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Epilogue: 'Man Was Not Meant To Know'
Topic Started: Apr 11 2011, 02:09 AM (932 Views)
Misbehaver
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Shrimp Po'Boy
Epilogue: Man Was Not Meant To Know




Don't talk to strangers.
Don't swim alone.
Don't take the dicey shortcut.
Don't turn the stone.
Don't tell a secret.
Don't fall behind.
Don't let the Great Race of Yith
supplant your mind.

Don't wrack your memory.
Don't blaze the trail.
Don't pine for primeval jungles.
Don't pierce the veil.
Don't look for answers
years down the road.
Don't copy down the glyphs that
your visions showed.

Are these dreams a clutch of stifled memories?
Was there something in my mind?

Don't clean the mirror.
Don't be surprised
when your reflection seems like
a pack of lies.
Don't ask the inmates
what it's about.
Don't cry in the library
when you find out.

Are these dreams a clutch of stifled memories?
Was there something in my mind?
There are things they say man was not meant to know.
Is this shadow out of time?



SONG: Some Things Man Was Not Meant To Know
ARTIST: The Darkest Of The Hillside Thickets


------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In late Summer of 1926, the Bureau of Investigation along with the federal government and various local law enforcement agencies, began a series of rather secretive but extensive raids on the ancient Massachusetts port town of Innsmouth. When the story broke, most citizens waved it off as another in a long line of battles in the American government's war on liquor.

Those who paid more attention, and delved a little deeper would begin to wonder what happened to all the residents of Innsmouth who were arrested. The town was left nearly depopulated, and those who were taken were scarcely seen again, while rumours of concentration camps and military prisons circulated frequently among gossip channels. Only one paper--a tabloid easily dismissed for its outlandish stories--mentioned the deep diving submarine that discharged torpedoes down into the black chasm just beyond Devil Reef.

Few know the truth of what happened that Summer in the quiet, sleepy town of Innsmouth. Fewer still, are in any condition to recount the tale.


----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

August 16, 1926
7:00 PM



Department of Justice Building, Washington DC


Becca sobbed in her seat, her hands resting on her lap, shaking uncontrollably. She wiped her matted hair from her face and squinted into the bright lamp that was shone directly into her eyes. Around her, darkness, and nothing to indicate company save for the footsteps of the man circling her.

"Just tell us the truth," the man said, his voice deep and hoarse after hours of this questioning. "We can make this easy."

Becca wiped the tears from her cheek, and breathed shakily, looking away from the light.

Smack! The man's hand came across her face hard, leaving a red mark and nearly knocking her out of her seat.

"You're making this difficult for us, Miss Morse," Hoover's familiar voice came from somewhere further in the room. "Just tell us what the hell happened out there."

"I already told you what happened," she said between sobs, rubbing her red cheek.

"Yes, yes," Hoover said impatiently. "Cut-thooluh, cath-ulla. We want answers, dammit!"

The man circling her grabbed her arm hard and shoved her. Her chest hit the table in front of her, and she remained there, bringing her arms in close and trying to compose herself. It had been like this for hours.

She couldn't be sure how long she and Barris were on the water, as the days seemed to blur together after the island. Eventually, a passing freighter had seen them and they'd manage to signal that they needed help. They must've slept the entire trip back to the States, emotionally and mentally drained. Immediately upon arrival, the Bureau agents were there to pick them up and take them back to Washington. She hadn't seen Barris since, but she had to imagine he was suffering a similar situation.

"Becca!" Hoover's voice boomed, closer now; he banged his fists on the table causing her to shoot up, and she could barely see his outline as he leaned over the table. "Over sixty men were on that boat, and only the two of you come back. Now explain it!"

Becca sobbed and tried to find the words. "I... I have," she mumbled. "The island, and the--"

"There is no fucking island! God!" Hoover straightened up and began to pace. "We sent out another boat, and they found nothing at the coordinates, so what did you see? Was it the Innsmouth weapons? Were there ships? Germans? What?!" Hoover stopped and stared at her for a moment. "Answer me!"

Becca began to cry again, and curled herself as tight as possible, rocking slowly and muttering something softly.

"Forget it," another man said. "She's completely fucked."

"What do we do with her?" another man asked.

"We've got nothing; just get rid of her," Hoover's voice replied.

"What do the Joint Chiefs say?"

"Just bury it."

"The two of them still know about the Innsmouth operation. What if they talk?"

"So get someone to keep an eye on them. Just get her out of the building."


