London in January of 1923 was a city shrouded in a cloak of cold mist and lingering shadows. The war might have ended, but its echoes still reverberated through the lives of those who had witnessed its horrors. The gas-lit streets, slick with recent rain, reflected the pale glow of a waning moon, casting an ethereal light upon the cobblestones. It was in this somber atmosphere that our paths converged once more, drawn together by threads of fate and the inexplicable pull of the unknown.
Arthur Zorba stared out of the window of his modest flat, his gaze lost in the labyrinth of London’s streets below. The distant hum of traffic mingled with the restless thoughts that plagued his mind. The scars on his face, remnants of shrapnel and war, were a constant reminder of battles fought and demons yet unconquered. Sleep had eluded him the night before, haunted as he was by memories best forgotten. A sudden knock at his door pulled him from his reverie.
“Per, come in,” Arthur said, stepping aside to allow the Swedish scholar entry. Per Oskarson, aged yet dignified, offered a warm smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I was just thinking about the lecture,” Arthur began hesitantly.
Per nodded, removing his hat and settling into an armchair. “It was good to see Professor Smith again,” he replied. “Though I can’t shake the feeling that something was amiss.”
Arthur hesitated before speaking. “There was a man at the lecture, watching us. I tried to confront him, but he slipped away.”
Per’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “A man with a thick mustache, perhaps?”
“Yes,” Arthur confirmed. “Did you notice him as well?”
“Only briefly,” Per admitted. “But there’s a disquiet about the whole affair.”
The conversation drifted towards shared concerns and unspoken fears. Per gently probed, sensing the turmoil within Arthur. The war had left unseen wounds, and Per, with his years of wisdom, knew the value of a listening ear. Arthur spoke in fragments, his guarded nature revealing just enough for Per to understand the depths of his friend’s struggle.
As days passed, the city seemed to draw tighter around them, as if compelled by unseen forces. On the morning of January 6th, the headlines screamed with a macabre fascination: “Man Dies Three Times in One Night.” Per sat at his breakfast table, the newspaper trembling slightly in his hands as he read the unsettling account of three slain men, each bearing the identity of one Mehmet Makryat.
A chill crept up his spine. The description bore a haunting resemblance to the man from the lecture. Without wasting a moment, Per reached for the telephone, urgency propelling his actions. The operator’s voice seemed distant as he requested the number for The Scoop, hoping to glean more from the reporter who penned the article.
Meanwhile, across town, Reverend Walter Lake sensed an ill omen in the air. His daily readings had been fraught with passages of doom, and the unsettling news of Professor Smith’s house burning only deepened his concern. He dialed the familiar numbers of his companions, his voice steady yet laced with urgency as he relayed the grim tidings.
By midday, the group stood before the charred remains of Professor Smith’s home in St. John’s Wood. The once-stately townhouse was reduced to blackened timbers and smoking ruins. The scent of burnt wood and something more acrid filled the air. A constable eyed them warily before summoning Detective Sergeant Barnabas Rigby.
“I understand you were acquaintances of the professor,” Rigby stated, his tone brisk.
“Yes,” Claire Corning replied, her eyes reflecting the smoldering wreckage. “Have you found him? Is he alright?”
“No bodies found,” Rigby answered curtly. “But we have reasons to believe this was arson.”
Arthur exchanged a glance with Per. “There was a man,” Arthur began. “At the lecture. He was watching Professor Smith. When I approached him, he fled.”
Rigby raised an eyebrow. “And you believe this man is connected?”
“It’s possible,” Per interjected. “Especially considering the strange murders reported today.”
Rigby leaned in, the lines on his face deepening. “What strange murders?”
Per handed him the newspaper, pointing to the article. “Three men, all identified as the same person. It’s… unprecedented.”
Rigby’s eyes scanned the print before he snapped the paper shut. “If you have any more information, you come directly to me.”
As the detective walked away, Claire wrapped her arms around herself, more from unease than the cold. “This doesn’t make sense,” she whispered. “None of it.”
“We need to find Professor Smith,” Arthur declared. “He’s in danger, or worse.”
Walter nodded solemnly. “Perhaps we should split up. Claire and I can speak to his household staff. They might know something.”
“Agreed,” Per said. “Arthur and I will look into these murders. There has to be a connection.”
The sun hung low in the sky as the group separated, each consumed by their own apprehensions.
Claire and Walter navigated the narrow alleys leading to the modest dwellings of the professor’s cook and maid. The vicarage had provided directions, and after gentle persuasion, they found themselves seated in a humble parlor as the women recounted their last evening at the Smith residence.
“Everything was as usual,” Cecilia the maid insisted, wringing her hands. “The professor seemed… preoccupied, but that’s not uncommon.”
“Did he mention any visitors? Any plans?” Walter pressed.
Darlene the cook shook her head. “No, sir. We left after dinner was served. The professor and Mr. Beddows were the only ones remaining.”
Exchanging a glance, Claire sighed. “Thank you both. If you think of anything else, please reach out.”
Meanwhile, Arthur and Per stood before the unassuming facade of the Chelsea Arms Hotel. The lobby was dimly lit, the air thick with stale smoke. A sallow-faced clerk eyed them with disinterest.
“We’re here about the Makryat incident,” Arthur began, his tone authoritative.
The clerk’s gaze flickered with a hint of apprehension. “Not sure I can help you.”
