History: In
1936, the Ahnenerbe, a scholarly division of the SS charged with
uncovering archaeological and anthropological evidence for the
origins of the Aryan race, mounted an expedition to Tibet, a
region which some scholars felt might very well hold the secrets
of the genesis of the Aryan race.
The expedition
employed many methods toward achieving their goal, examining the
cultural, historical and religious aspects of the Tibetans,
seeking any trace of Aryan influence, and even physiological
comparative anatomy to determine if there was a genetic link
between the Tibetans and ancient Aryan peoples.
Another goal of the expedition was to disprove the evolutionary
claim that men had descended from apes by proving that the
notorious ‘abominable snowman’ was nothing more than a Himalayan
bear, certainly not any manner of ‘missing link’. A small group
detached itself from the main Ahnenerbe expedition, climbing
high into the mountains to seek the elusive Asian black bear and
prove it to be the source of the yeti legend. The German hunting
party soon found itself high in the icy mountains, climbing
peaks perhaps no man before them had ever trod upon.
Their Sherpa guides
and porters grew increasingly nervous as the Germans pressed
them onward, here they said was the domain of the yeti, a place
it was unsafe for men to be. Threats kept the Sherpas from
deserting, and after an arduous climb, the Germans stood upon
the roof of the world, gazing down into windswept valleys and
snow-covered mountains. The Sherpas urged that they should turn
back, that the Nazis had already tempted fate too long. The
Germans would not abandon their hunt, however and ordered their
porters to begin the climb down into the valley.
That first night, camped upon the walls of the icy valley, three
porters vanished, snatched from their tents with such impossible
skill that the men beside them had not been disturbed from their
sleep. The morning sun was blotted from the sky, blackening the
landscape as though a shroud had been thrown over the world. The
Sherpas begged the Germans to turn back, but there would be no
turning back. After the most vocal of the guides had been
silenced with a bullet in his skull, the expedition pressed on.
All that day, as
they descended into the valley, every man felt malevolent eyes
watching him.
That night, the
screams began – sharp, piercing and unearthly; echoing from the
summits all around them, wailing their haunting challenge into
the darkness. In their tent, the German leaders conferred with
one another, wondering if perhaps they should not turn back
after all. They had been charged with proving the yeti a myth,
nothing more than a mountain bear. They weren’t equipped to deal
with… with whatever it was that had been stalking them. After
long hours of debate, a decision was reached – in the morning
they would turn back. But it was already too late.
The yeti attacked in the darkest of night, descending upon the
German camp in an avalanche of bestial fury and superhuman
strength. The Sherpas were slaughtered as they cowered before
the hulking, ape-like hominids. The Nazis tried to resist,
firing wildly at their inhuman attackers. But bullets seemed to
have no effect upon the yeti, rounds fired at the beasts seemed
incapable of finding their mark. As they had with the Sherpas,
the yeti tore the German mountaineers apart with their brutal
strength. Not a man of them was left alive, bar one. Of all the
men who had set out on their ill-fated hunt, Gestapo agent
Erich Wunsche was the least equipped for survival.
He was no
mountaineer, no big game hunter, not even a naturalist familiar
with the animals of the Himalayas. He was a watchdog for the
Party, an agent sent along simply to ensure that any discoveries
made by the expedition would be disclosed to Himmler and the SS
before they were made known to anyone else. It was somehow
absurd that Erich should be the one spared by the yeti. Yet
spared he was, the monsters leaving him alone as he fled into
the night.
Erich ran, ran until his heart felt like it would burst and he
dropped into the snow, quivering with terror. Then he picked
himself up and ran some more. At some point, he fell and did not
have the strength to rise again. He resigned himself to his
fate, letting his eyes close as sleep crashed down upon his
exhausted frame.
Erich never expected to see another dawn, yet when his eyes
fluttered open, he found himself staring into the golden disc of
the sun. Against all the odds, he had survived. He had endured
the cold of the night, he had managed to keep from falling into
a crevasse in his flight through the darkness, he had escaped
the murderous wrath of the yeti.
Erich laughed, a
sense of victory filling him. He looked at the bleak, icy
landscape around him, trying to find his bearings. As he did so,
he found his eyes drawn to something, something that he would
have sworn had not been there a moment before, something that
stared at him with bestial eyes and grinned at him with massive
fangs.
Before his eyes,
more of the creatures seemed to materialize from the thin air,
glaring at him with their inscrutable gaze. He hadn’t escaped
the yeti at all. Erich leapt to his feet, fleeing once more down
the mountain. The yeti followed him, their long stride easily
matching Erich’s frantic dash. But the monsters made no effort
to close with their quarry.
Sometimes one would
draw ahead of Erich, blocking his path and forcing the German to
change his direction. Whenever the Nazi stopped to rest, one of
the monsters would hoot or growl, urging the man onward. Erich
understood now that the yeti were more than simple beasts, more
than some ‘missing link’. There was intelligence about them, a
cruel intelligence that was playing with him, herding him toward
some final and horrible destination.
It was nearly nightfall before Erich saw it, rising from the
side of the mountain, perched atop a jagged outcropping of rock.
