In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 41):

Mike pulls Father Henesey down atop of him, grunting from the impact. Mike's quick thinking perhaps saving the father's life as a set of shadowed claws pass through the space that he has just previously occupied. "Your guns won't help," he says in a breathless whisper, jamming a number of glass vials into Mike's  hands. Inside the vials is a silver liquid with thin veins of red running through it that seems to cling tenaciously to the side of the glass. "Use these!"

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 40):

Clarke holds the lamp before him in attempt to ward of the shadow. It seems to work as the monster recoils in pain. "Take that!" shouts Zoe in triumph, throwing a fist into the air. But the victory is short lived as the monster narrows its ember colored eyes and takes a step into the circle of light.

Clarke hears Zoe unleash a crude expletive as the monster swings a long gangly arm towards him.

(Rolled 91 using 1d100: Claw Attack)
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:39, Mon 16 Oct 2017.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 43):

(Attempt to shoot shadowy figure: firearm roll: 71)

Clarke, his hands shaky, tried to level the pistol and fire. Yet, just as he was about to line up the shot, he heard Mike's cry for a little help and he felt his courage falter.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 44):

Clarke's attempts to dodge the swing of the monster and to fire off a round prove too much for his skills as a marksmen, his shot lodging itself in one of the wooden rafters.

"I keep telling you that you need to practice, not all your targets are going to be lying asleep in bed," says an exasperated Zoe. The shadow rears to his full height and unleashes a soundless roar that reverberates in Clarke's bones. He can see Zoe peek from around the back of the monster. "Do we run and abandon them?" she asks with a slight nod of her chin to the other occupants of the cabin, themselves engaged in life or death struggles.

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

Clarke tried to push Zoe out of his mind, but the images of the bullet holes wouldn't leave. He stared at the gun. A thing that had brought him so much misery. He swung it towards the monster but closed his eyes as he squeezed the trigger, taking a wild shot.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 46):

Clarke's second shot is as errant as the first, creating a hole in a painting depicting a fox hunt. "Now I have to believe that you aren't even trying Clarke," says Zoe with a pout.

In almost slow motion Clarke watches as the shadow pulls back its arm to attack...

(rolled 19 using 1d100.  Claw Attack, rolled 1 using 1d4.  Damage)

Clarke is barely able to avoid the monster's swipe, although it's claws tears through his jacket and shirt, tracing a trio of bright red lines across his skin.

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

(Roll to shoot monster: Firearms 77)

Clarke shook his head. He steadied his aim and focused on the void in front of him.

"Alhamdulillah," he muttered, trying to juggle the lantern and the pistol. As he leaned to adjust his front sight, pain ripped through his body from the cuts. His trigger finger reacted, closing in on the trigger as a reflex.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 48):

Strangely, in the back of Clarke's mind, the only thing he can think of at the moment is that his drill instructor would be ashamed as a third shot pings off the nearby wall.

You can almost feel the shadow's mirth reflected in Zoe as she dances around the cabin in a jester's cap, firing an imaginary gun in random directions. Again the monster raises its arm with a sadistic glee.

(rolled 3 using 1d100.  Claw Attack, rolled 1 using 1d4.  Damage)

Clarke is able to brace before the monster's strike and absorbs much of the impact. However, the lantern is knocked from his hands as the claws rake his raised forearm.

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

The second swipe brought Clarke to his senses. He narrowed his eyes, thinking about his drill instructor and the months of verbal abuse he underwent honing his marksmanship. While taking a quick breath, he lined up the looming figure and squeezed off his fourth shot.

(Roll for Firearms: 39)
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:19, Mon 16 Oct 2017.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 50):

Always aim center mass. The words had been drilled into Clarke. The recoil of the gun kicks the revolver back as sparks leap from the barrel and a slug races towards the monster. His feeling of elation and Zoe 'whoop' of excitement quickly die as the bullet passes through the shadow.

"Is it still too late to run?" asks Zoe in a meek voice.

The monster lashes out again (roll of 67 using 1d100 for a Claw Attack) but narrowly misses Clarke, digging deep furrows into the tabletop with its claws.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 51):

"Mike! Byron!" Clarke yelled, picking up the fallen lantern and backing up towards his friend. "Bullets aren't working. You better have secondary plan and fast."

