Call of Cthulhu: Beginnings
 

Thursday, 1:00 PM

It was a bright and cheery day out. The sun was shining, birds were out, and at the St. Mary's Hospital in Central Arkham, life was good... Except in room number 313. All of you stand outside the room or sit in chairs. The anticeptic white walls are around you everywhere, and the occasional nurse interrupts your private conversations as you talk about your old friend, Dr. Merriweather. He was many things to many people, mentor, teacher, friend, but while you are all seperate individuals, you're are all brought together by the letter, the one typed letter telling you Dr. Merriweather's condition. he is dying of cancer, and doesn't have long to live, but he has something very important to tell all of you. You all rushed as quickly as possible, and by a twist of fate, all have arrived on the same day. A fussy nurse led you here, but warned that due to his poor condition you all may not be able to see him, and then went inside. You are now waiting for her to inform you when he is ready to see you all.

OOC: Chance to introduce your characters and their apperance, and just an intro. I won't wait too long to advance the story.

Joseph Smith was a rather distant looking English gentleman, though his manner of dress was rather like an American, he had come dressed in a neat suit overlayed with a ankle-length brown leather coat, a fedora and a briefcase which he held be his side as he slid into one of the chairs in the waiting room. His hair was light brown and his skin pale, rather like most Englishmen of the time. He gave the distinct impression of a haughty and rather cold person, whether this was a consequence of his sharp features, stiff posture, rather disturbingly glossed over eyes or some combination of these things it was hard to tell. Indeed he gave off the impression of an enigma by his very presence. An impression which had left all the chairs closest to him empty, as though people were reluctant to go near him and face his haunting eyes. He didn't seem to mind much and sat almost entirely still, occasionally muttering some litany or prayer.

Mike Owens was pacing the halls, getting very impatient. He didn't feel like wearing his military uniform, but he felt like he had to wear it for this. His brown hair was cut short, another sign that he was in the army. He was looking all over the place, his dull blue eyes preferring not to meet with those of others. He wanted to keep his reasons for being here silent until he absolutely had to tell people, but luckily, that moment wasn't right now.

Frankie was sitting quietly in a chair in the waiting room, a large backpack full of books laying next to him, and his wool coat hanging on the back of his chair. The effusively friendly personality that marked him being restrained by the ill news of his friend's condition, and even iller news that he may not be able to see the old man. A sigh escaped his lips and he shook his head as he waited for the nurse to return.

Jim walked into the hospital in a rush, wearing simple buisness clothes and a hat. He asked the nurse about his condition, learning there was a slim chance of surviving for him. With a semi-frantic face, he paced around in the waiting room, accidently bumping into a man with short brown hair and an army uniform. "Sorry," Jim quickly said and continued pacing, worried about his old friend.

A short time passed, and two people left the room. The first was an elderly woman, obviously Mrs. Merriweather from her tear-stained face and unkempt look from long nights by her husbands side. The second is a younger man, and from the resembalnce must be the son of the elder Merriweather. He wears a neat buisness suit, and glares as the two leave. He seems about as heartfelt as a snake, but that doesn't bother you. What strikes you is the fact that the nurse has just walked out and said that Mr. Merriweather can the group now.

You all file in reverently to see the final hours of your old friend. You look to the bed and see him. He looks many times his age, his cancer making him seem to have aged years. You know he is old and in his 70's, but he is a gaunt figure, wasting away. He seems asleep, but some of you notice a flicker of his eyes that says the crafty old man is still with you. After you have all filed in, he speaks in a raspy coughing voice.

"My dearest friends, it is good to see you all again. I know you all, and would trust an one of you with my life. This is not some crack at my failing health, "He attempts to crack a smile, but is reduced to coughing for a minute instead. He resumes, "I would have dear sentiments for each and every one of you, but I have something far more dire to say, and oyu must listen to me now and not speak, for my time is short. Any that are afraid of what I might have to say or won't believe the rantings of an old madman should leave now." The room is silent, a few look at the other faces, but no one even moves to leave. Rupert manages a genuine smile and says, "I knew I could count on you. What I have to say will seem strange and bizarre, and I am sure all of you will be doubtful and think this disease has snapped my mind, but you have come to me in one of the most lucid moments of my life. All I can do is look back at my greatest failure and weep, and I know it must be stopped, but I am too old and frial, and would not stand a chance now. Some of you look confused, let me start from the beginning."

