Ceramic DM Modern/Spycraft (need 3 more)


First Post
alsih2o said:
i owuld assume if it is from the mouths of a fictional character it would be passable, but i should check....
It is mostly from the mouth of picture number 3. If you remember where you found that pic, you probably know what I'm hedging around.

log in or register to remove this ad

Bloodstone Mage

First Post
Argh! No! I'm going to have to pass on this.
A dear friend of mine is going to have a baby, and I must be with her (her husband is out of town on a business trip, and the only other person going is her mom, and she's living on respirators).
I'll be sure to keep an eye on this, though.

Good luck with the entries and the tournament!



Everyone "loves" the aryan pride guy... ugh.

Seasong, I trust your design skills. The neo-Nazi implications of that photo are not inherently inappropriate for this board so long as it is part of an adventure, and so long as it doesn't end up glorifying things that Eric's grandmother would find abhorrent. Politics are part and parcel of a d20 Modern scenario; use them as such. Just exercise good judgment.

If you're really concerned, email me the writeup before you post it here.


First Post
Piratecat said:
Everyone "loves" the aryan pride guy... ugh.

Seasong, I trust your design skills. The neo-Nazi implications of that photo are not inherently inappropriate for this board so long as it is part of an adventure, and so long as it doesn't end up glorifying things that Eric's grandmother would find abhorrent.
1) Story, not an adventure.
2) Definitely doesn't glorify anything. But it's present.
3) If there's an issue after I've posted it, I'll just delete it and drop.

If you're really concerned, email me the writeup before you post it here.
Depending how it turns out, I may do that. I'm not writing anything that is actually controversial (I hope ;)), it's just that it touches on some topics that I normally avoid on ENWorld.

Thanks for weighing in, though. You've clarified where the boundaries are, and I needed that.

Time to give it a go

Modern/Spycraft Ceramic DM.

“I don’t get it!” mumbles Johnson, looking at the burning ring of fire.

“It’s a test of nerve,” I reply quietly, my voice almost drowned out by the sound of Goldsmith’s heavy fireproof boots as his feet thud over the bitumen. He reaches the flaming ring and throws himself through it headlong[pic 2]. He falls to the ground and comes up in a regulation tumble. The next man in line starts off.

“Besides,” I say steeling myself for my turn. “It’s better than that diving training.”

“You blitzed diving training,” says Johnson, perplexed.

“Yeah, but only because I thrive on stress. I was climbing the walls by the end.”

“Black,” calls the drill instructor and I set off towards the burning circle, adrenalin flooding my veins. With my eyes focussed on the flames, I don’t see the instructor until he’s fully blocking my path. With a deft motion he flips me over on my back and lands on top of me with an expertly applied choke-hold crushing my windpipe.

“Cadet Black, you need to pay more attention,” he says matter-of-factly, his face so close to mine that I can feel his hot breath on my cheek. “Inattention will get you killed, cadet.”

“Sir! Yes, sir!” I manage to choke out.

“Good,” approves the instructor, not relinquishing his hold on my life. With a nod he indicates a junior cadet standing at attention to the side of the training area, a slip of blue and green paper in his hands. “Report to briefing room two.”

Released, I stand and salute then trot off across the bitumen to the main building. Behind me the sound of running boots resumes, each punctuated by the sudden silence of the leap through the ring and the sound of a body tumbling over the ground.


I make my way quietly into briefing room two and stand at the back, unwilling to interrupt the meeting already in progress.

The projection screen on the main wall shows video footage of two teenage girls in sports uniforms fighting. [pic 4] The two lunge at each other with untrained movements and their relative ineptitude is cause for quiet jokes amongst the twenty or so men seated in the room. The jokes and laughing quickly evaporate as the extent of the conflict becomes clear. With a lucky hit, one girl gains the upper hand. As her opponent is knocked to the ground the winning combatant follows her down. The fall is heavy and the girl is clearly stunned. Her opponent uses the opportunity to seize her by the hair and proceeds to smash her face repeatedly into the concrete. Even among soldiers who have been blooded in battle, the brutality of the scene is shocking and gasps are heard from around the room. The winner is soon drenched in gore as she batters her opponent’s face into a bloody pulp. At this point in the film, a sound becomes audible; a strange, tittering noise that almost sounds like…

“That’s the cameraman laughing,” announces Colonel Benning from his post at the podium to the right of the screen. “We have no clear idea as to his identity, because this happens…”

On the film the bloodied teenager looks around, clearly realising the presence of the cameraman, and with a primeval scream, lunges towards the camera. The screen flickers and goes blank.

