Clod of Cthulhu: Intro to Innsmo

When we last left our hero, he had…jeez. Oh, wow. With the running into a building full of…and then the…and the portal to…Christ.

Oh, wow. Did I really…and then…and…

Wow.

Okay, short version is, our hero has shown an amazing aptitude for putting himself in danger, getting people killed, and screwing with things he has no business screwing with. If you asked this guy to crack down on drug trafficking, he’d find an illicit warehouse, run in, talk to every drug dealer he saw, then start grabbing random substances and injecting them into himself. It’s like a LucasArts adventure game, only in first person and played deadly straight.

Anyway, unsurprisingly, our hero’s little stint with opening a gate to some nth dimension of hellspace did not do wonders for his mental health. Directly afterwards, he did a brief stay in an asylum until, “it became clear that I presented no danger to either myself or others.” Uh, the evidence suggests that you present a massive danger to yourself, Jacko. And between you and me, I’m not about to go near you, either.

For the next six years, he assumed a different personality, becoming obsessed with the occult and seeming to understand languages previously unfamiliar to him.

And then, five months before the game begins proper, he woke up. He didn’t remember anything since the library where he found the secret passage, and can’t read any of the texts he’d previously devoured. At night, he’s had…dreams. Strange ones of impossible landscapes. He’s become fearful of his own reflection.

A paranoid wreck of a mental patient who’s paid for a moment’s indiscretion with years of trauma and anguish? Ah. That’s-a some good Lovecraft. Although I do wonder if his mental state might be better improved if he sprung for some decent lights, or maybe a potted plant or something. Oh, hey, how about a kitten? Or, you know, you could sit there soothing your mental scars with bourbon and cigars. Either one works, I guess.

At least crack a window.

Anyway, the game progresses forward when he reluctantly accepts a missing persons case. Story is, there’s this xenophobic port known as Innsmouth. Innsmouth is a small, insular town of hicks who keep to themselves and disdain all “outsiders”. They’re also rumored to be genetically a little out of whack, with blood that’s somehow tainted, but this is usually put up to superstition. Creepy, foreshadowing superstition. Anyway, there’s this out-of-town fellow named Burnham, a delinquent youth whose relatives hoped to teach him responsibility by giving him control of a store in Innsmouth. As everyone knows, nothing teaches virtue and restraint like putting someone in charge of a building full of unsecured goods, and then giving him the keys to the cash register, and then leaving town and not checking back very often. To everyone’s surprise, including (most probably) Burnham’s, the store did pretty well…until he vanished one night, along with the money in the till. At first, this seems like the logical conclusion to this little vignette. Strange thing, though—the door was broken down, even though Burnham had a key to get in. Additionally, witnesses report claw marks on the door. So unless Burnham’s a werewolf, this story smells a little… fishy.

Innsmouth is my favorite part so far. That’s a little bit of a copout, since it’s also the longest part, but the atmosphere in this place is terrific. It’s dark, dingy, and oppressively hostile. Even before the violence goes down, there’s the palpable edge of dread to the place that produces some of the best atmosphere I’ve ever seen in a game. Of course, the same air of horror that causes me to enjoy myself should cause any sensible character to GTFO, but we’ll come to that.

Jack takes the bus to Innsmouth—it clearly doesn’t see much traffic, as he’s the only passenger. Jack asks the driver how far it is to the stop.

“Ahlmosht there. I’ll drrop you at the touwn shquare of Innshmouth.”

This guy’s voice is hilarious. Maybe it’s just because I already know the lore of Innsmouth, but I’d like to think that even if I knew nothing about Lovecraft I’d ask, “So, what, this guy’s a fishman? Is that what’s happening, here? Not very subtle.”

Or, more probably: “You need some nasal spray there, champ? I can hook you up with some Vicks rub or something, as long as, you know, you put it on by yourself. I don’t actually want to touch you. In fact, you know what, you can keep it afterwards.”

Anyway, we rattle on to the public square, and the driver drops a few subtle hints that outsiders aren’t exactly welcome in Innsmouth. They lock their gates, for one thing. They “look after their own,” and don’t encourage people to come in, even for trade. The bus comes to a stop; the driver gets out and says, “This is it, stranger. End of the line.”

I don’t know if you’re picking up on all of this subtle foreshadowing, so let’s do a helpful review of the facts. Innsmouth hates:

1.)    Strangers
2.)    People meddling in their affairs

3.) People out of town who come to the town to work

Recently, an outsider working at a store in Innsmouth vanished under mysterious circumstances. Jack was sent in to poke around and ask what happened to him.

Jack’s talent, according to the story, lies in picking up on things other people don’t. Perhaps this trait also blinds him to things that are extremely, painfully obvious. Like the fact that his arse is as dead as fish and chips unless he starts running now and doesn’t stop until he’s crossed the state line.

Okay, I know, that’s not fair. It’s much easier for me, the player, to be distrustful of NPCs than some random guy who’s approaching this town like any other port. The hints so far were subtle, and could be misread. It’s not like they outright declared their intent to kill him.

That line will be funny in a little while.