Story HourPost your ongoing tales from your campaigns, and read those from others for inspiration. Lots of other RPG boards post "Story Hours", but this is where it started!
I was about to point you to the second link on the front page, which used to link to the character sheets, but with the transition to ENWorld's new format that thread disappeared. So I've reposted the characters I have. I couldn't get Jim-Bean's to load for some reason (now the forum is claiming anything I post, including a .PDF titled "test," is already uploaded) so he will have to wait until we can get it sorted out.
“Oh yes,” said Hammer. “Without much prompting.” He looked disappointed. “Mamoud knows all about Saladin.”
“They guy who is officially dead but unofficially may not be?”
“Yeah, him. Looks like Warner was arming terrorists in Iraq to be his own private army. They were training them as counterinsurgents to fight the Karotechia.”
“Sounds exotic,” said Jim-Bean. “An Italian terrorist group?”
“I don’t know. But that’s the second time this name came up. Seems Mamoud was actually a double agent working for Saladin. He took Warner’s guns and money, then when Saladin disappeared, Al-Hazzan activated his cell.”
“That explains why Tucker was so keen on covering everything up,” said Jim-Bean. “So what happens to Mamoud?”
“What about him?” asked Hammer innocently.
“You know, terrorist leader who can bring evidence against Warner?”
Hammer shrugged. “Don’t know.” He looked down at his cistron. “According to Sprague, Mamoud died in the explosion.”
“Officially?” asked Jim-Bean with a sigh.
“Officially.”
“I almost became official myself,” muttered Jim-Bean.
“What happened back there anyway? I’m still not certain how you got out of that mess without Tucker putting a bullet in you.”
“Two, actually,” said Jim-Bean, and this time a steely glint was in his eyes. “I plan to return the favor some day.”
This scenario, “The Gates of Delirium,” is a Cthulhu Now scenario from The Stars Are Right by Gary Sumpter. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!
Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by Jeremy Ortiz
Kurtis "Hammer" Grange (Fast/Dedicated Hero/Sharpshooter) played by George Webster
This scenario was originally planned for my brother’s character, Guppy; if you recall from a previous scenario, he stumbled across the whereabouts of his ex-girlfriend, who had been committed to an insane asylum. Guppy was to investigate, discover what happened to her, and then try to survive her “treatment” by yet another insane psychologist.
It didn’t work out that way. Instead, I made it so that Guppy was the victim and needed to be rescued. It helped explain why Guppy had been missing for awhile, so this was an opportunity to bring him back into the fold. What ensues is a rip-off of the movie “The Cube,” in which the agents are placed in a hellish extradimensional series of traps (actually Daoloth). They would have to survive not just Daoloth but each other. It sounded good in theory.
There were two problems. For one, the scenario requires a certain level of basic distrust; freaking out about the circumstances surrounding the mind-bending nature of Daoloth would go a long way in making the scenario a lot more interesting. For that distrust to be sowed, it requires more dissension amongst a larger group. But with just two agents, the PCs weren’t about to role-play that level of distrust; they needed each other too much.
For another, this scenario disarms the PCs. Hammer is good with guns, of which there were none. Jim-Bean is good with working the system, of which he had little system to work with. So for this scenario to work, we needed someone prone to hysteria (like Guppy) and more PCs.
Still, there was a brilliant psychological moment where Jim-Bean brought up the insanity of it all, and that helped make the scenario memorable, if not as enjoyable as the previous two scenarios.
Defining Moment: Jim-Bean, facing down Ngo Dinh Hao, realizes that in a hostage situation in a parallel dimension, nobody wins.
All the thug rock kids are playin'
All the punk god angels sayin'
"The toys are us, and we don't even know"
GO GO GO-doppelgangers
(You're one of us, you're one of us)
GO GO GO--throw your shapes doppelgangers
You're one of us.
--Doll-Dagga Buzz-Buzz Ziggety-Zag by Marilyn Manson
ARKHAM, MA--They traced Guppy to a private room at Arkham Asylum. Hospital staff at first refused any requests to visit. But eventually, the cantankerous duty nurse approved Jim-Bean, and only Jim-Bean’s, entrance.
“What happened to him?”
“Mr. Gupta apparently threw himself off a platform in Brooklyn’s Grand Army Plaza subway station last week,” she said. “He was rescued by a heroic bystander.”
“Weird. That doesn’t sound like Guppy.”
“Who?”
“…Hank, I mean.”
The staff escorted Jim-Bean to Guppy’s room. Inside, was clear Guppy’s injuries were serious, but not life-threatening, consisting mainly of severe abrasions and contusions. His eyes were covered with a bandage.
“Guppy,” whispered Jim-Bean.
Guppy’s head turned to face Jim-Bean, but it was clear he was unable to communicate coherently. He didn’t even seem to recognize him.
“Can you hear me?”
Suddenly Guppy began to sob hysterically. The duty nurse tapped a wicked-looking needle. “Here we go again.”
“You regularly inject him?” asked Jim-Bean, eyeing the needle.
“Mr. Gupta’s had spells like this before,” she explained. “Sometimes he wakes up shrieking. Most of the time it’s just nonsense, but once in awhile you can make out some of what he says. Last night for instance, he was screaming as though someone were in the room with him, trying to kill him. Of course, he was alone; it was very disturbing for the other patients to hear. But then, Mr. Gupta’s not the first addict we’ve had in here.”
“Whoa, whoa. Addict?”
The duty nurse shrugged. “The hallucinations and delusions are probably the result of addiction to Blink, not of any concussion. He has a high tolerance to morphine.”
Jim-Bean kept silent that it was likely Guppy’s history was more responsible for his resistance to morphine than any drug use.
“Could I get a look at his things?”
The duty nurse frowned. “That’s not standard procedure.”
Jim-Bean shot her a dazzling smile. “Please, Darlene. For me? It’d mean oh so much to me if you could help me out.”
