# Medallions d20 Modern (Update Wednesday 09-20-06)



## Old Drew Id

*Episode 1: "Pilot"* 

*Setting:* 
Birmingham, Alabama, USA.  May 2003. 
The biggest current local news story is the SEC investigation into the financial dealings of giant corporation South-Medical, and its philanthropist founder, Dick Scorse. The company has just laid of over a hundred people in recent weeks as its stock price fell. The weather is hot and rainy, with frequent storms. 
(Due to our in-game use of real-world people & locations, some names have been changed for public release. The world is a more dangerous version of our own. )

*Inspirations:*
The campaign would best be described as a dark & deadly action-thriller-horror-mystery: somewhere between X-Files, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and Kolchak the Night Stalker; with bits of Friday the 13th (the series), Dusk 'til Dawn, The Matrix, Big Trouble in Little China, and Men in Black thrown in. Or another way to say it is: like an X-Files episode written by Stephen King and directed by John Woo. 

*Cast:*

P.I. Willie Lamar - Down-on-his-luck private eye with an attitude. Currently his shotgun and car are pawned to pay bills, forcing him to rely on his grandmother to give him rides. (Charismatic)
Brother Guyzell Cooper - Southern preacher with a cable-access TV show. Drives a pickup truck with a gun rack. (Charismatic)
Joe Empire – 38-year-old comic book shop owner / conspiracy theorist. Lives in a little apartment above his store. (Tough)
Crystal “Little Wing” Lassiter - Native American college archaeology grad student  (Smart)
Taylor Chu - Bad-tempered Korean librarian, part-time grad student (NPC) (Smart)


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## Old Drew Id

*Prologue (5/07/2003)*

Each of the players was given a prologue hand-out. What follows are the actual handouts delivered at the table, which is why they are written in second person. I tried to convert them to third or first person for publication, but they seemed to lose something in the transfer. So here they are, unedited.


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## Old Drew Id

*P.I. Willie Lamar*

*P.I. Willie Lamar*

You hate the rain. 

Okay, you hate the rain, and you hate Sunday nights.

Okay, fine, you hate rain, you hate Sunday nights, and you hate Councilman Jim Slate.

It would be bad enough, stooping to these little, petty, is-my-husband-cheating-on-me jobs, where you spend nine days hiding in the bushes like a peeping tom, if you could at least go around on your own time, and stake the guy out proper. Instead, it's Sunday, and the bus don't run on Sunday. Which means you have to get Gramms to come out and drop your broke ass off here in Vestavia, so you can spend three hours in the bushes with your disposable camera and try to get a shot of this guy getting some action with his secretary between his weekend city council meeting and returning home to Jane and the kids. 

Then the rain hits.

So now, just to recap, you are sitting outside the Vestavia City Hall, in the rain, in the dark, in the bushes, soaking wet, with a disposable camera, and your gun digging into your hip. You sit there for one hour, then two. You really need to bring a radio on these stake-outs. Your mind wanders. You re-play an entire season of New York Undercover in your head. You remember some dream you had last night. A nightmare, now that you remember it. You were at the funeral for your grandfather. You walked up to the casket, and put two dimes on his eyelids. Then he started growling. 

The councilman guy finally comes out, and what does he do? Hops straight into his car and drives off. The secretary doesn't even come out for another five minutes, and when she does, she drives off in the other direction. 

Fine. Cool. Stupid white people want to spy on each other, that's fine. Let 'em, as long as they pay the bill. Now you can at least go home and get dried off. And man, that rain is really coming down now. 

You can't just walk into the civic center and use the phone to call Gramms. You want to, but you tell yourself that you will at least be professional, even on these stupid adultery cases. And besides, a soaking wet black man walking into the city hall at night while carrying a gun might not be too welcome. 

So you walk a couple of blocks north up Highway 31. You make it into the Ruby Tuesday's and use the phone. Gramms answers. 

Sorry, the storm is blowing too hard. She can't drive in this weather. Best wait it out a bit until the storm lets up. You don't want Gramms driving off the road, do you? 

No, Gramms, that's fine. I understand. No, you're right. I'll just wait here at the bar-

You're not calling from a bar, are you?

No, Gramms, it's not a bar. Well, okay, it is a bar, but it's not a bar-bar. It's a Ruby Tues-No, ma'am, I was not going to --- No ma'am…No, ma'am I have not been drinking…. No, I was just calling from here… Yes, ma'am...

You close your eyes and lean your rain-soaked forehead against the wall, still listening to her. You can also hear the little kid bartender, in his red-and-white golf shirt and colorful flair buttons on his apron, snickering at you from across the room. You wonder in the back of your mind if this would qualify for a "black rage" defense in court.

Yes ma'am, you saw a library across the street. Yes, the one she saw on the way over. Yes, you can wait out the storm there. Yes, it would do you some good to spend some time reading from the Good Book. Yes, ma'am. You will call her back when the storm dies down. 

Fine. Fine. Fine. You slam the handset back on the receiver, and march back towards the door. You stop suddenly, just even with the pip-squeak bartender. You level your best cold gaze at him. "Something funny, mother*^$*#*?"

His eyes get bigger than silver dollars, and actually does one of those big gulps, like you see in movies. You fight the urge to grin, as you head back into the rain. 

Ah well, what the hell, maybe the library has a good book on police techniques. Or at least the latest issue of Guns and Ammo.


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## Old Drew Id

*Joe Empire*

*Joe Empire*

The newsletter is going to be late this month. You were up last night working on your special exposé (about how the Canadian government is using SARS as a cover-up to explain shutting down Toronto, when their real purpose is far more sinister…) when you saw that the Sci-Fi Channel was showing "Pitch Black", and then right after that was "Alien". You decided that Sigourney Weaver could beat Vin Diesel, as long as she could somehow see in the dark, and you also decided that whenever space combat becomes a reality, that you will get serious about exercising, so you can join the Space Marines.

Anyhow, the point is, you got distracted and didn't get to finish the newsletter. Then you got tired and passed out in front of the TV, under a protective layer of Cheetos. 

You had a freaky dream last night. You were at the shop, working late. There was no one there, and you had decided to close up for the night. Then, in walks a kid, and he points behind the counter at one of your older, more expensive comics on display on the wall. You look at where he is pointing. "Magic Agent #1". Asking price, five dollars.  

You ask the kid for the cash, and he digs in his pocket. He pulls out a handful of silver dollars, and then counts out five of them onto the counter. You ring up the purchase, and he disappears out the door. Then, you look closer at the silver dollars that he gave you, and you realize that they're not dollars. They're some kind of trick coins. Then you woke up. 

You went to work today (Sunday), and it was the usual crowd: teenagers, gamers, skaters. Although you promised yourself you wouldn't, you got sucked into a marathon of Magic The Gathering with a couple of your regular customers. 

One of your regulars, John Wiggs, invited you and a couple of the other guys from the shop over to his mom's place to watch his DVD of "Lord of the Rings" tonight. He offers to give you a ride to his mom's apartment, somewhere in Hoover. You can close the shop at six, he'll pick you up, and you can both get a six-pack and some Taco Bell, and be over there well before it starts.

It wasn't until you were locking up for the night that you remembered your dream. Getting curious, you went behind the counter to the "Magic Agent #1". You really do have that comic on the wall. You pull it down. The actual price you have listed is twenty-five dollars. (This is not one of your more expensive comics, you realize, despite what your dream told you.) You realize you've never read this comic. You just pulled its price from the Overstreet Guide and put it up on the wall. What the heck, you have a couple of minutes. 

You read the comic. It was published in the early 60's. It's about a government agent named John Force, who has this magic coin that grants him a variety of powers. You nearly drop the comic book on the floor when you see the coin. It is exactly like the one in your dream. 

You sit there for a minute, and decide you must have read this comic before. That's how you remembered what the coin looked like. Yeah, you had to have read it before. 

Anyhow, it's getting late, and now it is raining outside. Actually, it's pouring. Looks like a bad storm coming in. You put the comic away as you see headlights out front. Wiggs arrives and you rush out into the rain to his car. You drive out down Highway 31 and the rain is coming down in sheets now. You can not even see fifty feet in front of the car. 

Then Wiggs gets a call on his cell phone. He pulls over into the parking lot of the Vestavia Library and answers it. It's Teresa, his whiny on-again, off-again girlfriend from Tuscaloosa. You sigh and roll your eyes while he talks to her for a minute. He seems to be agreeing to something that he doesn't want to do. Then he hangs up, and turns to you. 

He says she's locked herself out of her apartment and she wants him to bring his key to her. He asks if you want to make a quick trip to Tuscaloosa. In the rain. No, scratch that, in a freakin' thunderstorm. This is what you get for hanging out with comic-book store kids.

Apparently you accidentally say something here about his girlfriend that offends him, and then he's yelling and getting all whiny. You tell him to just drop you off back home and he can go on to T-Town. He huffs and says he's not gonna go back out of his way to drop you off, so you can either go with him to Tuscaloosa or you can get out and call a cab. 

You look over at the library. There are lights on inside, and several cars out front. You hop out of the car and run inside.

There really is a comic book called Magic Agent. It really is from the 1960’s, and it really is about a spy with a magic coin.


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## Old Drew Id

*Crystal "Little Wing" Lassiter*

*Crystal "Little Wing" Lassiter*

You worked a closing shift last night. Late and exhausting. The Kudu may have closed at two since it was a Saturday night, but it was another half-hour until all of the regulars had filed out the door, and you were still cleaning up behind the bar until 4:30 this morning. Then you had to take a shower when you got home. The smell of stale beer and cigarettes was just a little too much. You didn't finally collapse into bed until the sky was already lightening up a little outside. 

You expected to sleep like a log, and for the most part you did. When you finally did wake up (just in time for a late lunch), you vaguely remember a bad dream. 

You were a little kid. You were traveling through a little western town called Anaconda, on vacation with your family. Only it wasn't a modern town. It was like one of those tourist spots built on the main highway, made to look like an Old West boom town. Then your dad stopped the car in the middle of the road and you had to get out. 

The people in the town were all smiling, but you knew they were killers. They were dressed up in their cowboy outfits. You even remember they had name tags, like theme park characters. The town mayor came over and said they had to kill you and your whole family, because they were cowboys and you were Indians. It was all very matter-of-fact, like they didn't want to do it, but it was their job. Your dad seemed very understanding, and he sat down on the ground so they could shoot him, as a woman dressed like a showgirl came over and began handing out guns. 

You started arguing but no one would listen. You told them it was stupid and it didn't make any sense, and you wanted your dad to stop helping them. It seemed to trouble them that you didn't want to get killed. 

Then an old man was there. He wore a black cowboy hat. You can't remember his face, because he was standing in front of the sun. He didn't say anything. But the crowd seemed relieved that he was there. You remember the mayor saying something like, "Well, there you go. He'll settle this…"

And the old man in the cowboy hat reached into his belt and pulled out a big silver dollar. He flipped it into the air…and just then you woke up. 

Rain is drizzling down lightly outside. The weatherman predicts storms tonight. Possibility of tornado activity..

You made a sandwich for lunch, and tried to do some reading for class. You have a paper due on Choctaw Oral Histories in Mississippi, and you can't find the books you need. The university library is severely lacking on the subject, and unfortunately for you, oral histories written in the original Choctaw are not a big seller at Barnes & Noble or Books-a-million. Your anthropology professor, Dr. Running Bear, would be helpful for guidance, except that he has been pulled into Moundville this whole week to help with the investigation of new tips from that whole pottery robbery fiasco. 

You spend the early afternoon reading some of your other books at home, and then call around to the libraries in town. You've decided you can do without the oral histories for a while, if you can get hold of some back issues of Anthropological Quarterly. After calling the main downtown branch, you try the Southside branch and the one in Mountain Brook. No luck. Finally, Vestavia Hills says yes. They have a full collection, and they are open until ten, even on a Sunday. 

The rain has stopped for now, thought it is still threatening to storm. Well, you can risk it. It's less than six miles to the library from here, and you needed to work out today anyway. It's hilly, but you could do it in half an hour if you push yourself. You pack up your backpack, put on your rain parka over your leather, and hop onto your Trek. The rain starts up again when you are about a mile from the library. You race the last few minutes, and coast into the library parking lot, just as the rain really starts coming down. You figure you can finish studying here anyway, and worst case scenario you can leave the bike here and call a cab. You tell yourself again that this week you will save your tips to put a down payment on a car, as you lock the Trek up to a post outside.

By now, the rain is really pouring. The library is deserted except for you and one young librarian. She seems surprised to see anyone here on a rainy Sunday night, especially someone who rode in on a bike. She directs you to the periodical archives and a free table, and you set to work.


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## Old Drew Id

*Brother Guyzell Cooper*

*Brother Guyzell Cooper*

You didn't sleep well last night. You had a bad dream. 

You were in church on Sunday. You were taking up the collection like you always do. You were passing the offering basket around, but nobody was putting anything in. Everybody was just looking at you, with these cold dead eyes. You continued anyway, passing the basket. You were halfway down the aisle when you noticed something else was wrong. Everyone was silent... 

The church was full, but there were no children, and no one was talking, or singing, or even moving, except to turn and stare at you, in eerie silence. And still, no one put anything into the offering basket. Then you got to the last pew, and no one had put anything in, but when you started to set the basket down, there was a single silver dollar in the bottom of the basket. 

You took the dollar out of the basket, and walked back to the pulpit. The congregation said nothing. No one moved. They just stared at you, with those cold dead eyes. 

You flipped the silver coin over in your hand. It was wrong. Where it should have said the year, it said 42:28.

Then you woke up.

You ate a big breakfast this morning. Bacon and eggs, and two waffles. You always prefer to eat a big breakfast on Sunday mornings. At the breakfast table, you read yesterday's mail. You gleefully picked up a package from Columbia House. Your new DVD of The Song of Bernadette had arrived. You looked forward to watching it tonight.

The services went well this morning and you had a good crowd, despite the rain. You gave a good sermon, and the congregation was really following you. After services, you had the standard classes for children, and then the seniors' luncheon, and then the teen encounter group in the afternoon. By then the rain was pouring outside, and a storm was coming in hard. 

At last, you made it to dinner time. The ladies' choir had invited you along to dinner, but you politely refused citing exhaustion. You were finally able to put your feet up, eat some re-heated casserole, and watch your new DVD of The Song of Bernadette while the storm blew outside. And what happened? Your new DVD wouldn't play. You fiddled with it for an hour, and the thing wouldn't play. The new disc looked scratched. 

You sighed heavily, and looked outside. The storm had slacked up some. If you hurried, you could make it to that little video store in the Galleria and get a replacement copy before they closed. 

Driving in the rain, you make it to the Galleria just after the stores close. Grumbling, you say a prayer for patience, sigh heavily and get back out onto Highway 31. The traffic on the interstate is stuck behind a wreck, and the storm is really picking up.  

You cut north into Vestavia, where the highway is deserted, but the rain is coming down in sheets. You reluctantly look for a place to pull over and wait it out. Up on your left, between flashes of lightning and passes of the windshield wipers, you see a library, and it looks open. 

You find yourself inside the library, shaking rain off your jacket, and looking apologetically at the weary librarian. Up ahead you see a shelf of Bibles, and a table. 

That's when you remembered the dream again. 

42:28

It looked to you like a chapter and verse. 

There are only 6 books in the Bible with that many chapters: Genesis, Job, Psalms, Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel. You start from Ezekiel and work back. But each time, chapter 42 does not have enough verses. There is no verse 28. Finally, you come to the last option. 

*Genesis 42:28*
"My silver has been returned," he said to his brothers. "Here it is in my sack." Their hearts sank and they turned to each other trembling and said, "What is this that God has done to us?"


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## Old Drew Id

*Session 1 (5/07/2003)*

*Session 1 (5/07/2003)*

Brother Cooper tried to maintain some semblance of dignity as he barreled through the glass double-doors of the library, momentarily wrecking the sanctum of silence within the place. The storm and wind followed him in, and his long coat and white Stetson dripped rain into a quickly-growing puddle beneath his feet. 

The library was old, that was to be sure. The place smelled of wood polish, dust, and just plain old age. The outer walls were strong brick, and thick enough to stop a cannon. The tables and bookcases were dark-stained wood. The lighting was dim and yellow and clearly antique, from fixtures maybe from the twenties, or even earlier. And no sign of modernization. No colorful banners, no computer kiosk, no buzzing fluorescent lights. 

The only furnishing to provide even a hint of décor was an antique wooden globe set into the floor before him, perhaps five feet in diameter, and encircled by red velvet ropes. To the right of the globe was a display table. The Topic-Of-The-Month was “coin collecting”. Half a dozen books on coins and coin-collecting were on display on the table.

Between two bookcases, he caught a glimpse of a young Native American woman in a black leather jacket, hunched over a table in the back of the library, thumbing through a magazine. To his right, the checkout desk was occupied by a twenty-something Asian woman, chewing on her lip and glancing at him through narrowed eyes. At once she looked both nervous and unfriendly. A small nameplate on her desk read “Taylor Chu.”

“I apologize for the mess, ma’am. Seems there’s quite a bit of a storm blowing up.”

Taylor just frowned further, and returned her gaze to her book. 

Thunder crashed outside.

“I say, my name’s Guyzell Cooper. My parish calls me Brother Co--”

“SHHHH” Taylor shushed him angrily.

“I apologize. I was just going to ask where your Bibles were. You know the Good Book says --”

“SHHHH” Taylor shushed him vehemently this time, and silently pointed him forward.

The Bibles were in the reference section, directly behind the globe. Brother Cooper’s boots squelched wetly with each step as he crossed over to the books. Selecting the King James, he sat down at the closest table and began to read.

The doors swung open again, and rain scouted ahead in as the wind invaded. A large figure loomed at the door. A black male, easily six feet tall, in a dark coat and hat. 

Taylor looked even more nervous than before.

The stranger stood silently for a moment and then calmly lit a cigarette. 

“You don’t smoke in here!” Taylor hissed.

“Baby, I’ve been in the rain for hours. I just want to have one smoke---”

“You don’t smoke in here!” she shrieked again. “You get the cigarette out of here! This is a library!”

“Baby, now come on. Don’t be like that. My name’s Willie Lamar, baby, and I’ve had a bad day, and---”

“You get the smoke out of here now or I call a cop!” The librarian moved towards the other end of her desk towards a phone. “You can not smoke in here!” 

Willie grimaced wearily, and leaned back against the door. The door creaked open a few inches, and rain began to pour in again. He shoved the cigarette out into the rain. After a moment, he pulled the arm back in, took another puff, and shoved the cigarette back out the door again. 

Thunder crashed again.

“You stop smoking in here!” Taylor picked up the receiver threateningly.

“Baby, I’m not smoking in here. Do you see a cigarette in---” Willie was cut off as he regained his balance. The door he was leaning against swung open rapidly, and a huge tub of a person stumbled into the room. 

The new arrival was a thirty-something male, easily a hundred pounds overweight, wearing a black trench-coat and hefting a backpack. Rain plastered his thinning hair to his face, and he absentmindedly shrugged his shoulders to re-adjust the weight of the backpack as he stood between Willie and Taylor, near the display table. Turning to Taylor, he asked, “Do you have any books on coin collecting?”

Taylor stared at him for a moment in silence. Willie took another puff of his cigarette. Several emotions quickly chased across her face, but she eventually settled on a mixture of disbelief and exasperation. She silently, violently pointed behind him.

The fat man turned to the display table and began pulling books up into a stack under one arm. 

Taylor began angrily, “hey…fat boy, those are books on display--” 

“Yeah, I got it,” he mumbled, his back still to her. He stopped with the half-dozen books under his arm and headed to one of the tables in a corner near a window to read. 

Taylor turned back to Willie, who flicked the remainder of his cigarette out into the parking lot. With a wink and a grunt of satisfaction, he let the door close completely and headed over to the skimpy selection on the magazine rack. 

Thunder crashed again outside, and suddenly, the lights went out. A heartbeat passed as everyone waited in silence. Then, the loud sound of glass breaking pierce the silence, and Taylor screamed. 

Dim emergency lights flickered into life above the shattered front doors. Four rain-soaked thugs dressed in ragged clothing stood in the puddle of broken glass, panting and grinning wild-eyed grins that betrayed souls bent on destruction. The one in front reached into the back of his belt and drew a long Bowie knife...


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## Morte

*grabs popcorn, waves beer can at the screen in a "keep going" gesture*


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## Old Drew Id

*Session 1 (5/07/2003) Combat*

Brother Cooper stood up rapidly for a man of his size, and his hands came up in a calming gesture, “Son, hello there…Now I don’t know what’s going on here, son, but I don’t think you should be waving around that knife--” 

The thug with the knife grinned wider and took a few steps towards the preacher. Behind him, the other three remained in place, but each drew a similar knife. The blades all were clean, and gleamed like wicked candles in the flickering emergency lights. 

Willie reached into his jacket, and in a flash he was holding a pistol. “FREEZE MOTHER*$%#%&! DROP THE #^%&ING KNIFE!”

The display was enough to shake a war veteran, but the thug didn’t even pause. As he lunged forward, Brother Cooper saw it in his eyes. A glazed-over look that spoke volumes. The thugs were not in their right minds, and would not listen to reason or be intimidated. 

In a flurry of knives and screams, combat began. The thugs were everywhere, knives flashing in the low light, grunting and giggling in a fury as they leaped over tables and into the room. 

Willie fired, and a thug collapsed bleeding onto the carpet. Another lunged forward to replace him, and Willie caught a knife blade across his side. Blood flowed from the gash, and he staggered back. 

Brother Cooper reached into his jacket and drew out an odd-looking appliance. Pointing it at the thug closest to him, he squeezed a trigger. The Tazer fired wildly at his target and missed completely. A scorched smell of ozone permeated the room. The preacher looked crestfallen, and backed up into the stacks, but not fast enough. The thug in front of him stabbed viciously and the preacher took a deep knife wound into his belly. 

Another thug leaped over the front desk and slashed at Taylor. Clutching her handbag, she dove under the desk divider, and came up on the other side, a revolver in her hand. Blood flowed from a shallow knife wound on her arm. 

The fat man with the coin-collecting books staggered up from his table in the back. His backpack was open at his side, spilling out a dice bag and a few small lead miniatures, but he ignored those and instead began furiously stuffing the library books into the pack. A thug was suddenly on top of him, slashing wildly. The fat gamer dodged wildly from side to side, the book bag swinging and deflecting the knife, as he reached in deeper into the bag. As the thug came up to tackle him, an explosion sounded from the bottom of the bag. A tiny bullet hole appeared in the bottom of the sack, and the thug staggered backwards bleeding. 

Willie was falling back, and losing the battle. He felt dizzy and the gun was shaking in his grip. He fired again and again at his next target, but the gun was shaking in his hands, and he could not hit anything. Beside him, Taylor was stumbling backwards as well, trying to keep a bookcase between her and her attacker, but she emptied her gun and still could not hit anything.  

Wasting no time, the fat man took a few unsure steps, and crashed through the front window of the library, out into the rain-soaked parking lot. Brother Cooper staggered past his closest opponent and followed through the front doors, towards his truck, and his gun rack. From the corner of his eye, he saw another thug running into the library as he exited. The preacher felt nauseous and he clutched his bleeding stomach as he moved.

The rain was pouring down outside, as Brother Cooper fumbled with his blood-and-rain-soaked keys and opened the passenger door to his pickup. As he reached for his shotgun from the rack, the fat man was suddenly at the driver side door. Brother reached in and flipped open the door lock. 

“Let’s get out of here!” the fat man yelled as he jumped into the driver’s seat, tossing a well-worn backpack into the floorboard. 

“Who in the blazes are you?” Brother Cooper asked, as he flicked off the safety and positioned a shell into the chamber. 

“I’m Joe!” the fat man yelled, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Let’s go!” he whined again as he reached for the keys. 

Brother Cooper pulled the keys back from his grip, and tucked them into his pocket. Gunfire rattled repeatedly from inside. “There’s people in trouble inside, Joe. I’m afraid I can’t leave yet.”

“Well give me the KEYS!” Joe screamed, as Brother Cooper ignored him and staggered back towards the library doors.

The scene inside had changed, and not for the better. As Brother Cooper’s boots crunched on the broken glass of the double doors, he saw a thug lunge at Willie, and bury a six-inch Bowie blade hilt-deep into the black man’s thigh. Blood fountained up over the scene, and Willie’s eyes rolled back. He cursed, “Son of a…” and collapsed on the floor. 

Taylor was still pulling the trigger on her revolver, but there was only a defenseless click-click-click as the chamber rolled empty. She screamed as a thug dove for her, and she ran between the bookshelves. Brother Cooper fired his shotgun at the thug, and paper exploded as the shell missed and buried pellets into a bookshelf. 

The thug leader who had buried in his knife into Willie stood over him, drew out the knife, and reared his arm back to deliver a death blow. Brother turned, unable to move fast enough, watching as the knife descended. Suddenly, from the shadows, the forgotten Native girl in the black leather jacket was there, leaping onto a table and screaming a tribal war cry. Her only weapon was a backpack loaded with books, which she slung like a hammer into the back of the  thug’s head. With a sickeningly wet sound, the impromptu weapon connected, and the thug collapsed on top of Willie. 

Brother looked at the shotgun in his hands, and then down at the wounded man in front of him. He started to hand the gun to the Native girl, when she leapt forward again. One of the thugs on the floor had started to get back up and pick up his knife. Again, the girl’s weighted backpack bounced of a skull, and the enemy collapsed.  

Suddenly Taylor was running around the corner of a bookshelf, the thug hot on her heels. Brother Cooper reacted instinctively, and yelled to her, “Catch!” and threw the shotgun to her. As the thug rounded the corner after her, the librarian caught the shotgun, spun, and fired. At the same moment, Joe appeared in the front door and also fired his pistol. The bullet and shell hit the thug simultaneously, and the last of the strange assailants collapsed in a bloody heap on the floor. 


By the way, someone please let me know if the half-masked profanity violates board policy and I will change it. Or, for that matter, if there is no need to mask it.


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## Old Drew Id

*Session 1 (5/07/2003)*

*Session 1 (5/07/2003) Post-Combat*

Brother Cooper was dizzy, and his stomach was a maelstrom of pain. “Call 911…please” he choked out, as he knelt down beside Willie. Blood has soaked his pants and the wound on his thigh was jagged, deep, and ugly. 

“I already tried, my cell isn’t working,” the Native American girl answered, as she unslung her jacket and began ripping her shirt sleeve into makeshift bandages. The preacher rolled up his jacket and pressed it to his own wounds while also trying to help her.

“Cell phones don’t work in the library,” Taylor answered matter-of-factly, as she staggered over to the front desk and set the shotgun down onto the copier. Her shoulder was bleeding, but it didn’t appear life-threatening. From under the desk, she produced a small first-aid kit, and dropped it onto the floor next to Willie. She shrugged one shoulder in an “I don’t know how to use this” gesture, and picked up the office phone behind her desk. She dialed three digits.

Willie was coming around on the floor, his eyes rolling around drunkenly and his breath shallow. The Native girl opened up the first aid kit and set to work trying to stop his bleeding. She spoke in soothing tones, “Hello, can you hear me? Did you say your name is Willie? Willie, can you hear me? My name’s Crystal. Willie, can you hear me? Can you say my name? Can you say Crystal? Can you hear me?”

Taylor was on the phone giving an address. She covered the mouthpiece for a moment, “An ambulance and the police are on the way.”

Instantly Willie grabbed Crystal’s wrist and whispered groggily, “Police…no…my gun!…hide…hide my gun…”

Then Joe was there by his side. “Sounds like you got the right idea, man,” and he tucked Willie’s pistol into his backpack. Spinning on his heel in the broken glass, he headed out into the rain as the others looked on for a moment in protest. “Be right back. Nobody mention this!” and he was gone.

A siren sounded in the distance. Brother Cooper risked a look at his stomach. He was losing a lot of blood.

Crystal motioned Taylor over, and had her put pressure on Willie’s leg wound. With her blood-soaked hands free for a moment, and the police on the way, she looked over at the bodies of their attackers. Perhaps unsure if they might regain consciousness soon, or be possessed of other weapons, she crawled over to the closest thug and dug into his pockets. 

Tires squealed on the pavement outside. Brother Cooper thought he saw paramedics arriving. He whispered a quick “Thank you, Father” as he lost consciousness.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 1 (5/07/2003) Joe*

*Session 1 (5/07/2003) Joe*

Joe Empire was surprised…and a little annoyed. 

Well, admittedly, he should be thankful. The policeman had dropped him off at his shop, now some three hours later, without so much as a glance back. He had managed to survive the library attack with only a few minor scratches from jumping through the window (something he had always wanted to try). He had gotten to actually fight off someone who wanted to kill him, and he had survived. He had undoubtedly saved the lives of everyone else there, and he had met a girl who had willingly torn her shirt open in front of him. (Okay, it was to make bandages out of, but clearly she wanted him.) He had been questioned by the police and had refused to tell them anything important, despite rather persistent questioning. 

But, unfortunately, Joe had not seen a single Man In Black. 

He supposed it was to be expected. They were undoubtedly out there. They had almost certainly been there tonight. He suspected they had sent the assassins after him, to shut him up. To try to get him to stop talking, to stop writing his conspiracy-exposing newsletter. In the aftermath, Joe had watched the perimeter, waiting to see one of them, or maybe some similar cigarette-smoking shadow figure watching him. But he must have missed them.

He decided that they were good. Yes, very good, but he would catch them. Because Joe had been prepared tonight. 

When he was listening to Art Bell the other night, he had been listening to a caller describe a run-in with the Freemasons, and at the time, Joe got annoyed because the caller had seen several cars and had not bothered to write down the license plate numbers. So Joe had decided then, that should he get into a similar situation, he would write down the details. They wouldn’t pull an Area 51 on old Joe, that’s for sure. 

The cops had tried to play with him. They said things like “Sir, you must be in shock” and “You’re welcome to write down my badge number, sir. We’re only here to help.” and “Do you need a ride home?” But Joe knew the truth. He could see they were scared. Scared of a guy whose eyes were open to the Truth. They were scared because Joe was on to them and their shadow government mind control. Yeah, they didn’t know who they were messing with when they messed with old Joe. 

So, anyhow, everyone else taken to UAB Hospital. Joe got the ambulances’ license plate numbers and the names of all of the paramedics before they left. He wondered idly if he would ever see any of them again. 

Right now, he had more important things to do. 

Joe pulled out his cell phone and called John Wiggs. The little punk had left him there in Vestavia tonight to get killed. It was the least he could do to come pick him up now. 

“Hello?”

“John, this is me. Get over here now. I need a ride.” Joe looked at his watch. Never stay on the phone for more than forty seconds. First thing they teach you… if by ‘they’ you mean movies and books about conspiracies and similar paranoid delusions.

“Huh? Who is this?” John sounded half-asleep. 

“You know I won’t say my name over an open line. Now come pick me up. I’m at the shop.” (Second thing they teach you.)

“Joe? Do you *know* what time it is?”

“Don’t say my name on the phone moron! Look, we’ve got to move quick. I need a ride now. Come pick me up.”

“No. Look, I’m sorry I left you tonight but--”

“Come pick me up”

“No”

“Come pick me up and I’ll give you a… thirty percent discount at the store tomorrow.”

There was a pause at the other end of the line. “Including minis?”

“No, of course not.”

There was another pause. “Including the _special_ anime section?”

“Jeez! Fine. Get over here.”

Half an hour later, John arrived. The car ride was quiet, and Joe refused to answer any of his friend’s questions. Finally, they arrived at the library. 

The scene was quiet and empty. The doors and the window that Joe had jumped through were boarded up, and there was police tape covering an area around the front door. 

Instructing John to wait in the car, Joe got out and moved through the bushes, and into the trees behind the library. Trying to remember as much of the marine training as he had seen in Full Metal Jacket, Joe moved in a serpentine fashion through the trees until he stumbled upon his backpack. Hefting its significantly heavier soggy weight onto his back, he dodged and weaved his way back to the car. 

Despite numerous questions from his driver, Joe would only say on the ride home that the less John knew, the less he could reveal under questioning. 

At last back in his apartment, Joe locked out the world, sent John home, and opened up his bag.

The two guns were on top. Joe’s tiny .22 revolver, and the black guy’s giant cannon. Jeez, trying to compensate for something, big guy? 

More importantly, five of the six books that Joe had stuffed into the bag had been ruined by the rain. But the sixth book was untouched, and unnaturally dry. Joe pulled the light-weight book onto his desk, read the title (“Coin Collecting in the Southeast, 1900-1950”) and flipped it open. 

It fell open to a page featuring an old yellowing black-and-white photo in an antique style. The photo showed a dozen men and women posing for a group photo, like a class picture. The caption read: Ward Numismatic Society, 1924.

Five of the people in the picture looked exactly like the people who had been attacked in the library tonight.  

Joe spent the next few hours before his store opened studying the books and researching the information online. He didn’t know what to make of anything. He just knew that he needed to know more.


----------



## ejja_1

*Good story, kept my attention.*

Nice mix of action and intrigue, looking forward to reading more.

Ejja_1


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 1 (5/07/2003) Taylor and Crystal*

Session 1 (5/07/2003) Taylor and Crystal

Taylor dropped the broom for the third time, and nearly gave up trying to sweep up the broken glass. She was having a hard time holding the dustpan in her left hand because of the injury in her shoulder, and she kept fumbling the broom trying to compensate. The doctors last night had only given her two stitches in her shoulder, and then bandaged her up and sent her on her way. A uniformed policeman had given her a ride back to her car, and then she had been free to go. 

She found it peculiar that she had not talked to a detective, or at least someone other than a simple beat cop during the entire evening. She assumed she would probably receive a call later in the day for a further interview. They had at least taken down her name and contact information in their report, but something made her think that, despite the severity of a multiple homicide and the sheer audacity of the attack, that somehow the police would not pursue the matter as diligently as they should. Nothing she could put her finger on, but something did not feel right.

As though triggered by her thoughts, her cell phone rang.

“Hi, Taylor? My name is Crystal. We…met last night? You gave me your cell phone number at the hospital?”

Taylor greeted her hesitantly, “Yes…hello, Crystal.”

“Yeah, hi, listen… I don’t know about you, but I just got the feeling last night like… I don’t know, the police were just not too interested in what happened last night. Did you get that feeling too?”

Taylor felt a moment of relief at not being alone in her suspicions, and then further paranoia at the implications if she were correct. She mumbled her agreement to Crystal. 

“Okay, I thought so… So last night, before the cops got there, I searched the pockets on one of those guys. And, I think I found something.”

There was a moment right there. One shining moment, when Taylor felt something, like the two roads diverging in a wood. She could hang up, right here. She could hang up and say the police should handle it, and just walk away. She could not get involved. And something told her, if she went down that other road, if she got involved here…she would be involved forever.

“So…what did you find?”

. . . 

Thirty minutes later, Taylor was pulling up in front of a little apartment complex in Southside. Moderately cheap apartments, a lot like her own, suited towards students and young couples. Through the windshield wipers thumping out their visual patterns in the rain on her shield, she saw Crystal standing under a stairwell in her leather jacket. With a wave, Crystal dodged across the lot to Taylor’s car and hopped in. 

“This is what I found,” she said simply, as she drew a Ziploc bag from her pocket. As she did so, Taylor saw the holster hidden within Crystal’s jacket. Taylor would have been surprised, she supposed, if she hadn’t kept her own pistol under her pillow last night and tucked it into the back of her jeans earlier today.

The Ziploc bag contained two small rectangular slips of paper. Each was about the size of a business card, and bore a stamp stating, “Project: Together, Lot #”, and then a blank line to be filled in. One was filled in by hand with the number 2643 and the other showed 2644. 

“I don’t know what it means, this Project: Together---”

“It’s a charity,” Taylor answered. “It’s a thrift store. Just over in Irondale near Eastwood mall.”

. . . 

Ten minutes later, they were talking to a short man with a yellow plastic nametag identifying him as the thrift store manager. 

“Yeah, so like, Hi! Um, so like, I got these pants from a friend of mine, and there was like, a slip of paper in the pocket that said Project: Together, and it had this number on it, and like, I was just wondering what the number was for...”

Crystal was standing, in Taylor’s opinion, far too close to the poor man. Crystal had unbuttoned the first three buttons on her blouse as she talked, and she kept twiddling with her rain-soaked hair as she talked to him. The manager appeared flushed and a little uncomfortable, and was clearly enjoyably affected by her interrogation technique. 

Taylor idly looked down at the buttons on her own blouse. She could try the same trick, of course, but unless the goal was to fill the guy with pity, it probably wouldn’t help matters.

The flustered store manager stuttered out, “Those numbers are nothing to worry about. I mean, they are just what we use to track shipments of clothes that we don’t sell. Um…” He lost his train of thought for a moment as Crystal beamed a smile at him. “But, yeah, um… if a friend of yours got some clothes from one of those lots, then she didn’t buy it here in the store. You see, some stuff gets sold in the store, and then some clothes get taken to our warehouse in the back, and they get broken down into lots, and we send those lots to local charities. Your friend must have gotten the panties…er…pants…um… from one of the places we send clothes to…”

“A warehouse? How _interesting_! So…”

Taylor wandered away from the budding young couple and moved through the clothing displays in the store, moving towards the back. Finally, a job for Non-Descript-Girl, with her amazing ability to blend in and be ignored!

Taylor circled back around for a moment, now behind the enamored manager, and caught Crystal’s eye. Giving her the “keep him talking” signal, Taylor rounded another display of old jeans and passed through a door marked “Employees Only”

The room was a simple room of boxes and crates, with a loading bay and a cluttered desk. A tired looking old man with a clipboard stood near the desk, counting boxes. 

“Hi, I’m Taylor, from Jefferson County Child Care. The man in the front said you could help me? I’m trying to track down a lot that got messed up and sent to the wrong place. Do you have a second?”

“Sure, what can I do ya for?”

“I’ve got a lot number here, 2643? Could you tell me where that got sent? My boss says that somebody maybe got behind or something…”

The trick worked, and the man immediately became defensive. “I don’t think so, ma’am. We always double-check every shipment leaving this place to be sure it goes to the right place, and we always have them sign for it when it gets picked up.” He started flipping pages on his clipboard.

“Hey, I hear you. My boss just says we were supposed to get a lot with some children’s clothes in it---”

“See, here it is right here. Your boss is wrong. Lot 2643, and 2644, and 2645, all sent to the St. James Mission for the Homeless. And see here, this says all of those lots were clothes for adult men, not children. Your boss is wrong, little lady.”


----------



## jonrog1

Niiiiiiice.


----------



## Morte

*waves beercan in obviously appreciative fashion*


----------



## fenzer

I found another gem.  Nice writing Drew, keep the updates coming.

I love the characters and how you drew them together.  

Man with all the great story hours here, who needs a library.  Besides, it sounds like they can be dangerous.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 1 (5/07/2003) Joe on the bus*

*Session 1 (5/07/2003) Joe on the bus*

“Case Closed?!?!? WHAT THE &%$# DO THEY MEAN ‘CASE CLOSED’?”

The other three passengers on the bus (two elderly women and what looked like a foreign exchange student) were watching Joe Empire like a ticking time bomb. His heavy trench-coat, Green Lantern T-shirt, and ragged bullet-riddled backpack did nothing to ease their minds. And random obscene outbursts were probably not a calming factor.

Joe hadn’t managed to get any sleep this morning (or take a shower) before opening the shop, and he had muddled through the morning fueled only by paranoia and Mountain Dew. He had eyed every customer suspiciously, expecting some as-yet-unnamed conspiracy to come sweep him away at any minute. 

It was hard to think straight all morning. There was too much going on. In the words of Sneakers, “Too many secrets.”

According to Joe's internet searches in the early hours of the morning, the Ward Numismatic Society was founded in 1921 by G.B. Ward. This Ward guy had also founded the suburb of Vestavia Hills, where the library was located. Ward had apparently also been connected to several local industrial pioneers at the time, and was involved in a variety of local organizations. Perhaps most frighteningly, according to the local newspaper’s online archives, G.B. Ward had built the very library where the attack had taken place last night. 

The library was where the Ward Numismatic Society used to meet.

By lunchtime, Joe was ignoring the few regulars in his shop and was busy at the register watching ‘Gambling Samurai’ (in the original Japanese, no subtitles, domo arigato very much). Man, that Toshiro was one nutty swordsman. For a couple of hours, life seemed to return to normal...

Anyhow, by lunchtime, the Men-In-Black had not come for him yet, so Joe decided to head out for some spring rolls, and to swing by the Vestavia police station to pick up the official report from last night’s attack. He needed the police report for his official “case file”. Plus, he would probably want to put it into the next newsletter. The Red Herring Newsletter was gaining new subscribers all the time (nine new subscribers last year alone!) and they would undoubtedly want to see the poorly-photocopied evidence for themselves.

So, an hour later, he was back on the bus, fresh from hassling The Man, with a copy of the police report. 

Case Closed. Joe could not believe it. The attack was “likely gang-related.” The two surviving suspects were in custody (while still undergoing medical treatment) and were listed as “unresponsive.” 

There would be no further investigation. There would be no interviews, no evidence gathering, and no official inquiries. The case was just…closed.

When the bus neared his Southside shop once again, Joe got off the bus, at once both disheartened and incensed. They could not just sweep this away. They could not do this to Joe Empire. 

Looking again at the crumpled photocopy he had clutched the whole ride home, Joe noted the name of the detective who had signed off on the report. Detective Rich Hall.

Well, Joe thought, I think it's time Detective Rich Hall found out the consequences of crossing Joe Empire.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 1 (5/07/2003) Brother Cooper and Willie in the Hospital*

*Session 1 (5/07/2003) Brother Cooper and Willie in the Hospital*

Willie woke up to the smell of disinfectant, the feeling of a hundred needles stabbing into his left thigh, and a metallic dry taste in his mouth. He smacked his lips together and cleared his throat to try to get some saliva flowing again as he surveyed the room. 

There was a hint of pale daylight coming in through the window blinds to his right, and the sound of rain could be heard pattering on the window. He was lying in a hospital bed, in a flimsy paper gown, with an IV hooked up to one arm, and a thick shell of bandages taped around his left leg. A monitor on his right read out a series of jagged lines following his breathing and heart rate. To his left, a curtain divided the room in half. 

Willie cleared his throat again. After a moment, the curtain pulled to the side. Brother Guyzell Cooper was sitting there in a wheelchair on the other side of the curtain, next to an unmade bed. Brother Cooper was in a hospital gown as well, and was holding a Bible in his lap. He marked his page with an embroidered bookmark and closed the book. 

“Glad to see you’re finally up and around. I had some friends of mine praying for your recovery.”

Willie looked over the preacher for a moment. Short of looking a little green around the gills, and maybe needing to lose some weight, the preacher looked to be in good shape. 

“What do they have you in for, preacher?”

Brother Cooper grimaced and motioned towards his stomach. “I took one in the belly last night. Not as bad as your leg, there, but enough for a handful of stitches. Overall, they say we’re both lucky. Should be out of here in a week or two.”

Willie laid back into his bed and closed his eyes. He had no idea how he was going to pay for this. First his shotgun, then his car, both now at the pawn shop. Now some mountain of medical bills just to completely bury him.

“You might want to read this,” Brother Cooper whispered to him. 

Willie sighed, and winced at the shot of pain from his leg. And now he was stuck for a week in a room with a Bible-beater. “I appreciate it, preacher, but I’m not really up right now for a Bible stu-”, he began, but saw that the preacher was not offering him the Bible, but a rolled-up newspaper. “What’s this?”

“Today’s newspaper. Afternoon edition,” Brother Cooper smirked.

“Yeah,” Willie cut himself off. This was a man of God he was dealing with, after all, and it _was_ a stupid question. He would try again, “What’s in it?”

“Nothing,” Brother Cooper sighed, and looked more than just a little concerned. “That’s the problem. Nothing about the events from last night. No pictures, no article. Not so much as a single line.”

Willie’s blood ran cold. The monitor on his right beeped suddenly, perhaps in response to the sudden rise in his heart rate. 

Willie knew police procedure. He had at one time wanted to become a police detective. He still even considered the notion every now and then. He followed press reports of crime in the local area religiously. And one thing he knew for sure was that the press should have been on the story last night from the moment the cops were called. If the story didn’t run, it was because someone didn’t want it to run. 

“The Lord moves in mysterious ways, Willie.”

Willie looked at the paper. The first article to catch his eye was near the bottom of the page. A local contractor was donating work to help repair damage from a recent vandalism attack on the Mountain View Church in Vestavia. 

Willie had become an investigator because he had originally failed the written tests to become a police officer. His test proctor had been a racist, of course, and Willie was pretty sure he had actually passed the test but been denied in spite of his results. Still, despite that failure, Willie had known he would have made a fine police detective, just as he was a fine private investigator, because his mind saw connections that others missed.

Just glancing at the article about the local contractor, Willie saw two words. “Attack”, and “Vestavia.” That pattern-recognition part of his brain took over. He read the rest of the article, almost willing clues to appear before him. 

The church was on Highway 31, less than a mile from the library. The vandals had struck three days ago. The attack occurred late in the night. No one was injured. The vandals had carved symbols into the wooden pulpit. 

Carved…Carved…Carved. Willie was thinking now…

Carved…If you want to carve something into wood, what would you use? 

A big knife. 

. . .

Ten minutes later, an overweight female nurse came in, carrying a syringe. She smiled at Willie as she plugged the syringe into his IV, “Good afternoon, Mr. Lamar.”

Willie beamed a smile at the portly woman, “Afternoon, baby.” He decided on Friendly Smile With Good-Natured Heroics as the best choice for the moment.

The nurse smiled. Her teeth were a little crooked, and she could probably use a trip to the hair salon after she lost some weight, but she wasn’t really too bad off. She had smooth chocolate skin, and her eyes were a decent shade of green. Still, she was probably unaccustomed to compliments, which is exactly why Willie continued. “Baby, if you don’t mind me saying… well, I’m a detective, as you may have heard. And from time to time my work gets a little dangerous, catching bad guys and saving people and that kind of thing, you know? And I’ve been in hospitals on more than one occasion from scrapes like this little one here…but I got to tell you, baby, you have the prettiest eyes of any nurse I have ever seen.”

The nurse smiled sheepishly, her crooked teeth breaking out into a flirtatious little grin. “Well, thank you, Mr. Lamar.”

Willie smiled back at her, switching over to Devilish Grin Just Between You and Me, as he began to reel her in. “Oh, please, baby, call me Willie. And you are…Irene?” 

He switched smiles now as he saw her warm to him. This was pretty easy, but he didn’t want to go overboard. He decided on the You’re In My Secret Club Now grin he had invented last week. She seemed to go for it as he continued, “My first crush in grade school was on a girl named Irene. ”

Brother Cooper cleared his throat in a disapproving tone. 

Willie continued, “Irene, could you do me a favor?”

“There were a few gentlemen probably brought in here last night about the same time as me. Bunch of crazy looking white dudes? You know what happened to them?”

“Well…” she started, and then looked sideways at the door to the hall, to be sure no one was listening. “Three of them showed up D.O.A., you know, Dead On Arrival.” Her tone was conspiratorial, as she lowered her voice to a whisper.

“And the other two?”

“Well, they were acting all crazy, I hear, and were really messed up. But after they got treated in the emergency room, some policemen and some orderlies took them over to a secure ward, and then they were gonna be transferred over to Green.”

Willie nodded. That was standard procedure. There was a prison ward in the basement at Green Hospital. As a large hospital, UAB would have had certain temporary means to hold a prisoner-patient during emergency care, but they would have transferred him as soon as they could.

“It’s too bad you didn’t wake up sooner,” Irene offered, as she turned to walk away. “You could have asked the policeman yourself. He was guarding the door to this room all night until just before your roommate woke up this morning.”

. . .

The orderly came in to help Brother Cooper get out of the wheelchair and back into bed. He was maybe twenty-five years old, and a hulk of a young man, easily weighing in at three hundred pounds of muscle. But he also looked tired. Judging from the look of him, he must have been on the job for twelve hours, and he was just waiting to clock out and go home. 

Brother Cooper groaned as the exertion pulled on some stitches in his stomach. The orderly caught him under the arm and eased him towards the bed. 

“Thank you son, you are certainly doing the Lord’s work here.”

“Thank you, sir. Just doing my job.”

“You look plum-tuckered out, son. You remind me of times when I’m up late writing a sermon, and the words just refuse to come out right.” Brother Cooper’s voice was soothing and supportive. “You’re working a double shift, I wager.”

“That’s right, reverend. I was actually working, I think, when you got brought in last night.”

“Well how about that? I tell ya, the Lord shines down blessings on a hard-working man.”

Willie smiled. The preacher may have disapproved of Willie’s playing on the nurse earlier, but here he was doing the same thing. Throw a couple of compliments their way, get to be their friend, then pump ‘em for information. This preacher wasn’t half bad, either. 

“So I hope you didn’t have to deal with those, uh… criminals that were brought in with us last night? I tell ya, I’ve been praying for ‘em since I woke up this morning, but I don’t know what could get into a man to make him do some things-- ”

“A centipede, actually,” the orderly muttered and smiled, as he flipped the leg supports up and out of the way on the now-empty wheel chair. 

“Come again?”

“Oh, nothing, reverend.”

“Come on, now, what did you say? Sounded like you said a centipede?”

“Well,” the orderly began, and peered sideways at Willie, who pretended to read the paper and not be listening. “I actually was one of the guys who helped the police load the two guys into the wagon to take them over to Green.”

The orderly paused. Brother Cooper waited. Willie held his breath. Don’t blow it, preacher, Willie thought. This kid knows something. 

“I don’t want to gross you out, reverend.”

“Don’t worry, son,” Brother Cooper smiled, and pointed to his expansive waistline, where the orderly had likely seen the knife wound from last night, “I have a strong stomach.”

“Well, as we were loading this guy into the wagon last night, he puked. And… well, since I’ve been working here, I’ve seen a lot of people eat a lot of weird stuff. Especially crazy people. But this guy. He puked up a centipede… and a couple other bugs. And the really sick part? I swear to G—” He suddenly eyed the Bible in the preacher’s hand. “I swear… after it happened…the centipede crawled away.”


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 1 (5/07/2003) Everybody Finally Gets Together*

*Session 1 (5/07/2003) Everybody Finally Gets Together*

“What does this mean, ‘Case Closed’? That doesn’t mean, like, they are done investigating, right?” Taylor was panicked, and apparently when she got panicked, her Korean accent grew much more pronounced. “I mean, that just mean they closed crime scene or something. Right? They still have some guy investigating this. I sure they do. I mean, they haven’t even interviewed us yet.”

Crystal was busy re-reading the police report, and trying to ignore how fast Taylor was driving through the rain. The police report offered almost nothing in the way of details. Just a very vague description of a scene of trespassers who were shot in self defense. At the bottom of the page in one corner was a contact list, where the police had collected the names and numbers of the people at the scene of the crime. Taylor and Crystal were listed there, as she expected. She saw the fat geeky guy’s name was Joe Empire, and a work phone number was listed for him. The other two contacts were listed as Willie Lamar and Guyzell Cooper. For contact information, the sheet just said ‘UAB Hospital’ and offered an official phone number to get their room number later.

Crystal shrugged and her leather jacket crinkled. She needed a new jacket. Heck, she wanted a new Harley and Signature Series leathers, but instead she had a Trek mountain bike and a thrift store leather jacket. “I think Case Closed means they are done with it.”

“As in, they are not investigating anything anymore?”

“As in, we were not wasting our time at that thrift store this morning.”

Taylor swallowed and kept driving.

Crystal looked again at the police report. The two women had talked for a long while over lunch. They had considered visiting the homeless shelter to check things out there, but had been more than a little nervous about what they might find. Picking up the police report was Crystal’s idea of buying time while she tried to think of something. 

The situation reminded her of her field studies class with Dr. Running Bear. You had to dig if you wanted to find answers. And if you can not dig in one place, dig somewhere else. 

“You have any plans tonight?”

“I was supposed to work, but for now the library is closed until tomorrow night.”

“Okay, then how about we get some help?”

. . .

The phone rang. A male voice picked up.

“Who is this?”

“What? Huh? Is this Joe Empire?” Crystal was caught off guard.

“Don’t say my name on the phone! Who is this? Ten seconds!””

“This…wait…so this _is_ Joe Empire?”

Click. The line went dead.

“I think he just hung up on me.”

. . .

The phone rang. A male voice picked up.

“Who is this?”

“Is this Joe Empire?”

“Don’t say my name on the phone! Jeez! Who is this? Five seconds!”

“This is Crystal Lassiter. I met you--”

Click. The line went dead.

. . .

The phone rang. A male voice picked up.

“Who is this?”

“This is the Native American girl you met last night.”

“Hey baby! I knew you would be calling me. I could tell the way you were eyeing me last night--”

Click. Crystal hung up the line.

. . .

The phone rang. A male voice picked up.

“Who is this?”

“Listen up fat boy! This Taylor Chu, from library!”

“Oh…the Chinese girl…”

“I’m not Chinese, I’m Korean!”

“Sure…whatever…ten seconds…actually five now…”

“Meet us at the hospital tonight at seven. ”

“Why?”

Click. Taylor hung up the line.

. . .

Crystal followed Taylor down the hospital corridor. The university hospital was a massive maze-like complex, encompassing something like fourteen city blocks, and then morphing into a medical school and urban college campus as it continued sprawling on towards the west side of town, swallowing one building after another as it took over Southside. 

They had parked four blocks away and had been wandering through hallways trying to find the room. At last, they turned down a hallway and Crystal saw Joe, standing by a room door, studying a chart. He was wearing the same trench and backpack, but now he was wearing a Superman baseball cap pulled down low over his eyes and a T-shirt that read “Origins”. When he saw them approach, he shoved the chart back into its holder on the wall and pretended to be looking for the room number.

Crystal brushed past him and pushed open the door. She heard Taylor mutter to him behind her, “Nice phone manners, fat boy.” 

And then Crystal saw Willie Lamar and Brother Cooper.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 1 (5/07/2003) In This Together*

*Session 1 (5/07/2003) In This Together*

“So, let me get this straight, just to make sure I’m not missing anything,” Brother Cooper was a natural when it came to speaking to crowds. It was just a gift he had been given by the Father, and he used it as the Father guided him.

“Last Wednesday, some vandals broke into a church. That might be unrelated, but it might somehow be connected to what happened to us, based on general intuition. Then last night, five men, who got their clothes from a shelter for the homeless, attacked us with knives. Then, as we were being treated in the hospital, the police closed the case without any investigation, and the press never mentioned it either… and then the thugs that survived the attack started vomiting up bugs. Is that the extent of the story as we currently understand it?”

The group was silent for a minute. Their story certainly sounded preposterous, when laid out in its entirety. But they were quite certain about each piece, and none doubted the deadliness of what they had seen so far.

“Well…there may be a little more to it,” Joe admitted.

Brother Cooper raised an eyebrow and coaxed Joe on, “Well, what do you have, Joseph?”

Joe unzipped his backpack and removed the coin book he had taken from the library. He flipped it open to the yellowed photograph he had found earlier. 

The group all gathered around the book (as much as Willie and Brother Cooper could lean in from their beds) and looked at the photograph. The Ward Numismatic Society of 1924 smiled back at them. A dozen faces from eighty years ago, and yet they each saw their own likeness from within that crowd. As the looked on, Joe related all that he had learned about G.B. Ward and the founding of the library and of the Society and of the suburb of Vestavia.

“Where did you get this, son?” Brother Cooper demanded, his voice stern but not angry.

“The library---”

“That’s a library book! You stole a library book, fat boy! You took books from library!”

“Hey, now, easy there, Tae-Bo! I borrowed this book from the library. That’s what libraries are for.” Joe shoved the book back into his backpack and zipped it up again.

“You didn’t check book out! You stole book!” Taylor’s accent was back again and thicker than ever. She apparently took the library thing pretty seriously. 

“Please, Ms. Taylor, I’m afraid I have to agree with Joe here for a moment. I agree he should not normally take things that don’t belong to him, but I would say he should hold onto that book until we figure this thing out.”

The others nodded assent, and Joe smiled. 

“Joe?” Willie spoke up. “Why, specifically, did you go to the library looking for coin-collecting books last night?”

Joe paused and looked nervously around the room. He took a deep breath and began, “I had a weird dream last night.”

Joe then filled everyone in on his dream about the coins and the comic book. When he was done, everyone looked shocked and somehow more deeply afraid. One by one, they each related their own recent dreams. Willie and the coins on his grandfather’s dead eyes. Crystal and the evil cowboy with the silver dollar badge. And Taylor, with her dream of reading a book in the library, but the book was about coins, and the coins flew out of the book and attacked her. Brother Cooper finished by telling his dream of the coin with the Bible quote in his collection plate. As the group listened to the end of his tale, he picked out the page from his Bible, and quoted it back to them:


Genesis 42:28
"My silver has been returned," he said to his brothers. "Here it is in my sack." Their hearts sank and they turned to each other trembling and said, "What is this that God has done to us?"


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 1 (5/07/2003) Late Night Research*

*Session 1 (5/07/2003) Late Night Research*

As it turned out, Joe didn’t have a car either. So Taylor found herself giving rides to both Crystal and Joe. She dropped Crystal off at one of the university libraries. 

Joe clambered out of the backseat and hopped up front. Taylor waited for him to wrap a seat belt around his considerable girth. She realized he smelled vaguely of Cheetos, but tried not to think about it too much, as she asked, “Where to?”

“Could we get back into the library tonight? There’s a few things I would like to look up that I couldn’t find online.”

Taylor thought for a moment. The repairmen had replaced the glass in the library’s front door this morning while she has swept up the broken glass. Mr. and Mrs. Hammack had scrubbed the blood out of the carpet and collected the damaged books before giving her the night off. They had said they would close the library until tomorrow, so it should be deserted. She nodded as she turned south onto Highway 31, “Alright, we can do that.”

. . .

The parking lot was dark, except for a small pool of light from a lonely lamppost set far from the front door. Normally, there was a light over the front door that was kept on at night, but with no one here, it apparently had not been turned on. 

The front door looked completely repaired, though there was still some tape and some kind of caulk around the edges. The window that Joe had crashed through twenty-four hours earlier was covered over with a sheet of plywood. There was a single lamp on inside at the front desk, enough to see the little orange pylon and makeshift ‘wet floor’ sign that Mrs. Hammack had put up just inside.

Joe shuffled his feet back and forth and watched the parking lot as Taylor opened the front door. He sounded like he was nervous, but was trying to hide it, “So, you been working here long?”

“Nope. Only three weeks.” The lock was sticking. Perhaps the door had been bent when the men crashed through it.

“Oh, that’s not long. What did you do before this?”

“You know that library we dropped Crystal off at earlier? I was a librarian there.” The door finally opened, and they headed inside. Taylor flipped a couple of light switches, and the place was bathed in golden light. She locked the doors behind them. Joe moved over to the front desk and then stopped and looked around the room. 

“Where’s a computer?”

“There’s one behind the front desk, but it’s old.”

Joe started to walk around the front desk. “I just want to look up some books to see what you have.” 

Taylor adopted a wide grin. “Sorry, no luck.”

Joe ignored her and moved over to the computer. “Don’t worry. I’m good with computers. I can-”

He stopped. She wasn’t kidding. This computer was *old*. It was an old Apple II, with a monochrome monitor that looked like it was held together by the mound of sticky notes plastered over its top and sides. To its right was an old dot matrix printer loaded with greenbar.

“Are you _serious_?” He looked like he had just seen a ghost. 

Taylor nodded with a deeply suffering look, “It doesn’t have a catalog. It just does memberships and tracks what people check out. It doesn’t even have a modem.” She had not complained to anyone about it before, but now that she had someone to show it too, she had to vent some frustration.

“That’s insane,” Joe looked disgusted.

“No, what’s insane is that we used to have a bunch of computers. Like four of five brand new ones, and they took them all away when I started working here.”

Joe paused and looked at her with one eyebrow raised. “Okay, china girl, you want that by me again?”

“Ok, again, I’m not Chinese, I’m Korean.”

Joe waited. 

“Well, I started working here three weeks ago.” She had to admit, now that she started saying it out loud, there was a lot that she had accepted that was a little bit strange about the job. “I was working at Sterne library. That’s the big one at UAB. I’m studying for my doctorate in Sociology.”

Joe moved over to the card catalog. He cracked the knuckles on each hand before pulling open a drawer and flipping cards.

“So, anyway, one day I get a call for Mr. Hammack. He’s my boss here. Anyway, he called and offered me a job here as an assistant librarian, just working nights. And he offered me a lot of money…actually way, way more money than a librarian ought to be making. Especially somebody without a degree in Library Science whose only library experience was part time work at the university.”

Joe perked up and turned around, “How much?”

“Well…almost three times what I should be getting paid.”

“And you still drive that piece of crap?”

“Well, I’ve only been working here three wee—Hey, at least I have a car, fat boy.”

Joe pulled a small notebook from his backpack and copied down a number from a card in the catalog. 

“So anyway, I took the job. And when I got here, they were doing a lot of changes. Weird stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Like, they removed all the computers, and the internet access. And they replaced the computer at the desk with that piece of junk. And they completely removed the entire children’s section, plus the government publications section and the whole entire section on literary critiques.”

Joe was clearly lost from the look on his face. Taylor couldn’t tell if he was looking for a specific section of the library, or if she had lost him somewhere in her story. He paused at one bookshelf in the local history section and then turned a corner while asking, “Okay, so what does all of that mean in English?”

“Well…it means they just removed the three most popular sections of the library….plus they removed the computers and internet access, which means they removed the other big reason people come in here. Then, they removed the community bulletin board area and they started charging fees for people to use the meeting rooms. And then they cancelled pretty much every community event we had for the last month.”

“I’m not following you,” Joe muttered, while counting books with his finger, looking for a particular title.

“Well, I thought it was just budget cutbacks at the time, or maybe Mr. Hamack had gone a little senile. He acts senile actually quite a bit.” Taylor frowned and thought more about it. Budget cutbacks didn’t really make any sense considering the salary they were paying her. “But anyhow, looking at it now, I think they were doing this all deliberately. I think they wanted people to stop coming to the library.”

Joe pulled two books of the shelf and motioned Taylor over to one of the tables. He was already flipping open one of the books as he asked, “Why would they want people to stop coming to the library?”

“I don’t know,” Taylor admitted. “But I’ve been working nights mostly for the past three weeks. And we’ve been open until ten every night. And in that whole time, no one has ever come in after dark until last night when you all came in.”

Joe paused and looked up from the book, “And we all show up at the same time, and five minutes later, all hell breaks loose.”

“Exactly.”

. . .

_Blotta-blotta-blotta-caaaarip-blotta-blotta-blotta-blotta-blotta-caaarip._

The old dot-matrix printer finished its job and scrolled out the last page. Taylor scrolled an additional page out of the dusty machine and carefully tore the paper along the perforated line. After folding the paper up into a neat thirty-page pile, she turned off the computer and headed back over to Joe’s table.

“Here’s the list of library patrons. One thousand forty-two people.”

Joe folded the stack one more time and shoved it into his backpack. He flipped the page back on his notebook and spun it around to face Taylor. “Take a look at this.”

Taylor pulled the notebook over and glanced at his notes. Joe had neat handwriting. Boyish handwriting, not feminine, but very neat. She actually thought the handwriting looked familiar for a minute and then realized what it was. His handwriting looked exactly like the printing in a comic book. She sighed, rolled her eyes, and started reading.

Joe had been searching for information about G.B. Ward, the Ward Numismatic Society, and for any information about the history of the library. He had a stack of books in front of him from the library’s local history section, plus several boxes of files from the library’s business records. 

According to his notes, the library was not technically a public library at all. At least legally, it was a private library, owned and operated by and for the Ward Numismatic Society. But in terms of how it operated on a day-to-day basis, and how it presented itself to the public, it was a normal public library.

The Society apparently owned a separate entity known as the Friends of the Library. This separate entity actually owned the library and had funded its work since the beginning. 

In the past decade, the library had been further financially supported by large contributions from local philanthropist Dick Scorse, from South-Medical. 

. . .


Crystal didn’t have time for this. She had her Choctaw Oral Histories paper due next Monday, and she was already behind on it after that fiasco last night.

But, she was already right next to the microfiche machine, and there was no one using it. She could afford a few minutes.

She sat down at the little indexing computer and typed in a few search terms. After a moment, the screen returned a handful of possible matches. Selecting the oldest match available, Crystal wrote down the number and brought it over to the librarian. 

A moment later, the librarian handed her a microfiche cartridge. Crystal fed it into the slot on the side of the machine and twiddled the knobs over to the appropriate coordinates. 

The image on the screen was a negative of the Birmingham News, dated a little over six years ago. It was an article about the completion of the new Mountain View Church in Vestavia. Crystal hit the print button and then skimmed the article for any important facts, but there wasn’t much to go on. 

The Church was built six years ago, funded entirely by private contributions. In an inspiring little anecdote, the pastor relayed to the reporter how he had been offering services in a small makeshift building while attempting to raise money for the main construction. He had asked the parishioners to fill out pledge cards stating their name and the amount of money they could donate to the new construction. The pastor had asked that each person try to donate one hundred dollars, but that they could take as little as a dollar if that was all that someone could manage. 

One particular parishioner had turned in his pledge slip, and signed it. The amount listed was seven hundred thousand dollars. The name on the slip was local philanthropist Dick Scorse, from South-Medical.

Well, anyhow, nothing useful for their current situation, but she would definitely save the article to show the others when she saw them again. With that taken care of, Crystal proceeded to get back to her homework.


----------



## Old Drew Id

Finally done with session 1. Whew! I will take a breather and try to post the start of session 2 tomorrow morning. 

Thanks for reading!


----------



## fenzer

Drew, this is fantastic work.  Your writing is descriptive and easy to read.  It is a real treat.

I love the characters and your development of them.  Joe is perfect and the reverend Cooper is spot on.  I love how he calls Joe Joseph.  All the characters are a treat.  Thanks for the hard work and a great story.  

So, when do we get another update?


----------



## spyscribe

Pfew.  Great work.  

I just read straight through from the beginning and especially appreciate the character introductions.  Enough information to work with, but not so much to be confusing.  That's a tough line to walk and you did it well.


----------



## (contact)

*Re: Joe Empire*



			
				Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> [BThen you got tired and passed out in front of the TV, under a protective layer of Cheetos.  [/B]




Love it.  I resemble this remark.  After having read through the SH, I just want to point out that:

1) White people are crazy,
2) The comic-book guy is probably right,
3) When that many patrons of a library are strapped, Something Is Deeply Wrong, and
4) White people are crazy.


----------



## carpedavid

Fantastic. I just found a new story hour to start reading on a regular basis. Between you, jonrog, Piratecat, and Sagiro, I'm never going to get anything done at work.

More, more!


----------



## ledded

*medallions*

This is the guy who plays Willie Lamar in this story, and I just wanted to say that Old Drew ID has done a great job writing up our game, but the game itself is 100 times more interesting than the reading... it's one of those games that makes you wish you didnt have to work so you could play more ;^)

One thing to note:  when we started, against popular convention, *noone* decided to play a super-soldier gunslinger violence freak... every one of these characters started as normal people with classes like smart hero and charismatic hero, with fairly normal stats, faults, problems and a typical life which makes it even more interesting.  Even Willie is a charismatic hero... he just *acts*like he's a bad-*&& (charm:female, of course, 'cause he's the private dick that gets all the chicks...).

In-game we all bicker and argue in-character just like a group as disparate as this one would actually do, which increases the fun 10-fold IMO.

Great job on the GM'ing and the writing Old Drew Id


----------



## Spatula

Drew, that was great!  And what an odd mix of characters, rules-wise (the only one with a 'combat' class is an overweight geek!) and roles-wise.  Did everyone make their characters individually, or as a group?  With two Smarts and two Charismatics, it seems like there's a good chance for a lot of overlap in abilities.

And kudos to whoever chose to play the Comic Book Guy.  Hilarious.


----------



## Pierce

*Characters*

Spatula:

I play *Guyzell*, the preacher.  Like ledded said, we all came up with our own characters.  Once we got together, we realized that no one was very good at combat - I didn't even have the Personal Firearms feat.  Stack that with a 9 DEX and you've got a character with a shotgun with a -5 to hit.  Fortunately, Drew is very good at setting up adventures that match up with the party's abilities while still presenting a good challenge.  I think we ended up with four combats in this episode (which spans 30-40 hours of playing time) - just enough to make it dangerous and fun, but not anything that would result in a TPK without horrendous rolls.

What's funny is that we've all got backup characters (sometimes multiple backups) for if/when our primaries get killed.  I think out of the 6 or so backups in the group, only one or two of those are combat oriented.  Maybe it's just a symptom of d20 - it seems to lend itself to being less combat-focused that D&D.  Maybe it's that we've been playing D&D (in this group) for three years now and we're ready for something different as a whole.  Or maybe it's that we're a bunch of dummies and are begging to get slaughtered.... who can say??


----------



## Kradge

*Silly question*

First off, love the story hour Drew. Just one of the many ways a d20 Modern game can go and definitely sounds like alot of fun. On top of that I'm a Birminghamer and the references to the city make it all the more entertaining a read. I do have a question though, rather silly, but is Empire comics based on a real store? Three or four years ago I was a regular at a Hoover gaming store that closed down recently. Now that I'm just another working slob/Ph.D student I was thinking about looking around and finding a good local store so I could avoid sending my money off to Amazon.com land. Thanks in advance and keep up the great work.


----------



## ledded

*Re: Silly question*



			
				Kradge said:
			
		

> *First off, love the story hour Drew. Just one of the many ways a d20 Modern game can go and definitely sounds like alot of fun. On top of that I'm a Birminghamer and the references to the city make it all the more entertaining a read. I do have a question though, rather silly, but is Empire comics based on a real store? <snip> *




Well, I'll answer that as a yes-and-no.  There was actually an Empire comics in the Cahaba Heights suburb that recently changed it's name to Legion, and while I'm sure there has been some inspiration on that players part from some shopping there, Joe Empire is that particular players own spin, and spin is something he does very well.  He never plans or works up stuff though... everything he says and does (and most of the quotes are things that he actually did or said) is totally off the cuff and Johnny-on-the-spot.  There is never a dull moment playing with him.  Or any of them for that matter.

Jim aka Willie Lamar


----------



## ledded

Spatula said:
			
		

> *Drew, that was great!  And what an odd mix of characters, rules-wise (the only one with a 'combat' class is an overweight geek!) and roles-wise.  Did everyone make their characters individually, or as a group?  With two Smarts and two Charismatics, it seems like there's a good chance for a lot of overlap in abilities.
> 
> And kudos to whoever chose to play the Comic Book Guy.  Hilarious. *




Like Pierceatwork said, we just all followed our muse, threw meta-gaming out of the window, and made characters that were some reflection of something we thought would be interesting and fun to play.   And as far as skill overlap, somehow we always manage to make our stuff our own, and Drew Id always manages to give every player a chance to "shine" in their own right.  Example:  Willie and Guyzell are both Charismatic guys, and both even have the Charm talent.  But Willie is a street-wise, fast-talking, intimidating, establishment-mistrusting womanizing black man;  Guyzell specializes is more of a good ole boy who specializes in the scriptures and turning the hearts of men towards the Good Word.  Instead of stepping on each other, they tend to not only team-up in investigating but truly complement each other because of the totally disparate way we play them.  Simply, we make the best charismatic good cop/bad cop combo you'll ever meet.  Kind of like a twisted buddy cop movie ;^).


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 2 (5/14/2003) The Mission*

*Session 2 (5/14/2003) The Mission*

Willie hobbled out to the truck, leaning heavily on a black orthopedic cane. He was dressed in ragged dirty jeans, old loafers, and a yellow paint-stained T-shirt. In his free hand, he held a small bottle wrapped in a plain brown paper sack.

Brother Cooper leaned over and tugged on the door handle to swing the passenger door open for him. The effort pulled on the stitches in his abdomen, and he winced as he leaned back into the driver’s seat. 

“Wilson, the doctors told me I was okay to check out today, but I think you’re a dern fool for leaving the hospital in your condition. Two nights in the hospital following a knife wound like you had…well that’s just not enough time for your body to heal” he preached, as Willie groaned his way into the waiting vehicle. “And you may want to watch where you’re putting your hand there.”

Willie looked up and realized that, in looking for a suitable handhold to help him climb into the truck, he had grabbed the butt of Guyzell’s shotgun in the truck’s gun rack. He carefully eased his hand away from the weapon and finished sliding into the cab. He grunted, “I’m alright, preacher. And ya know, I do appreciate your advice. Between you and my Gramms, I’m stocked up on advice and fussing over me for quite a while.”

“Alright, alright, just trying to help you out,” Brother Cooper offered, and pulled his Stetson down a little tighter onto his head. He pulled out onto the street and the pickup truck headed downtown. “So what’s the plan here tonight?”

“Well,” Willie considered. “I figure you’re good for going in and volunteering; maybe talking to the folks running the place. I figured I would try to fit in with some of the boys coming in for dinner and try to talk to them.”

Brother Cooper looked over again at Willie’s cheap and tattered clothes. “Well, you certainly do look the part.”

. . .

“Well, Reverend Cooper, it is always a pleasure to welcome a new volunteer,” the soup kitchen manager beamed, “and especially when said volunteer is a man of the cloth.” The thin man spoke with a lilt in his voice, but otherwise seemed completely worn-out, which seemed far too typical for a charity worker. “While the St. James Mission is of course officially non-denominational, all of us pretty much feel that we’re doing God’s work here.”

“There’s no finer work that a man can do, brother,” Guyzell agreed. “I just want to do what I can. Just point out what you want me to do, and I’ll be glad to get started.”

“Glad to hear it. We have a hard time getting enough volunteers on weeknights, and I’m just really glad to have someone here tonight.”

A few minutes later, Guyzell was wearing a too-tight apron and stirring a giant pot of cheap instant soup in the industrial-grade kitchen, while the mission manager was off setting up folding tables in the other room. 

Taking a moment to snoop around, Guyzell found a small storage room in a hallway between the kitchen and a stairwell. Poking his head inside, he found several half-empty boxes with the Project: Together logo stamped on the side. The lots of clothing had definitely been passed out here then.

As he returned to the kitchen, the preacher spotted a clipboard hanging from a nail on the wall, next to a phone. Taking a moment to look over the papers there, he found a contact list for all of the common volunteers at the Mission, complete with their cell phone numbers. He was proud to see that, among about fifty names on the list, he recognized at least a couple of the names as members of his church. 

Guyzell paused and looked around the room for a pen or some paper, but couldn’t find anything usable. There wasn’t another copy of the list handy, and it was too long to try to memorize. After a moment, he stuck the paper under his cowboy hat, and headed back outside. 

The manager was still setting up tables. Guyzell nodded to him and said that he just needed to run out to his truck for a minute to make a phone call. The manager waved him on and smiled wearily. 

Passing the growing line of hungry homeless men, Guyzell tried to avoid eye contact with Willie. He moved on to his truck and slide inside, closing the door behind him. He dialed a number on his cell phone while removing the paper from his hat. After a moment, an answering machine picked up:

“Hi, this is Brother Guyzell Cooper. I am sorry, but I am unable to take your call at this time…”

After the machine beeped, Guyzell began reading off names and numbers into the phone.

. . .

Willie hobbled down the sidewalk, leaning heavily on his cane. He knew the cane was a good prop for the part, but he hated that he actually did need the damn thing to help him stand up. His leg was throbbing and sore from the ankle to up above his hip. 

The doc had given him a scrip for some pain meds, but he didn’t want to take anything if he could help it. For one thing, he didn’t want to be hopped up on something in case bullets started flying, and for another, he had seen a couple of old friends back in his days in the Marines that had enjoyed the stuff a little too much. Not to mention that he didn’t have the cash to pay for a refill if he needed one.

He was now reconsidering the whole idea earlier about having the preacher drop him off a few blocks away so he could walk up to the Mission separately and not arouse suspicion. His leg was not up for a three block jaunt through downtown, and he was sweating with the effort. 

Finally, around the next corner, he saw the sign for the St. James Mission for the Homeless. Several of the lights had burned out on the sign, but he didn’t imagine the place’s clientele had much concern with the look of the place. 

There were already about two dozen men waiting in line out front. Willie wondered how some of them had come to this sorry state, and felt a strong sense of compassion for them, and a sudden urge to find justice for them. That urge for justice felt strong; it felt like it was a source of strength; and actually seemed to drive back some of the pain in his leg. But as he drew closer, he couldn’t help but start looking for weapons. He couldn’t trust these men, not after two nights ago… at least not yet. 

The men were forming a basic line, waiting for the call to dinner, and to be allowed inside for the night. They waited, lined up in the sidewalk, standing or sitting, leaning back against the brick building, with its barred windows and chipping paint. 

“Damn, brother, you look like _hell_,” one of the men offered. He was a wiry older black man, thin and with sallow cheekbones. He wore a mix of borrowed clothing, including a faded Atlanta Braves cap and mismatched shoes. 

“Thanks, bro…you should see the other guy,” Willie joked, as he hobbled up closer to the man. He winced as he stepped up over a break in the concrete, and didn’t have to pretend to show off the pain in his face.

“Here, boy, you come here and sit down right now. Quincy, get yo’ butt outta the way. Can’t you see we got a man injured here?” the Atlanta Braves fan motioned for one of his companions to clear out a spot, and he motioned Willie over to sit down. 

“Thanks, bro,” Willie repeated, and sank down onto the sidewalk. The two men helped him down and then sat back down on either side of him. Willie suddenly felt very foolish, and more than a little depressed. He had just had two homeless men taking pity on him. There was something just plain wrong with that. 

Willie introduced himself to the two men. The talkative one introduced himself as Jones, and he re-introduced Quincy. 

“So, how long ‘til we eat?” Willie wondered aloud, and looked to see how long the line was ahead of them.

“Why? You got somewhere you got to be?” Jones joked, and Quincy laughed hoarsely. 

“No,” Willie grinned. “Just seeing if I had time for a drink.” He fished the bottle out of his pocket, and, looking both ways to make sure no one was watching, took a quick swig. 

“Hey, brother, you didn’t say you was holdin’!” Jones whispered, and checked to see if anyone else had seen. “You know, they won’t let you take that inside.”

Willie paused, as if considering his options. “Well, then, you guys wanna help me finish this out here, before we go in?”

Jones and Quincy eagerly agreed, and the three began passing the bottle back and forth. Neither of the homeless men seemed to notice that Willie wasn’t really drinking when he put the bottle to his lips. 

“So, what’s up in the hood these days?” Willie asked as he took another fake-drink. “I ain’t been in town for a while.”

Jones eyed him sideways, and Willie wondered if somehow he had blown his cover. But the homeless man was not looking so much at Willie as he was checking out the street on either side, as though he wanted to be careful of who might be listening. After assuring himself that they were not going to be overheard, he whispered, “Well, you sure picked a bad time to come back to town, Willie.”

“Why? What’s going down?”

“I don’t know, but I’m just saying…the line won’t be too long for dinner tonight.” Jones took the last of the bottle, and then casually wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He looked over at Quincy, who nodded in agreement.

“Whaddaya mean, Jones, my man? What you guys talking ‘bout?”

“I don’t know, man. But…okay…it’s like this,” Jones started. “A few days ago, like last week or so, I was under the overpass, over there on Seventh? So, I woke up in the middle of the night, and there was a bunch of us under there, on account of it was raining. And this white van stopped under there, and a bunch of the guys went over to it. And then they all got in the van, and it drove off.”

Willie paused, waiting for the rest of the story. But Jones seemed satisfied, as though the tale spoke for itself. Finally, Willie had to push him, “And…?”

“…And we ain’t seen any of those guys since,” Jones finished. “And they ain’t the only ones that come up missing neither. Past couple weeks…ten, maybe fifteen guys gone.”

Quincy, who had so far been quite on the subject, nodded agreement. “Just like that….gone forever.”