Per subtly placed a shilling on the counter. “Perhaps you recall the gentlemen who checked in last night?”
The man’s fingers twitched towards the coin before he hesitated. Another shilling appeared beside the first. “They came late,” he admitted, lowering his voice. “But I only saw two of them. Didn’t hear a peep all night, which is odd in this place.”
Arthur leaned in. “And in the morning?”
“Three dead men,” the clerk whispered, a tremor in his voice. “Skinned, they were. Like someone peeled them like fruit.”
A cold knot formed in Per’s stomach. “Did anyone leave during the night?”
“Not that I saw,” the clerk replied, pocketing the coins. “But walls have ears around here. Best not to dig too deep.”
The grim discovery prompted a visit to Scotland Yard. Inspector Fleming regarded them with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. “You’re certain none of the bodies is the man you saw?”
Arthur studied the lifeless faces, searching for the asymmetry he recalled. “No,” he concluded. “These men… they resemble him, but none are the same.”
Fleming pursed his lips. “And you believe there’s a connection to Professor Smith?”
“It’s possible,” Per offered. “He disappeared the same night.”
The inspector snapped his notebook shut. “I’ll look into it. In the meantime, if you come across anything else, inform me immediately.”
Night had settled over the city by the time they regrouped at Per’s flat. The warmth of the hearth did little to dispel the chill that had settled over them. Shadows danced along the walls as the flames flickered, casting long, wavering forms that seemed almost alive.
“What does it all mean?” Claire asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Dark forces at play,” Walter intoned, his gaze distant. “I’ve felt a malevolence growing, like a storm on the horizon.”
Arthur clenched his fists. “We can’t sit idle. Professor Smith reached out to us for a reason.”
Just then, a sharp rap at the door startled them. Per rose cautiously, opening it to reveal a cab driver, his cap pulled low over weary eyes.
“Mr. Oskarson?” the driver inquired.
“Yes?”
“This is for you.” The driver handed over a sealed envelope, the wax bearing the unmistakable seal of King’s College. “Was told to give it to you directly.”
Per’s hands trembled slightly as he broke the seal. His eyes scanned the hastily scrawled note:
“Come at once. I haven’t long. For God’s sake, let no one follow you. —J.A. Smith”
An address in Cheapside was scribbled beneath the signature.
“Is it from him?” Arthur asked, urgency edging his tone.
Per nodded solemnly. “He’s alive. But he fears time is short.”
“The game’s afoot,” Walter declared, rising to his feet.
Claire grabbed her coat, determination hardening her features. “Then we must go. Together.”
Per hesitated, recalling the plea in the professor’s words. “He said to come alone. And not to be followed.”
“You’re not going alone,” Arthur stated firmly. “Whatever dangers await, we face them as one.”
A heavy silence settled as they weighed their options. The distant tolling of a church bell echoed through the night, a harbinger of fate yet unknown.
Per met each of their gazes in turn. “Very well. We go together. But we must be cautious. Something tells me we’re stepping into shadows deeper than any we’ve known.”
As they stepped out into the fog-laden streets, an unspoken understanding bound them. The path ahead was fraught with uncertainty and dread, but they would face it together. The veil between their world and the unseen was thinning, and whatever awaited them in Cheapside was only the beginning.
The streets stretched out before them like veins in the body of the city, leading them inexorably toward a destiny entwined with horrors beyond their comprehension. And as they vanished into the mist, one couldn’t help but feel that unseen eyes were watching, and that the true nightmare was only just beginning.
The session begins with Luke, the Keeper, providing a recap of the previous game session. Luke asks if any characters might get up to anything interesting on screen, such as spending time together or having conversations. Ben rolls a Psychoanalysis check for Per to assess Arthur’s mental state. Luke asks Dan, who was flying a plane during the previous session, if the recap has brought him up to speed. Luke mentions that in the days following, characters who read the newspaper regularly would see various headlines. Per, who keeps an eye out for strange headlines, notices the article. After the call, Per reads further into the paper and finds another article: “Professor’s Home Burns – Fears for His Safety.” Per attempts to contact Smith by calling the Oriental Club, where Smith is a member. Walter reads the article and begins making calls to alert the others. The group gathers at St. John’s Wood, where Smith’s home was located. Claire actively engages with the constable. The group shares with Rigby that they last saw Smith three days ago at his lecture. Per suggests to Rigby that Smith’s research into the paranormal might have upset some individuals. Arthur expresses his unease about the situation and wonders if they are dealing with an adversary. Claire and Walter attempt to locate the cook and maid, Doreen and Kathleen. Meanwhile, Arthur and Per visit the Chelsea Arms Hotel to investigate the murders. The clerk reveals that the men were found dead in a room, with their skin peeled off. They consider trying to speak with the maid who found the bodies but decide to contact Inspector Fleming to share their information. At Scotland Yard, Arthur and Per meet with Inspector Fleming. In the morgue, they observe the three bodies. Arthur attempts to identify if any of the deceased men are the man from the lecture. They inform Inspector Fleming that none of the deceased men are the man from the lecture. After leaving Scotland Yard, Arthur and Per feel they have exhausted their immediate leads. As they are discussing, a cab pulls up outside Per’s apartment. Per opens the envelope and reads the note. The session concludes with the group understanding the urgency of Smith’s message and preparing to respond to his summons.Session Notes