Lucas quietly closed the front door, a smile still lingering on his lips. After the movie, he'd seen that Tia had fallen asleep in his arms, and he wondered at the fact that anyone could feel safe enough with him to do that. It had taken all of his willpower to shout down the voices last night, so that he could focus on Tia. He felt exhausted, washed out, but it was worth it. She was worth it. Carrying her into her bedroom and tucking her in without waking her up felt better than a week in a Glade. He hoped she liked the note. He'd been working on his handwriting.
He paused for a moment as he passed the bird feeder. Slipping sideways for a moment, immersing himself in the spirit of the world, he opened his eyes to the umbral reflection of Tia's neighborhood. Hovering near the bird feeder was a hummingbird-spirit, watchful and war-like. Just what he needed. Speaking to him in the spirit-tongue, Lucas convinced the little warrior to guard this place until midday, plenty of time for Tia to wake up and discover her unlocked front door. With a whispered oath to maintain a feeder in one of his parks until the next full moon, the deal was struck.
It wasn't until he reached Sky Harbor that the whispers started again.
She isn't good enough for you.
Strengthen the blood, boy.
She's a tool of her tribe. You can't trust her.
Will you claim her unclean brat as your own?
Honor your heritage!
...kill her...
"NO!"
Two dozen waiting passengers turned as one to look at the crazy man. The panic rising within him, Lucas choked it back, plastering a smile on his face as he pulled the headset out of his ear and showed it to them. Two dozen waiting passengers went back to ignoring the douchebag with the bluetooth.
Lucas sighed in relief. Certain technical improvements made it much easier to hide his own infirmities. Ironic, really. It usually went the other way 'round.
Don't listen to them, Lucas. A mate is more than a vessel for a bloodline. She reminds me of your grandmother, in a way. At least she's nothing like her mother.
"Thank you, Grandfather."
Then the announcer called boarding for his flight, and he flew away to a place where he knew she would be safe from him, just in case.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Monday, April 15, 2013
Flashbacks pt. 2
This material is all related to an old Changeling character of mine. It's in reverse chronological order ;).
------
Willem leaned back in his seat and poured himself another scotch. Around him, he felt anger, despair and frustration against his skin, a revitalizing bath of misery and hate.
The amber liquid burned a trail of fire down his throat as around the car, afternoon drivers battled the rain and each other in the great game of rush hour.
<i>I love this time of day. The traffic, the smell of car exhaust, the frustration and rage of the humans stuck in their boxy little imports and gas-guzzling SUVs, a veritible stew of anger and consumption. It brings joy to my heart.</i>
Willem slowly bared his iron-grey teeth in a fierce smile.
------
Willem looked over the city as rain poured from the sky.
<i>I love winter in this town,</i> he thought. <i>All the cold and dreariness, and none of that Norman Rockwell snow-and-Santa crap.</i>
The Girl's infrastructure in San Deigo was collapsing steadily, wracked by scandal and the appearance of poor management. <i>To think, it would have motored on fine, if she hadn't stabbed me in the back. Now, I have a new interest in personal destruction. I feel ten years younger. I almost want to thank her.</i>
The rain pattered off the high windows.
------
The captain of industry looks out over his fiefdom, a land of oil and smoke and "progress", and contemplates the future.
Or more specifically, one particular future.
It was going to cost him a finger. That was all. Such a small price for his insult. His antics this weekend were going to cost him dearly. Every further insult was going to be added to the balance sheet, and suitable payment would be extracted.
He sipped more brandy, and smiled at the thought of the drunkard's future pain.
------
Willem slowly placed the handset in it's cradle, savoring the anger rising in his guts.
<i>So the little Irish fucks thought they could get away with anything if I wasn't there?</i>
He stood and walked over to the window, looking down on the early evening Hillcrest traffic. He raked his fingers slowly down the wall, and thin curls of varnished pine fell to the floor.
Called away by business, he was unable to attend the small reopening party for the Unnamed Theater, to which he invited the local Kithain. He gave them haspitality, and this is how he is repayed: his guests assaulted, his wife embarrassed, and his property wrecked.
He turned from the window, thinking of what he would inflict on them, and he <i>almost</i> smiled.
He reached for the phone. "Martin, get Rodney and come to the new theater. I have a job for you..."
------
Willem Bradstreet stared out the window, holding a snifter of brandy as he looks out over the city. The dark void of the ocean gave way along a jagged edge to a dense spray of lights, thinning out as they spread east.
<i>Soon it will all be mine...</i>
He moved slowly over to the desk and punched the button.
"You may leave, Miss Winslow. I will require nothing else this evening."
The muffled response is almost pathetic in it's gratitude, and his secretary leaves, thankful that one more day has passed without incurring his wrath.
He stabs a finger down on another button, and addresses empty air.
"Take the car back to the house, Martin. I have things yet to take care of, and I will sleep here tonight. Make sure you lock the house down properly when you turn in."
"Yes, sir."
Willem turned back to regard the view. Even from here, he could survey the damage done by the Seelie to the lands that had been claimed by the Nightmare. The mists in Balboa dispersed, the great flocks of wyverns decimated, all the nasty little surprises that made living in the city of St. David so interesting.
He stands there, brooding, swirling the amber liquid in the glass. The situation had improved lately, though. He had finally attracted the attention of those who shared his aims. Or close enough to suit his needs right now. They needed his wealth and pull in mortal society, and they could teach him the sorceries he needed to protect himself and his plans from the sidhe. And when the time came, the winds would blow, and the weak would be torn to tatters by the cold.
Slowly, the corners of his mouth turned up, revealing iron grey teeth.
------
Willem leaned back in his seat and poured himself another scotch. Around him, he felt anger, despair and frustration against his skin, a revitalizing bath of misery and hate.
The amber liquid burned a trail of fire down his throat as around the car, afternoon drivers battled the rain and each other in the great game of rush hour.
