Play@YSDC

"Why was he born so beautiful?
Why was he born at all?
He’s no bloody use to anyone,
He’s no bloody use at all!"

Nightingale is not your favourite person at the moment.

Some retired DI rings to call in a favour and suddenly you’re jammed into a rented people carrier; travelling west to god-knows where. Having left the motorway, you find yourselves navigating a series of ever-narrowing roads in the middle of the countryside, trying hard not the scrape the car against thick gloomy hedgerows every time you meet an oncoming vehicle. Thankfully the autumnal weather is dull enough to make headlights necessary, giving you plenty of warning of their approach.

The testy voice of the satnav seems impatient for the journey to be over as you drive past old cottages and expensive new-builds that, strung out along a narrow B-road, make up the Herefordshire village of Nennington.

"Your destination is two hundred yards on the left," the satnav announces.

Partially obscured by the bend in the road ahead of you, coloured lights - an attempt to dispel the midday gloom perhaps - mark the site of the pub where your contact has arranged to meet you.

"Whatever he wants shouldn't be too challenging," you remember Nightingale saying. "DI Butterfield isn't the kind of man who possesses much of an imagination - at best it'll be a restless spirit and you're more than capable of handling those. However some country air will do you all the world of good."

OOC:   Welcome friends to your next case file! I hope you enjoy "Why Was He Born So Beautiful?"

"It could be worse," says Jordan, looking out the window at their destination. "There are worse places to meet than a pub."

Des wasn’t convinced. The countryside was wet, there were some strange smells and her mobile signal was barely one bar! She looked out the window at the pub and sighed. It looked like somewhere that sold real ale rather than cocktails and sambuca shots!

For the first portion of the journey, Leo was able to make fairly steady progress on Angry Birds: Star Wars edition, but the closer they got to the destination, the rougher the roads became. "Feltercarb!" he shouted in frustration, then blushing at the expletive he'd allowed himself in front of the ladies. "My apologies, ladies..." he said. "And you, too, Izzy." the sound of a grin crept into the last bit.

He slipped the battery out of his "good phone," and dropped them both into his backpack before pulling out a paper sack with a couple of sandwiches that Molly prepared when the satnav announced their arrival. "Well, I guess we will find out about those contents later..." with almost a hint of relief in his voice. He grabbed a PNB and a couple of pencils out of his pack, slipped them into his jacket pocket.

"I'm with you on that issue, mate," he said to Edward. "Han Solo's story started in a pub. Marion Ravenwood's story started in a pub. A lot of amazing stories start in a pub."

"That's how Dungeons & Dragons campaigns usually start," says Jordan. "Everyone meets in a pub."

Skipper, after several hours quitly snoring in the back seat like a giant bumblebee, has been happily messing with a thirty year old film SLR camera, a '90s era Nikon with a small zoom lens and no ICs whatsoever. This had apparently been just purchased from some laneway market sale.

"Perfect place to try out the black and white film. I even picked up some black and white infrared."

At the same time as the sat nav declares the journey to be nearly over, Izzy hits send on her latest message to Alice, complete with a photo of the surrounding countryside. They've been texting back and forth for most of the journey, with Izzy suggesting they hire a cottage nearby for a weekend fairly soon. Unlike some of her more Londonphile colleagues, Izzy is perfectly happy outside of the M25, with fond memories of childhood holidays sailing the Norfolk Broads or visiting Butlins camps on the south coast. She's looking right for the countryside too, channeling her inner Wendy Corduroy - plaid shirt, smart jeans and walking boots, enough that she could easily fit in as a particularly well dressed rambler.

She looks up at Leo's comment. "Battlestar this time, huh? We need to get you some better gorram swear words..." She sighs happily. "Anyway, my amazing story began in a coffee shop. Still, I'll never say no to a decent pub..."

Turning in her seat towards Des, Izzy asks with a grin, "Are you sure you're even old enough to drink?" She slips the battery out of her work phone just in case, but keeps the battery intact in her personal phone, expecting a reply from Alice soon enough. She reckons she can take it out again if the situation calls for magic, but really, why would anyone need to cast a spell whilst sipping beer in a pub?

The satnav concludes her instructions with a triumphant “you have reached your destination” when you pull into the car park of the imaginatively-named Nennington Arms: a typical half-timbered country inn that once catered for tired and thirsty farm workers but now offers a cordon bleu dining experience and a comfortable bed; with en-suite; for those earning considerably more.

Following Nightingale’s instructions, you head for the front bar: a faux-rustic room, seemingly set up to cater for locals and other necessary evils while a few decent, well-paid folk congregate in the restaurant. Disappointingly the place doesn’t fall silent as you enter, but a large heavyset man waves you over to his table.

Izzy spots the man waving and heads across, assuming the others to be in tow. As she approaches the table, she gives a friendly smile, and offers a hand for the man to shake upon reaching him.

"DI Butterfield, I presume? I'm DC Cooper. Or just Izzy."

She resists the urge to make any Hot Fuzz based jokes...

”Des,” said Des by way of introduction. She didn’t offer to shake the old white guy’s hand. Instead she turned to look at at Leo and nodded towards the bar…

The man rises somewhat clumsily from his seat shakes Izzy's hand with his own meaty paw.

"Former DI," he says - his deep, gruff Cockney accent contrasting with his jovial manner. "Retired now, so you can all call me Mike. Pleased to meet you Izzy - you too Des."

If he is perturbed by Des' lack of handshake, he doesn't show it. He does however notice her nod towards the bar.

"Oh yeah, where are my manners? Sit yourselves down and we can do the introductions over a drink eh? My shout - what'll you have?"

Once you've decided what to drink, he lumbers over to the bar, leaving you to take a seat around the table and take in your surroundings.

The front bar is tailored to look rustic. It is low-ceilinged and gently-lit, with oak beams, strings of hop vines and horse brasses. A fire burns in the hearth at one end of the room, surrounded a few elderly patrons supping their drinks and warming their bones. It is quiet, with a handful of people, casually dressed or in overalls, enjoying a lunchtime drink.

OOC:   By all means make an Observation, Read Person, or indeed any other roll, if you wish.

Izzy thanks the man as she takes a seat, scanning the bar from her perch to see what's on offer. "I'll take a Rosie's Pig, if that's alright, thank you," she says, referring to the rather crisp local cider on tap. One of many ciders available, she's pleased to see, given the location. As Mike listens to what the others are ordering and heads to the bar, Izzy glances around, looking for anything that might catch her eye.

