Ancient Wisdom (Modern Dark Supernatural)

[Captain Claymore]

Ancient Wisdom is the newest campaign our group is involved in. I am the Chronicler (GM) in this game and we're using the Witchcraft (Unisystem) rules. For those of you who are familiar with my other "creative" effort on these boards, Elorah Winters Chronicles - World of Twilight, you will no doubt have realized that my postings are less than regular at times. What can I say? When my muse says jump, I say "for how long?"

As I am the GM this time, I have more knowledge of the story. On top of that we are experimenting with a new style of play. Here's the basic info on the style...

DIRECTOR'S RPG
Players watch/participate in scenes sometimes using other characters as well as their own. The best way I can describe what I'm trying for is to reference the movie format. Not every scene in a good movie includes the main character. Some scenes show what the antagonist is up to. Others build suspense by hinting at what the protagonist will face during the session.

In any scene where your character is present, you will be playing your own character. In other scenes you may take the roll of the villain's henchman, or play the part of the unsuspecting victim. In some scenes you may simply "watch" as a popcorn munching observer.

Obviously using this style of play, it is very important that player knowledge and character knowledge remain separate. The player will know things that the character may be unaware of - things that might even be extremely detrimental to said character. Steering the story line to improve the plot will be allowed and even rewarded. Blatantly avoiding danger or profiting from director's info will not be allowed.

 

[Captain Claymore]

The Setting

NORTHPORT

Northport is a thriving city situated on the pacific coast, northwest of Olympia, Washington. Sea trade and the fishing industry gave the city it's humble beginnings and still play an important part in it's modern successes. Nevertheless, it's population of 122,000 have diversified and the cities economy now relies on technology, manufacturing, education and tourism in equal proportion. Northport has fine parks and museums, a moderately ranked college, is the headquarters of several national and international corporations and was ranked fourth best city in Washington in 1985.

These are things you will find mentioned on the cities official website. What you won't find there is any note on the supernatural activity centered around the city. No mention will be made of the unusually high missing persons ratings, unexplained deaths or bizarre crimes. Neither will there be statistics on the rapid increase in cult activities. No, to find such information you must talk to the people of Northport, and even then most citizens will be ignorant of the truth. To really get the scoop, you must go to the gifted of Northport, those people who know the truth, or at least pieces of the truth.

No one is certain what caused the surge in magic that has made Northport special. It has happened elsewhere in the world to be sure, in some places more than others. Beginning in the 1980's Northport became one of these magical nexuses. The population of gifted began increasing, both through birth, manifestation and immigration. The walls between realities have thinned. Spirits are prone to restless activities. Lycanthrope prowl the wilderness of forest and street. Vampires and worse creatures lurk in shadow, and sorcerers and saints wield magical powers for good and evil. This could be the reason Bill Gates chose Seattle over Northport when looking for a home.

This place is special and you may count yourself warned should you choose to call it home. Walk carefully and with both eyes open. Oh, and don't forget your umbrella, it rains a lot.

Archy Kennedy, (Seeker's council Scholar)

The average citizen in this setting will not know that the supernatural exists. Through a mixture of secretiveness on the part of the gifted and the mundane's propensity to rationalize, they either fail to see past the deception or turn a magical incident into a strange but explainable one. This is not to say that there are not "mundane" organizations and individuals aware of what's going on, only that 'the cat isn't out of the bag' when it comes to the general public. With the steadily increasing amount of gifted activity, it's anyone's guess exactly how long the cat will remain IN the bag.

 

[Captain Claymore]

"The Container"

3:35PM, Sunday, April 23rd
North Olympic National Park, Washington

The afternoon sun shone down on a dirt access road with a lightly treed meadow off to one side and a thicker forested hill to the other. Distant thunder warned of a storm headed this direction. A state patrol car pulled up next to a green and white, state park truck on the side of the road. Two officers stepped out into the cold breeze and joined two park rangers at the front of their vehicle.

The taller, older, male officer shook hands with the grey haired ranger, "Gentlemen, I'm Officer Turner and this is my partner Officer Crawford." The younger female officer nodded in greeting. Officer Turner looked to be in his mid thirties or a fit, early forties. he had short cropped, dark hair and wore the air of a man used to authority. By contrast Crawford looked newer to the job. The kind of new that made the uniform look less than comfortable. Even if she wasn't obviously a lot younger, it would have been easy to see who was training who.

The older of the two rangers gave a tight lipped smile, "I'm Dan Riley and this is Carlos Rodrigez." The younger hispanic man leaned forward and shook hands as well. Riley was all grey hair and weathered skin. Despite obviously being the oldest of the present company, he was light on his feet and full of vitality. A six o'clock shadow of grey facial hair and a beat up baseball cap with the North Olympic National Park logo on it placed him firmly in the good ol' boy class. Like Officer Crawford, Rodrigez was obviously the recruit. Clean shaven and a great deal less aged, he at least seemed to have a more comfortable uniform.

Officer Turner continued, "It was a hell of drive out here so I hope this is more than just a squatter." He ran his hands through his own lightly greying hair as he took in the scenery.

Riley pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and unfolded it. "No sir, we've got two separate accounts by local hikers. The first was a out-of-state couple who reported hearing terrible screaming from the cabin." He looked down at the piece of paper. "... it was as if someone were being tortured to death... That was this morning at about eleven. Then about noon a local fellow swore he saw a dead woman hanging from a tree not far from the cabin." He handed the paper to the officer as Carlos looked uncomfortable. "That's when you were called. The fellow that lives in the cabin is a man named Delbert Johnson. He's leasing the cabin through the summer and has a wife and kids staying with him. I've talked with him once or twice during my rounds and he seems like a nice enough guy."

Officer Turner looked over the very unofficial report and handed it to his partner. They had already run the name on the way up here and it had come up clean. "Do any of you have any training with firearms?"

Carlos professed to only having used guns for hunting. Riley said, "I did some time in Nam."

Officer Turner thought for moment before giving instructions. "Alright, Mr. Riley, I'll want you to circle wide around the back of the cabin and watch to make sure no one bolts. Mr. Rodrigez, you go with him and spread out a bit, but keep Mr. Riley in sight. No side-arms out of the holster unless you're in immediate danger. We still don't know what the situation is and there might be a reasonable explanation for everything." He looked at the barely discernible road leading into the forest and then at his cruiser. "Can we drive the cruiser up there?"

Riley pondered the road, "You'd be better off in my truck. For that matter we'd all be better off until we get closer to the cabin. It's about two miles back, and this road ain't so good in spots."

At that point they all turned to see a blue sedan coming up the main road. It pulled in behind the patrol cruiser and everybody watched as a sharply dressed younger man stepped out and walked towards them. He had brown hair, green eyes and a clean shaven, angular face. He wore an expensive looking leather coat over a grey, designer suit, white shirt and black tie. His black dress shoes were about as shiny as Officer Turner's badge. Turner noticed the government plates and the sleight bulge under the man's left arm. That combined with the "official" look on the younger man's face cinched it. The Bureau was here and he was about to be outranked.

___________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________

(One and a half hours earlier on the same day.)
Buck Rogers Coffee House, Downtown Northport.

The same sharply dressed young man was sitting at a window table enjoying a mocha cappuccino while reading one of his favorite local rags, a "newsletter" called the X-paper. He was busy being mildly amused by a story on the recent disappearance of a fishing boat from Northport harbor. Apparently there had been numerous reports of sea monster sightings in the area where the boat went missing. One old fisherman who chose to remain unnamed, go figure that, told of a close encounter with the beast. According to his report the beast had one large eye and might have...

"Da Da Daaa Da Da Dummmm..."

The theme song to the Godfather sang out it's tinny announcement from the man's coat pocket. He briefly tried to continue reading before realizing what that particular ring tone meant and hastily reached for his phone. He quickly composed himself before flipping it open and placing it to his ear with a monotone. "Yes."

