The hum of the engine had become Jack’s constant companion as he drove through another night. He had become a man on the run, dogged every step by the Order. Don’t. Stop.  He couldn’t remember the last time he ate, let alone slept. He could feel the stone in the seat next to him. He had wrapped it in a thick cloth, fearing to touch it with his bare skin. It pulled at his mind, whispering dark secrets to him. A passing fancy filled Jack’s mind. Maybe he should just take out the stone and recite a prayer. What harm could it do? Iä, iä, Cthulhu fhtagn! Ph'nglui mglw'nafh R'lyeh wgah-nagl fhtaga…
As Jack’s mind came back to reality he found himself reaching for the stone. He pulled back his hand as if he had been burned. Don’t. Stop.

Jack needed to find a place to hide the stone. But whom could he trust? He ran through the people that he knew that he could trust. It was a short list. Something tugged at the corner of his mind. He was struck by a sudden inspiration. Father Henesey… The car gave a sudden lurch as the engine sputtered. Did they find me?! Jack’s pulse raced, his heart beating through his chest. It turned out to be a far less nefarious cause as his eyes landed on the fuel gauge. Shit.

Those unfamiliar with the Elder Gods would have called it a coincidence but to Jack, the sudden appearance of a service station on the horizon was an ominous sign.  The engine gave another sputter. Don’t. Stop. However, it didn’t seem that Jack had much of a choice. He either had to stop for gas… Or walk. With a frustrated growl he pulled into the station, a bell ringing as he stopped at the nearest pump. A sleepy-eyed, toe-headed youth emerged from the nearby store, rubbing the sleep from his eye. “Whatcha want mister?” he asked.

Jack eyed the boy suspiciously. “Fill the tank.” The night was filled by a bustle and clang as the boy started to gas up the car. Jack felt a twinge, the call of nature. “Where is your bathroom?” he asked the attendant.

“’Round back,” said the boy without looking away from the dial on the pump. Jack opened the door and stepped out of the car pausing for a moment before reaching back in and grabbing the stone. Can’t trust the boy.

Holding the stone seemed to only strengthen its voice in his mind. KILL THE BOY! TEAR HIS FLESH! DRINK HIS BLOOD! REAP HIS SOUL!. It took all of Jack’s being to tamp down the impulse to bludgeon the boy with the stone and calmly walk to the restroom.

The door creaked open on rusty hinges and Jack quickly swung it shut behind him. He reached down to swing the latch shut, only to find it broken. Don’t. Stop. Jack was able to relieve himself with only slight difficultly due to the awkwardness of holding the stone at the same time. Approaching the sink to wash his hands, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. A haggard face looked back, eyes darkened by heavy bags and chin covered in thick stubble. Carefully setting down the stone to ensure it stayed covered, Jack turned on the tap, bending down to splash water on his face. Feeling slightly refreshed, Jack let out a contented sigh and straightened up, only to freeze in shock. Looking into the mirror, he found nothing looking back.

Suddenly a heavy blow sent Jack bodily into the mirror, cracking the glass and sending him sprawling onto the floor. Looking back, he was filled with horror as he gazed upon the face of his assailant… Himself. An evil grin twisted the doppelganger’s face as it loomed over Jack. “They always said you were your own worst enemy Jack.”

As the mirror image raised its fist to strike, Jack reached down to the waistband of his trousers, feeling the wooden grip of the pistol hidden there. NEVER. FUCKING. STOP.

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

Clarke and Mike, with a woozy Father Henesey in tow, come upon Byron on the banks of the Ripple Stream. The thug that had chased him into the woods is nowhere to be found as Byron is the only person that can be seen. While darkness still holds sway in the woods, you can feel that dawn is quickly approaching. The days trials and the both physical and mental wounds of combat weigh you down like anchors.

Clarke
Although cuts crisscross his arms, they are nothing a few bandages and rest can't mend. Perhaps the greater worry is the feeling of dread that has settled into the pit of Clarke's stomach. "Well... You did try to murder an unarmed cripple..." Dressed in the drab robes of an Imam Khatib, Zoe gives him a disapproving look. "All because some 'shadows' attacked you... After a suspicious white priest asked you to safeguard an evil relic from some all knowing illuminati... When did you become so gullible Clarke?"

Mike
His vision blurring slightly on the edges, Mike can feel himself swaying as he walks. Despite his wounds and everything he had seen that night, he can't help but think of one thing: he was fucking hungry. His stomach let out a low growl as if to remind him. There was something soothing in a process as natural as hunger, something his mind sought desperately to cling to. What have you gotten me into this time Jack?

Byron
The shard pulsed contentedly in Byron's hand. Images flashed through his mind as it spoke to him. This shard was the key to unlocking all the mysteries of the universe. With it he could peel back the mask of nature and stare into the face of god. Undiscovered truths would be.... The appearance of the rest of the party interrupts their communion. Byron can feel the shard surveying them, weighing their worth. They don't understand. Byron feels a tug at his mind and looks down at his feet to find the box, shut and sealed. Another series of images flashes through his mind. You know what you need to do.

Holding a kerchief to his forehead, produced from somewhere on his person, Father Henesey looks around blearily. "Where is the stone?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:40, Mon 13 Nov 2017.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 2):

Zoe tapped her nose, and sniffed. "I bet he has it," she told Clarke. "I bet Jack got out of the box."

Clarke smiled at that one. It may have been an exhausting night, but he wasn't too tired to laugh at silly puns. Looking at his companions, he realized how lucky he'd gotten off from their situation. Bar him and the priest, everyone looked like they'd fought in the Battle of Somme. Or best case, Battle of Verdun. Except for him.

Zoe rested her elbows on Byron's head. "Go on," she goaded. "Ask him. Find out that we never escaped Egypt's dark gods after all."

"Byron," Clarke started. He coughed, already knowing the answer to the question before he even asked. His old friend's darting eyes spoke volumes. "What happened to the man chasing you?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:01, Mon 13 Nov 2017.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 3):

Mike dropped to his knees panting. He could feel his wounds flare hot in the cool air.

"Where the hell did that bastard go?" He swallowed through heavy breaths, "Byron, you alright?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 4):

Byron can barely hear the queries of his companions as images continue to flash through his mind. The shard needed something but was unsure how to process. It was attempting to put together a puzzle without all the pieces being available. However, it kept returning to one clear image: a large wooden sign depicting an eye with a burning pupil enclosed by a star. Complete me.

The tension of the night is slightly broken as Father Henesey stumbles and catches himself against a tree, obviously concussed.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 5):

“I don’t.. know” Byron slumps to the ground.

“He was there one second... and then...”

The pain from his wounds throbs across his entire body.

“It was the artifact.” Byron raises his head.

“It desires... to be completed...”