“As near as our epidemiological team has been able to piece together, one of these three is patient zero, the first one infected,” says the Colonel. A new picture flashes on the screen, a map of a small town in the Canadian Rockies. “However, we do know that the entire community of Evans Falls, population 1,517, fell victim to this thing over a space of only a few days.”

There are whistles from the audience; that’s a hell of an infection rate. The Colonel continues, “Contact of any form was lost on August the 17th. By the 20th, it was decided to send a contingent of MP’s from a nearby military installation.” The screen now shows a group of uniformed men, batons in hand, making their way cautiously down the main street of a typical small country town. Notably absent are any citizenry. “They found only one person alive; this man Jonathon Bramblett, attorney at law, loving husband and father of two; contributing member of amnesty international; no military service; no criminal record. An upstanding citizen.”

On the screen the MP’s are converging on Mr Bramblett, who is standing outside his law offices, dressed apparently for work, a tan coloured trenchcoat over his suit. He smiles in a friendly fashion as the military officers approach. [pic 6] When one of them is within three paces, Mr Bramblett reaches into his coat and draws forth a machette, encrusted with dried, black blood. Without ceasing to smile, he strikes down the nearest MP with a stroke to the carotid artery. As the man goes down, Mr Bramblett happily moves on to the next MP. In the fracas that ensues, several of the MP’s land numerous blows with their batons, all of which Mr Bramblett seems to shrug off as if not even feeling them. By the time three MP’s are wounded and downed, several of those remaining have drawn their sidearms and are firing repeatedly at the “upstanding citizen”. His neat clothing is shredded by the impact of the bullets, yet Mr Bramblett continues to struggle against the weapons’ lethal effects.

“Forty nine millimetre slugs were later removed from Mr Bramblett’s body,” the Colonel informs us. “Subsequent to this encounter the MP’s were withdrawn and the entire site was handed over to an Aegis containment team. We discovered that this little blighter is what’s responsible.”

The screen shows a photograph from an electron microscope. It appears to be some form of micro-organism.

“Epidemiology are calling it the VISR syndrome, Virally Induced Sociopathic Response. This little bugger has been genetically engineered by someone and they used Evans Falls as a field test. It’s contracted by ingestion only, in this case the water supply. It induces a homicidal mania while at the same time providing increased stimulation of the adrenal gland and other elements of the body’s fight or flight system. In short it gives your body a supercharge and then puts Hannibal Lecter at the wheel. We don’t know exactly who’s behind this yet, but intelligence believes that they’ve traced to the laboratory where the VISR virus was produced.” The Colonel pauses and I take the opportunity to discreetly notify him of my presence.

“Ah sir…” I say. Heads swivel to look at me and the Colonel looks up from his notes.

“Yes, Black,” says the Colonel. “Come in, take a seat.”

“Uh…I’m not sure why I’m here sir,” I say as I move hesitatingly towards one of the aisle seats.

“We want you on this mission Black.”

“But sir, I’m just a senior cadet.”

“That may be, Black,” says the Colonel. “However, you, like everyone else in this room, possess the necessary skill set to serve on this mission.”

I’m about to push my luck and ask how that could be when the next slide flashes onto the screen. The picture shows a pleasure cruiser at anchor near a tropical atoll. The pale blue shallows contrast with the impenetrable black depths of the atoll’s centre [pic 5]. A heavy weight in the pit of my stomach sinks me downward into my chair as fear of the depths begins to squeeze the breath from my lungs.

“You see gentleman,” says the Colonel, continuing his briefing. “The laboratory is hidden at a depth of ten fathoms in the middle of this atoll, off the coast of Costa Rica.”

I swallow heavily and the briefing goes on. Doubtless my face is pale, because the man next to me leans over and, apparently thinking to be comforting, says “Just think of it as a test of nerve.”

Funny, but I never realised how much an island in the middle of the tropics could look exactly like a ring of fire.


I have to concede due to time constraints. My story was getting way too long and showing no sign of being done in time. Here’s a synopsis, for whatever its worth:

Cape Cod Attorney Jonathan Vanderhome has been embezzling from his clients for two years with plans of fleeing the country. Through a series of middlemen and money launderers, he’s invested the money in a Belizean dive operation. He plans to make his escape tomorrow.

Unbeknownst to Vanderhome, his diveboat business is being secretly run by the Brotherhood of White Might, a neo-nazi organization run by Vince Edwards, who escaped from a maximum security facility in Mississippi this morning. The Brotherhood plans to dispose of Vanderhome once he arrives in Belize and finalizes the transfer of money to the dive business.

Techies at Department7/the Agency have been tracking the flow of money from Vanderhome’s clients to the Brotherhood, but don’t understand why Vanderhome would be in league with the Brotherhood , or why neo-nazis are backing a diveboat business.

