Hallo and welcome back to part six of my solo adventure Toskanische Ritual using the German edition of Call of Cthulhu and Mythic GME 2nd Edition.
As you may guess from the title, this is the last part of the story of Alfred Riemenschneider and I think that he will agree that he won’t take any more beatings. But don’t spoil anything… let’s go!
Scene #16 – The Bronze Masks of Sanxingdui
The intervening years had been consumed by a singular purpose: finding some means to counter Professor Dr. Bauernfeind and his shadowy associates. The knowledge of what he sought, and the potential consequences should he succeed, spurred me onward with an almost obsessive intensity. I scoured libraries, consulted obscure experts, and delved into forgotten lore – all in pursuit of any advantage that might tip the scales against Bauernfeind’s formidable power.
Fortunately, my efforts were not entirely fruitless. Herr Mülder, now more than just a benefactor but a true mentor – and dare I say, a friend – proved invaluable. His vast network of contacts within the academic and antiquarian circles of Europe proved to be a lifeline in my desperate search. He listened patiently to my increasingly frantic accounts, offering guidance and support without judgment, and ultimately, connected me with an individual shrouded in mystery – a reclusive collector rumored to possess one of the legendary bronze masks of Sanxingdui.
The very name sent a shiver down my spine. These artifacts, unearthed from ancient burial sites in Sichuan province, were whispered to be imbued with extraordinary properties – capable of manipulating minds and conjuring unsettling hallucinations. Legends claimed that the masks could control those who gazed into their eyes while simultaneously shielding the wearer from some of the darkest magical forces known to mankind. It was a desperate gamble, but it represented perhaps my only chance against Bauernfeind’s power.
Securing the mask proved an ordeal in itself. The collector, a man named Herr Kessler, demanded an exorbitant sum – a fortune that would have been unthinkable just months ago. Yet, the prospect of confronting Bauernfeind without some form of protection rendered financial considerations irrelevant. All that mattered was stopping him, regardless of the cost. I liquidated every asset I possessed – the meager savings from my former life, the proceeds from the sale of several rare books from Mülder’s collection (much to his initial dismay), and even a few personal heirlooms – pouring everything into acquiring the mask.
The artifact arrived in a heavily secured crate, delivered under the cover of darkness by a taciturn courier who refused to speak or reveal his identity. The moment I laid eyes on it, I felt an unsettling energy emanating from the bronze surface – a palpable sense of ancient power and otherworldly presence. It was a grotesque yet strangely beautiful object, its features distorted into an expression that seemed both serene and menacing.
The mask itself felt cold to the touch, almost unnaturally so. As I held it, images flickered at the periphery of my vision – fleeting glimpses of alien landscapes and unsettling geometries – a disconcerting preview of the potential horrors that awaited should Bauernfeind succeed in his quest. Despite the unsettling sensations, a grim determination settled within me. The mask was now mine, a fragile shield against the encroaching darkness. It would be instrumental in confronting Bauernfeind, even if it meant facing unimaginable terrors.
Scene #17 – An unsettling encounter
The date approached with an unnerving inevitability – the very day etched into my memory as the point where Bauernfeind’s plan would reach its culmination. It was the same day I received his cryptic note, inviting me, of all people, to assist him with the manuscript. The question still plagued me: why me? Among the countless scholars and linguists at the university, why had he chosen to summon me all these years ago?
I spent most of the day on campus, a spectral figure haunting the familiar halls. My appearance alone seemed to elicit curious glances – a stark contrast to the youthful faces that populated the institution. Years of relentless pursuit and sleepless nights had taken their toll; my hair was streaked with grey, deep wrinkles etched themselves around my eyes, and my skin possessed an unsettling pallor, hinting at a failing health I could scarcely ignore. It was a visible manifestation of the burden I carried – the weight of preventing Bauernfeind’s ambition from unleashing something terrible upon the world.
