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Post by Admin on Oct 24, 2019 21:02:40 GMT
[[OOC: It is early morning, say 2 or 3am. What party in Amber are you referring too?]]
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Post by Hammett on Oct 25, 2019 1:39:18 GMT
((OCC: The Kasaba people coming to meet with Random that Dik was telling me about ))
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Post by Admin on Oct 27, 2019 6:05:23 GMT
[[Right. Using about the 1.4 ratio it should be getting into the evening in Amber. Now would probably be a good time to visit or wait until morning Amber time.]]
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Post by Hammett on Oct 27, 2019 7:52:44 GMT
[[ Okay. That give me 4 in-game hours to get some other stuff done before I have to meet with Renault here in Kasaba, and a bit longer before needing to get to Amber. Hammett is going to go home for a bit... ]]
Hammett draws out his Trump deck and quickly locates the card he wants. He studies it for a moment and then walks through...
The Trip Home
I arrived at the grove of sycamore trees just as the sun was setting beyond the hills. I could have just Trump’d to my home, my warm study, but I like to occasionally take the time to take the long way, inspect the access and visit with the guardians, just to make sure everything was still in order.
I had a few minutes to wait before twilight fully set in and the way would open. I took the time to adjust my clothing to something more appropriate for my destination and then checked the area for any signs of recent visitors. I found nothing but the usual animal tracks which was to be expected this far from the nearest settlement. The air suddenly shifted, dropping a few degrees as twilight, the real magic hour, took hold.
Past the circle of stones and just beyond the trees the red curtains materialized. They wouldn’t last long at this location and this time, so I made my way forward and slipped between them, crossing over.
The soles of my shoes clicked on the back and white marble floor as I made my way down the hallway, red curtains hung from above, all the way down to just touching the floor on both sides of me. I reached the end of the hallway and pushed through the curtains to my left and found myself in an identical hallway, only this one had a pale marble statue at the far end. It was identical to the one that was here last time I came this way, which was a good sign, if you knew how to read the signs.
A few more twists and turns down identical looking hallways brought me closer to the centre of the maze. As I walked, shoes gently clacking, I slowly started exerting my will out into the world around me. Time began to speed up, not noticeable to those inside, but relative to Amber. Everything was relative to Amber. Or to Chaos. This was one of those things that straddled both. When I relaxed my intent we were at 24 hours here to every hour that passed in Amber. I wasn’t sure what that would work out to in the Courts. I made a mental note to look into that, someday it may be important. That should give me a few days to get some rest up and get some work done before heading back to Kasaba to meet with Renault and then maybe visit Amber. I hadn’t forgotten that both Random and Llewella were part of the tarot I had cast earlier. In the background, to be sure, but sometimes that is where you have the clearest view of events.
I pushed through another curtain and entered the Waiting Room. A wider version of the hallways would simply describe it. But here there were a nice love seat and matching chair that I knew from experience to be very comfortable and a single floor lamp. No singer currently. We weren’t expecting guests. The first guardian sat at one end of the loveseat, his feet not even reaching the floor. He smiled when he saw me and clapped his hands excitedly, like a child. I retuned the smile and crossed the room, exiting through the curtains at opposite corner which was the correct way to go at this time.
Back in the maze I continued down identical corridors of red, lefts and rights, double backs and switchbacks; the way shifted each time depending on variables that had to be felt, rather than catalogued and memorized. A wrong turn or two would get you lost. More than that and you might summon a doppelganger or worse. I was nearing the exit now and pushed through the curtains into another red room. It was the same size as the first, but no welcoming furniture this time. Empty, because I was me, but the shadows of other guardians drifted behind the curtain walls waiting for the time when it wasn’t me who crossed this way.
I crossed the room and a bright light, its source beyond rational understanding, began to strobe rapidly. It was unsettling and disorientating, even to me. The sound of fire filled the room. Not a fireplace or campfire, no, this was a blaze. A house burning to the ground in front of its helpless owners. I pushed through the last corner and entered the Exit.
Quite now. No sound. Not even my shoes on the cold stone floor. The Exit was a dungeon like chamber, all large grey and brown stones making up the walls, floor and ceiling. Torch sconces in the walls provided just enough light to make you wish there was either more or less. Nine thick wooden doors were set into the far wall, all identical in appearance. Two would lead you into Carcosa, the other seven wouldn’t. You didn’t want to know where those doors led... I took the door I wanted and walked through.
***
The door let me out in a dark corner of the Wooded Graveyard near the top of Hangman’s Hill. The half rotted and sunken structure that gave the hill its name was just a shadowy outline through the trees on this dark night. Only the moon and stars provided enough light to see. But down below the few city lights of Arkham beckoned me.