<i>I love this time of day. The traffic, the smell of car exhaust, the frustration and rage of the humans stuck in their boxy little imports and gas-guzzling SUVs, a veritible stew of anger and consumption. It brings joy to my heart.</i>
Willem slowly bared his iron-grey teeth in a fierce smile.
------
Willem looked over the city as rain poured from the sky.
<i>I love winter in this town,</i> he thought. <i>All the cold and dreariness, and none of that Norman Rockwell snow-and-Santa crap.</i>
The Girl's infrastructure in San Deigo was collapsing steadily, wracked by scandal and the appearance of poor management. <i>To think, it would have motored on fine, if she hadn't stabbed me in the back. Now, I have a new interest in personal destruction. I feel ten years younger. I almost want to thank her.</i>
The rain pattered off the high windows.
------
The captain of industry looks out over his fiefdom, a land of oil and smoke and "progress", and contemplates the future.
Or more specifically, one particular future.
It was going to cost him a finger. That was all. Such a small price for his insult. His antics this weekend were going to cost him dearly. Every further insult was going to be added to the balance sheet, and suitable payment would be extracted.
He sipped more brandy, and smiled at the thought of the drunkard's future pain.
------
Willem slowly placed the handset in it's cradle, savoring the anger rising in his guts.
<i>So the little Irish fucks thought they could get away with anything if I wasn't there?</i>
He stood and walked over to the window, looking down on the early evening Hillcrest traffic. He raked his fingers slowly down the wall, and thin curls of varnished pine fell to the floor.
Called away by business, he was unable to attend the small reopening party for the Unnamed Theater, to which he invited the local Kithain. He gave them haspitality, and this is how he is repayed: his guests assaulted, his wife embarrassed, and his property wrecked.
He turned from the window, thinking of what he would inflict on them, and he <i>almost</i> smiled.
He reached for the phone. "Martin, get Rodney and come to the new theater. I have a job for you..."
------
Willem Bradstreet stared out the window, holding a snifter of brandy as he looks out over the city. The dark void of the ocean gave way along a jagged edge to a dense spray of lights, thinning out as they spread east.
<i>Soon it will all be mine...</i>
He moved slowly over to the desk and punched the button.
"You may leave, Miss Winslow. I will require nothing else this evening."
The muffled response is almost pathetic in it's gratitude, and his secretary leaves, thankful that one more day has passed without incurring his wrath.
He stabs a finger down on another button, and addresses empty air.
"Take the car back to the house, Martin. I have things yet to take care of, and I will sleep here tonight. Make sure you lock the house down properly when you turn in."
"Yes, sir."
Willem turned back to regard the view. Even from here, he could survey the damage done by the Seelie to the lands that had been claimed by the Nightmare. The mists in Balboa dispersed, the great flocks of wyverns decimated, all the nasty little surprises that made living in the city of St. David so interesting.
He stands there, brooding, swirling the amber liquid in the glass. The situation had improved lately, though. He had finally attracted the attention of those who shared his aims. Or close enough to suit his needs right now. They needed his wealth and pull in mortal society, and they could teach him the sorceries he needed to protect himself and his plans from the sidhe. And when the time came, the winds would blow, and the weak would be torn to tatters by the cold.
Slowly, the corners of his mouth turned up, revealing iron grey teeth.
Flashbacks Pt. 1
So, I'm throwing up some of my older stuff from about 10 years ago. Let me know what you think.
Omar Yevgeny Salazar y Kovalenko, once known as Thunder's Velvet Glove, sat in the cramped kitchen, looking out the window at the night sky. On dilapidated table sat a crinkled photo and a shotgun. He looked down at the floor to see the remains of his gauntlet. Once a mark of favor from Grandfather, it now lay shattered on the grimy linoleum, it's spirit fled.
<i>This is how we are repaid. To fade into nothing, our sacrifices forgotten. The World Puta has written us off.</i>
He thought back on the packmates he had lost. The friends who had given their all and more. His own sacrifices, made nothing by the Great Bitch.
His strength had fled, the Gifts of the spirits had faded from his mind. The spirit world was almost beyond his reach, and he could not remember when he had last Changed.
<i>Do not suffer the pack to tend your sickness.</i>
He picked up the photo, and gazed at it. It was the last reminder of what he had first given up. His father and mother, his brothers and sisters, gone. Where they were, he knew not, but even if he did, it would matter not at all, for he was no longer their son, their brother.
<i>Do not suffer the pack to tend your sickness.</i>
It was easy to get the silver. Without their spirits, what use was a Klaive? He wasn't even sure he really needed the silver, but why take the chance? Better to go overboard, than not far enough.
<i>Do not suffer the pack to tend your sickness.</i>
He lightly kissed the photo, and lay it down on the table. He hefted the shotgun, oiled and gleaming. As he wedged the stock between his feet, he muttered a quiet prayer to whatever spirits might still be listen, or even gave a damn.
<i>Do not suffer the pack to tend your sickness.</i>
With all prepared, he took a deep breath and opened his mouth wide. He leaned over the doubled barrel of the 12 gauge, his teeth scraping the steel.
<i>Do not suffer the pack to tend your sickness.</i>
There was a sound of thunder...
Omar Yevgeny Salazar y Kovalenko, once known as Thunder's Velvet Glove, sat in the cramped kitchen, looking out the window at the night sky. On dilapidated table sat a crinkled photo and a shotgun. He looked down at the floor to see the remains of his gauntlet. Once a mark of favor from Grandfather, it now lay shattered on the grimy linoleum, it's spirit fled.
<i>This is how we are repaid. To fade into nothing, our sacrifices forgotten. The World Puta has written us off.</i>
He thought back on the packmates he had lost. The friends who had given their all and more. His own sacrifices, made nothing by the Great Bitch.
His strength had fled, the Gifts of the spirits had faded from his mind. The spirit world was almost beyond his reach, and he could not remember when he had last Changed.
<i>Do not suffer the pack to tend your sickness.</i>
He picked up the photo, and gazed at it. It was the last reminder of what he had first given up. His father and mother, his brothers and sisters, gone. Where they were, he knew not, but even if he did, it would matter not at all, for he was no longer their son, their brother.
