/qu/ - Quests/Roll

>>2600
>1. Turn on Radio.
Let's hope something nice is on.

Waiting for at least three or four responses before going on.

>>2599
1. Turn on Radio.

>1

As he moves his right hand to the radio, he braces his knees against the otherwise unmanned wheel. He reaches across and flips on the old AM radio, hoping to pick something up in the late night. All he finds is static at first, but eventually he finds a channel playing very old, crackling country music. He lets it play for a few minutes, but when the song ends, the National Anthem begins, signaling the end of the nightly broadcast. “They still do that out here?” He asks himself incredulously. With a trace of disgust he again reaches across to shut off the radio, letting the piece of paper go and he does so. It is quickly whipped up by the air pouring into the cabin. Only by throwing himself at it does he prevent it from being sucked out the window. This violent motion allows the car to wander into the left lane, and the man has to drop his cigarette out the window and desperately grasp the wheel in order to stay on the road.

“Now why did you do a fool thing like that?”, the young man berates himself-after his heart rate returns to a manageable level. Maybe on the road, at night, in the middle of nowhere isn't the best time to be taking his hands off the wheel. He glances with disdain at the now-slightly crumple piece of paper clenched in his right hand, happy he hasn't lost it, but still rather upset that it had put him in such a situation to begin with. Even without being able to see the writing in such a poorly lit environment, he could still remember it perfectly, having stared at the short message so vividly over the days preceding his decision to leave Savannah on this wild goose chase.

“Dear __”
>Choose a name.

>>2604
Leonard

>>2604
Zeb. Sounds very Kentucky.

>>2604
Stan Wilbert

Rolled 3

Let's see

Rolled 4

Let's see>>2608

>Stan it is

The simple, but neat script flows into a short, but informative letter, written on a piece of heavy paper. It arrived on the Tenth, just as the first chill of winter had graced the coastal Georgia city. Stan was confused as to how this person had found his address at all, let alone known what name he'd taken after his mother remarried – a lifetime ago, it felt like.

“Dear Stanley,

If you're reading this, I'm probably not long for the world, or have already passed. Sorry I didn't know you. Sorry that I didn't let you know me. We're out of time now, I guess. That's just the way life is sometimes. I heard about your mother. I'm very sorry I couldn't have been there with you two, but that wasn't the way things worked out. I don't think she would have wanted me on her bedside either, to be honest.
It's a real heavy thing I have to put you through; your mother has just passed, and the only other family you have in the world, who you've not seen or talked to since you couldn't speak, writes to tell you he's dying too.
I can't apologize 'cause I know you won't forgive me. But that's okay. You don't need to forgive me to do what I'm going to ask you. I need you to come home, back to Kentucky. I know you don't consider it where you're from, but your forefathers lived here, in the greenwood, for generations.
Even if it's not your home, it's mine. And I need you to take me back there.
Come up to (illegible scrawl of a name, but you understand from your mother's stories where he means). I need you to take my ashes up the Mountain, and put me in the family cemetery. I know that doesn't mean much to you, but I need to be laid to rest where I belong. Back up on the Mountain with my father, and his father, and back.
I know you probably still hate me for leaving. You'd probably be smart just to throw this letter away after you finish it. But I have no one else to ask. You are the only person I can trust to do this.
Please, son. I'm not a strong man anymore, but still have to soul of one, and a strong man is on his knees begging you for help.
Regards,
Walter.”


Stan didn't know what to make of the request. It was so unlike the willful, fierce man that his mother had spoken of with some contempt, but still after all these years, a hint of respect. What had happened to lay the legend that was his father so low? He had agonized over the decision for many sleepless nights. It was true that he knew next to nothing about his dad, other than stories his mother had related. He didn't even know what he looked like, nor did he have a picture of the man. Maybe it was out of some bizarre form of respect, maybe he too knew what it was like to be alone in the world, and didn't want to put another human being through that pain. Whatever the reason, he packed up his duffel bag, got in his Fairlane (one of the only things his mother had left to give him after the cancer ran it's course), and headed north.

His reverie is broken by a flashing yellow light on the dashboard. Low on gas – Damn. He should have filled up at the last service station, but he'd been too sucked into his own mind to think it was a pressing concern. Peering ahead into the dimly lit highway gloom, he made out an exit sign.

