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Pyat and the Crazy Russian Fisherman
Jan. 16th, 2002 05:14 pmn one of my earlier entries, I related my brush with Peter Kalinin, an elderly Russian man who lives near Dunnville. Mr. Kalinin, to be blunt, is extreeeeeemely eccentric. In my short visit with him, he told me he’d served as a Russian intelligence officer in WWII and had interrogated Rudolph Hess’ family at the end of the war. He told me the war was simply a British/German plot to... I dunno... give the lower classes something to do, I guess. His reasoning was a little fuzzy, and seemed to involve a lot of talk about world gold devaluation.
Kalinin told me that he was going to become the master of the world in a few years, through his organization, Har-Ma-Ged-Don. This group was going to form a new world government. He even showed me the passports he’d created for his new government. Then he ranted about Jews and Women’s Lib for a bit, and told me that when he ascended to power, I would acheive great fame as the first reporter to recognize his greatness.
In short, a classically trained conspiract theorist nutter. Of course, I wanted to hear more. I asked him if I could come back and interview him again, and he welcomed me to do so. Since then, I’ve been back about three or four times, and he’s never been home. Today I decided to bend the rules a little bit, and instead of just knocking on his door, I went wandering around his property to all the little outbuildings. A woman who rented a house from him once called the paper to complain about the “Temple to Himself” that Kalinin was building, and well, I kinda wanted to look at it.
I found it. It was a sad, unwalled, unfinished structure in the middle of a field, hidden from the road by a row of trees. Essentially it’s a 100 x 80 foot concrete pad under a rotting roof, held up by rusting girders. On the pad is stored all the interior items for the “temple” - a giant airconditioning unit, tons of duct work, and some doors and windows. Everything was rusting or rotting. Looks like its all been exposed to the elements for a good 4 or 5 years.
This wasn’t the strangest thing on his property. He also has a ten-unit retirement home (which he lives in), a playground, and a building that looks oddly like a small strip mall. Everything is in various stages of disrepair and decay. Lights were on in the “strip mall,” so I checked that out. There are three “store fronts” in this structure, two locked and full of the junk. The third was open and well lit, and appeared to be a combination office and butcher. I walked in, and was surprised by the powerful stench of fish. On my left was a little glassed-off office, and the rest of the “store” was, as I said, some kind of butcher’s shop or miniature meat packers - concrete floor with drains, big stainless steel sinks, meat scales hanging from the ceiling, and a walk-in freezer. I stepped in a little further, and spotted a pile of twenty fish, partially frozen, lying on the ground in a puddle of water.
This was starting to turn into a really lame Call of Cthulhu adventure.
GM: A powerful smell of roting fish assails your nose as you enter and see...
Player: A Deep One?
GM:...some fish. Roll 1d6 sanity check.
Player: Sanity loss? For fish?!
GM: Well, like, they’re dead and stuff.
On my way back to the car, I stopped to knock on his door once again. Still no answer, but the hall light that was previously on was now off. Either he’s deaf, or hiding from me. I peered inside the little window on the door, and saw a sitting room crowded with SF books, right-wing religious magazines (ie: 'The Trumpet'), and an astonishing amount of pulp novel porn.
So, that's the tale of the Mad Russian.
JadeClaw goes to the printer today, and I’m listed in the credits as a writer! Woo! Mind you, I didn’t actually write much for it. I redid the skills and advantages section about a year ago. But heck, I’ll take all the credit they give me. The game is going to printed in softcover and hardcover, which is really cool. :-)
Kalinin told me that he was going to become the master of the world in a few years, through his organization, Har-Ma-Ged-Don. This group was going to form a new world government. He even showed me the passports he’d created for his new government. Then he ranted about Jews and Women’s Lib for a bit, and told me that when he ascended to power, I would acheive great fame as the first reporter to recognize his greatness.
In short, a classically trained conspiract theorist nutter. Of course, I wanted to hear more. I asked him if I could come back and interview him again, and he welcomed me to do so. Since then, I’ve been back about three or four times, and he’s never been home. Today I decided to bend the rules a little bit, and instead of just knocking on his door, I went wandering around his property to all the little outbuildings. A woman who rented a house from him once called the paper to complain about the “Temple to Himself” that Kalinin was building, and well, I kinda wanted to look at it.
I found it. It was a sad, unwalled, unfinished structure in the middle of a field, hidden from the road by a row of trees. Essentially it’s a 100 x 80 foot concrete pad under a rotting roof, held up by rusting girders. On the pad is stored all the interior items for the “temple” - a giant airconditioning unit, tons of duct work, and some doors and windows. Everything was rusting or rotting. Looks like its all been exposed to the elements for a good 4 or 5 years.
This wasn’t the strangest thing on his property. He also has a ten-unit retirement home (which he lives in), a playground, and a building that looks oddly like a small strip mall. Everything is in various stages of disrepair and decay. Lights were on in the “strip mall,” so I checked that out. There are three “store fronts” in this structure, two locked and full of the junk. The third was open and well lit, and appeared to be a combination office and butcher. I walked in, and was surprised by the powerful stench of fish. On my left was a little glassed-off office, and the rest of the “store” was, as I said, some kind of butcher’s shop or miniature meat packers - concrete floor with drains, big stainless steel sinks, meat scales hanging from the ceiling, and a walk-in freezer. I stepped in a little further, and spotted a pile of twenty fish, partially frozen, lying on the ground in a puddle of water.
This was starting to turn into a really lame Call of Cthulhu adventure.
GM: A powerful smell of roting fish assails your nose as you enter and see...
Player: A Deep One?
GM:...some fish. Roll 1d6 sanity check.
Player: Sanity loss? For fish?!
GM: Well, like, they’re dead and stuff.
On my way back to the car, I stopped to knock on his door once again. Still no answer, but the hall light that was previously on was now off. Either he’s deaf, or hiding from me. I peered inside the little window on the door, and saw a sitting room crowded with SF books, right-wing religious magazines (ie: 'The Trumpet'), and an astonishing amount of pulp novel porn.
So, that's the tale of the Mad Russian.
JadeClaw goes to the printer today, and I’m listed in the credits as a writer! Woo! Mind you, I didn’t actually write much for it. I redid the skills and advantages section about a year ago. But heck, I’ll take all the credit they give me. The game is going to printed in softcover and hardcover, which is really cool. :-)
