High Fantasy Modern Storyhour - The Long Road (updated December 7)

[RangerWickett]

Halloween



Robert has a soda. John has a cigarette. Everyone else is drinking. Around them, the club is already hopping this early on a Monday afternoon. The French Quarter is never patient when it comes to celebrating.

Robert leans onto the table and nods to Terry. "What's on your mind?"

Terry looks down into his drink. "I'm worried about the guy in the van who was watching us this morning. I don't know that many spells, but I've been trying to think of which ones I could use to best protect everybody if we got into a fight."

Robert shakes his head in disappointment. He gestures with his soda glass for Terry to take a drink. Terry does, grimacing at the fruity concoction -- some sort of orange and black margarita.

"Now," Robert says, "I was asking, since we're in a club, and there are girls all around, and you're looking to get drunk like a normal person on Halloween, what's on your mind?"

Terry smiles. He glances past Robert, then looks down again and sighs.

Robert casually follows Terry's glance. A few seats down, Belladonna's mouth is curled into a near-smirk as she talks on her phone. From snippets of conversation Robert has heard, he knows that she's talking to a man named Remy, her fiance, who is away in France. At first Robert just feels sorry for Terry, since he's obviously got a thing for a girl who's taken. Then Robert remembers that Terry has actually lost his own girlfriend. It irritates Robert that he can't ignore that piece of information and just act normal.

Still, he tries his best. Within an hour, he has Terry acting as his wingman as he chats up three girls dressed as Catwoman, Harley Quinn, and Poison Ivy.

Meanwhile, John sits in a corner, smoking, reading passages of Scripture carved into the walls of the bar. It leaves him feeling empty, and he ends up wandering the streets near the club, wondering what secret the creature on Gaia had been offering.

Answering his cel phone, Scarpedin downs a shot of tequila, then heads outside so he can actually hear the person on the other line. The sun stings his eyes after being inside for so long.

"Hello? How the hell did you get this number? Whitey?"

"Who?" asks a woman.

"Is this Whitey?" Scarpedin says. "Wait, sh*t, Whitey's not a woman. Who are you?"

"Scarpedin," she says, "this is Serena. Remember me, from the RenFest?"

"Oh," he says. "The elf."

"Yeah," she says. "Who's Whitey?"

Scarpedin laughs. "Whitey's bringing my motorcycle down from New Mexico, is who Whitey is. He's nearly late, too, so he'd better get here soon. What are you up to, girl?"

"I was worried, honestly. You vanished from the store I was in, and then there were those reports of gunshots."

"Nothing can kill me," Scarpedin says. Then he gets suspicious. "Why are you calling me? Are you a man in black?"

Serena laughs. "I was actually wondering if you, y'know, might be around Houston tonight. I wanted to invite you to a Halloween party."

"Naw, man," he says. "Naw, I got my own party, in New Orleans. You can come here if you want, baby."

"Yeah," Serena says. "Okay."

Scarpedin is oblivious to how uncomfortable he's making her.

"So anyway," she says, "it was really cool to hang out with you and all, and I'm glad you're alright. Call me some time if you're in Houston, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Scarpedin says. "Hey . . . are you really an elf?"

Her voice chuckles in response. "Not tonight."

She laughs and hangs up. A minute later, Scarpedin gets a text message, telling him she's going to send him some pictures of herself undressing. Scarpedin just looks at the phone, dumbstruck.

Heading back inside the bar, Scarpedin runs into John, and they go to talk to Belladonna. She looks a little anxious and unhappy, and she tells them they're going to need to get ready for tonight's Halloween party soon. But before they leave, she heads over to Terry and John and interrupts their conversation with the rogues' gallery. Terry excuses himself quickly, but Robert holds up a hand for Belladonna to wait while he gets all three ladies' phone numbers.

Finally, Robert turns to Belladonna.

"Terry," she says, "I need to ask you a favor, and I know you ain't gonna be happy about it."

"Sure," he says. "If I can do it, sure."

"I need you not to go to the party tonight," she says.

"Oh, cold!" Scarpedin says. "Your girl turned you down before you even asked her out. Cold."

"Shut up Scarpedin," Robert says. "Belladonna, do you have a reason you're throwing Terry out? I've been trying very hard to let him enjoy a relatively normal night."

