Falkus
Explorer
Hi there, here's a writeup of the first session of d20 Modern with my new group at my universities new gaming club. Please post critiques, suggestions, mocking of my GMing ability, death threats, etc.
The Winter of Our Discontent
Staring:
Ryan Nichols, ex-military technician with a passion for the occult and pretty handy with his mini-Uzi
Giles Morgan, ex-CIA operative, can talk his way into or out of anything, also has a passion for the occult (to be introduced in episode two).
Steve, a student with a mysterious past and a keen hand with the throwing knives.
Colm “Mad” Braxton, a freelance sniper with a disdain for modern technology.
Episode One: Le Chien de l’Onyx, part one
November 20, 2008
New York City
The phone rang.
The office was nothing special, just a small building in a cheap part of town. A good place to serve as a simple gathering place for the group and to store the items they’d rather not be caught with. Better than using their own homes, the work they did wasn’t exactly legal.
To put it bluntly, they were mercenaries. Soldiers of fortune. Guns for hire. Not assassins, nor criminals by the strictest sense of the world. Problem solvers or trouble shooters were better terms. A group that got hired to do various activities that were morally sound, but not legally permissible. Hired by people who didn’t want to or couldn’t go to the cops, people who wanted things done quietly and efficiently. They had a small but burgeoning reputation in underground circles as problem solvers who stuck to their code of ethics.
It wasn’t the most perfect of jobs, mind you, but it paid the bills.
And the phone rang.
Steve was the one who answered. When Giles wasn’t around, Steve was usually the one who answered the phone. Ryan wasn’t so hot on the phone, and the team had let Colm “Mad” Braxton answer the phone once, and then never let him answer it again.
“Talk to me,” stated Steve into the phone.
“My name’s Alanna. I, I’d like to hire you,” it was a female voice. Nervous, worried, were good descriptors of the voice. She obviously wasn’t used to this sort of thing, and was in way over her head.
“What’s the problem?” asked Steve, taking out a pencil and pad. “Whatever is, we can deal with it, as quietly as you like.”
“An associate of mine, he’s been kidnapped. I have to find him. I can’t go to the police.”
“We can do that,” replied Steve, calmly. Nobody on the team knew too much about him. He was a student, supposedly, but he wielded his knives like a Navy Seal. “Just give me the details, and we’ll get right on it.” He wasn’t too concerned about the police factor. The team didn’t exactly function on the right side of the law themselves. It wasn’t that they were criminals, so to speak, it was just that they sometimes found that the best way to get through red tape was to burn it with a white phosphorous grenade.
“I can’t talk over the phone,” she quickly rattled off an address; she definitely seemed frightened and close to tears. “I can be there in the alley at seven PM. I have to go now.”
And then she hung up.
Elsewhere
“Got the address?” said the first man, taking off a pair of headphones that were plugged into some rather sophisticated surveillance equipment.
“Yes. I’ll get in touch with our friends and stop this problem before it starts. Last thing we need is some loose cannons on this situation,” said the second, as he took off his headphones.
Four PM, the alley
It was a run down part of town. Not a place you’d want to visit or live if you had the choice. The team had come a couple hours early, suspecting a trap.
A quick routine search through the surrounding area revealed nothing particularly suspicious about upcoming meeting. Of course, that was no guarantee.
“We’ll run through this like usual,” stated Ryan. Being fairly knowledgeable with combat tactics, he was the nominal commander of the group. “Steve will make the contact since Giles isn’t here, and I’ll stay back, keeping a look out in case there’s trouble. Braxton, you know what to do, find some high ground and cover us from there.
The team moved out, Mad Braxton setting up with his PSG-1 in the second story window of an abandoned warehouse across from the alley. Perfect vantage point, he thought to himself.
At seven PM on the dot, a figure appeared at the mouth of the alley.
She was small, five feet at most. Green hair, obviously having been dyed. She looked around for a moment, then spotted Steve and started walking towards him.
And it was at that point that Braxton spotted a brown Dodge Neon slowly cruising towards the entrance of the alley while a man holding an UZI leaned out of the left-side passenger window.
