Washington, DC.  September 1925.

Tuesday, 8 September 1925.  The Day after Labor Day.

Captain Christopher Nolan arrived at 8:31 am, 29 minutes early for his appointment to meet with the Director of the BPRD, for his final interview.    He was standing along a gravelled unnamed road, outside the city, near what looked like a pine forest.  There was no sign of a building, or anything, just some ruts in the gravel that suggested there had been vehicles on it now and then.  He'd had to use his compass to find the spot, but there it was; a single quartz block carved with a simple eye symbol, the etched lines filled with what looked like ink.  Birds were calling in the trees.  A warm breeze riffled the weeds in the field he was standing near.

There had been two other interviews; one in which he had met with an older woman with a sweet manner, who'd introduced herself as Edith Moore, and they had met in a diner downtown.  She'd chatted pleasantly about his work experience, his time in the Army, but had seemed somewhat distracted; she also had been carrying several very full files in a large leather satchel.   "Oh, my yes, we do have to ask about that time in...the Hundred Days Offensive.  Late in the war....Yes, yes.  Bit lucky, weren't you, at St. Quentin.  Well then, that's all I need to know for now; thank you all so much."

The second interview had been with a tall, spare, silver-haired Scottish man, who had simply starting walking besides him as he went along the Park heading home.   The man's suit was well-cut but an older style.  "Angus McCrae Duncan, Agent, BPRD." the man had said, in a heavy accent, flashing a badge and identification.  "I'm to conduct your second interview.  Take a card and show it to me ?" As Nolan considered this odd query, eventually selecting one from the well-worn deck of cards the man offered him, and studied it briefly.  "Three of Coins," he muttered.  "All righty then; I'll pass the word along.  You'll be told where to go and wait."

It seemed as if he was the only interviewee, but a few minutes later an absolutely gorgeous woman came walking along the road, clad in a dark green, draped dress and wearing a matching cloche hat.  She looked like a bronze-skinned Venus with straight black hair cut in a perfect bob, and had huge dark eyes.  "Oh !  Hello,"  she said, with just a trace of accent.  "I didn't know anyone else would be waiting."  She offered up a sweet smile.
The rattle of gravel signalled that a car was approaching; it turned out to be a sleek new silver Mercedes, gleaming with chrome.  The car slowed and eased to a stop; behind the wheel was a thin blonde man in a light grey suit.  "Nolan, and Ginny, please get in, I'll take you into the Grey Building," he said, in crisp English with just a hint of German to it.  "I am Agent Trachenberg.  Do not be alarmed by anything you see, you are completely safe."  There was something about the man's bearing that Nolan immediately pegged as ex-military, though the bespoke suit and haircut were civilian.  It was a strange request, but the pay was reputed to be better than most government jobs.  The woman happily settled into the back seat of the car, leaving Nolan the shotgun seat.  The Mercedes shot forward, and into a thick bank of fog, in which odd shapes were swirling....then into very plain grey office building, where the parking garage was located on the lower level.  The Mercedes was expertly parked next to a very fancy red Auburn roadster and a rattletrap Model T.  The German got out, held the door for Ginny, and very politely escorted her from the car.   An older man in a security guard's uniform was standing by the elevator, with a look on his face that implied he hated the whole world and his job in particular.  Trachenberg showed his badge, and the guard stepped away from the elevator, giving all three of the visitors a gloomy scowl.   Ginny got into the elevator first, and Trachenberg held the doors for Nolan.  The elevator was large and seemed well kept, with brass railings and wood panelling.   Trachenberg tapped the button for the third floor.  They exited into a boring looking corridor with bad lighting and concrete flooring, painted dull grey.   "The Director will see you in the conference room - this way.  To your left, there is the Break Room.  Past that is the conference room, the big doors."

 There was a sound of voices, male and female, from the so-called Break Room; as Nolan passed by he saw a black woman in a grey dress chatting with a young caucasian man in a black suit; the woman was laughing and the man fussing with some kind of complex coffee-making machine.   Ginny sashayed off towards the next room, which was sealed off with an imposing set of double wooden doors; she went in as Trachenberg opened one of the doors for her, and he motioned for Nolan to follow her.  Nolan entered the room - carpeted, with a big oblong wood table with ten chairs, to find that he was alone in the room with a fortyish Caucasian man, thinning white hair in need of a cut, spectacled and idling shuffling papers with his right hand; his left hand was out of sight, tucked into his grey coat pocket.   His tie was striped in purple and green but it didn't contrast too much against his suit.  Trachenberg shut the door, quietly leaving.  The man stood, holding out his right hand to shake Nolan's.  "Captain Nolan, welcome, please sit down," the man said, voice heavily with a New England accent.  "I'm Ben Weintraub, Director of BPRD.  Tell me why you want to work here."

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Meanwhile; in the offices.  Everybody Else.

Spider and Jack had just seen Fritz walk in, heard Edith call out a Hello to him.  "Well, we may have new one," the German said, "Military; probably Army.  The shipment from Minnesota is on the way - custom mukluks."
"Icebreaker has reported that we have our first two supply drops ready." Thorne stopped typing for a minute and accepted a small note from one of the green mice.  "Thanks Jane.  Jane says we need to fill out more forms for the bills of lading for our sleds and gear, something about port - " he handed the note back and the mouse scribbled some more on it - "Port fees and grease money.  Honestly, grease money ?"  The mouse shrugged, hard to do with no shoulders, and scampered away.
"I'm not sure we will have enough time to train the new agents if we're leaving in November." Trevor Bruttenholm said, carrying a load of books towards his lab.
"What could be easier, shoot at the monster until it - explodes, melts, or otherwise ruins your day - and your clothes ?"  Thorne asked, crabbily.  "Not like they have to go across a frozen wasteland to do that."
"It will be summer down there," Fritz said, taking the files off his 'in' basket and dumping them into Thorne's, and taking the files out of Thorne's 'out' basket to go and file them away.
"Ladies, Gents," Edith rushed into the room. "We have a special request.  Who can go and spend the afternoon with the Serbian ambassador at their consulate ?  They said something about strange things happening."
"I do not speak Serbian," Thorne grumped.
"They speak English.  What's your beef today, Tommy ?"
"Nothing,"  Thorne said, and began typing again.
"Serbians, anybody ?"  Edith asked.  "Or you can stay here and help me inventory the office closets and fix the frother on the Brewmaster machine."
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GM: Please post with responses for the next half hour of game time, by Saturday, 24 July, next post Sunday.  Hope you are all well and coping.  Welcome, Nolan !
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     Jack will keep close tabs on Irina's condition, but will pitch in to help with the office work as a welcome distraction.
     At some point soon after debriefing, Jack will steal a moment alone with Ben. "This wand is going to kill me," he says simply. "Even if I try not to use it, eventually I do. After this last ordeal, my whole being feels the way my hair looks -- like it's turning gray, and too soon. So I'm asking for your help. Is there some way to rewire the wand -- or bargain with its patron-- so that it draws power from something other than the wielder? Maybe ambient energy, like heat in the area, or electricity, or the molecular structure of the target? Or the target's own magic? Something? There must be some way to redirect its curse. I'm not trying to figure out a way to use it more -- if I could be rid of it permanently, I would. And I'll keep trying to put it away for good if nothing changes, but so far that hasn't worked. I was just thinking that maybe the wand (or the intelligence behind it) would cooperate with some new arrangement, if it knew that it would continue to see more field action that way, rather than me trying to suppress it constantly. Any thoughts?"
     He responds to Thorne and Spider with a smile. "I believe 'grease money' is what one pays to keep the machines of commerce and legality smoothly turning in the desired direction. Although I'm sure we'll need some actual grease, also."
     When Spider asks if Jack and the new hire will tag along to the embassy, he readily agrees. "All for one, and one for all! Afraid I have no Serbian, though."

Spider had just finished some of the endless paperwork the job seemed to create.  He sighed at Thorne.  "I think the grease is to help us keep warm, and for the sled runners.  Just fill it out.  The odds are we're going to have to dump a ton of this junk along the way as we run for our lives.  But I'd rather have it to dump, than not have it when we need it."  Then Edith came in like a whirlwind, which in itself was highly unusual.  Very little flustered her.  "That damned coffee machine is off again, eh?  I fixed it last time."  He pursed his lips.  "I'll go.  Maybe the ambassador knows Cress or Tristan.  That can help ease the tension.  Jack, want to tag along?"  He suddenly smiled.  "Is that new bloke here? Maybe we can take him along for his first rodeo.  Ben's always preferred to throw us in the deep end, right?"

Summer in the Southlands pt 2

"Ah, it is never dull around here," Fritz said with a grin, as Thorne scowled at Spider.  He disappeared into the file room.
"Running for our lives over ice shelves being chased by who knows what...." Thorne muttered grumpily. "I'm willing to believe we'll need both kinds of grease, the money and the literal stuff.  Not chasing the Bogeyman today, filling out forms.  And someone besides Phyllis and me had better learn to type.  Sweetheart, give Fritzi those files to put away and help me with the backlog from Florida."  He waved down the young Phyllis.  "Why we couldn't get that damn Luftstreitkräfte pilot, I don't know.  He's crazy and expensive, but it will take forever to get there on that damn icebreaker boat."
"The coffee is fixed," Angus announced, walking in with two mugs, "And there is shortbread.  Gruber won't fly to the South Pole because Elise won't fly to the South Pole.  You must accept what they say."  The Scot handed the second mug to Edith.
"I have yet to meet a problem that did not diminish in the presence of money," Thorne said, scrolling more paper into the typewriter.

Edith did indeed seem out of sorts.  "My friend's husband Janko is Serbian and he does some of their translating, as a side job," she confessed. "I'm not sure Nolan's interview is done.  Ben's been very particular lately.  And everyone's been at me lately, the spheres are all very close and Mercury's in retrograde."  She rushed off to answer the ringing telephone.

Jack and Spider took the motorpool's Model T since it had been fueled up recently, and puttered into the downtown area.  The embassy was on Wisconsin Avenue, and the place looked posh.  The wallpaper was perfect, the woodwork was perfect, and the two burly men in black suits at the front door were nearly perfectly matched for sour expressions, muscles, and scars.  Jack and Spider's badges and identification cards were scrutinised carefully.  A much smaller, bald man in a black suit waited for them within.  "I am Aleksandar Miroslav, assistant to the ambassador," he said, in accented but precise English.  "Our concern is - unique.  Please come to my office, I will explain.  I have heard from Janko Zivanovik that your Bureau, it is able to handle such matters."  Miroslav's office was well appointed, with full in and out baskets.  A Serbian flag graced one corner of the room.  Large windows let in warm light from the East; one of them had a spiderweb crack in the pane.  He motioned for the two agents to sit in the well-made chairs in front of the desk and sat down behind the desk.  His chair promptly broke with a loud crack and he fell to the carpet; loud cackling laughter rang through the room.  There was a bony scraping sound from the air vent and something scuttled away, the cackle fading.  Miroslav got to his feet, grimacing.  "We have...this problem.  There is no one here in the United States that we can address this matter to, so I am asking - begging - for help.  This is...bijeda, a beda.  A miserable thing, a curse.  It is like a ghost, but it is not, and it has been taking....now my official seal is missing.  Yesterday it was the fountain pen my father gave me.  Last week it was the Ambassador's ring.  Paperwork is being destroyed.  The Ambassador has a bad heart.  It must go."   Miroslav's distress was genuine.  The support for the chair looked as if it had been chewed through, by large, sharp teeth - and the wood looked like walnut.  "I do not know what you may need, or want for your agency, but I will pay whatever you ask.  The Ambassador is at his home for the next week, to rest; it must be gone before he returns."

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GM:  Actions, etc, for the next hour of game time, please respond by 31 June, Saturday, next post is Sunday, hope everyone's all right out there.
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Captain Nolan expects the question but still finds himself somehow surprised by it. He stiffens unconsciously, much like he does when addressing an especially high ranking military officer.

"Director Weintraub, I would first like to thank you for the opportunity. To be honest, sir, the pay is a contributing factor." He smiles at his joke but continues on. "BPRD is a dichotomy. It has a stellar reputation as an elite organization while simultaneously remaining completely secret. The information I have been able to gather only confirms your elite status. Aside from rumors of bizarre artifacts and even magic, I cannot determine exactly what BPRD does. It is this fact that convinced me beyond doubt that it was an organization worth joining. Anyone who can build a narrative of superiority without leaking verifiable specifics demonstrates great skill."

He turns his head slightly and his eyes seem to be looking into the past. "When I was in the military I led men into great danger. People lived or died according to my decisions and I took great care to consider the consequences to all my actions. I had thought it would be a relief to return to civilian life. To no longer carry the weight of my men's lives. I was mistaken. I felt empty, without direction. I was made for something more."

He remembers himself and turns his head back to look the Director in the eyes. "I want to make a difference again and my research tells me that the BPRD is the best way for me to do that, sir."

(Nolan's Interview)
Weintraub smiles slightly, giving Nolan the hint that playing poker with this man would not be advisable.  "No one knows what the BPRD does.  They just know it works."

One of the two doors swung open, showing an exact copy of Weintraub, except this one had his glasses sliding down his nose, a sheaf of folders jammed under his right arm, and a spray of cookie crumbs on his suit sleeve.  His left hand was hidden in his jacket pocket.  "Dammit, Ginny," he growled, in exactly the same voice, slapping the folders onto the table.  The Weintraub that Nolan had been buttering up laughed and burst into a flowing wisp of black mist, shot with gold, and disappeared.

The second Weintraub gave Nolan a look over that actually made him nervous.  It was ruthlessly calculating.  "You've been asking a lot of questions about us," the Director said, his tone betraying no emotion as he sat down.  "One of the many ways we keep our operation going is a large amount of secrecy.  But I've found my uses for information, and misinformation.  I assure you, I am the actual Director.  That was one of our agents, who likes to play pranks on people. And if anyone asks what you do here, ever - and I don't care if it's your mother, your oldest friend, or whatever - you're going to lie to them.  You'll find that the truth does not fare well in the real world, when it comes to everyone's peace of mind.  You have no inherent evil in you right now, or you would not have been able to pass the wards.  I have reviewed your records and I'm satisfied that my staff has tested you.  But you will be hired as a Junior agent, though at G8 scale, which is almost twice regular rates.  That reflects the danger of the job.  You will no longer be an officer - no longer in command - and the agents working here have seen far worse than any battlefield.  Their advice may save your life.   For the moment, I'm going to keep you in DC, handling the smaller cases close to home.  We travel quite a bit.  Wherever we are needed."  A small bright green mouse was scaling the chair next to him, hopping on the table and sitting upright, adjusting a tiny pair of spectacles on its nose.  It had a tiny harness strapped to its body, that held a miniature clipboard.

"This is Senior Agent Professor Mills, PhD History.  He will give you your Orientation, and then you will be assigned work through our Office Manager, Edith Moore.  And your first lesson in the misapplication of magic."  Weintraub stood, offering his right hand to shake.  "If you are not concerned about that, welcome aboard."
"Good morning, Mr. Nolan," the mouse greeted him in a reedy old man's voice.  "We are fairly informal here in matters of addressing each other, and this is not a DoD Bureau bound by ranks for the most part.  I am, as you see, a mouse.  Several agents are not Human.  This does not prevent us from doing our work.  We are what stands between unspeakable horror and this world."  The black beady mouse's eyes fixed on Nolan's face as it waved its spectacles for punctuation.   "I am 82 years old; I spent 70 years as a human.  Now I am a mouse.  And it could have been worse.  We have one Agent locked up in a mental institution, and another on Medical leave after she was savaged by a monster - and she is an accomplished Mage."

Nolan noticed someone at the door; a teenaged girl in a green dress, coffee complexion, carrying a full-size clipboard.  She waved it at Weintraub, who slipped out of the room quickly - and they left him there, with the green mouse, who adjusted its spectacles back on its nose.  "I imagine you have questions, and you want to see the Warehouse.  If you survive the day, and I have learned there is an office pool, you'll receive your badge and desk tomorrow."

Be careful what you wish for...

Nolan, no longer captain, stood stock-still, his brain desperately attempting to process the avalanche of unexpected information that assailed him. While he was not sure what he had expected, he was damn sure that it was anything other than what had actually occurred. Using a technique he learned before battle, he took a deep breath and let it out. With the exhale he also banished all doubt and fear. He wasn't scared by any means, just...unsettled. He was more determined than ever to achieve membership in the BRPD, mental institutions and monsters be damned.

'We are what stands between unspeakable horror and this world', the mouse said. Mouse? He shook his head mentally. Somehow it didn't seem near as crazy in practice as it sounded when he said it in his head. It was utterly overwhelming and yet a perfect fit. One thing was sure. There was no better place to make a difference than here.

"Informality is not a problem for me, sir. And I assure you that I have no concerns regarding who, or what, I work with. As long as they are competent. "

"I am sure my questions will be answered in time." Frankly, he was unsure that he could handle much more craziness at the moment and preferred to deal with the challenges as they came rather than ask for them. "Where do we start?"

Before Agent Mills responded, he relaxed his unconsciously held parade rest and said with a smile "A pool, eh? Put me down for $50 on me." Then his smile faded and he added, "I won't let you down, sir."

(Nolan's interview)
"Noted," the mouse said, and made a notation on his clipboard.  "You may call me Prof, or Professor Mills.   Many Agents acquire nicknames, but are particular about who may use them.  And you need not stand at attention, it gives away your military background. Some of us regularly go into disguise.  Permit me the indulgence of trotting up your arm to stand on your shoulder, and I'll show you around.  Don't worry about dropping me; in this form I am nigh invulnerable."

The mouse carefully scrambled up Nolan's sleeve to perch on his shoulder.  "This is the conference room, used for impressing visitors, but mostly to shuffle files around.  The recordkeeping is an ongoing difficulty, and we're receiving information every day from our clippers and news reporters.  Walk outside into the corridor; to your right is the Break Room, where there is always coffee and food.  The coffee machine is capable of frothing, steaming, and mixing a great variety of drinks; ask Angus or Thorne how to work it.  To the left is the office wing, and there is a junction with the labs from there.  The office extends through three large rooms and ends with the file room.  Just past that corridor are the labs."  It must have been the poor lighting, or the fact that a mouse was giving him an orientation, but the floor plan didn't seem to match up with the dimensions of the outside building.  They proceeded past the offices, where he could hear voices and typing.  The labs were dark, but eerily so; purple traces of light glimmered along the door frame, and there was a handwritten sign taped to the door, "KEEP OUT TESTING NEW BATCH".

"Always check for warning signs," Mills said, and pointed down the corridor.  "There are more labs down this way, but for some reason, they're not accessible today. It happens.  Go around the corner and down the ramp.  You'll see double steel doors - ah, there they are.  This is one of the entrances to the Warehouse.  My department was in charge of storage of most of these artefacts, but to be frank, most of it's just old junk.  But some of it is extremely dangerous.  And for various reasons, inventory is a nightmare.   Stand still a moment."  The mouse took a tiny metal badge from its clipboard and held it up towards the massive metal doors.  The bolts inside slid back with loud clunks.  "Open the doors, Mr. Nolan."

The heavy doors swung open slowly as he pushed them, and the sheer size of the place was incredible.  The place was bigger than a football stadium; rows upon rows of tall shelves, poorly lit by sparking, flickering electric light.  It was a warehouse of very odd things.  In the first shelf, marked "K1" something rattled ominously, then fell silent; music played far away, something mournful with violins.  "If something's labelled as cursed, treat it as cursed and do not touch it," Mills said.  "If it's labelled as dangerous, use great care.  Sometimes the items reshelve themselves and there's an issue with time here; if we stay too long, we might wind up in next week when we come out.  Let me show you the Goddess Juno.  Go to J-14, turn left at the barrels.  She was one of our first acquisitions."  Nolan walked carefully along the huge shelves, having the unsettling feeling that he was being watched, past dusty crates and boxes.  The barrels seemed to be in complete violation of the Volstead Act; they were labelled in English and in what looked like Latin, as Roman Red.  Just past them was an alcove, with a ten foot tall marble statue of a Roman matriarch, her form draped in folds of cloth and her shoulders wrapped in a goatskin cloak.  She held a spear of a bluish metal.  The carving was perfect, unmarred by time.  The marble was white and seemed to glow from within.   "Queen Juno Curitis, we bid you good day and greet you with good tidings," Mills the Mouse said to the statue, and then repeated it in perfect Latin. The faraway music stopped, and lightning skipped along the line of her spear, arcing to the next nearest shelf.  The warehouse seemed to be holding its breath.  The statue's head tipped down ever so slightly, to look at them.  "This warrior's name is Nolan," the Mouse told her, again repeating it in Latin.  The statue raised its spear to tap it once on the floor with a ringing sound, and was still.  "Now you have been introduced to one of the guardians of the Warehouse, so you should be - less likely to have trouble.  Don't go in alone.  We'll head back to the office and see if you have a desk yet."

