Scion 2e: The American Gods IC

[SuperWave]

Kalla

What lies underneath you is the De Vermis Mysteriis: Mysteries of the Worm as translated into English (by reputation more than your own skill). A grimoire and holy codex rolled into one, as used by degenerate and mad cultists the World over, and not tied into any single God or Titan of any of the pantheons called by the blanket term: Mythos. Instead, supposedly, it reveres and worships entities beyond time and space, concepts outside the ones both the Divine and Man deal with on a conscious or subconscious level. Some eagerly await or plan for their arrival, hoping to bargain for a number of blessings that range from extravagant to self-destructive. Some are just in awe of the Mythos beings and what they embody, and submit themselves on principle or respect for their betters.

The De Vermis Mysteriis in particular though honors the stars, the earth, and the nature of death and as the title hints: the worm. It tells of man's place: as both food and a people to build a foundation for an eternal future for another, superior race of beings. Page upon page supposedly grants would-be soothsayers, sorcerers and diviners the ability to read certain signs in the sky or ground and use them for mighty rites, or use the power of any of those four aspects to perform great and terrible charms and miracles. Like most those, and many holy books in general, it is of course not a first edition or even a standard one. While given great craftsman, it was penned with the 'needs' of the cult and community in mind, with a basic texts and gospels, poems and hyms, but then commentary, spells and selected books/gospels tailor fitted for it's audience. Hell sometimes they'd write their own of the later!

You'd actually need to take a read to find out...

[tonberrian]

"You know, my friends are in town because a friend of ours also succumbed to something like that. We're just here to help. Do winners of the Fool's Pageant often go missing? Do you know if Cynthia Batbold won before she died?"

"We're here in town to help out, see if we can root out these suicides once and for all. No one should have to lose someone like you did."

[Inspector Valin]

Kalla rests her hand on de Vermis Mysteriis, closing her eyes and trying to forget her surroundings for a moment. This is... not something Namazu or her parents would approve of her touching. Reading tomes linked to the half-known pantheon of the Mythos is legendarily dangerous. For all her upbringing, she is mortal still and trying to contemplate these mysterious creatires could be.... unsettling. Simply standing here amidst the worms, it's hard not to feel meaningless. Worthless. Just another worm.

The young woman takes a breath. She bears the blood of Anu, the true creator of the universe. No higher order can bind her. There is no authority high than the Anunna, and here and now, that means Kalla: Herald of Calamity. And to get her duty done, to find out what this cult has done and how Cynthia's fate might be tied to it, she needs to find the truth amidst the lies in this old tome. Finally opening her eyes, Kalla opens the dour leather tome and begins to peruse its contents.

[SuperWave]

Carmen

Sam turns fully towards Carmen Blanco at that moment, taking a deep breath. Quickly shooting his head towards the door and than towards the stairwell, both of which were empty as a void, he briskly moves towards the entrance. Beadle was running, but tried not to make that obvious, moving his legs an attempt to mimic typical walking and failing. He turns over the Open and Closed sign, placing a 'Out for Lunch' paper in between the plastic slip.

He faces back towards her glumly. "Don't you dare ask anyone else in town that, you got that?!? Great way to get yourself killed. Come on to the back, where we can talk privately. I could get in big trouble telling you this!"

Leading the way to the back office, it's pretty much what Carmen would reasonably expect. A simple desk for another computer, a table with three cars, and a counter with a small portable fridge, microwave, and coffee machine. Everything simple and cheap, not fitting with the colonial decor out in where the customers were, but the cheap plastic stuff you expect on a patio or in a school. When Beadle sits down on his chair a loud whine echoes through the small room. He clears the table of a cheap domestic beer can. The trash can was now overfilled with them, threatening to spill out to the floor. Two guesses what the fridge was stacked with and the first doesn't count.

"To answer your questions: yes, but I can't prove it. And no, but she cam in second. Whoever in town's doing it...ah hell, the whole town is as far as I'm concerned...they don't like calling attention by crowning the actual winner. Cept' on the turn of the decade 80, 70, 60...you follow me?" Beadle whispers, eye darting from Carmen to the door of the office after every word or so. He was spooked just saying this. "Oh they tell you that it's suicide, hell when my wife was murdered here, I lied to myself and half believed it. Never questioned why I was fought with my daughter and raised hell whenever she tried signing up for the beauty pageant. Never thought how crazy I looked to her and her friends when I cursed her to the high heavens and took away her car when she entered seven years ago. And it didn't even dawn on me why I was almost on my hands and needs pleading with her to come straight home and not to go to any parties after she was crowned Winter Queen."

