Medallions d20 Modern (Update Wednesday 09-20-06)
- Thread starter Old Drew Id
- Start date
ledded
Herder of monkies
Discovered girls. That pretty much did it for me. The second I started dating, D&D on the weekends took a bit of a back seat.Pierce said:Yep. We're old men with no life. You whippersnapper!
Funny tho, just last night my wife ribbed me along those same lines. I mentioned that we used to play most weekends in middle and high school. She said something along the lines of "until you got a car and a life." Ouch, honey! Of course, that's pretty much spot on.
Yeah, most of us a pretty busy folks too, and I even have 3 young children (one of which I have already turned into a heroclix addict, much to my wife's chagrin
). We just manage to make time for it once a week, it keeps me sane in an otherwise day-to-day swirl of multitudinous demands and sleep deprivation. I get a bit squirrelly if I miss game for the week.Heh. Also, we seem to take turns occasionally making a loud noise like cruching chip bags or popping our toy gun table props near the recorder, knowing that Pierce wont remember it when he transcribes it weeks later. He likes that a lot. Of course, "going crazy" with minis and terrain is an understatement... check the minis link in my sig for some pics from our table.Pierce said:
There you go, makin' fun of Willie again, the man tryin' ta keep him down again, oh no, no breaks for poor WilliePierce said:
A process I both respect and do not envy. We taped a few sessions of my one-off WWII supers campaign, but I could never summon the intestinal fortitude to sit through tapes of the sessions. I just started taking notes and writing down the funniest comments, though I miss a lot more that way. I think it would be easier for me to write if I did transcribe and review, but I just havent gotten up the nerve.
Yeah, actually it was a bit of providence that brought us together as a gaming group; it's really a bunch of extremely intelligent and creative guys that all seem to have found an outlet for each ones particular brand of insanity. Except me of course, the only reason they keep me around is because I'll spend every dime of my spare cash on minis and terrain, and I'll spend 20 hours in one weekend painting stuff till my fingers bleed.Both.
Actually, DrewId, ledded and I have worked together on and off over the past ten years and were good friends before we started playing. Flu & Eyas have known each other since college. Then Flu & DrewId worked together for a year or so. And that's how we became the Brady Bunch. (Altogether now!)
We've been playing now for just over 4 years and while someone misses every now and then (work, vacation, car wrecks, etc.), I think we've only ever cancelled a session two or three times. If memory serves, those were around the holidays and it wasn't possible to reach a quorum.
How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck out two S&W .500's and double-tap the nearest lumberjack while doing a spinning slide down a natural log dam and beat-boxing the percussion from Fludogg's favorite techno-punk CD?
Old Drew Id
First Post
Episode II - Session II: Homewood to Southside
Episode II - Session II: Homewood to Southside
Crystal leaned a little too hard into the turn, and the bike cut sharply back towards the curb on her right. She threw all of her weight hard to the left and pulled back around, narrowly avoiding a parked car. In the process, her pump-action shotgun slid off its perch on her handlebars and started to fall. She slapped her hand against the stock and held the weapon in place one-handed with a tenuous grip. Now back over her center of balance, she gunned the engine, and the bike roared up Twentieth Street. She shoved the shotgun back into position and hunched down to cut her wind resistance.
She bit her lip and tried to process the situation from a purely logical perspective. She had already lost this El Camino once tonight, so she figured she could do it again. The problem was, she had been on a straightaway before, and then on the interstate, and she had been able to bring the full speed of her bike to bear, and that El Camino just couldn't keep up with a motorcycle when she really got it going. But here, she was heading up past Vulcan Park into Homewood, and there were no straight roads anywhere up ahead. She was passing through a little strip of boutiques and cafes now, and she needed to find a place where she---
A window shattered to her left, breaking her concentration along with the glass. She twisted around for a quick glance behind her. The El Camino was there, right on her tail, and a dark figure riding shotgun was hanging halfway out of the car with a …well, appropriately enough, with a shotgun.
Crystal swore, and spun back around to watch the road. She swerved hard to the left and then brought the bike back again over to the right, trying to present a harder target. Alright, it was time to think fast now. Tactically, the shotgun negated her speed advantage. If she did get out on a straightaway, she would be an easy target. She was no expert when it came to hard riding; hell, she'd only had the bike for a few weeks now, but she was going to have to rely on her bike's maneuverability if she wanted to win this one.