A man with a similarly even voice spoke on the other end, "Duty calls." a short pause, "Are you available?"

Even shorter pause, really just enough to be considered a pause, "Of course."

"... Nice to hear. Pay for your drink and drive towards North Olympic National Park. You've got a long drive ahead of you and I want you there quickly. I'll explain while your driving."

He tossed the paper down on the table while quickly scanning the room, "I already paid for my drink, or didn't you notice?" He turned and headed out the door. The grey street was packed with cars and pedestrians hurrying back to their cubicles from lunch. he shouldered into his coat, switched the phone to his left ear and walked towards his blue sedan as the man continued his instructions.

"Take Highway 14 to the park's west entrance. From there you're looking for a park road... 313. It'll be on your left about 2 miles in. Once on that road look for a ranger's vehicle and a state patrol car. Unless both are there... keep driving, you'll need them both. Turn around and head back to the turnoff and wait till the patrol car arrives. Once they're both there, wait a few minutes and then join them."

He was negotiating downtown traffic on his way to the freeway now. "How will they feel about me... "joining" them?"

"The local police are never comfortable with the FBI..."

He smirked to himself, "But it's federal land and I, being the FBI agent that I am, have a great reason right?"

Another pause, "Yes... you do. A man named Delbert Johnson has acquired something he shouldn't have. He's living in the cabin you're headed towards. Tell the police whatever you want, but make sure you accompany them and help them in dealing with whatever they find. Number one priority is to retrieve the container."

"Container?"

"We're not sure of it's exact nature, but it will probably be small enough to carry easily. You'll know it by it's essence signature. Keep your shields up when handling it, close it if it's open and bring it to this address... 4156 34th Street. Got all that?"

"Yes sir."

"Click."

"Pleasure talking to you too, we'll have lunch some time."

The drive was boring, but the traffic was light heading out of the city. As luck would have it, he spotted the state patrol car just as it was turning into the park entrance. He waited a few minutes and then followed. The side road was right where it was supposed to be.

As he turned onto the uneven dirt road he began to concentrate. Essence gathered and he quickly made the necessary gestures and spoke the invocation. Both license plates on his car subtly altered their appearance. The numbers and letters grew fuzzy and rearranged themselves. Small letters spelling out "U.S. Government" appeared in place of the the standard "Washington" that had been there. Next he flipped open his wallet on the seat beside him. In the little sleeve where his license was, a faded but official looking FBI identification card appeared. Lastly a shiny gold badge suddenly came into being at his belt. He checked his hair in the rearview mirror and had to make a quick correction on the steering before he veered off the road.

"Never cast and drive," he chuckled at his own stupid joke.

The patrol car and park truck came into view around the next bend. As he eased his very non-off road car in behind the cruiser he gathered a bit more essence and worked a touch more magic, this time augmenting his aura to exude confidence and authority. The illusory plates, badge and ID would probably be more than sufficient, but the aura would keep any of them from even thinking to check authenticity. Now he just had to move things along before his illusions began to fade. Whatever waited up at the cabin would probably require more magic, and he couldn't really afford to expend more of himself before then.

As he stepped out of the car he felt it right away. The distance was too far to get specifics, but there was a large collection of essence from the deeper woods to the right of the road. A rough set of wheel ruts led off into the trees nearby. It was a hunch, but he guessed the cabin was down that road.

"Officers, gentlemen, who's in charge here?" Mitchell was almost in awe of himself, they didn't have a chance.

Turner met his eyes and said, "I'm guessing you are now." The others seemed willing to let him do the talking.

His face remained stern, "That's correct officer..." He looked at Turner's ID pin, "... Turner. I am now in charge." He flipped open his wallet while hitching his coat to the side to show the "badge". He made sure to keep the ID open until they stopped looking. "I'm Agent Mitchell. Delbert Johnson is wanted in a federal matter." he glanced up the narrow road, "Has anyone gone up already?"

Officer Turner shook his head, "No, we just arrived and we were discussing how best to approach. Can you tell us anything about the suspect?"

"Mitchell's" thoughts raced, "I'm not at liberty to say much... What did you're computers tell you?" He put an extra dose of authority into his voice as he asked the question.

It seemed to work as Turner answered without a trace of suspicion, "He's got a clean record, like I'm sure you already know. What I want to know is if he's dangerous?"

Mitchell looked at Officer Crawford and the apprehension was clear on her face. Something about this call was making her nervous. The younger, hispanic ranger was also showing signs of stress. It might have been the essence exuding from the cabin, but he didn't think a mundane would be feeling it from so far. "I don't know what Mr. Johnson is involved in up at that cabin, but if it was peaceful, would the park service have called the state troopers in?" He grimaced, "Would I be here?"

After that they seemed to except that Agent Mitchell had no secrets he was going to reveal. Officer Turner filled him in on their plan and he agreed with it, stating that he would take a flanking position once at the cabin. Turner grabbed the shotgun from the cruiser, they all piled into the blazer and Riley drove up the road and into the shadow of the trees. "U.S. Government" morphed back into "Washington" as thundered boomed a little closer this time.

___________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________

Dan Riley crouched low behind a twelve inch tree trunk, the smell of pine sap strong in his nose. About fifteen feet away Carlos was in a similar position behind his own tree. There was a little too much white showing in the young man's eyes and his hand kept straying towards the nine millimeter at his hip. Riley made a note to keep a close eye on Mr. Rodrigez. They were both about fifty feet from the backside of Delbert Johnson's cabin, having moved quietly into position just a few moments ago. He could just make out a four foot high stack of cut firewood and a low window on the back wall of the cabin. There was no back door.
______

Agent Mitchell had parted ways with Officers Turner and Crawford as they neared the cabin. Several large, fallen trees lay across the path leading up to the front door. A rusty axe was buried in one of the trees. As the two state troopers approached the front door, Mitchell had circled around the right side and crouched down in the brush with his .45 out. he could clearly see a strange essence hanging like a heavy aura about the cabin. Gathering a bit more essence he called forth a protective shield against both physical and magical damage. A slightly transparent suit of magical body armor encased his torso. He watched as Officer Turner stepped up onto the low porch.
______

As Turner stepped up he could clearly see a length of rope and a wide, dark red stain on the pine boards. He quickly pumped a shell into the shotgun he had brought from the cruiser and stepped up to the side of the front door. Officer Crawford saw the rope and stain next. She drew her nine millimeter and aimed it at the door from about twenty feet back.

Turner made sure that his partner was ready before knocking twice on the door and shouting, "Mr. Johnson, this is the State Police!"

The leaves in the trees rustled as the wind picked up momentarily. A deep, loud, angry voice answered back from within, "GO AWAY! We don't wish ta be dishturbed!"

Turner exchanged a glance with Crawford. Despite the slurring of words, there was something else odd about Mr. Johnson's voice. It was unnaturally deep. He considered the possibility that the suspect might be on drugs of some sort.
______

Riley heard the exchange well enough from his own position and the hairs on his neck prickled. he looked over to find Carlos had pulled his weapon and was visibly shaking. He began to motion to Carlos to put his gun away but then realized he'd rather join him in the action. His own grip was a little moist on his .357 as he watched the window.
______

Mitchell was watching the side window that he guessed looked in on the bedroom. The essence seeping from the cabin was making his pulse race slightly. he could just make out the two park rangers crouching in the brush behind the cabin. If the situation was effecting him this way, he was guessing the others were highly on edge by now. A small face appeared at the window. It was a little boy with blonde hair. He seemed to be scanning the brush and Mitchell had to stop himself from ducking. Movement would be worse than his slightly exposed position while the child was actively searching.
______

Officer Turner steadied his nerve and called out again, "Mr. Johnson I need you to come outside right now!"

