Roland

The Rain In The Cycolpean City. (H.P. Lovecraft/Cthulhu Mythos Roleplay)

James had neared the entrance after the man called Ferd had waved his hand and asked James to follow. James had kept his distance, as Ferd and Val had greeted and welcomed the new man. He was a police officer, apparently. James had never had much interaction with any police, even in the crime infested streets of New York. No one had ever even tried to pickpocket him!

James seemed a bit of an odd duck to the party. The others appeared either thuggish, private eyes or highly gangster-fashioned, and there he was, a college graduate and a journalist. Well, this might prove interesting, but am I out of my depth?

James took his notebook out of his pocket. On the first page he had a photograph of himself and two others in military uniforms. He took the picture into his hand and glanced it quickly. The trio was standing their arms on each others shoulders. No dull moment in Argonne, 1918 read in the back. James put the photograph back and made a note to himself.

Wednesday, 14/4/1925. Arrived at Jeremy's house and joined the other investigors investigators. They are quite the unordinary bunch from all walks of life. If I wrote characters like them into a short story, no one would believe that everyone could be crammed into a single house in a single city in a single country.

The Rain In The Cycolpean City. (H.P. Lovecraft/Cthulhu Mythos Roleplay)

"The name is James Anderson of Wake Springs, at your service", he replied to the man. The man seemed like out of a detective story. He took out his ID out of his wallet. The safest action would be to diffuse the tension and suspicion quickly. James took a shy smile. His father had always thought that wide smiles were untrustworthy. "And may you and your comrades tell yours?"

The Rain In The Cycolpean City. (H.P. Lovecraft/Cthulhu Mythos Roleplay)

James finally chose to walk to the house. He had examined the cavalcade of people who were entering the house. He had met a lot of people in Wake Springs, at college and in his work, but rarely he had seen such a big man as one of the men. James pondered, if he was a boxer. Perhaps I should write about a boxer. A boxer who fights crime at night with a mask and a disguise, he thought. Vigilante, an antihero, an avenger in the night, ready to defend the weak and innocent, perhaps with an animal motif.

He knew he had awkwardly waited in the street, but he rarely just waltzed into things. He often examined things before going into action, and apparently, the group just had had a short moment of tension. James looked around quickly and walked to the door just behind the group of people. "Hey, wait for me!" he said on the way. He had always been introverted, and never had been extremely easy speaker. He added "I was sent a letter by Jeremy's house sitter, too."

Der Bundeskrieg

Zug 4

Zug 4, Kompanie 2, I Battalion, 1st (Ostpreuβisches) Grenadier-Regiment ”Kronprinz”

„Stabgruppe“

Platoon Commander Leutnant Wernher von Lockstedt
Assistant Platoon Commander Leutnant Gustav Fromme
Platoon Sergeant Vize Feldwebel Ferdinand “Ferdi” Gustafson
Assistant Platoon Sergeant Unteroffizier Karl Kohlmann

Platoon Messengers

Obergefreiter Christopher Schulze
Gefreiter Casimir Ludwig
Grenadier Oswald Böhm
Grenadier Albert König
Grenadier Harold Schröder

No. 1 Section

Section Leader Unteroffizier Wilhelm Hartmann
Assistant Section Leader Korporal Otto Katz

Rifle Grenadier Stabsgefreiter Robert Rosen
Rifle Grenadier Stabsgefreiter Richard Ulrich
Grenadier (Hand grenades) Konrad Erlichsen
Grenadier (Hand grenadier) Erich Hartz
Rifleman Grenadier Heinz Wenck
Rifleman Grenadier Kurt Wittig
Rifleman Grenadier Daniel Lustig
Rifleman Grenadier Erich Sten
Rifleman (Scout) Grenadier Harold “Harry” Meyer
Rifleman (Scout) Grenadier Albert Fuchs

No. 2 Section (Squad)

Section Leader (Unteroffizier) Felix Martell
Assistant Section Leader (Korporal) Horst Müller

