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They Saved Lancaster's Brain
15 years ago
General
Inane Rambling of a Demented Predator
In Cthulhu, some proud moments for me as a Keeper. Including Investigators refusing to read clues because they don't want to know what's going on, and two of them chanting "I disbelieve! I disbelieve!" in the vain hope that will work. This session was recorded by Pastor Joe's player, Mark, but there's no way in hell I'm going to release it to the general public. Partly because the players were somewhat out of control without the moderating influence of Ratfan and Purrdence ( and imagine a session where Purrdence is a moderating influence!), partly because the session began a playtest of Pelgrane Press's Cthulhu Apocalypse, but mostly because listening to my own voice in playback was a mortifying experience.
At least I can transcribe dialogue at my leisure.
But as usual, it's the downtime between sessions that provides some of the best lines. Such as double-checking which spells party members have actually learned.
Me, to McGinty's player : I'm already worried by what McGinty might do when he finally snaps. Dispatch a Star Vampire to assassinate the Pope, perhaps.
To my considerable and unprintable alarm, McGinty's repertoire now includes both Summon/Bind Star Vampire, and Brew Space Mead, which makes Interstellar monster-assisted flight survivable by putting the imbiber into suspended animation.
McGinty OOC : Woohoo!!!! First Irishman in Space! No-one can take the sky from me! I'll plant the Irish flag on the moon!
Me, GM : 'I claim this satellite in the name of Belfast!'
Anticipating the consequences of the Irish Space Program
Prof. Engeleins : The Irish are leaving the planet - at last we can build Utopia.
McGinty : How far away is the Sun?
Me, GM : Why, are you planning on being the first Irishman there, too?
McGinty : ... We'll be fine, we'll travel at night.
The first Irish Interstellar Voyage
All : Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?
McGinty : If you don't shut up back there I'm turning this thing around!
McGinty : Somebody open a window so Growler can stick his head out
Growler : *explodes in the vacuum*
Me, GM : Thank goodness for Space Mead is all I can say
Further discussion reveals just how many options the party has in the event they're too late to rescue poor Lancaster.
Pvt. Rondale : McGinty here invented classic gangsterism ten years early. He's got a tommygun in a violin case in one hand...
McGinty : And a trumpet case in the other!
Me, GM : ... And the trumpet raises the dead.
McGinty : I'm a one-man marching band!
Me, GM : You'd think that after the incident with the chicken lunch, the party would steer well clear of fowl necromancy.
Me, GM : If you're serious about getting into Lucy's knickers I'd recommend plying her with absinthe, if it hadn't been banned 13 years earlier. It has quite a reputation as an aphrodisiac. It might be the wormwood oil, it might be the fact it's 180° proof, but it's apparently true what they say - absinthe makes the tart grow fonder.
All : *dead silence*
Me, GM : ...aw... :(
Engeleins' player : *slow clap*
Rondale's player : Well. Done. Drhoz. How Droll.
Pastor Joe's player : I heard it, I appreciated it!
Rondale's player : Oh, I heard it. I just didn't appreciate it.
Colonel Lancaster, carted off into the black Vermont skies by hideous arthropoid things. Lucy & Amy run ahead to the waiting vehicles, to get the missing reporter and themselves to safely.
McGinty : Hang... *rolls dice* Yes, I physically piss myself laughing at the thought of Lucy driving anywhere.
Me, GM : McGinty has apparently gone into hysterics again
Pastor Joe : ... and wet himself
Prof. Engeleins : *slaps McGinty*
McGinty : Where the fook did that come from? *slaps the Professor back*
Pvt. Rondale : *intervenes. squabbling ensues*
Me, GM : *turning to Lancaster* Aren't you glad these people are coming to rescue you.
Me, GM : So, Pastor Joe, what are you going to do whilst these three go through their Three Stooges routine?
