|
Keeping track of Names, Faces, Places, and debts with the Ledger: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Uay8oGOX5184tL7DSj0oGIvtO2MbozaVwB_BrYdsDQY/edit?usp=sharing Here's an awesome collaborative map! https://drive.google.com/open?id=137Hq6Wa-IgQoL9TYZXm1lrg_aSs&usp=sharing Chapter 1 - The Tax Man A'Cometh ----- Martin Beck You’ve been spending a lot of time in the basement, learning, researching, and feeling your life slowly being siphoned away. But now you've been summoned up to the second to the top floor. You find yourself sitting across from Mr. Giger himself, with only a large ornate table between you.  He frowns at you, “Well Martin, to be frank you have not impressed me with your work lately. You graduated Magna Cum Laude but it seems all your ambition has fled. Though perhaps it is our fault,” he purses his lips and shakes his head in disbelief at anything being his fault, “for not giving you the proper environment to excel.” He slides a folder across the desk towards you, “here is your opportunity. I trust you will not disappoint us. Mr. Druford has fallen on hard times of late, but he is a very long-standing client of ours. We owe him a debt, and we take our debts very seriously here at Giger, Giger, and Smith.” The file describes the case of a Mr. Druford. It seems that someone at the IRS noticed that a 145 year old was still filing income tax. Now they are digging deeper and uncovering dangerous things. He’s even been summoned to court in a few days. The file assures you that under no circumstances can he appear in a courtroom. “I’m sure there are countless ways to resolve his legal issues using the various tools available to you. You have free access to the Giger, Giger, and Smith legal facilities, and Miss Janine will serve as your research assistant, for now.” What do you do? If you impress Giger, Giger, and Smith with this case by resolving things in a way that maintains or adds to their stellar reputation, they will owe you a debt. You can use a debt to your employer to get a promotion, a large bonus, a magical artifact, paid time and company resources for a pro-bono case or countless other things. If, acting as their representative, you foul their good name then you’ll owe them another debt instead. ----- Jack Chase You’re on the job. Work didn’t pay too much, but it’s simple, long-ish term, and gets your name out to the right people. Alderman Liam hired you to clear out the ghosts stirred up by his development project. You tracked an ectoplasm trail to the basement of an abandoned house. Before you can kick down the door, you’re assaulted by their presence. You’ve never felt so much ghostly power, a dozen, maybe more? Wounded, angry, the house sings a siren song to you. What do you do? ----- Marky Marx A gentle slap rouses you from your stupor. “And on a Pale Horse he rides!”  The Don smiles down at you, his eyes amused, “how is my favorite musician today? Got enough H&H? I hope so, because you got work. Tax man looking in places he shouldn’t. Found a sucker who slipped up, now I don’t give a poo poo’s shadow about the sucker, but pull a thread and you gently caress up the weave. We don’t have the feds in our pocket now that Cheney’s out of power. Next election’s in the bag, but for now it’s all more direct methods. Mr. Anderson. Sign him up, gently caress him up, rip out his heart, but this guy stops digging now. His smile turns sideways, “I know you’d prefer to smash some other folks. Just wait. I got plans. We’ll tear down the high from their thrones, break the thrones themselves, and shatter this world. Just you wait and see, my son. Our abusive Father was right about one thing, the Meek will inherit the earth… along with Heaven.” What do you do? ----- Maxine Wei You’re lounging in your favorite hangout - Where do you rest your head these days, in general? Where do you work and play? Charlie bursts in like she owns the place, makes herself comfortable, and tosses you a big yellow envelope, “gift from the Red Lady. Did you piss in her cheerios while I wasn’t looking?” Inside is an ornate document in goldleaf. A border of arcane markers shouts its significance, its quasi-magical import, obvious to even a neonate like you. There’s a lot of flowery language, but it amounts to the deed, in certain circles, to Woodland Park Zoo and the surrounding environs. Lower to middle class neighborhood, lots of visitors from out of town, prime real estate. But… It’s North, way North, almost out of the city proper. The Red Lady is decidedly South. She’s been inching into the city, ignoring the SeaTac pact, and the White King’s been recruiting real heavy, prepping for a fight. But it’s North even for the White King, really, you think it used to belong to some old vampire, not aligned with the major powers. Still, scooping up land to the South and North of him is naked provocation, with you as the vanguard. No matter who wins the war, the vanguard always ends up dead. Even worse, the deed is recognized by Richard Drake, his seal is clear. And witnessed by the Summer Court. The Dragon claimed every piece of the city before there was a city here, but these days most everybody is a squatter. This damned piece of paper makes you, officially, Count Maxine Wei. And Counts pay taxes even if they never set foot on their land. You'll need to come up with some kind of treasure before the Dragon wake up. Did you do anything to disrespect the Red Lady, or is this poison pill out of the blue? What do you do? ----- Versum You’re musing it up when you feel something… bad. Like a twisting in your gut. You’ve very much enjoyed the weekly open mic poetry readings at the Couth Buzzard. You’re drawn to the independent bookstore/cafe only to find the place closed down. Seized by the IRS for back taxes. Seattle used to be one of the few places left in the world where a bookstore and cafe with weekly poetry readings and a goofy name could thrive. It was a vital place of power for you, not to mention a meeting place for your cult. At this rate, you’ll have to move to Portland. What do you do? ----- Cassie poo poo is hosed. Your hair is standing on end. Something stirred up, like, every ghost in town. Light bulbs are exploding, unearthly wails, probably be some possessions soon. You hear a scream. Local gangs are getting hopped up on the angry energy, getting high and breaking into homes. Sirens are wailing but you’re not sure if you can trust the cops with this energy in the air. And there’s something else. Something outside your territory but moving towards it. You can smell it from here. Everything mean and rotting and foul in the world, pushing straight for you. What do you do? ----- Ashley Winston Your sleep is disturbed by bad dreams. Nothing new, but their content is. A woman dressed in blood and cloaked in sulfurous shadow breaks a seal before being slain by a white arrow. Her corpse is puppeted by a snake with a tail that stretches across the sea. It climbs inside a fat lizard which then thrashes on top of the city, crunching buildings beneath it. It bleeds, and the blood forms into symbols, terrible rotten symbols. The sea rises and takes them and from infinite depths comes a great devouring maw. A wounding cancer of nothingness consuming all before it until there is nothing left. No men, no beasts, no gods. Only hungry, suffering, void. Are your dreams usually symbolic or more plain? This dream is stranger than most. For one thing, you aren’t in it. There is no horseman in this apocalypse, and it isn’t following the rules. You get the sickening sensation that this is not how the world is supposed to end. But end it might. Oh, and your house is exploding with hostile ghost energy. Maybe that’s why your dreams are weird, maybe not. But it sucks either way. What do you do? Mr. Prokosch fucked around with this message at 20:01 on Jun 25, 2016 |
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 01:50
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 26, 2024 16:18 |
|
|
Jack Chase Gripping his shotgun tightly, Jack takes a deep breath, and prepares to enter the basement. Things are about to get very difficult. He briefly considers trying to flee, but its probably too late for that. As long as he keeps calm though, he should be able to handle the situation. The stairway should hopefully serve as an chokepoint, Jack is trying to keep his cool, and avoid being overwhelmed by ghosts. RoboNitoriBOT - Today at 9:12 PM @IShallRiseAgain you rolled 2, 1-1 for a total of 2. Jack is going to have a bad day.
|
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 02:24
|
|
|
 Blood +0 Heart -1 Mind +1 Spirit +2 Mortal 1 Night -1 Wild 1 Power 1 Harm: 0/5 Corruption: 0/5 Armor: 0 Foretelling: 1 I wake from the dream, roll over, and throw up. At least the bed is empty this time. That was a bad one. I only ever get two types of dreams: loving weirdo mystery symbolism, and dreams of bloody conquest. Believe it or not, the weirdo symbolism is the better half; at least I wasn't trampling the faces of the unrighteous in that one. I blink muzzily at my alarm clock: 3:33 AM. As the evil, rotten spiritual energy fills up my house like some awful feng shui, I find a 4/5ths empty bottle on the nightstand, and finish it off. Glancing down, I see that I went to bed fully dressed. Bonus. I stand up, cracking my back to work the kinks out. Since Rachel got the house in the divorce, I've been crashing in a refurbished garage in a not-so-great part of town. A single sheet of load-bearing drywall walls off the garage section from the living section, and another couple of sheets section off the tiny bathroom. So my bedroom is also my living room is also my kitchenette. This would normally be an awful way to live, but it does afford me some nice garage space to store my elderly Harley. It also means that I don't have a lot of room to look over as I search out the source of hostile magic. I don't want to do it. I really don't want to do it. But if you let people pull this type of poo poo once, they'll keep coming back. And this is, despite the grime, my home. With a sigh, I reach underneath the bed and come out with a crown. It's a single, unadorned crescent of white gold, with vulgarly large diamonds set in it; simultaneously crude and terribly beautiful. I place it on my head. "All right, motherfucker." I cross my arms and speak in the voice of Conquest, first of The Four. Angry white light illuminates every nook and cranny of the cramped little room. "You've got my attention. Are you pleased with yourself?" Let it out: RoboNitoriBOT - Today at 9:35 PM @OKShark you rolled 6, 4+2 for a total of 12. boom! let's start the night off with an Advanced Let it Out. "On a 12+, your powers or abilities manifest in an unexpectedly useful way. Mark corruption to make that manifestation permanent."