In reply to novissimo (msg # 6):

After hearing Byron's words, Mike looked to Clarke, Byron, then to the Preist.

"Padre," he started, cleaning his throat, "it's about time you explained to us what the fuck is going on here."

Despite his exhaustion and pain, he feels an ember of anger rise in his gut.

Fucking Jack. You fucking bastard. Always dragging us down into the mud with you.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 7):

"Huh?" asks the father, absently looking at Mike before his gaze drifts over to Byron. He weakly lifts a hand towards him and points at the stone grasped tightly in his hands. "You... you shouldn't have that... It's dangerous. Jack warned me..." His attention seems to drift away, but with a shake of his head a look of focus returns to his eyes. "That stone is what Jack stole from the Order. Its one of their most holy relics. The Order is nearly timeless and they are everywhere. It is their mission to return the elder gods to this world..." He silently crosses himself. "I have dedicated my life to stopping them from dooming us all..." A slightly dazed look returns to his eyes as he trails off.
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:29, Wed 15 Nov 2017.

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

Zoe kept her elbows on Byron's head. "Dangerous? Like a woman's right to vote? Or dangerous as in your skin will boil and crows will eat at your carcass?"

Clarke shot her a look to indicate the second one, and she knew exactly which one it was in the first place. He put the lantern on the ground and held the box up to Byron. "You did good," he gently touched him on the shoulder. "Let's put the stone away now and see where the rest of the night takes us. Maybe a hospital, if the elder gods smile on us."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 9):

With the adrenaline seeping away, the black burning ember solidified in his gut.

What the hell did we just battle in the cabin?

Mike stalked towards Father Hennessy, something feral behind his eyes. He grabbed the priest just hard enough by the collar to get his attention. "Were you waiting for Jack at the cabin?"

He turned his glare towards his friends, "The cabin might be compromised." He looked back at the Father, "Where can we hide for the night?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 10):

A look of pity fills the father's eyes. "No, my son. Jack gave the stone to me to safeguard and then left to try and mislead the Order. I fear what might have become of him... I know the two of you were close." He gently removes Mike's hands from his collar and absentmindedly smooths it. "But now we have to figure out what our next step is. The Order won't give up, but I doubt we can stay at the cabin more than a few days." He seems to deflate slightly. "But if as you say the cabin is compromised, the only place I can think of is my church, but that's days from here."

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

Mike stepped back, regaining his composure at the Priest's gentle tone. Though the anger still burned in his gut.

He looked back at Clarke and Byron. He realized that though Clarke looked fine, albeit his odd ticks had seemed to increase, he appeared relatively uninjured.

Did his eyes always move that way?

Byron looked bloody, and Mike gingerly reached back to touch his own wound on his back.

"What do you say guys, see if we can get the truck out of the ditch then to nearest hospital?" He said to Clarke and Byron. He raised his eyebrows at the Father, "Assuming there is one?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 12):

Clarke heard Mike's question and replied,"I think a hospital will be good for all of us." He kept his eyes on Byron while answering, keeping the box hovering just under his hands.

As Byron hadn't responded in a while, he tried a little more encouragement. "Did you hear that Byron? We're going to the hospital. You can let go of the stone. We're safe now."

To help the group, he tried to remember where a hospital might be in the local area.

(History: roll of 58)


Unfortunately, the stress of the day and lack of familiarity with the area made Clarke come up blank. Zoe stared at him and shrugged. "Not your town, I guess."
This message was last edited by the player at 02:45, Thu 16 Nov 2017.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 12):

"There are some supplies in the cabin. I wasn't sure how long I would have to wait for you to arrive," says the father. "There should be some bandages and food. I'm not sure how safe it is at the moment... But I'm not sure what our options are..." The father seems much more clearheaded than before. Straightening up, he adjusts his collar and brushes the leaves from shirt. He gaze returns to Byron, who remains slumped on the ground holding the stone. The little color the remained drains from his face. "My child.... It's ok... Lets just put the stone back in the box and head to the truck...."

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

"Come on Byron, let's do as the Priest says," Clarke again nudged his friend.

A worry grew in his mind, he wondered if the stone had infected his old intellectual compatriot. Perhaps the reason why Byron wasn't responding was because it wasn't Byron in there anymore. Rather, some malevolent force that had taken over his physical form.

Zoe patted his friend's head. "Think you been reading a bit too much Clarke."

Nevertheless, he started to lower the box to the ground slowly. Just in case he needed to grab his revolver real quick.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 15):

Byron could see his companions lips moving as they were talking, but he couldn’t hear them.

His mind was consumed by a chorus of other worldly voices speaking inhuman languages with inhuman tongues.

He understood the stones desires without hearing words, but he gathered its meanings just the same.

The voices stopped with a violent suddenness

Byron say his friends staring at him with looks of concern and apprehension

He realized the stone, a dangerous weapon really, was still in his hand.

He slowly replaced it in the box

“We should check the cabin for supplies and try to move on” he said

In reply to novissimo (msg # 16):

Byron's mind is flooded with images as he starts to place the shard in the box. KILL. MURDER. DESTROY. REND. YOU DARE DEFY A GOD.

(The Keeper of Secrets, on behalf of novissimo, rolled 84 using 1d100.  Sanity. Fail)
(The Keeper of Secrets, on behalf of novissimo, rolled 6 using 1d6.  Sanity Damage)
(The Keeper of Secrets, on behalf of novissimo, 7 using 1d10.  Temporary Insanity for 7 rounds)

"We should check the cabin for supplies and try to move on..." Byron can feel his lips form the words but seemingly of their own volition. He feels his fingers curl around the stone and his vision begins to turn red.... THEY MUST DIE...

Clarke
"Isn't this Byron supposed to be one of those bookish types?" asks Zoe, her hair pulled back into a severe bun and square-framed spectacles perched on her nose. "You would think he'd know better than to play with.."

(The Keeper of Secrets, on behalf of novissimo, rolled 12 using 1d100.  Attack with shard. 4 Damage)

A blinding light fills Clarke's vision and he hears more than he feels the crunch of his nose as Byron strikes him with the shard. As his vision clears, he sees Byron standing over him, chest heaving and bubbles foaming at the corner of his mouth. "DON'T YOU DARE ADDRESS ME IN SUCH A MANNER! I AM A GOD!!!" he roars as he lifts the stone again.
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:18, Sat 18 Nov 2017.

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

It was a blur, Clarke had bent down nudge Byron to action. At first Byron seemed alright, albeit a bit disoriented, when suddenly bashed the stone against Clarke's face as he stood violently.

"DON'T YOU DARE ADDRESS ME IN SUCH A MANNER! I AM A GOD!!!" Byron roared down at Clarke, his fists clenched. A darkness in his eyes Mike had never seen before.

