Masks of Nyarlathotep: Chapter 1 (New York City)

[Gomez]

"We're friends of Mr. Elias. Dreadful affair, that." He stares off into space for a moment, lost in the unpleasant memories. He shakes himself. "At any rate. We found a telegram among his things which was addressed from this company. Do you know a Miriam Atwright, perchance?"

At the mention of Elias, a sorrowful look spreads across the young lady's face. He looks down at her desk for a few seconds and then dabs her eye with a handkerchief. She gathers herself and looks back up. "No, I don't know a Miriam Atwright but if your friends of Mr. Elias, you should talk to Mr. Kensington. Let me see if he can see you now." She stands up and goes to a open office behind her desk and talks to a red headed gentleman there. He stands up and walks out of his office and greets you. "I am Jonah Kensington, owner and chief editor of Propero House. Your here about Jackson, I believe?"

 

[Ashy]

Father O'Malley, Charles, and Jibril

The taxi stopped in front of the three storied brick building. Several trunks were backed up to a loading dock and a group of men where in the process of loading or unloading them. A sign reading Emersion Imports hung over a door on the side of the building. Father O’Malley, Charles, and Jibril stepped out of the taxi into the brisk morning air.

Charles picked his spectacles from the bridge of his nose and looked up at the structure before him, squinting slightly. His other hand, of its own accord, fished his handkerchief out of his coat pocket and before he knew it he was rubbing the lenses furiously. He had arrived at St. Francis' late in the evening, after taking three cabs, each of which had broken down and walking for several blocks in the pitch black night. By the time he arrived at the church, he was little more than a nervous wreck. Needless to say, he and Father O'Malley had spoken only briefly and then Charles had collapsed in a fold-out cot, exhausted.

Rising early, Father O'Malley had introduced Jibril and told him to come along - the answers they were all looking for seemed to be leading to their destination. Frankly, at this moment, Charles was happy just to in the vicinity of O'Malley - ever since Miriam had told him about Jackson's horrible death, Charles had developed an intense fear of being alone anywhere. There was something in the back of his mind about the details of the death that he could not quite place a finger on...

"So, why are we here again, Father?", Charles asked, placing his spectacles back on their perch and peering at the priest.

 

[deadestdai]

Ulysees supped at his tea and wiped the drips from his moustaches that inevitably soaked in regardless of how much wax he tried to use. Gravely he rang for his punkawallah (s/p?)* to clear away his breakfast dishes stiffly, but carefully rising to his room to dress.
What an awful predicament that Jackson fellow got himself into! And to think of all the trouble it took to save him from those frightful savages!

Jackson had turned out to be a rather agreeable chap, all in all. Not like most colonials he had met in his travels. Yanks, rather boorish and loud - lacking in class, really. Though it was hardly surpising they had turned out that way, such new money and so far from true "civilisation".

Ulysees chided himself silently regarding his opinions. These very same "uncivilised" peoples had managed to patch up his leg that the best Harley Street doctors had said was beyond repair..... Shaking his head he tied his laces and supressing a slight groan, bent to rub of a mark from his shoe.

At once he headed for the lobby and "ordered" (A habit from his navy days.) one of the bell-hops to arrange a taxi to Prospero House. Perhaps he would be able to find details as to how he could pay his repects at Jackson Elias' funeral there?

 

[yangnome]

"Last night at Jackson's place, we found a card for this place in his belongings. It's a longshot, but perhaps we can find some information from this gentleman here."
Father O'Malley pulls hte card out of this vest pocket.
http://www.enworld.org/forums/attachment.php?attachmentid=15525

"Can you read that name there? I assume he works here, though I could be wrong about that. At any rate, let's head inside and see if we find anything."

 

[Ashy]

"I see", Charles says, taking the card and peering at it. He puzzles over it for a moment and then hands it back to the priest. "All I can make out is that the last name, "N'Kwane" seems to be african. Sorry I was not of more help, Father..."

 

[Maerdwyn]

"Do not be sorry, sir - we are merely beginning, enshallah. I suggest, however, that when we enter, we be have somewhat circumspectly at first - we may be able to gain some information without letting anyone know we are investigating Mr. Elias's death. Shall we enter?" he asks politely.

 

[Gomez]

Charles, Jibril, Father O'Malley

The three of you walk into a small office. To the right you see a open doorway that leads to what looks like a warehouse. Several men inside are moving boxes and crates. In the office a balding middle aged man with a stub of a cigar in the corner of his mouth stands over a open crate. He has a clip board in his hands and seems to be checking the contents of the crate. As you enter he looks up at you and says "Can I help you?" in a rough gravelly voice.

 

[Ashy]

Charles remains quiet, waiting for Father O'Malley to reply. He looks around the room, wondering to himself if there are men with butcher knives hiding in the shadows. A cold shiver runs down his spine as his mind races again and again over the strange events of the past several days...

 

[yangnome]

"Yes, how are you doing today sir. You look busy, I'm not disturbing you or anything am I?"

[OOC: Description of the men?]

 

[Maerdwyn]

Jibril looks around for some signs of specifics about the business - coutries the imports are from, type of imports, etc. He wears a noncommital smile.