Darkfaulker Down
But That Motherfucker Is Hard To Kill

It's not easy being Earth's premier Paracryptozoologist, renowned worldwide by curious weekend adventurers and sub-dimensional quantum sorcerers alike. As adored by open minded, spiritually aware intellectuals as he is despised by jealous, fascist skeptics and craven power mongers. No one knows such feelings better than Dr. Horatio Von Darkfaulker. During a lifetime of indeterminate length and immeasurable intrigue, he has seen all that life has to offer and then some. Walking between the ever shifting shadows of this world and the glimmering ghost images of countless others that haunt his peripheral inner vision, he has encountered all manner of creature, good and evil. His travels have brought him to every corner of this planet and various alternate versions of it and along the way he has found allies, friends and compatriots wherever he has gone, people who are not only admirers of his fierce inquisitiveness and lust for adventure but utterly respectful of the Man that he is, fearless, bold and unflinching in the face of those mortal terrors that cause other men to quiver in their penny loafers.

No, there was never any doubt that Darkfaulker iss one of the Great Ones which is why Ken Socrates has been ever proud to count himself amongst those very comrades. He very easly recognized in him another kindred spirit winding his way determinedly through the maelstrom of our tortured reality and sought out his company and counsel, as any man with any sense in his head would do. It is no mystery why such men are drawn to one another. They burn so much brighter than the rest.

But as many friends as gleaming, gigantic and decent as Ken that Horatio has attracted to him, there have also been enemies proportionally insidious, evil, and deranged. A man so willing to throw back the smothering blankets of ignorance and hold forth the blinding torch of truth in a world so depraved as ours is assured to ruffle a feather or two, something the good Doctor knew full well but cared little about.

Of course, that's Von Darkfaulker for you. Not a smudge of fear on him, not even under his fingernails.

Unfortunately, however, one of those very enemies has struck our man unawares and he has been felled.

For the time being, that is.

Details are vague and sketchy at best right now, as things tend to be early on in any story involving Von Darkfaulker. Apparently someone or something managed, through chemical or mystical means, to bring about a mysterious illness requiring hospitalization, an illness so strange and initially undetectable that the Professor of Paranormal himself was caught completely unprepared and found little time for defense when the vicious ailment finally struck him full force.

Thankfully it was Horatio Von Darkfaulker who was being attacked and not some mere ordinary mortal and the evil that might otherwise have killed him was forestalled, first by sheer bloody-minded willpower and then by otherworldly guile and knowledge. Apparently, even as he toppled in blinding pain from a twenty foot ladder reaching up to the second story of his Cathedral-like library, he called out in high pitched supersonic code to his loyal, sturdy assistant Fong Qui Fang who rushed to his side carrying the Medicine Bag bequeathed to him by Chauncy Crowstool Wolfbaiter, ancient Shaman-spectre of the legendary Red Desert Falcon-Warriors tribal cult, kept handy for just such emergency situations. A pinch of this and a dab of that and a few hushed words of resounding power and Von Darkfaulker breathed air back into his lungs once again.

Which is bad fucking news for some scheming, dirty bitch out there, that's for sure.

As we speak, Dr. Von Darkfaulker remains in recovery. The outlook is good as various elite surgeons and sensitives from throughout the known and unknown world have been in consultation with his own doctors to assure a full, uncompromised recuperation from this blight. He is alert and speaking, in low, cautious tones only to those who need to hear his words.

And in the darkness, things are moving. Slithering machinations of grim intent have been put into motion, beneath the surface of the mortal world and behind the twilight, men and women and creatures without description have been mobilized, their emotions an edgy blend of devoted concern, just anger and a hellish, unspeakable determination to hunt down whoever is responsible for this underhanded assault and bring to them a decidedly infernal brand of vengeance.

You hear that, fuckers? You realize what you did? How stupid you were?

You let him live.

Now crawl away and hide while you can. Cower in whatever hole it might be that suits your particular brand of craven depravity. It matters not. The time you spend hiding away from him and evading his grasp is little more than time he will spend savoring the taste of your devolviing, animal terror as he closes in on you. Make no mistake about it.

Darkfaulker is coming back.

Soon.

Sucks to be you, eh?

Meanwhile, Horatio, best wishes go out from every member of the Ken Socrates World News Organization with the hope that any and all love we can send your way will contribute to a full, fast recovery from what ails you.

Be well, friend. This damned world needs you in it.