Saying a short goodbye to Jenny, the three of you climb into Mike’s truck and set off, leaving the dilapidated manse in your dust.

The drive to the cabin sees you traveling through the New England countryside although much of its beauty is lost on you as you dwell on the information you have uncovered. The visit to Jack’s father, rather than make things clearer, has only served to obscure things. It truly seemed that Charles believes that Jack died a week ago. And while you didn’t ask for any proof, you couldn’t disprove it either. All you have are the letters he sent you. The mystery seems to grow deeper and deeper the more you investigate.

Soon you begin to see familiar sights from your childhood: that strange green barn on the hill, that lake where you used to go swimming. Mike slows the car to crawl as you come to a side road with a large sign reading: MEREDITH FAMILY PROPERTY: TRESPASSERS BEWARE. You didn’t remember that sign being there and it gives an ominous sense of danger.

Turning onto the narrow trail, the chirps of birds and the hum of insects fills the air. You pass over a wooden bridge, the planks rattling as you cross. Eventually the road comes to an end at the Meredith’s cabin. Built out of native pine, it has been painted a cheerful white color with red trim, although the colors have faded over time. The roof is steep to keep the Maine winter snows from crushing it. There are six glass windows that seem to have been boarded shut. Dusk has firmly settled in and you can see a slight glow coming from the cracks between the wooden boards covering the windows.

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

Byron steps out of the truck. He hears the soft crunch of gravel and dirt beneath his feet. In his left arm are his occult book and journal. His face has a look of determination as he surveys the scene. He closes the truck door with his right arm.

To his own surprise, his ever present dread has subsided and his old military bearing, as well as his academic curiosity, has taken over.

 He starts to walk along the dirt path toward the small structure with the ominous light shining from the door pane. He says to the others “ let’s head to the cabin, shall we?”

In reply to novissimo (msg # 2):

Noticing the glow between the cracks of the boards, Mike got out of truck and shut the door. He followed Byron, memories floating into his minds eye.

"Well hopefully it's just the Priest in there." He said gesturing to the front door.

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

The chirp of crickets fills the air you reach out and rap on the cabin door. You hear a startled scrabble from inside and the district pump of a shotgun being loaded. The door opens a crack and light floods the night, backlighting the cabin’s inhabitant. You see the partially obstructed face of a man just past his prime, most of it hidden by a wildly unkempt beard and salt and pepper hair. “Who are you?” the man asks gruffly, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

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

Byron's eyes went wide in reaction. He slowly put his hands out in front of him.

"We are friends of Jack Meredith. We came at his invitation. He said we were to meet a Father Ronald Henesey?"

In reply to novissimo (msg # 5):

The man holds up a small photo and glances between it and Byron. "You don't look like your picture," he says in a deep baritone. He opens the door a bit more and you can see that he is holding a shotgun in his off-hand. "Who do you have with you back there? Step into the light with your hands up!" The man set the butt of his gun against his shoulder and halfway raises the barrel towards you. "And I'm not asking nicely..."

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

Mike raised his hands up and stepped forward slowly, still behind Byron. "Look Padre, we're here because Jack asked us to help you. We were in the war together." Mike looked at the disheveled priest in the eyes and nodded in a way he hoped let Father Henesey know they were friends.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 7):

Father Henesey looks back at the photo as Mike steps forward. A spark of recognition lights his eyes. "Mike? Mike Hudson?" he asks. Mike gives a small nod in confirmation and the father lowers his gun. "Jack said you'd be coming with a few friends but he didn't know when." He steps out of the doorway and waves you inside. "Quick, before anyone notices the light."

The interior of the cabin is much like what you remember, decorated with paintings of hunting, fishing and other nature scenes. There is a collection of camping gear, including folding cots, kerosene lamps, gas canisters, cooking gear, and other common items such as fishing poles. There is even an Army surplus two-way radio along with a conventional civilian radio and record player. Its as if someone had been planning on hiding out in this cabin for awhile.