Spider listened, then looked at Jack.  "I think we should call our colleagues back at the office, and describe these exact circumstances.  One or two of the brilliant ladies can probably give us some insight as to what it is, and what we can do."

“I agree,” Jack says to Spider. “Although I would like to get a bit more information before we call. Mr. Miroslav, judging from the teeth marks and the sounds in the air duct, this entity seems to be fairly material. Do you know if that is always the case, or if it can, for example, move through solid walls or tiny openings? How long has this been going on? Is there only one entity? Are there certain areas of the building or times of day that it is more active? Is it particularly attracted to or repelled by anything you’re aware of? Has the building had any renovation or construction recently, or other unusual events that might have summoned or awakened the entity? Any changes to the staff of any kind? Anything else out of the ordinary recently, even if it seems unrelated? And finally, can we take a tour of the building, particularly out-if-the-way areas like attic, basement, boiler room, coal bin, etc.?”

The Serbian Problem pt 1
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Jack and Spider
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The Serbian exhaled, with a look of relief that was painful to behold.  "You ask questions.  Never before have I been so happy to answer.  It is a thing of folklore, a threat adults make to children if they do not behave."  He dragged the ruined chair away from his desk and leaned on it, favoring one leg.   "It has been bothering us since June, as far as I know.  At first, we thought a squirrel was in the ducts.  It...got worse.  My secretary quit two days ago when it ripped out some of her hair.   It seems to be able to fit into the smallest space, yet can chew up a hardwood chair.  I - hope- that there is only one of them.  The idea that there may be an infestation...." Miroslav shivered.  "We have had nothing happen that is out of the ordinary that I can think of to say, that would bring such a curse.  Of course I will give you a complete tour.  Just let me get my cane."  He drew a nondescript black cane from under his desk, frowned at the fresh marks scraped into it by claws, or long teeth, and gingerly tested it.  It held, at least for now.  "Most of the damage happens at night, when the embassy is closed to visitors, but there is always some staff guarding the building.  I have their reports too.  Now it is during the daylight also.  We only catch a glimpse of a dark shadow, moving very fast."  He walked to the doorway, with a slight limp, and proceeded to give them the tour.

"Here is our meeting chamber," he opened double doors on a large conference room, where twenty chairs were set up in front of a nicely carved podium.  The chandelier in the room was hanging crookedly.  The next room was an office, where several desks were abandoned - one chair was tipped over, and papers were strewn everywhere.  "I sent them home," Miroslav said, "After Anika had her hair torn."  The next room was a small kitchenette,  the coffee brewer urn showing signs of damage, and all the chairs were broken or battered.   Another room held records; one of the large file cabinets was tipped over.   Another room along the back garden was the security detail's domain; two burly men in suits that didn't disguise their shoulder gun harnesses looked up nervously when the tour arrived.  The room was mostly empty, though there were several large trunks that were heavily padlocked, and folding cots pushed under one scarred, wobbly table.   One of the men asked Miroslav a question, and handed over a sheaf of papers in a folder.  A religious icon of a grey haired, bearded robed man with a large halo was resting on the table, holding down some papers; it was clearly marked with crosses.

A long, sloping staircase led upstairs, past some long windows, most of which had cracks in them.  The upstairs were living quarters, plush and pleasant, though the bathroom cistern had been shattered and the room was blocked off.  "Trying to arrange for a plumber to deal with it," their tour guide said morosely.  Not much else was out of place upstairs in the three bedrooms and one dressing room, though all were currently empty, nothing in the drawers or closets.   There was a pull-down ladder into the attic, which had some locked file cabinets, a locked chest, and some boxes, all dusty.  The boiler room downstairs was banked low, not unusual in the summer; there was one locked tool chest that had dents that corresponded with chunks out of the brick walls.

 Miroslav saved the Ambassador's office for last, using keys to open it.  It should have been a beautiful display of wealth and power, with a big Serbian flag draped on one wall, with paintings in gold frames decorating the rest, surrounding a huge teak wood desk, everything just so, with a large bay window filled with lush plants.  All the plants had been savagely wrenched from their pots and thrown around the office with great force; dirt and plant pieces were everywhere.   The paintings had been clawed to ribbons, and the flag slashed.   Miroslav paled as he beheld the sight, clutching his cane and the folder.  "What ?!   Why ?!" he gasped.

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GM: Actions, etc, for the next half hour of game time, please respond by Saturday 7 August, next post Sunday.  Hope you are all doing well.
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Spider said, "You say it started in June.  Did anything else of importance happen back then?  Someone visit?  Something go wrong?  Something go right?"

During the tour, Jack notices the religious icon holding down papers in the security barracks room.
“Does the creature avoid religious symbols? That would be helpful to know. Does it have any weaknesses mentioned in the folklore?”
Other than that, Jack thinks they should act on Spider’s suggestion and call their colleagues to search their library (or personal experience) for more information, hopefully. He also starts thinking about strategic locations for protective spells and wards.

The Serbian Problem pt 2

---Spider and Jack-------------

The ambassador's assistant thinks back, to answer Spider's questions.  "June...yes, the first time we heard something, it was June.  Just after the full moon.  My wife and I went out to dinner that night for our anniversary.  I bought her pearl earrings."  Miroslav takes a deep breath, apparently grounding himself in the facts once he had centered his mind.  "They remind me of that moon.  It was a beautiful night.  But...I cannot think what that may mean.  Anika mentioned a squirrel had gotten into the ducts a day or two later.   Then....it became worse.  Apparent it was not an animal, but an actively malignant spirit.   We thought of the story of a demon, called bijeda - a misery.  It is part ghost, part bone, part slime, it steals and damages, and it follows those cursed with it forever.  That is what I think is haunting this place.   Why it has come, I don't know.  Nothing has been out of the ordinary.  The ambassador has always had a weak heart, and he is getting older.  We did not hire anyone new, though we have had translators come in to deal with the correspondence - only people I trust, though.  I can give you their names - the names of everyone who has been at the Embassy since June."    There are about forty names, most of them local; some were Serbians who had been on their way home, though, and were out of the country.  The Agents noted that Janko Zivanovik had been a translator once or twice a week, off and on through the months, and two other translators were listed as well, Andreja Dobroslav and Lazar Borovijov.  Janko had a factory job downtown, working in a tool and die place; Andreja was a cook at a steakhouse, and Lazar was a dancing instructor for their day jobs.  There had been visits from the Russian Embassy, the Canadian Embassy, and a number of local politicians, but again, nothing out of the ordinary.
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After they left the guards' office, Miroslav answers Jack's questions in low tones, so that the men inside do not overhear.  "They believe that the Saint's icon will protect them, and who can say - but they have not been troubled in that room.   The icon is Saint Sava, the Enlightener, of the Serbian Orthodox Church.  From the Middle Ages.  He was a nobleman who became a monk.  He saved the country from great conflict and founded many places of worship in Serbia.  If...his icon will help, I will find all of them I can in the city and beg a priest to bless them."  He knows of no way to defeat a demon that was considered a folklore boogeyman - but will try anything if it might help.


At the sight of the destroyed office, the shock and alarm on Miroslav's face is genuine; he leaves the office and sinks onto a marble bench.    He shakily proceeds back to his own office and lets the agents use his telephone.   Edith answers, then shouts around the office at those in earshot about it; no one, including Ben, has heard of that particular folklore creature, but Edith promises she'll 'ask around' in her personal spirit network.  Jack and Spider leave a very worried Miroslav and head back to the archives, to do research at the Grey Building.

All was normal there - the phone ringing, someone typing, and Ben's voice in his office. It was disconcerting to overhear Ben asking Mills the Mouse, "What do you mean, you lost the new recruit ?  He was six feet tall !  Where did you lose him ?"
"The warehouse." Mills said, wretchedly.  "It...may...have archived him."
"Ha, winner, winner, chicken dinner," Thorne chuckled, holding out a palm to Fritz, who frowned and pulled out his money clip.
"GO LOOK FOR HIM, YOU TWO...right now."  Ben had come out of his office, and while the last two words were soft, the look on his face was anything but as he glared at the two mercenaries.  Thorne actually shut up, and Fritz was out of the door like a shot.  Ben went back into his office and closed the door.  "All right, let's go find Lost Boy."  Thorne muttered, and trotted towards the warehouse, after Fritz - checking that his sidearm was loaded as he went.

Spider and Jack check in with Edith, who is in a trance, and answers with a young woman's voice in a New England accent, "I'll have to ask someone older."  She hums tunelessly for a moment, until Bitsie Black looks around the door frame, eyes narrowed. "What ?" she asks. "My planchette went crazy, what's going on ?"
She listened to Jack and Spider's retelling of their tale.
"That sounds like a demon, all right," the Voudou practitioner nodded slowly.  "And it came into power....right after the full moon in June. This Servian - Serbian creature - I don't even know where that is."
"Ask Baba Yaga," Edith said, in a creepy old woman voice, as a harsh cold gust of wind scattered paperwork around the room, then blinked.  "Whatever I said, it was important," she said, sounding normal again.
"Basic anti-demon stuff is Salt, Iron, Oil of Saints, Amethyst and Rainbow Obsidian," Bitsie Black said.  "There's no talking to the Russian Mother of Witches without great risk.  I can make up the Oil of Saints, and the stones should be easy to find at the Smithsonian museum.  Salt from the Earth, not the sea.  Iron from the Earth.  This sounds like an earth demon.  The older the iron, the better.  Get something at least a few centuries old, maybe some old arrowheads.   I can teach you a Cast Out spell, it is much like the Elder Sign."  She frowned slightly.  "Irina can probably chant this spell from memory, but I'll have to look it up in my Book of Shadows."
"I can give you a request form that looks very scary," Edith said, smiling happily, "You might be able to requisition the museum stones under the DoD."
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GM:  Actions, etc, for the next hour of game time, please respond by Saturday, 14 August, next post Sunday.   Hope you all are doing well.  Seems the normal amount of madness here, maybe I'm just accustomed to it now.
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Before they leave the embassy, Jack will do his best to reassure the beleaguered bureaucrat.
“Don’t worry sir, we’ve dealt with things like this before. You’re in good hands.“
Back at headquarters, Jack will take careful notes regarding Miss Black’s instructions. And he will gladly take Edith’s form for use at the Smithsonian.
When he hears the spirit speaking through Edith mention Baba Yaga, he stops cold for just a moment.
“Isn’t she a rather big gun, to be involved in a domestic infestation?”
Jack will take the opportunity to visit Irina and see how she’s getting on, as well as ask for any advice regarding said consultation.
OC: I hope you are all getting along tolerably well. I’m doing OK. Wish this would end!

The Serbian Problem pt 3

----Jack and Spider---
Jack attempts to comfort the miserable Miroslav.  "Thank you, Mr...Agent Sterling.  I cannot tell you how kind you are, to listen to me.  I promise you that if you are able to help me, I will be forever in your debt."  The Serbian bowed and gratefully bade them farewell.  Jack had the sense that the promise of the debt would be honoured.

Back at the office, Agent Black confirms Jack's summation of Baba Yaga.  "Yes, she is that much and more, Jack, such that I will not speak her name lightly,"  Bitsie Black agreed.  "I'll go put the cauldron on to boil and start rendering the oils for you, then have a good look at my Book of Shadows.   If it's a simple Earth demon, we can at least quiet it down if we can't dismiss it, or I'm no kind of witch at all."

Jack left the office and went to the Walter Reed Army Medical Center, where Irina was convalescing.   She had rare lucid moments, but most of her days and nights were spent in a deep sleep, far from consciousness.  The wounds from the horrible beasts of the Everglades were healing, but would scar her forever.  The nurses in grey kept her fed, clean and tidy, even braiding her hair and filing her fingernails neatly.   Jack took her hand and noted that there was a little warmth to it today, though she did not respond to his touch.  He told her of the Serbian Problem, and then spoke about Baba Yaga.  Irina stirred, murmuring,  "Life and death; white, red and black, the birch and the broom.  Circle, circle, spin and spin, banish all darkness within."  Then she was out again, in some deep dream.   A soft cough from the doorway; one of her doctors, the elderly and stately Francis Blake, was standing there, a chart in his hands.   "She spoke ?  That's encouraging,"  he said.  "She doesn't speak very often, and it's usually in Russian.  I've asked a nurse who speaks Russian to transfer to this wing."

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GM: Please respond with actions, etc, for the next hour of game time, by Saturday, 21 August, next post Sunday.
OOC:  Hope everyone is getting along.  I have news, that in some rare, far off places of the US of A, that normalcy is progressing.  A Steampunk convention had a successful run  in the America Starts Here State of Pennsylvania.  Where actual humans (or so they said) could stroll about not wearing masks, provided they had been vaccinated, and there was no panic !  Just dyspepsia from hotel hot dogs.  All hangovers were self-inflicted.
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Nolan's Interview pt 3

There was no explaining it; one moment he'd been given a tour in a massive, dark warehouse of strange and occult junk, and the next minute he was standing in complete and utter darkness, in bone-chilling cold.  There was an overwhelming stench of death in the air, and a slithering sound, as if something very large was moving closer to him.  Then there was a sound, the report of a handgun; probably a Luger.  Something squealed with bone-jarring pitch and the slithering sound recoiled.  There were two more shots, both sounding closer, not a Luger - something bigger.

"Aha," said the well-dressed Agent Trachenberg, illuminated by a lantern clipped to his belt, the Luger pointed safely upwards.  "Agent Nolan.  Please follow me."
"You found him ?"  A deeply Southern man's voice came out of the darkness, and so did another man in an expensive suit, lantern clipped to his belt. This one was burly, dark haired and sporting a 1911a. "Well, damn.  Hello, Nolan.  If you're not Nolan, we'll have to shoot you."
"He makes a joke," said Trachenberg.  "Follow us.  Quick."  He whipped the lantern off his belt, shining it past Nolan, and fired two more times; a tentacle the size of an old oak whipped back, with another eldritch screech.
"What IS it with Tuesdays ?" the Southern man asked, firing into the darkness; another howl came from the horror hidden in the darkness. "Got him that time.  Go !"  The two senior agents shooed Nolan along, running through near-complete darkness, past dimly lit obstacles that looked nothing like warehouse shelves, until suddenly they were dodging a pile of crates and turning past a tall metal shelf where a crowd of dolls eyed them malevolently, the spitting electric lights doing little better to illuminate the massive warehouse and its dirty concrete floor.  "Out the West door past the Fortune Teller," the Southern man said, somewhat breathlessly; they were all running hard.  Something was running parallel to them in another aisle; there was a metallic clanking sound.   The three men rushed past a glass case holding a mannekin dressed in a turban and robe, with some brasswork that suggested it was a game of sorts, then to a heavy steel door heavily painted with arcane symbols.  Trachenberg hit it hard with his shoulder, knocking it open a few inches, and the other man finished the job, staggering into the corridor outside, where the sunlight was patterning the linoleum floor.  It was a welcome sight.
"This is Senior Agent Thorne," Trachenberg introduced the other man, who was trying to catch his breath.  "Boss sent us to find you.  Edith has got your desk ready."  He kicked the door shut and barred it smoothly, apparently from long practice, while Thorne mopped sweat off his face and nodded a greeting to Nolan.  They set off down the plain grey corridor, which looked like all the other corridors, and turned left; now the windows showed dark skies and rain.  Another turn, and they were all back by the offices.

Edith Moore greeted them effusively.  "So glad you were able to find him so quickly !   Oh, Mr. Nolan, what must you think of us.   I've got your desk ready.  You'll be sharing the office with Stevens in Accounting; he's on holiday, so you have time to settle in.  Angus, show him the coffee machine, while I set up his case folders.  Mr. Nolan, I hope you know the Massachusetts area, we need a check on a certain spot for paranormal activity.  I'll include the expense forms for travel, food and lodging."

What in the hell was that?! The mouse wasn't kidding when he said if I survive the day. A mouse, no less! He took a deep shuddering breath. Get it together, ex-Captain Nolan. Remember why you're here. They're, rather we're, the best.

Finished with his internal monologue, he turned to his rescuers. "Thank you for the extraction. I have no idea how I got lost or what", he looked over his shoulder with the memory of his fear, "I ran into back there but, well, thanks." He took a look around the office feigning interest while he gathered himself.

In all his years of combat he had never experienced anything like that. He marveled at the normality projected by the offices which juxtaposed the aberrations down the hall. He was a long way from Joliet now. He grew up in the seedier part of the city, not the worst part by any means but nowhere near the best. His proficiency with his mouth more than his fists defeated many a prospective bully. Still he took more than his share of beatings. In fact, it was his willingness to stand up for himself no matter the odds that earned him respect and eventually the beatings stopped. His dad affectionately called him the resident smart-aleck and he tended to sarcasm and dry wit for protection in high school.

He smiled as he remembered the warnings his mom used to give him when he visited Chicago. If she could only see him now. At least he didn't have her fears to worry about. His mom and pop died while he was at war. Ironic, he thought bitterly, that he survived the Great War but they didn't. It's part of the reason he sought out this job. No family to worry about him at home. No one to miss him or to miss. Just the way he liked it.

Nolan poured himself a cup of coffee to inject further mundanity into his day that had been anything but. It had helped him in battle, during the long waits. He would write letters or read, anything to take his mind off the looming danger. It was an easy habit to slip back into and that, more than anything, clarified his decision. Despite his less than auspicious start in the warehouse, he was staying.

He walked over to Edith Moore and asked with his tongue fully planted in his cheek. "Where's Professor Mills? Tell him I survived my first day." He winked at her. "and that I want my cut."

Deep inside himself he heard he heard the warning. Be careful what you wish for...
This message was last edited by the player at 00:18, Tue 17 Aug 2021.

Spider gives Ben a brief rundown on what they learned, and what they hope to do with Agent Black's help.  And if anything further comes up he will make sure to fill the boss in.

Jack immediately jots down what Irina said in a pocket notebook, not trusting such possibly vital information to memory. Before he leaves, he thanks the doctor and nurses at Walter Reed for their excellent care of his beloved Irina. He will call Edith and relay Irina's statements to her for her to pass on to Miss Black and the others.
     If he already has the formidable requisition forms, he will head to the Smithsonian and put on his best warm-yet-efficient bureaucratic demeanor to pick up the required ingredients. He will add "one antique birch broom" to the list, just in case it should be relevant.
     If he doesn't have the list, he heads back to the office to help prepare further.
     When he meets Nolan, he will offer a warm handshake and inquire about where he was raised and his education, and his adventure in the storeroom. He hope to inject a bit of normality to help the man acclimate on his first day.
     "Jack Sterling, how do you do? I'm from the Eastern Shore of Maryland. Tobacco farmers for generations. I met this lot while studying ancient cultures at Miskatonic. It's serious work, but we manage to have some fun nonetheless."

Nolan's First Day & The Serbian Problem Pt 4
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"Yep, anytime," the Southern Agent Thorne said at Nolan's thanks.  "The warehouse gets tetchy sometimes."  He grinned and sauntered back towards the offices.
"You are quite welcome," Agent Trachenberg replied politely, and smoothly cruised after him.  He also held his hand out to Thorne, who passed over a money clip.

Edith Moore smiled at him, and pointed out his office space, a small room with two desks in it.  One desk had an adding machine, a foot-tall stack of files, and the nameplate "F. Stephens, Acct" on it; the other was bare, with a scarred top and a worn chair.  None of the furniture looked new, but all of it seemed built to last.   "I'll tell the bookie.  You'll have some files to look over on your desk when you get back.  Don't worry; you survived so far."  She hurried off to answer the ringing telephone.