Becca was taken to another room where she was allowed to clean herself up, and was then provided with a new dress to leave with. It wasn't fashionable, but it was clean and dry.

She was given bus fare and escorted to the back door of the building and instructed to go around to the street and get as far away as possible fast. She didn't need to be told twice.

Becca came around the front of the government building, still stroking her sore jaw, and when she got to the sidewalk, she finally saw a familiar face. She feigned a small smile and waved before cautiously crossing the street.

Barris lifted himself up from where he sat against the small tree and extended a tired arm to give Becca a half-assed hug. He had a cut above his eye and a few bruises on his face. His jerky body language said that he had more beneath his dirty clothes. "Least they gave you a new dress," he said gesturing to his rumpled shirt and pants. "Cheap bastards."

"Are you alright?" she asked, wiping stray hairs from her face.

"Nothing a bottle can't fix, darlin'." He looked her up and down and his eyes settled on her face. He noted the red marks on her cheek and jaw and frowned, taking a gentle hand and caressing her sore skin. "Still look fine to me, you know."

Becca gave a small smile and looked back to the building. "What did you tell them?"

"The truth," Barris said. "You can tell they didn't accept it as we might have hoped."

"Maybe better," she said. "I wish I didn't know."

"I think it's mutual, kid." Barris pulled a smoke from his coat and offered one to Becca who turned it down. He took a long drag of the cigarette and looked down the block for a bar. Probably none this close to the White House, he thought.

"Is it... do you think it's dead?"

Barris thought long and hard for a moment. He pursed his lips and nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said. "I think we got it."

Becca nodded too and looked down the block. "Drink?"

"Sure." He threw a friendly arm around her shoulder, shielding her from the cool breeze of the evening and began to walk.

She just needed to hear the right answer, not the truth. Neither of them knew, but Barris could guess. It wasn't dead. It couldn't be. He'd heard Howard's translations as well as the rest of them. That is not dead which can eternal lie. He supposed Cthulhu was still alive, somewhere down there in the deep, probably pulled under with the sinking of his citadel while he repaired his damaged head. And now he was sleeping once more, dreaming in the dark of the sea until the stars are right again. And humanity would be safe until then.

As safe as it normally was.


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One month later


Arkham Asylum, Arkham, Mass


The lights in the room were soft, and gave everything a sort of hazy, fogged appearance. But it was scarce, and there were many dark corners in the room and William could not put himself at ease. He shifted uncontrollably in his chair,his eyes darting back and forth expecting anything at any moment.

"Mr. Forrester, please, just go through it one more time," the man said, pen in hand, tapping it against the clipboard before him. His white coat made him almost blend into the light coming from the lamp on the table. "Mr. Forrester?"

"Doctor," William muttered, looking away from the man toward a high window where he could see a glint of moonlight. "I'm a doctor."

"Yes, well, Doctor Forrester," the man in white continued. "Go back to the events after you entered the house."

"It wasn't a house," William whispered, struggling against his restraints. "It was a tomb."

"You entered the house, and you chased Jacob Marsh into... into what, exactly? A tunnel?"

William shook his head furiously. "No. No, no. A cavern, deep below the sea. Filled with his monsters and his filth."

"And that is where you witnessed the creature rise from the sea." The man nodded along patronizingly, scribbling down notes as he did. "What happened then?"

"I already told you this!" William snapped, causing the two orderlies to the side of the room to step forward, before being waved off by the man in white. "It was Dagon. Dagon, he came up from below and he attacked the sub."

"Ah, but we know that that's not true, William," a second man in white said. "That submarine experienced engine failure and a torpedo malfunction. That is what sunk it."

"It's a lie. I saw what happened."

"Hmm," the first doctor finished writing his notes and showed them to his colleague, nodding and looking at William. He then pressed a button the recording device on the table he sat at and spoke. "Patient obviously suffers from a severe break from reality. The mind is entirely lost in a horrific fantasy, likely brought on by the loss of his daughter."

"Isabelle," William muttered, feeling tears well in his eyes.

"Furthermore, as is common in these cases, the patient is projecting all of his latent fears and hateful emotions on to an external tormentor. In this particular case, in the form of some kind of... sea monster."

"I concur," the second doctor said.


William was escorted out of the room by the two orderlies and placed into a small padded cell with only a single, small light in the center of the ceiling. It also contained a small high window, but it gave him little light. He crouched down, laying his back against the corner of the cell, and pulling his knees in close.

In the opposite corner, looking as immaculate and lovely as he had always known her, Isabelle stood smiling, the sunshine bouncing off her beautiful hair.

