# Ancient Wisdom (Modern Dark Supernatural)



## Captain Claymore (Jan 18, 2005)

Ancient Wisdom is the newest campaign our group is involved in. I am the Chronicler (GM) in this game and we're using the Witchcraft (Unisystem) rules. For those of you who are familiar with my other "creative" effort on these boards, Elorah Winters Chronicles - World of Twilight, you will no doubt have realized that my postings are less than regular at times. What can I say? When my muse says jump, I say "for how long?"

As I am the GM this time, I have more knowledge of the story. On top of that we are experimenting with a new style of play. Here's the basic info on the style...

*DIRECTOR'S RPG*
Players watch/participate in scenes sometimes using other characters as well as their own. The best way I can describe what I'm trying for is to reference the movie format. Not every scene in a good movie includes the main character. Some scenes show what the antagonist is up to. Others build suspense by hinting at what the protagonist will face during the session.

In any scene where your character is present, you will be playing your own character. In other scenes you may take the roll of the villain's henchman, or play the part of the unsuspecting victim. In some scenes you may simply "watch" as a popcorn munching observer.

Obviously using this style of play, it is very important that player knowledge and character knowledge remain separate. The player will know things that the character may be unaware of - things that might even be extremely detrimental to said character. Steering the story line to improve the plot will be allowed and even rewarded. Blatantly avoiding danger or profiting from director's info will not be allowed.


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## Captain Claymore (Jan 18, 2005)

*The Setting*

*NORTHPORT*

_Northport is a thriving city situated on the pacific coast, northwest of Olympia, Washington. Sea trade and the fishing industry gave the city it's humble beginnings and still play an important part in it's modern successes. Nevertheless, it's population of 122,000 have diversified and the cities economy now relies on technology, manufacturing, education and tourism in equal proportion. Northport has fine parks and museums, a moderately ranked college, is the headquarters of several national and international corporations and was ranked fourth best city in Washington in 1985.

     These are things you will find mentioned on the cities official website. What you won't find there is any note on the supernatural activity centered around the city. No mention will be made of the unusually high missing persons ratings, unexplained deaths or bizarre crimes. Neither will there be statistics on the rapid increase in cult activities. No, to find such information you must talk to the people of Northport, and even then most citizens will be ignorant of the truth. To really get the scoop, you must go to the gifted of Northport, those people who know the truth, or at least pieces of the truth.

     No one is certain what caused the surge in magic that has made Northport special. It has happened elsewhere in the world to be sure, in some places more than others. Beginning in the 1980's Northport became one of these magical nexuses. The population of gifted began increasing, both through birth, manifestation and immigration. The walls between realities have thinned. Spirits are prone to restless activities. Lycanthrope prowl the wilderness of forest and street. Vampires and worse creatures lurk in shadow, and sorcerers and saints wield magical powers for good and evil. This could be the reason Bill Gates chose Seattle over Northport when looking for a home.

     This place is special and you may count yourself warned should you choose to call it home. Walk carefully and with both eyes open. Oh, and don't forget your umbrella, it rains a lot.

     Archy Kennedy, (Seeker's council Scholar)_

The average citizen in this setting will not know that the supernatural exists. Through a mixture of secretiveness on the part of the gifted and the mundane's propensity to rationalize, they either fail to see past the deception or turn a magical incident into a strange but explainable one. This is not to say that there are not "mundane" organizations and individuals aware of what's going on, only that 'the cat isn't out of the bag' when it comes to the general public. With the steadily increasing amount of gifted activity, it's anyone's guess exactly how long the cat will remain IN the bag.


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## Captain Claymore (Jan 18, 2005)

*"The Container"*

3:35PM, Sunday, April 23rd
North Olympic National Park, Washington

	The afternoon sun shone down on a dirt access road with a lightly treed meadow off to one side and a thicker forested hill to the other. Distant thunder warned of a storm headed this direction. A state patrol car pulled up next to a green and white, state park truck on the side of the road. Two officers stepped out into the cold breeze and joined two park rangers at the front of their vehicle.

	The taller, older, male officer shook hands with the grey haired ranger, "Gentlemen, I'm Officer Turner and this is my partner Officer Crawford." The younger female officer nodded in greeting. Officer Turner looked to be in his mid thirties or a fit, early forties. he had short cropped, dark hair and wore the air of a man used to authority. By contrast Crawford looked newer to the job. The kind of new that made the uniform look less than comfortable. Even if she wasn't obviously a lot younger, it would have been easy to see who was training who.

	The older of the two rangers gave a tight lipped smile, "I'm Dan Riley and this is Carlos Rodrigez." The younger hispanic man leaned forward and shook hands as well. Riley was all grey hair and weathered skin. Despite obviously being the oldest of the present company, he was light on his feet and full of vitality. A six o'clock shadow of grey facial hair and a beat up baseball cap with the North Olympic National Park logo on it placed him firmly in the good ol' boy class. Like Officer Crawford, Rodrigez was obviously the recruit. Clean shaven and a great deal less aged, he at least seemed to have a more comfortable uniform.

	Officer Turner continued, "It was a hell of drive out here so I hope this is more than just a squatter." He ran his hands through his own lightly greying hair as he took in the scenery.

	Riley pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and unfolded it. "No sir, we've got two separate accounts by local hikers. The first was a out-of-state couple who reported hearing terrible screaming from the cabin." He looked down at the piece of paper. "... it was as if someone were being tortured to death... That was this morning at about eleven. Then about noon a local fellow swore he saw a dead woman hanging from a tree not far from the cabin." He handed the paper to the officer as Carlos looked uncomfortable. "That's when you were called. The fellow that lives in the cabin is a man named Delbert Johnson. He's leasing the cabin through the summer and has a wife and kids staying with him. I've talked with him once or twice during my rounds and he seems like a nice enough guy."

	Officer Turner looked over the very unofficial report and handed it to his partner. They had already run the name on the way up here and it had come up clean. "Do any of you have any training with firearms?"

	Carlos professed to only having used guns for hunting. Riley said, "I did some time in Nam."

	Officer Turner thought for moment before giving instructions. "Alright, Mr. Riley, I'll want you to circle wide around the back of the cabin and watch to make sure no one bolts. Mr. Rodrigez, you go with him and spread out a bit, but keep Mr. Riley in sight. No side-arms out of the holster unless you're in immediate danger. We still don't know what the situation is and there might be a reasonable explanation for everything." He looked at the barely discernible road leading into the forest and then at his cruiser. "Can we drive the cruiser up there?"

	Riley pondered the road, "You'd be better off in my truck. For that matter we'd all be better off until we get closer to the cabin. It's about two miles back, and this road ain't so good in spots."

	At that point they all turned to see a blue sedan coming up the main road. It pulled in behind the patrol cruiser and everybody watched as a sharply dressed younger man stepped out and walked towards them. He had brown hair, green eyes and a clean shaven, angular face. He wore an expensive looking leather coat over a grey, designer suit, white shirt and black tie. His black dress shoes were about as shiny as Officer Turner's badge. Turner noticed the government plates and the sleight bulge under the man's left arm. That combined with the "official" look on the younger man's face cinched it. The Bureau was here and he was about to be outranked.

___________________________________________________________
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(One and a half hours earlier on the same day.)
Buck Rogers Coffee House, Downtown Northport.

	The same sharply dressed young man was sitting at a window table enjoying a mocha cappuccino while reading one of his favorite local rags, a "newsletter" called the X-paper. He was busy being mildly amused by a story on the recent disappearance of a fishing boat from Northport harbor. Apparently there had been numerous reports of sea monster sightings in the area where the boat went missing. One old fisherman who chose to remain unnamed, go figure that, told of a close encounter with the beast. According to his report the beast had one large eye and might have...

"Da Da Daaa Da Da Dummmm..."

The theme song to the Godfather sang out it's tinny announcement from the man's coat pocket. He briefly tried to continue reading before realizing what that particular ring tone meant and hastily reached for his phone. He quickly composed himself before flipping it open and placing it to his ear with a monotone. "Yes."

A man with a similarly even voice spoke on the other end, "Duty calls." a short pause, "Are you available?"

Even shorter pause, really just enough to be considered a pause, "Of course."

"... Nice to hear. Pay for your drink and drive towards North Olympic National Park. You've got a long drive ahead of you and I want you there quickly. I'll explain while your driving."

He tossed the paper down on the table while quickly scanning the room, "I already paid for my drink, or didn't you notice?" He turned and headed out the door. The grey street was packed with cars and pedestrians hurrying back to their cubicles from lunch. he shouldered into his coat, switched the phone to his left ear and walked towards his blue sedan as the man continued his instructions.

"Take Highway 14 to the park's west entrance. From there you're looking for a park road... 313. It'll be on your left about 2 miles in. Once on that road look for a ranger's vehicle and a state patrol car. Unless both are there... keep driving, you'll need them both. Turn around and head back to the turnoff and wait till the patrol car arrives. Once they're both there, wait a few minutes and then join them."

He was negotiating downtown traffic on his way to the freeway now. "How will they feel about me... "joining" them?"

"The local police are never comfortable with the FBI..."

He smirked to himself, "But it's federal land and I, being the FBI agent that I am, have a great reason right?"

Another pause, "Yes... you do. A man named Delbert Johnson has acquired something he shouldn't have. He's living in the cabin you're headed towards. Tell the police whatever you want, but make sure you accompany them and help them in dealing with whatever they find. Number one priority is to retrieve the container."

"Container?"

"We're not sure of it's exact nature, but it will probably be small enough to carry easily. You'll know it by it's essence signature. Keep your shields up when handling it, close it if it's open and bring it to this address... 4156 34th Street. Got all that?"

"Yes sir."

"Click."

"Pleasure talking to you too, we'll have lunch some time."

The drive was boring, but the traffic was light heading out of the city. As luck would have it, he spotted the state patrol car just as it was turning into the park entrance. He waited a few minutes and then followed. The side road was right where it was supposed to be.

As he turned onto the uneven dirt road he began to concentrate. Essence gathered and he quickly made the necessary gestures and spoke the invocation. Both license plates on his car subtly altered their appearance. The numbers and letters grew fuzzy and rearranged themselves. Small letters spelling out "U.S. Government" appeared in place of the the standard "Washington" that had been there. Next he flipped open his wallet on the seat beside him. In the little sleeve where his license was, a faded but official looking FBI identification card appeared. Lastly a shiny gold badge suddenly came into being at his belt. He checked his hair in the rearview mirror and had to make a quick correction on the steering before he veered off the road.

"Never cast and drive," he chuckled at his own stupid joke.

The patrol car and park truck came into view around the next bend. As he eased his very non-off road car in behind the cruiser he gathered a bit more essence and worked a touch more magic, this time augmenting his aura to exude confidence and authority. The illusory plates, badge and ID would probably be more than sufficient, but the aura would keep any of them from even thinking to check authenticity. Now he just had to move things along before his illusions began to fade. Whatever waited up at the cabin would probably require more magic, and he couldn't really afford to expend more of himself before then.

As he stepped out of the car he felt it right away. The distance was too far to get specifics, but there was a large collection of essence from the deeper woods to the right of the road. A rough set of wheel ruts led off into the trees nearby. It was a hunch, but he guessed the cabin was down that road.

"Officers, gentlemen, who's in charge here?" Mitchell was almost in awe of himself, they didn't have a chance.

Turner met his eyes and said, "I'm guessing you are now." The others seemed willing to let him do the talking.

His face remained stern, "That's correct officer..." He looked at Turner's ID pin, "... Turner. I am now in charge." He flipped open his wallet while hitching his coat to the side to show the "badge". He made sure to keep the ID open until they stopped looking. "I'm Agent Mitchell. Delbert Johnson is wanted in a federal matter." he glanced up the narrow road, "Has anyone gone up already?"

Officer Turner shook his head, "No, we just arrived and we were discussing how best to approach. Can you tell us anything about the suspect?"

"Mitchell's" thoughts raced, "I'm not at liberty to say much... What did you're computers tell you?" He put an extra dose of authority into his voice as he asked the question.

It seemed to work as Turner answered without a trace of suspicion, "He's got a clean record, like I'm sure you already know. What I want to know is if he's dangerous?"

Mitchell looked at Officer Crawford and the apprehension was clear on her face. Something about this call was making her nervous. The younger, hispanic ranger was also showing signs of stress. It might have been the essence exuding from the cabin, but he didn't think a mundane would be feeling it from so far. "I don't know what Mr. Johnson is involved in up at that cabin, but if it was peaceful, would the park service have called the state troopers in?" He grimaced, "Would I be here?"

After that they seemed to except that Agent Mitchell had no secrets he was going to reveal. Officer Turner filled him in on their plan and he agreed with it, stating that he would take a flanking position once at the cabin. Turner grabbed the shotgun from the cruiser, they all piled into the blazer and Riley drove up the road and into the shadow of the trees. "U.S. Government" morphed back into "Washington" as thundered boomed a little closer this time.

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Dan Riley crouched low behind a twelve inch tree trunk, the smell of pine sap strong in his nose. About fifteen feet away Carlos was in a similar position behind his own tree. There was a little too much white showing in the young man's eyes and his hand kept straying towards the nine millimeter at his hip. Riley made a note to keep a close eye on Mr. Rodrigez. They were both about fifty feet from the backside of Delbert Johnson's cabin, having moved quietly into position just a few moments ago. He could just make out a four foot high stack of cut firewood and a low window on the back wall of the cabin. There was no back door.
______

Agent Mitchell had parted ways with Officers Turner and Crawford as they neared the cabin. Several large, fallen trees lay across the path leading up to the front door. A rusty axe was buried in one of the trees. As the two state troopers approached the front door, Mitchell had circled around the right side and crouched down in the brush with his .45 out. he could clearly see a strange essence hanging like a heavy aura about the cabin. Gathering a bit more essence he called forth a protective shield against both physical and magical damage. A slightly transparent suit of magical body armor encased his torso. He watched as Officer Turner stepped up onto the low porch.
______

As Turner stepped up he could clearly see a length of rope and a wide, dark red stain on the pine boards. He quickly pumped a shell into the shotgun he had brought from the cruiser and stepped up to the side of the front door. Officer Crawford saw the rope and stain next. She drew her nine millimeter and aimed it at the door from about twenty feet back.

Turner made sure that his partner was ready before knocking twice on the door and shouting, "Mr. Johnson, this is the State Police!"

The leaves in the trees rustled as the wind picked up momentarily. A deep, loud, angry voice answered back from within, "GO AWAY! We don't wish ta be dishturbed!"

Turner exchanged a glance with Crawford. Despite the slurring of words, there was something else odd about Mr. Johnson's voice. It was unnaturally deep. He considered the possibility that the suspect might be on drugs of some sort.
______

Riley heard the exchange well enough from his own position and the hairs on his neck prickled. he looked over to find Carlos had pulled his weapon and was visibly shaking. He began to motion to Carlos to put his gun away but then realized he'd rather join him in the action. His own grip was a little moist on his .357 as he watched the window.
______

Mitchell was watching the side window that he guessed looked in on the bedroom. The essence seeping from the cabin was making his pulse race slightly. he could just make out the two park rangers crouching in the brush behind the cabin. If the situation was effecting him this way, he was guessing the others were highly on edge by now. A small face appeared at the window. It was a little boy with blonde hair. He seemed to be scanning the brush and Mitchell had to stop himself from ducking. Movement would be worse than his slightly exposed position while the child was actively searching.
______

Officer Turner steadied his nerve and called out again, "Mr. Johnson I need you to come outside right now!"

"I shaid GO AWAY! Yer Dishturbing ush!"

Turner reached forward and slowly rotated the handle on the door. It wasn't locked and he pushed it inward while sweeping the room with his shotgun. The living area was approximately twenty feet by forty feet. A futon couch, small table with four chairs and a wood burning stove cramped up the walking space. A door in the right wall looked to lead to a bedroom. He could see partially into the left door and the kitchen beyond. The only light came from the now open front door, the kitchen window, and the sliver of illumination that made it's way through the heavy drapes on the large window next to the door.
______

Riley motioned for Carlos to stay put and started to duck-walk towards the back of the cabin. He chanced a whisper before leaving his position, "Don't you point that thing in my direction." He was headed for the window as Carlos nodded.
______

Mitchell watched the window on his side slide up and the little boy hop nimbly to the sill and drop down to the ground. He thought the move to be oddly fluid and graceful for a boy of four or five years old. He edged closer through the brush. The sound of his passage effectively hidden by the steadily increasing wind in the trees overhead. Still, he had taken no more than five or six steps when the boy's head swung around. As their eyes locked the little boy's visage smoothly morphed into a hideous, tooth filled grin and then back again. The thing that was obviously more than a child whispered something in an unfamiliar tongue and began to lope towards him in a completely unchildlike fashion.
______

Officer Crawford had now taken up a cover position at the front door threshold as Turner sidestepped across the left side of the living room. he could hear muffled crunching sounds coming from the bedroom. As he neared the kitchen he spotted a smear of blood on the wall and floor. "Mr. Johnson, this is your last chance to come out. Put your hands where I can see them and step out of the room!"

