Ackroyd

Summary:

Uncovering the science of magic

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Ackroyd

Narsham 15 Jun 2010 15:10

Dear Winston,

If you receive this message, then I am dead. Frankly, I'd just as soon you never see it. But attached are my journal and all of my research and notes on magic. I know you continue to insist that most magic is mere trickery, but what I have seen thus far confirms my own suspicions. The truly magical need not conform to the rules of science, but it too must obey discoverable laws and I hope to gather enough data to adduce those laws. You know the resistance I've encountered. Take my notes; continue my work. Understanding is our only way out of this, my friend.

Last edited on 15 Jun 2010 20:54 by Narsham Show more

Re: Ackroyd

Bratovitch 18 Dec 2010 06:18

Seasoned Revision: 12/17/10.

Down-time: The Mansion

Narsham 15 Jun 2010 15:47

Jane seemed terrified of this PISCES organization, although I'd think a really dangerous organization would choose a more intimidating name. She's showing infrequent signs of being human and her age. I may need to rethink my theory that she's been possessed by something old, dark and filled with knowledge.

Evidently, I'm also on their hit-list. You'd think that agreeing at gunpoint to accept lessons on the Mythos from a monster wouldn't be enough to warrant a death sentence, but what can you expect from Brits of the humorless and murderous persuasion? In any event, both Fred and Jane have taught me all that they can. Most of the magic Jane knows is fairly useless to me, in any event, or insanely dangerous to use. And how can I test my theories if I casting one spell could easily destroy myself and unleash something terrible on the world? I can see why so few have applied the scientific method to magic; repeatable results are a bitch.

I did get a chance to participate in the casting of one magic spell, however. Jane and her pet cult leader led me down to feed Fred. Turns out the mummified creep eats hearts, hearts extracted from living victims by magic. (This spell would fall into the useless category if you're keeping count.) That moves him from something alien to something that must be destroyed, but murdering him in the midst of an armed compound doesn't fall within my expertise. I managed to avoid having to feed him directly, instead simply participating in the ritual that de Borsavin performed on a nearly-dead vagrant. His death would have bothered me more without the perspective I've gained reading some of the books I have read, but he was well past saving in any event. I knew Fred had to go before I was confronted with the choice of feeding him myself or, uh, feeding him myself, if you follow me.

Jane offered to put me in charge of the mansion's defenses. I took advantage of that offer to strongly urge her to use Fred as bait—preferably with an explosive vest strapped to him. She agrees that we've learned all we can from him but she seems oddly attached. I was fairly sure that she would go for my plan to lure PESKIES out with him, and I expect he won't survive if they're at all good at what they do. I also suggested that we stage a fight, since the mansion is probably infiltrated. I'd take that excuse to leave; she could then swap places with someone else and make sure that FISHIES destroy the mansion and leave no recognizable body behind. You know I have no acting talent, Winston, but if we'd had that fight, it would have been easy enough for me. I'd have told Jane what I really thought of her.

Aaron Adams was still in intensive care, or otherwise out of touch. That made feeding him and the British Shallow Ones information about the mansion wasn't going to work. Ah, well. I'm not sure I can wish Jane dead, but I'd be just as happy never to see her again.

If PICTIES had only launched their attack a few weeks later, I'd have been well out of that mansion and well away from Jane. When I awakened to the sound of an artillery bombardment, I knew that plan wasn't going to work. That had to be Jimmy's idea. I really hadn't expected a covert British organization which wasn't supposed to be acting in the US to begin with to sponsor this kind of attack; I expected a firefight in the field, not field artillery. I suppose I should count myself lucky he didn't bring air support.

I ended up with that twitchy disaster, Murdock, and Zane the lawyer. Murdock seemed determined to walk into heavy fire and get himself killed. I'm not sure why Zane wanted to stay with him; I suppose being blind in a basement during a military attack can make some people clingy. Jane did some magic to silence the artillery, and for a change I was just as glad to know nothing about what she was doing. (Surprise, she knew magic she didn't teach me. With friends like these, who needs peer reviewers?)

Not wanting to leave Zane with Murdock the rabid guide-dog, I climbed to the surface, which was rubble, and so was in a wonderful position to enjoy the RPG incoming. Not quite sure how Zane and I avoided getting hit. Murdock's insanity became a chilling sort of sense when I saw him take several hits from grenades and rifles, which ought to have torn him apart. The guy healed as quickly as he was injured! He charged Jimmy and managed to wing him with a knife before his healing factor proved inadequate. (I guess blubbery things from beyond don't have a handy source of adamantium, assuming he was one of their agents.) In my professional opinion as an occultist, Jimmy should have that knife wound looked at. Murdock was either suicidal or he was a knife-delivery system.

Back to the basement with Zane. By this point, I was in favor of staying well out of the way until the smoke cleared. Maybe both sides would wipe each other out or run out of ammo or something. Then Jane, in full riot gear, suggests that we surface. She had Fred with her. He was neither dead nor wired with explosives. (If he had been wired with explosives, Jane would have survived, so it serves her right!) I couldn't run the risk that Fred would escape, so we went with Jane to the surface, where she sent Fred on a commando rush at Jimmy. She would follow up with support fire from me. And from Zane? She was relying on a researcher and a blind man for support? I think she deserved what she really got, which I couldn't see clearly from our hiding spot but which I suspect were two bullets in the head. Not just for being a horrible, murdering, possibly possessed-by-dark-forces beast, but for being colossally stupid.

Zane and I pulled a runner at that point, using SPECTRE's clean-up squad as a distraction. We were saved a dip in the river by a small jet. Mr. Smith had a mission for us at a fortuitous time indeed. Zane went off on the mission; I had Smith drop me in Arkansas, where I planned to get lost for a while. If NUNCLE was going to track me down and kill me, at least they would have to suffer Arkansas first.

