Book Four: New Orleans - The Big Uneasy

[Mant72]

Dr. Francis Morgan:

Frank returns Marius’ glance and closely follows the hunter’s lead.

[SocraticLawyer]

Reginald Wilkins, unhinged bookdealer
David! Carcosa! Edineth!The bookdealer rambles as he returns, slowly, to consciousness.

He was there! I saw, I ... I... eye saw..... The gate. The gate. So peaceful. It makes sense now. A thing defined by its opposite. There is no peace at the gate, but that is where we find our missing piece! I, I, .... As Reginald wakes up, mumbling, coming out of his dreamstate, his rational mind reasserts itself. Or at least, it made sense, before. What, where is the gate.... The last words are whispers.

If his companions ask, he merely complains of troubled dreams. Once he is alone, he retrieves his handgun, and keeps it in his pocket at all times.

Reginald tries to remember the exercises his psychiatrist taught him, but has a hard time concentrating.

[Grognardsw]

Frank and Marius enter Reginald's sleeping quarter.



They find the antiquarian book dealer sitting upright in his bunk. He is pale and sweaty and groggy.

"Merely troubled dreams," Reginald says, with perhaps a hint of dismissiveness.

"I heard you talking in your sleep," says bunk-mate Prof. Balandabar. "Something about David and being sorry. Do you remember?

Golem has departed. Despite being a Lovecraft fan, he said it wasn't his cup of tea. Balandabar will be an NPC. Given the story length and complexity at this point, it seems it takes a certain type of player to enter it new and stay.

[Mant72]

Dr. Francis Morgan:

Frank cautiously enters, casting a concerned and wary eye at the distraught book dealer, “Reginald, are you okay?”

”Troubled dreams...,” Frank thinks back on his own disturbing night visions induced by the trapezohedron crystal.

[SocraticLawyer]

Reginald Wilkins, unhinged bookdealer
I'm fine. Bad dreams is all. When you've seen some of the things we have.... Anyways, thank you for your concern, but I'll be quite all right.

Reginald tries to focus on what Dr. Ferdinand and he discussed. He wonders idly whether New Orleans will be good for his psyche.

[DadsAngry]

Marius:

The hunters take a close look at Reginald. He's known the man for close to a year now. Was he telling the truth?

Psychology 6% [1d100] = 55

It's so hard to read people. I guess that's why he's made his living in the woods.
"It's O.K. Regg. We've all been through a lot recently. Come on doc lets Regg get some sleep."
Marius leads the way back to his and Frank's compartment.

[Grognardsw]

Each night on the Crescent train journey Reginald descends into disturbing dreams. Each morning he tries to follow his therapist’s advice: eat healthy, exercise, cleanse the body with 12 glasses of water daily, dwell on the positive, seek company of friends, avoid that which disturbs you. Reginald finds the last tenet difficult - is it not his whole purpose for being here?

One night the occultist remembers the words of Prof. Angell:

Subject: Book Three: Out of Time

In Providence, Prof. Angell talks nervously with Reginald and Marius.

"The cult? I have come across several in my time. Those degenerates who follow murky Dagon, themselves becoming one with the deep. Then the deranged followers of dread Cthulhu. It was around that investigation in which I used the clipping service referenced in that letter you brought. And then small pockets - or one could say families - of unbalanced individuals believing this or that."

"But the activities and organization you describe is larger and unlike what I have encountered. There is a mind behind that, and legitimate citizens, and money. Yes it has reached a new level of sophistication that is worrisome. But so too has the opposition grown. I never had the government helping to such extant as you do. Such resources are needed to combat a multi-state, even country, coordinated cult."

"Does this portend a climax to the dark prophecies I have heard? Nyerlathotep preparing the way? There would need to be a confluence of factors - objects of power, sacrifices, blasphemous ceremonies across the world, the opening of gates at such times when the stars are right! Do you know of such things!"