<i>Do not suffer the pack to tend your sickness.</i>
It was easy to get the silver. Without their spirits, what use was a Klaive? He wasn't even sure he really needed the silver, but why take the chance? Better to go overboard, than not far enough.
<i>Do not suffer the pack to tend your sickness.</i>
He lightly kissed the photo, and lay it down on the table. He hefted the shotgun, oiled and gleaming. As he wedged the stock between his feet, he muttered a quiet prayer to whatever spirits might still be listen, or even gave a damn.
<i>Do not suffer the pack to tend your sickness.</i>
With all prepared, he took a deep breath and opened his mouth wide. He leaned over the doubled barrel of the 12 gauge, his teeth scraping the steel.
<i>Do not suffer the pack to tend your sickness.</i>
There was a sound of thunder...
Saturday, June 25, 2011
And that's the end of that...
So, apparently, I'm not getting much in the way of supportive traffic on here, as no one seems interested in commenting on these charming little anecdotes. So screw it. I have more entertaining ways to waste my time. If anyone actually gives a shit about what I've been posting, leave a comment and maybe I'll pick it up again.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Scion Retrospective
So, I've made a number of attempts at running a Scion game, but they never seem to work out right. However, they occasionally provide me with humorous anecdotes on the scale of the "two dwarfs in lederhosen scaling a cocaine Matterhorn" story.
First, it's important to know the characters involved in this little kerfluffle:
Tuco Jimenez: A Scion of Tezcatlipoca, Tuco is a Mexican drug dealer, human trafficker and all-around douchenozzle. He engages in fucked up behavior for the pure enjoyment of it, such as starting a gun battle in a Vegas casino by giving one guy and gun and magically convincing him the cops are after him, so that when some cops show up to deal with the riot that Tuco ALSO started, the dupe starts taking potshots at them. Tuco has an entourage of 5 burly Mexicans who all look vaguely like Danny Trejo in Desperado, as well as a pet jaguar.
Saoirse (SEER-sha): A Scion of the Morrigan, Saoirse was raised by her Irish gunrunner father, and turned out to be rather skilled in that particular trade. She's also quite talented in the use of said guns and demonstrates that talent frequently, as she inherited her mother's temper along with all that divinity. Saoirse is accompanied only by Dougal, a sidhe of the Unseelie Court (of which her mother is the Queen) who has been assigned to her as a sort of punishment. Whether Saoirse or Dougal is being punished, nobody can decide. Saoirse is unaware of Dougal's primary commandment from the Morrigan, which is to obey any direct command Saoirse (these damn gaelic names give me the gyp, says the man named Liam) gives him. Dougal, being a smartass and a bastard, does everything in his power to prevent Saoirse from finding out about this little codicil. Saoirse has been trying to get Dougal into bed for a while now, which Dougal manfully resists, fearing the Morrigan (his queen) would force-feed him his own testicles if he slept with the "princess".
In any event, the Band makes their way to Denver, where there's some sort of titanspawn plot in the hatching (so trite I can't even remember what it was), and check into a local hotel. To entertain himself, Tuco finds himself five prostitutes and takes them back to his room. He tells two of them to make out on the bed, sends one into the bathroom so his men have someone to train for their own amusement, and the last two crouch naked on either side of the chair he has appropriated for himself, while his jaguar lounges on top of the armoire. All the noise this generates so much noise that other folks start to investigate. The intelligent wolf companion of the Scion of Amaterasu and the intelligent dog companion of the Scion of Hel both show up, drawn by the smell as much as the noise, and are invited to join the two prostitutes on the bed. Both canines, being intelligent and frustrated, happily take part. Dougal shows up while Saoirse is away, and joins in as well. Finally, the Scion of Amaterasu shows up, looks at his wolf (who is also his son, the player being somewhat of a completist where Japanese mythology is concerned) with a look of severe disappointment, and the whole thing breaks up. Dougal returns to Saoirse's room to take a shower. The Scion of Amaterasu returns to the interrupted meeting, where Saoirse hears about Dougal's involvement in the affair and storms off. She finds Dougal still in the shower and he has locked the door. In a rage, she walks back out into the corridor and starts firing THROUGH THE WALL into the bathroom, causing Dougal to run out of the bathroom, whereupon she chases him out onto the balcony, as he tries to calmly and quickly reason with her silent rage. Finally, she backs him against the balcony railing, shoots him in the belly, and dumps him over the edge. Being a supernatural being of more-than-piddling power, a 15-story-drop while gutshot is little more than an inconvenience to Dougal, who is more upset when Saoirse starts shredding his clothing and dumping it out the window, leaving him with a wardrobe consisting entirely of a single bloodstained towel.
This is the kind of shit my players inflict on me, so I must credit them for being such a source of amusement to you all.
First, it's important to know the characters involved in this little kerfluffle:
Tuco Jimenez: A Scion of Tezcatlipoca, Tuco is a Mexican drug dealer, human trafficker and all-around douchenozzle. He engages in fucked up behavior for the pure enjoyment of it, such as starting a gun battle in a Vegas casino by giving one guy and gun and magically convincing him the cops are after him, so that when some cops show up to deal with the riot that Tuco ALSO started, the dupe starts taking potshots at them. Tuco has an entourage of 5 burly Mexicans who all look vaguely like Danny Trejo in Desperado, as well as a pet jaguar.
Saoirse (SEER-sha): A Scion of the Morrigan, Saoirse was raised by her Irish gunrunner father, and turned out to be rather skilled in that particular trade. She's also quite talented in the use of said guns and demonstrates that talent frequently, as she inherited her mother's temper along with all that divinity. Saoirse is accompanied only by Dougal, a sidhe of the Unseelie Court (of which her mother is the Queen) who has been assigned to her as a sort of punishment. Whether Saoirse or Dougal is being punished, nobody can decide. Saoirse is unaware of Dougal's primary commandment from the Morrigan, which is to obey any direct command Saoirse (these damn gaelic names give me the gyp, says the man named Liam) gives him. Dougal, being a smartass and a bastard, does everything in his power to prevent Saoirse from finding out about this little codicil. Saoirse has been trying to get Dougal into bed for a while now, which Dougal manfully resists, fearing the Morrigan (his queen) would force-feed him his own testicles if he slept with the "princess".
