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

Mike
Not daring to push the limits of the battered truck, the drive to Newburyport takes a bit longer than expected. As rain splatters the window Mike keeps finding his eyes drawn away from the road towards the muddy puddles that dot the sides of the road. Each bump in the road seems to reverberate through his bones...

"Thud... thud.... thud... thud..."

While on the surface he had agreed they needed to take the stone to Europe, on the inside Mike is irrationally terrified. Swallowing deeply Mike pushes the feeling down and concentrates on the road. I'm going back...

The rain just begins to clear as Mike pulls into the port. Following the father's directions Mike parks in front of a mid-sized vessel with the name John Harvey painted on the side. Taking a deep breath Mike turns off the engine...

The sounds of waves and the cries of gulls fills Jack's ears. His head begins to spin. He can feel the course fabric of his uniform, the heavy weight of the gun slung across his back. The world begins to fade away to nothing but a dull thud

A strong grip on his shoulder brings Mike back. "We need you in the here and now my son," says the father as his grasps Mike's shoulder through the driver's side window.

Clarke
They had been whispering amongst themselves for almost the whole trip but Clarke dares not speak to them with the others around. Although he knew the truck was far too small, out of the corner of his eye he could see Lara and Zoe sitting between himself and Byron in the backseat in huddled conversation.

"You know what that was!*

"Yes but surely you can think that..."

"I do and if you don't you're a fool. This could mean that..."

Feeling Clarke's attention upon them the two fragments of his psyche sudden cease their discussion and fade away, the space between himself and Byron magically shrinking.

It didn't take a detective to figure out the topic of their conversation. The girl. Even in life Clarke had never seen Lara so shaken.... so terrified. What could possibly terrify something that wasn't there? But he could feel it too, a dark corner of his mind that wasn't there before, like the shadow you see out of the corner of your eye but never quite catch.

After Mike pulls the truck to a halt in front of a ship named the John Harvey, Clarke climbs out of the cab with the creaks and cracks of age. Without asking who should take responsibility for their otherworldly burden he lifts the lead box from the bed of the truck, its weight oddly comforting like holding a newborn to your chest. Looking out over the empty coastline of the port Clarke feels at ease. In his head Clarke can hear a soft girlish voice...

Home

Byron
Gently swaying with the turns of the truck as Mike deftly navigates the road, Byron could feel himself nodding off. His time researching was beginning to take its toll as he drifts off to sleep...

The bright light of the sun burns your eyes as you lift your hands to shade your eyes. You barely notice the weight of the manacles nor the weight of the chains. This is your first day outside of your cell since Pope Clement VIII declared you a heretic and sentences you to death. "Maiori forsan cum timore sententiam in me fertis quam ego accipiam (Perchance you who pronounce my sentence are in greater fear than I who receive it)" had been the words that seemed to rip themselves from your throat at the pronouncement. You had spent all of your time in the darkness of your cell since then.

Only by scratching numerals in the wall of your cell has you been able to keep track of the time so you knew it was Ash Wednesday. Campo de' Fiori was filled with onlookers as they led you towards the pyre, many of them shouting but thankfully none of them throwing rotten food or garbage.

Before the pyre you feel a sharp kick to the back of your legs and you fall to your knees. Your vision still swimming in the daylight, a blurred shape steps before you. You feel your mouth forced open and a wooden device forced inside before it is slowly ratcheted down until it painfully pins your tongue.

"May your tongue be imprisoned for thy wicked words," says a voice from behind you. A blow to the head knocks you prone and you feel your legs lifted into the air before being tightly bound together. The cobblestones dig into your back as you are slowly drug across the ground before being hoisted into the air.

"For the crimes of heresy and corruption we hereby sentence the accused..."

The sound of blood rushing into your ears drowns out the rest of the words. You close your eyes and listen to increasing roar of your pulse. The moment seems to stretch on for an eternity.

Whoosh

You feel a sudden and intense heat against your face. You begin to pray.

<i>Almighty and merciful God, who hast bestowed upon mankind saving remedies and the gift of everlasting life, look graciously upon us Thy servants and comfort the souls which</i>

Screech

Byron lurches forward as the truck comes to a stop. The sounds of doors opening and closing fill the air as Byron scrambles to gather his thoughts
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:24, Sun 11 Aug 2019.

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

Clarke hefted his bag on his shoulder and took a long look at the ship. It was not much, as far these things went, but it seemed sturdy and he hoped the crew were compatible. It would be a long trip otherwise.

