SNOWBLIND 3b
Monday 17th October
Stumbling, the pillars of his reason shaking, Edge stared at Ingebretsen for a long moment as if he had never seen him before. Involuntarily – unavoidably – his lips framed the bizzare words; “Y’golonac, he comes”. Blinking a few times, he finally remembered who it was he was looking at.
“Did you hear that?” he croaked hoarsely
[by the rules, Edge needs to be tested for temporary insanity at this point. I rolled it in Roll20 and got 62 so RAW he’s got problems!]
Befuddled, Edge, fortunately, let the leather bound tome slip form his fingers onto the desk beside the open chest as Ingebretsen, sensing something was deeply wrong with Edge but having no idea what specifically it was, gently guided the doctor back from the side table to the managers high backed chair.
Unsure what exactly to next, Ingebretsen, hurried to the door. As look would have it he spotted Peder Eriksen drudging across the icy grounds towards the Foreman’s House. Loudly he bellowed for the stations remaining Winchman to come and help him. When Eriksen edged into the manager’s office he couldn’t help but stare in horror at the white-faced mumbling doctor slumped behind the manager’s desk.
“Blast you Peder, help me carry him to the infirmary. The doctor ‘fell’ and hit his head”
Between the two of them, one beneath each arm, the bodily lifted the doctor and carried him to the infirmary. Once inside, Wicks, shocked at the doctor’s appearance, hustled the doctor into his own private bed away from prying eyes.
Boswell, now somewhat recovered from his own earlier malaise, quietly quizzed Ingebretsen as to Edge’s state. Ingebretsen did his best to explain the circumstances but ended the explanation with a shrug of his shoulders.
SNOWBLIND 3b
Monday 17th October
Stumbling, the pillars of his reason shaking, Edge stared at Ingebretsen for a long moment as if he had never seen him before. Involuntarily – unavoidably – his lips framed the bizzare words; “Y’golonac, he comes”. Blinking a few times, he finally remembered who it was he was looking at.
“Did you hear that?” he croaked hoarsely
[by the rules, Edge needs to be tested for temporary insanity at this point. I rolled it in Roll20 and got 62 so RAW he’s got problems!]
Befuddled, Edge, fortunately, let the leather bound tome slip form his fingers onto the desk beside the open chest as Ingebretsen, sensing something was deeply wrong with Edge but having no idea what specifically it was, gently guided the doctor back from the side table to the managers high backed chair.
Unsure what exactly to next, Ingebretsen, hurried to the door. As look would have it he spotted Peder Eriksen drudging across the icy grounds towards the Foreman’s House. Loudly he bellowed for the stations remaining Winchman to come and help him. When Eriksen edged into the manager’s office he couldn’t help but stare in horror at the white-faced mumbling doctor slumped behind the manager’s desk.
“Blast you Peder, help me carry him to the infirmary. The doctor ‘fell’ and hit his head”
Between the two of them, one beneath each arm, the bodily lifted the doctor and carried him to the infirmary. Once inside, Wicks, shocked at the doctor’s appearance, hustled the doctor into his own private bed away from prying eyes.
Boswell, now somewhat recovered from his own earlier malaise, quietly quizzed Ingebretsen as to Edge’s state. Ingebretsen did his best to explain the circumstances but ended the explanation with a shrug of his shoulders.
SNOWBLIND 3c
Monday 17th October
Stumbling, the pillars of his reason shaking, Edge stared at Ingebretsen for a long moment as if he had never seen him before. Involuntarily – unavoidably – his lips framed the bizarre words; “Y’golonac, he comes.” Blinking a few times, he finally remembered who it was he was looking at.
“Did you hear that?” he croaked hoarsely
Befuddled, Edge, fortunately, let the leather bound tome slip form his fingers onto the desk beside the open chest as Ing,ebretsen, sensing something was deeply wrong with Edge but having no idea what specifically it was, gently guided the doctor back from the side table to the managers high backed chair.
Unsure what exactly to next, Ingebretsen, hurried to the door. As look would have it he spotted Peder Eriksen drudging across the icy grounds towards the Foreman’s House. Loudly he bellowed for the stations remaining Winchman to come and help him. When Eriksen edged into the manager’s office he couldn’t help but stare in horror at the white-faced mumbling doctor slumped behind the manager’s desk.
