The Flame in the Dark IC

[Destro_Yersul]

The Flame in the Dark

Commencier

OOC Thread (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?523131-The-Flame-in-the-Dark-OOC)

Boname, Louisiana, was not a large town. Most of the roads were unpaved, some little more than a pair of ruts worn into the dirt by the passage of decades worth of wagons. The town center was a small collection of buildings; general store, town hall, public house, a scattering of commercial tradesmen, all gave way to loosely organised housing. Single-story ranch houses, and a handful of prefab quonsets pressed into postwar service made up Boname's residential. The rest of the land, or at least, most of it, was given to agriculture. Past the town limits, there was nothing but sugarcane, rice paddies, and swamp. The town had been hit hard by the depression, and many of the residents had picked up and gone to the cities to seek factory jobs during the war. Few returned after it was over. Still, there were a few that clung to their lives here, surrounded by swamp cypress and tupelo. And, of course, there was the Hôtel du Carrefour.

The Hotel was a plantation house, built in the old colonial style of the previous century. It loomed over the town, lurked like a fat old alligator amidst the damp and the mould. Once, it had been beautiful, brought back to life in the 20's, converted into a resort and filled with all the best things in life. The house had sparkled, glittering in the night, a true old southern belle. Its parties were legendary, its owner magnanimous, and for a brief, shining moment, the Hotel had dazzled all who came to it. If things had stayed that way, perhaps the battered 1941 Willys MB currently battling its way over a particularly troublesome hillock would not have been there. Perhaps the occupants, four Torchlight agents, would not have arrived at the peak of the hill to look up at it, its roof rotting and crumpled in, its columns begrimed by years of neglect, the front door boarded up, the windows smashed or covered, the interior a cavernous maw of yawning darkness... perhaps things would have been different.

The Willys crested the hill, rattled down towards the town, its engine sputtering the whole way. The driver knew it was the radiator, in need of topping up again. The vehicle was army surplus, purchased for Torchlight at a hefty discount. It was solid, reliable, and built with comfort so far out of mind it might as well have been forgotten altogether. The four occupants, driver included, felt as though a few ribs had been shaken loose by the time they finished their journey, pulling the jeep up in front of Boname's only saloon. This was where their contact was supposed to meet them, but nobody approached the jeep. The man they were looking for had to be inside.

[Artemis97]

First to step out of the bone-rattling vehicle was Dr. Edmund Cunningham. A tall man with golden blonde hair and deep blue eyes, he would be called conventionally handsome, were it not for the crookedness of his oft-broken nose. He was dressed in a linen suit, a light blue shirt beneath, nearly sweated through in the Louisiana heat, a wide tie of oriental silk adorned his neck. He stretched as soon as his brown leather shoes hit the dusty asphalt. After working out a kink in his neck, he adjusted his hat and tie and said "Our man must be inside. Good, I could use a drink after that ride. And will you have a look at that place?" He indicated the hotel. "We've got our work cut out for us."

[WarKitty]

A thin, gray-haired man in black clerics looks over his notepad before slowly stepping out of the vehicle and quietly shouldering his backpack. The paper is covered in near-illegible scribbles detailing everything he has been able to find out about the house. He looks up and frowns slightly - saloons aren't usually a place where lots of people are happy to see him, much as he enjoyed a good brew. The local priest had unfortunately not responded to his inquiries, so he felt rather that he was going in blind.


[roll0]

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[WarKitty]

[roll0]
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[Inigo Montoya]

Bruneau was already in a slightly bad mood when he had heard where they were going, and the ride there hadn't improved it any. He thought about the plantation, and how many people died there. People who never got a proper burial, and probably still wouldn't now that he thought about it. This thought soured his mood even more, and it wasn't until they were in front of the bar and he got his first clear look at the hotel that his mood improved any.

"It's practically falling into the swamp." He said, a smile forming at the corners of his lips. "Look, that corner is nearly at the water level already. What a dump. And they want to fix this place up?" He didn't say it, but he was quite glad that the building was falling into the swamp. He wanted it to fall in, and for there to be no trace of the it left.

[Madmal]

Eleanor shut down the engine, and stepped out of the vehicle. "Heavy work, that..." she mused as she searched for a cigarrette. She make sure to stay the closest to the vehicle, swatting at the air. "Swamps. Always filled with mosquitoes and such. Who was our contact?"