In any event, the Band makes their way to Denver, where there's some sort of titanspawn plot in the hatching (so trite I can't even remember what it was), and check into a local hotel. To entertain himself, Tuco finds himself five prostitutes and takes them back to his room. He tells two of them to make out on the bed, sends one into the bathroom so his men have someone to train for their own amusement, and the last two crouch naked on either side of the chair he has appropriated for himself, while his jaguar lounges on top of the armoire. All the noise this generates so much noise that other folks start to investigate. The intelligent wolf companion of the Scion of Amaterasu and the intelligent dog companion of the Scion of Hel both show up, drawn by the smell as much as the noise, and are invited to join the two prostitutes on the bed. Both canines, being intelligent and frustrated, happily take part. Dougal shows up while Saoirse is away, and joins in as well. Finally, the Scion of Amaterasu shows up, looks at his wolf (who is also his son, the player being somewhat of a completist where Japanese mythology is concerned) with a look of severe disappointment, and the whole thing breaks up. Dougal returns to Saoirse's room to take a shower. The Scion of Amaterasu returns to the interrupted meeting, where Saoirse hears about Dougal's involvement in the affair and storms off. She finds Dougal still in the shower and he has locked the door. In a rage, she walks back out into the corridor and starts firing THROUGH THE WALL into the bathroom, causing Dougal to run out of the bathroom, whereupon she chases him out onto the balcony, as he tries to calmly and quickly reason with her silent rage. Finally, she backs him against the balcony railing, shoots him in the belly, and dumps him over the edge. Being a supernatural being of more-than-piddling power, a 15-story-drop while gutshot is little more than an inconvenience to Dougal, who is more upset when Saoirse starts shredding his clothing and dumping it out the window, leaving him with a wardrobe consisting entirely of a single bloodstained towel.
This is the kind of shit my players inflict on me, so I must credit them for being such a source of amusement to you all.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Summer Special #1: Cancelled!
Well, sadly, I must cancel the first summer special episode of Holy Shit! Fuck Yeah! Awesome Squad. However, I shall take this time to introduce a few characters from this hopefully-coming-soon special.
Jay "Le Chevalier Blanc" Simpson - This slick metrosexual gallops out of the darkness, clothed all in white, gleaming katana in one hand, the other firmly grasping the mane of his faithful unicorn steed. His muscular thighs grip the white-haired flanks of his mount as his battle-cry echoes through the night: "HATERS GONNA HATE!" A knight in deed as well as name, he roams the earth, seeking chaste maidens to free from bondage, if only to put them in a little bondage of his own. In battle, he is a storm of steel, his legendary blade cleaving all foes and leaving naught but carnage in his wake, like the deadly tornadoes of his homeland, the desolate wastes called Kan-Sas by mortal men.
Vince - Le Chevalier Blanc's trusty steed, Vince is a foul-mouthed little toad, forced into servitude to this walking hard-on as punishment from the forest gods for violating one too many virgins.
Zach "Killah McTightpants" Zmijewski - This pasty, methed-out bloodsucker skulks through the shadows of rural America, dealing out justice from the barrel of his trusty Desert Eagle and the tips of his deadly claws. His bestial ways guide him to his natural prey: trailer park denizens, cheap whores, and overworked computer programmers. No meth dealer is safe from his wrath, and his twitchy features have been the last sight of many an abusive law officer. While his missing teeth can be a slight turn-off, his tight, bulging leather pants have delivered on their promise for so many country lasses.
The Holy Shit! Fuck Yeah! Awesome Squad is a loose coalition of mavericks and loose cannons, dedicated to preserving the freedom of oversexed, drugged-out wackos across the globe. With no definite organization and no official leader, the squad has avoided all attempts at censure from various supernatural agencies, and the individual members are far too bad-ass to be bothered by the pitiful efforts of their lamesauce "peers" to restrain them.
Killah sat in the dingy booth, nursing his coffee. Big shit was going down, and even he was going to need help with a problem this nasty. He had put out the word, and hopefully help would be arriving. The clatter of hooves on asphalt outside drew his eye, and he watched a dashing figure astride a proud unicorn slew to a halt. The white-coated figure strode into the diner, pausing for a moment to plunder a passing damsel, leaving her in his wake as she waves after him and asks him to call her. The legendary Le Chevalier Blanc strolled leisurely through the diner, women swooning at his passage. He slid into the booth opposite Killah.
"What's going down? Your message made it sound like Armageddon."
"It just might be. I've been picking up some hints that one of our colleagues has gone rogue."
"Really? They going straight?"
"No. I'm picking up a lot of hints that he's gone mastermind on us."
"Fuck. Who is it? Chesty Strongbody? Hawk Masterson?"
"I wish. Every hint I'm getting points right at the Werebuddha."
"Fuck me running. We're going need some help. Werebuddha's one of the scariest bastards out there. What made him turn to the dark side?"
"I don't know. But it must have been something bad."
The two sat in silence, contemplating what may as well be the end of the world.
Jay "Le Chevalier Blanc" Simpson - This slick metrosexual gallops out of the darkness, clothed all in white, gleaming katana in one hand, the other firmly grasping the mane of his faithful unicorn steed. His muscular thighs grip the white-haired flanks of his mount as his battle-cry echoes through the night: "HATERS GONNA HATE!" A knight in deed as well as name, he roams the earth, seeking chaste maidens to free from bondage, if only to put them in a little bondage of his own. In battle, he is a storm of steel, his legendary blade cleaving all foes and leaving naught but carnage in his wake, like the deadly tornadoes of his homeland, the desolate wastes called Kan-Sas by mortal men.