“Blast you Peder, help me carry him to the infirmary. The doctor ‘fell’ and hit his head”
Between the two of them, one beneath each arm, the bodily lifted the doctor and carried him to the infirmary. Once inside, Wicks, shocked at the doctor’s appearance, hustled the doctor into his own private bed away from prying eyes.
Boswell now somewhat recovered from his own earlier malaise, quietly quizzed Ingebretsen as to Edge’s state. Ingebretsen did his best to explain the circumstances but ended the explanation with a shrug of his shoulders.
Dismissing Pedner whilst reiterating the repeated lie of a bang to the head, Ingebretsen and Boswell left Wick to administer to the doctor and themselves headed out of the door.
Swaddled in his bed, Edge tried to speak to the fussing Wick, distraughtly trying to warn his assistant of the approaching horror, but words failed him as the effects of the medication and brandy dribbled down his throat by Wicks tuck affect bringing obliterating oblivion.
Tuesday 18th October
Edge awoke, his head feeling like thunder wrapped in a wet towel . . . .
With a sudden gurgle, he lurched upright in the bed, swaying as the lights exploded in his head. Gradually, the swirling specks diminished, and he looked around, seeing the familiar surroundings of his own room.
Emotional shock of some kind, he thought as his training began to sluggishly reassert itself. Hope I didn’t make a fool of myself in front of the foreigners….
For a few moments he sat there, trying to piece things together. Thoughtfully, someone had left water next to his bed, and he sipped gratefully.
Then a sudden wash of cold fear crashed through him with memories riding on top.
“God in Heaven! What happened to that book?” he burst out involuntarily.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Edge, breaking out into a sudden sweat at the recollection of the fear that had flooded his mind, flailed at the constricting sheets, inadvertently knocking the now empty glass to the floor. As the glass shattered on the bare boards, Wick blundered into the room, the door crashing back against the wall as he hurried into the room.
“Doctor, your awake, I heard you shout, shall I fetch Mr Boswell? He said I should if you awoke, I mean, when you awoke.”
The good doctor threw the sheets aside and swung his legs from the bed intent on finding Boswell and Ingebretsen to warn them of the horrors attached to that dammed book. As he stood, he realised that somebody had removed his garments and dressed him for sleep. Before he could ponder this further he staggered feeling suddenly without energy and from the sudden burst of pain as broken glass sliced into the sole of his left foot. Before Wick could reach his side, Edge, his head in tatters, slumped back onto the bed, blood from his lacerated foot spattering onto the sweat soaked sheets.
Doing the best he could, Wick, hurried form the room to fetch clean lint to dress the wound and forceps to remove the glass shard from the doctors foot.
Moments later he returned to find the doctor once more torpid. Gingerly he removed the shard from Edge’s foot, the removal of which caused a fresh eruption of blood. Realising it needed more than a simple bandage he again hurried from the room in search of needle and thread.
Almost half an hour later Boswell and Ingebretsen returned as Wick struggled to change the bloodied sheets without disturbing the delirious doctor. Aided by the pair the three of them quickly had the doctor settled back in his bed peaceful at last.
It was only then that Ingebretsen happened to glance at the bloody sheet crumpled on the floor in the corner. Just for a moment he could have sworn the that the bloody stain on the sheet resembled something akin to the hellish symbol daubed in blood on the chapels walls and carved into the corpses.
??th October
Slowly Edge opened his eyes, for the moment he appeared to be alone in his bed. Grimacing not only at the pain in his head but also at stabbing ache in his foot. “God preserve us,” muttered the doctor, “what in damnation’s happened now?”
SNOWBLIND 3c
Monday 17th October
Stumbling, the pillars of his reason shaking, Edge stared at Ingebretsen for a long moment as if he had never seen him before. Involuntarily – unavoidably – his lips framed the bizarre words; “Y’golonac, he comes.” Blinking a few times, he finally remembered who it was he was looking at.
“Did you hear that?” he croaked hoarsely
Befuddled, Edge, fortunately, let the leather bound tome slip form his fingers onto the desk beside the open chest as Ing,ebretsen, sensing something was deeply wrong with Edge but having no idea what specifically it was, gently guided the doctor back from the side table to the managers high backed chair.
Unsure what exactly to next, Ingebretsen, hurried to the door. As look would have it he spotted Peder Eriksen drudging across the icy grounds towards the Foreman’s House. Loudly he bellowed for the stations remaining Winchman to come and help him. When Eriksen edged into the manager’s office he couldn’t help but stare in horror at the white-faced mumbling doctor slumped behind the manager’s desk.
