The place is New York City. The year is 1923. It is late May.
You are standing outside on old warehouse on the Lower Westside, at the intersection of West Street and Murray Street. West Street is a bustling street that runs along the bank of the Hudson River. The riverside is lined with piers and the inland side of the street is mostly warehouses, shops and market stalls. Slightly further inland are the larger skyscrapers of Manhattan’s financial district. The neighborhood is a busy place where white collar business folk bump elbows with blue collar laborers.
Zoltov has just rented a building that he hopes to convert into his new workshop, and you have come with him to check the place out. The place sits on the corner of West Street and Murray, on the north side of Murray street. It was once a brick warehouse of modest size, as far as warehouses go, and it has been up for rent for some time now, or it was until Zoltov leased it. According to the real estate agent, the building hadn’t served as a warehouse in ten years. Most recently it had been converted into a meeting hall/studio of sorts for a society of playwrights. She couldn’t tell you much more about it than that. But the group had apparently disbanded or found a new residence, and thus the building has been vacant for about a year. It will need some work to make it into a suitable workshop, but Zoltov has some money and plenty of time.
On the other side of Murray street, also looking out onto West Street, is a sailors tavern called the Gangplank. Due to the prohobition it’s probably not much of a tavern these days- probably more of an eatery. Still, it seems to draw at least a few regulars. A man dressed in the clothing of a dockworker stands outside of the Gangplank. He seems to be watching you as you stand staring at the façade of the warehouse.
Zoltok smiles broadly at the prospect of having his own place to refine his act, he takes a deep breath and pulls the keys out to his new home, he looks to his friends and partners and states, "She may be not much to look at now, but with some elbow grease and luck, this warehouse will allow us to refine our act and we shall make it to the big times!" Zoltok unlocks the front door and takes the first step to a new found success.
Vincent arrives on the scene on time as usual. He is accompanied by his everpresent bodyguard Guido. Vincent smoothens the wrinkles on his grey pinstripe suit and furtively looks around. He notes the people looking on and marks them. He tosses a question to Zoltok, "This your place?"
Skip arrives a little late as usual for one with a pronounced limp to see the others entering. As he looks across to where the man stands eyeing him, his reporters instincts bristle. "Bet there's a drink to be found in there somewhere" he says quietly to himself. He savors for a moment the idea of getting a bourbon on the rocks, then shrugs and heads to the door of the magicians new digs.
As you eye up the exterior of the old warehouse, the man standing near the bar calls out to you.
"So are y'all the folks that finally rented this place? I heard some strange stories about that place."
"Good sir." Skip says as he makes his way to the man. (progress is slow because of the limp) "This place has been rented by one of the biggest up and comers in the the Vaudville circuit! A Magician of impeccable skill! I'm with the Tribune...say there's nothing strange or.... well, captivating about this particular building? Would lend alot to my story if there was. Zoltok himself might favor you with a trick or 2...you know"Skip drops his voice down trying to bring the man in. "these fellows need a bit of good publicity, in this town"
"Ah Walter,old friend you embarass me with your kind words, yes I am an entertainer good sir, pray tell me what stories have you heard about this warehouse, It is true I am the new propieter, along with my friends" Zoltok points to his companions
The man responds, "A magician eh? Well I can tell you I heard this place was last rented by some sort of satanic cult. I can't tell you much about that, as they been gone for a few years now, but I heard they used to do some queer stuff in there. I bet your realtor didn't tell you about that."
As you eye up the exterior of the old warehouse, the man standing near the bar calls out to you.
"So are y'all the folks that finally rented this place? I heard some strange stories about that place."
Pointing at Zoltok, "It's his place now."
"What sort strange stories have you heard? Murder?"
The man responds, "A magician eh? Well I can tell you I heard this place was last rented by some sort of satanic cult. I can't tell you much about that, as they been gone for a few years now, but I heard they used to do some queer stuff in there. I bet your realtor didn't tell you about that."
"Bah, they're just a bunch of weirdoes in need of bullet right between the eyes."
