@RBYDark Why hello there! Long time no see, but glad to see you here. Are you onboard, Mr. Investigator?
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STATUS: I now identify as a Master Procrastinator. Thank you all, and good night. 1 yr ago
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I now identify as a Master Procrastinator. Thank you all, and good night.
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1 yr ago
New medical term: Dizzy mummy (condition of patient when world is spinning and only treatment is confinement to bed). I hate being sick...
1 yr ago
@Vampiretwilight: Funny indeed. Now to make it into a roleplay here...let the madness and sassy Narrator commence.
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1 yr ago
@Vampiretwilight DID YOU FIND THE BROOM CLOSET-ENDING? I LOVED THE BROOM CLOSET-ENDING!
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1 yr ago
Anyone up for some esoteric fun with cosmic horror? Wait! The stars are soon right! Tekeli-Li!
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Call of Cthulhu - Talbott's Investigators of Mysteries Enlightened
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Call of Cthulhu - Talbott's Investigators of Mysteries Enlightened
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1 yr ago
Forum: Casual Interest Checks
Call of Cthulhu - Talbott's Investigators of Mysteries Enlightened
"Wise men interpreted dreams, and the gods laughed at them."
-H.P. Lovecraft.
-H.P. Lovecraft.
Overview
Setting: The United States of America, but many more places awaits us all.
Time Frame: Mid-1920', the golden age of jazz and everything illegal.
RPG system: Call of Cthulhu - 7th Edition
Beware of following topics: Cosmic horror, slice of life, realistic, social encounters, survival, history, violence, discrimination, death... It's a horror game, be warned.
Welcome to Call of Cthulhu, the fan favourite tabletop RPG that's entertained and terrified their players for decades. I'm looking for a group of three to five devote players to partake in this adventure, in order to better manage the story. But before we're presented with the story, what exactly is "Call of Cthulhu"?
Call of Cthulhu is a tabletop roleplaying game made by Chaosium, based on the fictional works of Howard Phillips Lovecraft and other authors who have contributed to what is known as the "Cthulhu Mythos". Quote, An ongoing theme in Lovecraft's work is the complete irrelevance of mankind in the face of the cosmic horrors that apparently exist in the universe." These horrors, either beings associated with gods or inhuman monsters, are unaware or not interested in humanity. Some use humanity for their own evil purposes through their many cults around the world, or seek to wipe us off the face of the Earth for good. But what about us, humanity?
Not only are us non-hairy primates insignificant in the grand scheme of the universe. Humanity would go mad if we were to know the awful truth; "The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the light into the peace and safety of a new dark age."
What is the goal of Call of Cthulhu then? What are you supposed to do? The player characters, referred to as "investigators", are normal human beings with average jobs who live every day lives. Mostly. For one reason or another, your investigator gets involved in a mystery connected to the Cthulhu Mythos. Either directly or indirectly caused by the dark powers unknown to mankind, your goal is to solve the mystery and make sure the Mythos doesn't cause further damagehis of course strains the investigators mental health, their amount of sanity. The more you learn about the truth about the cosmic horrors, the closer you crawl towards the abyss of madness. Lucky investigators die as heroes, while the rest live long enough to become the villains themselves. Until then, you are the first and last line of defense against the Elder Gods, Cthulhu, Nyarlathotep and the rest of the Mythos.
Enjoy the madness!
Plot
Arkham, Massachuttets. May of 1925. Arkham is just like any New England town you might find at the first quarter of the 20th century. A small town of old stock, Arkham traces its roots back to the days of colonial America when the first settlers settled down at the banks of the Miskatonic river. An old and quiet town, time has refused to entirely leave the Massachuttets society behind in its revolving past. Just like America, really the world as a whole, time is ticking…
Like the rhytmic beats of a steam locomotive or your fancy new jazz records, Arkham has been dragged more or less into the modern age. Its cobbled streets are lit up by electrical lamps, while your mass-produced Ford automobiles rattle at sometimes alarming velocities. In the distance you might at first hear, then behold a strange contraption flying far, far above you up in the sky; an aeroplane. Turning the corner and spying through a large window pane, you witness a local Arkhamite converse over a telephone. The marvels of the modern age are endless, just like the booming economy and never-ending pursuit of knowledge of the local Miskatonic University.
