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Codex Peril

You feel cold and your body aches, you can’t seem to move as consciousness seeps into you. You can’t see anything; there is some kind of bag over your head. You're covered in cold sweat and you heart starts beating faster and faster. You try to yell, scream out for help. Simply a reaction, but you voice is muffled harshly, a wad of cloth had been shoved into your mouth and was taped in place. Your mouth is so dry; you realize your arms and legs are bound together. You can hear the crunching of the road under the tires and it begins to slow. When the vehicle stops, your heart beats into top gear; memories of what transpired flood into your consciousness. True panic fills you and you wriggle and scream the best you can. You need to get away; you know if you don’t, it is only a matter of time before they put a bullet in you, or worse.

Earlier that day...

You wake up to heavy pounding on your apartment door. It shakes in its frame.

As you swing open the door a large balding man, maybe in his mid thirties is checking his watch and muttering to himself, “Why did this have to be my first…” He stops and looks to you with a professional smile stretch thin on his face, he reaches and pulls the clipboard from under his arm shoving it in front of you. “Damien Hughes? Please sign, I have a package for you.” He nods his head to a large wooden crate marked “Fragile” across each side, it is strapped to a dolly.

He gives you a tight lipped nod, “Sure.” Grabs the dolly and pushes through the door past you wheeling around the apartment with a practiced ease. Stopping next to the coffee table he undoes the strap holding the wooden crate in place and with a single hand lowers in off the dolly to rest gently on the floor.

Then as quickly as he was in, he was back outside the door. His hands quickly grabbing the clipboard, scanning it over. “Seems everything is in order Mr. Hughes.” The man started turning to quickly leave, but stopped himself. Turning back and pulling a crowbar from inside a satchel on his left shoulder. “Almost forgot, this comes with the package, seems whoever sent it figured you wouldn’t have one." He glanced back at the apartment. “I would suppose he was right.” As he turned he kept his eyes on you, “Good day.” Then he was gone moving swiftly out of the building and to his parked delivery truck.

You note that the crate is about three feet in length, two in width, and two again in height. You also notice that aside from “Fragile” being marked all over the crate, it was also shipped from Italy. When you open it, it’s loaded with packing peanuts, when you dig through that, you’ll find a long silver cylinder with twenty-six iron rings wrapping around it perpendicularly. Each ring has every number, every letter etched into it in English, also leaving a blank space. You’ve seen something similar before, though simpler. Your uncle showed one to you, it’s called a cryptex. In length the cylinder is just short of 3 feet, only just able to fit into the crate. And it’s about a foot in diameter. If you try to pick it up, you’ll have to strain to do so, but your able. You’ll also find a note attached to it, a hastily scribbled post-it in your uncles hand writing.

Forgive me, but you are in peril as long as this is in your possession. You must protect it; you must not let any of them get it. You are the only one I could entrust this to as it must be family, and you are the only one who would listen to the stories. You are the key. Inside is everything I could give you. Be careful and remember

The note cuts off there.

The aroma of coffee fills your apartment and your computer boots up and is ready for you to research. However, it nags your thoughts that Silas left the answer so open. It was like him to give you problems to solve, but it was something you could always figure out with enough thought. This trail of thought that felt right was so broad, with little in the way of where even to begin.

Several clicks can be heard and then the end of the tube slides open about an inch. Around the tube and disappearing inside the container are tubes filled with what you can only assume to be an acid of some kind. When you pull the end out further you’ll see between the glass tubes is what looks to be a large scroll. It isn’t old, by the looks of it, but you can tell the paper was handmade. While rolled up, it’s just small enough to be able to slip between the tubes surrounding it.

When you start unrolling it a small slip of paper falls out, it reads as follows:

Damien,
If you’re reading this, I’ve died and it’s up to you to take off from where I ended. I assuredly don’t need to tell you that you must be careful, but as your uncle I cannot stress it enough. This is a culmination of all my life’s work, though it may not look it, you will come to understand. Trust me and believe everything I have set aside for you; never would I lead you astray. What you’ve known only until this point as stories and mythology are real. Merlin was real, the tale of Beowulf, even Trolls and bridges. You must be ready for this knowledge, because there are those who want this knowledge; much of it to use for their own gains, and others to keep mortals from having it. Protect it and trust no one. Keep it hidden and keep it locked when you aren’t looking at it, they will come for it.

If you open the scroll to its full length it will be about ten feet in length, and though not in any notable order you find lists of names like this.


Gregory Cook – Pyromancer
Estel Green – Shapeshifter
Shawn Tarly – Half-troll
Brandr Bjornson – Warrior of Valhalla
….and so on.
And some of the names have phone numbers and/or addresses.

Other sections are just lists of number that you can make out to be coordinates. Many of them scattered around the world. Each list has titles such as, safe houses, White Council members, White Court strongholds, vaults (these are all listed with combinations, or key codes), holy ground, Fae territory, and so on.

There are also brief sections on various monsters. Usually a description followed by a sentence like, “Use a crossbow bolt blessed by a Hindu Priest.”, “Need inherited silver.”, or “Use iron.”.

It’s a treasure trove of information about the things you think are only stories. And by the looks of it your uncle must have spent a very large portion of his life to finding and compiling this information.

Your phone starts ringing.

"Mr. Hughes, my name Summer Sydonnis. I presume your received your package." Her voice was like a rock worn smooth by a river, and her tone was somehow alluring as if it demanded your attention. "I would like to broker a deal with you."

As you pulled the phone away from your ear, “Actua…” Then it was just a muffled voice.
You scrabbled through the scroll and you managed to find an entry for her.
Summer Sydonnis -- Summer
That was all it said, and the names around it seemed to have no relation.

When you pick up the phone you will hear silence save for a light tapping noise in the background. She must be tapping her fingers on a desk or similar surface.