The city of Aberdeen seems to match the gloomy overcast weather. Due to a local initiative to use local granite in construction projects, the majority of the buildings are a drab stone gray. Cars and carriages wheel about the cobblestone streets as the city begins to rise with the morning.

"Follow me," says the father waving towards the nearby harbor terminal. "My contact should be waiting for us there." At a brisk pace the party follows the father into the large stone building. Father Hennessy is hailed almost immediately by a man who jumps up from the bench where he had been sitting.

"By god Father, you had me fearing the worst!" says the man as he strides forward to clasp Father Hennessy's hand.

A tired grin on his face, the father warmly shakes the man's hand. "My apologizes Hiram. As I said in our correspondence my suspicions were proven to be true." He places a hand on the man shoulder and guides him to the rest of the party. "Allow me to introduce you to Professor Jones of Oxford." Professor Jones is a distinguished looking older man who fits the classic stereotype of the British professor to a 'tea'. Clarke vaguely recognizes him from his time in the field as a noted expert in archeology and anthropology who has conducted a number of digs in Egypt.

"You chaps must be exhausted and I'm sure you have questions. But perhaps I could interest you in sausage and tea?" He leads the party to a small restaurant. The professor seems to be a regular as the staff instantly recognize him and the party is quickly seated. In short order cups and a steaming kettle are brought to the table. Professor Jones busies himself preparing the tea.

After more than a week of running, of abject terror and horror, of death and mayhem, of sights that no human mind was meant to see, the scent of tea wafting from the pot was a soothing sense of normalcy. The early morning quiet is only broken by the burble of poured tea as the Professor fills each cup. Taking a long sip, Professor savors the flavor for a moment. Taking another, he sets down the cup. "So... Where should I begin?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:23, Sat 28 Dec 2019.

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

Clarke found himself at a loss. Their lunge from desperate situation to desperate situation had left him on edge. He had forgotten the rest of the world continued apace as if nothing was happening. They had murdered men and witnessed vile things from the abyss, but to everyone else, they were insane. Even if they saved the universe and survived, it was likely they would all be stashed in a small room with padded walls while their ramblings were silenced.

"Begin with the cult," Clarke said. "What was Jack involved with?"

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 2):

The professor slowly stirs his tea with a small spoon. You notice that he subtly looks about the room to make sure that nobody is eavesdropping. “This area has quite an interesting history of cult activity. According to some sources, a rather unpleasant group was once very active here." Setting down the spoon he takes another sip of the tea. "However, it seems they have come back into vogue as they say and your friend fell in with them. While not much is known about their beliefs they do have some rather... despicable practices. But I do believe that they may be the source of our stone."
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:34, Sun 29 Dec 2019.

Weary and fatigued from the violence plagued voyage, the tea warmed Mike's stomach and though he was tired with a slight headache, it did make him feel a little more...normal.

"Do these practices have anything to do with blood?" Mike asked as he filled his cup again from the kettle, steam spiraling upwards.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 4):

The professor pulls a large yellowed book from a satchel bag and begins to thumb through the pages. After a moment he sets the book down and turns it so it can be read:


"A little more than blood I'm afraid," says the professor.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:34, Sun 29 Dec 2019.

As he read the passage, Mike absent mindedly pulled a Lucky Strike out and brought it to his lips. He pushed the book over to Clarke so he could get a better look at it and scratched his beard. "Seems about right," he grunted as he lit his cigarette.

Despite the shock of discovering that there was an entire occult underworld that could shift and remake the very fabrics of reality, Mike had learned to more or less believe anything that his friends or their confidants claimed. No matter how fanciful the stories may be, the fact that Mike now had his own stories that would just as easily be dismissed as fanciful or mad.

There is no God here.

"And you believe you found the origins of the stone?" He asked Hiram.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 6):

"I have had the good fortune of locating what I think are the marker stones that lead to this bog. If I am correct then perhaps this may prove to be a way to rid the world of the stone, or a least a step in understanding it." He stops as the waitress approaches with a tray of Lorne sausages. "Thank you dear," says the professor and the girl flashes a brief smile.

The conversation is paused as the food is served. "In fact, I've sent my team to survey the area. They should be back soon. I let them know to meet us in Aberdeen."
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:01, Sun 29 Dec 2019.

Mike smiled and thanked the waitress as she set down the plates and he readied himself for the mouth watering meal. The food on the ship  was standard fare, but the smell of the sausage was enough to nearly bring tears to his eyes. He thought of Shelly and the breakfasts she would cook and he suddenly felt homesick.

At least the sausages were as delicious as they smelled. After he swallowed his first bite he asked, "Is there any thing in the history or lore about a magic stone from the bog?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 8):

"I believe that these stones act as a conduit between realms. They provide a way for the cult to communicate with their god. And it seems young Jack was able to abscond with one of them." As the food slowly disappears a contented lull falls over the group.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:26, Mon 30 Dec 2019.

Mike leaned back and patted his now full belly considering their situation. Jack was on the lam back in the US while they had somehow found themselves in the belly of the beast it seemed. Worry started to creep into the back of his mind as he realized the danger they were in.

"Wait a moment," he said, leaning forward gravely, "How do we know we're not delivering the stone right to their front door?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 10):

"Don't think we haven't had the same concerns my son," says Father Hennessy. "But I think that if our journey across the Atlantic has shown us anything its that the Order will find us. Perhaps it is time to take the fight to them. If we can destroy the stone maybe, just maybe we can eliminate the source of their power."

The professor nods in agreement. "And not to mention the opportunity to finally prove years of rumor and myth to be true."

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

Clarke, silent up until this point, found himself uneasy. Monsters from the other side were not the simple-minded fools often depicted in ghost stories. They had their own motivations - often difficult to grasp for his race - but motivations all the same. These drove them to do terrible things to achieve their ends. Proving the myth was real mattered little if the Earth blazed after a portal forced hell's forces onto their shores.

"With all respect, Professor," Clarke said, "we must be on the same page. It is likely we will only obtain a single chance at stopping these individuals. Despite our curiosity, we must be willing to forgo discovering a deeper truth about the universe. The inclination toward knowledge and power is what doomed the souls we are fighting."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 12):

"Of course, of course," says the professor slightly sheepishly waving a hand before his face. "An old intellectual's curiosity is all." Having finished his portion of the mean he pulls out a pipe and begins to pack it with tobacco from a leather pouch. He lights it with a long match and begins to puff on it contently.  "Indeed, the stone is our first priority."
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:20, Tue 31 Dec 2019.

Mike leaned back and lit his own cigarette and looked at Clarke meaningfully. "Well I suppose we oughta' check into the inn and then head over to the ruins and see what we can find."

