Medallions d20 Modern (Update Wednesday 09-20-06)
- Thread starter Old Drew Id
- Start date
recursive_1
First Post
Please post an update soon. This is great!
Drew,
First off...GREAT story hour! I love it, especially what you're doing for magic. I already downloaded your first doc, which was pretty good reading, but now I need more...like some of the spell lists and what the drains are? I'd love to copy that in a horror based d20 modern game i'm planning.
First off...GREAT story hour! I love it, especially what you're doing for magic. I already downloaded your first doc, which was pretty good reading, but now I need more...like some of the spell lists and what the drains are? I'd love to copy that in a horror based d20 modern game i'm planning.
While re-reading the story so far, I've come to a new appreciation of just how enjoyable it is. Please tell me that this is not the end of the story hour!
By the way, when Bolling enters the scene I can't help but picture him as Brian Thompson, the actor:
http://www.brianthompson.com/ even though the physical descriptions don't exactly match (Bolling is described as being bald). I'm not sure why I'm bringing this up, but I am eager to see what exactly the deal is with Bolling, Scorse, and the rest. Don't leave us hanging, Drew!
By the way, when Bolling enters the scene I can't help but picture him as Brian Thompson, the actor:
http://www.brianthompson.com/ even though the physical descriptions don't exactly match (Bolling is described as being bald). I'm not sure why I'm bringing this up, but I am eager to see what exactly the deal is with Bolling, Scorse, and the rest. Don't leave us hanging, Drew!
Old Drew Id
First Post
Session 3 (5/21/2003) Stake-out
Session 4 (5/28/2003) Stake-out
Willie had to pee. He had to pee, had to pee, had to peeeeee.
Okay…okay…he just needed to try not to think about it. He knew that. He should be concentrating on why he was here. He should concentrate on the stake-out.
Okay, back to the procedure. He was a professional, not some rookie gumshoe. First, scan the perimeter again. Assess the situation. Alright, he was slumped down in the bushes across the street from an apartment complex, leaning against a tree, dressed like a bum. The sky was getting dark. He had identified Isabel Garcia’s apartment through his binoculars, and had been watching the door and window for seven hours. There was very little traffic on this street, and he really, really, really had to pee.
Stop. Willie needed to stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about the thermos of cold coffee that he had finished off two hours ago and definitely stop thinking about the empty pint of rum laying beside his cane. He had intended that bottle of rum to just add to his disguise. He couldn’t imagine why he had actually drunk it. It was kinda funny, because he really wasn’t even buzzed considering the amount he had consumed. Must be cheap rum, probably mixed with the caffeine from the coffee.
Not instant coffee either. Drip coffee. And speaking of drip…
Stop thinking about it. Focus on the stake-out.
Nothing was going on here. Isabel could be gone all night. She could have easily left town, or be holed up somewhere else. Willie had been waiting here way too long, and there was nothing going on. He ought to take a look around inside her place.
And there would be a bathroom inside that apartment.
Okay, Willie knew better. That would be really stupid. Breaking and entering just to snoop around, and then use the bathroom. If he got caught, he could lose his license. So why was he already limping across the parking lot towards her apartment?
Willie leaned against the door as silently as possible. Just a quick in-and-out.
The door to Isabel Garcia’s apartment was a thick sturdy wooden monster typical to Southside apartments. It also had a cheap lock leftover from sometime sixty years ago that had been worn in from decades of use and was incredibly easy to pick.
Willie felt the tumblers slide into place and held the door lightly closed with his left hand. He stuffed the lock pick set back into his pocket and reached into his jacket for his gun. He had been staking the apartment out since early in the afternoon, and with no interior lights coming on as the sun set, he was reasonably sure that no one was home. Still, no sense risking getting shot just in case some crazy voodoo witch wants to save on her power bill.
Willie took a deep breath and stepped inside. The door swung open silently revealing a simple living room full of cluttered cheap furniture, a short hallway off the left, and a kitchen to the right. The place smelled strange, like jerk spices and mildew. There was no one home.
