Carnage on Cape Cod

0:00Welcome, dear listeners, to a very special episode of Red Moon Roll playing. Today, our very own Craig Austin shall be taking you into the dark and horrifying world of Carnage on Cape Cod. Carnage on Cape Cod is an upcoming choose your own adventure solo TTRPG gamebook combined also with a more traditional TTRPG adventure book designed for group play. If this has already peaked your interest, please feel free to check out the links provided in the show notes today and support the crowd funder trying to bring this dark dream to life. We've kindly been provided the opening demo to the game's solo experience and we will be taking you through that today. All you need to play Carnage on Cape Cod other than the gamebook itself is two six-sided die, a pencil and an eraser and a copy of the game's character sheet. You are then ready to begin your descent into the dark secrets that await. So, take a moment to get yourself comfortable and let us see where the songs of the sea lead us as we play Carnage on Cape Cod.

1:00The Tempest. A siren keeps still in the ocean tonight. She's dressed in warm sunshine, her hair red, tied in a messy bun that'll top her twitching head. The ocean is autumn cold and restless with the waves, yet she stands there unmoved with an absolute absence of regard of any kind for the rainstorm washing away her tears. The water is splashing at her shivering waist at her yellow dress. Suddenly, she acts, fumbling with her hands as if her arms etched with horrendous acne her body could no longer contain. The crashing of the waves mutes her cries. She unclasps the clip holding the bundle of her hair, releasing the mane of red shrouding her shuddering visage. She makes a quick motion with both her hands as if scratching one arm's length and then the other.

2:04Just once each from a soft spot between the muscles of her upper arm down to her palm. Only her gritting teeth show any notion of pain. They are close to shattering. She raises both her arms towards the bright moon above. Her sunny sleeves open up, spurting blood from each arm, colouring the sea with the colour of her hair, swallowing the sunshine of her dress with the eclipse of the pouring dark. The bloody hair clip drops from her hand as she starts spinning with the last shred of consciousness with the last breath of life. And there she is, dancing death and beautiful, twirling away her remaining gears in a fountain of blood. Food for fish, her arms raised still. It is not only her body that moves, but her lips are also contorting in a strange manner

3:07as if speaking speech unknown and silent. Her eyes are wide and glistening with fear with joy. After the knife perouette, she drops down, caught by the waves, dead in the water, lulled by the ocean rouge with blood pale with the imposing moon. Blessed suicide, saluted by a downpour. Asyron has died tonight. The queen of the sea is dead. You open your eyes. How do you feel? Confused? Inspired or unsettled? Well, I suppose I feel unsettled. Yes, unsettled. Something is coming. You can feel it

4:11at the roof of your mouth, underneath your nails, on the tips of the tiny hair sticking out at the back of your neck. Something is coming. You can hear the sirens call, spiraling down the conscious of your ears. The sea is restless tonight. The thunder crashes loudly. Nearby, the ringing in your ears replaces your mind's songs. There's nothing left but buzzing. The siren has faded into non-existence. You open your eyes to the raindrops above. The mixture of rain and tears spills all over your flush cheeks. You are shivering. You are outside. Sleepwalking, dreaming upright in that the tempest. Your head is lifted. Your next stiff. Your nightgown is soaking wet and heavy as are your bare feet. Your spirit, your arms that are lifted up to the skies. And you don't know why.

5:14You don't know why. Will you think about how you got here? Or you go back to bed? Well, this is very upsetting. I certainly would like to think about how I got here. You stand there in the rain, trying to piece together how you ended up here praising me unknown. It escapes you. Not a good feeling, the kind that stirs trouble in your heart. You were asleep, dreaming, and suddenly you were hearing of your arms outstretched to the sky. Trying to clear your thoughts, you become painfully aware of your shakes. The cold really did a number on you, and there's no part of you at the downpour has spared. At least luck saved you from lightning. You could have burned in the rain. You need to go inside. As you need to stop questioning

6:16yourself, if you don't, you might as well spiral down into a panic attack. I gain two experience can be used to help me improve facets of my character. The story then continues. You're back in bed, forcing your eyes to close, hugging your wet pillow, struggling to steady your breathing. Anxiety is climbing up your neck. You can't shake it off. You can't calm down. You don't know why you're feeling this way this strongly. Right now, you're holding your breath. You need to start dreaming again. You need to send to yourself. Start with the basics. Like your name. Count the vowels in it. Count all the different letters it's made out of. Look at all the different colors around you. The stained bedsheet, the red blanket, the worn-off white walls. It's autumn, October 9th,

7:233.09am. The year is 1917. You're in Hattac, Cape Cod, Massachusetts, the United States of A. It's been raining for a three-day straight. At least it's not raining bombs. You didn't volunteer to go to Europe. Somebody had to stay behind when so many have gone to war. Many people of this town took off without drafts, without force. And we've will alone to do what's right and contribute in their way. Are you feeling guilty again? Is that what happened tonight? Is the beautiful girl ending her life in the ocean, a manifestation of your subconsciousness? Is that why you had to count the letters in your name again, you loser? Stop. You're going to freak yourself out again. Be constructive. Keep going.

8:28Who are you? Well, the first thing I need is a name and it's Edward. Yes, Edward Miller. And what does it I do again? Am I a cop, a doctor, an artist? Yes, yes that's right. I'm an artist. Yes, you're an artist. A white canvas is your battleground. Not a muddy field hatched with trenches. It took you years to hone your skills and no small amount of money. Your talents would be wasted abroad. You'd get killed, worse yet, mained. Maybe your mind would crack what then? How would you interpret the beauty around you if that happened? Better and apron covered in oils than a uniform stained with blood.