The Scot that had asked him to pick a card as part of an interview strolled up.
"Come on then, Mr. Nolan; the Brew Master is the pride of our canteen," Angus said, ushering Nolan out the doorway.  "I'll go fetch a cuppa for my partner.  We usually work in pairs."  He led Nolan into a concealed hallway, where the clatter of cups and plates could be heard.  The kitchen itself was empty of people, though.  "This is a barrier room, part of it is within the wards and part isn't," Angus said, pointing out a painted line on the floor.  "Should anything go completely doolally, get behind the line.  And that's the Brew Master; it makes the best coffee, tay or what have you.  This bit grinds the beans, which we keep in the ice box there, and then you tip the grounds into the press, pull on this water lever and let it steep a while.  We have full cream, milk, sugar, honey, spices, and proper tea leaves also.  This port steams the milk, makes it rich and fluffy."  The Scot proceeded to demonstrate how to make a cup of coffee that put Nolan in mind of expensive New York restaurants, and also made a cup of tea, into which he poured a dash of honey, stirred twice clockwise, and held out a tin of shortbread cookies for Nolan's choice.  "Oh, and the mice have their own table; sometimes they want a bit of help."  A doll sized set of tables and chairs was set up on a table in the corner, with rope ladders hanging down to the floor.  "You're expected to bring your own lunch, and it's best to keep a tin or two of beans around, in case you're stuck working late.  Edith keeps us well supplied with food though."

He led Nolan back to the offices, and went off towards the labs, carrying the mug of tea. On Nolan's desk was a brass nameplate with C. Nolan, Agent, and there were wire baskets marked "In" and "Out".  The "In" basket had three files.
One was marked "West Arkham Reclamation Project, 1924", another was "C.H. Pontill, Possible Poltergeist", and the last was "Things we need done, but I'm busy".
The Arkham project involved driving to Massachusetts, included a form for taking a Model T out of the Motor Pool, a form for receipts for travel costs, a road map marked with a location in Massachusetts, and a photograph of some desolate looking farm, with a neatly written explanation of the project.  "Seven marked rows, with Solutions A, B, C, C2, D, E, F, and G administered as follows; One gallon per cubic yard.  Checked at 24 hours for reaction.   Nothing noted.  Checked at one week for reaction: C2, D, E all had promising sign of normal growth.   Notable loss of grey tonen."  It was signed F. Trachenberg.
C.H. Pontill's file was a single page, typed form that listed the name and address of a person, one Male, 65, Caucasian, located at Bridge Street, Georgetown, DC.  Claims poltergeist at old stone house.  House very old.  Used to be rented as bookstore.  Priority: low, but report should be made.
The Things we Need  Done file was a laundry list of things that needed to be fixed, fetched, mended or found.  First on the list was taking inventory of the warehouse.  Someone had scribbled "not on your life".  Second was overhauling the filing system and taking out the older files that were cold cases or had been solved.  Things that needed to be mended included Mouse typewriter, some kind of warning bell that the warehouse could disable, and 'the back room'.  Also on the list was, "my lorica segmentata spares, find", and "feed the Hovnd".  From the look of this file, it had been passed around a lot, the notations are in several different hands.  As he peruses this mess, another agent introduces himself: Jack Sterling.

-----------------The Serbian problem pt 4-------------
Spider checks with the office references on how to deal with demonic creatures and notices that possession IS an issue, and that certain demons like to pester their chosen prey for life, with sometimes continuing to torment subsequent generations.   He also notices that Ben seems preoccupied and that the file load on his boss' desk has increased.  Bitsie Black has disappeared into her lab and is brewing something.  Then Edith knocked on the door and said, "The Serbians are on the telephone again.  Please say something nice to Mr. Miroslav, he's crying."
Ben tried to outstare Edith, failed, sighed, and picked up the telephone.  "Mr. Miroslav, this is Director Benjamin Weintraub.  We are actively pursuing your case.  What - wait.  Dead ?  What happened ?"  he motioned for Spider to get close enough to listen in.  It is clear that Miroslav is deeply upset.  "My cousin Ivan was attacked in the boiler room and he is dead," Miroslav sobbed.  "Please, please.  I will close the embassy today.  I will bring you the keys.  Please."

Jack notes down Irina's rambling in his notebook, and thanks the Walter Reed Staff, who are indeed treating Irina as if she was a war hero.  He has the list of things to requisition from the Smithsonian and easily fakes out the young curator of the mineral collection.   It is quick enough to grab the required rocks, but he then has to detour to find the old iron pieces in a different museum, the National Museum of American History, where he is also able to find some broken iron nails that might fit the description of "really old", and of course the die roller rolled a 38.  He heads back to the office with a box of stuff.   He greets Nolan as the young man is settling down in the office he is sharing with the accountant, Stephens, who is off on holiday.  Edith has already visited and left the new agent with some files to look over.

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GM: Please respond by Saturday, 28 August, next post Sunday.  Hope all is well with you all !
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Spider tells Jack about the latest bit of news from the embassy.  "This thing is getting worse.  You know, it's always seemed to me that things like this usually don't kill so much as cause trouble, like they just want attention.  So I hope this isn't more than we've figured out.  Edith, if this changes things, please let us know.  But the sooner we deal with this the better.  Jack, as usual with the magic stuff, you're in charge, and I'll just do what you tell me.  Ready?"  He does not ask about the wand.

"So far"...Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence. For not the first time, Nolan wonders what the actual odds are for his survival but immediately shrugs off the thought as counterproductive. He trails Angus through the facility and nods thoughtfully as he explains the barrier room to him. "Behind the line. Check." He does his best to normalize the new information as he receives it knowing there would be time enough for processing later.

"Impressive." He says genuinely amazed by the scope of the facility and with his favorite revelation, the Brew Master.  Nothing beats a good cup of coffee and they seem to have the best here. He thinks as he sips his newly brewed cup complete with steamed milk and sugar. He keeps his mug grabs a few cookies for the road as he hurries to keep up with the Scot.

After leading Chris back to the office area, Angus continues on to the labs as Nolan wends his way toward his work space. As he approaches his desk, he greets the other agent. "Hello, Jack. Nolan says with a smile as he offers his hand."Hi, Chris Nolan. Friends call me Nolan. Hold over from my days in the service, I suppose."

Pleasantries dispensed with, Chris turns to attack the pile of work on his desk. With a sigh that contains within it both excitement and exhaustion, Nolan sits heavily and starts thumbing through the files. The "West Arkham Reclamation Project, 1924" folder catches his eye and he drops it on the desk. As he starts examining the file in earnest, an unconscious smile spreads across his face.

Here is the challenge he has sought for years and he can't wait to test his mettle against it.

Jack scoffs at Spider with a grim smile. "As if I know what's going on. We'd better see what Miss Black has concocted and any other advice she can give us, and then head over there." He'll stock up on silver ammo for his .45 and shotgun, and assemble everything Miss Black suggested.

As an afterthought, he speaks to Edith: "We've heard that this entity sometimes torments additional generations of a family after the initial curse. See what you can find out about the families of Miroslav and the ambassador -- how they made their fortunes, if they have any enemies, things like that. Maybe they upset the wrong person a generation or two back. And any info on Saint Sava of the Serbian Orthodox Church -- his icon may repel the thing."

Nolan's Road Trip Pt 1
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"All right, Mr. Nolan - oh, sorry, Lucy, it's a new staffer.  Give me a moment."  Edith took his paperwork while keeping the receiver of the telephone to her ear, signed off on it, and fished a set of keys out of her desk drawer, the candlestick mouthpiece still on her desk.  "Here's the keys to the Model T.   Fritzi filled it up with petrol and checked the air in the tires yesterday, so you should be fine to get to Arkham.   We don't let new agents out on their own, so ask around the office for a partner.  Professor Mills is free, and I imagine Jenkins too.   OK, Lucy, I'm back.  You said Meryl's cousin ?  Is that Evan or Stewart ?"

"Ahem." came the apologetic old man's voice, down by his feet.  It was Mills, with another mouse, also green; the other one was wearing a harness that had two rapiers in it, and was sitting up with its furry arms folded, very businesslike.  "I must apologise to you, Mr. Nolan, for allowing the warehouse to behave so aggressively.   We would be happy to accompany you on your first case.  Mr. Jenkins is a respected field agent with military experience."
The other green mouse squeaked, giving Mills a sharp look.
"He was a Marine," Mills translated.  "Silver Star."
Jenkins the mouse squeaked again.
"And he knows every speakeasy between here and Arkham." Mills added.  The only other agents around were Jack Sterling, another tall guy about thirty years old with white hair, and Angus, who was scribbling on paperwork at his desk.  Jack and the tall guy seemed busy, carrying a lot of fairly random stuff, including an old-fashioned twig broom.
Jenkins squeaked again, and Mills translated.
"And you won 200 bucks in the office pool."  Edith, still chattering on the phone, pulled an envelope out of her desk drawer and held it out to Nolan.   It was well over a week's wages and it was there, in cash.   The odds had been 3:1, apparently.

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GM: Actions, etc, please for the next hour of game time, please respond by Saturday 4 September, next post Sunday.  Hope you are doing well.
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The Serbian Problem pt 5.
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Spider and Jack collaborate on the Serbian issue, and head off to the labs after asking Edith to look some information up for them.  She immediately picked up the telephone and made a call to one of her complex, diverse network of friends.  Bitsie Black was definitely busy in her lab, and only stopped mumbling long enough to tell the two agents, "Come back in two hours.  Find some Holy Water."  The intense smell of flowers and spices was rolling out of her dark laboratory, where a green fire was lit under a black iron cauldron.

The nearest church that might be helpful was the National City Christian Church on Massachusetts Avenue & 14th.  Edith was on the telephone still, Ben was on his telephone, and Thorne and Fritz had disappeared from the office with uncanny stealth.  Only Angus was scribbling at his desk, making reference notations from three books as he did so.  There were no mice in sight either, apart from Mills and Jenkins over by Nolan, who was holding a file by Edith's desk.    Looks like the new guy was already on a case, which would be very helpful - they were getting overloaded again.

As they looked around for suitable containers for Holy Water, Edith came up to them.  "Janko's at Ace Tool and Die Company downtown; he says he may know something about the bijeda at the embassy.  Tall guy, good hair, off work at four.  Use pottery jars from the kitchen, you want them to shatter when thrown.  And remember, negative spirits like negative energy, don't feed them.  Is that a birch broom ?  Good idea."

The Agents went to the Church first, as it was too early to talk to Janko Zivanovik who would still be at work, and they noted that the Church building was old for the DC area, maybe 60 years or more, with a stately row of columns leading up the steps.  It seemed to be a Christian Church of no particular sect, and the preacher on duty was a portly, middle-aged man in a plain grey suit, a well-worn Bible carried in his scarred hands.   "May I help you ?"  he asked in a soft voice.   When told of their request, he merely nodded. "Minister Atwell is the ordained preacher; he's in prayer.  He is very close to God and will be best able to help."  He nodded towards the wizened old man in a robe who was kneeling at the altar, praying.   It took a while, but the old man finally creaked upwards, as the younger preacher hurried to assist him.    "What do they want ?  Look like g-men," the old man said, squinting at Jack and Spider.   (Persuasion, please....)
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GM: Actions, etc, please for the next hour of game time, please respond by Saturday 4 September, next post Sunday.  Hope you are doing well.
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In reply to The GM (msg # 25):

Nolan pockets the keys and opens his mouth to respond.  He was, however, unable to find an opening between her rapid-fire instructions and her ongoing phone conversation wth Lucy. With mental shrug, he scoops up the Arkham file and turns to search the office for a partner. But before he gets started a solutions presents itself in the form of a man quietly clearing his throat. Or, more accurately, a mouse.

"Ah, Professor Mills, think nothing of it. I was,um," He searches for the best words to describe the warehouse situation but finds none. Instead, he just says,"I was careless."

Silver star? He thinks, impressed by both the accomplishment and the understatement. Military experience indeed. He offered a smart nod to Mr. Jenkins. " It is an honor, sir

He winked as he accepted his take from Edith, feigning the confidence he wished he had. 3:1 odds weren't that bad. In fact, he'd been in some tighter scrapes...or so he told himself.

He pulled the map from the file, noted the location on the map and said to his partners. "Massachusetts it is."

Buoyed by his survival and relieved for the help, he offers his shoulders to each mouse in turn and headed toward the Ford. He had no doubt he would need to lean on his partners' experience sooner rather than later.

OC: Sorry for the delay. You should have received a die roller message with a Persuasion roll of 27 for Jack.

IC: Jack takes Edith's advice and procures some jars from the kitchen. At the church, when the elder gets up, Jack will smile sincerely and introduce himself and Spider, showing his government identification.
"We are here on a matter of some urgency. Our office, which answers to the President, handles unusual problems -- threats that the average citizen might not even believe exist. But they do exist, and we fight them. An unclean spirit has infested the Serbian embassy, destroying furnishings and assaulting people. Just before we left our office to come here, we were informed it has now killed a worker. So we come to humbly ask for your blessing, so that we can take some Holy Water there to help us drive out the spirit. We are investigating various possible reasons it might have come there, to better deal with it, but now we are out of time. Will you help us?"

The Serbian Problem pt 6.

Jack and Spider tried their chances at the church.  The old minister Atwell eyed Jack with suspicion, but had to acknowledge the strength of the argument Jack made.   "Are you really, I wonder ?"  the old man said, more to himself, than anyone, then said, before Jack could reply, "Of course, my son.  I will help you as much as I can.  Barry, get the salt and oils and bring them to the font.  I will also bless you both, if you will allow me."  The other preacher hurried off as Atwell slowly limped along to the fancy marble font.
"We are a Christian church, Mr. Sterling, Mr. Mallory.  We provide all the help we can to all those who worship God.  I will bless the water in this font and you may take all of it, with my thanks.  And I will pray for your success."
Preacher Barry returned with two bottles of oil and a box of salt, carefully held in his ruined hands.  Old Atwell began intoning the Blessing, holding his Bible above the water, and salted it.  “Our help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth. O salt, creature of God, I exorcise you by the living God, by the true God, by the holy God, by the God who ordered you to be poured into the water by Eliseo the Prophet so that its life-giving powers might be restored. I exorcise you so that you may become a means of salvation for believers, that you may bring health of soul and body to all who make use of you, arid that you may put to flight and drive away from the places where you are sprinkled every apparition, villainy, and turn of devilish deceit, and every unclean spirit, adjured by Him Who will come to judge the living and the dead and the world by fire. Amen.”   The old man paused, eyes closed, clutching his Bible, head bent; Preacher Barry also bowed his head, lips moving as he prayed.
"Now, take all the Holy water you need," Atwell said, "And if you would like my blessing, I will anoint your forehead with the oils, that God might be with you in this endeavour. "
It is up to Jack and Spider if they want to be blessed.

Then it is time to find Janko Zivanovik.  It is not hard to pick him out of the crowd; most of the other workers are old, stocky, or both, though many are foreigners.  Janko did not look surprised to see them, and nodded a greeting.  His English was clear, but accented, much like Miroslav's; he sounded too educated to be a humble tool-and-die worker.  "I remember an old story that my grandmother told me," he said.  "It is the story of a man cursed by Fate for murder, and a creature called the Beda haunted him."  He said the words softly, not making any implications.  "I do not know what it means for the Embassy - just that not is all as it should be.  The moral of the story is that evil comes to those who do evil.  Something bad happened in the Embassy, that was - not told.  I was warned not to mention it, or I would never work there again.   But I am thinking, it is better to accept the loss of money than to allow evil to corrupt what should be good."

Zivanovik needs no prompting, having made his decision to reveal the secret to the Agents, though he does move off the sidewalk into a small alcove.  "A woman's body was found in the Embassy by the guards, in the last week of May," he said, in a whisper.  "I was there translating documents when I heard Yuri Cvetkovic talk to Aleksander Miroslav about it, asking what they should do, someone had been asking for this woman, her name was Anja, or Andria.  They spoke very softly, and Aleksander noticed I was still at the desk working.  He warned me to never speak of it, that the Embassy would be destroyed by such news.  I do not think Aleksander to be a bad man - but he is desperate to stay in this country.  His wife is very ill and there is a good doctor here."

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GM: Please respond with actions for the next hour of game time, by Saturday, 11 September, next post Sunday.  Hope all is well, and continues to be well.
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Nolan's First Day pt 2

The Professor looked a bit shamefaced, though expressions were difficult to gauge on a mouse.  "I ought to have asked one of the taller Agents to give you the tour.  My deepest apologies, Mr. Nolan."
The other mouse squeaked, and Mills added on his behalf: "It wasn't the first time someone's been lost in the warehouse.   We don't leave anyone behind."  The two mice scampered quickly up his sleeve, Mills closest to his ear.  Nolan went to the elevator, hit the key for the ground floor, and waited.  Eventually the elevator rumbled its way downward, opening up to the garage.  There was no sign of the irritable old man guarding the place, just a definite feeling that he was being watched with disapproval.  The Model T started on the second crank and the mice settled onto the dashboard, where a couple of padded handles had been added for their convenience.

"It may interest you that I accompanied Mr. Trachenberg to the site last year," Professor Mills told Nolan as he drove the vehicle along a graveled roadway toward the access road - and now, the mysterious fog was gone.  Nothing interesting to look at, just the fog was gone.  Pine trees, fallow fields, scrub trees and brush.  "I asked him to keep my name out of the report.  It was a rather interesting scientific proposition, to reclaim tainted soil.  I had several thoughts on that ....."
Nolan could have sworn Jenkins rolled his beady little mouse eyes at that.  The ex-military mouse agent settled down on the dashboard like an old professional.  The Model T rolled past the stone marker that Nolan had waited by earlier today - though it felt like it was a long while ago.  There was the briefest flicker of blue light.  "Outside the perimeter of our land," Professor Mills said.  "The warding of the Grey Building is complex and we've recently upgraded it.  Now that you have been to the office, you will be able to find it again.  A clever spell.  We've had several attempts to breach the - " Mills looked over at Jenkins, who squeaked once, "Ah, the perimeter, that's the word, thank you Mr. Jenkins.  People seem to want to get at the stuff in the warehouse.  Can't think why, given that the previous Bureau staff were missing, presumed dead.  The building was reopened for Dr. Weintraub when the BPRD was created.  Silly, really.  For goodness sake, we apparently have three Holy Grails in there.  Two of them are cursed and the other one was probably made in Philadelphia.  Though I imagine a working time machine is quite an interesting creation."
 Jenkins gave Mills another eye roll.
"It did work," Mills amended, "But for some reason, it's calibrated to only two agents that I know.  There are apparently genetic traits that permit time travel, and only Spider and Lucius are any good at it."  The mouse wittered on, and the miles went by.  As the sun was setting, Nolan was well out of the city and into the middle of New Jersey.  Some complex highway project was being set up, apparently to create a 'highway' road linking up the eastern states, all the way to Florida, the professorial mouse told him.  Jenkins gave much more interesting advice, including how to get to the speakeasy on Roebling Avenue.  As Nolan drove the Model T downtown, a skinny boy on a bicycle was headed for the place, a load of empty bottles in a crate lashed to the frame of his bike.  The back door opened part way to his two-one-two knock, then a pair of big hands accepted the crate and gave the boy a handful of coins.  The boy pocketed the coins and rode off on his bicycle into the deepening shadows of night.  Jenkins squeaked some more.
"He says, it's two-one-two, Freddy sent me," Professor Mills said, somewhat disapprovingly.  "There's some kind of hotel not far from here along State Street, for lodgings."

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GM: Please respond with actions for the next hour of game time, by Saturday, 11 September, next post Sunday.  Hope all is well, and continues to be well.
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In reply to The GM (msg # 30):

“Not at all, Professor.” He reassured his companion. ” Besides, I found that height doesn’t often equate to competence. ” He added with a wry grin.

“That’s good to know, Mr. Jenkins. Both that I wasn’t the first and that no one gets left behind.” Especially the latter, he thought with genuine relief. “I underestimated how easy it would be to get a bit,” he searched for the words, “out of my depth. ”

Given his recent experience in the warehouse, he was much more willing to accept the thought of the irascible old man peering down at him with disapproval. The mere fact that Nolan was around to be disapproved of was no small comfort. As he pulled away, he made a mental note to keep his voice down or, barring that, to limit his conversations to those times they were out of the earshot of other travelers. Though he was not fully-versed in the proper etiquette of mice partners or BPRD work, he imagined that appearing to talk to yourself was not overly inconspicuous behavior.

He refocused on Mills continued conversation as they bounced over the gravel roadway, the Professor was giving him some background information. Trachenberg? he tried to place the name. Ah, yes, the German. “He picked me up for the interview." He thought the first mutely, the second out loud. "Did he accommodate your request to leave you out of the report? I take it that his theories did not match yours?” He continued conversationally, suppressing a grin as he noticed Jenkins eye-roll.

