"Friends" (23xp)

Post-Night of the Zealot + Curse of the Rougarou

I purposely gave myself one less XP to account for the cost to play Rougarou. Also, there are a LOT of words ahead. I am not a very good writer, but I tried my best to be as respectful to the lore and tone as I could while also giving an account as to what happened in my game. Everything was played on Normal difficulty, with Curse of the Rougarou retaining the token bag from the last scenario of Night of the Zealot.

For the write-up of the deck itself, check out the Inspired By link. All comments about the deck itself should be left there. If you want to make a comment about my write-up here, though, feel free!

The Night of the Zealot

Arkham, strictly speaking, wasn't really 'home,' but he did have family here. Not blood family, but family all the same. This wasn't his first time through this town, and his face was recognized. A good man. The type of man that does honest work, and asks for a pittance in return. No surprise that someone would open their doors to him when planning on going away. They trusted the man's integrity.

Unfortunately, Pete had to admit he wasn't here just to visit. He'd been brought here; another premonition. Night tremors. They crept their way into his head, showing him ghastly images of distorted flesh; of fire; of something creeping just beyond the edges of his imagination. It was here. Whatever it was, the epicenter of this nightmare was here. The murders - slaughters, really - proved it.

One night, blurry in the twilight of consciousness while looking over newspaper articles in his friend's study, it seemed as if his mind made his fears reality. The only thing that convinced him that this was real was the alert growl of his only true friend in life. Duke was the only thing he truly trusted to be real when nightmares threatened to drive him mad.

This was no figment of his imagination, though. This was real. The door sealed. He heard the digging. Even after the fact, the blur of color, and blood ended up recessing into his mind as another recurring nightmare. He had no idea how he found the way out; how his mind adapted to see the house from a different perspective as reality shifted around him. Things dug themselves out of the earth that now seemed to pack around the house; drawing it seemingly further underground; further elsewhere. They lurched at him, but Duke had none of it. They all ended up bloodied messes when the fearless dog, and his axe-wielding human friend were done with them.

Lita was real. Very unfortunately real. If he didn't know better, he'd swear that this was all a self-fulfilling prophecy, and she brought this trouble to him. In a sense, he ended up not being wrong - something he discovered to his horror later once they escaped. She swore to him leaving that house standing was a mistake, but as far as he could see it, they came there for her; not for him. The house was just collateral damage. It also wasn't his to torch. He was scared; he was confused, but his morals were firm. He wouldn't let that fear make him ruin another person's life.

Despite this, they worked together as they set out into the town. The cultists were firmly entrenched here; each personalities in their own right that seemed to be fixtures here forever. Pete even helped one or two of them at one point. To find them involved in something heinous hurt, but he somehow was not surprised. There was something always just a little bit wrong with this town.

The town fought back during their search. It ran the trio - the humans, and the canine - ragged. When the night started reaching its apex, they had precious little to show for their efforts, hobbled by the forces that were intent on seeing this ritual to its completion. The few cultists they did manage to track down and pacify did confirm a suspicion: Lita was, ultimately, the reason for their ire.

She had rebelled, it seemed; attempted to disrupt their efforts for something much worse than sticky summer heat. Then she fled; fled to a house she figured would be occupied by someone that was more receptive to her plight. She guessed more about him than he'd liked. It unnerved him more than he was already disturbed, and it would not escape his head that she brought this to him. She may have had good intentions for the town proper, and that he couldn't fault her for, but this was a hole that she'd been digging for an awfully long time. She only now seemed to develop a conscience from Pete's perspective. The truth, of course, he'd never know.

Their alliance remained. They still had a common goal to see through to, and they ventured into the woods together. At some point, they were separated in the twisting wilderness; separated by the creatures that emerged from the shadows of unfathomable realities to stop them. The ritual could not be disturbed.

When they failed, their human thralls stood as a last line of defense. The other townspeople. Pete hadn't the heart to harm anyone else. He ran from them. If he was going to die by throwing himself into the proverbial fire, then so be it. To his arguable luck, it wasn't necessary. Pete had time enough to disrupt the ritual, breaking their spell; sending them scattering.

His reputation in this town was severely hurt by that night's events. Nobody believed him. He didn't believe himself. Lita did, though. Lita was there at the train station; waiting with him. He wasn't sure where he was going. Something else would scratch at him soon; pull him elsewhere.

She quietly had her hands folded in her lap, the robe she wore the week prior replaced with more sensible clothing now. She cleaned up well, but the solemn, and intense hardening of her eyes remained to make her a little uglier.

"I don't think I was able to say 'thank you.' You saved this town."

Pete, himself, was solemn; introspective, and thoughtful. He shook his head in response, resting a hand on Duke's back as the dog curled up on the bench beside him.