9:32Your weapon of choice is a brush, and the only way you could possibly butcher someone is by destroying their likeness in a commissioned portrait. And your last mission was just that. A commissioned portrait. It was a difficult piece, a struggle to tackle. It was important and you only had a couple of blurry photographs and hazy drug memories for reference. But you couldn't say no. Not to mistress mood. And you hope should be satisfied with your work. Being an artist means I now have advantage on all cultural and social roles. In this game, when you need to test a skill, you must roll 1d6. If you roll 5 or 6, you are successful. If you don't, you are not. When you have advantage in the skill, you instead roll 2d6 and choose

10:32the highest dice. I am also now able to improve 2 skills of my choice. When you improve a skill, you make it easier to succeed. For example, if you need to roll 5 or more and improve skill, now needs to roll 4 or more. Well, as an artist, I feel I'd have pretty good audio-visual skills. But I also feel I've had to endure a lot of my life, especially due to my church profession, so my mental skill is slightly improved as well. And how do I look? Well, I'm not a thin man. Quite an angular face, angular nose. I get that from my father. I have blonde short hair and green eyes. I often like to wear blue shirts and trousers, keeping up with the latest fashions when I can. Yes, that's me. Edward Miller.

11:33Now, do you think more about Mistress Moon? Or do you focus on your sleep? Well, honestly, I think I need to think a little more about Mistress Moon. She is, it seems, my employer, after all. Mistress Moon is the proprietress of moon dance and the moaning mermaid's brothel at the far end of town. Once a lady of the night herself, the Mistress has gained enough money and influence to buy the place off and take care of the entire business on her own. She's not popular with her immediate neighbours, but she's beloved by sailors, captains and locals who frequent her establishment. It had a report. Not so much now as before, but she knows the boys will be back and they'll need extra care once they do. You consider her a friend and the sentiment is mutual. You call her Mona.

12:36The painting is of her ward, a singer and working girl who goes by the name of Blue Jay and Blue's missing. You're struggling to keep your eyes open. Why is the bed so uncomfortable tonight? First, gain 2xp and then answer the question. Is it stress? Your bed is the same as ever? Or could it be that it's not yours? You're sleeping in a brothel? Yes. It's not mine. I'm sleeping in the brothel tonight. Maybe that's why I'm having such strange dreams. Your head is as big as the moon and those craters up there are, the nestling headaches, making their presence known as they press on the surface of your hangover. You overdid it last night. You don't even remember what came before the nightmare and its aftermath.

13:41Strangely, you were spared the stupor and fropping while those lasted. The adrenaline served its purpose, you imagine. You hope the revelry was worth it. A whisper presses yet another crater into your mind, another jolt of fatigued ache. Someone is calling your name. Someone from the other side of the door. You fumble out of bed, find your legs and swing the door open. As you do, a sweet mixture of sweat and patchouli hits your nostrils. Jab a flower and spice hits like an uppercut, traveling from your sinuses to the back of your brain. It hurts to see, hear you eye-moner, the mistress of this fine brothel, standing in your doorframe. She holds a tall glass of murky liquid in her hands. You know it's going to taste awful, but soothing at the same time. You take a big gulp and in the pause just before swallowing the bitter

14:42post-happiness medicine, you try to remember you enjoyed the company of her nightwork as before. The siren snatched you away. Were you alone the entire night? Or did you have some company? Well, I think I did have some company. After all, why would I be sleeping here at the brothel? Sometimes I find this sort of place helps ease tensions, makes work easier. That again, my mind and memory are a little foggy at the moment. I had company! You blurt out loud, hoping that it's true. I've been told she smiles. You made quite an impression. Good. It is true. All you need to do now is remember. But first, you take comfort in her words as your confidence slightly restores. Calm down and let her awful concoction work through you.

15:46You focus on her calming voice, her soft skin as she caresses your hand, the scent of lilacs arising from her luscious afro that's free, shamelessly large, and intertwined with golden streaks affirming her royalty. She's dressed in purple, as she's taken care of you. You feel better. All the more that you made an impact on your companion last night. The memories flutter back. Who were you with? Dreamweaver or Mickey Pears? Well, I think. Yes, it was Dreamweaver, wasn't it? Yes. Dreamweaver. You remember her? A mysterious beauty dressed from head to toe and expensive indigo silks accented with silver star-shaped embroidery. Only her piercing light blue eyes poked through the fabrics enveloping her body and accentuating her curves. Her skin was warm

16:49against your skin. Too bad you were plunged into nightmares after she left. Mistress Moon sits with a closed tube case in her lap. You gave it to her just a moment ago. She makes gentle music with it, tracing her nails over the cases etched surface, her eyes following her fingers never looking up. You won't see her willing sadness. Not through her eyes, that is. For a moment she looks like a child to you. This fearsome goddess and purple fabrics in sense. She's fearless of all but blue and blue is her favourite colour and child. Blue is her heart and blue is inside the case you have given her. She's nervous to look inside. You are too.

17:51Her hesitation amps it up. Suddenly you're unsure whether you did a good job or completely failed at art again. You hope she will open it soon. You hope she will never open it. Maybe you're the problem. Perhaps she's fondering the case for so long because she's trying to subdue her emotional state and match her reaction to your presence at this vulnerable moment. Or maybe she's giving you the longest cue to leave that you fail to perceive until now. How could you be so oblivious? I should leave you. You say it louder than you meant to. It did come after a long quiet. It's fine, don't overthink it. As you turn, the fingernail melody abruptly ends or pop the lid opening. Has you hear a gasp as she enrolls the canvas within? The tube drops to the floor. You're unsure whether to face her again or get to the door.

18:57So you just stand there, motionless. She's so lifelike. So full of life. Mona runs her fingers down the street, a painted hair. I miss her so much. It's heartbreaking. But she's so lifelike. That means you did well. You didn't fail after all. Don't doubt yourself so much all the time. Oh, come here. Mona calls for you. Let me hug you. You end up in her embrace. The fragrance of lilacs tickles your nose. The cover of her hair feels like sanctuary, the emotion slowing between you or bonding. This is home. Thank you. She whispers. I can't wait to show it to her when she comes home. You feel her tight and under your arms again.

20:00She's uncomfortable and it's not you. It's blues absence. She steps back and looks at you determined. But first, I'm taking it to the police. You know that Mona's ward has been missing for more than two weeks now. Rumor has it that she a load of her boyfriend who recently returned from the war. But Mona doesn't buy it. Well, I hope it helps. You are always welcome here. She smiles at you. You are one of us. I must now make a social role trying to get five or more to succeed. Luckily, I have advantage, so I roll two dice and pick the highest. Sadly, even with advantage, I fail. You know, she's probably with her boyfriend.

