The three who took a dip in the pools have a couple of hangers-on to brush away before the group moves forward; leech tadpoles that tried to find flesh and were stymied by cloth instead.
It's only a few twists and turns down a path lined with towers of junk before Abby stops, holding her hand up, twisting her head so her left ear is facing forward.
"Do you hear that?" She whispers.
Terry tilts his head and listens.
You hear murmuring just around the bend. It sounds like people having a conversation, but there's something else about it. Something that entices you, and makes you feel like maybe you want to join in whatever conversation they're having.
You hear the junk shifting around you, but more than that, you smell your companions. They absolutely reek of rusty, dirty water.
You might hear a murmur just beyond the bend, but you can't be sure. There's too much around you that commands your attention.
Kari continues to try to shake more of the smelly water off.
Kari is so concerned with wringing water out of her hair and clothes, and double checking to ensure nothing in the bag got wet, that she probably would have a hard time noticing Cthulhu itself manifesting in the salvage yard.
Abby turns back to the group. "I thought I heard something, but can't be sure. If there are people up there, how would you like to approach?"
"Three of them," Charlie confirms, his head cocked. "Sounds pretty interesting, actually."
Kari looks up from checking, for the third time, that really no water hurt any of the books in her bag. "Three? Like other people Mason manipulated like Jessica?"
"Do you think we can sneak past them to get to the gate?" She looks around to see if there is a path that doesn't involve balancing on towering moving junk piles that would allow for this.
The lot of you are standing in a path that allows for three people side by side at its widest, frequently narrowing but never getting wider. This yard might have been tidier at one point, but over time, junk has started falling and sliding from piles to obstruct paths.
Without poking your head around the corner to see what's coming, you can't quite be sure of a good way past the group ahead of you.
"We could try sneaking, but that would be difficult," Baruchiel responds to Kari, voice trailing off as she looks around what little you can see of the yard. "It's difficult to tell where the sound is coming from, exactly, and whether or not there's a path that would give us the cover we need to move around them."
After the quick discussion of options, with the talk and hopefully not need to flash-bang on jicama plan set. Kari moves forward (ideally not alone) until we can make out just what is on the path.
"What I wouldn't give right now for a clipboard," murmurs Brian as he strides ahead.
Brian straightens up and puts on his professional face. He walk towards where the talking has been indicated to be coming from, walking with purpose as if he owns the place.
"... the future Glory that awaits us when our Great Lord arrives..."
As you slowly creep around the bend, you see four people standing near a shack that looks like it will fall apart with the next strong breeze that rattles it.
At first glance, they look human. After that, you see a stray tentacle here and there, as well as webbed fingers on the hand of the cultist gesticulating wildly in the direction of the inapposite gate.
They have not noticed you yet. The path you're on opens up to a cleared-out area similar to where you navigated rusty pools of water, and the cultists converse maybe a hundred feet away from Brian.
You can see one or two paths ahead of you to proceed through, and there are smaller piles of junk scattered around that you could potentially hide behind on the way.
Terry follows behind Brian, doing his best to move at a slow, even pace, not drawing any attention to himself or the group.
Brian strides right up to the cultists as if they should be expecting him. He carries his left arm at his side, as if clutching the clipboard he doesn't have.
He clears his throat as he nears them. "Ah. Good. You're all here." He faces the cultist who was just speaking. "You. Please report on the current situation."
When Brian approaches the group, all four of the cultists focus their attention on him. The one Brian has fixated on looks around with an almost comical "who, me?" expression in his raised eyebrows. He raises a hand to his mouth, a polite cough turning into something altogether more burbling and liquid in his lungs.
Closer to the bunch, you see their appointed speaker's eyes are starting to bulge from the sockets.
"Our leader prepares the second gate, the one that will allow our Great Lord through." He waves that webbed hand again, to the west of where your group is standing. "You… you must be here to help him!" Any sign of hesitation disappears as he, and the others, accept this current reality.
"He can do it alone, but lacks the fresh blood needed to complete the ritual quickly, and we are unworthy," another says, sounding genuinely disheartened about this state of affairs.
"You'll find Ratliff Mason in his temple, past the weakened gate, past the Iron Titan." A third says.
The fourth cultist seems much less willing to chat than the others, explaining why Charlie only heard three voices. Instead, he lets out a long belch that trails into a croaking noise. It sounds very similar to the vocal change Jessica underwent, back in the tavern.