Darlene the duty nurse shook her head, but she was blushing. “I just can’t say no to that charming accent!” She unlocked a drawer and handed Jim-Bean a plastic bag filled with Guppy’s personal effects. “Just don’t steal anything.”
Guppy possessions consisted of a driver’s license, several credit cards, about twenty dollars in small bills and coins, a set of keys, and Mapquest directions to Rachel Hayward’s address. There was also an eyedropper bottle prescribed for Rachel by a Doctor Tarrou from Asharoken, Long Island.
“That bottle was hidden in one of Mr. Gupta’s pockets,” said Darlene. “But I’m very thorough at my job; when patients come in here I’ve learned to look through every seam, because sometimes they smuggle drugs in.”
Jim-Bean held it up to the light to get a better look.
Darlene peered at the bottle along with Jim-Bean. “Funny, the prescription is labeled the same day as Mr. Gupta’s suicide attempt.”
“He tried to throw himself in front of a subway train. Fortunately a good Samaritan saved him.”
“When do you think Gup—I mean Mr. Gupta will be released?”
Darlene gave Guppy a worried look. “He’s stable,” she said with a sigh, “but it will be several days before any real improvement can be expected, and at least a week before he can be released.”
“Great, Darlene, thank you so much.” He touched her arm and her expression lit up. “You’ve saved a man’s life today.”
Darlene blushed. “Oh, just glad I can help a modern day James Bond!” The woman, well into her fifties, giggled like a schoolgirl.
Jim-Bean rushed out of Arkham. He hated the place.
Hammer was waiting in the car. “Well?”
“Guppy was snooping around Rachel Hayward’s place. He had a prescription bottle on him for his ex-girlfriend.”
Hammer nodded grimly. “Got any leads?”
“A Doctor Tarrou. I think Guppy got too close, figured out what was going on with Rachel, and Tarrou shot him full of drugs and dumped him in front of a subway train.”
Hammer’s gloved fists gripped the steering wheel tightly. “So this is a wetwork mission.”
Before Jim-Bean could response, Hammer slammed the accelerator and the van lurched southwards towards I-95.
SUFFOLK COUNTY, NY--Dr. Tarrou’s home was located on Easton Neck Point in Long Island’s Suffolk County, an hour’s drive east of Brooklyn. The nearby village of Asharoken was a small, unremarkable resort community.
Dr. Tarrou’s two story house was an unadorned, rectangular, early Georgian building overlooking Long Island Sound. A gable roof and large chimneys enhanced the symmetry. The ornately carved entrance with its pilasters, paneled double doors, and semicircular fanlight formed a gracious entryway to the home. An inscribed brass plate beside the door bore the legend, “Dr. R. Tarrou, Psychiatrist.” Beneath the plate was a doorbell.
Hammer rang the doorbell.
There was no answer. He waited.
“Do you hear that?” asked Jim-Bean.
“Hear what?”
“Chanting. Listen.”
They strained to listen. Sure enough, there was some faintly audible chanting.
“That can’t be good,” said Hammer. He kicked open the door.
The front door opened onto a bright, clean entrance hall. A carved oak staircase climbed to the second floor. Throughout the house there hung a number of fine paintings, an obvious show of taste and money.
Jim-Bean and Hammer spread out, pistols at the ready.
The kitchen was unremarkable, but the dining room contained a long oak table of great age, surrounded by velvet-upholstered chairs. Fine china was displayed in a hutch against the wall. There were several comfortable chairs in the parlor, gathered around the cozy fireplace. An upright piano stood against one wall.
Something heavy slammed downstairs, followed by “Utghos Yuggoth, Uthgos qond, Daoloth Uthgos fhtagn!”
Exchanging glances, Hammer and Jim-Bean made their way down into the basement.
Gates of Delirium: Part 2 – The Parting of the Veils
The basement contained cords of wood and a jumble of old furniture, including a broken rocking chair, a table and an old mattress. A furnace was installed as well.
The chanting was coming from beyond the mattress. Hammer shoved it aside.
Behind the old mattress was a small door in the wall, about four feet high and three feet wide. He pushed it open.
Beyond was a large, very dark room. It had been crudely expanded to its present size with pick and shovel.
A pentacle was inscribed upon the floor. Two candles – the only illumination in the room – flickered within the pentacle. Two men stood around the pentacle a few feet back. Tarrou’s assistant, a short Asian man, to Tarrou’s left. Dr. Tarrou slammed a metal rod against the floor several times and called out, “Unveil the universe, O Daoloth! And reveal the realities beyond as thou once did for the astrologers of Atlantis!”
Hammer’s flashlight caught the heavy presence floating over the pentacle. The thing in the pentacle was shapeless, so complex that the eye could recognize no describable shape. There were hemispheres and shining metal, coupled by long plastic rods. The rods were of a flat gray color, so that he couldn’t make out which were nearer; they merged into a flat mass from which protruded individual cylinders. As Hammer looked at it, he had a curious feeling that eyes gleamed from between the rods; but wherever he glanced at the construction, he saw only the spaces between them.
“Fools!” shouted Tarrou. “You’ve doomed us all!”
Tarrou drew his pistol and fired. Jim-Bean fired back. Tarrou’s assistant drew a knife. But Hammer saw none of it. He could only see the endless horizon of Daoloth, who consumed his vision, blinded him, encompassed him. It was like floating in space, staring at all of creation at once, and Hammer was falling, stumbling towards it, struggling to regain his footing.
“Hammer! Get back!” shouted Jim-Bean, squeezing off another shot from his SIG.
Hammer was fascinated by the scintillating intricacy of shapes he couldn’t fully comprehend and was so caught up in the vision of infinity that he didn’t realize he was taking shuddering steps towards the pentacle like a drunken man. One foot crossed the confines of the pentacle…
And suddenly, the thing in the incredibly complex form in the center of the pentacle surged exponentially, rapidly filling the room and eclipsing the basement until it was all anyone could see. Wispy tendrils brushed against Hammer’s face and probing feelers entered his ears, nose and mouth. All was light…
Jim-Bean woke up in a strange, cube-shaped room with glowing, computer circuit-like walls and six doors, one at the center of each wall, including the ceiling and floor. The walls were all lit by white light from every direction, the only reprieve being the diagonal superstructure of the room. Ladders extended from the center of the room in four directions on every wall, each leading to a door. Although he was wearing his own clothes, Jim-Bean was otherwise unarmed.
