Rook

sort of power these new processes granted them, the members of the brotherhood were in the perfect position to seize power. In any other country, a massive, bloody war would have ensued. Horrors would have stalked the land, unholy amalgamations of flesh would have fought on the fields, and the nights would have held new, unspeakable terrors.
    Fortunately, this is Belgium we’re talking about.
    Rather than creating an army of monstrosities striding across the green, green fields and stomping on soldiers, the wealthy sponsors met with the current ruler and had a very polite and civilized conversation. Possibly over some sort of soup made out of cream. Thanks to that conversation, the brotherhood became officially affiliated with the government, such as it was. I mean, not to cast aspersions on Belgium or her predecessors, but this was the fifteenth century. Nobody was really very organized.
    For the next couple of centuries, the Grafters did not do a great deal to influence the affairs of Belgium or, indeed, anywhere. They had been given a large sum of money and a mandate to pursue their studies, which they did with a level of focus that is quite remarkable given that the lands they were living in changed rulers and were divided up several times. Fortunately, the new rulers were apparently not informed of the Grafters’ activities, and the Grafters took no interest in political developments, or we would have had Hapsburg Grafters, Spanish Grafters, and possibly even Imperial Abbey of Stavelot-Malmedy Grafters running around the place.
    Instead, the Grafters used the funds that had been allocated to them to improve and refine their techniques. The Checquy were vaguely aware of them but did not consider them to be terribly important. Let’s face it, they were Belgian geeks chilling in a big-ass basement and doing atrocious things to swine. No one cared. But by the beginning of the seventeenth century, the Grafters were able to produce killing machines of such breathtaking efficiency that a Checquy operative who happened to observe them in action wrote a panic-stricken thirty-page report heavily streaked with tears and vomit. He also became a much more religious man.
    As a result of this report, the Checquy began paying a great deal more attention to the Grafters. The Alabaster Lady of the time, Margaret Jones, dispatched seven Checquy operatives to Belgium for the express purpose ofobserving the Grafters. This was made difficult by the fact that the Grafters worked out of several different estates that were rigorously guarded and patrolled by large chitinous creatures with the scent capabilities of bloodhounds and the hospitality instincts of sharks. Still, the Checquy improvised and were able to gather some important intelligence. One agent, who made his observations while in the form of a seagull, confirmed that there was an entire regiment of augmented soldiers, all of them mounted on huge creatures that were described as “the bastard offspring of spiders and Clydesdales.” The Grafters were now of major international concern.
    Lamentably, at the same time that the Checquy realized that the Grafters were a big deal, the Grafters did too. They suddenly became aware of their glorious, monstrous muscles and were rather excited about the prospect of flexing them. They tentatively reached out to the head of the government of the time, who was quite impressed and saw great opportunities for his own personal advancement. Accordingly, he did not feel compelled to inform his boss, the King of Spain, about the Grafters and instead urged them to explore their potential. The only problem was that they lived in a fairly religious time, and there was some concern about the public reaction if they unleashed a force of creatures that looked as if they had been shat out of the anus of hell. You see, for all their brilliance in creating strength and resilience, the Grafters had absolutely no aesthetics. I’ve seen charcoal sketches and oil paintings of the products of that estate, and they were terrifying in their appearance.
    Thus, the use of these things would have to be discreet. The Grafters needed a relatively small, contained arena in which to try out their assets. I have no idea which genius thought of the location, but I hope he suffered from excruciating piles because he proposed, and it was agreed, that the Isle of Wight would make an ideal preliminary target.
    In 1677, monstrosities walked out of the ocean and