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 Somewhere outside of New York city. The night skies above you are clear, the rural road you are travelling down has no streetlights to block out the stars in the sky. The road is marred by the occasional pothole, but not the worst you have travelled on. The Driver had turned up at the appointed time outside your hotel, and had driven without saying a word to you. The man was smartly presented and clean shaven, but distant. Suddenly you turn a corner and see lights ahead, a floodlit area in the middle of nowhere.  You arrive at a private airfield, your chauffeur you gets out and opens the door for you. As you get out he motions for you to enter the hanger, then moves to park his car off at one side of it. A number of other vehicles are arriving at the same time, and soon a group of you have assembled in the hanger.  A twin engined passenger airplane dominates the hanger, but it is not what draws your eye. The thing that stands out the most is the corner of the hanger that would look more at place in a stately home than in a open metal building - there are a number of bookshelves filled end to end. Comfortable reading chairs and electric lamps are set upon a large rug. There is even a writing desk set up. Someone has transplanted a study into the middle of nowhere. The assembled group looks at each other with mild bewilderment. In each hand was an invitation with a short letter, but beyond the fact that Janet Winston-Rogers wished to speak to them and was offering a good sum of money for their time, and that she was sure the work would be of interest to them, they had no idea why they were here. Your knowledge of Mrs Winston-Rogers was slight, she was a wealthy heiress, she married another rich man who had been killed in a car accident last year. She is little known - though many of you will have heard of her father, Walter Winston. He had been a successful entrepreneur and world famous occultist up until about ten year ago, when he had just dropped off the map. He became a recluse and refused visitors until his recent death. All in all, you are sure of one thing, the promise of money is a real one, and she could not have picked a more mysterious setting. Okay, that looks like a good time for you to introduce your character, having decided to answer this summons to a night-time rendezvous. Please post your character sheets in the post as normal. Feel free to add in how you got to this point, and once everyone has posted up I’ll bring in Mrs Winston-Rodgers and we can get this story rolling. Do you want me to prompt you for point spends or leave it up for you to offer up ideas. Recruitment thread here
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Aug 29, 2017 12:19
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| # ¿ Apr 23, 2024 13:45 |
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The Airfield. Outside, lights shine into the hanger for a few seconds as another car pulls up. This one is a high class limousine, sleek and black. The chauffeur who gets out of this one is dressed like the others, but does not move like one. The man is hulking and lacks the refinement that your drivers had. he opens the door, and a woman in her forties steps out, dressed impeccably in the latest fashions. She nods to her driver, who follows close behind her. you all get the sense that his main role is bodyguard rather than servant. Mrs Walter-Rogers sits on of the comfortable chairs and the driver stands behind her, arms behind his back. she takes a cigarette off the desk next to the chair and light it. she then gives you all her attention. "Gentlemen, Thank you for joining me. I apologies for the mysterious circumstance around this meeting, but as you know, I am a private person, and I would like this to be as private a venture as possible." She beings in a calm but authoritative voice, this is a woman who is used to getting what she wants from people. "I want to to do something for me. If you did not know, my father, Winston Walters, was a occultist for many years, then became withdrawn from society. I want you to discover what caused that withdrawal." "My father was a driven man. He’d made his own fortune in the pharmaceuticals business after the War and then spent a few years traveling the world, studying folklore. That led to an interest in… the occult. He was bent on battling something, but he wouldn’t tell us what it was. My mother and I watched him get ever more distant, travel ever more often, until he spent almost all of 1924 away from home. On the trail of some ‘bad people,’ as he called them." “When my father wasn’t traveling, he was having meetings — secret meetings — with people he wasn’t in business with. Other dabblers in the occult, I think. My mother didn’t like them. This was when she started drinking.” “Something happened in August of 1924. Something that sent him back to us rattled and unraveling. He didn’t have any more secret meetings after that. He stopped traveling. But he wasn’t well. He saw a psychiatrist for a few years. He burned his books. He hardly ate. He jumped at shadows, insisted he was being watched. He was… never the same. He forbade us from asking about his travels and said more than once that ‘nothing mattered anymore.’ When mother died, in ‘32, he hardly grieved. After that, he became only more paranoid and frustrated, until he finally passed away, earlier this year, as a shadow of himself.” “That was when I found the letters — letters from a man named Douglas Henslowe, who had apparently worked with my father up until August of ‘24. I think he must have been one of the people father met with at the house, time and again. He wrote a few times, always asking my father to write down what had happened, what he had seen. My father never did. He never answered those letters. But he kept them, and it looks to me like he studied them carefully, though he never, I guess, dared to write back.” “This Douglas Henslowe wrote another letter, which came earlier this year, just before my father died. All I have to go on are the postmarks, sent from two addresses in Savannah, Georgia. I think this man must know what happened to my father in 1924. And I want to know what my father was mixed up in and… whether I should be apologizing for him or defending him. Whether he left work unfinished. Whether I’m in any danger.” “I’ll gladly lend you the use of my plane and pilot, Mr. Kearns, for the duration of your investigation, provided you do not leave the country for now. Time is a factor. Money is less so.” "Gentlemen, will you do this for me?" From the plane, a man you assume is Mr Kearns steps out and down the ladder. There is your page of plot exposition, feel free to ask questions of her or the pilot. Grey Hunter fucked around with this message at 08:25 on Aug 31, 2017 |
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Aug 31, 2017 08:21
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Mrs Walter Rogers "I have not tried to contact Mr Hanslow myself because He provided no return address. He seems to be as secretive as my father. The letters I found are the only way I even know he exists. And in some ways, I'm surprised my father never burned them. I'm sure from their content that he never replied - we could never get him to speak of what happened in '24, not matter how much we plead with him. Anyway, I'm no an occultist, and I'm not sure I would be able to understand much of what he could tell." She pauses. "As for why I have hired so many of you, consider it a private indulgence. I am the heir to two fortunes, and my curiosity means I want as complete and answer as can be. No one man can be an expert in everything, but with many heads, I'm sure you can get to the bottom of this."
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Sep 1, 2017 10:16
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Mrs Winson-Rogers She motions to their surroundings. "The remains of his work is around us. I'm, afraid he destroyed or sold a lot of it, I assume it brought bad memories. but all that is left is here." She opened her purse and brought out a bundle of envelopes. "I''ve also brought the letters from Mr Hanslow. I thought they would be of interest to you." She places them on the desk next to her.
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Sep 1, 2017 12:44
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Mrs Winston-Rogers "Pay will be a base of $5,000 each, with all reasonable expenses paid. I am willing to increase this depending on time taken and results produced. As for writing, you absolutely do not have permission to write about this. Whatever you find will be for my eyes only. My father and I are private people, and any attempt to publisher this will be dealt with severely. if you take this job, you will be expected to sign a non disclosure agreement." looking at the oldest letter, the sending address is 513 West Henry Street, Savannah, Georgia. its dated 1925. It is a plea for Walter Winston to write back with an account of the events of August 1924. It contains no details, and ends with. “Please write back with your account of what happened. My doctors do not believe me.” The letter is covered in pencil marks, circling letters, linking seemingly random words, writing numbers in the margins. Welp, I screwed up the "no return address" part. I guess she just doesn't want to go on a goose chase!
