Play@YSDC

It only takes a couple of hours to reach the University, and before long you are speaking to the head of the History Faculty, Professor Howard Potts, in a luxurious and well stocked study. As soon as you mention Sir William Brinton his face darkens slightly,
“His manner of departure was to say the least an inconvenience. To suddenly up and disappear without so much as a by your leave let alone a letter of resignation, was, to say the least, unforgivable”

He takes a moment to knock out his pipe into a cut glass ashtray set upon his desk. For the next few seconds he begins the laborious task of refilling the well used meerschaum,
“See that shelf of books over there?” he uses the pipe as a pointer to indicate several large, bound books nearby, “Those are but a small selection of the man’s works. He was, at one time, considered this Country’s foremost archaeology expert, his speciality being Pre-Romanic British culture and society of course”

He continues his pipe filling, “The University’s department was basically his child. He had during the years he was here, fitted it to his designs. His departure was as sudden as it was strange, one day he was here next he was gone”.

He finishes filling the pipe and striking a match begins lighting it amongst clouds of aromatic tobacco smoke. “Since his disappearance there has been no contact. So, gentlemen, how can I be of assistance?”

"That does seem rather odd," says Oliver, rubbing his chin. "Was there ever a police investigation into his disappearance? Could there have been foul play involved?"

Maurice was equally suspicious. He scanned the books on the shelves.

"It sounds most suspicious, Sir, if you pardon my impertinence. I don't know the man, but from what you say, it was a most sudden change of character. Such changes do not fall without good reason..."

Potts, putting a pair of old fashioned 'Prinz Nez' glasses upon his nose, opens a large, well stuffed, file,
"It seemed very odd at the time. Odd and dashed inconvenient it being mid-term. Can you imagine how difficult it was to find someone to take over his classes?"

He shakes his head and starts flicking through the files contents, "Ah yes, the police. There was an investigation at the time, local and national, including some very odd characters from some Whitehall department or other. However, nothing was found of Sir William's whereabouts, it seemed that he had vanished into thin air, along with the chap who he had been seeing a lot of in the weeks prior to his disappearance"

Raising his head from the file and steepeling his fingers on his desk, Potts eyes you both as if inspecting an artefact, “It seems strange for a few weeks after the disappearance one couldn’t move for police of one sort or another, Sir Williams wife Bridget - a wonderful woman - was constantly assailed by questions. Yet since then nothing until now when you suddenly appear and begin asking questions”

His gaze focuses and turns slightly suspicious, “So may I ask why gentlemen, after all this time, the sudden interest?”

Honesty is the best policy, thought Maurice. Besides, it was his nature.

"Forgive out intrusion, Sir" he blurted. "We have come to hear of the tale of Exham Priory. I am not sure you are aware of it. A lot of malign rumours and disturbing myths. It is a mystery, of sorts, and the events cast a blemish over that part of England. Such stains are difficult to wash, Sir, so a scientific and accurate account of the events would be the best soap!" he said, wincing at his off the cuff analogy.

"Sir William Brinton was a friend of my uncle's some twenty years ago," explains Oliver. "A mutual friend of theirs, Dr. Peter Trask, went to Exham Priory with them. He too dropped out of sight in 1924. Who was this chap that Sir William had been seeing a lot of before he disappeared? I'd wager he might be able to provide some explanations."

Potts puffs his pipe for a few moments, in contemplation of what he has just heard. Then taking the glasses off he places them into the top pocket of his much maligned tweed sports jacket. For the next second, or so, he stares at you both through the cloud of tobacco smoke,
“Hmm, Exham Priory…it’s been a few years since I heard that name and then only in half whispered telephone conversations”

He takes another puff on his pipe and as he lets the smoke drift across the room he seems deep in though,
“I recall that Sir William was called away in the August of ’24 to assist in the investigation of some find at a place on the Welsh border, that was called Exham, I think. He returned the next day claiming that the site had been of no consequence. He never spoke to me of it again, though I did have my suspicions that there had been more to it than he was saying. As to the name ‘Trask’ I never heard William mention that name before, and the chap he was in contact with prior to his disappearance was never introduced to me”

Again he puffs at his pipe, though this time without the smoke, it appears that the pipe has burned out,
“So, are you saying that this place…Exham, had more to it than he let on, and that it might have had something to do with his disappearance?...

