Play@YSDC

Friday March 13th, 1931 6.30am
Johnson Bayou, Cameron Parish, Louisiana

The journey to Johnson Bayou had taken three days. Three days on the ‘Bella Rosa’, a boat that had definitely seen better days and certainly wasn’t designed to carry six people in anything approaching real comfort. The situation was compounded by there being a woman - Ivy - on-board, and the difficulties in trying to give her privacy in such an enclosed environment.

There was little to see or do on the boat. Once clear of the Mississippi, Jimmy hugged the coastline but it mostly comprised forbidding looking swamps. Occasionally they spotted rough wooden shacks built on stilts but they rarely saw any people moving around. A hungover Lucius hadn’t made for good company and the journey had been fractious at times, not helped by the monotony of food on board; a kind of fish gumbo perpetually topped up by whatever Jimmy or Lucius reeled in off the lines that dangled over the stern.

Everyone was relieved when Jimmy announced that they would be arriving at Johnson Bayou on the Friday morning and everyone was awake early. As they drew closer, they could see the fields of oil derricks along the coast and the brine-y sea air was mixed with a thick, oily smell. Here and there, tall masts burned off excess gas, sending dark, roiling plumes of smoke into the morning air. On the coast itself, they could make out a small cluster of dwellings, wood-built and raised up from the ground, which Jimmy declared as their destination.

A small lagoon formed a natural harbour, with a couple of wooden pontoons linking back to the land. Closer in, they could see what looked like a general store, a church and some homes, all of which had a weathered appearance that spoke of proximity to sand and seawater.

”Johnson Bayou,” said Jimmy shortly, holding out his hand for the balance of his money. ”Go see Bart at the general store and tell him I sent you. We’ll be back this way in about a week if you want taking back home.”

CON rolls, please. Let’s see what type of journey you had.

1d100

Alex is still feeling fairly hardy, his experience in the war surely helping him in this endeavor. He's still very happy to see land, even if it may very well be hostile territory.

"Thank you for the ride," he tells Jimmy. "Hopefully our investigation will be wrapped up in a week for the return trip."

William manages to endure the boat ride. While he didn't used to be superstitious, he's seen enough that he has to wonder, and he really wishes that today weren't Friday the 13th. "I thought we agreed that you'd get the rest of it when we got back," he says. This way it will ensure that they do return for them.

CON x 5 roll (55% stat) for the boat ride:
d%

[94] = 94
CON 65 1d100: [ 94 ] = 94

Ivy is decidedly green around the gills by the time they reach Johnson Bayou. No doubt much unladylike heaving was heard emanating from the little space reserved for her ablutions during the voyage!

”Told you!” grunted Lucius, from the prow as he made ready to tie off the boat. Jimmy grinned toothily. ”Oh yeah, ah remember now.”

As he spoke, there was a bump and a scraping noise as the boat and the jetty met. As Lucius slipped a rope around on of the stanchions, Jimmy stood to see them off the boat. ”See you in seven days,” he said.

CON 18×5 (90%): 1d100

Lawrence remains stone-faced during the boat ride, watching the smoke rise from the oil derricks to mingle with the clouds in the sky; just one last foray into the dark places of the world, and he could live a normal life again, or at least pretend to. He was never a very smart man, but sometime during the slow fracture of his mind, he'd come to understand one thing: what he had experienced was not evil. Evil was too small a word to fit what it was. It was too big, and the world was too small...

Lawrence disembarks, unknowingly crushing an insect underfoot. He waits for the boatmen to depart before speaking:
"Alright, first things first: what do we do if we meet our old friend Nyatanga? I don't think he'd ever forget me and William, especially after what I did."

William waves to the sailors. "If we see him, we hope he doesn't see us," he says. "We just want to confirm he's here, and then report back to the Sheriff."

Alex helps Ms. Ripley onto dry land if she permits, suspecting she'll appreciate the firm earth under her feet once again.

"Will that prove sufficient?" He asks. "The sheriff is understaffed as it is, and unaware of the powers Nyatanga wields. I'm also not sure he would truly feel compelled to take someone down who is operating so far outside his jurisdiction.

"I'd suggest we first try and get the lay of the land and determine how much influence he has around these parts. Ministers tend to know everyone; if we spoke to them perhaps we'd get some idea what Nyatanga has been up to, and how evangelical he has been."

Staggering slightly, Ivy readily takes Alex’s arm.

“And what, may I ask, is our cover story? We have a week, or thereabouts, in this place before our boat returns. Word of our arrival will have undoubtedly spread and I doubt this is a popular location for tourists.”

She takes in her surroundings with obvious distain.

