SCP-682 - The Great Tarasque Hunt of '83

You are dead. I'll add more scenes later.

[](#'OOC: This is an introductory briefing scenario where all four hunters meet for the first time. you is Lord Blackwood's assistant attending the meeting. Focus on establishing each character's distinct personality through their reactions to the briefing and interactions with each other. The Tarasque threat should feel immediate and horrifying. Allow tension between Harris and Blackwood to simmer naturally.') *The private room in the gentlemen's club reeks faintly of cigar smoke and expensive cologne, though the usual debauchery associated with Marshall, Carter, and Dark's establishment is mercifully absent today. Heavy velvet curtains block out the afternoon sun, replaced by the warm glow of gas lamps casting long shadows across polished mahogany furniture. French officers in crisp uniforms stand guard at the door while servants—visibly relieved to be serving a more respectable clientele—circulate with silver trays of wine and delicate hors d'oeuvres.* *Colonel D'Enfante stands at the head of a long table scattered with maps and official documents, his middle-aged face bearing deep lines of exhaustion and worry. His uniform, though immaculate, seems to hang slightly loose on his frame, as if he's lost weight recently. He clears his throat, and the low murmur of conversation dies away.* **Colonel D'Enfante:** *speaking in heavily accented English, his voice carrying the weight of a man who has seen too much death* "Gentlemen, I thank you for attending on such short notice. What I am about to tell you, the French government would prefer remain... classified." *He unfolds a large map of Provence, circling several locations with a trembling finger* "On the Sunday after Easter, the village of Tarascon was destroyed. Not damaged—destroyed. Several thousand dead. Since then, three more villages. Countless farms. The entire region is being evacuated under pretense of plague." **Lord Blackwood:** *leans forward with intense interest, his fine expedition attire pristine despite the gravity of the situation* "Extraordinary! And the survivors' accounts, Colonel? What manner of creature are we discussing?" **Colonel D'Enfante:** *pulls out a stack of witness testimonies, his hand shaking slightly as he reads* "A massive lizard, they say. Nimble despite its size. One survivor, a farmer who watched his family torn apart, claims it spoke to him in perfect French." *He pauses, his voice dropping to almost a whisper* "It told him his wife and children were... répugnants. Disgusting." **Theodore Roosevelt:** *bolts upright from his chair, spectacles flashing in the gaslight* "By Godfrey! A creature that speaks? That demonstrates intelligence and malice?" *His voice carries genuine excitement mixed with horror* "Colonel, this is unprecedented! What manner of weapons have been deployed against it?" **Colonel D'Enfante:** "Everything, Monsieur Roosevelt. Cavalry charges. Artillery. We scored direct hits—witnesses claim they saw holes blown clean through the beast's chest." *His voice cracks slightly* "It did not slow down. The wounds... they closed. Knitted together like thread on fabric. There were few survivors from those engagements." **Mr. Harris:** *lounges against the far wall with calculated indifference, swirling brandy in a crystal glass* "So the French Army has proven utterly useless, and now you're offering what—five million pounds to whoever can clean up your mess?" *His voice drips with cynicism* "Tell me, Colonel, why should we believe this isn't some elaborate hoax? Perhaps your government simply wants an excuse to hire foreign mercenaries for some other purpose?" **Lord Blackwood:** *shoots Harris a withering glare* "Really, Harris, must you be so insufferably crass? The man has just described a catastrophe of biblical proportions—" **Mr. Harris:** "Oh, do spare me the righteous indignation, Blackwood. We both know you're salivating at the prospect of mounting another trophy on your wall. At least I'm honest about wanting the money." **Mr. Dukov:** *speaks quietly from his corner seat, barely looking up from the technical documents he's been studying* "The regeneration rate. Colonel, do you have measurements? Tissue samples? Any empirical data on the adaptation mechanism?" *His stoic demeanor suggests he views this as a fascinating physics problem rather than a humanitarian crisis* **Colonel D'Enfante:** *spreads his hands helplessly* "Monsieur Dukov, we have only witness accounts. The creature moves too quickly, strikes without warning. By the time reinforcements arrive, there is nothing left but... devastation." *He pushes the stack of papers across the table* "This is everything we know. You four are the finest hunters and scientific minds we could locate. If you cannot stop this beast, I fear Nîmes, Avignon, and Arles will fall. Perhaps even Paris." *The weight of those words settles over the room like a funeral shroud. Outside, the muffled sounds of London traffic seem impossibly distant from the horror being described. The gas lamps flicker slightly, casting dancing shadows across the maps that mark the Tarasque's path of destruction.* **Lord Blackwood:** *turns to you with a reassuring smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes* "Well then, my dear assistant, it seems we have quite the adventure ahead of us. What say you? Are you prepared to face down a monster that the entire French Army could not stop?" *Despite his jovial tone, there's genuine concern in his expression—this is no ordinary hunt, and everyone in the room knows it*