The stain grows lighter the further it stretches away from the greatest concentration of gore, the gradually thinning streaks curving slightly to the northeast, toward the staggering reek of decomposition.

Venturing cautiously in that direction, the deep shadows seemingly unwilling to yield to the investigators’ pale illumination, the men can see that after almost seventy feet, the tunnel widens into a high ceilinged chamber, the unmarked stone walls glistening with moisture. Nothing stirs within the large room, its only feature a vaguely circular pit, perhaps twelve feet in diameter, which occupies its center.

The nauseating smell is exceedingly strong here.

Jake pauses to swallow and listen for any hint of motion, then looks for a way around the larder. There doesn't seem to be anything to say right now so he doesn't try, simply staying alert.

Sully momentarily sets down his gun to pull a handkerchief out of his pocket and tie it, highwayman-like, over his mouth and nose. Retrieving his weapon, he puts his back to the wall and slowly scans the circumference of the chamber with his light, alert for any other openings.

The professor followed tenuously. He had been in underground spaces before in search of the suspected as well as the unknown, but never before had he been aware that there were revenants present who might spell his death. And yet, he placed foot after foot instead of running, as he should have done. He could not speak to what motivated him, but it was that very search for truth and knowledge which had motivated his entire career. There would be no findings for this. No publication or paper that wouldn't have him immediately sacked and ruined, but for him, perhaps, there might be some more truth uncovered.

A brief examination of the circular chamber reveals two potential exits to the investigators; a narrow tunnel that travels northward and another cramped passageway that slants away to the northeast.

But it is the pit itself that draws the men’s attention most strongly. The aperture’s depth is unguessable, though each of the investigators has the dark impression that it descends for countless yards into the depths of the earth.

And it is filled; glutted with thousands upon thousands of rat gnawed human bones, the endless stack of them reaching up to within ten feet of the pit’s upper edge, the mingled scent of fresh and ancient decay rising inexorably from the mass of collected dead. A lone recent addition, a dark haired, swarthy man in a black suit, one side of his head crushed, lies atop the collected remains.

OOC: I need everyone to give me a sanity roll. No loss on a success. 1d3 points lost on a failure.

Please also provide me with a Listen roll.

Looking for any hint of live people being taken through either passage, Jake's flashlight happens to catch the shadows and further shadows in the pit of bones. He stops sharply, an expression between fury and horrified fascination on his face.

"Jesus, that goes down...d-down to..." Jake trails off, the skittering mass of imagined demons in his head massing up the inside of his skull again. His inner detective hammers on his consciousness yelling something about finding out why this corpse was left here whole atop a pile of discards, but it's hard to heed him: hard to be aware of anything but the depth of that horrible hole.


[[17:05, Today: Jake Morris rolled 61 using 1d100.  SAN check. Fail!
17:05, Today: Jake Morris rolled 1 using 1d3.  minus sanity.

17:13, Today: Jake Morris rolled 94 using 1d100.  Listen. Jake does not hear the elephant in the room, either.

Additionally, I'm not 100% sure Jake's stopped being Temporarily Insane from his last critical failure yet, if you want to give him a stronger reaction.]]

Sully comes step by step to the edge of the pit and gazes down. His light follows the movement of his head as he glances from place to place, seeing nothing but horror. Finally, he can only stare at the most recent addition.

His gorge rises against his clamped teeth as the waves of necrotic miasma rise up to engulf his nostrils. His ears roar and he fights to keep from fainting.

Sullivan (Sully) Quinn rolled 100 for Sanity 42. UH-OH
Sullivan (Sully) Quinn rolled 3 for SAN loss. yep
Sullivan (Sully) Quinn rolled 73 for Listen 25.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:29, Sun 19 Mar 2023.

The professor stared at the sight before them shell-shocked. He wanted to say something, out of habit, but words wouldn't form in his mouth.

To steady his mind, he tried to set himself to thinking about similar rituals, customs, or traditions - anything he could recall to avoid having to contemplate the horror of the obvious.

OOC:

Lost 2 more Sanity, and can't or won't hear much of interest here.

Anthropology 51/71. Does this recall any other practices of note?

14:43, Today: Anthony Wells rolled 91 using 1d100.  Listen 65.
14:43, Today: Anthony Wells rolled 2 using 1d3.
14:43, Today: Anthony Wells rolled 59 using 1d100.  Sanity.
14:47, Today: Anthony Wells rolled 51 using 1d100.  Anthropology 71.


This message was last edited by the player at 19:48, Mon 20 Mar 2023.

Arthur had kept pace, taking photo snapshots of all they had seen without much commentary. Now, he silently took the latest photograph. After a second, with his mouth suddenly quite dry, he asked the obvious question: "How many people?"

OOC:

"04:16, Today: Arthur G. Flatt rolled 12 using 1d100.  listen (50).

04:14, Today: Arthur G. Flatt rolled 2 using 1d3.  SAN loss.

