Mike
Mike pulls into an empty student parking lot on the university campus. He hated spending so much time away from Shelly and their relationship had never had much room for secrets. But somehow he was sure that keeping her in the dark was the right choice. He couldn't wrap his own mind around what was happening let alone explain it to someone else. The pathetic whine of the engine worried Mike as he turned off the ignition. He felt almost as if he were mistreating a child. This truck has put in years of service only to be driven into the ground.

His fingers twitched toward the pocket where he kept his cigarettes. A seance? What am I a teenage girl on a Saturday night? But Mike was willing to try anything at this point. If recent events had proven anything it was that he desperately needed to rethink his worldview. He took no small about of solace in the fact that as he swung open the door and stepped on to the pavement that it was firm and unyielding beneath his feet. One step at a time.... Into the mud....

Clarke
While he couldn't see them at the moment, Clarke could feel their gazes. Zoe with her disapproval, Lara with her admiration. And a third, innocent and inquisitive. He could hear Zoe's voice in his head: Never leave money on the table and Lara's reprimand: Consider where it is coming from. Clarke could handle their bickering but it was the third presence, one he recognized as the child that had been appearing to him. So far he had resisted the temptation to reach out to it, he wasn't sure if he had the mental space for another fragment of his psyche. But he could feel from it an innocence he had felt was lost a long time ago, a lack of judgement. A sharp pain in his palm makes Clarke realize that his nails are digging into the palms of his hands, breaking the skin.

You've got a boo boo mister says a childlike voice. Clarke can feel the tremble of fear the grip Zoe and Lara...

Byron
Bryon was having difficulty reconciling the elation he felt at his very core with the dire circumstances of their situation. They had nearly been killed. Jack was still missing. And for the first time he realized... He had killed a man.... But a strange part of him felt as if he was uncovering something primal about himself, about the world. His mind wandered back to Freud's claim that "civilization is built up on the suppression of instincts." Perhaps for the first time in his life, Byron was entering this other world, a world in which he was all knowing... all powerful...

Shaken by the jolting of the truck as Mike presses on the break, Bryon seems to come back to reality. He can feel a sense of glee emanating for the box.

RELEASE ME....

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

Mike stepped out of his truck, a lucky strike already in his lips waiting to be kindled. He stretched out, realizing that his back hurt and he still had a long way to go before he made it to a bed or any real sleep again.

He lit the cigarette, wondering if there was any moonshine in the truck. He could've used a drink about then.

"Byron, how do we do a seance?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 2):

Clarke held his worn briefcase in his hand as he heard Mike ask Byron about the seance. He felt as if they were street magicians taking their chances against a druid. Looking at the three of them, a wave of despair crashed against him - they were three tired old men playing a game meant for the foolhardy and the brave.

"A seance," Zoe said. She was in her forties, graceful wrinkles sprinkled across her face. "A parlour game for the easily amused."

He agreed.

"You can't fight the great dark with boards and candles, Clarke. You've already seen how vast the power is behind the veil."

He knew that too.

"You're going to need old magik, ancient hymnals tied to the long forgotten songs of the Earth. And if you can old their leash long enough, you might just prevail."

He also knew this. Yet, all he had was a seance.

Roll for seance knowledge: 78 - Fail

And even this simple trick, this game for the uninitiated, this tool for those who had never seen a man eaten by the gaping void - he knew so little about. He did not even know how to perform it.

He clutched his bag tighter and waited for Byron's answer.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 3):

The hustle and bustle of the campus is gone at this late hour as the party enters the school grounds. With little difficulty you are able to find your way to professor LaRae's office. Before you are able to knock the professor's door opens and you find her with a spirit board tucked under one arm.

"About time" she says despite the fact that you are right on schedule. " Come, come, my students have prepared a room."

Professor LaRae leads you to a spacious yet empty classroom. All the desks save for one have been pushed against the far wall. The lone piece of furniture is covered in a silken sheet and surrounded by chairs. The professor waves to the chairs as she busies herself lighting the candles strewn about the room.

With a beckoning gesture she takes a seat at the head of the table, illuminated by a series of candles behind  her. "So... What have the spirits brought to us?*

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

Mike gestured towards Clarke and the box he was holding containing the stone. “Well it certainly wasn’t spirits that brought this to us,” he said with a tired and strained good natured chuckle.

Mike knee little about seances, aside from the fact that they were parlor tricks used to entertain and swindle desperately sad people out of their money with promises of contact with dead loved ones. But everything he’d seen over the past few days made him decide that this was probably the least crazy idea they had so far. And the chances of anyone getting shot appeared to be pretty slim. Hopefully.


22:36, Today: Jrodimus rolled 100 using 1d100 ((100)).


Mike tried to make use of his very limited occult knowledge to even guess where to begin, but he came up empty. To think he could out play the locals at a few hands of poker but couldn’t figure out how to contact the dead with a spirit board.

“So...where do we begin?”

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 5):

Professor LaRae bustles about the room, drawing the curtains on the windows and and lighting candles of various shapes and sizes that seem almost haphazardly strewn about. In the center of the room sits a wooden table surrounded by spindly chairs. Gesturing towards it the professor sets the board down next to a rather battered tape recorder. "First, we need to establish a barrier to contain the entity," she says slightly breathlessly. "But that can be done with some simple runes and sigils." She settles into her seat and takes  a deep breath. "The harder part will be establishing a connection."

For the first time the professor seems to pause for a second, her eyes taking in each of you in turn. "How dangerous is it?"

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

Clarke felt the hollowness inside of his eyes, and the gauntness that had started to spread throughout his skin. It was as if he was being pulled apart minute by minute and second by second. Strangely, he did not feel his limbs were going to be ripped from their sockets at the end as he writhed in pain, but rather a void was eating the externalities of his body and working its way in. Pulling, and consuming, at the same time. After it was done with him, there would be nothing, except the voices - or demons - prancing around his head.

"Immensely," he told Professor LaRae.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 7):

Professor LaRae blanches slightly but you can see her quickly gather her resolve with a shake of her head. "Whatever it is, it must be of great importance to you," she says slightly breathless. From one of her pockets she takes out a piece of chalk and draws a set of intricate sigils on the tabletop. Strangely, each sigil seems to flow into another despite their separate locations, like pieces of a puzzle that have yet to be connected

"Place it in the circle and take a seat," she says holding out her hands.

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

Clarke took the box and moved it towards the area LaRae had indicated. He could feel a force, perhaps a hand or a tentacle, pressing against the walls of their makeshift barrier. It was distant, but also furtive, as if trying one last escape.

"Don't you want to be a dark lord?" Zoe asked. He saw her reflection in the polished table, her eyes black in the flickering light of the candles. "The power of the netherworld yours to command at last. The power of the dead. Me at your very beck and call willing to do anything you wished."

He opened the box and gently shook the stone onto the place marked. It seemed to pulse with its own type of blood - pumping furiously as it made contact with the air.

He walked back to his seat and sat down.

"What is the plan if one of us dies from exertion?" he asked the professor.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 9):

"What is the plan if one of us dies from exertion?"

Clarke's question hangs unanswered in the air as Professorr LaRae sits slumped slightly forward in her chair


"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn..." The professor's eyes flutter slightly.

The temperature of the room perceptibly drops...

"The most powerful minds cling to the fewest fixed principles. The only clear view is atop the mountain of your dead selves...."

With a deep sigh the professor's eyes open. Without missing a beat she jumps back into arranging the seance. "Once we begin, no one will be able to leave until we dismiss the entity." Reaching into her pocket she takes out a vial and places it on the table. "One of you will need to place this along the thresholds of all the doors and windows. Should the sigils fail to keep it contained, this will prevent its escape..."

When no ones moves to take it she looks around bewildered. "Is something wrong?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:38, Mon 13 May 2019.

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


"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn..."

Mike's mouth dropped as the timber of the professor's voice shifted unnaturally, uttering the words, like asphalt being scraped across a wet concrete floor. He gripped the table with one hand as his other twitched towards the inside of his jacket.

Then it was over, and the professor stared at them with a bewildered look on her face.

"Is something wrong?" She asked them.

Mike released his grip on the table and looked between the professor and Clarke and Byron with wide eyes.

"Uh, Professor, are you feeling alright?"

She's in over her head....we all are.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 11):

The professor's face breaks into a a soft and genuinely warm smile. "That's sweet of you dear, but this isn't my first time communing with the other side." She gives the vial a small nudge. "But we must get started soon 'lest we miss the witching hour." She shifts the shawl on her shoulder as a gleam of determination that belies her age fills her eyes. "We can't afford to be distracted."

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

Clarke felt the last of his hope break. Up to that point, he'd thought hope would have had an ethereal feel to it, something that withered up slowly once cut off from its main source. It had not. It had shattered as if it was a log being cracked open by Mjölnir. The remaining parts were in the wind now, floating beyond his reach. He was not surprised to feel a darkness ebbing into his soul, extinguishing his light. The journey to this point had been full of twisty path with sharp spears that took a piece each time one had to turn. Rather, it was the amount of hope he'd had left that caught him off his guard. Part of him wished to chase after it, grasping at the splinters as they frolicked in the gloomy skies and fluttered on the chilly breezes sweeping down his skin. Yet his mental avatar did not move. It stood dispassionately against the incoming storm.

"To contain it," he said, as he reached and took the vial. "That might be for the best." He set about applying the liquid on every surface and every place he thought it might escape. He did it knowing there was no stopping this force.

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

Byron took a deep breath of ionized air. The electrifying words the professor had uttered startled and paralyzed him.

If either the professor was a supreme adept or partly possessed, Byron wasn’t sure.

Either way, his skepticism concerning the authenticity of seances was rapidly fading.

Byron reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his tattered ancient copy of Hurlbert's Magic and Alchemy Almanac.

This yellowed pamphlet had been a niche publication in colonial times, concerning local supernatural occurrences, astrology and advice on the conduct of magic itself, catering to superstitious farmers and house wives.

The Professors strange ululating had reminded him of the outbursts of certain hysterical plaintiffs in various witch trials, of which he had just recently read.

He searched the index, in part or in whole, for the phrase “ Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn...  “

novissimo rolled 37 using 1d100.  Researching the Almanac.

Library Use: 60/ 30 / 12

In reply to novissimo (msg # 14):

Byron
Byron flips through the pages of the almanac as the rest of the party settles around the table. Unable to find the actual language, he turns to the index to see if he can find any similar words…

Ph’nglui…. Nothing

Mglw’nafh… Nothing

Cthulhu…. Chapter 13, Entry 4

Quickly turning the to right page Byron begins to read, breifling noticing the chapter heading which states Unknown Cults:

On November 1, 1907, New Orleans: A local Inspector by the name of Legrasse and a number of fellow policemen were conducting a search for several women and children who had disappeared from a squatter community in the nearby area. During his search Legrasse found a large mob of, as he describes, ‘very low, mixed-blooded, and mentally aberrant types’ who were ‘braying, bellowing, and writhing’ while repeatedly chanting the phrase: "Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn".