It was speculation, of course, but that shadow of an idea had crossed Maurice' mind; and no doubt his brother-in-arms.

"Possibly, there is no direct evidence, yet" he breezed. He was fighting awfully to avoid the smoke of the pipe. His chest tightened and he felt cold and sweaty, pain threading through his lungs.

"I..ah...*ack ack*...I do apologise Sir" he said, coughing into his handkerchief. There was a palpable show of blood at this time. "I am afraid the war left me with quite a rotten set of lungs. Smoke damage..." he explained, unable to stop himself casting a baleful eye on the pipe.

"As to the link; this is a matter we aim to illuminate. It is a suspicious set of circumstances, perhaps..." he offered, suggestively.

"My uncle's name was Stephen Daniels," adds Oliver, looking at Maurice with concern and helping him however he can. "He was a churchman, if that helps. Did Sir William take all of his possessions with him when he disappeared, or were any of his belongings left behind?"

"Ah" mutters Potts, looking concerned at his visitors alarming bout of coughing. He rises, quickly, from his seat, goes over to the rooms single, multi-paned, window and lifts it open. Instantly the sounds of university life mixed with more mundane Oxford town noises filters into the room as the offending smoke filters out. Within seconds the rooms air seems clearer and sweeter.

At Olivers's question he pauses, hands resting on the window sill, and gazes into the distance, "Afraid not, old chap, after his disappearance all of his stuff was boxed up and sent to his house"

He straightens up and recrosses to his desk, stooping as he writes something on to a small notepad,. He tears the sheet of paper from the pad and hands it to Oliver, "Here is his address. His wife, Lady Bridget, still resides there. If any of his personal papers dealt at the time with his visit to...Exham... you may find them there, if, of course, Bridget still has them. And, of course, the dear lady may know the identity of his mysterious associate"

He retakes his seat behind his desk, "I hope you have good fortune in your investigations. I would like to know the outcome of your enquiries, after all Sir William was a friend and collegue and therefore his fate is of great interest."

OOC:   The peice of paper has 14 Meredith Avenue Oxford wrtten on it.

"Thank you, Professor Potts," says Oliver, "you've been a great help. Well, let's be off to visit the Lady." He pats Maurice on the back to try to stop his coughing fit and helps him out of the room and away from the smoke.

14 Meredith Avenue turns out to be a large, rambling Victorian building set back from the road, or rather lane. From its ornate wooden gate, obviously there to replace ones that had gone to aid the war effort sometime in ’40, to the large, well maintained gardens and the ivy clad brickwork of the house, it shouts of wealth and position. As you walk up the gravelled drive towards the massive oak door you feel a million miles from the war in Europe and the bomb sites of London.
At the front door you are confronted by a middle aged woman in a black dress and apron, obviously the maid, it is obvious from her pained expression that she thinks you collectors of some sort,
“Yes sirs, may I help?”

"Good day to you Ma'am" said Maurice politely, doffing his cap. He was acutely aware that he was out of his depth. His family were resolutely middle class, but Maurice was little but a poor artist, with the emphasis on poor.

"Begging your pardon, Ma'am, is the Lady Bridget in? My friend and I were hoping we could talk with her?"

For a few moments she stares at you as if you were something nasty that had just crawled onto the doorstep. Then she ushers the pair of you into a rather splendid wood panneled entrance hall, "Please wait here I will announce you, Mr...?"

She gives you a withering stare that seems to say, well who are you and what do you want?

"I do apologise Madam, please allow me to introduce myself, Captain Maurice Grey, and my dear friend Captain Oliver Carpenter" replied Maurice with a smile.

Oliver also doffs his cap when he goes inside. "My late uncle Stephen Daniels was a friend of Lady Bridget's husband," he adds.

After a few minutes, during which time you have the opportunity to admire the luxurious fittings of the panelled hallway, the maid reappears followed by a woman you think may be in her early sixties.
You are ushered into an enormous study filled with stuffed bookshelves and period furniture. Lady Bridget gestures to a pair of comfortable looking chairs, “Please be seated gentlemen. Anna tells me that one of you had an uncle that may have been an acquaintance of my late husband William. How may I assist you Captain Grey and Captain Carpenter?”