This was the second time he had headed to Europe, but things had changed. In the first instance, he had sought to toil in the honour of a gentle god and wished to bring peace to those in trying times. Now he sought to cast the almighty from its heavens and splash the universe with its blood.

"Oh wretched man that I am," he mumbled to himself.

He tapped the truck's window to get Mike's attention. The priest had just finished saying something to him. "Do you want say a prayer before we go? Or are we still all anti-god?"

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 3):

Mike nodded to the priest and smiled as he said, "Thanks, Padre."

Then a gentle rapping at the window turned his attention to Clarke. "Do you want say a prayer before we go? Or are we still all anti-god?" his friend asked.

Mike opened the door of the truck with a loud creak in the morning dew. He stretched his arms up over his head, still sore but no worse for wear he supposed.

"Well, I'm not sure if I'm the prayin' type yet," He began, "But after everything I think we could use all the protection we can get."

He leaned forward and waved to Byron who looked like he had just awoken from a sleep, his eyes bleary and disoriented still. "Join us for some prayer before we push off?"
This message was last edited by the player at 20:45, Sun 11 Aug 2019.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 4):

He could smell the sea air, and feel the gentle breeze from the ocean slide across his face. It had been a long time since he had visited a port town, but he couldn't remember why. Some delusion of safety the further he lived in land, he guessed.

"I promise to keep this crisp," he said to the slowly assembling group.

He selected an old one. One that had ritual and tradition. Whether it worked or not was immaterial. They were fighting something ancient, something that had crawled inside the Earth long before man had transversed the seas. They were fighting history, and to do that he wished to call upon language that had etched itself into the fibre of the dirt upon which they trod.

"Angel of God," he started, his head bowed and hands clasped together. "our guardian dear, to whom God's love commits us here, ever this journey, be at our side, to light and guard, rule and guide."

Lara let out a slow clap. "That'll bring the heavenly hosts running."

He opened his eyes and turned to the priest, "Would you care to run us through what we can expect from this moment forwards? It appears you have more intimate knowledge of these stones than you have let on."
This message was last edited by the player at 14:08, Mon 12 Aug 2019.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 5):

The father tugs at his white collar though it seems to provide little relief. "I doubt a full history would be useful at this point but I suppose I can paint the picture in broad strokes." He takes a slight pause. "The Church has been engaged in a long struggle with various cults and other forces that are inimical to all that is good and holy. I myself, with the blessing of the Lord, have been walking this path for years. I recently received information from a colleague of mine that leads me to believe that the only way to destroy the stone is to return it to where it came from." He seems to struggle for words for a moment. "It's like a puzzle missing a piece. As long as it's missing someone will be looking for it. Dr. Jones has informed me that he may have found the answer we are looking for. Unfortunately he is an ocean away. So I called in some favors and got us passage on this ship to England. Mind you we will have to disembark before its final destination."

As the father talks you notice various crates being loaded onto the stern of the ship. Apparently the John Harvey transports passengers and cargo.

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

Mike listened to Hennessy's explanation with his arms crossed. He could smell the salt water of the ocean and hear it lapping against the docks gently.

"So do we know that the stone is from Scotland or was it brought there from somewhere else?" He asked when the father was finished. He didn't much like the idea of having to travel even further abroad. He already had his fill of Europe and world travel as it was.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 7):

"To be honest my son, communications across the ocean are slow for obvious reasons. The situation in Scotland may have very well changed since I last spoke to Dr. Jones. He and his team are surveying a site that has a long history of cult activity. In his last letter he said that a few of the locals had gone missing and in the search for them he and his team found what the doctor believes to be a 'marker' stone. In his description of the stone he said that it was jet black and carved with strange symbols that he could not read. Hiram has always been a cautions type so he sent to me for advice. Too much of this seems to be coincidental that it my just be the hand of God guiding us."

The father pauses for a moment to reach into his jacket pocket, pulling out a page that seems to have been torn out of a book. "And there is this," he says as he hands it to you. It reads:

“One tale related to me by an old Scott spoke of a wild group of pagans who would offer their victims a choice 'betwixt the stones or the bog.' If the stone was chosen, the victims would be cast beyond our world, perhaps into a darker region of the Fey lands mentioned in some tales. If the victim chose the latter, they would be taken to a gruesome bog."