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 14):

"Ah, I thought it would be best to wait for my team to return from their survey," says the professor. They are under strict instruction to report back before night fall. We've tried to ask around with some of the locals but they have been rather... tightlipped. Not hostile mind you but while everyone knows of the bog they don't much seem to want to talk about it." He takes another draw on his pipe. "I thought your skills might be better suited to such a task."

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

"I would be more than willing to lend my services if we can find out more information regarding the bog," Clarke said.

He glanced over at Zoe and Lara. He may not have wanted to ask, but he had too. There was no other choice.

"Professor," he hesitated and then pressed on, "I ... I am curious about this stone's effect on the dead. Would it be able to make them come back to this plane? Or are they lost forever?"

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 16):

The professor pauses, pipe halfway to his mouth and blanches slighting. "It seems you are more familiar with the lore than I thought my boy." With practiced ease he puts out the pipe and again pull a book from his satchel. Unlike the previous tome, this one is in immaculate condition. As the professor opens it you notice that the text is all handwritten in a tight slanted style.

"This is the journal of a late colleague of mine. And before you ask the chap passed peacefully in bed. He believed that instances of the, as he would describe 'occult' could be explained away as mass hysteria. A seemingly unexplained mysterious death turns into a panic, then into a myth that becomes ingrained in the culture."

He places the journal on the table.


Almost like an after thought there is a small footnote scrawled at the bottom of the page: Scott was terribly drunk. Was only willing to speak on the subject of the bog after being plied with alcohol.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:30, Wed 01 Jan 2020.

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

"This presents new ... problems.," Clarke said. "Even if we manage to locate this bog, there is a chance it will be overrun by the living dead. Do you know if anyone ventures into the bog in this town? Perhaps there are rituals that may keep the living safe from the mutilated others."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 18):

"As I mentioned before, the locals haven't been very forthcoming. They will do little more then acknowledge the existence of the bog and give a hushed warning before rushing off to some 'forgotten important appointment'." The professor gathers up the journal and returns it to his bag. "That's why I sent out my team. They should be able to give us some accounting of what is out there. I warned them of staying out there at night as well. Best avoid any risks."

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

Clarke leaned in. He was curious about what other secrets the Professor kept hidden in his expansive bag but knew it was best not to press his luck. They had used so much of it already.

"Is there anything you would like us to do before your scouting party arrives back?" Clarke asked the Professor. "I know little about Scotland and too much about the desert."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 20):

"The Scotts have always been a cloistered folk despite being part of the Queen's Empire." The professor sits back for a moment. "My advice, don't push too hard. As they say, you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. Perhaps my team has gone about it the wrong way showing interest. Maybe starting for the mindset of the townsfolk might help?"

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 21):

"I doubt our meagre talents will result in a much better trove of information, but I am sure we can attempt to make some small talk with the locals. What time would you like us to gather back here to listen to the expedition?"

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 22):

The professor pulls a small watch out of his pocket. He examines the face before waving it away. "Klaus and the rest will be back before nightfall. He has never worried me before." Looking around the table of empty dishes the professor looks both excited and nervous. "So... should I join you or... Stay back and guard the fort as they say?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:35, Wed 01 Jan 2020.

Mike listened to the exchange as he let the breakfast settle in his stomach. He admit to admit, those were some damn fine sausages and his eyes might have been bigger than his stomach. In any case he leisurely smoked his cigarette down to a stub as his companions discussed the issue before putting it out in the ashtray.


"Well the townsfolk likely recognize you now. Perhaps they'd be more comfortable talking to a few out of town bumpkins like ourselves. Do you know any good places to start?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 24):

"i recommend the local pub, although that is a bit of rough place. Outside of that I can only think that town officials might have information," says the professor.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:25, Wed 01 Jan 2020.

Mike raised his eyebrows, "Well I guess it's not too early for a drink. What'd you say, Clarke?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 26):

"I am in need of a stout pint or two," Clarke replied. "Which devil knows when we may find such luxuries again?"

Lara shook her head at the two men. Clarke had never understood her aversion to drink, but he had respected it when they had been partners. Now, all she could do was watch him sink deeper into sin while trying to keep Satan away from the rest of the world.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 27):

Taking leave of the father and professor you head out of the small restaurant. After asking around, and suffering a few disapproving glares, you are directed to nearby pub named The Innsmouth . A small bell rings as you enter but the barkeep doesn't bother to look up. Due to the early hour the pub is mostly deserted. Aside from the few patrons at the bar seeking the hair of the dog treatment the only other people in the pub are an elderly man and a few barmaids who familiarly chat with the man as they bustle about cleaning and dusting tables.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 28):

Clarke, keeping in mind what the professor had said about the locals, sat at a stool a reasonable distance from the other patrons. He glanced over the liqueur on offer and the specials of the day scrawled on the blackboard. It was likely they had a reasonable amount of time before the expedition party came back, so he was not worried about taking his time.

"It has been a long journey here," he said to Mike. "Let me treat you the first round." He did not pitch his voice but kept it at a reasonable level. If they were listening, he did not need to worry about being overheard. It was already happening.

Mike looked at the menu scrawled in chalk on the blackboard and nodded while taking note of the pub and it's patrons.

"I wonder if they're in the business of shine here. Though the ale looks like it will relieve the stresses of the journey. Much appreciated."

Mike looked at the talkative old man and grinned at the geezer.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 30):

Mike's smile doesn't go unnoticed by the old man. Snatching up a wooden cane he makes his way slowly towards the table you are seated at, his steps halting and short.

"It's always a good time for a pint. That's what me Da told me," the old man says as he eases into an empty chair, taking the smile as an invitation. "But a shame to drink alone right?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:35, Thu 02 Jan 2020.

Mike welcomed the old man with a smile, "Your Pop sounds like wise man. What other words of wisdom did he pass down? Care for another pint?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 32):

The old man's eyes brighten at the mention of a drink. "Oh me Da had a bunch of saying but most not acceptable for good company." He laughs uproariously before suddenly becoming conspiratorial. "So what be our poison lads?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:36, Thu 02 Jan 2020.

Mike chuckled along with the old man. "As I'm sure you're aware, America is going through a bit of a dry spell. What do you recommend?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 34):

"Ah, I pegged you as out of town," says the old man. "Well allow me to introduce you to a Scottish pick me up!" He waves over one of the barmaids. "Isla me love, could you kindly bring us three Auld Man's Milks. On these gentlemens' tab of course." In short order three steins of a sort of pale creamy liquor are brought to the table. The old man quickly grabs one and raises it high. "To another day on God's green earth!" He quickly downs the entire drink before you can even raise yours. Smacking his lips he places the empty stein back on the table. "Folks 'round here call me Zadok, Zadok Allen."

This message was last edited by the GM at 16:00, Thu 02 Jan 2020.