“Got ‘em,” Braxton said to himself, smiling as he scoped in on the car’s tire and pulled the trigger of his rifle.
The 7.62mm bullet bounced off of the pavement, and Braxton cursed his quick finger, he’d pulled the trigger too soon.
However, it wasn’t in vain. The sound of the shot was overheard in the alley. The women dropped to the ground immediately, saving her life as the car slowly cruised in front of the alley, and the gunner sprayed nine millimeter ammunition all over.
Steve and Ryan ducked to the sides of the alley, pulling out their weapons. Steve reacted first, running towards the car and throwing a knife at the front tire as he moved, slicing open the tire, and forcing the driver to slam on the brakes. Cursing, Ryan opened up with his mini-Uzi, peppering the wall on the other side of the street with bullets, but causing no harm to his intended targets.
The assassin opened up again, barely missing Steve, who grabbed Alanna and ducked behind some garbage cans for cover. There was a door next to him, which he tried to force, but failed. Ryan kept up the fire, but still didn’t hit anything.
Steve came up from behind the garbage cans after making sure their client was safe, and with a smile, threw a knife, which sunk into the flesh of the arm of the gunner. This was what he lived for. Braxton, meanwhile, finally managed to hit. A single shot blew a hole right through the gunner’s head, taking off half his face spraying blood over the alley, as the man slumped out the window, dead.
Screaming obscenities, the driver of the car pulled a .colt .45, and reached to roll down the window. It turned out to be unnecessary, as Ryan’s next shot, he had dropped the idea of autofire and switched to single, blew open the window, but missed the driver.
Steve, duck back behind the garbage cans, pulled out his taser, and tried to sink the darts into the screaming man, but missed, and the darts bounced harmlessly off the side of the car.
Braxton was on a roll. His second shot went right through the passenger side window and into the driver’s back, passing through and taking out the man’s heart and a few other internal organs.
It had been less than thirty seconds since the two men started shooting, but it was over. Both of the assassins were dead, and their target was unharmed.
Ryan quickly took charge of the situation. “There’s a Roasted Nut coffee shop six blocks from here, get to it. Now. We’ll meet you there after we clean up here,” he stated, all business as he put his mini-uzi back in its holster.
Alanna stammered a thank you, and quickly fled into the night.
Meanwhilem Steve was checking out the dead bodies, relieving them of their wallets. There was no identification, but the driver’s face was familiar. As Alanna left, and Ryan moved up to join him, Steve snapped his fingers.
“Now I know where I saw this guy,” he said, point at the driver. “He was in the paper, two weeks ago. He was being released on bail, had been charged with assault. He is, well, was, a member of the Aryan Nation.”
“Son of a bitch,” muttered Ryan. “Neo-Nazis. Scum of the world. Bet ya ten bucks that we’re going to be seeing more of them before we finish we finish with this job. Get the Uzi, you’ll need a gun.”
“But-” started Steve, starting to explain, like he had a few times before, that he didn’t like guns and he wasn’t particularly skilled in their use.
“No buts,” snapped Ryan. “Just take the damn thing, and let’s clean this place up.”
Steve shrugged, and divested the dead Nazi of his Uzi as Ryan took the driver’s M1911. Ironic, really, that a Neo-Nazi would be using a weapon originally designed by Israel, thought Steve. He then whirled a metal baton out from underneath his coat, and smashed in the teeth of each dead Nazi, ensuring that they'd never be identified by dental records. Once that grisly task was done, and as Braxton rejoined them, Steve took out a white phosphorous grenade, pulled the pin and dropped it in the window of the car.
The three left, walking back towards their van, as the car burst into flames behind them, burning merrily underneath the dark, New York skyline. There were faint sirens in the distance, as the police finally responded to reports of gunshots, but the crew was long gone by the time the police arrived.
Best quotes:
“Quick, tell our characters that the car is coming.”
“I’ve only got a cellphone, what do you want me to do? Put down my rifle and call you?”
“They’re Nazis? Sweet, I love killing Nazis.”
