Mike
While the ride back into Arkham wasn't devoid of tension, it had a different feel, as if the conversation in Clarke's house had relieved some of the tension between the two. The truck even seemed to dive better despite the occasional shriek during a turn. I'm going to have get that looked at soon Mike thinks to himself. The invitation for Abner Wick sits heavily in his pocket as if to remind Mike of its existence. Crossing the bridge over the Miskatonic River, the university comes into view. Miskatonic, an esteemed institution in the heart of Arkham., was not the most popular school, but it was one of the most prestigious in the region, even if  a bit secretive. It was renowned for its Archaeology program, as well as Astrophysic and Cosmic Exploration, but it was also the last bastion of studies that have... fallen out of vogue. As he parks the truck outside the gates of the university, Mike realizes something: Where the fuck is the library? Outside the gate is a small security shack with what appears to be a guard asleep at his post.

Clarke
While Clarke understood Mike's concern, he didn't feel completely comfortable talking about his past... well, with anyone really. So much of it was under the table or in the dark of night. Sometimes it felt like his life was a tragic greek fable, even to himself. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Lara and Zoe sitting in the backseat, each doing their best to pretend like the other wasn't there. He wanted to snap at them but he had sneaking suspicion that talking to figments would just get Mike to ask more questions. As the truck pulls to a stop Clarke feels the seat shift as if someone were grabbing the headrest to gain a view out of the window. "Ooooohhhhhhh..... where are we going?" says a small voice that is almost drowned about by startled obscenities from Lara and Zoe.
This message was last updated by the GM at 10:23, Mon 20 Aug 2018.

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

Clarke pursed his lips and checked his grip on his bag. The voice sounded new, which was never a good sign. Lara had only been with him for 5 weeks before she'd disappeared into the ethers. That was the time he'd been shot and bleeding out in a Bedouin camp.

Now she was back. As was a new voice.

He opened the door, and snuck a quick look back to see if I what fresh depths of Jahannam had been unleashed on him.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 2):

As he opens the door, Clarke sneaks a furtive glance over his shoulder into the back seat. While most of his view is blocked by the seat, he is able to see a pair of childlike hands grasping the back of the passenger seat.

"Oh! Are we already there?" asks the voice.

Clarke can hear Zoe's hands scramble for the door latch as she presses up against it. "Clarke.... what's going on?"

Grasping the handle, Clarke pulls and the door swings wildly open from the weight of Zoe as she tumbles out into the road with a grunt. In her place kneels a small child, young enough that its gender isn't immediately clear. It's short hair is unevenly cropped and it clutches in its hands a featureless straw doll.

"Hiya Mister!" says the child with a beaming grin. "Say hi S.K.!" it says as it waves the doll.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 3):

Clarke adjusted his glasses and sighed. He ignored the child, giving a furtive shake of his head. Zoe and Lara stood aside him looking down. For a moment their fight had ended, both uncertain how to process this new entity.

Lara took the first step towards their new, shared future. "You really are going balmy Clarke."

He couldn't disagree with that so tried to stay attached to some form of reality. "Mike," he said, "where would you like to go next?"

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 4):

Mike tried to get his bearings as he put the truck in park. He heard Clarke nervously fumbling with his door handle before clumsily opening it.

Where is the Library?

He turned to Clarke's question to see a worried and sweating man. "We're heading to the library but seems I've forgotten where it is. Let's ask this guard." Mike opened the door and shut it and went to the shack.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 5):

The sounds of activity can be heard coming from beyond the gate. The guard shack is small, seemingly built for shelter, not security. The university crest is stamped on the front with the motto Ex Ignorantia Ad Sapientiam; Ex Luce Ad Tenebras (Out Of Ignorance Into Wisdom; Out Of Light Into Darkness) emblazoned underneath. Inside the shack dozes an elderly man in an ill-fitting uniform. In front of him is a clipboard with a long list of names and times next to a black rotary phone. Looking for some sort of bell or chime, Mike settles on a sharp rap of his knuckle on the window frame, jolting the guard from his sleep...

"Go 'Pods!" shouts the startled guard, grabbing his hat as it slides off his bald pate. Pausing for a moment to catch is breath, the old man squints at Mike. "Don't I know you from somewhere?" he says.

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

Mike grinned at the old guard's startled reaction as he was risen from what must have been a good dream. "Sorry to bother you. You might have seen me at the General store or at Hibb's. In any case, I haven't been on campus in so long, could you point me to the library?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 7):

"The library?" queries the old man, sticking a hand under his hat to scratch at his bald pate. "Let me get the map." He turns around and grabs a bulletin board off the wall. After an almost uncomfortable amount of time as he struggles to fit the large board out of the smaller window, he holds it up in front of himself. "You're here now," he says, his hands appearing around the board as if disembodied. "You want to get to... here," his finger landing on a large square labeled LIBRARY. After another uncomfortable struggle he pulls the board back into the shack. "I swear I've seen you before," the old man says to Mike as he squints. "Ah ha!" he says snapping his fingers. "I remember!" Grabbing his clipboard, he rifles through the papers. He pulls out a sketch that looks to be a spitting image of Mike. "You're Jack Meredith right?"

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

Mike looked at the sketch dumbfounded.

What the hell is going on here? Jack...?

He regained his composure and scratched his beard, "Sorry, but I think there must be a mistake. My name is Mike." He gestured to Clarke to come closer so he had someone to back up his claim.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 9):

"Some weird fella came asking. Said to give you this." Searching through the papers he pulls out a slip with a barely legible number scrawled on it. It barely resembles a phone number, with the numbers oddly spaced and written in strangely angular ways:

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 10):

Mike took the proferred slip of paper and gestured to the old man in thanks. "Uh, I appreciate it. I guess."

He turned to Clarke, "Looks like a phone number. Shall we meet Byron?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 11):

The well kept lawns of the university courtyard stand in stark contrast to the horrors of the past few days. Students in maroon sweaters emblazoned with a white M are everywhere. They gather in small groups, sitting in the grass, some with open books, others just idly chatting. After a few twists and turns Mike and Clarke come upon a 3-story ivy covered building with a large sign reading Orne Library.

On a hunch, the two head to the back of the second floor where they find Byron hunched over a small reading desk in the dusty occult section.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 12):

Mike approached Byron, making sure his footsteps would be heard so as not to startle his bookish friend. "Any luck in the stacks, Byron? We already have a lot to discuss but getting a fix on this damn stone might be helpful."

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 13):

Clarke sighed and shook his head as he stared at all the ancient books. He no longer understood why people would strive so hard to keep evil in tip-top shape.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 14):

Byron looked up from his copy of Science and Philosophy of the Organism by Hans Driesch.

