The investigators are not surprised to find the manhole precisely where Victoria Surrette specified. When they enter the alleyway well after dark, the men find it vacant and absent of any activity. Aside from an occasional breeze stirring a few bits of loose refuse across the buckled concrete, the alley is virtually silent, an eerie circle of quiet within a city that never truly rests.

The moon, unhindered by cloud cover, provides thin illumination as the investigators reach a wider space within the alley, the manhole positioned centrally between the rear exits of a laundry and an automat. Shadows pool around the nearby buildings, growing deeper as the narrow thoroughfare stretches east and west. For a instant, the quiet is broken by the skittering of small feet, the black shape of a rodent racing past a pair of steel trash cans, then the quiet resumes, its weight making mere footfalls and whispers seem intrusively loud.

On the way over, his nerves paradoxically calmed a bit, although this was largely with the assistance of a high degree of nicotine. Internally, he felt like a cloud of excited bees.

Arthur stepped forward, looking down at the manhole cover. He looked over at Jake and said, "Well, let's get this cover off."

"Got the pass key right here," grinned Jake, pulling the crowbar out of his bag.

He sets the chisel blade under the edge of the manhole cover and levers it up.

Jake has to put his back into the effort, but the detective is able to lift the thick circle of iron with the crowbar and shift it aside.

A set of iron rungs, brown with rust, leads down into the dense darkness below. Like the alleyway, the underground is profoundly silent.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:45, Fri 02 Sept 2022.

Sully had parked his Chevrolet coupe on Stanton Street, about a half block from the alleyway. His galoshes squeak a bit as he goes around to the back of the car and gets his stuff out of the luggage compartment to distribute things around his body: new pistol in his right hip pocket, a dozen or so shotgun shells in his right jacket pocket; in his left jacket pocket is his blackjack and a flashlight; as always, he has his notebook and a pencil in his outer breast pocket and lighter and cigarettes in the inside pocket. He takes a quick nip from his flask, stows it in his left hip pocket and hurries after the others.

Once Jake has the cover set aside, Sully peers down into the darkness. "Oh, boy," he breathes, his stomach full of butterflies.

"Who goes first, Jake?"
This message was last edited by the player at 04:00, Sat 03 Sept 2022.

At the foot of the rung ladder, the investigators find themselves just south of a wide tunnel, the high walls constructed from brick. Although a pair of raised concrete walkways line the corridor, the central portion of the passage, which once served as a route for wastewater, is completely dry.

The smaller tunnel that the investigators find themselves in continues southward, away from the vacant sewer line, into pitch darkness. The walls of the narrow passageway appear to be in notably poor repair, moisture having buckled one of them significantly. A steady dripping can be heard in that direction and a stench, an almost overwhelming combination of waste and decay, wafts through the shadows.

As the last of the men makes his descent, a noise is heard from the abandoned tunnel ahead, the cheerful whistling of a tune that some recognize as ”Blue Skies”. From somewhere down the western end of the unused sewer passage the flicker of a light source, possibly a lantern or a flashlight, can be seen.

"Lights out!" hisses Jake, dousing his own flashlight. He stands still and listens carefully to the other midnight stroller.

Arthur quieted his unsteady breath and listened, and watched, to see what would happen. He crouches at Jake's flank.

Sully stands a bit behind Jake and Arthur, shifting from side to side trying to see past the taller men. His right hand rests on the butt of the small revolver in his hip pocket. He wishes Jake had had time to pass out the shotguns from the burlap sack at his feet.

Jake is able to make out two distinct sets of footsteps as those traveling draw closer. After a moment, the whistling halts. ”How much longer we gonna have to do this?” a voice, likely that of the whistler, asks, ”Every time we make this run, I can’t go anywhere after. I gotta go right back to the flat to wash the stink off.”

A sigh is heard. ”You ask the same thing every time we’re down here. Story hasn’t changed. We gotta move the booze through here so we’re not wheelin’ through Gambino territory and riskin’ problems. Mr. Reina’s tryin’ to find a decent warehouse in the Lower East where we can stash the stuff, but until that happens, this is how it’s done. Better the smell than catchin’ some lead.”

”I hate it down here,” the whistler grumbles, ”Gives me the creeps.”
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:42, Wed 07 Sept 2022.

The professor remained stock still. He wasn't quite sure what he was doing here, and until that moment he heard the other voices, he hadn't paused to fully contemplate his course of action, being pulled along in the whirlwind of events. Strange to find himself relieved that they were merely moving booze, but that could turn dangerous enough.

In the darkness, as his eyes adjusted, he peered about for any places there might be for them to hide.

The footsteps of the chatting gangsters draw closer, the demeanor of the conversation suggesting that neither is especially alert for threats. It seems that both men simply want their assigned chore completed.

Looking at the narrow passageway behind them, the investigators can see that the darkness there is quite dense. Were they to retreat a short distance in that direction and remain quiet, it seems unlikely that they would be noticed.

OOC: This is how I imagine our situation. The manhole has let us down into a side tunnel from the main sewer (running east/west). The smugglers are coming along the main sewer tunnel, just to the north of us, and we can fade back into deeper shadow by going south along the narrower passage. PS: The circle shows the location of the manhole cover above us. The ladder/iron rungs lead up to it.

If this is correct, Jake will touch the others one by one in the darkness and urge them to step quietly southward into the gloom.

OOC: Jake, that is an accurate understanding of the investigators’ current location and situation.

I’ll just note that

I understand this refers to the east-west tunnel at the top of the picture.

OOC: Yes, it does.

OOC: I think Arthur will, in fact, step back as Jake urges, and will help to move everyone else back as well.

Sully turns and retreats several paces down the side tunnel.

The shadows seem to eagerly envelop the investigators, the absence of any light source making the darkness that they retreat into almost total. From somewhere behind them, a lone drip of moisture onto stone is the only sound to break the silence.

Ahead, the group of men see two figures, the gangsters they heard conversing, cross in front of the opening to the dry east-west tunnel. One bears a lantern, a shotgun propped on his shoulder. The other wrestles a dolly along, laden with a stack of three crates. As the pair continue eastward, the whistling that had alerted the investigators to their presence resumes, fading into quiet as the two continue their trek. In a short time, there is only quiet within the dank passageways.

OOC: For additional clarification, the information provided by Victoria Surrette indicates that within the abandoned east-west tunnel that lies north of the investigators’ position, there should be a connection to the basement of the Bishop residence. Of course, that may not be the only feature within the tunnel, if the Bishop family has made changes to the underground over the intervening years.

"I'll be damned," whispers Sully, "I was right. There are smugglers."

"These at least were only moving hard liquor, not bodies," he said, recalling their true purpose here.

"I'll be damned. Don't I owe someone money for that?" Arthur looked around at everyone.

He cleared his throat quietly and said, "Anyways, we should go on."

Emerging into the abandoned sewer tunnel, the investigators immediately notice, a few paces west on the passage’s northern wall, an opening into a narrow, brick walled passageway. Based on its position, the men surmise that the passage likely connects to the Bishop home. It is dark and unlit.

Further west down the tunnel, the investigators can see two additional openings in the tunnel, one on the southern wall and another on the northern wall. Unlike the connection to the Bishop residence, both are more crude, the passageways they connect to having earthen walls, the bricks in the walls having been roughly cleared from the apertures, as though they were broken down to make way for digging. Some of the bricks still litter the floor.

The tunnel remains quiet. The investigators do not hear or see any signs of someone approaching.

OOC: Later this evening, I will post a map to clarify the positions of each branch in the tunnel.