Rifle Grenadier (Stabsgefreiter) Max Bauer
Rifle Grenadier (Stabsgefreiter) Joachim Koch
Grenadier (Hand grenades) Obergefreiter Anton Neumann
Grenadier (Hand grenadier) Obergefreiter Otto Becker
Rifleman Grenadier Emil Kraft
Rifleman Grenadier Hermann Jung
Rifleman Grenadier Claude Vogel
Rifleman Grenadier Friedrich “Fritz” Keller
Rifleman (Scout) Grenadier Albert Franck
Rifleman (Scout) Grenadier Ben Schuster

No. 3 Section (Squad)

Section Leader Unteroffizier Alexander “Alex” Hahn
Assistant Section Leader Korporal Kurt van Hoorn

Rifle Grenadier Stabsgefreiter Andreas Brandt
Rifle Grenadier Stabsgefreiter Ernst Kuhn
Grenadier (Hand grenades) Erwin Ziegler
Grenadier (Hand grenadier) Heinrich Sauer
Rifleman Grenadier Thomas Schreiber
Rifleman Grenadier Wilhelm Pfeiffer
Rifleman Grenadier Martin Winter
Rifleman Grenadier Walter “Walli” Lorenz
Rifleman (Scout) Grenadier Joachim Weiβ
Rifleman (Scout) Grenadier Casper Beck

Der Bundeskrieg

To be honest, I took the liberty of naming the 45 soldiers under my command just about now.

Der Bundeskrieg

The Late Herr Leutnant

Wernher knew he was late. Well, timetable, meet reality., he thought.

Had Wernher not taken a short detour on his way, he would have arrived fifteen minutes ago. He was riding a horse from a local stable. He knew a family who ran a stable nearby, and had sent a letter to them, requesting a horse for a few days in exchange of a agreeable sum. The family's daughter Katharina had been happy to bring the horse to the train station as Wernher arrived. The young woman had been almost blushing, when she offered the chestnut horse named Hugo to Wernher. Wernher didn't wonder why; he looked quite dashing in his officer's uniform with insignia. He had civilian clothing with him, but a uniform offered a few perks and gazes, like better service in restaurants.

Wernher had come almost straight from the von Lockstedt "estate" near Berlin, as he had been on a short vacation for familial reason. His father was having heart problems, but that didn't slow him down much. Oskar had been mostly relegated to staff duties nowadays, preparing new artillery training handbooks and other paperwork. There was clearly something coming, as his father was talking much about new artillery designs and plans being drawn behind the scenes.

Wernher ushered Hugo to a steady trotting for the last few hundred metres before the manor. If he was going to be late, at least he could arrive in style. Nearing the manor, he noticed his friends, and sported a small grin. Someone had arrived with a brand new Audi, probably Hans. A man never stops playing with toys, they just get expensive and lucrative. Wernher didn't have much interest in those automobiles, but they might have a place in battlefield. If only one made enough reliable and affordable automobiles, then they'd offer greater mobility in logistics than horses and trains.

The others were already walking towards the manor. Wernher pulled near them and stopped. "Sorry for being late", Wernher apologized. "I hope you weren't taking bets on my punctuality."

Der Bundeskrieg

Leutnant Wernher August von Lockstedt

Leutnant Ritter Wernher August von Lockstedt

Born in Berlin, Brandenburg, Königreich Preuβen.

29. November 1879.

Wernher August Ritter von Lockstedt was born into a family of lower aristocracy in Berlin. von Lockstedts own a manor and a patch of land outside of Berlin, but throughout history their family has served in European militaries in lower and upper officer corps, especially during and after the Enlightenment. Currently Wernher is serving as a Leutnant in the Prussian military and currently is working as an instructor and platoon leader, soon to be given the command of a company. He plans to apply for the Staff College in few years. In his childhood, Wernher learned how to ride a horse and how to draw. He's also trying to play a piano. Along with his native German, he can speak French almost fluently and is learning English. Lutheran by religion, Wernher prays sometimes, but isn't highly devout individual, although Lutheranism has had an influence on his work ethic.