He crawled up to one of the doors. As he reached toward the door, it whisked open.
The short Asian man with a bowl cut lay on the floor in an identical room.
Jim-Bean stepped back and the door whisked shut.
A variety of weird static noises emanated from all around him. Then one of the doors whisked open.
The younger man Jim-Bean saw participating in the ritual opened the door ahead of him, peered inside, and closed it.
“Hey!” shouted Jim-Bean.
A second later, the young man appeared in the door above Jim-Bean, peered inside, and closed it.
“What the…”
A moment after that the man appeared in the door behind Jim-Bean. He craned his neck to look inside, and closed it.
Jim-Bean ran over to the door. It whisked open as Hammer stumbled into the room.
“Did you see that guy?”
“What guy?” asked Hammer, looking around. “I’m still a little disoriented, I could have sworn I was moving sideways but I ended up dropping into this room.”
“There was a guy! A guy who just came out of the door you were in! You didn’t see him?”
Hammer shook his head.
Jim-Bean suddenly remembered how they’d gotten into their current predicament. “What the bloody hell is wrong with you, anyway? Running into a pentagram and all that?”
“What?” Hammer rubbed the back of his head. “I remember falling towards that…thing. And then I woke up here.”
“Without weapons,” said Jim-Bean morosely.
“Without weapons,” confirmed Hammer.
“Great.” Jim-Bean crossed his arms. “Well you got us into this mess, so you get us out of it.”
Hammer shrugged, opened one of the doors, and clambered through it.
The next room they entered contained Guppy, a bandage across his eyes, balled up in one corner.
“Please don’t hurt me,” he wailed. Guppy scrambled backwards as Hammer got closer.
“Guppy? It’s me, Hammer.”
“H-Hammer?” Guppy swung his head from left to right. “Is that…is that you?”
“Yes. Jim-Bean’s here with me too. What happened to you? Do you know how you got here?”
Guppy shook his head. “I was looking for Rachel. I thought I found her…and then all I remember is something holding my eyes open. Wide open…and there were these eye drops. And then…then I saw these two lights and heard a roar…”
“The subway train,” said Jim-Bean. Hammer shushed him.
Before they could ask him more, the door on the floor whisks open and an older man’s head in glasses peeked through it. He clambered up.
“Finally,” he breathed. “I was beginning to wonder if I was the only one in here. Kept hoping I would find some other people. I’ve been wandering around these rooms for hours!”
“Keep him away from me!” shouted Guppy. “Don’t let him hurt me!”
“Oh, certainly not,” said the man. “I come in peace. I don’t suppose you could let me know what we’re doing in here? Oh, I’m Martin, Martin Fielding,” he offered his hand.
Hammer took it. “My name is Hammer. This is Jim-Bean and Guppy.”
Fielding looked askance at the names, then shrugged.
He wandered over to one of the doors and unlatched his watch from his wrist. Using the corner of the watch clip, he carved a number into the door.
“What are you doing?” asked Jim-Bean. The man looked vaguely familiar.
“I’m marking the rooms,” said Fielding. “This is the fourth room I’ve been in. What’s weird is that I’ve been wandering for hours. Each one of these rooms has six of these doors or portals, but no matter how many doors or portals I go through, I always end up in the same three rooms…until now. The rooms must be moving…but I don’t feel any motion, do you?”
“No,” said Hammer, “We haven’t—“
He stopped, because there was the sound of movement behind them.
“Oh no, it’s getting closer!” wailed Guppy. “I don’t know what it is, something’s coming after us and I don’t think it likes us. It wants us dead, please we have to get out of here right now! Please, we have to move!”
Jim-Bean and Hammer needed no encouragement. “All right, let’s go.” Hammer helped Guppy up. “It’s up to you if you want to come with us.”
Fielding adjusted his glasses. “Well I’m certainly not going to stay here. Lead on!”
“Help!” shouted a young man attempting to hold up Doctor Tarrou, who was slowly being strangled by his own belt.
“He looks familiar,” said Jim-Bean. “I think he was at the ceremony.”
“Help me!” shouted the man. “I can’t hold him much longer! Hurry!”
“Bruce?” Fielding shouted back. “We have to help him!”
“Give me some space…I’m going to loosen the belt.” shouted Bruce McNab. “I’m losing him!”
Hammer hopped off the ladder and jogged over to help. Between the two of them, they were able to release Tarrou from his suicide attempt and gently drop him to the ground.
Hammer checked his pulse. “He’s breathing. But he’s been beaten up pretty badly.”
“By who?” squeaked Fielding.
“Or what?” asked McNab.
“Let’s give the good doctor a minute,” said Hammer. “Maybe he can help explain what happened here.”
“I’ve been trying to get a handle on the configuration of these rooms.” Fielding scraped the number five into another door. “All I can say is—“
“They just don’t make any sense,” said McNab. “It’s as if the rooms are moving around really quickly.”
“But you know there’s got to be some kind of logic to it,” replied Fielding. “These rooms just seem to repeat. You go in one direction and the room just loops back in on itself—“
An unearthly screeching sound interrupted their conversation, emanating from the far wall.
“It’s getting closer,” shrieked Guppy. “I can hear it, all the time, even when you don’t. And it sounds…it feels WRONG.”
Suddenly the room shuddered.
“It’s here!” whispered Guppy.
McNab shook his head. “I’m out of here.” He began clambering up one of the ladders to the door.
“Suit yourself,” said Jim-Bean with a shrug.
McNab was catapulted back into the room, landing hard on his back.
“What the hell?” McNab stared at the wall in disbelief.
