In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 66):

"Ach mein Gott!" Byron bellows in pain. He clutches his wounded arm and stares at the blood on his hand in disbelief.

"Did Clarke shoot me? Did Mike throw something at me?" These half formed thoughts flit into Byron's mind.

"This is a lot of blood." Is his second thought. He feels woozy.

He is in agony over the pain, but he doesn't think his arm is broken.

"I may need a splint." He swoons and props himself against the wall on his non-wounded side.

"Where's the box?" He looks around confused.

He sees the box and moves to pick it back up.

rolled 39 using 1d100. lift thing.

Bearing through the pain, Byron lifts the box and makes another dash for the door.

"I need to get out of this God forsaken madhouse"
This message was last edited by the player at 15:42, Tue 24 Oct 2017.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 67):

"Get out of there!" Clarke yelled after he saw Byron take damage from the monsters. "I'll try to distract them."

He took a couple of steps and lined up his shot again, targeting the closest shadow monster. "Please Allah," mumbled. "Let me get it right this time."

(Firearms - Roll of 43, damage roll of 7)

Whether it was the prayer, or Zoe's mocking that had made him hit this time, he didn't know. Either way, they had worked and the bullet found its target with clean precision.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 68):

Clarke's bullet hits the monster clean in the chest, tearing a large gaping hole. The wound sizzles and smokes at its edges as the monster howls in pain. Rounding on this new threat, the shadow lashes out...

(Wood Shadow 1 rolled 52 using 1d100)

It's claws barely missing Clarke as he throws himself out of harms way. The monster seems to be gravely wounded as it staggers forward, leaving a trail of ichor in its wake.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 69):

Mike grimaced as blood seeped from the scrape on his forearm. He planted his feet and took another swing at the shadow, drops of the pungent liquid trailing behind the iron.

13:38, Today: Jrodimus rolled 20 using 1d100.  Attack with Iron.13:38, Today: Jrodimus rolled 20 using 1d100.  Attack with Iron.
Damage: 13:39, Today: Jrodimus rolled 1 using 1d6.  Damage bitch.

Despite the monster's gaseous appearance, the iron met solid resistance as it swung into what passed as its arm.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 70):

While Mike is only able to land a glancing blow on the creature, it pulls back its arm in pain as the patch of flesh that was touch by the iron sizzles. An unearthly wail fills Mike's ears as the shadow lunges forward...

(Wood Shadow 2 rolled 37 using 1d100, 1 damage)

And he is barely able deflect the blow with the poker, the monster's claws grazing his shoulder.

"Be gone you foul beasts!" Mike hears Father Henesey's shout from the back room. From behind the monster Mike sees another vial spinning through the air...

(Father Henesey rolled 30 using 1d100)

And watches as it smashes on the nearby table.

There is no God

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 71):

Byron
The lacquered wood makes gripping the heavy box difficult but Byron is able to hoist it off the ground. Is this what hysteria looks like? Byron had never put much stock in Charcot's attempts to dispel the belief that hysteria had anything to do with the supernatural. Something unexplainable was happening right now, he just couldn't wrap his mind around it. Either that or Mike and Clarke had gone crazy at exactly the same time. I just have to get out of this cabin. Strange shapes seem to be forming in the shadows, only to disappear moments later. GET OUT OF THE CABIN! Byron races for the door...

(Wood Shadow 1 rolled 9 using 1d100, damage 4)
(Wood Shadow 2 rolled 42 using 1d100, damage 4)

In his haste, Byron jostles the table, knocking over the few standing candles, extinguishing their flames. The shadows of the room seem to engulf him, tearing and ripping at his skin. His world becomes a whirl of blinding pain as if his very soul were under attack.

Clarke
"It's about time you quit messing around," says Zoe, looking at Clarke through the wound in the monster's chest. The smell of gunpowder fills his nostrils as he watches the shadows converge on Byron as he dashes across the room, nearly upending the table. DO SOMETHING his mind shrieks.