"It started in my time in college. I was a young fool at the time, still learning my way in the world. But this isn't about me, this is about my actions and the actions of six others. We were lead by an older gentleman who was near graduation, a man named Marion Allen. All of us chipped together and bought an old farmhouse out neer Ross' Corner, far out away from civilisation. We did this, so we could study the occult. We thought it was innocent, and performed harmless seances, and delved into research that others at the time considered pure foolishness. Little did we know the forces we were playing with. In our last meeting, Allen had gathered some ancient nicknack and said he had learned about a new ceremony we should try. If only we knew what would happen..."

Suddenly he has a coughing fit, and as he leans back, his voice seems to be fading to a whisper, but he is able to say, "We unleashed a hideous evil on this earth, the likes of which by all that is good should not exist, but it does. This thing is horrible, a monster, a killer. When we unleashed it, we paniced and were unable to contain it and it escaped, preventing us from sending it back to the realm it came from. However, Allen had been wise, and had performed some enchantment, forcing the beast to stay in the house, and trapping it. However, he told us all, when the last member that helped cast that spell dies, the enchantment will be broken. I am the last member of that group that lives, and when I die, the beast shall be unleashed."

He begins retching and coughing again, but is able to point at a plain metal box on his bedside table and says, "That box, take it. All the aid I can offer you lies inside that box. You must find a way to send that being back from whence it came, before it is too late. Please my friends, you must do this for me, and to stop all the horror that beast will bring."

As someone grabs the box and prepares to open it, suddenly he enters the worst bout of coughing yet, and begins to cough blood and tissue. The sight is hideous, and all recoil at this, although some are worse effected then others. However, some retian tehir sense and yell for a nurse and medical aid as the old man falls back, unconscious. Medical staff quickly rush in and force the investigators out. There is a horrifiying wait, and then a nurse comes out with the horrible news. Rupert Merriweather has died.

Thursday, 3:00 PM

You are all gathered in a nearby library. After some time to grieve, it was decided that despite the oddness of his final request, they must at least look into it to see what may have triggered these emotions if this is a hoax or hallucination, or in the off chance it is real, it still must be stopped. The box sits on the table in front of you, all looking at it and each other. Who will be the one to read his final words?

Father McGruder stood in the corner. His face was concerned. He wore a black jesuit cassock, a white collar on his neck. He is reading a bible, periodically looking up to his sick friend. under his breath he says the Lord's prayer.

"Well, we might as well open up the box. It was the old man's last request after all." David spoke to break the silence. He pushed the sleave off his trench coat up on his left arm, looking at the watch on his wrist. "We've been sitting here for ten minutes just staring at eachother after all."

David reached for the box, ready to open it and see what was inside.

David opened the box and pulled out the contents so everyone could see them. First was a yellowed envelope. He opened it up, revelaing the deed to a house out on the border of the small town Ross' Corner. Rupert has apparently just given the house to you all, to give you legal rights to be there and purge the beast it could easily be supposed. Also a small, rusty key falls out, most likely the key to the house.

Next is a small gold box. It is covered in ornate designs and writings, but not english, something ancient most likely, yet not able to be deciphered by David. He pops it open to see the box is empty and sees even more odd writing, different from that on the outside, and not even familier looking. He puts it aside, assuming someone else will be able to transalte it, or at least identify it.

Last, and most important, is a thin journel. On the front page you see that it is the property of Rupert Merriweather. This is most likely the chronicle of the events at the farm, but it will take time to read it.

Neil shifted uncomfortably, and worked his tie a bit looser. In full business suit, he seemed extremely out of place, but as circumstances demanded...

He pulled his anthro/archeo book out of his briefcase, and checked the box. "Hold on...lets see if it's listed in here...."

OOC: Does the book cover it?