Play@YSDC

Eham is an unremarkable example of an Anglo-Welsh border village. Dark stone cottages cluster closely to a 12th Century church. The drabness of the buildings a fitting accompaniment to the drabness of the countryside on a dreary October morning, which is, unsurprisingly, dominated by cloud and a dismal light rain.

As you drive the narrow lanes from the main road to the village itself, you are struck by two things. One, the lack of people, for no one appears at any of the cottages lace covered windows in response to your cars engine. Surely something to bring the curious to a bout of curtain twitching. Two, the ominous shadow of the hill, rising above the village causing a sudden iciness to creep through your veins.

Standing in a row to the north of the church a group of four, small unattractive, terraced cottages bear a weathered sign announcing ‘Church Cottages 1-4’. As you pull the car to a halt your impression is that these cottages are empty, unlived in. If not for a hint of coal smoke from the middle of the four cottages, and the fact that the door to the church is slightly ajar, you might think this place deserted…

"We want the first one," says Oliver. "Let's try knocking on the door. If nobody answers, we can check with the neighbour whose cottage is giving off smoke and then check at the church."

Maurice was irritable. He had not slept well, and fitfully when he did. Whenever he coughed, he had a splitting pain in his head. He was out of morphine, and it would be a few days before he had any more.

"Knocking, I can do" he grumbled, stamping up to the front door in a foul mood and knocking harder than was necessary, or indeed polite.

Maurice's heavy and sustained knocking bring no reply at No 1. However it does cause the lace curtains at No 2, where signs of a warm fire can be seen and smelt, to twitch in response. It also brings a questioning face to the partialy ajar door of the church.
Slowly, as if the door weighed heavilly, it opens and a small, balding figure steps into the daylight. For a moment or two the figure blinks furiously as if suddenly exposed to bright light, then you realise that this is no doubt an affliction. Still blinking wildly the figure moves out of the shadow of the church and reveals himself to be a short, middle aged man wearing a worn black suit, a green cardigan, which from the little you can see has seen better days, and a white collar denoting his position as the rector of the church.

Still blinking, owlishly, he uses one hand to pat the remaining hair on his head into some semblance of order, his other arm, his left, carries a small stack of books.

"Can I help you?" his voice carries the unmistakeable sing-song lilt of Welsh, "There has been no one at that cottage since Mr Thornton left a couple of years back, and you are the first visitors since then"

"Yes, thank you, sir," says Oliver. "We're looking for Mr. Thornton. He was an old friend of my late uncle, Stephen Daniels. You don't happen to know where he went, do you?"

Maurice descended into a coughing fit, turned his head in attempt not to spray the man with phlegm and blood. He needed morphine, dammit!

"I do apologise, Sir..." he mumbled. "Damn Krauts did a job on me over in Germany..." he explained, wheezing. Maybe a little war spirit and gratitude might smooth the wheels.

At Maurice's sudden burst of coughing, the poor man looks horrified. His face a sudden mixture of emotions pity. concern and distaste - mostly concern, "My dear boy please come in and sit a while, perhaps a glass of water?"

As he rushes forward to take Maurice by the arm, he flicks a glance over to Oliver, "Thornton? Afraid not he walked away about two years back, muttered something about being gone for a while to Mrs Thomas the church cleaner, picked up his rucksack and walked away".

By now he has helped lead the stricken Maurice into the churches somber interior, "Now just you take a seat there and I'll fetch a glass of water"

"Thank you again," says Oliver, accompanying them and seeing if there's anything he can do for Maurice. "We'll have to ask Mrs. Thomas about him later."

"The devil is in my lungs" moaned Maurice, holding his chest. "Oh for some Laudanum!" he wished, hoping his medical friend would take some bait.

"I do apologise, I have good days and bad days, and this is veritably the latter" he gave a thin smile, trying to control his breathing. "And a glass of water is well taken"

"I'd advise against Laudanum," says Oliver, looking through his medical bag. "It's known for being addictive. Let me see if I have something else in here that might help you find some relief."

OOC,I think we're already in the church.

