Masks of Nyarlathotep: Chapter 1 (New York City)

[Maerdwyn]

Jibril watches until the car is out of sight, looks to see if any police have arrived yet, and if not, heads back up to 4b to find the others. "They're gone. A balck car; the license plate said NYL7. I tried to get their tires..." He shows them the pocket knife as he puts it away, "but it seems I was little unprepared." He looks at the body stoicly, knowing he'll need to paint to night if he's ever going to get to sleep, and mutters, "Yakshir es-Shar.*" Then, to the others, "He was a good friend to me, even if we were not good friends." English never conveys exactly what I mean it to, thinks.



*"Evil abounds

 

[Andrew D. Gable]

Letting everyone in the game know: I'm upgrading my computer (finally!) and won't have ready access to the boards until I get my cable modem hooked up. I'll still post, but not nearly so often as I was...

 

[yangnome]

*bump*

 

[Andrew D. Gable]

"Very interesting," William says as he shuffles through the things he's found. "This photograph particularly. Though there's nothing to indicate where it was taken. Dark Mistress, is it? And this business card - the Penhew Foundation. Isn't that who the articles said helped fund Carlyle's little jaunt? A lead worth following up on.

I'm back up and ready to roll. Just so you know, I can't react to the second business card or the letter, as they didn't load properly.

 

[Gomez]

Miriam, William, Jibril, and Father O'Malley stand in the hotel room in a state of shock. The last ten minutes seem to have lasted for hours. The body of their friend Jackson lays on the bed. The smell and sight of fresh blood dominates the room. A slight breeze flaps the thin curtains by the open window. The sound of a police whistle in the distance breaks the grim mood in the room.

 

[Maerdwyn]

In the past, Jibril had half-believed, or rather, had subconsciously believed, that Mr. Elias's work was much like his own art: A cathartic way to exorcise inner demons, nothing more. Elias's death cults weren't real, not in the sense that one had to worry about them climbing through one's hotel window and carving symbols on one's head with a bush knife. He cursed himself for his naivete, and then allowed himself to bury his revulsion and fear with anger and some semblence of determination. Hearing the sirens, he asks the others, "What is the next step, then? Will the police be able to do anything?" he asked, suddenly doubting it, despite his utter lack of experience with criminal investigations.

 

[Isida Kep'Tukari]

"Look..." Miriam says quietly, "Either we copy down the information from these papers, or take them with us without the police knowing. We have to talk to these people... and go to these places on the cards. It's the only way we'll know what Jackson wanted us to do..." Miriam begins to dig for pencil and a notepad in her purse to copy down the name and address on the letter she found.

 

[yangnome]

Father O'Malley finishes copying hte symbol that is carved into Jackson's head. He folds up the paper and sticks it into his breast pocket.
"Listen, I have my doubts that the police will be able to accomplish much. Past investigations into such cults haven't really lead anywhere. Still, I'd rather not hamper any chance that htey may find the killers. Let's copy down any information we can find here and leave the clues here for the police. We can fill them in on the little we know once they get here."

 

[Maerdwyn]

Jirbil nods, asking to borrow anyone's extra writing implements and paper, and beginning the task of copying whichever pieces of evidence have not already been taken up. "The difficulty is the photograph, and while we can sketch it, we will need to commit it's details to memory as best we can." When he gets a chance, he regards it for a few seconds: "With the mountain in the background, it is unlike any harbor I have personally seen, but it, along with the distinctive boats may possibly help us compare it to other photographs. It that a long rudder, trailing behind the boat in the foreground, or a pole used to propel the boat?"

Reading through the second letter quickly, "I know the Street of Jackals, in Cairo - I spent most of my youth in the city," says the twenty two year old, "It is not the safest, or most reputable part of town, but I can't tell you anything about the shop itself, I'm afraid."

 

[Gomez]

Room 4B, Chelsea Hotel, New York City
January 15, 1926
7:25 PM

After quickly making copies of the various clues, you hear the sound of hurried heavy running from the hallway. In through the door, two New York City policemen run in. Their eyes are imediately drawn to the body on the bed. "Mother Mary Full of Grace!!" yells the older of the two policemen in a thick irish accent. The younger policeman's face drains of color at the sight.

The older policeman turns to you and draws a revolver. Though he hesitates at the sight of a priest. "Ok! Whats going on here?"