You Bet Your Life: Temple of Mu

Narsham 15 Jun 2010 16:52

After several months lying low in rural Arkansas, getting horribly maimed in a Game was beginning to look appealing. You know life is treating you poorly when you begin to reminisce about bleeding from the rectum while being menaced by scarecrows.

If you consult my notes and theories about Harbingers (hwallbanger.odt), you'll see my suggestions about their spanning multiple quantum realities. I was finally prepared to begin a grand experiment with the identical hand-crafted limos which Mr. Smith and his ilk always use. My theory is that they're all the same limo, brought from variable realities, although I suppose they might be the same limo from different timestream points. Either way, I had a brilliant experiment ready to go when the latest limo came to pick me up, which went to waste because as it turns out The Director doesn't use 'em.

He uses a yacht.

Did I mention that the yacht met me in Maine? Have you ever tried hitch-hiking in Arkansas?

At least I saw a few familiar faces—Zane, under a different name, and Aaron Adams, my old scientific colleague. Zane seemed to be moving with confidence and grace; Aaron showed the effects of wounds, although it seems he's developed other skills since we last met. Then there were three guys who didn't give names: a sniper, a monk, and the other guy. The other guy seemed slick enough, but after our little adventure I'm still not sure what he's good for, exactly, besides reminding everyone of our mortality. Then again, I wasn't much good this time around, either.

Oh, yes, it turns out that the Director has his own little web-series, You Bet Your Life. His games operate as entertainment for someone (or something? Stupid human tricks, for sure). He insisted that he wouldn't coddle us. Our mission was to get good ratings by traveling through the Temple of Mu before time ran out and he dropped a neutron bomb on our heads. He refused to tell us how long we had, too. Did I mention that he had cameras which dug themselves into our nervous system in as painful a manner as possible? Because he did. Given that it was probably alien tech, I suppose I should be glad we received versions which attached to our necks from our shoulders. Don't do porn for The Director, is all I'm saying.

So Mr. Throatwarbler-Mangrove dumps us off on the shore of an island. Now, you know a fair amount of mythology, but you may not be familiar with Mu, the underwater continent. This island had a certain lack of underwaterness to it. By the time we reached the mountain on its center, it was clear we were not actually on Mu, but an incredible simulation of it. Well, simulation in the same sense that environmental science and technology is accurately represented by the movie Bio-Dome.

But I'm getting ahead of my own outrage. First we had a long slog through the jungle, watched by invisible flying things. Not No-See'ums-a few months in Arkansas made me accustomed to their ilk-but some sort of large, invisible predator. The sniper and Mr. Personality tried shooting a few, but they didn't seem to bleed or become visible or anything else. Probably some sort of robotic or bio-mechanical creature under some sort of cloaking field. Zane could sense them, so I speculate that they manipulated the visual field of those around them to edit themselves out of the vision. They couldn't be fully transparent because they had vision, since Zane could feel them looking at him.

In any event, by the time we reached a clearing in the jungle, which led to the not-nearly-large-enough mountain with a cave near the top, it was clear that The Corman wasn't even making an effort to be historically accurate. I'm not sure which was more offensive: the faux-Mayan statues standing guard over the cave mouth, or the dozens of invisible predatory gargoyles circling the clearing waiting for the moment of maximum drama to attack. Around this time, I decided that we were in movie-land and movie logic applied, which made most of my academic knowledge useless because most of what I know is accurate. In movie logic, the heroes would do something dumb like sprinting across the clearing and making it to safety mere inches ahead of the invisible thingies (invisible! Could they not afford CGI?), so I pushed for that plan.

Turns out that The Alan Smithee's love for blood meant some dangerous twists on the old standards. Nameless guy and nameless martial arts guy didn't make it up the mountain fast enough. Sniper-guy and I tried to distract the fliers. Meanwhile, Aaron and Zane were trying to work out the statue puzzle, which was presented in English and required us to declare the most important thing. "Ratings" seemed the obvious answer, but was the answer supposed to be what Alan thought most important? Or what his faux-Mayans cared most about? (Mayannaise, perhaps? At least we avoided rampant product placement on this adventure.) I ended up letting Aaron try "ratings," which resulted in the first of what would prove to be a series of second and third-degree burns, while Zane tried "life" and failed before deciding that the whole test was a trick and simply walking past the statues into the "temple." Zane managed to dodge the lasers, BTW. He dodged LASERS. I guess the statues were Star Trek surplus or something? I don't know—I've seen magic, I've seen creatures which can't exist in this reality, I've seen the dead walk, and I still can't accept someone stepping out of the way of a weapon which should be traveling at LIGHTSPEED. Did these lasers travel slower than the speed of sound? I guess the Force is with Zane, or something.

Did I mention how stupidly the "Temple of Mu" related to the actual article? A temple at the foot of a mountain turns into a cave atop what's more like a small hill… what can I say? Worse near-death episode ever.

Movie logic, remember? They wanted to proceed slowly and check for traps, but that's never movie logic, so we proceeded to a large "door" and when Zane prodded it with my shovel we were dropped into a dark pool of water filled with Facehuggers. What, were there ten different writers for this mess? Cliche seems to be the dramatic unity of "You Bet Your Life." Someone suggested later on that if we'd been careful, we could have avoided this trap, which suggests to me that someone completely missed the point. I doubt they even bothered with a set behind the "door."

Pulling facehuggers off of wet monks is outside my disciplinary areas-I didn't attend business school-but the others managed that. Obviously, movie logic said we couldn't make a stand against the Aliens here, so we made a run for it. Aaron and Zane managed to dodge past some aliens with a little help; sniper guy and Zane are definitely the MVPs of this game and deserve to win the immunity challenge or to say the secret word and win $100 or whatever this stupid game show is supposed to be about. I drop a pull-string alarm in the hopes of distracting the Aliens, though I suspect the rations Faceman dropped in the lake were more effective.

