For the consideration of the Lord Sages, I humbly submit the following series of ethnographic field reports detailing my research into Homo Sapiens Spiritualis, known more commonly as "Sin-Eaters." These reports are based upon several months of in-field observation and study of this unique species of supernatural being. The Hobo King wears many hats - not just a crown - and one of them is the hat of the scholar. It is my hope that this contribution to the collected lore of the Lord Sages proves me worthy of admission into your noble order.
---Tobias Blackbriar
The first time I laid eyes on a Sin-Eater "krewe" was while staking out Cincinnati's Wesleyan Cemetery with my faithful companion, Poincaré.
Of course, at first it was unconfirmed that we were observing authentic Sin-Eaters. We could only venture a guess, since neither of us were exactly sure how to identify such beings. All we knew was that a strange group of individuals had come to the cemetery late one night. I describe them as "strange" because they arrived at the witching hour (12 am), which is a bizarre time for anyone to visit a graveyard. Furthermore, they were an eclectic bunch who seemed to hail from many different walks of life: a businessman in a nice suit, a heavily tattooed punk rocker, a leather clad biker, a goateed construction worker, and a willowy gothic beauty wearing a necklace of little skulls. Not the type of people one would expect to see hanging out together.
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| Jacquess Family Vault |
They met up in front of a decrepit mausoleum situated in the rear of Wesleyan. It was an old, battered stone edifice whose features had been eroded away by time. The front of the mausoleum had ornamental square columns carved in relief on the wall, and the door was little more than a rotted collection of wooden planks held loosely together. Carved above the door were the words "Jacquess Family Vault," followed by some numbers (presumably dates) that were too faded to read in their entirety. The whole thing was small, as far as mausoleums go, and it'd been the only crypt that I hadn't slept alongside since I'd started staking out the cemetery. For some inexplicable reason, I felt a slight sense of dread when near that particular structure. Not unlike the dread I feel when within the Hedge. The Hobo King trusts his instincts, and mine told me to avoid the Jacquess Family Vault.
Anyway, each member of the group arrived separately. Their vehicles included a pristine silver BMW, a motorcycle, a maroon beetle, a beat up Ford pickup truck, and a '59 Chevy Impala. Some of them parked at the gates of the cemetery and walked the rest of the way, while others drove in and parked their vehicles along one of the plots near the mausoleum. They silently congregated at the front step of the crypt, saying nothing to each other until the final person - the leather clad biker - pulled up on his Harley.
Anyway, each member of the group arrived separately. Their vehicles included a pristine silver BMW, a motorcycle, a maroon beetle, a beat up Ford pickup truck, and a '59 Chevy Impala. Some of them parked at the gates of the cemetery and walked the rest of the way, while others drove in and parked their vehicles along one of the plots near the mausoleum. They silently congregated at the front step of the crypt, saying nothing to each other until the final person - the leather clad biker - pulled up on his Harley.
I observed all of this from several hundred yards away, using a large gravestone as cover. I'd taken off my safari hat and was peaking over the top of the gravestone just far enough so that my eyes could get an unobstructed view. I managed to quietly contact Poincaré via my walkie talkie, at which point he confirmed catching sight of the mysterious visitors entering the cemetery. Fortunately, it was a waxing moon that night, so there was an ample amount of moonlight with which to see. I told Poincaré to make his way over to me as stealthily as possible, so as not to alert our quarry. He emerged from the darkness moments later and crouched down beside me.
I observed all of this from several hundred yards away, using a large gravestone as cover. I'd taken off my safari hat and was peaking over the top of the gravestone just far enough so that my eyes could get an unobstructed view. I managed to quietly contact Poincaré via my walkie talkie, at which point he confirmed catching sight of the mysterious visitors entering the cemetery. Fortunately, it was a waxing moon that night, so there was an ample amount of moonlight with which to see. I told Poincaré to make his way over to me as stealthily as possible, so as not to alert our quarry. He emerged from the darkness moments later and crouched down beside me.