It looked like a Buddhist monastery, but there was about it a
suggestion of something even older. Somehow, the structure
looked wrong in some way Erich could not define. He only knew
that the place filled him with dread, that it was the last place
he wanted to go. But the yeti seemed to have other ideas,
continuing to drive the German toward the foreboding monastery.
Exhausted, driven to the limits of endurance by his ordeal,
Erich collapsed before the gates of the monastery. The yeti
withdrew, seemingly content to leave the man on the doorstep of
the monastery. As they had appeared, so did they vanish,
seemingly to blink out of existence back into the ice and snow
of the mountain. Erich tried to make sense of what he had seen.
It was impossible, how could such massive creatures simply
vanish into nothingness in the twinkling of the eye?
He did not have long
to consider this affront to his logic and reason, however. His
attention was soon fixed upon the massive doors of the
monastery, twin portals that appeared to have been crafted from
solid gold. The great doors were slowly swinging open.
Erich could see nothing of the interior of the monastery, even
when the doors stood gaping before him. What was beyond those
doors was darkness, a darkness deeper than what mere shadow
should achieve. It was the darkness of the Pit, the blackness
beneath the world. From that darkness, a man emerged. He was
Tibetan, dressed in dark green robes, his hands clothed in what
looked like gloves of green velvet. There was age and wisdom in
his face, yet also a strength and vitality Erich had never seen
in even the most robust athlete.
The Gestapo agent
could feel the power of the monk’s will wash over him as the
Tibetan strode toward him.
Erich’s mind reeled
as the Tibetan spoke, his words uttered in such a precise,
articulate German. There was something more than simple words in
the monk’s tones, there was something deeper and more sinister,
something that seemed to crawl through his very soul.
The monk looked down
upon him, his expression never changing.
The monk stepped
forward, placing one of his gloved hands against the German’s
forehead. Erich wanted to scream as he felt the monk’s
nauseating touch, but found himself unable to utter a sound.
Then a strange energy seemed to course through his body, running
through his exhausted limbs and tired mind. Fatigue and
confusion passed from him as though they had never been there.
He tried to remember
the fear and revulsion the sinister monk had filled him with,
but even these had slipped away from him.
-
‘The comos
stands at a crossroads,’ the monk said. ‘It is an auspicious
time, when the stars themselves may turn from the sky. The
age of prophecy has come. I would see the man from Thule,
the warlord who would make the earth his own. You shall take
me to the great Khan in the west that I may… attend him and
give him council.’
Erich did not speak,
did not give any sign that he understood the monk’s words, yet
the monk knew he would obey. There were few who could not. From
the darkness of the monastery, more green-robed monks emerged.
Like their master, the adepts were all Tibetans. Unlike their
master, their hands were bare.
Silently, they filed
after Erich Wunsche as the Gestapo agent retraced his
passage through the mountains, bringing the Adepts of Agarthi
to the small Himalayan village where the rest of the Ahnenerbe
expedition was conducting its investigation. A few weeks later,
the Ahnenerbe returned to the Fatherland.
With them they took
nearly a hundred Tibetan monks and their enigmatic leader.
The Adepts of Agarthi were introduced to Heinrich Himmler,
who was impressed by the mystical abilities of the monks and
decided that they could be of use to the occult studies of the
SS. For their part, the monks seemed to ask nothing in return,
professing that they had come to Germany merely to serve the
‘great khan of Thule’.
Their assurances
rang hollow in the ears of many, but Himmler decided that there
was too much that could be learned from the monks to turn them
away. The hypnotic and spiritual powers the Adepts of Agarthi
displayed could be of immense value to the Reich if only they
could be tapped properly.
The leader of the adepts has neither name nor title, such an
inconsequential detail is beneath him.
Officials in the
Reich have taken to referring to him as simply ‘The Man with
the Green Gloves’ or just ‘The Green Glove’. He has
become one of the most inscrutable enigmas in the Reich, moving
through the corridors of power, exerting his influence at even
the highest levels of the party.
The Green Glove
has advised Himmler on numerous occasions and even consulted
with Hitler several times. Great value is placed on his occult
predictions. He does so on his own terms, however, the Tibetan
does not ‘perform on command’, nor would even the head of the
Gestapo consider trying to give the monk orders.
Indeed, only the
Fuehrer seems to have the force of will to match the Green
Glove’s dominating presence.
Whatever the Green Glove’s purpose is, it is not serving the
Third Reich. Although he has lent his considerable powers to
Germany, although he has allowed his adepts to become guinea
pigs of the SS, the Green Glove’s ultimate loyalties lie
elsewhere.
There are some who
wonder exactly what the true nature of the Adepts of Agarthi
is, and who… or what… they ultimately serve.
The Green Glove has been seen all across Europe, visiting
the oldest and most ancient of sites. He has been involved in
recovery operations organized by the SS to capture mystical
artifacts and eldritch texts. There are even reports that he has
been seen far behind enemy lines, stalking the streets of London
and Moscow in pursuit of whatever dark purpose has drawn him
down from the roof of the world.