|
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 02:51
|
|
|
Jack Chase You're cool... And then your not. In fact, it seems like you've lost some stretch of time. You come to your senses in the dark. Cement on your skin with no clothes to protect you. It's so cold. You reach for your weapons but they're gone. You only feel wet, sticky. Blood. ---- Ashley Winston You hear a screech and the shadows wreath around you. It feels like it's trying to escape, but your power cannot be denied. It forces the thing to appear before you. Shadows turn to spiders, gather into the figure of a woman. Her eyes are mad, hateful, terrified, amazed. "Such power you wield! Power to break the world, power to remake it. And you use it for you and you alone. Free of the Maker's Will! The First Seal is broken! He Comes! My Master will need a Bride. Yes, yes, I am pleased!" Mr. Prokosch fucked around with this message at 03:14 on Jun 22, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 03:09
|
|
|
Martin Beck Martin wasn't really much of a sweater. If you're in a tough deposition, dealing with irate clients or in a bad negotiation with the DA, such a tendency was a huge advantage. Instead of sweating buckets and looking like you were on the ropes you could sit calmly, locks eyes with whoever was on the other side of the table and stand your ground. But while his face never sweat he did sometimes find that his back sweated. As he rode the elevator up to the top floors he shifted uncomfortably his back drenching his shirt and making him supremely uncomfortable. Being face to face with Giger was overwhelming. Although he posed an unassuming figure, Martin knew by reputation that this man was not someone who suffered fools kindly. In two years he'd only ever seen him at a distance at office events and to finally meet him and talk was a dream come true. But the dream quickly became a nightmare. "not impressed" "ambition has fled" "not disappoint us" Giger's even tone and simple dissatisfaction hits Martin like a heavyweight's haymakers. Martin is only able to nod anemically and offer words of assurance that he will not disappoint but as he walks from the office his head feels light and points of light sparkle at the edge of his vision like he is about to faint. Trying to keep his walking gait strong so as not to embarrass himself in the corridor he makes his way to the bathrooms. On this floor even the toilets look like they could be a corner office, but that offers little solace as he locks himself into a stall. poo poo, poo poo, poo poo. I can't believe it! Two whole years, 24/7, and they're disappointed?! They kept me in that cellar, they... they... He stops himself. Making excuses for being in this situation rather than dealing with it was pointless. Had he even considered maybe Giger was right and he had lacked ambition? Two years was a long time, maybe he'd just settled for working hard and patting himself on the back. Well not anymore. He looks at the file sitting on his lap and opens it. Scanning the pages carefully. If I have been spinning my wheels, it stops today. I'll show Jeff and Eric what's up.  Standing up again he makes his way out of the stall. The sinks on this floor had been designed to allow people to view the whole of Seattle out the windows. Looking down Martin finds his resolve. This is it. Showtime. I'm never going back to that basement. Every step from now on is only going upstairs to the top floor. Martin splashes his face with some water and then sets out for the library. Janine already waiting there, obviously anticipating that he would be starting work on this case right away. "Miss Janine, get me all our case records for clients who have had trouble with IRS. Then prioritise cases where the defendant has been supernatural. Then I want cases that have involved clients being over 100 years old. Then I'll need records of Washington state tax law from 145 years ago and I'll need you to highlight what has been removed from the law and what has changed in the law. I'll start by looking through Mr Druford's personal history with Giger, Giger and Smith." With that Martin settles into one of the fantastic leather chairs and begins burning all the details of the case into his memory. The chairs soft embrace makes him smile a little as he remembers the hard wooden chair that had been cradling him less than an hour before. ---- using the Giger, Giger & Smith sanctum to research the case and see if the IRS actually has a sufficient case to require Mr Druford's presence rather than a proxy. If there are any mistakes or oversights in the filing Martin will see the maximum amount of pain he can inflict on the IRS so as to strengthen the firm's reputation as costly to challenge. If the case is legitimate and it seems like there's no straightforward answer to keeping Mr Druford out of court then Martin will start looking for loopholes to bend the law and protect his client.
|
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 03:41
|
|
|
Maxine Wei I'm settling down at one of the few clubs that's good enough for me in south Seattle. New club by the name of Envy, where I hold court you could say. Not that I've needed to do much except sell to tourists in here. This place is solidly mid-tier, but I'm still the most stylish this club will ever see. Helps that the apartment I've taken over and the stash I have, what little that's left, is within walking distance. Or at least was. "Charlie, what the gently caress is this?" I know I haven't exactly been on the best terms with the Red Lady, but I didn't do anything directly. I guess this is what she meant when she had an idea how to make me give a drat about this war. Not that we even talked in person, but she seemed pissed over the phone. "Well, this is fantastic. I guess this is what she meant when she was going to give me some motivation. The only time I ever wished I was holding a fake." My face probably spoke volumes about my feelings about this. Not that anyone but Charlie cared. The management tolerates me because I keep the tourists and regulars hanging around, buying drinks and dancing until way past when I'm indoors for the morning. "Well, guess it's sink or swim time. Trade the tourists for the junkies, not like I've got much to pick up at my place. At least need to get a look at this shityard, see if we can live there too. Not that I want to, but I'd rather be dead again than robbed blind. You feel me?" Now that's I'm officially a Count out here, means I need to get something ready for the king. The real one, the Dragon who's got his fingers in everything. All because the Red Lady wanted me to show more initiative. I've got your initiative right loving here, you crazy bitch. "It's got an actual place to stay there, right? I don't have to call a lawyer or some poo poo?" I head outside towards my car, brushing by a few people on the way out, not really thinking too much about anyone else. Maybe Charlie, if she's even bothering to follow along. The only thing I've got that matters right now, my car, a 2011 BMW 3, red of course, which I expect will last not even the night that far north. At least I'll be able to find out who thinks they're hot poo poo up there. Would it be Hitting The Streets to go into the neighborhood and troll with a five-year-old luxury car, looking for the king or queen shitbag of the area? Yes, it would be. Trolling for the local thuggery, which is +Mortal @TLB - Maxine you rolled 6, 2+1 for a total of 9. Taking that they are juggling their own problems, which works for me. The Lore Bear fucked around with this message at 05:31 on Jun 22, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 03:46
|
|
|
Jack Chase Knowing that he was very lucky to be alive. Jack pulled himself up from the concrete floor. He wondered what the hell happened, but it wasn't the time for that. For now, there didn't appear to be an immediate threat. It was time to get the hell out of there. Unfortunately, he was naked as the day he was born, and the police probably wouldn't look too kindly on his public nudity. He needed to get out of the house, and back to his safehouse for a change of clothes as quickly and stealthily as possible. Escape A Situation: @IShallRise -Jack Chase you rolled 5, 4+1 for a total of 10. I'll owe someone a debt for my escape.