As she's looking around, she feels her phone buzz and the Whatsapp tone sound, the opening bars of Chvrches' Final Girl. She checks the message to find a response from Alice, eager to spend the weekend down in Herefordshire soon, and a bit more that makes Izzy grin, blush, bite her lip, and mutter under her breath, "Oh, you vixen...". She quickly looks around to make sure her colleagues don't catch this moment of letting her guard down, and just barely manages to focus properly on observing her surroundings in a new place.

Observation: 60%

1d100

"I'm Dr. Jordan Schneider," says Jordan, shaking the man's hand with a firm grip and taking a seat. "I'll have a Guinness, please. This is certainly a fine establishment." He takes a look around.

Observation roll (70% skill) in the pub:
d%

"Skipper. Pint of anything nice, much appreciated."

1d%dp30%

OOC:   Fail.

Skipper watches the ex-DI but has no real clue what the man is thinking.

Des studied Butterfield, wondering what it was he wanted of them.

Observation (60%) 1d100

Edit: Err, no…. ….

"DC Leo Dansby," Leo offered as he filed in with the others. Not being a smoker, he was prepared for an onslaught of stale air when he went in, but was pleasantly surprised when it was fairly breathable. "Yes, very nice place."

After the trip they had down here, he was gaspin' for a pint, but decided to pass, being on duty and such. "Water for me."

Read Person (60/30): 1d100

A cursory glance around the bar betrays a hint of pretension on the part of the owners. There is an absence of the traditional trappings of a country pub: jukebox, dartboard, pool table etc. However a number of black and white team photos on the walls hark back to a time when village football, cricket, darts and skittles teams were regular patrons of such establishments.

Butterfield returns to the table bearing a tray of drinks.

"This place ain't too bad," he says, responding to those who sang the pub's praises. "Not a traditional boozer though. Neil (he nods towards the slightly-built man behind the bar) would like to attract a better class of clientele; if only to keep the restaurant out the back afloat, but with the prices he charges, he has to make do with us lot."

He sits himself down, leans back - chair squeaking alarmingly - and looks at you all appraisingly.

“So, what has that old sod Nightingale told you? Not much, knowing him.”

If nothing else, Izzy is slightly downcast at the lack of a pool table at least. Although pool hustling isn't the most moral of pastimes for a police officer, she would have liked to at least have a chance of winning a tenner or so from the others...

She looks up as Mike returns, and puts her phone away once more, careful not to let the others see the latest text from Alice. Izzy's eyes only...

"Thanks, it's really appreciated." She takes the pint of cider from the tray and enjoys a long sip, glad of the refreshment even if the weather outside is more suited to a hot chocolate and warm blanket. "Looks like a nice place to retire to. I mean, I guess I don't need to worry about that for another forty years or more. Unless I make DI by the time I'm thirty, and I can't see that happening." She laughs slightly at her own joke, though it wasn't all that funny to begin with.

"Truth be told, he didn't really tell us anything. In fact, all he said, paraphrasing slightly, was that at best this will be a restless spirit, and we can deal with those easily. Nothing otherwise, so I suppose you're our go-to informant here."

Des took her J2O and tried to smother a yawn. When was Butterfield, going to get to the point?!

Skipper is listening but he figures, based on exactly one previous example, the magic plod are the key players in initial Folly interactions. Accordingly, much like every second person in any pub at any time these days, he pulls out his smart phone. After a brief glare at said magic plods to make sue they aren't about to melt said phone, he starts doing some research on the Nennington Arms and local surrounds.

1d%H60%

OOC:   Fail.

"That's the best case," says Jordan, pausing to quaff some of his Guinness. "I don't like thinking about what the worst case might be."

Skipper gets sidetracked placing online bets on the football.

Butterfield grunts, seemingly amused.

"Typical of Nightingale. Let's not expect the worst eh?" he retorts. "I know PC Grant has a reputation but I hope you haven't picked up any of his bad habits - this pub may be pretentious but I'd like to keep it in one piece!"

He swigs deeply from his pint before continuing.

"I'd better crack on before Des falls asleep and Skipper's odds get any worse - I don't fancy Arsenal's chances."

He leans forward conspiratorially.

“So this might be nothing, but it’s a weird nothing, if you know what I mean. See, I play for the local skittles team: the Nennington Nutters. And we’re crap. Don’t get me wrong, we’re a good kind of crap. We have a laugh, a few beers and happen to bowl a few balls while we’re at it. But still crap."

"Or we were. Ever since we moved from the King’s Head to the Nennington Arms, we’ve become bloody brilliant! Well, at home games anyway; we’re still crap when we play away games at other pubs. That’s the weird thing. Every time we play here, we can’t put a foot wrong. Winning every home game is enough to put us at the top of the league and, if this continues, we’ll win it easily."

"Of course, everyone else thinks we’re a bunch of cheating bastards. If they could prove anything, they’d have us thrown out of the league, but they can’t, ‘cos we’re not cheating! Not intentionally anyway."

"That’s where you come in. I want you to check for… I dunno, weird stuff. Why do we play like experts at home games? Nothing’s being put in our drinks – I’ve checked. I’ve even had the skittle alley watched during our games, but nothing untoward’s been found. So I called in that favour and Nightingale has lent your services to me: strictly off the books of course."

"I’m actioning you to sniff around the place and see if you can find any weird crap. We’ve got a home match tonight, starting at seven, so if nothing else you might discover something weird going on tonight.”

You can't help but notice his bonhomie has lessened somewhat. You get the distinct impression of being briefed by a superior officer, rather than some bloke in a pub. Old habits obviously die hard!

On hearing the story, Izzy holds back from a sigh of frustration. That's all? She wasn't expecting much, true, if it had been anything more serious then the local bobbies would already be involved and Nightingale would have already briefed them properly. But a few odd skittles matches?

"Okay, that sounds like something to look into, definitely. Hopefully it's an easy job to deal with, and we can be on our way back to London by the morning."

She's already coming up with theories, if only to mask her frustration. She may as well have brought Alice along after all. Probably just a former, late, teammate giving a bit of ethereal help, nothing to worry about.

Des glanced at the others with a frown. Was that it? Someone happened to be good when playing at home but shit when they were away? They were the police weren’t they? Or at least some of them were. Why were they wasting time with this?