McGinty, Rondale, Engeleins OOC : Woo-woo-woo-woo-woo! Nyuk! Nyuk! Why I oughta...
Pastor Joe OOC : I'm probably still terrified - this is the first unearthly thing I've ever encountered.
McGinty : Aw padre, don't you worry about it, it's just fooking big crayfish
Me, GM : Flying crayfish
Pastor Joe : Flying glowing crayfish
Pvt. Rondale : So, easier to hit?
McGinty : It's all to do with the French. You can't trust the bastards. They're doing stuff to the fooking crayfish now.
All : *long pause as we consider this statement and McGinty's previous blaming of all the world's ills on, variously, the English, the Catholics, the Satanists, and fishmen cults.*
Pastor Joe : Riiiiiight.
The end result of McGinty's megalomania and paranoia.
Col. Lancaster OOC : Oh that's just wonderful. After you've wiped out the English, the French, and the Germans, what have we got left? The Irish and the Scots.
McGinty OOC : *pauses. Then picks a fight with himself*
Me, GM : The things have landed on a ledge, and pin your limbs before dragging you into a sort of cave
Pvt. Rondale player : Thank god this is not an anime
Col. Lancaster OOC : 'I'm not comfortable being grabbed there!'
Prof. Engeleins' player : You're confusing anime with hentai, and hentai with yaoi... If they give you a sex change it could be yuri.
Col. Lancaster's player : *rolls dice* woohoo!
Pvt. Rondale's player : Was that a sex change roll?
Col. Lancaster's player : Yes!
Lancaster tries to bluff his way out.
Col. Lancaster : By the power vested in me by the King himself and the Greater British Empire I hearby order you to return to the nearest parallel dimension of convenience!
And elsewhere the party disregards McGinty's warnings about dimensional engineering.
Me, GM : [The Pastor] just vanished into thin air before your eyes.
McGinty : I told ya! I fooking TOLD ya! Nobody listens to the drunk Irishman!
Col. Lancaster OOC : Nobody listens to the drunk Irishman? For fooking good reason! The only that's worse than a drunk Irishman is a sober Irishman!
Col. Lancaster OOC : I just love how [McGinty] keeps asking which button it was, when it's been said there's one button. 'WHICH BUTTON IS IT?'
The Peanut Gallery : 'I'll give you six bucks if you shut up'
McGinty OOC : He hasn't got any money, he's being held down by giant crawdads
Pastor Joe OOC : Space Crawdads
McGinty OOC : No, it's a fooking buffet. Six claws and six wings on each, it's fooking grand.
Which gives us various recipes for Mi-Go barbecue
McGinty OOC : What do we do with these glowing head things?
Pastor Joe OOC : Nah, it's great, you don't need lights or anythin', 'cause the heids still 'lluminated
Pvt. Rondale : Do you know how to use a tommygun?
Pastor Joe : No...*takes gun* but I'm willing to learn.
Me, GM : The only noise is the hum and susurration of the machines. There's no screaming, no cursing, no English accent demanding to speak to the Ambassador
Pastor Joe : We've got two choices...
Prof. Engeleins : We follow the drag marks
Pastor Joe : Sure, let's go!
Prof. Engeleins : German efficiency :)
Me, GM : When you sneak up to the bend in the tunnel and peer around into the sickly yellow-green glow, you can see a chamber - not as large as the last, and with fewer machines, if that's what they were. There's also a raised slab of grey, polished stone. It looks a bit like an altar. Lancaster's body is lying face-up on it, and three of the crayfish things are crowded around one end - where it looks like they've gnawed off the top of his head. One is busy scraping the last bits of flesh out of the cavity.
Prof. Engeleins : *screams and hoses the room with a looted Mist Projector* Mein Gott! Estanglatten liegenstatten! Nein! Nein! Nein!
Further hysteria -
Me, GM : There's an assortment of curious tools, or possibly holy sacrificial knives, laid out around the remains. One of them resembles a large ice-cream scoop.
