Ceramic DM Modern/Spycraft (need 3 more)
- Thread starter alsih2o
- Start date
Bloodstone Mage
First Post
Argh! No! I'm going to have to pass on this.
A dear friend of mine is going to have a baby, and I must be with her (her husband is out of town on a business trip, and the only other person going is her mom, and she's living on respirators).
I'll be sure to keep an eye on this, though.
Good luck with the entries and the tournament!
Cheers!
A dear friend of mine is going to have a baby, and I must be with her (her husband is out of town on a business trip, and the only other person going is her mom, and she's living on respirators).
I'll be sure to keep an eye on this, though.
Good luck with the entries and the tournament!
Cheers!
Piratecat
Sesquipedalian
Everyone "loves" the aryan pride guy... ugh.
Seasong, I trust your design skills. The neo-Nazi implications of that photo are not inherently inappropriate for this board so long as it is part of an adventure, and so long as it doesn't end up glorifying things that Eric's grandmother would find abhorrent. Politics are part and parcel of a d20 Modern scenario; use them as such. Just exercise good judgment.
If you're really concerned, email me the writeup before you post it here.
Seasong, I trust your design skills. The neo-Nazi implications of that photo are not inherently inappropriate for this board so long as it is part of an adventure, and so long as it doesn't end up glorifying things that Eric's grandmother would find abhorrent. Politics are part and parcel of a d20 Modern scenario; use them as such. Just exercise good judgment.
If you're really concerned, email me the writeup before you post it here.
seasong
First Post
Piratecat said:
1) Story, not an adventure.
2) Definitely doesn't glorify anything. But it's present.
3) If there's an issue after I've posted it, I'll just delete it and drop.
Depending how it turns out, I may do that. I'm not writing anything that is actually controversial (I hope
), it's just that it touches on some topics that I normally avoid on ENWorld.Thanks for weighing in, though. You've clarified where the boundaries are, and I needed that.
NoOneofConsequence
First Post
Time to give it a go
Modern/Spycraft Ceramic DM.
“I don’t get it!” mumbles Johnson, looking at the burning ring of fire.
“It’s a test of nerve,” I reply quietly, my voice almost drowned out by the sound of Goldsmith’s heavy fireproof boots as his feet thud over the bitumen. He reaches the flaming ring and throws himself through it headlong[pic 2]. He falls to the ground and comes up in a regulation tumble. The next man in line starts off.
“Besides,” I say steeling myself for my turn. “It’s better than that diving training.”
“You blitzed diving training,” says Johnson, perplexed.
“Yeah, but only because I thrive on stress. I was climbing the walls by the end.”
“Black,” calls the drill instructor and I set off towards the burning circle, adrenalin flooding my veins. With my eyes focussed on the flames, I don’t see the instructor until he’s fully blocking my path. With a deft motion he flips me over on my back and lands on top of me with an expertly applied choke-hold crushing my windpipe.
“Cadet Black, you need to pay more attention,” he says matter-of-factly, his face so close to mine that I can feel his hot breath on my cheek. “Inattention will get you killed, cadet.”
“Sir! Yes, sir!” I manage to choke out.
“Good,” approves the instructor, not relinquishing his hold on my life. With a nod he indicates a junior cadet standing at attention to the side of the training area, a slip of blue and green paper in his hands. “Report to briefing room two.”
Released, I stand and salute then trot off across the bitumen to the main building. Behind me the sound of running boots resumes, each punctuated by the sudden silence of the leap through the ring and the sound of a body tumbling over the ground.
----
I make my way quietly into briefing room two and stand at the back, unwilling to interrupt the meeting already in progress.
The projection screen on the main wall shows video footage of two teenage girls in sports uniforms fighting. [pic 4] The two lunge at each other with untrained movements and their relative ineptitude is cause for quiet jokes amongst the twenty or so men seated in the room. The jokes and laughing quickly evaporate as the extent of the conflict becomes clear. With a lucky hit, one girl gains the upper hand. As her opponent is knocked to the ground the winning combatant follows her down. The fall is heavy and the girl is clearly stunned. Her opponent uses the opportunity to seize her by the hair and proceeds to smash her face repeatedly into the concrete. Even among soldiers who have been blooded in battle, the brutality of the scene is shocking and gasps are heard from around the room. The winner is soon drenched in gore as she batters her opponent’s face into a bloody pulp. At this point in the film, a sound becomes audible; a strange, tittering noise that almost sounds like…
“That’s the cameraman laughing,” announces Colonel Benning from his post at the podium to the right of the screen. “We have no clear idea as to his identity, because this happens…”
On the film the bloodied teenager looks around, clearly realising the presence of the cameraman, and with a primeval scream, lunges towards the camera. The screen flickers and goes blank.