A sad grin touches his lips. The type the clown Pagliacci had on his lips when the doctor told him to go and attend one of his shows. The joke was on him. "And sure as hard as it is for me to prove it's murder, it's equally as hard for them to call it suicide for the same reason, and yet they do. Tell me did what did this Cynthia friend of yours die from? Bullet wound? Drowning? Overdose? Fall from a bridge, or going into a garage and turning a car? No, you want see that on any corner's report. You'll see suicide...by sudden catastrophe organ failure brought on by...."

Beadle shrugs his shoulders, sneer on his face. "Unknown. What is known it these mystery suicides happen every year around and at this time. It ends with the Winter Queen ceremony, but there's always a few more. Elderly, bachelors and maids without families, troubled teens and the occasional vagrant. People who won't be missed, outside of the promising young woman who will be deeply mourned by all that wraps it all up for the year."

[tonberrian]

"If it's so bad, why not just leave? What keeps you, keeps everyone here for year after year of these murders?"

[SuperWave]

Kalla
OOC: That's a lot of successes. With 4 or more successes on Mythos stuff, though you gain 1 point of Awareness and a Mythos Fatebinding. For the moment you are a dual Annuna and Mythos Scion. Also the book is a 4 Dot Relic having access to Death, Earth, Beast (Worms), and Chaos Purview. It also has a Knack to allow you to use those Purviews that normally require close range, to be done remotely Just a reminder, you'd have to pay points to use it with it's actual owner and around and...uh, a LOT of catches.

Images, haunting and terrifying flash before you, as the abyss black ink doesn't glow but sinks into the pages. The first pages, relatively recent additions by the priest in change of the cult and it's rites make themselves clear to you. The first and most prominent is a short story, an old Syrian Christian Gnostic Christian cult, the Saturnians (the Theoi in your band would be deeply offended by the moniker) creation myth. They believed, among other religious heresies, that mankind was not created by God or the Supreme Unknown as they named him, but by angels. Not even the dignity of Incarnation of the Supreme Unknown. The angels who crafted them from Earth and imbued them with holy fire, however, did not possess the power to make their creation an erect being and fore a time Man crawled upon the Earth much as a worm. Finally the Creator remedied this grotesque state of affairs. To them, this group you know to be the Sect of the Idiot, man was cosmic mistake. The result of hubris and folly from greater, but infinitely lesser and foolish divine beings.

From there it describes a more frightening cosmic state of affairs. That the universe was created by the fool God Azathoth. An amorphous blob that described as a writhing mass of what looks like a mixture of gelatin, rotting flesh, and burnt rubber that bubbles a litany of obscenities and nonsense that shapes the World, seen and unperceptive to form it's laws and substance. Attended and amused by a court of monstrosities that at the very least could devour stars and most that could do worse, and a chorus and circus of the damned and insane, whose "art" perverts and corrupts the universe and reality into further gibberish for his sick, dimwitted amusement. That reality itself was a spiral, twisting and turning for aeons until it eventually sputtered out, because the rotten, brainless center of it all, who will exist for all time and just create another portrait of depravity and insanity. There is much more and beyond that, with contradicting tales of creation or the edithcs passed down, but as a Annuna Kalla very used to that.

What drives her over though, is the consistent and every present thought that existence itself was nothing more a torture to the human race, a conspiracy aimed against man. That a sense of Oblivion washing over and consuming them, frightening as it is, would soothe and heal them. Staring into the abyss and having it stare back was a mercy; nah the only way to live sanely until death overtook you. That everything was...pointless.

The entire thing was spells and an ode to nihilism outside of spells. And it was pulling at her!


Carmen

Beadle laughs sadly, "I don't exactly have the money to move. Oh I do well, very well. But Mirocaw is not on the map in Little Egypt, prosperous as it is. We aren't a Holy Land to visit by pilgrims from their fellow Mediterranean or Middle East, or tourists gandering at all these weird, interesting cults and bizzare, rustic ways of life. Oh a few neighboring towns come by for this and our Christmas and Halloween parades, or that Summer Ribs Fest. But most of my business is from the mining and paper company executives otherwise. Maybe a couple of traders talking to the farmers near by and the governmental officials now with the prison. As far as buyers for this place are concerned, this is a worthless property. It's just quaint and odd that the Motel 6 didn't put me out of business."

