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Thread: Born of the Deep: Game Thread

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    Default Born of the Deep: Game Thread

    Each member of the party was recruited with no knowledge of who else might be involved. They were given instructions and the means to travel to a small town on the southernmost coast of Spain, Tarifa. There they were to meet on the yacht of a wealthy Brazilian. Each recruit was given a packet of information, though it actually gave very little. Most of what they knew were only the codenames of whom they would work with: Halifax, Berlin, Chesapeake, Hong Kong, Sydney, Bristol, Tarifa, Athens, Recife, and Rashid. They were warned that while they could exchange first names if they liked--or aliases, if preferred--that full names should be kept secret and to not use even their first names in any sort of written or radio communications.

    At first glance, the yacht doesn't appear to be heavily guarded. This is deceptive as watchful eyes will find armed guards hidden throughout the docks. There are a pair of guards checking invitations before allowing anyone onto the yacht. Each member of the party will be let through as they arrive.

    A North African man in a red fez, who has the aura of the military about him, stands guard at the entrance to the formal dining room, where the owner of the yacht--Brian (Recife)--and De Graeff await. As each codename seems to be associated with the region the recruit hails from, it can be assumed the man in the fez is codenamed Rashid.

    It's shortly after dawn and a cool morning, though the cloudless sky promises Mediterranean heat later. All of the guests save one have had to travel some distance for this meeting. Why it had to take place in a town that's barely on the map remains a mystery.

    De Graeff provided quite a bit of fine liquor and wine from his personal collection for the meeting. Unfortunately, he appears to have already drank quite a bit of it, as he's slouched into a chair with a glass clutched in his hand. He's been regaling Brian with stories about things that couldn't possibly be true.

    "...the crabs had to be six feet long, at least! Their pinchers could have easily crushed a man's head, but all they were interested in was picking up and eating bits of metal," De Graeff slurs to his captive audience. Rashid is pointedly ignoring him.

    Roster here.

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    Recife looks for and finds an excuse to excuse himself and hurries to greet the next guest, urr recruit. He signals for the bartender to try and get De Graeff some water too.

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    Chesapeake smiles in greeting at Recife. She quietly asks if she too could get some water.

    Chesapeake is a tall women in a tan suit and green hat. She's a hazel-eyed brunette, with a reserved expression that might seem stand-offish.

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    Athens simply stands off to the side, taking in the people and conversations around him. He is impeccably dressed in an expensive looking dark suit, and several heavy gold rings adorn his fingers and a gold necklace can be seen peeking out from under his collar. Despite the quality of the various adornments, his look does not invite conversation for all the clothes and the jewelry in the world couldn’t hide the long, pink scar that starts just above his right eyebrow and runs to the corner of his mouth. An eyepatch thankfully conceals the damage that must have been done to the eye underneath. He quietly lights a cigarette with a small gold lighter and continues to watch with a blank expression on his face.
    Hell, if I didn't do things just because they made me feel a bit ridiculous, I wouldn't have much of a social life. - Santo Rugger.

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    "Call me Halifax. Or Tom. I'm not particular."

    Tom is slim and pale. His gray suit, which might have been fashionable twenty years ago, is meticulously clean and pressed, but slightly threadbare. It is also too broad for his shoulders, perhaps a hand-me-down, or a piece of family finery reserved for such an occasion as this. He is clearly uncomfortable in it.

    He is also obviously blind. The lenses of his glasses are not merely dark but completely black, and the bulky frames block visibility from the side. In spite of this, he uses no cane, and seems to move about without difficulty.

    Holding his flute by the stem, Halifax pours himself more champagne. He stops exactly as the bubbles reach the rim of the glass, without a drop spilling over.
    "You laugh at me because I'm different; I laugh at you because I'm on nitrous."

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    Dulce--the small, dark haired woman known as Tarifa watched the assembled group with a practiced eye, looking at each of the guests as a potential target. It wasn't what she was here to do, and she had to remind herself of that, of the job at hand. Not that she had any real idea what that job was, but it wasn't to rob the rest of his "team" blind.