“Exit 47 Morton Pass -→

½ Mile

Exit 48 Black Mountain ^

12 Miles

Exxon, Shell.

There was no guarantee that this exit had a gas station. Looking forward, he could see only the pale glow of a single streetlamp lighting the offramp, dim, flickering light cutting through the haze made by an evening rain storm the night before. On the other hand, the next exit was guaranteed to have offerings availible, but he isn't so certain the old beast, with its large V-8 engine, could hold out long enough to make the drive.

Should he:

>Take a chance on this exit

>Try to hold out long enough to reach the next one

>>2609
I hope this guy has triple a.
>Black Mountain
>hope it's open

>>2609
Would it be a stretch for us to make it up the 12 miles and then finish the rest on foot, then walk back to the V-8 with the tank of gas and fill it up by hand?

>>2613
Stan still has some gas. The Low Fuel indicator is on, but the car is still running. How long that may last…

>>2614
Let's drive to the gas station with what we have and then walk it out on foot.

QM, does anyone on /v/ here know you're running this?

>>2616
If you could inform them that would be cool. I'm banging my head against the keyboard atm

General consensus is that we should keep on hustlin' so I will oblige.

Stan steps on it, reasoning that getting there faster will make up for temporarily using a lot more fuel. This proves to be a poor decision.
By the time he makes it to the exit ramp for Black Mountain, the Fairlane is running on fumes, sputtering and occasionally pinging as it uses up its last. Looking to the left, he can see the Shell Station, but even from a cursory glance it is closed for the night. With no one managing the store, that certainly meant the pumps would be shut off. On the right he can see the Exxon station, or at least what remains of it. It was obviously out of commission. To be brutally honest it looked like a bomb had hit it; the store lacked any sort of window, except for the plywood/garbage bag nest spanning the width of the empty door frame. And the pumps were long gone. It was, or rather had been, an older station, made apparent by the closed garage bay doors. Stan's mother had talked about her youth, when such small garages were often times the only source of maintenance for those living on the Mountain. It's the kind of place she met Dad long ago.

Stan doesn't have a lot of options, and will have to make a quick decision. The headlights are starting to die, and if he's lucky he might have enough juice to make it to either one, but just barely.

>Try for the Shell

>Go to the Exxon and see if there is anything salvageable.

I say we pull over with the gas we have right now, and then walk it up to the Exxon and prowl for any gas to steal.

waiting warmly for QM

Stan pulls the heavy old car off the road and into the grass along the side of the offramp, figuring that it might be beneficial to leave at least a teaspoon of gas in the tank, just in case. He doesn't feel much like a thief, so breaking and entering the Shell seems like a poor decision: there is no sign of life within or without the station, with even the gas price sign shut off. Stan briefly wonders if they're experiencing a power outage, or if it really does get that quiet after dark out here. He picks his way to the Exxon station, across the weed-choked and cracked blacktop, up to the front. The windows weren't just removed, but smashed in, shards of tempered glass stabbing upward. The door, or rather where the door once was, is covered in plywood, plastic and tape, with no obvious way of removing it.

(Going to make it a little more freeform. Give me suggestions)

>>2622
Do we have a torch anywhere in the car? I'd say check inside through the windows if so. If not then just have a poke around outside to see what we may see.

>>2622
Seconding >>2623 in grabbing a torch if we've got one.

Then check through the windows and round the back, might be another way in.

>>2622
Go check gas pumps, no sleuthing. If there's gas, time to get a jug or barrel. If not, shit's tough.

>>2623
Inventory check!

>Clothing - long-sleeve shirt tucked into old jeans, nondescript tennis shoes, grey hoodie, baseball hat-pictured.

>Pants pockets - Wallet w/37$ of various small bills, driver's license w/expiration date Jun 29, 19(worn from age), picture of Mother and Stan before illness. Zippo lighter, full of fuel. Car keys - one for ignition, one for locking gas cap, both on keychain with plastic fob reading "Walther's Bros. Grocer and Pharmacy". Small pocketknife (13th birthday present). Pack of gum, two left.