The train eventually arrives in the New Orleans train station at 3:00 pm. The investigators try to shrug off the train's track number of 13.



The investigators go to their hotel, the St. Charles on Canal Street, on the edge of the French Quarter.





“We’ll meet tomorrow at 8:00 am,” says Agent Mulder. “Take it easy tonight.”

[SocraticLawyer]

Reginald Wilkins, unhinged bookdealer
Reginald is anxious for reasons he can't explain. He acknowledges tomorrow's 8 AM meeting and heads to his room. He gets a cup of black coffee and opens the Pnakotic Manuscripts.

Reginald spends the afternoon and evening attempting to understand the ritual of Dream Vision.

Reginald casts that spell if he can before going to sleep for the night.

[Grognardsw]

“We managed to find a copper bowl,” says the room service boy, handing Reginald a 6” diameter copper bowl. “Had to visit a nearby voodoo supply shop in the French Quarter.” He laughs nervously and waits expectantly for the money.

It is 2:00 am. Reginald has been feverishly studying the Dream Vision spell since after dinner. Chicken with shrimp. The shrimp tasted off. Or was that the cajun seasoning? Did his fellow investigators notice anything? Reginald smiled a lot, wanting his chums to think all was well with the bookseller. I just feel better holding it, he said of the Pnakotic Manuscripts tome he was sitting on during dinner. Keeping it warm and hidden, like a mother chicken. Chicken dinner. I'm only sweating because of the cajun spices, he told that too-inquisitive Balandabar. Those Indians, they eat spicy food, they don't understand the pressure such spells put on a man's mind.

"Reginald, how is the manuscript? Tasty?" Prof. Balandabar asks.

Why is he asking that? Is he who he says he is? Don't look him in the eyes. The eyes. The eye.

"I say, Reginald, how are the mushrooms. Tasty?"

Anyone can feel free to join the team dinner repartee. Pyschology rolls are appropriate. Otherwise we move to the spell casting.

DREAM VISION: Causes the caster or a chosen target to experience a dream portending something about the future. The spell costs 1 Magic Points to cast. It may cost Sanity as well, depending on the content of the dream. It requires a copper bowl and drops of spellcaster blood to cast. If cast on another, the spellcaster focuses intensely on their desired target and what he wishes to send. The spell can cause the target to dream specific dreams and costs more magic points depending on the vividness of the dream.

In the interest of the moving the game forward I am foregoing the 1d6 weeks necessary to learn a spell and the the spell learning roll.

[DadsAngry]

Marius:

The keen eye of the hunter doesn't miss a thing. "Spicy wouldn't you say, Reginald?"
Psychology 6% [1d100] = 2

[Mant72]

Dr. Francis Morgan:

”I’m quite partial to spicy foods myself. I find them quite invigorating,” Frank adds to the discussion, oblivious to any abnormal behavior.

Psychology (05): [1d100] = 83

[Grognardsw]

Marius the observant hunter notices that Reginald’s eyes often flicker away from those he speaks too, as if he is reluctant to make sustained eye contact. The bookseller is also not looking his most robust (too many hours up reading?) and is sweating more than normal. Perhaps that is the cajun spices, but probably not. Will this case break Reginald, as it has to too many of their friends? Marius realizes he needs to keep an eye on Reginald lest he harm himself or others.

Reginald has been more into his books than normal. Marius, who spent some time himself perusing the disturbing Pnakotic Manuscripts on an Arkham-to-Providence train trip, realizes that Reginald’s focus on the book is opening his mind to dark secrets.

It reminds Marius of when Reginald studied the book to learn the spell to seek “gates.” Reginald claimed to see things and gain insights, though the hunter is having trouble remembering exactly what those were.

