-5 SAN for nothing.
That house looks somewhat familiar...
The book from Fredkin. That has gotta be it!
Then that stolen gold must be...
I flipped a few pages...
The Stabbers are the pirate crew!
The closer I got to this enigmatic house, the more I am filled with overwhelming dread. A chorus of angry whispers reaches my ears. I can almost make out the sound of cursing. I gingerly knock on the door. At the first touch, the door opens, as if the house is aware of my presence. I sense something beyond the threshold, shrouded in the impenetrable darkness filling every crevice of this dismal house.
(Investigate) That voice. Have we met before?
I can't exactly pin it down.
It is true that folks remember me at times.
The two dots on the doorway grow smaller, as if the owner is either smiling or angry.
I know the Stabber of Arkham is inside. Or should I say Stabbers?
You come to my house with rather grave accusations. I reckon you must have evidence to back them up. Because by the old tradition, I have every right to question yer judgment. You better know the facts that led you here or there will be consequences.
I can sense a malignant hunger being directed at me. I swallowed and nodded.
Fair enough. I've done my share of investigation.
From where hails the slaughterer?
Kingsport.
A brief silence before the voice speaks again.
Not completely clueless, eh? Speak to me this: Whose blood has been spilled?
Salvador, Abel, Julian and Keelan.
Belonged to that wretched lot in life but remembered afterwards, eh? Then speak to me this: What instrument of murder was used?
Pirate cutlasses.
Aye, with cutlasses they were slain. Now say: Why did the slaughterer kill?
It was retribution for his stolen gold.
Once I knew a mate who became lustful upon seein' gold. Got all wet and slobbery, if ye know what I mean. That shiny thing plants upon a dark desire in men's hearts, eh? Speak to me this: What is the true name of the slaughterer?
I don't have that information.
Sometimes 'tis wise to hide what ye know and sometimes 'tis wise to admit that ye don't. Speak to me this then: What name does the slaughterer go by?
According to the folktales, the Terrible Old Man.
The door creaks open.
Come in, cabin boy...
It's you!
The man is none other than the crazy old man talking at his bag in the Old Eel. I look up at the congregation of the specters, hovering just above the dining table. Slowly, one by one, they vanish. Save for one.
Go, you bastards!
I always enjoyed some good old manslaughter. It gives a kind of a relief, you know. Taking an adversary out of the game. One less bastard to worry about. Makes the bloody world a nicer place for a seadog like me.
But, I wasn't behind the slaughter of those wretches. It was Cheatin' Logan Dawkins and the other scums. See, I was their captain once but they stopped listening to me a long while ago.
Up until this bloody moment, they've been talking my head off! Greedy bastards they are. Asking about their share all the time, the gold that I promised. The gold that I never gave. But they were fools, you know.
There are things that every bloody seadog keeps in mind. Like, ye better know the ship that you're boarding. Like, yer captain's orders may mean your death. 'Tis a tough trade and we set sail knowin' that.
So, when things go ugly, we real sailors don't pule like that sissy over there.
The specter continues to gaze at the old man with a silent, burning hatred.
What? Oh, shut that bloody trap of yours, Dawkins! Your pals are all gone now. And look how weak you are.
It seems those grumpy Old Gods have other plans for ye, and who knows? Perhaps for myself too, Nodens might even allow me to enter the Turquoise Palace. After all, I belong to the sea more than anyplace else.
Why does that one remain?
The old man glances at the faded shadow that was once Cheating Logan Dawkins and spits at his feet. The thick phlegm passes right through the specter's feet and spatter the floorboards.
Tis simple: he hates me even more than he loves his gold. He's still hoping to get me but look at the useless scum. A jellyfish is more dangerous than Dawkins now. He should have left with his friends.
Are you saying that murders are over now? With Keelan dead and all.
You know what, cabin boy? I never liked it in this rotten city so no one can hold me here. My damned crew are gone except Dawkins, and he's in no state to pick his own teeth, let alone be stabbing a fellow.
So I reckon we can say that the bloodshed is over. Yet, there is still much blood to be spilled in this damned place. And I can't say I envy you.
He grins.
What about the other specters?
They should've done that a long time ago. Right at the Day of the Whirlpool. But I know those bastards. The grudge they held against thieves was deep.
So deep, they even stayed after the gold was gone. Constantly bending my ear to find those thieving wretches.
Now tis all silent... tis finally silent. Like still water on a windless night.
You mentioned Nodens...
Then you know he's the Lord of the Deep. The seas of the world belonged to Nodens, until the world was ruined by the Old Gods. Now, those things...
For the first time, you read fear in the old man's eyes.
They corrupt and shatter and devour until little animals like us can find no place to belong or simply be. The sleeper is awake now. Cthulhu...and he walks in between all these strange realms.
The Cult also seems to worship this Cthulhu. Is that what rules over Arkham?
I can sense Cthulhu's presence here like I can smell gunpowder from a hundred yards away, and I'll tell ye one thing: the former is by far the more dangerous.
Gunpowder will grant you a clean death, but the Great Old Ones... the things they do to your mind. They rape your will and torture your hopes. Speaking of which, I better take my leave.
You asked me about the Dismal Man before. Is he a servant of Cthulhu?
Oh, did I? My mind isn't what it used to be, cabin boy. This fellow you mentioned, he must be a nasty one, eh? Then perhaps you're right. Gods have uses for such messengers and envoys.
You claim the world was destroyed, then what are we doing here?
Oh, that is a bloody riddle isn't it? An intriguing but also a terrible, terrible riddle, one for which I am happy to not have an answer. Mayhap I once had one, who knows?
Hmph. I've read the story. You led your men to their doom.
The man shows a toothless smile.
Do you believe every little story that'd told you, boy? Let me tell you one thing about the old wives' tales: those bastards should have stayed dead.
You sacrificed them for your own personal gain.
The old man silently stares for a while.
So?
You were their Captain! Were you not supposed to take care of your crew?
The temperature in the house drops rapidly. I felt strangled momentarily before I could breath again.
-5 HP +5 Sanity
I don't need children to teach me my bloody manners.
Someone must pay for these murders.
A jarring laugh burst from his lips.
Haha! You reckon things are fair in this world? Even after all this?! That was good, cabin boy!
Sanity gained: 5
I can't help but question how you managed for so long. Your kind is like blood to a shark. It may be sooner or it may be later, but they always get you. And the mess they leave behind...
Hmph. We'll see. You said something about leaving. So you know a way out of Arkham?
I don't want to be a bad captain, cabin boy, but there is no berth for you in the boat that I'm taking. Even though you gave me some nice entertainment along the way.
The old man looks at me with his fiery eyes one last time.
I'd tell you to fare well but I know there is no chance of that. Take whatever you need from this place.
Then he turns away to face the door without another word.
Greed is indeed a dangerous thing.
Your kind is also dangerous, whether dead or alive, stranger.
How unexpected... so the Dismal Man wanted me to hunt for all these...
It's starting to make sense. This riddle of sort must be solved - but to what end? I know not. I bade farewell to the House on the Crag.