NYC CoC #18: Stag Party Gone Awry!

May, 1924

We take a moment today to reflect on something other than personal degredation or cosmic.  Every once in awhile, there is an ounce of joy pervading the veil of humanity.

For Eric Bowsfield, PhD, Professor of History at Miskatonic University, it was the upcoming nuptuals with his beloved Katie. 

For Henry "Hank" Hart,  General Manager of Phone Rentals for Massachussetts Bell, it was a time to provide his good friend Eric with a raucous week of manliness out in the Maine woods.  An elaborate cabin, with fully stocked larder, a rack of shotguns for hunting or target practice, and a beautiful lake for recreation.   He would invite a few of Eric's other friends from across the years:

Dr Daniel Kobza, DDS - A dentist, formerly of Boston, who left town for Philadelphia a few years back under some questionable accusations.

David Lievense - Transcontinental antiquitarian who loved collecting antique advances in technology. 

...and two more individuals of questionable reputation:

Dr Nathaniel Millheim - a friend and classmate of Eric's at the East Stroudsburg Normal School.  Some call him a crackpot parapsychologist, today many are calling him a successful author of both fiction and folklore.

Steven O'Hara - another classmate from East Stroudsburg.  A friend of Nathaniel and a professor of physics at Columbia.

The group arrived at different times in Bangor, Maine.  Once there, they would begin the festivities, then load themselves into two rented Model Ts for the two hour drive into the Maine woods. 

After a questionable steak dinner and pocket flasks running low, they loaded up the cars and congregated outside them before heading out.

With the squeal of tires, a truck could be seen barely making it around a corner and headed straight for the group.  Dr. Kobza and Hank narrowly dove out of the way of the truck before it hit a sizable street lamp.

With steam and fluids pouring out of the engine block, a husky fellow emerged from the cab with just the slightest hint of a drunken stagger.

Smitty, former speakeasy owner and friend of Millheim and O'Hara, had arrived. 

Realizing that alcohol was not mentioned at all, Steven enlisted his friend Smitty to procure some for the week.  Figuring no one would miss a few cases of the booze he was guarding for the Boston mob, and realizing that Eric had helped save his life before, he felt obliged to deliver it personally.  A few moments later, Smitty and the booze were in the cars and the group sped away, before the police showed up.

The group's late start and the poor back roads of Maine ensured that the two car convoy drove right through the primeval darkness of the forests of the darkness of Maine.  Dr Kobza acquainted Smitty with the wonders of ether and the rest tore into the hard liquor.  Just a little over two hours in, and no sight of the landmarks to denote their cabin, the morale of the group dipped to the point of staring blankly into the small oval of light the cars' headlights were burning into the upcoming darkness. 

While everyone was in this zombie-like state, a single man, wearing only a blood soaked nightshirt, bolted across the trail from the darkness.  Steven, driving the first car, could do nothing but watch in horror as his attempts to steer away were countered by the deep ruts in the road.  The man's chest hit the radiator of the car with a resounding thud.  He managed to hang on for a few seconds before falling under the car with a grinding noise.  Free of the mysterious stranger, the Model T finally popped out of the rut right at the most inopportune moment, and the car hurtled off the road, down an embankment, and struck a tree. 

For David, driving the second car, the sight of a body emerging from underneath the lead car forced him to panic, running him over in the process, and forcing the Model T to flip repeatedly until striking the lead car already resting at the tree. 

Although everyone survived the crash, most were shaken by the strange man lying in the middle of the road.   By some great miracle, he was still alive, but could barely emit the words  "help" and "jack."  Hank attempted to give him liquor to soothe the wounds.  When he wouldn't respond to any questions, except for those words, they decided he was French Canadian and Eric tried speaking to him in French to no avail.  It was finally up to David to build a litter and figure out where they could take this poor soul.

Steven and Doc Millheim looked over the wreckage that was their small convoy, busted radiators, broken spokes or flat tires made the cars undriveable without repairs.  The ditch they resided in the the darkness of the night prevented that from getting started.    However they did spy a small light coming from a house on the hill, with a twisty driveway leading up.  Hoping that  was where came from, the group embarked up the hill.