As I sat on a bench near the library, attempting to analyze where in the convoluted timeline of events we currently resided, a voice cut through my thoughts – a voice that was undeniably familiar. It was my own, echoing with an unsettling clarity. Instinctively, I turned around and found myself staring directly into the eyes of… myself.
The shock nearly paralyzed me. My younger self – the man I once was before this descent into obsession – stood a few feet away, regarding me with an unnerving intensity. I attempted to appear nonchalant, to mask my astonishment, but it was futile. The gaze lingered for far too long – more than a fleeting glance. It felt as though my younger self were peering directly into the depths of my soul, dissecting every regret and fear that haunted me.
The encounter was profoundly unsettling, an eerie echo of a past I could scarcely grasp. A wave of disorientation washed over me, threatening to overwhelm my senses. Without another word, I turned abruptly and fled the campus, abandoning any pretense of composure. The image of those piercing eyes burned itself into my mind – a haunting reminder of the precariousness of time and the unsettling nature of this reality.
Back in my cramped attic apartment, surrounded by stacks of books and arcane artifacts, I wrestled with the implications of what had transpired. Had I dared too much? Was my interference somehow destabilizing the very fabric of existence? The encounter with my younger self served as a stark warning – a reminder that meddling with time carried unforeseen consequences.
I reached the inescapable conclusion that returning to the university before the day arrived to secure the manuscript would be far too dangerous. I needed to consolidate my resources, prepare for whatever Bauernfeind had in store, and brace myself for the confrontation ahead. For now, the university – and the unsettling echo of my younger self – would have to wait.
Scene #18 – The day I have been waiting for so long
The day had arrived – a day thick with foreboding and the weight of impending doom. I made my way to the university, each step measured and deliberate, acutely aware that every action could have unforeseen consequences. The air itself seemed charged with tension, as if the very stones of the building held their breath in anticipation.
I positioned myself across from the library, observing the comings and goings of students and faculty. My gaze was drawn to my younger self – the man I once was – emerging from the building, oblivious to the horrors that lay ahead. After a few minutes, allowing the echoes of that unsettling encounter to fade somewhat, I finally crossed through the grand entrance and approached the desk where Professor Dr. Bauernfeind sat hunched over a pile of ancient texts.
To my surprise, he looked up and recognized me instantly – not with confusion or shock, but with an unnerving acceptance. He had clearly been expecting me, in some capacity. The transformation from the typically aloof and scholarly professor to something… else entirely was unsettling. His eyes held a depth I hadn’t noticed before, a coldness that seemed to absorb all light.
“You shall sit,” he said, his voice devoid of its usual professorial cadence – a tone I had never heard from him before. It was flat, almost mechanical, yet laced with an undercurrent of something… else. He gestured towards the chair opposite him, a silent invitation that carried a weight far beyond its simple offer.
I obeyed without question, settling into the offered seat and maintaining unwavering eye contact. I said nothing, content to observe Bauernfeind’s every movement – the way his bony fingers traced the faded script of the manuscript, the subtle twitch in his jaw as he concentrated. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
Bauernfeind raised a skeletal finger, halting my gaze with an unexpected gesture. It was as if he were instructing me to wait, to be patient while he finished the paragraph he was currently deciphering. A strange sense of theatricality permeated the air – a feeling that I had been deliberately drawn into this scene, a pawn in some elaborate game far beyond my comprehension. The manuscript lay between us, a silent testament to the darkness it contained and the perilous path I now trod.
The silence continued to press down on me, heavy and expectant. Slowly, deliberately, I reached into the depths of my bag – a calculated move designed to break the oppressive stillness. My fingers brushed against the cool metal of the bronze mask, a relic acquired through considerable effort and at significant personal cost. With deliberate care, I placed it over my face, concealing my features behind its ancient visage. It was not merely a disguise; it was a conduit – a vessel for something far older and more potent than myself.
