[IC] Chapter 4: The Wergyn Estate

[Zero]

Henry Joseph Lewis III rolled his eyes and let out a small sigh as he took in the state of the ramshackle dwelling which lay before him. Honestly, was everyone in this place completely destitute? The haughty dilettante silently trudged along behind the Eton group, visibly displeased with this new situation he found himself involved in.

[Mr. Handy]

"It seems we're expected," says Cynthia. "He may have had the same sort of dream I did. I expect he'll be the old man of whom I dreamed." Having been invited, she enters the cottage first.

[Whitehorse]

Grigori follows within, somewhat warily.

Perhaps this gentlemen might be able to shed some light on the issue with the squire, and on the measures that might be taken to halt whatever evil might be afoot.

[LTD1969]

I will also accept the householder's invitation and venture inside his no doubt charming cottage.

[jp1885]

Alas Professor, the word 'charming' can only apply in this case if laden with the most heavy of ironies.

Imagine the abode of an elderly man who has lived alone with only the barest of necessities for several decades. Imagine the dirt and the grime of someone for whom wash day is but a distant memory and spring cleaning is an alien concept.

Imagine the weak light struggling through the miasma of dust (that which manages to fight past the small grease-smeared window panes at any rate). Imagine the bric-a-brac that lines the modest walls, throwing dark shadows that stagger under the illumination of a single oil lamp.

Imagine the smell.

Imagine the tiny, wizened form, half-hidden among soiled blankets; lying on an ancient camp bed and propped up by mouldering cushions.

For it is he: Mr. O'Kent.

OOC,Please make a CON roll. If you fail, the stink and dirt of the place overwhelms your sensibilities, forcing you to take a penalty die for every roll while within the cottage.

He beckons you over, hacking a dry cough as he tries to speak.

"I ain't got long, so listen well. While you was far away I tried to reach you in yer dreams, but talkin' in pictures never gives a clear message. When you got nearer I spoke to you d'rectly through them's who is sensitive, but when I used that daft ol' bird in the village HE was waitin' and got through first. So it's good you's come to speak face to face eh?"

He coughs again, the effort of speaking clearly draining his energy.

"Won't be long afore I dies... Can't keep Him down much longer..." he whispers, collapsing back onto the cushions. "Water, rock, fire, wind... My ancestors called on the elements to build a wall around Him once He was buried under the church. The Old Squire knew how important it was, but he went and died... When the water was gone the circle was broke an' it let Him reach out... New Squire's a weak man... Now the stones is gone an' they put out the fire; 'tis only the wind what keeps Him from rising... They'll be 'ere tomorrow to take down me washin'..."

The effort is too much. He closes his eyes, gesturing weakly with one hand whilst slipping the other under his grubby shirt.

"I ain't got long... You gotta go under the church tonight an' finish Him afore the wall is gone... Protect yerself wi' this..."

His breathing becomes shallower. Even those without medical knowledge can tell that he does not have long for this world...

[Mr. Handy]

Cynthia is made of sterner stuff than she had thought, and the miasma doesn't bother her much. Already ahead of the others, she approaches the old man. "Thank you, sir," she says, accepting the object. "How can we defeat...Him? And who is he?"

OOC,CON x 5 roll (50% stat) in the cottage: [dice]0[/dice]

[Whitehorse]

Grigori is halted for a moment by the noxious odours, worse even than the serfs at his grandmother's dacha....

Con=60,[dice]0[/dice]

[Whitehorse]

But his encounters with lowly peasants had largely inured him to squalor...

"What is this thing old man... Pray do explain yourself in plain words, we cannot be puzzling them if we are faced with danger..."

[jp1885]

"So... many... questions y' shud know the answers to... He be the Norman knight who... Bad man... Crusades..."

Coughing dreadfully, old man gives up trying to speak and points a trembling finger towards a dark corner of the shabby parlour.

"Y' need to read them books... I never could..."

The hand he has placed inside his shirt bunches up into a fist, as if grasping something.

"An' take this..."

With a final shuddering rattle, he collapses back and falls silent.

Outside, the wind howls, chasing down the crooked chimney and startling the feeble embers in the fireplace.

The nothing...

You are alone...

With a dead man.

Please make a 1/1d4 SAN test.

[Mr. Handy]

Cynthia manages to suppress what would have been a scream. Mustering her courage, she opens the dead man's hand to reach the object within.

OOC,Sanity roll (current level 77) in the cottage: [dice]0[/dice]

[Whitehorse]

Current San=45,[dice]0[/dice]

[Whitehorse]

OOC: Ah. so close...

san loss,[dice]0[/dice]

[Whitehorse]

At last, Grigori's stomach turns at the stench and decay of the crespuscular old corpse that was a moment ago alive. He ducks away and cough vomits into his silk handkerchief...

[LTD1969]

CON:50

[dice]0[/dice]



I make a dash back outside to regurgitate my breakfast in the yard.

[LTD1969]

Current SAN: 58

[dice]0[/dice]

[LTD1969]

[dice]0[/dice]


In between vomiting I also do some gibbering.

[Zero]

Henry Joseph Lewis III nearly wretched at the foul odor which permeated the cottage and refused to bear it. He exited and remained outside, content to let the others speak with the decrepit old man. Every so often, he would peek inside to determine whether the nosy Eton lot had finished with what they had come to do. At the moment the elderly man passed on, the dilettante felt a mixture of distress and relief. Even though he was a good distance from the corpse, the sight was still unsettling, but at least he wouldn't have to linger here any longer. Surely the others would want to leave now that the old nutter had expired.

"Alright. Grab the books and whatever else and let's get out of here." the young man said, handkerchief held to his face.

CON (55),[dice]0[/dice]

SAN (61),[dice]1[/dice]

SAN Loss (1d4),[dice]2[/dice]

OOC:   Even with the Sanity loss, I downplayed its effect here as the stench would have definitely sent HJLIII scrambling for fresher air. He wouldn't be in an enclosed space with a corpse.

[jp1885]

The dead man's grip is tight, and it is with many a sickening crunch that his cold fingers are prised open.

Held within is a stone, about the size of a sovereign. It is a strange greenish colour and smooth like a pebble. A grubby piece of string runs through a hole in said stone and runs around O'Kent's scrawny neck. It looks like it will snap (the string I mean, although the same could be said for the neck) with little effort.

Revealed by moving the old man's oil lamp, the aforementioned bookshelf lurks in a corner of the room. A cursory glance will discern a number of ancient and mouldering tomes on the bottom shelves, while what appears to be ledgers and notebooks pile up on the higher ones.

This, saving a venerable armchair and of course the old man's cot, make up the parlour. An open doorway leads to what appears to be a kitchen, while set against the opposite wall is are two closed closed wooden doors, one about three feet from the other.

Mr. Lewis, while outside you notice that the air is whipping up most alarmingly. Amid the shrieking wind you think you hear a brief scream. The mist around the ruined church seems to curl around into strange shapes.

[Mr. Handy]

Cynthia carefully removes the stone from around the dead man's neck. If she can't do it without snapping the string, she'll take a new piece of string from her sewing kit and restring it. Then she places it around her own neck. That done, she will next inspect the books on the shelf, which have been calling to her ever since she saw them.

[Zero]

Henry Joseph Lewis III peered curiously towards the swirling mists around the old church. He was no expert on meteorology, though he had perused the works of both Theophrastus and Aristotle on the subject in his estate's library over the years. He knew enough to realize that something that they didn't want to be caught up in it was brewing.

"Go on, grab a bag and snatch them all up. We can look them over later. I think the weather might be taking a turn for the worse out here. We should find better shelter." he directed at Cynthia.