Investigator's name: Jonathan Soule

Age: 28

Sex: Male

Place of Birth: Boston, Ma

Nationality: American

Degrees: Has unsuccessfully attempted college ­ see background

Occupation: Photographer/Student

Background:

Appearance:Jonathan is about 6 feet tall and of medium build. He has light brown to blonde hair that is receding over the temples. He has dark blue eyes and an easy affable smile. His features are not striking, and he is fairly undistinguishable until he gives you his attention. His gaze is piercing and intelligent. Most think of his as cold and judgmental because of this, though that is really not the case.

Jonathan Soule was born on October 31, 1899 in Boston, Massachusetts. His father, Irving Soule, of the respected Soule family, is a physician. His mother, Mary, of the Catrell family, is a teacher. His only sibling, his sister Laura, was born in 1905. Though both his parents are of prominent Boston families, they were never more than comfortable, as the former wealth of those families had long been diluted amongst its descendants.

Though Jonathan's father was extremely tolerant, and often supportive, of Jonathan's varied interests as he was growing up, including waxing and waning interests in about every area known to man, he was not happy with the obsession his son had with flying machines. He regarded it as both dangerous and somewhat childish, believing aeroplanes a passing fad of no possible application. However, by the time Jonathan was in high school, he knew about as much about flying as anyone could who had never been up in the air.

When the Great War broke out in Europe, Jonathan fed his fantasies with the reports and stories of those amazing birds of war, the Flying Aces. And, against his father's wishes, when the United States entered the War, Jonathan signed up for the newly formed Army Air Corp. Though his impressive knowledge almost kept him on the ground as a support technician, one of his superiors must have seen how desperate he was to fly, as he was enrolled in the crash course in the basics of piloting before being shipped off to France.

Jonathan flew a number of missions in the short time he was in the air. Though he had one unconfirmed kill, his primary job was reconnaissance and aerial photography of enemy troop movements. Unfortunately, he had not been flying very long when he was shot down over enemy territory. He managed to avoid capture for a couple of weeks, but as he made his way west, he eventually could go no further without crossing the German front line.

He was captured about 4 miles inside German territory and was imprisoned pending trial as a spy. He languished in prison for a number of weeks, growing steadily weaker on the thin gruel. Finally, he was taken from the prison and moved south, deeper into the Bavarian Alps. Eventually his journey ended in the dank cellar of an old alpine château.

He was fed well, by his strange new warden, an old, gaunt Austro-Hungarian who spoke in rasping whispers. After a couple weeks of this strange treatment, wherein he never saw anything outside the cellar, two burly Turks who seemed to regard him as something unpleasant or untouchable brought him out. There was no mistaking, however, their willingness to use the wicked looking knives at their belts, which meant thoughts of escape were futile. The old man, the two Turks, and a very confused Jonathan then began a hike up into the mountains that lasted most of a day strangely silent of the prior weeks nearly constant barrage of artillery.

Daylight was waning when they reached a level clearing near the tree line. Jonathan, who had had no exercise in months, was in no shape to resist being tied rather roughly to a strangely carved stone pillar. When he had finally gotten his breath back he saw a strange and sinister sight. Across the clearing were two more stone pillars covered in strange scrawling figures. At the center was a stone slab that looked strangely like and altar. On it the old man had placed numerous strange devices whose purpose and design were completely unfathomable. When one of the Turks came over and offered Jonathan a drink, Jonathan gratefully drank all that was offered. A few moments later, as he lapsed into a heavy slumber, he realized he had been drugged.

When Jonathan finally regained consciousness it was much later. The moon was high in the sky, and looking up at it made Jonathan's head spin. It was some time before he connected the dry rasping hisses he had been hearing with the old man. He was reading something from a book laid out on the altar. The words were wholly unfamiliar to Jonathan, and he cannot now remember anything but that they made him uncomfortable and tense. When the old man finished, he picked up one of the strange devices from the altar. He approached each of the other men and made several passes over their kneeling forms with the device. Then he turned and started walking slowly towards Jonathan.

Though he had pulled a curved dagger from beneath his coat, Jonathan could scarcely force his attention on the old man. Instead his eyes were drawn over the old man's shoulders at the strange sight across the clearing. Between the pillars the air was wavering and luminescent. A sickly green light was emanating from the empty space between the pillars, casting weird shadows across its surface as the light flickered and changed. Finally Jonathan's attention was pulled back to his seeming immediate fate and the old man reached him and began whispering in that strange tongue.

If the old man heard the whistling, or knew what it meant, he gave no sign. The Turks probably didn't even hear it at all. Jonathan had time to close his eyes and duck his head before the shell exploded in the center of the clearing. As the old man was thrown upon him, their heads struck and Jonathan lost consciousness for the second time that night.

When he woke, a bloody dagger lay at his feet, but of the three other men there was no sign. One of the opposite pillars had been uprooted and knocked over by the explosion, and the pillar to which he was tied had been sheared in half at the level his neck had been when he was standing. He remembers shimmying the ropes over the remains of the pillar, and descending the mountain to the deserted château. He remembers faint bits of his trek through the mountains, but not of crossing the front lines. His next full memory is of waking in a British field hospital in the south of France. He had been found wandering through a French village ranting and raving and had been taken to the nearest English speaking company. After he had told what parts of his time in enemy lines he could remember, he was held for psychiatric evaluation and not allowed to return to his unit. He spent the rest of the War explaining over and over to the doctors that he was not insane. He was only discharged after he convinced them that he no longer believed such foolishness as anything other than the product of long imprisonment and a possible fever.

Upon his return home, his father insisted that he return to his studies, and he promptly enrolled in college. His first year went fairly well, as he immersed himself in the chore of learning how to study again and seeing all of his former friends and acquaintances. It was during his second year that he began to think back on those strange events and wonder. Midway into the first semester, he began letting his old friendships lapse as he spent more and more time in the libraries searching for anything that might shed light on those events. Hitting dead end after dead end did nothing but spur him on, and by the second semester he had become a veritable recluse and was in danger of failing his courses.

Since dropping out, much to his father's distress, he has made friends in rather new places. He met a guy at the newspaper who feeds all the strangest bits of information to him. He also befriended a police detective who was working an odd case that came to his attention. They have both tried to lend him a hand, the reporter by using some of his photos in the paper, and the detective by actually having him photograph a few crime scenes for him. Jonathan's parents have not yet forced him out of the house, though his father has threatened on occasion.

Jonathan is highly motivated to learn about any unusual events he hears about. He earns some money doing private portraits, and sells his other pictures when he can. However, he is far more interested in the unexplained than in money, and would drop all his obligations to explore a mystery.