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 2 (5/14/2003) The Corporation*

*Session 2 (5/14/2003) The Corporation*

He was tall, white, strongly-built, and bald. He wore a conservative sunglasses and a sharp dark suit, like a lawyer or a game show host. He wore a thick ring on an off-finger, probably a school ring or a corporate anniversary present. He walked straight in from the door and over to the front desk without looking around.

“I need help finding a book.”

Taylor nodded without getting up, “You’re in luck. This is a library.”

If he caught the sarcasm, he ignored it. He announced simply, “The title is Coin Collecting in the Southeast, 1900-1950.”

Taylor winced, and blinked. Okay, don’t look surprised, don’t look shocked…damn, probably completely blown that by now… “Um…okay, I have…never heard of it. I will…see if we have it.”

She rolled her chair over to the desk computer, glad that the man could not see the monitor from where he was standing. The prehistoric computer she had here could not actually access the card catalog, but this man probably didn’t know that. Hopefully. 

She typed a few characters into the computer. Specifically, she typed “if I get killed and someone finds this note on the computer”… but couldn’t figure out what to put next. After a moment’s pause, trying to pretend that the computer was searching, she turned back to the man.

“Sorry, it looks like that book is checked out. If you want, I can get your name and contact y--”

The man smiled ever so slightly, without showing teeth. He nodded and turned around. He was through the door before she was done talking. 

Taylor stood and just stared for a moment, trying to think of a plan. She heard a car start in the parking lot. Grabbing a pen and pad from her desk, she ran to the window, and as the car sped away, she wrote down a license plate number.

. . .

“Jefferson County Sheriff’s Office. This is Lucille. How may I direct your call?”

“Lucille? Hey baby, this is Willie.”

Lucille actually stopped and set down the fingernail file. “Willie? Slick Willie Lamar? Boy, you got a lot of nerve calling me.”

“Oh, now, come on baby. Don’t be like that.” His voice was smooth as silk.

“Uh-huh. I talked to my girl Shantrice,” Lucille’s head involuntarily bobbled from one side to another as her attitude started to get going. “Uh-huh, don’t you be calling me baby and starting in with me. She told me all about what you was doing.”

“Baby, please. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

She swore she could hear Barry White playing in the background on the other end of the line. “Uh-huh. Don’t you even try to play those games with me Willie. She told me how you was out with her cousin and how you was saying you was out working---”

“I _was_ working baby. She’s crazy, now you _know_ Shantrice’s whole family is crazy. They ain’t like your us normal folks baby. Not you know I ain’t lying, Lucille.”

“She don’t have to be crazy to see you out with her cousin,” Lucille had to admit Willie was right. Shantrice’s whole family was crazier than a box of glue.

“I wasn’t out with her cousin, Lucille. Now come on, baby. You know me better than that,” his voice never wavered. Lucille had worked in a police station long enough to hear plenty of guys pleading their case, and Willie sure did sound sincere. “Seriously, baby, I was working, and she was there at that bowling alley, and I don’t know why she was there.”

“Uh-huh.” Well, Lucille though, it’s possible he really didn’t do anything wrong.

“…and besides, baby. You know me better than that. I wouldn’t take a girl out to no bowling alley for a date. When I’m with a lady, I take her someplace nice.”

“Uh-huh” That was true, from what she had heard. Willie did treat a girl nice on a date. He ought to know how, from how many girls she knew that he had been out with.

“Now you know that’s true baby. Like if I was to take you out on a date? I would take you out for a steak dinner… then maybe some dancing”

“You wanna take me dancing?” One thing she did know, was that Willie was supposed to be a good dancer…among other things.

“Sure baby! I would love to take you dancing,” he crooned. “Come on, baby, let’s you and me go dancing this weekend.”

She stopped, held her breath, and counted to five. No sense looking over-eager here. Finally, she answered him, “Okay, but it better be nice, and I better not end up hearing about you and _my_ cousin. Oh, and you better have a car!”

“Of course baby! Yeah, I’ll pick you up Friday night. It’s gonna be great baby,” he agreed. 

His voice did sound very sweet over the phone. It sounded even sweeter when he continued, “…say baby, as long as I got you on the phone, I got some license plate numbers here…”

. . .

The phone rang. A male voice picked up.

"Who is this?"

"Joe?" Willie was caught off guard.

"Don't say my name on the phone! Who is this? Ten seconds!""

"Joe, how many six-foot-tall black men with a knife wound in their leg do you know?"

“Oh… hi Willie,” Joe answered.

“Look, Joe, I got some info from a friend of mine, and Crystal said you were looking things up on your computer for South-Medical, so I wanted to compare notes with you.”

“Yeah, she can’t stop talking about me. Really, it’s kinda embarrassing.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing, Willie. Yeah, I do have some notes for you. You first.”

“Okay, I had a friend run a background check on that detective, Rich Hall. He is clean. Good record. Been a police detective for ten years. Married. No kids. Two cars. Owns his own house, got an address here,” Willie read off a street address. “No criminal history. He looks clean, at least on paper.”

“Okay, I’ll see if I can find anything else here. I can get to the network where… well, anyhow, I would like to know everything else I can about this guy… So what else you got?”

“Okay, my friend also ran the plates from that guy that Taylor saw this morning. Ready for this? Name’s Jack Bolling. Ex-marine. House…no… make that a mansion in Mountain Brook. Has a license to carry concealed, and a federal arms dealer’s license. Job is listed as Director of Security for South-Medical.”

“South-Medical?! Hang on!” Willie could hear Joe typing furiously on the other end of the line.

About thirty seconds passed. Joe suddenly announced, “Got it. Jack Bolling. Started at South-Medical seven years ago…as a messenger. In seven years, he went from the mail room to director of security. He’s definitely on the list.”

“What list?”

“Oh, right. Get this,” Joe sounded like an excited kid talking about a new game he had found. “So Crystal did some research on that Church, with the vandalism, right? And it turns out that Dick Scorse, you know, from South-Medical? Well he donated a bunch of money for that Church to be built. Nothing strange there, right? But it also turns out that he donated a bunch of money to the library.”

“Hmmm”

“Wait, it gets weirder. So, I started looking at South-Medical, and I got records on a bunch of different guys that got promoted, like, way, way too fast. Basically, a bunch of guys that moved up through the ranks faster than they should have. And get this, the top four of them at least are all vice-presidents now, and they are all listed as card-carrying members in the rolls at the library.”

“Hmmm… okay, Joe, I’m sure this all makes sense in conspiracy-land but-”

“Wait, so then I called Taylor and she checked, and none of these guys have ever checked out a book. But they have all been members of the library it looks like since they started work at South-Medical. I don’t know about this guy Bolling but I can check on him.”

“Okay…so what does that all mean in the real world?”

“Um… I don’t know. But they’re all involved in it. They’re all in on it.”

“Uh-huh… in on what?”

“The conspiracy”

“Okay, Joe, well, I’ll leave you to that. I just have one more question.”

“Shoot.”

“Do you know where I could borrow a car for Friday night?”


----------



## Spatula

ledded said:
			
		

> *And as far as skill overlap, somehow we always manage to make our stuff our own, and Drew Id always manages to give every player a chance to "shine" in their own right.  Example:  Willie and Guyzell are both Charismatic guys, and both even have the Charm talent.  But Willie is a street-wise, fast-talking, intimidating, establishment-mistrusting womanizing black man;  Guyzell specializes is more of a good ole boy who specializes in the scriptures and turning the hearts of men towards the Good Word.  Instead of stepping on each other, they tend to not only team-up in investigating but truly complement each other because of the totally disparate way we play them.  Simply, we make the best charismatic good cop/bad cop combo you'll ever meet.  Kind of like a twisted buddy cop movie ;^). *



I'll look forward to seeing that...   So Willie has charm (the ladies) and Guyzell has charm (males)?  At least there you're covering each other's blindspots.


----------



## Spatula

Tsk, tsk, Joe should know better than to speak so frankly about The Conspiracy on the phone.


----------



## RedAnt

This story hour is amazing!

...

I'm stealing everything that isn't bolted down.


----------



## Harp

Spatula said:
			
		

> *Tsk, tsk, Joe should know better than to speak so frankly about The Conspiracy on the phone. *




Ah, you can hardly blame the guy for letting his guard down in the face of an _actual_ conspiracy.  

EXCELLENT story hour, by the way.


----------



## Pierce

*Guyzell's a Charming Man*



			
				Spatula said:
			
		

> *I'll look forward to seeing that...   So Willie has charm (the ladies) and Guyzell has charm (males)?  At least there you're covering each other's blindspots. *




When I was creating Guyzell, I specifically had the old-time revivalist preacher in mind.  I knew I wanted to make him a charismatic and start with the Charm talent.  It really didn't make any sense for him to have Charm (female), as he's more interested in his relationship with God and his congregation than he could be with a woman.  Plus, there's a bit of good-ole-boy in him; he's not a misogynist, but he tends to think women are the "gentler sex" and thus are not normally in positions of power.  He considers the husband the head of the family and will always speak to him first or ask his opinion, feeling that the wife will "fall in line."  Therefore, he spends more of his energy interacting with men than women.

Please note that this is _roleplaying_ and does not reflect the personal opinions of the player (me)!  

If anyone's interested, I can post his history.


----------



## fenzer

Thanks for the updates Drew.  

Pierce, I would love to see character histories, yours and all the rest too.


----------



## ledded

*Re: Guyzell's a Charming Man*

Originally posted by Spatula 
I'll look forward to seeing that...  So Willie has charm (the ladies) and Guyzell has charm (males)? At least there you're covering each other's blindspots. 



			
				pierceatwork said:
			
		

> *
> 
> <snip Pierceatworks creation process>
> 
> Please note that this is roleplaying and does not reflect the personal opinions of the player (me)!
> 
> If anyone's interested, I can post his history. *




Similar process for my man, Willie... and note that until the first night, none of us knew anything about each others character at all except for maybe some broad statement, like I think I told a couple of the guys I was going to play a "black P.I. character".  So we get there, get the really cool handouts, initially meet everyone, then 2 minutes later combat erupts.  Later, we just all kind of fell together as our talents fit, though there is a lot more in-character bickering (particularly non-"politically correct") than the story shows, mainly because it is such a diverse group, and we have good *really* good players.  And the GM's PC/NPC is an abusive little hussy ;^).


----------



## Welverin

Good show!

Guess that's all I have to say for now.


----------



## Pierce

*Guyzell's History*

Guyzell was born in Eastaboga, AL on July 18, 1965.  His parents, Thomas and Barbara, were dirt poor farmers, raising hogs for their income.  When he was 18, Guyzell moved to Birmingham to take a job as a car salesman.  After a number of years bouncing from dealership to dealership, he found himself pretty much broke and on the edge of homelessness.  One weekend in the spring of 1989 he was driving out to see his parents when his old truck finally broke down.  He ended up hitching to the nearest exit and then walking to Embry Crossroads.  Searching for a pay phone to call his folks, he stumbled across a tent revival in an old used car lot.  Even though he was raised Christian, his family had rarely gone to church; there was always too much work to do around the farm.  The clapping and singing intrigued him and he decided to check it out.  Four hours later, he had been baptized and saved.

After the service, the minister, John Frankenhowser, invited Guyzell and a few others to his house to eat and talk about Jesus.  The talk lasted long into the night and finally left Guyzell and Frankenhowser alone.  The minister, an old but hale man, saw something special in Guyzell and decided to confide in him.  He told Guyzell that the Devil was not just an idea - He was real and active in the world.  Old Scratch was always getting people into trouble, hurting the innocent and yes, even possessing the bodies and harvesting the souls of the unsaved.  He showed Guyzell the scars he had received in battle with Satan's minions, showed him pictures of beasts that weren't in the encyclopedia.  When Guyzell still wasn't completely convinced, Frankenhowser took him into the basement.  There lay what looked to be a mummified body, but it definitely wasn't human.  There were bat wings attached to the thing's back.  It had two-inch long horns coming out of its forehead.  Guyzell could make out the points of fangs parting the desiccated lips.  And the whole thing simply stank of evil.  Frankenhowser told him of how he had managed to defeat the demon with the help of his old partner a few months ago and in the process his partner had been killed.  He knew from experience that the demon wasn't completely destroyed, but he hadn't been able to get together all the necessary components to do so.  He was forced to remain with the body to ensure its state each night and could not leave long enough to get the supplies.  In the end, Guyzell volunteered to retrieve the needed objects - a sprig of mistletoe bathed in the mists of Niagara Falls (an extremely holy place), a child's boot and a condor's feather.  After a few weeks of flying across the country (Frankenhowser has quite a few resources available), Guyzell brought back the three components and Frankenhowser was able to banish the demon.

Frankenhowser made Guyzell his new partner in the fight against Satan and funded the beginnings of his evangelistic campaign.  Frankenhowser is nearly too old to go "adventuring," preferring instead to stay in Embry Crossroads and hold his weekly revivals.  Occasionally he will call on Guyzell if he hears of a menace in the area, but normally just helps him write sermons and brainstorm ways to attract people to the Faith.

In the last 10 years, Guyzell has been able to build a respectable congregation and has a weekly show on cable access.  His videotaped Sunday morning services are broadcast the following Thursday afternoon from 2:30 to 4pm.

Guyzell is an avid reader and has a large and varied collection of books.


----------



## ledded

*Willie Lamar's history*

Willie was born Wilson James Lamar in Birmingham on August 8, 1968, the second of 4 children, living in a low income section of Birmingham's West End.  His father left right after his youngest brother was born and last he heard he was doing construction work in Seattle, not that Willie cares, leaving his family having to lean heavily on his grandparents and many cousins.  His younger brother died in a night of violence when Willie was 17, labelled as "gang related" and given only half-hearted investigation by local authorities.  Not long after, his patriarchal grandfather, James, passed away of a heart attack.  Willie himself started on a downward spiraling path as his mother, having to work 2 jobs to make ends meet, was unable to spend the time he needed with him.  His strong-willed grandmother soon took charge, "convincing" Willie to join the marines so he could stay out of trouble and get an education.  Two years later, he found himself lost on the nighttime streets of Basra, separated from his unit.  While trying to slip out unnoticed, he came across a column of marines pinned down by assailants using women and children civilians as a human shield to escape return fire.  Enraged, Willie uncharacteristically charged into the building and managed to subdue most of the men with a lot of luck, a well-timed grenade, and an angry rifle butt to the head.  The tail end of his 'heroics' ("Hey, they were bustin' up the only ride out of town I could find... what was I gonna do?  I aint no hero") were conveniently captured on camera by a helicopter responding to the column's call for help.  He later received a bronze star for his actions, was honorably discharged at his request, and enjoyed a little press time at home.

Back in Birmingham, he renewed his interest in investigating his bother's death, and parlayed his 15 minutes of fame into a job with the Jefferson Country Sheriff's department and a marriage with his wife, Sharon.  After being passed over for promotion to detective several times (racially motivated, in Willie's opionion, since he had a great record and did well on exams), Willie responded to an older senior watch commander's negative comments with a righteous right cross.  He was given the option to 'quit' with a good record, or be brought up on charges.  He chose the former, and after months of joblessness, sunk into a bout of despair and alchoholism which quickly cost him his marriage (she actually had the nerve to tell him he had "anger management issues", which really pissed him off).  Again, his Grams came to his aid, forced him to clean up and got him a job with his cousins Bail Bondsman company, taking night classes to 
become a private detective.  It's not fun work, especially the bail skips, but it's work.

When he met the group, he was working terrible infidelity cases for his cousin, trying to gather evidence with a pocket full of disposable cameras on long nights in the rain since his 35mm had to go to pawn a while back.  His '79 Lincoln Continental is in the shop till he has enough money to get it out, and the really bad part of bumming rides is trying to maintain that cool/tough image when his Grams drops him off and fusses over him while making  him take a sack lunch.  At least he has figured out how to get out of the car quick enough to avoid the motherly kisses, though the woman is positively obsessed with clean socks.  He has struck up 
an unlikely friendship with the other group members in lieu of Joe and Taylors occasional off-color remarks ("No, just because I'm *black* doesnt mean I can pick a d*mn lock!  You watch too much TV.") and feels close them, even though they share little in common.  He has started attending services at Brother Guyzell's, who he respects not only as a man of God but also as a person, which has elated his Grams to no end.

Willie is a tall black man with a winning smile, thin for his height, who has found he has a gift for relating to other people... particularly women.  With the right word or look, he can go from a smiling confidant to a looming intimidator, and generally believes that the proper amount of smiles or stares can do amazing things, however he always carries his chrome-plated .44 magnum revolver in case the situation warrants a more 'solid' backing up.  He does try to not let his temper get the better of him, though he is quick to rant about injustices done to him and other poor people (real or imagnined).  He tries to dress well, coming across a bit dated because of his limited financial resources, but he does still tend to do well with the ladies in spite of his monetary woes and his constant mistrust of the "system" that has abused him time and time again.  He is a solid investigator, can spot bulls&!* from a blimp in a fogstorm, and has a well-developed and often misplaced sense of justice which occasionally overwhelms his even more useful sense of self-preservation.  He also believes that it's always better to be lucky than good, and seems to find a lucky turn just when he needs it (and sometimes the opposite just when he doesnt).


----------



## Harp

These character backgrounds are a fantastic addition to the story hour.  Any chance of coercing/strong-arming the other players into putting up theirs?


----------



## fenzer

Thanks for the write ups guys.  These are great histories.

Looking forward to the next update.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 2 (5/14/2003) The Church*

Session 2 (5/14/2003) The Church

The Mountain View Church of Vestavia was a large diamond-shaped building that reminded Joe more of a movie theater than a church. The seating was divided up into rows of individual chairs instead of pews, and was raised in the back so that the whole room sort of looked down onto the dais area, which was furnished with an ornate wooden pulpit and curtain.  Joe could see as soon as he walked in that the pulpit had been vandalized, and that a section of chairs had been ripped up from the floor and then further damaged. 

“Nobody steps on a church in my town,” he muttered to no one in particular.

The Wednesday night service was long, and in Joe’s opinion, fairly boring. He sat as close to the ruined set of chairs as he could, and throughout the service he tried to get a good look at the markings carved into the pulpit. While the rest of the congregation listened to the preacher drone on about whatever sin or virtue they should or should not be doing, Joe patiently copied down the markings from the pulpit into his handy notepad. 

When the service was over and the crowd began to file out, Joe got up and headed over to where he saw the preacher speaking to a few of his flock. On his way, he saw a familiar face poking around in the back of the crowd. It looked like Willie Lamar was hanging around as well. The two made brief eye contact, and Willie then turned and pretended to be interested in a pamphlet on a nearby table. Joe took the hint and quietly hummed the Mission Impossible theme as he continued over to the preacher. 

“Hey, preacher, great service! Really…um…you know…holy,” Joe interrupted, and the preacher and his small entourage all stopped talking and looked over at Joe with expressions ranging from disapproving to slightly frightened. 

Joe took the opportunity to glance down at his attire. They must all be impressed by his new Spawn T-shirt. It was pretty cool, he admitted. Still, there was business to attend to.

The preacher slowly nodded to Joe and a confused but friendly smile returned to his face. “Well, thank you, sir. I appreciate it. Are you…uh…new to our congregation?”

Joe nodded, “Um…sure…why not? Say, padre, what’s up with the freaky things carved into the pulpit? Is that like some new religious thing?” Joe smiled at his clever questioning technique. He was sure that Willie was probably watching from somewhere in the back. Probably taking notes. 

“Um…that is some damage from vandalism. We hope to have it repaired some---”

“Who did it?” Joe interrupted, trying to surprise him into giving something away.

The preacher looked surprised, but Joe couldn’t tell if it was sincere or not. This guy was good, that was for sure. Not many people could handle Joe’s powerful way with words like this. The preacher furrowed his brow and answered, “I really couldn’t say, but I believe that is a police matter. Say! Bernice!” The preacher motioned to someone behind Joe. “Say Bernice, this gentleman is interested in joining our congregation. Perhaps you would be so good as to answer a few questions for him.”

Joe turned and got his first look at Bernice. She immediately reminded him of that kid from the Addams Family. Unfortunately for her, the one she looked like was the boy. 

“Ewww…I mean, hi!” Joe covered. She probably didn’t notice his little slip. 

The preacher and the rest of his little group moved away, leaving Joe with Bernice. She certainly didn’t look any more pleased with the arrangement than Joe was. She must not be a Spawn fan. 

“So…Bernice, can you give me a ride somewhere?”

. . .

Willie waited, biding his time. The crowd has thinned down to half a dozen hangers-on who had to have a word with the preacher before leaving. He saw Joe leave with a weird looking boy in a dress, but Willie figured Joe had his own life, and he could do what he wanted. To each his own. 

Finally, the preacher was alone, and it looked like there would be no interruptions. Willie did his best to casually saunter over to the man while staggering and leaning heavily on his new cane. The preacher was stacking books onto a side table when Willie interrupted him.

“Good evening, Reverend. Might I have a word with you?”

“Certainly, what can I do for you?”

Willie brought out his wallet with his old police badge. He flashed it to the man as he introduced himself, “William Morris, Field Agent with the ATF. If you don’t mind, I have a few questions for you.” Willie held the badge open long enough for the man to focus on it, but then Willie dodged his head sideways to catch the man’s eye again. It was an old trick he had used before. If people felt that you were demanding eye contact, it put them on the defensive and they usually ignored the badge and looked you in the eye. But, it also meant he could leave the badge out a longer time, so it did not look like he was just trying to flash a fake badge and quickly put it away…which of course, is exactly what he was doing. 

“What can I do for you, Agent Morris?”

“Well, Reverend, I’m in a bit of a bind here. I’m not really operating in my jurisdiction, you see, but I am working on a case in this area, and I believe your recent vandalism attack on the night of…” Willie pulled a small notebook out of his jacket pocket and flipped it open to a dog-eared page, “well, last Wednesday night, I guess, anyhow, I believe your attack may be connected to the case I am working on.”

The past raised an eyebrow quizzically. “Really? What could a vandalism attack have to do with an investigation by the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms?”

“Well, reverend, I’m not permitted to give too many details at this time, but, unofficially, I’m following an illegal arms dealer who may be operating in this area. Real nut job, too, if you don’t mind me saying. The type that would get their kicks from something like this,” and Willie motioned to the damage on the pulpit. He started talking as quickly as possible, “Now, my problem is, as I said, I’m out of my jurisdiction here. You see, we at the bureau don’t want to take over this case, because if we do, the press could get wind of it, and then this guy I’m chasing would know I’m here, you understand? It would make my job a lot harder. So what I would like to do is just ask you a couple of questions in a purely unofficial capacity, if you know what I mean.”

The pastor seemed lost, and just nodded.

“Okay then, what can you tell me about the attack?” Willie had his notebook and pen ready.

“Well, we found the damage Thursday morning. Actually I got a call ‘cause the janitor, Mike Edwards, found the damage when he opened the church that morning, and he called me. Anyhow, there was a bunch of stuff knocked over and messed up, like furniture and things like that. And the front door was busted up pretty badly, and the carvings like you saw. And there was some mess in the vestibule that Mike took care of. Anyhow, we called the police and then we cleaned up as best we could. And really, that’s all I know.”

“Is this Mike Edwards here tonight, where I could have a word with him?”

A couple of minutes late, the preacher was gone, and Willie had shambled in a maintenance closet speaking to an elderly white-haired man wearing well-worn coveralls. 

“Now Mr. Edwards, the reverend said there was some kind of mess that you cleaned up in the vestibule? Can you tell me what that was?”

“Well, sir, I don’t rightly know, to be honest with ya, what that stuff was. It was sure nasty though. Had bugs crawling in it an’ everything.”

Willie’s blood ran cold. “You say it had…insects crawling in it?”

“Yes, sir. Um…iffin’ I had to say, I would guess it was like somebody’d done throwed up.”

“Um…vomit?”

“Yes, sir”

Willie took a deep calming breath. “I don’t suppose you still have any of it by any chance?”

“No, sir.”

In a way, Willie was relieved. At least that meant he wouldn’t have to carry any of it back--

“I do still have the rags I used to clean it up, though,” the janitor said encouragingly, and reached behind him into a garbage can.

Willie reached into his jacket pocket and removed a plastic bag as the janitor turned back around with a grimy brown-black glob in one hand. Willie averted his eyes and waved the baggy at the janitor. “Yes, ahem…here you go sir, if you can just place the evidence into this bag…” Willie decided that only crazy white people would want to go and keep a dirty rag around for a week, just in case it came in handy.

A moment later, Willie was holding the plastic bag with the squishy rag inside. He struggled to avoid gagging as he held the nasty thing in one hand, with his cane in the other. 

“Okay, thank you sir. Now before I go, is there anything else you can remember about that morning?”

“Nothing I can think of. It’s all like I told the poh-leese when they was up here.”

“Well, could you go over it one more time for me, just in case?”

“Well, sir, I came in, and I saw the mess on the floor. And I went down to the fuse box but they was all right--”

“Wait, why did you go to the fuse box?”

“Cause the lights was off.”

“Your lights were off—The power was out?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And…it was not a fuse? Or a storm?”

“No, sir. It was the…uh…whatchacallit…the power box outside? You know, on the side of the building? Them kids or whoever done busted into the place…they messed with it and musta turned the power off.”

“They messed with it? How?” This might explain the sudden loss of power at the library just before the attack.

“They scratched some of that writing into the paint on the box, same as the pulpit there. I would show it to ya, but after the poh-leese came and took they pictures, they said I could paint over it. Shocked myself something nasty doing it, too. But anyhow, I looked at it real good, and it was the same writing as what they done to the pulpit.”

Willie wasn’t listening anymore. He looked at his watch. Nine-thirty. He needed to get back to the library.


----------



## Harp

*Re: Session 2 (5/14/2003) The Church*



			
				Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> *They must all be impressed by his new Spawn T-shirt.*



See, this is why it's so important to move outside of your normal social circles once in a while. 



> *He saw Joe leave with a weird looking boy in a dress, but Willie figured Joe had his own life, and he could do what he wanted. To each his own.*




And that's just funny.  Painting the poor church worker as Puggsly in a dress is simply inspired imagery.


----------



## fenzer

Drew, thanks again for another update.  I really appreciate your writing style and the descriptions you use, flashing the badge for example.

Keep it up.  This is really good stuff.


----------



## fludogg

*Joe's Background*

First I think I must say that Joe Empire was created using a can of Budweiser.  

I wanted Joe to be a fairly boring kind of guy.  A life that was almost meaningless, in the hopes that something important would happen in his life. 

He was raised in Birmingham and has never lived anywhere else.  His mother Elizabeth worked for the state as an english teacher.  His father Colin worked for Birmingham Steel.  This is where he gets most of his traits.  From Elizabeth he received his writing ability.  She is the one he credits helping him start his conspiracy theory newsletter.  From his father he received his girth and sense of humor. Both parents now live in Nebraska due to a job transfer of his father.

Joe grew up reading comic books and watching too much Scooby-Doo. He never really had any friends until high school where he met up with some really cool guys in trench coats who played these games called RPG's.   Needless to say that these guys never really liked Joe, they just put up with him because he had a job and could afford to buy lots of miniatures for their games.  Joe never really cared much that they were not truly his friends, but was just happy to have someone else to hang out with.

After high school he worked a lot of dead-end jobs, trying to save enough money to open his own business.  Joe figured he could rekindle some sort of friendship with people ... even if it was shallow.. by opening his very own comic and gaming store.  It was a glorious day when the store opened ... Joe was so happy with his new store that he moved into a loft on the second level of the building.  

Well that was years ago... now Joe is 38 years old... all he did before his adventuring career, was to play games, work, and write his newsletter.  Many nights were spent searching the Internet for conspiracies in his loft mainly because he had nothing else to do.  Now he has something in common with new people who seem to like him, his conspiracy newsletter has real conspiracies in it, and his comic sales are up... Aside from all the weird stuff going on around Joe ... I think this may be the first time in his life he is actually happy


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 2 (5/14/2003) The Library*

*Session 2 (5/14/2003) The Library*

The library window had been repaired, the doors replaced, and the blood had been washed from the carpet. Overall, unless you knew just where to look, the library was identical to how it had been before the attack on Sunday night. Still, something about the place gave Willie the creeps. He looked at the giant globe in the center of the room and remembered laying on his back, looking up at that same globe just three nights ago, wondering if he was going to bleed to death before the ambulance arrived. 

As before, the place was deserted except for Willie and Taylor, and it was still eerily old-fashioned.

“What nasty crap you bring into library? You take dump in bag and want to leave it here? Get bag out of here!” Taylor yelled at him as he set the evidence bag down on the front desk. 

Willie winced as he sank into one of the chairs at a table nearby, and tried to calm her down. “That’s evidence, baby, and you don’t need to tell me it’s nasty. I just limped my butt a mile down the road carrying that thing.”

“Evidence of what? You had corn yesterday? Get it away from my desk, it smell awful!”

Willie started to get back up to move the bag, when the front door swung open and Joe walked in. He walked right up to the front desk and looked at the bag.

“See, that’s why I don’t eat Chinese food. Jeez, Taylor, what are you eating?”

“That’s not mine, fat bo--- I’m not Chinese, I’m Korean!”

Joe sat down next to Willie, and commented to no one in particular, “So the church girl wants me, so now I got _that_ to deal with.”

“Get this crap off my desk!” Taylor screamed.

“So I told her, Baby, you know, I can’t be tied down to any one girl.” Joe continued.

“Taylor, I keep telling you, it’s evidence, baby. That stuff might be the same thing that the guys who jacked us were puking up at the hospital” Willie was rubbing his temples, but the headache was already well on its way now.

“So then she starts bawling, and then I got to ditch her and get back here---” Joe droned on.

“So all evidence have to sit on my desk? Wait---this puke? You put puke on my desk?!” Taylor was absolutely livid.

“So now she’ll probably be calling me. I can’t help it. I just have this magnetism.” Joe finished complaining.

Brother Cooper finally walked in.

. . .

Willie thumbed the transmit switch on his walkie-talkie, “Okay, I see the power box now.” He was fumbling with a small flashlight and his .38 in his other hand. He had left his cane back inside, and was limping heavily and slowly through the trees around the back of the library building.

“Roger that” Brother Cooper’s voice chirped through the radio.

“Okay, I can see it now. It’s been unlocked and opened, and then closed back…and yep, there is the same kind of symbol scratched into the paint like I saw at that church. There’s a couple of branches broken back here too, like some dude broke them when they were walking back here before.”

“Copy that. Joe is gonna come out and take a look.”

A moment later, a second flashlight came bobbing around the corner, and the light pointed right into Willie’s eyes.

“Get that light out of my eyes!”

“Oh, sorry!” Joe grinned, and then turned to examine the runes on the power box. 

“So what do you think, Joe?”

“Hmm…some kind of mystical symbol, I think.”

“Thanks, Joe, never would have gotten that.”

“Jeez, man, and you’re the private investigator?” Joe took the end of his flashlight and started to scratch at the paint on the symbol.

“Be careful, Joe, don’t be a---”

An arc of white-blue electricity shot out of the power box and straight into Joe’s arm. He lurched backwards and stumbled onto the ground, cursing vividly. 

“Yeah, I thought that might happen,” Willie admitted. “It should be harmless now though. You okay?”

Joe stood up, grabbed his flashlight, brushed himself off, and stormed back towards the front of the library. Smiling, Willie followed shortly behind him.


----------



## fenzer

Boy Fludogg, alot of that write up hits too close to home.  Great stuff.

EDIT:  Drew, it looks like we posted at about the same time.  I love Taylor and her broken english.  Nice touches throughout, thanks.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 2 (5/14/2003) The Library Again*

Session 2 (5/14/2003) The Library Again

“I may not be an expert in such areas, but does anyone else here find it peculiar that the ‘Occult’ section of this library is five times larger than the rest of the religious section?” Brother Cooper asked, as he carried another stack of dusty books back to their table.

The group was gathered around a table on the second floor of the library. Closing time had come and gone. Taylor had made coffee, locked the doors and allowed everyone to remain behind while they researched the strange symbol they had found. 

“Actually I think its strange how crappy these books all are,” Joe answered, looking up from a copy of Masonic & Occult Symbols Illustrated. “No offense, padre.”

“What do you mean, Joseph?” Brother Cooper responded. 

“Well, I don’t know.” Joe answered. “I just figured this place, what with Ward being all into this weird stuff, would have, like, some old original books or something. You know, like scary forbidden magic book kind of stuff. But all of these here are just things you could find at Books-A-Zillion.”

“Are there closed stacks somewhere, Taylor?” Willie asked.

“Nope. We’re like the Gap. Everything we have is out here.” Taylor answered, setting down another book in failure. “We don’t even have a back room.”

“Do you have a basement?” Joe asked hopefully.

“Nope, just first and second floors, and attic space, but that’s condemned.” Taylor answered, and grudgingly picked up the next book in her stack. After a beat she looked up, and everyone was staring at her.

“What?” 

. . .

The stairwell was dark once you went up past the second floor landing, and it turned abruptly before ending in a blank wall with a ladder leading to a trapdoor in the ceiling. The trapdoor had a clearly visible lock that Taylor said she did not have a key for. 

“Willie, can you pick that?” Joe asked.

“Oh sure! We got to break in somewhere. Ask the black guy! Look, just because I’m black does not mean that I know how to pick locks, or sing gospel, or make fried chicken.” Willie spouted as he pulled a small pack of tools from his jacket pocket and began to climb the ladder. He examined the lock for a moment and then set the tool pack onto a rung of the ladder and began fishing inside for the right pick. He glanced down at everyone watching him. “Well, okay, I do know how to pick locks, but only because I needed to learn for my job. It has nothing it all to do with me being black.”

Finally after twenty minutes, there was a hollow click from the trapdoor, and Willie smiled as he gathered his tools and climbed back down the ladder. 

Brother Cooper raised an eyebrow, “Wilson, aren’t you going to go up?”

“Oh sure, but I’m not gonna be first,” Willie answered, un-holstering his gun and clicking on his flashlight. “Exploring dark places where nobody belongs? I’ve seen enough movies to know the black guy always dies first. I’ll let you guys go on, and I’ll follow.”

“I’ll do it,” Joe decided, and climbed the ladder up to the trapdoor. He opened the trapdoor with a surprisingly quiet creaking sound, and poked his head and flashlight up through to look around. “I feel like that kid from the Goonies. One-Eyed-Willy, you up here?” He paused and squinted in the dark, then spoke: “Wow.”

Soon everyone had clambered up the ladder and into the attic. The ceiling was low and angled in most spots, but rose up to allow comfortable walking room in the center of the building. The floor and the walls were all natural wood, with numerous exposed beams and support posts for the roof. The streetlight outside filtered in through three shuttered windows, creating long pale shadows. The floor was painted in spots in multi-colored dark paint, and through the dust, a series of large circles with numerous arcane symbols was painted over the whole room.

But most importantly, the attic was half-filled with bookshelves, tables, and chairs, all covered in a light layer of dust and cobwebs. The bookshelves contained perhaps a thousand books in total. And even in the pale slits of light offered from the windows, it was obvious. These were the kinds of books that Joe had been talking about.


----------



## fenzer

More! MORE!


----------



## ledded

fenzer said:
			
		

> *Boy Fludogg, alot of that write up hits too close to home.  Great stuff.
> 
> EDIT:  Drew, it looks like we posted at about the same time.  I love Taylor and her broken english.  Nice touches throughout, thanks. *




This is Ledded/Jim/"Willie" here again:

Yeah, Fludogg always has interesting and hilarious characters, and plays them with such style and deep, immersive role-playing that you sometimes wonder about his sanity.  

Oh, and the best part of Taylor's accent... it really does get *much* worse the more upset or excited she gets, to the point where she's screaming into a walkie-talkie and you dont know whether someone is being murdered or has just broken a nail.


----------



## fenzer

Ledded, your group sounds like a blast.  I would love to sit in on one of your games.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 2 (5/14/2003) Into the Creepy*

*Session 2 (5/14/2003) Into the Creepy*

“Okay, this can not be the real thing,” Joe rolled his eyes, but still he didn’t pick up the book. “There is no such thing. It was _made up_.”

Taylor walked over to where Joe was standing. “What you babbling about, fat boy?”

Joe glanced absently over at her, and then back at the book. On the shelf in front of him was a single book, laid flat, exceedingly old, and bound in strange black wrinkled leather, and titled in silver: Necromonicon, and then in small letters underneath that, “Book of the Dead, by Abdul Alhazred, as translated by Dr. John Dee.” The letters in the title were not so much printed into the cover as they were formed, from the wrinkles in the skin. Joe motioned to the book dismissively, “This is fake. There is no such thing as the Necromonicon.”

Taylor, perhaps expecting something more forthcoming, shrugged her shoulders and moved on. Joe watched her go over to help Brother Cooper and Willie, who were examining another bookshelf full of books across the room.

Joe, remembering the shock from the power box, slowly brushed on finger against the book, half expecting it to crumble to dust when he touched it. The book felt normal. He guessed if t had been real it would have been ice cold, so with confidence, he stroked the front of the book with his hand. 

The cover was soft, wrinkly, and a little squishy, and he had to admit, it felt an awful lot like human skin, but this certainly was not a real book. Just in case, he mumbled “Klaatu Barada Niktu” and then pulled it up off the shelf. He thumbed it open to a random page and began reading. 

Strange diagrams, mad ramblings, various references to Elder Things… yep, just what it should be. Then, something more. There, on a page of scribbled text near the end of the book, a word caught his eye. ‘Agamotto’. Agamotto was not part of the Cthulhu mythos. Agamotto was just a spirit that Dr. Strange would call on every now and then. And Dr. Strange was not supposed to be in the Necronomicon.

There was another reference on a different page. “By the mystic moons of Munnopor, By the demons of night and day, By the flames of the flawless Faltine, Let yon spell be dissolved away!” That was specifically a spell that Dr. Strange used in Strange Tales. Joe couldn’t remember the issue number off-hand, but it was in the one-hundred-forties.

Joe paused. He knew this pretty well, considering he owned every issue of Dr. Strange ever printed, and had even dressed up as Dr. Strange for Halloween last year… well, okay, for the entire last half of October last year.

So, what was a copy of a fake book doing in this attic, and why was it making references to Dr. Strange comics?

Joe sat down at one of the dusty tables and started reading. The book was engrossing, disgusting, and disturbing. Mixed between the ramblings on about Cthulhu and watery cities and far realms, again and again there were references to magic from the Dr. Strange comic books. There were instructions, written like vague riddles, describing rituals, with further riddles as to what the rituals would do if enacted correctly. 

Taylor tapped him on the arm, “Hey, fat boy, you deaf? Time to go home.”

Joe looked up. Brother Cooper and Willie were gone, and he could see that Taylor had gone through a large stack of books already. Joe looked down and realized he had only read a handful of pages. “Where did the guys go?”

“They went home an hour ago. I’m tired, and I’m ready to go home too.” She motioned to the book. “You can take that home with you, if you want.”

Joe’s brow furrowed. “Has it been an hour?”

“Yeah, you been reading for like, two hours, now.” Taylor yawned. “Get up, fat boy, time to go home.” 

Joe shrugged and closed the book. A sudden feminine yelp erupted nearby, and Joe realized only in the back of his mind that he had been the one to make that sound.

The cover of the book had changed. At the top left, above the title, the wrinkles had changed or somehow been moved. In large letters, in addition to the original title and other information, the cover of the book now clearly said “Joe.”

. . .

Brother Cooper was tired, and the book he was reading was almost certainly a waste of time. The author was not a very skilled writer, and the subject matter was meandering and often contradictory. It was no wonder Christianity had beaten out the pagan religions, he thought, if this was how poorly they were all presented. Brother Cooper decided he would give it one more chapter and then go to sleep. 

He shifted the pillows behind his back to get more comfortable, adjusted the blankets on the bed to keep his toes covered, took a quick sip of water from the glass on his bedside table, and went back to reading. 

The book Guyzell had chosen was apparently about geomancy. It was written by a man who obviously believed that magic was real, and the book was apparently intended as a textbook on how to perform various rituals dealing with ley lines and places of power. It annoyed Brother Cooper repeatedly, because the man referred to the place where ley lines touched as a ‘nexus’, but then referred to them in the plural as nexii, instead of nexuses, which Brother Cooper had looked up to confirm was the right term. 

Anyhow, the author was apparently into a variety of new age disciplines, and _why was there a man standing there in the doorway?_

Brother Cooper jerked the book down into his lap and looked up at his bedroom door. The light was on in the hallway, and there was no one there. He had seen him only out of the corner of his eye, but there had been a man standing there. A dark and hulking intruder, and very tall. 

Praying for protection, Brother Cooper rolled out of the blankets and pulled his shotgun up out from underneath the bed. Taking a deep breath, he moved into the hallway.

. . .

Willie had browsed through the books in those shelves for a while, but everything was way too cryptic for his tastes. Every book was something about magic voodoo or hocus pocus, and it all seemed just a little too silly. Shoot, Willie had a great aunt or something that was supposed to be some voodoo lady down in New Orleans, but even he knew that it was all just a bunch of superstition and wishful thinking. 

Willie was surprised to see Brother Cooper getting into the books so much, but he guessed if you had faith in so many holy things in the world, you had to have a pretty easy time with the less holy stuff too. Anyhow, there was nothing for Willie in those shelves, until he saw one familiar name.

Ward. Specifically, G.B. Ward. A small hand-bound volume titled The Reason for Numismatics. Shoot, before this week, Willie didn’t even know what numismatics was. He certainly didn’t understand the need for such a fancy word for coin-collecting. Definitely a white people thing. 

Anyhow, if this was by the guy that built the library, then this was probably the best place for Willie to start reading.

Willie caught a ride back to his apartment from the preacher, grabbed a beer out of the fridge, and settled into his easy chair. Willie had originally inherited this chair from his Gramms, and back then, it was just a chair. But he had to admit, after limping around on his leg all night, especially after having to climb that ladder, it sure felt good to sit down with a beer in that soft leather, recline back, and pull the lever to pull his feet up. 

So Willie popped open his beer and started reading. And at once, he started cursing. Apparently this guy hadn’t done a very good job binding his book. All of the pages were out of order, and were not numbered. 

Willie started skipping around in the book, and eventually began to make sense of what it was saying. The book read something like a journal, or a diary. But in general, the book was an essay putting forth Ward’s theory of how magic was supposed to work. 

According to the book, Ward believed that there were a number of coins or medallions scattered around the world, and that these coins held the “key” to magic. These coins acted as focal points for magical events and magical energy and all of that kind of stuff, and apparently these coins had been around since prehistoric times. 

Apparently there was more to it than that, though. Ward believed that the coins (and Willie guessed, magic itself) waxed and waned in power over time. Ward believed that the coins had once been really powerful back in ancient times, but all of the coins had gradually gotten weaker in power, leading into this long quiet period. 

Ward believed that the coins were getting ready in his time to begin growing in power again sometime in the near future, and when they did, then magic would again be a powerful and real force in the world. 

Willie burped and realized he was out of beer. He un-reclined the chair, set the book down in his seat to mark the page he was on, and limped the three steps into his tiny kitchen to grab another beer from the fridge. 

When he turned back around, the book was no longer in the chair. Willie’s eyes focused on the top shelf of his bookcase, completely across the room from the chair. The book was sitting there, nestled neatly between a framed picture of his mom and a stack of old magazines. 

Willie silently set the beer down on the kitchen counter, and drew his gun from its holster.


----------



## fenzer

Boy Drew, three posts in 24 hours!  Man, that is some kind of record on these boards,  jonrog could take a lesson or two.

Not that I have been lurking like a junky looking for his next fix or anything. 

Love the Evil Dead reference.  Love the whole coin/magic idea.  Love these characters.  I feel like I could hang out with any of them.

Again, nicely done.

EDIT:  I always think of stuff AFTER I have posted.  Anyway, it sounds like you are borrowing from Rifts as well as Cthulhu.  What else are you using?


----------



## carpedavid

I just have to chime in again to say that this story hour is great. The characters are all interesting and the writing is fantastic - the subtle details really bring this story to life. I feel like I did back when the X-Files first came on TV - cursing the commercial breaks silently under my breath.

This is well on its way to becoming my favorite story hour.

Keep up the good work!


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Sources for Medallions*



			
				fenzer said:
			
		

> *Anyway, it sounds like you are borrowing from Rifts as well as Cthulhu.  What else are you using? *




Jeez, everything, really. 

We use Vitality Point/Wound Points from Star Wars. We use the Chase system from Spycraft (which I highly recommend). Plus, the entire magic system is a custom job that I have done, which is very different from standard d20 Modern, and which probably most closely resembles a cross between d20 Cthulhu and Unknown Armies. (I will post it up at a later date.) We use the Modern Arms guide and the Modern Player’s Companions as well. Oh yeah, and we use a homebrew edit of the Wealth system to supply custom stats for used cars. 

As far as magic goes, I wanted Medallions to have magic that felt different than anything we as a gaming group had seen before, especially the standard fantasy magic. Essentially, I wanted everything *but* standard fantasy magic. I did not want magic to ever be “flashy” or for it to be taken for granted. There should always be a price and a risk in using it, and a large element of the unknown. 

I did not want magic to replace anything, including skills and weapons. I figured magic should be its own form of tool, not just a different kind of gun or a different way to bump up a certain skill. 

So, I threw out the standard d20 Modern magic system and just started over. I started keeping notes of everything I wanted to throw in to a new system. The initial list included voodoo, Dr. Strange comics, prestidigitation-taken-too-far as in “Lord of Illusions”, Kabbalah, Asian mysticism, and Wicca just to get started. I wasn’t worried about rules at that point, just flavors, and I wanted every kind of flavor available.

Then I started pulling together lists of spells from every source I had, which included all the 3E books, numerous splat books and 3rd party books, and Call of Cthulhu, among others. Then I went back and ripped out all of the spells that were just too visually “flashy”. Some illusions could stay, but nothing like Bigby’s Interposing Hand or Teleportation made the cut. Then I removed all of the spells that directly caused damage (which greatly shortened the list). If the characters want to just cause damage, they use guns, not magic. I also removed almost all divination spells, since the vast majority of the d20 modern episodes would involve solving mysteries. Finally, I removed all of the spells that essentially replaced a given skill, like Jump or Spider Climb or that otherwise replaced some easy modern method of doing things. The characters get skills for a reason, and it would be a shame to replace them with spells. 

So, what was left was a collection of spells that were all “weird” enough. Spells that allowed the caster to do things that they simply could not do with normal methods, but never so flashy that it would attract crowds, or so powerful or reliable that the caster could get too comfortable with their magic. I would offer a list, but even the players have not seen more than a handful of spells from the list yet, and that is part of the way it works. I further pruned a few spells that I just did not like, and added some of my own as needed, and edited what was left to twist it and make it unpredictable. 

The players know the rules for spellcasting, if their characters use it. They know the exact details of a handful of spells, and they know the names of a handful of others. That’s it, though. They don’t really know what is available out there, and that seems to work well to maintain the mystery. There is no published spell list for them to view, read ahead on, or plan their advancement around. 

There are no “published” rules for the players regarding magic items, though they do exist. Magic items are even more rare and bizarre than magic spells. 

I wrote up a new spellcasting system that does not have spellcasting classes or spell per day. Instead it uses skills for spellcasting based on magical schools (like abjuration, illusion, etc.) and where the caster burns a feat to gain access to a set of schools. The caster spends weeks studying each spell that they find and then must make a skill check to actually learn the spell. Then, the caster must make another skill check every time they cast a spell, plus they pay a cost in vitality points, ability drain, etc.

Then I went in and tried to set up ways for each method of magic to “feel” different. This is still an on-going project, but the idea is that if one player wants to play a voodoo priestess, and another wants to play a Kabbalah mystic, then they would likely never learn the same spells, the costs for their spells would be different (perhaps one usually pays in vitality points and another pays in ability drain) and other side effects would be different as well. This part seems to be going really well so far.


----------



## Eyas

*Crystal's History*

Crystal “Little Wing” Lassiter was born June 9, 1978 in a small hospital in Dale County, AL. Her father, James Lassiter, a full blooded Choctaw from the reservation in Philadelphia, was a civilian contractor working for the army at Ft. Rucker, while her mother, Judith, was a kindergarten teacher in the small town of Enterprise. Crystal’s earliest memories are happy ones of a peaceful childhood. All that changed, unfortunately, when, shortly after her 5th birthday, both her parents were killed in a tragic car accident. Crystal remembers little of the next few months after, mainly just sorrow as her child’s mind tried to grasp the concept of mortality and death, until her grandfather Jimmy “Howling Wind” Lassiter arrived from the reservation to claim her. Jimmy, a retired army Sergeant, lived on the reservation in a small but neat two-bedroom mobile home alone since his wife Nita passed after suffering a stroke.

As the years passed on the Reservation, Crystal grew into a smart and fiercely independent young woman with few friends her own age. Instead, she would hang around her grandfather and his friends listening to old tribal tales and stories or, again with Grandfather, out hiking and studying the world around her. It was during this time that Crystal developed her life’s ambition and, after graduating from high school in the top of her class, Crystal went on to college to earn a degree in Archaeology with a minor in Biology.

Crystal now finds herself at UAB in the graduate program in the Archaeology department there working as a GTA while working on her master’s degree. When not teaching, Crystal alternates her time between her bartending job in south side (she takes a certain pleasure in serving the predominantly white crowd that frequents “her” bar the poison that still has such an effect on her people) and studying. In fact, it was working on a paper that led her to the Ward library on that rainy night…


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 2 (5/14/2003) Pancakes*

*Session 2 (5/14/2003) Pancakes*

At eight o’clock on Thursday morning, the International House of Pancakes was surprisingly dead, except for one table where Taylor was reading the paper and trying to avoid watching Joe see just how much bacon he could shove into his mouth at one time. She considered making a comment about cannibalism, but just then Brother Cooper and Willie walked in. 

Willie hobbled over to a seat and winked at the approaching waitress. He ordered coffee while Brother Cooper sized up the menu. He ordered a surprisingly large amount of food, and between him and Joe, Taylor was glad that she had decided to sit at a table instead of trying to squeeze into a booth.

Taylor pulled out her small disposable camera and turned to Brother Cooper and Willie. “Before I forget, I want to take your pictures.”

Brother Cooper removed his cowboy hat and set it down in an empty chair next to him. He grinned as she took his picture. “What are these for?” Brother Cooper asked, as Taylor snapped a picture of Willie. 

“Um…scrapbook.” Taylor mumbled, and turned again to Joe. 

“Nope, no no no no no,” Joe held up his hand in front of his face. “I would prefer to avoid any kind of photographic evidence that I know you. Thank you very much.”

Taylor shrugged and stuck the camera back in her purse. 

“So, Joseph, Ms. Chu,”  asked Brother Cooper, “did either of you have any trouble sleeping last night?”

Taylor shook her head, “I slept fine. I stayed up late reading a bunch of books from the library.”

Joe grunted over a mouthful of eggs, and reached down into his ever-present backpack. After a moment, he withdrew a book and waved it over to Brother Cooper. “What does the front of this book say?”

Brother Cooper furrowed his brow and glanced at the book, “Joe Necromonicon…hold it still I can’t read the rest…”

“Crap…forget it..” Joe pulled the book back and started to put it away. Then he brightened, “Hey, wait, here hold the book, preacher. Okay, now just flip it open to a random page and just read something. Yeah, anything you want, just read a line or two…Okay, now look at the cover of the book.”

“Why, was it supposed to look different or something now?” Brother Cooper asked.

“Crap…no, forget it.” And this time Joe shoved the book into the bottom of his backpack and zipped it shut. 

“Well, just so you know, Wilson and I were up on the phone together for half the night--”

“What? Are you two high school girls now?” Taylor asked as she returned to her paper.

“Pardon? Um…anyhow, we were praying.” Brother Cooper finished.  He then related how he had spotted an intruder in his home, but then had searched the entire place and found no evidence of anyone. When he was finished with his story, Willie told everyone how he had found his book moved from where he had left it, and how he had similarly searched his apartment for an intruder, but to no avail. 

After they had finished, Brother Cooper’s pancakes arrived, and the group fell silent until the waitress had left them again. 

“So, I figured that might be why you called for us to meet over breakfast,” Guyzell surmised.

Taylor shook her head, “No, I called you to see this.” She dropped the newspaper onto the table so that the rest of the group could read an article she had circled. 

There had been another attack last night. This time, at the Sports Medicine Center, at UAB. The article offered few exact details, except that there had been evidence of vandalism, including a loss of electrical power, and something which the paper referred to as “gang signs” had been carved into one of the walls. 

More frighteningly, there had been a murder this time. A janitor had apparently stumbled upon the vandals during the act and had been stabbed to death. The newspaper did not make any connection between this most recent crime and the previous events at the church or the library. 

“Sposh Medisha Shenda?” Joe garbled, while trying to swallow a pancake whole. He looked excited and dove back into his backpack, half of the pancake still hanging from his mouth. After emitting a stomach-turning slurping sound, he turned back around. The pancake was swallowed and he was flipping through a folder from his backpack. “Sports Medicine Center? Here it is… look at this!”

Joe laid out a printout on top of the newspaper. The printout was from Google. It was the results of a search on “list Scorse charity donations.” The results were listed in order of relevance. 

At the top of the list: Mountain View Church. Next, the Ward Library in Vestavia. Next, the Sports Medicine Center, at UAB. The list continued on after that.


----------



## fenzer

Very Impressive Drew.  You have obviously put alot of effort into this world of yours and it shows.  Hell, I would love to hang out there.

You, Drew, fall into the proactive DM catagory.  I, one the other hand, fall into the "Oh great, all the work has been done for me." catagory.

Anyway, it's a great story and you've got me hook, line, and sinker.

EDIT:  Damn this posting at the same time.  Anyway, Eyas thanks for the write up.  And Drew, thank you for yet another post.  Watch out, you are going to spoil your readers.


----------



## Spatula

> _Originally posted by Old Drew Id_
> *And Dr. Strange was not supposed to be in the Necronomicon.*



By the Hoary Hosts of Hoggoth!


----------



## ledded

carpedavid said:
			
		

> *I just have to chime in again to say that this story hour is great. The characters are all interesting and the writing is fantastic - the subtle details really bring this story to life. I feel like I did back when the X-Files first came on TV - cursing the commercial breaks silently under my breath.
> 
> This is well on its way to becoming my favorite story hour.
> 
> Keep up the good work! *




This is "Willie" from the group here...

If you like what you've seen so far, stay tuned... the really freaky stuff and action is coming up, we're still in the warm up stage (we were having so much fun role-playing our characters and their investigative powers --or lack thereof-- that we spent several game sessions without any combat or fast-action, which was a really cool change of pace).  I can't wait to see what OldDrewId posts, and I was *there* when it happenned ;^)


----------



## ledded

fenzer said:
			
		

> *Very Impressive Drew.  You have obviously put alot of effort into this world of yours and it shows.  Hell, I would love to hang out there.
> 
> You, Drew, fall into the proactive DM catagory.  I, one the other hand, fall into the "Oh great, all the work has been done for me." catagory.
> 
> Anyway, it's a great story and you've got me hook, line, and sinker.
> 
> <snip> *




You have no idea... OldDrewId comes up with researched detail and preparation of a level that is, well, nearly psychotic (in a good way, Drew, a good way).  All of these places and things are taken straight from our city, the real newspaper headlines, and real people and woven together in such a way that what we do *actually could have happened* in the 'real world'.  All of the history, background, etc of all these weird events are from the actual places and history of our area, and he backs everything up with pictures, detailed handouts, *real* overhead maps, etc, so we are able to fully immerse ourselves and mesh into the actual real world and history of Birmingham.  Here is an example:  in the above story, Joe does the google search for "Scrusy charity donations".  Ok, the character who plays him said one session out of the blue "I'm going to do a google search for "Scrusy charity donations" and see what I get... OldDrewId immediately opens his folder and hands him a color printout of a google screen with the search terms and results of his search, and we all were just floored.  I'm sure Drew was steering us that way a little and expecting it, but by gosh that just impressed the holy heck out of us when he was that good at anticipating it and being prepared for it.   We sometimes do catch him totally off-gaurd by squirrelling off in some obscure tangent, but he usually handles that so smoothly that you dont even notice too much that he had not prepared or anticipated it (although it is sometimes worth the look on his face when we do something like that and he feels the need to come up with an excuse to brainstorm/note-take for a few minutes instead of just saying "hey, I dont have anything for that").  The man is good.  As I said before... the story is really cool, but playing in it is 100 times cooler.

Jim / Ledded / Willie Lamar


----------



## linnorm

Wow!  PC and Sep better watch out, they're gonna get overtaken pretty soon at this rate.  Excellent SH!  The frequent updates really help too  

Useless fact:  Putting the phrase "list Scorse charity donations" into Google returned five items.


----------



## ledded

linnorm said:
			
		

> *Wow!  PC and Sep better watch out, they're gonna get overtaken pretty soon at this rate.  Excellent SH!  The frequent updates really help too
> 
> Useless fact:  Putting the phrase "list Scorse charity donations" into Google returned five items.   *




Note that "Scorse" is not the real name... he changed it in the SH to protect the guilty, er, innocent.  If you used the name of the real person to the search, you would get a *lot* more relevant hits.


----------



## fenzer

Well Ledded, Like I said, he is putting the lazy DMs, yours truely, to shame.  All of that aside, I don't like to talk about it, I am enoying the heck ot of this story hour.  Keep the updates coming.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 2 (5/14/2003) Forums And Tailing*

*Session 2 (5/14/2003) Forums And Tailing*

As Joe unlocked the front door, Brother Cooper studied the storefront of Griffon Comics with a mixture of confusion and discomfort. Along with the multiple layers of brightly colored, gleaming posters of various comic-book superheroes, flyers for gaming groups, and notices of upcoming conventions and tournaments, there were a number of portraits of cartoon figures in questionable poses and attire, most of which would make a moral person quite uncomfortable. Hung sloppily from the front door was a sign that read “Go Away” in bold red letters.

Joe worked the half-dozen locks on the front door until it finally gave way and the two portly figures entered the shop. As fluorescent lights flickered into life, Brother Cooper saw rows of comic books and videos filling the boutique. More posters much like the ones which papered the front window covered the interior walls and ceiling. There was a vague smell like aged cheese within the place, but nothing that the preacher could put his finger on.

Joe unzipped his backpack and removed a sleek laptop from its depths, setting the computer and a knot of cords onto the front counter, next to the register. He fiddled with the cords for a minute, and the laptop began to quietly hum as it booted back to life. Brother Cooper meandered through the aisles while waiting for the computer to boot up. He had read a few comic books when he was a kid, but had never really gotten into them. The only one he could honestly remember was Daredevil, perhaps mostly because of the recent movie, and he idled over to the D section to see what the blind superhero was up to these days. 

Brother Cooper found the Daredevil section, and idly picked up on of the issues there to look at it. 

“If you take it out of the bag, you pay for it…no offense, preacher,” Joe yelled from behind the counter.

Brother Cooper smiled. “Not a problem, Joseph. You seem to have quite an extensive inventory  here.”

“Biggest in the city,” Joe muttered idly, while he keyed some text into his computer. 

Brother Cooper returned the comic book to the rack and turned to head back to the counter, when a large gap in the merchandise caught his attention. “Has someone recently purchased all of your Doctor Strange books? You seem completely ou---”

“Yep, um…yeah, sure, someone came in and bought them all. Yeah. Hey, look, I got this site I was telling you about.” Joe gestured at the laptop, and checked the front door again out of the corner of his eye. 

Brother Cooper joined Joe at the counter and looked at the laptop’s screen. “So, now, what is this we’re looking at again, Joseph?”

At that point, a teenage boy came into the store, carrying a skateboard in one hand. He waved to Joe and headed past the counter to one of the comics displays. 

“Out of the store, Mike! Not right now! Out of the store! Out of the store!” Joe yelled, and motioned the kid back towards the door. 

“Jeez, Joe, I just wanted to get Silver Surfer. Look, I got my money.”

“Out of the store, Mike! Not right now! Come back later! Out of the store! Out of the store!” Joe yelled again and pointed back to the door, closing the laptop as he gestured.

“Can’t I just get one comic? It’ll take ten seconds---”

Joe reached under the counter and pulled out a megaphone. “OUT OF THE STORE! OUT OF THE STORE! OUT OF THE STORE!”

The kid looked shocked and angry, and yelled something that Brother Cooper could not make out over the din that Joe was making. Finally, just before the preacher himself gave up and exited the store, the kid gave Joe and obscene gesture and stepped back out onto the street. 

Joe put the megaphone down and opened the laptop back out. “Okay, so, anyway, I didn’t find that symbol we were looking for in my book from the library, so I photoshopped and posted it up to a couple of boards to see if someone recognized it.”

Brother Cooper had completely lost his concentration. “Wait, you took it to a photo shop?”

“Um…no…I _drew_…” Joe began talking very slowly and drawing out each word, while pantomiming drawing a picture with his hand “a picture of the _symbol_” Joe traced the symbol in the air. “and I put it up on the ‘_Internet_’…” Joe made double-quote gestures with his hands. “for people to _look_ at…” Joe pointed at his eyes. “and asked them if they knew what it means.”

Brother Cooper sighed and skillfully maintained his patience. “Thank you, Joseph. So am I to understand then, that you told these strangers on the Internet about what happened to us in the library?”

“Huh? Oh, no way. I didn’t even post under my real address. I just said it was a puzzle for my gaming group that my DM had given me.”

“Your DM?”

“Don’t worry about it… Anyway, someone…in fact, several people, responded. It’s an Incan symbol called a quipa. This particular one means unlock, or open, or something like that.”

“And these strangers on the Internet just told you this information for free, and you believe them?” Brother Cooper raised an eyebrow and tilted back his hat.

“Hmmm…okay, preacher, how about next time we need to look something up online, I’ll just tell you what I found out, instead of explaining how I actually find this stuff out, okay?”

Another kid entered the store. Joe picked up the megaphone and cleared his throat. Apparently used to this treatment, the new kid just nodded and headed right back out the door. 

“Joseph? You’re quite the businessman.”

“Thanks, preacher.”

“So, do you actually manage to keep customers coming _back_?”

“Um…some do. It’s annoying, though, when I’m trying to get something done and they keep coming in. But, you know, it’s a living…”

“Have you considered hiring some help?” Brother Cooper said with a smile, “There’s a kid in my congregation named Ronny, in need of a job. Maybe he could mind the store for you when you are…trying to get other things done.”

“Hmmm…that would be easier than chasing them out all the time. And I do have some upcoming projects that I am going to really need some time to work on.” 

. . .

Willie adjusted the microphone on his headset, and tugged again at the earpiece. “Okay, Tee, you read me? I’m crossing the line now.”

“Why you call me Tee?”

“Um…in case anybody’s listening on this channel.”

“Jeez, you hanging out with Joe too much. Okay fine, I hear you, Double-You.”

Willie tried to remain casual as he stepped over the police tape and entered the crime scene. The lobby of the Sports Medicine Center was trashed. There was broken glass from a glass display case and a stained glass window intermixed all over the floor, as well as half-day old bloodstains, and a taped outline of a body on the floor. The now-familiar ‘unlock’ symbol was carved into several of the walls. An wall-sized empty picture frame was left broken on the floor. 

His radio crackled in his ear. “I don’t like calling you Double-You. Name too long. I’m going to call you ‘Black Guy’.”

Willie ignored the voice in his ear and approached the broken empty picture frame more closely, picking through the piles of broken glass to avoid disturbing anything more than he had to. The frame had once held a portrait which had been ripped from the frame and apparently taken away, either by the vandals or the police. A small plaque attached the bottom of the frame identified the portrait as the Center’s benefactor, Dick Scorse. 

“Tee, I got a broken portrait here of Dick Scorse. Looks like a definite link over.”

“I got you, Mr. Black.”

Willie rolled his eyes and looked around further. There was little else of interest in the room. The vandals had obviously come in through the stained glass window, avoiding being seen from the street. The detective was about to leave when he spotted a dark substance under some of the broken glass. 

“Tee, I got something here. Some kind of black goo, like mud. Not like the stuff from the other night. This stuff has some green specks in it. I’m collecting some for later study. Over.”

“Sure thing Black Ball.”

Willie stopped when he heard voices nearby, in a hallway adjoining the lobby. After a moment they moved on, and he climbed out the broken window to the back of the building. He paused to make sure he had not been seen, and noticed an electrical box beside the window. With just a glance, he could see the same symbol scratched into the electric box that he had now seen in two other boxes before.

“Black Guy! Double-Black! Double-You! Get over here! Guy in parking lot! Guy in parking lot!”

Willie cursed and began limping and dodging behind the landscaped bushes of the Sports Medicine Center. He rounded a corner and stumbled into an alleyway. “What’s going on, Tee? What do you see? What guy?”

“Okay, he not see me! I’m hiding in the car! I see the same guy from the library! The big ugly bald guy! Bolling! He’s here in the parking lot!”

A moment later, Willie was hiding behind some kind of air conditioning machine between two buildings. He could see Taylor’s car, and could see Taylor trying to disappear down into the driver’s seat.

Across the parking lot, he saw the man, Jack Bolling, entering the front door of Green Hospital. 

“Okay, Tee, coast is clear. Stay where you are and keep an eye on that door. I’m going in.”

“Okey-dokey, Black Man.”

Willie limped as fast as he could towards the front doors of Green Hospital. He was drenched in sweat when he finally got inside the lobby. The place was a cheap state hospital, intended only for those too poor to afford better care. He approached the nurse at the front desk. “Hey, baby, did you just see a bald guy come through here?”

The nurse directed him with a smile and wink, and Willie ducked down a hallway off the lobby. He limped as fast as he could down the poorly lit hallway, and after a couple of turns, was amazed at how empty the place way. There was another hallway off to his left, and he stumbled and caught himself as he rounded the corner. 

Willie’s blood went cold. Jack Bolling was standing right there. In fact, he was leaning against the wall, and smugly staring at Willie. 

Willie swallowed hard, and turned away, pretending to not know or recognize the man. He kept walking down the main hallway. Just a few more steps, and he could duck into a nearby stairwell. He knew he was about to get shot in the back. He could tell. This was it. 

Then the stairwell door was there, and Willie ducked inside. He drew his gun and held it ready, watching the corner, panting. His leg ached miserably. 

A minute passed. 

“Black-Black! I got him! He’s back out front! He’s looking right at me! He sees me!”

Willie cursed and headed back out into the hallway. Checking carefully down each side passage as he went, he saw no sign of Bolling as he limped back down towards the lobby. In a moment he was outside again. Taylor had pulled the car up to the front door, and the engine was still running. 

“Which way did he go?”

Taylor pointed off to the left. Willie could see that she had her gun ready in her lap. He limped over to the corner of the building, but saw no sign of Bolling. Wherever he was, Willie was suddenly not so keen on catching up to him. Slowly Willie limped back to the car. 

“He left something for us,” Taylor said, and gestured towards the bushes by the front door.

Willie looked at the bushes and saw a crumpled piece of fluorescent pink paper sticking out from the leaves, impaled on one of the branches. He ripped the paper free from the bush and slid back into the passenger seat. “He left this for us?” he said, while pulling the earpiece from his ear.

“I think so,” Taylor said, pulling out of the parking lot and getting away from the scene as quickly as possible. “He looked straight at me, and then he pulled out that paper. He waved it around, and then stuck it into the bushes like that.”

Willie carefully unfolded the paper. It was a flyer for the grand opening of the new “Shadow Magick Shoppe” in Hoover.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 2 (5/14/2003) Pre-Dawn Gloom*

*Session 2 (5/14/2003) Pre-Dawn Gloom*

Joe tried to take a deep slow breath, but the air came in jagged gulps like hiccups or how a kid breathed after crying. He had to get a hold of himself. He had to relax and maintain some control, and get some focus here. 

He slowly raised his head up from the sink. The cold water running down over his head had helped. He could still feel the burning under the skin on the back of his neck, and the sticking, tingling-needle feeling in his eyes. His pulse was racing, and he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. His head was swimming in pain. His stomach lurched again, but he fought the nausea with pure willpower.

He looked at his hands. They were cold and pale, clutching the porcelain white-knuckled. There was fresh blood everywhere. 

He dared a glance into the mirror. His nose was bleeding, trickling down his lips, down his chin, and dripping onto his shirt. His eyes were dilated too much, and they were bloodshot. He took another ragged gasping breath and again tried to relax.

It was the book. The book was doing this to him.

Joe knew he should throw it away. He should throw it away, or take it back to the library, or just bury it. But he should get rid of it. It was killing him. He knew it was killing him.

But he was so *close*.

He unrolled a wad of toilet paper and held it up to his nose. He sniffled and felt the blood run down the back of his throat. 

Joe turned back to the bathroom door, and gripped the door frame for support. He staggered back into the main room and sat down on the corner of the bed. 

The room was in a shambles. Paper clippings were strewn all over the room. The magic book from the library…the Necromonicon or whatever it was, was open on his desk. He had been reading by candlelight. He couldn’t remember now why he had done lit the candles. 

Joe wondered if he was going crazy. Was this what it felt like to go crazy? He sniffled again and fought back the urge to gag. He managed a slow and only slightly shaky breath. 

The floor was covered in clippings. He wasn’t sure how much money he had wasted, but he had done a hell of a job. Scattered all over the floor were hundreds of pieces of Doctor Strange comic books. Joe had been slicing and dicing them all night. He had cut up every copy of every issue he had. He cut out certain words and phrases. He cut out diagrams and pictures. He couldn’t say why. He didn’t know. 

That magic book knew. It inspired him to do it. It _wanted_ him to do it.

He had taken out an old album, like a photo album, but once used for holding and collecting baseball cards. He had spent the last few hours carefully taking those bits and pieces of paper, and rearranging them into this new album. He added in scraps of paper, drawings and words that came to his mind. Ramblings. Piecing together words, putting together phrases. He didn’t know what he was doing. It was all making sense to him, and none of it was making any sense at all. 

He had been in some kind of trance. He knew that much. Something like a drug, only more powerful. Something awakening in him, something changing in him. Something horrible and something very, very old.

Joe sat on the corner of the bed and stared at the album and did not move for a long time. He felt the sun coming up on his back, and watched the rays of early morning sunlight slowly edge their way across the ceiling, then outlining his shadow onto the wall. 

Joe pulled the bloody tissue away from his face. His nose had stopped bleeding some time long ago. He looked up again at the Necromonicon, or whatever that thing was on his desk, then down again at the album of clippings. And then he knew what it was.

Joe had created a spellbook.


----------



## RedAnt

Joe Empire: Comic Book Guy from the Simpsons, or Jack Black from High Fidelity?  I can't decide.  

In any case, your characters are incredibly colorful and distinct.  Kudos to your players.  Really.

This whole story hour is an amazing peice of work.


----------



## Pierce

RedAnt said:
			
		

> *Joe Empire: Comic Book Guy from the Simpsons, or Jack Black from High Fidelity?  I can't decide.
> 
> In any case, your characters are incredibly colorful and distinct.  Kudos to your players.  Really.
> 
> This whole story hour is an amazing peice of work. *




I've always pictured him as a cross between the Comic Book Guy and Craig from Malcolm in the Middle.  He's got the CBG's arrogance and condescending tone and Craig's utter weirdness and knack for completely unexplainable habits.


----------



## fenzer

Drew you sly devil.  Spellbook never came to mind until you spelled it out.  The brain slows down with age. 

Anyway, thanks for the TWO updates, you getting this Jonrog?


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 3 (5/21/2003) News at the Griffon*

*Session 3 (5/21/2003) News at the Griffon*

Crystal always enjoyed Friday mornings. She was done with classes and done with teaching for the week. Sure, she still had to pull a shift behind the bar tonight, but she didn’t mind that. She considered Friday morning to be the beginning of the weekend. With the spring sunlight beaming through her bedroom window, Crystal donned her best bike gear and a light little travel pack, and hopped onto her mountain bike for her Friday morning ride. 

Four hours later, she finished her route by riding back up through Southside. The hills were always a killer, especially at the end of a long ride. The heat was also much worse now near the middle of the day, when the sun was directly overhead, and the humidity was a nightmare. She hopped the curb and swung into some shade on the sidewalk in front of Griffon Comics. Putting a foot down to steady herself, she stopped, panted for a minute, and then took a long drink from her sports bottle. 

Crystal saw someone inside the shop. It looked to be a teenage kid behind the counter. It was difficult to get a good look inside, with the view all cluttered by flyers and posters all over the front window. She spotted a bike rack a couple of stores down and locked her bike up before heading in. 

The place smelled like three-day-old pizza and ozone. A pimple-faced teenage boy was behind the register, and a couple of kids were playing some card game on a table between two rows of comic books. A set of stairs led up in the back to a second floor, with a little sign that read “Off Limits.”

Crystal removed her helmet and sunglasses and walked over to the gangly teenager behind the counter. He was wearing a T-shirt with some muscle-bound spikey-haired cartoon character on the front, and he had a yellow Post-It note stuck to his chest that said, “I work here. My Name is Ronny.” As she walked over, she couldn’t help but notice his complete lack of subtlety in staring at her chest. And she would be the first to tell ya, she didn’t have much up there to be proud of, but this kid couldn’t tear his eyes off ‘em.

“Are you Ronny?”

His eyes bulged and he swallowed hard. His voice cracked like Peter Brady, “Yes, ma’am.” Spoken straight to her chest, no eye contact needed. 

“Do you work here, Ronny?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The little Post-It note on his chest unpeeled itself and fluttered down to the floor. He didn’t seem to notice. Still no eye contact.

“Is Joe here, Ronny?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She wondered if this kid had even actually seen her face. 

“RONNY, I TOLD YOU!” Joe yelled from the stairs as he entered the room carrying some kind of space ship model, which he set down on the counter, finally breaking Ronny’s concentration. “Jeez, Ronny, how do you know that she’s not a federal agent? Or one of those women stalking me? Never tell anyone that I am here…and you dropped your name tag again.”

Ronny looked down and noticed the missing Post-It note. He scrambled to the floor to pick it up and re-apply it to his chest. 

Crystal rolled her eyes at Joe, but couldn’t help noticing that he looked like hell. He looked like he had not slept in two days. Still, she couldn’t let him continue in his fantasy world, “What women do you have stalking you?”

“What? You mean besides you? Hey, I’m sorry baby, but I’m a popular guy. I can’t have you coming around here all the time wanting---”

“Right, whatever. And Ronny, stop staring at my chest.” Crystal was already irritated, and she hadn’t been here sixty seconds yet. 

“Jeez, Ronny.” Joe said, exasperated and shaking his head. “They’re not even that nice.”

Crystal cracked her knuckles. “He’s right, Ronny. Joe’s are much bigger than mine.” 

Joe’s brow furrowed. “You ought to watch it, Crystal. There’s places where I could put you in jail for saying things like that to me.”

“Oh really? Like where?”

“Qo'nos, for one. There’s probably others.”

Joe started to continue and she cut him off. “Hey, I’d love to spend here all day with you and the _social elite_, but I need to show you some information I found and then I have to go.”

Joe stopped, looked at the kids playing their card game at the table, nodded, and pulled a megaphone out from behind the counter. Ronny grabbed the megaphone from his hand and whispered, “Sir, remember? You said since I am working here--”

“Right…um…okay, Pocahontas, you and me can go upstairs,” and Joe turned and started back up the stairs. 

A moment later, Crystal was picking her way through a room covered in half-empty food containers, dirty clothes, and shredded up comic books. The smell was already strangely sweet and sour just getting up the stairs, so she stopped breathing through her nose long before she made into the actual living quarters. 

“Actually, I was doing some more research online this morning myself,” Joe announced, as he picked his way over to a desk where his laptop was waiting. “I was gonna show Willie and Preacher-Man this afternoon. More proof of the conspiracy.”

Crystal kicked a pizza box out of her way and made it over to the laptop. Images of old newspapers filled the screen. 

Joe had several windows open showing various headlines. He clicked through them as he explained. “So I was looking up some of those guys from South-Medical. Specifically the top four guys, the ones that moved up through the ranks too fast. And I found this stuff. Look at this. All of them were inducted into the Ward Numismatic Society in the eighties, right when South-Medical was really taking off.”

“They reported this in the paper?” Crystal saw the headlines and pictures of a gala event with women in ball gowns and men in tuxedoes.

“Yeah, they publicized it and everything. That’s what took me so long to find. This was all in the Social pages, with the, ya know, debutante parties and crap like that. And that’s not all. Look at the picture, the one here on the left.”

Crystal squinted at the picture. It took her a minute to recognize the face, some twenty years younger than she was used to seeing it on TV. The picture showed a young Dick Scorse, smiling and standing arm-in-arm with several other young executives. 

“So Dick Scorse is in the Ward Society?”

“No, that’s what’s weird, or at least, that’s part of it. Nobody else is in the club. Just these four guys, as far as I can tell. Even our guy Jack Bolling and Rich Hall are not in it. Maybe they just work for them or something. I don’t know.”

“Well, add this to your file then.” Crystal pulled a folded up printout from her travel pack and set it down on Joe’s desk. 

“What is this? Anaconda, Colorado? Look baby, I don’t have time to go on a trip with you. Maybe next weekend--”

“This is the town from my dream. It’s a real place. I’ve never been there, and I’ve never heard of it before, but this is the town I dreamt about last week.”

Crystal could see that Joe wanted to make a smart remark, but he either couldn’t think of one, or he was caught not wanting to interrupt her. She knew that he had mentioned his strange dream from last week as well, and he apparently wanted to hear more about hers. She continued, “So I spent some time in the university library between classes, and did some internet searches too. And the guy in my dream? The old cowboy sheriff in the black hat? Turns out he was a real guy.”

Joe was hooked. He was even looking her in the eye. Speaking of which, his eyes looked a little dilated.

“His name was Hal Runyan. He lived in the Old West. He was like a famous lawman at the time. He was a U.S. Marshal in that town when it was first founded back in 1894. Apparently he was really old at the time, just like in my dream.”


----------



## linnorm

Yay, another update! <insert happy dance here>  One question though.  Isn't the name of the comic store (in the SH at least) Empire Comics?

Keep up the good work!!


----------



## Pierce

*The Griffon*



			
				linnorm said:
			
		

> *Yay, another update! <insert happy dance here>  One question though.  Isn't the name of the comic store (in the SH at least) Empire Comics? *




Nope - it's the Griffon.  Oddly enough, there is a store named Empire Comics here in Birmingham (although I think it recently changed its name).  When Joe's player was trying to come up with a last name, two of us suggested Empire.  A perfect fit, I think  

Perhaps we can woo Joe into posting up his description of the Griffon....


----------



## fludogg

*Comic store*

I was going to name it Empire Comics but I did not want to use the name of a real location....

However, I did not know they changed the name of the store here in Birmingham,   so .... I could change the name of The Griffin to Empire Comics.  It would be more fitting.  

Then again, why would Joe want to put his name on a big billboard advertising his location to all those who are searching for and/or spying on him?


----------



## Eyas

*Well, just finished another session*

Wow, tonight was great. I just wanted to post a quick quote from tonight before I hit the sack.

Brother Cooper: "You see, I'm not a priest, I'm a salesman."


----------



## ledded

*Re: Well, just finished another session*



			
				Eyas said:
			
		

> *Wow, tonight was great. I just wanted to post a quick quote from tonight before I hit the sack.
> 
> Brother Cooper: "You see, I'm not a priest, I'm a salesman." *




GM:  "Ok, Crystal, there is a bad guy on the passenger side of the 18 wheeler with a glock trying to get the door open, another bad guy with an uzi on the driver side step with the door open ready to climb in, and another 2 bad guys scrambling to get onto the cab, and a giant spider in the back of the truck.  Your action?"

Crystal: "I scramble up Mr. Uzi's back, jump in the driver seat, and start the truck."

I just love it when the 'smart hero' does something this incredibly stu... uh... brave.  ;^)


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 3 (5/21/2003) The Magic Shop*

*Session 3 (5/21/2003) The Magic Shop*

Willie was definitely going to have to get his car *soon*. He normally didn’t mind bumming rides off of people, especially the preacher, but Willie was not liking riding three guys in the front seat of a pickup, and definitely not with this comic book boy up beside him. Willie somehow had agreed to ride in the middle, and now he had the preacher’s more-than-adequate size on his left driving, and Joe’s big ol’ butt taking up the entire right side of the car.