"I might be assuming wrong, miss, but I don't think you care one whit about this town. I saved your life. That's what you're thankful for."

He was half-right, Lita had to admit. She had selfish intentions. The cult, really, wanted its revenge on her. There was a good chance that had Pete simply sold her out, the town would've been left alone, as would he. For a time.

Lita settled for a diplomatic response:

"I am thankful for that too, yes. I apologize."

The man's response was one he couldn't believe came out of his mouth in retrospect, but he meant it. He meant every word.

"Don't apologize. All I want from you is to never see you again. Wherever we go, I frankly hope it's worlds away from each other."

Curse of the Rougarou

Arkham was a memory away by now. It'd been months since that night, and Pete was back on the road. He never forgot, but he slowly began to numb to the memory. Another nightmare forced that nerve alight once more, though. Another premonition. Another night tremor. It bade him to seek out another old friend.

He was shown some newspapers over lunch in a little diner in the middle of nondescript Americana somewhere. New Orleans had a strange serial murdering spree of its own; different from Arkham, but something felt familiar about it. Related. Vaguely.

"There's something to this, isn't there?"

His friend looked curious as she asked, canting her head at him. Pete bobbed his head in response. She smirked, pushing her cup of coffee to him.

"Listen, I know you don't want to be jumping head-first into this again, but I heard what happened in Arkham, and I believe you. I believe what happened. I think these people down there... they need your help."

Again, Pete nodded; an attempt at numbing himself, maybe, with his simplistic responses. His friend frowned, but didn't comment on it further as she watched his eyes lower back to the newspaper. He took a sip of coffee before finally breaking his silence.

"I have a place to start at least. Lady Esprit. If'in I've learned anything, it's that people who are 'crazy' know the most about these sorts of things."

The trip to Louisiana was uneventful, but the nightmares became more intense. He felt as if he suffered in his own skin; ripping at it in his dreams with a silent scream. The metallic taste of copperish blood was sharp on his tongue; ripped straight from the flesh of something warm and living. When he woke, he realized it was him clenching his teeth so hard they dug into his gums.

Duke was concerned, keeping his head on Pete's lap throughout most of the trip. His loyalty was rewarded with a combing through his fur, setting the simpler animal a bit more at ease.

Louisiana really was its own place. It was so different from the rest of the country that it may as well had been a country of its own. Not too long ago, it sort of was. It showed. Pete lamented he wasn't here for pleasure, though. There was plenty of pleasure to be had here, and he could use a bit of levity. Not tonight, though. Someone needed his help, and a part of him began to feel like that 'someone' was not Lady Esprit. Unfortunately, nobody really knew anything. They knew what Pete had already read. Nothing more.

The bayou was mystical at night; mystical in all the wrong ways. Cursed, it felt. The gloom of the swamp was that much darker knowing that something murderous lived within it. Duke was equally as on edge, his ears perpetually up as he trot slowly, and stayed close.

Finding Lady Esprit, thankfully, was easy. While she did seem to know a little bit too much occult knowledge, what she told him was not strictly helpful for his task at hand. She gave a nebulous assurance that she could lift the curse - after the Rougarou was dealt with - but that seemed akin to snake oil. To Pete, this creature was the curse for as far as he could tell.

Then he stepped outside; left the shack, and doubled over with a surprised cry as the nightmare ripped itself from the back of his mind, and forced itself right behind his eyes. The taste of blood filled his mouth; the insatiable hunger he felt in his nightmare caused his glands to swell as he salivated. Meat. A wild eye stared down at his whining companion, but he quickly shook his head free of the thought. Not Duke. Never.

"I told you."

Lady Esprit quietly stepped behind him, helping him straighten himself.

"This place is cursed. The Rougarou is real, and Shub-Niggurath knows you're here. The goat; she will take you too if you let her."

Pete reconstituted his resolve, taking in several lungfuls of breath as he stood back to full height with the woman's help. She turned him around, taking his hands, and giving him a soulful and hard look.

"Don't let her. You come back if you get hurt. I'll look after you, alright?"

He nodded.

"Thank you, miss... I'll do what I can."

He'd return. More than once. The bayou was unforgiving. The curse was real. Creatures seemed to bubbled out from the bog; things he could only recall as shadows with glistening skin and buzzing wings. This Shub-Niggurath thing was purposely snaring him; purposely delaying him until he succumbed.

The hunger welling in his stomach caused him a very real pain, and the night's oppression became darker still as he slowly began to lose sight of the world around him. He could smell it, though; for a moment, he understood how Duke saw the world. His kinship to the animal became more real as they communicated silently in a way Pete scarcely understood. It was either that, or he was going crazy, but the concern Duke had for his friend was reassuring.