Willie closed the door behind him and stood still, waiting a couple of minutes for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He had a flashlight if he needed it (and an illuminator for his pistol after seeing how useful that had been at the Science Center), but he would prefer to keep to the dark if he could help it.
His bladder felt stretched out like the Goodyear blimp. He should definitely not be thinking about that now.
Kitchen off to the right. Quick peek around the corner before hitting the bathroom.
Dark shadows of assorted clutter all over the counters. The vague rounded shapes of numerous pots and pans, plus a few opened cartons and containers. Several dark unlabelled jars. From the look of it, someone had been cooking up a storm.
And over it all, and overpowering smell of dried blood.
Willie waited a heartbeat. Something in the back of his mind whispered, “Jackpot!”. He flicked on the illuminator on his piece.
The cartons were for sugar, butter, walnuts, caramel chips, and instant brownie mix. The pots and pans all had been used for baking brownies. Garcia must have made a dozen batches of brownies here. And scattered around the counter space, mixed in with the other ingredients, a couple of boxes labeled “live crickets” and a dozen empty jars of now-dried blood.
Willie fought back his gag reflex. He had seen grisly scenes before, but never something completely Betty-Crocker-Off-Her-Rocker psychotic like this. There was definitely something seriously demented about a woman who not only made voodoo brownies out of insects and blood, but who then took the trouble to add the optional walnuts and caramel chips for flavor.
Okay, now he really had to pee. And this was not just the coffee and rum kidding-around-but-I’ll-go-when-I-have-a-chance kind of urge to pee. This was the I’m-in-the-house-of-a-psycho kind of urge.
Willie backed out of the kitchen, and turned to the hallway. There was a closed door to the left, which had to be the bedroom. A half-open door on his right exposed a tile floor and towel-rack, which should be a bathroom.
Willie silently slipped into the bathroom. His illuminator reflected off the tile and mirror, nicely lighting up the whole room. Including the sink, toilet, homemade IV, and semi-fresh sealed jar of blood.
Hey, cool. At least she does her ritual blood-collection in the bathroom. Instinct took over, and Willie at last flipped up the lid on the toilet and let go of his bladder.
After the first couple of seconds, it occurred to him that he was holding his gun dangerously close to the family jewels, and he wisely pointed the pistol away and back towards the door to the bathroom. When he was finished, he flushed, pocketed the fresh jar of blood, and stepped back out into the hall.
The bedroom. The door was closed. Willie pressed and ear to it and waited. No sound from inside. He tried the handle, and the door swung open.
The bed was made, and the room was more or less well-kept. However, the walls were plastered with papers. Newspaper clippings and photos, mostly about Dick Scorse and South-Medical. Strange occult charts and diagrams, too. Plus maps and blueprints: of the library, and of the church, and the sports medicine place and the science center. And another map, of the new South-Medical “digital hospital” still under construction on Highway 280.
The next crime scene. That little voice in the back of Willie’s head popped up again: “Jackpot!”
Which is precisely when the zombie jumped out.
He must have been standing behind the door. In an instant, the undead thing slammed the door shut, trapping Willie in the room with it, and began swinging a heavy metal candlestick the size of a crowbar.
Willie ducked, and the candlestick smashed a lamp into oblivion. Willie fired twice at the thing. In the flash of the gun, he saw the zombie’s face, already half-rotten and replaced with dark clay. The bullets blasted into the zombie’s chest, ripping out pounds of flesh, but the zombie kept coming. The candlestick smashed into Willie’s ribs, and he staggered back onto the bed. He knew at least one rib was cracked. Another hit like that and there would be two dead men in this room instead of just one.
Willie rolled off the bed, away from the zombie and towards the window. The zombie squared off against him and lunged with the candlestick. It missed, and with a loud crack, shattered the nightstand. Willie dove through the window.