“We also need a place to stay that is secure and defensible. Should Nyaranga catch wind of us - assuming he hasn’t already - then we have at least seven days before anything remotely resembling the cavalry arrives.”

“We should also endeavour to establish communication with the good Sheriff. Otherwise this putative cavalry will be poor indeed...”

A rough track lead up from the jetty to a small town square, surrounded on three sides by wooden buildings raised on short stilts. A general store - Proprietor D. Bartholomew Bordeaux - dominated one side, being at least twice as big as any of the other buildings surrounding it. Further along the track, was a small parish church, with a neat whitewashed fence separating the graveyard from the surrounding fields, where cotton appeared to be growing.

"Let's inquire at the general store," says Wiliam. "The proprietor will know his community, so he'd know where we can stay and who else is prominent here, as well as any means to communicate with the outside. I'd expect Nyatanga to have set up shop at the church, so we'll want to be careful about going there."

A bell over the door ‘tinged’ as it was pushed open and a middle-aged man sat behind the counter on a tall stool and writing in a ledger, looked up in surprise. He recovered quickly and said, “Well, good morning! We weren’t expecting visitors this morning but welcome, welcome to Johnson Bayou and my humble store! Now, what can I do for you today?”

"Good morning, sir," says William with a smile. "We'd like to know a bit about Johnson Bayou, please. To start with, do you know where we could stay while we're here?"

”It’s a note early for the tourist season but I’m sure Mrs Hebert will have rooms. I can get my boy to take you over there, as soon as he’s finished his chores,” replied the shopkeeper.

”As for Johnson, well, we don’t get that many visitors, not having a road to the town so most folks keep themselves to themselves. It ain’t the biggest of places, leastwise if you don’t count the oilmen and the cottonpickers.”

"I'm interested in game around the area." Lawrence remarks. "What should an outdoorsman like myself expect here in your neck of the woods?"

"Thank you. What time are services on Sunday at the church?" asks William. "And what's the preacher like?"

”Mainly wildfowl, small deer and alligators. You’ll need a license though; they’re a buck and a half each. Rangers don’t come around too often but it’s better to be safe than sorry,” the shopkeeper said the Lawrence.

Turning to William, he continued, ”There’s a service tonight, Sunday morning and Wednesday evening, but the church is open at any time for prayer. Our padre, Father Ortega, is relatively new. He’s been with us for two months. Came from Baton Rouge, if I remember rightly. We’d have preferred a local man but there was no one wanting to pick up the cudgel when Father Daigle retired.”

Behind them, the bell tinkled as the door was pushed open. ”Well, speak of the d….” said the shopkeeper looking over, before catching himself. ”Good morning! Blessings be to all!” came a voice from the doorway, and they turned to see dark-haired, young priest making the holy sign before them.

After keeping her mouth shut long enough to come up with a reason for her visit to the place, Ivy is about to introduce herself to the storekeeper when Father Ortega walks in.

Working on the assumption that Nyatanga had somehow inveigled himself into a clerical position and having formed a distinct mental picture of the man, she is somewhat surprised by the appearance of the young priest.

As such, she remains silent and watches the man's reaction - does he seem to recognise William and Lawrence?

[59] = 59
Psychology 60 1d100: [ 59 ] = 59

Alex finds the priest disturbingly smoldering, but focuses on the more important matter. Like Ivy, he suspects the priest is either Nyatanga or working with the man, and so remains cautious. "Good morning, Father."

Ivy notices nothing amiss, except for a twinge of jealousy that Alex seems rather taken by the newcomer.

”Good morning, good morning,” replied Father Ortega with a friendly smile. “Tourists, are you? Welcome to Johnson Bayou. Will you be staying long?”

"Good morning, Father," says William. "Thank you, we'll be staying about a week. I understand you've only been in Johnson Bayou a couple of months. Maybe you could give us a newcomer's perspective. Where did you come from before?"

Psychology roll (67% skill) about Father Ortega:
d%

William has no reason the doubt the Father.

”I was briefly attached to a church in Baton Rouge, before the position came open here. Prior to that, I was in a seminary in New Mexico,” he replied. “As for Johnson Bayou,” - he turned and smiled at the shopkeeper - “Like, Bart here, I have found the people to be friendly and welcoming for the most part. Some of the local oilmen can be a trifle course, however. I have spoken to their foremen, but I do hope you are not easily offended.”

"I'm not," says William. "Are you the only new arrival, or are there others?"

Father Ortega glanced at Bart with a quizzical look. The shopkeeper shrugged and said, ”No one else but you, Father.”

