As requested in https://cubicle7games.com/en_EU/blog/call-for-writers-the-laundry-roleplaying-game, one 500 word sample of writing:
“Standing item seventeen on today’s agenda, the British Museum Archives. Professor Blackwood?” Milo brigtened up. This was usually interesting. Prof Blackwood straightened his thin spectacles, opened the file in front of him.
“Following the incident where a department which shall remain nameless ‘lost’ the bone violin, we have been concentrating our searches to determine if other such instruments exist. We know of a tin whistle in The North that is capable of summoning what appear to be ghosts but the holder has so far been disinclined to acquiesce to our requests for an interview.” He moved to the next page in the thin folder. “We’ve a complete inventory of musical instruments held in the museum vaults and we’ve credible evidence that three of them are promising. Next slide please.”
*click* whirr A human femur, the ball of the hip hollowed and fashioned into what could be somewhere blow in, not dissimilar to the embouchure of a flute, a metal lip plate screwed in place.
“Now this one is fascinating. Discovered in a neolithic burial site in Cambridgeshire shortly before the second World War, it was donated to the BM with strict instructions that it should never be played. We’ve done some preliminary digging around the, er, dig and can find precious little. A local newspaper report of an accident shutting down a site, documented permission from the landowner, but nothing more. Next slide, please.”
*click* whirr A grainy, black and white, photograph of one Rupert Algernon. Monocle, slick hair, thin, ratty face. Not a man you would lend money to.
“The landowner. Rupert Algernon. Son of Roderick Algernon, himself son of Willaim Algernon – yes, Willaim, not William. We can trace the family tree back a dozen generations and come up with something in our records for each of them. These are definitely People Of Interest. Next slide, please.”
*click* whirr. Aerial photograph of a manor house. Rambling outbuildings, a really rather lovely hedge maze, a pond complete with boathouse. Over to one side of the extensive lawns, away from the house, an X has been hand-drawn on and labelled “Dig site?”
“So this is where you come in. The current Lord Algernon is Percy, we don’t have a photograph of him. We’ve telephoned ahead, you’re to liaise with our local office and meet him tomorrow morning. ” Professor Blackwood smiles, it’s not entirely unnerving, there is some genuine humour in there somewhere. “Ladies and gentlemen, you’re off to Cambridge.”
And this is where the story really starts. Allow the players to argue over who gets the single first-class train ticket someone ordered by mistake, requisition what equipment they will require (every third item will likely be denied), and pack them off.
On arrival in Cambridge they’re met outside the station by their Local Contact. Unusually for the rather dull day she’s wearing dark glasses. A successful perception check will spot the green swirling patterns of your basic, entry-level, feeder in the dark writhing in her eyes. Yes, it’s already gone sideways.