SNOWBLIND 2
Monday 17th October
The next morning as arranged Edge caught up with the first four of yesterday’s absentees but by mid-morning there’s been no sign of the Finish Storeman Tapio Makela. Edge, slightly annoyed by the Finn’s latest headed off to see Boswell & Ingebretsen as arranged the previous evening – Boswell has taken up residence with Ingebretsen in the Foremen's House, Drukken Villa – leaving Wicks to tidy up and then go in search of Tapio. Wicks promises to come and find Edge when he’s located the Storeman.
Making his way the villa, Edge finds Boswell conversing with a couple of the remaining ship’s crew – the Basilisk remains ice bound at the jetty but Boswell as organising the crew to keep cutting ice back from around the ship itself even if it can’t sail out so as not to be crushed by the pressing ice. There’s also maintenance work on the ship’s boilers etc to do so once the harbour eventually clears Boswell wants to be in a position to sail out taking the remaining station crew along with him. Boswell tells Edge that Ingebretsen is doing his morning rounds but that he did call back earlier to say there had been no other events at the chapel.
Whilst taking coffee with Boswell, Wicks appears and admits he can’t find Tapio Makela and that nobody he’s spoken to recalls seeing him since Edge addressed the men the previous evening. At that moment Ingebretsen also returns. He’s aware that Wicks couldn’t find Tapio so he’s instigated a thorough search of the station.
The occurrence of a missing man brought Edge to sharp focus; while accidents and simple suicide were not unknown in these conditions, something told him that under the current circumstances one of two things had happened; Makela was either the latest victim of whatever was going on, or he was the culprit and had gone to ground rather than be questioned.
Edge reiterates “Please will you ask around and see if anyone knows where he was the night before last; check with his bunkmates, was he set a watch, that kind of thing?”
As Edge, Boswell and Wick waited for news, Edge became increasingly anxious.
Not much later Ingebretsen returned, concern evident from the look on his face.
In broken English he explained that Tapio Makela had been found. He interrupted the obvious questions and simply suggested that Edge and Boswell should accompany him and see for themselves. As Edge donned his hat, coat and mittens he spotted an all too familiar bulge in Ingebretsen’s coat pocket reminding Edge that his own service revolver was nestled at the bottom of his Gladstone bag.
A few minutes later Edge found himself stood outside of one of several sheds used to store the stations provisions, in this case the potato store. Despite Ingebretsen’s best efforts there were already several huddled groups of the stations remaining survivors (including a few from the Basilisk crew) watching the approach of the doctor’s entourage. Both Ingebretsen and Boswell ‘encourage’ these chaps to get on with what they’re meant to be doing.
With no more ado Ingebretsen lead Edge and Boswell inside. Wick was left at the door, much to his relief, with the two men Ingebretsen had detailed to keep people outside.
Inside the room the only light came from a couple of flickering candles balanced on sacks of provisions in the far corner. As Edge’s eyes became accustomed to the dimness he could make out a figure sat in the corner between the candles, the flickering light reflected in their eyes. As Edge approached he could see something wasn’t quite right, then he realised what it was. Both of Finn’s feet were raggedly hacked off just above the ankle. On the floor blood had congealed in the dirt around Makela’s removed booted feet, ragged bone sticking out of the gory mess. Cast a side on the floor was a one-man cross cut saw, its teeth bearing evidence of what Makela had done to himself.
As Edge stepped closer he could see Makela was oblivious to his injuries, in fact he was busily carving something into his forearms with some sort of blunt bladed instrument and repeating to himself some whispered phrase, bizarrely in heavily accented English.
As Edged drew level with the bloody stumps of Makela’s ankles he picked up the repeated phrase, it was three simple words whispered over and over again.
“Y’golonac, he comes”
As Edge, unconsciously repeated the phrase it felt as if somebody had walked over his grave.
Attempting to distract Makela from his intent to carve something into his flesh, both Edge and Ingebretsen spoke hopefully calming words, from the stupefied look on Makela’s grinning face he was too far beyond caring. At was at this moment that Edge realised what Makela was using as a tool, it was letter opener, possibly silver. Ingebretsen too recognised it for what it was but added that it was the former managers letter opener, a component from a gift set from the man’s family.
Edge suggested to his companions that they needed to relocate Makela to the infirmary, to do what they could for his wounds as clearly his mind was lost to them. Slowly they removed coats which along with a few empty sacks they intended to use to swaddle the invalid to prevent him causing further harm to himself.