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Sep 2, 2017 07:15
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Mrs Winston Rogers. She seems taken aback at Morgan's tone, but seems to settle down after a few seconds. "Okay, I'll admit, this scares me a bit - I’ll admit, I once thought my father’s house was haunted. Shadows seemed to bend and warp, and odd stains appeared from nowhere. I thought I… saw things. Things in the walls. But of course it was all the nervous energy of a frightened girl. At any rate, I haven’t seen any such things since my father died. I must have willed myself not to see the address so that I had an excuse not to follow up on this myself.” To Tom she replies. "My father was always secretive before 1924, and I was a child for most of that, all he told me was that he was on the trail of some 'bad men' and that he needed to stop them. That was in '24, and the most he ever spoke to us about it. His study was always kept locked, and he spent a lot of time away from home traveling, so we never got much of an idea of what he was working on - my mother may have known more, but she said nothing before her death." She stands. "Honestly gentlemen, I'm not sure there is much more I can tell you. If I knew more I would hardly need a large group of investigators, would I. It is you job to find answers for me. I will assist in any way I can, but this must remain quiet and off the books. I fear for the family name and the memory of my father, but I need to know what happened to him. She begins to walk towards the car. "As for violence, I don't know. but if my father wanted to stop some bad men, then there is a chance of it." Grey Hunter fucked around with this message at 10:37 on Sep 2, 2017 |
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Sep 2, 2017 10:32
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The hanger. "Good luck gentlemen. Find Mr Henslowe. He is the only person who remembers what happened that day. He is our best hope of finding the truth." Mrs Walter Rogers says before she returns to her limo. Her bodyguard/driver follows on a short leash. They are left in the hanger. The man who came from the plane comes up to you. "Welcome. I'm Frank. I'll be your pilot for this job, for what its worth. We can't take off until morning, but there are some cots made up in the plane. I'll be in there getting some sleep if you don't need me. Just let me know where we are heading and I'll get us there." He seems friendly enough, if a little put out. Reggie spends some time working on the books, he can't get much of a feel for Walter Winston's theory. These are wide ranging works, but he gets the feeling that all of the interesting stuff has long been removed from this library. Everything here is entry level works on American mysticism and folk lore., and not what you would expect an accomplished occultist to prize. Reading the letters in order gleans the following information. quote:1. January 11th, 1925 (513 West Henry Street): “Please write back with your account of what happened. My doctors do not believe me. Using the library, Peyton was able to find the two addresses, the first is inside the city limits, the second outside them. The cryptography would be a one point spend. do you want to make that.
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Sep 3, 2017 07:10
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Hours pass as Morgan pours over the letters. Only the first few have pencil marks on them, but after a while he comes to the conclusion that Walter Winston was clutching at straws - the letters do seem to have disparate tones, but there is no embedded code here - but the thought that Walter Winston thought there might speaks volumes - he spent a lot longer than you working on the letters, and seems to have given up. You've pretty much covered everything here. Do you want to move on to Savanna, Georgia?
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Sep 3, 2017 08:01
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"Mrs W put some papers on the table that should be your line of credit." Frank replies. "I have my own, as I've been with the family a long time now.
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Sep 3, 2017 12:43
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The credit notes are very generous - basically as long as you can justify the costs, you will be able to get the money! The benefits for working for an insanely rich client. A word of warning though, abusing this will come back on you - you can stay in good hotels, but if you start staying at the most expensive places, eating at the best restaurants and buying fleets of cars, then the notes can be rescinded at will. As for the phone books. unsurprisingly, an airfield in New York lacks the Savannah Georgia phone book. You have tapped the library and this scene for clues.
