Into a World of Darkness: An NWoD Roleplaying Experience

[Doc-Holiday]

INTO
A
WORLD OF DARKNESS

 

An NWoD Roleplaying Experience

 
[hide="Prelude: A Head's Up"]

[INDENT]    The leaves on the old oak trees that lined the paths of Colebridge's Trinity Theological Seminary were just turning those shades of orange and yellow that signaled winter was on her way. Built in eighteen-ninety by the donation of several Rags-to-Riches businessmen, Trinity Theological Seminary boasted the fine stone workmanship of the day and her stately exterior was well maintained and adorned with large green grassy lawns. Inside, the matronly estate was well punctuated with the latest technology and the excellent renovations afforded by the wise financial foresight of her initial investors and generous donations from local families.[/INDENT][INDENT]The Seminary's chapel, nestled amongst the stone and mortar buildings, boasted a clock and bell tower combination which was the pride of Colebridge's early years. A clock which now signaled the hour with three strong soundings of her large bell to a campus emptied for a short fall break, a sound appreciated by a few foraging squirrels and one young man presently lost in reverie as he stared at the ducks in the central pond of Redford Park situated south from the Trinity campus entrance. [/INDENT][INDENT]Slightly slim in build and dressed in a green long-sleeve shirt bearing the name "Abercrombie" and stone-washed jeans. Mitchell Douglass watched with unadulterated fascination  the vibrancy of life around him. A bookish twenty-six year old, Mitchell was smart, well adjusted, and a some-times visitor to the local gym facing the last days of his Seminary training.[/INDENT][INDENT]Caught in the contemplative reverie of the moment, he almost failed to hear the sounding of the bell as a playful breeze mussed his short brown hair, sending him into distraction from his distraction. Mitchell reached for a mental note pinned to a mental corkboard in the mental office space that occupied the heart of what he imagined was a clockwork mind. It read "Poilin, In the Library, at 3:15". [/INDENT][INDENT]

***

[/INDENT][INDENT]Early fallen leaves crunched under foot as Mitchell took a shortcut across Redford Park, by-passing the usual route through the fountains and across two timed pedestrian crosswalks. Cutting across the boulevard that bisected Redford Park grounds from the Seminary grounds, Mitchell cut five minutes off of his travel time and passed through the old stone archway and into the courtyard that framed the entrance to the main building complex.[/INDENT][INDENT]

[/INDENT]

[INDENT]A line of identical, unmarked black sedans sat idling in the parking lot as six people, several men and at least one woman, dressed in black overcoats and mirrored sunglasses exited the front entrance of the Seminary and descended the few stone steps that would take them towards the line of waiting sedans. Mitchell slowed as he took in the unusual event and mused on the identities of the mysterious visitors even as his feet carried him closer.[/INDENT][INDENT]He searched them with eyes hungry for information as he approached the steps. Four of them still remained near the door and watched him intently, none of them looked friendly. Mitchell felt his heart beat pick up as he mounted the steps. He gave his best smile as the men parted way for him and he used the opportunity to let his eyes take in as much information as he dared. It was a lesson his cousin in law enforcement had taught him, "Mitch, people will tell you a lot about themselves if you'll just pay attention."[/INDENT][INDENT]They were professional and identically dressed, further observation was cut short by a lowered pair of sunglasses and a very cold pair of eyes that cut into Mitchell with a harsh and lingering glare. The confrontation was mercifully interrupted by the exiting of a seventh man of the group dressed in the same black overcoat and mirrored sunglasses who brushed passed Mitchell without even a word. Joining the rest of the heavy cloaked visitors, the five joined the two waiting at the edge of the parking long and the whole group made for the line of black sedans. [/INDENT][INDENT]Alone on the steps and now late for his meeting, Mitchell shouldered through the heavy oaken doors of the Seminary and passed swiftly through stone floored halls haunted only by his passing. He mused on the unusual turn his afternoon had just taken.[/INDENT][INDENT]