Personality-wise, Wernher seems to be diplomatic, optimistic and humorous in his responses. While Wernher enjoys good wine and beer on occasion, he is quite a lightweight drinker. While in the service, he tends to have close working relationships with his squad leaders, often trusting their initiative in day to day training and tasks, but he is not hesitant to lead by example. He tends to also do what he preaches: if he doesn't show example to his men, why should they march in a muddy field with rifles and full packs?

Wernher has always excelled in sports and languages, and he might have become a translator, if his father Oskar hadn’t pestered him to serve in the military as a career officer. Wernher’s platoon is often among the best in a company when it comes to running, swimming, football and other sports. Wernher reads a lot, especially foreign books. He has translated a few as a hobby for his friends and family. His father still serves as a major in the artillery, but Wernher didn’t follow his father’s footsteps into “the gods of war”, as his father insisted, but has been serving in the infantry. Wernher has taken a short vacation to visit his old friend at Schloβ Komturhof.

The Rain In The Cycolpean City. (H.P. Lovecraft/Cthulhu Mythos Roleplay)

Silent tension hung in the air like an unanswered question mark in the Three Ravens saloon. Dutch had two aces in his hand, and third was on the poker table. Could he pull the jackpot with this hand? Was the Sitting Hawk bluffing across the table? The stakes weren’t that high, as the game was friendly. No one’s life was on the line, but the Indian had a stone-cold poker face. He saw everything and showed nothing.

James was scribbling down a new story in the train into his notebook. He always had a couple on him, one for writing ideas down and writing short excerpts and the other for diary. He had grown tired of Dutch McAllen, the gallant sheriff of Country Galloway, Texas. Dutch had rescued ranchers’ daughters, faced bandits, Indians and cattle thieves. He also had faced cattle-thieving bandit Indians, bandits posing as Indians, and duelled at least two “fastest hands in the West”. James pondered, should he just kill Dutch McAllen in a spectacular fashion, like the writer of Sherlock Holmes had done with his hero.

The readers would be disappointed, but James could at least move on. He could write a new protagonist and new stories. He had a new protagonist in mind – an escaped Pict slave and barbarian of the ancient world, working as a mercenary, a thief and an occasional hero in the Mediterranean world, killing gorgons and harpies and other monsters and beasts. James had loaned quite a few history books and corresponded with a few other authors about his ideas.

The train was about to arrive in Arkham. James hadn’t seen Jeremy in years, but they had corresponded frequently. A month ago, Jeremy hadn’t sent any letters, and few days ago James had been mailed a letter from Jeremy’s house sitter to arrive to Arkham, as Jeremy had gone missing. James had been worried, but he also smelled an opportunity to take a slice of time off from his regular writing and journalist work.

He had heard of curious rumours and news from Arkham. He had heard from an old university acquaintance, who had majored in geology and chemistry that the Miskatonic University was interested in polar exploration, and James was intrigued to hear the University’s reports and research from the Antarctica expeditions.

As the train arrived in Arkham, James took his luggage and went out to find the 1111 South Curlew Drive. It shouldn’t take long, he thought. He had always been good at reading maps and almost instinctively navigate through an unknown terrain. He hummed a new jazz song he’d heard last week.

James neared the location and saw at least two figures by the house and a third in further distance. He had taken his jacket off and rolled his sleeves up, carrying a few days’ worth of spare clothing in a travel case. He had a black vest and tie and white shirt on him. And apparently, the two figures had their interest on the third. James slowed his pace and took a short while to examine the trio.

The Rain In The Cycolpean City. (H.P. Lovecraft/Cthulhu Mythos Roleplay)

James Daniel Anderson

Name: James Daniel Anderson

Age: 27

Occupation: Weird and speculative fiction author, part-time journalist

Description: A man of average height. Black, straight and short hair. A stubble. Build otherwise like a runner: lean, not highly muscular, but otherwise in better than average pedestrian shape.

Interests: History, hiking, running, boxing, the occult and arcane events, folklore, archaeology, jazz.

Fears and Phobias: Drowning, burning to death, number thirteen, blank pages, artillery barrages.