Jake risks a quick peek down the dark tunnel leading, they hope, to the Bishop house, clicking his flashlight on for no more than a few seconds and shining the beam as far down the narrow tunnel as it will penetrate.

"We would have been quiet anyway," he hisses to the others as he passes out their various shotguns and rifles, "but them rum runners'll shoot us full of holes if they find us down here. So extra cautious from now on."

He clicks off the torch and steps gingerly into the open maw of the side tunnel, feeling his way slowly based on his first glimpse. When they have gone far enough, 30 feet or more, he'll turn on the flashlight again.

Sully retrieved his shotgun from Jake’s sack and loaded it. As they start to file into the tunnel that should lead to the Bishop house, he takes a few steps farther down the main tunnel, looking for tracks from the dolly the hoodlums were pushing. Did they seem to emerge from one of those crude side tunnels or beyond?

Well, if it ain't obvious, Sully doesn't see it: Sullivan (Sully) Quinn rolled 93 for Spot Hidden 50 or Track 10. 

By the time Sully’s finished snooping, the others have disappeared down the tunnel and Jake’s light is a mere glow. He hurries to catch up.

Although Sully isn’t able to make out the fine details of the gangsters’ tracks, it is plain that the two men haven’t gone to any trouble to conceal their movements, suggesting that they don’t suspect that anyone might attempt to follow their route. Traces of tracks from the wheels of the dolly inform the reporter that the smugglers came from the western end of the tunnel, likely reaching it by way of one of the connecting sewer passages further in that direction.

Peering down the passage which leads toward the Bishop residence, Jake is able to see that the corridor extends for roughly thirty feet before opening into a room, which is entirely dark. From where he stands, Jake cannot make out fine details within the chamber, but he can see that there are three large heaps lying on the concrete floor, a short distance from the room’s entrance. The detective does not see any movement ahead, nor does he hear sounds of any activity.

Despite being interested in the rough tunnel openings in the main sewer line, Jake moves forward to examine the room which is approximately under the Bishop mansion. Now that they are well away from the main sewer line and the transportation of illegal goods, he risks the beam of his flashlight to illuminate the three mounds on the floor of the chamber ahead of them. He stands in the tunnel, not yet entering the open space, shining his light around.

OOC: Jake, and anyone who’s ventured down the corridor with him, please give me a Spot Hidden roll.

Jake squinted in the darkness, unable to make out much in the gloom

Although he was, himself, interested in the other exits from the line, Arthur followed along, keeping an apparently rather sharp eye out (or, well, it was sharp on this occasion). It seemed his time as a photographer had paid off, in this instance.

OOC: "17:36, Today: Arthur G. Flatt rolled 14 using 1d100.  spot hidden (50)."

From his place at the end of the file, Sully can't see much of the room ahead. Besides, he keeps looking over his shoulder to peer fruitlessly into the darkness behind them.

Sullivan (Sully) Quinn rolled 51 for Spot Hidden 50.

The light from Jake’s flashlight reveals enough for the investigators to see that the mounds appear to be piles of discarded clothing. All are stained and most appear to be old, though there are a few newer garments amongst the piles. An unpleasant, musty smell permeates the still air of the room.

Arthur had seen it. He was dead certain. He caught it, and he couldn't ignore it.

"Th-there's something underneath. Jake, there's something under the clothes."

Jake moves forward and delivers a heavy blow to the nearest pile of clothes with his crowbar.

At the talk of being shot full of holes, Professor Wells suddenly found it difficult to focus on the task at hand. What was he doing here with these people? His province was academics, research, and instruction. This wasn't the sort of field work he'd found himself doing. Certainnly, in his younger years, he had traveled to parts abroad where danger was a bit more common, but simply being here at home didn't spare one from dangers. He was in underground tunnels with bootleggers and mobsters looking for someone doing unpleasant things with the dead and who might not object to taking more dangerous methods with the living.

"Probably not rum," he muttered under his breath as they walked along. "More like to be whiskey." He could use a nip about now. "Gin, maybe."

He held the weapon given him fearfully. Fearful of using it, as if afraid of the thing itself, or perhaps simply his own ineptitude with it. He knew not what drove him to press on beside a curiosity that very nearly overcame all reason and sense of self preservation, to learn what was afoot here.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:23, Tue 20 Sept 2022.

As the professor came to a halt, Sully jostled past him in the narrow tunnel. He came up close behind Arthur, his shotgun pointed at the ceiling. He craned to see past Arthur into the room illuminated only by Jake's flash.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:49, Fri 23 Sept 2022.

As Jake advances into the room, he can see that there is a fourth pile of clothing a short distance from the three the investigators first saw. On closer examination, all of the clothing appears to be of a formal nature, the kind of garments, the detective realizes, that most would be buried in. A number of the clothes are smeared with dirt and dust.

There are two exits from the room that Morris can see, corridors that lead away from the dank chamber to the east and west. The eastern corridor is short and leads into a large, rectangular room that holds a number of dusty crates and boxes. A wooden staircase in that room’s center leads up to a trapdoor in the ceiling. The western passage stretches away into darkness.

Bringing the crowbar down on the pile of clothes Arthur pointed out, Jake feels the blow connect with something solid underneath the collected garments. Something roughly the size of a human adult.

08:28, Today: The Keeper rolled 2 using 1d8-1.  Damage - Crowbar.

Whatever is impacted by the swing does not give any vocal reaction, but the impact prompts it to move more quickly, and it stands, the clothing that concealed it falling away as it does so. At the same time, similar figures rise from beneath the three other piles. Jake, and his fellow investigators, can see that the awakened are all dead men, portions of their bodies rotted down to the bone, but somehow animated and aware. None of the corpses make any sound, but as they move toward Jake, it is plain that their intentions are murderous.

OOC: As the investigators have already had to face the reality of the restless dead previously, there’s no additional sanity impact from encountering them again.

All the investigators possess higher dexterity scores than the four zombies, so everyone may act before the dead take their turn.

Fearfully, the Professor circled around the room. He knew that his aim with this bloody thing wouldn't be good as he had no experience with such things aside from a trip he had been on one with his uncles - and he had no desire to shoot any of the living. In fact, he hesitated to pull the trigger at all, but somehow, the fear crept up his body until it suffused every cell he was certain, and he felt his finger begin to depress the trigger as he did his best to brace his frame for the recoil.

OOC:

10:13, Today: Anthony Wells rolled 87 using 1d100.  Shooting (only if he can find a shot without anyone in front of him).

"Damn," Sully breathes, his eyes going round. He brings his shotgun up, the barrel extending past Arthur, pointing at the nearest dead man to Jake's right. He pulls one trigger.

Sullivan (Sully) Quinn rolled 92 for Shotgun 25.
And that's how we all died.

Jake dances backward from the rising corpse and squawks in terror at the sudden explosions from right beside him. The two shotgun blasts echo like the crack of doom in the ancient tunnels, and he swears to himself.

No chance the bootleggers failed to hear that!

As more of the horrid things reveal themselves, he tugs his Roscoe free of his shoulder holster, drawing a bead on the skull of the creature closest to him, but not between him and his companions.

Something jostles his aim in the close quarters, however, and his shot flies wide as well.


14:43, Today: Jake Morris rolled 97 using 1d100.  Firearms -- Colt .45 60%.

OOC: I did better with my crowbar!

Seeing the dead rise, again, seeing Jake smack it with his crowbar, and hearing the sudden blasts of gunfire, Arthur did not immediately stand and fight, but began drawing away. He thought that if he stayed in that cramped little space, someone was going to shoot someone, and he couldn't be certain it wouldn't be him.

OOC: My rationale isn't so far off, either.