Mike toom a swig of his Auld Man's Milk not sure what to expect, but was surprised at a taste similar to egg nog. He licked his lips in satisfaction. "Damn fine choice, Zadok. I'm Mike and this is my friend Clarke. We're here on some business but thought we could enjoy the day around town since we had time. Maybe find out some interesting stories or tales to bring home to tell our ladies back home." Mike took another drink, enjoying the flavor, "A man such as yourself must know alot of interesting tales about Aberdeen."

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 36):

"So you be looking for a tale? Well there be no one better at spinning a yarn then old Zadok. Let me tell you the tale of the Shifty Lad," the old man says. In almost a synchronised dance he lifts his empty stein and it is taken and replaced with a full one by a barmaid.

"In the land of Erin there dwelt long ago a widow who had an only son. He was a clever boy, so she saved up enough money to send him to school, and, as soon as he was old enough, to apprentice him to any trade that he would choose. But when the time came, he said he would not be bound to any trade, and that he meant to be a thief..."

He seems nowhere near close to the end of his story...
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:07, Thu 02 Jan 2020.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 37):

Clarke let the man continue his tale uninterrupted. However, he motioned covertly to the barmaid. As she approached, he asked, "My lady, I am not the richest man to have just arrived on these fair shores. Could you please let me know how much one of these drinks would put me in the hole? I'm afraid, I only have a limited amount of local currency."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 38):

The young woman adjusts the tray of glasses she is holding. "A pint will run you a sixpence. But if you are looking for something less we do have some of the cheap stuff that would peel the paint off the wall."

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 39):

"It seems as if I will have sufficient funds to keep us entertained throughout the evening." Clarke turned to the Mike and the elderly gent. "Another round, I believe, is in order."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 40):

The barmaid nods in the affirmative and heads over to the bar while you new companion continues with is story.

"Now his mother was very sorrowful when she heard of this, but she knew quite well that if she tried to stop his having his own way he would only grow more determined to get it. So all the answer she made was that the end of thieves was hanging at the bridge of Dublin, and then she left him alone, hoping that when he was older he might become more sensible."

He only pauses to smile and thank the young lady as she sets a drink in front of him which he quickly quaffs...
And launches right back into his tale.

”One day she was going to church to hear a sermon from a great preacher, and she begged the Shifty Lad, as the neighbours called him from the tricks he played, to come with her. But he only laughed and declared that he did not like sermons, adding:　‘However, I will promise you this, that the first trade you hear named after you come out from church shall be my trade for the rest of my life.’”

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 41):

Clarke carefully sipped his drink and kept listening. Despite the drain on his wallet, he was finding the old-man's tale relaxing. For the moment, he was free from real monsters and everything else mattered little.

Out the corner of his eye, he could make out Zoe and Lara sitting on hallucinatory chairs as well. They were just as enthralled by the tale.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 42):

"These words gave a little comfort to the poor woman, and her heart was lighter than before as she bade him farewell.  When the Shifty Lad thought that the hour had nearly come for the sermon to be over, he hid himself in some bushes in a little path that led straight to his mother’s house, and, as she passed along, thinking of all the good things she had heard, a voice shouted close to her ear ‘Robbery! Robbery! Robbery!"

As the man pauses his story he lifts his glass to his lips seemingly puzzled to find it empty. Nonplussed he continues...

"The suddenness of it made her jump. The naughty boy had managed to change his voice, so that she did not know it for his, and he had concealed himself so well that, though she peered about all round her, she could see no one. As soon as she had turned the corner the Shifty Lad came out, and by running very fast through the wood he contrived to reach home before his mother, who found him stretched out comfortably before the fire. ‘Well, have you got any news to tell me?’ asked he. ‘No, nothing; for I left the church at once, and did not stop to speak to anyone.’"

He pauses again to lift his glass only to find it empty. "Seems to fair lass forgot mine," he mutters. "Oh Dearie! Seems you've forgotten my pint."

The barmaid looks at you expectantly...

Mike chuckled at the old man's story, as entertaining as it was. He nodded to the barmaid to indicate another pint for the geezer as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Though he felt pressed for time and he hoped Zadok would finish this story soon so he could prompt something more useful, he did enjoy hearing it.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 44):

‘Oh, then no one has mentioned a trade to you?’ he said in tones of disappointment.

‘Ye–yes,’ she replied slowly. ‘At least, as I walked down the path a voice cried out “Robbery! Robbery! Robbery!” but that was all.’

‘And quite enough too,’ answered the boy. ‘What did I tell you? That is going to be my trade.’

‘Then your end will be hanging from the bridge!’ said exclaimed. But there was no sleep for her that night, for she lay in the dark thinking about her son. ‘If he is to be a thief at all, he had better be a good one. And who is there that can teach him?’ the mother asked herself. But an idea came to her, and she arose early, before the sun was up, and set off for the home of the Gallows Bird who was such a wonderful thief that, though all had been robbed by him, no one could catch him."

The old man pauses as the barmaid set another pint before him. "Thanks love," he says smiling sweetly. He raises the glass unsteadily, some of its content sloshing onto his hand. "You know, my doctor claims that the key to a long life is a pint every morning. So I figured if one is good more must be better!" he says with a drunk chuckle, clumsily placing the glass back on the table. "Where was I? Oh yea, the Black Rogue..."

"‘Good-morning to you,’ said the woman as she reached the place where the Gallows Bird lived when he was not away on his business. ‘My son has a fancy to learn your trade. Will you be kind enough to teach him?’

‘If he is clever, I don’t mind trying,’ answered the Gallows Bird; ‘and, of course, if ANY one can turn him into a first-rate thief, it is I. But if he is stupid, it is of no use at all; I can’t bear stupid people.’

‘No, he isn’t stupid,’ said the woman with a sigh. ‘So tonight, after dark, I will send him to you.’

The Shifty Lad jumped for joy when his mother told him where she had been.

‘I will become the best thief in all Erin!’ he cried, and paid no heed when his mother shook her head and murmured something about a bridge.’

"...." The story pauses as Zadok seems to lose focus for a moment.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:33, Sat 04 Jan 2020.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 45):

"It seems the Shifty Lad will have some ill fortune blow upon him," Clarke said. He took another sip of his beer. "If I may interrupt, what bridge did the mother see in her vision? Touring ancient sites is one of my past-times."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 46):

The old man blinks himself back into the moment. "Oh, she be talking about the Old Bridge of Ayr."

Looking around the table he notices that you haven't finished your drinks and picks up his own glass. "Pardon my poor manners, can't be leaving you chaps drinking alone. Mary dear, another if you don't mind."

