FOG06 (Oct 10, 2017)
DISCLAIMER: THIS RECEIPT HAS BEEN UNLOCKED BY DIVISION TANGO (UPDATES 1-10).
Summary of Receipt
With Amsaim dealt with, 1313 writes a report about it warning the CaD not to underestimate her. The next issue is Crow. 1313 question whether or not the CaD’s being aided by someone from the Everdark, and learns that a new power has risen in the Otherside - a Morbid King who rules the submerged city of Ys (or Is), plotting to conquer the afterlife (necropolis).
Transcript
CAFE AND DINER RECEIPT FROM 10/10/17
EMPLOYEE 1313
RECEIPT: MRSAMSAIM06
STATUS: PAID
Friend or foe, I do not know
But with the gloom and doom now lifted
The Sun can grace once more the West with its glow
Still... I feel that tides of ebon have now shifted.
Mrs. Amsiam has paid her tab at the Cafe and Diner for now. Although her friendliness might have raised a brow. I wish to remind everyone that Mrs. Amsiam is, in fact, married, and should we forget that we might end up buried. What we now know is that the flies are feeding a Crow. Who or what is this avian beast? Mrs. Amsiam nor I know… except it has a need to feast. In any case, Mrs. Amsiam has returned to Ottawa, so I'm considering her tab as no longer overdrawn.
Strange though, they would send such a shade to check on this event. Stranger still, who would have her this way sent? I can't claim to know the flow of the pits of stygian black, but could it be someone within has our back? From what I've always known, the customers who lurk in that deepest darkness aren't too pleasant on their own. Things are shifting in the final steps of hell, at least from what I can tell. I can't shake the feeling that a king has come to reign over caverns of gloom and glum. A king, or beast, or creature, I cannot say. Though it will not be easy to keep his influence at bay.
Morbid. That is his name. I feel it in my bones. I feel it deep inside me. There is a Morbid King, and his plans are darker than any darkness I could possibly see.
A Morbid king sits upon the sunken throne of Ys,
His words are coated in thick sludge and grease.
His gurgles and groans bemoan a pleading cry,
To rise, and rise, and rise again to shift the tide.
To slay the night and bathe in her blood,
To march forward into their ancestral flood.
To ride the tides of engulfing black,
To once more take the afterlife back.