Astoria. Once a beautiful paradise of unpretentious existence, it is now commonly known to many as Dark Astoria. A district so dangerous, it was officially declared a hazard zone in 1938, shortly before World War II. Now, with the addition of the War Walls, the dangers that lurk in Dark Astoria have become manageable and, with many sighs of relief to the residents of Talos Island and Founder’s Falls, “invisible” to the common Paragon City citizen.

During the early part of the 19th century, Astoria remained an exclusive, tiny little village that resided close enough to the Atlantic shoreline to employ the men of the village as fisherman; yet, far enough away that the overpowering smell of fish didn’t scare away travelers (and their money). Life was idyllic for the simple people of this small colonial village.

In the many years immediately following the Declaration of Independence, immigrants arrived by the boatload at the fledgling seaport in Smithport (just across the headland to the west of Astoria), causing a mass influx of new residents that many of the area towns just couldn’t quite handle. Construction jobs were easily available and housing was built at such a flurry that soon Smithport seemed to “blend in” with the nearby towns. In 1823, the town council in Smithport, in agreement with the town councils of the towns that were being absorbed, declared and founded a city with a new name, Paragon City. In honor of its origins and of the newly found freedom for the immigrants, the district that was once the town of Smithport was now officially known as Independence Port.

Some of that influx was naturally absorbed by Astoria, mainly by the immigrants who were forced off their rural lands in Europe and were looking for a little, quiet place that reminded them of their birth land. Many had settled in the town common while those immigrants that arrived with some money still in their possessions built out towards Dido’s View. One new immigrant that arrived in 1882, on the other hand, decided to build his new house in a very strange neighborhood.

This new immigrant from Russia, Alfred Atropos, arrived into the New World aboard a Greek steamer and already had caused quite a controversy among his fellow shipmates. Mr. Atropos had paid an excessive amount of money for a secluded stateroom and for several large, chained and padlocked trunks. One could discount being in the nearby proximity of these trunks as to an unusually cold sea breeze; however, it was the strange markings upon the padlocks that frightened many of the passengers and crew. Also strange was that no one ever remembers seeing the strange Mr. Atropos leave his stateroom once during the entire voyage.

His arrival into Independence Port went largely unnoticed in the hustle and bustle of the east coast seaport. The hack that managed to secure Mr. Atropos as a fare told his wife later that night of the strange encounter. “Very insistent, this bloke,” he said. “I told him he should be looking to settle down in over in Perez Park, judging by his rich cloths and all. Wouldn’t hear of it. Insisted that I run him clear out to Astoria,” he related.

For the first few days, Mr. Atropos secured lodging at the town inn and could be seen during the evening hours wandering around the high land overlooking Astoria, carrying strange looking instruments and making notations in a ledger. Should this have been in Dido’s View, nothing much would have been said about it but the high land this Mr. Atropos was surveying in was right in the middle of where many families had started their family cemetery. Not only was this unusual, but construction began on a house that contained several rooms while Mr. Atropos was a bachelor.

Once construction was completed, Mr. Atropos promptly moved in and that was the last that anyone in Astoria ever remembers seeing him. On a few late nights, some swore that they heard strange muttered chanting floating on the wind drifting down from the high land. Others swore that on the darkest of nights, you could make out candlelight emanating from one of the upper floor windows.

Many months passed while the house and yard fell into disrepair. During an age where the average life span rarely exceeded the age of 50, the family cemeteries continued to grow until it was impossible to tell where one family plot ended and another began. Paddy O’Doole, once a Latin teacher in the Old World but now a bartender in the New, began to call the high land Moth Cemetery.

Then, one evening late in the fall of 1899, something happened that forever changed the town once known simply as Astoria.

A terrible storm rolled in from down the coast, one not normally seen during that season. The fishermen gathered at the local pub to drown their complaints with Paddy’s finest brew while the children whined to their mother’s about losing another day of sunshine before the cold winter set in. Businesses, except for the pub, closed early and set off for home in hopes of avoiding the soaking they knew was coming.

Just after dusk, the full force of the storm hit the tiny fishing village. Mothers comforted their children by giving them sticky balls of popcorn while the fishermen caught at Paddy’s ordered another drink to settle in for a long night. Suddenly as it began, the sky directly over Moth Cemetery cleared, bathing the town in cool moonlight. Curious, the town folk wandered out into the street to gaze at the break in the storm.

