ph_logs | [Closed] Inner Sanctum

[Closed] Inner Sanctum

Who: Dr. Elias Coldwood (

arcanegrasp) & Shen Qingqiu (

xiaoxiuya)
What:The investigation of Dr. Coldwood's home
When:Early December
Where: The Lighthouse
Warning(s): [ Will add as they become relevant! ]

"...No, I understand completely, ma'am, but surely you can just tell them it's a bad idea, couldn't you?"

Dr. Elias Coldwood paces the living room of the lighthouse, sending stone in hand and brows furrowed so deeply that it looks as though it could give him a headache, growing more exasperated by the minute. Adventuring parties, goddesses mercy, he thought he'd be free of the scourge of adventuring parties getting tangled in anything they could find in such a small town, but apparently he'd have no such luck. It seems like the off-worlders have been inspiring the locals to take up arms and carve their own paths where they're able. Where there is danger, there are people who want to face it, and where those people are, there is a desperate need for information so they don't get themselves killed for no reason. Even in the evening hours, apparently.

"Right, of course. Yes, no, I understand," Elias sighs. "I'll be there shortly. ...Yes, yes, I'll bring the antivenom, just in case. Goodbye."

The sending stone dims, and Dr. Coldwood lets out a short groan that is nothing short of profoundly irritated.

"When it rains, it pours, does it not?" He half-jokes, tugging on his coat and collecting things off of a cluttered end-table, snagging a few journals off of the bookshelf. "First the roof leak, now the adventurers... I swear, they can't leave well enough alone with that goddesses-forsaken wyvern. I suppose that's what happens when a small town gets one, though. No one knows how to behave when megafauna get involved."

The ins and odds are stored in his satchel, which is slung over his shoulder. An apologetic smile back towards Shen Qingqiu follows it.

"Feel free to take the rest of the evening to yourself, if you'd like. We'll pick back up where we left off tomorrow. Just be certain to lock the door behind you, if you don't mind. Enjoy your night, my friend!"

And, in his great hurry, he barely waits for a response before he's out the door. Boot-clad footfalls fade distantly once they're off of that first stone step.

-

Without Dr. Coldwood's presence inside of it, flitting about to and fro amid all his work, the house seems shockingly still. A long couch and aged armchair sit before a fireplace, old embers hidden behind a short metal screen. The dining table, mostly cleared through the help of his assistants in organizing, sorting, and filing his collection of notes away, bears a single magically-lit lamp. To the far end of the room, round stairs begin to climb the wall upwards, towards the lighthouse, to Dr. Coldwood's private dwellings, then further up to the lighthouse's lamp itself. On the other end, a sloping stairwell to the basement descends into darkness, a lamp sitting on a short shelf to be taken down when something is needed.

The entire cluttered-but-comfortable home is, for one of the first times that isn't fleeting moments, left open to prying eyes. The only question is the same beckoned by an empty canvas to its artist: where to begin?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

At last! All of his patience is about to pay off! Either Elias will finally be cleared of all suspicion -- or he'll find something to prove his connection to the cult once and for all, this Shen Qingqiu swears. He waits only until the sound of Elias's footsteps have faded away, straining his senses to make sure he's not turning back, before he's up, looking around the room with keen eyes. This room is already familiar to him, but the basement, Elias's private quarters -- what might he find there? He only has to choose where to look first.

The cult performed their sacrifice in an unnatural space, he recalls, neither identifiably underground nor in the air. But villains who wish to hide their dark deeds are often drawn to subterranean spaces nonetheless. His decision made, he snatches up the lamp and lights it with a wave of his hand, descending the basement stairs with eager yet steady feet...

One by one, creaking, aged stairs descend deeper and deeper, showing their warping of time passed under the golden lantern-light. It's a narrow passage, stone walls holding the early-winter's chill more than the brickwork upstairs does. Without the ruckus of conversation and footsteps, the only thing that fractures the still of that would-be darkness is the creaking of wood...

And, when Shen Qingqiu reaches the bottom of the stairs, slow, ragged breathing.

The sound, in spite of its uneven nature, is slow and unbothered, bordering on nearly being placid. It isn't within the small room that the stairs let into, however; instead, it is muffled by a heavy door of wood and iron. A large keyhole sits just above the tarnished doorknob, rusted with mottled browns and deep oranges - and for whatever the lock of the knob cannot manage to keep inside the room, or perhaps out of it, a wide metal bar sits in a bracketed frame.