“What?” asked Fielding.
“The wall just…wiggled!”
The wall shimmered again and an after image of McNab climbed the ladder, as if he had been burned into the retinas of all who saw him.
Then the wall started moving inwards towards them, shimmering.
“All right people, out!” Hammer guided Guppy towards the ladder on the opposite side of the shimmering wall. “Let’s go, it’s not moving fast, we can get out of here.”
Jim-Bean peered through the shimmering wall. There was a figure staring back at him. Someone he recognized.
“What about Doctor Tarrou?” asked Fielding, voice rising.
The doctor’s eyes fluttered open.
“You don’t honestly think you can escape?” Tarrou shook his head. “The only way out of Daoloth is death. And maybe not even that.” He wrapped one arm around one of the ladders. “I’m staying here. It’s better this way.”
“Suit yourself,” said Jim-Bean. He turned to the others. “He’s dead weight anyway.”
The shimmering wall wavered closer.
As Jim-Bean passed Tarrou’s unmoving form, the doctor’s arm shot out, gripping his leg.
Tarrou’s desperate grab turn into a convulsive squeeze as his legs were struck by the shimmering wall. The pants of his leg faded and disintegrated, revealing gray skin that flaked off and muscle that turned to powder. Tarrou shrieked at the top of his lungs.
“Get off of me!” snarled Jim-Bean. He aimed a wicked kick to the man’s head.
Tarrou’s head lolled, his nose broken. He gurgled in pain as the shimmering wall closed in on him. It reached his torso just as Jim-Bean slipped through the door on the opposite side of the room.
The high pitched screech was still ringing in his ears when the door closed behind him.
They moved quickly from room to room, the gradual encroachment of the shimmering wall giving chase. They finally cleared four more rooms, for a total of ten. Fielding dutifully marked them down with his watch.
Jim-Bean looked up. “I don’t remember that being here before.”
There were drawings of a tesseract on each of the panels of the walls, ceiling, and floor that didn’t contain a door.
Fielding started laughing. “A tesseract! Of course! I can’t believe I didn’t see it before, it’s been staring at us in the face the whole time!”
“Uh…what?” asked Hammer, concerned that the man had finally lost his mind.
“Look, a tesseract, it’s another name for a hypercube, a four-dimensional cube,” said Fielding with exasperation. “All the elements are there: rooms repeating, rooms folding in on themselves, teleportation, it could all very well add up. Look here, let’s call one dimension length.” He scratched a line in the wall. “And represent that with a simple line.” He scratched another line, outlining a square. “Two dimensions are length and width, which can be represented by a simple square.” He scratched a three-dimensional representation of a cube. “Now if we extend that square one more dimension we get a cube, which has three dimensions: length, width, and depth. Here’s the really funky part. If you take this cube and extend it one more dimension we get a tesseract.”
“I always thought time was considered the fourth dimension,” said McNab.
“Sure that’s just one idea, but what if you have a fourth spatial dimension?” asked Fielding. “A hypercube isn’t supposed to be real, it’s just a theoretical construct.”
Hammer rubbed his forehead. “This place gives me a headache.”
McNab shook his head. “Right, anyway, here’s my theory for what it’s worth. I’ve been seeing Dr. Tarrou for months. I was on the verge of a breakdown before I met him.” He stabbed an accusing finger in Hammer’s direction. “He told us we were going to participate in some form of experimental therapy when you goons showed up! I think they’ve got us strapped to tables in some CIFA prison somewhere, high on LSD.”
“That’s right. I…” Fielding blinked. “I didn’t remember it before, but that’s right. My wife had just divorced me. Doctor Tarrou was treating me…he told me to come to his home for experimental therapy, the drugs he gave me weren’t working…”
“Does that number mean anything?” asked Jim-Bean.
There was a number scratched into the ceiling: 60659. It wasn’t there before.
“Sixty thousand, six hundred and fifty nine rooms?” wondered Fielding.
“Yowza. Things just got interesting. There’s a girl in the other room. I’m going in…” He suddenly shrieked as he nearly fell through the door.
Jim-Bean grabbed hold of McNab’s belt and pulled him back. He could see what McNab was reacting to. There was an unconscious woman in a red dress and heels on the floor.
As they climbed in, she woke up.
“What? What the hell? Where am I? Who the hell are you people?” She looked around. “I must have had more to drink last night than I thought.”
Hammer made introductions. “Who are you and how did you get here?”
“I’m Amy. Amy Spencer. I was seeing Doctor Tarrou to deal with work stress. He prescribed me these eye drops. The last thing I remember was putting two drops in my eyes and then I woke up here.” She looked the motley crew of people up and down. “How the hell did I get here? Have we been kidnapped?”
“I’m starting to see a pattern,” said Jim-Bean.
“Don’t ask me to explain what this place is,” said Hammer. “I don’t entirely understand it myself. We’re trying to get out of here together.”
McNab grinned. “You’re welcome to join us!”
Spencer rubbed her temples. “I don’t see that I have much choice.”
“More numbers,” said McNab. He was crouched down on the floor, peering at the inside of the door in the center of it. “1116059000.”
Jim-Bean picked something off of the door on the opposite side of the room. “Hey neat, these rooms come with watches now.”
Fielding inspected the watch. “Well this is bizarre.”
“Now what?” asked Hammer.
Fielding took off the watch on his wrist. “This is the watch that my wife gave me on my twentieth anniversary just before the divorce. See?” He showed the back of it. There was an engraving that read, “To Martin, Happy 20! With Love, Norma.”
“And this is the watch we just found,” he showed the back of the watch. The engraving was identical.
“Well,” said Jim-Bean, strapping the watch on his wrist. “At least we know what time it is.”
McNab opened another door. “Holy crap, there’s someone in here!”
The gravity shifted in the room again, forcing everyone to climb sideways once they entered the room. A skeletal corpse clad in tattered rags lay crumpled on the floor. A nauseating stench filled the air.