A hard right brought her up past a funeral home and a realty office, and onto Oxmoor Road. She heard the squealing tires from the El Camino, and knew that he had made the turn behind her. The road went straight for a couple of blocks up ahead. Not enough distance for her to get up some speed before the next turn and get up ahead of them, but definitely enough time for them to have an easy time targeting her. She shifted her grip on the shotgun to finger the trigger, clicked off the safety, and pointed the gun blindly behind her.
BAM! She fired, and the gun kicked horribly into her elbow. The barrel came up hard and arced over her shoulder, then slammed into her head. She realized with a chill that if she had not been wearing her helmet, that blow would have knocked her out cold. She nearly laid the bike over as she lost control. She fought the bike one-handed and threw her weight over again to the right. The bike begrudgingly turned to the right and she was back in control, shotgun dangling loosely from one hand, feeling bruised and out of ideas.
She dimly heard a conversation over her headset radio. Her ears were still ringing from the blow to her head. Willie sounded panicked and was demanding to know where she was, or something close to that, anyway. Jeez, she had enough problems here, people. Crystal radioed back as calmly as possible, "I'm in Homewood. I'm a little busy right now getting shot at," and ignored the rest of the exchange.
A 'no parking' sign to her left rang loudly and was shredded as it was riddled with buckshot. Crystal surveyed the road ahead for options. To her left across the median was a skate park, guarded by a temporary construction fence. To her right were a few short office buildings and a parking lot. The closest highway was at least three turns away up ahead. She doubted her luck would hold out that far.
With her teeth clenched from concentration and determination, Crystal weaved the bike back and forth across the road once while slinging the shotgun back into it's holster. Then a hard turn to the right into that parking lot. As she turned, Crystal peeked behind her. The El Camino was right behind, too close to make the turn. She turned her attention back to her own driving as she heard the brakes squeal behind her.
"And now the end-game," she muttered under her breath, and forced the bike into a hard one-eighty. The tires painted rubber calligraphy across a long swath of the parking lot, but at the end, she was turned around towards the car, just as it came to a stop in the parking lot entrance. She grinned in spite of herself, and twisted the throttle.
The Harley kicked into gear with a lion's roar, and Crystal raced towards the car. The shooter riding shotgun had lost his balance with the sudden stop, and was only now bringing his weapon to bear. It was a race of his reflexes and aim versus Crystal's speed and maneuvering. If Crystal had done the math right, he would have less than a half-second to take a meaningful shot, and she was betting he couldn't perform in that amount of time.
Crystal raced towards the car. The gun came to bear, but a fraction of a second to late. Crystal darted past the car and hit the median behind it at a full charge. The bike hit the median like a ramp and flew into the air as she crossed the road and tore through the thin plastic fence guarding the skate park.
Crystal heard the El Camino's engine roar in the distance behind her, and a wild shot was fired somewhere into the air, but she was already too far away to care. As she raced past a picnic table, a playground, and a dozen trees, she was home free now. With a quivering sigh of relief, she slowed down. She had lost them.
. . .
Crystal walked up to Willie's car and pulled off her helmet with a scowl. She leaned into the passenger window and looked past Taylor and Willie, into the back seat. Under a blanket there in the shadows, she could see the unconscious form of a teenage kid. His face was partially hidden in the darkness, but even from here, she could see that he was Native American.
She sighed and glowered at Willie for bringing the kid here, "I don't like this." She shook her head to emphasize the point, "I don't like this at all."
Willie shrugged apologetically to her as he got out of the car, "Crystal, baby, your apartment is the closest place we could go." Willie pulled the kid's body up out of the car and threw him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and continued in a whisper. "We needed to get this kid off the street, and my place was too far to go, in case he wakes up. Besides, my neighbors are nosy, and they would notice me hauling in a body in the middle of the night. "
Taylor joined up behind him as the trio crept up the stairs to Crystal's second-floor apartment. "Hmmm, Ah figured a chap toting a body 'bout in the middle of the night was standard fare in the ghetto."
Willie wheeled around on him and menaced, "What? I don't live in the ghetto!"