The barmaid again looks at you expectantly as the pub slowly begins to fill as the day begins to creep forward.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 47):

"Another round for all three of us," Clarke said to the barmaid. He turned to Mike. "This might be my last though, I would like have a quick peek at the bridge before heading to the bog. I hear it's much easier to find the ancient ruins at night."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 48):

Zadok sputters on his pint at Clarke's mention of the bog. *Hack* *Hack* He pounds his fist on his chest. "The bog?! How do you know about that wretched place?" he wheezes.
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:25, Sun 05 Jan 2020.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 49):

"Well, as I mentioned, touring ancient sites is one of my past-times. It goes hand-in-hand with my job as an antiquity dealer." Clarke paused, and fidgeted with his glasses. "Not that that I am working professionally while in Scotland, I might add. This trip is for the simple pleasure of spending time with my old army-friend." He gestured to Mike. "Anyway, a colleague of mine from the business mentioned he had heard about it. So, I thought it might be worth a visit."

Clarke rotated his glass in a circular motion. "Although ... it was only one point of interest in our visit. If my colleague has misguided me in any way about the place's safety, I would appreciate a more knowledgeable perspective. We have seen more than enough danger for one lifetime."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 50):

“No!” The old man nearly shouts. He pushes aside his forgotten drink and leans across the table. “You don’t understand. How do you KNOW?” he whispers under his breath. “They promised. They said if we kept their secret they would...” he cuts himself off abruptly. “No.... Just... Don’t. Go. There.”

Seeing Zadok start to panic, Mike did his best to try to calm the old man.

"Come on now Zadok, we won't go there if it's too dangerous. But we're curious and like I said looking for some good stories for back home. What's in the bog that you're so afraid of? What sort of tales do you hear about it?"

13:07, Fri 03 Jan: Jrodimus rolled 71 using 1d100.  Persuade. Fail.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 52):

"It's not what is in the bog... It's what comes out." The old man's voice is so low that you can barely hear what he says. The sound of clinking glass as a barmaid clears a nearby table causes him to jump. "Look, you fellas seem nice. You bought me a few rounds. So the least I can tell you is..." He looks around the pub suspiciously. "Don't go there."

"Who are they?" Mike asked Zadok, "What did they promise?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 54):

"I can't say." The old man's eyes dart about the room. "They could be here." Pushing his seat back he begins to rise wobbly to his feet before falling back down. From his pocket he withdrawals a handkerchief, blotting his brow. "It... it... it's just my nerves. Nothing a good stiff drink can't fix," he says looking around.

Mike bent down to help Zadok back up and into his chair, "Relax ol' fella. We'll get you another beer." He motioned to the barmaid to bring another. While he waited for the barmaid to come with a drink and Zadok to catch his breath, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it before offering one to the old geezer.

He quickly scanned the room to look for any suspicious looking patrons or anyone who might be overly interested in their conversation.

00:49, Today: Jrodimus rolled 75 using 1d100.  spot hidden. Failed.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 56):

Still breathing slightly heavily, Zadok weakly waves away the cigarette and instead grabs the new pint and takes a few gulps. "A man can have only have so many vices and I already spent mine on the lasses," he says with a weak smile. With the old man seemingly calmer Mike is able to resume his seat. Zadok takes another drink from his glass and lets out a contented sigh. " The long moment of silence is filled by the bustle of the pub. "What is it we were discussing? I was telling a story about..." his brow furrows as he tries to remember, perhaps due to the alcohol.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 57):

"The Shifty Lad," Clarke interjected. "And old places filled with ancient tales of evil. Perhaps like the bridge you mentioned earlier ..."

He called the barmaid over and ordered some nibbles for them to eat.

Mike looked at his cigarette between his fingers, "Huh, I thought these were supposed to be healthy." He took a swig of his own drink, "You were telling us about things that go bump in the night around Aberdeen." He smiled reassuringly to let Zadok know that he was a friend, "You said they promised to keep the things in the bog, but the things keep coming out of the bog." Mike concluded the story, hoping to confuse the old man into spilling his guts.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:07, Sun 05 Jan 2020.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 59):

"Oh yeah... You guys are new here so you should be careful to not say anything that might get you in a pickle. And a bad one at that. You see," the old man pauses to take another drink. "The deal is that we keep our mouths shut and the cult leaves us alone. They take the tourists and climbers, the few wanderers they come across. In exchange we are safe at night. The police quash any investigations if they might come around." As he pauses to take another drink you notice that the bustle of the pub has lowered to a mere buzz. "The deal has been in place for ages. I remember me Ma explaining it when I was a wee lad. But those... things that come out at night." He shudders as he takes another drink and you notice the pub is nearly silent...

Zadok's voice seemed to thunder over the silence of the pub's dining room, though his volume hadn't changed a bit since he started to finally regale Mike and Clarke of the cult's secrets. Mike blew smoke out of his nose as he started to laugh to cover up his actual belief. "So, you mean to say that there are monsters in town at night? Well, we'll be sure to stay at the inn at night and to not wonder about," He said smiling.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 61):

"Monsters at night aren't your only worry." Zadok drains the last of his pint. "They are in Aberdeen, the cult. They could be your neighbor, your butcher, who knows. That's how they keep the silence. But if you keep your head down, mind your business, well.... It's not my skin."

The old man's head drops briefly as silence fills the pub.

His head rises up again as he blinks around the pub before returning back to his empty glass. "Mary?... Mary?... Where is my drink?" The barmaid looks at you expectantly?

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 62):

Clarke motioned for the barmaid to bring one more tankard. "Baker cultists?" he said, hearing his voice fill the room. He felt as if everyone was listening to him, and he did not want to waste this opportunity. He had to convince them Mike and him were bumbling tourists who enjoyed a ghost story, but not the ghosts. "What next? Candlestick-maker demons?"

"My kind friend, I love a good tale as much as the next American. Perhaps, if I may be so humble, more so. But this bog sounds like something out of a seedy pulp. Even Hearst would die laughing, and he brought us a few wars with his love of the salacious. I enjoyed your first story about the The Shifty Lad, and I will definitely admire the bridge, but I think you had one too many pints by the time the bog came up." He tapped Mike on the shoulder. "I think we should give it a miss. It sounds like it's a case of three shrubs and an old-woman's over-active imagination."

Turning to the barmaid, he said, "If you could be so kind as to bring me the bill and see this kind soul home, I would much appreciate it. I think he has over-guessed his drinking fortitude."
This message was last edited by the player at 05:29, Mon 06 Jan 2020.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 63):

"I don't think he will be having another," says the barmaid nodding towards the old man who is now slumped over the table, head on his arms and slightly snoring. "Don't pay him much mind, we will look after him till he sobers up."

