Deepland's

[Tarrotown]

The cool winds were whipping up from the south and passing in a cold wave over the otherwise pleasant beach. A tent had been erected by the shoreline and a large area sealed of with orange tape to keep out the villagers. They were already crowding in from the fishing port (Vance Harbour), pressing against the sides of the barrier. They were pitiful examples of Tarro, there skin worn and haggard from years of living by the stormy seas.

There were two grey vans parked near the tent, the biochemical symbol on the side. They were government vehicles from the Department of Forensic Identification (DFI), who had the duty of identifying a body that had been seen from the cliffs washed up onto the beach. Swimmers had often disappeared off the coast, but it was very rare a body was found. The few that had were had been almost instantly acquired by the Department of Government Interests (DGI), a shadowy organisation that was rumoured to answer to the even more shadowy and rumoured priesthood.

Two agents of the DFI were having a tense discussion outside the tent, whispering so as not to attract attention from the villagers.
 “Have you called the higher ups yet, Simkins?”
“Yes, they said they’ll be down here within five hours” stuttered Agent Simkins. “Sir, ha… have you ever seen anything like this before?” Simkins asked timidly, his face growing paler from the rotting stink emanating from the tent. He was looking at the man in front of him with something approaching awe. He had sparkling greens eyes that made him seem more youthful that he actually was, his age becoming more apparent when observing his greying temples and sagging gut.
“Once, maybe, back when we had a decent army, we were carrying out a campaign of reclamation through the Carcer River Valley against the local tribes, we saw a few…a few of those things in the river. They weren’t drowning or even swimming, just… going through, I mean, under the river! Just walking as if it was natural to 'em. We dropped some grenades, blew the bastards to bits, and threw what was left into the woods. Damn near thought I was dreaming, but now this…”

He didn’t finish his sentence. A car belonging to the DGI was ploughing along the beach, scattering golden brown sand high into the air. Two people stepped out, one female, tall and green eyed, as would be expected of a Tarro, the other was male and stocky with short cropped auburn hair, as would be expected of one of the tribes of the central regions. They walked confidently up to the DFI agents and handed over a small collection of important looking documents.
“Hello, I’m Agent Stohl from the Department of Government Interests, and this is Agent Praice, we’ll be taking over the site from here, orders from President Sielke himself.”
The agents examined the papers, and then turned to each with looks of confusion. “I’m sorry, but i'm afraid this report says this was a swimming accident, but this wasn’t no swimming accident!”
“I assure you Agent…” the female agent examining his badge “Agent Howard that this was a swimming accident and your services are no longer required here” she said, making a half-hearted attempt to hide the smug satisfaction written all over her face. Simkins made an attempt but was silenced by Howard who whispered in his ear. Someone within earshot may have heard the words “Conspiracy”, “cover-up” and the less identifiable word “Innsmouth”.

The two DFI agents glumly collected up the rest of their men and equipment and retreated back to their vans. The two agents silently watched the vans as they drove back along the beach, before turning to enter the tent.

[Tarrotown]

Stohl went first, leaving the tent open for Praice to enter. He hated the beaches this early in the year, certainly not like the old country. He savoured the memory of the quaint thatched houses, the village alter and the glorious feasts to the goat with a thousand young. It was only his second week out of the office and the first day that he’d actually been given an assignment. He was weary from the ferry ride to Vance Harbour and had instantly hated the grimy wharfs and the miserable shops and hotel. He shook himself and focused on the task at hand. Stohl was kneeling by the orange sheet covering the body, sniffing the air. Praice smelled the unmistakeable whiff of rotting fish. He looked at Stohl, examining the graceful curves of her body. But he hated her. He’d hated her since he first met her. Maybe it was the way she never blinked her watery eyes, or the way she had a slight glowing of alien beauty, but he hated every bit of her, she just felt unnatural. He shuffled uncomfortably, noticing the way the sheet covering the body was faintly rising and falling and wishing he’d listened to the words his father had said about the unnatural things that can rise from the sea.
“What do you think this is, Agent Praice?”
Praice snapped out of his daydreams and answered haphazardly.
“I think it’s an octopus attack victim, I guess, but that wouldn’t explain how he’s still alive? Or in fact how he’s here at all.”
“‘He’, it isn’t a ‘he’, it’s a thing Praice.”
Before Praice could protest, Stohl had reached down and pulled the sheet of. He almost fainted from the sight of the thing at his feet. It was still breathing, the glistening flesh rhythmically rising and falling, its glassy eyes scanning the room. It was shaped like some horrific caricature of a frog or fish or…or demon! Its teeth were yellow and sharp, snapping as if it was clockwork. Its legs and arms were spindly and webbed. It was a deep sickening shade of green, with speckles of white along its side. It was bloody from many wounds along its body, a mess of scarlet slowing pooling around its body.
“Screw…Praice, go to the car and get the maps out of the glove compartment and find one marked ‘T:DOL’ and bring it here…now.”
Praice rushed to the car and opened the glove box. He flipped through the collection of maps, making a mental note to find out what a “Yith” was, and why they took up several maps in different time periods. He finally found one marked T:DOL and had a quick look, noting about five locations placed in the seas and lakes of Taijitu. He rushed back across the beach, noting that the villagers seemed to have disappeared. He entered the tent but stayed silent. Stohl seemed to be whispering in some unidentifiable language to the creature. He listened to the soft flowing syllables dripping off her tongue. The creature replied in a harsh gibbering. He couldn’t make out any words but the one; Dagon. Stohl noticed him and rose, snatching the documents in one movement. She scanned the documents and fished her phone out of her pocket and dialled a number. She spoke to the voice on the other end. “It’s just what we thought, we found a Deep One at the beach south of Vance Harbour. It must have been migrating from their city off the Uichi Ryu coast then down to their colony near Bustos, but got jumped by something. Yes sir, it’s that serious. I recommend government unit quarantine the area, then talk to their ambassador, tell him that it could develop into a major incident if a Deep One washed up onto a foreign coast. Good, I thought you’d agree.”
She switched the phone off and returned it to her coat. She turned to leave the tent, Praice watching in amazement at the creature as it struggled to breathe. He followed Stohl outside, and took one last glance at the monstrosity crawling across the golden sand.
“You savages have a lot to learn of the gods” Stohl said, almost to herself. Praice remembered to make a prayer to Shub-Niggurath and pray for Stohl to come to a horrific and slow death.

OOC: This is my first attempt at RP, any critism's would be welcome 

[Bustos]

OOC:  It makes your posts more readable if you spaced out the dialogue, instead if clumping it right in the middle of your paragraphs.  To better clarify...

Ex.

Begin paragraph.
(space)
"Dialogue from dude"
(space)
"Dialogue from another dude"
(space)
Continue or new paragraph.
(space)
New paragraph...and so on.

[Khem]

(as bustos said. otherwise damn fine story you have going)