There was movement at the bedroom door as Turner began to squeeze the trigger of his shotgun. A little girl of maybe ten years of age stepped out with a tear streaked face. His finger relaxed as his heart skipped a beat. What the hell was the problem with him? Had Crawford seen how close he came to blowing away a little girl? He looked quickly at her and then back at the child.

The girl didn't step away from the bedroom door as she said in a tear choked voice, "Daddy says to go away. He don't want company right now and you're making him angry." Before either of the officers could reply she had stepped back into the darkened room and out of sight.

'!' Turner thought to himself. 'If he's got kids in there this could get really bad. Where's Agent Mitchell anyway?' He stood irresolute with shotgun pointing towards the floor.
______

Outside Riley had just made his way to the wood pile. He edged to a position under the window and glanced to make sure Carlos was still in place. His aged back protested somewhat at all the crouching. Slowly he turned and eased upward, his leg muscles straining as he peered into the window.

At first it was too dark to make out anything. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. When they did, his first thought was one of confusion. Something sat on a double bed in the middle of the small room, bringing up the mattress edges with it's weight. A long, distorted line of bare flesh with a row of knobby bumps was all there was. As his mind pieced together the image his jaw dropped and he stifled a scream. It was a back. A monstrous back and two massive, muscle bound shoulders. Unable to turn away or even close his eyes, he watched in stupefied horror as the thing turned towards the door and revealed more of it's naked self.

One shoulder was slightly bigger than the other and it's head seemed to jut from the front of the torso more than from the top. It's arms were ape-like and ended in thick-wristed hands the size of basketballs. In one hand, the thing held a shredded human leg, the femur bone glistening whitely. It raised the bloody appendage to it's razor toothed mouth and Riley saw that the thing had no nose or ears and a heavy brow that hid it's eyes in shadow. He was dimly aware of a second, smaller creature perched atop a dresser next to the door. If either had looked towards the window he would not have been able to move or defend himself in any way. Tears formed and ran unstopped down his face.
______

As the little boy/monster raced towards him, Mitchell summoned the essence necessary to attack. "A fíriel! manen Usinta ráca indonya!" A jet of pulsating blue fire raced from his outstretched left hand towards the charging creature. It was clear the creature saw the blast, erasing any last doubt that what he faced was a mundane child. The creature jumped high into the air in an attempt to dodge the soulfire but the energy clipped it's outstretched leg, cart-wheeling it's small body. The blue fire raced up it's torso quicker than the eye could follow, engulfing the thing and causing it to cry out in high pitched screams of agony. It hit the ground and writhed at Mitchell's feet, alternately looking like a small boy then a hideous, deformed creature.
______

'Crap! I'm losing it!' thought Turner as he took a step backward to better scan the kitchen. At that point he nearly did lose it. A female torso with only a head lay in a thick pool of arterial blood in the center of the tile floor. Her hair was a slightly darker blonde than the little girls. Bloody rags that might have been a blue blouse and skirt lay crumpled on the counter. The entire kitchen was splattered with tiny drops of blood from floor to ceiling. Turner felt a wave of nausea sweep through him and had to brace one hand against the door jam. In barely more than a strained whisper he said, "Crawford... call it in, get back up."

Crawford kept her gun trained on the bedroom doorway. She could tell something had just changed by her partner's face. her heart sped up as she reached for her com unit at her shoulder, "This is 4320 requesting back up. Repeat, we need backup immediat..."

There was a blur of movement from the bedroom doorway. Crawford saw blonde hair and hesitated a moment. Turner just started to bring up his shotgun as the creature that had been a little girl bounced off the floor and hurtled into his face, sharp teeth clacking together mere inches from his throat. Somehow he managed to interpose the shotgun crosswise between himself and the hissing thing and push it off and to the ground. Crawford screamed and took a panicky shot that embedded itself into the log eight inches above her partners head. Both officers froze as the goblinoid girl scuttled away from Turner and hopped nimbly onto the futon.

From the bedroom came the deep voice, "NO PEASH, NO PEASH, MUST HAVE PEASH, AAARRRGHHHH!
______

Riley's limbs finally thawed as the grotesque giant levered it's massive frame up from the bed. Without really thinking he scrambled around the side of the cabin, first on all fours and then in a low run. He was dimly aware that he was whispering, "...who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name..." Forget the fact that he hadn't seen the inside of a church in thirty years.

As he came around the corner he saw Agent Mitchell put a round into something that was squirming and screaming in the brush at the FBI agent's feet. he had to blink and wipe away the tears to be sure he really saw what he thought he saw. Some sort of military body armor made of glowing material was strapped onto Mitchell's body, arms and legs. he closed his eyes tight and shook his head as if to clear it, his gun clenched deathly tight in his hand. None of this could be ing real!"

The cabin shuttered and the bedroom wall nearest Riley and Mitchell cracked and splintered. One of the fifteen inch logs that made up the wall was torn inwards causing the logs above it to collapse down, knocking the window frame free and shattering glass. This was enough to bring Riley back into action, as he stumbled away from the building and towards the strangely glowing FBI agent. Mitchell whispered, "Vantela tier, pella firima" and the mystic armor seemed to gain more solidity as he jogged towards the porch. From behind the cabin Carlos kept screaming, "Dan, are you alright?!, Dan, are you ALRIGHT?!"

Dan Riley wasn't answering.
______

Both Turner and Crawford aimed and fired at the girl/monster on the futon right after the splintering wall gave way in the bedroom. With amazing speed it jumped high and twisted away from both shotgun blast and pistol shot. The buckshot made a loud PINGING as it ricocheted off the wood stove. Turner was pumping another shell into the chamber as two things happened simultaneously. The goblin girl again launched itself at his face and the giant thing that used to be Delbert Johnson squeezed it's bulk through the narrow bedroom door, dragging a splinter-ended log in it's meaty fist.

"HOLYSHITHOLYSHITHOLYSHIT!" Crawford went nuts and tripped over the door lintel backwards, landing hard on her backside. This only stopped her for as long as it took to twist and crawl like a very fast infant off the porch.

Turner was whimpering too, although he was able to bring his shotgun up and shoot with wild eyes. Unfortunately for him, he missed the giant thing and instead put a hole in the ceiling boards that rained material down on it's head. It's beady eyes focused on him and he began to inch towards the front door while pumping another round.

So intent was his focus on the giant that he almost lost his throat to the smaller creature. Again he used the shotgun to deflect the attack, but this time he felt a searing pain under his jaw and up to his ear as the goblin's talons dug into the flesh of his neck. Blood sprayed from the wound as the creature bounced from his chest and clung to the wall like a monkey. Turner clutched his throat with one hand while aiming with the other. He was about to squeeze the trigger when his world turned upside down.

The giant's makeshift club smashed into his shoulder and torso with terrific force. He felt bones snap as his body spun and slammed into the wall, coming to rest on it's side. All was grey and red as his vision swam. The girl-goblin screeched with laughter and advanced.
______

Riley was now operating purely on adrenaline. His mind shut out everything but the feel of the gun in his hand and the action taking place in the cabin. He watched Officer Crawford half crawl, half fall off the porch, babbling incoherently. There was a horrible tittering laughter coming from inside and no sign of Officer Turner. Maybe it was the sight of a woman in distress or maybe he was just crazy, but he was up on the porch before he realized it, smashing out the living room window with the butt of his desert eagle. Mitchell was right behind him .45 leveled at the front door.

Both men were nearly knocked off the porch as the giant kicked the front door off it's hinges and emerged from the cabin, bellowing and growling with fury, log raised high. It was completely naked and quite hairy. Red tinged spittle flew from it's mouth as it swung it's head wildly from side to side.
______

Crawford had somehow kept hold of her gun while scrambling away. She turned to judge the distance between herself and that thing, just in time to see her partner cartwheel into the wall and slump to the floor. That proved enough to snap her out of her blind panic. As the Giant emerged from the cabin, she got to her knees and steadied her shaking wrist for a shot. The loud report of a 9mm rang out twice. Two holes appeared in the creature's torso and it's head swung in her direction. The panic started to reassert itself as the giant leapt off the porch and towards her with surprising dexterity.

Some of the deck boards buckled under the weight of the giant. Riley had a hard time keeping his feet and fell hard into the outer wall of the cabin. Using the wall to steady himself he raised his gun and fired into the back of the leaping creature. A much larger hole appeared in it's shoulder, causing it's arm to spasm and it's powerful swing to go over the head of Officer Crawford.

She rolled and fired two more shots from a prone position, each entering the giant's stomach and causing it to shudder. With five gunshot wounds that would have been deadly to a human, the beast raised it's club high into the air, intent on crushing Officer Crawford into a bloody pulp.

"CRACK, CRACK!" Twice more gunshots rang out. The giant's head snapped to the right with each shot and blood and flesh spit out from the left. Mitchell, just five feet behind the giant, lowered his .45 as the creature fell hard across the legs of Officer Crawford. He spared a quick, reassuring smile before loping up to the porch and into the cabin.

Just inside the door, Turner was still conscious, and desperately resisting the smaller creature's attempts to rip out his throat. His left arm was all but useless and it was just a matter of moments before the creature won. Suddenly it's weight was gone and his head was filled with a horrible ringing as Mitchell fired two point blank shots. The goblin-thing skidded to a rest at the door to the kitchen, half of it's head no more than a red smear.

Somewhere outside Carlos Rodrigez' shrill screams could be heard dwindling into the forest.

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While Officer Crawford and Riley tended to Turner's extensive injuries on the porch, Mitchell searched the cabin. He spent some time tearing apart the bedroom before finding what he sought in the kitchen sink. It was a painted bronze pyramid about nine inches tall. The top six inches comprised the lid and was laying next to the base in the bloody sink. The essence was thickest around the container. It flowed around his shields as if seeking a crack by which to enter. He gently lifted the lid and fitted it back into place. He ran water from the tap and cleaned the blood from it's surface before carefully wrapping it in a towel from the cupboard.

Stepping out onto the porch, he took a moment to appreciate the gentle rain that had begun to fall. He knelt next to Riley and looked at Turner, "Will he make it?"

Officer Crawford didn't look up from her work, "Life Flight's on it's way. We've done what we can for him, but there may be internal injuries."

Both Crawford and Riley had the look of functioning shock victims with pasty complexions and shaking hands. Neither of them even glanced at the towel wrapped package.

He stood up and walked down to the the once-giant Delbert Johnson. Sometime during the search of the cabin, Mr. Johnson had transformed back to his normal form. The wounds to his head made his features unrecognizable. He looked very pathetic lying naked in the dirt.

"I'm gonna go see if I can find our friend Mr. Rodrigez."

They didn't even look up.

With the container tucked under his arm, "Agent Mitchell" walked down the road towards his car. He had a drop off to make downtown, and traffic this time of night could be dangerous.

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## Captain Claymore (Jan 24, 2005)

*In Need of a Fix*

*ANCIENT WISDOM*
(Witchcraft - Northport Campaign)

*"In Need of a Fix"*

1:35AM, Saturday, May 7th.
Downtown Northport, Eclipse Nightclub.

Strobe lights.

Sweat mixed with the slight aroma of alcohol.

The bass causes her teeth to vibrate when she tries to close her mouth. Hundreds of bodies are packed tight and writhing to the in-house DJ's special euro-blend. She's dancing with a tall, dark haired man wearing a black vest and no shirt underneath. Next is a blonde woman in a pink tank-top, then a long haired teenage boy with studs through his nose and tongue. Nothing more than flashes through a drug haze. A haze that's unfortunately starting to lift. Suddenly she's at the edge of the human sea with an unobstructed line to the bar. She breaks free of the mass and makes her way there.
_________________________________

While waiting for the bartender she studied herself in the mirror. Straight, long, white-blonde hair, red lipstick and dark eyeliner. Her fair skin showed no trace of the tan she got last summer. She was nineteen years old last month but the silk dress and silver necklace she wore made her look twenty-five. Not that the establishment was too concerned with checking ID's.

"Hey Melissa, are you danced out yet?" In the mirror she saw a young, pretty, brown haired woman slightly shorter than her own five foot eight inches step up behind her and drape an arm over her shoulder. Her best friend and roommate, Misty - who loved the club scene somewhat less than her - and was always the first ready to call it a night.

She smiled and leaned her head closer, "I'm ok with going home if..." She whispered the next, "... we make a little stop on the way there."

Misty smiled, then groaned, "If by little stop, you mean to the 'pharmacy'... Mel, do you realize what the neighborhood around there is like this time of night!?"

Melissa put her arm around her friend, "Oh come on, it's not THAT bad, and besides, we'll drive there. It's just a quick stop and we'll go home. I promise." She crossed her heart with her finger.

"I guess I should be thrilled that you're willing to go home this early in the first place." Misty looked her friend in the eyes, "Fine, you win, but I'm not getting out the car!"

Melissa grinned. The bartender didn't look to be acknowledging them anytime soon so the two girls gave up and wound their way towards the entrance.
_________________________________

Twenty minutes later Misty was cursing her best friend as they sat side-by-side in her red, Nissan Acura. "We'll driiive there, just a quick stop!" she mimicked Melissa's words from earlier.

They were parked on the side of the road in a rundown neighborhood. The headlights were off and they argued in the dark.

"How was I supposed to know we we're gonna get a flat?!" Melissa yelled. "Am I psychic? Jesus Misty, I'm not exactly thrilled either!"

Misty looked through her windows nervously, "Could you keep it down please. Let's try not to attract attention to the two defenseless women in the nice car."

They were parked on the corner in front of a closed, mechanic's shop under a non-functional street light. The nearest light source was another street light two blocks down. Beside the shop was a bare, dirt lot and then a row of boarded up store fronts. Across the street was what seemed to be a warehouse, though they could see no sign, just a metal garage door and one barred door and window.

"Besides," Melissa said in a quieter voice, "How the  was I supposed to know you wouldn't have your cell phone with you? What the hell good is a cell phone if you leave it at home?"

Misty had the grace to look embarrassed.

"Look, John's apartment is like, three blocks that way," she pointed in the direction of the working street light. "He's not exactly a friend, but I'm sure he'd let me use his phone to call a tow truck." She thought a moment and motioned towards the trunk, "Do you still have that baseball bat?"

"Yeah," Misty pouted.

"Good. Let's take it with us and walk to John's. We'll be there in a few minutes." Melissa flashed a reassuring grin.

"You don't even know if that's his real name Mel. How can you be so sure a drug dealer will help us?"

"I'd be damn surprised if that was his real name, but I'm a regular Misty. I've put a lot of money in his pocket. He'll probably just look at it as protecting his interest." She frowned, "I am SO not saying that "John" is Dudley Do Right, but it's a better option than sitting here all night in this ing car." She started to open her door until Misty put a frightened hand on her shoulder.

A homeless person was making his or her way across the mechanic's parking lot pushing an over-filled shopping cart. Upon closer inspection it turned out to be a woman. Her hair was covered in a ragged scarf and she wore a baggy shirt and torn raincoat. It was too dark to make out details but the cart seemed to be full of trash bags. The wheel made a rhythmic squeak as she passed. She had obviously noticed the two girls in the nice car and was unabashedly staring back as she walked on, craning her neck to do so. It wasn't a particularly friendly look.

Melissa spoke first, "I am SO not staying here all night!"

Misty popped the trunk and said, "Get the bat. And just so we're clear, we are ing speed walking right?"

"Right."
_________________________________

Misty insisted on carrying the bat. She held it in a two handed, white knuckle grip as she kept a brisk pace next to her longer legged friend. They crossed the street and hurried towards the illusory safety of the first street light, heels clacking on the cracked pavement. Besides the bag lady, the streets seemed totally deserted. In the distance she could hear the repetitive bark of a dog. It was cold and Melissa kept rubbing at the exposed skin of her arms to fight back the goose-bumps. Neither woman spoke.

They both slowed as an older model, black mustang rounded the corner. Latin rap and a heavy base line blared from the lowered windows. Four hispanic teenagers in gangster attire stared at the two white women as the car slowed. Misty's hands ached as she squeezed the bat. One teen said something to the driver and they all laughed. The car sped up and was gone in a matter of moments.

Melissa whispered, "Let's walk a little faster."

Seconds later Melissa stifled a gasp as they passed the mouth to an alley. Two homeless men huddled near a stack of palettes. One man wore an old army jacket, jeans and a baseball hat. He had long hair and a full, tangled beard. The other was black, tall and skinny. He wore a faded orange ski jacket and a grey ski hat pulled low over his forehead. Both men looked up and caught her eyes before she had time to look away, then she and Misty were passed the alley and both men disappeared from view.

At Melissa's gasp, Misty had just caught a glimpse of the two men as well. "This was so not a good idea Mel. Where the hell are these apartments?"

Melissa's only answer was to take hold of her friend's arm and move faster still.

A couple minutes later they were standing on a corner several blocks further down. Misty was seriously considering using the bat on her roommate. "What do you mean it's not here!? You SAID his apartment was three blocks, we've walked five!"

Melissa bit her lip and hugged her harms close to her body. "Dammit Misty I'm so sorry! I could have sworn we were on the right street. Maybe we should walk back to the car."

Misty was staring with a worried expression over Melissa's shoulder and back the way they had come, "I don't think that's such a great idea Mel..."