Pastor Joe : Are there any weapons?
Me, GM : Well, there's the ice-cream scoop.
Me, GM : *To Lancaster's Brain* All you can see is is these three, moving back and forth. And it's all grey. Perhaps it's moonlight, or you were hit in the head. But you can't turn your head.
Col. Lancaster's Brain : *flat mechanical voice from the speaker rig* Why. Can't. I. Move. My. Head.
Prof. Engeleins : You're in a jar, my friend.
All : *pause*
Pvt. Rondale : You could have said it a little bit nicely, but then again -
Prof. Engeleins : I don't think there's a nice way to say it.
Pastor Joe : And he did say 'my friend'.
Prof. Engeleins : You're a brain in a jar. And by the way now is a good time to talk about my outstanding debt at your antique shop.
Col. Lancaster's Brain : I. Know. I Am In. A Jam. Wait. Jar?
Prof. Engeleins : Yes, they scooped out your gooey gooey bits and put them in a jar. It's quite humorous.
Prof. Engeleins : I'm moving the rig around, without showing him his body, until he can get a good straight-on view of the hole
Me, GM : Are you really doing that?
Pastor Joe OOC : He's German, what do you expect?
Prof. Engeleins : Schadenfreude
Col. Lancaster's Brain : Where. Are. You. Taking Me? Why Can't. I. Feel. My. Legs?
Pvt. Rondale : Don't worry, I can feel them, they're fine.
Prof. Engeleins : Are you sure you want to see your body?
Col. Lancaster's Brain : Yes.
Prof. Engeleins : Are you reeeeeaaaally sure you want to see your body?
Col. Lancaster's Brain : Yes.
Prof. Engeleins : Are you going to erase my debt at your shop?
Pvt. Rondale's player : He lost ten points of sanity, he's a brain in a jar... and he's still the most sane of us???
Col. Lancaster's Brain : *Is shown his remains - assorted choking noises* If... If We've. Got All. The Bits. I'll Be. OK!
Prof. Engeleins : *Finds the Colonel's bloody and snap-frozen scalp and skullbones and props them at a jaunty angle on top of Lancaster's jar.*
Col. Lancaster's Brain OOC : So I have a literal skullcap.
Pastor Joe OOC : You're might be a brain in a jar but at least you have a hairstyle
At this point I lead them into the actual playtest. Which reduces most of the party to utter bafflement, confusion, and shock, despite their disturbingly high genre-savvyness, correctly predicting half the plot without realising it, and ongoing totally wrong guesses about what's really going on that they'll soon be regretting very much indeed.
Prof. Engeleins : *shouting hysterically* Everything's wrong! We have to get Lancaster's brain back out of his head!
Pastor Joe : We can't, we don't have the jar!
Prof. Engeleins : *almost in tears* I don't care!
Col. Lancaster's Player : I'm sorry, but the best thing about this sequence is that Paddy has been unconscious - FOR ELEVEN YEARS
Me, GM : There's two dead men - both of them frothing at the mouth.
McGinty : I've seen that. That's the crazy person look.
Pastor Joe : *chokes on laughter* Yeah, you should know it...
Weldun, coming in to see what was keeping Lancaster's Player : How long does it take to get killed?
Col. Lancaster's Player : A long time, apparently. He was a brain in a jar, and that didn't stop him.
Pastor Joe : Do they usually have earthquakes in England?
McGinty : No! That's the fooking problem! Otherwise the whole place would have disappeared under the waves!
Finding a tearful survivor
Survivor : Have you come to help?
Prof. Engeleins : Sure, why not?
Prof. Engeleins : Ma'am, do you drink?
Survivor : .....socially...
Prof. Engeleins : I drink socially. Also unsocially and antisocially.
Updating Lancaster
Prof. Engeleins : The entire city is dead
Me, GM : They did find two survivors though. And killed half of them.
