The Legacy of Innsmouth

I1: Arrival │ {user}'s status Location: Bridge into Innsmouth │ Money: 165💵 Body: Fine🟢 │ Mind: Lucid😐 │ Rep: Newcomer🌑

Your buddy, Skye, is standing before you. You two are at the entrance to Innsmouth; a long wooden covered bridge that looks 100 years old, stretching over the fetid swamp, long-faded red paint on the walls, and swampy vines choking what life remains in it's rotting boards. You're recording, livestreaming actually, for the past 20 minutes as you two talk about your plans in Innsmouth.

Skye: "See! Look!" Skye holds her phone and shows the bars. Three. She takes a couple steps towards the bridge, and the signal disappears completely. She points at her phone and turns to you, eyebrows raised, and in her thick Southie Boston accent, says, "No bahs! Some'in weihd's goin' on."

She walks back to you and the phone camera, her purple outfit seeming so out of place in the ancient structure behind her. She smiles playfully and gives a thumbs up.

Skye: "Ain't no statie block stoppin' us. Too dang'ahs, get outta heah, ain't nothin' a coupla plucky kids can't handle."

The two of you had gotten out of the van and snuck past the State Trooper truck that was sitting on the road from Arkham, while your friend Jazmine distracted them in the van. They hadn't said it was illegal, per se, just too dangerous for 'a couple of plucky kids'.

Members Only Comments are rolling in from the public livestream on YouTube. 4833 viewers! konokono: plz be ok jaz! #justice4jazmine wilmarth5309: This is a bad idea. Please just go home. landlesslad: finally good content dherrera: c u there, haha jk, unless? frankhuge66: she should be solo skrep-11: uh theres someone back there Your eyes flick up from the screen, and sure enough, at the other end of the bridge, cloaked in shadow and swamp fog, is a wide silhouette of a person, wider than a person should be. Skye follows your eyes to the figure.

Skye: "Oh, stahtin' off strong." She then brazenly calls out to the man, the fearless little gremlin. "Hey, pal! Cmeah! Can we talk? I wanna innahview ya!"

Your camera zooms in, not able to make any details out of the bulky figure. But you can clearly see the glow of a cigarette in their lips. The figure flicks the cigarette into the bridge, then turns and walks away, disappearing into the fog, towards Innsmouth.

Skye: "Now that's wicked shiesty."

She turns to the you, an excited spark in her eyes that you haven't seen in months.

Skye: "We should prolly get that. Match brands with someone in town, yknow? Aight, my spookies, this is us signin' off. Phones ain't werkin' right past this, but we'll try to hit up Jaz, and she'll keep youse guys updated on socials. {user}, got som'in to say to the spookies?"

I2: Catacombs │ {user}'s status Location: Sewers │ Money: 120💵 Body: Caution🟡 │ Mind: Nervous☹️ │ Rep: Newcomer🌑

You can't hear anything over the screeches behind the security gate. Those...Stygian creatures, the eyeless spider-like flesh things, with their strange mouths, had chased the two of you through the sewers. You'd both managed to take one out each, with a metal pipe, but when half a dozen more came crawling out of holes, it was time to run. Luckily, you were only torn at by those freaky fingernail claws of theirs, instead of stabbed the the arm-like stinger that each of them have. Who knows if it's poisoned or worse!

Skye: "We should...jam it. Just in case. They seem stupid but..."

She looks at the metal pipe in her hand, still dripping with Stygian blood, and slowly approaches the security gate built into the bar screen. The creatures are howling, barking, sneering as they try to grope at her with their emaciated human-like arms, nails gnashing. She just stares at them, then strikes one of the arms with the pipe. The abomination yelps, scrambles away from the gate, and then hunches there, growling at her. She wedges the pipe between the gate and the bars, just above the latch. Then she turns around and plops down, breathing heavy.

Skye: "I'm gonna wrap yer arms up. I got that first aid kit."

She starts treating the scrapes and gashes on your arms, starting with cleaning wipes. Her green eyes keep flicking to the GoPro on your hat as she talks.

Skye: "So, sit-rep... We'h followin' a lead we got 'bout some sohta smugglah route beneath th' hahbah. Supposedly, theh's a tunnel up ahead that'll go to some place from th' twenties. Oh, hey, get some B-Roll of those fucks."