"We might try playing a bit ourselves, see if we're any better than usual," says Jordan, "though the visiting teams apparently didn't play too well."

Skipper contemplates this over a few glugs of beer. "Doesn't seem like the whatever is actually threatening or anything. Does everything spooky get an investigate then?" The latter question is directed at Leo and Izzy.

Leo looks over at Skipper and nods.

"Yes, most things that are actually reported get an IVA...err, Initial Vestigia Assessment to see if it really is something supernatural. We could make a very subtle sweep of the pitch and stands before...and during. An IVA will hardly be noticed, at all. It's not like we're going to be waving incense burners around the wickets, you know..."

Skipper shrugs in a you're paying the bills way.

"Any way we can have a butcher's at your previous skittle scores then, guv'nor? Get an idea of the change in result."

"Leo's right. Although we don't usually deal with cases this far outside London. Must have been a pretty big favour that Nightingale owed you, I guess?" Izzy asks Mike, not expecting him to give any details but curious nonetheless. She pointedly doesn't mention DC Grant's own trip to Herefordshire not so long ago.

"IVAs are pretty simple anyway, we did one in the bookshop and I'll bet that none of you even noticed. Only way anyone around us will be able to tell what we're doing is if we get a bad reaction to something, like if we start sensing something that makes us physically react. Bad smells and the like. Honestly, seeing your first corpse is worse. I remember when I started on the murder squad, my first case was a gangland attack, machete job. The victim's head was found in a bin about a hundred metres away from the torso. I had to attend the autopsy."

Izzy shudders at the memory, before remembering that it's lunchtime and there are people in earshot trying to eat. She gives an apologetic look to anyone who may have heard her, before shutting up.

"Yeah, you could say that," he replies to Izzy whilst supressing a smirk.

If the retired DI is disappointed by your lack of enthusiasm, he is careful not to show it.

To Skipper's request he puffs out his cheeks. "Oof - all of the scores? I'll have to dig around at home and see what I've kept. The Nutters reformed in 2010, but I didn't join until I moved here in 2016. That was a few months before the King's Head closed, but enough for me to notice our change in form when we moved to this pub. Tell you what - I'll show you the skittle alley and then leave you to it while I check my files."

Turning to Jordan, his pudgy face lights up. "Oh yeah, by all means have a few throws!"



Once again he struggles out of his seat, causing the table to rock alarmingly. "C'mon then, drink up!" he says, waiting for you to finish before ambling out of the pub and leading you across the car park to a long and narrow prefabricated building: approximately 50 feet long by 20 feet wide.

Opening the rickety wooden double doors, he shows you inside. Running along the length of the left-hand side of the building is a wooden skittle alley. Nearest the wooden double entrance door is the area where players bowl from, flanked by a black scoreboard and demarcated by a painted white line. From here the alley runs for approximately 30 feet, terminating in an area where nine wooden skittle pins are placed in a diamond formation.

Behind this is a shallow pit, where knocked over pins land or are placed to keep them out of the playing area. At the end of the alley is a padded, upright board used to deaden the impact of the skittles, behind which is a small gap where spare skittle pins are stored. Running parallel on the adjacent wall is a sloping trough, down which rubber skittle balls are rolled back to the players after being bowled. At the bottom end of thr trough are three balls, each roughly the size of a large grapefruit.

On the other side of the building are a number of mismatched tables and chairs for spectators. A small fire door is on the wall opposite the skittles diamond, abutting a small area walled-off as a storage cupboard. Single-pane windows line the longer walls, covered by old curtains. The whole building feels draughty and cold, offset by the old Superser gas heater placed near the entrance door.

"Behold, our field of dreams! You won't find no wickets here Leo." he exclaims. "You can do your... IPA? IVA? Or whatever it is in peace - the place is yours until this evening."

Des peered about. Her dad used to play skittles and she’d been with him a few times when she was younger, but not since hanging around with your old man and his mates became strictly uncool!

She looked at Izzy, who seemed to be the one who was best attuned to finding any spooky vibes. ”Well?” she said. ”You got anyting?”

Izzy doesn't need asking twice, and she's already focused as she walks into the skittle alley, keeping all her senses tuned in to scope out anything she can about the place. She starts out with the playing area itself, walking down the skittle lane to where the pins are neatly arranged, and then jumps down to the spectator area, making her way back to the entrance - a full survey. To anybody watching, they would simply see a young woman strolling around the room, with only the razor sharp concentration visible in her eyes giving away her aim.

Sense Vestigia: 60%

1d100

Damn, very nice Hard Success!

Leo tries hard to keep his excitement down. He feels like a little kid again as he looks out at the pitch. So many good memories (and bad). At first, he is about to go to a different area than Izzy, but then he remembers that sometimes different people get different sensations, so he more or less follows Izzy, reaching out with his feelings, grinning as he thinks of Obi-Wan telling Luke to do the same. However, he also gives the grounds a careful look over.

Observation (60/30): 1d100

Jordan keeps his eyes and ears open, but he can't sense any magic, just like before. He picks up a rubber ball and bowls it at the skittles, but it isn't the most accurate roll.

Sense Vestigia roll (30% skill):
d%
Observation roll (70% skill):
d%
Athletics roll (30% skill):
d%

Des looked around the room as she waited for Izzy and Leo to do their thing…

Observation (60%) 1d100

Skipper pulls out the rugged looking old Nikon F3 camera and snaps off a few photographs, while looking about. Between shots, he diligently winds the film on with his thumb.

"Beer and Skittles! It's like being back in the soup."

"What's outside then?" Skipper tries the fire door.

1d%40%

OOC:   Fail.

Jordan - Butterfield winces as you lob one of the heavy rubber balls, which bounces down the alley before hitting the low wooden barrier that separates the alley from the rest of the floor and rolling into the shallow pit at the end.

"Nonono, like this..." he says, taking the second ball out of the trough. "Bowl it, don't throw it - put some welly behind it, but not too much, else you'll lose accuracy." Bending down awkwardly, he takes a couple of steps forward and, arm low, bowls the ball.

[49] = 49
Butterfields STR 1d100: [ 49 ] = 49

[77] = 77
Butterfields DEX 1d100: [ 77 ] = 77

[4]/2 = 2
Skittles hit 1d10/2: [ 4 ] /2 = 2

He harrumphs, managing to knock down only two pins.

"Hmm, I told you we're crap..."

