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From the Journal of
Brother Bruce of Calf of Man

Now that I have stayed on this peculiar island for almost a year, Father Patrick from the town of Port Erin has asked me to start a journal concerning the strange events that seem to take place a bit too often around here. And indeed, if only he knew all the things that have come to pass during my short stay. We had just about finished building the chapel on the island last summer, Anno Domini 1171, and I had just consecrated our new cemetery. And all in good time too, if you ask me.

Early One Morning

For it was only a few days after the consecration that our grim fisherman, Angus, returned from morning's work with quite a catch. From the rivermouth of the little stream on the southern cliffs of the Isle of Man they had found a corpse of a young maiden tangled in the fishing nets. I managed to catch a glimpse of the poor girl on the peer before the magi (or so Father Patrick calls them) had it carried into their quarters. Though at least two among them are sophisticated and well behaving men (and by this I mean the supposed leaders of this community, Sir Argyle MacBrannigan and Tomas of Ireland) one of them, I believe Profanus is his name, is obviously not too keen on the company of Lord's humble shephards. He sent me away but a servant of the Lord has his ways of finding out about secrets.

And as I had expected I was soon summoned to take a look at the corpse and tell my opinion about the strange marks on its skin. It seemed that Profanus had used some pagan tricks on the girl since everyone seemed to be sure she had died of pox. She still had some earth under her nails and I believe the poor maiden had been exhumed from her grave. Strange cuts had been carved in her skin all over the body. I did'nt recognize them but they were obviously of diabolic origin. In fear of evil forces and for the eternal soul of the girl I wanted to bury this body as soon as possible. Luckily the Magi seemed to see the rightness of my claim and gave me their permission. Even Profanus, though he didn't say anything of course. He was a newcomer himself and his words didn't have much weight.

Despite the fact that no one on the Island knew the girl, almost every grog attended the funeral the next day. It was a beautiful ceremony and everyone felt as if a shadow had passed from their hearts. I didn't see Profanus though. I intend to keep my eye on that one for sure. On the very same day a party of men prepared for a trip up the stream. They were sure that since the body had floated downstream, they could find the place where it was dumped. From one of our farmers they had learned of a village named Bruinn only a few hours from the coast. As I recalled it was where Father Tanchus nowadays lived, after leaving Ramsey. I thought him a wise man but little did I know at that time...

The Party of Seven

A party of men is perhaps a bit misinforming name for the group. Seven people altogether left on Angus' boat that morning but two among them were women. As ridiculous as that must strike you, I swear with my hand on the bible that it is true. One of the magi that rule this island is indeed a lady, Nelly by name. And a beautiful one, I must say. But her looks have an eerie touch and I suspect that her mother has had her share of dealing with the faerie kin, if you catch my meaning. With her at all times she keeps her hand maiden, Nora, who perhaps stood in the wrong queue when beauty was being given to ladies. But I have seen her pick up an anvil as easily as I pick up the Vulgata. They were both on the peer that morning.

With them stood Sir Argyle MacBrannigan. The Scottish warrior and noble. He seems to be the only Christian in the bunch, but even he has his quirks. He is obsessed with the Roman empire of the past. He even wears a centurio helmet in battle. In politics, he seems to follow the words of Caligula: "Oderint, dum metuant". Let them hate us as long as they fear us. His man-at-arms, Kif, follows him like a dog. The poor man has a hard time trying to live up to his master's expectations. The word is out that he might make custo one day...

The most awkward one among the lot was Bearnard. This small man talks little and likes to be left alone, but I suspect that he might be the most powerful magus of them all. When he passes you on the street it seems that he reeks of dark secrets and rituals. Even the drunkards down in the "Broken Gnome" lower their voices when Bearnard lurches in. No one dares to take action against him and not only in fear of magical retaliation. The reason probably is the huge Irish clansman that accompanies Bearnard whenever he is in the city. Ewan is his name and drinking is what he does (well, the man is Irish so that pretty much goes without saying). His swords usually get in the way, if anyone wishes to tell Bearnard that he isn't welcome to sit with the common folk.