Poincaré and I shared the binoculars, taking turns to watch the visitors. The group was having an involved discussion; I could see mouths moving and hands gesturing. Sometimes one would speak and another would interrupt. The tone struck me as nervous or urgent; I could see it in their body language. It was obvious that they were in heated debate over something. We were too far away to hear any of what was said, and though the moon was nearly full, it was still too dark to read lips or make out further details. What I wouldn't have given at that moment to be able to enhance my hearing with the Contracts of Fang and Talon.
Poincaré and I shared the binoculars, taking turns to watch the visitors. The group was having an involved discussion; I could see mouths moving and hands gesturing. Sometimes one would speak and another would interrupt. The tone struck me as nervous or urgent; I could see it in their body language. It was obvious that they were in heated debate over something. We were too far away to hear any of what was said, and though the moon was nearly full, it was still too dark to read lips or make out further details. What I wouldn't have given at that moment to be able to enhance my hearing with the Contracts of Fang and Talon.
Each person in the group seemed intent on getting his or her point across to the others, particularly the construction worker and the tattooed woman. The only one who rarely contributed to the conversation was the woman with the skull necklace; she simply stared at the mausoleum. To their credit, they took pains to keep their voices low, despite emotions running high. Each of them periodically scanned his surrounds to make certain no one was snooping. Clearly, they prized their privacy. However, the visitors never seemed aware that they were being watched. Not surprising, really. Poincaré and I might not be as stealthy as a Darkling, but we hobos know a few things about going unnoticed.
Each person in the group seemed intent on getting his or her point across to the others, particularly the construction worker and the tattooed woman. The only one who rarely contributed to the conversation was the woman with the skull necklace; she simply stared at the mausoleum. To their credit, they took pains to keep their voices low, despite emotions running high. Each of them periodically scanned his surrounds to make certain no one was snooping. Clearly, they prized their privacy. However, the visitors never seemed aware that they were being watched. Not surprising, really. Poincaré and I might not be as stealthy as a Darkling, but we hobos know a few things about going unnoticed.
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| My sketch of the symbol on the mausoleum door |
The group conversed for about twenty minutes, at which point they seemed to finally reach some kind of consensus. Then they all looked expectantly to the woman with the skull necklace. In response, she silently approached the door of the mausoleum and drew what appeared to be a small stiletto from her right sleeve. She sliced open her palm with the tip of the blade and proceeded to use her blood to paint a symbol on the door. The others watched without reaction, like this was a casual happening for them. When the woman completed her grisly task, she took a step back and closed her eyes. Poincare snapped some pictures with our camera while I sketched the bloody symbol into a notebook. My later research would reveal that it was a pictogram representing a "crossroads" - a location between worlds.
From the standpoint of a potential Lord Sage, what occurred next was terribly exciting. I feel privileged to record this momentous observation on paper.
I do not exaggerate when I report that the entire front wall of the mausoleum trembled violently. Within seconds, the stone split apart and collapsed inward. The wall crumbled and fell into the crypt as though sucked inside by a powerful vacuum. It was a jarring and somewhat humbling sight to behold. The deficit of noise was surprising; all we heard was a low earthen rumble and a sharp rush of air, like an intake of breath. Poincaré and I were transfixed with morbid amazement. Where once there was the face of the mausoleum, now was a gaping black opening. The remainder of the crypt's external structure appeared undisturbed.
The opening was the mouth of what seemed to be a subterranean tunnel of sorts. It was shadowy and foreboding, with rocky walls and uneven ground. The tunnel looked like it continued forever; I certainly could see no end to it. It was impossibly long; much too long to conform to the size and dimensions of the mausoleum that housed it. Like a gateway into the Hedge, I understood that I was watching something trans-planar in action. Though my experience in such matters was very limited, it wasn't difficult to deduce that I was staring at a doorway into the Underworld.