"The Scott told me that the victim’s very flesh would be inscribed with ancient marks of power. As a final act, the pagans would slice out the victim’s tongue so “that his cries and shouts might not offend the Taker of Sacrifices. Once the process was complete, the victim would be cast into the bog while the cultists went about their gestures in total silence. If all was well, the story goes, the Taker of Sacrifices would come from the slime and mud to take the victim. The Taker was reputed to be truly horrible and reeks of rot and death. Perhaps the most terrible part of the story is that the victims were sometimes seen again, walking at night. They were described as being pale white, with marks on their bodies. They were said to attempt to speak at times, but could only croak horribly since they had no tongues. People in the area still avoid the bog. In addition to its evil reputation, the footing is treacherous and over the years people have drowned in its dark and thick waters."

This message was last edited by the GM at 09:05, Tue 13 Aug 2019.

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

Clarke adjusted his glasses. To the precipice of darkness they went. This was their fate. Perhaps even beyond this realm and into the vast unknown upon which they would be rendered and desecrated by powers so dark God would forsake them.

"Do you wish to use the portal to place the stone on the other side?"

Clarke paused, and then asked the question he did not want an answer to, "What if it is not the hand of God? But the hand of the beast reaching out and demanding its soul be returned? We may be the harbingers of doom."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 9):

"You have correctly guessed my intentions. Even if that should fail at least we can learn what we are dealing with." From the same pocket the father produces a worn rosary which he seems to absentmindedly rub between his fingers.

"I understand how you feel more than you know my son," he says addressing Clarke without looking at him. "Sometimes it may seem as if the hand of God and the hand of the Beast may be one in the same." Despite the grimness of his tone a smile spreads across his face. "It is at these time we need to cling to our faith the most."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 12:41, Tue 13 Aug 2019.

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

Clarke let out a sigh. The morning, which was like most others, appeared a shade darker than before. Faith. They had to have faith. In what? That their lives had meaning? That there was some plan they were born for?

If this thing was as monstrous as the tales claimed, what hope did three worn out soldiers have? The myth of Americanness endowing its citizens with some intrinsic superioirty had died the first day in the wretched carnage that had been Europe. He had nothing left to draw from. No fortitude to believe in victory. They were going to die.

"So we go," he said, talking to Lara, Zoe and his passion-spawn. The cawing of seagulls above him filled his ears. "To pay for all of our evils, and pray our folly does not spring forth anymore."

He turned to Mike. "My life ended when I was forced to take the life of my love. It has been an existence buried in shadow ever since, never full, always half. I have nothing left bar the seas and the void we head towards. You, however, have Shelly and a heart full of dreams. You would be no lesser of a man if you turned back and lived your life to its end. The priest and I will finish what Jack flummoxed, damning us in his wake."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 11):

Mike was touched by Clarke's frank admission and concern for his well being. And though the thought of seeing his friends off at the port and getting back into his old truck to head back to he and Shelly's cozy little home tugged at his senses, he knew that the cards were dealt and that he would never forgive himself if he abandoned his friends now.

He nodded solemnly, "Thank you, Clarke, for the kindness. But we all started this nightmare together." He pulled down his jacket to straighten it stiffly, more to do something with his shaking hands than anything (though the fidgeting had subsided somewhat he noticed), "So we shall face it together."

He pulled out a cigarette after dusting off the front of his jacket and lit it. "So, once more into the hellish mud, comrades?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 12):

Clarke yanked his duffel bag closer. "And so we shall return to dirt, from whence we came. Thus it was written, thus it became."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 13):

Leaving behind the battered truck the party walks up a rickety gangway that sways under your weight. At the top you are met by a burly bald headed man holding a sheaf of paper which he briefly glances down at before letting out a sigh.

"Name?" he says laboriously.

Behind him you can see a hectic bustle as crewmen are moving about the deck, some hauling cargo while others check various fastenings and rigging.

"Get him out of here!" you hear a voice shout from somewhere on the ship followed by a loud splash. "If you ain't on the list then you don't get passage." This is followed by raucous laughter.

"NAME!" says the man again, this time with a hint of exasperation. A small line has begun to form behind you.

The father pushes his way to the front. "Umm... I have special arrangements with the captain. If perhaps I could speak with him..." He is cut off by a loud shout from the man.

"Next!"

