[PharosUK] C1T1: Arrival

Manchester, UK – Friday 17th October 1930, late afternoon Files: Word Doc – PharosUK Welcome & Introduction L1 (C1T1) JPG – PharosUK Invitation (C1T1) JPG – PharosUK Albert Suite Map (C1T1) GM1

************************************************************************ The journey had been a pleasant one and the train had roared through lush green autumnal countryside stained with the dark brown of oncoming winter. Eventually, the rural idyll of the Empire's Sceptred Isle gave way to urban sprawl and industrial expansion of it’s reality. The damp pride of Manchester opened up in welcoming embrace & the huge arc of the Exchange Station swallowed the train whole in a belching roar of dirty steam. A thin, nervous man with a face like a landslide was waiting to greet you, "Hello, Hello. So glad you are here. Was the journey beastly? Don't like trains myself. Dirty, smelly things full of people you wouldn't have in your home." he looked around at the general mêlée of passengers & porters with little disguised distaste. "YOU!" he barked at a porter, "Can't you see the luggage here! Get some help." The porter scuttled over to some colleagues all of whom returned with trolleys & scowls. "My name's Johnstone." he offered as the porters began to manhandle bags on to trolleys. "The office sent me to make sure the hotel rooms were ready and to meet you off the train. The Midland is just across the street. Follow me and your bags will join us there." He lurched off through the throng failing to avoid contact with the great unwashed but trying hard all the same. Johnstone led the way up and out through the front of the huge hulk of the station and to the Midland Hotel, a strident wedge of dark granite & red brick topped with gothic towers and pinnacles. The hotel itself was connected to the station via an umbilical like walkway, covered to provide hotel guests protection from the detritus of city life. Once inside the hotel, Johnstone headed towards the reception desk from which he returned with a young hotel porter. "You'll be shown to your room and your luggage will be brought up later. There's a tunnel from the station, you see." he added by way of an explanation. "Anyway, I'll have to leave you. I have others to meet. For now," he said as he handed over a small brown envelope, "this should explain everything." He hurried away, retracing his route to the station, dodging people all the way and was soon lost to view. *** The room the porter led you to was plush with a stylishly decorated en suite bathroom. The single bed, writing desk, bedside cabinet & wardrobe, all in elegantly worked mahogany, greeted you with a promise of comfort. The view from the window was dramatic: a grey sky hung with threatened rain over a city that sprawled away from the hotel. Brown & black stone sliced through with busy roads & spider-web rail tracks running out east towards the green hulking mass of the Pennines. The streets were crammed with pedestrians, trams & cars to the point that the whole city seemed to be on the move, revolving around itself in some bizarre dance. It made your head throb. Best to sit for a while and gather your bearings, you thought, before recalling the letter Johnstone had given you.

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Your thumb had barely worked its way under the sealed flap when a knock on your door heralded the arrival of you bags and the next five minutes were taken with unpacking essentials. Once calm had restored itself, you fell into a plump armchair next to the writing desk and opened Johnstone's letter. Inside the plain brown envelope, along with a letter from Pharos, nestled a small map & guide to Manchester city and an invite to a presentation being given in only a few hours. The invitation stipulated Evening Wear so you deemed it prudent to start getting ready.

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Manchester Office, 17th October, 1930 Dear Employee,

SUBJECT: WELCOME TO PHAROS INVESTIGATIONS (UK)

I would like to welcome you into the employ of Pharos Investigations (UK) & take this opportunity to draw you attention to some of the more mundane aspects of your new occupation. Firstly, please report to Mr Johnstone, the gentleman who handed you this letter, in the Manchester office on Monday 20th October at 8:30am prompt. Business attire is desirable but you would be advised to ensure you have access to changes of clothing at most times. These should include both practical wear for ‘out of doors’ work and evening wear for social gatherings. Parking for any vehicles you have is available in adjoining streets although, as employees, you will have access to the pool of company vehicles. Wages are handled by Mrs Cookridge on the last Friday of every month. Mrs Cookridge is also your first point of contact for matters regarding expenses, equipment, transport and the like. Secondly, let me remind you that the nature of your employment makes for somewhat erratic & anti-social working hours. You can be assured that all the employees & resources of Pharos Investigation worldwide are behind you at all times. If you should want for any manner of help, just call Mrs Wilson on Manchester 5454. Thirdly, I trust that upon signing your contract of employment and copy of our employee insurance policy, you were also guided by our personnel staff to complete a Will. I can not stress enough how tiresome and upsetting it can be for those left behind to have to sort through the disorganised clutter of a loved one’s life. Please think of your family & friends and complete a Will. Finally, I hope Investigations (UK)

you

enjoy

your

time

with

us

here

at

Pharos

Sincerely, A Middryn, Pharos (UK) Manager P.S. A colleague of yours, Dr Perry McKlieh, is to give a lecture on the night you are scheduled to arrive in Manchester. He has kindly extended the enclosed invitation to you with the intention of getting to know one another better. Mr Johnstone will also be attending.