Witch-cursed, legend-haunted Arkham, whose huddled, sagging gambrel roofs and crumbling Georgian balustrades brood out the centuries beside the darkly muttering Miskatonic.
I reached the bottom of the hill and turned south on Boundary. The city was dark, quiet and ominous. The few street lights and the occasional lighted window being the only signs that it wasn’t a ghost town. A few blocks up I passed the hospital and the signs of life grew, some later night activity here. Fluttering shadows of staff working and the slow approach of an ambulance arriving too late to help its occupant. The University was only a block East and I could see the burning lights of late night studies going on in the library. I thought back fondly to how many countless nights it had been me on the other side of those windows.
Another block south and I glanced down Pickman St. A few more lights here. An all night diner had some customers coming and going, and I contemplated getting a coffee but I had something stronger to drink at home. I turned east on High Street. Mainly old, large houses here. Nothing newer then 1860’s. These houses were all dark, the residents more respectful and long since taken to bed. The street rose up the hillside and I followed, eventually coming to the rise, and the large gothic house of that I called home.
Through the gate, across the small front year and up the steps brought me to the front door. A few words undid the warding spells and put the guardians to rest. I entered and another with another word the lights came on and the fireplace sparked to life. I heard the subtle bumping and moaning of The Thing in the Basement. I would need to feed it soon, sometime this year, if I didn’t want it to wander off to other locals.
I hung my jacket near the entrance and climbed the stairs, passing The Thing in the Portrait and The Thing in the Bottle. I gave both of these a quick word of greeting as I passed. At the next landing I stopped off in my bedroom to change into something more comfortable before heading further upstairs to the top floor that made up my large study. The fireplace was already burning here and the oil lamps were lit, filling the room with the nice warm amber glow I preferred to work in.
I glanced at one of my easels and the partly completed card I was working on. Maybe if I found time this trip I’d complete it, but it wasn’t a pressing matter. I always had a few new cards on the go.
I stopped at my “spare” desk and looked over my main project. Plans, sketches, maps and notes covered the tabletop. This was something I wanted to find the time to focus on, but more exploring would need to be done. More secrets unlocked before I could continue. I quickly wrote down a few more thoughts I had recently had, then made my way to my main desk.
It was placed before a large window that looked out down and across all of grey, mysterious Arkham. Across the black Miskatonic and the main town, filled with its dark shops and crumbling bookstores and the ancient lore of the dozens of different cultures who crammed into the neighbourhood. Still further up the north hillside, passed the town square, at the far edge of town and eye-level with me, I could just make out the dim lights of Arkham Sanitarium, a building containing more horrors then most minds could comprehend.
Before I started work I took in a deep breath of the damp, darkness-soaked Arkham air and let its mysterious ways and uneasy atmosphere fill and wash over me. It was good to be home.
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Post by Hammett on Oct 27, 2019 8:15:53 GMT
Hammett was starting to get tired, but had just one more thing to do before he could rest.
He opens some drawers and gets out some card stock, paints and brushes. He takes a deep breath and clears his mind. He begins to paint with large simple brushstrokes, putting down the emotion and psychic impression with each. No details yet, just color and mood. Rough and fast. The best way to begin any painting, especially a Trump. Capture the emotion and intent. Transfer the impression in his mind to the paint and paper. Purple grass. Pink skies. The vague shapes of an unknown city in the distance.
The initial rough painting done, Hammett sets down his brushes and takes a look. A good start, but it would still take a lot more work before it was ready. he might even need to connect with that shadow-thing again for more details. But it was a beginning. Hammett cleans his brushes and set them aside to dry.
A word of magic and the lights and fire slowly begin to dim, but he had plenty of time to leave his study before it went fully dark. On the landing below he gets ready for bed, then turns in and gets a good, long sleep.
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Post by Admin on Oct 31, 2019 18:58:24 GMT
The night passes more peacefully than most in Arkham; the Haunts spent the night respectfully concentrating on other hobbies, the Things do their own thing. The silence is only broken by the screams and ravings of those held in the Asylum. Not all those inmates are lost in their own minds, some see more clearly than those on the outside.
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Post by Hammett on Nov 5, 2019 18:43:00 GMT
Refreshed after a good sleep, Hammett gets up and takes care of the normal morning routine before settling into work again. He spends a bit more time working on the trump card of the shadow-creatures home shadow before shifting to work on his special project for the rest of the day, stopping only to eat.