[Destro_Yersul]

The saloon was dimly lit inside, dark despite the afternoon sun overhead. The doors swung shut behind them as they entered, making it even darker for the brief moment it took their eyes to adjust. At this time of day the building was mostly empty, only a few scattered patrons sitting at the tables and bar. The windows had been fitted with nets in a half-hearted attempt to keep the bugs out, and the long bar was worn and stained. The floor was worse, wood polished smooth over time by the passage of many feet. Decor was sparse - a clock hung from one wall, and a few advertising posters were nailed to the others. On the bartop was a big mechanical cash register, behind it were shelves full of bottles, and from the ceiling above hung a large oscillating fan. The air smelled like smoke and stale beer.

Sitting at the bar and smoking a cigar was, presumably, the man they were set to meet. At least, he was the one that looked most out of place, gaunt and strangely pale, wearing a three piece suit and top hat despite the heat. He looked over his shoulder as they entered, smiling when he saw who it was. He spun around on the barstool, taking care not to accidentally kick the cane leaning against the bar next to him.

"Hello, my friends! Welcome to Boname." His accent wasn't local. Sounded a little like Boston, but he wasn't a northerner if he could tolerate this weather in a suit. New Orleans, maybe. "Come, sit. Have a drink with me?" He raised his glass and took a sip. The open bottle on the bartop suggested he was drinking rum.

The letter he had sent ahead to the village priest hadn't been answered by the time the group had needed to leave, but Father Kelly had more success trawling through records. Back at the offices, he'd gone through archives looking for anything about the house. There had been a good handful of newspaper articles when it was purchased in the 20's, including a picture of the young man who had bought it. Standard stuff. Before that, not too much - when it had been a plantation it had grown sugarcane. The owner, the staff, and all of the guests had vanished in the middle of the night fifteen years ago, and none had turned up since. There hadn't been death records for any of them that he could find, and nobody had come out of the house since then. People who went inside had a tendency to vanish too, and after a while everyone had simply stopped looking, leaving the house to rot away quietly.

[Artemis97]

"Gladly." Dr. Cunningham approached the pale man and offered his hand to shake, a warm, friendly gesture. "I'm Dr. Edmund Cunningham, and these are my associates: Father Dale Kelly, Mr. Bruneau Buford, and last but not least, Miss Elanor Carlyle." He introduced the others in turn. "I suppose you know why we're here, Mr...?" He trailed off, allowing the gentleman to fill in his name.

[Destro_Yersul]

"Francois Benoit." The man smiled widely, taking the doctor's hand and shaking it firmly. His own was slightly cold, probably from holding the glass of rum. "Pleasure to meet you all, and yes, of course I know why you're here. I represent the gentleman who has engaged your agency..." his gaze swept the group. "Which, I might say, clearly recruits from a broad pool of talent. Commendable. Now. Sit!"

The bartender picked that moment to appear. He was an older man, heavyset with small watery eyes. He fixed them on Bruneau. "I, ah, I assume everything is in order, sir? These folks aren't bothering you?"

"Not at all," Francois said, grinning even more widely, if that was possible. "I'm paying for them today, my good man. No need to worry about that."

"Ah. Alright, then." Shuffling his feet, the bartender placed his hands on the bar. "What'll it be?"

[Artemis97]

"I'll take a hurricane" Dr. Cunningham orders with a smile to the bartender. He glances with a bit of concern at Bruneau, hoping the man wasn't slighted by the bartender's implication. He was, however, probably used to this sort of thing by now, even in Louisiana. It didn't sit right with Edmund, that a former soldier, a man who bled for this country, should be treated any differently than any other man, but that was the way the world was these days. Maybe some day it would change.

[WarKitty]

Father Kelly bows slightly to Mr. Benoit, before taking a seat on a nearby stool. "Pleasure to meet you sir." Removing his garrison cap and placing it on the bar, he inquires of the bartender "Do you have any Trappist Tripel beer?"

The old irish man eyes their informant inquiringly, trying to take in as much of his appearance as possible, perhaps searching for any clues of his origin and position and how he came here.

[Inigo Montoya]

Bruneau only gave their host a brief smile, before directing his attention to the bartender. There was no 'colored' section of the building, (He hoped it was because they couldn't afford to turn away clientele, but realistically it was because no black man could afford the prices here), but the bartender's racism was plain enough. He made eye contact with the man tending the bar, and did not break it till he had placed his order.