He blinks.

At home he had found a recent though neglected issue of Tobin's Spirit Guide that was reporting rumors of famed inventor Thomas Edison working on a device to communicate with the spirit world.

Little of the technical specifications were elaborated on, however.

As a German speaker, Byron had been trained as a cryptologist and spent much of the war logging hours on radio encryption equipment.

It was obviously too dangerous to communicate with the stone through direct mental contact, but perhaps readings from the stone could be taken with an external radio-like device.

The Psychology department had a so-called Paranormal Energy Detector but Bryon was pretty sure that it was crank nonsense that picked up random static.

Byron then hustled to the University library to see if he could dig up information relevant to constructing a device similar to Edison's.

He wondered if he could convince the department to invest in a Poulsen Telegraphone recorder to save the readings.

"Gentlemen. I was reading up on Drieschian entelechy and Hertzian ether-waves to take readings of... where's the stone?"

In reply to novissimo (msg # 15):

Mike stepped aside sheepishly to reveal Clarke standing behind him with the box weighing heavy in his hands. "Don't worry, Byron. We wouldn't leave it behind."

Mike approached and looked over Byron's shoulders, "So you think we could build something to communicate with the stone?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 16):

Byron
Byron knew that is plan posed some... risks. First, the lead lining of the box would be problematic as it would likely absorb some of the energy emitted by the waves. While they could insulate themselves somehow from the psychic manipulations of the stone and then physically remove it, that wasn't the safest option. They'd also have to find a space where people wouldn't question why they were attempting to talk to a hunk of rock. There must be some way to communicate with whatever was inside the stone.... As Byron's thoughts stray, he finds himself focused on a lecture by Professor Wilmarth....

"The popularity of séances grew dramatically with the founding of the religion of Spiritualism in the mid-nineteenth century. Perhaps the best-known series of séances conducted at that time were those of Mary Todd Lincoln who, grieving the loss of her son, organized Spiritualist séances in the White House, which were attended by her husband, President Abraham Lincoln, and other prominent members of society." Wilmarth sighed, rolling in his eyes. Continuing from the textbook held before him he read "the 1887 Seybert Commission report marred the credibility of Spiritualism at the height of its popularity by publishing exposures of fraud and showmanship among secular séance leaders. Modern séances continue to be a part of the religious services of Spiritualist, Spiritist, and Espiritismo churches today, where a greater emphasis is placed on spiritual values versus showmanship....

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

Byron checks his notes.

“Hmm.” He pauses.

“Yes. Of course! I could construct by this very evening a rudimentary oscilloscope using a Braun tube containing a conductive entelechtic fluid, say the humors of pig’s blood. Then by applying an electrical current...”

Byron scribbles some calculations on the back of his notes.

“The apparatus should be able to detect ambient ectoplasmic energy. We should be able to use the sensor to record a....”

Byron re-reads his notes and scribbles more equations.

 “A sinosoidal bi-directional waveform graph. We can borrow and repurpose a seismograph from the Geology Department. While the detector itself would be weak, the energy emitted by the stone should be quite strong, more than enough to get a definite reading. We could be recording a wholely unobserved field of science! And I’ll beat Edison to the punch! Muahaha!”

He then turns gravely to his compatriots as his excitement slowly dissipates.

“Unfortunately, gentlemen, I have also calculated that the stone’s lead lined box is too thick to take ambient readings from.”

“I am afraid we must perform... a seance!”
This message was last edited by the player at 04:05, Wed 19 Sept 2018.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 18):

Mike leaned over and set his hand on the back of Byron's chair as he clutched his belly and let out a loud laugh. He knew his friend was eccentric, but a seance? If anything they were known to be a dramatic farce at best. A perfect way to grift the desperate and gullible. He inhaled but it turned his laugh into a cough.

Then he remembered all the dramatic things that had occurred over the past few days. The cult members, the voices, the dead speaking with voices not their own.

What the hell. Why not?

Mike wheezed as he caught his breath. The cough subsiding, he stood upright and composed himself. Clearing his throat he said hoarsely, "Well, why the hell not? Worst case scenario you con us out of a couple bucks." He smiled at Byron conspiratorially.

He looked around the library chamber, "Well, what do we need then?"
This message was last edited by the player at 14:58, Wed 19 Sept 2018.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 19):

Byron pauses for a moment to think. A seance would be simple enough. Swipe a talking board from the Occult department. Find an empty classroom. And talk to.... a demon stone. While he had a working knowledge of spiritualism, he was a bit out of his wheelhouse when it came to actually communicating with the other side.

While Professor LeRae could surely help, Byron wasn't sure where she would be at this time of day....

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

"You would be good at this," Zoe said, her fingers sliding slowly over the stone, "you're already talking to the other side."

Clarke very much doubted that. In fact, he was highly uncertain him in the seance was a good idea. Zoe had already shown she could cross from fiction to reality if he touched the mystical object. Something which focused the energy could possibly bring a version of her back to life. And not the good version.

"Is there anyone you know, either of you, who has done this kind of thing before? Even if you didn't believe them at the time?"

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 21):

Clarke
Zoe's words disturbed Clarke, not because they were false but because of how true they might be. If Zoe was more then a vision, not to mention Lara and that child, it might be dangerous to tamper with the veil between worlds. At timed Clarke couldn't understand how his companions couldn't see them as they traipsed about. While they never actually interacted with the real world, Zoe certainly was aware of it and had plenty to say about it. Did he dare open a conduit to the other side if it meant putting the others in danger?

Mike
Mike highly doubted a few teenage experiences with alcohol and the newly popular ouija boards was what Clarke was asking about. Honestly, Mike had left much of his views on the occult behind after leaving the university. After all what did they have to do with running a countywide bootlegging operation. The best he could give were some hearsay views on ghosts and the other side. Maybe Lucy might know something but thinking back on the poker night caused gooseflesh to rise across his skin...

Byron
While Byron was of the mind that 'talking to the other side' was the game of tricksters and charlatans, he knew that there was an entire department at the university dedicated to just such things. While most of Myskatonic viewed it as a dead end, Prof LaRae and her department actually had a reputation for being fair minded. Prof LaRae herself had gone on record to discredit various hucksters that had attempted to levy the reputation of the university into their own work. Byron knew that at the very least she would hear them out. "Well.... I don't know how useful it might be but Prof LeRae is expert on such things..." Byron vaguely feels something perk up in the back of his mind. "Her office is in the west wing. I don't know her very well but... well... everyone loves a good story" he says with a sheepish smile.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:47, Wed 10 Oct 2018.

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

"Well, right now Byron, any use works for me," he said. "What do you think Mike?"