"I shaid GO AWAY! Yer Dishturbing ush!"

Turner reached forward and slowly rotated the handle on the door. It wasn't locked and he pushed it inward while sweeping the room with his shotgun. The living area was approximately twenty feet by forty feet. A futon couch, small table with four chairs and a wood burning stove cramped up the walking space. A door in the right wall looked to lead to a bedroom. He could see partially into the left door and the kitchen beyond. The only light came from the now open front door, the kitchen window, and the sliver of illumination that made it's way through the heavy drapes on the large window next to the door.
______

Riley motioned for Carlos to stay put and started to duck-walk towards the back of the cabin. He chanced a whisper before leaving his position, "Don't you point that thing in my direction." He was headed for the window as Carlos nodded.
______

Mitchell watched the window on his side slide up and the little boy hop nimbly to the sill and drop down to the ground. He thought the move to be oddly fluid and graceful for a boy of four or five years old. He edged closer through the brush. The sound of his passage effectively hidden by the steadily increasing wind in the trees overhead. Still, he had taken no more than five or six steps when the boy's head swung around. As their eyes locked the little boy's visage smoothly morphed into a hideous, tooth filled grin and then back again. The thing that was obviously more than a child whispered something in an unfamiliar tongue and began to lope towards him in a completely unchildlike fashion.
______

Officer Crawford had now taken up a cover position at the front door threshold as Turner sidestepped across the left side of the living room. he could hear muffled crunching sounds coming from the bedroom. As he neared the kitchen he spotted a smear of blood on the wall and floor. "Mr. Johnson, this is your last chance to come out. Put your hands where I can see them and step out of the room!"

There was movement at the bedroom door as Turner began to squeeze the trigger of his shotgun. A little girl of maybe ten years of age stepped out with a tear streaked face. His finger relaxed as his heart skipped a beat. What the hell was the problem with him? Had Crawford seen how close he came to blowing away a little girl? He looked quickly at her and then back at the child.

The girl didn't step away from the bedroom door as she said in a tear choked voice, "Daddy says to go away. He don't want company right now and you're making him angry." Before either of the officers could reply she had stepped back into the darkened room and out of sight.

'!' Turner thought to himself. 'If he's got kids in there this could get really bad. Where's Agent Mitchell anyway?' He stood irresolute with shotgun pointing towards the floor.
______

Outside Riley had just made his way to the wood pile. He edged to a position under the window and glanced to make sure Carlos was still in place. His aged back protested somewhat at all the crouching. Slowly he turned and eased upward, his leg muscles straining as he peered into the window.

At first it was too dark to make out anything. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. When they did, his first thought was one of confusion. Something sat on a double bed in the middle of the small room, bringing up the mattress edges with it's weight. A long, distorted line of bare flesh with a row of knobby bumps was all there was. As his mind pieced together the image his jaw dropped and he stifled a scream. It was a back. A monstrous back and two massive, muscle bound shoulders. Unable to turn away or even close his eyes, he watched in stupefied horror as the thing turned towards the door and revealed more of it's naked self.

One shoulder was slightly bigger than the other and it's head seemed to jut from the front of the torso more than from the top. It's arms were ape-like and ended in thick-wristed hands the size of basketballs. In one hand, the thing held a shredded human leg, the femur bone glistening whitely. It raised the bloody appendage to it's razor toothed mouth and Riley saw that the thing had no nose or ears and a heavy brow that hid it's eyes in shadow. He was dimly aware of a second, smaller creature perched atop a dresser next to the door. If either had looked towards the window he would not have been able to move or defend himself in any way. Tears formed and ran unstopped down his face.
______

As the little boy/monster raced towards him, Mitchell summoned the essence necessary to attack. "A fíriel! manen Usinta ráca indonya!" A jet of pulsating blue fire raced from his outstretched left hand towards the charging creature. It was clear the creature saw the blast, erasing any last doubt that what he faced was a mundane child. The creature jumped high into the air in an attempt to dodge the soulfire but the energy clipped it's outstretched leg, cart-wheeling it's small body. The blue fire raced up it's torso quicker than the eye could follow, engulfing the thing and causing it to cry out in high pitched screams of agony. It hit the ground and writhed at Mitchell's feet, alternately looking like a small boy then a hideous, deformed creature.
______

'Crap! I'm losing it!' thought Turner as he took a step backward to better scan the kitchen. At that point he nearly did lose it. A female torso with only a head lay in a thick pool of arterial blood in the center of the tile floor. Her hair was a slightly darker blonde than the little girls. Bloody rags that might have been a blue blouse and skirt lay crumpled on the counter. The entire kitchen was splattered with tiny drops of blood from floor to ceiling. Turner felt a wave of nausea sweep through him and had to brace one hand against the door jam. In barely more than a strained whisper he said, "Crawford... call it in, get back up."

Crawford kept her gun trained on the bedroom doorway. She could tell something had just changed by her partner's face. her heart sped up as she reached for her com unit at her shoulder, "This is 4320 requesting back up. Repeat, we need backup immediat..."

There was a blur of movement from the bedroom doorway. Crawford saw blonde hair and hesitated a moment. Turner just started to bring up his shotgun as the creature that had been a little girl bounced off the floor and hurtled into his face, sharp teeth clacking together mere inches from his throat. Somehow he managed to interpose the shotgun crosswise between himself and the hissing thing and push it off and to the ground. Crawford screamed and took a panicky shot that embedded itself into the log eight inches above her partners head. Both officers froze as the goblinoid girl scuttled away from Turner and hopped nimbly onto the futon.

From the bedroom came the deep voice, "NO PEASH, NO PEASH, MUST HAVE PEASH, AAARRRGHHHH!
______

Riley's limbs finally thawed as the grotesque giant levered it's massive frame up from the bed. Without really thinking he scrambled around the side of the cabin, first on all fours and then in a low run. He was dimly aware that he was whispering, "...who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name..." Forget the fact that he hadn't seen the inside of a church in thirty years.

As he came around the corner he saw Agent Mitchell put a round into something that was squirming and screaming in the brush at the FBI agent's feet. he had to blink and wipe away the tears to be sure he really saw what he thought he saw. Some sort of military body armor made of glowing material was strapped onto Mitchell's body, arms and legs. he closed his eyes tight and shook his head as if to clear it, his gun clenched deathly tight in his hand. None of this could be ing real!"

The cabin shuttered and the bedroom wall nearest Riley and Mitchell cracked and splintered. One of the fifteen inch logs that made up the wall was torn inwards causing the logs above it to collapse down, knocking the window frame free and shattering glass. This was enough to bring Riley back into action, as he stumbled away from the building and towards the strangely glowing FBI agent. Mitchell whispered, "Vantela tier, pella firima" and the mystic armor seemed to gain more solidity as he jogged towards the porch. From behind the cabin Carlos kept screaming, "Dan, are you alright?!, Dan, are you ALRIGHT?!"

Dan Riley wasn't answering.
______

Both Turner and Crawford aimed and fired at the girl/monster on the futon right after the splintering wall gave way in the bedroom. With amazing speed it jumped high and twisted away from both shotgun blast and pistol shot. The buckshot made a loud PINGING as it ricocheted off the wood stove. Turner was pumping another shell into the chamber as two things happened simultaneously. The goblin girl again launched itself at his face and the giant thing that used to be Delbert Johnson squeezed it's bulk through the narrow bedroom door, dragging a splinter-ended log in it's meaty fist.

"HOLYSHITHOLYSHITHOLYSHIT!" Crawford went nuts and tripped over the door lintel backwards, landing hard on her backside. This only stopped her for as long as it took to twist and crawl like a very fast infant off the porch.