The house on the hill was a nice sized cabin, situated in a small clearing.  A Model T with 4 flat tires and a missing crank sat outside the wide open front door.  While the rest of the group tried to get the man into the cabin and onto a bed, Smitty and Dave tried unsuccessfully to follow some tracks that started at the car and wandered into the woods. 

Following every instinct in seasoned investigator's minds, Doc Millheim spent as much time as possible before going inside, staring at the woods, the car, and the structure, looking for anything to hint at the cause of the man's episode.  Eventually as the group ventured from the bedroom they placed the man in to other rooms of the cabin, he forced himself inside. 

The building was a proper hunting cabin, with trophies along the wall, a sizeable

Doc Millheim scoured the bookshelves in the living room, discovering a copy Thaumaturgical Prodigies in the New England Canaan, sitting alongside Civil War histories and cheap dime novels, as well an an odd "bone" flute sitting atop the mantle of the firepalce.  Hank and David discovered a trap door in the kitchen that might lead to a cellar.  Those achievements were overshadowed by Steven casually asking, "Fellas? Does anyone else see an Indian standing outside?"

Much to Steven's chagrin, not another person in the cabin could see the solitary Indian peering into the window.  Doc Millheim and David went so far as to go outside and look for it, the doctor waving his hand right through his chest, according to Steven.

David did notice something far more sinister.  The pine trees surrounding the cabin felt like they had closed in, but far more dire was the open areas between the trees had filled in with a six foot high wall of thorny brambles, essentially blocking any route of escape.

With a bit more fear in their hearts, the group checked on the man (still alive) and went about their searches.  Hank and David volunteered to go down the steps in the trap door.  At the bottom of the steps was a woman's body.  Although the average person could deduce he had died of a broken neck, Dr. Kobza dental experience, and Hank's suffering sanity made them concoct crazy stories as to her demise.  They also found a mysterious pool coagulating blood, some very peculiar stones in the foundation, and bones sticking out of the dirt floor!

Their discoveries were to kept secret a bit longer, as a horrible commotion came from the pantry.  Eric and David were rummaging around there, checking the larder, and a back entrance.  Little seemed out of the ordinary from their foraging for food, save two jackrabbits that had been shot and were hanging on hooks to drain.  Both men saw the skinned rabbits begin to dance while hanging on the hooks and at least Eric's sanity began to crumble.  He had grabbed a fire poker from the living room "just in case" and when the creature began to dance, he used it to beat it away.  Unfortunately he couldn't hit the broadside of a cabin, and ultimately, the rabbit became unhooked and he flew out of the pantry with it dancing on his chest.  In a fit, he threw it away, tossing it into the living and smacking Smitty in the face.  The rabbit went limp and the everyone went back to searching, most notably the new finds in the basement.

Seeing oddly carved stones in the basement, pools of blood, and a skeleton missing it's skull half-buried, Steven and Doc Millheim decided the time for dawdling about was over and clues must be found, before someone really gets hurt.  They tried to read the Thaumaturgical Prodigies, but one of the deer heads on the wall came to life and ate the good doctor's hat!  They then went up to the attic to look around, while some of the level headed men remaining checked another bedroom and the bathroom and the main floor.  David was given the .30-06 and told to guard the outside of the cabin.

The men did discover the body of a young boy with his throat slashed (Jack?)  As well as the crazed rantings of the man.  Apparently, something had driven his wife to madness, slitting her son's throat and forcing him to push her down the cellar steps in self-defense.  With her gone, the malevolent spirt forcing its presence onto him.  That last sentence he scribbled was hearing two cars coming down the road

In the attic, Steven and Doc Millheim found the journals of Colonel Nathaniel Fuller, a retired Army officer who once owned the cabin.  According to his accounts, he had laborers move the large stones that littered the clearing and used them as part of the foundation, despite the pleadings of a few random Indians who begged him not to.  After chasing them off with gunshots and other threats of violence, they stopped bothering the construction. 