"Well that's about the reason," she says. "I'm sorry, but I have a lot of friends at this party, and my uncle's the one throwing it, and it's too dangerous to have Terry around. That's why I've got to ask you to not come. It's nothing personal, but you don't want to put anyone at risk, do you?"

Terry takes a breath, then nods. "Yeah, I guess not. It's cool."

"Like hell it is," Robert says. "You're just going to leave him alone? You think that's safer, do you?"

John chimes in, "Safer for us."

Belladonna shrugs. "You can stay with him, if you'd like t'. No offense, but I don't know how well some of my father's generation would take to me bringing a black man to their party."

Terry straightens. "Yeah, Belladonna, you should stop talking while I still like you. I won't go to your f*cking party. Damn, I feel like I'm in high school again."

Terry turns and walks to catch up with the three women as they head out the door. Robert watches for a minute, then says, "Good man," then follows him.

"You don't split the party," Scarpedin says. "Terry just split the party."

Belladonna says, "I hope you two boys still come along. You'll have a good time, and I owe you for saving my life."

John heads off without a word. Scarpedin and Belladonna exchange a look, and then she sighs before heading off.

John catches up with Robert right outside the bar.

"Hey," John says. "I'm going to go back to the house."

Robert shakes his head. "No, go to the party. I want someone to keep an eye on crazy 'King Arthur' guy and our psychic."

Robert rolls his eyes at himself. "I can't believe I'm taking this seriously."

"It's not so hard to accept," John says.

"Good," Robert says. "That's why you should be with them. You fit in better. Me, I'm going to be hanging out with my drinking buddy, having a night on the town. You don't drink, right?"

John shakes his head.

"Alright, see? I'll handle this end of things," he drops his voice to a whisper, "and if things go bad, we'll be close to the Bureau. Odds are, Belladonna's right. The people after Terry know by now that he was supposed to go to this party with us. Understand?"

John nods. He and Robert look each other in the eyes for a minute, and then John heads back into the bar. Robert runs to catch up with Catwoman, who actually meowed at him earlier.

Inside the bar, Nathan is oblivious to what the others are up to. He has been working his British accent to its best effect, finding a girl all Gothed up with nowhere to go.

Her name is Amber, and she's genuinely smart and fun to talk to. She's a 24-year-old student at Tulane who dropped out after the hurricane and has been looking for something to do with herself. She doesn't believe him when he says he's psychic, so he offers to tell her future by reading her palm.

He takes off his gloves and holds her hand, staring into her eyes for a moment. To his surprise, she smiles, stands up, and walks away, leaving the bar. He follows her, confused, and sees that the sun has set, and only the moon lights a dark, sleeping New Orleans. Somehow they have found their way to the riverfront, and what few sounds there are of partying come from far away.

Nathan calls to Amber for her to come back, but she seems to hear someone else. She follows a voice Nathan cannot hear, and walks toward a dark alley, looking like she's running to a friend. Then she screams.

Nathan runs after her, and sees her body lying at the edge of the alley, her neck torn out at the jugular. There is no sign of her attacker. Horrified, Nathan kneels beside her and takes her hand to check her pulse, hoping she might still be alive.

"What do you see?" Amber asks.

Nathan snaps out of his vision and lets go of her hand in shock. He starts to stammer a warning, but he knows scaring her will never work. She reaches out to him, asking what's wrong, and he quickly lies, saying that his cel phone was on vibrate, and that it startled him. He apologizes profusely, pulls out his phone as if to answer it, and backs off, heading to the rest room to compose himself.

It's in the restroom that he has another vision, of guns and roads and smoke burning from his tires. As he stares at himself in the mirror, Nathan knows this is going to be a long night.


End of Fifth Session

 

[Dawn]

Just finished reading this all the way through. Awesome story. 'Course I enjoyed your previous one, Savannah Nights.

Keep it up. Sounds like it is a blast to play and run.

 

[RangerWickett]

Thanks. It's always great to get comments on storyhours (why do you think I've been updating 5 times a week? it's cause people are posting *grin*).

I realized I forgot a few small jokes, because these sessions happened a few months ago. I don't really think I'm going to catch up, but I'm going to try not to fall so far behind. But yeah, I wish it'd been a bit more fresh in my mind, so I could've worked in some of the actual dialogue, including Nathan trying to get a pair of priests to accompany them to fend off the fey. One of the priests ended up critting a vampire, so we decided he had been some sort of bad-ass Agent of the Vatican Guard.