"If you can pass the Iron Titan, you are worthy of helping our leader bring our Great Lord to claim what's his."
As the cultists speak to Brian, Abby leans over to the rest of the group, speaking out of the side of her mouth as she keeps her eyes forward.
"He's very persuasive. I almost reported my current situation to him."
"He's very persuasive. I almost reported my current situation to him."
Kari nods, "I've yet to see him make a single mis-step," honest respect in her voice. "He just needs to get some details on the Iron Titan so we can get to the gate with," Kari's voice quiets, then in a perfect dumb blonde voice, "Mason just said he needed help, you didn't say anything about," shutter "blood."
"The blood of a million men is well shed in producing one glorious legend," one of the other cultists intones in response to Kari's statement.
"Blood is always the price for power," the 'leader' with the bulging eyes agrees.
It's a testament to Brian's presence that none of the cultists find Kari's remark suspicious, or at least, that none of them question her further on any squeamishness.
"The Iron Titan protects us from outsiders. It will challenge you, and should you succeed, you will find Mason in his temple." The third finishes.
As the group passes the cultists, Terry falls back slightly, so that he is behind Charlie, Brian, and Kari on the way to The Iron Titan.
Brian listens attentively to the situation report, nodding curtly at appropriate moments.
"Very good," he says, giving the briefest of smiles to the lead cultist. "Now, we don't want to have any mishaps or mistakes, not like that group in Boca Raton did, do we?" Brian gives them time to reflect on how much better they are than the Boca Raton cultists, but not so much time as to try and remember what it was they did wrong, or even if there is a Boca Raton chapter. "So, walk me through the ritual so we're all on the same page."
All four cultists are clearly thrown off their game, and they look at each other.
"Boca Raton... This must be a test?"
"Yes, he is testing us. We are worthy!"
The one with bulging eyes bows his head slightly. "We are happy to report that we do not have any information about the details of this ritual."
"Croooaaak, rrrrgggh," the member furthest along in his transformation picks up a metal bucket from behind the group, offering it forward to Brian.
"Oh, of course, Steve, you're right." Lead cultist says, very humanlike apology in his tone. Then, back to Brian: "You'll need this."
There's a shrunken, mummified head staring back at you. It looks more Deep One than human, but there's enough there that remains to indicate that this head belonged to someone who once was human. He still has an ear piercing and a bit of a mustache over withered lips.
There are also several items underneath the shrunken head.
Terry looks into the bucket, frowns briefly, sets a canister inside, and picks up a small sphere. He nods to Brian and the lead cultist.
Charlie grabs the can of soda and the pills, and dry swallows them like he thinks he's Max Payne or something.
"Cthulhu fhtagn, b!+$%es," Charlie says.
Brian looks into the bucket, shrugs, and hands it to Kari.
"Alright," Brian says to the cultists. "We are going to go talk to Mason now. You maintain your watch here. I'll make sure Mason knows what a good job you all have been doing."
Brian motions to the rest of the team, and starts in the direction of the Iron Titan.
Kari just keeps her mouth shut as her talking almost doomed the group earlier. She does wave at the cultist as she leaves. She reflexively checks on her gear. "Charlie, any guess on the Iron Titan based on your extensive readings?" She asks quietly as they move along.
"Superman," Charlie says in a deep voice. He recovers, shaking his head. "We're in a junkyard, and that name is pretty close to Iron Giant. So I'm thinking we're getting some kind of weird crossover."
The cultists all look exceptionally pleased to have been blessed with your group's presence. They bow their heads, with Steve giving one final crooaak of goodbye.
"That's what makes our jobs difficult," Abby says in response to Charlie mentioning crossovers. "There are recursions, and then there are ways recursions can be influenced by specific beliefs of the people cracking into those recursions."
She shakes her head. "And this is why Lovecraft is squarely on the 'banned' list of places to go. There's a lot in there that could do serious damage to prime realities."
It doesn't take more than a few minutes of walking to the west before you hear the Iron Titan. First, a distant thud and a ripple in a little pool of water your group walks by. Then, more thudding, closer thudding. The flash of car headlights on a tall stack of junk nearby. Then, something that sounds like one of these very tall stacks of junk falling apart nearby.
As you proceed, the hair on your arms stand up again, and the hair on your heads seems to want to do the same.
"The gate is close," Baruchiel says, long hair starting to writhe and rise as though gravity has abandoned it. She doesn't seem to notice. But the rest of you notice when you feel... lighter. Filled with fizzy lifting drink. For a moment, as you walk, your steps take you further, before gravity settles back into place. "And it's leaking. There shouldn't be disruptions to the physics here with a normal gate in place."