Melissa turned and saw the two homeless men stop on the previous block. They stared in the girls direction for a moment before stepping into another alley and out of sight. To walk back the way they had come would mean the girls would have to pass that alley. They looked at one another then simultaneously shook their heads from side to side.

"Let's keep going and look for a phone," said Misty.

With frequent glances behind them they set off once more.

_________________________________

They walked briskly, staring about them with fearful eyes and desperately seeking a better area of town. To Misty it seemed that they had somehow entered a twilight zone episode. Block after block there was nothing but trash filled lots, boarded up windows and featureless stone buildings. The only good news was that they seemed to have lost their itinerant stalkers.

"Holy !" whispered Melissa.

"What!? What!?" Misty gripped Mel's arm painfully.

"The guy with the beard... we JUST passed him in that alley back there." Her hands were shaking.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm ing sure! He was just standing there staring!" Melissa's voice was rising towards a hysterical pitch.

"Calm down!" Misty felt anything but calm herself. She glanced behind them and thankfully saw no sign of the man. "CRAP! Didn't the city put even one god damned phone in this neighborhood?!"

Like an answer to her blasphemous prayers Misty spotted the blue glow of a pay-phone light up ahead. "Mel, look."

Pointing was unnecessary since Melissa had already seen it too. A small gas and grocery store lay ahead. In the welcoming neon glow of a red and yellow 'Quick-mart' sign stood a lone phone box, the cord that once held a phone book dangling empty. The business was obviously closed. No lights were on inside and the barred doors and windows showed no sign of movement within. But it was a phone and Misty had change. Hell, you didn't even need change to dial 911.

As they stepped over the concrete border to the parking lot Misty was already contemplating what she would say to the 911 operator. 'Yes it's an emergency. Yes, we're being stalked by hairy homeless men. Yes we want the cops to come right now!'

They were forty feet from the phone when the hairy homeless man in question stepped around the edge of the store and leaned against the phone box. The girls stopped in the center of the parking lot. He smiled at them and Melissa was struck by how white his teeth seemed, framed as they were by a mass of dirty beard hair.

"Y'all ladies need a hand wit anythang?" The deep voice came from behind them and both girls spun, Misty raising her bat defensively. The tall black man was standing no more than ten feet from them.

Melissa said, "n-n-no thanks, we're good."

He smiled, "I'll bet you is." Unlike the hairy guy, his teeth were in bad condition.

Misty glanced back towards the other man. He was walking casually towards them, smile still in place.

"We're leaving now." Melissa pulled Misty along and they both hurried back to the sidewalk at what could almost be called a jog. The black man paced them, staying just back enough to keep them from running. The hairy one just stopped and watched as they crossed the street and disappeared around the corner.

"Leave us alone! I Don't want to have to hurt you with this!" Misty brandished the bat as she walked backwards. Melissa's head was bouncing from front to back as she simultaneously tried to watch their pursuer and the sidewalk ahead of her.

She slowed Misty by grabbing her shoulder, pointing ahead of them with her other hand. Misty spared a look and saw the hairy man walking towards them, less than a hundred feet ahead, that same grin in place. Somehow he had gotten ahead of them again. The girls stopped and so did both men at a distance of about ten feet in front and behind.

"This is the point in the play where you scream and run." The bearded man's voice was scratchy. It sent shivers down their spines. With those words he had erased any doubts the girls might have had left that these men didn't mean them harm.

_________________________________

With terrifying quickness his hand flashed forward and grabbed Melissa by the throat. Her scream came out as a gurgle as she flailed in an attempt to escape. Misty cried out as she swung the bat up and around, bringing it crashing with all her strength into the man's lower leg. It bounced off his shin, jarring her arms and bringing a snarl from her target.

"You'll pay for that!" Besides angering him, the blow seemed to have no effect.

Thin but strong, arms enwrapped Misty from behind, pinning the bat to her body and forcing the air from her lungs. The black man's sickening breathe was hot on her neck. She panicked and whipped her head backwards in an attempt to head butt her assailant. Her head bounced against his shoulder and he snickered.

The hairy man spun Melissa around with force and wrapped an arm around her throat. She fought to breathe and dug her nails into the material of his stained jacket. He flexed the muscles in his arm, cutting off the oxygen until she stopped fighting. Stars were forming in her field of vision when he relaxed his grip. She stayed still, just straining to take in air.

"You know what I think?" the bearded man rasped casually.

The black man answered, "Naw what?"

"I think this is too easy." He moved forward until he was right before Misty and her grappler. "I think we need to even up the odds a little... make things more challenging." He reached over her shoulder, caressing her cheek with his hand. A warm splash of liquid hit her exposed neck and ran down her back in slow rivulets. There was no pain and she briefly wondered if that was usual for having your throat slit, then the black man's arms loosened. She heard his body hit the ground and a slow hiss come from his lips. In falling, his coat had caught on her dress and pulled the strap off her left shoulder. Her bra was revealed and she couldn't manage to make her arms work to fix it.

The hairy man said, "Ah ah ah, there'll be time for that later," in his calloused voice. Misty saw unbridled panic in Melissa's eyes and thought that her eyes must look the same.

With a violent shove the man pushed Melissa away and towards the nearby mouth of an alley. She stumbled, barely managing to keep her feet under her. Misty was surprised to realize she still held the bat in her right hand. In desperation she swung it towards his head, every ounce of fear and adrenaline-gained power behind the blow. The impact numbed her arm. She realized that she had squinted her eyes to the point of being closed and quickly opened them. The fingers of his left hand were curled around the bat. He held it a foot from his head. As she stared in disbelief he squeezed. The sound of splintering wood preceded a crack, as he twisted his wrist and the upper eighteen inches of the weapon broke off in his hand.

He smiled, and this time his teeth were sharp and if anything even shinier. "Now... is it time to run?"

Melissa sobbed and stumbled further into the alley. The man stepped towards her, sharp teeth still visible. In a moment of calm thought, she knew that both her and Misty would not survive. Her plan was desperate but she knew it was the only chance one of them had.

"Misty! Run the other way, he can't chase us both!" She bolted down the alley.

Misty was frozen in place, eyes wide and staring. All she could see was sharp teeth and the shattered haft of the bat still clutched in her numb hand. The blood was cooling fast on her neck and back, and the wind was cool on her exposed side. She heard Mel scream to run, but she couldn't even move. She watched as the monster gave her the once over before jogging off after her friend.

He whispered, "I'll be right back," as he passed her.

_________________________________

Melissa spared no more thoughts for her friend's welfare. All of her bodily resources were now focused on negotiating the dark alley at a run. She slammed into a trash can, sending it's noxious contents across the ground before her. Casting a glance over her shoulder, she was horrified to find that the bearded monster had chosen her to pursue.

"Lovely plan Mel," she whispered to herself. Though the man was twenty yards or more behind her, she heard him laugh, as if he had heard her.

Knowing it was hopeless, she ran faster.

She turned off the alley pavement and crossed a bare lot, scattered with broken bits of cement and broken glass. She cut through a narrow corridor between two grey buildings. The darkness was almost complete at times and once she slammed her knee hard on an unseen object, bringing tears to her eyes and an involuntary moan. His laughter floated up from somewhere close behind her.

She was tiring and she hadn't lost him. She was hopelessly lost and he probably knew exactly where he was going. Stumbling blindly around the corner she barreled into something and came crashing down on top of it. The clash of metal on metal was loud and something gave a muffled curse as she came to rest in a pile of smelly garbage bags. When she looked up she was surprised to see the bag lady from earlier in the evening, grumbling to herself in incomplete words and levering herself up from where she had fallen.

Melissa sprang to her feet with new-found energy. "Oh my god oh my god, thank you thank you pleaseyouhavetohelpme?" She whined and clung to the plump woman's dirty overcoat.

The lady shrugged her off and continued to grumble as she set to righting her capsized grocery cart.

"You don't understand!" Melissa pleaded, "There's a man - no a monster, and he's after me! Please you've got to help me, hide me, PLEASE!"

Once more Melissa was pushed away by the old lady, who now fretted over her garbage bags, placing them one by one, back into the cart. She wiped the sweat from her face and looked down the dark alley, searching for signs of the monster. The old woman had now finished loading her cart and swiveled it away with a squeak of wheels. She was still grumbling as she started off around the corner. Melissa took a shuttering breath, cursed and started running once more, praying that the old lady might at least slow down her attacker.

Two turns and one empty street later she leaned wearily against the wall of a boarded up store front. After several ragged breaths she looked up and around for her pursuer. There was no sign of him or the black man... no wait, the black man was dead. She watched the monster rip his throat open. Suddenly she was having trouble catching her breath again. She pressed her back against the cool bricks and wiped the sweat from her brow, eyes desperately searching the street.

"click... click... click."

The quiet, rhythmic sound of two hard surfaces lightly tapping together.

She stopped breathing and pushed herself off of the now cold bricks, spinning around, trying to place the source of the noise. It was like heels on sidewalk, or nails on glass.

"click... click... click."

No matter which way she turned it sounded like it was right next to her. She stopped spinning. In dawning horror she realized there was only one way she hadn't looked. Slowly, willing herself to be wrong, her head tilted backward, eyes straining upward.

Inky darkness descended like a curtain from the brick wall above. From the edges of the dark mass were writhing tentacles of corpse white flesh, tipped with wickedly hooked, ebon claws. She only got glimpses of the appendages as they emerged and sank into the thing's dark center. It was ten feet above her when she finally took the in air to scream.

_________________________________

Misty was ten feet from the pay-phone when she heard Melissa's piercing wail. It only lasted a brief moment before being cut short. The mixed tears and mucus brought forth by mad panic streamed down her face as she dove for the receiver. It had only taken a moment to regain the use of her legs after the monster chased her friend down the dark alley. She had turned to run and fell prone, tripping over the body of the black man. She was up in a flash however and running back towards the phone with energy born of fear.

Her hands were shaking too bad to push the right buttons. She had to pause and collect her wits. Just three important buttons, two in the same place.

*Nine... one... one.*

"...Nine one one, what's the nature of your emergency?" The female voice was calm and authoritative.

"P-pleasehelpus, we wereattacked! My friend isindanger! Two-men! Helpus!" her words were almost unintelligible to the operator.

"Ma'am, please calm down and speak clearly. Are you in immediate danger?"

Misty took a steadying breath, "Yes - I mean no - I mean Melissa is! It followed her - It killed the other man! It's attacking herrightnow!"

"I have your location as 34th street and Williams Ave. Is that correct ma'am?"

"Wh-what? I'm not sure, just a minute..." She squinted her eyes and tried to read the street sign at the corner. She could only see the sign that said 34th Street. "Yes! that's us! Please you've gottohur..." She froze in mid-sentence.

Walking casually across the street came the bearded monster. Even from this distance his toothy grin was painfully obvious.

"Ma'am, is there a problem? Are you in danger?"

"Yes," Misty's mouth moved, though her eyes never strayed from the oncoming menace. "He's coming for me. He's done with Melissa and he's coming for me now." Her voice was surprisingly easy to understand.

"Your attacker is coming towards you? Do I understand you correctly?"

He stepped over the parking lot's concrete border. This somehow broke the spell of calm that had briefly settled over Misty.

"YES! He's coming this WAY! What do I do? What DO I DO?"

There was a two second pause on the other end of the line, "... Ma'am you're going to have to run. Stay on 34th street and the police will be there soon..."

At 'run' the operator was speaking from a swinging receiver. Misty had taken the first of the advice and dashed for the street and back towards her distant car. It was only luck that this complied with the rest of the operator's instructions.

She had run one block and just crossed the second street. She looked back over her shoulder and wasn't surprised to see that he had closed the gap between them. He was twenty feet behind her and moving fast, his body low as he bounded over the pavement. With no hope of outrunning him, she wearily turned, fists raised and prepared to die fighting.

"BWE, BWE, BWEEEE!" The sound of a police siren rang out behind her and then was silent.

The bearded monster paused his forward momentum. Misty heard the screech of breaks engaging followed by doors, and, "GET DOWN ON THE GROUND! KEEP YOUR HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!" Red and blue lights highlighted the monster's human looking face and body.

She didn't know whether the officer meant her too, but she dropped anyway, placing her cheek against the sidewalk while keeping the monster in sight. This meant that she was able to witness the same thing they did, and hear what they probably didn't.

The bearded man smiled - this time not revealing his teeth - and said in a his low gravelly voice, "Your lucky I'm not that hungry girl," before bending his knees as if to kneel and bounding away with inhuman speed.

By the time she heard, "I SAID GET DOWN!" from the officer behind her, the monster had already reached the corner and was disappearing around a fence and into the night.

She lay there with the cool pavement at her cheek and thought of how comfortable it seemed as she watched one of the officer's give chase. It was almost a shame when she was lifted gently by the other policeman and lead towards the cruiser and it's harsh, flashing lights.

_________________________________
_________________________________

_Northport Herald, Page A-12._
*"College Students attacked by Homeless Assailants."*
Two students of Northport College were attacked by homeless men last night in the old downtown area near 34th Street and Williams Blvd. Melissa Parker, 19, was killed by her attacker while attempting to flee. The other woman - whose name is not being revealed at the request of the NPPD and her family - escaped with minor injuries. One of the assailants was killed during the attack, while the other man remains at large. Police are requesting that anyone with information about the crime please call 348-555-8200.
_________________________________

THE END.


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## Bryon_Soulweaver (Jan 25, 2005)

So we an FBI agent thats a sorcerer, and a homeless bum that can shapechange into a hidious monster. Nice.


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## Captain Claymore (Jan 25, 2005)

Bryon_Soulweaver said:
			
		

> So we an FBI agent thats a sorcerer, and a homeless bum that can shapechange into a hidious monster. Nice.




Actually, none of the main player characters have been presented yet. *"The Container"* was many of the players first scenario using the Unisystem rules. Characters had not even been created yet at this point. One player took the part of "Agent Mitchell" while two others took on the roll of Ranger Dan and Officer Turner. This was sort of an introduction to show how combat and magic worked in the system.

In *In Need of a Fix*, we had two players take the rolls of Misty and Melissa (Better known as, "The Victims". They had great fun playing 'B' movie college girls on the run. After this scenario, we jumped in to two of the main characters storylines, but that has yet to be turned into fiction. I'm hoping to get that done before the game next week. *fingers crossed*.

Both stories have meaning to the larger story. The context just isn't known by the players yet. Except for in the latter case, where they are hunting the "Monster Bum" to paraphrase your description.  

Stay tuned...


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## Captain Claymore (Mar 4, 2005)

This story has now become a collaborative effort through a play by post format. I share the writing with my players and spruce it up. These next few pieces introduce the characters. Enjoy.

PART ONE.

8:30AM - Daniel Ericks' Apartment, The Tombs.

 Light streamed through the window waking Daniel up well before his alarm went off and he stretched out in bed, watching the ceiling for a few moments before he actually got up, accompanied by a jaw-cracking yawn. Stretching, he listened to the sound of his vertebrae popping before he grabbed a clean towel from the basket by his dresser and headed for the shower.

 A nice hot shower later, he was in the kitchen, brewing some tea and listening to the morning news on the radio. After his breakfast was fixed, he took it into the living room and sat on the couch, reading while he ate his cereal and drank his tea. After he was done, he poured out the rest of the milk in the bottle and set it in a little saucer on the window sill for Schrodinger when she decided to come by. Another moment dressing and he was out the door.

 He checked his mail on the way down and greeted the apartment building's other tenants with a smile and a kind word before stepping out onto the street. He had the day off today, so he would be running errands during the day and working at the soup kitchen in the early evening.
____________________________________

 At around one o'clock, after dropping the electric bill in the mail and getting most of his errands accomplished, Daniel stopped back by his apartment for a quick lunch. Mrs. Simpson - his downstair neighbor, was working on the little patch of grass and flowers by the front steps. She levered her sixty-five year old, plump frame up from where she had been kneeling in the grass, dusting wet dirt from her gloved hands.

 "Afternoon Danny. What's new on the street?" Her voice held that song-sweet tone common to nice old black women the world over. "That little ol' cat a' yours was just cryin for you a few minutes ago. I guess she was wantin' more milk and thought you was home." She shook her head in mock consternation, "You'd think you'd have half the strays in the tombs outside your window..." her grey eyebrow arched, "... strange how your little puss is the only one that comes callin'."

 The Tombs was the pet name folks of this particular group of neighborhoods used for their community. The term was originally used as a slur - coined by those who were referring to the area's high death rate - but like so many things, over time the name lost it's negative connotation. The people who called the Tombs home, now attached a strange sense of pride to the title - as if their common sufferings had been given a name, and that name drew them together.

"Afternoon Mrs. Simpson, "he smiled brightly at her, bracing his groceries against his shoulder as he stopped to pass the time of day. "Nothing much is new on the street, I suppose. Same old, same old, ya' know. Your flowers are starting to look real nice," he studied them for a moment and then looked back up at her "We'll have a whole garden out in front of here one of these days,"

 She beamed, "Awwwe... you know just how to brighten an old lady's day you charmer." looking at her little patch of green amongst the grey, "I gotta get as much color and life into this grey neighborhood as I can Danny. Ain't enough green in the Tombs! That's what I say every year at the council meetin' and every year they say we ain't got the money for parks!" She sighed, "Ah well Danny, we do what we can, we do what we can. Why you standin' round' here talkin' to me? You go upstairs and see what that darn fool cat wants." She smiled a white denture smile and gently pushed him towards the stairs.

