I now recount to you, in the best detail I can, the events leading up unto now, unto my trial, and my internment into Lord Brispy Asylum. Alas, contrary to your wishes I must, indeed, start not from my crimes but, the beginning.
My good friend and fellow Man of Science, a being by the illustrious title, and name of Vladimir Antonovitch, more commonly known as The Mad Genius of the Poles. In truth, he detests the name, much preferring The Mad Genius, or even better, his actual name, but the English-speaking world struggles with names of the Germanic and Ukraine regions. The man himself struggled with English, to such an extent I often needed to “translate” what he said from unintelligible English to cohesive English.
However, when encountered with those who spoke Russian or Polish, indeed, I needed not be required.
You see Polish, the language of his home, was his first language, Russian as a second.
I believe his actual birth name was Władimir Antonovitch, though I am unsure.
It was, I believe Friday the 13th, 1844, and he made a truly, startling discovery!
He spoke of it for days, of the strange thing in the mountains, at Kholat Syakhal, the Dead Mountain. The thing stood in the Ural region of Russia. Part of the Ural Mountains, soared grand height of some 1,090 meters!
In those dreaded heights, indeed, something to inspire both awe and dread in equal measure was found, a small white cube…
It was picked up and inspected, and wiped of snow, it was a small blueish tesseract, glowing in the moonlight…
He felt, according to his notes, and uneasy dread to glare upon its angled slopes, he pocketed it and declared his expedition a success.
He went back to Poland by taking a train into Sweden and taking a passenger Schooner into the northern coast of Poland, in Województwo Warmińsko-Mazurskie.
He, reportedly, over time felt things turning grey, with little colour on only what he wished to touch. He looked upon the tesseract a great many times, and called it, Kholodno…
When he returned unto me, I was in Łódź, and there he spoke of such abhorrent things, things that haunt the dreams of kings, of things such as dreaded Arkenoss the Wise, and its Arkenoæ sentinels.
Beings of brass and clockwork, grand and majestic, yet terrifying.
The man was in such an awful shape, his face pale and deathlike from days without sleep, I brought him to a place he can rest, but he warned me not to look at that demented cube, I respected his wishes out of respect you see, I am indeed glad I did that. Later events make the reason for this clear.
The things he spoke of too me, such awful things, I felt a grip of a dark inky blackness, blurry, and unconditional, once my dear friend Vladimir ceased I felt the grasp leave from upon my mind.
“Yes! The Human mind, I believe, has limits!” he stated, and he wished to test that theory. But he needed time to decide upon, how.
“I do believe its power is great!” He said, he also elaborated, but exactly what he said is not exactly relevant. The man soon disappeared into his study, a rustic mess of a room towering with books, lit by gas lantern and filled with strange artefacts of bygone eons.
He had no windows, he would allow nothing to distract him from his work, and what work it was!
For 8 days and 8 nights, without a lick of sleep he was within that study of his, when I leaned down unto that door I heard terrible scrawling of his pen, and the dripping of ink, an unpleasant combination of sounds, suggesting he was frantic in his work, his writing likely unintelligible.
At no time did the man actually leave that room of his, he stayed in it the whole time.
Once, after 8 days and 8 nights he had opened that finely crafted wooden door of his, the door creaked, it had been ill maintained, and he stepped out slowly, he was more pale and ghastly than ever. His skin white like snow, deathly, and his hair in dark dishevelled contrast, he told of me Kholodno’s terrifying nature, how it has destroyed him.
“The thing could drive good men mad”, he said, and he believed it may have done that too him. He wished for some peace for a time, to contemplate he said, and thus I left him to himself for a while.
I thought about that demented thing, Kholodno, and I felt a need, an indescribable need to take it, like it was my duty.
I fought against the urge for a great while, indeed, I showed great force of will through that time, but alas, eventually I broke.
In the dead of winter, and night, I wondered out of my estate in a daze, like a sleepwalker, but more careful I made my way to Antonovitch’s estate and laboratories.
I snuck in like a dark shadow, or a ghost, oh yes, the tip was so fine, so sharp.
The halls, grey, only the things in which I would touch having a semblance of colour, an unconscious dizziness and awareness of another place, not of terrestrial nature.
The dark halls, the shadows in the nooks and cranny’s, the creaking of wooden planks…
To say I my next few actions where dark and terrible would be, in fact, quite accurate. You see I located him, and with a small dagger, cut into his neck, draining him of blood, and I stole Kholodno, the tesseract glowed with queer luminosity, what was it? Why was it? I had a great many questions.
Antonovitch’s cadaver was in a hallway, I could not tell which, I was struggling to know where I actually was.
I attempted to leave the premises at that point, and found rooms looping in upon themselves, and almost everything, indeed, the vast majority of things, turning grey, blood being a notable exception.
My walking, over time turned into a slow shuffle, using predominantly my foremost leg.
I wondered the dreaded halls, and found nothing, but I was discovered by the blasted police, that being, those in which I now stand in the presence of.
It is now, I say, that a solution is to be reached.
And thus I, with my hand, attacked a man and thieved a flintlock from it, and ran, all this, without though, without regret, it was as if some dread was controlling me, Arkenoss wants me…
Resistance to the urge to clumber towards the Abominable and Wise Thing that Is Arkenoss was required, I did not know what would happen if I were to reach Arkenoss but, it was probably involving insanity or death, if the current situation where anything to go by.
The glass shuttered as I leaped out the window, and unto a nearby rooftop, my pistol fell down in the process, and was to be abandoned, to retrieve it would be suicide.
I lost track of myself, I was falling, not into a hole or off the roofs, but down further, into the Dreaded Arkenoss…
I was inside my estate, it still looping in endless unceasing circlets that would drive good men mad! Indeed, I wondered, wondered for so unfathomably long,
The Will of Arkenoss was growing stronger inside me, a dreaded curse tearing upon my soul, every time I looked down at the Kholodno, I felt something inside me whispering “Break it! Go on, break the thing!” Resistance was key.
When I felt myself slipping I would not let it break! Instead, I would run, run out the door into an unfamiliar room that I was not in before, it seemed the house changed as I walked in it, was it too part of this terrible nightmare?
A nightmare indeed, a nightmare formed from utter shadow of the transient souls that urges and pulls on the mind. A nightmare formed from dreaded imaginary figments, figments that seem so real yet as soon as they pose a threat they cease to be.