[D20 CoC] Beyond the Mountains of Madness Campaign - Prologue

[Taokan]

Camille often compared this episode afterwards to the various dramatic happenings during the French Revolution; not neccesarrily needed, or useful, but noteworthy nonetheless.

In hindsight, it was a good thing that part of her misspent youth was spent brawling with the neighborhood boys in whatever country she happened to be in at the time. Usually she was soundly defeated, (as even then Camille had been tiny and undermuscled) but it did teach her a few things.

Springing out of her chair moments after the shout, "He's got a gun!", Camille grabbed the nearest weapon -a butter knife- and peered about the ballroom, searching for whomever supposedly had a gun.

 

[taitzu52]

Seeing the man over thirty feet away from him, Jim does what he can to ensure the safety of the most vulnerable folk around him. He turns to the gentry (especially the ladies), and curtly says, "Get down. Kneel behind the table." The last thing he wants is a stampede. Jim ducks behind his chair, a glass still in hand.

 

[Bobitron]

Vittorio's eyes grow wide at the mention of a gun. While he had spent some time around the hunters and soldiers that often accompany an expedition, he had never had any direct experience with firearms. Ducking down next to his chair, he couches and stays still, peeking over the table at the interloper. If one took the time amidst the chaos to look in his eyes, they would see no fear, but simply a calculated effort to stay out of harm's way.

 

[jdeleski]

Chaos Ensues

Martin jumps from his seat-knocking his chair over. He starts to run towards the strange individual making his way towards the stage.
"He's got a gun!"

As Martin and Paco spring to action, time seems to slow; each heartbeat, each pump of legs and arms, each breath stretching to eternity. In that crystalline moment of eerie stillness, memories are indelibly etched. Over one hundred heads slowly rotate in unison, ballet-like, towards Martin, mouths uniformly agape and eyes wide with fear. Lawrence, as named by James Starkweather, begins a slow twisting motion of his upper torso to the right, arms extended, upraising, blue-black pistol at their extremity; his head turning, straining to look over his shoulder to see his accoster, revealing a look of astonishment and pain.

The moment shatters and a wave of madness sweeps the room. A great cry of alarm erupts and nearly the entire room seems to jump from their seats, attempting to scramble directly away from Lawrence, some fleeing directly into the path of Martin and Paco. Chairs tumble, dishes and glasses crash, men and women push and stumble over each other, crying out in pain. Groups of individuals nearest the rear doors race from the room, yelling loudly.

Martin, with Paco following, runs as fast as possible while dodging chairs and pushing past a few patrons, attempting to close the gap with his target. Lawrence completes his spin to face them, slightly out of balance, both arms raised towards his onrushing opponents. His expression changes to one of utter sadness as his lips can be seen enunciating the word "No!" amid the din.

You hear James Starkweather yell "Lawrence, get down on the floor!" into the microphone, his voice booming across the room like a roll of thunder above the cacaphony, but his command is ignored. James leaps from the stage to race towards Lawrence, but he is quickly cut off and swallowed by a wave of guests scrambling in his direction to escape the alleged attacker.

One brave man directly opposite the aisle from Lawrence can be seen crouching, apparently coiling to spring across the gap in an attempt to tackle him.

Camille grabbed the nearest weapon -a butter knife- and peered about the ballroom, searching for whomever supposedly had a gun.

Camille admirably defends her space, approximately 25 feet from the nexus of trouble.

Game information
[sblock]OOC - At this point in the action, Martin, is approximately at the X on the map while Lawrence remains positioned at the Y, 10 feet away. Paco is 10 feet behind Martin.

Both Martin and Paco will need to push past 2 fleeing partygoers remaining in their path, and avoid a fallen chair, to cross the remaining ten foot gap to reach Lawrence. Their options include, but are not limited to a) moving and attacking, b) charging and attacking, c) moving and grappling, or d) charging and bum rushing.

How the next round of action plays out, of course, will be subject to the initiative rolls (which have already been rolled but may not be obvious from the posts).
[/sblock]

 

[Taokan]

Hearing the yell, "Lawrence, get down on the floor!" Camille sat herself unconcernedly on the edge of her table, spearing a sliver of roast duck with the butter knife. Her thinking was that if Starkweather was shouting orders to the gunman without worry, then Lawrence obviously couldn't be too much of a threat; otherwise, Starkweather would undoubedly be doing something impressive or stupid. Or both.

Casually munching on her duck, Camille adjusted her seat imperceptibly on the table so her legs wouldn't be bumped by fleeing guests. Cooly washing down the duck with a glass of water, Camile absently wondered how many guests would return later; then, upon deciding it wasn't too important, gingerly rooted through the ramains of her dinner, avoiding the asparagus like the proverbial plague.

 

[Morpheus]

Pushing past the panicked guests, Martin tries to close the distance between the attacker and him. I must get that gun out of his hands, Martin's brain screams to him.

OOC: Charge and grapple the hand with the pistol.

