Jack kept his offhand cupped over the small candle flame in order to protect it from errant gusts. He had snuck into they Miskatonic Library in the dead of night in order to remain unnoticed. Since stealing the stone Jack had avoided public places. As if it could feel him thinking about it, the stone seemed to squirm in his arms.

Why waste your time rifling through the tatters of knowledge that mankind has managed to cobble together into a a hodge podge of...

Jack forced the stone out of his mind. It seemed different lately. Before when he held it, the stone had filled his mind with images of violence and rage. It almost felt as if the stone had adopted a new tact. It spoke to him now. But it felt like there was a weight behind its words, something barely kept in check, waiting to be unleashed.

There had to be something here that would help him figure out how to find the other pieces of the stone. Jack couldn't very well ask his former cult. He thought about reaching out to Byron. Jack knew he studied here. But they had been out of touch for so long and the stone could only bring danger.

Jack held up the candle and slowly read of the titles of the dusty books lining the shelves. Encyclopaedia of Cccultism, The Initiate: Some Impressions of a Great Soul,The Focus of Life. Unsure where to start, he reached up for a random title when a shout startled him.

"HEY! HOLD IT RIGHT THERE"

A flood of light illuminated Jack and the shelves around him as the guard flicked on a flashlight. "What are you doing here?"

Fear clawed at Jack's throat and he resisted the urge to reach for the revolver tucked into his belt. Had they found him? Licking his suddenly dry lips he whispered... "Cthulhu fhtagn"

A puzzled look crossed the guards face. "What was that? Do you speak English?"

The tension in Jack's shoulder's immediately disappeared. He wasn't one of them. He opened him mouth to answer when a sudden surge sprung forth from the stone in his arms.

Ask and you shall receive

"Are you ok buddy?" asked the guard as the shadows behind him coalesced into a tall pale figure. It's face was a dark blue mask with no nose or mouth. The thing that scared Jack the most was that it had no eyes. Just empty, black sockets with some dark ichor dripping from the gaping holes. "What are you doing up here at this..."

The guard's voice cut off as the creature laid a hand on his shoulder. Jack had to imagine the guard jumping in surprise. Because as soon as the figure touch the man, his eyes turned black and he crumpled to the ground.

Jack froze for a moment before drawing his revolver and firing a round into the... thing's chest.

It stumbled back slightly before turning it's gaze on Jack.

I can be your savior Jack.... Or your demise.... Use me...

In what could only be described as a fit of temporary insanity Jack held the stone up in front of his face and stated to simple and clear words:

FUCK. YOU

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 1):

Mike walked up and opened the door to his and Shelly's small house. The lights in the kitchen were surprisingly bright compared to the darkness outside. He squinted in surprise as he walked in. The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled his nostrils and he took a deep breath of relief taking it in. Shelly sat at the kitchen table with her back to the door. He grinned a big stupid smile, it'd been so long since he'd been home.

He took a few steps towards her seated profile. Her brown hair was down and cascaded around the back of her neck and shoulders. She held a cup of coffee in her hand, the steam rising from the mug. "Sorry I was away for so long. I wanted to call but couldn't get to a phone."

"Surely none of this is necessary." She replied, before twisting in the chair and standing to face him. She left the cup of coffee on the table. She gazed at him with a calculating coldness he'd never seen before.

Breathless and taken aback he tried to reply. "I'm sorry, things got so - "

With a sudden fury her face twisted into pure anger and hatred. "You're dragging in mud, Mikey!" She shouted. "You're always dragging in fucking mud. Everywhere you go. You can't just leave a place unscathed, can you?"

Mike was shocked. Not knowing what to say. He was stammering, trying to find the words, when he saw it. Despite the bright light, her shadow was lengthening behind her, before peeling off the table to stand behind her. Tendrils for arms ending with sharp black fingers. The shadow placed its hands on her shoulders. He looked back to her face to call a warning but was taken aback when he saw her black eyes and her crooked and wicked grin.