Zoe rolled her eyes. "If you're counting on that PTSD survivor, I hope you've already written out a will."

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 42):

Mike looked down at the vials and bit his lip.

Fuck it.

He pushed the priest away from the shadow creature, "Get out of here!" He snarled through gritted teeth. Blood pumped in his ears sounding like a frantic war drum. He hefted one of the vials into his throwing hand and attempted to smash it where the shadow's feet would be. He heard a gun go off.

OOC: Roll for Throw - 21:40, Today: Jrodimus rolled 24 using 1d100 ((24)).

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 53):

The sharp crack of the gunshot throws off Mike's aim as the vial smashes  a foot or two from the shadowy creature, its contents splattering across the floor with a hiss. The monster takes a distorted hop away from the spreading puddle of ivory liquid. It turns back towards Mike swinging a long clawed hand.

(Wood Shadow 2 rolled 73 using 1d100)

However, seeing the father rise from the floor and rush for the door of the cabin it seems gripped by indecision as its strike passes through the air between the feeling father and Mike.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 54):

Byron’ stares in utter wide eyed horror as Clarke wildly fires his revolver at nothing.

Byron is paralyzed with fear. Was the power of the relic making his friends see frightful visions?

Suddenly, Mike, for seemingly no reason,  takes a silver vial from the priest and rolls forward . He cracks it  against the floor.

The alchemical vapors released from the glass container, a substance derived from some ancient and half forgotten knowledge, are enough to bring Byron back from his paralysis.

“Father, what is going on here?”
This message was last edited by the player at 13:38, Thu 19 Oct 2017.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 55):

Byron
In his haste Father Henesey nearly bowls Byron over. "My son! You need to help me remove the relic from this cabin. It cannot fall into their hands." He almost manhandles Byron into the backroom and begins to move a pile of supplies. After a few moments he pulls aside a loose floorboard reveling the carved box.The father turns around and Byron sees he has another white vial in his hand, same as the one Mike had thrown. "We have no time to waste. I'll keep them at bay."

Mike
Knowing that climbing to his feet would leave himself exposed for a moment, Mike grits his teeth and heaves himself up off the floor. And as expected, the shadow lunges forward, arms outstretched.

(Wood Shadow 2 rolled 18 using 1d100, rolled 2 using 1d4)

Mike doesn't so much feel the impact of the blow but more the searing pain as the monster throws him against the wall. Drawing a ragged breath, he is able to stay upright, keeping a hold of the vials and his gun.

Slightly dazed from the impact, Mike's head whirls. As the monster approach he can't help but notice that it's eyes burn like the cherry of a cigarette in the dark of night...

1918 Somewhere in France

They had caught him trying to steal food. He and Jack and been going to pick up some coffee, an extra ration for pulling night duty. He was a scrawny thing, malnourished and bony. While he wore the uniform of a German solider, it hung about his frame like a shroud. The boy had made a run for it but Mike had managed to tackle him at the door, the two of them sprawling into the mud outside. He heard Jack unholster his pistol. "Its ok Mike, I got him covered." Mike arose, his already dirty uniform caked with mud.

"I just want to go home... I didn't ask to fight," whimpers the boy in clear but accented English. "Please..."

"Fucking krauts thinks you can steal?" snarls Jack. A kick to the jaw snaps the boys head back, blood flying into the air. Jack holsters his pistol and looks back at Mike. "Time to have a little fun" he says. Deep in his eyes, Mike can see that sadistic gleam that had come to inhabit them. A darkness so deep that he could almost feel it trying to pull him into its dark world. Jack slips out of his pocket the brass knuckles he had bought in town last liberty and slowly slides them on his fingers.

"No... please... Mother..." whispers the boy has Jack looms over him like a specter of death

Clarke
Clarke takes his eyes of the monster to survey his predicament and manages to see Mike's errant throw, the vial splashing against the wooden floor. "Eeeewwww... What's that?" asks Zoe crouched low over the spreading puddle. "What do you think it's made of Clarke? Probably something esoteric and occult!" His attention snaps back to the monster just as it attacks.