The last of the seven is Profanus. I believe he is also from Scotland and it is quite easy to believe. Never has the saying "nomen est omen" been more true. The man is as profane as the pope is holy. He seems to carry somesort of unreasonable grudge against the holy order.Though I was happy to be rid of him for awhile I had my doubts about him being in the party that was send out to reveal a diabolic conspiracy, not to participate in one.

So they managed to stuff their horses in Angus' little fishing boat and sailed away. Tomas was left behind to take care of the daily routines and defenses, since some English witches had tried to invade our island a little while ago and the relations with the local Norse nobles hadn't gone too well either. All we heard from Tomas during the week the others were away was the sound of the key turning in his doorlock when he locked himself in on the very first day. Luckily, we weren't attacked during the week.

All of which I am about to tell you next, I have found out about through various ways. I collected the pieces from the tales of Sir Argyle, the rumors in town and by talking to Father Patrick, who seems to be quite well informed. Here is the story of "The Ghost of St. Brannoc".

The Village of Bruinn

The party reached the village of Bruinn a few hours past noon. I have been by that village as a young monk while begging for the monastery one summer. It would be a place not even worth mentioning unless for one important issue. They have a beautiful church built of stone. It was constructed on the legacy of a Norse nobel, Hagar Ragnarsson, about fifty years ago and was named after St. Brannoc, the Irish holyman. The wise noble had converted to Christianity at old age. The church has brought prosperity to the village and made it a center point for the surrounding country side.

Their arrival was noticed by the villagers of course, and they were given shelter at the guest house by the church, but some of them preferred to sleep in the Inn of Alasdair. They consulted the village elder, Aindreas , who gave them valuable advice concerning the recent events in the village. In fact two of the villagers were ill with the pox at the time and the dead girl was presumably of the same family. It seems that Profanus showed strange interest towards this poor family. I was told by Father Patrick that he had more than little to do with their quick recovery. I hope it didn't cost them their souls.

Meanwhile the others were trying to find out about the exhuming of the poor girl. They found her grave on the churchyard. It was covered with wild flowers and the villagers told them it was a miracle proving that God had taken poor Helen to a better place. Our party seemed to have a bit different outlook on the situation for they decided to keep guard in the guest house the next night. And not for naught, I'm told. A little after midnight the guard heard noise from outside. It came apparent that Brother Noilis, Father Tanchus' housekeeper and the caretaker of the premises, was sneaking outside spying on the visitors. He was a silent man with a disformality that made him look small and crouched. They chased him along the yard in order to interrogate him when evil forces stepped in. The poor man slipped on the wet rocks by the stream, hit his head and died. Somehow the story gets a bit flurry at this point since according to Sir Argyle, they interrogated the poor man, after he had just died.

I have probably misinterpreted my notes but this seems to be the case. Only thing they found out was that the monk had dropped the corpse in the river. But the reason remained a mystery. Father Tanchus mourned over the loss of a dear friend and kept vigil by the body through the night. After the funeral the next day rumors started spreading. Some suspected Brother noilis of diabolism and that the outsiders could be part of the same cult. Perhaps they had a quarrel about some unholy mission they were planning to accomplish. No one dared to say it to their faces of course.

Father Tanchus must have been weakminded of grief because he decided to turn to Profanus for comfort. No man in his senses would even speak to that unemphatic excuse of a human. In any case the Father decided to tell Profanus about a Greek book he had acquired from a traveling merchant. It was called Diabolopsuche or the Diabolopsuche. It focused on summoning the "True God" by means of a special ritual which included blessing the church with holy water. The "holy water" in this case was made of bodily fluids of a dead girl and smashed toads and God knows what other unholy ingredients. The priest had translated parts of the book to Latin and gave these scrolls to Profanus. For though Greek is the tongue of the heretics, it was not familiar to Profanus. Or so he claims....