"Sh-Shelly." He stuttered, his knees going weak. He dropped to the muddy floor unable to look at her. Instead he examined his filthy hands. He should wash his hands.


"Hell Herby!"

Mike shook awake trying to get his bearings. He looked at his friends who were all stirring to alertness. A sudden pain in his rib reminded him that he had fallen asleep on his revolver.

Safety first. He sat up and checked it to make sure the safety was still intact trying to move as quietly as possible.

The nightmare fled from his mind as he realized they might yet again be in trouble.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:02, Wed 21 Mar 2018.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 2):

Her name was Lara.

Adventurer. Pulp fiction reader. Ace pilot. Singer. Sniper.

She wasn't into men. She was into saving them. That's how she introduced herself to Clarke in Cairo. Her brown hair was mid-length, her face round or half-square - he couldn't tell. She was tall, about five-eleven, but stocky. Her grip was firm when they shook hands.

"Sorry about Ahmed," she said. "Sometimes it happens."

"Not my first," he replied. Technically true, but it was the first time he had seen someone killed by a flesh-devouring book.

She tilted her head and gave a crisp nod of satisfaction. "That's the attitude I like to see Clarke. Keep it up and we'll get along swimmingly."

The memory diverged and she grabbed his shirt and yanked him in close. Her face had become concerned, almost panicky, "You've got to get up Clarke. You've got to get up now!"

His heart jumped, as if someone had shocked him with electricity. Lara started to fade, her face becoming pale colours in a shimmer. He heard her voice faintly call out, "You can't trust Zoe. Not any more."

He was back in the room. He could see his friends fluttering their eyes open. He could sense the stone watching him as he looked at the box. Mike seemed on edge, half propped up and listening to something.

Great, he thought to himself. Another day I get to kill someone.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 3):

The soft footfalls of the doctor can be heard as he walks down the hallway. The doorknob squeaks softly as it turns.

"Oh... You're awake." Dr West seems surprised to find the party, if not up and about, at least awake. "I assume you've heard the conversation downstairs." A sour look passes over his face. "The constable would like to speak with you. He is none too happy that I treated your friend." The doctor's slow manner seems to have entirely disappeared as if it had merely been an affection. "I wouldn't keep him waiting." He stands aside to allow you to pass by.

Entering the sitting room, you attention is immediately drawn to the figure dominating the center of the room. Though only partially illuminated by the fire in the hearth, you seem to be able to make out every detail of the lawman. The firelight shines off the badge pinned to his chest and off the golden tooth the shows in his toothy grin. His hat, cocked back at an angle, covers closely cropped salt and pepper hair. Solidly built, the constable wouldn't have looked out of place working in a field or in the woods. The rolled up sleeves of his uniform reveal a MSMC tattoo that wraps around his forearm. Sturdy leather boots tap out a steady rhythm, inches from a wet pile of chaw. Thumbs tucked into his wide leather belt, which holds two holstered revolvers, he rocks back on his heels as you enter.

"Welcome to my little slice of heaven! Seems you have some explaining to do."

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 4):

Mike took a step forward smiling and extended his hand in greeting.

"Of course, Sheriff." He pointed to the man's arm, "Did you serve with the 4th Brigade in France?"

Mike had run ins with law enforcement before, and due to his educational background in Law, he felt relatively comfortable talking his way around police who didn't know the letter of the law as well as they should.

At the same time, running bootleg moonshine from NH to MA was a far cry from murder.

What does he know?

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 5):

"Oorah. A new reality," says the Constable, his grin widening. He takes the offered hand, his many callouses rough against Mike's palm. "Nice to meet another military man." His smile fades a bit as he takes in the rest of the group, particularly the bookish Byron.

"I don't suppose you care to explain why you've shown up in my town, shot to hell, driving a truck with the wheels about to fall off, and harassing the the good citizens of Bolton who are just trying to go about an honest days work?"

He hawks another mouthful of chaw onto the wooden floor. "And it seems that the good doctor here, against his better judgement, took it upon himself to treat your subversive type friend." He glances disapprovingly at the doctor who seems to shrink in upon himself slightly. "And to think he didn't even consult me..."