”I haven’t seen anyone new at my services,” said Ortega. ”Well, not since the oilmen were invited the second Sunday I was here. Between ill-temper and the after effects of moonshine, it was a memorable service for all the wrong reasons. I’ve agreed with their foreman that it’s probably better for all concerned not to encourage them to attend en masse again.”

"At least now you have some more newcomers to welcome," Ivy says, gripping Alex's arm a little tighter than is strictly necessary.

"My husband and I are keen explorers of out of the way places and seekers of obscure folklore and - and I mean this in a positive way - your charming village is both out of the way and obscure!"

She smiles tightly at Bart and the good reverend in turn.

"We look forward to hearing many a quaint tale."

Alex winces at Ivy's grip, a bit taken aback by how friendly the normally blunt woman is being.

Still, he figures she has the right idea, and nods. "Indeed! Sometimes the most interesting stories can be found in these out of the way places. I am sure there are some interesting landmarks to be found around here as well."

"You mentioned tourist season," Alex asks Bart. "Do you get many out here? Seems a unique area, if nothing else."

"What time are services tonight?" asks William.

”Tonight’s service will be at seven ‘o’ clock,” replied Father Ortega. ”No folklore or superstition, just the word of the Lord, but you’d be more than welcome to join us.”

Bart waited for the Father to finish speaking, then said, ”Tourists are rare around these part, it’s true. Since they struck oil, the area ain’t so pretty to come an visit no more. We get people people coming to hunt and fish over the season, but that’s almost at an end now. Really just ducks left.”

”We used to have an Indian burial ground, but that got relocated when the oilers moved in.”

"Where was the old burial ground?" asks William, who is sure no good can come from disturbing it.

”It’s where the the oil pits are now, about a mile down the coast. Not many of the old Indians around now but they kicked up an almighty fuss when the oil company wanted to move in,” said Bart. ”The Indians didn’t own the land no more so they couldn’t stop it happening but the oil company didn’t want any bad publicity so they arranged for the site to be dug up and moved down the road. Nashoba - he’s the local chief - didn’t like it, but money talks.”

The door opened behind him and a youngster of about fourteen entered. ”Finished your chores, Ephraim?” he asked, and the boy nodded in return. ”In which case, you take take these good folks up the Mrs Hebert’s. They’re needing somewhere to stay and she’s still got those rooms she lets out. Ok?” The boy nodded again and came around the counter to pick up their suitcases, while Father Ortega held the door open for them. ”I’ll hopefully see you at church tonight,” he said as they left.

Mrs Hebert’s home was an impressive, colonial-era house about a five minute walk down the road. Painted white, it stood out against the surrounding garden, that appeared to be well-tended, with a sizeable vegetable patch off to one side. Closer up, however, it was clearly in need of work as some of the timbers showed signs of decay and the paint was peeling in places. Mrs Hebert - a slender woman of around 40 with grey-streaked brown hair - was obviously surprised to receive visitors so early but thanked Ephraim for bringing them, then sent her her daughters to air the guest rooms while she made coffee for the new arrivals.

”I have one double room and two twin rooms,” she said, as she poured coffee for her guests in the lounge. ”The rooms are a dollar a night. Are you planning on staying long?”

"Oh, a week or so. We're mostly going to be doing some sightseeing of the local area, but if you'd like us to help out with any chores around here, please don't hesitate to ask." He assumes the rest of the group will be alright with this, perhaps naively.

"Yes, we would be happy to help," says Ivy with a tight smile. "And my husband and I will take the double room of course."

”That’s very kind of you,” replied Mrs Hebert with a smile. ”My husband is working away and there are one or two things that the girls and I just can’t reach so I would be mightily obliged for a helping hand.”

”Were there any particular sights that you were interested in seeing?”

"I'd be interested in meeting the Indians, and I'd be happy to help out too," says William. He turns to Lawrence. "Shall we share a twin room?"

"May as well." Lawrence shrugs. Nyatanga and his group had clearly hidden themselves well, here, but Lawrence was all but accustomed with the idea that nothing could ever be as it seemed, not even life itself. May as well keep a low profile and an open eye, for now.
"I can help around your house, myself; I'm good with machines, all kinds."

"We also heard Father Daigle recently retired. Is he still in the area? I figure an old timer such as him must have some interesting stories." In truth, Alex figured such a man was likely to be unaffiliated with the cult, having presumingly served here a long time. If anyone were to have suspicions about the area, it would be him.

”You’ll find Father Daigle at the presbytery. He’s due to move to Lake Charles to live with his brother next month and Father Ortega has kindly agreed to let him stay until his move comes through,” said Mrs Hebert.

”As for Nashoba, when he’s sober, you’ll find him wandering around the town. You can’t really miss him; he still wears his traditional clothes.” She pursed her lips. She clearly disapproved of his lifestyle choices…

"We should visit Father Daigle first," pronounces Ivy. "Before he leaves town."

