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So we've been playing Masks for a couple of months, and we're still in New York, because there's just so much to do. And we might be here a while yet, because, among other complications, the players now erroneously suspect former heavyweight champion Jack Johnson of being the mastermind behind the unnatural happenings in Harlem. This should be interesting... Meanwhile, one of the PCs has developed a crush on legendary blues singer Alberta Hunter, then still at the start of her long career, which may also take some untangling.
Neither of these people, of course, is actually mentioned in the adventure. But hey, that's par for the course in Call of Cthulhu.
Sometimes I wish we were just playing in a sandbox. Things would be so much simpler. Real life is a #&%$ing beach.
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Eric Dodd
New Zealand Martinborough Wairarapa
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Absolutely! Sensible investigators ignore all this Mythos rubbish and just try to make a killing on the stock market...
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Red Wine Pie wrote: Absolutely! Sensible investigators ignore all this Mythos rubbish and just try to make a killing on the stock market... This is either completely stupid or absolutely brilliant. Or it might be zen.
In any case, I don't think I'll ever look at Call of Cthulhu the same way again. It's kind of the same thing as when someone told you that all smells are particulate.
You seriously owe me a beer.
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Eric Dodd
New Zealand Martinborough Wairarapa
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Cheers!
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Freelance Police
United States Palo Alto California
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E Decker wrote: This is either completely stupid or absolutely brilliant.
Old "Old School" roleplayers sometimes play Call of Cthulhu in a not-so-altruistic manner! One time, we confronted our patron, who kept his identity secret and thus not exactly building trust for us folks who put their lives on the life for him. My character, a gangster with an itchy trigger finger, kept scout outside the building. The patron would speak only behind a tall barrier, which wasn't one way. When he stopped talking to the party inside the building, the GM told me a suspicious figure was climbing out of the house on a drainpipe.
BLAM.
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