A confrontation with the strange cult resulted in Legrasse and his men killing five of the participants and arresting 47 others. The victims' bodies would later be found marred in a ritualistic fashion.Looking for answers, Legrasse interrogated the men in order to learn the origins of their faith. According to Legrasse’s report the men “worshipped, so they said, the Great Old Ones who lived ages before there were any men...and...formed a cult which had never died...hidden in distant wastes and dark places all over the world until the time when the great priest Cthulhu, from his dark house in the mighty city of R'lyeh under the waters, should rise and bring the earth again beneath his sway.” These men believed that some day he would call, when the stars were ready, and the secret cult would always be waiting to liberate him....

Before he can read anymore Professor LaRae’s voice cuts him off…

All
“Now in order for this to work, we each must place one thing of value on the table, the stronger our personal connection to it the better.” From under her shawl she pulls out a locket which she briefly presses first against her lips and then her forehead, whispering softly under her breath. She places the burnished locket on the table in front of her and looks at each of you expectantly…

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

Mike reached into his coat pocket to pull out his grandfather's old revolver. He withdrew the piece and unlatched the cylinder and emptied the rounds onto the table ensuring it was completely empty. He picked them up and put them in the jacket pocket and carefully laid the gun on the table pointing away from all of them.

"Alright then." He muttered almost to himself.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 16):

Clarke reached into his bag and pulled out a tattered pack of cards. They were thin, almost paper rather than card. They sat well preserved in a metal box.

"So you did keep them," Zoe said.

He slid them on the table, exhaling slowly as he did so.

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

The Almanac had been quit a find, and invaluable to his parapsychology research, both for its paranormal documentation as well as its social and historical contextualization.

As a poor student he had limited resources and had to make due in order to save enough to afford such a rare book for his collection. He placed it on the table.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:39, Mon 20 May 2019.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 18):
An eerie silence fills the room as Professor LaRae sets the spirit board on the table. From a small box pulls out a large multi-faceted planchette and places it on the board. Flicking her wrists to free her hands from the long sleeves of her shawl she holds her hands out towards you. “Join me,” she says. While her wrinkles feel frail in yours they emit friendly warmth.

Oh Gracious Goddess of Love and light,
Protect me now with all they Might.
Watch over me and mine with care,
Sot that we many avoid dangers snare.

Hail Fair Goddess,
Protector of the night.
Banish all evil from my sight.
Send it far and away fro me.
So it is an So mote it be!

At the end of the professor’s prayer you can feel you pulse begin to elevate slightly. You can sense the same from your companions as they grasp your hand. The sense of being watched begins to fill you as the professor takes a deep breath.

“We call out to you spirit. We seek to commune with you. I have travelers that seek answers. We beseech you. Oh spirit of the other side….”

Strangely, with each of the professor’s words you can feel you eyes grow heavy with and unexpected weariness. You try to rouse yourself but you only seem to sink deeper. As you feel your eyes close an insidious whisper fills the room…

“It is brave of you to reach out to me child… The last who did so betrayed me…”

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

Mike

As he squeezed one eye shut and took in one last gulp of air, Mike could hear the sounds of wildlife return around him.

“Ok Mikey boy, just line up the sight like a taught you… Now gently… pull… the trigger…!” A loud crack fills. The lone battleboro bottle perched on a rock remains in one piece.

A soft swat causes Mike’s head to bob forward. “Focus. A boy needs to know his way around a gun. Again!” Mike runs through all the steps his grandfather had taught him. Feet shoulder width apart, back straight, head up… Taking deep breath he gently pulls the trigger. This time the crack of the pistol is accompanies by the tinkle of breaking glass.

“Atta boy.” A large hand gently claps Mike on the shoulder. “This calls for a drink.” The large hand steers him around and back towards the cabin. Try as he might Mike is unable to catch a glimpse of his grandfather over his should. Soon he finds himself seated at a small wooden table as the sounds of clinking glasses and the bubbling of poured whiskey greets him. A glass with no more a thimbleful of the brown liquor is placed before him. As he cups his small hands around the glass he feels the hand return to his shoulder, this time the grasp is vice-like.

“Mikey boy… Where’s Jack?”

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

Clarke

Clarke could almost feel the vibrations of their voices through the spindly camp table. “Fredrick was sure full of piss and vinegar today. Must have been a new record!” Around another table sit a small group of men in drab tan military fatigues. “I don’t even know why I go anymore. It’s the same sermon he has rehashed for years. I must have heard it a thousand times by now. ‘The scour of this heathens is bound by no god…”

While the voice is familiar Clarke can’t seem to place it. Each of the mens faces are obscured by the brims of field hats or the visors of helmets, their cigarettes and cigars seeming to disappear into nothingness. “All right boys, hands down!” A moment of muffled silence is followed by a whoop of excitement. The sound of coins being scraped across the tabletop is quickly drowned out faint high pitch whistle and a shout of incoming.

The world around Clarke erupts in an inferno of flames and screams as he is thrown from his chair and into a world of darkness.

Clarke awakens to the soft murmur of hushed voices. He seems to be laying on something soft and as he tries to move a soft hand press him back down. “He’s awake doctor!” With the rustle of papers and the sound of approaching footfalls, a figure looms over Clarke, gently forcing open each of his eyes causing his vision to swim in the sudden light. “I’m sorry to say your unit was hit with a mortar. No one survived… Except Jack….” The hushed voices of the room have fallen completely silent.

“Where is Jack?”

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

The entire way home had been afraid to even remove it from his jacket. The almanac had nearly drained the last of his inheritance and most of money he had personally stashed away.  But it was worth it. He could feel the sharp edges of it under his fingers. Now inside his dilapidated family home Byron quickly ducked into the library. With most of its once lofty collection now gone, the library was bare except for the few books he had hidden away from the collectors. Nearly trembling with anticipation Byron set the book down on one of the few clean reading desks and flipped to a random page:



A loud hacking drifted down through the ceiling distracting Byron from his reading. Mother had taken a turn for the worse lately. He would have gotten up to check on her but she had been in a mood since they had released the last of the staff.



A loud thump now broke Byron’s attention followed the squeal of rusty wheels.


Byron jumped with a start as the door to the library slowly swung open to reveal the emaciated figure of his mother. She has recently taking to refusing to eat the food the Byron’s meager wages could afford. With a pang, Byron closed the book and turned to his mother, words of apology on his lips.

They died as he took in his mother as she sat motionless in her wheelchair, thinning hair obscuring her face. In a few strides he crossed the room and reached out to her when like a striking viper he mottled hand latched onto his wrist.

“Release…. Me….”
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:43, Mon 20 May 2019.

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

Clarke pushed the nurse's, doctor's hand away. He didn't care whose precisely, it was in his way and making him angry. He sat up, his head was fuzzy - he had been here before, but a long time ago. He absentmindedly patted the bedside table next to him, searching for his cards. He hit the metal pack with a thud, his fingers and hand years slower than his thought process.

The room was dimly lit like before, and just like previously it tried to hide the smell of antiseptic and rotting body parts mingling together to make the most vile odour. Clarke struggled to breathe in the enclosed space. Somehow the medical team had created a place that felt like death, even though they had intended it to be the opposite.

His mind swam. He started to shuffle the cards, but when he looked down, they were all jacks. And one in particular - the jack of spades. His friend's face sneered at him. As he flicked through the pack, the image seemed to change. Each one appeared to be a picture in a series - one part in a poorly animated movie.

After adjusting his robe, he looked at the shadowy figures with their blurred heads and blurry clothes, and asked, "You said Jack survived. Where is he?"

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

With his grandfather standing tall behind him, his iron grip around Mike's shoulder, he took a nervous sip of the drink offered to him. It tasted bitter and burned as he swallowed. But he knew a just reward for a lesson well learned. Still he wiggled nervously, he didn't understand the question. This wasn't how he remembered it.

This has happened before, he thought with the wonder of a child experiencing deja vu.

Still, he bowed his head in unknown shame for not knowing the answer to the question.

"I dunno' Papa." Mike thought about the last time he had seen Jack, "I haven't seen him since...the muddy place."

What was he remembering?

There is no god here...

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 23):

Clarke
The doctor's face shifts between a scrambled mess to slightly out of focus, almost recognizable. As he flips through a number of pages on a clipboard the voices in the room have returned except now they are filled with undercurrents of urgency and a tension that only comes from pain.

"It says here that you were the last member of the unit he contacted. Did he say where he was?"

While the doctor doesn't make any discernible movement he seems to loom larger.

"Where is Jack?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:02, Mon 20 May 2019.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 24):

Mike

The iron grip on his shoulder disappears as a soft touch tousles his hair. "Now, now, Mikey. You need to focus. You and Jack were always think as thieves, always depending on you to get him out of a jam. Remember the candy store?"

A vision starts to form in Mike's head but it seems disjointed and uneven. After a few moments it dissolves like so many grains of sand. A familiar voice fills the cabin.

"Why do you seek this man? Surely such a being is beneath your notice." You try to place the voice...

SNAP The crack of fingers dispel the voice. "Hey Mikey, why don't we play a game?"

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

Clarke's mind was hazy. He hadn't even known Jack was still alive until a few seconds ago, and now 'they' wished to know where he was. How would he know? How could he know? Was there some clue? Some mystery hidden in the note? If they had held it above candlelight would the truth have been revealed? Was this a giant game of detective for them?

Clarke felt his mind tear - he could feel the pain and anger of all the years give away to hysteria and humour. After all, there was nothing else to do but laugh. This monster, this all-seeing monster, could not find a single man. It could become a void, murder innocents, save those who had died but it could not search the globe for a single being. What a pitiful entity. What a disappointment that he was going to die to a fourth-tier god pretending to be more.

Clarke snorted. "You should try Cairo. I've heard it's dark and full of secrets."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 27):

That voice...

Where had he heard it before? Mike was confused, he didn't remember a voice either. Something in his mind shifted and scrapped against the strange intrusion. Who else was there? He looked around, searching for the source.

"Hey Mikey, why don't we play a game?" His grandfather asked. He thought he could hear Papa smiling, but the face was in shadow. There seemed to be a glint at where he perhaps was grinning.

Mike loved games, he was good at that them for the most part. Hesitantly he agreed, "OK..."

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 28):

Clarke

“You should try Cairo. I’ve heard it’s dark and full of secrets.”

Clarke’s glib outburst is met by complete silence. Around the room activity slowly comes to a standstill as if everyone is watching the exchange. The demeanor of the doctor, still looming over Clarke, changes as if he is noticing you for the first time.