As the first group reconvened in the living room, the one wall began pouring blood out of it.  That was enough to make Dr Kobza go completely catatonic.  Eric Bowfield  shuddered uncontrollably and staggered closer to the fireplace.  As the others stepped and Steven and Doc Millheim made it down the steps, they could all see a large knife come out of Smitty's chest.   A wild eyed David was holding the other end behind him and it took the better part of the group to subdue him.

Eric had had enough.  That final horrific act to a man that had saved his life triggered a horrible fear of blood, so he bolted for the back door.  Unfortunately for him, the others had rehung the rabbits in the pantry, so when he busted through the door, he ran smack dab into them, pulled them off the hooks by his force and essentially carried them as he ran out straight into the thick briars, trapping himself, and making him .... bleed.

For Doc Millheim, the only idea that had any chance of pleasing this malevolent beast was finding the skull and burying the body back in the cellar.  The skull was found in the armoire in the main bedroom.  (Check on the hurt man, still alive...)  Doc and Steve hurried down to the basement and buried all the bones with their own hands. Moments after placing the last handfull of dirt over the skeleton, an eerie spectral image of an aged Indian appeared.  The nonplussed duo watch the image repeat a pattern over and over, for what looked to be playing a flute.

The veterans of more multi-dimensional disasters with beasts man was not meant to see, did exactly what anyone would expect them to:  They climbed the stairs, grabbed the bone flute, and told their musically talented friend Hank to go downstairs, learn the song the Indian ghost was trying to teach, and play it to save everyone.  The ever eager Hank agreed, and ran down the stairs.  The pair proceeded to step around the catatonic Dr Kobza, over the corpse of Smitty and the unconscious body of David, and walked outside in the cool night air. 

 

They could hear  the sound of the flute coming out of the basement, even overcoming the incessant whimpering of Eric Bowsfield in the briars.  The cabin itself began to move as if it were a lung, the man they had hid could be seen through the one window walking towards the kitchen, there was an odd "pop" emmitted, and the woods went quiet.  When they went back inside and ventured into the cellar, they discovered Hank, his mouth a bloody mess, surrounded by the bodies of the family members, and Smitty.  Every tooth in his mouth looked like it had exploded.  Through his muffled cries, he described how he saw the Indian, and in proper hank fashion, thought he could mix a little improv to it.  After all, "These Indians didn't know jazz and Mozart and shit.  I thought I could make it much better."  After playing it a few times, the body of the woman came to life, then Smitty walked down the steps, followed by the young boy and finally man.  They all kept trying to steal his bone flute, but he kept dodging them, right up until he felt his mouth tingle and every tooth burst like a grenade.  Yet somehow, he kept on playing until the dead fell limp to the ground.

 

It took some time for the group to recover.  Over the Summer, Millheim and O'Hara led the effort to take the sacred stones out of the foundation and place them back in formation.  They even made a trip or two back to New York City to complete some research that was actually contained in the doctor's old shyster folk tale and Indian legend collections.  They also took the family, who were descendants of Col Fuller and staged a horrible accident that someone found within the week.  Once that was done, they took a quick respite as Hank took over responsibility.  He made Dr Kozba's month by filling his mouth with fake teeth, then got his lawyers in the action to inquire about buying the Maine property.   Once the bodies of the family were discovered, the legal teams took little time to finalize the property transfer at a significantly higher price than market.   The remains of the group reconvened on site to do what was necessary:  burn the cabin to the ground and cut down a number of trees to block to path from the road.  

For Eric Bowsfield, his first full encounter with a supernatural entity was horriffic to say the least.  Luckily, the view of his bride-to-be Katie, brought him back from the brink of madness, and some tender loving care helped him act like a normal member of society.  Most of his wounds were healed by the time the wedding occurred, and with the help of his new groomsmen, Steven and Doc Millheim, plus the "million-dollar" smile  of Hank, he headed into wedded bliss with a flicker of hope in this world.

For seven players, one many of whom hadn't played CoC in a decade, it was a great experience.  Even the conflicting play styles melded together as the madness of the situation set in.  Having the my two veteran campaign players just wash their hands of cabin by letting a novice handle it was the high point of the entire game.  Perhaps the death of Smitty has finally given them a better no-nonsense edge.  They're going to need it.