A team from the Department arrests Vanderhome before he flees the country, but decide to use him as bait in Belize once they realize he knows nothing about the Brotherhood.

Once in Belize, the heroes’ team and Vanderhome discover that the neo-nazis are using Vanderhome’s cash to fund a massive marine salvage operation at Belize’s famous Blue Hole.

At the Hole, the team slips aboard the Brotherhood’s boat and takes over. The heroes dive down after Edwards and the rest of the Brotherhood team.

On a coral ledge, 180 feet down, they battle it out and discover what the Brotherhood was after: Hitler’s henchmen had fled to the mangrove cays of Belize after the World War II, but they lost hundreds of millions in looted gold when one of their boats wrecked on the reef surrounding the Blue Hole. The gold had been thought lost forever in the 1000-foot deep trench.


Here's the story lead as I'd begun writing it:

0800 EST, Monday
34 Main Square
Eastham, Massachusetts
“God help me survive one more hour with you insufferable :):):):)ers!”
Jonathan Vanderhome exaggerated a smile as Mr. and Mrs. Campbell entered his office, and hoped he hadn’t said aloud what he was thinking.
Vanderhome had been the Campbell’s attorney for four years. Like most of his clients they were yuppies from Boston, who only came to Cape Cod on summer weekends.
As they sat down, Vanderhome wondered what the Campbells were going to tell their Boston friends after he disappeared to Central America with all their money. For more than a year and a half, upstanding Massachusetts tax attorney Jonathan Vanderhome had been siphoning off all his clients’ funds. And tomorrow, he’d make his getaway. The plan was so brillant, he was growing increasingly giddy over it as “D-Day” (D for departure) approached. He felt untouchable, and wished he could tell his partners his plan – just to impress them with its sophistication (The bastards thought so little of him!). He’d funneled all the funds through a series of middlemen to a scuba diving business in Belize. Soon, he’d be sipping margaritas on a boat in Ambergris Cay.

0815 EST, Monday
Bayou St. Louis, Pass Christian, Mississippi
Vince Edwards took a drag from his cigarette, walked out to the end of the dock, and watched the lights of the shrimp boat maneuver up the creek.. It had been eight hours since the most notorious neo-nazi in North America had escaped from prison. In another 6 hours, the shrimp boat would take him to the oil rig where he’d catch a seaplane to Belize. During the year he’d been in prison, the plan had been proceeding according to schedule. The Brotherhood of White Might would soon reclaim the treasures of the fatherland. With that in place they’d have all they needed to overthrow the U.S.



First Post
Wow. After seeing some of these other posts I have a much better idea of what to do next time. Hope we get enough for some elimination rounds, and that I make it into said elimination rounds, because I think I could do much better now that I've seen some examples. Oh well...


First Post
[chant]we want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want more[/chant]


First Post
Sorry for the lack of editting. My home computer crashing has largely killed my ability to work on stuff at home :(.


And they shall go forth, and look upon the carcasses of the men that have transgressed against me: for their worm shall not die, neither shall their fire be quenched; and they shall be an abhorring unto all flesh. - Isaiah 66:24, King James Version

Picture Notes

Pic #1: Captain Jack Kaiphos approaching the potentially-hostile surface of the Blue Hole (see Pic 5).

Pic #3: Adler Concetti, a neo-nazi white supremist. Pic was taken shortly after his arrest.

Pic #5: The Blue Hole of Belize, a circular limestone sinkhole.

Pic #6: Captain Jack Kaiphos in civilian gear, watching as his merc team clears an area of hostiles.

Aryan Honor

He had paper-thin, paper-white skin, with the splotches only the truly white can achieve. His head was always neatly shaved. His eyes were blue.

A niggling little voice asked why a proud Aryan would shave his blonde locks. He silenced the voice of a brunette with a small pill.

There was no question of his pride as an inheritor of the noble Aryan gene. He believed in the Aryan Nation. His belief was a thick and powerful thing, it surged in his blood and made him strong.

The pill took away pain. Took away fear. Took away niggling little voices. The pill surged in his blood.

the Aryans had proved themselves strong and worthy by right of conquest. They possessed divine right because none could stand against the Race. They were Nordic viking and Indian brahmen, the closest in color to the brilliance of the celestial bodies. The closest to angels.

The Deutsch lost because they allowed one with weak blood to lead them. It was a mistake that cost them when He proved too weak. The Jews had bred Him to taint the Race. He was the Aryan Antichrist.

Adler Concetti adjusted his cap lower over his face. He went over his beliefs again. He was standing among the trees near the trailer park, watching the small movements in the nights. He felt the gun tucked under his shirt for strength, and he marshalled his doctrine until it fell back into place.