21:02You say, wanting to reassure her, I'm sure if you believe her words or not. Mona bites her lip, nodding her head. She appreciates the sentiment, but that's not what she needs right now. She wants results. She needs the truth. No, she wouldn't do this. Even if she did, she would have taken her pearls and red lipstick. She takes a long breath in. You feel like she must have said this so many times since blues been gone, and the usual response she's got from everyone is the same one you just told her. Blue is probably with her boyfriend. I'm not sure about that, Sammy, either. I haven't seen him since he came back. Mona hesitates before she speaks again. I heard people say he came back wrong. I don't know what that means, but which soldier comes back right? Who knows what he must have seen, what he must have

22:05had to do. She feels guilty for speaking such and quickly adds. He probably needs time to come round to heal, and blues a great healer, but I don't know. She's well aware that she's talking to herself at this point, but you see that she needs it and you let her. Those pearls are the only reminder of her family, and we are the only family she has now, yet she left them and left us. You squeeze her hand, understanding. I'm off to the police. She gets up. They can't ignore me forever. You nod. Her name's Shi Yang Hua, you know. She picks up her coat, just in case you hear something. She leaves, and you follow suit soon enough, leaving moon dance and the moaning mermaids behind. You spot a single rat doing the same. And so you finish your business for today,

23:09and before you could even think about realaxation on what to do next, a boy runs up to a message in hat. He can't be more than 12. Scrawny, coiled in a rough woolen scarf, no doubt his mother made him wear. It's for you. You suspiciously eye the boy you see for the first time, wondering whether he's made a mistake. He realizes you're staring. The boy describes you head to toe and knowingly adds, you're that honest, aren't you? Well, no mistake it seems. You nod. Have it. He hands you the note and runs off as soon as you give him a tip. You unfold the paper and see an invitation for a free lunch. The anonymous sender implores your attendance at fish fiyamuf. Oh, well off, seafood restaurant, despite his unfortunate name, the original owner hails from Yarmuf. You have to forgive them. Could be another job,

24:13as you did just clear your schedule. Will you get to the restaurant early or take a walk around town first? Well, I am trying to get rid of that hangover, so maybe a little walk around town will clear my mind. You take a stroll around the town. It's hard to ward off ill thoughts in cold, half empty streets. Not only did the Great War take lives, it also claimed all prospects of hope, happiness and the future. You try to imagine walking down Marcus Street before the war. The smell of fresh fish had to be more prominent. Traders would come in more often. The ocean and the salt were in the air, carried around by the sailors like pollen by the bees. The ladies would sell flowers, and the kids would throw rocks competing for the mightiest throw in all of Haddock, or maybe it was never that lively here. Only two women are ahead now, standing in the cold,

25:15hand in hand, in worn-out coats and scarves, waving like flags, even in defeat or protest. They've been here a while. You can tell by the redness at the tip of the old woman's nose, and the shaky, sharp cut words of the younger one communicating on her silent friends behest. The hot air leaving her mouth is visible, underlining the shivers of the urgency behind her words. The wind is unkind to them today, but they remain steadfast holding a photograph of a young soldier in their numb hands. They want to talk to you. They want to speak to every soul in Haddock. They want to find Anna's missing son. But do I stop to talk to them? Or am I a bit of a hurry? No, I think I do choose to speak to them. Your Anna, right? You turn to the pale woman of short and stocky build, with long gray hair dancing in the wind. She doesn't reply, but her taller friend

26:20does. Oh, you know Anna, her eyes widen in hope. You know something. The truth is, you know nothing at all. You don't even know how you knew Anna's name. You must have heard it somewhere before. It's not the first time you see them outside, but it is the first time you've spoken to them. You apologetically shake your head. No, sorry. Oh, well, the African-American woman sniffs the cold air, preventing her nose from running. My name's Tanya. She introduces herself. And it seems you know Anna. Anna nods without a word as Tanya resumes. We're hoping also if you could tell us something about Anna's son, Sammy Billcock, he returned from the war three and a half weeks ago, but then just vanished. Nobody seems to know anything of you. Do you? Her amber eyes inflame with hope once more. And it just so happens

27:25due to previous choices that actually I might know something after all. So, this is Sammy Blue's boyfriend, the one that Moon told you about. The picture doesn't say much about him. Young, blonde, handsome, if you're being generous, but you imagine he must be special if Blue picked him from all of her fans. If they went missing at the same time, they could well be together. Yeah. Actually, I think I know that his girlfriend is missing as well. You say, and explain your involvement along with your source of information. You feel like you have nothing to hide, and that the little you know could only be beneficial to those concerned. The quiet ones scoffs at your words, and her friend kindly thanks you. If you learn something more, could you please let us know? She gives you both of their

28:25addresses on Water Street. You nod and walk away. And I gain one XP. As you enter the restaurant, you hear a clinking of glass as the proprietor puts the dishes down and walks forward to greet you. Hello, my name is Nines, he cautiously smiles, and I'll be your server today. You mention your reservation, and he leads you to the table. A reserve standy is a rare sight these days, as most tables are empty at any given time or place, but somebody went through this formality of upholding the decorum and picked a booth isolated from any eyes that might pry. It will be just you, the person who invited you, and a huge window of the turbulent ocean ahead. Glaciers, without music, you can hear faint sounds of a radio transmission relaying the latest information about the war coming from Nines' desk. You are here on time,

29:30but the one who called for you still hasn't shown up. Will you look at Nines or focus on the ocean through the window? Well, as an artist, I do often find myself staring at pretty sights and there is something interesting about that turbulent ocean, so I will, perhaps, gaze out at it. And so you look at the ocean ahead, but all you can see are the flashing nightmare images from last night's dream, the girl twirling in death, in the sea, in foam and blood, so vivid and useless like the reserve standy in an empty restaurant. Try to put it out of your mind when it keeps coming back pestering you, reminding you just how anxious you are. Another person approaches the separate you've been sitting at. You can hear the weight behind each of their footsteps,

30:31dragging slowly, advancing around the corner. A surprisingly thin, sickly looking man comes out before you, a police cap in his hand as a form of greeting. His uniform is dirty, wrinkled, wet in places, and an others dried and stained with ocean salt. He's seen better days, he's slept in most of them, not anymore by the looks of his watery eyes, and the bags of stress and insomnia underneath them. This man needs you, and maybe then he'll be able to sneak in and out. He grimaces an excuse for smiles, he sits down, a pained expression in his face, and an unlit cigarette on his lip. Daniel Morris, police chief, he didn't need to introduce himself. You know who he is. I must now make a mental role, and this time, a four, is exactly what I need to succeed.