 

[Sidekick]

Hey there RangerWickett.

speaking of praise - dude this SH kicks ass!!!

Keep up the good work, I'm truly enjoying the story.

 

[RangerWickett]

For the story behind this session, open the spoiler box.
[sblock]The day of this session, I found out that two of the players couldn’t make it, and they were two characters who were fairly integral to what I had planned, so I took advantage of Nathan’s psychic powers to run this session as a vision, taking place in the future. Also, Nathan’s player had been wanting to put his car to good use, and he was going to be out of town for the next week, so I took the lemons life had given me, added a bit of my own creative sugar, and came up with this whacky concoction.[/sblock]

Halloween
4:17 pm, and later that evening

The radio crackles and wails over the sounds of the freeway as bullets pierce the BMW’s hood and side panel. A cel phone cries insistently, but it’s the last thing they’re worrying about as Nathan swerves through freeway traffic to keep pace with the armored truck. Though part of his mind knows this is just a vision of things yet to come, events he can avoid, someone just shot his car, and he’s not going to let the bastards get away.

A time warp scene
A cy-fi story
A dirt coloured love
Hey hope for glory
I like to fight,
I kill global oppression
If I quit, no hope of redemption

- Billy Idol, Tomorrow People​

At the party of Maurice Boudreaux, Belladonna’s uncle, chaos breaks out as gunfire splits the air, followed by several small explosions. People panic, and screams come from outside as the party-goers loitering on the driveway come rushing inside, seeking safety. Nathan cannot see where Belladonna has gone, so he has to trust she’s some place safe with her father’s guards.

Scarpedin - dressed in full knight regalia - and John - wearing a tattered angel costume - spot the attacker through the high gallery windows that face out onto the circular manor driveway. A tall, fat man with a buzz cut - who looks vaguely reminiscent of James Hetfield, lead singer of Metallica (though honestly, in my mind, he looks like Hellhound, my boss at E.N. Publishing) - ducks behind a car and lobs another grenade at the manor guards, who are engaged in a gunfight with the man. It takes Nathan a moment to realize that the Hetfield-lookalike must have been spotted by the guards, who opened fire on him, and that Hetfield responded by tossing grenades at them.

The man’s grenades have the desired effect, scattering the guards and taking a few out. Hetfield retreats, hustling across the wide manor lawn toward the gate, which is several hundred feet away. He has a heavy black duffelbag over his shoulder, and occasionally he pops off a few shots from his pistol to deter pursuit.

“Get your car started,” Scarpedin shouts, and then he leaps through the window, obviously not wanting to waste time with things like doorways. Thankfully his plate armor prevents him from killing himself, and he trails bits of glass as he tries to run after the gunman.

Nathan takes the door, and John follows him, both of them sprinting for Nathan’s BMW, which is parked on the circular driveway in front of the manor. As they run, John points out that outside the front gate, waiting, is the same armored truck they saw earlier that morning. Hetfield is making a break for the truck. Nathan knows his car can outpace the heavy truck, but he can’t let them get too much of a lead. He unlocks his car and turns it on with his remote, and when he and John reach the car, it’s waiting and ready. Nathan shifts it smoothly into gear, and the BMW speeds around the driveway.

Nathan brakes beside Scarpedin who, in his heavy armor, was nowhere close to catching up with Hetfield. Scarpedin opens the passenger door, sees John sitting there, and shouts, “Get in the back seat. I’m taking shotgun.”

John doesn’t argue, and he scrambles into the back seat. Scarpedin unbuckles his swordbelt and tosses it in the back with John, then gets in. He glares at Nathan impatiently.

“What are you waiting for, man? Go!”

Hetfield is nearly at the gate, and someone at the manor has finally responded to the threat by trying to close the gate. The gate is wheeling itself closed automatically, but Nathan can see that Hetfield will make it out with time to spare. He, John, and Scarpedin, though, don’t have that luxury. The BMW’s engine goes from hum, to purr, to growl as Nathan floors it.