A shower of glass, a handful of minor cuts, and Willie was back outside again. He silently thanked Ms. Garcia for living in Southside, where the sound of gunfire and breaking glass kept people inside their homes, instead of sending them outside to investigate. He heard the zombie above him, but didn’t wait to find out its plan. Hobbling and hopping on his good leg, he took off across the parking lot and into the closest alley.
At least he no longer had to pee.
Session 4 (5/28/2003) Stake-out
Willie had to pee. He had to pee, had to pee, had to peeeeee.
Okay…okay…he just needed to try not to think about it. He knew that. He should be concentrating on why he was here. He should concentrate on the stake-out.
Okay, back to the procedure. He was a professional, not some rookie gumshoe. First, scan the perimeter again. Assess the situation. Alright, he was slumped down in the bushes across the street from an apartment complex, leaning against a tree, dressed like a bum. The sky was getting dark. He had identified Isabel Garcia’s apartment through his binoculars, and had been watching the door and window for seven hours. There was very little traffic on this street, and he really, really, really had to pee.
Stop. Willie needed to stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about the thermos of cold coffee that he had finished off two hours ago and definitely stop thinking about the empty pint of rum laying beside his cane. He had intended that bottle of rum to just add to his disguise. He couldn’t imagine why he had actually drunk it. It was kinda funny, because he really wasn’t even buzzed considering the amount he had consumed. Must be cheap rum, probably mixed with the caffeine from the coffee.
Not instant coffee either. Drip coffee. And speaking of drip…
Stop thinking about it. Focus on the stake-out.
Nothing was going on here. Isabel could be gone all night. She could have easily left town, or be holed up somewhere else. Willie had been waiting here way too long, and there was nothing going on. He ought to take a look around inside her place.
And there would be a bathroom inside that apartment.
Okay, Willie knew better. That would be really stupid. Breaking and entering just to snoop around, and then use the bathroom. If he got caught, he could lose his license. So why was he already limping across the parking lot towards her apartment?
Willie leaned against the door as silently as possible. Just a quick in-and-out.
The door to Isabel Garcia’s apartment was a thick sturdy wooden monster typical to Southside apartments. It also had a cheap lock leftover from sometime sixty years ago that had been worn in from decades of use and was incredibly easy to pick.
Willie felt the tumblers slide into place and held the door lightly closed with his left hand. He stuffed the lock pick set back into his pocket and reached into his jacket for his gun. He had been staking the apartment out since early in the afternoon, and with no interior lights coming on as the sun set, he was reasonably sure that no one was home. Still, no sense risking getting shot just in case some crazy voodoo witch wants to save on her power bill.
Willie took a deep breath and stepped inside. The door swung open silently revealing a simple living room full of cluttered cheap furniture, a short hallway off the left, and a kitchen to the right. The place smelled strange, like jerk spices and mildew. There was no one home.
Willie closed the door behind him and stood still, waiting a couple of minutes for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He had a flashlight if he needed it (and an illuminator for his pistol after seeing how useful that had been at the Science Center), but he would prefer to keep to the dark if he could help it.
His bladder felt stretched out like the Goodyear blimp. He should definitely not be thinking about that now.
Kitchen off to the right. Quick peek around the corner before hitting the bathroom.
Dark shadows of assorted clutter all over the counters. The vague rounded shapes of numerous pots and pans, plus a few opened cartons and containers. Several dark unlabelled jars. From the look of it, someone had been cooking up a storm.
And over it all, and overpowering smell of dried blood.
Willie waited a heartbeat. Something in the back of his mind whispered, “Jackpot!”. He flicked on the illuminator on his piece.
The cartons were for sugar, butter, walnuts, caramel chips, and instant brownie mix. The pots and pans all had been used for baking brownies. Garcia must have made a dozen batches of brownies here. And scattered around the counter space, mixed in with the other ingredients, a couple of boxes labeled “live crickets” and a dozen empty jars of now-dried blood.
