wear black shades that are uniformly matt black, and wear dark burgundy patent leather gloves. They have supernatural tech and can hypnotize the weak willed by listening to them.

While I don't trust the sodding imbued, because they're inhuman abominations that play at being the sheperds of human kind, but there is a sect that I do respect. The way of the Zanni, call me a sucker but at least these clowns know what they are. Clowns.

The Zanni is one of the imbued chapels that extend around the world. Clowns. I shit you not. A sect of clowns in the know, self deemed the Protectors of Children and Joy, the Zanni take both imbued and common humans alike. Perhaps you've heard of Clown Code? Well these freaks take it a step further.

My contact within the Zanni tells me Gacy and King have done irreparable harm to the image of the clown which has made their path difficult. But they're still practicing, working to make our most vulnerable members safe and happy. Hard to argue with that. The "noble buffoon" specializes in defending against the sciences of the fallen. Demons. The so-called Elohim that haunt this earth. I know one guy who says that clowns specifically design their makeup based on the faces of the demons they combat, and defend against, but I don't buy that story.

Anyway, here's her last post, and I'm gunna pour one out for her

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What's kicking dorks and dork-asses. It's that bitch again, about to get up to 14, but I've got big news. I've found the big one. A bone-if-eyed War Ghoul. What's a war ghoul you ask me friends and Lori? Well, we all know how vampires, and I won't call them fucking blank bodies like a nerd ass, because they're VAMPIRES for fucks sakes. Anywhat we all know how a vampire can make a human their thrall by feeding them some blood? And how some vampires can even feed beasties their blood to make fierce guards and clever spies. Crocodiles in Paris, THINK ABOUT IT. Well a War Ghoul is like a cross of those but way more fucked up. Russian vampires can peel you appeal like a Mr. Potato Head and pop them on another person like it's easy. Real DR STRANGE or the DOLLMAKER kinda thing. Well those russians do that to a human and give them a taste of that good good V8 from their veins, and you've got a regular monster on your hands. I bet that's some kinda gargoyle type of thing. Anyway I got one pinned down in a warehouse tonight, and I'm gunna mount it's head in my living room.

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Sorry I haven't been as active, night inquirers, but I've been gearing up for a raid and it didn't go well. I'm bored out of my mind resting now, and the staples are barely holding my wounds together. Remember always have a saw-bones who doesn't ask too many questions on hand. A vet or a nurse friend is a thousand times better than a hospital.

So here's the scoop, me and three buddies lets say, a couple of bikers I roped in, we traced a suspected ghoul to a safehouse. Surely concealing a blank-body for their daily sleep. We thought we were in the clear since it was mid afternoon. We were dead wrong. An ambush was laid, and somehow the leeches (plural!) were awake. Alice went down first, and she was carrying our molotovs and expedient, so the house was ablaze before the fight even really started. We didn't have time to think. My drum-fed shotgun swept the room nicely and made quick work of the ghoul and shredded up one leech so bad he wasn't going to be walking for a week or two. Frank, surprisingly, shat himself and cut out, if I ever see him again I'm decking him in the face. Unfortunately Elm died almost immediately after they handcuffed themself to a leech so it couldn't dodge their machete, told them it was a dumb idea. Fortunately carrying around a corpse seriously slowed down the blank-body. Squaring off with the last leech in an inferno wasn;t on my todo list, but the dumbass wasn't expecting a flash-bang. Those heightened senses gatta be hell when it comes to that sort of thing. I was able to bar the door with Elm's Motorcycle so that the lot of those fuckers burned down with the rest of the strange cottage I found them in.

Original Post by 3figs

Hiya everybody! As we know my expertise is that shticky shubject of the Created. Mad sicence shit. Constructs. And I ain't talking SPG, I mean honest to goddess sentient objects. I've catorgaized at least like 3 types. Anima, Automata, and Alexandria.

Anima are inorganic materials given soul magic I call Pyros. Automata are inorganic materials that configure themselves concious. And Alexandria are organic materials re-awakened by external Pyros.

In essence what you might call magic'd mud, robots, and, for lack of a better lay-person word, mummies.