***

[/INDENT][INDENT]Mitchell pushed through a pair of heavy oak doors that closed on old hinges designed to prevent loud slams, the result was an oddly pleasant thump of wood that reverently announced the coming and going of student and staff. While he preferred the open plaza for his reading, the library offered it's own world of sounds and smells that excited memories and imagination. He found it a great place to pass rainy days when preparing a sermon or cramming for a test.[/INDENT][INDENT]He made very little sound as he passed the many heavy wooden shelves save for the occasional scuffle of shoe on carpet which reminded him to pick up his feet more when walking. Turning right at the end of the main isle and passed around behind the built-in-place librarian's desk he was promptly greeted by a number of crates of various size scattered over the floor. One particularly prominent crate lay opened with it's packing straw littering the floor and a white haired man sitting merrily on a metal folding chair who stared reverently upon it's contents.[/INDENT][INDENT]William Poilin was Trinity's Director of Archives and Chief Librarian, holding a Doctorate in Library Science and notable recognition in the field of Biblical Archeology. Desperately thin and possessed of a full head of white hair, Doctor William Poilin was as odd a man as one could be and not be considered "eccentric". A kind man who loved people, Poilin had taken to Mitchell during his freshman year and had steered the young man to excellence, discovering in the process a shared interest in artifacts and a love for frequent discussions of faith and practice over a good cup of coffee.[/INDENT][INDENT]Mitchell eyed the assortment of crates and surmised they were delivered by the Mystery Crew he'd met at the door. His eyes never left the crates as he moved closer with measured steps meant to keep a respectful distance from the unusual and, he noted, unmarked crates. "So..." Mitchel spoke with a voice softened out of respect for the library space he currently occupied, "You wanted to see me Doctor Poilin?".[/INDENT][INDENT]William Poilin glanced up from the center of the crates, a smile spreading over his aged face that made him look all the older. "Oh yes, I did..." he spoke with the ever soft voice of a man who'd spent his life in a library, "Come have a seat Mitchell." Poilin indicated a nearby folding chair with a tilt of his white haired head. "Have a look at what was brought to us!" Excitement was creeping into the older man's voice, yet it refused to raise even a decibel higher. Mitchel complied, seating himself with the plop of mutual friendship and folded his hands in anticipation of what was about to be revealed.[/INDENT][INDENT]Poilin beamed happily and waited to continue after Mitchell had seated himself. "Those fuddy-duddies would have kittens if they knew I was showing this to anyone, but what's the harm?" He looked at Mitchell pointedly, "Someone should get to see them before they're archived away." Mitchell eagerly took the invitation and peering into the mysterious crate he inquired, "Speaking of... who were the government grade delivery crew that just left here?" Mitchell glanced up from the objects in the crate to catch Poilin's expression.[/INDENT][INDENT]He didn't flinch. "Oh... just a private organization of people who collect things of interest.... They get mad if I talk about them too much." He pursed his lips before adding, "They like their secrets." Poilin let out a soft laugh and eagerly dug out a black plastic bag and tore it open with the soft sighing of a vacuumed seal. Mitchel had thought to probe the Librarian further as his answer hadn't satisfied him, however, before he could raise a question the older man had removed a large brown cloth from the plastic bag which he partially unfolded and held up for Mitchell to see. "So...." Poilin asked, "Do you know what this is?" Mitchell could hear the grin in the older man's voice.[/INDENT][INDENT]Mitchell stared at the outstretched cloth dumbfounded by the face that stared back at him. The gears in his imaginary clockwork mind grated as he struggled to remember how to speak. Finally, after futilely working his jaw, Mitchell managed to croak, "No way!... YOU have the shroud of Turin!?" [/INDENT]