 He grinned broadly at her before mounting the stairs, "You take it easy, Mrs. Simpson, and you'll outlive us all, I swear," he took the steps two at a time, shifting his groceries so that he could get at his keys when he reached the front door of his apartment. He fumbled with the lock for a moment, like he always did, before opening it up and stepping inside.

 As he started to put away his groceries and prepare a thick roast beef sandwich (heavy on the mustard), Daniel looked around the apartment for Schrodinger, finally calling out when he couldn't see her.

 "Honey, I'm home!"

 Though Daniel didn't yet see the cat, the voice of Catherine Zeta Jones answered in his mind, *I thought that old bat would never give me a chance to open your window.*

 Since the day his Bast friend had watched the movie Zoro, her 'voice' of choice had been that of the sultry, dark haired actress whenever they conversed. Even though it was familiar by now, Daniel still remained amused at Schrodinger's choice of mental voices. It made him feel like he was in one of those Hollywood movies - where big name stars do voice-overs for animals.

 Daniel noticed his can-opener in the sink and could smell the faint aroma of high priced cat food. It was obvious that Schrodinger had been around long enough to eat. He took a moment to reflect once more on the trouble a cat with Telekinetic type magic could cause.

 'Catherine' herself made a personal appearance as Daniel sat down at his couch with sandwich in hand. The calico cat sauntered out of the bedroom and hopped nimbly onto the coffee table - orange eyes following the roast beef as he set the plate down. *I've news you might be interested in Clark...* She continued to follow the sandwich as he brought it to his lips for a bite, *... It seems there is once again trouble in Metropolis.* She loved to razz him about his protective nature. He had learned the hard way that it was best not to acknowledge such remarks.

 He also learned the hard way not to set his food back on the plate when she was in the room. He reached down with his free hand to scratch lightly behind her ears and took another bite, washing it down with a bit of soda. "So what's going on?"

 For a moment Schrodinger seemed disappointed when Daniel held on to his sandwich, but quickly feigned disinterest and began to lick her paw, *I thought you might have heard already - a couple college girls were attacked last night in the Tombs - one was killed. They're saying it was bums who did it...* She let the last part hang, as if doubting what "they" had concluded.

 Splitting off a small portion of the sandwich, Daniel put it down next to her and mulled over the news. "Do you know where it happened?" his tone was concerned, rather than quizzical. Something like this - it could be trouble.

 She looked down at the corner of sandwich and then went back to grooming herself, *Way up on 34th street - just off the boardwalk.*

 The boardwalk was another local title given to the one-time main thoroughfare of old downtown. The name referred to all the boarded up storefronts that lined the way. Of all the areas within the Tombs, the boardwalk was one of the worst. It was also a good distance from Daniel's "zone" - the area around his apartment that he normally looked after and where his reputation carried some weight. The Tombs was a big place, and one man could only do so much. Still, murder was never a good thing, especially when it was the murder of a West-sider by a local. Daniel guessed that the rousters would be out in force now - making life even tougher for the homeless in the area.

 He sighed, finishing off the rest of his sandwich before standing up. "I'll head down there and check things out. Why don't you stay here and reconnoiter?" his voice was light, and it was obvious that he was making a small joke at his friend's expense. Before she could reply, he grabbed his house keys from the table and headed out the door. He could already tell that it was going to be a long day.

 ===========================================================


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## ledded (Mar 7, 2005)

Very nice Cap, I like the eclectic play style you've presented, it sounds like a ton o' fun.


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## Captain Claymore (Mar 7, 2005)

Thanks Ledded. It takes a little tweaking to make it flow correctly but it's a new way to play for me and so far I like it.


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## Captain Claymore (Mar 7, 2005)

PART TWO.

3:30PM - Country Corner Motel, Outskirts of Northport.

 TO: Zoryn Rakov.
 FIELD ID: 00323

 Assignment Location (as of 04-13-05): Northport, Washington. Permanent field position.

 Cover: Editor for RUSSIAN CONNECTION, a weekly Russian-language review of Russia's telecommunications market, one of the country's fastest growing industries. You work from your home and will be paid by Russian Connection, Inc.. Review the newsletter and familiarize yourself with the requirements of the job. The actual editorial work will be done by another operative and sent to you - to in turn be sent to your employer.

 MISSION GOALS:
 1. Establish residence somewhere near the cities main population center.
 2. Establish contact with Intelligence operatives. Your link is Cathleen P. Haul (listed in the phonebook). She will step you through the security procedures and grant access to the new field office - as well as introduce you to the other team members upon arrival.
 3. Active and passive surveillance of Supernatural activities within the city. Make regular reports.
 4. Establish contacts within the supernatural community without revealing the truths of the organization.
 5. On call to coordinate and execute plans of action concerning supernatural incidents. As the sole field agent, this - along with number three, will be your prime mission.
 6. Secondary objective: Determine the cause of last field operative's disappearance.

 Your position is a tough one. The previous agent, Charles Cooper, stumbled into something that caused his disappearance or death. Whoever or whatever was responsible learned enough about our operations to infiltrate the previous field office, destroy specific files and systematically eliminate the two Intelligence operatives we had stationed in the city. A quick response team was sent in after Cooper failed to report, but no trace was found - either of our initial agents, or the individual or group responsible.

 The agents you will be dealing with have all been placed within the last four months. You will basically be starting from scratch. Due to past events we are labeling Northport hostile, which means weekly field reports instead of the standard quarterly schedule. The first team's two initial file transfers had no useful information since operations weren't past the initial setup stage.

 Maintain an extremely low profile if at all possible. The subjects responsible for the first breech may be aware of our procedures and protocol. In other words, they may be ready for you.

 Good luck.
________________________________________

 Rakov blinked and yawned. He had arrived at 05:00 hours this very morning, and had only taken time to review his mission brief before collapsing on top of the covers. Even the name of the motel eluded him as he lay, staring at the ceiling, inevitable afternoon light pouring in around the curtains. The whorls and ridges of plaster grew in size as he neared them, still relaxed. Privacy. Rakov rolled over and looked down at the rumpled bed four feet below. Nothing visible supported him, but from within the realm of his mind, he could project waves of force, precisely and gently if he so chose.

 The Underground agent floated down and across the room, letting new liquid force spill up under his torso, to straighten his body. He landed gently in front of the sink. Standing, he flicked on the light and splashed cold water on his face. He felt coarse bristles against his palms. His watch read 15:30 hours. Awake early. I am eager, then, he thought.

 His luggage stood in a neat line by the front door of the motel room. One of the medium-size ones floated onto his bed, where it seemed to unzip itself. A leather toiletries kit pushed out from its nest of white, folded socks and sailed into the restroom. Before the compact bag flattened his face, Rakov summoned a pool of force — chi, his old master would say instead — to catch and cushion it.

 The telekinetic stared into the mirror as he unpacked the kit. Rakov smiled; he had broken 28 mirrors in his lifetime, 27 of those while practicing his mental powers. He had not even had a good-size mirror these past few years. Nor a coffeemaker, as I'm sure this room has, he made a mental note. The young man looked barely out of his teens. His dark brown mane, shoulder length and wavy, covered his ears. Sinister, rising eyebrows contrasted with his large, gray eyes. Five eight and thin, Rakov's blue flannel, collar-less shirt hugged his ribs. His shirt tucked into gray corduroy slacks. These, in turn, tucked into dark gray cowboy boots.

 As his razor flitted swiftly before him at the whims of his mental control, Rakov's high, pale cheeks were revealed. One tiny nick was apparent, but the agent put that down to lack of practice. He stretched his arms and walked over to the coffeemaker. Soon, the percolating sound filled the room as Rakov flipped through the while pages under 'H.' Finding only one Cathleen, he memorized the number and decided to look for some very-late breakfast and a payphone. Somewhere away from this motel.

 Soon, Rakov was out the door and starting his ride, a steel-blue '51 Ford pickup. The engine belched loudly. The agent unfolded the plastic map of Northport and chose a direction more towards the center of the city.
_______________________________

 Zoryn sat in the corner booth finishing up his Denny's toaster scramble special. He had driven about eight miles into the city along the highway before picking the restaurant as a likely candidate for an afternoon breakfast. As he scraped the last bit of cheese and egg from his plate, he was reaching into his pocket for change to make the call. He paid his tab and made his way to the payphone just outside the restrooms, dropping his change into the slot and dialing the number of his contact.

 It rang three times before a woman answered, "Hello." Her voice was pleasant and average.

 Rakov smiled as he spoke into the phone, holding the public mouthpiece a careful inch from his mouth, He supposed he was in a good mood from having eaten. "Miz Cathleen Haul?"

 When Zoryn said the name, there was a moments pause, followed by a inquisitive, "yes?"

 "I'm looking to form a spelunking expedition. I would like to meet and talk about what kind of underground exploring we might get underway. Do you have time now to meet? At a place of your convenience, of course. Though maybe your residence is not ideal for the moment. We might need to go buy some pots and pans anyway, since our Cooper has left us."

 The agent stopped his salesman-like tirade of semi-nonsense. He detested telephones. Being raised by an ex-spy tended to color one's opinion. After his accented 'sales pitch' there was an even longer pause. "Go to Buck Rogers Coffee on Stateway and Fourth Street... Five o'clock. After the show we'll talk." The phone clicked.

 Zoryn knew 'the show' was a visual ID to verify he was who he said he was. Protocol stated that was usually handled by another field agent, but since he was the sole field agent on sight, it made sense that it would have to be handled by intelligence. He wondered how she would handle it - and whether or not he'd be able to spot her. She would leave some sort of message - assuming they had the right mug-shot. The actual meet up would take place in a less public forum.

 The five o'clock time schedule left him only about fifteen minutes to find the coffee house. Not enough time to arrange a proper ambush - should he be the enemy. Scheduling the show at rush hour - when there would likely be a large crowd - also made it difficult for him to ID her. For a non-field agent, she planned well, but then again Intel always planned well. In Zoryn's albeit limited experience he found it was often harder to carry out the plan.

 He hung up the receiver and headed out the door to his truck. A quick view of the map and he was on his way.

 ===========================================================


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## Steverooo (Mar 9, 2005)

Heh!  Hey, it's "The X-Files Meets Buffy!"    

Kinda reminds me of this campaign, which was started, but died a quick death!

http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?t=82232


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## Captain Claymore (Mar 9, 2005)

PART THREE.

5:40PM - Ashley Alton's apartment, Eastside.

Ash rolled over under the thin sheet that covered his body, opening his eyes. He didn't sleep much anymore, but it always made him feel better to at least lay down and rest for a few hours... besides, he avoided the peak hours of the day like that. It was nearly dusk, he could see. Good. He rolled over again, the sheet sliding down his body as he used his muscular arms to push himself up off the pallet into a sitting position. He stretched out, hearing bones pop, and then put on a pair of jeans from the pile of clothes by his bed.

He walked into the bathroom and glanced in the mirror, frowning at the haggard-looking man that looked back. A second later, the papery skin took on a decent, if pale, skin-tone color. His hands straightened the mess that was his hair, fingers running through it once to get it to fall right. Satisfied, he grabbed a black shirt with a Metallica logo on the front from the bathroom doorknob and slipped it on.

He grabbed his helmet off the floor where he threw it last night, then grabbed the handles of his Ninja, opening the door and wheeling it out. He locked up the apartment behind himself. "Ya act like you got something important in there, Ash!" He chuckled to himself as he hit the pavement and started up his bike, heading into town to see what he could get into tonight before he went to work his half-shift at Speedway.
_______________________________

 As Ash cruised the smaller streets of Eastside the last light of the sun - now below the horizon - was merely unpleasant through his jacket and on the backs of his hands. His path through the local neighborhood was semi-random - the only pattern being an eventual drive-by of some of the "danger zones" he had learned of in the little time he had called the city home. Highschool parking lots, Quincy Park, the old downtown district and a few of the more popular alleys were hot spots where the communities undesirables often hung out - or conducted business.

 He saw a few prostitutes out early and wondered at the reality compared to what TV portrayed. These women wore sweat pants, t-shirts and sandals, their haggard faces only sometimes painted in cheap make-up. The 'Hollywood' hookers couldn't be found in the Eastside neighborhoods - instead they prowled the new Downtown district, or so he had heard.

 He turned left on Legion Blvd. and headed towards Eastbrook Highschool. A block further he slowed a little as he saw an unusual sight. An older gentleman in a sharp, tweed suit was strolling down the cracked sidewalk - matching hat upon his grey haired head. He looked like something out of 1940's London instead of a modern urban ghetto. He even had a damn cane in hand. The four teens keeping pace behind him were perfectly suited to their environment however. Each walked as if they had a purpose. There was none of the usual banter between friends that Ash would expect to see.

 He cruised on by and saw another two teens - same serious expressions but this time apparently conversing with one another - on the corner, ahead of the old man.

_Something's not right about that situation,_ he thought, so he slowed down as he came to a junction in the streets and pulled around the corner, out of sight.

_Like you should care!_

_I'm not an emotionless beast like all those legends make vampires out to be. 'Sides, how'm I gonna eat if I can't protect my prospects?_ He coasted his bike to a stop in the parking lot, taking his helmet off and securing the bike before walking out and down the sidewalk, in the direction opposite that of everyone else. He took his time, paying attention to the body language of the youths as he passed by, and taking a few sniffs of air, trying to snatch any ill intent out of the air surrounding them. He covered his sniffing by rubbing the base of his nose, as if he had a cold.

 The first two teens were black - one tall, one of average height. They both wore the trendy clothing common to highschool kids. One was smoking. As he passed them, Ash smelled sweat mixed with the cigarette's pungent odor. They both went quiet when he approached, and tracked his passage with angry eyes. It was obvious they were more excited than they let on. the taller of the two's hand strayed towards his jacket and then relaxed once Ash was past.

 Next came the old man. This fool was walking with head lowered and humming to himself. He failed to notice Ash until practically stepping on him, and then only looked up, smiled and continued on - blissfully ignorant of the danger he was in.

 The four teens following him were very aware of Ash. This bunch was an ethnic mix with one black, one white and two hispanics all in the same hip, gangster attire of the first two. They parted as Ash approached - two to a side, and seemed to swell - unspoken challenge in their posture. He didn't need to turn and look to know they watched him for several paces after he passed. Like the first two, these young men had the fast pulse and tell-tale smell of those on a mission.

 Once he felt their eyes leave him, he turned and started to follow them. _And the hunter becomes the hunted..._ He kept his footsteps quiet, a trick he'd had to pick up over the last year or so. He thought for a second as he was walking, and was ready to throw up an illusion if the quartet in front of him sensed something out of place and turned to look.

 The four teens were nervous - anxious. Ashley could tell one or the other was bound to look over their shoulder, not to mention the fact that the first two were bound to notice him in a moment at any rate. He concentrated and felt his power, like a veiled curtain, dropping around him as he walked. The air shimmered, sidewalk appearing to ripple like water. Suddenly, to all other eyes - Ash disappeared.

 One of the teens felt the hairs on the back of his neck ripple, unknowingly in time with the sidewalk just behind him. He glanced nervously over his shoulder - but saw no one. He wiped his neck and continued following the old man.

 The two on the corner stepped out in front of the man - all pretense at their mock conversation gone. The taller one's hand rested out of sight, inside his jacket. The shorter one flashed a smile and held his hands out to the side in a 'come an' get some' pose.

 "Hey old man, where you headed?"

 The old man looked up with a surprised expression. He was clearly taken unawares by their presence and stumbled to a stop. "I'm sorry, are you referring to me?"

 "Who you THINK we talkin' to? You see another old man around!?" The shorter one stepped up towards him - clearly getting inside his personal space. The man raised a hand as if to ward against a physical attack, though none was made.

 The other four teens only took a moment to fan out behind him - obviously blocking any feeble attempts the older man might make to escape.

 Ash picked up his pace a little, moving closer to the group. He squeezed himself between a couple of the youths, being careful not to touch them, and inserted himself between them and the old man, in a crouch.

 "Wh-what do you want?" The mans situation was finally dawning on him. "Leave me alone." He glanced nervously behind him - only to jump as he noticed the presence of the other four kids.

 "What da' you THINK we want grandpa?" the shorter teen got right in his face, "We want yo' wallet. We want yo' money -" He emphasized the last sentence with pauses between the words, "- I - even - want - that - stupid - hat!"

 The taller boy pulled back his jacket enough to show a nine millimeter tucked into his low waistline. Two of the kids behind the man laughed - further unsettling him.

 From Ashley's low position between one of the laughing teens and the man, the smell of nerves was very strong. The pheromone effects of adrenaline clouded the area.

 The old man dropped his cane and held his hands out - palms up. "I - I don't have a wallet. Please, just let me go, I beg you."

