I hope my last post wasn’t geeky enough for you, because it’s been a big ol’ geeky weekend. Geekend, obviously.
Yesterday, my girlfriend and I had the pleasure of playing a Call of Cthulhu campaign. It was a continuation of our previous encounter with 1920s Halifax. Milton Arbogast, my character from last time, was on the loose. I’d opted to try out a new character and was delivered Ervin Howard, a young pulp horror writer. I’d been put out into the field with a police escort, cadet Gail Cooper, to research for an upcoming crime novel I was working on. Gail was a bit of an experiment herself, rising through her training with progress that was impossible to ignore. However, the notion of a female police officer was a challenging concept in 1920s Halifax and the burden of proof to her efficacy was on her shoulders. We were joined by a rookie officer and set out upon Halifax to search for clues as to Arbogast’s whereabouts. We were quickly alerted to two of his known associates who’d been taken in at the native affairs offices, a male native half-French fur trader and a black female parapsychologist. Talking to the pair (characters from the last campaign) gleaned information of the occult happenings going on in Chester’s Cove that were almost too much for our sanity to bear. We freed the pair and set out to gather information.
Our quest took us all around town. It seemed there was a local crime affiliate that was going around killing off known crime families. Their symbol was an eagle with a fish in its talons. We searched for information anywhere we could. From the court records offices (where I used my fast talking charm and Freemason connections to glean some important details) to Arbogast’s apartment, where we uncovered all manner of disturbing arcana (including our in-game notebooks from the previous sessions). Interrupted by a strange figure at Arbogast’s front door, a chase ensued. Tried as we might’ve, the chase ended when he vaulted over a rooftop. Our attempts to follow left both ourselves and our pride injured as he slipped away from our grasp. We went back to his apartment and discovered a strange tapestry bearing the image of grotesque fish monsters. Shaken and tired, we headed back to the hotel to sleep.
In the morning we were rousted on our journey by screams from the dock. A man was being hauled up out from the water. On closer inspection his body was misshapen, with the strange “cove look” many believed to be infectious. There was a large length of cloth stuffed down his throat. I found a bus pass in his shoe. We convinced the local constabulary to let us have jurisdiction over the body and some of our party went off to the hospital to further investigate. It turned out his lungs were flooded with sea water, which the doctor (who bore an uncanny resemblance in both look and accent to Werner Herzog) assured us was not from the drowning itself. Under one of his fingernails was a small token which, under a microscope, bore the sigil of the local “Eagle” gang.
A trip to the recently burgled Maritime Museum garnered more information that pointed towards the activity of a native tribe that’d seemingly been extinct for quite some time. We had a few leads left to follow in order to figure out what was really going on. A lawyer involved in many of these arson disputes, a native chief who’d been seen around town, the Halifax asylum. Where would we go? What would we do? Moreover, what would we find. Answers were everywhere, but so too was mystery in a strange town where nothing was quite as it seemed.
To be continued, I guess…