The group moved into the opening, beginning with the leather clad biker, and I detected more than a little reluctance on everyone's part. This was not a journey that they were enthused to make. The last to enter was the construction worker, who lingered at the entrance and turned to look out at the cemetery, presumably to make certain nothing followed them inside. The doorway remained open for about seven minutes, after which the mausoleum's face began to reconstruct itself. Much like how it opened, the process was fast and noiseless. The front wall came back together piece-by-piece until the crypt was whole again. With the exception of the crossroads symbol painted in dried blood on the door, the mausoleum appeared completely untouched. There was no evidence that people had used this location to cross dimensions only seconds earlier.
Poincaré and I took a brief moment to rejoice. What we'd just witnessed had confirmed it. We'd finally found the object of our months long search: real life Sin-Eaters! Had that last Sin-Eater not wisely remained at the doorway to ensure no one trailed them into the Underworld, I might've been tempted to follow them in. Obviously, that action would have been incredibly foolhardy, given how little I know about the Great Below, but such was my exuberance.
We stayed in the vicinity of the mausoleum for the remainder of the night. I spent several hours carefully scrutinizing the crypt and plying the door with some magical tests, including fae incantations and imbuements of Glamour. My curiosity compelled me to experiment with a few things, even though I wasn't expecting any results. Not surprisingly, nothing had an effect. I knew enough to understand that the source of a Sin-Eater's "power" was different than that of the Lost. We draw our magic from the Wyrd; they draw theirs from death.
Eventually, we withdrew from the mausoleum and positioned ourselves some distance away, awaiting the krewe's return. Admittedly, neither of us had any inkling as to the nature of Underworld travel. Though changelings have experience with their own brand of extra-dimensional realm - the Hedge - it was foolish to assume that the two places have similar physical laws. One is a mind-bending reality where the chaotic physics of the fae hold sway, while the other is a purgatorial world of the dead. I wasn't about to use the Hedge as a frame of reference, so we were left with a number of questions. Did the Sin-Eaters have to exit the Underworld from the same spot that they entered, or could they exit at a different location? Did time function normally in the Underworld, or was it mutable like in the Briars? What was the geography of the Great Below? We were severely lacking in answers. So without any better options, we waited. After all, the Sin-Eaters had to come back for their vehicles at some point, right?
Poincaré and I took shifts monitoring the mausoleum for signs of activity. It was a full four days before the Sin-Eaters returned. It's worth noting that, in that time, the krewe's vehicles were seemingly ignored by the groundskeepers at Wesleyan Cemetery. No tow trucks were ever called, even though some of the vehicles were inconveniently left on an access road. We would later discover that the cemetery's staff had been previously bribed to leave the vehicles alone.
After four days of waiting, in the stillness of the pre-dawn hours, I heard a sudden low rumble coming from the crypt. This was followed by the same violent rupturing of the crypt's front wall that had marked its initial opening. The Sin-Eaters emerged as soon as the doorway finished forming. Each one was in a filthy state, his or her face and clothes caked in a mixture of dirt and sweat (and perhaps a little blood, too?). They trudged out with an unmistakable look of fatigue on their countenances, but they otherwise seemed no worse for the wear. I could see no obvious injuries, and everyone who'd entered the Great Below was accounted for.
As I eagerly watched through the binoculars, the krewe huddled together while the once leather clad biker (now missing his leather jacket) addressed them all quietly. Though I still couldn't hear anything that they were saying, it was becoming increasingly clear that the biker was the krewe's leader. There was no heated debate this time; it seemed to be a simple, post-op follow-up. It was easy to see that everyone was terribly exhausted and just wanted to go home to sleep. However, they remained at the entrance of the Underworld until it closed several minutes later. At this point, the Sin-Eaters dispersed to their vehicles and left the cemetery.
Now that we'd confirmed our discovery of Sin-Eaters, it was time to track, study and further observe them...