"Bourbon. Neat." He said very clearly, enunciating each syllable. Once he had placed his drink order he sat down and returned his attention to his host.

[Destro_Yersul]

While the bartender set about getting their drinks, the group was free to take a closer look at their contact. Francois Benoit was a man of average height, gaunt and pale, with long bony fingers. He was wearing a black suit and top hat, including grey vest and white shirt, with a purple tie. As a concession to the heat, the top button of his shirt was undone, the tie hanging loosely around his neck. A gold watch chain dangled from his shirt pocket, while the breast pocket of his suit held a folded handkerchief and a pair of dark sunglasses. He had a broad smile, a long nose, and a pronounced accent - now that they'd had a little more chance to hear it, it was most certainly New Orleans french quarter. His cane was a straight walking stick, topped with an ivory ornament in the shape of a six-sided die.

Once everyone had a drink, Francois clapped his hands. "To business, then!" He said, emptying his glass and dropping it back onto the bar with a heavy clunk. "You got a good look at the old place on the way in, I expect? Hell of a sight, isn't it? Nevertheless, my employer wants to buy it, and he wants it looked into first. Your agency is the best, so it's you that gets the job of poking around. I'm sure you have a few questions, so let's not waste any time, hm?"

While his clothes were well-made, they looked old, and the style was a little out of fashion these days. His shoes were scuffed, and carried traces of mud. His hands - presently gloveless, no doubt another concession to the weather, had callouses on the palms. Whoever he was, and however he dressed, Mr. Benoit was not a stranger to hard work. While it wasn't clear how full the rum bottle had been when he'd got hold of it, it was nearing empty now - but on the other hand, Francois showed no overt signs of intoxication.

The priest couldn't quite place it, but there was something distinctly odd about this man. It wasn't just the clothes, or the cane - those could be put down to eccentricity. No, there was something else. Something that was not quite right. Certainly, he wasn't being completely straight with them. The job they'd been hired for, seemed like he was being honest enough about wanting that done. The employer part, not so much. Benoit was likely acting alone, but had decided to go for this charade and was determined to play it out. He was very, very good at hiding what he was actually thinking, but Dale had many years of practice at noticing little things like that: Francois Benoit was angry about something. Something that had nothing to do with the group, and everything to do with the house.

[Artemis97]

Edmund took a long draw on his drink and gave a satisfied sigh, appreciating the coolness of the iced alcohol going down his throat.

He waits a bit for the bartender to give them some privacy, before speaking. "You know what our agency does. So, what in particular about this old house warrants our attention?"

[Inigo Montoya]

Bruneau paused, his glass at his lips. The good doctor had hit the nail on the head. No one requested this particular group unless they had a very specific problem. Bruneau wanted to hear what the 'problem' was before he started asking anymore questions.

[Destro_Yersul]

"The problem is that it's hard to tell the nature of the problem. Have you looked into it at all? The place has a bad history, owner and all the guests vanishing years ago, anyone who goes in since then apparently dropping off the face of the earth. Supposed to be haunted. Sometimes people say they see lights in there at night." Francois checked to make nobody was listening. The bartender had returned to the back, so he continued once he was sure there wasn't anyone close enough to overhear.

"Short version: Lots of people don't believe in evil spirits. Your agency does, and that makes you prepared. My employer does, and that makes him nervous about buying a haunted property. We want you to go in, and either make sure it isn't haunted, or do something about it if it is. There's extra hazard pay in it for you, given the many disappearances over the years, but I'm sure an experienced group will do better than lone amateurs at avoiding vanishment." He grinned, punctuating the sentence with a pull on his cigar. "I am, of course, prepared to offer every assistance I can to ensure you're successful."

[Artemis97]

"And what kind of assistance might we call upon you for?" Dr. Cunningham asked next. "Presently I'm thinking of a good length of rope tied to the car or a tree, and we go in and poke around. Too casual an idea?" He asks the others.

[WarKitty]

Dale leans forward slightly. "May I ask why this property in particular is of interest? Surely there are many old mansions in this area - why take a risk on one with this kind of history?"

[Destro_Yersul]

"Funding, within limits. Information, if I have it or can get it." Francois shrugged. "I admit, I don't know what kind of assistance you might need, but suffice it to say you can count on me to see this through."

