Author's Note: During the construction of the Communications Hex, there was a small box unearthed at the apex of the hill where construction was taking place. Old archive records note that the spot where the box was found is directly below where the main gate stands today. There were 2 articles inside the box; a small figurine carved from a very dense hardwood, and a manuscript. The figurine was remanded to a display case in the Sysop's private apartments, and the manuscript was placed in the care of the Executioner, to be translated to a readable form. It is the opinion of the Executioner that the following is a fabricated tale, intended to scare the workers from their jobs, due to a third party's interest in acquiring the property. The following is the translation of the Manuscript..... THE EXECUTIONER'S TRANSLATION I'm writing this as a warning to all who may be affected. Also, it will serve as a testimonial that I am in my right mind and in possession of all my faculties. Someone must warn future generations of the terrible manifestations that are taking up habitations here in in the seas. Soon, when I finish, I will hide this tome of secrets in hope that its contents will be heeded as the warning that it is intended to be. My family name is not important, as some are still living in the port city in the far north named Innsmouth. I wish them no troubling visitors and would rather they think I still live and follow the old family tradition of fishing. It is partly due to the this tradition that I left Innsmouth, seeking refuge and information in the new city of Arkham, where the construction of a large university is currently underway. Innsmouth, as a fishing village, is dying. But it is also dying for other reasons, which I cannot freely write about here. For many generations my family has followed the sea, whaling, hunting the wild dogs of the sea, and of late, fishing the northern shoals with huge nets. For many years I grew up listening to the strange and outlandish tales that my father and the other fishermen told, at night and at times when they were unable to put out to sea due to the freakish storms that would roll with lightning-quickness from the east. All the children would love to hear the stories of undersea cities, giant sea-beasts, and ghost ships. Even the foreigners would tell of similar occurences in their native lands. Even Captain El-Emraha would occasionally honor us with a tale of his homeland about Abdul Alhazred, the Mad Arab. We would beg to hear the stories about R'lyeh, and sunken Sarnath, and yarns about the happenings in the Severn Valley in Birkeshire from the crews of vessels from that country. I think back now and shudder to think that I, as a child, believed those tales no more than any other fairy-tale. Now that I can see that the horrors and travesties were true, I do not understand why our parents spoke openly of Shaug-Niggrauth and Great Cthulu. Such open speculation only tends to draw the attention of the surviving minions of sullen Kadath. But I am digressing..... One day in late October, we were fishing in the deeps of the channels of Narrangassett Bay when our nets became entangled in what I thought was the craggy bottom. As we attempted to circle around the point where they held the bottom, some of the crew and I saw that the net was moving of its own volition, as if some great creature was caught within its folds and was struggling to escape. Suddenly, from the east, one of the fastest and most violent squalls approached, changing the sky from bright afternoon to gloomy twilight in less than one minute. The calm waters of the bay churned and threatened our craft with capsizing. It was the singularly most amazing thing I had ever seen in my 17 years. It was also the saddest day of my life, for as we circled to dis-entangle the nets, my father tried to drop the clew of the mainsail so it would not be ripped by the storm. As the heavy canvas fell to the deck, a heavy gust blew the sheets against my father. As he struggled to extricate himself from between the sail and the railing, the boat suddenly lurched forward, the nets having ripped loose from the bottom. My father tried vainly to regain his balance, to keep from falling into the cold waters of the bay. He grabbed the gunwale for a moment, then pitched over the side. The storm died quickly as it came upon us. Afterwards we circled the bay for hours in our search. My father's body was never found. We returned to Innsmouth in sullen silence. -=*=- Later that night as we despondently cleaned the nets and gutted our catch, my youngest brother found, tangled in the net, a figurine made of gorgonian growth. It was nearly 9 inches high, and the statuette had a fine layer of sea plants growing on it. The facial features were not distinct, except for the eyes. The more one looked into the eyes, the more a feeling of forboding overcame the observer. The face had no nose or mouth, but curiously enough it had a long moustache. Not the bushy kind favored by the fishermen of our village, but long thin tendrils, ridged & textured like an octopus' tentacle. I cleaned the algae & sponges off the figure and examined the rest of it. Its arms were folded in front of it, and it wore a long palmers cloak, with the hood pulled back. On the base were the words "Ce'haiie ep-R'lyeth Cthulu." I took the figure to the The Kraken's Eye, the tavern favored by all the friends of my father. Everyone expressed their sympathy and inquired after my mother's well-being. Many offers of help and any necessities were made to me, for which I thanked the proferrers, but declined the offers. I thought the statue might have something to do with my fathers disappearance, and sought advice from his former companions. No one could tell me exactly what the figure was, but all agreed that it resembled the description of the The Old One, Cthulu. After much discussion it was decided that it was an ornament from a long lost whaling ship that got caught in our nets and was torn from the bottom of the bay and the resting place of its former owner. That night, my dreams were plagued by terribly real cloaked figures, roaming the streets of Innsmouth, looking in the windows, sniffing the doors and the sidewalks. In the morning, the still fog smelled of decay and rotten fish, which the fishermen said the breeze had blown in from the ocean. I didn't ask them what made them think a breeze brought the smell, because it seemed to explain what happened. But I noticed that the smell was heavier in the streets and alleyways of the village than at the docks. -=*=- Sometime in the mid-afternoon, a body was found. The first mate of the whaling vessel Osprey was found near the docks. His face and neck were