Turner was whimpering too, although he was able to bring his shotgun up and shoot with wild eyes. Unfortunately for him, he missed the giant thing and instead put a hole in the ceiling boards that rained material down on it's head. It's beady eyes focused on him and he began to inch towards the front door while pumping another round.

So intent was his focus on the giant that he almost lost his throat to the smaller creature. Again he used the shotgun to deflect the attack, but this time he felt a searing pain under his jaw and up to his ear as the goblin's talons dug into the flesh of his neck. Blood sprayed from the wound as the creature bounced from his chest and clung to the wall like a monkey. Turner clutched his throat with one hand while aiming with the other. He was about to squeeze the trigger when his world turned upside down.

The giant's makeshift club smashed into his shoulder and torso with terrific force. He felt bones snap as his body spun and slammed into the wall, coming to rest on it's side. All was grey and red as his vision swam. The girl-goblin screeched with laughter and advanced.
______

Riley was now operating purely on adrenaline. His mind shut out everything but the feel of the gun in his hand and the action taking place in the cabin. He watched Officer Crawford half crawl, half fall off the porch, babbling incoherently. There was a horrible tittering laughter coming from inside and no sign of Officer Turner. Maybe it was the sight of a woman in distress or maybe he was just crazy, but he was up on the porch before he realized it, smashing out the living room window with the butt of his desert eagle. Mitchell was right behind him .45 leveled at the front door.

Both men were nearly knocked off the porch as the giant kicked the front door off it's hinges and emerged from the cabin, bellowing and growling with fury, log raised high. It was completely naked and quite hairy. Red tinged spittle flew from it's mouth as it swung it's head wildly from side to side.
______

Crawford had somehow kept hold of her gun while scrambling away. She turned to judge the distance between herself and that thing, just in time to see her partner cartwheel into the wall and slump to the floor. That proved enough to snap her out of her blind panic. As the Giant emerged from the cabin, she got to her knees and steadied her shaking wrist for a shot. The loud report of a 9mm rang out twice. Two holes appeared in the creature's torso and it's head swung in her direction. The panic started to reassert itself as the giant leapt off the porch and towards her with surprising dexterity.

Some of the deck boards buckled under the weight of the giant. Riley had a hard time keeping his feet and fell hard into the outer wall of the cabin. Using the wall to steady himself he raised his gun and fired into the back of the leaping creature. A much larger hole appeared in it's shoulder, causing it's arm to spasm and it's powerful swing to go over the head of Officer Crawford.

She rolled and fired two more shots from a prone position, each entering the giant's stomach and causing it to shudder. With five gunshot wounds that would have been deadly to a human, the beast raised it's club high into the air, intent on crushing Officer Crawford into a bloody pulp.

"CRACK, CRACK!" Twice more gunshots rang out. The giant's head snapped to the right with each shot and blood and flesh spit out from the left. Mitchell, just five feet behind the giant, lowered his .45 as the creature fell hard across the legs of Officer Crawford. He spared a quick, reassuring smile before loping up to the porch and into the cabin.

Just inside the door, Turner was still conscious, and desperately resisting the smaller creature's attempts to rip out his throat. His left arm was all but useless and it was just a matter of moments before the creature won. Suddenly it's weight was gone and his head was filled with a horrible ringing as Mitchell fired two point blank shots. The goblin-thing skidded to a rest at the door to the kitchen, half of it's head no more than a red smear.

Somewhere outside Carlos Rodrigez' shrill screams could be heard dwindling into the forest.

___________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________

While Officer Crawford and Riley tended to Turner's extensive injuries on the porch, Mitchell searched the cabin. He spent some time tearing apart the bedroom before finding what he sought in the kitchen sink. It was a painted bronze pyramid about nine inches tall. The top six inches comprised the lid and was laying next to the base in the bloody sink. The essence was thickest around the container. It flowed around his shields as if seeking a crack by which to enter. He gently lifted the lid and fitted it back into place. He ran water from the tap and cleaned the blood from it's surface before carefully wrapping it in a towel from the cupboard.

Stepping out onto the porch, he took a moment to appreciate the gentle rain that had begun to fall. He knelt next to Riley and looked at Turner, "Will he make it?"

Officer Crawford didn't look up from her work, "Life Flight's on it's way. We've done what we can for him, but there may be internal injuries."

Both Crawford and Riley had the look of functioning shock victims with pasty complexions and shaking hands. Neither of them even glanced at the towel wrapped package.

He stood up and walked down to the the once-giant Delbert Johnson. Sometime during the search of the cabin, Mr. Johnson had transformed back to his normal form. The wounds to his head made his features unrecognizable. He looked very pathetic lying naked in the dirt.

"I'm gonna go see if I can find our friend Mr. Rodrigez."

They didn't even look up.

With the container tucked under his arm, "Agent Mitchell" walked down the road towards his car. He had a drop off to make downtown, and traffic this time of night could be dangerous.

________________________________

 

[Captain Claymore]

In Need of a Fix

ANCIENT WISDOM
(Witchcraft - Northport Campaign)

"In Need of a Fix"

1:35AM, Saturday, May 7th.
Downtown Northport, Eclipse Nightclub.

Strobe lights.

Sweat mixed with the slight aroma of alcohol.

The bass causes her teeth to vibrate when she tries to close her mouth. Hundreds of bodies are packed tight and writhing to the in-house DJ's special euro-blend. She's dancing with a tall, dark haired man wearing a black vest and no shirt underneath. Next is a blonde woman in a pink tank-top, then a long haired teenage boy with studs through his nose and tongue. Nothing more than flashes through a drug haze. A haze that's unfortunately starting to lift. Suddenly she's at the edge of the human sea with an unobstructed line to the bar. She breaks free of the mass and makes her way there.
_________________________________

While waiting for the bartender she studied herself in the mirror. Straight, long, white-blonde hair, red lipstick and dark eyeliner. Her fair skin showed no trace of the tan she got last summer. She was nineteen years old last month but the silk dress and silver necklace she wore made her look twenty-five. Not that the establishment was too concerned with checking ID's.

"Hey Melissa, are you danced out yet?" In the mirror she saw a young, pretty, brown haired woman slightly shorter than her own five foot eight inches step up behind her and drape an arm over her shoulder. Her best friend and roommate, Misty - who loved the club scene somewhat less than her - and was always the first ready to call it a night.

She smiled and leaned her head closer, "I'm ok with going home if..." She whispered the next, "... we make a little stop on the way there."

Misty smiled, then groaned, "If by little stop, you mean to the 'pharmacy'... Mel, do you realize what the neighborhood around there is like this time of night!?"

Melissa put her arm around her friend, "Oh come on, it's not THAT bad, and besides, we'll drive there. It's just a quick stop and we'll go home. I promise." She crossed her heart with her finger.

"I guess I should be thrilled that you're willing to go home this early in the first place." Misty looked her friend in the eyes, "Fine, you win, but I'm not getting out the car!"

Melissa grinned. The bartender didn't look to be acknowledging them anytime soon so the two girls gave up and wound their way towards the entrance.
_________________________________

Twenty minutes later Misty was cursing her best friend as they sat side-by-side in her red, Nissan Acura. "We'll driiive there, just a quick stop!" she mimicked Melissa's words from earlier.

They were parked on the side of the road in a rundown neighborhood. The headlights were off and they argued in the dark.

"How was I supposed to know we we're gonna get a flat?!" Melissa yelled. "Am I psychic? Jesus Misty, I'm not exactly thrilled either!"

Misty looked through her windows nervously, "Could you keep it down please. Let's try not to attract attention to the two defenseless women in the nice car."

They were parked on the corner in front of a closed, mechanic's shop under a non-functional street light. The nearest light source was another street light two blocks down. Beside the shop was a bare, dirt lot and then a row of boarded up store fronts. Across the street was what seemed to be a warehouse, though they could see no sign, just a metal garage door and one barred door and window.