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The taxi swung through Belle Vue, past a roaring speedway, past signs for 'Eric's Aero Show Thrills & Spills Daily from 11 to 3' and past the now closed entrance to the zoo itself. Over the gates drifted muted growls from various big cats answered by the taunting howling of monkeys. It was 6:30 and growing dark by the time the taxi finally pulled up outside the main building. An ancient looking uniformed doorman, bent and sporting a world class beard, directed you to the Albert Suite. He needn't have bothered; the sound of other guests chatting & laughing could have guided your way. The Albert Suite was a large, ornately decorated oblong ballroom. Two entrances set in one of the longest walls led directly into a brilliantly lit room, full of smoke and noise & social creatures like preening birds. At the head of the room was a raised stage with a small band area tucked away to one side. Rows of plump chairs were arranged to face a lectern on the stage and small group of tables, covered for the time being, set below & in front. The massive glass ceiling stood black against the night beyond, the garishly coloured Art Nouveau iron columns supporting it almost glowing against jet rectangles. Waiters drifted through the crowd of dignities with trays of champagne and canopies. A bespectacled face briefly peeked through the curtains behind the lectern. Various names floated past, half-recognised faces stood out from the crowd and you realised just how exclusive this crowd was. A gong sounded and a nervous young man took to the stage "Err. H... Hello Ladies & Gentleman. Thank you so much for coming tonight. Please take your seats for an very special introduction for one of Anderson International's most travelled archaeologists, Dr Perry McKliesh." The young man stepped down from the stage to take a seat at the covered tables and, to a ripple of approving applause the bespectacled man from earlier strode from behind the curtains to the lectern. *** Twenty minutes later, Dr Mckliesh's gentle Scottish voice brought his anecdote filled guide to the life of a travelling archaeologist to an end. He took the applause graciously before introduced the main speaker, Dr Albert Monroe. Doctor Monroe, a slight old man with a neat beard and watery eyes, took McKliesh's place at the podium leaving the archaeologist to join the young man at the covered tables in front of the stage. With a small cough and a quiet welcome to the expectant audience Doctor Monroe began. He talked about his latest Mesopotamian digs in modern Iraq, the findings he had uncovered and what they meant for current understanding of how civilisation began. He enthused about clay tablets, leather sandals, pottery shards & tool fragments. He positively glowed as he revealed translations of household accounts, trade deals and temple records. All the while, the young man sat next to Dr McKliesh unveiled items one by one and held them high. As he drew to the end of his presentation, Dr Monroe changed the mood. He brought his voice low and it resonated with a distinctly excited tremor. "Ladies & Gentlemen. You been so kind tonight; so patient. I know many of the things I revealed to you would, in truth, only appeal to a dry old stick such as myself.” A brief flurry of polite, but amused, laughter. “Household documents, legal documents, this & that documents; they tend only to excite old men. I'd like to reward your generosity to this particular old man, and I’m afraid I've guilty of