(Wood Shadow 1 rolled 57 using 1d100)

Which perhaps saves him from being eviscerated as he able to throw himself back. "Stop dancing around and do something!" says Zoe. You see she is now wearing bloodstained pants and a loose shirt, her hands taped up like a gypsy boxer. "Stick it a good one," she say throwing a quick hook. The monster rears back to strike again.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:41, Thu 19 Oct 2017.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 56):

Mike shook his head against the memories searing through his mind. Keeping his back to the wall, he began to move away from the shadow gliding towards him. He gripped another vial in his right hand and again threw it down at the shadow. It smashed against the wood floor in a fit of hissing steam, but was wide of the Shadow. It continued it's approach unabated. His desperation growing, Mike started to look around the room a broom or bat, something he could use as a blunt weapon.


OOC: 00:24, Today: Jrodimus rolled 55 using 1d100.  Throwing Vial.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:19, Sun 22 Oct 2017.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 57):

Clarke reached into his bag and counted out four more bullets from his spare supply. He didn't understand what the liquid was, but if Mike was throwing it then it had to be important. In a couple of steps, he closed the distance between him and the puddle. Leaning down, he coated all four bullets in the liquid while constantly checking on the approaching monster.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:25, Sun 22 Oct 2017.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 56):

Bryon quickly moves toward the object. He orientates himself as he crouches to lift the thing out of the floor space.

rolled 16 using 1d100.  lift thing.

Bryon hoists the box out of the floor space. Its heft if greater than its size would suggest.

While Byron is intensely curious and his desire to open the box is almost irresistible, his caution gets the best of him, given the serious nature of the power the object presently has over his friends.

Heeding the Father's advice, Byron bolts toward the door.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 59):

Mike
After a quick sweep of the room, Mike notices a fire poker hanging on a small rack next to the fireplace. Its only a few strides away but he would have to pass one of the shadows to get there

Clarke
Rolling the bullets in the spilled liquid, it feels as if they almost begin to heat up. "Ohhh, looks like someone has an idea," says Zoe, seated upon the large table, swinging her feet like a small child. Scooping up the bullets, the liquid seems to clings to them but strangely not your hand.

Byron
Hefting the box, Byron turns and runs out of the sleeping area and towards the cabin door. Entering the living area, he is met by an earsplitting shriek that seems to come from nowhere. He sees Mike moving towards the fireplace and Clarke crouched over a strange white liquid on the floor. The shadows seem to stretch in unnatural ways, stretching towards the light at times and moving seemingly on their own.

OOC: The following is what Mike and Clarke see.

As Byron enters the room the shadows unleash a bloodcurdling shriek, turning towards the academic as he enters the room carrying the small box the priest had shown you earlier. From the backroom comes a vial spinning end over end towards one of the shadows...

(Father Henesey rolled 32 using 1d100)

Which the monster dodges with an inhuman twitch, the vial breaking against a painting on the wall, surely ruining it. As one, the monsters move towards Byron and the box. A rhythmic and pounding chant fills the cabin. "Cthulhu Fhtagn..Cthulhu Fhtagn..Cthulhu Fhtagn..."
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:11, Sun 22 Oct 2017.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 60):

Clarke snapped the cylinder open and loaded the bullets in with a single motion. (Firearm roll of 33)

Zoe let out a low whistle. "You keep trying to impress me hon,  but I'm dead. I'm impressed enough as is."

He steadied his aim, spinning the cylinder so all the coated bullets would fire in succession. With a single squeeze, he shot at the monster heading towards Byron and the priest. (Firearm roll of 66)

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 61):

With lightning quick speed, the shadow spins around as the bullet narrowly misses it. A strange high pitch squeal fills Clarke's ears. With a cry of pain, Zoe fall of the edge of the table, clasping her ears in pain. "Why do you fight the order?" asks a voice in Clarke's head. "You are nothing more than an insect, and amoeba. Below the notice of an elder god and one to surely be crushed." The shadowy creature lashes out with a clawed hand...

(Wood Shadow 1 rolled 77 using 1d100)

Despite the disorienting squeal, Clarke is able to stumble out of the way of the monster's strike. Suddenly the squeal disappears as the monster turns back towards Bryan and the box.

