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[D20 CoC] Beyond the Mountains of Madness Campaign - Prologue
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<blockquote data-quote="Taokan" data-source="post: 2474445" data-attributes="member: 34533"><p><em>Several hours later...</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em></em>"Room service! I have the information you requested," Piped an irritating, nasal voice through the door of the suite. Without waiting for a response, a rotund, graying housekeeper shoved the door open, triumphantly brandishing a stack of paper. The poor housekeeper's face twisted in confusion at the perplexing sight he saw.</p><p></p><p>A miniscule French woman dresssed in a pilot's uniform was curled on top of a nearby footrest, tugging on a pair of steel-tipped boots using her mouth and right hand and attempting to spray what smelled like aftershave on herself with the other hand. The reason why the bed wasn't used instead was immedietally apparent: the entire surface of the bed was covered but numerous pamphlets and flyers as well as various pieces of her flight ensemble. </p><p></p><p>The portly housekeeper nervously edged into the room, looking ready to bolt. He cautiously asked where he should put these new papers down, as they would topple the already-untidy stacks on the bed.</p><p></p><p>Jerking her head in the general direction of the bed, the tiny pilot spewed muffled blasphemies in a mix of French and Russian as whatever was in the spritzer bottle caught her full in the face. </p><p></p><p>The bi-lingual cuss did the poor cleaner in: pratically throwing the papers at the bed, the corpulent housekeeper fled out the door. </p><p></p><p>Giving an irritated sigh, Camille finished tying off her footwear and commenced gathering up the discarded paper and adding it to the pile on the bed. Camille sank down on the bed and started sifting through the piled up agglomeration. </p><p></p><p>*-*-*-*</p><p></p><p>Camille had gotten her idea by studying the article about the gala even further; there had been mention of the fundraiser being open to university students. Thus, the idea: disguise herself and/or pull enough strings to do the equivalent.</p><p></p><p>The multitude was mostly made up of college flyers and applications; names such as the Columbia Institute of the Chiropractic and St. Joseph's College and were quickly replaced with such things as the New York University College of Dentistry. She eventually decided on a physic's student from St. Joseph's College. </p><p></p><p>All she had to do now was look like a student and act like one, as well as convincing the universities' scholars to go along with whatever she did. Luckily, she had an advantage in this area: her mother's best friend, Turiau Allvoz, (he whom had driven her to New York) had connections in just this college, which was why she had chosen it. She just had to find Turiau at wherever he was staying, chum up with him while he chatted about the old days, then dress the part. Easy as pie.</p><p></p><p>Quickly running over to the adjoining lavatory, Camille ran water over her face to dilute the overpowering funk of the remaining aftershave. That done, she pulled on her pilot's jacket (with her response to Starkweather in the pocket) and sprung out the door, leaving swirling letters in her wake.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Taokan, post: 2474445, member: 34533"] [i]Several hours later... [/i]"Room service! I have the information you requested," Piped an irritating, nasal voice through the door of the suite. Without waiting for a response, a rotund, graying housekeeper shoved the door open, triumphantly brandishing a stack of paper. The poor housekeeper's face twisted in confusion at the perplexing sight he saw. A miniscule French woman dresssed in a pilot's uniform was curled on top of a nearby footrest, tugging on a pair of steel-tipped boots using her mouth and right hand and attempting to spray what smelled like aftershave on herself with the other hand. The reason why the bed wasn't used instead was immedietally apparent: the entire surface of the bed was covered but numerous pamphlets and flyers as well as various pieces of her flight ensemble. The portly housekeeper nervously edged into the room, looking ready to bolt. He cautiously asked where he should put these new papers down, as they would topple the already-untidy stacks on the bed. Jerking her head in the general direction of the bed, the tiny pilot spewed muffled blasphemies in a mix of French and Russian as whatever was in the spritzer bottle caught her full in the face. The bi-lingual cuss did the poor cleaner in: pratically throwing the papers at the bed, the corpulent housekeeper fled out the door. Giving an irritated sigh, Camille finished tying off her footwear and commenced gathering up the discarded paper and adding it to the pile on the bed. Camille sank down on the bed and started sifting through the piled up agglomeration. *-*-*-* Camille had gotten her idea by studying the article about the gala even further; there had been mention of the fundraiser being open to university students. Thus, the idea: disguise herself and/or pull enough strings to do the equivalent. The multitude was mostly made up of college flyers and applications; names such as the Columbia Institute of the Chiropractic and St. Joseph's College and were quickly replaced with such things as the New York University College of Dentistry. She eventually decided on a physic's student from St. Joseph's College. All she had to do now was look like a student and act like one, as well as convincing the universities' scholars to go along with whatever she did. Luckily, she had an advantage in this area: her mother's best friend, Turiau Allvoz, (he whom had driven her to New York) had connections in just this college, which was why she had chosen it. She just had to find Turiau at wherever he was staying, chum up with him while he chatted about the old days, then dress the part. Easy as pie. Quickly running over to the adjoining lavatory, Camille ran water over her face to dilute the overpowering funk of the remaining aftershave. That done, she pulled on her pilot's jacket (with her response to Starkweather in the pocket) and sprung out the door, leaving swirling letters in her wake. [/QUOTE]
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