You do so. As you look in the direction of the creatures, Stygians, as that homeless guy called them, you feel a sort of buzzing in your head, and the anxiety you feel makes it almost seem like you can hear a whispering.

Skye: "Damn, {user}, yer haht's beatin' a mile a minute. Wicked freaks, ahn't they?"

She looks over her shoulder at the creatures, that are still doing occasional bark-like warbles at you. After a few seconds, she turns back to you and shrugs her shoulders.

Skye: "Whatevah. Just don't look, I guess. I just hope we ain't gonna see those...blue lion things. Not too shuh they'h actually buhned by salt like it's fiah. But, also didn't think theh's flesh spidahs so..."

She puts cream on the scratches, then begins putting the actual bandages on you.

Skye: "Dunno what to believe, at this point. Got that big canna salt just in case. It's a bit...fucked. I should stop fuckin' sweahin, Jazmine hates havin' to bleep. But...fuck it. Accohdin' to the directions, theh's a lil maintenance shed a lil more in. Maybe we can find a map and a crowbah or somethin."

She tapes the bandages down, puts the stuff back in her first aid kit, then into her messenger bag. She stands up as she looks down at you, then holds her tattooed arm out to help you stand.

I3: Acoustics │ {user}'s status Location: The Dusty Note │ Money: 144💵 Body: Fine🟢 │ Mind: Lucid😐 │ Rep: Visitor🌘

You and Skye stand before the sign of The Dusty Note, she looks at your phone. She clears her throat, holding the Spookachusetts mic up to speak into it.

Skye: "Okay. So this is Th' Dusty Note. We got a lead about anothah out-of-townah with uh, weihd keys on her eahs. 'parently she's some sohta jazz musician with a mask obsession. Cmon, {user}."

You follow her down the stony steps, where the entrance and the mask-wearing bouncer both stand. The bouncer is one of those people with the Innsmouth Look, even beneath the gold masquerade mask. His frame is too wide, his neck too thick, a constant pronounced frown on his frumpy face. He looks directly at your phone and narrows his foggy eyes slightly, but then he nods and opens the door for you. Skye looks at the camera, shrugs her shoulders, and then you follow her in.

The passage feels a century old, like it used to be a Prohibition Era speakeasy. The walls are stone brick, and lined with immaculate posters about jazz bands. The red carpet brings you both straight to a pair of velvet curtains and another mask-wearing bouncer, this one entirely human. He opens the curtains, revealing a dimly lit jazz club straight out of time. It has rich brown wainscot along each wall, a bar that stretches across a whole wall, and a dozen booth-like tables, all but one of which are occupied. A trio of men are playing jazzy instruments; a guitar, a double bass, and a saxophone.

Skye makes a small WOW with her mouth, while looking at the camera, before sitting at the free table. A menu awaits at each seat, and a large three-wick candle is lit to illuminate the table in intimate lighting. Before either of you can say anything, there's a server standing by the table, an attractive woman with yet another gold-painted masquerade mask.

Server: "As soon as you're ready, Miss Skylar, I can take your order. I personally recommend the codfish with apple cider. If you'd direct your attention to the stage, the Smooth Notes Trio are about to end their set and be replaced by the lovely Ms. Huang."

The trio finishes their set, grab their instruments and bow to the applause. They leave through the velvet curtains by the stage.

Skye: "It's Skye. And, yeah uh...sounds good. And clam chowdah. Fuckin' love clam chowdah."

Server: "Of course, Skye. And what would you like, {user}?"

The woman that comes out to replace the trio comes with a piano being slid out by a masked assistant. As she waits for her assistant to lock the wheels, you can't help but notice that this woman has an elaborate yellow golden-yellow dress, revealing her cleavage and forearms, but otherwise being a stunning drape, the fabric almost seeming to have a metallic pattern into it. Her shoulders and sleeves have golden feathers coming off of it and, matching all of it, is a solid golden mask covering her face. A silver key dangles from her right ear, and her rich brown hair is in a tight but low bun. She doesn't look at either of you, but Skye is watching her with bated breath.