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 23):

Mike pulled out his lucky strikes from his shirt pocket, "Well, I don't think students would be of any help. I imagine half the fraternities get up to all sorts of pranks and shenanigans to woo the ladies. I'd feel more comfortable consulting with an expert. Maybe there's a directory posted somewhere we can check to find Professor Larae's office." Mike lit his cigarette and shrugged, "Seems to be the best option to me." He looked at his friends and raised his eyebrows looking for some sort of consensus.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 24):

"My vote is with you. Wherever this directory leads. Byron, could you lead us to the wing?"

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 25):

After a quick look around, Byron leads the party towards the west wing of the university. Passing numerous classrooms, the rambunctious academic air begins to fade, replaced by a somber, subdued environment. The lights slowly are replaced by candles, hardened wax hanging over the edges of their sconces. The few students you see have their noses in books, muttering incantations, with beaded shawls and scarves instead of the typical university sweater. With a little searching you are able to find a a placard on a door reading Professor LaRae. Below the name is a bronze number 11. Strangely, the number 22 and 33 have been carved into the wood, seemingly with a knife, forming a small triangle
                                                                                                       11
                                                                                                       /      \
                                                                                                    22  --   33

Byron raises his hand but before he can knock the door slowly swings open. "I've been expecting you....". Behind a large oak desk sits a small wrinkled women with large glasses that magnify her eyes till they seem to occupy the majority of her face. Her desk is littered with trinkets, feathers, small bones and wooden carvings, and the walls are decorated with various sigils and signs. Seeing the 3 strangers at the door she jumps slightly. "You're not Patricia?" she says questioningly.

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

"Sorry to intrude Professor LaRae," Mike started, "We've come across some interesting, well what should I say...artifacts recently. And Byron here suggested that you might be able to help us." Mike scratched his beard and did his best to look apologetic for interrupting her.

"My name is Mike, by the way, and this is our friend Clarke," He extended his hand.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 27):

Prof LaRae adjusts her glasses and peers at Bryon. "Ah, I've seen you before, you work with Professor Roach? Insufferable man, always ignores the signs from the stars. But what can you expect from one born in the light of Venus," she says in a wavering voice. Her large eyes scan over the group before latching on the box in Clarke's hands. With a loud screech her chair slides across the floor as she pushes herself away from her desk, clutching at the numerous beads draped around her neck. "What... what... what..." she stammers as she raises a bony finger towards the box, "have you bought into my office?"

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 28):

Mike turned to follow the professor's gaze, "Oh, that! We were hoping you could help us figure that out. You see, this contents of this box has brought us a lot of trouble over the past few days. Byron mentioned something about a seance to figure out what it is."

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 29):

The professor, seeming to have calmed a bit, leans forward in her chair, eyes fixed on the box. "What is...it? I can feel it probing the world around it but something is keeping it contained". Seemingly of its own accord her hand reaches out and grabs a pen and begins to scrawl on a blank page, her eyes never moving. "It's curious like a child...but with a depth of knowledge I could never begin to fathom". As her hand finishes moving, she finally looks down at the page and with a shudder turns it over. Resting in her hands in her lap she says "I think you had better come in. I imagine you have quite a story."

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

Clarke closed the door behind him, a gently click could be heard as it shut.

"Professor LaRae," he started, and then hesitated before plunging in, "Mike would be the best to tell our short tale of woe, but if we are going to have a seance then I believe I should sit it out. Not that I fail to believe mind you. It is simply that I have other issues which may jeopardise a positive outcome for all of us."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 31):

Mike glanced sideways at Clarke. What were those other issues?

He turned back to the professor, "Well it's a long story, but what we can determine so far that when the rock is touched, it may be able to possess the faculties of whoever touches it, imbuing them with strength. I think it can also cause hallucinations in those around it. Furthermore, we have reason to believe it can possess and reanimate the dead."

Mike scratched his beard, "Professor, I'm just a simple businessman. But we seem to be in over our heads here." As an afterthought he added, "We've kept it in the container because risk of contact is too dangerous."

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 32):

As Mike talks he can see the professor become more and more interested and by the end she has risen out of her seat. "Where did you get it? What plane does it access? Does it communicate through images or words?" Her questions seem to came at a mile a minute before she collects herself. For a moment suspicion fills her expression. "You brought me... a rock? That talks? This isn't some sort of scam is it?". While she seems wary, her tone sounds hopeful.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:01, Fri 19 Oct 2018.

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

With the professor looking worried, Mike's look softened, "I'm not sure how it can communicate, but I think it may be when someone comes in direct contact with the stone. We obtained it through an acquaintance after some rather confusing cloak and dagger situations that I still haven't wrapped my mind around."

He put up his hands as if defending himself, "I assure you, professor, this isn't a scam. We're not looking for money or payment or even to sell the rock. Rather we just need a qualified professional who can do a seance that might help us understood it better."

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 34):

After a moment, the look of suspicion leaves the professors face. "A seance you say? Yes, I'd be willing to help." Rummaging through the piles of papers on her, she pulls out a day planner. "I have some time at the end of the week.... Say.... Friday? If you could leave the stone her, I'll study it and gather the materials we will need." She begins to jot down some notes on a slip of paper, seeming to forget the group as she writes.

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

"A chance," Zoe said. She gently stroked the professor's chin. "Leave it and run. Catch the first taxi out of town. Let her deal with her demons as they rise from the abyss one seance at a time. She will writhe, she will scream and then... she will cease."

Clarke flicked a card out from his sleeve and twirled it through his fingers. "Professor," he started slowly, "our friend gave up everything to keep this ... entity safe. Everything. If you take it out that box for study purposes, it will not be here on Friday. And you might not either."

"Can we do the seance earlier?"

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 36):

"Earlier?" Her eyes blink slowly behind the coke bottle lens of her glasses. "It's dangerous to contact the other side without certain precautions." Turning around to a large bookcase she pulls an enormous book off the shelf. Placing on the table, you can briefly spot the title, but it appears all in French. "What can you tell me about the entity? Has it shown you any signs? Given you any messages? Tempted you to do anything you wouldn't normally?" she asks as she begins to thumb through the pages.

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

Clarke thought he had a faint recollection of the book from his past travels. They were not pleasant memories, but they still left a vivid imprint.

Roll: Occult: 12 - Pass

Zoe leaned on the desk, looking at him. "Come on now Clarke, you've got this one."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 38):

While Clarke only has a passing familiarity with the French language, he is able to recognize the author's seal that is stamped on various pages. The Admirable History of the Possession and Confession of a Penitent Woman is a classification of demons written by French inquisitor Sébastien Michaëlis.  Told to him by the demon Berith when he was exorcising a nun, Michaëlis' work has passed into general use in esoteric literature despite its age.