|
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 03:54
|
|
|
 Marky Marx, The Tainted Blood +2 Heart +1 Mind -1 Spirit +0 Mortal 1 Night -1 Power 0 Wild 2 Corruption: 0/5 Armor: 1 (-1 if the source is holy or blessed) Harm: 0 Faint, 00 Grievous, 00 Critical It's ironic, you know? My body is too tough to pierce with a just a normal needle anymore. To get this nectar into my blood, I actually have to dip the drat tip in holy water first. I'm putting goddamn poison in myself and can only get it in if God approves. Then again, God left me on the streets to rot and die. My health must not be high on his priority list. poo poo, does it sting, but the relief is worth it. My mind becomes a hazy and time just begins to drift by. My mouth is so loving dry that I can't help but drinking water bottle after water bottle. When did I get out into the hallway? Oh, my assistant got me another bottle. Don't remember asking. Is that the Don? When did I get into his office? I can see his lips moving, but I'm having trouble following it. I make out enough, though: kill Mr. Anderson. He knows too much. That's all I need to know. I can feel my mind clearing up. The anger is setting back in: so much for a respite from it. I start getting back from cloud 9 right as Don finishes up. "The meek ain't meek anymore, Don. You saw to that, personally. Way I see it is simple: you tell me to jump and I do it. You tell me kill: I know it's for the best. When you tell me to knock that goddamn bastard of his cloud throne and cast him into the pit he sent me for years, I'll do it with a goddamn smile." Coming down always lets all the memories seep back in: it's overwhelming. "This Mr. Anderson is good as six feet under. He ain't going to be messing with us no more, no problem." With that, I turn to head out the door. My name used to be something people wouldn't even see on a tombstone and now it's on the sides of buses and plastered on billboards. It wouldn't take a lot of effort to find traces about this guy by asking around. People love celebrities. They loving worship them. I loving matter more in the heads of some people than their friends, family, and the loving big man himself. It's god drat sick. It's a disease of the loving mind and all the corporations want you to not take your meds. But, the Don, he's playing it to his advantage when he made me and I know how to do the same. A few questions asked here, a flirt there, and an autograph here and I can find some stupid tax man. Fans are loving tools, in both senses of the word. Hit The Streets @Marky Marx you rolled 4, 2+1 for a total of 7. Whatever you need is more costly than anticipated Mortal is now marked "*." Update will be in the succeeding post. Covok fucked around with this message at 21:07 on Jun 22, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 04:49
|
|
|
Cassie Stats: Blood 2, Heart -1, Mind 0, Spirit 1 Factions: Mortality 1, Night 1, Power -1, Wild 1 Harm: 0/5 Corruption: 1/5 Armor: 0 You know, I really should have seen this shitshow coming. I've been twitchy all day, but I brushed it off as the full moon being a few days away. Still, I didn't expect things to go this far south. It's... great! I was thinking I'd just have the usual petty crooks that I have to wear kid gloves when I'm fighting, but I think this is going to be a fun night. I quickly decide to go after the biggest threat. Once I take that down, things should calm down, and I can clean up the burglars at my leisure. It's not the best solution, but hey, this isn't the best situation. I take a deep breath and steady myself. I shut out the noise, the flickering lights, everything. Nothing but my breathing and my heartbeat. After a few moments, the hammer beat of the heart slows to a normal, resting rate. I let out a long breath, then slowly breath in through my nose. Even though my eyes are closed, I can still "see" the world around me. The piles of garbage waiting to be picked up the next day. The dried blood on the curb where the Nelson kid skinned his knee earlier this week. The oil and gasoline of the cars lining the street. And finally, the horrible, walking rot that's trying to muscle in on my turf. I keep breathing in, grabbing hold of it with a death grip and refusing to stop, despite the awful stench. Another second passes, and it's burned into my brain. It can't hide from me now. With a grin, I whisper, "Gotcha." Then, I break into a sprint up 6th street towards the source of the stench, heart speeding up to a furious pounding fit for battle. Bloodhound: @Capfalcon - Cassie you rolled 5, 5+2 for a total of 12. I get the scent of the bad thing headed my way, can follow it, and get +1 against it. Also, hunting someone gives me a corruption. Capfalcon fucked around with this message at 06:36 on Jun 22, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 05:54
|
|
|
Martin Beck I'm not a lawyer so we'll summarize without getting into legalize here Janine flies through the shelves, literally. She's a very helpful spirit, a law genius, but bound to this place. Looking into the old laws turns into a dead end. It was simpler then, but people have to keep up with the tax codes. You could have fixed this problem easily by establishing a trust or an inheritance but that ship has sailed for now. Looking into the Firm's relationship with him you find that he, in fact, donated the land on which this building was constructed, around 40 years ago. In the documents he is first addressed as Duke, then Count, then, in only the most recent ones, just Mr. The firm handled a number of routine cases, pro-bono, but since they are not accountants they never handled his finances directly. Similar cases is where you get more than trivia. It seems the IRS is treating this as a suspected identity theft case, and may be working with other agencies at this point. When they hit exceptionally old people, they tend to think grandpa died 20 years ago but the kids are still drawing social security income. They are going to want to see grandpa or they will declare him dead. That... might be for the best, if you can come up with an heir that will funnel the money back to him, but then you'll also have to find a scapegoat for criminal charges. For now his assets are frozen. There were some mistakes on Druford's end, but not for the IRS. They're also a very big organization, so hard to scare. At the same time their budget can actually be small and something like this is probably, in truth, just one person handling hundreds of cases at once. They can get panicked with a lot of complicated cases and appeals coming from different directions. A blitzkreig of paperwork will at least keep them at bay. You leave the study with 3 paths in front of you: 1: You convince Druford to become Druford junior and pin the crime on someone else. This is generally how the firm has handled these problems, but you'll have to track down Druford and get his consent, the file lists his latest address as vacant, no cell phone number. It will also mean someone screwing someone over (or making a fake person? You're not used to thinking with magic.) 2. Hit the IRS back. That will require some kind of help, getting at least a handful of people, ideally hundreds to start filing paperwork on this one case, round the clock. The IRS has to legally give full consideration to even the most silly, bullshit, fabricated appeals. 3. Use magic or gumption to track down whoever is in charge of this case and convince them that everything is ok. Could be intimidation, jedi mindtrick, bribery, whatever. What do you do? --- Maxine Wei You drive up, get struck in traffic heading through downtown, but after an hour or so make it through to find... It's just loving chaos. An asshair from a full on riot. Cops are literally chasing robbers in the streets. You hear gunfire. You see a shirtless man with a blue bandana casually lugging a flatscreen tv across the street, he eyes your car and you with lust. What do you do? --- Jack Chase You barrel up and look for an exit. At first it seems like you are in a void. You hear nothing but mad, chittering, voices. And then there's some kind of explosion of white light. You can see the face of a woman, a conqueror, cold and beautiful and powerful. The face of the End of the World. Her power draws the ghosts away, saps their power. They are driven to obey. Suddenly you see a crack of light, illuminating some stairs. You kick open the door. Behind you, now bathed in light, there's symbols scrawled in blood and... a body. You are unhurt, someone else paid the price to draw the evil things. Your car is still parked right outside, so you can jump in and put on your spare pants. Still covered in blood, and the neighborhood seems to be in some kind of chaos, but you're out of immediate danger. What do you do? You owe Ashley Winston for your escape --- Marky Marx You head out looking for Mr. Anderson. No one recognized the name at first, you have to really push and explain, in detail, who you are looking for. Anderson, IRS, looking into unusual things. No, not that Anderson, the other Anderson. The word goes out to every corner of the country: Marky Marx is looking for a Mr. Anderson in the IRS for some reason. Is he in tax trouble? Eventually one fan, Susy S. Samson, who has an uncle in the local IRS office, points you in the right direction. You know where he lives but... now your precious name is linked with his, rumors are flying fast about Marky Marx and the tax man. What do you do? --- Cassie You track it down. It seems to have stopped just short of your territory, the marker you instinctively recognize as far enough. What marks the edge of your territory? Somehow it knows your land, but you have the drop on it. High ground and time to scout it for a moment. It's some kind of beast, but nothing natural. Closest thing might be a panther, but hairless. And with huge, exaggerated muscles, rolls of fat, hard thick skin, oversized claws and fangs. It's like it wasn't designed to hunt and eat efficiently, not designed to live a normal life. It's made to fight and kill and nothing else. It stinks to high heaven. Next to it sits a man in an immaculate white suit. His skin is a dark, onyx black. They don't know you're there. What do you do?
|
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 06:34
|
|
|
Versum Damnit. Damnit, damnit, damnit. Couth Buzzard is one of my favorite places to hang out and drink in the atmosphere, perhaps inspire someone to grip a microphone themselves. I stand outside the darkened windows and ponder. People are walking all around me, not noticing my presence. A small child even walks through me, and I absentmindedly plant a seed of inspiration in him, but my thoughts circle the Buzzard. This sort of... mortal problems is rarely a problem for me. The places frequented by a god like me tend to have a relatively charmed existence just from my presence. But it's a subtle conflux of coincidences, not a hard rule. Time to go spread some godly benevolence, then... but how? I mean, i could go ask one of the big-league gods for help, but none of them are nearby, and I have nothing to trade with. Dionysus would probably help me out of the drunkenness of his heart, but i'd have to go to greece to get a meeting, and who know what'd happen while that went on? No, i'll have to use some local talents. I could go inspire the IRS collector, perhaps, with such love of poetry that he can't bear its closing, but even that seems shaky. it's easier to inspire when there's a foundation to build on, and few tax-men are interested in beauty and poetry. I may have to have my small cult go do something, but i'm not sure they have enough political or economic influence to really matter - though perhaps a grass-roots campaign to save it? A donation pledge drive? That... might work, but it'll take time. I'd like something faster. I need someone with access to cash to bail them out. There's the musician, Marx... Hm. He might be sympathetic to my cause, but i don't like his patron. The law firm, perhaps? What's his face, Martin? That could work. Yeah, that... hm. That seems like the best plan. I fly to the place he works in a straight line, gliding through buildings and people on the way. There's no way that I'm getting in on my own, but it never harms to be polite. I touch the invisible rune on the intercom outside the building to contact the secretary, a well-paid corporate oracle of middling talents. "Hello. I'm unannounced, but I would like to hear if mr. Beck is available? Can you tell him that Versum wishes to consult with him on a tax-related problem? Thank you." I keep my voice middling, boring and uncolored - or, as men in suits would call it, 'steady and professional'. Then i wait for the reply.