Hammer inspected the corpse. “It’s covered in mathematical formulae and odd phrases.”
“It’s on the walls too,” said Jim-Bean. “On every available writing space.”
Fielding tapped a part of the wall. “Here’s that number again: 60659. Can you make out what it says on his body?”
Hammer read up and down the length of one arm.
“Daoloth may grant vision to his priests—visions of past and of future, and into the very last dimension, beyond even the twenty-fifth. But the gift of true sight is a dangerous one, for reality is but a fragile illusion, and madness comes quickly with truth.”
“Anything on him we can use?” asked Jim-Bean.
Hammer held up a pen. “Not unless you want to write your life’s story, no.”
The corpse begins to rot away right before their eyes.
Jim-Bean took the pen from Hammer. “Just in case it’s a short story.”
Jim-Bean opened the next door to see a doppelganger of himself peering back. The duplicate whispered, “Help me, please…”
Blood spurted from the other Jim-Bean’s mouth as he was stabbed from behind.
“Don’t trust him!” snarled Hammer on the other side of the room, a bloody knife in his hand. He had obviously been in a fight; blood dripped from his nose.
Beyond Hammer, odd translucent pillars lurched sideways into the room.
“He’s lying about everything!” snarled the second Hammer.
The parallel Hammer was suddenly beheaded by one of the pillars. The door whisked shut.
“Jesus!” shouted Jim-Bean, stumbling backwards. “Did you see that?”
Hammer nodded grimly. “I saw it.”
“Wait!” shouted Fielding. “I have an idea. I know what just happened was a little…shocking, but actually it makes total sense. If we’re really in a multidimensional quantum environment. One fundamental idea of a quantum universe is that actual realities can exist simultaneously. So what we saw was copies of us in a parallel universe. That explains why we saw somebody else was marking numbers in the room and why there’s duplicates of my watch. I thought about leaving my watch as a trail and what a pity it would be to leave my watch behind…but this means I must have finally decided to leave it behind in an alternate reality!”
A putrescent, translucent bag of semisolid flesh trails nests of writhing tentacles shimmered into view. Most of the tendrils are sense organs, but the thickest tendril ends in a cruelly fanged mouth.
“Guys!” shouted Jim-Bean. “Wake up!”
With a sudden roar, the thing tore into Fielding, churning him into a bloody spray.
“Run!” shouted Hammer.
The thing practically filled the entire room.
Hammer, Guppy, and Jim-Bean fled in one direction. Spencer and McNab fled in the other.
“That thing has to have been hunting us this whole time,” said Hammer. “That’s what you’ve been hearing, Guppy.”
They opened another door.
“Oh,” said Hammer.
Jim-Bean craned his neck to look over Hammer’s shoulder. “What is it?”
“We’re all dead in there. I guess in that reality we didn’t wake up in time.”
“Pleasant,” said Jim-Bean. “Let’s not go into that room.
Hammer nodded and stepped away from the door.
A parallel duplicate of Tarrou hanging from the wall faded into view.
“And Tarrou hung himself in that reality,” said Jim-Bean.
“But now it’s coming INTO the rooms,” said Hammer.
Slowly, all the etchings that were written by Tarrou appeared on the walls, as did Fielding’s sketches of a cube.
“What is it?” asked Guppy. “What’s going on?”
“Things are starting to fade in,” said Hammer, looking around at each wall. “Etchings, sketches, Tarrou’s dead body…”
“That’s it!” Guppy laughed hysterically. “That’s it! I think…I think we’re IN Daoloth! All the realities are starting to collapse into one space. The Blink drug that Tarrou was giving us…all of us took it, right?”
“Not all of us,” Jim-Bean said darkly. “But we got sucked into whatever that thing was in the pentagram. Us, Tarrou, his cronies…”
“We’re all trapped inside the thing!” said Guppy. “And Daoloth is expanding right now…but when he leaves our world he’ll shrink to nothingness…implode! It’s only a matter of time.”
“Let’s go,” said Jim-Bean. He put his palm to the door…
And saw the shimmering wall pushing forward – only now he saw himself on the opposite side of it. They caught a glimpse of each other and then the door slid shut.
Hammer tried the right door. It was filled with pillars. A body squirmed beneath them, smashed to death.
Jim-Bean tried the left door. The pulpy bag of flesh shrieked at him with an unearthly roar. He closed it.
Hammer opened the door behind him, only to catch a glimpse of himself, staring at in shock – and then beheaded by shimmering pillars.
“Christ!” shouted Hammer.
The door they had decided not to enter, where the dead bodies were, whisked open. The Asian man entered the room. Three copies of Martin Fielding’s watch danged from his wrist and a knife was in his hand.
“Who the hell are you?” asked Jim-Bean.
“Ngo Dinh Hao. I’m glad you invited me to dinner.” He licked his lips, and revealing that his teeth were filed to points. “Because I’m hungry.”
He lunged at Jim-Bean, but Hammer grabbed his wrist and twisted. The knife clattered to the ground.
Jim-Bean bent to pick it up when he heard a shriek behind him.
Another copy of Hao had Guppy in a vice with a knife to his neck. This version was older than before and he had several copies of Fielding’s watch dangling from his wrist.
“What the hell are you doing?” asked Jim-Bean, knife at the ready. Hammer and the original copy of Hao grappled in the background.
“Tarrou was a fool. I was asked to give him the Blink but he abused it! And now we are trapped in this false god!” He shook his head. “Well I’m not going alone.”
“Is this a hostage negotiation?” asked Jim-Bean. “You realize there’s no hostages, right? There’s just endless copies of all of us. Of you. Of me. Of Guppy. You can kill him. Eat him. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.” He took a step closer. “Are you even the original? Do you even know?”
Hao grinned. “I asked the first one I met.” He slowly scraped the knife along Guppy’s neck, dripping a trail of blood. “He tasted like chicken.”