William smiled and opened his arms to his beloved daughter. "We got them good, didn't we, sweetheart?"

Isabelle's face grew into a brilliant smile and she ran into her father's arm, their bodies warming each other, and the sweet smell of the autumn breeze cooled their hearts.

"Still alive in'ere?" a voice croaked from somewhere beyond.

William snapped back to reality and scanned the cell, his eyes falling to a small grate joining his room to the next. "Who's there?"

"Robert Orne," the voice replied, accompanied by some lumbering shifting in the next room. "But not for much longer."

The man sounded sick. His voice was laced with something thick and unsettling, and William was already unsettled hearing it.

"I hear'd you talkin' to the jailers, the man continued. "You seen 'im."

"Seen who?" William asked, watching as fragments of shadows danced across the small grate.

"The Father, ya fool. Dagon."

William's eyes widened, and he struggled against the confines of his straitjacket, before falling over onto his side, his eyes level with the small grate, able now to see only the dirty and ugly foot of the man in the next cell. "What do you know about that?"

"I knows where he be," the man said, stifling a chuckle. "I knows where he be keepin'. Waitin'. I'll be there soon."

"Where?" William said, his pulse quickening, his blood boiling.

"In the deep. Gonna get outta here soon. My kin's gonna come free me. And when he does, we gon' be free and forever in the deep."

"Stop it!" William shouted against the padded floor. "Stop it! Shut up!" He shut his eyes and shook his head, trying to force the memories from his mind.

"You'll see!" the man suddenly yelled, as his thick, rubbery digits came through the grate, clawing at the padded floor, tearing into the material. "You'll see!"


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Six months later


Boston, Mass


Quint downed what was left in the bottle and let it fall to the floor, the shattering of the glass causing him to jump involuntarily. The slightest things were getting to him now. What could he do about it? Everything was different now. Couldn't change that. He couldn't unsee what he'd seen in Innsmouth, and under the sea.

The months had dragged on since Innsmouth. Quint came back to his tiny apartment> There was nothing left for him. His beloved boat was gone, and with it, his business and livelihood. He tried to find work at the docks, but found it hard to go near the water, knowing what was lurking below the waves. He had tried to tell people about what he had witnessed, but thought better of it once he saw what happened to the Doc. William had been dragged away by the police less than a week after returning home, and now he was locked up in Arkham. Quint wouldn't live that way. He couldn't. He knew the truth, and no white coat would convince him otherwise.

The loss of Iskandar had hit him the hardest. His young friend had filled a void in his life that had now returned, and grew with the days. Mr. and Mrs. Price hadn't even tried to contact him since his return. He had started countless letters to them apologizing for the loss of their son, but none of them came out right, and so none of them were sent. They laid in a pile by the back door, Quint long having lost the will to keep his place tidy.

On a stormy night in February Quint found himself shut up in his home, as he had been for the previous weeks. A darkness was entering his mind with each passing day, and he was no longer questioning, but certain that they would come for him one of these nights. Those ungodly monsters from the hellish sea would knock down his door and tear him apart. But they'd have to catch him first, and he wouldn't go down without a fight.

Quint sat on a small sofa in the front room, his revolver within reaching distance on the coffee table. He'd be ready. They'd come, but he'd be ready. He'd taken out his share of fish fuckers back in godforsaken Innsmouth. It wouldn't be that hard to do it again. But how many would they send? How many were there? He'd kill himself before he let them turn him into another fish fucker! It'd show that bastard Dagon. He couldn't destroy this human. No one could.

He pulled the small vial from his pocket and uncapped it, looking at the dark swirling liquid for a moment before gulping it down. The laudanum wasn't working as he'd hoped. It was numbing him to just about everything else, but the nightmares still plagued him, and late at night, he could be certain he heard them running around outside, snarling and clawing around, leaving a trail of their filth wherever they went. It would only be a matter of time, he was sure.

The phone rang, and Quint jumped again at the sudden noise. He didn't answer it. It would be them; calling to find him, know he was there, and then they'd come. With their claws and their filth they'd rip the door down, spilling into his home and covering it in their stench. He'd use the gun. He'd drop them like dogs. Beasts, that's what they were.

The ringing stopped, thankfully, and Quint could feel the medicine clouding over him, giving everything a faded appearance. His mind was almost at ease, save for the knowledge that they were still out there.

