Ch.8 Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down

The voice on the phone said, "I understand that you are a friend of my son, James. He has gone missing. I require your assistance in bringing him home again...”

A university student has gone missing. Can his friends find out what has happened to James Frazer in 1920s Massachusetts?

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Re: Ch.8 Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down

Postby HoneyDog » Thu Oct 31, 2019 1:35 am

"Go to hell" snarls Howard, but he doesn't move.
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Re: Ch.8 Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down

Postby Mr. Handy » Thu Oct 31, 2019 4:31 am

Image

William stops struggling for now, seeing that it won't do any good, and hopes that an opportunity will present itself later, or that talking will do some good.
Doctor Who/Call of Cthulhu Campaign:
(viewforum.php?f=176)The Terror Out of Time
The Ninth Planet
The Shadow Over Dunwich
The Brotherhood of Death
The Horror in the Blackout
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Re: Ch.8 Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down

Postby Bullfrog » Thu Oct 31, 2019 5:04 am

Lawrence ignores the gunshot, for now, though it wasn't a good sign at all. He charges the club-wielding creole, trying to shove him back down the cellar stairs with all his might.

Spoiler:
Bullfrog rolled 1d100:
6
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Re: Ch.8 Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down

Postby Philulhu » Sat Nov 02, 2019 12:39 am

The Sheriff’s hand trembled but Howard was under no illusion that he would fire if he so much as twitched. As he watched, more men piled in through the front door and quickly secured William, then Thomas, tying them securely with stout ropes. Under the threat of the Sheriff’s gun, Howard submitted to be tied and then with the others, was roughly pushed outside and towards the back of the house.

In the kitchen, Lawrence shoved the gun-toting Creole back towards the cellar door. The Creole tried to move to one side but wasn’t quick enough and the burly farmer shouldered him onto the cellar step. He teetered there for a moment, his free hand grasping for purchase on the door surround but he fell backwards and clattered down the steps.

Lawrence had no time to react before the second Creole had himself barrelled into him from behind. It was enough to send him over the threshold and Lawrence found himself windmilling in the darkness. He tried to control his landing but in the gloom of the cellar, he misjudged it and twisted his ankle as he landed, causing him to yell out in pain. As he tried to push himself upright, the barrel of a shotgun was pushed against the side of his head; Lawrence realised that further resistance was futile and he would prefer to live to fight another day... ...

- - - - - - - - -

The Servants of the Lake will continue shortly in Chapter 9: Copperhead Road.

Spoiler:
Assailant #6
Dodge -
Philulhu rolled 1d100:
54

Grapple -
Philulhu rolled 1d100:
49


Lawrence
Jump (25%) -
Philulhu rolled 1d100:
44

Damage -
Philulhu rolled 1d3:
2
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Re: Ch.8 Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down

Postby Philulhu » Tue Nov 05, 2019 1:02 am

Epilogue

Sheriff Digne slumped against the stairs as the young men were bundled out of the house. He swallowed down his nausea and rubbed at his bandaged arm trying to dull the pain.

Through the open front door he heard another car slowly approaching, its tires crunching on the gravel path. The car stopped and the door opened and heavy booted feet could be heard approaching. Through red rimmed eyes Digne saw a man ascend the porch steps and enter through the front door.

The man looked around. “This is not good enough, Sheriff,” he said. “You are meant to keep us informed of events.”

“I... I tried,“ stammered the sheriff. “But things already started to happen by the time I got here.“

“Next time, you’d better do more than try,” came the reply. “If you want to stay alive, you’d better do as we say.”

The Sheriff tried to nod. Sweat poured from his brow and he grunted in pain. His visitor looked down upon him contemptuously, then leant forward and brusquely tore away the bandage at his wrist to expose twin puncture wounds, puckered and sore. He held the wrist tightly for a moment or so, examining the wounds, then dropped the Sheriff’s arm.

From somewhere up in the house, there was gunfire and a child’s scream, cut short. The visitor stood and listened for a moment, then took a vial of yellowish, vitreous liquid from his pocket, which he tossed contemptuously towards the Sheriff. “As I said Sheriff, next time you better do more than try,” and as the Digne gratefully sucked down the antidote that would keep him alive for while longer the man turned away and walked back to the porch. He returned moments later, carrying two fuel cans. “Now, burn this place to the ground. Our business here is done... ...”

The Servants of the Lake continues in Chapter 9: Copperhead Road.
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