 

[jdeleski]

COMBAT HAS ERUPTED!
All players, please consult the OOC thread to help work through the actions.

Pushing past the panicked guests, Martin tries to close the distance between the attacker and him. I must get that gun out of his hands, Martin's brain screams to him.

OOC: Charge and grapple the hand with the pistol.

With Paco following, Martin ran full speed toward the gun-wielding individual, adrenaline flooding his system. In an impressive display of dexterity, he brushed past one tuxedoed guest and knocked a second, who shouted his surprise, off to the side, then leaped a chair to reach the attacker.

Martin lowered his torso at the last moment before contact, burying his shoulder deep into the man's stomach, encircling his left arm around the man's waist and using his right to force the assailant's arms and gun toward the ceiling. The man's breath smelled of the grave, nearly gagging Martin, as the force of his hit drove the air with a loud groan from the man's lungs. Martin's forward momentum completely lifted the man off his feet and sent both men flying backwards, locked together, legs and arms outstretched, to crash to the floor some 5 feet behind.

Martin's landing was cushioned by the gunman's body beneath him, but the gunman somehow managed to keep a grip on his weapon. A furious struggle began and Martin lunged forward, attempting to grab the gun, but only managed to grasp the man's wrist.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).

 

[Bobitron]

Vittorio holds his ground. He decided long ago that jumping in front of a man with a gun when others are perfectly willing to do it is just foolish. Let the heroic Americans dodge the bullets of this madman, he reasoned. I am staying right here.

 

[The Shaman]

Martin bears the gunman to the floor with a thud as Paco wends his way through the crowd, brushing aside the panicked party-goers. As the mysterious figure struggles with Martin, the mountaineer lets his weight fall on the gunman’s arm and shoulder. Paco reaches for the gun and attempts to twist it from the struggling man’s grasp.

 

[Morpheus]

"Gimme the gun before you hurt yourself."

 

[Bobitron]

Vittorio watches wide-eyed as Martin and Paco struggle with the gunman, but makes no move to leave his position.

 

[jdeleski]

Lawrence Loses It

With two rather determined individuals attempting to hold him down, Lawrence begins violently thrashing about, sobbing "No! No! You...Don't...UNDERSTAND!", yanking his arms from the grips of both Paco and Martin. He then uses what seems to be superhuman strength to pull his pistol arm down, tucking the barrel under his jawline, and then ceases his struggles and becomes perfectly still.

Looking directly into the gaze of Martin through bloodshot, pained eyes, he says in a low voice "You're going to die down there. All of you."

"But not ME!", he blurts out, the look on his face changing to one of grim determination, and Martin feels his gun hand move ever so slightly...

 

[Taokan]

Camille stared in shock, fork frozen halfway to her mouth; that had indeed been unexpected. Though her earlier thinking HAD been correct, in a way; he wasn't exactly a threat if the only thing he was threatening was himself.

Shaking her head slightly to clear it, Camille gazed with a mixture of sorrow and anger at Lawrence; even if he permitted her help, (which was doubtful, considering that he had just proclaimed her own early and tragic demise) she was too far away to do any good, so she imagined Lawrence's life now lay in the hands of those who started the riot. Pefect. But how dare he give up on everything, regardless of the circumstances?

Camille cursed softly under her breath in a mixture of French and badly pronounced Russian, then sighed and resignedly tried to remember the half-forgotten Buddhist funeral rights just in case (Camille didn't believe in Buddhism, or any other religions for that matter, but it was the only funeral service that was even faintly recalled). Something about picking the bones out of the cremated ashes with chopsticks...

 

[The Shaman]

It all seems to happen in slow motion.

A fine spray of blood splatters across Paco’s face. The mountaineer can only mutter a shocked, “Madre...” as he stares at the dead man on the carpet.

He’d seen men die before. But nothing like this. Never like this.

 

[Job]

Disbelief

The echo reverberated in the temporary absence of all other sound, open-mouthed guests staring mutely in disbelief at the scene, then the first of many screams pierced the night.

Martin and Paco could not hear the echo, deafened by their close proximity to the gunshot, but sensed the ripple of horror that followed it throughout the room.

The right side of Lawrence's face was gone, replaced with a mass of bloody pulp and bone and only the vague outline of his left side remaining; an empty eye socket next to the sharp-edged fragment of his nosebone, the shell of his forehead half-empty, rimmed with patches of wet, matted hair. A pool of blood expanded rapidly from the skullcap across the burgundy carpet towards the feet of guests who were attempting to move back from the fluid.

As Martin and Paco looked up from Lawrence's remains, they viewed a room transformed. The stage area was sprayed red, many guests only now registering the horror of the moment and beginning to frantically scramble, yelling. A gentleman had collapsed to the floor clutching his shoulder, his face speckled and white shirt soaked red, a number of people now attempting to help him.

At the forefront of a grouping of guests to Martin's right stood James Starkweather, some spatterings of crimson on his tuxedo, his face displaying aguish. He yelled "Someone get help!", then dropped to his knees, repeating "Oh Lawrence. Oh Lawrence." over and over, shaking his head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).