As I mentioned in my blog post detailing the whole weekend, here, the whole purpose of the session was to scratch "Playing Cthulhu with Hoyce (Eric Bowsfield)" off my gaming bucket list, but I sure hope we can get together and play again, even if Professor Bowsfield needs to retire to the simpler life of wedded bliss.

The Horrible Lonely House in the Woods from Worlds of Cthulhu #4.

NEPA CoC #7: Dead Man Stomp

New Year's Eve is traditionally a racuous occassion in the streets of New York. When Prohibition was enacted, the party became publicly muted, but the celebration spread out many days in the dives, speakeasies, and clubs the sprung out of the rubble to cater to the those who desired a little illegality.

The Blue Heaven was one of those finer establishments. By December of 1922, it was a well-regarded place to those within and above the law. Athletes, politicians, entertainers, mobsters, and any other citizen willing to show civility and pay their tab were welcome... so long as you were White.

The investigators visiting the Blue Heaven the last week of December, 1922:

Marcus Trenton (Scott) was a gentleman from Boston who had aspirations of opening his own version of the Blue Heaven in Beantown. A mediocre lawyer, he stumbled into a relationship and eventual married to an exiled Russian noblewoman, and her family's recipe for vodka made him a popular man in Massachusetts post-Volstead Act. Through his ne'er-do-well connections as a lawyer, he opened up two speakeasies with the help of a Welshman from Pennsylvania coal country.

Natalyia Trenton (Kelley) would be considered a petulant daughter of an insignificant Russian nobleman, but you would not know that from talking to her. In fact, you might think the Bolsheviks had missed one of the Romanovs! She had escaped Russia just after the Revolution with a modest portion of the family fortune and she and Marcus were living off that before Prohibition went into full swing.

Smitty (Adam) He was forced to close his bar, the Angry Welshman, due to "distribution issues" and was looking for a fresh start. He moved up to Boston and became the go-to man for Marcus' plans. Things have been going great and Marcus thought it was a good idea to celebrate and do a little homework on how the classier joints do things. Since it was the week between Christmas and New years, Smitty invited his Wilkes-Barre buddies to come in for some celebrating.

Dr. Nathaniel Millheim (Nate) took some time to recover after a rocky visit to Georgia. He had even spent some time at a "spa" to relax. 1922 had been a rough year in the independent book selling trade, the contacting-spirits-from-beyond business, as well as the nearly-getting-sacrificed-by-Klu-Klux-Klan-cultists, so a week in New york was a perfect way to set up 1923 right.

Brian Nichols (Brian) still a wanted man in name only, he had struggled alongside Dr Millheim in research and book publishing. New york would be welcome relief as well. And, of course, the good Doctor still wouldn't let him read any of the books.

Steven O'Hara somehow had obtained a "hall pass" of sorts from his wife for the week. The prep school teacher had put his nose to the grindstone after the Georgia incident, winning the respect of his superiors at work, and putting back together a rocky marriage with his wife. He hadn't seen his fellow investigators much in the last eight months, and a good time would be had by all.

Marcus had gotten the right connections to get them into the Blue Heaven Ballroom. It was a first-class establishment with fine dining, gambling, and a huge orchestra to keep the even larger dance floor jumping.

Well into dinner and drinks, the large orchestra began to play. Preoccupied by the music, and possibly the fine liquor in their hands, no one initially noticed a man walk up to the table beside them, pull out a large handgun, and blow out the brains of the solitary figure sitting there. The investigators were one of the few to notice, with the blaring trumpets and heavy drumming drowning out that single shot. Smitty and Nichols tried to follow the armed assailant as he dashed out of the club, but he quickly entered a gray Packard and fired a few shots out the back window to deter anyone else.

As word of the shooting slowly spread through the Blue Heaven, pandemonium erupted much quicker when people began noticing the bloody remains. People began dashing out, even with the band playing louder and faster. All the while, the investigators noticed something horrible: The dead man, whose brains were splattered all across Marcus' face, was getting up! He staggered into the throngs of people trying to leave, only to fall apparently be trampled to death again. By the time our group had enough time to gather their wits amongst them and follow this phenomen, the undead gentleman body's had made it outside, only to be hit by a police car and pinned against a telephone pole. Only one person had heard want the body uttered as he staggered out the door... "Joey...."

