Rosie Li, Samuel Day, and Hassan Sabah stood before the bleak mansion overlooking Loch Ness, clutching their coats as the Highland wind bit at their skin. The taxi driver had barely stopped the car before urging them to reconsider their visit. His frantic warnings lingered in their minds as they watched his vehicle vanish down the winding road, leaving only the growling wind in its wake.

The Boleskine Hotel loomed like a beast poised to pounce, its broken windows flickering with faint light and its shadow swallowing the surrounding hills. The trio exchanged uneasy glances as they approached the heavy wooden door, its surface scarred with strange runes. They banged repeatedly, the hollow echoes swallowed by the oppressive quiet.

“Bloody door,” a voice grumbled from within, accompanied by the sound of locks and chains rattling. “Move your creaky arse, or I’ll have no supper tonight either!”

The door groaned open to reveal a towering butler, his mismatched limbs a patchwork of brass and flesh. His left arm and leg were mechanical, antiquated prosthetics that hissed and clicked as he moved. Round glasses perched on his broad nose reflected the dim light, obscuring his eyes. Behind him stood a pale, wiry porter in metal boots, his smirk sharp enough to draw blood.

“Welcome to Boleskine,” the butler intoned, his voice resonant despite his cobbled-together appearance. Without waiting for a response, he turned and began to shuffle inside.

The trio followed hesitantly, the air thick with damp and decay. Shadows danced along the walls like restless spirits, the groans of the old structure echoing their unease.

---

Over Dinner with Aleister Crowley

The dining room was both decadent and grotesque, its long table piled with rich, if unsettling, delicacies. Their host, Aleister Crowley, sat at its head, draped in a robe that shimmered like liquid night. His eyes burned with an unnatural intensity as he surveyed his guests.

“I’ve brought you here because of what you might become,” he began, his voice a hypnotic blend of authority and menace. “But before we proceed, I must know: What is English Voodoo?”

The question hung in the air, the weight of it pressing against their minds. Samuel opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. Rosie glanced at the others, her heart racing as she sensed an unseen force compelling them to answer a question they couldn’t yet comprehend.

Crowley smiled faintly, leaning back in his chair as if satisfied. “Ah, but it’s not yet time. You’ll find the answer soon enough.”

---

The Shards of Destiny

Later, in their chambers, each guest found a box atop their dresser, its surface carved with intricate, glowing runes. Compelled by an irresistible curiosity, they opened the boxes.

Samuel’s fingers brushed the shard of iridescent crystal inside, and the world exploded into light. He awoke in a swamp, his reflection in the murky water revealing a macabre figure wrapped in bloodied bandages. A burning top hat crowned his head, and a cane tipped with a grinning skull appeared in his hand.

“Welcome to the crossroads,” rasped a voice from the shadows. A skeletal figure emerged, a cigar clamped between its teeth. “You’ve got a lot to live up to, Baron Samedi.”

---

Hassan Sabah’s Transformation

Hassan’s shard transported him to a golden desert, a fortress rising in the distance. A hooded figure emerged, daggers glinting in the sunlight.

“You bear my name and my blood,” the figure intoned. “My legacy is yours to reclaim.”

Visions of battles and betrayals overwhelmed him, and when he awoke, his hands bore the weight of the obsidian blades.

---

Rosie’s Turn

Rosie’s room was empty the next morning. The others searched for her in vain, only to discover a single feather on her bed, its sheen catching the dim light. Somewhere, far from Boleskine, the Words “As You Will” echoed into the ether.