Gunfire erupts in the small, underground space, the reports of the investigators’ weapons almost deafening as they echo off of the walls. The whine of a ricochet, as Jake’s bullet glances off of stone, cuts through the gloom.

Three of the walking dead men close with the investigators. All move slowly, their pace seemingly limited by their own decaying flesh, the last of their number not yet able to reach the four explorers. The corpses claw at Jake, Sully, and Dr. Wells, their hands made up mostly of yellowed bone. Their attacks are clumsy, none inflicting harm on any of the three men. With their nearness, the walking dead bring the sickening scent of rot.

10:31, Today: The Keeper rolled 36 using 1d100.  Attack - Zombie.

10:31, Today: The Keeper rolled 60 using 1d100.  Attack - Zombie.

10:33, Today: The Keeper rolled 80 using 1d100.  Attack - Zombie.

A couple of tactical considerations:

The zombies are slow, their quickest locomotion a stiff, shuffling walk. It will be easy for any of the investigators to move out of immediate melee range of the dead men. They will, of course, be pursued.

The corridors leading east and west out of the present room are somewhat wide, sufficiently so for two investigators to travel them shoulder to shoulder. The passage that the group entered from is narrow and can only be easily traversed single file.

The investigators may all take their next actions.

"Quick!" Jake urges the others, shining his light in the direction of the room to the right with the steps leading upward. "Let's get up there and put an end to all this."

In his mind, the continued presence of undead things is directly linked to the killings of innocents over the years. And the person responsible for one is responsible for the other. He wants to find and confront Bishop, and he does not need the weight of evidence or the authority of a court to mete out justice.

Any port would do in a storm, and Jake's advice woke him out of a frightful spell that put him in a stupor which would have imperiled at the very least his life and safety. Without much more thought on the matter, he followed Jake's directions. He had sense enough to keep the gun safe, and had no plan on using it again unless at absolute necessity.

Quickly, he followed up the stairs.

Having beaten a hasty retreat back into the main sewer line, Arthur looked back to see with dismay that the only source of light was moving on. He moved into place and started listening for scraping footsteps headed in his direction, hoping that the dead things would follow the group which was, by far, larger.

Sully follows Jake and the Prof up the stairs as fast as he can. If they stop, he turns to train his gun back down the steps.

OOC: Arthur, please provide me with a Luck roll.

OOC: "14:31, Today: Arthur G. Flatt rolled 35 using 1d100.  luck (80)."

Doing his best to orient himself in the deepening gloom, Arthur follows the tunnel wall back into the chamber occupied by the shambling corpses. Sighting the glimmer of Jake Morris’ flashlight, he is able to cross the room to the adjoining chamber with the staircase, only stumbling briefly as his foot finds one of the mounds of grave clothes.

Just as he exits the shadowed room for the room with the stairs, the scent of stale decay assails his nostrils once again, and he feels something swipe through the air behind him, a skeletal claw narrowly missing his back and informing him that the walking dead can indeed see clearly in the darkness.

Arthur rejoins his fellow investigators as they quickly mount the dusty stairs, the wooden steps leading up to an iron door, blotched with rust, which stands closed.

Appearing as if from out of thin air, Arthur urged the others on, saying, "Could someone open that? I think it's about to get cramped behind us, if you understand what I mean!"

He tried to peer into the darkness behind them, hoping that the creatures would only follow them quite slowly.

Jake wields his forged steel skeleton key, also known as a crowbar, applying the business end to the edge of the door in an attempt to pry it open.

Slotting the crowbar into the seam between the door and the brick wall, Jake leans into the tool with all the strength he can muster. The iron portal gives a momentary screech of protest, then pops open, the investigators hurrying into the dark room beyond just as they hear shuffling footsteps on the steps below.

The last one through, Professor Wells pushes the door closed and secures it with a handle operated bolt. Jake shines his flashlight around the gloomy space, relieved to discover that the investigators are alone.

The walls of the room are of mortared brick, several of the individual bricks showing evidence of crumbling, a mute testimony to the age of the construction. In the center of the western wall is a single alcove, which houses a closed wooden door made of unfinished wood.

In the room’s northeast corner, a set of iron rungs which serve as a ladder have been set into the wall, leading up into a dark hole in the ceiling. Some of the rungs have had a recent application of fresh mortar to stabilize them.

The center of the eastern wall is occupied by an archway. Whatever lies beyond it is concealed by a thick black curtain which appears to be fairly new and well cared for.

From the door the investigators entered from come the sounds of slow, persistent scratching.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:56, Thu 06 Oct 2022.

"Out of the frying pan and into the fire," mutters Jake, eying up the alternate routes out of the room they've just locked themselves into.

He steps towards the dark-curtained archway, using the end of the crowbar to slide back part of the curtain and peer beyond.

Sully gets out his own flashlight and shines it up the rungs into the hole above.

Peering up into the shadows, Sully has the impression that the ladder travels upward for a significant distance. The reporter estimates that it reaches Bishop House’s second floor.

Pulling the curtain aside, Jake is confronted with a pair of open doorways, which lead into separate chambers.

The northernmost of the two rooms appears to be of recent construction, its walls made of poured concrete. At a glance, the detective can see that it functions as a small art gallery. The floor is mostly covered by a rich Persian carpet. A single overstuffed chair, upholstered in black leather, is positioned in the room’s center, allowing anyone who sits in it an easy view of the six framed oil paintings which adorn the walls. Although a closer look would be needed to gain a grasp,of each painting’s subject, all appear to be extremely detailed, their subjects disturbing and grotesque.

The southernmost chamber shares the brick walls of the room the investigators entered from the stairs, but the floor is crafted entirely from black marble. Inlaid in the center of the floor, with pale gray marble, is a pentacle bordered by two concentric circles. Between the two circles are a series of strange, arcane symbols.

In the center of the pentacle is positioned an altar crafted from black basalt and draped with a black velvet cloth, upon which is embroidered a monstrous figure. Atop the altar are a pair of silver candlesticks, a brass bowl filled with what appears to be charcoal and incense, a stoppered brass bottle, a black hilted dagger, and an ornate silver chalice decorated with yellowed bone.

Both rooms are unoccupied.

Reporting his surmise about the iron rungs, Sully turns his flashlight on each of the paintings. In addition to taking in the subject matter, he looks for the artist’s signature.

Does it seem like we are in the cellars of the house or somesort of sub'basement?

Now inside the place and surveying the room from behind Jake, Arthur found himself almost unable to believe what he was seeing. his hands wanted to shake, but he did his best to still them as he looked on.

"Good God in Heaven, man."

He started snapping photos, capturing images of the pentagram and the implements on the altar. A part of him wanted to disrupt this profane ritual space, but he was too fearful to step forward to do it. Once his pictures were taken, he stepped backwards, near to the entrance of the room, all the while remaining fixated on the altar.

The weird art gallery and the mystic circle room raise the hair on Jake's neck. He'd understood at some gut level that the presence of zombies was probably associated with weird magic stuff, but now they're treading on the very ground where the evil deeds are done.

Some part of him wants to destroy the paintings and the altarpieces, but he recognizes this urge as just childish. The academics should spend time studying this setup -- once they've dealt with Bishop himself.

And he's already come to the conclusion that they need to destroy Bishop. And whatever is stalking the young people of the area. He suspects that the actual killer is the figure in the top hat, but he's pretty certain he's linked to Bishop and this awful subterranean chapel.

Moving towards the alcove with its plain wooden door, he listens at the door before trying the handle.

"Does anyone have that burlap sack?" the Professor asked out of curiosity. He couldn't help himself, the academic in him, as he moved towards the altar to examine what he might have found there.