The room began to shimmer. Spider web-like cracks snaked along the walls. The entire room turned black and white as the color drained out of it, an inverted reflection of itself. Then the panels disintegrated in pieces, leaving just a superstructure of the room. A whirling gray fog surrounded them.
The Hao holding Guppy hostage looked around in awe, loosening his grip on Guppy.
All of a sudden the room was filled with beeping. All the watch alarms were set for 6:06:59 p.m.
“That’s it!” shouted Jim-Bean, staring at the watch on his arm. “60659 wasn’t a number! It was a time!”
The first version of Hao lost his concentration as he gripped Hammer. Hammer turned and, whirling the smaller man like a shot put, hurled him into the second copy. Both of them were hurdled screaming into the abyss.
“Six hours, six minutes, and fifty nine seconds! This is it!”
The superstructure of the room rippled and chipped off, piece by piece, hurled away into the whirlwind that surrounded them. Only the door on the floor remained.
Jim-Bean tore open the door in the floor. The area beyond was cloaked in absolute darkness, even though the door was fully opened. No light source penetrated it.
Jim-Bean jumped through. Hammer dragged Guppy over and shoved him in.
Jim-Bean was falling, falling, falling through a shaft formed of infinite cubes, all rendered in stark black and white contrast. It seemed as if he were falling forward, but in reality he was falling backwards, away from the infinite lines of Daoloth’s structure, which were so long as to appear curved. It was only as Jim-Bean fell further that the distance became apparent and he could see the structure of Daoloth’s form, lines within lines, coalescing into a cube of sorts. The cube pulsed and rippled as lines shifted within it.
And then he was falling back towards it, through the cube and between the curved strings of cubes strung together, hurtling through a shaft…
Jim-Bean woke up in an apartment. Furniture was overturned, ornaments and knick-knacks scatted across the floor mingled with appliances and utensils from the kitchen. The contents of every closet and cabinet, of every wardrobe and cupboard, lay strewn about the place.
Hammer was already up and about. Guppy was slowly getting to his feet.
Guppy took off the gauze. “This is Rachel’s place,” he said softly.
Rachel was on the floor, her eyes glazed, breathing quickly. Hammer checked her pulse. “High on Blink. But she should come out of it soon.”
A red light blinked on the answering machine. “She’s got a phone message,” said Jim-Bean. He pressed the button.
“Hello Ms. Hayward,” said a voice they were familiar with. “This is Dr. Tarrou. I trust the eye drops have been effective in alleviating your distress. Let me remind you that this wonderful new therapeutic medicament is still in its experimental stage and has not yet been approved for pharmaceutical purposes. Remember to take only one drop in each eye a night before retiring, and please record your upon waking every sensation in as much detail as recollection allows; it will allow me to more clearly monitor your progress at your subsequent consultations here in Asharoken. I trust that you are finding this new drug more efficacious than the morphine.”
This scenario, “Last Rites,” is a Cthulhu Now scenario from Last Rites by Ian Winterton. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!
Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by Jeremy Ortiz
Kurtis "Hammer" Grange (Fast/Dedicated Hero/Gunslinger) played by George Webster
Hank “Guppy” Gupta (Smart Hero/Field Scientist) played by Joseph Tresca (creepyportfolio.com)
Joseph “Archive” Fontaine (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by Joe Lalumia
Whereas the last session I had too few players, this session I had nearly the whole gang. This session in particular moves fast, and I wanted to make it a little more personal for the PCs to keep them interested. So I threw in a flashback that I thought worked well in getting the agents interested in a key NPC.
Then I killed him.
I felt it was important both to have the NPC be present and to see him die in a senseless, violent sort of way. I also wanted to deal with Jim-Bean’s psychic powers that have now reached a point where they simply can’t be ignored.
The original scenario wasn’t particularly exciting; it involves a psychic girl hiding in her room while she mentally controls her undead dad. Which would take well-armed agents a whole five minutes to resolve. So instead, I ripped off Friday the 13th Part VII: The New Blood and Freddy vs. Jason to amp the action up to 11. This means Lucinda’s powers go from mildly disturbing to out-and-out superkinetic, and her creepy father becomes a nigh-unstoppable killing machine. With a chainsaw and a machete. I can’t quite express the joy of getting to use one of my chainsaw wielding maniac miniatures.
This scenario moved quickly and the pacing was both fast and violent. On the other hand, dealing with a slasher-type monster makes it near impossible to defeat (I used the revenant template, for anyone who’s interested), and I started to realize that this scenario was more about railroading and less about having much to do. This was reflected in Jim-Bean who essentially froze up as Jeremy tried to decide the next logical move. When one of your players does that, it’s usually a sign that the plot isn’t very clear.
Still, the conclusion was both dramatic and satisfying. It just didn’t have all that much for the agents to do, and it’s something I plan to improve in future scenarios.
Defining Moment: Jim-Bean considers killing a teenage girl in cold blood to stop a murderous rampage.
And I know I'm gonna steal her eye
She doesn't even know what's wrong
And I know I'm gonna make her die
Take her where her soul belongs
And I know I'm gonna steal her eye
Nothing that I wouldn't try
--Girl by Beck
Jim-Bean was in a room. All he could make out was the silhouette of a figure. He was most obscured by the spotlight near his head, shining through the glass separating the examination room from the doctor’s office.
“Now Mister Baxter, I’m going to ask you again…”
Jim-Bean could make out a nametag: Dr. Alan Ettringer.
“You sustained a shotgun wound at point blank range.”
“Oh yeah? I don’t remember.”
Jim-Bean was strapped down to a table. He couldn’t move his arms, legs, or even turn his head. Something was connected to his temples. There was an odd hum in the background.
“You were cognizant enough to get up, eliminate the target, then make your way to the train’s engine and force the engineer to apply the brakes. You then returned to the location where you were shot and carried on a conversation with your fellow agents.”
“I don’t—“
Ettringer pressed a button and Jim-Bean heard his own voice: “Out of the way…We’ll do this the old fashioned way—“
“Do you remember now?”