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

The monster's hand, a jagged black monstrosity with long tendrils that seemed to cut through space and time, came at Clarke slowly. To him it felt as if the world had become an interconnected frame, a part of those films they showed at the flop house. His heartbeat played the role of band.

He was waving goodbye to Mike, Jack and Byron so he could prove he loved this country more than the Senators said he did.

Thump.

He missed another shot at the range. He received another crack to the back of his head.

Thump.

The wind whistled as he felt alone in the universe. All he could see was yellow dunes and the horizon.

Thump.

Zoe kissed him and her hair flowed over his nose and shoulder. It smelled like lavender.

Thump.

Mike shook her hand and talked to her. Only for a few minutes. He smiled, and congratulated his friend but didn't ask her name. He had no idea what she meant or what she would mean.

Thump.

The gunshot.

Thump.

The bordello with all its smells and incense he had been forced to go to.

Thump.

His contact cried while holding a bloody knife. He swore he had meant to do no harm. The man with a full beard sobbed as he told Clarke how the woman had made him do it. How she hadn't understood his condition. He she had said the wrong thing.

Thump.

The feeling of a hand passing through his hair in the present.

Thumpthump.

Another gunshot.

Thumpthump..

All the white men yelling at him. Telling him how they 'had done him favours' and 'how lucky' he was. How he should be removed or fired or any other word they could think of that meant the same thing.

Thumpthumpthump.

His empty cell and the coldness that it had left in his bones. A coldness that had gone in all the way so he couldn't feel warmth. No matter how many times Zoe had touched him, nothing happened.

Thumpthumpthump.

The creak of a door as it had opened.

Thumpthumpthumpthump.

The letters: E G Y P T on a map in a small room filled with cigar smoke and books too damned for anyone with a soul left to read.

Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump.

A screech. "Clarke," a person said. A melancholic one. One who had fallen down a well and couldn't get out. "Clarke. I need you. I love you. You can't leave me yet." It was a blend, a mix, between the gruff overtones of Jack and the sultriness of Zoe. Somewhere in the middle, undecided on who was more important.

Clarke found his footing, the room shifted back into focus. All the wooden furniture was there. The light and darkness. Zoe. She was on the floor, splayed out in a mocking way.

"Time to be lucky hon," she said. "Time to kill these fuckers."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:32, Sun 22 Oct 2017.

Mike noticed the shadows were distracted by Byron and decided to take his chance while they weren't looking at him. He edged over to the fire poker and grabbed it firmly in his hand and quickly uncapped one of the vials and poured it over the iron, covering it from half way up from the handle to the end as best as he could. The iron steamed and hissed, bubbling on impact with the liquid.

He brandished the steaming iron and swung into the closest shadow.

20:58, Today: Jrodimus rolled 87 using 1d100.  Attacking with Iron.

His swing went wide and slammed into the leg off the table. The wood chipped away into spiraling splinters, the iron vibrating in his hands.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:00, Mon 23 Oct 2017.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 64):

If it had been human, Mike would have sworn a look of annoyance crossed the monsters face as he futilely swung at it with the fireplace iron. With an almost lazy backhand the monster swings at him..

(Wood Shadow 2 rolled 22 using 1d100, rolled 1 using 1d4)

It's claws scoring Mike's forearm but not doing any serious damage.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:40, Mon 23 Oct 2017.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 65):

With the heavy box causing him to adopt an awkward gait, Byron runs for the door. He feels the bile rise in his throat, seeing Clarke fire into the darkness and Mike swinging a poker like a madman. The door. That's the one thing he can focus on. He sets off at an ungainly sprint for the cabin door. Suddenly the shadows seem to loom in front of him. He can almost see long claws reaching out towards him...

(Wood Shadow 1 rolled 1 using 1d100, critical success, 4 damage)
(Wood Shadow 2 rolled 61 using 1d100)

Suddenly a lancing pain pierces Byron's arm as his sleeve tears from cuff to elbow and sharp red lines cleave his skin. The pain causes him to drop the box as he clutches his arm in agony...
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:52, Mon 23 Oct 2017.