Goblin Society
BLACKJACK!
The Aeon Society - Formerly the Aeon Society for Gentlemen, not yet the Aeon Covenant - was founded to improve the lot of humanity, and to push back the boundaries of the unknown. Far from its origins as a Chicago gentleman's club, it's now best known for its scientific research and philanthropy. But, still, there's much we don't know. Too much, even. When things seem beyond the understanding of modern science, when a disaster gets too strange for the Neptune Foundation, or when weirdly advanced artifacts of the distant past show up on auction, they call your team.
Las Vegas, Nevada. 10:48 PM.
Madame Sophia's Psychic Studio is the cramped front parlor of a trade house in the outskirts of the city, far from the Vegas strip. It smells like incense, cigarette smoke, and old perfume, and the room is decorated with curtains and scarves pinned up on the walls. Low new-agey music plays from a boombox in the corner, and the neon yellow and purple light of the eye-in-a-hand-in-a-pyramid sign affixed to next to the door leaks in through the window. It would be incredibly unconvincing if, within minutes of the start of her consultation, she hadn't told you the hotel you're staying at, the time of your flight to Vegas, and what the meeting room in the Chicago headquarters of the Aeon Society looked like.
Madame Sophia is a black woman in her 50s, dressed in a long, colorful dress in paisley patterns, with her hair tied up in a bandanna. When it became clear that you weren't customers, she dropped her mystic act, leaning back and lighting up a Virginia Slim. She's had sort of an air of familiarity as she went through the standard battery of tests and questions for psychic powers. Everything seemed normal, until-
A distant 'foomp'.
Shattering glass.
The room fills with smoke.
"What the HELL!" Sophia cries out in alarm, before her house's front door is kicked off its hinges. What do you do?
Las Vegas, Nevada. 10:48 PM.
Madame Sophia's Psychic Studio is the cramped front parlor of a trade house in the outskirts of the city, far from the Vegas strip. It smells like incense, cigarette smoke, and old perfume, and the room is decorated with curtains and scarves pinned up on the walls. Low new-agey music plays from a boombox in the corner, and the neon yellow and purple light of the eye-in-a-hand-in-a-pyramid sign affixed to next to the door leaks in through the window. It would be incredibly unconvincing if, within minutes of the start of her consultation, she hadn't told you the hotel you're staying at, the time of your flight to Vegas, and what the meeting room in the Chicago headquarters of the Aeon Society looked like.
Madame Sophia is a black woman in her 50s, dressed in a long, colorful dress in paisley patterns, with her hair tied up in a bandanna. When it became clear that you weren't customers, she dropped her mystic act, leaning back and lighting up a Virginia Slim. She's had sort of an air of familiarity as she went through the standard battery of tests and questions for psychic powers. Everything seemed normal, until-
A distant 'foomp'.
Shattering glass.
The room fills with smoke.
"What the HELL!" Sophia cries out in alarm, before her house's front door is kicked off its hinges. What do you do?