He found it hard to believe, as the Model-T motored past the stone marker, that it had not even been a full day since he had waited there to start his interview. In fact, he decided, he couldn’t believe it. Little did he know when he woke up this morning, that the revelation of a massive spell that hid the Grey Building would prove neither shocking nor even difficult to believe. Truth be told, the spell was one of the least extraordinary characteristics of the building. That the previous staff were presumed dead, surprised Nolan not in the least.

Three Holy Grails? One from Philadelphia? Time machine? He shook his head in wonder as the Professor spoke.

This time Jenkins’ eye-roll did produce a grin from Nolan.

By the time the sun was setting, they had reached the middle of New Jersey. Following Jenkins directions, Nolan headed toward a local speakeasy. He took it easy on the throttle as the Ford chugged down Roebling Avenue in time to see a boy drop off a crate of empty bottles. Not wanting to appear too suspicious, he missed the password over the rumble of the engine. Thankfully, his ex-military companion did not and passed on the information via Mills. “Got it. 2-1-2, ‘Freddy sent me’.” Nolan repeated and nodded his thanks to Jenkins. “Alright, let’s head to the hotel and get checked in. Then we’ll come back and see what the speakeasy has to tell us."

After securing their lodging, Nolan, Mills and Jenkins made their way back to the speakeasy on Roebling. Following the example of the skinny kid from earlier, Nolan approached the back door and produced the distinctive two-one-two knock and mentally crossed his fingers. He waited for the answer and with feigned confidence said, "Freddy sent me.”

Spider gladly accepts the blessing, and helps load as much water as they are capable of taking in the jars they had brought.



Zivanovik:

Spider nods and keeps a note.  "I won't be surprised if we need for someone to also accept responsibility for the death before we can successfully banish the spirit.  Thank you, Janko."  As they go into their vehicle he said to Jack, "So, I think before we do any kind of ritual, we need to confront our contact at the embassy about the woman.  Heck, it might even be her spirit.  What do you think?"

OC: Great description of the church scene, Keeper! You really brought to life what could have been a fairly mundane errand.

IC: Jack gratefully accepts the blessing and likewise fills up containers. If there is an offertory around, Jack will drop a $20 bill in it as they head out. “To help them in their earthly work,” he says to Spider.
     After hearing Janko’s tale, Jack agrees with Spider’s assessment. “Despite how bad the situation is getting, Miroslav still wouldn’t tell us what happened. Even when we asked directly about any incidents. We’ll have to confront him, but be careful about it. We don’t want to get into a fight with his security team.” He thinks for a minute.
     “Janko. wasn’t one of the other translators who worked at the embassy a woman named something like that?” He consults his notebook. “Here it is. Andreja Dobroslav. Also works as a cook in a steakhouse. Did you know her? Could that be the person who died?”
     If Janko is not sure about Andreja, Jack will suggest to Spider that they pay her a visit to check on her welfare.

Nolan's First Day pt 3

Mills was more than happy to chatter with Nolan.  "Agent Trachenberg is very precise and methodical in his ways," the mouse told him.  "We discussed the matter and for the simple reason that I am officially listed as 'dead', it was agreed that I should be left out of the report.  His fieldwork is thorough, Mr. Nolan.  He is our weapons and ammunition specialist.  We examined the fields in question, applied the chemicals in the recommended manner, and then toured the area and played a lot of chess while we waited for a reaction to occur.  He's quite good at chess."  There was something that Mills wasn't saying, but it seemed that the Professor could keep a secret.
Jenkins added a few squeaks.
"And you should know, he collects monster trophies.  As in, trophies of monsters."

Later, after checking into the State Street Hotel, Nolan cruised through the dark streets to the speakeasy, with Professor Mills and Jenkins hiding in his jacket pockets.  The door opened to his knock, showing a huge man whose jacket strained over biceps bigger than most men's thighs.  The password was accepted and Nolan walked down a short flight of steps towards the sound of guitar music and a woman's voice singing about seeing someone in her dreams, in a jazzy melody.  The smell of tobacco smoke was heavy in the air, as much was the smell of alcohol.  A bartender stood by a short bar, filling up shot glasses for the two men waiting, and called to Nolan, "What do you want ?"  There were seven tables jammed into the basement, and the singer was standing on an apple crate, the musician in a chair next to her.  Everyone there seemed to be working class, in very plain suits or shirts with bracers.  There was even a table of women in office-wear dresses, drinking shots.   As the woman finished singing, a couple of men from the back tables were shouting out names of songs for her to sing next.  "Go on, Dora, sing the California one !"
"Pay up !"  the singer encouraged them, and one of them ran up with a handful of bills.  She gave it to the guitar player, who stashed it and started up a more lively melody.   Nolan acquired a glass of what might be decent beer, which "Just came upriver from New Hope" according to the bartender, who charged the not-surprising price of 50 cents.  The beer was dark, hoppy and cold.  Thus far the Volstead Act seemed to have only driven up prices.  He found a seat on a covered barrel and noticed one of the mice had gone.  Jenkins had darted across the room to the table of women and was climbing up the  table, heading with purpose towards their nearly-empty bottle of 'gin'.   Only one of the women noticed, but was too thunderstruck by the sight of a green mouse helping himself to her shot glass.    Jenkins set the glass down, waved to her, and raced off the table.  No one else seemed to notice this, but then, it was a room full of drunks.

Nolan was able to drink peaceably, with some entertainment, and walk back to the hotel without incident.  Jenkins and Mills slept on the scarred bureau, using a hand towel for a mattress.   They left Trenton in the morning after Nolan found a tiny cafe that did a great egg and bacon sandwich with home fries.  Massachusetts was not so far away, and by the afternoon, he was navigating to verbal directions from Mills to get to some farm field outside of the city of Arkham.  The car chugged reliably along the dirt and gravel roads until they arrived at a deserted farm, the gate chained shut.  "I didn't think to bring the key !"  Professor Mills lamented, to another eye roll from Jenkins.  The land was dark, with an ugly undertone of grey, as if it had been salted by poisons.  Only a few straggly corn stalks could be seen, with the demarcations that Trachenberg had made in the file.
Everything else was dead.
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GM:  Actions, please, for the next couple of hours of game time, please respond by Saturday  18 September, next post is Sunday.  Hope you are all well and managing in these strange times.

----The Serbian Problem pt 7-----

The two agents load up seven pottery jars of holy water and fill up an additional flask each.   Atwell blesses them with the same intensity as he blessed the water - the man has Faith.  Jack finds the offertory and leaves the money, noticing that Preacher Barry is again carefully watching the elderly minister praying, as if he's very worried about the old man.

At the mention of Andreja's name, Janko's expression changes from concerned to extremely concerned - even fearful.  "No.  She - Anika told me that she found a place in Canada, taking her daughter with her.  She is Political Science teacher at University of Belgrade, before the troubles, very intelligent lady, speaks four languages.  It cannot be her."  He quickly gives the Agents directions to the steakhouse.  He gave her description as "Brown hair, very curly, she is maybe five foot five tall, a little stocky."  He would not accompany them, but instead wanted to run home to his family.

And there, they find the manager of the steakhouse quite irate that one of his 'usually reliable' cooks stopped coming to work in late May.  The manager supplies them with Andreja Dobroslav's address, a boarding house a few blocks away.   There they find the landlord of the property haranguing some tenants about overdue rent, and that Andreja and her daughter Andjela had been missing since June.  Maybe earlier.  Their stuff had been abandoned and was in the shed, about to be thrown away, their room already rented out to another pair of immigrants.  In the two crates belonging to the Dobroslavs Jack and Spider find women's clothes in two sizes, a photograph of a man in a military uniform, loose from its broken frame, some heavy textbooks in Serbian and Russian, and a sheaf of paperwork - applications for citizenship in the US, with documents that no one would leave behind - birth certificates for both Andreja and Andjela, passports, and letters of recommendation, and a diploma from Belgrade.  The paperwork has two small photographs clipped to it; one of a woman about thirty-five, with curly hair, and one of a young girl, maybe twelve years old.

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GM:  Actions, please, for the next couple of hours of game time, please respond by Saturday  18 September, next post is Sunday.  Hope you are all well and managing in these strange times.  Thanks for the compliment, J, I do try to give flavour; that church does exist.
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In reply to The GM (msg # 34):

As they sputtered towards the farm, he used the time in between conversations to consider what he had learned so far.

Something happened with Mills and Trachenberg. He found it more than a little disconcerting that Professor Mills had withheld information. Still, although Mills was not as forthcoming as he could have been, Nolan trusted that he had a good reason for circumspection. Nolan also knew, that whatever the missing information was, it was only a matter of time before the rookie agent learned it. But, given Jenkins' presence and their current mission, now was not the time.

Monster trophies. He considered with a mental shudder. Many men in the military collected trophies of their enemies. In fact, even Chris had kept a handgun from his service in the Great War. Yet somehow he imagined 'monster trophies' to be quite different. Nolan wasn't sure if he was repulsed or impressed.

He thoughts returned to the present as they approached the locked gate. He shared Jenkins eyeroll at the news that Mills had left the key but kept his thoughts to himself as he killed the engine. "Sorry, I didn't do much lockpicking in the Service. We walk from here." He offered his shoulders to his companions and exited the vehicle. As he prepared to continue on foot, he thumbed through the file and looked at the demarcations Trachenberg had made. "Well, guys, Let's take a look and see how precise Trachenberg was."

He worked his way past the gate and through the farm's property. Using Trachenberg's demarcations he examined several of the straggly stalks, paying special attention to the plants themselves and the soil beneath them. Despite the fact that all this investigation had previously been done, he hoped that a fresh pair of eyes or the mere passing of time could reveal something new. He crouched next to each flora remnant, at took a plant sample and soil sample to compare to the sample of the dead earth he had already obtained. After several of the stalks had been examined, he took a moment to go over the results with his partners. As they spoke, he flipped through the file to see how deep the dead earth ran.

Satisfied with his initial assessment of the few surviving pieces of vegetation, he walked the perimeter of the barn in search of abnormalities in either the surrounding earth or the structure before searching the barn itself. He saved the search of the house for last. He told himself that it was based solely on the estimated time he felt it would take but he had a strange sense of foreboding that said differently.


[OOC: Everyone is great over here, thanks. Hope you and yours are good as well. I really appreciate you taking the time to officiate the game. It is a great diversion, especially in these times.] 

Jack thanks Janko and cautions him not to speak of their conversation until he hears otherwise.
   At Andreja's workplace, he will ask if anyone else has come looking for her, and leave his card with the manager so the man can call him if someone does so later.
   At the boarding house, Jack frowns at the unpleasant implications. Showing his credentials to the landlord, he will take all the paperwork and the photo, and check the books for loose papers in the pages. As they look through the things, he will idly say to the landlord, "They disappeared and left all these vitally important documents, and you didn't think to call the police? Interesting."
   After he lets that sink in for a minute, he will add: "Did the woman or the girl ever have any visitors? Did they have any friends living nearby? Maybe somewhere the girl might have gone if the mother disappeared? Think hard."
   After getting whatever information he can from the man, he will add: "We'll need to take a quick look in the rooms they rented. You can watch if you want. She may have been in trouble and hid something there." If the man really puts up an argument despite Jack and Spider's appearance and ID, Jack will offer him $5 "for all your inconvenience." At any rate, he will search whatever space they rented for items under loose floor boards, under the mattress, hidden behind drawers, slid behind wall mouldings, etc. He will do the same for shared areas such as a bathroom or kitchen.
   When they leave, he will give the man his card and tell him to call if he thinks of anything else, or anyone else comes snooping around. "And especially if you see the girl. Tell her to call us, we can keep her safe." As they depart he will nonchalantly look around to see if they are being observed by anyone from afar, and if so will drive to a closer point from which he and Spider can pursue them.

The Serbian Problem pt 8

Jack's persistence pays off.  He riffles through all the books and finds a folded letter in one, written in Serbian, and then tries to shame a shameless slumlord, who shrugs.  "They come and go all the time.  So long as they pay, I don't care."   The landlord only knew that the woman worked at a restaurant downtown, and the girl went to school.

The two Polish immigrants, a young couple now renting the room are fretful at the appearance of government men, and quickly move out of the way.  This time, Jack's attention to detail is not rewarded.  The room is bare of everything that might pertain to the two Serbian women.  The landlord is less than helpful, but quickly takes the money, and less than eagerly takes the card.

Jack and Spider linger for a while, watching and waiting, as a thin elderly woman limps down the rickety steps, carrying a cloth bag for groceries, her grey hair wrapped in a green scarf.    Her dress is old and has patches on it.  She limps along, giving them the eye, and pauses as she reaches the street.
"Will one of such nice men help old lady crossing road ?"  she asks, in fairly poor English.  Once clear of the sight of the boarding house, she introduces herself, her English much clearer.  "I am Martina Orlova, and I know the Dobroslavs.  Andjela came to me on 28 May, told me her mother did not come home from her second job.  She stayed with me that night, and went to find Andreja the next morning.   I never saw them again.  Andreja worked at the Serbian Embassy and the steakhouse."

Jack asks her to translate the found letter, which she does.   "This letter is from Andreja to Ambassador Andro Trovi Pavichich.   It is a rough draft, I think, she has crossed out some things, about being unhappy.   She is saying she will no longer work for the Embassy, effective in June, because she is not comfortable with what she is being asked to do there.  She says it is not proper, and she is a good Christian woman.   She says that she is sorry to give such short notice.  She asks that her wages be sent to her by mail and thanks the Ambassador for understanding."  Martina hands the letter back to Jack and regards him and Spider for a moment.  "You must not know, that this happens often.  We come here, we are alone, and we disappear forever.  It is not the first time.  It could be me, tomorrow."  The old woman regards Jack and Spider with an impassive look, clearly having been at the front door of Hell itself already in her long life, and not surprised that such bad things could happen.
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GM: Actions, please, for the next hour of game time, please respond by 25 September, Saturday, next post is Sunday.  Hope you are all well and managing to deal with life.
Glad to be giving you some entertainment, some things to ponder.
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Nolan's First Day pt 4

Nolan can easily scale the gate, as it is only four feet high.  He does notice something as he sets his feet on the rails; there are marks in the dirt outside the gate.  Further examination shows the lines of what look like bicycle tires, and oddly, cloven hoofprints like a large goat in the dirt.  The tracks are not fresh, and it has not rained for at least two days.   There are more hoofprints in the dirt on the other side of the gate, and along the half-fallen barn, near the marked field.  There are no footprints, just cloven hoofprints.  Jenkins notices this too, though Mills is less than perceptive.

"Does that corn look bluish, to you ?"  Mills asks, pointing at the scraggly harvest.  Nolan carefully sampled the soil and the plants.  The stalks are greyed and twisted, the blue-toned corn was obviously no good to eat, but it was the only sign of life in the barren farm.  Of the experimental crops, none of them looked edible, but C2 and D looked like they were growing.  A series of chemical formulas with amounts and application procedures was appended at the back of the report; it was quite thorough.  A search of the tool box in the Model T turned up an entrenching tool, a well-kept small folding shovel, certainly the thing for digging.  The taint in the soil ran about a foot deep, apart from C2 and D, where it was spotty and sometimes only on the surface.  Some of the exposed corn roots looked quite normal.

Nolan follows the cloven tracks around the barn, noticing that they moved oddly; the creature had apparently stood still for a while, then moved back towards another section of fence behind the barn and went over it onto the road again.  The scattering of gravel on that part of the road obscured the tracks after that.  The barn was empty apart from a rotted, rusting plow and some broken barrels.  Even weeds didn't want to grow on the eerie looking soil; a few old bones alongside the barn were stained grey, probably from a large farm animal to judge by the size.

The house was also a wreck, the roof more than half gone, the walls and floors rotted and stained with the same sickly grey funk.  Nolan wasn't sure the floorboards would hold his weight, so Jenkins scouted ahead, returning with a 'all clear' hand signal.  The place seemed utterly abandoned.  Mills made a few notes on his clipboard.  "I think it may require another treatment," he said.  "We didn't have a lot of chemicals at the time, only what we could find in the local supply in DC."  Jenkins has also noticed the odd tracks and calls Mills' attention to them.   Mills shrugs.

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GM: Actions, please, for the next hour of game time, please respond by 25 September, Saturday, next post is Sunday.  Hope you are all well and managing to deal with life.  Glad to be giving you some entertainment, some things to ponder.
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In reply to The GM (msg # 38):
Spider nods and thanks the old woman, and praises Jack for his find.  "Now I think we need to confront the folks at the embassy.  They haven't been straight with us, and if they don't come clean, we can leave them to their problem.  I suspect that the thing might be the spirits of these Sheilas. In fact," he calls back to the office and relates the details to Edith and company, asking if they think this changes things.

Jack is pleased that his good old-fashioned detective work paid off, but still very angry about the fate of the translator and her daughter. When their neighbor assists with further information, Jack is sincerely grateful.
     “Miss Orlova, we do understand that vulnerable people go missing, and we try to stop it. We appreciate your taking a risk and helping us. We will do our absolute best to find the girl, and help her if we can. And we will bring the perpetrators to justice. I promise you that.“
     Jack agrees with Spider that they need to confront Miroslav. “But first we need to run by HQ and pick up whatever Miss Black has concocted for us, and any further information Edith may have come up with. Also, didn’t Miroslav say he was closing the embassy and would bring us the keys? Maybe we can call and arrange for him to meet us there after everyone else is gone. We will have our materials to deal with the spirit, but we can also talk to Miroslav without interference from his guards. If there’s any chance that girl is still alive…“ Jack trails off, not having much hope. “Janko also mentioned that Miroslav was discussing the incident with someone named Yuri Cvetkovic. My guess is that that’s the head of embassy security, but whoever it is, he’s involved. We need to find out who he is for sure, and where he is. Maybe Edith can get that information from the State Department.”
     Jack heads quickly back toward the office.

The Serbian Problem pt 9

Jack and Spider go over the possibilities.  Martina Orlova nods, looking them both in the eye.  "Udachi," she said.  "Bog v pamoch.  I wish you good luck, with the grace of God."  She walks away, carefully navigating the poor walkway along the road.

They head back to the office, to see what's going on.  Edith reported that Aleksandar Miroslav had given her his home address, so that they could go pick up the keys to the closed Embassy.  "The poor man's in tears.  And my intuition tells me that he's got something on his mind."  She picked up her telephone as it rang.

Thorne was madly typing away, swearing under his breath, but Angus looked up as Jack and Spider approached.  "She's still in the labs, but she's got this for you," the Scot said, holding up a dark glass bottle with a cork stopper.  It held about a pint of oily fluid with a strong herbal scent.  "Smear it along the threshold of every entrance into the house, sprinkle the salt over it and place an iron bit on top, and here's the chant.  She wrote it phonetically, I think it's in Creole."  He handed over the written note.  "And if you want, take my black stick.  Spirits do not seem to like it."  he proferred his ebony walking stick, well-worn and sturdy.  His phone rang and he answered it, "BPRD, how can we assist - oh, yes, Sir, that file's on my desk right now.  We'll be sending someone out tomorrow morning.  Let me check on the particulars....."

The two agents waited for Edith to finish her phone call, and asked about Yuri Cvetkovic.  "That's the man who died," she said, in a low tone.  "He was in the boiler room.  If he...didn't move on, I can ask around and see if anyone can speak to him.  But you know not everyone stays around, and the aether, it's very disturbed lately."
The address for Miroslav was on the outskirts of town, not upscale, but definitely upper middle class.  Spider and Jack are able to park in a wide gravelled driveway, along a line of red and yellow rose bushes.  The front garden is well kept and the house is a nice two-storey brick house with a covered porch.  A dog begins barking as they climb the steps, and they can hear it scratching at the door.  Miroslav's voice, in Serbian, chides the dog, who cheerfully ignores him, and he opens the door with one arm tucked around a small, fluffy dog.  As Edith had said, his eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, and he had an air of weariness and misery about him.  "Ah.  Agents.  The keys.  Please to come in.  Do not worry, Sacha will not bite."   The front room has a nice woolen carpet, an upright piano, and some older-looking paintings on the wall, well-appointed but not rich.  A flight of stairs lead up to the second floor, but Miroslav leads them to the next room, a home office, where his desk is a mess of papers and files.  Sacha is set onto the carpet and immediately flops over onto her back to beg for belly rubs.  Miroslav sits at his desk and begins looking for the keys, searching drawers, his pockets, and finally finds them under a sheaf of papers.  There is a slight movement at the top of the stairs; a woman in a starched white nurse's uniform is standing there, beckoning to Miroslav urgently.