He had to prove himself. Had to hold his Birthright in his hands. A Birthright of conquest. Even with the pill, it was hard. Which was why he was starting small. Breaking down the boundaries of human society a small bit at a time. Learning his wolf heritage by demonstrating in small ways that the lesser races were truly sheep.

William Johansen, the trailer home he was watching, was such a sheep. A gentle-mannered black sheep, always smiling at the wolves and ducking his head to avoid eye contact... afraid that eye contact might paralyze the prey. Adler had proven his superiority in a million different ways. He'd glared the black sheep in the eyes, daring him to look back. He'd tormented the sheep in little ways - barbs and jabs, and sometimes fighting words.

Rome's founder was suckled by wolves. It was one of the three pillars of Roman strength. Another was the fasces, the bundle of sticks that signified strength through unity. The third was the celestial gift, the symbol of the sun that showed them that they had might and right on their side.

But these things were only little tests. Little ways of checking his own resolve. Tonight was another such test.

He was going to rob the black sheep of its wool. As the last lights turned off, he moved to the corner of one of the trailers. He'd established among his friends that he was going to a rally in Los Angeles, that he would be gone for a week or more. Still, he approached the trailer park from a direction other than his home.

When the sheep interrupted him in his hunt, he shot the sheep four times, turned, fled, his blood alternately mixed with panic and exhultation. They caught him within days.

Pic #3 - Adler Concetti's arrest picture


"Hey, can you hear me?"


"Hey man, I heard you was in for that Johansen %*&$#."


"So? He *&^^ing deserved it. That's all."

"I didn' do it."

"Sure man. No prob."


"Hey, you hear me?"


"Look, you can't tell no one, right?"


"I mean it."

"Yeah, I hear you. I said sure."

"You read the Bible, any?"

"Sure. Buncha pap for the sheep masses."

"Yeah, but it's just the jew take on it, right?"


"So it tells the real story, but ya gotta understand how to read it, cuz it's all spin doctored. The jews, they're the best at that, right?"

"Yeah... Yeah."

"So, like, we believe in the fasces right? Unity, right? But cuz o' the bible, we call it a demon, you see?"

"Yeah. Legion, right?"

"Yeah. 'Cept it's called Alehjafal. That's its arabic name. Its mahatma brahmen name, right?"

"And it connects the Race?"

"Yeah, man, 'cept we're all separated now, cuz o' the jews. That was part of Hitler, got it? Hitler broke us up."

"Then why'd he kill all those jews?"

"Blood sacrifice. Those *&^%$es are cold, right?"

"Yeah... Yeah."


"Hey, you hear me?"

"Yeah, man, what's up?"

"Just been thinking. I'm gonna go home tomorrow. Sit in my easy chair. You know?"

"Yeah. I've still got another month."

"Yeah, so, anyway... hell with it. Look, you seem a right type, you know? Real boon to the race."

"Thanks, man, you too."

"No, man, you don't understand. I ain't worthy. Not quite pure enough. I got enough in me to see the truth, but I ain't got enough to win."


"I ain't got enough to win. I'm going home tomorrow, you know? I've lost. But you..."

"No, man, you ain't lost. We're all together, right? We're fasces, bundled up tight. We don't lose til we're ALL dead."

"Yeah. I guess you're right. Thanks, man."


"Hey, you hear me?"

"Yeah, man, you okay?"

"I'm going home in an hour. I... I gotta tell you something. It's... hard."

"You ain't a jew or black?"

"No, man, hell no."

"Then it's okay."

"Yeah. It's still hard."

"Go ahead. Be strong, right?"

"Alehjafal. You remember that name?"

"Yeah, you told me about it."

"You remember what it is?"

"Yeah. The Race. The Connection. The Wolf. It's what ties us together."

"Well... I can help you connect. It'll kill me. But I'm dead anyway."

"Don't say that, man! You say you're going home. You're going home!"

"Shut up, Concetti. I gotta tell you truth. I'm dead. But I'd rather give my life to you, instead, right?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Blood sacrifice, man. I ain't much, but I'm enough to connect you."


"You take it or not? I only got an hour, man. I gotta know if you'll take it. Take the wolf."

A long pause.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll take it."

Something black and shadowy moved between the cells. If it resembled a wolf, Adler would be hard pressed to say truthfully, but it was sleek and fast, and he felt it enter him and the world opened up.

The top of his head felt like it cracked, and light seeped in. He could feel the daylight playing across the gray matter. Joy flooded him, better than any amphetamine, and he realized what he really craved when he craved the little pill. Strength to his arms and legs. Iron to his skin. His senses burst with the details in the dusty shadows of his cell.