At Maurice's reference to the devil, the open faced vicar pales slightly.
Within moments he has returned a large glass of water in hand, he passes it to the stricken Maurice, "There you are, Sip it slowly" realising that such advice is a little surplus to requirement, he coughs discretley and offers a hand to Oliver, "Clive Williams, welcome to the church of St Thomas" he gestures expansively at the unremakable interior of the church.

Suddenly, as if becoming aware of the books he is still carrying, he crosses to a cupboard near the font, stoops and begins packing the books away. "Now Thornton was a most interesting man. Had a breakdown you know, spent a few years recovering in some clinic nearby. Had some strange ideas, we spent several hours in debate" he rises from his stooped position and places a hand on the font, "Said he didn't believe in the power of God. Not in this God anyway, said his god was much older and more powerful. I often wondered just how cured he was"

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Williams," says Oliver, shaking the vicar's hand. "I'm Captain Oliver Carpenter, and my friend here is Captain Maurice Grey. It does indeed sound like Mr. Thornton was still suffering from whatever madness had taken him. Did you ever meet my uncle, Stephen Daniels? He was a churchman like yourself, and he came here with Mr. Thornton twenty years ago."

For a moment the friendliness of the vicars eyes are replaced with suspicion, "Twenty years ago? That was before my time I'm afraid, Mathew Williams was the vicar here then, so if anyone knew of your uncle it would have been him. Stephen Daniels you say?"

He appears to think hard for a moment, "I do recall the name...Oh yes, Thornton mentioned a Stephen Daniels, seems whatever had caused his breakdown had in some way a connection to a Stephen Daniels"

The trail was a curved and knotted one, and that only made Maurice more keen to wrestle.

"Mathew Williams, you say?" he said, noting the name down with a pencil. His pad had various names and lines on it, like a spider web.

"Is the Revd Williams still around in these parts, Sir? It would be a boon to our search if we could speak with him?"

"My uncle and Mr. Thornton were part of a team that explored Exham Priory," explains Oliver. "What happened there was the reason Mr. Thornton went to the sanitorium."

Previously Maurice said:   "Is the Revd Williams still around in these parts, Sir? It would be a boon to our search if we could speak with him?"

Clive Williams smiles at the note taking Maurice, "Afraid not. My uncle Mathew died several years back and I was given his parish. Kind of keeping it in the family, but then we are all family in the eyes of the Lord."

Turning his gaze to Oliver, he considers for a moment as if unsure of what to say, "Ah yes the old priory up on the hill. Heard there was some shennanigans up there years ago. So your uncle Stephen Daniels was mixed up with that? I know little about it, mostly hearsay, but I do believe that my uncle made some notes about it...For posterity you know?" he smiles a not totaly sure smile.
"Wait here I will find them". With that he trns and disapears through a side door...

OOC:   Please make Spot Hidden rolls -10 to notice something

Maurice muttered an apology and condolence as Clive scuttled through the side door.

He stifled a cough and turned his attention to Oliver as they waited. "Everyone has a story to tell about Exham, it seems, but every story is without meat. We just get the a vague flavour of unsavoury, unwholesome, and insane" he said. "Why, it is magnificently infuriating!" he declared with a smile.

Oliver notices nothing unusual. "Too right!" he says. "It's dashed inconvenient that everyone who was present has either died, disappeared, or gone completely mad."

OOC:   The keeper hand waves magnificently and;

With Reverend Williams departure something about the font catches Maurices eye.

Maurice traced a finger over the church font. He had been a Church goer in his youth. In his more mature years, Religion seemed more about ceremony and solace than truth. Not that he objected to it, but his faith was faint, like an echo or shadow.

"Divs...Ops...Magna...Mat...." he read out.

"Have we not read that before?" he asked Oliver, his heart quickened and his mind awakened. "This font is old...older than the Church I think..." he traced his finger over strange marks around the edge and stranger cuts in the stone. The inside of the font was stained.

"If one was of a morbid disposition, one could see this as a sacrificial slab...." he speculated, shuddering at the thought.

"Yes, you're definitely onto something," says Oliver, inspecting the font. "I wonder if those stains might be blood. And we have seen those words before, you're right.."

"Surely this cannot be coincidence?" asked Maurice, griping his stout walking stick. "Something is afoot, and our host has been too long..." he suggested. It was a bold and paranoid suggestion, but boldness and paranoia infected any man who had been in the war...