***

[INDENT]Poilin chuckled, "Yes, we do, and this is the real one, the other one is... well according to what I've gathered, a forgery made to protect the real one during the upheavals of the middle-ages." He smiled gleefully as he revealed this bit of hidden history. "But we found the real one, and I get to catalog it before we store it away in a musty vault somewhere." Poilin's voice bordered on the edge of a lament and Mitchel could feel the confliction in his elder friend. Poilin cheered up again, "If Father Wilhelm and the rest of the Diocese knew we had this, they'd be having kittens over it! I bet your bottom dollar!"[/INDENT][INDENT]Mitchel stared in reverent awe at the face in the cloth, for once in his life there was only silence in his mind. It was as though every thought gear stopped in it's turning to give reverential silence to the turning gears that signaled the images of the face of Christ. He raised  a hand to gently touch the face as gears began to turn again, "But why?" he found himself asking aloud the first thought that registered.[/INDENT][INDENT]Poilin folded the cloth carefully, pale grey eyes fixing on Mitchell's brown ones. "To keep it safe" he stated matter-of-factly. Poilin held the cloth out to Mitchel, "Go ahead and touch it, just be gentle, wouldn't want to accidentally erode away the history of our Lord and Savior now would we?" Poilin smiled enthusiastically as he turned his attention to the rest of the contents in the crate.[/INDENT][INDENT]Mitchell held the cloth in his hands and he nearly wept. There was something so very special about the cloth, something beyond sight and smell but just as a tangible. His reverie was interrupted by a thought process, Doctor Poilin was right. Man had a terrible habit of worshiping anything and anyone other than their Creator. If the shroud were revealed, people would tear each other apart to worship it. Mitchell brushed the thought aside, he'd have plenty of time to anguish over the fallen state of man later. In a hushed tone, as if speaking the words might make the situation false, Mitchell gave voice to his reverie, "I don't think there will ever be a day more significant than this... talk about life changing... I'm holding..." he whispered, "The burial cloth of Christ!"[/INDENT][INDENT]Poilin only nodded, pulling handfuls of packing straw out of the crate and onto the floor he had another prize to find. "Indeed, it is a grand day..." Poilin paused in mid thought, his hands full of the straw that now piled on the floor around him. "If only we could truly celebrate it... Sadly people would want to take it, experiment on it, and make a mockery of what it stands for." He raised an index finger to make a point, a bit of straw stuck out from under his wrist-watch. "Which is why we must keep it safe and hidden, to keep humans for destroying it by their very nature" He nodded in solemn reflection before retrieving his next prize from the crate.[/INDENT][INDENT]Grinning like the Cheshire cat, Poilin held up what looked to be several elaborately decorated leather straps joined together in a slightly elongated rectangle. Poilin turned the artifact over several times, scrutinizing it with a trained eye. "I wish there was a way to see if the stories about this artifact were true." He mused to himself. Mitchell glanced up from the Turin cloth with a quizzical look at the strange artifact. Despite his studies and his familiarity with much Poilin's favorite antiquities, he had absolutely no idea what the leather straps were for.[/INDENT][INDENT]Mitchell handed the Shroud of Turin back to Doctor Poilin, "What do you mean?" he asked as the elderly Librarian placed the cloth on top of a nearby un-opened crate. Mitchell eyed the leather straps with an obvious expression of bafflement, "What stories? And... What is that?" The question come out harsher than he had wanted and he grimaced inside. If Doctor Poilin was disappointed in Mitchell's lack of knowledge, he didn't show it. "It's the bridle of Constantine..." Poilin answered as through he were lecturing a class of students, "It's said his mother took the nails from the cross and used them to make this, but the same is said of the crown of Lombardy, among many other rumored creations made with the nails of the cross." Poilin mused over the artifact, "And the crown of Lombardy is significantly harder to get your hands on hear." Poilin shrugged his thin shoulders and returned the bridle to it's place in the crate. "In any case we'll catalog it and store it in a safe place. True or not, it shouldn't be left to rot or be coveted."[/INDENT][INDENT]Mitchell blinked in surprise at the rarity of the artifacts and the honor being allowed to see them, to touch them even. He looked at the artifacts and nodded slowly. "Well.. they are... definitely..." Mitchell struggled with what words to say next as Poilin raised his eyes to search Mitchell's face. He'd long since come to grips with the reality that he saw the world very differently than most everyone else. He tended to recognize things that were significant or different. It's not the these objects had some extra dimension, or some smell, or color, there was nothing about them that separated them from anything else. And yet he could tell categorically that these items were not like any other. Mitchell felt his blood heat from the frustration of being unable to give a satisfactory example of what he saw and wanted Poilin to just stop staring at him. Mitchell struggled with the words and finally settled on a curt, "Something special!" he paused, his words had come out very harsh and he felt his temperature rise. "Yeah... I'm not going to get an 'A' on the research for that statement, but I stand by it." It was a lame attempt to recover his cool that seemed all the more lame that he did it to his own teacher.[/INDENT][INDENT]Poilin didn't say anything and it just made the embarrassment feed a bigger fire in in his blood. He decided it'd be best to ditch that statement, take his losses, and move on. "So..." Mitchell tested the waters, yeah they seemed cool enough to snuff out the fire of his frustration. "Is this why you wanted me to be here today? To help catalog and store all this stuff?" Poilin smiled graciously and swept the conversation forward. "Yes... These were the two pieces I cared most about, the rest is... well... less impressive." Poilin waved a frail and liver warted hand to the rest of the crates. "But still needs to be cataloged and archived." [/INDENT][INDENT]Poilin began motioning at various un-marked crates in a haphazard fashion. "I think we have... A tooth from Mohamed, a Crystal Skull, a few druidic relics... I think we even have a copy of the Cathar Bible in here somewhere." Poilin shrugged again, surrounded by artifacts of extreme value, Mitchell was shocked by the mundane attitude Doctor Poilin took towards the rest of the artifacts. The elderly Librarian continued, "These two are the important ones..." He said motioning to the Shroud of Turin and the Girdle of Constantine, "The rest of them are just odds and ends, I don't know why we collect them, I just know we do." Poilin looked to the rest of the crates for a long silent minute and then back to Mitchell, "Oh... and not a word of this to anyone, you understand?" Mitchell nodded.[/INDENT][INDENT]

