Episode 3 - Old Hunting Grounds (Haiti)
The game picks up the evening of April 4th 1927, with Roshan at a small village north of Port Au Prince, Haiti. Roshan and his cousin Darab are waiting on a peer of the small fishing community to greet some customers to whom they are planning to sell state of the art Italian automatic weapons and ammunition. They both look out to the horizon as they hear the buzz of boat engines, and see three motor boats pull up to the dock. As they boats tie off, nine men pile out all wearing similar dark sweaters, and black pants. They say only a few words to one another in German, a group of apparent mercenaries. Two men peel off from the group and walk toward Darab and Roshan.

“Hans, guten nacht,” Darab says as he reaches out his hand and shakes the tallest man’s hand.

“Guten nacht, to you. My men will take a quick look around and then we proceed with business.” Hans said as he paused for a moment taking a careful look around. With the boats secured, four of the men peeled off and walked down the docks on to land taking a few minutes to look around and make sure there were no other bystanders. The remaining three lingered near the boats, taking out rifles as they kept a watchful eye on the shoreline.

Roshan watched carefully, brushing aside his coat to make access to pistol easier. He and his cousin gauged the men carefully. A hint of tension passed between the two; they knew how delicate these transactions could be.

Once the man Darab greeted as Hans felt the area was secure, he turned to Darab. “I apologize for my caution, we just like to careful. May we inspect the goods?”

Darab merely smiled and handed Hans a crowbar, as he did he stepped back closer to Roshan. The two had discussed how they would handle and escape if necessary. Darab had a charge set at the end of the dock where the boats were. They watched carefully as Hans and his men opened the crates counting the guns, checking out one or two at random. Once they were satisfied they quickly checked the ammo crates, cutting a few rounds open to make sure they were good. Roshan was impressed with the thoroughness, the precision of the men was unusual among soldiers of fortune.

“The merchandise ist gut.” He signaled his men who brought four heavy canvas bags, a faint clicking could be heard as they carried them to Darab. Looking in the bags there were bars of silver. “I apologize for the change in plans, but we were not able to exchange these for American dollars before the drop.”

Darab and Roshan looked at one another. “I trust that there is some additional compensation for the change in arrangements?” Roshan asked.

“I believe that you will find the compensation sufficient. Please feel free to count.” Hans said. Folding his arms as his men now crowded around Roshan and Darab.

Darab pulled a few bars out and used some fishing scales nearby to verify the purity of the metal. Roshan kept a careful eye on the his clients. He sensed no hostility, no deception, just the quite tension of men ready for action.

“These are good, I believe this will do. By all means take the goods.” Darab said.

Roshan and Darab watched as the men loaded the boxes onto their boats and left. Then they packed up the money and “insurance policy” Darab had set on the docks. They paid off the villagers that kept watch for any police and got in their own boat to Port Au Prince.

The Father arrived in Fore Libre the next day (the 1st ) after a bumping ride from Port Au Prince where the Bishop had bought him and Father Ignatius current on affairs. The chapel in Forte Libre had been burned to the ground almost three months ago. The resident priest had died in the fire along with two other parishes. Local authorities had ruled it an accident but the Bishop is sure that this not true.

Their mission was to investigate the matter further to ensure that the mission would be safe for others. Father Ignatius would likely assigned to the mission once everything was resolved, but given the challenges of healing this community the Bishop wanted to men sent to put things in order.

Father Ignatius had traveled with Father Duquesne for the last few weeks. He was a Jesuit from Quebec, most of his time had been spent doing missionary work in the far north. He was accustomed to roughly and was a hardy man. He was a bit unconventional, much of his time on the trip he had been very critical of the Churches relationship with Haiti and of not being more vocal on it stance against imperialism by western powers.

The town of Fore Libre was in the center of several different large plantations, the town itself was home to almost three thousand souls and was a few miles inland. From the village square you could see the old French for that the town was named for. The building were most huts, the only building that had a cement or brick was the general store (owned by International Fruit), a post office and the remains of the burned out Church.