With police sirens in the distance, the group rushed back in to grab their belongings and with the helped of one of the Negro muscians, escaped out a service entrance. The investigators got a glimpse of the Negro's bizarre trumpet and picked up a business card for a funeral home that must have dropped out of his pocket during the escape.

The next morning, the New York papers summarized the previous night's chaos. The dead-again alive-again man was Pete Mancuso, an "independent" bookkeeper. The papers stated he showed indominatable will in surviving a gunshot wound as long as he could.

As Marcus was still picking out pieces of skull and brain from his hair at the breakfast table, the investigators knew that was an outright lie.

The investigators, plus the Trentons, had two interesting leads to follow that morning. Mancuso's office, and the funeral home.

Mancuso's office door was wide open and already ransacked when the investigators arrived. They only found large gaps in the files in his cabinets, and a poorly written threatening note. Deciding to turn to his apartment for clues, the group discovered Steven's knack with lockpicking, and a number of savings passbooks with questionable-looking deposits.

By the time they got to the funeral home back in Harlem, the procession was already working its way down the street to the cemetary. The group could identify numerous members of the Blue Heaven orchestra at the head, including the Negro with the strange trumpet. As the band yed louder and louder a commotion started closer to the casket. The dead man inside was breaking his way out! Pandemonium ensued and threats of the undertaker burying a man alive permeated the crowd.

The group was noticed by Mitchell Webster, the band leader from the Blue Heaven. He had surmised two things were similar in both acts of the dead rising again: the investigators were present, and trumpet player Leroy Turner had finally decided to sober up enough to play a few notes. He gave the investigators his address and off they went.

A half-drunk Leroy was very frightened to see four white men and one strange sounding broad standing outside his front door, and it took a little "coersion" to convince him to talk. He was confused and frightened: in ten years of playing the trumpet he had never seen anything like the the last 24 hours happen, much less see it happen twice. He lamented the loss of his love and the appearance of his new love, a four valve trumpet with a silver crackled, "I received it from Mister Louie Armstrong himself!"

The interview over, the investigators went back to their car and decided to stake out Leroy's apartment. No more than five minutes later, Leroy exited the apartment, with an empty bottle in one hand, and his trumpet in the other. A quick five minute walk found him outside a well-hidden speakeasy, but before he could get inside, a gray Packard pulled up and a number of well-dressed white men pulled him inside the automobile. The investigators managed to follow the car to an old warehouse along the Harlem River.

The group decided to wait it out beyond the fence surrounding the warehouse. The fight with the KKK had made them cowardly? No, but with the exception of Nichol's three-shot revolver, the group was unarmed, going up againsta very "organized" group.

After a half hour, the group came out, and threw Leroy in the backseat, and drove off. Halfway into the Harlem the tailing investigators notice a fight inside the Packard. The lurched to the right and stopped, and Leroy jumped out, trumpet in hand, and high-tailed it out of there. He managed to elude his "friends", but the investigators were just able to follow him. They found him a cemetary, playing his trumpet with all his might. The ground began to shake and the dead appeared to be rising out of their graves. The investigators did not hesitate to get back to a more respectable place in Manhattan.

This was the third scenario I've run out of the CoC rulebook and despite promising read throughs, this was the least satisfying. Even as a Keeper, the scenario felt railroady, although the notes specifically state it's meant for beginning players or an experience group that's earned a break.

The group actually missed most of the clues and acted as bystanders to most of the acts. As I know my regular players, they were certainly engaged as players, just that their characters had little interest admitting their occult learnings to complete strangers, even if it was in Nyc. Plus at least the character versions of themselves are appropriately racist

Next session: Transgression or "Steve, your physics score is what?"

Retirement?