Jim-Bean shrugged as best he could in his restraints. “Sounds like me.”
Ettringer’s smooth voice indicated the slightest hint of amusement. “Let’s move on, shall we? You received a debilitating case of necrotizing fasciitis from a bite wound.”
“Oh yah, I remember that. Saucy wench. She could get quite rough if you know what I’m saying—“
“Mister Baxter,” interrupted Ettringer. “Do you realize that the mortality rate of necrotizing fasciitis is over 70 percent?”
“Err, no?”
“When doctors initially examined you, it appeared that the necrotizing fasciitis was actually reversing itself. You didn’t even require debridement.”
“…just lucky I guess.”
“Uhm hmm.” Ettringer’s hand hovered over a switch. “We’re going to perform a few tests to see the limits of your endurance.”
“Wait!” Someone put something over Jim-Bean’s eyes. Jim-Bean struggled in the restraints. “Whaddaya mean by…”
“Don’t worry…”
Jim-Bean tried to scream, but hands thrust a bite guard into his mouth and pulled it tight, stretching the edges of his lips into a rictus.
“You won’t remember any of this. Welcome to Project RECOIL.”
Then Ettringer flipped the switch and the world exploded as electricity coursed through every muscle.
"Jimbo? Earth to Jimmy-Bean!" Hammer's voice floated through Jim-Bean's consciousness.
Hammer, Guppy, and Archive were seated all around Jim-Bean in office chairs, their faces illuminated by the blank computer screen before him. They looked at him expectantly.
Jim-Bean snapped out of it. "Wha?'
"You've been sitting there staring at the DVD for like a minute. Did you just have a stroke?"
Jim-Bean chuckled, but he was really just buying time to clear his head. The DVD was marked “Arkham Asylum Outpatient Lucinda Ennis.” The author was listed as Dr. Alan Ettringer. It had triggered a memory – more of a vision – and the visions were becoming all too common when Jim-Bean touched things.
Probably part of those "attributes" that Majestic-12 was so interested in. The suppressed memory made him decide that keeping these new visions to himself was the safest course of action.
Hammer took the DVD out of Jim-Bean's fingers and popped it into the DVD player. "Lay off the drugs."
The same calm voice of Ettringer piped through the monitor speakers. “…the Baxter Case in 2005. The documentation here is much greater.”
“Baxter Case?” asked Hammer, peering at Jim-Bean suspiciously.
Jim-Bean shrugged. “There’s a lot of Baxters.”
“By keeping Lucinda Ennis' trauma and stress levels high,” continued Ettringer on the tape, “I’m confident I can induce huge psychokinetic reactions.”
"Lucinda Ennis?" said Archive. "I recognize that name. Is she related to Sophie?"
"Who's that?" asked Guppy.
"We found the corpse of a little girl at the former site of the orphanage on McKinley Boulevard," said Archive. "DNA evidence identified her at Sophie Ennis."
A dark-haired, brooding girl walked in, eyeing the camera suspiciously.
“Is that really necessary?”
Ettringer stepped on screen, looking just as Jim-Bean remembered him. He barely spared the camera a glance. “The camera? I just want to keep track of our progress, all right?” He read off a pad. “Let’s get back to work. Here, look at me. See this matchbox?” He placed a matchbox down on the desk. “I’m going to set it on the desk here. I want you to concentrate. I want you to think about your feelings and focus them in on the matchbook. Maybe we can get it to move.”
Lucinda stared glumly at it. Nothing happened.
“You’re not trying, Lucy.”
“Yes I am!” protested Lucinda.
“Think about it moving. Then make it move!”
Lucinda held her breath and strained, staring at the matchbook. After another second she gasped for air. “I can’t! I told you I don’t know how it happens—sometimes it happens and sometimes it doesn’t happen!”
“You’re lying to me!” snarled Ettringer in an uncharacteristic loss of composure. He stalked over to her, leaning closer. “You’re lying because it happens when your emotions are their PEAK.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “Now you’re holding back. Concentrate. CONCENTRATE LUCY!”
Lucinda turned back, eyes wide. The matchbook skittered across the table.
“Well well. What did you do? What went through your mind?”
Lucinda didn't look at him. “I was thinking about you.”
Ettringer barked out a laugh. He didn’t expect that response.
“Look I don’t know how this is going to help me,” said Lucinda.
“Your psychokinetic ability is a projection of the suppressed guilt feelings that you have.”
“Would you speak English?” asked Lucinda. “You’re more interested in this telekinetic stuff than you are in me!”
Ettringer wagged a finger at her. “That is not true, Lucinda! The only reason that I’m here is to help you overcome the guilt you have about your father’s death. That’s all!”
“That’s BULLS#!T!” shouted Lucinda.
The matches burst into flames. Lucinda stormed off camera.
“I rest my case,” Ettringer said quietly.
The tape ended and the screen went blank.
"That's our man," said Hammer. "Looks like a Friendly got himself into some trouble."
Guppy frowned. "I have heard of this Ettringer when I was at the Van Dyson Clinic." He rubbed his temples. "He has an affinity for—"
"Electroshock therapy," finished Jim-Bean. He got up from his chair and left before Guppy could ask him how he knew.
RUNVILLE, MA—Runville was tiny and isolated. A narrow, lumpy dead-end road wound through dreary marshes that often flooded the road in the winter. Inland, the road joined a state highway.
The town was carved out of the bluff below, well above the sea but the streets were built on tiers like a lopsided wedding cake. Below the fishermen, who lived on the lowest level, was a shingle-covered beach and a sheltering cove. The Springer Mansion was the sole exception, a sprawling manor that included a private dock to the shore. A lighthouse, situated on a notorious shoal a few miles out into the Atlantic, gave a baleful glare as it rotated its all-seeing eye into the chilling fog.
The team arrived at a cabin on the highest level of Runville, starkly illuminated by the lights of the county sheriff’s vehicle.
"This is the town where Robert said the three remaining cultists were hiding out," Hammer whispered to Jim-Bean.
