The stone floor of the orphanage was as cold as ice. “They worshipped, so they said, the Great Old Ones who lived ages before there were any men, and who came to the young world out of the sky. Those Old Ones were gone now, inside the earth and under the sea: but their dead bodies had told their secrets in dreams to the first men, who formed a cult which has never died.” A tug on his sleeve told Jack to stop.

“But if the Great Old Ones are dead, how do they have secrets?” asked the small child that lay curled in his lap.

In order to summon a Servitor of the Outer Gods, one must have the complete trust of the sacrifice otherwise the binding will fail.

“Good question Mikey. You see, they were dead, but only on earth. They sleep in the other planes." Lately Jack had felt like two different men. One was the man who sang the praises of Cthulhu, who bloodied his hands in the name of the void. The other was the man he had been.

Once the sacrifice has been made a ritual liquid must be poured over the corpse

“Does that mean my mommy is sleeping too?” asked Mikey.

“Of course she is. She sleeps right beside Cthulhu.” Jack didn’t know why he chose Mikey. There was something about him, something that reminded him of…. Jack quickly quashed the rising memory. He had left the life behind in the mud. “Do you remember the secret prayer I taught you?”

Mikey shook his head eagerly. “Yep!" He paused for a moment, brow furrowed in concentration. "Ph'nglui mglw'nafh…. Cthulhu R'lyeh….. Ummm…. Oh I remember! Wgah'nagl fhtagn!” Although he still fumbled with the words, the child beamed with pride.

“Good job buddy, you earned another chapter.”

Next the caster must put an ounce of his or her own blood into the mouth of the sacrifice

The two men inside Jack waged a vicious war. He was no longer sure who was winning, or who he even wanted to win. He just knew that here he could forget about the war, about the darkness… about the mud. Jack’s mind reeled away from the memories he so desperately sought to forget.

Another tug on his sleeve brought Jack back to the moment and Mikey’s curious gaze. “Are you ok Jack? You stopped reading…”

“I’m fine, just a little tired. Maybe we should call it a night.” The disappointment that filled the child’s eyes tugged at Jack’s heart. With a soft grunt he lifted the child from his lap and deposited him on his feet. “I’ll be back soon and I’ll bring some of that licorice you like!” Dusting off his trousers, he rose to his feet and made for the door.

Then the caster must kiss the lips of the corpse and ‘breathe part of the self’ into the corpse

Mikey’s quiet voice stopped Jack as he opened the door. “Will you really take me to see my mom?”

Jack felt as if the last dredges of his soul died.“Sure buddy. In fact I can take you now,” he whispered. The heavy hunting knife tucked into his belt felt like it weighed a million pounds

In the mud, there was only death.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:42, Thu 21 Dec 2017.

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

The drive to Bolton is quite as you traverse the back roads of Arkham. Around you the land slowly transforms from woodlands to farmlands to urban city sites. Bolton is a small remote factory town not yet assimilated as a commuter dormitory into the large web of Arkham. It's namesake is the Bolton Worsted Mills which are the largest in the Miskatonic Valley. Highly Puritanical in spirit, the town had even gone so far as to outlaw the sport of boxing, with mixed results as surreptitious and ill-conducted bouts among the mill-workers were still commonplace.
While Mike had bootlegged all across Arkham, he had long avoided Bolton. The town had a surprisingly good police force for so small a community.

Pulling the truck over in front of a small newsstand, the engine sputters as it is turned off. A moderate number of people mill about on the streets in the midday sun. Everything seems picturesque.

"Well I'm not sure what the plan is" says Father Henesey, "but we have to keep the stone hidden. If it's powers were unleashed in a town like this who knows what..."

*BANG*

Everyone in the truck starts as a hunched elderly man slaps the hood with a rolled up newspaper. Thick lensed glasses rest on the bridge of his nose, magnifying his watery eyes. "Either buy something or get this piece of junk out from in front of my store. You're scaring away the customers." Seeing the shabby piles of papers and the ramshackle wooden stand, it seems like he doesn't have many customers to begin with...
This message was last updated by the GM at 12:43, Thu 21 Dec 2017.

