Chapter and Verse - Reginald Wilkins & Isaiah Bartlett

[Grognardsw]

A little learning is a dangerous thing;
drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring:
there shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
and drinking largely sobers us again.
- Alexander Pope

~•~

Providence, RI
Charters Book Shop
Reginald Wilkins, book dealer



Journal of Reginald Wilkins

Six Months Ago
I've reached the point in my fledgling business where I need help. Quite an accomplishment! I interview a cracker jack bunch of Brown post-grads. I hire a Timothy Carver, smart, inquisitive, graduated early from Princeton and returned to Providence to be near family. I feel bad I can't pay him more, but he like most in the trade put books before money. Timothy is an aspiring writer. He shows me his work - yarns of contemporary ethos with a dash of romance and suspense. I have to say he had some skill. I encourage him and offer to introduce him to some writers I know.

Five Months Ago
Timothy and I have become friends. He has an expansive and curious mind. This week I held an Authors Night with readings by Providence's H.P. Lovecraft and a few New York authors passing through town on book tours. I introduced Carver to Lovecraft.

Four Months Ago
I caught Timothy reading occult books procured for client Mr. C. D. Ward. We had a frank talk about certain dark paths of knowledge, unhealthy to the mind, damaging to the psyche. I'm not sure if Timothy is deterred.

Three Months Ago
Timothy was late to work and missed delivery of books to the John Hay Library at Brown. I went to his apartment. The man was was in an utter stupor! Not drunk, and I would have said opium, but there was no aroma of poppy seed or the paraphernalia of the addict. I tried to help him but he was lost in his own world, muttering gibberish. I took the satchel of books for delivery and left.

Needless to say, I am very disappointed. Later I found Carver's notebook in the satchel. It contained several short stories in his characteristic small script. Half-way through the stories, the writing turned into a different language. No, this gibberish is no language I recognize. A code perhaps?

Two Months Ago
Timothy has become quiet. Embarrassed I assume over his behavior. I ask him if anything is wrong. He vaguely answers family. He looks tired these days.

One Month Ago
I put Timothy on notice this week. His performance has slipped - errors on cataloging, mis-shelving incidents, tardiness. He refuses to discuss why, despite my inquiries. He says he'll shape up. I hope so.

[Grognardsw]

August 6, 1925
Providence, RI
Charters Book Shop
Reginald Wilkins, book dealer

Reginald is on the last batch in his lengthy quarterly inventory. That's odd, it seems several volumes are missing: Malleus Maleficarum, a fragment of the Chaat Aquadingen, and a later edition of the Unaussprechlichen Kulten.

Reginald has had no book shows this quarter; his stock has stayed put on the store shelves. He doesn't recall seeing any shifty characters in the shop, just regulars. There has been no break-in. The book dealer's blood boils. Given the titles of the books, Reginald's mind turns to Timothy. Could he have gone this far? Will he keep or sell them?

There's only one way to find out: confront him. Reginald ponders if he should take him by surprise at his apartment, perhaps see the stolen volumes on his table? Or wait till he shows up for work - which at this point is tomorrow.

[SocraticLawyer]

Please bear with me, as my home wifi is still down. I have to post from my phone!

Several emotions grip Reginald all at once, as he ponders his next move: fear for Timothy's safety; concern (greed?) for his missing books, anger over Timothy' theft. Given his recent behavior, Reginald thinks it best to confront his young protege sooner rather than later. (Some small part of his brain tells Reginald that he must personally and immediately reread the missing tomes to ensure no pages are missing!) Reginald reminds himself that he is merely concerned for his friend.

Reginald closes up the bookstore and heads for Timothy's apartment. He considers stopping by his own apartment to pick up his shotgun, but decides against it. Helping Timothy (and getting the books back!) is his priority.

[Grognardsw]

Reginald takes a cab over to Timothy's apartment. How will he respond - with denial, resignation, violence? Reginald rehearses responses in his mind as he walks quickly up the stairs to the apartment.

He almost bumps into Timothy's roommate, Robert Angell, coming down the stairs with a large suitcase. Reginald has met Angell before; he's a cousin of George Gemmell Angell, the Brown professor emeritus of Semitic languages.

"Tim's in a mood," Angell quips hurriedly as he passes by in a rush.

