At the end of the treeline lies the entrance to another kind of forest, not of pines, but of tombs. Journeying through the spires of stone and the piles of bone brings one to the foot of a great and narrow pathway leading up to the eminent castle. Inexplicably, a single, sustained note from what sounds to be an electric guitar echoes out from the castle rooftops. An olive branch from some unseen inhabitant? Or an omen of things to come?
A gate watchman not dissimilar in size and stature to the devil from the forest. An acquaintance, perhaps..? Regardless, he was not on the boat so it cannot be assumed he is relevant to this investigation.
Elyts ni kcab emoc ot gniog si ekil uoy tah taht.
Ru'f lz hapvfb, hog baqrf'g ur xbyb yzbgfn plrygnk ryxv Hspvyre?
[In crypts, OWLS guide thee.]
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[] Elyts ni kcab emoc ot gniog si ekil uoy tah taht.
[] Ru'f lz hapvfb, hog baqrf'g ur xbyb yzbgfn plrygnk ryxv Hspvyre?
[] [In crypts, OWLS guide thee.]
[] -... ..- - / --- -. .-.. -.-- / ... --- / ..-. .- .-. .-.-.- / - . -..- - -- . -.-. .... .- -. .. -.-. .-.-.- -.-. --- -- .-.-.-
[] s/vBtnCdRFcQ7Q/aW/QGxvvKzKHWiYIZbY+AmAa0CEMhMTIhz9HCOK/pITkhI/Fc/iExMyHAiqfUqv64CKbYroVCUNQQoheUWuMhMTMhar8b9/A=
[] 4SEzMyHMrKajZZhlUvZ5EXi2+qFkB9KfITkh9EK3ca6A8Kmo1s1A6JfAMy/QSQSpToUhMTMhYI9Jx+HGkxLOSxODsKIOUBv5
[] 01000010 00100000 01010010 00100000 00101110 00101110 00101110 00100000 01001001 01101110 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100011 01101111 01100110 01100110 01100101 01100101 00100001
Ever since the "Giant Diabolical Eye" incident, this once-proud Scotsman has spiraled down into a dark world of depression and dispomania. The condition of his current state is so worrying that one could reasonably expect him to drink even the blood from the arteries of an intoxicated man if it meant a single drop of alcohol entering his system.
[Victim] Och, Saxton Hale. Hoo we shan't miss thee, brither. Ah woods poor a glahss ay th' finuest ale in aw ay scootlund in hoonoor ay ye, but blahh, aam a vampre! Brin' me th' lassies er' i'll not lit ye lae w'ifou yer necks filla holls. Thes is ba nicht ay ye inducshen intae th' ... Zzz ... uf..? Ohh... Wha?
[Suspect] Th' Pysro iys a buggser. Th' Scit jis a bugger. Th' Spy is le bugger. A' fowk oan thes islaind but in parituclar them fowk is a bugger an' nah woods say 'at again but mebbe loodur if awh hae time. *HIC* Let's guh fihsin'? We're oan thes islain an' there's probably lots ay guiid places tae buy tackle... Aye, ah hae a drikkin' problem.
[Custodian] Och aye, someain indeed stole mah uckly prodder. Ah seem tae min' tmhaur bein' a flask ay some colorfel toxin bein' dspiersed amang th' drinks oan th' boat, an' rmeley zassumed it was tae liven things uhp. In retraspect, ah sholds hae said somethin' sooner, ah ken. Dae ye think we wauvr drugged an' that's hoo we lest uir stuffs? Sif that's hoo it fis, 'en exactlvy hoo lang weaur we owt? *HIC*
[Island] TTh' seht ay 'at castle makhes me a bit concerneded. *HIC* Ahm sure ye heard 'at awfy rackit soondin' frae th' rooftop an' yoo've seaen a't blimper fing floatin' oan tbh' horizon. There's somethin' ominoos abit thes whole sitchiation we're in, ah dorn't loch it a blotty bit.
Skeletons, once thought to be creatures of myth, now litter the surface of every country of every continent. Nobody knows where they come from or what should be done to dispose of them. Ancient Canadians had the idea of constructing yards of graves and planting the bones within the ground as if to somehow let them rest in peace. Prime example of why they all went extinct.
The Gleck 11cm Auto, standard-issue pistol for all Detroit Public School Teachers. A close examination reveals a full magazine with a bullet still in the chamber. This gun has likely not been fired in some time.
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