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GM:  Please respond with actions, etc, for the next half hour of game time, by Saturday, 2 October, next post is Sunday, or possibly Monday.  Hope all is well in the world with all of you.
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In reply to The GM (msg # 39):

Cloven hooves? Nolan thought with growing concern. Someone, or something, was out here, at the very least scouting the area. Maybe more. He shared a look with Jenkins who likewise noticed the strange footprints. Mills remained clueless and inexplicably seemed unconcerned even after Nolan pointed out the hoofprints.

"There has to be something here." he said matter-of-factly, thinking out loud. "We must have missed something. Everyone, everything, leaves traces. All we have to do is find what they overlooked." Yeah, sure, no problem. He kept the last statement to himself, to keep the confident façade intact. After Mills gave the all clear, Nolan stepped into the house and thoroughly searched the ground floor. He looked under and behind everything he could move, scraping away debris with his entrenching tool. He paid close attention to each wall and walkway, looking for any hidden doors or storage areas. Once he had satisfied himself by gathering anything even remotely suspicious and noting those items in his journal, he set his sights on the basement.

He prepared his shovel for use in case the way below was barred.


[OOC: Sorry it's late but I wasn't sure what other option I may have then to just respond anyway.]

Jack follows Spider's lead, short and to the point. He looks resolutely at the man and adds. "What happened on May 28th?"
If Miroslav runs upstairs in answer to the nurse's summons, Jack will follow immediately. He will not let the man out of his sight until he answers their questions.

In reply to Jack (msg # 44):

Spider says, "We need to talk about a couple of ladies, sir."  And he asks about Aundrea and Aunjali (spelling is likely wrong)...

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The Serbian Problem pt 10

Jack and Spider follow Miroslav up the stairs, to a bedroom that the nurse is standing by.  She lets him past her, but plants her sturdy form in the doorway; they can look over her shoulders to see a very frail-looking woman laying down on a bed, with Miroslav on his knees next to her, saying something in Serbian.  The woman looks very ill and Miroslav looks heartbroken.  She murmurs something too faint for the Agents to hear, and Miroslav reluctantly gets to his feet and goes back to the hallway, the nurse stepping aside for him to pass her by.

It is clear the situation is dire for the woman's health, and Miroslav is deeply shaken.  "The...Ambassador has to trust me to keep secrets.  I have only done what I must.  Now the reason for my discretion you can see - my beautiful wife is dying, and only the doctor we have found here in DC has been able to help her.  We will go downstairs and I will tell you what I know - what I think I know, anyway."  He stumbled down the stairs, back to the office room, and collapsed in his desk chair.
"My cousin Yuri came here last year.  I was able to get him a job at the Embassy, as a boilerman.  He told me something was strange, something was wrong, that he had bad dreams about the place.  I was in the middle of a great deal of paperwork, so I did not pay so much attention - he is - was - always a person who saw fanciful things no one else could.   In late May there were many meetings, some of them late, and my dear wife was not well.  Anika - my secretary - agreed to stay late so I could go home on 28 May.  Yuri told me the next day that there was something wrong, one of the security guards was dismissed that night, and that the next day a man came looking for Andreja, there was trouble of some kind. The man - I never knew his name-  was taken away by the Ambassador's personal bodyguard, Josif Drazko.  I was personally warned by the Ambassador to say nothing, or we would be sent back to Serbia, with no jobs.   I said as much to Janko when I observed him listening.  I have never seen the dismissed security guard, Branamir Brajik, or Josif Drazko again.  There was, the Ambassador said, some very rude argument and it was no longer acceptable for them to remain.  Shortly after the Ambassador's health declined and he left the running of the Embassy to me, and it has been a great burden.  I was not there for whatever happened, just told it had been bad and that Yuri and I would both be sent away if we did not keep quiet about it.   The Ambassador lives at 3315 Highland Place, but I am not sure if he is there or has gone to a spa in the Blue Ridge mountains for his health.  I have had no word at all from him for over a week.  Now my cousin Yuri, who I grew up with and have known for forty-five years, is dead.  There is no more time for silence."

Miroslav pulled a half-shredded handkerchief from his vest pocket and daubs at his eyes; he looks about ten years older than yesterday, and at the end of his tether.  "Anika might know more, but I am certain she would have been threatened to keep silent too.  She lives on the third floor at 5104 New Hampshire Avenue - she does not have a telephone herself, but this is her landlord's number."  He scribbles it down on a scrap of paper for them and gives them the keys.  "I don't have the information on the guards here, it's in a file at the Embassy, the large black filing cabinet in my office.  That little key will open it.  I beg you - please stop this thing.  Tell me what happened no matter what.  Secrets can no longer be kept.  My wife told me - there is no easy translation - In trouble, there must be a hero.  I risk all to give this to you."

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GM:  Please respond with actions, etc for the next hour of game time, by 9 October, Saturday, next post is Sunday.  Hope you are all well.  Apologies for the day delay in posting, I had to drive back from Origins, and yes, happy to report I won a Cthulhu game.
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This message was last edited by the GM at 01:33, Mon 03 Jan 2022.

Field Assignment: Nolan pt 1
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Nolan pulled sickly weeds away from the root cellar door and noted that nothing was inside of any value; a load of rotted potatoes.  There was no basement to speak of.

Nolan reviewed the hoofprints again.  It might be a big goat, but the stride pattern was off...so he looked around some more, and found another very odd clue.  A piece of a candy bar, most likely a Baby Ruth bar, was being broken down further and hauled off by some ants just outside the fence, where the tracks were last visible.  Closer examination showed that it was easy to hop the fence at this point, because someone had stowed a wood crate in a patch of thick weeds, and there were scrape marks on it where the paint had come off the wood.  This was near a gravel patch that held no prints of any kind.  He went around the buildings again, finding a well-hidden metal chest covered with an oiled tarpaulin, half-buried under some dirt.  Inside was a knife-sharpened pencil and a notebook, and written on the flyleaf in a childish hand was "Omar Macey."  There were multiple entries in the notebook in the same handwriting, noting dates and times, weather conditions, height of the corn plants and observations - the same stuff that Nolan was doing.  There was also a tattered penny dreadful story about a Wild West cowboy adventure, and a folded newspaper from four weeks prior, wrapped around a sealed jar of hard candy.  Apparently once a month or so, this Omar made observations of the same farm.  The newspaper was The Arkham Gazette and mentioned an automobile crash near the University on the front page.  On the third page, there was a circled advertisement for a "monster hunter', from a reporter named Manny Dunworthy.

Nolan then observed Jenkins squeaking in Mills' ear, and the pedantic Professor was making notes on his tiny clipboard.

"Very good, Mr. Nolan," Mills the mouse said.  "Not everyone would have noticed that, I certainly didn't.  Jenkins has told me that Omar is on the payroll at the BPRD.  He'll have some pictures of the field for us to collect, and he's based in Arkham.  Nightfall is fast approaching and he'll be up and about.  You will need to be careful, though - some of his relatives are cannibals."

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GM:  Please respond with actions, etc for the next hour of game time, by 9 October, Saturday, next post is Sunday.  Hope you are all well.  Apologies for the day delay in posting, I had to drive back from Origins, and yes, happy to report I won a Cthulhu game.
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In reply to The GM (msg # 46):

Spider says to Jack, "I think we will have a better chance of the ritual working if we can settle things down.  I say we try to solve the mystery, so whatever, or whomever it is, will leave willingly.  We'll try Anika first.  Mirosla, write a note to her that we can show her.  Then we'll find the guards' addresses and see if we can find them as well.  Once we get a resolution to the missing, we perform the ritual.  Sound good to you?"

In reply to The GM (msg # 47):

Finally a name! Nolan thought excitedly as he examined the contents of the small chest he had found. "Omar Macey. Ring any bells?" He said to Mills and Jenkins, showing them the notebook. This sparked a whispered conversation between the mice which Nolan took as a promising development.

Another name, "Manny Dunworthy." he said indicating the monster hunter add. No response that time.

Nolan acknowledged the professor's compliment with a nod. his eyebrows raised in upon learning that Omar was on the payroll. "Is he, now? Well that is interesting and it gives us a place to start. Then we can check in on our newspaper reporter," a pause as he searched the paper for his name again, "this, Manny Dunworthy."

A couple names, some candy, a newspaper. Not much but he finally felt that they were making progress. "Let's go see Mr. Macey, shall we?"

As he prepared to leave, Mills last comment stopped him short. "Wait, did you say cannibals?" Already knowing the answer and eager to move on he picked up the pace and heads for the car.

====================================================

[@GM: Congrats on the win!]

Field Assignment: Nolan pt 2

"Young Omar Macey is a half-ghoul," said Mills, tipping his glasses down on his fuzzy nose to look up at Nolan.  "His father was human.  His mother was not.   The ghoul population in Arkham is extensive and they have tunnels underneath most of the city, but I happen to know Omar's home is in the wooded graveyard by Hangman's Hill.  His relatives would be delighted to eat you, so we will have to use caution.  He often sells newspapers off of Main Street so we may be lucky enough to find him there."

The mice quickly followed Nolan to the Model T and scampered up to their perches on the dashboard.  Nolan drives towards Arkham, but with the sunlight gone, he makes a few wrong turns and it is well dark by the time he finds Main Street.  (rolling percent: Spot Hidden with die roller, 74%).  By the time they arrive, most businesses are closed and locked up tight.  Only a small diner on Main is still open, the counter serving working-class folk simple food.  Lights are on, on the top floor of the Arkham Gazette, but not the bottom floor, and the door is locked.  No one is lingering on the street, they're getting into cars or onto the jitney bus to get out of the city.  The general feeling is that the area is unsafe, and no one is sticking around after nightfall.   Jenkins is alertly watching every shadow, one paw on the needle rapiers on his belt, and Mills seems nervous too.  "I know that the Orne Library on Miskatonic University campus will be open late - the head librarian is a colleague of ours, Marcus Faulkner.  We can find shelter there if nothing else.  I would not like to risk your life again, Mr. Nolan."

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GM:  Actions, etc, for the next hour of game time, please respond by  Saturday 16 October, next post is Sunday.  Hope you are all well, or at least coping.
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The Serbian Problem pt 11

Miroslav dashes off a quick note to Anika Vukanovic, reading it in English to the agents.  "Dear Miss Vukanovic, I write this hoping you are recovering from your terrible shock and hope that you may grant me a favour, in speaking to the two gentlemen bearing this note.  I am preparing a letter of recommendation for you if you do not wish to ever return to the Embassy.  Please accept my thanks for your kind service."
He tells the two agents that the file with all the employees' names and contact information can be found in his office cabinet, and which key opens the cabinet; as soon as they say their farewells he is running back up the stairs to his wife, scooping up the fluffy little dog as he goes.

The two agents head to the next address, for Anika Vukanovic, an apartment building converted from a Victorian mansion with a decent view of a park.  She is on the third floor according to the signage, and the front door is open in the building.   No one is about, as this is the afternoon when most working-class folk will be at a job of some sort.  The building is clean, but shows sign of wear and tear.  They trudge up the stairs and go to knock on her door.  Nothing.  No sound from within.  An envelope has been shoved under her door; without much difficulty they can fish it out, and observe that once again, it's written in Serbian, in a flowing script handwriting, very feminine; a faint perfume of roses is on the paper.

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GM:  Actions, etc, for the next hour of game time, please respond by  Saturday 16 October, next post is Sunday.  Hope you are all well, or at least coping.
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In reply to The GM (msg # 50):

"Half-ghoul, eh." Nolan considers a moment before adding, "Then let's hope we meet the good half." Normally he would crack a ironic smile at his attempt at humor but couldn't bring himself to do it this time. Maybe because it's not actually a joke? He wondered.

After his misadventures in the Model-T put him in town too late to catch Omar selling papers, Nolan mood had darkened significantly after his evidentiary breakthroughs at the farm. Desperately wanting another win before the day ended, he briefly considers trying to pick the locked door of the newspaper. He wants to try and catch Manny Dunworthy in the office but his expertise in lockpicking was such that he would be better served to kick the door in preemptively. Deciding that breaking and entering would be detrimental to foster a good working relationship and feeling the darkness closing in around them Nolan considers their options. When a nervous Mills offers the library as an option to avoid risking his life, he shudders at the oblique reference to his experience in the warehouse and their choice is clear.

He didn't have to be told twice. Maybe we can gather more information on town history, Omar Macey and his people, or Manny Dunworthy's articles? He thinks hopefully. Nolan realizes that while he may not be most scholarly type he definitely has more experience there than in lockpicking.

"The library it is." Under his breath, he thinks aloud, "Let's get inside and see what Marcus has to say."

Jack doesn’t want to violate the sanctity of a sealed letter, but he’s willing to pry open the lock on the apartment door with a pen knife while Spider examines the envelope.
“I’m worried her life may be in danger,” he says out loud, justifying his action to himself and anyone listening. [OC Keeper please roll, I am in the woods with a poor connection!]
Once a look inside determines no apparent foul play, he will close it back up and they can depart.
He suggests they talk to someone on the security team next.

Spider may not be able to read Serbian, but he might be able to puzzle out a return address on the envelope, if there is one.

In reply to The GM (msg # 51):

The Serbian Problem pt 12
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Jack works on the door with his penknife, trying to pry the tumblers with the pick, and easily pops it open (7%, even the online die roller loves the PCs).  The door swings open onto an empty room; there is a bureau with the drawers askew, one lone stocking hanging from one of them, a bed that was hastily stripped of its linen and abandoned, and a complete absence of anything else.  The tiny closet was empty.  The woman had left in a good amount of hurry, but not so much that she'd left anything of importance behind - just a silk stocking with a run in it, and a couple of yellow chrysanthemums stuck into a cheap glass vase, very wilted.   A faint tracing of dust was on the windowsill, enough to guess at the occupant leaving a few days ago.   The room is plain and small, with only one window, a small table supporting the vase of dying flowers, the small bureau and a bed.

Spider studied the letter; it was definitely Cyrillic, and while some of the letters he understood, the meaning was not so easy.  There was no address, as such, just a fancy triplet of words on the letter, as if the person who had written the letter also had it delivered by hand.  Something about it seemed familiar, too, as if he'd seen the handwriting before - some time earlier this year.  The envelope is of good quality, the paper is heavyweight, and the perfume expensive, like something  Cressida would wear.  The two men were there in the room when the clatter of shoes on the stairs was heard, with the high pitch of womens' voices chattering away.  Someone was heading up to this floor.

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GM:  Please respond with actions, etc, for the next hour of game time, by Saturday, 23 October, next post on Sunday.  Hope you are all doing well, and that the Dark Young don't chase Jack out in the woods.
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In reply to Nolan (msg # 52):

Field Assignment: Nolan pt 3
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Nolan followed the directions of the mice, parking the Model T on a side street and hurrying through the gathering gloom towards the granite edifice that was the Orne library.  There were lamps burning in front, showing the marble steps leading up to the main doors, but Mills told him to head around to the west wall, where a much plainer door was hidden behind some bushes.  "Knock hard, he might be shelving books somewhere inside,"  Mills said.  There was an odd gibbering sound, high up in the trees of the university grounds.  Nolan thumped the door, as Jenkins eyed the darkness.   It took a moment but then the door was unlocked and pulled open.  An elderly man stood there in a dull grey tweed suit, glaring at Nolan from behind round wire-framed glasses.  "And what is it you want - oh, Mills.  Pleasure to see you old man.  Get in."  He stepped back, to show an office room with neat stacks of paperwork on a large desk.  As soon as Nolan was clear of the door, the librarian slammed it shut, locked it and barred it, tapping a series of metal studs embedded in the dark wood.  A faint glowing symbol flickered across the door, one of complex intertwining lines.  "That should hold.  Been a few busy nights.  Lost an undergrad yesterday."
"Marcus Faulkner, this is Christopher Nolan, an Agent with BPRD.  We're begging for your kindness in putting us up for the evening."  Mills introduced Nolan.
"Hmmph," Faulkner said.  "Must be damned shorthanded then, I know you lot like to travel in pairs at the least.  You can sleep in the lounge.  Gods know Ben spent enough nights here back in the day."
"We're in town looking at that farm again," Mills said.  "The old Pierce farm."
"Hmmph," Faulkner replied.  "Stay out of the tunnels, the ghouls are riled up."
Mills blinked.  "Do you know why ?"
"No idea.  There's a tin of beans and some blankets in the old chest.  I had dinner already.  How's Ben ?  How's Jack, David, Cameron, Irina, Mikaela ?   Hmmph, bet she's probably had another baby by now."
"Ben's doing very well, and we are seriously understaffed in DC," Mills said.  "Jack and David are out on assignment.  Irina...well, there was an incident.  Cameron.....well.  You know how these things can go.  Mikaela had twins."
"Time flies," Faulkner said.  "Go off to the lounge and tell me about it tomorrow.  I've got to get on the radio, waiting on a call-in from overseas.  Good night to you."   He set off towards the staircase in the main library, abandoning Nolan and the mice to a quiet area with couches and overstuffed chairs, near a lavatory.  The afforementioned chest had a Roman history textbook on it, with some abandoned notes, but there were some blankets inside, a tin of beans and an opener.  Not a fine establishment, but it was quiet and safe.  And if sleep was hard to come by, there were only about ten thousand books to choose from, on this floor anyway.
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GM:  Please respond with actions, etc, for the next hour of game time, by Saturday, 23 October, next post on Sunday.  Hope you are all doing well, and that the Dark Young don't chase Jack out in the woods.
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In reply to The GM (msg # 56):

Grateful to be safely indoors, especially upon hearing the news that an undergraduate had been 'lost', Nolan settled in for a long night and offered his thanks to Faulkner. Once their host departed, Nolan tried to relax and enjoy a spoonful or two of beans. It became painfully apparent, however, that he would be doing neither. Far too wound up to finish his meager fare or relax, he exchanged pleasantries with his diminutive colleagues and walked into the stacks.

If he were honest with himself he must admit that he wasn't particularly adept at conducting research but he had no intention of wasting an entire night surrounded by books, however unintended. Besides, he thought, when in Rome...

As he navigated the forest of bookshelves, he was intimidated by the sheer enormity of choice with which he was presented and found it hard to get started. He knew he had to gather information on town history (as it relates to supernatural experiences specifically) Omar Macey and his people, and gather a sample of Manny Dunworthy's articles as well as his personal history. But he couldn't get it all at the same time so where to start?

"Omar Macey." He declared out-loud for no particular reason. Didn't matter where he started anyway, he would get to it all eventually. Happy to have settled on his first research target, he headed to the library's card catalogue.

In reply to The GM (msg # 55):

Spider decided to figure out the letter at a later time.  He slipped it into his pocket and turned to the women coming up the stairs and produced his government ID.  Sometimes in places like this it was the wrong move, but he had no cover credentials on him, so he decided to offer a version of the truth, and a brief glance at his ID card.  "Excuse me ladies, my name's Mallory. I'm with the federal government.  We're looking for the woman who used to rent this flat.  Can you help us?"

As the female voices approach, Jack too will pull out his government ID. He prepares to lean into his Southern accent and turn on a bit of charm. After Spider speaks, he adds with a gallant-yet-concerned air, "We're afraid the lady may be in danger, and we want to offer our assistance. Please, any information might help. It may be a matter of life and death!" (All of which Jack believes to be true, incidentally.)
On the extreme off-chance that the arriving parties are hostile, Jack's .45 is holstered in easy reach!

In reply to Nolan (msg # 57):

Field Assignment: Nolan pt 4

Nolan looked through the card catalogue, hunting for ghouls, Macey, and Dunworthy.  He was able to look up some recent copies of the Arkham Gazette that had Dunworthy as a byline.  The style of prose was sensational, trying to make much of what had been a vehicle collision between a chicken truck and a Ford, hinting at a conspiracy theory of car manufacturing that would soon clog any roadway from 'here to the California coast'.   Another story Dunworthy wrote was suggesting that the local carnival last month was actually showing real monsters, and dared the readers to 'prove me wrong !'  He looked up Macey, and found several books, of different types, including a cookbook by a Jane Macey, a book on flags by a Andrew Macey, and a book on Napoleonic tactics in the late Peninsular War by Frank Macey, and one was a history book of The New England Legends and Lore, by James Macey, and published last year.  It was on the shelf.  The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he pulled it from its place on the shelf, and saw the bookmark with his name on it.  The handwriting was bold, without any flourish, and all the 'u' letters were strong 'v' letters.  He'd seen the handwriting before, recently.