Crystal hissed, "Shhhh! Get inside!" and unlocked her apartment door. Willie stepped inside and hustled into the room to drop the body off in a chair.
Taylor stopped at the door and nodded to Crystal, "Iffin' 'e does nah live in the ghetto, then why does 'e drive that car?"
Crystal rolled her eyes and shoved Taylor into the apartment.
. . .
Five minutes passed before Joe knocked on the door. Taylor was dabbing peroxide and applying bandages to the dozens of deep cuts and scratches on Willie's back and shoulders. Crystal was securing the kid to the chair with a little help from a roll of duct tape. She had turned the TV on to muffle any noise he might make, and extracted a promise from Willie that he would pay for the damage to her upholstery.
When she opened the door, she fought back a sudden round of nausea. Joe was bloody as hell, and he had dried vomit down the front of his Green Lantern tee-shirt. Willie had warned her that Joe appeared to have gone crazy, but she was still not prepared for this. His eyes were bloodshot and emotionless, and he staggered into the room without ever meeting her gaze.
"Joe?" Willie stood up and held his hands out in a calming, non-threatening manner. "Joe, man? You okay?"
Joe slowly met Willie's gaze with dead eyes and wheezed deeply, "It doesn't work, Willie."
Willie nodded reassuringly. "Okay, man, that's okay. Here, have a seat. What doesn't work, Joe?"
Joe ignored the offer of a seat. "The magic. My whole…thing. The frikkin' healing Vishanti touch! It doesn't work."
Crystal hissed, "Hey! Neighbors! Quiet!"
"Okay, Joe, just take it easy, man. Now, what is exactly are you talking about? What is the Vishanti touch?"
Joe's eyes slowly came into focus then, on the bandages on Willie's shoulder. He straightened up and unslung his backpack and set it on the coffee table. "Watch," he ordered grimly. From within the backpack, he pulled out a box of birthday candles. He shook two candles out of the box and held them in his hand. His closed his eyes, and his face took on an expression of deep and painful concentration. He held his hand up into the air and crushed the candles into pieces. He opened his eyes again, and they were bloodshot and deeply dilated.
"Joe?"
Joe dropped the broken candles to the floor, muttering something under his breath that reminded Crystal of the time she had played a Beatles record backwards as a kid. Then Joe grabbed Willie by the arm.
"Joe?" Willie was sounding deeply concerned.
Suddenly Joe ripped his hand away from Willie's arm like he had just touched a hot stove. "Aaargggh! Mother-*&^%^&!!!! *&^&!!!"
Crystal hissed again and moved towards Joe to quiet him, "Joe! Shut up! It's after midnight and I have neighbors who will call the---" Crystal stopped cold. Joe had fallen back onto the couch, and was clutching the sides of his head with both hands. What bothered her, though, was the way his fingernails were being blackened and bruised right before her eyes. In just a couple of seconds, his hands looked like someone had methodically pounded each finger with a hammer until it was black and blue.
Taylor moved behind the couch, and Crystal dimly realized he was flanking Joe, to help prevent him from hurting himself anymore. Joe groaned more quietly, "It's supposed to work! I'm doing it right! You break the candles and you say the chant and the healing light comes down and---"
Joe's head snapped up and stared at Willie again. Crystal now knew what dreadful realization looked like. Joe grinned maniacally, "The healing light!"
Willie nodded and moved between Joe and Crystal protectively, "Right, Joe, it's cool, man. Healing light, right. Look, magic is, um …"
Joe nodded and grabbed the box of candles again. He shook two more out into his hand, and stood back up. "Come on!" and staggered across the living room to the balcony doors. He opened the glass sliding door and stepped outside.
"Joe? Easy, man? Hey, come on back inside, Joe." Willie stepped to the balcony door, and reached a hand out to Joe. Crystal and Taylor stepped up behind Willie, ready to grab him if needed. She knew a fall from her second-story balcony would probably not be fatal, but that didn't mean it wouldn't hurt a hell of a lot, and attract more attention than they needed right now.
Joe snapped the candles in his hand, and his face took on that look of punished concentration again. Willie took another step out onto the balcony and reached towards Joe to pull him in. Joe's hand shot out and grabbed Willie's wrist. Willie yelped in surprise, but quickly recovered and hauled Joe back into the apartment.