"Has it been that long?" asks Oliver, checking his watch. "This must have been here at least since Roman times. Ops is a Roman god, if I recall correctly. I doubt our host knows much about it, but we can certainly ask him."

As Oliver finishes speaking the Vicar reappears, clutching a leather bound book in his hand, "I knew it was there somewhere, took me a while to lay my hands on it" He holds out the book as he approaches.
"You were saying something about the Romans? Fascinating people, had a shrine near here I believe".

"Yes, quite so. This font here looks Roman, Vicar," says Oliver. "I'm sure you've noticed the Latin inscription, and my friend has noticed that it looks to be older than this church. I'm sure many churches were built on top of old Roman sites dedicated to pagan gods. Do you have any books about local Roman sites by any chance?"

Mathews, his eyes suddenly aglow with interest, shakes his head, "Sadly no Captain. Church records show no evidence of the building having been constructed over any earlier site. And as far as any Roman buildings in this area, only a suspected villa some three miles to the east may lie between us and Gloucester. But who knows"

At mention of the font he walks over and runs a hand, almost lovingly, over the deeply inscribed letters, "Yes 'magna mater' translates as Latin, it means 'great mother' but not 'div ops', at least Ihave no knowledge of it. My uncle used to think that it meant 'In the name of the great mother'. I think he had heard that from another person but I don't know who."

For a few seconds he gazes at the ancient stone as if seeing it for the first time, "According to church records it seems that it has always been here. Certainly it was in the 14th century and mentioned in the 17th century documents dealing with the trial for withcraft of Lady Trevor of Cornwall in 1614".

"I believe Ops is the name of a Roman god," says Oliver. "I'm not entirely sure what 'div' means, however. We've seen these words before elsewhere. I'm not familiar with the trial of Lady Trevor in 1674, Vicar, but I would be interested in learning more, and what relevance the font had to her trial."

"It sounds pertinent" agreed Maurice. "I wonder if there is locally library, or suchlike. With a bit of luck, we might find records of the trail itself?"

Williams’ face wrinkles in thought, “The nearest library would be in Anchester, but I doubt they would have any records of the Trevor case. I think you would need to go to Gloucester or Cheltenham, but I doubt you would find any more than the records held here will tell you.”

“Here, this is my uncles journal” he passes you the small leather-bound book he had carried into the church, “You may find the notes he made concerning the events up on the hill twenty years back, of use. Though he wrote little”
He turns and disappears once more into whatever room lay behind the door, “I shan’t be long, I’ll search out the parish records for 1674”.

Oliver,Flipping through the pages of Mathew Williams' journal quickly brings you to his somewhat brief notes on the Exham Priory occurrence. Most of what he has written tells you little that you didn’t already know. It seems that de la Poer was worried about strange noises he had heard beneath or even within the walls of the restored priory. He had recruited aid from Captain Norrys (ret) and several others, [i]“...including a young curate from Gloucester by the name of Daniels...”[/i] A nightmare had ensued from which de la Poer had been dragged insane. Norrys was dead, and poor Thornton had lost his mind. Stories had circulated over the manner of the death, but the truth had been quietened for the sake of the young man’s family. The site of the priory was subsequently cleared, so no remains of the building should be visible. All that remained after the clearance was the single road that led to the hill top. There is little of practical use within the writings, indeed you might find more detail in a newspaper article. However for the first time you have found mention of your uncles presence.

"Thank you, Vicar," says Oliver. He begins looking through the journal. "Well, this doesn't have much new information, but it does seem to confirm my uncle's involvement. Apparently there's nothing left of the old priory any more, just the road leading up to the top of the hill. However, there must still be things underground."

After a while the small door opens once more and the Vicar reappears with a large leather bound book in his hands. From its condition you guess it’s quite old.