Muttering to himself, he ambles along the alley to clear the pins from the diamond area, tossing them into the pit behind.

"I'll be sticker. Go on Jordan - try again with the last ball."

Huffing a little, he steps away from the alley, looking at you, Skipper, as you open the fire door.

"Oh, that just leads out to the kiddies play area. You don't fancy a go on the slides do ya?"

Des - taking a good look around, you initially find little of interest. However, turning to face the entrance doors, you notice a framed black-and-white photo hanging above them. It looks like a group of people, but it's difficult to tell at floor level.

Leo and Izzy - filtering out Butterfield's skittles lecture, you open your senses...

The clatter of wooden skittles...
The taste of cheese and onion...
A snatch of a bawdy song - "Why was he born so beautiful?"...
A very faint smell of petrol or motor oil...

OOC:   The case file says how to play skittles in game rule terms thus: Each player must make a DEX roll and a STR roll. If they succeed in both, roll a d10 to determine how many skittles they have knocked over. A 9 means they have knocked down all 9 pins, while a 10 means an unlucky miss. A Hard success in either roll means they knock down all 9 pins. If they succeed in only one, roll a d10 as above and half the result. If they fail both rolls, they fail to hit anything.

"Why was he born so beautiful..." Izzy murmurs to herself, upon hearing the snatches of song. It sounds familiar, somehow...

"Mike, you never played rugby, did you?" She remembers hearing it at her dad's old rugby club. Years spent watching Croydon RFC have given Izzy a firm knowledge of rugby drinking songs, but all she remembers of this one is that it was taught to her dad's mates by a visiting Australian who joined the team for one season. Mostly they tended to just sing the Dubliners.

As for the rest, well, nothing out of the ordinary. While waiting for Mike to answer, she turns to the others, at least those who aren't occupied on the skittle lane, and explains a bit more about vestigium.

"I'm picking something up, but it's pretty faint. Might just be background noise, a bit like how you get background radiation. Wood doesn't really hold vestigium well, so if we pick anything up on the skittle lane then you know that something's happened there. Plastic chairs though, they'll pick stuff up better, so we might get a better sense down here in the audience area. Whatever I'm sensing though, it's just what you'd expect to find somewhere like this. Except the song...

"Leo, did you hear it too?"

Des took a step closer to the doors, looking up to see who was in the photograph.

"No, I don't..." he said, frowning. It wasn't unusual for him to have to focus for a bit before the important stuff came through, but he usually had it by now.

Leo was struggling to pick up anything until Izzy mentioned skittles, and then suddenly the clatter eased into hearing. "I do now..." he murmured in Izzy's direction. Suddenly, the song was there, too.

"I don't think I've heard that one...He's no frakkin use at all...", he intoned. His chorus friends would be embarrassed to hear how out of practice his poor singing voice has with so little practice.

"Oh, and what kind of cheese is that? That's no Stinkin' Bishop, is it? Pantysgawn?"

"I suppose it only makes you play better when there's a competition, not when you're just practicing, then," says Jordan. He tries again with the last ball, only to have it roll into the trough. "Well, looks like I'm even more rubbish at this than you are. Never really played it before. Rugger is my sport, though I haven't played in a while."

DEX roll (40% stat) playing skittles:
d%
STR roll (70% stat) playing skittles:
d%

Skipper shrugs, comes back inside and puts his camera down for a moment. "Why not?"

1d%70

1d%d60%

OOC:   Hard Success in both.

Nine skittles go down. Skipper shrugs modestly. "Beginner's luck." He does collect his camera and take a quick snap of the downed skittles. "Posterity."

"I used to play rugger at Hendon - flanker, would you believe."

Says Butterfield from his position at the end of the alley. He is about to answer Izzy's question when Skipper bowls and knocks down all nine pins.

"Wheyhey!" he yells. Jumping up, he starts to sing:

"Why was he born so beautiful?
Why was he born at all?
He’s no bloody use to anyone,
He’s no bloody use at all!"

Mopping the sweat from his brow, he grins.

"That's what we sing when someone scores a 'flopper' and knocks 'em all down in one throw."

Grunting as he bends down, he stands all the pins back up.

"Go on Skipper, mark yourself a nine on the scoreboard and throw the other two balls - let's see what your final score is."

Absorbed in what feels like skittles team trials and his attention fixed on Skipper, the rest of you are free to continue poking around.

Des - the photo looks like a group shot of some kind - perhaps a team photo? It's difficult to tell without getting up there and taking the photo down.

OOC:   An Athletics roll is required to climb up on a table to reach the photo. Anything other than a fumble will do the trick.

Leo - Mentally smacking your lips, you somehow sense that the cheese has a distinct tang of Cheddar.

After marking the scoreboard, Skipper raises an eyebrow but collects the next ball. "Lemon squeezy," he says, not overly confident but trying to sound hopeful.

1d%70%

1d%d60%

OOC:   Another double hard success.

Another nine skittles go down. No one looks more surprised than Skipper.

Ignoring the noise from Skipper and Butterfield, Des dragged one of the drinks tables over to the doorway, shuffled it around until it was level on the floor, then tried to climb on to in order to take a better look at the photo.

Athletics (60%) 1d100

"I was the tighthead prop myself," says Jordan with a smile. "I'm well built for it." He applauds when Skipper knocks down all the pins. "That was impressive, Skipper! Are you normally that good at this, or is it this place?"

Izzy takes great interest in hearing Mike sing the full verse. "Where did it come from, in your group? You haven't got anyone from Down Under playing for you, do you? I only know it because my dad's Australian mate from his own club taught it us, they sing it down there plenty at rugby matches."

To Jordan, she continues, "My dad used to be a scrum half, Croydon RFC. Bit old for it now though, but he and the old boys still keep the bar well funded. Never played myself, I was a hockey lass, but I grew up around the club. My first girlfriend was their flanker actually, on the junior girls team."

She notices Des climbing up to look at the photo, and decides to ask her about it afterwards, but for the moment she's just concerned about the possibility of Des falling off the table and breaking herself. She keeps an eye on the girl as she moves across to the skittle lane, and asks if she can give it a go too once Skipper has thrown his third and final ball.

Skipper updates his score on the board. Looking back at Jordan, he shrugs. "No real point of comparison. I played a lot of football. These days it's BJJ. Few comps very similar to skittles when I was in the RN, and I held my own."

"But I don't feel like my hand is being guided by The Force, to answer your question."

