Location: New Orleans. Time: Mardi Gras. It had been a good month since you've returned from that island. The island where your family had been lost and where things you could not understand, regardless did happen. It was no hallucination, you know that well enough. It was real and as real as the hands you bear and the experience from that scarring time. Still, it makes you wonder what else may be out there. And if they may be as dangerous as the Sun Queen. Regardless, life goes on. The Croft family had always been somewhat well off, rich enough to pursue a life of devotion to uncovering the worlds secrets. With this tendency came one to gain souvenirs. Clutter mostly, among them one day something that sparked your interest mightily, concerning your father. It was his journal. The last entry reading thus. I find it highly improbable that there is nothing left to discover in such a world as ours. I find it difficult to believe in a world where the blank corners of the map have all been filled and where the only mysteries left are what you make. That is not the legacy I wish to leave to my daughter. The world is vast yet and we have barely scratched its surface in regards to its secrets. What stories would the earth tell I wonder, were it capable of speech? What could it tell us, about all the various generations that had lived, died and all in the full understanding that their lives mattered, as we believe our lives mattered? I wonder sometimes if I will ever find out. Perhaps not. Regardless, this is the greatest adventure I could have hoped to attain. And it begins with a story, that even now fills me with wonder. A story that begins in a pub, where I and Conrad met an old pupil of mine from my days as a history professor. I remember showing pictures of my beloved daughter to the barkeep, Conrad and I puffing up with her singular praises as well as relish that she was following in my footsteps. So precocious and already a person I could brag about to strangers, were I not already in the habit of singing her praises. And as we were chatting, I was clapped upon the shoulder by that pupil of mine. A burgeoning antiquarian named Tom Riddle. He had sought me out, seeking my opinion on a particularly intriguing work. A statuette I leave here, in Polaroid form as was given to me. [ITEM GAINED: 1 x Picture.] [Description: A faded Polaroid picture, depicting a statuette. It looks Aztec in design. The notes on the back claim it was found in New Orleans, in the middle of the bayou.] It was so surreal and yet so incredible at the same time. Unfortunately, I will be missing this adventure for now as- The rest of the journal is blank. Pages ripped out by someone unknown and then well....You know what happened next. There were however, some signs of what he was planning. An old ticket stub to New Orleans bookmarked a page, where an address was written. And a name. The Red Devil Hotel, room 203. To finish the adventure your father began, to prove him right in his view of wonder...What better legacy could you give his memory? That and well...Mardis Gras. Should be a fun, relaxing time to see the sights. What could possibly go wrong?