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keeping the best to last, I’d like to show you something amazing. In the depths of my most recent digs, in what I believe to have been the palace of Gilgamesh himself, I found this!" With a flourish, the young assistant pulled at the final cover to reveal a large, bejewelled gold statuette. To call it a statuette was to do it a grave injustice. It stood a full two foot high on the table and it was easily four long and the whole thing was glittering and sparkling with a rainbow of precious stones. It must have weighed the best part of four or five stone. The statuette depicted an ornate carriage bearing six large gold tubes being drawn by four zebralike creatures decorated in amazing livery & plumage. It was an impressive site and the audience gasped and bristled with excitement. "This is the most wonderful artefact I have ever found, the most beautiful, the most complete find of my entire career.“ the old man gushed. “The craftsmanship is simply stunning, the ostentatious excess is remarkable and the scrolls, I believe written by Gilgamesh himself, are some of the most important I have ever seen. It is truly wonderous. It is beyond words. It is…” “MINE!” boomed a voice from behind Doctor Monroe. “I think you’ll find it is mine.” The heavy stage curtains were swept back to reveal the doorman, no longer ancient and without both his beard and stooped back but with a very, very large pistol. “Now. If everybody is clever enough to sit tight & quiet, this needn’t end in tears.” “Who in God’s name are you, Sir?” demanded an indignant Monroe “What do you mean by this intrusion?” “Good Lord, man!” laughed the mysterious gate crasher “I would have thought the bloody gun would have given the game away! For a clever man, you can ask some damn stupid questions.” He turned to crowd, evidently a showman. “This is a robbery.” A scream went up from one corner of the room, chairs were pushed back and angry men stood with their chests out in protest. A few brave ones moved forward, even more less brave ones moved to the two doors they had entered by only to find their way barred by waiters also brandishing pistols. “Please, please. Calm yourselves.” his voice was full of mocking self-satisfaction. “As you can see you can’t leave the room. Just sit down and no one need be hurt.” People paused; unsure of their next move and for a second only random sobbing could be heard. “NOW!” he roared, all trace of humour gone. “SIT DOWN OR YOU WILL BE SHOT! IT IS THAT SIMPLE!” People rushed back to their seats and fear settled down over the audience. “That’s better,” honey over a knife again “well done. Now, my associates will pass amongst you. Pretend you are at church and put all you valuables in their bags. Please don’t argue with them, they simply aren’t as reasonable as I am.” The waiters by the doors didn’t move, instead, from behind the curtains came four more uniformed thugs, two with a large cloth sacks who jumped off the stage and moved into the terrified audience. The remaining two manhandled a railway baggage trolley off the stage and in front of the table with the statuette on. The young man looked helplessly at Monroe, who just gave him a sad nod to say ‘do as they ask’. “Thank you for your co-operation.” smirked the robber “Now you, Doctor Monroe, join the other two at the table.” He waved his gun and the old doctor, grey with shock slowly made his way off stage and to a chair between McKliesh and the young man. The thugs moved through the audience like possessed vergers collecting everything they could from a terrified congregation. They were up to the row in front of you when the two lackeys securing the statuette let it slip and crash to the floor. Doctor Monroe leapt to his

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feet, his face a mask of horror “Nooo! You anima – uung.” His indignant insult was cut off as he was pistol whipped from behind by the doorman. “Bastard!” cried the young man as he dove across the table to grab at Monroe’s assailant. His hands curled around the uniform’s epaulettes and he almost dragged the armed robber off his feet when the unmistakable sound of a shot hitting a target at close range rang out. The young man jolted back, stood for a fraction of a second and then collapsed against the edge of the stage. The room was silent for a fraction of a second as the thugs stopped whatever they had been doing and looked around to the front of the stage… [PharosUK] C1T1-GM to Maskell: Arrival Manchester, UK – Friday 17th October 1930, late afternoon ************************************************************************* The goon to your right looks worried - he's left his post and is moving on up to the front past the end of the rows of seat. He's not looking at you but you are in his peripheral vision. There's about 3 occupied seats between you. Also, there's no way you have any guns on you tonight, not that you'd have got them through customs anyhow. You notice that a few people to you left also show signs of observing the thugs. Some of them might be trained as you are... then again they could be 'have-a-go-Joes'. You doubt the young man survived such a shot, but the old geezer may just be out cold. [PharosUK] C1T1-GM to McKliesh: Arrival Manchester, UK – Friday 17th October 1930, late afternoon ************************************************************************* The horror of seeing a friend & colleague clubbed like an animal is far exceeded by the terror of seeing a young life snuffed out in front of you. Your world shrinks to the table and all you can see is the grinning, cruel mask of the killer right next to you - young Barlow's stupid attack had drawn the filth too far over the table and now he had lost his balance & was struggling to push himself upright - a task that would take but seconds. The only things on you table are 2 heavy clay cuneiform-filled tables (directly in front of you), pottery shards (between you and the killer) & an sharp, copper adze (almost directly under the killer and coated in Barlow's blood). [PharosUK] C1T1- Wolfe to All: Arrival Manchester, UK – Friday 17th October 1930, late afternoon ************************************************************************ The pressure was too much. He couldn't swallow it, couldn't keep it down. It welled up in him like a tide, unstoppable. He knew that he had to keep enough control to stop the situation from getting out of hand but he must act. Looking around furtively he saw that the thug directly in line with him and the stage had his back to him. He took a deep breath and pounced. [PharosUK] C1T1- DeVerue to All: Arrival Manchester, UK – Friday 17th October 1930, late afternoon ************************************************************************ [IC] > The room was silent for a fraction of a second as the thugs stopped whatever they had been doing and looked around to the front of the stage… Jessica was on her feet in an instant. Sizing up the situation, she felt that she had to get to the stage to see if there was anything she could do for the wounded men. As she started to