I've been working to get the group together for this Sunday for a little Gnome Wars, a little Cthulhu, and some Aces & Eights character creation. Throw in a couple pizzas and some wings and we're going to have a groovy time. I got email confirmation from two of my primary guys, and gave a call to the third for confirmation. The second of the emails made my heart fall straight to the ground.

In addition to confirming, Nate talked about the future aspirations of Dr. Nathaniel Millheim, noted parapsychologist. Dr. Millheim has been the nucleus of the group and the main reason any of these guys are investigating things man was not meant to know. A while back, I asked the group what their characters wanted to do. Steve and Brian sent their's back pretty quick and both ideas could be worked into the game.

Nate, however, stated that Dr. Millheim shoud, "continue his research, write a book or two, and retire. I can start up a new character."

You can see my initial dilemma. To top that off, I was planning one last stand-alone scenario this weekend, then a significant change to the campaign's direction. I won't mention specifics, but there's a full bookshelf of Chaosium books at my disposal and I'm not afraid to use the big campaign books. Despite Nichol's insanity (in-game, he's a goner in real life), the group had developed a decent background of experience and wealth of contacts to start delving into more than a rogue Dimensional Shambler or "Haunted House." Their foray into a Cult of Cthugha and the KKK confirmed it for me. My choices would weave a few unrelated sessions between the "beastly" conspiracies of the world and something "fishy" up in Massachusetts. It would take years, but everyone knowing my twisted lust for continuity, I would love to see one of Smitty's quotes possibly ring true.

*sigh* Now I'll need a sit-down session with the group first. Here's hoping an agreement can be reached.

(Myspace Repost) CoC: NEPA Coal Country #3

(From June 21, 2008 Gaming Session)

September, 1920—

Dr. Millheim was sitting in his office, perusing his recent occult acquisitions of Liber d'Ivonis and the Corbitt diaries when the phone rang. On the phone was Selwyn Robards, local lawyer and one of the many defense attorneys he's used while in business as a "Spirit Investigator." He wanted to meet with the good Doctor and his "associates" about a family problem. Millheim and Nicols went to the meeting.

At his law offices , Robards explained that his nephew, Jeremy Lombard had died three days ago. Police ruled it suicide, as it appeared he jumped out of his 4th floor apartment window. Robards would not believe the police report, knowing that Jeremy was a driven young man, "full of life", and "not the type of person to do those things." Robards only knew his nephew was a local reporter for the Kingston Journal and he was camping out on a case north of Kingston. Robards was willing to pay well for information refuting the police report, or any solid evidence that confirmed the suicide. Dr. Millheim agreed, asking only to use his phone, to call his good friend Steven O'Hara.

Nichols took Millheim to his favorite watering hole, a speak-easy named the Angry Welshman. Steven showed up, showed interest in helping out, and informed them that at this time, Angela was more willing to use her Shotgun on them than for them. Smitty, the owner, was a practical man, but for a share of the 'reward' he was willing to work two jobs for the next week, both with sawed-off shotgun in hand.

Smitty and Nichols went to Jeremy's apartment to see if the police missed anything. They found a locked apartment door, and the 1920's version of police tape, an "Official Police Business" notice on the door. The small apartment did yield some interesting clues: a Journal with entries stopping five days prior (with two pages ripped out), and a number of very rough drafts of his "big scoop" in the wastepaper basket. The journal noted the loss of livestock at some farm and the regular movements of a mysterious truck down the farm road. The rough draft mentioned a haunted house connected to the "Wyoming (Valley) Gargoyle", the Ghost of the Burning Man, numerous disappearances and tragedies, and the new activities of the its residents, which are merely alluded to, but no specifics mentioned. The pair snuck out the door just as the police pulled up to investigate a complaint of prowlers.

Steven and the Doctor went to the Kingston Journal, Jeremy's place of employment to get any additional info. The Journal was pretty much a bust; except for being over-diligent in his work and late with his deadlines, Jeremy was a model employee and co-worker, who primarily worked alone.