Mike
Swinging the iron poker, Mike can't help but laugh at the absurdity of the scene. A mere mortal attempting to strike down an otherworldly beast with a metal stick coated in magic water. God would probably have laughed if he existed. For a moment he seems to drift outside of himself, an observer to the horrors of the cabin. Is this how it ends?
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:09, Wed 25 Oct 2017.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 72):

There is no God.

Mike felt the laughter vibrating up from his gut, he could hardly contain it. The sheer absurdity of it all. Surviving the war, seeing unspeakable horrors and the complete psychological breakdown of his best friend, all of it seemed inane in the face of what he stood against now. Swinging at shadows wildly.

Still, it felt good to feel the poker hit something solid. To hear the scream of pain emanate from the dark specter. The otherworldly shriek rang in his ears, hitting notes and octaves he had never heard before in a spiraling crescendo.

The edges of his vision went red, and he cackled as he took another swing at the apparition.

22:57, Today: Jrodimus rolled 37 using 1d100 ((37)).
22:57, Today: Jrodimus rolled 3 using 1d6.  Damage bitch.

He felt it hit home again and he grinned wildly.

We are the small Gods here.

The shadow shifts and the light reflects off the dark silky apparition, for a moment he imagines Jack's face pressing outward from it's midsection in a wide mouthed grin.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 72):

rolled 72 using 1d100. Lucky Dodge  (Failed)

Rolled 29 using 1d100. Lucky Dodge II (Succeeds)

Byron screams in anguish.

He can feel himself starting to panic from spontaneous violence afflicting him.

Reeling from the unexplainable and unexplained agony and in mounting terror he continues to struggle to the door...
This message was last edited by the player at 15:15, Wed 25 Oct 2017.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 74):

The world broke into frames once more. Zoe was smiling, her left arm through the monster. She was saying something, Clarke couldn't hear her. Faint wisps of smoke emanated from the revolver's barrel. He aimed a little higher, where there wasn't a hole. The darkness was in front of him. He could see nothing else.

Firearms roll: 71


His hand quivered and dropped the shot low. It went straight through the gaping hole. He had one bullet that make this pain go away.

"Our Father," he muttered as he heard the cartridge click into place. "Who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name..."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 75):

Mike
Mike's euphoria rushed through his veins, causing his pulse to race and his vision to blur. The phantasmal face of Jack twists in mirth. "Join me won't you Mikey? There is a seat waiting for you in hell." Before his eyes, the monster seems to twist and shift, becoming a blackened and etherial version of Jack. "Never leave a man behind right Mikey?" The mirth on his face is quickly replaced by a snarl as he unleashes an overhand blow.

(Wood Shadow 2 rolled 39 using 1d100, damage 4)

Searing pain crosses Mike's chest as he is throw back against the table by the impact of the blow.

Clarke
Clarke's prayer must have fallen on deaf ears as the shadow rounds on him. He could almost read something in the trail of smoke emanating from the barrel of his gun. However his fascination is soon cut short as the monster swings at him, Zoe mimicking it in the background...

(Wood Shadow 1 rolled 3 using 1d100, damage 1)

He is able to deflect most of the blow with his offhand. "You know, there is a rather poetic quality to all of this," says Zoe, dressed in a Shakespearean tunic with a wide ruffled collar. "You've traveled the world and seen sights few have seen. Yet you will die in a forgotten backwoods cabin."

Byron
Byron bursts through the front door of the cabin and into the night, Father Henesey right on his heels. However he is forced to stop short and throw up a hand to shield his eyes as he is nearly blinded by the flood of light coming for the headlamps of a car. "Motherfucker," Byron hears someone exclaim from the cab of a vehicle, although the figure is lost in the flood of lights. The opening of a door and the crunch of gravel let Byron know that someone has exited the car. "Hand over the stone and no one has to die," says a raspy voice.

Mike and Clarke
As Byron bursts through the front door, light fills the cabin, causing the monsters to hiss in pain. Miraculously, the light seems to surround Mike and Clarke, forcing the monsters into the corners of the room.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:21, Fri 27 Oct 2017.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 76):

Mike raised his arm to block the sudden bright lights. He still gripped the iron as he watched the monsters retreat into the shadows.

