Climate

- In the fall, high temperatures along the north coast range from the low 50s to the mid-60s F.
First snowfalls often arrive in late October, but sometimes as late as the end of November.
Normal winter highs range from the mid-20s to upper 30s-though cold air masses rolling in
from the north often drive temperatures down into the teens and lower. Spring thaws come to
lnnsmouth in late March or early April, with balmy temperatures averaging in the 50s, and
60s. In the summer, cooled by sea breezes, temperatures rarely go above the mid-80s.

At low tide, the fossil cavern is accessible. Investigators might

succeed at a Group Luck check to find its entrance unattended.
The cavern is sometimes guarded by a villager who runs off to
inform the rest of the village and secure backup.
The fossil itself is the size of a door, flat and reminiscent of ancient
isopods yet somehow different, and even its very stone seems
unlike all that around it. Looking upon the fossil calls for a SAN
check (1/1D4), with a penalty dice if the reinforcement ritual is
taking place.

The water flashed with intricate, metallic-seeming patterns. I noticed one sailing yacht
anchored out in the bay, closer to the beach than any of the others. She wasn’t the biggest. Her slim
white lines lay just above the water like a bobbing shard of ice.
Quickly, on an impulse, I grabbed a pencil and pad and began to sketch her.
Out onto her foredeck stepped a figure visible only in silhouette. Sexless, ageless, viewed at
this distance and in the failing light, it might have been any person on the planet. I knew not what
drew my eye to it. But I could not look away. The figure glided along the yacht’s length. It must have
been a sailor carrying ropes, I told myself. Long tendrils looped from the central body and were cast
off into the sea. The figure appeared to vibrate. Trick of perspective. The water’s reflection was at
play with the abundant shadows. My mouth felt dry, tasted of salt. A ripple of nausea passed through
me like a sound wave traveling from the middle of the bay. My hand trembled as I traced long,
unbroken lines onto the paper, attempting to capture the oddity I saw.
The horizon divided into layers: dark blue, indigo, purple, violet, and smoked gray.
The Bay of Cannes became a sheet of glass.
Those ropes, if they were ropes, retracted. The figure elongated, growing taller by half. This
sailor, or fisherman, this distortion of a human form also wore something on its head.
Huge spikes, in the fashion of a crown, a dark cluster of bayonet-like appendages.
That’s what they looked like, anyway.
Then the light changed, and soft black fuzz seemed to sprout from the air itself. The yacht
became a normal sailing vessel at anchor among dozens of others. I saw no one onboard.
A hump of dark rock swathed in mist

Rain hissed and slithered down the glass.

The air smells of salt and things that mummified in the sun

The lighthouse looms out of the mists like a pale candle. Its light burns a searing path, breaking
through the wispy susurration of the fog.

You find the Lugubrious Keeper is out on the roof. He shambles toward you, a frown upon his face.
He indicates the mists that teem over the lighthouse, before gesturing you to follow him. He leads
you around the upper gantry with surprising dexterity for his bulk. Before every ladder, he stops and
points down, where something swells in the mists. An arc of light from the beacon slides in like
moonlight under a stormcloud. As the light touches the mist, the swells subside and bob away.

Harpoons of a metal wicked enough to pierce the most rubbery hide.

Farther into the fog you can make out laboured breathing.

Instinct holds your mouth shut. Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Your lungs burn, holding in that last
gulp of air; your legs thrash. You can't hold it in. It escapes! You're choking on water. It forces its way
into your lungs, the taste of burning salt suffocating every attempt to gasp, scream or-
Then, through the exhaustion and panic, you realise you're breathing. It's hard work. Your lungs fight
against the weight.
- As the water rushes in, you are ready; taking gulps to speed the transition. It feels less like
drowning, now, and more like baptism. The once foul water now tastes sweet.
- The air tickles intolerably at your throat. Too hot, too arid… Your buttons are an irritation. You
abandon the last three. Your collar itches intolerably. You tug it loose.
- Until your lungs are bursting, until light blooms behind your eyes.

They say that… in the dark… the eyes begin to see… and in the silence we begin to listen... Believe
me nowhere is is darker or quieter than the bottom of the ocean.
And in the dark… we have no choice but to listen! (as the babbling increases to a crescendo)
The Sun has set and the temperature is dropping fast.

