The gate to the West is fraught with mystery, intrigue, & yes...danger.

It was thought by the Ancient Egyptians that to "go West" was to go to the afterlife. the Ba, or Egyptian concept of the greater soul, would travel onward to be tested by the Gods while the Ka, the lesser soul, remained with the body.

If it seems odd that I quibble about such esoteric matters, bear with me dear readers, bear with me.

As I passed the still patrolled border of what was once the proud TANN Alliance, I found myself beset by a stillness - for such a land of adventure, this humble scholar found the Wastes...peaceful. Serene.

Or, so I thought at first.

Armed with a natural curiosity I gained from my Mother & my Grandfather's winning smile, I was accompanied only by my trusty beast of burden Daisy as I was beset by a most fearsome apparition - rising before me like unto the Devil himself was a being calling itself the Thin Man - he bid me follow, & though an attempt was made, I fear a bungle on my part lefty my dear Daisy mortally injured!

I was, of course, beside myself with grief at this turn of events! The apparition assured me that this matter was not beyond it's mysterious powers...I only needed to rescue a young lady named Maya & destroy some "source of great abundance" along the way...pressing a leather ledger into my admittedly numbed hands, he pushed me on my way - that way being, the small frontier town of Pinwell.

There was an odd young lady who was spat out from the ground then, but after some interrogation they turned out not to be Miss Maya - I was aware of a certain skulking, shrouded figure following my trail, & thought it best to make haste to the town ahead. There, I pieced together, thanks to the mixed curse & blessing that is my the Psychic talent strong in my Mother's side of the family, I deduced that these desperate townies had been lured by the very demonic apparition that had accosted me to sacrifice travelers such as myself for a measure of water!

During this time, the young lady who had been spat from the sand proceeded to wave a lantern at everyone in sight, mumbling about prophecy, blessings, & similar incoherent nonsense.

Poor soul must have got to much sun.

As I made to win over the locals & acquire a serviceable firearm in the process, some great commotion came fro the building the women folk had retreated to! Shouting out for Maia among the fray, I gained a clue to the disappearance of the young lady, & traveling below the benighted bridge I would see my worst fears reality - some terrible power had been spat up from Hell in the form of a painting, & as the fallen Priest brandished it at the young lady chained like unto a sacrificial lamb, so too did the waters poor from her mouth & nostrils, as if like the headwaters of the great Mississippi herself!

Two surly men with scatter guns held vigil, but the strength of the righteous was with me that day, & I did in fact smote them with fire & great noise like unto the good book itself! The Priest turned his terrible Talisman my way, & so it was that my own lungs filled with the diabolical waters! Nothing a firm hand on the trigger of a Remington 12 gauge couldn't solve however!

The source of the spell broken & the girl saved, I would turn my efforts to saving the soul of the town, led astray by a wicked thing in the guise of a man...I say that, yet is it not true the Devil kept his word? My dead Daisy was returned to me unharmed...

The Mysteries of the West run deep, my friends. Returning to the village, it would seem the hooded figure assaulted the town folk, being revealed as an abomination not unlike an Arachnid in nature & apparently filled with the Devil's own fire! Several were killed before the creature was brought down, among them my little lantern wielding friend.

A sorry end...you were too innocent for this world. I will keep this spare lantern to remember you buy.

Having inspired the people of Penwell to look beyond their sins & have faith is such lost technologies as solar stills, deeper wells, & cisterns - it was time that I was on my way. Some of the townsfolk, despondent about the crimes they had committed while deceived by the Thin Man, could no longer call this place home & set out to find a new home & perhaps forgiveness elsewhere.

While Pinwell was an interesting adventure, my soul yet burned with wanderlust, & so it was that I accompanied these new pilgrims, at least for a time. I have taken the burden of the odd brass cup used in the Eucharist rite, fragments of the painting I destroyed, the Bible given to the Parson by the Thin Man, a lantern that belonged to poor young Moff (no surname), & this leather knapsack that belonged to the abomination...an abomination by the name of Sylvia Silkwood (!) no less.

Among other goods I liberated for my troubles, I found that each of them had a leather quarto journal just like the one the Thin Man had pressed to me - agents of this creature then...though am I also such an agent? If so, why send me to undo the nefarious work they had wrought here.

Truly, my supply of questions exceeds my stock of answers!

Be that as it may, I continue on my journey perhaps even optimistic about what lies ahead. As Benjamin Franklin was purported to say, "Energy & Persistence conquer all things!"

Well, with nothing but countless miles of Big Sky country ahead, this amateur historian means to find some answers!

Making light of the mysteries our ancestors have left behind is not without myriad dangers, dangers that were certainly on display in the town of Whitehall.

While mystical methods were employed by the mysterious forces behind these ledgers, the threat that was faced was all too mundane: the horrors of the old world & the brazen cruelty of vicious men.

Led to Whitehall, my strange companions & I received a cold reception from people clearly in dire need. While we won over there resistance (most of us anyway), we had been tasked with saving yet another town before dawn - setting to that task, I would find that the spirits had indeed cursed this town: in the form of terrible radioactive isotopes in the hands of the unwary.