31:39You wanted to see me. You glare at the top of the cop, sitting with his back to the ocean view. Yes, he looks grim, but firm in his reply. Thanks for coming. He likes his cigarette looking you in the eye. I could use your help. Chief Daniel Morris is the acting chief of police, and the main lawman, keeping order in addict, since the war broke out and volunteers departed for Europe. He's a purely handsome, odd looking, overworked man with striking blue eyes and a prominent bone structure. His high cheekbones are stretching the skin of his nicotine-dry face. His hair is almost completely grey and messy. Some stubborn strands are heading directly towards his eyes, but he just accepts this discomfort without taking any action to improve his situation. He has shaving cuts on his chin and neck and a pair of shaky hands. No ring on his wedding finger.

32:44He never married. After studying for a while, you finally ask, what can I do? You can be my agent. He takes a long drag. The singular unit in my special task force. You were quick to laugh, but you notice his expression doesn't change. You have no idea where his confidence comes from or what you've done to inspire it. Do you know how many police officers currently operate in addict? In all honesty. As an artist, I certainly don't. Nine, he says. And I'm one of them. You knew the situation was bad, but you didn't know it was desperate. He sees you contemplate and pulls you back by pouring more sadness into the wound of police blue. One is nearly blind. One is fixing his marriage. The other two are past their retirement.

33:49And the crimes are piling up. It's not hard for him to acknowledge your insecurity as you sit across from him, digging at your agnails. And frankly, the state of the police at the moment is not but terrifying. But you also feel inspired by his faith in you, which is likely misplaced. He must be truly desperate. I was thinking that... Uraboris is a fitting name for a task force to be. Daniel breaks the silence again. What are your thoughts? What are they indeed? There are so many of them rationalizing, self-doubting, downgrading your capabilities, degrading your personality. And then there are those that just bang alarms without anything of use or note. You don't even know what you're thinking. And he sees it. What if it is Uraboris? Uraboris is a snake biting at its tail, making a circle. He tries to help you make up your mind

34:58by elaborating, but that's not what you need. What is it that you need? It's an ancient symbol. It means closing the circle of misfortune once and for all. Daniel explains. And I'd like to close these cases properly. You catch a glimpse of shame with his closing word. I now need to make an esoteric role. Sadly, a four is not good enough. But there is one thing I can do to change my fortune. Every character in this game starts with nine luck points that can be spent to modify roles by that number. In this case, I think luck is on my side, and I am going to spend one luck to get a five, which is success. I should be careful with my luck, however, after all eventually it will run out and there is no way to replenish it.

36:03You raise your faults and you find yourself at odds with Daniel's last statement. Your inquisitive mind renders that the meaning of the self-gorging serpent isn't the one offered by the chief. It might as well be in conflict with it. Uraboris is not about closure. It's about the never-ending cycle, an inevitable circle of life, death and rebirth. It goes on and on into eternity. Something wrong? He asks you as your frowning in silence. Game 1xp. Now, do you point out the mistake? What do you keep it to yourself? Well, I think I'd point out the mistake. I'm sure he depreciated. You got it wrong? You point out Daniel's mistake, explaining to him what you know about the eternal snake.

37:06Urgh, all the better. Daniel says even more sure of himself in his choices. You made a connection I failed to make. I need you on this job. You're not feeling more confident than when he first asked you to pioneer his task force. Do you see why? Get a gun? You plunder out? No. He takes a long drag. Not yet at the very least. This is odd. All of this is odd. Listen, chief, why me? Because you're a newcomer. He replies without hesitation. He was mulling over this before the meeting you're sure, thinking about what he would say to you when you inevitably ask this question. It doesn't make much sense, doesn't it? And being a newcomer makes me suitable for the job? It really doesn't make no sense.

38:12It makes you impartial. You have no family here to put your needs before yours. Far away, chief. No friends whose interests you need to protect. By all means, don't mince words. Not many at least. He must think highly of you. You don't have much to lose. Choosing you because you're disposable. But you have much to gain. Sure, much to gain. You're quiet. And I? You reply. The voices of self-loaning, lingering behind your eyes. You're a lone wolf and I hope your instincts are just a sharp. And because you're an artist as well. And that concludes the list.

39:16You don't strike me as a connoisseur of the arts, chief. No? Pity. He forces a smile. But you ride. Your perspective has to be different from mine. And I might just need a new angle. That might be true. But he's lying to you. He's not making you an agent because of your lack of home, stability, connections, and happiness. It's not because you have broad horizons and different experiences and the rest of the haddock folk. It's not because you don't mingle with them or anybody else for that matter. It's not for your hyper vigilance. Only your anxiety benefits from that. No. It's because he had a dream of you. You were his siren, glistening bright. He knows you're sought this all out. He's seen you shining.

40:21Do you dare ask him? What if it's true? Gain one XP. Now, do you mention the dreams or simply accept his proposal? Well, today is so strange. And this feeling I have, I think, I will mention the dreams. I'm not sure how this will go down though. Listen, chief, is all this because of dreams? He looks at you as he would look at a foreign language. His head is slightly tilted, curious, but failing to understand. That or his feigning is comprehension. I don't sleep. He replies. But do you dream? I don't dare. You won't get more out of this.