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

Mike rolled down the window and stuck is arm out of the truck, a Lucky strike in his fingers. "Sorry to infringe on your business my good man." He took a drag to calm his nerves and keep his exhausted mind lucid, "Would you be kind enough to direct us towards the clinic?"

He fished around in his pocket with his free hand and pulled out a quarter, "And could I get a copy of today's paper?" He offered it to the man.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 3):

The old man snatches the coin from Mike's hand with surprising speed. "No change," he says as the quarter disappears into his pocket. He slowly ambles back to the stand and scoops up a paper before returning to the truck and handing Mike an edition of Bolton Gazette. "Ain't got no clinic. Most people go see Dr. West at the mortuary," says the man. Reluctantly he adds, "Its over on Baker Street. Go north till you hit the town square and take a right. Its 'cross from the cemetary."

A quick look at the paper shows the usual stories. Pieces about town gossip and local happenings form most of the paper's content. However Mike notices a story, more of a blurb, that tells of mysterious deaths at the town's mill.

*BANG*

The man slaps the hood of the truck again. "This ain't no library," he grouses.
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:44, Fri 22 Dec 2017.

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

Mike handed the newspaper to the Father next to him and pulled away heading towards the Mortuary. "He's a grumpy old fellow, isn't he?"

As he turned the steering wheel, trying to keep the car under control he mumbled to himself, "Should have asked him about a mechanic too."

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 5):

As the truck rounds a corner it gives a violent lurch, rocking its occupants. Father Hennessy picks up the paper and begins to thumb through it.

“This town sure takes their faith seriously,” he says as he read. “ Listen to this: ‘Good news faithful of Bolton, thanks to the hard work of Constable Myers and his dedicated officers, the diabolical working of Satan to undermine the believers of Bolton have been uncovered! Be sure to pick up your curfew passes from the church and attend tonight’s bonfire as we purge the taint from God’s most beloved town.”

Though unfamiliar with the town Mike is able to eaisly navigate the streets. However, the missing bumper and occasional squeals from the engine have begun to draw disapproving stares and whispers from the people walking the streets.

Turning at a sign marked Baker Street the party is soon driving along the edge of a peaceful cemetery full of ornate headstones sepulchures. A sign painted to depict a dawning sun reads The Lofty Heights of Bolton. A small placard at the bottom reads Dr. West M.D. Behind it stands a sterile looking painted a dull slate gray. A hearse is parked in the driveway.

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

Mike pulled into the driveway next to the hearse and gets out. He dropped his Lucky Strike to the ground and stomped it out. With everything that happened in the past few days, it all seemed too fitting for them to be visiting a doctor in a mortuary.

Well, could be under worse conditions I suppose.

He went over to the Father's side and offered to help him to the entrance, "Need a hand Padre?" He asked sheepishly.

He looked at his weary friends in the car. "Well guys, last stop before we can get some shuteye."
This message was last edited by the player at 10:41, Wed 27 Dec 2017.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 7):

Mike grunts and braces himself against the car as he lifts more than helps the father from the car. "Sorry," says the priest, eyes drooping heavily. "I'm just... tired is all."

With Father Henesey leaning heavily against him, Mike leads the rest of the party to the stairs of the funeral parlor. For a wooden building exposed to the elements, it's immaculate with nary a flake of chipped paint. The hedges that line the porch are perfectly trimmed into eerily human-like topiaries in various stages of action.

As you approach the stairs, the father sags down into a seated position, kept from toppling backwards by the railing. "I'm not so young anymore... Just let me... gather my strength for a moment..."

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

Byron steps out of the vehicle into the grit of the street.

He had nodded off on the trip up, only having written two and half pages of reference material.

He rotates his torso left and right, setting of a series of popping noises up his spine.

Despite his exhaustion he feels the healthiest in years. He attributes it to the rejuvenating powers of the stone.

He found the prospect of meeting a mortician who was also a medical practitioner to be rather odd, but it peaked his interest.