OOC:

22:43, Today: Anthony Wells rolled 66 using 1d100.  Anthropology (71).

Venturing into the gallery, Sully can see that the paintings appear to all be the work of the same artist, one who seems gifted in imparting exceptionally lifelike qualities to the images they compose, a capacity that is inescapably disturbing, given the horrific nature of each piece.

The first is a portrait of a loathsome creature, vaguely humanoid in outline with clawed hands and canine features, crouching over a partially dismembered human corpse and feasting upon it. Its blood-smeared features hold what can only be described as demonic glee and appetite.

In the next work, a horde of half-human, canine monsters have crawled up through a hole in the floor of a subway tunnel and are attacking patrons apparently waiting for a night train. The details of the location lead Sully to believe that it is an actual place, not solely the work of the painter’s imagination, thought it does not resemble any of the subway stations Sully has visited in New York.

The next painting, the smallest and most precise of the six oils, is a ghastly composition which portrays a squatting circle of nameless doglike things in a churchyard. The creatures surround a young man who is digging up a grave mound with his bare hands. The young man’s peculiar expression, paired with the vaguely canine caste to his features, are especially unnerving.

In the fourth painting, the most immature work of the collection, an arrogant humanoid with sharp, cruel, canine features holds the hands of an adolescent girl and boy, both in night clothes, as they walk away from a burning home. The young woman is tearful and reluctant, but the young man appears eager for the horrors clearly to come.

The following piece depicts, in dim lamplight, the body of a portly man resting face down, face toward the viewer, sprawled on a counting table. Around him are stacks of treasury notes and bags of coins. His mouth bulges with 20-dollar gold pieces which spill out onto the table. Above him, two humanoid monsters delicately compare fresh human ear with fresh human arm, as if considering cuts in a butcher shop.

In the final painting a terrified man is shown being dragged toward a writhing darkness, within which burns a single red point of illumination. The limb that grasps the frantic victim is strangely formless, its odd proportions somehow suggestive of both a tendril and a claw.

The artist has neatly signed each work in the lower, left hand corner: R. Upton Pickman.

OOC: Sully, I’ll need you to give me a Sanity roll. There’s no loss if you succeed. If you fail, you’ll lose 1d3 sanity points.

After Arthur takes a handful of carefully framed shots, Professor Wells approaches the altar, his attention initially drawn to the embroidered depiction of the creature on the velvet cloth which covers it.



OOC: Both the Professor and Arthur will recognize the symbol from their reading of Cultes des Goules as being a depiction of the Haunter of the Red Abyss, Nyogtha.

Taking in the symbols inlaid on the floor, along with the implements laid on the altar itself, only a few moments are required for Professor Wells to discern what manner of rituals are performed in this dark space and their ultimate, terrible purpose.


Jake finds the door unlocked. Opening it a crack, the detective can see that the room on the other side is unoccupied. The walls are constructed from mortared fieldstone, and much of the floor space is occupied by old wooden caskets, perhaps two dozen in number. One, close to the door, lies open, with several dark green glass bottles sitting inside of it.

On the wall opposite the door Jake is peering through, he can see the opening to what appears to be a steam tunnel, the entrance secured by a set of iron bars.

In the center of the room is a brick staircase, leading up to a dark stained, wooden door, which is closed.

He exchanged glances with Flatt, mouthing the strange word, "Nyogtha" without saying it aloud.

"I've seen things like this before in my examination of several cultures from all parts of the world, and I would guess that this altar is dedicated to necromantic rituals, specifically communicating with and binding the spirits of the dead. These symbols on the floor, they are intended to shield whoever is inside the circle from the power of the evil that is involved in these rituals," he said quietly.

"This vial contains the same powder we found above." He looked at the stairs leading up to what he guessed was the house.

"This place that we now stand in...he didn't make this, at least I don't think he did. Maybe one of his forebears. It stood here long before the house above."

Sully's mouth twitches nervously as he plays the flashlight beam over each painting in turn. His hand trembles as the disturbingly all-too-real and horrific scenes depicted. He'll need to get Arthur to photograph these pictures. He backs out of the room, unwilling to turn his back on these works.

Joining his companions in the other room, its furnishings and decoration are nearly as outre as the gallery. At the Prof's request for the burlap sack, he pulls it from his pocket and proffers it to the academic.

"This place is weird."

Arthur found himself mimicking the professor, his face going white and his eyes glassy. He found that his mouth was salivating in an unpleasant sort of manner. He found himself barely capable of holding on for much longer than it took to take the pictures, and so he fled as the good professor explained, heading to the other room.

In the space between, he briefly let himself hyperventilate, forcing his haggard breath into a more regular pattern as he came into the other room. Without even really thinking of it, he began taking photographs of things in there. Once he spotted the signature, he even took a shot of the signature. But he was just trying to distract himself, and he hadn't really absorbed the photographs yet.

At least, not until the last. He looked up at it and breathed in forcefully through his nose. He felt sick.

Unaware of the minor meltdown the academics are having behind him, Jake moves into the far room and mounts the stairs. He douses his electric torch as he does so, peeking under the door to see if he can see any light from beyond.

As quietly as he can he will step up to the door and listen for sounds beyond. This he figures must be the main entrance to the house above.

Mounting the stairs, Jake notices that another pair of caskets within the cellar room are open. Like the one he first spied, they contain green and clear glass bottles that have the appearance of bottles of wine.

Jake eases the door at the top of the stairs open enough for him to peer into the room beyond.

The detective finds himself looking into a kitchen that is immaculately clean, its sanitized surfaces more reminiscent of a hospital rather than an area where food is prepared. To the right, Jake sees a pair of sinks, a stove, and a section of counter which holds a cutting board. On the wall adjacent to the board is a rack which holds a collection of meat cleavers and butcher knives.

On the left are three doors. The first, which is open, leads into a small bathroom. The second, a heavy steel door, is the entrance to what Jake guesses to be a walk in freezer. The door beyond that, fashioned from polished dark wood, is closed.

Directly across from the door the detective is looking through is an archway that leads into what appears to be a formal dining room.

The area is quiet, the only illumination from a single light fixture above the twin sinks.

Into the bag went the dagger, chalice, and the stoppered bottle, though he left the other implements as it were. The candlesticks would be too large, and the bowl's contents too messy. He carried it as they moved along. These would do nicely in a museum after he had the chance to study them. A museum in another city, probably. And they would hopefully hinder Bishop in his next steps. He left the rest undisturbed.

Jake closes the door at the top of the stairs and looks to see if there is a way to bolt it from the lower side.

He retreats down into the basement where he smiles at Professor Wells busy stealing everything he can fit in his sack. A man after his own heart.

"Looks like we've hit the jackpot," he speaks softly but loud enough for all of his companions to hear him. "These stairs lead up to the main house. And this basement makes it pretty clear this guy is into some pretty weird hoodoo.

"And we've got evidence down there," he waves his crowbar at the iron door beyond which the zombies prowl, "that should convince even a judge -- if we can catch and hold one of 'em.

"Or we can just go on up, find Bishop, and put him to the question.

"What say you, gentlemen? Wrestle a zombie or kill a wizard?"

"Well. I mean...you mean, 'Talk to a wizard' surely," says Sully, mindful of the ramifications of "premeditated" in any legal proceedings that might portend.

"I'd certainly rather talk to Bishop than wrestle walking corpses."

As he speaks, he replaces the spent shell in his shotgun with a fresh one, dropping the empty casing into his pants pocket.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 17:41, Wed 19 Oct 2022.

"Talking to Bishop sounds like the plan...right, Professor?"

He almost stumbled out of the room with the pictures, and found himself patting away sweat from his forehead.