He knew, for a moment, what it was to be Aryan. Then he ripped the pig steel of his cell door off of its hinges, and stalked down the prison hall.

He didn't even glance at the emaciated corpse in the cell next to him. He had a mission.

Find the hole in the world. Find the Dead Place where the Dream was kept hidden. Find the Gate.

The Race would rise again. Adler knew this now.

Project Sparrow

Captain Jack Kaiphos was a decorated veteran from three wars ago. Today he was a mercenary in the hire of Executive Outcomes, an advisor to third world countries that needed modern thinking to help them win. He didn't risk his own neck much, anymore, though it still happened occasionally. He'd earned his rank in the SEALs and Executive Outcomes, and he was unlikely to progress any further in either. Still, it was an exciting life.

Today was not exciting. Today was vacation, and as he sucked a few more drops of martini through a too-long straw, lying beneath an umbrella in Bélize, he admired the view. No one knew him here. No one asked him how many men he'd killed, or wanted to know if he could help them win a war. Just white sand, blue sea, and pretty women wearing very little.

So when one of the hotel waitstaff came running up to him with a phone and a worried look, he was a bit miffed.

"Who the hell is calling me here?"

"Hi Jack. Project Sparrow, you remember it?"



Make no mistake. You never truly leave the American military. At best, you are given a lifetime vacation in which you can try to build a life... but there is always the chance you might be called back. Refuse, and you can be brought up for treason and spend your lifelong vacation in a military prison.

So when he was told there was a general in his hotel room waiting for him, and that he'd best come running, he did. Well, he walked. But he came.

He was a short man, with a shock of blond hair and an honest, Irish face. Not that he was an honest man, he just had an honest-looking face. That he had survived as a SEAL was a testament more to his will and cunning than to anything else, and if they wanted him back for Project Sparrow, he'd need it.

Project Sparrow was part of the Roosevelt end-of-the-world scenarios, the equivalent of Armageddon Insurance, and as few people were tapped for it as possible, but they were the best. The bleeding edge best, the people whose talents and skills put them a hair beyond the envelope of what the best was. The world wasn't the way most people wanted it to be, and Project Sparrow tried to ensure that they thought it was anyway.

Jack wasn't the best. But he faked it pretty well. He went in to his room. A stern looking man handed him a folder, and watched him carefully as he read it.

He kept his poker face on. He knew the general was watching, but Jack didn't know anyone good enough to read him. Which was good, because the file was bad.

Two weeks ago, an inmate had ripped steel bars apart and walked out. Several bullets failed to stop him, and he ripped the heads of the two officers that had shot him. He also killed every black inmate on the path out of the prison.

Then he disappeared.

That wasn't the problem - it was the sort of thing the SWAT teams handled, if they could find him. The problem was that Project Sparrow knew why it had happened. There was a demon loose in the world.

Investigations at the site had revealed a small hole in the fabric between demons and humanity. That in itself wasn't that uncommon, since it was a site of near continual murder. Blood sacrifices attracted demons, thinned the walls, and a demon had taken advantage of that.

What was uncommon was that the demon had succeeded in possessing someone.

A year prior, the R&D teams had brought into the world a tracking device that could give a vague direction on the strongest or nearest magical backlash in the world. The military, with typical grand scale thinking, and started putting them in satellites and triangulating the location of occurrences.

One had happened in the prison. And smaller ones were happening in a bee line for Bélize... where there happened to be a ready made gate to hell.

Pic #5 - The Blue Hole of Bélize

The Blue Hole

It was a gorgeous spot, a rounded strip of white sand, a few trees, and astoundingly deep waters. It was explored briefly by Jacques Cousteau, and is, despite its impressive appearance, only about 400 feet deep. Of course, more than 100 feet and divers face the perils of nitrogen accumulation in the blood.

There are numerous caves beyond the 100 foot mark, and some of them have been explored. Most of them have stalactites and stalagmites that look like they were once part of a land-cave before the area sank. What activity could have caused the sinking is largely unknown.

The area is mostly dead below the 200 foot mark. There is almost no water circulation, leading to oxygen starvation for fish.

At least, that's the official story. The real story is that the caves descend deeper than known, and travel in directions not visible in three dimensions. They eventually reach Hell.

The sinkhole was caused when a number of the caves collapsed during a battle, thousands of years ago. When Project Sparrow acquired an akashic mystic on staff, thirty years ago, they found the Brotherhood associated with keeping it closed.

For the most part, they left the Brotherhood alone. Some phone lines were provided, in case they had trouble a missile or two could handle, but other than that and a few watchdogs, the place was left quiet.

Adler and his demon rider were going to the Blue Hole. And the Brotherhood, however good they might be, were still merely human.