***

[/INDENT][INDENT]Doctor Poilin rose from his seat with a grunt and a creak of old joints as he retrieved a clipboard he had abandoned earlier for the sake of satiating his curiosity. Idly marking off various entries and muttering to himself, Poilin paused to look pointedly at Mitchell. "Mind checking the contents of the rest of these crates? I need to be sure everything checks out before we move forward."[/INDENT][INDENT]Mitchell grabbed up the small crowbar that lay near the Shroud of Turin crate and moved to the crate closest to the built-in-place Librarian's desk. The crate was slightly smaller than the rest and, just as it's many twins, lacked any markings or stencils. He prayed it was upside right as the crowbar was enthusiastically applied to the nails holding the crate shut. The lid of the crate cracked open and Mitchell slammed the crate shut with a smack of the crowbar, his eyes were wide and the hairs on his arms stood on end for no sooner had the lid cracked than a sensation of something very wrong and very bad struck him.[/INDENT][INDENT]Poilin glanced up from his check-sheet to see if everything was alright. Mitchell held the crate shut and prayed fervently for a silent minute before speaking aloud. "Doctor Poilin?" His voice wavered from fear as he struggled to keep his voice low. "What's... in this crate?" Poilin stared at Mitchell with a long gaze of concern before turning up a page on the clipboard and answering, "Um... lets see... I'm not sure, it should be on the list there, assuming they didn't botch the manifest." Poilin crossed the room to a reading table littered with manifests for the various crates. Searching several Poilin picked one up and looked it over, "Hmm... Looks like you've got the crate with the Cathar Bible and a Crystal Skull." Poilin glanced up with a steady smile, "Nothing to be afraid of, I promise."[/INDENT][INDENT]Mitchell felt cold sweat gathering on the palms of his hands. The Cathar Bible was a heretical work, sure, but it was just a book. The Crystal Skull though, there was something about those, even in pictures, that made him uncomfortable. "Which of the Crystal Skulls is in here? Does it say?" He'd recovered the strength of his voice, but the sensation of wrongness hadn't abated. Poilin checked the sheet again, "I'm not sure... It might even be an unknown one... There are said to be thirteen and only six or so are accounted for. It'll have to be figured out once the necessary paperwork has been forwarded to the primary database, they don't let us know everything you know.... for security purposes." The last part didn't help Mitchell at all, he was starting to feel his anxiety erode away at his composure. He was starting to get a little short tempered, he wanted away from the box.[/INDENT][INDENT]He nodded and ran his hand over the wooden lid, "If.. I said something was evil in this box, what would you say?" Mitchell tried his best to phrase the question in as an inviting way as possible. Trying to explain what he sensed was going to be impossible, and the heat of frustration was about set his blood on fire again. Poilin returned to his clipboard, "I would say you have a pagan relic and a heretical book, of course there is evil in there." Poilin stated nonchalantly while checking off a few more items from another crate. Mitchell winced as a small wood splinter caught his finger, thankfully it didn't do more than poke him and no splinter broke off. "Well... yes... I know that..." Mitchell said haltingly, he'd backed himself into another corner trying to explain something he was sure only he could sense. "But I mean more tangible than that." He felt truly frustrated now, there was something truly dangerous in that box and he didn't know how to show Doctor Poilin.[/INDENT][INDENT]Poilin returned to his metal folding chair, folding several pages over the top of his clipboard he began making notations about the contents of the box he'd just reviewed. "Don't worry..." he said without looking up from the page, "I have dealt with the dangers of this task for years...." Poilin made a note before continuing, "And I'm still at it." He looked up finally and winked, "I'll keep you safe, don't worry." Mitchell remained unconvinced, though he did nod slightly and returned to consider the crate in front of him and the danger lurking within.[/INDENT][INDENT]It was brutal, the imaginary war fought by his analytical mind. Mitchell had to arrive at a decision and he was weighing every option. He felt foolish for not trusting Poilin, and weak for not opening the crate. However, he also felt great fear at the danger in the crate and a desire to destroy it. The entire battle only served to up the boiling in his blood. What was he doing? This was God's world! If there was a spiritual danger in this crate, a wooden lid wasn't going to stop it from doing it's evil thing. He looked at the lid again with a renewed determination. Despite his misgivings, and the strong sensation coming from the crate, Mitchell pried the lid off.[/INDENT][INDENT]

***

[/INDENT][INDENT]The crate was filled with the same innocuous packing straw as every other crate and it took a few minutes of nervous shifting of straw before Mitchell was able to look at the contents with any sort of clarity. Inside he'd found the Cathar Bible and uncovered the cranium and eye-sockets of a crystal skull. Mitchell looked at them both with a frown. The Cathar bible was just a plain book, old and valuable certainly, but just a normal 'thing' as far as Mitchell could tell. The Crystal skull was different as far as 'things' went, but again nothing glaringly special. Neither item gave him the sense of danger or 'wrongness' and that meant there was something else in the crate. He dug deeper into the straw.[/INDENT][INDENT]"It" turned out to be a human head, grey-green in color and possessing a ponytail of black hair, it's withered eyes and lips were drawn shut from age but not sewed shut. Mitchell had seen shrunken heads once at a Ripply's Believe-it-or-Not Museum during a visit to his relatives in Texas. It struck him as wrong on the deepest level and he shuddered to look at it. Without breaking eye contact on the offending object, Mitchell called over to Doctor Poilin with a voice that matched the level of danger he felt. "A... shrunken head?... A very ugly shrunken head...." He added the insult in an effort to keep his cool, "Was that on the manifest?" Summoning the courage, Mitchell broke eye-contact with the head and looked to Poilin for assurance.[/INDENT][INDENT]Poilin raised a pair of bushy white eyebrows and made the short walk over to the reading table to review the manifest once more. "Hmnn... Not in that crate..." Poilin said with just a hint of irritation, "Let me check this one..." The elder Librarian turned to a master manifest and ran a thin finger over the listings. Shaking his white haired head, Poilin walked over to Mitchell's side and stared into the crate with a disgusted frown, "So savage..." he commented before returning his attention to the master manifest, his pale brow wrinkled with confusion. "And they are getting sloppy, I'll need to call them and find out exactly what this is... so many cultures do this..." Poilin broke off the rest of his lament and turned away towards his office door which lay on the other side of several bookshelves just to the north.[/INDENT][INDENT]Mitchell sat in silence for what seemed an age, the afternoon sunlight streamed in through antique windows behind him giving only a little warmth to the growing dread that stabbed his stomach. Sighing, Mitchell took another look at the ugly head in the box. It looked right back at him through wild milky blue eyes.[/INDENT][INDENT]