I remained motionless, a silent observer, focusing solely on Bauernfeind. The mask settled into place with an unsettling weight, subtly altering the air around me. Then, he looked up from his work, and a sinister smile slowly spread across his face – a grotesque distortion of his features that sent a shiver down my spine. Recognition dawned in his eyes, not surprise, but a chilling acknowledgement of my latest acquisition.
He nodded once, a slow, deliberate movement that seemed to confirm something unspoken between us. “Wise,” he murmured, his voice now laced with an unsettling resonance. “Very wise indeed to bring the mask. Many powerful spells were used to create it thousands of years ago – spells that resonate across dimensions and echo through time.”
My gaze remained fixed on him, but something within me began to shift. A strange energy surged through my veins, overriding my conscious will. My vocal cords vibrated with an unfamiliar resonance, and words poured forth from my lips – not in German, nor any language I recognized or had ever learned. It was a guttural tongue, ancient and alien, filled with unsettling rhythms and sounds that seemed to claw at the edges of sanity. The syllables formed themselves into phrases – a torrent of archaic pronouncements that echoed through the room, defying comprehension yet radiating an undeniable power. It felt as though I were merely a vessel, a conduit for something far older than myself, speaking in a language born from the primordial chaos before time itself.
The alien syllables continued their relentless flow, a hypnotic drone that seemed to warp the very air around us. As I spoke, a vision coalesced within my mind – not as a mental image, but as a direct projection, a psychic command intended for Professor Bauernfeind’s perception. It was not merely seen by him; it felt as though he were experiencing it firsthand, a horrifying intrusion into his consciousness.
The library itself began to dissolve, the familiar surroundings twisting and contorting into an impossible geometry. The bookshelves elongated, their wooden surfaces becoming slick with a viscous, iridescent fluid that pulsed with an internal light. Dust motes swirled in the air, not as particles of debris, but as miniature galaxies spiraling within a void. Colors bled together – ochre yellows merging with sickly greens and unsettling violets, creating a nauseating kaleidoscope.
Bauernfeind found himself standing on shifting ground composed of what appeared to be fossilized coral, its surface riddled with intricate, non-Euclidean patterns that seemed to writhe before his eyes. Above him, the ceiling vanished, replaced by an expanse of starless blackness punctuated by colossal, cyclopean structures – impossible architectures of obsidian and something else entirely, something that defied description, hinting at geometries beyond human comprehension. They pulsed with a slow, rhythmic beat, like the hearts of slumbering gods.
Then, I appeared within his vision – not as myself wearing the bronze mask, but as an embodiment of the will driving the alien language. I was a formless entity, a confluence of shadows and angles, radiating an aura of absolute power that dwarfed anything he had ever encountered. My presence seemed to warp the very fabric of reality around me, causing the already distorted landscape to buckle further.
I did not speak in words within his vision; instead, a feeling – a command – flooded his mind: Yield. It was not a request, but an absolute decree, backed by a force so immense it threatened to shatter his sanity. He felt his own will dissolving, becoming insignificant against the sheer weight of my psychic presence.
His body began to tremble violently, his limbs spasming uncontrollably. The color drained from his face, leaving him pallid and grey. His eyes widened in a silent scream of terror as he realized the futility of resistance. He attempted to speak, to protest, but no sound escaped his lips – his vocal cords paralyzed by the sheer force of my will.
Then, it happened. With a suddenness that defied explanation, his body collapsed onto the fossilized coral floor. His limbs went limp, and his eyes glazed over with an unnatural stillness. There was no visible wound, no sign of physical trauma. It was as if his very life force had been abruptly extinguished – snuffed out like a candle flame by a gust of wind.
The vision ended there, leaving Bauernfeind lying motionless on the ground, his heart demonstrably stopped beating. The alien language ceased its flow, and the impossible geometry began to recede, though the lingering sense of wrongness remained palpable in the air – a residue of the eldritch forces that had been unleashed. It was a demonstration of power so absolute, so utterly devoid of mercy, that it left no room for doubt: I now held dominion over this reality, at least within the confines of this encounter. The manuscript lay beside him, unclaimed and vulnerable.
