In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 16):

Clarke racks his brain, trying to think of any clues that might suggest they had been tailed to the cabin. No headlights following us. Nobody made any phone calls. The grip of the revolver feels rough in his hands. Zoe has her fingers posed in a pistol shape, crouched low beneath a boarded up window. There is another knock on the door. "Hello? We were out here hunting and I think we got turned around. We saw the lights and headed over here."

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

Byron’s anxiety spikes. His own natural suspicion is heightened and is fed by everyone else’s reaction.

He goes to the fire place and takes the gun from it’s hooks.

“Let’s give them the same greeting we received.” Byron says, pumping the handle for effect.

“You know, as a precaution.”
This message was last edited by the player at 04:05, Thu 12 Oct 2017.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 18):

"C'mon, we can see the lights on in there." There is another pounding on the door. "If you could just point us to the road that would really help us out," says the voice again, this time slightly frustrated as its pleas continue to go unanswered. Father Henesey can be heard moving things around in the sleeping area as a growing air of indecision fills the cabin.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:24, Thu 12 Oct 2017.

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

Byron presses up against the wall next to the door, on the side opposite of the knob. With the gun pointed to the floor at a 45 degree angle, he reaches across the door and opens it a cracked, while still being concealed behind it.

"Who are you?" Byron growls.

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

Mike took a knee behind Byron cracking the door open and readied his revolver in case he needed to bring it up quickly to fire through the door way. He nodded to Byron, "let's welcome our guests."

In reply to novissimo (msg # 20):

With a creak, Byron opens the door, a sliver of light piercing the darkness of the night. "Ah thanks," says the voice as a face swims into view, filling the gap between door and jamb. It appears the voice has been coming from an apish man with a heavy brow and close cropped hair. Seeing Bryon, a quizzical look clouds his dull eyes. "You're not the preis.... I mean, can I come in?" A hairy knuckled hand grabs the edge of the door and begins to pull it open.
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:59, Thu 12 Oct 2017.

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

Byron points the gun in the stranger’s face.

“Ahem. I asked ‘who are you?’ “

In reply to novissimo (msg # 23):

"Whoa whoa whoa," says the man, holding his hands up and backing away from the door. "I'm just lost, no need for death threats." You can see he is dressed in plain clothes and doesn't seem to have any weapons. "I've heard that Father Henesey lives out here and I thought he could lend a good catholic hand to someone in need."

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

Byron keeps the gun trained on the stranger.

“If you’re lost how do you know who would or wouldn’t live here?”

In reply to novissimo (msg # 25):

"Well, I mean, everyone in town knows that. Look, I ain't trying to cause any problems, if you could just come out and show me how to get to the road I'd be grateful," says the man, still holding his hands in the air and looking around nervously.

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

Mike kept his gun in the ready, "He's lying," He whispered through clenched teeth, "We need to take care of this. Sooner rather than later."

Something cold had settled in his gut. Something sure that the next inevitable steps were necessary. The kind of necessity that upon release is cathartic. Like taking a piss when you've drank too much at the pub.

It feels good.

There is no God here.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 27):

Clarke carefully backwards, trying not to make a sound. He kept his gun pointed at the door and listened to see if there were other people outside the cabin.

His goal was to check on the Father in the sleeping quarters. He doubted the man's story. None of them had heard a car or truck arrive in the short time they'd been there. No one had heard strangers calling for help or making noise to attract attention as they would have if they'd been lost. Rather, the person had made his approach quietly, sneakily, up to the front and then banged on the door when in position.

He had only three questions:

1. Was there more of him?
2. Would he be more useful alive or dead to the trio?
3. In position for what?

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

Byron keeps the gun trained on stranger's center mass.

Byron's anxiety seems to have melted away once he picked up the shotgun.

He hadn't felt this self-assured and in control since the start of his army deployment.

"Put your hands on your head. Get on your knees."

"Do we have any rope, Mike?" Byron asks.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:51, Sat 14 Oct 2017.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 29):

Byron
Byron had often read in textbooks about the phallic nature of guns. And while he usually scoffed at the authors, he couldn't much deny it now as he gripped the fore-end of the shotgun and the blood roared in his ears. One twitch, one pull and he could end this man's life, a god among mere mortals, the embodiment of death.

"Fuck this, Karl said nothing about a gun fight," says the man as he backs away from the cabin. With one last look he turns and flees into the night.

Clarke
Clarke can feel the hairs on the back of his neck start to rise. He could swear he heard the scraping of gravel coming for various points around the cabin. Did they have us surrounded? Rushing to the back of the cabin in a low crouch he sees the father moving a large crate back into place. "We can't let them get ahold of the fragment" Father Henesey says in a whisper, sweat beading on his brow. "We need to protect the stone at all costs!"
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:16, Sat 14 Oct 2017.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 30):

"Get in and shut the fucking door," he hissed to Mike. "Something's scratching at the walls."

Zoe waved at the man running away. The back of her head had started to bleed and fall off in pieces, revealing a trail of flesh on the ground and a large hole revealing her pulsing brain. "Ooh, you can feel it, can't you Clarke? We're about to start firelighting again."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 31):

Mike looked at Clarke, "what? Do you hear something?"

He stood up and ran to the door and closed it and locked it.

"Who the fuck is Karl?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 32):

In a rush Mike quickly closes the door, cutting off the view of the fleeing man. In the place of a traditional lock, the door has a simple latch and small bolt, only intended to keep the door from swinging open. Father Henesey emerges from the back room and begins to gather the papers from the table. "It seems that the Order has found me. We can be sure he isn't alone."