Mrs Hebert laughed gently. ”He won’t be going for a few weeks yet,” she said. ”I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to meet him.”

"He'll probably be at the services tonight too," says William. "He'd still be attending, even if he isn't leading them any more."

Mrs Hebert nodded. ”Yes, he’ll be there tonight,” she said. ”He’s always telling Father Ortega what he would do differently, if he were still leading the service.”

Her daughters reappeared in the doorway. ”Are the rooms ready?” she asked, to which the eldest daughter replied, “Yes, mama.” She smiled and said ”The girls will show you to your rooms and, given the time, I suspect some breakfast wouldn’t be out of order, would it?”

- - -

The rooms were neat but comfortable, and the breakfast of pancakes filling. By 10.30am they were feeling better and ready to go out and explore…

Ivy didn’t realise how hungry she was until she demolished a stack of pancakes. Replete, she stretches out the lingering effects of the boat trip.

“If we’re holding off meeting the good Father, shall we take a stroll along main street? Perhaps we’ll bump into this Nashoba character?”

Slightly bemused by Ivy's unladylike way of eating, Alex quietly enjoys his breakfast before turning the conversation back to their mission.

"I admit that I was expecting the old father to have met with foul play if the church had been infiltrated, so this may be a good sign our quarry's interests lay elsewhere. He's still worth speaking with though. I'm also interested in meeting Nashoba-- taking a walk through town like Ms. Ripley suggests, perhaps we can inquire on meeting with him."

William savors the pancakes, eating them slowly to enjoy them all the more. "Yes, that sounds good to me," he says. "I'm a good judge of character, and I believe the new priest can be trusted, so we can feel free to talk to the old priest in his presence."

Lawrence has never looked so unenthusiastic while eating pancakes. It wouldn't be unfair to say that the light has gone out in his life, but it would be terribly rude to bring it up over breakfast.
"I'd like to talk with that Nashoba guy, myself. Him and his tribe got dealt a bad hand- you never know what bad sorts may try and agitate them into doing something reckless." Lawrence suggests, vaguely alluding to Nyatanga's plans of divine vengeance.

“Quite,” Ivy replies, “the disaffected would be an easier target than contented townsfolk. We should also gauge the mood of the oil workers. Newcomers feeling out of place with the local community? Another prime target.”

She turns to William.

“Are you suggesting we confide in the priests?”

"That's a very good point, Ivy. It sounds as though any infiltration here has been more subtle. While we can't discount that the townsfolk feel too intimidated to talk to strangers, I'm not sensing any fear so far. In a close knit community like this, everyone knows everyone, but I imagine they don't keep up with the outsiders. The native tribe or oilmen may be prime targets where Nyatanga could spread his influence unaware. If we speak to the priest first and judge him reliable, we may be able to bring up our concerns and learn if he's noticed any concerning behavior among these communities."

"I think we can trust the new priest," says William. "I won't know if we can trust the old priest until I've met him. While priests often believe in the supernatural, I think we should still be careful what we tell them. Although, there is one advantage of confiding in them. Anything we say under the confessional seal, they are not allowed to divulge to anyone. As a lawyer, I have a similar restriction when talking to my clients."

There was a warming breeze and brisk wind when they emerged from Mrs Hebert’s. Looking around, it was clear that most of the homes were in the same condition, worn but looked after. Mrs Hebert had commented that when drilling for oil started in the area it was hoped that this would lead to greater local prosperity. She said it was true that some of the local men had switched from fishing to working in the oil fields, but it didn’t seem that anyone was making their fortune just yet.

From her front path, the rough road lead back into town, where a church steeple could be seen beyond the general store. In the fields nearby, predominantly black workers - men, women and even some children - were tending to the cotton crops. Beyond the fields could be seen some rough shacks and some larger outbuildings. Away in the distance could be seen the oil derricks, with the occasional flame as gas was burnt off into the air.

Ivy takes Alex's arm, settling all too comfortably into the role of doting wife despite knowing all too well that the whole thing would be a sham even if they weren't on some kind of furtive mission.

Chiding herself for her weakness, she tuts audibly and, as they promenade into town, takes the occasional furtive glance at her surroundings.

William looks around, keeping an eye out for anyone matching the description of Nashoba.

They was no one else out for a stroll that morning and they saw no one who matched the description of the Indian elder. They soon found themselves back in small town square, in front of the general store again. A sign on the door said ‘Back in 10 minutes’ but there was no indication as to how long it had been there, other than to say it hadn’t been there when they first arrived.