Mike charged towards Byron and lunged at him.

21:14, Today: Jrodimus rolled 49 using 1d100.  Brawl roll.

Mike made contact, wrapping his arms around Byron's torso, he kicked his legs out from underneath and landed on top of him. Instinctively, he mounted Byron and grabbed for the stone.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 18):

Clarke grabbed his nose. "What the fu...," he mumbled holding it to the stop the blood from spilling out. He saw Mike tackle Byron and land on the ground. They were grappling for control of the stone.

He pulled off a layer of his clothing and wrapped it around his hand to stop contact with the stone. He reached down and tried to hold Byron's hands still so Mike could forcibly remove the evil entity.

(Roll for fighting: 84)

Clarke tried to grab his hands, but failed and ended up tripping and slamming into the dirt - shoulder first. "Well, shit," he said trying to right himself.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:28, Sat 18 Nov 2017.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 18):

"You would dare to lay hand upon me!" Byron rages as Mike tackles him to the ground and attempts to wrest control of the stone from him. "I will flay your souls!"

(The Keeper of Secrets, on behalf of novissimo, rolled 53 using 1d100)

However enraged he might be, Mike's weight keeps Byron from breaking free. "I won't go back into the darkness!"
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:00, Sat 18 Nov 2017.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 20):

"Byron, get a hold of yourself!" Mike shouted. He grabbed Byron's wrist and twisted it in an effort to get him to drop the stone while keeping his weight centered on his friend's chest.

11:49, Today: Jrodimus rolled 49 using 1d100 ((49)).

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 21):

Despite Byron's frantic thrashing, Mike is able to pry his hands from the stone and it falls to the ground with a thud. However, this doesn't seem to loosen its hold on Byron as he begins to thrash even more violently. NOOOOOOO!!!!!! I must be completed! For the moment he is able to keep the crazed academic pinned but Mike is unable to restrain him and grab the stone at the same time.

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

Mike gritted his teeth as he kept Byron held down. "Someone get the damn stone out of sight!"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 23):

Responding to Mike's call, Clarke struggled up and reached down - picking up the stone with his covered hand. He quickly dropped it into the open box and snapped the lid shut.

"I think that's it," he stated, wondering if there would be any side effects from his action. He wasn't sure if it worked via skin contact, or proximity to holder. He hoped it was the former.

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

While Clarke is only in contact with the stone for mere moments and his hand is covered by the torn off sleeve of his shirt, he can feel it probe his mind. He can feel the shard slid across the surface of his thoughts. As he quickly pries open the lid of the box, an alien thrill of success fills his mind. You know says a weak but triumphant voice  as the image of a large wooden sign depicting an eye with a burning pupil enclosed by a star fills Clarke's head. The image abruptly disappears as his connection to the stone is cut off as Clarke drops the shard into the lead lined box and closes the lid.

"I WILL DESTROY ALL THAT YOU LOVE! I WILL FEAST ON YOUR INNARDS! I WILL BATH IN YOUR BLOOD" Byron continues to rage for several moments after the shard is sealed back inside the lead lined box. Eventually his resistance  abates, replaced by a sort of empty and hollow look. Mike and Clarke recognized the look as they had seen it many times on the battlefield. Many referred to it as shell-shocked. While responsive, Byron does little more then react to prodding. Father Henesey gently puts his arm around Byron's shoulders. "It will be ok my child," he says soothingly. "The stone wields powerful psychic energies," the father says to Mike and Clarke. "Jack claimed they can be controlled, but I hate to imagine the cost...." As he looks around the clearing, you notice for the first time how tired the father looks. Deep lines etch his face and his eyes are darkened by heavy bags. "Come, let us return to the cabin and I'll do my best to tend to your wounds."

The walk back to the cabin happens in almost complete silence, broken by the dragging shuffling gait of Byron and the occasional whispered "careful" from the father as he gently guides him through the underbrush. As the party reaches the cabin, they find the thug's car in the drive, silent and still.

The dim light of dawn reveals a long trail of blood leading from the abandoned Studebaker to the front of the cabin where it mingles with the ivory liquid placed across the threshold...
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:23, Mon 20 Nov 2017.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 25):

Seeing the trail of blood and remembering the black toothed one legged man, Mike pulled his revolver out and approached the cabin keeping an eye out for traps or anything amiss.

23:50, Today: Jrodimus rolled 93 using 1d100 ((93)).

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 26):

Revolver in hand, Mike carefully passes the abandoned car, noticing that the keys are still in the ignition. Approaching the door of the cabin, he finds that there are no new footprints. The inaudible shrieks of the otherworldly shadows are also gone, although the interior of the cabin remain hidden in darkness.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 27):

Out of sight of the cabin's windows, and with a tired voice that is both quiet from intent and exhaustion, Clarke asked the priest, "How much are you in love with this cabin?"

To show his intent, he hefted up the lantern.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:04, Fri 24 Nov 2017.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 28):

Father Henesey lays a hand on Clarke's shoulder. Looking into the father's eyes, Clarke can see a sort of resolute determination. "Sometimes you have to put your fate in the hands of a higher power." He gently takes the lantern from Clarke's hand and strides towards the cabin. At the door he pauses for a moment, muttering a quiet prayer, before stepping over the threshold and into the cabin. As the light disappears, the tension that has filled the night seems to evaporate.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 29):

Mike heaved a sigh of relief as he followed Hennessy into the cabin. He turned to Clarke, "We can't burn this place down. Too many memories."

"Alright, lets get us fixed up."

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 30):

With shuffling feet and a hang dog gaze, Byron goes into the cabin as well .

“I’ve seen... things. Things you people wouldn’t believe.” Byron mumbles to no one in particular.

“Yuuzhan Vong soldiers marching into oblivion. Hydralisk spawning pools boiling under a black sun.”

He visibly shudders.

“All these horrors, lost ... in space and time.”

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 30):

Mike
As Mike enters the cabin he is stopped short by what he sees. The father has placed the lantern on the large wooden table and is rummaging through an armoire on the far side of the room. Seemingly unnoticed by the clergyman, on the opposite side of the room slummed against the wall is the one legged thug the party had previously encountered. His hands still clutch at the gunshot wound in his chest as he lies still and motionless in a darkening pool of his own blood.

Byron
Although strange geometric sigils and glyphs still whirl about in his mind, Byron has begun to regain his mental faculties. The last episode with the shard seems to have been torn from his memory, little more than a hazy blur. Only the image of a large wooden sign depicting an eye with a burning pupil enclosed by a star remains, as if branded there with a hot iron.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 32):

Still leading with his grandfather's revolver, Mike carefully approached Peg Leg. He keeps the handgun ready in case he needs to fire a shot off quickly.