Jack looked up, his face impassive. "Is this serious? You've confirmed it?"

The man nodded.

"You know that I'm only human, yes?"

The man nodded.

"Then what the hell am I supposed to do?"

"We can't bring in the military directly. There's some touchy political situations and..."

"And the demons could break loose of their cages! What's politics got to do with that!?"


"$#*%! Okay, fine. What resources?"

It wasn't much. A squad of eight SEALs, snuck in by dead of night. Some of his old buddies, but still just eight. Enough equipment to fund a small war in Ethiopia - Jack marked that in his mind, and wondered if he'd be able to pilfer some of it when this was over.


Beneath the waves, surfacing only for minimal air, ALJFL swam with superhuman strength. It had taken quite some time to get this far, but now its goal was in sight.


They knew where he was coming. They positioned themselves in the dark, scattered about the landmass, with two men in the water. Harpoons and HE rounds were the name of the game.


ALJFL paused. It sensed the dim auras of those who would harm it, surrounding the island. Forming a barrier.

It surfaced, drew deep lungfuls, dropped deep in the waters. As if on land, ALJFL crawled up the slope of the island towards the one guarding its pass. It carefully took stock of itself... the skin was sloughing off in the salt water, the muscles were starved, but there was still plenty of body left.

ALJFL darted with the suddenness of a shark. The soldier still managed to shoot it with a harpoon - such reflexes were unknown to ALJFL, humans weren't normally so fast - as ALJFL grabbed the soldiers helmet.

It was too late. The soldier had screamed for backup. ALJFL tore the soldier's face off. Pulled the underwater spear from its lungs. Took the soldier's flippers. Swam through the hole.

Splashes. They were already coming. ALJFL nearly cried... it was so close to its goal!

Another harpoon stabbed it in the back, near the spine. But not close enough. It savagely kicked as it reached the edge of the Hole and swam down.


Jack hit the water at a dive. He'd insisted everyone wear their wetgear, and he was glad. He spotted Adler with a minute, and found himself almost in awe.

Adler looked like a zombie, skin coming off in small chunks, nails stripped away, eyes swollen and glazed. And he was swimming inhumanly fast, even with the awkwardly worn flippers. Jack settled in and aimed.

The other SEALs were taking shots, but Adler was simply faster than they were expecting. Jack led him, led him, fired.

It was a shot to be proud of. Lodged in the middle of the back. So close to the spine he could taste it.

The Adler zombie zoomed past, then dove down into the Blue Hole. Jack cursed, and the three SEALs who'd thought to start up their dive boards pulled up. He pointed. They went down the hole.


Minutes passed. One of the SEALs who went down floated back up. Jack and the remaining SEALs on the surface made a circle around the Hole. Kept watch. Prayed.


When It came, three SEALs died outright. Like a horde of serpentine bats, a half million shadowy things flocked upwards out of the hole. Everything they touched died. Everything that saw them panicked, terror stricken deep into the reptilian brain.

Except Jack. For whatever reason, he stood his ground. Safely back, but still able to observe. One of the things had a new body - one of the SEALs who'd gone down and not come up - and that was important to know. That they could do that.

Adler's body came up, too, but it was dead. Jack had known it would be.

With strong, steady strokes, he caught the remaining SEAL, wrestled him to a standstill, helped him control his panic. Both men nestled cyanide pills in their cheeks - if it looked like they would be possessed, they'd leave only a corpse.

Until then, they needed to reach the surface.

Cautiously, they approached the surface waters. Jack went first, covered by the SEAL.

Pic #1 - Jack in foreground, SEAL in background

End Times - One Week Later

Fortunately, the caverns had collapsed, set off by a desparate SEAL with too many grenades when his comrade was possessed. So only a half million demons were loosed, instead of all of them.

Still, it was a pain in the ass to clean up. Captain Jack Kaiphos watched as his mercenary crew - his real brothers in arms - marched past him through the buildings of a ghost town. The people had all been killed, possessed, or driven off. That left the place as a killing zone for his men - anything that moved and didn't identify immediately as a friend, was an enemy.

Nice, clean kind of fight. The kind he liked.

The SEAL who'd survived the initial assault with him stood nearby. Jack had spoken with him a great deal while they were planning things out. There was money to be had. A good life to lead. And a world to save.

Jack grinned. He couldn't help himself. Who would have thought the end of the world would be fun?

Pic #6 - Jack among his merc buddies


Once A Fool
"Getting Smart (and 99)," an introductory Spycraft adventure in the style--and setting--of Get Smart.