41:24Fine. I guess I accept the position. Excellent. You see, genuine relief in him. I've prepared these credentials for you. Should you need them in your investigation? That he puts free folders on the table between you. They all look the same. Pale brown with white tags. Thin probably only crumbs to follow if even that. Which one are you going to choose first? Gain one XP. Free folders. Free separate crimes. One is labeled Jane Doe. Another Dominic Dom Bowers. And the third, Chianghua, Bluejay, and Sammy Billcock. Well, how can I not check the third folder first considering the day I've had? You tap the middle folder, and the chief obliges with explanations.

42:29Sammy Billcock volunteered to go to Europe this year on Mayford. To everyone's surprise, he came back on September 15th, and the people we questioned weren't sure if his return was due to discharge or desertion. Daniel takes a sip of his drink. His mother, Anna Billcock, came to the police exactly a week after his return to notify us that he was missing. She's deaf mute, as was this one. He puts his hand on Dom Bowers folder. Chianghua, or Bluejay as she was known as a working girl, was also reported missing at the same time by Mona Faye, the owner of Moon Dance and Mooning Mermaid's brothel, also known as Mistress Moon. He takes a look at you taking note if you're keeping up so he can adjust his pace. Questioning the people were pretty sure that Sammy and Chiang are looped together,

43:30given that they're a couple who wanted to get married after Billcock's return from the war. And yet due to previous choices, I actually have a little more information here. But she left her pearls and lipstick behind. You add. Excuse me. I spoke to the mistress already. She doesn't buy those two are looped. I'm starting to question that myself. The chief sucks his teeth. They were reported missing on the 22nd, about a week before we uncovered Bowers' body. And Dom Bowers was Sammy's best mate. I'm struggling to let this one go. So, he lights up another cigarette. Castel Lucas is in charge of missing persons, but he's absent due to personal issues. It gives you a piece of paper with two addresses scribbled on top. One's Sammy's mother. The other is the brothel where Yang used to live, but I guess you knew

44:34that one already. It looks at you. Who's next? Well, I guess it's going to be this Dominic Bowers. Who's this? Well, the body of Dominic Dom Bowers was found in the war on the 30th. Nine days ago, he was dead for some time before he was found, and his hands were cut off. Daniel takes a moment for himself, and you see the inner struggle happening behind his tense muscles and lip bites. There's something about Dom that's sitting heavy on his chest. Dom was a recluse. A young man without family, he was prone to gambling and drinking, and he was living by himself on his shack on water street. Beating around the bush, he grits his teeth and gets to the point. We're bearing him quietly two days later, without much analysis, hoping that somebody would poke their nose and make a slip up so we catch him. He exhales a lung full of smoke, but that's not what happened.

45:39Oh, he got what was the absence of General Panic and nothing else. We don't know what happened to Dom. The statement we issued was that he drowned after a night of drinking. He suddenly says, and no one's questioned that statement. Why was he buried like that? You ask before thinking about it, and Daniel nods, ashamed, but owning what happened. We are understaffed and are qualified acting resources in rural under pressure. All his guilt is before you. It was the least I could do for the remaining officers. He's unconvinced he did the right thing when pressured by his subordinates, and you're sure it's been going on ever since he agreed to bury Dom. But we failed to figure out what happened. Another single lead came out of it. He taps the Jane Doe folder. Don't know if these are related, but it's been nine days between them.

46:43On your inquiry, Daniel provides more information about Dom. When he wasn't fishing, he was spending his time at Fish Hook, a fisherman's pub. His best friend was Sammy Billcock, likely because Sammy was able to communicate with Dom, who was deaf. You couldn't find Sammy to question him. He seems to have disappeared along with this one, as I said. I've ordered the exclamation of Dom's body. He'll be in the mortuary first thing in the morning. Great. So, anyone else? Well, yes, who's this Jane Doe? Your hand falls heavily on the first folder. Jane Doe. It's got to be her, right? The body of Jane Doe was to shore this morning at Bass River Beach, close to where Bass River meets the sea. Daniel lights another cigarette, offering you one as well before he continues his

47:48grim tale. Her cadaver was contorted. Her limbs were broken and locked at severe angles, probably by the sea. It lets you take it in before it goes further into detail. Her forearms were slashed open. Along those wounds, the entire dearest skin except her face was covered in odd, occult looking scarifications. It seems there's more that Daniel has to say, but you know these pauses are his gift to you. He doesn't want to overwhelm, but he'll have to. And you'll have another restless sleep. And she was smiling. You feel cold. You want to leave. You are scared. Good articulation. You know how you feel now calm down. Strange how her facial expression was the scariest feature in the rag doll horror he was describing.

48:54You're absolutely not lost in her eternal smile. How long will she get to keep it until her lips rot away? We failed to identify her, but for sure she's not local. She had nothing on her person but a tallet yellow dress. The same one from your dream. Oh how she glowed in the night. You wander off, but the chief reels you back in. Her death may look like a suicide, yet the brutality of the act indicates otherwise. He's coming to request your first mission. Her body is in the mortuary with Sid Danes. I'd like you to witness the autopsy. You watch as you gop your drinking concludes. Sid is already informed of your arrival, and I'll be waiting for you after lunch. He says as Mr. Nines effortlessly carries two full fish platters to your table. I hope your stomach is

50:00not so easily upset. Daniel adds as he cuts into the black sea bass on his plate. You got a pan-seed haddock with a lemon butter sauce. Almost symbolic. It tastes mild and barely fishy, light and refreshing with citrus notes. A stark contrast to what you imagine the town tastes like. There's not a single hint of char, depression, dissociation, decline, death, death, death. Did you say at price because it usually comes in freeze? Oh Daniel's size snapping you out of your thoughts once again. And she's not the first part of the watcher show recently as I was saying about Dominic Dunbao's. I must now make a mental role. And sadly, on a free, I fail. I must now take one sanity damage. As I take more sanity damage, I will start having to choose skills to be impaired,

51:04which will make them harder to pass on checks. But for now, just one damage isn't so bad. I guess all of these stories are starting to get to me and I feel uneasy and unwell. At least it seems we've come to the end of these free folders. Any more misfortunes I should be aware of. You say trying to ease the tension perhaps. This was a lot to take in. But Daniel nods. There was a fire in an apartment building, a gaslight lane six days ago. You're hoping this is the last piece of information he gives you. Still he continues. And a child drowned in the northern marshes. But that was back in July. There was a tragic accident, and a final wake-up call for parents to forbid their children to play out in the mudflats. He looks at you, waiting for more. That's all. He gets up.