“Church records” he puffs as he places the large book on a small table by the main door. With an almost loving touch he opens the book and turns to a section filled with the rather difficult handwriting of a past age.
“Yes here it is, 1674 the trial and execution of Lady Margaret de la Poer, wife of Lord Geoffrey de la Poer of Anchester” he glances up his brow wrinkling with the obvious strain of reading 17th century English. “It states that the said Margaret, formerly of Cornwall, was found guilty of the crime of witchcraft, communion with demons, and other divers wickedness. She was also accused of the crimes of infanticide and cannibalism. According to the records she was hanged in the market square at Anchester, her body burned and her ashes mixed with salt were cast onto the holy ground of Exham Priory”

He smiles, “She was known as ‘the bane of children’ and her name is kept alive in local children’s nursery rhymes. But I digress, it seems that the main part of the evidence against her was that she had been caught holding a child by its feet over the font of the local St Michael’s Church at Exham”. Again he looks up from the pages, “That would be this font, it doesn’t say if the child was alive or dead”

He closes the book with a thump, “Of course the people of that time were more than a little superstitious, and showed more than a little willingness to believe all sorts of things” he glances towards the stained and chipped font, “Still you never know”.

"I recall that in times past, any woman of dubious character might quickly be accused of witchcraft and have little defence" replied Maurice. "I attach little gravity to such accusations. As you say, it was a different time. Before modern thinking".

He ran a finger along the font. "I wonder why she would hold a baby above this font. It would not be a Christian thing to do, would it? outside of baptism. And Infanticide and Cannabilism are more concrete crimes that the vagueness of communion with demons. Who can say? Perhaps she was merely guilty of a certain feebleness of mind or deficit in sanity. Of course, in modern times we would treat such poor creatures in a more enlightened way!" he said, making sure he didn't think too deeply about their recent visit to the madhouse.

"I don't suppose we can clarify if Margaret de la Poer had any children, and if so, whom?"

"Yes, it does seem that there must be something to these accusations," says Oliver. "Perhaps madness does run in that family, considering what happened with Mr. de la Poer twenty years back. Yet Mr. Thornton was also clearly affected, and he isn't related as far as I know."

"I am minded to try my hand at genealogy, although I confess that art has never appealed to me before. The LaBoer family is a web of madness, and the more we look, the more we uncover!"

"Yes, good thinking,' says Oliver. "Perhaps he even has living relatives. I wouldn't mind finding out more about my own family history, either. There've been whispers that members of my family on both sides have been involved in odd occurrences even before I heard about Stephen Daniels having been at Exham Priory."

Williams nods his head vigourously, at the suggestion of doind a little research into the de la Poer's, "The church has records of the families history. If you follow me gentlemen I will take you to where they are stored" He leads you through the door into what you think must be some kind of storage room, a room that has been little disturbed recently, if all the dust and cobwebs are to be believed.
Crossing the room he takes a battered oil lamp from a shelf, "Have you a match?"
At the far end of this cluttered room is a wooden trapdoor set into the flagstoned floor...

Oliver fishes a matchbook out of his pocket and hands a match to Williams. "Here you go, Vicar," he says.

Maurice never liked flames. He walked over to the trapdoor and gave it a scuff with his shoe. He coughed despite best intentions. He didn't like dust either.

Gritting his teeth he pulled his handkerchief over his mouth.

"All ready gentlemen, but do forgive me if I become indisposed. The dust..."

Unable to control himself, Maurice had another coughing fit. What really bothered him, however were the thoughts racing around his head.

Head's all a muddle. Not thinking straight. Should have asked about what happened to the cat back at the asylum. Reminds me of something. What was it? Some book or play. Madman kept asking for a cat. That's right, so the cat could eat the birds, and the birds eat the spiders, and the spiders eat the flies. "The blood is the life." Too much blood and the eating of flesh about this matter. Makes me want to become one of those vegetarian crackpots. God, I could use some laudanum!

"Excuse me, gents. Weakness of the flesh. Shall we continue?"

Wiiliams takes the match and lights the small oil lamp, at the same time looking concernedly at the gray faced Maurice, "Are you okay?" Then without awaiting an answer reaches down and pulls the trapdoor open, a short flight of rickety looking wooden steps lead down to a small stone lined chamber.

