Post by TheUdjat on Mar 4, 2008 11:08:59 GMT -5
Tommy, Jeremy, Jack-
Jeremy speaks his certainty that Samuel is within, and that the group must act now – but Tommy and Jackhammer seem content to wait for now. As they continue to watch the building, the slow trickle of suspicious individuals continues, and even picks up as the evening nears midnight. It is soon apparent that Ju-Ju House is far too small for such a flood of individuals – there must be some secret adjoining room of some sort, or a connection to an adjacent building. Perhaps a basement.
After midnight, the tide of people begins to taper off. Fewer and fewer dark foreigners venture into Ju-Ju House. But it is still curious – what could they be doing inside?
[No clear actions from you guys, yet. Just let me know if you’d like to do something.]
Sam, Rebecca, Thurman, Joe-
After speaking with Bradley, you are all forced to wait, hoping for results. If anything is to come of this, you are assured, it will be tonight... but when, exactly? Sometime before her evening engagement, certainly, but that leaves a lot of room.
For hours you patiently wait, until some two hours later, Sam’s phone rings – it is Bradley Grey. “Mr. Gravener,” he says. His voice holds some curiosity and a bit of nervousness – but then, Grey’s voice always seems a touch nervous. “Erica’s interested in meeting with you after all. I must admit this is a little surprising, even to me, but she does know more about this business than I do.”
“You should proceed to the Carlyle Estate with all due haste. The trip should take you about a half hour, driving or by cab.” Grey proceeds to give you instructions on how to get there, and when all of that is taken care of, he continues. “I will meet you there. And please, remember that this is a personal matter for Ms. Carlyle.”
[You’re welcome to take care of any quick preparations before heading over – no need for formal suits or dresses.]
Driving to the Carlyle Estate takes you up into Westchester County, north out of New York, on the Hudson River. The drive is peaceful and scenic, but all of you are too preoccupied with the meeting – and what questions to ask – to be very concerned about the countryside. You do note an ominous visage of Sing-Sing Prison on the way, however, seeming particularly out of place.
The Carlyle Estate itself consists of an elegant three-story mansion and five acres of superb grounds, all surrounded by a twelve-foot-high iron fence topped with sharpened finials. As you drive past, you even note a small contingent of guards making the rounds, a pair of guard dogs between them – it would seem Ms. Carlyle takes her security very seriously.
Arriving at the gate, you all inform the guards of your business, and are in turn allowed into the massive estate. A slow, sinuous drive leads up to the mansion, where Bradley Grey is standing by a plain Model A, wringing his hands with minor agitation. Sam has glimpsed the man in passing, but never truly seen him – in person he is thin and a bit on the short side, with light brown hair and a nervous smile. His eyes shine with attentiveness, however – surely this man is more shrewd than he might initially appear to be.
He greets you warmly, shaking hands with all of you, paying close attention to names and introductions. When you are finished, he gestures to a set of broad stairs leading up to the mansion’s main doors. “It’s a pleasure to meet all of you. Please, follow me up, Ms. Carlyle’s already waiting.”
In a few short moments you are led into the building, past house staff and into the library. Within the library are easy chairs, tables and reading lamps, ashtrays, spittoons, an elaborate Victorian iron fireplace, a magnificent teak and slate billiards table, and several thousand volumes protected within glass cases along the walls. There are leather-bound complete editions of Trollope, Dickens, Bulwer-Lytton, Mrs. Radcliffe, Francis Parkman, Ralph Waldo Emerson, the earlier works of George Washington Cable, and others. Rebecca in particular also takes note of another section which seems entirely devoted to the occult, but at a glance, none of it appears to be more than traditional, cursory surveys of magic and the supernatural, certainly nothing to compare with material she’s read. On the north wall of the library a large case is filled with old reference works in English and French – and, curiously, a fat edition of Poe’s collected poems.
Near the center of the room, by a small collection of chairs, sits a young woman, and behind her a large, bulky man who is possibly bigger than Jackhammer Joe. When you enter, she rises to greet you. She is quite attractive, with short blonde hair and a catching smile, dressed in clothes that are somewhere between popular flapper fashion and more reserved, dignified attire, delicately balanced between the two. Undoubtedly, this is Erica Carlyle. “Sam Gravener and company, I presume? Please, have a seat. It seems there are things we need to talk about.”
