Chapter One: The Numbers and the Shadows

Since the first multicellular organisms pulled themselves free of the primordial sludge of creation, there has been something to fear; One Another.

Our tale is not of the horrors of men, nor the dread of wild beasts. No...... Our Tale is Of A Place, A Name....

The Place? The Beskan Mountains.

And the Name? Výkřikožrout.

What do you know about these distant mountains in Northern Europe? Their hometown delicacies? Their regional bird perhaps? Do you know of the rumours whispered in home and by hearth, out of fear that the thing of which they speak will hear and punish them for speaking ill of it? Do you know why none of them dare utter a sound on those lonely mountain passes?

Well, Childe, Sit right there, and allow me to weave a tale that I daresay you'll find most... Harrowing.

In the small town of Morden, Germany, 1911

Silas Beaumont, a French Canadian Banker who has found gainful employment in Europe, sits in his office, clad, as ever in an old and somewhat threadbare but impeccably clean slate-coloured suit with silver pinstripes that glint like daggers in the sunlight, and a deep purple tie around his neck.

He is working away as he does, six days a week, every week, even in the holy season. Today happens to be the 13th, and that means, as usual, It is time for figuring out the quantity of coin to which the many debtors of the bank owe in interest this month, However, today—unlike the many 13ths before this one—Silas feels slightly ill at ease. It is nothing severe, merely a slight weight at the base of his stomach. Was it the second serving of Stroganoff last night? He isn’t quite sure

He slides the beads along his abacus as he jots down the digits roughly in his small black book with his left hand, "Click, Click, Click," he mutters along with each bead, the only sounds; the steady, slow breaths drawn through a blocked nose, the dull thrum of the world beyond these beige walls and the eternal ticking of the clock on the wall. Hm. And then—in the periphery of his attention—the shutters rattle, faint but insistent, Merely the wind, he's sure.

The crawl of his mind’s mathematic centre is shaken by the incessant trilling of the telephone. He’s never liked them much—he remembers when people would show up to the office rather than yammering on the line. He takes a deep breath, letting his frustration simmer down, then snatches the handset off the receiver.

"Schwarzer Gulden Finanz, How May I Be Of Service?" his voice is low and rumbling, spoken from the back of his throat.

and the voice on the other end speaks

"Ah, Herr Beaumont. Guten Tag." A momentary pause. "This is Reinhard Keller from the Munich branch. I require your expertise regarding an irregularity in one of our accounts."

Silas raises an eyebrow. "Herr Keller?... An irregularity, you say? May I ask the nature of this issue?"

Herr Keller sounds to sigh slightly before he speaks "As I am sure you are aware, Herr Beaumont, We at Schwarzer Gulden Finanz, have expanded our operations quite significantly over these last three and a half decades... "...One of the territories we have begun covering in recent years is the region known as Beskaska—our designation in the ledgers for the villages in the foothills of the Beskan Mountains. You are privy to this, Da?"

Silas' expression softens in interest, his disdain for the telephone overridden by curiosity "Beskaska? Region Code BSK? Oui, I am aware of it... But, hm... at the risk of sounding impertinent, may we make haste to the matter at hand?"

A breath, slow and slightly stressed over the phone "Very well, Herr Beaumont, I appreciate your candour." A pause, followed by the faint clink of a glass as he takes a sip. "We have been attempting to reach an account holder there, one Miss Jenna Vandlova. We cannot seem to reach her via the telephone..."

Silas scoffs slightly, barely audible but unmistakable. This situation only reinforced his disdain for telephones.

Herr Keller, pauses, having noticed, but does not address it "Indeed. Unfortunately, Fräulein Vandlova has proven virtually impossible to reach. We hear the line go active—as if somebody picks up—but nobody on the other end speaks..."

Silence, both men waiting for the other to speak.

Herr Keller clears his throat as he continues "Ultimately, Herr Beaumont, I have little choice but to request you make an expedition on the Bank's behest...."

Silas' eyes widen. "Mm?" A surprised noise, one that escapes his lips unbidden. "Ahem. An... 'Expedition,' Herr Keller? This is... most unusual, I'm sure?"

The wind outside seems to stir at the words, rattling the shutters a little louder, and Herr Keller says "Mm... Yes, well—I feel it is my responsibility to tell you something..." A pause, a heavy moment "...Jenna Vandlova is not the first, Herr Beaumont." Another pause, this one weighted, like a stone sinking in a pond. "She is merely the latest to disappear from Beskaska."

Silas leans back "Pffff....." teeth to lip and breath between, a sound of shock "That's quite a pill to swallow, Herr Keller... Is the region quite safe? Could it be some sort of... insurgents have taken root there?"

Herr Keller huffs slightly "I sincerely wish that were the case, Herr, but unfortunately, our investigations have revealed the region to be home to little more than wealthy countryside aristocrats and farmland... Hence, the necessitation of your expedition."

Silas, ever the dedicated employee, asks "And may I ask... this expedition, will it be paid at a higher rate than my standard?..."

Herr Keller lets out a breath, a soft, quiet exhale "Ah, yes... thrice your standard rate, in fact, Herr Beaumont."

Silas' gaze drifts to the window, settling on the church spire—silhouetted against the evening sky. He counts on his hands, calculating just how much the expedition, at thrice his pay, would truly earn him... he mutters away from the phone, barely above a whisper "1.44 Marks, thrice-times, 4.33... Eleven hours traveling, three days in Beskaska, and eleven hours home... My god... 407.02 Marks?!" his eyes widening at this amount, as he realises that including his travel and the days in Beskaska, he could earn a truly huge amount very quickly.

At last, covetousness wins out over hesitation. He exhales slowly, then says, "I shall acquiesce to your request, Herr Keller. I trust the details of my travel arrangements will arrive in the morning?"