The shadows in the room seem to grow longer as the clock on the mantel strikes midnight...
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:14, Sun 15 Oct 2017.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 33):

Byron exhales audibly. His abdominal muscles begin to shiver uncontrollably. The coolness afforded him by the adrenaline rush is rapidly evaporating, leaving only severe nervous tension.

He puts the gun down, and props it up against the wall next to him.

"Perhaps we should leave the premises" Byron suggests.

"But first, Father, let us discuss the issue of the relic. What is it and where did it come from? What is it's purpose?"

Though still shaking, Byron prepares to jot down the details in his journal.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:55, Sun 15 Oct 2017.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 34):

Putting pen to paper usually had a calming effect on Bryon. The written word was something he could control, something unchanging in a world of chaos and entropy. "Perhaps you should start at the beginning father," he says, ready to record Father Henesey's words when he notices the lamp next to him flickering, its supply of kerosene having disappeared.

"Well I suppose that it starts with the day that Jack came to my church," begins Father Henesey. But his words are quickly lost amidst a growing paranoia. Someone is watching us. Byron tries to tell himself to calm down. The only people inside the cabin were himself, the father, Mike, and Clarke... However, as he gazes around, two shadows seem to split themselves from the darkest corners of the room, appearing as tall, horribly thin beings that seem to be composed of nothing more than shadowstuff. These figures twist and writhe unnaturally as they rise from the ground. They have no mouth or nose, but they do have eyes that glow like dying embers. Claw tipped fingers clench and unclench in spasmodic fits.

As the horror of the situation begins to fill Byron's mind, one single thought screams out to him: Cthulhu Fhtagn
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:54, Sun 15 Oct 2017.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 35):
Mike exhaled and turned to the table where Byron had sat at to begin taking notes. But something in the air seemed off, the shadows shimmered and shifted preternaturally. He wiped his eyes, thinking it could just be sleep, but their twisting formations continued.

What the hell?

OOC: role for sanity 13:10, Today: Jrodimus rolled 42 using 1d100 ((42)

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 36):

The room begins to spin nauseatingly around Mike, the shadows distorting till they form grotesque almost human-like caricatures. Wet mud sucks at his boots as he stumbles towards the table at the center of the room. Thump... Thump... Thump The sickening thud of flesh on flesh, shattering bone, the gargling rasp of a man choking on his own blood fills his ears.

A chair clatters to the floor as Mike almost drunkenly sways, gripping the table in an attempt to gain his balance. The face of Father Henesey fills his vision and while the father's lips are moving no sound seems to escape them. There is no god. The father's clerical collar seems to shine like a beacon in the darkness that has enveloped the room.

Mike curiously finds his revolver in his hands. He is going to eat your soul. Suddenly everything seemed blindingly clear. Only you can stop him Mike. Lifting the pistol towards the father, Mike notes the almost comical look of shock on his face as he pulls the trigger.

Mike's next memory is waking up on the ground, his jaw feeling as if he had been in a car accident and Father Henesey standing over him and rubbing his knuckles. "You need to snap out of it my son or we are all dead." The figure of an inhuman shadow looms behind the priest.

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

Sanity Check Roll: 61, Damage Roll: 2

Clarke watched as the light in the cabin slowly become snuffed out. Yet, Zoe shun brighter. Her face elongating somehow, as if the universe was stretching along with the shadows.

He observed Mike pointing the gun towards the priest, but his hands shook and he found himself doing nothing. He could hear the dunes of Egypt and the whistling of its winds speaking to him. Something twisted around his face, a shawl perhaps, but, no, it was Zoe's hands. Her face was a fraction from his, her legs pressing hard against his spine. The bullets entry holes, both of them, dripped with blood.

"Come on Clarke," she snarled. "It's time to come home."
This message was last edited by the player at 07:08, Mon 16 Oct 2017.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 38):

Clarke could feel Zoe's fingers digging into his face. Focus on the real... Focus on the real... Focus on the... Clarke couldn't seem to remember how the rest of the mantra went. "Don't worry love," whispers Zoe, her voice a soft caress in his ear. Though her fingers block most of his view, Clarke sees Father Henesey slug Mike before a dark shape obscures his view. "Shhhh.... Don't worry Clarke," whispers Zoe. "They have come to return you to me. Don't resist." Almost as if she was never there, Zoe's weight disappears from his back and Clarke feels his mind clear.

Before him looms a nightmarish shadow that seems to be both part of and separate from the shadows around it. Despite his rising panic, Clarke is able to notice that while the figure tirelessly stalks towards him, it avoids the light from the lantern on the table.

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

"Well, that was weird," Zoe said as she tilted her head.

Clarke ignored her and made a lunge for the lamp. He picked it up and thrust it towards the dark silhouette. He wasn't certain what incantation might rid the monsters, so he went with something from the pulps. "Get the fuck out of here!"

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

Holding down the bile that was building in his throat, his eyes bulged as he witnessed the the shadow creature looming over the Priest. He pulled his hands from the mud and crouched before tackling Father Hennessy out of the way, trying to get away from the wraith's shambling limbs.

Where's my gun?

"Byron!" He grunted as he and the priest collapsed on the floor, "A little help?"

He turned towards the sound of boots hitting the wooden floor and saw Clarke lunge for the lamp, another shadow creature closing in.

What's happening?

OOC: Mike took 4 sanity damage to previous failed roll.