"Yes, I am inclined to have a conversation with the old chap."

Venturing through the cellar room filled with the caskets full of wine bottles, the investigators climb the stairs up to the door that enters the first floor of the Bishop residence. Peering inside again, Jake Morris finds the kitchen still vacant. The detective does not hear any noises, save for the steady humming of the refrigerator and the walk in freezer.

On a hunch, Jake will open and look inside the big freezer.

The door to the freezer proves resistant to easy opening. Jake has to give it a couple of strong tugs before it swings free.

A haze of chill air greets the detective as he peers inside. On the right side of the small room stand a set of steel shelves, each one holding several packages neatly wrapped in butcher paper, presumably parcels of meat. A number of crates are stacked against the left wall, their wood timed with frost.

At the back of the freezer stands a lone figure, a man dressed in a dark suit that identifies him as a servant in the home, likely a butler. He is motionless, his clothing, pale skin, and thin gray hair all touched with frost. His eyes are closed. By appearance, Jake would estimate his age as around sixty. As best Jake can tell, there is nothing holding him in his upright position. He is not leaning against the wall.

"Yikes!" cries Jake in a strangled whisper. "There's a stiff in the freezer. He looks ready to serve you a cocktail or chill it down."

The detective closes the door firmly on the dead man and looks for a way to wedge it shut. He's seen too many lifeless bodies get agitated recently to trust this one to stay in place all on its own.

Next, he will move to the heavy wooden door and try to open it quietly - just enough to peek through at first.

"Dear God in Heaven," breathes Sully, catching a glimpse of the frozen butler.

As Jake starts to close the freezer door, Sully says, "Do you think we should open one of those crates? I mean, what would be in a wooden crate that needs to be frozen? I’ll keep the butler covered.” He swings the muzzle of his shotgun to point at the figure’s chest.

Jake shrugs and wields his crowbar to pry the top off the closets crate.

Arthur watches the back of the group, un-fired shotgun in hand. He tries not to notice the frozen butler, a course of action which seems rational to him.

With a single quick push on his crowbar, Jake loosens the lid on the topmost crate. Pulling it up, the detective and Sully can see that the container holds half a dozen jars filled with a dark, murky liquid.

Lingering near the entrance to the freezer, both Professor Wells and Arthur notice the frozen butler’s eyes suddenly snap open. Sully, his weapon trained on the frozen servant, immediately perceives the movement as well.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:31, Mon 24 Oct 2022.

"Don't move! I'll shoot!" Sully shouts, finger tightening on his triggers. His eyes are wide, the whites showing all around.

A sneer forms on the butler’s frost rimed features. Seemingly unfazed by Sully’s warning, he draws a silver bladed knife from beneath his jacket with surprising speed.

OOC: Jake and Sully, you both have the opportunity to act before the servant does. The butler’s DEX is higher than Sully’s, but the reporter had the man covered in the event he awoke and was hostile.

Everyone, including Arthur and Professor Wells, are close enough to use melee attacks rather than shooting, should they elect to do so.

When the butler produces his knife, Sully triggers both barrels.

Sullivan (Sully) Quinn rolled 64,2 using 1d100,1d10 with rolls of 64,2 for Shotgun 25 with bonus die.
So that’s a 24-Hit! And 13 damage

The report of the twin shotgun barrels is deafening within the confines of the freezer, the noise shattering the quiet of the residence as it echoes through its shadow draped halls.

The servant is thrown backward by the blast, slamming into the steel wall behind him and slumping to the floor in a seated position. Jake and Sully both feel the sting of ricocheting bits of buckshot, much of it embedded in the back wall of the freezer, where it has left a sizable, blackened dent. Although fragments of desiccated tissue have been spread about the room, pieces torn free from the horrific wound in the butler’s chest, there is no blood. Not a single drop is visible anywhere.

As the acrid scent of gunpowder burns the investigators’ noses and eyes, the servant’s eyes open again and he begins to struggle to stand.

OOC: All of the other investigators have the opportunity to act.

Arthur rushes out of the freezer, urging his fellows to come out with him. He had his hands on the door, and he was ready to close that frozen thing in--you could say he was desperate in fact.

"Come on, quickly! Quickly!"

"Jumping Jehosephat!" Jake cries -- somewhat at the massive detonation right next to his ear, but also in response to the fact that the double barrel blast does not seem to have destroyed the undead thing.

He needs little urging from Arthur to scramble back out of the freezer, and he's ready to slam and wedge the door shut as soon as Sully is out as well.

"Guess they know we're here now," he grins at the feisty reporter.

Jake and Sully manage to scramble out of the cold confines of the freezer, Arthur pushing the door closed before the butler has regained his feet. Jake snags a nearby chair, wedging it beneath the steel door’s handle.

After a moment, the metal door begins to rattle as the cold storage’s inhabitant tries to exit the freezer.

From somewhere within the house, the loud clap of a door being thrown open is heard.

More out of a misguided perception that one should crouch in a situation like this than out of good judgment or habit, Arthur crouched down a little and went to a wall when he heard the door come open.

He put a hand over his mouth, since he was trying to control his own breathing by any means possible.

Sully backs quickly out of the freezer and clear of the door. Ears ringing, he grins sheepishly at his companions as he digs the spent shells from the breech and drops them in his pants pocket. He puts two fresh loads in the gun and snaps it shut.

Why would you keep a thing like that around the house? he asks, a bit too loudly. He doesn’t hear the commotion from upstairs.

"My guess is he doesn't have to pay him too much," shrugs Jake, "and he can probably chill a Martini just by holding it in his hands."

He checks the security of the makeshift wedge. If it seems to be holding, he turns his attention to the wooden door that leads into the rest of the house.

"They know for certain we're here," he speaks almost absently as if mulling over the options as he reviews them.

"If he's clever, he just calls for the cops and turns us over. But that may cause too much of a stink down below -- especially if we make the cops come down and get us.

"His next bet is to send more of his zombie pals down to deal with us. We've been lucky so far.

"But my guess is he's going to call for the fellow in the top hat -- the real killer on the team. He may already be in the house after our visit last night.

"The shotgun pushed Mr. Frosty back, but it didn't stop him. Any ideas from those books you were reading earlier, gents? Any way to undo this hoodoo?"

As he talks, Jake checks his pistol and hefts his crowbar, ready for a rumble.

Shutting the door seemed to work well; he can understand why Sully felt compelled to fire that shotgun, but now he felt incredibly exposed. He silently agreed with Jake's conclusions that they were now given away.

"I'm afraid not. Nothing that can be of great help, I'm afraid. With our element of surprise gone, I'm not sure what the next course of action should be. If we leave, I'm afraid that coming back won't be as easy. If we stay, discovery is likely. Do we dig in against that possibility?"

"I say we rush Bishop," Sully says, still a bit too loudly. Having engaged one of the enemy, his blood is up and the journalist is eager for action. At gestures from the others he tries to moderate his volume. "Thats what we were talking about. Now is not the time for faint hearts and waiting for him to marshall his forces. Let’s get him!”

He put a finger over his mouth as he looked over at Sully.

"I...did they enjoy having you around back during the war, Sully?"

Arthur shook his head and put up a hand.

"I'm sorry. I don't like our chances if we rush him, but...what things we read, Jake, Sully, we absolutely can't let them continue doing this."

Arthur took a step toward Jake.

"I'd sooner die."

Arthur looked over to Professor Wells, knowing he would understand, that he had read that book.