"Wanker," Abby mutters under her breath, looking in the general direction of the Titan, and Mason. It's unclear which entity she's addressing.
As you round a corner, the area opens up once more and you see a building that is likely the source of the leaking inapposite gate - the air shimmers around it in strange, iridescent ripples, pulsing like a beating heart, and thrumming off the bones in your body in a frequency too low to hear.
Pieces of junk throw themselves into a pile twenty feet away from you, mostly comprised of rusted car parts. Seven feet... eight feet... and with a final chestpiece made of a car door, the Iron Titan assembles itself before you in twelve feet of tetanus filled glory. Car headlights flicker on, then point down towards your group.
"Fiends," a hissing of escaped steam, "who gives you permission to tread upon this holy ground?" The voice oscillates in tone, born from grinding metal and rusted squeaking of hinges.
"Wanker," Abby curses again.
"Fiends," a hissing of escaped steam, "who gives you permission to tread upon this holy ground?" The voice oscillates in tone, born from grinding metal and rusted squeaking of hinges.
Charlie walks closer to the robot. "I'm going to guess you're not Three Laws compliant," he opines.
Then he points the black box at the robot and presses the "run away" button.
Then he points the black box at the robot and presses the "run away" button.
"Decepticon totally does not fit the Lovecraft theme," Kari mutters to herself, watching to see which was the rusty robot moves so that they can get to the gate and, hopefully, close it while the automaton is out of play.
"Brian, you saw the ritual, what do we need to do to get it closed?"
When the ray from Charlie's cypher hits the Iron Titan, the headlight eyes flicker and go dark. The group moves back as the now lifeless twelve foot high pile of junk falls apart and hits the ground.
Abby quirks her eyebrow at Charlie. "But what if it was?" she says with a grin. "Let's go, those kinds of cyphers don't usually last long."
For all the knowledge the group has, you know you still need something called the Pnakotic Manuscripts to reverse the ritual. You'll likely, hopefully, find those in either the warehouse where the leaky gate is pumping weirdness into Duvall, or in Mason's 'temple', a warehouse in which he's holed himself up to try and create a stronger gate with which to bring in some Lovecraftian horror or another.
Abby quirks her eyebrow at Charlie. "But what if it was?" she says with a grin. "Let's go, those kinds of cyphers don't usually last long."
Charlie shrugs. "Burn that bridge when you get there, I guess."
For all the knowledge the group has, you know you still need something called the Pnakotic Manuscripts to reverse the ritual. You'll likely, hopefully, find those in either the warehouse where the leaky gate is pumping weirdness into Duvall, or in Mason's 'temple', a warehouse in which he's holed himself up to try and create a stronger gate with which to bring in some Lovecraftian horror or another.
"Hold on one sec, Charlie." Kari pulls out the silver capsule she had been given, breaking it open to pull out a pair of clunky silver eyeglass frames. "K, lets go."
Use Spin Encouragement while searching in the warehouse to aid Charlie's already trained perception. (preferred use)
And just it the unlikely case Charlie can't post:
Seeing Kari put on her specs, Brian quietly calls out to the team.
"From what little I've heard about Lovecraft's tales, an assault on our sanity is likely." He pulls out his glowstick, cracks and shakes it. The glowstick starts glowing. "If my brief on this was correct, this should help us withstand psychic attacks."
Abby smiles, giving you all a look of pride. "Look at you all, official Agents, cracking into those other worldly toys." Baruchiel gives a little smile in quiet agreement.
"You have the right of it. Lovecraftian recursions play havoc on a body's... mind." She pauses, revisiting what she just said before shrugging. "Right. Anyway, let's hope that we can shut that gate before Mason interferes. We'd really prefer to take him back to the Estate and serve justice there, rather than..." her smile withers, and she elects not to finish the sentence.
Your group makes it into the warehouse before the Titan reforms itself and sees where you're going. You do hear it stomping around outside, ostensibly looking for the little human who scared it out of its body.
Inside the ramshackle building, a spherical hole in space hangs in the center of the room. Additionally, you see a few parked cranes and blocks of compacted steel waste. From the hole protrude tentacles dozens of feet long, looking for something, or someone, to grab onto.
Aside from the tentacles, occasional drops of iridescent light spill out, disappearing as they touch the ground around the gate. All of you feel... different.