Arkham's pride, and also source of headache, the Miskatonic University brings the bright future together with an rich past, just like the town itself. Modern sciences of psychology, engineering, economics, chemistry and fathoms of bottomless sujects, the Massachuttets seat of learning subsequently breaches the once foggy layers of what once was; history, archeaology, ancient languages, philosophy, the occult and mythology, the past is dug up and lifted up into the light.
A past perhaps better left alone…
So is the way we find Arkham. A modern age refusing to leave behind the town resting on the Miskatonic river, the past holds firmly onto Arkham's residents. Tales of witches and wizards, Native American rituals and unspeakable oaths of isolated New England communitiets, Arkham never runs out of a past to disturb.
Just be weary, as things disturbed might find its wake-up call worthy of the big sleep.
Enter you, or more specifically the agency you find yourself working for; Talbott Investigators of Mysteries Enlightened, or The TIME agency for short. A new detective agency in Arkham, other brances are found it a handful of major US cities. Lead by the enigmatic Mr. Allistair Talbott, TIME focuses on cases not usually taken by your average Private Detective. Missing persons and suspicious of strange behaviour, sure there's overlap with the common gumshoe, but it's to the TIME you ask for assistance on strange lights or sounds in the night; sightings of ghosts, theft of esoteric books, unexplainable bouts of madness, and the list of cases goes on.
You are TIME's first employees, Investigators to be specific about the title, in Arkham. For one reason or another you've decided to leave your usual line of work to join the ranks of what sceptics call "ghost hunters". TIME doesn't appear to mind though, with their other investigators coming from a wide array of occupations; Private detectives and police officers, geologists, journalists, occulists, boxers, students or professors, pilots and what-not, Mr. Talbott has no shortage of occupations they want.
For reasons befitting your individual character, you've decided to sign up as a investigative detective for the agency. Perhaps you were fired for focusing too much on unusual news events in the papers, and thought your interests could be useful? Did you leave your place of employment volunterily, hoping to finally find your purpose in life investigating the strange and unknown? Were you picked for that hospital stay you had after the Incident?
Whatever your motivations might be, you are sure to be put to a baptism of fire. Having been called to the Arkham office to be briefed on your case, you are eager to begin the journey into the unknown.
How hard could it be to locate a missing New England milionaire? Only TIME will tell.
Rules
- GM's word is law. Discussions and in-put is much appriciated during the course of the campaign, but I have the final say on whatever matter is on the table.
- Previous experience and rulebooks. I'm not requiring previous experience with Call of Cthulhu for participation in the RP, neither that you actually own the Investigator's Handbook. Both are of course recommended and useful, but if not I will be assisting as much as I can. The free CoC quick-start rules is a recommend quick read to get the gist of the rules.
- Posting-Habits. In order to keep the story going on for as long as I think it will take, players are required to post at least once a week. If you can't make that commitment, this campaign is not for you. A post consisting of something between 200-250 words spread between paragraphs is desired.
- Even more posting-habits! Posts are to written with a provided header that includes character's portrait, location, skills used, current HP and Sanity Points. Edits to your own posts are prohbitited, and must be given permission by me in case an edit is needed.
- Realism and Horror! This is a slice-of-life RP, where actions have real consequences for your characters and their surrounding world. Only realistic characters are accepted, in true Lovecraft fashion. Terrible things will happen that your characters can't simply shrug off. Prepare for gore, cursing and such will occur.
- No Meta-gaming. Seriously, this is the worst. Know the difference between player knowledge and character knowledge. The characters will learn the horrific truth in the end, it's the slow burn that's fun.
- Character Creation. Only characters made using the Guild's built-in dice roller and the character sheet provided below will be accepted. You're mostly free to decide for yourself who and what your character will be, though I reserve the right to request changes I see fit. Believable characters are more fun to play. Only characters ACCEPTED by me personally can be placed in the character thread and gain entry to the story.
- Skills skills skill. Throughout the RP we'll be using skill rolls to determine what your characters can or cannot do. CoC uses a percentage-system, meaning that a skill has a certain percentage chance of being successful compared to how many skillpoints have been invested in said skill. Either I'll request a roll from your characters in the Keeper's Post, or you can request a roll that sounds appropriate for the occasion. In order to get your rolls, go to the Guild's dice roller and create your own campaign under the name "Call of Cthulhu - Talbott's Investigators: Your Character Name". Remember to link the campaign to your character under the "Anything else" section, and link the respective roll in your posts when done. Add a description to what the roll was for.