52:12I have more things to attend to, and you have a date to sit in the mortician. He shakes your hand. It's best if we're not seen together. Not to rouse the suspicions of a potential killer. I'm sure you agree. You do. I'll set up an hour meaning like this by the end of the week, and we can discuss what we've uncovered in the meantime. He fixes his coat. Well, goodbye then. He walks out more chipper than when he walked in. And you're the reason why. You're leaving the restaurant, and you notice Mr. Nines non-channantly tossing a rat outside of fish for yarmuff, acting casually, so as not to be seen, and not to flag the establishment as a rat-infested place. You are entrusted with the fates of four people by the chief of the

53:14haddock police. True, two are already dead, but a happy couple could still be around. Is this why you remain behind? Or is this precisely why you didn't enlist not to be responsible for another soul? Now, two more may be gone forever unless you step up. How hard can it be? Haddock is a small place. Dig just a little, and you'll uncover a trail to follow. What's a little dirt under your fingernails? The trenches will always be deeper, and much harder to navigate. You take a decisive step down the street. You arrive at the mortuary on 14th Barnacle Road. Said Danes waits for you there, as instructed. What do you know about Sid? You know that his work doesn't mortician, but now he's the only staff member who remains at haddock's mortuary.

54:16He's accustomed to dealing with the dead, but not like this. People here die of old age, of drunken livers and strained hearts. This is something different. Something far more sinister and heartbreaking. Sid is an anxious man, a kindred spirit. He speaks fast, often so fast that he loses his breath, and then for a split second worries about it, but soon after continues at the same pace in gusto. He's socially awkward and insecure, and he picked this job for a reason. He finds it calming to work with people who don't talk back, and at the same time, working with Gadavas unnerved him. He's terrified of death, and he hoped this job might be the exposure therapy he desperately needed. The jury's still out on that one, but he's becoming more desensitized and, unfortunately, this is associative with every passing day. You haven't a clue if any of this is true,

55:20but it fits in your mind, looking at his brown, neatly combed hair, his hooded green eyes, his finned lips, and his slightly crooked nose. His hands are reddish and cracked, giving his habit of constant hand-washing, but his fingers are lean and long and pleasing to look at. His other features are unremarkable. He taps his foot when he's sitting down, and he's not married. You hear him complain about the rats while you're in your musings. I have to call Pescatrol. Don't be alarmed if you see one. He's leading you to the autopsy room, which you quickly figure out why you were painting such a detailed picture of the mortician just moments before. You don't want to go in there. Do you take a breather first, or do you follow Sid immediately? I think I need to take a breath. I'll need a moment first. You say to Sid,

56:25who's standing before the clothes of room you know contains the corpse of your Jane Doe. Sure, Sid nods, feeling nervous, almost as much as you. I'll go grab a cough here, then we'll go. You agree and sit in an uncomfortable chair. This proves it. Physical discomfort indeed relaxes your mind. But why are you prolonging this? Your anxiety will just keep on growing until you finally go in and face it. It's like being the last kid in line for a small pock shot. You'll hurt the same as the first kid, but they'll get over it by the time you get yours. Always be the first kid in line. Get it done. Get it over with. Go greet your corpse. Get some clarity. Diversify your nightmares. Here comes Sid. You enter a small room just large enough to accommodate the two of you,

57:26and the body covered with a white sheet in the centre. For a moment you're distracted by the cutting cold as sharp as the autopsy tools that are laid bare on a tray by the veiled corpse. You feel as if the cold is emanating from her, from beneath the sheet, from beyond life, from you banish the thought just as Sid removes the sheet. He might have said something before, but you didn't hear him speak. You still don't as you look at her. An empty vessel devoid of soul, a rubber-skinned doll, lifeless flesh, and beautiful yet carved up in grotesque. You feel like you know her. A strong sense of deja vu blurs your reality. Why do you feel like she should have a fish tail in place of her broken legs? Because she wanted to swim away. Maybe she couldn't outrun whatever was chasing her on land,

58:27so she gambled with the sea. Why would anyone else come to Haddock? You came here to start over. Did she come just to end it? Doesn't make sense. You could do that anywhere else. You know she wasn't local. You'd never forget her, hair of fire. And now you never will. You're scrambling. Focus on the visual. Focus on facts. The body is exposed before you. She is in her mid-twenties. Her possible suicide, or made to look as such. Two large laceration wounds on our inner forearms indicate the cause of death. Yet the entirety of her body is covered with strange engravings. You saw her last night. There is no doubt about that. Her where do you want to start? You find yourself

59:28staring at her lifeless body. What do you first focus on? What I admit, how can I not be drawn as an artist to those strange scarifications covering the whole body? I suppose I focus on most first. I don't remember these scarifications. You blunder out loud, your mind reliving the tempestuous dreamscape. Huh? Said shoots you a quizzical look. I've never seen anything like this before. I mean, you fix the hiccup. Neen either. And it's true. She was pristine, luminous in the dark. These scars write a different tale. She wasn't just a siren of your dreams. She wasn't born of the ocean. She had legs. She was human. And she was polluted. Or perfected. These

1:00:31marks prove it. I must now make an intellectual role. And on a free, that is a failure. The entirety of her body is covered in etchings of unknown writing. She was alive when she got these scarifications. Most of them are already fully healed. Her story is obvious. A dame trying to escape a monster, a desperate dance in the ocean, a plea for the gods to turn her into a creature of the sea so she could be free. Remember her lips moving? Was it a prayer? I must make an order visual role. Which on a five is a success. Observing her body for a while, you discern that some inscriptions were carved on top of the already existing ones. Once you point this out, Sid finds the same symbol