***

[/INDENT][INDENT]Mitchell shrieked with all the shameless terror of a girl seeing a mouse run under her chair, "GOD IN HEAVEN SAVE US ALL!" He slammed the lid back in place so fast packing straw was still floating out of the air when a breathless Doctor Poilin rounded the bookshelves with a gravely concerned expression. Mitchell stood shaking nearly eight feet back from the crate, a distance he'd leapt to out of sheer terror. Poilin's alarmed expression eased as he approached his terrified young student, "What's the matter? Get a hold of yourself!" Poilin placed a comforting hand on the younger man's shoulder.[/INDENT][INDENT]It took Mitchell several minutes to regain his breath, his heart slammed in his chest so hard it shook him, and he feared he'd almost wet himself. The imaginary clockworks in his Mitchell's mind had sheered several gears and he's blown a logic spring. He was desperate to put thing back in place, to explain it all away, but the sensation of wrongness still emanated from the crate in front of him. He felt a stab of anger race through him again, WHY did he open that crate? What was he thinking? The crate now terrified him... the head... terrified him.[/INDENT][INDENT]Doctor Poilin's presence brought enough stability for Mitchell to regain his senses and he felt obligated to give an answer. His voice faltered even as the imaginary clockworks in his mind skipped and shuddered in their turnings, "IT... it... EYES!" A logic wheel had sheered all of it's teeth and spun wildly, "DOC!... It's... EYES... were open! I SWEAR!" Mitchell back up another foot from the crate, he wanted to be gone, we wanted to forget what happened and be far far away.[/INDENT][INDENT]Doctor Poilin gave Mitchell an empathetic and concerned expression, "Are you sure you're alright?" He asked with a genuine warmth in his voice. The power of human compassion, Mitchell had considered it one of God's great gifts and an expression of His own infinite compassion, brought rationality back to Mitchell's mind and he found himself relaxing. Poilin smiled comfortingly, "And how are you sure it did that?" The question sparked Mitchell's anger and he very nearly snapped at his aged mentor.[/INDENT][INDENT]Poilin approached the crate and cracked the lid to look inside. Mitchell felt his anger threatening rage, he didn't want rage, not with his friend and teacher. He feared the black days when his anger ran away from his control, it'd happened before and right now the fires of anger stung his eyes. Breaking free from his paralysis he nearly ran to the crate, slamming his hand down so hard as to snap the crate lid out of Poilin's hands so violently as to leave a crack along the central board. "GOD as my witness!" Mitchell seethed through his teeth, his eyes boring into Poilin's. Why didn't the old man realize he was in danger? WHY didn't he pay attention? HOW COULD HE NOT TELL!? Mitchell took a few breaths and tore himself away from the crate again, he had to keep control. They were in a lot of danger.[/INDENT][INDENT]Poilin retreated from the crate slightly, or was it from Mitchell he retreated? It didn't matter at the moment as the younger man felt his temper cooling. Shame brought an iciness to his boiling blood and Mitchell fumed in frustration. "I've seen a lot of weird stuff... I..." He clenched his jaw and fists tightly, he felt himself getting hot again. Some part of his mind marveled at his ability to keep himself in check, especially considering the danger in the box that sat between himself and Doctor Poilin. A danger he didn't understand and didn't know how to explain.[/INDENT][INDENT]

***

[/INDENT][INDENT]Silence hung in old library like a heavy wool blanket leaving Mitchell and Poilin at something of a stand-off with the offending crate between them. With time came the cooling of his anger once again, and the intrusion of shame and reason. Mitchell hated himself for getting angry so often. Though Poilin didn't say a word, Mitchell felt the disappointment and hurt he'd caused his older friend and he added guilt to his shame. He hung his head, he knew he needed to say something to mend their relationship. He took a breath and spoke the first thing on his mind, "Just.... open... carefully" Mitchell mentally slapped himself. It was a horrible apology and it didn't do the man justice. Poilin, for his part, graciously forgave the offense with a gentle smile.[/INDENT][INDENT]Poilin opened the crate slowly, pausing briefly to search his young student's face for any change of heart. Satisfied with Mitchell's nod, Poilin gave a long scrutinizing look at the contents of the crate. "Well... that is strange..." Poilin offered in a tone that Mitchell didn't recognize. He suddenly felt foolish, despite the pervading sense of wrong. Poilin interrupted Mitchell's self pity, "Because they are closed now..." he let the crate lid drop to the floor as Mitchell took a few steps forward, curiosity briefly trumping fear. Poilin continued, "If they had stayed open, I'd have said it was just the skin loosening, but.... if they closed again..." Doctor Poilin lifted the head out of the crate to get a better look at it in the afternoon light that streamed in from the windows behind him.[/INDENT][INDENT]Mitchell was elated, and confused. Elated that Doctor Poilin had believed him about the eyes being open, but confused that the older man would react with such.... familiarity. It made him uncomfortable to his core. Poilin carried the head over to the build-in-place Librarian's desk and switched on a banker's lamp and adjusted the smoked green glass to shed as much light as possible on the severed head. Rubbing his fingers over bushy white eyebrows he turned to face Mitchell, "Do you have a cell phone I could borrow for a moment?" he asked with a hint of concern on his face. Mitchell nodded.[/INDENT][INDENT]