She turns to the still hovering Anna, “Tea please Anna and biscuits I think”

The opulence of your surroundings, the quiet of the countryside and a form of etiquette that you had thought gone with the wars arrival, contrasts with the knowledge that not far away, across Europe in Italy men were dying in the filthy rat infested ruins of a once great civilisation.

Maurice quenched his unease at the luxury. The War was still alive in his dreams.

"My friend here, Captain Carpenter, Ma'am. His uncle knew your late husband" he said, leaving Oliver to do the talking. Meanwhile, he helped himself to some tea.

"Thank you, ma'am," says Oliver, taking a seat and holding his cap in his hand, also unused to such luxury. His family was comfortable enough, but certainly not wealthy or in the upper classes. "Some tea and biscuits would be lovely. My uncle, Stephen Daniels, was a friend of Sir William's some twenty years ago. The two of them and others, including Professor Peter Trask, went to Exham Priory back in 1923, and I was hoping to find out more about it. Perhaps your husband left behind some writings on the subject."

Lady Bridget leans forward and picks up her tea. Using one hand to grip the saucer she gently raises the bone china tea cup to her lips, crooking her little finger in the correct manner, and with a gentle breath she blows the hot tea too cool it before taking a delicate sip, “It has been a long time since I heard that name. Exham…Exham. If my memory serves me correct it is a small town on the Welsh border”

she returns the cup and saucer to the tray on the period coffee table. “I recall the name Trask, before the disappearance William worked closely with Dr Trask, but I have no recollection of William ever mentioning a Stephen Daniels. Still in his work my husband amassed many contacts, most of whom I never knew.”

She stands and gestures around the large study, with its fine furniture and large windows that open onto the gardens, “This was my husband’s study, he did much of his writing here at that desk” she indicates a large mahogany desk, positioned so as to gain full benefit from the daylight from the windows, “Most of the works you see on the bookshelves deal with his passion, which was early British society”

You can tell by the way she is speaking that even after twenty years she still feels the pain of her husband’s disappearance. “If any of his papers deal with that place, they should be here or amongst those returned from the university and stored in the loft above the garage”

She turns to the maid, “Anna these gentlemen will be looking through Sir William’s papers for anything relevant too an Exham Priory. Please see that they have everything they need”

Anna nods and favours you both with suspicious stares, you get the feeling she will be watching you with the eyes of a hawk just in case you should attempt to leave with the silver.

Lady Bridget rises, gracefully, from her chair, “Gentlemen…this place…Exham…why the sudden interest, after all twenty years is a long time? Do you think it has anything to do with my husband’s disappearance? At the time the Police looked into every lead to his whereabouts and found nothing. There was no trace, even his car remains unfound. It seemed at the time that he, and Dr Trask, had simply vanished from the face of the earth”

"That remains to be seen Ma'am, although I a can assure you that both myself and Captain Carpenter are determined to get to the bottom of this" he said, with an enthusiasm that surprised himself. He was sinking into the mystery.

"It would seem then, that we have our reading cut out for us".

"I've only just become aware of this now," explains Oliver. "My family never told me about this, and they would whisper whenever they discussed his doings around me. Unfortunately, he passed last year, or I would have simply asked him. Thank you for allowing us to peruse Sir William's library, ma'am. I have one more question. Sir William was spending a lot of time with some chap before he disappeared. Do you know who it was?"

Previously Oliver said:   "Sir William was spending a lot of time with some chap before he disappeared. Do you know who it was?"

Lady Bridget stops moving towards the door at Oliver’s question. “As far as I am aware the only associate that my husband was in contact with in the weeks before his disappearance was Dr Trask. He was with my husband on the day of the disappearance. I believe there is a photograph of William and his associates taken around the time of the Exham investigation it shows Dr Trask amongst the group”

She turns to the maid, “Anna, the top drawer of the desk fetch the photograph within”

Anna opens the indicated drawer and takes a small photograph to her Ladyship. Bridget hands it to Oliver, “There, fifth from the right, in the jumper next to my husband, That is Dr Trask, perhaps your late uncle is also there?”