Did I mention that the corridor out of the Aliens' cavern was filled with randomly-firing fire jets? Because the corridor out of the Aliens' cavern was filled with randomly-firing fire jets. Actually, there may have been a pattern to the firing, but none of us saw it immediately and I, for one, had my doubts that the scientific benefits of experiencing a neutron bomb first-hand would outlive the experience. Bruce Lee managed to dive his way past the flames without difficulty; in fact, we all made it through fine except for Mr. Personality, who got singed, and poor Aaron Adams, who is going to need serious reconstructive surgery. Thank you so much, Galaxyquest corridor.

Getting past the thin curtain of flame past the fire jets wasn't too bad, first-degree or so. Fabio tossed his con-art kit on the flames to get over safely, though the multiple explosions and kit shrapnel suggested to me that avoiding a few mild burns that way wouldn't be a cooperative venture for me. We arrived at a dark shaft leading up and down, with two ropes suspended in its center. I should have expected that I'd take it on the chin now that we'd arrived at a thin piece of evidence that The Uwe Boll was capable of independent thought. Aaron did his mind trick and identified fifty or so identical minds above us in the shaft. Given his physical condition, I figured we'd only be able to manage down anyway. Sniper-guy continued to take point. Concerned about the weight the ropes could support, I remained above with Zane until we were forced onto the ropes by a robot pursuing us from the fire passage; since Zane moved first, my ass was literally hanging when the first of the midget clones started their suicide drop down the shaft. Their tiny clubs really shouldn't have been more effective weapons than the Aliens, but I still have bruises to prove otherwise. Zane may well have saved my life by catching me; after this one I owe him several.

We were finally at the Indiana Jones portion of the Temple. At least it wasn't Temple of Doom, which would have fit pretty well, too. I can't stand mine carts and I've had quite enough of magical rituals to pull people's hearts out. Spiders and cobwebs, spikes coming from the walls, idol on an altar in a room full of arrow-traps… well, you've seen the movie. Mr. Monk managed to get to the altar but decided to display suicidal courage instead of trying the bag-of-sand trick. (He said that if Indiana Jones couldn't get it right, it wasn't worth trying. I figured with the quality of design we'd seen so far, he could well be 20 pounds off and still succeed, but it was probably rigged to fail regardless.) He grabbed the idol and threw it to sniper-guy before anyone could shout "I throw you the whip!" He then leapt over some of the pressure plates for the arrow trap, just ahead of the boulder, and dodged over a dozen shots before the last struck him and knocked him unconscious. Sniper-guy grabbed him and dragged him down the corridor ahead of the boulder; the rest of us were already booking it for the pit (and yes, you saw this coming, I'm sure, because the pit from the movie was there despite not being there a moment ago). Nobody actually HAD a whip, so we were forced to jump it, with sniper-guy throwing Ryu's limp body over first. Fortunately, it slid under the wall that was coming down. (You do remember this scene, right? Maybe you should go watch it again. I'll wait.)

No Belloq on the other side to take the idol away, just a 50' sheer drop into the water. The Michael Bey and his boat were waiting for us. I have no idea how Aaron managed to make it given the extent of his injuries, but he survived the dive into the water although he was out afterward. (I think Zane saved him. There was a lot of saving going on and Zane and sniper-guy accounted for most of it.) I made the dive OK but wasn't able to keep my head and the monk's above water while sniper-guy jumped off. Things go kind of desperate and then black at that point, but we must have gotten good ratings because I'm still alive.

Remind me never to go into show business.

So I'm set up with a new identity now, though my cover won't be as good as Aaron's once they finish rebuilding his face. The Director took his cameras back, so I didn't even get a chance to try to reverse-engineer one. Tell you what, Winston, you can deal exclusively with movie magic from now on. I'm sticking to the real stuff.

Last edited on 15 Jun 2010 16:56 by Narsham Show more

Re: You Bet Your Life: Temple of Mu

Mr Sleep 16 Jun 2010 00:03

Nice. Especially for your first write up. Can't wait for more.

Re: You Bet Your Life: Temple of Mu

Bratovitch 16 Aug 2012 10:35

http://drmcninja.com/archives/comic/14p26/

Down-time: Howard Phillips

Narsham 19 Jun 2010 02:12

Vegas. Full of fake smiles, fake bodies, fake thrills and fake comraderie. I know, Winston, the part you live in isn't like that. But I couldn't go there. Establishing my new alias means staying away from my friends and old stomping grounds, maybe for a while, maybe forever. I hope only for a while. At the least, I need to hit Miskatonic U again sometime. Maybe a nicer Harbinger than The Director can hook me up with some magical interference to keep me off of PISCES' radar for a while.

Did I mention that The Director has provided me with a new identity? I'm lucky old Howard Phillips only has a theater background going back to his undergraduate days. I should have figured that escaping show business wasn't going to be something The Director would willingly help with. Phillips is interested in the occult, does some consulting from time to time, writes bad novels for the most part. I spend most of the month improving on the claptrap backtrail provided, replacing recycled Amityville plots and embarrassing fan-fic with stories possessing some degree of literary merit. Turns out those internet sites for fan fiction don't have very good security. Who knew? At least now, if someone googles my new name, they'll find credible evidence that I can write.