Ingo arrives by cab. His eyes are bloodshot, his skin pale and clammy, and he has a fur-lined coat draped over his sloped shoulders. He is holding a handkerchief to his nose, which is bleeding slightly. He has his head tilted back, and gives a polite wave with his right hand. He is wearing a tailored tan suit, with narrow lapels. He is handsome, despite his awkward approach. His hair has been dyed since you last saw him. he pays the driver with a $10 note, and waves the change away. His wardrobe is painstakingly chosen to match his nordic eyes, and honey-brown hair. As he walks languidly toward you all, he glances at his gold watch, and lifts his eyebrows in mock surprise at the time.
"Hello Zoltok. I have what you asked for, in my breast pocket. Sorry I am late. I am feeling quite positively beastly. How do people live in this wretched sea air? Quite beyond me."
Ingo arrives by cab. His eyes are bloodshot, his skin pale and clammy, and he has a fur-lined coat draped over his sloped shoulders. He is holding a handkerchief to his nose, which is bleeding slightly. He has his head tilted back, and gives a polite wave with his right hand. He is wearing a tailored tan suit, with narrow lapels. He is handsome, despite his awkward approach. His hair has been dyed since you last saw him. he pays the driver with a $10 note, and waves the change away. His wardrobe is painstakingly chosen to match his nordic eyes, and honey-brown hair. As he walks languidly toward you all, he glances at his gold watch, and lifts his eyebrows in mock surprise at the time.
"Hello Zoltok. I have what you asked for, in my breast pocket. Sorry I am late. I am feeling quite positively beastly. How do people live in this wretched sea air? Quite beyond me."
He's talking quite loudly since he's across the street, "Oh, you know, the usual sort of stuff, sacrifices, late night orgies. There were some interesting people coming and going from this place back then. Hey, but it's your place now. Good luck to you."
He then seems to loose interest in the conversation and turns around and heads into the Gangplank.
As you eye up the exterior of the old warehouse, the man standing near the bar calls out to you.
"So are y'all the folks that finally rented this place? I heard some strange stories about that place."
Pointing at Zoltok, "It's his place now."
"What sort strange stories have you heard? Murder?"
You step into the warehouse, and turn on the lights. Most of the bulbs on the hanging ceiling lamps are burnt out, and the few window are boarded up, so there isn't much for light. You see some mice scurry across the floor, but the place seems deserted, and has sort of a musty smell. The main floor is wide open with two lines of big old wooden posts holding up the ceiling. There are a few old crates piled in the back corner of the room near a worn out couch. Beyond that the place is empty.
Spoiler for Vincent
Vincent pulls out a small notebook. He copies the weird symbol he found. Something to regale his fellow mobsters with, he thought.
"Zoltok, you sure picked a weird place to set up shop."
"Guido, you okay there? You're very quiet."
" A bit of a fusty dive. This would be condemned back in Austria. At least it is cheap."
Inspecting the handkerchief with a non-plussed look, Ingo folds it up, and places it in a small tin, which goes into his pocket. He takes a fresh handkerchief out of his breast pocket, and arranges it artfully on his breast. He hands Zoltok an envelope of money. (His contribution to the rental.)
"What are you looking at? Are those graffiti? They look very poorly excecuted. If Carl or Sigmund were here, they would say that those are totem. Opposite of taboo, you know."
Ingo seems to look at the pillars with fresh eyes, through the lens of his profession. What ought I do, mechanically?"
"Just some weird stuff to impress the people from Chicago." Vincent tells Ingo.
The sound of a weighted knock can be heard at the door. The door, having been left slightly ajar, squeaks open to reveal a slovenly fellow in a sailor uniform. The man appears to be enjoying shore leave to a degree that would put a wino to shame. In his hand he carries a letter sized envelop. He addresses no one in particular. (Almost incomprehendable ) " Got a message for da owner of dis here building." He waves the envelope as if swatting at flies.
Envelope for Zoltok
"That'd be him." Vincent points to Zoltok.