As the investigators speak, the sound of heavy footfalls is heard nearby. Through the archway into the dining room, the group sees a tall man approaching the kitchen at a quick step. He is dressed in a heavy black overcoat, a woolen muffler around his neck. On his head he wears a tall top hat. He is powerfully built, his appearance repulsive; his features are sickly and cadaverous, his skin sunken and diseased. As he draws close, the men can smell that he reeks of formalin. His pale, milky eyes have a glassy, unblinking stare.

As he steps into the kitchen, it is clear that he can see the investigators’ firearms, but seems unperturbed by them. Reaching into the pocket of his coat, he withdraws a straight razor, which he opens with a flick of his wrist.

OOC: Jake possess a higher DEX than the undead murderer, so he can act first. The rest of the investigators will be able to take their actions after the killer has taken his.

"Stay back, foul creature!" he said, hoping to buy some time. He made a strange gesture with his hands, one that he hoped he was doing correctly according to what he read, though he couldn't be certain if such things would work.

OOC:

Don't know if this is rightly applicable but neither does Wells!

Going to try to make the Voorish Sign.

This is it! The top hat killer, just as predicted. This is the creature that has been murdering all those young people for years, and now he's here -- in Jake's sites. His Roscoe is ready.

BLAM! BLAM!

OOC: I believe the close range gives him an extra die for each shot and the double tap takes it away.

16:28, Today: Jake Morris rolled 95 using 1d100.  Jake shot 2.

16:28, Today: Jake Morris rolled 7 using 1d100.  Jake shot 1.

A good 'un and  bad 'un

Jake’s pistol cracks twice. One of the shots blows a meat cleaver off of the rack over the cutting board, while the other finds the center of cadaverous figure’s chest. The tall man gives a slight grunt at the impact, but the injury does not slow his pace at all.

Drawing close to the detective, he swings his straight razor at Morris, the blade missing the detective’s face by centimeters.

13:59, Today: Simon Trask rolled 93 using 1d100.  Attack - Razor.

In the midst of the combat, Professor Wells shakily traces an intricate symbol in the air before him, ordering the killer to stop in the strongest voice he can muster. Quite suddenly, a strange chill overtakes the room, rendering it briefly colder than even the interior of the walk-in freezer. Briefly, each of the investigators can see their breath steam, as if they are walking outside in the deep of winter.

The tall man pauses, his dead gaze blank and detached, his arms falling to his sides. To the investigators, it almost appears as if he has entered some kind of stupor.

OOC: Professor, casting the Voorish Sign will cost you 1 magic point and 1 sanity point.

About to pull his trigger, Sully hesitates. Now what, Professor?

"It won't last long! Put an end to him now...or we run!" he said encouraging his fellows to act quickly.

Sully takes a step forward and jams the muzzle of his shotgun against the thing's knee. He pulls one trigger but the muzzle jumps away from its aiming point, the load flying into the floor. He immediately steadies himself and tries again, this time squeezing the trigger gently. The damage is bloody indeed.

Sullivan (Sully) Quinn rolled 71,5 (51) for  Shotgun, bonus die.
Sullivan (Sully) Quinn rolled 78,10 (18) for Shotgun, bonus die again.
Sullivan (Sully) Quinn rolled 5 using 2d6+2 for damage.

Arthur, as frightful as he had yet been, looked upon the visage of this strange man, the same one he had seen and described to the others.

And he froze.

At least, he froze until the Professor used that strange sign they had found in the book. Then, he pulled the trigger on the shotgun he was toting.

OOC: "02:37, Today: Arthur G. Flatt rolled 6 using 2d6+2.  shotgun damage?!

02:36, Today: Arthur G. Flatt rolled 74,7 using 1d100,1d10.  shotgun, bonus die x2.

02:36, Today: Arthur G. Flatt rolled 22,10 using 1d100,1d10.  shotgun, bonus die."

10 counts for 0, making it an 02 on the first roll, which I'm certain has some sort of effect  on the damage, although I can't recall it.

Sully and Arthur each pull the triggers of their weapons, the blasts from the shotguns echoing through the halls of the antiquated residence.

Sully’s shot destroys one of the tall man’s knees, reducing it to a twisted mass of torn tissue and splintered bone. The injury sends the hulking stranger to the floor. As he topples, Arthur fires, the blast tearing a gaping hole in the murderer’s chest, a handful of his ribs visible at the borders of the massive wound. The walking corpse’s straight razor goes skittering across the floor, sliding into the adjacent dining room.

Despite the terrible wounds, no blood is visible anywhere; only chips of bone and scorched bits of mummified flesh litter the floor. The suffocating reek of formalin causes the investigators’ eyes to water.

As he crashes onto his side, the tall figure seems to regain some semblance of awareness. Grotesquely, he makes trembling attempts to rise, his horrific injuries apparently having robbed him of his strength, but not of whatever terrible force animates him. His efforts are spasmodic, resulting in nothing but weak, flailing movements that propel him only a few inches across the floor.

OOC: The killer is not yet dead, but he cannot cause harm to the investigators in his condition. Combat is effectively over.

For God's sake, Jake, end him. says Sully, hoarsely.

Arthur wobbled back, going to the wall, but he also spoke, saying, "No, we should try speaking to him. He must...know things."

Arthur, shaking in his hands, lit a cigarette--an inappropriate time to smoke if there ever was one.

Morris trains his pistol on the undead creature, looking back at his fellow investigators questioningly, waiting for feedback on what course of action he should take.

Without further feedback, Jake leans on his own instincts, which are in agreement with Sully’s. He fires twice, the reports loud in the quiet that has overtaken the house. The dead man jerks at each shot, but continues his struggles to stand, his fingertips scraping the tiled floor.

Jake fires two more shots, the last causing tall figure to slump to the floor, all of his movements ceasing. The investigators watch the dead man for a few tense moments, but he remains entirely still.

Arthur crept forward, looking down at the body. After a long time staring, he shivered and, turning back to his compatriots, he asked the obvious question...

"...what now, then?"

Sully prods the still figure with the muzzle of his reloaded shotgun.

"Now we find Bishop and have some...words with him."

Sully hefts his gun and heads for the door that leads to the rest of the house.

Arthur nodded grimly to Sully's suggestion. He stepped aside, to wherever the Professor had found himself.

"We're nearly there."

He was ready to move on.

"We have to keep going," Wells said, not quite knowing what propelled him. Whatever Bishop was behind, whatever the man was up to, Wells simply had to know. He had to understand what was at play. And so he followed Quinn as he went ahead. Recent history had shown that firearms were not his strong point, but he nonetheless felt somehow, irrationally, more secure with his in hand.

Jake scowls at the corpse of the possibly re-dead dead man, but leaves it be as the others rush for the door, shoving in amongst them to grab Sully's shoulder and hiss at him: "Hey, we all keep our voices down 'til we've got eyes on this guy, yeah? Far as he knows, we emptied our guns into his goon and got sliced to bits: let's keep him thinking the other bastard's chowing down on us as long as possible."

He lets the reporter go and motions the others to head past him with his gun, still not trusting the big bastard apparently immobilised behind them. Despite trusting hot lead more than cold iron or holy water, Jake keeps an eye out as they go for anything that looks like it might be as useful as Professor Wells' magic trick.

"Sure, Jake, you're the boss." Sully edges past the private dick and pushes open the door leading to the rest of the house. He looks into the dimly-lit space beyond.

With a light burning in the room behind them, Jake drops his flashlight into his pocket, hefts his crowbar under his arm and starts feverishly reloading, careful not to drop anything on the floor. Sully might be alarmingly inclined to shoot in close quarters, but he certainly wasn't hesitant. Taking out the big guy's knees had been real smart, too.

Sully leads the investigators into the dining room, the centerpiece of which is a polished mahogany table, with sufficient seating for eight. Between two tall, curtained windows on the southern wall stands a glass fronted cabinet which holds a matching set of fine porcelain dishes.