Prof. Engeleins OOC : We have a tank full of alcohol and guns... And we have a woman!
Me, GM : Oh God. British Road Warriors. 'Eccentric Max'
Pvt. Rondale's Player : This is the best campaign ever!
An Englishman, an Irishman & a German walk into a bar. But only to loot the place of anything potable. The group swiftly descend to further looting, defenestration, arson, and other mayhem. Possibly because they're still half-convinced all of this has to be some sort of shared hallucination
Me, GM : I think we've proven that Lovecraft was right when he wrote that civilisation is a thin veneer over -
Pastor Joe's player : Comedy?
Me, GM : Insanity. Have we fled into a new Dark Age? I say yes!
Rondale does a stocktake on the increasingly crowded armoured car.
Pvt. Rondale : So we have two dogs, two Irishman, and a zombie colonel...
Prof. Engeleins OOC : That's no way to talk about the Colonel's daughter!
Lancaster is losing it.
McGinty : Why is he talking into a fooking pistol?
Pvt. Rondale's : It's the only thing that understands him.
McGinty : Then why doesn't he stick it in his mouth and talk even closer?
Me, GM : Around the hull the water is thick. White. Gelid with seeds.
McGinty : ...That's the problem with seamen
Me, GM : *facedesk*
Prof. Engeleins' player : You didn't see that coming?
Me, GM : I should have seen that coming.
Pvt. Rondale's Player : That's what she said!
And that's where I'll leave it for now. Apart from three minutes of dead air where I'd left the room and the buggers all ran out of the building to see how I'd react to having no players when I came back. We're only halfway into the tape! But much more would give too much of the Cthulhu Apocalypse plot away and we aren't even at the end of the first chapter yet...
At least I can transcribe dialogue at my leisure.
But as usual, it's the downtime between sessions that provides some of the best lines. Such as double-checking which spells party members have actually learned.
Me, to McGinty's player : I'm already worried by what McGinty might do when he finally snaps. Dispatch a Star Vampire to assassinate the Pope, perhaps.
To my considerable and unprintable alarm, McGinty's repertoire now includes both Summon/Bind Star Vampire, and Brew Space Mead, which makes Interstellar monster-assisted flight survivable by putting the imbiber into suspended animation.
McGinty OOC : Woohoo!!!! First Irishman in Space! No-one can take the sky from me! I'll plant the Irish flag on the moon!
Me, GM : 'I claim this satellite in the name of Belfast!'
Anticipating the consequences of the Irish Space Program
Prof. Engeleins : The Irish are leaving the planet - at last we can build Utopia.
McGinty : How far away is the Sun?
Me, GM : Why, are you planning on being the first Irishman there, too?
McGinty : ... We'll be fine, we'll travel at night.
The first Irish Interstellar Voyage
All : Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?
McGinty : If you don't shut up back there I'm turning this thing around!
McGinty : Somebody open a window so Growler can stick his head out
Growler : *explodes in the vacuum*
Me, GM : Thank goodness for Space Mead is all I can say
Further discussion reveals just how many options the party has in the event they're too late to rescue poor Lancaster.
Pvt. Rondale : McGinty here invented classic gangsterism ten years early. He's got a tommygun in a violin case in one hand...
McGinty : And a trumpet case in the other!
Me, GM : ... And the trumpet raises the dead.
McGinty : I'm a one-man marching band!
Me, GM : You'd think that after the incident with the chicken lunch, the party would steer well clear of fowl necromancy.
Me, GM : If you're serious about getting into Lucy's knickers I'd recommend plying her with absinthe, if it hadn't been banned 13 years earlier. It has quite a reputation as an aphrodisiac. It might be the wormwood oil, it might be the fact it's 180° proof, but it's apparently true what they say - absinthe makes the tart grow fonder.
All : *dead silence*
Me, GM : ...aw... :(
Engeleins' player : *slow clap*
Rondale's player : Well. Done. Drhoz. How Droll.