You remember from your youth that the cabin had neither electricity or indoor plumbing. It seems nothing has changed as lighting is provided by number of lamps. The main area of the room is dominated by a large oak table, carved with even more hunting scenes. You remember Jack's mother arguing with his father about the table. She felt it was out of place in 'her fine house' and Charles was forced to move it out here. Around the table are several well made oak chairs.

The surface of the table is strewn with clippings from what seem to be various newspapers and books. The chaotic mess makes it difficult to see what they are about.

To the back you remember that there this is a sleeping area with a number of beds.

Father Henesey hangs the shotgun on a number of hooks over the fireplace and gestures to the table. "It seems there is much we have to discuss."

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

Clarke stepped through the door last and breathed in the mixture of a man cooped up in a wooden hut, and the freshness of damp mud and wet leaves. He closed the door, gently, behind them to ensure they didn't attract unwanted attention.

Zoe had changed into an ill-fitting checked shirt and wore what looked like a fake beard. She put her hands on her hips. "Well, good men, four-score and umpteen years ago we decided to subjugate entire colonies of people." Propping her foot on one of the strewn chairs, she continued. "Have we not succeed, good sirs? Have we not kept the rabble underfoot and the women producing our baby-faced heirs? Do we not deserve this ..."

Clarke let her voice drone into the background, as if she was an overbearing announcer on the radio. He split his cards, spun them around and looked through the cabin trying to make an assessment. He knew where this path ended. He knew what Zoe, his brain, was telling him, and he didn't need the prattling roundabout way she was trying to pitch it. This place was death. This town, the town his mother had chosen, was the harbinger of Nergal. She had abandoned him to the depths, just like Zoe's father had sent her to hers.

They were, truly, their parents children. They had been made for each other.

With a single flourish, he made a choice, fanned the cards, and slid into a chair.

"Father, I know a journey that only ends in blood and bone when I stumble on it. And I know what men, and women, look like when they're on that path. So before we hear the excuses, the justifications, the religious pathos that goes with genocide - you tell me, look me in the eye and tell me, how many people are we killing here?"
This message was last edited by the player at 17:21, Mon 09 Oct 2017.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 9):

Father Henesey pulls out a chair across from Clarke and takes a seat, placing the photo he was holding down on the tabletop. Mike recognizes it as a picture from the dinner thrown by the Meredith's back in 1918, before he and Jack had shipped off to Europe.

"You ask the wrong question my son. It is not how many people are we killing but how many are we saving," he says with a tired sigh. "But I do suppose you deserve an explanation. You have been thrust into a reality you can't possibly imagine. So perhaps it is best if I start at the beginning."

In the light of the kerosene lamps you are finally able to get a good look at the priest. Despite his slightly disheveled appearance he exudes a sense of calmness and serenity. His unruly hair, rather than making him seem slovenly, gives him and affable and relatable quality. While the majority of his chest is dominated by his prodigious facial hair, you see the occasional glimpse of his clerical collar.

He scoops up a a number of clippings and organizes them into a neat pile, softly knocking them against the table while he gathers his thoughts, although it does little to alleviate the mess that has taken over the table. "I apologize for the mess," he says, gesturing to the mass of paper. "These meant something to Jack. I've only just been able to start piecing them together." Setting aside his small stack the father folds his hands. "Jack is where all this starts."

"When Jack came to me, he was a lost soul. He came to my church, looking for answers. Sadly, he thought that God had abandoned him. We spoke at length and I must have made some impression on him, for he called on me in his time of need and entrusted me with... an item. I have had some experience with the sort of cult Jack had the misfortune of falling into, so I took what he said very seriously. I am sure the cult places a great deal of value in this item and I am certain that we must not let it fall back into their hands."
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:43, Mon 09 Oct 2017.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 10):

Mike took a seat at the table along with the others and starts to inspect the documents and photos that Father Henesey had arranged on the table. Absent mindedly he said, "Well we're all a little lost."