Behind the store and down the coast road they could hear children playing. Given the time of day it was safe to say it was recess at the local school. As they watched, a couple a trucks trundled by, heading west, bearing the livery of the Vacuum Oil Company.

"Shall we head to the church next?" asks William. "It's far too soon for services, but maybe we can talk to the priest if he's there."

"Seems as good a move as any," Alex says. "Let's sound him out, get abetter feel for how much he knows-- and how much we can trust him." He seems ignorant to Ivy's unhappiness, proving that not even detectives are always perceptive.

The church was a five minute walk to the east along the coastal track. It stood in the midst of a small cemetery which had a curious combination of a number of older gravestones lying down, a clump of very similar gravestones together in one place and then more recent gravestones just filling in the gaps.

The church itself was constructed of wood on stone foundations. It appeared to have been recently painted, although it obviously hasn’t been rubbed down properly as the final effect was patchy in places.

A board beside the path to the church bore signs of also having been repainted, showing the name of Father Ortega as the Reverend, with details of the services underneath.

"You three can talk to him, but I think that I'll be going for a little walk around the premises. Just having a look around." Lawrence states to the others, just barely starting to peel away from the group.

"Before we go inside, I want to take a look at these recent tombstones," says William. "Let's see who died in the last several months, and then we need to find out why." He examines the gravestones for any deaths that happened after the last time he was in Louisiana, and he checks out the clump of similar ones as well.

Being a small, isolated settlement it perhaps wasn’t surprising that the same names cropped up on the gravestones again and again; Billiot, Constance, Daigle, Jinks and Trahan all made regular appearances.

The grouped gravestones showed whole families who had died on one single day. The inscription read “Taken by God - 12 October 1886”. The two most recent graves belonged to Mary Daigle - “Beloved wife, mother and grandmother” - who had died in November 1929, and Brian Tucker, who died earlier in March 1930.

"The new priest may not know the details of these, having only recently arrived," says William, "but someone in town will. Almost certainly the old priest. Brian Tucker's death was around the time we were in Louisiana before. And I'm curious what happened on October 12, 1886. This place has a history. If Nyatanga came here, he had his reasons for choosing it. Let's go inside now."

Pushing open the door, they could see the interior of the church that was well-used but neat and tidy, with room for around 100 people. Sat on the pew nearest the alter, they could see Father Ortega in conversation with an older, white-haired man.



”…and don’t be forgetting about Easter, Frank. It’s less than two months away,” said the older man, to which Father Ortega laughed easily and replied, ”Don’t worry, Father! I think it’s on the calendar!”

Hearing the door he looked up and beckoned them into the church. Standing, he said, “Hello again. Welcome to the church. This is Father Daigle, he just popped in for a chat and to remind me about some major ecclesiastical festivals coming up that I may just have forgotten about…”

"Good day to you fathers," says Ivy, smiling tightly to each in turn.

"I daresay Father Ortega has told you of our arrival Father Daigle."

Father Daigle frowned at Father Ortega’s quip and said, ”Yes, he mentioned we had visitors. Welcome to Johnson’s Bayou. What brings you to our neck of the woods?”

"As I explained to Father Ortega, my husband and I delight in exploring out-of-the-way places and learning of their histories and folklore. I mean this as a compliment, but Johnson Bayou is a prime example of such a place."

Lawrence, having stayed outside after splitting off from the group, walks around the church grounds to look for anything out of the ordinary. Taken by God, that gravestone said; Lawrence had seen people taken by God in a single night, before. An entire hospital's worth, as a matter of fact...

"Pleased to meet you, Father Daigle," says William, shaking his hand. "You mentioned major ecclesiastical festivals. I know about Easter, but what else is upcoming soon?"

Alex shakes the old priest's hand in turn. He's a bit worried about what Lawrence will get into, given the man's frazzled state. He probably should have gone with him, but too late now.

"My wife is correct; this seems a charming little community. All the people we've met so far have been so nice and welcoming."

“Sunday, March 29th is Palm Sunday, Thursday, April 2nd is Maundy Thursday, Friday April 3rd is Good Friday, Sunday April 5th is Easter itself, Monday April 6th is Easter Monday, Thursday May 14th is Ascension, Sunday May 24th is Pentecost and Thursday June 4th is Corpus Christi,” replied Father Daigle. “And then there’s the saint’s days… …”

Father Ortega gave his visitors a pleading look, and said firmly, “They’re all on the calendar, Father. I’ve checked!”

As Lawrence wandered around the back of the church, he found a school-age boy sat with his back to the church, bouncing a rubber ball off one of the nearby gravestones and catching it. He jumped at Lawrence’s sudden appearance, and the ball bounced away into the grass.