Once he gets close enough he roughly nudges the villain's one good leg with his foot. "Hey asshole, still alive?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 33):

Mike's nudge fails to elicit a response from the thug and serves only to bloody the toe of his boot. Turning from the armoire with a large first aid kit, the father sees the man and gives a start of surprise. "Blessed Father! Is he still alive?"

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 34):

"I sure hope not," Mike replied to the Priest. He took some of the preferred bandages from Father Henesy and took his shirt off. "Help me bandage up these scratches if you could." He started to unwrap the bandages and rubbing alcohol.

15:43, Today: Jrodimus rolled 78 using 1d100 ((78)).

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 35):

While Mike's clumsy attempts to bandage one arm with the other seem to do little good, the end product a loose tangle of gauze around his forearm, Father Henesey removes a small tincture of iodine and a swab from the first aid kit. "Turn around my son," he says gently. Mike's occasional hiss of pain is the only sound as the father cleans the jagged cuts left by the shadows. "Unfortunately they don't teach much about tending to physical wounds in the seminary. We tend to focus on the spiritual ones," he says with a soft smile.

OOC: Failed first aid roll

"What should we do with..." he nods over to the man slumped against the wall. "The least I can do is say a prayer..."

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 36):

Wincing as the Priest tended to his wounds, Mike looked at the inert body. He hated the thought of leaving a rotting corpse in the cabin.

"I suppose we ought to bury him. But he doesn't deserve a Christian burial. Maybe we should just burn him."

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 36):

“Father” Byron says to the priest without prompting, with a still vacant facial expression.

Though his psychotic bout has faded, he is consumed by one image in particular.

“You seem to be a master of occult lore. Does the symbol of an eye with a burning pupil enclosed by a star mean anything you know of?”

In reply to novissimo (msg # 38):

The father pauses as he dabs at the wounds crisscrossing Mike's back. "An eye on fire inside a star? I can only pray to the almighty that I never see such a sign" Mike hisses as the preist resumes his ministrations. "Where did you see it? Perhaps if you could sketch it for me I'd have a better idea..."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 08:22, Mon 27 Nov 2017.

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

Silence fills the cabin as the father finishes tending to Mike's wounds. "I'm sorry I can't do more for you my son." With a tired sigh he slumps down in a chair. "After that incident in the woods I don't think I need to reiterate how dangerous this stone is. And I'm afraid this isn't the only one." With a slightly shaky hand, he reaches into his jacket and removes a flask from which he takes a long pull. He offers the flask around saying "I'm sure the lord will forgive us a bit of vice in such trying times". Settling back in the chair he tugs at the collar around his neck. "Jack lead me to believe that this shard is just one piece of a larger whole. I think his plan was the steal the rest. While I don't dare test it, he told me that the shards remain connected and they could be used to find the other pieces. I fear for his safety..."

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 40):

Clarke, still shaken from the events previously, stood outside the cabin. He could make out the mumbling of his friends and the priest inside. Only snippets could be heard. Something about his shot having killed the man previously, and an eye.

The forest was cold. Colder than he'd thought a place could ever get. A chill ran through his hands.

Zoe smacked her lips. She was wearing a thick duffel coat. It was plain and worn, something you might find in a military supply closet. She had jeans on, loose, they fitted the atmosphere.

"Clarke," she said with no taunt in her voice, "are you sure you want this?" She turned her head and looked at the direction of the shadows around the cabin. Beyond that, the forest. An endless sea of brown and green.

"Well, shit," Clarke mumbled to himself. He scuffed his foot against the ground. "A pastor ain't supposed to abandon his flock."

"And a spy knows when to fold."

"That's not me anymore. I'm a good person Zoe."

He could see her hold her tongue. For a second. "Tell that to the dead man in there. Probably had a wife too. Good, bad, I don't care. I just want you alive."

Clarke smiled at her, only a little. "It's too late for that, I'm already dead." He pulled his jacket close and walked into the cabin. The priest looked like he'd just finished an explanation of some kind.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 40):

Mike pulled his pack of cigarettes out of his shirt breast pocket after putting it back on. He lit it and inhaled deeply, feeling his wounds across his back. He eyed the Priests whiskey and reached out, "Do you mind, Padre?"

He looked at Byron and Clarke, "Well guys, if there are more of these shards I suppose we should find them. We should check the car outside for clues. Might lead us to Jack."

He approached the body and begin sifting through his pockets looking for anything he can find of value or clues.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 42):

As Mike starts to rummage through the the man’s pockets, the body slumps sideways with a soft groan and a whimper. Mike jumps back in surprise, realizing that though the man is gravely injured he is still alive. “Heavens above!” exclaims Father Henesey. “He’s still alive?!” He grabs a handful of bandages and rushes to the man’s side, dropping to his knees next to the man despite the widening pool of blood that covers the floor. “He’s lost so much blood already,” say the father as he presses a white bandage to the man’s wound. It quickly turns a shade of crimson. “Don’t just stand there son, I need you to put pressure on the wound!”.

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

"Priests," Zoe spat. "Take away a woman's right to speak, but a male murderer needs his life saved. You should put two in his head and let the abyss sort it out."

As if in a reflex to her words, Clarke slid his revolver out of its holster. For a moment he hesitated, the weight of the metal in the gun seeming to weigh down his body. Then he felt himself on auto pilot.

"Let God deal with this one out Father." He took a step closer. "We're all damned otherwise."
This message was last edited by the player at 09:04, Thu 30 Nov 2017.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 44):

Clarke
"No, if I can stop the bleeding we may be able to save him. We can load him in the back of the truck and drop him off at St. Mary's. The police can take it from there," says the father without looking up, oblivious to the naked revolver clutched in Clarke's hand. "Maybe we can cauterize the wound?"

Byron
As everyone gathers around the dying man something happens that breaks Byron from his stupor. Now is your chance a soft voice whispers in his head. Quick before the opportunity is lost. I am rightfully yours! Byron can feel the shard probing at his mind but it's efforts are weak and feeble, like a man trying to grasp him through a chainlink fence.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 44):

Still shocked that Peg Leg was alive, Mike put his hand on Clarke's shoulder gently. "Hold on. Let's see if we can get some information out of him. Then we'll take him out back and finish the job." Mike spat on the floor in disgust.

Mike moved to help the Father stop the bleeding. "Someone tie his hands."
This message was last edited by the player at 04:29, Fri 01 Dec 2017.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 46):

Clarke took a second to process Mike's statement. Zoe glared at him. The gun felt heavier than before.

He slid his revolver back into his holster and called out, "Byron, can you see any rope over there? I'll try to look on this side." He started to search around the room for a thick cord, the kind that wouldn't break even if pressed.

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

Finally taking a moment to think he tries to remember if he’d ever heard of these occult shards before.