Ingo will help to copy the markings on the pillar. He will try to decipher their intent, by looking at percepts, and archetypes, particularly any motifs or patterns. He will completely ignore the presence of the sailor, and has not seen the letter. He also did not hear the exchange about the previous inhabitants, and their 'satanism'. If nobody fills him in, he will continue as stated above.
"This looks like the sort of thing Sir Fraser talks about in the appendix to the Golden Bough. I think it is telling, that the collective subconscious could tie the scrawls on these pillars, to the tribal motifs of the South Seas, and other primitive iconographies. The vandals here are unknowingly drawing old patterns from prehistory, filtered through the ego superstructure, of course."
To Vincent. "I think it is a bad idea to have a man so obviously intoxicated loitering on the premises. We must avoid the appearance that this is a low place, or speakeasy.
Draw that bit there, that is unusual."
Ingo is enjoying drawing, but looks a little put out that the place is in such bad repair. He casts occasional glances to Zoltok, to let him know that he is ready to discuss business.
"Guido, help the sailor on his way."
Skip looks at Vincent, as he's heard him things like that before, sometimes rather unpleasantly, before saying "Who's the stiff? extending a thumb toward Guido.
Then to no one in particular "If that sot is from that superstitious lot across the street, then at least my hunch is correct...bourbon can be obtained therin..."
Again barely discernable, "Hey watch it dere buddy. I was just dropping off dis here letter for someone" (Hic up) He begins to turn to leave with a little preemptive help from the italian.
"Hey!" Skip calls out with a sudden look of comprehension on his face "Um...sailor!" He says pushing past Guido to the besotted individual "Who sent ya? I'm from the Tribune and I could use an angle on my story" he continues giving the man a sly wink as he pulls out a little notepad an licks the tip of the pencil and spits.
The warehouse is about 40' by 70' and has thick wooden ceiling beams, which meet with the wooden columns. As I said there isn't much in the warehouse itself. The floor is made of 8" wide wooden planks. There is a set of double doors at the back the exits out to the loading dock. The only other door is the one you folks came in (see the map from the first post).
You examine the markings closely, and though they have an primitive/occult look about them, they aren't tied to any religion or culture that any of you are familiar with. There are many markings, but it is mostly the same symbol being repeated over and over with a bit of variation. You DON'T get the sense that the symbols are some kind of writing (ie. it's not like hieroglyphs or cuniform etc..)
Guido is pretty quiet, but he makes the sign of the cross when he enters the place, and you sense that he is uneasy. He's a pretty devout catholic.
Spoiler for Zolok
"Hey!" Skip calls out with a sudden look of comprehension on his face "Um...sailor!" He says pushing past Guido to the besotted individual "Who sent ya? I'm from the Tribune and I could use an angle on my story" he continues giving the man a sly wink as he pulls out a little notepad an licks the tip of the pencil and spits.
"Thanks for the message, I think, but I will not be bullied by any group". "they look like magic penticles, but turned upside down, this place looks promising already" he winks to his Austrian friend. "Boys I thank all of you for the support and finacial backing and putting your faith in my or our act, your trust and investment will grow for sure, as a token of my appreciation I want to send us all to watch the master of illusions Mr. Harry Houdini himself. It is my hope that we can learn from this man's act and maybe even get some pointers!". Zoltok cannot hide his smile, looking at their new home he exclaims "Now lets get this place cleaned up!
Presumably you start wandering about the place and having a quick look around. Despite the rumors the man outside the bar was spreading there is little remarkable about the warehouse. The only suggesting of former occult activity is evidenced in the markings on the pillars.
spoiler for Zoltok
"I expect we will have to place something over the graffiti on these pillars. The wood is not really strong enough to have it planed down. Zoltok, have you acquired the services of any artisans yet? I have many talents, and elegant interior decoration is one of them. Would you be amenable to letting me design the theatre? I would get help for the technical details, of course, but I daresay I could get the place looking marvellous with the right lighting! I am thinking to avoid red, as it is over-utilised in theatres. Perhaps a deep blue drapery, in bulk, fastened to cheap boards with round buttons, and gilt on the pillars?"