"It was an opportunity to move forward with my experiments that I could pass," blurts Dr West.

A dark scowl spreads across the Constable's face. "And it also seems that the doctor doesn't know when to keep his trap shut." Dr. West backs away from the group slightly.

"So as I was saying... Seems like you have some explaining to do."

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 6):

Roll for history: 19

Clarke stood up. He ran his hand over his moustache, pretending as if he was still tired from the fit of sleep they received. He was trying to remember something, anything, about the 4th Brigade in France. It must be lodged somewhere in his memories.

"Excellent to see an officer of the law so attentive to their duties," he told the sheriff. "You said something about harassing its citizens? I was asleep when we rolled in, did my friends do something?"

Zoe stood behind the sheriff, looking bored. She tapped the wall. Her finger hitting it hard and making a solid thudding sound. "Kill him, kill him, kill him," she started to mumble in time to her action.

In an attempt to ignore her, he moved his glasses.

She smiled and started clapping in response. Her song changed. "Kiss him, kiss him, kiss him, kiss him..."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 7):

Clarke
Perhaps it was the information gathering aspect of Clarke's time in the military but he had heard a number of things about the 4th Brigade. Originally formed during World War I as the 4th Marine Brigade, it served in France as one of the two infantry brigades of the U.S. Army 2nd Infantry Division. The 4th fought actions at Belleau Wood, Soissons and Meuse-Argonne campaign. However, unlike many of the other combat units from the war, the 4th had garnered a reputation for using terror tactics. Numerous civilians were interrogated by the 4th as potential spies and they were often called upon to ferret out traitors and collaborators. This negative reputation led to their deactivation following the war.

Everyone
"It seems you were scaring away all of Old Bart's customers. He says you even snatched one of his papers. Well, we turned his pocket out and found the coin you gave him so we know that ain't true. But it begs the question: What were you snooping around Bart's for?
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:43, Tue 27 Mar 2018.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 8):

"Ooh," Zoe said. She stepped forward, in a sway, like a professional dancer might when trying to show how smooth they were to the judges. "This man's a monster. But a man. He's a monster-man. A monster in a man. He's going to torture you."

Her face shifted from being full of life to decomposing skin. He could see where he'd shot her. It looked the same as when they'd asked him for identification in the mortuary.

"KILL THE FUCKER!" Her long, dirty nails went through the sheriff as she lunged at Clarke. He adjusted his glasses again, letting her apparition pass though him.

"I still love you," she said. Her hand stroked his throat. It was warm once more and had returned to its faint golden colour.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 8):

Mike smiled and chuckled as he shook the Constable's hand, matching his firm grip. He felt oddly at ease, almost nostlagic, to be in the company of rough men who had known the sadistic glee of wettening the end of their bayonets with the intestines of the enemy. The disturbing feeling of waking up and your squad mate dead in his sleep from stray shrapnel in his neck. The familiar smell of blood, piss, and shit in the mud.

11:36, Today: Jrodimus rolled 14 using 1d100.  Fast talk. Pass.

"I fought with some Marines in the 2nd. Tough crazy bastards, but the best men to have at your back." He released his grip and let his arms fall to the sides the way people do when they're in the company of familiar faces. He scratched his beard briefly, "We're very sorry to disturb Old Bart, I guess we had parked on his corner of the street. We were looking for directions to the clinic and I'm pretty sure he overcharged me for a newspaper. Not that I blame the man." Mike smiled good naturedly.

