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Subject: MasterGeek's Call of Cthulhu: Edge of Darkness IC Thread rss

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Andrew Goenner
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Here's where we'll be posting IC for the Edge of Darkness adventure.

If there are quick OOC questions, or dice rolls please post them as [ color = grey].

I generally prefer speech in bold to make it stand out, but if you don't, oh well.

Ideally I like to see a post a day, but understand stuff happens (and weekends I expect to see less posting). Of course, more than once a day would be awesome too.

And that's about it, so before we get started here are some pertinent links:

Bryce Clarkston
Isaiah Pascal
Thurian Edwards
Augustus Chiavarron
Francis O'Blarney

Basic Rules
Resistance Table
Combat Reference Sheet

And I think that's it. My next post is going to be the start of IC! And hey, don't forget to subscribe guys.
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Andrew Goenner
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The morning is going normally for each of you when you receive the following telegram:



Rupert Merriweather. Some of you may not have seen him in years, some of you may have seen him last week. Regardless, memory of the man comes quickly to each of your minds. Extreme intelligence, curiosity, a love of teaching things to his students. He always had a slightly humorous infatuation with the occult. Overall, he was a good man.

Each of you describe your current situation/surroundings when the telegram arrives, followed by what you do upon receiving it.
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Kris Vanhoyland
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"I swear, I've told you everything I know, what more do you want?"

I look at the man sitting across from me, staring at me wide-eyed. He's scared, I can tell. But I can also tell that he's not lying. "Fine, you're free to go, just don't leave town just yet."

After he gets up and leaves, I sigh and leaf through the coroner's report again. I'm looking at the words, but they're not sinking in, my mind's gone blank.

Then all of a sudden, Janice drops a telegram on my desk. Folding it open, I read it. Then I read it again. Then, I get up, grab my coat, and head for the commisioner's office. "Frank, I'm calling it for today. And about tomorrow, I think I'll take you up on that offer and take the day off."

Frank frowns at me suspiciously. "You're gonna take the day off? What's going on?"

"Nothing," I say, trying to force myself to smile, "I just got some personal stuff I need to take care off."
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Eric M. Aldrich I
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[scene: Arkham parish offices, Arkham, MA]

Father, Monsignor wants to see you ... it's Mr. Merriweather.

(Muttering) "Was afraid this was comin'. The old man deserves better."

[gets up from his desk, head up the stairs, knocks on the door].

"Francis, please come in."

[opens door, steps in]

"Rupert Merriweather is ill. He's requested that you specifically attend to him. 9 am tomorrow, St. Mary's. That is all."

"I'll be goin' then. I owe him that much. Thank you Marco."

"Take as long as he needs. Omnia causa fiunt, Francis."

"Aye, omnia causa fiunt."

[exits, closes door, heads back down to desk, packs the necessary vestments and associated paraphernalia, and then heads home.]


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Isaiah closed the old tome loudly; the dull thud echoing about the small library. With a sigh, he rose from his creaky chair to deposit the book back in its proper place upon the shelves. He had been searching for some info regarding lost Mayan artifacts, but he hadn't discovered the answers he'd hoped for.

Pulling out his pocket watch, Isaiah checked the time. The post should have arrived; so he decided it was about time to check it. His fine pair of dress shoes clacked rhythmically about the manor as he strolled along the halls.

After collecting the post from where it would normally be deposited, Isaiah returned to his favorite recliner to review what had been brought. Seeing the piece from Merriweather, a small smile curled along the edges of Isaiah's lips. He thought back over the fond memories of the old man as he opened the 'gram and began to read it. The time Isaiah had been asked to locate some odd-looking statue of Incan origin; the many talks they had shared concerning the ancient Egyptian artifacts. All fond memories.

A wistful sigh fell from his lips as Isaiah finished the message. It was as he thought. Old Merriweather, who had admitted he was sickening, was not much longer for this world, it seemed. No sense in delaying their meeting. It would be good to see him once again. It had been too many weeks since they had last spoke.

Grabbing his work bag and slipping on his overcoat and top hat, Isaiah slipped out the door and began the walk towards Merriweather's house.
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Robert Masson
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"Father I have TOLD you before... I am not interested in returning to school at Harvard and resuming my studies in Accounting... I am throwing myself completely into the study of Ancient Civilizations! We know so little about the pre 10,000 BC period and the technologies and societies that existed there!"

Walter Edwards slumped into the red leather chair in his study across from his young son. His chin nearly touched his chest as he slowly lolled it from side to side in quiet protestation to his sons enthusiastic rebuttal. At last Thurian ceased his exposition and fell back into the identical chair opposite Walter to catch his breath and formulate his next assault on his Father's will.