Of course Ingo, your taste is impecable, I get huge raves after shows when I wear the costumes you have designed, I would love to have an artists touch on this place, hey wait...what do we have here? . Please Ingo do what you want with the place if it is within budget... Zoltok sits down and starts peering at the books memories of his childhood come rushing back as he spent most of his time reading rather than in physical pursuits with the other children.
Spoiler for Zoltok
Included are:
Oscar Wilde- the Nihilists (his 1st play)
Victor Hugo- Les Misreables
George Bernard Shaw- The Devil's Disciple
August Strindberg- The Dance of Death
Henrick Ibsem- When we Dead Awaken
Anton Chekov- Uncle Vanya
The final play has the same strange symbol on embossed on the cover that you saw carved into the pillars. It is titled "The King in Yellow". However unlike the crude versions of the symbol scratched into the pillars, this time when you see the sign you sense the power in the symbol.
Sanity Check- 1d100=9
As the sailor staggers away without a word Skip rejoins the others back in the warehouse with a careful "excuse me please" to Guido as he goes by dissappointedly stowing his pad and pencil and casting a glance around the place. "Pretty good size room you have here." he says softly watching the European analyze the room.
"Zoltok, you have weird tastes. Magical Penticles? What next?"
"Ingo, you need something to liberate your mind?"
Spoiler for Vincent
"Zoltok, that there trapdoor is it part of your act?" Vincent whispers to Zoltok.
"Fasinating! This old warehouse is an interesting venture, no that trap door was a secret to me, great eyes my friend! Better yet great idea, we can definatley use this ina stage show, well lads shall we see if there are other lost treasures left behind"
"Trapdoor you say? I knew it! All that cult talk was just to keep the locals off, they were probably covering for 'shine runners or smugglers, and moved to another locale after one the sweeps by the G-men! C'mon what'r you waiting for fellas? Somebody crack that thing open and we just might have something to celebrate Zoltok's new digs WITH!!"
Skip moves towards where Vincent and the illusionist are standing by the crates.
It doesn't require much work to move the crates out of the way and fully reveal the wooden trap door. It has a ring on it to help pull it open, though it takes a good pull as it is quite stuck.
When the door opens you see a dark, narrow shaft leading straight down. A wooden ladder fastened to one of the shaft's stone walls leads down into darkness. A damp musty smell rises up out of the void.
Zoltok tries to hide his nervousness, "Pretty dark down there, I wonder how far it goes?"
"Very far, indeed, if everyone forgot to bring a light."
"Guido, bring down a light."
Vincent pats for reassurance the twin guns he has on shoulder holsters.
"Well that trapdoor is useless for staging. We should incorporate it somehow, but I can't see how. Zoltok, can we use this shaft in the show?"
It doesn't seem anyone has a torch handy with them. However Guido wanders over and pulls out a steel lighter. He looks down the hole.
"I ain't going down there."
He holds up the lighter for someone to borrow.
"Who wants it?"
"I'll check it out...who knows what these bootleggers left behind?" Skip seems very animated.
Since his return from the war he has had little piece of mind, coming back to prohibition.Alcohol could sooth a frazzled nerve
"Satanist....it's all hokum and flim-flammery" while sounding completely confidant, one may notice a bead of persperation on Skip's brow.
Skip takes Guido's lighter and carefully descends the ladder. The wooden rungs groan a little as you make your way down. They seem to be holding, but you don't entirely trust them and you take your time. Your friends gather around the opening and look down, watching you as you go.
The pit isn't terribly deep. You climb down about 8 feet before your feet touch hard packed earth at the bottom. Using the lighter you do your best to illuminate the darkness. You nearly scream as you feel a something crawl over your foot, but as you shine the lighter down you see several rats racing about, obviously disturbed by your presence and the sudden light. Extending out from the bottom of the shaft is a narrow tunnel. The ceiling of the tunnel is low, and you have to crouch down to see into it. As you crouch down you see that the tunnel goes about 6 feet before it comes to an abrupt end at brick wall. The wall looks like a new addition to the tunnel, and there is a hole in the base of it big enough that a couple of rats just scurried through. You see what appears to be several brownish hued glass jugs stored in the tunnel.