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move however, she paused for an instant, an odd expression crossing her lovely features. Touching her face lightly, she turned toward the 'waiter' between her and the stage, looking at his Webley. Suddenly, she changed directions and moved toward the man, who was still facing the stage. Moving as rapidly as she could while negotiating the seats between them, she closed on the man, right hand balling into a fist. [OOC] Oh, Wondrous and Sublime Keeper of the Dark Secrets of the Ages. If she can reach the man undetected, Jessica will deliver a hammer-fist to the base of his skull, followed up by a hard kick to the groin. If he turns toward her , the initial strike will be a straight right to the throat, still following up with a kick to the groin. Either way, she won't stop hitting him until he's down on the ground and thoroughly incapacitated. I just wanted to let you know that I discussed the possible conflict over the thug directly in front of Jessica (her current target) with Bill and he agreed that 'Ladies First' was the way to go :-). Also, not knowing what, if anything, you know about the martial arts, I thought I'd make a quick point about the attacks I chose. They are specifically selected to maximize the effect of Jessica's limited physical strength. The base of the skull hit is actually an upward swing, engaging the point where the spine enters the skull. If you are in doubt about the stunning effect, reach up right now and bop yourself there with the base of a balled fist. You can't really hurt yourself from that angle, but you should feel it vibrate through your skull. Then imagine the effect of a full-out slam with some body mechanics built-in. The punch to the throat will have a stunning effect as well. Targeted on the Adam's Apple, it will constrict the trachea, briefly cutting off air intake. That will set off every alarm in his brain and, for a moment, he won't be able to do anything. Both of these would be killing blows if attempted by a strong, well-trained man, but in Jessica's dainty hands, they should have just the right effect. Each should also serve to position him nicely for Old Reliable (either bent forward or with his hands rising involuntarily toward his throat), which should require no explanation :-). I offer the long-winded commentary, if it follows the usual pattern, CoC will base damage and stun off of Strength. I just wanted to make sure you knew there are other ways. I've been involved in teaching women's self-defence for a number of years, so I know (sometimes to my regret :-)!) what they can accomplish, given the proper training. As to equipment (other tha nature's generous provisions :-)!), she is currently rather light, with only two extra hairpins in her 'do' (her hair's up) and a purse with a small, seashellshaped buckle that is actually the handle of a short punch dagger (2 1/2" double edged blade, razor sharp), the sheath of which is built into the purse flap. the weapon is retained bu a hidden snap. Evening dress offers few concealment possibilities (especially the sort she'd favour). She also has a small, 3 1/2" bladed Scottish "Sgian Dubh" knife tucked into the top of her right stocking (heck...they're called 'stocking knives', albeit not exactly with silk stockings in mind...). It has a flat, Rosewood grip, not the more extravagant inlaid horn ones that are common on decorative examples. I'm unclear whether the dress could decently be slit high enough to allow her easy access to that or not, so I'm staying clear of it, for now :-). Great to be in play! [PharosUK] C1T1- Welles to All: Arrival Manchester, UK – Friday 17th October 1930, late afternoon ************************************************************************ >Octavian feels safe in Manchester - no one knows him & no one is looking for him. -----Not Yet....not yet.....thank God...... Octavian Welles ducks behind a handy column, large plant, or plump person, so he's not so readily noticed, and surveys the doors. He needs the closest one, because a robber has to