|
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 06:35
|
|
|
Versum The walls glow with repulsive magic, but one space clears. You find yourself in a small room. Gentle music is playing. A small whisp of a spirit, perhaps the locus of this very room, designed only for hospitality, speaks a gentle poem in your honor. It is awful, no creativity from something that has never seen outside of these walls, but sometimes the thought counts for something. What do you do? Martin Beck You're just finalizing your plans when Mrs. Janine silently hands you a note: "A Versum to see you? Waiting in the spectral guest lounge." What do you do?
|
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 06:48
|
|
|
Martin Martin sits musing over his pros and cons list. Each of the strategies had its own appeal. 1. This was a clean way to set up a sustainable front that would stop the problem from arising again. But it also required tracking down the client and convincing him to change the way he was doing things. The thing with GGS clients was that they were usually quite set in their ways. Frequently they weren't necessarily reasonable and just wanted their own way and wanted it now. 2. Hitting the IRS back seemed tricky. They were a big organization and by himself Martin couldn't possibly hope to make a dent. But then if he could manage to beat them off he could solves the whole Mr Druford problem without having to leave the office. No need for arcane magic he created a few shell companies and worked some legal magic to ensure his anonymity. 3.This was perhaps the most distateful. He knew how dangerous fieldwork was. Maybe this was some faceless IRS schmuck who had just accidentally managed to pick a fight with some unholy GGS client but it could equally be some badass who was just about to start a war and Martin would be his first casulty. Jack had had to pull his rear end out of too many fires already without having IRS wraiths trying to tear them both new assholes. At that moment he gets the page. Versum? At the offices? Normally he had to go to some beatnik joint to see the god. This hall of corporate suits was surely anathema to his poetic spirit. Looking at his watch he sees it is about time for a break. Making his way down to the waiting room he walks in and with typical client/attorney aplomb greets him. "Versum! You're a lifesaver, I'm starving! Shall we find somewhere to eat outside of corporate crypt and you can catch me up on what you need."
|
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 08:04
|
|
|
Versum I try my best not to grimace at the poem. It's a lifeless recitation. Might as well have had a computer say it, or a zombie. No spark, no meaning, no nothing. i'd almost prefer to just read it... but only almost. Then, Martin bursts through the door and I jump up. He suggests that we go somewhere else and I smile. "Yes! let's get out of here. Ever been to QED? It's pretty new, very cosy, great coffee. Let's go." The corporate hellhole was rubbing up against his spirit in a very grating way - almost literally. It was beginning to make him itch a little. QED Coffee is a small 13-seat coffeeshop and a simple but well-made selection of coffees and some pretty good danishes and pastries. "So, I'm having a problem, and I'm going to need some help on the mortal side of things. Couth Buzzard, a small bookstore and cafe with a great open night mic. It's being closed due to back-taxes or something. You're the only one I know who can really help me with this sort of things."
|
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 08:44
|
|
|
Blood +0 Heart -1 Mind +1 Spirit +2 Mortal 1 Night -1 Wild 1 Power 1 Harm: 0/5 Corruption: 0/5 Armor: 0 Foretelling: 1 I blink at the apparition. Oh, gently caress. This hurts my head. I sit down heavily on the bed and clutch my brow. Wearing the crown hurts even worse, as it fills my mind with tiny, whispered, insistent demands for power and satisfaction. I'd tear it off and stash it back under the bed, but that might break whatever hold I have over this creature. "Lady, if you think I'm going to be a bride again anytime soon, you're in for a surprise," I mutter. I peer into the bottle again, but it's empty. Also, it's 3 AM, which is pathetically early even for me to start drinking. So instead I glare at the ghost-spider-spirit woman with a certain amount of irritation and put a little of the Wrath of Me into my voice. "Who are you? Who is your master? Give me names. And why the hell did you wake me up so early? Tell me."
|
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 09:02
|
|
|
Martin Martin settles back into his chair and listens to Versum explain his situation. A small bookshop/open mike emporium? Dealing with firms and millionaires every day kind of took Martin out of the concerns of the every day people. Normally he wouldn't bat an eyelid to a place like that shutting down. Hopefully a modern coffee house like QED would replace it. He picks up his cup and sips at the single origin beans. Baristas working the espresso machines at places like this actually impressed him more than some of magicians in the trenches with him. But if Versum was interested in it then that meant that what Couth Buzzard lacked in capital it made up in etheral. When Versum brings up the IRS his ears particularly perk up. "Look Versum, I'm here for you. In fact I have an idea. Like you said it's the mortal gears in this equation that are grinding this cafe out. What we need to do is jam up those gears with paperwork! You have the ear of some people who are quite well known in the art world right? What I recommend you do is whisper in one of those ears that now is the time to protest! I'll supply you with a template form and addresses that they can submit to the IRS. Your followers and whoever else they can inspire to pitch in can then use those forms and write nearly anything. Requests for tax exemption for poetic goods such as notepads and pens, protests for unfair tax overcharging to demand refunds, hell, they can even write poetry on the forms and the grunts over at the office will have to read it. Once we get a good protest movement going for how Seattle is choking the life out of the local art scene by choking the mailbox at the local IRS office all you need to do is get me the paperwork for the Couth Buzzard. I'll submit a motion for it to be exempted from its back charges that will be so buried in legalese that the office is guaranteed to overlook it in the deluge. Once they do we can take them to court for miscarrying the Buzzard's case, get you a fresh slate, then this time you can make sure the owner dots his i's and crosses his t's. Not only will it handle the problem of the Couth Buzzard, it could raise awareness of the plight of other places like it and inspire people to value local artists a bit more. What do you think?"
|
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 09:06
|
|
|
Versum Versum smiled. Martin had much a similar idea to theirs, but with extra legal wrangeling. They nodded. If that was what it took, they that is what they would do. "That sounds like it might work. I'll have to go do some serious musing, then," they said, then stood. "Thank you a whole lot. I'll probably have to contact you some more about the specifics later, but for now, i have to go inspire some people. And.. thank you. This means alot to me." And then, with a nod, they faded to nothing. Quickly, they began zapping around the city. First, they visited their small cult. They were hanging around and reading poetry to each other in their 'leader''s apartment. As soon as Versum arrived, they sat up and took notice. He spoke, but not to their ears, but to their hearts and minds. They all knew of the Couth Buzzard, and they understood that now was the time for protest. Versum smiled to himself, then went on, going from artist to artist, from person to person, famous and small-time alike, whispering in their ears and hearts, words of protest, inspiring all that he could to protest and to write. At last, having sowed the seeds in as many minds as they could, they floated up above the city, staring out over the bustling streets, the gleaming chrome and glass, the run down parts, the uptown parts, the entire city. From here, they could feel the combined emotion and bustle and heartbreak and jubilation from all over the city, like the heat off of a black street. They stretched out his hand. Already, they knew that phone calls and private messages where being exchanged all over the city, texts and internet posts and probably snapchats too, suggesting something be done about the Couth Buzzard. They had made sown the seeds. Time to water the ground and provide the sun. They took a deep breath, stretched out their hand and closed their eyes. They felt all the minds they'd touched over his time here, the poets they'd inspired or seen or heard, the regulars at their watering holes. They reached out to all those minds, turning them to protest and protection, to community and fellowship. Made them ready for the messages and the poems and the word of mouth. It was rare they did anything like this, but... well, one is a god, after all. They drew up their divine power, their cosmic authority over Spoken Word Poetry, and they Let it out over the poets and poetry-lovers of the city. Let it out: 2d6+3 12
|
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 15:00
|
|
|
Ashley Winston Your power made her appear and keeps her here, but you can't be sure of her answers. You can roll figure someone out for some more certain information The spider-shadows waver and form briefly into a more solid womanly form they vibrate when she speaks, as if her whole body was a vocal cord, "oh! I'm so flattered you would ask my name. I'm Arachne. Or I was. Or I will be? It feels good to be in time again! You want my Master's name but I cannot say it. It is beyond me. He is beyond names. He once had names but to say them now would be a disservice." Her form becomes more inhuman as she speaks, perhaps as her mind wanders. It starts to shake apart and the voice gets fainter and more dispersed, "did I wake you up? I'm sorry. I think I woke many things up. I didn't mean to. I'm new to this world and you called me so I came... I like you!" The woman is becoming more and more spider-like, and inching towards you, arm-pedipalps raising in some kind of embrace. What do you do? --- Versum You draw on your divine power and Inspire. Inspiration, it turns out, is a seed, a spark, a thing living of its own power and its own will. You let it out and outpouring of your power, and it magnifies as people take it up, grow it, spread it, their voices ringing over the city, babbling with glorious inspiration. Your cult joins with local feminist and LGBTQ groups who also favored that bookstore. Local activists of every stripe takes notice, it becomes a rallying cry against corporatism, against the MAN. Keep Seattle like Seattle! The Queen Ann area is in an uproar of peaceful protest and poetry. But, like any act of true creativity, you can only provide the spark and cannot dictate the outcome. The energy is here, but how can it be channeled toward IRS appeals? The stage is set for Martin
|
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 19:06
|
|
|
Blood +0 Heart -1 Mind +1 Spirit +2 Mortal 1 Night -1 Wild 1 Power 1 Harm: 0/5 Corruption: 1/5 Armor: 0 Foretelling: 1 Marking Corruption to make that crown power permanent. Spiders. Of course it had to be spiders. Wait, Arachne? Wasn't she a Greek goddess? Or maybe a cursed mortal, or something. Definitely a mythological figure. I feel a brief pang of sympathy. I know what that's like. Of course, that's taking her at her word. Maybe she's just a crazy ghost. This side of town seems to be double-haunted. Oh, and now she wants to touch me. Great. "Hello, Arachne," I say, turning off the voice. It hurts my throat. "My name's Ashley. I like you too." It's not exactly true, but it doesn't really seem wise to antagonize weird ghostly intruders. I can talk a big talk and flash around some powerful artifacts, but at the end of the day I'm just a squishy mortal woman with some nasty dreams. "Welcome to Seattle. I'm afraid I'm not big on hugging." And then, gingerly, before she can complete the hug, I reach out and take her hand. Or what passes for a hand among all the spidery limbs. And then I reach a little further in. Of all the powers of Conquest, this is the least... well, rape-y, I guess. On the day of the Apocalypse, at the height of its powers, the anthropomorphic embodiment of Tyranny and Domination can lay claim to a quarter of the earth and all the things within it, including animals, people, and continental land masses, but here and now, I can just about lay claim to errant thoughts. Taking Arachne's disturbingly furred hand, I skim what passes for her scattered thoughts. "Who are you protecting?" Skim the Surface: BOT - Today at 3:52 PM @OKShark (Ashley) you rolled 4, 3+2 for a total of 9.