“So… you mean you’re a key? A key to opening the other side?” says a familiar voice…

Clarke’s attention is drawn away from the voice as the doctor sets down the clipboard on a small tray of operating tools nearby. “Nurse… I’m afraid Mr. Walsh’s injuries are worse than we fear. We will have to take him into surgery right away.” He looks away from Clarke towards an unseen figure. “Bring me a sedative…”


Mike

Mike’s grandfather finally comes into view as he takes his place at the other side of the table. He had always seemed to be one of the largest people Mike had ever seen. The hand knitted sweaters he is wearing is stretched across his broad shoulders and the whiskey glass is dwarfed in his hand. Strangely the shadows seem to cling to him as he moves, almost as if he is walking through the clouds.

“It’s a fun game Mikey, a kind of game of chance.” Placing the glass on the table he pulls out the revolver with his free hand. “And if you win I’ve got a prize for you!” He pushes the latch on the gun causing the cylinder to swing out and the rounds spill onto the ground. He carefully picks one up and places it back into the gun, spinning the cylinder and closing it with a flick of his wrist.

“Now stay still Mikey.” He raises the gun towards you and without a word pulls the trigger.

CLICK

“Your turn Mike,” he says in a low whisper has he slides the gun across the table….

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

Clarke was tired and done with the games. He flicked the cards towards the amorphous figures. The flew into the air, scattering everywhere.

He tried to get off the bed, testing how far hallucinations could bend from their original form.

Roll of 75: Use of Education - knowledge of dreams and how they mirror reality, but do not represent it. (Modest success)

He stood, slightly shaky, but still better than when the mortar had actually hit. "There are no gods and monsters," he proclaimed to the assembled group. "There are only charlatan conjurers feebly clutching at their limitations." He peered, as hard as he could muster, at the space where the familiar yet strange voice had spoken. "If you are so mighty, so all powerful, so all wise as to bend creation to your will then why have you failed to find a single man? How can our flesh and blood, our foibles, evade our omnipotence?"

He took a step towards the group, hoping his death was quicker than he deserved.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 30):

Clarke takes a few stumbling steps towards the flickering figures, hands raised before him ready to go down fighting. With a sickening lurch the room spins around. When it finally comes to a stop Clarke is facing the doctor whose face is obscured by a mask and is holding a long syringe in one hand, an unknown liquid glistening on the tip.

"Join us Clarke. In the realm of dreams all things are possible...."

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

Mikes consciousness scrapped against his subconscious. He felt light headed as the deja vu melted away.

It’s new again

Nervously, Mike took the revolver from his grandfathers hand. Despite his heart beating against his rib cage, Miley was good at games of chance. It was one of the first types of games he learned. He knew his grandfather wouldn’t hand him a loaded gun in this game. Not Papa.
It had to be a trick. But maybe a test. Maybe his grandfather wanted to see if he was brave.

Or maybe this was something else...the shadows seemed to close in around them.

He held the weapon and pointed it at his grandfather.

No.

He turned it on himself, holding it against his temple and pulled the trigger.

23:38, Today: Jrodimus rolled 88 using 1d100.  Luck.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:40, Tue 21 May 2019.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 32):

Clarke looked at the syringe and felt the pull. If anyone deserved release, he did. He didn't care what type of release, just, something that concluded his story.

And yet... There was Mike, and Jack. And Byron. He owed them the last piece of his soul, even if it was not much.

"Doctor," he said, too tired to even put on an act. "Let us not do this dance anymore. Jack is clearly out there, I do not know where he is. Until a few days ago, your demons existed only in the sand. Now, as Mike likes to put it, they are also in the mud. Surely you have friends, whatever ethereal form they take. Surely you have lovers and family. I am not trying to change the fate of the world, I am trying to help a friend out of the hole they are in. Why can you not see that? Why can you not let a tired man have one last hurrah before your ascension? Help us. What is a decade or so more to a being that has seen the cosmos born?"

Roll of 71: Persuade - Fail

He could not see an immediate response. So he tried a different tack.

"Perhaps, it is this dream land that causes you hesitation. Perhaps I have more power here than you do. Perhaps if you do not tell me, I will cast you out and your master will come for your soul rather than mine.

Roll of 62: Intimidate - Fail

"Please," he whispered as the entity remained unmoved, "I just want to save one final person's life before the end."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 33):

In a quick rush the doctor charges Clarke causing them to both tumble over the gurney, knocking the tray of surgical tools to the ground. Pinned down by the weight of the doctor Clarke struggles to free himself.

"Perhaps you'd be more cooperative if you were freed of a limb or two," says the doctor as his raises the syringe, his thumb on the plunger.

Out of the corner of his eye Clarke notices a medical scalpel lying on the floor just within reach...

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

Clarke went for the scalpel, knowing it was last chance to make good on all those promises he'd made to himself to keep fighting until the long dark.

Roll for Dex: 30 - Pass

Surprising even himself, he managed to grab it before the doctor could notice. He placed it against the doctor's throat, and said, "Let us try this again." He flicked the blade right.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 35):

With only slight resistance the scalpel slices through the doctor's neck and warm blood pours over Clarke's hand. The world spins with another sickening lurch and Clarke stumbles as the weight and support of the doctor disappears.

"Now now now," says the doctor with a scolding tone as he appears a few arms length from you. "I believe the saying is an apple a day keeps the doctor away." In his hands is a jagged bone saw that medics use when they deemed a limb too far gone to treat.

"Why don't we try this again." Behind him you can see the various other medical staff slowly approaching, armed with an array of deadly medical tools.

"Where is Jack!!!"
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:21, Mon 27 May 2019.

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

Clarke knew this was in his mind. He knew this was an old memory being distorted through either his own fears, or some vague supernatural force. Which one it was didn't matter. They were both trapped in his prison. His darkest fear - his mental state. He tried once again to bring it under control.

Roll of intelligence / education to bring the dream under control: 14 - Pass

The world bent, or cracked, he couldn't tell which. However, there was a fracture there now, the angry crowd seemingly existing on a plane of memories, within other planes of memories. He felt himself float out of the moment and into a larger abyss.

"You tell me," he taunted back, "where do you think Jack is?"

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 37):

While Clarke can feel the dreamworld tugging at his already shattered psyche, he is some how able to hold it together.

"Oh we know where he is," the doctor says leveling the bone saw towards you. "It seems that it will just be a matter of carving it out of your skull!" From off to the side an orderly lunges at you, attempting to restrain you with a pair of leather cuffs.

"Those boys have strong spirits. You won't be able to hold them for long," says the familiar voice radiating calm strength.

"Just because one was able to blunder his way out doesn't mean the others will," hisses a mysterious voice.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 38):

Roll - intellect - pass

The world shattered. He did not know if it was real, imagined or real here - in the imagined. The nurses, doctors and faceless monsters crouching in shadow splintered. Each was still talking or screaming, but they were now contained in tiny shards floating around in the dark abyss that he was falling through.

It was not hot like the scriptures claimed the other world would be, only barren of light. The characters from his memory drifted further and further away - their prisons sparkling as if they were stars in the heavens.

He hoped he would wake and find himself back in the dim room playing at being an occultist. However, the void was deep and he wondered if the monster that had hunted them lay somewhere in the mist.

He only knew that he was falling, and in this space everything was true.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 39):

Mike

BANG! Suddenly the world went dark and Mike felt as if he was falling. In blinding darkness he could feel the wind whipping around him as he fell into an unending abyss...

After what feels like an eternity Mike feels himself righten  as a familiar figure appears before him...

Clarke

The feeling of hands grasping at his psyche were a counterpoint to the feeling of falling. As the triage tent faded from around him it felt as if the shattered world was desperately trying to draw him back. Despite the adrenaline pumping through his veins, Clarke felt an overwhelming sense of... peace. He was alone. No Zoe. No voices. Just him. For a moment he felt whole, his mind focused and sharp. This feeling was quickly interrupted by a familiar voice...

To All

"About time you cake-eaters" Before you appears Jack, no different from the last time you had seen him.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 04:15, Sat 01 June 2019.

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

Clarke stared blankly at the figure from his past. He was long past the point of being impressed with the other side's tricks and theatrics.

"Hello Jack," he said. "Would you care explaining this mess you left us?"

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 41):

"Well I'm not exactly... me," Jack says with his habitual impish smile. "I'm more of a fragment. Think of me as a fingerprint on a glass of water. Prolonged exposure to the stone will do that."

With a wave of his hand the void around you begins to take focus, becoming an exact replica of the sitting room in Jack's childhood home.

Dropping heavily into a nearby chair Jack tugs at the collar of his shirt. "Seems we are in a bit of a mess."

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

Clarke pulled out a child's chair and sat on it. His long legs coming close to his chin as he did so.

Place no trust in gods or monsters.

It was a vague, but also clear memory the quote came from. He was drinking with someone - some official from a diocese or a member of the clergy, but they were all drunk. Nine sails to the wind. The excuse they had was the war, but it was an excuse. There had been no indication any of this group had been sober for a very long time.

The statement had come out of nowhere, unrelated to the topics at hand: converting local tribe leaders, boosting troop morale, pretending American wars were more noble than others. The man had just spat it out, fear and rage in his eyes. He had shaken while saying it, as if possessed by a demon or angel at a rally.

It was a quote that, intellectually, Clarke had appreciated at the time. However, after Cairo it had etched itself into his heart.

He looked at Jack, wondering which he was. Perhaps both.

"What, precisely, is the bit of a mess you left us in Jack? he asked. "We were supposed to leave the killing to the war."
This message was last edited by the player at 12:23, Sun 02 June 2019.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 43):

Mike watched Clarke take a seat, looking ridiculous in the kids chair. His mind still reeled as the dream of his grandfather was wiped to black when his child-self pulled the trigger. He was still unsure if this was a dream, but as watched his two child hood friends talk, his memory started to come back to him.

The seance. We're still at the seance, but this is happening somewhere else. Our heads?

Clarke looked nervous, as he had the past few days, his eyes had dark spots pulling at his eye lids. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. Then again, they hadn't.

Jack wore his Army uniform still, muddy boots and all. Except the tension and madness that seemed to permeate his very being during the war had fell away, and for most outward appearances he seemed like the Jack before the war. Grinning and easy manner. Small things gave away some changes, tension in the shoulders, the far away look some had. The kind where a man could look at another, but his eyes wouldn't register what they saw.

Mike tried to piece everything together. "Wait a goddamn moment. Where are we? We're supposed to be communicating with the stone. Did you turn into a stone, Jack? Don't tell me you turned into a magic death stone to avoid gambling debts."

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 44):

"Well yes and no. I represent Jack's connection to the stone," the Jack yet not Jack explains. "I, or should I say Jack, knew of the dangers of using the stone. However, my hand was forced by extenuating circumstances."