Hokay, yesh. But here's one of the side effects of the lingering malaise that can be used to track these particular monshters, undeniable by even lay-folks. The Pandorans! These wretched pseduo-construced are often the result of the constructed's obsessive compulsion to create life like themselves. But they fail and tear themselves apart. Crawling hand shit. A flying skull. Writihing organs that drain the life out of anyone who comes near. "Morgue Accidents"

WELL., in my recent studies I found a new kind of Pandoran! A beastie I'm calling a GREMLIN. These strange fuckers are mechanical in nature. A stray nokia phone, a lost calculator, a discarded pace maker? Well! I have deduced that they can be identified by the wretched metallic screeching sound they make and the rather blatant shower and spray of sparks and raw Pyros energy. Keep away from any form of internet connection, somehow they can chew into fiber optics and get into the world wide web. I don't know why or how, but they can't do wifi, I don't think. They will also positively destroy any sort of circutry that they can "see."

Anyway fingers crossed I can solve this Phantom of the Cloud mystery out here in Paradigm City

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Friendly reminder that if you ever find yourself fighting, hunting, or generally hanging around spirit wolves; don't. Not only will these monsters tear you into small tiny shreds they can also run faster than you. They can run faster than some cars. And you think that's bad, they have psycholocation. Why does the living tank have psychic abilities? I don't know, but it's bad news for you or me. They can literally teleport great distances with nothing more than their mind.

I've heard rumor that if you're going up against a blank body bring a stake, but I don't trust it. Here's the thing. Even if the stake through the heart kills a vampire, there's no way I'm driving a piece of wood through someone's ribs while they're fighting me. Especially if the defending creature is specifically only gaurding that part of the body. You gatta miss the ribs to get in there, you got a better chance or shooting their fangs off or some bullshit.

It's not like blank bodies are made of tissue paper, having fought a few in ideal situations, their bodies are more like cold concrete than flesh and blood.

Are outcast monsters your friends? Absa-fucking-lutely not.

There are spirit wolves who are called bone gnashers, there are a loathed group of vampires called nos, and there are changeling mortals that escape the fey realm, and they are not your friends. Light-bringer eidolons and human looking created. Trust none of them.

Leeches who don't get to sit at the cool kids table are upset because they want to subjugate you with more ease, not because they think the down trodden deserve a riot. The weakest wolf in a starving pack is not going to stop seeing humans as their mortal enemy. And someone from 100 years ago with magic in their veins, isn't going to suddenly see you as an ally when you're literally at the bottom of the food chain.

CW:

So we all know that I support any night inquirers who are fighting back against the forces of the darkness. But the so called imbued are not to be trusted. They're monsters just as much as any blank body and spirit wolf. Not human, often see themselves as above us. And here's why I know.

Back when I was starting up the Skull and Bone, it was a pirate radio station, I was in college and had a copy of AV club keys and borrowed some equipment with my dear friend who went by tag name Lucky. She was a wiz at conspiracy theories and I mostly just had a crush on a girl with brown eyes, so I'd do anything she suggested. At first Skull and Bone was a blast. Late night radio talking on a secret line, occasionally getting calls from the insomniacs of my hometown. I don't know if I took it all very seriously, but it was my first real experience at getting my voice out there.

Remember, we were young. 19 years old. Well one night we had a visitor, and he didn't check in at the front desk if you know what I mean. A fully grown man with a trench coat and a shotgun. We probably should have been afraid, but he looked like a real life vampire hunter. I kind of thought we were going to be initiated into some sort of secret society. Lucky was sharp though, she didn't trust him and demanded to know who he was. He told us he'd heard our radio broadcasts, and we knew too much about blank bodies, like we had a source. Man had blown into town hunting a wild Ravanos, whatever the fuck that is. Well it wasn't long before words came to blows, and I remind you, we were *young* and dumb. Lucky was scrappy, but no match for a man who clearly fought for a living. I still remember the crack sound when the butt of his gun smashed against the back of her head. She went all limp in a way that made me want to vomit. Everything in my body was screaming to run, and I obeyed. Not sure if he actually fired the gun in the building or not, but he didn't give chase. Or if he did I escaped. Its a blur.

The next day I found Lucky in the hospital, and the day after that she was in the morgue. Official report is that there was a burglary that we got mixed up in. No one wanted to listen to my story about a man covered in scars who demanded to know if we were ghouls. "Another conspiracy theory? Isn't that what killed her?" said my former best friend. I got really weird and really antisocial after that. Ironic. The hunter who went by the name Haight is who drove me towards my vitae addiction. Glad I'm clean now, but if I ever find that man I'm putting two in his chest for Lucky, and one in the head for me.

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