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be able to leave with the goods - so there has to be a transport of some sort outside, that statuary isn't the lightest load in the world to shove into a pocket and be on your way. And he needs to guess at the closest one for the sodding bastard on the stage with the expensive goodies. If he can surmise the potential paths, he'll - to pardon the theft of a Yank Western cliche, "head 'em off at the pass." [PharosUK] C1T1- McKliesh to All: Arrival Manchester, UK – Friday 17th October 1930, late afternoon ************************************************************************ "Gods, but what to do." thought Perry. Droplets of the young mans blood spattered his clothes, a sliver of the liquid ran down his left cheek and the sound of the gun still rang like a monstrous bell in his ears. The gunman was stunned and so where his companions. "If I am to do something, I have to do it now." said the archaeologists' inner voice, but try as he might he just couldn't get his legs to move. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement. Some of the attendees towards the back where going for the thieves closest to them. A tall, elegant lady even had a balled fist, ready to strike. With the question of whether to act or not taken so swiftly out of his hands, Perry took one quick step forward and reached forward for something gleaming on the table... OOC: In addition to my move, Perry is going for the knife, his internal instinct would not let him just other precious items as weapons and risk them being destroyed. The blade, whilst the hardest and therefore most dangerous to reach, is also the one thing less likely to break when used. Perry will grasps the blade and go for the gunman’s throat. His other hand will try to knock the gun down. If spotted Perry will punch instead. [PharosUK] C1T1- Brown to All: Arrival Manchester, UK – Friday 17th October 1930, late afternoon ************************************************************************ The gunshot was a crack of a full stop. Punctuating the screaming and suddenly Jon longs for the security of his piano – almost like a wall to hide behind. They never notice the band. Instinctively his fingers begin to twitch. Jelly Roll. A minor. Look to the band, nod a cue and then bring it home. But this time there is no band to back him up. Time seems to stand still. The Great War has taken the love of killing out of most men and Jon can see the shock on the faces of some of the goons as the young man slumps to the floor. Hired help? He wonders. He's seen it hundreds of times. A gang would burst in to a club and shake it down. You could tell the pros. They never got in to fights if they could help it, but the new boys cocky with the weight of lead in their hands would be up at the front. More fool them. If any one was likely to end up at the Bailey it was the expendables not the old faithfuls. He sizes up the goon in front of him. Not your average villain. No bull necked knuckle dragger or black jack wielding spiv. A well cut fellow maybe ex army. The guys round the edge are usually the pros. Divide and control the punters. Just a quick run up for momentum and he'd be… `In your dreams' he says to himself. Looking round the room they are lined up like a waxworks gallery of reactions. Some scared, some belligerent and one or two, like him, looking for the band to back them up.

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On the stage Jon can see Prof McKliesh's stinging look of shock turn to indignant hate and all around him people are beginning to move. A flash of a fist and furtive glances to the door – all hell is about to break loose. "What the hell" he thinks, "perhaps it's a day to take chances"… OOC: As the inevitable chaos breaks out, Jon will head for the doors. He won't move until Jessica and Perry have moved and things go pants. Running for the door he will shoulder barge the goon in front of him hoping to take him off balance if he is distracted by Jessica's move but he's not for hanging around. [PharosUK] C1T1- Maskell to All: Arrival Manchester, UK – Friday 17th October 1930, late afternoon ************************************************************************ The shot rings on in Retired Colonel Gary Maskell’s mind, like a church bell from home you always seem to hear Sunday mornings. He remembers in a heartbeat the first time he heard that ringing, Ft. Dix, New Jersey during Army boot camp. He heard plenty more at Infantry school in Ft. Benning, Georgia and later in Ft. Hood, Texas during Cavalry school. But the one time it sticks in his mind is the first time in combat. April, 1898, with Sumner moving up San Juan hill outside of Santiago, Cuba during the Spanish-American War. He remembers the first man he killed for the Red, White, & Blue. A young recruit like himself, not older than 17. Just a boy not taught well enough the ways of war. Just another faceless casualty. A statistic on a report. But war is like that and Gary grew used to that. Especially when he took over Army Air Corps. But this is not some Spanish battlefield, this was Manchester, England, United Kingdom For Pete's sake. If someone was that twitchy or green, don't give 'em a pistol in a country where packing heat is illegal. Gary thinks quick and lobs the coffee spoon he had in his hand over the thug to his right front and beyond the thug hoping the sound of the spoon hitting will cause the knuckle dragger to look that way. Mean while Gary's well practiced combat muscles start to move rapidly along with his adrenalin pump , which starts to churn furiously. Gary always had plenty of adrenalin in combat, but afterwards he bottoms out and shakes like a leaf. Colonel Maskell pounces like a Tiger on the Thug , trying to keep the gun down and away from innocents. Gary thinks as he moves " why am I in England? I miss my .45!" OOC : I will try to Arm Bar the guy using Martial Arts/Grapple. If I can bar it , try then to aim the gun with his hand towards the next nearest thug an "accidentally-on-purpose" fire the gun . Try to aim as best I can. DO not shoot if friendlies are in the way. If arm bar works, but cannot aim gun, then break arm. If arm bar does not work, then keep gun hand down with left hand and beat thug with right. IC: Gary says a quick prayer to St. George the Dragonslayer, hoping for a miracle just to live through this. ***End***

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