Looking around Clarke sees that the patrons of the pub are all engaged in conversation at their tables, seemingly unaware of what the party had been discussing. After a quick calculation you are able to pay your tab and leave the pub, entering the sun of the late afternoon.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 64):

Clarke turned to Mike and said, "Well, what is the plan? Shall we admire this bridge or head back to the hotel? I would prefer not to discuss certain things in the open."

Mike threw his cigarette to the ground and stomped the embers out with his foot. "I reckon we should head back to the hotel. It sounds like we're going to be having a night time excursion and we should make sure we're well rested. Which way was it again?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 66):

"They come from the other side," Zoe said as she made a spooky face at Clarke. "The other side. Whooo!"

Clarke ignored her and tried to recall the directions back to the hotel. He had only had one and a bit beers, so his brain was still quite functional. "I believe it is this way," he said, pointing to the right.

Zoe skipped ahead of him. She seemed to be enjoying the change of scenery and the rugged charm of the small town.

Lara stood beside Clarke. He could feel her weighing her choice of words. "What are you going to do, Clarke, if she comes out of the bog? It won't be Zoe, but it'll look like her."

Clarke pulled at his jacket and trod in the direction he had pointed to earlier.

Mike walked in step with Clarke wondering what more horrors lay ahead of them. He figured that they should have a plan, but it seemed they were walking in blind as they often did. "How should we attack this?" He asked his old friend.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 68):

"Until we learn more from the expedition party, it is best not to plan on limited information, " Clarke replied. "However, from what I have gleaned, the entity we are dealing with has vast supernatural power and is seeking to cross planes. This is not the war, and we cannot kill it. However, we may be able to remove the tools it needs to cross over."

He looked around the town. "Unfortunately, I am at a loss on how to do this. It is at these moments, I wish Byron was once again with us in a full mental capacity. This is the type of obscure knowledge he used to love researching. What is your perspective? What do you believe Jack was hoping to accomplish by dragging us into this quagmire?"

"I have no idea what Jack was thinking with this whole damn thing," Mike threw his hands up in a shrug, "And hell, we haven't even seen Jack. Just his...essence...or whatever that was when we were in the dreamland."

"But in any case, there's a chance that Daniel got here before us and knows we're on the way. We're gonna want to be ready for a fight. Which means, we might want to get some more guns and ammo."

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 70):

Asking around some of the locals point you in the right direction and you find yourselves in front of one of the few wooden buildings in the town. Seemingly made from shorn birch trunks, the building sports a large sign that reads  R. MacLeod & Sons. Opening the front door you find the store is full of rows of tackle and hunting equipment. Behind a polished counter is a large read haired man. He is polishing a large shotgun and the smell of oil fills the store.

"Madainn mhath!" says the man setting the gun on the counter. "How can I be of help today?"

Mike set his hands on the counter as he looked around the room, "Hello there, friend! The two of us are in town for a short little hunting trip. I'm wondering if you'd happen to have a Remington 30-06 we could purchase with ammo to match?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 72):

"I like a customer who knows what they want, makes my job easier. I'm sure I have one around here somewhere." He begins to rummage behind the counter, placing a couple of boxes of ammunition on the counter. "What matter of beast are you on the hunt for? Not much game around here unless you are willing to travel a bit farther." He pulls out a rifle from behind the counter and raises it to look down the sights up at the ceiling. The man pulls back on the bolt handle and checks the chamber to ensure it's clear before offering it to Mike.

Mike took the rifle and inspected it, running his finger along the bolt to check for carbon residue and checking the sites and trigger well for wear or ill fitted parts. "Well, we were thinking of trying to get us some venison. How much for this one?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 74):

The man looks at Mike appraisingly. "Well you fellas seem in a rush and I don't want to take up the rest of your daylight. Plenty of buck out there for you. You can take it off my hands for $110." He then hefts a box of bullets. "And I'll throw in one of these on the house."

Mike sighed and pulled out his wallet and took out a $100 Bearer's Bond that he kept on him in case of emergencies. "Well, nobody carries that sort of cash around, but I do have this. Call it even?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 76):

The man takes the bond from Mike and inspects it, going so far as to even hold it over the flame of a candle to check for authenticity. After a few moments he seems satisfied. "Consider it yours!" he says with a smile which soon fades into a look of sympathy. "Look, if you fellas have a hankering for meat I've got some I can part with for a much cheaper price?"

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 77):

"As kind as your offer is, sir," Clarke said, "I think we are also looking for the sheer joy of spending a few days on the hunt. It has been a long time since we have undertaken it. I, myself, have a few requests as well." He pulled out a small scrap of paper with some items hastily scribbled on. "Would you have, or know where to get in this town, .38 revolver automatic, its ammunition, a hand axe, a dark lantern, an electric flashlight, some 12 hour candles and a waterproof match case. Also, I'm looking for a water bag."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 78):

The man takes the scrap of paper from Clarke and quickly scans the list, poking his tongue out of a space that used to be occupied by a tooth as he thinks. "$65 and its yours," he says placing the scrap on the countertop. "I got what you're looking for. But..." he waves a hand around the shop. "Its going to take a bit to put together. You want to wait or I can have it delivered somewhere?"

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 79):

"Ah, you seem to have caught me in a bit of bind," Clarke said. He rifled through his wallet, looking for something. Carefully, he pulled out a slightly tattered traveller's check. It was one of two and payable to bearer. The amount on it was for $70.

"Would you accept a $70 traveller's check from Thomas Cook?" he asked the man. "If not, I can cash it myself and pay the exact amount, but it would take a bit longer." He held it out to the store owner.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 80):

For the first time a look of irritation crosses the man's face. He takes the bond and carefully inspects it. "You fellas ain't taking the piss out of me are ya?"

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 81):

"No," Clarke said. "The hunting trip was an afterthought. And when we saw this shop, we thought we could make inquiries about supplies. If you prefer, I could put a $25 deposit down on the goods now, cash the check and then return with the rest of the money when the supplies are ready. But you would need to point me in the direction of a financial institution. As you can guess from our accents, we are out-of-towners."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 82):

The man seems to think to himself for a moment. "If a man doesn't trust his fellow man who can he trust?" he says smiling broadly. "If you just give me a moment I'll get me boy to help." He puts his fingers to his lips and whistles. There is a loud clatter from the back room and a young boy emerges, his face and fingers stained with gunpowder and gun oil.

"Oi, I was just puttin' back the muskets like you told me to," says the boy.

"No lip now boy, we have customers," says the man handing over the slip of paper. Quickly scanning it, the boy begins to zip between aisles gathering package after package. In sort order the two have it all bound together in a tidy bundle.

The man pats the supplies warmly. "Be sure to tell your friends. MacLeod won't steer you wrong!"

