[h3][color=gray][b][center]Old One Rising[/center][/b][/color][/h3][center][b]Early 1925 - Winter - Late evening
Arkham, Massachusetts
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Upon the shingled, gambrel roofs of Arkham, the cumulative warmth taken from the dying sun over the course of the day began to sink into the homes and hovels of its residents. The winter had been particularly mild, rendering not but a vague bite in the air noticeable mostly to those underdressed for the season. The sun itself cast its fading glow with a brilliant redness this evening, magnified by the reflection of light off the murky waters of the Miskatonic River, but dulled and toned by the increasing concentration of smoke in the air. For somewhere to the southeast, down the river towards Martin's Beach and the Atlantic, something was burning with a mild intensity, but seemingly endless ember. The smoke was light, but nonetheless black, and had pervaded the air quickly with the help of the periodic winter wind. Talk amongst the residency had deduced this happening down to a mere few options, one of which being a controlled burn in Manchester to quell the chance of a great fire in the spring season. Manchester was kept going by its sawmill industry, and it often took an over-enthusiastic approach in preparations for the cutting season. To those who had spent their lives crouched along the Miskatonic, amongst the barges and steamboats, or amid the maze of warehouses on River Street, the fumes held aloft the timid but pungent trace of cheap marine fuel.

Arkham tended to stay still in the Winter, relying on the lessened flow of barges from Manchester and other inter-coastal towns to sustain itself. The Fall semester at the Miskatonic University had just begun, with the administration and students alike excited about the university's involvement in an temporary intercollegiate exchange of professors in the fields of science and arts. Of note to the university's Psychology and Sociology department, which had experienced an internal cultivation of resources due to a lack of funding by the more conservative administration, the Arkham Asylum was offering students a limited glimpse into the sanitarium's facilities and more [i]exotic[/i] patient studies. Though they had failed to provide a proper explanation in light of this invitation, the university graciously accepted the offer.
 
With the cold season, traffic and tourism had slowed significantly, even around the New Year's celebrations which typically gathered comers from the neighboring counties. Just the same, those that had come now found themselves delayed by the inconvenience of the cold and frost. As had been the case in Boston and Salem, the occurrence of bootleggers and illegal distilleries had peaked just prior to the holiday, with many bootleggers purportedly traveling up and down the coast to avoid detection while the police presence was spread thin. It was a time of change, to degrees varying, in Arkham. But as was reflected in the opinions of its population, the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. One could not help but get the feeling that Arkham watched the country, and indeed the world change from outside a window as the same ill-news, rumors and gossip of the day fluttered about the gas lit streets as it always had - with a silence that was indescribable by any word but deafening.





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