A collection of rumors from the land of sky blue waters.

This is a follow up to the Twin Cities background I submitted before, a collection of rumors to expand the occult underground of the area.

Most people believe that Garrison Keiller made up the small Minnesota town of Lake Woebegon. What they don’t realize is that Lake Woebegon really exists somewhere in Central Minnesota, a bit north of Princeton. You see, it seems that sometime during the 1950s the town really did become separated from time, “the town that time forgot.” Some of the town’s leaders had some major mojo, and didn’t care for how the world was changing. To this day, the inhabitants haven’t aged and still operate as if the “Good Old Days” never left. All the women are strong, all the men are good looking, and all the children are above average, and it doesn’t appear that this is going to change any time soon. Most are completely unaware that time has continued forward in the rest of the world, and care little about things outside the town. While occasionally people find their way into Lake Woebegon, to be slowly accepted by the townsfolk, only one has ever been able to leave; none other than Mr. Keiller himself!

Urban Exploration is big in the Twin Cities, thanks to the soft sandstone bedrock upon which the cities sit, fertile ground for man made tunnels which honeycomb the underbelly of the cities, some even burrowing deep under the Mississippi River. The question is, what are all these tunnels for? Surely more then merely extra storage space or sewers, something big’s down there for sure. Some of the Occult Underground who are into urban exploration (a few Urbanomancers, a lot of cobweb farmers, avatars of various types) are attempting to find this hidden treasure. Some believe it is some sort of artifact hidden by the mill barons in the 19th century, others a more modern secret.

City dirt has proven useless on Twin Cities urbanomancers: the abundance of parks and green space in the Cities have made them by this time immune to the effects of the traditional anti-rat weapon. Have you ever noticed how they avoid taking a dip in Lake Calhoun or strolling too close to the river, though? The City of Lakes and the River City have exerted force to give them some other vulnerability.

The world’s largest occult and new age book publishing company, Llewellyn Publications, is based out of Woodbury, a suburb of St Paul. With the occult aboveground so visible in the Twin Cities, what effect could followers of Wicca, Geomancy, and other New Age neo Pagan philosophies have on the local adepts and avatars? Rumor has it that someone clued into the underground, usually a former member of Mak Attax, actually works for the company, spicing up a few select copies of such typical self help publications as “Norse Magic”, “Garden Witchery,” and “Necronomicon: Wanderings of Alhazred,” with working rituals, hidden amongst the inane formulas for divine protection or “elf magic.” Perhaps one copy in 10,000 actually contains a ritual, but that doesn’t stop people from looking, or worrying about an angsty “teen witch” armed with some working mojo like plague of hiccups. Most don’t believe this, as if true wouldn’t the Sleepers have shut them down long ago?

The Sword of Hercules: In a small lake town on the western edge of the suburbs, the least fashionable Minnetonka community, a unique artifact rests. Hanging incongruously above the front desk of City Hall is a fanciful looking sword; the very prop used by a semi-famous local in a series of bad TV fantasy shows during the ‘90s. In the hands of a vidiot with the right obsessions, could it be a formidable weapon? How about a particularly geeky avatar of the Warrior?

Throughout much of rural Minnesota, along country roads passing through small farm towns on the prairie, touristy lake towns in the woods, or other small outposts of humanity in the wilderness, you will find statues. Some are of animals (a huge turkey, an immense otter, a plethora of gigantic fish), some of people (vikings, voyageurs, lumberjacks), the fiberglass titans wait by the roadside, idols of some unfounded cult. Of all these odd constructions, only one has actually created a god. It happened when the town of Menahga built a statue of St Urho, the apocryphal patron saint of Finland who drove the grasshoppers from the country and saved the grape crop. It seems several odd Finns from northern Minnesota have begun channeling the bizarre powers of the fork wielding, purple-garbed saint. They have not gone unopposed in their roadside power grab, though; the followers of Paul Bunyan may have a few things to say about the upstarts, and they are organized, powerful, and wield axes from Quebec to Washington state. Could a roadside war be brewing?