Vegas is a good place to try out my new identity. I'm not a great liar, so I need to live the part and I need to put as much of myself into it as possible. Fortunately, socially awkward men are a dime a dozen around these parts, even before you throw the words "creative writing" into the mix. Any oddities in my behavior will be written off as Howard Phillips cutting loose and being wild out west. (Out east? The guy wandered around more than I did after college… I guess skipping grad school allows for that.) I even throw in for a few games of blackjack from time to time. I can't really afford to gamble much and I know too much about the real high roller games to find the casinos thrilling, but I should show willing a little bit. The hotel and buffet don't much hurt my wallet, though.

I need to start thinking about expanding my library, maybe finding a few rare books. Vegas is a good place to do that, it turns out, but only if you have a lot of money and absolutely no moral center. 0 for 2 on that count right now, though I lacked for neither opportunity while hanging out with psychotic rich possessed-woman Jane and her heart-eating pet. The UNLV library turns out to have a fairly good occult section, though. Probably sponsored by vampires or something. Best not to know, really. I bone up on cosmology, to the extent I can here. Even throw a few pan-dimensional concepts into my alias' stories. I need to see if I can sell a few of them to raise a little more cash.

About three weeks in I ran into a woman who looked almost exactly like Jane coming out of a casino. The shock of it hit me in the gut like a midget clone's club. It couldn't have been her, of course. She was a few inches shorter. And had part of her head blown off.

I'm getting stir-crazy. When you're awake at 3 AM hoping Mr. Smith calls, you know you have mental problems. It's this city. Time and space distort themselves here around the raw greed, lust and envy of humanity. When I go to ground again, if it doesn't involve being buried, I should try someplace aggressively normal. Maybe Duluth. Not Iowa. Not after the scarecrows in the corn…

Last edited on 19 Jun 2010 02:13 by Narsham Show more

The Rescue

Narsham 22 Jun 2010 18:55

Highmark, Population 1603 1598.

Days of trying to write hackneyed horror fiction to represent my "early career" as a writer have made me cross-eyed, so when Mr. Smith arrives at the door I'm genuinely delighted to see him. Mere moments later, I've been transported through a no-place to Highmark, VA, which I suspect also qualifies as a no-place of sorts. No limo. Has my experiment been pre-emptively precluded? Or were we just in a rush to intervene and save Edith Whittaker in a narrow time-frame? Probably the latter, which makes my failure all the more stinging.

It's my fault, Winston. I could have saved her.

Highmark is an unremarkable town in the Appalachian mountains, distinguished primarily by being host to a small band of werewolves, not that we knew that at the start. Awaiting me there was a new guy, Seth Eden, who's odd in a way I can't quite define, and that monk guy, Quon Chi, who's odd in a way I can define, and Jimmy Coleman, who turned out to be odd in far more ways than I would have expected. I was most happy to see Zane again, who seems to make life-saving a profession of sorts, but crushed to hear that my old friend and fellow occult wonk, Aaron Adams, had been killed in England by Glaaki. Or I hope he was killed. The alternatives aren't very nice to think about.

We exchanged few pleasantries and Quon Chi distributed some money. The guy must be wealthy as well as being a member of an order that doesn't value money much, given the way he was throwing it around. So how did he get the money to begin with? If it was a gift, why did he request it?

There followed a little research, which determined that one Edith Whittaker, 17, was missing in the wilderness. Under the circumstances, making a "hiking the Appalachian trail" joke seemed inappropriate, plus we weren't in South Carolina. Her father's corpse had been found, bloated from the waters of the "water run." This town is so benighted they didn't even bother to name their local water way.

Then we had a mind-numbing conversation with a beggar, Jack, who was addled and had clearly seen something "bad" happen to Edith up the water gap (a narrow ravine upstream of the town), and another beggar, Jocko, who surpassed the bounds of logic and reason by turning out to be an even more massive jerk than he appeared to be at first glance. Jocko sold us a picture of Edith which the local constable was handing out for free, stole the $50 Quon Chi gave Jack and extorted enough additional money to provoke Jimmy to threaten to shoot him. (This will turn out to be ironic in a really painful sort of way.)

More mind-numbing conversation at the local town hall, school (where we received a topographical map of the area we consulted a grand total of once) and a local boarding lodge run by a Miss McInulty, who matches what I would think a retired Harbinger would be like if there were such things. Besides learning that we could only have guests in the parlor, we didn't really advance our knowledge at all.

So, on to stumbling blindly into danger. (Sorry, Zane, I keep forgetting.) Jack was going to show us where bad things happened but he kept sprinting ahead of us and eventually started a swim in the river as though he'd forgotten the whole affair. Probably an avoidance behavior, but beyond knowing the term I have no idea how to break someone out of it. Aaron or that slick guy from the Temple game might have been able to manage it. We abandon Jack to his swim and proceed, halting to investigate the old Holten farm closest to the run where we expected Edith had been kidnapped or killed. The barn contains a nest or den of some dog-like animal or animals, but nobody had even watched Wild Kingdom and we had no idea what they were, although Zane identified some of the bones in the nest as human. I'm immediately suspecting were-creatures of some sort and hoping that Highmark isn't full of 'em.

There's a tunnel from the barn to the run; Jimmy wires it to blow if something uses it. The main house has two rooms, full of debris, but the bedroom shows signs of recent habitation and there's a wardrobe filled with nice clothing. (It will turn out to be literally the clothes on the backs of the inhabitants, left when they shifted.) I find two old books, one of which suggests we have a werewolf problem, but it could just be a coincidence and we proceed to hole up on the roof of the house so I can read through them. (Who thought it was a good idea to wait on the roof as it grew dark? Jimmy, maybe? Having a look-out turned out to be useless.)

