Sunday, April 26, 2015

In Their Own Words

I posted previously about my sandbox style Call of Cthulhu game, the Arkham Chronicles.  We've just completed our eighth session, and things have gone as well as I'd hoped.  The characters have all developed nicely, and had a tense time of things surviving challenges both Mythos and mundane.  Rather than spending time describing the game from my perspective, I thought I'd post some excerpts of character fiction the players have been creating to fill in missing players on events.  So here is a snapshot of my game in the words of the characters:

From the personal records of Frank Cutter P.I.:
"Baby, its been a rough week...

They say guys came back like that from the war, in pieces that nobody can see, nobody can put together again.  I’m like that. Or maybe not.  Maybe I’m the guy that breaks people into pieces and beats his friends wit a b-club because a mushroom is growin’ happily in his thick skull.  Who the hell knows anymore.

I felt fine in the hospital.  Better than fine, better than a cold beer on a hot day. I skipped out before I shoulda, I see that now. The docs were right. But hindsight is useless when you have dead children to step over on your way to the office. Its not like I’ll make that mistake twice."

From the diary of Sebastian Gilbert (engineer and radio salesman):
"It started out as a bit of a laugh really.  The desire to read those blasphemous, forbidden books a way of getting at Father and his God.  It was like watching a road crash, voyeuristic really, looking at someone’s private insanity.  Deep down I think I always knew some of it made some twisted sense that I was too afraid to admit to myself, but lately it is more real.  Those words that evil man tortured from that poor woman, or beast if Frank is to be believed, they eat into your mind, maggots eating at the necrotic flesh of my sanity.  I’m repulsed at the evil horror those words spell out on the page yet somehow hungry to know more.  The mundane life I live seems more and more insignificant.  I’m losing hope, I must understand."

A journal entry by sergeant Lorenzo Gatti (army recruiter):
"I should never have saved that lowlife Sticky Frank from those Irish thugs. Saving him set off a chain reaction of horror and violence. After the Irish Mob came into my hospital room and smashed my broken leg’s cast with a hammer, I needed to find the S O B..."

A letter from Louis Jarvie (medical student) to Dr McIlvoy:
"Anyway, my wallet got lifted, we chased after the bastard, with the help of the unfeasably
large and dextrous Conrad- the man is as fast as a greased weasle, I swear! We caught the disreputable filcher called Greasy, I know it will seem farfetched but I actually brought him down with the old Litmanns stethoscope you gave me, I swung it like an Argentine ranchero might use a bola, incredibly they wrapped around his lower legs and he dropped like the great clot he was. Then, in exchange for my fabulous whistle from Seb, Greasy gave away where his friend Sticky Frank was holed up, we went there as a group which in the end saved our bacon, though in honestly I couldn't help but feel if we'd had Frank around we would have had an easier time of it.
At the tenements we were shown inside by a kindly seeming old Russian lady and, it shames me to say but like any ninny minded chuckta, despite the business at hand, I felt at ease and took a seat alongside the handsomely put together Bessie, enjoying our close proximity perhaps more than is proper. 
My hand trembles as I write, but the elderly lady turned truely nasty and scalded poor Bessie with a coffee pot before stabbing her, I feel I was guided by a force greater than myself, which bid me rise, staunch Bessies bleeding, thereby saving her life, then returned me to myself, I turned and grasping a handy crucifix, for the whole room was cluttered with relegious imagery and icons, I attempted to strike the auld bag and instead found my sen sat on the floor with a deep cut to my thigh, but I know you will not be surprised, my ability with bareknuckle fighting is just as poor as it ever was. My auld form master would have had my guts for garters if he could've seen me."

A statement by Conad Black (photographer and army reservist):
"The fourth floor had two rooms, I think. The first one was horrible, it was like something was trying to burst through the walls, the sound. I can remember the sound of artillery hitting trees and the splintering noise.

The other door. I, I admit I lost it here.
There was something in that other room. It was horrible. I can still see it when my eyes are closed, the way it moves, undulating. The Sarge saved us. He shot at it and closed the door.
We somehow made it to the top floor. There was a noise, a weird music it tugged at the senses..."

From the diary of Bessie Steele (researcher at the Miskatonic University):
"I almost died today.  

Strange, it is to see those words on paper.  It all happened so quickly, I've not time to process.  
 Louis thinks I should be resting, rather than writing in my journal - I can sense him hovering outside.  The idea of sleep is somewhat terrifying, the fear of closing my eyes and them not opening again.  If not for Louis..."

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