To Archie

[IamLEAM1983]

I heard you took out a few Thuggee guys in your pre-Clank days. Their cultish roots have been disproved here, no matter what Indiana Jones might have to say. Does that apply for Hope?

[IamLEAM1983]

"It is common practice to believe that most Westerners who are not of Norse or Greek descent would never possibly know of the Void Weavers. After all, their customs are shrouded in mystery and they have never attempted to contact the surface world for purposes other than deception and murder. If any rebels exist in their midst, they have either blended in completely, or have kept their word throughout all of known History.

That, unfortunately, would be an incorrect assumption. Should the McConmaras bring me their ancestor's journals, I could tell them of a great cave system in Eastern Kerala, hidden underneath the ruins of a reviled Maharajah. Those Thugs who prowled the roads and byways of India, blending with traveling groups and strangling innocents in their sleep, were the unwitting servants of an illicit aspect of Kali - Amaxi the Many-Armed, wearing the garb and guise of a common mortal deity. Those farthest from Kerala were kept sane and allowed to operate more as a criminal group than a sect or a cult, frequently mingling with the slightly more religious Dacoity for the sake of increased stealth. I served under Major-General Sleeman as a young man and partook in several raids against those border groups.

For years, we heard of nothing except that the Thugs had no central point, no base of operations. Why would they, being self-serving bandits and murderers? Ah, but Kerala housed more than tigers aplenty, we soon realized, and were forced to face an increasing amount of gibbering lunatics who took to whatever scrap of Arab dialect, Hindi, Punjabi or Urdu their addled minds could conjure up. Soon, the regiment I was attached to came to learn of a peculiar noble who had renovated a tigers' den back into its proper palatial state at seemingly no expense. No quarries were dug up, no gold seams were found, there were no reports of miners in the area - and yet here it was, a black dome in the middle of the jungle, music bouncing off its sturdy sandstone walls, towers and guard posts lit up!

I was only a nobleman's son at the time, and in no way a dignitary. Our best rifleman and the captain of my unit, Arvinder King, had the honor of being of blood relation with Bhopal's official ruling body. All of Kerala was his, and as a tiger anthropomorph, he had hunted his feral kin into submission and mutual respect. He would be wearing the court uniform, while I stuck to military garb.

I recall that although pleasant and a gracious host, this self-styled Maharajah and his own court caught me by surprise. His women were battered and bruised in worrisome ways, and they danced for us the way slaves fearful of punishment would. There were no women in the court proper; only men of a peculiarly bearded sort; even if many of them off-handedly commented to being of Sikh descent... Neither Arvinder or I were convinced: the Sikh take great care of their beards. These men wore theirs long and scraggly, constantly tousled by drafts I could not feel, being clean-shaven.

I cannot remember what the old boy said after supper that keyed our blaggard would-be assassins, but all that I know is that by the time we were shown to our rooms, a dagger-wielding fanatic had nearly gouged King's ruddy eye out! We fought and vanquished the varlet and then did our best to request a very angry audience with the liege-lord. Receiving no response, we dug into the palace's bowels.

I recall the way John Watson would tell of his Afghan years with some degree of fearful reticence, underneath Sir Doyle's pen. I find myself filled with the same apprehension, as I think back on these caverns who have reminded of the Drake boy's own tribulations since I was informed of his own misadventures. All that I could understand was that the Thuggee leader, a tentacled monster in horrendously lavish robes, could somehow... collect the lives of those who fell to the Thugs' blades and garrotes. That life force or energy was then sent into a shallow pool of ichor, where one of their slaves told me it would stay until collected for the ritual they'd been planning. Children and women would soon be needed, the first for labor down in some Fel place even the slave-masters feared to mention, while the former would be tested. They were to receive the gift of Her blessings - or so I was told - and one of them would become Her undying vessel.

I recall the names of this goddess being numerous. Kali, Kali-Ma, Ma-Li, Ama-Kali... Amaxi...

In your world, the Thuggee were most likely organized fools wielding blades and hemp rope with equal lethality. In mine, most scholars will still readily paint a pretty picture: the Thuggee are gone, eradicated by Britain's Colonial forces. The Kerala palace is once again a prowling and nesting space for proud felines who will never have the intellect or curiosity to move a few pieces of rubble.

Sleeman may have encountered thieves who foolishly believed they were slaking Kali's thirst for human blood and preserving Humanity; I met the real madmen. That, my boy, I know for certes."