Kicking his feet out in front of him, he picks up a small tin top that's just within reach and with a flick of his wrist sends it spinning. A quiet hum fills the air as the top traces small circles on the floor

"When I used the stone it grabbed on to a piece of my psyche. I've been here ever since." Jack's head drops back against the chair and his voice grows introspective as if he is thinking aloud more than talking. "I can feel it sometimes you know. Gazing upon me as if I am little more than an insect."

The only noise in the room is the sound of the spinning top as you wait for him to finish.

"It will be nice to have some company for all of eternity"

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

Mike scratched his beard as he tried to piece together what Jack, or the aspect of Jack, was trying to tell him. Using the stone could cause a connection with it, or the entity that resided in it. That connection would persist over time. At least within and in the proximity of the stone itself.

Was Jack's aspect an actual piece of his psyche or just a mirror image that represented the connection he had with the stone, as he said.

So where was Jack? The living physical Jack.

Mike sat down in a small chair as well and picked his cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one.

"Alright, Jack or representation, can you tell us everything you know about the stone?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 46):

Fragment Jack frowns slightly. "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy," he says. "But I guess warranted given the circumstances." He waves his hand and suddenly you're in a tobacconist's shop, the childish furniture replaced with large plush chairs.

"As I assume you've surmised, this place isn't real. As far as I can tell it's like a waking dream." He snaps his fingers and suddenly a large cigar appears between them, the wrapped leaf struggling to hold its contents. "I've gotten rather good at manipulating it."

Silence fills the room as Jack lights the cigar, carefully rolling it in his fingers to ensure it's evenly lit.

"Believe it or not the stone is just a stone. Probably some garden variety granite. What matters is where it is from." With a wave of his hand the stone appears on the side table.

"This stone right here," Jack says placing his index finger on it, "is from the island of R'lyeh!"

Jack's dramatic announcement is met with confused silence.

"You know," he says as his hands spin while he searches for the right words. "Elder gods, eldritch dealings...'That is not dead which can eternal lie. And with strange aeons even death may die'," he says in a mocking singsong tone.

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

Clarke wracked his brains for knowledge about R'lyeh. He was sure he had heard something about it not too long ago.

Roll for Occult: 41 - Pass

It was a distant memory, but he'd heard the place was a prison. A spot far away from populated places that contained the foulest and vilest of creatures. This did nothing to cheer him up, but at least they finally had the beginning of a narrative. After street chases, and death, a horror story suited their current predicament.

"Isn't Cthulhu imprisoned there?" he asked Jack. "And why would you visit such a godforsaken place? Wasn't the front enough?"

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 48):

"Bingo," says Jack touching his index finger to his nose. "Though I'm glad you're taking the news of an all powerful unknowable god-like being napping before he consumes the world."

Jack takes a long drag from the cigar, letting the smoke out in a slow stream. Perhaps it's your imagination but the smoke seems to form long tentacle like streams.

"Keep your hair on Clarke. I'd never go there, one trip across the ocean was enough for me."

For a moment the room seems to shiver, the wall running as if made from mud.

Jack shakes his head and everything seems to return to normal. "More importantly, someone did, and they came back with this stone."
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:17, Sat 08 June 2019.

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

"And then what?!" he wanted to yell. "What is the purpose of this stone? What is the purpose of all the death and damnation? Of dragging our souls through the mire and the mirk?" Yet he said nothing.

He picked up a small monochrome top in Jack's old room and spun it. It went whirred, its sounds travelling as far as the wall before disappearing entirely. There was no echo, simply a nothing. It was as if the wall ate the noise until there was not a single tone left.

He took his glasses off and cleaned them thoroughly. "What did they come back to do with this stone? What do you want to do with this piece of ethereal darkness?"

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 50):

"It's quite simple really. You can't really call yourself a cult without much of a connection to an otherworldly power." As he talks Jack waves the cigar about, filling the room with smoke. In what must be a trick of the light you swear you can almost see figures violently thrashing in the haze.

"The difference here is they've actually found one. Now I know this must sound like some horse shit straight out of The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari but if you had actually come in contact with the stone you'd know what I was talking about. I wasn't so lucky as to have a lead lined box to insulate myself," he says with a sad chuckle.

"You didn't touch it right?"

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

"No," this was not a lie, Clarke was arguing semantics now but the occult was all about semantics. Had he picked it up? Yes. Had he picked it up with his bare hand and touched it? No. Was this semantical difference the same as mispronouncing a letter in an ancient alphabet and summoning a blood leech rather than an angelic servant? Absolutely.

Therefore, in his world, admittedly a very small one, this was a crucial difference. Whether or not the vast cosmos agreed with him or not he had given up caring.

"How about you Mike?" he asked, trying to shift the conversation to his silent partner.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 52):

Mike felt like a kid at the adult table during thanksgiving. Cthulhu? R'lyeh? Were Jack and Clarke literally having a conversation about made up words as if they were real?

Are they real?

Mike shifted uncomfortably, painfully aware of how small the kids chair was and took a drag off his lucky strike. "I didn't touch the damn thing. I saw what it did to Byron. We all did," he finished looking at Clarke.

He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, "Look, I don't know what this Cthulhu and R'lyeh stuff is you guys are talking about. I went to college, got a nice little degree, but weird fucking shit wasn't my major. What the hell are you guys on about and who slumbers where? I believe in the weird cults, always thought they were folktales before, but after what I've seen recently I'll damn near believe anything. So, please humor a dear ignorant old friend an explanation?" he finished hopefully.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 53):

"You were always a bit ignorant about these kind of things. If it didn't affect the Battleboro run you never much care," says Jack. "But there is more to the world then what you see. Behind it all is a... Wait, what it did to Byron? You mean he..."

Jack is a cut off by a wailing scream as Byron suddenly appears before you, crouched and clutching his head in his hands. "I had to do it... I had to do it... I had to do it..." he repeats over and over before seeming to come to his senses. Slowly he looks around, his analytical gaze seeming to take in every detail.

"I was... somewhere else just moment ago. Where is this place? It seems familiar?" he asks.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:34, Mon 10 June 2019.

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

Clarke spun when he heard Byron's sudden entrance. The studious student still looked as if he was ripped from a poor man's Harvard Crimson.

"Sit down," Clarke said. "Jack here wants to hear all about your stone exploits." He leaned in as he placed a stool next to Mike. "All of them."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 55):

As if in a daze Byron shuffles over to the stool and takes a seat, his eyes never leaving Jack.

"What can I say, it was my rebellious phase," says Jack striking a dramatic pose. He slowly lowers his hands as a sudden emptiness washes over his face.

"The war.... I imagine that is exactly what hell is like..." His thousand yard stare keeps you from speaking. "The things we did... The things I saw... They said they were just rumors... But I saw it with my own eyes. It was deep in the forest, surrounded by trees. We wouldn't have found it if it wasn't for the tracks. There was a dull smell in the air, as if lime were being burnt. It was some sort of factory, surrounded by an electrified fence. The Captain wanted to stake it out before we moved in."

Jack's haunted voice is the only sound in the room. The cigar, held in his motionless hand, is mostly ash at this point.

"They came by rail. Train cars back to the brim. We assumed it was munitions or something like that. But when they opened the doors they practically spilled out. The cars were filled with hundreds of..."

"Where are you Jack?" interrupts Byron.
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:29, Wed 12 June 2019.

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

Mike listened intently. "What was in the train cars, Jack?" He asked quietly.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 57):

Jack runs a hand over his face, returning a little color to it. "We had found the Kadaververwertungsanstalt, or the Corpse Factory as we called it. They were using their own people. Using their fat to make lubricating oils and tallow. Everything else was ground down in the bones mill into a powder, which was mixed into pigs' food and manure."

He takes a shaking drag from the cigar but the cherry has gone out.

"Where are you Jack," says Byron rising from his chair. For the first time Jack seems to notice him.

"Always nose deep in books, I'm surprised you noticed me here."

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 58):

"Let's just say after the war I fell in with the wrong crowd." With the flourish of a magician, Jack waves his hand and the cigar is replaced by a cocktail glass. "Started praying to elder gods, yada yada yada, stole some alien relic, bing, bang, boom. Now we're here in this cozy little otherworld space."

Jack pounds the drink with a quick throwback of his head followed by a grimace. "Still haven't managed to get your recipe quite right Mike. Something's missing."

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

Mike drops his ashed cigarette and stomps it out with his foot. "Well, that's a family secret." He looks Jack in the eyes, "So how can we destroy the stone?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 60):

"Well, that's a tall task my friend." Jack leans forward conspiratorially.

"I've received an invitation from a man named Krag, a old buddy of my friend Nightspore, to travel to Tormance. After this seance we shall set out by ship for the Scottish observatory of Starkness. Once we arrive there..."

Jack continues on like this at great length

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 61):

Clarke rubbed his glasses with a handkerchief and set them down. "So the ocean it is," he said. "All this pointless yammering and hemming and hawing. They need it, we have it and we need to put it somewhere they can't get it."

He stood up, his form looming in the tiny room. "There's a ritual they wish to perform and they are missing a key piece, our piece. And if we sink it far enough, long enough, we'll be dead by the time they find it. After all, if they could track it, they would have. They would have found that damnable thing and murdered us in the process." He snorted. "Tall task, of course it's a tall task. It's what demons want you to do. They want you to think there's only one way to keep them in their cage, and just so happens that it's complicated with nineteen steps and five enchantments. When in reality, the demon has limits and all you have to do is leave them in their shackles."

"Tall task," he mumbled again.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 62):

Jack's face falls flat at Clarke's remarks. He looks around the room. *Am I the only one who has read Voyage to Arcturus?" Met with silence, he straightens his collar and clears his throat.

"I don't know if the answer lies in Scotland or not. I think our bigger concern is getting out of here. If you hadn't surmised, I haven't quite got the knack of it yet..."

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

Clarke thought hard about Jack's reply. He didn't know if everything this apparition said was true or not. "Trust not in gods or monsters," kept echoing around in his skull. However, travelling to Scotland meant that they would be over a large body of water and dropping the stone would be an easy feat. As long as it stayed in the lead box.

He did not know how to escape either, but he had heard that focussing on the outside world could do it. If one imagined the place they had been, then they would be instantly transported. At least that was what he hoped. He focused.

Roll to escape: 8: Success (Any attribute / skill should be okay, but probably occult or sanity or intelligence)

He could feel the world shift underneath of him.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 64):

As Clarke focuses, a number of locations flash through his mind. His house in Arkham. The Seance room. A desert tent. His concentration is broken by an iron grip on his shoulder.

"I think it would be best if we all stayed put."

Byron's fist barely glances Clarke's chin as he throws a wild punch.

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

Mike saw Byron take a wild swing at Clarke, his eyes uncharacteristically wide. He stood up, knocking the tiny chair over and rushed Byron.

Not again...

He went for Byron's legs, attempting to take them out from underneath him.

18:11, Today: Jrodimus rolled 37 using 1d100.  Fighting (Brawl). Pass
This message was last edited by the player at 09:11, Tue 18 June 2019.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 66):

In a jumble of limbs Mike and Byron tumble to the floor.