Whatever Dr. Coldwood keeps in this place, one thing is abundantly clear: he has gone through some intensive measures to ensure that no one's eyes but his own would find their way to it.

Edited 2024-12-11 21:32 (UTC)

...Well. Shit.

Shiiiiiiiiit.

He was hoping to find, like, a grimoire or a black altar or something like that, not. Whatever the fuck this is! Elias, what the fuck have you been doing down here?

He puts a hand on the door, straining his senses for any more information on whatever -- or whoever -- might be inside. After a minute's gone by, he says in a low whisper, "Hello?"

There's a pause in the breathing when Shen Qingqiu speaks. There's a palpable magic that's in the room, practically seeping out of the keyhole, beneath the door, in any nook and cranny that it could flow from - it's a vile, twisting energy, of festering madness and the hungering emptiness of space itself.

The hunger is much closer to this place, as well. To Shen Qingqiu's senses, there's no drive to kill, no abject violence - not inherently, at least. Now alert, there is a sense of desperate hunger, one that only intensifies the closer that whatever lies on the other side of the door comes closer. There comes a bestial snuffling at the keyhole. It's expectant, impatient, waiting for the door to open, and inspecting more closely when it does not, drawing deep breaths that end in short huffs. Such a large beast, to be drawing air as it does, behaves in a manner almost more befitting a spoiled animal at a petting zoo.

The breath of this creature escapes through the keyhole; the stench is heavy with blood.

Shen Qingqiu backs away slowly, reaching into his sleeve for a piece of talisman paper. "I'm sorry," he says regretfully. "I don't have anything for you." Whatever is on the other side of the door, his chiefest worry is that it will break the door down or raise some kind of an alarm. If that happens, his best recourse will be to seal its prison off with a silencing talisman and finish his investigation of the lighthouse as quickly as possible. Informing Cerrit that Elias Coldwood is keeping some kind of eldritch beast in his cellar should be enough to justify an official investigation -- assuming Elias doesn't just kill the beast or move it elsewhere. He'd like to find something he can actually remove from the lighthouse himself if he can.

Of course, if the beast begins speaking to him and proves itself a rational being, he'll have to recalculate everything.

The beast bellows, more of a whine than a roar, and thuds against the door, something hard--- perhaps hooves--- scraping against the floor in tandem with the sounds of shifting flesh. Another thud, then another, pawing and shuffling.

Unsuccessful. No alarm is raised.

It does, however, begin to speak.

The repeated words are in a whisper, rasping and ragged, an incomprehensible language not meant for this place. It ebbs strangely against the stone walls and the edges of Shen Qingqiu's mind, barely spoken over the sounds of its persistent sounds of shuffling of its attempted escape.

Ahf' ymg' ah? Ahf' ymg' ah? Ahf' ymg' ah?

It grows more frantic to reach the source of the voice on the other side of the door. The thuds grow more heavy.

It's getting hungrier by the second.

"Shit!" He slaps the silencing talisman up against the door without another word, sealing both door and beast behind a layer of golden light. He retreats briskly, back up the stairs and closing the basement door behind him. Well. That...didn't work out.

Maybe he'll have better luck upstairs?

Silence falls in the house, in spite of the struggle behind the door, and the stillness returns. The atmosphere of the home sinks, coziness lost beneath the weight of dread and the unknown, but the upstairs, up and up those curling stairs into the lighthouse, put some much-needed distance between visitor and disturbed secret.

The first level of the lighthouse bears a small personal library, not dissimilar to the several shelves of books within the first level. More aged books line the rows, if their wear and tear are anything to go off of. Just above that is a bedroom, notably tidier than the rest of the home, with a desk, several drawers neatly closed. A chest sits at the end of the bed, draped over with blankets, and assorted personal writing lie scattered over the desk, Dr. Coldwood not yet having taken the time to sort them away.

There is, however, one witness to Shen Qinqiu's snooping: a little glowing mushroom watches him wander from atop a small terrarium on the back of the desk, its black dot eyes tracking his every move. At least it doesn't bother to try to stop him?

After the encounter in the basement, Shen Qingqiu is jumpy, nearly twitchy with nerves; he eyes the little mushroom right back, musing out loud, "Hi there. Are you a nice Pokemon, or are you a little criminal mastermind like Meowth from Team Rocket?"

He keeps an eye on it as he approaches the chest of drawers. It might just contain more blankets and clothing, but it might also contain the kind of secrets he's looking for.

