1920s

Investigator Name Harry Patterson Occupation Journalist Sex M Age 36 Colleges, Degrees Miskatonic University, BA Birthplace Salem, MA Mental Disorders Monomania (Cult conspiracies)

Characteristics & Rolls

STR CON SIZ 12 14 14 DEX APP SAN 8 7 57
94

INT

14

Idea Luck Know

70 75 85
+1D4

POW 15 EDU 17
Damage Bonus

99 - Cthulhu Mythos

1920s Investigator's Sheet

Sanity Points
Insanity 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99

Magic Points
Unconscious 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43

Hit Points
Dead -2 -1 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43

Investigator Skills
Player's Name
Accounting (10%) Anthropology (01%) Archaeology (01%) Art (05%): Martial Arts (01%) Mechanical Repair (20%) Medicine (05%) Natural History (10%) Navigate (10%) Occult (05%) 35 Operate Hvy. Machine (01%) Other Language (01%):

Astronomy (01%) Bargain (05%) Biology (01%) Chemistry (01%) Climb (40%) Conceal (15%) Credit Rating (15%) Cthulhu Mythos (00%) Dodge (DEXx2) Drive Auto (20%) Electrical Repair (10%) Fast Talk (05%) First Aid (30%) Geology (01%) Hide (10%) History (20%) Jump (25%) Law (05%) Library Use (25%) Listen (25%) Locksmith (01%)

Own Language (EDUx5): 5 75 40 75 English Persuade (15%) Pharmacy (01%) Photography (10%) Physics (01%) Pilot (01%): 90 75 35 Throw (25%) Track (10%)

50 90

Psychoanalysis (01%) Psychology (05%) Ride (05%) Sneak (10%) Spot Hidden (25%) Swim (25%)

50

85

Firearms Handgun (20%) Machine Gun (15%) Rifle (25%) Shotgun (30%) Submachine Gun (15%)

36

Weapons
melee
Fist/Punch (50%) Head Butt (10%) Kick (25%) Grapple (25%)

damage
1D3+db 1D4+db 1D6+db special

#att hp
1 1 1 1 -

firearm
.45 Automatic*

%
36

damage
1D10+2

malf
00

rng
15 yds

#att
1

shots
7

hp
8

Personal Data
Investigator Name Harry Patterson Residence Personal Description: Episodes of Insanity:

Wounds & Injuries: Family & Friends: Marks & Scars:

Investigator History

Income & Savings

Income $7500 Cash on Hand Savings Personal Property:

Adventuring Gear & Possessions

Real Estate:

Mythos Tomes Read

The Witch Cult in Western Europe The Golden Bough Saracenic Rituals

Entities Encountered

Magical Artifacts / Spells Known

Artifacts: Spells:

Background
Born in Salem, MA, in 1886, Henry Patterson only ever wanted to write. At 16, he managed to start working as a cub reporter for the Salem Gazette until, at 25, he took a job on the City desk at the Boston Herald. By 1917, Patterson - Harry to his many friends - was fully expected to win a Pulitzer Prize, but then the Herald was bought by Randolph Hearst, a man many serious journalists - Patterson included despised, and so he quit. With the USA now drawn into the Great War, Patterson signed up and won a commission as a captain with Pershing's Expeditionary Force and saw action against the Austrian Army at Meuse-Argonne; over this time Patterson wrote a small collection of poems which, upon his return to Salem in 1919, had a limited publishing run in the Miskatonic Press; the poems were noted for their stark descriptions of victims of the battlefield and the elements of supernatural brutality. Some critics interpreted them to indicate that Patterson had had some sort of supernatural experience during the fighting, but he has always refused to comment. Discharged from the Army in March 1919 with the rank of major, Patterson returned a much gloomier man. Nevertheless, his reputation soon landed him another job, this time with the Boston Globe, reporting on cases such as The Lady in the Ashes in 1920 and, later that year, the Murder of Robert Suydam and his new wife in Red Hook, New Jersey. The facts of both these crimes convinced Patterson that darker elements, possibly occult, lay behind the killings. He began investigating occult societies in Boston, Rhode Island and New York. His emerging monomania, particularly focussed on cults such as The Church of Starry Wisdom and a group he refers to as the Esoteric Order of Dagon, began to affect his work. He missed deadlines, convinced he was about to uncover a massive occult conspiracy permeating the North East. His stated intention is to write a book exposing it, but actually the obsession itself has become more important than exposing. His bedroom wall is a mass of clippings, cuttings and scribbled notes. The case of the Beast of Ross's Corner fitted in with this theory. Patterson set off to Arkham, filing one or two stories back to the Globe as the "normal" investigation unfolded, but his real focus was on the supernatural facets. He interviewed witnesses, including Petra Evans and Dr. Robinson, looking for evidence of occult activity and, having found it, took the decision to move back to Salem full time. He is currently unemployed, living off his savings, his Army pension and sales of his book of poetry to bored students of American literature. The experiences of the war and the past few years, including the increasing ridicule at the hands of his colleagues, have left him a somewhat acerbic, taciturn, short-tempered person. While he maintains the friendly persona needed to do his job, it evaporates fairly quickly when not required. Most people who get to know him - and there aren't many - consider him unfriendly and surly.

Diary Entry, October 1st, 1918 Montfaucon-d'Argonne My company how laughable, twenty men of varying rank, hungry and disorganised, no-ones idea of a fighting unit awoke to find the ruins of last night shrouded in cold grey mist. This country feels like Shakespeare, a never-ending season of mists. I long for a cold crisp autumn morning on the beach at Salem, instead of this insidious dampness that creeps though my very marrow. I walked outside to find myself on the shores of a pond, still as glass, the sun apparent above the mire, but not strong enough to penetrate it. As the men breakfasted, I walked around the shore of the tiny lake. I was not looking for anything, but there it was. Looming out of the fog, three stones, each ten feet tall, massive in bulk, covered in moss, ancient as Abraham himself. I walked between them, stood at the centre. They loomed above me, dark and inconsolable. This close, I could determine features which, although eroded by time, were still of terrible aspect, neither men, nor animal, but horrible beast. I stepped back, repulsed, a primal fear clutching at my very essence, and stepped in...
[The following four pages have been torn out of the diary]