Tune in next time I can manage to write up a session summary for thriling second episode of the three episode series premiere of the Winter of Our Discontent.
The Winter of Our Discontent
Staring:
Ryan Nichols, ex-military technician with a passion for the occult and pretty handy with his mini-Uzi
Giles Morgan, ex-CIA operative, can talk his way into or out of anything, also has a passion for the occult (to be introduced in episode two).
Steve, a student with a mysterious past and a keen hand with the throwing knives.
Colm “Mad” Braxton, a freelance sniper with a disdain for modern technology.
Episode One: Le Chien de l’Onyx, part one
November 20, 2008
New York City
The phone rang.
The office was nothing special, just a small building in a cheap part of town. A good place to serve as a simple gathering place for the group and to store the items they’d rather not be caught with. Better than using their own homes, the work they did wasn’t exactly legal.
To put it bluntly, they were mercenaries. Soldiers of fortune. Guns for hire. Not assassins, nor criminals by the strictest sense of the world. Problem solvers or trouble shooters were better terms. A group that got hired to do various activities that were morally sound, but not legally permissible. Hired by people who didn’t want to or couldn’t go to the cops, people who wanted things done quietly and efficiently. They had a small but burgeoning reputation in underground circles as problem solvers who stuck to their code of ethics.
It wasn’t the most perfect of jobs, mind you, but it paid the bills.
And the phone rang.
Steve was the one who answered. When Giles wasn’t around, Steve was usually the one who answered the phone. Ryan wasn’t so hot on the phone, and the team had let Colm “Mad” Braxton answer the phone once, and then never let him answer it again.
“Talk to me,” stated Steve into the phone.
“My name’s Alanna. I, I’d like to hire you,” it was a female voice. Nervous, worried, were good descriptors of the voice. She obviously wasn’t used to this sort of thing, and was in way over her head.
“What’s the problem?” asked Steve, taking out a pencil and pad. “Whatever is, we can deal with it, as quietly as you like.”
“An associate of mine, he’s been kidnapped. I have to find him. I can’t go to the police.”
“We can do that,” replied Steve, calmly. Nobody on the team knew too much about him. He was a student, supposedly, but he wielded his knives like a Navy Seal. “Just give me the details, and we’ll get right on it.” He wasn’t too concerned about the police factor. The team didn’t exactly function on the right side of the law themselves. It wasn’t that they were criminals, so to speak, it was just that they sometimes found that the best way to get through red tape was to burn it with a white phosphorous grenade.
“I can’t talk over the phone,” she quickly rattled off an address; she definitely seemed frightened and close to tears. “I can be there in the alley at seven PM. I have to go now.”
And then she hung up.
Elsewhere
“Got the address?” said the first man, taking off a pair of headphones that were plugged into some rather sophisticated surveillance equipment.
“Yes. I’ll get in touch with our friends and stop this problem before it starts. Last thing we need is some loose cannons on this situation,” said the second, as he took off his headphones.
Four PM, the alley
It was a run down part of town. Not a place you’d want to visit or live if you had the choice. The team had come a couple hours early, suspecting a trap.
A quick routine search through the surrounding area revealed nothing particularly suspicious about upcoming meeting. Of course, that was no guarantee.
“We’ll run through this like usual,” stated Ryan. Being fairly knowledgeable with combat tactics, he was the nominal commander of the group. “Steve will make the contact since Giles isn’t here, and I’ll stay back, keeping a look out in case there’s trouble. Braxton, you know what to do, find some high ground and cover us from there.
The team moved out, Mad Braxton setting up with his PSG-1 in the second story window of an abandoned warehouse across from the alley. Perfect vantage point, he thought to himself.
At seven PM on the dot, a figure appeared at the mouth of the alley.
She was small, five feet at most. Green hair, obviously having been dyed. She looked around for a moment, then spotted Steve and started walking towards him.
And it was at that point that Braxton spotted a brown Dodge Neon slowly cruising towards the entrance of the alley while a man holding an UZI leaned out of the left-side passenger window.
“Got ‘em,” Braxton said to himself, smiling as he scoped in on the car’s tire and pulled the trigger of his rifle.
