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[D20 CoC] Beyond the Mountains of Madness Campaign - Prologue
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<blockquote data-quote="The Shaman" data-source="post: 2431098" data-attributes="member: 26473"><p>June 21st.</p><p></p><p>It is cold at the end of the world.</p><p></p><p>The fishing and whaling fleets are gone from the harbor, sailing north over the steel gray ocean. Under drifts of snow dormant turf waits for the return of the sun to send out green shoots, and shepherds struggle to feed their flocks through the dark, raw austral winter. The streams are low in their banks, the spring flood stored in the dense blanket of snow that covers the jagged mountains that form the skyline around the small town.</p><p></p><p>Sitting in a small shed surrounded by nets and ropes hanging from the roof beams, Paco re-reads Starkweather’s letter a third time before folding it and tucking it into the pocket of his shirt. He picks up the marlinspike and deftly resumes mending a hawser left to him by one of the captains of the fishing fleet. Fixing nets and ropes was a way to pass the time in winter, to keep the nimbleness in his fingers and to endure the long dark winter hours. It also gave him the freedom to put on his skis and enjoy the brief hours of daylight, to keep the tension in the muscles of his legs and arms, to glide over the snowy landscape, to push into the foothills and feel the pull of gravity balanced by the exhilaration of the skies.</p><p></p><p>The wind shakes the little shack, and whistles through the cracks – the kerosene lamp flickers, but Paco doesn’t feel the chill as he patiently mends the frayed strands of hemp.</p><p></p><p>Later, at the <em>hosteria</em>, he sits down at the small table in his flat, and pulls out a paper and pen. Chela, the clerk at the <em>clinica familiar</em>, would type the letters for Paco later, in exchange for the bundles of wildflowers wrapped with string he carried back from the mountain meadows during the spring and summer. In his plain hand, Paco began to write.</p><p></p><p style="margin-left: 20px"><span style="color: tan"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'">21 June 1933</span></span></p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"><span style="color: tan"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"></span></span></p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"><span style="color: tan"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'">Padre De Agostino,</span></span></p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"><span style="color: tan"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"></span></span></p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"><span style="color: tan"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'">I hope this letter finds you well.</span></span></p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"><span style="color: tan"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"></span></span></p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"><span style="color: tan"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'">It is with much regret that I must tell you that I will be unable to join your expedition this season. I have been invited to participate in an expedition to Antarctica, an American expedition. I plan to leave for New York City in August and I do not expect to return before the following fall.</span></span></p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"><span style="color: tan"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"></span></span></p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"><span style="color: tan"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'">Please accept my sincerest gratitude for the opportunities you have extended to me, and I hope that I may join you again in future expeditions. May God keep you until we meet again.</span></span></p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"><span style="color: tan"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"></span></span></p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"><span style="color: tan"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'">Sincerely</span></span></p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"><span style="color: tan"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"></span></span></p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"><span style="color: tan"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'">Fráncisco</span></span></p><p></p><p>Paco re-reads the letter. His mother had been very particular that he should learn to write well, practicing with the boy in their home in Valdivia while his father clanged his tools in the workshop. <em>Whatever you do in life, Paco,</em> she said, <em>you will need to express yourself.</em> Then she would patiently watch as he wrote his letters again and again.</p><p></p><p>Unconsciously he fingered the St. Christopher medal around his neck before picking up the next sheet of paper. The next letter was to José Monrovia, the secretary of the <em>Club Andino de Chile.</em></p><p></p><p style="margin-left: 20px"><span style="color: tan"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'">21 June 1933</span></span></p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"><span style="color: tan"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"></span></span></p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"><span style="color: tan"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'">Dear José,</span></span></p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"><span style="color: tan"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"></span></span></p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"><span style="color: tan"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'">I have received exciting news today – I am going to Antarctica! I have been invited to join an expedition – I leave for America, for New York City, in August.