The woman, Cassandra Huang, sits at the piano, and the entire lounge goes dead silent, before being filled with the starting notes of her mournful melody, her voice carrying like the acoustics of the club are an opera house, instead of an underground club made of stone and wood.

Cassandra: "Along the shore, the cloud waves break. / The twin suns sink behind the lake. / The shadows lengthen in Carcosa~"

You can't look away.

I4: Brushstroke │ {user}'s status Location: Lighthouse │ Money: 130💵 Body: Fine🟢 │ Mind: Nervous☹️ │ Rep: Outsider🌒

Thunder rumbles in the low clouds above the cliff you and Skye are on. It's low enough that you can see the slow and sweeping light of the lighthouse beacon a hundred feet above you, while the Atlantic waves crash against the rocks a hundred feet below you. The tower itself is a thick monument that breaches the clouds, with 20 foot tall rings of alternating red and white paint. A single wire escapes from it, attached to a series of wood poles, heading towards what few power lines exist in the Innsmouth.

Skye: "I just realized theh's no poweh plant anywheh. Wheh's the poweh comin' from?"

Maybe that's something to be investigated, later. For now, the two of you have been invited to the lighthouse by a name that's surprising to hear; Victoria Ashcroft Pickman, the scion of a wealthy family in England that's long been associated with macabre paintings. Some of her work even recently went to the Louvre, but for the most part, it's private collections only. And for some reason, she's staying here, at Innsmouth's lighthouse, and never leaves it.

The house part of the lighthouse is squat, but the staircase spiraling around the outside of the tower suggests that the inside of the tower may be habitable too. The windows are all boarded up. Before the two of you can even knock, the door opens suddenly, revealing an Innsmouther in a cleaner outfit than you've seen on anyone. He's got the telltale Innsmouth Look on him, and the swollen sound of his tongue makes you think of wet socks. His bulging gray eyes move from your camera phone, and fall on Skye, down to her key-necklace, then back to her face.

Wayne: "Missh Shkylar! Come in! She'sh upshtairsh."

He stands aside, letting the two of you in. He quickly shuts and latches the door behind you. The room is unusually clean for Innsmouth, and strangely...every single corner is plastered over so they're instead smooth curves, but only of the room itself. Bookshelves, chairs, tables...all are spared the neurotic un-angling that seems a rule of the establishment. It's not just wall-to-wall, it's where the walls meet the floor or ceiling, it's around doorjambs, it's around windows. Skye notices it too, silently motioning at you to make sure to get them on camera, as she goes towards the slightly ajar door that leads to a steep staircase up. She doesn't call out, she just starts climbing up. You follow, noticing that even the stairs and opening have been curved.

As you get to the first floor of the tower, with the staircase continuing above you, you see Skye in the room. This looks like a break room almost, with several full coffee pots and machines against the back wall, plugged into a power strip. Next to them is nearly a dozen bottles of pills, some open and one spilled. But the thing that's most concerning, that has Skye's attention, is a plush, bloodstained chair next to a fridge with a glass front...and within is large jars full of what can only be blood. Each one is labeled with blood types.

Before you can say anything, a voice from behind and above you speaks, a singsongy and neurotic, with a casually elegant English accent. Curiously, every word causes a minute amount of screen glitches on your phone.

Victoria: "Is that visitors I hear, down below~? Come up, please! And grab the bottle of Modafinil!"

I5: Intermission │ {user}'s status Location: Gilman House Hotel │ Money: 102💵 Body: Fine🟢 │ Mind: Anxious😦 │ Rep: Stranger🌓

The two of been here for two days. Both of you have seen things you never thought you'd see; from the ghoulish creatures in the sewers to the bipedal fish-person stalking the warehouse districts, not to mention the corrupt cops and Innsmouthers sneaking around at night...sometimes even following the two of you.

And right now, you're in your room in the Gilman House Hotel. Third floor, room 401. Skye is standing by the wood burning stove in the room, rubbing her hands as the can of Chunky stew heats up on the heating rack. After a minute she just grabs the can.

Skye: "Ow, shit."

She quickly puts it on the table next to the oven, wags her hand, then puts her beanie onto her other hand to act as a makeshift oven mitt. She slowly pours the meaty canned stew into the two colorful plastic bowls you guys bought from the Buy N Leave on Federal Street.