    To distract herself, she crossed back to the entrance, to Rashid, the man in the red fez. "Can I ask yet why we're here?" she asked casually, hands folded demurely behind her back. He may notice she's fidgeting, squeezing her hands together as if to remind herself to keep them to herself.

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    De Graeff is finally slowing his drinking, taking the water from the bartender. He's moved on from rambling about crabs to frogs.

    The man in the fez turns when Tom speaks, giving him a small nod. "You can call me Hassan. Rashid is a silly name." His English is flawless, though accented.

    When Hassan realizes Tarifa is speaking to him, he gives a start and looks mildly horrified, before covering it quickly. "I don't quite know yet. I can find things. De Graeff had me find all of you, but he hasn't said why yet."

    In illustration, Hassan pulls a map out of his pocket and unfolds it, holding it out to illustrate what he means. A red dot marks the coastal city where each of the recruits came from--except for Berlin, which is quite noticeably landlocked in comparison.

    "The next thing he had me find is here." Hassan points to a spot on the eastern banks of the Nile. "But I don't know what it is. He asked me to find 'the origin of the game.' Whatever that means."

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    As he steps into the formal dining room, Hong Kong stuffs his papers back into the breast pocket of his coat. It was a relief to see another non-European on board, and a relief to see he was not the shortest one on the ship. Still, to have to go by Hong Kong undid everything he had tried to do since the move. It was the name assigned to him, though, and he'd find a way to stand it.

    He looked unassuming enough that people might miss his entrance, were they not all eagerly watching new arrivals. He was small framed, dressed in clean gray suit. Round glasses rested on the bridge of his nose. He gave another glance around the room and soon found an open chair. As he settled into it, he was very careful not to make eye contact with his fellow travelers. He looked to be the type that might pull out a book to read if things took too long to get going.

    Someone observant might spot a rectangular outline visible through the fabric of his coat that would confirm such suspicions.

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    Bristol tucks his family's crest, which hangs from a golden chain around his neck, under his shirt as he passes the final guard into the dining room.
    He walks with an air of entitlement through the room, barely deigning small side glances at each individual already here. He gives De Graeff a slight nod of the head as he passes him towards the bar.

    He is dressed in an expertly tailored 3 piece suit, and his golden cuff links stand out brilliantly, and somewhat gaudily, against the dark blue fabric of his jacket.
    He walks upright, and with purpose, and seems very comfortable with his surroundings despite them being new.

    After receiving the scotch he orders, Bristol turns and leans against the counter with his elbows propped up on the bar.
    As he sips his drink, his eyes move from person to person, scrutinizing and watching in silence.
    Hell hath no fury, like a woman's scorn for video games.

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    Sydney boards the yacht just in time to hear and listen, with interest, to Tarifa and Hassan's conversation. He is gregarious but polite, and makes his way around the deck, introducing himself to everyone in an unmistakable (but not comically broad) Australian accent. He does not force his company on anyone who would prefer to be left alone.

    An engineer, he is slim and seems somewhat frail. He is clean-shaven, with black hair and large eyes. He wears a conservative dark suit and a crisp white shirt with a high collar. His bold necktie bears crimson-and-gold stripes that those well-versed in Down Under militaria might recognize as the colors of the New South Wales King's Rifles; if you ask, he will tell you that he was the youngest in his regiment to serve in the Great War. His shoes are polished to a high gloss.

    Those with a sensitive sense of smell might think he wears an odd but pleasant cologne, almost with a whiff of ozone, as if lightning had just struck nearby during a summer storm. Some will notice that their hair has become staticky after more than a short time in Sydney's presence.

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    Picking up a large leather valise Athens moves to the bar, sets the valise at his feet and pours himself a small cordial glass of Ouzo. Glancing over at Bristol and Sydney he offers a quick "Yiamas" and downs the drink. Setting the glass down he again reaches inside his suitcoat for his cigarette case. As the case is withdrawn, the jacket opens just enough so that a quick glipse of the butt of a very large automatic handgun can be seen, if you had been looking. Wordlessly he offers the open cigarette case to Bristol and Sydney.
    Hell, if I didn't do things just because they made me feel a bit ridiculous, I wouldn't have much of a social life. - Santo Rugger.