Sheriff Maurice Talbott was on the scene, along with his deputy, Toby Ettringer. A grossly bloody sheet was lifted into a nearby ambulance.
Hammer flashed his badge. "Federal agent. What have we got?"
“Two kids in one of the cabins nearby here," said Talbott to Hammer. "One was knifed in the head, the other looks like her head was crushed.”
He shot Hammer a sideways glance. “If the Feds are snooping around then that confirms my worst suspicions. This is a serial killer we got on our hands, huh?” He shook his head. “Hard to believe a little girl like that could do so much harm.”
"Lucinda Ennis is the suspect?" asked Jim-Bean.
Talbott nodded. “We’ve got all officers, all units and stations within a fifty-mile radius alerted about this wacko kid. Lucy came running into the sheriff’s office, claiming that her father was alive. She said she dug up his body and poured something over it, some crazy potion she got from her boyfriend. Lucy said her father came back to life, but she couldn’t control him. When we didn’t immediately agree to help her, she made a grab for one of our rifles. Locked her ass up. Should have stayed there too.”
“Locked her up? How did she get out?” asked Hammer.
“We were told to let her out.” Talbott took his hat off and scratched his head. “We even took her to the Eternal Rest cemetery to prove that her father was still dead, but that wasn’t enough for her either. Lucy said someone covered up her father’s grave.” Talbott shook his head. “I don’t find it amusing that the nut house Lucy belonged to thought she was responsible enough to be released into the Doc’s care here.”
"What nuthouse is that?" asked Guppy quietly.
"Arkham Asylum," said a familiar soft voice behind them.
Tablott looked over Guppy's shoulder him a glare. “Where’s my manners? This here’s Dr. Alan Ettringer, a psychiatrist from Arkham Asylum. We released Lucy into his custody.”
Jim-Bean was very still. Did Ettringer even remember him?
If Ettringer recognized Jim-Bean he didn't show it. He looked distinctly uncomfortable. “If I may have a word with you please?” he whispered to Hammer.
The doctor took him aside. “I believe that Lucy’s psychokinetic powers are rapidly spiraling out of control. She claims to have resurrected her father. Her psychokinesis and delusions are clearly tied together. When she heard that her sister’s murder was cult-related, she started ranting and raving about avenging Sophia through her neglectful father. I fear she’s using her powers to kill whomever she thinks is tied to the cult.”
Hammer nodded. "Thanks, Doc. We'll keep it under advisement."
“Sheriff!” shouted one of the officers. “Get over here!”
Talbott took off into the woods toward his deputy's voice. He moved rapidly through the maze of trees and brush.
“Sheriff, over here!” shouted the deputy. Deputy Colone waved a flashlight.
Running up to his ashen-faced deputy, Sheriff Talbott looked down at what Colone held out.
In his hand was a pair of blood-splattered goggles. Talbott looked at him. “Is that all you found?”
“I wish it was,” replied the deputy. He shined his flashlight at the ground.
A severed arm was illuminated in the flashlight beam. It wore an Army fatigue sleeve. The beam moved over a couple of yards to a hacked-off leg, also in fatigues.
Both lawmen stared stoically down at the body parts.
"Stupid paintball kids," said Talbott, shaking his head. "They're not supposed to play out here, but they never listen."
The Sheriff's team started cordoning off the area.
Hammer huddled the other agents around him. "So this Lucy person finds out the cultists sacrificed her sister when she was at the orphanage. She reanimates her father and goes on a rampage."
Jim-Bean picked up the goggles. “Lucy’s father did this.”
“You mean the dead man?” asked Talbott.
Jim-Bean nodded. “Looks like she was telling the truth. He did it with a chainsaw.”
“A chainsaw?” Talbott laughed. “Hell, there are a thousand easier ways to kill a man than with a chainsaw. You know how strong ya gotta be to chop off a limb like that?”
“Very strong,” said Jim-Bean. “Look around for footprints. Lucy unearthed him recently from his grave, so there should be dirt from the graveyard.”
Talbott stared at him. “You can tell all that from a pair of goggles?”
“Forensics,” was all Jim-Bean said.
"If what Jim-Bean said is true," said Archive, “the three cultists are in grave danger.”
"What were their names again?" asked Hammer.
"David Flaherty, Katrina Smith, and Bernadette Springer."
"We'd better get over to Flaherty's place—"
"Don't bother." The sheriff stalked over to Hammer. "They just found David Flaherty. Somebody ripped his head clean off.”
Hammer checked his watch. "All right, time's ticking for the other two. Let's get to Smith's place. Move, people, move!"
“I’ll go with you,” said Ettringer. “I may be the only one who can control her.”
Katrina Smith's home was a large two-story building with white columns on the lowest level of Runville. A covered dock extended off the other side of the property into Runville Cove. The bright red door stood wide open. The wind was s getting stronger as it whipped through the trees, causing streetlights to flicker.
Hammer surveyed the grounds suspiciously. "Me and Jim-Bean will go inside. Guppy, Archive, go around back. Ettringer, stay close to me."
Ettringer nodded. He didn't catch Jim-Bean's frown in the darkness.
The raging wind causes everything to whistle and move. Lightning cracked nearby and the power went out completely.
"Of course," muttered Jim-Bean.
Hammer's head was cocked, straining to listen. "Shh!"
Jim-Bean listened too. Laughter from upstairs.
They crept their way to a bedroom. Hammer shined his light on the source of the sound.
It was a Furby, white eyes glistening in the darkness as its beak clicked. “Waa, waylo, koko!” it tweeted. “Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-“
Click! The lights came back on. The Furby was speckled with red.
“-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
"AAAAAH!" screamed Ettringer.
On the bed was Katarina Smith, her body horribly mangled.
The normally calm doctor fled the room, stumbling down the steps.
Hammer sighed. "This is what we get for taking civilians along."
They were about to start after Ettringer, who was still screaming outside, when it was interrupted by the sound of two gunshots.
Linear Mode
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