- Have fun! No matter the rules and cosmic horror I as Keeper hold, we're all here to have fun, aren't we? I certainly am, and steps will be taken in order for the story to remain entertaining in the long run.
Character Sheet
Here is the provided character sheet we'll be using. Copy-paste the text and fill it out as approriate. Remember to pick a different colour than what's provided in the code as it is, to add at least one character portrait that fits your character and ask for my approval before they're accepted into the RP. If in any doubt and in need of assistence, PLEASE do ask! Better to ask once too much than too little.
Posting In-Character
When your character is done and accepted, we'll come to actually posting in-game. When you post as your character, you'll be using a header-template as to make it easier for both you and the rest of the group to identify your post and your character information. The header includes:
- Character name
- Small character portrait
- Character's current location
- Character's Hit Points, Sanity Points and Luck.
- Character's current mental state: Sane, Temporary Insane or Indefinete Insane.
- Character's attempted skill
Richard Barker
"Oh Jesus Christ...now they're involved?"
The P.I. planted his face into the palm of his hand in a swift motion, as if this had been done many a times before. Things were truly, sadly and madly going to shits quicker than anyone would like, and it seemed the Richard Barker was in the middle of it. The Private Investigator took another swig of his drink, finding the courage - or stupidity - to ignore the imp making his whole world-view change in the blink of an eye, and focus on the white-robed man now taking the stage.
Old, white men, taking the stage clad in white...yeah, it sounded as bad as it was.
"Look here, buddy, two things; One, the KKK has no business rubbing their noses around the shit of New York like you're doing now, and two; What the hell are you talking about necromancers? I didn't know we were having a Bible-conference, talking about the Holy Jesus Christ raising the dead and..."
Another swig of the glass of whiskey brought, in some way or fashion, more sense into the brain of the P.I., who shook his head and stood up from his seat at the counter, before continuing.
"...in all seriousness, what in all that is holy and good, are you talking about? We're just a bunch of drunks, trying our damned best to get shit-faced and forget all the things we've done in ours life. Leave us alone, and I might not not knock your teeth out."
Richard Barker
A lowered, yet audible voice with a gurgling quality made itself known to Richard...somewhere around him - his Earth-bound senses refusing to tell him the voice's origin being in his own damned head - telling him how dreadful Hollywoodland must have been. The P.I. turned around on his seat, looking over his shoulder in search of the voice, though only finding the casual disturbance one would naturally find in a seedy establishment such as this.
Someone, a fancily dressed man - a dapper Sheik one might call him, just like one of those beloved idols from the silver screen or magazines - bursted out in annoyance about what Richard thought was "holy magic on this imp...", whatever that was supposed to be. Shaking his head, Richard slowly turned back towards the counter, unprepared for what he was about to witness.
"Sounds like someone's had a little too many glasses of giggle-juice. Anyway, can't fault you there, Pal. Hollywood, and California in general sounds too much like flim-flam to me. Still. those that chase that West Coast dream of fame, fortune and future, I hope they find out..."
Another blind swig of the whiskey had kept Richard busy from actually seeing the source of the voice. The source? An imp...
"...I think I'm behind the 8-ball...what the hell did I just drink?"
Don't you look at me and Richard. We're just here for the Canadian whiskey!
Richard Barker
31 cents. The barkeep had taken the blink of an eye to scrutinise the hardboiled, fedora-wearing man who'd just entered the establishment, remember the correct bottle of booze by memory, and finally hand it to him with eye and all. All that, and he only asked for 31 cents. If he'd been out of town, Richard might have begun asking questions.
Instead he pulled out his wallet, handed the barkeep the coins and gladly accepting the glass of whisky.
"Thanks, pal."
Smooth and strong, that's how the alcohol poured down his dry throat. A sense of warmth slowly spread through his chest. Certainty, something he'd failed to find in this accursed case of his. Strange how booze helped with that. Sure didn't help his marriage though.
Richard took the time to find a seat by the counter, taking off his fedora and placing it squarly in front of him as he calmly turned around. The strange gathering of people easily caught his attention...well, mostly people.
Scales, tiny flying fairies and...exactly how much had he been drinking?