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    Bristol nods at Athens. He raises his glass to Athens and Sydney, and then graciously accepts a cigarette.

    "Have any idea what we're doing here?" Bristol asks Athens. His accent is thickly English, and he leans over to accept a light.
    Last edited by AndrewRyan; 15 Mar 2010 at 05:04 PM.
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    A casually dressed and unassuming man has met each guest as they come on board. "I'm not sure why we have been gathered together myself, but" , pointing to De Graeff, "that man has called us here. Welcome to the Delphino, my yacht, their is room for all on board."

    Recife is only about 5'10" and of slim build. He has a nice permanent tan and is clean shaven with dark slightly curly hair. He introduced himself as Brian. He has a knife on hit belt and a small pouch. Those that are observant will note the knife is actually a knife and marlin spike.

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    Athens takes the case back from Bristol and lights his own cigarette, takes a deep drag and slowly allows the smoke to curl out of his nose, before giving a slight shrug and a curl of his upper lip that could pass for a half smile before simply replying to Bristol in thickly accented English; "Work."
    Hell, if I didn't do things just because they made me feel a bit ridiculous, I wouldn't have much of a social life. - Santo Rugger.

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    Chesapeake addresses Brian: "Well, if this is your yacht, you must be quite the world traveler. I have to admit, this is the first time I've been outside of the 'States."

    She sips from a glass of water and smiles nervously at the room in general.

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    Berlin strolls up to the entrance of the room containing the other 'guests' silent as a whisper he appears to be the last, not that he cares. He strikes a strong but lean figure in a gray suit, its not top quality but is tailored perfect to his body, the coat currently is unbuttoned showing a crisp white shirt and suspenders, and a small gold chain peaking through where his neck is exposed. He could perhaps be any mid level college student on a campus... except for his height, which at 3'10” isn't much higher then your average door handle.

    Entering into the room proper he pauses at the bar, the wafting sent of strong liquor causes him to sneer ever so slightly “Milk please if you have it, otherwise water.” After a moment the bartender hands down a cold glass of milk, Berlin smiles to himself DeGraeff remembered his preferences at least. Berlin scans the room taking in various details about each guest storing them for later, pausing briefly to nod at DeGraeff. After the look around he spots what he really wanted, an open chair. Quickly he claims it, and promptly sits... not on the cushion but on soft soft leather back of it, effectively placing him at nearly the same height level as the others.

    Apparently pleased with himself he takes a sip of his drink, savoring it before turning to the nearest guest and offering a hand in greeting “Name's Kort, or Berlin if you prefer. How do you do?” as could be assumed by his code name his voice has a slight Germanic lit to it.

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    Sydney's eyes narrow at the sight of Athens's weapon. He shakes his head at the offer of a cigarette. "No thanks, mate. I don't smoke."

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    Hassan looks up from his map when Berlin arrives, giving him a small nod of greeting. He waits for the newcomer to get himself a drink and settle in before turning to De Graeff.

    "Sir," Hassan says forcefully, "your last guest is here."

    De Graeff is still telling his stories, despite the fact that no one is listening now. "...and I swear to God these frogs must have...hm? Oh, yes, yes."

    The old aristocrat clears his throat and stands up. Suddenly, all of that drunkenness seems to disappear. De Graeff is well over six feet tall and nearly as wide as he is tall, with a head full of pure white hair though his face looks no older than fifty.

    "Very good. I'm glad you all accepted my invitation and I promise that this expedition will be most worth your time. I have invited you all together in the hopes that we might discover the ultimate cause of those strange events on the day you were born. Yes, every last one of you was born on the same day, within a span of a few hours, no less." He pauses and squints at Sydney. "Well, not you. Blasted dateline, ruining a good story."

