The Auric Society, formed in 1901, is a secret society of wealthy, ruthless, self proclaimed adventurers. Our goal is to acquire world dominion by discovering gold in unexplored and dangerous regions of the world.
In all but a handful of cases, this goal is a reality.
The following journal entries were found after Robert St. James, an elite member, disappeared in the jungle of New Guinea while exploring a possible gold vein in1933.
Monday, July 3rd, 1933.
Three days in.
Not just the hazy humidity which finds respite in the lowlands after a summer storm. But, a constant unmitigated epicaricacy furnace which joyfully scoffs at the rolling sweat between breasts, in the hidden pits of underarms, and on the backs and buttocks of its victims.
Yesternight, after the jejune villagers met to discuss the oppression, the people chanted “zephyr, zephyr” in supplication to whatever odious pilgarlic god they worship.
It has no name.
Which is best, lest I know which name to curse for this wretched heat and the lethologica which seems to follow in its wake.
The beast answers their prayers by sending fuliginous bugs on stagnant air, often times biting, drawing no small amount of blood. The little devils are familiar companions to heat and perspiration.
I was in my incondite hut trying to ignore the kerfuffle, and studying the map of our possible gold mine when a native hobbledehoy approached the entry with an ear piercing cachinnation.
He pointed at me with a shaking brown finger, then back to his own breast before falling to the dirt.
The village bumbledom collected him and the villagers carried him away into the mountains. I heard the wild eyed village virago screaming into the night for several minutes before blessed silence once again reigned.
These savages are an odd lot. An odd lot who do not know the mountain of wealth they sit upon. But certainly not the monsters portrayed by those weak willed missionaries.
More to our benefit.
I must find slumber as these savages rise before the sun for ritual and insist I mimick their folly.
I will do anything, partake of anything, to find the vein I believe is waiting.
It won't be long now brothers.
Wednesday, July 5th, 1933.
After the savage’s matutinal prayers, they led me to the cave entrance. GOLD! The scree is mostly nuggets the size of my fist. I am anxious to enter the actual cave but the language barrier is difficult. It is considered sacred ground. I must tread well and intelligently with these savages lest they wrest the gold from my clutches.
The doryphore savage assigned to me insists on certain rituals every day in which I must participate. It’s utterly ridiculous but I allow it to appease the quidnunc chief who comes along each morning to check our position.
I will describe the ritual already five days into this journey, (though not integral to our ambitions), for posterity.
At sunrise, I wake and bend knees to the sun. My guide sprinkles a smelly concoction onto my arms and legs. Then we bow again to the sun.
The second day, after bowing a second time to the sun, a tramontane arrived and shaved the hair from my arms. I thought it odd but I am willing to endure the oddity for a time.
The third day the tramontane shaved my legs. I did protest mightily at this indignity, but my guide assured me all was well. It is something the savages insist upon before I am permitted to tread their sacred cave.
The fourth day, I was given a wonderfully luxurious bath in a small stream by four village maidens. It did much to cool my heat ravaged skin, but little to cool other parts of my anatomy.
Today after bath, my body was rubbed with coconut oil by eight village maidens. They were particularly thorough while massaging my arms, legs, feet and hands.
Never the less, these topless heathens with breasts brushing against my naked skin, stirred my lust. They giggled at my obvious desire, gave me sweet Meade and led me back into the hut. There they laid my body prone on the reed matt woven by a xanthippe I had the misfortune of meeting on my first night in the village.
I took immense satisfaction in the tender ministrations of their mouths and bodies until the harshest heat of the day was long past. As night, this night, rolled down the mountain my guide returned and led me naked to the cave, lust still wet upon my skin. It is there I saw the first nuggets, the size of my fist! This is heretofore the largest discovery ever made by the society. It is only fitting I am the one to claim it for our group.
I am excited, eager, and yes even lustful of the flesh I will use tomorrow before coming into my cave.
But who among us does not believe in the deepest part of our existence we are destined for greatness? Our society is not nihilistic; it is morals in their purest and truest form. Therefore I will indulge my flesh in the virginal maidens while raping their cave.
The world will quake at the mention of our names.
Until then, I will not sleep this night. The lure of tomorrow’s ecstasy, both inside the mountain and out, is too strong.
I go, my brethren, to claim our future, to embrace the world.
Auric St. James
So ends the entries of Robert St. James. A search crew discovered these pages in an abandoned village.
Upon entering the cave of which Mr. St. James wrote, a human chimera greeted our team. The native man sat upon a gold alter, four rotting appendages sewn into his torso. Upon closer inspection the appendages were discovered to be two shaved arms, and two shaved legs.
The Auric Society has ascertained the chimera was put down, the appendages rived from its torso. The beast carried a strain of disease unknown to man, yet prolific enough to destroy three members of the team within two days time. This chimera was set as protection and warning to all usurpers, all who seek the gold.
We heeded that warning, at least and until the day an antidote can be attained. What good is conquering a dead world?
The cave was blown closed, the appendages buried and a willow seed planted upon them.
Let all who see with wisdom, a willow tree in this god forsaken place be reminded.
So closes our journey into this savage and unclaimed land.
Godspeed Robert St. James.