Scarpedin begins cursing and bracing for impact, and it looks almost certain that they’ll crash into the gate as it closes, but Nathan steers straight, and they don’t even lose either of the side mirrors. Unfortunately he’s going sixty miles an hour, and there’s no road in front of him. As soon as he clears the gate, he slams on the brakes and tries to angle the car to avoid the magnolia tree on the far curb. When the car comes to a stop, they’ve shot past the armored truck.

Nathan tries to get his car back on the road. Meanwhile, the Hetfield lookalike has jumped into the back door of the truck. He pauses for just a moment, glancing from Nathan’s car back to the Boudreaux manor house. As the truck starts to drive off, he pulls a clunky object out of his duffel bag and presses a button on it.

Nathan gasps in horror as the Boudreaux manor explodes.

Though part of his mind knows this is just a vision of things yet to come, events he can avoid, these men just killed hundreds of people, and he’s not going to let the bastards get away.


To be continued . . .

 

[Vorlon]

This is some good stuff!

 

[RangerWickett]

Because the storyhour is currently in the middle of the New Orleans adventure arc, I'd like to encourage folks to take a look at Cajun Arcana, a charity relief book about Louisiana, profits from which will be donated to Habitat for Humanity.

Now first, my college -- Emory University -- hosts a visit from President Jimmy Carter every year, and President Carter is heavily involved in Habitat for Humanity, so I'm in favor of these donations. And second, my old friend Acquana, who has an art thread on these boards, and who was GM of the Savannah Knights storyhour, which set the foundation of the setting in this game, contributed illustrations to Cajun Arcana.

Now, time for me to work on the next update.

 

[RangerWickett]

Halloween


As his future self speeds after the armored truck, Nathan thinks, Radio jammers.

"Open the sunroof," Scarpedin says. "You still have that shotgun?"

"It's in the trunk," Nathan says.

In the back seat, John says, "Here," and hands Scarpedin one of his pistols.

Scarpedin says, "Excellent. Alright, get us closer. I'm gonna shoot out the tires."

"It's an armored truck," John yells. "You can't shoot out the tires with a pistol."

"Says you."

Scarpedin stands up through the sun roof and fires a shot, missing completely.

The armored truck is headed toward the interstate, and Nathan isn't sure whether it will head south into the city, or north onto the Lake Ponchatrain bridge -- a bridge that was heavily damaged in the hurricanes. He knows it's risky, but if he's able to drive the truck north, they have a better chance of forcing the vehicle to a stop. He checks the GPS to see where the on ramp is, then prepares himself for getting his car severely damaged.

The truck is swerving, trying to keep Nathan's BMW from getting alongside. As they near the intersection next to the interstate, Nathan pushes his car in front of the truck and nudges the truck's front end, forcing it slightly to the right at just the right moment to keep the driver from safely turning left and southward. Instead the truck squeals its brakes and turns toward the north on ramp. Nathan's manuever crumples part of his front bumper and nearly sends him crashing into traffic waiting at the intersection, but he recovers and swerves through the stationary cars.

Overhead, Scarpedin defiantly fires another shot. This one actually hits the truck, but has no real effect.

The armored truck merges at 70 miles an hour onto the interstate, and Nathan is close behind. He sees some movement on top of the truck -- a hatch being popped open. Nathan swings his BMW to the side of the truck for a better view, and now he sees someone lifting a heavy object out of the interior of the truck. A metallic clang rings out as the person inside heaves a portable mini-gun onto the roof of the truck.

"That's not what I think it is," Nathan says, "is it?"

Hetfield then stands up, his torso sticking out of the hatch on the roof of the armored car. He grins and waves to them, then lifts the mini-gun and fires. Nathan swerves, but bullets tear into the engine of his car. Soon the hood is smoking, and flames are trailing out from the bullet holes. His vision is obscured, and he is distracted by John and Scarpedin's shouting, so he doesn't notice when the mini-gun mercenary tosses a grenade under the front wheels of his car.

The explosion that kills him snaps him out of his vision.

Radio jammers, Nathan thinks. Radio jammers, and some way to stop a mini-gun.

 

[Steverooo]

Radio jammers, Nathan thinks. Radio jammers, and some way to stop a mini-gun.

Best line of the story, so far, Nathan!

<The Steverooo wanders away, chuckling!>

 

[RangerWickett]

Halloween
4:30 pm

"Shopping time," Nathan announces. "Where are Robert and our wizard friend?"