    De Graeff clears his throat. "At any rate, there were earthquakes, stillbirths, animals rising up and slaying humans, and I have reason to believe it is all related. The New Guinea tribe that I observed on that day made it quite clear that events such as the...er...Event could happen at any time and could lead to the very end of the world."

    De Graeff pauses dramatically.

    "Which is of course what we're trying to prevent. Hassan here was the first I found and the means by which I found the rest of you, as he has the unusual ability to find anything at all. His maps will be your guide, though I cannot say what they'll find, only that they'll lead to answers, as they have never led me wrong before."

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    Recife breaks the awkward silence first, "This is an interesting story, but other than our births being around the same time, I don't know how much of your story I believe. Do all of you have certain knacks as De Graeff is indicating? Do we have any reason to suspect the world is endangered?"

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    "Doesn't it seem like a bit of a leap of logic - a bunch of sideshow freaks with a shared birthday as a portent for the end of the world? Not that I'm disparaging present company, mind you: once old Dutch here is done with us, there's good money to be made for our kind on Coney Island - or perhaps at P.T. Barnum's circus if you're the traveling type. Let's join up!"
    "You laugh at me because I'm different; I laugh at you because I'm on nitrous."

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    De Graeff turns purple in anger at being questioned. Before he snaps, Hassan speaks up. "Why don't you show them some of the other things you've had me find? And perhaps you can start telling us what those things mean."

    De Graeff pauses to take a drink of his water, some of the rage in his face dwindling before he nods and moves to a trunk he had carried in. "Very well, but I think you're all better off not understanding the true weight of it."

    De Graeff opens the trunk and takes out several items. One is a rat in a cage; the cage is wrapped in chains and has multiple, complex locks on it. Then there are several ancient looking scrolls. Finally, a manilla folder. De Graeff holds up the cage where the others can see it. As he turns it, the assembled party will notice something unusual about the rat. It has a savage, bearded, and yet unquestionably human face. If they look closer they might also notice the tiny human hands at the ends of its front paws. It holds them clasped together almost as if in prayer.

    "This creature is a follower of a terrible being. A demon, I should think, though it called it a god."

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    Sydney says, "I can certainly attest to Mr. De Graeff's generosity; he has already provided me with money and a state-of-the-art laboratory to pursue my interest in electricity. I can't say I'm entirely convinced that our shared birthday is of any particular significance, but if this... investigation is what he wants us to do, then I'm committed to it."

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    Recife asks Sydney, "So what is your knack? Are you a new Edison or Tesla? Can you invent a working death ray?"

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    "That would be some trick," says Halifax. "Imagine your children's children, speaking in awed tones one day about your 1920s-style death ray." Scoffing, he turns his attention back to De Graeff.
    "You laugh at me because I'm different; I laugh at you because I'm on nitrous."

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    Athens whispers and oath under his breath at the sight of the rat….thing. Repulsed, yet still slightly interested he begins to approach the cage to get a closer look at the thing.

    “What…What is that thing? Where did it come from?”
    Hell, if I didn't do things just because they made me feel a bit ridiculous, I wouldn't have much of a social life. - Santo Rugger.

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    Chesapeake approaches De Graeff and the cage, 'Yes, where did you find this creature?" She cautiously leans in to get a closer look.

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    De Graeff looks quite pleased to have caught some attention now. "Arkham, Massachussets in America. I followed one of Hassan's maps there." He gives the cage a shake, making the rat jump, then clutch onto the bars with its tiny hands.

    "Did more than follow," a tiny voice titters.

    The voice has a grotesque quality to it as though it embodies everything filthy in the world. It also appears to have come from the rat.

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    "YAAAAAAaaaa!" Halifax exclaims, coming half out of his chair and nearly upsetting his champagne glass. He then settles back into his seat, flicking at a drop of champage on his lapel.

    "Well, that was unexpected."
    "You laugh at me because I'm different; I laugh at you because I'm on nitrous."