Vince - Le Chevalier Blanc's trusty steed, Vince is a foul-mouthed little toad, forced into servitude to this walking hard-on as punishment from the forest gods for violating one too many virgins.
Zach "Killah McTightpants" Zmijewski - This pasty, methed-out bloodsucker skulks through the shadows of rural America, dealing out justice from the barrel of his trusty Desert Eagle and the tips of his deadly claws. His bestial ways guide him to his natural prey: trailer park denizens, cheap whores, and overworked computer programmers. No meth dealer is safe from his wrath, and his twitchy features have been the last sight of many an abusive law officer. While his missing teeth can be a slight turn-off, his tight, bulging leather pants have delivered on their promise for so many country lasses.
The Holy Shit! Fuck Yeah! Awesome Squad is a loose coalition of mavericks and loose cannons, dedicated to preserving the freedom of oversexed, drugged-out wackos across the globe. With no definite organization and no official leader, the squad has avoided all attempts at censure from various supernatural agencies, and the individual members are far too bad-ass to be bothered by the pitiful efforts of their lamesauce "peers" to restrain them.
Killah sat in the dingy booth, nursing his coffee. Big shit was going down, and even he was going to need help with a problem this nasty. He had put out the word, and hopefully help would be arriving. The clatter of hooves on asphalt outside drew his eye, and he watched a dashing figure astride a proud unicorn slew to a halt. The white-coated figure strode into the diner, pausing for a moment to plunder a passing damsel, leaving her in his wake as she waves after him and asks him to call her. The legendary Le Chevalier Blanc strolled leisurely through the diner, women swooning at his passage. He slid into the booth opposite Killah.
"What's going down? Your message made it sound like Armageddon."
"It just might be. I've been picking up some hints that one of our colleagues has gone rogue."
"Really? They going straight?"
"No. I'm picking up a lot of hints that he's gone mastermind on us."
"Fuck. Who is it? Chesty Strongbody? Hawk Masterson?"
"I wish. Every hint I'm getting points right at the Werebuddha."
"Fuck me running. We're going need some help. Werebuddha's one of the scariest bastards out there. What made him turn to the dark side?"
"I don't know. But it must have been something bad."
The two sat in silence, contemplating what may as well be the end of the world.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Greatest of Evils, Episode 1-1: Opening Gambit
(I feel like there should be some sort of opening montage at this point, showing each of the PCs in some sort of dramatic pose, or engaged in their trademark activity. But I don't feel like it. Nor will I inflict on you lame opening credit music, or even a douchebag putting on his sunglasses.)
This past Saturday, I finally got the group together for something an introductory session. As registered members of the Clifftop Guild, they each received an invitation through the guild to a meeting with a prospective employer, said meeting to take place at a posh little place called Moraggan's, a high-class tavern that caters to movers and shakers in the dwarven Highhold district. Upon arriving, they are escorted into a private room, where they meet Anton d'Kundarak, a young dwarf just starting his career in his family's security business. The PCs are informed by Anton that their services are desired to investigate a recent theft from the long-term storage Vaults maintained by House Kundarak under the Kundarak Bank of Sharn in Kundarak Tower. Anton stresses to the party the need for discretion in this case, and presents them with passes that will give them access to the Vaults without tripping all the security alarms. The payment seems rather large, and Anton explains that this is both to encourage their ongoing discretion and as compensation due to any unforeseen danger they might encounter. He also makes it clear that it is understood that actually retrieving the stolen item might prove to be impossible for them, but that if they do manage it, there will be a substantial bonus. He refuses to answer any questions about the owner of the item or about the nature of the item itself. After getting their signatures on the contracts, Anton departs, wishing them the best of luck. The party then breaks up to take care of last minute business, agreeing to meet at the bank within the hour.
Bombard arrives at the bank first, accompanied by Lisa. In order to speed things along, they immediately head below to get the preliminary magical inspection of the crime scene out of the way. The guard assigned to them, Lukas, shows them the vault in question, pointing out the large scorch marks on the stone of the corridor, where the first-responder team was fireballed by the intruders. Bombard and Lisa begin their investigation, looking for signs of magical assistance in the intrusion, but quickly determining, through tool marks on the internal mechanisms of the lock, that whoever bypassed the locks and alarms most likely used no magic at all, but was simply insanely good at their job. By this time, they are joined by Thal, Leland, and a newcomer, an elf who introduces herself as Greyfox and claims to have been sent by Ilyria. Obviously knowledgeable in the arts of breaking and entering, Greyfox assists the party in determining that the group who pulled off the heist knew exactly what they were after, and were highly skilled. There are traces of blood near the door, and they determine, from the wooden cradle inside the vault, that the object they are looking for is a metal cask or barrel. They also learn that the guards managed to engage the thieves as they made their escape in a small sky-car, and are described to the party as a male halfling, a slender woman or elf, a male dwarf, and a small figure in a hooded robe they were unable to identify, but who was definitely a wizard or sorcerer. Upon examining the balcony and outer door the thieves used to access the tower, they find evident of a fight, along with a bloody crossbow bolt of a type used by the guard and a small green scale that Bombard identifies as most likely coming from a kobold. The outer door also shows signs that it was opened by a master lockpick, who also managed to disable to magical alarms and traps that protected it.
What follows is several hours of bribes, questions, and scattered threats, as the party tries to determine the eventual fate of the getaway sky-car. Eventually, they wind up in a disreputable part of Lower Central, where they find the wreckage of the sky-car, along with a number of clues. From their examination of the scene, the sky-car was apparently damaged in the crash, and at least one of them was badly wounded, due to a large blood stain on the floor of the car. A trail of blood, obviously droplets, leads away from the wreckage for a few feet, and then disappears. Asking around the neighborhood, they manage to find one person who will admit to seeing anything, and she tells them only that she saw a sky-cab flying away a little while after the wreck.