***

[/INDENT][INDENT]Shaking hands, damp with the sweat of fear, struggled to penetrate the denim confines of a pair of Levi pockets. Mitchell didn't care for cellphones, he cared even less for texting, yet having left for college his mother had lovingly pressed him to start keeping one so she could keep in contact with him. The eldest of his siblings and the eldest in the next generation of the Douglass family, Mitchell was accustomed to high expectations and sought to please his family and honor them as often as he could. Recently he had developed a new appreciation for the device when his mother's texts would occasionally warn him of impending visits from some of his less... savory... family members.[/INDENT][INDENT]It some effort for Mitchell to keep his frustration in check as he wrestled the phone out of his pocket. He made a mental note and tacked it to the mental corkboard on the wall of the imaginary office of his mind. It read: "Laundry: Hotter water does not mean cleaner jeans." He handed the phone to Poilin, still deeply suspicious of the head on the table. Poilin scooped the cellphone up and deftly dialed a number, offering a quick "Thank you" as he laid the phone on the built-in-Librarian's desk. It vibrated with each ring to the unknown party Doctor Poilin hoped to reach. Poilin crossed his thin arms as the phone buzzed, the head on the table stared back at them both with milky blue eyes opened wide. [/INDENT][INDENT]Terror gripped Mitchell's intestines and wrapped them tightly around his stomach as a voice issued out through unmoving lips, "Victory I am free!" The voice hissed with venomous glee. A bright sigil of some unknown shape glimmered on the forehead of the severed head just as the flesh beneath began to bulge with an ever growing welt. Poilin dropped his arms to his side and gasped in wide-eyed horror.[/INDENT][INDENT]Mitchell leapt back into the crates behind him, the stressed gears of his mind spun wildly with fear. He felt mortal terror and he felt... anger. His mentor was in danger, the old man was a fool for not recognizing the danger, but he was his friend. Mitchell glanced behind himself and the gears of his mind slammed on a wild idea. The Shroud of Turin had graced the body of Christ, it was said to heal the sick. It might be enough to end the demonic activity he was certain he was seeing. Mitchell gave it a toss towards Poilin, "DOC! QUICK!"[/INDENT][INDENT]It was a foolish thing he did, he put his faith in an object instead of God and he'd come to severely regret his decision even as Poilin caught the shroud with both hands. Poilin clutched the Shroud so tightly his pale hands turned white as an expanding orb oozed out of a rupture in welt on the center of the severed head. The head crumbled to dust as the orb took the shape of a tall man dressed in common clothes that would make him indistinguishable from any other average Joe on the street save for the sword at his side. Glancing the around with a dismissive air, the palid skinned stranger whipped back his shoulder length black hair and smiled coldly. "Ah perfect, just what I came for." He snatched the Shroud out of Poilin's trembling hands.[/INDENT][INDENT]Poilin looked to be ready for a heart-attack, the aged man seemed to wither before the stranger's gaze. Mitchell's fear gave-way to anger, an anger that threatened to break something in Mitchell's mind. This man, this demon, threatened his mentor and was an affront to the very Throne of God. Mitchell acted with very little thought.[/INDENT][INDENT]Grabbing the crowbar Poilin had left on the edge of the Shroud of Turin crate Mitchell charged at the stranger. "IN CHRIST'S NAME BACK OFF!" he screamed as he swung the crowbar with all the righteous rage he could muster. He missed, badly missed, and the crow bar dug into the built-in-place Librarian's desk with enough force to send the phone flying into space. He was all fear and anger now, fear... and... anger.[/INDENT][INDENT]The stranger laughed without even a hint of concern, the effortlessness he carried himself with was enraging, and desperately frightening. The stranger drew his sword and swung it with a motion so seamless it stunned Mitchell with a terrible awe. Poilin, however, quivered and crumpled to the ground as crisp crimson blood sprayed over the stranger, the desk, and the floor. The stranger flicked back his long black hair and smiled again, dangerously. "Don't get in my way, you're out of your league here, boy." He offered with an infuriating smugness.[/INDENT][INDENT]Mitchell didn't hear him, he couldn't hear him because of the screaming. Because of his screaming. He didn't know when he started screaming, but he was screaming now, screaming for all of heaven to hear. Still gripping the crowbar he staggered back slowly, some part of him demanded he run, while something deep within warned him not to turn his back, running would get him killed. And so he continued to stagger backwards feeling helpless, deathly afraid.. and angry... he felt sick.[/INDENT][INDENT]The stranger casually wiped Poilin's blood off his face and sheathed the sword. Taking a swaggering step towards Mitchell he grinned again, "So dramatic, people die all the time, here I'll even bring him back for you." Mitchell pressed himself against the bookshelf hard enough to send books spilling into the isle on the other side as the man knelt by Poilin's lifeless body and whispered. The man stood, straightened his bloodied shirt and cast a pair of milky blue eyes dismissively at Mitchell, "But I have more important things to do than take care of children." He took a threatening step towards Mitchell. Mitchell held the crowbar up defensively, the only logic gear still working was the one printing out the repetitive statement, "I'm gonna' die." The stranger seemed to enjoy the exact flavor of Mitchell's horror, and then vanished. [/INDENT][INDENT]To Mitchell, it seemed as though the man's second step was off of a cliff, he simply dropped through the floor and vanished along the sense of pervading wrongness that had attended him. Mitchell breathed hard and in ragged breaths as he leaned on the bookshelf. His head felt light and his body ached as his chest pounded with all the fury his heart could muster. The gear works of his mind were all cracked, sheered, and broken and he barely registered the sound of pounding feet coming from somewhere below.[/INDENT][INDENT]Mitchell took a halting step towards the crumped and bloodied body of his teacher and mentor. The Stranger's sword had carved the man's flesh as easily as a hot knife through butter and the resulting scene was horrifying. Worse yet, Poilin seemed to still be alive and twitched with unnatural fervor. "DOC!?" Mitchell called out with terror riddled concern. Poilin stopped quivering and Mitchell feared he'd just lost his mentor, "Doc?" Mitchell pleased softly as he took another step forward. Doctor William Poilin jerked, and sat-up, open wounds pouring blood everywhere.[/INDENT][INDENT]