1:01:35engraved atop the existing scars at least eight more times. The symbolic question looks like a simple depiction of a trident. Comparing the trident looking wound to the other writing, you realise the entry point of the sharp object differs from the rest of the symbols. You are pretty certain another person did it. They cut it from top to bottom, but not the away round as the rest of the scarifications were made. A mark of the gods, you think to yourself. Did her prayer work? Did the lord of the tines look down upon her? But why did you have to die then? It doesn't add up. Add one xp and make a cultural role. Sadly, even with advantage, the best I roll is a two, which is a fail. Trying to pierce the fail

1:02:36between ignorance and understanding, you are left confounded. It feels like you took a few steps forward, but then something grabbed you, shook you and tossed you back like a ragdoll. At least your legs are broken. You have no idea what you're looking at, and so instead focus on something else. Perhaps the time of death. We need to determine when it happened, you say, looking at the state of her rigour mortis and the memories of your dream. They are rushing forwards, animating her dead flesh in the flashes of a dying dance she danced for you. Make an intellectual role. Sadly, that is a one, a failure. She swayed between the waves. You could have watched her for hours, so who knows how long it took.

1:03:38But you remember the crimson crescendo, the storm, and relenting. She didn't fall into the depth right away. She kept going, whirling in red and blue, and the rags of her yellow dress clinging to life, or a memory of it. The moon was high above, dawned not yet a comfort away. Chopper was in the rain, playing his funeral march just for her. And you were there, chosen to see in a dream. Who picked you? Was it her? Right, said breaks the silence. Taking into account what I learned about rigour mortis and state her bodies in, I placed type of death last night between 2 a.m. and 5 a.m. You nod knowingly, science or dream logic is all the same at this point. I suppose next I turn my attention to her head. You grab a pinch hold of her ruby hair between your fingers, lost and fought, unaware of your actions

1:04:44until, said, speaks. Is that thing with her hair? He pulls you back from your siren seascapes and you focus on what he said. What's wrong with her hair? You find that some of it is missing at the back of her head. There are no signs of recent trauma, other than a four by two inch, not yet fully healed. Burnmark might be a clue as to what happened. I do think she was in a fire, said asks while measuring the size of her burn. You shrug. There are no scarifications from the chin up, just odd dead happiness. A calm, serene-like expression rests eternally on her face, ignoring the all-gripping rigamortis. It is easy to assume that girl was drugged, her mind bent by exotic opioids, but what if she wasn't? You feel your little hairs stick out at the back of your neck as you actualize the fort.

1:05:46What if she wasn't under the influence of drugs? Something else. A thing escapes the confines of your sanity. It is lanky, but can change form. It can read minds, it also inserts itself into them, it demands submission, and uses people as playthings and instruments for its mad schemes, and you serve willingfully, joyfully. Unfortunately, we can't know for sure what substance is wearing a system at the time of death. Notes sit, who's now paying attention to the bruising on her face. She was gagged for a prolonged period, having bruises to show for, on the sides of her mouth and cheeks. These horrible facts calm your beating heart and reign in your wild imagination. Her tormentor was human, a person they had to restrain her. Mystic monsters would have other means.

1:06:48Next I suppose I found myself curious about her back. Help me turn her over, you say, and sit assists. As expected, her back is covered with scars like the ones that were already desecrating the rest of her body. But these are fresh. They haven't had the time to heal yet. How come? Did they take pity on their canvas and allow her to rest before finishing their masterpiece, or did they have to think of the words to carve, if these are words at all? What happened to her? What kind of story is written here? The marks look like they belong to the same group as the healed scars, but these seem a little bit different. Is it because they're still fresh? Make an audio visual role. Sadly her too is a failure. It must be so. The symbols look different because the scar tissue hasn't formed yet. You bet it was done shortly before her death.

1:07:54She escaped in ran, ran to the beach. I suppose next I look at the arms. Her arms that beckoned with grace in a dance for you and the sea were cut and broken by the waves, stone and storm. A shattered bone is sticking out of her right forearm. Sid helps to determine it was done post mortem with ease. Look at the lack of bruising. Your eye follows the length of her arm to the laceration that starts between two upper muscles. You remember this part? The horrid and exquisite finale. The sea turning red. The left arm is exactly the same. It took so much strength and courage to do this, to descend. Most of her thinkers are broken too, Sid adds. And this was definitely done when she was still alive. See? His words not your stomach and shake you away from your nightmare. He points out the swelling and

1:08:55small cuts around her wrists. I'd say she was bound. But you can't stop losing yourself and the gashes of her arms to acknowledge what he just said fully. Make an audio visual role. Sadly, a free is a failure. You'd, you've seen her do it. A fierce stab and then a cut down to the palm, just once each. Yet the doctor mortician said her fingers were broken. It's impossible to use such significant force to make those slashes of those fractures. Right? The cuts are so deep that they graze the bone underneath. You wouldn't be able to do this to yourself, even with your fingers intact. Was this truly suicide? Your dream it was. What was she holding? I'm afraid I don't remember. And so I must look at something else

1:09:59as much as I don't want to. Time to look at her genitalia. After a quick and proficient inspection, Sid determines that Jane Doe didn't have sexual intercourse in the past 24 hours. I see. I let up to something else. What's inside her? Sid takes you aside. The chief Morris said to be thorough, he says, and you know where this is going. You feel your heart starting to pound harder, making the mortician's words instill further unease. This isn't a common procedure, but I know my way around a body and we might learn more. Ignored in return. Sid turns back to the cadaver and starts tracing a why with a scalpel along her chest. You feel nausea rising in your throat. Make a physical role. Surprisingly, a five is a success.