“Joe, will you move your big butt over? And _what_ is that smell?”

“Oh, yeah, my stomach’s been a little upset since last night. Here, I’ll roll down a window.”

“You can’t,” the preacher admitted. “Window’s busted. I can’t roll it up or down except at home with a pair of---Wooo! Joseph! What did you eat?”

With his eyes watering, Willie saw the sign up ahead, in a little strip mall. “There’s the store. Get the truck pulled over. Get me out of this thing! That’s it, Joe, you’re riding in the back on the way home.”

“Alright, alright, I see how you’re gonna be. I’ll remember this,” Joe muttered as he plopped out of the truck into the parking lot. 

Willie gratefully slid out of the truck and took a breath of fresh air. Now, he could get a good look at this magic shop. From the front, it didn’t look like much. There was no sign up yet, just a temporary plastic banner, and in the front window, he could see numerous cardboard boxes in various states of unpacking. After catching his breath, he noted, “Doesn’t look like much from the outside.”

Brother Cooper nodded in agreement. “What do you think, Joseph---”

Willie turned as he heard a little bell clink. The sound came from the front door of the shop, where Joe had already gone in. 

“Well,” Brother Cooper continued. “I suppose Joseph has a good idea. Perhaps we should not all go in at once, so as to attract less attention.”

“Alright, well, I have no problem pretending like I don’t know him,” Willie grinned, and after a few more seconds, the two of them headed through the door.

Inside, the shop was full of trinkets. Candles, oils, and books made up the vast majority of the inventory, although there were plenty of other ways to waste money. One wall was covered in ornamental jewelry, knives, swords, and various metal goods. Another was covered in clothing, ranging from hemp woven shirts to velvet robes. The place smelled heavily of incense, and New Age music was playing over the sound system. 

There were no other customers there except for Joe, and there was only one employee present. A teenage Native American girl, working behind the counter. She was looking across the room at Joe, who was standing in the middle of one of the aisles apparently reading a book. She turned to Willie as he came in, and he turned on the charm. 

Fishing for information, when you weren’t really sure what you were looking for, was a tricky business. The right attitude with your subject was critical, and Willie was an expert with the ladies. He turned on Devilish Grin Just Between You and Me and gave the counter girl his full attention. “Hey, baby, how you doin’?”

Obviously, the wrong way to go. The girl turned cold on him, and asked point blank, “Can I help you find something, sir?”

“Oh, well, baby, you know, I’m just having a look around---”

“Let me know if you need anything, then.” She cut him off and moved over to where Brother Cooper was examining a collection of books. She began to talk to him, and apparently he was keeping her interest.

Willie pretended to examine a shelf full of crystals, and snuck a peek over at Joe. The fat guy looked like he was lost in a daze somewhere, staring ahead across the room and looking like a baby trying to mess its diaper. Willie wasn’t sure what to make of that, and maneuvered back closer to the preacher to check in with him.

Brother Cooper was questioning the girl. “So I see this Buddhist text here, and this necro-gnomish book here, but I don’t see any Christian books anywhere. Now, don’t you feel that you ought to be offering some alternatives to these belief systems here?”

Willie stealthily took a step backwards, deciding that was not a conversation he wanted to be involved in. He pretended to be engrossed in a fine selection of Tibetan wind-chimes when the salesgirl came back over to check on him. “Finding everything okay, sir?”

Willie gave her his best Friendly Confused Guy Needing Female Attention, “Thank you, baby, yeah, I’m looking for some of these for my mother, who is very into these, uh…wind chimes.”

The girl stopped and eyed him suspiciously, then he saw her bite. She shrugged one shoulder and started in, “Well, these are from Tibet and they are called---”

“I need a _special delivery_, please.” Joe interrupted and tapped the poor girl furiously on the shoulder.

The girl nodded knowingly and pointed to the back. “The door there in the back. You can go on in.”

Joe looked confused for a moment, then nodded, and headed towards the back door. 

The girl returned to Willie’s assistance. “Sorry, as I was saying, these are not really wind chimes, they’re called---”

“Um, hey baby, I think I need a special delivery too.” Willie offered, trying to look convincing.

“---and the monks there use them…No, you don’t, sir...do you want to hear about the monks?”

“Well, no, I would like a special delivery. I would like to go see the inventory in the back room.”

“I’m sorry, sir. That’s no possible. If there is nothing else I can show you out here then?”

“Oh, I see. Is it because he’s white? Oh, I get it! The white guy can go in the back, but not the black guy! I see how it is!”

The girl folded her arms across her chest. Unfortunately, the only other person here was Brother Cooper, and this kind of thing didn’t work so well when there wasn’t a crowd there to see it.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave the store please, sir.”

“What?!”

. . .

Joe was hearing the Halloween theme playing in his head as he walked into the back room. He gripped the strap of his backpack a little more tightly as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. There were stacks of boxes and crates crowding the room, leaving a narrow path which lead further back into their depths. The room smelled heavily of dust and cardboard.

Joe wasn’t so much scared by the back room, though. He was more than a little scared by how he knew the password to get _into_ the back room. He couldn’t really explain it, and he knew he should be able to if he was going to do it. 

There was something, a certain state of mind, a kind of unnatural concentration, that he had felt several times, when he was putting together his book over the past couple of nights. ‘_Thinking like they think_’ kept coming to mind, but he didn’t know where the phrase had come from, or who ‘they’ were. It was a kind of concentration, and it was something that Joe knew he shouldn’t be able to do. 

Some snippet came to mind, either of a song or a game or a movie or something Joe had once heard. *It’s the cheat code to the universe.* And maybe that’s what it was. Or maybe, he was just going crazy.

It made his head hurt a little, and it got worse the more he tried to push it. 

But when he concentrated that way, he saw things. He saw, well, he guessed they were auras, or something like that. He saw them in the book that he had gotten from the library, and something in the magic shop made him want to see the auras there too.

And there were auras there. Oh, yeah, there were auras there. Everything in the shop pointed to a plain-looking rug which had been tacked up on the back wall. There was nothing special about the rug normally, but its aura actually spelled out a message: “special delivery.”

Joe cleared his throat in what he hoped was a manly-sounding way, and continued deeper into the back room. The light was low, like candlelight, and as he rounded another corner, he saw that he was not alone. 

A man was sitting at a table with a clipboard and a pen. He was apparently examining the contents of a crate and noting the inventory onto his clipboard. The man appeared to be a Native American, and old too, probably seventy years old at least. Next to the crate was a small lantern, which provided the only light.

The man looked up and smiled a very wise, old smile, “Good afternoon.” He set the clipboard down on the table and devoted his full attention to Joe. 

“Yeah, hey, how ya’ doing?” Joe felt somewhat relieved. He had figured he would get back here to find a half-snake woman behind a screen or bunch of guys in turbans chanting to three glowing stones. But an old guy with a clipboard? He could handle that.

“This is your first time here.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Um…yep.” Joe looked around the room, wondering if he was supposed to bow or something.

The old man seemed like he was trying to put Joe at ease. “This is your first time shopping like this?” 

“No, I’ve been shopping lots of times. Um…what’s up with the special delivery thing you got going out front?”

The old man smiled again. “A…crude but effective method of finding our customers. Please have a seat. Allow me to explain.”

Joe eyed the chair suspiciously, and sat down on the corner of the seat. The old man cleared his throat and continued. “I am what is known as a Dealer. I buy and sell merchandise that is magical in nature.”

Joe realized he was holding his breath, and he forced himself to breath out.

“Since this is your first time working with a Dealer, I will explain a couple of things to you. First, Dealers never get involved in other people’s affairs. Dealers are always neutral. I want you to understand that. Any problems you have, are your problems, and they are not my concern.”

Joe could think of about twelve smart remarks to follow that line, but he just nodded and listened. The old man was soft-spoken, and seemed to honestly want to teach Joe something important.

“Second, Dealers don’t take sides. If you have an enemy, I will sell you items which might aid you against him. But, even five minutes later, I would sell your enemy items to aid him against you. To do business with a Dealer, you must accept that.”

Joe nodded. “Sure, nothing personal, just business.”

“Third, and this is something which should be unspoken, but in these times bears repeating: Dealers work together with other Dealers. A Dealer is never alone. Understand that, so that any notion of crossing a Dealer in any way in the future is banished from your mind. Such an action would be suicide.” The old man’s tone and smile never wavered. 

“Okay, wasn’t planning on it.” Joe squirmed in his seat. He was being threatened by a magic man in the back of a magic room in a magic shop. Yep, just about where he expected to wind up when he got involved with this whole mess.

“And finally, back here, we don’t trade in dollars. For Dealers, blood is the most common currency.”

. . .

“So he sold you a magic hat? How much did you pay for it?” Willie was confused, and more than a little disappointed. He felt like Jack’s mom in Jack and the Beanstalk, when the stupid white kid came back from the store with a bunch of magic beans. He could see why they wouldn’t let a brother back there; there was no point. No black man would get talked into buying a magic hat, regardless of price.

“Um…it’s complicated.” Joe had refused to even talk about the hat on the ride back to the shop. It was only after Brother Cooper had dropped the two of them off back at the Griffon that he would tell Willie anything. And even then he made the poor white kid working there wait outside while the two discussed it.

“Uh-huh….okay, so what’s your magic hat supposed to do?” 

“It’s Bigfoot’s Hat!” Joe seemed proud as a pimp as he pulled his new hat from his backpack. The hat looked something like a bowler but more like a beret, but was clearly pretty cheap and unexciting.

“Uh-huh…so you got Bigfoot’s hat. Yeah, Joe, that’s great. Well I got a date tonight---”

“Take my picture! You always carry one of those disposable cameras, right? Take my picture with the hat on!”

Willie smirked. Jeez, this guy was really gone. See, that’s what happens when a boy gets all caught up in these comic books and stuff and doesn’t get out on enough dates. “Sure, Joe, okay I’ll get your picture.” Willie pulled his camera from his jacket pocket. “Alright, smile for the camera---Whoa! Did that guy punch you in the mouth?”

Joe’s smile faded. “Huh?”

“You got blood on your teeth, Joe. Like your gums are bleeding.”

“Oh!” Joe licked his teeth and smiled again. “It’s okay, that won’t show up in the picture.”

"Whatever you say, Joe".

*Click*


----------



## Spatula

Mmm, creepy.  So, bigfoot's hat... The ability to never be clearly photographed?


----------



## fenzer

Thanks Drew, another great update.

Blood as currency and magic "Dealers",  I love it.


----------



## carpedavid

This just keeps getting better and better!

*puts d20 modern on shopping list*


----------



## Old Drew Id

Spatula said:
			
		

> *Mmm, creepy.  So, bigfoot's hat... The ability to never be clearly photographed? *




More or less. He can not be recorded clearly, either on video or audio. So he is blurry in photos, on film, or on TV, and his voice is drowned out by static on audio recordings.

Also, so far we have discovered that this protection applies to his car while he is driving. fludogg/Joe has a ball with it.


----------



## ledded

Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> *
> 
> More or less. He can not be recorded clearly, either on video or audio. So he is blurry in photos, on film, or on TV, and his voice is drowned out by static on audio recordings.
> 
> Also, so far we have discovered that this protection applies to his car while he is driving. fludogg/Joe has a ball with it. *




Yeah, it's become the only way Joe can get people to stand really close to him...


----------



## ledded

*BUMP*

Cant have this falling off the first page, can we?

C'mon OldDrewID... we need that SH fix.... quit trying to, you know, get work done and have a life and all that other boring stuff


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 3 (5/21/2003) Lunch-And-Learn*

*Session 3 (5/21/2003) Lunch-And-Learn*

“So you stole your boss’ car?” Crystal asked between bites of her seven-dollar burger. 

“No, baby, not _stole_ it. You know, I _borrowed_ it. For work.” Willie answered, and flagged the waiter down for some more coffee. This white-tablecloth place was a little too fancy for his tastes, especially just for lunch, but he had to admit, they made some damn fine coffee.

“Right, but you said you took it on your date last night.” Crystal continued as the waiter poured Willie some fresh Columbian.

“I did. And with the lady I was out with, I tell you I _was_ working it.” Willie smiled and gave her a sly wink as he leaned back with his mug.

Taylor lowered her newspaper slightly and raised an eyebrow at Willie, “You mean you pork girl?”

Willie spit coffee back into his mug, and coughed hoarsely, but was saved the trouble of answering by Brother Cooper arriving at the table. “My! Are you alright, Wilson?” Brother Cooper patted Willie on the back, who nodded and continued to cough as Brother Cooper settled into his chair. “Well, what have you all been discussing?”

Taylor rattled her newspaper and began, “Big Willie private dick--”

Crystal interrupted, “We were just…making small talk until you got here. Where’s Joe?”

Brother Cooper sighed, “Joseph can’t make it to lunch today. He’s under the weather, I believe. He says he was up late last night working on a project of some sort. But he has his cell phone on, and he assured me he would be available for any conspiracy-related matters which we may become involved in later in the day.”

“Oh! That remind me!” Taylor exclaimed, and pulled a small pouch from her bag. She withdrew what appeared to be several thin wallets from the pouch, and passed them out to everyone at the table. “To help with investigation.” She explained.

Willie opened the wallet, and his jaw dropped open. He was looking an identification card for a special agent of the Alabama Bureau of Investigation, with his own smiling picture looking back at him. The name on the card was not his own, but close enough for him to remember easily. Willie looked up in surprise, and saw that Crystal was equally impressed. But Brother Cooper’s face was not so amused.

The waiter returned to the table at that point to take Brother Cooper’s order. The preacher ordered a simple black cup of coffee, and waited for him to leave before handing the wallet back to Taylor. “No thank you, Taylor, I have no use for such an item.”

Taylor didn’t seem too upset. She just took the wallet and pocketed it, mumbling, “Your problem, preacher, not mine.” After a moment, she returned her attention to her newspaper.

Willie decided to change the subject, as he pocketed the new ID card. “Well, back to what we was talking about before. I think we have some direction now for our investigation to proceed.”

“The Dick Scorse thing?” Crystal’s tone was now completely business.

“Right. So…we think we got a perp that’s hitting places specifically based on whether they received money from this guy Scorse. So, for suspects, we need to look at people with a grudge against Scorse himself, or people with a grudge against South-Medical. And since our bald-headed friend seems to be involved now, I think South-Medical is the way to look first.”

“We should also look for a pattern in where they are attacking, and figure out where they’re gonna hit next.” Crystal offered. “My bet is the next one will be the Children’s Science Center.”

“How do you figure that?” Willie asked, taking another sip of coffee and pondering stake-out schemes in his head.

“Well, pretty much just because that’s the order they are in on Google.” She admitted with a slight smile. “Still, that’s three in a row so far, in that order.”

There was a pause at the table while everyone waited for someone else to offer an objection to this logic. After a moment, Willie agreed. “Hell, sounds good enough to me. I’ve worked off of thinner leads. Okay, everybody think we should stake out the Science Center?”

Everyone sounded their agreement. Brother Cooper then continued slowly, “I know one member of my congregation used to work for South-Medical. He got laid off recently. Terrible burden on his family…As I recall, they laid off something like a hundred people recently, didn’t they?”

“Hundred and sixty, I think,” answered Crystal. She rubbed her chin thoughtfully and caught Willie’s eye. He could see she was thinking along the same lines before she even said it. “A hundred and sixty is a pretty long list of suspects.”

“I don’t suppose they published a list of the people they laid off, huh?” Willie thought aloud.

“I doubt it. Not the kind of thing you put in a press release, as far as I know.” Brother Cooper answered. “From what little I know of the way these companies do business, that sort of information would only be found in their, um…people department…what do you call that?”

“Human Resources Department,” Taylor injected, never looking up from her paper. 

“Yes, thank you, Taylor.” Brother agreed, and continued, “So, we just need to find out where their Human Resources Department is---”

“1218 Eleventh Avenue South,” Taylor injected again, still not looking up from her paper.

Brother Cooper paused with surprise, as did everyone else.

“Open on Saturdays from noon until three,” Taylor continued.

“Okay, how do you know all of that?” Crystal demanded. 

Taylor folded the paper down and across, and turned it to face the table. “Because they say so here in their ad. They are currently hiring new night janitors.”

Another pause as information was digested at the table.

“A night janitor would probably have access to the whole building,” Crystal considered.

“And no one would be watching.” Willie continued.

“And Joe says he’s good with computers,” Taylor nodded along.

Brother Cooper considered the idea, and shrugged, “Well, he did say he would be available later in the day…”


----------



## Eyas

Hehe....



> “I did. And with the lady I was out with, I tell you I was working it.” Willie smiled and gave her a sly wink as he leaned back with his mug.






> Taylor lowered her newspaper slightly and raised an eyebrow at Willie, “You mean you pork girl?”




Oh, the acidic tongue of that Taylor, always made me think that maybe I was being to nice.


----------



## fenzer

Thanks for the update Drew.


----------



## Spatula

*Re: Session 3 (5/21/2003) Lunch-And-Learn*

Somehow the idea of sending Joe off on his own sounds bad to me... Although with his new hat, I guess he won't have to worry about surveillance cameras.


----------



## ledded

Eyas said:
			
		

> *Oh, the acidic tongue of that Taylor, always made me think that maybe I was being to nice. *




Oh, funny thing is, that's not the half of it.  He had to clean it up a lot for the SH...  for some reason we are all really growing  to like this character even though she is so abusive.  I can't ever decide (IC) if Willie should laugh or pistol-whip her with my .44  ;^)



> *Somehow the idea of sending Joe off on his own sounds bad to me... Although with his new hat, I guess he won't have to worry about surveillance cameras.*




Heh.  Trust me.  Stay tuned for this one.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Re: Re: Session 3 (5/21/2003) Lunch-And-Learn*



			
				Spatula said:
			
		

> *Somehow the idea of sending Joe off on his own sounds bad to me... *




Oh, trust me, everyone at the table thought it was a bad idea, but there was this almost morbid sense of curiosity to see just how much trouble he could get himself into.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 3 (5/21/2003) Human Resources*

*Session 3 (5/21/2003) Human Resources*

“So you understand that the hours for this job are seven at night until four in the morning, Monday through Friday?” The woman was old, with skin like leather, and hair was wildly sprouting out in several directions, and tinted strongly blue and gray, which Joe decided looked a lot like a hairy version of the Franklin Mint Civil War chess set playing a match across the top of her head.

“Yes, ma’am,” Joe fidgeted with the tight sweat-stained collar on his shirt. He hated these stupid tight-collared button-down shirts. He knew he probably had pit-stains down to his waist. Here he was, the Sorcerer Supreme of the whole planet, and he had to wear one of these uncomfortable shirts to get a job. Besides, if he was just applying for a job as a janitor, why did he have to look all spiffy?

“And that you make $5.15 an hour and you get paid every two weeks?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Joe nodded. He pulled on his tie to try to loosen up the collar on his shirt, but then the clip came loose and he was suddenly holding the whole thing limply in his hand. The interviewer just stared at him as he snagged the clip-on back onto his collar as best he could. Stupid tie…what janitor wears a tie anyway?

“Okay, let’s see what else then…are you an alien?”

“What?!” This was great, Joe thought, here he was trying to get a job at this place, trapped in this little room with this woman, and it turns out she’s a mind-sucking alien planning to eat his brains. Probably working for the government, too. Well, she wouldn’t get his brain! He started to reach for his pistol and realized that Taylor had made him leave his backpack in the car.

“Are you a resident alien? You did not check on the form whether you were an American citizen or a resident alien.”

“Um…no, I’m not an alien.” Joe answered, and his heart returned to a normal pace. Not that you would be able to tell, of course, he thought. They look just like the rest of us. That’s part of their whole plan. 

“Oh, okay, here we go, and is this your correct social security number?”

“As far as you know.”

“Excuse me?”

“Um…yes it is.” Joe had to play it cool now. Willie and Brother Cooper had told him to keep his answers short and to the point. He shouldn’t say anything he didn’t have to. And of course, Crystal had threatened to give him a bloody nose if he even mentioned conspiracies to the interviewer. He had told her he had recently gained the ability to give himself a bloody nose any time he wanted, but she had just cracked her knuckles, so he left it at that.

“Well…okay then. Can you start on Monday night?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

. . .

Taylor drummed her fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music, “…and boy in back, he say everyone attack, and it turn to barroom bris … barroom bris…”

Willie bit his lip and stared out the window across the street towards the South-Medical parking lot. He reminded himself for the thirteenth time why he normally worked alone, and how he would make sure to not get trapped in a car with anyone when they staked out the Science Center tomorrow night.

Joe had been inside now for twenty minutes. He might well be another half-hour at least. Taylor seemed more than happy to just leave him there to take the bus home, but Willie was a little nervous that the guy would say the wrong thing to the wrong person and wind up running out the front door of the building, with half a dozen guards blazing bullets at him on the way out. Joe just didn’t seem to have that charisma that you needed for these kinds of jobs. 

Willie pulled a cigarette out of his pack of Kool’s and scanned the perimeter of the parking lot again, just for good measure. He saw an ashtray near a service entrance and opened the car door. He explained, “Sit tight Tee, I’m gonna go have a smoke, “ and then mumbled, ”at least until this song is over.”

If Taylor noticed what he said, she gave no appearance of it, and waved to him as he got out to go smoke. Willie limped across the parking lot, sticking close to the shade trees as much as possible, just for good practice. And then he saw it. 

The car looked expensive. A little sticker in the corner of the window noted that the driver was a South-Medical employee, and the parking spot was a reserved spot for an executive. But the dead giveaway was the license plate. Willie had read that license plate number out to Lucille only a couple of days ago. 

Willie was looking at Jack Bolling’s car. 

Willie casually lit his cigarette and considered the car for a minute. He would love to get some information from this guy; to find out what he had to do with everything that was going on, what was up with Scorse and the freaky book and the picture from 1924, and what all this crap about coin-collecting and magic medallions was really all about. 

Which was fortunate, because the bald guy was walking out the front door of the building right now.

Willie decided to forego subtlety in favor of getting some answers. He leaned against the hood of Bolling’s car, gripped his cane a little more tightly, and continued to casually smoke.

Bolling approached, wearing an Italian designer suit even on a Saturday, and carrying an expensive leather briefcase. He wore mirrored sunglasses, and had his keys and remote out in his hand as he approached.

“Hello, Mr. Bolling.”

Bolling never even looked directly at Willie, as far as he could tell with the mirrored glasses. He used his remote to unlock the car from ten feet away, and never slowed down. He didn’t even look up at Willie as he opened the door and tossed his briefcase inside. He whispered simply, “Not here. Follow me somewhere where we won’t be seen,” and slid into the front seat.

The car started and Willie stepped away as Bolling pulled out of the parking space. “Well…damn,” he mumbled, and then hobbled as quickly as possible (while still trying to maintain a cool and casual look) back to Taylor’s waiting car.


----------



## linnorm

[BUMP]

Back to the top of the page you!


----------



## Morte

*Re: Session 3 (5/21/2003) Human Resources*



			
				Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> *He whispered simply, “Not here. Follow me somewhere where we won’t be seen,” and slid into the front seat.*




Look, this just isn't fair. I really liked this SH from the start. I've been unable to read it for three or four weeks, and I came back to loads of updates which was great, and just as it got to a "plot thickens" moment... ...I'm caught up.

Take pity on a sick man, Mr Id, and post some more.

*crawls out of ditch and waves can of meths at the screen with big smile*


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 3 (5/21/2003) Secrets and Ingredients*

*Session 3 (5/21/2003) Secrets and Ingredients*

The empty parking garage was as quiet as a grave, and Willie’s footsteps echoed vulnerably as he walked towards the idling car. He kept his hands in his pockets: his left hand on his gun, and his right hand on his radio. He keyed the transmit button as he walked, and locked it into place. Whatever happened, he wanted Taylor to be able to hear it. 

Bolling lowered his window, but did not get out of his car, remove his mirrored sunglasses, or stop the engine. He had led them through several circles of downtown traffic, down a handful of alleys, and finally through a service entrance to this hospital parking garage, evidently to shake off any pursuit, though neither Willie or Taylor had spotted any sign of anyone following them.

“I don’t have long, Mr. Lamar.” His voice was so devoid of emotion, it was almost metallic. 

Willie grimaced, “So, you know my name? Fine, you want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Been having many dreams lately, Mr. Lamar? Dreams of coins? Dreams of medallions?”

“Fine. Two for two, %$#hole. Yeah, I’ve had some dreams, and I read your stupid book, too.”

“Good, so you’ve found the secret library then? That is good.” Bolling nodded, but otherwise gave no sign he was even interested in the conversation.

“Okay, I asked you nice.” Willie felt his temperature rising. “Now I’m asking again. Want to tell me what this is all about? Why is somebody messing up places where they got money from your boss?”

“Don’t assume that things are always as they seem. Scorse is not my boss, Mr. Lamar.”

“Oh that’s right. He wasn’t good enough to get into your coin society, was he? Want to tell me something about that?”

Bolling drew in a breath to answer, then stopped himself and reconsidered. After a moment, he answered, “I want you to imagine something for a moment, Mr. Lamar. Imagine you are in charge of protecting something. You know that if too much attention is paid to what you are doing, then someone might come after this thing you are protecting, or they might come after you. Now, how would you go about ensuring that too much attention was never paid to you?”

Willie squinted and tried to make sense of what Bolling was saying. He hoped that Taylor was hearing all of this. 

“I’ll tell you, Mr. Lamar. You set up a charismatic decoy. Someone to draw attention.”

“So…Scorse is just…what? A front man?”

Bolling ignored the question and continued with his story. “The decoy allowed others to work behind the scenes, unnoticed and unhindered. Now imagine that this decoy was, while useful, still expensive to maintain. And then one day, fairly recently, we were done. And the decoy was no longer needed. So my employers are letting him fall.”

“Okay…what the f#%$ are you talking about? So you don’t care what happens to Scorse anymore? And what do you mean, you’re done? Done with what?”

Bolling put the car into gear, and began to raise the window. “Send my greetings to the rest of the class of 1924, Mr. Lamar.”

Before Willie could react, Bolling hit the gas and the car sped down and out of the parking deck. 

. . . 

The odor of formaldehyde and natural gas was intense, but Crystal was long since used to it. A lot of students had a tougher time of it, probably from a mixture of the odor of the lab and the stifling heat. The air conditioning was never on in the university labs on the weekends, and it could get sticky pretty quickly when you turned on a few burners and let them run. 

Fortunately, that was what Crystal had been planning on when she came in. The labs were deserted, and she had free run of the equipment for the majority of the day.

She finally looked up when the machine beeped. Really, the machine did most of the work for her. Crystal had slipped the sample from the janitor’s rag into the feed stream of the capillary gas chromatography machine, pushed a few buttons, and then just waited for the resulting chromatogram. After that, there would be some chemistry to figure out, but really, it was child’s play. She even had time to study while the machine worked. 

The chromatogram finally came through and she sighed heavily. There were a huge number of peaks on the graph, and a lot of it was organic. She cracked her knuckles, took out the mud sample from her backpack, and set up the machine again for a run at that sample. She now had an hour at least while that ran, so she could look up some numbers on this first chart. 

Time passed and she made a lot of progress on the chart. This was what she liked about chemistry, and why she had at one point even considered it as a career. She had fed the “black goo” into the machine, and it had split the sample into all of its constituent substances. After that, it had produced a graph showing the little peaks for each substance, and then she just had to match the peaks up with the info from her book, and presto, Crystal could say what the substance was. 

The list was more or less finished, and the results were more than a little frightening. Crystal took another sample of the goo and put it under a microscope to confirm a couple of findings, and sure enough, it was just what it looked like. She needed to call the others and tell them what this was.

But first, the chromatography machine beeped again, and the mud sample graph was ready. Crystal breathed a heavy sigh again, but this time in relief. At least the mud was not complicated. It was just normal mud, with a bunch of trace minerals in it. This was easy, and was what she was supposed to be an expert at handling. 

She compared the chart to her geology reference. The trace minerals in the mud were like a fingerprint. The specific mix of minerals in soil varied from place to place, and if you knew the right combination of minerals, you could tell were a particular soil sample came from. Her geology reference listed the chemical makeup of the soil for almost every populated area in the state. Following her finger down a long list of numbers, Crystal found it. An exact match.

The mud came from the shores of Lake Martin. Interesting, but not necessarily enlightening. Lake Martin was a place where rich people had lake houses, maybe an hour outside of town. Nothing Crystal could make of that right now. And besides, the first sample was way more interesting than that. 

Crystal took out her cell phone and called Brother Cooper. 

. . .

Brother Guyzell Cooper pulled his truck over across the street from the homeless shelter. He was a few minutes early but he was sure they could use the extra help. Then his cell phone had rung, and he was suddenly being accosted with a list of chemical names and all sorts of scientific terms. 

“Okay, now slow down, Crystal. Now tell me again. Gimme the list of what you got in that…uh…sample, in English if ya don’t mind.”

Crystal began her list again, and Brother Cooper felt his stomach getting queasy. 

Insect material, probably a centipede. Walnuts. Stomach lining, not human, maybe from a cow or goat. Sugar. Human blood. Eggs. Chocolate.


----------



## KnidVermicious

Oh. It was just a bug and blood smoothie. Nothing to worry about, really. Or was it a Nestle Haggis With Nuts Bar?


----------



## Eyas

> Oh. It was just a bug and blood smoothie. Nothing to worry about, really. Or was it a Nestle Haggis With Nuts Bar?




No, no....more like bloody tripe cake.


----------



## fenzer

Thanks Drew.  I don't think I will be eating chocolate for awhile.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 3 (5/21/2003) Brother Cooper's Mission*

*Session 3 (5/21/2003) Brother Cooper's Mission*

“So you don’t ever serve any dessert to the men?”

The kitchen at the St. James Mission for the Homeless smelled strongly of cayenne pepper and chili powder. Brother Cooper had replaced his classic cowboy hat with a hair net and an apron (which was still too tight), and was busy stirring a giant steel pot with a wooden spoon, and adding can after can of beans to the mix. 

The mission manager was busy stacking up plastic tumblers for the night’s dinner, and he answered over his shoulder. “Not really. I mean, on Christmas and Thanksgiving we can usually get hold of a pie or something, but the budget’s already stretched thin as it is, so there’s, you know, not much push to pay for sweets too. Plus we get some subsidies that depend on the fod being of a certain nutritional value, so…”

Brother Cooper chewed his lip and concentrated on stirring the chili. He was at a dead end, near as he could tell. The homeless men had definitely come through here, and had even gotten their clothes here. But whatever that concoction was that they had eaten must have come from somewhere else---

“’Course, some of the women volunteers do bring in brownies and such from time to time. And you’re welcome to do that, Reverend, if you get the urge. No rule against it or anything.”

The spoon stopped moving.

“You say, brownies? Um, ya know, son, I happen to be a, well, you could say a connoisseur of brownies, and various other chocolate confections. I’m sure you couldn’t tell that from my figure,” Brother Cooper smiled and laid it on thick. He needed answers here, and he felt very close now. “I wonder, could you tell me which of the ladies happened to bring by brownies? I’d, you know, like to exchange recipes, and possible ask them if they might donate to my church’s next bake sale.” He tried to put in a slight tone of blustering shyness to the question. He had to make it look innocent.

The mission manager stopped stacking the cups and looked over at the preacher with a sly look. “Well, I admit, I’m always on the lookout for a woman who knows her way around the kitchen myself, reverend. And we do have some good bakers. Let’s see, Isabella Garcia used to bring brownies around a lot. Haven’t seen her in a while though. Um… Jackie Clark is a good cook. She brings in cupcakes every now and then. Um…oh, and Wanda Miller. She’s a good cook also…and recently widowed.”

. . .

Brother Cooper leaned back in his recliner, set his hat into his lap, and rubbed his aching temples. He flipped on the optional heat and massage for his lower back, and took a few deep breaths. 

Of course, he had known that one day he would be called upon to fight this fight. He had the faith for it. He was as ready as he could get, that was for sure. He had been trained and mentored for years by a man who had hunted and killed demons. (Read Guyzell's Backstory Here)

It was like Frankenhowser had said. Demons and evil forces really were all over the place. If you looked in the Bible, it was there in Mark 6:13. The apostles went around to a handful of villages at one point and cast out “many demons”. Even good God-fearing people in Guyzell’s own church would read that passage and think nothing of it. But Frankenhowser had pointed out the math on that to Guyzell, and really scared him to his roots. 

The apostles went to a “few villages” and cast out “many demons” over some short period of time. Even being generous, you could figure they saw maybe five thousand people in all those villages. Probably less than that. Then they say they cast out “many” demons. So that would be, what? Maybe twenty? Again, being conservative, go with that. And there was not, as far as they said, anything special about those villages. Just a random sampling in ancient Israel. So that’s twenty demons per five thousand people. In the modern world, you got six billion people. So that would mean there might be around twenty-four million demons active in the world right now. Shoot, at that rate, he must be running into every day and not even knowing it. 

It was enough to make you lose hope. At least, that’s how it felt sometimes. Especially tonight. He needed a little bit of guidance tonight. Of course, he would pray for guidance later, but for now, he needed to pick up the phone.

A thickly accented old man’s voice answered. “Ah-lo? Zis is ze Frankenhowser residenz!”

“John? This is Guyzell.”

“Guyzell? Ah-lo dear boy! I vas just praying for you ze udder day, working zere in ze big city! How are you keeping up?” His voice was light and jovial, and Guyzell felt his spirits instantly lifted. At the very least, he was reminded that he was not alone in all of this.

“Good, good. The Lord’s laying blessings on me every day.”

“Zat is good, yah. So, tell me, vie are you ringing me at zis late hour? Zomething is come up, ya?”

Brother Cooper smiled. Frankenhowser was a good man, but he wasted no time in pleasantries, and he came off as brusque to most people who met him. But Brother Cooper knew it was just his way, and his urgency to get down to business and figure out how he could help.

So, Brother Cooper related his story, as best he could. He told Frankenhowser everything he could remember about the library attack, and the investigation up to this point. It felt good to just relate the thing out to someone. Especially someone who would not think he was crazy after hearing it.

When the story was done, the old man was silent for a minute. Guyzell imagined he could hear the old master brooding on the other end of the line, considering what he had heard, and drawing on years of arcane knowledge and experience. At last he responded, “Ya, I have heard of zis material you are describing. Ze recipe is familiar to me.”

“Well, what does it mean? What is it?”

Frankenhowser sighed and then went headlong into his explanation. “It is a formula for controlling ze minds unt hearts of ze weak-willed. It is made from ze blood of ze one who wishes to be in control. Ze enchanter must draw zer own blood, unt cook ze mixture. Zen, zey must feed it to ze victim. After zat, zey become friendly to ze enchanter.”

“How friendly? Enough to kill someone if you asked them to?”

“No, no, at least, not in ze one dose. But, if ze victim is given wary many doses, over a period of some time, zen yes, zey would eventually become ze complete slave of ze enchanter unt do vatever zey wished.” 

“How much time would that take? And how many doses are we talking about? And…wouldn’t that take a lot of blood?”

“Ya, quite a bit of ze enchanter’s blood, unt as much time as it would take to draw zat blood unt not fall over from ze loss of it. So, perhaps two veeks per person I vould imagine.”

“So, if someone used this on half a dozen homeless men, they would have had to have been doing this for a while to come up with that much blood, and to feed them that many doses?”

“Ya, zat is correct. Unless, of course, zey are smart unt have been bleeding zemselves for some time unt saving ze blood for such an occasion. Zere are many enchanters who do such things, as ze blood is a powerful component in zeir recipes. “

“Okay…so we’re looking for someone who has, one way or another, been bleeding themselves for months in preparation for this. Um…not quite as reassuring as I was hoping this conversation would turn out, John.”

“Ya, ze forces of evil are often uh… unsettling, Guyzell. Ze dark arts are a matter of obsession. As is controlling ze mind of another. Zis potion you have encountered, it is called, in ze version I am familiar vith, ze ‘Elixir of ze Heart’.”


----------



## ledded

*Re: Session 3 (5/21/2003) Brother Cooper's Mission*



			
				Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> *Session 3 (5/21/2003) Brother Cooper's MissionZis potion you have encountered, it is called, in ze version I am familiar vith, ze ‘Elixir of ze Heart’.” *




"Covah da Heart, Indy!!!!"

Ok, I just couldnt resist.


----------



## fludogg

*Re: Session 3 (5/21/2003) Brother Cooper's Mission*



			
				Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> *Session 3 (5/21/2003) Brother Cooper's Mission
> 
> A thickly accented old man’s voice answered. “Ah-lo? Zis is ze Frankenhowser residenz!”
> 
> *





Its Franken*HOOZER*...


----------



## fenzer

I love the Brother Cooper character.  I could visualize the whole scene with him in the chair on the phone.  The look of concern, fatigue and determination on his face.  I can't wait to see him in action.

Thanks for the update Drew.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 3 (5/21/2003) Sunday Bloody Sunday*

*Session 3 (5/21/2003) Sunday Bloody Sunday*

Willie opened the car door for Gramms, and held her cane as she sat down into the driver’s seat. He started to hand her cane over to her once she was inside, and then stopped and realized he had accidentally handed her his own cane instead. Gramms gave him a little smirk and exchanged canes with him.

“It does my heart good to see you helping out a preacher like that Reverend Cooper, Wilson. His sermon this morning was right on, talking ‘bout finding the devil in disguise. I tell you, that description fit a number of the girls you been out with in your time, boy. Oh, yeah, you think your Gramms don’t know ‘bout how you spend your time. I tell you, Wilson, you could learn a lot from that man,” she preached as she removed her Sunday church gloves and proceeded to start up the car. 

“Yes, Gramms,” Willie agreed, “now remember, I’ll be over for Sunday lunch later on. Now you drive safe.”

“Don’t you tell me how to drive, boy! I was driving before you was messing your diapers! Now you go help out your little preacher friend and don’t you be late for lunch like you always are. Your cousin Gerald is coming over, and he has never been late one time--”

“Yes, Gramms,” Willie forced a smile and quickly closed the car door to end the conversation. As he limped down the sidewalk back towards the crowd of people departing the church, he gripped his cane so tight it made his knuckles creak.

. . .

Joe was uncomfortable again, sweating, and wearing a tie for the second time in as many days. He hadn’t been to church on Sunday morning in years, but he figured, with the extremely weird stuff he had been reading in that magic book this week, it couldn’t hurt to at least poke his head in the old house of Jehovah. And the fact that he had actually seen this preacher take part in mortal combat last weekend…well, it at least made him respect the guy enough to check out his shtick. 

The sermon wasn’t bad, either. Brother Cooper definitely knew how to work a crowd. The singing was a little long, and not to Joe’s tastes, but he took part just the same. At least it distracted him from thinking about the nightmares he had been having lately and the mind-bending things he had been reading about in his “Necronomicon”. He couldn’t even bear to think about the stuff that he found himself reading in that book late at night.

As far as actually participating in the service and the singing, Joe knew he didn’t necessarily have the best voice, but what he lacked in skill he more than made up for in volume, and he was very pleased when most of the people nearby in the pews moved away from him so that the whole congregation would be able to hear him better. It felt good to forget the dark stuff he had been caught up in all week and hang out with the normals.

After the service, the crowd milled around to say hello to one another for several minutes, and Joe waited patiently on the church’s front steps to check in with the preacher. But once again, without something distracting him, Joe’s mind kept going back to the things he had been reading. The magic texts, the descriptions of dark rituals designed to do unspeakable things, and the needling queasiness in his stomach that told him it was all true, and more importantly, that  hunger that drove him, that made him want to do those things himself. 

Brother Cooper was still stuck talking to a bunch of old women, and Joe was getting really bored. He should have brought a comic to read. He looked around, and spotted a hot chick in a skirt leaving the church and heading across the parking lot to her car. Without a thought, Joe suddenly felt the urge overtake him. He took a few steps to get away from the crowd, and then his hands were moving and his voice was following ancient words not meant for human tongues.

The world was not right. He was going to faint. The air was squeezing him, and the ground lurched beneath his feet. For one fleeting moment, he felt his mind take a step towards something vast and old and deep, and he instinctively shrank away. Immediately, he felt a piercing sensation in his nose and he reached up to stop the nosebleed as it began. His head felt like it was going to split open with a migraine. And then a sudden burning cold sensation in his pocket. 

“Ow..ow…owowowOW!” he dug into his pocket and turned it out onto the sidewalk. A pocketful of change tumbled out of his pocket on to the ground, and with it a cold mist. Joe staggered and stopped over the coins. 

Two dimes and a nickel. All covered in a thin layer of white frost. They were frozen solid. 

Joe righted himself and ignored the coins, as well as the frostbite on his hip, the migraine, and the nosebleed. He had nearly done it. He had nearly performed magic. He had nearly broken the rules of the universe just now, and then he had backed off. 

The girl was at her car now. If he was gonna do this, it was now or never. With a grunt of pure will, Joe pointed his fingers at her again and the words came to him again. Twisted living words not meant for a modern time as his hands traced the elder sigils in the air.

Again, the world lurched, but this time Joe held on. He felt something move through him.  The Hand of Agamotto was summoned. It reached out from him to do his bidding. 

The girl opened her car door and suddenly, as though by a gust of wind, her skirt flew up for a second. She yelped in surprise and pushed it back into place before jumping into her car and slamming the door shut. 

Joe grinned. The spell had worked. And then the universe paid him back for breaking the rules. 

Joe clutched his nose in agony. The nosebleed was even more serious now, and he unclipped his tie from his neck to use as a handkerchief. He closed his left eye to block out the worst part of the headache, but he was not sure that helped. His throat felt raw like he had been screaming for hours. 

Joe slowly turned around. Amazingly, it did not appear that anyone had noticed anything. He hobbled over to the bottom of the steps and leaned against the handrail, trying to look casual, while waiting for the nosebleed to stop. 

Finally, he spotted Willie walking an old woman to her car, and waved to him as he started heading back over. At about the same time, Joe saw Brother Cooper beg off an older couple and head his way. 

“Joseph, good to see you this morning. Are you feeling okay?” Brother Cooper was wearing a white suit with a red tie, and was fanning himself with a white Stetson. 

Joe nodded and mumbled, “Nosebleed…I’m fine.”

“Well, if there is anything I can do, please let me know….ah, Wilson, I’m glad you could stay. Your grandmother is certainly quite a woman. Do send her my best.”

“Sure thing, preacher,” Willie nodded, looking like a scene straight out of a blaxploitation flick with his dark suit and cane. “What’s up, Joe? You look like hell.”

“I’m fine. What’s the plan tonight?” 

There was a brief pause, and both turned to Brother Cooper for the answer. The preacher frowned for a minute before answering, “I think we should stake out the Children’s Science Center. And I think tonight, it should probably be all of us. I got a feeling we’re gonna need all the help we can get.”


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 3 (5/21/2003) Stakeout*

*Session 3 (5/21/2003) Stakeout*

Crystal looked at her watch again. Eleven fifty-five, and all was quiet. She sighed, again, and checked the safety one more time on her pistol. Still on…for now.

She looked across the front seat at Taylor, who was busy using the binoculars to stare down the street, probably at nothing. They could see a good long ways from here on top of the parking deck, but so far, nothing had happened. 

Willie was out there somewhere north of them, in disguise as a homeless person, wandering the street. And just around the corner Joe and Brother Cooper were waiting in Brother Cooper’s truck on street level, watching the main entrance. 

Crystal yawned and picked up the walkie-talkie that Willie had given her. She keyed the button, “Hey, we might want to have some of us take a nap and stay awake in shifts, in case nothing happens for the next few hours. Over.”

After a moment of static, Willie’s voice came over the radio: “Roger that. If you want to…wait….hang on…”

Taylor shifted in her seat and focused the binoculars on something in the distance. She spoke simultaneously with Willie’s voice over the radio, “I see a white van.”

Crystal sat up and tried to see down the street to where Taylor was looking. Willie continued on the radio: “Okay, van is stopping…I got the back door opening…four…no five, repeat five guys coming out of the van, heading this way! This is it! This is it!”


----------



## carpedavid

Sweeeeeeeeeet....

Drew - you mentioned in a past post that casting magic requires a skill check and some sort of cost - vitality points, ability drain, etc...

Was Joe's first attempt at casting the spell a failed skill check, or just creative license? Are his nosebleeds/headaches vitality or ability drain or something else entirely?

I'm planning on running a d20 modern horror game in the near future, and I'd love to see what you've come up with so far for the magic system. I know that you don't want your players to see it, but is there any chance you could post your notes in a different forum, or such? (Or better yet, write 'em all up and publish a supplement - I'd buy it )


----------



## ledded

*leans over to the person in the seat next to him in the theatre, whispering*

 "hey, watch this, you're gonna love this part... you know, I'm in this?"

*smiles and returns to eating popcorn*


----------



## fludogg

carpedavid said:
			
		

> *Sweeeeeeeeeet....
> 
> Was Joe's first attempt at casting the spell a failed skill check, or just creative license? Are his nosebleeds/headaches vitality or ability drain or something else entirely?
> 
> *





That was a zero level spell.. and it cost vitality. Some of the spells have joe bleeding from the nose and gums... 

The first attempt was a failed save and the second attempt was a success... both attempts cost vitality however a failed attempt has additional consequences..


----------



## ledded

carpedavid said:
			
		

> *Was Joe's first attempt at casting the spell a failed skill check, or just creative license? *




Can you say 'critical failure' ;^)




> *Are his nosebleeds/headaches vitality or ability drain or something else entirely?  *




Whatever it was, those of us in the remainder of the playing group are convinced that Joe's nasal excretions contain, or are indicitive of, some kind of eldritch power.  And we arent sure that's a good thing.

I can tell you this, as players we were all *very* impressed with Joe's ability to give himself a splitting headache and nosebleed anytime he wants.  Wow.  Magic.  ;^)

*



			I'm planning on running a d20 modern horror game in the near future, and I'd love to see what you've come up with so far for the magic system. I know that you don't want your players to see it, but is there any chance you could post your notes in a different forum, or such? (Or better yet, write 'em all up and publish a supplement - I'd buy it )
		
Click to expand...


*
It's been a while since this was played, and we have learned a little more about the magic system.  It is *very* cool, unique, and fun to play, and I still don't know a tenth of what he has done with it yet.

Keep up the good work OldDrewId


----------



## Dakkareth

Reminds me of the CoC d20 magic system, ie spells cost SAN and temporary ability damage (sometimes permanent).


And yes, I'm following this story hour from the beginning ... cool stuff!


-Dakkareth


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Sidebar: Rules for Spellcasting in Medallions*

Since there appears to be some interest in this file, here are the rules that I put gave the players for spellcasting in Medallions. 

The goal of these rules was to evoke a certain "feeling" and "tone" of magic. Despite the existence of hard-coded game rules for spellcasting, I wanted magic to remain mysterious, unpredictable, rare, shadowy, and dangerous. At the same time, I wanted the rules to encompass all possible magical "traditions" within the game world, from Voodoo to Kabbalah. 

So, these rules make it slow to learn magic, dangerous to cast, and costly to maintain. That's pretty close in actual play to what I wanted. 

The second half of this (the other side of the Medallion, if you will   ), is the spell list. Because choosing what spells are in the game makes a huge difference in that tone that I was just talking about. 

The first nice part of this design for me, as DM, is that I get to choose and specifically design or re-design every spell that goes into the game. No splatbooks, no unexpected errata, etc. In one fell swoop, no divinations or evocations, just like that. No spells that directly cause damage as their only function. No spells that replace the use of skills. No spells that are potential game breakers. Nothing that is cool but just too flashy. And for other spells, I can up the cost or the level as needed, or throw in little twists to them to keep them interesting. 

The second nice part of this design is that the players have no knowledge of the spell list, beyond that knowledge. Is there a Raise Dead spell? They don't know. Are there any spells above third level? They don't know. It is all unknown, and therefore mysterious.

Finally, a quick word on magic items, since I am doing the sidebar thing anyway: The players are unaware of any rules, if they exist, for magic item creation. They do not know where the Dealer gets his items or how they are made. This makes each trip to the Dealer a lot of fun because they really are ooh-ing and aah-ing over anything he pulls out, because they have no expectations for how things work or what kinds of things are available for sale. 

Anyhow, enough of me jabbering on, here's the doc. (And thanks for reading.)


----------



## carpedavid

Excellent, and very interesting...

When I run my d20 Modern horror game, I may very well use these rules.

Thanks!


----------



## RedAnt

Interesting.  Very interesting.  I've been turning ideas for a d20 modern game around in my head for a while now, but I was worried it would feel too much like D&D.  I'd been thinking about importing the magic system from the Midnight campaign setting - which is also non-Vancian and also involves a physical cost - but this, I think, is even nicer. 

But I wonder: do these rules apply to NPCs as well?  Are there no spellcasting classes at all, or simply none available to PCs?

You seriously need to start a Rogue's Gallery thread so we can talk.  Nawmsayin?


----------



## fenzer

Thanks for the spell rules Drew.  I am converting The Killing Jar module by Bruce Cordell.  The one he did for Dark*Matter.  I want to run my d20M group through it.  I don't know how I am going to handle the FX portion of the Alternity rules.  I do, however, want to take what you have done and use it somehow.  

Thanks again for the great story and hard work.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 3 (5/21/2003) Car Chase*

*Session 3 (5/21/2003) Car Chase*

“Follow that van!” Joe bellowed, and for a moment, Brother Cooper felt just like Dave Starsky as he stomped on the gas and turned the key in the ignition. 

Unfortunately, his ’81 Ford F-150 felt nothing like a Gran Torino as it made a whining gasping noise before falling silent. 

Brother Cooper groaned and muttered a quick prayer under his breath before turning the key again. Again, a thin whining sound and no ignition. One more time, but again, no luck. He turned to look over at Joe, only to find the seat next to him empty and smelling only vaguely of Cheetos. 

Brother Cooper turned to look outside, and saw Joe standing at the driver’s side door. “Let me drive,” he mouthed, as he pointed to himself and then the steering wheel. 

Brother Cooper sighed wearily, gave up, and nodded. He unlocked his door for Joe and then slid over to the passenger side. Before he could get the seatbelt around his girth, Joe was inside, the engine was roaring and the tires peeled out as the truck lurched forward onto the street. 

“Joseph…watch the median, Joseph!….whoa! Okay, slow down, Joseph….watch the curb, Joseph! The curb, Joseph! THE CURB JOE!” Brother Cooper yelled as he tried in vain to get his seatbelt connected. Where the hell (sorry Lord) was the stupid connector? Was he sitting on it? He looked up again and immediately wished he hadn’t as a city bus shot past the truck and careened off to one side as Joe cut across two lanes of traffic. 

“Slow down, Joseph!” Brother Cooper stopped watching the road for a minute and continued to look for the other half of his seat belt. He was gonna die in here, in his own truck, with a maniac behind the wheel, because he couldn’t find a little strap…there it was. He snapped the two sockets together, only to find that they didn’t even fit. Apparently this was the connector to that middle seatbelt, and the one on his side was still missing. He was suddenly jolted backwards as the truck went over a huge bump in the road. He looked up from his search for a seatbelt again and said, “Look, Joseph, at least let me get my seatbel---SWEET MOTHER OF HOLY----”

The pick-up truck missed the side of a parked street-sweeper truck by about one inch, scraping the side-view mirror off the driver’s side in an explosion of sparks and shattering glass. Joe cut the wheel sharply and Guyzell was again thrown to the left as the truck leapt up onto an on-ramp to head down Highway 31. 

Here, laying halfway down in the seat, Brother Cooper was close enough to hear Joe muttering under his breath, “yeah darling gonna make it happen…take the world in a love embrace…”

“Have you lost your mind?! Joseph, I’ve had this truck twenty years, and I’ve never gone this fast! Slow down and JOE WATCH OUT FOR THAT CAR!”

A horn blared and tires screeched in protest as a little sedan dodged out of their lane a half-second before Joe would have driven straight through it. The white van was up ahead, and judging from its speed, the driver had seen that Joe was in pursuit and was trying to lose them.

Brother Cooper slid back over to his own side and dug for the seatbelt between the seat cushions. He found it at last, and got himself strapped in. He felt better now. They were still going way too fast, careening down the highway after the van, but at least now he was strapped in. He looked up as Joe whipped around an eighteen-wheeler, in time to see the driver of the van leaning out of his window. 

He was a middle-aged man, wearing a ragged cap, with the wind whipping his hair around violently. In his hand was a revolver, aimed back at the truck. He fired twice in rapid succession. A bullet shattered the windshield, spider-webbing the glass and obscuring all vision. 

Joe was cursing, and amazingly, accelerating even further. Brother Cooper punched open the glove box and pulled out his travel bible. The ride was way too shaky for actual reading, but it felt better to hold it in his hands. He began praying aloud. “Lord, you told us in Leviticus, ‘You will pursue your enemies, and they will fall by the sword before you’. Please guide us in our pursuit, and protect us---”

“HANG ON!” Joe yelled, and cut the wheel. Brother Cooper just had time to get a one-hand grip on the “Oh Lord” handle above his door (he refused to call it anything else) before the truck cut sharply to one side and then slid sideways to a stop in front of the oncoming van. Brother Cooper looked out his side window directly at the face of the man in the van as he jerked the wheel of the van at the last second and rammed the van head-on into a concrete bunker beside the truck. The van loudly crumpled into a ball of twisted metal. Smoke and steam poured out from the wreckage, and Brother Cooper could see the driver’s bloody body hanging half-in and half-out of the van’s shattered windshield.

“Yes! Just like Vice City!” Joe giggled, and pumped his fist victoriously in the air. 

Brother Cooper looked over at him in shock. 

“You know, Playstation 2?”

Brother Cooper looked back at the bloody corpse hanging out of the van beside him, and then again at Joe’s wide grin, completely speechless.

“Jeez, preacher, you need to get out more. Come on, we need to search the wreck before the cops get here. And find out on the radio what’s going on back at the Science Center!”


----------



## Spatula




----------



## ledded

*applause*

*brushes popcorn off of lap where it fell out of his wide-open mouth during the chase scene*

"Wow."

"Nice."

To guy next to him:
"That came out almost cooler on-screen than when we were shooting it..."


----------



## Stockdale

This is a great story hour. Your writing is absolutely wonderful. I find myself suspending all disbelief and going with the flow. Not only is it interesting, but your humor comes across realy well. And that chase scene - Wow. keep up the great work.


----------



## fenzer

Nice update Drew and ya, we didn't call the handle that either.


----------



## linnorm

Too close to the bottom of the page!

BUMP


----------



## ledded

*Re: Session 3 (5/21/2003) Car Chase*



> *...And find out on the radio what’s going on back at the Science Center!... *




*glances back once at the projector, then sits in his seat quietly, hand with popcorn frozen halfway to his mouth, anxiously awaiting the next scene*


----------



## Welverin

A whole week without an update, did you guys miss a game or is someone letting success get to his head?


----------



## linnorm

Time to BUMP this back to the top of the page.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 3 (5/21/2003) Science Center Combat*

Session 3 (5/21/2003) Science Center Combat

The five thugs crossed the street towards the Children’s Science Center. In unison, they each slowly drew large Bowie knives from their jackets and held them out before them. 

Willie shifted position slightly in his hiding place behind a dumpster and took aim with his pistol. Under his breath, he whispered a near-silent prayer, “Don’t make me do it, man…”

One of the figures, wearing a red ski cap, broke rank as they reached the sidewalk and took a few steps off to the right. He entered perfectly into Willie’s sights and stopped, exactly where the detective expected him to stop: the building’s power box. Willie saw the knife blade scrape quickly back and forth across the box, inscribing the strange symbol. 

In one fluid motion, Willie was up and moving, his aim never leaving the vandal, “FREEZE! PUT DOWN THE KNIFE! STEP AWAY FROM THE ELECTRIC BOX!”

The man in the red cap turned his head back to Willie, and grinned. He then turned back to finish his work on the box.

Glass shattered somewhere around the corner of the building. An alarm sounded.

. . .

“They’ve broken into one of the windows. That mean’s they’re inside,” Crystal clicked the safety off her pistol and hooked the radio to her belt. 

Taylor was leaning over the edge of the parking deck, her gun stretched out as far as she could. “I can’t see crap! I have no shot! I wasn’t expecting them to split up!”

“I’m on it,” Crystal answered, and began sprinting through the parking deck towards the stairwell. 

. . .

Willie tried again. He didn’t want to shoot anybody he didn’t have to, no matter what mind-control-devil-pudding the preacher said these guys had eaten. “LAST TIME BUDDY! PUT THE KNIFE DOWN!”

The thug at the electric box kept carving. 

Willie lowered his aim slightly. BAM! A bullet hit the thug cleanly in the lower leg. He crumpled over and dropped the knife.

Willie smiled. A clean hit. The guy was taken down, without having to kill him. 

“Willie look out!!!” Taylor screamed from somewhere up above in the parking deck.

Willie turned around too late. A huge dark hand slammed into his face, sending him reeling backwards. His lost his balance and fell over in the gutter.

. . .

Taylor couldn’t get a shot. The thug was standing over Willie, swaying slightly as he raised his knife. Willie was rolling on his back, trying to get out of the way. They were too close together to risk a shot. 

The other three were out of sight, around the corner somewhere, or else already through the window and inside. She had no viable targets. 

Movement, from the corner of her eye. She pivoted, and brought the gun to bear. The thug that Willie had knee-capped was back up again, on one leg, clutching at the power box and trying to finish his design. Well, if it was the only target around, and he wasn’t taking a hint, she didn’t want the power going off. 

Taylor held her breath and squeezed the trigger. Blood showered down over the pavement as the thug’s head exploded in gore. The power stayed on, as she turned and began sprinting for the parking deck elevator.

. . .

The thug hovered over Willie and shrouded him in darkness. The only part of his face that Willie could see was the gleaming reflection of the streetlights off his teeth. Willie threw his hands up defensively as the knife plunged down. He caught the thug’s wrists, bone-thin beneath his jacket, but surprisingly strong, and wrestled to keep the knife from sinking down into his chest. He pushed the thug back as hard as he could, but the knife stayed put, hovering an inch over his heart. 

Willie took in a slow breath and gritted his teeth. His arms were shaking as he pushed with everything he had. Every muscle in his body was locked rigid, pushing the knife back. He was not going to die here, in a gutter, getting stabbed by some no-name bum. He would not go out like this. That was not…justice.

He pushed as hard as his arms could handle. The knife did not even move. The thug was leaning into it now, making it harder to resist. The point was now resting against his leather jacket. 

Willie threw his weight forward from his stomach, felt the knife cut through the jacket and scratch his skin, but the sudden momentum gave him the edge and Willie shoved the thug back a few inches. He risked a glance at the sidewalk to his right. His pistol lay there, just within reach, if he could just get a hand free. 

Then the thug was pushing hard again. Willie knew he must be at his limits. Having pushed him back a little, he could see the moisture on the thug’s black cheek, reflecting almost blue in the streetlight. One of them was about to give out…but Willie was not sure which one that would be. He had to go for the gun. 

Another lunge, and Willie pulled his knees up between him and the thug. He kicked out and let go of his grip. The thug reeled backwards and stumbled as Willie rolled to the right. His fingers wrapping around the gun felt like sex as he turned back around to aim. 

Then white hot pain, and a ragged yelp erupted unwillingly from his lips. Willie looked down to see the thug pulled the knife out of Willie’s exposed left shin. The thug ripped the knife clean in a spray of blood, and was standing over him, grinning from ear to ear. 

“The same leg?! That just got healed, you SON OF A B*^#!!!!” Willie fired, one round after another, into the thug. Blam! Blam! Blam! The thug’s chest and neck sprouted blood and gore as he collapsed backwards onto sidewalk. 

. . .

Crystal saw the broken display window, and flashes from gunfire in the parking lot. She cantered  over behind a mailbox as she tried to make out the scene and catch her breath. Even above the wailing alarm siren, she heard a stream of curses and saw a recognizable figure with a very recognizable limp staggering towards her. She stepped out from behind her cover and moved to join him at the window. 

“Looks like your limp is getting worse, Willie”

“Shut up….so did they go in here?”

“Huh? No…this window is always like this. It’s supposed to teach kids the science of broken glass.”  Crystal rolled her eyes and stepped lightly into the display window. Her boots crunched on the glass. Above her head hung giant models of Saturn and Jupiter and to her left was a shattered Earth. Like usual, white men…no respect for the earth.

Willie limped after her, and they stepped into the darkened science gallery. Dim utility lights illuminated clusters of oddly shaped displays, computer kiosks, and scientific models of giant insects, planets, and molecules. The thugs had evidently moved through this room, trashing the displays as they went. Looking around the room, Crystal saw a thousand shadows and a hundred good hiding places amid the debris and wreckage.

“We’re gonna need to move slow through here…”

. . .

Taylor had to pee. She danced back and forth from one foot to the other, waiting on the elevator. 

This always happened when she got too much excitement. Here she was, combat going on all around her, in the middle of a freaking battlefield, but she had no good shots from the parking deck, so she has to waste all this time getting downstairs. 

And the elevator just takes forever, so she just has to stand here, all this adrenalin pumping through her system, and she can’t do anything. Just stand here and wait. 

And have to pee. 

. . .

Willie limped forward again and peered around behind a giant ant farm, thankfully still intact. All clear. He continued his watch on the multiple doorways in front of him and gave a thumbs-up to Crystal behind him. A second later she darted past him and took cover behind a six-foot-tall volcano. He saw her gun scan the room, then another thumbs up. His turn to leapfrog again. 

Willie shambled on, past the restroom doors, and took cover behind some kind of giant slinky. His leg wasn’t hurting as bad as he had feared, and was not bleeding to badly either, but he couldn’t put too much weight on it. Crystal moved past him again, and froze. 

Even above the din of the alarm, the crashing sound of breaking glass echoed from upstairs. 

Willie hobbled over to the stairs and began to climb. Crystal followed a few footsteps behind. 

Then the lights went out. 

Willie cursed loudly, only realizing how loudly now that the alarm was no longer sounding. Before he could formulate a plan, an audible click sounded behind him, and he saw his shadow appear on the suddenly-illuminated wall ahead of him. He turned and crouched, as Crystal moved closer. An illuminator on her pistol lit the way up ahead. 

“Damn, you come prepared…” he mumbled, and started back up the stairs again. 

. . .

Willie held up three fingers so Crystal could see, as he leaned in close to the open doorway. The sounds of a commotion were clear from out in the hallway, and flickering orange firelight glowed from inside the room. Slowly, one at a time, Willie lowered each finger. Crystal tensed up and got ready to roll. Three…Two…One.

Willie spun around the corner, pivoting on his good leg. Crystal rolled past him and landed in a crouching position on the far side of the room, her pistol out and ready. 

She could see the three thugs were trashing the place. A small but growing bonfire in the middle of the room burned a random collection of furniture and trash. By appearances, it was some sort of small lobby opening to a suite of conference rooms, all paid for by donations from Dick Scorse. Not that the trashed décor and weak firelight allowed for that much visible detail, but the sign on the wall that read “Dick Scorse Conference Suite” and the large oil painting of the rich philanthropist tended to give that away pretty easily.

The first two thugs turned and lunged forward like rabid animals to attack. Crystal fired first and the thug in front of her crumpled to the floor. 

Willie hesitated until the second thug was almost on top of him. He screamed, “Don’t make me shoot---” before the thug was within melee range, but the thug gave him no choice. Willie fired and the thug collapsed dead before him, half of his neck blown out by the gun. 

The third guy was caught completely off guard. He had focused his attention on ripping the oversized oil painting off the wall and had his back to Willie and Crystal. He turned and tossed the portrait onto the fire as his two allies fell. For one silent moment, he studied the two vigilantes across the burning room. Then he grinned. 

“Don’t do it, man!” Willie ordered as the thug leapt across the room, gibbering and grinning. He cleared the flames of the bonfire in one fluid motion and simultaneously Crystal and Willie both fired. Two gaping holes blossomed in his chest, and he fell between them. 

Crystal took one slow breath in and out, then wasted no more time relaxing. She found the fire extinguisher on the wall and quickly put it to use on the flames. She turned angrily back to Willie as she sprayed the flames, “Are you always going to waste time with a warning before you shoot?”

Willie’s eyes narrowed. “Hey, some of us don’t want to kill anybody we don’t have to. In case you forgot, these guys are not in their right mind---”

“SAZOMBIE!!!!SHOOTUMBUNCHOFTIMESINTHEHEAD!!!!”

Crystal looked down at her belt. The radio she had clipped there was still on, and Taylor was screaming gibberish into it. 

Willie raised an eyebrow, “What the hell is she talking abou---AAARGH!” The thug Willie had shot in the neck was suddenly up on him, biting into Willie’s leg and clawing at his chest. Willie fell backwards and fired directly into the man’s head. Bone and brains exploded out all of the room. Willie cursed and screamed again. “MY FOOT! I JUST SHOT MYSELF IN MY FOOT! SON OF A--”

Crystal raced to his side and ripped her handkerchief from her back pocket. The bullet had gone clean threw the man’s forehead, out the back of his head, and into Willie’s big toe. With no clear way to make a bandage while his boot was still on, she did the next best thing. 

“This is gonna hurt,” she warned, and shoved the handkerchief into the hole. 

“OWOWOWOW!!!!”

“Quit screaming, you big girl! You wake up zombie again!” Taylor was suddenly there now, beside them, still holding a pistol in one hand and her radio in the other. She looked white as a ghost.

“What the hell are you talking about, zombie?” Willie managed to say through gritted teeth. 

“Zombie! You know word? Zommmm-Beeee! You shoot them. They dead. Then they get up again! Like in movie! We got to get out of here!” Taylor was frantic, and started pulling Willie to his feet. 

“Are you out of your mind?!”

“She’s right,” Crystal announced. She pointed to the corpse that Willie had just shot in the head. In the light of her pistol's illuminator, it was obvious. Willie’s first shot upon entering the room had ripped the thug’s throat completely open, shattering the spine and most of the neck muscle. 

Whatever that thing was, when it got back up to chew on Willie a second time, it wasn’t a living person.


----------



## fenzer

Great zombie goodness!  More, more!


----------



## ledded

*owowow*

And a note here... you never realize how scary guns are in Modern over weapons in D&D until you are a low level guy who just shot *himself* in the foot with a .44 Magnum.   Ouch.

Takes all the fun out of being the guy with the big gun.


----------



## Spatula

*Re: owowow*



			
				ledded said:
			
		

> *And a note here... you never realize how scary guns are in Modern over weapons in D&D until you are a low level guy who just shot *himself* in the foot with a .44 Magnum.   Ouch.*



So that actually happened in-game?  How? (rules-wise, that is)

Oh yeah, and keep up with the zombie goodness...


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Re: Re: owowow*



			
				Spatula said:
			
		

> *So that actually happened in-game?  How? (rules-wise, that is) *




We allow for critical misses like critical hits. Roll a 1, then roll to confirm by rolling another 1 or a 13. Then some percentile dice come in for a chance at:

dropping your weapon (likely)
damaging your weapon (uncommon)
hurting yourself with your weapon (uncommon)
two or more of the above (rare)

If a person hurts themselves, we roll for the body part, which we also do for triple-critical hits (which are critical hits that roll critical on the confirm roll). That's how Willie got stabbed in the left thigh back in the library. 

Then, in the science center, Willie fumbled and rolled "left leg" again. After that, it became a running joke, and soon we stopped rolling for Willie anymore and just assumed that anything bad that could happen to him would always happen specifically to his left leg.

As a side note, the first shot hit his leg. His next attack took down the zombie. Creative license combined the attacks into a single shot which went through the zombie's head and into Willie's left foot...


----------



## ledded

*Re: Re: Re: owowow*



			
				Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> *
> <snip>
> Then, in the science center, Willie fumbled and rolled "left leg" again. After that, it became a running joke, and soon we stopped rolling for Willie anymore and just assumed that anything bad that could happen to him would always happen specifically to his left leg.
> *




Oh yes.  Ha.  Ha-ha.  "Running" joke, as in "you cant run, Willie, because you have a crowbar lodged in your leg"  ;^)

Stay tuned, gentle readers, as there are many more things in store for Willie's Left Leg.



> *
> As a side note, the first shot hit his leg. His next attack took down the zombie. Creative license combined the attacks into a single shot which went through the zombie's head and into Willie's left foot... *




Which, BTW, I liked a lot better than the explanation at the time of "I dunno, I guess you slipped in Taylor's urine while you were trying to step away from the zombie-thing and accidentally shot yourself in the leg.  Again."   ;^)

ledded a.k.a. Willie Lamar


----------



## ledded

*things that go BUMP in the night*

doin' the BUMP


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 3 (5/21/2003) Getting Closer*

*Session 3 (5/21/2003) Getting Closer*

“That’s not skin…that’s clay,” Crystal announced, with her light (and gun sight) trained closely on the zombie’s face. Willie grunted with the pain in his leg and leaned over to take a closer look. 

“I don’t care if it’s a mud mask, let’s get out of here!” Taylor urged, but no one moved.

Crystal picked up one of the thug’s knives and poked at the body with it. She heard her own voice sounding eerily detached from the disgusting display in front of her, as though the entire situation was an academic problem. She was rather pleased with herself at her ability to handle what she was seeing. “Look, there is real bone and muscle underneath, but the skin…has been replaced with clay… And this neck muscle looks like….evidence of larvae…” The forensic evidence didn’t lie. 

She looked up at Willie and Taylor, “This guy has been dead for days.”

“Good, so definite zombie material…now can we get out of here?” Taylor was hopping back and forth from one foot to the other.

Willie reached into one of his jacket pockets and produced a small plastic bag, “You wanna get a sample, Crystal?” Crystal nodded and took the plastic bag. She began to cut a sample from the body. 

Taylor grimaced in the dark, “You two need a life! Taking pieces of dead guy home to…shut up! Listen!” She cocked an ear upwards as the other two froze in place.

In the distance, a police siren was wailing. Crystal’s radio crackled to life, “Hello folks, this is…um…this is your _Brother_…we’re on the freeway heading back to where you’re at, and we’re currently following several gentlemen in uniform who seem to be heading in your direction as well. Just in case you weren’t expecting any guests…Over.”

Taylor was already halfway down the stairs. Crystal vaulted up over the body and stuffed the bagged sample into her pocket as Willie limped towards the exit. She surveyed the damage to the room as Willie moved slowly down the stairs. The sound of sirens was getting louder. 

Crystal yelled down the stairs, “Get the car pulled around! I’ll help Willie to the door!”

. . .

“Jefferson County Sheriff’s Office. This is Lucille. How may I direct your call?”

“Lucille? Hey baby, this is Willie.”

Lucille smiled and blushed. She carefully put the top back onto her bottle of fingernail polish. “Willie? Boy, look at you calling me bright and early on a Monday morning! Now I know I ain’t all that! You callin’ to take me out again?”

“Um…yeah, baby, sure! I was calling to ask you out again! You know, I had the best time with ya on Friday and I just can’t wait to see you again. You know, you have an effect on me, baby!”

“Well, Willie, ain’t you just the sweetest thing? You know, I might be free later this week!”

“Great baby! Say, baby, as long as I got you on the phone, I was gonna look up some information on this van…”

. . .

“This here’s your supply cart, with your mop and bucket there, and …these gloves aren’t any good. We’ll get you a fresh pair…and here are your toilet paper rolls and your paper towels and glass cleaner here…”

Joe sighed and nodded along. He was wearing blue coveralls over his brand new “Danger Girl” T-shirt, and he was hot, tired, and bored. This old guy actually spent half and hour going over all of the different duties that Joe was supposed to do and all of the things that he was supposed to clean, and he seemed to expect Joe to actually care about everything he was saying. 

This wasn’t at all like it was supposed to be. In the movies, when you needed to sneak into some office building, you just decided to do it, and then two seconds later you saw the hero wandering down a hallway with a mop and an ID card. But Joe had spent an hour filling out tax paperwork, (and having to make sure all of the fake information he put on that paperwork matched up correctly) then had to sit through some stupid half-hour safety procedure film they showed to new employees (probably a brain-washing technique, which is why Joe was careful to avert his eyes the entire time), and now he had been listening to this guy drone on for forever about his cleaning supplies. 

Now the old guy was looking at him expectantly. Crap, Joe recognized this look. This was the “I just asked you a question and if you had been listening you would know that” look. Joe mumbled, “yeah, um, I just want to clean stuff.”

The old guy chewed his lip for a second and then nodded, apparently satisfied, and pulled a set of keys out of his pocket. “Swing by the supply room to get your rubber gloves, then start on the third floor in Accounting and work your way down.”

A few minutes later, Joe was on the third floor. He breezed right past Accounting and headed for the restrooms, towing along his supply cart the whole way. Once inside the bathroom, he pulled a small package out from under his coveralls. He ripped open the package and pulled out a hat, shirt, and tie. 

First, the Bigfoot hat. That felt a lot better. There were way to many cameras in this building. Next, Joe lost the coveralls and put on the button-down shirt and the tie. He checked his watch and wondered how long he could be missing before raising suspicions. 

Next stop, back down the hall, into Human Resources. Using the new set of keys, Joe was inside in just under a minute, and sat down at a computer. 

Most of the workstations were left on all night, with there was no password on the screensaver of the first one that Joe touched. No surprise there, really. Joe poked around for a minute among the list of programs and eventually found what he was looking for. Before two minutes had passed, a nearby laser printer was spitting out a report of all of the recent layoffs. 

Again, disappointing. In a movie, Joe would have had to hack the password, with at least two attempts ending in a big flashing skull and crossbones and message that took up the whole screen in yellow text saying “Access Denied”. Instead, just two minutes and he had a printout.

“Hello?”

Joe’s heart lurched up into his throat. There was a security guard at the door to the department. Joe took in a slow deep breath. He just needed to remember what Willie and the preacher had told him. Short answers. People are more likely to believe you if you stick to short answers. 

“Hey, sir, do you work here?” the security guard was still standing at the doorway.

Joe put on his best smile. So far, he didn’t even need to lie. He _did_ work here. “Yep,” he answered, and lifted up his new employee badge.

“You working late tonight?”

Well, this was easy. “Yep,” and motioned at the computer. 

“You’re supposed to come downstairs and sign the sheet if you are working this late at night.”

“Um…sorry”

“It’s alright, sir. It’s just that we have an alarm that goes off downstairs…did you just get up and go to the bathroom or something?”

“Yep” Jeez, Joe was about to bluff his way out of the situation without ever even having to lie to the guy. And here Willie was always acting like this charismatic stuff was hard. 

“That explains it then. Sorry, we’re having some trouble with the cameras in this section tonight. I just had to come up and take a look.”

“Um…okay.”

“Alright, I’ll let the other guards know you’re up here. Take it easy.”

“Thanks,” Joe smiled and continued typing random things into the computer until the guard had gone down the hall. After that, he tucked the printouts into his pants and headed out the door and back to the bathroom. 

. . .

One hour later, Joe was standing in a small lobby in a corner set off away from the main hallways, and connecting four small offices. He had just stumbled across this place while doing actual cleaning. Joe had almost vacuumed the floor of the entire lobby before he saw the names on the four doors.

The four vice-presidents. The four old inactive members of the library. The four oldest members of the Ward Numismatic Society. The names matched up to the offices. These were their offices. 

Joe tugged his hat back out of his pocket and pulled in down low over his eyes. Next he pulled out his ring of keys and unlocked the first door. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door. 

The office inside was opulent, museum-like, and intimidating. Joe immediately felt a strong urge to leave, but he dismissed it and tip-toed into the room. 

The furnishings were expensive and tasteful. A heavy cherry wood desk, bookshelves full of what appeared to be law books and expensive degrees. A couple of old oil paintings. Persian rug.

Better to be safe tonight, Joe decided. Get a couple of pictures, make a plan, and come back tomorrow night. He hurried back to his supply cart and fished out his backpack from underneath a bag of garbage. Rummaging around inside, Joe removed a disposable camera from the bag and hurried back into the office. 

Again, a strong feeling of paranoia. This place was definitely not meant for prying eyes. The guards would be here any minute. Joe rapidly worked the room over, snapping pictures of the bookshelves, desk, walls, and floor. Finally satisfied, he grabbed the waste basket from under the desk and brought it back out to his cart. He dumped the trash papers into his backpack and sealed the whole thing up as quickly as possible. 

A moment later, he was safely away, and more eager than ever to get back home.


----------



## ledded

*Re: Session 3 (5/21/2003) Getting Closer*



			
				Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> *...“Thanks,” Joe smiled and continued typing random things into the computer until the guard had gone down the hall. After that, he tucked the printouts into his pants and headed out the door and back to the bathroom.
> . . .
> *




And you have no idea how hard it was for him to talk the rest of us into looking at the printouts after he yanked 'em out of his pants in front of us...


----------



## fenzer

Thanks Drew.  This was a fun update.  I love what Joe is doing.  I can't wait to find out what he found.


----------



## Welverin

fenzer said:
			
		

> *I love what Joe is doing.  I can't wait to find out what he found. *




Which we will in the next update?


----------



## fludogg

*bump*

*Update Please*.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 3 (5/21/2003) Eating, Flirting, Bleeding*

*Session 3 (5/21/2003) Eating, Flirting, Bleeding*

Willie limped through the maze of cluttered lunchtime tables into the back of the Thai restaurant that had the unfortunate luck to be situated next door to Joe’s comic shop. He spotted his destination from across the room. Small table in the back, two fat white fellas on either side of it. Either by good luck, wisdom, or Joe’s peculiar body odor, they had managed to keep all of the nearby tables empty, allowing them a bit of privacy for their meeting. 

“Wilson, glad to see you up and around again!” Brother Cooper boomed, with a smile on his face and two platters of sushi in front of him. Joe offered a similar greeting through a mouthful of peanut-butter steak. 

Willie eased his body down into a chair, stretching his leg out and feeling something ominous pop in his foot, as it had been doing for the past two days. “Hey preacher… ‘sup Joe?”

Brother Cooper dove right in, “Have you heard back on the van yet?”

Willie nodded, and reached into his jacket. He pulled out a small notebook started flipping through disorganized entries. “The van is registered to…”

“Sir, can I get you something to drink?”

The waitress was perky, and clearly didn’t mind interrupting. She hovered over Willie like one of Joe’s unmarked helicopters, and seemed annoyingly eager to please.

“Yeah, baby, gimme a glass of rum, no ice.” Willie turned back to the table and kept flipping through his notebook.

“Rum and coke, coming up!”

“No, baby, wait…not rum and coke. Just rum. Tall glass. No ice.”

“Oh…okay…um, if you want to order a straight liquor, I can bring it in, like, shot glasses? But we have a limit of two per person?”

Willie took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay, baby, I’ve been having a really rough week. Now how about you bring me six shots of rum, two for each of us here, okay?”

The waitress seemed to consider saying something else, but decided against it, and hovered away back to the kitchen. 

“Wilson, I understand the events of this week have been hard for you, as they have certainly been a cross to bear for each of us. But perhaps alcohol is not---”

Joe interrupted, “Dude, I can not do rum shots in the middle of lunch. I would hurl all over this--”

Willie rubbed his temples and tried to massage the headache away. “Joe, the shots are all for me, not for you. And Preacher, I appreciate it, but I am just in the mood for a little rum this morning. I promise. Now can we please get back to the van?”

“Okay, so I’m not paying for the rum then, right?” Joe managed this last bit while stuffing an entire spring roll into his mouth.

Willie ignored the question and began to read from his notes. “Anyway…the van is registered to a local florist called Havana Flowers. It’s owned by a Ferdinand Garcia…who came over from Cuba two years ago with his sister…Van reported stolen two weeks ago.”

“Garcia?” Brother Cooper repeated, with a tone of concern in his voice. He shared a glance with Joe, who was already rooting around in his backpack. “That matches what we found…”

Joe pulled out two pieces of folded paper from his backpack, one a computer printout and the other handwritten on the letterhead, “From the Desk of Guyzell Cooper.” Both were now slightly smeared with wasabi and soy sauce. 

