(Skeleton Keys) Quest for the Kogaion

[West]

David Regan, unfazed by the conversation behind him, proceeds.

Like many underground bunkers, this one has a fairly straightforward design: it is no maze of the minotaur. No labyrinthine turns or dead ends. Concrete frames simple passages, some labeled alphanumerically in fading stenciled paint. Sound travels well through the stone tunnels, and the hidden Mekhet slowly turns this way and that whenever a choice is presented, homing in on it.

Deeper in, abandoned store-rooms have been converted into make-shift barracks. These are no neat military things, though, but simply more detritus of the workers he's already seen. Food staples are randomly stacked as well as other survivalist necessities: water, hand tools, and similar*.

And books.

Several rooms are filled with books, enough to give the Mekhet pause. Unlike everything else he's seen, they're all neatly arranged in small stacks on the floor. One room contains maps on the wall, but he is not here for geography lessons.

Slowly, the whisper rises in volume and changes in tone. Less distorted, it is higher pitched.

Ahead is a half closed door.

David will be unable to slip through while maintaining his Cloak.

Behind the door, close now, is the source. A steady cadence of epithets in a female voice.

*

For a true survivalist cache, something important is missing. Roll Int+Survival to identify.

[Tracy Burns]

Thinking that she was all alone, Tracy stepped through the door and entered the shelter. She looked around, ready to engage whoever jumped at her. However, to her surprise, the first room appeared to be empty. Well, not exactly empty, but there didn't seem to be any imminent threat around. The petite Gangrel studied the scene carefully, her attention drawn towards the variety of objects and the bookshelves that were scattered around.

The distraction did not last a long time, as she reminded herself why she was there in the first place. The feminine voice coming from another room caught her attention, but even with her heightened senses she had a hard time making out what it said. Tracy decided to move closer to the door, but did so as quietly as possible. There was no point in alerting anyone else of her presence just yet, so she took one light step after another as she moved to the edge of the door.

  failure on Int+Survival and Perception, 2 suxx to move silently

Date		Action		Roll		Result
2014-12-22 07:59:49		Tracy Burns rolls 5 to Dex+Stealth to move silently (10 Again)		8, 8, 6, 2, 1		2 successes
2014-12-22 07:54:07		Tracy Burns rolls 6 to Wits+Composure (10 Again)		4, 2, 1, 3, 5, 4		failure
2014-12-22 07:53:53		Tracy Burns rolls 4 to Int+Survival (1s Subtract)		1, 8, 4, 6		failure

[West]

Unfortunately, the door reveals only the side of a concrete wall. It's going to have to be opened.

As Peter tries to force his eyeballs to bend space, he realizes that there's something missing from the stockpile. He's dealt with a lot of criminals, and often times the lines blur between survivalists, revolutionaries, and criminals. Enough so that the absence of fuel -- gasoline, kerosene, or diesel -- eventually filters through to his conscious thoughts.

Behind Tracy, flutters and soft scrapes eventually turn into no-less-quiet cursing, as Dog reverts his form to bring up the lead in the tight passage.

Sorry for the delay Casitive Cross Jag

[West]

The door groans.

It's metal, and old, and probably hasn't seen a dollop of grease or can of WD-40 in... well... ever. This is a main room. It's larger, and the walls are thicker. Peter can see from the jamb just how thick. There's a hollowness and rolling echo that explains why the whispers have carried. A large fracture in the wall weeps a dark, shiny patch down the wall. The musty smell of mold and glimmering reflection on the floor reveals pooling water.

A glowstick hanging by the door casts Peter in a garish green chemical glow for the others.

Other sticks are affixed around the room.

Another face is cast in garish green for Peter. A head, and two arms protrude from a wall covered in sloppy mortar wedge marks.

It's Roxie Hart.

The whisperer.

[Roxie Hart]

She's swearing. One long cadence of hate and vulgarity whisper-snarled in a plurality of languages.

The epithets seep from her lips like pus from a wound and when Sir Baldwin, Knight and Champion of the Invictus, opens the door her head snaps up and her mouth snaps shit with an audible click that echoes oddly around the chamber.

Her gaze bores into his with such concentrated fury and malice that it's clear the only reason she hasn't shot across the room and tried to tear his throat out is because she is literally cemented into a wall.

She snarls and after a moment of struggle with the Beast she rasps out, voice seething with hate, "Well what the fuck took you shits so long?"