"I'll find you Jack," Byron screams as he violently thrashes, attempting to break Mike's hold. "And when I do, I'm going to eat your soul!"

(Roll to escape is successful)

With surprising force for someone so slight, Byron brings his elbow down striking Mike in the temple. With his friend dazed Byron is able to scramble free.

"You lead me right to him and now that I have you..."

Byron is interrupted by shouted curse and a clatter as Jack bolts for the door

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

Clarke, hearing the voice, reached for his revolver. He wasn't sure how the physics of a dreamworld worked, but he guessed that a dream bullet would kill a dream person.

He drew it out and pointed it at the speaker. His hands shook as he did so, his fatigue catching up with him.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 68):

As the possessed Byron is distracted by Jack's escape, Mike tries to capitalize on the distraction by standing, he grabs Byron's wrist with one hand pulling it behind his back and twisting as Mike tries to snake his arm around Byron's neck in order to put him into a headlock.

20:49, Today: Jrodimus rolled 89 using 1d100.  Put Byron in a headlock. Fail

But Byron is too fast and slipped from his grasp before he got a chance to lock in the hold.

"Get out of my friend, you sonofabitch!" Mike shouts at his possessed friend helplessly.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 69):

"You know nothing," growls Byron as he turns upon Mike. "I shall find Jack and I shall be returned. And when I awaken the elder gods..."

A familiar voice fills so the room. "So if you're meant to awaken them that means you're the harbinger of doom..."

"I will be your end!" shouts Byron swinging at Mike.

(Roll Fighting: Fail)

Byron swings wildly but fails to connect with a blow.

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

Byron hears an incredible snap, like branch or bone. A black void filled his vision and his eyes were suddenly pierced by bright light. His mind bursts into German.

“Ach mein gott das Kadaververwertungsanstalt!  Ich  dachte es eine Lüge! Aber jetzt erinnere ich mich. Der Gestank und die Leichen!“.

A voice fills his head, not his own, chanting.

“Töten. Töten. Töten. Töten.”

He thinks to himself. “Es ist wie im Wald. In die Krieg.”

His mouth fills with the taste of blood. He can feel his body moving but he’s not in control. He can see but not with his eyes.

He wonders “Was ist los? Ein Dämon? Besitz?”

He hears the chanting

Töten. Töten. Töten. Töten. Töten. Töten. Töten. Töten. Töten. Töten. Töten. Töten. Töten. Töten. Töten. Töten.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:24, Tue 25 June 2019.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 71):


It was a demon, Byron concluded.

Byron could remember the incantations he was taught as a boy, in Latin, to dispel the wicked and the evil.

His mother, now withered and wretched in the ancestral home, had indoctrinated him in the controversial  art of magical Christian incantation.

Over and over he was made to ritualistically repeat the phrases of prayer and exorcism, only now, isolated in the caves of his mind with an unwelcome guest, did  he hope they would work.

novissimo rolled 97 using 1d100. Psychology check: break hold of demonic possession

“Terrae, cantata Deo, psallite Cernunnos, Regna terrae, cantata Dea psallite Aradia. caeli Deus, Deus terrae!”
This message was last edited by the player at 11:33, Tue 25 June 2019.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 71):

Byron

Byron can feel his mind falling apart, like a sweater slowly being unraveled.

Das älteste und stärkste Gefühl der Menschheit ist die Angst, und die älteste und stärkste Art der Angst ist die Angst vor dem Unbekannten.

The light brightens and Byron can feel his corporeal form burn away.

Mike

"I will end you," shouts Byron, his rage palpable.

Having evaded his friend's last punch Mike readies to attack. I need to keep him from Jack. He might be our only way out of here. Taking a deep breath, he can feel his legs push off the ground as he leaps towards Byron...

With a squelch Mike falls forward, his face landing with a thick thud in the mud that covers the floor around him. His mind seems to shutter to a halt.

Nothing but mud.

Clarke

"I will end you," shouts Byron, his rage palpable.

Taking a deep breath, Clarke is able to still his hands. In the back of his mind a errant thought drifts by, more a musing than anything. Maybe you were meant to hurt those you care about. The villagers, Zoe... What's one more drop in the bucket. He can feel his finger tighten on the trigger...

Everyone

Suddenly Byron begins to glow incredibly bright, a curiosity that seems to surprise even him. "How!?!?!" Just as the light becomes blinding there is a thunderous crash. Your eyes swimming, you see two figures prone on the floor. As your vision clears you're shocked to find two identical men slowly coming to.

"What happened?" ask the two Byrons as they slowly rise to their feet...
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:50, Tue 25 June 2019.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 73):

"I will end you!"

Mike spit the mud out of his mouth only to see blood specks spatter across the floor. He coughed as he rose up on his one knee, noting the tender spot where his revolver had jammed itself into his ribs when he hit the ground before.

Then he watched as Byron lit up light like a bonfire, light shining throughout him and out of him. It was so bright that he squinted and raised his hands up to block the light.

"How?"

Then the light was gone and the darkness rushed in to fill the void before the dim light returning to Jack's childhood room. He saw the two Byron's getting to their feet.

Of course. Things only get worse.

His hand came to a rest assuringly on the weight of the revolver from outside his jacket.

"Byron? Stay calm. Tell us what you remember." He wanted to approach his friend, but his shock kept him where he knelt. He coughed again. Harder this time.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 13:49, Tue 25 June 2019.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 74):

Wobbling slightly, the Byron on the left presses the heels of his hands against his eyes to clear his vision. " I don't know. There was a bright light and then suddenly...

"... I woke up on the floor with my head feeling like it had been picked apart," finishes the other Byron seamlessly as he works his jaw around in small circles with his hand.

For the first time they seem to notice each and start in shock.

"Ach mein Gott!" they shout simultaneously.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 75):

Clarke shifted his revolver between the two individuals. He had read these types of stories in the pulps, but never expected to be in one. Traditionally in the narrative, there was some hidden clue that told them which Byron was which. A small, innocuous detail that only his friends knew and the demons did not.

Roll of 71: Spot Hidden - Failure

He could not see a single difference, in fact, they now looked closer to each other than before. So did he kill them both? He, with his current run of luck, would probably attempt to and fail, bringing their team to the brink of the fate.

Looking past them, and into the void, he thought about the larger forces that existed in the universe. It was not Byron, but something external. Something looming beyond them all. Perhaps he could get out of the place and meet this monster directly.

Taking a step back, he tried to escape through the power of his mind.

Roll to escape using intelligence of the situation: 60 - pass

He felt the world shift in front of him once more.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 76):

A sense of weightlessness begins to fill Clarke and he can almost feel himself floating out of his body. He had read about this before, that this was what it felt like when your astral body separated from your physical body. As the world around him begins to shrink Clarke once again feels a hand latch onto his arm.

"DON'T!!!"shouts a voice.

The world snaps back into focus and Clarke find Lara clinging to his arm, a wild desperate look in her eyes. "It's out there waiting to pounce. That's why we have remained dormant in your psyche. You let it in when you touched the stone."

"Found you big sis. You're very good at hiding."

Lara whirls around in fright allowing Clarke to see that the little girl that has been appearing in his visions is across the room, the doll she holds in one had dragging on the floor.

Spinning back to Clarke Lara grabs his face in both hands. "She is more powerful than Zoe and I combined in here. Don't let it in Clarke!"

 Slowly the little girl begins to advance across the room singing softly to herself.


"I don't know if I will be able to come to you again. This... thing is something terrible and I fear what will happen if it catches me."


"Don't let it in," she whispers. Clarke feels her lips briefly brush against his before Lara sprints across the room away from the advancing child.


As she reaches the far wall a sturdy oaken door appears. Grabbing the iron ring Lara tugs it open.


After what seems like an eternity but in reality was mere seconds Lara closes the door behind her and it disappears.

"No fair," pouts the little girl with a stamp of her foot. Chewing on the end of her pigtail the girl seems to ponder her options before suddenly noticing Clarke.

"Oh hi Mister! You look scared? Sorry I can't stay and play with you right now. It's my turn to seek. Maybe you can play with us next time!" she says with the innocent smile of a child. With her mind seemingly made up she sets out towards the wall Lara escaped through.


Unlike with Lara, as the little girl approaches the wall it seems to melt away revealing a yawning abyss of entropy that seems to scramble to latch onto Clarke's mind. But as soon as it appears it is gone, leaving behind a seamless wall.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 77):

As the two Byron's looked at each other in surprise, both of them almost a mirror image of the other with their hands in their hair and eyes wide, Clarke pointed his gun at one, and then the other. Suddenly, he dropped his gun and closed his eyes.

"DON'T!!!"

In a heart beat, a woman had materialized at Clarke's side, pleading him. "It's out there..."

Suddenly the light in the room faded, and a girl's voice started to echo eerily as a slight and shadowy silhouette of a child materialized, slowly approaching Clarke and the woman. One small step, echoing, then another.

Who killed Cock Robin?
I, said the Sparrow,
with my bow and arrow,
I killed Cock Robin.

The air shimmered, and lit on the face of the silhouette to reveal a little girls innocent smile. Mike saw Jack stop just before reaching the door, his mouth hung open in disbelief.

Suddenly, the woman broke away from Clarke and ran out another door that was always there.

Where did that door come from?

The little girl stopped, and smiled at Clarke, "Oh hi Mister! You look scared? Sorry I can't stay and play with you right now. It's my turn to seek. Maybe you can play with us next time!" then she sprinted towards the wall, her hair flowing behind her like she was underwater, and disappeared into the wall.

Mike steadied himself by putting a hand on his knee. He looked at the two Byron's, Clarke, and then Jack, all of them looking as flabbergasted as he was.

What is happening to my friends...?
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:56, Thu 27 June 2019.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 78):

Straightening his jacket Jack storms towards Clarke. "You told me that you didn't touch the stone. If you didn't then WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!?!" Charging up to Clarke he jams a finger in his chest. "Do you know what you have done?"

His tirade is broken up as a scuffle breaks out between the two Byrons

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

Clarke shrugged. The exhaustion of not being able to escape wearing his nerves to their last. A thought occurred to him.

"Why did I get a demon girl?" he asked Jack. "Here you stand, a part of yourself. Allegedly. You who interacted with the stone on a constant basis created a well-reasoned duplicate. I touch it through gloves and an evil entity springs forth from the void. Are you truly on our side or is this some gambit of the higher powers?"

Clarke waited for the reply while watching the two Byron's battle each other in traditional school boy fashion.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 80):

As Clarke and Jack began to argue, Mike decided to attend to the two Byron's and prevent them from killing each other.