04:14, Today: Arthur G. Flatt rolled 97 using 1d100.  SAN."

The numbers of the discarded dead are easily hundreds, based on the depth of the collected bones which the investigators can see, though the possible depth of the pit suggests that the number may reach into the thousands. The silent question of how many of those who had disappeared on Manhattan Island in decades past could be accounted for among these remains hovers at the edge of each man’s thoughts.

Despite the overwhelming nature of the charnel scene that confronts them, the investigators remain aware of their threatening surroundings. But for the moment, none see any movement within any of shadowed corridors which lead away from the chamber they occupy.

The hairs stood up on his neck and arm and he turned to the others, waiting to see if anyone else had heard what he thought he had just now. His feet were, for the moment, rooted to the ground in fear.

But whether or not he thought anyone else could hear it, he knew he had to go there--so, he moved, perhaps a bit too quickly, to the northern passageway, uncertain what he would see there.

Jake certainly hasn't heard whatever's attracted Arthur's attention, casually trying to crowbar the fresh corpse nearer to work out why it's been rejected. Garlic, wolfsbane, Mohammedan inclinations, a cross...

Whilst vaguely aware of Sully trying not to throw up, he doesn't notice Arthur scuttling past until the photographer is nearly out of the room. "Hey!" he hisses, belatedly remembering to keep his voice down. "Stick together. Where're you going?"

Professor Wells paused at the site, then gently sang in almost a whisper "...with a knick-knack paddywhack, give the dog a bone, this old man came rolling home..." which trailed off into humming. Even in his presently addled state, he was together enough that he continued to follow Jake's lead.

"They'll come back...when they need a snack," he said, looking at the still fleshful body. In his mind, it had simply not been consumed yet.

Sully totters on the brink another moment until Jake's hiss recalls him to himself. He takes a quick step back, then swivels his head in time to see Art about to leave.

Hearing the Prof's little ditty, he smiles and begins humming along while he waits for Jake's lead.

Arthur barely registered what Jake had said, and in fact looking back offered only a look of supreme concern. He didn't know how to say that he had heard a voice, but he wasn't completely certain it was real, and either way he had to go there on the off chance it was real.

So after looking back at Jake, his expression insistent, Arthur turned away again and started moving even more quickly to the northern passage.

Not being part mime himself, Jake can neither hear voices that are not voices nor intuit their presence from variations on worried looks. Being some proportion terrier, however, even something as robust as a photographer scuttling down a tunnel spurs him to pursuit. "Arthur!"

As Jake moves, urging Arthur to respond to him, he suddenly hears what the photographer has already perceived: the sound of weeping, an inconsolable voice drifting down softly from the somewhere within the darkness of the northern passageway.

Jake growls quietly to himself and tries to come alongside Arthur without actively running. His light probes for the as-yet sourceless crying or its cause as he moves, a kind of wound-spring tension building in his chest and a haze in his head like the smoke curling off a fuse.

When Jake moves to follow Art, Sully falls in behind him. He stops smiling and humming.

"what's up, guys?" he whispers.

As Sully steps closer to Jake, he too hears weeping, the sounds of grief made even lonelier by the oppressive darkness the investigators are surrounded by.

As Arthur continues to press forward, his companions not far behind him, all see a wavering light ahead, perhaps sixty feet further down the northern passage, a flickering orange glow like that of a candle flame, made brighter by the subterranean gloom.

Blindly following the others, something seemed to rouse him when he heard the sounds of the weeping.

"We've come this far...we must press on, no turning back now," he said, almost as if giving himself a quiet pep talk.

Jake glances back long enough to be sure the Professor isn't being completely left behind and looks forward, flashlight beam searching the way ahead and around the visible point of light. He licks his lips with instinctive unease before replying to Sully: "Not sure. Figure the other mobster'd be doing more screaming than crying right now, but keep a sharp look out."

All trace of nervous merriment wiped away by the sound, Sully nods, whether agreeing with Jake or The Prof or both is hard to say. He grips his shotfun tighter and follows in the detective’s path.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:52, Thu 06 Apr 2023.

The more certain Arthur became of what he heard, the more urgently he moved in. There was nothing else but to keep going.

As the investigators continue north, the wavering illumination ahead flickers once, twice, and then goes dark. The four men hear no further noises ahead, save for the continued sounds of weeping.

Shortly, the small group comes upon another chamber, this one considerably smaller than the room with the terrible pit. The air within is colder, so much so that within moments of entering it, each of the investigators see the steam of their own breath, the icy air gnawing though their light clothing and spreading a chill through their bones.

There are two exits from the room: a narrow tunnel leading east and a set of rusted iron rungs set into the northern wall that lead upward into deep shadow.

Dust covers the floor. Near the eastern side of the room, a yellowed skeleton is curled into the fetal position, a long cold candle clutched in its dead hand. The sound of crying is loud within the chamber, close enough to be coming from a person standing alongside one of the investigators, but save for remains at the men’s feet, the room is vacant.