Small mice, large mice. Young mice and their elders. All Deadly. All issue forth from the gaping, hate-filled maw of the dreadful Plague Rat of Doom. The dark master of filth brings foetor and decay to the city above. The mice and rats spread out like searing tendrils of disease. A creeping death to all in its path. And all those foolish enough to brave its domain will be rent asunder by its absolute fury.

Some folks have asked me why the people of Spookane will not look at the Rosemary Mansion during a nighttime windstorm. We found this in some dusty archives, and it recounts the Shroudley. "The most notorious mass murderer of our times was a Rosemary. His immaculate white robes were stained crimson as he delighted in the bloodletting of countless people. After taking countless lives, he was finally lynched in his house on the hill. But his profane soul was condemned to the vile dwelling in his hereafter, never free to roam. Unless, that is, he could lock eyes with another and single them out. This allowed him to manifest in their quarters for that night only. His tortured wailing in the wind would cause the people of the town never to look at the roof of that mansion in the night for over one hundred years. And though he comes infrequently and the tradition holds fast... there is always new blood on his hands."