The father looks as you bemused.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 11):

"Good sir, my name is Clarke Walsh," Clarke started. "and bellowing out a word does not change the fact we are not going anywhere. The priest wishes to see the captain regarding business that is far too important for both me or you to try and thwart it. We need passage on this ship, and unless there has been an error of sizeable proportions, we were promised it. Now, will you let us see the man in charge or will you continue screaming a single word and hoping it means something to four tired souls only wishing to see their agreements fulfilled?"

Roll to persuade to see the Captain: 36 - pass

Clarke waited while noticing a slight shift in the man's demeanour. Perhaps fortune was about to break his way at long last.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 15):

A tense moment passes as the guard looks over you before he raises a whistle to his lips and gives a sharp blow. All the activity on the ship seems to stop as everything hushes to a murmur. Pushing through the crowd of people, the captain of the ship emerges. Tall and prim with a freshly pressed uniform, the captain appears to be a man well into his years. A number of navy medals hang from his chest.

"What's going on here?" he nearly shouts, his voice blasting across the deck of the ship. Before the guard can speak the father steps forward.

"Captain Smith, I believe you received my message. I am one who seeks the path."

The captain starts in shock. For a moment he seems lost for words. "Uh... Well... Let them on the ship you git!" he yells at the guard who sheepishly steps aside. In what can barely be described as a brisk walk the captain leads you to a set of quarters near the stern of the ship. Ushering the party inside he latches the door behind you. In a flurry of action he pulls the father behind him and pulls a pistol from his waistband pointing it towards you.

"Who the fuck are you?" he growls as the barrel of the pistol floats between each of you.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 16):

Clarke tensed. He had imagined the secret order would be edgy, but this was beyond what he had thought.

"I am Clarke Walsh," he said carefully. "Until a few days ago, I was a trader in rare and fine antiquities. However, our comrade in arms sent us a note and demanded we try to save him. I cannot stress enough that after this point my life has become much more exciting. I have seen demons, been attacked by radicals and set upon by visions that transcend my simple humanity. Your threat of the pistol, although theatrical, is honestly pointless at this moment. A quick, sharp end would be of great relief to me. Although, perhaps not to this group."

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 16):

Mike put his hands up, "I'm Mike Hudson. My friend Clarke tells the truth of it. We've got important business to attend to in Europe. I suggest you put the piece away and we can settle this like honest folk. Though it'd probably be best if you honored your original agreement."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:40, Wed 14 Aug 2019.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 18):

The father puts his hand on the captain's wrist and gently lowers the gun. "All is well my son. They are with me." The captain looks at the party once more though with considerable less suspicion before holstering his firearm.

"It has been years since anyone has contacted me," says the captain. "I had assumed you all had... I don't know... Gone to one of those 'mystical realms' you claim exist."

"These are dire times Captain," says the father. "Were you able to prepare everything as I requested?" The captain begins to rub the back of his neck sheepishly.

"About that Father, I wasn't able to secure you private quarters on such short notice. There are a few big wigs aboard that are making their way back to Europe so I'm afraid you'll have to bunk up with a few others. But I was able to get the items you requested," says the captain. Walking over to a large metal cabinet, he opens the door and removes a large canvas bag which he sets down on a nearby table with a heavy thud.

"Terrific,"says the father. He picks but the bag and slings it over his shoulder with a slight grunt. "My the lord bless you for your aid. I am afraid I do have one more request. I would prefer as few people know about our presence here as possible. If you hear of anyone asking around about us please let me know."

The captain's eyebrows raise slightly. "That might be a slight problem. You know sailors are a superstitious lot. A priest aboard is going to be seen as a good omen before setting sail. I'm sure many of the men will ask for your blessing or to lead them in prayer."

"I understand Captain," says the father. "I will do my best to accommodate them."

The captain raps his knuckle on the table. "Then that's that then. I'll have the first officer show you to your quarters." The captain strides past you and opens the door to the cabin shouting Murdock. The words barely leave his lips before the man appears as if from thin air. Standing straight as an arrow the much younger man has finely coiffed hair and a thick mustache. "Please show these men to their quarters," says the captain which is acknowledged by a firm Aye Aye Captain from the first officer.

The first officer leads you out of the small cabin and across the main deck to where the ship's accommodations are housed. Walking through, you spot a number of cabins, a recreation room, a galley, a salon, and a few other rooms you can't quite place. While the majority of people you pass seem to be sailors, you also pass a number of other people who seem to be fellow passengers, some of them women and children. There is a general air of excitement all about.