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Sep 4, 2017 08:01
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Savannah, Georgia. The flight south is uneventful. Most of the time is spent chatting or sleeping. The investigators get to know each other a bit better, while Frank is happy to chat about himself and current events, but is quiet when it comes to his employer - all he tells you is that he is a loyal employee and have worked for the Winston family for decades.  The plane finally puts down at Hunter’s Field, outside of Savannah. The airfield has seen better days, and the tarmac of the runway is cracked and weed infested. The air is hot and humid, and as you came in you saw the city and the swamps to the south. Frank has telegraphed ahead, and a hire car is waiting for you. You drive into the city where he has also arranged a hotel for you. The roads in are poorly maintained, with branches covered in spanish moss reaching into the road. The sky is overcast and the air smells wet. There is not even the comfort of a breeze. You are all sweating. Things get no better once you hit the city. Savannah has suffered through the Great Depression, and it shows. The sidewalks are cracked and you can sea the earth beneath where they have crumbled. The smell of the harbor comes to you through the humid air, so thick with people’s sweat that it feels like you could wring the sky itself out and make it rain. Red-brick antebellum buildings hide behind a veil of ivy and moss, their wrought iron fixtures jutting out like ragged swords. Here and there, broken windows betray buildings that are empty inside. As you pull up in front of the Hotel, you notice a library across the street, and agree to meet up there later. As you enter the Hotel, the Bellboy comes towards you with an almost predatory movement. You are quickly helped to your rooms - much enthusiasm is shown. The rooms themselves are clean and tidy, a upper range hotel. All of your rooms are next to each other three on each side of the corridor. Once you have attempted to freshen up, you meet again at the library. You easily find a reading area where you can talk quietly. Tom looks through the local files and quickly finds the two addresses 513 West Henry Street is the local asylum, as you suspected, The Joy Grove mental institution has apparently been here for forty years. 23 Old Hope Road is the Henslowe family mansion and grounds, located some 13 miles Southeast of the city. I’ve fast forwarded through the basic research I know you want to do = I hope you don’t mind. I can now offer you a 1 point library use spend for each of the addresses. As you have seen, they may or may not be useful.
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Sep 5, 2017 09:23
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The Libary There is little on the Henslowes in the papers, 1924 seems to have been a normal year - you infer that whatever happened either didn't happen here or was covered up and never made the papers. Kloaked00 posted:Using Library Use to look for relevant newspaper stories about Henslowe / his family / the mansion, and Joy Grove. Especially any written around the same time as the letters Anything else comes under the 1 point spend I mentioned.
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Sep 5, 2017 14:16
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We're in research mode, so if people want to explore avenues of interest, I'm sure they can and then meet back up - this is free form time, and its about midday. Just say what your character wants to look at - such as a trip to the police station or local papers, then we can run through those scenes quickly before getting on to picking a destination. I'm trying to balance the research section - there is info out there, but it all take hours of realtime to get, so there is plenty of scope for people going their own way, but I'm trying to not just teleport you guys around to much.
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Sep 6, 2017 08:29
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Tom Shaw Tom spends a couple of hours walking the streets asking people questions about the two locations - no one he speaks to has heard of the Henslow estate, and while people know of Joy Grove, it never goes much beyond "Oh yeah, the nut house." It seems neither location is in the public eye much. A dead end unfortunalty. What kind of Cthulhu adventure is this eh? A asylum with no terrible backstory or mysterious deaths. It ain't right I tell ya.
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Sep 6, 2017 09:06
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Det. Morgan Petris The police station is dirty and obviously understaffed, but the man on the desk looks board. This is not a high crime area, just a run down one. "Can I help you sir?" he asks. John Larkin Johns search through the newspaper archives gives him some information about Joy Grove - the most recent report says that the current head of the hospital, Dr. Lawrence Teake, is on the verge of retirement. His protégé, Dr. Jonathan Keaton, is the heir apparent. This is news from the last few weeks. E. Thomas "Tom" Shaw Tom finally finds someone who is a bit more talkative, he's an old man, but once the Henslow's are mentioned, he light's up. "Oh yeah, I do know them! I did some work for old Mrs Henslow a few year back." He goes into old man remembrance mode, happy finally to find someone who will talk to him. "A bad business that, Mrs Henslow lives up at Moss Island peninsula - it's called that because whenever it rains hard the place gets cut off from the mainland. But her son has been in an out of the asylum for more than a decade. no-one knows what happened to him, but it broke him." Erm, You've had no reports that Henslow is dead. I'm not sure where you guys have got that from, sorry if I gave the wrong impression. That's a 1 point library use spend for John and 1 point oral history for Tom.
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Sep 7, 2017 08:17
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The two doctors are part of the Joy Glade scene, so will have to wait until you get there I'm afraid.