Guessing that the thieves may have hired another care to get where they needed to go, they liberally spread some money around the gypsy sky-cab drivers who work the area. After a number of completely pointless cab rides, they learn of Wild Wili, who had told a couple of his buddies about a crazy fare he had picked up, which included a dead halfling. Tracking down Wild Wili, they convince him to tell them his story: " So, I was workin' Olladra's Kitchen, hoping to pick up an easy fare, when this jerk dwarf hops in and tells me to drive over to the ass-end of Myshan Gardens. I figure a fare's a fare, and haul ass over there. He directs me down to the poorer end of the street, and there's this wrecked sky-car with a bunch of whackadoos standin' around it. The dwarf, he tells me to stop and hops out to help his buddies lift this big iron barrel into my cab. I'm startin' to wonder how bad this job is going to fuck up the paint, when I see one of 'em, this crazy lookin' elf chick, dressed all in black, picks somethin' out of the wreck and puts it on the seat where she sits down. I look back and fuck me if it's not a dead fuckin' halfling. Don't even ask what it took to get the stain out. What did they look like? Well the jerk dwarf was pretty normal, I guess. Yer average jerk dwarf. Then you got the crazy elf chick. She was creepy as fuck, all in black, didn't blink enough, either. Then, there was this fuckin' kobold wearin' what looked like a sparkly bathrobe. Whatevah. Anyway, the jerk dwarf hands me a gold sovereign and tells me if I can get them over to Cliffside in ten minutes, there's another one in it for me. So I figure, fuck it. I shag ass out of there, with these loonytoons fares in the back seat, and head for Cliffside. We're almost over the gap to Dura when there's this fuckin' bump and my cab starts leanin' hard to the left. I'm tryin' to keep it steady, swearin' I'm gonna kill my mechanic when I see 'im next, and the crazies in the back start cursin' when it all goes ta shit. That fuckin' barrel slides right out the side, with the jerk dwarf hangin' onta it. The dead halfling follows suit a second later, and then shit gets weird. The creepy elf chick, she just steps right out the side, and stands on the air, like it ain't nothin', and the fuckin' kobold just vanishes. At this point, I'm thinkin', fuck the bonus, I'm outta here. I fly straight through Dura, and a couple minutes later, the cab's okay. I take it to the magewright, he can't figure out what went wrong, and I figure I'm okay with that. I don't really WANT to know. What happened to them? Fuck if I know. You think I was stupid enough to go back and check?"
After paying Wili to drop them off where he lost them, the party pokes around a bit and finds the divot in the street where the iron cask hit the ground, along with at huge splash of blood, which they can only assume came from the dead halfling. They find a trail of blood leading away, starting off as a constant drip, but becoming both more compact along the length of the trail and more diffuse across it. Looking at it, Thal remembers seeing, during the war, a wounded riding wyvern leaving a similar blood pattern while gaining altitude. As they look around for clues, Greyfox sees a face in a third-floor window quickly duck out of sight, and sprints for the tower entrance, hoping to find a witness. She's followed closely by Leland, as the rest of the group watches the nearby entrances to prevent an escape.
Greyfox and Leland find a squatter cowering in an abandoned apartment, desperately trying to hide from them. He cries out when he sees them enter the room, but some fast talking on Greyfox's part calms him down enough to get the story out of him: "I heard shouting outside, an' I looked out the window to see the woman in black, a dwarf, an' a small man in a hooded robe. The woman in black was carrying a big iron chest or something, with a dead halfling perched on top of it. The dwarf walked down that alleyway across the street into the darkness, an' a man walked out, dressed all in fine clothing. Then they all walked down the street for a ways, until I noticed the woman moving funny. Her friends were walking on the ground, but it was like she was climbing invisible stairs. The man pulled a sword made of light out of nowhere an' slashed her with it something awful, an' she ran up into the air. Then he threw that shining sword at her, an' when it hit her, it vanished, an' he had it back in his hand. And then the halfling, it stood up on the chest and, and, it looked like it hugged her an' it cried out, "Thank you, mommy" and then it and the big iron chest disappeared. She an' all the rest just stared for a moment, an' then she vanished, an' the little man in the robe vanished, and the man with the shining sword just walked away down the alley. That's all I saw, I swear!"
In return for this fantastic tale (which as far as Greyfox could tell the man completely believed), Greyfox gave him some gold for his trouble, and led Leland back down to the street.
Having been stymied in their investigation, the party split up: Greyfox and Leland to go nose around the seamier side of the city, to try to find out who among the city's thieves might have been talented to be involved in this; and Bombard, Thal and Lisa to Morgrave University, to investigate what was involved with teleportation magic and look into the matter of shining swords. Later that night, the group reconvened at Bombard's shop to swap information and mull over what they had found out. The teleporting question was a dead-end. While it was a difficult effect to pull off, House Orien was well-known to provide it as a service, and among those spellcasters who could pull it off, it was fairly common. Not to mention any devices that might be able to duplicate the trick. Shining swords turned out to be an interesting, but seemingly useless, topic, as the accounts of shining swords or swords made of light turned up numerous references to a wide variety of magical blades through the centuries. However, there was also an apocryphal account of a race of humans in far-off Sarlona who referred to themselves as kalashtars. They are apparently native to the nation of Adar, which is at war with the neighboring Reidran Empire. The stories in question recount some of these "kalashtar" having the ability to manifest blades crafted from their own spiritual strength. Given, however, that Sarlona, Reidra and Adar are all a long way away, and that little is known of any of them, it seemed to be a fruitless, though fascinating, line of inquiry. The identity of the thieves was slightly more promising. By asking around about the best lockpicks, Greyfox and Leland had found out about the death of one Bennie Pickfinger, a very talented halfling who had been found dead a week ago. A couple of days ago, his body had been dumped into the nearest gorge leading to the lava pools, after the "traditional" five-day halfling wake. The description of the halfling in the heist matched Bennie to a tee, leaving the party to wonder how a halfling lockpicker could be assisting in a heist, when his mangled corpse was in the process of being thoroughly waked by his buddies. Also, by all accounts, Bennie had little talent for magic, and took a lot of pride in not using any magic aid in his exploits. By asking around at the House Thuranni compound, Greyfox also managed to match the male human's description to a high-ranking diplomat at the Reidran Embassy.