After another good nights sleep he gets ready for the day. First he spends a few minutes looking through some of the many unusual odds and ends he has picked up through his years of shadow travelling, before settling on a special and slightly magical desktop cigarette lighter from a far-off shadow world and puts it into a pain box. Hammett then pulls out his trump card for his office at Wormwood's. Before using it, he reaches out with his intent and adjusts Carcosa's time dilation back to matching Amber's. Then he activates the trump and steps into his office in Wormwood's. A day and a half for him, but only 90 minutes had passed here.
He first goes to his safe and takes out a healthy stack of cash that he tucks into his inner suit-jack pocket, then he unlocks his office door and steps down to the VIP area, looking around the now (hopefully) quiet club. If everything is quiet he'll make a pot of coffee and spend the next couple of hours taking care of all the paperwork, accounting and orders needed to keep the bar running.
At about 6:30am Hammett heads out into Kasaba, making sure to remember to slide the gift box into his jacket's side pocket, and then gets a couple of high quality coffees and a box of donuts as he makes his way to Renault's office for their 7am appointment.
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Post by Admin on Nov 8, 2019 20:45:35 GMT
The common areas of the bar are quiet and the shadows dance sullenly in the corners under the dim light. The paperwork deals with the now constant pain of high prices for liqour from Europe but, fortunately, Kasaba can still get good prices on bottles from the Americas.
The Gendarme station is quiet this early in the morning - only a few drunks being ejected from the tank enliven the premises. A sleepy desk sergeant waves Hammett toward Renault's office while enviously eyeing the fresh coffee he carries. The sour smell of ten-hour old coffee wafts from the dented mug on the policeman's desk.
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Post by Hammett on Nov 9, 2019 20:03:42 GMT
Never one to pass up the chance of making a new connection Hammett gives the Desk Sergeant his own untouched coffee and a donut from the box, "Its been a long night. You need these more then me, Sergeant."
Then he enters Renault's office.
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Post by Admin on Nov 10, 2019 18:07:43 GMT
Hammett gets a smile and salute from the sergeat.
Renault sits behind a large desk, the usual objects are neatly ordered upon it: telephone, inkwell, pens, desk lamp, blotter, etc. He looks up as Hammett enters.
"Ah, you've come. And quite punctually," he says, then frowns, "Only one coffee?"
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Post by Hammett on Nov 10, 2019 23:10:29 GMT
Hammett smiles, "For you." and hands it to him, "I was up early, and already finished off a pot before heading over." He then sets the donuts down on the desk and grabs one of them for himself before sitting.
"How have things been going? Stressful? That Major Strasser seems to be a piece of work."
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Post by Admin on Nov 12, 2019 17:29:05 GMT
#s://i~ibb~co/fDNQtv2/tumblr-inline-of5oqg4-Qx61sss5ih-640~png "Strasser is a fool," Renault says dismissively "Were he of any importance to the Reich then he'd be posted somewhere more central to their efforts. But still, without Berlin giving him a certain goal he is now free to blunder into any situation that strikes his fancy. Unfortunately, if any harm comes to him the government will take notice and Kasaba will be safe for none of us."He takes out two large photographs from the file. "Here are your fallen heroes. Notice the small cut just above the right eye of each man. It was caused by a long, thin stiletto; very expertly done as the men would have to have been sitting still, possibly restrained so as not to cause the knife to turn or twist on its path in. Investigation showed a clean cut from the eye, then into the brain. There is no sign of a fight or restraint so the killer must have been known to them to be allowed such close access. It was done in the last car of the train; the killer must have assumed that all the living riders would exit out different doors and these bodies could be disposed of once the train emptied out."He leans back in his chair and takes a sip of the coffee. "Anything you can deduce from all this?" he asks.
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Post by Hammett on Nov 12, 2019 19:05:15 GMT
((OCC: How much about magic is known here now that Shadow people are showing up? If I said someone could have cast a spell to restrain them would Renault know that as a possibility or would he consider it insane like a cop in the real world would if I told them that? Same about Pattern and Logrus and Trump. Do people here know about that (given that it is part of the Golden Circle and has close dealings with Amber)? ))
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Post by Admin on Nov 13, 2019 18:09:27 GMT
[[OOC: Magic is known but more of as a mysterious something from stories or far away or practised in other more savage parts of the world. I would be rare to see it in the city. Although with all these new peoplee showing up in town it might not be so surprising.]]
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Post by Hammett on Nov 14, 2019 5:44:21 GMT
"Any word if they boarded the train with or were travelling with someone else? Someone who might have betrayed them? If not, then the only person that might get close enough would be one of the train staff. A baggage handler or porter maybe?"
Hammett sits back and studies Renault's expression when he says the next bit.
"Unless of course more exotic means were used to immobilize them. Mystical means. A spell that could freeze them in place while the murderer did his work."
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