Crystal slid the balcony door closed and locked it. Willie shivered, while Joe released his grip, and drunkenly staggered over to the couch. Taylor just stared at Willie.
"Willie…your back…"
Willie craned his neck around to get a look at his back, while turning to display his back to Crystal.
There was no blood on his back anymore. And every one of the dozens of cuts and scratches he had taken from the broken glass in the club was gone.
Joe laid down on the couch. Willie turned to him, "Joe? How? That's amazing!"
Joe nodded with a half-delirious grin, "Brother Cooper."
Willie squatted down in front of the couch. "No, Joe, it's me, Willie."
Joe rolled his eyes, "No, moron, Brother Cooper," and pointed towards the TV.
Willie turned and looked. The television was set to the news, or more likely was set to some other show that had been interrupted for a special news bulletin. Either way, the news crew was filming a scene of devastation at the Music Hall, with police and bodies and broken glass everywhere.
And right there in the middle of it all, being interviewed with a weary look on his face, was Brother Guyzell Cooper, saying, "…not a hero, ma'am, I was just trying to be a good Samaritan, you know, at the right place at the right time, which is where I guess the Lord wanted me to be. I just wish I could have done more for some of these fine men in blue here who paid the ultimate price tonight…My church will be holding a memorial service and offering free counseling to these victims and their families…"
Episode II - Session II: Homewood to Southside
Crystal leaned a little too hard into the turn, and the bike cut sharply back towards the curb on her right. She threw all of her weight hard to the left and pulled back around, narrowly avoiding a parked car. In the process, her pump-action shotgun slid off its perch on her handlebars and started to fall. She slapped her hand against the stock and held the weapon in place one-handed with a tenuous grip. Now back over her center of balance, she gunned the engine, and the bike roared up Twentieth Street. She shoved the shotgun back into position and hunched down to cut her wind resistance.
She bit her lip and tried to process the situation from a purely logical perspective. She had already lost this El Camino once tonight, so she figured she could do it again. The problem was, she had been on a straightaway before, and then on the interstate, and she had been able to bring the full speed of her bike to bear, and that El Camino just couldn't keep up with a motorcycle when she really got it going. But here, she was heading up past Vulcan Park into Homewood, and there were no straight roads anywhere up ahead. She was passing through a little strip of boutiques and cafes now, and she needed to find a place where she---
A window shattered to her left, breaking her concentration along with the glass. She twisted around for a quick glance behind her. The El Camino was there, right on her tail, and a dark figure riding shotgun was hanging halfway out of the car with a …well, appropriately enough, with a shotgun.
Crystal swore, and spun back around to watch the road. She swerved hard to the left and then brought the bike back again over to the right, trying to present a harder target. Alright, it was time to think fast now. Tactically, the shotgun negated her speed advantage. If she did get out on a straightaway, she would be an easy target. She was no expert when it came to hard riding; hell, she'd only had the bike for a few weeks now, but she was going to have to rely on her bike's maneuverability if she wanted to win this one.
A hard right brought her up past a funeral home and a realty office, and onto Oxmoor Road. She heard the squealing tires from the El Camino, and knew that he had made the turn behind her. The road went straight for a couple of blocks up ahead. Not enough distance for her to get up some speed before the next turn and get up ahead of them, but definitely enough time for them to have an easy time targeting her. She shifted her grip on the shotgun to finger the trigger, clicked off the safety, and pointed the gun blindly behind her.
BAM! She fired, and the gun kicked horribly into her elbow. The barrel came up hard and arced over her shoulder, then slammed into her head. She realized with a chill that if she had not been wearing her helmet, that blow would have knocked her out cold. She nearly laid the bike over as she lost control. She fought the bike one-handed and threw her weight over again to the right. The bike begrudgingly turned to the right and she was back in control, shotgun dangling loosely from one hand, feeling bruised and out of ideas.
She dimly heard a conversation over her headset radio. Her ears were still ringing from the blow to her head. Willie sounded panicked and was demanding to know where she was, or something close to that, anyway. Jeez, she had enough problems here, people. Crystal radioed back as calmly as possible, "I'm in Homewood. I'm a little busy right now getting shot at," and ignored the rest of the exchange.