"Anything you could tell me about the entity might help," says Professor LaRae, adjusting her beaded shawl.

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

"It appears to be inhibited by lead and appears to be partly conscious. As if attempting to free itself of its bonds. And," Clarke hesitated, then persisted, "it has the ability to make figments real. Hallucinations take real weight in this world, as if they are crossing over from ethereal form to physical being. Mike, is there anything else you could add?"

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 40):

Mike scratched his beard, hesitant to tell the truth. "Well, I think it may be able to possess the dead."

The words fell into the air as he took his time to find the right words. "There was a man, who had recently died near the stone. And he just woke up and started talking in this voice..."

His voice trailed off. He knew how crazy it sounded, despite him having witnessed it.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 41):

The professor's finger slides down one of the many indexes of the book. "Necromantic capabilities... And what did this 'dead man' tell you? The end is neigh? Promise you power? Maybe that a beloved member of the family was performing depraved sexual acts in the otherworld?"

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

Clarke pulled his glasses forward slightly. The events of the night were jumbled now, and the night sky kept getting darker each time he remembered it. But there were sections he recalled. Key phrases.

"That I know nothing of eternity," he said. "My mind is cobbled together like a shattered vase and," he paused. Taking a deep breath, and looking directly at Zoe's projection, he said, "I can bring her back."

"And I believe this demon or monster truly can."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 43):

"Clarke is telling the truth of it. I don't know what this thing is, but it sure as hell is dangerous. We need to do a seance tonight if possible."

Mike reached for his smokes but thought better of it and looked around for an ashtray in the professor's office.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 44):

Clarke looked at Byron. "Is there anything you would like to add Byron? You are the most knowledgeable about the occult out of the three of us."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 45):

Zoe glanced at Byron and then back at Clarke. "He's a scholar, it might take a little time."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 46):

Clarke tapped his briefcase with his middle finger. "I am sorry Ma'am," he said to the professor. "Our friend here, and your university's student, has been studying the history of the artefact. Perhaps we can wait a minute or so more?"

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 47):

"No. No need," says the professor. "My third eye has been fluttering since you walked in. You've pique my curiosity." Closing her schedule book with a snap her attitude turns brusque. "I have a class to teach soon." Rifling through a drawer of her desk she pulls out an old fashioned iron key. "This is to the spare classroom. Make your preparations, just be ready by the witching hour. That will be the best time to reach the other side." Aside from pleasantries, little is said as she shoos you from the room, closing the door behind you.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 48):

In the corridor, Clarke turned to Mike and asked, "Well, what is our next step? How should we set up the seance?"

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 49):

Zoe looked at Clarke and asked, "Don't you know a thing or two about the occult?"

Clarke tried to recall if he had any seance know how.

Roll for Occult: 52: Fail

He had a vague memory of witnessing one, but no comprehension of the fundamentals.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 50):

Searching his memory even more, Clarke tried to recall the history of the seance. Perhaps something he had heard or read while searching for mysterious artefacts.

Roll for History: 64: Fail

Perhaps, he reasoned, it was the long days or the difficult meeting with the professor, but he failed to recall anything specific.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 51):

While Tobin’s Spirit Guide had promoted the periodic seance fads over the last few decades, Byron had not paid much particular attention to their details, especially as many such rituals had been debunked in the mean time as fraudulent crimes perpetrated by unscrupulous charlatans scamming the bereaved.

Still, he was reasonably sure a genuine method for psychic group paranormal contact was plausible. He tried to recall what he could from his readings over the years.

Occult check rolled 70 using 1d100.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 52):

As far as Byron knew, a seance was fairly simple. They would just need to acquire a spirit board from somewhere. More importantly was the professor's request that they come back at the witching hour, 3am. That left the party with time until Professor LaRae would be ready.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 53):

"Byron," Clarke said as he turned to his bespectacled acquaintance, "you read numerous tomes. Are you aware of these rituals?"

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 54):

As if snapping out of a haze of introverted thought and sloth, Byron perks up at the question.

“Clarke my good fellow, seances are mostly bunk. However there may be a workable method for conducting ectoplasmic entelechy through collective group trance resonance, at a strong enough frequency potentially causing a rift in the parareality ether, as per my recent calculations. This would be a sufficient parameter to establishing contact with nearest supernatural entity. But to channel and focus the geistwave we will need an alphanumeric totem to maintain concentration. We will be in need of a... Spirit Board! And there should be time enough to collect one.”

Now when was it the last time I’d seen a spirit board, Byron thought to himself. Ah, I’d seen some ditzy psych undergrads huddled in groups playing with the faddish things all around campus the last few months.

“Maybe if we patrol the common areas we can find some confused young people fiddling about with the bloody things” Byron suggests.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:33, Fri 16 Nov 2018.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 55):

Mike chuckled and said to Byron, "You always were a hit at parties."

Then Mike remembered the dinner invitation that sat in his jacket pocket. "Oh before I forget again," he pulled it out and showed it to Clarke and Byron, "We've been invited to dinner tonight."

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 56):

From his breast pocket Mike produces a sheet of heavy vellum. The invitation, written in an elegant looping and slightly slanted script, is to a formal dinner hosted by Abner Wick who the party remembers as the 'Antiquarian' proprietor of Unconsidered Trifles. Slated for later tonight, it will be held at Crawford's Restaurant, the best and most expensive restaurant in Arkham. While all expenses will be paid by the host, it is black tie formal. Below the signature is a wax seal. Pressed into the red wax is the image of an eye encased in a star.

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

“Free food?” Byron looked sideways. He tried to remember what he’d done with his dinner jacket. “What’s the catch?”

In reply to novissimo (msg # 58):

Mike scratched his beard thoughtfully. "I'm not sure what the catch is. I don't know Abner that well. But from what I do know from his occasional appearances at the poker game, he doesn't seem to be the type of person to do something that doesn't benefit him in some way."

Could it be about the stone? How would he know about it? Mike thought to himself.

"Clarke," Mike said, "I seem to recall you and Abner know each other to some extent professionally. Do you have any ideas?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 59):

Byron felt a flood of self consciousness. He became flush at the prospect of attending a gathering of high society. His lack of social and financial capital had kept him from being able to mingle with the well to-so who often patronize Crawford’s. He had mothballed his formal wear due to lack of use and would have to swallow his pride in being invited to the finest establishment by a petty gambler.

“The evening is coming upon us so perhaps we should leave to prepare?”

In reply to novissimo (msg # 60):

"Mr. Wick is quite fond of surprises," Clarke said to Mike. "And I have not delivered any to him recently. Your guess would be as good as mine. However, if he is involved in the stone escapades then I suggest we prepare for almost anything. Not all his passions lie with the dead and buried."

