<table><tr><td><img src=http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l81/Asmodeus1845/Stories/banner-1.jpg width=70% style="padding:10px"> March 1925. On England's west coast, the greatest storm in living memory is about to hit the port village of Penryn. <tr><td><img src=http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l81/Asmodeus1845/Stories/town.jpg align=left width=50% style=padding:10px> The fishermen, miners and shopkeepers take shelter with their families. The houses are boarded up, the streets emptied, and prayers whispered in the dark. But some do not sleep tonight. Foul deeds continue, in the shadow of the storm. <tr><td valign=top><img src=http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l81/Asmodeus1845/Stories/pub-2.jpg align=right width=50% style=padding:10px> At the Eagle Arms, Vicky Oswald keeps the lights on and the doors open. She will welcome any who come here. But tonight will be like any other night: her pub will be empty. The villagers no longer come here. No one has bought ale from Vicky since her sister vanished. But she will not be alone for long. Her father, in London, has hired an investigator, asking them to travel to Penryn and help Vicky find her sister before the kidnappers strike again. <tr><td valign=top><img src=http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l81/Asmodeus1845/Stories/marrak.jpg align=left width=50% style=padding:10px> At the village church, the insanity of Father Marrak grows. He has suffered an injury, something terrible, and now his faith is eroding, day by day. He tells all to an old friend, whom he has written to for many years. Each letter arrives with more tangled writing, stranger language, each pen stroke seeped in gathering despair. The old friend fears for Marrak's well-being, and will travel to Penkos tonight to check on him. <tr><td valign=top><img src=http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l81/Asmodeus1845/Stories/fish.jpg align=right width=50% style=padding:10px> At the northern cove, the fishing docks are not entirely abandoned. A group continues working in the dead of night, in trenchcoats and hats that hide their faces. They speak in American accents, and whisper the name Scarface. These smugglers have something that needs doing. They have hired a killer, who is arriving tonight. His task will simple. To kill the noble known as Lord Cargwyn. <tr><td valign=top><img src=http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l81/Asmodeus1845/Stories/mansion-1.jpg align=left style=padding:10px width=50%> And on the headland, upon high cliffs overlooking the village, Cargwyn Manor keeps its gates shut. Once the great employer and benefactor of Penryn, the noble and his servants have now become recluses. Rumour is that Randolph Cargwyn has deposed his father and taken over the estate, shutting down the tin mines and robbing the villagers of work. But his father had many friends - many connections. His father was a Mason. And now an initiate of the Order is coming to learn the fate of Old Lord Cargwyn.</table> The storm is coming. And all shall be revealed this night.