He follows his friends into the building, hoping to inquire as to the life story of this doctor.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 9):

Mike nodded to the old Priest as he released him against the railing. He turned to the door and rapped on it with his knuckles. He hoped he didn't look as haggard as he felt.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 10):

The sharp rap on the door is met with an eerie silence. As an uncomfortable amount of time passes, Mike raises his hand to knock again when the door opens slightly. A small, slender, spectacled man with delicate features, yellow hair, and pale blue eyes stares at you through the narrow gap in the door. He takes in the scene before him, a group of tattered and bloody strangers at his door, impassively.

Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with the tip of his index finger, he says in a soft voice, "Yes?"

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

Mike smiled sheepishly at the spectacled man, "Good day, sir. Dr. West, I presume? I understand you're the physician of Bolton and we're in need of some medical assistance." He gestured to the Priest.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 12):

The doctor's eyes slowly move over to the father, taking in his haggard breathing and obvious wounds, and back to Mike.

"Yes... I'm Dr. West..." The pauses between his words give you the feeling that the doctor doesn't entertain much company. "What happened?" The door hasn't opened any further...

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 13):

Byron steps forward.

"We've applied first aid but require professional help. We hope we're not being too presumptuous but we were told you are the primary physician for this community. Is that the case? May we kindly enter?"
This message was last edited by the player at 15:35, Tue 30 Jan 2018.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 14):

The doctor's gaze once again slowly moves, this time towards Byron. The academic can feel gooseflesh rise up and down his arms as the doctor's eyes seem to dissect and dissemble the world around him. Having moved forward, Byron can see that the doctor is wearing a plastic smock and knee high rubber boots.

"So.... You're not from around here.... Have you gone to the police?" the doctor asks softly.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 15):

Mike scratched his beard, "No need for the police Dr. West. We're up for a camping and hunting trip. Last night a bear got into our camp. He must've been hungry because it took a few of us to get him down and Padre here took a bullet in the fray."

Mike did his best to look sincere and worried. Though he was really worried anyways.


15:12, Today: Jrodimus rolled 30 using 1d100 ((30)). Pass.

"So, can you help us Doc?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 16):

As soon as Mike assures the doctor that the police aren’t nessecary his eyes seem to become unfocused and you get the distinct impression that he is no longer listening to the rest of the fabricated story. Low and under his breath you can barely hear the doctors mumble. “CH2O at 30.031 grams per molecule... if I were to adjust the voltage... C2H4O.... and it’s fresh... so fresh...”

The doctors eyes snap back into focus and he steps back, fully opening the door. “Come in.... place the patient in the back room”.

While none of the party has much experience with moratoriums and funeral homes, Dr West’s seems picturesque. In one corner are plastic flowers arranged into bouquets. On the other side of the room, a number of caskets are open and displayed. The center even has an exquisitely detailed mannequin of a young woman laid in repose. The only thing out of place seems to be a large metal door that is padlocked shut.

“There... to the left” gestures the doctor.

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

Mike followed Dr. West into the Mortuary with the Father leaning against him. He felt the old man slip and gripped his shoulder to keep him steady. Gently he guided him to the exam table to give him a place to rest. Though the doctor was acting strangely, it was no stranger than anything else he had seen over the past few days.

Jesus just let me lay down for a moment.

But the prospect of sleep was fleeting. He had to stay alert. They were in uncharted territory now.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 18):

The exam room is dominated by large metal cabinets that are stocked with vials of all shapes and sizes. In the corner is an anatomical skeleton. The walls are decorated with various medical diagrams depicting organ dissections  Mike is able to help the father lay on the examination table. "Thank you my son," he whispers as he settles onto the table and closes his eyes.

Dr West silently moves about the room, places various tools and devices on a steel tray. "His abdominal cavity has been pieced by a bullet. This dramatically increases the chances of a blood infection or sepsis." The doctors slow speak has disappear almost entirely. "If his bowel has been perforated he will soon be in intense pain. That makes removing the foreign object all the more difficult. It will require..." He continues on listing a number of surgical techniques.

Walking over to one of the numerous cabinets, the doctor grabs a vial from a shelf without even glancing at the label. He begins to fill a large syringe. Looking up he notices the party standing there and seems to start. His gaze slowly moves over the group. "In the other room.... There is a bathroom... with a shower... You should clean up... You're tracking in dirt..."