Dale's question made him smile again. "Why, because of the history! The forbidden and dangerous has a certain draw, don't you think? Provided it is completely safe, of course, people generally want that assurance. Which is, after all, why you're here. But ah! The violence, the mystery!" He drew himself up, put on a voice like a tour guide. "And here's the red room, where so-and-so was murdered in 1857. Here's the torture chamber, filled with uncomfortable metal bits, and THIS room once played host to President Coolidge, who stopped here on his tour of Louisiana in such-and-such a year."

Returning to normal, he continued. "A little macabre, perhaps, but call it the death house and people will flock to see it. Plus, the property is far more affordable than most old mansions. With the owner gone and nobody to inherit, it's in escheat to the State right now, and the State's got a war to help pay for."

[Artemis97]

Edmund chuckles a bit as he takes another sip of his drink. Oh what people would pay for. The property had a lot of history, for certain, and that history could be sold.

"Speaking of the house's history, when was the most recent disappearance? Is there any sort of pattern to them?"

[Inigo Montoya]

Bruneau nods. Edmund had asked the right question. He followed it up with one of his own.

"Is there a timeframe as well? Do they disappear after coming to the building? After a day? A week?"

[Destro_Yersul]

"It's not a pattern, it's just whenever someone goes inside. They tend to not come back out, and never turn up. I've got... where did they go..."

Francois spent a moment searching his person, eventually coming up with a handful of scraps of old newspapers. "Some of the articles the local rag has run. Not much to them, I'm afraid. Last one is from a year or so ago."

He handed it over, and gave them a chance to read it. It was a short account, only a paragraph, of someone named Horace Blackwood being seen sneaking into the house at night. Horace had, of course, not returned, and the article urged anyone who saw him to notify the appropriate authorities, thought the tone of the writing was not especially hopeful. This had all happened before, and everyone in town knew it.

[Artemis97]

Dr. Cunningham read the short article and passed it over for the others to read.

"So has anyone come out? You said they tend to not come out again. Are you implying someone's made it out alive?"

[WarKitty]

Dale leans in gently, resting his hand near but not quite touching their contact, catching his eye. "It sounds like this house has caused a lot of loss. Is there anyone who might know more about the people who went in?"

[Destro_Yersul]

"Oh, it was a manner of speaking." Francois said, waving a hand. "No, nobody's come out. If you want to know more about the ones who vanished, I'd say ask around town. Maybe try the fellow in charge of the newspaper, or the priest. He's a bit of a stuffed shirt, but maybe he'll talk to you. He doesn't like me very much, I don't think."

He stood, laughing. "You'll want to get to work, of course. If there's nothing else you need from me?"

[Artemis97]

"I think we have all we need for now. Where might you be if we want to contact you later? Is there a hotel in town you might be staying at? Hah, where we might stay, even?" Dr. Cunningham asks.

[WarKitty]

Dale chimed in "Does this Mr. Blackwood have any friends or family that we could speak to?"

[Inigo Montoya]

"And how quickly would you want this issue settled? It might take time before anything...happens." Bruneau felt unease creep into his gut. The same sort of unease he felt before combat. Someone in this party was not coming back alive, or in the best case scenario, totally sane. He hoped somewhat selfishly that it wouldn't be him.

[Destro_Yersul]

"Exedience is preferable, but I do understand that things take time. I'm staying in a boarding house, near the town hall. I'll give you the number." With a flourish, Francois produced a scrap of paper and a pen, jotting down a house number and handing it over. "There might well be spare rooms. This is a quiet little sort of place. Mostly."

He paused, thinking. "Blackwood. Can't say I know who he knew, since I'm not often around here. I'll have a look at the registry, see if I can't find someone, hm?"

[Artemis97]

"I say we head over to that boarding house and secure ourselves a place to stay." Edmund suggested, before finishing up his drink.

[WarKitty]

Dale looked around the bar for a minute. "Before we go, is there anything else you can tell us about the history of the house? Knowing what happened before it became haunted might be useful."

[Madmal]

"Also, any construction papers would be useful, or a way to get to them." Eleanor chimes in, breaking her silence only after finishing her drink.

[Inigo Montoya]

"One final question before you go sir. Would you like us to keep our investigation quiet? More to the point, are we going to be arrested for trespassing? Word spreads in a small town."

[Destro_Yersul]

Francois picked up his cane and adjusted his hat. "If there are plans for the house, they'd be in the town hall with the rest of the local archives. I don't think you need worry about keeping things quiet, people here are used to the occassional visitor looking into the house. No need to worry about being arrested, either. I'll have a word with the Sheriff, let him know you're acting on behalf of an interested investor."