“Did you know,” exclaims Prof. Balandabar, “the French Quarter is the oldest neighborhood in New Orleans? After New Orleans (La Nouvelle-Orléans in French) was founded in 1718 by Jean-Baptiste Le Moyne de Bienville, the city developed around the Vieux Carré ("Old Square" in English), a central square. The district is more commonly called the French Quarter today, or simply "The Quarter.” Most of the extant historic buildings were constructed either in the late 18th century, during the city's period of Spanish rule, or were built during the first half of the 19th century, after U.S. annexation and statehood.”

Balandabar eats more cajun shrimp. “Yes, spicy indeed,” he says. “I was reading Agent Mulder’s New Orleans file. This Ann Marie Leveau, do you think she is related to the renown “voodoo queen” Marie Catherine Laveau, who died in 1881? I researched her, she was a Louisiana Creole practitioner of Voodoo, herbalist and midwife, who was renowned in New Orleans. Although some references to Marie Laveau in popular culture refer to her as a "witch," she has also been called a "Voudou Priestess,” and she is frequently described as a 'Voodoo queen'. At the time of her death, the The New York Times, The New Orleans Daily Picayune, the Daily States and other news sources describe her as "woman of great beauty, intellect, and charisma who was also pious, charitable, and a skilled herbal healer."

“Laveau's name and her history have been surrounded by legend and lore. She is generally believed to have been buried in plot 347, in Saint Louis Cemetery No. 1. Tourists continue to visit and some draw X marks in accordance with a decades-old tradition that if people wanted Laveau to grant them a wish, they had to draw an X on the tomb, turn around three times, knock on the tomb, yell out their wish, and if it was granted, come back, circle their X, and leave Laveau an offering.”

“Maybe that isn’t even her real name,” says Balandabar, eating a stray octopi tentacle that made its way into the spiced shrimp.

[SocraticLawyer]

Reginald Wilkins, unhinged bookdealer
Reginald does his best to keep up with the conversation at dinner, failing miserably. His thoughts are ever on his studies. He feels close to a breakthrough. Perhaps a dream vision will provide the missing piece.

Hadn't Timothy said something like this? It's so hard to remember.

Clearing his head a bit, Reginald joins the dinner conversation. Yes, quite a spicy tome indeed. But the shrimp are delicious. If this comment draws concerned looks from the other investigators, Reginald does not notice.

[DadsAngry]

Marius:

Marius scans the rest of the faces at the table. Do they see what he is seeing? No. Marius accidentally (purposely) knocks over his drink onto Dr. Morgan's lap while Dr. Balandabar yabbers on about history and such.
"Oh, I'm so clumpy. I'm sorry doc. These spices have my eyes watering I missed my glass. If we get some water on it right away it shouldn't cause a stain. Here let me help you up to your room so you can change."
An obvious ploy to get Frank away from the table to conduct a private conversation.

[Mant72]

Dr. Francis Morgan:

”Yes, these Cajun dishes are extremely spi...Ahhhhh!” Frank abruptly pushes his chair back as Marius’ glass is overturned in his lap. He looks up at the hunter and nods. ”No worries, my friend. It shouldn’t stain if we act quickly.” He rises from the table and allows Marius to escort him away.

[Grognardsw]

Dr. Morgan and Marius can continue their discussion in flashback as we move onto the dream spell.

[Grognardsw]

“We managed to find a copper bowl,” says the room service boy, handing Reginald a 6” diameter copper bowl. “Had to visit a nearby voodoo supply shop in the French Quarter.” He laughs nervously and waits expectantly for the money.

It is 2:00 am. Reginald tips the bellboy. The occultist opens the Pnakotic Manuscripts to the spell. He cuts his palm, letting the blood drip into the copper bowl. Reginald next spits into the bowl, then with reluctance rubs his manhood and deposits his seed (do not think of Edith, not her, not her). The antiquarian mixes a cup of water into the mix while reciting the incantation. He drones on for nearly ten minutes and then, with eyes closed, quickly drinks the swill.

Reginald then collapses onto the bed and falls asleep. He descends knowingly into the realm of dreams. He dreams in xaqloui.