A note on the tone:

This adventure is intended to be played with tongue planted firmly in cheek. Like the show that it is based on,

situations should not be overly believable, nor should they be too terribly dramatically intense. In addition, it

would be in the Game Control (GC)'s best interest to foster the right type of tone and mood for this game. Spycraft

suggests that extra action dice be awarded for cleverness--it is all the more important in this scenario to award such

quick and witty thinking.


The PCs--all new agents, fresh out of training--are summoned before the Chief of Control. He tells them that, with

their training almost complete, they are to perform one minor task in the field. It seems that Agents 86 and 99 have

been put in a compromising situation. While investigating intelligence that KAOS has constructed a new submarine

base, the two agents have been captured and are certain to be executed in a most drawn out and impractical manner.

The PCs are to infiltrate the base and aid in the escape of the two agents. The PCs will have gear and gadgets

available to them as appropriate for first level characters in 1967, some of which must include diving gear. The

threat code level is equivelant to Yellow.


The PCs are taken to a remote atol in the Pacific Ocean via motorboat (dropped off from an air-freighter in the

vecinity). See picture 5, for inspiration. A spot check at DC 20 will allow the PCs to notice that they are

being followed at a great distance--a few hundred yards, or so--by another boat. It is possible that the PCs may

decide to double back and attempt to intercept the pursuers. In this case, the pursuers will fall back and attempt to

stay out of range at all costs. Since they are so far back, this should be no difficult task, but a chase is not out

of the question. The pursuers have other plans, however, and, while they do intend to intercept the PCs, have a

different battleground in mind.

Eventually, the PCs will have to go underwater to enter the base. They will need to do this in diving gear; their

motorboat has the capability of becoming a submarine, but for one minor flaw. The engine is not water-proofed. If

(when) the PCs have begun their descent into the atol, their pursuers will also dive into the atol. These are four

level 2 Soldiers equiped with water-proofed guns. Which, given the setting, work just fine. They will initiate a

chase, if the PCs do not turn back to meet them. Their ultimate goal is to kill the PCs. See Picture 1, for


About 150 yards below the surface of the ocean, the KAOS base clings to the sides of the atol. It is impressively

large, spanning the entire area of the atol. An air-lock entrance is fairly easy to find (Search DC 5), as it is

clearly marked with bold writing. "Welcome to KAOS Submarine Atol Base. If you are close enough to read this, you

had better be a KAOS agent."

Once the pursuing agents are dealt with, the PCs will likely try to get into the base (at least, that's what they've

been ordered to do). They may open the air-lock in a number of ways. If they have a lockpick-expert, the DC is 25.

IF they have a computer expert, there is an input device by the door, and the DC is only 20, but the computer expert

had better have some kind of waterproof cards, as regular cardstock can't be used down here. Because, of course,

computers have input cards with holes in them, let's not forget!


Once inside the base, the PCs should feel free to explore the complex. It is layed out in a fairly straightforward,

sterile manner, with most of the chambers filled with laboratory equipment, containment cells, or computers, which

generally each take a room. In one of the hallways, the PCs should come across two women in a fist fight. See

Picture 4, for inspiration.
One is Control Agent 99. The other is a massively powerful woman with blond braids

and lederhosen. She is Helga, the Administer of Order and Compulsion in the KAOS Submarine Atol Base, the right-hand

woman of the base's head administrator. Agent 99 has escaped from captivity and was attempting to find Agent 86 when

she was confronted by the mighty Helga. Agent 99 is managing to hold her own, but not much better. With the PC's

help, Helga should probably be fairly easily subdued, at which point, she may (or may not) be questioned. During the

fight, Helga insults and curses frequently in German and, since Agent 99 speaks German, she retorts.

If questioned, Helga will reveal the following information, when properly motivated:

[*]The whereabouts of Agent 86 (Other side of the base, naturally).
[*]The identity of the head administrator of the KAOS Submarine Atol Base (Sigfried, but not the Sigfried that Agent

86 and Agent 99 are familiar with. In fact, it is his previously unknown, and entirely more psychotic, evil twin


and, just maybe, if circumstances allow it,

[*]that one of the agents is kneeling on her chest (preventing her from being particularly audible).

The next order of business is to locate and rescue Agent 86. This is a simple matter of searching room by room,

unless Helga yielded information about his whereabouts. Fortunately, Agent 86 isn't being guarded, currently. In

fact, there is a suspicious lack of KAOS personelle everywhere within the base. There is a reason for this--Sigfried

(the evil twin) is such a terrible (psychotic) employer that most KAOS agents transfer out of the base as quickly as

they can (if they can), which leaves the base quite under-staffed.

Once Agent 86 is rescued, he will insist upon completing the mission that Agent 99 and he were sent on before leaving

the base. The PCs may or may not aid in the task, but their orders are to aid in the escape of the agents, so they

had better not be going anywhere without them. That is, assuming that they do not wish to face the wrath of the

Chief! The very exasperated, weary wrath of the Chief, but still...

