Happy anniversaries, <NAME> and <NAME>! Congratulations on your exemplary service to <COMPANY>. Many years ago I found myself among the black stalls of an occult bazaar in Cairo. As I walked amidst curiosities and relics of unknown and blood stained origins, I was confronted by an eyeless man. He stared up at me with those sockets, vacant like the void between the stars, and spoke in a voice inhuman and vile. Chills ran down my spine at the sound of it, and the edges of my vision went dim. My very sanity began to fray as the blasphemous tongue of his long dead masters spilled from his cracked lips. Having finished the incantation, he told me of signs and portents so dire that I shudder now to recall. He spoke of interminable horror and the brackish, lightless depths of the sea. Of one and seven. Seven deadly sins and seven ancient horrors, resplendent in cruelty and malice. He named them Hastur, Ithaqua, Mordiggian, Nug and Yeb (the twin horrors), T’golonac, and One great ancient beast to rule over them all. Dread Cthulhu. Cthulhu who lies in the sunken city of R’yleh. Cthulhu who slumbers, dead and dreaming beneath the sea. Cthulhu who hungers. Cthulhu the great and terrible. He will rise from the ocean at the confluence of one and seven, his gaping maw opening to consume all that lies before him. Cthulhu who shall be our ruin. Who even now stirs in his watery sepulcher off the island of St. Croix. He shall bring ruin to us all. At the joining of one and seven we were undone. You have unraveled the loom of fate. Look on your works as they are cast down. The darkness descends, vast and terrifying.
Happy anniversary, <NAME>. 2 years is quite an accomplishment. Almost as accomplished as the 13.8 billion years the Neverborn have lain dormant in our universe, their insatiable hunger growing, stirring them ever closer to wakefulness. At times they have reached out in their sleep, and where their alien presence has touched our reality, tragedy has unfolded. Roanoke. Easter Island. The mass extinction of the dinosaurs. These were the results of the stygian depths of their consciousness alighting upon our world.
They hunger, <NAME>. They hunger for life. And only through constant sacrifice can we keep them dreaming of blood and thunder and conquest and a brackish wave that sweeps the universe and scours worlds to cold orbs of bare stone. They are the rising tide and no price is too steep to defend ourselves against them. Your two years makes you an ideal candidate for this purpose. It is your duty. Know that you purchase everyone another day of living in unbridled, abject terror of the horrors that dwell outside of our comprehension, at the edges of sanity. Another day to attempt to fathom the interminable, lightless void that is the ravenous maw of these beasts. Another day of despair.