Scene #19 – That was not my plan
I stepped over Bauernfeind’s lifeless form, a grim tableau laid out before me. The air hung thick with the scent of ozone and something else – something ancient and indescribably alien that clung to the back of my throat. I reached for the manuscript, expecting it to be a jumble of indecipherable symbols, but found myself able to read every line with startling clarity. Each glyph resolved itself into perfect, understandable prose – a feat utterly impossible without some external influence.
A wave of disorientation washed over me as I removed the bronze mask, intending to confirm my sanity. The manuscript, now devoid of its previous legibility, appeared almost entirely unreadable – a chaotic jumble of lines and curves that defied interpretation. It was then that the horrifying truth began to dawn on me. With the mask back in place, I focused on the passage Bauernfeind had been studying when I entered – a series of incantations detailing a ritualistic awakening. As I read, a searing pain erupted within my skull, as if every drop of blood were fleeing my brain. The sensation was fleeting, but profoundly disturbing.
The realization struck me with the force of a physical blow: Bauernfeind hadn’t been trying to prevent his demise; he’d been preparing for it. His death wasn’t an accident; it was the final piece in a meticulously crafted puzzle. He had deliberately lured me there, manipulated events so that I would unwittingly fulfill his purpose – whatever monstrous entity he sought to awaken. The mask hadn’t granted me power; it had made me a tool.
A scream tore from my throat – a primal expression of betrayal and horror – as the full extent of the deception became clear. I ripped the mask from my face, grabbed the manuscript, and scrambled for the window. A frantic search revealed that in the chaos, I’d lost something – a silver cigarette case with my initials engraved upon it, likely dropped somewhere amidst the unsettling events.
I plunged into the night of Düsseldorf, a desperate figure fleeing a nightmare made real. The cobblestone streets blurred beneath my feet as I ran, propelled by adrenaline and sheer terror. Mülder’s bookstore was behind me – a place of false promises and insidious manipulation. There would be no return. I had to leave, now.
The city’s shadows seemed to writhe with unseen things, the gaslights casting elongated, distorted shapes that mimicked the impossible geometries from the vision. Each echoing footstep felt like a countdown, each gust of wind carried whispers of something ancient and malevolent. The manuscript clutched tightly in my hand felt heavy – a cursed artifact radiating an unsettling coldness. I didn’t know what awaited me beyond the city walls, but one thing was certain: I had stumbled into something far older and more terrible than anything I could have ever imagined, and I was now inextricably bound to its fate.
Epilogue – 38°32’56.1″N 58°17’33.7″W
And this is how I came to be on this ship, currently charting a course south of Nova Scotia. Not to begin a new life far away from all that has happened, precisely. That would be a foolish sentiment, considering what I carry within me.
I am not a fool. The events in Düsseldorf have stripped away any illusions of safety or normalcy. I know that what has been woken – whatever entity Bauernfeind sought to unleash – does not care about geographical borders, nor does it respect the fragile boundaries of human understanding. It is a force beyond comprehension, and its influence stretches far beyond the confines of Germany’s industrial heartland.
I am here to get rid of the mask and the manuscript. They are anchors to that nightmare, conduits for the power that nearly consumed me – and likely still does. If someone is able to stop what is about to happen – a prospect I find increasingly improbable – at least nobody can use those items again. Destroying them feels like the only logical course of action, even if it means sacrificing myself in the process.
The ship itself is a vessel of grim practicality – a sturdy freighter carrying mundane cargo and populated by oblivious souls unaware of the cosmic horror that shadows my every move. I’ve secured a small cabin far from prying eyes, where I can quietly contemplate my impending doom. The ocean stretches before me, an endless expanse of grey water mirroring the bleakness in my heart.
The End!
This was the last part of my Call of Cthulhu solo adventure. I hope you ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn … ehm … I mean, liked it.