ريجينالد ينزل عن علم في عالم الأحلام. (انه يفكر في (اكساكلويلا يوجد مكان هنا ، ولا لحظه. لا اعرفالعقل-الاشكال هنا يجري المعنية مع لا شيء هذا ليس في نهاية المطاف العقل نفسه.الاشكال هنا ليس لها مراسلات في العالم الرسمي.وهي شكل قصائد السيد الشاذلي ، والهذيان الذي قام به الحزراد ، والرياضيات غير الاقليديه ، والأنابيب القوطية ، والدراسات التي تجريها زوان.هنا في هذه المحيطات غير متماسكة من امكانيه غير مصبوب ، ونظم الفكر توفير اليابسة الوحيدة.النظرية والايمان هي كل ما علينا السير عليه ، حيث اللغة هي الشاطئ الذي اجتاحته القذيفة ، حيث الجبر هو شارع شبحي لا نهاية لها.معلقه في هذا التواصل بريق ، جزر من الافتراض ، قارات النموذج ، والمد التيارات الراي في البحيرات الرائعة للإثبات ، وبذلك تاكل بطيئه ، والتغير التدريجي في كفاف.هنا ، فان التحولات في الفهم هي التكتونيه ، والفوضى الفلكية في اللب ، والبراكين من عصر النهضة تهدد ببصق الحرارة والذهب لتغطيه كل العالم مع أمطارهم مشرقه وخطيره.السخام من التغيير والجدة التي لا يمكن الفوز بها علي تيارات النفاثة من الهام الباردة.الأعماق هي بدون صوت ، من الخريطة ، لا يوجد السدسيه التي سوف تقرا الأبراج هنا ريجينالد ينزل عن علم في عالم الأحلام. (انه يفكر في (اكساكلويلا يوجد مكان هنا ، ولا لحظه. لا اعرفالعقل-الاشكال هنا يجري المعنية مع لا شيء هذا ليس في نهاية المطاف العقل نفسه.الاشكال هنا ليس لها مراسلات في العالم الرسمي.وهي شكل قصائد السيد الشاذلي ، والهذيان الذي قام به الحزراد ، والرياضيات غير الاقليديه ، والأنابيب القوطية ، والدراسات التي تجريها زوان.هنا في هذه المحيطات غير متماسكة من امكانيه غير مصبوب ، ونظم الفكر توفير اليابسة الوحيدة.النظرية والايمان هي كل ما علينا السير عليه ، حيث اللغة هي الشاطئ الذي اجتاحته القذيفة ، حيث الجبر هو شارع شبحي لا نهاية لها.معلقه في هذا التواصل بريق ، جزر من الافتراض ، قارات النموذج ، والمد التيارات الراي في البحيرات الرائعة للإثبات ، وبذلك تاكل بطيئه ، والتغير التدريجي في كفاف.هنا ، فان التحولات في الفهم هي التكتونيه ، والفوضى الفلكية في اللب ، والبراكين من عصر النهضة تهدد ببصق الحرارة والذهب لتغطيه كل العالم مع أمطارهم مشرقه وخطيره.السخام من التغيير والجدة التي لا يمكن الفوز بها علي تيارات النفاثة من الهام الباردة.الأعماق هي بدون صوت ، من الخريطة ، لا يوجد السدسيه التي سوف تقرا الأبراج هنا ريجينالد ينزل عن علم في عالم الأحلام. (انه يفكر في (اكساكلويلا يوجد مكان هنا ، ولا لحظه. لا اعرفالعقل-الاشكال هنا يجري المعنية مع لا شيء هذا ليس في نهاية المطاف العقل نفسه.الاشكال هنا ليس لها مراسلات في العالم الرسمي.وهي شكل قصائد السيد الشاذلي ، والهذيان الذي قام به الحزراد ، والرياضيات غير الاقليديه ، والأنابيب القوطية ، والدراسات التي تجريها زوان.هنا في هذه المحيطات غير متماسكة من امكانيه غير مصبوب ، ونظم الفكر توفير اليابسة الوحيدة.النظرية والايمان هي كل ما علينا السير عليه ، حيث اللغة هي الشاطئ الذي اجتاحته القذيفة ، حيث الجبر هو شارع شبحي لا نهاية لها.معلقه في هذا التواصل بريق ، جزر من الافتراض ، قارات النموذج ، والمد التيارات الراي في البحيرات الرائعة للإثبات ، وبذلك تاكل بطيئه ، والتغير التدريجي في كفاف.هنا ، فان التحولات في الفهم هي التكتونيه ، والفوضى الفلكية في اللب ، والبراكين من عصر النهضة تهدد ببصق الحرارة والذهب لتغطيه كل العالم مع أمطارهم مشرقه وخطيره.السخام من التغيير والجدة التي لا يمكن الفوز بها علي تيارات النفاثة من الهام الباردة.الأعماق هي بدون صوت ، من الخريطة ، لا يوجد السدسيه التي سوف تقرا الأبراج هنا