Leo laughed and shook his head. "That version of the song is a little cleaner than the one that I heard in mine. But hey, I understand. Ladies present and all..."

"West Ham here," he added. "For fun, I learned the Bubbles song off by one beat. It blows peoples minds when I do it. I always meant to learn it backwards, but no time these days."

Leo wasn't going to participate, but when he sees Izzy headed that way, he decides it couldn't hurt to have a go.

Butterfield's eyes practically pop out of his head when Skipper scores another flopper.

"Up the Hammers!" he yells, grinning at Leo. "Good lad."

"C'mon then Skipper, you've got one more ball and then tot up your score. Then the rest of you can have a go if you want."

OOC:   If anyone wants to play, roll three times as per the instructions above.

Des - despite choosing a rickety table to climb up on, you manage to unhook the picture and bring it down without incident.

Anyone looking at the cracked frame sees a black-and-white photo of a bunch of middle-aged white men, posing in behind a bunch of skittles. Their clothing looks pretty old-fashioned - seventies or eighties maybe? Intriguingly, they also wear very serious expressions.

A couple of them hold skittle balls, while one of them in the centre holds a squat-looking pot of some sort. You can just about make out some kind of writing on this pot, but it's quite small in the photo and difficult to read.

"Nobody tell Nightingale about this. What happens in the countryside stays in the countryside."

Leo waited patiently until it was his turn. You could hear the grin as he wound up. "Okay, here we go..."

DEX (40/20): 1d100

STR (50/20): 1d100

Skittles (if needed): 1d10

"And that's why I stick to the books," he laughed.

"That's still one more than I got," says Jordan.

"I'll give it a go," Izzy grins, "but I'll wait for Skipper to see if he can get a turkey first. If you use that term in skittles, anyway."

She's confident in her abilities, since most weeks she and her local friends spend an evening at Rowan's Tenpin Bowl just up the road from her apartment. Not that she's told the others, so if she does fail, she doesn't have to suffer the embarrassment of bragging first...

Des put the photo on the table and pulled out her phone. Moving her fingers on the screen, she tried to magnify the writing on the pot so she could read it.

Skipper gives it a third crack. "Ham and cheesy," he mutters to himself.

1d%70%

OOC:   Hard Success.

1d%d60%

OOC:   Fail.

1d10/2

Four pins are knocked down. Skipper laughs. "A stunning return to form. Twenty two total." He chalks it up.

"Twenty-two to beat, huh? I'll give it a go then..."

Izzy takes up a position once the skittles have been reset, and proceeds with her own three attempts, hoping she can score at least close to Skipper's skillful run...

Strength 40%

1d100

Dexterity 60%

1d100

Strength 40%

1d100

Dexterity 60%

1d100

Strength 40%

1d100

Dexterity 60%

1d100

OOC:   If I may, I'd like to spend 8 luck to make the second roll a success on Dex as well

Izzy's first roll is terrible, ending up in the trough before it even reaches the halfway point of the lane. She looks annoyed, knowing she's better than this.

"Hmm... maybe the lane isn't completely level. Tilting slightly to the left, throwing off your aim... not surprising for a village pub, you can't expect them to have the same kind of resources as a big bowling alley..."

It's all bluster, of course, trying to find an excuse for her awful attempt. Still, the second one seems to go somewhat better.

1d10

This time, she manages to knock down a decent number of skittles.

"Told you," she says to nobody in particular, hoping the bluff paid off. She lines up for her third roll, and this time adjusts her aim very slightly, feeling like she knows the lane a little better after her first two tries. The ball heads down just right of centre, with a little bit of spin bringing it back to the middle... and this time, she gets a strike. All nine pins come down, and she marks the score on the board, her name underneath Skipper's.

"Sweet sixteen. Not bad for a first try."

1d100

Des looked up from the photograph and frowned. She seemed to be the only one doing any work and she was a civilian.

”When y’all have finished playing, praps you wanna take a look at dis,” she said tartly.

Izzy turns from the scoreboard and glances over at Des, apologetically. "Sorry, I'll come and have a look. We just don't usually get much chance to have fun when we're working..."

She walks across and examines the photograph that Des is holding.

"Mike, do you recognise any of these faces? I'll hazard a guess that they're an old team from the pub?" She wonders about the pot as well, and leans in to try and make out the words, squinting as she does so.

"Not bad - not bad at all," says Mike, watching the skittlers critically. "We'll have you on the team in no time."

Des - zooming in on the photograph, you see that the container is inscribed with runes of some kind.



For some reason, the markings make your skin crawl...

OOC:   Anyone who looks at the runes is welcome to make a Magic or Occult roll.

Ambling up, Mike takes a look at the group in the photo.

"Oh, Neil put that up when he refurbished the hall - never paid it much attention to be honest. There's a bunch of them - newspaper cuttings too - in the bar as well. Hmm... don't recognise anyone. Must be from when skittles was last played here, back in the eighties, before they packed it in. We're all relative newcomers to the village. Take it out of the frame - does it say anything on the back?"

After Leo was done embarrassing himself on the skittles pitch, he joined Des at the table examining the photo. Suddenly, all of the good feelings from the outing evaporated, and he shuddered noticeably.

"That vase is proper creepy," he murmured to Des.

Magic (70/35): 1d100

As she squints, Izzy realises that the markings on the pot definitely aren't words, as she had thought - she was operating on the assumption that it had been a trophy or something for the skittles team, maybe when they last won a game based on Mike's gloomy assessment. However, she can't help but feel something strange when she looks at the picture...

Magic: 60%

1d100

"What the hell are those runes? They look like... I don't know, Norse or something?" She can't tear her eyes away, both repulsed and intrigued at the same time.

Des shuddered, her skin crawling. ”Dat’s well nasty!” she exclaimed. She flipped the photo fame over, glad not to have to look at the photo no more, and started to uncoil the frame.

"I'd like another go when it's my turn again," says Jordan, looking at the photo. "I wonder where that vase is now?"

Des - There is a short message written on the back of the photo: “RIP Lee 1982”

Izzy and Leo - You can't decipher the runes, but you've seen similar. Shortly after transferring to the SAU, you were with Nightingale when he investigated a graveyard in Whitechapel. Someone had supposedly been carrying out 'black magic' rituals, but Nightingale could not pick up any unusual vestigia. However, you did find symbols like these scratched onto a gravestone.