Reginald knocks on the door. "Come in!" answers Timothy. The book dealer steps into the dimly lit living room. Sunlight filters through drawn shades. Dust motes drift heavily. There is a not-pleasant smell of foreign-cooked food masked by... incense? Timothy sits slumped in a plush but dilapidated arm chair.

"Hello Reginald, sit down," he says with a dreamy smile. He sits beaming like an idiot or sensai in his arm chair. He is chewing on what looks like mushrooms or some unidentifiable food. On an end table next to his chair are the missing books lying open.

"What is magic Reginald? Is the concept of god not the god itself?" he mumbles fuzzily, shaking his head. He looks at Reginald and his dreamy eyes turn intense.

[SocraticLawyer]

Reginald mutters a greeting to Angell on the way in, relieved to learn that at least nothing bad seems to have happened to Timothy. Only after Reginald is inside the building and Angell is on his way does Reginald wonder why Angell was carrying a large suitcase. If he's moving out, Timothy may have trouble making rent....

Reginald's heart beats faster when he sees his copy of Unaussprechlichen Kulten on Timothy's table. He also immediately recognizes his fragment of the Chaat Aquadingen, and his battered Malleus Maleficarum. Reginald feels relief that his books are here. He also feels a mix of anger and fear that they are open, and that Timothy seems to have been reading from them. He tries not to notice the smell, which he finds oddly disturbing.

Timothy, I cannot indulge your gibberish today, says Reginald. And I need these back at the shop, he says, closing the books and picking them up. We've spoken of this before. I've told you how certain works are unhealthy for the mind. Look at what it's done to you! he says, gesturing vaguely at Timothy.

Reginald resists the urge to open the Unaussprechlichen Kulten immediately. Instead, he heads for the door. Before leaving, he says, Don't come to the store tomorrow. Take the day to get yourself together. We'll discuss your future at the store after that.

Reginald moves to the door, intent on leaving.

[Grognardsw]

August 6, 1925
Providence, RI
Apartment of Timothy Carver, book clerk
Reginald Wilkins, book dealer


Timothy Carver puts his hand on Reginald’s wrist as the book dealer reaches to pick up his stolen tomes. “Stay and have some tea good fellow,” he says with mock formality.

“Don’t we have much to discuss?” His eyes loose focus as they look at Reginald.

Reginald picks up his books off the end table. Something is not right about them. Too light. He realizes the Unaussprechlichen Kulten volume is missing close to half its pages. Reginald opens the book and is shocked to see they’ve been cut cleanly out. Such biblio-desecration!

[SocraticLawyer]

Reginald stands shocked for nearly a full minute, as he contemplates the implications of Timothy's actions. He slowly sits down across from Timothy, holding his head in his hands. Ohhh, Timothy, he says. What have you done?

[Grognardsw]

As Reginald stands shocked for nearly a minute, he unconsciously takes in the apartment and realizes it has deteriorated since his visit a few months ago. The second-hand furniture is worn and dirty, the beds unkempt, the place dusty, the kitchen filled with unwashed dishes and scattering cockroaches.

There are many more books than last time. Among the volumes are history, macabre and fantastical fiction from the likes of Poe, Machen, Dunsany, and pulp magazines such as Weird Tales and Argosy.


A battered Victor Victrola phonograph player and collection of records sits in the corner. The roommate Robert Angell’s art work is all about. Reginald knows he is a student at the Rhode Island School of Design. The artwork seems related to classes – there are still-lifes, landscapes, abstracts.

“Ohhh, Timothy,” Reginal says finally. “What have you done?”

Timothy picks up a cup from the end table next to his armchair. He raises it to Reginald. “I’m almost there Reginald. It’s wonderful. You should come.” He glances at the cut Unaussprechlichen Kulten. “That was necessary. Knowledge has a price.”

[SocraticLawyer]

Reginald looks around the apartment again, trying to see if anything else is amiss or if he can spot the source of the odd smell. No wonder Angell is leaving, he thinks to himself. Timothy seems pretty far gone.

Reginald prepares for what is certain to be a disturbing conversation. Knowledge does indeed come at a price, Timothy. You've already destroyed one of my most precious tomes. What else has your newfound knowledge cost you?

[Grognardsw]

Reginald has been here before, in better times, talking with Timothy. Sharing thoughts on books, literature, book selling. This time the topic is darker, harder to grasp, elusive yet possessing a strange deja vu.

