The Seraph Chronicles: Tales of the White Witchman Volume One

John Houlihan has been a writer, journalist and broadcaster for over twenty five years, working in news, sport and especially videogames. He has been employed by The Times, Sunday Times and Cricinfo and is the former Editor-in-Chief of Computer and Video Games.com and Dragon+ the official Dungeons and Dragons magazine.

His first novel was Tom or The Peepers' and Voyeurs' Handbook and he has also written The Trellborg Monstrosities and the further adventures of the mysterious Mister Seraph in The Crystal Void, Tomb of the Aeons and Before the Flood. The Trellborg Monstrosities has also been converted into a game scenario for Call of Cthulhu and Savage Worlds.

He has also written two entries in The d’Bois Escapades series The Crystal Void (Illustrated Version) and Feast of the Dead, Cthulhu-inspired high adventure during the age of Napoleon. He has also edited a collection of short stories called Dark Tales from the Secret War, and published The Cricket Dictionary, a collection of phrases and sayings from the greatest of all games.

Away from the written word he has an unnatural fondness for cricket, football, snowboarding, cycling, music, playing guitar and all forms of sci-fi, fantasy and horror. He has an unnatural dread about writing about himself in the third person and currently lives in his home town of Watford in the UK, because, well frankly, someone has to.

For latest news and information see http://www.John-Houlihan.net or follow @johnh259 on Twitter

Cover Illustration by Borja Pindado who is a freelance illustrator living in Madrid with his wife and his daughter. He spends most of his time drawing on his computer fantasy art and comics, drinking coca-cola, listening to music and, from time to time, collaborating with other artists.

Cover Design and typography by Mark Mitchell who is a graphic designer and Illustrator based in London.

Also by John Houlihan

Tom or the Peepers' and Voyeurs' Handbook

The Seraph Chronicles

The Trellborg Monstrosities

The Crystal Void

Tomb of the Aeons

Before the Flood

The Seraph Chronicles Volume One: Tales of the White Witchman

Dark Tales from the Secret War (as Editor)

The d’Bois Escapades

The Crystal Void (Illustrated Version)

Feast of the Dead

The d’Bois Escapades Volume 1

The Cricket Dictionary

The Trellborg Monstrosities is copyright © 2012 JOHN HOULIHAN

First published by Modiphius Publishing 2012

The Crystal Void is copyright © 2013 JOHN HOULIHAN

Mon Dieu! Cthulhu is copyright © 2013 JOHN HOULIHAN

Tomb of the Aeons is copyright © 2013 JOHN HOULIHAN

Published by Jolly Big Publishing

All rights reserved.

Written by JOHN HOULIHAN

This edition June 2019

All rights reserved, no reproduction in any form or media without written permission please (it'll usually be forthcoming for polite requests via the website). Remember copyright and digital theft robs artists of a chance to earn their livelihood, support them by being proud to buy! Especially if you want to read any sequels.

This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to anyone living or dead is entirely coincidental. John Houlihan is the author of this work of fiction.

Thanks

Paul, Matt, Jon, Dee, Don, Jon B, Chris Blah, Mark Mitch, Matt, Paul C and Critch

Everyone at Modiphius, including Michal, Lynne, Pookie and TR Knight, but most especially Chris Birch

Borja Pindado for his amazing covers and for bringing Seraph to spectacular and vivid life and Thomas for his mad design skills.

Special thanks to Patrick Kraft

Chris, Lou, Mandy Moo, Karen, Jess and Wiz for top times at the casa de mis amigos

All my lovelies from Give! and the House of Honey

Cat, Kat and Dave B, Martin K, for the expert advice and eagle eyes

Contents

The Trellborg Monstrosities

The Crystal Void

Tomb of the Aeons

Introduction to the Omnibus Edition

It began, as the best things often do, over a quiet pint with an old friend. In this case that particular amigo was Chris Birch, whose newly formed Modiphius had just published an intriguing new role-playing game called Achtung! Cthulhu—a universe which combined the horrors of HP Lovecraft's mythos with the historical setting of mankind's darkest and greatest hour, the second world war. I wanted to write some new fiction and who could resist stepping onto a stage like that?