“As near as our epidemiological team has been able to piece together, one of these three is patient zero, the first one infected,” says the Colonel. A new picture flashes on the screen, a map of a small town in the Canadian Rockies. “However, we do know that the entire community of Evans Falls, population 1,517, fell victim to this thing over a space of only a few days.”
There are whistles from the audience; that’s a hell of an infection rate. The Colonel continues, “Contact of any form was lost on August the 17th. By the 20th, it was decided to send a contingent of MP’s from a nearby military installation.” The screen now shows a group of uniformed men, batons in hand, making their way cautiously down the main street of a typical small country town. Notably absent are any citizenry. “They found only one person alive; this man Jonathon Bramblett, attorney at law, loving husband and father of two; contributing member of amnesty international; no military service; no criminal record. An upstanding citizen.”
On the screen the MP’s are converging on Mr Bramblett, who is standing outside his law offices, dressed apparently for work, a tan coloured trenchcoat over his suit. He smiles in a friendly fashion as the military officers approach. [pic 6] When one of them is within three paces, Mr Bramblett reaches into his coat and draws forth a machette, encrusted with dried, black blood. Without ceasing to smile, he strikes down the nearest MP with a stroke to the carotid artery. As the man goes down, Mr Bramblett happily moves on to the next MP. In the fracas that ensues, several of the MP’s land numerous blows with their batons, all of which Mr Bramblett seems to shrug off as if not even feeling them. By the time three MP’s are wounded and downed, several of those remaining have drawn their sidearms and are firing repeatedly at the “upstanding citizen”. His neat clothing is shredded by the impact of the bullets, yet Mr Bramblett continues to struggle against the weapons’ lethal effects.
“Forty nine millimetre slugs were later removed from Mr Bramblett’s body,” the Colonel informs us. “Subsequent to this encounter the MP’s were withdrawn and the entire site was handed over to an Aegis containment team. We discovered that this little blighter is what’s responsible.”
The screen shows a photograph from an electron microscope. It appears to be some form of micro-organism.
“Epidemiology are calling it the VISR syndrome, Virally Induced Sociopathic Response. This little bugger has been genetically engineered by someone and they used Evans Falls as a field test. It’s contracted by ingestion only, in this case the water supply. It induces a homicidal mania while at the same time providing increased stimulation of the adrenal gland and other elements of the body’s fight or flight system. In short it gives your body a supercharge and then puts Hannibal Lecter at the wheel. We don’t know exactly who’s behind this yet, but intelligence believes that they’ve traced to the laboratory where the VISR virus was produced.” The Colonel pauses and I take the opportunity to discreetly notify him of my presence.
“Ah sir…” I say. Heads swivel to look at me and the Colonel looks up from his notes.
“Yes, Black,” says the Colonel. “Come in, take a seat.”
“Uh…I’m not sure why I’m here sir,” I say as I move hesitatingly towards one of the aisle seats.
“We want you on this mission Black.”
“But sir, I’m just a senior cadet.”
“That may be, Black,” says the Colonel. “However, you, like everyone else in this room, possess the necessary skill set to serve on this mission.”
I’m about to push my luck and ask how that could be when the next slide flashes onto the screen. The picture shows a pleasure cruiser at anchor near a tropical atoll. The pale blue shallows contrast with the impenetrable black depths of the atoll’s centre [pic 5]. A heavy weight in the pit of my stomach sinks me downward into my chair as fear of the depths begins to squeeze the breath from my lungs.
“You see gentleman,” says the Colonel, continuing his briefing. “The laboratory is hidden at a depth of ten fathoms in the middle of this atoll, off the coast of Costa Rica.”
I swallow heavily and the briefing goes on. Doubtless my face is pale, because the man next to me leans over and, apparently thinking to be comforting, says “Just think of it as a test of nerve.”
Funny, but I never realised how much an island in the middle of the tropics could look exactly like a ring of fire.
Modern/Spycraft Ceramic DM.
“I don’t get it!” mumbles Johnson, looking at the burning ring of fire.
“It’s a test of nerve,” I reply quietly, my voice almost drowned out by the sound of Goldsmith’s heavy fireproof boots as his feet thud over the bitumen. He reaches the flaming ring and throws himself through it headlong[pic 2]. He falls to the ground and comes up in a regulation tumble. The next man in line starts off.