Looking behind you, you can see a trail of dust and mud.
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:49, Wed 31 Jan 2018.

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

"My, how truly thoughtless of us," Byron says apologetically.

"Perhaps we should visit the wash room."

While cleaning up would be ideal, Byron was a bit suspicious of the way the Doctor was acting, as no doubt any one would be.

Byron turns to Mike "I'll let you go first Mike."

Then he turns to the West "Would you care for some assistance Doctor? I had some medical training and experience during the war."

In reply to novissimo (msg # 20):

For the first time an emotion fills the doctor's face: unbridled fury. But as soon as it appears its gone. "Your assistance is... unnecessary". He walks over to Father Henesey and administers the injection. The priest groans slightly before falling still, the only sign of life being the slow rise and fall of his chest. Dr West begins to bustle about the room again, scrubbing his hands and putting on a pair of gloves. "It will take a moment for the sedative to take effect. At that point there will be a reduction in pulse and respiratory activity..." he mumbles to himself, lost in his medical knowledge.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 21):

Mike nodded to Byron, "Alright, I'll go first. I think we're all due for a shower."

Careful not to tread too much dirty, he headed to where Dr. West pointed out and got ready to take a hot shower.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 22):
Byron
While Byron isn't much of a physician himself, Dr West's skill is readily apparent. Within moments he has the father's shirt open and is gently prodding the wound with a pair of forceps. "For all the mystery that surrounds it, the body is nothing more than a complex organic machine". The father groans as the doctor pushes the forceps into the wound, a trickle of blood forming. "Dean Halsey never believed, but I'm so close." After a few moments of digging he retracts the forceps, the metal slug held between them. A smile lights his face. "All I need to do is replicate the results." Suddenly he seems to become aware of Byron's presence. He pauses for a moment, eyes running over Byron. "You... are from the university.... aren't you?"

Mike
As Mike crosses the room he passes the metal door. Of all the things in the room, it's the only thing that seems out of place. Large well-oiled hinges are bolted into the wall although the weight of the door has left a large arching scuff on the wooden floor. A large padlock ensures that the door is securely shut.

Mike is able to find the shower without much trouble although shower may have been a bit of an overstatement as it resembles something that you'd find in a slaughter house. The 'shower' is little more than a tiled room with a shower head extending from the ceiling and a drain inserted into the floor to let the water escape.

Even with the lack of comforts, the hot shower does wonders. Despite the sting of water running over his cuts, Mike can feel the knots unwind in his back and shoulders. While there isn't any soap he is able to scrub away much of the dried blood and mud.

I left my baby lying there, lying there, lying there, I left my baby lying there, to go and gather blaeberries..

Despite the heat of the shower, Mike's blood runs cold. He can barely hear the voice over the running water...

Ho-van, ho-van gorry o go, Gorry o go, gorry o go, Ho-van, ho-van gorry o go, I’ve lost my dearest baby-o

Turning off the water, the small childlike voice becomes clearer...

I saw the little yellow fawn, But never saw my baby.

It seems the voice is coming from a small vent in the wall...

I traced the otter on the lake, But could not trace my baby...

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 23):

The hot water felt amazing as it washed away the blood and grime from the past 24 hours. As his muscles loosened up, Mike almost started to feel like a normal civilized person again.

"I left my baby lying there, lying there, lying there, I left my baby lying there, to go and gather blueberries"

Mike's breath caught in his lungs.

What the fuck? Is that a child?

As the eerie lullaby continued, he turned the shower off and grabbed his towel. With the noise from the shower subsided, he could hear the voice more clearly. He started to towel off.

"I traced the otter on the lake, But could not trace my baby..."

He pulled his trousers on and as he buttoned up his shirt he leaned in to see if he could hear the voice better. He looked towards the heavy metal door.

Is someone in there?

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 24):

Leaning closer, Mike examines the run of the mill vent. As he draws closer the song abruptly stops. Mike waits expectantly for the singing to start again but after a few moments it's clear that whatever was there is gone. Straightening his shirt and doing the last few buttons, he brushes off the whole incident as a stress induced hallucination.