The 7.62mm bullet bounced off of the pavement, and Braxton cursed his quick finger, he’d pulled the trigger too soon.
However, it wasn’t in vain. The sound of the shot was overheard in the alley. The women dropped to the ground immediately, saving her life as the car slowly cruised in front of the alley, and the gunner sprayed nine millimeter ammunition all over.
Steve and Ryan ducked to the sides of the alley, pulling out their weapons. Steve reacted first, running towards the car and throwing a knife at the front tire as he moved, slicing open the tire, and forcing the driver to slam on the brakes. Cursing, Ryan opened up with his mini-Uzi, peppering the wall on the other side of the street with bullets, but causing no harm to his intended targets.
The assassin opened up again, barely missing Steve, who grabbed Alanna and ducked behind some garbage cans for cover. There was a door next to him, which he tried to force, but failed. Ryan kept up the fire, but still didn’t hit anything.
Steve came up from behind the garbage cans after making sure their client was safe, and with a smile, threw a knife, which sunk into the flesh of the arm of the gunner. This was what he lived for. Braxton, meanwhile, finally managed to hit. A single shot blew a hole right through the gunner’s head, taking off half his face spraying blood over the alley, as the man slumped out the window, dead.
Screaming obscenities, the driver of the car pulled a .colt .45, and reached to roll down the window. It turned out to be unnecessary, as Ryan’s next shot, he had dropped the idea of autofire and switched to single, blew open the window, but missed the driver.
Steve, duck back behind the garbage cans, pulled out his taser, and tried to sink the darts into the screaming man, but missed, and the darts bounced harmlessly off the side of the car.
Braxton was on a roll. His second shot went right through the passenger side window and into the driver’s back, passing through and taking out the man’s heart and a few other internal organs.
It had been less than thirty seconds since the two men started shooting, but it was over. Both of the assassins were dead, and their target was unharmed.
Ryan quickly took charge of the situation. “There’s a Roasted Nut coffee shop six blocks from here, get to it. Now. We’ll meet you there after we clean up here,” he stated, all business as he put his mini-uzi back in its holster.
Alanna stammered a thank you, and quickly fled into the night.
Meanwhilem Steve was checking out the dead bodies, relieving them of their wallets. There was no identification, but the driver’s face was familiar. As Alanna left, and Ryan moved up to join him, Steve snapped his fingers.
“Now I know where I saw this guy,” he said, point at the driver. “He was in the paper, two weeks ago. He was being released on bail, had been charged with assault. He is, well, was, a member of the Aryan Nation.”
“Son of a bitch,” muttered Ryan. “Neo-Nazis. Scum of the world. Bet ya ten bucks that we’re going to be seeing more of them before we finish we finish with this job. Get the Uzi, you’ll need a gun.”
“But-” started Steve, starting to explain, like he had a few times before, that he didn’t like guns and he wasn’t particularly skilled in their use.
“No buts,” snapped Ryan. “Just take the damn thing, and let’s clean this place up.”
Steve shrugged, and divested the dead Nazi of his Uzi as Ryan took the driver’s M1911. Ironic, really, that a Neo-Nazi would be using a weapon originally designed by Israel, thought Steve. He then whirled a metal baton out from underneath his coat, and smashed in the teeth of each dead Nazi, ensuring that they'd never be identified by dental records. Once that grisly task was done, and as Braxton rejoined them, Steve took out a white phosphorous grenade, pulled the pin and dropped it in the window of the car.
The three left, walking back towards their van, as the car burst into flames behind them, burning merrily underneath the dark, New York skyline. There were faint sirens in the distance, as the police finally responded to reports of gunshots, but the crew was long gone by the time the police arrived.
Best quotes:
“Quick, tell our characters that the car is coming.”
“I’ve only got a cellphone, what do you want me to do? Put down my rifle and call you?”
“They’re Nazis? Sweet, I love killing Nazis.”
Tune in next time I can manage to write up a session summary for thriling second episode of the three episode series premiere of the Winter of Our Discontent.
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