 Ash slowly stood up, letting the illusion drop. "You heard the man. Let..." He took hold of the boy's pistol, pulling it out of his pants. "...him..." He popped the clip out of the gun, letting it clatter to the sidewalk. He started pushing his body against the old man, forcing him back against the fence that surrounded the parking lot behind them. "...go." He kept his body in front of the old man, becoming a human shield. He finished the sentence with a low growl, tossing the pistol into the street. "What's the matter, you afraid to deal with someone who has a chance of taking you in a fair fight?" His mouth drew back in a snarl, and his eyes seemed to flash menacingly in the setting sun.

 The scene was frozen for a moment as the young men gaped in astonishment. The boy with the pistol actually whimpered - knees visibly weakening as Ash fed on the rush of terror inspired by his appearance. One of the four kids in back was the first to run, but soon the rest were following - madly scurrying across the street and in several directions. In moments, all that was left of the would-be muggers was a clipless Beretta lying scratched in the street.

 Ash waited a few more moments - relishing the after-effects of his feeding - before turning to check on the man. He had half expected to need to perform CPR, or at least calm him down, but surprisingly - when he turned - the old man was quite serene.

 "I am glad to see my instincts have not failed me... Mr. Alton." He smiled good-naturedly, "I feared for a moment you might actually harm those young men." He looked at Ash from inches away, and then down to where he was still being pinned against the fence. "Would you mind horribly, letting me up? I'm fairly certain they are long gone - and though I am not yet decrepit, this IS rather uncomfortable on my aged back."

 "Oh, sorry about that." Of course, before he had turned, he had let his features revert to their normal look. He moved away from the old man. "Didn't bruise you, did I?"

 All the time he was putting up a cool facade, his mind was racing. _How does this guy know me? Does he know what I am? Am I gonna have to get out of town again? Did Cynth hire someone to look for me? Did my parents?_ Finally he asks the foremost question in his mind. "How do you know who I am, anyway?"

 The man straightened and dusted invisible specks from his lapel, "Well I read it of course." Despite his comment about aged backs, he seemed to have little problem bending and picking up his black cane.

 With a vague gesture to the surroundings - or the sky perhaps, it was hard for Ash to tell - the man continued, "It's amazing the things one can read, if one knows where to look."

 He seemed to just notice Ash's questioning gaze, and hurriedly went on. "Please forgive me. I prattle on and time is short. You see, though I sometimes can read things, they are not always written in a steady script. You are to play a part in this affair, of that I am sure..." Again he motions, this time in the direction of the fled youth. "...but... the test was to determine your part in things." He smiles, "As I am sure you are aware, not all of your kind would have acted the same - given the situation you just faced."

 He pulled a pocket watch - ornate and old fashioned - from his vest. flipping it open he tut-tutted and said, "Just as I thought, I must be gone." His manner turned serious and he looked about as if fearful of eavesdroppers. "You must find the Voice of Amphitrite Mr. Alton. I do not know what form she now holds but she will be drawn to this city - if indeed she is not already here. There is one who may help you within Saint Sebastian's Church. Go there and join the others - together I have hope that you will find her."

 He tucked his watch back into it's pocket and continued with a rueful smile, "It's a good thing you came along when you did Mr. Alton... I really don't have a wallet, and that gun..." Ash followed his gaze to the pistol in the street, "... did concern me."

 When he turned back, the old man was gone - the only thing left a strange, spicy odor that lingered in the air.

 At the comment about his "kind", Ashley knew that the strange man had knowledge of exactly what he was, and he stood in stunned silence as the man 'prattled' on and finally seemed to vanish into thin air. He snickered. "Neat trick, that," he said to the sidewalk, walking back to his motorbike. He was half-surprised that one of those punks didn't try to go for the bike, but he paid that fact no attention as he slung a leg over and kicked it to life.

 As he resumed his driving, he considered what the old man said. Something about a Voice of Amphi... something. And to meet "the others" at St. Sebastian's... The old man must have known that Ash barely went to church in life, much less now. So why would he have to meet anyone at a church? But it was worth looking into, and he still had a few hours before his shift anyway; so he decided to make his way over to the church to see what he could see.

===========================================================


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## Captain Claymore (Mar 15, 2005)

PART FOUR.

6:30PM - Arcadia Park, Downtown.

_... Children wake up,
 hold your mistake up,
 before they turn the summer into dust.

 If the children don't grow up,
 our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up.
 We're just a million little god's causin' rain storms turnin' every good thing to rust.

 I guess we'll just have to adjust... _

 The punk lyrics of The Arcade Fire blared out over a small boom box perched on a city-green park bench. D sat on his board in the grass nearby as three other friends pulled off minor skate tricks on the sidewalk steps of a nearby walkway. To call them friends might be overstating things. D knew them and sometimes hung out with them, but Dave, Martin and Joey weren't "come over for dinner" or "bail me out of jail" friends. He just hung out with them sometimes - when he wasn't working, or doing something more important. Right now he was practicing meditating through distraction, attempting to tune out his surroundings and focus inward.

 Dave bailed - barely managing to catch himself without cracking his shin on the steps. He cursed good naturedly before brushing back his spiked blond hair, collecting his board and coming towards D. He plopped down next to him and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. D was only nominally aware of all this, still intent on meditation.

 "Dude... you got a light?" Dave's breathing was still labored from skating. He obviously had no clue to what D was trying for.

 D blankly reached into his deep pocket and withdraw a bic. Holding it out somewhere near Dave's face he flicked it and waited a few seconds. Then he lifted his other hand toward the same unseen face with his fingers in the V shape of "give me one". After a few seconds and then realizing he had one, D proceeded to do to himself what he just did to Dave - by stuffing the smoke in his semi-agape mouth and putting the lighter somewhere close. After finally lighting it... he focused in on the tunes... As much as it was a mantra to his life now, it was a mantra to his meditation. Letting the lighter fall to his lap he lightly bobbed his head and focused inward. The air around him began to shimmer a bit, and continued to do so for approximately fifteen minutes while he dumbly dragged the smoke back and forth to his mouth, but never actually flicked the ashes.

 The tracks changed several times on the CD while D zoned and pedestrians passed by unnoticed. He had just come to a quiet spot in his trance when the voice came to him, at first barely discernible, then with greater clarity.

_"Alta lungo mana colalye? Uye sí uquen lemba nilya..."_

 It was as if he were listening in on a nearby conversation. The sensation was not new to him - though it had been awhile since it last manifested unintentionally. Of course, generally the language was english instead of creepy gibberish, and it wasn't repeated in a sibilant whisper like this.

 The phrase repeated several more times, each repetition growing more urgent.

_"Alta LUNGO mana COLALYE? Uye sí UQUEN lemba nilya..."_

 D's eyes opened wide as a powerful surge of essence tingled along his spine. Something magical had just happened, and it happened close by.

 At first glance nothing seemed to have changed in his immediate surroundings. A black couple could be seen walking through the park, cars went by on the street across the green. Martin and Joey were still skating, Dave was no longer by his side. By the quality of the light D guessed that he had been out of it for more than a few minutes. Something had just happened, but there was no trace of it now, besides a diminishing sensation that raised the hairs on D's arms.

 D snapped out of his trance and began to stuff his skateboard into the back of his pack. Raising up with his old bike in tow and grabbing his dropped lighter on the way up, he began to subtly scan about for any suspicious characters who might be about. Not noticing any, He dug a little into his stores of essence, pushing the range of his search a little further out and began tapping on the psyches of anyone within short shot. Nothing, nothing, and then Dave came out of the restroom babbling something unknown and previously unheard and that drew D's attention. Still walking about casually he veered toward Dave to find out what he is up to. "Yo, Dave," he called as he began to trot, bike and all, up to intercept him.

 Dave seemed not to notice D until he was right in front him, and then he sort of turned and gave a half smile. "What's up... D?

 As Dave turned and answered, D increased the pressure of his mental probe, attempting to dig through the strange, foreign chatter that whispered through his friend's mind. he searched for key bits of information, like _*What did you just do?*_ and _*Where are you going?*_ The babble subsided briefly and D was able to hear a partial thought, _*...ust hurry to the church. Leave him and g...*_ before the chatter covered Dave's thoughts again. It was as if something was deliberately masking Dave's thoughts, and the strain of piercing the veil sent a spike of pain into D's mind.

 He resisted the urge to rub his temple. Looking down briefly, he decided how best to answer Dave's question. What's up indeed?

_Church my ass,_ D thought to himself, _I don't believe Dave has been into a church in his life._

 "I have no where to be right now. Do you mind if I just walk and talk for a bit," D answered to the question of what's up.

 "You headed any place special or do you want to go and see if we can find a bag," he asked Dave in an almost too casual manner. D fell in step next to his "pal", and tried not to be too intrusive. Waiting for a reply he shifted the bike to his other side, interposing it between him and Dave in a minor attempt to represent separation.

_If he's charmed or being controlled, I would rather not alert the puppeteer to any opposition or overt curiosity on my part,_ D mulled mentally, _just two buds hangin' and chattin' is all we have here._

 Dave gave back an empty smile, "Sorry, I've got something... important to take care of. I'll talk to you later ok." He dropped his board to the ground and jumped on, momentarily surging ahead. If D didn't know what he knew, Dave may have seemed just a little off. Having heard the strange mental chatter inside his friend's head moments ago, he also noticed a certain glassiness to Dave's gaze. Now he had to decide what to do about it all.

 D stopped where he was, somewhere between Dave, who was skittering off to some unknown church, and the public stinkroom Dave had recently exited. Someone cast something, and it was not Dave, but perhaps on Dave. "It was close, perhaps the caster is still nearby," D whispered back into his own face. He quickly shot a glare back at the restroom, and looked to see if anyone had recently exited or even been nearby to said building. Then, trotting, he came up quickly to the entrance and checked to see if anyone was inside. The air began to shimmer slightly about D's person as he cautiously opened the doors and began to check the space within, having dropped his bike right in front of the entrance.

 He hurriedly checked the four stalls, finding nothing and no one inside. As he turned to leave, he noticed something on the small mirror above the sink. It was a black, shiny liquid, spattered across the surface of the glass. Bending a little closer, he smelled a pungent, cloying aroma. Whatever it was, it was still wet, and a few drops could be seen on the white porcelain sink as well. All in all, it represented maybe a tablespoon of liquid. the aroma began to sting his nose a little.

 "," Donovan intoned. He bolted for the door, and snatched up his bike in mid stride. He jumped on the seat and rode quickly off into the direction he last saw Dave. He hoped he could catch site of Dave and follow him without following close enough for anyone else watching to notice. At least until he saw what church Dave was thinking of, _then perhaps...._ His thoughts trailed off as he focused and tried to notice which way Dave had gone.

 There were a few moments of panicked searching before D spotted Dave's blond head two blocks up and turning the corner. He was pumping forward on his skateboard, obviously in a great hurry. Switching his old mountain bike into a higher gear, D pedaled as fast as he could in pursuit of his friend.

 The bike was faster than Dave's board. Though D had a near miss with a parking car, he soon had Dave in his sights, yet far enough back to hopefully avoid suspicion. He tried his best to visually scan the landscape for whoever was responsible for the magic, but it was difficult while negotiating the still-busy streets and sidewalks of Downtown.

 Four blocks later, Dave flipped his board up into his hand and walked up the steps of Saint Sebastian's Catholic Church. There were four other young men lounging on the steps. Two were no more than kids really - twelve, maybe thirteen tops. They each had a skateboard in their laps. The other was perhaps sixteen and wore ragged jeans and a worn leather jacket over a faded white t-shirt, his BMX bike resting against the bottom step. None of them looked familiar to D.

 As Dave approached them they all looked up briefly. From D's position across the street it was hard to tell, but it didn't seem that they spoke any greeting. They simply registered Dave's presence and went back to a casual silence. Dave sat down alongside them, put his board across his knees and looked around. D backed up several steps. He wasn't sure why, but he decided it would be best if Dave didn't know that he had followed him - at least not yet.

 On the white message board next to the church's name plaque were the words, "Monday, May 9th, 8:00pm - Requiem Mass for Robert Foster" spelled out in removable black letters. A half dozen pigeons flew over D's head and landed on a stone cornice next to one of the church's massive stained-glass windows.

_Well, at least I know which church,_ D thought to himself. _Way too weird for my tastes, Why Dave, why here, why... !_ "Maybe they want me," he whispered aloud. With his best James Bond imitation, and in an extremely round-about, most likely unorthodox method, he made it behind a nearby car, just barely within range if he pushed it a little harder. Resting against the back of the car he let reality slip and tried to get a grasp on the mana. Having lost the outside, he tugged at his own stores of energy and added a bit of go-go juice to extend the range of his mind reading ability. The focus gave him a little bit extra on the back side as well so he drilled a little deeper trying to find out what was up. Again resistance, and the only answer that returned from either was, _*We must wait here until further instructions.*_ "Damn that makes me suspicious," he noted to himself, again thinking about why anyone would want two no talent nobodies. "Back to me it seems," while he continued to sit and replenish his stores of energy. _Is this a trap? After all this time could they want me, and if they do, then for what? I better not hang here too long. In this state I would never see them coming,_ was his last thought to himself before he tuned back into reality, after he had sat long enough to gain back what he had just spent.

 Back in a more comfortable spot for surveillance, D mulled over the whos, whats and whys of his current situation. If the magic was truly aimed at catching him, why the church? Why not have Dave just clock him over the head back at the park? If he wasn't the target...? Let's face it, he had no ing clue if he wasn't the target.

 Between ten and fifteen minutes had past before the next two joined the growing crowd on the steps. Both young men, this time he judged them in their early teens. Like the others, these simply joined the group silently, skateboards in hand. D was debating on whether another mindscan was worth the risk when he saw a third new arrival walking towards the church's side entrance.

 This man was taller than average, with short, blonde hair, a motorcycle jacket over a black t-shirt and faded jeans. He scanned his surroundings as he walked towards the church, and D had to fight the urge to duck. Before D had the chance to concentrate on essence patterns, the guy had disappeared through the door.

 "Not exactly church attire," he whispered to himself.

 Moments later another four kids, on boards and on foot, came down the sidewalk. They passed the side entrance and made their way across the lawn to the steps. Eleven young men now loitered on the steps of the church. _Maybe it's youth outreach night, _D thought sarcastically.


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## Captain Claymore (Mar 30, 2005)

PART FIVE

5:00PM - Buck Rogers Coffee, Downtown.

 Paused at a rose-red light, Rakov pulled a canvas bag out from under his bench seat. It rattled only slightly. Within, a 10-inch convex mirror and a couple of small glass vials of paint were cushioned by several packets of fine powder. Other items of various shapes and densities served as nothing more than ammunition. Rakov chose his "tools" so that they looked like a junk collection. He hoped that once all this song and dance was through, he could get more spy-like equipment for his mission. _If I'm still alive._

 Long traffic minutes later, Rakov parked his truck at the curb a block up from the coffee house. Closing his eyes, he envisaged a unique flower in his mind, royal blue with an enormous number of petals. Each of these fanned out, making an arrangement like a dandelion. A push of will and the petals flowed around him, scattered in a sphere around his physical body. Unseen to most, these wisp-thin fragments of force would help protect him from harmful, fast-moving objects. _If the sniper is favoring low-caliber today._

 Snapping his eyes open, the telekinetic then slid the canvas bag to his door as he got out. Tossing it over one shoulder kept one of his hands occupied, weighed a lot, and made him look like an amateur. The Russian-American smiled, slammed his car door with his free hand, and checked over his shoulder to ensure that the top of his bag was open.

 He scanned around as best he could, approaching the front door of the sci-fi themed cafe. Not for the first time, the agent wondered what intel had in his file. This looked like just the sort of place he would like to relax. _If I had a death wish._

 As he had figured, the place was packed. Suit pants, slacks, dresses and jeans all danced around each other within - their owners 'unwinding' with a little liquid caffeine. From the minute he stepped foot in the cafe, Zoryn realized Catherine would have to be a real amateur if he had any chance of spotting her.

 The cafe wasn't as over the top as he feared. Movie posters and light, seventies space decor made the place sort of look like that bar in the first Star Wars flick - if it were packed with alien yuppies instead of wretched scums and villains. As he waited in line for a drink, he watched the crowd behind him through the reflection of a framed poster on the wall. The poster was a large picture of an actor in a stupid white outfit and holding a laser gun, above his image read, 'Star Wars owes it all to Buck Rogers.' Yeah, this place was classy.

 Absently, Rakov ordered a large house coffee and tipped generously. He moved away from the counter to find a seat with a view. After sliding his canvas bag under his chair, the telekinetic scanned the walls and ceiling for precarious-looking, dangerous objects. Now where are the windows, the kitchen door, the restrooms?, he wondered to himself.

 As prepared as he could be, the agent settled back and sipped his coffee. Adrenaline gave his stomach a sour turn as it prickled through his system, stronger than any refined stimulant. For all his training and his peculiar power, Zoryn Rakov felt uncertainty. This city held mysteries and dangers: the supernatural lived here. And killed here.

 The agent's eyes worked the room in long, slow sweeps. _Cooper._ Rakov's mind returned to his predecessor. _What were his talents? Where did he err? Did he leave a message somewhere, or with someone?_ Shifting uncomfortably and using his power to brush his hair ever so slightly back behind his ears, Rakov realized that even if he did find a thread, even if he did follow it through this maze, the minotaur itself might be holding the other end.

