[hr][hr][h1][b][i][color=1a7b30][center]Call of Cthulhu[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h1]

[hr][center][h3][color=0054a6]Chapter One: The Crack'd and Crook'd Manse[/color][/h3][/center][hr]

Date: Monday, May 4th, 1925
Time: Morning -> Approaching noon
Location: TIME Agency Office - Arkham, Massachusetts -> Investigators' homes around Arkham -> One hours drive west of Arkham

The late arrival of the group's psycologist-nurse, Alessa Bianchi, fulfilled the last gaps of the unity which constituted the orchestra of investigators. As they were five, a certain sense of harmony had been achived, if one believed in such things. Harry Peacock himself would just have been happy to report to his employer, Mr. Talbot, that the entire Arkham-chapter was finally conducting their investigations he paid them fo. Why, he still hadn't managed to fully decypher yet, but as long as it paid the bills he wasn't complaining. Yet. 

Whoever's automobile was to be chosen amongst their various means of transportation, the various Investgators split up to attend to pressing business and/or gathering their supplies. Just as they were quite different figures themselves - Eleonora the Detective, Alessa the semi-Psychologist, Jeremiah the Professor, Father Charles the fallen Priest and Margarete the brawned Antique Dealer -, they would make their ways home and equip themselves with the gear they sought desirable in whatever trials they might face in Gamwell. 

In due time the Investigators rendevouzed at a pre-determined location, before ascending into the motorized mean of transportation that was one of their's autombile - a fine, yet fragile contraption for a fine, yet fragile time and age. It was a wonder the group of five could even fit everything that needed there, and somehow the very laws of physics allowed them to pack up their personal belongings and get moving - to others it would have been called "simply packing reasonably". 

An hour would pass with the automobile puttering down the New England roads leading westward, following the mighty and enigmatic Miskatonic River as itself flowed out to the vaste ocean. Was the river telling them they were going the wrong way? "Turn around, you foolish human beings. Turn around and flee to the sea! My very source is too frightful for you!" Thankfully rivers did not speak. 

Small collections of houses, farms, incredibly sparse gas stations and endless woods passed the automobile's windows, up to the Investigators if they were opened for the slowly heating-up May air or not. A bump in the road there, a sharp turn right here, a farmer passing gently on the other side of the road on his horse and cart, nothing out here was attempting to endanger the Investigators. 

Not yet at least. 

[i]The floor boards creak above the force of its movements, filling each and every minute crevise as it makes its way to the other side. Searching for something bigger than the hairy creatures with sharp teeth. It hungers patiently. Unseen when it wants, there is no use in running or hiding. Within these walls, it lives omnisciently, yet thoughtless. 

Is there nothing left to eat? 

Perhaps outside.[/i]

[color=007236]**You are all now one hour outside of Arkham. Anticipate additional four to five hours more of driving before reaching the presumed location of Gamwell. Do ask for rolls or suggest social encounters along the route. If not, proceed as normal with interacting with each other in the car.**[/color]