7 March 2006
Karl Lindberg
Private Investigator
Concerning the disappearance of Prof. Manfred von Bek
It has been almost 4 months since prof. Maximilian Koestler approached me concerning the sudden disappearance of his colleague and close friend, prof. Manfred von Bek. I tried to make some sense of the whole incidence but I have to admit that the whole thing makes less and less sense the more I manage to uncover. At first I though it was a routine case. An academic which sought some solitude after the defeat he suffered during the failure of his long research programme to find the resting place of Alexander the Great.
Prof. von Bek appeared to be behaving rather strangely before his disappearance. Missing lectures and deadlines in an almost constant basis, which alone was strange enough for such a systematic and punctual man, was just one symptom. Max , as prof. Koestler insisted I call him, told that often von Bek would, in the middle of a conversation, stand completely still and stare away in the distance for several minutes. Sometimes he would even speak in various ancient languages, as if someone else was conversing with him. Following that, and when he returned to consciousness he would recall nothing of the incident. Usually I would say it would just be a case for the asylum but Max kept insisting that something must have happened to his friend and he wouldnt accept that just an academic failure had that effect on him.
I have my history with the occult, mysticism and apocryphal traditions and mysteries, and I am guessing that is the case Max came to me. I accepted the case after much pleading on Maxs behalf and that was partly due to the fact that I had to make ends meet somehow, since lately business was not going that well.
Max was kind enough to arrange for anything I might need and pay all the expense of my investigation
..how I could have said no to that!
The first interesting piece of information where these fragments of the journal he was keeping while in Egypt. I came to it by chance when looking through several documents in his University office. The opening remark was written apparently much later and the writing style is considerable different from the rest. I might have to see a calligrapher about it, see what he would have to say about the different writing styles.
My name is Manfred, Manfred von Bek and I am a professor in archaeology in the University of Munich. This is at least what I used to say some time ago, when I could still claim I owned my soul
..
Cairo: 18 July, 2004.
Finally we arrived in Cairo this afternoon. We will be staying here for the night and tomorrow we are setting of for Memphis and the digging site. Everyone in the expedition is overwhelmed with excitement. I think all will find it hard to sleep soundly tonight.
Memphis, digging site: 19 July, 2004.
The journey took more than expected due a flat tyre on the way. That however, did not deter our morale. Not as much as the heat at least. The locals and some of the workers in the site do not seem to notice it. I had to actually put some effort to prevent fainting a couple of time during the journey.
But all these are minimal nuisances. Tomorrow we will be entering the tomb and everyone excitement cannot be contained. Max spend the whole night going through notes and giving brief archaeology lectures and describe details of our long researches to whoever happened to be around him at the time. Although I share everyones excitement, I am exhausted enough to be certain that I will be getting a full nights sleep this time.
Memphis, digging site: 20 July, 2004
We spend almost the whole day, some 12 hours I am guessing, in the tomb. First observation: it is too large to be described as simply a tomb; underground necropolis would be more like it.
I have to admit that when we entered there was a feeling of disappointment among us. It was not what we expected. All our research, all this hard work for these years seem to be coming down to nothing. I firmly believed, and in that I was not alone in the group, that this indeed was the resting place of Alexander the Great, his sarcophagus moved here by Ptolemy IX, after the massive public uproar when his original golden one was melted to deal with the problem of coinage. Second observation: this tomb is not Alexanders resting place. Everyone kept wondering when we returned from the tomb what will happen with all the money the University has given and raised for us. It seems we have nothing to justify all these expenses now.
To make matters worse this place does not seem to anything like a typical Egyptian tomb. No religious artefacts to suggest that, no sarcophagi, no painting and ceremonial items. Despite all these, this place has certainly not be a victim of raiders. No human has entered it for centuries. It is a very simple and for the most part empty place. If I had to make a guess I would say it is probably some undergoing gathering place for secret meeting, maybe a place where alchemists during the first few centuries AD gathered, people like Zosimos, Maria the Jewess and so on. But no evidence of any alchemical practices was to be seen. On top of that, Jorgen pointed out to me that this place might have well been above ground some two thousand years ago and then covered by the desert sand. I fear we just found a bogus site of now historical or archaeological significance whatsoever.
It will take a couple of days before we can gather everything and move back to Munich. At least that will give us sometime to figure out a way to justify all the expenses the purpose of the expedition. If not, we have to accept that we will return home as losers and shamefully go about our daily choirs for sometime before this incident is forgotten.
Memphis, digging site: 21 July, 2004
The heat must be really starting to affect my brain here. I went into the tomb again with Max Arthur and Jorgen (Thomas and Hans decided not come back in and stay out and supervise the workers gathering our equipment although it was more due to the disappointment I am guessing).
I could not shake away the feeling that somehow I was being watched, and I do not mean by my colleagues. I felt we were not alone in that place. Sometime I would swear that I could see movement at the corner of my eye but when turned to confront it source there would be nothing there. The shadows even, I felt was something wrong with them
as if were alive, as if they we watched our every step. No doubt some trick of the torches we brought down with us.