I'd long been looking to write a new fantasy series and this seemed the perfect opportunity to not only get involved with a compelling period in history and indulge my inner Lovecraft geek, but to also work with some great people to bring it to life. Writing is such a solitary pursuit, that the chance to work with other real life human beings on a project, provided just the spur I needed to knuckle down and get cracking—nothing concentrates the mind so much a chance to work with some great people—that, of course and the writer's oldest friend and foe: a looming deadline.

So The Trellborg Monstrosities was born, first as a standalone novella and then with many talented people's help it developed into a game design that people could actually play and enjoy. Novella and game design first debuted at the London RPG convention Dragonmeet in 2011 and it was exciting, frightening and more than a little humbling to see it brought to life on a role-playing table with real gamers. They did run screaming, but fortunately it was only from the terrors within the scenario, rather than any of my own prose. The players genuinely seemed to enjoy it too, some even asked for more and inquired about pre-orders (!). We writers live for even the tiniest crumb of praise and after this ego stroking, I felt compelled to oblige and give them more.

One character from The Trellborg Monstrosities stayed with me, and surprisingly, it wasn't the jaded, war weary narrator Major Powell as I first thought it might be, or indeed the nefarious Black Sun villains which I'd invented as the brave Allies' opponents, but the fey, cryptic, occasionally infuriating civilian specialist Mister Seraph who seemed to take on a life of his own. Perhaps there could be some more mileage in exploring this strange, sorcerous White Witchman who initially appeared to be a total ass, but ultimately revealed himself to be firmly on the side of the angels?

But just who was this peculiar Mister Seraph? How did he always manage to pop up at the most convenient moments to aid mankind in its direst need against the minions of dread Cthulhu and the horrors of the mythos? Clearly this needed further investigation.

Lovecraft posited a history where mankind was always on the very brink of succumbing to supernatural terrors and extraterrestrial horrors only for luck or the turning of the stars to thwart their unholy ambitions. That seemed too random an occurrence to me, surely mankind would need, indeed demand, a champion, an eternal hero, a man (possibly) who would rise to oppose dread Cthulhu throughout the course of history? Thus Mister ...Major ...Captain Seraph was born.

Writers are influenced by pretty everything they've ever read and my stack of fantasy and sci-fi book shelves are groaning with more worthy predecessors than I can possibly ever account for. But certainly Arthur Conan Doyle, Michael Moorcock, Fritz Leiber, Robert E Howard, George MacDonald Fraser and even PG Woodhouse have all played their part in the formation of the mysterious Mister Seraph, as well as Lovecraft himself, of course.

Undeniably though throughout the course of these three novellas, he's taken on a life of his own and sometimes whispers into the deeper recesses of my mind when I'm least expecting it (a sign that a character has started to live and breathe independently of its creator). Seraph, arguably, is not even really the star of the show, but it's the narrators, the ordinary men and women swept up in the darker tides of secret history, Major Powell, Lieutenant Gaston d'Bois and Kommandeur Siegfried have more to tell you about him than I ever could.

I really do hope you enjoy this first set of adventures, they've been a couple of years in the making and it's with some pleasure (and a great deal of relief) that I was finally able to lay them before an unsuspecting public. A few years on now and there's now a full novel to follow, Before the Flood, which hurls Major Seraph into a dark future, where a band of war-weary militia are dispatched to investigate a new threat which takes them on an odyssey through a flooded post-apocalyptic Britain.

However, back to the present and If you enjoy these first set of adventures, please do drop by my site at www.john-houlihan.net or tweet me at @johnh259 on Twitter and let me know what you think and please do review, recommend, share and do all the usual social sharing malarkey that helps spread the word. Not only will that give my jaded brain's pleasure centres a delicious little thrill, but also help Seraph gain the wider audience I hope he deserves.

Okay, that's enough rambling from me, so on with the show and remember: if you do wake up screaming in the middle of the night with your mind haunted by dark visions of tentacles, one man will always be there to oppose the minions of dread Cthulhu, a beacon in the dark night of supernatural terror - the mysterious Mister Seraph.

John Houlihan - Watford, Feb 2017

The Trellborg Monstrosities

Dipping a Toe

"Six of us came out, now I alone remain and it shan’t be long before this bitter cold claims me too. I will be glad, for even if by some chance these wounds aren't the death of me, after the things I have witnessed tonight, I’m not sure I wish to live anymore.