Meeting for lunch back at the Welshman, they can't find anything on Isaiah Turnbull, a farmer mention in the Jeremy's journal. Steven and the Doctor went back to apartment and waited till after the police presence left before they asked around about Jeremy. By luck they found one fellow who did see three men leave the building right before Jeremy's body was discovered. They then walked over the police station and through some sweet fast-talking got to look at the suicide note, which matched Jeremy's writing perfectly. Using further bamboozlement and a little sneakiness, the Doctor actually managed to find the police file of Brian Nichols "Person of Interest" in the death of Adam Mosher… in the pen filled margins, he noted "B.Nichols is a large, bald black man" and promptly left the station.

The next day the group traveled to the archives of the Wilkes-Barre Times-Leader and the Kingston Journal, and a short trip to the Library. In the dead files, they found an article written a year prior concerning the Ghost of the Burning Man, by one Jeremy Lombard. He connected the Burning Man to the Wyomoing Gargoyle of 1778(!).

The library produced a old journal noting the old Hobart house burning to the ground to the Ghost of the Burning Man (disregard the mention of two squatters living there and setting numerous fires to stay warm…) The property was purchased by the Hoesynth family, and under community protest, they built a large house on the property.

They also found two articles from 1913, recording the murder of young Jasmine Hoesynth, age 8. It seemed the police officer assisgned to watch over the family the night after the murder had a sudden and complete mental breakdown.

Dr Millheim took a long walk over to the old Hobart/Hoesynth house, known for its stone tower just peeking over the treeline along the river. He observed activity inside in the house and was bold enough to knock on the door and ask some Italian man with slicked-back hair where the river was, even though the river was 50 yards away.

Utlimately they found Isaiah Turnbull's farm, located between Kingston and Wyoming and dropped Jeremy's name to prevent and intimate acquaintance with the farmer's 20-gauge shotgun. They camped out at the farm together Wednesday night with no problems. Smitty remembered his liquor shipment was showing up very late Thursday night, so the rest agreed to do a bit more research in town and camp out without him that night. Oh, yeah, Dr. Millheim finally realizes the Hobart/Hoesynth house is right down the road from Turnbull's farm.

Trying to find out more about the house, the visited the Wyoming Historical and Genealogical Society. They did find the journal of Colonel Thomas Hartley of the Continental Army.

* History Lesson *

Battle of Wyoming occurred in 1778, with local Indian and loyalists butchering 200 militia men. General Washington order General John Sullivan to march from Easton to the Wyoming/Susquehana River Valley, finally ending in the Battle of Newtown near Elmira. While on this march Sullivan's men would use a scorched-earth policy on any and all Indian settlements.

Well before Sullivan reached what would be modern-day Wilkes-Barre, Col Hartley and his men performed a raid on local Loyalist and Indian settlements, or that's what the history texts say.

Hartley's journal stated that his mission was only particular Indian groups, and hunting an elusive beast with a blood-covered maw that frequent Elias Hobart's tower. With the help of a preacher, the "gargoyle" was killed. No sign of Hobart or his family could be found….

*End History Lesson*

That night the group camping out saw the large truck drive down the road from the old Hobart/Hoesynth house and onto the main road. It came back early that morning and parked in a garage around the back of the house. Without their trusty shot present the trio ran back to the Angry Welshman. They compared notes with Smitty, who found a striking coincidence between the mysterious truck and the truck delivering his liquor last night. It seemed like Grazziani Verducci, small time mobster and Smitty's liquor connection had something to do with the house.

An entire half-hour of real-time elapsed as the group argued what to do…Screw the supernatural clues, our heroes were more concerned that the goods Verducci forced on his clients were not true Canadian booze! Just after noon the group jumped back in Steven's Dusenburg and drove back to the house, parking the car in the woods.

Nichols and Dr. Millheim decided to try the garage as Smitty and Steven tried the front door. The plan was simple, Smitty was to knock on the door and pretend he was selling liquor door-to-door. Steven would hide around the corner with his wife's shotgun in case things might go bad. The sheer brilliance of their plan blinded them from considering that selling illegal hooch door-to-door (without a peddler permit to boot) might not be the best way to get in a house full of mobsters. They also didn't anticipate the lone person left in the house was Luigi, who seemed mentally unstable and hid a shotgun behind the door.