Night falls. We prepare to sleep, since McInulty's door will be locked. First watch smells smoke. The werewolf family have set fire to their own dwelling to smoke us out, waiting in cover with rifles to shoot us down as we emerge. Guess we stirred them up a bit. They are sneaky and know the lay of the land; they wing several of us with bullets as we get off the roof. Jimmy introduces their barn/nest to his good friend Mr. Napalm, demonstrating that the gift of fire just keeps on giving. The weres are doing hit & run tactics initially (or maybe hit & lope), getting off one shot each per person and then racing away before we can locate them. Quon Chi risks the bomb in the barn to check for tracks but finds nothing definite. Then Zane starts tracking them up the run by scent. I'll take one Zane over five werewolves any day.

We get sniped while in the run; climbing up reveals another hit & run. We need sleep and this could go on all night, so we begin discussing some way to get them to reveal themselves. I'm thinking we should lay low and force them to come to us, maybe with a decoy. But although Zane is crazy-good at dodging bullets and Jimmy seems remarkably able to absorb fire, Quon Chi volunteers. A shot in the dark. Quon Chi volunteers to lie on the ground and bleed from the head. He's alive but out.

The Weres choose this moment to rush us. Turns out they were pretty much toying with us, given that they're werewolves and all and expect we pose no real threat to them. Two rush Zane and three rush Jimmy, probably because of how well he was taking bullets. Zane does his insane dodging thing and avoids the blows, but the werewolves ignore his punches, healing from the wounds instantly. The rest of us had guns loaded with silver bullets, because when we reached the house I forecast a 90% chance of evening lycanthropy, and it turns out werewolves don't enjoy being shot by silver bullets any more than the rest of us. After a moment of crazed firing, Jimmy and several weres are down and Zane is packing one of Jimmy's pistols. Let me tell you, the words "blind man" and "semi-automatic pistol" really don't belong together, but Zane didn't do half-bad with the thing. In another moment of crazed firing, the other wolves are down. Jimmy looks critical but still alive, assuming he doesn't turn were himself and attack us.

And here's where I made the mistake that killed a woman.

Another were was crawling away, or maybe one of the five had been faking. I urge Zane to help track it back to their lair so we can find Edith. (Who names a girl Edith these days, anyway?) The were must have heard us, since she leapt up and started to run. Given that earlier that day, our group had been severely challenged to catch up with a malnourished and mentally handicapped beggar, I figured we'd never keep up with greased lightning-wolf at night, so I took a single shot, hoping to injure her enough to slow her down. Except it turns out she was already injured. One shot, two kills.

Because, unwilling to wander a dark ravine at night with two companions bleeding out (well, one companion, but I'll get to that soon), we return to town and get a good night's rest. The next morning, we find the wolves' lair and we find Edith was trussed up in a way intended to make her hang herself if she tried to escape. The wolves had set it up in case they didn't come back. Why? I assume it's because one of them was Jocko and he was a massive jerk. They must have wanted Edith alive for something (though I choose not to consider what), so why run the risk that she'd hang herself in the half-hour or so it'd take to kill us? Why assume they were going to lose and not set a nastier trap like Jimmy's bomb?

So mission failed. Quon Chi was off to the hospital, while the rest of us had a road trip with Jimmy's body in a crate in the trunk. I'm sorry, did I mention that Jimmy turned out to be a ghoul or zombie or a protean transparent jelly-man thing? I gathered from Zane's comment about the Dark Island creatures that this was a recent, game-related phenomenon. We didn't have a good way to revive him, although I ran some experiments to attempt it. Over time he appeared to be slowly recovering.

We're off to California. Seth mentions the nudist colony he comes from out there; I'm thinking that the last thing we need is Jimmy in a nudist colony. Or me, for that matter. Zane would probably fit in just fine…

Re: The Rescue

Bratovitch 23 Jun 2010 01:27

Hmmm…you lot are really turning up the pressure on quality journal skills, well done!

Re: The Rescue

Mr Sleep 23 Jun 2010 20:36

And we're in Alabama. We should get extra points for breaking stereotypes. Lots and lots of extra points. : )

Down-time: The Great Experiment

Narsham 04 Jul 2010 01:26

California is a place known for people hanging loose, trying out crazy things. Like the skinhead's nudist colony, I guess, or communes, or various illegal substances. Which reminds me that I should probably try seeing if Jimmy's gel is reactive to such substances.

I still wonder whether Zane and I should share any of what happened to Jimmy while he was out with the guy. He is the sort of man who might leave an exploding thank-you if you piss him off. We did identify several substances that seem to harm him, although I wonder how he's able to endure sunlight under normal circumstances. Perhaps it involves a Gift, and isn't something intrinsic to whatever he is. I elect not to grill Zane for details for a while; after less than a week, Zane gets a message and has to take off. Sounds like PISCES may be on his trail again. Best they can't find three of us together. I elect to leave Jimmy in his box and forgo further experimentation; I know enough that I can go all Batman on him if he goes off his rocker.

Definitely don't want to talk experiments with him. The water immersion to measure mass changes he'd probably be OK with. Pouring soda and spooning jello into his substance to see the reaction, probably OK. Some of the other fluids, not so much. He probably wouldn't even appreciate the trouble I went to at the sperm bank despite having an ample supply at hand, as it were. I just can't feel about a skeletal jelly "that way," you know.

That was a joke, Winston, so quit worrying. Not the sperm bank part, of course. All in the name of occult science. If he gets hurt again, I'll offer my services as researcher in earnest.

Picked up a book on the last mission. I can't share details even here, but suffice it to say that I have hit pay-dirt of a particular sort. I have access to spells I can imagine using and which may be worthwhile to test out. I have to say I'd feel a little better with wholesale protective magics or smaller stuff-finding lost luggage, that sort of thing-but most of the real magic seems to be of the reality-twisting persuasion and I suppose the risks are endemic to the enterprise. ("Risk is our business," you might say, if you'd get around to watching Star Trek, you old fogey.)