***

[/INDENT][INDENT]Poilin stood up with a strength his body shouldn't have had. He staggered towards his terrified young student with a strange sort of gait, as though he was unsure of how to properly work his various limbs. Terror strangled Mitchell's throat and he could no longer remember how to speak and barely remembered how to breath. It took all the strength of will he could muster to obey the unified cry of his entire being... run.[/INDENT][INDENT]Lurching forward the elderly librarian bumbled up against the built-in-place librarian's desk while reaching towards Mitchell with fumbling hands. Scrapping himself off the bookshelves, Mitchell kept the old desk between himself and Poilin, backing himself down the main isle that lead to the door. Finding his voice again, Mitchell begged in a terrified and halting cry, "WH....WHAT'S... WRONG?" Poilin didn't answer.[/INDENT][INDENT]Mitchell backed down the main isle and put as much space between himself and the mortally wounded yet walking Director of Archives. It was all wrong, it was all very VERY wrong and he had to escape. Poilin was gaining speed, his shuffle had become a walk and to Mitchell's horror that walk was becoming a lurching run. He had to get to the door, he had to escape. Desperately trying to remember the mental blueprints of the Library, Mitchell's mind placed the door a terrifying three miles away.[/INDENT][INDENT]It was the sound of approaching footsteps that caught the attention of some part of his still functioning mind. Footsteps meant people, people meant help, help meant... "help!" Mitchel uttered hoarsely though a suddenly dry and useless mouth, he tried again, "Help!" Good, it was louder this time. "HELP!" Alarms came on in his mind, Poilin was charging at him, "HELP HELP HELP!" Mitchell screamed the words with every ounce of strength he had left.[/INDENT][INDENT]

***

[/INDENT][INDENT]Pain lanced through Mitchell's left ear and for just a moment his sense of balance threatened to dissolve as a crushing wave of sound slammed into his inner ear. Doctor William Poilin, only feet from Mitchell, went ridged as his head collapsed in on itself as a single heavy caliber hollow-point bullet sprayed the contents of his skull across the bookshelves and carpet in a violent red mist.[/INDENT][INDENT]"WHERE IS HE!?", the demand was made by a woman's voice, yet Mitchell could only stare in shock and horror at the bloody stump of Poilin's neck as the elder man's body collapsed to the carpet in horrific slow-motion. "YOU!" The voice demanded again. Light footsteps, accented by single reverent thump of the closing wooden doors, sounded from behind. [/INDENT][INDENT]Stopping just to the left of Mitchell, the woman held a heavy handgun with both hands. She was athletic with medium length dirty blond hair and steely blue eyes that betrayed a mind capable of reducing a man to a quivering pulp with only a few well plied questions. She stood a few inches shorter than Mitchell and a number of pounds lighter. Dressed in a dark trench coat with matching collared shirt and creased slacks, she looked equal parts professional and casual. "Was the guy with the sword here?" [/INDENT][INDENT]Her voice cut through the heavy fog of horror and somewhere in the steaming wreck of Mitchell's mind she registered as his savior. Her question stirred up a maelstrom of shattered thoughts and fears, he felt obligated to answer but had no idea where to start. Mitchell worked his mouth a moment, and found a few words. "HE KILLED DOC!" Mitchell tore his eyes away from the broken body of William Poilin and stared at the woman, his face a mask of horror and confusion.[/INDENT][INDENT]The woman lowered her gun and turned to face Mitchell with an expression of calm annoyance, "Yeah, he does that...." she sighed with something sounding like exasperation, "Where'd he go?" Mitchell stared at her incredulously, he couldn't understand how anyone could be so calm after what he'd just seen. He felt his blood run hot again, "Are you.... SERIOUS!?" Mitchell struggled to pick words through the fog of frustration and wreck of what he'd just seen.[/INDENT][INDENT]"HE... came out of the head... and killed Doc... and went to HELL!" Mitchell balled his fists in frustration, how was he going to explain what he just saw? Mitchell took a sharp breath and tried again, "He touched Doc and then... dropped into the floor... INTO the floor!?" There was a question in the tone, he wasn't sure if the man dropped into the floor, dropped through the floor, disappeared into nothing, or descended back into Hell. He had... absolutely no idea.[/INDENT][INDENT]The gun was replaced into a holster hidden by the trench coat, "Ugh! Dammit.... he is hard to find... now stop yelling..." She looked around the room with a slight frown on her lips, "We need to get out of here... and fast..." She looked to Mitchell with an appraising look, "Unless you want to try to explain all this to the Police." Mitchell could only stare at her numbly, his mind was shutting down, too many broken logic gears, too many horrors. She was kind of pretty, and she seemed to know what she was doing. [/INDENT][INDENT]He walked as if he were dreaming through the blood and mess of the Library, he had to get his phone before they left. He had to call home, he had to. Mitchell's responses were becoming more and more reactionary as the stress of his ordeal took it's toll. The cellphone lay on the floor near the built-in-place librarian's desk, a picture flashed on it's screen. Mitchell carried it on one hand and the crowbar in the other, he was only dimly aware of the odd sensation of the phone vibrating in his left hand. [/INDENT][INDENT]

***

"Come on..." The woman motioned to Mitchell to follow. They passed through the old wooden doors of the Library and into the darkened halls of the Seminary. The phone continued to vibrate and a fractured mind slowly realized it was ringing, the phone had been knocked into vibrate mode after falling off of the desk. Mitchell raised the phone to his ear as they descended the stairs to the first floor. "Hello?" He answered in a half-daze.