A 'no parking' sign to her left rang loudly and was shredded as it was riddled with buckshot. Crystal surveyed the road ahead for options. To her left across the median was a skate park, guarded by a temporary construction fence. To her right were a few short office buildings and a parking lot. The closest highway was at least three turns away up ahead. She doubted her luck would hold out that far.
With her teeth clenched from concentration and determination, Crystal weaved the bike back and forth across the road once while slinging the shotgun back into it's holster. Then a hard turn to the right into that parking lot. As she turned, Crystal peeked behind her. The El Camino was right behind, too close to make the turn. She turned her attention back to her own driving as she heard the brakes squeal behind her.
"And now the end-game," she muttered under her breath, and forced the bike into a hard one-eighty. The tires painted rubber calligraphy across a long swath of the parking lot, but at the end, she was turned around towards the car, just as it came to a stop in the parking lot entrance. She grinned in spite of herself, and twisted the throttle.
The Harley kicked into gear with a lion's roar, and Crystal raced towards the car. The shooter riding shotgun had lost his balance with the sudden stop, and was only now bringing his weapon to bear. It was a race of his reflexes and aim versus Crystal's speed and maneuvering. If Crystal had done the math right, he would have less than a half-second to take a meaningful shot, and she was betting he couldn't perform in that amount of time.
Crystal raced towards the car. The gun came to bear, but a fraction of a second to late. Crystal darted past the car and hit the median behind it at a full charge. The bike hit the median like a ramp and flew into the air as she crossed the road and tore through the thin plastic fence guarding the skate park.
Crystal heard the El Camino's engine roar in the distance behind her, and a wild shot was fired somewhere into the air, but she was already too far away to care. As she raced past a picnic table, a playground, and a dozen trees, she was home free now. With a quivering sigh of relief, she slowed down. She had lost them.
. . .
Crystal walked up to Willie's car and pulled off her helmet with a scowl. She leaned into the passenger window and looked past Taylor and Willie, into the back seat. Under a blanket there in the shadows, she could see the unconscious form of a teenage kid. His face was partially hidden in the darkness, but even from here, she could see that he was Native American.
She sighed and glowered at Willie for bringing the kid here, "I don't like this." She shook her head to emphasize the point, "I don't like this at all."
Willie shrugged apologetically to her as he got out of the car, "Crystal, baby, your apartment is the closest place we could go." Willie pulled the kid's body up out of the car and threw him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and continued in a whisper. "We needed to get this kid off the street, and my place was too far to go, in case he wakes up. Besides, my neighbors are nosy, and they would notice me hauling in a body in the middle of the night. "
Taylor joined up behind him as the trio crept up the stairs to Crystal's second-floor apartment. "Hmmm, Ah figured a chap toting a body 'bout in the middle of the night was standard fare in the ghetto."
Willie wheeled around on him and menaced, "What? I don't live in the ghetto!"
Crystal hissed, "Shhhh! Get inside!" and unlocked her apartment door. Willie stepped inside and hustled into the room to drop the body off in a chair.
Taylor stopped at the door and nodded to Crystal, "Iffin' 'e does nah live in the ghetto, then why does 'e drive that car?"
Crystal rolled her eyes and shoved Taylor into the apartment.
. . .
Five minutes passed before Joe knocked on the door. Taylor was dabbing peroxide and applying bandages to the dozens of deep cuts and scratches on Willie's back and shoulders. Crystal was securing the kid to the chair with a little help from a roll of duct tape. She had turned the TV on to muffle any noise he might make, and extracted a promise from Willie that he would pay for the damage to her upholstery.
When she opened the door, she fought back a sudden round of nausea. Joe was bloody as hell, and he had dried vomit down the front of his Green Lantern tee-shirt. Willie had warned her that Joe appeared to have gone crazy, but she was still not prepared for this. His eyes were bloodshot and emotionless, and he staggered into the room without ever meeting her gaze.
"Joe?" Willie stood up and held his hands out in a calming, non-threatening manner. "Joe, man? You okay?"
Joe slowly met Willie's gaze with dead eyes and wheezed deeply, "It doesn't work, Willie."
Willie nodded reassuringly. "Okay, man, that's okay. Here, have a seat. What doesn't work, Joe?"
Joe ignored the offer of a seat. "The magic. My whole…thing. The frikkin' healing Vishanti touch! It doesn't work."