Jordan - Butterfield peers at the container and shrugs. "Nope, never seen it before - maybe Neil's got it stashed away somewhere."

Suddenly, he grimaces and looks at his watch.

"Christ, look at the time! I’ve got to get back home, else I’ll be late for lunch and the missus will have my guts for garters. I’m still convinced something isn’t right here. Maybe you need to watch us play – we’ve got a match tonight. Get yourself something to eat – the fish and chips is pretty good – and then do a bit of snooping. Here’s my mobile number – give me a call if you need anything. I’ll meet you back here at six-thirty.”

He ushers you all out of the hall, shutting the double doors behind you.

"Don't want to get the place messy - it's an important match tonight! If we win, our position at the top of the league will be unassailable!"

Assuming you're following him, he heads back into the pub.

“Neil!" he shouts. "These are the people I told you about. Look after them will you?”

He turns and nods.

"Skipper, I'll look for those score sheets. See you later - oh, and thanks for looking into this for me."

Clearly he doesn't live too far away, as he sets off down the road on foot - surprisingly quickly for such a big man.

"Hi," says Jordan. "I'm Jordan Schneider. Mike mentioned you've got fish and chips. Say, do you know where the vase in this picture might be?" He shows him the photo, or asks whoever has it if someone else does to show it to him.

"Oi, Des, text me a copy of that photo you were gawking at."

OOC:   What's the time? Before lunch, evidently.

"Right, anyone fancy a stretch of the legs? Bit of area fam?" Skipper looks out a door of the pub.

As they head back into the pub proper, Izzy walks beside Leo, speaking quietly to him. "You remember those runes on the grave in Whitechapel? What are we thinking, could there be a connection?"

She pulls out her phone and makes a quick Google search to see if anything comes up - Whitechapel grave runes - and relates the results. "Des, can you send it to all of us please? I'll forward it to Nightingale too, see if he's ever seen anything similar before." If nothing else, disturbing the boss's lunch might serve as a bit of petty payback for sending the team to the opposite side of England on such a simple and routine job.

Research for the Google search on Whitechapel runes: 30%

1d100

OOC:   Spend 2 luck to make it a normal success - below luck roll is still below 52% so unchanged

As for lunch, she's on board with the idea of fish and chips, but at the same time she remembers Molly's packed lunches from the people carrier. "Hold on, Skipper. We've got plenty of time for a walk after we eat. Might want to see what was in those sandwiches first, you never know with Molly."

Luck roll to see what was in Molly's sandwiches: Current score 54%

1d100

OOC:   Hard success!

Des pulled a face as she took a quick snap of the photograph.

She opened WhatsApp on her phone and added everyone’s names to a new group. She typed ‘weirdos’ then realised everyone else would see the name too, so deleted it and named the group ‘folly’ instead before sharing the image…

Since your sojourn to the skittle alley, the pub has emptied somewhat.

The guy behind the bar looks up as you enter and smiles.

“Come on in. Friends of Mike are you?” he says in a slightly posh voice.



Now you have a chance to get a good look at him, he looks older close up - you put him somewhere in his late 40’s. He is slightly built, with a careworn face. His smile seems fixed and somewhat desperate.

“Neil Sholto-Jones at your service. Are you dining? The restaurant closes at two.”

He smiles at Jordan - “Fish and chips? The best around! My husband is a great chef.”

He looks at the photo. “No… can’t say I’ve ever seen that before. The photo looks familiar though - there's a newspaper cutting on the wall somewhere. Why do you ask?”

Izzy - Your internet search reveals nothing about the runes, just a few complaints about graffiti in churchyards.

OOC:   No need to spend that luck.

As you unwrap some sandwiches (beef and horseradish) Neil’s face falls.

“Dom’s cooking is very good,” he says. “And I’m afraid patrons aren’t allowed to bring their own food in.”

At that moment, Nightingale replies to Izzy’s message:

“Interesting. Will forward to Harold.” Meaning of course Harold Postmartin.

"Fish and chips for me please, Guv."

Skipper goes hunting for the newspaper cutting on the wall.

OOC:   Is there any further research that can be done by phone on either the runes of the village?

With just the slightest sigh of regret, Izzy puts the sandwiches away, mildly disappointed but still happy for some decent pub grub. "Guess we'll have these later then. Fish and chips sounds great Neil, thanks. I'll have that too. And another pint of the Rosie's Pig, please."

She tries to justify the second drink to herself as being with food, so it won't affect her as much. Besides, she's not driving anywhere, and she's not planning to have anything else until much later - as long as she can remain focused on the task at hand. Izzy is still working under the theory of an ex-member of the skittles team, coming back as a ghost to try and help their old team to victory.

As she waits for the food and drink to arrive, Izzy sits down with Skipper and checks her phone. She takes another look at Alice's last message, firing off a short reply, with a wink and a smile, before hurriedly switching to Nightingale's message in the hopes that nobody else saw the rather personal message from Alice. She reads the text, and sends a quick thumbs up to acknowledge receipt, before turning to the others.

"Nightingale's going to forward the picture of the pot to Dr Postmartin. He's our archivist, based in Oxford," she explains to those who may not have met him before. "Basically, he's the guy who might have a better chance at recognising it than we do."

Des is more than happy to have the fish and chips, washed down with another J2O.

She eyed up Izzy’s second pint. For an officer presumably on duty, she was certainly putting it away…

Leo leaned into Izzy nodding. "Yes, my gut is screaming that there is a connection there. I agree. Let's send it Nightingale and see what he says."

When they were finally inside the pub, he laughed as his stomach growled loudly enough for Izzy to hear. "My snack earlier was interrupted by our arrival.I am famished."

He grinned at the proprietor, "If you have breakfast all day, I would love a proper fry up. Otherwise, jellied eels and spotted dick sounds great."

"Oh, and do you have Pimms? I am now officially off duty."

Jordan also orders the fish and chips and goes to examine the clipping.

Neil’s face lights up with relief when you order food and drink. While he is slightly puzzled by Leo’s order of jellied eels, he does offer an all-day breakfast.

“Excellent choices. I’ll put your order through and get the drinks. Back in a sec.”

This allows you to look at the old photos and newspaper clippings that adorn the walls.

Among the old black-and-white team photos of yesteryear, you find a colour photo of the Nennington Nutters from a couple of years ago. Sitting among the mainly white, middle-aged men is Butterfield and Neil.