Mike shouldered his new rifle, "Thanks, we'll be sure to tell 'em." He turned to Clarke, "shall we meet up with them and prepare for the trip?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 84):

"Let us proceed with angels behind us and demons in front," Clarke said.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 85):

Leaving the gunsmith, you realize bartering for supplies had taken longer than you thought as the setting sun lets you know that evening is near. Strangely, there are few people on the street and most of the vendors and hawkers you saw before are gone. You make your way to the restaurant where you left the father and the professor, your steps echoing off the cobblestone street.

Reaching the restaurant you notice that curiously all the windows and blinds have been shut. Opening the door you find the restaurant brightly light with numerous candles and fires adding to the illumination as a number of locals enjoy their meals.

"No Ronald, they should be back by now, I have to go and..." You hear the professor and father before you see them. They are seated in the back of the room and seem to be in a bit of a heated discussion. The professor, red-faced, has risen from his chair. "You may be willing to sit there but it is my reputation on the line here. If something has happened..." The professor stops mid tirade as he spots you making your way towards the table.

"By the Queen, have you found anything?" the professor asks ushering you into seats at the table.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 86):

Clarke sat down. He could sense something had gone horribly wrong with the expedition. He was not surprised; the professor had approached it all wrong. He had assumed, as the trio of them had at the start, their ancestors were easily scared folk and made up fabrications to justify the horrors of life. What the professor needed to understand was that the horrors were alive.

"If your men are not back by now, it is likely they are dead," Clarke said. "And there are things in the bog that come from the other side."

Mike set his new rifle down on the table, "And things that die there don't stay dead. It appears that there is a demonic bargain in place here. If your crew is alive, we'd better go looking for them. Professor, you should stay here with Father Hennesey. Be sure to look after Byron."

He sat at the table and lit a cigarette. His thoughts racing at the long night ahead of them. "We'll need food, water, and a map with directions."

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 88):

The professor pales slightly. "Nonsense! I'm sure they are just a bit... delayed is all." He shakily resumes his seat. Father Hennessy gently pats him on the shoulder.

"It will be ok my friend," he says.

The professor takes a deep breath and seems to steady himself. "The bog is roughly 3 miles north of the city. There doesn't seem to be much access aside from small dirt road. The few locals that frequent the area often use.."

BANG

The professor is interrupted by the crashing of the front doors as a young boy rushes in. "Professor?!... Professor?!"

"What are you about Jimmy?" says the professor jumping to his feet. "What's wrong?"

"Professor! Thank god I found you. You have to come quick. Gustav is hurt real bad!"

The party heads out into the street following the young man. He quickly leads you to the town square where you find two men carrying a third on a litter. "What happened?" asks the professor.

"I don't know sir," says the boy. "I was back at the camp when Gustav stumbled out of the bog. I have no clue what happened to Karl and William."

Gustav is lying on the litter, barely moving. He is a ghostly white and odd marks have been cut into his skin. Kneeling next to the litter, the professor puts a hand on Gustav's shoulder. "What happened to you Gustav?"

"Ungh... ungh...." His feeble croak reveals that his tongue has been cut out.
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:49, Sat 11 Jan 2020.

Mike stood aghast at the mutilated man. Despite all the horrors he had witnessed in his life and in the past week, it still horrified him to the core.

"They tried to sacrifice him. Karl and William are likely dead in the bog." He looked around at his companions, "Get him a pen and paper, maybe he can write down what happened and where. Then he needs to get to a doctor and we need to get ready for a fight."

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 90):

The professor quickly produces the requested materials from his satchel and places the pen in Gustav's hand and a piece of paper underneath it. His hand jerks and twitches and the scrawled handwriting is almost illegible. What you can make out seems to say:

“Bog people... Cult... Horrible thing... Horrible... Pet... West alive... Kill me... Kill mee...”

"Nonsense Gustav. We... Uh... We will get you right as rain in no time... You'll see... " says the professor although his voice is devoid of confidence as he tries to soothe the mangled man.

The father pulls Mike and Clarke aside for a moment. "I don't think we will get much information from Gustav. I imagine the man is in agony. Surely there is something one of you can do for him?"

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 91):

Clarke looked over the marks and cuts. He doubted he knew enough about this cult and its ways from his studies, but he had to try. Glancing and Zoe and Lara for help, he scrutinised the man further. Surely, all that time in the dunes could help this man through his pain.

Roll for occult knowledge: 25 - Pass

Oddly, some of the markings were familiar. They were not familiar enough for him, but he was certain Lara could help with additional information.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 92):

Mike
Mike watches as Clarke crouches over Gustav, wondering if there is even anything they can do for the man. The silence stretches for a moment as everyone takes in the scene. The silence deepens. A thread of annoyance fills make as he watches Clarke as he doesn't seem to be doing anything. His friend's habit of losing himself in thought was a quirk that Mike tolerated but now hardly seemed the time. Just as Mike is about to open his mouth Clarke suddenly jumps away from the wounded man, stumbling slightly.

Clarke
As if summoned by his mind Lara appears next to Clarke, crouched over the mutilated man.

"These markings are familiar but they seem to be written in some kinda of localized dialect." Lara pauses for a few moments, her head cocked as she thinks. "They obviously have something to do with the ritual but I'm not sure their exact purpose. You see these here?" she says pointing towards some of the markings on Gustav's head and face. "These are runes of control or binding. It seems the cult was attempting to snare his mind." Her finger moves lower towards Gustav's chest which is a mass of cuts lined by dried crusted blood. "These are trickier..."

Lara's musing beings to fade into the background as a growing sense of unease fills Clarke. He finds his gaze drawn to Gustav's eyes, if they could be called that as they lacked any human features. Pupil-less gray murky orbs, Clarke was his hand in front of Gustav's face but doesn't seem to draw any reaction.

"Ugn... Mgh...," Gustav croaks.

Clarke can only guess what the poor man is trying to say. As Gustav's jaw moves Clarke can see the charred blackened stump that used to be his tongue wagging futilely.

"Mister?"

Clarke steadfastly ignores the voice. After his last interaction with the girl he was in no rush to acknowledge its presence.

".. Perhaps these runes are meant to be a message of some kind. Like some sort of prayer to a deity..." Lara continues.

"Mister?"

Clarke has to restrain himself from snapping at the figment. He steadfastly refused to look directly at the girl. Focusing back on Gustav Clarke is amazed that the man had made it this far. The blood loss alone... Not to mention the conditions of the bog.

Gustav's hand seems to reach out towards Clarke like a worshipper in supplication.

"Mister..."

The unease in the girl's voice finally draws Clarke's attention.

"Why isn't he breathing?"

Panic begins to fill Clarke. There is no way any man could survive such injuries. Clarke's mind begins to race..

How did Gustav escape the bog alive?...

With sinking clarity the answer clicks in Clarke's mind causing him to lurch away in horror (2 sanity damage).