"Anyways, my friends and i just received word that a friend of ours from the war died in Europe recently. As children we used to go camping up in Maine." Mike said, leaving out the cabin. "So we thought a hunting trip and camping would make a fitting tribute to the memory of our friend. In the middle of the night a big bear got into our camp." Mike started to get more animated as he was telling the story, gesturing and making mock expressions of surprise and fear. He pointd a thumb in Clarke's direction.  "My buddy over there  tried to scare it off, but the fucker must've got startled and jumped on top of him! The Padre went to help him, not knowing I was about to take a shot with my revolver. Instead I got the Padre instead but the shot scared the Bear." He started to talk faster, excitedly, like telling an unbelievable but exciting story. "When I went to see if everyone was alright, the fucker came back and raked my back as a parting shot before this guy," He gestured his other thumb at Byron, "finally scared him off for good. We didn't know where else to go, but i had heard there was a doctor in Bolton, so we drove here, but not before I swerved to miss a deer  into a goddamn ditch. So I accidentally shot my friend, probably ruined my drive shaft, and that's how we got to Bart's who we had to bribe with a newspaper purchase to give us directions to this place."

Mike finally paused, and took a breath. "And that's how we ended up here. The Doctor was kind enough to take care of our friend and give us a place to rest."

Mike paused briefly and scratched his beard again. He pulled out his  lucky strikes and tapped out a cigarete. He lit it then said, "Anyways Constable, we don't plan on staying longer than we have to. We'd like to leave at first light if possible. We're awfully sorry to inconvenience anyone and we are mighty thankful for the help we've received." He said his last sentence in a tone to convey that he understood everyone had a job to do and that job was harder with them barging in town disturbing the peace.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 04:21, Wed 28 Mar 2018.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 10):

"That sounds like a rotten turn of events and I know a thing or two about being unlucky," says the constable. Sweeping off his hat you see that a large chunk of his left ear is missing. "Let's just say some of those frogs rather enjoyed the taste of sauerkraut ." He replaces his hat with a flourish and looks a bit aimlessly about the room. "Well I suppose if you don't plan on staying, this little... kerfuffle can be overlooked. And it's good to know there's a bear in the area. I'll have to let the town know." He pauses for a moment. "And you don't owe the doc nothing do you?" he asks with a glance towards Dr West who gives a quick shake of his head. "Then square's square."

"Let me show you out Constable," says Dr West, darting forward towards the door before stopping in his tracks as the constable raises a hand.

"Although.... If you'd bear with me, I'm a mite curious about your situation. My mama always said it was my worst quality." The constable begins to pace in front of the fire. "So y'all were out camping and I thought to myself that was a bit strange. Checked your truck when I got here, nothing in it. And I thought to myself 'Norm, if you had a run in with a bear and you had damn near killed a man, you'd leave everything behind too and hightail it to a hospital."

The fire provides an ominous backdrop to the constables monologue. "But you didn't leave behind everything did you? Doc says you brought a heavy box with you and never set it down." He stops pacing and looks directly at the party. "So in your rush to treat the... padre," he continues mouth twisting distastefully, "you leave everything behind. Except. One. Box. They say curiosity killed the cat but I've got to ask..."

Silence seems to fill the room.

"What's in the box?"

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 11):

"A friend's things," Clarke said. "Mementos that he wanted disposed of. And we were about to burn them in the woods before the bear attacked."

Clarke motioned to Mike. "Mike had stayed in better touch with him during our respective tours. But we all wanted to respect his final wishes."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 12):

Clarke's words seem to do little to extinguish the glint of greed in the constable's eyes. "Well, if you friend has truly gone to meet the maker, I doubt he'd begrudge a humble man such as myself a rummage through his things. Maybe we can still put them to good use." He pauses for a moment, carefully noting the party's reticence to make the box's contents know.

"Unless I'm prying of course? But that's another conversation perhaps better had at the station."

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 13):

Fast talk check: 26. Pass

Mike scratched the back of his head while looking sideways at the Constable in embarrassment. "Well..." he began sheepishly, "our friend was a bit eccentric. He had some... trifles that to most of us would seem useless. But for some reason he grew attached to them. If you would like to take a look I suppose it's no problem. But there isn't anything much for the taking."

He walked towards the constable and leaned in conspiratorially and lowered his voice, "If there were anything of value, hell I might consider selling them off."

He straightened up, "But at the same time it would be a shame to go through a brother-in-arms' possessions after his untimely passing."