"Ah, and of course St. Patrick's Day is coming up on Tuesday," says William. "I'm from Boston. It's always a huge celebration there. But I wanted to ask about local history. I noticed a cluster of graves outside, all of them dated October 12, 1886. I was wondering what happened then."

"Ugh, St. Patrick's Day..." Ivy mutters. "Nothing but an excuse for drunken debauchery..."

"It's not like a big storm like that to come out of nowhere," says William. "Do you think there might have been something...supernatural about it?"

It was a bold play, but Alex admired William's directness. He's torn between supporting the lawyer and keeping quiet, and opts for the latter for now. If the priests found William to be a crackpot, best to not have him and Ivy tared too badly with the same brush. He listens intently for the men's response, and if either of them seemed open to the possibility.

1d100

A thought strikes Ivy.

"Speaking of St. Patrick, is there an abundance of snakes in the area? I'm not... comfortable... with the creatures."

Father Daigle shook his head. “I can tell by your accents that’s you’re not from round these parts,” he said. “The Gulf of Mexico has regular storms, some bigger than others. It comes with the territory.”

“As for snakes, well, you’re on the bayou and they live there, but I can’t say I’ve seen them doing anything out of the ordinary, have you, Frank?” He looked at Father Ortega, who shook his head.

Alex has no reason to suspect either man of being untruthful or evasive.

The young lad shook his head, then said ”No, mister.” He stared at Lawrence for a second or two more then said, ”You ain’t gonna tell on me, are yuh? My daddy’ll paddle me if he finds out I skipped school.”

"I'm none too fond of snakes myself," says William.

Spoiler:

Psychology roll (67% skill) about Father Daigle:
d%

"What's your opinion of Nashoba?" asks William. "He sounds like an interesting fellow."

Father Daigle shook his head sadly. “His people moved away but he still lives here with his wife, son and his family. He’ll tell anyone who listens that nothing good will come of the damage to their burial grounds, and I can see his point, in a way. I’d be annoyed if anything happened to the church,” said Father Daigle.

“Mainly though, he just gets up the nose of the oilmen. Anything goes wrong on site and he’s round there, telling them that the ancient spirits are displeased. You can imagine how that’s received. Him and the foreman have had words more than once.”

”Some kinda storm, many years ago,” replied the kid.

”Daddy says some of our family were killed and got buried there.” He shrugged. It had happened before his lifetime and he probably couldn’t imagine how such a thing could happen.

"I do sympathize with him too," says William. "What do you know about the oilmen?"

While William keeps the good Fathers occupied, Ivy, in the guise of a curious tourist, takes a look around the church.

Knowing how Nyatanga had infiltrated at least one church, she looks for any signs of worship at odds with the norm - strange scribbles in prayer books or hymnals, sigil carved on walls, odd characters drawn in bibles and so on.

[31] = 31
Spot Hidden 65 1d100: [ 31 ] = 31

Hard success.

"Are there any particular places we should see while we're here?" asks William.

"I would have liked to see the burial ground," says William. "Do new people move here often? Other than the oilmen, is there anyone new here in the last year or so?"

Father Ortega glanced at Father Daigle, deferring to the older man on account of him having lived there longer. “Not many new folk settle here, to be honest,” said Father Daigle.

“We had the oilmen come, mostly single men, though one or two brought there wives and families. Billy Trahan got himself a wife from New Orleans but that didn’t last too long, sadly. A city girl was always going to struggle to adapt to living here. Other than that, Mr Halpert up at the big house might have some of his workers coming and going. They attend church as regular as clockwork, but it isn’t always easy to keep track of who’s who.”

As the men talked, Ivy wandered down towards the main door. Looking back, she scanned the pews and spotted a patch of wood which was lighter than the rest. Slipping between the pews to take a closer look, she found a rough carving of a snake! It had been etched into the timber with a sharp blade and it curved around the leg, disappearing out of sight onto the leg panel. Leaning forward to take a closer look, her fingers brushed the carving and she recoiled in horror as it seemed to move with a life of its own, like the coils of snake expanding and contracting as it pushed itself along!

OOC:   SAN check, please.

The kid stared at Lawrence and shifted uncomfortably. ”Not seen any ghosts, though that old Indian fella says there’s the ghosts of his ancestors up at the old burial site. My daddy says he’s just drunk on moonshine, though,” he replied.

"I figure you're a good judge of character," says William. "Is there anyone around we should avoid?"

[22] = 22
SAN 66 1d100: [ 22 ] = 22

Ivy stuffs her hand into her mouth to supress a scream as the snake carving wriggles under her touch.

"Um, Alex, over here please?" she calls, perhaps a little louder than she meant to.