Turning back and leaning over the counter, Richard did his best to silently get the attention of...well...someone. "Uhm...pardon my ignorance to your patrons, pal, but...what kind of bar is this? Something like a studio bar, akin to Hollywoodland or something? I've got to admit, I'm stumped, my wandering into the mist like that."
Richard Barker
"...Yeah, I get what you mean Kevin, but listen..."
Stacks of newspapers, a dozen plates and cups, and the pair of muddied gumshoes of the man sitting in a far too old office chair, littered the desk on which a telephone stood. The chord strung loosely from the desk to the reciever in the hands of a tense man, trying his best to calm down and do something by the book, which proved to be no easy feat all things considered. After all, unlike others Private Detective Richard Barker talked to these days, Kevin on the other side of the line knew how how the P.I. ticked and worked.
"...wait, so they have an alibi after all? And what might just that be?"
A document cabinet stood in the corner of the small office, itself placed in the corner of a less-than pleasent-looking office building in downtown New York City. Like the office itself had its secrets, so did the cabinet. The phone still tightly trapped between the detective's ear and shoulder, the cabinet was opened and a bottle pulled out, though its contents was as dissapointing as Richard's. Even a stern shake of it yielded only the bare buttom of his glass, much to his annoyance. The conversation didn't help.
"Jesus Christ...I know they're lying, Kevin, I just know!...no, thanks Glasses. I owe you one. Take care, and don't let Hoover bite you in the ass. Night..."
So the Order, well more specifically the two heads of the Hermetic Order has alibis on the disappearance of a certain member. Well...shit. this was more rotten than he'd guessed, even for all the brain-twisters he'd seen since that incident with a haunted house in Boston...or was it Arkham...He couldn't remember, and frankly tonight he didn't give to shits.
He really needed some giggle juice.
Richard put down the reciever and stared at the glass in his hand, contemplating whether this was enough for him to go to sleep without dreaming of Her...or even HIM. Probably not, nothing could get that old Mr. Corbitt out of his head anytime soon. Believe him, he'd really tried. So with a swift swig of the glass and an even swifter departure from his office, Richard Barker found himself out on the streets of New York, looking for the next best Gin Joint in the city.
Well...somehow he found one, though it certainly wasn't Kansas anymore.
A fog enveloped Richard after a couple of blocks, though the seasoned New Yorker wasn't phased by it. Growing up in the city told him these things tended to happen on nights like these, and the bare minimum of alcohol didn't make him question it. So when he found himself in front of a rather rustic-looking fascade of a tavern, he only asked two questions: "Does this look like a place run by O'Bannion, and do they sell JP Wiser'S?
Only his entrance into the Nameless Tavern would answer those questions and quence his thirts.
The change of atmosphere phased Richard briefly, with the lack of outside noise giving him second thought stepping into the tavern. Having just left a semi-busy street with cars, trams and whatever New York had to offer of its bountyful clientell of drunks, whores, cops and thugs, the inside was...calm. Too calm. Richard stood out like a sore thumb in the rustic tavern, looking more like a brown pub in merry ol' England rather than a New York speakeasy...then again, who was Richard to start asking questions?
The P.I. took a few cautionary steps inside, his detective gaze never ceasing to inspect the interiours and people seated around, while he himself made his own strides towards the counter...refraining from commenting on the rather odd fellows already inhabiting the joint. This was New York after all. If you wanted to find the freaks and odd Joes of the world, this was the place.
"Pardon me, buddy, but got any good ol' whiskey rye back there? Make it on ice, and don't worry. I don't work for the Feds..."
First time poster here, though my character will certainly not be. Give me a little time, and I'll jump into the fray as well ;) Will be good practice after a long hiatus!
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Alexander Polawski Location: The General's Office -> On the way to MedicalSkills: N/A |  |
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Seconds became days and weeks, even months and years for Alexander as Aeron accepted his need to talk, prompted by those four simple words; "Then let us talk." Alexander took a deep breath, filling his lungs with much air to carry him through this insurmountable mission he had just set himself out on - to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. The truth, which he'd been told many times by Freedman, would allow him to pass through that painful obstacle and finally move on. And so he needed as much air as he could, before he started telling Aeron about…
A knock interrupted Alexander from uttering a single coherent word, making him hold his breath in suspense, the knock taking him by complete surprise. Who was it? Before he knew it, Doc Michael entered Aeron's office, paying Alexander little attention. His presence was probably not an issue to the doctor, after all they both knew about Aeron and what was killing him from the inside. His presence only disheartened the old veteran though. From the sound of what little conversation he and Aeron had, things were only growing worse.