Quint found himself muttering to nobody in particular. He ran his hand along the length of the gun on the table and then leaned back on the sofa, taking in the ambient noise around him. It was soothing in a way. The normalities of life. The world seeming like a simple place. He knew different. He had seen what lurked in the dark corners of the Earth now, and there was no going back from that. No way except--

"What was that?" he said aloud, shooting up on the couch and looking to the door. Noise outside. Definite noise. He'd heard it. Everything was hazy but he had to have heard it. Like something slippery and terrible lumbering against his door. They'd come for him. They must have. Marsh and the others. All of them. They were here to take him, like the took Iskandar, and Isabelle. Like they took William, and the others. He was alone. They'd taken everyone. No, he wouldn't let them.

He staggered to his feet and took the gun in his hand, keeping his eyes trained on the door. The smell of salt and fish was in the air, like a cold day on the sea. He watched as the door seemed to pulsate, moist and malleable. It seemed to groan to him, like a chest begging to be opened. No, it was the only thing keeping them out. But they couldn't come in. No, he'd used the sign. The sign old Zadok had showed them. That Elder Sign. It littered the walls and floors of his home, painted in the blood of various fish and meats. It was all he had. It had to work, right?

Of course not; they'd sent their slaves, the human locals of Innsmouth. Had to be. Quint readied his revolver, ready to fight for his life. The door flowed and groaned as the bastards outside tried to get in, shouting their obscenities and blasphemies at him.

No, there'd be too many of them. He only had a few bullets. He had no hope. They wouldn't take him. They wouldn't! Quint had no choice; there was only one way. He raised the gun to his head, and pressed his eyes.

God help him. Save him!

Silence. Darkness. Nothing.

The body of a lonely old sailor lie on the floor of his Boston apartment. Half-written letters and bloody symbols littered his floors and walls. His door remained locked from the inside, and nobody found him for days.


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One year later


P.I. office, Arkham, Mass


It couldn't have been possible. It shouldn't have been. But it was. He had the irrefutable evidence in front of him.

Erich had tried to go back to his normal life following the incident in Innsmouth. The things he had seen and heard weighed heavily on his mind. He hadn't seen the Doc or Quint since their debriefing, and he lost contact with Barris shortly after. He was alone, with nothing but his thoughts.

It wasn't until almost six months later, during what should've been a routine stake out job, save for the identity of the person hiring him. The young woman had introduced herself as Margaret Marsh. He could not let the name go unquestioned, and so was told of her heritage. And indeed, she was indirectly a descendant of the Marsh family of Innsmouth. He didn't refuse the job, until he heard her continue to speak of names that sounded familiar: Susan Orne, Cynthia Morrow, Obed Marsh.

It couldn't have been, but she was claiming the two of them were distant relations. Erich threw her out, refusing the job, and locked himself in for days. Finally, determined to ease his mind of his identity. He went down to the census office and had his family records pulled along with various files on Innsmouth and the Marsh family. He had to pull a few of his old police connections for that one.

When the paperwork was all read and finished, there was no question. His mother, and her sister, his loving Aunt Susan, were descended through their absent mother directly to a son of Obed Marsh. When he read the name, the detective vomited in his trash bin. It was too much to handle. He had spent the worst week of his life battling creatures not of this Earth, and now, he was being told that he was directly related to the evil bastard that brought their filth to his country. What was he to do?

Erich shut himself away for weeks. He kept his mind almost constantly clouded with alcohol and laudanum. His stomach pains persisted, intensifying with each passing week. It felt like his body was trying to escape itself, changing from the inside out. His phone rang with new jobs and inquiries, and he ignored them all, until finally, the calls stopped. He was truly alone in this world.

His sleep was plagued with nightmares of the sunken city of the Deep Ones, creatures everywhere surrounding him and dragging him to their lair. He had one dream in which he conversed for hours with his maternal great-grandmother, now over two-hundred years old, and living beneath the sea in her new form.

Months later, on a rainy day in May, he awoke in the night with horrible pains in his stomach and a headache. He staggered to the bathroom, to face himself in the mirror, and find to his shock that he had developed the all too familiar 'Innsmouth Look'.

Two months later, in July, almost a year to the day since the detective received the call beckoning him to Innsmouth, Erich put on his suit, loaded his gun, and left his office, leaving the door behind him unlocked. By now, he had thrown out almost all of his belongings, and now, in that bare apartment, the only evidence that he had been there was a handwritten note, left on an empty desk by the back door:

To whom it may concern,

My name is Erich Morrow, and I am afflicted. I have lived my life believing one thing about my heritage and now, over the last several months all that has changed. I have discovered new truths about my bloodline that would destroy the minds of weaker people. If human beings knew the world half as well as I do, we would plunge ourselves into darkness.