Assume the customary position, semi-comfortable slumped on the creaking bed while Timothy sits beaming like an idiot, or is it a savant, in his arm chair opposite. Aroma of incense wafts as the conversation purrs to life from a cold start. Timothy sputters through a mouth full mushrooms, or is that squid? His talk drifts easily to magic, something complicated, foggy about God as texts, linguistic entities, so if you intercut two texts together, say a god and goddess, then what kind of fusion might result? Timothy looks over his shoulder and smiles, waving his hand at Reginald. "Yhunnuc lloigor ch'h'k b'bugh..."

But wait a minute, wait a minute, that's not what he is saying, pay attention, it's this other stuff with one text seen as corpus of the goddess and the other one purely a hermaphrodite, an alloy, tempered gold and silver, chemic wedding. "This is crucial," he whispers. "This is so important."

Actually that isn't quite what he is attempting to convey. They are at cross purposes; it's more the notion of a statement of intent, a page of writing, then you take another page.

"Why did you remove the pages?" says Reginald. What in Carver's addled mind was he doing?

"H'rrnhai dho-na, ia g'htep yrnthlai?" Carver gibbers again. Speech disorder, brain damage?

Then a moment of clarity: "I gave up the pages, one knowledge for another. I need more."

Words in paragraphs 2-4 and inspiration from Alan Moore.

[SocraticLawyer]

Reginald feels both confused and enlightened, a familiar and unsettling deja vu. He shakes his head, trying to clear it, to think straight.

Timothy, he says. He tries to unclutter his mind as he speaks. Timothy, whence did you get this knowledge? To whom did trade the pages? Reginald struggles to find the right words. He looks carefully about the apartment, taking in the books, the artwork, the cockroaches, the squid, the precious tomes. There is no more, Timothy. Please, let me have the missing pages back.

Gonna try a Spot Hidden and a Persuade check here just in case.

Spot Hidden (50) [1d100] = 61

Persuade (35) [1d100] = 8

[Grognardsw]

"Are you jealous of my knowledge Reginald?" asks Timothy, shifting in his armchair. He takes a deep breath and lights a cigarette. "Do you seek new understanding? The flow dho-hna tekel'd aperture e'hucunechh?"

Reginald's tries to persuade Timothy to reveal where the Unaussprechlichen Kulten pages are. "They are here" - he points to the book, "and here" - he points to his head, "and here" - he waves in the air. "Transmogrified."

"There is no more, Timothy," says Reginald.

"Isn't there more Reginald?" counters Timothy to his employer's claim. Reginald considers this cryptic remark.

Reginald's eyes scour the room for telltale signs that may help him understand Timothy. He sees what he previously noted. Reginald realizes he'd have to poke through Timothy's notes and books and things to garner any more insights on his book clerk's state of mind.

[SocraticLawyer]

Asking because I genuinely don't know: didn't I pass the Persuade roll and fail the Spot Hidden roll?

Reginald considers Timothy's words, and the intent behind the words. He tries to focus, to remember why he came here. Timothy is unwell, but Reginald knows that no amount of discussion will cure his demented mind. But Reginald also needs the missing pages. Perhaps, with the pages back, he can rebind the assaulted tome....

Reginald knows that the only way to get more information from Timothy is to follow him into the abyss of his madness. He decides to try a bluff.

Reginald lets out a big sigh, stands up, and walks over towards Angell's artwork. You are correct, of course, Timothy. He meanders to the bookshelf, not really looking in Timothy's direction. He nonchalantly fiddles with a few books as he speaks to his clerk. The idea of the God, the text, is of course the god itself, the alloy. So few have learned this crucial lesson.

Reginald looks directly at Timothy. You have acquired much knowledge, my friend. But you have so much more to learn! I can show you, page for idea, word for word, god for goddess. Reginald pauses for a moment, looks around the apartment, and back at Timothy again. Assuming you kept the pages, of course.

[Grognardsw]

"More to learn? You've experienced xaqloui?" says Timothy, a hint of surprise in his voice. "G'htep yrnthlai?"

Yes you're right on the skill checks. The Persuade roll doesn't in this case move Timothy to return the pages (if he has them.) It did move him to answer where the pages are, in his own way.

[SocraticLawyer]

Reginald continues the bluff. If this doesn't work he'll have to retreat to his apartment and try to decipher Timothy's notes.

He laughs at Timothy's question. Oh Timothy, that's adorable! I was once like you, knowing a little while presuming to know all. Yes, there is more to learn. Much more. You didn't think enlightenment was so short a journey, did you? Reginald chuckles.