Before long you find yourselves in front of cabin number 13. With a curt bow Murdock departs as you push your way into the room. Well appointed but not quite luxurious, the cabin is mostly dominated by 6 bunks, one of which is occupied by a heavyset man whose snoring fills the room. In his limp hand is an empty bottle of whiskey while open on a small table is a tincture of reddish-brown color.

Setting the heavy bag down with a sigh the father looks around the room. "Looks like we will be calling this place home for awhile," he says. He busies himself with emptying the bag. The sounds of the sea mix with the murmur of your fellow passengers. "The ship shall set sail soon, be sure that you are ready," says the father as he sets a large cross and a set of rosary beads on top of his bunk.

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

Mike tossed his small suitcase on his bunk and took stock of the room. He looked at the large man passed out drunk and snorted with a slight smile. "Good company," he mused. He just hoped the man didn't piss himself and stink up the room.

"Well guys, it looks like we have some time. We should lay low and keep to ourselves as best we can for the trip." He opened his suitcase and pulled out a deck of cards, "Shall we?"

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 20):

Clarke sat down at the makeshift table, glaring at the drunken man as he did so. How did they not know he would turn into a swarm of bats in a minute?

"Then let us pass the time playing the devil's game. I believe I have quite a few sermons stashed away on how this destroys men's moral fibre, if you would like to hear one."

He patted the stool next to them, encouraging Byron to join him in wasting his last few pennies on a predictable loss.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 21):

The ship's foghorn announces the beginning of your voyage which quickly turn monotonous. Your first day aboard the ship passes with relative quiet. You play cards to pass the time and eat your meals in the galley. True to the captain's words, during dinner a few of the sailors ask the father to bless their meals.

That same night you finally learn the identity of your inebriated bunkmate, Ernest Rourke. Rarely in a state of sobriety, he claims to be on his way to visit family. And judging by the amount of liquor his is consuming you wonder which with run out first, the money in his wallet or the liquor in the saloon.

The first few days of the trip are uneventful but soon you begin to notice a change aboard the ship. The crew, at first affable and friendly, have become withdrawn and tense with more and more asking for the father's attention. It's the fifth day that you get the first sign that something is wrong. As the day progresses you watch as a small group of sailors, lead by first officer Murdock begin tossing each cabin, one after another. As the sailors approach cabin 13 the party and the father are asked to step outside while Ernest is forcibly roused from his stupor and dragged out of the room. Murdock posts himself in the doorway to the cabin imposing himself between the party and the room, partially obscuring your vision. Over his shoulder you can see the sailors lifting mattresses and searching cabinets. It is obvious they are looking for something and the father seems worried.

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

Of course they're tossing the rooms.

Mike stood with his hands on his hips and his mouth open in surprise. "Now Murdock, what's the meaning of this?" he demanded while his hands went for his cigarettes in his pocket.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 23):

First Officer Murdock's mustache bristles at being questions. "There is noting to worry about passenger, just a normal routine check for any contraband. No need to worry."

After a few long minutes one of the sailor emerges from the room and whispers something into the first officers's ear. Murdock looks back at the party, his eyes colored with distrust. "You"ll have to come with me. Captain Smith will have a few questions for you." The small group of sailors surrounds the party. While not quite threatening, they exude an air of no nonsense. However, they remain overly deferential to the father apologizing for the inconveniences and talking to him appreciatively.

You are once again lead back across the main deck of the ship but instead of entering the officers cabins like last time you are lead to the bridge of the ship which is empty. Before entering Murdock waves away the rest of the crew before at the last second grabbing one by the shoulder. "Go find the captain. I believe he is investigating Crewman Holloway's quarters." Sliding the door to the bridge shut he stands in front of it blocking any chance of getting out of the room. "I apologize but it seems you will have to wait for a few moments for the captain to arrive."

The bridge is filled with the clicks and whirls of machinery and you notice the wheel of the ship has been tied off, ensuring that it doesn't veer off its current course while unmanned.

Mike took a drag off his Lucky Strike cigarette. "I assure you," he said as he exhaled, "Our party has not brought any contraband on to your vessel."

He looked at the others, raising his eyebrows looking for confirmation.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 25):

Clarke took his glasses off and started to clean them. "This seems a mightily strange place to have a discussion of this nature. Would you care to elaborate on what type of contraband you are looking for? As my compatriot has advised, we have no known contraband. However, perhaps your religion or belief has put something in the taboo, which we are not fully aware of."