There is no place in here, nor moment. No familiar semblances. The mind-forms here being concerned with nothing that's not ultimately mind itself. The shapes here have no correspondence in the formal world. They are the shape of the Pnakotic’s poems, of Al Hazrad’s ravings, of mi-go non-Euclidean math, shoggoth pipings, Zann’s etudes. Here in these incoherent oceans of unmolded possibility, systems of thought provide the only landmass. Theory and belief are all we have to walk upon, where language is a shell-swept beach, where algebra's an endless ghostly boulevard.

Suspended in this glimmering continuum, islands of supposition, continents of paradigm, tides of opinion lap in fabulous lagoons of proof, bringing a slow erosion, gradual change of contour. Here, the shifts in understanding are tectonic, diastrophic rumbles in the core, volcanoes of renaissance threatening to spit their heat and gold to cover all the world with their bright, dangerous precipitations. Smuts of change and novelty unwinnable borne on the jet streams of cold inspiration.

The depths are soundless, off the map, there is no sextant that will read the constellations here, yet are there hazards, undertows of falsehood, eddies of delusion in the bedlam reefs. Riding elated swirls of reason, bear in mind that nothing is unsinkable. Beneath fog-banked ambiguities rear intellectual icebergs.

No paranoid Magellan named these straits, autistic Heyerdahl or thorazined Cabot, the toothpicked scums of shattered coracle and surfs of splinter stitch the white caps to these slick gray shores, with here and there the footprint of some prior explorer, inmate or philosopher. Beyond a ribboned shingle of assumption, shifting dunes of creed, there is the scorched air whiff of a synaptic ozone, spindrift, gusted from cerebrospinal tropics. Underfoot, a tide line litter of rejected notions, worm-shot timbers from wrecked ideologies, discredited beliefs. In reason's rock pools seen, a ferning coral of dead faeries.

Above, strong light bursts out through solipsistic cumuli. The dazzle of near comprehension leaves a gibberish of phosphorescent scribble on the psychic retina. Over these beachheads of corpus callosum, strung between two hemispheres, there burns an equatorial sun of fact and data. Best not risk the information tan that brings disfiguring swim trunk lines of ignorance or, worse, the sunstroke of religion.

Make for shade. The tree line looms ahead. Pull back the snarled anxiety of bramble and plunge ego first, into the undergrowth. Miasmal thicket darkness here, its chill immediate. Press on. Thorned snags of dogma tearing at the ankles, out into the sudden dappled bright, the eerie cross breeze of a clearing. The atmosphere here coruscates, thick with impending diamond. Through the spike lit blur an intimation of delirium's foliage clipped back, ordered into a Magritte topiary.