Upon combining their information, the party came to the conclusion that however the thieves managed to pull off the heist, the party wasn't likely to find out much more. Without knowing what was in the cask, who the cask belonged to, or the identities of either the elf or the kobold, they knew they were unlikely to make any more progress. Given that, they compiled their report and expense account and sent it off to Anton via secure House Sivis courier. Frustrated, they returned to their daily affairs, eager to find a challenge they could settle conclusively.
Unbeknownst to some of the players, the events of this game were basically the aftermath of another game I ran in honor of my friend Lucas, who was visiting from San Diego for the weekend. I ran the heist with that group, which included Debbie and Shawn, and started off the regular party as the investigators. I have to applaud Debbie and Shawn for their resoluteness in refusing to metagame, though Shawn (understandably) could not resist making a couple of comments about the kobold. However, even they are in the dark concerning the true identity of the devious halfling and the mysterious contents of the iron cask. Kudos to all my players for a slightly bumpy, but ultimately enjoyable, first game session, and I promise, there shall be much hackings to come.
This past Saturday, I finally got the group together for something an introductory session. As registered members of the Clifftop Guild, they each received an invitation through the guild to a meeting with a prospective employer, said meeting to take place at a posh little place called Moraggan's, a high-class tavern that caters to movers and shakers in the dwarven Highhold district. Upon arriving, they are escorted into a private room, where they meet Anton d'Kundarak, a young dwarf just starting his career in his family's security business. The PCs are informed by Anton that their services are desired to investigate a recent theft from the long-term storage Vaults maintained by House Kundarak under the Kundarak Bank of Sharn in Kundarak Tower. Anton stresses to the party the need for discretion in this case, and presents them with passes that will give them access to the Vaults without tripping all the security alarms. The payment seems rather large, and Anton explains that this is both to encourage their ongoing discretion and as compensation due to any unforeseen danger they might encounter. He also makes it clear that it is understood that actually retrieving the stolen item might prove to be impossible for them, but that if they do manage it, there will be a substantial bonus. He refuses to answer any questions about the owner of the item or about the nature of the item itself. After getting their signatures on the contracts, Anton departs, wishing them the best of luck. The party then breaks up to take care of last minute business, agreeing to meet at the bank within the hour.
Bombard arrives at the bank first, accompanied by Lisa. In order to speed things along, they immediately head below to get the preliminary magical inspection of the crime scene out of the way. The guard assigned to them, Lukas, shows them the vault in question, pointing out the large scorch marks on the stone of the corridor, where the first-responder team was fireballed by the intruders. Bombard and Lisa begin their investigation, looking for signs of magical assistance in the intrusion, but quickly determining, through tool marks on the internal mechanisms of the lock, that whoever bypassed the locks and alarms most likely used no magic at all, but was simply insanely good at their job. By this time, they are joined by Thal, Leland, and a newcomer, an elf who introduces herself as Greyfox and claims to have been sent by Ilyria. Obviously knowledgeable in the arts of breaking and entering, Greyfox assists the party in determining that the group who pulled off the heist knew exactly what they were after, and were highly skilled. There are traces of blood near the door, and they determine, from the wooden cradle inside the vault, that the object they are looking for is a metal cask or barrel. They also learn that the guards managed to engage the thieves as they made their escape in a small sky-car, and are described to the party as a male halfling, a slender woman or elf, a male dwarf, and a small figure in a hooded robe they were unable to identify, but who was definitely a wizard or sorcerer. Upon examining the balcony and outer door the thieves used to access the tower, they find evident of a fight, along with a bloody crossbow bolt of a type used by the guard and a small green scale that Bombard identifies as most likely coming from a kobold. The outer door also shows signs that it was opened by a master lockpick, who also managed to disable to magical alarms and traps that protected it.
What follows is several hours of bribes, questions, and scattered threats, as the party tries to determine the eventual fate of the getaway sky-car. Eventually, they wind up in a disreputable part of Lower Central, where they find the wreckage of the sky-car, along with a number of clues. From their examination of the scene, the sky-car was apparently damaged in the crash, and at least one of them was badly wounded, due to a large blood stain on the floor of the car. A trail of blood, obviously droplets, leads away from the wreckage for a few feet, and then disappears. Asking around the neighborhood, they manage to find one person who will admit to seeing anything, and she tells them only that she saw a sky-cab flying away a little while after the wreck.
Guessing that the thieves may have hired another care to get where they needed to go, they liberally spread some money around the gypsy sky-cab drivers who work the area. After a number of completely pointless cab rides, they learn of Wild Wili, who had told a couple of his buddies about a crazy fare he had picked up, which included a dead halfling. Tracking down Wild Wili, they convince him to tell them his story: " So, I was workin' Olladra's Kitchen, hoping to pick up an easy fare, when this jerk dwarf hops in and tells me to drive over to the ass-end of Myshan Gardens. I figure a fare's a fare, and haul ass over there. He directs me down to the poorer end of the street, and there's this wrecked sky-car with a bunch of whackadoos standin' around it. The dwarf, he tells me to stop and hops out to help his buddies lift this big iron barrel into my cab. I'm startin' to wonder how bad this job is going to fuck up the paint, when I see one of 'em, this crazy lookin' elf chick, dressed all in black, picks somethin' out of the wreck and puts it on the seat where she sits down. I look back and fuck me if it's not a dead fuckin' halfling. Don't even ask what it took to get the stain out. What did they look like? Well the jerk dwarf was pretty normal, I guess. Yer average jerk dwarf. Then you got the crazy elf chick. She was creepy as fuck, all in black, didn't blink enough, either. Then, there was this fuckin' kobold wearin' what looked like a sparkly bathrobe. Whatevah. Anyway, the jerk dwarf hands me a gold sovereign and tells me if I can get them over to Cliffside in ten minutes, there's another one in it for me. So I figure, fuck it. I shag ass out of there, with these loonytoons fares in the back seat, and head for Cliffside. We're almost over the gap to Dura when there's this fuckin' bump and my cab starts leanin' hard to the left. I'm tryin' to keep it steady, swearin' I'm gonna kill my mechanic when I see 'im next, and the crazies in the back start cursin' when it all goes ta shit. That fuckin' barrel slides right out the side, with the jerk dwarf hangin' onta it. The dead halfling follows suit a second later, and then shit gets weird. The creepy elf chick, she just steps right out the side, and stands on the air, like it ain't nothin', and the fuckin' kobold just vanishes. At this point, I'm thinkin', fuck the bonus, I'm outta here. I fly straight through Dura, and a couple minutes later, the cab's okay. I take it to the magewright, he can't figure out what went wrong, and I figure I'm okay with that. I don't really WANT to know. What happened to them? Fuck if I know. You think I was stupid enough to go back and check?"
