Tourism

Craig didn't know exactly what to do when he entered the great hall to meet the cult leader, so he bowed; it was a short bow, but more than a nod (and it seemed to suffice, as he was invited to sit). "Meaning no offense, Your ... uh ... Cultness," Craig began, "I want to raise a possible issue - and, just to be up front, I'm not talking about the cult specifically. It's just that, well, over time the general mythos hasn't aged well and people are less intrigued than before; this is kind of a tourism thing, and the villages aren't really growing or thriving." The leader shifted in his seat. "Maybe you've noticed that the people who wander through here aren't as ... gosh, I don't know; I hate to sound like a dick, but ... not as intelligent or enthusiastic as before - like, zero percent are steeped in the lore," Craig continued. "You've probably observed that the random acts of mankind flubbering around in here aren't even really worthy of being kidnapped for ritual sacrifice." Here, the leader nodded and leaned slightly forward. "I just want to put a bee in your bonnet ... or hood, you know ... to just maybe do it up extra and bring a little shazam through the portal; something flashy and major; spruce us up for weirdos and creatives, put Arkham back on the map as a place where things happen." The cult leader took a deep breath and sat back. "You raise a good point," he responded, "and several have voiced similar concerns. It bares mentioning that bringing ... shazam, did you call it? ... through the portal might mean death and destruction at an apocalyptic level. That's kind of how the Old Ones roll." Craig nodded, taking it in, and then shrugged. "It's not like things are great right now anyway."