"A curse disguised as a blessing. Long as I stay, at least until my retirement, I get a nice simple, easy living. I go...well I start from nothing. Maybe go deep into debt." Sam puts his face into his hands, his voice becoming a whisper. "Jesus Christ, the perfect weapon against a coward like me who just as they killed his wife and daughter. Samantha...Julia....I'm sorry"

[Inspector Valin]

The ideas of the book are paradoxical to Kalla. She's always longed for the world, always seen it as something bright, wonderful and exciting - a contrast from drab Irkalla. But with Cynthia's loss still fresh in her mind, the fragility and futility of life is all too real a concept to the young Scion. A good person, her first friend, dead just like that. Kalla's the child of a god, bears divinity in her blood, but the powers of this elder Mythos chill her. She could as soon turn aside the wrath of these fool angels as she could stand against her own father. If one of them were to turn their attention to this little pocket of unreality...

Focus She needs to focus. She has a grounding in the cult's mythology now, but the rites they conducted here are a different matter. Placing the blasphemous tome into her backpack, Kalla turns her attention to the altar. The engravings seem to have a specific, mortal narrative to them, one that looked incongruous with the impossible inhuman beings the book of the worm is devoted to. What has been going on here?

[tonberrian]

"Money? That, I can help with. You aid us in our investigation, and I assure you you'll have enough money to start over somewhere else. Can you tell me who's El Jefe? Who calls the shots, performs the actual killing of the girls? Don't worry about eavesdroppers, I've got a little trick to keep prying eyes away."

[Argus0]

"Pleasure to meet you," Alex responds, raising his glass casually to the other man. "I'm Alex, passing through for the holidays. Really seems like you guys go all out around here."

He shakes the other man's hand. "Though I've heard you lot... police, sheriffs, emergency responders in general, don't really get to enjoy it much? People getting stir crazy when they spend too much time with family?"

[+5 Vorpal Bunny]

Things were going well, as well as being attacked by half a dozen moss zombies could go. Phelan and Warren were doing their work, the Gladius was having fun chopping up zombies, and the men were getting their kicks in as well.

... And then one of the zombies puked on him. Marcus momentarily fought down the urge to vomit as the, well, vomit seeped through his armor. This is gonna take forever to clean. Still, ain't as bad as my in-laws' cooking. And with that amused thought Marcus charged and chopped off the head of the zombie who vomited on him.

The sword's battlecries of 'YEAH take THAT you ugly... vomiting... zombie thingy!', however, totally made up for it.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

Yeah, nothing complicated here. Move forward and attack zombie, two successes, dead zombie.

[SuperWave]

Marcus + Warren


The three warriors, and Marcus' scion make quick work of the rest of the walking dead. Between concentrated gunfire and the steel, and strength of the Gods', they simply weren't up for the task. The eight corpses deflate, let out foul gas or that black pus, or are shredded to lean pieces that shouldn't have had the strength to stand, let alone fight them (abit, briefly as they did). Their bloated, water and moss filled bodies decay in front of you all at an accelerated rate. They weren't going to turn to dust or bones anytime soon, but it was as if the magic in them actually did prevent them from getting in an even worse state of decomposition.

Cynthia moves forward, arms shuddering as she held herself. "I...I could have ended up like that, couldn't I? Why...why would anyone do this?"

She looks at the three of you, "Why?"


Alex


Deputy Paul Buocco laughs, "I can't complain, despite the union, the miners have it even worse. Trust me, they can tell you about nightmare overtime shifts right up until the 19th. Sure a couple of us have to go on patrol instead of spending Christmas Eve or Mourning with the kids, but at least we have time to buy gifts and help decorate. I have no idea how those men and women manage."


He frowns at that suggestion at the end though. "Trust me I don't think they're going stir-crazy not here. It's that damned Fool's Feast. It's something about that driving people nuts, no the lack of sunshine. Everyone laughs real hard this time of year, and drinks a lot and goes sledding with the kids, ice skating, or even going on horse-sleigh rides, but no one's happy. It pisses them the hell off, and it feels like they're faking it. You'd have to ask my mom though; she was actually born here, she transferred back here from a Chicago beat and when I position opened up, I decided to throw my hat in, considering my ma' is sheriff and all."


Kalla


It's quite clear these markings are of two things, one more Mythos markings, but ones worshiping the Nyarlathotep. Also known as the Black Pharaoh and The Black Man, some claim he not Satan was the man witches sold their souls to in the Black Book, in return for magical power. Others still claim he is the greatest bard and emissary of Azathoth, and at the same time his greatest critic and deceiver. That he was among the few Old Ones to take a great interest in the fate and doings of mankind. The markings are very clear that this was a blasphemous parody of the kidnapping of Persephone by Pluton into Hades, and particularly the Eleusinian Mysteries. It seems whatever ritual the stand was used for was at least powered or initiated by a willing spite of the Theoi

Carmen

He picks up at that, "I...I thank you. Thank you so much. I have no idea who in particular is responsible, but it has to either the Sheriff, that Joan Bucco, as the Sheriff's department runs the Fool's Feast, or it has to be thosefreaks at the eastern edge of town. They're the only ones who don't take part in it. Not really."