He takes up his missing books again. As you know by now, all knowledge comes at a price. Reginald looks Timothy squarely in the eyes. And you know the price of this knowledge, he says, indicating his missing tomes. You know where to find me. When you're ready, come see me.

Reginald walks slowly to the door, hoping his bluff worked.

[Grognardsw]

Timothy looks at Reginald with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism as the book dealer walks to the door.

“I’ll find out what’s needed,” says Timothy cryptically. “And we’ll explore together.”

Reginald closes the door on the apartment, shaking his head at the strange conversation. Timothy has not seemed himself for some time, but that was something else altogether. Reginald returns to his bookstore

and tries to have a normal rest of the afternoon. He checks through the other two books, Malleus Maleficarum and a fragment of the Chaat Aquadingen. He finds many notes scrawled in the margins, written in a gibberish tongue that Reginald does not recognize as any language. The pages are also dirtied by grubby fingers, including what looks like food stains, but otherwise not harmed. A shame, those markings and dirt will affect their value. Then the book dealer finds an address written on the inside cover of Malleus: “93 Court Street.”

- Looking over the posts, Reginald didn’t take any of Timothy’s notebooks, or did I miss something?
- Reginald bluff (Persuade): [1d100] = 20

[SocraticLawyer]

I thought Reginald had previously acquired some of Timothy's notes, I think that was referenced in the diary. Either way, he will check out the address per the post below. Also, please continue to bear wih me, as home wifi is still out with no expected fix date (stupid CenturyLink!), and almost out of data on my phone!

Reginald checks the clock on the wall. If it is still light out, he will head to 93 Court Street to see what intrigued Timothy so much. If not, he will wait until morning to check it out.

[Grognardsw]

August 7, 1925, 9:30 am
Providence, RI
93 Court Street
Reginald Wilkins, book dealer


As Reginald goes about his business at the end of the day, he thinks back to Timothy’s notebook he accidentally found a few months ago in the satchel of books the clerk failed to deliver. That gibberish which composed half the stories. Was that what Timothy was spouting in his apartment today? Did the young man have a mental breakdown and is speaking in tongues, or is there something more? Reginald had checked a few linguistic guides at the time and could not pinpoint the language.

The curious antiquarian book dealer considers visiting this 93 Court Street. But the hour is late, and the neighborhood sketchy. So after a long tense day he closes shop, returns home to his College Hill apartment not far from Brown’s John Hay Library, and goes to bed.

The next day, (Aug. 7) under a bright morning sun that dispels some of the strangeness he was feeling yesterday, Reginald Wilkins takes a trolley and walk over to 93 Court Street. Three old tenement buildings, their brick turned the color of scab, huddle and eye each other across a bleak courtyard, its iron gate unlocked.



Broken bottles litter the cobbles with glass. A cat’s cradle of washing lines are above, bare save a child’s vest that might have been hung there for years. Puddles, clearly not rain, are in the yard’s dips and sinkages. Vile centipedal graffiti covers some tenement steps in its writhings. A breeze flitters litter about the courtyard.

On the courtyard’s east face there is a mural, realistic enough that Reginald thinks for a moment he’s looking at something through a hole in the wall. A trompe l’oeil-effect landscape barren and harsh; distant hills jut rather than roll. The sky beyond is livid and stormy. In the foreground is a silhouette of something that Reginald hopes may be a tree.



The 93 Court building is the center of the three. The place is not busy at all considering the time of day and number of surrounding apartments. Looking at the windows Reginald thinks many of them must be empty. A pair of old birds exit the 91 Court building and make their way to the gate.

- You’re right on Timothy’s notes, from the “Journal of Reginald Wilkins” post. It is ambiguous whether Reginald kept them (they were accidentally left in the satchel of books to be delivered.) I suppose you looked at them closely then, and returned them.
- Some paragraphs here from Alan Moore.

[SocraticLawyer]

Reginald approaches the courtyard, his attention drawn immediately to the mural. He stares at it for a minute, unable to say exactly what he finds so fascinating about it. Eventually he opens the door to #93 and enters, unsure of exactly what he's looking for. This place was significant to Timothy, he thinks. There must be something here that can help explain his mania.

The "old birds" are actual birds, right? I couldn't find a reference in the 20s slang, but just wanted to double check....

[Grognardsw]

Bird is 1920s slang for odd woman, should that make a difference in your actions.