After a moment's consideration, he picked up the nearly empty rum bottle as well, tucking it under his arm. "I think you've got the general details of what happened before it became haunted. It used to be a plantation, then it was empty for some time. The fellow who bought it and restored it was a rich gambler. A very lucky gambler. Lucas Bond, I believe his name was. He made it into a successful hotel, threw extravagant parties... Then, one day." Francois shrugged. "Gone. Him and everyone else in the place. That was when the hauntings started."

The story told, Francois pushed open the door and headed outside.

Ok, so, options that I think have been tabled:
1) Go to the boarding house and get rooms.
2) Go to the town hall to look at old records
3) talk to people around town

Either pick one of those, or come up with something else and do that.

[Artemis97]

Dr. Cunningham knocks back the last of his hurricane and stands. "I wonder just how wild those parties got." He says, frowning. There might have been something occult involved.

"So what do we do now, gents, lady? Get settled in before we do some digging?"

[WarKitty]

Dale frowns. "Personally, I'd rather have as much information as we can before we settle in, so we can look at it right away."

[Madmal]

Eleanor looks through a window. "Sun's definately still up. You guys think the Boarding house might run out of rooms?"

[Inigo Montoya]

"I vote we do some digging, but when we go to rent rooms...I'll let you speak to the man at the front desk."

Bruneau grinned ruefully and looked out over the town. "I wonder if there is anyone still around who attended one of those famous parties. Do you suppose we could find someone?"

[Destro_Yersul]

It looked like doing some digging was the consensus, before checking in on rooms. There were a few places they could start, and Francois had suggested three: The town hall was where all the archives and records were kept, likely dating back as far as the town unless some disaster had wiped them out at some point; the local priest hadn't answered Dale's letter, but talking to him directly was less likely to be ignored or lost, and he likely knew everyone in town; finally, there was the local newspaper. It wasn't much, based on the articles Francois had showed them, but they could always talk to the man who ran it, see what passed for journalism in this place.

[WarKitty]

"I would start with the town hall archives. We will be better able to talk to people if we have as much written information beforehand as we can gather."

The old priest pauses for a moment.

"I don't believe our contact was being quite forthright. He was honest, as far as what he said, but I do not think he's telling us everything about his connection to this place."

[Artemis97]

Dr. Cunningham nods, starting with the archives seemed logical. He frowns, though, at Father Dale's accusation.

"What makes you say that?"

[WarKitty]

"He was far too intense for someone with mere financial interest. The man plays his part too well. He's clearly trying very hard to appear disinterested, and he is a very good actor, but he has the air of a man acting. And he drops it, just a touch, sometimes. Whatever happened in there, it is clearly personal to him."

[Artemis97]

"Interesting." Edmund says, frowning. "Well, I'm sure we'll learn the truth of it if he wants to divulge it, given time. Best not to pry so soon, I think."

[Destro_Yersul]

The town hall was a squat wooden building, in the same sort of style as the bar, but clearly older. The white paint on the boards was chipped and peeling in many places, a side effect of building in an area as humid as this. One could only imagine what the heat and moisture had done to the old records. The archives were located in a room to the left of the entrance, behind a barrier of metal bars and a door secured with a large old lock. They'd need to find someone with the key if they wanted legitimate access, but there had been a clerk at the desk in the foyer, hunched over an old typewriter.

[Artemis97]

The doctor approaches the clerk. "Hello." He says cheerily. "I'm Dr. Cunningham, and my colleagues and I were hoping to access your archives today."

[Destro_Yersul]

The clerk looked up from the typewriter, peering at Cunningham over the top of his half-moon spectacles. A small nameplate on the desk, the brass somewhat tarnished, proclaimed this to be Mr. Clarke.

"Oh," he said. "What did you want to look for? We've got to be very careful about them, because of all the humidity."

[WarKitty]

Father Kelly steps up behind the doctor, his clerical collar clearly visible. "We were looking for the history of the Hôtel du Carrefour, in particular any information in the archives on the original owners. Records of who went in would also help. Also, do you keep vital records here?"