Meanwhile the others were out in the woods searching for "the women of the forest". The feverish pock-stricken old woman had mentioned something about some women living in the woods. She was probably delirious but these good Christians decided to look into it anyway to ensure there was no witchcraft at work in the village. It turned out to be nothing but while they were away the real answer dawned on Profanus (who obviously wasn't too keen on revealing the assumed witches, mark my words). From Father Tanchus' scrolls he understood the true nature of the ritual. Indeed there was no time to waste. As the sun started to tilt towards the horizon he hurried to the church. Meanwhile his friends were finishing their futile expedition.

As Profanus arrived to the church of St. Brannoc he found the priest finishing his work. He had sprinkled all of the unholy unguent on the walls and on the altar. Profanus tried to convince him to stop, but it was already too late. The priest was determined he had done the right thing. The ritual was complete and couldn't be countered or diverted in any way. The rest of the party arrived just as the sun disappeared behind the forest. They stepped into the church in time to hear Father Tanchus telling Profanus how he had consecrated Noilis' body with the same satanic ooze he had used on the altar. This obviously meant harm on its way.

The Parody of Resurrection

As the night fell and darkness rolled over the churchyard a feeling of wrongness started to fill the minds of the villagers. Suddenly, in the dead cold stillness a sound barely audible started in the church. Like water dripping on the floor...The porcelain figure of Christ on the cross had began to bleed. Red blood was oozing from its mouth and hands. The wooden cross started to smoke, then burst into flame. The head of the figure shattered and fell on the floor. The whole altar started burning with man-sized flames. As the rest of the cross fell down, the doors crashed in. The incarnation of the "true God" was blocking the doorway. It was a living dead from the depths of Hell, unleashed by the ritual to punish the mortals fool enough to meddle with powers far beyond their control. Its mere presence heated the stone floor like a stove. The party scattered on the benches while the beast advanced. Father Tanchus who had finally understood the outcome of his dark deeds was praying hysterically by the burning altar. While others fled in terror, the revenant seized the poor priest and started towards the door with the unconscious man on his shoulder. I heard in the pub that Profanus gathered all his might in effort to save the poor priest, but the undead ripped out his heart and ate it with a single bite.

I turned to Sir Argyle to confirm this rumor but he said he was fixing the straps of his armor at the moment and couldn't say anything for sure. Anyway, the demon tried to escape in the woods but Kif managed to shoot him in the back. That is probably why the beast retreated back to the church through the rectory. At this point God decided to reward the party for fighting the infernal powers and blessed them with an earthquake. The ground shook with divine power and behold, the ceiling fell on the satans minion (the revenant that is, not Profanus). But despite the wrath of God, the beast did not die. So the battle continued and Sir Argyle is far more able to give you exact details than I am. I like to think of myself as a man of peace and have no knowledge of the art of war. The revenant was still in the church, though he was obviously wounded after getting half of the ceiling on his head. The party made a desperate charge to the church laughing in the face of death. The battle was fierce but soon over. Kif decapitated the beast with one mighty blow. God smiles on the brave and the fools or so I'm told. The corpse of the beast quickly changed and the resemblance to the dead monk, Noilis, was obvious.

Soon after the battle was over the villagers dared to come out from their hiding places. All were scared but thankful. It seemed that the strangers had saved the village from the forces of Satan and cured two villagers from a serious illness. The party decided not to linger and wanted to burn the book which seemed to be the key to the terror the village had narrowly survived. But with the first rays of morning sun came Father Durand with his two acolytes. He was determined to take the book to Bishop Paul himself and after a pleasant and peaceful change of views the magi decided to follow his advice. They accompanied the priest on his way to Churchtown to ensure that the book would safely reach the hands of the bishop. How considerate and thoughtful of them.

The Epilogue

Bishop Paul knew the book from days of old and burned it with purifying fire right before their eyes. He gave his thanks and even asked the magi to join eucharist with him and blessed them with many words. Father Durand was sent to Bruinn to give spiritual guidance to the villagers. The wise bishop suspected that we might hear from the village again ...

The story of the undead monk lives on as the legend of the 'Dirty Leprechaun' in the inns and public houses of Southern Man (or perhaps they are referring to Bearnard).

I hope to be able to write down happier events in the future but I try not be too optimistic...

Pax vobiscum

Brother Bruce

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