[tonberrian]

"What can you tell me about the 'Freaks'?"

[Inspector Valin]

A start. Kalla withdraws a notebook and pencil from her robes, and makes a rough sketch of the engravings - enough to show the rest of the band in case they judged it better not to return here.. She'd liked this story the first time she heard it, mostly because she'd transposed the characters onto her own parents as fellow underworld gods. Dad kidnapped by Erishkegal had gotten a smirk out of Kalla and a very carefully neutral expression from Namazu. Now... now it's enough to almost make Kalla feel sick. The kidnapped figure isn't her father, the ineffable warrior and unconqurable killing machine. It's Cynthia. Someone robbed from her friends, her family, all those who love her. It's bleak.

Is this why Cynthia was killed? All for the sake of some kind of spite against the Theoi?

The little Scion scribbles away as quickly as she can. It's past time she left this place.

[dreamking]

Cynthia moves forward, arms shuddering as she held herself. "I...I could have ended up like that, couldn't I? Why...why would anyone do this?"

She looks at the three of you, "Why?"

"I don't think we'll find a satisfying answer even if we tried...," Warren says, shuddering and pulling his coat tighter on his body. Now that the fight was over, Warren was feeling the energies of this place wash over him. He could feel the familiar thrum of his kin, the very heartbeat of Yggdrasil itself...but there was something else. Like oil spreading over water, there was a wrongness to it all.....like the energies of the World Tree felt slimy against his soul. He had felt this before, one time in Acadia National Parks where a seaside cave had led him to the strange abandoned temple of a nightmarish fish god.

"I think the Gods of the Mythos are worshipped here....We should talk about this somewhere else. Preferrably with the others. With drinks." Suddenly, Warren's carefree smile is back. "Come on Markie," He says as he gives the Theoi a pat on the shoulder, "I think your whole squad deserves a drink after that!" Warren was trying his best to seem unconcerned, but deep down he just wanted to get far away from this strange lake.

[+5 Vorpal Bunny]

The feral instinct within, carefully focused and controlled, was screaming at Marcus still. The lake felt EVIL. He wasn't skilled with magic like his friend Warren, but every fiber of his body told him that whatever was behind this lake was to be fought and resisted with every bit of his being. This wasn't over, not by a long shot. He nodded in agreement with Warren's statement, and added: 'But I assure you, friend of my friend and child of our protected Earth, that we will not stop, nor falter, until this is done. We are here by your side, and we will face, and overcome, this together.' His stern, firm face then softened. 'But you've been through a lot tonight. Rest, when you can, let it all out, and know we are here to protect you.'

He understood Warren's smile all too well. A brave face on terror, which to be fair he wasn't immune to, and optimism was the first indicator of survival anyway. Gladly letting his friend take the lead, for this was his friendship and his expertise, he chuckled and agreed as he returned the pat - 'Drinks on me, brave fellow warriors! Tonight, we feast!'

He then gazed fiercely at the lake, voice turning cold as the darkest winter, as if daring it to respond. 'And on the morrow', we take the ****ing battle to them.' Walking away by Warren's side, soldiers flanking Cynthia either way, they moved away from that terrible lake.

[Inspector Valin]

As the band make their way out from the lake, a new figure can be seen sprinting towards them - an official looking older woman in a black suit and tie. The faux-Fed slows her pace when it's clear the fighting's over, surveying the scene briefly. "Ah. You're... mostly not dead. Congratulations."

There was a hint of worry in her eyes at first, but it's soon enough replaced by her customary superior expression when she sees there are no lingering problems to deal with, beyond Cynthia's shade.. Namazu takes a second to fix her tie before continuing, gesturing across from the group. "Lady Kalla may have found your attacker. She's identified a peculiar underworld gate, not far from here, linked to relics in the town hall. It seems plausible that it's involved in what happened to Miss Batbold, and in summoning those creatures to attack you. Her Ladyship has gone on ahead to investigate it, dispatching me to share this information with you."

[Argus0]

"Huh, I guess every place does have its own little quirks," Alex responds, trying to keep to remain nonplussed as he probes a little further. "Any good stories since you've started?"

"You ever spend any time up in Chicago yourself? That's where I'm coming down from actually. Still a little new to the city, but I have family there that's been helping out."