[Destro_Yersul]

"Ah, the old Hotel. I should have guessed, I suppose. Most interesting place in the whole town. I'm not sure if we have anything for who went in, maybe in the old newspapers, but most of those didn't get kept. Original owners, construction permits, and vital records, though, those are all things I think we could help you with. Assuming, of course, that you have some sort of authorisation?" Mr. Clarke adjusted his spectacles, taking them off and fidgeting with them for a second before putting them back on. "Some of these aren't really public record, and some of the older ones would be with the Parish, though I expect Father Bishop would help you."

[Inigo Montoya]

Bruneau stayed toward the back, hoping that with the two other men in front of him, the clerk wouldn't be able to see who was speaking. "In addition, do you know if there is anyone still alive from when the hotel was active? Alive, and living in the area, I should say."

[Madmal]

Eleanor doesn't say much, preferring to check for any unwanted attention or curious stares.

Wits+Investigation (5): [roll0]

[WarKitty]

The old priest blinks rapidly twice. "Can you tell me a bit more about the restrictions on these records? What legal authority they are held under? I suppose there's rather a variety."

[Artemis97]

"We're here representing a man looking to buy the property. He wants us to make sure everything is A-OK before he buys." Dr. Cunningham adds.

[Destro_Yersul]

"That sounds perfectly normal," Mr. Clarke said, searching inside his desk for a moment. "Construction records and original ownership should be a simple matter of presenting your credentials to me. Given that you're hired investigators, I do assume you have some? The vital records are a little more carefully controlled, I'm afraid. You'll need to fill out these forms," he presented them with a stack of papers, "and wait for approval from the state. As for who's still living nearby... well, I should think there's a few. Any of the older residents, really. People don't tend to move here, so most of us have been around for a while. Probably the one most likely to speak with you today would be the Father, once again. He's not very busy on weekdays, mostly pokes about in his garden."

[WarKitty]

Father Kelly takes the stack of papers and puts them into his backpack, at the same time fishing his ID card out and placing it in the man's desk.

[Artemis97]

Dr. Cunningham produces his own ID from a billfold pulled from a pocket inside his suit jacket.

[Destro_Yersul]

"Torchlight? I've not heard of your agency before." The clerk inspected the cards, checking to make sure they carried some form of license to investigate on them, then returned them. "Give me a few minutes," he said, and got up from his desk to go unlock the archives.

He returned a short while later, and waved them in. A box of materials had been placed on a table in the center of the room. "Here's what we have," he said. "All the permits for construction, certificates of land title and ownership on the building..."

What are you guys looking for in these, specifically?

[Artemis97]

"Are there any blueprints in there?" Edmund asks.

[Destro_Yersul]

There were blueprints, they determined after a moment of looking. Several of them, for each level of the house. The originals were badly worn, but a new set from when the plantation had been remodelled into a hotel were also there. These would most acurrately reflect the current state of the house, though who knew how badly things in there had decayed or collapsed since they were drawn up...

[Artemis97]

Dr. Cunningham looks over the blueprints for anything unusual in the architecture. Secret rooms, strange confluences, numbers that don't quite add up.

[WarKitty]

"Do you have vital records on any owners or residents, especially those who were there during the initial vanishing? Any records on the settlement of the estate would be helpful as well, along with any records of usage prior to that time."

[Destro_Yersul]

Dr. Cunningham spent some time looking over the blueprints, but it was difficult. The old ones were faded and damaged in many places, and while it was obvious some changes had been made under the new ownership, it wasn't immediately obvious which ones were suspicious. There were some things that could have been a broom closet as easily as they could have been secret. Maybe some of them were secret broom closets.

While the Doctor looked, Mr. Clarke spoke with father Kelly. "We never had any guest lists for the parties, or anything like that. Not really my department. The settlement of the estate, though, that should be in there. I gather that once the owner vanished, no next of kin could be found, and so the place went into state ownership. Nobody really wants anything to do with the place. The original owners were..." the clerk stopped, thinking hard. "I don't remember their names. One of those plantation families, fallen on hard times. Sold the whole lot for a song just to get away from the upkeep costs."

[WarKitty]

Father Kelly frowned very slightly. "Well, at least the settlement records would be a good start, if you would not mind?"

[Inigo Montoya]

Bruneau spoke up again, this time turning to face Dr. Cunningham. "Is there anything on those blueprints about the grounds? Any sort of graveyard or burial mound? Perhaps a burnt down building?" It had been his experience that things like this situation tended to involve some sort of disturbed burial of some sort.

[Artemis97]

"Let me check again for outbuildings and the like. Maybe there's a geological survey of the place?" Edmund wonders, looking through things again.