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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: 6026667" data-attributes="member: 3285"><p><strong>Live Evil: Part 4 – Maiden Merry</strong></p><p></p><p>Entering the pub was like stepping backward into the 17th century. The ceiling was low, dominated by large wooden beams. The atmosphere was smoky, making it nearly impossible to see the long low bar on the other side of the room. </p><p></p><p>The smoke was produced by a dozen tables worth of villagers, talking amongst themselves whilst sipping their drinks. Some of them were wearing costumes of garlands of flowers and long capes. A few glanced up as the agents entered before returning their attention to their drinks and the conversations they were having. </p><p></p><p>The only concession to the modern era was a fruit machine standing lonely in one corner, multi-colored lights flashing away, ignored by the rest of the pub.</p><p></p><p>"We're looking for Pritchard," said Hammer. </p><p></p><p>"Ya mean Constable Pritchard of the South Wales Police”, corrected a hook-nosed villager. He pointed to a large gentleman sitting in the corner, deep in conversation with another villager.</p><p></p><p>Constable Pritchard was a youngish man with blond hair. Judging by his farming clothes he was off-duty. He cheerfully waved them over. The thin man with sallow features got up and left without saying a word.</p><p></p><p>"What kin I do fer ya gentlemen?"</p><p></p><p>Hammer didn't sit, his stance aggressive, hands at the ready to reach for his pistols if need be. "We're looking for a camera crew that was at the manor house. Have you seen them?"</p><p></p><p>"Oh aye. They were in the village, but left this morning to go film somewhere outside of the village. They are due back sometime this evening when they will be filming the Ceremony on the mountain."</p><p></p><p>"Hammer," said Jim-Bean, one hand inching under his overcoat.</p><p></p><p>Hammer waved him off. "That the ceremony that involves the horse. Going to slaughter it or something?"</p><p></p><p>Pritchard looked indignant. "The Ceremony is a time-honored village tradition, stretching back hundreds of years. Every Halloween, a straw man is burnt on the mountain as a respectful nod to our Celtic ancestors. The horse is not going to be sacrificed in reality but only symbolically."</p><p></p><p>"That's when the giant straw man comes to life and kills everybody," whispered Jim-Bean. "I say we torch the place."</p><p></p><p>"In fact, the Ceremony is just about to start. Would you like to accompany me?"</p><p></p><p>Hammer and Jim-Bean exchanged glances. "Sure."</p><p></p><p>Pritchard gathered up a bulging rucksack from beneath the table and left. The pub emptied soon after.</p><p></p><p>Outside, a gaggle of villagers, some of which were wielding flaming torches, milled about. Constable Pritchard produced a whistle and blew on it shrilly. The villagers formed up into a drunken approximation of a military procession with the horse at the front. Out of nowhere appeared Jones, manhandled by two villagers, and he was lifted up onto the horse</p><p></p><p>The fog lifted, leaving a crisp, clear Autumn night with the stars sparkling brightly above. The whole convoy of over sixty villagers staggered off out the village and slowly up the hill on foot, chanting and singing Welsh folk songs.</p><p></p><p>Following the procession, Jim-Bean and Hammer, trailed by Archive and Cornwell, made their way to the ritual site on top of Givenny Hill.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="talien, post: 6026667, member: 3285"] [b]Live Evil: Part 4 – Maiden Merry[/b] Entering the pub was like stepping backward into the 17th century. The ceiling was low, dominated by large wooden beams. The atmosphere was smoky, making it nearly impossible to see the long low bar on the other side of the room. The smoke was produced by a dozen tables worth of villagers, talking amongst themselves whilst sipping their drinks. Some of them were wearing costumes of garlands of flowers and long capes. A few glanced up as the agents entered before returning their attention to their drinks and the conversations they were having. The only concession to the modern era was a fruit machine standing lonely in one corner, multi-colored lights flashing away, ignored by the rest of the pub. "We're looking for Pritchard," said Hammer. "Ya mean Constable Pritchard of the South Wales Police”, corrected a hook-nosed villager. He pointed to a large gentleman sitting in the corner, deep in conversation with another villager. Constable Pritchard was a youngish man with blond hair. Judging by his farming clothes he was off-duty. He cheerfully waved them over. The thin man with sallow features got up and left without saying a word. "What kin I do fer ya gentlemen?" Hammer didn't sit, his stance aggressive, hands at the ready to reach for his pistols if need be. "We're looking for a camera crew that was at the manor house. Have you seen them?" "Oh aye. They were in the village, but left this morning to go film somewhere outside of the village. They are due back sometime this evening when they will be filming the Ceremony on the mountain." "Hammer," said Jim-Bean, one hand inching under his overcoat. Hammer waved him off. "That the ceremony that involves the horse. Going to slaughter it or something?" Pritchard looked indignant. "The Ceremony is a time-honored village tradition, stretching back hundreds of years. Every Halloween, a straw man is burnt on the mountain as a respectful nod to our Celtic ancestors. The horse is not going to be sacrificed in reality but only symbolically." "That's when the giant straw man comes to life and kills everybody," whispered Jim-Bean. "I say we torch the place." "In fact, the Ceremony is just about to start. Would you like to accompany me?" Hammer and Jim-Bean exchanged glances. "Sure." Pritchard gathered up a bulging rucksack from beneath the table and left. The pub emptied soon after. Outside, a gaggle of villagers, some of which were wielding flaming torches, milled about. Constable Pritchard produced a whistle and blew on it shrilly. The villagers formed up into a drunken approximation of a military procession with the horse at the front. Out of nowhere appeared Jones, manhandled by two villagers, and he was lifted up onto the horse The fog lifted, leaving a crisp, clear Autumn night with the stars sparkling brightly above. The whole convoy of over sixty villagers staggered off out the village and slowly up the hill on foot, chanting and singing Welsh folk songs. Following the procession, Jim-Bean and Hammer, trailed by Archive and Cornwell, made their way to the ritual site on top of Givenny Hill. [/QUOTE]
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