*roll 92 against occult knowledge of 70 (fail)*

The shards aren’t familiar to him, at least not until tonight. But what about the wood carvings?

*roll 69 against occult knowledge of 70 (win)*

“Ah yes, there may have been something...” Byron trails off.

The hideous voice of the shard was in his mind again, compelling him to commit horrible deeds.

He recoiled “what do you want? Where have you come from? Who made you?” He asked all at once in his mind.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 48):

Clarke noticed a rope in the other room and picked it up. He snapped it twice to test its strength. It seemed sturdy enough, although a tad too thick for his liking.

In the middle of walking back into the main area, he heard Byron snap at the shadows. A lingering reaction, Clarke guessed, from holding the stone.

He stood in across the table from his old friends, waiting for the priest to get out of the way. "Byron, we're tying this man up to get information about Jack. All going well."

In reply to novissimo (msg # 48):

Byron
While Byron doesn't recall the sign itself, he does recognize the symbol painted upon it. It comes from the legend of Faust, representing the powers and ever-present watch of Mephistopheles. The academic in him remembers reading of Goethe rendition of the legend in Soren Kiekegaard's Either/Or:

The story concerns the fate of Faust in his quest for the true essence of life. Frustrated with learning and the limits to his knowledge, power, and enjoyment of life, he attracts the attention of the Devil Mephistopheles, who makes a bet with Faust that he will be able to satisfy him; a notion that Faust is incredibly reluctant towards, as he believes this happy zenith will never come.

In the first part, Mephistopheles leads Faust through experiences that culminate in a lustful relationship with Gretchen, an innocent young woman. Gretchen and her family are destroyed by Mephistopheles' deceptions and Faust's desires. Part one of the story ends in tragedy for Faust, as Gretchen is saved but Faust is left to grieve in shame.

The second part begins with the spirits of the earth forgiving Faust and progresses into allegorical poetry. Faust and his Devil pass through and manipulate the world of politics and the world of the classical gods, and meet with Helen of Troy (the personification of beauty). Finally, having succeeded in taming the very forces of war and nature, Faust experiences a singular moment of happiness. Mephistopheles tries to seize Faust's soul when he dies after this moment of happiness, but is frustrated and enraged when angels intervene due to God's grace. Though this grace is truly 'gratuitous' and does not condone Faust's frequent errors perpetrated with Mephistopheles, the angels state that this grace can only occur because of Faust's unending striving and due to the intercession of the forgiving Gretchen. The final scene has Faust's soul carried to heaven in the presence of God by the intercession of the "Virgin, Mother, Queen, ... Goddess kind forever... Eternal Womanhood. The Goddess is thus victorious over Mephistopheles, who had insisted at Faust's death that he would be consigned to "The Eternal Empty."

Strangely he remembers Kierkegaard's conclusion that "Goethe's Faust is a genuinely classical production, but the idea is a historical idea, and hence every notable historical era will have its own Faust".

"Byron, we're tying this man up to get information about Jack". Byron starts at the sound of his name. He can no longer feel the presence of the shard.

Clarke
Father Henesey finally looks up at Clarke, seeing the length of rope he holds in his hands. "If we don't do something now, I'm not sure he will survive long enough for us to tie him up and question him." He switches the now soaked bandage with a fresh one, throwing the used one aside. "Do any of you have any medical experience?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:34, Fri 01 Dec 2017.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 50):

Byron pauses to reflect on his appreciation for his having taken the time for such deep studying. It has proven useful.

Byron approached the stranger. He started helping the Priest perform first aide on the man. “I was in the infirmary for a month during the war. Took some shrapnel in my shoulder. When I was well enough they recruited me as a make shift nurse. I considered becoming a doctor before settling on psychology. Less bloody.”

He started tending to the wounds (first aide = 60 rolled 16 (success)

He grabbed a bottle of whiskey, tore the man’s shirt to make a rag, soaked it in whiskey and pressed it to the bullet wounds.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:48, Mon 04 Dec 2017.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 51):

Father Henesey steps aside as Byron begins to treat the man's wounds. Despite the blood Byron is able to stem the flow and manages to dress the wound. Stabilizing the man is all he is able to do however without proper medical equipment

"We can't leave him lying in his own blood," says Father Henesey. "Though I suppose if we are going to question him it doesn't matter how comfortable we make him..."

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 52):

Look at all that blood...poor Elizabeth would give us hell for messing up the floor so bad.

For the first time since they arrived, Mike looked around the cabin. Though the morning sun was just peaking over the horizon, the white light mixed with the yellow of the lanterns cast an ethereal ambience around the room. He remembered when he and his three friends would play chess and checkers when it was raining, over in the corner of the room. And how they would chase each other through the woods, playing army. Or plotting how to get to the cookies Elizabeth would always bring on the trips before dinner time. Later on it would be about girls, hopes, and dreams. The sexy 8th grade math teacher, what was her name? Oh yeah, Mrs. Leslie.

Mike almost smiled in his reverie.

What happened to us?

The pit still sat heavy in his gut.

Shaking his head, Mike looked to Clarke, "Alright let's tie this sonofabitch up.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 53):

Byron looks at the man’s legs.

He takes a length of Clarke’s rope and then ties the man’s legs together at the ankles

Then he tied his thighs together.

*rolled 66 on dex of 60 (fail)*

The exhaustion of the previous night’s events has left him weak and he unknowingly fails to pull the rope thight enough.

“This should make it so he can’t get up.”

“Someone get his hands.”
This message was last edited by the player at 03:17, Wed 06 Dec 2017.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 54):

Following Mike's suggestion, Clarke took the top and attempted to tie up the man. Zoe was shaking her head, her eyes firmly rolled up as if to indicate this was a bad idea. He didn't need her input, he thought so too. He preferred dead enemies to live ones, but the group had spoken.

(Roll to tie up man: Dexterity - Fail - 95)

As he tried to tie the man up, his fingers shook and the nerves of the night finally got to him. He couldn't remember which knot should go where nor the order they required. At the end, he looked at the mess of rope and mentioned to Mike, "You better check my work. I'm too tired to."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 55):

Mike watched his exhausted friends fumbling with the ropes. Clarke seemed to get something tied, and at his friend's request he checked the knot.

13:13, Today: Jrodimus rolled 60 using 1d100.  Checking and fixing knot.

He noticed that the knot was too loose, and tied it and then knotted it again.

"Looks solid, let's wake this bastard up."

He slapped Peg Leg in the face just hard enough to wake him, but not hard enough to hurt him.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 56):

As Mike checks the knots  on the ropes around the unconscious man, he notices a large deeply purple area on the man's abdomen. The physical stress of being manhandled and bound head to toe seem to have worsened his condition as his breathing is now ragged and coming in short rasps. Mike's attempts to rouse the man have little effect.

