Play@YSDC

Perhaps sensing Mr. Lewis' needs, Rev. Skipp puts lights his small stove and puts the kettle on.

"Academics hm? Well I'm afraid you'll find that Major Perryman is not exactly the bookish type. I called in on Wergyn Hall to pay my respects when he first moved in and he struck me as a very hard-headed fellow - gave me very short thrift I'm afraid to say."

"He owns a factory in the West Midlands by all accounts; he certainly employs a lot of rough chaps from that neck of the woods - from what I gather they put the wind up the household staff, especially poor Sam the gamekeeper. They're determined to 'modernise' the estate you see - diverting watercourses and such."

"If he is moving stones, then it's probably something to do with that. The new Squire does seem very set on digging the place up - obsessed even. Perhaps that's why he's contesting his predecessor's will - circling the square and wotnot."

As the kettle begins to whistle, the vicar pauses in his monologue to make the tea.

"We were told that he has hired men to keep out intruders," says Cynthia. "Has anyone trespassed on his land recently?"

"No one dare set foot into the Wergyn estate without the new Squire's express permission I'm afraid to say. His, um, 'associates' see to that; although, not being country folk, they don't know all the highways and byways. I daresay Sam or Mr. O'Kent could run rings around them if they saw fit."

Soon the tea is brewed and served, bringing some much-needed cheer after such a strange and dispiriting night. The good Reverend is content to sip in silence, save to answer any further questions.

As the church bells ring eleven, he stifles a yawn. "Oh my, is that the time? Well, I don't think I'll trouble my housekeeper at this late hour; I shall bunk down here again. I assume you are staying at the inn? Only I don't recommend the pews..."

He smiles weakly, eyeing up a neat pile of blankets with tired eyes.

"Yes, we're staying at the inn," says Cynthia. "We were hoping to secure an introduction to talk to the Squire, but that will probably have to wait until the morning. I see we'd best be on our way now. We would like to meet Sam and Mr. O'Kent as well. Do you know if either of them is about tonight?"

“Oh they’ll both be in their beds by now: most folk are early risers around here and unlike me they don’t suffer from...” The Reverend trails off, as if troubled by something. “Anyway, I think I will follow their example. If you’re set in accessing the Wergyn estate, pop in tomorrow morning and I’ll direct you to Sam’s.“

OOC: Perhaps an ‘idea’ roll might be in order?

Success,Does it not strike you as odd that a fellow with a no-doubt comfortable vicarage and a housekeeper would rather sleep in a cramped vestry?

Also, considering how late the hour is, please make a CON roll if don’t intend to return to the inn. If you fail, then make all dice rolls with a -5 modifier.

Cynthia is a little tired, but she shrugs it off. How many times has she stayed up late because she couldn't put a good book down, after all?

OOC,Idea roll (70% stat) about what to do: [dice]0[/dice] CON roll (50% stat) for staying out too late: [dice]1[/dice]

Grigori retains a nagging sense of urgency, but is unsure of how they might proceed any further tonight, it is getting late and it has been a long day...

Idea=80%,[dice]0[/dice]

Con=60%,[dice]1[/dice]

A look of haunted embarrassment crosses the Vicar's face, as if he is unsure whether to confide in you. After a moment of hesitation, he speaks.

"This is going to sound silly, but I always sleep better in the church. It-it's the nightmares you see - they keep me awake anywhere else. They started a few weeks ago; I put them down to some sort of localised miasma, but no-one else in the village seems to suffer from them. According to Miss Coates - she's the local historian - they lack my 'sensitivity'. She'll have you believe it's an old bone that's nailed up in the pulpit thats's protecting me in here. Supposedly it's the thighbone of St. Peter himself!"

He laughs nervously.

"So much for a woman of learning to believe in such medieval quackery! No, it is cooler in the church and thus more conducive to a restful sleep - that must be it. Now, I hate to be rude, but if you don't mind I think I'll turn in..."

"All right, then," says Cynthia. "Good night, and thank you for your time."

Henry Joseph Lewis III's disappointment was evident when he was not offered any tea by the clergyman. However, when it seemed that the group would be forced to return to the inn for the night, his mood brightened slightly. The journey here was a fool's errand, and he would certainly make note of it in his report to his uncle.

"Have a pleasant night, Vicar." he said, then moved towards the door.

I'm going to head back to the Inn with the others, although given the events of our journey here, it's not without a certain amount of trepidation.

Fortified by the Vicar's tea (yes Mr. Lewis, you too had a cup), you sally forth from the church and back into the dark, damp night.

Your walk through the churchyard and across the village green is mercifully uneventful. As such you find your way back to the lane that leads to the inn without difficulty.

But, you wonder as you proceed along said thouroughfare, does anything lie in wait once more?

Listen rolls if you please...

Success,Mercifully, nothing can be heard save the distant scream of a fox. It seems the way to the inn is open.