Now a bordered path, redolence of park and arbour, wind chime scent of honeysuckle. With each step, a burgeoning of form, a greater density. Belatedly, the thought occurs: What life might this ethereal clime support? Ecologies of ectoplasm? And what Flora? And what Fauna? The air here crackles, viscous and intense, humid with meaning. The posited terrain grows steeper, rising up towards the domed pavilions of the spectre garden, flickering radiance of its exhibits brushed across the sky ahead. Struggle upslope the last few yards become a headlong rush into the raw mouth of this brilliant wind.
The Spectre Garden surrounds. Its mind animals displayed. Now, your approach, a quickening of ultraviolet, shivering veil-shape, womanness upon the brink of form, solidify her, name her, call her… Selene?

"I am the Daughter of Fortitude and ravished every hour from my youth. For behold, I am understanding, and science dwelleth in me, and the heavens oppress me. They cover and desire me with infinite appetite, for none that are earthly have embraced me, for I am shadowed with the circle of the stars, and covered with the morning clouds. My feet are swifter than the winds, and my hands are sweeter than the morning dew. My garments are from the beginning and my dwelling place is in myself. The lion knoweth not where I walk, neither do the beasts of the field understand me. I am deflowered, yet a virgin. I sanctify and am not sanctified. Happy is he that embraceth me, for in the night season I am sweet, and in the day full of pleasure. My company is a harmony of many symbols and my lips sweeter than health itself. I am a harlot for such as ravish me, and a virgin for such as know me not. Purge your streets, O ye sons of men, and wash your houses clean. Make yourselves holy and put on righteousness. Cast out your old strumpets and burn their clothes, and then I'll bring forth children unto you and they shall be the sons of comfort in the age that is to come.”

Behind, the fans of slatted light and feathered rays recede. The shock and tingle of her after presence. On into this dream menagerie amongst the spore of visionary beasts. A track of jades and garnets puddled deep, drags at your heels like estuary sand. Ahead, a haunted maze of space and glass where is the Regent called (unknown), terror without subject, paladromic, whose

Symmetry becomes it.
Come to ruin our impending feast,
a presence that nourishes suffering.
All things below voice his burning name.
His turmoil offers only truth in which longer moments live.
Let consciousness recapture the flicker it saw then.
Torch our continuity of thought
now until that mind evaporates.
Lust after shadows in us,
rend that lace of promises broken and white lies,
regard our love of wreckage,
the way our heads thunder approaching that warning pulse
and temple of throbbing light that is Azathoth.

Azathoth is that light throbbing of temple and pulse
warning that approaching thunder heads our way.
the wreckage of love,
our regard lies white and broken,
promises of lace that rend us
in shadow, after lust evaporates.
Mind that until now thought of continuity,
our torch, then saw it flicker.
The recapture, consciousness let live moments longer,
which, in truth, only offers turmoil.
His name burning, his voice below things.
All suffering nourishes that presence.
A feast impending. Our ruin to come.
It becomes symmetry.


The chiaroscuro phantasms of sleep begin to recede. Reginald swims toward shores of understanding. He wills the visions to continue.

(to be continued...)

[DadsAngry]

Marius:

On their way to Dr. Morgan's room and far away from earshot of the others Marius informs Frank of his concerns.
"Doc, sorry about your suit but I had to speak to you alone. It's Reginald and that blasted book he carries with him all the time. I don't think he can put it down. I think it has a hold over him. He's become obsessed with it. He spends all his free time with his nose in it and he hasn't been the same since David and Edith's passing. Are we sure it's Reginald inside there? He was alone when David died."

[Grognardsw]

Dream visions of Reginald...

brushes...

[Mant72]

Dr. Francis Morgan:

Frank nods as he listens to Marius’ observations and adds, ”There was a time I had certain obsessions of my own. Do you recall the crystal I carried? The thing had such power and influence over me. There were times I feared I would lose myself in its void. We should certainly watch Reginald closely. Perhaps we should separate him from the book?”