The air, too, gets colder and a rough wind whips through the alleys.

You realize you may have underestimated the October weather along the coast. Scattered raindrops
patter softly on your coat and you realize the real chill of the day is yet to come.

His rags and rainjacket flop awkwardly around his boots.

Swollen grey lips. Nervously, he licks his bulging lips.

The last light of the sun fades over you, and the fog now grows thick over the dark lapping
waves.

You can make out his/the features despite the fog.

“Alright then,” he says as he kicks a rotten fish in front of him.

The cloying mists.

You are all but blind in the fog, and so you keep your course as much of a straight line as
possible, hoping that there are no twists or curves in the path.

You wade further into the muck and begin swimming

The paint on the signs is so worn all of the letters are practically illegible. You can only make out an
“A” and near the end a “T”.

Roofs sag atop crumbling, worm-eat-en buildings. A cracked bell tolls every hour, the hands of its
tower clock missing.

The townsfolk are suspicious of these outsiders and lawmen who have invaded their
sanctuary and will do little to hide their contempt. Conversations will abruptly silence as the
investigators enter a room or turn a street corner. Many locals will avert their eyes from the
inves-tigators, while others will stare at them with open curiosity. Neither should feel
particularly welcoming. Interactions with most of the locals will be short, the residents answering
most questions nonverbally with nods, shrugs, even the occasional grunt.
There are few cars in Innsmouth and a noticeable lack of dogs or cats.

Most of the buildings are vacant and left to decay, their paint peeling and weeds growing from
neglected window boxes. Many of the abandoned homes and warehouses are boarded up

It smells of dust, old wood, and rat droppings.

The other option is a slow escalation of threat. The deep ones don't all suddenly attack en masse.
Maybe some of the humans in town just try to convince the agents to leave. Perhaps this is followed
up with threats or physical intimidation. Then an "accident" nearly kills one of them. Then an attempt
is made on their lives by some hybrids. Finally a couple of full adult deep ones come for them in the
night.

When under the water or in an area you really want to ramp up the tension. Call for spot hidden rolls,
tell them “you have to roll extremely low” When they roll shake your head and say “not low enough.”
If someone rolls a critical success just have them spot a swift dark shadow.

Dim glow appears and fades in the distance.

There can be barnacles growing on buildings. The fog makes the air feel thick, like breathing in soup
and moving feels sluggish.

There are an unusual amount of crabs swarming certain areas. With a bad luck roll one latches on
and pinches for 1 point of damage. (A foreshadowing for when tunnels are blocked by crabs,
knowing if they’re swarmed they’ll be killed) If the crab is killed (which is quite easy to do, even
throwing it will work w/ a Str check) green viscous liquid poors out.

While they’re in Innsmouth continue commenting on the tide, how close it is to shore, as it comes in,
as it retreats. Treat the tide/ocean as though it were a person: menacing, encroaching, swallowing,
reaching, pulling, waiting, etc.

Rather than the usual disrepair of abandonment give things a rotting vibe as if they've been
submerged over that time. The wooden panels on the houses appear to be rotten, sodden with years
of moisture seeping in from the encroaching sea.

Doctors often told people to spend time by the ocean when they were sick, thinking that the
sea air had healing properties. Perhaps the same will be said of someone with a deep one taint?

Eerie croaking coming from the fog, furtive movements in abandoned homes, signs of recent
habitation with no one around,

The odd fragment of inhuman jewelry found in strange places

A tribe of feral children who are Deep One hybrids

The sense that they are being watched from the water

The murky waters have an enormous number of small predator scavengers in them. The sort that
feed on carrion.

Small, unsettling shrine built in a corner of a partially collapsed building. An crude statue depicting a
figure with some unsettling physiognomy, and cuneiform-like writing on a broken clay tablet....