"Break it up you two!" He said, getting between them and holding them apart with his arms. "Alright, so we're all confused here. But this isn't real, remember? It's a dream. Or a dream thing. So, lets figure this out together. Byron...Byrons?" He paused, "whatever. Do either of you remember reading anything about split personality or fracturing of psyche in any of your studies?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 81):

"Well according to the work of Carl Jung," says one of the Byrons as he warily watches the other, "there are many types of theories regarding personality, but each theory contains several and sometimes many sub theories. A 'theory of personality' constructed by any given psychologist will contain multiple relating theories or sub theories often expanding as more psychologists explore the theory."

"That's ridiculous!" shouts the other Byron. "Psychoanalytic theories better explains human behavior as it divides it into terms of the interaction of the various components of personality. Freud Drawing upon the work of thermodynamics Freud was able to outline a theory of psychodynamics which is based on the idea of converting heat into mechanical energy. In this way psychic energy can be converted into behavior."

The two lapse into a shouting match.

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

Mike rolls his eyes as he slaps his hand to his forehead in exasperation. On one hand he found the entire thing absurd to the point of comedy. On the other, he was growing tired of the weird dream like hallucinations the Stone was throwing at them.

He snapped his fingers in front of their faces, “Alright bookworms, stay focused.” The two looked at him with the same annoyed look on their identical faces. He set his hands apart in front of him, “is it possible to channel Freud’s theory of Psychodynamics in order to piece the two of you back together?” He pressed his hands together to drive home the point. “Remember, this isn’t real. And if you stay apart, I’m afraid only one of you will make it back to the University with us.”

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 83):

"Whoa whoa whoa," says Jack rounding on Mike. "How do we even know that those," he vaguely waves his hand in the direction of the doppelgängers, "are even Byron? This could be another of the stone's trick. It's already tracking down the aspects of Clarke's mind."

Keeping a safe distance from the Byrons Jack plops back down in his chair. "I say we figure out how to get you out of here first. Let's take it from the beginning. The stone obviously didn't bring you here so what happened?"

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

Mike pulled out a lucky strike and lit it. He inhaled and noticed that it tasted nicer, sweeter. He looked at it and nodded in approval “huh.”

He stuck his other hand in his pocket and walked towards the chair he had knocked over during Byron’s outburst. “Well, we came here by seance. I guess.” He leaned down and righted the chair, “we wanted to communicate with the stone, or at least determine what it was or wanted. Somehow, it pulled me into a dream, I can’t speak for these guys,” he waved to the Byrons and Clarke, “but it manipulated an old memory. It was looking for someone.”

Mike took a drag off his cigarette, enjoying the flavor. He exhaled and pointed at Jack, “it was looking for you.”

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 85):

Clarke lowered his weapon but sat a distance apart from the now talking Jack. He kept his weapon out, uncertain if this was the elaborate scam: the first part a trick to make them feel the danger is over.

He seconded Mike's comments.

"We asked someone who had communicated with the other side before to help us. Yet, as we crossed over, it yanked our memories and distorted them into something else. It needs you, but for what is difficult to say."

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 85):

"I've always been good at keeping a low profile. So you don't know where I am, and the stone doesn't know either.... Maybe we have to tackle this from a different angle..."

Tapping his forefinger against his chin, Jack is lost in thought for a moment. "So... who knows you have the stone?"

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 87):

Starting as a low thrum, the dreamworld around you begins to vibrate as a low pained moan fills the air seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere....

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

A sudden jolt of realization sent Mike’s cigarette onto the floor, “where’s Professor LaRae? We have to get out of here now.”

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 89):

The world seems to give a slight tremor before seeming to solidify slightly.

"It's a surprise the old bat has been able to hold on this long. She must truly have the third eye. Her pathetic attempts at interference are the only reasons I haven't devoured you mind and soul."

An insidious order begins to permeate the room. Its vaguely reptilian, musky, and nauseating. One of the Byron's stumbles against a side table. His body seems to be melting like warm wax and you watch as one of his legs folds sickeningly beneath him, causing him to lurch sideways.

"You'll never escape the Dreamlands," he slurs as large portions of his body slough off, blackening as it hits the ground. In moments the imposter Byron is replaces by a mass of iridescent blackness, neither liquid nor solid, a frightful gelatinous mass.

"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn."

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

Mikes jaw dropped as he watched his friend melt before him. Over the past few days he had seen the dead come alive again, heard voices, and seen things and people that weren’t there. But nothing had prepared him for the black ooze that was once his friend.


21:00, Today: Jrodimus rolled 49 using 1d100.  Fail

Mike dropped to his knees, his hands clutching the side of his head as he stared aghast at the horror before him.

mud...mud...

thuck...thuck

Töten Töten Töten Töten Töten Töten Töten Töten Töten Töten Töten Töten Töten Töten Töten

Byron reels as he witnesses what might as well be his own evaporation

The demon chorus grows louder

His heart goes cold

Time stands still

He screams

novissimo rolled 29 using 1d100.  Sanity Check. Passes

In reply to novissimo (msg # 92):

The world seems to stand still as the otherworldly abomination rears to its full height. It's inky blackness seems to swallow the light of the room which noticeably dims. Although it has no discernible mouth the creature continues its tirade.

"The Taker of Sacrifices will be pleased with your offerings."

Random pseudopods and proboscis form and disappear from the monster as it advances.

Mike

Thuck... Thuck...

Mike can feel the vibrations of each blow in his bones as he sinks deeper into the mud.

"Mercy... please." The heavily accented English is barely discernible through the bloody wheeze.

Mike feels part of himself break as his mind wrenches itself back into the moment (4 sanity damage).

Clarke

Maybe Clarke was really broken. Without Zoe or Lara there as a barometer, no one to call out his missteps and faux pas . But seeing this aberration, a creature that seemingly shouldn't exist, Clarke didn't feel terror. He didn't even feel unease. He felt a sense of validation... The world was fucked...

Byron

Byron's mind raced. If Mike and Clarke were right, a part of his psyche had just transformed into something unmentionable. Did that mean he was plagued by demons? Or did this mean his demons were excised? Fleetingly an African proverb that he had stummbled across during his studies floated along the surface of his mind.

When there is no enemy within, the enemies outside cannot hurt you...

As the monster moved forward Byron couldn't help but hope that such wisdom was true.

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

"And if you look here you can see Sirius, the brightest star in the sky."

Isla remember when she had first saw him in church. She had been running late and came in during the middle of his speech. But it was a day she would never forget He had been urging the congregation to donate to a local drive to help those in need and as the light shone through the stained glass he glowed like an angel. Isla had never thought she would love again after the passing of her beloved Calum, but in that moment she knew she was smitten.

"And if you follow it this way you can see Andromeda."

Isla didn't know much about stars and all that but she humored him. She clutched his arm as they walked deeper into the woods. She couldn't help but feel amazed at her situation. Her, with such a handsome man, under the night sky. She had felt so lonely for years before she met him.

"Since Cassiopeia would not recant her claim of beauty, it was decreed that she must sacrifice her only daughter."

He always talked about sacrifice. How sacrifice was the key to life. How what one gives can be returned tenfold. It all sounded like nonsense to her but he spoke with such passion.

Smack

Isla pulled her hand from her neck to find a flattened mosquito. The ground beneath her feet had become soggy, her feet sinking slightly into the ground. "Where did you say we were going Love?" she asked. Looking down at her he cupped her chin in his hand.

"We will be there soon my dear, don't worry."

As they walked further into the woods the air became filled with the buzz of insects and the calls of swamp creatures. Isla frowned slightly. This wasn't very romantic. But she supposed that as long as she was with him any place was paradise.

"We're here"

They came to an abrupt halt. Isla could barely see the trees around her as the canopy had eclipsed the night sky.

"You said you would sacrifice everything for me. Is that true?"

Isla could barely see his face but she could feel the heat of his body as she clung to him. "Of course, you are my everything."

"Thank you my dear..."

As he bent down to kiss her, Isla couldn't help but think about how only a few weeks ago she had felt so alone, no family, no friends. And now she was with the man of her dreams. Its as if god had answered her prayers and sent and angel down to...

A sharp pain pierced Isla's stomach, radiating out through the rest of her body. Breaking off the kiss she looked down to find an ornate dagger plunged hilt deep in her abdomen. Staggering back, she looked up at him, confusion briefly overcoming the pain.

"The Taker of Sacrifices will be pleased with your offering."

Isla's heel caught on a root causing her to fall into the stagnant waters of the bog that surrounded them. Suddenly the night sky became illuminated as torches were lit, held aloft by hooded figures that encircled her.

"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn." they slowly chanted in unison.

Despite its lack of depth the water around Isla begins to roil. In fear she thrusts her hand out towards him. "Please..."

"Through your sacrifice we shall live forever..."

Isla felt something long and cold wrap around her waist.

"Cthulhu fhtagn!"

Those were the last words Isla heard as she disappeared beneath the muddy waters...

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 94):

For the first time, perhaps since the beginning of his consciousness, Clarke realised his brain was clear. He had never felt this way before: a place of eternal nothingness in which all was good and all was evil for all was neutral and had no moral value at all.

He stared at the gun in his hand. Its purpose was pointless and so he dropped it. Then he dropped his bag, his tie and his jacket until he stood in nothing but business casual. Looking at his sleeves, he decided that he hated them long and rolled them past his elbows.

Content with his new style, ridding himself of all of life's demands, he let out a loud roar and charged at the goo. "Allah Akabar," he shouted, no longer wishing to be associated with the imperialist religion that had taken his soul.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:25, Thu 04 July 2019.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 95):

Byron gazed in abased horror at the sight of his own melting self lurched towards him.

“Ach mein Gott” he shivers “ it’s a level 7 plasmoidal gestaltwandler with mimetic properties.” His revulsion subsided a bit. “Fascinating.”

He came into focus as the thing shimmied closer.

He realized he’d only just read an account of an exorcism performed at a seance during the Great Awakening period of colonial history in his copy of Hurlbert's Magic and Alchemy Almanac in preparation for the evening.

The seance had gone awry when the party was hijacked by Mephistopheles.

“How was the purification incantation phrased again?”  He steps back as he checks his pockets and finds the Almanac.

He fortuitously opened the correct page, as Serendipity sometimes allows an avid book worm to do, and he read the archaic phrase:

“Reinige die Seele, bezahle die Gebühren und mache den Weg zur Vorsehung frei.“

novissimo rolled 90 using 1d100.  Magic attack.  Fail
This message was last edited by the player at 15:08, Thu 04 July 2019.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 96):

Mike pulled out his revolver and pointed it at the oozing abomination as it lunged towards Byron. His hand was shaking and his head was fuzzy from the shock of what he had just witnessed, but luckily for him, his old instincts kicked in and responded to the danger. He took a deep breath to steady his hand and pulled the trigger.

08:08, Today: Jrodimus rolled 46 using 1d100.  Gun Combat. Pass
08:09, Today: Jrodimus rolled 3 using 1d8.  damage from revolver.