He didn't...

This message was last edited by the GM at 08:45, Mon 13 Jan 2020.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 93):

"Get away from him!" Clarke yelled at the group, withdrawing his weapon. "He is not breathing! He is not alive at all!"

Due to the proximity of the other members, and the fact they were in the middle of the town, Clarke did not fire on the man. He knew all too well what a stray bullet could do to a person. He made sure he was at least several paces away from Gustav and his weapon was targeted precisely at the man's head - as that would be how the cult would control him.

He waited to see the actions of the other members before he squeezed off a shot.

Surprised by his friend's sudden outburst, Mike backed away from Gustav. His hand went instinctively to his revolver in it's shoulder holster when he saw Clarke pull his own gun out. "Everyone listen to the man!" he hissed at their companions who had yet to move away from the man. He aimed his weapon at the Gustav and waited.

There is no God here.

He could smell the damp soil in the square.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 95):

"What... What are you on about? Gustav is just... Hurt is all... Get him to a doctor and he will get him mended up," says the professor. "We just need to pick up the litter and..." he trails off as nobody moves forward.

"Hiram my friend, you know the truth," says the father. "You know the stone, you know what it can do. If the cult is the source, who knows what they can do..."

The professor gestures wordlessly, failing to find an argument. "I... I... I can't do it...." he whispers, head hanging.

Gustav finally manages to roll onto his side, his fingers digging furrows into the ground.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:41, Mon 13 Jan 2020.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 96):

Clarke went through the process of ensuring Gustav was in his sights. Turning his head he gently pulled the trigger.

BANG

"Ugn... Mgh..."

Clarke's shot has blown off Gustav's jaw, leaving a cavernous hole in its place.

"My god! You fucking missed!?" exclaims the professor. The sound of retching fills the night.

"Ugn... Mgh..."

Gustav's once murky eyes seem to glow bright with a malevolent light.

"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn"
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:23, Tue 14 Jan 2020.

Clarke's shot rang through the otherwise quiet town square. It echoed and set Mike's ears ringing. He watched as the bullet tore through the man's face in a spray of red droplets and nearly retched as he saw the aftermath. His tongue and shattered teeth visible through where his jaw once was, now a mess of flesh, bone, and cartilage.

As Gustav's eyes began to glow and the impossible words resounded from his gashed throat, Mike fired his Grandfather's revolver, hoping to finish the job.

10:44, Today: Jrodimus rolled 84 using 1d100.  firearms . Failed.

He cursed as the shot went wide and threw up dirt beyond his target.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 98):

Clarke focused on the mass of bone, sinew and red. The raw violence of the scene did not disturb him. Rather, it put things in focus: he could see the winding paths of blood that had led him here to this wretched end. He had been doomed since birth, and God had turned away. Killing this monster and the next one and the one after that was not unexpected - it was preordained.

He pulled the trigger. The shot went true and splashed Gustav's brains over the cobblestones.

"In Aberdeen, we find the devil," he said.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 99):

The gunshot echoes off the stones of Aberdeen. Like a puppet with its strings cut Gustav's body, for that is all it really is, drops to the ground with a dull thud.

"Oh my god... Oh my god... Oh my god... Oh my god," chants Jimmy clutching his face, his fingers digging into his skin.

The rest of the group is barely any better. The father silently crosses himself and the professor shakily takes his pipe out of his satchel and clumsily packs it, tobacco spilling on the ground. The two men who had carried the litter seem to have run off in fright. Everyone seems transfixed by the corpse that was only moments ago moving...

FWEET... FWEET... FWEET

The blast of a whistle breaks the silence...

Mike stared at the chunks of skull and brain matter scattered across the ground numbly. He heard Jimmy babbling to himself incessantly, but gave it no mind.

Here we are again. But I guess this all we are...meat.

The whistle startled him out of his morbid reverie. With barely a moment's hesitation he knew that they needed to get out of there fast. "Everyone, lets go." He pulled Jimmy to his feet, "Show us the way to the bog!" He nearly shouted at the poor boy.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 101):

Clarke stashed his revolver and followed Mike's cue. "Come on," he said to the boy. "This is no time to be weeping."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 102):

You rouse Jimmy enough from his shock that he is able to lead you down the wide boulevard and to the edge of town.

"Hold on, hold on," says the professor panting slightly from the brisk pace. "We can't just leave Gustav in the gutter! The poor man deserves better!"

"That wasn't Gustav back there Hiram," says the father consolingly. "Whatever came out of that bog was simply using his body as a vessel."

The cobblestones beneath your feet disappear, replaced by hard packed dirty as you leave Aberdeen. Despite the late hour Jimmy seems comfortable navigating the winding road. After about an hour Jimmy leads you off the main road onto an overgrown dirt path that cuts through the trees. After a few mins you come to a clearing that is sparely populated with tents and camping equipment.

"Here is where we decided to set up base camp Professor," says Jimmy. "Gustav, William, and Carl took the survey equipment into the bog with them but they thought it was best to leave the rest here."

The professor walks over to a crate and sits down, his head in his hands. "What have I done? What am I going to tell Gustav's family?..." The professor trails off.

The father places a hand on Clarke's shoulder. "This has been particularly trying for Hiram. I think until now the occult was nothing more than an intellectual curiosity for him. But now he has seen it come to life with his own eyes. We should be thankful he still has his wits. I'll take care of him and Jimmy while you figure out our next steps."

Mike looked around the base camp for anything that might be useful. Ammunition, lanterns, kerosene, dynamite, maps and notes, hell even cigarettes. He wasn't about to be caught unawares in the middle of the bog.

"Hey Jimmy," he said to the boy, "which way into the bog did they set out to earlier today?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 104):

"Professor," Clarke called out while Mike searched around for supplies. "Who knew about your expedition? How many of the town's folk were involved in helping you?"

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 105):

Mike
"Carl said they were following the stones into the bog," says Jimmy. "There is one here at the camp." He points over to the edge of the camp to an obelisk-like stone. Lighting a lantern, Jimmy leads Mike over to the object, holding the lantern high to illuminate it. "I can't make heads or tails of it but Carl seemed to."

About waist high, the obelisk seems to be natural and unnatural all at once. Despite its exposure the stone seems to have been impervious to the ravages of time and nature. On closer inspection the stone is covered in strange symbols and images that tug at the corners of Mike's mind, memories that he can't quite grasp.

Clarke
The professor jumps at being addressed directly. "I... Ummm... Well the town knew what we were about, it was no secret. But Mr. McGowan and his astronomy club helped us with the survey equipment. In fact he was keen to come along but I declined his offer. I know some locals still fish the bog but they have mostly kept to themselves."
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:41, Sat 18 Jan 2020.