After paying Wili to drop them off where he lost them, the party pokes around a bit and finds the divot in the street where the iron cask hit the ground, along with at huge splash of blood, which they can only assume came from the dead halfling. They find a trail of blood leading away, starting off as a constant drip, but becoming both more compact along the length of the trail and more diffuse across it. Looking at it, Thal remembers seeing, during the war, a wounded riding wyvern leaving a similar blood pattern while gaining altitude. As they look around for clues, Greyfox sees a face in a third-floor window quickly duck out of sight, and sprints for the tower entrance, hoping to find a witness. She's followed closely by Leland, as the rest of the group watches the nearby entrances to prevent an escape.
Greyfox and Leland find a squatter cowering in an abandoned apartment, desperately trying to hide from them. He cries out when he sees them enter the room, but some fast talking on Greyfox's part calms him down enough to get the story out of him: "I heard shouting outside, an' I looked out the window to see the woman in black, a dwarf, an' a small man in a hooded robe. The woman in black was carrying a big iron chest or something, with a dead halfling perched on top of it. The dwarf walked down that alleyway across the street into the darkness, an' a man walked out, dressed all in fine clothing. Then they all walked down the street for a ways, until I noticed the woman moving funny. Her friends were walking on the ground, but it was like she was climbing invisible stairs. The man pulled a sword made of light out of nowhere an' slashed her with it something awful, an' she ran up into the air. Then he threw that shining sword at her, an' when it hit her, it vanished, an' he had it back in his hand. And then the halfling, it stood up on the chest and, and, it looked like it hugged her an' it cried out, "Thank you, mommy" and then it and the big iron chest disappeared. She an' all the rest just stared for a moment, an' then she vanished, an' the little man in the robe vanished, and the man with the shining sword just walked away down the alley. That's all I saw, I swear!"
In return for this fantastic tale (which as far as Greyfox could tell the man completely believed), Greyfox gave him some gold for his trouble, and led Leland back down to the street.
Having been stymied in their investigation, the party split up: Greyfox and Leland to go nose around the seamier side of the city, to try to find out who among the city's thieves might have been talented to be involved in this; and Bombard, Thal and Lisa to Morgrave University, to investigate what was involved with teleportation magic and look into the matter of shining swords. Later that night, the group reconvened at Bombard's shop to swap information and mull over what they had found out. The teleporting question was a dead-end. While it was a difficult effect to pull off, House Orien was well-known to provide it as a service, and among those spellcasters who could pull it off, it was fairly common. Not to mention any devices that might be able to duplicate the trick. Shining swords turned out to be an interesting, but seemingly useless, topic, as the accounts of shining swords or swords made of light turned up numerous references to a wide variety of magical blades through the centuries. However, there was also an apocryphal account of a race of humans in far-off Sarlona who referred to themselves as kalashtars. They are apparently native to the nation of Adar, which is at war with the neighboring Reidran Empire. The stories in question recount some of these "kalashtar" having the ability to manifest blades crafted from their own spiritual strength. Given, however, that Sarlona, Reidra and Adar are all a long way away, and that little is known of any of them, it seemed to be a fruitless, though fascinating, line of inquiry. The identity of the thieves was slightly more promising. By asking around about the best lockpicks, Greyfox and Leland had found out about the death of one Bennie Pickfinger, a very talented halfling who had been found dead a week ago. A couple of days ago, his body had been dumped into the nearest gorge leading to the lava pools, after the "traditional" five-day halfling wake. The description of the halfling in the heist matched Bennie to a tee, leaving the party to wonder how a halfling lockpicker could be assisting in a heist, when his mangled corpse was in the process of being thoroughly waked by his buddies. Also, by all accounts, Bennie had little talent for magic, and took a lot of pride in not using any magic aid in his exploits. By asking around at the House Thuranni compound, Greyfox also managed to match the male human's description to a high-ranking diplomat at the Reidran Embassy.
Upon combining their information, the party came to the conclusion that however the thieves managed to pull off the heist, the party wasn't likely to find out much more. Without knowing what was in the cask, who the cask belonged to, or the identities of either the elf or the kobold, they knew they were unlikely to make any more progress. Given that, they compiled their report and expense account and sent it off to Anton via secure House Sivis courier. Frustrated, they returned to their daily affairs, eager to find a challenge they could settle conclusively.
Unbeknownst to some of the players, the events of this game were basically the aftermath of another game I ran in honor of my friend Lucas, who was visiting from San Diego for the weekend. I ran the heist with that group, which included Debbie and Shawn, and started off the regular party as the investigators. I have to applaud Debbie and Shawn for their resoluteness in refusing to metagame, though Shawn (understandably) could not resist making a couple of comments about the kobold. However, even they are in the dark concerning the true identity of the devious halfling and the mysterious contents of the iron cask. Kudos to all my players for a slightly bumpy, but ultimately enjoyable, first game session, and I promise, there shall be much hackings to come.
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