Clarke looked down, sadly, at his suit and pondered if there was a tailor in the town that could do something to bring him up to snuff for the event.

Roll of 10: for tailor in town <history>: success

His memory did recollect such a tailor and one who could work quick for a reasonable price when the need demanded it.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 61):

Mike nodded as Clarke spoke, "Alright then, I suppose we ought to be prepared for the worst."

He looked at his comrades, "I suppose we're all gonna have to change into something more suitable."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 61):

Clarke
Despite the late hour, the party finds a small mom and pop tailor that still happens to be open. Handing over a few bills, Clarke is able to acquire an ill-fitting double breasted suit jacket. The tailor makes a few slight alterations but the time crunch prohibits a full alteration. As the elderly tailor takes his measurements Clarke tries to recall the last time he had encountered Abner Wick. It had been a small job, recovering an old Wiccan relic that was supposed to have been used in a number of pagan rituals. While he and Abner had a working relationship, Clarke would hesitate to call them close. As with most people, Abner tended to act as if he were above the rest of the world.

Mike
Smoke drifts aimlessly out of the driver-side window as Mike drums his fingers on the truck's dashboard, waiting outside of the small tailor's shop. Having changed into his best suit, he takes another drag from his cigarette. While Abner was known for holding expensive dinners for some of Arkham's finest, Mike had never received an invitation before and Crawford's tended to be a bit out of his price range. The finest dinning establishment in town, Mike figured at least he could get a good meal out of the invitation before they had to deal with the reality of a murderous demonic stone.

Byron
The dangers of a seance depends on the particular spirit being summoned. The closer the ties to those participating, family or loved ones, the more likely it is to comply with requests... Byron's mind ran through all that he knew about summoning spirits. He had never though highly of seances, considering most to be orchestrated by charlatans. But he knew that as with most of the paranormal, there was some truth to the practice. While most of the acrid smoke from Mike's cigarette drifted out the window, the scent of it filled his nostrils as an errant thought crossed his mind: death row inmates are offered a last cigarette before the chair...

Everyone
With a screeching whirl Mike's truck pulls into the empty parking lot of Crawford's restaurant. The restaurant is rather subdued with about only have the windows alight, as Abner has probably reserved the entire establishment. The party approaches the restaurant as the soft sounds of the city fill the night. Before the door stands a large man whose suit jacket and cummerbund seem to be stretched to their limit. A strange cloying odor floats him.

"Invitation" he says in a deep voice that seems to rattle the ground around him...

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

"Ain't no mountain wide enough," Zoe hum-sung to herself. "Wiiiide enough."

Clarke kept a straight face and attempted to adjust his cufflinks. The jacket looked fine, but it felt loose in spots and tight in others. He flexed and shuffled uncomfortably in it. Still, he knew it was the best he could have hoped for from a country tailor.

"Mike," he said, "I think you have that."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 13:14, Thu 31 Jan 2019.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 64):

Mike reached into his coat pocket, sizing the large man up. Though he was curious before, seeing the few lights on in the restaurant with the rest in darkness made him a bit nervous.

Every instinct in his gut told him that this could very well be a trap.

He looked into the man's eyes as he handed over the invitation. "There we are, an invitation for the three of us from Mr. Wick himself."

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 65):

The large man takes the invitation and looks over it slowly. "Mr. Wick and company will see you inside." The man opens the door and steps aside allowing the party to enter. Inside the restaurant the party hears soft orchestra music without seeing the musicians. Inside they see a large table with an assorted spread of food and drinks with a few waiters and waitresses flirting about. At the head of the table is Abner Wick. "The guests of the hour" he says gesturing expansively. "Please make yourselves at home". Moving around the table he forcefully takes Mike's hand. "Glad to see you outside of our usual gentleman's game". Seeing Clarke's jacket and Byron's ill-suited attire he sniffs but says nothing. "Please make yourselves comfortable".

Aside for the party, the only members at the dinner are the siblings Carla and Hector, who Clarke recognizes from his previous trip to Wick's establishment. Before them are a number of bottles of wine, most empty.

"Please join us" says the Hector gesturing to the empty seats.

"We've been waiting for a bit of entertainment" says Carla.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:12, Thu 31 Jan 2019.

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

(00:25, Today: Jrodimus rolled 20 using 1d100. Language(Own) Check for slurred speech.)

Mike approached the table, taking note of the bottles and the siblings buzzing with the vibrant energy of those who have imbibed a bit of alcohol. "Well, I hope you two saved some wine for the rest of us." He picked up an empty glass and examined it.

"Mr. Wick, I must admit that I was a bit surprised to receive your invitation. Were you hoping for a poker game tonight? If so, I regret to inform you I left my deck at the Road House."

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 67):

With a heavy thud Abner takes his seat. "Perhaps you could tell me. It seems you've become the talk of the town. I hear you've visited Charles. Interesting that you've visit my dear friend only at the end of his days." While Abner crosses his heart, it seems as an empty gesture. "Seeing as you haven't visited him in years that can come off as rather strange..."

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 68):

Clarke  pulled out his chair and sat down. His stomach churned as he looked at the food. Everything felt wrong. Abner's parties were not simple affairs with a few guests, if he wished for spectacle then 50 people were the minimum requirement for the effort.

"Empty places, empty souls," Zoe said, sitting on the table. She put her left leg on Clarke's shoulder. Her skirt had fallen down just enough that it was seductive, but not revealing. "I bet you'd give a lot to have me back Clarke. Not that old windbag version, just me. Think of all the years we've missed, all the pleasures we couldn't have. If I was back in your life, we could begin again."

Clarke cleared his throat as he heard Abner's taunting words. "Well Mr. Wick, I'm sure you have heard the saying, 'God moves in mysterious ways.' We are just pawns in his game."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 69):

Carla snickers behind her hand as Hector mockingly crosses himself. "If you want to hear the void, tell God your hopes and dreams," he says. With a reproachful glare at young man, Abner gestures to the nearby servants who sweep in with a number of covered plates. With a flourish, the lids are removed revealing bloody cuts of nearly raw meat in a light brown sauce. They also put out three chairs, two opposite Abner, and one between Carla and the host.

"Bon Appetit," says Abner as he lifts a fork and knife from the table, the utensils appearing dainty in his large hands. Expertly spearing a hunk of meat, he starts to eat, closing his eyes as he savors the taste. Now that the host had started, Carla and Hector begin to dig in. If it wasn't for the pretense of civility, it almost feels like they would be tearing into the meat in hunger if it hadn't been for the presence of guests.

