As a London copper, I’ve seen some pretty weird shit, but even I was taken aback when I learned that magic was actually a thing. Real, proper magic, with spells and everything!
Also, ghosts are real! And vampires, trolls, fairies, river gods… and there’s this whole subculture of weirdos and half-fae… oh, and don’t get me started on talking bloody foxes…
Shouldn’t come as a surprise that the Metropolitan Police secretly know all about this crap. There’s the Special Assessment Unit, run from this posh house called The Folly by a posh Detective Inspector called Nightingale (and his apprentice Peter Grant), that investigates supernatural crimes and other weird bollocks. And it turns out, they’re recruiting…
Actually, using the General Chat seems to be working fine.
Disregard my request!
Skipper (who had been busy texting) winced at what he presumed was Eli's sarcastic return-fire. Deciding this was a good time to hit the Welsh cobbles, he quickly rose, cleared the results of his computer searches, and headed off.
Sighing and shaking his head at Snappers leek comment, Eli puts his phone away and walks towards Ms Trimble. " Sorry to keep bothering you but i must say this is an amazing building, so beautiful. Can you tell me when it was built? I must say it is refreshing in this day and age that a town is keeping its original buildings, it gives soo much charatcter to a place All to often you see all these classic buildings being torn down and replaced with concrete monstrosities all in the name of progress."
Eli - Trindle considers your statement for a second before nodding.
"Indeed, it's important to preserve our architectural heritage. This old pile is Victorian - a private dwelling for a grand family. In the 1930's it was bequeathed to the town and became our library. The museum section opened in 1967."
The 'museum' is the aforementioned display cabinet. It contains old farming implements, broken clay pipes, an old miner’s helmet, and various pieces of ephemera relating to the town.
Of particular interest are the following:
Pottery fragments. Labelled ‘Bronze Age? Found during the widening of Grove street. Thought to be have held offerings to a local deity.’
Large and heavy stone tablet. Labelled ‘Possibly Celto-Roman. Found during the building of the new primary school.’
A battered bible. Labelled ‘The bible of Emlyn Jones, radical preacher and instigator of the riot of 1905.’
" It most certainly is. What was the name of the family who lived in it? Were they the ones who bequeathed the building to the town?"Eli asks as he studies the artifacts in the case.
Skipper - the town council office (calling it a town hall would be a gross exaggeration) is a few buildings down from the museum. Stepping into the foyer, your way is barred by a perspex-shielded reception desk. Behind this sits a balding, chubby, middle-aged fellow.
He positively jumps as you approach, as if the existence of other people on this earth comes as a great surprise.
"Oh! Hello! What can I do for you?"
Eli - Trindle frowns in thought.
"The family? Oh...I'm not sure. The census records are on Ancestry-dot-com, which is free to access on our computer. It'll say there I'm sure."
It's difficult to get a good look at the exhibits. You can see some kind of figure carved on the stone tablet, but without removing the items to get a look up-close, that's all you can see through the smudgy glass.
"Thank you, I'll be sure to check that out thank you. One last question and I'll get out of your hair, I'm intrigued by the stone tablet here, is there anything you can tell me about it?"Eli asks hopefully.
Skipper grunted by way of greeting, smiled wolfishly, and pulled out his legit PI licence.
"Morning old son, name's Ray Pearson but call me Skipper, everyone does, some-it I picked up in my navy days. I'm a private enquiry agent, here on behalf of an interested party in London."
"I'm just after any publicly available information about the recent plan to sell the local library and museum. Minutes of council meetings where it came up, meeting agendas, that sort of thing."
"I expect there will be some paperwork that is confidential, letters from the lawyers and whatnot, I'm just after the stuff that isn't confidential, right now."
Skipper briefly looked at his own PI licence in mistification. "Ah..."
Any chance Skipper can make a Law roll to convince the guy this is a Freedom of Information / Public Access matter and he better assist or face the complaints?
Eli - Trindle is disinclined to open the cabinet, lest you molest her treasured exhibits with your heathen London hands.