As they moved to restrain him, Boswell suddenly hissed a warning, sniffing the air deliberately. It came then to both Edge and Ingebretsen that the behind the smell of potatoes and sickly blood was another smell, that of paraffin mixed with unrefined whale oil. Glancing around Edge could see splashes of the liquid on Makela’s bloody trousers, the floor and the sacks on which he sprawled.
With determination the three men fought back nausea, at least Edge and Ingebretsen did, again Boswell’s stomach reacted to the obscene contents of the shed. As one Edge and Ingebretsen lunged to trap Makela’s arms by his side. Alas he reacted unexpectedly ans swiped blood dripping the letter open at Edges’s face knocking one of the candles over in the process.
Fortunately, Edge managed to avoid the blow however the candle set light to the inflammable coated materials. Hastily Edge and his companions beat out the flames, but not before much damage was done to the flesh of Makela’s lacerated legs.
Bundling Makela up in their smouldering coats they rushed him to the infirmary doing their best to cover his injuries from prying eyes. Ingebretsen called quick instructions to master’s Haugen and Jeglum who stood by the door as instructed to ensure the flames were put out and to let nobody inside the store until all was in order.
Nearly two hours later Edge stood back and surveyed his work. Makela was sedated (although amazingly he still moved his lips as if still speaking of the coming of whoever or whatever Y’golonoc was) His stumps were cauterized and dressed, ably assisted by Wicks, and his lacerated arms were dressed with paraffin gauze and clean bandages. It was then that Edge realised that the self-inflicted wounds on Maleka’s arms were clearly an attempt to replicate the symbol seen carved into the corpses in the chapel. My God, thought Edge, is Malaka the source of this madness? Can we now concentrate on seeing out the ice and departing this cursed place?
As an afterthought Ingebretsen had asked Wick’s for his belt and removed his own. With these he’d bound Maleka’s wrists to the iron bedframe.
Wick’s meantime had, under Edge’s instruction, recovered a part bottle of brandy from the surgery and poured all present a fortifying glass or two.
As they recovered from the ordeal, Ingebretsen asked Edge for the letter opener. Cleaned of blood, Edge could see it was an exquisitely engraved item, silver or at least silver plated, with initials cut into the handle, presumably those of the station manager.
For a few moments Ingebretsen turned the instrument over in his hands before again confirming that it was a keepsake brought by the manager, a present from his loving wife. More importantly he observed that the last time he had seen it was after he’d closed up the managers office after his death, he two had dies during the outbreak of ‘cholera’
Leaving Boswell with Wick’s to keep an eye on the patient, Ingebretsen, accompanied by Edge donned coats and headed for the manager’s house.
As they approached the building, combined living quarters and station office they could see footprints in the snow on the wooden steps leading up to the door. Ingebretsen grunted as he pointed at the door, the marks of a forced entry were clearly evident.
Taking a torch from his pocket, Edge allowed Ingebretsen, who now carried his cocked revolver at the ready, to push open the outer door.
Inside the inner, porch, door was ajar, the print of boots was visible in the spindrift on the threshold. Pushing wide the inner door Edge shone his torch around the office, all looked in good order. Quickly Ingebretsen opened the shutters to allow light to flood into the room (it was around 4.00pm, sunset would not be until around 7.15pm) Together they opened the inner door to the managers private parlour and beyond his bedroom, all were as they should be.
Edge, stood in the office, cast his eye around the room. There was as expected a functional desk and several chairs as well as shelves and cupboards containing station records and a few books. On main desk was the stations log book whilst on a side table was a leather-bound waterproof captains’ chest around 2’ long by both 1’ deep and wide.
Edge, curiosity getting the better, flicked through the pages of the station log, he was shocked to see that since the manager had taken ill in mid-August the log had not been maintained. Shocked at this lack of proprietary, Edge admonished Ingebretsen and instructed to him to update the log as not only was it important to maintain such records but that in the circumstances of recent events it was doubly so.
Whilst Ingebretsen looked suitably abashed, Edge looked at the contents of the desks top. He could see the slate cut desk ornament from which the letter opener had been taken, presumably by Makela the previous evening although he was baffled why the man, although clearly insane, would bother to break into the managers office and take nothing but the letter opener.
It was at this point that Edge’s attention was drawn to the incongruous presence of the captains’ chest. It was clearly well made and of good quality however the small padlock was missing from the lids clasp.