Need to see if Smith and The H can provide me with some sort of magic spell decoder ring or other means to speed read these tomes. Puzzling out the inherent clues and formula can take months, even years, and I need to do some hands-on experimentation on a faster time-table than that. Part of me is concerned about what I'll miss doing things the quick way, though. I suppose I can parallel track my reading; might even uncover different things by proceeding two different ways.

I wish I could consult someone more expert in this particular sort of magic, but even if I knew someone trustworthy to talk with, I know I can't take the chance of introducing a bias into my theories. Just because you're an ancient immortal Sumerian sorcerer doesn't mean you can understand the scientific underpinnings of magic. Wish Aaron were still around to talk with about this stuff. Bad idea to try to speak to him on the other side, though. (I hope he's on the other side. The alternative is being at the bottom of a lake in England being slowly digested.)

Very dangerous trying to invent my own spells with such a limited range of experience. I must remember to start with mild magics. Summon/bind hamster, perhaps?

Last edited on 04 Jul 2010 01:26 by Narsham Show more

Re: Down-time: The Great Experiment

Mr Sleep 04 Jul 2010 05:26

Thanks for the sperm bank comment. I laughed my ass off, but you're right. You should never tell Jimmy about that.

YUCK!!

Re: Down-time: The Great Experiment

X-marks-the-spot 04 Jul 2010 06:02

As far as the magic is concerned, I personally would recomend the wonderfully mind opening effects of casting 'Lift Veil' upon yourself, if you happen to know that particular spell.

Provided you don't lose your mind, all the other weirdness becomes much easier to accept and deal with once you've truly perceived.

Last edited on 04 Jul 2010 06:05 by X-marks-the-spot Show more

The Seance

Narsham 05 Jul 2010 22:09

My friend, I must warn you to be careful when observing seances in search of frauds. I know you've done good work at that in the past. But in future, demand a DNA check prior to the event. Spider aliens.

I got a call from Quan Chi suggesting that we meet in New Orleans. I figured he had some private business to attend to, but it sounds like the entire matter was arranged by Smith or someone like him. I asked where we should meet. He suggested that I call him from the airport when I arrived.

Six hours after arriving, his plane landed and he was able to call me back. I was not happy. Fortunately, the guy always pays my way along with his, and he had several interesting if disturbing books to contribute to my growing library. One of them is on violent magic, researched by the author! And fairly crudely, I might add. I bet he always tested his magic on unwilling subjects first. No sign of scientific discipline, either. But I digress.

Turns out Zane had called a group of us together, including Jimmy C and the skinhead dude. Zane had a flier for a seance. He hadn't read it himself, because of the whole being blind thing, so he didn't notice it was addressed to "Resident." PISCES trap, or new Game? Or something else? Attending the seance seemed a reasonable first step, though.

Jimmy was looking much less gelatinous when we met up, though that would change.

After bunking out in a hotel, we arrived at the seance at midnight and were shown up to a small room decorated with curtains and cheap fake trimmings. Jimmy checked the curtains, probably to see if someone had beaten him to the punch and wired the place to explode. We sat down alongside several other participants. The flier had mentioned a"Madame Eva," but a guy in black started a meaningless chant and insisted that we focus our wills. I played along, expecting a fake.

Suddenly, the five of us were elsewhere, a circle of standing stones on an alien world. We were buck naked. Skinhead dude, who was a nudist, didn't seem fazed, but the rest of us were pretty upset. The atmosphere wasn't exactly comfortable for us, either. Mists swirled, blocking our vision. A brief check of the stones produced nothing. Probably we were actually on another world, but was it dimensional travel? Had we been transported bodily or in essence? Too many theories, not enough practical experience, though I'm certainly picking the latter up.

Five wooden javelins come hurtling out of the mist at us. Zane does his "A blind man could dodge that" routine, then he and Jimmy charge out into the mist. Jimmy does a Jeckyll and Jello transform first. Turns out he has claws in goo-skeleton form. I duck out of the way of a javelin. Eden (turns out that's the skinhead's name) gets speared in the abdomen. Quan Chi tries some kind of martial arts insanity to grab the javelin and throw it back, but only manages to get stuck in the arm. The alien wood starts to quiver and grow tendrils thirsting for blood. Neither of the two manages to pull out their javelin alone. Able to help only one, I pick Quan Chi despite the six hour wait earlier in the day. The guy's actually a decent fellow, which is unusual for a High Roller. He's a friend. Plus, free books. What's not to like?

So he's safe as the other javelin goes all tentacle-monster on Eden, and not the good Hentai brand either. The tendrils rip his torso to shreds before we can pull the javelin out. Eden died as he lived—naked. Quan Chi heads out to join the martial arts/claw melee in the mists. I grab the javelin he caught the hard way and follow. Zane and Jimmy were punching it out with what was left of five spider-centaur-alien things. I throw back the javelin and cry out, "This is for skinhead dude!" (I didn't learn his name until later.) Guess what? The javelins are just as deadly to spider aliens as to us.

So we're left with five dead aliens. Only equipment on them are quivers of those wood javelins. We gather them up (except for Quan Chi, who prefers his hands) and track the aliens back to their camp.

Five more aliens at camp turn out to not do so hot when THEY get ambushed by guys with murderous tentacle javelins. We find some goggles that permit vision through the atmospheric mists, though only Quan Chi and I can benefit from them, given Zane's blindness and Jimmy's undifferentiated-goo-where-eyes-should-be.

Maybe twenty miles south is a big city crawling with spider aliens and vehicles of some sort. To the north, a swamp with another circle of stones on an island or peninsula. Naturally, we head north.

