trollthumper

Because Kyle cannot keep talking out of his ass forever, let's see what K: Galactic Lore tells me about the state of play on Korus. Well, a 13's better than what I've gotten so far. Starting to consider using Hero Points at this point.

"I don't know," Nick said. "If that was a Deep One... they felt... tethered. Dead, but..." But. But. It was such a familiar "but," usually. Even if a ghost got inside you and made you hurl up ectoplasm like Regan MacNeil, any necromancer worth its salt could tell you that they were dead, even if they were tied to the mortal world. And yet... "He felt like... turmoil. Like the tides. There was death, but... life, too. Like he'd pushed himself somewhere between the two. It's not the first time I've seen in happen, but usually, the life is just a sliver. Not a force equal to death. And the thing is... it felt like it was growing. I mean, it was hard to tell between trying to take my body back, but... the vitality seemed to be welling up." Nick shook his head. "It's been a while since I've dealt with something like that." He looked to Sea Devil. He knew what most other arcanists knew about the Deep Ones, which meant 75% of that had to be shoved in the trash when she became a superhero. He knew her professional, and they'd run into one another more than a few times. But he knew he was treading on eggshells. "I think you'd know more about the history here than I would..."

April Arcana: 1 PP (Admin Point) Ari Rainshadow: 1 PP (Ref Point) AvengerAssembled Patriot: 1 PP (Admin Point) Dr. Archeville Artificer: 2 PP and is now PL12 Horrorshow: 3 PP Dracostern Cerebral and Cerebellum: 4 PP Electra Chelone: 1 PP (Admin Point) EternalPhoenix Terrifica: 1 PP (Ref Point) Exaccus Moon-Moth: 1 PP Fox Nocturne: 2 PP Grim: 1 PP Gremlin: 1 PP Masque: 1 PP Gizmo Chitin: 1 PP (Ref Point) Heritage Crystal-Gazer: 1 PP The Eel: 1 PP Shift: 2 PP Huckleberry Rot: 4 PP and is now PL9 Kaede Kimura Blue Bolt: 2 PP Dreamer: 1 PP Shadowborne: 2 PP Shooting Star: 1 PP KnightDisciple Patrioteen: 1 PP (Guide Point) Lone Star Ghule: 2 PP Nerdzul Nightscale: 2 PP and is now capable of PL15 Poncho Golden Star: 6 PP RocketLord Archer II: 2 PP Ghost: 3 PP Spaceman: 4 PP and is now capable of PL13 Space Ranger III: 2 PP Stormcrow: 4 PP Spacefurry Blackstaff: 2 PP Chimera: 2 PP Paper: 2 PP Predator: 2 PP Supercape Captain Cosmos: 2 PP Echohead: 2 PP Gamma Buzz: 3 PP Haven: 3 PP Peak: 2 PP Snakebite: 3 PP The Sailor Torpedo Lass II: 3 PP and is now PL8 TheAbsurdist Jotunn: 1 PP (Ref Point) Thevshi Multi-Girl: 5 PP Sri Kath'lana: 4 PP Timeout: 5 PP Thunder King is now Platinum Sever: 3 PP Tattered Man: 1 PP Tiffany Korta Madame Raven: 2 PP Starshine: 2 PP Zhenshchina-voin: 1 PP (Ref Point) trollthumper Cavalier: 2 PP

Nick turned to Sea Devil, his head making stuttering motions like a needle skipping on a record. When their eyes locked, his mouth opened... but the words Sea Devil heard did not come from his tongue. They came into her head. In Lemurian. "Sister... the cage must break..." Nick's eyes rolled back up into his head, and he nearly fell to his feet - save for the grip of Sea Devil. Coming to with his hand held aloft by a Deep One in power armor, Nick shook it off with remarkable speed and grace. "Thank you," he said. "I knew it was a bad idea, but I did it anyway. This is what happens when you lick the wall socket." He paused. "I could feel it, you know? Or... he, she, they, whatever. You know what the worst part of it all was? I felt [i]panic[/i]. Not my own, though it kicked in after a while. I felt [i]theirs[/i]."

And now is a very good time for Nick to roll a Will save: Yeah, a 21 should cover it.