|
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 21:14
|
|
|
Marky Marx, The Tainted Blood +2 Heart +1 Mind -1 Spirit +0 Mortal* 1 Night -1 Power 0 Wild 2 Corruption: 0/5 Armor: 1 (-1 if the source is holy or blessed) Harm: 0 Faint, 00 Grievous, 00 Critical gently caress, word travels fast. Back in the day, I could go on a rant about anything from the weather to conspiracy theories involving lizard men and no one would ever hear of it. Now, I just go asking around for a name of some IRS guy and everyone is chatting about it. My loving drummer, Rango, sends me a god drat text about how it's "trending" on twitter." That loving primadonna lives by his stupid phone, of course he'd give a poo poo. poo poo, when I was a kid, rock bands would trash hotel rooms, do coke off a teenage girl's rear end in a top hat, and get arrested every other week and no one hears about it. I need to find some tax guy and everyone gives a poo poo? Don't these kids got better poo poo to do then care about my loving life? Why care now and not when I was bumming food out of dumpsters just to get by. First up against the wall, first up against the wall. I pull out this dumb bible of a phone that all these idiot kids worship and log on to twitter. I make up a quick cock-and-bull story about how I'm just being audited and was looking to bitch at my auditor for this bullshit. It may not be the most mature, but, hell, kids eat this poo poo up and I've always done well with the anti-establishment crowd. Not shocking considering my last album was called "gently caress The Government." Not that I give a poo poo why they think I'm doing something, but I don't want people to tie me to any poo poo I might do. Mislead, Distract, or Trick @Marky Marx you rolled 5, 2-1 for a total of 6. GM may make a hard or soft move. I'd stay and keep reading this feed, but I got things to do with my life. Can't sit around staying around at a screen all day like a loving fool. A quick drive later, I find myself in front of his house. It's a modest home in South Everett. The big loving leech pays these loving leeches decent, at least. Not a bad neighborhood, you wouldn't find me here in the past: I'd get shooed away by the police in ten minutes. Cops would actually show up and care if people who lived around here complained. Two cars are in the driveway. He's definitely home. Maybe his family too. I could sneak in or go the direct route. Maybe my name could hold some weight especially if he has kids. They'd be star struck if I just showed up. Maybe those kids heard of my desire to bitch him out from twitter. Use it to get into the house, take one hostage, then scare the dad into backing off. Nah, unrealistic. The dad would stop me from getting in. Even if that loving bitch Bieber showed up at some teenage girl's home, the dad wouldn't just let him in. This fucker lives in a good neighborhood. He probably lived a pretty safe secure life. No bars on his windows. Probably never had to live with those on. I'll just knock on the door, wait till he opens it, and put my shot gun in his face. As long as I keep it behind my back, he shouldn't see it. gently caress, shouldn't be expecting it. He probably lived so well that I doubt he checks before opening the door. Hell, even if he just looks through the peep hole, I could pull the shotgun out if he refuses to open the door and threaten to shoot my way in. Either he lets me in or one shot, one kill. Wouldn't matter who I kill: kill him and its over, kill his family and he would be too afraid to do anything. The cops may come quick, but I got wings. I take my suit jacket off and put on my gun harness over my dress shirt. I put my shotgun on the harness on my back. Putting my suit jacket back on should keep it out of sight. Walking up to the door, I hit the doorbell and wait. Covok fucked around with this message at 21:41 on Jun 22, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 21:36
|
|
|
Ashley Winston You touch Arachne and peer into her surface thoughts. You might have expected that she's protecting her master, but that's not true. She feels her master will never need or want her protection. Instead, someone else. Her sister. You get the impression of an elaborate plan, a kind of supernatural jail break. It involved a curse, two rituals, and not a small amount of killing. It also involved breaking some very old pacts. In Arachne's thoughts, basically everyone in the world, angel, devil, fae, wizard, mortal, everyone, will want her sister's soul for this. You also touched the Weaver, and opened your mind to her, and that is not without cost and opportunity. You can hear dark whispers crawling in your mind like spiders. You can keep your cool to withdraw, or mark corruption and listen closely, in which case you may ask any one question, about anything, and get an honest answer. What do you do? --- Marky Marx You wait a while and have to jam on the doorbell a bunch, but eventually a light turns on and a man groggily opens the door a crack. He's middle aged, overweight, wearing a robe. "What? It's two in the morning!" What do you do? Mr. Prokosch fucked around with this message at 21:57 on Jun 22, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 21:54
|
|
|
Cassie the Wolf Stats: Blood 2, Heart -1, Mind 0, Spirit 1 Factions: Mortality 1, Night 1, Power -1, Wild 1 Harm: 0/5 Corruption: 1/5 Armor: 0 While I'm up here, I take a moment to ponder my next move, but my thoughts are interrupted by a scream in the distance. Fortunately, it's more terrified than in pain, and I nod, smiling. That's got to be Melinda. She's the ghost of a girl who was murdered about a decade ago. She was in her early twenties, and some some super religious nuts around here got it in their heads that she was a witch. Then, they took the Lord's work into their own hands. The "funny" thing is that they were actually right. Not that it matters, of course. Fortunately, though, death hasn't dulled Melinda's skills, which makes her perfect to help me keep the neighborhood from tearing itself apart. She took a little bit of convincing to sign on to help out, but after I gave her killers a bit of a street justice, she got on board. From what I heard, it was still in doubt if those scumbags were ever gonna walk again, and good loving riddance. ...Maybe I should ask her what's going on that's got the ghosts so pissed off? That'd would have been a bright idea. Still, gotta take care of this before I go running off to the next fire. They're right under the near edge of the overpass that I mentally mark as "enough," near the shadows of some coffee shop. Ain't never seen anything like the pair of them, but there aren't many things that won't have their night ruined by a bullet between the eyes. I draw my Beretta and level it at the beast's eyes before growling down at them, "Don't know who the gently caress you are, but you came 'round here at a bad time. I'm too busy tonight to deal with any more weird poo poo tonight, and the pair of you look pretty fuckin' strange. So, hit the road, before I make you hit the pavement" "Persuade" the interlopers as an Alpha Dog with +1 forward @Capfalcon - Cassie you rolled 6, 1+3 for a total of 10.
|
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 22:12
|
|
|
Cassie The Beast looks at your weapon without fear. You aren't sure it can fear. It hisses at you, a scraping, high pitched thing, like scratching a chalkboard. The man frowns and shrugs slowly. With exaggerated cautious he pulls a small card out of his pocket. A generous interpretation would be that he's making no sudden moves. Stingy: he's mocking you. He tosses it in your general direction, well short of you and it lands in the dirty street. "Another time then. We have things to discuss. Look me up, or we'll be back." He turns and strolls away, after a pause the beast follows. What do you do?