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    Chesapeake gives a bit of an involuntary start but continues to peer closely at the creature in the cage.

    " ... Fascinating ..."

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    Recife, "Ventriloquism and some odd surgery to enhance a birth defect perhaps?" Paying much sharper attention, "Mr. Rat, what do you mean by did more than follow? What do you imply?"

    I am looking for any tell-tale of ventriloquism or room for a speaker with the cage and that the rat's mouth is moving more or less correctly to make the words.
    Last edited by What Exit?; 16 Mar 2010 at 12:47 PM.

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    Sydney is both fascinated and repulsed by the little rat-person.

    He says to Recife, "I have a certain affinity for electricity - its study, appreciation, understanding and application. The same power that the ancient Greeks attributed to Zeus, mightiest of all gods, in different forms comes down unstoppably from the clouds, lights our civilization, keeps our hearts pounding and crackles within our brains. It's fascinating stuff. I'm not at all in Edison's or Tesla's league; would that I were! As for death rays... well, mate, that's just science fiction."

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    Recife, "Well if that rat is for real, we are now in science fiction or at least horror. I'm still hoping this is no more than Arthur Conan Doyle and not Poe."

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    Recife looks closely at the rat, finding it to be a brown, long-haired rat, sized and shaped typically except for the front paws and face. There is something that seems evil in that face. The hands are tiny, but perfect, right down to their very human fingernails.

    Also, the rat appears to bite its nails, as they're very short.

    The rat responds to Recife: "He fell under my mistress's spell and did such awful--"

    De Graeff shakes the cage sharply again, silencing the rat.

    "I took this thing from a hag I can only describe as a witch," De Graeff explains. "You're welcome to examine it all you like. I assure you it's all too real."

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    Halifax rises from his seat and approaches the cage with obvious distaste. He bends forward and stares sightlessly at the tiny monster.

    "So, little rat-man. This god of yours, does he have a name?"
    "You laugh at me because I'm different; I laugh at you because I'm on nitrous."

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    The rat titters its awful little laugh. "I know better than to say His name to the likes of you. You can call Him the Dark Pharaoh. If you're lucky, He will devour you all."

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    Athens steps forward and a soft mechanical click is heard as the blade of a long, thin switchblade locks into place. The mirrored kris blade is flawless, but for an engraving along it’s length reading “Che la mia ferita sia mortale.” He taps the blade against the side of the cage and says “No games, tell the man what he asks."
    Hell, if I didn't do things just because they made me feel a bit ridiculous, I wouldn't have much of a social life. - Santo Rugger.

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    The rat hisses at Athens. "My mistress called him the Black Man."

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    Stamping out the remains of the cigarette Athens gave to him, Bristol stands to get a closer look at the rat creature. His eyes narrow and he holds the creatures gaze, as if trying to see something.

    "And considering his name is the black man, I'm sure his intentions aren't anything good. But lets say I was to believe you little talking rat. What would you say The Black Man is trying to do, that we should be gathered to stop him?"
    Hell hath no fury, like a woman's scorn for video games.

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    Laughing, Athens folds the knife shut and it disappears as quickly as it appeared back to where it came from.

    "A black man? I have met many black men and I do not fear them, and I do not fear rats. This is getting us nowhere. You, Dutchman, I suggest you also start talking and letting us in on your joke. We are men of action, not men of.... street vermin. You hired me for a job, not to play with circus tricks. We should be getting to work."
    Last edited by Cluricaun; 16 Mar 2010 at 01:39 PM.
    Hell, if I didn't do things just because they made me feel a bit ridiculous, I wouldn't have much of a social life. - Santo Rugger.