Superstitions: James believes that cats bring bad luck and nightmares if they are near him at nighttime.

Skills: Speaks Swedish and English. Excellent eye-hand coordination for playing darts and throwing other small objects. Keen imagination and curiosity. Boxing, a clear outfighter with long arms and small arms training from the military, mainly rifles, pistols, revolvers and knives. Outdoor survival and navigation.

Intelligence/Sanity: James has been said to be a decently smart man. He has a keen mind and imagination, but he might jump into the more... imaginary conclusions than most. When a hunter sees foot prints and declares they're deer's prints, James might say they're unicorn's, and start formulating a story in his mind.

Backstory:

Born in 1898 on a well-to-do farm near the town of Wake Springs, Maine. Wake Springs is a small town of no great importance, and you would have great trouble find it on regular maps of the day. His parents were a Swedish speaking Finn and an Irish-American woman of local descent. James was named after Joanna's grandfather.

His father, Emil Anderson was a Evangelical Lutheran from a small Ostrobothnian fishing village, while his mother was a Catholic Irish-American Joanna O'Connor. As a child James read voraciously of anything he got his hands on, from farmers' almanacs, newspapers and fairy tale books and adventure novels he loaned from other locals or bought for his parents whenever he could spare a minute from farm work.

His father died at the age of barely thirty-five after his heart failed. Emil had been diagnosed with heart problems a couple years before by a local doctor, but he could ill-afford medical treatments or medication. By his mid-thirties, Emil's farm had suffered from drought, and his financial problems mounted with new loans from local banks and the farm was sold to cover most of the loans. Joanna had worked as a seamstress at a local clothing shop, but after the farm's auction she moved with the now teen-aged James to her aunt's apartment in Brooklyn, New York City. The trio shared a small but cozy apartment.

James did well at school, but never excelled. His teachers often said his mind wandered somewhere else, and he was bullied by other kids for his curious interests and topics. He was mostly introverted and enjoyed his own company, often writing short stories and essays. For example, one of his early characters included a cowboy named Dutch McAllen, the brave and formidable sheriff of County Galloway, Texas. When attending the City College, James wrote serial stories for the students' newspaper. His most popular story was The McAllen's Last Duel at Noon!, which was published in four parts over the autumn semester.

While attending college, James' life took a change. The United States was gearing towards joining the Allies for the European Great War, and many young people were either joining or otherwise being employed by the industry for the war effort. James joined the United States Army and was shipped to Europe in the middle of 1918, taking briefly part in the Hundred Days and Meuse-Argonne campaigns against the Germans during the autumn of 1918. After the Armistice, James was shipped back to the United States and he continued writing new short stories. A tragedy hit him shortly after the Armistice, when his mother died of the Spanish Flu.

Now in his twenties, James created a few new characters, fantastic locales and wondrous beasts and sold his stories to newspapers, short story collections and cheap pulp magazines like The Weird Tales, Oh, the Horror and The Half-A-Dollar Dreadful, earning a decent living. He utilized his war experiences in many stories, like The Tales of the Messengers Cody and Barks and The Mummy Strikes Back!. James has usually added fantastic or horror elements into his stories. He finished bachelor's degree in English by 1921. James also started to work as a part-time journalist, usually writing book reviews and interviews on other authors.

James met Jeremy through a publishing agent. The agent knew that James had an interest for the mysteries, occult happenings and arcane trivia, as he often used those in many stories. Jeremy apparently had knowledge of a lost city hidden somewhere in the world's oceans or something more ancient than Atlantis.

James had heard of similar legends of Atlantis and desert city of Iram o' Pillars during college classes on folklore and ancient mythology. James spent an evening interviewing and chatting with Jeremy, and they shared their addresses for future correspondence. They would exchange letter every few months, until Jeremy vanished and James was sent a letter by his house sitter.

Interested in the case for using it in future stories and finding out what has happened to Jeremy, James has decided to keep a diary on his findings.

Der Bundeskrieg

@Starboard Watch To put it shortly, I'd be interested.