Christopher Nolan.  Stay ovt of the graveyard.  Go to the Gazette by 4:30 am.  Wait in yovr car.
Do not tell Ben of this note.  L.

The bookmark was on the chapter 'Eaters of the Dead' and detailed legends and lore of cannibalistic creatures called ghouls, monstrous humanoids typically dwelling in cemeteries.  It goes into some historical context of the Arabic 'ghul' legend, and as far back as the Akkadian gallu, and mentions that the creatures have some shapeshifting abilities, and are known to kill humans as well as feast on corpses.  The ghouls locally are in a complex series of tunnels under the city of Arkham, extending for miles, perhaps as far as Boston.  The author carefully warns anyone looking for them would likely have a highly dangerous experience.  Ghouls have varied appearances, including having clawed feet or hooves, elongated faces with heavy jaws, clawed hands and sharp teeth.  Some were more human-looking than others, and the worst ones were horrible to behold.  The illustrations were going to ensure that any sleep he might try to have would be haunted by nightmares.  (+5% occult - and roll % dice on learning any Mythos if you keep reading).  Other chapters are about the Jersey Devil, the Snallygaster, Vampires in Vermont, Sasquatch, and so on.

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GM: Actions, etc for the next hour of game time, please respond by 30 October, Saturday, next post is Sunday.  Hope you are all well and live is improving.
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The Serbian Problem pt 13

Jack and Spider introduce themselves to the two completely not dangerous Slavic women on the stairs; one is about forty, blonde, thin and pretty in a brittle sort of way, the other about thirty, with curly brown hair.  Both are wearing maid uniforms and carrying buckets, and look tired.   "Government ?"  the younger one says, taken aback, but Jack's charm soothes her nerves.   She definitely had an accent, similar to the ones Jack and Spider had been hearing lately. "Da, yes, the woman there.  Anika Vukanovic.  She had fancy job at the government house.  Fancy ways."  She rolled her eyes.
"She go, two days ago ?"  the blonde said, with an even heavier accent.  "Big car take her."
"She says, she knows noble, she go," the brunette rolled her eyes again.
"Thinks she is, they say, 'Sheba Queen'." the blonde added.  She set down her bucket and folded her arms, her body language revealing how poorly she thought of Anika.
"Da, Queen of Sheba," the brunette nodded, making a face.  "Bolshevik."  When shown the letter, she reads off the writing on the envelope but is puzzled by it.  "No sense.  It say, 'Rose of glory.' "  Not her name, her name mean 'wolf', Vuk is 'wolf' in Serbian."  Neither of the women think that Anika was taken by force - and she'd definitely left of her own accord.

Another set of footsteps are coming up the stairs, loud and clomping, belonging to a tall, thin young man toting a metal tool chest.  He wore greasy overalls and had a rip in the sleeve of his shirt, and a worn-out expression of despair.  "Yuri -" the brunette said, and set loose a long string of Russian words, ending with 'Anika'.   He replied in a shorter set of words.
"She left in big red car, with black trim, new Duesenberg Phaeton, tan top, rich blonde lady driving."  The brunette translated.  "Rich how ?"
Yuri waggled his hand, saying something else in Russian.
"Diamond rings," the brunette translated.
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GM: Actions, etc for the next hour of game time, please respond by 30 October, Saturday, next post is Sunday.  Hope you are all well and live is improving.
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In reply to The GM (msg # 60):

Nolan looked around as he hastily stuffed the note in his pants pocket, experiencing a sudden wave of paranoia wash over him. Don't tell, Ben? He thought, momentarily confused until...Ben Weintraub, the Director? Why on earth not? A mysterious note requests that he leave the safety of the library to meet an unnamed individual and keep the whole thing a secret from his superior. Fat chance.

I suppose that means I need to keep it a secret from Mills and Jenkins, too? While he had no intention of keeping any of it a secret, the meeting was most a likely a trap and there was no reason to endanger Mills or Jenkins, he rationalized. Besides he would come clean when he got back. Unless, of course, he never made it back in which case the situation would resolve itself, he thought darkly.

He couldn't believe that he was actually considering it.

As the possibilities rolled around in his head, he continued to read The New England Legends and Lore by James Macey, hoping to pick up some additional insights to aid in his investigation (20:26, Today: Nolan rolled 43 using 1d100.  % dice on learning any Mythos for continued reading). He continued to read the book until he needed to prepare to leave for the meeting at which point he appropriated it for future reference. They can bill the BPRD, he thought with an internal wink. Yet despite his levity, he found himself uttering a silent apology to Faulkner as he took it, promising himself to bring it back.

He tried to check on the mice to see if they were still sleeping but he was reluctant to approach in fear of waking them so he was unable to tell at his current distance. In the end, he needn't have bothered since it wouldn't have affected his decision one way or the other.

He checked the instructions one last time, "Stay out of the graveyard. Go to the Gazette by 4:30 am. Wait in your car." Check, check and check. Loathe to brave the darkness any longer than possible he timed the meeting down to the last minute, took a deep breath and slipped out into the darkness.

In reply to The GM (msg # 61):

Spider stifled a curse, instead thanking the ladies and the gentleman for their help.  He said to Jack, "This is getting old.  I have no way of finding this lady, unless we can track a red Duesenberg by asking the local police.  I worry we're about to go in blind when we try to banish this thing.  And I'm still not sure we ought to banish it."  Then he thought, "Maybe our Serbian mechanic friend could tell us who's driving that Phaeton."

Sharing Spider’s frustration, Jack gestures at the envelope and says, “We might as well open the letter ask these ladies to translate it for us.”
Jack is willing to pursue his friend’s idea about the mechanic. Other than that, he supposes only thing to do is get the list of security personnel from Miroslav’s office.
“But that will involve entering the embassy, will it not?”
OC: Happy Halloween, everyone!

The Serbian Problem pt 13

The two agents look at the note, and at the two ladies and the young man, who set his toolbox down and was observing them curiously.  The young man asks a question of the brunette, who blushes and responds, "Yuri says, you are government men, you will pay a...a, what is word, money, for informations ?  He says he knows where car may be."
Five dollars later, the agents had the address of the Harrington Hotel, a marble multi-storey hotel downtown, on E and 11th street.  It was new, and oddly featured rooms with private bathrooms, a new-fashioned idea; the place was huge and getting bigger, under construction.   It was not the grandest hotel in DC but certainly had aspirations towards that.

The agents do however open the note.  There is a puff of grey mist as they do so, that twines around their hands; the contents of the note, which were a series of numbers and Serbian letters fade out to utter blankness.  Whatever message was inside is gone.  This impresses their working-class audience even more, but the three foreigners are very happy to take Yuri's windfall money to the nearest speakeasy for a little celebration.  Carefully saving the paper, the Agents head out towards the Harrington.

Parked along 11th Street, a short distance from the Harrington, is a new red and black Phaeton with a tan top.   It had Indiana plates, marked 1925.

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GM:  Please respond with actions, etc for the next few minutes of game time, by Saturday,  6 November, next post Sunday.  Happy Halloween !
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Nolan and the Ghouls

Nolan tucked the book into his gear bag and headed out, leaving Mills flat out asleep on a cushion, wrapped in a handkerchief.  Jenkins was nowhere to be seen, until Nolan opened the door, noting the Yale lock on it would re-lock it when he left; then there was a flash of green by his feet.  Jenkins pointed towards the car in a no-nonsense fashion and ran that way, a streak of green glow in the swirling fog that had come off the river during the night.  Something was moving in the fog, too - loud footsteps would start, then stop, and then there was a deep sniffing noise, as of some creature trying to track them by scent.  Nolan ran for the car, stumbling over a couple of bushes that Jenkins easily ran under, and then they were at the car.  The Model T started on the first crank and they were off.   The street lamps did little to dispel the gloom, where shapes lurked, half-seen.   Jenkins pointed out the roadway to him and they chugged towards the Arkham Gazette, where a loading dock had a truck being loaded, and two kids on bicycles were already there, rolling papers to lay into their bike baskets for delivery, a couple of lamps on the dock lighting their tasks.  The mouse pointed to the lad on the left, who had a new bike, the paint gleaming blue even in the weak light.    "Where's Timmy, you little street Arabs ?"  the man loading the truck demanded, as the boys caught another package of papers he slung at them.   They seemed to be in a routine, probably one that happened every morning, in the dark, when decent folk should be abed and papers had to be made ready for them to read with their morning coffee.  The sun would not rise for another hour or so, and the fog was still heavy.  In the darkness, their voices carried.
"He's got a toothache, Mr. Harmon, we're doing his route today," the boy with the blue bike said, in a cheerful voice.
"He's paying us, so hey, good for me !"  the other boy said, with a laugh.  "Omar, you doing the Row ?"
"I'll do the Row; I'll do Church Street too.  You doing the Hill, Mike ?"
"You got it, and I'll head up to the factory with the leftovers.  You got downtown ?"
"Sounds like a plan," Omar agreed, the two performing some complicated handshake.  At first look, Omar didn't look anything out of the ordinary, just a kid about nine years old, but his footing was a little shaky, as if the boots he was wearing fit poorly.  He wore a man's cap over his his brown curls and a man's wool coat that came down to his knees.  The other kid, Mike, was slightly better dressed, in patched breeches with a patched jacket, but his bike was worn and rusty.  Omar's bike was shiny and new.
"All right, then, see you tomorrow, kids," Mr. Harmon said, swinging the doors shut on the truck.  "Gotta big story, but it's that jackass, so he'll send it in late and we'll be doing inserts."
"Okay, Mr. Harmon.  See ya, Omar !"  Mike began to pedal off Northward along the road, standing up to force his old bike up the incline.  Harmon hopped into the cab of the truck and roared off Eastward, past Nolan's Model T.   Omar set the last paper into his basket and looked around, quickly clocking the Model T, and slowly started his bike towards it.   Nolan looked carefully at the kid; big brown eyes, curly reddish brown mop of hair, and a grin that showed largish, crooked, but not scary teeth.  His hands on the handlebars were grubby from dirt and ink, but very normal.  "Hey, Mister DC plate, wanna buy a paper ?  Morning edition, two cents." Omar said, then looked at Jenkins, who was waving.  "Hello, Mr. Jenkins !  How are you ?  Uncle Luke said you'd be here.  Did you want the photos I took ?  I gotta lotta papers to deliver this morning, but I can get them later."

(GM: +1% Mythos from reading Macey's book)

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GM:  Please respond with actions, etc for the next few minutes of game time, by Saturday,  6 November, next post Sunday.  Happy Halloween !
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This message was last edited by the GM at 01:54, Mon 01 Nov 2021.

The definitely-not-normal gray mist that came out of the envelope worries Jack a bit; but apparently it has faded away without effect. “I hope whatever that was didn’t go looking for the lady.”
He thanks the three people sincerely for their help, along with the five-spot.
When they find the car, Jack answers Spider, “You’ve been doing just fine, pal. We’re operating without much to go on here. I think we should go in, also, rather than waiting to see what happens.”

In reply to The GM (msg # 66):

While initially started by the sight of his uninvited partner, Nolan was nonetheless greatly relieved to have Jenkins' assistance.

"DC Plate" Nolan, turned as the lad addressed him and fumbled around in his pocket for the requested two bits and dropped it in Omar's hands.  He was more that a bit appreciative at his decidedly non-monstrous appearance. He slid the paper under his arm and reached out his hand to take the mentioned pictures for Jenkins. After securing the pictures and the paper, he tipped his hat to the boy, "Thanks, kid." He looked back at Jenkins meaningfully, "for everything."

He shut the car door and turned the engine over but left it idling for a moment as he opened the paper and pictures and spread them on his lap. "Well Jenkins," he announced. "Let's see what your friend brought us. It better be something good for Mills to forgive our excursion."

In reply to Jack (msg # 67):

Spider says, "So, do we go in searching, or wait to follow the car?  I'd go in and hunt, but I've been making bad decisions lately."

Nolan and the Ghouls pt 2

Omar happily accepted the quarter, but didn't hand over any photos, just a copy of the paper.  "Told ya, I'd have to get them later.  You want to stick around, anyway - but wait until the sun is up before you leave the car.   We had that idiot come into the tunnels and try to set traps, so everyone is really upset at the humans now.  I'll be downtown later."  The kid quickly wheeled his bike around and set off on his deliveries.  Jenkins shrugged, something hard for a mouse to do.

Without much to do but wait, and the sun just beginning to light up the Eastern sky, Nolan was feeling frustrated.  Someone knocked on the glass of the Model T's window, startling him - he could have sworn there was no one nearby.  An old man in a shabby suit was standing there, grinning at him, a copy of the paper tucked under his arm.   He was bald, wiry, with a swarthy complexion and a big nose.  "Hey," the old man said.  "You want to buy me a cup of coffee, I'll tell you a story, Mr. Nolan.  I see you got my note.   Ave, Jenks."  There was an accent there, something like Italian.  Without waiting for an invitation, the old man strode around the car to open the passenger door and settle into the seat, as Jenkins waved and saluted.  "Up that way, there's a place that does a good cup of coffee, but it's not as good as the Brewmaster.  Took me years to perfect that."  The old man pointed up the road towards a small cafe that was just lighting up for business, then held out his arthritis-gnarled hand to shake Nolan's.  "Luke Macey.  That is what it says on my passport.  Today is the first time you have met me, but it is the third time I have met you."  Despite the worn suit, the old man wore a thick gold signet ring on his right hand, and a slimmer gold band on his left ring finger.  "Jenks, you ditched Mills.  Well done, eu !   That mouse does nothing but worry.  Well, are you going to buy me coffee, or not, Mr. Nolan ?  My great-nephew has his work to do, and then he'll be back with his photos.  He is getting really good with the printing."

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   GM:  Actions, etc, for the next few minutes of game time, please respond by Saturday 13 November, next post Sunday.  Hope you are all well and that normality is trending for you
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The Serbian Problem, pt 14

Jack and Spider park the car on the street, not far from the fancy Phaeton.  The hotel lobby was a glory in plush velvet and marble.  A concierge in a neat grey suit swept up to them with a welcoming smile, just as they heard a woman's voice swearing in Russian - the Countess, who was raising her hand in a definite move to cast a spell, her blonde hair frizzing up with the sudden surge of energy.  She was in a red dress with black trim, standing by the elevator door, and looked mighty furious to see the two men.   There was no sign of her sidekick, the multi-PhD'd Serbian.

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   GM:  Actions, etc, for the next few minutes of game time, please respond by Saturday 13 November, next post Sunday.  Hope you are all well and that normality is trending for you
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In reply to The GM (msg # 70):

Nolan swore involuntarily when the old man knocked on the window. I guess monsters wouldn't have knocked, he admonished himself as he released his unconsciously-held breath. Jenkins obvious respect for the visitor was a great relief and comfort to the fledgling agent.

"Ah, I have you to thank for that, then? I did indeed." Grinning, he confirmed his receipt of the note. "I appreciate the help. However, it begs the question how you knew I would find it there." Fully recovered from his start, he reached out to take the old man's hand. A reference to the Brewmaster, so an actual agent...or more than that? Less maybe, an ex-agent? He wondered. "A pleasure, Mr. Macey." With a pointed look he added, "nice ring." In case he didn't get the chance for a closer look later, he tried to commit as much of it to memory as possible. Also, he is or was married. He thought in response to the gold band on Luke's left ring finger. Despite the its mundanity, he filed that away for future use. After all, you never knew what information would prove important.

Luke was obviously gifted with the ability to remain unnoticed, at least by Chris. He mentioned meeting him three times though Nolan had believed this was the first and his approach to the car was downright silent. Supernaturally so, if you asked Nolan. He would have to keep an eye on him. Maybe two.

"Absolutely. A cup of coffee is the least I can do. In fact, it's about that time. Let me buy us some breakfast and you can tell me a story while we wait for your great-nephew's pictures." He offered companionably. Then with a wink and a smile he turned to Jenkins. "Besides, we'll just expense it." He popped the Ford into gear and lurched toward the cafe.

In reply to The GM (msg # 71):

Spider took a few steps forward, arms wide, but also moved slightly to one side, hoping to block her view of Jack, so he might be able to ready magic of his own, if needed.  "We just want to talk, Miss!  Not here for trouble."

Jack will attempt to throw out a defensive spell to shield Spider and himself from possible magical attack. At the same time, he will also add to Spider’s entreaty: “Your Excellency, stop! We’re trying to protect Miss Vukanovic and end the haunting!”

The Serbian Problem pt 15

Jack and Spider found themselves changing places quickly, as the sorceress raised her hands; Jack quickly cast Protect from Harm.  An elderly woman dropped her mimosa onto the marble floor, the shattering sound ringing loudly through the lobby.   The sound also broke the Countess' concentration; she turned and ran towards the back of the hotel.  There was a horrible sound of a collision, the crash of a ladder and the Countess was swearing in Russian - blue paint splattered across the floor as a paint can was kicked over.  The concierge turned pale and hurried towards the ruckus.  The Countess had smacked into a painter, his ladder and most of his supplies; she was covered in blue paint head to toe.  She was trying to scrub the stuff out of her eyes and was shrieking outrage.  The painter fled as the concierge tried to assist her; she slapped him.  He staggered back, slipped on the paint and knocked her down as she tried to stand.

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GM: Actions, etc, for the next few minutes of game time, please respond by Saturday, 20 November, next post Sunday.  Hope you are all well and dealing with life as it goes along.

Nolan and the Ghouls pt 2
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The old man settled back in the Model T's seat with ease.  Indeed, he looked like the kind of man who would feel at ease anywhere.  The thick gold ring had some kind of engraving work on it, a seal of some sort.  "There you are, learning the paperwork, always wise," Macey agreed.  "And I'm old, I know a lot of things, including where you might be found on this day in 1925."  He got out of the car with a slight wince, though, as if one of his knees was dodgy. Jenkins easily leapt onto Macey's sleeve and scurried into his jacket pocket, squeaking as he went.
"Oh, it's grand-nephew, not great nephew, is that so ?  Well, English is my ninth language. Though to be fair, not a lot of my old languages are spoken anymore."  The old man could understand the mouse !

The smell of fresh coffee and cooking bacon greeted Nolan as he followed Macey into the cafe.  There were three men in work clothes at the counter already, and a waitress in a pink dress and white apron hurrying around setting coffee mugs in front of them.  "Bella, dear, here's a paper for you," Macey said, slipping the paper onto the counter as he sat down.  "The usual, and the same for my friend."  He happily accepted the mug of coffee she set down and drank it black, with three sugars.  "So, Christopher Nolan.  You have many questions.  Let's get to them."   He regarded Nolan with beady black eyes and a merry grin, the image of mischief.  He effortlessly slipped Jenkins a piece of bacon as the waitress served up a plates of sausage, bacon, three eggs, home fries, and hot buttered toast.  The seal ring was a goat's head, with the Roman numeral IX.
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GM: Actions, etc, for the next few minutes of game time, please respond by Saturday, 20 November, next post Sunday.  Hope you are all well and dealing with life as it goes along.

In reply to The GM (msg # 76):

Afraid of squandering even a moment of the opportunity, Nolan got right to work. His smile faded unconsciously as he organized his thoughts. "The file has some information, of course, and Mills has some theories." He smiled and winked at Jenkins at the mention of their excluded colleague. "But I always like to start from the beginning with eye-witnesses and while you may not truly fit the bill you are as close as we have. Anything that you remember, anything at all, would be greatly appreciated." He has interrogated a few people in his military career and he always like to start with personal history. "Nice ring, what does it signify? Did you know the owners of the farm, where the fog was centered, personally?

"Now onto the fog itself. Did anything precede its inception? Any rumors of strange behavior by the farm owners, for instance? Weird research or interests? We know what the fog leaves behind but we have no idea if that was an intended result or a side-effect of a failed experiment. It seems that Omar has been hanging around the area, maybe he found something? What do you know about the fog that we don't? Because, to be honest, we don't know much."

He took a breath from his rapid-fire requests to consult his notes. "Oh, yes. Know anything about a Manny Dunworthy? We found an article out there an were wondering if you thought it may be a lead or just another dead-end?"

