There is a Hole in the world, and through it dark things writhe, shriek, plot. It’s a thin veil between our mundane lives and ancient evils beyond comprehension, and at the mouth of this blasted cave, in its very maw, Gatekeeper Cecil is rolling a joint.

“Ain’t so bad. Once you figger the voices in yer head ain’t all yours, it’s kinda soothin’,” he tells you. He prods at the pot of beans bubbling over the fire. “They keep me comp’ny.”

From the bowels of darkness comes a sound like a million weeping children. Cecil winks and sparks the jay.


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