1:11:04You swallow, brace yourself, and let the mortician work. In the next hour, you two establish that she didn't suffer from any diseases. However, her major organs have slightly shrunk and her kidneys looked less than perfect. Sid concludes that she did drown. She was dehydrated and starved. You wish you'd learned more after having her go through this, and you, by her side. But I suppose it's time to look at her legs. Her legs have numerous post-mortem fractures. There are no indications of scales, toe-webbing, or other unusual fish-griffs. Part of you is hoping to find them. It would make the horror before you at least wondrous, but these are just tender limbs and roofless sea. Still, she had to come from somewhere. She had to go to the beach. It was raining. She was barefoot. You imagine her running through the town. Her souls,

1:12:10bruised by the cobblestone. Her toenails getting chipped by slightly raised stones in tiny pebbles. And you lower your gaze to her feet. They look exactly as you pictured them. Sid turns her to the right for a moment. He reveals a large burn mark on her left calf. There was a fire last week in an apartment building. He remembers. Could it be that she was there? I shrug, having no more information to give. And so finally, I look away from the body and think to ask about any personal effects. Did she have anything on her person when she was brought in? She had no personal effects. Sid says. Only this. Who brings forth a neatly folded yellow dress on a metal tray. It's still mostly wet with the ocean, smudged with blood, and the dry parts are white stained from salt. The sleeves are ripped on the

1:13:10linings of the inner arms. They're now opening up like bell sleeves. These cuts correspond to Jane Doe's wounds. The fabric of the dress is more torn than cut, confirming the bloodness of the used object. You suppress an impulse to smell it. A chill runs through you. This is it. This is all that's left of her. A torn yellow dress and a memory of her death ballet. The queen is dead. Long live the queen. But who will succeed her? And what color will they wear? And so I step back. I wonder if I'd be more helpful if I was a doctor or someone who understood these things. But for now, I think all I can do is conclude this autopsy. Sid looks up at you getting ready to wrap this up. Are you sure you're done? Yes. Yes, I am.

1:14:17As you say this, you see relief on his features. If he was uneasy, he masked it well, unlike you, spacing out, spinning wild tails, listening to the voices inside your head. You should learn to mask better. You're an investigator now. You need to appear in control. Yes. He covers her up with a sheet again. Any idea who she is? You shake your head. But you have a clue as to where to start looking. I'd like to have that exune body awarded first thing in the morning. Ah, you almost forgot about that. You're not looking forward to meeting Don Bowers. At least you'll have the night to rest. Build some defenses and tailor a mask or two before you do so. It's going to be terrible. He was fished out after being dead for who knows how long. Then he was buried for nine days, only to be exhumed and bought before you. Does he even appear human anymore? Wasn't done my order. You see sympathy and empathy both on Sid's face.

1:15:25Find comfort in knowing he'll be there with you. Well, see you tomorrow. You leave a rat skitter's buy on your way out. It's been a long day. You could use some sleep. And so you find a place to rest and close your eyes. This is a good time to think of what has happened. To think on things like your past, your present, your future. Feel free now to spend some XP. Well, quite frankly, it's been a bit of a day. How useful have I even been? I mean, I'm an artist. I don't know how to investigate crimes. I came to this town to get inspiration. I came to this town to run away. Maybe I don't know. A long day. Yet, I do feel a little more alert.

1:16:31And looking over all these things, I think I will improve some of my skills with experience. Proving my chances on social, cultural and esoteric roles. Yes, maybe there's a calling here. Maybe I can do something. Maybe I can help. These dreams must be in something right. Something about the beauty of it all. I don't know. But I think for now, I try and rest and try and drive these dreams away. Tomorrow, I need to do better. I need to find the mini-tallness. I will find the mini-tallness. You SS Sanctity. There's a stowa about this ship. You've been at sea for months. When did he get here? And how? And why did he command you to eat your crew?

1:17:32He's insane. Like the war, like the poison they used there and the guns and the fellow soldiers you'd never, ever eat. You can't toss him overboard for being insane. You'd have to toss everyone then. You'd have to jump over as well. And then you'd never see her again. But maybe death is not the end. Maybe death is a dream similar to this one. But it will be over soon. You'll wake up and go home. And the stranger will be gone. And the hunger with him. He's sitting across from you. He has no face. Just a swirling black on his featureless head. Carming, like the rocking of the sea, or some other's arms. A gentle void of this gentleman, and in him you see all you want to become. Nothing. Emence. Ignorant. Immaculate. Invising.

1:18:34Nothing. Ernest emptiness. Rest in the rain of chaos. The summer rain inside, like waves of the sea of his face. The ultimate death of self. Eternal peace. And you're no longer hungry. He put the spoon in your hand. Your good friend. A better one than Pete Sanderson ever was. Oh, he was good for was this soup. He will open your eyes. And a single tear of the sleeper rolls down your cheek. And so we come to the end of our adventure. For now, what awaits our poor investigator? Will he discover what has happened to the loving couple? Will he find out who the mysterious Jane Doe truly is? And why he dreams of her? And will all this simply be a mundane case of murder? Or will the clue lead to something much darker under the waves? To find out,

1:19:36well, you'll have to play Carnage on Cape Cod for yourself. What you've heard is just the beginning of a full adventure gamebook with over 900 entries. What secrets will you uncover? And what choices will you make? Will the path of the doctor or the cop lead to different revelations than that of the artist? And will you be able to withstand the physical and mental trauma that awaits or fall to the darkness that lies in the shadows? Does the poor Carnage on Cape Cod please check out the crowd funder and the links provided in this episode's show notes and help this nightmare come to life? Not only will you be able to experience its adventure for yourself in its solo gamebook, but also then lead your friends through the adventure and his companion book is signed for group play. I for one would very much like to know what happens next. You have listened to an episode of Red Moon Roll playing, where Craig played Carnage on Cape Cod. This episode was sponsored by Fang Intentical and you can check out the ongoing crowd funder as well as links to all their contents in the show notes below. The music comes from cryo chambers love crafting compilation albums and was used with permission from cryo chamber.

1:20:38Check out their website at cryo chamber.bandcamp.com or their YouTube channel for some moody dark ambient. We would like to give massive thanks to our Champions of the Red Moon, Martin Ho Showbear, Simon Cooper, Julia, Bob Lange, Cameron, Graham Berry, Dick Thompson, Lily, Mace, Black Templar, Danny Sedecki, Leonhardt, Britt and Nicola for their generous support. And we would of course also like to thank all of our other patrons without your support the show would not be possible. Thank you again for listening and may the siren lead you to sweet dreams.