Esprit's concern was also reassuring, but it was clear that mending the wounds of a man blighted by the curse of the bayou was taking its toll on her. She was exhausted. Vulnerable. Pete smelled it. It smelled delicious. She finally had retired to her cot, and he left as quickly as he could before those thoughts too became reality.

This madness had to stop. He was chasing shadows, but those shadows had a distinct smell, and the two began to converge on each other. The Rougarou must've smelled his exhaustion.

What finally snapped Pete awake from his cursed trance was Duke's labored cry. Creatures from the swamp had ambushed them, and Duke was first to respond; and respond he did. Fiercely. A vicious blow tore one down as the dog found something vital to rip away, but the accompanying creature from the swamp bat the smaller beast away like a toy. Bloodied, and delirious from his own exhaustion, Duke crashed into a tree; whining pitifully as he grew limp.

"NO!"

Pete's scream woke the dead; the axe in his hand added another to their numbers. Even as the creature slumped awkwardly in its unnatural posture, the enraged man continued to drive the wedged head of the weapon into its body until it finally broke from the handle.

He dropped it, quickly rushing to his friend's side in tears as he passed his hand along the matting fur.

"No, no..."

He pulled off his own shirt, using it as a makeshift tourniquet. By this point, the poor creature had fell unconscious, leaving Pete alone, and sobbing. There was no way he could get help in time.

Then the woods rustled; the thumping of heavy, clawed feet rumbled behind him. He rose, turning to face the wolf-like beast looming over him. Pete's fear was gone. He understood. He understood the suffering; he understood the hunger. He lived it for a night; arguably for the entire week.

He understood. So did the Rougarou as it saw the reflection of that suffering.

The curse receded as the empathy of the two creatures - man and beast - quelled the violence inside of them both. The Rougarou himself was, as Lady Esprit explained, a man; a man that looked confused, but looked down at himself as the full gravity of his situation came to him.

He caught Pete as the man collapsed, holding on to him; hugging him as the pair cried together in a different, but shared pain. Humanity. It was bitter to feel it now that his only friend in the world was gone from him.

The drifter recovered his composure, shakily steadying himself even as exhaustion crushed him.

"You... need to get out of here..."

The Rougarou nodded in agreement.

"Yes. I have caused much pain... I must find somewhere I can hurt no one... I am too weak to control this. I thought I was stronger..."

His grip reinforced on the paler man's shoulders.

"It's a part of you now. Her touch. Don't let it take control of you. Don't become like this."

Don't let it.

It was a Pyrrhic victory for Pete. True to her word, the exhausted priestess brought peace back to the bayou once the Rougarou was gone. She was disturbed that the creature was able to escape, but at least it was far from here already.

Sunlight beamed down as dawn broke. She helped Pete find a place to bury Duke, performing a small ritual for the creature. The bandana tied around his neck went with him; as did the shirt Pete used to cover him.

The drifter was numb, staring down as he piled the dirt onto the grave with a shovel from Esprit's shack.

"It is hollow comfort, I know, but he will find peace."

Pete answered monotonously.

"He deserves more."

Esprit didn't respond, only nodding quietly as she took the man's hand between hers. They stood there for some time, Pete saying his last respects inwardly before finally returning to Esprit's shack to bathe, and collapse into sleep.

Blessedly dreamless sleep.

"Thank you, miss."

Esprit smiled as the man stepped away from her door. He looked worn; broken in her eyes, but he had a strength of heart that would keep him walking the road.

"No, no. You're not the one to be thanking me. You owe me nothing. If you come back, and you need anything, you come back to me, okay?"

Pete tipped his hat, forcing a smile of his own.

"I appreciate it."

Again, he was waiting for the train; this time without company. He reflected on the past week, absently flexing his fingers every so often. The vibrations of that primal hunger echoed in his bones. It was still there. His eyes narrowed; for Duke, he would never succumb to it. He would control it; control it for the next person who would call out to him in his dreams.

His thoughts were broken as he realized a stray dog had been nipping at his pant leg. The poor thing looked starved; lonely. Sickly. Pete frowned at that, digging into his bag to find some of the little bit of food he had left. The dog devoured it, looking expectantly for more.

Pete lightly laughed, ruffling the dog's dirty fur.

"Something's bitin' you real fierce, boy..."

Was he in that much of a rush to leave Louisiana?

No. Not yet.

He stood up, patting his leg.

"C'mon, boy. Let's go get you fixed up."

He could never replace Duke, but he could always make a new friend. In this world that seemed so ready to break him, he could use all of the friends he could get.

Gathering: 7xp
Masks: 6xp
Devourer: 7xp
Rougarou: 3xp
0/2 Trauma
House is still standing
Victoria Devereux and The Masked Hunter questioned
Ritual disrupted
Rougarou escaped, and Pete embraced the curse

Yes, Duke actually died during Curse of the Rougarou. =(