Aeon Horror

“My dear young man… Please excuse the manner of this message, but I have a lot to say and my health puts me in a position where I feel that writing it all out might take too much of a toll on me. I have many people to reach. And I do have to admit that these cameras are rather fun.

In short, yes, please do indulge me while I attempt to lay out the situation in which I find myself. Necessity forces me to be brief, but there is only so much I can omit for the sake of haste. Nonetheless, I apologise if this account leaves you feeling somewhat overwhelmed.
I’m also sincerely sorry for the burden that I am about to lay at your feet.
This, dear Christian, is the tale of my life as a result of Dr Samuel Whittaker…”

The year was 1968. The passengers of Luton flight EZ771 and of staff of Carlisle Airport found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time as the powers that held back ancient and wild forces began to unravel. Hadrian’s Wall, the great Vallum built to hold back That Which Lays Beyond The Light Of The Campfire in the magical, savage North was compromised. Dreams of technology and airport expansion had started the collapse; the arrival and mishandling of a magical weapon (known for “opening doors”) was the final blow.

In April, 1925, an eclectic group of individuals congregated at The White Lodge, home of eccentric and reclusive gentleman of independent means, Niles Hansford. Although each came with their own reason, it became ever more apparent that there were deeper currents at work. Hansford’s habits were hardly what one might consider normal, and his connections were – to say the least – a bit on the diverse side.