“Besides,” I say steeling myself for my turn. “It’s better than that diving training.”
“You blitzed diving training,” says Johnson, perplexed.
“Yeah, but only because I thrive on stress. I was climbing the walls by the end.”
“Black,” calls the drill instructor and I set off towards the burning circle, adrenalin flooding my veins. With my eyes focussed on the flames, I don’t see the instructor until he’s fully blocking my path. With a deft motion he flips me over on my back and lands on top of me with an expertly applied choke-hold crushing my windpipe.
“Cadet Black, you need to pay more attention,” he says matter-of-factly, his face so close to mine that I can feel his hot breath on my cheek. “Inattention will get you killed, cadet.”
“Sir! Yes, sir!” I manage to choke out.
“Good,” approves the instructor, not relinquishing his hold on my life. With a nod he indicates a junior cadet standing at attention to the side of the training area, a slip of blue and green paper in his hands. “Report to briefing room two.”
Released, I stand and salute then trot off across the bitumen to the main building. Behind me the sound of running boots resumes, each punctuated by the sudden silence of the leap through the ring and the sound of a body tumbling over the ground.
----
I make my way quietly into briefing room two and stand at the back, unwilling to interrupt the meeting already in progress.
The projection screen on the main wall shows video footage of two teenage girls in sports uniforms fighting. [pic 4] The two lunge at each other with untrained movements and their relative ineptitude is cause for quiet jokes amongst the twenty or so men seated in the room. The jokes and laughing quickly evaporate as the extent of the conflict becomes clear. With a lucky hit, one girl gains the upper hand. As her opponent is knocked to the ground the winning combatant follows her down. The fall is heavy and the girl is clearly stunned. Her opponent uses the opportunity to seize her by the hair and proceeds to smash her face repeatedly into the concrete. Even among soldiers who have been blooded in battle, the brutality of the scene is shocking and gasps are heard from around the room. The winner is soon drenched in gore as she batters her opponent’s face into a bloody pulp. At this point in the film, a sound becomes audible; a strange, tittering noise that almost sounds like…
“That’s the cameraman laughing,” announces Colonel Benning from his post at the podium to the right of the screen. “We have no clear idea as to his identity, because this happens…”
On the film the bloodied teenager looks around, clearly realising the presence of the cameraman, and with a primeval scream, lunges towards the camera. The screen flickers and goes blank.
“As near as our epidemiological team has been able to piece together, one of these three is patient zero, the first one infected,” says the Colonel. A new picture flashes on the screen, a map of a small town in the Canadian Rockies. “However, we do know that the entire community of Evans Falls, population 1,517, fell victim to this thing over a space of only a few days.”
There are whistles from the audience; that’s a hell of an infection rate. The Colonel continues, “Contact of any form was lost on August the 17th. By the 20th, it was decided to send a contingent of MP’s from a nearby military installation.” The screen now shows a group of uniformed men, batons in hand, making their way cautiously down the main street of a typical small country town. Notably absent are any citizenry. “They found only one person alive; this man Jonathon Bramblett, attorney at law, loving husband and father of two; contributing member of amnesty international; no military service; no criminal record. An upstanding citizen.”
On the screen the MP’s are converging on Mr Bramblett, who is standing outside his law offices, dressed apparently for work, a tan coloured trenchcoat over his suit. He smiles in a friendly fashion as the military officers approach. [pic 6] When one of them is within three paces, Mr Bramblett reaches into his coat and draws forth a machette, encrusted with dried, black blood. Without ceasing to smile, he strikes down the nearest MP with a stroke to the carotid artery. As the man goes down, Mr Bramblett happily moves on to the next MP. In the fracas that ensues, several of the MP’s land numerous blows with their batons, all of which Mr Bramblett seems to shrug off as if not even feeling them. By the time three MP’s are wounded and downed, several of those remaining have drawn their sidearms and are firing repeatedly at the “upstanding citizen”. His neat clothing is shredded by the impact of the bullets, yet Mr Bramblett continues to struggle against the weapons’ lethal effects.
“Forty nine millimetre slugs were later removed from Mr Bramblett’s body,” the Colonel informs us. “Subsequent to this encounter the MP’s were withdrawn and the entire site was handed over to an Aegis containment team. We discovered that this little blighter is what’s responsible.”
The screen shows a photograph from an electron microscope. It appears to be some form of micro-organism.