 For the moment, he would wait to see how smart his new ally was.

 All the corner seats were taken. The best he could do was a table against the back wall that looked to separate the kitchen from the dining area. This only left two tables to his back, and if he turned the chair to face away from the wall he had a 180 degree arc of the main traffic areas. He sat down - setting his bag on the little tabletop - and sipped his coffee, trying to affect the air of a man waiting for a friend. He occasionally glanced to the door, the windows - nothing too obvious.

 Rakov would have said that he was in a highly aware state, which is why the old man came as such a surprise. The grey tweed of a vintage-looking business suit stepped into view, three feet in front of his face. He looked up to find a friendly looking, grey haired man of maybe sixty - grey fedora and black cane in one hand, coffee in the other - looking right at him.

 "I'm terribly sorry to bother you but..." He motioned with his hat hand at the full dining area, "... there seem to be no other tables available. Would you mind terribly if I sit here?" This time he motioned to the unoccupied chair on the other side of Rakov's table.

 As the man was speaking Rakov realized that he was right - there were no empty tables and few empty chairs. He was still a little flustered at having not seen the man approach.

 Rakov pushed the other chair out with one leg. He nodded and said, "Take a load off." The agent could not quite decide whether the old man had snuck up on him intentionally or he had sunk himself into a daze. Whichever, I doubt that cane gets much weight put on it.

 "What's your poison?," Rakov asked, lifting his own cup slightly. "I go for house coffee. Affordable. Let me guess yours." He paused, wondering how small this town was. Perhaps this old man knows some gossip. Probably sees and hears a lot, sneaking around like that. "Latte?"

 The man looked mildly baffled, "P-poison? He looked down at his cup and chuckled, "Oh yes, poison... right." He took the offered seat and looked around, "This is actually my first time in this establishment. That being the state of things I thought I'd best stick to the basics. I too chose the... 'house' coffee." He said the word 'house' like it was an unfamiliar term.

 The man took a sip of his coffee, pulled a white kerchief from his coat pocket and dabbed his chin. Half peering into Rakov's open sports bag, he asked, "Are you involved in athletics? I was very fond of sporting events in my younger days." Once more he sipped and dabbed, before reaching into his inside pocket - causing Zoryn a moment of alarm in doing so - and pulling out an ornate pocket watch. He flipped the watch open, read the time, and put it away while glancing about the room once more.

 "Watching or participating in sporting events?" Rakov asked. He suspected the former. The agent shook his head, "I'm not into baseball or anything. Tai chi. More about internal energy. And only worth watching when a fight breaks out."

 Rakov smiled; this inscrutable old man's odd ways reminded him that he had his own agenda. Still, he's friendly enough. Offering his hand, he said, "Oh, and I'm Rakov. Zoryn Rakov."

 "A bit of both actually. I played a mean game of shinty in my youth. Later, I both taught, and watched my boys in whatever sport they happened to take a fancy in." By the way the man said 'boys' Rakov got the impression he wasn't speaking of his own children.

 He smiled at the mention of the oriental art. "Ah, I do so love the teachings of Chang San Feng, though in one thing you are wrong Mr. Rakov. His forms are a joy to watch - and perform - whether engaged in defense, or simply used in meditation and exercise."

_Shinty?_ Rakov thought. Aloud he said, "To each his own. I find forms sterile and restrictive."

 Once more the gentleman scanned the room. Zoryn couldn't tell if he was being paranoid, or if the old man was paranoid of something. The man's next words cleared that up however.

 "By the way... in case you were wondering, your associate has already made her confirmation."

 Rakov went still.

 "She just placed a note in your vehicle down the street." He carefully took another sip of his coffee, then dabbed at his chin. His friendly manner hadn't changed in the least.

 Listening to the old man's revelation, the agent chuckled aloud. "One thing I do admire is your patience. Perhaps that's a perk of old age, or maybe just a facet of whatever uncanny abilities you possess." _To go along with your poor social graces,_ he added mentally, half hoping those abilities included mind-reading.

 Rakov gulped down the rest of his coffee. "Quite satisfying. Now, at your leisure, would you care to broach a topic such as... why you're here?"

 Either the old man was good at hiding his reactions, or he couldn't read Rakov's mind - his expression didn't change even slightly at the agent's mental insult.

 "Yes of course you are right. You are kind to call it patience. Others have called it doddling and with good reason I fear. You're no doubt wondering why I know what I know about you... and how much I know."

 His face grew a bit more serious as he looked directly at Rakov, "Let me assure you - as much a stranger can - that I am not your enemy. My knowledge of you and the others is mostly abstract. The tomes from which I read are filled with importance... but less so with detail." Again he looked at his watch. "I am here, Zoryn Rakov, to tell you that the forces with which you battle are the same I have been fighting for a long time. The same forces that your predecessor fought." His face went very serious, "Indeed, the same forces your father first aided... and then battled in the twilight of his life."

 He grew distant for a heartbeat - as if focusing on something unseen - turned to look towards the hallway, and then continued, raising a hand to forestall any words Rakov might be ready to speak, "Once again my time has run out." He looked once more at the young agent, "The answers to your mysteries begin at Saint Sebastian's Church this very night Mr. Rakov."

 He stood and placed his hat on his head - looking at the crowded room as if seeking vipers among the faces. "I as much as named us allies a moment ago, which unfortunately means we have the same enemies. I would suggest you finish your coffee and leave this place." He tipped his hat and stepped to the hall and around the corner, out of sight.

 Agent Rakov was still standing at the entrance to the labyrinth and something had just tugged on the string. Whether it was the bull or not, there was only one way to tell.

 Rakov stood, grasped his canvas bag and tossed his empty cup at the trash a dozen feet away: a clear miss corrected by an unseen droplet of force. _He talks about Cooper and my father like they're old fishing buddies. And ancient tomes foretelling how to fight the good fight. Oh, I will._

 Moving swiftly and directly through the crowd, the agent exited through the front door and proceeded down the street to his Ford. The sun still peeked above the western buildings. At least half an hour to sunset. Time enough to get a message to my "associate." Rakov cranked open the driver-side door so he could take a look at the note for him.

 It was within the pages of a Northport Herald newspaper, handwritten along the top border of the inside front page. _Just like they taught us,_ he thought to himself.

 The message was simple and direct, 'Riverwalk, 8th Street Bridge. You can walk from here.'

 He kept reading while he sat behind the wheel - in case someone was watching. _In case that strange old man is still around._ Then, after making a casual scan of his surroundings, he threw the paper on the seat next to him and started up the engine.

 He whispered, "Sorry Miz C, there's been a slight change of plans" as he pulled out into the heavy traffic and headed for his motel.
____________________________________

 By the time Rakov arrived back at the motel, twilight was upon him. He grabbed his fold-out map off his truck's bench seat and tucked it into the his back pocket. Once inside his room, he flicked on a light and singled out a suitcase, from which he removed a small calculator-like device. He sat at the small, round dining table and, while stabbing the coder's keys, transcribed his message from the device's LCD.

_Now to get my goodbye note to the waiting Intel agent._ Rakov had some doubts that she was still at the meet. Then again, she had experience, and, likely, patience. Rakov, however, was fresh out. _Every passing minute, I feel like I'm sinking deeper into this... badness. So I want everything the Underground knows on the old man and what he said about my father. I want them to know, too, that I am outside their immediate control. Though I have given them a solid failsafe option. I'm going into that church tonight, and staining myself with whatever horror I have to, so that this time, for sure, the good guys can win._

 Rakov grabbed a hooded jacket from an open suitcase and stepped outside. The night had deepened. _Well, this does save gas money, he thought._ Walking around, he found a spot where no windows faced. He pulled his hood up, checked the map and summoned the wave that would crest under him. So doing, he flung himself into the air, gaining speed. Finding an altitude that would make him hard to discern, he cruised toward the river. He would go to it, follow it to the right bridge, and meet his contact. _She and the others, they need to stay out of my way while I take up this fight._

 From his vantage hundreds of feet above the city, by the half moon's white light, Rakov had a good view of the storm clouds approaching from off the ocean. His ears stung - even under his hood - from the unobstructed winds that moved above the buildings of Northport. He had his hands in his pockets, knees slightly bent as he ascended just far enough to get a bearing and find the river.

 Thirty minutes later - cold and feeling the strain from the extended use of his powers - he descended on a quiet patch of grass alongside the riverwalk. He knew from his recent reconnaissance above the location that Catherine Haul was sitting on a bench forty-five feet beyond his current location. There was no one else within a quarter mile - that he could see - which meant that if he hurried, he might get out without even a pedestrian witnessing his meeting.

 The fact that she WAS Catherine Haul was only an educated guess. It seemed rather unlikely that any other lone woman would be sitting alone in the dark, shivering and glancing nervously around as if waiting for someone. _She's an Intel agent, go easy on her,_ Rakov thought to himself.

 He straightened his jacket and stepped lightly through the bushes, coming up behind her from the riverside. One more glance up and down the path, then he coughed lightly, attempting to keep her from screaming as he closed the last bit of distance between them. She jumped, but thankfully didn't scream. Regaining her composure quickly she half stood, then seemed to think better of it and lowered herself back onto the bench, offering the space next to her.

 "Mr. Rakov... I'm Catherine Haul, please, have a seat." The same voice from the phone.

 She had long red hair that was currently tied back in a functional braid. Her eyes seemed dark, though it was too shadowy to tell their exact color. By her attire, Zoryn guessed that her cover was more domestic than professional. She wore tennis shoes, blue jeans and a red blouse under a light leather jacket. The makeup was sparse and conservative. Despite her casual appearance, Rakov decided that she was attractive.

 After processing her appearance, he brought his mind back to the message he had for his fellow agent. One more survey of the area and he sat down.

 "My apologies for keeping you waiting. Good show, by the way." Rakov slumped down on the bench and smiled wanly. "Can you tell this is my first assignment?" _First assignment and I'm going from a federal agent to a... what? Member of a warrior cult that operates out of a church?!_ The young man shook his head and glanced over at the female agent.

 "Details are here." Rakov handed her the small slip of motel stationary. Coughing, he tore off the motel address information at the top. "Anyway. The short version is that I'm out of the fold, and you're off the case." Rakov floated to his feet, just to make his point. He had some understanding of his limits, and while he was nearing them, he had to remind Miz Cathleen Haul that she could not play this game in the manner he could.

 "You're a great field agent, but you're human. And you've been made by at least one supernatural. Meeting's over." Rakov nodded, looked around and sank back down onto the bench.

 She looked around anxiously when he said she had been made. After his little demonstration, and final words she made several half-starts at saying something before finally settling with, "You're the field agent, not me." She held the paper up, "I'll take this and process it before any further comments." Again a pause, as if deciding how to proceed. "... The number you used is no longer valid. Does this contain how I can reach you?"

 He put his hands in his pockets and looked up the path, "It's all in there, but you won't be reaching me." He turned to look down the path the other way. "Like I said, you're out... I'm out." He smiled to take a little of the sting out of his words. She was fighting to remain professional, but Rakov could see that she was a little confused. "Look, don't worry, just pass the message on... and maybe I'll see you around."

 It was the best he could do. Assuaging her fear of failure was not the important thing here. One day in Northport and he had already made contact with suspect elements; elements that referenced his missing predecessor, his father and the agency he worked for. Based on his first day, Rakov decided that Miz Haul's feelings ranked fairly low on the list indeed.

 He stood up and she followed suit. He briefly debated pulling a superman and exiting upwards, but by the look in her eye, he had already demonstrated her shortcomings enough. He flashed one more friendly smile, turned, and walked up the path. The agency would send him a new contact, and this time hopefully one with the talents necessary. In the meantime, Zoryn Rakov had spiritual matters to attend to. _And here I thought church was a place to find solace from your troubles._


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## TDRandall (Apr 23, 2005)

Ooh, I'm almost happy that the other stories that gave me my dark modern spooky ooky magic fix have slowed down.

OK, not really, but I AM happy to have uncovered this gem while on the latest fishing expedition for another vicarious 2nd hand RPG experience.

Go ahead and increment your devoted readership up by one!


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## Captain Claymore (Apr 25, 2005)

Thanks TD. Next installment coming up.


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## Captain Claymore (Apr 25, 2005)

PART SIX

Saint Sebastian's Catholic Church, Downtown.

 Once downtown, Ash spent ten minutes crisscrossing the streets before he found the church. All at once the massive building went from being totally obscured behind a high-rise office complex to completely dominating the scene. It's ornate stone architecture, massive stained-glass windows and soaring steepled tower put the flat, grey, corporate boxes around it to shame. He noted with amusement, that the church even had gargoyles perched medievally around its higher walls.

 As he cruised by the front, he saw the stone encased plaque in the grass near the front steps that read, "Saint Sebastian's Catholic Church". Next to the plaque, on a more modern, white sign, written in removable black letters it read, "Monday, May 9th, 8:00pm - Requiem Mass for Robert Foster."

 He pulled his bike around the corner and parked one street over. From this vantage point he could see a covered side entrance to what looked like a newer wing of the church. The parking lot on the north side of the building only had four cars in it currently. Besides one couple walking along the sidewalk there were no people within his view.

_Sh*t. So not only do I have to meet someone there, I'm probably gonna have to sit through a mass 'fore he shows up_, Ashley thought, surveying the newer entrance from a distance as he approached. He ignored the couple, figuring that they would want their "alone time", and so came to the door within a few minutes.

 The side door was unlocked. As Ash stepped inside he was presented with a choice. Stairs leading down, or a white tiled hall to the right, with several closed doors leading off of it. There was still no sign of people, though his acute hearing did pick up the feint sounds of an organ somewhere further inside.

 Outside he heard the grinding roll of hard wheels on pavement and turned see several younger kids going by on their skateboards.

 He closed the door behind himself, knowing the curiosity that an open door might entail from passersby (such as those kids). He glanced down the hallway -- no open doors that he could've poked his head into -- and then decided after a moment to head down the stairs. After all, he'd heard sometime in the past that it was rude to interrupt a church service, and he didn't want to do so accidentally.

 As a matter of habit Ash was quiet on his feet as he descended the twenty or so steps and was presented with another hallway. Again there were doors along its length, but this time two looked to be open at the end of the hall.

 He had only taken two or three steps when he saw a young man with dark hair, in jeans and a t-shirt cross from one open door to the other. He was carrying what looked to Ash to be folded up, white garments of some sort and was completely oblivious to Ash's presence - thanks to a pair of headphones over the boy's ears. The door he stepped through closed behind him, muffling the... choir? ... music Ash detected from the headset.

 Curious, he stepped into the hallway, first looking into the room the kid had come out of, then at the door into the room he had entered.

 The first was a storage room by the looks of it. Forty by twenty-five feet, the room had stacks of plastic chairs and folded tables along one wall. Another wall was lined with a set of shelves on which rested clear-plastic storage bins, holding the same sort of white clothing the boy carried and an assortment of other cardboard boxes. As Ashley was scanning the room, he heard the boy - through the door of the room across the hall - start singing in a sweet, high voice. By the evidence at hand, he surmised that the white garments were choir robes and the boy was practicing while changing.

 Not wishing to be caught skulking around -- especially in a church! -- Ashley moved silently back toward the stairs, his footsteps as light as a feather as he went back up.

 Once he crested the landing, he looked around again, wondering where exactly he was supposed to meet these others that the old man had spoken of.

 As he came back up to the landing by the side entrance Ash saw an SUV pull up to the curb outside. Two boys were climbing out of the vehicle and saying something to the woman driver who he guessed to be their mother. They looked to be ten or eleven years old and wore dress shirts and slacks. They also looked to be coming towards the side entrance and Ashley.

_! Act cool, act natural, act like you're supposed to be here..._ If there was anything Ashley didn't like, it was being caught off guard or not knowing what to do. He figured that if the two kids questioned him too much he could just ask them where the bathroom was. Meanwhile, he put his hands in his pockets, trying his best to look like a casual observer.

 One boy opened the door while the other rushed past him inside - almost colliding with Ash before coming up short and staring, the way young kids will. A moment passed by and then both kids did a sideways shuffle, continuing to stare until they were on the steps heading down to the hall Ash just came up from. Neither said a word, but it was clear they were both wondering what Ash was doing there.

 He mock-saluted the two kids, although they didn't see it. "Nice to meet you, too," he muttered under his breath. It was about time he stuck his nose into somewhere a little more prominent than some choir-boy's changing room. He circled the hallway, looking for doors that might lead into some sort of sanctuary. Once there, he figured he could listen against the doors to see if there was anything worth hearing.

 He wandered down the upstairs hallway. By all appearances this section of the church was devoted to more mundane purposes. The first door he came to had a little plaque that said "DAYCARE." No sounds were evident from within. He tried the handle and found the door locked.

 He was moving down to the second door when he heard voices, adult voices from up ahead. Due to his excellent hearing, Ash knew the voices sounded closer than they were. He could also tell that at least one of them was headed this way. As it drifted nearer, he heard a man saying, "... check and see how many of the boys are here. Go ahead and start moving the flowers into the chapel." The last bit came to Ash much louder, as if a door had been opened. Footsteps could be heard now as well and he judged he had maybe ten to fifteen seconds before the man came into view.