"Not in this case," Nick said. "They've... well, we can hope for 'passed on.' There are worse options. But let's go with that one." He was usually cool about this. He was the slicked-back pompadour atop the worm-eaten skull (or at least, makeup that made it look that way), the haunt of the crossroads, the slick walker of the spirit roads. He ate death for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. So why was this creeping him out? Maybe it was good he was creeped out. That he could still see death as tragedy. He always had this vision of himself at 60, looking like Link Wray left under a sun lamp for too long, cackling at the world's funniest suicides. Able to waltz between the land of the light and the land of shadow, seeing death as not a termination but a hiccup. He hadn't become a crypt keeper yet, and moments like this, ironically enough, helped tug him back into the world of the living. Back where death meant something. He just wish he knew what this meant. "There's something I can try... but you can feel it. Sea Devil said as much. And it might bring about the lightning bolt." Nick cracked his fingers. "Then again, if I only made good choices, I wouldn't be able to talk with the dead in the first place. So..." He placed his fingers on the table, just brushing the edge of the blood - not enough to disturb the crime scene, but enough to pick up on residual traces. He opened his mind to the twist of the Moirae's skein... To Artificer and Sea Devil, it was as if somebody had wrapped marionette strings around Nick's limbs and twisted crudely. He flew back, hamstrings pulled like tightropes, the toes of his boots digging into the linoleum, head thrown back in a pose usually only possible via spinal injury. He opened his mouth, and out flew words deep and choked, familiar to Sea Devil - Lemurian. "DRY AND DESICCATED... SWIM, SWIM, SEA, SEA... BROTHER SLEEPS IN PAIN, SISTER SLEEPS IN DESPAIR... LIGHT AND DARK AND LIGHT AND DARK... MOTHER, FATHER, CALL ME HOME... BACK TO INNSMOUTH..." Nick slumped down over the table. For a few seconds, he seemed to come to. Then he let out a long, low moan, looking down at his fingers and twitching like he was on day two of heroin detox. He reached for the bloodied knife that had slumped to the floor...

A 32 on the Notice roll for Postcognition, with a natural 20. This is a good example of when that's a bad thing.

"It's the Salton Sea," Nick said. "It's not exactly Laguna Beach. People who live out here tend to be desperate, determined, or wanting to leave everything behind. The place has a long history of asthma and other respiratory conditions among the inhabitants, in part due to the waste rising off the Sea. Supposedly a long history of depression and suicide as well. From what I understand, Ms. Johnson was a psychiatric nurse at a local clinic. Daniel was a bartender and painter who'd made a few sales. This is what I heard from the cops, and none of that speaks to their mental states, but..." Nick raised a finger in the air. "This does. Magic. Usually, the kind of magic that makes somebody kill themselves has to be strong enough to overcome every urge a person has to say, 'I don't want to die.' But... there are ways. The first is to directly puppeteer the body, like people think happens with voodoo dolls. The second is possession, to have a spirit or ghost jump in and just go right for the arteries while the brain's recovering from the psychic shock. The third is illusion - making them think they're in such a horrible position that the survival instinct vacates, and there's only one way out." He looked to the deceased. In cases like this, the trauma of death would usually leave some sort of ghost for him to interrogate. But not here. Not now. He only hoped that death had come as such a shock that there were no earthly chains left to bind them, that they'd gone on to something approaching rest. The other options were ones he couldn't weigh right now. "The magic still feels heavy in the air. Not enough to strike like a lightning bolt, but definitely like a fog."

So, after much delay (work kicked my ass), here are Nick's scores: Notice: 21 K: Arcane Lore: 35 K: Theology: 27 So, here are the general results: Medicine/Notice (for Sea Devil): Artificer picks up on it through his knowledge of physiology, but Sea Devil picks up on it from her knowledge of her people. There has long been talk of Deep One hybrids with the surface dwellers - usually the talk of ribald landlocked types, but there have been communities that have used such tactics for go-betweens. However, there is nothing to these people that would suggest the "Innsmouth look." They appear to be human... from the exterior, that is. Notice (for everyone): An examination of the dead reveals no shallow cuts around the wounds, indicating that the fatal wounds were made without hesitation. There are signs of broken furniture, glasses, and cups, however, as well as light signs of self-harm - skin under fingernails, hair torn out - and light petechial hemorrhaging in the eyes. It's as if they entered a frenzy of agitated movement before making deliberate, unhesitating actions to end their lives. Detect Magic: Everyone is able to pick up on the presence of magic within the room. It still seems to be there, trace numina hanging in the air. Sea Devil, however, is able to perceive it as something of a faint susurrus, like radio static mixed with distant waves... and knows it extends beyond the house. It seems to hang in the air outside. Arcane Lore: Everyone here is aware that magic that can make a person kill themselves usually has to be strong enough to overwhelm every urge that makes a person not want to die. However, given Nick's roll, he has a particular insight that I will share in the IC post. Theology: Nick is able to pick up on some of the cadence, but Sea Devil is able to make out the traces around the writing that look like blood stains left by the final twitches of the deceased. They're actually an old Lemurian cartouche, an ancient practice to honor some consigned to Dagon's embrace. This one, in the ancient text of her people, reads "SILENCE."

I'd say suitable rolls here would be Medicine, Notice, Knowledge: Arcana, and Knowledge: Theology. I'll get Nick's rolls out when everyone else is done.