The group moved into the opening, beginning with the leather clad biker, and I detected more than a little reluctance on everyone's part. This was not a journey that they were enthused to make. The last to enter was the construction worker, who lingered at the entrance and turned to look out at the cemetery, presumably to make certain nothing followed them inside. The doorway remained open for about seven minutes, after which the mausoleum's face began to reconstruct itself. Much like how it opened, the process was fast and noiseless. The front wall came back together piece-by-piece until the crypt was whole again. With the exception of the crossroads symbol painted in dried blood on the door, the mausoleum appeared completely untouched. There was no evidence that people had used this location to cross dimensions only seconds earlier.
Poincaré and I took a brief moment to rejoice. What we'd just witnessed had confirmed it. We'd finally found the object of our months long search: real life Sin-Eaters! Had that last Sin-Eater not wisely remained at the doorway to ensure no one trailed them into the Underworld, I might've been tempted to follow them in. Obviously, that action would have been incredibly foolhardy, given how little I know about the Great Below, but such was my exuberance.
We stayed in the vicinity of the mausoleum for the remainder of the night. I spent several hours carefully scrutinizing the crypt and plying the door with some magical tests, including fae incantations and imbuements of Glamour. My curiosity compelled me to experiment with a few things, even though I wasn't expecting any results. Not surprisingly, nothing had an effect. I knew enough to understand that the source of a Sin-Eater's "power" was different than that of the Lost. We draw our magic from the Wyrd; they draw theirs from death.
Eventually, we withdrew from the mausoleum and positioned ourselves some distance away, awaiting the krewe's return. Admittedly, neither of us had any inkling as to the nature of Underworld travel. Though changelings have experience with their own brand of extra-dimensional realm - the Hedge - it was foolish to assume that the two places have similar physical laws. One is a mind-bending reality where the chaotic physics of the fae hold sway, while the other is a purgatorial world of the dead. I wasn't about to use the Hedge as a frame of reference, so we were left with a number of questions. Did the Sin-Eaters have to exit the Underworld from the same spot that they entered, or could they exit at a different location? Did time function normally in the Underworld, or was it mutable like in the Briars? What was the geography of the Great Below? We were severely lacking in answers. So without any better options, we waited. After all, the Sin-Eaters had to come back for their vehicles at some point, right?
Poincaré and I took shifts monitoring the mausoleum for signs of activity. It was a full four days before the Sin-Eaters returned. It's worth noting that, in that time, the krewe's vehicles were seemingly ignored by the groundskeepers at Wesleyan Cemetery. No tow trucks were ever called, even though some of the vehicles were inconveniently left on an access road. We would later discover that the cemetery's staff had been previously bribed to leave the vehicles alone.
After four days of waiting, in the stillness of the pre-dawn hours, I heard a sudden low rumble coming from the crypt. This was followed by the same violent rupturing of the crypt's front wall that had marked its initial opening. The Sin-Eaters emerged as soon as the doorway finished forming. Each one was in a filthy state, his or her face and clothes caked in a mixture of dirt and sweat (and perhaps a little blood, too?). They trudged out with an unmistakable look of fatigue on their countenances, but they otherwise seemed no worse for the wear. I could see no obvious injuries, and everyone who'd entered the Great Below was accounted for.
As I eagerly watched through the binoculars, the krewe huddled together while the once leather clad biker (now missing his leather jacket) addressed them all quietly. Though I still couldn't hear anything that they were saying, it was becoming increasingly clear that the biker was the krewe's leader. There was no heated debate this time; it seemed to be a simple, post-op follow-up. It was easy to see that everyone was terribly exhausted and just wanted to go home to sleep. However, they remained at the entrance of the Underworld until it closed several minutes later. At this point, the Sin-Eaters dispersed to their vehicles and left the cemetery.
Now that we'd confirmed our discovery of Sin-Eaters, it was time to track, study and further observe them...
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