Failure,The distant scream of a fox makes you jump, but you hear nothing else.

"Nothing out there but a fox," says Cynthia, her hearing keen as always.

OOC,Listen roll (55% skill) on the way back: [dice]0[/dice]

Listen Skill 20% [dice]0[/dice]

Professor Garrett might be getting on, but it seems his hearing hasn't deserted him yet. He agrees with Cynthia that the noise is probably a fox, "but quite a disconcerting noise they make, one could almost believe it was someone screaming."

OOC: This is only based on the hellish row made in a nocturnal encounter/fight between a friend's massive ginger tom cat and an urban fox a few years back. I'm not an expert on foxes or anything.

Keeper only,[dice]0[/dice][dice]1[/dice][dice]2[/dice]

It is no doubt with great relief that you return to the inn without incident. While the hour is late and the fires are being doused, it is still warm and snug compared to the dismal exterior.

Kipps the innkeeper looks up from his task of stacking bottles and, trusting you had a pleasant excursion, informs you that your rooms are ready. It transpires that, lacking precise instruction, he has divvied out the rooms thus:

Miss Knight will naturally have a room to herself, Mr. Tereshchenko will share a room with Mr. Pritchard while Prof. Garrett will bunk in with Mr. Lewis. The gentlemen's rooms abut each other and are opposite the lady's chamber.

The rooms are basic, but clean and comfortable enough, with what little belongings you have bought with you neatly stacked in a corner. You each have a modest, slightly squeaky bed and an oil lamp to see by if you wish to do anything before turning in.

"Are we to turn in for the night, then?" Cynthia asks the others.

And so to bed, which is rather comfortable (even if perhaps the pillows are a little too soft).

Considering your recent exertions it is not surprising that you soon fall into a deep sleep...

Mr. Tereshchenko,[i]Something is in the room with you - you feel,it's malice. No, not in the room exactly, but around the room: trying to get in. You feel it probing, looking for weaknesses, but ultimately you sense frustration and anger. It cannot get in. Brief images flicker through your mind: large stones being dragged across a bleak field, a ruined church, flapping cloth, smouldering straw, a decrepit figure sitting in an ancient chair room. With a crooked finger he beckons you and-[/i]

Prof. Garrett,[i]Something is in the room with you - you feel,it's malice. No, not in the room exactly, but around the room: trying to get in. You feel it probing, looking for weaknesses, but ultimately you sense frustration and anger. It cannot get in. Brief images flicker through your mind: large stones being dragged across a bleak field, a ruined church, flapping cloth, smouldering straw, a decrepit figure sitting in an ancient chair room. With a crooked finger he beckons you and-[/i]

Mr. Pritchard,[i]Something is in the room with you - you feel,it's malice. No, not in the room exactly, but around the room: trying to get in. You feel it probing, looking for weaknesses, but ultimately you sense frustration and anger. It cannot get in. Brief images flicker through your mind: large stones being dragged across a bleak field, a ruined church, flapping cloth, smouldering straw, a decrepit figure sitting in an ancient chair room. With a crooked finger he beckons you and-[/i]

Miss Knight,[i]Something is in the room with you - you feel,it's malice. No, not in the room exactly, but around the room: trying to get in. You feel it probing, looking for weaknesses, but ultimately you sense frustration and anger. It cannot get in. Brief images flicker through your mind: large stones being dragged across a bleak field, a ruined church, flapping cloth, smouldering straw, a decrepit figure sitting in an ancient chair room. With a crooked finger he beckons you and-[/i]

Mr. Lewis,[i]Something is in the room with you - you feel,it's malice. No, not in the room exactly, but around the room: trying to get in. You feel it probing, looking for weaknesses, but ultimately you sense frustration and anger. It cannot get in. Brief images flicker through your mind: large stones being dragged across a bleak field, a ruined church, flapping cloth, smouldering straw, a decrepit figure sitting in an ancient chair room. With a crooked finger he beckons you and-[/i]

"Good mornin'."

There is a polite knock at your bedroom door.

"Breakfast'll be served in fifteen minutes. I'll be bringin' up a basin of hot water in a moment."

The inn may be simple, but it's host and his staff are most efficient. Soon you are washed and dressed (happily someone in Hereford has seen fit to forward your luggage from the Green Dragon). After a reasonable night's sleep, you find yourselves seated in the snug with a hearty English breakfast before you.

"May I enquire as to your plans for today? Will you be stayin' another night?" asks Mr. Kipps. "Only so's I knows whether the missus needs to wash the sheets quickly like."

"I expect we will," says Cynthia, who feels refreshed in spite of her strange dream. She had lit the oil lamp and read a few pages of her current book before going to sleep. She hadn't wanted to wait until the next day to find out if the dashing Captain James Foote managed to rescue Lady Patricia from the pirates.

OOC,Do we heal any damage after a night's rest?