Walter looked up at Thurian. The rage that had been in his eyes earlier was gone and now a sadness and a tiredness was there. He looked at his son and in a softer voice than he had utilized earlier attempted once again to sway the young man.

"Thurian I have tried everything to convince you of the importance of you returning to school and taking up studies more in keeping with our Family's heritage. The Shipping Company needs a Successor and you are our only child. Surely you must understand that this is an incredible gift; a lifetime of privilege and power."

"Yes Father I understand that completely"
, Thurians Tone had softened. "But I cannot simply ignore my own true self. Surely the company will do fine without me as some kind of ceremonial head doting on minutia and shipping tables.."

"Thurian I don't think you realize..."


Walther's rebuttal was interrupted but the opening of the Study Door. They both looked up to see Rogers the Head Butler entering the room with a silver platter in one hand and an air of urgency.

"I beg your pardon Mister Edwards but this note has just arrived for Master Thurian and it is of an urgent nature.."

Mr. Williams nodded and indicated with a wave of his hand to deliver the note to Thurian. He fell back into his chair and turned his attention to the large fire in the Mantle in front of their two chairs. The mantle was the center piece of the Study with ornate carvings mounted into a dark green Marble that had been imported from Turkey at outrageous expense. The images both intrigued him and frightened him at the same time and when Thurian was young he would often find him sitting in these same chairs his young feet dangling over the edge and the boy staring up at the carvings entranced. How he longed for thos simpler times..

"Father... Father..."
, Thurian's voice broke into Walter's reverie and he looked up at the boy, now seeing the young man. "Father it is a note about Prof. Merriweather. He is very ill and I am being summoned to his bed-side. I am sorry Father but I must go immediately.."

Walther nodded, knowing that his arguments were doomed this night.

"Go son and give Rupert my regards. We shall talk again later.."

Walter watched his son exit the study quickly. He watched him take yet another step further away from the future he had hoped to build for his son nad one step closer to the path he had hoped to keep him from. He looked up once again to the massive Mantle and was reminded of those dark days when he and Rupert had found the piece and had began to understand it's chilling meanings.. He shuddered and cursed under his breath for he had hoped his son would have never had to know such horror.. but it seemed his destiny.... And Rupert seemed to be meeting his.
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drew edward
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Augustus was in New York when the telegram found him. He had left the address of a hotel, not, notably, the one he woke up in that morning, with the household staff before boarding his train out of Boston. In town to make some calls, marginally related to his ministrations of the old man, Augustus couldn’t put himself out of reach. But, he a retiring sort, and this a sensitive business, Augustus had all his messages forwarded to the Mayflower on 7th Avenue and Wickersham where he took coffee every morning, read the paper and checked the front desk.

The news did not surprise him. Merriweather’s illness was advancing rapidly; Chiavarron’s specifics could never do more for him than to ameliorate the decay’s most grievous insults. For a time, the old man had felt years younger, he said, but Augustus never thought to do more than ease his suffering – for a price, of course, and, perhaps, a remembrance when the time came.

With a flourish, Augustus drew his wallet from the breast pocket of his jacket and laid a bill gently on the counter.

“For paper, pen and postage,”
he smiled at the clerk. “Two envelopes, please.”

Leaning his cane against the dark wood of the lobby’s reception desk and squaring his slight frame over elbows like bed-knobs on its marble top, Augustus quickly scratched two letters out on the hotel stationery, folded the pages exactly in sharp-cornered thirds, and sealed them into the heavy, cream-colored envelopes. Addressing the letters more slowly, as if these configurations came to him only after deliberate and careful preparation, he handed them over to the clerk.

“Please see that these make it in the earliest post. I will be returning to Boston this morning; any messages should please be forwarded to me, there.” His words were carefully shaped, annunciated with clean, almost stilted perfection. A careful listener might almost see sparks as the plosives clipped against his teeth, might almost feel the pressure of his fricatives sharply regulated, vented precisely. He wrote out his name and the address of the Merriweather estate on one last sheet of the hotel’s paper, grasped his cane, and turned to the door. A brief upward tug at one corner of his mouth pulled his carefully combed and pomaded moustache out of alignment, but disappeared as quickly as it had come.
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Andrew Goenner
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Thursday, 10 May.
Day One


Five men arrive at the hospital at around the same time. A drab young woman sitting behind the information desk gives them directions to Merriweather's private, third-floor room.

The lights flicker as they head down the hall, casting strange shadows upon the walls. After a few moments, they arrive to find his door open and the bed-ridden man engaged with two other visitors: a woman in her early 60's who has obviously been crying, and a man who appears to be in his early-mid thirties. He has a face like a weasel that appears to be set in a permanent sneer..