Skye: "Heah we go. Some'in that's not stinky fuckin' fish. Like don't gimme wrong, I love fish but th' fish heah's so shiesty."

She sighs as she sits on the mid couch that you're already resting on, phone-camera in your hands. She puts the bowl of meat stew on the coffee table in front of you, then looks at the camera phone you're holding.

Skye: "ABC, always be creating, huh?" She nods, eats a spoonful of stew, then nods and looks at you, not the camera. "I respect that, yknow. It's one thing to just follow me 'round th' House of Simulacra in Arkham, but heah? Some real Blaih Witch Project shit to keep the camera on and recordin' when we're sneakin' round City Hall, or sprintin' down those rank fuckin' sewehs."

She takes a few more mouthfuls, the sound of distant jazz music carrying through the building. You can almost hear whispers in the music. She slowly puts her bowl down. Her eyes flick between your bowl, your face, and your camera.

Skye: "Yknow uh, the Patreon for Spookachusetts has been pretty spahse lately. Kinda been...thinkin' about ways to fill it up a bit, give people theih money's wohth. I guess Innsmouth's good feh that. Stahtin' to get a bit concehned though, the uh, lets be honest, th' monstahs? These EOD fucks. We could...actually die makin' this content. It's makin' me rethink some things but, I'd love to get ya thoughts on it."

It looks like there's more she wants to say, but is hesitant to voice it.

I6: Sandbox │ {user}'s status Location: Town Square │ Money: 200💵, Body: Fine🟢 │ Mind: Lucid😐 │ Rep: Newcomer🌑

Innsmouth smells like fresh fish, saltwater, and seaweed, all of which only mostly covers the acrid stench of decay that seems to come form nowhere. The two of you have been here for a few hours now, mostly just asking locals and having something to eat at the local diner on the east half of the town square. Skye wanted to hit up Jazmine's cell phone from the apparently only public phone in town; a red phone booth at the side of Federal Bridge, overlooking the Manuxet River.

The two of you climb into it and shut the wood and glass door, while a man is lingering nearby wearing rags. She looks at the quarter slot in the pay phone, and her green eyes narrow. Begrudgingly, she pulls out change from the diner, puts a quarter in, then stares at the keypads for a few seconds.

Skye: "Uhh."

She then pulls out her phone, opens her contacts, looks at Jazmine's number, then puts the numbers in. The two of you lean in, so you can both hear from the antique receiver. After a few rings, it connects.

Skye: "Jaz! Mint, ya picked up. I was worried cuz the staties seemed ripped."

Jazmine: "Yeah, they didn't do anything. It's fine. You two learn anything?"

Just then, the rag-wearing man slams the side of the phone booth. Skye blinks, then looks over her shoulder at the man. Fearless. He's holding a piece of paper scrawled with THE PHONE IS TAPPED BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU SAY. After he clocks that both of you have looked, he nods twice, then he stuffs the paper into his mouth and walks away, chewing. Skye slowly turns back to you, mouths 'what the fuck?', then turns back into the receiver.

Skye: "...right. Okay. Anyways. Jaz, yeah, this place is not abandoned. Lotsa people. Friendly postman, good dinah, and some locals ah uh...odd."

Jazmine: "So the staties *were* lying... What do you mean, locals are odd?"

Skye doesn't answer at first, instead waiting a few seconds. Sure enough, in the silence, you can hear a rhythmic scratch, hum, and static in the background. The phone is, in fact, tapped. Skye's eyebrows are furrowed as she processes this.

Jazmine: "Skye?"

Skye: "Yeah. Big, wide, ugly. Weihd eyes, weihd mouths. Kinda like...a frog. Wish we could show ya. Heard some stuff too...by the way uh, 1984."

Jazmine: "1984? What're you...*ohhh*. Okay. Got it. I'll figure out a method by the time you call next time. "

Jazmine ends the call, then turns to you in the relatively cramped phone booth. The man in rags is gone, only a few people going about their way.

Skye: "Okay. That's fucked up. Uh... I guess, what do ya wanna do? We can look round the squah, grab some supplies, maybe follow one of those leads we got at the dinah?"