 Ashley wasn't one for quick thinking often, but some things were almost instinct. He summoned his power and stepped into a nearby shadow, all but disappearing just as the man came around the corner.

 Ashley judged him at mid thirties perhaps. He had short, light brown hair and wore the collar and clothing of a priest. As the man came down the hall Ash simply hugged the wall. Once the man was past, he watched him turn the corner and take the stairs down towards the boys. He looked the way the man had come from and could hear the muffled sounds of activity.
____________________________________

 As night fell D hunkered down in his little hidey hole. He reached into his backpack and pulled a dark, old, and very wrinkled hoody out and put it on. While he sat there, he studied the faces of those around and those who came and went, noting various points of reference for later retrieval.

_OK, so maybe not me. Maybe I am paranoid, but I have as much cause as the next guy, I guess. If not me, then who... Surely not the bunch of punks sitting on the stoop. If it is some sort of trap, what can I do about it. To know is half the battle, but the other half can get you killed. Maybe I'll follow whomever comes for the other guys, and if they come for me I guess I am as ready as I can be. The best I can do is just keep and eye out._ All of this addled through his brain and he sat and waited for the big something.

 He poked through his pack and finally came out with an old Tac folding blade. He knew he had no idea how to use it but perhaps the idea was enough. Though old, it was well cared for, as were most of his things. This was for two reasons; one he didn't own much and what he did own he wanted to keep, and two he had lots of free time for such things like sharpening and oiling knives. So there he sat, noiselessly flicking the blade opened and closed and almost cutting the hell out of his finger while he did it.

 Another few minutes ticked by before an SUV pulled up to the side entrance and dropped off two kids. unlike the ones on the steps, these were dressed... well, like they were going to church. They exchanged words with the driver, a woman by the looks of it, before disappearing inside. The vehicle than pulled away and drove around the corner and out of sight.

 D sat and thought, and realized he hated waiting for "something" to happen, especially when he thought it might have something to do with him. He also did not like the idea of someone using his pal as a puppet, but what the hell could he do about it? _Hmm, well it's worth a shot,_ he thought to himself. Not being much for the magic arts, but not being a total fool in such cases, D thought that maybe a minor trauma would give his friend another chance to snap free or something like anyway.

 D crept as slyly as he could, in a round about way, back to the back of the car he had visited earlier in the light. Darkness would help a bit more now. Eyes rolling back once again he went for that state which allowed him to focus more clearly on his tasks at hand. Shuffling through his mantra like lyrics, he focused on a catchy phrase or two and began to repeat it over and over in his mind. Then he pushed and extended his abilities again, this time reaching farther and harder than he had in a while. Once there and calm D used his power of the mind and not just his gift of seeing and scanned about the area for large concentrations of mana and perhaps even for any celestial or vaporous being the might be about.
____________________________________

 Ash looked after the man, then looked down the hall again in the direction the man had come from. He'd already been downstairs and found nothing... so it was off in the other direction for Ashley. He kept the illusion up just in case anyone else was just around the corner.

 He made his way to the end of the hall. After a brief listen at the door the man came through, he stepped inside a large, carpeted room with a dry erase board taking up one wall and about thirty metal chairs arranged sort of like a classroom. On the board were several biblical passages written out in a semi-neat hand. Across the room was another door, this one slightly ajar, from which the sounds of activity came from. The smell of flowers was very evident through the door.

 With a roguish and slightly mischievous grin on his face, he approached the board, adding to the bottom of the list the only bible verse he knew by heart.

_The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee._

 Just to be spiteful, he hid all the markers and the eraser in various places around the room; then he glanced in the adjoining room, getting a feel for what was going on inside before he entered.
____________________________________

 It took D a few minutes to find that right spot in his head. It was something like tuning a radio, sifting through the static until he could feel his own essence gathered about him. Once he had his station, he could search for others, and he didn't have far to go. There was the essence equivalent of a two hundred foot transmitter right across the street.

 D opened his eyes to an awe inspiring sight. The stained glass windows of the church pulsed with a soft blue essence. It was a strange sort of brilliance. If he looked a little left or right, or let his concentration waiver even slightly, the essence winked out, but looking straight on almost blinded him. his study of such things was limited, but he thought what he was looking at was a Place of Power. One that had something done to it to hide it from all but direct scrutiny.

 "Holy ," was all D had to say, except for the scoffing he did at himself when he realized what he just said. Not knowing whether this was a good thing or a bad thing, D guessed that a church had to be on the positive side of this power thing, and thus would perhaps be a reasonably safe place to hang for a bit. Being a coward had it's drawbacks though, as he could not muster the strength enough to even try to move back to his hidey hole.

 No one had as yet approached or said anything to his pal Dave, nor any of the others so D could not figure what part they had to play in all of this. If this was a place of evil and they were wanted as a source or sacrifice, someone would have acquired them by now, as 11 kids sitting out front is a bit suspicious. If this was a place of good, then what the hell did they want with 11 scrubs, and if not the scrubs then again perhaps D and again what for. _Maybe they are looking to train a new choir and they have someone determined that this bunch has some hidden talent._

 D realized he had switched his trance focus from perception to contemplation and he was enhancing his ponder abilities, but none of his resolution skills and therefore was making no progress. Though he did feel a bit more rejuvenated.

 One idea did strike him though. The best place to get lost is in a crowd. So with his pack on and his board in hand D strolled across the street and sat down next to Dave. He calmly removed a cigarette from his pocket, pulled out his lighter and lit up. He then placed it between the lips of his friend Dave and lit another for himself. D was now consigned to wait it out until something happened. At the very least he had temporarily broken the fear caused by the power, by justifying his being here as being more secure than skulking in shadows. Either way it did not smell as bad on the steps as it did in the alleyway.
____________________________________

 As he finished with his little prank, Ash felt his illusion begin to fade. He was just about to reestablish it - on the thought that it would be a much better way to explore - when he felt a spike of essence from somewhere outside the church. Directly on the heals of that, came a tidal wave of essence through the far door.

 It was as if a switch had been thrown. Suddenly Ash realized that the essence had always been there. It was only masked before. Something, or someone outside had caused his momentary glimpse. Even as he had the thought, the power began to fade from sight. As it receded, he heard a voice through the open door saying, "Bring it to the front gentlemen... Gentle, gentle, don't scratch it." The speaker sounded like an older man. The sound of shuffling footsteps on stone could be heard as well.

_Essence spike... what the hell?_ He looked around as the spike seemed to fade. _Maybe I should let myself be seen, just in case..._ Boldly, he walked into the room, hoping he wouldn't have to use more essence to hide himself again. The hide-and-seek game was getting a little tiresome. Besides, if the men on the other side objected to his presence, he could always use the excuse he would've used with the two kids earlier -- just looking for the bathroom.

 Stepping through the doorway, down a short hall and up a small set of steps, Ash found himself in the main hall of the church. The juxtaposition from modern to gothic was startling. Instead of painted walls, straight corners and dry erase boards he was suddenly confronted with stone walls, arches and dark polished wood. Row upon row of oak pews sat before a raised alter area and podium. Hundreds of flowers were artfully arranged around a dark wood casket just being placed at their center by four men in slacks and white dress shirts.

 An older, white haired man in the the black suit of a priest was guiding the others with words and gestures, attempting to keep them from trampling the flowers. His back was turned to Ash and the men were currently too busy watching their own feet to notice Ash's presence. Besides these men, the cavernous hall was empty of people. The main doors at the far back were shut and the diffuse glow of city lights filtered through the large stained glass windows, adding their light to the four large candelabras hanging from the vaulted ceiling.
____________________________________

 As D had hoped, neither Dave or the others made so much as a peep. Dave sort of half smiled when D placed the cigarette between his lips. Now that they were here on the steps, it seemed that whatever controlled them, kept them quiet and subdued as well. He looked from face to face, studying their expressions for a moment before attempting the same face.

_What the hell am I doing here? This sucks._ These brief thoughts passed through D's mind as he sat there trying to look inconspicuous. _Damnit, something is out there,_ was D's last coherent thought before he turned inward again, this time to narrow his field of perception as a hawk scans a prairie looking for a mouse. D often "noticed' things that happened around him, but he just put it down to being so used to looking over his shoulder. He went for the tunnel vision effect and slowly scanned the area like a terminator looking for a target. He moved slowly so as not to be thought of as actually looking. Prying into the nooks and crannies that he could see, he made sure not to miss and inch of top, bottom and side to side.

 With time to ponder, and forcefully hedge out all other distractions, D focused once more on the power emanating from the church. It took a few moments but gradually, feint clouds could be seen like vapor trails converging on the building. Some teachings would call them ley lines. _So that's cleared up at least. This church was built on the junction of several ley lines. It's a natural place of power._ With that figured out D guessed that the power wouldn't be bad or good, just a neutral build up of essence.

 He quit his scan and went back to looking blank and bored as several people appeared around the corner, coming from the parking lot area. It looked to be a family; one man, woman and two girls, all dressed in dark, formal clothes. The man looked at his watch and then up to the doors of the church, just noticing D and the others when he did so. At this distance, D wasn't able to hear what he said to the woman, but they all turned and began walking away.
____________________________________

 Okay, so nothing too big through Door Number One... He stepped back through the door he entered from, closing it behind him. _I don't even know why I'm waiting around here. I'm destined to meet some people here tonight? Well, destiny can blow me, if she don't want to work as fast as me._ Shaking his head at his immediate reaction to the old man's words -- like a child, no less! -- he walked back to the back of the pews, exiting through the big double doors in the front of the building.

 He stopped short when he noticed all the kids on the front steps, almost going back inside -- _but what's the point?_ he asked himself. Seeing that most of the kids were lounging or smoking -- and he chuckled mentally when he noticed this -- he shrugged his shoulders and joined them for now. Whether it was fate or chance, he sat right next to D.

 A few moments later, as he was just getting comfortable on the steps, Ash felt an unpleasant twinge in his head. His nostrils flared and his eyes slid sideways, somewhat surprised to see a slight aura of essence being drawn into the young man next to him. By the feel of it, he had just been probed.

 The young man's eyes never moved however, and by all outward appearance he was simply minding his own business.

_Oh, god, please don't tell me I just sat down right next to a hunter or something..._ It would be just his luck if he had. A quirked eyebrow was about all the reaction Ashley was willing to give. He didn't know if the guy who'd just probed him knew what he was or not, and he didn't want to give anything else away.

 D twitched suddenly as if he had been in a daze and turned with a surprised and rather agitated face toward the new guy. "Dude! What the f*ck. Who the f*ck are you? What the f*ck are we all doing hangin' out in front of the church? And then you come out and scare the  out of me. Did you make this happen?" D shuffled nervously as he tried to hit his mouth with a cigarette and tried not to burn off his eyebrows, while his hands shook badly.

 "The hell you talking about, man?" Ashley replied. He was a little startled by D's response, which was odd for him; he hadn't felt this nervous since... well, since he'd been alive. Ash looked at the other kids on the steps, some of whom had reacted to Donavan's words; but the ones who had were in a surprisingly low number. Thinking quickly, Ashley grabbed D's arm before the other guy burnt himself with his cigarette. "I get the feeling you 'n' me, we need ta talk," he said in a low tone. His hazel eyes flicked in the direction of the corner of the building, then back to D.

 "Dude!", D almost shouted as the stranger grabbed his arm and the cigarette shook loose from his shaky grasp to land and then to tumble down the steps. His face went stark white when he realized the solid grip this guy had on his arm, which was a trick considering how pale he was to begin with. He was practically frozen in terror, as his survival instincts began to rampage through his system. D felt his blood begin to rush, and that little part of his brain that controlled his abilities prick into life. Though pallid he began to feel very warm. A sensation he had not experienced for some time. He fought to stabilize the tumult of emotions, the most predominate of which was fear.

A flash of insight struck him as adrenaline focused his mind. _No weapon. No harsh words. What the  is a Dhampyre. Is he going to hurt me?_ All of this pulsed in D's skull, and perhaps even settled him down a hair when he semi-realized that if the guy had wanted to kill him, he probably could have by now. As if he was trying to get a grip on the true reality of the moment, he managed to squeak out a few pitifully pronounced words to try and answer one of his questions.

 "WWWhat the hell do you want?", was what D stammered at the guy with the grip.

 The looks on the few faces that registered anything were of mild curiosity. The kids quickly lost interest however, seemingly unable to maintain focus. Ash was surprised by their lack of reaction. Either they didn't like this guy very much, or something was else was off here. The one he was speaking to seemed to be the only one displaying much emotion. He suddenly realized that with a little effort, he could feed off this one. On the back of that realization came the attractive aroma of a higher than normal essence level. He pushed the feeling away with a twinge of unease.

 Not being dead or harmed allowed the sense of danger to slip slightly from D's immediate perceptions, but also being somewhat cornered was making him angry and slightly agitated. "Get off me! Tell me what the  is going on around here, and quit f*cking with these others guys, if you had something to do with it." Without waiting for an answer D stopped for a moment, his expression blanked and he glared for a short time into the the eyes of the man before him. Lingering, but not for long D stiffened and straightened his neck then suddenly jerked back on his arm trying to break the grip.

 D didn't have to try too hard, because at the same moment Ashley released his arm, barely realizing that he'd gripped quite so hard. "I ain't got nothin' to do with whatever these f*cks're on," he replied in a low tone, on edge because the other had more essence than Ash normally saw in humans. And it could be tempting; but Ashley knew he had to keep himself under control. The guy was already in fight-or-flight mode; he could smell it. "'S far as what's goin' on around here, I'd like to know too. Some old man told me to be here tonight... and here I find this situation, and someone who apparently ain't affected by it. Somethin' tells me that you're one of the men I was s'posed to meet." He put as much sincerity as he could muster into his voice; the last thing he (and probably the other guy) needed right now was a lot of attention.

 "Alright man, then peace. I don't know about any old man and nobody 'told' me to come here, but it seems that somebody is playing games. I followed my friend here 'cause somebody mind-f*cked him in the park and he wandered this way. Probably did the same to these other guys, whom I don't even know, but it would explain the blank looks on their faces. I don't know you and you don't know me, but why would anyone want either of us here? It's a memorial service for some guy I don't think either of us know. I will tell ya I think this place has a lot of mojo to it and it is making my skin crawl..." D spoke these words in a more mild tone, when he realized the guy was not trying to hurt him or take him away somewhere. "You want a smoke?", D said, distracted as he reached for his pack and tapped two out for the both of them. "These guys seem to be waiting for something, and I'm here to try and protect my friend if the need arises."

 Ash shrugged. He might as well; it wasn't likely to affect him in any noticeable way. Accepting the cig, he replied. "The inside of the church is mostly normal, but a coupla' kids who came in while I was wanderin' around kinda seemed spooked that a stranger was there. Least that's the bead I got. Other'n that, I didn't see anything out of place in there." He smirked at his statement. As if he'd be the one to find it if there were anything wrong with the place? Today must have been the first time he'd stepped foot in a church since he was... well, he couldn't remember.

 "That's nice. So you didn't see any rituals or sacrifice that these guys might be waiting for?" D sighed heavily, as he was tired of still having no answers. "So this may seem strange, but who is this guy that told you to come here for no obvious reason? I mean, did he have something on you, or are you just really trusting of old people?" A smirked crossed D's face andhe dragged deeply on his smoke, as he finished his last phrase.

 Ash leaned closer to D and lowered his voice even more than he already had. "First off, I'm kinda new to town and tend ta keep to myself." He ticked the point and the following ones off on his fingers. "I don't know nobody... except you, now, kinda... and nobody knows me. I saw him attacked on the street, and any decent guy would stop to help, right? Well, so did I. After I shooed the gangers away, the old man stopped me to talk a bit before he... disappeared. He not only knew who I was, but--" He broke off, casting a glance over his shoulder at the other kids. As before, they were all listless and disinterested in general in the world at large. "what I am. Not even my family knows that.

 "'Sides," and he shrugged, "I had a few hours to kill 'fore I went to work, so I thought if weird stuff was goin' down, I might be able to do something."

 "So let me get this straight." D puffed his smoke and blew out slowly as if composing his thoughts. "You are new in town and have no friends here, and if I had to guess not many anywhere. You were walking along the street and you see a guy getting mugged, so you did what any 'decent person' would and helped the guy. So 'WHAT' you are," D enunciated this precisely, "aside from a good Samaritan, makes you either tough enough or stupid enough to take on a gang, and since you are still here I would guess the former and not the latter. This all turns out to be some sort of setup. The guy knows you which trips you out a bit, but seeing as he does know you, you figure that if he wanted to hurt you, in one way or another he could have done so already, so you trust him a bit. You are here because you are not a harsh person at heart and you figure he has got something to check out that might prove worth it. Right?" D paused his babble for a long moment dragged the cigarette again and sighed as if it still didn't help to know anything about anything.

