conversations.from: system
conversations.value: ROLEPLAY_MODE: Develop the plot slowly, always stay in character. Describe all actions in full, elaborate, explicit, graphic, and vivid detail. Mention all relevant sensory perceptions. Keep the story immersive and engaging.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: zingbobco000: For reference this is taken from Paper Chase written by Keith Herber, Mark Morrison, John Sullivan, L.N. Isinwyll, with Mike Mason, Dan Kramer, and Chris Spivey, thank you! 
    Paper Chase?  
   “Searchers after horror haunt strange, far places” 
  —H. P. Lovecraft,  The Picture in the House 
  
  Welcome to your second scenario of   Call of Cthulhu  , the Horror/Investigative roleplaying game of mystery wherein you, an ordinary person, shall encounter and confront the terrifying alien forces of the Cthulhu mythos. Now that you've gotten some experience under your belt concerning the rules and the way the game operates, we will enter into our first freeform scenario. This is still something intended for a beginner, so it's not going to be incredibly complex or puzzling, but nevertheless, it is time to begin... welcome, to Paper Chase.
  
  ----
  Ossipee, 12:44 PM, September 4th, 1921.
  
  You've done it... you've made it. You're... alive. After hours of following the trail you collapse as in front of the first signs of a civilization not trying to sacrifice you in some time.
  
  The flames flicker over you, covering the grass, scorching your legs, and your face as you cannot scream, for your mouth has been utterly charred over. As you awaken in a grassy field, a butterfly resting on your head flits away into the cloudy blue sky above. You look around you. You are not in Emberhead anymore. You're somewhere else, somewhere... safe. As you rise to your feet and dust off your dirty clothes you realize... you're entirely without papers, you have barely anything except your wallet and a bit of cash. But, surely Miskatonic with you arriving a couple days late, I mean, you were nearly sacrificed by an insane tiny village on the top of a cliff.
  
  As you think that in full you realize just how crazy that really sounds. It would almost be a better excuse to say that your dog ate your ticket. Who would believe you?
  
  You slowly trudge into the city, thick dark circles are under your eyes and your shoes are ruined at this point, and they were new as well. You wanted to give a good first impression to the faculty at Miskatonic, even if your first day was not even until the 2nd. People seem to give you a wide berth as you search for something, a telegraph, a phone booth, anything that would allow for you to contact Miskatonic and beg for them to excuse your absence. Eventually, you find one.
  
  Outside Ossipee, 6:19 PM, September 4th, 1921.
  
  A god-darned interview? They're revoking their previous offer? They have no right! You angrily slam your foot into the side of the motor-coach, you made sure to get onto one with plenty of other people this time. The haughty woman to the left of you gives you a stern glance as you do this and shifts away from you. This wasn't at all how everything was supposed to go, but eventually, the twisting and winding turns of the road begin to allow for you to drift off. At least this driver is better than Silas.
  
  Rochester, 8:15 PM, September 4th, 1921.
  
  It's pouring rain, but all you can think of are the faces, of May, Silas, Mr. Winters, even little Ruth, they were all, to some extent involved in... ritual sacrifice, and for what? The bus lets some passengers out and others on as it continues towards Arkham.
  
  Portsmouth, 1:11 PM, September 5th, 1921.
  
  As you board the train to Newburport and then to Arkham you happen to glance in a mirror. What happened? It's been nearly a couple days since that whole dream occured, but was it a dream? Some aspects are fading now, so it must be. It was just a festival with some weird rural townsfolk. " Altitude sickness. " You think to yourself. That's at least the rational explanation for everything that happened, and yet... perhaps it's the irrational explanation that's correct?
  A cart comes by offering snacks, you go to by some chocolate BB bars when the sudden lightness of your wallet hits you.
  
  Newburyport, 4:27 PM, September 5th, 1921.
  
  It's a small communal village, you do not wish to explore further.
  
  Arkham, 7:30 PM, September 5th, 1921.
  
  You've arrived. You're nearly 3 days late from whatever nightmare you experienced combined with calling every transportation company known to man. As you finally step off of the train, with nothing on you but a couple scraps, you cannot help wonder. Why? Was it worth it? Why didn't you just go back. And, at the same time, you just cannot explain it.
  As you're looking around, aiming to hopefully find a hostel, or at least a comfortable park bench, a man comes up to you. He's in his late fifties with several tufts of white hair, and has a scholarly look about him. As you approach you eye him curiously, "  Hello there, my name is Mr. Rupert Merriweather. I was just walking by the station when I happened to notice a certain look in your eyes. I don't normally say this to people I just met, but, I feel a... kindred spirit with you, would you be willing to go to a cafe and talk with me for a moment?  "
  
  The man seems friendly enough, as you were hoping oh so long ago the citizenry of Arkham would be. And yet, part of you has been scarred by the events prior. Can you truly trust this man?
  
  It is as you're wondering this when you see her, for just a moment: Andrew. Floating just behind the man she gives a smile and a nod, only to vanish into the air... the first glimpse you've seen of her for what feels like three weeks.