But then it was the voices. I could swear at certain moments I could hear voices in my head. Maybe not hear them as such, but I got the feeling someone was probing my mind and the sensation of hearing voices was the result. I could not comprehend the language, at times I though it was Greek, Persian, Aramaic, roman, old Celtic, but then again nothing of the above. The voice was beautiful and ancient
how that can be said of an imaginary voice I know not. But the image conjured in my head when I heard it was of something beautiful and ancient. Some ancient and forgotten mystery or truth lost to us through the ages which was presenting itself to me. Get a grip Manfred, is what I kept saying myself. I tried to shrug of the feeling and urged everyone to get over and done with it, accept defeat and go back out again on the excuse that there is nothing down there.
But there is peculiar feeling emerging within me. Somehow I long to go back into the tomb. I want to hear the voices again and talk to them. But I am a rational man; at least I thought so until yesterday. All this cannot be but my imagination. There is nothing there and the sooner we leave the better it will be.
Memphis, digging site: 23 July 2004
We were gathering some of the surveying equipment which lay around the entrance of the tomb when I heard the voice again. At first I though it was the wind that blows in the desert, that constant whisper that is everywhere in the sea of sand. Indeed that is how I tried to rationalise my experience. This time it was like the song of the Sirens, tempting me, luring me to go back in. Again and again I tried to shake it off and go about my business. It did not go away though. It was like a playful courtship, as if a temptress was enjoying my denying her and kept trying to sway my will into doing her bidding, and doing it so knowing that my giving in was inevitable. Still I managed to hold on to my rationality and ignore the voice as a trick of the wind.
But when the night fell, the voice was irresistible. I was helpless this time, no matter how much I tried to maintain some form of reason over the whole incident I was unable to. I went into the tomb. I entered without a torch or any other source of light. But once I stepped in I found I needed none. I could follow the voice which was guiding me. I felt ethereal, incorporeal, I felt as not of this world. I felt I was living in a dream and even know I am uncertain whether I was one or not. My rational half tries to convince me that it was.
I was in the centre of this tomb. I could see anything, but I knew I was in the centre of the structure. I felt many voices whispering to me, hands caressing me. I felt I had fused back into the world and had became part of a primordial state of being that preceded the universe as we know it. I can not explain the feeling. I was ecstatic. I was as if I discovered what meant to be alive, I was united with the whole infinity of existence, and by being was the being of the world.
How I found my way back into my tent I cannot tell. I was waken up by my colleagues when we were about to set off to Cairo and from then, after a day or two, to Munich. But all this time I kept thinking about my experience in the tomb. This time I did not try to shake the thoughts off; I tried as hard as I could to recall that sensation. At times I felt that nothing else mattered to me, just that extraordinary sensation.
After this only fragment exist, rough notes to be more precise which for the greater part are incomprehensible. If his story is to be trusted at all, it seems that during that night in Memphis, prof. von Bek made some sort of pact with the otherworldly powers; the forces of the Netherworld is the most common reference. Again from what I could piece together he made this pact without him knowing fully what he was doing and why. One fragment which is more or less intact is of some interest here
I am losing my consciousness and my identity. With every passing minute I am becoming less and less Manfred and I am slowly merging into the realm of pure power that has claimed me. My soul belongs to me no longer. My identity is fading, my memory is fading, my past his progressively being erased and I remember less of it with every minute. This is the price to pay then. I am integrated into the whole of the Cosmos and as a result I am losing my individuality. I am not Manfred anymore, I am not anyone, I no-one, but I am all and everyone at the same time.
..[text becomes illegible]
..
Oh Nether, sweet Nether take this child of yours to your dark embrace. I am a Netherine now
. [some symbols and scribbles follow]
.
Yes sweet darkness we shall bring vengeance and justice upon the world, and will set everything according to the ancient pact
.
..Let evil tremble and fear the dark that sheltered it, for we have returned!....
Everything else seems to be too fragmentary to make any coherent sense, symbols, scribbles, torn pages, stains (which I have a strong suspicion are blood stains) make reading his journal nigh impossible.
I am now awaiting information from my men on the streets on this Netherine he is referring to. Hopefully that would give me some leads.
.Now, if only I could find a way to bring this news to Max
..
Greeting everyone, after sometime of lurking around here I decided to post finally.
I play in the union server and I got a couple of active charcters there. Right now I am looking for some good RPing. As far as RP I like all 'flavours' of it. From the purely social to the action oriented IC missions/hunting.
I am basically looking for an SG which places a good focus on RPing and which would think my charcter would be an appropriate candidate for membership.
Without furter ado, I introduce you to The Netherine; my DM/DA scrapper.
EDIT: I am sorry for the lenght of the post, I was not expecting it to be that long.
DISCLAIMER: Geographical, historical and other information are more than likley NOT accurate and should not be taken as such. Historical accuracy is not the purpose of this short fictional story.