Ever walk naked through an alien jungle? Ever walk naked through an alien jungle full of homicidal plant life? Take my advice-skip it. We were actually managing OK until we reached a section of water with underwater plant-life. We had just started to swim when a giant bio-mechanical crab thing with a cannon came up behind us and laid down some indirect fire. It shot wooden spheres which exploded into shrapnel with a taste for living flesh. We ducked under water and swam for it. Jimmy, not having to breath, pulled ahead. Quan Chi and I came up for air once too often, and a second blast caught me above water and drove bits of wood into my back, where it began to animate like the murderous alien briers that it was. Quan Chi and Zane managed to extract the splinters before they could do much damage.

We emerged from the water after avoiding some native animals thanks to Zane's super-senses. (After meeting the spider aliens I will never refer to them as his spidey-senses ever again.) Too bad he didn't pick out the crab-machine waiting for us on the other side. This one seemed to be moving in for melee. Everyone ran for cover except for Jimmy, who sprinted up to the crab, dodged a burst of electricity from a tendril hanging off it, left onto its back, wrenched open a hatch and dived in. Guess after he took a level in gel-guard he took a level in bad ass. He emerged a moment later and the crab halted pursuit. It did look like it retained some reflex action, which makes me wonder about its bio-mechanical design. But it's hard to study such a thing when you're starkers.

We reached a hillside which was all that remained between us and the circle of stones. We were part way up when a spider alien looked down from the top, while three others had circled around to the bottom. Throwing flesh eating javelins before the enemy is a good thing, and we managed to take them all down. The second group that ambushed us at the top of the hill was a different story. Jimmy's gel didn't seem very susceptible to piercing, and the ninja twins dodged OK, but I got stabbed and was unable to take the javelin out. Fortunately for me, Jimmy opted to help me out instead of killing the last of the spider aliens, so I was alive to toss more javelins of doom. Who knew all that time on track team would pay off so well? I always thought decathlon taught useless and obsolete skills. How wrong I was.

Stepping into the circle returned us instantly to the seance circle, already in-progress. Eden was there, too, which seemed odd until he ordered the cultists to kill us and went for a gun himself. Clearly, the spider aliens were abducting people and replacing them/possessing them. Quan Chi tried to knock Eden out and stunned him briefly; Zane pummeled him to death and seemed disturbed by the experience. (I told him, spider alien possession, but I don't think he believed me. What's the point of expertise and impeccable judgment if people won't listen?) We gunned the cultists down.

We searched the place briefly while Jimmy and Zane arranged for extraction. While waiting for our ride, Jimmy noticed an alarm system we'd triggered. We snuck out the back as the cops arrived out front. Something tells me that wasn't the first time Jimmy had had to sneak out one step ahead of the cops.

Now for some intensive reading in Vancouver. If I can puzzle out this book I found, I might actually be of use in the future even while stark naked.

Re: The Seance

Bratovitch 06 Jul 2010 05:28

Ah, Spider Aliens…I wonder how many innocent people went before you, & are now subversive aliens…

Re: The Seance

Mr Sleep 06 Jul 2010 06:19

It's somewhat ironic that the only person to die naked was the nudist. He also played his played his own alien replacement, which ended with poor Trey dying twice in one game.

Down-time: Vancouver

Narsham 11 Jul 2010 18:30

Jimmy's agents arrange for our travel out of the country. I don't plan to stay away for too many months, but given what the police might find as a result of the seance being away for a while makes sense. Once I have some personal defenses, I should think about taking some trips to dangerous places to gather mystical materials and resources, although frankly I would prefer to identify common characteristics and derive or invent substitutes for many of the materials I might need. Why, for example, should holy water be different from regular water? Clearly, there's an energy-state change provoked by a transfer of faith from whoever blesses the water to the water molecules themselves. My strong suspicion is that such a state change will not survive other state changes of the resultant holy water. So holy fog isn't possible, nor holy ice cubes. I will need to start cultivating sources for some of these materials so that I can determine their characteristics and make substitutions. Not only will the substitutes help cover my tracks, as I can acquire them without anyone knowing their true purposes, but if I run into other practitioners they will not easily be able to determine what I am doing. My next steps will require a high level of risk or exposure, once I have learned enough of the basics of magic, so I need to be ready.

A few months puzzling through my book will help. I also need to lay down an alternate route of communication with my old Miskatonic professor. Ideally, I'd use some kind of cut-out or third party, as they'll be alert to communications to or from him. I doubt even PISCES is bothering to monitor all of my former classmates, though. I didn't get along or stay in touch with many of them. Probably easiest to communicate through one of them until we can arrange some other communication route. I have a few mundane ideas. Magic would be best, of course.

I need to strengthen my resolve and my will. I shall require both in great quantities to survive what is to come.

Spend most of my days reading and decoding and deriving. I am restless, though. I spend more time than I should wandering the streets of Vancouver. Especially at night. I am growing all too aware of the thin separation between humanity and monsters beyond our imagining. And I begin to wonder whether some of them can transcend humanity's talent to do evil to itself. Do the tools which could protect us also offer too great a risk of attracting attention from beyond, especially if they were to become widespread? Do sorcerers keep their secrets to protect the common man, not to exploit him? Will my great contribution to scientific research be doomed to remain unpublished, lest it destroy the world?

All problems yield to the flexible mind. But on whose timetable, I wonder?

The Incriminating Letter

Narsham 25 Jul 2010 18:09

I get a call from Jimmy. Another game is underway in NYC. Sounds like everyone else gathered, then got in touch. I suspect Smith is staying hands-off because he and his harbinger boss are afraid my limo experiment would yield results were I allowed to conduct it.

I mentioned the experiment vaguely to the others during "You Bet Your Life." Before we had cameras riding us. The Director must have his whole yacht wired. That's probably how word got out.

At least this time, I'm not having to wait for hours at the airport.