Jeremy speaks his certainty that Samuel is within, and that the group must act now – but Tommy and Jackhammer seem content to wait for now. As they continue to watch the building, the slow trickle of suspicious individuals continues, and even picks up as the evening nears midnight. It is soon apparent that Ju-Ju House is far too small for such a flood of individuals – there must be some secret adjoining room of some sort, or a connection to an adjacent building. Perhaps a basement.
After midnight, the tide of people begins to taper off. Fewer and fewer dark foreigners venture into Ju-Ju House. But it is still curious – what could they be doing inside?
[No clear actions from you guys, yet. Just let me know if you’d like to do something.]
Sam, Rebecca, Thurman, Joe-
After speaking with Bradley, you are all forced to wait, hoping for results. If anything is to come of this, you are assured, it will be tonight... but when, exactly? Sometime before her evening engagement, certainly, but that leaves a lot of room.
For hours you patiently wait, until some two hours later, Sam’s phone rings – it is Bradley Grey. “Mr. Gravener,” he says. His voice holds some curiosity and a bit of nervousness – but then, Grey’s voice always seems a touch nervous. “Erica’s interested in meeting with you after all. I must admit this is a little surprising, even to me, but she does know more about this business than I do.”
“You should proceed to the Carlyle Estate with all due haste. The trip should take you about a half hour, driving or by cab.” Grey proceeds to give you instructions on how to get there, and when all of that is taken care of, he continues. “I will meet you there. And please, remember that this is a personal matter for Ms. Carlyle.”
[You’re welcome to take care of any quick preparations before heading over – no need for formal suits or dresses.]
Driving to the Carlyle Estate takes you up into Westchester County, north out of New York, on the Hudson River. The drive is peaceful and scenic, but all of you are too preoccupied with the meeting – and what questions to ask – to be very concerned about the countryside. You do note an ominous visage of Sing-Sing Prison on the way, however, seeming particularly out of place.
The Carlyle Estate itself consists of an elegant three-story mansion and five acres of superb grounds, all surrounded by a twelve-foot-high iron fence topped with sharpened finials. As you drive past, you even note a small contingent of guards making the rounds, a pair of guard dogs between them – it would seem Ms. Carlyle takes her security very seriously.
Arriving at the gate, you all inform the guards of your business, and are in turn allowed into the massive estate. A slow, sinuous drive leads up to the mansion, where Bradley Grey is standing by a plain Model A, wringing his hands with minor agitation. Sam has glimpsed the man in passing, but never truly seen him – in person he is thin and a bit on the short side, with light brown hair and a nervous smile. His eyes shine with attentiveness, however – surely this man is more shrewd than he might initially appear to be.
He greets you warmly, shaking hands with all of you, paying close attention to names and introductions. When you are finished, he gestures to a set of broad stairs leading up to the mansion’s main doors. “It’s a pleasure to meet all of you. Please, follow me up, Ms. Carlyle’s already waiting.”
In a few short moments you are led into the building, past house staff and into the library. Within the library are easy chairs, tables and reading lamps, ashtrays, spittoons, an elaborate Victorian iron fireplace, a magnificent teak and slate billiards table, and several thousand volumes protected within glass cases along the walls. There are leather-bound complete editions of Trollope, Dickens, Bulwer-Lytton, Mrs. Radcliffe, Francis Parkman, Ralph Waldo Emerson, the earlier works of George Washington Cable, and others. Rebecca in particular also takes note of another section which seems entirely devoted to the occult, but at a glance, none of it appears to be more than traditional, cursory surveys of magic and the supernatural, certainly nothing to compare with material she’s read. On the north wall of the library a large case is filled with old reference works in English and French – and, curiously, a fat edition of Poe’s collected poems.
Near the center of the room, by a small collection of chairs, sits a young woman, and behind her a large, bulky man who is possibly bigger than Jackhammer Joe. When you enter, she rises to greet you. She is quite attractive, with short blonde hair and a catching smile, dressed in clothes that are somewhere between popular flapper fashion and more reserved, dignified attire, delicately balanced between the two. Undoubtedly, this is Erica Carlyle. “Sam Gravener and company, I presume? Please, have a seat. It seems there are things we need to talk about.”