He ended with a simple but pointed question. "And finally, why did you want me to keep the note a secret from Ben?"

In reply to The GM (msg # 75):


Spider hurried to the Countess and grabbed her arms from behind, holding her immobile.  "Jack, show our credentials.  We're taking her for questioning."  He would not let go so she could use her hands for arcane attacks.

Jack whips out his ID and flashes it at the concierge. “Federal agents. We appreciate your cooperation.” He then turns to the woman Spider is helping up and says gently, “Don’t forget we helped save your life when you were ill, Countess. Let’s work together again, before anyone else gets killed.”

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---The Serbian Problem pt 16

The blue Countess was spluttering with rage and paint, squirming in Spider's grasp but unable to break free.  Jack shows his badge to the flustered concierge, who nods his assent.

At Jack's words, the irate Russian woman grits her teeth, but grudgingly behaves herself.   With the assistance of a few towels the hotel donated, they got her to the Model T without dripping blue paint everywhere.  Now she was being silent and sullen.  And her sidekick, the amiable scholar, was still nowhere to be seen.  Given the last time they'd seen her had been shortly after the Tri-State Tornado, earlier this year, she had been doing well enough to afford a nice new car.

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GM:  Please respond with actions, etc, for the next few minutes of game time, by Saturday, 27 November, next post is Sunday.  Hope you are all well and those in the USA, Happy Thanksgiving
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Luke Macey gave him a smirk back.  "I help out when I can," he chuckled, digging into his breakfast with gusto.   Jenkins was cheerfully demolishing the bacon.  "A pleasure to meet you again, Mr. Nolan.  And the ring, well, it is the seal ring of a praefectus castrorum.  Third in charge of Legio Nine, in this case, and I have worn it a long time.  I never lie.  But sometimes I must hold back the whole truth.  The problem at the farm is that an extraterrestrial organism infected the soil, corrupting and mutating everything it touched.  The farmer, Nahum Gardener and his family were killed, as were his livestock, by this infection, and it spread to a neighbour's farm, Ammi Pierce - he also died.  The BPRD treated it with some experimental chemicals to try to stop it, because next there was a much larger attack out in the Midwest, and they have been paying Omar to go look at the farm every so often and take pictures, since they are so short-staffed, to learn if more treatment is required.  The fog is from the river and common this time of year, though I think it may be thicker than usual due to some magery by the ghouls.  Manny Dunworthy is an arrogant blowhard newshound - but he has been looking into matters he should leave alone, the ghouls for instance.  There has been a sort of peace accord with them, something Al Maxwell started a few years ago.  And you know my grand-nephew is a half ghoul.  He lives with his mother below ground, but he does not stay there for most of the time.  He walks in two worlds. Several agents do."
Luke Macey paused thoughtfully at the last question, sipping his coffee.
"I asked you not to tell Ben because he has no direct knowledge of the future at this time, and telling him would change that fact.  He will die at the South Pole. The Bureau of Timeline Control has specific rules about travelling to this era, but since they don't officially exist yet, I am breaking them.  He knows that the time machine works, and that strange occurrences have been happening in the building, such as the vat of wine I have in the warehouse. That's going to be worth a lot of money, which the BPRD will need at a critical time.  Be sure to offer the first cup to Juno when it is decanted.  And bring an extra ice axe and some rope when you go to -""  Macey suddenly straightened up as if he heard something, or sensed something, and set down his mug.  "Time to go; tell the girl we talked about the weather.  It is partly true."  With a speed that belied his years, Macey had his hat on and was headed out the back door of the cafe, just as a strangely dressed woman came in the front door.   She was wearing a long black leather coat, black leather trousers and tall black boots, and was taking off a pair of shaded goggles and looking around with a grouchy glare.  Her hair was dyed an unnatural shade of red and braided strangely with beads, not unattractive but definitely not something Nolan had ever seen before.  Jenkins scampered along the floor, dodging past her boots, and hid behind Nolan's trouser leg.  The woman's grey eyes narrowed at the flash of green, and she stalked over to the empty seat that Luke Macey had left.
"Where's the old man ?"  she demanded, looking first at Nolan, then at Jenkins.  The green mouse sat up and flipped her the bird.  Luke Macey had vanished.

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GM:  Please respond with actions, etc, for the next few minutes of game time, by Saturday, 27 November, next post is Sunday.  Hope you are all well and those in the USA, Happy Thanksgiving
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In reply to The GM (msg # 81):

Praefectus castrorum? Time travel? Extraterrestrial organism? Ice axe? With no time to process the flood of admittedly welcome information, he composed himself to present a neutral facade to the new arrival.

"Old man?" He feigned ignorance and made a show of looking around for him. "Oh, yes. Him. Just an old man looking for some companionship, I guess. We talked about the weather." Nolan tried his most winning smile to sell the lie. He was dubious of its success.

He noticed Jenkins' gesture but pretended not to. Well Jenkins doesn't like her, he thought. First, the old man, now Jenkins. Seems she's only got one strike left.

He turned to address the woman with a pointedly oblivious but nonetheless genial smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Miss...?"


[OOC: Thank you for the kind wishes. Same to you if you are in the States. Either way, have a blessed week.]

"The weather." the woman echoed, arching an eyebrow at him, then slid onto the cafe's counter seat that Macey had vacated, offering a boot to Jenkins if he didn't shift over.  The mouse gave ground to scamper up Nolan's trouser leg and into his coat pocket.  "My name is Diana Maxwell.  I am in charge of finding a rogue time agent called Luke Macey.  He trained me.  He is the bane of my existence."  She waved to the waitress, then dredged up a handful of coins from her jacket, sorting through various shapes of metallic things to find a quarter, and got a cup of coffee, which she drank black.  "And you are a BPRD agent.  Give me a minute....yep, Nolan, Christopher, hired in 1925, ex-military.   Of course he'd go talk to another soldier."  She tossed back the rest of the coffee, scrunching her eyes shut in a wince.  "Macey has a crazy idea about the timeline, that we HAD to travel back this far, to make sure that the expedition went correctly.   No one can travel in the dimensions like he can - he's been doing it for decades.  I am trying to make sure he doesn't disrupt the timeline, and Director Mallory has been quite clear about the consequences."  Her accent was precise, almost British English.
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GM:  Please respond with actions, etc, for the next few minutes of game time, next post Sunday.  Cheers !

     “Countess, look, I don’t know what you think we’re up to, but we’re trying to stop this infestation or curse, this ghost or demon or whatever it is, at the Serbian embassy. It’s already killed at least one person.
     “But we also know there’s more to the story. There was some incident with the translator, Andrija, and then she and her daughter vanished without taking anything important. The security officer involved disappeared, too. The ambassador is conveniently out of town. Miroslav basically bared his soul to us. He’s trying to avoid an incident because his wife needs the doctors here. But it was his cousin who was killed. He said we should talk to his secretary, but when we got to her place, we found that she had left with someone who sounded a lot like you.
     “Did you leave that note in her threshold? The one in Cyrillic with the magic spell on it? What was it, an alarm system to let you know someone was looking for her? I hope Spider and I won’t suffer any lasting problems from it.
     “I’ve been honest with you. We could use your help. We have holy water, and a birch broom, oil of the saints, and old iron, and some vague idea that the ancient Russian witch is involved. But you are more knowledgeable in these things that I. By the way, where is your partner, the good doctor — guarding the secretary? Please, will you help us end this?”

Spider shrugged at Jack.  "You talk to her.  Maybe she'll appreciate a mage-to-mage conversation."

The Serbian Problem pt 17

Spider settled back to watch Jack try to reason with the woman, alert to any trouble she might offer.

"You will never understand," the Countess said dismissively.  She almost managed to look haughty in a thick covering of blue paint.  She shook her head, splattering a few drops of the paint from her blonde hair, as if weary of it all.   "It is far beyond these borders, what I must do, far beyond your needs, your...investigation, and if a few people die, that is the way it must be.  Anika Vukanovic was one of our agents and she was feeding the bijeda.  It was intended to close the embassy and that has happened."  She shook her head again, wobbling a little.  "That - that stupid man - how can anyone learn so much and still be so stupid - he's gone.  He went away.  Said, he had to learn something else."  She swayed again, as if drunk, and laughed.  "End this ?  Why, why would I want to end ?  To end what ?  It is what I am to do."

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GM: Actions, etc, for the next few minutes of game time, please respond by Saturday, 4 December, next post Sunday.  Hope all is well with you and the Holidays are beginning to be busy.
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Spider finally said, "But why?  Why do you want, or need the embassy closed?  What's your ultimate goal?"

In reply to The GM (msg # 83):

Nolan's mind worked furiously in an attempt to catch up to Diana based on the sparse information she gave him. She was a BPRD agent assigned to track down Luke who, according to her, had gone rogue. That would definitely explain his admonition to keep Ben out of it. Luke was her trainer as well, he noted.

"A pleasure, Miss Maxwell. Pardon me but did you mention time travel and alternate dimensions? Also, in what way has this 'Luke', did you say his name was, gone rogue. I need to make sure I understand why I need to be on the look-out for him and what dangers he offers. Maybe you could start from the beginning? The future, maybe, given the mention of time travel? Finally, what consequences are you referring to?"

"Forgive all the questions but I am fairly new agent, after all." he said with a wink.

Jack feels his stomach drop out at the countess's unexpected revelation and sits in silent shock for a moment. Despite all the horrors he has witnessed, the fact that a fellow human would try to use otherworldly evil for their own gain still manages to take him by surprise.
     Spider's equally surprised question brings Jack back to himself. He has to restrain himself from grabbing the woman and shaking her. He can't help raising his voice, though.
      "What?! What are you talking about? Why on earth would you do that?!" He stops himself and takes a breath, then continues in a more normal tone.
     "All right. What is it you are to do? How far does this extend? Who told you to do this? Is it about the coming war? I doubt the doctor would have gone along with this -- is that why he left you on your own? Is it really worth the lives of those innocent people? The life of that little girl? I want to hear your justification."
     Even as he is asking his questions, Jack begins thinking of another possibility. The countess seems to be unsteady -- maybe she is under the control of someone (or something) else. He tries to come up with some method of freeing her from outside influence, using the materials they have (holy water, oil of the saints, etc.). If he can think of such a plan that he can perform here and now, he will do so, acting quickly and asking Spider to hold the woman still if necessary. On the other hand, if it seems too big a project to attempt on the street, he will simply suggest that they take her somewhere secure and secluded, and call for assistance from the other agents to try to free her, or at least question her.

The Serbian Problem pt 17

The Countess' horrible confession was enough to set Jack back, but what really chilled his soul was her derisive laugh at his demand for an explanation.   "What is you try to do, Agents, saving this world ?  It is lost, was lost, ages before.  Only those willing to pay price have any stake in this world.  Anyone who knows sila, zlaya magia, knows....."

 She swayed again, then simply folded up, Spider holding her, such that she didn't hit the floor of the Model T.  Her head slung back, still dripping blue paint, and she snored in a sudden sleep.  Spider also noticed something else - where the blue paint had dripped on him, the skin felt slightly numb.  The holy water did rinse a little paint off, but the woman was covered with it.  The nearest fountain was several blocks away, and would surely attract a lot of attention - a blue-painted woman was already drawing concerned stares.  As tempting as it might be to pitch the vile Countess into the Potomac river, it may cause more problems than it might solve.  The two agents elect to move along - but to take her to the Grey Building would enable her to find it again, if she could pass by the wards.  The woman seems to be in a deep sleep.  Shaking her only produces some mumbled Russian.  Clearly there was something afoot, and it did not look good, if this despicable creature was blithely killing people.

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GM: actions, etc please for the next few minutes of game time, please respond by Saturday 11 December, next post Sunday.  Hope you are all well and managing to deal with the holiday rush.
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Field Assignment: Nolan pt 5

Diana Maxwell looked into her empty coffee mug, then sighed, looking quite sad.  "I miss the Brewmaster.  Yes, Agent Nolan, I did, but it won't help you to tell anyone; they'll think you're crazy.  Lucius was one of the first to be pulled out of the outer dimensions.  He'd been in a place that no one survives for days, but he survived for years.  He was my mentor, my friend, and now, my target.  We need to find him before he disrupts the timeline.  You know by now that there's a time machine in the Grey Building, it's something every agent receives a warning about on their first day.  There will be one there when I am hired - a long time from now.  I can't tell you about the future.  Just that - so you might know, maybe to save you some worry - that we are watching the timeline.  If we can help, we do, but not to the point of causing timeline instability.  When he comes back to bother you, just, please tell him to stop this and go be retired and happy."  She swept up from her seat in a rustle of black leather, and strode from the cafe, the wood door slamming shut behind her.
"Whew," said the man at the counter next to Nolan, looking up from his coffee.  "Thought she'd never leave."  Nolan looked over at the man - and saw the same merry grin that Luke Macey had - but this version was at least twenty-five years younger, with thick salt-and-pepper hair.  "Yes, I know, this is the first time I met you, Mr. Nolan.  She worries too much.  I really got bald too, Jupiter's balls have more hair on them.  So, what I have to tell you, that the expedition south is very dangerous and that Ben will not survive it.  You must be sure of that, but if you tell him, it will change the timeline too much.   Knowing the future isn't always the same as being able to affect it, but he is the White Mage, so...I am cautious.  You are going to see some very terrible things.  Then there will be a war.  It is a war that will make the last one look like a school kid fight.  Stay behind the werewolf."   He waved at the waitress for more coffee, the thick gold ring flashing.  "So, what else do you want to know ?  She won't be able to find me for another few minutes, because she's looking for the wrong me."

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GM: actions, etc please for the next few minutes of game time, please respond by Saturday 11 December, next post Sunday.   Hope you are all well and managing to deal with the holiday rush.
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In reply to The GM (msg # 91):

Nolan looked at Luke, the younger, for only the barest of moments before his mind caught up to the situation. The good news was that he finally seemed to be adjusting to the myriad events, all of which he would have previously considered impossible, that whirled about him. Time travel, ghouls, magicians, werewolves? Sure, why not?

"Well, since you're asking." Nolan said with a smile. "Is Diana on the level and, if so, why is she looking for you? What are you trying to accomplish in the timeline? Ben is the White Mage? What is the White Mage anyway? Who or what is the werewolf and where can I find him or her or...it? What is the southern expedition and if I can't tell Ben, can I go with and help him without his knowledge? Are you sure it would effect the timeline to greatly for him to know?" He paused for a breath. "Wait, there is going to be another war?"

Jack looks grim at Spider’s revelation about the numbness, and hurriedly wipes off any paint on himself with a handkerchief.
“So the painter poisoned her. This keeps getting better. I’d like to chase him, but I don’t think we should split up. I could use the wand to get the paint off her — maybe open a fire hydrant or something — but I’m not going to kill myself for her sake, even if we need her information. Let’s take her to that new hospital, Gallinger. It’s at Independence and 19th Southeast, by the Anacostia River.” He starts to drive as he continues. “We’ll tell them she’s been poisoned and see if they can get it off her. Don’t get any more on you!”

Spider pursed his lips.  There seemed to be no good options to deal with this woman.  Then he smiled and turned to Jack. "What say we take her to the embassy?  It's closed,like she wanted, so it ought to be deserted.  Maybe we can get more information from her.  Or maybe she can communicate with the spirit there."

The Serbian Problem pt 18

Jack realised that the paint was somehow causing the soporific effects on the Countess. They follow up on his idea as Spider suddenly starts yawning.  They park at the hospital and hail some orderlies to come fetch the woman.  It takes a couple of hours, but she's washed, dressed in a plain shift and settled into a bed.  Without makeup, her blonde hair matted from being washed, she's still pretty, but not the great beauty they have seen before.  A puzzled doctor flips through paperwork, as a nurse checks her vitals as she snores.    He responds to the Agents.  "I've sent a paint sample to the lab for analysis," he says. "It is possibly Chloral hydrate, to judge from her state.  A Mickey Finn.  She might be out for another six hours.  Is she to be kept in custody ?  We have secure facilities here."

Spider seemed to be suffering nothing much from his exposure to the drug, just a mild sleepiness that the wretched coffee from the hospital's canteen was able to dispel.  There remained the Embassy - and the Countess' mission to close it, for reasons unknown.  They had the keys.

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GM: Actions, etc please, by Saturday 18 December, next post Sunday, then after the 19 December post we will be taking our usual Holiday break until the New Year.   Hope everyone is doing well and that you are looking forward to a better year in 2022.

Field Assignment: Nolan pt 6

Luke Macey grinned like a fox.  "You ask good questions.  She's a good girl, clever, but too much of the 'yes sir' when the boss gives orders.  I'm trying to help the mission succeed in the Antarctic, that's my ultimate goal, with the best possible outcome.  The White Mage...Doctor Benjamin Weintraub...he is the strongest spell caster in a millennia.  He knows the four spells of unmaking, and if he speaks them all, this world will end.  So far he has spoken two of them, circa 1925.  And I owe a debt to his eldest son, Donald.  Donald would be, maybe, seven years old now.  And the next world war, horrible, and it is already beginning in Germania.  As for what you may do, Captain Nolan, I have told you what is in the timeline for Ben.  What you do next, it is up to you.  Go South with the expedition.  See what is there.  Axe, rope.  Keep them handy to save a life."  Macey stood up, flipping a Morgan dollar onto the counter for his bill. "I don't think you can expense two meals for the same person.  Diana's on her way back and I'm going to head her off.   Omar will be downtown by mid morning.  We'll meet again, but not for a while.  May Fortuna smile upon you."  He tilted his hat to a rakish angle and strode from the cafe, lost to sight instantly.   There were no more unseemly interruptions to Nolan's breakfast.


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GM: Actions, etc please, by Saturday 18 December, next post Sunday, then after the 19 December post we will be taking our usual Holiday break until the New Year.   Hope everyone is doing well and that you are looking forward to a better year in 2022.
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This message was last edited by the GM at 21:57, Wed 15 Dec 2021.

[Spider from email]: "Yeah, keep her secured if you can.  She'll be a tough nut, mind you.  Come on, Jack.  Let's go stir up trouble at the embassy."  He yawned again.  "Unless you got a better idea."  He looked through the Countess's things, just for good measure.

     “Yes,“ Jack agrees with Spider’s instructions to the doctor. “We are holding her on suspicion of espionage. Someone may try to harm her again. And she herself is highly dangerous and manipulative, and an extreme escape risk. It would be best to keep her sedated and in wrist restraints until we come back for her. Do not let anyone speak with her under any circumstances, and do not tell telephone callers or visitors at the desk that she is even here. We will be back soon to move her to a more secure facility. Here is my card and our superior’s telephone number.”
     Jack will call the office and quickly fill in Ben, or Edith, about their situation with the Countess, speaking in vague terms and without names, including her statement that it reaches much further, her culpability for the “shut-down office,” and adding that “the manager’s secretary” was working for her and “feeding the animal” there. And finally adding that he and his partner are on their way to “clean” said office…

The Serbian Problem pt 19

Spider had a good search in the Countess' purse.  He came up with two gold coins with Russian lettering, a dark metal key of strange appearance, and 257$ in American bills.  There was a lipstick case of gold, with a blood red shade of lipstick and a compact with powder and a mirror as well.

Edith answers the telephone when they called in, sounding harried.  "You must be careful.  Someone's already died there, in fact, more than one person, so I hear.  That woman is very dangerous and whatever she's done, it will be even worse !"

-----The Embassy----

After telephoning the office and filling out the paperwork to secure the Countess in the hospital, Jack and Spider headed to the closed Embassy.  The building looked somehow dark and abandoned; even the bushes outside looked as if they were dying, even as the afternoon sun was shining.   They still had a decent quantity of Holy water and everything that Bitsie Black had recommended for the spell casting.

The twisting of the key in the lock seemed to echo throughout the empty building, the gloom inside it ominous, shadows shifting as if alive.   Chairs were knocked over, papers strewn everywhere, with a thick coating of cobwebs, though the building had only been closed for about a day now.  Spider reached the electric light switch and it flickered, then failed.  A rasping sound was in the vents, a hoarse laughter, chilling.  Jack found the wand in his hand, unbidden, the inlaid gemstones giving off a soft white glow.