The sooner I get some shuteye the better. Giving the knob on the shower one final twist to completely close the valve, he turns and strides back towards the exam room.

As Mike departs, the voice calls out to his retreating back, it's child-like timbre replaced by a low raspy growl:

See you soon Mikey
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:25, Sun 04 Feb 2018.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 23):

Byron couldn't help overhearing the doctor's muttering to himself.

He had a curious and unnerving air about him, though he seemed quit competent as a medical practitioner.

"Yes as a matter of fact" Byron says, looking at the Doctor sideways, answering his question.

Byron heard the Doctor say something about Dean Halsey.

He was curious now as he hadn't known Dean well, but knew he was a skeptical man.

"Did you study there? Did you know Dean Halsey?"

In reply to novissimo (msg # 26):

The name Dean Halsey instantly brings back memories. The shame of Miskatonic University. The famed Cannibal Killer. Halsey was the former dean of the medical school who went on a killing spree, murdering and eating a number of victims before being committed to a mental institution....

Dr West pauses a moment before answering. While he gaze is focused on Byron, his hands continue to deftly work, stitching and suturing the father's wound. "I studied there.... a long time ago..." Returning to the cabinet, he pulls out a long length of bandage which he begins to wrap around Father Henesey's abdomen. "Halsey was a gifted doctor.... if short sighted..." Dr West seems to drift into a memory of the past. "When he died, I knew I had the perfect specimen. If it worked, not only would I be vindicated, I would be giving him the greatest gift.... rebirth..."

As his hands tie off the bandage into a knot he seems to come back to the present. The procedure done, the doctor seems to lose all grace, his hands fumbling at his sides. "Your... friend.... he needs rest... yes, rest.... Could I interest you in some... tea?"

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

The eerie voiced scared the hell out of Mike and he quickly rushed out of the shower room closing the door behind him. He took a minute to compose himself. He took a deep breath and exhaled.

Get the Padre, find a hotel. Get out of here, get some sleep.

He entered the room as the Doctor was finishing up. "So Dr. West, what's the prognosis for the Padre? Will he be ok to walk?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 28):

Byron turned to his friend.

"Hello Mike. You look refreshed! The good doctor says the Father needs a bit of rest. And he was just offering us some tea."

He turned back to the doctor

"And I wouldn't mind a quick pick-me-up, kind sir. What was this about a 'specimen'?"

In reply to novissimo (msg # 29):

Mike nodded, "A tea might be nice. It was a long night."

Still disturbed by the voices from the vent, Mike wasn't sure if he wanted to stick around much longer. But if the Priest needed some rest, he guessed he shouldn't insist on moving him. He remembered the scratches on his back.

"Say, Dr. West," Mike started, "Sorry to trouble you further, but I have some scratches from the tussle last night. Do you mind taking a look and bandaging them up?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 30):

Dr West glances over towards the prone father on the operating table. "We should adjourn to..... the sitting room..." He leads you to an adjacent room that, while still rather bare and utilitarian, is much warmer. In it are a number of lightly padded chairs and a fireplace housing a low burning fire. On a table is an open medical text. Without a word Dr West places a kettle over the fire. Lost in the work of readying the tea, the doctor once again loses his awkward nature.

"Specimen, patient, we quibble over these words although our goals are the same. Doctors bring patients back from the brink of death all the time. A child drowns and is dead for minutes before being resuscitated. A man's heart stops during surgery. But we haven't found a way to cure true death. I've been searching for the key and I've come so close! The last thing I need is..." The doctor is suddenly interrupted by the whistling kettle.

Pouring a few cups he sets them on a side table. His awkward nature returns as he gestures towards a small stool and says to Mike "You'll have to... remove your shirt" With a small first aid kit he is able to treat the various scratches on Mike's back (add 3 HP).
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:58, Tue 13 Feb 2018.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 31):

As the Doctor poured the tea, Byron absent mindedly noticed a medical text book open on the table.

Byron also noticed the Docotors strange prattling and wondered to himself if he should be unnerved..