The ploy went south quickly. Smitty wasn't killed by the sudden shotgun blast and tried to wrestle it away from Luigi. Steven had trouble getting a clear shot.

Meanwhile, Nichols and Dr. Millheim got into the garage and found it empty, no truck, and no other vehicles. When the shotgun blast went off, they found a back door into the house and saw the mobster at the far end of the hallway. A full-out melee ensued and eventually Luigi got enough separation from the guys, not to fire his shotgun, but to be the recipient of Steven's (Even with 4d6 damage at point blank range, a dude with 17 hit points is one tough sonovabitch). Smitty put a extra shot in Luigi's head to finish the deal.

The fellas pulled Luigi's body inside and began a search of the house. A few odd books in one room, some nice furniture in another….. When looking in the bathroom, Steven was surprised by a headless Luigi pummeling his back. Smitty couldn't seem to get a decent shot off, Dr. Millheim went mad, and Nichols ran to the car.

They managed to put down the creature with large amounts of fire (and firepower) and found the singed but still legible missing pages of Jeremy's journal in Luigi's flaming coat.

After a quick and heated discussion, they decided to check out the basement, that is Smitty decided to find the booze. He couldn't find anything. A recovered Dr. Millheim then asked if he search for any hidden compartments and passageways. "No, why would I do that?" said the owner of the hidden speakeasy. Dr. Millheim and Steve went downstairs and immediately found a hidden passge filled with chemisty equipment leading to the motherload of Canadian Whiskey. Smitty was ready to grab a case or two, but the other two noticed another hidden door behind a pile of beakers. The new room emanated a bright blue light from a glowing pentagram in the floor. And this point Smitty realized he had had his fill of parabnormal crap and tried to dash up the stairs, only to find a blue glowing ghost at the top. Smitty stopped in the middle of the stairs, but the ghost dove down and went right through Smitty. Smitty kept his cool and proceeded to run out to the Dusenberg. After waiting a few minutes for the other two, Smitty and Nichols snuck off towards the tower, to hide from mobster/authorities/glowing ghosts.

Steven and Dr. Millheim debated what to do with the glowing pentagram. Steven initially wanted to destroy the pentagram, but his limited knowledge of the occult (ie the last session), convinced him that chanting the same chant as before would do the trick

Now, to be fair and comprehensive, somewhere between Luigi's re-appearance and the ghost appearing, someone decided it was a smart thing to set fire to the Living room and it had been slowing spreading. The smell of smoke was becoming a bit of a problem, even in the basement, so the pressure was on the pair. Dr. Millheim convinced Steven that destroying the pentagram was a better course of action. Five minutes later, the pentagram destroyed, the room exploded. Five more minutes and the intrepid Dr. and his trusty friend Steven staggered out of the burning house, only to be met by the local fire and police departments. A significant amount of fast-talking later, plus the pages from Jeremy's journal and the local authorities managed to ambush the mobsters and arrested them for murder, bootlegging, and a small slew of petty other crimes. Good news: The guys got a handsome sum for the investigation and Dr Millheim and Steve have contacts with the State Police. Bad News: A previously misplaced file on the murder of Adam Mosher was found and the fingerprints to Brian Nichols were now oddly linked to a series of gruesome murder-suicides in Slocum Corners south of town. Plus the investigators didn't find the ten grand in cash before they torched the place. Really bad news: The Angry Welshman is gonna need to find another supplier.

I nearly spit out my beer when Adam said he was going to work in a speakeasy, even better when he rolled enough starting wealth to actually own the speakeasy! I also realized Dr. Millheim might not miss a session due to psychotherapy since his new friend Smitty has a decent psychoanalysis skill (as all bartenders should have.) The desire to burn things worries me a bit, but I did allow those some post-game library use rolls for some follow-up research to offer a few more leads. It seems some person named Elias Hobart owned a small house and a stone tower near Newtown, New York as well (hmmm). Elmira (NY) Historical Society records had Hobart connected to some Church of the Astral Contemplation. Hmmm.. there seems to be a whole lot of churches contemplating stuff. What stuff, you ask? Perhaps that will be answered next session….

Next:  #4 The Preacher and the Cross