So I have recently started playing in a D20 Cthulhu campaign. It’s set in the 1920s in a small town in Maine called Derby. Now Derby has seen its fair share of weird apparently, the only character left from the original campaign the DM was running has seen some wild shit apparently. Hyde, a quiet, solemn character with quick wit and a hand for invention. My character, one Trenton (Trent) Connery is loosely based on the appearance of Trent Reznor in ‘The perfect drug’. A gray silk suit with a top hat and cane tops off the outlandish personality of a psychic psychologist formerly of the famed Arkham Asylum. Virginia, a jack of all trades daughter of a brain-addled former soldier is the third of our group. Last, but not least we have Ivy, she is an african-american jazz musician straight from New Orleans.
The system is elegant but brutal. Character creation is laid out in a familiar manner for those who have experienced D&D 3.0 and 3.5. You’ll fall right into making a dynamic victim, pardon, person straight from the mythos. The job system just gives you starting cash and a set of skills to use so no added fluff there.
Your stats are Strength (Physical Prowess), Dexterity (Physical Speed), Constitution (Hardiness), Intelligence (Book learnin’ y’all), Wisdom (Less of the cleric variety more of the doctor variety) and Charisma (Which is not a dump stat for me this time!). After rolling (usually 4d6 drop lowest), you assign your stats and begin building your character. Skills can be customized to any degree, I tweaked mine a bit to reflect a psychic and occultist lurking underneath Mr. Connery’s grounded exterior. After choosing feats and gear you’re done. It’s relatively simple. For Trenton I chose Sensitive and Second Sight for feats. Unfortunately this opens me up to more sanity loss in the form of psychic sensitivity and peeling back the veil of safety offered to most humans. Yay!
It’s a good system and a great way to start into horror gaming. Go grab a copy if you can.
Journal of Trenton Gray Connery June 1927
I’ve read, written and studied all I can stand from the strangeness of occult lore. So much I fear for my own sanity. My grandfather was a good man, an honest man, but something happened in the jungles of Brazil that took away most of the fleeting wisps of mental fortitude he had left. When I look back at the times I sat with him as a youth and listened to his fanciful tales of strange beasts in the jungles and seas of the world I sometimes wonder if he was telling me the truth of our existence. He believed (I know because he told me himself) that our world, our reality is nothing but a piece of frail silk drawn over the veil of the universe. One would have to be mad to not believe in the world in a more heliocentric manner but for thousands of years we were ignorant of that fact. That thought bears the fruit of recurrence. What else might we not know? The talk of gods and monsters sends cold fingers down the whole of my spine, but I cannot stop asking.
A woman by the name of Beth Perkins has reached out to me about her son Jacob. Normally I would recommend a colleague for such work but in her letters she mentioned that her son was lost in the woods for two days then emerged near-catatonic with a shock of white hair. What on god’s green earth could cause a child to react as such. There is something supernatural about this case, I know it, that is why I must take it myself. It would be no large endeavor to travel under the guise of gathering information for my next book. What awaits me in the not-so-sleepy little town of Derby, Maine?