“Epidemiology are calling it the VISR syndrome, Virally Induced Sociopathic Response. This little bugger has been genetically engineered by someone and they used Evans Falls as a field test. It’s contracted by ingestion only, in this case the water supply. It induces a homicidal mania while at the same time providing increased stimulation of the adrenal gland and other elements of the body’s fight or flight system. In short it gives your body a supercharge and then puts Hannibal Lecter at the wheel. We don’t know exactly who’s behind this yet, but intelligence believes that they’ve traced to the laboratory where the VISR virus was produced.” The Colonel pauses and I take the opportunity to discreetly notify him of my presence.
“Ah sir…” I say. Heads swivel to look at me and the Colonel looks up from his notes.
“Yes, Black,” says the Colonel. “Come in, take a seat.”
“Uh…I’m not sure why I’m here sir,” I say as I move hesitatingly towards one of the aisle seats.
“We want you on this mission Black.”
“But sir, I’m just a senior cadet.”
“That may be, Black,” says the Colonel. “However, you, like everyone else in this room, possess the necessary skill set to serve on this mission.”
I’m about to push my luck and ask how that could be when the next slide flashes onto the screen. The picture shows a pleasure cruiser at anchor near a tropical atoll. The pale blue shallows contrast with the impenetrable black depths of the atoll’s centre [pic 5]. A heavy weight in the pit of my stomach sinks me downward into my chair as fear of the depths begins to squeeze the breath from my lungs.
“You see gentleman,” says the Colonel, continuing his briefing. “The laboratory is hidden at a depth of ten fathoms in the middle of this atoll, off the coast of Costa Rica.”
I swallow heavily and the briefing goes on. Doubtless my face is pale, because the man next to me leans over and, apparently thinking to be comforting, says “Just think of it as a test of nerve.”
Funny, but I never realised how much an island in the middle of the tropics could look exactly like a ring of fire.
CarlZog
Explorer
I have to concede due to time constraints. My story was getting way too long and showing no sign of being done in time. Here’s a synopsis, for whatever its worth:
Cape Cod Attorney Jonathan Vanderhome has been embezzling from his clients for two years with plans of fleeing the country. Through a series of middlemen and money launderers, he’s invested the money in a Belizean dive operation. He plans to make his escape tomorrow.
Unbeknownst to Vanderhome, his diveboat business is being secretly run by the Brotherhood of White Might, a neo-nazi organization run by Vince Edwards, who escaped from a maximum security facility in Mississippi this morning. The Brotherhood plans to dispose of Vanderhome once he arrives in Belize and finalizes the transfer of money to the dive business.
Techies at Department7/the Agency have been tracking the flow of money from Vanderhome’s clients to the Brotherhood, but don’t understand why Vanderhome would be in league with the Brotherhood , or why neo-nazis are backing a diveboat business.
A team from the Department arrests Vanderhome before he flees the country, but decide to use him as bait in Belize once they realize he knows nothing about the Brotherhood.
Once in Belize, the heroes’ team and Vanderhome discover that the neo-nazis are using Vanderhome’s cash to fund a massive marine salvage operation at Belize’s famous Blue Hole.
At the Hole, the team slips aboard the Brotherhood’s boat and takes over. The heroes dive down after Edwards and the rest of the Brotherhood team.
On a coral ledge, 180 feet down, they battle it out and discover what the Brotherhood was after: Hitler’s henchmen had fled to the mangrove cays of Belize after the World War II, but they lost hundreds of millions in looted gold when one of their boats wrecked on the reef surrounding the Blue Hole. The gold had been thought lost forever in the 1000-foot deep trench.
-------
Here's the story lead as I'd begun writing it:
0800 EST, Monday
34 Main Square
Eastham, Massachusetts
“God help me survive one more hour with you insufferableers!”
Jonathan Vanderhome exaggerated a smile as Mr. and Mrs. Campbell entered his office, and hoped he hadn’t said aloud what he was thinking.
Vanderhome had been the Campbell’s attorney for four years. Like most of his clients they were yuppies from Boston, who only came to Cape Cod on summer weekends.
As they sat down, Vanderhome wondered what the Campbells were going to tell their Boston friends after he disappeared to Central America with all their money. For more than a year and a half, upstanding Massachusetts tax attorney Jonathan Vanderhome had been siphoning off all his clients’ funds. And tomorrow, he’d make his getaway. The plan was so brillant, he was growing increasingly giddy over it as “D-Day” (D for departure) approached. He felt untouchable, and wished he could tell his partners his plan – just to impress them with its sophistication (The bastards thought so little of him!). He’d funneled all the funds through a series of middlemen to a scuba diving business in Belize. Soon, he’d be sipping margaritas on a boat in Ambergris Cay.
