Masks of Nyarlathotep: Chapter 1 (New York City)




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    Masks of Nyarlathotep: Chapter 1 (New York City)

    He talked about terrible meetings in lonely places, or Cyclopean ruins....beneath with vast staircases lead down to abysses of nighted secrets, of complex angles that lead through invisible walls to other regions of space and time......
    -H.P. Lovecraft, "The Thing on the Doorstep."



    New York City, January 13th, 1925
    Saint Francis Church

    Father Sean Patrick OĺMalley, sat on the park bench eating his lunch as he had been for the past 5 months. Even with the frigid winter wind, he enjoyed having this time of peace and quiet in the park across the street from Saint Francis Church in Hells Kitchen where he had been helping Father Duffy. The Archdoicese of New York had informed him that he was to be reasigned. But for now he was in limbo until the Archdiocece made up its mind where they wanted him.
    He picked up his mail and sorted through it. A letter from his mother. A bill from his tailor. Oh, what is this. A Telegram? He opened it and read the short message it contained.


    World Wide Telegraph Service
    Hudson Terminal, 30 Church Street
    New York, USA


    HAVE INFORMATION CONCERNING CARLYLE EXPEDITION STOP NEED RELIABLE INVESTIGATIVE TEAM STOP ARRIVE JANUARY 15 STOP
    SIGNED JACKSON ELIAS
    Last edited by Gomez; Tuesday, 28th December, 2004 at 03:29 PM.

 

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    Father O'Malley looks down at the telegram, staring at the name. The cold chill of hte winter morning nips at his face. He removes his handkerchief from his pocket and wipes a drip from his nose.

    "Jackson Elias. I wonder what that old bird is up to now; its been ages since I've heard from him. "

    Father O'Malley places the handkerchief back into his pocket and removes his pocket watch, glances at the time and puts it back. He leans back against the bench and looks down at the telegram again.

    "Carlyle expedition... I wonder what this is all about. If Jackson is involved, no doubt that it will be interesting. "

    He folds up the telegram and places it inside his breast pocket. Then glances across the street at the church. The light brushing of snow and ice outlined the roof, creating a bright reflection in the bright mornig sun.

    "Investigative team. Perhaps this will give me some direction, something to do. I guess I'll need to see what he has to say. The 15th? Three days from now. I wish he had shared a bit more information, I hate waiting. I wonder who else recieved one of these."

    Father O'Malley looks back down at his feet. He picked up his sandwich, took another bite of it and then tossed the scraps to the flock of pidgeons on the ground in front of him. He then stood up and started across the street towards the church.

    "Well, let's see what we can find out about this expedition."
    Last edited by yangnome; Thursday, 24th June, 2004 at 12:21 AM.

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    Father O'Malley steps into his simple room at the back of the church and then sits at his desk. Looking over he sees his address book. As he picks it up a worn photograph drops to his desk.



    The photograph brings memories of that terrible time in which he was involved with the Stanford manhunt. William T. Llewellyn-Phelps, Miriam LeGou, Charles Whitford, E.G. Shellenback, and himself had gotten involved and stumbled upon that madman's lair. Together they had saved that young boy, it was true but the horrors they found in that terrible basement haunted him to this day. Didn't LeGou and Whitford know Elias as well? Hummm.....
    Last edited by Gomez; Friday, 4th February, 2005 at 07:59 PM.

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    Father O'Malley sits in his chair and stares at the picture for what seems like hours. the feeling he got from saving that boy from the madman was great; if only someone had been able to do the same for his sister. Still, the fact that there were others out there, sick bastards that would do this to innocent people ate at his gut. this new assignment would hopefully put him in a position to do something about that...at least a little.

    O'Malley held the picture in his hands, staring at the group of individuals. He hadn't seen any of them since the end of the manhunt. What a hapless team they were. Still, htey did manage to get the job done. Who knows what would have happened to that kid if they hadn't helped out.

    And Miriam...poor Miriam. The losses that she's suffered.... and now, how the devil is using her pain as a way to manipulate her soul. he wished he could do more to help her. He had enjoyed his conversations with her in the past. if only he could do more to bring her back to the church. he wondered how she'd been faring since the manhunt. Still up to her old routine he imagined. Maybe she got hte telegram as well. It couldn't hurt to go visit her. After all, there wasn't much to do here, it's been a slow day.

    With that, Father O'Malley set the picture on his desk and walked over and picked his jacket up off of its hanger. He then reached into his closet and picked up a case, which held sacraments...just in case...

    He then stepped out into the hallway and knocked on Father Duffy's door before stepping in. "I'm going to go visit an old parishiner this afternoon. I likely won't be back in."

    After a brief chat with Father Duffy, he headed out the back entrance of the church and headed off in the direction of Miriam's apartment. it was quite a distance to her place, but hte walk and the cool winter breeze would do him some good; give him some time to think. Perhaps he'd hail a cab in a few blocks, but for now, he'd walk.

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    It was a long walk for Father O'Malley, but the excitement of the task at hand and the invigorating feel of the brisk wind added a spring to his step. Soon he reached the high rise apartment building in which Miriam lived. The door man tipped his hat to the priest and opened the door for him with a smile. "Good morning to you Father!" he cheerfully said. The fancy cage like elevator took him several floors up and soon he was knocking on Miriam's door.....

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    After reaching Miriam's apartment, O'Malley reached into his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. Despite the brisk air, he had worked up a bit of a sweat on the long walk. He wiped his forehead, then folded the handkerchief and placed it back in his pocket. He then knocked on Miriam's door. Hopefully she was home. In all his excitement, he hadn't even thought of calling ahead. Oh well, the walk was good exercise and it was much better than sitting around his office, waiting.