"Mrrmrrlull," the Morelull says, plaintively, with nothing more than a little sway to an invisible breeze. It sees no need to hop down from its terrarium, even with the rummaging at hand.

Shen Qingqiu's assumptions are met by the drawers. One by one, down further to the floor, there are shirts, sheets, and trousers, folded in varied stages of neat to not at all, depending on how far down the drawers are, and what level of hurry he'd been in. The lowest drawer seems to be older clothes, smaller or tattered, sentimental items that he couldn't part with.

At first, it seems like the drawers may be a wash - that is, of course, until, at the back of the lowest drawer, there's something distinctly more solid than the rest.

A heavy thunk sounds against the hollow wood as the item topples over within its cloth bag. When it's pulled from the drawer, it scrapes softly; it has a reasonable weight to it, a distinct handle clear on the object even from just lifting the bag.

Even a brief touch will ping similarly to Shen Qingqiu's senses as the hungering beast downstairs, but sharper, clearer. Forged with purpose and power in equal parts, neither of which faded with however much time there's been since it's been stored away. If pulled from the bag, the handle shines with a deep crimson - and, upon the blade, there's an inscription, boldly etched. It depicts strange, jagged text that appear to be some manner of rune or unknown language. Too clean to have done by hand but too resonant with power to have been the work of a machine. Magic, perhaps?

Oh yes, it must be. He's seen magic-etched tools before -- and by the aura surrounding it, this blade must be a powerful one. He carefully wraps it back up in its bag and stuffs up his sleeve. What to do next...?

His gaze falls on the desk with a thoughtful hum. He doesn't recognize the runes, but perhaps Miss Dahlia would. And the handle...red, like the cultist's robes. Would this, plus the beast in the basement, be enough to tie Doctor Coldwood to the cult of Nyarlathotep?

He steps towards to the desk, meaning to search it as well.

One drawer, then two, then three, open and reveal little more than jumbled messes of paper, pens, and other tools, clearly placed within with little care for their continued organization.

There is only one thing that could raise any eyebrows; a leather journal is shoved into the bottom of one, old and worn, dating six years prior. Some pages are torn out, others smudged, illegible. The ones that can be read are personal in nature, small anecdotes from his day-to-day life, putting mundane stress into written word to manage all of it.

Towards the back of it, the writing grows messier. Several pages teeter on incoherent, sounding more like notes of attempted new spells rather than any writing. Several of the same bear prints, of both fingers and palms in various places, gently stained with blood.

A final page is scrawled in a way that one can feel the urgency of the words, the desperation to get them onto paper.

LAND SEA SKY BEYOND

UNBROKEN CIRCLE EVERLASTING

FRACTURED PIECES SNAPPED OFF - ONLY BEYOND REMAINS?

NO MORE GODDESSES, EMPTY THRONES ETERNAL

WE SHALL HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO CREATE OUR OWN

"Orrrmorelull," the Morlull drawls, almost warning, if one could call its sleepy little babble that.

It seems it isn't without cause, though; downstairs, in the home, the front door opens, and then closes. Boots against creaking wood pace to and fro, muttering barely heard beneath those footfalls and the sounds of shuffling objects.

Dr. Coldwood's forgotten something, and he seems to be in a great hurry to find it.

...Well! He's definitely taking that.

And not a moment too soon, it seems. Shen Qingqiu flinches at the sound of the front door, hastily closing up the desk and casting about for a window. It might be cowardly, to simply flee without confronting Elias -- but the simple truth is that he just doesn't care to risk facing the man who most likely sealed that beast inside the basement. Not without Valdis by his side, anyway.

He leaps out the window, drawing his sword on the way down and neatly flipping it into place, riding it like a skateboard as he speeds back towards town. He reaches for his sending stone and speaks Valdis's name; hopefully she'll answer quickly. Hopefully she doesn't have anything else planned for today!

Luckily for Shen Qingqui, Valdis is not currently busy, but she’s certainly not expecting him to call with such urgency in his voice.

“I’m here. Are you alright?”

"Oh, I'm doing amazing!" Shen Qingqiu responds, laughing with just a trace of deflating hysteria in his voice. "I have evidence that Elias Coldwood does have ties to the cult of Nyarlathotep! And! He's keeping some kind of eldritch monster in his basement!"