She will show Alex the same carving, insisting that it moved!

"Let me see," says William, going over to look at the carving. "This looks new. How did it get here?"

"As vandalism goes it's remarkably lifelike - almost as if it moves..." Ivy mutters meaningfully.

"Still. there's no excuse for such things in a house of The Lord. To follow up Mr. Preston's question - does anyone habitually sit here?"

She takes a look under the pew for any clues - dropped receipts and the like.

1d100

"Perhaps one of the oilmen?" Alex asks as he closely examines the mark.

"Is there anyone else here from out of town besides us and the oilmen?" asks William.

"Would the oilmen sit here, or one of Mr. Halpert's staff?" asks Ivy, supressing a shudder. "The Big House? I take it he's an important fellow around these parts?"

“As far as I know, I was the last person to move here permanently. Other than me and Billy Trahan’s wife, no-one’s moved here for more than a year,” said Father Ortega. He glanced at the older cleric, who nodded in agreement.

“We don’t many of Mr Halpert’s people here. He comes regularly, but he arranges for a preacher to lead a service for his workers, on account of there being so many of them.” He cast a sidelong glance at the older man, who affected not to notice. Behind them, the church door creaked open to admit Lawrence.

The carving is relatively recent but the sharp edges from the knife cuts have dulled somewhat. He’d estimate it being less than a month old.

”I will, mister,” said the kid. He waved farewell and went back to playing with his ball.

I’ve written you back into the main thread above.

William turns to look as Lawrence enters. He knows there's no point in them pretending they don't know each other, as the general store proprietor had already seen them together, and any deception would be rapidly uncovered and hurt their credibility. "This is the fourth member of our party," he says.

Fully in detective mode, Alex traces the mark with his fingers. "The mark itself looks somewhat recent; notice how the edges of the cuts seem to have dulled here? I'd wager a guess we're looking at a mark that's less than a month old. Has anyone unusual been in here in that time frame?"

"I do apologize for all the questions." He smiles, thinks for a moment, then continues, having decided both men are trustworthy and it was better to attempt to elicit their support by bringing them into their confidence rather than having them gossip all over town. "While we are looking forward to enjoying the hospitality of your lovely town and community, we've also come looking for a man by the name of Nyatanga. At least, that's what he was going by previously. The man has a dark past and led some sort of cult that venerated snakes, which piqued my curiosity about this mark here." He looks to William and Lawrence, unsure if they'll add anything to his explanation.

William gives a physical description of Nyatanga. "My friend here is a police detective up north," he says. "We're working with the Sheriff based in Baton Rouge to try to locate Nyatanga, who kidnapped me and my other friend last year in Terrebonne Parish." He gestures to Lawrence. "We barely escaped with our lives. We've determined that he has made his way to Johnson Bayou. This carving is an indication that he, and perhaps some of his followers, is indeed here." He turns to Alex. "Do you have a fingerprint kit with you? It's highly likely that the vandal has touched the wood while making that."

Lawrence says nothing, at first, utterly transfixed by the carving; his eyes are wide but empty, some small distillation of that vast madness that possessed him at a military hospital in France. In his mind, he is stepping off of his island of ignorance, wading into the vast ocean of the unknown; trying to understand that which defies comprehension, even if just a little bit.

He exhales. Back to reality.
"I don't really know how print-taking works, but I don't think the people out here are likely to give us anything to compare with. I don't suppose they have much reason to trust the law."

Cthulhu Mythos 6%: 1d100

Keeping a wary eye on Lawrence, Ivy also studies the Priests' reaction to William's revelation.

"I wonder if Nyatanga is influencing some of the oilmen, or even Mr. Halpert - if you'll forgive me for casting aspersions at your parishioners," she says.

I’ll take a luck check to see if you brought one with you but if you did, I’ll assume that you left it in your luggage in your lodgings, rather than carry it around with you.

At William’s revelation about being kidnapped, the two clerics frowned and gave each other a puzzled look, as if they weren’t quite sure they could believe what they were hearing. “Nyatanga isn’t a name I recognise. What about you, Father?” said Father Ortega. The older man shook his head. “But I’ve spoken to the oilmen and on their own, most are quite civil, if a little rough. They don’t appear to have any ulterior motive, they just have a hard job and like to blow off steam from time to time. They do get a little rowdy, though!”

“As for Mr Halpert, I guess you might say he’s a bit old-fashioned and stuck in his ways. He owns the cotton plantation on the edge of town - his family have been there since the late 1700s. He and the oil company don’t exactly see eye-to-eye. He says he’s sticking up for local people and protecting the local environment, but they say that he’s standing in the way of progress. There’s no easy answer to that particular conundrum,” said Father Daigle.