"I don't think he is in any condition to be answering questions at the moment my son" says Father Henesey, laying a hand on Mike's shoulder. "And he won't be getting any better lying on a cabin floor in the woods".

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

Mike sighed in exasperation. "Alright, let's move him to a bed. We should take a look in his car outside for anything that might be useful. I say we bed down in shifts, then see about getting my truck out of the ditch before heading out. Staying here for two long might be dangerous. "

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 58):

"Here, help me get him onto one of the cots in the other room," says the father as he crouches down to grab the mans shoulders. When Mike doesn't move the father looks at him with a slight frown. "Well I can't lift him myself. Surely can't be for..." The clergyman's question is cut short as looks down at the wounded man. "He's stopped breathing! Quick we need to..." looking down at the blood soaked floor he seems at a loss for words.

Everyone stands still for a few moments. Father Henesey silently crosses himself.

The dead man on the floor opens his eyes.

"You can't keep me contained forever. Once I'm free I shall feast on your minds."
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:27, Wed 06 Dec 2017.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 59)

Seeing the horrific transformation of Peg Leg, yet to exhausted and numbed from the past 24 hours to be surprised, Mike pulled his revolver out and fired at the possessed corpse.

23:18, Today: Jrodimus rolled 95 using 1d100.  firearm(revolver).

His shot went wide.

Fucking hell.

"Padre, get the hell away from him!"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 60):

Mike's exhausted mind seems to have trouble focusing on any one thing with even the most innocuous details seeming to fill his vision. The smoke drifting from the barrel of the revolver. The cycling of the cylinder as it chambers the next round. "Padre, get the hell away from him" is nothing more than a distant shout to Mike through his haze of exhaustion. Father Henesey remains still as a stone. "I said get back Padre," Mike shouts aiming for the possessed man again. As the father stumbles back, Mike realizes that something is wrong. In horror, he realizes that the clergyman is clutching at his stomach, blood gushing from between his fingers...

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # )

Clarke instinctively drew his revolver at the sound of the gunshot. He noticed his friend's shaky nerves and the recoil of the gun draw the shot wide and straight into the priest.

"Hope you weren't hanging out for confession," Zoe said.

He wanted to snap at her, but the gunpowder in his nose and slight grunt of the priest stopped him. He took aim at the now moving corpse and tried again. "Why am I always killing people twice?" He asked no one in particular before squeezing off a shot.

(Firearm roll of 44, damage: 3)

It was an uncouth shot, one that reflected Clarke and Zoe's night, but it hit. And for how shitty everything had been, Clarke claimed it as a win before lining up once more.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 62):

The bound man barely flinches as the bullet thuds into his chest. Partially coagulated blood oozes from the wound, reminding Clarke of a battlefield corpse. The man, eyes alight with a strange green glow, looks blankly at him.

"I have seen your mind, cobbled together like a shattered vase. You know nothing of eternity."

Clarke feels his stomach lurch as if the floor had dropped from beneath him.

"Clarke... I think something is wrong..." He turns to find Zoe reaching out towards him, her flesh desiccated and mottled. "Something doesn't feel right," she says, he speech slurred as her tongue protrudes from the empty hollow of her cheek. Her dress has rotted through in places and her hair falls onto her shoulders in lank and matted clumps.

Backing away from the ghoulish apparition, horror causing his pulse to race, Clarke can feel his mind reeling. Looking down at the revolver in his hand, he raises it towards Zoe as if to ward her off.

"What's going on Clarke? You're kinda freaking me out." Zoe stands before Clarke, seemingly restored, clad in a pristine white dress, a look of concern drawn across her face.

"I can bring her back. All you need is to complete me."
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:49, Thu 07 Dec 2017.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 63):

Still dazed, Mike saw the priest clutching his stomach as his life's fluids drained from the gunshot wound.

What have I done?

"I can bring her back..." he heard the possessed Peg Leg state in his gravelly inhuman voice.

It took him a moment to realize Peg Leg was addressing Clarke.

Who?

He raised his revolver and took aim at Peg Leg and squeezed the trigger again.

16:21, Today: Jrodimus rolled 68 using 1d100.  Firearm(revolver).

The shot went wide again, shattering a vase that was filled with dead flyer stems.

"Byron, a little help?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 64):

A look of surprise on his face, Father Henesey stumbles away from Mike. "You... you... shot me!" he says in disbelief. As he backs away he catches the edge of the large table, flipping over its surface and upending it, sending the lantern resting on its surface to the floor with a crash.
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:00, Thu 07 Dec 2017.

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

As lantern smashed on the ground and the oil lit up, Clarke was ready to call it a night. He was too old to be fighting men who couldn't die, shadows that dug up painful memories and a God who had nothing better to do than taunt folk.

He called out to to Byron, "You know this area better than us, grab as many of these documents as you can."

He went over to the priest and put his shoulder under him. "Let's get out of here," he said.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 66):

Father Henesey groans as Clarke lifts him from the ground, throwing the clergyman's arm over his shoulder. Supporting most of the father's weight, Clarke heads for the door of the cabin as flames begin to lick at the ground where the lantern broke.

"Wait...wait..." says the Father Henesey weakly. "We cannot leave the stone behind." He groans again as he sags against Clarke. "The fire will only destroy the box, freeing the stone." He grabs at Clarke's collar forcing him to stop and turn to look at him. Despite the deathlike pallor of his face, Clarke can see a grim determination. "WE. CANNOT. LEAVE IT"!"

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 67):

Mike looked to the possessed men, his eyes burning with supernatural intensity. He didn't like the idea of leaving him like that, but hearing the oil go up in flames, he knew Clarke was right.

"I'll get the stone, you guys get the Padre out of here. I'll be right behind you."


15:59, Today: Jrodimus rolled 81 using 1d100.  Strength check.

Mike gripped the box and lifted it. It felt like lifting a ton of bricks, he gritted his teeth and took an uneasy step towards the door which seemed further away considering the weight of the crate and its contents.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:15, Sat 09 Dec 2017.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 67):

“Ach mein Gott” Byron exclaims as chaos breaks out in front of him yet again.

As Clarke and the priest headed for the door and the fire spread across the floor, Byron ran to the table of documents and collected as many as he could

*dex 60, rolled 27*

Despite being deeply tired from the ordeal so far, his exhaustion momentarily subsided as the heat and excitement of the moment give him purpose.

After quickly grabbing all the documents he could stuff into his jacket he followed Mike out the door as he was lugging the stone.

Byron wondered to himself if it wouldn’t be better to let it burn with this place.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 69):

"You can run to the ends of the world but you will never be safe," roars the possessed man as flames begin to fill the cabin, crawling across the wooden floor and up the heavy drapes. "I will be released and I will be completed. Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!"