|
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 22:32
|
|
|
Marky Marx, The Tainted Blood +2 Heart +1 Mind -1 Spirit +0 Mortal* 1 Night -1 Power 0 Wild 2 Corruption: 0/5 Armor: 1 (-1 if the source is holy or blessed) Harm: 0 Faint, 00 Grievous, 00 Critical Time must have gotten away from me. It's pretty late. My benefit, though. His neighbors would be asleep. I take a step forward and put my arm against the door, pushing it more open. With my other hand, I move back my suit jacket so that Mr. Anderson can see the shotgun I'm hiding underneath. Before he can even respond, I let out as sternly as possible "move back, wake your family quietly, gather everyone into the living room, and sit down. You and me are going to have a little chat. If it gets out of hand, you and your entire family will be front page news. Understood?" Persuade An NPC @Marky Marx you rolled 6, 3+1 for a total of 10. On a hit, they do what you ask.
|
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 23:04
|
|
|
Marky Marx "Oh God!" he whisper shouts, "please don't hurt me! You can have our money! My wife has a pearl necklace! And, uh, and her engagement ring! Just don't hurt my family!" He's putty in your hands and does exactly what you want.
|
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 23:23
|
|
|
Jack Chase If those ghosts think they could gently caress with him, they had another thing coming. As he drives away from the abandoned house, He sticks his head out of the window and yells at the house, "You should have killed me when you had a chance you bastards, because I'm coming back for you and teach exactly you why, dead or not, you don't mess with Jack Chase." For good measure, he flips the bird before driving off to his safehouse.  Despite the ongoing riots, he eventually makes it to his safehouse.Located on a corner of 22nd Avenue. Jack had set up base in old jazz bar called Twilight Exit. The place wasn't in the best of conditions, but it suited his purposes. The free bar stools were nice too. Jack's first order of business was to find out exactly what was up with the house. It was time to do some reading and make some calls. INVESTIGATE A PLACE OF POWER !roll 2d6+1 @IShallRise -Jack Chase you rolled 5, 5+1 for a total of 11. My question is what is the night faction up to that would cause all the ghosts to become so active.
|
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 23:35
|
|
|
Blood +0 Heart -1 Mind +1 Spirit +2 Mortal 1 Night -1 Wild 1 Power 1 Harm: 0/5 Corruption: 2/5 Armor: 0 Foretelling: 1 In for a penny, in for a pound. I stare around the fleeting constellations that are Arachne's thoughts. Wow, she really is the Weaver. She's got her own constellation and everything. drat! I'm impressed. One singing string of her web calls to me, and I understand intuitively that it vibrates to the song of my own recent dream. Before I can stop myself, I reach out and pluck it. The strand snaps, curling around my wrist, and -- Who is the woman cloaked in blood and shadow?
|
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 23:36
|
|
|
Marky Marx, The Tainted Blood +2 Heart +1 Mind -1 Spirit +0 Mortal* 1 Night -1 Power 0 Wild 2 Corruption: 0/5 Armor: 1 (-1 if the source is holy or blessed) Harm: 0 Faint, 00 Grievous, 00 Critical As he gathers everyone into the living room, I go into the kitchen. I decide to take out one of their beers and start eating some the leftovers. I'm not hungry, but it gives an image and sends a message: this is nothing to me. I could kill you, your children, your wife and feel nothing about it. This is just routine, a job. Your lives? Unimportant to me and expendable. If he wasn't terrified already, he'd be now. Once everyone is gathered, I take that plate of reheated roast beef and a can of that natural light and sit on the big chair. I bet its his chair, you know? The one big ol' papa sits in after work. It's set to look straight at the TV so I have to turn it around first. I don't say a word. I let them sit in silence. It builds tension. Horror exists solely in the mind, you know? The imagination can do wonders, if you let it. I wonder what's running through their minds. I bet dear ol' dad is wondering if his kids will live to see tomorrow. When I was a dad, that's how I'd have felt. I'd be sympathetic if he wasn't working for one of the organizations that leaves people like me to die. The wife? If she was like my wife, she'd be mad about how much of a little bitch dad was, but a lot of women aren't like my oval office of an ex-wife. She's probably afraid for her children too, like a good parent. The son and daughter seem confused. Then son is only seven. Probably has no idea what a home invasion is like yet. Wonder if he knows what a gun or, gently caress, death is. The daughter is older. I could tell she recognized me when I walked in. There was excitement in her face that soon gave way. After I felt that this pregnant pause was due to give birth, I opened up with a grin "Mr. Anderson, I've been informed that you have been doing an investigation into some odd affairs. I'm here to inform you that those affairs are much bigger than you realize." I down that crappy beer and tear into that roast beef like an animal. Putting that crap down, I take off my suit jacket. With the shotgun now out in the open, the rest of the family gets the full weight of what's going on. Those kids aren't confused anymore, they're scared. "Now, I'm a nice man, as is my employer, but I'm also a secretive man, like my employer. I put a face to the public and a face only when I'm by myself. You're seeing just a portion of the later. You don't want to see the rest, just like my employer's." I get up from that chair and take the shotgun off its harness. I can see the family move back in fear. When they see me move towards the kid, the mother and father make motions to shield him. I tear their arms back with a stare. Putting the shotgun to the crying kid's forehead, "Drop your investigation and speak of it and this to no one. I don't suffer fools lightly. I'll come back and no one, not even that bitch named God, will stop me from sending you all to hell. Do you understand?" I wait for a response. When none comes, I let out in a quiet voice, "say yes now."
|
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 23:43
|
|
|
Cassie the Wolf Stats: Blood 2, Heart -1, Mind 0, Spirit 1 Factions: Mortality 1, Night 1x, Power -1, Wild 1 Harm: 0/5 Corruption: 1/5 Armor: 0 ...Huh. That was somehow... disappointing. And a bit unsettling. The beast's reaction was normal enough. There are a lot of things too dumb to respect the brutal simplicity of a gun. But, I think the man was just humoring me, which would have the hairs on my neck standing on end if I hadn't already been on high alert all night. Either way, the problem's solved for now, and I'm sure I'll get my adrenaline fix at some point during what is sure to be one long loving night. Once they're out of sight, I climb down and pick up the card, reading it over. Then, after grabbing it, I head out to find Melinda, my ghostly partner. Gotta figure out what's making tonight so crazy, and she's sure to know what the deal is. Hitting the streets for night !roll 2d6+1 @Capfalcon - Cassie you rolled 3, 1+1 for a total of 5. Capfalcon fucked around with this message at 00:46 on Jun 23, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 23, 2016 00:04
|
|
|
Martin Beck Martin is a little taken aback by Versum disappearing so quickly. Sometimes the fact that he wasn't dealing with flesh and blood slipped his mind. Now he sat by his lonesome in QED with a half eaten sandwich and a hot americano. "Well no time like the present!" Wolfing down the sandwich he grabs a takeaway coffee cup and pours the remainders of his Americano messily into it. Dashing back to the office he gives the security guard a friendly nod and heads back to the library. As he enters Janine looks up and frowns. "Mr Beck, no coffee in the library." "Janine! This isn't just coffee! It's QED single origin arabica espresso." A stoney silence welcomes his pleas. With an exaggerated sigh Martin walks back out of the library and puts it on a side table before returning. "That's gonna be stone cold by the time we finish." "Finish what?" "Oh this is gonna be good. I need some inspiration though. Can you get me records of motions to dismiss miscarried IRS claims, a book of the densest legalese you can find and an iron clad template for an IRS requisition, one they can't ignore no matter what bullshit is written on it." "On it." Martin settles into his favourite fant leather chair. Cracks his knuckles and starts working his legal mojo. Rolling trick <@194019960308236288> you rolled `3, 2`+`2` for a total of `7`. • You create an opportunity • You confuse them for some time Creating confusion with Versum to swamp the IRS which should then provide an opportunity for me to slip the paperwork to deal with the Couth Vulture and Druford situations.
|
|
#
?
