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19:18, 28th March 2024 (GMT+0)

Interlude II): A Pyrrhic Victory.

Posted by The Keeper of SecretsFor group 0
The Keeper of Secrets
GM, 102 posts
Harbinger of Doom
Sun 12 Nov 2017
at 12:36
  • msg #1

Sunday Morning, June 15th 1924: A Pyrrhic Victory

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As the mirror image raised its fist to strike, Jack reached down to the waistband of his trousers, feeling the wooden grip of the pistol hidden there. NEVER. FUCKING. STOP.
The Keeper of Secrets
GM, 104 posts
Harbinger of Doom
Sun 12 Nov 2017
at 15:08
  • msg #2

Sunday Morning, June 15th 1924: A Pyrrhic Victory

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

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

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

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

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

Holding a kerchief to his forehead, produced from somewhere on his person, Father Henesey looks around blearily. "Where is the stone?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:40, Mon 13 Nov 2017.
trahernwithglasses
player, 64 posts
Heirloom Specialist
Mon 13 Nov 2017
at 01:19
  • msg #3

Sunday Morning, June 15th 1924: A Pyrrhic Victory

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

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

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

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

"Byron," Clarke started. He coughed, already knowing the answer to the question before he even asked. His old friend's darting eyes spoke volumes. "What happened to the man chasing you?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:01, Mon 13 Nov 2017.
Jrodimus
player, 63 posts
Mon 13 Nov 2017
at 11:50
  • msg #4

Sunday Morning, June 15th 1924: A Pyrrhic Victory

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 3):

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

"Where the hell did that bastard go?" He swallowed through heavy breaths, "Byron, you alright?"
The Keeper of Secrets
GM, 105 posts
Harbinger of Doom
Tue 14 Nov 2017
at 10:01
  • msg #5

Sunday Morning, June 15th 1924: A Pyrrhic Victory

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 4):

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

The tension of the night is slightly broken as Father Henesey stumbles and catches himself against a tree, obviously concussed.
novissimo
player, 34 posts
Wed 15 Nov 2017
at 08:21
  • msg #6

Sunday Morning, June 15th 1924: A Pyrrhic Victory

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

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

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

The pain from his wounds throbs across his entire body.

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

“It desires... to be completed...”
Jrodimus
player, 64 posts
Wed 15 Nov 2017
at 08:38
  • msg #7

Sunday Morning, June 15th 1924: A Pyrrhic Victory

In reply to novissimo (msg # 6):

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

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

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

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