The chamber's walls seem to be lined with piles of books, all seemingly the same in appearance and all equally festooned with dust and cobwebs. Williams smiles, sheepishly, "I don't get down here much, and Ivy Jones the cleaner isn't as spry as she used to be"

At the far end of this chamber you can see an iron gate, you guess it must separate the Churches crypt from this 'storeroom'. Williams gesture toward the piles of books, "Church records. If there is anything to be found it will be in there...somewhere"

"Got our work cut out for us." Maurice scanned the filthy old books. "Don't suppose these are in some kind of order, are they? By family name, maybe?"

He looked at Oilver. "Why don't you look for anything about the Daniels, and I'll try to find out about the de la Poers. Hmm, French name. Suppose they came over with Bill the Conqueror. Well, here we go."

He examined the nearest volume and compared it to others, trying to determine if there was some kind of method to this chaos.

"Yes, that makes sense," says Oliver. "I'd be best suited to find details on my own family." He begins searching the records for references to Stephen Daniels and other members of his branch of the family.

It is a long dusty job. The books are stacked in no particular order and for the most part deal with local births, death and marriages, ordinary stuff which tells you nothing. However there are shards of information and by four oclock you have amassed the following;

It would seem that the title of Baron Exham had been granted to a Robert de la Poer by Henry I in 1115 in order to enforce his rule over his troublesome Welsh subjects. The title and the lands that went with it, including that of the Priory on Exham hill had then been passed down through the de la Poers's until 1618 when the line vanishes. The title and lands then revert to the crown and is sold off by James I (VI of Scotland) in order to pay some debt or another.

The last mention of the de la Poer's tells of the slaughter of Richard, the 10th Baron Exham, and three of his four children on March 14th 1618. It seems that the murderer had been his eldest son, Walter, who had then fled overseas beyond the reach of the law to disappear somewhere in the American colonies. There is no mention of a reason for such a hienous act, although insanity is hinted at.

Of Margaret de la Poer, previously known as Trevor, other than records of her marriage to Richard de la Poer in 1588 there is nothing, Although you note that the book in which this marriage record is written is missing several pages as if they had been roughly torn out.

Records show that Richard and Margaret had 4 children, two boys and two girls, of which Walter had been the eldest born in 1589. Records show that all the family, as well as numerous servants, were murdered that night when Walter went on his murderous rampage. There are no burial records, but as Exham had been a Priory it seems logical that it would have had a private chapel and crypt. As to the location of these there are no records.

There is no mention of a Daniels in any of the records

OOC: Please roll Spot Hidden

Even in the darkness, something catches Oliver's eye.

OOC,Spot Hidden roll (55% skill) in the records room: [dice]0[/dice]

"Say! Looks like we've found something, mate."

Indeed, as you move one of the last piles of books you notice something that catches the light of the oil lamp momentarily. Closer inspection reveals it to be a small, delicate, key. It looks old and tarnished as if it had lain here for a long time. Too small and delicate for a door or the iron gate that divides this room from the Church Crypt beyond, it looks more the kind of key that might fit a small box or a book clasp perhaps.
As you study it Williams whispers, although it seems unnecessary, “I’ve never seen a box or such with a lock to match that key in the church”...

Maurice examined the key closely. "Wonder how old the thing is," he muttered.

"Curious," says Oliver, peering at the little key. "It might unlock a book, but I didn't notice any books in here with locks on."

Maurice studies the key. Lifting it high and turning it this way and that in the light of the lamp. The corroded state of the metal masks some of the intricacy of its construction. But there is something about the delicate flower tracery that covers the stem of the small key that makes him think that the key must date from the late medieval period or early renaissance.

A box? Perhaps, he muses, but most likely a book like those he had seen in the British Library dating from that time.

"This is very old. Much older than Margaret's time. Maybe all the way back to the Conquest. Ever seen any really old locked book around these parts? Anybody inquiring about such?" Maurice shows the key to the vicar. "Nice bit of work. Could be quite a find for the church is the book could be found."

Williams looks closely at the key that Maurice holds up. “No, there is no book here in the church with a lock on it. Such a book would be rare indeed...A family Bible perhaps, but what family there are no records of any family around here that might own such a Bible”.

He ponders for a moment or two his brows beetled in thought, “Maybe the Poe’rs once owned such a thing, but if they did I would think it long gone perhaps overseas with Walter”