Illuminati Comms Intercept

// LVP-NY LISTENING POST: FLG_TRAFFIC_77B //

> K-SR: Asset is in place. Brooklyn warehouse. Standard op. But the PR waveform is... spiky. You getting this on your end?

> V-LX: Reading you. Spikes confirmed. Looks like we have an unregistered ascendant in the vicinity. Some wannabe hedge-mage trying to draw a circle. Sloppy.

> K-SR: Great. More paperwork. Do I neutralize? The resonance could interfere with the primary objective.

> V-LX: Negative. Let them play with their candles. The asset is more important. We need that codex. If the hedge-mage gets eaten by what they summon, bonus for us. Less competition. Just get the package and get out. And try not to get any dimensional residue on the merch this time. Management was pissed about the last run.

> K-SR: No promises. It's messy out here. K-SR out.

--- END TRANSCRIPT ---

The Lionheart's Compass

The compass needle, usually a jittery thing, has been frozen solid for the last three centuries, pointed irrevocably towards what we now understand as the "Singing Sinkhole" off the coast of Solomon Island. Its casing, crafted from some unknown, impossibly resilient metal, bears the faded crest of the Knights Templar—a faint red cross against a white field, nearly rubbed away by the countless hands that have clutched it. Legend says it was carried by a Crusader, Sir Kaelan, who swore fealty not just to God and Crown, but to the very concept of cosmic order. He claimed it whispered directions, not to earthly north, but to breaches in reality, points where the Veil thinned.

It surfaced again in the archives beneath the Palazzo Ducale in Venice, mistakenly categorized as a navigational curiosity. Brother Thomas, our resident antiquarian, recognized the resonance immediately. He said the metal hummed against his palm, a low thrum that bypassed his ears and settled directly in his teeth. A faint scent of old salt and something else—something electric and alive—emanaated from it. The last entry in Sir Kaelan's journal, found with the compass, simply read: "The song grows louder. They come for the weak places. We must hold the line."

Archival entry, Section 7, Sub-Level B, London Secret World Council Vaults. Catalog No. Temp/Relic-003. Last accessed 2025/11/01.