Then with more focus, "So what is this cult that Jack got himself involved with? Do you know any details? And what is so important about this artifact?"

OOC: Roll for Library check for checking through documents: 13:16, Today: Jrodimus rolled 18 using 1d100 ((18))
This message was last edited by the player at 04:16, Tue 10 Oct 2017.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 11):

As Mike rifles through the papers that litter the table, he notices that most of them refer to strange occurrences that have been happening in the area, abnormal weather patterns and odd animal behavior. But two pieces in particular stand out. The first is a clipping from a newspaper known as The Eye, a skeptical, independent newspaper published in the local town of Salem that focuses on the occult and other unusual matters.

The Order of the Ancient Stone is, despite the “ancient” in its name, a relatively new group. Formed in the early 1920s by Lance Blake, the group meets here in New York City. According to one member, who chose to remain anonymous, the group is dedicated to “ancient secrets, deep mysteries and really good poker games.”

The second seems to be a page torn from a book entitled Ancient Legends and Myths, which is written at the top of the page in pen, almost as if it's a reminder.

There is a brief mention in the works of Lucetus, a little known historian in the Roman Empire, of a Cult of the Ancient Stone. According to Lucetus, this cult was dedicated to finding six stones that were “brought from on high.” It was reported that the stones would “open a door into the world” that would allow “it who waits beyond the wall” to come to earth.
Lucetus reports that this cult was initially popular in Rome, but he notes that the cult died out when most of its leaders were found “torn asunder into bloody bits.”

“… I have a bit of experience with the paranormal you see, exorcisms and such. But I fear that this is much more.” You realize that clippings had distracted you from what Father Henesey was saying. “While I don’t know Jack very well as he wasn’t a member of my flock, I know that he very much feared for his safety. He believed that this cult he was part of intended to do great harm. He sought to stop them and I promised to assist him in any way I could. He entrusted me with one of the cult’s holy relics, which he must have stolen at great risk. He told me to take it here while he attempted to draw away the cult. I fear however that he may have been captured.”
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:17, Tue 10 Oct 2017.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 12):

Mike slapped the documents down on the table and scratched his beard. "Well Jack always enjoyed a few hands of poker," he chuckled to himself remembering a game in France when Jack literally lost his boots in a game with a farmer. The CO was furious, but that was Jack. At his best at least. "Did I ever tell you about the time..." his voiced drifted off as he realized everyone was looking at him.

He cleared his throat, "Anyways, looks like Jack is in trouble. Did he give you any information about the relic or any clues as to where he was going?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 13):

With the popping of aged joints, Father Henesey rises from his chair and retrieves a small but intricately carved box. Despite its small size, he seems to struggle with its weight. "Jack was carrying it around wrapped in a rag but I found a slightly better way to store the relic." With a heavy thud he places the box on the table. "While he might not know, I believe what Jack stole was a fragment of the..."

The father is cut off by a knock at the door. "Hello, is anyone there? We seem to have gotten ourselves a bit lost out here."

The color drains from Father Henesey's face. "You didn't tell anyone you were coming here did you?" He scoops up the box with a heavy grunt. "I have to hide this. Whoever they are, get rid of them."

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 14):

Mike stood up quickly and pointed to the documents and the box, "Father if you'd be so kind, please put these away in hiding."

He checked his revolver in his shoulder holster and looked at Clarke and Byron. "Were we followed?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 15):

Clarke tried to remember if he had noticed anything on the way here. A wayward car, perhaps? A lost hiker that seemed out of place? He gave Zoe a quick glance to see if she recollected anything that he might've missed. (Rolled Spot Hidden: 13)

He stood up slowly, to be sure he was not to be heard from outside the door. While his brain kept running through his trip here he put away his cards and pulled out his revolver. He knelt on the floor to steady his aim, and nodded to Mike as if to indicate he was in position.

"I'm not sure," he whispered. "Give me a second to think about it."