"I was surprised Charles survived Elizabeth's passing," says Abner around another mouthful as he hands busily work away at his meal. "Shame Jack hasn't been back to visit. I know you were childhood friends of his. He hasn't perhaps contacted you has he?" His eye briefly land on each of you, pausing on Byron the longest, taking in his... casual attire. "I must say, I was surprised the 'gang' had gotten back together without one of their very own." He taps the rim of his wineglass and a servant  jumps forward to refill it. "We shan't be the only ones abiding tonight" he says as another servant steps forward with a bottle of blood-red which he pours into gold inlayed glasses.
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:39, Sun 03 Feb 2019.

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

Zoe had rolled over, her legs kicking in the air as she ran her finger around the top of Abner's glass. "Three's a lucky number. That's what they say out East."

Clarke took in the chairs. He loathed Abner, as much one could loathe a client who paid the bills. He had no intention of being the main spokesperson for their group. However, that thought had probably crossed everyone else's minds as well. So he took one of the seats sitting opposite his obese patron, hoping that Mike had a better plan than he did.

"You must have unusual friends to need a special reason to reminisce about the old days," Clarke commented as he sat down. He started to help himself to the food on the table. "I am interested in the other guests that will be arriving, anyone we might know?"

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 71):

Cutting into the meat, Clarke finds that it is cold. Using a knife, he cuts off a sliver of the roast and ate it. It had the taste of a good fully developed veal, not young, but not yet beef. It was not quite like any other mean he had ever tasted.

"I'm afraid this is a private affair," says Abner as he uses a piece of the roast to sop up the brown sauce. "I believe there is something going on in Arkham and that you are at the center of it. Perhaps you can start by telling me why you've taken an interest in Charles Merideth?"

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

Still holding his unfilled wine glass, Mike grabbed the closest bottle of red wine and filled it. He sat down next to Clarke and Hector and clinked glasses with both of them before rising again, as if he forgot, to raise his glass to Abner in a gratuitous show of gratitude before taking his seat again.

"Well," He began, "I'm sure we can all agree that God works in mysterious ways. To be quite Frank Mr. Wick, I didn't expect to see Charles any time soon either. I had suspected that Jack had died in Europe. But I received a letter from him, or someone impersonating him, so we decided to to check in on ol' Charles to see if he had heard anything from him."

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 73):

"Then you'll be happy to know that I have taken charge of Charles' care." At Abner's words, Carla and Hector break into veiled grins. Placing the fork and knife on the table before him, Abner grabs his glass and slowly swirls the wine. "This letter, what did it say? I'm sure it must be enlightening seeing as it came from a dead man." He takes a long draught, downing the contents of the glass.

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

Clarke ate one more slice of meat and then  picked up a glass of read. He swirled it in mock reverence to whatever this event was turning into. Wick, he assumed, was involved with the shadows and the stone. With Jack and all the death. He had crossed over from mere observer to active participant.

"You should have paid more attention," Zoe said. She was flipping a coin and dressed in clothes similar to what Al Capone might be seen wearing in the broadsheets. "You should always be paying more attention."

Clarke took a sip on the wine and tried to see if he could persuade Abner away from the topic.

"We're comforted to know you are looking after Charles, but Jack's letter - real or not - seems a bridge too far even for you. Digging through the confidential thoughts of a wounded veteran or delusional imposter? What do you hope to gain from it - dragging mud into this fine party? Why I have dozens of half-drunk correspondence from you that would make the most amusing reading for Arkham's residents. Can we let this drop and enjoy your fine cuisine?"

Roll to persuade Abner: 24 - success?

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 75):

You see Abner's hand tense around the glass briefly before he sets it down on the table. "You are right, forgive me my poor manners." He snaps his fingers and a servant hands him a wooden box which he opens to reveal a row of cigars. "Carla and Hector inform me that you were a patron of my fine establishment recently. Seems you have a nose for fine tobacco. And quite a few questions..." Pulling out a cigar, Abner lights it. "What was it you were looking for exactly?" he asks as a familiar cloying scent begins to fill the air.

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

Zoe's face morphed into an older version of herself. She was less cloying, and more at peace. More substantial, as if pulled from another dimension. "After all these years," she said, "still rattling cages. You're a good man, Clarke. A man still, but a good one."

Clarke swallowed. His throat dry. He missed Zoe. He missed the real one, not the one he had fabricated for his misdeeds.

"I think the answer is obvious." He squinted, as if hinting that a man like Abner should have understood right away. "I saw an unusual cigar and wanted to try it out for myself. Is that abnormal now?"

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 77):

"Ah, as dear Carla informed you, these are treasures of my own creation. A unique blend." Abner takes a long drag from the cigar, exhaling through his nose. Having nearly devoured their entrees, Carla and Hector sit back with pleased sighs.

Taking another drag from his cigar, Abner asks through the smoke "How was that little trip up North Mike? Seems Hank has lost his touch."

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 78):

Mike took a sip of his wine and set it down on the table. He looked about for an ash tray and spotted one near Hectar, he reached over and slid it over in front of him before puling out his pack of Lucky Strikes and lighting a cigarette. He inhaled deeply and briefly watched the smoke curl upwards, twisting into the dim light.

"Well, Hank has always done the best he could. Truth be told, we went up North to investigate the letter. Since Charles had heard nothing of it, we figured if it was real then that would be the most likely place for Jack to be. So we took the trip up, but to no avail. He wasn't there."

He looked Abner square in the eye and took another drag before exhaling and picking up his wine glass.

"I'm still curious as to why you care. You never knew Jack all that well if I recall."

He took another sip, "Good wine."

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 79):

Taking another drag from his cigar, Abner pauses before answering. "Charles is in a... delicate way. As another man of..." his eye briefly flick to Byron before returning to Mike, "means, I fear that someone may have sniffed an opportunity to make a quick buck. Lost son, suddenly reappears as father is on his deathbed, I don't that that even Hector could tell such a captivating tale."

"Ahem," says Hector as he rises from his seat. "I do believe I have such a tale for just this occasion." He takes a quick swig of wine as Carla gently taps a knife against the side of her glass for silence...

"There was once a good-looking girl, the daughter of well-off country folk, who was loved by an honest young fellow named John. He courted her for a long time, and at last got her and her parents to consent to his marrying her, which was to come off in a few weeks’ time.
One day as the girl’s father was working in his garden he sat down to rest himself by the well, and, looking in, and seeing how deep it was, he fell a-thinking.

“If Jane had a child,” said he to himself, “who knows but that one day it might play about here and fall in and be killed?”

The thought of such a thing filled him with sorrow, and he sat crying into the well for some time until his wife came to him.

“What is the matter?” asked she. “What are you crying for?”

Then the man told her his thoughts. “If Jane marries and has a child,” said he, “who knows but it might play about here and some day fall into the well and be killed?”