Willie fought back his gag reflex. He had seen grisly scenes before, but never something completely Betty-Crocker-Off-Her-Rocker psychotic like this. There was definitely something seriously demented about a woman who not only made voodoo brownies out of insects and blood, but who then took the trouble to add the optional walnuts and caramel chips for flavor.
Okay, now he really had to pee. And this was not just the coffee and rum kidding-around-but-I’ll-go-when-I-have-a-chance kind of urge to pee. This was the I’m-in-the-house-of-a-psycho kind of urge.
Willie backed out of the kitchen, and turned to the hallway. There was a closed door to the left, which had to be the bedroom. A half-open door on his right exposed a tile floor and towel-rack, which should be a bathroom.
Willie silently slipped into the bathroom. His illuminator reflected off the tile and mirror, nicely lighting up the whole room. Including the sink, toilet, homemade IV, and semi-fresh sealed jar of blood.
Hey, cool. At least she does her ritual blood-collection in the bathroom. Instinct took over, and Willie at last flipped up the lid on the toilet and let go of his bladder.
After the first couple of seconds, it occurred to him that he was holding his gun dangerously close to the family jewels, and he wisely pointed the pistol away and back towards the door to the bathroom. When he was finished, he flushed, pocketed the fresh jar of blood, and stepped back out into the hall.
The bedroom. The door was closed. Willie pressed and ear to it and waited. No sound from inside. He tried the handle, and the door swung open.
The bed was made, and the room was more or less well-kept. However, the walls were plastered with papers. Newspaper clippings and photos, mostly about Dick Scorse and South-Medical. Strange occult charts and diagrams, too. Plus maps and blueprints: of the library, and of the church, and the sports medicine place and the science center. And another map, of the new South-Medical “digital hospital” still under construction on Highway 280.
The next crime scene. That little voice in the back of Willie’s head popped up again: “Jackpot!”
Which is precisely when the zombie jumped out.
He must have been standing behind the door. In an instant, the undead thing slammed the door shut, trapping Willie in the room with it, and began swinging a heavy metal candlestick the size of a crowbar.
Willie ducked, and the candlestick smashed a lamp into oblivion. Willie fired twice at the thing. In the flash of the gun, he saw the zombie’s face, already half-rotten and replaced with dark clay. The bullets blasted into the zombie’s chest, ripping out pounds of flesh, but the zombie kept coming. The candlestick smashed into Willie’s ribs, and he staggered back onto the bed. He knew at least one rib was cracked. Another hit like that and there would be two dead men in this room instead of just one.
Willie rolled off the bed, away from the zombie and towards the window. The zombie squared off against him and lunged with the candlestick. It missed, and with a loud crack, shattered the nightstand. Willie dove through the window.
A shower of glass, a handful of minor cuts, and Willie was back outside again. He silently thanked Ms. Garcia for living in Southside, where the sound of gunfire and breaking glass kept people inside their homes, instead of sending them outside to investigate. He heard the zombie above him, but didn’t wait to find out its plan. Hobbling and hopping on his good leg, he took off across the parking lot and into the closest alley.
At least he no longer had to pee.
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HeapThaumaturgist
First Post
How do you do the shooting-zombies-in-the-head thing, rules wise?
Your characters really need to learn to go BEFORE we leave for the investigation.
--fje
Your characters really need to learn to go BEFORE we leave for the investigation.
--fje
ledded
Herder of monkies
sheesh
First, I'll let OldDrewId detail how to do the head-shooting, but believe me it aint easy, even with a 44 magnum. These aint those old-school arms-held-out moaning slow zombies. These bad boys is fast, and strong too.
Second, I *did* go before, but I was in that d**n bush for something like 7 hours. And I got really impatient. ;^)
Third, great update OldDrewId. Keep up the good work. Bravo. <clap clap clap clap clap>
Willie
HeapThaumaturgist said:How do you do the shooting-zombies-in-the-head thing, rules wise?
Your characters really need to learn to go BEFORE we leave for the investigation.