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Sep 8, 2017 10:28
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Det. Morgan Petris "Henslow, Henslow." The officer mulls it over for a few seconds. "Oh yeah, the crazy guy. Got caught in the streets covered in blood, raving and brandishing a knife a few of years back, got sent up to Joy Grove. I think he's still there, we were up there a while back, something about nurses and orderlies stealing the supplies. One of the guys up there said they saw him. Never figured out what he was on about, court ordered him locked up until he is considered safe."
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Sep 9, 2017 06:07
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don't sweat to much. We're still in the arrival seqence. Things get more interesting once you head to an adress. You've got all the info you could at this point. I'm just saying this because I know how worrying about missing things in a cthulhu game is a thing. Don't worry, there will be chances to male stupid choices soon!
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Sep 10, 2017 14:41
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To the house then?
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Sep 12, 2017 14:34
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The Henslow Estate. The drive from Savannah takes you deeper into the marshes. The red dirt road meanders beneath the sagging moss, the way ahead like a tunnel through the swamp, dappled with patches of light, choked with biting gnats. You can smell the clay and mud on the tires. A rickety wooden bridge crosses a patch of land you assume is what turns the place into an island during the rains, ahead you see the house. It is surrounded on three sides by tall iron spike topped walls. The air smells of damp and rotting wood, the marsh. Every tree is draped in spanish moss and Giant palmetto bugs flit through the air, battering themselves against your car windows. The driveway is barred by a large wrought iron gate. A bell hangs to one side. The wind blows leaves and airborne seeds through the air. Gah, sorry! work is busy and the toddler keeps stealing my free time by not sleeping!
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Sep 14, 2017 11:24
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The Henslow Estate The bell rings out, and is immediately answered by the baying of hounds. The noise comes closer quickly and three large dogs come into view. They are massive animals, and have some mastiff in there mix, but they are not purebred by any means. They also don't look friendly. They reach the gate and bark and snap at you from the other side, after a few seconds a voice rings out. "Get out of it you lot! Down! DOWN I SAY!" A middle aged man carrying a pitchfork comes up the gate, and the dogs begin to circle him. He is wearing dirty but well maintained cloths. "What are you lot doing here? Visitors ain't welcome here!"
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Sep 15, 2017 07:52
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"Mr Henslow ain't got no friends, and you aint been invited here a I ain't invited you!" The man's tone is agressive, and the dogs pick up on this and start to bark again. Mrs Henslow ain't seeing people, so you lot can get lost!
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Sep 16, 2017 11:09
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The HenslowEstate. "Well, the way I see it, that business was all cleared up when Mr Henslow was put away, unless your cops, We aint got nothing to do with you."
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Sep 17, 2017 08:05
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The Henslow Estate. The mans eyes narrow. "A Conspiracy? What are you on about? You got proof you are supposed to be here and have. I know all the cops around here, and you ain't one of them." This would be a disguise check! our first skill check of the game. I'm not going to tell you the difficulty. It's D6 + whatever you want to spend!
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Sep 17, 2017 19:23
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The Henslow Estate The man looks hesitant for a second, then pulls the dogs off to a small guest house. Once they are safely locked away, he returns and opens the gate. "You better be coming in then." he says. "I'm the groundskeeper, Curuthers. Follow me please." He leads you towards the house. Standing proud amidst the greenery and mud, the Henslowe mansion is a classic plantation house with tall, shuttered windows and towering columns ringing porches and balconies. From a distance, the house is shining white, but up close it is streaked with mud and moss stains and takes on a greenish tint from the sullen light through the heavy leaves. Once you enter, you realise the building is not as large as the grand exterior suggests. The ground floor rooms are high ceilings and wooded floors, Curuthers takes you through the rooms quickly, a dining room, a parlor, a study with dust covered animal heads and seats that look like they have never been sat in. The kitchen smells of rotting food and there is a loaf of bread moldering on the counter. You pass a servants stairwell and a den. There are three separate porches. "The grounds streach to the east and west, but you won't find much there. Mrs Henslow is upstairs, but I'll ask you to not disturb her. I'll be in my cottage if you need me." He waits a few seconds for any questions before heading out.