Ingebretsen, attempting to be helpful in light of his telling off, advised that it had been recovered from a sloop recovered as the season had come to an end, It wasn’t unusual for several ships to be found each year and towed into the harbour when abandoned as a consequence of weather, illness or sheer unpreparedness for the South Atlantic conditions. Hurriedly he flicked back thorough the station logbook and showed Edge the managers entry for the vessel:
June 14th – Recovery of the vessel ‘Le Livreur’ No hands on board, abandoned? Vessel extensively weather damaged and taking on water, near submerged. Salvage claimed and ship stripped of all useable goods and chattels. Anchor dropped at in open water, anticipated as to be sunk before icing. Ships papers recovered for onward notification of salvage rights. God bless all who sailed on her, may they have no suffered unnecessarily.
Ingebretsen advised Edge that he had not seen the contents of the chest but as per normal practise any such papers would have been brought to the managers house to be dealt with.
Before investigating the chest, Edge made a quick inspection of the book shelves, as expected most were concerned with the stations operations and record keeping, a world atlas, a well-thumbed bible and various other books of little interest or use to Edge. On one of the parlour shelves however he found a dictionary of basic French and German to English. Flicking through the pages he soon discovered that ‘Le Livreur’ translated to ‘The Deliverer’ Presumably a cargo vessel he thought.
Finally, he turned back to the chest itself.
Pushing open the lid he was surprised to see it contained only single item, a book some 10” by 6” As he looked at the book however he became aware of something not quite right although he couldn’t exactly put his finger on it, eerily the hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention.
Reaching out to put a hand on the book to remove it from the chest his fingers lightly touched the cover. As they did a most peculiar feeling overwhelmed him. He realised that the cover wasn’t corrupted or swollen from being overly submersed in salt water for a prolonged period. It was in fact heavily, if not crudely, disfigured, to reveal a tortured face, it could almost be real. It was with this thought his fingers closed on the book to withdraw it. It was then, with horror, he realised the face was real and the book was bound with human skin. Unable to stop himself he carefully lifted it from the chest. As he did so a voice lovingly whispered in his ear, moist breath condensing on the back of his neck.
Instantly he dropped the book from near nerveless fingers and spun about. Ingebretsen was stood behind him as expected, he was halfway across the room starring at him, a look of horror on his face.
Echoing around his head were the words whispered only a few moments earlier to him as he’d lifted the book from the chest, words he’d heard spoken so recently by Makela.
“Y’golonac, he comes”

SNOWBLIND 2
Monday 17th October
The next morning as arranged Edge caught up with the first four of yesterday’s absentees but by mid-morning there’s been no sign of the Finish Storeman Tapio Makela. Edge, slightly annoyed by the Finn’s latest headed off to see Boswell & Ingebretsen as arranged the previous evening – Boswell has taken up residence with Ingebretsen in the Foremen's House, Drukken Villa – leaving Wicks to tidy up and then go in search of Tapio. Wicks promises to come and find Edge when he’s located the Storeman.
Making his way the villa, Edge finds Boswell conversing with a couple of the remaining ship’s crew – the Basilisk remains ice bound at the jetty but Boswell as organising the crew to keep cutting ice back from around the ship itself even if it can’t sail out so as not to be crushed by the pressing ice. There’s also maintenance work on the ship’s boilers etc to do so once the harbour eventually clears Boswell wants to be in a position to sail out taking the remaining station crew along with him. Boswell tells Edge that Ingebretsen is doing his morning rounds but that he did call back earlier to say there had been no other events at the chapel.
Whilst taking coffee with Boswell, Wicks appears and admits he can’t find Tapio Makela and that nobody he’s spoken to recalls seeing him since Edge addressed the men the previous evening. At that moment Ingebretsen also returns. He’s aware that Wicks couldn’t find Tapio so he’s instigated a thorough search of the station.
The occurrence of a missing man brought Edge to sharp focus; while accidents and simple suicide were not unknown in these conditions, something told him that under the current circumstances one of two things had happened; Makela was either the latest victim of whatever was going on, or he was the culprit and had gone to ground rather than be questioned.
Edge reiterates “Please will you ask around and see if anyone knows where he was the night before last; check with his bunkmates, was he set a watch, that kind of thing?”
As Edge, Boswell and Wick waited for news, Edge became increasingly anxious.
Not much later Ingebretsen returned, concern evident from the look on his face.
In broken English he explained that Tapio Makela had been found. He interrupted the obvious questions and simply suggested that Edge and Boswell should accompany him and see for themselves. As Edge donned his hat, coat and mittens he spotted an all too familiar bulge in Ingebretsen’s coat pocket reminding Edge that his own service revolver was nestled at the bottom of his Gladstone bag.