The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the human mind's inability to correlate all of its contents.

I have traced my family history back to the cursed Obed Marsh of Innsmouth, and his halfbreed ilk. As of a few weeks ago, I am beginning to show signs of the change, and soon enough I will be almost unrecognizable as my former self.

So far I have not killed myself as my aunt Susan did. I bought an automatic and almost took the step, but certain dreams deterred me. The earlier horror that I felt is lessening, and I now feel a much stronger draw toward the sea than ever before. Perhaps it is my mother calling. I do not believe I need to wait for the full change as most have waited. If I did, I would probably be shut up in the asylum like my poor cousin, Robert. Tremendous and unmatched wonders await me below, and I shall seek them soon. Ia Y'ha-nthlei! Cthulhu fthagn! Ia! No, I shall not shoot myself. I cannot be made to shoot myself!

I shall plan my cousin's escape from that Arkham mad house, and together we shall go to shadowed Innsmouth.

We shall swim out to that brooding reef in the sea and dive down through black abysses to wondrous and many-columned Y'ha-nthlei, and in that lair of the Deep Ones we shall dwell amidst wonder and glory for ever.



-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

END

mike was still in his chair being eatenchair
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Misbehaver
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Shrimp Po'Boy
So, that is that, friends. I do hope everyone enjoyed the ride. You will find the winners of the awards below.

Also, I invite you all to use this thread for any discussion on the game, the ending, or the awards if you wish. And if any of you have any questions or concerns about the story, or your character's fate, feel free to PM me.

So, until next time, don't talk to strangers, don't swim alone, and don't feed the Deep Ones.

AWARD WINNERS

*winners in bold
Spoiler: click to toggle


mike was still in his chair being eatenchair
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LadyRahl
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Supreme Goddess Of All Things Bright And Shiny
I hate you!!! Now I want MORE!!!!

More!

More!

More!

As hard as this game was for me a followup MUST BE DONE!!!
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Misbehaver
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Well, not sure if a direct follow up will happen. But a new Lovecraft based story, I'd be more than happy to do eventually. :)

Glad you enjoyed it.
mike was still in his chair being eatenchair
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LadyRahl
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Supreme Goddess Of All Things Bright And Shiny
butbutbut... cliffhanger....
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Misbehaver
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Shrimp Po'Boy
Meh, not really. Everything's wrapped up nicely. :)
mike was still in his chair being eatenchair
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LadyRahl
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Supreme Goddess Of All Things Bright And Shiny
Oh fine. :P
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WeBandOfBuggered
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Like Cyd siad....I'm hoping if another Lovecroft game appears I can actually you know, have time to focus

Stupid fucking essays and finals....
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bebeluv1
Nemesis
Awesome epilogue! Congrats to the winners of the awards as well.

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bebeluv1
Nemesis
well i have no prying questions, having not read the whole game. :P
as for being a sore loser, what is the point? will it change any results?

Stop trying to stir up drama and discontent--lol
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Misbehaver
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Shrimp Po'Boy
I demand strife!!!

GIVE ME YOUR MISERY!!
mike was still in his chair being eatenchair
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Cale Raizer
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Shrimp Po'Boy
*chucks bottle at Jesse* miserable yet?
"Alright, I've been thinking. When life gives you lemons, don't make lemonade. Make life take the lemons back! Get mad! I don't want your damn lemons, what am I supposed to do with these? Demand to see life's manager! Make life rue the day it thought it could give Cave Johnson lemons! Do you know who I am? I'm the man whose gonna burn your house down! With the lemons! I'm gonna get my engineers to invent a combustible lemon that burns your house down!"


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Misbehaver
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Just because the game's over doesn't mean you can abuse me, brah.
mike was still in his chair being eatenchair
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Cale Raizer
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Shrimp Po'Boy
what, you said you wanted misery, im merely delivering :P


besides, i abused you even during the game :P
"Alright, I've been thinking. When life gives you lemons, don't make lemonade. Make life take the lemons back! Get mad! I don't want your damn lemons, what am I supposed to do with these? Demand to see life's manager! Make life rue the day it thought it could give Cave Johnson lemons! Do you know who I am? I'm the man whose gonna burn your house down! With the lemons! I'm gonna get my engineers to invent a combustible lemon that burns your house down!"


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Misbehaver
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Yeah, and look what happened to Becca. Beaten, dirty, and stuck with a drug dealer.
mike was still in his chair being eatenchair
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Skin by Spades aka Volture.