Gathering the town & the strangers that I had arrived with, matters were dealt with as best as could be managed - while I did not find it necessary to enter the house myself, it was simple enough to deduce that the delvers had drawn terrible artifacts of the old world & spread such contamination through yonder village.

The Emersons...little Ivy...could not be saved.

It grieves me to know that, but just as Moff & the others, what one Man can do is limited to the reach of his arms. To pretend to have greater resposibility is a game of Kings & Fools.

Even so, when it was clear that trouble was coming, I took up arms & stood against it!

...to my sorrow, I must say. Scarred, mutilated...what am I to do?

They say I saved this town...yet I weep from my remaining eye wishing my mother was here.

The grateful citizens of Whitehall allowed for our valiant band to recover from the tribulations we had faced on their behalf with complimentary room & board. I would like to say this was a time of jubilant celebration, but this was not the case.

The Emersons did not last the night, & per my direction the bodies were interred into the dig, their fine family home boarded up: a warning to all that some treasures are best left undisturbed.

Through the unbearable pain of my injuries, I would come to discover that the others I had arrived with also bore unusual talents not so different from myself. Sal had the means to sate all corporeal needs through the mysterious oil that he produced from his own body (?), Russ was a craftsman of some lost technology, & Jorge the Sailor wielded a mighty harpoon to good effect.

Perhaps I will be so fortunate to find a copy of "Moby Dick" for him to peruse, provided he can read.

With my sewing kit I have fashioned an eye patch to cover my disfigurement. I'd like to say it adds a certain dashing flair to my profile, but the pain throbs readily to remind me that I have been forever scarred. While rescuing this town was a worthy goal (& apparently I have taken another step to greater destiny - where I lack an eye I feel my extra-sensory perception continue to sharpen), I would be remiss, even a liar to say that I go forward with heavy heart: Perhaps, in my naivety & innocence I thought that doing the right thing would see me through these trials unscathed.

That illusion, with many others, lays at rest with the Ivy Emerson & my lost eye.

I had headed West, only to be called East...back to the moss laden Cypress trees of what was once the State of Louisiana.

The sodden, rain swept town of Taylor's Landing was haunted by more than storms - still, I am getting ahead of myself.

Following the directions in this mysterious ledger, I came across two other men shivering in the cold - a wandering priest & some man with a dog. In their trembling hands they held similar leather bound ledgers. So...we pilgrims would save this place from imminent destruction.

Talking to the locals we found tales & legends of a Weeping Ghost. The Diamond Lady of LaBelle, who after her treasures were stolen wept to such an extent that the waters rose, sinking the town.

From the waters rising, it would seem that these events were happening again. Setting off into the Bayou, we went to save yet another town from destruction,

Flood waters...I shudder to remember the cold embrace. We took precautions to ford the river, but it wasn't enough. My panic drove me to shore, the others were not so lucky - Silas, the man with the dog made it to the shore. Abdiel, the Padre...the waters took him.

There was nothing to do but move on. We found our way into LaBelle, came across a foundling of a girl who had gathered the sacrifices made to appease the spirit. Earning the girls trust, it was clear what we must do.

Taking the sacrifices to the grave, I placed them in the Brass Grail I had retrieved from Pinwell - it's storied history of drowning made it the perfect vessel for a spirit's tears - that & a eulogy saw the driving rain reduce to a drizzle, then a mist...soon the waters would recede.

I felt more than heard the gratitude of the Spirit with my psychic talent, & found on the hungry shore the Ledger held by the drowned priest. A parting gift to carry on the story then. Will the Priest haunt these wetlands?

A story for another time.

So it was that my new destiny, having galvanized the latent psychic talents of the famed DuBois bloodline through my interaction with these inexplicable events I had faced thus far, I found myself wandering once more from the borders of the much-dreaded Bayous from whence I hail to the dusty open spaces of the former TANN republic.

A fine thing that, as I have little taste for these large bodies of water!

Abdiel seemed a fine man...his was a fate I was not eager to share.

Deciding to revisit the sites of my earlier adventures with my blossoming extra-sensory perceptions, it seemed an opportunity for a fruitful, even potentially profitable undertaking - perhaps I would see members of this mysterious "book club", as Mr Sal so eloquently put it, on the way.

I may be one eye short of a pair, however my thirst for adventure remains undiminished, even in light of the hardships I & others have suffered - overall, the business of saving towns seems like a right profitable one, for both the pocketbook & the soul.

Oh, the tangled webs we weave, when first we practice to deceive.

While the eldritch Thin Man & it's diabolical machinations has been disturbing, I had yet to encounter the face of true horror.

That is, until today.

The foul entity that approached me in the dark of night puppeted the rotting corpse of a mare to deliver it's message: That I was to get involved in a private affair of Murder & Treachery, & see brutal justice done. It also offered a side-bet: It would do some good for my loyal Daisy if I was willing to bet my very life that she would come to no harm.