I arrive to learn that we're tasked with clearing the name of deceased famous parasitologist Professor Saunders. Evidently, the organization that grants an award in his honor wants his name cleared of charges of racism and unauthorized human experiments. A worker at the Carnegie Institute came across an old letter to his mentor reeking of one and outright stating that he had poisoned or killed eight or more Mexicans while distributing vaccines during a Cholera epidemic in the early 30's.

Jimmy and Zane are joined by an FBI agent named Sophia. She proves somewhat useful in getting us in to talk to people, but the conversations turn up lots of dead ends. Jimmy already seems to be on a short fuse following their initial trip to the Institute. I'd be worried about his blood pressure if he had any. I accompany an expert to the Institute who verifies that the old letter is genuine. Saunder's mentor appears to have gone mad and was likely associated with something Mythos related. (Found naked and raving and covered with blood in a graveyard. That's typically a bad sign.) I have a nice visit with his daughter in the retirement home, but she doesn't have much to tell. Both Saunders' records and those of his mentor have been cleaned up.

So we head off to Mexico. We get access to records about the clinic through application of a sizable bribe. We track down survivors of the era in three villages. Several people appeared to have disappeared after going to the clinic, and several more suffered a skin disease (xeroderma pigmentosum) before dying through spontaneous combustion. We also learn that Saunders had his car stolen and was mugged and stripped naked and dumped in an alley, which would account for his comment in the letter about thieving Mexicans. We appear to have hit another dead end, and Jimmy is getting itchy. So is our employer. Jimmy buys us a little extra time, literally, through a million dollar donation to the foundation our employer represents.

Our only unexplored investigative line involves finding anyone who may have assisted Saunders in the vaccinations. I'm getting upset myself as the circumstantial evidence appears to confirm the slander. That will make clearing Saunders tricky indeed. FBI gal vamps old goat John Allen while Jimmy and I toss his house. (She doesn't know about that part.) Allen doesn't know much and his house tells us nothing. Sophia avoids being groped but Allen takes a powder leaving her with the check. Worst date ever.

Our sole lead now is Saunders' retirement home, on property owned by his family in northern Maine. We check with the local sheriff, Charles Daigle, and get directions to Saunders' place, now inhabited by the Martins. On a hunch, I suggest we stop by the local cemetery, where we are surprised by the watchman. Jimmy almost plugs him. I think Jimmy is just hoping for a chance to shoot something before this is over. We learn that Saunders had a fear of being buried alive and we notice some strange humps in the ground. Hope it's an old problem.

Money yields access to the old Saunders place. A trap door under a rug reveals his lab and his notes, which confirm that he is guilty as charged and that he has been seeking eternal life through the use of a substance he terms "The Protoplasm" which he received from nutty mentor-guy. Looks like our mission wasn't to clear him, but to "clear" him.

We hear word that Sheriff Daigle, who was out looking into some dog and cat disappearances, has himself vanished. His car's at the graveyard. Off we go to discover that Saunders' last experiment-on himself-turned him into a proto-Shoggoth. Incendiary ammunition only does a little to it, and Jimmy gets hurt in the exchange, so we sprint for the edge of the woods. My one hope is that the thing is light-sensitive like Saunders' victims were. But it's too smart to come out into the direct sunlight, instead digging around the mausoleum where we've sought shelter on the roof like a bad Jaws rip-off.

Calling for police backup yields one fat cop who ends up a morsel for the thing, but at least it heads off to consume the body instead of eating the car. We flee to the police station; they insist that they and the FBI can handle the thing. Naturally, nobody except us and PISCES can really get anything done, so it escapes.

Back to the Institute. Our mission is now to eliminate the evidence. That means burning the letter. Jimmy initially thinks burning down the whole building sounds good, but we talk him into a surgical strike which goes off without a hitch. Now we've successfully covered for the evil homicidal blob. Goodie.

Downtime-California

Narsham 02 Aug 2010 20:34

Having mastered the ritual required to activate an Elder Sign, I am finished with one of my books and elect to donate it to a private museum in California which already possesses a copy. I'd really rather get it to Miskatonic, but PISCES is sure to be watching and I need to develop a bit further before I will be ready to take that particular risk. Perhaps my old mentor, Archbishop Michael Ryan, would be able to do something to help me smuggle myself into the library there for a little while. Or at least arrange for me to meet my old professor at a safe location. Even PISCES probably wouldn't attack a cathedral in downtown Boston or NYC. Or so I hope.

More reading and more studying. It's like I can see some of the cyphers and codes which represent the underlying structure of the cosmos, but I can't unpack what they do yet. I need more time, and yet I find myself itching for another Game mere weeks into a study session. What happens when your life turns into a bad Dan Brown novel? (Is that redundant, Winston?)

I wish I could buy a dog. But it would die or PISCES would wire it to explode when I came home or something.

Life on the run is starting to feel lonely. I never really felt much of a need for people, but as an anchor for sanity there's something to be said for them. I don't suppose High Rollers provide much of an anchor, but I really can't trust anyone else these days. On my way to the airport to head off to Maine (again), a sweet-looking young woman bumps into me in the street. I can remember when being accosted by a pretty young woman felt good, but those days are long since past. I check but find nothing added or subtracted from my equipment, but I can't help but be suspicious that she was a PISCES agent. Let's hope Jimmy or Zane are at the next game as they could probably find even a microbug if she planted one on me.

The more one delves into the secrets of the fathomless cosmos, the more one values the simple human things that ground us in our daily illusion of import. Maybe the world needs to know about the practical uses of magic, but the principles should remain obscure for most everyone. Bad enough to give up your humanity for a cause, but giving up your ability to pretend other people matter… that price is too great to pay.

I hope that my sudden doubts and fears don't leave me vulnerable.

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