Leaning over a worn corner seat (causing the elderly occupants to grumble somewhat), you also find an old team photo similar to the one found in the alley, alongside this article…

”You seen dis?” said Des, leaning forward to read the article. ”It ses dat de team captain died while dey were playin’ a match. You tink dat’s got anyting to do wit it?”

As she waits for food and drink to arrive, Izzy takes a look at the clipping mentioned.

"You know, this really doesn't do anything to dispel my first theory. Dead ex-team member, coming back to help the team now..." She looks at the date on the clipping. March 1982. "I wonder if there's still anyone around from the old team who would know the guy. Lee Snelgrove... When Neil comes back with the drinks we can ask him, see if any of the regulars here would have known him."

On hearing Leo's request, she has to stifle a laugh. She likes Leo plenty, as a great colleague and great friend, but sometimes she just has to wonder. Thirty-two, with the soul of someone born in 1932...

"I don't think anywhere outside of the M25 does jellied eels except in a really old fashioned chippy! Good shout on the breakfast though."

”I bet he wos cremated and dey stuck his ashes in dat pot!” said Des. ”I bet dat’s wot’s happened!”

She grinned triumphantly. ”Solved it!” she declared.

Izzy considers saying something, but stops for a moment as she remembers an interesting fact. And just by happenstance, it's related to Australia, where she knew the song to have apparently originated.

"England and Australia play the Ashes cricket series, and they say the cup contains the ashes of a cricket ball to symbolise the name. No evidence of anyone's actual ashes being kept in a sports trophy that I remember, but you might be onto something there, Des." She's actually proud of her colleague for the rather clever theory.

Skipper browses the pub walls for any other interesting newspaper clippings. For a second he looks back at Izzy. "Not that it matters and no offence, but it's not definitely the ashes of a cricket ball in the Ashes trophy. No one really knows."

"I wonder if this place has a local library? Might have some other stuff about the old skittles team from 1982."

This thought prompts Skipper to also spend some time on his smartphone doing all the regular checks for any information generally on the village of Nennington (history etc.).

1d%H60%

OOC:   Regular success.

"I think you may be right too," says Jordan to Des. "1982 was also the date on the photo, and it said RIP Lee 1982. There has to be a connection. Speaking of the M25, is it some sort of magic circle or something protecting London? Or is it there to keep evil contained inside it? Or is it like in Good Omens, and it's actually there to cause trouble?"

Des tried (but not too hard) not to look smug as they raved about her theory…

"Oh, wow. Yeah, that is brilliant, Des." Lowering his voice, he leaned forward, "At an opportune moment, we should grab a sample of the ashes for testing. You know, just to be sure."

Then to Izzy, grinning, "You know, if they don't, it's all the sadder for them. I was dared to eat some my some mates when I was a kid, and I ended up loving them."

Skipper - A search on the internet reveals the usual minutiae of village life - church fetes, book clubs, skittles results (the Nennington Nutters do indeed seem to win all of their home matches, and only some of their away matches), planning permissions etc.

Digging further, you find an obituary on a newspaper archive website. It states that he died Friday 26th March 1982 and is buried in St. Peter’s churchyard, Nennington.

Looking up libraries, you discover that there is a municipal library in the nearby city of Hereford. However records and newspaper archives appear to be held at Hereford Archive and Record Centre, situated in Rotherwas Industrial Estate, just on the other side of the city.

After a short while, Neil returns with your drinks, before one of the locals calls him back to the bar.

Minutes later, a young mixed-race man dressed in chef's whites appears with your food. He gives you all a friendly smile.



"Here you go," he says with a distinct London twang. "Jellied eels are off I'm afraid - can't say I was a fan of them even when I lived in London!" he grins.

"You lot from The Smoke then? God I miss the club scene..." he jerks a thumb back at the bar. "His nibs was all for the country life, but I'd much rather get down to Fabric than play bloody skittles."

Eagerly awaiting the food, Izzy is all smiles as it arrives. "Thanks, really appreciate it. And don't worry about the eels," she says with a glance at Leo. "Born in Whitechapel and I've still never liked them either."

"Never did go to Fabric, I'm more of a rock and indie fan myself. Lots of gigs in Camden with my brother, he's got a place near the locks so I can just crash there usually. I guess you two moved across here together then?" She asks, genuinely interested.

Leo smiled warmly. "That's okay. I completely understand. Breakfast food at night is a special treat, so the fry up should do nicely."

"Oh, I love Fabric! They always have amazing music no matter when you go. But this job doesn't leave a whole lot of time for clubbing these days." After last case's accidental magic reference and the subsequent speech from The Nightingale, Leo was very careful to stop there.

He shoveled a heaping spoonful of beans into his mouth and then lifted the Pimm's to his lips, taking a deep sip. The look on his face was pure rapture, as he swallowed. When he finally came up for air, all he could manage was "These are wonderful..." before digging in again.

"I'm a Londoner born and raised," says Jordan, "but I never fancied jellied eels either. I do, however, appreciate good fish and chips." He begins to eat his meal slowly, savoring every bite.

"St Peter's church yard is where old mate is buried, here in the village. Worth a quick visit after lunch? And I've got the addresses for the local library and archives."

Skipper absently messes around on his phone one-handed while piling fish and chips into his mouth like a factory robot on meth.

OOC:   Is it possible to use Research to image search individual runes from the photo Des has shared?

Des listened as they blathered on about clubbing. It wasn’t something she’d done much of, given her age and the fact she’d been sleeping rough. Anyway, she much preferred the reggae dancehalls she’d been to as a kid. Everyone - from young kids to grandparents, even the white girls - knowing the dancehall classics, dancing and swaying to the beat of songs passed down from generation to generation.

”’I’ll come wit you,” she said to Skipper. ”Dat library stuff’ll be dead borin’!”

Snapper wrote: ↑Sat Mar 11, 2023 6:21 am

OOC:   Is it possible to use Research to image search individual runes from the photo Des has shared?

OOC:   Yep, go for it.

"Thanks," Dominic grins at Leo and Jordan. "I trained under Jamie Oliver, would you believe, but the punters 'round here prefer pub grub. The foodies hereabouts tend to go to Ludlow."

Turning to Izzy, he nods. "Yeah. I was working in a restaurant Neil had invested in when we met. It's always been his dream to start his own place out in the country and he bought this place shortly after we got married in 2016. The place had been up for sale for twelve years since the last owner died."

he looks around to check that Neil is otherwise occupied at the bar.