Jun 23, 2016 00:22
|
|
|
Jack Chase You look into the history of that house, and the symbols you spotted on the floor. The house once belonged to Gary Ridgeway, a serial killer who ritually murdered 49 people. Washington State competes with Florida for serial killer capital of the world. That obviously makes it a hotspot, but why tonight? No one you know can tell you what the symbols mean just from a description and they're not coming up in your search. The closest you can find is a ritual unsealing, used to break a powerful circle of containment. You're aware that occasionally ghosts that are already around get riled up by mystic energy, and there was a body on the floor. A fiftieth victim? It seems something might have been unleashed that night, and the ghosts were feeding on the energy in the air as much as the rioters. To find out more you'll need some help. What do you do? --- Ashley Winston The one woman is really three. Maxine Wei, Echidna, and Michelle Petit. Three women, three seals. All three are in the city. All three are a potential danger. Arachne withdraws slightly, seems almost shy, "I have to go friend. I'll get you in trouble if I stay too long." What do you do? --- Marky Marx "Yes," it's a horse whisper. An easy win, clean. But then... flashing lights. Sirens. The cops have surrounded the house. How could they possibly know! Besides that you were investigating an IRS agent, made a public death threat on twitter, and then was spotted lugging a shotgun to his house! What do you do? --- Cassie the Wolf  You read the card, it's on some kind of fancy paper, now all dirty. It just says "White Sheriff" with a phone number. "Been missing the fun!" Melinda cackles. She's been supercharged by something, bristling with power and showing those ghosts and robbers whatfor! Bones are broken, guns are misfiring, and curses are flying heavy. In some ways, she's adding to the chaos, but at least it's something, and she's enjoying herself. Really, things have calmed down a little. Something seems to have taken the edge off the air. Maybe it's just that people get tired, and so do ghosts. She shows you to a ghostly house, "It's a nasty one, real rough crowd but right now they're all spent. I saw what happened. That fellow Jack Chase dragged a teenage boy off the street over here.I didn't know what was up, thought he was a friend of yours. Few minutes later all hell broke loose! I checked in there, the kid is dead!" There's blood all in the house, along with Jack's scent. With a little more investigating you find his holy shotgun on the bushes nearby. What do you do? --- Martin Beck You find the perfect case: Scientology. Soon you've got hundreds, no thousands, of activists proclaiming that the Couth Vulture is, in fact, a church and thus tax exempt! You sneak in some kind of association between Druford and the new church, causing terrible legal confusion for the IRS. They are reeling from this attack, but not yet down. You've bloodied them, annoyed them, and proved that a client of GG&S is not to be trifled with. With this confusion, they motion to delay the entire case for some time while they process what this all means. It's not dismissed out of hand, but for now the IRS is tied in knots. What do you do? --- Versum It starts as just a spark, a whisper, but it grows into a wildfire. Why should religion get a pass, but not high art like spoken word poetry? Why can't art be a religion? Your cult introduces the name: Versum. The church of Versum. What is it? Why just a nonsense word, really. But it means something, at the same time, right? The atheists start jumping on board, eager to embarrass established faiths. Why can't anything they love, be like worship? Why can't the sacred rites be improvising new ways to express your feelings aloud? Soon it's established, the Couth Vulture is the Couth Vulture no longer. It is the First Church of Versum! And as a church, it should be tax exempt! All back taxes should be forgiven! It hasn't been acknowledge by the IRS yet, but it will, soon. The crowd of "worshippers" clip the chain on the front doors and occupy the coffee shop in protest! Your high priest, JJ of the AA, begins speaking your rites. You swell with power, and then: BANG Blood. Screams. Running. A sniper shot out of the blue. Someone must really loving hate spoken word poetry. What do you do? Mr. Prokosch fucked around with this message at 01:24 on Jun 23, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 23, 2016 01:11
|
|
|
Maxine Wei “Well, look what the riot dragged in.” I talk to whoever’s still inside the car, probably just Charlie unless she had somewhere better to be. Now, this wasn’t what I was expecting, but it should be enough to get the basic information I need. I’ll just wait inside the car for a little while, let this guy get some really stupid ideas about how easy it should be to take it, then get out. One he’s distanced himself from the near-riot, enough to single him out, I take a step out of my car, a pistol very clearly in my hand. “Just who I was looking for. Tell me what’s going on, what I want to know and I might not shoot you.” I’m not waving the gun around like a mad woman or anything, but if he takes any more steps towards me, I will raise it further. The nice thing about titanium-plated guns is that they look like silver but is so much easier to keep clean. The nice thing about having a gun and a white suit is that you get to show the other idiots what’ll happen if they keep causing problems. “Who started all this? What the hell is going on? I need names, faces.” Persuade an NPC !roll 2d6+1 RoboNitoriBOT - Today at 5:09 PM @TLB - Maxine you rolled 5, 1+1 for a total of 7. They can change the deal or demand a debt if they want.
|
|
#
?
Jun 23, 2016 01:16
|
|
|
Jack Chase Now that he knew exactly what he was dealing with, it was time to call the client. Jack is going to need some extra resources. He picks up the phone, and dials the number for Liam's Construction company. After Jack talks to Liam's secretary, Liam is put on the line, "Hello, Mr. Chase. My secretary says there is problem with the construction site job?". "Yes, did you know that a serial killer used to live at one of your properties? He killed 49 people, and it looks like death didn't stop him. If you want me to take care of the job, I'm going to need more resources. This isn't your run of the mill spirit." !roll 2d6+1 @IShallRise -Jack Chase you rolled 5, 4+1 for a total of 10. Jack is trying persuade Alderman Liam to give Jack Chase extra funds, so he can complete the job.
|
|
#
?
Jun 23, 2016 01:44
|
|
|
Marky Marx, The Tainted Blood +2 Heart +1 Mind -1 Spirit +0 Mortal* 1 Night -1 Power 0 Wild 2 Corruption: 0/5 Armor: 1 (-1 if the source is holy or blessed) Harm: 0 Faint, 00 Grievous, 00 Critical Ah, poo poo. I don't know how they knew. Somebody must have tipped them off. Maybe I've been sloppy. gently caress, the Don will be pissed if I get caught. "Alright, remember what I said. If you talk to the police that I've been here, you're going to regret it." A thought springs to mind. What if I made it so no one would believe their story? That everyone would think they're loons? Make it so no one will ever listen to their story in court and I get off scotch free? "Remember what I said about not wanting to see the face I wear in private? Or, at least, all of it?" The Devil Inside @Marky Marx you rolled 3, 2+2 for a total of 7. On a 7-9, choose 1. If you’re working a job for your patron, choose 1 more. +demonic movement (flight, flaming motorcycle, etc.) Gain armor+1  With a lurch, my back shoots up like a mountain as my skin turns the color of rock. It's not just color but also hardness. Horns sprout from my head as my suit bursts from the force of my bat wings. My face stretches and morphs into a horror as my hands and feet become claws. To complete the image, a seven foot tails slams on the ground. The family falls into shock. The blinds are drawn, the pigs can't see me yet. But, they're slamming at the door. I guess they don't want to waste time. Neither should I. Picking up my shotgun, I yet out in a demonic wail "Goodbye." With thrust of my wings, I try to slam through the house to the night sky. Escape @Marky Marx you rolled 5, 5+2 for a total of 12. On a hit, you get away. On a 10+, choose 1. You give in to your base nature and mark corruption Corruption will be updated in the next post. I fly through the ceiling, the second floor, and the roof. I could have just gone, but bloodlust and the touch of the demon has stained my soul. Nah, gently caress that Christian poo poo. It didn't stain it, it freed it. Freed it to take down the crooks who took over my life. These fuckers may not have hosed me, but they were complaisant in loving over others like me. All of them. None deserve sympathy. I didn't just fly upward, I wrecked the roof and made sure it would collapse in on itself. I could hear it fall down on the family. Maybe the police too. Could have killed them, could have not: doesn't matter to me. What's important is being free and safe in the sky. My car may be in front of the house, but the damage caused is "impossible" for me to do: summary judgement through and through. Martin owes me, he can save me if they pin me to more. Under the light of the moon, I fly myself from Everret back to Seattle. I'll get my car tomorrow. Finding a nice empty field outside the city, I'll land and return to my human form. I need to give the Don the news. In case those loving slave drivers are watching my phone, I'll call a taxi to bring me a few blocks from the Don's house and go the rest of the way on foot. He doesn't sleep, won't be annoyed when I interrupt with the good, if complicated, news. Maybe get some McDonalds on the way home, afterwards. That roast beef was awful. Even my oval office of a mom could cook better than that. Covok fucked around with this message at 02:02 on Jun 23, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 23, 2016 01:58
|
|
|
Blood +0 Heart -1 Mind +1 Spirit +2 Mortal 1 Night -1 Wild 1 Power 1 Harm: 0/5 Corruption: 2/5 Armor: 0 Foretelling: 1 Well, that was... interesting. But it left me feeling cold, and drained. I've spent too much time as the First Rider and not enough time as Ashley. Reaching up, I wrench the crown off my brow; it takes some effort. The light in the room dies out, leaving the two of us in shadow. My hold on her is broken; now she can leave. "Goodbye, Arachne. And, uh... thanks." I give her a little wave. She did end up helping, sort of, even if she didn't know it. And she doesn't seem to be actively bad, for a spirit. That puts her ahead of most I know. A little peevishly, I add, "Next time, you can knock first. It's a human thing. It helps." Then I get up, clean up, and get dressed. gently caress it; if I'm awake, I ought to be working. I put on my bike leathers -- and wince because they were a gift from Rachel -- and hit the streets on my bike. Yeah, technically this is a DUI, but the one unapologetically good thing about being a loving Horseman is, I can ride anything, ever. I have three names. One of them I already know,m and it's good to finally put a name to that old prophecy. I need to get in touch with Maxine Wei and warn her not to break any seals, because I have a gut feeling that she is about to do something damned stupid. The other two are mysteries, sort of. Echidna I vaguely recall hearing before -- it's a type of hedgehog or something, isn't it? That probably puts her firmly in Cassie's territory, so i head there first and start snooping around. The nice thing about this part of town? Nobody ever sleeps at night. Putting a name to a Face: Echidna. Rolling Wild: @OKShark (Ashley) you rolled 6, 4+1 for a total of 11. Ashley has dealt with her before, and she owes her a debt.
|
|
#
?