"Besides," Melissa said in a quieter voice, "How the was I supposed to know you wouldn't have your cell phone with you? What the hell good is a cell phone if you leave it at home?"

Misty had the grace to look embarrassed.

"Look, John's apartment is like, three blocks that way," she pointed in the direction of the working street light. "He's not exactly a friend, but I'm sure he'd let me use his phone to call a tow truck." She thought a moment and motioned towards the trunk, "Do you still have that baseball bat?"

"Yeah," Misty pouted.

"Good. Let's take it with us and walk to John's. We'll be there in a few minutes." Melissa flashed a reassuring grin.

"You don't even know if that's his real name Mel. How can you be so sure a drug dealer will help us?"

"I'd be damn surprised if that was his real name, but I'm a regular Misty. I've put a lot of money in his pocket. He'll probably just look at it as protecting his interest." She frowned, "I am SO not saying that "John" is Dudley Do Right, but it's a better option than sitting here all night in this ing car." She started to open her door until Misty put a frightened hand on her shoulder.

A homeless person was making his or her way across the mechanic's parking lot pushing an over-filled shopping cart. Upon closer inspection it turned out to be a woman. Her hair was covered in a ragged scarf and she wore a baggy shirt and torn raincoat. It was too dark to make out details but the cart seemed to be full of trash bags. The wheel made a rhythmic squeak as she passed. She had obviously noticed the two girls in the nice car and was unabashedly staring back as she walked on, craning her neck to do so. It wasn't a particularly friendly look.

Melissa spoke first, "I am SO not staying here all night!"

Misty popped the trunk and said, "Get the bat. And just so we're clear, we are ing speed walking right?"

"Right."
_________________________________

Misty insisted on carrying the bat. She held it in a two handed, white knuckle grip as she kept a brisk pace next to her longer legged friend. They crossed the street and hurried towards the illusory safety of the first street light, heels clacking on the cracked pavement. Besides the bag lady, the streets seemed totally deserted. In the distance she could hear the repetitive bark of a dog. It was cold and Melissa kept rubbing at the exposed skin of her arms to fight back the goose-bumps. Neither woman spoke.

They both slowed as an older model, black mustang rounded the corner. Latin rap and a heavy base line blared from the lowered windows. Four hispanic teenagers in gangster attire stared at the two white women as the car slowed. Misty's hands ached as she squeezed the bat. One teen said something to the driver and they all laughed. The car sped up and was gone in a matter of moments.

Melissa whispered, "Let's walk a little faster."

Seconds later Melissa stifled a gasp as they passed the mouth to an alley. Two homeless men huddled near a stack of palettes. One man wore an old army jacket, jeans and a baseball hat. He had long hair and a full, tangled beard. The other was black, tall and skinny. He wore a faded orange ski jacket and a grey ski hat pulled low over his forehead. Both men looked up and caught her eyes before she had time to look away, then she and Misty were passed the alley and both men disappeared from view.

At Melissa's gasp, Misty had just caught a glimpse of the two men as well. "This was so not a good idea Mel. Where the hell are these apartments?"

Melissa's only answer was to take hold of her friend's arm and move faster still.

A couple minutes later they were standing on a corner several blocks further down. Misty was seriously considering using the bat on her roommate. "What do you mean it's not here!? You SAID his apartment was three blocks, we've walked five!"

Melissa bit her lip and hugged her harms close to her body. "Dammit Misty I'm so sorry! I could have sworn we were on the right street. Maybe we should walk back to the car."

Misty was staring with a worried expression over Melissa's shoulder and back the way they had come, "I don't think that's such a great idea Mel..."

Melissa turned and saw the two homeless men stop on the previous block. They stared in the girls direction for a moment before stepping into another alley and out of sight. To walk back the way they had come would mean the girls would have to pass that alley. They looked at one another then simultaneously shook their heads from side to side.

"Let's keep going and look for a phone," said Misty.

With frequent glances behind them they set off once more.

_________________________________

They walked briskly, staring about them with fearful eyes and desperately seeking a better area of town. To Misty it seemed that they had somehow entered a twilight zone episode. Block after block there was nothing but trash filled lots, boarded up windows and featureless stone buildings. The only good news was that they seemed to have lost their itinerant stalkers.

"Holy !" whispered Melissa.

"What!? What!?" Misty gripped Mel's arm painfully.

"The guy with the beard... we JUST passed him in that alley back there." Her hands were shaking.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm ing sure! He was just standing there staring!" Melissa's voice was rising towards a hysterical pitch.

"Calm down!" Misty felt anything but calm herself. She glanced behind them and thankfully saw no sign of the man. "CRAP! Didn't the city put even one god damned phone in this neighborhood?!"

Like an answer to her blasphemous prayers Misty spotted the blue glow of a pay-phone light up ahead. "Mel, look."

Pointing was unnecessary since Melissa had already seen it too. A small gas and grocery store lay ahead. In the welcoming neon glow of a red and yellow 'Quick-mart' sign stood a lone phone box, the cord that once held a phone book dangling empty. The business was obviously closed. No lights were on inside and the barred doors and windows showed no sign of movement within. But it was a phone and Misty had change. Hell, you didn't even need change to dial 911.

As they stepped over the concrete border to the parking lot Misty was already contemplating what she would say to the 911 operator. 'Yes it's an emergency. Yes, we're being stalked by hairy homeless men. Yes we want the cops to come right now!'

They were forty feet from the phone when the hairy homeless man in question stepped around the edge of the store and leaned against the phone box. The girls stopped in the center of the parking lot. He smiled at them and Melissa was struck by how white his teeth seemed, framed as they were by a mass of dirty beard hair.

"Y'all ladies need a hand wit anythang?" The deep voice came from behind them and both girls spun, Misty raising her bat defensively. The tall black man was standing no more than ten feet from them.

Melissa said, "n-n-no thanks, we're good."

He smiled, "I'll bet you is." Unlike the hairy guy, his teeth were in bad condition.

Misty glanced back towards the other man. He was walking casually towards them, smile still in place.

"We're leaving now." Melissa pulled Misty along and they both hurried back to the sidewalk at what could almost be called a jog. The black man paced them, staying just back enough to keep them from running. The hairy one just stopped and watched as they crossed the street and disappeared around the corner.

"Leave us alone! I Don't want to have to hurt you with this!" Misty brandished the bat as she walked backwards. Melissa's head was bouncing from front to back as she simultaneously tried to watch their pursuer and the sidewalk ahead of her.

She slowed Misty by grabbing her shoulder, pointing ahead of them with her other hand. Misty spared a look and saw the hairy man walking towards them, less than a hundred feet ahead, that same grin in place. Somehow he had gotten ahead of them again. The girls stopped and so did both men at a distance of about ten feet in front and behind.

"This is the point in the play where you scream and run." The bearded man's voice was scratchy. It sent shivers down their spines. With those words he had erased any doubts the girls might have had left that these men didn't mean them harm.

_________________________________

With terrifying quickness his hand flashed forward and grabbed Melissa by the throat. Her scream came out as a gurgle as she flailed in an attempt to escape. Misty cried out as she swung the bat up and around, bringing it crashing with all her strength into the man's lower leg. It bounced off his shin, jarring her arms and bringing a snarl from her target.

"You'll pay for that!" Besides angering him, the blow seemed to have no effect.

Thin but strong, arms enwrapped Misty from behind, pinning the bat to her body and forcing the air from her lungs. The black man's sickening breathe was hot on her neck. She panicked and whipped her head backwards in an attempt to head butt her assailant. Her head bounced against his shoulder and he snickered.

The hairy man spun Melissa around with force and wrapped an arm around her throat. She fought to breathe and dug her nails into the material of his stained jacket. He flexed the muscles in his arm, cutting off the oxygen until she stopped fighting. Stars were forming in her field of vision when he relaxed his grip. She stayed still, just straining to take in air.