Mike kneeled to examine the stone trying to make sense of the esoteric symbols and images.

14:40, Today: Jrodimus rolled 49 using 1d100.  occult check. Fail.

He shook his head, as he expected his mind turned up blank despite the tugging at the back of his mind. "Hey Professor, Clarke." He waved his two companions over, "So these lead into the bog. Can you make sense of them at all?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 107):

"Sorry Professor," Clarke said. "I am required." He strolled over to the obelisk and attempted to take in its entirety. As if it was speaking to him, Clarke understood what the monument wished to convey. They had to follow the symbol to the next one.

There was also something there ... something subtle about the other features. They represented some sort of calendar, and indicated today was a significant moment. A moment for what, Clarke was unsure, but it made him feel uneasy.

"The directions are easy enough," he said to Mike. "We follow this to the next one and so on. But, something is happening today. And I am unsure whether we should stay away or rush to it. Perhaps we could ask the Professor about key dates in the local calendar?"

Mike nodded and scratched his beard as he rose. He gestured to the professor, "Hey Professor, is today any sort of special holiday for the cult or similar cults?" he called out to the older gentleman.

Holidays...hell I can't even remember what day it is. Mike mused to himself as his fingers reached for a cigarette.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 109):

"Holiday?" says the professor. "Not that I am aware. But cults like these tend to operate around fixed timeframes. Perhaps this signifies the window of communication with their deity. Much like ancient mythology, these figures tend to coincide with the seasons. Maybe we are seeing the apex of one."

The swampy air was so thick with humidity that Mike could feel sweat beading on the back of his neck. He lit the Lucky Strike he had fished out of his pocket and inhaled deeply. The smell of the moss covered trees and swamp water reminded him of the swamps back in Brattleboro, where his father and grandfather before him had kept the stills.

Then it dawned on him, it was around the time for the Summer fair, when his family was working overtime at the still to meet the demand of the influx of out of town farmers who would come in to show off their prize live stock and make trade deals. Mike remembered how his father would keep his farmers Almanac on him to read so he could blend in and keep up with latest home brews and local gossip, a tradition that Mike kept until he moved to Arkham. The time of the fair, he suddenly realized, was the time of the solstice.

"Would it being the Summer solstice have any significance?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 111):

"I don't know how we missed it," says the professor drawing a hand over his face. "The solstice symbolizes the ascension found in many great spiritual teachings. In some cultures, the resurrection and return of the Sun to the Mother goddess is celebrated. In others the summer solstice symbolizes the ascension of the Great Father Spirit. I can only imagine that the cult is taking this time commune with their god. Perhaps Gustav...." the professor pauses for a moment. "Perhaps Gustav was part of this."
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:26, Sun 19 Jan 2020.

Mike turned back towards the bog and took a drag off his cigarette. "I have a feeling they're trying to bring something here. Gustav was just the beginning."

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 113):

"You don't think that..." the professor pauses as if he can't bring himself to say the words. "You don't think they did the same to Carl and William?"

"A ritual to raise a body takes time and resources. They are likely being held until the cult's next opportunity to commune with their god," interjects Father Hennessy.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 114):

"I doubt their purpose is to bring back a man who can barely defend himself," Clarke interjected. "Perhaps they were practicing the ritual for when all the pieces are assembled."

In his head, Clarke cussed out Jack for bringing them to this forsaken place.

"It is unwise of us to barge in there. The old man was terrified of this cult, which means there must a number of them. However, we must stop this ritual. Surely, there must be some way, some tool we can use, some field position that will allow us to draw them out and save our companions. And hopefully, they can give us a fuller picture of this cult's ultimate goal. Are there any journals or notes from their expedition lying around?"

Mike turned and looked around for any notebooks or rucksacks that might contain some notes or maps.

23:54, Today: Jrodimus rolled 35 using 1d100.  Spot hidden check. Fail.

Unable to see anything helpful he scratched his head, "I don't see anything. You guys anything?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 116):

Clarke followed Mike's lead and glanced around the campsite. He tried to locate some notes or diary records that the team had left behind. They must have known they were in danger and could be killed. Surely, they were not stupid enough to leave nothing for their inevitable successors.

Roll for spot-hidden: 13 - Pass

Something caught Clarke's eye.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 117):

Buried in a small pile of papers weighed down by a stone, Clarke finds a rough map which is obviously an early sketch. It shows the bog surrounded by a grove of trees which is separated from the basecamp by a large clearing. The rough etching shows the bog divided into three parts. The outer ring seems to be labeled as shallow although the exact measurement doesn't  seem to have been taken. The next is labelled DEEP!!!. In the middle is a rise that has little to no details.

"That was the spot they were to survey," says the professor who has risen to look over Clarke's shoulder and pointing towards the rise on the map. "I believe that some of the locals still use the outer area for fishing and trapping."

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 118):

"How long do you think we have to prepare before the event occurs, Professor?" Clarke asked.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 119):

"If they aren't already gone we must still have some time. Such a ritual takes immense power. They were likely hasty in their attempts with Gustav otherwise he would have never broken free. But I fear that precisely because of that they are in great danger. The cult must assume we would come for them." The professor runs a hand over his face. "But I can't imagine Carl and William are being treated well. For all we know they could be being tortured as we speak."

Mike looked at the map in Clarke's hand, "Looks like we'll need a boat, or is there a path to the island?"

He took a drag off his Lucky Strike, "Also, they may be expecting us, but perhaps we can ambush them somehow. Stealth might be the best way if we can pull if off."

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 121):

"Perhaps a local left a skiff," says the father. "I can't imagine them hauling such a craft back and forth."

"And without knowing the lay of the land stealth may be a tad difficult," the professor says seeming to have greatly calmed down. "I don't suppose any of you have training?"

"Well, we weren't exactly special forces. But hopefully the thick trees and dark can help conceal us. We'll have to move slowly until we find a skiff."

Mike looked up at the setting sun burning orange over the horizon. "We should get ready to move soon. Who's coming?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 123):

"To arms, my friend," Clarke said, feeling none of the confidence he had inserted into his voice. "Let us bring our tale to its inevitable end."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 124):

The professor shifts nervously. "I'm not proud to admit it but I think I may have left my fighting spirit in Zanzibar." He holds out a hand that trembles slightly. "I'll stay here with Jimmy and... uh... Hold down the fort as they say!"

"A moment my sons," says the father as he begins to rummage in his bag before pulling out a tightly wrapped scroll of parchment. "If you ever find yourself injured... Well, may the words of the angels heal you." He holds it out.

In his old life, a mere three weeks ago, Mike would have scoffed at the Father's suggestion. But tonight he took the scroll with a tight smile and real appreciation in his heart. "Thank you Padre. Keep these guys safe while we're out."