He laughs a second time, psyching himself up again. "Where are you? We should make our next move as swiftly as possible, he's home right now and I might have left a sealing talisman in his basement to keep the beast from getting out. I don't think we want to give him a chance to go into hiding!"

She can’t sense his emotions from this distance, but his voice makes how he is feeling pretty clear. Half panicked, maybe a smidge of excitement.

“I’m just leaving the Enforcers headquarters, but I can meet you fairly quickly.”

She feels a knot winding in her chest. A little fear and excitement of her own.

“You’re certain it’s the cult and not something else?”

"Pretty certain! I've got a knife and a journal with me with creepy text on them, I'll show you when we meet up! The knife's also red, like the robes the cultists were wearing in that flashback-dream sequence!"

Sometimes he has to just step back and wonder how the fuck this is even his life, speeding through the air on a magical sword to meet up with his immortal shapechanging grim reaper coworker so they can arrest a lighthouse keeper for ties to a murderous cult devoted to an HP Lovecraft character. Not even a Chinese literary figure, he's stuck with repressed American fever dreams!

He silently promises himself that later on, after Elias is behind bars, he'll pack up some of his best tea, go over to Anzu and Lev's place, and scream into their vulpix's fur.

"I'm almost downtown! Wave or something so I can find you, please?"

Valdis immediately heads toward the center of town, keeping an eye out for Shen Qingqiu as she moves.

“I’m headed toward city hall.”

She wants to see that journal and the dagger as soon as possible. But red…she’s not a fan of the comparisons being drawn here. She’ll need to take a look at the text and see if it matches the pages that Neil has.

A small course correction and Shen Qingqiu is alighting onto the pavement in front of town hall, his sword hovering in mid-air until he puts a hand on it to return it to its sheath. He scoots over to Valdis, his hands tucked up his sleeves.

"Inside?" he asks her in a low voice, tilting his head towards hers. "I suppose we ought to control how many people see these things, at least for now..."

Valdis senses him an instant before he appears in front of her. He's rattled, and she's not used to seeing that from him.

"Yes."

If these are truly what he thinks they are, she doesn't want to risk anyone seeing them.

"I'm sure there's an empty office we can use for a moment."

She turns to head up the stairs and into the building, luckily she doesn't sense many people inside.

Indeed, he's having a hard time keeping up the aloof and serene immortal master look right now. But how can he not be excited, when after so many months of secrets and observation, things are finally moving? This might bring them one step closer to exposing Nyarlathotep!

Shen Qingqiu follows Valdis closely, and once the office door has closed behind them he immediately pulls the dagger and journal out of his sleeve, arranging them on the desk for her viewing. "Here we are. I took these from Dr. Coldwood's bedroom," he explains.

Valdis closes the door and turns to find Shen Qingqiu has already pulled out the journal and the dagger. She takes a look at the dagger, noting the writing, and then flips open the journal to see what is written there as well.

She bites her lip and looks up at her friend.

"It's the same as in the Necromicon. That writing is on the pages that Neil has."

As Shen Qingqiu isn't an enforcer, she can take this evidence and use it.

"I suppose we should go and speak with Dr. Coldwood."

Bringing him into custody would look very good for her and what she has in the works.

"Indeed." Shen Qingqiu nods. "And as quickly as possible. I'm not comfortable leaving that creature in his basement unsupervised..." He stops, grimacing. "Should we ask Dr. West to come with us? It might be difficult for him, considering his history with Coldwood, but he might be able to tell us what the beast is and how to keep it contained."

"Neil can't read the writing, why do you think he would know what this beast is?"

The idea that Neil would know something isn't exactly wrong, he had been married to Elias, but if he knew of Dr. Coldwood's involvement with Nyarly then he likely would have said something.

"If he knew about this, he would have told us. Unless you think he's been lying this whole time?"

The flippant way she says the last part implies she's not going to entertain the idea.

"We'll go now."

Luckily she has Revelations with her today so there's no need to stop and get it before heading to the lighthouse.

"I...I'm not sure," Shen Qingqiu says, mystified. One of his hands unconsciously moves to his temple, fingertips pressing and rubbing at the skin as though he feels the beginning of a tension headache.

"I just thought, as a mage, Dr. West might know something about the creature...but you're right, of course. He and Dr. Coldwood have been divorced for years, there's no reason to suspect he has any idea what Dr. Coldwood's been up to."

And he nods, tucking the items back into his sleeve and making to follow her out of the office. "Yes, let's go."

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