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Arcanis: Gonnes, Sons, and Treasure Runs (COMPLETED)
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<blockquote data-quote="talien" data-source="post: 4427300" data-attributes="member: 3285"><p><strong>A Walk in the Park: Part 1 – Scurvytown, Quelch’s House</strong></p><p></p><p>It was close to midnight. The air was bitter and a frost covered the ground, an unheard of occurrence in tropical Freeport. A bloated full moon hung yellow in the sky. </p><p></p><p>Kham stood nonchalantly outside of Elijah Quelch’s residence. He had spoken to local shopkeepers and neighbors to discover that the antiques dealer had lived there for about forty years. He had no assistants or servants. He was a recluse. Only a single person entered in two days, and he left without a purchase.</p><p></p><p>The house was secure. There was a locked and padlocked iron gate before the front door and iron bars guarded the ground and first floor windows. The house fronted onto a busy road and backed onto an alley. Its narrow back garden was overgrown and strewn with rubbish, and was enclosed by a seven-foot-high wall topped with broken glass set into cement. </p><p></p><p>But this night something was different. Quelch emerged from his house for the first time. He was a big, fat man with long black hair and a full beard. His age was difficult to guess. </p><p></p><p>Kham followed him.</p><p></p><p>Quelch’s route was circuitous, leading to the waterways that dotted Freeport. It was inky, straight, and lined with disused warehouses that were home to vagrants. Quelch walked along slowly as he hunted for a victim.</p><p></p><p>After ten minutes, he found what he was looking for: a single sleeping man lying on a bridge. He stood by the figure, his back to Kham, and began to chant an incantation.</p><p></p><p>As he started the spell, the air seemed to come alive. The chant was a shrill, inhuman scream and came from all around. The victim started to shout in agony, blaspheming, his whole body thrashing, but somehow he got to his feet. </p><p></p><p>Quelch surged into him, slamming him back against the side of the bridge and holding him there off the ground, continuing to howl his chant.</p><p></p><p>The man weakened; he looked around desperately and spotted Kham. “Help me! He’s killing me! Please! For the—“ He was choked him off.</p><p></p><p>Quelch turned to see Kham, but finished his chant. He threw the corpse effortlessly against the side of the bridge; it shattered into dust.</p><p></p><p>The silence squirmed.</p><p></p><p>Kham had both pistols out. His speech was slurred, his reflexes slow. “Where’s Coombs.” It was more of a threat than a question.</p><p></p><p>“I’d like to know myself,” snarled Quelch. He shouted up at the moon. “Damn you, Coombs! Where are you? I need you!”</p><p></p><p>Kham pulled the trigger back on both pistols. “You’re going to tell me. Or I’m going to shoot it out of you.”</p><p></p><p>Quelch sneered. “I really can’t rely on anyone these days. No matter.” He blew a whistle that hung from around his throat.</p><p></p><p>And the inky night answered his call.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="talien, post: 4427300, member: 3285"] [b]A Walk in the Park: Part 1 – Scurvytown, Quelch’s House[/b] It was close to midnight. The air was bitter and a frost covered the ground, an unheard of occurrence in tropical Freeport. A bloated full moon hung yellow in the sky. Kham stood nonchalantly outside of Elijah Quelch’s residence. He had spoken to local shopkeepers and neighbors to discover that the antiques dealer had lived there for about forty years. He had no assistants or servants. He was a recluse. Only a single person entered in two days, and he left without a purchase. The house was secure. There was a locked and padlocked iron gate before the front door and iron bars guarded the ground and first floor windows. The house fronted onto a busy road and backed onto an alley. Its narrow back garden was overgrown and strewn with rubbish, and was enclosed by a seven-foot-high wall topped with broken glass set into cement. But this night something was different. Quelch emerged from his house for the first time. He was a big, fat man with long black hair and a full beard. His age was difficult to guess. Kham followed him. Quelch’s route was circuitous, leading to the waterways that dotted Freeport. It was inky, straight, and lined with disused warehouses that were home to vagrants. Quelch walked along slowly as he hunted for a victim. After ten minutes, he found what he was looking for: a single sleeping man lying on a bridge. He stood by the figure, his back to Kham, and began to chant an incantation. As he started the spell, the air seemed to come alive. The chant was a shrill, inhuman scream and came from all around. The victim started to shout in agony, blaspheming, his whole body thrashing, but somehow he got to his feet. Quelch surged into him, slamming him back against the side of the bridge and holding him there off the ground, continuing to howl his chant. The man weakened; he looked around desperately and spotted Kham. “Help me! He’s killing me! Please! For the—“ He was choked him off. Quelch turned to see Kham, but finished his chant. He threw the corpse effortlessly against the side of the bridge; it shattered into dust. The silence squirmed. Kham had both pistols out. His speech was slurred, his reflexes slow. “Where’s Coombs.” It was more of a threat than a question. “I’d like to know myself,” snarled Quelch. He shouted up at the moon. “Damn you, Coombs! Where are you? I need you!” Kham pulled the trigger back on both pistols. “You’re going to tell me. Or I’m going to shoot it out of you.” Quelch sneered. “I really can’t rely on anyone these days. No matter.” He blew a whistle that hung from around his throat. And the inky night answered his call. [/QUOTE]
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