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Story Hour
Modern/Delta Green - The Beginning of the End (COMPLETED)
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<blockquote data-quote="talien" data-source="post: 6026069" data-attributes="member: 3285"><p><strong>Live Evil: Part 3 – Gone Daffyd</strong></p><p></p><p>Just outside the manor house, a fog-veiled figure was silhouetted by the pale moonlight. Some six-foot high and wearing a long black coat, it stood with its back to them, unaware of their presence.</p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean crept up to him, pistol at the ready. "Turn around slowly."</p><p></p><p>"Wha?!" The man spun and a spray of urine nearly spattered Jim-Bean. </p><p></p><p>The man had a careworn grimy face. Two glistening blue eyes stared out from beneath a full beard and moustache. The eyes were unfocused and initially uncomprehending. Jim-Bean knew the smell of a drunk, back when he still ate and drank. </p><p></p><p>“Who…who are you?” he stuttered, in a thick Welsh accent, before shrugging his shoulders in protest. </p><p></p><p>"More importantly," asked Hammer menacingly. "Who are you?"</p><p></p><p>“Leave me alone! I don’t want anything to do with whatever it is you want!”</p><p></p><p>"I think you can take some time to chat with us." Jim-Bean took a flask out of his pocket. "Here."</p><p></p><p>The man's eyes followed the flask like a fish desperate to plunge into water. He snatched it out of Jim-Bean's hand and took a swig. "Yer very kind, stranger."</p><p></p><p>"As my friend was saying…"</p><p></p><p>"Th' name's Daffyd James Jones. I grew up around here."</p><p></p><p>Cornwell grabbed him by the collar to get the drunk's attention. "And did ya see a camera team here?"</p><p></p><p>"Aye. There was a camera team in the village for the last couple of days – I don't know where they went though. I'd ask at the Merry Maiden if I were you."</p><p></p><p>And with that he slowly stumbled his way to the pub.</p><p></p><p>"Well, guess we should go with him," said Hammer. "Jimmy, you're with me. Archive, Cornwell, you take point outside."</p><p></p><p>The fog lifted somewhat as they started to make their way towards the center of the village. From up ahead came a shrill whistle, blasting through the fog, followed by a roar. Ghostly lights appeared, dulled and softened by the pale foggy curtain still hanging in the air.</p><p></p><p>Then suddenly, as if by some supernatural hand, the fog cleared. A group of people holding bottles and pint glasses were standing outside the pub, surrounding a large grey shire horse, draped in a saddle covered with garlands of flowers. The horse seemed unbothered by the drinking and dancing of the villagers. Indeed, they could hear their cheers and songs, most of which are unintelligible due to intoxication. One lonely street light, mounted on the wall of the pub, illuminated the scene, casting a gentle orange glow on the whole area.</p><p></p><p>The horse was guarded by four large and burly villagers dressed in black and green capes, who stood facing outward, staring into the night and not partaking in the general festivities. One of them was holding the bit and bridle of the horse.</p><p></p><p>"Hey," said Hammer. "What are you doing with that horse?"</p><p></p><p>"It is a symbolic sacrifice to the spirits of the dead, to prepare for the forthcoming Winter. This is all cleared by Constable Pritchard.” </p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean shook his head. "I don't like this. This looks cult-like to me."</p><p></p><p>"Of course it is," said Hammer nonchalantly. Marching to their doom, they made their way to the Merry Maiden.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="talien, post: 6026069, member: 3285"] [b]Live Evil: Part 3 – Gone Daffyd[/b] Just outside the manor house, a fog-veiled figure was silhouetted by the pale moonlight. Some six-foot high and wearing a long black coat, it stood with its back to them, unaware of their presence. Jim-Bean crept up to him, pistol at the ready. "Turn around slowly." "Wha?!" The man spun and a spray of urine nearly spattered Jim-Bean. The man had a careworn grimy face. Two glistening blue eyes stared out from beneath a full beard and moustache. The eyes were unfocused and initially uncomprehending. Jim-Bean knew the smell of a drunk, back when he still ate and drank. “Who…who are you?” he stuttered, in a thick Welsh accent, before shrugging his shoulders in protest. "More importantly," asked Hammer menacingly. "Who are you?" “Leave me alone! I don’t want anything to do with whatever it is you want!” "I think you can take some time to chat with us." Jim-Bean took a flask out of his pocket. "Here." The man's eyes followed the flask like a fish desperate to plunge into water. He snatched it out of Jim-Bean's hand and took a swig. "Yer very kind, stranger." "As my friend was saying…" "Th' name's Daffyd James Jones. I grew up around here." Cornwell grabbed him by the collar to get the drunk's attention. "And did ya see a camera team here?" "Aye. There was a camera team in the village for the last couple of days – I don't know where they went though. I'd ask at the Merry Maiden if I were you." And with that he slowly stumbled his way to the pub. "Well, guess we should go with him," said Hammer. "Jimmy, you're with me. Archive, Cornwell, you take point outside." The fog lifted somewhat as they started to make their way towards the center of the village. From up ahead came a shrill whistle, blasting through the fog, followed by a roar. Ghostly lights appeared, dulled and softened by the pale foggy curtain still hanging in the air. Then suddenly, as if by some supernatural hand, the fog cleared. A group of people holding bottles and pint glasses were standing outside the pub, surrounding a large grey shire horse, draped in a saddle covered with garlands of flowers. The horse seemed unbothered by the drinking and dancing of the villagers. Indeed, they could hear their cheers and songs, most of which are unintelligible due to intoxication. One lonely street light, mounted on the wall of the pub, illuminated the scene, casting a gentle orange glow on the whole area. The horse was guarded by four large and burly villagers dressed in black and green capes, who stood facing outward, staring into the night and not partaking in the general festivities. One of them was holding the bit and bridle of the horse. "Hey," said Hammer. "What are you doing with that horse?" "It is a symbolic sacrifice to the spirits of the dead, to prepare for the forthcoming Winter. This is all cleared by Constable Pritchard.” Jim-Bean shook his head. "I don't like this. This looks cult-like to me." "Of course it is," said Hammer nonchalantly. Marching to their doom, they made their way to the Merry Maiden. [/QUOTE]
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