He dismissed it as mental fatigue on his part. He was so exhausted that he realized he had forgotten THE  Dean Halsey,  the murderous cannibal he’d read about in the papers.

“Thank you for your kind hospitality Doctor “

Byron walked to the cups of tea and took a sip. The warmth of the beverage combined with the caffeine perked Byron up instantly. He hadn’t eaten anything in nearly a day and any sustainance was thoroughly appreciated

As an avid bibliophile and partial to the medical profession himself, as it was tangentially related to his own academic field, Byron couldn’t resist the urge to glance through the open medical text book
This message was last edited by the player at 10:22, Sat 24 Feb 2018.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 32):

Picking up the book and thumbing through the pages, Byron realizes that the majority of the writing is about medical techniques in preserving a corpse. He stops at a dog-eared page with a heavily underlined passage:

Electrical conductivity within brain and muscle tissue begins to decline almost at the moment of death. Resuscitation also seems to be a factor. The stop and start of neural pathways acts as a sort of wear and tear that reduces their performance...

In the margin Byron notices, in the cramped almost illegible scrawl the medical profession is known for, a small notation.

Apply injection at the moment of death

BBBBRRRRRIIIINNNNGGGGG.... BBBBBRRRRIIINNNNGGGG.... BBBBRRRRIIIINNNGGG....

The loud ringing of a telephone breaks the silence that had filled the room. Glancing towards the door, Dr West sets the pot of tea on the side table.

"It seems I have.... a call...." he says in his slow drawl. "Excuse me." He quickly exits into the entrance of the moratorium, leaving the party alone in the sitting room.

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

Mike sipped the hot tea gingerly to avoid burning his tongue. Still creeped out by the voice from the vent, he didn't want to stay in the mortuary longer than he had to. Still he didn't entirely like the idea of leaving the Father there by himself over night. He turned to his friend Byron, "Should we stay here with the Father or find a hotel?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 34):

The scuffing of the soles against hardwood announces the doctors return. "There is an emergency... the sheriff says a doctor... is required." Opening a small cabinet, Dr West takes out a small medical bag.

Suddenly he straightens, eyeing the party with a cold mechanical glare and ferocious snarl. "Don't. Touch. Anything."

A placid look washes over the doctor's face. "There is.... a guest room," he says gesturing towards back room. Noticing Byron's interest in the medical text he says to him "the father is... stable... check his dressings..." Fumbling with his bag, the doctor seems overcome by a moment of indecision. "Just... stay here." With that, Dr West turns and leaves.

The tinkle of a bell, followed by a more ominous turning of a lock confirms his departure.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:40, Mon 26 Feb 2018.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 35):

Hearing the door lock, Mike looked to Byron. "Does something seem wrong about the doctor to you?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 36):

"My, that is most peculiar" says Byron in a huff, putting the medical text down.

"I don't like the look of this. But let's take advantage of the situation and do a little snooping around. Let's check on the priest first before we get into too much trouble."

Byron exits the room to find the priest.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 37):

Clarke looked over at the priest, in his arms was the stone that had caused so much death. It radiated with a grim satisfaction. At least, in his mind it did. The box seemed to crave attention, and the more one gave it, the more it needed.

"It is strange that he hasn't asked for payment," Clarke agreed. "I doubt pro-bono gets you far in this town. We should find an alternative way of this place if things don't work out."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 38):

While none of the party are overly familiar with mortuaries, this one seems... strange. All the normal decor aimed at assuring that the dearly departed enjoy a wondrous afterlife are absent. In fact the only artwork of all is a single painting that dominates the far wall of the sitting room.

As everyone gathers in the room, silence reigns, everyone seemingly lost in thought.

Clarke
Zoe walks around the room peering into the various cabinets. "Maybe the doctor accepts different forms of payment?" With a dramatic flourish she spins around, her outfit changing into that of a shakespearian playactor, complete with ruffled collar and lace cuffs falling to cover her hands. "The pound of flesh which I demand of him is deerely bought, 'tis mine, and I will have it!"