</span></span></p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"><span style="color: tan"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"></span></span></p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"><span style="color: tan"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'">José, my friend, have you any maps you can spare of the southern continent? I should like to study them on my journey. I will of course reimburse you and the Club for any expenses. Also, if you have any guidebooks or maps of the Shawangunks of the United States, I should like copies of these as well – I read about the climbing here in one of the journals you so thoughtfully sent me last fall. Anything in English is fine.</span></span></p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"><span style="color: tan"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"></span></span></p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"><span style="color: tan"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'">Wish me luck, my friend, and thank you for your help as always.</span></span></p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"><span style="color: tan"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"></span></span></p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"><span style="color: tan"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'">Your good friend,</span></span></p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"><span style="color: tan"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"></span></span></p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"><span style="color: tan"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'">Paco</span></span></p><p></p><p>The mountaineer folded both letters and placed them on the table under his pocket knife. He would leave them at the clinic in the morning, and Chela would have them ready for him at the end of the day.</p><p></p><p>The wind rattles the windows as Paco lies back on his bed and drifts off to sleep.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="The Shaman, post: 2431098, member: 26473"] June 21st. It is cold at the end of the world. The fishing and whaling fleets are gone from the harbor, sailing north over the steel gray ocean. Under drifts of snow dormant turf waits for the return of the sun to send out green shoots, and shepherds struggle to feed their flocks through the dark, raw austral winter. The streams are low in their banks, the spring flood stored in the dense blanket of snow that covers the jagged mountains that form the skyline around the small town. Sitting in a small shed surrounded by nets and ropes hanging from the roof beams, Paco re-reads Starkweather’s letter a third time before folding it and tucking it into the pocket of his shirt. He picks up the marlinspike and deftly resumes mending a hawser left to him by one of the captains of the fishing fleet. Fixing nets and ropes was a way to pass the time in winter, to keep the nimbleness in his fingers and to endure the long dark winter hours. It also gave him the freedom to put on his skis and enjoy the brief hours of daylight, to keep the tension in the muscles of his legs and arms, to glide over the snowy landscape, to push into the foothills and feel the pull of gravity balanced by the exhilaration of the skies. The wind shakes the little shack, and whistles through the cracks – the kerosene lamp flickers, but Paco doesn’t feel the chill as he patiently mends the frayed strands of hemp. Later, at the [i]hosteria[/i], he sits down at the small table in his flat, and pulls out a paper and pen. Chela, the clerk at the [i]clinica familiar[/i], would type the letters for Paco later, in exchange for the bundles of wildflowers wrapped with string he carried back from the mountain meadows during the spring and summer. In his plain hand, Paco began to write. [indent][color=tan][FONT=Comic Sans MS]21 June 1933 Padre De Agostino, I hope this letter finds you well. It is with much regret that I must tell you that I will be unable to join your expedition this season. I have been invited to participate in an expedition to Antarctica, an American expedition. I plan to leave for New York City in August and I do not expect to return before the following fall. Please accept my sincerest gratitude for the opportunities you have extended to me, and I hope that I may join you again in future expeditions. May God keep you until we meet again. Sincerely Fráncisco[/font][/color][/indent] Paco re-reads the letter. His mother had been very particular that he should learn to write well, practicing with the boy in their home in Valdivia while his father clanged his tools in the workshop. [i]Whatever you do in life, Paco,[/i] she said, [i]you will need to express yourself.[/i] Then she would patiently watch as he wrote his letters again and again. Unconsciously he fingered the St. Christopher medal around his neck before picking up the next sheet of paper. The next letter was to José Monrovia, the secretary of the [i]Club Andino de Chile.[/i] [indent][color=tan][FONT=Comic Sans MS]21 June 1933 Dear José, I have received exciting news today – I am going to Antarctica! I have been invited to join an expedition – I leave for America, for New York City, in August. José, my friend, have you any maps you can spare of the southern continent? I should like to study them on my journey. I will of course reimburse you and the Club for any expenses. Also, if you have any guidebooks or maps of the Shawangunks of the United States, I should like copies of these as well – I read about the climbing here in one of the journals you so thoughtfully sent me last fall. Anything in English is fine. Wish me luck, my friend, and thank you for your help as always. Your good friend, Paco[/FONT][/color][/indent] The mountaineer folded both letters and placed them on the table under his pocket knife. He would leave them at the clinic in the morning, and Chela would have them ready for him at the end of the day. The wind rattles the windows as Paco lies back on his bed and drifts off to sleep. [/QUOTE]
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