 

[Bobitron]

Vittorio happens to be ducked behind the table when the clearly insane man frees the gun and fires, but the results are obvious when he rises after the shot echoes through the hall. The man lies in a rapidly growing pool of blood and those nearby are all in varying degrees of anguish. Vittorio turns toward the stage and notes Starkweather has approached the scene. Walking towards the group of people Vittorio takes out a pair on handkerchiefs and hands one to the young woman who had somehow managed to eat her dinner throughout the event.

"For the blood..." he explains weakly, motioning a hand toward her dress.

 

[Job]

Dr. Moore Acts

Dr. Moore rushed up to Paco and Martin and asked “Misters LeBlanc and Guerini? Are either of you hurt?” After they assured him that they were OK, he motioned for them to move away from Lawrence's grisly remains and then, snatching a white tablecloth from a fallen table, draped it over Lawrence’s body.

"Gentlemen, that was a remarkable attempt to stop Lawrence from achieving his horrible purpose!" exclaimed the Professor. "I can only guess at what might have driven him to this sad end, but you should not feel as though you've failed. You managed to keep him from hurting others, if nothing else. And now, if you're up to it, I suppose that we should help our guests collect themselves."

He then turned and began making his way over to the gentleman who had collapsed near the stage, quietly suggesting to guests that they go to the lobby, or to the restrooms if needed.

Shortly afterwards, a hotel manager arrived on the scene and announced that the police were on their way. He asked everyone to report to the lobby and that the hotel would provide quiet areas for everyone to gather and await the police, who had asked that everyone remain at the hotel for some brief questioning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).

 

[Taokan]

Camille sat uneasily in a leather chair in the front lobby among the crowd of others, still holding the unused handkerchief that nice man had given her; since she had only planned on wearing the dress for one night regardless, it wasn't seen as a great loss when the front of her dress was liberally splattered with quickly-congealing blood. She did, however, attempt to clean up her face a bit with her fingertips, as a few far-flung drops had splashed her face- she succeeeded in smearing it spectacuarly, however.

Still in a state of quasi-shock, Camille spent some of the time waiting for the police stamping down on any feelings of grief, confusion, or shock, burying them liberally in a healthy dose of sarcasm, exasperation, and false naivity; she had found that it was better to react to such things later, when one was alone, in comparison to an emotional reaction in front of, say, the police coming.

Seizing on the next stray thought to occur to her with grim desperation, she wondered for the next ten minutes whether this would impact her meeting with Starkweather in any serious way.

 

[Job]

Damage Control

The Amherst Hotel was quick to act. As Fundraiser guests entered the lobby, their names were checked off at the front desk and they were asked if there was anything they needed; in most cases, they received it. All guests were escorted away from the lobby to comfortable lounges, to suites of rooms, to medical areas, to the Amherst restaurant, or even to private rooms if the need appeared urgent; food and drinks and washcloths and changes of clothing were all arranged. All guests who were staying at the hotel were allowed to return to their rooms if they so desired.

All managers were called in; dozens of hotel staff members were called in--cooks, waitresses, waiters, bellhops, laundrymen, cleaners, aides, and drivers. The list of names of Fundraiser attendees was being checked and crosschecked against lists that were kept at the front desk.

Other, somewhat less noticeable security measures were also taken, as requested by New York City's Chief of Police. All exterior doors were locked tight and large, athletic Hotel staff members were posted at each until the police arrived. The doormen cleared the sidewalks and waved taxis away. All incoming and outgoing calls were screened and restricted.

The wail of sirens filled the night air.

 

[The Shaman]

Paco sat back on the floor in stunned disbelief, a ringing in his ears. It took a moment for Dr. Moore’s words to cut through the white noise. “I am not hurt, Doctor Moore,” the mountaineer replies at last. “Por favor, a napkin...”

Wiping the blood and tissue from his face and hands, he rises and offers what aid he can to the others, willing himself to focus on the task at hand and pushing the horror of the sudden, violent death deep into a remote corner of his conscious mind.

Soon the hotel staff begins to arrive and instructions are given. At an opportune moment, Paco excuses himself and returns to his room. Fumbling with the key in the lock, he enters and closes the door, taking a deep breath as he sits on the edge of his bed, then looking himself over.

His rough ablutions with the dinner napkin and a glass of ice water had succeeded more in turning the drips of blood and bits of grey matter into reddish streaks than it had in removing them from his skin. His once-clean and neatly-pressed suit is stained, his freshly shaved face smeared crimson, his trimmed hair filled with flecks of tissue. He strips away his jacket and shirt and tie, and looks to the claw-footed porcelain tub in the bathroom. Before he can begin to wash away the marks on his body, however, there is another cleansing that must come first.

From his trunk Paco removes his rosary and kneels beside his bed. “Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum, benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui Iesus. Sancta Maria mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae...”