Harsh acrid smoke follows the party out of the cabin, Clarke supporting the wounded father, Mike hoisting the heavy wooden box, and Byron the last bits of Jack's investigation.

Before long the cabin is engulfed in flames, its searing light dwarfing the growing dawn. The ravings of the mad man are soon cut short and the party can feel an almost palpable release of tension. You watch as the cabin, one of the bright spots of your childhood, slowly collapses in on itself as it is consumed by the fire.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 70):

Mike watched the flames grow higher, lashing out in flickering and violent oranges and reds towards the morning sky. Smoke billowing from the windows and door. Nostalgia and sadness floated in his mind, so many memories now up in flames. He knew that after the fire had burned everything to smoldering coals, it would just be more mud. More sacrifices to the dark and dank soil.

Mud.

Too numb to be moved to tears, the pit still in his stomach burned pale embers, Mike turned his back to the cabin and opened the new deceased Peg Leg's car to inspect it after setting down the crate on the hood. He took a look around to see if he could spot anything that might be useful in the near future.

"Alright guys," He said as he looked through the back seat, "Where we headed. I'd like to get my truck out of the ditch before we leave if possible. Maybe we can drag it out with this one."

He lit a Lucky Strike, "And we need a hospital," he gestured to the bleeding priest. "Sorry about that Padre. I've seen a lot of things, but never the dead rise."

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 70):

Byron rushes to the priest.

“Lay him out. Let me see the wound.”

(Perform first aide: 83 out of 60 (fail))

“I can’t find the wound. Was it only a graze?”

Byron’s vision begins to blur has his exhaustion overwhelms him.

“We should hurry to a hospital”

In reply to novissimo (msg # 72):

Clarke put his hands against his lower back and stretched. His tallish frame bent in the opposite direction of the sky. The smoke was just starting to obscure where stars should've been.

As a teenager, he hadn't put a lot of stock in Jesus coming back from the dead. He knew of pastors who would let spittle fly from their mouths whenever they said, "Jesus" and banged plywood pulpits put together in haste. And he had always known the right words to say to make them convinced he wasn't a believer in the old ways.

Yet ... a man had awoken from eternal rest. Different, more demon-spawn than conscious entity. And it was that part which now bothered him about Jesus rising from the grave. Not if it was possible, but rather what he had become. What if he'd returned to Earth not as some pacified deity but a monster? A Revelation-esque evil that destroyed Rome only so it could munch on their dead?

This was not a Jesus he wanted to believe in. It was not a Jesus he wished to have even dreamed up.

He rolled his shoulders and took a long look at the truck. This part of his night, this moment, was familiar. Helping Mike with his truck, helping Mike out of some fresh batch of crap he had gotten himself into, this was their childhood all over again.

"What kind of help do you need Mike?" he asked as his friend rummaged in the dead man's car.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:45, Fri 15 Dec 2017.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 73):

Byron
Attempting to staunch the flow of blood from his wound, the father waves off Byron's ineffective ministrations. Despite the lack of any real medical tools and environment, Byron can tell that the injury isn't life threatening. "While I appreciate the nonchalance, I indeed happen to be shot," says the priest. Propping himself up on the hood of the car, his hand leaves a long bloody smear. "I don't know how to explain what we saw today but it surely won't be the end."

Mike
Rummaging through the car, Mike doesn't find much of anything to reveal the identity of its recently deceased owner. In the glove compartment he finds a roll of bills ($20) and an out of state registration for a 'Roland Chang'. However, attempts to start the car are fruitless. While the alternator turns over, the dashboard gauge shows that hours of idling have drained the gas tank.

Taking a long drag from his cigarette, Mike can feel his pulse uptick as the nicotine hits his system. He can't help but feel, as the cabin lies in smoldering ruins, that this is all some sort of cosmic joke that he isn't in on. Never one to shy from skirting the law, tonight has been a massive departure from bootlegging.

Clarke
Three days... Apparently Jesus couldn't hold a candle to the power of whatever they were facing. You've really stepped in it this time Clarke.... A supernatural rock, a wounded priest... and still a single image dominated his mind: an eye with a burning pupil enclosed by a star. Clarke knew that he had seen it somewhere before but his tired mind couldn't place it. The numbness that had enveloped him was personified by Zoe, who stood silently over the smoldering ruins of the cabin.

"Clarke..." she whispered quietly, "this stone... It could be the end of us all..." The sounds of Mike rummaging through the car and Byron tending to the father barely penetrated Clarke's consciousness. "It's not too late to go home..."

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 74):

Mike pocketed the $20 and grabbed the identification card as well. "Well the tank is empty. Got some cash though, will be good for a hotel or gasoline."

He started off towards his Chevy, "I'm gonna get the truck out. Why don't you guys see to the Father and figure out where the closest clinic or hospital is. And where the hell is Jack?"

Mike approached his truck in the ditch and got in the drivers side. He started the engine then with the brake on got out and grabbed a few slabs of wood. He put them behind the front tires to help gain better traction in the mud. Then he tried to back out of the ditch.

13:50, Today: Jrodimus rolled 55 using 1d100.  Drive check. Pass.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:53, Fri 15 Dec 2017.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 75):

The mundane and simple task of getting the Chevy unstuck does much to settle Mike's nerves. Something about working with his hands always seemed to calm him. Wedging the slabs of wood underneath the front tires, he gets into the drivers seat and slowly begins to rock the truck forward and back, the wheels slipping as the tires search for traction.

"C'mon baby, daddy just needs you to play nice for just a little bit...."

The truck begins to ease it's way out of the ditch when suddenly the wheels catch on the boards and the vehicle shoots out of the ditch....

SSSSCCCCRRRRREEEEEEEEECCCCCCHHHHHHH!!!!! (Fri 10 Nov: Jrodimus rolled 98 using 1d100.  Drive check. Critical Fail)

Leaving behind the front bumper....

Driving back to the cabin, Mike notices that the truck pulls heavily to the right. I won't be getting into any high speed chases he thinks to himself.

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

Clarke took a look at the dinged and now damaged truck and shook his head. A decade on and Mike still couldn't drive.

"Come on Father," he shouted the man clutching his stomach. "Let us save one soul today."

He jumped in the backseat and extinguished his lantern. The cabin's fire could be felt through the window pane. "I think I'm going to sleep for a while tomorrow," he said to Mike. "And maybe the next day too."00

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

As Clarke and the father got into the truck, Mike looked at Byron. "Come on, man! Lets go find an inn and get some rest."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:01, Mon 18 Dec 2017.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 78):

 Byron closes his eyes and inhaled deeply, the aroma of burning wood filling his nostrils.

He takes out a handkerchief from his back pocket and wipes the blood off his hands.