Pastor Joe's player : I heard it, I appreciated it!
Rondale's player : Oh, I heard it. I just didn't appreciate it.
Colonel Lancaster, carted off into the black Vermont skies by hideous arthropoid things. Lucy & Amy run ahead to the waiting vehicles, to get the missing reporter and themselves to safely.
McGinty : Hang... *rolls dice* Yes, I physically piss myself laughing at the thought of Lucy driving anywhere.
Me, GM : McGinty has apparently gone into hysterics again
Pastor Joe : ... and wet himself
Prof. Engeleins : *slaps McGinty*
McGinty : Where the fook did that come from? *slaps the Professor back*
Pvt. Rondale : *intervenes. squabbling ensues*
Me, GM : *turning to Lancaster* Aren't you glad these people are coming to rescue you.
Me, GM : So, Pastor Joe, what are you going to do whilst these three go through their Three Stooges routine?
McGinty, Rondale, Engeleins OOC : Woo-woo-woo-woo-woo! Nyuk! Nyuk! Why I oughta...
Pastor Joe OOC : I'm probably still terrified - this is the first unearthly thing I've ever encountered.
McGinty : Aw padre, don't you worry about it, it's just fooking big crayfish
Me, GM : Flying crayfish
Pastor Joe : Flying glowing crayfish
Pvt. Rondale : So, easier to hit?
McGinty : It's all to do with the French. You can't trust the bastards. They're doing stuff to the fooking crayfish now.
All : *long pause as we consider this statement and McGinty's previous blaming of all the world's ills on, variously, the English, the Catholics, the Satanists, and fishmen cults.*
Pastor Joe : Riiiiiight.
The end result of McGinty's megalomania and paranoia.
Col. Lancaster OOC : Oh that's just wonderful. After you've wiped out the English, the French, and the Germans, what have we got left? The Irish and the Scots.
McGinty OOC : *pauses. Then picks a fight with himself*
Me, GM : The things have landed on a ledge, and pin your limbs before dragging you into a sort of cave
Pvt. Rondale player : Thank god this is not an anime
Col. Lancaster OOC : 'I'm not comfortable being grabbed there!'
Prof. Engeleins' player : You're confusing anime with hentai, and hentai with yaoi... If they give you a sex change it could be yuri.
Col. Lancaster's player : *rolls dice* woohoo!
Pvt. Rondale's player : Was that a sex change roll?
Col. Lancaster's player : Yes!
Lancaster tries to bluff his way out.
Col. Lancaster : By the power vested in me by the King himself and the Greater British Empire I hearby order you to return to the nearest parallel dimension of convenience!
And elsewhere the party disregards McGinty's warnings about dimensional engineering.
Me, GM : [The Pastor] just vanished into thin air before your eyes.
McGinty : I told ya! I fooking TOLD ya! Nobody listens to the drunk Irishman!
Col. Lancaster OOC : Nobody listens to the drunk Irishman? For fooking good reason! The only that's worse than a drunk Irishman is a sober Irishman!
Col. Lancaster OOC : I just love how [McGinty] keeps asking which button it was, when it's been said there's one button. 'WHICH BUTTON IS IT?'
The Peanut Gallery : 'I'll give you six bucks if you shut up'
McGinty OOC : He hasn't got any money, he's being held down by giant crawdads
Pastor Joe OOC : Space Crawdads
McGinty OOC : No, it's a fooking buffet. Six claws and six wings on each, it's fooking grand.
Which gives us various recipes for Mi-Go barbecue
McGinty OOC : What do we do with these glowing head things?
Pastor Joe OOC : Nah, it's great, you don't need lights or anythin', 'cause the heids still 'lluminated
Pvt. Rondale : Do you know how to use a tommygun?
Pastor Joe : No...*takes gun* but I'm willing to learn.