In a dark, dingy basement. It smells of stale, dank air and rotting fish.
The waters continue to roil in ebullient energy, as if somehow alive. With each passing moment, the sea grows more
and more volatile. Stranger still are the monstrous creatures that now prowl the dark waters - creatures that defy all
laws of nature…

Shifting sea of waves

Sending beams of the flashlight out into the naked but impenatrable void of the ocean

upon the wind-gnawed cliffs

that sea which drooled blackening waves upon a beach

all the weeds of the sand cliff writhed in accompaniment to the frantic wind

And the voice of the sea had become a hoarse groan, like that of something wounded which
shifts about before trying to rise

An enfeebled sun

It was not a madness: rather it was a too clear and naked perception of the darkness beyond
this frail existence,

The dead Moon

- the melancholy silver foam beneath the moon’s waxen corpse

Through the heritage of a million years ago, when men were closer to the mother sea, and when
the creatures of which we are born lay languid in the shallow, sun-pierced water, we still seek
the primal things when we are tired, steeping ourselves within their lulling security like those
early half-mammals which had not yet ventured upon the oozy land.

At the keeper's option, an NPC that talks too openly to investigators may later turn up missing, or be
found floating face down in the harbor.

Hints at the “riot”

- Buildings riddled with bullet holes in places, and corroded shell casings under foot.
Indeterminate stains on the walls and floor. Careful investigation of the holes suggests panic
fire from multiple shooters, at something that was was moving fast…

A stain in the living room at the head of a chalk figure drawn on the floor. Chemical analysis reveals
that the stain is from sea water.

A full two-thirds of these homes are deserted, windows shuttered and doors boarded over, yards
choked with weeds. Several have collapsed completely, leaving only shattered timbers, crumbling
chimneys, and water-filled stone cellars. Those few that are still inhabited look little better; broken
window panes are stuffed with rags and yards are littered by trash

Tunnel entrances in houses that used to be used by smugglers but now provide easy access for the
deep ones from Innsmouth to the ocean.

Fish and sea life have beached themselves one night. A lack of any debris from the ocean indicates
that it wasn’t a giant wave… they were trying to get out of the water… away from something…
Dagon is nearing.

Heavy Rains — Environment (Weather) Heavy rains have been plaguing New England for days,
swelling rivers and turning waterways into torrential floods

You find a door that leads down into the guts of the trawler. The interior of the ship is even more filthy
and rusted than the exterior. The lurching shadows in doorways and disturbing sounds coming from the
cabins on each side of the claustrophobic halls are something out of a nightmare.

You sputter and cough up an entire lungful of dirty water and sand. Cold, dark seawater laps at your
skin as you spit the last of the bitter salt taste back into the rolling tide.

Incidents begin with the hybrids’ attempts to shadow Investigators to discover just who has the artefact
and determine when best to strike. Next come visits in the night from small groups of sinister men who demand
the crown. If met with resolute resistance, break-ins follow. Finally physical assaults and kidnapping may occur,
but the Keeper must be careful not to overwhelm the Investigators. Instead, players should sense that they
are at the centre of a web of occult danger. Investigator violence as a first response to the hybrid goon squad is a
bad idea.

we espied the ocean floor, and sent a powerful beam from the searchlight over it. It was a vast undulating plain,
mostly covered with seaweed, and strown with the shells of small molluscs. Here and there were slimy objects of
puzzling contour, draped with weeds and encrusted with barnacles

“If I am mad, it is mercy! May the gods pity the man who in his callousness can remain sane to
the hideous end!”

Your garments offer little protection, for the cold is stunning. Your breath bursts from you in a
spray of bubbles.

a waning crescent moon was high in the vaporous heavens

the grotesque shrines and monoliths seemed to assume a hideous personality—a

half-sentience. Amorphous shadows seemed to lurk in the darker recesses of the weed-choked
hollow
He could smell a foul, marshy scent on her breath.

An investigator with the taint waking up having slept walked and turned on the faucet, then all
the faucets, then stopped them up with their clothes so they overflowed. Then finally, woken up
in severe pain asleep in an ice cold bathtub with the water overflowing.

I was a human woman, once, and she was me, but that connection grows fleeting with each
cycle of the tides

Fight
- You level your weapons and fire! The amphigator retreats, gouting dark blood, but not
before one of its jaws snatches a crewman…

Lights are out in most of the buildings/very few buildings are lit.