The computer printout was a list of recent layoffs from South-Medical. The handwritten page was a list of volunteers from the St. James Mission for the Homeless. Judging from the markups on each page, Joe and Brother Cooper had cross-referenced the lists before Willie had arrived. There were only a couple of last name matches, and only one full name match. Isabel Garcia.

Willie thought out loud, “Her name’s on both lists…and she could likely be the sister of this van’s owner. Plus, if she is, she’s Cuban, which means she could have exposure to voodoo…”

. . .

Brother Cooper rolled the stack of chairs out of the storage room. Once he reached an open space, he began un-stacking chairs and arranging them around card tables in the Mission’s main room. This was sweaty work, but it was the Lord’s work, and that was a good thing. The mission manager was downstairs dealing with some unspecified task, leaving Guyzell alone upstairs with Wanda Miller. 

Brother Cooper took a break for a moment, leaned back against the wall, removed his handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his brow. Ms. Miller came out of the kitchen at that same moment with a glass of lemonade. 

“Here you go, Reverend. I saw you working so hard out here and I figured you could use this,” she smiled brightly.

“Well thank you Ms. Miller---”

“Oh, please, call me Wanda!”

“Oh, well, thank ya, Ms. Wanda, and please, call me Guyzell.”

“Oh, well, Guyzell, it’s just the least I could do for my favorite new volunteer! I just think it’s wonderful they way you come in and volunteer your time here at the Mission. Your wife must be very proud of you…”

“Oh, Ms. Wanda, I’m not married.”

“Really? I’m a single girl myself, Guyzell.”

“Say, Ms. Wanda, might I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” she answered, and stepped a little closer.

“Do you know a woman who works here named Isabel Garcia?”

Ms. Wanda stepped back a pace. “Huh?”

“Isabel Garcia? She’s a volunteer here.”

“Yeah, I know who she is.” Strangely, Ms. Wanda was not smiling anymore. 

“Is she the one who bakes those brownies for the men?”

“I bake brownies sometimes. I’m a good cook!”

“Yes, I’m sure you are, but Ms. Garcia?”

Ms. Wanda must have suddenly thought of something that upset her because she seemed to close up a little. Guyzell often thought it was harder talking to women than it was to men, because they often seemed to react so unpredictably. Finally, she answered, “Yeah, she’s fine. She bakes brownies all the time for the men. They all love her. They call her Mama Garcia. Only I don’t think she’s very responsible if you ask me. She’s missed her last two scheduled times to come cook. I haven’t even seen her in a couple of weeks.”

With that outburst, Ms. Wanda stormed back into the kitchen. Whatever she had thought of had definitely made her angry. Brother Cooper offered a quick prayer that she would get through it okay.

Then he speed-dialed Wilson to fill him in on the latest information about Isabel “Mama” Garcia.

. . .

Joe wadded up the tissue and shoved into his left nostril. His fingers were nearly black with caked blood under the nails. He wiped them on his bathrobe as he shuffled to the kitchenette, still carrying the Necronomicon and reading as he walked.

Joe opened the fridge and pulled out the orange juice carton. The carton was a little light, and he made a mental note to buy more soon. With all the nosebleeds lately, he needed to keep a good stock of O.J. and sugar cookies around.

He walked with the carton of O.J. in one hand and the book in the other back to his desk, and sat down to continue reading. Annoyingly, his head was hurting again, and over the past hour, he had started seeing little black spots in the corners of his vision. 

But it was worth it. Joe knew that. He had seen glimmers of another spell in the book. A spell he was piecing together, bit by bit, from the scattered insanity of the Necronomicon and the shredded remains of his Doc Strange collection. 

Joe wasn’t exactly sure how it would work, or how powerful it would be, but he knew it was there, and he had already deciphered the title: “Healing Vishanti Touch.”


----------



## fenzer

Man, done already?  I want to see how much reading the Necronomicon is going to cost Joe.  I have a feeling it will be high and I aint talking dollars here people.

Drew, I am digging the story.  I want more!


----------



## ledded

*bump*

Just bumpin' it up....

Update us, Mr OldDrewId, update like the wind!


----------



## Casti

*Bump*

N-E-E-D-U-P-D-A-T-E-S-O-O-N

and ofcourse BUMP me!


----------



## WhatKu

Great story hour. 
Oh and more updates!


----------



## recursive_1

Please post an update soon.  This is great!


----------



## ledded

*must... bump....*

must... bump....

cannot... let story... fall.... any.... further...


----------



## jezter6

Drew,

First off...GREAT story hour! I love it, especially what you're doing for magic. I already downloaded your first doc, which was pretty good reading, but now I need more...like some of the spell lists and what the drains are? I'd love to copy that in a horror based d20 modern game i'm planning.


----------



## Spatula

While re-reading the story so far, I've come to a new appreciation of just how enjoyable it is.  Please tell me that this is not the end of the story hour!

By the way, when Bolling enters the scene I can't help but picture him as Brian Thompson, the actor:
http://www.brianthompson.com/ even though the physical descriptions don't exactly match (Bolling is described as being bald).  I'm not sure why I'm bringing this up, but I am eager to see what exactly the deal is with Bolling, Scorse, and the rest.  Don't leave us hanging, Drew!


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 3 (5/21/2003) Stake-out*

*Session 4 (5/28/2003) Stake-out*

Willie had to pee. He had to pee, had to pee, had to peeeeee. 

Okay…okay…he just needed to try not to think about it. He knew that. He should be concentrating on why he was here. He should concentrate on the stake-out. 

Okay, back to the procedure. He was a professional, not some rookie gumshoe. First, scan the perimeter again. Assess the situation. Alright, he was slumped down in the bushes across the street from an apartment complex, leaning against a tree, dressed like a bum. The sky was getting dark. He had identified Isabel Garcia’s apartment through his binoculars, and had been watching the door and window for seven hours. There was very little traffic on this street, and he really, really, really had to pee. 

Stop. Willie needed to stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about the thermos of cold coffee that he had finished off two hours ago and definitely stop thinking about the empty pint of rum laying beside his cane. He had intended that bottle of rum to just add to his disguise. He couldn’t imagine why he had actually drunk it. It was kinda funny, because he really wasn’t even buzzed considering the amount he had consumed. Must be cheap rum, probably mixed with the caffeine from the coffee. 

Not instant coffee either. Drip coffee. And speaking of drip…

Stop thinking about it. Focus on the stake-out. 

Nothing was going on here. Isabel could be gone all night. She could have easily left town, or be holed up somewhere else. Willie had been waiting here way too long, and there was nothing going on. He ought to take a look around inside her place. 

And there would be a bathroom inside that apartment. 

Okay, Willie knew better. That would be really stupid. Breaking and entering just to snoop around, and then use the bathroom. If he got caught, he could lose his license. So why was he already limping across the parking lot towards her apartment?

Willie leaned against the door as silently as possible. Just a quick in-and-out. 

The door to Isabel Garcia’s apartment was a thick sturdy wooden monster typical to Southside apartments. It also had a cheap lock leftover from sometime sixty years ago that had been worn in from decades of use and was incredibly easy to pick. 

Willie felt the tumblers slide into place and held the door lightly closed with his left hand. He stuffed the lock pick set back into his pocket and reached into his jacket for his gun. He had been staking the apartment out since early in the afternoon, and with no interior lights coming on as the sun set, he was reasonably sure that no one was home. Still, no sense risking getting shot just in case some crazy voodoo witch wants to save on her power bill.  

Willie took a deep breath and stepped inside. The door swung open silently revealing a simple living room full of cluttered cheap furniture, a short hallway off the left, and a kitchen to the right. The place smelled strange, like jerk spices and mildew. There was no one home.

Willie closed the door behind him and stood still, waiting a couple of minutes for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He had a flashlight if he needed it (and an illuminator for his pistol after seeing how useful that had been at the Science Center), but he would prefer to keep to the dark if he could help it. 

His bladder felt stretched out like the Goodyear blimp. He should definitely not be thinking about that now.

Kitchen off to the right. Quick peek around the corner before hitting the bathroom. 

Dark shadows of assorted clutter all over the counters. The vague rounded shapes of numerous pots and pans, plus a few opened cartons and containers. Several dark unlabelled jars. From the look of it, someone had been cooking up a storm. 

And over it all, and overpowering smell of dried blood. 

Willie waited a heartbeat. Something in the back of his mind whispered, “Jackpot!”. He flicked on the illuminator on his piece. 

The cartons were for sugar, butter, walnuts, caramel chips, and instant brownie mix. The pots and pans all had been used for baking brownies. Garcia must have made a dozen batches of brownies here. And scattered around the counter space, mixed in with the other ingredients, a couple of boxes labeled “live crickets” and a dozen empty jars of now-dried blood.

Willie fought back his gag reflex. He had seen grisly scenes before, but never something completely Betty-Crocker-Off-Her-Rocker psychotic like this. There was definitely something seriously demented about a woman who not only made voodoo brownies out of insects and blood, but who then took the trouble to _add the optional walnuts and caramel chips for flavor_. 

Okay, now he _really_ had to pee. And this was not just the coffee and rum kidding-around-but-I’ll-go-when-I-have-a-chance kind of urge to pee. This was the I’m-in-the-house-of-a-psycho kind of urge.

Willie backed out of the kitchen, and turned to the hallway. There was a closed door to the left, which had to be the bedroom. A half-open door on his right exposed a tile floor and towel-rack, which should be a bathroom. 

Willie silently slipped into the bathroom. His illuminator reflected off the tile and mirror, nicely lighting up the whole room. Including the sink, toilet, homemade IV, and semi-fresh sealed jar of blood. 

Hey, cool. At least she does her ritual blood-collection in the bathroom. Instinct took over, and Willie at last flipped up the lid on the toilet and let go of his bladder. 

After the first couple of seconds, it occurred to him that he was holding his gun dangerously close to the family jewels, and he wisely pointed the pistol away and back towards the door to the bathroom. When he was finished, he flushed, pocketed the fresh jar of blood, and stepped back out into the hall. 

The bedroom. The door was closed. Willie pressed and ear to it and waited. No sound from inside. He tried the handle, and the door swung open. 

The bed was made, and the room was more or less well-kept. However, the walls were plastered with papers. Newspaper clippings and photos, mostly about Dick Scorse and South-Medical. Strange occult charts and diagrams, too. Plus maps and blueprints: of the library, and of the church, and the sports medicine place and the science center. And another map, of the new South-Medical “digital hospital” still under construction on Highway 280. 

The next crime scene. That little voice in the back of Willie’s head popped up again: “Jackpot!”

Which is precisely when the zombie jumped out.

He must have been standing behind the door. In an instant, the undead thing slammed the door shut, trapping Willie in the room with it, and began swinging a heavy metal candlestick the size of a crowbar. 

Willie ducked, and the candlestick smashed a lamp into oblivion. Willie fired twice at the thing. In the flash of the gun, he saw the zombie’s face, already half-rotten and replaced with dark clay. The bullets blasted into the zombie’s chest, ripping out pounds of flesh, but the zombie kept coming. The candlestick smashed into Willie’s ribs, and he staggered back onto the bed. He knew at least one rib was cracked. Another hit like that and there would be two dead men in this room instead of just one.

Willie rolled off the bed, away from the zombie and towards the window. The zombie squared off against him and lunged with the candlestick. It missed, and with a loud crack, shattered the nightstand. Willie dove through the window. 

A shower of glass, a handful of minor cuts, and Willie was back outside again. He silently thanked Ms. Garcia for living in Southside, where the sound of gunfire and breaking glass kept people inside their homes, instead of sending them outside to investigate. He heard the zombie above him, but didn’t wait to find out its plan. Hobbling and hopping on his good leg, he took off across the parking lot and into the closest alley. 

At least he no longer had to pee.


----------



## HeapThaumaturgist

How do you do the shooting-zombies-in-the-head thing, rules wise?

Your characters really need to learn to go BEFORE we leave for the investigation.  

--fje


----------



## ledded

*sheesh*



			
				HeapThaumaturgist said:
			
		

> How do you do the shooting-zombies-in-the-head thing, rules wise?
> 
> Your characters really need to learn to go BEFORE we leave for the investigation.
> 
> --fje




First, I'll let OldDrewId detail how to do the head-shooting, but believe me it aint easy, even with a 44 magnum.  These aint those old-school arms-held-out moaning slow zombies.  These bad boys is fast, and strong too.

Second, I *did* go before, but I was in that d**n bush for something like 7 hours.  And I got really impatient.  ;^)

Third, great update OldDrewId.  Keep up the good work.  Bravo.  <clap clap clap clap clap>

Willie


----------



## fenzer

Thanks for the update Drew.  Okay, I'm not a brownie fan anyway but I am swearing them off.  You have no idea what people put in those things, especially walnuts.

Drew, Ledded, how do you guys handle splitting up the group?  Do you bounce back and forth with everyone there or is it more of a "that player did not show up so the character sits out this time" sort of thing?


----------



## ledded

fenzer said:
			
		

> Thanks for the update Drew.  Okay, I'm not a brownie fan anyway but I am swearing them off.  You have no idea what people put in those things, especially walnuts.
> 
> Drew, Ledded, how do you guys handle splitting up the group?  Do you bounce back and forth with everyone there or is it more of a "that player did not show up so the character sits out this time" sort of thing?




Well, we have a very good roleplaying group, and sometimes the characters dont always agree on what the group should be doing.  Often in our Modern campaign we will "pair up" or split into groups to accomplish tasks we are suited for simultaneously.  OldDrewId (and others, when we have a guest director) really run each "episode" just like that... a television episode.  We will cut to Willie and Guyzell at the Jimmy Hale mission, then after a little bit of that cut back over to the other guys at their respective 'scene', and go back to the others when it's appropriate.  

EDIT:  We even start each game night with each player describing a 'cut scene' from a recent episode for their character while the intro music plays in the background.  Cheesy, but fun.

Our characters try to meet at lunch or evenings when we can all get together (we do have jobs, and have to spend time on them) and when we break a case (or think we have) we all manage to get together for the 'big scene'.  Sometimes a character has to work and can't do something during the day, but then gets in on the action at night, etc.  OldDrewId is very good at giving players opportunities to "shine" or take the spotlight by presenting situations they are well suited for or may really want to get into.  When you aren't in the scene, you generally try to stay out of the way, discuss the current situation with another player, or answer radio/cell phone calls from the guys who are doing their thing across town somewhere.

Sometimes it just works out that way; for example, the infiltration of South Medical by Joe.  In-game, we realized that we needed to do that and Taylor found some job postings that would give us access.  Willie was about to volunteer to do it and he was the obvious choice in skills, but just when he was about to speak up Joe said something like "oh, janitor, that should be just up your alley Willie, you being black and all"  (remember, this is *in character*, and we mess with each other a lot).  Well, Willie got angry, argued with Joe (the both of us providing about 5 minutes of non-stop amusement for everyone else, with Taylor tossing in backhanded off-color comments the whole time), then flat-out refused to do it on principle and made Joe do it.  So that's really how Joe ended up doing that.  We play in-character pretty much the whole game, and speak in first person (I do some pretty *bad* accents).  Pierceatwork has a very cool speaking voice for Brother Cooper, and he is so good that he matches the voice patterns and way a southern preacher would speak... he also tosses around some very cool scripture which he researches before/during game at the proper times.  OldDrewId's accent for Taylor is, well, um, very badly stereotypical but spot-on nonetheless, and so laced with sarcasm that she keeps us laughing.  Willie has a tendency to quote black actors from movies that he likes.  Crystal is very acerbic, and Joe, well, is just Joe.

Another note about our game:  we have these poker chips with our initials on them, everyone gets 2 or 3 each session.  When someone does something especially cool, or (more likely) says or does something particularly funny (the kind of funny that makes people unable to breathe or talk) you can toss them a chip.  To promote coolness and funniness, we award a nice little bonus for each chip.  In D&D and Star Wars d20, we awarded XP.  In Modern, for every 5 chips we are awarded you get an Action Point, since we aren't focused on XP in Modern.   It's a nice little system that helps keep us on our toes.

EDIT:  You also get double credit if what you do is so funny that the DM/GM either spews, ejects drink from his nose, or has to leave the room to keep from doing one of the above two.  Childish, I know, but still darn funny.

Jim


----------



## fenzer

Ledded, your group sounds like a real blast.  I love the chip idea and may do something similar.  5 chips equals an action point, hmmmmm.

I'm afraid my group is a little more conservative.  There is very little in character conversation and we jump out of character often during play.  My wife has just joined the group with my Killing Jar game and has done some fun role playing.  I wish we did more of it but in my experience, it breaks down to how comfortable the players are with the whole thing.

We take the same approach when dealing with split parties.  The DM will focus on one group for a short time and then move to the next, cycling through groups until the party is back together.  We usually try and keep the group together however.  Players that can't make the game usually have their characters played by another player.  Although sometimes the character will sit out.


----------



## Spatula

Thanks for the update, Drew!

I hope that Willie has learned to bring along a... uhm, cannister with him on his next stakeout.  But then, he did have the empty rum bottle...

Speaking of the rum, I hope Willie isn't heading towards having some kind of problem.


----------



## ledded

Spatula said:
			
		

> Thanks for the update, Drew!
> 
> I hope that Willie has learned to bring along a... uhm, cannister with him on his next stakeout.  But then, he did have the empty rum bottle...
> 
> Speaking of the rum, I hope Willie isn't heading towards having some kind of problem.




Oooo look everybody, *foreshadowing*...  ;^)

Yeah, it may lead to a problem, but it aint like anything you would expect.  Oh no, nothing quite that mundane for us.


----------



## fludogg

Please give me an update...


----------



## ledded

fludogg said:
			
		

> Please give me an update...




<banging fork and knife on table> up-date... up-date... up-date... up-date...

C'mon man, the big finale is coming up  ;^)


----------



## Doc_Souark

Great Story Hour, where's the update ?


----------



## Suldulin

just read through this all yesterday, I too add my voice to those asking for an update


----------



## ledded

*Bumpy McBumperson*

Almost... two weeks... since.... last update....

Supplies... running out... gnawing hunger affecting... the men... their hollow eyes.... mocking me...

We are freezing.... food supply nearly gone....  may have to resort to eating other wounded Story Hours... to survive...


-----------------------

(Hey, I know you have a job, life, and a nice fiance to worry about, but are they *really* that important compared to our burning desire for an update?  C'mon soldier, get your priorities in line here!  ;^) )


----------



## fludogg

All your UPDATE are belong to us.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 5 (6/4/2003) Joe's Free Time*

Session 5 (6/4/2003) Joe's Free Time

The crashing sound woke Joe up. His head was a throbbing like some kind of melon that had a good reason to be throbbing and was going to throb as hard as it could. His nose was stuffed up with dried blood, and his throat was raw. But his ears were fine, and he had definitely heard a crashing sound.

Joe opened one blood-shot eye and scanned the dark bedroom. Bed, dresser, alarm clock reading a little after four in the morning, pile of dirty clothes, Pamela Lee poster, growing pile of bloody tissues, two open containers of Chinese take-out from sometime last week, collection of Yu-Gi-Oh cards organized by rarity, laptop computer, Scooby Doo nightlight. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

Joe tried to drift back off to sleep. He had gotten used to noises like that living in Southside. Probably just a car wreck or a pipe bomb or something…

Another crashing sound echoed through the room, and then the sound of something heavy scraping across the floor. Joe opened both eyes this time. 

Alien Abduction Prevention - Lesson One: Get out of bed before the Grays come into the room. If they get into your room and you are still in bed, then they will hit you with the paralysis ray, and then you get taken aboard the ship and get probed. Just ask Whitley Strieber. Not a fun way to go.

Joe slid out of bed and crouched on the floor. The movement caused a sudden bout of dizziness, and he nearly puked, but adrenalin took over and helped him choke it back. He reached under the mattress and pulled out his emergency weapon, the Collector’s Edition 007 “The Man With the Golden Gun” Custom Gold-Plated Derringer, and flicked off the safety. 

Another loud scraping sound. This time clearly coming from downstairs in the shop. Joe padded over to the door to the stairs. He put his hand on the knob, and then listened at the door. 

“Joooooee…” a deep whispering call echoed out from downstairs, with a voice like the sound of something whose lungs were full of wet gravel.

Chills ran down Joe’s spine. He paused and considered the situation. Aliens were unlikely to call him by name, and the Men in Black would never have made this much noise. He could be looking at the Freemasons here, or maybe World Domination Incorporated. He slowly opened the door, held his breath, and peeked down the stairs.

There was a figure at the bottom of the stairs. She was an old blue-veined woman with white hair, just standing there, wearing a night robe. She had her back to Joe and appeared to be focused on something in the shop. 

At the sound of the door, she slowly turned around. Joe froze and just stared. The woman’s eyes were rolled back into her head, revealing only white sightless orbs. She called up again in the voice, which impossibly bellowed forth from her thin elderly frame. 

“Jooooooe…”

Before Joe could respond, she swiftly backed away from the foot of the stairs. Only she was not just backing away, she was _floating_ backwards. Her feet never moved. She just slid back out of sight. 

Joe swallowed hard and his sore throat burned with the effort. He took one slow trembling step onto the stairs. He couldn’t deny his knees were shaking. Moon-walking lich-grandmas had that effect on him. Fighting every normal instinct to bolt back upstairs and lock the door, he crept halfway down the stairs, so that he could bend down and see through the doorway into the shop.

All of the display cases and comic book racks had been moved around. All of his inventory was stacked tightly and haphazardly into the corners of the room, leaving a wide open circular area in the center of the shop. Joe could see the whole room now, except for whatever was in that circular area. There was no sign of the old woman. 

Holding the gun out before him, Joe edged closer to the circle, and peered over the edge. The old woman was gone. But there, in the center of the circle of shelves and display cases, was the Necronomicon.

Joe relaxed his shoulders and cursed. He shoved a display case to one side and stepped into the circle. He picked up the book and for a brief moment, he thought it spasmed in his hand. He saw an immediate difference on the front cover. Something had changed. He stepped into the pale light from the front shop window and read the altered words on the black leather cover. 

“Joe Empire’s Necronomicon…”

. . . 

The Radio Shack manager was confused and more than a little tired, and this fat guy in the Superman tee-shirt was not making things any easier on him. “As a *very* crude alarm system, these might work for you, sir, but I would not guarantee them for that purpose, and really, sir, I would recommend a security company that could install a complete system for you instead of just relying on these---”

“Oh, sure, let Big Brother monitor me with a so-called ‘home alarm system’? I don’t think so.”

“I’m really not sure I understand what you mean, sir.”

“okay, you’re suggesting I wire up my shop with cameras and sensors and then broadcast that signal to an alarm company, which in reality is a front for the government, so they can spy on me? I don’t think so… Haven’t you ever read 1984?”

“Um, no sir.”

“Well…me neither, but I read a website about it, and that’s exactly the kind of thing that they did back then, and I’m not gonna let the government spy on me.”

At the point, the manager apparently gave up any attempt at rational conversation and just began ringing up the purchases. Two motion detector floodlights and five sets of “Logiblocs” interactive light-activated noise-making toys. 

“Oh, wait…I am gonna need some way to mount these on my walls. Do you guys sell duct tape?”

. . .

Joe blew his nose into a well-used tissue, and then shoved the remains into his pocket. “Hey, I’m here to pick up some film I dropped off this morning.”

“Certainly, sir. What name is that under?”

“Hal Jordan”

“Alright…here you go sir.”

“Thanks,” Joe muttered and dropped the cash on the counter. He left the store in a hurry, stuffing the envelope of pictures into his pocket. Shouldering the bag of alarm equipment he had purchased earlier in the day, he trotted back down the street to the bus stop. He made it just in time, and gladly collapsed into a seat in the rear of the bus, panting and sweating. 

After spending a moment to catch his breath, Joe tore into the envelope of pictures. He flipped through one picture, then two more in rapid succession.

“SON OF A B*^$%!!”

An old woman two seats up from Joe turned around, gave Joe a brief once-over, and decided to ignore him. 

Joe flipped through several more pictures, and his jaw dropped a little wider with each shot. 

These were the photos from the expensive offices at Healthsouth. The offices of the men whose names showed up on the rolls of the Numismatic Society. Joe had taken these pictures just last night. But the camera did not see what Joe saw.

Here was the photo Joe had taken of the old oil painting on one of the walls. Same office, same wall, but no oil painting. In its place, just a little yellow Post-It note stuck to the wall that read, “OLD OIL PAINTING”

Here was a shot of the floor. Joe could see his own legs in the shot, where he had pointed the camera straight down. And there, next to his left foot, another Post-it note. This one read “PERSIAN RUG”

Another, of a cheap empty bookcase. Another, of a barren metal desk. Post it notes scattered in both pictures, labeled “LAW BOOKS” and “HEAVY ANTIQUE CHERRY WOOD DESK”

Joe was so ticked off he couldn’t even form words. He just growled. He wanted to rip the pictures up and throw them out the window. Only his determination to include the pictures in his next issue of the Red Herring, and the odd looks from the old lady two rows up from him, kept him from doing so. 

Clearly these people did not know who they were dealing with. You did not do this to Joe Empire.


----------



## Eyas

*Ahhhh*



			
				Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> Session 5 (6/4/2003) Joe's Free Time
> 
> “Joe Empire’s Necronomicon…”




And the plot deepens...



			
				Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> Session 5 (6/4/2003) Joe's Free Time
> 
> Clearly these people did not know who they were dealing with. You did not do this to Joe Empire.




If he thinks it is bad now.......

Hehe


----------



## fludogg

Wheeeee... thanks for the update...


----------



## Spatula

Wow, very creepy.  But didn't the book already have Joe's name on it?


----------



## Caliber

It said "Joe's Necronomicon" ... now it says "Joe Empire's Necronomicon"

Obviously its a front for the government and they're using it to gather information on him.   

On a completely unrelated note, how bad is it that I just realized what Old Drew Id spelled out?


----------



## ledded

fludogg said:
			
		

> Wheeeee... thanks for the update...




Heh, we do love ya Joe...

Fludogg, if not for your absolute masterful and immeasurably geeky command of comic book and half-***ed conspiricy mumblings, Joe just couldnt be as good as he is.

All bow down to king geek

(Nice suit there Joe...)


----------



## fludogg

> Heh, we do love ya Joe...
> 
> Fludogg, if not for your absolute masterful and immeasurably geeky command of comic book and half-***ed conspiricy mumblings, Joe just couldnt be as good as he is.





Thanks, I think...but Joe couldn't be Joe without Willie, Cooper, Chrystal & Tayler.  They are some of the best group of characters to work with. Its easy to be the funny guy with a group of serious/striaght guy characters (Which IMO are harder to play) so Kudos to everyone else... 


Thanks for everyone's comments and the support they give ol' Joe.

-Flu Dogg


----------



## fenzer

So Fludogg, you're the mastermind behind Joe?  I take my hat off to you.  He is a great character and a hoot to read about.

Thanks for the update Drew.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 5 (6/4/2003) Brother Cooper's Free Time*

*Session 5 (6/4/2003) Brother Cooper's Free Time*

Brother Cooper removed his hat, and sat down wearily in the back pew. After a moment, he stared up at the cross. The church was deserted, and quiet. The cloudy morning sun offered only pale washed out colors filtered like dying leftovers from the stained glass windows, and the room felt far too big and far too empty. 

“I’m scared, Lord.”

The sound of his own voice surprised him. He hadn’t even meant to speak out loud. But still, maybe that was better. At least some sound to break the silence in that big empty room. He took a quick glance around the room to ensure he was alone, then turned back to the cross.

“Um…right…so, I’m scared. I’m…not really ready for all of this, Lord.”

His collar felt too tight, and he tugged at one side and swallowed.

”I know, I know, I’ve been saying for just about forever that I’m here to serve you, and I ain’t backing off that. I mean, my life is yours to do with as you please. But, Lord…I’m not a warrior. I’m…just a good salesman. ”

The cross was silent. Guyzell averted his eyes. He felt like a fool, whining over his own problems while staring at a figure in such misery.

“Am I just whining, Lord? I mean, I don’t think I’m being unreasonable. You gave me these gifts. You made me who I am. You made me a good leader. Your spirit moves me to speak, your gift of …inspired speech makes my words mean something to my congregation. You made me a speaker, Lord. ”

Brother Cooper took a slow deep breath. He leaned forward in the pew, resting his elbows on the pew in front of him, and folded his hands together. He leaned his forehead into his hands. When he spoke again, it was in a whisper.

“You made me a speaker, Lord, not a warrior. I know, I know, Lord, I made a promise to you. From the day I saw that evil…thing in Frankenhowser’s basement, I promised I would fight your enemies for you. But even then, Lord…” 

He swallowed, and brought his eyes up to the cross again, resting his chin on his knuckles.

“…even then, Lord, I guess I didn’t think you would use me like this. I don’t understand. I don’t understand why…how you can give me this gift of a glib tongue and then set me up for a life of preaching, and then put me here, in a situation like this, where my tongue is not what is needed. Where, instead…you need a warrior. Someone with a gun and the courage to use it, and I don’t know what else. Something I am not, Lord. Something I don’t have…”

His words trailed off into silence, and he found himself just sitting quietly, staring alternately at the cross, and then down again at the floor.

A cell phone ring cut through the silence. 

Brother Cooper hated cell phones in the church. Normally, he turned his own off as soon as he entered the sanctuary. But this week, he found himself using that phone again and again for emergencies, and he had decided to leave it on. 

He turned around and picked up the cell phone from beside him on the pew. He flipped it open and answered, “Hello?”

“Ah-lo? Guyzell? Zis is you, yes?”

“Yes, this is me, John.”

“Goot, Goot. Guyzell, I have been studying ze information you have sent me. I believe I know vat is happening.”

“Really?”

“Da! Unt Guyzell, you vill need to make some holy water. You are going to have a fight on your hands.”

Guyzell closed his eyes. 

A long moment passed. 

“Guyzell? Ah-lo? Are you still zere?”

Another moment passed. A decision was made.

“Yes, I’m still here.”


----------



## fenzer

Nice, Drew.


----------



## Tellerve

Great story, only sad thing is that I'm up to date   So now I gotta wait for the updates, that's the only bad thing.

Let me also say I really like your magic system and the write-up of it.  I'm very much thinking about using the magic system you've made.  I do wonder how, if you've gotten to that point, you decided how many vitality points etc you loose on spells.  Is it per spell level or something else?  Thanks,

Tellerve


----------



## Old Drew Id

Tellerve said:
			
		

> I'm very much thinking about using the magic system you've made.  I do wonder how, if you've gotten to that point, you decided how many vitality points etc you lose on spells.  Is it per spell level ?




By spell level, but it varies with the spell. Basically whatever I think is balanced at the time, but with the understanding that costs can change if a spell cost is determined to be out of balance later.

In general, the average cost of a 0th-level spell is 1 VP.
In general, the average cost of a 1st-level spell is 1d4+1 VP, 1 WP, or 1 point of stat damage.
In general, the average cost of a 2nd-level spell is 1d4 WP or 1d3 points of stat damage.
Costs continue to escalate from there.

The players also know that there are feats available to reduce spellcasting costs. The first feat in the "cost reduction tree" lowers the cost by 1 VP, the second by 1 WP, and the third by 1 point of stat damage.

Finally, there are evil methods to reduce the cost of a spell by passing the cost on to someone else. (Translation: sacrifices) NPC's have displayed use of this ability on occasion but the PC's have no interest in following suit.


----------



## ledded

fenzer said:
			
		

> So Fludogg, you're the mastermind behind Joe?  I take my hat off to you.  He is a great character and a hoot to read about.
> 
> Thanks for the update Drew.




Funny thing is, he is twice as crazy and off the wall (and some times just disgusting) as he is written up in the Story Hour, because this is a "family forum" and a lot of stuff that Joe does or says just simply can't be put into print because of political correctness.  There are a few things in the next episode that, frankly, I am *very* interested in how they are going to be written.

Oh, and OldDrewId, *great* update.  You really do manage to capture the essence of Brother Cooper as he is played.  Very nice.


----------



## Tellerve

Interesting stuff Drew, but it of course gets more questions in my mind.  So, are there any ways, you can PM me if you care to, for good people to reduce the costs?  Longer rituals, power components, etc. besides the feats?  Assuming you do eventually/theoretically allow higher spells it seems that a few spells could very easily sap/kill a caster.  Is this what your going for, that magic is just too uncontrolable/taxing for good casters for higher level spells?  In other words, are the evil demon ceremonial sacrificing npcs the only ones casting high level spells?

Thanks,

Tellerve

p.s.  When's the next update


----------



## ArcOfCorinth

Back to the top with ye!

I love this. I read it all the way through this weekend. It's great to see a story hour set in a familiar area.


----------



## ledded

ArcOfCorinth said:
			
		

> Back to the top with ye!
> 
> I love this. I read it all the way through this weekend. It's great to see a story hour set in a familiar area.





Cool... you currently hailing from Crimson country then?  Roll Tide!  Gotta love that Dreamland Bar-b-que.

It actually does add a lot to the game when we are very familiar with the area, and also makes it add tension when you are in your favorite Thai restaurant (Surin's) instead of just generic Thai restaurant #7 when something looks like it's about to go down (cant be messin' with my Thai noodles and sushi man!).

It helps us also because we use a lot of miniatures and terrain in our game and some of us, er, well, uh, *I*, get obsessed with it.  Now when the GM describes an area everyone instantly starts grabbing the tree's, buildings, cars, signs, telephone booths, power poles, mailboxes, etc and starts arranging, since we often are at least basically familiar with the area anyway.  We just recently did a big scene centered around the newly fixed Vulcan statue on Red Mountain and we had so much fun putting together/improvising the terrain that I had to snap a few digital pics with the camera for posterity's sake (thanks to Fludogg being such a geek that we had a 12" Silver Surfer Action Figure to use as the 60' statue).


Ledded, aka Willie Lamar, P.I. with an attitude and a few really nice suits.


----------



## ledded

ArcOfCorinth said:
			
		

> Back to the top with ye!
> 
> I love this. I read it all the way through this weekend. It's great to see a story hour set in a familiar area.





Cool... you currently hailing from Crimson country then?  Roll Tide!  Gotta love that Dreamland Bar-b-que.

It actually does add a lot to the game when we are very familiar with the area, and also makes it add tension when you are in your favorite Thai restaurant (Surin's) instead of just generic Thai restaurant #7 when something looks like it's about to go down (cant be messin' with my Thai noodles and sushi man!).

It helps us also because we use a lot of miniatures and terrain in our game and some of us, er, well, uh, *I*, get obsessed with it.  Now when the GM describes an area everyone instantly starts grabbing the tree's, buildings, cars, signs, telephone booths, power poles, mailboxes, etc and starts arranging, since we often are at least basically familiar with the area anyway.  We just recently did a big scene centered around the newly fixed Vulcan statue on Red Mountain and we had so much fun putting together/improvising the terrain that I had to snap a few digital pics with the camera for posterity's sake (thanks to Fludogg being such a geek that we had a 12" Silver Surfer Action Figure to use as the 60' statue).


Ledded, aka Willie Lamar, P.I. with an attitude and a few really nice suits.


----------



## ArcOfCorinth

ledded said:
			
		

> Cool... you currently hailing from Crimson country then?  Roll Tide!  Gotta love that Dreamland Bar-b-que.
> 
> It actually does add a lot to the game when we are very familiar with the area, and also makes it add tension when you are in your favorite Thai restaurant (Surin's) instead of just generic Thai restaurant #7 when something looks like it's about to go down (cant be messin' with my Thai noodles and sushi man!).
> 
> It helps us also because we use a lot of miniatures and terrain in our game and some of us, er, well, uh, *I*, get obsessed with it.  Now when the GM describes an area everyone instantly starts grabbing the tree's, buildings, cars, signs, telephone booths, power poles, mailboxes, etc and starts arranging, since we often are at least basically familiar with the area anyway.  We just recently did a big scene centered around the newly fixed Vulcan statue on Red Mountain and we had so much fun putting together/improvising the terrain that I had to snap a few digital pics with the camera for posterity's sake (thanks to Fludogg being such a geek that we had a 12" Silver Surfer Action Figure to use as the 60' statue).
> 
> 
> Ledded, aka Willie Lamar, P.I. with an attitude and a few really nice suits.




I'm originally from St. Vincent's, but then I was swiftly re-located against my will to Blount County. Since there's nothing in Blount, I spent a lot of time in Jefferson County.

Knowing the location really does help. I started a new d20 Modern campaign just last week that's centered in the town, Oneonta, where I grew up. Its a nice two person game (One player). The player is from the same area as well and I elected to start the story in the house he currently lives in. He's a deputy suddenly thrust into a zombie apocalypse. I plan to do a story hour once I decide how to tone it the writing down without losing the story's grim and dark intergrity. 

This story hour has a huge impact on my campaign already.


----------



## ledded

ArcOfCorinth said:
			
		

> I'm originally from St. Vincent's, but then I was swiftly re-located against my will to Blount County. Since there's nothing in Blount, I spent a lot of time in Jefferson County.:




Ah.  My condolences.



			
				ArcOfCorinth said:
			
		

> Knowing the location really does help. I started a new d20 Modern campaign just last week that's centered in the town, Oneonta, where I grew up. Its a nice two person game (One player). The player is from the same area as well and I elected to start the story in the house he currently lives in. He's a deputy suddenly thrust into a zombie apocalypse. I plan to do a story hour once I decide how to tone it the writing down without losing the story's grim and dark intergrity.
> 
> This story hour has a huge impact on my campaign already.




I've been to Oneonta.  Couldnt think of a nicer town to have a zombie apocalypse.  Why would you want to tone the story down?!?  Have you read any of jonrog1's stuff?  His dark*matter SH thread has given me nightmares, and inspired OldDrewId in part to write up our game in a SH.

http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=4912

There is another good thread out there with some nice creature horror aspects by Heapthaumaturgist, though it's fairly short right now.  It's interesting in that he bases the story off of a bunch of college buddies from Auburn.

http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=52840

So if you write it up, only tone town the stuff that will get you in trouble on the boards... i.e. sex and profanity ;^)


----------



## RC Hagy

*As one of four I make time to read...*

I say *Back to the top*!


----------



## Eyas

_"looks to see if ledded has any more popcorn while waiting for intermission to end_


----------



## ledded

Eyas said:
			
		

> _"looks to see if ledded has any more popcorn while waiting for intermission to end_




_*quietly offers over half-empty popcorn bag and a freshly opened box of sno-caps without taking his eyes off the dark screen, while subtly moving his drink to the opposite side of the seat from where Eyas sat down...*_


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 5 (6/4/2003) Putting It Together*

*Session 5 (6/4/2003) Putting It Together*

The sky was overcast, the wind was blowing hard, and it was dark for eight o’clock. The moon was hidden beneath the thick cloud cover, and the air smelled like rain. Brother Cooper thumbed the switch for his truck’s headlights as he pulled over to the curb. 

The cab of the truck sagged noticeably before bouncing back as Joe climbed in and slammed the door. He gave a quick glance over the newly repaired windshield as he fastened his seat belt, and then noticed the box of plastic containers in the floorboard.

“Hey preacher, what’s in the Tupperware?”

Guyzell hesitated before answering. “Holy water.”

“No shi---, um, I mean, really? What’s it for?”

“I just figured we might need it tonight, Joseph. As a weapon.”

“Sweet! Where’d you get it?”

Brother Cooper eyed Joe before pulling out into traffic. “Joseph, you do realize that I am a man of God?”

“Right. So…what? Do you get it wholesale or something?”

“Joseph, sometimes …say, weren’t you supposed to be working tonight?”

“Oh! Right! Thanks for reminding me.”

Joe dug around in his backpack for a moment and pulled out a cell phone. He punched in a number and waited for an answer. “Hey, can I speak to, um… the old janitor guy?…I’m the new janitor…yep…hey, this is, um…me…I’m not coming in tonight…Um, no…I mean, yes, yes, I’m sick…SARS I think….well, to be honest, no, I don’t really want to keep this jo---okay, then…ba-bye. ”

Joe tucked the phone back into his backpack. “Well, that takes care of that. I just got fired.”

Brother Cooper sighed, and turned onto Highway 31 towards the library.

“Oh, hey, preacher?”

“Yes, Joseph?”

“Did you have any freaky old people hanging out around your place last night? You know, playing Trading Spaces with your furniture or anything?”

“No…why?”

“No reason.”

. . .

“You know this is crazy, right? Sane people do not do this.” Crystal checked her pistol again and re-holstered it for the twelfth time in a row. After that, she stowed a knife in the back of her belt, and a small canister of pepper spray in her pocket. 

“Good. For a minute there I thought I was Rambo. Thanks for clearing that up.” Taylor had already checked her own gun fifteen times and had finally forced herself to quit fiddling with it. Now she just stood with her arms folded, staring out the open door of the library into the parking lot, watching it get dark.

“Well, you could be that chick in Rambo. I think there was a Vietnamese chick in that movie that shot some people…” Willie called out from just outside. He was looking more or less relaxed, leaning against the door frame, smoking a little stub of a cigar. Taylor had picked him up a half-hour earlier at his apartment. His breath had smelled faintly of liquor. She hadn’t blamed him.

“So, how does Brother Cooper know that it will be tonight?” Crystal asked, now sitting up on one of the tables and performing a series of stretches.

“He didn’t say, ” Willie answered. “Just that he was sure it would be. He said he’d explain when he got over here.”

Headlights flashed into the parking lot as a pick-up truck turned in. Taylor felt her stomach tense up. “Well…here we go.”

The truck pulled up, and Joe and Brother Cooper got out. Joe was wearing a new black leather trench coat, a “Black Lightning” Tee-shirt, and black jeans. Taylor looked around and realized everyone was dressed similarly. Willie was in an army green flak jacket and black pants, Crystal was in a black leather jacket and black jeans. Even Brother Cooper was wearing black trousers and a dark blue windbreaker into which he was stuffing what looked like several small Tupperware containers. 

Of course, Taylor was wearing a white T-shirt, blue jeans, and a yellow windbreaker. She was gonna stand out like a sore thumb if things went bad.  

Brother Cooper led the way back into the library, and began to fill in the blanks.

“Earlier today I spoke to John Frankenhowser. As you may recall, he is a fellow preacher, and he is my mentor. I have known him for a very long time, and he is fairly knowledgeable about dealings with the occult.”

Brother Cooper eyed the gun that Crystal was once again checking, and seemed to sigh slightly. He then continued, “I gave him all of the information that we were aware of, dealing with the locations of these attacks, and the symbols that we saw, and just everything I could think of. He did some research for me, and told me what I’m about to tell you.”

The preacher seemed at last to warm to his subject and began to recite the facts more quickly. 

“There is a ritual, a spell, that is designed to protect someone. A very large, very powerful spell, called the ‘five locked walls’ or by different variations of that name. The way it works is, you need five locations. They need to be buildings, they need to be spread out over a reasonable distance, and they all need to have been built or owned somehow, at least partially, by the target of the spell. ”

“If you have all that, and you cast the spell, which apparently, again, is very complicated, then you can protect the target of the spell from…well…from just about anything.”

Willie started nodding along as facts clicked into place. Crystal chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip.

“Based on what we have heard from Mr. Bolling, and the events of this past week and a half, I think we can pretty safely assume that at some point, perhaps many years ago, this spell was cast to protect Mr. Dick Scorse, of South-Medical.”

Willie chimed in, putting the facts together. “The coin-collector guys. Bolling said Scorse was their front man. They needed to protect him. At least until the, whatever you want to call it…when we took over.”

“I didn’t agree to take over anything,” Crystal proclaimed.

“Well, baby, I never saw that we had much choice,” Willie offered in consolation.

Crystal continued, “So, these coin collector guys, the…uh…Class of 1923---”

Joe smiled. “I just call them ‘the Guys with the Empty Offices’.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing, don’t worry about it. Keep going.”

Crystal continued. “So these guys, when they realized we were about to…take over, they pulled their support from Scorse and left him out to dry? And that’s what’s causing all of this?”

Brother Cooper shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know about how all of that fits together, really.”

Joe jumped in, “Well whatever they were doing, the next thing that happened was that South-Medical had some layoffs, including that Rosalita lady.”

Taylor at last had something to offer. “Isabel Garcia. She got laid off, and must have been pretty ticked off at Scorse.”

Brother Cooper continued. “Right. And somehow, she knew about the ‘five locked walls.’ Shoot, maybe among these sorts of people, this kind of thing is common knowledge. Anyhow, she set to work breaking down the spell. According to Frankenhowser, she has been going about it the right way. Those runes we have been seeing? They translate to mean ‘unlock’, or something along those lines. She has been hitting each spot on Wednesdays and Sundays, defacing the grounds and placing the rune. Which is exactly, by the book, what needs to be done in order to break the spell. ” 

“Tonight’s Wednesday!” Taylor exclaimed. Everyone looked over at her with stupid looks on their faces. Her face turned bright red. “Okay, guessing everyone already knew that.”

“So I count four locations so far. Church, library, medical building, and science center---”

“The digital hospital that South-Medical is building on 280,” Willie answered, before the question was even complete. “I saw the maps on the wall in her apartment.”

Joe stood up. “Cool. So we bust in on her tonight at the construction site. Toss a couple of fireball spells, and save the day.”

The group silently stared at Joe for a moment. Willie was the first to ask, “Can you actually *do* that now?”

Joe smirked, “Sure…piece of cake…all except for the fireball part. Actually, I am working on a new healing spell--”

Brother Cooper cleared his throat. “I just want to make sure everyone here knows this: you don’t have to go tonight if you don’t want to. I believe that the Lord has called me to do this, but I don’t hold any of you to that.”

“Oh please, preacher, like we could back out now,” Crystal rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, preacher, I’m in this for the long haul, or at least until I get some payback for my leg,” Willie grinned evilly.

“Hell, I just don’t have anything better to do,” Joe admitted.

Taylor spoke up, “I’m definitely in. I’m not backing out…but…could we make a quick stop before we get there?”


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 5 (6/4/2003) Shopping Spree*

*Session 5 (6/4/2003) Shopping Spree*

The aisles of Wal-Mart were clean, brightly lit, and almost completely deserted, considering the late hour. The overhead speakers were playing a slightly warbling version of “Girl from Ipanema,” interspersed with very polite requests for Earl to report to Customer Service for a check override and a friendly reminder that a blue pick-up had left their lights on in the parking lot. 

The girl working the checkout could not have been more than sixteen, and she twirled a lock of  blonde hair between her fingers while loudly smacking on a bright pink ball of bubble gum.

Taylor went through the line first. A couple of simple purchases: a black windbreaker, black men’s work-boots, black jeans. She swiped her card, took her purchases, and headed to the bathroom to change. After a quick swap of clothes in the (surprisingly spacious) stall, she stepped in front of the mirror to take a look. 

She was hoping for something like Lucy Liu’s look in Charlie’s Angels. Instead, she looked like Margaret Cho dressed up for Goth party. Dejected, she shoved her old clothes into the shopping bag, tucked her gun into the back of her belt, and went back outside to wait by the register for everyone else.

Brother Cooper was already waiting there, holding a box of Tic-Tacs and a radio headset. He offered her one of the Tic-Tacs, but she ignored him. 

Willie was at the register. He bought a box of .45 ammunition, two Swisher Sweets, and a coke. Taylor had not paid attention to what was being said, but she saw that Willie smiled as he talked to the checkout girl, and the girl blushed deeply and batted her eyes at him as he walked away.

Joe came next. More ammo, duct tape, fifty feet of nylon rope, and a flashlight. He apparently tried to mimic Willie’s smile and manner, and in response, the girl made no attempt to hide the look of revulsion on her face.  After paying cash, Joe shuffled over to join everyone else. 

Crystal stepped up to the register, carrying a brand new shotgun, ammo, ammo belt pouch, hunting knife, and work gloves. The checkout girl never even blinked as she rang up the purchase and accepted cash for everything.

Taylor took a deep breath, and led the way back to the car.

Now they were ready.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 5 (6/4/2003) Final Firefight*

Session 5 (6/4/2003) Final Firefight

The car slowly crunched over a rough gravel parking area leading up to the back of the construction site. Taylor killed the lights when they pulled off the road, and the whole group rode in darkened silence as they neared the chain-link fence at the border of the property.

The car stopped. Taylor cut the engine and stuck the keys in her pocket. Everyone stared out the windshield for a moment at the site.

The main building, mostly complete, stretched fourteen stories up into the night sky. A handful of spotlights pointed up at the upper stories to illuminate the site. A second five-story building abutted the back of the main building. The entire affair was perhaps two hundred yards from the bustling traffic on 280, separated by a thick swathe of trees and shadows. 

Construction gear and machinery covered the grounds. Dump trucks, bulldozers, generators, and a hundred other pieces of nondescript equipment threw strange shadows across the landscape. The wind was blowing pretty fiercely, and bits of paper and debris blew past every few seconds.

Willie nudged Taylor’s shoulder, and she turned. He handed her a headset radio from his bag. She saw that he, Brother Cooper, and Joe were all already wearing similar headsets in the back. She took the radio and fitted it to her head as she continued to survey the area through the windshield.

She heard the nervousness in her own accented voice as she asked, “I wonder if they here yet?”

Crystal answered calmly from the (literally) shotgun seat, “Oh yeah, they’re here,” as she gestured up into the night sky with her new gun. Where she pointed, a one-hundred-and-fifty foot crane towered menacingly over the entire site. Hanging suspended from the crane’s hook, over a hundred feet in the air, was a man in a business suit. “And it looks like Dick Scorse is here, too.”

. . .

Taylor heard Brother Cooper praying as they left the car and scattered into the dark. It was something about “give me your shield of victory…stoop down to make me great.” She certainly didn’t care anything about being made great. She just wanted to get this over with and get out in one piece.

Crystal and the preacher took off into the building before them. Willie headed off around the right corner to circle the site and come up from the far side. 

Joe was ahead of her, rounding the left side of the complex, dodging from one shadow to the next. Every now and then over the radio she heard snippets of his voice. It sounded like he was singing to himself. As she ducked in behind him as he hid between some barrels, she heard him more distinctly, but now it sounded more like he was whispering a chant to himself, “…kitana…jade…sub-zero…scorpion…” He turned and grinned to her, then darted off towards the cab of a dump truck. 

Taylor took a deep breath and sprinted towards the next bit of cover, in this case a pile of steel beams near the corner of the building. She threw herself to the dirt once she was in the shadow of the steel and took a moment to check out the area. 

She was around the other side of the building now. There were still more bulldozers and that sort of thing on this side, but there was a clearing near the base of the crane. In the clearing was a small bonfire, pretty much directly underneath where Scorse was dangling. Taylor counted three men carrying wood to the fire. No sign of anyone else in the area. 

Now that she was up here, she wasn’t sure what she had been planning to do. She tried out the radio with a whisper, “I see front. I see three guy up here with wood…um…for fire”

For a frighteningly lonely moment there was no response, and Taylor wondered if she was on the right channel. Then Willie’s voice came over reassuringly, “Copy that, Tee. I’m in the southeast corner. I got a visual on three perps tending a bonfire. No sign of voodoo lady. Wait…one of the perps over here is *not* carrying wood. He’s got a rifle. Repeat, we have a bad guy with a rifle. I’m gonna try to get in behind him. Over.”

Crystal’s voice responded almost instantly, whispering, “Me and the preacher are on shotgun duty inside, heading up the main hallway towards your side of the building. We got nobody in here so far. Still moving up.”

A deep rumbling growl sounded from behind Taylor, and she whipped her gun around to point in that direction, as Joe’s voice sounded over the radio: “Guys…I…have…a…dump…truck.”

Before anyone could respond, the dump truck lurched forward with a grinding sound and roared into the clearing. The truck trampled straight over one of the (very) surprised thugs carrying firewood, and smashed into the bonfire, sending sparks and flaming wood scattering in five different directions. 

Willie’s voice was quick on the radio, “Wait! S#%T! WAIT! Oh hell…GO!!! GO!!! GO!!!”

Taylor leapt up from her hiding spot and began running to her left to try to flank the thugs. She spotted the one closest to the bonfire and tossed a shot off at him as she ran. The shot went wild, but he spun towards her, and she realized she had given her position away. 

Taylor ducked behind a stack of barrels and started to look for the next piece of cover. She looked out to the left, and saw him. Another thug, with a rifle. He pointed the rifle straight at her, and fired.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 5 (6/4/2003) Blood And Water*

*Session 5 (6/4/2003) Blood And Water*

Crystal heard the diesel engine roar from inside the building, and knew immediately what that sound meant, even before Joe announced his “plan”. She turned to meet Brother Cooper’s gaze in the dark hallway as Willie was screaming into the radio. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, then gestured forward with his shotgun. They continued to move up. 

They were near the end of the hall, now maybe fifty feet from the doorway leading out. Crystal could see the light from the scattered bonfire playing on the ceiling up ahead. On the left and right up ahead were two more open doorways before the end of the hall. 

Crystal darted forward and pointed her gun into the left doorway. An empty stairwell leading up. She nodded back to Cooper and started to move forward again when movement caught her eye on the stairs. She paused and leveled the gun at the stairs. 

Brother Cooper was up beside her now, his own shotgun covering the hallway, but close enough that he could see into the stairwell. 

It came quicker than she expected. The thug was suddenly down the stairs in an split second, and right in her face. She fired, and the shotgun kicked in her grip. The blast took the thug straight in the chest, throwing him backwards and knocking chunks of flesh off in multiple directions, but he remained standing. 

Crystal stood there in horror and the zombie took another step forward. She could see now in the firelight; its face was half eaten away with decay. His upper lip was corroded and hanging off at an angle, giving him a weird angry sneering expression as he approached.

Brother Cooper’s voice was sudden, commanding, and angry. “I cast you out!” he bellowed as he pulled a plastic tub from his coat pocket. He splashed something on the zombie and in an instant the creature collapsed into a smoking pile of decay on the floor. 

The preacher gazed at the ruined corpse before them, then looked back up at Crystal and grinned, “You just gotta have faith, Crystal…although the holy water does help.”

Crystal grinned and turned back around towards the other open door. As she turned, another zombie cam stumbling out of the doorway towards them. And behind the zombie, a woman with a gun. 

Crystal ejected the spent shell from her shotgun with a loud “cha-chink”. She leveled the gun at Mama Garcia, and smiled, “It’s about time, b*#ch!”

. . .

Willie saw the guy, but it was too late. He watched him fire in slow motion, and saw the bullet tear a baseball-sized hole clear through Taylor’s throat. Willie had served in combat before, back in the day, and even from this far away, he knew a fatality when he saw it. 

This was not right. This was not what was supposed to happen. This was not justice. 

Willie felt his anger boil over. The world went *red*.

. . .

Joe spilled out of the cab of the dump truck and ran across the clearing. He ignored the cracks of gunfire around him, and ran towards where Taylor had fallen. 

“NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!”  He was there, on top of her. A bullet careened off a barrel next to his head. He dragged her backwards, behind cover, and knelt down beside her. 

Her throat was a mess of ground meat. The hole was huge, and blood was squirting out from her throat in fast pulses like someone squeezing a juice box and spraying it everywhere. Blood was _everywhere_. 

Joe put his hands over the wound to try to stop the flow, but the blood just oozed around his fingers. “Taylor, hey, don’t die! No! Don’t die! Hey! Hey! Look! I’m not ready yet! Hey, look! I’ve got a spell I’m working on! Seriously! Wait! I’ve got a new spell! I just need a couple more days! It’s a healing spell! I can fix this! Seriously! Come on, Taylor! I was just kidding. You’re my friend! Wait! Seriously! F*CK! JUST A COUPLE MORE DAYS! Just wait! Just wait! Please! I can fix this!”

The blood flow stopped oozing out from around his fingers. Joe felt his eyes burning and a heavy lump forming in his throat. The blood flow had stopped, not because she was getting better, but because her heart had simply stopped beating. 

Joe swallowed, and took a long slow deep breath. He removed his hands from the dead body. 

A crack like someone stepping on a dried twig sounded behind him. Joe grabbed Taylor’s gun from the ground next to her and spun around. It was the thug with the rifle, now aiming at Joe. 

“YOU SON OF A B%#CH!” Joe screamed. Then he was standing, and running forward, and firing. He emptied the gun into the thug from point blank range, three, four, five bullets in the chest. The thug fell lifeless to the ground, but Joe kept plugging away until the clip was empty. 

. . .

Mama Garcia saw the gun and ran outside towards the bonfire. Brother Cooper motioned to Crystal to follow, and turned to the new zombie. “I got this one,” he assured her, as she took off after the witch. 

The zombie’s head was off at an angle. Perhaps it had originally died in a fall or from some other injury to the head. As it lurched towards the preacher with its head cocked off to one side, it seemed to Guyzell like its expression was almost innocent, like the way a dog cocks its head to the side when it sees something it doesn’t understand. 

“May the Lord have mercy on your soul.”

Holy water splashed out, and like the finger of God, struck the zombie down where it stood.

Gunfire was still sounding outside, and Guyzell realized some of it was coming from somewhere up above him. He would have slapped himself on the forehead if he had had a hand free. He pounded up the stairwell to the second floor. 

A dozen windows opened up onto the front of the building from the large unfinished room upstairs. The wind blew in with a frightening cat-like howl. At one of those windows, a dark figure crouched with a gun, firing into the clearing. Brother Cooper paused, unsure if his target was a person or a zombie, and he hesitated with his holy water in one hand and his shotgun in the other. 

The figure must have heard him, and turned around to face him. There was no skin on the face left, and only one eye in its socket. It grinned a skinless grin as the rifle turned towards Brother Cooper. 

Holy water splashed out, and judgment was passed down on the abomination.

As Brother Cooper stood over the smoking debris, his radio crackled with Crystal’s voice. 

. . .

Crystal fired after Isabel Garcia, but the witch was fast, and she ducked a stack of crates, firing backwards behind her. Crystal returned fire, but there was too much cover in the way. Growling a stream of obscenities, Crystal chased after her. 

Crystal rounded the corner of the stack of crates and saw the scattered bonfire and the still-running dump truck. Another gunshot ricocheted past her from near the dump truck. Then she saw the witch. She fired, and blood sprayed up from the witch’s arm. She dropped her pistol and howled an inhuman screech. 

Crystal stepped forward to finish the job, but something grabbed her ankles. She tripped and fell forward. The shotgun fell out of her grip and landed just out of reach. She twisted around to see behind her. 

A zombie was under the truck’s tires, where Joe must have run the thing over. It was caught by the waist, horribly mangled and twisted under the weight of the truck, but still very much alive and trying to win. It had Crystal by the ankle, and was dragging her back under the truck. 

She yelled into her radio, “Preacher! I could use some help here!”

She tried to kick at the thing, but its grip was like steel, and she was pulled an inch closer under the truck. 

And then, from somewhere in the heavens above her, a Tupperware container, full of holy water, exploded onto the hood of the dump truck, showering her and the zombie with droplets of sacred power. 

The zombie’s grip failed as it fell apart, and Crystal scrambled to her shotgun. She picked it up and rolled towards the witch. 

Isabel Garcia was standing there, chanting. Crystal felt her hair standing on end as the words poured out of the woman, conjuring something filthy into the world. 

“The hell you will,” Crystal muttered. She pulled the trigger and blew the witch’s head off. 

Isabel Garcia’s body collapsed. Crystal breathed a slow sigh of relief, and then paused. She realized the witch had not been looking at her when she had been chanting. Instead she has been staring up into the sky. Crystal looked up. 

There was a figure up in the crane controls, a hundred-and-fifty feet up. The crane was still moving, pulling Scorse up to the top. The spotlights threw the whole thing into stark relief, as the whole tower swayed in the strong wind.

Crystal dropped the shotgun and ran to the ladder of the crane. She unsheathed her knife on the way, and gripped it in her teeth. She felt her stomach grow cold as she began to climb. She already knew, there was no way she could make it to the top before whoever was in the top of the crane could reach Scorse.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 5 (6/4/2003) Willie's New Friend*

*Session 5 (6/4/2003) Willie's New Friend*

Willie marched forward. He shot one thug as they crossed paths, then another just as easily. They fell before him like dolls, dead and gone, as he marched on. 

The world was *red*. There was no justice here.

He made it to the clearing. He saw the dead zombies, and the dead witch. He saw Joe kneeling over Taylor’s body off to his right. 

The world was *red*. There was no justice here.

He saw Crystal climbing the ladder in the crane, and he looked up. He saw the figure in the crane control booth at the top of the crane. He saw Scorse dangling from the hook. He saw the figure in the control booth get out of the seat and start crawling along the length of the crane, moving towards Scorse. From this distance, he could see that the figure, whether it was a zombie or a thug, had a knife gripped in its mouth s it crawled forward. He knew the perp would make it to Scorse before Crystal could make it to the top. Scorse was gonna die before Crystal got to the top of that ladder, and there was nothing he could do about it. 

The world was *red*. There was no justice here.

_“I can give you de justice you be seekin’.”_

The voice was rich and warm. Willie tasted banana rum in his throat, and smelled the smoke from a sweet cigar. The voice was deep and male, with an accent like something from the Caribbean. Something very male, very old, and very strong. Something that believed in justice. 

Willie took only a second to decide.

“Okay, do it.”

Then Willie was _outside_. He was floating somewhere nearby, watching his own body, like those crazy white people who nearly die on the operating table and think they’re on their way to heaven. And he was very calm. 

Willie’s body picked up a rifle off the ground. Time for one shot. A hundred and fifty feet straight up. High wind with a variable direction. And the target is swaying back and forth, moving, and has partial cover from the crane. 

Willie’s body never hesitated. The rifle fired as soon as it was brought up to bear. 

The dark figure froze, hesitated a half-second, then slipped off the side of the crane, and fell.

Scorse was safe. The battle was over. 

Then Willie was back in his body. Exhausted and…thirsty. 

_ “Now you be mine, boy. Forever.” _


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Session 5 (6/4/2003) Episode 1 Epilogue*

*Episode 1 Epilogue*

Traffic still moved on Highway 280. The sound of gunfire must have been lost in the open space. The smell of diesel exhaust was slow fading away on the wind. The night was getting cool. 

Brother Cooper flipped his cell phone closed. “The police are on their way. I didn’t give anything in the way of details, but they are definitely on the way.”

Willie and Crystal exchanged a nervous look, as they hastily shoved their guns into their holsters. Joe had returned to standing over Taylor’s body, chewing his lip. He had taken off his jacket and silently placed it over her body, and was otherwise ignoring everyone else. 

Scorse rubbed his wrists where the rope had cut into his skin. He glanced at each of his rescuers with a knowing look. “Something tells me that I don’t know half of what’s going on here… and that you might not be too eager to tell the police everything you know…” Willie met his gaze, and wordlessly confirmed his suspicions. Scorse rolled his eyes in a pained expression. “And the last thing I need right now is further scandal…”

The wind shifted. Sirens could be heard in the distance.

Scorse cleared his throat, “All right… when the police arrive, follow my lead.”

“Here comes the cover-up,” said Joe, with a deep grimace and a dead look in his eyes. The preacher moved over to Joe’s side, and began tending to Taylor’s body. After a moment, Joe helped him. The others heard him faintly praying over her, as his hands moved beneath the makeshift shroud.

Scorse turned to Willie and Crystal. “Is there anything else I need to know? I mean, that will need explaining to the police?”

Willie blushed, and sighed heavily. “If they check my gun, they’re gonna find bullets matching some they probably found at McWane Center – “

“That was you?” Scorse seemed surprised.

“Um… yeah, on the defending side of course… and another bullet at her place,” Willie said, pointing to Garcia’s body. 

Scorse rubbed one hand through his hair, and inhaled deeply. “Anything else?”

Then Crystal saw it. What she’d said a dozen times before about white men, and here she was actually seeing it in person. She looked at the ex-businessman, clearly exhausted and trying to recover from his near-death experience just moments ago, and yet, as he stood their before her, she could see the wheels turning. _He’s constructing a lie to get out of this._ She stood transfixed. It was like watching the nature channel, seeing an animal perform some task that it had been evolved specifically to perform. 

She had to interrupt, if only to see it as a test of his skill. “They probably found a bullet or two of mine at McWane as well…”

Scorse just nodded, as his face was lit by a brief flash of red and blue lights on 280. The siren was much closer now. “Trust me. I can take care of it. I need to borrow a phone… quickly.”

The businessman dialed a number into Crystal’s phone. After a moment, he spoke, “Rich? This is me. I need to call in that favor.”

Willie and Crystal both looked at each other and silently mouthed, “Rich?” Scorse did not seem to notice.

“I have a crime scene here. I was nearly killed… and kidnapped…long story, and no time to tell it now…” Scorse glanced up at the approaching police cars. He could make out their headlights approaching on the service road now. 

“I have two people here, with guns that should not be connected to them. They need … their guns were stolen from them, and they have just recovered them here. I need you to file a report for when they were stolen…sometime last week… Right…Right…Thanks, Rich…Alright, the first is a man named Willie Lamar…”

There was a pause, and Scorse looked at Willie with further surprise. “Were you involved in a library break-in last week in Vestavia?”

Willie gulped hard. He nodded. The four police cars were skidding to a stop about 30 feet away. 

“Yes, that’s him…and the second is a girl named Crystal Lassiter…No kidding?…Yes, I think so… Alright, that’ll work…”

	He hung up the phone, as the first police car emptied out two uniforms, their guns and flashlights out, shouting orders.  Everyone raised their hands into the air. 

. . .

As the door to the shop opened, the morning was pierced by the screeching, eye-wateringly loud sound of trumpets blaring the Star Trek theme song coming from several hidden speakers.

Joe bent down behind the counter for a moment, flicked a switch to disable the alarm, and came back up with a cold Mountain Dew from his mini-fridge, as the other three exhausted investigators spilled into The Griffon Comic Shop. The sun was just barely rising under a heavy blanket of pink clouds, and the shop was eerily quiet. As Guyzell closed the front door behind them, the police cruiser that had dropped them off slowly pulled away into the early Southside morning. 

“So I still don’t get exactly what was up with that phone call,” Joe said. “The cops asked me about what happened, but I refused to give them anything more than my name, rank, and serial number.”

“Rank?” Crystal raised an eyebrow.

“Junior Star Fleet Captain, First Class,” Joe recited, with the tired remains of a proud grin on his face. He glanced down to see the Necromonicon was now in his shop’s front display case, surrounded by Star Wars figures in a circle posed so they were bowing down to it. He knew he had not put it there, but he wasn’t surprised by finding it there. “Anyhow, I guess when they figured out that I wasn’t gonna say anything, they stopped asking. But on the other hand, that means I don’t know what they told you guys”

Crystal half-grinned, and slumped exhausted into one of the chairs surrounding the shop’s main gaming table. “It’s a cover-up, so it should be right up your alley.”

Brother Cooper explained as he began to brew some coffee, “He called the gentleman from the Vestavia Police Department. Rich Hall. Mr. Hall changed the police report on the library attack. If you were to go get a copy today, it should say that Willie’s and Crystal’s guns were stolen in that attack by somebody that got away before the police got there.”

 Willie then continued. “Scorse’s lawyers met him down at the station, and I’m guessing, filled him in on some other details from our man in Vestavia. Anyhow, according to rich boy, he hired me a few weeks ago to check out a stalker he had been threatened by. Which is why I was supposed to be staking out the library when we were attacked. Scary part is, this brother moves fast. When I called my cousin from the station, the lawyers had already talked to him. He’s got records now of when we were ‘hired’.”

Crystal finished the story, “So then the rest of us were innocent bystanders at the library, but we have since apparently (according to Scorse) become friends or a support group or something. We were hanging out together trying to help Willie with this stalker case when we were driving over to 280 and we just stumbled onto this whole scene.”

Joe thought for a minute. “So the stalker lady, along with some bums, stole your guns, used them at McWane Center, and again at her apartment, and then used them last night. But we beat them anyway, and got your guns back… For a cover-up, it’s pretty good… better than Roswell at least.”

The group silently waited for the coffee to finish brewing.

Crystal frowned into her cup. “We should be able to get our guns back from impound in 24 hours. It would have been nice to keep those rifles though…. And now what about the library? How are we supposed to get into the attic?”

Brother answered by pulling keys and several licenses from his pocket. “I have the keys to the library. And these were in Taylor’s wallet, and I thought it might be best if they were not found.” The licenses were all fakes, identifying Taylor variously as a private investigator, police officer, and other similar identities.

Willie looked up from his cup. “Nice work, preacher. So, if y’all are plan on going back to the library regular, we might want to make it a habit to meet there every now an’ then. You know, keep in contact like once a week or something, if we figure out any more of this coin-collecting stuff.” The others nodded in agreement. They each had plans of returning to the library attic in the near future. “So, do you think Scorse knows about the library and everything?”

Crystal answered, “I don’t think so. I saw him making up the whole story. I think he is just so used to people around him doing things that they don’t want people to know about, that he just covers things up all the time. I kind of got the impression, like he was just trained for this, you know? Just like he was trained specifically for covering things up, maybe even driven unconsciously to always cover things up, and he doesn’t even know why. ”

. . .

The Birmingham Post-Herald newspaper covered the story that same afternoon. Page 2. “Scorse survives Stalker”. According the article, he was kidnapped from his residence and then rescued by “private security forces.” Everyone involved declined to comment. There were no pictures taken. The media never contacted any of the members of the “Class of 1924.”

. . .

The rewards arrived later that same day. Four identical checks, dropped off to each of the investigators, at home, by a delivery boy from South-Medical. Ten thousand dollars each. A note sent with Joe’s check stated that a similar check has been delivered to Taylor’s family.


----------



## Pierce

Farkin' A.....  Bravo.


----------



## Old Drew Id

Finally!

Episode One is complete and posted. I intend to take a bit of a break before beginning the first posts of Episode Two ("Tangled Web") so that I can actually get a bunch of work done. The good news, however, is that starting with Episode Two, we have tape transcripts of the sessions that I can use instead of just my notes and hazy memory. I will finally be able to include the great one-liners that we use in game instead of my poor attempts at paraphrasing. 

And a serious special thanks to "pierceatwork" for the serious work he has put into transcribing those tapes for use in the story hour. 

In the meantime, floor's open for questions, comments, etc. I know there are many questions from episode one left open, but like the X-Files, those will take time to answer. We are currently in the middle of Episode Five (and will be playing tonight) and many of those questions are still un-answered. 

Thanks to everyone who has read this and posted encouragement. Please stay tuned for Episode Two of Medallions.


----------



## ledded

*wow.*

un...

fricken...

believable.

Just.... wow.   Very, very good update, and nice wrap-up to the episode.

I actually got chill bumps a few times.  And I was there when it happened.  Bravo.  I would say something clever and complimentary here, but I'm too stunned ;^).

And Taylor, Godspeed.  You will be/have been missed.

Ledded,  aka Willie Lamar


----------



## TwoSix

I just reading this SH this weekend, and boy, did I pick a good time to start!  Great ending to Episode 1, can't wait to see what happens next!


----------



## fludogg

wow, just wow.... that was great... wonderful job .... wow... just cant say it enough...


----------



## ledded

Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> <snip> I will finally be able to include the great one-liners that we use in game instead of my poor attempts at paraphrasing.




I dunno man, Fludogg and I both have commented on the fact that you often have our characters say/do things that are cooler than we really did... it puts a certain amount of pressure on us to be creative in-character ;^)



> And a serious special thanks to "pierceatwork" for the serious work he has put into transcribing those tapes for use in the story hour.




that pierceatwork... such a Suck-up ;^)



> <snip> Thanks to everyone who has read this and posted encouragement. Please stay tuned for Episode Two of Medallions.




Cool... so, since you are taking a break, that'll be, what, like tomorrow?  ;^)


----------



## Eyas

_"Clapping as the episode ends"_




			
				ledded said:
			
		

> Cool... so, since you are taking a break, that'll be, what, like tomorrow?  ;^)




Nah, can't be tomorrow....have to leave us hanging so that we tune in next week. After all, how else will he keep the ratings up?

Seriously, nice work OldDrewId. Like ledded,I still get chills about that ending.

Eyas a.k.a. Crystal


----------



## ArcOfCorinth

Bravo!   I loved that.

I need more for my addiction though.


----------



## Spatula

Geez, here I was expecting one little update and I get like _five_...  Thanks for all your work in putting this story hour up here, Old DrewId.

Man, what's the name of that voodoo spirit?  I know it, I just can't think of it right now.  I suppose this is what Willie's penchant for rum has been heading towards, and not any kind of after-school special about the perils of addiction.  I should have known it wouldn't be the obvious...

Poor, poor Taylor.  Hopefully another NPC with a sharp tongue will come along in the near future.


----------



## Old Drew Id

Spatula said:
			
		

> Poor, poor Taylor.  Hopefully another NPC with a sharp tongue will come along in the near future.




Save this quote and refer to it again later. It will seem _*so*_ much more ironic then.


----------



## darkbard

just wanted to pop in and say, "wow!"  i discovered this story on a lark from the pimpin' sig of one of your players [pearceatwork] when i was tearing through jonrog1's dark*matter story, and boy am i glad that i've come aboard.  in fact, you've made a liar of me.  just last week i was declaring jonrog1, destan, and sepulchrave the trinity of story hours.  now, greatness comes in fours!  thanks for the inspiration.


----------



## carpedavid

I've been reading this story from the start. It was great then, and has only grown better. Bravo.

I'm looking forward to episdode two.


----------



## Pierce

carpedavid said:
			
		

> I've been reading this story from the start. It was great then, and has only grown better. Bravo.
> 
> I'm looking forward to episdode two.




Here's a question that Drew and I have been mulling over.  When Drew begins writing up Episode 2, should he begin a new thread or continue posting to this one?  I'm of the opinion that he should begin a new thread to encourage feedback posts; I think people tend not to post until they've read the entire thread first.  Drew's wavering.  Any comments/suggestions?

EDIT: I can't wait to see how Ep 2 turns out.  As Drew mentioned, this begins the point from which we began taping the game sessions.  Man, transcribing is a PITA.  But hopefully, it will make Drew's job easier which means quicker updates


----------



## carpedavid

pierceatwork said:
			
		

> Here's a question the Drew and I have been mulling over. When Drew begins writing up Episode 2, should he begin a new thread or continue posting to this one? I'm of the opinion that he should begin a new thread to encourage feedback posts; I think people tend not to post until they've read the entire thread first. Drew's wavering. Any comments/suggestions?



I prefer one thread. That makes it easier for new readers to find the whole story, and it gives current readers a sense of continuity. I think the idea of people not posting until they've read the entire thread is true, but in the storyhour forum, that seems to extend to the entire story. Therefore, you'll probably notice the same behavior either way - one thread just makes everything easier to find.


----------



## fenzer

Drew,

Holy cow man!  I loved it, every bit of it!  What?  I'm not around for a few days and what do you do?  You go and post FIVE updates and cap off your first story.  Wonderful! 

What a great read, thank you, all of you; Old Drew ID, Ledded, Pieceatwork, fludogg.  Is that everyone?  Who'd I miss? (sorry if I did missed anyone).  Excellent job everyone.

As far as the "keep everything in one post" thing goes, it has been standard operating proceedure to keep one post going.  Usually, the moderators will break things up if the thread gets too big, asking you if you want things trimmed down a bit.  Hell, p-kitty's thread is how big now?  I think you will do just fine keeping it to one thread.


----------



## Caliber

One thread is the way to go. I doubt breaking it up will do much. All the story hours I've read that have broken themselves up have only gotten me to go back and read all the originals first anyway.

Anyway, the story is excellent! I love the magic system, it fits perfectly with how a magic system should work in a modern game. And the zombies ... creepy.

What were their stats? No massive damage or something?


----------



## Pierce

Caliber said:
			
		

> Anyway, the story is excellent! I love the magic system, it fits perfectly with how a magic system should work in a modern game. And the zombies ... creepy.
> 
> What were their stats? No massive damage or something?




Actually, we play with the VP/WP system and have dropped the massive damage rule.  With crits going directly to WP, it's deadly enough as is.


----------



## Eyas

fenzer said:
			
		

> What a great read, thank you, all of you; Old Drew ID, Ledded, Pieceatwork, fludogg.  Is that everyone?  Who'd I miss? (sorry if I did missed anyone).  Excellent job everyone.




_"Waves hand in the air, from the shadows_

You missed me.... 




			
				pierceatwork said:
			
		

> Actually, we play with the VP/WP system and have dropped the massive damage rule. With crits going directly to WP, it's deadly enough as is.




and somehow seems to get more deadly as time goes on

Eyas a.k.a. Crystal


----------



## fenzer

Dang it.  I knew I was missing someone.  My deepest apologies Eyas.  Thank you for a great game.  Ya, and I miss spelled Pierceatworks's name too.  Sorry, I was just a wee bit excited.

Thanks again everyone.


----------



## ledded

pierceatwork said:
			
		

> Actually, we play with the VP/WP system and have dropped the massive damage rule.  With crits going directly to WP, it's deadly enough as is.





Amen, Brother...

Coming from someone who experienced a critical hit/fumble at least 3 times in the first episode, and a few times since, it's definitely deadly.  My character is on a first name basis with the nurses in at least 3 hospitals in our area.  

Taylor's one-shot, one-kill was a fluke... the guy just got a normal hit, but rolled nearly max with a .444 winchester (which is 3d10 damage in the VP/WP system, you add a die of damage to every firearm).  Seeing as how most of us were created as fairly normal people, that pretty much did our poor smart hero librarian in.  It really, really freaked us all out, because Willie had gotten beaten/shot up several times pretty bad before, and the others had taken some licks, but we had gotten lucky up to that point.  First shot of the combat, and Taylor is down.  It got scary really quick.   Here's the funny thing;  up until that point we were moving under cover, using a little tactics and strat-e-gery... when Joe and Willie realized Taylor was dead, we both kinda lost it, ignored all thoughts of cover/concealment/tactics and just started walking through the mooks blasting away like maniacs/D&D players.

Another note on the crit's... at the end, the shot that ended the combat with Willie hitting that zombie crawling on the crane arm waaaaay over his head;  I ran out of ammo, grabbed some mook's .444 off the ground and just took that pot shot, rolled a natural 20.  I dont know how the rules worked out, but I think that the zombies were normally immune to critical hits but the shot caught the zombie in his left eye, and *poof* he was gone.  Most of the other times it took a bit more smacking to get one to fall, so I think that head-shot must have done the trick.  I dunno, but it felt darn good to get a freak shot like that right at the end; maybe OldDrewId just took pity on me because we were so freaked out by Taylor getting whacked so fast ;^)

Oh, and on the whole 'one thread - multiple thread' thing... do whatever you like, but I dont think that keeping it in one thread will reduce the follow-up posting; pretty much everyone I've emailed with on the boards gets so hooked on this story that they read all the way through as soon as they find it.  Great work, again, OldDrewId, and thanks Fenzer for tossing out a bunch of props for the SH on the boards, you are like OldDrewId's publicist or something ;^).


----------



## HeapThaumaturgist

If I remember, wasn't Taylor a PC?

And the other girl was an NPC.

What did Taylor's player do?  

Just curious.

--fje


----------



## Pierce

HeapThaumaturgist said:
			
		

> If I remember, wasn't Taylor a PC?
> 
> And the other girl was an NPC.
> 
> What did Taylor's player do?





Taylor was a DMPC.  Since this was our first time in Modern, the DM (Drew) wanted to get his feet wet playing as well, so he came up with Taylor.


----------



## fenzer

Good catch Heap.  I totally forgot that Taylor was an NPC.

Ledded, it's my pleasure, hell, it's my obligation to get the word out when something this good is out there.  You guys just keep on making the good stuff and I'll keep yelling from the roof tops.


----------



## Old Drew Id

Caliber said:
			
		

> And the zombies ... creepy.
> What were their stats? No massive damage or something?




The zombies were 2HD undead, no VP, only WP, and none of that "Partial Actions Only" stuff. They regenerated unless the damage was a critical (headshot) or was from holy water, which dealt much more damage against them than it does in a typical setting.


----------



## HeapThaumaturgist

I've always hated holy water being pretty neutered against undead.

Nice choice, Drew.

I think I'm going to steal your zombies for a one-shot Halloween game.