[SuperWave]

Alex

"Ah didn't do much there outside of pull over people going 100 on !-94. Miss those Portillo's Italian sandwiches though; not enough to drive out two hours though."Paul Buocco shrugs. "As for stories...well, don't go east of town. You won't be in any danger, but I mean...those creeps are scary as hell. Two months ago, my partner and I was trying to talk one to getting off the middle of the highway. The woman wasn't even high, just wondered there during the middle of rush hour and just kept staring forward. It took us an hour and a half to get her to take a ride with us. Real Night of the Living Dead ****."

Carmen and Nizzola

Beadle looks at Carmen, rubbing his head. It was clear he wanted to tell her everything she wanted to know, but he was limited. "They're...weird and more importantly isolated. They mostly stick to their part of town; a couple work at the coal mine and the elementary school, and a few more run errand jobs for the county, but the vast majority are self employed or work at one of the local businesses at the far east side of town. And even if someone had been a friend, or someone's being polite, they'd never show up to ours unless it's for job. Most of us, well normal folk, wouldn't be dragged by wild horses there. One of them owns the only lock shop and they are the only locksmiths in town, so if they aren't answering the phone, most of would wait regardless of the emergency if you catch my drift. Almost none of us go to their businesses, drink at their bars, or eat at their restaurants. Kinda of a two way street, to be honest, and usually that suits both of us fine.

"Things change this time of year though. They go to city hall and plant the flyers for the Fool's Feast along with us normies on store windows and lamp posts, they attend some of the same functions and events, not all or most, but a good chunk. They help organize the Winter Queen contest, but that's mostly the sheriff's department, especially. Mostly though, they start hanging around and moving about the rest of the town for a solid month. Occasionally buy stuff, but it feels like cover for something. Part of some freaky religion. Weird because they aren't part of the Lakur, the Catholic Church, or the whole Irish thing. Or maybe they are, but one of those hidden cults."

Sam looks you in the eye for this part. "The thing is though: almost anyone can be a freak. Most of them don't have children, at least not to start with. But this time of year? One or two of us, suddenly changed. The lights are on, but somebody leaves and they shuffle around like them. You might notice some of us be kinda frosty to you when you first arrive, and that's because a lot of our visitors and tourists tend to stay and join up with them. Some didn't even bring bags with them, seems mostly spontaneous."

Beadles leans forward, voice going soft like a whisper, despite your earlier assurances. "Weird thing is, they almost died out of old age twelve years ago. Than some hotshot professor from Miskatonic University showed up and..."

Suddenly a loud door opens...and Ferdinand Nizzola steps into the entrance of the Beadle Family Inn.

The Rest

Cynthia had been in a bad mood ever since she realized she was running on air and well...a ghost; between Namazu and Warren's comments though, true frustration and sadness seep through. "Relics from the town hall...was it that dumb crown? You mean I was killed because I won a beauty pageant?"

Bathold, folds her arms. "That's right won. Oh they told me they had to give it to a local girl because of custom, but they handed me the two hundred dollar gift certificate to Sif's Gowns and a little plaque! By the wind..."

Bathold starts cursing in Mongolian

[totadileplayz]

Ferdinand heads to the front desk, says with a smile. "Hello, I'd like to ask for a room. . Ferdinand was a Romance Writer, his novels were well made, but his love for the written form, was all but something he was confident in. He had no idea what may lie inside the town, but listening to people at bars always provided nice conversation, and added new ideas to his own works. He cared about the romance, and not the factual accuracy of his work.

[dreamking]

"....They killed you after they gave you the $200 gift card?" Warren asks as they head away from the lake and back up to the town proper. "You know what? Tell us when we get back to the bar. I don't know where you've been, but I'll bet you could use some food and a drink."

As they got closer to town (Assuming nothing happens along the way), the youngest Odinson held out his palm, if feeling for rain. Suddenly, a red squirrel crawled out of his coat and down into his palm. "Tosk, you think you can find Carmen? I'll bet she's at the hotel. Get her to come to the Mead of Poets." The red squirrel leaps off of Warren's hand, scurrying down the road. As they approached the bar, Warren took a look at the raven perched on the sign above the door. Warren gave a small nod to the bird, which took to the air suddenly. With a smile, Warren led the way into the Mead of Poets.

"Told you I'd be back!" Warren said with a smile, tipping his hat to the barkeep as he walked in. "How about a private table and a round of drinks for me and my friends!
Oh, and menus if you have them!"

[tonberrian]

Carmen freezes as she hears the intruder. Did he pierce her veil? She looks to the manager.