His aim was true and he saw the creature's oozing leg splash where the bullet hit as black droplets spattered on the floor.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:13, Sat 06 July 2019.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 97):

Clarke heard the gunshot and lunged at the goop. Seeing little that he could grab, he attempted to go for its eyes, plucking them out of its sockets.

Fight: 99 - Critical Failure

He felt the monster close in around him. Having a modest amount of occult knowledge, he tried to remember an incantation that would hurt the dreamworld or monster.

Occult: 43 - Modest Pass
He could feel the words forming in the back of his mind even as the slide started to slide into his nose and pin his arms down.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 98):

Clarke's mind barely registers Mike's shot, which does little more than a pebble tossed into a pond, causing ripples to spread across the body of the monster. As the spell beings to fill his mind, Clarke struggles to hold on to his sanity (4 sanity damage). He feels his body move in strange disjointed motions and unknown words begin to fill mind...

Y'AI 'NG'NGAH, YOG-SOTHOTH H'EE-L'GEB F'AI THRODOG UAAAH

A psychic forces bursts from Clarke, tearing across the room in erratic zigs and zags before it strikes the monster, tearing a wide gash in its side. With a painful wail, the monster beings to melt into a puddle.

The party beings to breath a sigh of relief when suddenly the ooze begins to bubble, rising up to resume its form

"Your tricks won't work in the Dreamlands" The monster slowly approaches.

In the distance you hear a faint crash and a familiar voice.

"Hold on! Just stay with me!"

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 99):

Clarke realised the professor was trying to hold onto their seance, but struggling. She, like everyone here, had over-estimated her abilities in the universe.

Concentrating only on her voice, he tried to get her attention to tell her to interrupt the seance. If she did, it's likely they would be sucked into Earth's plane. Perhaps the monster would too, but he guessed that taking something from its natural habitat and placing it in a foreign one would weaken it. Or at least give them a chance to find new tools rather than grasp at blackness for aid.

Roll of 67 for power: Pass

"Get us out of here," he yelled to the professor. "We're all here. Pull us out or break the connection. Get us out now!"

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 100):

Clarke can feel his mind reach out to Professor LaRae. Searching the otherworldly expanse of the psychic realm, he is unable to find her, as if her mind has been closed...

Exsúrgat Deus et dissipéntur inimíci ejus: et fúgiant qui odérunt eum a fácie ejus.

Sicut déficit fumus defíciant; sicut fluit cera a fácie ígnis, sic péreant peccatóres a fácie Dei.

The familiar voice fills the air...

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 101):

Clarke didn't understand the words, but he knew the rhythm. He had heard many of the senior priests chant it before suicide missions. Junior priests used to follow along in their native tongues while they carried on with their menial chores. It was also one of the chants he had become obsessed with after Zoe passed.

He did not know how a religious chant had penetrated into the depths of alien darkness, but it had. And as much as he wished to abandon the principles that had riddled his life with misery, he did not wish to die in the belly of the beast.

He kneeled down, folded his hands and bowed his head. "Lord above," he started. "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. So let God arise and let His enemies be scattered: and let them that hate Him flee from before His Face!
As smoke vanisheth, so let them vanish away: as wax melteth before the fire, so let the wicked perish at the presence of God."

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 101):

After seeing Clarke’s powerful spell that seemed to damage the oozing monstrosity, Mike realized that he was completely out of his depth in the Dreamland. However, he knew he had to do something and he wasn’t about to leave his friends helpless. As the familiar voice echoed through the room, Mike decided that they’re best bet was to buy time so that Clarke and Byron could get a handle on this thing.

This is a bad idea.

As the ooze inched towards Clarke, Mike took off towards it and barreled into it in an attempt to...well to splash it or at least distract it from the wizards.

We’re all gonna have to sit down for a long talk after this was over.

He put his shoulder down and pushed off his right foot aimed towards the creature.

Today: Jrodimus rolled 26 using 1d100.  Brawl. Pass.

He clenched his teeth as his shoulder made contact with the thick liquid body.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 103):

As Mike barrels into the creature he feels a heavy impact before it disappears, sending him sprawling into the mud. The sound of bullets whizzing overhead, blasts in the distance, Mike keeps his head down.

"Move, move, move!!" shouts the Sergeant. Mike can feel the mud pull at him as he inches forward.

Suddenly Mike snaps to the present, the creature now between him and Clarke.

The familiar voice rings out again...

"Most glorious Prince of the Heavenly Armies, Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in our battle against principalities and powers, against the rulers of this world of darkness, against the spirits of wickedness in the high places"
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:35, Sat 13 July 2019.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 104):

Clarke heard Mike rush the monster and then crash to the floor. The physical attack proving to be useless, as had the weapon. Only the spiritual powers from above seemed to work in this place.

Clarke scrambled to remember the verse as best he could. He wished he had kept his rosaries, but he had ripped and ridiculed them after God had left them reeling from the unrighteous. Concentrating on the force above, as if it was a shining beacon on the darkest of nights, he mumbled, "Come to the aid of men, whom God created immortal, made in his own image and likeness, and redeemed at a great price from the tyranny of the devil."

"Mike," he hissed as he tried to recall more, "get on your knees and beg for an almighty intervention. Beg with whatever lapsed memories you have."

Alternatively, Clarke hoped Byron would show that all his friend's book study had not been undertaken to ignore his failing fortunes.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 105):

Mike was never a praying man or much of a religious man. But hearing the disembodied voice echo in it's eerie prayers to the almighty above, he was ready to let the lord into his heart. At least for now.

He pulled himself up to his knees and said to Clarke, "I sure hope you're right about this Padre." Then to himself he muttered, "Here's hoping to some divine intervention."

He closed his eyes and let his voice join the others in pleading to whatever powers in heaven might be listening.

<quote Jrodimus>
In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 105):

Hearing Mike start to pray, even with his faltering statements and mumbled exhortations, Clarke felt more inspired. He prayed harder.

"Byron," Clarke started, "surely there must be something you believe in. Some deity you are willing to commune with."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 107):

“Ha!” Byron shouts “Juedean Christian thought is half misremembered and half fiction, a shell of the distant echo of the cosmic forces too ancient and alien to understand.”

He flourishes his hands into  the Abhaya Mudra gesture, radiating blessing and protection.

“Don’t you see? What we’ve been witness to is the repudiation of the Biblical Texts! These monstrosities are beings of a godless universe!”

His chakras focused and mind flowered open. The iris of his eyes glowed a dull blue.

“We must become aware of higher universes.”

He only read the Vedic texts translated in German, after being introduced to the field via Herman Hess. He started the prayer verse monotonically

“Machen Sie eine Tour
Dhukh vinashe man ka
Swami Dhukh Vinashe Man Ka
Hilfegruppen
Hilfegruppen
Wie geht es dir”

rolled 71 using 1d100.  Cast out the slime demon. Fail
This message was last edited by the player at 00:52, Mon 15 July 2019.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 108):

"Prayers to some false deities won't save you now," says the voice emanating from the ooze. You see the monster begin to gather itself, its long tendrils retreating into its larger mass. "I shall flay your souls and shatter your minds. Here I am GOD!!!"

At the last word the ooze  explodes, splattering on the walls and party alike. Looking at your hands which you threw in front of your face at the sound of the explosion, they are covered in a black ichor. Despite its viscous nature, it clings to your skin. "Its time for the darkness outside to match the darkness within."

Suddenly, the ooze begins to creep up your arms and legs. As you frantically attempt to scrap the monster from your skin, a faint voice fills the air.

"My Lord, you are all powerful, you are God, you are Father. We beg you through the intercession and help of the archangels Michael, Raphael and Gabriel, for the deliverance of our brothers and sisters who are enslaved by the evil one. All saints of Heaven, come to our aid."

Your efforts do little to stop the progress of the ooze as it moves closer to your head and neck. You can feel the little that stained your face move towards your eyes and mouth.

"From anxiety, sadness and obsessions, we beg You. Free us, O Lord."

You feel your ears and nose fill.

"From every sort of spell, malefic, witchcraft, and every form of the occult, we beg You,
Free us, O Lord."

You open your mouth to scream only for more of the ooze to rush forward.

"Lord, You Who said, 'I leave you peace, My peace I give you,' grant that, through the intercession of the Virgin Mary, we may be liberated from every evil spell and enjoy your peace always. In the name of Christ, our Lord. Amen."

The world goes black.
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:35, Mon 15 July 2019.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 109):

The party awakens to find themselves back in the classroom, its stone wall illuminated by a few sputtering candles. You are unable to tell how much time has passed while you were in the Dreamlands although the fact that the sun has yet to rise lets you know that It could not have been long.

"Thank the Lord I was able to break its hold on you." Your attention is drawn to back of the room where you see Father Henesey crouched over a prone Professor LaRae, holding a cloth to her forehead. Much of his color has returned and he moves without the familiar winces from your last encounter. "I'm surprised she was able to protect you for as long as she did. We owe her a tremendous debt of gratitude. Her interactions with the stone were indirect so hopefully she will suffer no ill effects.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 110):

Clarke patted himself down, discovering that all the clothes and items he had removed were now back on him. His skin was clammy and his glassed fogged. He did not understand how a prayer from catholic school could have saved them.

"Father," he said. "Thank you. We owe you a great debt of gratitude. Could you do us one more though, could you please write that prayer down? I believe Mike and Byron could do with learning it. We are in need of every tool we can get."

He turned to the group. "Where is Jack? That cannot be the final remnants of his soul. Not if they are looking so hard for him."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 111):

Mike leaned forward from his slumped position on the chair and seeing his revolver on the table he collected it and the rounds and started to reload the chambers of the cylinder.

"Good to see you Padre," he said as his mind shook off the haze of the Dreamlands, "It seems we owe you another debt of gratitude. How did you know where to find us?"

He turned to Clarke, "I'm not sure where the aspect of Jack could be, but most likely it's still trapped in there with whatever the hell that monstrosity was."

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 112):

The father holds up a hand and you notice a thick platinum ring with a small inset stone the same color as the one you have been carrying.

"There are some things we need to speak of but we should get this women to the infirmary first," he says gesturing to the professor.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:32, Mon 15 July 2019.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 113):

Mike looked at the prone unconscious professor, "Yeah, that's a good idea, Padre. Wheres the closest hospital or infirmary?" He knelt down to give her a look over, "Say Padre," he started almost absent mindedly, "speaking of injuries, how're you feeling?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 114):

A paternal smile spreads across the padre's face. "I'm slightly worse for wear, but no lasting damage my son." Wiping away a small amount of blood from under the professor's nose he turns to the party. "I'm not sure a hospital is necessary . Surely a university of this size had a nurse on duty." He looks around questioningly.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 115):

Mike stood and put his hand on the priests shoulder, “Thank you for your help as always, my friend.” He let his hand drop and scratched his beard in thought. “If I recall, there is an infirmary close to here.” He opened the door that lead out into the corridor and peeked his head out looking around for a map. Seeing one close by he approached it and checked it looking for the small Red Cross symbol that would indicate the infirmary.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 116):

Byron sighed as his headache set in.