She is, however, content for you to return to the computer, where, looking up the 1891, 1901, 1911 and 1921 censuses, you find that the building was previously occupied by the Llewellyn family. Llewellyn senior was a prominent lawyer and a father to three daughters and a son. The son, alas, seems to have perished in the Great War, and Mrs. Llewellyn a year later in 1917. Later, the two eldest daughters married and flew the coop, leaving a Miss Ada Llewellyn to rattle around the place until she passed away in 1937, aged 84.
No need to roll for this - the information is pretty easy to find.
Skipper - The clerk is likewise unwilling to assist, convinced that you are a gentleman of the press. Clearly the local council are extremely jumpy and defensive, lest they be tarred with the same brush as Short and his nefarious activities.
"Could you point in the right way for land registry? It seems the last owner of the building died in 1937. Any record of any owners followimg on?"Eli asks.
Skipper continued to smile in predatory fashion. "Rest assured, my son, I am a licenced private investigator, and I am not working for the media."
"Now, as you will be aware, local council authorities, like any other government body, are required to regularly publish - as in to the public - reports of their activities. On top of which, any public meetings, agendas for those meetings, minutes at cetera, well, they cannot possibly be confidential if members of the public were able to attend said meetings at the time with a nice cup of tea."
"So I am interested in seeing any of the above that related to this plan to sell the library and museum."
"And I would also like to see any other relevant documents and reports that would be available under Freedom of Information. If any of this cannot be provided now, I would very much like to know why for the subsequent complaint to the Home Office and the FOI request that will be submitted."
"Where you not listening? I said the building was bequeathed to us - to wit: the town! For the use as a library."
"The land registry is available online. Check if you wish, but it will list the place as under the ownership of the Cwmllyn civic trust - and long may it remain so!"
Skipper - Your apparent mastery of law is enough to make the clerk fold faster than a bad poker player.
"No no no, I-I can find what you want! Wait there please!" he squeals.
A short while later, he returns, red-faced, bearing a sheaf of papers.
"H-here you go. There's not much I'm afraid."
A quick glance through them proves the fellow correct. They mainly consist of letters from the town council, signed by councillor Short, enquiring as to the ownership of the library/museum building.
Following each enquiry are increasingly curt retorts from Mrs. Trindle, stating that the place is held by the Cwmllyn civic trust in perpetuity.
The latest correspondence is a letter from Short, musing on how a larger, more modern library might suit the growing town. Build, it suggests, on the outskirts near the new housing development.
Skipper speedily and efficiently photographed the correspondence with his phone before handing the lot back to the clerk. "Most helpful, old son. I shall leave you in peace now."
He wandered back out to the street, pausing to send a message to the group chat. After that, Skipper pulled out a camera and started stalking the main streets, taking photos.
Unless you have any further business in this end of town, perhaps it's time to catch up with the others at the school.
The most convenient walk to the school is via the school crossing. If you wish to go this way, please roll Sense Vestigia.
Despite all your distractions and, dare I say, lack of concentration, you nonetheless feel that something is different about the road crossing: a build-up of some kind of power. It is difficult to identify, but you'd put money on something Falcon related. This failure to pick anything up leaves you with a vague sense of unease and guilt.
Concentrating, you immediately pick up the sense of happy children and busy parents, chatter, shouting, and the occasional beep of a horn. Cutting through all this a feeling of calm and steadying presence; guiding, reassuring yet also judging.
Then it hits you.
Memories of all the bad things you have done rise unbidden in your mind.
What do you most feel guilty about? Describe it.
As the knowledge wracks you with remorse and shame, you find yourself being dragged towards a yawning black portal to face the judgement you so rightly deserve.
Shame.
Wickedness.
Guilt.
Then suddenly, as if the portal doors are slammed shut in your face, you find yourself back on the school crossing - bleak rainy wind tousling your hair.
Avoiding the crossing will entail walking across Grove Street elsewhere. While traffic is relatively light, you'll still need a successful Observation roll to spot oncoming vehicles - the school crossing is there for a reason!
Leaving the Museum Eli walks along Grove Road towards the crossing out of curiosity, looks around and steps off the curb....when safe to fo so.....
And safely crossed the road, looking back over the other side of the road, arms crossed , stroking his chin, gives his head a shake and makes his way to the school.