It began as it had many times before on a moonless night in early '43. Four stalwart lads of the Section and I, plus our rather unsettling guest, pushed off from the deck of the submarine HNoMS Uredd launching our three fragile canvas canoes Badger, Fox, and Otter into the rolling swells of the Norwegian Sea.

Our destination was clear enough, a small village called Trellborg, some forty miles east of Tromso on the Norwegian-Finnish border, but our mission was an altogether murkier affair. Even though the briefing had been relatively straightforward, our objective most certainly was not. 'Escort Mister Seraph to a rendezvous with the Norwegian resistance and en route render him every assistance possible' is a definitive, but hardly enlightening set of orders. When I raised it with the Brigadier, he merely shrugged, confided 'mum's the word' and indicated that I would get nothing more.

I'm a bluff, plain speaking kind of cove myself, but from the very beginning I was uneasy about our mysterious Mister Seraph. Not only was he apparently a civilian with little training, which meant we'd have to nursemaid him through hostile territory, but something about his otherworldly manner, long, almost unnaturally white hair and penetrating eyes was distinctly unnerving. He wasn’t much to look at considering, being pale, thin and dressed in an eccentric mix of military and civilian clobber topped off by a long, rather shabby looking cloak. His fey, cryptic responses grated almost instantly and I felt this might be a very long mission indeed. Still, orders were orders and they came from the very top which meant we had no choice in the matter, though I took little comfort from the Brigadier’s reassurance that, ‘Mister Seraph is most assuredly on the side of the angels.’

Our paddles bit through the waves as behind us the Uredd slunk below the surface and with the moon playing peek-a-boo with the clouds, we were soon approaching the enemy-held coastline. The gods were kind that night and although fearsomely cold, the sea was as tranquil as I have ever seen her as we slowly reduced the distance to the main entrance to the fjord.

The Uredd had dropped us off in the relatively sheltered waters between the mountainous isles of Vannra and Arnøya, about as close as it could reasonably manage with any safety, but even then we had little intelligence on enemy marine concentrations in the area, which worried me more than a little. There could be anything waiting for us out there and we had a long hard physical slog ahead of us until we reached the relative safety of dry land and we'd have to do it before dawn crept across this bleak part of world and caught us exposed on the open water.

Ahead, Fox and Otter under Sergeant Jones and Corporal Bennett were making good time and I glanced quickly behind me to see how Seraph was faring. But he seemed to be matching me stroke for stroke with perfect timing and he gave a curt nod, to acknowledge my unasked question. Perhaps I'd underestimated the man? We paddled on in silence.

For the first couple of hours, everything went better than could be expected and our canoes cut through the icy waters with barely a murmur. Ice floes and small bergs gleamed in the sporadic moonlight and in that vast empty water, surrounded by snow capped peaks we could have been paddling towards the very end of the world. We were almost at the mouth of the great Lynengen fjord, when Bennett's urgent voice drifted across the water in the pre-arranged signal, Broadsword! Broadsword! I followed his gaze to the east, where about two miles away, a German cruiser had emerged, steaming its way through a channel into the sound.

If it held course it would be upon us very soon and I tried to remain calm and think rationally. If we paddled hard, we might just make it to the far shore and shelter in the wooded tributaries beneath that mountainous dormant volcano. But the cruiser was approaching fast and it would be a close run thing, I was just about to issue the order when Seraph whispered, Major Powell?

What is it Mister Seraph? I'm rather busy here.

Major Powell, with respect, we will never make that shore in time; but there are other, nearer means of concealment. Look to those ice floes, we should easily be able to hide ourselves amongst them.

How the devil...? But I stifled the question, immediately seeing he was right, confound him and I barked the orders. Urgency lent us speed and we paddled furiously, our blades slicing through the water until all three canoes were nestling in the lee of the protective ice. The droning of the cruiser's engines came ever closer and its searchlights swept across the water, piercing the darkness like tangible things.

We hunkered down, trusting that our camouflage would blend with the ice, but in spite of the cold, I could feel beads of sweat break out on my back. There was a moment when one of the beams seemed to catch us full on and I awaited the awful shout of discovery, but then it swept past and was gone. The engine note changed as she came about and then the cruiser turned, heading north in search of other prey, her funnels belching plumes of black smoke.

As it receded there were grins and thumbs-up from the men and I breathed out a breath I didn't know I had held.