--fje


----------



## ledded

HeapThaumaturgist said:
			
		

> I've always hated holy water being pretty neutered against undead.
> 
> Nice choice, Drew.
> 
> I think I'm going to steal your zombies for a one-shot Halloween game.
> 
> --fje




Oh yeah, it was pretty humbling to put 2 or 3 44. magnum rounds into a zombie to drop it, only to have it come back up a little while later and smack me with a crowbar, then Brother Cooper tosses a tupperware bowl of holy water on 'em and they just go *poof*.  Brother Cooper may not be the best combat guy in the world, but sometimes he takes the ole faith out of his pocket and smacks the crap out of somebody with it (just wait till the end of episode IV).

Oh, and if you like those zombies, just wait until episode III.  I'm still having nightmares about that.

And for the record, Taylor wasnt an NPC, she was the GM's PC, which, since her player knows all that cool GM stuff, cant participate in a lot of strategy and/or figuring stuff out, but still contributes a good bit.  So greater than NPC, but less than PC = GMPC.  ;^)

Oh, and Fenzer, thanks for the praise, but 90% of the credit goes to OldDrewId for just writing so darn well.  We're a pretty creative and amusing bunch in any rpg, but he ties it together so well in writing, and he has a gift for writing with your character's voice that is just frightening.  Plus, between writing and GM'ing, he's the hardest working member of our group.  I'm pretty much the main terrain-o-saur and occasionally part-time DM/GM.


----------



## fenzer

Ledded, thanks for the clarification on GMPC.  I'll be honest, I did not know what that was.

Ledded, I understand about being the "X-osaurous".  I am the librarian (I have all the dern books), the geologist (I have the battle mat/terrain), and ref (I seem to have a reasonable handle on the rules).  As far as GMing goes however, it looks like I could take a page or two from Drew's book.  The hard work and talent are ovbious.


----------



## ledded

fenzer said:
			
		

> Ledded, thanks for the clarification on GMPC.  I'll be honest, I did not know what that was.
> 
> Ledded, I understand about being the "X-osaurous".  I am the librarian (I have all the dern books), the geologist (I have the battle mat/terrain), and ref (I seem to have a reasonable handle on the rules).  As far as GMing goes however, it looks like I could take a page or two from Drew's book.  The hard work and talent are ovbious.




Yeah, the GMPC is good, because we are now on our 3rd guest director in a row (someone new GM'ing an episode) so OldDrewId has had a very nice break so that he can develop his character, who didnt get behind because he played him as a GMPC while he was running the show.

As far as terrain, well, I've made these large foamcore sheets cut to fit the table, and they have printed sheets with grass glued on one side and stone on the other, nice one-inch grids layed out across the whole big thing.  The foamcore is stiff enough to avoid damage and flip over easy, and it's in sections so we can have one or more corners different.  Plus, it looks pretty darn cool and has the convenient grid squares.  I've made a *ton* of trees and brush model railway style, plus bought a few others that I found cheap.  We have a ton of buildings, everything from cardboard stuff (like Mordheim ruins to Microtactix dark streets cardstock buildings for modern) to store-bought stone buildings which I painted, to some home-made foamcore/styro buildings, to some very nice Hirst Arts home-cast buildings that Fludogg and Pierceatwork have created (with tremendous amounts of time and expertise).  We've collected vehicles, from resin wagons/medieval stuff to Star Wars AT-ST walkers/speeders to motorcycles to 1:48 toy cars that work great for Modern (including an 18-wheeler and a full set of construction vehicles, because Fludogg loves to steal bulldozers and front-end loaders to use as 'weapons').  We also have a painted collection of miniatures that numbers at least 400 (D&D, Star Wars, and Modern) if not a lot more, and quite a few of them have pretty decent paint jobs on them.  On top of that, I have slowly collected and painted a huge pile of resin, plastic model, and toy accessories in everyting from GW, to Void, to Mystic Moldwyrks, to old army toys, to 1:48 models, to O-Scale railroad accessories for dressing up pretty much any scene (like, I have mailboxes, streetlights, telephone poles, phone booths, desks, chairs, tables, couches, bookcases, campfire scenery... well, you get the point).  Pretty much, if the GM/DM calls for any piece of terrain more than once and we dont have it, my particular psychosis finds a way to subconsciously purchase, paint, build, or create it.   I once build a couple bridges at OldDrewId's request out of 3' dowels, popsicle sticks, and balsa wood that were used to span multiple tables in our game so that we had a running combat (literally) that took up most of the room.   I have a set of scale resin pirate ships so we can stage full naval battles.

We are well-terrained.  We are well-supplied.  We are terrain/mini psychotics, 
the earls of dork-shire, the dukes of dork, absolute and unrepentant gaming geek deviants, but hold fairly normal lives outside of our little obsessions (we have little rules like 1) we never talk about fight club in public.  2) we never talk about fight club in public...)

And the sad part it, the above statements are only the tip of the iceberg of how crazy detailed we get about things sometimes ;^)

OldDrewId is the absolute game designer guy, he even worries about the ecology and daily life of wandering monsters, and thinks up the details for things like that even when he knows he'll never use it in-game.  He can write a compelling drama, war story, or murder mystery, and never fails to make a game interesting.


----------



## HeapThaumaturgist

Urp.

I'm not so cool as all that.   

I bought my first grid mat two months ago and I only use that for D&D.  Even then I just sort of draw stuff on it and I use some plastic counter chits I made.  Stole art from the Wizards galleries, meddled with them a little, put them into 1x1 squares.  Printed, cut out, laminated ... 

I was CONTEMPLATING some of the WotC little plastic minis.  Use them for D&D games and maybe build an army to play minis with on slow days.

Modern gaming I'm oddly old school, just describing and rolling dice.  

--fje


----------



## fenzer

Holy cow Ledded!  I kneel before the alter that is your devotion and dedication.  

Brother, I can't hold a candle to all that.  Actually what ends up happening is all my little pieces get knocked over and moved and the players en up frustrated having to move stuff around that could just as easily be drawn.  I'm afraid we spend most of our gaming time in a two-dimensional world.

EDIT:  Heap, what the heck does "Urp" mean anyway?


----------



## HeapThaumaturgist

"Urp"?  Sort of a gulp or swallow sound, indicating that I'm so far out-matched in minihood.

--fje


----------



## Pierce

HeapThaumaturgist said:
			
		

> I've always hated holy water being pretty neutered against undead.
> 
> Nice choice, Drew.
> 
> I think I'm going to steal your zombies for a one-shot Halloween game.
> 
> --fje




It's funny.  As a player, I'm used to holy water being weak - just for show really.  So it caught me completely by surprise when the stuff started melting the zombies into puddles.  Which made it that much easier to RP Guyzell's reaction   .

And as Ledded mentioned, just wait until episode III for another (_HOLY CRAP!  AAAA!!_) take on the walking dead....


----------



## ledded

HeapThaumaturgist said:
			
		

> "Urp"?  Sort of a gulp or swallow sound, indicating that I'm so far out-matched in minihood.
> 
> --fje





Well, we actually consider it a sickness... an obsessive compulsive disorder kinda thing...  it started out small, we had a playmat thing that we drew on and a few minis and counters... we got more, and more, then a few little accessories, then I made some trees to show cover, and it all went completely friggin nuts.  Of course, I am probably the most psychotic out of us all when it comes to minis/terrain, but for everyone else's judging me completely insane, they love it.  There's nothing like someone going "so, GM, what kind of cover does that mook have behind that tractor by the bushes as I peek around the corner of this second story window" and the GM walks around  the table, bends down, looks over the mini's shoulder, and says "yep.  'bout 3/4.  Give or take an inch".  Or when the GM gives you a detailed description of a unique NPC you meet, down to the type/color of his clothes, hair and skin, and says 'Got a mini for this guy?', and I just hold up a couple and reply 'I'm sorry, did you say longsword, or scimitar?'.  ;^)

It's also cool to have a running battle on a highway with cars and an 18-wheeler, and having actual scale cars and an 18-wheeler complete with roads and buildings to lay it all out on.  Geeky, but fun.

We had a joke for a while... OldDrewId told me once that "one of these days I'm going to describe an NPC as a hunchback with 3 arms and a bad comb-over" and I would just say "hold on, I've got that guy here somewhere...".  We laughed about it until I actually found a mini, well, that had 3 arms and a bad comb-over.  It really wasnt funny anymore after that ;^)

http://www.newwave.org/minis/excalibur/fearlesspics/ex9153.jpg

We're so geeky that I've actually taken a digital pictures of a few of our setups 'for posterity's sake'.  It's really kinda sad how much we enjoy our toys sometimes, but the good thing is for all that terrain, we can get it out and on the table remarkably fast.  It's like a Nascar pit crew when everyone is itching for a combat and we have a cool scenario to set up.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Heads Up*

As you may have read in the announcement, enworld may be gone for a while. As listed in the announcement, the ezboards backup forum is in place, and I will post Medallions d20 up there until enworld returns. See ya over at:

http://pub82.ezboard.com/fenworldfrm7


----------



## Pierce

Also, if you're like me and simply go straight to the forums without checking the ENWorld homepage, they are accepting donations.  Here's the link.  I'm sure Morrus would appreciate any help you can spare.  I know my day would be a little emptier without my lunchtime EN.  (Damn, and NPR has _never_ been able to guilt me into donating! )


----------



## fenzer

pierceatwork, thanks for the links.  I hope this hiatus is short.

Drew, I'll see you on the other side.


----------



## Destan

Whoa.

Let me say this: I've never played in a modern game, nor really had a desire to do so.  Which is why it's all the more surprising, to me, that I've quickly fallen into addiction with this story hour.  I was hooked as soon as I read the first player hand-out.  

Looks like I have something to do other than work.  Always a good thing.

Great stuff - truly well-written and well-played.  Lookin' forward to getting caught up.

Destan


----------



## Old Drew Id

Well, I don't know what I was thinking, believing a silly little thing like a $2000 debt would stop EW from marching on. I am glad to see and be a part of this community, and I am especially glad that we can keep this SH in the same spot now. So, anyhow, the Medallions SH will stay here, and ,I promise, Episode II is coming very soon.


----------



## fenzer

And it's a good thing too, Drew.  I was ready to go to the backup boards, setting up a new account and all.  I wont lack faith next time.

Any idea when Ep II will start?


----------



## ledded

fenzer said:
			
		

> And it's a good thing too, Drew.  I was ready to go to the backup boards, setting up a new account and all.  I wont lack faith next time.




Hey man, that's not lack of faith, that's called 'covering your bases'.

My grandpa used to have a saying. "Hope in one hand, spit in the other, see which one fills up first" ;^)



> Any idea when Ep II will start?.




Man, fasten your seatbelt when it does.  If you thought things got crazy last time...


----------



## Morte

Mr Id,

This has been exceptionally good reading. Thank you, and I look forward to more.

*waves beer can at screen one last time, then goes for the whisky bottle*


----------



## MysticMayham

Thanks for the very enjoyable read drew id. I am all buckled up and ready for part 2, Gets giddy in Anticipation, and hopes the show starts soon.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Interlude*

_
Two months had passed since the events of episode I.

During those two months, the “Class of 1924” tried to return to their normal lives, but at the same time, they prepared themselves for what they knew would be coming. _

The following was written by ledded to explain some of what Willie experienced during his off-time between Episode I and Episode II. 
[/I]

. . .

*-- 7:28 am, West Side of Birmingham –*

Willie knew it was a dream again, because there wasn’t any sound except for that laughter, and there wasn’t any color either, except for the red blood, creating that giant stain at his feet. And he knew, even in the dream, it wasn’t his blood. Hell, no, that would have been too easy. It was Taylor’s blood he was seeing.

Taylor: so damn abrasive, and condescending, and hell, sometimes just downright abusive. Taylor: his friend. Now dead, and for no reason other than somebody wanted to hurt some stupid rich white man that Willie couldn’t even give a f*** about. And that didn’t even count the homeless guys. All of them dead too. Men from his neighborhood, *his* city, some of them by his own hand, for no other reason except for some stupid mother’s need for revenge. 

Willie could feel the rage and the _righteous_ anger, just bubbling up inside him; just pushing against his temples like some damn power-lifter trying to make his head three sizes bigger from the inside. The pressure just blocking out colors, all reason, all sound… except for that damn laughter and his own heartbeat pounding so fast in his ears. 

He could sense the man, even feel him. Willie felt like he could _just_ see him if he turned his head quick enough. But he knew, even without seeing him. Willie knew what he looked like: 

Large, dark, with his hands on hips and his bald head thrown back in that mocking laughter, red coat flapping in a wind that only he felt. 

Again with the red.

The red eyes of the zombie as it slowly crawled across the crane a hundred feet overhead

The red of the black man’s coat

The red of Taylor’s blood on his hands. 

Willie felt himself move again, in the dream. He moved without thinking. He felt the rifle come into his hands. He felt the round entering the chamber. He felt the shape of the rifle, so strangely familiar, even though he had never touched it before. He felt the soundless recoil and he knew,  even before the monster’s head kicked back from the impact. He just knew, even then, that he had put one right in its left eye. 

“Justice”. The whisper came soft and deep in his left ear. That same weird Caribbean-sounding voice. The same voice as the one that he still heard laughing. 

Willie felt darkness come on as the rage withdrew like a firm hand leaving his neck…

 “Now you be mine, boy. Forever.” 

Willie’s eyes snapped open. That same damn dream again. Nearly eight weeks in a row.

Willie stumbled to the bathroom mirror and looked at the two day’s worth of stubble growing up around his goatee and decided it wasn’t worth the trouble to shave yet. 

Maybe it was that stupid book. Voodoo. Magic. Zombies. All real, all in his world, in his f***in’ backyard. “And here I am, with a book on this stuff in my apartment” he complained out loud to no one in particular. 

He should have been happy. Hell, this should have been the best time of his life. He had money now, or at least, he had more money than he was used to. That reward from Scorse had paid off a _lot_ of debts. He had gotten his car and his shotgun out of the pawn shop, and paid up his membership to the shooting range. Hell, he had even bought a new cell phone and had taken Lucille and a couple of other ladies out to some pretty fancy dinners. 

But it had not helped. 

And it wasn’t like he was especially close to Taylor. Hell, he had really just met her. So why should he care about any of this, or about any of the whole magic thing. 

Exactly, what the hell. It didn’t matter. It was time for work: time for some more wasted effort, spent following useless people, and getting pictures of them sleeping with other wasted people, or whatever it was they might be bothering to do. 

But, before that, breakfast. 


*-- 8:46 am, Gram’s house –*


“Baby, you gots to get some rest… you workin’ too hard, and dat leg ain’t healed up right, ah know it. Here, lemme put you some more bacon and biscuits on”, Grams Lamar fretted. 

“Yes, Grams. You’re sure right, Grams.” Yes ma’am, the leg was bothering him, and a load more stuff too, but he couldn’t tell her about all of that. 

“You know if we had an Auntie Ells up here instead of all these useless doctors, things would be a might different. When I was a girl…”

The story trailed off as Willie’s mind jumped into focus on the name. Hazy old memories of stories told by his grandmother, years before, about the woman, “Auntie Ells” from her childhood in New Orleans. 

“Willie?  WILLIE?  Damn boy moon-calfin’ when his food getting’ cold… see if I get my old bones up this early for him to let good food sit on a plate! Why it ain’t right for an old frail woman like myself to…”, but her half-hearted complaints fell on deaf ears.


*-- 10:15 am,  Ace Bail Bonding, downtown Birmingham –*


“Yeah, I know. Whatever, man, it ain’t much, but I need ya to do me a solid. No, she ain’t bein’ followed, or sued, or whatever, this is… personal. Alright, lemme know what you find,” Willie hung up the phone, already exhausted.

Another busted lead. Another contact in Louisiana tapped out on this lady. Nobody knew anything; not even the cop he once knew, who used to be willing to sell out anyone for a little more cash. 

Willie picked up the New Orleans phone book that he “borrowed” from the library and, frustrated, threw it down on his cheap desk, pulled a Newport from his pocket and got up to go outside. If his cousin Gerald didn’t whine so much, he would have just lit up at the desk. 

Patting his pockets as he got up…where did he put that lighter? Damn lighter… he know it was in his shirt just a minute ago. Willie lifted up the corner of the phone book, found the lighter, and glanced at the desk as he put the book down.

Right there. Yellow pages. Almost under his hand. “Auntie Ells Fortunes and Charms”. French Quarter address. Willie actually managed a half-smile. Well, it’s always better to be lucky than good.


*-- 5:52 pm, Auntie Ells Fortunes and Charms, New Orleans French Quarter –*


“Well, my Grams, that is, uh, Juanita Lamar, she was a LeBouix back then, she, um, told me some sh-, um, stories about you, about stuff from a ways back, and that’s why I wanted to talk to you about, well, Voodoo, and this book I got,” Willie related everything to the ancient black woman in front of him, unsure of why he felt nervous talking to her about this. And the whole time, she just sat there, with an amused look on her face. 

It took forever to find this little hole in the wall, a touristy “voodoo” and palm reading shop, with its ancient tables and wares and even more ancient proprietor, though finding a real name and background on this “Ellsie Parker” was even harder. 

She peered up at him. “Hmm…yeah boy, I remember Juanita, and I remember her girl Bernita, too. Which make you little Willie, I assume.”  She continued before Willie could open his mouth to confirm, affirming that she didn’t “assume” very much. “Lemme see you hand, boy.”  Willie reluctantly gives over his hand and she holds it gently in her warm, paper-dry grasp, palm up. “Ain’t seen you in, oh, gots ta be twenty-seven year now. Damn shame about you grand poppa, James, he was a good man, yes, a good man. And you brother, it broke ma heart to hear what happened to him, and I bet it still tear at you poor momma to this day.”

She looked up at Willie from where she was softly tracing the lines in his hand, with a surprisingly piercing gaze for such a frail, old woman. Her voice took on a sudden edge that made Willie’s pulse race just a little bit faster. “If you father was half da man you grand poppa was, well, things woulda… mighta been different.”. 

Was it getting’ hot in here?  Or was it *always* hot in New Orleans and he was just now noticing?  Some investigator he was turning out to be.   

Auntie Ells smiled at him through a maze of wrinkles. “I’m sorry baby, ah can’t help you. You see, Voudoun ain’t no magic tricks, dere’s nothing ah can teach you or show you, and dat book aint got nothin’ but scribbles and nonsense. All of dis, dis is just tings for those dat need something to trust in, other dan common sense and a little home wisdom. Dere ain’t no power in dis book, and anybody who tell you dey can teach you Hoodoo or Voudoun is pullin’ you leg. Now, don’ go tellin’ anyone I said dis, cuz you’d be robbin’ an old lady of her livin’, but I suspect that ya questin’ for da truth and all dat nonsense don’ be interferin’ with what be right, and I sense you wouldn’t want to hurt old Auntie Ells”.

Willie tried not to let his disappointment and frustration show as he pulled his hand from her dry grasp and stood up. “Well I truly thank you for your time, ma’am, but I gotta go… it’s a long drive back to Birmingham and it’s close to dark…”  but Auntie Ells quickly sprung up and interrupted, that smiling countenance too sweet for Willie to object to. 

“Oh no, honey child, now don’t you be getting all upset and rushing off… you gots ta stay at least da night and catch me up on you family. See, we havin’ a barbecue tonight down the bayou way, with some home folks and I need to have ya come meet some of The People and at least enjoy a little Louisiana hospitality while you here. Come on now, ah wont take no for an answer”. She ushered him towards the door, talking the entire time without taking a breath. “Now you go down da street to the Chilton Arms motel, you tell Moby at da desk that Auntie Ells sent ya, and my nephew Michael gonna stop by around eight to ride wit ya out to the gatherin’ ”. 

Willie started to open his mouth to object, politely, as he noticed a ringing coming from the rear of the shop, and Auntie Ells continued without missing a beat. “Oh honey, dat’s da phone, and it be my closin’ time, you get ya-self rested up now and I’ll see you tonight”. The door swung closed in an instant, and he was outside. 

Willie stood there looking at the closed door, wondering just how rude it would be to open it and argue, but decided it would be petty just to hurt some old bat’s feelings just because she played you out the door like a first year rookie cop. 

Well, he might as well get a room before somebody towed his car.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Interlude (continued)*

*-- 9:48 pm, Somewhere in the backwoods bayou near New Orleans –*


“So just how f***in’ far _is_ this place, Michael?” 

Willie looked over at the kid in his passenger seat, who was trying to portray cool teenaged detachment as he smoked yet another of Willie’s Newports, but who Willie could read fear and discomfort from like a damn newspaper headline. What the hell was this little f***er’s problem? 

“Yeah, we comin’ up on it, be ‘bout a mile or two”, Michael replied, blowing out smoke. Willie glared at him again after being given the same damn answer to the same damn question, which he had asked three damn times in the last forty-five damn minutes. He threw the kid that cold hard stare he had practiced so often, and got at least some satisfaction at seeing the boy’s discomfort increase. 

“Really, dog! Chill da f*** out ah-ight? Dis da last turn and we be there ‘fore you know it”. 

A minute later, the kid pointed out the turn, and they traveled deeper into the decrepit wooded swamp that Willie’s kinfolk called home. At last, they came to a raised clearing with a bunch of cars and a handful of shotgun shacks around. A bonfire was going, and the whole place was lit with Tiki-torches, and it smelled like someone was barbecuing. 

Willie parked his ride, got out without bothering to wait for Michael, and began wading through all the people. Most of them were black or some Creole-mix, and a bunch of them were wearing some pretty far-fetched outfits. Caribbean rejects, Willie thought to himself with a smirk. 

He ran into Auntie Ells, sitting in a lawn chair near the picnic tables with several other older black people, men and women. She introduced him, and several of the elders gave him hard, dubious stares until he stared just as hard back at them. Willie lit a Newport and slowly exhaled towards them like he didn’t have a care in the world, putting his practiced ‘who the f*** you lookin at’ stare on them. 

One of them was a tattooed, virile-looking old man, probably at least in his sixties, who carried a strange walking stick. He was bare-chested except for a deep red vest, and he vigorously shook Willie’s hand with a grip like iron and let a booming laugh that sent chills of familiarity down Willie’s spine. “Oh, you got da backbone boy, starin’ down da Hongoun and da Mamaloa like dat… I tink I’m gonna like you much. Yah, ya just might do. Dey call me Papa Bey”. Willie squinted at him and wondered what he had been smoking. The old guy just smiled and continued, “Come, sit, share a drink and we share some stories, share some food.” 

The began to eat, and have a few drinks, and Willie relaxed a little more as they asked him questions about his family, and as he shared rum and barbecue with Papa Bey and the others. 

Later the tables were cleared, and the music and laughter increased. People were talking in a group nearby, maybe singing or chanting or something, like some revival meeting, but the conversation of the old people around him and the intense buzzing of too much rum in his head made Willie lose track of what all was being said. He felt, more than heard, the drums start up, with a tattoo of rhythm that felt right and familiar to him. 

He took yet another drink from the rum bottle, heard Papa Bey’s laughter again, and felt himself being pulled swimmingly to his feet by a beautiful Creole woman, a woman who had to be half snake for the way her hips were moving, not that he could see much through the rum pulsing through his head. Willie felt his blood warm, things blurred, and swam, and the pressure in his head and other places drowned out the noise, then all he could see was the red of the bonfire, and the woman’s lips, then everything was darkness.


*-- 8:55am, Chilton Arms motel, New Orleans –*


Pounding. Drums. Pounding, pounding, pounding drums. Drums somewhere nearby were banging out a familiar rhythm, one that Willie knew he had never heard before, but somehow he recognized just the same. He needed to open his eyes…well, he needed to open at least one eye. Just one... 

Oh damn, maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. 

He opened both eyes, struggled to the bathroom, and stood there naked, one hand on the wall. Where the hell were his clothes?  

Willie couldn’t remember much, but he did remember Papa Bey, and the Creole woman (Did he sleep with her?  Damn, he hoped so). He took a leak, one hand against the wall, tried to keep from wincing with every hammer blow of his pulse. 

He finished with the can and started the shower and tried to put together his memories from last night. Well, Auntie Ells probably thought he was a stupid drunk or worse now, though he was vaguely unsure of why it should matter so much to him. 

Then he glanced at himself in the mirror and saw the Tattoo. 

A sword, surrounded with some kind of scrollwork, in bright red ink, showing up surprisingly well on the dark brown skin on his left arm, just above the bicep. Son of a b****! Those mother-f***er’s tattooed him while he was passed out. 




Willie rubbed over the tattoo, and immediately realized the strangeness of it. He felt no pain, there was no bandage or seeping blood… the tattoo was there like it had been there for a very long time, and a vague memory tugged at him from where he’d seen it before. 

Papa Bey. 

It was hard to suppress the cold chill he got with a headache that bad. Damn. Damn it all,  just what he needed. Willie composed himself and went back into the bedroom. He found his clothes, cleaned and neatly folded on a chair. He got dressed in a hurry. 

Time for some answers.


*-- 9:25 am, Auntie Ell’s Fortunes and Charms, New Orleans French Quarter --*


“Wille!  How you feelin’ cher?”  Auntie Ell’s voice contained amusement, and Willie thought he could even sense something else. Satisfaction?  Or pride?

“Like someone been beatin’ on my head with a mallet”. 

Auntie Ells laughed loudly, a rich sound that eased Willie’s pain instead of making it worse. “Here baby, drink dis, it taste beau coup bad but it make da head feel much more good”. He took the dark bottle, drank the foul stuff down sputtering, and was about to complain about the taste when he felt it spreading outward from his stomach, cooling and calming him. The drums in his head were nearly gone now, and he felt better than he had felt in months. What the hell was that stuff? 

“Better now baby?  I was worried ‘bout you for a bit dere” Auntie Ell crooned gently as she handed him a steaming cup of what appeared to be tea. 

“What…the…HELL… happened… last night?  And what the hell is this tattoo?  What did…” Willie spat angrily. 

Auntie Ells quickly cut him off just by leaning in with a pointing finger, suddenly and surprisingly menacing for such an old lady, and the room seemed to physically darken with her anger. 

“Boy, doncha take dat tone wit ME!  I buried me four husbands, five childrens, and seven grandchildrens in my life and ah know tings dat would straighten those silly braids right out was I to tell you!!!”. 

Willie, abashed and somewhat embarrassed, found himself apologizing… and caught himself clasping his hands together to keep them from shaking with an unexpected mixture of fear, confusion, and the increasingly obsessive need to try to get a handle on the moment. 

Auntie Ells continued, more gently. “Ah know dis is hard for you, Wilson, but give me a moment and ah will explain what ah can.”. She sat down close, took Willie’s shaking hands into hers, and he could feel a palpable sense of calm and confidence almost radiate from her, into him. She leveled a most serious and piercing gaze on him and took a deep breath, as if she were searching for the right words to say.

“You have been chosen, boy, for work I think you have been stumbling towards all your life. Remember when you brother died, how you anger and need to understand burned in ya like a volcano? How you ended up joining the Marines but not knowin’ exactly why?”

“And when in da place of sands, when dose bad men were using dose innocents to shield them from harm while they went ‘bout rainin’ the killin’ down on dose other marines?  How ya wanted so bad to run, ta hide, but da anger took ya, and shook ya outta ya fear, and ya did things dat you still don’t know why ya did, and saved dose people?”

Willie’s heart grew cold. How could she know what he had seen in Kuwait? She continued before he could ask. 

“How, when you worked for the lawmen, how when dey stepped in da way of justice and your *need* to move further, da rage took ya, made you do tings dat felt right but lost you ya job and ya woman?”

She could not know these things. 

She continued even more softly now. “And when da zombie-men an dere mistress killed ya friend… ya saw Him dat time, didn’t you?  You felt Him guide your hand?”, the last part with wonder creeping, uncontrolled, into her voice. 

Willie felt his jaw hanging slack, his life laid bare. “How?  How… you couldn’t have gotten all that… how did you… I don’t…”  

She laid a warm, gentle hand on the side of his face, and squeezed the hand she still held in a grip like iron. 

“A man may walk on his feet in life, but da path he took is laid out on his hands, Willie. I knew who you were, who you *really* were, when I touched you”.

 “But… you said it wasn’t real, that it couldn’t be taught… “ Willie stammered.

She smiled. “I didn’t lie to you Willie… Voudoun cant be taught. It has to be a part of you, something that comes from you, from inside ya heart and ya soul. All da trappings just focus what da Loa want ta do through you. I wanted you to feel bettah… my Loa worked through me to make it so. Dat vial held nothing but a common folk remedy for da hangover, but my will, da will of da Loa, made it do tings dat normally cant be done. So I didn’t lie… Voudoun and it’s trappings don’t hold da power, dey only help you to find it in ya self. And for you… da Loa *Ogoun* has chosen you.”  

She lightly touched his new tattoo. 

“Marked you, even. Many priests and priestesses might sometime be possessed for a while, by da Loa, and not remember it, but some special people, like you, da Loa is _always_ wit you, always tryin’ to work through you. Ogoun is a harsh spirit to share a body wit… and only you can figure out what dat means for you and what you can do now. But you are Awake now, and you can work wit it if you got da Strength.”  

Willie could only respond with stunned silence while it all sank in. He was finally making all of the connections. 

The laughing man, the man in the red coat. Willie knew him. He had always been there. He had always been a part of Willie. Well, he might be trying to _come out_, but Willie would be damned if he was gonna let Ogoun _control him_. 

“And dat is how you *got* to feel, boy, if ya wanna keep control of ya own head! Strength, determination, heart, it is… a good start.” she burst into his thoughts cheerfully, slapping his knee, while Willie just sat there, mouth hanging open in stunned silence. Again.

Auntie Ells rummaged around the shop for a moment, then came up with a familiar-looking walking stick. “Papa Bey wanted ya to have dis. He left us last night for da other side, to da rest he deserves. It is his Fwet kash, for him, his walking stick. A… focus of sorts.”  

“He’s dead? But he seemed so vibrant, so… robust… how did he… what happened...” Willie stammered, yet again feeling his hold on the moment slipping away. 

“Baby, havin’ da Loa work through you takes it’s toll, and he was jus’ waiting for you dese last twenty years, boy. I knew him since he was a boy, and a hundred an’ fifty some-odd years is a long time for a man to work without a rest…”

Willie just sat there in silence. And then the drums started again, and the laughter from somewhere in the back of his mind, and he wondered if there would ever be any silence again.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Episode II - What a Tangled Web - Crystal's Intro*

*Episode II - What a Tangled Web - Crystal's Intro*

You spent the last couple of weeks with your grandfather over in Mississippi. Partially, you were eager to see him because it was his birthday, and partly you were just eager to get out on the highway with your new Harley. You used the leftover cash to buy yourself a new pistol and to buy your grandfather a new DVD player. It was the best birthday present you have been able to give him in years, and the best dinner to boot. 

Yesterday, you two went down to a big crafts fair the Tribe was having over in Redwater. There were a lot of people there from a large number of different southern tribes, as well as a lot of white tourists and assorted sideshow types. It reminded you a little of Lollapalooza, only with tribal music and not as many drugs.

Near the end of the day, as you were getting ready to leave the fair, you spotted something a little out of the ordinary. There was a booth selling the usual artifacts (“Indian” necklaces, little handmade drum sets, “peace pipes”, etc.) The guy in the booth couldn’t have been more than one-sixteenth Native American at the most. Totally white guy, just cashing in on the Tribe, and raking it in from the tourists. 

The booth wouldn’t have attracted your interest in and of itself. There were a huge number of booths just like it all over the fair. And the guy inside was maybe a little more white than the rest, but nothing special. 

But what was unusual, was the trouble he was having. There were a few young punks giving the guy trouble, knocking over his stacks of merchandise, yelling at him, and drawing a crowd. 

You didn’t have your gun with you, but you felt the knife tucked away into your left boot (brand-new authentic Harley-Davidson boots, thank you again Mr. Scorse), and you figure, “If I can handle unstoppable zombies, then I can sure handle a couple of street punks.”

But even as you make it over to the booth, there are a handful of security guards showing the punks away and telling the crowd to move it along. The crowd dissipates, leaving you and the booth-owner, who is busy picking his displays back up and looking frazzled. You make your way over to him. 

“What was that all about?” you say, as you help him stack ‘authentic miniature totem poles’ back up onto a table. 

“Hellifino, I was just here minding my own business, ya know, when those dudes starting screaming at me. Freaked me out completely!” His accent gives him away as an aging hippie, probably following the “tribal craft fair” from town to town, like he once did with the Grateful Dead. Judging from his bloodshot eyes, he may not even know that he’s not at a ‘Dead show right now…

“Kids today, huh? Well, what were they yelling about?”, you say soothingly. 

“I don’t know. Something about how I wasn’t pure blood, and how I was a bug on the tribe…”

“A bug on the tribe?” You raise an eyebrow questioningly. You also note that one of the hand-carved totem poles has a Jerry Garcia face between the various animal images. 

“Yeah, you know, like a tick?”

“A parasite on the tribe?”

“Yeah, that’s it! That’s what I said. And then they starting knocking stuff over, and saying that Suzy Knockers was coming, and she was gonna get me…”

“Suzy who?”

“I don’t know, Suzy Knockers, Suzy Knock-Ho, something like that. Something crazy…”

At this point an young white couple approaches the booth, and asks about one of the peace pipes. They are both decked out in fake leather vests with colorful glass beads, and the woman has had her hair braided with several feathers. Clearly, tourists with money to burn. 

The booth operator takes a quick look at them, then back at you, figures you, being a tribe member, are not interested in his actual money-making business, and begins to wait on his customers again. 

At that point your grandfather spots you across the way, and motions you over to meet some friends of his.

. . .

On the drive home, it hits you. You had forgotten all about the whole affair. What the booth guy must have been trying to say. You remember the name now. You definitely know that’s the name. 

But, you can’t remember what that name means, or where you have heard it before. Just that the old guy must have been trying to say:

“Sussistinako”


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Episode II - What a Tangled Web - Joe's Intro*

*Episode II - What a Tangled Web - Joe's Intro*

	You can’t go to sleep.

	It’s not that you are not tired. You are exhausted. You are dying to go to sleep. You would love to go to sleep. 

	But you can’t handle the nightmares. 

	In the past six nights, you have had five different nightmares. 
Nothing specific that you can remember. That’s probably the worst part. Just something so terrifying that you wake up suddenly, in a cold sweat. 

Last night you woke up screaming. 

And now, as you get out of the shower, there’s a big ol’ pile of hair in the drain. Way more than normal. It’s almost an Ewok sitting in the bottom of the tub. And your gums hurt. You check out your teeth in the bathroom mirror. Near the back of your mouth, on one side, your gums are bleeding. You realize your toothbrush is really nasty.

It’s the magic that’s doing this. You know it is. You have to stop. You have to quit reading that damn book, and stop learning the things it is teaching. 

This is what it means when they say that there are “things that man was not meant to know”. This is why.

The book has been hiding from you lately. It has been moving all over the apartment, from one corner to another. Every time you leave the room, you have to spend a half hour looking for it. 

Last night when you woke up screaming, it was in your hands.

...

You check your email Sunday morning before heading off to Brother Cooper’s church. From one of the email addresses on your newsletter list, you get the following message.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------
To: joe_empire@wwisp.com
From: Jack <jack_sanders@rgi.com>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Delivered-To: griffon@aol.com
Date: Sun, 6 Jul 2003 01:30:55 -0700 (PDT)
Subject: Re: Comics Order
Reply-To: jack_sanders@rgi.com
Content-Type: multipart/alternative; boundary="0-1348711672-1055269855=:93850"
X-Wwisp-Delivered-To: joe_empire@wwisp.com

Joe,     
Hey, that order of rare comics you have set up for me looks good. I just want my usual stuff this week, plus a few others. I absolutely need all of the following though, as a set. 
Here is the list:     

Uncanny X-Men #70      
Fantastic Four #8      
Batman: Blind Justice     
Iron Man #13

It is important that you deliver them here to my office. You have my office address, right? I really hope you can get these to me today. And remember, this is a surprise for my boss, so don’t mention it to anybody.

Jack Sanders
----------------------------------------------------------------------------


Weird part is, you have never heard of this guy, you do not have an order already set up for him, and you certainly do not have a weekly order for him or have any idea where his office is.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Episode II - What a Tangled Web - Kumars Gandahari's Intro*

*Episode II - What a Tangled Web - Kumars Gandahari's Intro*

You had a dream last night. 

You are in Vestavia, and you stop in at the library. When you go inside, there are a dozen people inside, including a black American man, two fat white American men, and a Native American woman. All of them are reading books, and you can see that all of the books are about coins. 

In the center of the room is a slot machine device such as you have seen in American movies. You walk towards it and pulled the handle. A thousand coins pour out and immediately begin to cover the floor around you, and still they keep pouring out. The coins are filling the room. 

You spin around, asking for help, “Please to be helping with the coin contraption!”

But now everyone is walking past you, wading knee-deep through the coins towards the door marked “stairs” in the back of the room. The black man stops and turns to you.

“You can’t stop the coins, K. You just have to get up into the attic now.”

The sea of coins is rapidly rising up to your waist. You struggle to make it to the stairs, but no one helps you. They are all already on the stairs and climbing. 

“Help please! Please to be helping with the climbing! Hello I am drowning!”

But no one helps you. And the coins rise up to the ceiling. 

You are drowning in coins.

. . .

The same dream now for too many nights. Almost every night for, what now, two months? The dream started hazy, but has grown clearer and clearer. 

Last week you rode past that library. It really does have a third floor, like there could be an attic.

You’ve never been there before, but you can’t handle these dreams. You feel like you are going crazy.

You might need to go up there, and get into that attic.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Episode II - What a Tangled Web - Brother Guyzell Cooper's Intro*

*Episode II - What a Tangled Web - Brother Guyzell Cooper's Intro*

You’re late for services. 

You are running down the sidewalk. You are really late. Even as you are running, sweat pouring down your back, your tie pulled up to one side and slightly choking you, you mentally giggle to yourself. Running as hard as you can, you think, well, I am running, and I am late, so I really am “running late”.

It is way too hot for this early in the morning. You overslept. Apparently you slept right through your alarm, and judging from your cell phone’s dead battery, you probably slept through a few ‘reminder’ phone calls as well.  

You had to park three blocks away from the church. There is some kind of construction going on, and half of the street is torn up and blocked off. Just what you needed this morning. Not only are you running late (well, jogging late by now, you giggle) but you can not get onto the block to your reserved parking spot, and you have to run this whole way. 

It must be like ninety degrees out here. July weather really sucks. You pray, “Sorry, Lord, but did we realy need this much heat today?”

You can’t believe you overslept. You have not been sleeping well lately. Weird dreams. Nothing specific that you can remember, just enough to keep waking you up. 

You at last make it to the church steps. You can hear singing inside. Good, you guess Gloria the music director took control, maybe started the congregation on a hymn while they waited for you. As you climb the steps and silently open the door, you try to place the hymn. It sounds like, Shall We Gather at the River, but no, too slow, maybe “Nearer to Thee”. Your foot catches on the door as you slide in, and you lose your balance. 

As you stumble into the aisle, you see the church is packed. Every pew is filled. It’s really completely packed to the rafters today. Of course, it would have to be. The one day you are late is when everybody has to show up. And here you are, covered in sweat, panting like a dog, stumbling and now falling down in the center aisle of the church. 

As you fall, everyone turns towards you, almost in slow motion. The singing stops. Someone shouts from deep in the crowd:

“You’re late!”

A chorus of ‘Amen’s follows the pronouncement. Well, the crowd is certainly rude today. 

“You’re late, preacher!”

More ‘Amen’s from the crowd. Several shouts of “Alleluia!” and “Preach On!” are heard. You rise to one knee and try to stand, but your knee is bruised, and it pops loudly. 

“YOU’RE TOO LATE, PREACHER!!! TOO LATE!!!”

The crowd is on it’s feet now. Stomping, singing, chanting! Amen! Alleluia! The preacher is late! Too late! Way too late now! Are you saved? None of us is saved now! The preacher can not save us! The preacher is too late! Too late!

You try again to stand, but your knee gives out. You cry out and sweat from your forehead drips into your eyes. The salt burns, and you blink heavily to try to clear them. There is someone up at the pulpit. The sun is coming in too bright through the stained glass window behind him to see his face. You can just make out part of his profile as he walks towards you, hopping down lightly from the dais into the aisle. He is reaching out to you to help you up. The crowd is screaming now, no more chanting, just one continuous scream like the sound of a roller coaster. You reach out for the man from the altar, to take his hand when you see:

He is not reaching out his hand. He is holding a gun. An old-timey western revolver. Pointed at you. And on his head is a black cowboy hat. And reflecting just enough on his chest to be visible, there is a badge. 

No, it’s not a badge. 

It’s a _Medallion_.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Episode II - What a Tangled Web - Willie's Intro*

*Episode II - What a Tangled Web - Willie's Intro*

Your cousin Gerald calls you at 6:00 AM. You know it is him for two reasons:

One, whoever it is will not leave a message, and you know Gerald never leaves a message. And:

Two, no one else would be stupid enough to dare wake your ass up this early on a Sunday. 

You let the phone ring. You try to ignore it, but he keeps calling. You look over at the clock. 6:30 AM now. He’s been calling for thirty minutes. 

You have to get up in another thirty minutes anyway, if you are going to church. Brother Cooper has you hooked. It makes Gramms happy that you go, and hey, as far as preacher-men go, he ain’t too bad. Hell, after you’ve seen him melt a zombie into a puddle, you have a little respect for the guy. At least enough to show up to Sunday service. 

The phone is still ringing. 

Gerald is lucky you didn’t have a woman over here tonight. You’ve got your car back; you have some money going; you got your mojo working. You’ve been doing all right with the ladies lately. In fact, Maxine could have definitely spent the night last night from the message she left you on your machine, but you spent the night over at her place Friday night, and you don’t want her to get too comfortable with having you under her spell every night. 

Well, damnit, you’re awake now. No use denying it. 

You roll out of the silk sheets (a new purchase, on the recommendation of Carla, from the DMV, and boy, was she right…) and head over to the phone. You answer it:

“What the hell you want? Do you know what time it is?” – Your usual greeting for anyone calling at this hour. 

“Cousin! Where have you been? I’ve been trying your number for - ”

“What the hell have I told you about calling me at  - hell, I don’t even know what time it is!”

“Cousin, quit yo’ bitchin’. I got a job for you!”

Gerald had been quite friendly after the money from Scorse came in. He was polite, and more than willing to cut a brother some slack for several weeks thereafter, especially when you hinted that more money like that might be coming down the pipe. But that was eight weeks ago, and with nothing new coming in, he finally has started growing some balls again.

“Listen up, cousin, ” and you know from the sound in his voice, he just got some contract that is going to wind up with you chasing your tail for some stupid white people so that your cousin can collect the dough, “I just got an emergency contract. This one goes over everything else that we do. Skip everything else that we are working on. This one is hot! This one is really huge! I need you on this right away! I need you down here right away!”

“Now you know I don’t come in to the office on no weekend!”

“Cousin, get your ass down here to the office now!”

“I can’t. I have to go to church.”

“Forget church! This is - ”

“Now I know I didn’t just hear you say that, Gerald. I know Gramms is not gonna want to hear that her boy said - ”

“Willie! Damnit, this is big - ”

“Then it’ll keep until after church.” And you hang up the phone. 

It’s not even that you care that much about getting to church. You just can’t stand to have anyone, including your cousin, try to get you all worked up over something so minor like some new contract at work. Ever since that whole deal two months ago, dealing with weird black magic voodoo and dead people walking around, suddenly all of these minor bail-jumping, adultery, find-out-who-stole-my-lawnmower cases just don’t seem all worth getting excited over. 

You get into the shower as the phone starts ringing again.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Episode II - What a Tangled Web*

*Episode 2: "What a Tangled Web"* 

*Setting:* 
Birmingham, Alabama, USA.  July 2003. 

*Cast:*

P.I. Willie Lamar - Down-on-his-luck private eye with an attitude, who occasionally channels a Carribean spirit named Oguon.
Brother Guyzell Cooper - Southern preacher with a cable-access TV show. Drives a pickup truck with a gun rack.
Joe Empire – 38-year-old comic book shop owner / conspiracy theorist. Lives in a little apartment above his store and studies magic.
Crystal “Little Wing” Lassiter - Native American college archaeology grad student
Kumars Gandahari - Good-natured chemist/hacker from India, part-time grad student (secondary PC)


----------



## fenzer

Damn it Drew, Ledded, this is good, excellent actually.  I can't wait for Ep.II to start.

Ledded, I loved the whole voodoo, voodoo spirt, tattoo, southern bbq thing.  Very nicely done and well written.

Drew, thanks for the intros.  

I'm ready for more form the "Class of 1924".


----------



## ledded

fenzer said:
			
		

> Damn it Drew, Ledded, this is good, excellent actually.  I can't wait for Ep.II to start.
> 
> Ledded, I loved the whole voodoo, voodoo spirt, tattoo, southern bbq thing.  Very nicely done and well written.
> 
> Drew, thanks for the intros.
> 
> I'm ready for more form the "Class of 1924".




Aw, shucks Fenzer, thanks *blush*.  And thanks for letting me hijack your thread a little there OldDrewId, plus the bit of editing to make it sound like a relatively sane man wrote it ;^). 

And for anyone who is even remotely interested, Ogoun (by various spellings) is a Voudoun Loa who I took inspiration from.  It goes to show you how flexible OldDrewId's system is... I wanted to do something magic but wanted it to be completely different from Joe, because Willie is not really the 'studious' type.  I also wanted something that would fit with Willie's background, and voodoo was a very good choice, but I didnt like the connotations of necromancy and  zombies (which fit better with Hollywood voodoo and figures in Voudoun like Baron Samedi, etc).  I did some research about "real" voudoun and brought it to OldDrewId, he let me make a case for the basics of how it would work and the 3 schools I would have access to.  Then he took my basic idea and later (as you will see) totally twisted it into something much cooler and sinister and totally out of my control.  Because he couldnt have someone doing magic without being afraid of doing it ;^)   

Which is precisely how we like it.

(attachment:  Willie's new tattoo)


----------



## Lola

Drew is my hero. He posts so much goodness at one time, it's like ordering a large pizza while home alone. 

My only bitch is that, why can't I get invited to BBQs like that?


----------



## fenzer

Lola said:
			
		

> Drew is my hero. He posts so much goodness at one time, it's like ordering a large pizza while home alone.
> 
> My only bitch is that, why can't I get invited to BBQs like that?




Amen sister.  Amen.

Ledded, that is not at all like I imagined the tattoo would be.  It is far more ornate and exotic.  I like yours better.


----------



## nobodez

*Wow*

Wow, can't wait for the next bit. Heck, you've got the tapes, it shouldn't be that hard to do it between work, and the game, and eating. You don't need to sleep do you?   

Love it, wish I was a part of it, must get magi system to GM! (downloaded, but not looked at.)


----------



## Pierce

nobodez said:
			
		

> Wow, can't wait for the next bit. Heck, you've got the tapes, it shouldn't be that hard to do it between work, and the game, and eating. You don't need to sleep do you?




Transcribing is a PITA.  I type relatively fast (~60-70wpm), and it still takes a long time to finish a tape.  When I bought the tape player, I got the kind that allows you to record at half speed so I could get 3 hours on a 90 minute tape.  Unfortunately that also means that no one else can transcribe, since playing a session tape on a regular tape player makes it sound like Alvin, Simon and Theodore instead of Joe, Willie and Guyzell.


----------



## ledded

fenzer said:
			
		

> Amen sister.  Amen.
> 
> Ledded, that is not at all like I imagined the tattoo would be.  It is far more ornate and exotic.  I like yours better.




BTW, Fenzer, that tattoo is an actual image of a Voudoun veve (or 'iconic mage') for Ogoun (not the only one of course), which you can find inscribed into places and things in Haiti, etc.  Many I have seen can be extremely ornate and cool, and are often inscribed into the ground during certain rituals.  So I take no credit for creating.

And Lola, you have a gift for metaphor... I'd going to have to steal a couple of your quotes if I ever try to write anything else ;^)

Following that line of tought, we love ol' Drew too, and have all grown quite fat, metaphorically, on the large-pizza goodness (double pepperoni and cheese baby!) of his GM'ing.  Though he has not GM'd the last *3* episodes (3 of us players took a turn, and most were quite good) so it will be nice to have him get back into the chair next week, because when he has a little time off from running the game he often comes back with a vengeance and a huge BANG of new creativity.

Oh and BTW, if you were livin' in the dear ole South with us darlin', we could show ya a BBQ like that, 'cept without all the voodoo and magic stuff ;^)


----------



## Lola

I do live in the South, sweet pea.

However, the last "family BBQ" (ex's family) that I went to and got plastered at, I ended up confiscating ex's keys and talking his brother into taking us home. Even with several rum n' cokes and wine coolers in me, I have yet to wake up with a tatoo. I feel strangely about feeling badly about that...


----------



## ledded

Lola said:
			
		

> I do live in the South, sweet pea.
> 
> However, the last "family BBQ" (ex's family) that I went to and got plastered at, I ended up confiscating ex's keys and talking his brother into taking us home. Even with several rum n' cokes and wine coolers in me, I have yet to wake up with a tatoo. I feel strangely about feeling badly about that...




/GENTLEMEN FARMER ON
Mah pardon, mam, I should not have made that assumption, ah would be thuh very soul of depravity and dis-honor if I did not offah unto you my most humble apologies.  Ya'll know what happens whan ya make an assumption;  ya make an *ss oughta 'U' and 'Mption'.    

I've never woken up with a tattoo after a cookout either, though I have woken up the next day with some very interesting magic marker drawings on me.  I have recently woken up after a chili cookoff at OldDrewId's house wondering why anyone would ever include shurikens and wooden mallets as an ingredient in an alchoholic beverage;  the closest thing to a tattoo I got out of that one was a strange bruise on my forehead the shape of a doorknob/keyhole.


----------



## Pierce

*bump*

Edit:

Just to give everyone a status update, the Medallions campaign just wrapped Episode 5.  It was my first time "directing" and I think it turned out rather well.  Aside from those incredibly high DCs.   

Episode 2 is completely transcribed (Episode 3 is 1/3 done) and Drew is in the process of writing it up in Story Hour format.  Both of us are completely slammed at work and thus have very little energy at the end of the day left for this - but we're keeping at it!


----------



## C. Baize

Okay.... I'm hooked. 
Damn you all....


----------



## ledded

*doin' the BUMP*

*BUMP*

Whoa there fella, can't have ya slippin' down the boards like that


----------



## Caliber

It seems the best story hours on this board all update rarely. I guess that just represents the difficulty in crafting such a fine tale.

Thanks again for posting it here, and keep it up!


----------



## Eyas

Caliber said:
			
		

> It seems the best story hours on this board all update rarely. I guess that just represents the difficulty in crafting such a fine tale.
> 
> Thanks again for posting it here, and keep it up!




Well, In OldDrewId's defense, he has been very busy at work, so he says. Of course, when he enjoys tormenting us so much, you take him at his word....well, most the time 

When the ole updates start a coming again, I think everyone will be pleased.


----------



## ledded

Eyas said:
			
		

> Well, In OldDrewId's defense, he has been very busy at work, so he says. Of course, when he enjoys tormenting us so much, you take him at his word....well, most the time .




It's funny, almost every time someone picks on Drew for not posting, almost invariably one of his players comes rushing to his defense.   

And as far as the tormenting thing, a while back I posted how Drew had been out of the directors chair for 3 whole episodes (Fludogg, me, and then Pierceatwork had each done one in that order) which is about 17 weeks, and how he always comes back with a vengeance and a double-barrelled 10-gauge of new creativity after he's had a chance to sit back and recharge the old batteries.

His new episode started Tuesday (episode 6).  After spending some time with everyone on our in-between episodes activity, we started and within a couple hours he managed to provide Willie with his most horrifying nightmare and the most degrading, debasing moment of his entire *life*, back-to-back.  Literally made him cry and stumble down a country road with nothing but a pair of pants on.

And 6 points of charisma damage.

Both barrels, baby.

EDIT:  And they weren't even his pants.

Drew, you rock   



> When the ole updates start a coming again, I think everyone will be pleased.




That is for sure.


----------



## zenld

Stop teasing and start posting. This is just not fair. I want the freakin' details, dammit.



Patience is a virtue. Ask any sniper.

zen


----------



## C. Baize

Well... the reason people pick him for not posting is that they (we) want more... MORE... MOOORE!!! 
Whoa... I'm calm. 

Anyway.  
Looking forward to the updates as they occur.


----------



## fenzer

Damn it Drew, leave poor Willie alone.  Can't you see he has it hard enough without you stripping him down to his skivvies and making him cry.  I mean really.

Stop with the teasers and get on to the show.  I am a patient man but I ain't getting any younger.


----------



## ledded

He promissessss usss updatesessss, he doessss

He tellses us we getses to hear the precioussssss

He tellses us we getsss the updatesessss

Sneaky sssneaky Drewssssesssss...


----------



## Lazybones

I'm only on page 3 at this point, but I wanted to comment on the SH.  Very entertaining thus far, very vivid characters and I love the inter-party RP.  The overall plot is quite convoluted and it's interesting to see how the players come across the different layers individually.  As another poster noted earlier, you can really see the effort that the DM has put in in terms of preparation. 

I'm looking forward to reading the rest of the story to date.


----------



## ante_up

I started reading it yesterday and was hooked.  Read the whole thing that day during my free time.  Great work on everyone's part.


----------



## ledded

fenzer said:
			
		

> Damn it Drew, leave poor Willie alone.  Can't you see he has it hard enough without you stripping him down to his skivvies and making him cry.  I mean really.
> 
> Stop with the teasers and get on to the show.  I am a patient man but I ain't getting any younger.




Player Update...

Session 2 of episode 6:  Drew now claims that his life as a GM is complete, after reducing the group to such a state of scooplessness that they are reduced to spending game time looking for large rocks and sticks.  Declaration is made after party spends several minutes arguing over who gets the good stick, and not thinking there is anything *wrong* about that.


----------



## Eyas

ledded said:
			
		

> Player Update...
> 
> Session 2 of episode 6:  Drew now claims that his life as a GM is complete, after reducing the group to such a state of scooplessness that they are reduced to spending game time looking for large rocks and sticks.  Declaration is made after party spends several minutes arguing over who gets the good stick, and not thinking there is anything *wrong* about that.





What is there to be *wrong* about? It had the best weight and balance


----------



## Old Drew Id

ledded said:
			
		

> Session 2 of episode 6:  Drew now claims that his life as a GM is complete, after reducing the group to such a state of scooplessness that they are reduced to spending game time looking for large rocks and sticks.




Well, prior to that moment, I was never sure if I qualified as a RBDM or not. There was a running joke (which was not entirely untrue) that the last six months of our fantasy campaign had resulted in the party actually losing a lot more money and magical items than they had gained, and that I may have designed the adventures of that period for that express purpose. 

It wasn't that they had too much treasure or were overpowered, it was just that the adventures where they lost their stuff and were forced to make due with less impressive items seemed like more fun. 

At least for me.

By the way, sorry for the delays in the next update. Work, busy, etc. etc. Plus, I actually had put together a few pages of material, but ended up scraping it when I found a better way to write it up, so at least be comforted by the assurance that some of the delay is due to me insuring that the end result is of the best quality it can be. 

And thanks for reading


----------



## RC Hagy

Put this first page again... easier to find that way.


Hagy


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Episode II – Session I - Congregation*

*Episode II – Session I - Congregation*

The corner booth at Golden Rule Barbeque was spacious enough for Willie, even with Brother Guyzell Cooper’s generous bulk taking up a good portion of the other side, and with that white cowboy hat taking up a little room beside him. However, despite the ample room, the waitress leaned her bosom over Willie in an unnecessary and more-than-friendly way as she gave Guyzell another unnecessary refill on his iced tea. Guyzell didn’t seem to notice, entranced as he was by the aroma of barbeque pork wafting over from the nearby grill and the menu outlining the myriad ways that pork could be delivered onto his plate. Not one to waste an opportunity, Willie flashed a casual nice-to-see-you-too-if-you-know-what-I-mean smile to the waitress as she headed back towards the cash register.

After she was gone, Guyzell leaned back and pretended to continue studying the menu, while Willie lit a Swisher Sweet. After a moment’s effort, Willie blew a pretty decent smoke ring, and then leaned in. “So let’s see it,” Willie asked in a conspiratorial whisper. 

Guyzell set the menu up on the table like a screen to block the view of the rest of the restaurant, and opened his white dress jacket up ever so slightly. He was wearing matching concealed shoulder holsters that vanished into his bulk under the dress jacket. On one side, a .44 Magnum; on the other, a tattered pocket Bible. 

Guyzell closed his jacket before the next waitress came by. He patted his breast pocket as he spoke. “And now I keep a flask in this pocket, too.”

“Me too,” Willie nodded with a smile.

“Um…mine’s filled with holy water,” Guyzell explained with a slight frown.

“Oh…yeah…that works too.” Willie nodded, and sheepishly took another sip of his sweet tea. He looked out the window into the parking lot and wondered aloud, “So…Joe oughta be here soon. I know I saw him at the church.”

“I’m sure he’ll be along shortly, Wilson,” Guyzell offered soothingly. “So, you were saying at the church that you have been blessed with good fortune lately?”

Willie smiled gratefully, and nodded in agreement. “I really have, preacher. I feel like, for the first time in a while, I got my mojo back, you know? I mean, you know I used that money to get my ride and my shotgun out of hock, so I don’t have to rely on Gramms to give me no more rides everywhere. Hell, I even got my membership back at my gym this week.”

“Well that’s wonderful to hear, Wilson,” Guyzell seemed genuinely happy for him. “And you have been seeing any more of that young lady from the Sheriff’s office?”

Willie nodded and smiled as he leaned back into the booth, “Yeah, her…among others. I tell ya, preacher, except for the whole ‘voodoo dude in my head’ thing, I’m doing really good.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing, it’s a long story. I’ll tell ya later. So…how are things at the church? That was a big crowd you had in there this morning.”

Guyzell beamed again, this time with pride. “The Church has been going through a strong period lately too, so I certainly can't complain. I even managed to buy one of those new digital high-dollar cameras for taping the services with. I tell ya, thank the Lord for those love offerings!”

“Amen to that, preacher. I was just thinking---”

Willie was interrupted by a screeching sound from out in the parking lot. He turned to look out the window just in time to see a convertible Jaguar come tearing through the parking lot, fishtailing and spinning in a complete circle before coming to a halt in a cloud of dust just a few feet from the window. The driver was wearing a dark beret, mirrored sunglasses, a black leather jacket, and a ridiculous red scarf that flew out behind him and extended all the way back to the trunk of the car. 

Willie sighed and turned back to Guyzell. “Well, Joe’s here.”

Guyzell raised an eyebrow, “That’s Joseph? Where did he get that car?”

Willie shook his head and rolled his eyes, “It’s a James Bo--- no, you know what? I’ll just let him tell you.”

The little bell jingled as the front door of the restaurant opened up, and Joe waddled in. He was wearing a dirty tee-shirt with some Japanese cartoon on the front of it, and Willie could see that the leather jacket he had been wearing in the car was actually a full length leather trench coat. Considering that this was the sixth of July, and the temperature was hovering somewhere in the eighties, Willie’s first thought was that that coat must be broiling. His second thought, however, was that Joe was probably wearing the jacket to hide a gun, which he couldn’t blame him for, really. 

Guyzell waved him over and Joe smiled and nodded to the table. Willie noticed something in that smile that worried him. Joe looked a little ragged. Come to think of it really, Joe had looked a little bit worse every time Willie had seen him over the past few weeks. On this particular morning, he had dark circles under his eyes, and his hair looked like he had given himself a bad haircut while drunk the night before. It didn’t take Willie’s considerably impressive detective skills to figure out that Joe had been spending a little too much time with that magic book of his. 

Willie considered saying something, then decided he didn’t really have any right to ask questions. If he had an ancient voodoo dude living in his head, who was he to judge how anybody else was living their life?

The booth cushion lurched upwards for a moment as it compensated for Joe plopping down on the other side. The waitress came by to drop off some water and a menu (and to brush up against Willie again) before anyone said anything. 

Guyzell began, “Well, good to see you Joseph. How has your week been?”

“Cool, cool. The shop is like, insanely busy since… well, for the last couple of months. I mean, I’ve never been this busy before. I’m even putting together plans to do a convention sometime this year. I’m gonna call it the _Necro-Comic-Con_. It’s gonna be huge…”

Brother Cooper started to ask another question when Joe interrupted him, “Speaking of which, preacher, do you do any of that 'faith healing' stuff at your church?”

Brother Cooper opened his mouth once, then closed it again, then opened it slowly, “Well, uh, no, Joseph…at least not yet. Why do you ask?”

“I’m losing my hair,” Joe explained, and lifted his cap to reveal a small bald spot.

Brother Cooper paused, clearly not even remotely sure what to say in response. Fortunately for him, Willie was there. “Say, Joe, Brother Cooper here was asking about your car?”

Joe grinned from ear to ear, “Yep! I’ll show it to you after we eat. It’s a collector’s item. It’s the Jaguar XK-something-something. It’s the official James Bond Fortieth Anniversary Edition. I got it off of e-bay. And did you see my new jacket? It’s the official Matrix collector’s edition, just like Neo wore. And this is my driving scarf.”

This time it was Guyzell’s turn to interrupt. “Joe, how did you pay for all of these things?”

Joe grinned. “It wasn’t too bad, since I had the reward money for a down payment. The car I think cost me eighty-four thousand and---”

Willie just about exploded, “What? God-da…uh…” He stopped himself from cursing in front of the preacher.

“God _has_ blessed him, hasn’t he, Wilson?” Guyzell offered smoothly. “That is a mighty fine car you got yourself there, Joseph.”

“Thanks, preacher,” Joe grinned.

The waitress came over, and orders were placed. Willie felt a little silly ordering a simple barbeque sandwich after Guyzell ordered a jumbo plate with extra sides and Joe ordered four fried chickens, a coke, and some dry white toast. 

While waiting for the food to arrive, Joe started talking. “So I got this email from some guy I don’t know. Can you find him, Willie, since you’re like a detective?”

Willie smacked his own forehead, “Aw, hell, I just remembered I gotta go somewhere.  My cousin called me at six this morning with some rush job while I'm trying to get ready for church. Hang on. ”

Willie yanked his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and speed-dialed his cousin Gerald at the office. Gerald was yelling when he answered the phone, “Willie! Where the hell are you?”

Willie yelled right back into the phone, “I’m getting some work for the agency…and I had to go to church.”

“So you don’t want to work, is that it? You don’t want to keep your job?”

“Cousin, let me get some lunch. Then I’ll come in and we’ll talk about it. I’ll even bring you some ribs. You want some ribs…and some sweet tea?”

Gerald’s stomach always won out over his temper. “You *know* I do. But you better be here by two o’clock, damnit!”

Willie flipped his phone closed and tucked it back into his jacket. Joe started in again as soon as the phone was closed. “Did you ask him about the email address? I gotta find out about this thing.”

Willie gave Joe a hard stare, “So, you are contracting me, as a licensed private investigator, to find out background information on this person, right?”

Joe furrowed his brow, “Huh?”

“You got to say that for it to be legal, for me to access the records to find the guy.”

Brother Cooper caught on and nodded to Joe, “Just say yes, Joseph.”

Joe chewed on his bottom lip for a second, “Um…how much do you charge?”

Willie rolled his eyes again, “For you, Joe, for this job, the charge is a rack of ribs, an order of onion rings, and a sweet tea.”

Joe considered for a moment. “How much can I get for just one rib?”

Willie was exasperated, “This, from a man who just bought a new Jaguar?”

Brother Cooper came cheerfully to Joe’s defense, “Well, he does have to put gas in it…”

Joe grimaced and reluctantly agreed to pick up the lunch check. “Alright, his name’s Jack Sanders. I’ll get you his email address and give you a copy of the email tonight.”

Willie agreed with a smile, “Alright, I’ll check him out this afternoon. So what did his email say that’s got your panties in a knot, anyway?”

Joe shrugged, “He just was asking about some comic book subscriptions, and…” Something suddenly occurred to Joe, and he reached into his jacket and pulled out his cell phone. He speed-dialed a number and motioned for quiet at the table.

. . .

Inside the Griffon Comics and Games Shop, Ronny Goodman was having trouble. He had just opened the store for the afternoon, and the place was a mess. On the floor in the games section, someone, presumably Mr. Empire, had created a large house of cards. Except, instead of using cards, they had used copies of various gaming rulebooks. The house of books was five stories tall, and appeared to be made entirely from copies of the Book of Vile Darkness, Unearthed Arcana, and a couple of other related books. On the top, Ronny recognized Mr. Empire’s favorite book, a custom version of the Necronomicon that even had his own name embossed into the front cover.

Ronny sighed and shrugged. Mr. Empire was a good boss, he guessed, but he was definitely a little eccentric. For instance, Ronny sure didn’t get the point of this weekly ritual he had with this book. At some point almost every week, Ronny would open up the shop to find that Mr. Empire had hidden his copy of the Necronomicon somewhere in the store, and he would expect Ronny to find it, clean up any associated mess, and put his prized book back in the safe. And he always acted like he didn’t know anything about it. Maybe he was just trying to freak Ronny out so he wouldn’t keep asking for a raise. 

Maybe he was just crazy. 

Ronny obediently got out a stool to stand on, and pulled the “Joe Empire’s Necronomicon” from the top of the skillfully stacked books. He carefully carried the prized book back across the room to the safe under the counter and dialed in the combination (17-0-1 was this week’s combination, after the call numbers of the Starship Enterprise, as Mr. Empire had explained to him.) He then pushed aside the various other items and put the book inside. At the same moment as when he closed the door to the safe, the house of books collapsed with a soft clatter across the room. 

Then the phone rang. With a heavy sigh, Ronny answered in his famously squeaky voice, “The Griffon, Comics and Games Shop! This is Ronny! How can I help you?”

Ronny recognized his boss’s voice instantly, which was good, because Mr. Empire never allowed his name to be spoken over the telephone. “You gonna wash my car today?”

Ronny snapped to attention, despite being alone in the store and no one being able to see him, “Yes sir! I’ll get on that shortly, er, immediately, sir! Um…that is, once your car is here, of course, sir!”

“Hmmm…right. Did you set up a subscription for a Sanders?”

“Subscription to what, sir?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “_Comic books?_” 

“Not that I know of, sir. There’s no Sanders on the list.”

Ronny could hear talking on the other end of the line. It was muffled, but it sounded like Mr. Empire asking someone else “What kind of help did you get me?” and then someone else responding, “god-fearing help…the best kind there is.” A moment later, Mr. Empire was back on the line, “Alright, never mind, you’re doing a great job…”

Ronny’s voice cracked sharply, “Does that mean I get a raise, sir?”

There was a sharp hiss on the other end of the line. “What? I can’t hear you…you’re breaking up…” Then the line went dead. 

Shoot. Mr. Empire’s phone always seemed to go dead like that whenever Ronny brought up getting a raise.

. . .

Brother Guyzell Cooper was starting on his second slice of pie. He probably shouldn’t have ordered a second piece, but Guyzell figured, if the Lord had not intended for him to eat this pie, he would not have made it taste so good. He savored the first bite, and then eyed Joe, “So, Joseph, why did you ask about whether I was sleeping well?”

Joe shrugged and set into his own pie, “I dunno, I just had a lot of nightmares lately.”

Guyzell nodded and took a sip of his coffee. “What about?”

Joe shrugged again. “You know, those nightmares where you wake up screaming and p*$$ing in your pants.”

Guyzell choked on his coffee and sputtered for a minute. He wiped his mouth on his napkin and tried to continue, “Um…night terrors? Sure, Joseph…”

Joe nodded, “Right…and then you cough up blood….”

Guyzell was speechless.

Willie grinned mischievously across the table, “Yeah, I knew a chick that did that one time. She was into whips and stuff like that…”

Guyzell cleared his throat. “I don’t know which of you two to worry about more.”

Willie grinned a little wider, “Hey, preacher, I was just joking. I don’t know about him, though. When did this all happen, Joe?”

Joe finished his slice of pie. “I dunno…off and on for a while now. Last one was a couple of nights ago.”

Guyzell could see that these nightmares were taking a toll on Joe. He looked like had not had a good night’s sleep in a while. “Well, what are the dreams about, Joseph? Did they have anything to do with a Medallion?”

Joe shrugged, “I don’t remember, really. Just kind of unexplainable horror…”

Guyzell gazed over at Willie, “How about you, Wilson? Sleeping well?”

Willie nodded seriously, but still with half a grin, “Yep, preacher. But to be honest, I ain’t slept alone in a while, so…”

Guyzell rolled his eyes and cleared his throat. “Well, I had a really strange dream myself last night. A nightmare you might say.”

Joe perked up, “Really? Just one nightmare?”

Guyzell nodded, “Yeah. I been sleeping right poorly lately, but that’s the first nightmare I can recall.”

Willie shook his head and lit another one of his little cigars, “Are you guys all right? I mean, really, if there’s anything I can do to help…”

Joe raised an eyebrow, “Can you get sleeping pills?”

Willie rolled his eyes and blew a smoke ring out across the restaurant. “Sure, ask the black man about drugs. I see.”

Joe shrugged innocently, “Well…*yeah*”

Guyzell interrupted before Joe could embarrass himself further. “In my dream I was late for church. When I got there, the services had already begun, and there was an old man there who was leading my congregation against me, and telling me that I was too late.”

Willie and Joe were silent for a moment while they tried to digest and interpret the dream. 

Guyzell tried to think of any other details he could remember. “Oh yes, and he was wearing a black cowboy hat.”

Joe nodded solemnly, “Ah…so he was the bad guy then.”


----------



## C. Baize

Joe Empire said:
			
		

> Joe considered for a moment. “How much can I get for just one rib?”



Man... Joe's player should get bonus XP for an obscure quote from an obscure movie... Funniest scene in the movie, and seeing it, here, just made me laugh out loud! 
Kudos to you, Joe!


----------



## ledded

C. Baize said:
			
		

> Man... Joe's player should get bonus XP for an obscure quote from an obscure movie... Funniest scene in the movie, and seeing it, here, just made me laugh out loud!
> Kudos to you, Joe!




Man, Fludogg is *constantly* doing stuff like that when he isnt coming up with his own hilarious one-liners.  I/Willie occasionally quotes actors from some of his favorite movies, but Fludogg is quite the master of it.

*GREAT* update Drew, I can see how the taping benefits, if for no reason than to capture some of the nutty stuff that Fludogg says and some of that all-too-good Brother Cooper flavor;  you write Willie up better than I play him   

That was one of those game moments that I love in modern, where we spent something like 30-45 minutes doing nothing but totally in-character role-playing nothing more important to the game than *lunch*, and having so much fun with it that Drew just lets us run with it for a while.

Then comes all the screaming, and the running, and the dying...


----------



## Eyas

ledded said:
			
		

> Then comes all the screaming, and the running, and the dying...




Yeah, pretty much, though not always in that order...


----------



## fludogg

C. Baize said:
			
		

> Man... Joe's player should get bonus XP for an obscure quote from an obscure movie... Funniest scene in the movie, and seeing it, here, just made me laugh out loud!
> Kudos to you, Joe!






Actually, that is an Old Drewism...  I didnt remember saying that, so I called the Old Drewid and he wrote it into the story...  He does write up our characters better than we play them sometimes... Good job and nice quote

P.S. thanks for actaully typing in my order of 4 fried chickens and a coke.. 

Ok now Im ready for the next update...

-Flu Dogg


----------



## Lola

mmmmm... ribs n' sweet tea....

Funny, funny update. Now, commence with the crying and running.


----------



## jezter6

Hrmm...I didn't get the 'just one rib' reference, but the fried chickens and dry toast thing I got. I think. Or maybe because I watched the Blues Brothers lately that the whole toast thing is just sticking...

Didn't Jake order the chickens and Elwood always has the toast?


----------



## Pierce

jezter6 said:
			
		

> Hrmm...I didn't get the 'just one rib' reference, but the fried chickens and dry toast thing I got. I think. Or maybe because I watched the Blues Brothers lately that the whole toast thing is just sticking...
> 
> Didn't Jake order the chickens and Elwood always has the toast?




Just one rib

and

Fried Chicken and White Bread

EDIT: And Flu, you did actually say the line.  You must have picked it up from Drew.


----------



## ledded

pierceatwork said:
			
		

> Just one rib
> 
> and
> 
> Fried Chicken and White Bread
> 
> EDIT: And Flu, you did actually say the line.  You must have picked it up from Drew.




Heh heh, I love the Willie character from that movie...

And yes, Fludoggidy, you did say that, or at least I remember it being said.  I had forgotten what all we said in that rib joint until Drew posted the SH, which is why now I'm really glad that Pierceatwork started taping/transcribing;  while he writes really well for most of us, he just needs to follow you around taking notes and putting in appropriate descriptive text


----------



## ledded

Lola said:
			
		

> mmmmm... ribs n' sweet tea....
> 
> Funny, funny update. Now, commence with the crying and running.




The only thing he forgot was the onion rings... mmmm the holy trinity of southern eatin'.

EDIT:  BTW, love the new avatar Lola


----------



## zenld

More, more, more.


----------



## fenzer

Man, all this talk of tasty southern bbq is making me wish green jello wasn't our state food.  

You should try it, green jello I mean.   It's especially good with carrots slices.    

Thanks for the update Drew.


----------



## zenld

Green jello with carrots rocks! 

And there are a couple of decent bbq places in salt lake. 

zen


----------



## ledded

*bumpity bumpersnapper*

Whoa there little fella, cant have ya fallin' down to tha *third* page, so *BUMP*

Oh, and while I have nothing against green jello (at least I hope not, because it probably stains), it takes heapin' helpin's of Southern BBQ to make those 'Boss Hogg' type characters...


----------



## Lola

I don't have any BBQ, but I do have chicken n' dumplings tonight! Now if I only had an update to go with it...


----------



## ArcOfCorinth

Lola said:
			
		

> I don't have any BBQ, but I do have chicken n' dumplings tonight! Now if I only had an update to go with it...




  The best part of Thanksgiving was my grandmother's chicken n' dumplings!


----------



## ledded

Lola said:
			
		

> I don't have any BBQ, but I do have chicken n' dumplings tonight! Now if I only had an update to go with it...




Oh wow, it's been forever since I had chicken n' dumplings... cant find anyone who can cook it and momma never taught me how;  you dont find it in the local meat n' 3 veg joints often anymore either.  As an old friend of mine used to say, "You done flung a cravin' on me".  Mmmmm, maybe some biscuits too.

Of course, I'm always cravin' an update.


----------



## barsoomcore

Um, hello?

Yeah, okay, so Southern BBQ rocks, I have no frickin' doubt, but

CAN WE GET BACK TO THE STORY PLEASE!?

I'm dying here! Where's my update?

Enough with the nineteen yards of chitlins with onions and sardines on the side already!


----------



## jezter6

Egads! We're not on the front page and we haven't had an update in a week. Get on with it before the masses start rioting and causing commotion up in this place!

[begin Office Space voice] Umm...yeah...*bunp*[/end Office Space voice]


----------



## Thomas Hobbes

I was in my Shakespeare lecture today, and we were talking about Othello, Titus Andronicus, etc.  And the issue of justice and vengance came up.

And all I could think was my mental "willie" voice going  "This is not... _justice._"

An hour and a half spent trying to supress laughter.  Just thought you might like to know....


----------



## ledded

Thomas Hobbes said:
			
		

> I was in my Shakespeare lecture today, and we were talking about Othello, Titus Andronicus, etc. And the issue of justice and vengance came up.
> 
> And all I could think was my mental "willie" voice going "This is not... _justice._"
> 
> An hour and a half spent trying to supress laughter. Just thought you might like to know....



That *is* funny. I'm actually a big fan of Othello, and liked the 1995 movie adaptation with Laurence Fishburne. I'm touched that Willie was able to invade someone's subconscious  

Actually, when I came up with Willie, I basically created him as an amalgamation inspired by of a lot of my favorite african-american actors and/or characters that they have played that I liked in particular and a bunch of quirks of my own. There is a big piece of Willie that is inspired by Laurence Fishburne as Othello (especially the "angry" parts) and Sheriff Tanny Brown (from Just Cause), which is why I thought your comment was a little ironic.

If you hear a voice in your head that is part Laurence Fishburne, part Samuel Jackson, and part Shaft, with an angry southern accent; yep, that's your Willie voice.  


As a side note; when we first came up with the medallions idea OldDrewId had us email him 2-4 different character ideas and we would sort through 1 or 2 to possibly use, just to see what we would come up with. I had a completely different idea for a PI as my secondary choice, but a week or so later I saw The Long Kiss Goodnight on cable for the first time in a few years and, inspired, went more of a Shaft/Mitch Henessey route, and kind of sorted through a lot of my favorite characters that would fit in. So toss in a few more Sam Jackson roles (Lt. Danny Roman, Jules Winnfield, Trevor Garfield, Ordell Robbie, Elmo McElroy, Doyle Gipson), some Laurence Fishburne parts, every darn Shaft movie, and even a little Denzel Washington (Easy Rawlins, 'Hub' Hubbard, Alonzo Harris) and then my own twist on it with various things we picked up just because of stuff that happened to us in game, and we ended up with Willie.

EDIT: Oh, and dont forget a few Ving Rhames roles, jeez I love the way that guy can throw down a threat.

Willie is also a bit of a movie buff (though he wont admit it) and he occasionally will spout lines and take inspiration from certain movies when doing things ("right one... or the left one?"); we may see more of that in the story hour in the future.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Episode II – Session I - Investigation*

*Episode II – Session I - Investigation*

The front door to AAA Investigations had one of those copper cowbells hung just over the inside of the frame, so the door hit it and it gave out a loud clang as Willie stepped inside. That cowbell always annoyed the hell out of Willie. He had told his cousin Gerald a hundred times to get rid of it. A private investigation agency is not a f***ing quickie-mart. 

When he entered the front office, it was empty. At the sound of the bell, and perhaps from the aroma of the greasy sack of barbeque ribs that Willie was carrying, Gerald emerged from the back office, looking hungry and mean. He was buttoning his pants up, from his usual habit of unbuttoning the top button of his pants whenever he sat around behind his desk, to give his beer belly room to relax. 

Willie rolled his eyes as he handed over the ribs, “Smooth look, cousin. What if I had been a client? That the kind of look you want to give off?”

“Oh, like you got room to talk, Mr. I-come-in-when-I-damn-well-please? You’re just lucky I was in the mood for some ribs. Now sit yo ass down and shut up.”

Willie was about to ask when his cousin was ever _not_ in the mood for ribs, but he decided to skip it. He had already decided, as soon as he could get the money up, he was done with this place. His cousin was an alright guy, really. Hell, he had given Willie a paycheck when he needed it. But Willie had seen how the place was run, and he knew he could do better. For starters, he wouldn’t put one of those stupid cowbells over the door. 

Gerald led the way back to his office, where he sat down at his paper-covered desk and tore into the bag of ribs like something off of the nature channel. Before Willie had even sat down and finished unbuttoning his jacket, Gerald was already elbow deep in grease and barbeque sauce. He looked up at Willie with a stern look and a mouthful of food. “I need you on the job tonight, Willie. Looks like we gonna need you all night, ‘til it gets done.”

Willie rolled his eyes, “Alright, now you’re starting to sound like one of my lady friends….”

Gerald ignored the comment and instead just focused his attention on using his tongue to pick some rib meat out from between his teeth. He glanced down for a second at his sauce-covered hands and then used the back of his left hand to shove a photograph forward from a stack of similar photos laying on the desk. He nodded for Willie to take the photo as he said, “Every agency in town is looking for this guy. We gotta be the one that finds him.”

Willie studied the photo for a moment, committing the details to memory. It was a blow-up of a black-and-white image, probably an ID card photo kept on file somewhere. It showed a forty-something thin white male, with gray hair and glasses. Once he had it secure in his mind, he stuffed it into his breast pocket and pulled out his notepad. “What ya got on him?”

Gerald shook his head. “Not much. Name’s Doctor John Hudson. Works for an outfit called Research Genetics Incorporated. They’re the ones looking for him. Apparently the company has lost its doc.”