On the reverse of the photo someone, probably Sir William has written ‘Exham Priory, August 1923’ this is followed by a list of names, one of which is Stephen Daniels standing peering over the back of the group.

"Yes, that's him," says Oliver, pointing out Stephen in the photograph. "It makes sense that it was Dr. Trask who was spending time with Sir William before he left, seeing as they both disappeared around the same time."

Before you lies what seems an ominous task, library shelves filled with books, the large mahogany desk with at least six drawers and a filing cabinet whose relative modernity seems to clash with the otherwise tastefully period decor of the study.

The maid, Anna, sniffs and subjects you to a haughty expression, "Well...Gentlemen... I will leave you to it. If you require anything you will find me in the kitchen" She turns to leave, stops and looks around, "Should you wish to look in the garage loft you will need the key"

She leaves the room, you are alone.

OOC:   Indicate the area you are searching and I will supply a description of any items you find.

"Quite the task, Oliver" sighed Maurice.

"However, I think a man's character is best elucidated by his desk!"

With that, he started examining the very same, opening its draws, examining its surface, even its legs and the chair next to it. Aside from odds and trinkets, he looked carefully to see if any impressions had been left on its surface.

Maurice;
Approaching the desk, with a somewhat resigned sigh, you begin looking through the contents. Drawer after drawer seems filled with random sized pieces of paper, some containing neatly typewritten paragraphs, filled with corrections or editing marks, other a bizarre collection of handwritten notes or sketches.

You quickly conclude that this is where Sir William had stored ideas and notes for his books. Some are interesting, others not so, but they all seem to show that he had an extremely fierce love of his subject. From quickly scanning the writings, in search of a reference to either Exham Priory or Trask, you come to the conclusion that Sir William had been obsessed by an idea that he was yet to find real evidence for. Yet there seems to be nothing here to tell you what that idea was.
One piece of paper, roughly torn from a notebook, contains the following phrases written over and over again as if the writer had been contemplating their significance;

An mháthair a chosaint cuid leanaí,
Mae'r fam yn amddiffyn ei phlant,
Mater filiorum tueris,
Modro + sanis + tuklem + esca,
Dhonas’ dholas ort, agus-leat sa!

There is no translation of the phrases, at least on the paper that contains them. You find nothing that mentions either the priory, Trask, or corresponds to the date of the investigation.
You look up from your search to see if Oliver has had any luck, to notice that darkness has fallen outside. An ornate desk clock is showing 5:30pm

"Hmm, well, look at this, old chap. Looks like Dutch to me" he mused, floating the strange writings at Oliver.

"I'll tell you this, the old boy was gripped by something. Obsessed. Ill be damned if I know what it was though..."

Oliver looks up from his own search of the filing cabinet's drawers and reads the writing, scratching his head. "Buggered if I know what it all means," he says. "I don't know about Dutch. Welsh or Gaelic would be more likely considering the region of his interest. And this bit here looks like Latin. Mater means mother, and filorum sounds like it could be son, but I'm not sure what the rest means."

Oliver:
The metal filing cabinet is stuffed with brown manilla folders each filled with many pages of notes and sketches covering his many archaeological investigation, both throughout the British Isles and beyond.
Eventually you find one file Marked ‘Exham Priory 1923’. You open the file, noting its slimness, only to find nothing. It is empty apart from an old manilla envelope that shows signs of once containing a large amount of paper, but has long since been emptied.

At Maurice's query you pause your search and look at the paper he has found. The more you look at it, the more you are convinced that some of it is Welsh, Gaelic and there is a definate Latin component. You are correct about Mother and Child but the rest ecapes your attempt to translate. As for the rest you have no idea but the final sentence does have a ring of familiarity about it. Please make a knowledge Roll +10

Oliver puzzles over the last sentence. At first he can't place it, but finally something clicks in his mind.

"This bit right here," says Oliver, pointing at the last sentence. "When we spoke to Jones, the shepherd in Anchester, he told us that de la Poer recited those exact words when he was being taken away. But what does it mean? And what does the rest of it mean? Can you translate the rest of the Latin? Mine's rather rusty."

"Lets have another look then", said Maurice, peering at the paper.