He swayed on his feet as the disorientation of the transubstantiation in the standard plane settled.

He released his grip on his now wrinkled copy of Hurlburt's Magic and Alchemy.

"Father, about that in incantation. May I have a copy?"

In reply to novissimo (msg # 117):

Mike

Searching the map, his finger underscoring the various rooms, Mike finds the infirmary in the opposite wing of the university. It seems the fastest way would be through the courtyard although there is another way through the corridors.

Byron

"The incantation is a tough one but with the proper components I can at least teach you how to perform the ritual. If we had access to my church I could give you some talismans for protection but we will just have to make due for now."

Clarke

Clarke couldn't quite say how but now that he was back in the real world and out of the nightmarish... whatever it was... he could feel the presence of Zoe and Lara although he saw no signs of them. Out of a gut feeling more than anything Clarke attempts to sense the presence of childish apparition that had been stalking Lara.

Nothing

Clarke feels a knot of fear in his solar plexus relax.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 118):

Mike tapped his finger on the map where the infirmary was and then turned back to the darkened room, the light of the candles the professor had lit still flickering across the wall. The stacks of books and papers throwing monolithic shadows against the walls and bookshelves.

As he walked in he saw that Byron and the Priest were discussing some sort of magic. Strangely, all of the odd going-ons and mystical activities seemed to have brought Byron out of his normally withdrawn demeanor. Like when they were kids.

Clarke, on the other hand, still sat at the table staring down. As if he was there but elsewhere. A look that Mike had seen all too often. He put his hand on Clarke's shoulder as he entered the room, his feet scuffling across the wood quietly, "Let's move the professor to the infirmary."

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 119):

Byron moves toward the professor and begins to check her vital signs.

-----------------------------

novissimo rolled 37 using 1d100.  First aid / check vital signs. (First Aid: 60 / 30 / 12)

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 119):

"Yes," Clarke replied. "Do you want to get her legs or shall I?"

He knelt down at the bottom of her feet. "And who would like to scout ahead to make sure we do not get in any more trouble as is?"

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 121):

As Clarke and Byron lift the professor off the ground, the father grabs the box from the tabletop. Opening the door slightly Mike furtively checks to hallway for any passerbys. Seeing that the coast is clear Clarke and Byron set of down the hall at a brisk if shambling trot, the father in tow. With Mike checking at each intersection the party makes it to the infirmary without incident to find the door firmly shut and locked.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 122):

Mike lifted his hand to the door and gave it three stern raps. "Excuse me," He said with his voice slightly raised, "We have a medical emergency out here." He rapped again three more times.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 123):

"Oof," Clarke said. "She's heavy. How long do we have to wait?"

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 124):

The loud rattle of locks lets you know that your knocking has been heard. The door opens slightly revealing a disheveled doctor still pulling on a white lab coat. "What's going on? It's the dead of night!" His eyebrows raise towards his hairline as he sees you holding the unconscious professor. He quickly swings the door the rest of the way open and steps aside. "Place her on the table and I'll take a look at her."

As the party and the father bustle into the small clinic as the doctor starts grabbing various medical devices before donning a head mirror.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 125):

Not wanting to involve anymore bystanders in the mess they were in, Mike replied, "She passed out during an experiment," as he took a step back to take stock of the room as the doctor hustled about preparing to examine the professor.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 126):

With the professor now on the table, he begins the exam, pulling down the professor's eyelids and checking her pulse.

Without looking away he asks "Where did you find the her?" as he slowly rotates and turns the professor's head as he examines her neck.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 127):

Clarke looked down at the woman living between multiple planes of existence. She was owed the truth, no matter what came of it.

"We found her in one of the classrooms. She must have been working late." Alright, perhaps most of the truth.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:18, Mon 29 July 2019.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 128):

Finishing the last touches of his examine the doctor removes the head mirror and leans back in his chair. "She is of rather advanced age. Over exertion is definitely a risk." He begins to scribble some things down on a notepad in typical illegible physician handwriting. "What was it you said she was doing so late at night?"

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 129):

Clarke shifted slightly, he rubbed his arm and thought of the nurse and the doctor. Was this even real? Were they trapped in a labyrinth still? The doctor a mirage, the priest a shadow demon waiting for their momentary slip up?

He did not know. He hoped the universe would look kindly on them when its annals were written.

"Research, I think, but I came in quite late. Perhaps one of the others knows more?"

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 130):

"Uh huh," says the doctor without looking up from the notepad. "I'll of course need all you names and student ID numbers for the incident report."

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 131):

Zoe slid through panelling. She slinked from sole to sole as if walking in heels, her body curving as she did so. Touching the head of the doctor, she walked her fingers across his shoulder.

She looked down at the unconscious professor. "And so we have come to say goodbye," she said. "For beyond the gate lies a journey we must all take." She summoned a torn book. "No longer can you cling to your knowledge and desperate delusions of being in control. Akin to Clarke, you must learn there are monsters who no not when the lights are on. This is the eulogy I have chosen for your crossing into these dark hades. Into the room that turns sense into the wiles of men."

She cleared her throat and started,


Snapping the book closed, she turned to Clarke. "What will you do now, man of timid faith? Will you send another soul to its eternal resting place? What will Mike do once his roguish charm all but brings him death and ruin?"

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 132):

The long silence causes the doctor to tear himself away from his notes. "I have to file a report on any form of emergency medical treatment to the university. That includes the names and IDs of all those involved." You can sense a slight hint of frustration in his voice though he has yet to raise it.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 133):

Mike pulled his wallet out and thumbed through the creases and folds of it. After a few moments he pulled out an old decrepit little card that bore the university's seal on it as well as his name and old number.

"Well Doctor, I'm not currently a student," He said as he handed the ID card over,
"But I am an alumni. Our friend Byron is currently working on his PhD here," he gestured to his friends. "She asked us to meet her here tonight."

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 134):

The doctor blinks slowly, confusion wrinkling his brow. "Why would she ask you to meet at such a late hour?" He seems to reflexively take Mike's worn card and jots down the information.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 135):

Mike scowled, "To be honest, I'm not sure. As you know, Professor LaRae can be quite excitable and eccentric. But we dropped by her office earlier yesterday to say 'hello' since we were in the neighborhood to pick up our friend Byron here. You see, I took a few of her classes when I was a student here and I always found her classes and teaching style to be absolutely enthralling!" Mike musters up some excitement in his voice and facial expression, "So I'm sure that you, a student of medicine, could understand the need to visit an old beloved and memorable professor from time to time." Mike's hands were gesturing excitedly and as if he just noticed he suddenly let them fall to his sides and sighed. "In any case, she said that she had stumbled on something interesting and that she needed our help. I can speak only for myself, but visiting the campus must have brought out my old schoolboy curiosity so of course I agreed and dragged my friends into it."

23:18, Today: Jrodimus rolled 40 using 1d100.  fast talk. pass

Mike relaxed visibly, "In any case, will she be alright?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 136):

The doctor's eyes narrow slightly and he takes in the group, perhaps for the first time noticing the father. He touches his hand to his chest and bows his head slightly.

"Laudetur Jesus Christus," he says softly.

"In Saecula Saeculorum," the father replies solemnly.

Looking back down at the notepad the doctor sighs. "In my opinion this is simply a case of someone pushing their limits. Your information is enough for me but don't be surprised if the university pokes around a bit. Risk of lawsuits and such."

No longer interested in the party, the doctor grabs a medical text from the numerous others on the shelf and begins to leaf through it.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 137):

Mike thanked the doctor, "please have the professor contact us when she recovers," and with that finished nodded to his friends, motioning to the door.

"Shall we call it a night, guys?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 138):

Clarke faked a yawn. "I believe that would be for the best. Perhaps tomorrow we can make better sense of our damnations."

He patted his bag and looked at the professor being cared for by the doctor. Zoe was sliding a finger down the woman's body as if measuring her for an event.

"I hope this nightmare ends soon," he muttered to himself.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 139):

As the four of them exited the infirmary into the hallway, Mike closed the door behind them and started towards the exit for the parking lot. He stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders to his ears, suddenly chilly.

"Well, to be honest fellas. I think we might have come away with the entire ordeal tonight with no more information than when we started." He stopped and turned to look at them, his hands fidgeting at his sides slightly. "Where do we go from here?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 140):

Clarke held his jacket and bag in his hands, his top button was undone and showing a faded ochre skin tone. "If we believe the demons, and decades of religious teaching advises us to err on the side of caution there, Europe." He hefted his bag. "My funds are not so tight that I cannot afford passage on a decent steamer, but one has to question why Jack would ask us to travel the world when a short three hour trip to the ocean would resolve this issue. We know the item does not respond well to lead, so let us place it within large lead boxes, weight them heavily and then on the stormiest of nights toss it to the abyss."

He made eye contact with each of the group. "Unless, of course, there was something I missed in that twisted hellscape?"

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 141):

The father gives a small cough clearing this throat. "Perhaps I can bring some clarity to the situation. I believe that Jack was in contact with a... colleague of mine who specializes in such matters. He is currently on an archaeological dig in Scotland. With a few calls I can arrange us transportation."

He pauses as he hefts the box and looks at Clarke. "I agree with your sentiment my son. I have prayed everyday for the Lord to relieve me of this burden. If I believed I could just throw this abomination in a deep dark hole and live in peace I would. If I thought sinking it in the depths of the ocean would erase this blight from our world I would. But I have learned one thing in life..."

"Nothing stays buried forever."

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 142):

"Home of the rebellion," Clarke said. "A fitting place to fight the powers of this universe. How soon can we find passage on this vessel? I am eager to put this dreary town behind us."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 143):

"I'll get us passage on the first ship heading to Europe. I will have to call in some favors and twist some arms but I can get it done," says the father. He pauses as he does some quick mental math. "If you can make it to Salem by tomorrow morning, I can guarantee our passage."

Placing the box on the ground, the father pulls a rosary out of his pocket. "If I may?" he asks looking around. Seeing no objection, he raises the rosary to his lips for a moment  before beginning his prayer.


As the father's prayer concludes a sense of emptiness fills the air. Placing the rosary back in his pocket he picks up the box, tucking it under one arm. He seems to struggle for a few moments searching for words. "I.... It... May god be with us..."

With a gentle pat on each of your shoulders the father departs, off to arrange your travel to Scotland and an unknown future.

The party mills about, with no one sure how to break the silence of the moment. Slowly each of you drift off to make your final arrangements. But each of you can feel the change. What was once a favor to a lost friend had become something much more...

This message was deleted by the player at 14:14, Wed 31 July 2019.