"My friends. Thank you all for coming so quickly." He stops for a minute, coughing. "For those of you who don't know them, this is my wife Agnes and son, Bertrand. It truly means so much to me that you could make it today."

The old man stops speaking, wracked with coughs. His yellowing wrinkled skin has seen better days and from the look in his eyes, it's obvious to him that his time is near. But, there is something else present there as well. Worry? Fear?

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After making basic introductions between everyone, Merriweather requests that his wife and son leave him with his friends for a moment. After the door closes behind them, he reveals the reason he called his friends to his side.

"In the days of my youth," he says, "I and some fellow students became involved in what we foolishly believed to be an innocent exploration of the occult. We were led by a slightly older man, Marion Allen.

The six of us purchased an old farmhouse a few miles west of Arkham near the village of Ross's Corners. We felt that here we could conduct our seances and other psychic research in privacy. Oh what fools we were. The unexpected result of our meddling in things not fully understood was the summoning of some evil force into this world.

I am ashamed to say that instead of attempting to dispel the creature, we fled, abandoning the old house, confident that the magic which brought the evil to this world would keep it confined to the vacant house.

However, we discovered soon after that the spell binding the being to the house lasts only as long as the casters live.

Everyone else in our group has died, and I fear that when my time comes, and it shall quite soon, this...thing...will go free and wreak havoc upon the countryside."


The speech is obviously too much for him and he coughs loudly for several minutes unable to catch his breath. In the middle of this he gestures to an innocuous metal box on his night stand. When the coughing ceases, he continues.

"Take the box," he croaks. "All the aid I can off you lies within. You must find a way to send that thing back to where it came from. You must see that this is done. Please, my dear friends, I know it is much to ask, but do this for me I beg of you."
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Isaiah nodded to his fellows; recognizing a few of them from around town, or past functions. However, with the niceties finished; he quickly turns his attention to Merriweather.

As he hears the old man's tales, a part of him is slightly skeptical; but only a small part. In his younger days, he would have laughed at the notion of seances and psychic activity. However, through the years of his association with Merriweather, and the many unexplainable events and stories Isaiah had heard and seen; he had to admit, perhaps a modicum of truth lay within the story.

Regardless, the old man did not have much time left; so if this quest would ease his mind, even if it ended up being a wild goose chase, then so be it.

Laying a hand upon Merriweather's shoulder, Isaiah offered a small smile as he nodded in response. "Very well, my dear friend. I will investigate this farmhouse, and do whatever it takes to see your petition through."

Isaiah then picks up the metal box and peeks inside, curious as to its contents.
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Just as Isaiah picks the box up from the nightstand, Rupert is choked by a sudden spasm. He doubles up in pain, groans then coughs forth a massive gout of blood and tissue, spattering Isaiah.

Everyone give me a sanity check, please. Anyone who doesn't make the check loses 1 point.
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Kris Vanhoyland
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Nodding politely and giving my condoleances to Mrs. Merriweather and her son, Bryce then leans against the window after they leave the room, listening to what Rupert has to say.

He frowns slightly at the tale, but in the past Rupert has always hinted at the existence of an unnatural, occult presence in our world. Yet still, his story seems baffling and unbelievable to me.

I glance over at the metal box that Isaiah picks up, before adressing Rupert, "Exactly what being are you talking about, Rup..."
My voice breaks off as Rupert suddenly gets a coughing fit and sprays blood all over the antiquarian's fine clothes. I rush over to the door, throw it open and yell for a nurse.

Sanity check 1d100 = (35) = 35
Current sanity: 40, so that's a success right?
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  • 109065. Bearpaw
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  • Tue Feb 21, 2012 6:28 pm
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Sanity Check vs 85 1d100 = (15) = 15
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  • 109078. Unknown Ediology
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  • Tue Feb 21, 2012 6:54 pm
Andrew Goenner
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Bearpaw wrote:
Current sanity: 40, so that's a success right?

Yup! If you roll under your score, you succeed. Perfecto!
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Eric M. Aldrich I
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Acknowledging Mrs. Merriweather and her son, Francis enters the room.

Francis looks around at his companions. None are familiar. Not a surprise, really. Rupert kept his religion to himself and none of the others probably had cause to ever step foot in the church, Francis surmised.

Once Rupert starts to speak, Francis leans over to better hear what Rupert has to say.

MasterGeek wrote:
Just as Isaiah picks the box up from the nightstand, Rupert is choked by a sudden spasm. He doubles up in pain, groans then coughs forth a massive gout of blood and tissue, spattering Isaiah.

And just missing Francis.