"You know what I think?" the bearded man rasped casually.

The black man answered, "Naw what?"

"I think this is too easy." He moved forward until he was right before Misty and her grappler. "I think we need to even up the odds a little... make things more challenging." He reached over her shoulder, caressing her cheek with his hand. A warm splash of liquid hit her exposed neck and ran down her back in slow rivulets. There was no pain and she briefly wondered if that was usual for having your throat slit, then the black man's arms loosened. She heard his body hit the ground and a slow hiss come from his lips. In falling, his coat had caught on her dress and pulled the strap off her left shoulder. Her bra was revealed and she couldn't manage to make her arms work to fix it.

The hairy man said, "Ah ah ah, there'll be time for that later," in his calloused voice. Misty saw unbridled panic in Melissa's eyes and thought that her eyes must look the same.

With a violent shove the man pushed Melissa away and towards the nearby mouth of an alley. She stumbled, barely managing to keep her feet under her. Misty was surprised to realize she still held the bat in her right hand. In desperation she swung it towards his head, every ounce of fear and adrenaline-gained power behind the blow. The impact numbed her arm. She realized that she had squinted her eyes to the point of being closed and quickly opened them. The fingers of his left hand were curled around the bat. He held it a foot from his head. As she stared in disbelief he squeezed. The sound of splintering wood preceded a crack, as he twisted his wrist and the upper eighteen inches of the weapon broke off in his hand.

He smiled, and this time his teeth were sharp and if anything even shinier. "Now... is it time to run?"

Melissa sobbed and stumbled further into the alley. The man stepped towards her, sharp teeth still visible. In a moment of calm thought, she knew that both her and Misty would not survive. Her plan was desperate but she knew it was the only chance one of them had.

"Misty! Run the other way, he can't chase us both!" She bolted down the alley.

Misty was frozen in place, eyes wide and staring. All she could see was sharp teeth and the shattered haft of the bat still clutched in her numb hand. The blood was cooling fast on her neck and back, and the wind was cool on her exposed side. She heard Mel scream to run, but she couldn't even move. She watched as the monster gave her the once over before jogging off after her friend.

He whispered, "I'll be right back," as he passed her.

_________________________________

Melissa spared no more thoughts for her friend's welfare. All of her bodily resources were now focused on negotiating the dark alley at a run. She slammed into a trash can, sending it's noxious contents across the ground before her. Casting a glance over her shoulder, she was horrified to find that the bearded monster had chosen her to pursue.

"Lovely plan Mel," she whispered to herself. Though the man was twenty yards or more behind her, she heard him laugh, as if he had heard her.

Knowing it was hopeless, she ran faster.

She turned off the alley pavement and crossed a bare lot, scattered with broken bits of cement and broken glass. She cut through a narrow corridor between two grey buildings. The darkness was almost complete at times and once she slammed her knee hard on an unseen object, bringing tears to her eyes and an involuntary moan. His laughter floated up from somewhere close behind her.

She was tiring and she hadn't lost him. She was hopelessly lost and he probably knew exactly where he was going. Stumbling blindly around the corner she barreled into something and came crashing down on top of it. The clash of metal on metal was loud and something gave a muffled curse as she came to rest in a pile of smelly garbage bags. When she looked up she was surprised to see the bag lady from earlier in the evening, grumbling to herself in incomplete words and levering herself up from where she had fallen.

Melissa sprang to her feet with new-found energy. "Oh my god oh my god, thank you thank you pleaseyouhavetohelpme?" She whined and clung to the plump woman's dirty overcoat.

The lady shrugged her off and continued to grumble as she set to righting her capsized grocery cart.

"You don't understand!" Melissa pleaded, "There's a man - no a monster, and he's after me! Please you've got to help me, hide me, PLEASE!"

Once more Melissa was pushed away by the old lady, who now fretted over her garbage bags, placing them one by one, back into the cart. She wiped the sweat from her face and looked down the dark alley, searching for signs of the monster. The old woman had now finished loading her cart and swiveled it away with a squeak of wheels. She was still grumbling as she started off around the corner. Melissa took a shuttering breath, cursed and started running once more, praying that the old lady might at least slow down her attacker.

Two turns and one empty street later she leaned wearily against the wall of a boarded up store front. After several ragged breaths she looked up and around for her pursuer. There was no sign of him or the black man... no wait, the black man was dead. She watched the monster rip his throat open. Suddenly she was having trouble catching her breath again. She pressed her back against the cool bricks and wiped the sweat from her brow, eyes desperately searching the street.

"click... click... click."

The quiet, rhythmic sound of two hard surfaces lightly tapping together.

She stopped breathing and pushed herself off of the now cold bricks, spinning around, trying to place the source of the noise. It was like heels on sidewalk, or nails on glass.

"click... click... click."

No matter which way she turned it sounded like it was right next to her. She stopped spinning. In dawning horror she realized there was only one way she hadn't looked. Slowly, willing herself to be wrong, her head tilted backward, eyes straining upward.

Inky darkness descended like a curtain from the brick wall above. From the edges of the dark mass were writhing tentacles of corpse white flesh, tipped with wickedly hooked, ebon claws. She only got glimpses of the appendages as they emerged and sank into the thing's dark center. It was ten feet above her when she finally took the in air to scream.

_________________________________

Misty was ten feet from the pay-phone when she heard Melissa's piercing wail. It only lasted a brief moment before being cut short. The mixed tears and mucus brought forth by mad panic streamed down her face as she dove for the receiver. It had only taken a moment to regain the use of her legs after the monster chased her friend down the dark alley. She had turned to run and fell prone, tripping over the body of the black man. She was up in a flash however and running back towards the phone with energy born of fear.

Her hands were shaking too bad to push the right buttons. She had to pause and collect her wits. Just three important buttons, two in the same place.

*Nine... one... one.*

"...Nine one one, what's the nature of your emergency?" The female voice was calm and authoritative.

"P-pleasehelpus, we wereattacked! My friend isindanger! Two-men! Helpus!" her words were almost unintelligible to the operator.

"Ma'am, please calm down and speak clearly. Are you in immediate danger?"

Misty took a steadying breath, "Yes - I mean no - I mean Melissa is! It followed her - It killed the other man! It's attacking herrightnow!"

"I have your location as 34th street and Williams Ave. Is that correct ma'am?"

"Wh-what? I'm not sure, just a minute..." She squinted her eyes and tried to read the street sign at the corner. She could only see the sign that said 34th Street. "Yes! that's us! Please you've gottohur..." She froze in mid-sentence.

Walking casually across the street came the bearded monster. Even from this distance his toothy grin was painfully obvious.

"Ma'am, is there a problem? Are you in danger?"

"Yes," Misty's mouth moved, though her eyes never strayed from the oncoming menace. "He's coming for me. He's done with Melissa and he's coming for me now." Her voice was surprisingly easy to understand.

"Your attacker is coming towards you? Do I understand you correctly?"

He stepped over the parking lot's concrete border. This somehow broke the spell of calm that had briefly settled over Misty.

"YES! He's coming this WAY! What do I do? What DO I DO?"

There was a two second pause on the other end of the line, "... Ma'am you're going to have to run. Stay on 34th street and the police will be there soon..."

At 'run' the operator was speaking from a swinging receiver. Misty had taken the first of the advice and dashed for the street and back towards her distant car. It was only luck that this complied with the rest of the operator's instructions.

She had run one block and just crossed the second street. She looked back over her shoulder and wasn't surprised to see that he had closed the gap between them. He was twenty feet behind her and moving fast, his body low as he bounded over the pavement. With no hope of outrunning him, she wearily turned, fists raised and prepared to die fighting.

"BWE, BWE, BWEEEE!" The sound of a police siren rang out behind her and then was silent.