Willie jotted the details down into his pad. He glanced up again with a sudden professional tone. “Embezzling?”

Gerald shrugged. “Don’t think so. Anyhow, they can’t find him. They said he may have gone crazy. They’re offering cash money to get him back. We’re dropping every other case right now, and putting everything on this.”

Willie raised an eyebrow. “You put Mike and Johnny on it too?”

Gerald nodded, “Hell yeah!” and inhaled another mouthful of ribs.

Willie grinned despite himself. There must be some serious cash floating out there for Gerald to have put everyone on this. But Willie knew Mike and Johnny, and he knew what they were capable of. “The haven’t called in with anything, though, have they?”

Gerald stopped chewing and frowned at his cousin. “They got an eight hour head start on you. But no, they ain’t called back in with any leads yet.”

Willie nodded. “Got anything else to go on?”

Gerald recited a suburban address which Willie copied down. “That’s him home address. They got the house open for you if you want to go check it out.”

Willie chewed his lip. The address was deep in Mountain Brook, the city’s richest neighborhood; so the doctor was apparently pretty well-paid. But he spoke aloud the other thing he was thinking, “Well, if every agency in town has been through the house looking for clues, there won’t be anything there left to find.”

Gerald growled back, “well, there might have been if you had come in earlier when I called you!”

Willie countered, “Don’t you make me call Gramms and tell her how you’re trying to get me to skip out on church!”

Gerald bellowed, “Get your ass out of my office!”

Willie stood up, straightened his coat, and headed back out into the front office. He sat down at the receptionist’s computer and speed-dialed a phone number with one hand while he keyed in a web address into the computer with his other. The internet connection in the office was as slow as Christmas, but Willie was used to it. He entered his search into the website and waited for the results while he made his phone call. 

The phone answered after one ring, “This is Johnny.”

“Johnny? Willie here. What you got so far on this John Hudson? I figure you already ran the background on him.”

“Willie. About time you got to work on this… Alright, guy’s got a medical degree and another one in genetics. Been working here in town for ten years. Got his home address here, but that’s a dead end--”

“Yeah, I kinda figured that already. Anything else?“ 

“Not much…he’s into hunting, judging from the stuffed animal heads at his house. And he had some pain meds in his bathroom cabinet. Nothing heavy, though.”

“Hmmm…alright, where are you now?”

“Staking out the house.” Willie could hear the boredom in his voice.

“Where’s Mike?”

“Staking out the research place where this guy works.”

Willie imagined the same response from every other agency in town. “And I suppose there’s a dozen other guys out there too, huh?”

Johnny chuckled, “At least that many. I figure if this guy actually shows back up here, we’re gonna have a brawl seeing who gets to bring him in.”

Willie doubted the good doctor would simply return himself safely home at this point, considering the manpower that was out there, unsuccessfully looking for him. He made a decision, “Johnny, forget the house. It’s a dead end.”

“That’s what I said! But Gerald told me to stay put.”

“Forget that. Listen, can you get back into the house?”

“Sure, but everybody has been through there---”

“I know, but here’s what you’re gonna do. Go back to his medicine cabinet. Get those pain pills you saw, and get the name of his doctor. Then go check in with that guy. You might get some info from him, but if not, you can at least stake out his office. If this Doc Hudson did go crazy, he may have checked in with his doctor before he left.”

“Alright, worth checking out, I guess.”

Willie agreed, “It’s a long shot, yeah, but better that just sitting there waiting with everybody else. Anyhow, call me back if you get anything.”

Willie hung up as the search results finally returned on the web site. The email address that Joe had given him was from jack_sanders@rgi.com so Willie had just pulled up a search on who owned that domain name. The search results made him quickly curse and slap his own forehead. After another second, he was out the door and making another call on his cell phone, this time to Brother Cooper.


----------



## Lola

Aaaaaah! Don't cliffhanger us there! There had better be another update soon, 'cause this needs some 'splainin', Lucy.


----------



## fenzer

Hurrah!  Thanks for the update Drew.  I really enjoy your writing.

The link is a nice touch.  Did you offer this up to your players?  Was this the link that Willie saw?  

Oh, the wonderful world of genetic manipulation.  I am all a tingle to find out what poor Dr. Hudson was up to.

Post more soon.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Episode II – Session I - Initiation*

*Episode II – Session I - Initiation*

Crystal twisted the throttle a little tighter, and her Harley burned up the miles a little faster going down Highway 31 south towards Vestavia. She was tense and preoccupied tonight, and she was in a hurry to get to the library. She didn’t like the feeling growing in her stomach, and she hoped the cool night wind blowing in her face would soothe her nerves. She told herself to relax as she downshifted, heading up the mountain past Brookwood Hospital. 

She had gotten home early that afternoon from her road trip to Mississippi. She had made good time on the way home, and she had been feeling good after the long ride. She fed Mr. Whiskers and changed his litter box, took a quick shower, and then headed downtown to the university library at UAB. She had meant to maybe get in a couple hours of studying, but something nagged her about that whole incident at the fair, with the old guy and those punks at his booth. 

Finally, after trying for half an hour to ignore the whole thing and study, she gave up and headed over to one of the computer stations. She told herself it was just a quick study break to let herself relax. She pulled up Google, keyed in “Sussistinako” and started scanning the results. 

There it was…sixth one down from the top. Sussistinako…another name for Grandmother Spider, a commonly known Native American spirit. Grandmother Spider was recognized in the legends of pretty much every Native American tribe across the continent. Crystal pulled up the Quantum Magick website that she visited often, and checked there too, just to be sure. Same thing, Sussistinako…a spider, the first being, the Thinking Woman. Crystal pondered it for a few minutes, and the more she thought about it, the more she didn’t like. 

Oh, sure, Crystal was all for preserving cultural heritage, and all that. Hell, she was probably more knowledgeable about Native American arcane lore than nine-tenths of her tribe. But something just didn’t sit right about the whole thing. What were a bunch of young tribal punks doing spouting out stuff about Grandmother Spider? A gang maybe? A cult? 

Probably nothing. But still, it nagged at her for the rest of the afternoon. She was eager for the sun to set so she could head on down to the Vestavia Library. Every week she looked forward to the regular Sunday night meeting that she had set up with the others who were there that night: the Class of 1924. In the past couple of months, they had all made it a habit to return there every Sunday night, to catch up with one another and just to make sure everything was okay. Really, none of them could explain it exactly, Crystal knew she had tried plenty of times; but the truth was it just felt right. It felt like they were all there waiting for something; maybe waiting for something else bad to happen. 

Crystal took a deep breath and focused on the road in front of her. Getting lost in your thoughts while barreling down the road on a motorcycle was a bad idea. Besides, she was sure Brother Cooper would tell her not to worry about the whole thing. He had a way of making her, and she guessed everyone else, relax just by saying a few words. 

And if she needed to, she could always try looking up some further stuff from the attic library there. Sure, the attic in that place gave her the creeps, but she had to admit the books in that attic were way more accurate on some subjects than anything in the university library, and it wouldn’t hurt to see what they had to say. 

. . .

The Harley pulled up smoothly into the library parking lot. It was mostly deserted, as usual. The only two cars in the lot were Joe’s ridiculous Jaguar, and a familiar BMW with a Scottish bumper sticker that Crystal recognized from the past few weeks at the library. She dropped the kickstand on her bike, pulled off her helmet, and shook out her hair. She removed her gloves and stuffed them and the helmet into one of the bike’s rear compartments. She was still pulling her backpack from one of those same compartments when Willie pulled up in his beat-up twenty-year-old piece of crap. 

Crystal waited by the door while Willie pulled into a parking space, and then waited a little while longer while he tried to get the engine to cut off. After a couple of punches to the dashboard and some colorful curses, he jumped out the car, slammed the door and walked over to meet her. The engine of his car was still sputtering and chugging as he approached. Crystal gave an inquisitive look at the car, and then at Willie. He scowled at her, “What? It’s supposed to do that. It’ll turn off when it’s damn well ready,” and threw open the door to the library. 

Crystal shrugged and followed Willie inside. Joe was already there, sitting down at the main table near the front door, right next to the giant outdated globe. It appeared that he was reading a newspaper, but as Crystal set her bag down on the table, she saw that he was hiding a short stack of comic books behind the paper. Plus, he was wearing a ridiculous-looking long scarf wrapped around his neck. She rolled her eyes, “Nice scarf, Joe. Glad to see you’ve come out of the closet.”

Joe didn’t even look up from his reading and yawned, “Look, Pocohontas, I told you I would be willing to go out with you if you would work on your attitude---”

“And I told you I would never go out with a guy who collects dolls---”

Joe was instantly indignant, “They’re not dolls! They’re action figures! And they’re highly---”

Willie cut him off by sitting down next to him and peering over his shoulder at what he was reading, “Good to see you again, Joe.”

Joe nodded, “Hey Willie”

“Say, Joe, you mind me askin’ you something?”

Joe peered at Willie through the corner of his eye. “What?”

“Why are you pretending to read the paper?”

Joe nodded slightly to his left, “See the guy behind the counter? He keeps watching us…”

Crystal and Willie looked over at the guy behind the counter. He was a thin white guy, maybe in his early thirties, with close-cropped hair. He was the only person here besides themselves, and apparently he was the new librarian, hired to replace Taylor. Crystal had seen him in here before, for the last few weeks. She assumed it was his BMW out front. He had always appeared a little nervous to her, and now that Joe mentioned it, he did seem to be paying them an awful lot of attention while at the same time trying not to be obvious. 

Willie shrugged, “He’s watching you ‘cause you’re acting weird, Joe. I mean, you know, I’m used to it, but I’m sure that to the casual observer, you are definitely worth watching.”

Crystal leaned in towards Willie and lowered her voice. “I disagree, Willie.”

Willie raised an eyebrow. Crystal explained, “Oh, I mean, I agree that Joe is a complete freak show, yeah. Hell, he ought to charge admission. But I mean, I think that guy really is watching all of us.”

Willie’s eyes narrowed a little, and he leaned back in his chair to get a better view of the librarian. After a moment, the librarian took an armload of books and started to head across the room towards the stacks. Crystal hopped up out of her seat and beamed a smile at him, “Hi, I think I’ve seen you in here before. My name’s Crystal.”

The librarian stopped in his tracks and grew a little more pale. In a thick Scottish brogue he answered, “Ma name’s Taylor. Good ta meet ya.”

Crystal turned back to the table with Willie and Joe, “We really have to talk to the owners of this place.”

Joe, his cover now blown, stood up and looked dead at the guy, “What? What was your name?”

The librarian was now definitely looking defensive and bewildered, but he managed to return a steady gaze back at Joe. “Ma name’s Taylor. Taylor Dennesy.”

Willie leveled an intimidating glare at the newcomer, “You’re name’s frickin’ Taylor? Are you sh***ing me?”

Taylor seemed about to respond when the door swung open and Brother Cooper entered behind him. Brother Cooper must have sensed the tension in the air because he immediately asked, “How is everyone?”

At the sound of Brother Cooper’s voice, Taylor spun around so fast that he dropped several of the books he was holding and just stared at the preacher. Brother Cooper gave an easy practiced smile and bent down to pick up the books from the floor and returned them to Taylor, saying, “Sorry about that. I have one of those voices that tends to carry a bit.”

Taylor nodded and then opened his mouth to say something, but stopped before he started. He wavered there for a minute before finally managing, “I’ve worked ‘ere now for the past month, and I’ve noticed you folk meetin’ ‘ere every Sunday night. You’re the only folk who come ‘ere after dark, and I find that a wee bit odd. And I’ve had these---well…what’s going on, iffin’ ya don’t mind me asking?”

The group turned to Brother Cooper for an answer. He exchanged looks with Willie, and then shrugged. “Well…”

At that point the door opened behind Brother Cooper. A twenty-something middle eastern man walked in carrying a heavy backpack. He scanned the room with a wild-eyed expression for a second, then cried out, “Oly-sheet-omy-god!” His eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed onto the floor. 

Willie calmly pronounced, “Well…you don’t see that every day.”


----------



## jezter6

w00t! You go drew. Man I love when updates come at a good pace...

but we still don't know what freaked Willie out


----------



## Thomas Hobbes

Hurrah!  Pretty pictures.  All pretty much like I imagined them, except Joe with more clothes and Cooper with a cowboy hat.


----------



## ledded

jezter6 said:
			
		

> ...but we still don't know what freaked Willie out...





			
				Thomas Hobbes said:
			
		

> ... *except Joe with more clothes *...



As OldDrewId posted waaaay back on page 8....

"Save this quote and refer to it again later. It will seem *so* much more ironic then." 

Just stay tuned.

EDIT:  BTW, *great* update Drew... you keep getting better and better.


----------



## fenzer

Wow!  Thanks for the quick post, Drew.  Thanks for the pictures but I must say I was hoping for some original art.  I have been spoiled with all the great story hour art out there.  I would love to see what Joe actually looks like but Jack Black will do for now.

Post soon.


----------



## Pierce

Thomas Hobbes said:
			
		

> Hurrah!  Pretty pictures.  All pretty much like I imagined them, except Joe with more clothes and Cooper with a cowboy hat.




I wonder if I could get Mr. McShane to pose in a white suit with a white Stetson for me?  _Mike, are you out there?_

And yes, we all wish Joe wore more clothes.


----------



## ledded

fenzer said:
			
		

> Wow! Thanks for the quick post, Drew. Thanks for the pictures but I must say I was hoping for some original art. I have been spoiled with all the great story hour art out there. I would love to see what Joe actually looks like but Jack Black will do for now.
> 
> Post soon.



Well, we all pretty much picked a movie or TV actor for our character's "look", since we were doing the whole game like a TV show with episodes, etc. We even start each session with our own 'intro scene' while the theme music plays... i.e. "And Mike McShane as Brother Guyzell Cooper..." then Pierceatwork describes his opening cut scene. Yeah, it's pretty 80's TV, but we like it 

The one real exception is Fludogg's Joe. Flu never really settled on anyone, but after a couple episodes we just all kind of decided (against Flu's will) that he looked and somewhat acted like Jack Black in some of Jack's wilder and fatter roles. So picture Jack with longer hair, thinning on top, and fatter and that's our Joe!

I once was a fair sketch artist, so I actually tried doing some original art, but it sucked so bad that I scrapped the whole idea and stuck with images like Drew came up with. Computers have destroyed my ability to do anything with pencil or pen.



			
				pierceatwork said:
			
		

> ...And yes, we all wish Joe wore more clothes.



Oh man, how I wish he did. Especially when... well, you'll see. And then wish you hadn't.


----------



## C. Baize

ledded said:
			
		

> I once was a fair sketch artist, so I actually tried doing some original art, but it sucked so bad that I scrapped the whole idea and stuck with images like Drew came up with. Computers have destroyed my ability to anything with pencil or pen.




Might I suggest this utility? I don't even draw stick figures, because I feel sorry for the little scoliotic bastards... But with the version 2 beta, I've been able to make a lot of my character sketches...


----------



## ledded

C. Baize said:
			
		

> Might I suggest this utility? I don't even draw stick figures, because I feel sorry for the little scoliotic bastards... But with the version 2 beta, I've been able to make a lot of my character sketches...



Well... speaking for myself, I can draw about as good (maybe not as clean, but with better detail) as heromachine, which when taken in context with my previous post tells you what I think of it.  <bleh>.  If not for the carpal tunnel and atrophy I'd try to do more sketches, but I'm not really into it anymore.

Other people in the group have used it from time to time, but it's not for me. I shudder to think how goofy my character would look coming from heromachine 

Maybe I'll check out this version 2 beta, I havent seen it, but if it looks anything like the older versions I'd rather cut up magazines or download pics off the 'net.


----------



## Lola

Yes, yes, pretty pictures. But can we get to finding out about the fainting middle eastern guy?

Wait a gol-durn minute... isn't that the second NPC named Taylor I spy there? Are you trying to pull some funny business on us, Drew?


----------



## Pierce

Lola said:
			
		

> Yes, yes, pretty pictures. But can we get to finding out about the fainting middle eastern guy?
> 
> Wait a gol-durn minute... isn't that the second NPC named Taylor I spy there? Are you trying to pull some funny business on us, Drew?




...and so I refer you back to page 8.


----------



## (Psi)SeveredHead

I can't _believe_ I never looked at this SH until now. This is the fourth d20 Modern SH that I've taken a look at, and each one has hooked me.

So ... um ... yeah, I'll join the annoying "update already!" crowd.


----------



## Pierce

I set us up the *bump* for updateness.  Because I know there's an update ready to go


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Episode II – Session I - Explanation*

*Episode II – Session I - Explanation*

Guyzell raised an eyebrow quizzically and gave the unconscious man a once-over without approaching him. He was in decent health, probably not an athlete, but not suffering from any apparent illness. Probably in his late twenties or early thirties, Middle-Eastern descent, and dressed like a well-off college student with a hefty backpack. Something about him looked familiar, but Guyzell could not quite place it. He didn’t think he had met the gentleman before; because he was sure he would have remembered the man’s cologne, which even from almost ten feet away, Guyzell could smell alarmingly well.

Before Guyzell could get a closer look, Crystal snapped her fingers. Guyzell looked up as Crystal pointed to Joe, saying, “Hey, Joe, do you still have that photo of the Ward Society? You know, the Class of 1924?”

“Yeah…why?” Joe asked, already fishing into his backpack for the book.

“Let’s see it. I have a hunch,” she answered, as she moved to look at the book. Joe flipped open the book to the correct page and set it down on the table. They both looked at the picture, and both nodded at the same time. Guyzell walked over and looked at the photo himself while Crystal announced, “Well, out little unconscious friend is in the club.”

Guyzell looked at the photo where Crystal was pointing. Sure enough, next to the eerie antique photo of himself and Willie and the others, there was the middle-eastern man, dressed in the same period clothing and grinning foolishly. Guyzell scanned the photo again. There were a dozen people in the picture, counting Willie and the others. Adding in the middle eastern man on the floor, there were still six strangers in the photo. No, wait…five strangers. Guyzell pointed at one of the men in the back of the photo, “And so are you, sir.” He nodded to the new librarian standing there with the group.

The librarian answered in a Scottish deadpan, “Ma name’s Taylor. Taylor Dennesy. And I’m not a swinger, iffin’ that’s what you’ll be looking for.”

Crystal picked up the photo to get a closer look while Joe walked over to check out their unconscious new ally. Guyzell responded wearily, “It’s not that type of club, Mr. Dennesy, and…wait…you’re name’s Taylor too?”

Joe answered while squatting over the unconscious man, “Jeez, preacher, keep up. We’ve already been over that.” He pulled a pencil out of his pocket and poked the man in the ribs, asking him. “Hey, dude…wake up…I think someone is stealing your slushy…” Crystal sighed and walked over to check the poor man out for herself.

Guyzell rolled his eyes at Joe and turned back to Taylor, as Taylor asked, “I dinnae folla ya…what is this club you’re talking ‘bout?”

Guyzell shrugged, “Well, to be honest Mr. Dennesy, We’re not real sure ourselves.”

Joe piped in from behind Guyzell, ‘It’s not a club…I mean, yes, it _is_ a club. And there’s a fifty dollar membership fee. I’m the treasurer.” Crystal popped him on the back of the head and squatted down to examine the man. 

Willie interrupted him, asking Taylor, “Have you had any dreams lately? Like, really weird dreams?”

Taylor’s eyes tightened and he nodded, “And how would ya be knowin’ that?”

Willie shrugged and grinned, “I’m a black private eye. It’s my job to know.”

The sarcasm seemed lost on Taylor at the moment. “Well, aye, I have had such dreams lately. And all a ya have been in ‘em. Started, maybe, two months nigh.”

Willie nodded mournfully, “Well, as it happens. Our membership has just opened up.”

Joe turned back to Willie and the others, “Hey, can we maybe concentrate on the dead middle eastern guy here?”

Crystal snapped irritably, “He’s not dead. He’s just passed out. Here, help me get him up into a chair.”

Joe shook his head and backed away, raising his hands. “Nope, sorry…you don’t know…could be SARS.”

Guyzell shook his head, “Joseph…never mind. Here, Crystal, I’ll help. While we’re doing that, Mr. Dennesy, how about you tell us about your dream?”

Taylor glanced at Guyzell, then over at Willie then back again at Guyzell. Apparently he decided he didn’t need to feel foolish over sharing his dream with a group of strangers in such strange circumstances, because he launched into his story without further hesitation. 

“I’ve been ‘aving these dreams nigh, for maybe two months. Different dreams each time, but always with you lot in them….Dreams of…violence…of gunfights and car chases and uh…monsters…and at one point, of an old man dressed like a cowboy…But always with you lot in the dreams…”

Crystal helped Guyzell heft the sleeping man into the chair. He seemed to be coming around. At the mention of the cowboy, she nodded, “Hal Runyon…that’s the cowboy.”

Taylor set his books down on the table and stared at Crystal. “What…you lot have dreamt all that too? You’re saying I was in your dreams?”

Joe nodded solemnly, “Yeah, except you were a little Chinese girl.”

Willie nodded and put on a friendly grin, while bending down to peer at the unconscious Middle Eastern man. “Ignore him, bro. Let’s make a long story short. Magic is real. Tied to medallions. Lots of bad people in the world. We’re the good guys.”

Joe countered, “Don’t listen to him, Taylor,” while nodding and using his finger to trace a circle around his temple knowingly.

Crystal brushed her hands off after positioning the unconscious man as best she could in the chair. “It’s sometimes best to ignore both of them, Taylor. Willie here has a gift for understatement, and Joe is…well, Joe is an idiot.”

Taylor made no attempt to hide the confusion on his face at the moment, but Guyzell could see that at the same time, he looked relieved somehow. It took a second for Guyzell to place it, then he nodded to himself. Taylor was displaying the increasingly familiar so-at-least-I’m-not-crazy face, which it seemed was almost a trademark with this group. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Dennesy.”

Taylor shook his head to clear it, then finally focused his attention on the unconscious man in the chair. “I dinnae recall dreaming of this fella. Do you lot know him?”

Willie leaned in and studied the man’s sleeping face for a moment. “No, and I think I would have remembered that cologne.”

Joe finally leaned in again and began rapping on the poor man’s head with his pencil, “Hey, dude…wake up wake up wake up!”

The man started to come around. He winced from the blows from Joe’s pencil and snapped his eyes open, yelping, “Please to quit hitting me please!!”

Joe kept tapping on the man’s forehead until Guyzell snatched the pencil out of his hand. He spoke soothingly to the man in the chair, “Now calm down, friend---”

The man yelped again as he looked back at Guyzell, “YOU! You were in my dreams!” Then he turned to Joe, “And you too! You are here and you are alive!”

Guyzell nodded to the man. It amazed him how much craziness he had come to accept when he was with this group. “And so are you, friend. We’re all here and we’re all alive. Everyone’s fine.”

The man continued, still clearly bewildered, eyes as large as saucers as he looked at Willie, “And you Mr. Black Man!” Then turning to Crystal, “And you…hello! You are a very attractive woman!”

Crystal took a step back and raised a hand, “Keep away from me.”

Guyzell interceded, “Alright now, let’s everyone calm down.”

Joe jumped in, “She’s mine, dude, back off.”

Guyzell wondered if it were possible to strain yourself, seeing how hard Crystal rolled her eyes. He sighed and waved his hand in front of the Middle Eastern man’s face to get his attention again. “Alright, friend, how about we start with introductions, and you tell us about these dreams you’ve been having, huh? Nice and slow.”

The man nodded and swallowed. He took a deep breath and stood up shakily beside the chair before launching into his story. “My name is Kumars Ghandahari. I…I had many dreams about this place…and you were all here, and I could not stand it any longer and I had to come see for myself and you are here!” He stammered, and scanned the room again as though making sure it was all real. He started lightly hopping from one foot to the other as he continued. “But…it was a dream and it was so real! So I had to come here to see! And you are all here!”

Guyzell nodded. He realized idly that somewhere out there, if the photo was correct, there must be five other people that he might one day have a similar conversation with; who were all having similar dreams. He wondered for a moment after that if he would even live to meet them all. He focused back on the present. “So, Mr.…Kumars…first off, you can calm down. We believe you. Now, how long have you been having these dreams?”

Kumars stopped hopping for a moment, perhaps surprised by the question. He looked off for a moment, counting in his head. Then he resumed his hopping. “I am thinking eight weeks I have been having these dreams.”

Guyzell nodded at the confirmation, “I think I’m noticing a pattern here.” He looked over Kumars again for a moment, who continued to hop from one foot to the other. “Um…the bathrooms are right back th--”

“THANK YOU VERY MUCH SIR!” Kumars barked, before dashing of to the bathroom. 

Guyzell sighed wearily, and turned back to Taylor, who continued to look bewildered, but who was clearly handling it better than Kumars. Guyzell turned a chair around and sat down at the table. He motioned to Taylor to join him, “Sit down, Mr. Dennesy. When he gets back, we all need to talk. We have a few things you might want to hear…”


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Rogues Gallery Thread*

I finally started a Rogues Gallery thread for Medallions d20. Here is a quick link for anyone who is interested:

Medallions d20 Modern Rogues Gallery


----------



## Pierce

Great post - it's fun to see our quotes get worked in.


----------



## fenzer

Drew, I truely appreciate your writing style.  It is fluid, concise, and very intertaining.  Thanks for all the hard work and the update.


----------



## Thomas Hobbes

The "Shaft" theme came up, randomly selected off of my massive playlist, and inspired me to come over here....

Verrry interesting.  Does this mean that, in the event of PC die-off, replacement characters will also be named Willie, Joe, and so forth?  It's highly entertaining to imagine the Willie we all know and love replaced by, for example, a preppy white girl.

On second thought... Willie, stay safe, huh?


----------



## ledded

Thomas Hobbes said:
			
		

> The "Shaft" theme came up, randomly selected off of my massive playlist, and inspired me to come over here....



This often happens in-game too... 



> Verrry interesting. Does this mean that, in the event of PC die-off, replacement characters will also be named Willie, Joe, and so forth?



Man I dont know... Willie's reaction in the SH was pretty much the same as mine in-game when he told us his name; stunned silence followed by "Are you f-in' kidding me?". It was pretty freaky.



> It's highly entertaining to imagine the Willie we all know and love replaced by, for example, a preppy white girl.



Well, in Willie's words... "Awww HELL Naw!"



> On second thought... Willie, stay safe, huh?



You DAMN straight! 

Great update Drew.  Nice to see some of the quotes in there... I forget how quickly we shoot off on different tangents even when talking in-character.


----------



## C. Baize

Whoa! Bottom of page 2? 
In the words of the immortal "Trashcan Man":

Bumpty bumpty bump.


----------



## Lola

_*checks watch*_

Isn't it time for an update?  

_warning: pointless anecdote ahead_

Y'know what's really weird? Yesterday, shortly before I left, my boss comes in the office (connected to her house), and plops a big tupperware container on the desk. "I always put in too much noodles, didn't I tell you? Now I've got all this mess of food, and we ain't never gonna eat it all. Take it home, and you an' your son eat it." So I toted it home to discover that it was a very buttery version of Chicken n' dumplings.... except with macaroni noodles instead of dumplings. It was some of the best I've ever had.   We ended up calling her so that my son could tell her how good it was. God bless inventive southern cooks.


----------



## Thomas Hobbes

And here I was thinking that was going to turn into a "Evil voodoo brownies in tupperware" anecdote.


----------



## Lola

No, that would be _my_ cooking...


----------



## ledded

Lola said:
			
		

> _*checks watch*_
> 
> Isn't it time for an update?



I wish.  I believe that ol' Drew is out of pocket for a little bit, so it might be another week before we see an update.  I would try to entertain the masses with my witty repoitoire, but, well... I just exhausted that by saying 'repoitoire'.




> _warning: pointless anecdote ahead_
> 
> Y'know what's really weird? Yesterday, shortly before I left, my boss comes in the office (connected to her house), and plops a big tupperware container on the desk. "I always put in too much noodles, didn't I tell you? Now I've got all this mess of food, and we ain't never gonna eat it all. Take it home, and you an' your son eat it." So I toted it home to discover that it was a very buttery version of Chicken n' dumplings.... except with macaroni noodles instead of dumplings. It was some of the best I've ever had.  We ended up calling her so that my son could tell her how good it was. God bless inventive southern cooks.



Nice story, one that I've been on one or the other end of a few times.

And for anyone who has ever doubted Lola's Southernness... note the use of the word 'tote'.  See, ya'll out west/north/east may tote guns, or occasionally have a tote bag, but a southerner will conversationally tote anything, anywhere, anytime.


----------



## Lola

ledded said:
			
		

> I believe that ol' Drew is out of pocket for a little bit




I love that phrase. I need to use it more often. I think I'll start by using it on my ex, who is easily befuddled by strange english idioms.



> And for anyone who has ever doubted Lola's Southernness... note the use of the word 'tote'.  See, ya'll out west/north/east may tote guns, or occasionally have a tote bag, but a southerner will conversationally tote anything, anywhere, anytime.




I'm so darn southern that I didn't realize that northerners don't tote. How do they haul stuff if they don't tote?


----------



## C. Baize

ledded said:
			
		

> And for anyone who has ever doubted Lola's Southernness... note the use of the word 'tote'. See, ya'll out west/north/east may tote guns, or occasionally have a tote bag, but a southerner will conversationally tote anything, anywhere, anytime.




I've noticed that. 
I'm from Tennessee, originally, but I'm in California. When I lived on a ranch, I used to tote bales to the cattle, and horses; tote sacks of grain; tote calf feed formula... 
Lots of things northerners / westerners don't do... They don't sop up gravy with biscuits, either... Weird...


----------



## Guacamole

*aw crap*

more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more *it's good* more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more


----------



## Thomas Hobbes

What he said...


----------



## ledded

Lola said:
			
		

> I love that phrase. I need to use it more often. I think I'll start by using it on my ex, who is easily befuddled by strange english idioms.



Yeah, nothing like a nice colloquialism to befuddle those non-southerners.  I used to work with some nice fellas out of Montreal (2 of them originally from Quebec City) and it drove them nuts when I'd use some of those nice turns of phrase.

Me:  "Jaeatchet?"
Them: "Oui?"
Me: "Jaeatchet?"
Them: "Huh?"
Me: <while waggling fingers> "DID... Y'ALL... EAT... YET...?"

I have to admit, it was fun at times, kinda like payback for those times we would be in meetings and they would all start suddenly talking in french in mid discussion, and I get to sit there and look like an idiot until they would finally turned to me and say "Oui.  It is decided."



> I'm so darn southern that I didn't realize that northerners don't tote. How do they haul stuff if they don't tote?



Well, they.... um... ya know, I dunno.  I guess they just let southerners do all the totin'.



			
				C. Baize said:
			
		

> I've noticed that.
> I'm from Tennessee, originally, but I'm in California.



Huh.  Hey, Pierceatwork's originally from the land of annoyingly repetitive Rockytop renditions too.  A Vol stuck in California.  My condolences 



> When I lived on a ranch, I used to tote bales to the cattle, and horses; tote sacks of grain; tote calf feed formula...
> Lots of things northerners / westerners don't do... They don't sop up gravy with biscuits, either... Weird...



Dang.  How the heck do they get their leftover gravy then?  Lick the plate?


----------



## barsoomcore

ledded said:
			
		

> I would try to entertain the masses with my witty repoitoire, but, well... I just exhausted that by saying 'repoitoire'.



 Uh, that's "repertoire". Or possibly "repartee". Exhausted yet?  

And I live on the West Coast. I sop up non-fat soy gravy with granola clusters. And I LIKE it!!!

(Okay, I don't. I come from stoic prairie stock, and we keep eating mashed potatoes until there's no more gravy left. Biscuits are TOO tasty. If God had meant for us to enjoy our meals, he'd've given us taste buds. Er.)


----------



## barsoomcore

Actually, that's not entirely true, either. My sour cream and dill mashed potatoes with garlic, butter and pepper will win any heart.


----------



## fenzer

barsoomcore, bless your heart, I couldn't have said it better.

Give me a rare fillet mignon and a potato covered with all the fixins and I'm in heaven.


----------



## ledded

barsoomcore said:
			
		

> Uh, that's "repertoire". Or possibly "repartee". Exhausted yet?



Yeah, um, that was part of that little joke there. Or was supposed to be. Obviously I exhausted that repertoire of repartee before I got there. Yeah, I've not been sleeping much either. Ok, really, I have no excuse.




			
				barsoomcore said:
			
		

> And I live on the West Coast. I sop up non-fat soy gravy with granola clusters. And I LIKE it!!!
> (Okay, I don't. I come from stoic prairie stock, and we keep eating mashed potatoes until there's no more gravy left. Biscuits are TOO tasty. If God had meant for us to enjoy our meals, he'd've given us taste buds. Er.)



Ah. The way I make my taters you dont even want gravy. 



			
				barsoomcore said:
			
		

> Actually, that's not entirely true, either. My sour cream and dill mashed potatoes with garlic, butter and pepper will win any heart.



Wow. Add a little cream cheese, and you've got Ledded's famous 'no gravy' taters. Coincidence? Or do great minds (or stomachs) just think alike?


----------



## barsoomcore

There are no coincidences where garlic, dairy products and potatoes meet.


----------



## RC Hagy

Back to top...


----------



## Thomas Hobbes

Further evidence of my rapidly degrading mental state:


----------



## Caliber

Ok, I have to ask. What movie is that from? I originally assumed it was from Jackie Brown, but having just rented it, I realize I was in error. 

I remember hearing about the movie ... but I can't remember what is was! Its killing me! (as is the lack of updates   )


----------



## ledded

Thomas Hobbes said:
			
		

> Further evidence of my rapidly degrading mental state:



Ok man, you are starting to scare me a little 



			
				Caliber said:
			
		

> Ok, I have to ask. What movie is that from? I originally assumed it was from Jackie Brown, but having just rented it, I realize I was in error.
> 
> I remember hearing about the movie ... but I can't remember what is was! Its killing me! (as is the lack of updates  )



The pic is from the movie Formula 51 which is how I've always pictured Willie looking (since we try to put an actor to our cast in the Medallions episodes).  It's not a particularly great movie, but there are some good one-liners and action/comedy scenes with my man Sam Jackson.  Plus, he had just come off shooting Star Wars EpII, so there is a scene where he improvised some major whoop-*ss with a 3 wood on some guys that was pretty funny. 

The words are OldDrewId's taken quite perceptively from comments about my character's back-history, state of mind, how I play him, etc.

As far as updates... be patient; like I said OldDrewId has been out of pocket for a while and unable to work on it (AFAIK).  I don't know when he will catch up (with the holidays and a busy work schedule) but I can tell you it will be worth it when he does... this episode gets pretty nasty, pretty quick.  There are some things that Joe does that... well... I just dont know how to phrase without offending Morrus's Grandmother 

As you can tell from the results so far OldDrewId is pretty darn obsessive when it comes to only putting out good product;  I know of several times when he has completely re-written a particular scene once, or more, to get it to feel like he wants it to.  Those of you who don't have him as a GM, weep softly to yourselves, for it is good.


----------



## barsoomcore

*weeps softly to himself, for it would be good.*


----------



## Pierce

ledded said:
			
		

> Those of you who don't have him as a GM, weep softly to yourselves, for it is good.



Weep softly - 


			
				barsoomcore said:
			
		

> *weeps softly to himself, for it would be good.*



*SOFTLY I SAY!!*


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Episode II – Session I - Connections*

*Episode II – Session I - Connections*

“Are ya alright, Joe? Just take it easy, man. Just take a deep breath, there ya go,” Willie patted Joe on the back while shaking his head apologetically to Taylor and Kumars. Willie had hoped for something impressive to show off to the newcomers, and Joe looking constipated for a minute before collapsing face-first onto the table, while mildly entertaining, was not what he had been looking for.

After a moment, Joe sat up and blinked slowly to clear his head. His eyes were bloodshot and a trickle of blood was leaving his nose. He rubbed one temple gingerly and apologized, “Well, sometimes it doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to. But I really can do a couple of spells. Just not right now…”

Brother Cooper smoothly segued towards the conclusion of his story, “Well, despite Joseph’s unfortunate…display here, I can assure you that the rest of our story is true, to the best of our knowledge. Magic, as a force in this world, is quite real, and quite dangerous, and somehow tied to those Medallions I just told you about. And that picture you are looking at is our connection to this Ward Numismatic Society, and apparently, our connection to you.”

Taylor rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a moment, “And the cowboy gent? Who was he again?”

Crystal answered, “Hal Runyan. He was a marshal in the west back in the late eighteen-hundreds. We’re still not sure how he’s involved. He’s just appeared in some of our dreams.”

Taylor nodded and appeared to consider the matter. “Well, I s’pose I do believe ya, all things considered. I mean, ‘tis crazy, sure, but I can’t says I could explain it any other way neither,” then he nodded in a mischievous way at Joe, ”And don’t apologize. ‘Tis a most impressive thing to watch a man give himself a nosebleed and a migraine, just by thinking hard ‘bout it.”

Willie grinned. He liked this guy’s attitude. But apparently Joe didn’t appreciate the humor in the situation. 

Joe shrugged Willie’s hand off his back, then used the back of his sleeve to wipe the blood from his upper lip. He cracked his knuckles dramatically, and then declared, “Dude, I’m warning ya, don’t mess with the ways of us wizards, ‘cuz we are subtle and easy to p#ss off.” Then with a loud grunt, he gestured his hand across the table towards the book sitting in front of Taylor. The book suddenly lurched forward seemingly of its own accord and slid across the table towards Joe. Joe caught the book in his hand and laughed “Ha!…Ow! Ow! Headache! Headache!” He dropped the book and held both hands to his forehead. 

For a moment, everyone simply stared in wonder. The book had most definitely slid across the table on its own, and Joe had definitely caused it to happen. Even with the whole “voodoo guy living in his head” issue, Willie was still a little freaked out to actually see Joe cast a spell like that. Willie was shocked, and more than a little relieved, that he wasn’t the only one at the table with something seriously freakin’ mystical going on. He looked over at Joe, who was clutching the sides of his head in obvious pain, and wondered whether he would be like that at some point too.

Kumars piped up from where he had been sitting quietly at the end of the table taking everything in. He reached into his book bag and pulled out a small bag of white powder, then hopped up to offer it to Joe. “You are having a headache, yes? This is a very nice thing which I am making for headaches! You should take some of this for your pain and it will poof and go away in the instant!”

Joe had both eyes closed while clutching his head. He opened one eye suspiciously and looked at the powder. “What is it?”

Kumars grinned proudly and stumbled over himself to show off the powder. “It is something I am making in my own time at home! It is like the oxycontin but it is my own recipe! It is a very nice thing to be taking for you to have!”

Taylor bolted up from his chair to look at the powder. “OxyContin? As in, oxycodone hydrochloride? As in prescription synthetic heroin? Am I hearing ya right?”

Kumars grinned proudly, “Yes yes, though I am altering the recipe somewhat!” Seeing that Joe was uninterested, Kumars proudly offered the bag to Brother Cooper, “You are wanting to try?”

Brother Cooper shook his head sadly, “No thank you, Mr. Kumars, I don’t have a headache.”

Kumars just grinned even more broadly, “Oh, it is not just being made for that…and the stomach bleeding is not that pronounced when taken in the small doses.”

Taylor took the offered bag from Kumars and held it up to the light to look closely at the powder. “Ya say you manufacture this at home, do ya? How do you filter the slurry, iffin’ ya don’t mind me asking?”

Kumars seemed to just be hopping from one excited state to another. He beamed with pride at Taylor, “Oh! You are being knowledgeable with the chemistry, yes? You are knowing about the making of such things? Just the moment I am wanting to show you this,” then he began digging into his backpack muttering to himself.

Taylor must have picked up on the disapproving looks he was getting from Brother Cooper and Willie, because he was quick to explain, “Oh, don’t fret now. I’m not running a drug laboratory or some such nonsense. I’m a professor of chemistry at Samford University.”

Kumars yelped with glee and pulled what looked like a road flare out of his backpack, exclaiming “You should be seeing these! I am also making these in the spare time that I am having.”

Brother Cooper shoved his chair away from the table, “Um…Is that dynamite?”

Kumars nodded enthusiastically, “Yes yes! Are you wanting some? I have many pieces here!”

Brother Cooper shook his head vigorously, “No, no, thank you. I love the Lord and all, but I’m not quite ready to go meet him in person. What’s say we put away the explosives, Mr. Kumars.”

Crystal didn’t seem to want to, but she had to ask, “Why on earth are you carrying dynamite around in your book bag?”

Kumars seemed most proud of his own cleverness, “Oh, I am hating the guns and the violence. And it is good for chasing away the muggers! I am waggling one of these in their faces and they are running away!”

Willie caught Brother Cooper’s eye and with a glance he could see instant weary agreement there. The new recruits were definitely going to change things around here.

. . .

Crystal climbed the ladder up after Joe to the attic. Kumars was right behind her, apparently eager to see how close he could stand to her and maybe overpower her with his cologne. He bumped into her at the bottom of the ladder, and she shoved him backwards, “I don’t need your help up here.”

Kumars appeared naïve and confused, “Hmm? I am not coming up here to be helping you. I am coming up to read the books.”

Crystal sighed, “How about you go back downstairs to bother Brother Cooper?”

At that point, Brother Cooper and the others appeared in the stairwell below them. Brother Cooper raised an eyebrow at the mention of his name. 

Crystal rolled her eyes and complained to the preacher, “Can’t we do something about this guy?” Before waiting for an answer, she bounded up the ladder.

Behind her, she heard Brother Cooper answer, “He’s in the picture, Crystal. That makes him one of us as far as I’m concerned.”

As she hit the top rung of the ladder, she heard Kumars say something like “Thank you!” and felt him slap her on the butt. She grit her teeth, jumped up, and in an instant had her knife out from her boot and spun around to catch Kumars at the top of the ladder. She hissed, “Your hand touches me again and I cut it off, got it?”

Kumars stared wide-eyed at her for a moment, then grinned, “Did I tell you my father is the rich man? In India he is a general!”

Crystal held the knife steady, but was completely lost. What did that have to do with anything? She fumbled for something to say in reply, then gave up, sheathed the knife, and stormed off to the other end of the attic. 

After a moment, Brother Cooper called out to her from one of the tables, “Say, Crystal, what is it you are looking up over there, anyway?”

Crystal realized she had actually forgotten why she had even come up to the attic, and more importantly, she had not told any of them about the weird kids at the tribal fair and the deadhead and the reference to Sussistinako. She filled everyone in as best she could, explaining what she had seen, and what she suspected, and why she wanted to check out the books in the library for any reference to Sussistinako.

Joe was flipping through the book he was reading, apparently comparing something in the book to the stack of comic books he had next to him. He interrupted the end of her story from his position at the main table. “Man, that just makes me hungry…What? Sussistinako? Taco? Come on, people, jeez…” 

. . .

Willie sat down next to Joe and Brother Cooper at the main attic table. Taylor and Crystal were browsing the stacks, looking for books on mythology that might somehow connect to Sussistinako. Meanwhile, Kumars was wandering through the stacks muttering and chirping happily to himself like a kid in a candy store.

Willie looked over at Joe’s weird book of spells and the comic books, and remembered again the magic he had seen Joe perform downstairs with the book at the table. Willie hesitated before asking, “What ya working on, Joe?” 

Joe kept flipping through the book and then back again at his comics. “I found something with that guy who emailed me today.” Then Joe looked up, “That reminds me! I paid for you to look that guy up! Did you find anything?”

Willie slapped his forehead! “Sh#%! I completely forgot. I looked up that email address today. I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection earlier.”

Willie clearly had Joe’s and Brother Cooper’s attention now, and he filled them in as best he could. “I got called in to work today on this emergency case, to find this missing scientist. A guy named Hudson, whose works at Research Genetics Incorporated. Turns out this guy just disappeared, and his company is spending a %^&load of money to get him back quick.”

Joe and Brother Cooper just looked at Willie, waiting for the connection. Willie spoke slowly, speaking carefully so that they could see the connection themselves. “Research Genetics Incorporated. R…G…I. And this email that Joe got today? From Jack Sanders at R…G…I… dot com.”

Brother Cooper’s brow furrowed. “So this fellow Jack, who emailed Joe about some fictional comic book order, works with this man Hudson, who went missing, whom you have been hired to find?”

“Exactly,” Willie smiled and leaned back in his chair.

“Well, that’s an odd little coincidence.”

“I concur,” Willie pulled out a cigarillo and unwrapped it at the table. Taking a quick look at the dusty dry wood around him, he got up to go open a window while the others digested the new information. He lit the tobacco and then opened the main library window, sticking his hand out the window to prevent the smoke from coming back into the room.

Brother Cooper turned back to Joe, “So what was this man ordering when he emailed you?”

Joe handed the four comic books he was reading over to Brother Cooper, reciting their names plainly, “Well, it’s supposed to be a gift for his boss. Uncanny X-Men Number Seventy. Fantastic Four Number Eight. Batman Blind Justice, and Iron Man Number Thirteen.”

Willie didn’t know crap about comic books, but he figured there must be some connection there. “Those particular comics mean anything to you, Joe?”

Joe nodded and rolled his eyes, “Well, duh, I mean, don’t you see it? It’s so obvious…”

A long pause followed. Willie exchanged a tired look with Brother Cooper, then finally gave up waiting on Joe’s conversational skills. “Enlighten me please, Joe.”

Joe sighed, and then explained in a weary tone as though he were explaining something to a child. “Listen, Uncanny X-Men Number Seventy. What happens? Wolverine attacks the X-Men while under mind control.”

Willie felt another long pause was coming, but apparently Brother Cooper’s patience had run thin, because he immediately responded with, “That kind of stuff happens all the time in comics, though, right, Joseph?”

Joe sighed and shook his head. “Fantastic Four Number Eight. That one pits the Fantastic Four against the Puppetmaster. The Puppetmaster exercises _mind control_ over the Thing and makes him attack Johnny and Reed…Iron Man Number Thirteen - Tony Stark's girlfriend is controlled by the Absorbotron _mind control_ device.  Batman: Blind Justice - Batman tackles Bonecrusher, which leads him into a scheme involving…_Mind Control_!”

Cooper replied with sarcasm, “ I’m noticing a pattern here,” and handed the comics back to Joe.

Joe carefully took the comics back and tucked them back into a plastic bag, “So anyways, I've got them all. They're in fine condition, except the Batman, which is in near mint condition with some wear along the---“

Cooper interrupted Joe’s critique of the comics, “So this guy Jack Sanders wanted these comics and was going to give them to his boss?”

Joe nodded, “Yep. He also told me he had a subscription, but i couldn't find him in my lists. He told me to bring them to his office and keep it all hush-hush. But now his email address is no longer working, because I got a message bounced back to me this afternoon…Obviously he's been captured and they've deleted all presence of him from their system.”

Willie shrugged and teased, “Maybe he's been mind controlled.”

Joe nodded seriously, “I’m guessing his boss, actually…and maybe he can't control his anger anymore, either, and he goes out of control and fights everybody. Might turn green too. I’m not really sure.” He shrugged, and Willie was no longer sure whether Joe was kidding or not.

Cooper considered the story, “Not a bad theory, but why did he come to you, Joe?”

Joe leaned back in his chair, “Who has the best comic selection in town?”

Cooper shrugged, “I have no idea”

Joe nodded, “My point exactly…plus, I mean, yeah, sure, his name was on the list for the monthly conspiracy newsletter that I put out, but I think having the best comic selection in town had to play into it, too.”


----------



## barsoomcore

He's got synthetic heroin. And dynamite.

I like Kumars. He's my kind of stupid.  

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!


----------



## Caliber

Excellent update. Don't take my clamoring for more posts the wrong way. I had a story hour of my own once, I know how grueling it is to write. Asking for more is just my way of saying "that's good stuff!"   

Maybe its my abhorrent schooling in Chemistry but I thought all Heroin was synthetic? Or was the idea that is wasn't "quite right" yet? Either way, great stuff.


----------



## fenzer

Thanks for the update Drew, Christmas Eve to boot.  Happy Holidays everyone.


----------



## Lola

Ahhh, homemade dynamite. 

Stuff had better blow up soon. Soon, I tell you!


----------



## ledded

barsoomcore said:
			
		

> *weeps softly to himself, for it would be good.*



Ah, yes, but *you* have stewardesess. One thing OldDrewId has never supplied us with is a smorgasboard of flight attendents. Talk about props for your game 

(EDIT: BTW, that *was* a joke, albeit a very bad one, not a totally sexist and immature mindset... ok, at least not totally sexist.  No offense intended to any of the wonderful, overworked, and underappreciated people out there in the flight attendent profession.)

And thanks Drew, for capturing the flavor of my man Kumars so well, nice update. I love playing with that silly accent, much to the annoyance of the other players...


----------



## Pierce

*Current Cast*

Just so everyone's clear:

Willie, Kumars = ledded
Guyzell = me (Pierce)
Joe = fludogg
Crystal = Eyas
Taylor Chen (I), Taylor Denessey (II) = Old Drew Id (DMPC)

Carry on.


----------



## fludogg

ledded said:
			
		

> And thanks Drew, for capturing the flavor of my man Kumars so well, nice update. I love playing with that silly accent, much to the annoyance of the other players...






I have to agree.... you have caught the essence of Kumars perfectly... 

and the voice is not an annoyance, I love it, need it, want it,dream about it... er sorry got a bit carried away there... 

-Flu Dogg


----------



## ledded

*Bumper Bumpaloosa*



			
				barsoomcore said:
			
		

> He's got synthetic heroin. And dynamite.
> 
> I like Kumars. He's my kind of stupid.
> 
> MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!



BUMP...

And our Indian friend Kumars is not *stupid*, per se, just socially inept in a debilitating kind of way.  Of course, those are the least of the things that he comes up with before he makes a starring appearance in an episode.  And then we also get to find out just how useful a former cricket pitcher (are they called 'pitchers' in cricket?) can be with a bundle of dynamite.

Jus' waitin' on an update, Drew...


----------



## OakwoodDM

ledded said:
			
		

> BUMP...
> 
> And our Indian friend Kumars is not *stupid*, per se, just socially inept in a debilitating kind of way.  Of course, those are the least of the things that he comes up with before he makes a starring appearance in an episode.  And then we also get to find out just how useful a former cricket pitcher (are they called 'pitchers' in cricket?) can be with a bundle of dynamite.
> 
> Jus' waitin' on an update, Drew...




Long time lurker, breaking my silence for two reasons. First, brilliant story, as everyone else has said, and I echo all of their comments. Secondly, for Ledded, no, in cricket the man who throws the ball at the batsman is called the bowler.


----------



## ledded

OakwoodDM said:
			
		

> Long time lurker, breaking my silence for two reasons. First, brilliant story, as everyone else has said, and I echo all of their comments. Secondly, for Ledded, no, in cricket the man who throws the ball at the batsman is called the bowler.



Thanks.  For the life of me I couldnt remember what it was, but I was pretty sure it wasnt 'pitcher'


----------



## barsoomcore

ledded said:
			
		

> I was pretty sure it wasnt 'pitcher'



 Yeah, I had Kumars pegged as a 'catcher' right off.

*drumroll*

Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all week, don't forget to tip the cigarette girl on your way out....


----------



## Mrs Pierce

Wow, I can not believe how good that was. It was like a cross between the x files and 28 days later (with alittle miami vice thrown in.) Taylor s death scene was awsome. Very realistic and moving. Joe almost made me tear up. Drew--- you are very, very talented. I will get started on Ep 2 as soon as I can. Very well done.


----------



## fenzer

Nice to meet you Mrs Pierce.  Thanks for dropping by.

Now if we could get back to the story, I'm dealing with some serious withdrawls issues here.


----------



## ledded

Mrs Pierce said:
			
		

> Wow, I can not believe how good that was. It was like a cross between the x files and 28 days later (with alittle miami vice thrown in.) Taylor s death scene was awsome. Very realistic and moving. Joe almost made me tear up. Drew--- you are very, very talented. I will get started on Ep 2 as soon as I can. Very well done.



Is this *the* beautiful and talented Mrs Pierce, of Pierceatwork fame?  If so, nice to hear from you here, I'm sure your kind words mean a lot to ole Drew.

If not, heh, um, sorry for the mistaken identity, though I'm sure you're beautiful and talented in your own right


----------



## ledded

*Bumparossa*

Oh, no No!  Muuuch too good to fall into the third page...

BUMP


----------



## Lefferts

*Lurker unlurks and registers*

Longtime lurker with a first post.

Gotta say I'm enjoying this. I think I'm going to suggest to our DM that we go
back to our D20 Modern campaign. I had been staying away from the modern
story hours until reading this, now I read 3 or 4 of them, so thanks for sharing
this great story with us.

Lefferts


----------



## Pierce

Quick little bump.  And yep, that is the for real Mrs. Pierce!  I finally heckled her into finishing Episode 1.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Episode II – Session I - Information*

*Episode II – Session I - Information*

Joseph was leaning over Crystal’s shoulder, reading the string of symbols and system commands on her laptop’s glowing screen. Brother Cooper fully expected Joseph to make a blue comment of some type about the proximity of Crystal’s body to his face or something of that sort, or for Crystal to curse at Joe like a sailor, telling him to back off from her, but for once the both of them seemed too caught up in what they were doing to badger each other. Guyzell decided to wander over and peek at the screen for himself. 

Joseph muttered something to Crystal about a packet of some kind that made no sense to Guyzell, but before he could ask what they were doing, Crystal shook her head and said something else about a male server having a patch of some kind so he was more secure now. Guyzell peered at the screen of the laptop, but it was filled with nothing but garbled letters and numbers that meant nothing to the preacher. To be honest, Guyzell’s knowledge of computers was limited to checking his email, but judging from the intensity with which Joseph and Crystal were working over the laptop’s screen, the preacher judged there must be something important contained within those numbers. He cleared his throat and interrupted their exchange with a smile, “What’s this you’ve got here, Crystal? Checking your email?” 

Crystal looked up in a daze, caught up in some other train of thought. After a moment she shook her head, “Um…no, Brother…we’re…researching RGI…looking for any more information…”

Joe snorted derisively, “Researching? Jeez, Crystal, don’t lie to the man…Preacher, we’re trying to hack into their email server…and not doing a good job of it either.”

Brother Cooper frowned, “I’m not completely sure what that means, but I’m pretty sure it’s not something that we should be doing…”

Crystal rubbed her temples, “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway, because we can’t get in…Maybe if we do some dumpster diving this weekend…”

Brother Cooper frowned even more strongly, “I don’t know what that is either, but I’m almost _positive_ that’s not something we should doing…”

Joe chewed his bottom lip for a second, shook his head, then decided “I hate to take that long…let’s go back to their IIS server.”

Crystal pulled up the web browser on her laptop and keyed in http://www.rgi.net. At least Guyzell could recognize a web page when he saw one. The web site was a pretty flashy marketing site, describing RGI as a high-tech company engaged in a wide variety of genetic research, while offering almost no real details about their goals or methods of research. Crystal scanned a few pages, then sighed, “Nothing useful…it’s all just flat files. Nothing interactive. If I had an unprotected form to work with, maybe I could get a buffer overrun going…”

Guyzell raised an eyebrow, “Are you two just making up words now?”

Joseph ignore him, “Can you browse the directory contents?”

Crystal slapped her forehead. “I completely forgot to check for that!” 

She keyed in a variation on the site address: http://www.rgi.net/images/. Instead of a web page coming up, the browser displayed a list of file names. Guyzell was fairly familiar with browsing through the worldwide web thing, and did not recall ever seeing a web site suddenly change to display a list of files like that. He leaned in a little closer, “Did you just hack their web site? Is this what hacking is?”

Crystal turned around to look at Guyzell directly before rolling her eyes. She turned back around to the keyboard. Joseph was nodding excitedly, “Cool…start looking for---”

“Development folders…yeah, I know…” Crystal was rapidly typing new variant addresses into the browser and Guyzell could feel the tension building for both of them. http://www.rgi.net/test/ …File not found. http://www.rgi.net/dev/  …File not found. http://www.rgi.net/new/  …File not found. 
http://www.rgi.net/private/  …File not found. 

Guyzell watched about ten more attempts before his shoulders slumped. He turned again to Joseph, who was still looking over Crystal’s shoulder. “I thought there was supposed to be like a skull and crossbones or something…and that it would beep and say ‘Access Denied’.”

Before Joseph could answer him, though, Crystal yelped, “Got something!” Guyzell looked back at the screen. Crystal had apparently found success with http://www.rgi.net/drafts/  . There was another short list of files there. Crystal clicked on a file named “pressrel.html”. 

A web page appeared. The graphics around the header area were missing, but the text of the page was there. The page was apparently a rough draft of an article, minus a date of publication. Judging from the format and content of the page, it was an official company press release that Dr. Hudson had written before he had disappeared…a press release that was never actually released. 

Willie and Taylor looked up from a huge book they were both studying at the next table. Willie looked over with suspicion, “What y’all got over there, Joe?”

Joseph and Crystal both sped through reading the article, paging down much faster than Guyzell could keep up. Joe responded while continuing to read, “You want the long version or the short version?”

Willie considered for a second, “Short version.”

“Crazy white people.”

Willie waited, and sensing nothing more coming, finally gave up. “Okay, long version.”

Crystal answered before Joseph could. “RGI had a new project they were working on, led by the now-missing Dr. Hudson. You ever heard of Bio-steel?”

Willie nodded. “Yeah…they make bullet-proof vests out of it. Why?”

Crystal continued, “You know what it’s made out of?”

Willie shrugged, “I’m assuming the answer is not steel?”

Joseph interrupted before Crystal could continue, “Spider web. They make it out of spider web!”

Taylor raised an eyebrow, “Well that’s a neat trick, i’n’t it? ‘ow do they go ‘bout collectin’ ‘nuff o’ the stuff to be makin’ an undercoat out of it?”

Willie turned to look at Taylor, then scowled and turned back to Joseph and the others, “Okay…does anybody else feel like we’re hanging out with Ringo Starr?”

Joseph shook his head very seriously, “No, dude, he’s Scotty, from Star Trek. Don’t worry. We’ll just shove him back into Engineering. You’ll forget all about him.”

Guyzell frowned, “Could we get back to business, gentlemen?”

Crystal continued unfazed, “They don’t collect the spider silk from spiders. They’ve genetically engineered goats with spider silk-producing genes. ”

Taylor uttered a profanity that Guyzell pretended not to hear. 

Crystal went on, “So…now they have genetically modified goats. They milk the goats, and the milk contains spider silk enzymes. They chemically remove the enzymes from the milk, and presto, gallons of spider silk---”

 “Which is, like, a hundred times stronger and lighter than steel,” Joe interrupted.

Willie was apparently just as lost as Guyzell was, “Okay, wait…so this is what RGI was working on? But Bio-steel had been around for, like, years now.”

“No…no…you’re right. Bio-steel has been around for years. And I don’t think RGI had anything to do with that. That’s some other company that does that. What RGI was working on was apparently a new improved, competing version of Bio-steel. Apparently stronger and lighter, and cheaper and faster to produce, too. At least, according to this press release. ”

Taylor considered for a moment, then wondered aloud, “So…they’ll be havin’ better bullet-proof undercoats than the other chaps?”

Crystal shook her head and rolled her eyes, “Not just bullet-proof vests. Anything you can think of that’s made out of steel or other high-strength metals like aluminum or titanium. Like cars, construction materials, bicycles, tractors…”

Willie nodded, “So in other words, worth a lot of money? The type of new product that people would kill for? Well, that gives me a place to start looking for what happened to Hudson. There are plenty of steel industry companies in the area that would probably not like that kind of change in the marketplace---”

Joe smiled and nodded along, “And let’s not forget about that handy side effect of…what was it again? Oh yeah, mind control!”

“And Susstinako,” Crystal reminded everyone.

Willie sighed, “Okay…I admit it’s interesting that Joe’s pen pal emailed him from RGI on the same day as all of this, but this is looking a lot more to me like a corporate espionage kind of situation here, instead of something like all that.”

Joseph sighed, “Fine, fine. You keep believing that. Meanwhile they’re building up an army of goats under their mind control.”

Willie shrugged, “Look, Joe…”

Joseph ignored him, “No, that’s fine. I see what’s going on…I’m going to RGI.” Joseph closed the laptop and started packing his things into his backpack. 

Willie shook his head. “Joe, come on now, even if you go over there, you think they’re just gonna let you in?”

Joseph held up a handful of comic books. “They have to let me in. I have to make a delivery to one of my customers.”

Willie shook his head again, then stopped as he considered, “Joe…well…hell, Joe that might work.”

Guyzell didn’t like the sound of any of this, but he couldn’t let Joseph go off and do something foolish on his own. “Well, if you’re going in there, Joseph, I think I’ll go accompany you...the Lord _is_ supposed to watch over fools...”

Crystal started packing up her things as well, “Well, hell, I gotta see this.”

If Willie was surprised by the sudden enthusiasm about going to see RGI in the middle of the night, he played it off well. He shrugged and pulled his jacket off the back of a nearby chair and slipped it back on over his exposed shoulder holster. “Well, okay then. I’ll follow you and keep an eye out on the area.” He turned to look over his shoulder at Taylor behind him, and Kumars, who was still quietly reading in the corner. “You two interested in coming along?”

Kumars finally looked up, apparently surprised to find that there was anyone there at all, much less someone talking to him. “I am most sorry! I was reading the wonderful and most confusing books you are having here in your library of much interest! I am very much wanting to borrow these books and to be reading them and returning them in near mint condition!”

Kumars was looking expectantly at Taylor. Taylor turned to look back at Guyzell and the others, and seeing them all looking at him, his face grew confused and he turned back to Kumars. “I’m sorry. I ken nary a word of what ya just said. Was tha’ a question?”

Kumars happily stared back at Taylor, then at the rest of the group with a confused look on his face, “I am most apologizing. I am hoping to be perusing these books in my home for a limited time until I am understanding what they are referring to. I am hoping you are understanding in your ventures that I am most welcome to be offering you assistance in future endeavors, of course, but I am wanting very much to be getting started on the reading of these collections.”

Taylor turned back to Guyzell, a completely blank look on his face, “Any of you lot got the first clue what ‘e’s pratterin’ on ‘bout?”

Guyzell closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. The new “teammates” were not going to make things any easier for him. Guyzell tried to keep the strain from his voice, “He wants to go home and read. He wants to borrow those books. He is asking for permission to borrow them.”

“Oh, right!” Taylor nodded enthusiastically to Kumars. “Sure, gent, knock yourself out!”

Kumars happily packed his bag while everyone else headed over to the ladder. Willie stopped at the ladder and sized Taylor up for a second. “You coming, Taylor?”

Taylor had been standing in the back of the group. He paused to consider for a second. “Go with you lot? A bunch of bloody lunatics who I’ve been ‘aving dreams about for a month, telling me ‘bout magic and mind-controlled goats, wantin’ me to come along for a joyride through the city?”

Before anyone could withdraw the invitation, he decided.

“Sure, what the hell.”


----------



## barsoomcore

Ahh.... Crystal, Willie, Joe and Guyzell-y goodness.

_Now_ my hangover's truly gone. Thanks ODI!


----------



## Spatula

Do I see feral giant-size spider-goats in the group's future? <fingers crossed>


----------



## Tellerve

Spatula said:
			
		

> Do I see feral giant-size spider-goats in the group's future? <fingers crossed>




I sure hope so, if not I've gotta put that in my campaign 

Tellerve


----------



## Thomas Hobbes

Am I misremembering, or did the Native American goddess they've heard from recently have something to do with spiders?


----------



## fenzer

Okay, so I was about to tell Drew his links were broken.  Sorry old brain, few cells left.

Amen Barsoomcore.  My withdrawls were getting bad.

Thanks for the update.  

Drew, if I may ask a silly little question, what do you mean by "...a blue comment..." in the opening paragraph?  I don't know that I have heard that before.


----------



## Capellan

fenzer said:
			
		

> Drew, if I may ask a silly little question, what do you mean by "...a blue comment..." in the opening paragraph?  I don't know that I have heard that before.




It can be used to mean any comment that is somewhere between suggestive and outright crude - usually more toward the latter.

A 'blue movie', for instance, was a common term in the 70s for reference to films that we would now politely describe as 'intended only for consenting adults' 

I have to say I wish I had known about this campaign when I was in Birminghman last year.  I'd have been knocking on Drew's door, demanding a place at the table


----------



## Tellerve

Thomas Hobbes said:
			
		

> Am I misremembering, or did the Native American goddess they've heard from recently have something to do with spiders?




Nope, I believe your spot on with your remembering.

Oh what a tangled web we weave!  *chuckle*...ahem, sorry

Tellerve


----------



## Len

Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> Joe chewed his bottom lip for a second, shook his head, then decided “I hate to take that long…let’s go back to their IIS server.”



I'm glad I run Apache.  (My web log is _full_ of pointless hack attempts against IIS.) That whole scene was great.


----------



## ledded

Len said:
			
		

> I'm glad I run Apache.



Oh yes, that is a good thing.  So that when you do get hacked, you at least have the comfort of knowing that not only is the guy destructive, but also elitest, purist, and probably not a MS script kiddie   




			
				Len said:
			
		

> That whole scene was great.



Just wait, this episode gets off the hook pretty darn quick here soon.  Things not only get dangerous, but also... disturbing...


----------



## Thomas Hobbes

What else could mind-controlling spider goats be, if not disturbing?


----------



## Tellerve

Icky?  Vile?  Indestructable killing machines!  I bet at least two outta the three, and possibly one more 

Tellerve


----------



## ledded

Thomas Hobbes said:
			
		

> What else could mind-controlling spider goats be, if not *disturbing*?



The sad part is, I wasnt talking about the spider goats at all.  I was talking about one of the PC's...

Stay tuned.


----------



## Munin

OldDrewId....you have a private message!


----------



## fludogg

I finally added Joe to the Rogues Gallery.

-Flu Dogg


----------



## ledded

*Bump-o-rama*

Tsk Tsk.  What're you doin' way down here on the 3rd page little fella?

Let's just *bump* you back up there a bit


----------



## Azgulor

Great story.

Bumped again.


----------



## Salthorae

*curses*

I curse you OldDrewId and all your crew for creating a story that caused me to waste my entire study day enraptured reading it! 

But seriously this story is awesome! I got pulled in from the superheroes thread and just had to read this once I had gotten started. it sounds like such a fun group to play in and I eagerly suscribe to catch the next installment


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Episode II – Session I - Interruption*

*Episode II – Session I - Interruption*

Crystal eased off the throttle, leaned down into the bike to cut her wind resistance, and coasted around the corner onto Second Avenue. The bars and clubs on Southside had been hopping as she had buzzed through on her way to RGI, but once she had passed the entertainment district, the streets had gotten quiet and a little eerie very quickly. Now that she was approaching the industrial area up near the train tracks, she realized just how loud her Harley was, and she wondered whether stealth might be more important than style right now. 

She saw Joe’s Jaguar just up ahead now; just a block or two more and they would be turning into the parking lot at RGI. Movement caught her attention in her side mirror. She straightened up and turned her head back for a quick peek.

A black El Camino had just pulled out of a parking spot and was cruising down the street behind her, taking it slow and traveling with no lights on. Crystal turned back around and saw Joe slowing down to pull into the gated lot at RGI. Probably just a coincidence, but then again, whenever weird stuff went down, it didn’t pay to take chances. 

“Guys, be right back, I’m checking something out”, she radioed to Willie over her helmet headset, and cut the bike sharply to the right, gunned the engine, and hopped the curb. She cut down the sidewalk and turned again into an alleyway heading south. 

For a moment, she cruised down the alley, parting a couple of rain puddles along the way, and vanishing into the shadows. Probably nothing…

In an instant, light exploded into the alleyway as the El Camino charged into the alley. His headlights were on now, and his engine was roaring as he raced down after her. Sparks flew off the passenger’s side as he scraped against a brick wall, but he kept gaining speed. 

A moment later, Crystal shot out of the end of the alley like a bullet from the barrel of a gun. She jammed the brakes and kicked the bike sideways, fishtailing hard right and barreling west down Third Avenue. In a single breath, she was cruising at sixty miles an hour, sitting up, driving one-handed and looking behind her for the pursuit.

The El Camino answered her turn with one of his own. His tires screamed in protest, he took out a soap-board sign as he cut the corner, and two cars had to swerve into the right lanes to keep from hitting him, but he successfully made the turn and kept most of his speed as he wheeled after her. Whoever this a-hole was, he wasn’t just messing with her or looking to scare a chick on a hog. This guy was serious. 

Crystal let him gain a little ground, then turned back around and smirked. Let’s see just how serious he is, she thought, and twisted her wrist back. Fuel flooded into the engine, the bike growled like a wild bear, and she took off like she had been standing still. Seventy… eighty… ninety miles an hour. She darted through a green light… another green light… a red light… but the El Camino kept coming. She darted to the right around a van, and to the left again around a station wagon, then checked the mirror again. He was still on her. 

“Crystal, was that you?” Willie’s voice crackled over the radio. She swerved for a moment in surprise. (Not smart at ninety miles an hour, she scolded herself.) She realized she must have passed Willie along the way, as he followed Joe and Cooper to RGI. She turned sharply onto an on-ramp, nearly laid the bike over in the process, barely righted herself, and wobbled south down I-65. 

“Hey, Willie, I’m being followed…well…I’m being chased…”, she radioed back, and tried to blend in with the traffic on the highway. No such luck. The El Camino roared off the on-ramp after her and regained lost ground. Crystal barely dodged a cement truck and a charter bus, then hit the gas harder. She pulled into the left emergency lane and took off. Ninety… One-hundred… one-hundred-ten miles an hour. Slow-moving cars darted past her like they were standing still. She rounded the bend past Greensprings Avenue, and checked her mirrors. 

The El Camino was still back there. She had gained maybe a couple of seconds on him. He must have a suped-up engine in that thing, she figured. She could definitely get more speed out of her Hog, that was sure, but she wasn’t really sure she wanted to. 

Willie’s voice crackled on the radio again, “You need some help?”

There was an exit ramp coming up on the far right, and she had just passed a moving van that had his right turn-signal on. Crystal radioed back, “No, I think I got it.”

Crystal dodged sharply to the right and swerved across three lanes of traffic. She hit the brakes hard as she went, bleeding speed as she hit the ramp, hugging the bike tightly and holding a death-grip on the handlebars as she zoomed down the steeper slope. She heard the squealing tires behind her and knew that her pursuer had made the turn, which was just what she wanted. She turned to check behind her as she lost more speed. 

Sure enough, the El Camino was coming down the ramp hard, with the moving van narrowly behind him. More importantly, the El Camino was not braking hard like he should have been. Crystal turned back around and watched her speedometer. At fifteen miles an hour, she locked up the brakes, leaned all the way over to the right, and turned the wheel into the curb on her right. The front wheel hit the curb and bit, stopping dead. The back of the bike neatly spun in a half-circle around the front wheel, coming to rest with Crystal facing back up the off-ramp. 

For a brief moment, in slow motion, the El Camino passed her coming down the off-ramp. She had hoped to see faces, but she could only make out that there were four indistinct figures inside before the vehicle flew past her, followed closely by the moving van. 

Crystal didn’t wait to see what happened next. The bike kicked under her like a wild stallion as she raced back up the off ramp, dodging oncoming traffic until she was back onto the interstate. Once she made it up to the highway, she fishtailed again back south and blended back into traffic. 

Willie’s voice crackled on the radio, but Crystal couldn’t make out what he said. She must be near the limits of the signal. She radioed back to confirm she was okay, unsure if he could hear her, and then looked for the next exit where she could turn back towards downtown.


----------



## ledded

Dammit, man, I just dont know how you do it.

You write some of the best doggone car chase scenes I have ever read, period.  Hands down.  I actually get my heart racing a little reading 'em.  I bet if we could get John Woo to take a look at this SH he'd think to himself "hey, now that's the sh*t there man"


----------



## Eyas

ledded said:
			
		

> Dammit, man, I just dont know how you do it.
> 
> You write some of the best doggone car chase scenes I have ever read, period.  Hands down.  I actually get my heart racing a little reading 'em.  I bet if we could get John Woo to take a look at this SH he'd think to himself "hey, now that's the sh*t there man"




Most definately, OldDrewId. Not only here, but you do a great job with them in-game.


----------



## ledded

Eyas said:
			
		

> Most definately, OldDrewId. Not only here, but you do a great job with them in-game.



That's true also, though I get frustrated because every time we have ever had one Willie has found some way to be somewhere else, and miss it entirely.  Yup, all those cool car chases and Willie has missed 'em all, except one where he spent a total of 2 rounds at the end of a very cool chase in it 

I'm going to remedy that soon though


----------



## fenzer

Wow!  Great fun Drew.  Why'd ya have to stop?  I love the mysterious car that wont let up.  It reminds me of one of Spielburgs first movies DUEL.  Of course, the bad guys aren't driving an eighteen wheeler but the driver is a mystery.

Post soon Drew, I want more.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Episode II – Session I - Evasion*

*Episode II – Session I - Evasion*

Brother Guyzell Cooper watched Joe pull his hat down hard over his ears, and put on his black trench coat,  before turning to let Guyzell inspect the results. The poor boy looked ridiculous with that weird shapeless hat pulled down over his head like that, but there was nothing to do about that at this point, so he responded kindly, “Joseph…um, yes…you look fine.”

Joe grinned and grabbed the bag of comic books from trunk of the car while Guyzell grabbed his trusty King James. They headed across the parking lot to the entrance. 

The building was one of several older brick warehouses that had been converted for office or light-industrial use in the early nineties. There were no windows on the first three floors, and the only visible entrance was a non-descript metal door guarded by a camera and an intercom. A small stainless steel sign near the door bore the initials R.G.I.

Joe hit the intercom button and yelled into the microphone, “Hello! Special delivery!”

Guyzell rolled his eyes and looked up at the camera. He could hear the high-pitched whirring sound as it focused in on them. After a moment it whirred again, and then it must have gotten messed up, because it just kept whirring and trying to focus without stopping. Guyzell turned back to Joe to point it out to him, but Joe was already watching the camera and grinning. He caught Guyzell’s eye and winked, then pointed at his ‘magic hat’. Guyzell sighed.

The intercom hissed and then spoke, “Yes?”

Joe yelled into the microphone, “Open up! Special delivery!”

There was a good five-second pause before the voice answered. “We don’t accept deliveries after the close of business.”

Joe looked to Guyzell for guidance. Guyzell whispered, “Tell him who it’s for.”

Joe yelled into the microphone again, “It’s for a Mr. Sanders!”

The voice paused again, and then returned, “You’ll have to wait until the morning.”

Joe yelled again, “This is important! It’s of a personal nature for Mr. Sanders!”

Another pause. This one went on for almost ten seconds. Finally, “Fine. I can page him. Please wait there.”

Another minute passed. With a loud clanking sound, the door swung open. A tired-looking redheaded man in a lab coat stood there. He reached for the bag that Joe was holding and spoke in a low monotone, “I’ll take that.”

Joe snatched the bag back behind his back and narrowed his eyes, asking “And you are…?”

The man paused, apparently more than a little confused by the whole affair. He turned to look over at Guyzell for some type of guidance in dealing with Joe. Guyzell wondered silently to himself how anyone accomplished anything without him around to help out; then grinned amiably and extended his hand to the man, “Sir, my name’s Brother Guyzell Cooper. Pleased to meet you!” 

The man pulled back from Guyzell’s hand like he might pull back from a snake. He raised his hands defensively and apologized, “Sorry, have to maintain clean room conditions, you understand?” He turned back to Joe and sighed lightly, “May I ask what you have in the bag there?”

Joe nodded and grinned openly. He proffered the bag again, but kept it just out of reach. “Special delivery for Mr. Sanders.”

The red-headed man seemed less than amused, “May I ask what it is?”

Joe’s eyebrow furrowed again. “Are _you_ Mr. Sanders?”

The man paused again and seemed to consider the question. He tried a different tack, “Did he request this delivery? Mr. Sanders is unavailable. I can take it for him.”

Joe responded by imitating a game-show buzzer sound for an annoying four full seconds. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

Guyzell judged that the man’s annoyance level was rising to a dangerous level. He decided it was time to step in. He offered in his friendliest tone, “We have to get a signature and such, sir. That kind of thing. I’m sure you understand. Say, can you tell me when he might be coming back around?”

The good-courier-bad-courier tactic seemed to work. The man ignored Joe again and seemed to loosen up a little to Guyzell. However his response was still less than forthcoming: “I expect that he'll be delayed for an indeterminate amount of time.”

Guyzell probed, “I see…well is he out of town? Is he here?”

The questions hit a wall: “I’m sorry, I really can't share that information.”

The response was unexpected, but Cooper recovered quickly and beamed his friendliest good-ole-boy smile, “Now, come on there, you can share that with me - we really need to know where he might be at. From what we know, this is a very important delivery.  We just want to make sure it gets to him in a most expeditious manner. Just trying to do the best thing here, you know?”

The red-headed man considered for a moment. His voice was flat when he responded, “Why don’t you gentlemen step inside?”

. . .

The lobby was a small and uninviting white room with no chairs and two unlabelled metal doors leading off to the left and right. In front of them, two armed security guards were bending over a bank of security monitors fiddling with the TV cables. A moment after he and Joe entered the room, Guyzell heard one of the guards curse, “…wait, now that one’s okay and the lobby camera is doing it! Must be a short in the circuit…”

The redheaded man disappeared for a moment through the door on their right, while Guyzell and Joe stood sheepishly in the small white room. One of the security guards brushed past them carrying a stool. While they waited for their contact to return, the guard stood up on the stool and fiddled with the camera mounted on the ceiling. Joe snickered and pulled his hat down tighter on his head. 

A moment later, the red-headed man appeared again and invited them into the next hallway. They followed him down a long hallway through a maze of doors and corridors into a windowless conference room. He left them there again and closed the door behind him. A small security camera in the corner of the room began to whirr noisily.

Joe eyed the chairs and table in the room with a great deal of suspicion before unceremoniously dumping himself into the chair at the end of the table. Guyzell sat down lightly in the chair next to him and began to wonder if this had been such a good idea after all. It suddenly occurred to him to wonder if they were locked in. He got up to check the door handle, but as he reached for the handle, the door opened. 

A tall smiling brunette with beautiful eyes was standing in the doorway, her hair pulled back in a tight bun. She wore a lab-coat similar to the one the red-headed man had been wearing. Guyzell’s hand was already extended towards the door, so he left it out there for her to shake, “Howdy miss! How are you doing?”

The woman shook his hand firmly, and held on for perhaps a second longer than he would have expected. She smiled and looked him right in the eye, “I’m doing fine, thank you! I understand you have a delivery for Mr. Sanders? He’s unavailable but I am authorized to take any deliveries that you might have for him.”

Guyzell smiled broadly. She was good, he had to admit. If he were not now one-hundred-percent convinced that there was something treacherous going on in this place, he probably would have handed the package over to her in a heartbeat just for that smile. But as it was, he had no choice but to disappoint her. He shook his head sadly, “I’m really sorry, but it’s a personal delivery, Mrs. …?”

She countered, “That’s alright. I’m his personal assistant, and it’s _Miss_ White.”

Guyzell caught himself even as he was thinking it. Ah, a single girl. Well, in that case…no, no, wait, that’s not why I’m here. He mentally made a note to stop spending so much time listening to Willie, and he was now glad that he had come here with Joe instead of leaving Joe to come here alone. He apologized, “I’m sorry, the package really does have to be given only to Mr. Sanders.”

Miss White pouted adorably, but seemed to accept that Guyzell would not budge. She tried one last question, “Well, can you tell me what this is in reference to?”

Guyzell nodded. “I believe it is a gift---” He was interrupted by Joe snorting loudly. “Um, that is to say, I believe it is a gift, if I’m not mistaken.”

The woman shrugged and left the room without another word. 

Barely thirty seconds passed before the door opened again. A blonde man in a lab coat walked into the room confidently, “I’m Jack Sanders. Is that my package?

Joe perked up at the sound of his name. His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he eyed the man. “Maybe…who are you?”