Crystal hissed, "Hey! Neighbors! Quiet!"
"Okay, Joe, just take it easy, man. Now, what is exactly are you talking about? What is the Vishanti touch?"
Joe's eyes slowly came into focus then, on the bandages on Willie's shoulder. He straightened up and unslung his backpack and set it on the coffee table. "Watch," he ordered grimly. From within the backpack, he pulled out a box of birthday candles. He shook two candles out of the box and held them in his hand. His closed his eyes, and his face took on an expression of deep and painful concentration. He held his hand up into the air and crushed the candles into pieces. He opened his eyes again, and they were bloodshot and deeply dilated.
"Joe?"
Joe dropped the broken candles to the floor, muttering something under his breath that reminded Crystal of the time she had played a Beatles record backwards as a kid. Then Joe grabbed Willie by the arm.
"Joe?" Willie was sounding deeply concerned.
Suddenly Joe ripped his hand away from Willie's arm like he had just touched a hot stove. "Aaargggh! Mother-*&^%^&!!!! *&^&!!!"
Crystal hissed again and moved towards Joe to quiet him, "Joe! Shut up! It's after midnight and I have neighbors who will call the---" Crystal stopped cold. Joe had fallen back onto the couch, and was clutching the sides of his head with both hands. What bothered her, though, was the way his fingernails were being blackened and bruised right before her eyes. In just a couple of seconds, his hands looked like someone had methodically pounded each finger with a hammer until it was black and blue.
Taylor moved behind the couch, and Crystal dimly realized he was flanking Joe, to help prevent him from hurting himself anymore. Joe groaned more quietly, "It's supposed to work! I'm doing it right! You break the candles and you say the chant and the healing light comes down and---"
Joe's head snapped up and stared at Willie again. Crystal now knew what dreadful realization looked like. Joe grinned maniacally, "The healing light!"
Willie nodded and moved between Joe and Crystal protectively, "Right, Joe, it's cool, man. Healing light, right. Look, magic is, um …"
Joe nodded and grabbed the box of candles again. He shook two more out into his hand, and stood back up. "Come on!" and staggered across the living room to the balcony doors. He opened the glass sliding door and stepped outside.
"Joe? Easy, man? Hey, come on back inside, Joe." Willie stepped to the balcony door, and reached a hand out to Joe. Crystal and Taylor stepped up behind Willie, ready to grab him if needed. She knew a fall from her second-story balcony would probably not be fatal, but that didn't mean it wouldn't hurt a hell of a lot, and attract more attention than they needed right now.
Joe snapped the candles in his hand, and his face took on that look of punished concentration again. Willie took another step out onto the balcony and reached towards Joe to pull him in. Joe's hand shot out and grabbed Willie's wrist. Willie yelped in surprise, but quickly recovered and hauled Joe back into the apartment.
Crystal slid the balcony door closed and locked it. Willie shivered, while Joe released his grip, and drunkenly staggered over to the couch. Taylor just stared at Willie.
"Willie…your back…"
Willie craned his neck around to get a look at his back, while turning to display his back to Crystal.
There was no blood on his back anymore. And every one of the dozens of cuts and scratches he had taken from the broken glass in the club was gone.
Joe laid down on the couch. Willie turned to him, "Joe? How? That's amazing!"
Joe nodded with a half-delirious grin, "Brother Cooper."
Willie squatted down in front of the couch. "No, Joe, it's me, Willie."
Joe rolled his eyes, "No, moron, Brother Cooper," and pointed towards the TV.
Willie turned and looked. The television was set to the news, or more likely was set to some other show that had been interrupted for a special news bulletin. Either way, the news crew was filming a scene of devastation at the Music Hall, with police and bodies and broken glass everywhere.
And right there in the middle of it all, being interviewed with a weary look on his face, was Brother Guyzell Cooper, saying, "…not a hero, ma'am, I was just trying to be a good Samaritan, you know, at the right place at the right time, which is where I guess the Lord wanted me to be. I just wish I could have done more for some of these fine men in blue here who paid the ultimate price tonight…My church will be holding a memorial service and offering free counseling to these victims and their families…"
Last edited:
recursive_1
First Post
Thanks for the update...I was begining to despair that there would be no more forthcoming.
Yay for updates!