>Jacket pockets - Pack of Morely cigarettes with five left(more packs in glove compartment), backup Bic lighter. A few receipts from various gas stations on the way up. Written driving instructions for how to get to Black Mountain.

>>2625
There are no gas pumps, but there are two large garage bays to the right of the station; maybe there's a gas can inside, or a way to access the reserve of gas underground.

>>2626
So is that a no to keeping a torch in our car?

>>2626
Oh well, we might as well look up the gas anyway.

>>2629
We're standing at the gas station right now, not by the car. Stan didn't think to get a flashlight before walking over. He can get forgetful after a long few days of driving.

>>2631
Okay, return to car, retrieve flashlight, then check inside the gas station.

>>2632
Done!
Stan walks back over to the old Fairlane and opens up the trunk.

Inside there is:
>His duffel bag, full of the meagre possessions he decided to bring along with him on this… I suppose he is going to call it a pilgrimmage.

> A large, chrome flashlight.

>A tire iron

> A near useless spare tire

>>2633
Ya know, call me paranoid, but I'd totally be grabbing the tire iron as well. Might as well have something to hit things with.

>>2633
Get that torch and go take a look through the windows of the gas station.

>>2635

Torch is grab. Tire iron too, for good measure. Stan is not a violent person, but he doesn't know who or what inhabits this ruined gas station, or the surrounding woods. He makes his way back to the gas station entrance, and begins to look through the windows. Several are blocked by shelves, pushed up against the now-shattered windows. The openings they offer let Stan see the majority of shelves are stripped bare, and that there is a large hole ripped in the roof about over the cashier's counter. He can also make out the shape of another entrance in the back, this one not sealed by plywood, but instead a real door.

>>2637
Go check round the back then, see if the door is unlocked.

>>2642
Will this get us our precious gasoline?

>>2643
Maybe?

>>2637
Let's go in if only to find a bucket/tank and the key to open the gas pumps?

>>2645
Been said twice now by OP abandoned gas station = No pumps.

Stan makes his way to the rear of the shop, pausing briefly to wade through the sea of weeds and bushes that have overwhelmed the side of the building. At one point he has to squeeze between the missing slats of a fence that was originally intended to keep lurkers like him out, but now served as a passageway through ever thickening vegetation. Finally around back, Stan finds himself on a concrete pad that once served as a makeshift breakroom or loading dock for the store. Out back, the ground slopes off into the treeline. The large moon is visible through the pines, and if he listens carefully he can hear the movement of small forest creatures in the underbrush.

The back of the store is fairly unremarkable; there is a large dumpster, the top closed and locked, a pipe from which natural gas once was piped into the store's heating system, now capped off. And then there was the door, still holding strong after years of disuse.

>>2647
Is our iron the kind with a crowbar head on it, or the cross? If it's the crowbar then pry that motherfucker open and go inside.

>>2647
Let's break our way in.

>>2648
Unfortunately it is a tire iron with all four tips rounded ratchet heads. It could be useful to break something, or as self defense in a pinch, but not as a prying device.

>>2650
Break down the door?

>>2650
Is the door even locked? ^.^' forgot to ask that before. I assume yes, but maybe it'll be easily circumvented with a swift kick.

>>2652
The door seems very sturdy, and from a quick examination (and a few swift kicks that leave you toes sore), you surmise that the door cannot be bashed down. You do see something interesting, though. From your angle, leaned against the door, Stan can see behind the dumpster, to a small hanging string that leads into a hole in the wall.

>>2653
Great. Lets limp over there and see if the dumpster has wheels and can be shifted a bit. If not, try to reach back there anyway and see what happens if we grab the string.

>>2653
Go for that hole then!

>>2653
with any luck it'll be attached to a set of keys for either the door inside or the garage where we might find some gas.

The dumpster rolls rather easily aside, the wheels are apparently still well-greased despite the relative squalor of this place. Stan bends down and examines the hole behind. It is about three inches across, and even with the flashlight he cannot see very far inside. What he thought was a string is in fact a very fine chain, connected on one end to an eye hook in the wall and extending into the inky blackness. Above, written in ink, is a small message reading "pull for key."

Stan doesn't know how to feel about this.

