Van Richten's Guide to Heroes

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Rock of the Fraternity
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Van Richten's Guide to Heroes

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Madness, Malice and Masterminds
or
The Van Richten Guide to Heroes

With many helpful remarks by the Red Haunt



From the Correspondence Files of Gennifer Weathermay-Foxgrove
4th of December, 762 BC

Greetings, gentle reader. I am Gennifer Weathermay-Foxgrove.
If you are reading this, I must expect – indeed, hope – that you are one of the thankfully few already familiar with the background of this document, wishing to reacquaint yourself with the particulars of the compiled text. I must hope it, for if you are not, then I must regretfully inform you that you have just opened yourself up to terrible danger.
Let me explain: The case surrounding this document began two years ago, when we were at the start of an investigation, to wit the as yet unsuccessful search for the location of a dangerous tome known as the
Grammaire des Ombres Secrètes and its keeper, who to date remains known only as 'the mystery benefactor'. (See Quoth the Raven 22, 'the Brightwell Legacy'.) We had sent out numerous messages across the land to our most trustworthy contacts, requesting information which might indicate the activities of 'the mystery benefactor'.
Our efforts were hampered by two obstacles.
First and foremost, there is the paucity of our knowledge about this villain. We had been informed by a contact of ours, the magical and scientific scholar who prefers to be known as 'Mu', that the Grammaire des Ombres Secrètes is a tome containing a vast array of alchemical formulae and spells wielded by Witches. What she could not tell us, was what the 'mystery benefactor' wants from the tome, because she herself does not know. Is he an Alchemist, a Witch, or something else? Does he wish to corrupt virtuous souls, to conquer a nation, or to do something so unspeakable that we do not have the words to define it? All we know is that he is a man – or at least appears to be such – who is capable of laying subtle traps and enlisting the aid of foul creatures of darkness, and prefers not to show his hand until his opponents are unable to resist him.
Our second obstacle is the dire need for secrecy in this hunt. The scholar Mu has personal experience of the Grammaire, and warned us that the book is seduction incarnate. To paraphrase her own words, it holds temptation for every soul, regardless whether they are themselves practitioners of alchemy or witchcraft or not. There are secrets outlined in its pages which can be of use to any kind of spellcaster; secret rites, recipes and Names recorded there which anyone might use if they are foolhardy enough to trust the Grammaire's assurances that “Evil is not an enemy for you to fight, nor a burden you must endure, but a gift”, which according to Mu translates as “Anyone who has the power to do a thing and wishes to do it, is free to do so”. Only the strongest souls can be trusted not to succumb to the temptations written in its pages and worse, the temptations which whisper from its cover into the mind that beholds it, and into the fingers that touch it.
One of the people we trusted with knowledge of the Grammaire's existence was hestmand Andor Chekiv of Nova Vaasa. Although we may have had our disagreements with this young nobleman in the past, we have never been able to fault his determination and displays of willpower when faced with the forces of darkness in general and Hags in particular. Hestmand Chekiv has concluded no less than ten successful hunts against these most dangerous of spellcasting monsters, displaying an iron determination and willpower, which allowed him to see through his prey's illusions and charms with almost contemptuous ease.
The hestmand was happy enough to join the hunt for the Grammaire and its keeper, and in fact sent us a message within three weeks of our having asked for his aid, in which he informed us that he had found traces of foul magic being wielded in his homeland of Nova Vaasa, at the Kantora College of Arts. It was his belief that a covey of Hags had infiltrated the city and was conducting experiments with the new spells and formulae offered them by the Grammaire, and he intended to pursue the matter without further delay.
We were concerned that the hestmand's singular focus on Hags might have lead him astray, and sent him a hurried message asking him to wait until we could arrange for some support.
There was no reply.
We attempted to contact the hestmand through other contacts in Nova Vaasa.
No one could find him.
We were deeply concerned for the hestmand's well-being, and contacted other friends in Nova Vaasa, hoping to find out what might have befallen him. Imagine our surprise when, a month later, there came a thunderous knocking on the front door of our home in the depths of a storm-gripped night, and we found the hestmand upon our doorstep! Andor Chekiv was a man transformed, however; where once he was boisterous and almost rude, he now looked as though he had barely survived starvation, his body was marked by vicious scars, he spoke barely in a whisper and walked like a man who wished he were smaller, even unseen. We were at a loss to understand how he had managed to reach us; he was barefoot, his clothes worn to rags, and yet he did not seem to have suffered from the bitter cold that had gripped the land. When we asked him how he had come to be with us, his already haunted-looking face grew fearful and he whispered that “she” had carried him through the storm.
“It was warm,” he added, as his body started to tremble and tears spilled from his eyes. “So … so warm.”
Then his eyes rolled up in the sockets until all we could see were whites. We feared our colleague in the hunt would collapse from privation, but instead his face contorted into the most hatefully joyous smile we had ever seen, and he spoke in a strange voice. A woman's voice. I will transcribe her words here as faithfully as I am able:

“My dear girls, I just can't begin to tell you what a pleasure it is for me to finally make your acquaintance!
Let me start by saying that I was a huge admirer of your dear Uncle, Rudolph Van Richten. He was truly a great man, a visionary and pioneer in the techniques of the Hunt. Yes, yes, I own copies of all of Doctor Van Richten's Guides, and they have been my friends in many a dark night and tight corner. Oh, my dears, I had so hoped that I would get to meet your Uncle Rudolph, maybe even match wits with with him over one little thing or another, but it seems the opportunity has passed me by. That is one of the disappointments of a long life, my dear children; the most wonderful people slip into Death's embrace like sand spilling through your fingers, and you lose opportunities you'd dreamed of.
Ah, but you yourselves represent one of the joys of a long life, my darlings; new generations wax to adulthood and new opportunities present themselves! Patience is a virtue I have learned to cultivate, and it has served me well. Patience and the vagaries of chance. Who could have imagined that your little friend would fumble and bumble his way into my lair, chasing after your little book? But here we are, and his silliness has made possible our acquaintance. You, the dashing young hunters, eager to learn the secrets of the darkness so you may yield it up to the light, and me...?
The monster you never knew existed. As eager to learn as you and more. As keen to instruct as you and more. Know me, then. Know me as the
Red Haunt.
My darling dears, it really is a pleasure for me to have this opportunity to communicate with you. Your Society, dedicated to your sweet Uncle, intrigues me. Your new Guides have delighted me! I own copies of them, too. So well have you tickled my fancy, that I feel moved to bestow upon you the gift of knowledge. Think of it as a Guide, which will instruct eager young minds in the hunt of one of this world's most persistent and perilous predators. I will give you this in memory of your Uncle, with whom I would have been honoured to cross swords, be it metaphorical or of steel.
Please await my next missive, my little darlings.”

At this point, hestmand Andor Chekiv began to tremble as though in the grip of an epileptic seizure and fell to the ground. We tried to restrain and sedate him, but neither magic nor chemicals could calm him, and his seizures were too extreme for bindings to restrain.
We would spare you the gruesome details of our colleague's death, gentle reader, except we feel it necessary that you know exactly how dangerous the creature was, which had warped a strong-willed hunter into its messenger.
Andor Chekiv died in our home, and without an autopsy we could not be certain whether he died because he had pounded in his own skull against the floorboards, or because he drowned in blood after he bit off his own tongue.
As usual, honeyed words were but a thin veneer on a soul fully in the grip of corruption. We did not yet realize the depths of the evil which had introduced itself to us in this manner.
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