The man seemed ruffled and he blinked twice, “Um…as I said, I’m Jack Sanders.”

Joe shook his head. “I need ID please.”

The man seemed genuinely annoyed, but Guyzell detected something else in his manner. Guyzell knew as surely as he was standing there that the man was lying. 

Joe continued, “Look, dude, I got three other people that came in here trying to take your package here. I need proof you _are_ who you say you are. This is a special delivery. I need to see your ID.”

The man stammered for a minute, “Um…it must be in my pants with my gym bag. I can get it…But can I at least see what’s in my bag? To, um…see if its what I ordered?”

Joe considered for a moment, before Guyzell interrupted, “Sure, Mr. Sanders, but can you go ahead and tell us what you ordered first?”

Joe smiled, “Ooh! Yeah! Good one, Preacher!”

The impersonator paused and seemed embarrassed. He lied sheepishly, “I’ll just go get my ID. I’ll be right back.” He slinked out of the room quietly, and Guyzell sat back down to wait for their next visitor.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Episode II – Session I - Interrogation*

*Episode II – Session I - Interrogation*

Willie pulled the car over into a dark alley around the corner from RGI. He slipped his earpiece into his ear and jacked it into his portable radio. He tried to raise Joe one more time on the radio, and after another failed attempt, he opened his door and got ready to get out of the car. He turned back around and pulled out a walkie-talkie that he handed to Taylor.

Willie made his instructions fast, “Alright, Taylor, I’ve set this radio to open duplex. You don’t have to hit the button, just speak into it if you need me. Brother Cooper and Joe been in there a while now, and with Crystal just playing freeway tag with somebody on I-65, I’m getting a little nervous. I’m gonna go look for another way into that building. Can you drive?”

Taylor slide over into the driver’s seat. “Aye, not a problem…hing on…are ye meaning on the _right_ side of the road?”

Willie visibly grimaced. 

Taylor grinned. “No, Ah’m fookin’ wi’ ye. Yah, Ah’m a great driver.”

Willie’s shoulder dropped, “Don't mess with me, Taylor. This is my grandfather's car.  That means a lot to a brother!” 

Before Taylor could respond, Willie vanished into the shadows. Taylor shifted the old engine into gear and began to circle the block.

. . .

A few minutes later, Willie was squatting down behind some bushes next to the main door at RGI. The only other entrance he could find into the place was a loading bay at the far end of the building, but the door was shut tight, and there was no visible means of opening it from the outside. He scanned the parking lot again and saw headlights turn around the corner in the distance. He reached down to his belt and keyed the button on his radio, “Yo, check-in everybody.”

Surprisingly, Joe’s voice crackled over the radio. “Hey, we’re getting the run-around in here. Well…not really the _run_-around, because we’re still in the same room, but…”

Crystal’s voice cut in: “I’m back near you guys now. Should be there in another minute.”

Willie saw the pair of headlights creeping closer. That looked like his car, but he wasn’t sure. He keyed the transmit button again: “Taylor? Yo Taylor, check in. What’s going on with you?”

Very weakly, Taylor’s voice sounded over the radio, as if from a distance: “Ello? Ello?”

Willie’s brow furrowed. He had checked that radio on the ride over, and it was working alright before…he rolled his eyes and sent back: “No, Taylor, not the cell phone…the walkie talkie…the other one.”

After a second, Taylor’s voice came over the radio loudly: “Ye got too mini fookin’ contraptions in yer car.”

Willie slowly ran his fingers through his braids. “Alright, Taylor, just keep circling. And keep your eyes peeled for Crystal or an El Camino.”

The response was quick. “Whit? I canna speak Spanish, Willie”

Willie sighed: “Just keep your eyes open for anything suspicious.”

Taylor responded. “Aye, that Ah will! Hing on! Hing on! Ah see a man skookin’ in the bushes!”

Willie tensed and looked across the parking lot. There weren’t any bushes in the parking lot that he could see, except for the ones… “Um, yeah, good job there, Taylor. That’d be me.”

. . .


An older grey-haired gentleman entered the conference room. Like his predecessors, he wore a lab coat. Again, Guyzell rose from his chair to meet the visitor and offered his hand. 

The man firmly shook Guyzell’s hand. “Good evening. I understand you have a personal delivery for Jack Sanders.”

Joe stood up and clutched the bag more tightly. “Are you Jack Sanders?”

The man didn’t hesitate as he answered, “Jack Sanders had a small accident earlier this evening. He is medically incapacitated at the moment.”

Guyzell decided to call his bluff. He feigned surprise and confusion. “But…he was just in here five minutes ago!”

The man was unfazed. “No, that was someone else. Don’t worry about that anymore. Now, what is this package that you are delivering? Mr. Sanders is currently in a coma and is not expected to be available anytime soon.”

Guyzell was definitely taken aback. The man seemed sincere, and even if he was lying, he was certainly painting himself into a corner going this route…which made him seem even more genuine. 

The man nodded solemnly, “We are all very concerned for him, naturally.”

Guyzell nodded along with the man. Well, it was worth a shot, “You know, I have received training as a grief counselor, if---”

Joe interrupted, “What hospital is he in?”

The man swallowed slowly. “Mr. Sanders has not been transferred to a hospital. We’re treating him here.”

Guyzell raised an eyebrow skeptically, “You're treating him here? Why isn't this man in a hospital?”

The man’s answer was either truthful or very well prepared. He responded simply, “We have facilities to deal with this sort of thing. It is a very rare condition. Now, if I might ask, what is your connection with Mr. Sanders?”

Guyzell raised his hands defensively, “Oh, no connection really. I’m just with Joseph here.” As soon as he said it, he regretted it. Up until now, he had not mentioned Joe’s name. He tried to cover, “Just a friend helping out.”

The man immediately studied Joe. “So, you traded emails with Mr. Sanders earlier today?”

Joe looked like a deer caught in headlights. He turned back to Guyzell helplessly, “Um…no?”. 

The man continued now more confidently. “We received an email earlier this evening from a Joe Empire.”

Joe gripped his bag more tightly. “Right. I do know Joe Empire. If you want, I'll just go get him. Hold on one second.” Joe got up and headed over to the door. He yanked on the handle, but it held tightly shut. They were locked in. Joe tried to maintain his composure, but his voice was an octave higher now, “Um, if you could just open this door?”

The man sat down in the chair that Joe had just vacated at the end of the table. He calmly studied Guyzell again. “Are you with a law enforcement agency?”

Guyzell shook his head. Somewhere along the way here, he had lost control of the conversation.

“Are you a reporter?”

Guyzell shook his head again, “No…”

“Could I see some ID?”

Guyzell nodded. “Sure,” and reached for his wallet. He had to get back on top of things here. He tried to start over with the man, “And what was your name again?”

The man watched Guyzell’s hands carefully, “I am Dr. McGovern. I am director of genetics research.” Seeing Guyzell hesitate to produce identification, he casually threatened, “I could call for security…”

Guyzell definitely preferred diplomacy to action. He shook his head and smiled. “No need for all that. Here you are!” He handed his entire wallet over to the doctor.

Joe, continued to stand by the door and watch while the doctor studied Guyzell’s wallet for a moment. “Reverend Guyzell Cooper?”

Guyzell nodded and smiled again, and held up his Bible for the man to see, “Yep, man o’ God!”

Dr. McGovern’s eyes narrowed distrustfully, “Are you with a protest group of some kind?” 

Guyzell paused. “No sir. I…” he caught himself. He had so stop answering questions and start asking some of his own. “Um…what would I be protesting?”

Dr. McGovern tossed the wallet back on the table and answered dismissively, “Science versus religion, that whole thing.” He then swiveled in his chair and considered Joe again. “So, I assume you _are_ Joe Empire?”

Joe’s grip tightened on the bag of comic books so much that Guyzell felt sure he must be damaging the collectibles inside. Joe answered, “Look, you’re kinda freaking me out here, Doc.”

Guyzell tried to reconcile the situation. “Look, he may be Joseph Empire, but that gentleman earlier said he was Mr. Sanders. So shall we just call that one a wash?”

Dr. McGovern ignored Guyzell and continued to watch Joe. “Mr. Sanders had an aneurysm earlier this evening and is now in a coma. We have since checked his email log and have seen he contacted you about some comic books---“

None of Guyzell’s normal charming little conversational techniques seemed to be working on the good doctor. He tried to interrupt again. “Is that a normal procedure? To check someone’s email when they go into a coma?”

Dr. McGovern took the bait. “Well, when someone on my staff has an aneurysm and then at 11 o’clock at night they receive a special delivery of comic books? Yes, it is.”

Guyzell tried to build up momentum. “Does this kind of thing happen often? Do you have problems with employees having aneurysms all the time? I’m just curious. I know you fellas are involved in genetics and other research. It's not like a virus or anything, is it? It doesn't spread, does it? it's not something we can catch, right?”

Unfortunately, Guyzell’s questions seemed to do more to panic Joe than to incite any further information from Dr. McGovern. Joe’s voice hopped up another octave, “This isn't a quarantine, is it?”

Dr. McGovern took a slow deep breath. “So i understand that you are delivering several comic books, then?”

Guyzell nodded. “Yes…and we will still need payment for the comics, of course and a proof of delivery…” He wasn’t sure where he was going with this. He just wanted to get the guy talking. 

Joe chimed in, trying to help. “Oh, and I’ll need to stop his subscriptions, because he obviously can't read them…”

Casually, Dr. McGovern stood up and straightened his coat, “Well, now, how much does Mr. Sanders owe you for this package?”

Joe shrugged, “Well, nothing, I guess, since we’re not delivering it to him…”

Dr. McGovern nodded and moved towards the door, “Alright then”.

Joe shook his head as if to clear it, “I mean, um…eight thousand dollars?”

Dr. McGovern had already reached the door. It opened effortlessly in his grip. “Now I'll bid you gentlemen a good evening.”

Joe stammered, “Uh, when i said eight-thousand, i meant---“

Guyzell politely shoved Joe through the door into the hall. “Joseph, i really don't think he's going to need them now.”

Joe seemed relieved to be out of the room, but he didn’t seem to want to give up quite yet. “Well, I just think it'd be nice if he had them when he wakes up, right?”

Guyzell followed Dr. McGovern down the hall. “Dr. McGovern, could you just have someone notify Joseph when Mr. Sanders wakes up, God-willing?”

Joe chimed in, “Yeah, and let him know that I've stopped his subscription, too, and that he'll need to email me to start it up again?”

Dr. McGovern was apparently just interested in showing them to the door now. Guyzell gave up on trying to get anything else out of the doctor. Especially with Joe offering this kind of assistance. Guyzell spoke to Joe as they headed down another corridor. “Joseph, i doubt that his subscription will be the first thing on his mind when he wakes up.”

Joe held up both palms, as if to wash himself of all further responsibility, “Fine with me.” 

A security guard met them at the end of the next hall. He opened a set of double-doors. Dr. McGovern nodded to them politely. “This gentleman will escort you out. It was a pleasure meeting you both.”

Guyzell shook his hand firmly, but with obvious disappointment. It was a pleasure meeting you too, Dr. McGovern.” 

Joe shrugged. “Yeah, dude, check you later.”

Guyzell followed the guard through another couple of hallway intersections. Up ahead, he could see the door to the lobby where they had come in. They would be out in another minute. 

Just as they approached, a side door opened, and Miss White entered the hall. 

She caught Guyzell’s eye and nodded politely as she approached, but with none of the smiles and charm she had so carefully displayed earlier. As she passed Joe, however, she stopped for a moment.

Joe stopped too, expecting her to say something. Guyzell stopped and turned around to see what was up. Miss White turned and look at Joe for a second, with a look of consternation on her face. Then she screamed. 

“Aaaaaaaaaa-aaaaaaa-aaaaaaaaa-aaaaaaa-aaaaaaaa-aaaaaaaaaa-aaaaaaaaa-aaaaaaaargh!!!!!”

Miss White dropped to her knees in the hallway. She clutched at both sides of her head, took in another deep breath, and screamed again, a loud turn-your-blood-to-ice kind of scream. 

The security guard had his walkie-talkie out and was bellowing into it, “We’ve got a collapse in corridor three!”

Joe’s eyes were the size of dinner plates as he looked over at Guyzell for guidance. Guyzell just stood there, without a clue what to do. Joe squatted down next to the woman and lightly touched her shoulder. “Lady? Are you---”

Her head fell back. The bottom half of her face was drenched in blood, which flowed freely from her nose. Her eyes were rolled all the way back in her head, and her skin was as pale as a ghost. She grabbed hold of Joe’s arm with both hands and Guyzell would see her knuckles were white from the grip she had on him. 

She turned fully towards Joe and looked him in the face with her eyes still rolled back sightlessly into her skull and panted the words through her screams:

“IT’S…IN…MY…HEAD!!!”


----------



## fenzer

Wow.  This was a fun read Drew.  Thank you.  I love these characters.  Pairing Joe and Guyzell together is pure genious.

Thanks for the double update.  Post soon.


----------



## Spatula

Yikes.


----------



## Thomas Hobbes

"I've got you... under my skin...."


----------



## Lola

EEEP!    

_wantmorewantmorewantmore_....


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## darkbard

great update.  best one in ages, in fact.  this story just keeps getting better and better.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Episode II – Session I - Commotion*

*Episode II – Session I - Commotion*

The hallway erupted with noise and movement. It seemed like every door in the hallway opened up at once, and guards poured in from every direction. The security escort was still barking orders into his radio as Guyzell took a couple of slow steps away from the woman. Guyzell felt the wall at his back and wondered if the door to the lobby was locked.

Joe was frantically shoving at Miss White, trying to get the woman to let go of his arm without hurting her, and trying to avoid completely panicking. “What?! _What’s_ in your head?!”

Two burly guards shoved Joe aside and pulled Miss White back a foot and held her arms back, but she maintained her death-grip on Joe’s arm. She yanked Joe towards her face again, and sprayed blood from her lips as she croaked into his face, “IT’S…MR…WEAVER!!!”

Joe wiped the droplets of blood from his face and pried the woman’s hand off of his arm. Another guard pulled him back from her, and then Dr. McGovern was there with a syringe in his hand. He hastily injected something into the poor woman, and she let out a loud gurgling rasp before passing out. 

Guyzell took a deep breath and clutched the King James still in his hand a little tighter, “Good Lord! What is going on here?! Is she alright? I thought you said this aneurysm thing wasn’t catching?”

A guard made up of three-hundred pounds of muscle shoved Guyzell hard into the wall. Two more guards grabbed Joe. All eyes were on Dr. McGovern. He looked up at them, a mixture of anxieties on his face, and barked, “Put them in Observation Room Seven.”

The guard holding Guyzell to the wall grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back down the corridor, while ordering through clenched teeth, “Please come with me, sir.”

Guyzell pawed at the man’s hand for a moment fruitlessly, while calling out to McGovern, “I don’t want to be here! I want to leave! If this is catching--”

Joe was being dragged down the hall by three guards, his feet flailing the whole way. “We should all get out of here! I don’t want your SARS! Dr. McGovern!! What's in Room Seven? Is that a checkup room? Because I have to go to my primary care doctor to get any referrals, it's not in my health plan! Wait! I've got another delivery to make!!”

The first guard pulled Guyzell back a few more feet. A second guard grabbed Guyzell’s other arm. Dr. McGovern looked up from where he was tending Miss White on the floor. “Go easy. I need to question them about Mr. Weaver.”

Joe was now halfway down the hall, being pulled around a corner. He reached out and grabbed the wall at the corner and pulled his head back around, against the efforts of the three guards pulling him back, “Hey! I don't even _know_ a Mr. Weaver! Wait! Is that like a code for "inject stuff into us"?! Can i at least get something out of my car? Some reading material or something?! Last time you did this, we had to talk to five different people!! Dr. McGovern? Dr. McGovern!?”

Guyzell decided to avoid further resistance, but the guards maintained a tight grip on him anyway as the lead him down the hall. They rounded the corner and shoved him through a doorway into a small room. Inside the room were a handful of chairs all lined up against the right wall. Along the left wall was a thick grey curtain. Inside the room, they had stationed a single guard, along with Joe, who was standing in front of the guard, trying to look intimidating, and failing at it. 

Guyzell took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Finally, he shrugged and sat down in one of the chairs, flipped open his Bible, and started reading. 

Joe stepped closer to the guard, and sniffed him. The guard was a muscular forty-something man with a crew cut, who looked like a caricature of a gym coach. Joe looked the guy in the eye distrustfully, “Do you have SARS?”

The guard responded in an even tone, “No, sir.”

Joe nodded thoughtfully, “Mmm-hmmm…how about monkey-pox?”

The guard maintained his even tone. “No, sir.”

. . .

Willie sat back against the building, hidden behind the bushes, and brought out his binoculars to  scan the perimeter. He watched Taylor cruise through the area again, two blocks away, and noted that he was driving a little too fast for Willie’s tastes. He better not mess up that car. 

A moment later, Willie saw Crystal coast up the street, her motorcycle’s headlight off and her engine silent. She rode up behind a dumpster and stopped in the shadows a block away.

Willie’s pocket began to vibrate. He tucked the binoculars back into his bag, and fished his cell phone out of his pocket. He looked at the number readout on the tiny illuminated screen. The caller ID said “Griffon Comics.” 

Willie answered the phone in an angry whisper, “Joe! Why don’t you got your radio on?”

Joe’s voice was oddly calm on the other end, especially considering how Willie had just used Joe’s real name over the phone. He apparently ignored Willie’s question, and responded quickly with, “Yeah, hey, sir. That delivery I was coming by with? It’s going to be late, because I’m slightly delayed…”

Willie’s back straightened and his free hand went straight to his holster, “Are you being detained against your will?”

He could hear the fake smile in Joe’s voice, “I think so, sir.”

Willie thought quickly, “Okay, you should have that radio in your pocket. Lock the transmit button on so I can hear what’s going on. I’ll be coming in if---”

Willie heard Joe’s voice on the other end, “Hey, give that back! I was just calling my next client to tell them I am running late. Wait until Dr. McGovern hears about this---” The line went dead.

Willie cursed. He tucked the phone back into his pocket and keyed his radio: “Crystal, Taylor, get ready. I may be about to do something stupid…” With that, Willie climbed up out of the bushes, clipped the radio into his belt, and stepped over to the door. He pressed the button on the intercom.

A moment later, a male voice answered: “Can I help you?”

Willie put every bit of annoyed authority he could into his voice. “You damn well better! This is Wilson Lamar. I’m here to see Dr. McGovern.”

The voice paused for a moment, then responded, “You have an appointment?” 

Willie growled back into the intercom, “No, but he’s sure as hell gonna want to talk to me! Now let me in!”

. . .

Dr. McGovern entered Observation Room Seven casually, as though he were simply attending a staff meeting. Even the bloodstains on his lapel and the presence of the security guard next to him did little to defray from the general impression of cool command that he conveyed as he sat down in one of the chairs next to Guyzell.

Guyzell attempted to appear calm as well. He indicated genuine concern in his voice, “Is Miss White okay?”

Dr. McGovern nodded. “She’ll be fine. Tell me, Brother Cooper, can you tell me anything about the location of our employee, Dr. John Hudson?”

Joe, still fuming over the fact that the security guard took his phone away from him, sat down roughly on Guyzell’s other side, asking, “”Is that your doctor? Do you have the SARS?”

Guyzell attempted to redirect the question to ask another of his own, “Wait, so are you telling me that you have one employee missing, one in a coma and a third that just nearly dropped dead in the hallway. You don't seem significantly worried about this.”

To Guyzell’s eyes, of course, McGovern did seem worried, but he hoped to push the man’s buttons to get him to speak more freely. However, in classical interrogation fashion, he had shifted his attention back to Joe at the moment. He asked Joe, “Mr. Empire, you seemed to have a moment of recognition when i mentioned Dr. Hudson’s name?”

Joe nodded, then stopped and shook his head emphatically, “Um…nope…never heard of him.”

McGovern continued, “Do you know what Dr. Hudson was working on?”

Joe smirked, “Jeez, you worked with the man, don’t you know?”

Guyzell interrupted, mostly to keep Joe from giving anything else away, “Excuse me Doctor, but do you normally interrogate all the delivery people that come into the building?”

Joe grinned, “Yeah, imagine the pizza guy…Look dude, I’m tired of all this stuff. All I wanted to do was make a delivery, and now I gotta make _another_ delivery. If you don't mind, you take your SARS workers, do whatever you want with ‘em and let me go. I got six kids to feed!”

McGovern seemed to consider their story for a moment, “Perhaps if you'd be willing to submit to a quick polygraph test, I would consider---“

Guyzell stood up sharply, “A lie detector test?” He feigned outrage as best he could.

Joe stood up too, probably just to mimic Guyzell, “Yeah! Are you crazy? I've got five kids at home waiting to be fed!”

Dr. McGovern remained seated. He sighed and ran his hand through his graying hair. Guyzell could see that the man was getting tired. The doctor turned back to Guyzell, “As you said, I have been having some trouble with my staff lately, and I am concerned for their well-being. And I am not used to late night comic-book deliveries at my lab. On top of that, your friend here seems evasive with his answers. I am simply trying to find a way to assuage my own concerns while speeding you on your way.”

Guyzell countered, “You’re saying you don't trust me? I’m a man with a bible in my hand.”

Dr. McGovern rolled his eyes. “I’m afraid that is not good enough.”

Guyzell decided he was not getting anywhere with this negotiation. It was time for a new tactic. He stepped across the room to get some distance from the guard, and pulled out his cell-phone, flipping it open and putting his thumb on the keypad. “I’m tired of being here, Doctor, and I want to leave. I am now calling my attorney, and after that, I will be calling the police.”

The crew-cut guard started to move to grab Guyzell’s phone. Guyzell used his free hand to flip open his jacket, revealing his .44 Magnum. Guyzell looked the guard straight in the eye, “You don’t want to do that, mister.”

The guard stopped and looked at Dr. McGovern. The doctor stood up and held his hands out, palms up, to Guyzell, “Please hang up the phone, Brother Cooper.”

The guard cocked his head and put his finger to his ear. He listened to his radio earpiece for a minute, then reported to Dr. McGovern, “We’ve got a visitor…a black male up front…wants to speak to you.”

Joe grinned from ear to ear, “That’s my bodyguard.”

Dr. McGovern tensed up further. Guyzell could see the man trying to determine an appropriate reaction to a situation that was rapidly spinning out of control. Guyzell saw his moment now, to take control of the situation for everyone. He calmly closed his jacket back up again to hide the gun, flipped his phone closed with a smile, and offered his directions in a soothing voice, “Dr. McGovern, you should go speak to your new visitor. He will be able to back up our story, and then this can all be taken care of.”

The doctor seemed completely unsure now of what to do. He nodded silently, took Guyzell’s directions, and left the room.

. . .

Willie bristled at the security around him, but tried to act more annoyed than worried. Two guards behind him, and one in front lead him out of the lobby and down a hallway. They passed a janitor mopping the floor. Willie noted that the mop water was pink, and he wondered if the man was cleaning up a blood stain, but decided not to say anything yet.

The entourage stopped at a small break room with a table and a snack machine. After a moment, a grey-haired man in a lab coat entered after them. Willie immediately noted what looked like blood stains on his lapel. 

Willie took the initiative. He extended his hand warmly, “Dr. McGovern, I presume?”

Dr. McGovern nodded, with a confused look on his face, “Yes, may I help you?”

Willie nodded. “I believe I can help you, sir. My name’s Wilson Lamar. I work for you.”

Dr. McGovern’s brow creased, “You work for me?”

Willie nodded again and smiled. “I’m a private investigator. Your company hired my firm in regards to the matter of Dr. Hudson?” When the doctor slowly nodded in response, Willie continued, “I just wanted to keep you posted on my activities and share a little information with you.”

Dr. McGovern seemed completely lost, “Wait…so you are _not_ here with the other two gentlemen?”

Willie decided to make a gamble. Really, he was flying by the seat of his pants here. He answered, “Two other gentlemen? Oh…the preacher and the fat guy in the trench coat? Yes I am acquainted with them. They are associates of mine. But really, Doctor, I’d like to focus on Dr. Hudson. I was hoping you could fill in some blanks for me---” 

Willie got interrupted. From somewhere down the hall, a man was screaming.


----------



## ledded

Damn, OldDrewId.  You just keep getting better and better.  

And three updates this week!  Yowsa.


----------



## Eyas

Yes, I most definately agree with ledded. Better and better.....


----------



## nobodez

It's just so good! Can't wait for more, come on, go for Four!


----------



## aros

so yesterday i found this thread.  today i finished reading it.  and now i want more!  great work and compliments to all involved


----------



## fenzer

Excellent Drew.  I love this kind of improv.  The players really have to think on their feet.  

Thanks for the three posts.  You are spoiling us.


----------



## SweeneyTodd

I just wanted to say that this Story Hour has been a great inspiration in running my own game, which is sort of D20Modern meets Unknown Armies. Thanks for the brain food.


----------



## Eyas

fenzer said:
			
		

> Excellent Drew.  I love this kind of improv.  The players really have to think on their feet.
> 
> Thanks for the three posts.  You are spoiling us.




You have no idea just how true this statement is. Especially when you have OldDrewId's situations and Joe's actions. To be fair, though, I think that some of the things Joe does keeps OldDrewId on his toes too.


----------



## ledded

Eyas said:
			
		

> You have no idea just how true this statement is. Especially when you have OldDrewId's situations and Joe's actions. To be fair, though, I think that some of the things Joe does keeps OldDrewId on his toes too.



I think this is really the key to our games being as much fun as they are.

We are all pretty creative adults, with OldDrewId being the Captain of Creativity.  It's almost as if we constantly challenge each other to keep on our toes, with everyone being as authentic and creative as they can most of the time.  Drew is a fantastic world-builder, writer, and compulsive researcher;  if he even touches on it in a game you had better believe that he's done some homework on it.  The rest of us occasionally GM to give him a break, and the bar he sets makes it even more fun when someone else gets into the chair for a little bit; they know they have to do something good.  And as a player, OldDrewId is absolutely and totally unpredictable and, well, often insane;  the epitome of chaos.  Fludogg is an even more chaotic and hilarious force of nature, Eyas is a profoundly good player, and Pierce is one of the most immersive and diverse roleplayers I've ever seen in my life.  It's all I can do to keep up with those guys  

A week doesnt go by when there are at least 3 or 4 moments where everyone is laughing so hard we have to stop for a few minutes to recover, while there are often moments of extreme (and sometimes moving) drama or tension.  I almost hate to admit it, but I've even almost gotten choked up once or twice (Taylor 1's death was especially moving).

It's the most fun group I've ever played with, and I look forward to each week like christmas;  everyone's nearly boundless enthusiasm for the game is infectious and is a major influencing factor of our corresponding Mad Miniatures Disorder, which you can glimpse in the link from my sig below.

Yep, I luv this group like a fat kid love cake.


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## aros

bump ba bump bump buuuuuuump.  i love the story hour and boy do i ever wanna hear more!!


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## caixa

ledded said:
			
		

> Yep, I luv this group like a fat kid love cake.





You know, I truly doubt I could have said it any better.  However, as an outsider drooling, er looking in, I would have to edit to say this:

"Yep, I luv this story hour like a fat kid loves cake."

Keep it up Old Drew Id!  And, its good to hear the players' comments as well, so keep "commenting"!

Peterson (Yes, that Peterson; the one with the WotC Homebrew Thread: Castle Lionguard)


----------



## Broccli_Head

You know what sux? I'm only on page 2...so I have up to 14 more pages to get through 

However, I love the story so far even after session 1. Had to comment! Love Wille and the Preacher, and the way that already I can see them playing off each other. Hope it continues! Don't let me know...please...

Joe Empire reminds me of some of the players I game with....if you had him addicted to a multiplayer online rpg, he'd be a deadringer 

OK...back to readin'

BH


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## Eyas

Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> You know what sux? I'm only on page 2...so I have up to 14 more pages to get through
> 
> However, I love the story so far even after session 1. Had to comment! Love Wille and the Preacher, and the way that already I can see them playing off each other. Hope it continues! Don't let me know...please...
> 
> Joe Empire reminds me of some of the players I game with....if you had him addicted to a multiplayer online rpg, he'd be a deadringer
> 
> OK...back to readin'
> 
> BH




No, I believe I am the only one of us addicted to MORPG's. Joe's player, for all that Joe himself use's computers, is barely in the information age and *gasp* does not even have net access at his house.


----------



## GM Iago

Hello all!

I've been reading the game board now since about page 3 or 4 and have loved every moment of it.  Hope everyone keeps it up!

I do have a question...okay, I have several dozen questions, but will only trouble you with just one question (for the time being): I noted a comment by ledded that Old Drew is a "compulsive researcher".  Over these months I've noted the depth of reality in the game and loved every moment of it.  Simply put, I was wondering which magazines, websites, TV shows, etc. you might use for the game.  Of course, if this might prove a problem for your players to know, I fully understand side-stepping/ignoring the question, but I was just curious about where you get your information from.  

Thanks and I wish the thread the best of luck!!


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## Pierce

GM Iago said:
			
		

> I do have a question...okay, I have several dozen questions, but will only trouble you with just one question (for the time being): I noted a comment by ledded that Old Drew is a "compulsive researcher".  Over these months I've noted the depth of reality in the game and loved every moment of it.  Simply put, I was wondering which magazines, websites, TV shows, etc. you might use for the game.  Of course, if this might prove a problem for your players to know, I fully understand side-stepping/ignoring the question, but I was just curious about where you get your information from.




I can't speak for Old Drew - actually, sure I can!    I know that he has a list as long as your arm of sites he uses for research.  Obviously, the bulk of our stuff is pulled off the web, though Ledded for one has brought in books like "Idiot's Guide to Private Investigation" (I  you not!).  I "guest directed" Episode 5 and pulled quite a bit of stuff right off the web.  In game, the players would do research - those with computer use, especially - and I would then hand over printouts of Google search results which led them to the next set of questions.  Since the game is based in our home town, we can also pull from the local newspaper and TV.  Local politicians, celebrities and generally well-known people often crop up.  Oh, and finally there are instances where we have simply off the wall stuff.  For instance, the sewer and power grids figure prominently in my episode.  So when Ledded happened across a power grid map of the region and brought it in on just the night when the players went to talk to the local power company - damn, that was sweet:

Power Company Guy: Hey there, what can I do for you?
Players: We need to know where the major substations are in the area.
PCG: Well, if we take a look at the grid here (pulls out 3' by 4' plat of the Alabama Power Grid) - you can see that there's a major station here and minor substations here here and here...
P: HOLY CRAP!!  WHERE DID YOU GET THAT!!!???
Ledded: Woohoo!  Bonus XP!!!
Me (DM):  Woohoo!  Freak out the players!!!


----------



## ledded

Pierce said:
			
		

> I can't speak for Old Drew - actually, sure I can!  I know that he has a list as long as your arm of sites he uses for research. Obviously, the bulk of our stuff is pulled off the web, though Ledded for one has brought in books like "Idiot's Guide to Private Investigation" (I  you not!).



Yeah, and I actually read it too, along with several other books on investigative techniques and PI training information. Imagine OldDrewId's annoyance when I have Willie do something or search for some info and he asks "are you sure you can do that" or "is it really that easy to get an address on someone with an unlisited number?" and I grab out my references and go all Claven on him; even worse is quoting the web sites from memory that licenses P.I.'s use to get info from. Sometimes I think he really hates me  



			
				Pierce said:
			
		

> I "guest directed" Episode 5 <snip>
> 
> Power Company Guy: Hey there, what can I do for you?
> Players: We need to know where the major substations are in the area.
> PCG: Well, if we take a look at the grid here (pulls out 3' by 4' plat of the Alabama Power Grid) - you can see that there's a major station here and minor substations here here and here...
> P: HOLY CRAP!! WHERE DID YOU GET THAT!!!???
> Ledded: Woohoo! Bonus XP!!!
> Me (DM): Woohoo! Freak out the players!!!



THAT was a great moment in a *very* well done episode.

Yeah, they make fun of me, but when I come in with a gigantic COLOR (you forgot to note that the various pipelines and trunks were denoted in color, P, it does make a difference) map of the entire power grid of the southeastern states that's bigger than a throw rug then I'm everyone's friend.

Oh no, but actually have a pair of bolt-cutters, gasmask, and bag of beef jerky in the trunk of your car (detailed exact location on your equipment sheet) and a good reason to have them and all of a sudden you're the putz  

Seriously though, OldDrewId is also an extremely well-read individual. He is of course the master of all web research and information gathering, but he is also a very intelligent guy who reads a ton of different and varied things.  He also spends a lot of time thinking about the various horrible and mentally scarring things he likes to do to us, and as a result is also the master of in-game props too.  I was once killed by a poisoned message that I was handed to read in a D&D game, and actually cut my finger on the thing tying it together.  I couldnt actually wonder about how I got poisoned then, could I?  (BTW, that was the coolest character death I've ever had in an RPG and it wasnt even in combat).

Plus the OldDrewId watches lots of TV.


----------



## fenzer

You guys are an inspiration.  That's it, no more no less.  Pure unadulterated inspiration.


----------



## Broccli_Head

Aha! Made it to page 11...the beginning of episode 2!

Like the development of Willie's character...a lot. 

Kinda cool how I wandered over to Medallions d20. It started with C. Baize's *Amerianarchy*, which led to ledded's SH, *We were like Gods....*, plus it helped that ledded checked out my story   

And I realize that I've been missing the party. Everyone is over HERE. Mabye Joe's right about Conspiracies after all


----------



## fenzer

I understand Broccli_Head except I took the opposite route.  I started with Medallions, then We were like Gods and just last night found Amerianarchy.

Drew, I need a hit.  Post soon.


----------



## ledded

Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> Aha! Made it to page 11...the beginning of episode 2!
> 
> Like the development of Willie's character...a lot.



Thanks.  I'd like to take all the credit, but playing off of the other cool characters and OldDrewId's masterful storycrafting/GM'ing have helped lead me on the path that I'm on.   Stay tuned, though, some *very* strange and traumatic things happen to Willie in the future that take him down some... different... paths. 



> Kinda cool how I wandered over to Medallions d20. It started with C. Baize's *Amerianarchy*, which led to ledded's SH, *We were like Gods....*, plus it helped that ledded checked out my story



Americananarchy is one of my fave's right now, but I'd like an update.  Thanks for checking out my little corner of the SH world too.  Your story has actually inspired me for a few places in my own SH.



> And I realize that I've been missing the party. Everyone is over HERE. Mabye Joe's right about Conspiracies after all



Oh yeah baby, *all* the cool people come and hang out here every now and then.  If you ain't reading this Story Hour, you ain't hip.  It's got everything... evangelical preachers, hip black PI's, action, mystery, adventure, intrigue, humor, pain, horrible monsters and completely certifiable, socially inept comic book store owners.

What more could you want?

It's funny in how the coming episodes there is an eerie undertone of Joe being right about things that noone else believes, especially when he is so far in left field with some of the stuff he does.  And it rubs off on us too.  Willie no longer bats an eye when Joe links some strange happening to an obscure issue of Green Lantern;  he just sort of nods his head and goes on about his business.



			
				fenzer said:
			
		

> You guys are an inspiration. That's it, no more no less. Pure unadulterated inspiration.



Ok fenzer, THAT is going in the sig real soon.  Thanks from all of us.



			
				Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> <snip>...Joe Empire reminds me of some of the players I game with....if you had him addicted to a multiplayer online rpg, he'd be a deadringer



Oh, just wait until we find out that Joe's "uncanny" driving and piloting abilities actually stem from his many, many hours of driving/flying simulations on playstation.  Of course, we also find out that his playstation doesnt have those funny pedals and stuff like *real* helicopters do...

I want to get Pierce to do a one-off again for the group (he guest directed episode 5) because he wrote an "in-between episodes" scene like the one I did for Willie a while back that was pure *gold*;  I think he would write a spectacular story hour if we could convince him to do it.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Episode II – Session I - Revelation*

*Episode II – Session I - Revelation*

The guard grabbed his head, screamed, and dropped to his knees. He looked up at Joe, with his eyes wide, clearly in a panic, with a trickle of blood leaking down his upper lip. Joe yelped in surprise and took a step back from the guy, and even Brother Cooper jumped back across the room to stand over by the curtained wall. 

Joe glanced over at the door. With the guard disabled, they could make a break for it. But then the guard was saying something, choking out the words through clenched teeth. Joe looked back over at the guard for a second, trying to decide. 

The guard gasped out the words, “It…hurts!…Make…it…stop!”

Joe cursed. He wanted very much to get out of here. He had seen Alien, and he sure as hell had seen Outbreak. He didn’t want to get stuck in here while the nosebleed-migraine monster worked its way through the Men-In-Black, and he damn sure wasn’t gonna let them inject any kind of Mr. Weaver disease into him, whatever that was. But now here he was, the hero of this group, the one everybody looked to for guidance, and the guy really did seem to be in pain. And more importantly, there was something in the way the guy was kneeling there, wild eyed staring across the room, with blood on his chin, that reminded Joe of something. 

It reminded Joe of Taylor Chu. 

Joe cursed again. He could help this guy. At least, he thought he could. He made a decision. Joe Empire was not gonna let somebody else die on his watch. 

Plus, he would probably need to swipe that guard’s keys to unlock the door out of here anyway. 

Joe unzipped his backpack and removed two white candles from a pack he had been carrying with him now for weeks. He knelt down next to the guy and laid his hand down on the guard’s head. Brother Cooper started in behind him with a worried tone, “Joe…”

Joe shook his head, “Not now, preacher.” Joe used his free hand to break both candles with a pair of audible snaps. Then Joe *thought*.

_The world swam around him. He was a speck of dirt in a swirling cloud. He was lost: one speck among billions of specks of dust in a tornado-universe of chaos. 

He had no control over where he flew. Every particle around him swirled and circled, trapped and held by the maelstrom. None had power. None had control. None had the means to change their path. 

And then Joe moved of his own accord. He willed into existence the *Healing Vishanti Touch*.
_

The room came back into focus. Life-giving, healing energy was flowing through Joe like an electric shock. It flowed from his mind down through his heart, through his arm, into his hand, and then hit a barrier. The energy back-lashed sharply and bent backwards. It tore back through Joe’s arm like a needle of hot fire sliding through his veins heading back through his heart. He felt his pulse stutter as the energy-fire sweep up through his neck into his mind. Pain tore through his head. 

Joe pulled his hand back from the guy’s head and put it to his own nose. The spell had failed. His nose was bleeding, and his head was killing him. He sat down hard on the floor and cursed. He had messed up somehow, and the spell had misfired. He sure as hell paid the price for it too.

The guard didn’t even seem aware that Joe had ever touched him. He was still wailing and holding his head. His nose was bleeding the same as Joe’s, and he was staring wild-eyed over at Brother Cooper. 

Brother Cooper called out again, “Joe…”

Joe shook his head. Jeez, stupid Men-in-Black with their stupid Mr. Weaver injection disease, and Joe feeling sorry for them and trying to save them and live up to this stupid heroic image that everybody had of him, and now Brother Cooper wouldn’t even give him a minute’s peace. Joe patted the guard on the shoulder while he spit a gob of blood onto the floor. “It’s okay, preacher, I was just trying to heal him…” Joe dropped his hand down to the ring of keys on the guard’s belt and tugged it sharply. The key ring pulled away, and then snapped back sharply to the guard’s belt on one of those spring-lines, like a measuring tape. Joe spit again, “…and just make sure his keys were firmly attached to his belt…”

The door exploded inward. Joe looked up to see Dr. McGovern enter warily, with Willie right behind him, followed by two more guards. Joe noted proudly that Willie had his gun out. What the hell, it was worth a shot. Joe grabbed his head with both hands, letting them all see his bloody nose, “Aaaagh! You gave me SARS!” Blood dripped freely from Joe’s nose onto the tile floor. 

Joe opened one eye and glanced over at Dr. McGovern to see if he was buying the SARS story. The doctor looked a little angry, maybe a little worried, and a little confused, but he did not seem to be fooled. Willie looked completely lost. Well, so much for that plan. 

Joe looked down at the bright red droplets scattered about the room, as he and the guard both bled out onto the floor. He suddenly remembered the freaky Indian chief at the magic shop saying that they used blood as currency. Well, as long as he was here, might as well make a profit. He grabbed at Dr. McGovern’s lab coat and pointed at his nose, saying, “Hey, doc, can I get a beaker for this?”

. . .

Guyzell’s heart raced. Bad things were happening here, and they were happening quickly. Joe may well have gone mad. The guard had collapsed with the same sort of seizure that the dear woman in the hallway had experienced. Something was harming these people, and it was acting fast. 

Guyzell watched Joe accost the man on the floor. He was trying to do something to the man. Guyzell wasn’t sure if he was out to help the man or harm him, but he didn’t know himself what the right answer was right now. There was just too much going on, and none of it made any sense. 

The guard was gripping his head like he was in pain, and his eyes were wild with fright. But there was something else there. Guyzell saw something in those eyes. What was it?

Joe was doing something to the man, then he collapsed next to him, his nose bleeding freely. He mumbled something about healing the man, but it made no sense. Was he somehow affected to?

Still the man’s eyes were wild. They darted back and forth across the room. He must be in a seizure of some type, but no, there was a pattern there. Then Guyzell saw the pattern.

The guard kept looking back at the curtain on the wall. And every time he did, it seemed like his fear took a stronger hold on him, and his screams grew even louder.

Guyzell looked up at the curtain. He had ignored them when he had entered the room. He assumed they were a covering for a chalkboard, or a window. In truth, he had just ignored the curtains altogether, with everything else that had been going on. 

But whatever was going on with that guard, right now he was very scared of whatever was on the other side of that curtain.

Willie burst in to the room, with the doctor and a few more guards. Willie looked relieved to see them relatively unharmed, although Joe had clearly become completely irrational. The guards stood at the door, not sure if they wanted to enter or not. The doctor stood there next to Joe, now completely lost for a suitable response.

Willie yelled out in a commanding tone, “Somebody better tell me what the hell is going on up in here!” He looked over at Guyzell for support. 

Guyzell didn’t know what to say. He took a quick step forward, and yanked the curtains apart. 

The curtains parted, revealing a window into a huge room that was the size of a gymnasium. The lights in the room were a dim orange color, and details were hard to make out, because the window, and indeed the entire room, were covered in a substance that could only be described as webbing. But it was not the yards of glistening web that worried Guyzell. 

No, what worried Guyzell was the indistinct, shadowy, but unmistakable shape of a twenty-thousand pound spider moving through that room, slowly ambling its way in front of that window.


----------



## ledded

GREAT update, man.  Bravo.

Also, a player's update:

Last week, we had a session of Episode 7 of Medallions.

At one point, all of the players at once went perfectly quiet, looks of incredulity on their faces, for at least 10 seconds, staring at OldDrewId.

Fludogg broke the silence as he rose up from his seat, finger jabbing at OldDrewId, and said:

"you... You... Rat... BASTARD... DM!!!", and the room erupted in various vocalizations along the same theme for at least 5 minutes, OldDrewId just sitting there grinnin' like the friggin' Cheshire Cat the whole time.

A few minutes later, as Willie thought nothing of the fact that he was smoking a Kool and rapidly drinking whiskey straight out of the bottle in Brother Cooper's new house, he was even more amazed that he didnt even react when Brother Cooper lit one of Willie's Kools and took a long, hard swig off the bottle himself before handing it back.  Didnt.  Even.  Flinch.

OldDrewId... you are the RBDM that the world's greatest RBDM's should fear.

A RBDM's RBDM, of epic proportions.  Thank the powers that be that you are the twisted, creative individual that you are.


----------



## PennStud77

Wow,  I need to throw my voice into the herd... I found this SH only a couple of days ago, and have read feverishly every available moment until the most recent posts.  I've been so riveted that I couldn't even post ahead until I got the the end.  Can't wait to hear more, this is fantastic!!

The group I'm in now has lost a couple of players some months ago for various reasons, and now we are playing D&D and Star Wars.  Before that, though, one of the players who left GM'ed our first game of Spycraft, in which he interlaced some themes from CoC.  The frustrating part, which eventually led to the game's end, was that he didn't lace the group together any more than the mission-based format allowed, and the injection of the mystical and horrific elements of CoC only made our characters realize how unprepared for those elements the agents were.

All in all, I love the way these characters are brought in as part of the story; they're destined as part of this group, but yet still choose to be a part of it all the time.  I love the way the mystical elements are brought into the story, Joe learning magic as a new thing, and the way that the magic has such high prices.  The way Willie picked up that gun and shot that guy on the crane, I almost cheered, and having a character (yes, an NPC, but one that had been with them from the beginning) die as part of the climax.  I'm speechless.


----------



## caixa

Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> No, what worried Guyzell was the indistinct, shadowy, but unmistakable shape of a twenty-thousand pound spider moving through that room, slowly ambling its way in front of that window.




Oh. my. son. of. a. damn.  That was too sweet for a single expression.  Drew, you amaze me, shock me, utterly twist a story into reality.  I envy and feel sorry for your players at the same time.  I have no idea what they saw in their mind's eye, but if *you ever again make me see something that damn creepy so completely that I actually said, outloud, in a medical clinic with my boss just down the hall a certain four letter word that isn't spelled c-r-a-p but means the exact same thing...* er, I mean - wow, good job at translating a verbal/text medium into such an effective, jaw-dropping mental imagery!  Especially after reading Ledded's reply post about Ep. 7 - I can't wait!  I want to know what it takes to make Fludogg actually get that worked up - especially if the events you've chronicled (so well I should add) so far has not done so already.  

Brother Cooper drinking and smoking?  _I flinched at reading that!_

Peterson


----------



## ledded

caixa said:
			
		

> Oh. my. son. of. a. damn. That was too sweet for a single expression. Drew, you amaze me, shock me, utterly twist a story into reality. I envy and feel sorry for your players at the same time. I have no idea what they saw in their mind's eye, but if *you ever again make me see something that damn creepy so completely that I actually said, outloud, in a medical clinic with my boss just down the hall a certain four letter word that isn't spelled c-r-a-p but means the exact same thing...*



Oh, and you can't hear the horrifying spider-walk sound that he makes when he describes something like this coming at you.  *shudder*

Yeah, well, this is the *very* reason that we only play at the only single guy's house.  The actual screaming that goes on would unsettle most people with wives and family.  That, and he's the only one with a basement large enough to house all of our stuff.

But don't feel sorry for us players, we *love* this kind of abuse.  Thrive on it.    



			
				caixa said:
			
		

> er, I mean - wow, good job at translating a verbal/text medium into such an effective, jaw-dropping mental imagery! Especially after reading Ledded's reply post about Ep. 7 - I can't wait! I want to know what it takes to make Fludogg actually get that worked up - especially if the events you've chronicled (so well I should add) so far has not done so already.



Sheesh, Fludogg is always worked up about something.  You don't think that OldDrewId makes all that crazy stuff up that Joe does do you?  That's pretty much 99% all Fludogg, a constant attention-deficit whirlwind of chaos and pop-culture.  Of course, this time he had damn good reason to freak out.



			
				caixa said:
			
		

> Brother Cooper drinking and smoking? _I flinched at reading that!_
> Peterson



Dont worry, I'm sure it wont become a habit.  Unlike Willie, who's been drunk since the second episode.  But when we get to the Story Hour with that part, all of you folks going *gasp* and *omigod* at that now will in turn just sit there, shocked, bewildered, and befuddled and go "yeah, that's about what I'd do" and take another hit off the bottle.

Sometimes I actually think I'm becoming afraid of OldDrewId.  I mean, any *sane* man would be.   

But it's that good, healthy, "I know I heard a noise and I shouldnt open that door and check it out because guys like me are always the first ones to get whacked but man I gotta know what's out there" horror movie kinda fear.


----------



## fenzer

Damn it Drew!  Between you and Ledded I can't get any work done.  Here I am like some kid trying to sneak in a quick puff on a cigarette without his parents noticing.  I'm on the job in a server room reading instead of finalizing an image I need to roll out to a bunch of computers.

Damn you guys all of you, Fludogg, Pierce, Eyas, Ledded, Drew!  You're all like some kind of crazy addiction. 

It's just a story hour, you say, just a game.  We're all friends just having a good time.  Well let me tell you something people, it's more than that and I thank you for it.  You guys are carrying on in the tradition set up by the likes of John Rogers and "p-kitty" and if I may say, taking it to a higher standard.

Thank you again for the time and energy it takes to bring us along on your great adventures.  Here's hoping for a great many more!


----------



## Pyske

Another new reader here, having just polished off the Story Hour (and the WWII SH day before yesterday).  Extremely well written; you have me hooked.  I look forward to the next update.

 . . . . . . . -- Eric

PS -- And I'm glad to see the spider early in the story, since it probably means there are even bigger plot twists still to come.


----------



## aros

i just cant let this SH fall this far from the top so here is a nice little shameless *bump*


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## Broccli_Head

Holy (or is it Un-holy) Giant Spiders, OldDrewID!

Finally caught up, now I can demand MORE!


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Episode II – Session I - Information*

*Episode II – Session I - Information*

Willie staggered back from the maddening view beyond that window, his mouth hanging open. His fingers tightened around the suddenly insignificant weight of his pistol as he tried to get a handle on the situation. His eyes darted left and right, surveying the reactions of the other men in the room, hoping that someone might offer him an explanation for what he was seeing. 

Brother Cooper was staring blankly into the window, still holding the edge of the curtain tightly in his hand. His lips were moving, probably forming a prayer or a Bible verse, but no sound was coming out. Joe was still kneeling on the floor, trying to prevent a handful of blood from dripping out of his nose, while at the same time staring dumbly at the window.

Willie stammered out, “Coop, you…you okay? Wait…is that guard okay?”

Joe whined nasally from the floor, “Oh, I see, don’t even ask about me, Willie. Glad to see you care.”

Joe’s sarcasm broke some of the tension. Brother Cooper managed to find his voice, ignoring Willie’s question and spinning around to face Dr. McGovern, “Oh…my…Lord! What is that thing?!?”

Dr. McGovern took a deep calming breath and responded in an even tone, “Gentlemen, there’s nothing to be alarmed about. Guards, please take your comrade there to the infirmary.”

Willie wheeled the gun around and leveled it at McGovern. “Oh, no! I don’t think so. I’d say there’s f&*%in’ *plenty* to be alarmed about up in here! I think you better start telling me what the hell is going on around here or I’m spraying brains all over the wall!”

Dr. McGovern swallowed hard, then slowly but decisively turned away from the gun and spoke to Brother Cooper. His voice was more insistent now, “Close the curtain please, and lower your voices. It makes Mr. Weaver nervous---”

Brother Cooper glanced back and forth across the room, “Who the…heck…is Mr. Weaver?!?”

Dr. McGovern stepped slowly away from Willie’s gun and lightly pulled the curtains from Brother Cooper’s grasp. He closed the curtains carefully, hiding the window completely before turning back around to face the room. “If you come with me, I’ll explain everything.” 

Willie took another deep breath. He carefully holstered his gun and took a step back away from the door. The guards mirrored Willie’s movement, leaving the door open for Dr. McGovern. Willie menaced, “Your explanation better be damn good, or in about five minutes I’m calling the cops.”

Joe stood up and made a disgusting snorting sound, “Are you crazy? What are you waiting for? I’m calling animal control _right now_!” Suddenly Joe darted through the open door and ran down the hall. The guards flinched to go after him, but Willie moved to intercept. Joe continued on down the hall towards the exit.

. . .

Crystal ripped the throttle back and the bike rocketed forward across the parking lot. She kicked hard left and the bike spun out in a smooth curve, stopping her cold in front of the building entrance. In one practiced motion, she dropped the kickstand, rolled off the side of the bike, drew her shotgun from the rear saddle bag, and scurried backwards a few steps. 

Willie’s Lincoln Continental rolled in right behind her with menacing choreography, Taylor grinning at the wheel. The trunk popped open and Taylor was outside the car now, darting around to back of the vehicle. Crystal met him there. 

With the trunk open, there were a half-dozen boxes of gear. Everything from binoculars to ski masks to wading boots. Willie _definitely_ planned ahead. Crystal shoved her pump-action shotgun into Taylor’s hands and pulled out two weapons from Willie’s hidden cache. In her left hand, Willie’s ten gauge. In her right, Guyzell’s twelve-gauge. Of course, if things went according to her plan, she would only need to fire one. 

Crystal checked out Taylor as she flicked the safeties off on both her weapons. He didn’t look completely comfortable. If this was going to work, he at least needed to look like he knew what he was doing. She gave him a once over, “Now you just wait here, right? You any good with a shotgun?”

Taylor pondered it for a minute, then answered with a grin, “Probably.” He pumped the gun once to produce that menacing “cha-chink” sound, then seemed quite satisfied with himself. 

Crystal knew that he couldn’t see her rolling her eyes at him, with her motorcycle helmet on, but she had to do it anyway. She sighed and told him, “You might want to pick up that unused shell you just ejected.” 

While Taylor muttered something like “keech” and bent down to pick up the shell from the ground, Crystal rushed around the car and ran up to the building entrance. She wasted no time with the intercom or the camera, as she leveled the twelve-gauge at the doorknob. The gun kicked wildly as she fired one-handed, but she managed to find her target, and the doorknob exploded in front of her. 

The door weakly swung open. Two very surprised security guards stood on the other side, behind a bank of security monitors. Crystal stepped into the waiting area and brought both shotguns to bear. For a moment, she stood there silently, letting the full image of her entrance sink into them. Finally, she ordered, “Three of my friends are inside this building. I want them brought out. *Now!*”

The guards looked even more confused now. They turned and looked at each other, then back at Crystal. Suddenly the door to Crystal right swung open, and Joe staggered out into the lobby. He had what looked like a nasty bloody nose that he was trying to ameliorate by keeping a finger up each nostril. He waved to her as he ran past, before heading out into the parking lot. 

Crystal watched him run out into the parking lot and hop into Willie’s car. Slowly, she turned back around to check out the guards again, who were still sitting there with dumb looks on their faces. Her aim had wavered now, and the shotguns were both pointing a little low. It took her a moment to get her concentration back. She brought the shotguns back up and leveled them at the guards once more. 

“Alright…um…now I want the other two!”

. . .

Dr. McGovern processed slowly, almost mournfully up a set of stairs and then down a long hallway, flanked by two more security guards. Guyzell followed silently behind him, with Willie at his side and Crystal (still wearing her motorcycle helmet) bringing up the rear. Willie kept his hand inside his jacket, resting on the butt of his pistol, and it was only at Guyzell’s insistence that Crystal had given agreed to stop pointing the shotguns directly at the guards, though even he could not convince her to put the safeties back on. 

Guyzell couldn’t blame her, really. Psalm Twenty-Three kept running through his head, and he definitely felt a little safer having  Willie and Crystal there watching out for him, in addition to the usual rod and staff. 

The motley little group passed a couple of workmen along the way, who didn’t seem the least bit surprised by the open display of firearms in the hallway. Guyzell noticed the workmen were carrying several familiar-looking, long, narrow cardboard boxes with them, and was about to comment on the fact when Dr. McGovern stopped at an unmarked door. 

Dr. McGovern opened the door, and the two guards stationed themselves just outside. Dr. McGovern entered the room and invited the group to join him. Guyzell stepped through the door. 

The room was small. It was barely large enough for the conference table it hosted, and the eight chairs surrounding that table, plus a small whiteboard on an easel in the corner. There was no other furniture of note within the room, but then again, the furniture was not the real eye-catcher in the room anyway. What was much more interesting to Guyzell was the décor covering the walls. 

The ceiling and all four walls in the room were covered in aluminum foil. From floor to ceiling, the foil had been tacked to the walls, carefully lined up with a little overlap on each piece, so that the room as a whole was completely blocked in, inch-by-inch, with aluminum foil. 

“What the hell?” Crystal muttered as she entered behind Guyzell. 

Dr. McGovern nodded to the door behind them, “Please come in and close the door. We need to have the room sealed if we are going to talk.”

Willie followed in and closed the door behind him. Guyzell noted that the back of the door was similarly wrapped in aluminum foil, held in place by duct tape. With the door closed, Dr. McGovern noticeably relaxed, and collapsed into the chair at the end of the table. He rubbed his temples wearily with one hand and sighed heavily. 

Willie gave the doctor a minute to relax before starting in on his interrogation. “Doc, now you want to explain to me just what the hell is going on up in here? Starting with why we have to talk in a room that’s covered in tin foil? I’m starting to feel like a baked potato in here.”

Dr. McGovern nodded and leaned forward, cracking his knuckles as he spoke. “Well, it’s a long story. As for this room…and as a man of science it pains me to say something which sounds this juvenile, but…_the aluminum foil seems to block out the mind-control rays._”

. . .

Willie groaned, “Just what I need. Even *more* f%$#in’ crazy white people.”

Dr. McGovern nodded tiredly. “I would normally agree with you, Detective Lamar, but I think after what you all just witnessed downstairs, you must give me the benefit of the doubt.”

Brother Cooper sat down at the end of other the table and leaned forward to match Dr. McGovern’s posture. He started in diplomatically, “Doctor, I can see you are under a great deal of strain. Please, try to explain as best you can what is going on here, so we can do everything we can to assist you.”

Dr. McGovern sighed and continued, “I assume…well…let’s not assume anything. I’ll start at the beginning.”

“First off, spider web, which we call spider silk, is one of the strongest substances in the world. Ounce for ounce, it is stronger and lighter than steel, by a huge factor. Unfortunately, it is also extremely hard to come by in any meaningful quantities, which prevents man from making any serious use out of it.”

Crystal interrupted, “Is this the bio-steel thing again? We read all this already on your…well, anyway…we already know about all of that.”

Dr. McGovern had run out of surprised expressions at this point, so he just nodded and continued his story. “Well then, yes, as you know, a few years ago, a genetics research company in Canada created a crude technique where they put spider genes into a goat, and then were able to harvest spider silk from the goat’s milk.”

“Their technique was sound, and they already have some marketable uses for their silk, such as in producing light weight bulletproof vests and surgical sutures, er…stitches. But their silk is low-quality, and they can not produce it at the bulk rate that would really make it profitable. Put simply, they can not produce high-grade spider silk, and they can not do so in very large quantities. “

Willie covered his eyes with his hands as he made the logical leap to the rest of the story. “Oh no, don’t tell me you did what I know you did…man, you definitely are a bunch of f%$#in’ crazy white people…”

Dr. McGovern nodded and shrugged his shoulders, “Our firm sought to improve on their design through bypassing the goat-milk approach and working directly to genetically increase the size and production of silk-producing spiders.”

“We initially expected only a small increase in size or production, but we were astounded at our own success. We literally hit every nail on the head, on our first try, every step along the way. The process has taken over two years, but every time we met some variable, or some question of method or material, like circulatory enhancements for instance, every time we had to decide how to move forward, we just kept guessing the right answers on our first try. We’ve made leaps here that are decades ahead of anyone else in the field.”

Willie made a rolling gesture with his hand, “Okay, Doc, we get that you were brilliant. Can we get back to the bloody noses and the falling down screaming and all of that?”

The doctor paused for a moment, like he was unsure how to say what came next. He turned around in his chair, uncapped a dry-erase marker, and drew a quick diagram on the whiteboard behind him. As he rolled out of the way, Willie could see he had drawn a diagram of the body of a spider. 

Dr. McGovern continued, “You see, a spider’s body has two parts: basically a head and an abdomen. The head has the eyes and the brain, among other things. The brain on some spiders, especially jumping spiders, is actually pretty big for their size. About the same ratio to their body weight as a human brain is to a human. In fact, in some species, it can be four or even sixteen times bigger than that.”

Brother Cooper croaked out a very quiet little, “oh no…”

Dr. McGovern forged ahead, “We never really considered the consequences of such a size increase on the brain…and…well…Mr. Weaver downstairs…has a brain that weighs in at about two-hundred pounds.”

Crystal finally set her shotguns down on the table. She sat down in a chair and shook her helmeted head slowly from side to side. 

Willie tried to put everything together in his head, but the shock of everything was making it difficult. “So…your monster spider downstairs…Mr. Weaver…is a really smart bug, huh?” 

Dr. McGovern nodded. “Well, spiders are not really insects, but…”

Willie ignored the science lesson as he looked around the room again at the aluminum foil. Realization dawned on him, “…and with a brain that big…he’s what? Psychic?”

Dr. McGovern considered for a moment, and then nodded. “I’m a geneticist, not a…fortune teller. I don’t know exactly how any of it works, but we…found evidence that the behavior of certain employees was being…altered in a way that seemed to indicate a level of manipulation…”

Willie’s patience was wearing thin, “Oh, look, just say it! He was mind-controlling your staff. You would not be hanging out in a room covered in f%$#in’ tin foil if you didn’t think that.”

Dr. McGovern nodded.

Brother Cooper calmly started in again. “So, these aneurysms that your staff is experiencing – they are the results of this mind control?”

Dr. McGovern shook his head. “No. After we realized what was going on, we tranquilized and then lobotomized Mr. Weaver.”

“We now believe the incidents some of our staff have experienced following that event are the equivalent of mental spasms still occurring within the brain of Mr. Weaver. We are working to eliminate those spasms before they do any more harm.”

The room was quiet for a minute. 

Willie concluded, “So that explains the email we got from that Jack Sanders guy…”

Dr. McGovern nodded. 

Willie continued, “And the attacks everybody downstairs was having…” 

Dr. McGovern nodded.

Willie finished up, “And so your other doctor…Dr. Hudson…the one that is missing? You think he wandered off while he was under mind control by Mr. Weaver too?”

Dr. McGovern paused, swallowed hard, and shook his head, “No…we have videotape of Dr. Hudson leaving the building last night. He stole one of our trucks when he left…with *Mrs.* Weaver.”


----------



## weiknarf

O_O
holy crap

sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet


----------



## Hellzon

Mrs. Weaver!!??!!??

Neato.


----------



## Tellerve

he...he...hehehhee!! WEEE!!!  That was great, loved it all, and I see what you mean about background information for his games with the spider brains and everything.

I would be very interested in knowing if that was a fact you stumbled upon while making the adventure or if that was something that prompted the adventure.  Along with the indian mythos of the woman spider it just all so greatly fits together.  Then again, I guess that's what great DMs do, I'm just trying to learn how to do it as well.

Tellerve


----------



## Old Drew Id

Tellerve said:
			
		

> I see what you mean about background information for his games with the spider brains and everything...I would be very interested in knowing if that was a fact you stumbled upon while making the adventure or if that was something that prompted the adventure...
> Tellerve




Definitely before the adventure, but not neccessarily what prompted it. 

I had crudely mapped out the first and second episodes of Medallions before we ever started, and by the middle of Episode II I had mapped out Episode VI. (Episodes III, IV, and V were directed by fludogg, ledded, and pierce respectively.)  I don't necessarily write out entire episodes or anything like that. I just collect ideas from different sources and then pull them together into a single adventure.

I do try to research well ahead of the game, though, because I can never be sure how much time I will have in the days leading up to a new episode to put things together. Specifically, we ran this session (session 1 of Episode II) on June 11, 2003, but I was doing the spider research by May 14, 2003, because I stil have some of those web sites listed in my "Favorites" folder in my browser. 

As for what prompted the adventure, I wanted to be sure (based on player feedback) that the first few episodes of Medallions ran the spectrum of possibilities, from horror to sci-fi to magic-mystical to conspiracy-centric. I didn't want to establish a pattern where the villain, the level of mystery, the tone, etc. was the same from episode to episode. I wanted there to be "funny" episodes, and dark episodes, etc. and some that were more grounded in reality and some that were completely out of left field. 

So, when Episode I was all about conspiracies and magic, I wanted (at least initially) for Episode II to be more of a classic monster-of-the-week. And in my group, from three years of D&D 3.0, giant spiders always rated highly on the goosebumps scale, so that had to be where I started. 

After I decided on giant spiders, I found a compiled list online of basically the top 10 "origins" of movie monsters. The list was stuff like "built in a lab", "found frozen in arctic ice", "from outer space", etc. Being already familiar with Bio-steel just from being a trivia geek, plus knowing that Birmingham is an international hot-spot of advanced genetics and research, the lab connection stuck. 

Unrelated side note here, as a DM: My original plan for this session was nowhere near how it turned out. I do not railroad my players. (Although I do occasionally lay tracks out in front of them and then chase them with a train.) My initial outline for this session was a good long stretch of investigation with some minor freak-outs here and there, and only after several more leads pointed to RGI would the group _probably_ decide to go there and sniff around. Instead, (1) unexpectedly Joe decides to fixate on the idea that the key to everything is at RGI, and (2) suddenly decides that directly barging his way in, in the middle of the night, is the best way to confront this issue and (3) even more unexpectedly, he convinces everyone else that this is a good idea. So suddenly a whole session of hints and allegations becomes a "what do I do when they are already banging on the door?" kind of thing. Actually, a lot of Dr. McGovern's confused tone with being unsure how to handle these people who might be either helpful or threatening was easy to roleplay because I was scrambling to catch up. But, I knew from my timeline what was going on at RGI that night with the "spasms", so I figured hey, if they come in that night, then they are gonna see this, so just let them see it and let the plot fall where it may. They cleverly skipped part of the plot and jumped right into the middle, which is why it seems like they suddenly got a whole lot of info in a very short time. 

Anyway, now I'm rambling... thanks for reading, and stay tuned for the next update, where the group finds out the _bad_ news.


----------



## GM Iago

Wow...damn...wowdamnholycrapolla!

That's just great.  That is absolutely spectacular.

Also, I wanted to thank you very much for the links to the websites.  That goes three steps beyond answering my earlier question.  Thats just great and the writing is still amazing.

If I can pop another question into the fray, has the group/plotline gone back to any of the people/places that they've already encountered?  You're style in this game seems, thus far (though I know we're only up to Episode #2) to be single-shot adventures.  I was wondering if you (or the part-time DM's) have connected any of the Yet-To-Be-Seen episodes to the old ones.  I saw a couple of leads in the first episode that never got mentioned again or I plainly forgot about (it has been a while since I've read them, which reminds me to go back there).

I ask because, when I formulate a game, I tend to give it an over-arching plotline while sprinkling several smaller side-adventures into the fray.  I saw, in the initial Episode, a great opportunity there to give the game an over-all plot in dealing with the Big Bosses and CEO's of the hospital.

Anyway, I'm starting to ramble and I wanna stop right now before I get lost.

Thanks for the great update!!

PS - Love the railroading/train tracks/train analogy.


----------



## Eyas

Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> Unrelated side note here, as a DM: My original plan for this session was nowhere near how it turned out. I do not railroad my players. (Although I do occasionally lay tracks out in front of them and then chase them with a train.).




Heh....and you have *NO* Idea how ironicaly true this statement is....yet.



			
				Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> My initial outline for this session was a good long stretch of investigation with some minor freak-outs here and there, and only after several more leads pointed to RGI would the group _probably_ decide to go there and sniff around. Instead, (1) unexpectedly Joe decides to fixate on the idea that the key to everything is at RGI, and (2) suddenly decides that directly barging his way in, in the middle of the night, is the best way to confront this issue and (3) even more unexpectedly, he convinces everyone else that this is a good idea.




Yes, quite often Joe is  our train, runing the wrong way on the DM's tracks. To be fair, we _tried_ to talk Joe out of it, but he is like a snapping turtle latched on to a piece of food when he gets an idea in his head, and just will not let go.



			
				Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> So suddenly a whole session of hints and allegations becomes a "what do I do when they are already banging on the door?" kind of thing. Actually, a lot of Dr. McGovern's confused tone with being unsure how to handle these people who might be either helpful or threatening was easy to roleplay because I was scrambling to catch up. But, I knew from my timeline what was going on at RGI that night with the "spasms", so I figured hey, if they come in that night, then they are gonna see this, so just let them see it and let the plot fall where it may. They cleverly skipped part of the plot and jumped right into the middle, which is why it seems like they suddenly got a whole lot of info in a very short time.
> 
> Anyway, now I'm rambling... thanks for reading, and stay tuned for the next update, where the group finds out the _bad_ news.




Followed imediately by even worse news


----------



## Eyas

GM Iago said:
			
		

> If I can pop another question into the fray, has the group/plotline gone back to any of the people/places that they've already encountered?  You're style in this game seems, thus far (though I know we're only up to Episode #2) to be single-shot adventures.  I was wondering if you (or the part-time DM's) have connected any of the Yet-To-Be-Seen episodes to the old ones.  I saw a couple of leads in the first episode that never got mentioned again or I plainly forgot about (it has been a while since I've read them, which reminds me to go back there).
> 
> I ask because, when I formulate a game, I tend to give it an over-arching plotline while sprinkling several smaller side-adventures into the fray.  I saw, in the initial Episode, a great opportunity there to give the game an over-all plot in dealing with the Big Bosses and CEO's of the hospital.
> 
> Anyway, I'm starting to ramble and I wanna stop right now before I get lost.
> 
> Thanks for the great update!!
> 
> PS - Love the railroading/train tracks/train analogy.




Oh yes, OldDrewId loves plot hooks. So much so that, things that seem innocent enough will come back to haunt you. Then again, like masocist, we keep feeding him *more* hooks as well as gleefully taking the bait on the hooks he has already set.


----------



## fenzer

Thanks Drew.  Wonderful reading!  Please post soon.


----------



## threshel

Very, very,   

I'll be back for more.  I just read the whole thing non-stop.  Except for necessity breaks, I couldn't turn away.

Ah, yes, to be a RBDM...  

J


----------



## Broccli_Head

Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> Anyway, now I'm rambling... thanks for reading, and stay tuned for the next update, where the group finds out the _bad_ news.




Oh hell, I can guess what is going to happen! Mrs. Weaver is 'pregnant'!!!!

Giant-mind controlling spiders on the loose...AAAAAAHHHHH!

_*Runs around screaming with arms waving wildly in the air*_

That would make me fail a Sanity roll for sure. BTW, do you use that mechanic?


----------



## Eyas

Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> Oh hell, I can guess what is going to happen! Mrs. Weaver is 'pregnant'!!!!
> 
> Giant-mind controlling spiders on the loose...AAAAAAHHHHH!
> 
> _*Runs around screaming with arms waving wildly in the air*_
> 
> That would make me fail a Sanity roll for sure. BTW, do you use that mechanic?




Well....not really, though each character, except maybe Joe who is fairly nuts already, has built in their own way to handle these 'Occurances" with out losing it. Stay tuned, though, as, so far, things have been fairly "normal". Things tend to go down hill from here


----------



## Old Drew Id

Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> That would make me fail a Sanity roll for sure. BTW, do you use that mechanic?




Officially, no, we do not use the sanity rules. But I _may_ be secretly using that mechanic and just not letting the players know that I am. Or that may be an outright lie. 

This is one of the many ways that I attempt to be a true RBDM.


----------



## zenld

How do the _players_ make their sanity rolls. I'm just reading it, and think I failed at least one.

I love this story! I hate this story! I fear this story!

More!

zen


----------



## PennStud77

Never heard the term RBDM.... What does it mean???


----------



## Lola

I can't believe it keeps getting better. 

giant spiders.... *_twitches_*... reminds me too much of work.


----------



## threshel

PennStud77 said:
			
		

> Never heard the term RBDM.... What does it mean???




I refer you here:


RBDM 

 
J


----------



## carpedavid

Absolutely fantastic. I remain in awe.


----------



## ledded

Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> Officially, no, we do not use the sanity rules. But I _may_ be secretly using that mechanic and just not letting the players know that I am. Or that may be an outright lie.
> 
> This is one of the many ways that I attempt to be a true RBDM.



Aw hell man, most of us just *assume* we are making them, and do things like "in between this episode, I'm going to go spend a couple weeks with my parents on the farm, thinking about dandelions and puppies and growing things". Or they do like Willie, and have bouts of alcholic binging followed by the occasional psychotic break (trust me, *these* have been warranted. We havent even gotten to *any* of the really scary stuff yet). Then, of course, there are the blackouts...  

It's kinda like gaming under a huge, invisible headman's axe. You *know* it's coming, but just not *when*.  

Of course, the axe analogy is really not fair to OldDrewId. No, an axe would be relatively painless in comparison... 

 




			
				Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> Unrelated side note here, as a DM: My original plan for this session was nowhere near how it turned out. I do not railroad my players. (Although I do occasionally lay tracks out in front of them and then chase them with a train.)



Save this quote and refer back to it later. It will seem so much more ironic then. 




			
				zenld said:
			
		

> How do the _players_ make their sanity rolls. I'm just reading it, and think I failed at least one.
> 
> I love this story! I hate this story! I fear this story!
> 
> More!
> 
> zen



Ah, grasshopper, you have achieved the first level of zen understanding to why we love our game so. Your reward is one grain of rice. 



			
				Lola said:
			
		

> I can't believe it keeps getting better.
> giant spiders.... *_twitches_*... reminds me too much of work.



Heh heh. Yeah. Heh. Stay tuned. One of the creepiest, sanity-strangling moments in the entire episode is upcoming, and the sad part is it has *nothing* to do with the spider.

Some things just make you wish they made a squeegie for your brain. And a nice lemon-scented cleanser. "Softens brains while you do the dishes". Heh.


----------



## PennStud77

...............................wow


----------



## caixa

Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> I do not railroad my players. (Although I do occasionally lay tracks out in front of them and then chase them with a train.)




Not only is this soon to become the one of the most "quotable quotes" on the boards, I plan on pasting this on my DM Screen - on the side that faces the players!  Thanks so much for that line, Old DrewID...classic.

Oh, and you spin such a wonderfully tangled web in your stories, especially naming it Mr. Weaver. (was that a pun?  That sounded like a pun.)

Take care, keep up the good work, and I can't wait to hear more...wonder if Fludogg will actually get up and walk out on you one of these day?  Nah!

Peterson


----------



## ledded

caixa said:
			
		

> <snip>
> 
> Take care, keep up the good work, and I can't wait to hear more...wonder if Fludogg will actually get up and walk out on you one of these day? Nah!
> 
> Peterson



Pshaw!  He does it all the time.  Just this week he stood up, went "No.  Uh-uh.  Nope." and walked out of the room shaking his head.

But he came back.  He always comes back.  We all do.   You just can't help yourself  

One of my other favorite OldDrewId-ism's comes from our D&D days.  Occasionally, especially when we would get too full of ourselves, he would bring on an encounter of such nastiness and pain that we would do the one thing that groups in D&D almost never do... flee, leaving behind pieces of our shredded group and remnants of our shatterred gear.

Upon having to put up with us b*tching and moaning about not getting XP for the encounter ("hey, if it makes you feel better, the bebelith that ate your +1 full plate nearly levelled.  Ha ha.") and leaving treasure behind, he would look at us, and with a smile, say:

"Ya know, sometimes survival is it's own reward"


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Episode II - Session I - Complication*

*Episode II - Session I - Complication*

Willie sighed again. “So, just to review, you have a missing scientist out there somewhere…with a spider bigger than an elephant…who also has mind-control powers?”

Dr. McGovern offered a simple silent nod in affirmation.

Brother Cooper interjected, “And when we do find her,” (Willie had to admire the Brother’s faith there. Not _if_ we find her, but _when_ we find her.) Brother Cooper continued, “what exactly should we do with her?”

The doctor responded as though there were only one logical answer, “Well, ideally, take her alive and bring her back here.”

Crystal responded wearily, “I assume you have some kind of tranquilizer we can use?”

The doctor considered for a moment, and then nodded, “I think we have something you could use, yes.”

Willie stood up, ready to get started. “Is there anything else we need to know?”

Dr. McGovern considered for a moment. “Well…Mrs. Weaver is a female…”

Crystal finished his sentence for him, “…and she’s pregnant, right?”

Willie gathered some small bit of hope from the doctor’s next statement: “Well, no…not exactly.” Unfortunately, Willie’s hopes were very short-lived, as the doctor continued, “You see, she lays eggs, rather than give birth to live young, so she can not, in fact, be _pregnant_, per se. But yes, she has received sperm from Mr. Weaver on a previous occasion.”

Willie ran his hand through his braids and tried to search for words to express his exasperation with this man. “Doc…how long until she lays her eggs?”

“Well, you see, it’s not that simple. The Weavers were engineered from a combination of several species…”

“How long, Doc? A rough guess’ll do fine…”

“No, you don’t understand.” Dr. McGovern’s eyes scanned the room like he was searching for the right word and was going to find it on one of the aluminum foil-covered walls. “You see, with some species of spiders, the female, once she receives the sperm, _can store it in her body indefinitely_. Effectively, she can fertilize her own eggs whenever she wants now, and can do that as many times as she wants, over the course of her entire twenty-year lifespan.” 

. . .

“So yeah, it’s kinda like the origin of the Justice League in that way, but probably more like the origin of the Avengers, what with the Dr. Strange connection and all, and you know, how we all had different backgrounds, but we were chosen for this by fate or whatever. But anyhow, that makes me Sorcerer Supreme, now I got *that* riding over my head, too. But I’m not too worried. I mean, your basic giant spider should be pretty easy to beat. I mean, there was that one movie where the Skipper managed to handle them, so--- ”

Taylor grimaced and decided to start playing with the knobs and dials on the dashboard in the hopes that he might find a radio volume knob where he could drown out the comic-book-freak sitting next to him in the shotgun seat. Taylor could tell, to give this Joe guy some credit, something had clearly scared the pish out of him in there, but there was no way to tell what that might have been. 

The little bit that Taylor could make out from what he had heard over the radio and what Joe had been blabbering about since coming back out to the car was that everyone had seen a giant spider. Unfortunately after that, Crystal must have gone too deep into the building or something, because he could not make out any real details after that. Occasionally he would catch Crystal’s voice on the radio, but he could not make out what she was saying. 

Taylor didn’t see what the problem was. So they saw a big spider. Somebody should just step on it, and get back to figuring out what was up with the missing scientist guy. 

Taylor tried several different knobs on the dashboard, while Joe kept on talking about Batman or something like that. Finally, Taylor twisted a knob and sound poured out of the radio. A live news report was being broadcast. It sounded like the announcer said a shooting, but he couldn’t tell over Joe’s talking.

“Wheesht! Listen, Ah think there’s somethin’ gaun oan.” Taylor turned up the radio.

Joe fell silent, and they both listened to the radio news continue, “…are attempting to cordon off an area on both ends of the street surrounding the night club…I see emergency personnel trying to get to two injured youths… who I think appear to be maybe Hispanic or Native American…but gunfire continues to erupt…This has to be the most violent confrontation that the Southside area has ever seen…all the windows in the front of the Music Hall have been shattered by gunfire…” 

Taylor fumbled with the hand radio that Willie had shown him, trying to remember which button was the one for sending. He remembered Crystal talking at the library about some Native American kids, and figured this might be something she would want to hear. He took a shot and pressed the big red button: “Crystal, Ah dinnae know ef ya can ‘ear me, but there’s somethin’ gaun oan ya may wanna give a listen ta.”

Joe ripped the radio out of Taylor’s hand, hit the transmit button, grinned ear to ear, and yelled into the radio, “Avengers Unite!”


----------



## Pierce

Yay!  Update!  I'm especially looking forward to the next few updates as the following session (Episode 2, session 2) has been the only Medallions session I've missed.


----------



## Spatula

<MST3K>Woooo!  The Packers won the Superbowl!</MST3K>

well, that's the only line I remember from the MSTing of Giant Spider Invasion...


----------



## fenzer

Go Avengers!


----------



## aros

just gotta get this back onto the first page


----------



## PennStud77

Bumpity bump


----------



## ledded

Over... two weeks... since... last update....

The men... are starting to think we're lost... the story hour seas are too calm...

Rations... running low...

Mutiny is afoot... must find the update soon... or else...


----------



## Angcuru

What?  That's it?  Where's the rest?! *holds down the PageDown key*  That can't be all of it, not yet!  No....NO...._NO_!!!!!

*runs through wall cartoon-style, leaving an Angcuru-shaped hole*


----------



## ledded

Angcuru said:
			
		

> What? That's it? Where's the rest?! *holds down the PageDown key* That can't be all of it, not yet! No....NO...._NO_!!!!!
> 
> *runs through wall cartoon-style, leaving an Angcuru-shaped hole*



     

Ok, now *that* was funny...