"What the hell is that, Byron?" He shouted against the searing light. Suddenly he became aware of the pain in his body. Blood dripped from his arm and splattered on the wood floor.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 76):

Still clutching the box and squinting against the light, Byron senses eminent defeat.

Byron feels as though he may collapse from the weight of the box and the pain throbbing from his strange wounds.

He recalls the panic he felt the first time his forward position had been shelled.

Dazed by his short episode in the cabin and on the verge of panicking, Byron’s mind clears and is left with one thought.

Run

Byron dashed to his right and sprints with all his might parallel to the outer wall of the cabin.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 78):

"Oh for fuck's sake, don't just sit there you idiot. Go after him!" Byron hears a car door swing open and the footfalls of someone in pursuit as he sprints into the forest surrounding the cabin. The heavy wooden box makes it slightly difficult to run at full speed and Byron can already feel himself becoming winded due to the extra weight. Despite the danger of the situation, his mind flashes back to a lecture by Professor Leiter on the Jungian "fight or flight" response...

Pacing before a chalk drawing of a human brain Prof Leiter, hands clasped behind his back, continues his lecture despite the sweltering heat of the classroom. "This response is characterized by rapid heart rate, rapid breathing, flexed muscles, and an automatic focus on reacting physically. Once the chemicals released in the blood stream start to work, we are hardly aware of what is happening to us physically. We are simply in a reactive state controlled by the autonomic nervous system. All we want to do is run away from the fear agent or attack it directly." The scratching of pens on paper fills the gaps in his speech. "The process generally starts in the thalamus which collects sensory data coming from the five senses during the intrusion of the fear stimulus. The sensory cortex receives the data from the thalamus and interprets it; stages it for processing by the amygdala, the hippocampus, and the hypothalamus. It is the job of the hippocampus to store and download memories that help it analyze the context of the situation. The amygdala has a store of fear memories and begins interpreting emotions and evaluating the threat level. Finally, the hypothalamus is responsible for ordering the response; either run or attack..."

Byron had always wondered what his response to a fear stimulus would be. The brush and brambles that tugs at his clothing as he dashs through the woods seemed to answer his question.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 08:45, Sat 28 Oct 2017.

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

Byron blindly sprints into the woods at the edge of the property.

(Survival check 92 (fail))

He can see nearly nothing in front of him.

He is almost immediately slapped in the face by low hanging boughs of the elm trees.

He trips on exposed roots and his steps falter, significantly slowing him down.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:12, Wed 01 Nov 2017.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 80):

Unlike Byron, a bookish academic, the man pursuing him seems to be a natural woodsman as he easily navigates the low hanging branches and protruding roots of the forest surrounding the cabin, closing the ground between the two of them. "Get back here!" roars the man as he hurdles a fallen log. Byron's heart thuds in his chest as he struggles to both maintain his grasp on the heavy container and stay upright. Clutching the box close to his chest, he hears a small voice, almost lost in the cacophony of pursuit, whisper in his head... OPEN ME...
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:45, Tue 31 Oct 2017.

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

"Go after him!" Mike heard a man's voice shout shortly after he saw Bryan's silhouette in the blazing headlights take flight. He heard a door slam.

He felt torn. He didn't want to abandon his life long friend Byron. But he was exhausted and bleeding. He knew he couldn't go into another fight and expect to make it out alive. He glanced at Clarke, who looked disheveled, something about his eyes made him look wild.

He looked back at the headlights and something clicked. He steeled himself to the task and moved out of the doorway, motioning to Clarke to come closer, "I need you to trust me," he whispered.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 82):

Clarke, although not physically damaged, could feel the strain of the night on him. He was exhausted from missing and drained from every near miss attack that had happened. He wanted time to think and to be one stop ahead of whatever cult was trying to kill them.

He moved over to Mike and replied, in the same tone, "What do you need?"