Suddenly, the full moon grew blood red. Loud, thunderous chanting of a language never heard before by the town folk rumbled through the streets. Clouds began to swirl around as if caught in a vortex while lightening shattered the open hole in the sky. Louder and louder, the chanting crew, to a crescendo that everyone instinctively knew would be devastating until, just as it had begun, it suddenly ceased.

Time seemed to stand still as the seconds seemed like hours. All of a sudden, the old house built by the mysterious Mr. Atropos illuminated from within, causing each window to become a lighthouse unto its own, bathing the countryside with a blinding, white light. The chanting began again, this time its tone more urgent and furious, reaching a volume so loud that many villagers cried out in vain for it to stop. Then, with more force than any had ever witnessed on the face of the earth, an explosion expanded outward from the home of Mr. Atropos, devastating and killing every living creature and every structure within a one mile radius while rattling buildings and breaking windows in Founder’s Falls.

The residents of Paragon City as far away as Baumton seen the light and heard the explosion. Men quickly gathered at their local pubs in an effort to find out what happened. Many cool heads prevailed, persuading the men to finish their drinks and get a good night’s sleep before mounting a rescue effort in the morning, given that the storm broke by then.
Early the next morning, a group of men set out towards Astoria in hopes to discover what happened. As they journeyed up the shores of the Red River, they came upon an unusually dense fog. Many of the men were scared to proceed further, knowing that this type of thick fog simply just did not happen during the late fall. A few of the braver men elected to forward while the majority waited at the fog’s edge.

Many hours passed while the men sat around muttering about the unnaturalness of the fog. It was nearing dusk when one lone man, his cloths torn and his face dirty, ran screaming from out of the fog, his eyes wide from terror. It took six sturdy men to tackle the man and hold him down. Only when one of the sturdy men struck him in the face did the man finally calm. He was then unconscious, of course, but calmed.

The man awoke an hour later, crying a blood curdling scream that shook the nerves of the men in the camp. Only when one of the men slapped him did he appear to realize that living men surrounded him. The man then began to tell his tear-stained tale through a series of sobs that racked his body.

We were all scared, although no one wanted to admit it. John led us down a trail and we all followed, knowing that John knew the way best. The closer we got, the more thicker the fog grew. We felt like we had walked miles and miles and had to stop and rest several times, finally after what seemed like days we reached the edge of the village…or what we thought was the village.

Everything looked normal, like nothing had happened. Then we started to see people walking around the market place, so we decided to approach them to ask them what had happened. As we got closer, the people seemed to vanish into the fog. We saw more people at the end of the street so we ran towards them, only to have them disappear again. By now, our fear was showing on our face. It was then that the people started to become more clear to us…

At this point, the man comes close to hysterics. Only after twenty minutes of gentle soothing by the men is he able to continue again.

The people…the people…they…started to become more and more clear to us. They kept coming closer to us before they disappeared…and they turned…evil. It seemed as though the more scared we became, the more clearer and the more evil they became. The people started to notice us. They began to chase us, all the time becoming more and more clear until…finally…they grabbed John. They began to rip his flesh from his body. They…they…started to eat him. I screamed at the top of my lungs until I couldn’t scream anymore. When the people started to grab others in my group, eating them, that’s when I started to run. I kept running until there were stars in my eyes and my lungs were about to burst. That’s when I passed out.

I woke up lying in a cemetery. It was then that I remembered that the crazy old story about the Russian immigrant building his house out here and I thought that maybe if I made it to his house, I would be safe. I searched for what felt like days, wandering through the fog, sleeping restlessly when I got tired. After the third day, I finally found his house. I knocked on the front door but there was no answer. The door swung open and I entered. The house looked like it hadn’t been lived in for years. I thought maybe if I could hide in here until I was rested, I could make my way back.

That was when I heard voices in the basement.

I knew better than to go down there but curiosity overtook me. A door in the front hallway had a brilliant, orange light coming out from under it. I opened it slowly, relived to find the staircase empty. I made my way down slowly to the bottom door where the voices grew louder and louder. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but I could make out the moaning distress of another man. He kept saying over and over again, “please, let me go…it hurts…please, let me go”.