A few minutes later Edge found himself stood outside of one of several sheds used to store the stations provisions, in this case the potato store. Despite Ingebretsen’s best efforts there were already several huddled groups of the stations remaining survivors (including a few from the Basilisk crew) watching the approach of the doctor’s entourage. Both Ingebretsen and Boswell ‘encourage’ these chaps to get on with what they’re meant to be doing.
With no more ado Ingebretsen lead Edge and Boswell inside. Wick was left at the door, much to his relief, with the two men Ingebretsen had detailed to keep people outside.
Inside the room the only light came from a couple of flickering candles balanced on sacks of provisions in the far corner. As Edge’s eyes became accustomed to the dimness he could make out a figure sat in the corner between the candles, the flickering light reflected in their eyes. As Edge approached he could see something wasn’t quite right, then he realised what it was. Both of Finn’s feet were raggedly hacked off just above the ankle. On the floor blood had congealed in the dirt around Makela’s removed booted feet, ragged bone sticking out of the gory mess. Cast a side on the floor was a one-man cross cut saw, its teeth bearing evidence of what Makela had done to himself.
As Edge stepped closer he could see Makela was oblivious to his injuries, in fact he was busily carving something into his forearms with some sort of blunt bladed instrument and repeating to himself some whispered phrase, bizarrely in heavily accented English.
As Edged drew level with the bloody stumps of Makela’s ankles he picked up the repeated phrase, it was three simple words whispered over and over again.
“Y’golonac, he comes”
As Edge, unconsciously repeated the phrase it felt as if somebody had walked over his grave.
Attempting to distract Makela from his intent to carve something into his flesh, both Edge and Ingebretsen spoke hopefully calming words, from the stupefied look on Makela’s grinning face he was too far beyond caring. At was at this moment that Edge realised what Makela was using as a tool, it was letter opener, possibly silver. Ingebretsen too recognised it for what it was but added that it was the former managers letter opener, a component from a gift set from the man’s family.
Edge suggested to his companions that they needed to relocate Makela to the infirmary, to do what they could for his wounds as clearly his mind was lost to them. Slowly they removed coats which along with a few empty sacks they intended to use to swaddle the invalid to prevent him causing further harm to himself.
As they moved to restrain him, Boswell suddenly hissed a warning, sniffing the air deliberately. It came then to both Edge and Ingebretsen that the behind the smell of potatoes and sickly blood was another smell, that of paraffin mixed with unrefined whale oil. Glancing around Edge could see splashes of the liquid on Makela’s bloody trousers, the floor and the sacks on which he sprawled.
With determination the three men fought back nausea, at least Edge and Ingebretsen did, again Boswell’s stomach reacted to the obscene contents of the shed. As one Edge and Ingebretsen lunged to trap Makela’s arms by his side. Alas he reacted unexpectedly ans swiped blood dripping the letter open at Edges’s face knocking one of the candles over in the process.
Fortunately, Edge managed to avoid the blow however the candle set light to the inflammable coated materials. Hastily Edge and his companions beat out the flames, but not before much damage was done to the flesh of Makela’s lacerated legs.
Bundling Makela up in their smouldering coats they rushed him to the infirmary doing their best to cover his injuries from prying eyes. Ingebretsen called quick instructions to master’s Haugen and Jeglum who stood by the door as instructed to ensure the flames were put out and to let nobody inside the store until all was in order.
Nearly two hours later Edge stood back and surveyed his work. Makela was sedated (although amazingly he still moved his lips as if still speaking of the coming of whoever or whatever Y’golonoc was) His stumps were cauterized and dressed, ably assisted by Wicks, and his lacerated arms were dressed with paraffin gauze and clean bandages. It was then that Edge realised that the self-inflicted wounds on Maleka’s arms were clearly an attempt to replicate the symbol seen carved into the corpses in the chapel. My God, thought Edge, is Malaka the source of this madness? Can we now concentrate on seeing out the ice and departing this cursed place?
As an afterthought Ingebretsen had asked Wick’s for his belt and removed his own. With these he’d bound Maleka’s wrists to the iron bedframe.
Wick’s meantime had, under Edge’s instruction, recovered a part bottle of brandy from the surgery and poured all present a fortifying glass or two.
As they recovered from the ordeal, Ingebretsen asked Edge for the letter opener. Cleaned of blood, Edge could see it was an exquisitely engraved item, silver or at least silver plated, with initials cut into the handle, presumably those of the station manager.