He’s only partially successful, as the dried blood formed a crusty layer over his skin and seeped into the edges of his fingernails

“This nightmare isn’t over. It is just beginning.”

Byron turns towards the car.  Despite his mental exhaustion his body feels refreshed and light. A byproduct of the stones rejuvenation, he assumes

He gets in the back seat.

As he settles in, he felt a sudden zeal as he briefly recounted the evenings events, as terrible as they were.

He was a parapsychologist, and while his main task was to help his friend, his secondary mission was to research the paranormal aspects of these incidents.

Not since his encounters with German christian mystic POWs had he had such compelling supernatural experiences.

he takes out his blank journal from his coat pocket and begins to record the night’s events he’s just experienced.

“Jun 15th, 1924...”

In reply to novissimo (msg # 79):

Zoe sat on Clarke's lap in the truck. He knew she wasn't there, a vague apparition he conjured to counsel him through dark times. And things were bleak. He had killed a man, twice. And wounded a shadow creature. Wounded, not killed. If his luck didn't improve, he knew the end would eventually come for him like it came for all of the living. Death played no favourites and kept all souls. Even those who sneaked back to Earth could be sent down by fire.

Zoe moved, and if someone had stuck a bible under his hand at that moment, he would've sworn he had felt her warmth for the first time in years. A bolt of electricity shot up his thigh and into his brain.

Byron's scratchy writing, the type that sounds effective but not elegant, gave the car a soundtrack.

"We can dance," Zoe said. "Like we used to. All you've got to do is touch that stone a little more." She paused and then lent forward so her curves were nestled against his stomach and pressing into him. "The one in the box, not in your pants. Although, you and I can touch that later too, if you'd like."

Clarke tried to think of how this wasn't Zoe. Of all the things she'd told him about how fetishization destroys women's lives, but he was too tired to fight it. Too exhausted to be the man the real Zoe had wanted him to be, had died for him to become.

Sitting up, and moving Zoe forward, he put aside his fantasies for the moment. "We going to drop this thing in the ocean?" he asked Mike. "We can take this way out to sea, drop it to the bottom of the abyss and then go looking for Jack."
This message was last edited by the player at 06:02, Tue 19 Dec 2017.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 80):

Father Henesey slid heavily into the passenger seat of the Chevy with a pained groan. "I'm sorry about the interior my son," he says with a kind of dark humor. He grimaces as he pulls his hand away from his wound and inspects it. "I seem to have sprouted a new hole." He pours some of the whiskey from his flask over it, hissing at the pain and then taking a long pull. "I'm definitely going to need much more of this." He lapses into silence, observing Clarke's distracted introspection and Byron's writings.

Mike
Mike didn't know how to respond to the father's attempted humor. After all, he HAD shot the man. But he could only think one thing... Shelly is gonna be pissed. The brakes whined as he took his foot of the petal and pressed lightly on the accelerator. As the truck slowly moved down the gravel road he could feel a slight shutter in his steering wheel. At this rate he was going to become Hank's best customer. Torn by a desire to return to Arkham and just forget everything he had seen, he knew this wasn't something he could just hide away in the past....

Mud

A grim sense of resolve settled over Mike. He wasn't a helpless bystander. He had lost Jack to the darkness before. He wasn't going to abandon his brother in arms....

Nothing but mud

Clarke
Clarke was the first to break the terse silence. "We going to drop this thing in the ocean Mike? We can take this way out to sea, drop it to the bottom of the abyss and then go looking for Jack."

"Well that's not very nice Clarke," says Zoe sullenly, her pout stiring old memories in Clarke's mind.

Leaning back the seat, the father lets out a tired sigh. "I promised to safeguard the stone. But.... Perhaps it is best to just be rid of it."

Zoe's hands gently cupped the sides of Clarke's face. He honestly couldn't tell if it was her who turned his head or not. "Think of what you could do with the stone. Justice, real justice. We can find redemption. We can fix the world... Together..." Zoe seemed so real in that moment that Clarke almost reached out and embraced her. The dull ache of loss and regret that he had lived with for so long filled every inch of his being. The rough grip of his revolver shocked Clarke back to reality. "You know they will try to stop you..." Zoe nuzzled against the side of his neck. "I miss you so much Clarke..."

Byron
The scratching of the nib of his pen on the paper barely registered in Byron's mind. Over the years it had become a sort of white noise. As the words flew across the page, detailing the event in the cabin, his mind retreated into an old memory from his time as an undergraduate student...

"The typical course of a psychotic episodes can be thought of as having three phases: Prodrome Phase, Acute Phase, and Recovery Phase" said Professor Fallon as he juggled a model of the human brain from hand to hand. "Psychotic episodes rarely occur out of the blue. Almost always, a psychotic episode is preceded by gradual non-specific changes in the person's thoughts, perceptions, behaviors, and functioning. The first phase is referred to as the prodrome phase. During this period the person starts to experience changes in themselves, but have not yet started experiencing clear-cut psychotic symptoms...."

Blood once had made Byron squeamish and now he literally had it on his hands. Despite everything that had happened Byron felt a macabre fascination with the stone. He knew he should be horrified but for the first time he could say that he had held something truly supernatural in his hands. He'd have to figure out a way to study it, without touching it of course.

His attention returned to the page as he neared it's end. The scratches from his pen suddenly disappeared as his hand froze. Scrawled across the page dozens of times in jagged and mismatched characters was written OPEN THE BOX...
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:48, Tue 19 Dec 2017.

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

Mike navigated down the dark road and gripped the steering wheel. He was exhausted and sore. The dried blood on his shirt rubbed against the scratches on his back every time they hit a bump in the road. Each bump caused him to grimace.

It felt good to be leaving the hellish night behind them, going up in the flames of their childhood. He watched as the trees passed by them. They stood along the side of the road like soldiers at parade in solemn reverie.

He looked in the rear view mirror. Byron scribbled in his pad. He was always the bookish one, but it seemed that his endeavors took a more scholarly route after the war. He never knew why, but it wasn't like they had spoken much since returning.

Clarke looked distracted, more so than usual. Over the past few days Mike noticed that Clarke often looked like he was replaying an old conversation in his head. Sometimes he would gesture or ball his hands into fists without saying anything at all.

What happened to you? Who was she?

He looked back to the road.

At least the rain stopped.

Mike cleared his throat and looked at the father out of the corner of his eyes. "Eh Padre," he started, embarrassed, "Sorry about the mishap with the firearm back there. It won't happen again." He did his best to smile.

He thought about what to do next. He knew that Bolton had a clinic, and that at this rate they all needed a bit of patching up. Hopefully they wouldn't ask too many questions.

"Though I agree with the notion of throwing this fucking thing into the ocean, we need medical attention. Especially the Father. We should head to Bolton, get patched up and get some sleep. We haven't slept in well over 24 hours now."