“Alack!” cried the woman, “I never thought of that before. It is, indeed, possible.” So she sat down and wept with her husband.

As neither of them came to the house the daughter shortly came to look for them, and when she found them sitting crying into the well “what is the matter?” she asked. “Why do you weep?” So her father told her of the thought that had struck him. “Yes,” said she, “it might happen.” So she too sat down with her father and mother, and wept into the well. They had sat there a good while when John comes to them.

“What has made you so sad?” asked he. So the father told him what had occurred, and said that he should be afraid to let him have his daughter seeing her child might fall into the well. “You are three fools,” said the young man, when he had heard him to an end, and leaving them, he thought over whether he should try to get Jane for his wife or not. At length he decided that he would marry her if he could find three people more foolish than her and her father and mother. He put on his boots and went out. “I will walk till I wear these boots out,” said he, “and if I find three more foolish people before I am barefoot, I will marry her.” So he went on, and walked very far till he came to a barn, at the door of which stood a man with a shovel in his hands. He seemed to be working very hard, shoveling the air in at the door.

“What are you doing?” asked John.

“I am shoveling in the sunbeams,” replied the man, “to ripen the corn.”

“Why don’t you have the corn out in the sun for it to ripen it?” asked John.

“Good,” said the man. “Why, I never thought of that! Good luck to you, for you have saved me many a weary day’s work.”

“That’s fool number one,” said John, and went on.

He travelled a long way, until one day he came to a cottage, against the wall of it was placed a ladder, and a man was trying to pull a cow up it by means of a rope, one end of which was round the cow’s neck.

“What are you about?” asked John.

“Why,” replied the man, “I want the cow up on the roof to eat off that fine tuft of grass you see growing there.”

“Why don’t you cut the grass and give it to the cow?” asked John.

“Why, now, I never thought of that!” answered the man. “So I will, of course, and many thanks, for many a good cow have I killed in trying to get it up there.”

“That’s fool number two,” said John to himself.

He walked on a long way, thinking there were more fools in the world than he had thought, and wondering what would be the next one he should meet. He had to wait a long time, however, and to walk very far, and his boots were almost worn out before he found another.

One day, however, he came to a field, in the middle of which he saw a pair of trousers standing up, being held up by sticks. A man was running about them and jumping over and over them.

“Hullo!” cried John. “What are you about?”

“Why,” said the man, “what need is there to ask? Don’t you see I want to get the trousers on?” so saying he took two or three more runs and jumps, but always jumped either to this side or that of the trousers.

“Why don’t you take the trousers and draw them on?” asked John.

“Good,” said the man. “Why, I never thought of it! Many thanks. I only wish you had come before, for I have lost a great deal of time in trying to jump into them.”

“That,” said John, “is fool number three.”

So, as his boots were not yet quite worn out, he returned to his home and went again to ask Jane of her father and mother. At last they gave her to him, and they lived very happily together, for John had a rail put round the well and the child did not fall into it."

Hector finishes his tale with a flourish. "I only hope that I too may find my three fools before I wear out my boots." Polite applause fills the room.
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:27, Mon 11 Feb 2019.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 80):

Mike clapped politely along with the others, his cigarette dangling from his lips loosely. When the applause had subsided, he took a drag and pulled the Lucky strike to the ash tray before stubbing it out.

"Well told, Hector," he said dryly, "and where do you expect to find three fools, when you're cooped up here with us yokels at such a fine dining establishment?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 81):

"You'd be surprised the things that make their way to Arkham. In fact we just received an rubbing of the etchings from Salt Tower. A magnificent addition to Mr. Wick's collection," says Carla as she leans back in her chair, balancing on its rear legs.

Tapping ash from his cigar in a nearby ashtray, Abner takes another sip of his wine. "Perhaps you gentlemen have come across something recently that might be of interest to me. I'm always looking to add to my collection..."

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 82):

Clarke snorted into his glass. It was a genuine one and as such awkward because he was out of practice with feeling anything other than heaviness and despair. The sound came out in two: the first a snuffle and then the low murmur of someone with a hunk of bread stuck in their throat.

"I am dreadfully sorry Ms. Wick," Clarke said. "Byron may be one of the most unique humanoids I have met in my travels, but alas, he is not for sale." Clarke paused and tapped the table. He added, "He's not even available for rental."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 83):

Abner's eyes narrow. "Be series Clarke. You of all people know the sort of artifacts I speak of." Taking one last drag on his cigar as the cherry nearly reaches his finger, the large antiquarian ashes it. "If it were not already obvious, I would pay handsomely for any... information you might have."

The party notices that the room has gone quiet. The servants have left, not without placing extra bottles of wine within reach, and the host and his associates stare at the group, waiting...

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 84):

Mike crosses his arms in front of him after taking a sip from his wine glass and looked Abner square in the eyes, “Jokes aside Mr. Wick, our investigation has sadly come up short of anything of interest to you. Jack is gone and probably buried somewhere far from here. Though we’d probably all like to imagine otherwise, it appears to be the fact of the matter. I’m sorry we can’t be more helpful to you.”

Today: Jrodimus rolled 56 using 1d100.  Persuade check .

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 85):

*CRUNCH* The glass in Abner's hand shatters, the shards digging deep into his hand. Unnaturally slow, blood begins to ooze from his hand. "Do NOT toy with me Michael. I am not a man to be trifled with." Dropping the shattered remains of the glass, he begins to pick the pieces from his hand as Carla replaces his glass and refills it from a nearby bottle. Cinching a handkerchief around his hand, he quickly drains the glass which is just as quickly refilled. He gently sets the glass back down on the table, drawing a deep breath through his nostrils.

"Jack's alive..."

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 86):

As Abner’s glass shattered Mike steeped himself as his instincts kicked into fight or flight mode. He nearly reached for his revolver holstered out of view hidden beneath his dinner jacket.

Sonofabitch knows more than we do., he thought bitterly to himself. He bit down in his tongue to prevent from yelling a string of obscenities and threats at the obese man sitting at the end of the table. He felt that cold tingle on the back of his neck and skull again. The smell of wet dirt seemed to waft in on an imagined breeze.

As Abner drained his fresh glasses of wine he composed himself and lit another cigarette.

“Jack’s alive, huh?” Mike began. He shrugged in disbelief as he ashed his Lucky Strike before taking another inhale. “So it seems to me that you know more about this than we do. So why the charade and this fucking horse and pony show? Why waste our time and your money when you could’ve revealed the truth this entire time. Knowing you, there’s a con game going here and you seem to think you can swindle us for something. But whatever it is, it doesn’t matter.”

He met Abner’s gaze with what he hoped were eyes of steeled determination to not be fucked with as he took another drag from his cigarette and exhaled heavily like a sigh.