Nick realized, in retrospect, this was likely a bad idea. He was a landlocked individual, of course, and while he had an understanding of the political tensions between the Deep Ones and the Atlanteans, he had a good sense that Sea Devil and Artificer would be the ones most likely to put aside bad blood in the name of focusing on the potential crisis at hand. That, and Glamazon hadn't returned his calls. "Thank you for coming so far on such short notice." He gestured to the house. "As you heard, we've got an incident that looks to be related to Deep One theology. Two people seem to have committed suicide, and one of them left a prayer to Dagon in their own blood. We don't know if it was of their own volition, or..." Nick let it hang in mid-air, especially with Sea Devil present. This was his area, and he felt like a party crasher. "I'm going to try to read the scene, but I wanted to get your insights first. This isn't entirely my department, and I don't want to do anything that could potentially color the fabric of all this before I try and call up the dead. The local authorities are giving us a wide berth, so... let's go in and see what we can do."

"No... but it's gotten a bit of a touch up." Cavalier leaned in to inspect the power cell. "The engine itself is like a Plymouth F - I mean, like an old Vidaga-class starcruiser, the kind some people who own whole continents like to use as vintage luxury yachts. The cell itself is like shoving a grade 3 fusion core into it, which I wouldn't be surprised if someone tried that and took out an asteroid." He got up and looked around. "Which I wouldn't recommend while we're standing inside it. So, it's likely somebody built this as a guided missile and gave it just enough of a push that it could complete the journey on a set timetable. Like to hit Korus at just the right moment to ruin their day."

Nick Cimitiere, Sea Devil, and Artificer explore signs of Deep One activity in the Salton Sea.

Bombay Beach, California March 19, 2024 CW: Self-Harm, Torture, Imprisonment, Suicide This was a place of decay. And Eric LaCroix both loved and hated it for that reason. Both of those were strong terms, of course. Especially "hated." In the years since he'd really started to make use of his photography education, Eric had been jetting across the country, catching the spirit of crossroads, ghost towns, and graveyards. Often for photo shoots and Instagram feeds, but maybe working towards a coffee table book. Some of his photos were now hanging at the Black Petal Cafe where he had served as eternal barista. Of course, the spirit of places was more than metaphorical for Eric. Which is why the Salton Sea was screwing with him royally. A shoot at Slab City - "The Last Free Place," haven of snowbirds, outsider artists, and RV off-grid life - had spun out into a tour of the cities surrounding one of Southern California's greatest marvels gone to rot. A simple diversion of the Colorado River had led to the refilling of a long dried-out lake bed, creating a large saltwater body deep inland. For a few decades, it was a resort paradise, all the fun of the coast in the middle of dry land. Until the saline levels kept rising, and the agriculture run off kept flooding in. It was not a great place, especially for someone attuned to the flow of death. The shores were littered with the bones of luckless fish, and the sky itself reeked of salt and waste. The cities around the sea, life clinging on in the face of devastation, had elevated rates of asthma, lung cancer, and heart disease. The main wildlife willing to make it a native habitat, the pelicans, were riddled with botulism. Even the sea itself was dying, as California had enacted policies to let it evaporate in the hope of restoring wildlife on the exposed playa. And yet. Life persisted. The people here lived, likely because there was nowhere else to go or because they were stubborn enough to make homes. The cities were even drawing in its share of artist communities - though Eric knew which way that would go, and he bet it would be a while before this became the next Joshua Tree. But if life could persist him, if people could make it a home, he could at least put up with the fact that his death sense left him with the constant sense that he was hearing radio static from another room. Until the signal cut through loud and clear. And he knew that it was much more than dead fish. It was time for his night work. A quick jaunt through Osiris's back closet, and he was at the house. At least California Winter made his leather jacket tolerable, as Spring slowly approached. The house itself was nice, by Bombay Beach standards - a little bit of rime and dust to the walls, but a simple, one-story abode. Red and blue lights filled the driveway, and the two beat cops on duty did a double take as he walked up. "Get lost on your way to some metal concert?" The older one asked. "Nah, Joe. I know this one. Seen him on Instagram. Cemetery, right?" "Cimitiere, but I'm not a stickler." He was a long way from Freedom, but thank God social media had enough of a reach to make sure authorities wouldn't just mistake him for a Ghost fan with delusions of grandeur. "What's the situation?" "Two dead. Marie and Daniel Johnson, 25, 26. Both locals; I... knew 'em from church." The younger one looked down, trying to hold something in. "Wounds seem self-inflicted, but... there's reason to suspect... well, occult shit." Nick let them walk him in. He was too used to small town cops believing that "occult shit" meant they had a Ouija board or a copy of The Kybalion. The bodies were a quick scan on the way through the center of activity. Marie was slumped before the sink, her wrists cut open. Daniel was sitting at the kitchen table, his throat open, a steak knife fallen at his limp hand. It was a terrible tableau, and he knew he'd need to look at it in detail. But they weren't here, which was either good for them or very bad for them. Because the writing on the table, done in Daniel's bloody finger, said everything Nick needed to know. HOME DAGON HOME HOME YHANTHLEI SEA TO THE SEA "You were right. I think I may need to call in some consultants for this one..."

"It's a term used for a knight on horseback. It was close enough to 'knight' that I thought it would be a good way to stand aside but still have the title come through." Kyle double checked Kath'lana's figures. "You're right. And it's an old one, too. All right, looks like we've got some spelunking to do."