The bearded monster paused his forward momentum. Misty heard the screech of breaks engaging followed by doors, and, "GET DOWN ON THE GROUND! KEEP YOUR HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!" Red and blue lights highlighted the monster's human looking face and body.

She didn't know whether the officer meant her too, but she dropped anyway, placing her cheek against the sidewalk while keeping the monster in sight. This meant that she was able to witness the same thing they did, and hear what they probably didn't.

The bearded man smiled - this time not revealing his teeth - and said in a his low gravelly voice, "Your lucky I'm not that hungry girl," before bending his knees as if to kneel and bounding away with inhuman speed.

By the time she heard, "I SAID GET DOWN!" from the officer behind her, the monster had already reached the corner and was disappearing around a fence and into the night.

She lay there with the cool pavement at her cheek and thought of how comfortable it seemed as she watched one of the officer's give chase. It was almost a shame when she was lifted gently by the other policeman and lead towards the cruiser and it's harsh, flashing lights.

_________________________________
_________________________________

Northport Herald, Page A-12.
"College Students attacked by Homeless Assailants."
Two students of Northport College were attacked by homeless men last night in the old downtown area near 34th Street and Williams Blvd. Melissa Parker, 19, was killed by her attacker while attempting to flee. The other woman - whose name is not being revealed at the request of the NPPD and her family - escaped with minor injuries. One of the assailants was killed during the attack, while the other man remains at large. Police are requesting that anyone with information about the crime please call 348-555-8200.
_________________________________

THE END.

 

[Bryon_Soulweaver]

So we an FBI agent thats a sorcerer, and a homeless bum that can shapechange into a hidious monster. Nice.

 

[Captain Claymore]

So we an FBI agent thats a sorcerer, and a homeless bum that can shapechange into a hidious monster. Nice.

Actually, none of the main player characters have been presented yet. "The Container" was many of the players first scenario using the Unisystem rules. Characters had not even been created yet at this point. One player took the part of "Agent Mitchell" while two others took on the roll of Ranger Dan and Officer Turner. This was sort of an introduction to show how combat and magic worked in the system.

In In Need of a Fix, we had two players take the rolls of Misty and Melissa (Better known as, "The Victims". They had great fun playing 'B' movie college girls on the run. After this scenario, we jumped in to two of the main characters storylines, but that has yet to be turned into fiction. I'm hoping to get that done before the game next week. *fingers crossed*.

Both stories have meaning to the larger story. The context just isn't known by the players yet. Except for in the latter case, where they are hunting the "Monster Bum" to paraphrase your description.

Stay tuned...

 

[Captain Claymore]

This story has now become a collaborative effort through a play by post format. I share the writing with my players and spruce it up. These next few pieces introduce the characters. Enjoy.

PART ONE.

8:30AM - Daniel Ericks' Apartment, The Tombs.

Light streamed through the window waking Daniel up well before his alarm went off and he stretched out in bed, watching the ceiling for a few moments before he actually got up, accompanied by a jaw-cracking yawn. Stretching, he listened to the sound of his vertebrae popping before he grabbed a clean towel from the basket by his dresser and headed for the shower.

A nice hot shower later, he was in the kitchen, brewing some tea and listening to the morning news on the radio. After his breakfast was fixed, he took it into the living room and sat on the couch, reading while he ate his cereal and drank his tea. After he was done, he poured out the rest of the milk in the bottle and set it in a little saucer on the window sill for Schrodinger when she decided to come by. Another moment dressing and he was out the door.

He checked his mail on the way down and greeted the apartment building's other tenants with a smile and a kind word before stepping out onto the street. He had the day off today, so he would be running errands during the day and working at the soup kitchen in the early evening.
____________________________________

At around one o'clock, after dropping the electric bill in the mail and getting most of his errands accomplished, Daniel stopped back by his apartment for a quick lunch. Mrs. Simpson - his downstair neighbor, was working on the little patch of grass and flowers by the front steps. She levered her sixty-five year old, plump frame up from where she had been kneeling in the grass, dusting wet dirt from her gloved hands.

"Afternoon Danny. What's new on the street?" Her voice held that song-sweet tone common to nice old black women the world over. "That little ol' cat a' yours was just cryin for you a few minutes ago. I guess she was wantin' more milk and thought you was home." She shook her head in mock consternation, "You'd think you'd have half the strays in the tombs outside your window..." her grey eyebrow arched, "... strange how your little puss is the only one that comes callin'."

The Tombs was the pet name folks of this particular group of neighborhoods used for their community. The term was originally used as a slur - coined by those who were referring to the area's high death rate - but like so many things, over time the name lost it's negative connotation. The people who called the Tombs home, now attached a strange sense of pride to the title - as if their common sufferings had been given a name, and that name drew them together.

"Afternoon Mrs. Simpson, "he smiled brightly at her, bracing his groceries against his shoulder as he stopped to pass the time of day. "Nothing much is new on the street, I suppose. Same old, same old, ya' know. Your flowers are starting to look real nice," he studied them for a moment and then looked back up at her "We'll have a whole garden out in front of here one of these days,"

She beamed, "Awwwe... you know just how to brighten an old lady's day you charmer." looking at her little patch of green amongst the grey, "I gotta get as much color and life into this grey neighborhood as I can Danny. Ain't enough green in the Tombs! That's what I say every year at the council meetin' and every year they say we ain't got the money for parks!" She sighed, "Ah well Danny, we do what we can, we do what we can. Why you standin' round' here talkin' to me? You go upstairs and see what that darn fool cat wants." She smiled a white denture smile and gently pushed him towards the stairs.

He grinned broadly at her before mounting the stairs, "You take it easy, Mrs. Simpson, and you'll outlive us all, I swear," he took the steps two at a time, shifting his groceries so that he could get at his keys when he reached the front door of his apartment. He fumbled with the lock for a moment, like he always did, before opening it up and stepping inside.

As he started to put away his groceries and prepare a thick roast beef sandwich (heavy on the mustard), Daniel looked around the apartment for Schrodinger, finally calling out when he couldn't see her.

"Honey, I'm home!"

Though Daniel didn't yet see the cat, the voice of Catherine Zeta Jones answered in his mind, *I thought that old bat would never give me a chance to open your window.*

Since the day his Bast friend had watched the movie Zoro, her 'voice' of choice had been that of the sultry, dark haired actress whenever they conversed. Even though it was familiar by now, Daniel still remained amused at Schrodinger's choice of mental voices. It made him feel like he was in one of those Hollywood movies - where big name stars do voice-overs for animals.

Daniel noticed his can-opener in the sink and could smell the faint aroma of high priced cat food. It was obvious that Schrodinger had been around long enough to eat. He took a moment to reflect once more on the trouble a cat with Telekinetic type magic could cause.

'Catherine' herself made a personal appearance as Daniel sat down at his couch with sandwich in hand. The calico cat sauntered out of the bedroom and hopped nimbly onto the coffee table - orange eyes following the roast beef as he set the plate down. *I've news you might be interested in Clark...* She continued to follow the sandwich as he brought it to his lips for a bite, *... It seems there is once again trouble in Metropolis.* She loved to razz him about his protective nature. He had learned the hard way that it was best not to acknowledge such remarks.

He also learned the hard way not to set his food back on the plate when she was in the room. He reached down with his free hand to scratch lightly behind her ears and took another bite, washing it down with a bit of soda. "So what's going on?"

For a moment Schrodinger seemed disappointed when Daniel held on to his sandwich, but quickly feigned disinterest and began to lick her paw, *I thought you might have heard already - a couple college girls were attacked last night in the Tombs - one was killed. They're saying it was bums who did it...* She let the last part hang, as if doubting what "they" had concluded.