Scarpedin, sitting with his feet up on the table, doesn't look up. He's busy staring at his cel phone, a confused look on his face, but he nods briefly toward the bar's entrance.

"Belladonna scared them off. And then she went to go get into costume. She said you'd drive us back. You're going to drive us back, right?"

Nathan nods. "Yes, but I was hoping to speak with Terry before-"

"Look, we don't need them to have fun." Scarpedin closes his phone and looks up at Nathan. "They got kicked out of the party, right?"

"Undoubtedly," Nathan says.

"Alright then." Scarpedin stands, slaps John on the arm, and waves for him to follow. "Come on man. Shopping time."

John stretches out his "What?" so that it sounds almost vengeful. He draws on his cigarette.

"I need to pick up a radio jammer," Nathan says. "And something to deal with a mini-gun. You wouldn't happen to have any ideas, would you John?"

John sighs. "Not another vision."

"Your visions suck," Scarpedin says. "I nearly got eaten by a jaguar thanks to you."

"Oh, no," Nathan says, "this one's important. There's going to be a bomb at the mansion tonight at the party. I need a radio jammer to keep them from sending the signal to detonate."

People at nearby tables look over in curiosity. Sure it's Halloween, but with the recent terrorist attack in Texas, people are on edge.

"Can we have this conversation outside?" John asks.

Once they're out of the bar and on the way to where he parked his car, Nathan explains his vision. John and Nathan discuss how to handle the possibility of a bombing at the mansion, since they want to capture the people responsible, so they can't just get the party cancelled. They're going to need to tread a narrow line, but Nathan is confident they can make it work. He'll pick up a radio jammer, and they'll be waiting in his car to chase after the armored truck. Nathan wants to let the police know what's up, but again, if he changes things too much, the events of his vision might never happen. He feels safer just solving specific problems, like exploding mansions. And mini-guns.

"So," Nathan says, "how do we deal with a man in body armor with a mini-gun."

"Take it away from him," Scarpedin says.

John chuckles.

"Sh*t, I'm serious. British man, you're psychic, and you're supposed to be an angel or something. Just, y'know, use magic."

"Sorry, chap," Nathan says. "I can't control people's minds. Not that I would if I could, y'know, because it's kinda creepy, but I just can't do it."

"Oh yes," Scarpedin says, mocking, "it's 'impossible.' Let me tell you what's impossible. Impossible is me getting propositions for phone sex from an elf, that's what's impossible. Impossible is fighting vampires. That sh*t ain't real! Impossible is my life, man."

"Duly noted," Nathan says. "I wonder if I could get armored plating installed before the party. . . . And did you say phone sex?"

Scarpedin looks embarrassed. "She said she was going to send me pictures of her getting undressed. F*cking elves."

"Let's get going," John says.

Nathan takes a minute to check his car for tampering -- including any possible bombs -- and when he's confident they're safe, they leave, going shopping. They have a few hours before the party, so Nathan methodically calls Balthazaar at the Bureau to warn them about what he foresees happening at the mansion, and to ask where he could buy a radio jammer. As Nathan suspected, the former Bureau agent has no trouble getting him in touch with a dealer in illegal electronics.

Unfortunately, however, no one can think of a way to protect against a mini-gun. A little desperately, they spend an hour checking into local magic shops, antiquities dealers, and voodoo haunts, looking for protective magic. Nathan picks up an antique pistol, c. 1790, along with bullets made of iron, which he hopes would be useful against fey. He also buys a fine French cavalry hat with a feather in it.

John doesn't talk much during this, and when he asks to borrow someone's cel phone to call Robert, they realize that none of them have his number.

For his part, Scarpedin is only slightly annoying during the shopping excursion. Growing increasingly disgruntled with the man's impatience and abrasive demeanor, Nathan tries to get the man off his case by telling him that one of the antiques in the store is magical. Immediately, Scarpedin writes a cheque (no doubt which will bounce), and purchases the item -- a prayer bead necklace which, Nathan determines with a reading, once belonged to a former Dalai Lama.

"What does it do?" Scarpedin asks.

"I don't know," Nathan says, half-smiling in fake apology. "But I'm sure it was worth the eight thousand dollars. Come along now, we've got a party to get to."