 Ash thought for a minute, letting D's words sink in a little. "Yeah, that about sums it up," he said after a second with a miniscule nod.
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 Zoryn continued down the road to the church, taking the opportunity to sort his thoughts. He had enough experience to know he was already in over his head. He had to find a foothold and make sense of this before he found himself in front of a hungry demon or some other anomaly of equal proportions. Zoryn sighed and took a well kept pack of cloves out of his coat with his mind. He placed it in his mouth and physically took out his lighter. The zippo clipped open and Zoryn lit the darkness as he walked. Both hands covering the flame from wind and his mind keeping the zippo in its place. He breathed in a heavy drag of thick smoke as the cigarette sparked and sputtered to life. The zippo was placed back as was the pack of cloves and zoryn was off again at a slow pace to the church.

He mused over the possible enemies and known strongholds in this city as he allowed the lack of oxygen (more so than the nicotine) to cloud thoughts together. He let out a heavy breath of mostly thick smoke and picked up his pace. In the distance he saw the front of the church looming over the street like a neon sign out front of a cannibal hut. He had a feeling there would be no solace this evening in the house of God.

 He stood on the street corner across from the church scanning the area. A group of teens loitered on the wide steps to the right of the main doors. By their attire, Rakov guessed they weren't there for the Robert Foster Requiem Mass posted on the sign out front. Another group, this one apparently a family unit, was walking in his general direction and looked to be in their church finest. From this angle he could see the parking area across the far street and by the lack of vehicles the service wasn't yet under way. He looked at his watch, 19:08 hours, an hour 'til 'festivities' begin. He briefly wondered if the service had anything to do with the old man and his business here.

 A moment of inner focus and he sent out a psychic radar ping, searching for ongoing supernatural effects. He was rewarded with a light return. Someone close by was or had recently been manipulating essence.

 As the family neared his position and continued walking past him he heard the man speaking to his kids, "... f either one of you spill food on your clothes you'll be grounded, Nothing with ketchup and that's final..." the softly spoken words faded as the family moved away down the street.

 Zoryn took a last breath of cloven air and flicked the remnant tobacco stick to the ground. He breathed it out slowly and began his walk to the steps of the church. The few seconds seemed an eternity as Zoryn's thoughts raced through the possible horrors that might befall him. Paranoid? He'd been called worse. Way he figured it, you wish for the worst and when you find it, you're not surprised. Visions of demons eating his face came and were embellished. Prepared for the worst, Zoryn stepped up to the entrance of the church and opened the doors. He stepped in and stayed in the threshold allowing his eyes to adjust to the lighting. Once his vision adjusted, he looked around the cathedral entrance and took in all the gritty details he could. when he felt satisfied of what he saw, he moved in and sat in a pew near the center. Resigned to the imminent death he was sure to face, he prepared himself for the struggle to come.
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## Captain Claymore (Nov 17, 2005)

*Part Seven*

"Just checking", was D's reply to the now-not-so-strange man sitting next to him on the steps. "So what do we do..." He stopped suddenly when he noticed the guy approaching from across the street. D had a sense the guy was looking for something, and he was hoping that it wasn't him or Dave. Ignoring all else including any reaction from Ash, D opened the valve a bit on the essence tap and focused it into his abilities. Again, he extended his perceptions outward toward the man drawing near, feeling uncomfortable that he had to do this so often today, and asked the man's brain a question. He was not sure if the guy next to him would sense it again, not being directed at him, but he had to chance it if this new guy might be trouble.

Like themselves, the man wasn't particularly dressed for the service. Ash picked up the smell of cloves as he passed. It was almost enough to mask the nervous sweat. As he stepped through the doors, D and the Dhampyre exchanged a questioning glance. D got some information but was cut off as the man stepped inside and line of sight was lost. His name is Agent Zoryn Rakov. He's here to infiltrate a cult. D grimaced. What... the... f?

Rakov noted that the inside of the cathedral was just as impressive as the outside. A man in the black shirt and white collar of a priest knelt on the altar steps arranging flowers around an open casket. An older man was standing to the side and adjusting his white robed vestments into place. Several robed boys entered from a side door and moved up a set of stone steps to a small choir loft above the altar area. There was no one else in the pews as of yet.

He sighed deeply and confronted the fact that he was not dead. He stood from his seat and awkwardly shuffled out of the pewed rows. Glancing around the church, pretending to look at the construction art, he slowly made his way back to the entrance. He opened the doors and shoved his impatience under his facade. Zoryn looked at the two men seated on the steps of the cathedral and nodded.

"You two here for the requiem?" His voice was kind of shaky and he coughed a hacking fit to clear his throat after the sentence. He continued with his voice contained, deep and full of presence, "I'm sorry, I'm just a little emotional. He was a friend of mine."

Briefly, his eyebrow quirked. Dressed like that, pal? Riiight... But Ashley was pretty sure that his twitch was only noticeable as that -- a twitch, or a flinch, like something had irritated his eyebrow. Remembering the kids -- especially the one who'd had the headphones on when he was looking around inside the church -- he shook his head. "Waitin' for my girlfriend ta pick me up. Choir practice just let out a little bit ago," he lied, realizing only after the fact that he had a cigarette between his fingers. But, then again, this was a Catholic church...

As he turned just enough to catch the guy out of the corner of his eyes, D put a stoned and I don't care expression on his face, as he reinstated the mental probing and took a long drag from his cig.

Zoryn clicked his tongue in a gesture of warning as he looked directly at D.

"You should be careful, some folks might be eluded to think you were the snooping type."

Zoryn moved his gaze to the sky and lit a black clove. He breathed in the smoke as it sparked to life.

"You know, sometimes what you think you want... isn't actually what you want. Sometimes... what you think is gold, is merely the shiny bait on the end of a hook."

He then returned his gaze to D... though this time it was a glare.

"Sometimes, that little piece of gold can become such a bother to the little fish. All he wanted was a nibble... and a nibble he was given. We should learn from the fish... to be less curious. Don't you think?"

Ashley's nerves were already a little on edge -- every time D used a little of his power, Ash could feel something primal stir hungrily within himself -- and Zoryn's mini-speech didn't help matters much. Bitingly, he retorted, "Look, if you know any more about this situation than either of us, we'd appreciate a heads-up," blowing his previous lie out of the water.

"Fact is, man none of us knows the other, nor do I personally give a sh. All that glitters may not be gold, but all knowledge is certainly worthy to behold, so if you have any you can share have at it, if not...  f off!" With the final word, D shakily reached for another smoke from the pack laying in his lap and with a twitchy hand proceeded to light it, though it seemed the flame was unusually large even for a normal looking zippo. He took a long drag in a not so grandiose manner and tried to look less tweaked than he was. This was of course noticeable to all, as he apparently really sucks at hiding such emotions.

"well it seams I have happened upon a couple of lost souls here... obviously distraught over some sort of compiled events. However, it seams a little estranged a situation to have two souls relying on the knowledge of a stranger. Indeed, would anything I say be sufficient? How do you know I am not the danger to your cause? If I do not know you... and you do not know me.. then we are at an impasse. As you already know, my name is Rakov, and yours?"

"Didn't know that until you told me just now," he muttered under his breath. Realizing he was acting a little more than hostile toward the guy, Ash took a deep breath to calm his nerves, inhaling a long drag of smoke from his cigarette along with the oxygen. "You're right, man; why should we trust you? You've done jack since you showed up but shake up my friend here--" and he knew saying that about D, who he'd only known a short time was presumptuous and even ballsy, but at this point he didn't care, "--and tell us your name without prompting."

"You can cut the pretense. I already expect this to be a trap, and whether you are the clamping jaws, or just another victim it matters not. I know why he is here, and he knows why I am here, but both of us know you are not here to wish this dead guy best wishes. I will bet that none of us know why all these other guys are here, and since I believe that to be the case, that would mean that you are not part of the problem, and as yet not part of the solution either." D continued to drag his smoke, as the heavy intake of nicotine settled his nerves a bit. "You can have a seat and talk to us like humans, or you can try to play inquisitor and have two more guys who do not like you and probably won't give you any more info. These other guys, well until whatever is going to happen, happens, these guys won't give a mad f."

"I was unaware that this proceeding required chivalrous manners... in fact, I am unused to being accosted by mental assaults and treated with indignity when I confront my attackers."

Zoryn took a minute to ponder his thoughts and finally stated,

"Rude. that's what you are. rude. Completely and totally incapable of socially acceptable introductions and manners of standard conducts when wanting to make a greeting. Normal folk state their intentions and greet a new arrival usually with something jovial such as, 'How are you today?' or 'How's the weather?' or even, 'good eve ol' chap hows about a crumpet and some tea?'. But no, you instead are as the bully. Your only conceivable choice to introduce yourselves in your dire wish to gain a foothold in your confusing and bewildering world is to destroy anything that comes near you and then sniff it to find out what it is. you assault my freedom of thought and are confused when I come across as less than accommodating. Instead of asking me information, you instead torture it out of me at first sight. It is not you who should be wary of me as a stranger, it is I for knowing that you already know who I am. It is I who is backed against the wall with two attackers staring me in the face, attempting to be threatening on an impersonal level only to have me end my inquisition and leave without discovering your secret identity... and it is I struck in the back when I turn, convinced of your good intentions and honest errors to return to my own life. But this is where you have failed. See, apparently, you have never lived in the south. There they have a kind saying to young hunters looking to increase their repute of being a 'big game hunter'. 'Never corner something meaner than you', that is their saying. I might advise you to study the proverbs of the wise... they could just save your life."

Zoryn became silent... standing behind the two and waited for their reactions.

Ash could he feel his tension rising. The beast inside just wanted him to lunge and rip this guy's throat out. But he resisted. He stood up, grounding out the butt of the cigarette beneath his heel. "Better check what kind of animals have you cornered, pal, before you go saying sh like that." His voice wasn't as menacing as it had been, because if nothing else, Rakov had earned a few points of respect in Ashley's eyes. "Let's try to start this thing over. Name's Ash."

"He's right, well actually you are both right. Now that we have recovered from the preliminary mistrust bulls, we can get on with a tentative partnership. After all, we are not trying to kill each other, so the phrase 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend,' seems to apply. And you Rakov, are also correct in saying I am rude, but do not make the mistake of taking a lack of courtesy, during a trying situation, for a lack of intelligence or competence. People call me 'D'," D extended his hand in as masculine a manner as he could muster, "and I apologize for being so intrusive earlier" D smiled...

Zoryn noticeably relaxed, his shoulders hunched a little and he let out a breath of heavy air.

"Very well, good to meet you D."

He gestured to Ash and made a toothy grin.

"and Ash... was it?" He lowered his voice to an almost sinister quality and stated quite unenthusiastically, "Delighted."

Zoryn sat down at the stairs next to the new found companions and changed his voice to match as friendly a manor as could be had at the moment.

"So what brings you two here this fine evening?"

As he spoke he pulled a pack of black clove cigarettes from his coat. He lit one and continued.

"Myself? I guess you could call me the inquisitive type. Obviously my naked ambitions for me being here are my own privacy, however, I can tell you that I mean you no harm. What I'm trying to find here, I'm really not sure. In fact, I'm not positive on anything except that by all standard gumshoe logic, the clues led here."

Ash sat down when Rakov did, trying not to feel awkward. Man, this was one crazy night. He didn't want to recount his whole story -- again -- so he simply said, "I got word I was supposed to meet someone here tonight."

"And someone is playing marionette with my friend here" D stated coldly, as he jigged his head toward one in the crowd of young guys, "so I came to make sure no one hurts him. The worst thing is that things keep happening, but all of them just add to the confusion..."

Zoryn breathed in the smoke and shifted his weight.

"Well then, what can we ascertain as to our shared purpose for being here? Does anyone actually know anything about this gentlemen who's proceedings we're crashing?"

One of the younger kids' voice interrupted Rakov's question. "Dude, you got anything to drink?"

All three men turned their heads only to find that his words were for another of the kids and not at all linked with their conversation.

"I'm thirsty."

The young man he asked the question of looked amused. "Dude, do I look like I have a drink?" He raised his hands, "Why don't you go get a drink from the store or somethin'?"

The kid seemed to consider the thought for a moment. "Nah, it's not that important I guess." He stared around blankly for a few seconds, readjusted his seat on the cold stone steps and went back to waiting. Zoryn, Ash and D all shared a glance.

A family chose that moment to appear around the corner of the church building. A man, his wife and two daughters spared a glance for the odd congregation on the steps before walking inside. They were all suitably attired in the dark colors of mourning.

Ash followed the family's progress with his eyes and was somewhat surprised to see a face watching them through one of the small, thin windows to the right side of the main doors. He only had time to register a white face and glasses before the head ducked out of view, obviously realizing that he had been spotted.

Rakov was in a position to notice Ash's reaction and turned to look as well, but by that time there was nothing to see.

Zoryn kept his gaze on the position Ash was looking and commented with a quieted voice.

"You look spooked. What's up?"

"Someone was watching us," Ash said quietly. "Someone knows we're here, and someone knows we ain't as oblivious as them." By "them", it was obvious that he was referring to the other people sitting in random places on the stairs -- much like the three of them, only the others had no interest in anything, it seemed.

"Well I'm not one for these secretive sneaky games of hide and seek. I'm going to pay our benefactor a visit."

And with that, Zoryn stood up and walked into the cathedral. He looked around upon entering the cathedral and attempted to spot something that struck him as unnatural.

As soon as he stepped through the door he spotted the unusual thing he was looking for. In the vestibule near the doors sat an elderly man who looked to be arguing with himself. He was mostly bald, with a grey beard, blue eyes and antique looking glasses. Dressed in a simple suit jacket and slacks, there was something about the man that struck Rakov as strange. His whole appearance seemed somehow antiquated. His clothing and general "look" was vintage.

The man noticed Rakov's entrance almost immediately and his self arguing stopped. He stood up and glared defiantly. It was a nice effort, but Rakov could tell that this old man was hiding fear behind a brave front.

"I don't know who you are, but I insist you leave this church immediately!" He raised his hand and pointed towards the main doors as he spoke. His accent was clearly British and cultured.

D glanced at Ash and watched as the church door slowly swung closed behind Rakov. He reached out slowly and softly touched the arm of his friend Dave. He reached into Dave's mind again to see if anything had changed now that a few of the other guys seem to be waking from their trance. "That guys right, I could really use a coke about now'" D said in a low tone over his shoulder to Ash as he addled around in his friends mind.

Once again he could detect the sibilant whispers weaving in and out of Dave's thoughts, apparently nothing had changed. His friend did respond to his touch though, and looked up, "I'm sorry D, did you say something?" Dave's words were even and slightly monotone.

Startled for a split second, D twitched, blinked once, then calmed enough to say, "I said, I need a coke."

D tried to force his way past the web of foreign instructions racing through his friends mind. *Who or what used their power to get you here? Can you sense how far away the power you are in contact with is? Is it getting closer? Are you still waiting for more instructions...?*

Each question was met with a growing ache in D's own head. The whispering magic always deflecting him, forcing him out. At the last question the pain became too intense and D had to stop. A small but insistent jackhammer had been turned on behind his eyeballs and he squinted them shut, pressing on his eyelids with his thumbs to try and alleviate the throbbing ache.

Ash's abdomen clenched a little, a remnant from when he was alive. Abruptly, he scooted away a little from D when the other guy started using his abilities again. As D continued probing, Ash had to close his eyes; he could still feel it, though. In a low voice, he said, "Rakov's right. I'm gonna go with him." Half hoping he'd been heard, half hoping his words had been lost in the general malaise, he got up quickly and followed Rakov back inside the church. Ye gods, I'm acting like a yo-yo today.

Zoryn stood in the entry way to the cathedral and measured the old man. His voice calm and polite, he smiled and replied,

"I thought the church opened it's doors to all. May I have your name and rank in this church... as to place my complaint with your diocese? And if you are not a rank of the church, then I'm afraid I must decline your courtly offer."

Zoryn bowed slightly to add insult to injury.

Rakov's civil if opposing reply seemed to give the old man courage. He took a single step forward and lowered his arm. His next words were quite a bit louder, though not quite a shout. "Y-you are not here to pray! Don't try fooling me! I'm not sure how you saw past the glamours but this font is not open for the likes of you and your cronies out there. This place is protected! A fact you'll soon find out firsthand unless you leave post haste!"

The two priests, several altar boys and the one family sitting in the pews didn't even glance up at the man's echoing retort. There was something strange about that, though what happened next pushed it from Rakov's mind.

As the elderly man finished speaking he took another step forward, only this time his foot never touched the ground. Instead the man began to levitate upwards slightly, an unfelt wind stirring the few remaining hairs on the sides of his head. As he rose his eyes sank backwards, leaving only whiteness and his body began to lose substance - the wall behind him showing through in places.

Then man shouted, "Begone from here... or face the wrath of God!"


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## Captain Claymore (May 19, 2006)

*A humble end?*

Here be the sadly unfinished tale of a Unisystem Witchcraft RPG game. After going back to my SH thread and reading the few positive comments and requests for updates I was feeling mighty guilty for letting this story collect dust.

In the interests of full disclosure, I wanted to give those interested everything I wrote. There remains a small chance I might get back to this and pick it up as pure non-gaming related fiction, but in the meantime...

Thanks again to those of you who followed the story and gave me encouragement.

http://www.enworld.org/downloads/fileinfo.php?id=1273


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