Me, GM : The only noise is the hum and susurration of the machines. There's no screaming, no cursing, no English accent demanding to speak to the Ambassador
Pastor Joe : We've got two choices...
Prof. Engeleins : We follow the drag marks
Pastor Joe : Sure, let's go!
Prof. Engeleins : German efficiency :)
Me, GM : When you sneak up to the bend in the tunnel and peer around into the sickly yellow-green glow, you can see a chamber - not as large as the last, and with fewer machines, if that's what they were. There's also a raised slab of grey, polished stone. It looks a bit like an altar. Lancaster's body is lying face-up on it, and three of the crayfish things are crowded around one end - where it looks like they've gnawed off the top of his head. One is busy scraping the last bits of flesh out of the cavity.
Prof. Engeleins : *screams and hoses the room with a looted Mist Projector* Mein Gott! Estanglatten liegenstatten! Nein! Nein! Nein!
Further hysteria -
Me, GM : There's an assortment of curious tools, or possibly holy sacrificial knives, laid out around the remains. One of them resembles a large ice-cream scoop.
Pastor Joe : Are there any weapons?
Me, GM : Well, there's the ice-cream scoop.
Me, GM : *To Lancaster's Brain* All you can see is is these three, moving back and forth. And it's all grey. Perhaps it's moonlight, or you were hit in the head. But you can't turn your head.
Col. Lancaster's Brain : *flat mechanical voice from the speaker rig* Why. Can't. I. Move. My. Head.
Prof. Engeleins : You're in a jar, my friend.
All : *pause*
Pvt. Rondale : You could have said it a little bit nicely, but then again -
Prof. Engeleins : I don't think there's a nice way to say it.
Pastor Joe : And he did say 'my friend'.
Prof. Engeleins : You're a brain in a jar. And by the way now is a good time to talk about my outstanding debt at your antique shop.
Col. Lancaster's Brain : I. Know. I Am In. A Jam. Wait. Jar?
Prof. Engeleins : Yes, they scooped out your gooey gooey bits and put them in a jar. It's quite humorous.
Prof. Engeleins : I'm moving the rig around, without showing him his body, until he can get a good straight-on view of the hole
Me, GM : Are you really doing that?
Pastor Joe OOC : He's German, what do you expect?
Prof. Engeleins : Schadenfreude
Col. Lancaster's Brain : Where. Are. You. Taking Me? Why Can't. I. Feel. My. Legs?
Pvt. Rondale : Don't worry, I can feel them, they're fine.
Prof. Engeleins : Are you sure you want to see your body?
Col. Lancaster's Brain : Yes.
Prof. Engeleins : Are you reeeeeaaaally sure you want to see your body?
Col. Lancaster's Brain : Yes.
Prof. Engeleins : Are you going to erase my debt at your shop?
Pvt. Rondale's player : He lost ten points of sanity, he's a brain in a jar... and he's still the most sane of us???
Col. Lancaster's Brain : *Is shown his remains - assorted choking noises* If... If We've. Got All. The Bits. I'll Be. OK!
Prof. Engeleins : *Finds the Colonel's bloody and snap-frozen scalp and skullbones and props them at a jaunty angle on top of Lancaster's jar.*
Col. Lancaster's Brain OOC : So I have a literal skullcap.
Pastor Joe OOC : You're might be a brain in a jar but at least you have a hairstyle
At this point I lead them into the actual playtest. Which reduces most of the party to utter bafflement, confusion, and shock, despite their disturbingly high genre-savvyness, correctly predicting half the plot without realising it, and ongoing totally wrong guesses about what's really going on that they'll soon be regretting very much indeed.
Prof. Engeleins : *shouting hysterically* Everything's wrong! We have to get Lancaster's brain back out of his head!
Pastor Joe : We can't, we don't have the jar!
Prof. Engeleins : *almost in tears* I don't care!