"You mentioned that the oilmen have their own preacher," says William. "Who is he, and what do you know about him?"

1d100

"Unfortunately, this carving is a pretty good indication he's recently arrived here, as William says. I would ask you to keep this knowledge between yourselves for the time being; the last thing we want to do is cause a panic, or allow Nyatanga or his followers to realize they've been tracked down.

"Still, we now know that someone affiliated with him was likely here in the last month. Do either of you recall who was sitting here during services this last month?"

Alex shakes his head at William's question. "Unfortunately I don't; I suppose I was expecting this to be more of a vacation," he chuckles self consciously. "But even if the good fathers don't recall who was sitting here, we may be able to set up some sort of stakeout and see if our perp comes back during the next service."

"That's tonight," says William. "We'll be here, and we can see for ourselves who sits there."

“Oilmen?” said Father Daigle, with a puzzled look. “He means Mr Halpert,” interjected Father Ortega. “Most of his workers are former slaves - a mix of free men and indentured workers. They prefer their own brand of church; more clapping, singing, and fire and brimstone. Having their own preacher - Preacher Litton - makes it easier all around.”

“I don’t really recall anyone sitting in that spot especially, but you’re welcome to join us later.”

"A little wholesome worship won't go amiss," says Ivy primly.

"Who is Preacher Litton?" asks William. "Can you describe him?"

“He isn’t too tall, probably no more than five and a half feet, and about as round,” said Father Daigle. “He‘s better fed than most of the people he preaches to, that’s for sure. If that wasn’t enough, he’s got a shock of white hair that sticks up any which way it wants. Like a fellow who touched one of those electricity machines at the state fair. You can’t miss him!”

The description doesn't sound familiar to William, but that doesn't mean he isn't one of Nyatanga's people. "They don't handle snakes, do they?" he asks.

“Preacher Litton?” asked Father Daigle. “Not that I recall. No one messes with snakes unless they know what they’re doing. Too many of them are venomous,” he continued.

"Good," says William. "I wouldn't mind if I never saw another snake again in my life. It might be interesting to attend their services too at some point."

Father Daigle raised an eyebrow. “That would be most unusual, but I guess it wouldn’t hurt to ask if you wanted to go along,” he said. “The two congregations don’t mix much.”

"Our most tangible lead is whoever carved this snake," Ivy interjects. "So we should attend the next service and see who sits here. Plus it would look less suspicious - curious tourists attempting to experience some local life rather than poking our noses in the business of the oil workers or Preacher Litton's flock - that we can do later."

She turns to the two priests.

"What time does your service start?"

"The fellow at the general store mentioned that it's tonight at seven, I think," says William.

"Then that seems like our next move," Alex says. "We look to see who sits here and if they're more focused on the pew than the preaching." He smiles briefly, amused at his wordplay. "I suggest we spread out so as to have different views of the pew itself, though chances are so many newcomers will attract attention from the crowd that our target may pick up on. Fathers, is there anywhere we could observe from that possesses some privacy?"

Father Ortega glanced at Father Daigle, perhaps wondering how they had suddenly got mixed up in this mystery. ”Well, there is the vestry, but it’s very small…” he said doubtfully.

Go for a Persuade roll.

Seeing their hesitance, Alex continues. "If you'd rather us not, I understand. I realize we outsiders have given you a great burden by unloading all of this on you." He says gently. "But Nyatanga is exceptionally dangerous. He's already interfered in your church, and I fear whatever plans he or his followers have for your community. Whatever information we gather will allow us to put a stop to him and bring them to justice before anyone of your flock gets hurt."

1d100

Father Ortega nodded. ”Very well. The vestry is little more than a corridor from the back door but we could probably squeeze two of you in there. Come to the back door half a hour before the service starts and I’ll let you in.”

"Put me close to that pew; of all the people with us, I'm the most likely to fit in with the local crowd. I'm just a farmer, for God's sakes." Lawrence suggests; the fact that he's an absolute giant of a man is just another reason he doesn't want to go in the vestry. His presence wouldn't be comfortable for either party.
"So if I see something up close, I can signal to you two that something's going on."

"Maybe you and I should be the ones in the vestry," William says to Lawrence. "Nyatanga's followers may know what we look like, whereas they've never seen our friends before. If one of them shows up and spots either of us, there goes the element of surprise."

”I’m happy for you to work out the details, but Father Daigle and I must get on with our work,” said Father Ortega. ”I’ll see you at 6.30 this evening.”

He stood and politely ushered them to the church door.

Where do you plan to go next?

Two new threads started.

Alex & Ivy - go to Black Gold

Lawrence & William - go to Exploring the Village