Mike took a drag off his lucky strike and did his best to look reverent.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:31, Tue 10 Apr 2018.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 14):

A look of slight disappointment crosses the constable's face. "Well, I suppose it ain't very christian like to be going through a dead man's things," he says. "Everything seems to be on the up and up here." With practiced ease he pulls down his lip and removes the wad of chaw, tossing it into the fire. "Just the matter of settling up your fines before you leave town and we'll be good to go." A cloying smile spreads across his face as the glint of greed returns to his dark eyes.

Dr West clears his throat with a slight cough. "It's my medical opinion that the patient shouldn't be moved for at least a few days. His injuries are..."

The constable's glare causes the doctor to trail off.

"I don't give a two flying fucks about that subversive. You and I are gonna have a different discussion and soon." Turning back to the party his smile returns. "As soon as we get these good folks squared away that is."

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 15):

Mike looked at the doctor and the constable, unsure of how to broach the tension following the constable's outburst.

He took a drag of his lucky strike and flicked the ashes into the fire place. He looked at the Constable, "And what misdemeanors did we commit to warrant such fines?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 16):

"Oh you know the usual, a few traffic violations, disturbing the peace, harboring a subversive. I could go on but I don't want to bore you." The constable thumbs the badge on his chest. "But as you may have noticed, I happen to be top dog around here. Now, I'm sure we can settle this like gentlemen."

The constable looks around at the party. "So... you boys splitting the check or has the charitable spirit of the holy ghost seized one of you?"

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 17):

Mike flicked the smoldering ash of his cigarette into the fire place and asked the Constable, "And how much would the sum of these fines be?"

He knew they were getting rinsed, but he didn't want to draw more attention to themselves than necessary. He was quite aware of state law, but city ordinances might be different and he always steered clear of Bolton.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 18):

The constable pushes back his hat, scratching at his scalp. "I've never had a head for numbers...." He begins to count on his fingers mumbling to himself. "One.... Carry the four.... Plus tax...." The smile that spreads across his face evokes the image of a cat toying with a mouse. "I'd say the total comes to everything you got"

You notice that his hands are again resting on the ivory grips of his revolvers.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:44, Thu 12 Apr 2018.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 19):

The facade of good-natured camaraderie fell from Mikes face and he clicked his tongue in disappointment. He pulled his wallet out.

"I guess no honor among lawmen and lawyers." He opened his wallet, removed ten dollars and offered it to the constable. "This should cover the...damages for the lot of us."

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 20):

Clarke tapped his glasses, and carefully slid a $10 note out from his wallet as well.

"I don't want to intrude on my friend's generosity, but I feel that with so many indiscretions we must have committed by accident, I should add to our compensation. Even though we are men of modest means, the law requires us all to play our part."

He held it out, alongside Mike's, to show the increase of their visible offer.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 21):

"The Lord looks kindly upon those who give from their hearts," says the constable to Clarke. He reaches out for the bills but stops short looking at Byron. "Now don't tell me the devil's got your wallet boy. Matthew 5:42, Give to him who asks of you..." he trails off. "There is a bit more nonsense after but I think you get the point."

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 22):

Byron raises his eyebrows and frowns.

“Yes, my dear Constable. And Proverbs 21:15 states “When justice is done, it is a joy to the righteous but terror to evildoers.”

Byron pulls out his wallet like his friends but only removes a single two dollar bill.

“I’ve been an academic for many years. I can not afford much as you may tell from my thread bare and rather tatty clothes.”

He holds out the bill toward the lawman.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 23):

The constable looks disapprovingly at the paltry amount held out by Byron, but that doesn't stop him from reaching out and taking the bill. "Seems my mama was right. Book learning won't get you much," he says tucking the money into his breast pocket. "Well, my job here is done. Law and order has been restored and the townsfolk can sleep safely again."

The constable tips his hat to the party before his gaze turns to the doctor and the facade of companionship melts away. "You and I will be having word tomorrow doc'." And with that he departs, the shutting of a car door and the rev of an engine soon following.