--fje
First, I'll let OldDrewId detail how to do the head-shooting, but believe me it aint easy, even with a 44 magnum. These aint those old-school arms-held-out moaning slow zombies. These bad boys is fast, and strong too.
Second, I *did* go before, but I was in that d**n bush for something like 7 hours. And I got really impatient. ;^)
Third, great update OldDrewId. Keep up the good work. Bravo. <clap clap clap clap clap>
Willie
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Thanks for the update Drew. Okay, I'm not a brownie fan anyway but I am swearing them off. You have no idea what people put in those things, especially walnuts.
Drew, Ledded, how do you guys handle splitting up the group? Do you bounce back and forth with everyone there or is it more of a "that player did not show up so the character sits out this time" sort of thing?
Drew, Ledded, how do you guys handle splitting up the group? Do you bounce back and forth with everyone there or is it more of a "that player did not show up so the character sits out this time" sort of thing?
ledded
Herder of monkies
fenzer said:
Well, we have a very good roleplaying group, and sometimes the characters dont always agree on what the group should be doing. Often in our Modern campaign we will "pair up" or split into groups to accomplish tasks we are suited for simultaneously. OldDrewId (and others, when we have a guest director) really run each "episode" just like that... a television episode. We will cut to Willie and Guyzell at the Jimmy Hale mission, then after a little bit of that cut back over to the other guys at their respective 'scene', and go back to the others when it's appropriate.
EDIT: We even start each game night with each player describing a 'cut scene' from a recent episode for their character while the intro music plays in the background. Cheesy, but fun.
Our characters try to meet at lunch or evenings when we can all get together (we do have jobs, and have to spend time on them) and when we break a case (or think we have) we all manage to get together for the 'big scene'. Sometimes a character has to work and can't do something during the day, but then gets in on the action at night, etc. OldDrewId is very good at giving players opportunities to "shine" or take the spotlight by presenting situations they are well suited for or may really want to get into. When you aren't in the scene, you generally try to stay out of the way, discuss the current situation with another player, or answer radio/cell phone calls from the guys who are doing their thing across town somewhere.
Sometimes it just works out that way; for example, the infiltration of South Medical by Joe. In-game, we realized that we needed to do that and Taylor found some job postings that would give us access. Willie was about to volunteer to do it and he was the obvious choice in skills, but just when he was about to speak up Joe said something like "oh, janitor, that should be just up your alley Willie, you being black and all" (remember, this is *in character*, and we mess with each other a lot). Well, Willie got angry, argued with Joe (the both of us providing about 5 minutes of non-stop amusement for everyone else, with Taylor tossing in backhanded off-color comments the whole time), then flat-out refused to do it on principle and made Joe do it. So that's really how Joe ended up doing that. We play in-character pretty much the whole game, and speak in first person (I do some pretty *bad* accents). Pierceatwork has a very cool speaking voice for Brother Cooper, and he is so good that he matches the voice patterns and way a southern preacher would speak... he also tosses around some very cool scripture which he researches before/during game at the proper times. OldDrewId's accent for Taylor is, well, um, very badly stereotypical but spot-on nonetheless, and so laced with sarcasm that she keeps us laughing. Willie has a tendency to quote black actors from movies that he likes. Crystal is very acerbic, and Joe, well, is just Joe.
Another note about our game: we have these poker chips with our initials on them, everyone gets 2 or 3 each session. When someone does something especially cool, or (more likely) says or does something particularly funny (the kind of funny that makes people unable to breathe or talk) you can toss them a chip. To promote coolness and funniness, we award a nice little bonus for each chip. In D&D and Star Wars d20, we awarded XP. In Modern, for every 5 chips we are awarded you get an Action Point, since we aren't focused on XP in Modern. It's a nice little system that helps keep us on our toes.
EDIT: You also get double credit if what you do is so funny that the DM/GM either spews, ejects drink from his nose, or has to leave the room to keep from doing one of the above two. Childish, I know, but still darn funny.
Jim
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