While he was doing this, he kept his eyes on the shadow monsters, his gun still half trained on the one with a gaping on in its middle.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 83):

Mike took his truck keys out and handed them to Clarke. "I'm beat up and bloody. I'll make a good hostage." He whispered, "Can you get us to my truck?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 84):

"You want me to try and use you as a hostage?" Clarke asked, his eyes shutting slightly without his permission.

"And then get us both to the truck like a couple of mad fuckers?"

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 85):

Mike nodded, "Aye. We need to get to the truck and we need to get Bryan. Our best bet is to get out there and put ourselves in a position to respond. But I'm in no condition for a siege or a long fight." He winced as he felt the gauge in his back rub against his shirt.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 86):

Clarke wrapped his arm around Mike's neck and pulled tight. It was enough to elicit a wail from his pretend hostage, a good sign that those outside might buy it.

He shoved his hostage out of the door, and into the night. A partial part of a shadowy figure could be seen from just above Mike's shoulder. He seemed solid, the kind of person who could put down a few folk without trying that hard. Clarke decided to get his interest.

He looked back and found the shadow creature he'd almost killed. Lining up the shot, he took aim and fired.

(Roll for firearm: 69)

Like all of us luck that night, it went wide and straight into the planks. He decided to play it straight anyway.

"Go on," he yelled to Mike as he pushed him out. "You see what I did to your friend Clarke? You lying about that shit in the truck and I'm doing the same to you."
This message was last edited by the player at 07:25, Fri 03 Nov 2017.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 87):

Clarke's push sends Mike stumbleing and sprawling onto the gravel path. Below the direct beam of the headlights, he finally catches a glimpse of the shadowy figure. Only to find a man in his mid-forties spinning in surprise. He almost loses his balance as his cane shifts on the small stones of the path. With brown hair and eyes, he might have been called handsome by some if it weren't for the permanent sneer that pulled at his lips. He is finely dressed and a number of rings decorated his fingers, craved with strange and mystical sigils. His left leg ends in a stump just below his knee, the rest of the pant leg rolled and pinned to his thigh.

"And who the fuck we have 'ere?" He says, bracing himself against the side of the vehicle. Although surprised by your appearance, he doesn't seem overly concerned.
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:07, Fri 03 Nov 2017.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 88):

Mike groaned as his face planted into the gravel driveway. He gritted his teeth and brought himself to his hands and knees and spit the dirt from his mouth.

"Take it easy you crazy bastard," He groaned before coughing. "It's in there."

He looked around warily to size up the situation and what they were facing. He knew it was a gamble. But hell, the whole damn plan was a gamble.

Where the hell did Byron go?

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 89):

Mike
The soft idling of the car's engine fills the night. The man looks from Mike to Clarke with a slight frown. "I was told that only the preist would be here," he says pointing a finger at Father Henesey who has pressed himself up against the wall of the cabin. The man straightens, leaning heavily on his cane. Strangely, despite the danger of the situation, Mike notices that the man's teeth have been blackened by some sort of ink. His eyes trace the jagged wounds the shadows tore into Mike and for the first time a smile lights his face. "Seems you've had... a bit of a rough night, so let me rephrase my questions." A deep pause fills the night. "Who. The fuck. Are you?"

Clarke
The night seems eerily quiet as Clarke carefully watches the man. A slight scratching draws his attention to the father who has pressed himself against the cabin, a look of fear on his face. "Clarke," he says in a whisper, not turning his head. "That man is extremely dangerous. The Order has found us..."

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 90):

Byron begins panting as he slogs through the brush.

His body aches from his wounds. The weight of the box starts to compound his fatigue.

Open me...

Bryon hears the ethereal whisper of a hushed breath. He realizes that he thinks the sound is coming from the box.

OPEN ME

He is jolted by the more forceful tone. He doesn't know if it's his own mind or if he is really hearing it.

The edges of his vision begin to blacken...

(rolled 17 using 1d100.  Strength check.)

Byron digs deep and finds the strength to keep running, he just doesn't know how much farther.

"What power lies in this box?" he thinks to himself.

"Is it friend or foe? My end may be near either way..."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:42, Sat 04 Nov 2017.