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    As Athens speaks, Halifax takes a step back from the cage and mutters to Bristol, sidemouth, "I can't believe we all came halfway around the world to browbeat a goddamn rodent. It's the porky Dutchman that we should be asking the questions of."
    Last edited by OneCentStamp; 16 Mar 2010 at 01:41 PM.
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    The rat glares back at Bristol. "He will destroy the human race. Where he goes, rest vanishes and the small hours are rent with the screams of nightmare. You will suffer. You will wish you had something as clean and sweet as death. You--"

    De Graeff shakes the cage again to stop the rat. "He just spouts threats and obscenities. I haven't been able to get much out of him except for references to something called 'the Game', which is something he and his mistress were killing children for. I've had Hassan draw one of his splendid maps to find where this 'game' began. If you don't care to go on the hunt, then so be it, but I can certainly make it worth your while. You're all extraordinary people and that's precisely what I need."

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    When De Graeff begins to speak, Hong Kong tucked his book back into the pocket of his coat. He cast a brief glance to those around him...including the short gentleman presently perched on the back of the chair. Knowing his own situation, he has no reason to doubt such strange things were possible. Why else would De Graeff gather such an odd assortment of people together? Every last person here must have a gift, he thought. But none were too eager to give theirs away.

    When De Graeff produced the rat, Hong Kong leaned forward, looking on silently. And just a bit put off by the display the others were making. Yes, mouthing off to a sentient demon rat is clearly the way to settle this. With a very subtle roll of his eyes, he focused his attention on the other items.

    "De Graeff," Hong Kong's voice is light, soft, but not timid. Each word is carefully enunciated. There is little trace of any accent from his homeland, instead each syllable carries a British air. "What are those scrolls?"

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    The Queen Zuul's avatar
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    De Graeff turns his attention to Hong Kong. "They're references to events much like what transpired the day you were born. They're Greek records and date the events to the summer of 5 BC. Earthquakes, deformed animals being born, all of it. There were also children born during the event who had remarkable powers, according to this historian."

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    Chesapeake turns her attention from the rat to Hong Kong and De Graeff. "So, was the end of the world predicted in 5 BC as well? It's pretty clear that no such cataclysm occurred, after all."

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    Elen síla lumenn' omentielvo What Exit?'s avatar
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    Recife pops open his marlin spike and uses it to quickly move the rat cage. Checking fast for speakers with the ferrous tip. Falling to find any. "OK, this little monstrosity appears real. I am a trained chemical engineer and actually do have an interest in the occult. This rat and potential mission sounds very interesting to me. As to 5 BC there was a major earth changing event a short time later as I recall."

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    "A prediction is not always a certainty," he replies to Chesapeake quietly. "Nor does it mean it cannot be affected."

    While the others continue harassing the rat, Hong Kong turns his attention to the final item. "What about the folder?"

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    "I was wondering that myself," murmurs Sydney, at last looking away from the ratlike monstrosity.

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    Athens, assuming he'll eventually find out what's in the file, whether or not he wanted to in the first place, wanders back over to the bar and finds a glass dish full of mixed nuts. He carries it over to the rat cage and begins tossing assorted almonds and cashews into the cage.
    Hell, if I didn't do things just because they made me feel a bit ridiculous, I wouldn't have much of a social life. - Santo Rugger.

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    De Graeff gives a small nod to Recife. "There were some drastic changes several decades after that year. Obviously, the world didn't end, but it wasn't the same world when it was done, either."

    Picking up the folder, De Graeff opens it on the table and spreads out the contents to be seen. There are several reports on mysterious happenings in Arkham. Kidnappings, murders, disappearances, and a curious amount of mathematical information on the architecture there, for some reason.

    "I asked Hassan to make a map guiding me to who was responsible for the Event. He couldn't, though. It wouldn't work. I asked him then to guide me to someone who could tell me who held responsibility." De Graeff pauses, nodding to the rat. "I gathered what information I could, but much of this is beyond me and I fear trying to make sense of it will only drive me mad."

    The rat, meanwhile, is catching nuts from Athens and gnawing on them, muttering under his breath, "Just because I can tell him doesn't mean I will. Stupid people, never asking the right questions."

  50. #50
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    Chesapeake picks up some of the papers to examine them, muttering something about "crazy Yankees".

    "Mr. Hassan, why exactly would Mr. De Graeff expect you to be able to make such a map?"

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