Col. Lancaster's Player : I'm sorry, but the best thing about this sequence is that Paddy has been unconscious - FOR ELEVEN YEARS
Me, GM : There's two dead men - both of them frothing at the mouth.
McGinty : I've seen that. That's the crazy person look.
Pastor Joe : *chokes on laughter* Yeah, you should know it...
Weldun, coming in to see what was keeping Lancaster's Player : How long does it take to get killed?
Col. Lancaster's Player : A long time, apparently. He was a brain in a jar, and that didn't stop him.
Pastor Joe : Do they usually have earthquakes in England?
McGinty : No! That's the fooking problem! Otherwise the whole place would have disappeared under the waves!
Finding a tearful survivor
Survivor : Have you come to help?
Prof. Engeleins : Sure, why not?
Prof. Engeleins : Ma'am, do you drink?
Survivor : .....socially...
Prof. Engeleins : I drink socially. Also unsocially and antisocially.
Updating Lancaster
Prof. Engeleins : The entire city is dead
Me, GM : They did find two survivors though. And killed half of them.
Prof. Engeleins OOC : We have a tank full of alcohol and guns... And we have a woman!
Me, GM : Oh God. British Road Warriors. 'Eccentric Max'
Pvt. Rondale's Player : This is the best campaign ever!
An Englishman, an Irishman & a German walk into a bar. But only to loot the place of anything potable. The group swiftly descend to further looting, defenestration, arson, and other mayhem. Possibly because they're still half-convinced all of this has to be some sort of shared hallucination
Me, GM : I think we've proven that Lovecraft was right when he wrote that civilisation is a thin veneer over -
Pastor Joe's player : Comedy?
Me, GM : Insanity. Have we fled into a new Dark Age? I say yes!
Rondale does a stocktake on the increasingly crowded armoured car.
Pvt. Rondale : So we have two dogs, two Irishman, and a zombie colonel...
Prof. Engeleins OOC : That's no way to talk about the Colonel's daughter!
Lancaster is losing it.
McGinty : Why is he talking into a fooking pistol?
Pvt. Rondale's : It's the only thing that understands him.
McGinty : Then why doesn't he stick it in his mouth and talk even closer?
Me, GM : Around the hull the water is thick. White. Gelid with seeds.
McGinty : ...That's the problem with seamen
Me, GM : *facedesk*
Prof. Engeleins' player : You didn't see that coming?
Me, GM : I should have seen that coming.
Pvt. Rondale's Player : That's what she said!
And that's where I'll leave it for now. Apart from three minutes of dead air where I'd left the room and the buggers all ran out of the building to see how I'd react to having no players when I came back. We're only halfway into the tape! But much more would give too much of the Cthulhu Apocalypse plot away and we aren't even at the end of the first chapter yet...
"Me, GM : They did find two survivors though. And killed half of them."
Why do I get the uneasy impression that this specific wording is significant?
*facepalms* my word, every time I think the campaign couldn't get more entertaining, you prove me wrong:P
*nods* well, they seem to apply the same mentality to it as to D & D, which I imagine could lead to some campiness of the nth degree
hurmph.. perhaps they need something to change their perspective 90 degrees; after all, how many sanity points can one lose in one game session?
perhaps thing have become so surreal they've forgotten how weird the normal world can be; for example, they have a talking brain. And they're within driving distance of MIT:can you tell me that the government wouldn't want to claim lancaster for 'study'?
And the army got involved; some general somewhere no doubt has a drudge against them for some silly(but plausible) reason. Mayhaps they need a dose of reality to make them stop being so capable of handling surreality.
*facepalms* and thus the zombie apocalypse begins, started by a brain in a jar...
wait, this is sounding more and more like a 50's B movie...
an immortal vampire raised back by a brain in a jar because they didn't do the essential salts right; this is going to get *very* interesting shortly.
And who's to say miscatonic doesn't become MIT?
And Miskatonic has the wrong focus to become MIT
true...
*ponders a salt hungry zombie*