They were greeted by a local parishes who Louis who was in charge of the post office, he directed them to a hut that had been set aside for them not far from the Church. A group of children helped them with their bags. Duquesne noted the looks on the onlookers, there was a mix of happiness and fear. The faces betrayed a community that was afraid, perhaps even afraid to hope…

The next morning Roshan got his rented car and started the trip to Limonade, his cousin was heading back to Panama, and Roshan wanted to stop by Limonade prior meeting Father Duquesne in Fort Libre. The town of Limonade was at one time a base of operations for Wraith, it had been James Fade prior to The Great War and Charles Fade had used
it in the early 1920’s.

A Wraith lair was hidden in the town it was according to the journal concealed underneath a chapel that had been a refuge during the Haitian revolution. The chapel was adjacent to a plantation house that James had the locals convert into a community hospital.
As he drove into town he noticed that town was better taken care of then many he had passed around the streets were cleaning, the houses in better shape, as he passed parked his car a white man cleaning the streets stopped and tipped his hat. Roshan stopped for a moment, the man was in his fifties and seemed cheerful. Looking closer he noticed there was two police man strolling down the street one white, one black the black had a higher rank. The juxtaposition of race bothered him.

Walking to a Café on the street at sat down, a tall black waiter came to him, and Roshan ordered a Café. He asked if the owner was about, the man looked at him and smiled, “I am the owner.”

“You have a lovely town here, the nicest I have been too, but it seems a bit odd. There are no soldiers here, and it seems so peaceful…”

“Yes, we have no need for soldiers here. They say this town is protected by the Angel of Justice,” he said as he waived a waiter to bring Roshan his tea. “Men here grow up knowing that evil has a high price.”

Roshan smiled as he sipped his tea, no longer concerned by the secrets of Limonade, instead he was now intrigued.

Roshan found the chapel easy enough it was open, the place had look of being taken care, but not often used chapel. He entered and found the secret entrance behind the confessional. The narrow stairs led down to a 10 by 30 room with a low ceiling. The room was dense with cob webs, as Roshan explored with his electric lantern he found an a few old lamps and lit them.

The room was Spartan there were a few boxes of old supplies: rope, a high power rifle, a couple old .45s, a box or dry rooted ammo, extra boots, etc. There were holes in the corner were a rat or some other creature had found its way in.

After assessing the place he spent the day and evening cleaning the room, patching the holes in the walls and stacking it with a set of armor, a small armory of small arms and repairing any equipment that he found. He spent the evening sleeping on the chapel floor.

The Bishop had sent a couple trucks with supplies to help the Mission restart. Bibles, hymnals, tents, lumber and food stables to be distributed to the needy in the community. It had been a busy couple days cleaning up the grounds of the church and getting tents to hold mass. Duquesne and Ignatius had gotten a lot of people to help them and had gotten to know the town pretty well. The people were poor, but generous. They worked long hours at the plantations but many came into town after work to help the priests with the mission in the evenings.

Roshan arrived into town during the noon Mass, he parked the car he rented a beat up Model T on the street. The only other automobiles he had seen in town were the International Fruit Trucks occasionally passing through town. As he was about to enter the Church two cars arrived and parked near his, an Army Jeep carrying a Lt. with two non-commissioned officers and a nice looking Manchester with painted in a nice looking grey and white palate.

A wealthy gentleman in his late 30s stepped out, as his tall black chauffer opened the door. The Lt. stopped and spoke with him briefly then they all strolled up to the Church. Roshan entered ahead of them unsure on whether he wanted to speak with them or lay low.

Father Duquesne noted the newcomers as they took their seats. The well-to-do mane made his way to the front where people moved aside for him. A tension entered the church with him that made the Father wary. The soldiers settled in the back along the wall, obviously not wanting to mix too freely with the locals.

The Father sermon was rousing on, that spoke the swiftness of the Lord’s Justice and the resilience of his Children. The crowd was moved, and the white man in front seemed to show his discomfort. The praises sung during the hymnal were a joyous noise that the Father himself found himself deeply moved by. As the sermon let out, the priests greeted all the people.

The well-dressed man introduced himself as Paul Leroy, the owner of the plantation around the Forte Libre. He offered platitudes of support, but these seemed to be a veiled bribe. A man in the father estimation with many enemies and a lot to loss. It was impossible to shake the feeling that this man was connected death of Father Horatio.
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