Jun 23, 2016 02:07
|
|
|
Maxine Wei He looks at the gun, obviously scared but also blustering, "gently caress if I know how it started lady. Just, it started, and the BlueBloods decided now would be a good chance to get a little something. drat superhero's been crawling up our rear end lately, but Cassie can't be in 10 places at once, yeah? You drop the gun and replace it with some green and I'll introduce you to the club boss." What do you do? --- Jack Chase Liam's voice is high pitched, even panicked, 'Is that why my neighborhood just exploded! Jesus! Yes, whatever, I'll double your pay. But that poo poo CANNNOT happen again!" Your budget just doubled. What do you do? --- Marky Marx Whatever the fallout is, it's behind you. You head to Marconi's office - Why don't you describe it for me? What's his base of operations like? Don Marconi sees you in immediately, though he seems a bit distracted. He's looking at that mirror of his, all murky and weird. He makes a finger gun and says "bang! Hah! gently caress that guy!" He turns to you, "how's my favorite son today?" What do you do?
|
|
#
?
Jun 23, 2016 02:16
|
|
|
Martin Beck Martin finishes up the last sentence on the paperwork and then slaps down the lid of his laptop. He pumps his fist in the air, unreasonably excited by such a mundane victory. But he knew that these documents would insure that the Couth Vulture was safe. More than safe it looked ready to incorporate into a full fledged church! The IRS would have so much on their plate for the next few weeks that Druford was certainly safe from any immediate summons. In fact they'd probably be begging him not to come in for months. But that didn't change the fact that they would ask him to come in at some point. Guess that meant it was time to start working on Plan B. Pausing for a moment Martin looks around the library, candles burn in their sconces lending the room an eerie timeless feeling that was only accentuated by the lack of windows. He wondered if the library had really only been built a short while ago when this shiny new HQ building was erected. It felt ancient and you couldn't put it past wizards to work some weird time and space magic to transport their favourite crusty old hole to their shiny new building. Getting up he moves from the bulky mahogany and leather of the tables and chairs to a small corner with a curtain. Behind the curtain it seems a different world. Instead of European baroque stylings was an Asian understated space. Tatami, straw mat floor tiles, cover the floor. On the wall is a scroll with some unreadable chinese characters over a picture of some mountains. Taking his shoes off Martin steps past the curtain and sits cross legged. Taking out his pen he holds it in both hands. This was the first thing they had to learn after joining the firm. Opening the mind and heart to the great energy that lay within creation. To welcome in the rushing flood of power, but not to be washed away. To instead scoop a handful and drink deeply. In his mind Martin pictured each of these steps, but it wasn't his imagination when he suddenly feels the power infusing him. The pen seems to hum in his hands and he knows that now he is ready. Slipping respectfully back out from behind the curtain he walks back to Druford's file. Looking inside he finds a small drop of blood impressed with a fingerprint sealing Druford's letter of Retention making GGS his official legal representation. Gently he touches the pen to the fingerprint and closing his eyes he begins to draw out the power now within him. With a slow steady chant he binds that power to him and purposes it. He needed to know where Druford was so they could talk about the steps necessary to ensure this IRS situation never happened again. Channeling: RoboNitoriBOT - Today at 10:07 AM @Apocron - Martin Beck you rolled 6, 4+1 for a total of 11. Ok so I channel 3 hold +1 for my focus. I spend 1 hold to cast my tracking spell on Druford.
|
|
#
?
Jun 23, 2016 02:29
|
|
|
Marky Marx, The Tainted Blood +2 Heart +1 Mind -1 Spirit +0 Mortal* 1 Night -1 Power 0 Wild 2 Corruption: 1/5 Armor: 1 (-1 if the source is holy or blessed) Harm: 0 Faint, 00 Grievous, 00 Critical The Don's office is loving appropriate. A man of his import deserves a matching abode. From his door, the room is shoots into the horizon. It feels a mile long. The walls are blood red with a nice green rug leading to his desk. A fireplace lies to the left wall. No matter when I come, it's always burning hot. The right wall is covered in portraits of the Don. There isn't a backwall, only a giant window that looks out over the city. It's an imposing room, a powerful room. And I love it. The Don is talking to his mirror. I don't know poo poo about demons, but the Don is too confident to need to talk to a mirror: there has to be someone on the otherside. None of my loving business, either way. As he turns to me with his question, I get ready to give the news. It isn't perfect, I'm worried how he'll respond. "He's doing loving nice, for the most part. He got the job done. Mr. Anderson is too terrified to ever gently caress with us again. Made my way into his house, forced him to get his family into one room, and made him promise while holding a gun to his son's head. Made it clear I'd be back if he didn't drop his investigations." With a sigh, I continue. "Things got complicated, though. Somehow, people got word I was looking for Mr. Anderson. I did my best to quell that fire, but I'm a singer, not a social butterfly. But that wasn't the only complication. The neighbors must have saw me go in or one of them must have sent a text when I wasn't looking. The cops showed up, but I don't think they saw me. I got out and dropped the roof on the family. I revealed my big and ugly form to make the family's story, if they lived, unbelievable. If they bring it up that Marky Marx, the famous muscian, threatened them, it's going to be thrown out if they mention 'then he turned into a giant bat and flew away.' No court in the country will take them seriously if they are dumb enough to go after me. Wouldn't have done that if the cops didn't show. Needed to get out quick." With a pause, I finish "No matter what, though, they aren't going after you anymore, Don, if they're going after anyone. And I'm a celebrity, I'm basically a god in this hosed up place: I ain't going to jail even if I killed the President."
|
|
#
?
Jun 23, 2016 02:51
|
|
|
Maxine Wei I narrow my eye at this piece of poo poo as he tries to extort me for some extra money, especially when he mentions Cassie fighting a bunch of them. Well, that'll give me a better out than giving this fucker. Looks like I'll have to go make new friends, better than dealing with these -uncouth- assholes. "Well, that sounds like a no. I hate it when people say no to me. Thanks for information." I take the opportunity to swing the side of the pistol at the man's temple as I hiss at him. My fangs get bared a bit, but not enough to be anything worth noting unless this guy's seen a vampire before. Unleash on the guy @TLB - Maxine you rolled 3, 2+2 for a total of 7 For the hit, I'll take the thug's dignity as he gets hit with the pistol. For the negative choice, I'll take harm in return during the exchange if he wants. The pistol hits true, giving a very satisfying noise into the side of his skull. "Do you still want to do this the hard way? My suit could still use some color."
|
|
#
?
Jun 23, 2016 04:02
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 26, 2024 16:18 |
|
|
Cassie the Wolf Stats: Blood 2, Heart -1, Mind 0, Spirit 1 Factions: Mortality 1, Night 1x, Power -1, Wild 1 Harm: 0/5 Corruption: 1/5 Armor: 0 ...White Sheriff, huh? Can't say the name rings a bell, but I know a pretentious rear end in a top hat when I see one. I pocket the card as I head off towards what sounds like the source of the most chaos, and as expected, that's where I find Melinda. While I'm hustling over, I send Ashley a text: quote:hey, hope your night is going better than mine, but i doubt it. Not calling in the debt at the moment, since Cassie doesn't think it's a big rush yet. But if you come and do it, I'll owe you one! When I get there, I nod in approval at the scene. It's gonna be a bit of cleanup, but that's for tomorrow. Gotta put the fires out before you can fix the damage. But when I finally talk to Melinda, my eyes almost bug out of my head at what she tells me. If he murdered a kid and set all this poo poo off, he's gonna be in for a world of hurt. But... the guy's done a lot of good. Done it for money, sure, but I don't think the guy is a big enough prick that he'd just murder a kid if the price was right. At least, he better hope he didn't. Especially since I got a new toy at the moment. Shouldering the shotgun, I pull out my phone and dial him up. When/if Jack answers, I jump right into it, saying, "So, I got witness saying that you dragged a kid into a house in my neighborhood and fuckin' killed 'em. Then, I found your shotgun, along with your scent and plenty of blood. So, you might wanna start talking. Fast." Capfalcon fucked around with this message at 04:20 on Jun 23, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 23, 2016 04:11
|
|