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    *Miriam had been awake early, as was her wont. The dozen newspapers she favored were delivered to her door just before her milk arrived, and she had spent a couple hours sifting through them, scissors and paste pot at the ready.*

    Kendrick's younger son arrested? How scandelous... though apparently he paid enough to get the story buried back to the fourth page. And for... oh my, a squabble over a woman? I must remember to ask Darla about that, her best friend's sister works in that part of town. Madame Kendrick will be in soon you can be certain of that to see what the "spirits" say she must do about her high spirited offspring... she thinks idly, cutting and pasting the story into one of her large empty books. At around eight in the morning she puts away the remains of the papers and places her books back in their cabinet to dry.

    The blue wool suit today, the one from Paris, and the new matching leather boots. The lovely velour hat, and the veil... she hums slightly to herself as she dresses, preparing to do a little shopping and gossipmogering today. Her hair she does up in a passable French twist, pinning it securely in place, wincing at the pain in her knuckles from the cold weather. It seemed no matter how high she turned the radiators, some cold always got through to stiffen her joints.

    *As she set the last pin in place, put on her rings and jewelry, adding a splash of attar of roses, she heard a knock at the door.*

    Now who could that be? I don't have anyone scheduled today. Bother! she grumbles and goes to the door. Before she opens it, she puts on a pleasent smile; it could be a potential new client, and it wouldn't do to scare them off.

    *However, the last person she expected to see was a priest, particularly not that specific priest.*

    "Father O'Malley!" she exclaimed, one hand going to her throat in a gesture of astonishment. "I hardly expected to see you here. Please, do come in, you must be frozen!"

    *She hurries in the priest and settles him in her kitchen rather than the parlor. The parlor was only for clients, O'Malley was a friend. Quickly she poured him a cup of coffee, handing him cream and sugar.*

    "I can't imagine what would bring you to this part of town Father. Is there a lost lamb you're searching for?" she asked politely, sipping her steaming cup. She had an idea about what he was here for, and she didn't have to like it. It had been exhilerating helping to save the young lad, so much like her youngest son Jacob was before he died... but it had been unnerving as well. For all she pretended to be an expert on all things occult, she was still rattled by some of the things she had seen there. Her dreams had been horrible for months afterward.

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    "Miriam, might I say that you look fantastic. I apologize about dropping by unannounced. To tell you the truth, I didn't think about calling ahead until after I got here. No, no, I'm not cold at all. Actually, I worked up a bit of a sweat walking over here."

    "Lost lambs?" He grins at her, "they are everywhere, but that's not really why I stopped by today....unless of course, you're ready to return to the flock."

    Father O'Malley followed Miriam back into the kitchen, sat in the chair and thanked her for the cup of coffee. He stirred a spoon of sugar into the coffee, took a sip and set teh cup on the coaster.

    "To tell you the truth, I've been going crazy. I've been given a trasfer, ut no assignment yet. I sit around at the church anticipating my new work. Not that I don't like helping out at St Francis mind you, I'm just anxious to get to work. After all, with what we've been through, sitting and listening to confessions all day and preparing for Mass aren't nearly as exciting. Important, but not exciting."

    "So today, I was doing more of the same. I stepped out to the park for a bite to eat and to enjoy the winter air. While there, I sorted through my mail when I stumbled upon this." Father O'Malley reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the telegraph. He unfolded it and handed it across the table to her.

    Before she coudl get a chance to read it, he continued. "It seems our dear friend Jackson is up to something. Just what he's up to, I'm not sure, but it has me intrigued. This combined with my recent restlessness made sitting in the office unbearable. So, I decided to come over and visit you; see if you had heard anything about this. Did Jackson send you a telegram perhaps?"
    Last edited by yangnome; Thursday, 24th June, 2004 at 03:01 PM.

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    "No telegram I'm afraid, and if anyone would be able to get a telegram on time it's me. My son Eugene, bless his soul, always makes certain I get my telegrams on time, even if I don't see him more than twice a year. Hmm... dear me, I dread to think what Jackson could want this time. If it has anything to do with the things I read in his latest book then..." Miriam breaks off, pondering the telegram. "Did he say if he was going to be coming? And if he's contacting the others from the Stanford Case?"
    Last edited by Isida Kep'Tukari; Thursday, 24th June, 2004 at 03:57 PM.

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    Same Day, New York City, Lower Eastside




    William T. Llewellyn-Phelps had a problem. Every second or two he looked down at the set of papers in his hand. The small neat script that filled the pages seemed to laugh at him. Hidden inside these papers where recorded strange happenings and events in late 19th century Germany, written by Edgar Weiss, a noted historian of that time. The problem was that he could not read German!! Blast it all! He needs this information for his new book. He had been so cranky lately that Madelyn had sent him out of the house for the day. Not that he blamed her. William looked up just in time to miss running into the woman in front of him. A small mumble apology left his mouth before she was gone down the sidewalk. He stopped and finally found is destination, Whitford's Antiques and Oddities. This morning he had remembered that Charles Whitford, the owner of the store and a friend and colleague knew German and several other languages to boot. Hopefully he would have some time to help him with a translation....

    .......

    E.G. Shellenback whistled to himself as he strode down the street. He had just interviewed a new pitching prospect that the Yankee's had been interested in of late. What a fine upstanding young man he was and from what he could see a talented pitcher too. Hopefully this would get his editor off his back. Spring training was still months away and this was always a slim time for baseball news.
    Something across the street caught his eye. Wasn't that Llewellyn-Phelps standing in front of Whitford's shop? He had not seen William and Charles for ages. I wonder what they have been up to? Well one way to find out
    ......
    Last edited by Gomez; Thursday, 24th June, 2004 at 03:26 PM.

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