Byron
While the priest is resting peacefully on the table, the blotting on his bandages shows the severity of his wounds. Byron's ametur opinion tells him that the father will be up and about soon but will be extremely limited in his ability to exert himself. Maybe we should stock up on medical supplies He runs his eyes over the labels, some familiar, so unknown. (Make a sanity check)

Mike
The hot tea creating a warm sensation in his stomach, Mike drained the last of the cup and placed it on a table at the side of the room. The rattle of the cup against the saucer revels the state of his nerves. While he could no longer hear the voice, the rhythm of the tune was stuck in his head. A moments when his mind drifted he feel himself almost begin to hum it.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he straightens his ragged shirt and takes a deep breath. Determined to take charge of the situation, he opens his mouth to speak when his ears catch a strange tapping...

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

Mike looked at his friends, tilting his head and straining his ear to hear where the tapping sound was coming from. "Do you guys hear that?"

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

Bryon riffles through the medicine cabinet.

Bottles jostle and clink as he sifts thorough the different tinctures and elixirs.

"Some acetaminophen would be useful. A package of gauze, too. Penicillin for infections..."

He turns to address his friend's query ,

"What's that Mike?"

Sanity @ 47, Sun 11 Mar: novissimo rolled 80 using 1d100.  (in)Sanity check

In reply to novissimo (msg # 41):

Mike kept tilting his head, his eyes looking around the room as he tried to pin point where the sound was coming from. He raised a finger to his lips, "shhhhhh. Listen."

He walked towards the door towards the shower room trying to tell where the tapping was. "It's inside the house."

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 42):

After watching Mike strain his hearing, Clarke listened too. He was curious about this sudden change in his friend.

Listen: 85: Fail.

Clarke was sure that the stone he was carrying, in some way, must have affected his hearing.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 43):

Byron puts the medical vials down and contorts his face into a quizical look.

He approaches Mike at the door, who looks like he is straining to hear something,

Byron puts his head to the door as well.

**novissimo rolled 80 using 1d100.  Listen!**

Byron wasnt sure he could hear anything specifically unusual and glanced sideways at Mike

In reply to novissimo (msg # 44):

Mike
While Clarke and Byron look at Mike as if he is hearing things, Mike can still hear a faint tapping. Maybe its the pipes or something. Despite his straining, he is no closer to identifying where the sound is coming from.

Clarke
"How is a stone gonna affect your hearing? What did you do, stuff it in your ear?" says Zoe. Leaning over Mike's back in the direction he is facing, she raises an old fashion ear trumpet. "Oh.... I see.... very interesting..." she mumbles to herself.

Byron
Shifting the strap of his satchel bag, Byron wonders why it suddenly feels so heavy. Perhaps he was a little more tired than he thought. Adrenaline often had lasting affects on strength and stamina. Maybe the sounds Mike was hearing were simply the result of exhaustion. They could all us some sleep.

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

Mike looked at his friends who both looked at him blankly, apparently hearing nothing. He placed a hand on his revolver to reassure himself and motioned for them to follow.

He slowly went back to the shower room, past the heavy steel door and stopped and looked around, still straining to hear where the tapping was coming from.

21:32, Today: Jrodimus rolled 68 using 1d100 ((68)). Listen again.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 46):

Crossing the wooden floor, Mike strains to find the source of the tapping. While he is unable to identify the source of the sound, he is able to finally pick up a pattern that seems to be repeating itself. However, just as Mike starts to memorize it, the tapping disappears.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 13:10, Mon 19 Mar 2018.

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

Mike looked around, crossing the room from side to side, still trying to hear something. He went to the large steel door and tapped it a few times, still listening.

When nothing came, he turned to his friends and scratched his head sheepishly. "Well I guess we should be getting some sleep. I think exhaustion is getting to me." He did his best to smile disarmingly.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 48):

Clarke rubbed his ear. He was sure Mike was right. They were all tired, and exhausted. He was imagining Zoe, seeing her emerald eyes sparkle as she spun around and twirled in the old, crooked house that corpses built. Was it that far off to assume he was conjuring sounds from the void that never existed?