For a few moments Ingebretsen turned the instrument over in his hands before again confirming that it was a keepsake brought by the manager, a present from his loving wife. More importantly he observed that the last time he had seen it was after he’d closed up the managers office after his death, he two had dies during the outbreak of ‘cholera’
Leaving Boswell with Wick’s to keep an eye on the patient, Ingebretsen, accompanied by Edge donned coats and headed for the manager’s house.
As they approached the building, combined living quarters and station office they could see footprints in the snow on the wooden steps leading up to the door. Ingebretsen grunted as he pointed at the door, the marks of a forced entry were clearly evident.
Taking a torch from his pocket, Edge allowed Ingebretsen, who now carried his cocked revolver at the ready, to push open the outer door.
Inside the inner, porch, door was ajar, the print of boots was visible in the spindrift on the threshold. Pushing wide the inner door Edge shone his torch around the office, all looked in good order. Quickly Ingebretsen opened the shutters to allow light to flood into the room (it was around 4.00pm, sunset would not be until around 7.15pm) Together they opened the inner door to the managers private parlour and beyond his bedroom, all were as they should be.
Edge, stood in the office, cast his eye around the room. There was as expected a functional desk and several chairs as well as shelves and cupboards containing station records and a few books. On main desk was the stations log book whilst on a side table was a leather-bound waterproof captains’ chest around 2’ long by both 1’ deep and wide.
Edge, curiosity getting the better, flicked through the pages of the station log, he was shocked to see that since the manager had taken ill in mid-August the log had not been maintained. Shocked at this lack of proprietary, Edge admonished Ingebretsen and instructed to him to update the log as not only was it important to maintain such records but that in the circumstances of recent events it was doubly so.
Whilst Ingebretsen looked suitably abashed, Edge looked at the contents of the desks top. He could see the slate cut desk ornament from which the letter opener had been taken, presumably by Makela the previous evening although he was baffled why the man, although clearly insane, would bother to break into the managers office and take nothing but the letter opener.
It was at this point that Edge’s attention was drawn to the incongruous presence of the captains’ chest. It was clearly well made and of good quality however the small padlock was missing from the lids clasp.
Ingebretsen, attempting to be helpful in light of his telling off, advised that it had been recovered from a sloop recovered as the season had come to an end, It wasn’t unusual for several ships to be found each year and towed into the harbour when abandoned as a consequence of weather, illness or sheer unpreparedness for the South Atlantic conditions. Hurriedly he flicked back thorough the station logbook and showed Edge the managers entry for the vessel:
June 14th – Recovery of the vessel ‘Le Livreur’ No hands on board, abandoned? Vessel extensively weather damaged and taking on water, near submerged. Salvage claimed and ship stripped of all useable goods and chattels. Anchor dropped at in open water, anticipated as to be sunk before icing. Ships papers recovered for onward notification of salvage rights. God bless all who sailed on her, may they have no suffered unnecessarily.
Ingebretsen advised Edge that he had not seen the contents of the chest but as per normal practise any such papers would have been brought to the managers house to be dealt with.
Before investigating the chest, Edge made a quick inspection of the book shelves, as expected most were concerned with the stations operations and record keeping, a world atlas, a well-thumbed bible and various other books of little interest or use to Edge. On one of the parlour shelves however he found a dictionary of basic French and German to English. Flicking through the pages he soon discovered that ‘Le Livreur’ translated to ‘The Deliverer’ Presumably a cargo vessel he thought.
Finally, he turned back to the chest itself.
Pushing open the lid he was surprised to see it contained only single item, a book some 10” by 6” As he looked at the book however he became aware of something not quite right although he couldn’t exactly put his finger on it, eerily the hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention.
Reaching out to put a hand on the book to remove it from the chest his fingers lightly touched the cover. As they did a most peculiar feeling overwhelmed him. He realised that the cover wasn’t corrupted or swollen from being overly submersed in salt water for a prolonged period. It was in fact heavily, if not crudely, disfigured, to reveal a tortured face, it could almost be real. It was with this thought his fingers closed on the book to withdraw it. It was then, with horror, he realised the face was real and the book was bound with human skin. Unable to stop himself he carefully lifted it from the chest. As he did so a voice lovingly whispered in his ear, moist breath condensing on the back of his neck.
Instantly he dropped the book from near nerveless fingers and spun about. Ingebretsen was stood behind him as expected, he was halfway across the room starring at him, a look of horror on his face.
Echoing around his head were the words whispered only a few moments earlier to him as he’d lifted the book from the chest, words he’d heard spoken so recently by Makela.

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!]