>>2658
Yeah, this seems a bit convenient… but faint heart never won fair gas can, so pull away.

>>2658
I guess we pull!

>>2660
Why o why do I get the feeling this is a bad thing to do?

>>2663
Nonsense, only Obi-Wan would say such things!

>>2658
Reaching down, Stan takes hold of the thin chain and begins to pull. And pull. All in all, he pulls out at least ten feet of chain before feeling any resistance. When he does, it is very slight, and judging from the noise, very far from the wall. Pausing for a second to look back at the door that stymies him so, he realizes there is no external keyhole. What, then, is he retrieving?

With a final tug, Stan reaches the end and pulls out…

A very thin piece of metal.

One end has a hole punched in to attach it to the credit-card sized (but surprisingly strong) piece of metal. The card has a slight embossing, faded over time. All that can be read are the words "Armitage Towing Servi…"

>>2665
Well that went well. Wonder what this opens. Check if the garage has a key hole?

>>2665
I guess we use the credit card method to shake open the lock on the door? As in slip the card through the gap in the door?

Stan begins to wonder just who would devise such an odd key system. He thinks that this could be some sort of keycard, but it doesn't have a magnetic strip on the back.

He then takes a closer look at the wear pattern, and realizes that it has been sliding against something metal, almost like…

Stan stands as he realizes just what this is a 'key' for. He takes it over to the door and places it between the lock and the strike plate, then slides it in. With a small click, the door is unlocked. Stan opens the door, which swings open with oiled precision, but as he does so, he notices a tugging in his hand. As he watches, the key and chain are slowly drawn away, back into the hole, until only a small length is left outside.

This disconcerts Stan more than a little bit.

>>2668
FLASHLIGHT! FLASHLIGHT!

>>2668
Das creepy man. Okies, lets ready our tire iron and start inside. Maybe there's an alternate entrance to the garage through the staff area. C'mon guise, we need car juice.

>>2669
Stan sparks the flashlight on and shines it around. It looks the same from the inside as it did through the cracks in the outside, if not even more dilapidated. The counter has been demolished, as if something was dropped on it from great height. Looking up, the impact location about matches the hole in the ceiling.

What Stan doesn't see is the key, chain, hole, nor any person or device that may have drawn it back inside. Come to think of it, there hadn't been any dragging noise from his pulling on it. Picking his way behind the counter he finds the register gone, along with most of the cigarettes and candies that were undoubtedly here some long time prior.

Stan makes his way throughout the store, gently sidling alongside piles of debris or knocked over shelves. When he reaches the far wall, where there should be a way to enter the garage, he finds it blank. No opening, nor even a sign that there might have at one time been an opening.

As he walks towards the front, he halts, and his entire body tenses. He heard something. Something odd.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OE_6FNmqY_Y

Drifting up very lightly from… the floor was the sound of a drum. Then a drum accompanied by chanting. It grew louder the closer he got to the front of the store. Then he saw it.

Rising up a few inches from the floor was a panel, like a roof tile. It was the same color as the floor around it, but slightly lighter, as if something had been resting over top of it for quite some time. What made this panel interesting was that it was hinged, and propped open on one side.

From beneath this panel the chanting emanated.

>>2671
Open it.

>>2672
Stan doesn't quite know what to expect, but he reaches down (with tire iron in hand) and lifts the panel. As soon as he does, the chanting gets even louder, and the drums more frantic. The dust and grime, which formed a layer a few inches thick, had blocked the open sides of the panel, but with it lifted, the seal around the panel was gone, and the entire store was bathed in a soft golden glow, light from the open hatch. Stan leaned over and looked down.

Beneath the hatch was a ladder, steel and bolted to the concrete wall. He couldn't see the bottom, but he could smell something off. Like the van an old girlfriend used to drive, or that one cafe on the backstreet in downtown Savannah.

>>2674
Go in

I think I'm going to call this for tonight.

Will start up again tomorrow, around 6 or 7 pm, EST

Nice playing with y'all.

>>2684
>>2685
>>2686
>>2687
OP, put down the absinthe and step away from the keyboard.

>>2688
Hey man, we're having image posting issues.

Gotta check that shit, nigga