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Mansions of Madness» Forums » Sessions

Subject: Professor Weinstein’s journal (with possible spoilers.) rss

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Dave Peters
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Belmont
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Powers:Coleridge:Milton: Faith...must be, if anything, a clear-eyed recognition of the patterns and tendencies, to be found in every piece of the world's fabric, which are the lineaments of God.
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That's Tim Powers' fictional Samuel Coleridge "quoting" John Milton in _The Anubis Gates_.
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Mr. Diamond and I began in the foyer of the Lynch mansion. He was on edge; not terribly surprising, all things considered. When the front door opened on our knock, it surprised us both. Particularly since there wasn’t any obvious agent that had opened it for us.

We were looking for Walter Lynch. Lynch’s last journal entry had been ominous, to say the least. It had passed to our hands earlier this afternoon - when, perhaps foolishly, we’d agreed to take this case. I spent the evening in preparations; judging from the smell, Diamond had probably spent it in a low-rent bar. I insisted on driving over, and he just slumped in the other seat with his hat down over his eyes.

We split up on entering. Diamond smelled something a bit overcooked in the kitchen, and wandered in that direction. I went upstairs to investigate there.

The lab was empty. I found nothing despite a thorough search.

When I entered the operating room there seemed to be a modest malfunction in the lighting. It cleared up after I fiddled with the light switch for a moment or two. The room was empty except for a small fire-extinguisher: I took that with me.

Out in the entryway, I found a small container of diazepam; the usual brand. I kept it with me just in case Diamond became over-stressed. I tried to head out into the garden, but was unsuccessful. The door was locked and barred.

I returned through the operating room, and noted that the freezer contained a suitcase. Odd. I attempted to open the case, but was startled by a snake that crawled over my hand. It distracted me enough that I lost my train of thought entirely. While the blood dripping from the nearby cabinets did nothing for my state of mind, I continued attempting the suitcase. It eventually proved to contain a shotgun! I kept that with me, too, since there were some sounds coming from the nearby hallway that sounded nothing at all like Diamond.

I re-entered the foyer balcony to discover the room in flames. Worse, speaking personally, the railing collapsed under my weight, and I fell - injuring my leg. Ignoring the shambling human-like creature, I managed to put the flames out. As the fire went out, I was horrified to see that the creature was chewing on Diamond’s face! He sprang to his feet and ran up the stairs to join me. He spun, fired; and the creature reeled as the bullet hit. His next bullet knocked the creature back down the stairs: it lay inert. Was it dead?

We split up again; I entered the hallway, and Diamond ran down the balcony mumbling something about “getting his hair back.” A flask of Jack Daniels on the mantle made it in to my pocket, and I felt strangely cheered. The bedroom beyond was dark... but something came out of the darkness toward me. A maniac swung his blade at my head, and I barely leapt out of the way! I attempted to fire at it with the shotgun; but my wavering hands fired wide. To add injury to insult, as I ran from the room the creature slashed at me from behind. Bleeding, I retreated into the hallway.

The creature followed me and knocked me to the ground, wrenching the hair out of the back of my head. (Perhaps Diamond had suffered a similar fate, I wondered?) It leapt past me back into the foyer. I made chase, but tripped again over the threshold. Damn old age. It shambled down the hall away from me, my hair dangling from its paw. I lined up the shotgun carefully and fired one more time: success! The creature expired from its wounds.

A small earthquake shook the house. We heard the clicking of locks throughout the house.

There seemed to be evidence of movement in the northeast corner of the house: Diamond and I ran (or in my case, hobbled) in that direction. The hallway initially seemed empty, but a cloud of moths swarmed all over me: I dropped both the shotgun and my protective amulet, and a great feeling of foreboding fell over me.

Then the clock struck 2. The entire mansion collapsed into the ground.

How then did I finish this journal? That's the real puzzle.





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Nice write up! Sounded just like an HPL short story - which is a big tribute to the game's strong Lovecraftian theme. I liked the bit at the end - lots of HPL stories are similarly flawed in my opinion in the way characters sometimes write up a journal that ends with "Oh no, here it comes!" or something - like you would really be scribbling in your journal as you are about to meet your maker! Well done.
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Andrew Martin
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Very fun read. Thanks for putting that together!
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Kurt R
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All life is only a set of pictures in the brain, among which there is no difference betwixt those born of real things and those born of inward dreamings, and no cause to value the one above the other.
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Fun read. I liked the first-person perspective.
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