Splitting off a small portion of the sandwich, Daniel put it down next to her and mulled over the news. "Do you know where it happened?" his tone was concerned, rather than quizzical. Something like this - it could be trouble.

She looked down at the corner of sandwich and then went back to grooming herself, *Way up on 34th street - just off the boardwalk.*

The boardwalk was another local title given to the one-time main thoroughfare of old downtown. The name referred to all the boarded up storefronts that lined the way. Of all the areas within the Tombs, the boardwalk was one of the worst. It was also a good distance from Daniel's "zone" - the area around his apartment that he normally looked after and where his reputation carried some weight. The Tombs was a big place, and one man could only do so much. Still, murder was never a good thing, especially when it was the murder of a West-sider by a local. Daniel guessed that the rousters would be out in force now - making life even tougher for the homeless in the area.

He sighed, finishing off the rest of his sandwich before standing up. "I'll head down there and check things out. Why don't you stay here and reconnoiter?" his voice was light, and it was obvious that he was making a small joke at his friend's expense. Before she could reply, he grabbed his house keys from the table and headed out the door. He could already tell that it was going to be a long day.

===========================================================

 

[ledded]

Very nice Cap, I like the eclectic play style you've presented, it sounds like a ton o' fun.

 

[Captain Claymore]

Thanks Ledded. It takes a little tweaking to make it flow correctly but it's a new way to play for me and so far I like it.

 

[Captain Claymore]

PART TWO.

3:30PM - Country Corner Motel, Outskirts of Northport.

TO: Zoryn Rakov.
FIELD ID: 00323

Assignment Location (as of 04-13-05): Northport, Washington. Permanent field position.

Cover: Editor for RUSSIAN CONNECTION, a weekly Russian-language review of Russia's telecommunications market, one of the country's fastest growing industries. You work from your home and will be paid by Russian Connection, Inc.. Review the newsletter and familiarize yourself with the requirements of the job. The actual editorial work will be done by another operative and sent to you - to in turn be sent to your employer.

MISSION GOALS:
1. Establish residence somewhere near the cities main population center.
2. Establish contact with Intelligence operatives. Your link is Cathleen P. Haul (listed in the phonebook). She will step you through the security procedures and grant access to the new field office - as well as introduce you to the other team members upon arrival.
3. Active and passive surveillance of Supernatural activities within the city. Make regular reports.
4. Establish contacts within the supernatural community without revealing the truths of the organization.
5. On call to coordinate and execute plans of action concerning supernatural incidents. As the sole field agent, this - along with number three, will be your prime mission.
6. Secondary objective: Determine the cause of last field operative's disappearance.

Your position is a tough one. The previous agent, Charles Cooper, stumbled into something that caused his disappearance or death. Whoever or whatever was responsible learned enough about our operations to infiltrate the previous field office, destroy specific files and systematically eliminate the two Intelligence operatives we had stationed in the city. A quick response team was sent in after Cooper failed to report, but no trace was found - either of our initial agents, or the individual or group responsible.

The agents you will be dealing with have all been placed within the last four months. You will basically be starting from scratch. Due to past events we are labeling Northport hostile, which means weekly field reports instead of the standard quarterly schedule. The first team's two initial file transfers had no useful information since operations weren't past the initial setup stage.

Maintain an extremely low profile if at all possible. The subjects responsible for the first breech may be aware of our procedures and protocol. In other words, they may be ready for you.

Good luck.
________________________________________

Rakov blinked and yawned. He had arrived at 05:00 hours this very morning, and had only taken time to review his mission brief before collapsing on top of the covers. Even the name of the motel eluded him as he lay, staring at the ceiling, inevitable afternoon light pouring in around the curtains. The whorls and ridges of plaster grew in size as he neared them, still relaxed. Privacy. Rakov rolled over and looked down at the rumpled bed four feet below. Nothing visible supported him, but from within the realm of his mind, he could project waves of force, precisely and gently if he so chose.

The Underground agent floated down and across the room, letting new liquid force spill up under his torso, to straighten his body. He landed gently in front of the sink. Standing, he flicked on the light and splashed cold water on his face. He felt coarse bristles against his palms. His watch read 15:30 hours. Awake early. I am eager, then, he thought.

His luggage stood in a neat line by the front door of the motel room. One of the medium-size ones floated onto his bed, where it seemed to unzip itself. A leather toiletries kit pushed out from its nest of white, folded socks and sailed into the restroom. Before the compact bag flattened his face, Rakov summoned a pool of force — chi, his old master would say instead — to catch and cushion it.

The telekinetic stared into the mirror as he unpacked the kit. Rakov smiled; he had broken 28 mirrors in his lifetime, 27 of those while practicing his mental powers. He had not even had a good-size mirror these past few years. Nor a coffeemaker, as I'm sure this room has, he made a mental note. The young man looked barely out of his teens. His dark brown mane, shoulder length and wavy, covered his ears. Sinister, rising eyebrows contrasted with his large, gray eyes. Five eight and thin, Rakov's blue flannel, collar-less shirt hugged his ribs. His shirt tucked into gray corduroy slacks. These, in turn, tucked into dark gray cowboy boots.

As his razor flitted swiftly before him at the whims of his mental control, Rakov's high, pale cheeks were revealed. One tiny nick was apparent, but the agent put that down to lack of practice. He stretched his arms and walked over to the coffeemaker. Soon, the percolating sound filled the room as Rakov flipped through the while pages under 'H.' Finding only one Cathleen, he memorized the number and decided to look for some very-late breakfast and a payphone. Somewhere away from this motel.

Soon, Rakov was out the door and starting his ride, a steel-blue '51 Ford pickup. The engine belched loudly. The agent unfolded the plastic map of Northport and chose a direction more towards the center of the city.
_______________________________

Zoryn sat in the corner booth finishing up his Denny's toaster scramble special. He had driven about eight miles into the city along the highway before picking the restaurant as a likely candidate for an afternoon breakfast. As he scraped the last bit of cheese and egg from his plate, he was reaching into his pocket for change to make the call. He paid his tab and made his way to the payphone just outside the restrooms, dropping his change into the slot and dialing the number of his contact.

It rang three times before a woman answered, "Hello." Her voice was pleasant and average.

Rakov smiled as he spoke into the phone, holding the public mouthpiece a careful inch from his mouth, He supposed he was in a good mood from having eaten. "Miz Cathleen Haul?"

When Zoryn said the name, there was a moments pause, followed by a inquisitive, "yes?"

"I'm looking to form a spelunking expedition. I would like to meet and talk about what kind of underground exploring we might get underway. Do you have time now to meet? At a place of your convenience, of course. Though maybe your residence is not ideal for the moment. We might need to go buy some pots and pans anyway, since our Cooper has left us."

The agent stopped his salesman-like tirade of semi-nonsense. He detested telephones. Being raised by an ex-spy tended to color one's opinion. After his accented 'sales pitch' there was an even longer pause. "Go to Buck Rogers Coffee on Stateway and Fourth Street... Five o'clock. After the show we'll talk." The phone clicked.

Zoryn knew 'the show' was a visual ID to verify he was who he said he was. Protocol stated that was usually handled by another field agent, but since he was the sole field agent on sight, it made sense that it would have to be handled by intelligence. He wondered how she would handle it - and whether or not he'd be able to spot her. She would leave some sort of message - assuming they had the right mug-shot. The actual meet up would take place in a less public forum.

The five o'clock time schedule left him only about fifteen minutes to find the coffee house. Not enough time to arrange a proper ambush - should he be the enemy. Scheduling the show at rush hour - when there would likely be a large crowd - also made it difficult for him to ID her. For a non-field agent, she planned well, but then again Intel always planned well. In Zoryn's albeit limited experience he found it was often harder to carry out the plan.

He hung up the receiver and headed out the door to his truck. A quick view of the map and he was on his way.

===========================================================