Trembling, my hand reached out and grasped the doorknob, which was burning to the touch. I slowly opened it and what I saw will forever haunt my living days. An old man was floating in mid-air, writhing in agony. He was surrounding my six large, winged demons that looked as though they were on fire. While listening to their monotonous chanting, I could make out a name they seemed to be repeating every once in a while…Atropos.

Their chanting started to get louder and louder…I got scared so I ran up the staircase and out the front door. Outside, there were several…men, I guess, standing there in brown robes, but they didn’t frighten me. In the middle of them stood another large, winged demon, four times the size of the ones in the basement…and it spoke to me, or rather, his mind spoke to me.

He said that his name was Baphomet. He would allow me to live…to….warn, I think, humans that his time for ruling this world was at hand. My ears felt hot and wet, and that’s when I noticed that they were bleeding. I ran, screaming and crying, towards the village again. I tripped and when I got back up, I looked back. Everything was gone…the house, the men, the….demon…was gone.

Insanity overtook me. I don’t remember anything after that. The next thing I remember is realizing that I’m here…with you.

No one dared approach the strange fog in the many months that followed. Those that did were never seen nor heard from again. Stories, some true and some false, circulated through the city of the evil that now resided in the town formerly known as Astoria.

After twenty years or so, the fog had begun to dissipate. People once again ventured into the town now known as Dark Astoria, some curious and others seeking profit. No one, however, elected to stay longer than a few hours. Because of this, many criminals began to use Dark Astoria as a meeting place largely due to its privacy and lack of cops. It is even rumored that Mayor 'Spanky' Rabinowitz often visited these streets, publicly because he said that he was interested in doing what he could to restore Dark Astoria to its former glory. Close analysis of personal accounts often match these visits up to when Nathanial Frost was also seen in and about Dark Astoria.

People still disappeared on the streets of Dark Astoria, many said that they were captured by the ghosts haunting the streets. Public officials pleaded with the citizens of Paragon City to avoid those dark streets. However, from time to time, the Paragon City Police Department still received reports of persons going off to investigate Dark Astoria, never to be heard from again. Many efforts by several superheroes over the years, most notably the Freedom Phalanx and the Midnight Squad, have largely failed to rid Dark Astoria of the evil that resides there.

Azuria of the Modern Arcane Guild of Investigation (MAGI) and Professor of Esoteric Anthropology and MAGI consultant, Dr. Nathaniel Bierce, has done extensive research into the history surrounding Dark Astoria. They discovered that this Mr. Alfred Atropos was born in Eastern Siberia to a family known to have dabbled in the occult. Whether they were descendants of the Lughebu worshippers is unknown; however, strong evidence suggests that some connection exists. Further investigation has revealed that one of the most powerful Ley Lines in this plane of existence form a nexus in the same exact spot where it is claimed that Mr. Atropos had built his house. It is the formal opinion of the MAGI guild Mr. Atropos sought to break open a rift that would allow the spirits of the Banished Pantheon enter our realm. However, he was discovered by Baphomet and the Circle of Thorns before the portal could stabilize. The portal to this remains unstable, allowing from time to time the spirits of the Banished Pantheon to enter our realm and feast upon human emotions.

The Midnight Squad was one of Dark Astoria’s last hopes; however, nearly all the heroes were destroyed by the Ritki in a surprise attack on their headquarters with a fusion bomb. The MAGI guild was able to convince the remaining members of the superhero group that to truly honor their fallen was to lay them to rest within Moth Cemetery so that their spirits could continue to fight the Banished Pantheon and the Circle of Thorns in a new dimension. A plaque there today reads, “This tomb houses the remains of several members of the Midnight Squad, who were murdered during a sneak attack on their secret Terra Volta facility. It was this action that prompted the creation of the United Nations Special Council on Super Human Actions.”

Due to the increased supernatural activity since the Ritki war that resides in Dark Astoria today, the MAGI was able to convince the authorities that only those with a well-disciplined mind are able to overcome the fear generated by the dark streets of Astoria. Perhaps one of the most disturbing elements of fear generated by the war between the Banished Pantheon and the Circle of Thorns is the fog’s ability to “emulate” the present day Paragon City. Only a select few of the MAGI guild are able to see through this illusion and accurately describe the wasteland of the former village. However, experts agree that this illusion is not substantial enough to cause any apprehension within superheroes of a security level 20 or higher. Therefore, by decree, only those with a security level of 20 or higher are allowed to enter.