A) Pete, the college newspaper reporter (21)


B) Rosa, the Iraq War veteran, currently employed as a private detective (30s)


C) Annie, Professor of Religious Studies (40s)


D) Vic, Mob Enforcer in WITSEC (late 50s)

A) He stole some relics from a friend, who’s asked you to get them back
B) He murdered both your brother and sister
C) He’s hinted at something sinister and grand during a social encounter

sephiRoth IRA fucked around with this message at 18:25 on Jul 19, 2019

Bill Tanner’s home resembled something out of the days of English nobility in the 1920s; there were wall-sized oil paintings juxtaposed with gilded bannisters and outsized, gaping fireplaces. Vic had never bothered asking what Bill did for a living or how he had accumulated such wealth, but he did accept the proffered hand-rolled Cubans, imported cigarettes, and fine wines the old man seemed to always have on hand during gatherings.

This particular night the group had assembled to view Bill’s newest acquisition. It was a set of photographs Bill claimed were made from negatives pulled from the remains of a spelunker found in a ruin in the northern Congo. The photos were complete with provenance in the form of a shabby Moleskine filled with insane ramblings. The unnamed spelunker had titled the photos “Instar – Series”. Earlier, Vic had watched in grim silence as the entire group waited with bated breath as Bill’s trembling hands pulled the cloth covers from the easels displaying the shots. The pictures drew gasps, followed by an instant burst of chatter. Vic felt bile rise in his throat. Like with everything else that he’d seen and heard, he lacked the inherent joy that was splashed across the grins and bright eyes of everyone else. The pictures reminded him of the scratching below his floor and the hissing whispers that filled his head when he spoke certain words or read certain phrases. He would never admit it, but the photos made his guts churn; the last time he felt this way was watching his father go after his mother with a belt when he was eight.

Later, after his run in with Casper, Vic figured that Bill might be able to answer some questions. Sitting now in Bill’s ornate den, however, with a third, cloth-covered easel sitting by the fire, Vic found himself clenching and unclenching his hands around the arms of his club chair. Bill sat behind a cherry desk, the biggest Vic had ever seen, lighting a French cigarette with one liver-splotched hand. Vic’s assessment of Bill was that he was a smart, cruel man betrayed by the inexorable tides of time. Bill’s mind was as sharp as ever but his palsied hands, frayed vocal cords, and use of a cane belied a weakness Vic could tell galled the man. Bill blew a swirling cloud of smoke up into the vaulted air and looked at Vic.


“What did you think of the photos tonight, Victor?” Bill’s rheumy blue eyes locked with Vic’s. Vic paused, understanding that this question was not idle.

“I dunno, I don’t tink I got the same message as everybuddy else, you know what I mean?”

“That’s because you haven’t learned enough, but that will come with time. I’ve lived long enough to run my hands in the primordial rivers of the earth, and I’ve seen the crypts of ancient gods, but as they say Rome wasn’t built in a day. You’ll learn the truth in time.”

“Yea, about dat… Casper was goin’ on about some ‘Igmem’ bullshit and I was wonderi—”

Bill chuckled, drawing deep on his cigarette before letting out a series of hacking, pestilent coughs.

“Casper is ambitious, isn’t he? Tremendous intelligence, but again, limited in experience and wisdom. Time will prove out a great many riches to be laid upon Casper’s head.” Bill stared into the middle distance and fell silent.

Vic waited a beat and replied “Uh, yeah, okay Bill, but who is Igmem?”

“Igmem is the Cockroach King, Victor. There are scholars of our unknown vistas that believe a divergence occurred billions of years ago, a divergence that will eventually wipe

from the rock on which we stand. If we’re the current superior form of the apes, serving the gods of man, what do you think the evolved insects might look like? What gods do you think they might serve?”

In Vic’s mind he pictured a chittering wave of black carapaces rising over the skyline of New York, enough to blot the sunlight from his face – rising, rising, rising – and finally crashing, suffocating the wailing din of the warm blooded as a billion billion tiny gnawing mouths consumed all. His face paled as Bill continued.

“I believe from my conversations with the boy that he thinks he’s stumbled onto a rite of rebirth. There are many such litanies scattered hither and yon, Victor, but the more erudite of we acolytes know that most are rubbish. I do not know if Casper has found something true, but if he has it will be a key to his immortality.”Bill shrugged, chuckling wryly.

“I wouldn’t put too much thought into this. For years I chased the same kind of goal and as you can see nothing has borne out. I know you and Casper aren’t friends, but if you’re interested in knowing more, I recommend you visit the proprietors of Red Ram Vineyards in the north. I understand Casper has been seen there frequently as of late. You can also just go pay a Casper a visit if you’d like.”

Bill passed a small white business card with an address in flowing cursive written on its face. The cold cut of Bill’s smile made Vic feel like he had a leash attached to his neck. He got the feeling Bill wouldn’t mind seeing Vic or Casper over a barrel; sadists rarely cared who got the knife as long as they got to watch.

Bill stubbed his cigarette out on a silver ashtray. The conversation was over. Vic stood, thanked Bill for his time and was about to leave when Bill asked
“Victor, would you like to see the final Instar? I didn’t think it appropriate for the younger children, but for you…” Bill gestured towards the easel.

_typos!!

sephiRoth IRA fucked around with this message at 20:30 on Jul 25, 2019