"Latin, then, not Dutch...well, my old school master, Mister Doublehill, took great pleasure in teaching us all Latin. 'Canebreaker' Doublehill, we called him. The nasty bastard. Snapped two or three canes every term from the beatings he gave us. If ever I was to commit murder, Canebreaker Doublehill would be first on my list, and not a tear would be shed. I dare say that their would be a line to dance on his grave. Still, the old bastard did drum into us Latin...."

OOC:

"The Mother Protects...no, Protect...her Children"

"Sounds a bit like Freud" mumbled Maurice, who was half convinced the writings were that of a madman. He had read the works of the great man, and was confident he could half understand them.

"Goodness knows what that means. Its like a prayer, or incantation. A plea, maybe...."

"Hmm..." says Oliver. "Could be some form of Earth goddess worship or something. Some Romans were into that sort of thing. I think we'd best check the loft. We may find something there that will shed more light on the mystery. We'll need to see Anna for the key."

In search of the garage key and access to the loft, you find the maid, Anna, hard at work in the kitchen preparing dinner for her ladyship. She scowls a look of 'have you nothing better to do?' Then wiping he hands on her apron she opens a drawer and hands you a key. “Make sure you return it when you have finished. And don’t go making a mess up there for someone else to clean up”

Taking the key and crossing the gravelled drive to the separate garage building you open the doors, noting the large black ford gathering dust inside. To the rear of the garage a flight of steep, rickety stairs leads up to door. Inside amongst various crates and boxes you find several stencilled ‘Sir William Brinton – Oxford University’ within you find the same manilla folders as you have been ploughing through for the past couple of hours.

There are at least four boxes stuffed with files, some fat, some thin. You reason that this could take you a couple more hours at least.

OOC:   Please roll Spot Hidden please

Oliver makes a detailed search of the files.

It is a long job looking through files in the hope of finding something relating to the priory. Before you know it wristwatches are telling you the time is ten past eight, and the gurgling noises from your stomachs are warning you of the need for food.
Almost ready to quit and call it a day, a wasted day, when Maurice suddenly holds aloft a sheet of paper in triumph. By the light of the single bulb you are able to make out the following.

The paper, possibly part of a journal, is written in a strong hand but the way the ink has faded slightly tells you that it was written several years ago. It seems to be a single sheet obviously meant to be part of a larger collection. Most of the page seems to deal with attempts to rationalise something, but as to what that something is there is no mention. The interesting part, little more than a couple of paragraphs mentions the Priory, the year 1922, and the finding of a book.
The similarities to the description in Stephen Daniels journal is instantly noticeable.

"… handwritten in a strange script composed of odd unmathematic angles and weird scratches of no discernible regularity of size or pattern, that book is an enigma for Sir William swears he has never seen its like in any museum or library.
We are both of the mind that within those pages, lie the answer to questions as yet unknown to history, both of these islands and the world beyond. Sadly the destruction carried out by the authorities has sealed the caverns below the priory forever, though Sir William is convinced that another opening must lie as yet unknown. He proposes that we, after a period, should return to that hill and begin a search.

Following my own studies into the strange, human-like bones that we had found strewn in abundance throughout the cavern. I must conclude that if the book dates to the time of those mysterious ape creatures, then its age must be incredible. Studying the book and the caverns further may result in a rewriting of history, with eternal fame going to those brave enough to return…"

Alas there is no more

"Either there is madness afoot, or something of major historical significance is. Possibly both" exclaimed Maurice, excited. He was tired, but the discovery had sparked his alertness.

"This book...surely they cannot be correct? It is an impossible conjecture. And yet...I confess I hope it is real. I wonder, this book - would it have been secreted in the British Library? or dare we hope left here?"

"I can't imagine they left such a treasure lying about," says Oliver, his interest rising with each new discovery. "If the British Library does have it, they're not exactly going to lend it out either. Besides, we don't even know what it looks like. We're going to need more information from someone who was there, even if they have gone mad. That means a trip to Hillside Sanitorium. Starting tomorrow, that is. It's getting late. I don't know about you, but I'm feeling a bit peckish. I know a good pub from my days at uni that serves excellent food - or at least they did before rationing."