“Blast you Peder, help me carry him to the infirmary. The doctor ‘fell’ and hit his head”
Between the two of them, one beneath each arm, the bodily lifted the doctor and carried him to the infirmary. Once inside, Wicks, shocked at the doctor’s appearance, hustled the doctor into his own private bed away from prying eyes.
Boswell now somewhat recovered from his own earlier malaise, quietly quizzed Ingebretsen as to Edge’s state. Ingebretsen did his best to explain the circumstances but ended the explanation with a shrug of his shoulders.
Dismissing Pedner whilst reiterating the repeated lie of a bang to the head, Ingebretsen and Boswell left Wick to administer to the doctor and themselves headed out of the door.
Swaddled in his bed, Edge tried to speak to the fussing Wick, distraughtly trying to warn his assistant of the approaching horror, but words failed him as the effects of the medication and brandy dribbled down his throat by Wicks tuck affect bringing obliterating oblivion.
Tuesday 18th October
Edge awoke, his head feeling like thunder wrapped in a wet towel . . . .
With a sudden gurgle, he lurched upright in the bed, swaying as the lights exploded in his head. Gradually, the swirling specks diminished, and he looked around, seeing the familiar surroundings of his own room.
Emotional shock of some kind, he thought as his training began to sluggishly reassert itself. Hope I didn’t make a fool of myself in front of the foreigners….
For a few moments he sat there, trying to piece things together. Thoughtfully, someone had left water next to his bed, and he sipped gratefully.
Then a sudden wash of cold fear crashed through him with memories riding on top.
“God in Heaven! What happened to that book?” he burst out involuntarily.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Edge, breaking out into a sudden sweat at the recollection of the fear that had flooded his mind, flailed at the constricting sheets, inadvertently knocking the now empty glass to the floor. As the glass shattered on the bare boards, Wick blundered into the room, the door crashing back against the wall as he hurried into the room.
“Doctor, your awake, I heard you shout, shall I fetch Mr Boswell? He said I should if you awoke, I mean, when you awoke.”
The good doctor threw the sheets aside and swung his legs from the bed intent on finding Boswell and Ingebretsen to warn them of the horrors attached to that dammed book. As he stood, he realised that somebody had removed his garments and dressed him for sleep. Before he could ponder this further he staggered feeling suddenly without energy and from the sudden burst of pain as broken glass sliced into the sole of his left foot. Before Wick could reach his side, Edge, his head in tatters, slumped back onto the bed, blood from his lacerated foot spattering onto the sweat soaked sheets.
Doing the best he could, Wick, hurried form the room to fetch clean lint to dress the wound and forceps to remove the glass shard from the doctors foot.
Moments later he returned to find the doctor once more torpid. Gingerly he removed the shard from Edge’s foot, the removal of which caused a fresh eruption of blood. Realising it needed more than a simple bandage he again hurried from the room in search of needle and thread.
Almost half an hour later Boswell and Ingebretsen returned as Wick struggled to change the bloodied sheets without disturbing the delirious doctor. Aided by the pair the three of them quickly had the doctor settled back in his bed peaceful at last.
It was only then that Ingebretsen happened to glance at the bloody sheet crumpled on the floor in the corner. Just for a moment he could have sworn the that the bloody stain on the sheet resembled something akin to the hellish symbol daubed in blood on the chapels walls and carved into the corpses.
??th October
Slowly Edge opened his eyes, for the moment he appeared to be alone in his bed. Grimacing not only at the pain in his head but also at stabbing ache in his foot. “God preserve us,” muttered the doctor, “what in damnation’s happened now?”
Not without a sense of déjà vu, Edge felt a fresh pulse of fear as he remembered the book. “Wicks!” he tried to bellow, producing only a hoarse croak. “Anyone? What’s going on?”
With an effort – again, feeling that this had probably happened before – he hauled himself out of bed, avoiding his left foot after one agonizing mistake and clutching the bedpost. He looked down. Hardly RCS work that, he thought, wonder who’s the butcher? Well, at least I didn’t bleed to death and it’s not gone green.
His returning memory was edging around the events of – whenever it had been – rather than venturing in, but once again he felt a cool breeze and recalled his trouserless state. For the moment defeated, he sat heavily back on the bed and awaited rescue.