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."