0815 EST, Monday
Bayou St. Louis, Pass Christian, Mississippi
Vince Edwards took a drag from his cigarette, walked out to the end of the dock, and watched the lights of the shrimp boat maneuver up the creek.. It had been eight hours since the most notorious neo-nazi in North America had escaped from prison. In another 6 hours, the shrimp boat would take him to the oil rig where he’d catch a seaplane to Belize. During the year he’d been in prison, the plan had been proceeding according to schedule. The Brotherhood of White Might would soon reclaim the treasures of the fatherland. With that in place they’d have all they needed to overthrow the U.S.
CZ
Cape Cod Attorney Jonathan Vanderhome has been embezzling from his clients for two years with plans of fleeing the country. Through a series of middlemen and money launderers, he’s invested the money in a Belizean dive operation. He plans to make his escape tomorrow.
Unbeknownst to Vanderhome, his diveboat business is being secretly run by the Brotherhood of White Might, a neo-nazi organization run by Vince Edwards, who escaped from a maximum security facility in Mississippi this morning. The Brotherhood plans to dispose of Vanderhome once he arrives in Belize and finalizes the transfer of money to the dive business.
Techies at Department7/the Agency have been tracking the flow of money from Vanderhome’s clients to the Brotherhood, but don’t understand why Vanderhome would be in league with the Brotherhood , or why neo-nazis are backing a diveboat business.
A team from the Department arrests Vanderhome before he flees the country, but decide to use him as bait in Belize once they realize he knows nothing about the Brotherhood.
Once in Belize, the heroes’ team and Vanderhome discover that the neo-nazis are using Vanderhome’s cash to fund a massive marine salvage operation at Belize’s famous Blue Hole.
At the Hole, the team slips aboard the Brotherhood’s boat and takes over. The heroes dive down after Edwards and the rest of the Brotherhood team.
On a coral ledge, 180 feet down, they battle it out and discover what the Brotherhood was after: Hitler’s henchmen had fled to the mangrove cays of Belize after the World War II, but they lost hundreds of millions in looted gold when one of their boats wrecked on the reef surrounding the Blue Hole. The gold had been thought lost forever in the 1000-foot deep trench.
-------
Here's the story lead as I'd begun writing it:
0800 EST, Monday
34 Main Square
Eastham, Massachusetts
“God help me survive one more hour with you insufferable
ers!”Jonathan Vanderhome exaggerated a smile as Mr. and Mrs. Campbell entered his office, and hoped he hadn’t said aloud what he was thinking.
Vanderhome had been the Campbell’s attorney for four years. Like most of his clients they were yuppies from Boston, who only came to Cape Cod on summer weekends.
As they sat down, Vanderhome wondered what the Campbells were going to tell their Boston friends after he disappeared to Central America with all their money. For more than a year and a half, upstanding Massachusetts tax attorney Jonathan Vanderhome had been siphoning off all his clients’ funds. And tomorrow, he’d make his getaway. The plan was so brillant, he was growing increasingly giddy over it as “D-Day” (D for departure) approached. He felt untouchable, and wished he could tell his partners his plan – just to impress them with its sophistication (The bastards thought so little of him!). He’d funneled all the funds through a series of middlemen to a scuba diving business in Belize. Soon, he’d be sipping margaritas on a boat in Ambergris Cay.
0815 EST, Monday
Bayou St. Louis, Pass Christian, Mississippi
Vince Edwards took a drag from his cigarette, walked out to the end of the dock, and watched the lights of the shrimp boat maneuver up the creek.. It had been eight hours since the most notorious neo-nazi in North America had escaped from prison. In another 6 hours, the shrimp boat would take him to the oil rig where he’d catch a seaplane to Belize. During the year he’d been in prison, the plan had been proceeding according to schedule. The Brotherhood of White Might would soon reclaim the treasures of the fatherland. With that in place they’d have all they needed to overthrow the U.S.
CZ
NoOneofConsequence
First Post
alsih2o said:nooc, good to have you back
Why thank you. I thought I was going to be too late, now it looks like there may not be too many entrants overall. I hope we manage this - I enjoyed my first tilt at modern Ceramic DM.
Similar Threads
AD6_gamerati_skyscraper
Recent & Upcoming Releases
-
April 16 2024 -
May 31 2024 -
June 3 2024 -
June 4 2024 -
June 18 2024 -
July 16 2024 -
September 17 2024 -
October 1 2024 -
November 12 2024 -
February 18 2025