"Finally!.." The voice was male, older, and irritated, "Who is this? How did you get this number?" Mitchell looked to the woman leading him, she reminded him of the delivery crew he'd met only a few hours prior. She must be one of their number, that's why she was familiar with all of this. "Hang on..." Mitchel said as he handed the phone to the woman, she'd want to talk to her boss. "I think it's for you?" he said numbly.

She stopped at the main doors and looked back at Mitchell with genuine confusion, "What?" Taking the phone, she gave an unconscious toss of her head and placed the phone to her ear as the hair fell back into place. "Hello?..." Mitchel waited with a vain expectancy to the one sided conversation. "No I don't know." She answered, her face scowling, "Well that's too fucking bad, Who the hell are you?" Mitchell felt a coldness in his stomach, he'd guessed wrong and the sound of something loud and angry on the other side of the phone made it clear he'd made a bad choice.

Holding the phone again, Mitchell stared at it's blank screen. The caller had hung up. The woman was talking again as she pushed the doors open and stepped outside, "I don't know who the hell that is, but if they are calling you, and you don't know who they are..." She paused as the rounded the corner of the building and stepped into the sunlight of the parking lot, "I suggest ditching the phone." Mitchell cringed, his parents had given him the phone and he hated to throw away something so expensive.

Mitchell tried to make sense of the phone call and came up short. "Doc called the number after the head closed it's eyes..." He started to recount the event in hopes the woman might have a better grasp of what was happening than he. She didn't look back as they continued through the parking lot towards the curb and a waiting black sports car. "I'm going to pretend I know what that means and assume he called Ghost Busters." The sarcastic remark cut Mitchell deeply and he fell silent as she unlocked the sports car and got in.

***

The car purred to life as the key was turned, a window rolled down on the passenger side where Mitchell stood. He stared at the car, unsure if he was supposed to get in or go his own way. He was answered by the pop of an electric door lock, "Well?" the woman asked patiently, "Want to help find him or sit around and wait for the guys who're going to find your dead friend and want some answers?"

The question sat heavily on Mitchell. He slowly realized he didn't have any answers to give, and even more terrifying, that unknown organization that dropped off the crates. Yeah, they would want answers too, and they wouldn't be nearly as understanding as the Police. Mitchell opened the door of the sports car and dropped into the low seat.
 
Pulling his seatbelt on and reached to close the car door the woman stopped him, "Also.... ditch the phone, I don't want uninvited guests." Mitchell stared at the phone still in his left hand, it represented the only remaining connection he had left to his family and friends. It would also be only a few hours before his mother or father would send a text asking him how his appointment with Doctor Poilin went, they would know something was wrong very soon. Mitchell paused for a long minute as he also realized the phone represented a way for the strange organization to track him.

His fingers released their grip on the phone, though it seemed to Mitchell that his phone refused to leave his hand as he slowly tipped the weight towards the leaf strewn gutter next to the car door. The phone slipped slowly and haltingly down his palm before dropping through space and vanishing into the leaves below.

The car engine revved as Mitchell pulled the door shut with a heavy thump. His rescuer applied gas to the engine and the car motored easily into the quiet streets of Colebridge. Mitchell looked to the woman again, "Who... Who are you?" his voice carried all the fear and pain of his ordeal. "You can call me Shandra, I'm an investigative journalist..." Shandra looked both ways at a four way stop before accelerating again, "Someone who is trying to track that fucker down."

The car picked up speed as they merged onto the freeway heading out of town, "And I could use some help..." she said sincerely, "he's been pissing off a lot of people for a long time now." Shandra's face took on a look of hard fanatical determination, "And I'm going to put a stop to that fucker." Mitchell cringed, foul language aside, the woman's determination disturbed him.

He nodded slightly and stared numbly out the side window as his home town slipped away into the distance. He couldn't help but feel that he'd just been given a heads-up...

into a whole new world of darkness.

[/INDENT]
 
[/hide]

[Doc-Holiday]

As a creative work, I'll be writing out my PnP experience in the game of New World of Darkness. You will find the story written from the narrative perspective with focus primarily on my character, one of the protagonists of this story. Each gaming session will be added as a Chapter.
 
I hope you enjoy, and if you are an experienced writer or passionate about stories.. please write me a PM, I am always open to constructive criticism and critique as I very much want this to be as enjoyable for you, as it has been for me.
 
Thank you and welcome to a New World of Darkness.
 
 
 
 
Prelude is done! Hurray!
 
Currently in the middle of Chapter 1's adventure.

[Knight Of Pentacles]

fuck yes

[Fritz]

But...
What happens next?! You'll just have to wait until I can type it out!

But I do!
[hide="What Will Happen"]
Everyone Dies.
Especially the friendly npcs.
[/hide]

[Doc-Holiday]

People.... this is my Storyteller...





jerk

[Doc-Holiday]

Prelude is now complete, edits are pending, but feel free to read.
 
Chapter One is in progress.