"To give him his credit, Neil's determined to give it a go - joining the skittles team and such. But it's too bloody quiet for a town mouse like me, and I certainly ain't playing skittles!"

OOC:   You may make a Read Person roll if you wish.

Skipper grins at Des. "The cemetary it is. At least it's daylight anyway. Let me just finish doing a few searches over my lunch."

Skipper continues to happily power through fish and chips one-handed while rapidly phone surfing with his other hand. "Right, weird runes, let's do some image searching..."

1d%H60%

OOC:   Regular success.

Jordan looks into Dominic's eyes, and beyond them his soul.

Read Person roll (60% skill) about Dominic:
d%

Leo's eyes widened when he heard Jamie Oliver's name. When he finally finished the second bite, he nodded reassuringly. "Well, it certainly shows," he said as he wiped his mouth. "And I understand wanting to stretch yourself from time to time creatively."

"My first job was at a chip shop, and the boss had a saying, 'Wherever your arse is, your heart better be there, too, or neither one will be there for very long.' So it makes sense to get involved in community activities, I suppose."

Read Person (60/30): 1d100

Dominic mulls over your words and nods politely, but those studying him can tell he’s not convinced. He looks particularly uncomfortable when skittles is mentioned.

Skipper - After some searching, you find a grainy photograph of a very similar, if not the same, urn. It’s on a Dorset history Facebook page and comes from an old auction catalogue.

Listed among a number of more everyday items from the sale of some manor-house in the 1930s, it is labelled as a ‘stone pot with unusual markings, possibly East Asian or Central Asian. Providence unknown.”

There is no indication of its value.

Anyone looking at Google Maps or somesuch will be able to get a reasonable layout of the village:-

On hearing Skipper mention the cemetery, Izzy gives a sympathetic look to Des. "Sorry about that, I guess your theory about the pot containing this guy's ashes wasn't quite right after all. It was a nice idea though."

As for Dominic, she gives him and Leo a cheeky grin. "Better save that for posterity, the word 'arse' is the closest you'll ever get to hearing him actually swear," she says, gesturing towards Leo.

"Skipper, about the pot, does it say anything about the manor house that it was in before it was sold? As in, who previously owned it, or who lived in the house?" Mentally, she's considering the names of former practitioners that may have previously had connections to the Folly, who she would have learned about during studies with Nightingale. Or, heaven forbid, former contemporaries of the first Faceless Man. At least with a name, she can always ask Dr. Postmartin...

Des frowned at Izzy as the detective tried to hole her theory below the waterline. ”Dat don’t mean dey didn’t use if for his ashes,” she said grumpily.

"Why don't you like skittles?" asks Jordan. "Is it personal?"

"Wargle wargle," Skipper says to Izzy, mouth full of chips but (relatively) politely covered by a hand, and diligently goes back to the result on the phone with his non-chippy hand.

OOC:   Was the manor house in Dorset named or an address provided? Was the previous owner or occupant of the manor house identified?

Jordan - Dominic frowns at your question.

“No, it’s nothing personal. It’s just… well, just this weird vibe I get in the alley. Something feels off in there, you know? Plus it stinks of petrol. I guess they used to store fuel in there or something? I keep meaning to ask one of the old players, but I don’t think many of them are left and they don’t tend to come in here. Too many ‘outsiders’.”

Skipper - It appears that the catalogue pertained to a house sale for Crowberry Manor, owned by the Perryman family. Further research reveals that it was demolished in 1936.

Busy enjoying the fabulous food, Leo followed the conversation closely. He wanted to shove larger bites into his mouth, but he kept them small and mannerly, so that, if he needed to respond, he could do it sooner rather than later. He still had the battery out of his "good" phone, so he leaned over to sneak a peek at a teammate's phone, nodding his thanks.

"Oh, get another couple of Pimm's into me and no telling what I will say."

Leo's eyes turned serious for a moment. "Yeah, a couple of us smelled the petrol, as well. It certainly could be off-putting, having to deal with it on a regular basis."

Not wanting to interrupt, Skipper texts the rest of the team:

"It appears that the catalogue pertained to a house sale for Crowberry Manor, owned by the Perryman family. It was demolished in 1936."

Des looked at Skipper and shrugged, unsure what the relevance was.

Interesting. Dominic can sense vestigia... Of course, it's fairly common for people without any magical training to be able to sense vestigia, that was how Izzy had first came to the Folly's attention after all. She gives Dominic a quick glance before turning to Leo and saying, in a manner that clearly indicated joking, "Don't be flirting too hard now, he's married after all..."

Before Leo can come up with a comeback, though she's expecting one sooner or later, Izzy quickly checks her phone as she once again hears the synth tones of Chvrches as Skipper's message comes through. She scans the info and gives him a nod and a cheery "Thanks!", before forwarding the information to Dr. Postmartin.

"Hey, it's DC Cooper from the Folly. Just wanted to know, do you have any information on a Crowberry Manor in Dorset, demolished 1936, or the Perryman family? It might be relevant to the runes that Nightingale sent you. Might be nothing instead, but figured it was worth asking."

If this was a normal case, Izzy would be busy flagging this as an action on HOLMES2 and passing it on to some uniformed PC, as mere grunt work, while she and Leo continue looking for further leads. Instead, since it's an off the books favour well outside their jurisdiction, she is somewhat resigned to them having to do the grunt work themselves.

"I do get a feeling like that, now that you mention it," says Jordan. "Do you know the names of any of the old players? We'd like to talk to them. Your cooking is excellent, by the way. My wife Sarah is a great cook, and this is as good as anything she's made."

"And do you recall who was the previous owner of this pub? So, they must have died in..." Skipper does some quick counting with chip-greasy fingers. "2004?"

"Twelve years seems a long time to sell the place. But I have no idea what the 21st century country pub financial thing is like. Maybe twelve years was about normal?"

Dominic is pleased to know his cooking is appreciated, while Neil is very pleased when you settle up the bill.

Canvassing the few punters lingering in the pub, it is revealed that the sole surviving former ‘Nutter’ is one Archie Buttress. He lives at ‘Elmhurst’: one of the bungalows just a few metres from the pub - easy enough to find.

Neil states that the pub was owned by a Birmingham-based investment company, who bought it from the nephew (and beneficiary) of a local builder called Arthur Pember.

OOC:   Drink up, it’s closing time until 6pm! Please head over to the next thread.