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GM: Actions, please, at the Embassy, if you're busy with the holidays, I can wait.  Hope all is well !  Still posting on Sunday too
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In reply to The GM (msg # 96):

Nolan finishes his breakfast in silence, considering Luke's words carefully. Abruptly he pushes the plate away. "Well, let's go get Mills." He announces as he strides from the cafe. "Now all I have to do is find an excuse to get included in the expedition south." He thinks out loud, more to himself than Jenkins.

As he heads out into the street he quips, "Oh and I can't forget about an axe and a rope..." In the military, he had often found it helpful to talk to himself when attempting to address a seemingly overwhelming challenge. Humor he had used as a coping mechanism for as long as he could remember. It was a small matter to combine them as he considered how he would be able to save Ben's live without damaging the timeline. Easier said than done, since he didn't actually know how time would be affected in the first place.

Spider grimaced, then said, "Hang on a moment.  Be right back."  He ran to the car and popped open the trunk, and returned with his old mining helmet. He clicked on the light and said to Jack, "Let's do this.  I've got you covered."

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The Serbian Problem pt 20

Spider grabbed his mining helmet and returned to the Embassy, the trusty headgear once again providing good service.  He gathered up his gear, stuffing the extra flask of holy water into his inside coat pocket, and looked into the dark building.  It was eerie, a darkness that seemed to drink in any light, that settled heavily on the senses.  A whiff of decay and the rattle of bones added to the miasma of gloom.   Jack had that wand out again; it had been a help in Florida, but it also had been a liability.  Two steps into the building, and all light from the outside, all sounds of street traffic from the city, were gone, snuffed out by gloom and misery.  The bijeda had a huge amount of control over the building and they were hunting it in its own place.  The battle was on.
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GM:  Actions, etc, for the next few minutes of game time; include what area you are heading into, and what precautions you are taking.  Assume that you are in very hostile territory !  And we're taking our Holiday break until 2 January.   Hoping your holidays are merry and bright, and the New Year is better than the last one !
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Field Assignment: Nolan pt 7

Nolan leaves the cafe talking to himself, to the surprise of the other patrons, though there is a small whiskered nose pointed up at him from his coat pocket.  The library has opened its doors, and students are going to and fro with books and papers, but Faulkner homes in on Nolan quickly.

"Mills is beside himself, thought the ghouls got you," the acerbic librarian said, with a smirk. The afforementioned mouse is pacing across Faulkner's desk, and looks upon Nolan and Jenkins' return with shock.

"I was very worried !"  the Professor said, shaking a tiny fist at them.  "You could have been killed ! Eaten !  Or worse !"
Jenkins squeaked something that astonished Mills to a brief instance of silence.   Then Mills folded his furry arms and looked miffed.
"Very well then, if you had Lucius looking after you."  he said sulkily.  "I suppose we'd best finish up the mission and head back to the office.  Marcus, is there any literature you want us to take back to DC ?"
"I'm assembling a packet now.  Have a copy of the new book too, sent with the author's inscription."  Faulkner was shuffling papers into a wood crate, with a copy of a familiar book - the same one that Nolan had hidden away - The New England Legends and Lore by James Macey.  This was quickly covered by a folder of newspaper clippings, and a couple of letters in sealed envelopes, addressed to Ben Weintraub.  "Have fun saving the world," Faulkner said, offering a handshake to Nolan.  "Next time, bring up a bottle of bourbon from that Rebel libertine."
"He means Thorne, and I have no intention of trafficking illegal alcohol," sniffed Mills, as Jenkins laughed.

Shortly thereafter, in downtown Arkham, Nolan spotted the shiny bike, with Omar cheerfully selling newspapers to the passerby.  The boy took a sealed packet from his overlarge coat and passed it over to Nolan.  "I tried some different exposure times, got some strange pictures," he said.  "Please tell Edith thank you for the cookies."

The pictures were indeed good, clear and sharp.  Some of them seemed to indicate lines of force from the ground, where the grey matter was most concentrated.  The images were unsettling to look on, especially in light of what the old man had told Nolan about.  He had a sense that he was getting into something that had a lot going on - that saving the world was really the only option.

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GM: Any other actions in Arkham, please respond, and then in 2022 we will be moving into the next phase of the game, which will be The Big Expedition to Antarctica and all its preparation elements.  As this is a busy time of year, the game will be paused until 2 January.  Hoping your holidays are merry and bright, and the New Year is better than the last one !

OOC: Sorry I haven’t posted sooner. I (and several close family members) caught a virus (NOT Covid) at a Christmas Eve gathering, and I’m still laid up with a stuffy head and sore throat. Here’s hoping the new year improves from this point forward!
IC: If Miss Black gave any instructions on the use of the various components, Jack follows them scrupulously.
Otherwise, he will make sure that he and Spider each wear a bit of the old iron, and are both anointed with a dab of the oil of the saints. Then he will use the rest of the materials to create a “magic circle“ space in which they can confine the evil spirit. He will sprinkle the birch broom with holy water and oil, and plans to use it to direct the spirit toward the trap. Once it’s in there, he can trigger it to close and keep the thing there while he banishes it with a ritual. That’s the plan, anyway. (He puts away the wand purposefully and will use the other materials they brought, only using the wand if things get out of hand.)

Unless Jack had a better idea, Spider figured that wherever the bijeda did NOT want them to go, was where they should head, to beard the creature in its lair.  He kept his rifle slung over his shoulder, since he suspected it would not be of much use.  Instead the holy water and various components from Ms. Black were closer to hand.


GM:  Actions, etc, for the next few minutes of game time; include what area you are heading into, and what precautions you are taking.  Assume that you are in very hostile territory !  And we're taking our Holiday break until 2 January.   Hoping your holidays are merry and bright, and the New Year is better than the last one !

I hope everyone has a great Christmas and New Year!  Mel, I kind of hope the preparation for the Antarctic does not take too long.  I have been dying for that part of the game!

(And the GM laughs and laughs when the player says 'dying'.....)

The Serbian Problem pt 21

Jack and Spider went through the doors well prepared, as the bone-chilling cold frosted their breath in the air.  Spider had the comfortable weight of Matilda on his shoulder; if nothing else, he could use the heavy rifle's stock to smash anything coming at them.

Screeches and thumps echoed through the air vents, impossible to tell where they originated.  As they moved down the hallway, performing the ritual Miss Black had given them, the sounds got louder, more violent.  The Agents moved carefully, covering each other; a long-boned clawed hand made a swipe at Jack from a floor vent, but Spider kicked it away.  The Bijeda howled and the rattling of the vents rang in their ears.  They carefully laid out the spell components, Spider alert to what seemed to annoy the vengeful spirit the most.  As they neared the stairs to the boiler room, the noise was horrific, incoherent screams.  Spider kicked the door open after Jack unlocked it, his helmet lamp shining into seething masses of darkness.  Jack's wand swept up, sending light coruscating into the stairway; the darkness split as if pained by the light.  At the bottom of the stairs, there were six apparitions, vaguely shaped like humans; two looked male, the other four female, one of whom was a young girl.  Her features were the clearest; they'd seen her picture - Andjela.  The Bijeda was a formless, spiky darkness surrounding them; a flask of holy water sent it boiling away into the vents, shrieking.  The ghosts shimmered, as Jack and Spider added their iron, oil and holy water, incanting the spell to keep out the horror; then they slowly melted away.  The Bijeda wailed, the sound fading to a pathetic whimper as they treated the penultimate doorway; then there was only the Ambassador's office left.  It has been a nerve-wracking, exhausting experience for both Agents.

Hidden in the shadows behind the ruined flag, a withered grey creature snarls at them, shivering in the beam of Spider's helmet lamp.  Perhaps it is a trick of the darkness, but it resembles the painting on the wall of the Ambassador.  Without hesitation, Jack and Spider cast the last incantation with their supplies of spell components, and the thing dissolves into dust.   The lights flicker, then the lamp on the desk turns on, holes shining brightly in the lampshade, and the hallway lights turn on.  The darkness has lifted.  The air seemed warm, and the great pressure of evil has dissipated.   The smell of the oil was sweet in the air, with the tang of hot iron and the sharpness of salt.  Small scorch marks on the thresholds showed where the iron had been, with damp splashes of the holy water.

(Please carry on to the BACK IN DC !)

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Nolan's Field Assignment pt 8 and BACK IN DC ! (everyone)

Nolan made it back to DC with little problem, and he found he was glad to have the Grey Building in his sights once again.  Whatever was going on, it was important and he was a part of it now.  All that remained was figuring out what a time traveller had told him, and what he should do about it.  Damn shame Luke Macey hadn't dropped any important stock tips or horse racing winners.  Or had he ?  On a hunch, Nolan looked at the two letters Faulkner had put in the crate for Ben Weintraub.  One of them had the unmistakeable handwriting he'd seen in a file at work, and on the note in James Macey's book - definitely Luke Macey's writing.  The two mice seem happy to be home too, and go racing off.   Nolan puts the car into the garage, noting the disapproving glare from the silent old guard, and heads into the elevator.  It stops at the next floor, and the Egyptian-looking girl, Ginny, steps in.  Today her dress is deep red with detailed beadwork.   "Hello, Agent Nolan," she says, in a cheerful voice.  "We got the package from Maine and the other one from Minn....Minnesota.  I'm not even sure where that is."  She sashayed off the elevator at the next floor, heading towards the offices, where Nolan could hear the loud laughter of Thomas Thorne and Edith telling him he was being a silly fool.  There were two large crates, with straw packing material dribbling onto the floor.  Thorne was clad in a earflapped fur hat, a massive ankle-length fur coat, and was holding a thick pair of leather boots.  Trachenberg was trying on a pair of shearling mittens, while the Scot, Angus, was struggling to put on another pair of the heavy boots and failing, as Phyllis the clerk giggled.  Edith was smiling, shaking her head and refusing a pair of mittens that Thorne offered to her.  Ben's door was shut and the office was dark.  Ginny looked into the crates, drawing out another coat and reading off the label.  "Oh, here you have one," she said happily, and offered the thick shearling coat of jacket length to Nolan.
"I didn't order him one !"  Thorne said, and dropped his boots to go look at the shipping manifest. "We didn't even know he was hired when I put in the - oh."  He gave the papers to Trachenberg, who read it quickly and made a slight nod of comprehension.  The coat weighed about twenty pounds and looked as if it would stand up to severe cold quite easily.
"When you are ready, I'll take your paperwork, Mr. Nolan," Edith said, smiling at him.  "Welcome back.  I trust all went well ?"
"It's no use, they're not fitting," Angus said, and held out the boots to Nolan.  Unsurprisingly, it looked like they would be a perfect fit.  "Mukluks.  Invented by Eskimos.  I'm better off in the office anyway."
"And miss a chance to see the end of the world ?  The bottom end ?  Are you nuts ?"  Thorne asked, taking off the fur hat and long coat.
"Oh, leave it be, Tommy," Edith said, refusing the mittens again.  "Put Ben's stuff in his office for him."
"Phyllis, I know you're not going but I thought you might like a hat," Thorne said, pulling a grey furry hat out of the box, but Trachenberg quickly set up a coat, mittens, hat and boots for Ben.   Ginny was likewise gifted with a fur stole in dark brown.

Spider was checking the fit of his mukluks, thinking they were very soft indeed, and lighter in weight than they looked.  Thorne had spared no expense.  The coats were thick, durable and warm, and Thorne had also ordered a custom fit shearling rifle case for Matilda.   Jack's coat was particularly nice, with an extra set of pockets in the lining, one of which was the perfect size for the wand.  "The rest of the shipment is waiting at the docks, we'll pick it up after work," Thorne told Edith.  "We'll need the big truck.  The dogs are coming by train in three days."
"I doubt you'll get any more work done today, so you may as well go now," Edith said, with a chuckle.  The two men quickly left, and Ginny took over the handing out of the cold weather gear.
Everyone had gear - including Nolan, with the exception of Bitsie Black, Phyllis, Ginny and Edith.  Angus was more than happy to not go to Antarctica.  "Someone's got to keep up with the paperwork while you play in the snow."  The jocularity was good natured; but everyone there knew that this adventure would be challenging on many fronts.  The weather itself would be trying to kill them, and what lay beneath the ice was worse.

The truck returned with pallets of gear loaded; the sleds, which would be assembled on their icebreaker boat en route, ice cleats for their boots, axes, rope, crampons, pitons, harnesses, tents, crates of dog pemmican, tins of potted meat and gel cooking fuel, dried jerky and other dried foods, and a large crate mysteriously marked "Emergency Supplies".  Trachenberg took charge of it and wheeled it off to his workshop, where his loading equipment was kept, and was busy loading ammunition after that.  Their day tomorrow would be the planning session for the expedition South, with all the maps that could be found.  Their departure was only a week or so away, depending on the weather.

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GM: Please send in responses with any actions you would like to do prior to being stuck in a hostile, frozen wasteland full of horrible things.  Figure on about a week's worth of actions, including any special preparations you might like to make before you risk everything to explore the Mountains of Madness.....by Saturday, 8 January, next post Sunday.  As is fitting, we are getting a snowstorm tonight.

OOC:  J, Glad to hear it wasn't Covid, there is a wretched head cold making the rounds though.  Came through here mid-December and knocked out half the workplace.  And do not worry, everyone, there will be Mountains of Madness very soon.  Grease up the sled runners and feed the dogs !
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As the ghosts of the victims dissipate, Spider does his best to give them a comforting smile, to reassure them they are now free to travel onward.  And once he and Jack are finished, he said, "We're going to make sure this lot pay through the nose.  Not just for us, but for the folks who've vanished without a trace.  I'll give word to Edith.  I'm sure she can extract a just amount, and see it disbursed properly."  And as tired and exhausted as the Aussie felt, he knew Jack was probably suffering worse, having done most of the magical lifting.  So he once more takes the wheel for their ride back to HQ.


Spider was checking the fit of his mukluks, thinking they were very soft indeed, and lighter in weight than they looked.  Thorne had spared no expense.  The coats were thick, durable and warm, and Thorne had also ordered a custom fit shearling rifle case for Matilda.   Jack's coat was particularly nice, with an extra set of pockets in the lining, one of which was the perfect size for the wand.  "The rest of the shipment is waiting at the docks, we'll pick it up after work," Thorne told Edith.  "We'll need the big truck.  The dogs are coming by train in three days."
"I doubt you'll get any more work done today, so you may as well go now," Edith said, with a chuckle.  The two men quickly left, and Ginny took over the handing out of the cold weather gear.
Everyone had gear - including Nolan, with the exception of Bitsie Black, Phyllis, Ginny and Edith.  Angus was more than happy to not go to Antarctica.  "Someone's got to keep up with the paperwork while you play in the snow."  The jocularity was good natured; but everyone there knew that this adventure would be challenging on many fronts.  The weather itself would be trying to kill them, and what lay beneath the ice was worse.

The truck returned with pallets of gear loaded; the sleds, which would be assembled on their icebreaker boat en route, ice cleats for their boots, axes, rope, crampons, pitons, harnesses, tents, crates of dog pemmican, tins of potted meat and gel cooking fuel, dried jerky and other dried foods, and a large crate mysteriously marked "Emergency Supplies".  Trachenberg took charge of it and wheeled it off to his workshop, where his loading equipment was kept, and was busy loading ammunition after that.  Their day tomorrow would be the planning session for the expedition South, with all the maps that could be found.  Their departure was only a week or so away, depending on the weather.


At the planning session, Spider announced, "Listen up, mates.  I'm not an expert on surviving in frozen climates, but I know more about using this climbing gear than the rest of you combined.  Since this stuff may very well save our lives, tomorrow we are going to have a tutoring session.  I'll show you all how to put it on properly, tie proper knots, while wearing these gloves and mittens mind you, and get a taste of what wearing all this stuff is like.  We might even practice climbing some walls and such."  He was as good as his word, and even just the minimal experience hopefully had the others feeling a touch more confident.

Spider then spent the next couple of days and evenings with Cressida and the kids.  He was going to be gone for a long time, and he was going to miss them terribly.  "But you know me.  I'm too stupid, too bloody-minded NOT to come back and cause you more headaches."

Jack cannot help but shed a tear upon seeing the ghost of the young girl.
     “Rest in peace,“ he says as the six forms vanish. He is happy to let Spider drive home. “We have to do something about that witch,“ he says to his friend with unusual bitterness.
     When they arrive back at headquarters, he heads straight to Ben’s office. (If Ben is gone for the day, he will seek him out as soon as possible the next day.)
     “The embassy is safe now. We destroyed the bijeda. But there were six newly dead spirits there, including that young girl. The Countess was behind this evil, at least in part. She told us so. She has no remorse — she said it’s what she is meant to do. They’re holding her for now at the hospital in DC — I told them we want her for espionage  — but we need to put her somewhere more permanent. Some institution where they can hold her indefinitely, where she won’t be able to hurt anyone else, or escape. Can you arrange that?” He doesn’t seem like he will take “no” for an answer.
     “Someone will also need to go to the hotel and pack up her things, as well as her automobile. There may be clues to further plots she has in motion. And I suppose we should try to figure out who the painter was that tried to poison her. It may be an ally — or just a competing evil.” Jack tries not to sound weary, but can’t quite manage it.
     Assuming nothing further develops on that front, after a bit of rest, Jack will start preparing for Antarctica.
     He will frown in chagrin when he sees the wand pocket sewn into his outerwear. “This thing will be the death of me,” he says to no one in particular. He will hit their research library hard, as well as consulting his colleagues, looking for techniques to draw power for the wand from sources other than the wielder — the target, the environment, sacrificial chickens, spiritual entities that are not too hostile — he is open to any possibilities that may keep the wand from draining him irreparably.
     He will ask for a refresher (for everyone) on what their goals are in Antarctica, and will then try to wrangle together a useful but portable collection of reference materials to pack in a trunk.
     He will pay close attention in Spider’s climbing class, and even try to make a joke about spiders and webbing.
     In his personal gear, he will pack four Very pistols and a case of 24 flares (on top of whatever Thorne and Trachenberg ordered for the expedition). He will add a separate, unlabeled, carefully packed and locked footlocker with 24 sticks of dynamite. A selection of fuses and blasting caps will be sealed up and packed with his clothes.
     He will write long letters to his parents and his sister outlining the trip’s timetable, etc. — nothing that would endanger them or compromise him. And he will pay a farewell visit to Irina at Walter Reed, sitting with her and talking quietly about good times they had together, hoping she can hear him even though she’s not fully conscious.
     He will make time one afternoon to return to the church, hoping to speak with Reverend Atwell. Jack will tell him that he and Spider were successful at removing the spirit from the embassy and thank him again for his help and blessing. He will add that six people lost their lives and ask for prayers for them to find peace. He thinks about adding that he is heading to Antarctica to confront evils older than humankind, but decides not to bring it up, settling for absorbing what peace he can from his visit to the church.

In reply to The GM (msg # 106):

Nolan smiled to himself at the "lucky" mistake of the order of his cold weather gear. He was relieved to have his inclusion into the southern expedition a de facto reality without an administrative fight with his superiors. He patted he jacket pocket to reassure himself of the presence of the letters that Marcus had sealed for delivery to Ben. He would deliver them personally, he promised himself, and resisted the temptation try and get a peek before he handed them over.

After attending the Spider's seminar of climbing and its related gear, he used the lion's share of his time at work to avail himself of their significant resources and try to pull files on the White Mage, Luke Macey and Diana Maxwell. Additionally, he would see what he could dig up regarding the current and previous progress vis a vis the Antarctic expedition.

In his off-hours, he resolved to spend his time before their departure reading New England Legends and Lore, examining the pictures provided by Omar and going through the folder of newspaper clippings which accompanied Marcus' letters to Ben. He raided the libraries at both work and those of the surrounding municipalities for cold weather survival information and rumors or information regarding supernatural activities relating to Antarctica.

Nolan's bachelorhood was accentuated by his teammates' goodbyes to their families and friends and he found himself surprisingly drawn back to the Roman Catholic religion of his youth. He attended Mass and even met with the priest to talk about his mortality in advance of his mission. He wasn't sure what he expected to come out of it but he did feel reassured by the idea that he was not personally responsible to shoulder the weight of the world.

Before finalizing he equipment, he sought approval to pack his Springfield 30–06 rifle and his Colt semi-automatic M1911 with as much ammo as he could get away with along with any reading material or tools he had discovered may be of benefit on the trip. An axe and rope were, of course, paramount amongst he supplies. "Keep them handy to save a life." Luke had said.

Come Hell or high water, keep them handy, he would.