“What proof do you have that Jack’s even alive? Because I assure you, we’d all like to know if he is.”

Today: Jrodimus rolled 43 using 1d100.  Fast talk.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 87):

Roll: 96 - Acting: Fail

Clarke felt the floor drop out from under him when the revelation came. It was as if he was hovering over a deep abyss and all that awaited him at the bottom was the weeping and gnashing of teeth. He could hear the sounds of monsters as bones were snapped in chewed upon by unseen terrors.

Sweat pooled on his forehead, his fingers drummed against the table. Zoe stared at him, floating as if on air. She grinned widely - her mouth covering twice her face and her teeth slowly becoming more and more pointed. "What is for dinner Clarke?" she asked.

He desperately wanted to bolt down the hall, out into the air and never come back.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 88):

Abner's eyes move slowly between Mike and Clarke, noting the markedly different reactions. "Might I remind you Mike, you are my guest here and I demand to be treated with a least a modicum of respect," he says through gritted teeth. "At least your academic friend has the wherewithal to bite his tongue." With a wave his hand the air fills with the patter of footfalls as the servants exit the room in a hasty yet dignified manner.

The dinning room fills with a pregnant silence as Abner seemingly evaluates each of you with his gaze. Carla and Hector are almost ghostly still as if they fear to draw his attention to them.

With a grace that belies his size Abner rises to his feet and take a few long strides to the crackling fireplace that warms the room. A strange dimness fills the room as the large man stands before the fire. Backlit by the flames his features are nearly inscrutable. "I've known you a long time now Michael. I would have hoped we had cultivated a more... cordial relationship..." His shadow seems to stretch impossibly long across the room. "And you Clarke... Well I guess I should have known there is only one way to gain your confidence..." As he talks his hand begins to drift toward the inside pocket of his jacket.

"I had hoped it wouldn't come to this..."

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 89):

Mike saw Abner's hand drifting towards the inside pocket of his jacket and he shifted his body towards Abner and crossed his arms and attempted to snake one of his hands behind the other arm and into his jacket so he could reach his revolver if necessary, but tried to remain composed.

"Come to what, I might wonder." Mike asked half in genuine curiosity and half ready for a fight if the situation were to arise.

22:00, Today: Jrodimus rolled 64 using 1d100.  conceal readying action to grab hidden gun for combat.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:02, Wed 27 Mar 2019.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 90):

Clarke smoothed out his pants - hard. His palms were wet and he could feel the sweat sliding down his cheeks. He wanted to dab his face with a napkin, but that would have been rude.

He had very little in the way of protection if Abner decided to let loose with a semi-automatic pistol - just the silverware in front of him. His heart beat faster. This was not how he had wished to go - bamboozled by a pompous old man, but no one got to pick their death.

He leaned slightly to the side, to fall onto the ground if shooting started. He was still going to try.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 89):

Byron jumped out of his chair and slammed both his fists on the table. Gristle and wine slplatter across the white cloth.

“Abner!” Byron shouts at the man. His jealousy of the gratuitous display of ostentatious wealth finally boiled over. His indignity at being threatened and insulted all evening by a petit bourgeois gambler was now at a fever pitch. His neurotic obsession with his own misplaced class status had festered in his mind since the end of the war. He hadn’t survived that grueling ordeal to be kicked down the ladder further, evening if he made it through this night alive.

“We will not be intimidated by a two-bit bloated porcine swindler like yourself! Whatever deranged story you’ve concocted in your twisted mind, you can forget it. We’ll have no part in it. Good day sir!”

novissimo rolled 42 using 1d100.  Psychology/ Reverse Psychology/ Persuasion .
This message was last edited by the player at 07:56, Sat 30 Mar 2019.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 92):

A look of shock over Bryon's outburst briefly passes across Abner's face before being replaced by a scowl. Reaching into his jacket he pulls out a stack of bills and throws them on to the table. "I hope that once you're in my employ you might afford me a bit more courtesy." Straightening his jacket he looks at each of you. "Charles is a dear friend. If you can find his son it would be a small amount of solace for a dying man." Carla and Hector have visibly relaxed.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 93):

The sum on the table was not insignificant, and the task ran parallel with their own. However, Clarke eyed the glittering coins and dull notes with suspicion. This event had been a lot of fan fare for a simple job. A job they would have done simply out of the invisible bonds still holding them to the past.

Clarke stood, less abruptly than Bryan, but with a wilful determination. He would be away from this evil man, even if that meant moving towns after they had finished here. He flicked his jacket down. "I stand with my comrade," he said, dropping communist terminology to rile up the capitalist. "If we find Jack, it will be as a friend and not some pre-bought trackers wooed with cheap silver and rural cuisine."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:49, Sat 20 Apr 2019.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 94):

Seeing Abner slap down the stack of cash on the table, Mike relaxed his posture and stood as he brushed off stray cigarette ashes off the front of his jacket.

"Clarke and Byron have the right of it. Thank you for the offer, but we don't need your money. If Jack is truly alive, then we'll find out, beholden to no one."

Mike nodded to his friends, "Shall we?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 95):

A strange impassivity seems to take over Abner as the party gathers their things and prepares to leave. He doesn't even reclaim his money from the table. Carla and Hector simply watch from the table, their eyes blinking slowly as you leave.

The intermittent moonlight caused by the rapidly moving canopy of clouds leaves the area surrounding Crawford's Restaurant a gray haze. As the party loads into the battered and dented truck their spirits are buoyed by a sense of righteous, having turned down Abner. However underneath it pulses a steady but dull thread of uncertainty. They had finally found evidence that Jack was alive. But had they been right to turn away Abner's offer? That money would have done a great deal to alleviate their current predicament. Maybe they could have greased some palms within the old rumor mill? Or at least fixed the truck, a fact that you're reminded of as the engine sputters to life. Heck, they could have just taken the money and split.

With the windows cracked to allow the wind to whip through the truck's cabin, everyone does their best to ignore the elephant in the room. The stone sits in its box on the center console. While you may have learned more about Jack, the party had yet to learn anything more about the stone. This seance was beginning to seem more and more like your last chance. For once, the silence is welcome as the truck rolls down the deserted streets...

“Ah, I cast indeed my net into their sea, and meant to catch good fish; but always did I draw up the head of some ancient God.”
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:31, Mon 15 Apr 2019.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 96):

Clarke hears the proverb whistle into the truck, as if the wind itself was talking to them. It sounded vaguely familiar, like an old lover one hadn't seen since university. He tried to place its meaning.

Occult roll: 59 - Fail

Unfortunately, the silence pushed out his other thoughts and he came up blank. The road kept sliding underneath of them.