Sanity Check vs a 65: 1d100 = (98) = 98

[Francis recoils, face drops. For once in his life he's speechless]
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  • 109084. ealdrich
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  • Tue Feb 21, 2012 7:35 pm
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Thurian is polite as he enters the party gathered in the hallway and makes a point of greeting everyone and introducing himself. Years of social functions in Boston with his parents have taught him the great function and power of manners and politeness. His tone is genial but somber as he understands that all gathered share his connection with Rupert and his concern for the man's health.

After entering the room and hearing the tale of the house Thurian is surprised but not shocked. Through years of collaboration they had many times debated the possibility of supernatural forces but now suddenly he has come to understand that this interest was far more than academic for his esteemed Professor!

"Professor... Rupert you can of course count on my support but I..." And at this moment the coughing fit overtakes Rupert and the dire-ness of his situation becomes evident to the room.

Sanity Check vs. 75 = 1d100 = (65) = 65
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  • 109106. Phadrus00
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  • Tue Feb 21, 2012 8:26 pm
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Having passed his sanity check for Queasiness Thurian moves closer to Isiah as the Nurses tend to Rupert. He is curious about the nature of the box and hopes to be able to lend some of his expertise to determine it's nature.

He will attempt to leverage is Archeology Expertise as well as his ability to spot obscura.

Archeaology vs. 81 = 1d100 = (30) = 30
Spot Hidden vs. 66 = 1d100 + 1d100 = (15) + (85) = 100

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  • 109108. Phadrus00
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  • Tue Feb 21, 2012 8:33 pm
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  • 109109. Phadrus00
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  • Tue Feb 21, 2012 8:34 pm
Andrew Goenner
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Phadrus00 wrote:
Having passed his sanity check for Queasiness Thurian moves closer to Isiah as the Nurses tend to Rupert. He is curious about the nature of the box and hopes to be able to lend some of his expertise to determine it's nature.

He will attempt to leverage is Archeology Expertise as well as his ability to spot obscura.

Archeaology vs. 81 = Phadrus00 previously rolled 1d100 = (30) = 30
Spot Hidden vs. 66 = Phadrus00 previously rolled 1d100 + 1d100 = (15) + (85) = 100


I'm a bit confused. Why did you roll 2d100 for the Spot Hidden check?
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Robert Masson
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Doh.... didn't mean to do that... Lemme try again...

Spot Hidden vs. 66 = 1d100 = (13) = 13
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  • 109110. Phadrus00
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  • Tue Feb 21, 2012 8:49 pm
Andrew Goenner
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Sorry, I decided to wait to post my next item until Augustus posts his so we don't rush by anything he wants to do/say.
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drew edward
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With a cold glance spared for the departing Merriweathers - they had made no secret of their disdain for this hanger-on - Augustus stood apart and behind the group. His relation to the dying old man is obviously the tenderest in this room.

Of course he'd glanced through Merriweather's library; the more mundane aspects of his story didn't surprise Chiavarron. Boys in the woods, boys dipping into the suppressed and heretical mutterings of disaffected other boys, mutterings passed down over years, mutterings present for as many years as the rules they buck against have been. Impressionable boys, he corrected himself. Impressionable boys who are eager to take the creaking of settling timbers as ghostly footsteps. Of course he'll humor this sickly old husk. He'll burn down that house if that's what he wants. Evil, nuts. All the evil he needed to see in the world, well, the Great War had taken care of that. He'd be damned if he was going to chase down demons, he'd already met enough of those.

Sanity Check on the Bloody Plegm: vs. ?? 1d100 = (12) = 12
edit: vs 55
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As the interns, nurses, and Rupert's concerned wife and son enter the room frantically, the visitors are asked to visit the room. Once the door closes behind the five of them, Isaiah and Thurian open the plain box and peer inside.

Within they find a yellowed envelope, a small sarcophagus-shaped gold box of ancient design, and a slim journal bound in leather.
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Eric M. Aldrich I
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(Francis, obviously still shaken by the whole scene, peers over Thurian's shoulder and looks at the contents of the wood box)

"Wouldja mind tellin' meh what that gold box is? Ne'er seen nothin' like it."
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Robert Masson
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Thurian politely asks of Isiah, "May I?" indicating his desire to more closely examine the Sarcophagus. He will attempt to determine it's origin and nature.

MasterGeek wrote:
As the interns, nurses, and Rupert's concerned wife and son enter the room frantically, the visitors are asked to visit the room. Once the door closes behind the five of them, Isaiah and Thurian open the plain box and peer inside.

Within they find a yellowed envelope, a small sarcophagus-shaped gold box of ancient design, and a slim journal bound in leather.
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Isaiah nods in acquiescence; holding the box out to Thurian. "But of course! These are meant for all of us!"

For himself, Isaiah will pick up the journal and begin to leaf through its pages; making sure to turn them with care lest they crumble to dust.
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