Sunday 23rd October, 1892Edit

In the light of recent events and revelations, I have come to start these memoirs. We have just finished the Clown farce. Must these daemons destroy a children’s pleasure as well as their lives? We have already seen such brutal disregard for the innocence of childhood in the instance of the ‘Punch and Judy’ show.

Still, I digress... the daemons I continuously face be not the reason for the initiation of these memoirs. They are mere trifles. He is back. The Prince of Lies, the bane of my forefathers. My fellow Rippers say He is slain. He cannot be so easily extinguished. The group tell me his silvered skull resides in the lodge. How can such an infernal creature such as He have a corporeal skull? Nay, more evidence that He is not gone say I.

The heretic gypsy woman claimed that He is here. She is some sort of pagan for sure, but you know more than to doubt their ancient magiks Edmund. It is entirely probable that He is. My friends claim that she gazed directly into my eyes when she talked of Him. I saw it not, but it appears she has seen something. She knows. They are concerned, they know little of me. It is likely better that way. Regardless, if He is here then I shall find Him. I shall fight Him. And with the Lords benevolent and glorious light I shall smite him.

Let no man of unworthy cause bar my way.

Wednesday 26th October, 1892Edit

He is most certainly back. We fought Him today, He was defeated and we collected another plated skull, this time in bronze. I say defeated and no banished for I fear he is not so easily removed from this world. I must read further into references to skulls, though I vaguely recollect Him being called the "many headed". Could it be these artefacts that allow Him prescence in the mortal plane? Only further research shall tell.

Unfortunately the creature whispered to me... He called my name... claimed that my soul was His. Of course, it is. But not yet. This statement did not bother me, but the revellation that my trusted colleague William had heard the whisperings troubles me more deeply. This, in combination with the gypsy woman's warnings may distance the group from me. I fear it will come to a head soon enough, they will confront me. What am I to say? Must I perpetually pay for the sins of my forefathers? Centuries have passed, the line of Steele is faithful, strong, and above all: Good. Have I not spent my years tending to God's flock? Have I not given great deals of my wealth to ensure a better future for my fellow man? Have I not hunted thrice-cursed abominations and removed them from our Lords good green earth?

Will all of it be in vain? Will they publicly reveal my ancestors past? Will they remove my ability to spread the Lord's light and take back the night?

I cannot let it be so. They will see that I am just. They will see that I am here to make amends. I am not my forefathers, and 'lo shall it be that Shaytan takes me, in my final breath will I fall into his dark embrace, that my soul will burn for all eternity - I shall not stray from the path I am on. Though I see Him in every shadow, hear Him in my darkest nightmares, and feel His insiduous prescence each time I am alone, I will fight their evil and protect the innocent. They will trust me. They have to.

I will return to England and oversee the building of the extensions to our lodge. I will train these brave men of Brasov, teach them english, morals, improve their faith, and show them how to hunt the creatures of the night. I will show them the ways of the Order of St. George. This I will undertake, and while the others are away, I shall research Him. the next time we encounter each other, I will be prepared.

Let no man of unworthy cause bar my way.