covered with small weals, blisters and welts. It looked almost like he'd fallen face-first into the tendrils of a huge Man-O-War, the floating jellyfish. I remembered seeing him the night before at the tavern. As I looked at the body I remembered the stories my father told of the minions of Kadath, Cthulu's servants, and how they would flay and torture their enemies. I knew something terrible was happening, and the figure had something to do with it. Some months before, a man had been to Innsmouth, looking for information on old legends. When he left he had said he could be reached at the Miskatonic University's temporary faculty hall in Arkham. He had listened with great interest to the tales the men told, especially the stories of Cthulu and his followers. His name was Joseph Gilman, and I decided to go to Arkham that evening and see if he could tell me anything more about the statuette from Narrangassett Bay. I borrowed a horse and made it in 3 hours. Dr. Gilman, I was told, had gone to Portland for a couple of days and was expected back at any time. As I waited for him, one of his colleagues examined the figure. He seemed quite excited about it, making sketches of it, and wax impressions of the toolmarkings on the base of the figure. He refused to say anything regarding its origin, saying only that Dr. Gilman was the formost authority, and I should wait for him to examine the artifact personally. I waited in Dr. Gilman's study, examining all the books of lore and legends from various places and peoples. Many had been written by Dr. Gilman himself, but more were from other authors and sources. As I examined a book on Ponape Sea-Gods, I saw an engraving of a statue located, the text said, on a small Island in the Ponape Archipelago. It was an exact duplicate of the one we retrived from the cold waters of the Bay. Except that it was over 45 feet high. -=*=- Close to midnight, as I sat in the study, Dr. Gilman returned. We talked in depth about the events of the past two days. He examined the figure and I showed him the engraving in the book I found on his shelf, and he seemed suprised that I had been able to find the text pertaining to the subject, let alone read it. I explained that my mother was a well educated woman, who insisted that her children be able to pursue other vocations if they chose, and not be bound by illiteracy to the sea. Some hours after midnight, as we sat and talked, a hard pounding was heard at the front door. I recognized the caller as the son of the innkeeper from back at Innsmouth. He had ridden a horse, borrowed from the carter back in the village, all the way from Innsmouth at break-neck speed. The horse finally dropped from exhaustion just outside the city. He had run the rest of the way on foot. He told us of dire happenings that evening back in Innsmouth. At dusk, a memorial service was held for my father. As the inhabitants of the village stood in mourning at the dockside, cloaked and hooded figures appeared in the village and went straight to my family's house. The house was seemingly torn apart, the front door broken down, cupboards and chests ransacked, walls and floors smashed apart, windows broken and furniture shredded. Worst of all was the smell. It was as if a fresh grave was opened to the summer sun, the stench was so overpowering. There had been one witness; a neighbor's son, a child of 5 years, had remained at home and seen the culprits. There was some skepticisim as to his credibility though, because the men he saw were "..big tall men, with octopus's where their heads should have been." That was enough for Dr. Gilman. He gathered a few belongings and made ready to go to Innsmouth immediately. He told me and the innkeeper's boy to stay at the residence until he returned. The innkeeper's boy curled up on the sofa in the study while I continued to read the book I had found the engraving in. It would be an exercise in futility to recount all that I discovered, but let us say I discovered more than I ever wanted to know about Cthulu. At some time during the night I nodded off to sleep, only to be troubled by the same dreams that I had back in Innsmouth. This time, the figures were coming out of the river and moving through the streets of the city, only to be driven back to the water when the sun came up. I woke up in a sweat, recalling a passage I read just before dropping off. "The defilers and desecrators of the temple were relentlessly pursued, to be brought back alive and made a sacrifice, for their transgressions." Now I knew what they were doing, and that these tales were not just stories but terrible legacies from a civilization long past. I decided to draw the danger as far from Innsmouth and my family and friends as possible. I took from Dr. Gilman's desk a manuscript book, to keep notes in. And of course I took the figurine. My idea was to go south and west to avoid the coast and my pursuers. The text in Dr. Gilman's study said that the minions of Kadath could only travel out of the water in the dark of the night. I avoided all streams and rivers when possible, and I camped on high hills or outcroppings of rock, because it seemed that the creatures were loathe to approach these. The creatures were drawn to the figurine, and I felt the furthur I could draw them south, the safer my family would be. The only problem, the longer it stayed in my possession, the more it stayed in my mind. Now the figures didn't wait for my dreams, only for my eyes to close for a moment, then I stood before the malevolent gaze of the giant statue. I felt it bending its will to find me, its impaitience with its servants and their inability to catch up with me. I survive on only snatches of sleep, to be awakened when I can no longer stand the oppression of the ever-growing presence of the figure in my nightmares. Now I feel more that I am the object of its obsession, rather than the grey-green figurine I carry. -=*=- My commentary must cease now...No longer is he content to reside in my subconscience, I feel his wrath in my every waking moment. I can see him in my mind's eye even as I walk in the sunlight. He has banished his servants, angry at their ineptness and my cunning in evading them. In my mind I can see his progress through the strata of the earth, and soon he will be here, and I feel my time fading fast. Warn the peoples of the northern coast! Stay away from the cavernous deeps of Narrangassett Bay. Tell them not to disturb the bottom off Innsmouth, in the place called Devil's Reef, for it has that name for good reason. It is time..........he is here..........I bury these notes and the figure, that you may have proof of my story, in a box at the top of this hill, then I await his fury. (End of translation)