With the constable gone some of the awkwardness of the doctor returns. "I think it's.... best you leave immediately... Please..."

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 24):

Mike nodded to the doctor, "Understood. Thank you for your kindness and hospitality. We'll collect our friend and go. Is he fit enough to walk?"

He looked to his friends, ready to get out of Bolton and see this town behind them in the rear view mirror.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 25):

"He should refrain from.... any strenuous activities.... And i would recommend... colloidal silver. The party is able to rouse the groggy father and he is able to move about, albeit gingerly. "Did i miss much?" he asks, his gaze swinging in and out of focus.

The doctor follows the party to the door and as soon as the last of you leave, he shuts and locks.

The sun is just starting to rise and the small town begins to stir around you...

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 26):

Irritated but relieved to be getting out of there, Mike got into the truck. He rolled down the window and enjoyed the nice cool morning air.

He lit a lucky strike, "Alright guys, head back to Arkham?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 27):

Clarke put the box down, a feat that made him feel slightly sad but also relieved.

"Is there no other place for this box? Not only has it spat demon shadow monsters at us, but also cost me ten dollars I can ill afford. There is not much money in the antique business these days."

He patted himself for a cigarette. A nervous habit he had thought he'd given up since the war.

Zoe smiled, only her face visible. Her smile was larger than normal, encompassing almost half her face. Her teeth seemed to have become pointy. As had her ears. She glowed with an otherworldly light despite the room's candles.

"Can I bum a cigarette off you?" he asked Mike.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 28):

Mike reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his pack and handed it to Clarke. "Sure, help yourself." He inhaled his own Lucky Strike and put the keys in the ignition.

"I agree, we should find a spot to store this damn thing. I think the best place for it would be somewhere at the University." He adjusted the rear view mirror and caught a glimpse of Byron as he slid into the backseat with the Father. "What do you two think back there?"

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 28):

Clarke leaned on the truck and put the cigarette in his mouth. It had the same paper feel as from all those years ago. He lit it with the lighter he usually used for the lantern. The flame flickered, its yellows bleeding into the blue sky. A small grey floated up from the tip and rose into the air.

"Shit," he said to no one. "Shit, shit, shit, shit."

Zoe's smile still could be made out from the shadows though it was fading.

"Fucking Arkham."

He took the cigarette out and blew out all the smoke he'd been swirling around in his mouth. The smell of it reminded him of the thrifty U.S. Major that had run the paranormal operations back in Cairo. There had been an Englishman as well, but he had smoked a pipe. "A more refined poison," he had told Clarke. As if their vices had mattered in the end. Both of them had been disembowelled by the same monster they'd been seeking to control.

"Just, fuck."

He flicked the cigarette towards the doctor's house and picked up the box. He put it in the truck. He tried to adopt a more formal air about him as he climbed in. "Our choices are limited. Perhaps we can store it with some of the other relics?"
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 16:18, Fri 20 Apr 2018.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 26):

Byron climbed into the back seat of the truck cab and sat with a huff.

“God damn dirty cop should give him what he really deserves” Byron thought to himself.

He sighed and took a moment to let pass his feeling of having been robbed.

“So Arkham it is” he said aloud, finally.

He looked down into his right inside coat pocket and found his note book and pen still there.

He took them out and began organizing his notes on the recent paranormal experiences.

He wrote:

 “Encountered selectively visible, semi permeable Phantasmic apparition with physically manifest ectoplasmic claws, highly aggressive. Check Tobin’s spirit guide for any category or classification of entity matching description. Collected stone carved object, psionic and healing properties, also observed disintegrating live adult male, extra dimensional entity possession confirmed, PKE level needs testing in lab for precise measure but certainly at most extreme ranges. Critically dangerous, catastrophic potential. Check Hurlburt’s Magic and Alchemy Almanac for mana power suppression or demonic obedience spells. Also review last year’’s Parapsychology Today for article on totemic seance objects used in summoning...”

Byron scribbled on.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:12, Tue 24 Apr 2018.