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Sep 25, 2017 09:52
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The Henslow Estate. "I'm not rightly sure what happened with Mr Henslow, He went off for a while, 'came back broken. They didn't really discuss matters like that with the help. All I know is that Mr. Henslowe, if you’ll pardon me sayin’, has always been an odd one. Artist. Distracted by a butterfly, he’d be, and no head for the work he’d had to do. Except when he come back from the hospital the first time, in ‘32 — he was real focused then, on that book he was making. And then he’d wander the grounds with that camera of his." He replies to Dr Peyton. When Arthur speaks a small smile crosses his face. "Thanking you sir. Its not been easy, being the only member of staff and all. But I love this house, and keep it good for Mrs Henslow, I'll keep the grounds for Mr Heslowe, should he ever come home, but I guess that I'll die here one day, and that's jus' fine." The Study Tom enters the study, and wanders over to the desk. The thing that jumps out immediately are a number of items out of place, a shovel caked in long dried mud, a flashlight likewise covered in mud, a camera, a ball of twine, a jar of blue ink, and a brush stained with blue ink. The walls are lined with books, most of them covering anthropology, archaeology, business and finance, art history and the occult. As Tom runs his eyes across the titles, one jumps out at him - Communion rites of Victorian Death Cults by Francis J Hickering. The spine typeface shows this is the watered down 1912 version, no the rarer and more grotesque 1909 edition. The book is concerned with rituals for communion with powerful spirits and ritual sacrifice. Sorry about that - I went visiting family and time and internet was less than desired!
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Oct 4, 2017 08:10
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E. Thomas "Tom" Shaw A search of the shovel and flashlight show no sign of blue ink, but looking at the ball of twine Tom can see some blue sections on that, As Tom opens the copy of Communion Rites of Victorian Death Cults, a photograph falls out of the inside cover. The image is of the Henslowe estate and is a low contrast image. scratched into the image is "#1"  The book itself has no marking or notation in it, and looks to be a good quality copy. Det. Morgan Petris The camera is empty, and of mid quality, with little else of note about it. Arthur Adams "Mrs who? I ain't never heard of no Mrs Whatsit Rogers. Mrs Henslow is to old to look after the fiances, so I just keep things ticking along. The books in the parlor if you want to look at it. As for pay, I gets what I needs from the Henslows, and I an't about to take a bribe from some out of towner. I just wan you lot out as quick as possible and to make sure Mrs Henslow ain't bothered by anything her son has dragged down on the family." An open barrel-top desk in the parlor has a ledger in plain sight, covering the years 1930 to present. Accounting recognizes that the Henslowe fortune has been badly hit in recent years, with almost no attempts made to restructure investments or recoup losses. In about five years, the Henslowes will be out of money. John Larkin Curuthers seems to be telling the truth - It seems he just wants you to find what you want and get out of the house.
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Oct 6, 2017 10:02
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Looking at the photo it is clear to Petris that the photo was taken at sunset and could well have been taken with the camera in the study.
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Oct 11, 2017 11:32
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The Henslow Estate. The walls are covered in watercolours and oils, the kind of thing an old family pick up over the years - there is the occiasional portrait, but nothing out of the ordinary springs to mind - one or two of the paintings may have some value to them, if properly restored, but no lost masters or strange tribal art adornes the walls. This is the house of southern gentlemen and women, and appears as such. Curuthers looks at the photo and says "I don't rightly know. It's the house of course, but I don't know any of the names on the list - Mr Henslow never did bring anyone around the house after he left and came back."
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Oct 13, 2017 07:53
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| # ¿ Apr 23, 2024 13:45 |
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The Henslow accounts. A look through the accounts shows nothing of interest - some property, but mostly stock investments that are not optimally invested. Some companies were good bets ten years ago, but now its a portfolio past its prime.
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Oct 14, 2017 05:08
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