And yet, something deep inside, that steely heart, told him things were off here. It had stopped being a hospital a long time ago. It had become something else. Not a mortuary, but a location that hovered between healer and killer. This was not a place he wanted to spend time in. This was something out of Cairo, and he desperately wanted to sleep under the starry night sky instead.

Straining with everything he had in him, he listened for the tapping once more. He listened to see if he could find out the direction it was coming from. To listen for even the faintest scuffle of feet on floorboards. Or breathing. Or anything which should not exist before they slunk into slumber.

Rolled for Listen: 50: Fail

He heard nothing. And yet, the disquiet remained.

"Well Mike, I've fought too long to die standing. If there is something out there, maybe it would be kind enough to kill us in our sleep."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:36, Mon 19 Mar 2018.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 49):

Searching around the mortuary, opening doors cautiously and carefully peering around corner, the party is able to find a back room that seems to have been set up as a small bedroom. The room houses a small bed with a quilted blanket and a small cot propped up against the wall. Though cramped, everyone is able to fit into the room. After a quick game of roshambo Byron dejected settles on the floor as Mike and Clarke take the beds. Despite the dim light of the falling dusk, the days exhaustions seem to catch up to everyone as you are finally able to sleep.

"I've been doing everything you ask of me Constable". Dr West's voice drifts in faintly from the sitting room, causing the party to slowly stir. "Surely none of this necessary."

A heavy wooden groan fills the air. You can almost imagine someone leaning back in an old chair, perched precariously on it's hind legs.

"Hell Herby!" The sound of someone spitting and a loud wet slap punctuates the comment. "I leave 'ya pretty much to your own devices out here. Don't know what you're doing, don't very much care. As long as you know your place. We bring 'em, you make 'em disappear.

The chair groans again and the footfalls of thick soled boots replace it. "And now I hear you're housing subversives? One of them... a heathen preacher." The man sighs. "Herby, Herby, Herby..." A pregnant pause fills the air. "I've tolerated your little... Proclivity.... Don't make me regret it."

The night falls silent, only to be broken by the metallic whirl of a spinning revolver chamber followed by the scrap of metal on leather. "I suppose you ought to wake them. I need to have a word with our guests."
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:56, Tue 20 Mar 2018.

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

Mike walked up and opened the door to his and Shelly's small house. The lights in the kitchen were surprisingly bright compared to the darkness outside. He squinted in surprise as he walked in. The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled his nostrils and he took a deep breath of relief taking it in. Shelly sat at the kitchen table with her back to the door. He grinned a big stupid smile, it'd been so long since he'd been home.

He took a few steps towards her seated profile. Her brown hair was down and cascaded around the back of her neck and shoulders. She held a cup of coffee in her hand, the steam rising from the mug. "Sorry I was away for so long. I wanted to call but couldn't get to a phone."

"Surely none of this is necessary." She replied, before twisting in the chair and standing to face him. She left the cup of coffee on the table. She gazed at him with a calculating coldness he'd never seen before.

Breathless and taken aback he tried to reply. "I'm sorry, things got so - "

With a sudden fury her face twisted into pure anger and hatred. "You're dragging in mud, Mikey!" She shouted. "You're always dragging in fucking mud. Everywhere you go. You can't just leave a place unscathed, can you?"

Mike was shocked. Not knowing what to say. He was stammering, trying to find the words, when he saw it. Despite the bright light, her shadow was lengthening behind her, before peeling off the table to stand behind her. Tendrils for arms ending with sharp black fingers. The shadow placed its hands on her shoulders. He looked back to her face to call a warning but was taken aback when he saw her black eyes and her crooked and wicked grin.

"Sh-Shelly." He stuttered, his knees going weak. He dropped to the muddy floor unable to look at her. Instead he examined his filthy hands. He should wash his hands.


"Hell Herby!"

Mike shook awake to get his bearings. He looked at his friends who were all stirring to alertness. A sudden pain in his rib reminded him that he had fallen asleep on his revolver.

Safety first. He sat up and checked it to make sure the safety was still intact trying to move as quietly as possible.

The nightmare fled from his mind as he realized they might yet again be in trouble.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:59, Tue 20 Mar 2018.