Abby looks no different, aside from her copper hair occasionally standing straight on end, but Baruchiel has a glowing purple fairy light floating near her head. She seems not to notice it, even when she reaches up in a blip of annoyance to tie her hair back into a ponytail so it stops trying to rise off her shoulders.
"Let's look around for those manuscripts Kari and Brian found mention of," Abby says, trying in vain to stop her hair from moving.
Brian leans over to Terry-with-a-Y. "The manuscripts won't be regular paper. Probably old, and probably some weird parchment or animal skin."
Brian looks around the room for said manuscripts.
Terry nods, and looks for old, weird, animal. While staying out of reach of the tentacles, which he shoots a wary glance periodically.
Between the six of you, it's easy work to find the manuscripts tucked away in an old filing cabinet near the back of the warehouse. It's not a terrible hiding place - it was clear Mason meant to hide them, and somewhere not close to where he'd be stationed, just in case.
The scripts are a tome of stony plates binding a sheet of parchment. To no one's surprise, the paper is actually old leather. The skin of something you hope isn't human.
"Hmm, that's an artifact of the Strange," Abby says, leaning over the cabinet and eyeballing the tome. "There are likely uses for it other than this ritual. Might be dangerous, though."
She doesn't sound like she minds the thought.
"Who wants to read from the scripts and start closing this gate?"
"I'll provide cover," Terry says. "In the movies, there are always dire consequences when rituals are interrupted, so ..."
He hesitates, then continues with the rest of his thought.
"I also have a terrible idea if things go badly and we need to cover tracks, so I am invested in things not going badly."
"I'm the one with the most experience with Lovecraft. It should be me," Charlie says. He holds his hand out for the book, eagerly.
Brian nods at Charlie's suggestion. He stands ready with the mummified head.
Abby picks the tome up, carefully, and drops it into Charlie's outstretched hand. With a cheeky grin- "A man's first Lovecraftian ritual is a special time indeed. Let's give him some room."
She steps back, and Baruchiel maneuvers to stand across from Terry, providing cover from the opposite direction.
"If you watch the ritual, I'll keep watch at the door," she says, purple light still dancing behind her head. She unsheathes a curved blade that shimmers with oil slick colors of the Strange, giving the group a firm nod before turning her back on the ritual to guard the door.
Kari looks at the things they collected, concerned, "Before we get started," she tosses Charlie the green pill in its single use, wasteful wrapper. She shrugs, "The pill popping helped but you look like you could use some help, just in case it goes pear shape."
Then she offers the syringe to Terry, "For the headache?"
And offers Brian his pick of the remaining two cyphers.
"Let's get this done," she says, fixing the glassless frames on her nose, "and if it all ends in doom," she smiles, a bright happy smile, "it was fun to meet you all."
"and if it all ends in doom," she smiles, a bright happy smile, "it was fun to meet you all."
Abby looks at Baruchiel's back, then to Kari, with that same cheeky smile. "The pleasure was ours." She shakes her head. "I still can't believe your first outing was Lovecraftian. Miz Manners will be so upset with us."
Terry sets down the carrier, places the marble carefully atop, pulls up his shirt a bit, exposing his pale white underbelly, and injects himself with the syringe.
"That did help with the headache," he says. "Thanks."
Terry places the used syringe in the cat carrier, and returns the marble to his pocket.
Charlie ignores the tossed green pill, letting it fly past him to clatter onto the floor, instead selecting the LED harness.
"All right," he mutters to himself. "Red leather yellow leather, red leather yellow leather. Sally sells seashells by the seashore."
He opens the book up to the last page, pauses, and says to everyone, "Hold onto your butts."
Then starts reading.
The moment Charlie begins chanting from the book, the tentacles become excited and begin reaching out for anyone standing nearby, with a particular focus on the human reading from the scripts.
It's clear they have a lot more reach than they initially led on.
"Bugger all," Abby says, eloquently, raising her own twin set of Strange batons, striking one of the tentacles attempting to wrap itself around her shin.
Baruchiel doesn't turn, but nods her head after the purple light floats by her ear.
Brian grabs a pipe section to use as a club, and swings it at the nearest tentacle.
Terry chuckles. "Wrong tunes queued up. Isn't it always the way?"
He pulls a gun from his hip holster and fires it.
Terry's intent is to fire into the portal, hopefully to hit whatever is on the other side.
Kari grabs what might have once been a mop handle and moves between some of the tentacles that the person performing the ritual to close the gate.