A fool's bet, surely - a man's life (& most especially a DuBois) measured against a Jackass? Such that one might buy for a sack of corn?

Yes, dear readers: I am that Fool

a drawing of "The Fool" tarot card is scribbled in the margins

Through some grotesque necromancy I was delivered to the location, there to meet others of the notorious "book club" I had not yet met - all part of a caravan, & apparently in the process of forming a lynch mob...a lynch mob, I should note, to murder what appeared to be a man who had done no wrong.

Well - as a African American, I must say I have a distaste for Lynch Mobs - so it was I put the patented DuBois family talents to use: The man who had been killed in what should have been a duel of honor had in fact been slain by some villain - either a lad (close to one of our party) or a scarred woman (even closer).

In these trying times it weighs heavily on my heart to see children turned into mirthless, joyless, weapons of war.

It was said back in the day - "It takes a village to raise a child"

Seeing the callous rage & hatred in those gold flecked eyes, I should think the motto of the New West should be: "It takes a child to Raze a village"

Speaking the the cooler heads, a mute Doctor & a stout Yeoman named Mason, we began to unravel the plot only to be set upon by the girls own Mother - she swiftly dropped her mask of humanity, revealing herself for the hideous abomination that she was - if not for the valorous efforts of Shawn & mason, I dare say we would have all died that day, as well as countless others to feed the hunger of that slavering beast.

Knowing the old fables, I swiftly set fire to the body, & saw to the grisly work of separating head from body to be buried separately. Having seen the inhuman golden flecks in the iris of the trigger happy young lady, this traveling scholar decided enough was enough & after tending to the wounds of the two other men, bid them a fond adieu.

After all, the apple rarely falls far from the tree.

Where my own mother may have granted me my gifts, I can only shudder to think what horrors lay nascent from the creature I witnessed.

As I leave that horror show behind, I find myself perturbed by some of what I have witnessed. To date, even with some Occult influence, all the evil I have seen was that common to mankind - mainly avarice & the callous disregard for the well being of others.

That actual monsters stalk these wastes should not surprise me...yet somehow I find myself having a difficult time accepting what this eye has seen.

Am I delusional? The Psychically inclined often run on the very razors edge of Madness. I can feel my soul shudder under the weight of the visions that I conjure. That I risk life & limb is known to me, & I wear this eye patch as a stark reminder - do I also risk my sanity?

My immortal soul?

Troubling thoughts as my equine companions once again brave broken highways & lonely trails, at risk of bandits, inclement weather, natural hazards, & yes: even unspeakable terrors.

I must tell myself that the good I have done is a bright light in the endless night ahead.

If not myself, then who?

One does not study the breadth of history without understanding that the past is indeed writ in blood & suffering - while one can maintain a rosy outlook of optimism by seeing the great works of Newton, Chopin, or Shakespeare...the dark truth always lies waiting: George Washington was a slave owner, who made dentures from the teeth of his chattel. Abraham Lincoln was willing to condone slavery if the South would come to the table. Martin Luther King was assassinated on the orders of the US Government.

Even these Evils fail to compare to the true Monsters of the past - truly, the people of Pendelton are but following in the bloody footsteps of history. Callous disregard.

Knowing of such terrors as Ed Gein or Springheel Jack does not quite prepare you for the supernatural horror of a Vampire - one which you share some common history.

Marie Delphine Lalaurie.

The horrors we witnessed in that sunken house...my dear friend Sal was clearly shaken. Perhaps it was the blood of my own enslaved ancestors that steeled my heart to see it through to the end. With great effort an ancient evil was expunged from this broken world - no more souls will fall victim to a creature so depraved.

It is perhaps to our benefit that Evil & Madness twist the mind so - had this creature not been so lost in the Grand Guignol of their own fevered imagination, we might have had a difficult time indeed. Perhaps, in her immortal hubris, she thought herself beyond threat.

Well, dear reader - she was quite mistaken. That demon was slain in classic fashion for her undead ilk, & if any one doubts the words written here - you are free to take a walk in the swamps west of Houston & see the horror of the sunken house yourself, frozen in time, courtesy of the Oracle of the Wastes.

Seeing that Polaroid camera filled me with such envy - to capture a moment forever! What a miracle that would be. While my own Psychic Talents grow ever stronger, nourished by the deeds accomplished & recorded here in this ledger - it occurs to me that my word does not yet spread as far as it must if the New West is to endure the coming storm my preternatural perceptions tell me is at hand.

Thusly, I intend to acquire & refurbish a printing press.

True, the Lone Star state was never known for high levels of literacy even before the Blackout, even so I see myself following in the footsteps of Mark Twain - I will tell the tales of this place up & down the Mississippi & on, leaving the tales of those deeds printed for all to see!

True, I may bring unwanted attention on myself, but as a great man once said, "There is no such thing as bad publicity!"

A reputation of any ilk is still a foot in the door, & once I have that, the rest comes easily indeed.