| “No one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man's and yet as mortal as his own; that as men busied themselves about their various concerns they were scrutinised and studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might scrutinise the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water. With infinite complacency men went to and fro over this globe about their little affairs, serene in their assurance of their empire over matter. It is possible that the infusoria under the microscope do the same. No one gave a thought to the older worlds of space as sources of human danger, or thought of them only to dismiss the idea of life upon them as impossible or improbable. It is curious to recall some of the mental habits of those departed days. At most terrestrial men fancied there might be other men upon Mars, perhaps inferior to themselves and ready to welcome a missionary enterprise. Yet across the gulf of space, minds that are to our minds as ours are to those of the beasts that perish, intellects vast and cool and unsympathetic, regarded this earth with envious eyes, and slowly and surely drew their plans against us. And early in the twentieth century came the great disillusionment.” – From the memoirs of John Smith, Journalist |
The year is 1905. Three months ago, invaders from Mars fell from the sky in massive cylinders, spreading death and destruction across southern England and defeating all human resistance with contemptuous ease. More and more cylinders arrived, and the Martians began to consolidate their bridgehead and prepare to expand their invasion.
Humanity seemed doomed to be conquered and farmed as food animals when – without warning – the invaders were struck down by the simple, everyday bacteria of decay to which the creatures of Earth are resistant, but which the Martians had long since purged from their own planet. Mankind was saved!
Each of you was in some way caught up in the invasion and has hard-bought experience, little of it pleasant to remember, of the Martians and their ways.
A few days ago, two smartly-dressed and polite men called to see you, explaining that “his Majesty’s government would like to obtain your services and knowledge in matters pertaining to the recent conflict.”
After a rather disjointed journey into London – which, like the railways is still being rebuilt and reoccupied after the invasion – you find yourselves in an elegant wood-panelled office in Whitehall. The atmosphere is hushed and calm, that of a place of dignity and power, a brass clock softly ticks in the background and the sound of people and carriages moving outside is muted to soft background as you prepare to discover what is happening…
This is an adventure set in the immediate aftermath of the events chronicled elsewhere by Mr Smith, novelized by Mr Wells, and set to music by Mr Wayne.
The system will be Call of Cthulhu (sorta), and your characters will be either well-known personalities of the time (sorta) or characters from the original story (sorta). The provided characters will be a starting point, into which you can mix as much of Mr Wells and Mr Wayne (minimal singing though, or the SAN rolls will start in Session 1!) and as much of your own modifications as you feel comfortable with. The War changed many people.
There will be elective skill points to scatter around to make the characters feel more your own.
Kickoff will be whenever Aimo has the desire for a rest, though not for a while as I have a mountain of hand-written notes to flesh out (and with my writing you know what that means!)