Eastward, the dining room connects to a foyer. An imposing ebony hall tree with a tall mirror stands to the left of the Bishop House’s front door. On the hall tree’s bench is placed a single piece of paper, what appears to be a hand written note. A dark wood staircase in the foyer leads up to the home’s second floor.

On the foyer’s eastern wall, a wide archway leads into a living room. The room is richly furnished, though the furnishings are somewhat outdated, several appearing as though they were crafted around the middle of the previous century. A pair of carved wooden doors in the eastern wall of the living room stand open, leading into a library with several floor to ceiling shelves which are laden with books.

The investigators do not see anyone within the rooms. For the moment, the Bishop residence is still.

Arthur stepped forward uncertainly and sat by the note on the bench. Very carefully, he placed the sawn-off shotgun, which he had not reloaded, on the bench. After a moment he reached down to the note, picking it up and reading it silently and intently.

Sully slowly, cautiously walks through the dining room to inspect the other rooms—foyer, living room, library—noting, as he passes through the foyer, how the front door locks. Having walked through the other rooms, he returns to the foyer where he looks up the stairs to the upper floors of the house, listening intently for any sounds from above.

Jake waits, covering Arthur and the Professor's surroundings until Sully returns. When the reporter is with them he quietly pads over to the door, opens it and looks out, intending to leave it just barely unclosed should there be no sign of Nathaniel Bishop escaping or cops - or worse - approaching.

Walking through the quiet rooms, Sully encounters no one, though the reporter does note that, in the living room, the furnishings are all covered in a thin layer of gray dust, suggesting that they have not seen use in some time. The library, on the other hand, is immaculately maintained. Surveying the holdings, Sully guesses that there are several thousand volumes in the collection. A glance at a few of the books’ spines informs him that most of them are concerned with witchcraft, occultism, spiritualism, and the history of Ancient Egypt. Above the lone desk in the large room, which sits against the easternmost wall, a single glassed in shelf holds a few tomes, along with what appears to be a skull and a jade statuette.

Settling on the hall tree, Arthur examines the note, which is written in a neat, strong hand. It reads:

Simon,

I will be going below this evening. There are some matters that I must consult with Agatha about.

Please keep watch over the grounds and mortuary. We cannot risk any further intrusions and, as you are well aware, those in the tunnels have been especially unruly of late. I’ve spoken to them, but they do not always heed my instructions.

N.

Giving his attention to the staircase and upper floor when he returns, Sully does not hear any sounds of movement upstairs.

Peering out the front door of the residence, Jake finds the adjoining cemetery still and quiet, the evening dark shrouding most of the headstones and crypts in deep shadow. The detective does not perceive any movement among them.

Both Sully and Jake note that in addition to a keyed lock, the front door is secured with a sturdy, sliding bolt.

"Hey, Prof!" Sully calls quietly, "Come get a load of these books." When the academic responds, he points out the glass-fronted shelf in particular.

When he looks at the note that Art is holding, he lets out a low whistle. "Agatha huh? This all gets weirder and weirder.

“Hmmmm… ‘N’ is Nathaniel Bishop, of course. You suppose Simon is the guy we shot to pieces in the kitchen?”"

Sully is trying to seem hardboiled but there’s a slight quaver in his voice and he grips his shotgun very tightly with hands that otherwise would tremble.

Wells had been muttering to himself, and those paying any attention to him at all could have sworn there were mentions of peanut butter. Sully's query seemed to break him out of whatever dark reverie he had been trapped in. He hurried to examine the books that he was referring to, studying them for any special significance they might have specifically in regard to their current predicament and the summoning of the dead.

He gave a cursory glance to the larger collection, but paid special attention to the tomes and objects in the glassed in shelf.

Strongly aware of the tunnels they've just come up from, Jake is glad to leave that door unbolted, though he looks chagrined at not being able to rush up on Bishop with a good excuse to kick his jaw in. He moves through to the library when Arthur does, keeping his face turned away from any flash photography, still on high alert.

"I dunno if Top Hat was much of an intellectual," Jake remarks, gently nudging the barrels of Sully's gun a bit further towards 'floor' than 'shins'. "Then again, Old Frosty down there seems more of a downstairs guy, seen and not heard, kinda thing. God, this place is creepy."

"Anyhow, since Bishop's not home and might be coming back with, uh," he squints at the note, "-unruly tunnel people, how about we photograph everything in sight, steal anything that makes his life harder without it, then skeddadle and call in shots heard at the cemetery residence with concern for an occupant before he comes back and has a chance to clean up?"

"A fantastic idea, Mr. Morris," he said as he continued to examine the books and objects above.

Sully pays no heed to Jake's gentle corrective.

"Those 'special' books look portable," Sully suggests, "Perhaps, Professor, taking those along with the items we've removed from his 'chapel' will set back Bishop's machinations.

"Jake, do you suppose 'those in the tunnels' refers to the bootleggers?"

"Yes, yes, quite right Mr. Quinn," he said, beginning to transfer the books into his bag. He did find suitable looking replacements from the main shelf so that their disappearance might not be immediately apparent.

Arthur stood up after a time, so that others could read the note as well, and listened for a while until Sully asked about those below.

"Well, it could be them. Or, it could be the zombies down there, or something even worse."

He looked to Wells, who had learned also of many terrible things.

Jake has his thinking scowl on, but it's mostly because he doesn't trust his grasp of geography enough to posit that their foes might be mummies rather than zombis, given the side of Africa Bishop seems to be interested in. Sully's expectant look brings him out of his tangent, and he clears his throat, fighting down a kind of hysteria to be considering such things at all. Must be the academics getting to him: a two-category system of 'becomes inert when shot' and 'Problem' would do.

"I...dunno," he says at length, "-if he'd packed all the tunnels we ain't seen with an army of stolen dead, I figure he'd have done something more than murdering a handful of unlucky girls by now. It's more like...living quarters?" He rubs his chin with his crowbar.

"Could be hobos, don't figure it's bootleggers - they'd want to be near active parts of the steam system to hide stills and not have to cart the liquor around like we caught them doing - maybe it's some cannibal tribe that's teaching him the zombi stuff in exchange for somewhere to duck into and keep being cannibals. Pretty nice setup with an undertaker." He shrugs. "It'd save on rent, just being a place to sleep."

"In any case, fellas, I ain't too keen to meet 'em. Universal key?" Jake hefts the crowbar in anticipation of the glass panel being secured with some kind of lock.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:58, Tue 29 Nov 2022.

Professor Wells is impressed with the extent of Bishop’s collection of volumes, an amassing that he strongly suspects represents the efforts of several generations of the family. There are a number of books, especially those devoted to the study of the occult, that he is tempted to remove and abscond with. Among the holdings, there are several tomes that Wells immediately recognizes as being notably rare.

However, the contents of the glass covered shelf, which is thankfully not secured with any manner of lock, easily eclipse the rest of the library’s holdings.

The dimensions of the yellowed skull strongly suggest that it is human. However, its teeth are uniformly canine, its eye sockets are grossly enlarged, and it possesses vestigial horns.

The statuette appears to be carved from jade, though the stone is heavily veined with blue and black. Something in its grotesque appearance prompts those viewing it to forget that it is crafted from rock. At moments the sculpture gives the odd impression of being made up of a mass of rubbery flesh. The figure depicted is a hideously bloated humanoid with narrow, bat-like wings. The octopoid head’s face is a writhing mass of feelers and the figure has tentacles in the place of limbs. Anyone who touches the figurine finds that the cold stone has an unpleasant, greasy film that is seemingly perpetual.