It seems that KAOS has stolen some technology from CONTROL and is in the process of developing it at this base.

Neither Agent 86, nor Agent 99 know what that technology is, nor does, presumably, anyone at CONTROL. The agents are

to find this out and, if possible, sabotage the development.

Eventually, Agent 86 and Agent 99 will confront Sigfried (the evil twin, version) and the PCs will, as well, if they

accompany the two agents. While vaguely similar to his brother, this Sigfried is clearly much less pleasant to be

around. He has a nose that has been broken too many times, and tatoos proclaiming loyalty to a loathsome reich that

he no doubt would have served, if circumstances had allowed it. Where the other Sigfried is somewhat likeable for a

psychopath, this one should be entirely unsettling. In fact, if the tone of the adventure takes a drastic turn toward

darkness, this should not be surprising. See Picture 3, for inspiration.

Sigfried is overseeing the development of a certain piece of technology stolen from CONTROL. It is, in fact, a

nuclear reactor. Well, no. Would you believe, a new type of smart weaponry? How about a monkey with a bad attitude?

Actually, it is none of these things. What KAOS has stolen from CONTROL is no less than the...


There are several scientist noncombatants in the room who will try to avoid being killed in the very likely fight to

follow. Also present are several (six, actually) henchmen of Sigfried (the evil twin), All are Level 3 Soldiers.

Agent 86 and Agent 99 will move to confront Sigfried immediately. The henchmen will move to engage the PCs, if they

are present, but the PCs may choose to ignore them and aid Agent 86 and Agent 99 with dispatching Sigfried, if they so



Ultimately, the two CONTROL agents will distroy the prototype cone of silence and flee the base with the PCs

(although, they will need to find their diving equipment in order to do so; this should be no major problem, as it was

stored in rooms adjecent to their holding cells).

If Sigfried escapes this adventure with his life, he should likely become a recurring villain, as few could be more

dispicable than he. If Helga survives, and is in CONTROL's captivity, she may convert, or she may attempt to escape.

Or both. If she is not taken into captivity, she will instead try to rejoin KAOS at some later point and will hold a

grudge against Agent 99 for years to come.


Maxwell Smart, Agent 86 should actually be around a level 10 Pointman (for the Serendipity class ability,

mainly), but it's probably more reasonable to keep him at around level 5 for this adventure.

Agent 99 should probably be about a level 9 Point(wo)man/Snoop, but, again, level 4 is probably more reasonable

for this introductory adventure.

Helga is originally from West Germany, Helga joined KAOS because of a burning desire to join an evil

organization of espionage. She was introduced early in her career to the demented twin brother of Sigfried, Sigfried,

with whom she immediately bonded. She respects him for his ruthlessness, his psychosis, and his rugged features.

There is, as they say, no accounting for tastes. Helga is a Level 4 Soldier.

Sigfried (the eviler twin of Sigfried) is the...uh, eviler twin of the Vice President of Public Relations and

Terrorism for KAOS, Ludwig von Sigfried (or is it Conrad Sigfried?). Like his brother, he was raised in Florida, but

unlike his brother, he was kept in the basement. All of the more promenent brother's issues are well documented.

Let's just say that the twin is even more screwed up. Sigfried (the eviler twin) is a level 5 Pointman. Or something like that.

Pictures used:

Picture 1 The chase in the atol.
Picture 3 Sigfried's eviler twin.
Picture 4 Agent 99 and Helga fighting.
Picture 5 The Atol.


Registered User
Man, I wish I had time to participate in this round of Ceramic DM, the stories look very cool. This is always such a fun tournament. Good luck to all the participants.

And look out for next time, I will be gunning for ya. :)


First Post
As that worked perfectly I will chant some more:D

[chant]we want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want morewe want more[/chant]


First Post
Macbeth, NoOneOfConsequence, CarlZog, Rune and myself so far. So we just need another 3 to take up the gauntlet :).

Or we could go with 4-5, treat this as a "test" round, and run two rounds from here?

I think the low turnout was probably because people didn't want to put in a week-long effort if they weren't even sure they would be contestants afterward. The method of telling everyone when you are going to open the contest up to entrants, and then doing so and taking the first 8, seems to work better for getting some committment out of people initially :D.


First Post
seasong said:

I think the low turnout was probably because people didn't want to put in a week-long effort if they weren't even sure they would be contestants afterward. The method of telling everyone when you are going to open the contest up to entrants, and then doing so and taking the first 8, seems to work better for getting some committment out of people initially :D.

mclesson mclearned :)

An Advertisement