And he couldn't help but feel an immense pride in seeing Aeron outright refuse the wheelchair, yet a bottomless sorrow knowing where this was going. Even in the face of Death, The Dragon stood tall and strong as example for his men. This time however, Death would be the last one standing.
The entire interaction was brief, allowing Alexander to remain with Aeron alone as he was asked to follow him for the walk. Alexander, having forgotten to breath throughout the conversation, let out a long breath and taking in another deep one, before nodding woefully to him. He got up on his foot and prostethic, approached his old friend and gave him a disheartened smile. "To the end of the World, General. Come on, Aeron, grab my arm if you need."
Holding out his arm for Aeron to grab onto as support, Alexander pushed aside his own troubles for the time being. His need for confession could wait, when Aeron needed him the most. And in that sense, Alexander felt happier, knowing he was still of use, if only for an old man fighting a losing war against cancer. With or without helping Aeron, Alexander would open the door for him and follow him out into the hallway, then outside into the streets and the hospital. "I have to give it to you. You're one stubborn old bastard, with all due respect. Glad to be by your side, old friend."
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Nigel Cooper Location: Bus -> Gaskins StillSkills: N/A |  |
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With Nigel's proposal for resiprocal training in the art of war being accepted by the self-claimed non-expert, the Neo-Roman felt slightly more confident in their ventures as of today. Calling Ash an expert might have been a fancy florishing of words on his part, but in true comparison Nigel was still very much the novice when it came to handguns. He'd always used his sword after all, and that was both quiet and efficient enough for his own liking, so the need had never arisen.
Times changed though, and even he understood that. Now at least he had someone to help him on that unknown path that was the future.
The time for Ash to talk had not ended though, with a new matter which the new-world soldier decided to put his weight behind. The plan, or at the very least A plan going forward. The plan was as simple as it was sound, though the explisite inclusion of modern firepower was a tactic Nigel wasn't too familiar with, very least at this close range. Thalia's inclusion of stealth was a warm welcome to him, prompting Nigel to reply. "Fairly, though nothing compared to yourself. I can be quiet when the need arises…" He even managed to keep his mouth shut at that point, instead of going off on a long Latin quote about silence and whatnot, as if making a comedic point in contrast. Nigel simply took a deep breath and continued with another comment. "We head out as quietly as possible. As lain upon us earlier, we are not fighting time itself, so silence and patience are virtuous in this battle."
Looks like Nigel managed to sound ancient again. Touché.
It didn't take long for the bus to arrive at their designated drop-off point, an intersection before their planned foraging duty up north. Their target, a food mart. Outside the 'fresh' air caught Nigel in the face as he disembarked their galley on wheels, stretching out on the way out as if cramped inside CMB. His senses sharpened quickly as he mentally ordered himself to return to duty, a retired legionaire put back into service for the Empire. No sooner than they'd been given their final orders and Team B had ran off like Iberian skirmishers, Nigel turned to his group and looked them up and down. They all looked prepared, as prepared as one ever could be in this world of death, blood and fire.
A lone road kept going north from their position, treelines on all sides and far away in the distance the sight of a rooftop. Flat and industrial, that had to be their goal for small campaign. A road kept going to the east, encompassing a small overgrown field of what had probably been farmland, while the left contained more trees. Fairly simple, as long as they weren't being watched.
"North it is then, though let's head on the left side of the road. If we encounter resistance, may give us more cover..."
A pause from the now sword-wielding Roman came as a hushed reaction to something his eyes saw. In half a year Nigel hadn't seen one of Them, not this close and in reach of him. A certain instinct took posession of him, his hand gripping tightly around his sword - a fine blade, though sadly not his own beloved Gladius he'd carried into CMB. Eyes narrowed and locked onto the shambling Servant of Hades off in the distance, he breathed slowly and reminded himself of the threat of life outside the Walls.
A single Walker, off in the distance. Yes, they still existed out there. It didn't seem to notice them, at least not for now as Nigel eyed it like a scout keeping watch for a passing Gaul band of bandits. A brief look from Nigel onto the others told them he was ready to go deal with it at a moments notice, as he waited for it to wander off or approach them.
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