Nice work Mister Seraph.

My pleasure Major, but you shouldn't sound so surprised. We are on the same side after all.

I nodded conceding his point and we fell to it again. For the next couple of hours we hugged the coastline of the desolate western shore, keeping our distance from the lights of isolated houses and villages on the eastern side. The water was placid as we drew closer inland and the snow tipped mountains of the Lynengen Alps seemed very tranquil as we journeyed through the ever narrowing channel.

Soon we were rounding the deserted isle of Aryoa and looking south east to entrance of the great Lynengen fjord. We'd been going for a few hours then and I signalled the men to heave to and take a rest in the shallows, while I surveyed the way ahead. Through the field glasses I could see the distant lights of the small hamlet of Olderhalden on the eastern shore and once we were passed that, we should have a clear run down the lesser fjord and to the rendezvous point. The limited intelligence we did have said there was a small German garrison stationed there and we'd have to slip past like ghosts.

The men tucked busily into their rations and I prised open a Type E and offered some to Mister Seraph, who declined.

So Mister Seraph, before we make our final approach, perhaps you'd care to share with me the reason we're taking this little midnight paddle through the fjords?

I'm afraid I must humbly decline Major ...for the moment. Even now, if you or your men were taken, it could compromise certain assets we have here in Norway. When we are closer, I will be able to tell you more, I promise you.

Not very satisfactory old boy. If I'm risking my mens' lives and my...

No need to explain, in your position, I too would naturally wish to know more. All I can tell you is that if what I suspect is true, our mission may prove pivotal to the war effort. But I'm afraid I must leave it at that.

Very well, Mister Seraph, can't blame a man for trying, I harrumphed.

No Major, I cannot. His answers were so measured, so reasonable, that despite my qualms, I swallowed the rest of the ration in silence.

Twenty minutes later found us threading the needle across the mouth of the lesser fjord. My binoculars had indeed revealed a sparsely populated hamlet, but we soon found out why the Germans hadn’t defended it in any depth. A damn great chain had been stretched across the water to protect the channel and we’d have to negotiate it under the view of two watch towers on either shore. Fortunately the obstacle was designed to block larger vessels than us, but it would still be damn ticklish to pass through unobserved. I drew the men together and outlined the plan and told Barker and Mitchell to unpack their rifles. If those watch towers lit up, I wanted the search lights shot out before they could spot us, then we’d have to paddle for our very lives.

But as we approached the chain, all was going as well as could be hoped. The moon was shrouded in cloud and the night was once again darker than Hitler's heart. We’d spread out into a line abreast formation with Fox and Otter flanking us on either side and painstakingly, we made our way to the chain unobserved. In the village, the headlights of a motorbike and sidecar starting up caused a momentary flutter, but then it revved up, drove off up the coast and once again all was silent. I risked another quick look at the towers, but there was no movement atop either one. A hearty heave with the paddle was sufficient to depress the chain enough for our shallow draft to pass and then I watched Bennett and Barker’s canoe repeat the manoeuvre. Still nothing, then while Mitchell covered the tower Jones inched their canoe forward, but whether it was a stray wave or the chain came up too early, the canoe suddenly shuddered and Mitchell overbalanced, plunging into the icy waters with a splash. Immediately all my senses came alert, was that a voice from the watchtower? Jones in the canoe was across now, but where was Mitchell?

Quickly I signalled Corporal Bennett to push on and half turned our canoe about, looking for Mitchell to surface. But nothing disturbed the water. Damn, the man could swim like an eel, where was he? The moments ticked by, without any relief and now the moon began to threaten to emerge from the clouds, making it dangerous to linger. Quickly I scanned the watchtowers, nothing, but where was Mitchell? Damn we couldn’t wait, couldn’t afford to be discovered. I felt a hand on my shoulder and a voice whispered, He is lost Major.

And how could you possibly know that?

I can’t explain, but he is. We must go now.

I turned, blazing with anger, ready to crucify the man, but Seraph’s gaze was calm, even and I saw only truth there. My rage dissipated and just at that moment something seemed to be happening up on one of the watchtowers and so with a last scan of the water, I reluctantly signalled Bennett and we slipped off into the protective folds of the night.

The first fingers of dawn were beginning to light the east when we heaved to and took