The first of the three volumes shelved between the two disconcerting objects is a thick tome bound in red leather. The browned pages are ragged at the edges, giving the impression that the volume has been well used. The contents appear to have all been hand written, the prevailing handwriting changing in different sections of the book. Wells perceives that the tome is a grimoire, one that has been maintained and added to by multiple generations of contributors. Although penned in English, some of the language used is terribly archaic and interrupted regularly by phrases from a tongue that is entirely alien to the anthropologist. The front page of the book bears the words The Bishop Legacy, inscribed in thick block letters. The initial entries all carry the signature of one A. Bishop.

The second volume is another heavy tome, bound in rat gnawed leather. A quick glance at the first few pages informs Wells that the book is written in Medieval Latin. The title page identifies it as De Vermis Mysteriis, which Wells translates to The Mysteries of the Worm. The author is identified as one Ludwig Prinn. Like its neighbor, it appears to be a collection of ritual magic, a number of odd and unsettling symbols and illustrations sprinkled liberally throughout its pages.

The last book appears to be of an Elizabethan era binding, tooled black leather over boards, containing hundreds of unnumbered pages, held closed by a tarnished silver buckle. Attached to the front cover with nails are a series of silver letters which read Necronomicon. From his prior exposure to Classical Greek, Wells estimates the title to mean The Book of Dead Names. Wells immediately recognizes the book as being a legendary grimoire, its existence hinted at only within the darkest of occult writings. Examining the initial pages, Wells can see that the book is an English translation of an Arabic text by Dr. John Dee, an Elizabethan sorcerer and astrologer. Wells can see that the book would be a challenging one to navigate due to its archaic typography, 16th century English, and crabbed marginal notes written in a mixture of hermetic Latin and Elizabethan slang. As he handles it, the Professor has the unsettling sensation of the room growing progressively colder.


OOC: Professor, please provide me with an Occult roll and another Cthulhu Mythos roll.

I’ll also need all of the investigators to give me a Sanity roll for seeing the statue. No loss for a success. One point lost on a failure.

The information offered is the most that the Professor can glean about each of the volumes in the current situation. If any of the books are taken, be aware that each is quite bulky. If a single investigator is carrying them, a bag or other container would be needed. If they are just being taken, one investigator could carry a single book.

Note that if any of the books are taken and subsequently skimmed or studied, there is a possibility for sanity loss. :)

Sully's face when he looks at the statue looks as though he's smelled something quite foul. He declines to touch it.

Sullivan (Sully) Quinn rolled 24 for Sanity 46. No loss.

He looks about for something to tote the books in. An idea presents itself and he goes to the dining room, returning shortly with a sturdy tablecloth to tie them up in.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:52, Wed 30 Nov 2022.

OOC:

20:43, Today: Anthony Wells rolled 76 using 1d100.  Sanity (44).
20:43, Today: Anthony Wells rolled 29 using 1d100.  Cthulhu Mythos (18).
20:40, Today: Anthony Wells rolled 23 using 1d100.  Occult (67).

"So what do you think, fertility god, death god? Guy with the filed teeth looks cannibal to me," Jake nods at the skull. For all his familiarity with various stages of decay, his awareness of skeletal anatomy isn't good enough to pick up anything precisely odd about the skull save a sense of odd proportions. His assignment of sex is also arbitrary, but somehow he'd prefer the modified cranium to be a man, if not an ape.

07:31, Today: Jake Morris rolled 15 using 1d100.  SAN

Arthur shivered visibly and shook his head at Jake. Breathing strongly through his nose, he put a finger just up to the depiction, but did not touch.

"No. Nothing...nothing human like that. It's..."

His mouth was a little dry, but he tried to swallow anyways, as a nervous sort of habit.

"Supposed to be s-sleeping...right, Professor?"

He stepped back. "We should leave, quickly."

"You mean it's not a god for hunting octopus...es? octopi? octopodes? uh, squid-type things, but what Bishop's friends think an octopus god would be, if they're scootin' around down in the dark there, praying?" The idea of alien, intelligent minds folded silently into the ocean layers below true human knowing actually makes his skin crawl, just a little bit.

"Well, get a picture of it in situ an' the Prof can throw it in his sack, I don't want to hang around here, either."

Wells briefly responded as he was packing the items away. "We can speak on the details later, but suffice to say that these are associated with some of the most obscure and poorly understood religious traditions presently known in the modern world. There is surely much yet we don't know about the ancient past, but one would expect them to be found in a long lost ruin, the discovery of which would be world famous - not hidden in a mortician's private library in New York City."

Wells placed what he could in the burlap sack, as much as he could that would not render it impossible to carry, and if needed asked the others to carry what he couldn't.

"I'm ready to move on when you gents are."

OOC:

Wells is carrying a burlap sack that he is using to loot some of the items, so he will get what he can into that bag, and then ask any of the others to help transport the rest.

Sully sets his shotgun aside and makes a bundle of the tablecloth he purloined to wrap up what Wells can't carry. He secures it with his necktie.

Tucking the shotgun under his arm, he hefts the bundle over his shoulder.

Right. I'm ready to go.

Jake makes sure the note makes it into one of the sacks. "All right, you guys start out the front, get out onto the street as quick as possible without looking too obvious. I'm going to go mess up that door to the lower levels an' join you."

He starts heading that way, then pauses and glances back. "If you look back and see me running, whatever you do, don't wait up."

He glances at the stairs on the way past, regretting that there probably wasn't time to have Art get any pictures of Top Hat's lair, but remembers that long shaft connecting straight to the lower cellars. The blackness of a closed trapdoor perhaps hidden in that room from which unruly tunnel people might emerge was not an enticing prospect.

Arthur kept his shotgun and his camera to himself, and rushed along at the back of the group until Jake split off, ushering everyone to haste.

When Jake split, he nodded to Jake, as if to say, Don't take any risks.

Sully goes out onto thr front porch. He stops there and watches Art and the Prof walk down the path and toward the front gate. He pauses with his shotgun and bundle of books to wait for Jake.

Jake steals back into the depths of the house, gun ready and listening all the while for sounds of the 'servants' at large or the whoops and hollers or rushing tread of the unruly folk. Hearing nothing as yet save the intrusive sound of his pulse from listening so hard (and all right, maybe being a little spooked, dead guys not moving 'til you saw them and all), he sets the crowbar in the upper hinge gap from the steps below and uses his weight and gravity to try and crack the door out of place.

He tries to run through anything he's touched, but between Bishop's potential approach and the others getting further away, time takes precedence: he aims to be out as soon as possible.

The Professor did not hesitate to move forward with the others, walking quickly towards the gate with all of his stolen booty in the burlap sack.

The only sound Jake hears as he rushes through the aged residence is that of the butler trapped inside the wall-in freezer, pounding steadily on the metal door. Aside from that, all is quiet, though the stillness is somehow oppressive, rather than a source of comfort, the silence marked with a quality of anticipation, as if it is waiting to be broken by a sudden arrival.

The quiet remains, however. And Jake encounters no one during his last, furtive errands, the door yielding to the pressure of the crowbar with a definitive crack. When the detective emerges onto the house’s porch, he finds Sullivan Quinn waiting for him, the reporter’s eyes restlessly scanning the dark cemetery for any hint of movement.

The two men waste no time in departing, following Arthur and Professor Wells’ route though the graveyard’s western gate. Gathering a few blocks away in front of a tailor’s shop, the doorway lit by a flickering bulb, the investigators make hasty plans to meet at mid morning at the Professor’s office before leaving the Stanton Street Cemetery, and its host of secrets, behind them.