----------



## Angcuru

ledded said:
			
		

> Ok, now *that* was funny...



*bows*
Thank you, thank you.


----------



## GunMonkey

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

Ok, first I hate spiders.  Especially big ones. 

Second, I started reading this SH yesterday and have just reached the end.  I think that I may start crying if there's not an update soon.  I'm having withdrawal...can't...stop....shaking....


----------



## Henry

After I discovered this Story Hour yesterday, I kept reading through earlier responses, seeing people who were stuck with having just caught up only to find no more story to read, and I sat there smirking, because I had plenty of catching up to do.

Now, I find myself joining the chorus. Sigh.  

Damn, this is a good story. Drew, ledded, Pierce, Eyas, FLudogg -- marvelous work. Hats off to you.

C'mon, Drew! More Story! Avengers Unite!


----------



## ledded

Henry said:
			
		

> After I discovered this Story Hour yesterday, I kept reading through earlier responses, seeing people who were stuck with having just caught up only to find no more story to read, and I sat there smirking, because I had plenty of catching up to do.
> 
> Now, I find myself joining the chorus. Sigh.
> 
> Damn, this is a good story. Drew, ledded, Pierce, Eyas, FLudogg -- marvelous work. Hats off to you.



I can't speak for everybody but here's a big 'thanks' from me.  Though, truly, Drew has to take most of the credit.  Well, Drew and Fludogg.  I feel like we have a great group of roleplayers but Drew's uncanny gift for prose and research, and Fludogg's gift for the unique generation of chaos and laughter are extremely huge factors.  I think that one of the things that makes us love our Modern game so much is that it just plays as cool as it sounds written down;  there's just something about playing 'normal' people doing abnormal tasks in our own real-life hometown that really appeals to us.



> C'mon, Drew! More Story! Avengers Unite!



Oh... please.  Fludogg is enough of a comics geek in real life, and has Joe spouting the solution to every episode through the quotation of some obscure comic, so please don't encourage him


----------



## GunMonkey

the...shaking is almost...uncontrollable now...can barely type...gone too long without an update...feel faint...need fix bad...

BTW, let me join the chorus of 'ooohs' and 'aaahs', this story is awesome.  ledded, sounds like you guys have a killer group.  Due to this story and jonrog's Dark*Matter SH, I am dying to get a D20 Modern/Horror game going.  Now if I can just find some players....


----------



## Omega Lord

One word best quantifies this story hour, that word is Amazing. Hats off to Old DrewId and the gang for such a wonderful story hour.

When the curtain was pulled back my reaction was akin to that of sylvester in the looneytoons cartoon when he sees a kangaroo and thinks its a mouse "buh bi bi bi BIG BIiiiiG big" O_O. 20,000 lb spiders, fun.

Part of me wants to be on that hunting expidition. Part of me is eternally greatful I'm not, the sane part I think.

Keep up the good work guys!

P.S. PLEASE UPDATE!!!! going... into... withdrawl... cant... stop... shaking.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Episode II - Session II - Five Points South*

*Episode II - Session II - Five Points South*

The camera’s embedded spotlight focused in on a young female reporter huddled down in the back of a parked news van, peeking up over the empty front seat through the windshield at a city street. Gunfire sounded somewhere nearby. The reporter turned towards the camera and made a signal with her hand. A second later the light was extinguished, and the inside of the van was dark. 

“This is Andrea Huff reporting to you live from Twentieth Street and Five Points South, where gunfire has erupted…and is still going on…in a nightclub here in the heart of Southside and where apparently the violence has spilled out onto the street.”

The feed suddenly cut to a different camera, mounted on the roof of the van. The view zoomed in on the scene a block down the street.

“I’m not sure you’re able to see what we are seeing on our monitor here…my cameraman is signaling me…that yes, we are getting a picture here…As you can see, the area is still very dangerous right now. We’re going to maintain our position here behind cover for the moment and use our external camera for the moment. What you are seeing here is Twentieth Street South, in the heart of Southside. The police cars you are seeing were brought in to try to block off the area, but we are not seeing any policemen currently moving around in the area…”

The camera slowly panned across the street. The windows on many of the half-dozen police cars were shattered, as were the windows on several of the shops and bars on both sides of the street. A thick grey smoke was slowly seeping out of the windows of a large nightclub on the left where almost every window had been shattered. The camera paused for a moment pan up over the door of the club, to poetically frame the flickering marquee which was shattered in several places by bullet holes, emblazoned with “Five P…s Music Hall  S…rday Defenders of Dayb…k”

On the sidewalk were several bodies, including at least one uniformed police officer. Even from this distance, the camera had no problem picking up the bleeding wounds on those bodies. Another gunshot shattered a window in the background. The camera jerked up to point at the falling glass in the window and caught some movement nearby, but could not focus in on any shooter.

“What we are seeing now…um…well I want to apologize to our viewers for these graphic images. This is definitely a horrible tragic scene we are seeing here. We are still unclear on the exact cause of this violent…this outbreak of violence. It does appeared to be centered in on the Music Hall where apparently a gun battle broke out just moments ago. We know that police responded to the scene but apparently have not yet been able to secure the area…At this time we do want to advise anyone in the nearby Southside area to stay indoors and out of ---”

The picture suddenly went out of focus. A blurry image of a dark-colored car screeched into view, skillfully dodging between two parked police cruisers and fishtailing around the corner to come to a stop hidden behind a tour bus. The picture brightened for a moment, then darkened, then came back into focus. 

“We have a new arrival on the scene. We’re not sure…I couldn’t make out whether that was a police car or not, but---”

A black Harley-Davidson dodged the parked police cruisers in the same skillful manner as the blurry car had before it. The motorcycle stopped dead in the middle of the road. The rider was wearing a helmet hiding his face, but nothing hid the unmistakable shape of the shotgun the rider was balancing on the bike’s handlebars. 

“Um…I think we definitely have more people entering the area now, and this person is definitely armed with what appears to be---”

The rider started to slide off the bike, when headlights popped on in the background. The camera widened focus in time to see the shape of an El Camino roar out of an adjoining alley. The El Camino was gaining speed, and was aiming straight for the motorcycle rider. The rider leapt back onto the bike and darted forward again. The El Camino scrapped hard up against the side of the tour bus, showering the whole scene in sparks, but the motorcycle was already out of the way. The camera tried to follow but the motorcycle was already speeding up the hill on Twentieth Street, with the El Camino in pursuit. When both vehicles were out of sight, the camera swung back around to the nightclub again. A flurry of half  a dozen gunshots echoed down the street.

“I…want to remind our viewers again…this is a live situation, and this is a very dangerous situation. We have very little information about what is going on, but clearly there is a lot of violent activity going---”

The camera caught the movement of someone walking on the left beside the tour bus, but as it panned over, the image blurred again, and a grainy static began to overtake the image. 

“There is someone else out there now. This could be a police officer or this could be…well this could be anyone. We seem to be having some trouble with our monitor here…”

The camera watched as the blurry image of a person crossed the street. It stopped and hovered for several seconds on the sidewalk, near the pile of bodies. Gunfire sounded again from inside the club. Static erupted again across the image. 

“Alright, we’re definitely having some technical issues with our equipment, but there is definitely a figure out on the street now. I can see him myself from here. He’s definitely a white male. He seems to be doing something with the people on the sidewalk. This could be…maybe an out-of-uniform paramedic---“

The image shifted again, back to a grainy view of the darkened interior of the van. The image shifted as the cameraman tried to get up to get a good view through the windshield with the handheld camera. After a stomach-churning second or two of very erratic movement, the image stabilized again on the sidewalk with the bodies. The figure was gone. 

“Alright, we’ve switched back to our handheld again. And I am not sure what has just happened The man we just saw is not there now. I am not sure what just happened. Again I apologize for the technical difficulties we seem to be facing here. And I just have to commend the bravery of my crew here. Again this is a very dangerous situation, and Fox is here to give you coverage of these breaking events live---”

The handheld image was grainer, and the color was pitched a little too yellow under the light of the fluorescent streetlamps, but the camera clearly caught the image of an older adult male in a cowboy hat huddled up on the side of the tour bus, taking cover from the gunfire erupting in the club. Over one shoulder, he carried an unmoving body. Beside him, he heroically provided cover to two teenage boys. The camera captured the looks of fear on the boys’ faces perfectly, offset by the grim protective determination in the cowboy’s face beside them.

“We are seeing this situation develop as it happens, and I think we are seeing something very heroic here. I…I can’t say for sure but I see what a man that looks like…well I know this is going to sound crazy, but it looks like…well…it looks like the preacher at my church…Brother Guyzell Cooper…ohmigod, that *is* Brother Cooper. I don’t know why he is here, but he is definitely, I just have to say he is _heroically_ getting these victims out of the area.”

The camera watched as the preacher shuffled the teens from one section of cover to the next, huddling first behind a car, then a dumpster, then forward again. In a moment, he was nearing the van. The camera spun sideways. The reporter slid open the side door on the van and leapt out with her microphone. 

The preacher was clearly startled and confused for a moment, but he recovered and motioned the two boys forward, “You two…get in the van and stay down.” He gingerly set the girl down on the sidewalk behind the van. He took off his hat, and set it up as a pillow for the girl’s head. 

“Brother Cooper! What are you doing in this area? Do you know what the situation is inside the club?”

The camera caught the momentary confusion and frustration on his face, and watched as it vanished, to be replaced by a friendly but stern expression. 

“Miss Huff, do you know CPR? I mean…do you have a first aid kit in the van?”

The reporter paused, uncertain.

“Okay forget that, just come here. No, put the microphone down. Look, put your hands here, on her leg, and apply pressure. No, harder, press down…there you go. Keep your hands there.”

The sound was more hollow now, working just from the built-in microphone on the camera, but still audible. 

“But, Brother Cooper, what is going on? What is your involvement?”

“Miss Huff…” The preacher was clearly exasperated as he stood back up. Now that he was standing again, the image was even more evocative, as the camera showed the stains of the girl’s blood running down the front of his shirt. The preacher ran his hand through his thinning hair. “Look, I know you have a job to do…I’m not sure at all what is going on here. I was in the area and the Lord says when there’s people that need helping, you help ‘em, so here I am.” 

The preacher turned now and looked directly into the camera, “If there aren’t already at least …ten ambulances on the way, there better be. For you ambulance fellas, y’all can come up past the fountain and you shouldn’t ever be in the line of fire. I’ll try to bring whoever I can up here by this van. I figure it ought to be easy enough to spot with that big dish thing on the top. Now, I’ll be back in a minute. I know I saw a couple of policemen up there near the front that looked like they were shot. I’ll bring ‘em back here.”

With that, the preacher spun around and ran back towards the club. Two more gunshots sounded from inside the club, and the preacher ducked down as he ran. After he disappeared behind the tour bus, the camera swung back towards the reporter. She was still kneeling over the body of the girl, pressing down on the unconscious girl’s wounded leg. She opened her mouth to say something, the closed it again. She opened her mouth a second time, then closed it again, and shrugged. 

. . .

Willie saw the body behind the bar and stage-whispered, “Ernie, that you?”

The body shifted. “What? Willie? Brother, what the hell are you doing here?”

The entire club was dark and full of black acrid smoke. Willie was forced to duck-walk to stay within the breathable lower half of the room while still maintaining mobility. In one hand he was carrying his shotgun, and in his other hand he had his field bag. The whole thing was hell on his knees. 

Willie whispered again as he scanned the area around him. He could see flickering neon somewhere through the smoke, or maybe something on fire, but nothing concrete. He had come in through the back door and he was not familiar with this club, so he had stumbled around in the smoke for a minute or two trying to get his bearings. He couldn’t hear anything over the pounding rock music playing through the club’s speakers except for a gunshot every few seconds. 

“Ernie, you okay?”

Ernie looked bad. His left arm was bleeding pretty seriously from what had to be a gunshot wound. He was laying down behind the bar, amid a pile of shattered glass. Some distant part of Willie’s brain could distinguish the distinct scent of rum even through the smoke and the odors of the other alcohol and the blood. Willie shook his head to clear it. He carefully set his shotgun and field bag down on the top of the bar. He grabbed a bar rag from the top of the bar, squeezed the alcohol out of it and wrapped it around Ernie’s arm. 

“Ow! That burns!”

Willie grabbed his shotgun back up again as soon as he was done, “Yeah, I bet that would…well, hell, it’s killing germs. It’s good for you. Now, you want to tell me what’s going down here?”

Ernie shook his head. “I got no idea, man. We got a case looking for this missing doctor that works for a company downtown…”

“Yeah, I know, I’m on the same case.”

Ernie raised an eyebrow and looked like he was trying to decide whether that was a good or a bad thing. Ernie worked over at Blue Star Investigations, and even though Willie knew that Ernie was no happier working for Blue Star than Willie was working for his cousin, the private eye field was still competitive. Ernie stopped talking.

“Oh, come on Ernie, don’t start being like that with me. Look, I’m filing papers this week. I’m starting my own agency. And I’m gonna need some people to work for me.”

Ernie looked suspicious.

“_And_ I’m gonna pay ‘em better than Triple-A does.” 

“How much better?”

A bullet shattered the mirror over Willie’s head and he was showered with bits of broken glass. He covered his head as best he could, and shook off the fragments that covered his shoulders. “This is *not* the time for a negotiation, Ernie! Will you tell me who the hell is shooting at us?”

Ernie shrugged, “I got no idea. All I know is I got a tip the doctor was here, so I came in looking for him. And when I got in here, there was a bunch of other guys like us in here too.”

“Other P.I.’s?”

“Oh yeah, place was crawling with ‘em. Kinda easy to spot. We was the only ones over twenty-one in the whole place. So I was just gonna grab a drink at the bar and then head out when people started shooting.”

“Who was shooting at who?”

“Not sure how it started, but all I saw was a bunch of kids, looked like they were all Indians, you know, like Cherokee or something?”

“Native American, right.”

“Right, and they were shooting at the P.I.’s. And then some of them were shooting back, and then all hell broke loose. I don’t know---”

Ernie’s eyes went wide, and focused on something over Willie’s shoulder. In an instant, Willie reacted. He spun round and leveled the shotgun.

The kid was maybe seventeen, but he fired the revolver like he knew how to use it. If Willie had been a second later, he would have been laying there beside Ernie. As it was, the bullet grazed his across the cabinet beside him. Willie pulled the trigger on his shotgun. BOOM! The kid collapsed into a loose pile on the floor. 

Willie ejected the spent shell, and readied the gun for another shot, but the kid wasn’t moving. Willie turned reassuringly to Ernie, “Don’t worry. I’m loaded with non-lethal rounds.”

Ernie winced, “Brother, I don’t care if your loaded with sh%# as long as you keep them mothers from shooting me again.”

Willie nodded and rifled through his field bag one-handed while keeping his gun ready for another shot. He found his zip-ties inside the field bag and pulled one out. With practiced ease, he one-handedly zip-tied the kid’s hands behind his back.

“Alright, E, just hang tight. I’m gonna check out the rest of this joint.” Before Ernie could protest, Willie duck-walked out around the bar and disappeared into the smoke.

Willie crept past another body on the floor. Willie couldn’t be sure if the guy was dead or just in shock. He wanted to help, but if there was anybody else left up in this place with a gun, Willie didn’t want to be tending to the wounded and get shot in the back. So he kept searching. 

He thought he saw movement up ahead in the corner behind a table. He moved slowly and circled around to come at the table from behind. After getting in position, he peeked around. 

Joe was there, crouching over someone. Even as Willie watched, Joe lost his balance, and fell down to all fours, vomiting and retching all over the poor guy he was on top of. A sudden mental image of chemical weapons crept into Willie’s mind. But it was too late now. 

“Joe! Jeez! Joe, what the hell are you doing? What’s wrong? Where’s Crystal?”

Joe looked up and met Willie’s gaze. He looked like a madman. His eyes were bloodshot and dripping tears, his nose was bleeding, and his chin was splattered with whatever he had eaten for dinner that night. “It doesn’t _work_, Willie! I can’t save _anybody_!”

“Joe? What the hell are you talking about Joe?” 

Joe was taking in big gulps of air, “F#%$in’ healing Vishanti touch! F#*&!” He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and stood up shakily. 

“Joe, stay down, man! You’re gonna get shot!”

“F*&# it!” Joe cursed as he staggered off towards the front of the club. 

Willie cursed. A moment later, he heard more sirens from outside. He hadn’t heard any more gunshots since he had taken out the kid behind the bar. Maybe that was the last one. 

Taylor’s voice crackled over the radio, “Willie! Ah got company outside! I cannae stay! Get back out here!”

Willie tried to peer through the smoke, but he couldn’t tell where Joe had disappeared to. Willie keyed his microphone, “Taylor, aw hell…I think Joe’s gone crazy! Where’s Crystal and the preacher?”

Crystal’s voice radioed back in a cool tone: “I’m in Homewood. I’m a little busy right now getting shot at.”

Willie waited, but there was no response coming from the preacher. He cursed again. “Alright, T, you got the car at the back door? Pop the trunk. I’m coming out hot, and I’m bringing a guest with me.”

Taylor confirmed he was in position as Willie raced across the room again. This time he was running upright, hoping that there was no one left shooting in the room and that the heat from whatever was on fire in the place wouldn’t knock him out. He ducked back behind the bar with Ernie. 

“Alright, E, listen up. I was never here, dig?”

“What?”

Willie scooped up the teen’s limp body into a fireman’s carry. He held the teen steady with one hand as he stood back up. His knees protested dramatically.

“E, if you want to work with me then I need you to _work_ with me. Now, I was *never* here.”

“Cool with me.”

Willie staggered back towards the back door and the waiting car.


----------



## nobodez

*bravo!*

God that was great. I loved the tension, and the realism, as well as the cool dialogue and description from the News Van.

Thank you once again, can't wait for more!


----------



## Angcuru

More.


----------



## fenzer

Damn it Drew!  You've done it again.  Excellent read buddy.  Thank you.


----------



## caixa

Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> *Episode II - Session II - Five Points South*
> 
> The entire club was dark and full of black acrid smoke. Willie was forced to *duck-walk *to stay within the breathable lower half of the room while still maintaining mobility. In one hand he was carrying his shotgun, and in his other hand he had his field bag.




I don't know about the rest of you, but this mental image just did it for me.



			
				Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> *The whole thing was hell on his knees. *




And that is so very, very true.

I don't which one of ya'll was military, or where Ledded hit upon "duck-walking" as a form of defensive movement, but I love it.  Freaking Genius.

Oh, and great post...nice job capturing the feeling.  Thought I was watching Fox News at Ten...At Ten, its news, at Eleven, its history.

Peterson/Caixa


----------



## Spatula

> the flickering marquee which was shattered in several places by bullet holes, emblazoned with “Five P…s Music Hall S…rday Defenders of Dayb…k”



Cute. 

*Great* update, Drew!


----------



## ledded

caixa said:
			
		

> I don't know about the rest of you, but this mental image just did it for me.



  I love to confound our GM from time to time by asking for screwy circumstance bonuses for doing strange things not covered in the rules, like 'duck walking'.  Although I think this was an untaped session, as I remember it playing out a good bit different (I dont remember doing the duck walking, though I do remember doing a lot of 'holy crap what can I do to scrape up some cover in here' stuff).  I love the way Drew wrote it up nonetheless.

My favorite mental image from that session that ended up on the cutting floor was Willie riding over there on the back of Crystal's motorcycle.  Something about a little Native American chick in leather tearing @ss across downtown on a harley, with a 6'4" black guy on the back, pistol-grip shotgun in each hand, $125 sunglasses on at night with a small cigar trailing smoke through a clenched-tooth smile just seemed really cool to me at the time.

That also was the first time I ever shot someone with a non-lethal (ahem... "less than lethal") round from my brand-new 10 gauge shotgun.  I have to say, I liked it, and it becomes a recurring theme that I never get tired of.



> And that is so very, very true.
> 
> I don't which one of ya'll was military, or where Ledded hit upon "duck-walking" as a form of defensive movement, but I love it. Freaking Genius.
> 
> Oh, and great post...nice job capturing the feeling. Thought I was watching Fox News at Ten...At Ten, its news, at Eleven, its history.
> 
> Peterson/Caixa



I agree Drew, great post.  Joe's part was just... funny.  In the game and in the story.  And I never fail to absolutely love how Brother Cooper takes what might be an embaressing or potentially harmful encounter with some NPC, and not only elicits their aid in what craziness we've stuck our heads into, but somehow finds a way to turn it to his advantage without looking like he's trying to turn it to his advantage, all the while leaving them with a nice warm feeling when he's gone.  I tell you, he's amazing.


----------



## Old Drew Id

ledded said:
			
		

> And I never fail to absolutely love how Brother Cooper takes what might be an embaressing or potentially harmful encounter with some NPC, and not only elicits their aid in what craziness we've stuck our heads into, but somehow finds a way to turn it to his advantage without looking like he's trying to turn it to his advantage, all the while leaving them with a nice warm feeling when he's gone.  I tell you, he's amazing.




For the kids following along in your books at home, this is from Article Four, under the section titled "Roleplaying the In-character Explanation for why your Character has the 'Renown' Feat", by Brother Guyzell Cooper

Which, incidentally, is about the only thing that kept him from getting shot as a cop-killer later in this episode...


----------



## Pierce

ledded said:
			
		

> I agree Drew, great post.  Joe's part was just... funny.  In the game and in the story.  And I never fail to absolutely love how Brother Cooper takes what might be an embaressing or potentially harmful encounter with some NPC, and not only elicits their aid in what craziness we've stuck our heads into, but somehow finds a way to turn it to his advantage without looking like he's trying to turn it to his advantage, all the while leaving them with a nice warm feeling when he's gone.  I tell you, he's amazing.




Hey, that's what Cooper does.  You're the one that told me to "always go with what you're good at."  And God knows that Guyzell can't hit squat with a pistol.

Interesting aside:  Cooper has the Coordinate talent. To activate it, I look up and quote an appropriate Bible verse (thank you, concordance!)  My wife and I attended Good Friday services today and one of the readings happened to be one of the verses Cooper quoted during Wednesday's session (Hbr 10:23-24).  Plus, I had another one of the readings bookmarked for future use.  Let it be a lesson - you never know where gaming inspiration may strike!


----------



## ledded

Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> For the kids following along in your books at home, this is from Article Four, under the section titled "Roleplaying the In-character Explanation for why your Character has the 'Renown' Feat", by Brother Guyzell Cooper
> 
> Which, incidentally, is about the only thing that kept him from getting shot as a cop-killer later in this episode...



Hmmm... maybe I should get "reknown" in place of the "angry gun-waving minority" feat I was about to take; probably might help me with the cops.

Nah.




			
				Pierce said:
			
		

> Hey, that's what Cooper does. You're the one that told me to "always go with what you're good at." And God knows that Guyzell can't hit squat with a pistol.



Amen to that Brother; but there's going with what you are good at, and doing it with style and panache. You gots da style and pancakes . 

Remember Toshiro, my japnese fighter/blender?  

Remember with him, I had to eventually write a complete breakdown of how I got his "to hit" and "damage" statistics, along with all the feats he took to get it, and then tape the friggin thing to my forehead just so Eyas would stop making me explain it 3 times a night  .

And I always love the bible quotes (and folks, there's lots of 'em).

I often quote Quentin Tarantino movies, but it just doesnt seem to have the same game effects...


----------



## Eyas

ledded said:
			
		

> Remember Toshiro, my japnese fighter/blender?
> 
> Remember with him, I had to eventually write a complete breakdown of how I got his "to hit" and "damage" statistics, along with all the feats he took to get it, and then tape the friggin thing to my forehead just so Eyas would stop making me explain it 3 times a night





Nah, it was only every other week, during a full moon, when I became perplexed at how a level 10 fighter/blender was attacking at something approaching a +20

Then again, I do much the same thing now, just now it is in trying to figure out why Joe is doing something.


----------



## Angcuru

Eyas said:
			
		

> Nah, it was only every other week, during a full moon, when I became perplexed at how a level 10 fighter/blender was attacking at something approaching a +20
> 
> Then again, I do much the same thing now, just now it is in trying to figure out why Joe is doing something.



Don't feel bad.  I had a lvl 7 or 8 elven ranger/figher who was attacking in the +25 range.  Annoyed the DM somethin' awful.   Boy did the baddies drop fast.


----------



## GunMonkey

Please tell me it won't be weeks between updates again.  I don't think my poor psyche can handle it....I may snap....we wouldn't want that now would we?  The voices in my head wanted me to let you know that they would appreciate another update soon.  They say, 'Thanks'.


----------



## PennStud77

I, too, am eternally hooked on this thread and the story that makes it move.  I, also, waited with restrained impatience for an update, but I must say:

*Drew, your updates are worth it.*  I would like frequent updates _at least _ as much as the next guy, but I don't want them more frequently if it means Drew doing lesser updates.  Drew, if it takes you some time to give us updates of the quality you are, by all means take your time


----------



## The_Universe

FINISHED!  Now bring more, please.


----------



## Angcuru

UPDATE!


----------



## BoBnWeave

Gah i just finished now I want more .  Good story man


----------



## PallidPatience

Indeed. I've just finished this one, as well, having also finished you guys' "We were once like gods..." thread...

One word: DAMN! You guys are masters! I know that it's been a while since you guys mentioned this, but... *weeps softly, for he knows that playing in Drew's game would be good, then sobs uncontrollably*

I soooooooo wish I could play with you guys. I'd just be nowhere near good enough...


----------



## GunMonkey

Whoa, second page just will not do!

I respectfully request an update o' wise and just one!


----------



## PallidPatience

Nope. Not here. Not third page... The members of the Ward Numismatic Society of 1924 all deserve to be on page one...

AND UPDATE!


----------



## aros

UPDATE...please


----------



## dpdx

Whew - finally finished. Great stuff! I'd now actually play a Modern-style game after reading this, since I see what can be done.

Anyway, Caliber? asked a question about heroin way back on, like, page 17?, and nobody answered it, so I will: No - not all of it is synthetic. It's a distilled opiate, like hashish, and is made in its natural form from the opium poppy.

We now return you to your regularly-scheduled groveling for updates, in which I join.


----------



## Angcuru

More.....


----------



## Angcuru

Umm....has there been a lull in game as of late, or something?   

I need my fix!


----------



## ledded

No, the game actually is in episode 7 right now (the current episode in the story hour is 2).

OldDrewId didnt start writing the Story Hour until we had been playing a while, and it's darn near impossible to keep up a story hour of this quality with the game and still have time for all of the various and sundry things he has up in the air right now.  

I'm sure he'll try to get an update to the masses soon, so call off the search parties and put the alligators back in the pond folks.  Stuff this good takes _time_.

Meanwhile, I'll give a player update.

Last session saw us in a climax of one of our strangest sessions yet.

One character shot a helicopter out of the sky, nearly landing it on their own car.

One character was taking cover behind a bus when it promptly ran completely over them.

One character somehow summoned _something_ which they immediately lost control of.

One character skillfully and bravely caused a BBEG to have a major accident on a busy interstate while being shot at, failing their own crash check and taking themself out.

One character caught the aforementioned crash on _tape_ with the TV crew they were riding with, then was left nearly by themself when the BBEG's came crawling out of the wreckage of their vehicle.

All in a day's work.


----------



## Len

OK, let's see:


> One character shot a helicopter out of the sky, nearly landing it on their own car.



Willie


> One character was taking cover behind a bus when it promptly ran completely over them.



Taylor


> One character somehow summoned _something_ which they immediately lost control of.



Joe


> One character skillfully and bravely caused a BBEG to have a major accident on a busy interstate while being shot at, failing their own crash check and taking themself out.



Crystal


> One character caught the aforementioned crash on _tape_ with the TV crew they were riding with, then was left nearly by themself when the BBEG's came crawling out of the wreckage of their vehicle.



Bro. Cooper

Guess I'm gonna have to wait quite a while before I find out how right I am.


----------



## Angcuru

Len said:
			
		

> Guess I'm gonna have to wait quite a while before I find out how right I am.



No, I think you've got it spot on.


----------



## Bartender

*Um, Come on.*

We gonna get an update? I've kept silent so far but... we need an update! 

A month! 
A month today!

-Bartender, that Medallions-reading Bartender


----------



## Gina

More....Please? 

I can hardly wait to find out what happens next!

Gina


----------



## Bartender

Wallowing... in... pit... of... not... reading... Medallions...

*begins to drown*

Help me! Help... me! Help... me...

*goes under*

Help! Help!

*goes under again*

-Bartender, that bartender


----------



## Angcuru

Lack of updates makes me a _saaaaad_ Angcuru.


----------



## zenld

way too long. dyin' here!

please, update?

zen


----------



## zenld

page 3?

did drew die?

what's going on?

help!

zen


----------



## The_Universe

update!  Please!  We beg of you!


----------



## Pierce

The_Universe said:
			
		

> update!  Please!  We beg of you!




Sorry for the haitus, folks.  We've all been absolutely buried lately.  And when we're not, we've been on vacation .  On top of everything else, Eyas (who plays Crystal) was in a pretty bad accident over the Memorial day holiday and will be laid up for 4-6 weeks, so we can't even *play* Medallions until August .  Eyas will be fine in the long run, but he's messed up his knee pretty bad.  Arrgh.  And it was supposed to be the Summer of George.

Dang.  

Still, I'll bug Drew to try to get an update together - it's been 2 months today since the last one!  Trust me, we're all as hooked as the rest of you!


----------



## Thomas Hobbes

Jesus!  Hope Eyas feels better.


----------



## Angcuru

YIKES!  Tell him his fans want him to get better!


----------



## fenzer

Pierce, thanks for letting us know.  Tell Eyas we hope he gets better and we're praying for him.


----------



## The_Universe

Ditto.  We'll be praying.


----------



## Sidekick

Drew are you a writer?  If not I'd seriously consider it.  This stuff is very good!

oh and more please!


----------



## ledded

Sidekick said:
			
		

> Drew are you a writer? If not I'd seriously consider it. This stuff is very good!
> 
> oh and more please!



Well, he's writing _this_, isnt he?   

Seriously, we constantly tell him he needs to pack up and get a job writing screenplays, that way our whole group can be immortalized on the silver screen (and sue him for royalties when he leaves us mewling in his dust...  )


----------



## Angcuru

I want my mini-series!


----------



## Puppy Kicker

Just had to chime in with my support.  I finally finished reading this during short lunch hours and shorter evenings and I have to say it is absolutely amazing!  Druid has a heck of a storytelling touch and I have to say that if you aren't writing for a living you are in the wrong profession!  Well... I guess if you'r off saving puppies or orphans or something that's ok... but otherwise, get out there and publish!  Hell of a good story and I can't wait to read more!


----------



## GI-I0ST

*happily scrolls along, ignoring the unfortunate masses cries for updates from months long past as he smiles, knowing he has many pages of story left to read through, when suddenly.....WHAMMO! Page 25 comes to a screeching halt. 

Noticing the massive roadblock ahead, "dedicated reader" frantically searches for a way around the barrier, to the sweet, sweet bliss of page 26 and more updates...they have to be there. They just have to! Finally, after scraping his fingers down to bloody nubs on the impenetrable cyber barrier, "dedicated reader" hangs his head in defeat.

Now it is all he can do to muster the strength of will to crawl forth from underneath his computer desk, unwrapping himself from the fetal position only to take a hope-filled peek at the silent thread. *

  Seriously though, great stuff.


----------



## Angcuru

What he said.    

I think we need to start a tally on how many lurkers this SH can bring out of their lurkiness.


----------



## ledded

GI-I0ST said:
			
		

> *happily scrolls along, ignoring the unfortunate masses cries for updates from months long past as he smiles, knowing he has many pages of story left to read through, when suddenly.....WHAMMO! Page 25 comes to a screeching halt.
> 
> Noticing the massive roadblock ahead, "dedicated reader" frantically searches for a way around the barrier, to the sweet, sweet bliss of page 26 and more updates...they have to be there. They just have to! Finally, after scraping his fingers down to bloody nubs on the impenetrable cyber barrier, "dedicated reader" hangs his head in defeat.
> 
> Now it is all he can do to muster the strength of will to crawl forth from underneath his computer desk, unwrapping himself from the fetal position only to take a hope-filled peek at the silent thread. *
> 
> Seriously though, great stuff.



Heh, I know the feeling, and I *play* in this game...

Anyway, OldDrewId has been insanely busy with work and life and has not (at least to my knowledge) expired, moved, or been abducted by alien probe-wielders.  We'll try to bug him for another update soon.

And good to hear from another gamer that hails from the 'Ham.


----------



## Eyas

*Happily posting*

Great to see everyone is still wanting to follow our little rag tag band. I am healing faster than I thought, so was able to get back to the game last week, though I am still forbidden to use my leg. Anyway, we will play on and keep bugging Drew to post an update.

In the mean time if everyone else has not already done so, check out ledded and pierce's story hours and bug them to keep writing.


----------



## caixa

Glad to hear you're doing better, Eyas!

Oh, and update please.

Peterson


----------



## fenzer

Eyas!  It good to hear your in one piece.  You take care of that leg now, you hear.  

In the mean time, prop that limb up on the table and get to playing.  We need updates.


----------



## Gramcrackered

Alas.  Such a wonderous thread, and all it really does it make me wish there was a chance of me actually playing in such a game instead of running it.  Blasted lack of good DM's in the area...

Anyway.  Great stuff.


----------



## ejja_1

While were waiting, lets all go over to the crossfire story hour. I hear they have bourban and oreo cookies.
YUM!


----------



## Captain Claymore

Just a lurker checking in. How incredibly redundant to say, "Excellent, Excellent, Excellent!" and then, "More, More, More!" and then "Spiders are SO SEXY!"

............. kay, maybe that last one was new. 

In all seriousness, This has been an incredibly inspiring read. Well done to all involved and I second the notion that Drew should bring his talent to a wider audience (and make the big bucks.) I have to say I'm glad I read this after posting my own SH, since had I read it before, I would never have had the nerve.

Can't wait for more.


----------



## Paxr0mana

*My God.. It's Full of Stars...*

I have been reading this thread for a week now, and have just finished all the current episodes. I would like to congratulate Drew all of his players for being THE GREATEST GROUP IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD.

All of you have put your hearts into your characters, and it really shows. Every word that you speak in character adds to the story, and keeps the action moving.

My jaw dropped several times while reading this, especially during the action sequences, which flowed in a very natural way. Another piece that caught my eye was the flawless conversations you guys pull off. Seriously, I felt like I was watching a movie while reading this.

I am in awe of your group, and eagerly await the next installment.

Taylor I shall be missed.


----------



## Arkhandus

Hurrah!  Eyas is getting better. 

No page 3 for Medallions!  Update now!  Please? 

/re-lurk


----------



## Paxr0mana

*A few questions.*

I have a couple of questions about your group Drew

1. What is the age range of your players?
2. What is the average length of a gaming session that you run?
3. What episode of Medallions are you currently running?

I am looking forward to a reply and some more Medallions!

Keep up the good work!


----------



## Pierce

Paxr0mana said:
			
		

> I have a couple of questions about your group Drew
> 
> 1. What is the age range of your players?
> 2. What is the average length of a gaming session that you run?
> 3. What episode of Medallions are you currently running?
> 
> I am looking forward to a reply and some more Medallions!
> 
> Keep up the good work!




I'll field this one.

1. Late 20s to early 30s.
2. Well, we've got two measurements: session and episode.  A session is one night's play (we have a weekly game) and usually runs 5-6 hours.  An episode is a story arc and runs anywhere from 3 sessions to 7 or more.  So doing the math .... (and carry the one) .... 15-42+ hours of game play per episode.
3. We're currently barrelling towards the climax of Episode 9  eek:!!) entitled Skins.


----------



## Paxr0mana

Pierce said:
			
		

> I'll field this one.
> 
> 1. Late 20s to early 30s.
> 2. Well, we've got two measurements: session and episode.  A session is one night's play (we have a weekly game) and usually runs 5-6 hours.  An episode is a story arc and runs anywhere from 3 sessions to 7 or more.  So doing the math .... (and carry the one) .... 15-42+ hours of game play per episode.
> 3. We're currently barrelling towards the climax of Episode 9  eek:!!) entitled Skins.




Oh man, 5-6 hour games? Every WEEK?? I would kill to enable my gaming group to do that. Although, considering that we are all still in high school, and have lives, I suppose there is a good reason for us not coming together as often as we could.

Skins...that doesn't bode well.

Thanks Pierce for the prompt reply.


----------



## Puppy Kicker

It sounds like a fun group!  While we're in this Q&A session, do you record all the games while you're playing with the tape recorder or does Old Drew just have a photographic memory for all those fantastic quotes?  

I've been thinking of hiring one of those courtroom stenographers to sit with us and type for a few hours while we game so I don't miss any clever and memorable moments.  (OK, by thinking I mean "wouldn't that be funny if..." once.)

Also, did the group start out this witty or has it been a long time getting comfortable with each other before they good RPing really started?


----------



## Pierce

Paxr0mana said:
			
		

> Oh man, 5-6 hour games? Every WEEK?? I would kill to enable my gaming group to do that. Although, considering that we are all still in high school, and have lives, I suppose there is a good reason for us not coming together as often as we could.




Yep.  We're old men with no life.  You whippersnapper!   

Funny tho, just last night my wife ribbed me along those same lines.  I mentioned that we used to play most weekends in middle and high school.  She said something along the lines of "until you got a car and a life."  Ouch, honey!  Of course, that's pretty much spot on.



			
				Puppy Kicker said:
			
		

> It sounds like a fun group!  While we're in this Q&A session, do you record all the games while you're playing with the tape recorder or does Old Drew just have a photographic memory for all those fantastic quotes?




We began taping with Episode 2, though many of the quotes in Episode 1 were straight from the table.  That said, DrewId has an excellent memory for how combats ran.  Good thing, since it's hard to tape combat.  Since we tend to go crazy with the minis and terrain, combats come across on tape as "Ok, I move here and shoot that guy."  (Me transcribing three months later: _Wait, wait - where and what guy?!?  Argh!!_)



			
				Puppy Kicker said:
			
		

> I've been thinking of hiring one of those courtroom stenographers to sit with us and type for a few hours while we game so I don't miss any clever and memorable moments.  (OK, by thinking I mean "wouldn't that be funny if..." once.)




Ya, that'd be nice (if a bit weird - "Ms. Weathers, please read back that last section."  "Ahem- 'I'm gonna split some wigs.  Yo.'"  "Thank you, Ms. Weathers").  As it is, I transcribe the tapes and pass the transcriptions along to DrewId.  It's pretty gruelling, but the end result is satisfying.  I've considered trying to automate the process using some kind of voice recognition software, but haven't gotten motivated enough to do so yet.



			
				Puppy Kicker said:
			
		

> Also, did the group start out this witty or has it been a long time getting comfortable with each other before they good RPing really started?




Both. 

Actually, DrewId, ledded and I have worked together on and off over the past ten years and were good friends before we started playing.  Flu & Eyas have known each other since college.  Then Flu & DrewId worked together for a year or so.  And that's how we became the Brady Bunch. (_Altogether now!_)

We've been playing now for just over 4 years and while someone misses every now and then (work, vacation, car wrecks, etc.), I think we've only ever *cancelled* a session two or three times.  If memory serves, those were around the holidays and it wasn't possible to reach a quorum.

Next?


----------



## fenzer

Ya.  Nvidia or ATI?


----------



## Pierce

fenzer said:
			
		

> Ya.  Nvidia or ATI?




Vector graphics, baby!!


----------



## ledded

Pierce said:
			
		

> Yep. We're old men with no life. You whippersnapper!
> 
> Funny tho, just last night my wife ribbed me along those same lines. I mentioned that we used to play most weekends in middle and high school. She said something along the lines of "until you got a car and a life." Ouch, honey! Of course, that's pretty much spot on.



Discovered girls.  That pretty much did it for me.  The second I started dating, D&D on the weekends took a bit of a back seat.

Yeah, most of us a pretty busy folks too, and I even have 3 young children (one of which I have already turned into a heroclix addict, much to my wife's chagrin  ).  We just manage to make time for it once a week, it keeps me sane in an otherwise day-to-day swirl of multitudinous demands and sleep deprivation.  I get a bit squirrelly if I miss game for the week.



			
				Pierce said:
			
		

> We began taping with Episode 2, though many of the quotes in Episode 1 were straight from the table. That said, DrewId has an excellent memory for how combats ran. Good thing, since it's hard to tape combat. Since we tend to go crazy with the minis and terrain, combats come across on tape as "Ok, I move here and shoot that guy." (Me transcribing three months later: _Wait, wait - where and what guy?!? Argh!!_)



Heh.  Also, we seem to take turns occasionally making a loud noise like cruching chip bags or popping our toy gun table props near the recorder, knowing that Pierce wont remember it when he transcribes it weeks later.  He likes that a lot.  Of course, "going crazy" with minis and terrain is an understatement... check the minis link in my sig for some pics from our table.



			
				Pierce said:
			
		

> Ya, that'd be nice (if a bit weird - "Ms. Weathers, please read back that last section." "Ahem- 'I'm gonna split some wigs. Yo.'" "Thank you, Ms. Weathers").



There you go, makin' fun of Willie again, the man tryin' ta keep him down again, oh no, no breaks for poor Willie 



> As it is, I transcribe the tapes and pass the transcriptions along to DrewId. It's pretty gruelling, but the end result is satisfying. I've considered trying to automate the process using some kind of voice recognition software, but haven't gotten motivated enough to do so yet.



A process I both respect and do not envy.  We taped a few sessions of my one-off WWII supers campaign, but I could never summon the intestinal fortitude to sit through tapes of the sessions.  I just started taking notes and writing down the funniest comments, though I miss a lot more that way.  I think it would be easier for me to write if I did transcribe and review, but I just havent gotten up the nerve.



> Both.
> 
> Actually, DrewId, ledded and I have worked together on and off over the past ten years and were good friends before we started playing. Flu & Eyas have known each other since college. Then Flu & DrewId worked together for a year or so. And that's how we became the Brady Bunch. (_Altogether now!_)
> 
> We've been playing now for just over 4 years and while someone misses every now and then (work, vacation, car wrecks, etc.), I think we've only ever *cancelled* a session two or three times. If memory serves, those were around the holidays and it wasn't possible to reach a quorum.



Yeah, actually it was a bit of providence that brought us together as a gaming group;  it's really a bunch of extremely intelligent and creative guys that all seem to have found an outlet for each ones particular brand of insanity.  Except me of course, the only reason they keep me around is because I'll spend every dime of my spare cash on minis and terrain, and I'll spend 20 hours in one weekend painting stuff till my fingers bleed.



> Next?



How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck out two S&W .500's and double-tap the nearest lumberjack while doing a spinning slide down a natural log dam and beat-boxing the percussion from Fludogg's favorite techno-punk CD?


----------



## nobodez

ledded said:
			
		

> How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck out two S&W .500's and double-tap the nearest lumberjack while doing a spinning slide down a natural log dam and beat-boxing the percussion from Fludogg's favorite techno-punk CD?




::smile::

I'd say about 50 cords per day, though I'm not sure about it, could be more, could be less.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Episode II - Session II: Homewood to Southside*

*Episode II - Session II: Homewood to Southside*

Crystal leaned a little too hard into the turn, and the bike cut sharply back towards the curb on her right. She threw all of her weight hard to the left and pulled back around, narrowly avoiding a parked car. In the process, her pump-action shotgun slid off its perch on her handlebars and started to fall. She slapped her hand against the stock and held the weapon in place one-handed with a tenuous grip.  Now back over her center of balance, she gunned the engine, and the bike roared up Twentieth Street. She shoved the shotgun back into position and hunched down to cut her wind resistance.  

She bit her lip and tried to process the situation from a purely logical perspective. She had already lost this El Camino once tonight, so she figured she could do it again. The problem was, she had been on a straightaway before, and then on the interstate, and she had been able to bring the full speed of her bike to bear, and that El Camino just couldn't keep up with a motorcycle when she really got it going. But here, she was heading up past Vulcan Park into Homewood, and there were no straight roads anywhere up ahead. She was passing through a little strip of boutiques and cafes now, and she needed to find a place where she---

A window shattered to her left, breaking her concentration along with the glass. She twisted around for a quick glance behind her. The El Camino was there, right on her tail, and a dark figure riding shotgun was hanging halfway out of the car with a …well, appropriately enough, with a shotgun. 

Crystal swore, and spun back around to watch the road. She swerved hard to the left and then brought the bike back again over to the right, trying to present a harder target. Alright, it was time to think fast now. Tactically, the shotgun negated her speed advantage. If she did get out on a straightaway, she would be an easy target. She was no expert when it came to hard riding; hell, she'd only had the bike for a few weeks now, but she was going to have to rely on her bike's maneuverability if she wanted to win this one. 

A hard right brought her up past a funeral home and a realty office, and onto Oxmoor Road. She heard the squealing tires from the El Camino, and knew that he had made the turn behind her. The road went straight for a couple of blocks up ahead. Not enough distance for her to get up some speed before the next turn and get up ahead of them, but definitely enough time for them to have an easy time targeting her. She shifted her grip on the shotgun to finger the trigger, clicked off the safety, and pointed the gun blindly behind her. 

BAM! She fired, and the gun kicked horribly into her elbow. The barrel came up hard and arced over her shoulder, then slammed into her head. She realized with a chill that if she had not been wearing her helmet, that blow would have knocked her out cold. She nearly laid the bike over as she lost control. She fought the bike one-handed and threw her weight over again to the right. The bike begrudgingly turned to the right and she was back in control, shotgun dangling loosely from one hand, feeling bruised and out of ideas. 

She dimly heard a conversation over her headset radio. Her ears were still ringing from the blow to her head. Willie sounded panicked and was demanding to know where she was, or something close to that, anyway. Jeez, she had enough problems here, people. Crystal radioed back as calmly as possible, "I'm in Homewood. I'm a little busy right now getting shot at," and ignored the rest of the exchange.

A 'no parking' sign to her left rang loudly and was shredded as it was riddled with buckshot. Crystal surveyed the road ahead for options. To her left across the median was a skate park, guarded by a temporary construction fence. To her right were a few short office buildings and a parking lot. The closest highway was at least three turns away up ahead. She doubted her luck would hold out that far. 

With her teeth clenched from concentration and determination, Crystal weaved the bike back and forth across the road once while slinging the shotgun back into it's holster. Then a hard turn to the right into that parking lot. As she turned, Crystal peeked behind her. The El Camino was right behind, too close to make the turn. She turned her attention back to her own driving as she heard the brakes squeal behind her. 

"And now the end-game," she muttered under her breath, and forced the bike into a hard one-eighty. The tires painted rubber calligraphy across a long swath of the parking lot, but at the end, she was turned around towards the car, just as it came to a stop in the parking lot entrance. She grinned in spite of herself, and twisted the throttle. 

The Harley kicked into gear with a lion's roar, and Crystal raced towards the car. The shooter riding shotgun had lost his balance with the sudden stop, and was only now bringing his weapon to bear. It was a race of his reflexes and aim versus Crystal's speed and maneuvering. If Crystal had done the math right, he would have less than a half-second to take a meaningful shot, and she was betting he couldn't perform in that amount of time.

Crystal raced towards the car. The gun came to bear, but a fraction of a second to late. Crystal darted past the car and hit the median behind it at a full charge. The bike hit the median like a ramp and flew into the air as she crossed the road and tore through the thin plastic fence guarding the skate park. 

Crystal heard the El Camino's engine roar in the distance behind her, and a wild shot was fired somewhere into the air, but she was already too far away to care. As she raced past a picnic table, a playground, and a dozen trees, she was home free now. With a quivering sigh of relief, she slowed down. She had lost them. 

. . .

Crystal walked up to Willie's car and pulled off her helmet with a scowl. She leaned into the passenger window and looked past Taylor and Willie, into the back seat. Under a blanket there in the shadows, she could see the unconscious form of a teenage kid. His face was partially hidden in the darkness, but even from here, she could see that he was Native American. 

She sighed and glowered at Willie for bringing the kid here, "I don't like this." She shook her head to emphasize the point, "I don't like this at all."

Willie shrugged apologetically to her as he got out of the car, "Crystal, baby, your apartment is the closest place we could go." Willie pulled the kid's body up out of the car and threw him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and continued in a whisper. "We needed to get this kid off the street, and my place was too far to go, in case he wakes up. Besides, my neighbors are nosy, and they would notice me hauling in a body in the middle of the night. "

Taylor joined up behind him as the trio crept up the stairs to Crystal's second-floor apartment. "Hmmm, Ah figured a chap toting a body 'bout in the middle of the night was standard fare in the ghetto."

Willie wheeled around on him and menaced, "What? I don't live in the ghetto!"

Crystal hissed, "Shhhh! Get inside!" and unlocked her apartment door. Willie stepped inside and hustled into the room to drop the body off in a chair. 

Taylor stopped at the door and nodded to Crystal, "Iffin' 'e does nah live in the ghetto, then why does 'e drive that car?"

Crystal rolled her eyes and shoved Taylor into the apartment. 

. . .

Five minutes passed before Joe knocked on the door. Taylor was dabbing peroxide and applying bandages to the dozens of deep cuts and scratches on Willie's back and shoulders. Crystal was securing the kid to the chair with a little help from a roll of duct tape. She had turned the TV on to muffle any noise he might make, and extracted a promise from Willie that he would pay for the damage to her upholstery. 

When she opened the door, she fought back a sudden round of nausea. Joe was bloody as hell, and he had dried vomit down the front of his Green Lantern tee-shirt. Willie had warned her that Joe appeared to have gone crazy, but she was still not prepared for this. His eyes were bloodshot and emotionless, and he staggered into the room without ever meeting her gaze. 

"Joe?" Willie stood up and held his hands out in a calming, non-threatening manner. "Joe, man? You okay?"

Joe slowly met Willie's gaze with dead eyes and wheezed deeply, "It doesn't work, Willie."

Willie nodded reassuringly. "Okay, man, that's okay. Here, have a seat. What doesn't work, Joe?"

Joe ignored the offer of a seat. "The magic. My whole…thing. The frikkin' healing Vishanti touch! It doesn't work."

Crystal hissed, "Hey! Neighbors! Quiet!"

"Okay, Joe, just take it easy, man. Now, what is exactly are you talking about? What is the Vishanti touch?"

Joe's eyes slowly came into focus then, on the bandages on Willie's shoulder. He straightened up and unslung his backpack and set it on the coffee table. "Watch," he ordered grimly. From within the backpack, he pulled out a box of birthday candles. He shook two candles out of the box and held them in his hand. His closed his eyes, and his face took on an expression of deep and painful concentration. He held his hand up into the air and crushed the candles into pieces. He opened his eyes again, and they were bloodshot and deeply dilated. 

"Joe?" 

Joe dropped the broken candles to the floor, muttering something under his breath that reminded Crystal of the time she had played a Beatles record backwards as a kid. Then Joe grabbed Willie by the arm. 

"Joe?" Willie was sounding deeply concerned. 

Suddenly Joe ripped his hand away from Willie's arm like he had just touched a hot stove. "Aaargggh! Mother-*&^%^&!!!! *&^&!!!"

Crystal hissed again and moved towards Joe to quiet him, "Joe! Shut up! It's after midnight and I have neighbors who will call the---" Crystal stopped cold. Joe had fallen back onto the couch, and was clutching the sides of his head with both hands. What bothered her, though, was the way his fingernails were being blackened and bruised right before her eyes. In just a couple of seconds, his hands looked like someone had methodically pounded each finger with a hammer until it was black and blue. 

Taylor moved behind the couch, and Crystal dimly realized he was flanking Joe, to help prevent him from hurting himself anymore. Joe groaned more quietly, "It's supposed to work! I'm doing it right! You break the candles and you say the chant and the healing light comes down and---"

Joe's head snapped up and stared at Willie again. Crystal now knew what dreadful realization looked like. Joe grinned maniacally, "The healing light!"

Willie nodded and moved between Joe and Crystal protectively, "Right, Joe, it's cool, man. Healing light, right. Look, magic is, um …"

Joe nodded and grabbed the box of candles again. He shook two more out into his hand, and stood back up. "Come on!" and staggered across the living room to the balcony doors. He opened the glass sliding door and stepped outside.

"Joe? Easy, man? Hey, come on back inside, Joe." Willie stepped to the balcony door, and reached a hand out to Joe. Crystal and Taylor stepped up behind Willie, ready to grab him if needed. She knew a fall from her second-story balcony would probably not be fatal, but that didn't mean it wouldn't hurt a hell of a lot, and attract more attention than they needed right now.

Joe snapped the candles in his hand, and his face took on that look of punished concentration again. Willie took another step out onto the balcony and reached towards Joe to pull him in. Joe's hand shot out and grabbed Willie's wrist. Willie yelped in surprise, but quickly recovered and hauled Joe back into the apartment. 

Crystal slid the balcony door closed and locked it. Willie shivered, while Joe released his grip, and drunkenly staggered over to the couch. Taylor just stared at Willie. 

"Willie…your back…"

Willie craned his neck around to get a look at his back, while turning to display his back to Crystal. 

There was no blood on his back anymore. And every one of the dozens of cuts and scratches he had taken from the broken glass in the club was gone. 

Joe laid down on the couch. Willie turned to him, "Joe? How? That's amazing!"

Joe nodded with a half-delirious grin, "Brother Cooper."

Willie squatted down in front of the couch. "No, Joe, it's me, Willie."

Joe rolled his eyes, "No, moron, Brother Cooper," and pointed towards the TV. 

Willie turned and looked. The television was set to the news, or more likely was set to some other show that had been interrupted for a special news bulletin. Either way, the news crew was filming a scene of devastation at the Music Hall, with police and bodies and broken glass everywhere. 

And right there in the middle of it all, being interviewed with a weary look on his face, was Brother Guyzell Cooper, saying, "…not a hero, ma'am, I was just trying to be a good Samaritan, you know, at the right place at the right time, which is where I guess the Lord wanted me to be. I just wish I could have done more for some of these fine men in blue here who paid the ultimate price tonight…My church will be holding a memorial service and offering free counseling to these victims and their families…"


----------



## recursive_1

Thanks for the update...I was begining to despair that there would be no more forthcoming.


----------



## Xath

Hooray!!!!!! An update!


----------



## threshel

You should get paid for this.
J


----------



## Pyske

Yay for updates!


----------



## Pierce

*WOO HOO!!*


----------



## ante_up

Thanks for the update.


----------



## Peterson

Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> Taylor joined up behind him as the trio crept up the stairs to Crystal's second-floor apartment. "Hmmm, Ah figured a chap toting a body 'bout in the middle of the night was standard fare in the ghetto."
> 
> Willie wheeled around on him and menaced, "What? I don't live in the ghetto!"
> 
> Crystal hissed, "Shhhh! Get inside!" and unlocked her apartment door. Willie stepped inside and hustled into the room to drop the body off in a chair.
> 
> Taylor stopped at the door and nodded to Crystal, "Iffin' 'e does nah live in the ghetto, then why does 'e drive that car?"
> 
> Crystal rolled her eyes and shoved Taylor into the apartment.




It's lines like this that makes Medallions one of my ALL-TIME favorites..Well, that and the spooky, painful magic.  Oh, and Joe.  Oh, and the other characters.  Yeah, and the sick twists like giant spiders and zombie brownie mix.  Oh, and the sweet vehicle chases.  And the attention to detail.  Oh hell, the only thing bad about this storyhour is I don't get to play in it!

Devout fan boy,

Peterson


----------



## Captain Claymore

Great update. I love the chase scene!
From a GM standpoint I would love to know how the rolls went during the motorcycle/elcamino sequence. You know, in hopes of being able to provide my players with similar experiences. How much was creative writing and how much was determined by individual rolls? It seems like the kickback from the shotgun was definately caused by some sort of roll but I'd love as detailed a breakdown as your willing to provide. From this seqence and previous vehicular mayhem I'd say you guys have a great system.

Once again, kick#ss story hour!!!


----------



## Broccli_Head

Yay! Thanks for the update. Like Crystal and the chase scene lots.


----------



## Peterson

*Gee Ledded...*



			
				ledded said:
			
		

> Discovered girls.  That pretty much did it for me.  The second I started dating, D&D on the weekends took a bit of a back seat.




Strange, I would've thought that once you discovered girls, they (and you) would have been in the back seat, weekend or not....   

Oh well, to each their own I suppose.    

Peterson


----------



## ledded

Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> Taylor joined up behind him as the trio crept up the stairs to Crystal's second-floor apartment. "Hmmm, Ah figured a chap toting a body 'bout in the middle of the night was standard fare in the ghetto."
> 
> Willie wheeled around on him and menaced, "What? I don't live in the ghetto!"
> 
> Crystal hissed, "Shhhh! Get inside!" and unlocked her apartment door. Willie stepped inside and hustled into the room to drop the body off in a chair.
> 
> Taylor stopped at the door and nodded to Crystal, "Iffin' 'e does nah live in the ghetto, then why does 'e drive that car?"
> 
> Crystal rolled her eyes and shoved Taylor into the apartment.



_"Yeah, some folks just got no appreciation for a fine au-to-mo-bile.  I mean, that's a nine-teen-sev-en-ty-NINE Lincoln Continental, with the crushed velour interior.  Sure, it needs some body work, and the electric windows are on the fritz, and it sometimes dont run so good, but the air conditioner works.  Well, it dont actually blow cold air, but it makes a really annoying noise that distracts you from the heat while you're trying to get the windows to work. "_

_"It was my gramps's car, and it's a classic, baby, I'm tellin' ya;  a *classic*.  Now just shuddup and help me those jumper cables..."_

-- Willie Lamar  

Great update Drew.  I still say you write chase scenes better than almost any writer I've ever read, professional or not.  Just pure brilliance.


----------



## HeapThaumaturgist

Ah.  Updated goodness.

Darnation that I don't live in Bham.  I'm in Alabama again, but I'm south south south in Andalusia.  Covington County.  I'll wave on my way back to Ohio in August, though.

Good work.  Reminds me I need to write more, been working on projects too much.

--fje


----------



## Angcuru

Yay!


----------



## Old Drew Id

Another update is in the works and should be done pretty soon. In the meantime, I got a little inspired before last night's game, and put together a kind of "movie poster" image for the campaign. The crew seemed to like it, so I will post it here:

http://www.enworld.org/forums/attachment.php?attachmentid=15447

If that link doesn't work, you can get to it from the first post in this thread, or by just going here:

http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?p=947813#post947813

And, as always, thanks for reading.


----------



## Eccles

I'm sorry, but I'm just butting in here to say "that's kinda cool".

That's kinda cool.

Thank you.


----------



## ledded

Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> Another update is in the works and should be done pretty soon. In the meantime, I got a little inspired before last night's game,



Ah, yes, that would be the night's game where Willie lost almost all of his skin, and Joe got a new pair of eyelids.  

GM: "What're you b*&^%ing about man, you only had like *3* saves to make to avoid incredibly painful and disfiguring ______ happening to your _____ from the _____ of the evil and malignant ______ of _______."

Me: "Oh, so I would have been ok had I made any *one* of those saves with anything better than the natural 2's that I rolled?"

GM: "Heh. Oh, no. I meant all three."

Me: <gulp> "So I was pretty much screwed when I picked up my dice tonight."

GM: "Yup."

Me: "K. Thanks for the info."

(just kidding Drew... well, sort of  )




> and put together a kind of "movie poster" image for the campaign. The crew seemed to like it, so I will post it here:
> 
> http://www.enworld.org/forums/attachment.php?attachmentid=15447
> 
> If that link doesn't work, you can get to it from the first post in this thread, or by just going here:
> 
> http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?p=947813#post947813
> 
> And, as always, thanks for reading.



Man, did we love the movie poster, that thing is just cool. I love the looks on all of the characters faces, especially Brother Cooper.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Episode II - Session II: Crystal's Apartment, Southside*

*Episode II - Session II: Crystal's Apartment, Southside*

Willie was on the balcony smoking and staring out into the distance. Crystal was in the kitchen making coffee, and that left Taylor to watch the “prisoner”. The kid looked like he was starting to come around. His eyes were fluttering at least, and he let out a low moaning noise every now and then. Taylor took that as a good sign. 

Taylor had checked the kid’s pulse, and it was a little weak. When he took a peak under the kid’s shirt, the bruise on his chest looked like he’d been hit with a sledgehammer. But, on the bright side, there was no swelling of his abdomen, and his breathing didn’t sound congested, so Taylor figured there was probably no internal bleeding. Still, he expected that the kid would have woken up by now, and he began to worry about whether the kid had suffered a concussion or maybe was suffering from shock. He felt a weird connection to these people, but he certainly didn’t intend to be stuck with them if there was a dead body to get rid of. 

The couch shifted underneath him, and a odorous mixture of perfume and cheese assaulted Taylor’s nose. Taylor turned to greet Joe, who had returned from the bathroom and sat down beside him. Joe had washed most of the blood and mess off of his face, and his hair was slicked back with water and several handfuls of some thick hair gel. In place of his comic book tee-shirt, he had a pink silk bathrobe wrapped around himself. 

Joe nodded to him in greeting, “Man, I feel a hundred percent better.”

Taylor nodded back in kind, “Aye…ye do look a sight better. Ye were startin’ ta ‘semble death warmt o’er a wee bit erler.”

Joe nodded thoughtfully, “Yep…yep…I have no idea what you just said.”

Taylor grunted, “Ah said---”

“Don’t bother, “ Joe interrupted, and stood up to scrutinize the kid’s face. “So, is he gonna wake up anytime soon?”

“Ah cannae say. He’s in shock, Ah’d wager,” Taylor answered.

Joe furrowed his brow for a minute, then fished a pink silk handkerchief out of his pocket and started wiping the kid’s face. When that didn’t change anything, Joe used the handkerchief to pat the kid on the forehead, then started poking the kid in the nose with it. 

Taylor sighed, “Joe, yer erse is oot the windae with tha. ‘e’s in shock or---”

“Is that my kimono?!” Crystal was standing behind the couch, holding a pot of coffee in one hand and a couple of empty mugs in the other. She did *not* look pleased. 

Joe looked up at her in calm surprise, “I don’t know. It was in the closet on the far left side behind---”

“GET OUT OF MY F&%^ING KIMONO YOU SICK F&%^!!”

“Ahem…neighbors,” Taylor muttered, and reached for one of the coffee mugs.

Joe sighed and set the handkerchief down on the kid’s head, then started untying the kimono. Taylor nearly had a grip on one of the coffee mugs, but Crystal suddenly ripped it from his hand. “IS THAT MY UNDERWEAR?!”

Joe stopped untying the kimono, looked down at the underwear he had set on the kid’s head, and replied calmly, “I don’t know. It was in the third drawer next to the---”

“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU, YOU SICK F&%^!!”

“…neighbors,” Taylor muttered again, as Willie walked in from the balcony. 

“What the hell are y’all doing in here? Are you _trying_ to get somebody to call the police?” Willie hissed. 

“TELL HIM TO STAY AWAY FROM MY STUFF!”

“Tell her to calm down! She’s gone psycho!”

“Ahem…people?”

“WILLIE, I WANT HIM OUT OF MY HOUSE!”

“Crystal, look, Joe, take off the robe, man…”

“Ahem…edjits?”

“YOU HEARD HIM! TAKE OFF THE F&^%ING ROBE!”

“Sure, Willie, take her side. I see…”

“Wheesht! Wheesht! Wheesht!” Taylor hissed at the three of them and snapped his fingers. The group fell silent and looked at him. 

“The kid’s awake.”

. . .

“At least tell us your name.”

“You will pay when Grandmother Spider comes.”

Willie leaned back on the couch and rubbed his eyes with one hand. This was going nowhere. No matter what questioned they asked, they got the same response. He tried again anyway, “Where are your parents? Do you want us to call them?”

“You will pay when Grandmother Spider comes.”

“Yeah, thanks. I got that.”

Joe turned to Taylor, “Bring me some pliers and a blowtorch.”

Willie shook his head, “We’re not gonna hurt the kid.”

“Um, Willa, shood Ah punt at tha’ ya already shot ‘im once in tha’ chest?”

“With *non-lethal* rounds!” Willie’s voice rose indignantly. 

“You will pay when Grandmother Spider comes.”

Willie tried again, “Kid, we’re here to help you. Alright? We’re private investigators. We’ve seen Grandmother Spider’s husband earlier tonight, alright? And everybody down at the lab, and they’re all worried about her. Alright? She could be in danger, and we’re here to help her.”

“This blows. This is the worst interrogation ever.” Joe got up to pace around.

Crystal shrugged and took another sip of her coffee, “Actually, I’d say the kid’s doing a pretty good job of interrogating _us_. So far, we’ve told him who we are, what we’ve seen, and that there’s a lab somewhere with another giant spider in it…Willie, would you like to me to get my purse so you can read him my credit card numbers?”

Willie cut her a dark look. 

“You will pay when Grandmother Spider comes.”

Taylor suggested, “Ah dunnae think the kid can ‘ear ya anyway. Look’s like ‘e’s been brainwished er droogged.”

“No s#&^, Sherlock,” Willie snapped. He sighed, and lowered his tone, “Look, we may be wasting our time here. It could take days to break this brainwashing or whatever, and we still---”

“Wait!” Joe piped up, obviously excited. “Brainwashed? Or _mind-controlled_?” Before anyone could answer, he ran into the kitchen. Immediately, Willie could hear the sounds of cabinets and drawers being opened and rifled through. 

The noise continued for several more seconds. Willie leaned over to Crystal, “Okay, he’s just been trolling through your frilly underwear, but now you trust him unsupervised around your silverware?”

Crystal considered for a second, and then jumped out of her chair to run into the kitchen. At that point, Joe came bounding out of the kitchen with a roll of aluminum foil with a swashbuckling, “Aha!”. He tore off a long sheet with a flourish and wrapped it around the kid’s head. “Tada!”

Willie watched Taylor’s face work through a quick spectrum from complete confusion to amused pity. “Joe, Ah think ya---”

Willie interrupted him, “No, Taylor, you weren’t in the foil room at the lab. This could---”

The kid screamed. Everyone froze. His face was flushed a deep red, and was contorted into a grimace. He convulsed once, and every muscle in his body tensed up. He moaned through clenched teeth, and a thin line of drool oozed out one end of his mouth. Then he passed out.

. . .

Crystal leaned against the counter in the tiny kitchen and watched the pot slowly fill with a fresh batch of coffee. She was completely exhausted. The adrenalin boosts earlier in the night had used up all of her energy and left her totally drained. Plus, she had closed the bar the last couple of nights, and she was really in need of some quality sleep tonight. 

As she filled her coffee cup with the fresh brew, she noticed that her hands were shaking.

Taylor popped his head around the kitchen door, announced “The kid’s oop,” and disappeared back into the living room. Crystal closed her eyes, rolled her neck back until there was a satisfying cracking sound, and braced herself for the scene in the next room. With a deep breath, she headed back through the door.

Inside the living room, all of the lights were out except for one lamp right beside the kid. Joe was pacing back and forth around the room, wearing an aluminum foil hat and periodically peeking out the blinds and through the peephole in the front door. Willie was sitting on the edge of the coffee table facing the kid, encouraging him in a low voice to wake up. Taylor was standing behind the kid, fingering the roll of aluminum foil thoughtfully. Crystal sacked out on the couch beside Willie. 

Willie continued, “Kid, you awake? Kid? We need to talk to you, man.”

The kid squinted through one half-open eye, “where’s…what?…what’s going on?”

Willie nodded, and Taylor shut off the lamp. The room was cloaked in darkness. Crystal could just barely make out everyone’s shadowy profiles by the streetlight coming in through the blinds on the windows.

“Easy, kid,” Willie continued. “Listen, you’re safe now. We think that you were under the effects of…a drug. You probably didn’t even know you were taking it.”

“Huh?”

“Listen, kid, what’s your name?”

The kid paused, then answered slowly, “Wolf in…winter”

Crystal interrupted before Willie got too confused, “What’s your English name?”

The kid paused again, longer this time, then mumbled, “Randy...Randy Martin.”

She continued, “What tribe are you from, Randy?”

“Choctaw…Mississippi Choctaw.”

Willie took back over from there, “What are you doing this far from home, Randy?”

“I don’t remember. I… it’s all confused.”

“Alright, Randy, just take it slow. What’s the last thing you remember clearly? You were in Mississippi, and…”

“White Oak was gonna take us on a camping trip…”

“And who is White Oak?” Willie took a hint from Crystal, “What’s his _English_ name?”

“He’s the leader of the youth group…I don’t know his…other name. I just joined the group a few days ago…and he said we shouldn’t use those names anyway.”

“Okay, Randy, good. That’s good. And then what happened? You went on your camping trip?”

“Yeah…I mean, no…we got on a bus and then he started talking about…legends and stuff…and Grandmother Spider…and how we were going to go help Grandmother Spider…and it doesn’t make sense now, but it made *sense* then, you know? And…except we didn’t go camping…we went over to Birmingham and…wait…wait…I shot a cop! No…wait! I think I shot somebody!”

“Easy, Randy, easy!” Willie did his best to calm the kid. Crystal couldn’t see his face in the dark, but she could hear the strain in his voice. “Don’t worry about that right now. Tell me what you remember…just relax and go through it step-by-step.”

The kid’s voice was strained now. Crystal wasn’t sure, but he may have been crying. “I…I don’t remember. There was a warehouse…and we got some cars from somewhere…and we drove around…and he told us to watch this place…”

“Do you remember where the place was? Could you find it again?”

“I don’t know…I don’t remember…but then he told us that people were in a bar…and they were gonna get together and hurt Grandmother Spider…and we had to stop them…and he gave us some guns…and…and…he told us to do it…and it made sense then, but…”

“Easy, kid, easy. It’s okay, alright? It’s gonna be alright, Randy. It’s gonna be alright. Look…how about you just rest right now, okay? We’re gonna take care of everything.”

Willie stood up, and motioned for everyone to move into the kitchen. Crystal led the way and flipped the light on in the kitchen once everyone was inside. 

Willie looked angrier than she had ever seen him before. He whispered coolly, but with a deadly resolve, “I wasn’t lying to that kid.” He took a deep breath and explained in a business-like tone. “We’re gonna find this White Oak b@$&@*$ and then _we’re gonna take care of things_.”


----------



## Xath

Wow! Another update so soon.  I'm going to get spoiled.


----------



## ledded

Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> He felt a weird connection to these people, but he certainly didn’t intend to be stuck with them if there was a dead body to get rid of.



Save this comment to refer back to later.  It will seem *so* much more ironic then... 



			
				Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> Crystal shrugged and took another sip of her coffee, “Actually, I’d say the kid’s doing a pretty good job of interrogating _us_. So far, we’ve told him who we are, what we’ve seen, and that there’s a lab somewhere with another giant spider in it…Willie, would you like to me to get my purse so you can read him my credit card numbers?”



"Hey, it's called _winning their trust_ or _giving them an out_.  See, you tell them stuff they already know or that you dont care that they know, then they either subconsciously feel like they need to respond with information or they start actively concocting a story using the info you gave them which you can then later pick apart to find the actual truth.  Yeah, that's it.  Strategery, baby." 

Or it could be that I, as a player, suck a lot more at interrogating than Willie, the PC does. 

 (BTW, I read that stuff in the Idiots Guide to Private Investigating  )

Great update Drew.


----------



## Old Drew Id

ledded said:
			
		

> "See, you tell them stuff they already know or that you dont care that they know, then they either subconsciously feel like they need to respond with information..."




This is a one of the dozens of running jokes in our campaign. We're currently in episode 9, and the group had been in these interrogation situations now about a half-dozen times since then, and they are not getting any better at it. The group always ends up telling the prisoner anything they want to know, and at the same time, getting almost no information out of the person. The funny part is that they are aware that they are doing it, but they just can't seem to help themselves. 



			
				ledded said:
			
		

> BTW, I read that stuff in the Idiots Guide to Private Investigating




That little quote there points out what I love about this crew. Ledded plays a private eye, so he went out and bought the Idiots Guide to Private Investigation. Pierceatwork is playing a preacher, so he brings a bible concordance to the table with him, so he can always have context-appropriate verses ready to use in-game. Fludogg subscribed to a couple of comic titles because of his character. Eyas can fill you in Choctaw history and on the details of an archaelogical dig. These are not things I asked any of them to do. They just wanted to contribute to a fuller gaming experience.


----------



## fenzer

You have a great group and write a good story Drew.  Thanks for the updates.


----------



## Majewicz

Wow.

Wow.

Found this site last week and printed of this thread and Jonrog1's Southern Girls for reading (lot of paper) and all I can say is WOW. I now join the ranks of those wanting another update.

Drew, I am very interested in the magic system. The document you provided early on made great reading. Is there any chance for an update considering that your group probably knows more about the effects (or you hope they do).

Keep up the great work guys.


----------



## Broccli_Head

VERY NICE!

Liked the wierdness of Joe and Crystal's reactions...

did it really occur like this in game play?


----------



## ledded

Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> VERY NICE!
> 
> Liked the wierdness of Joe and Crystal's reactions...
> 
> did it really occur like this in game play?



Oh, no.  Nope.

It's usually much, much worse in actual play.

In this case, I think certain connections between a phosphorus shotgun round, a ball-peen hammer, and a particular orifice were mentioned in most explcit terms, but my memory isnt that good so I might have seen that on Scrubs or something.  Joe certainly did those things, and probably worse.  

If that was only the creepiest thing that Joe did this episode, well, then the nightmares wouldnt have been nearly as bad.  <shudder>

In episode 8, Willie actually very nearly shot Joe, like 2 guns-boomboomboomboom-double-tap-until-I-can-see-the-street-through-the-holes shot Joe, he was so mad at him.  After therapy and a few perscription pharmacuticals, he is feeling much better now.  He's learned to control that rage thing a little better and the voices are a good bit more muted, more like a constant murmuring instead of the BLAH BLAH BLAH KILL KILL KILL... 

ahehheh... heh... did I say that out loud?

Just kidding folks.  Really.  Ok, sort of.  Well at least a little kidding.  Ahehheh.

By episode 9, bickering has turned into a bonafide art form, and we spend most of our non-combat time doing it.  And most of our combat time, but that is usually Willie b****ing right after jumping through a window into the middle of the heavily armed bad guys, then getting shot at for 5 rounds while screaming for backup, or for at least someone to *show up*...

<BLAM> <BLAM> <KABOOM> "I thought you m___ f___'s said you was gonna back ME UP!"  <RATATATATATAT>

"Hey, I can back you up from the car across the street juuuuust fine... just draw them out here, will ya, but take your time because I need to finish this pie and then check out the warehouse across the street and around the block..." <munch munch munch> 

okay maybe I'm exaggerating maybe just a little bit, maybe...  we'll actually everyone else has had a time of it and I can be a bit rash sometimes... Taylor did have that really nasty thing with the bus, and Cooper was all by himself when that thing clawed the door off the car after him, and Crystal nearly died when I slung her out of the sunroof and that thing exploded and sprayed us with shrapnel and flaming body bits, and Joe took that *really* long fall which nearly killed him considering any falls over 60' in Medallions go straight to Wound Points, then there was that time that...  well you get the point.  Forget I said anything. 

Actually, oddly enough, most of the worst beatings members of the team have taken have been while taking cover somewhere supposedly safe, or in a large heavy vehicle, or while actively trying to avoid the enemy in an intelligent manner.

Willie, ironically enough, has stayed the safest when he charges straight into the open in the direct middle of his enemies and just blazes away until they all fall down while barely taking a scratch (unless he shoots himself), while at the same time some of the rest of the team is nearly killed by things on the periphery by slavering beasts while trying to take cover, or drive away just as the helicopter crashes on top of them, etc you know those mundane things that happen to normal folks.


----------



## fludogg

ledded said:
			
		

> Oh, no.  Nope.
> 
> It's usually much, much worse in actual play.




Yeah, ledded is correct there. Between Joe's "ahem" charm and Crystal's "I'm smarter than you" attitude, well, lets just say these two don't get along real well.



			
				ledded said:
			
		

> By episode 9, bickering has turned into a bonafide art form, and we spend most of our non-combat time doing it.  And most of our combat time, but that is usually Willie b****ing right after jumping through a window into the middle of the heavily armed bad guys, then getting shot at for 5 rounds while screaming for backup, or for at least someone to *show up*...




Oh, but Willie, we always have your back....just usually way back, and from around this corner. Isn't that why you gave Crystal that really big rifle?


----------



## Eyas

fludogg said:
			
		

> Yeah, ledded is correct there. Between Joe's "ahem" charm and Crystal's "I'm smarter than you" attitude, well, lets just say these two don't get along real well.
> 
> 
> 
> Oh, but Willie, we always have your back....just usually way back, and from around this corner. Isn't that why you gave Crystal that really big rifle?




Doh, all that above was really from me. Poor fludogg only has net access at work and his web nazis, er, I mean network administrators, have a filter in place that blocks enworld, so he has me log in an subscribe to threads for him. Oh well, just wanted to clarify the post, as I am fairly certain that flu would have a different take on the bickering between everyone


----------



## ragboy

So, like many that have already posted, I just found this SH and read the whole darn thing over two days. Great writing work and great gaming work. 

I must say, I see Joe as *Wayne Knight*, about half *Nedry* and half *Newman*.

Everyone is great and it's been high entertainment. 

So, now I'm in the addict ward. Post already.


----------



## Retto

*Fun story!*

Well, I'm not actually all the way through the story, but I'm enjoying it so far.  Good work!


----------



## Puppy Kicker

Fantastic updates, Drew!  This is one of the classics on ENWorld as far as I'm concerned.


----------



## gerg861

I recently started reading Medallions, and I was wondering if there was a compiled word doc of this great storyhour somewhere?  Also, BUMP


----------



## ledded

Note:  New pics of our table posted over in the minis thread (see sig for link)


----------



## Angcuru

I wants me an update, yes I do.    And pie.


----------



## AteoFiel

This is fantastic.  I live in Gadsden (about 60 miles from Bham) and used to work in Bham.  I recognize the place names and even the names of most of the people you based the story on.

Very impressive work, sirs.  I commend you all.

Oh.. and BTW.. Update please!!  Update in the Rogue's Gallery would be welcome as well.


----------



## ledded

BUMPing in hopes of an update...


----------



## Angcuru

I'm wondering where Kumar(?) is in the middle of all of this.  Making a fresh batch of cocaine in Crystal's kitchen?


----------



## ledded

Angcuru said:
			
		

> I'm wondering where Kumar(?) is in the middle of all of this. Making a fresh batch of cocaine in Crystal's kitchen?



Whoa whoa whoa!  Kumars would *never* make something like cocaine... see, that's *illegal*.  And serves no real purpose.

Now aspirin gauranteed to get rid of any headache, now that's a different story, especially with the kinds of headaches that Medallions magic can give you.  

Anyway, he's a "supporting character", i.e. my backup guy should something happen to Willie.  He will show up in a while though, air pistol with acid darts, dynamite, and quick-draw wrist holster for his butane lighter all thrown in together.


----------



## Lola

Hmmmm, interesting. I approve of the turns the story is taking. Although I admit, giant spiders are gonna creep me out everytime, especially psychic giant spiders. At least I find that when I leave for six months, I can come back to at least one update on my favorite story hours...


----------



## ledded

Lola said:
			
		

> Hmmmm, interesting. I approve of the turns the story is taking. Although I admit, giant spiders are gonna creep me out everytime, especially psychic giant spiders. At least I find that when I leave for six months, I can come back to at least one update on my favorite story hours...



Hey there, long time no see Lola, good to see ya back.  Yes, and that spider is psychic in the same way that 12 lb sledgehammers are good for cracking pecans.

Player update:  new house rules.

Brother Cooper, having taken a *serious* beating, was relating something to Joe and almost forgot to call him by his full name.  It went something like this:

"Well, we're just not... gonna do that... Jo.  Seph..."

At the time it stuck us as amusing and OldDrewId house-ruled that from now on, any time a PC is injured below 2/3 vitality points, they automatically begin talking like the asthmatic kid from _Malcolm in the Middle_.

Also, Joe and Willie have decided that the *next* time we're encouraged to all kneel down at the alter of some half-forgtten Elder god that the group can damn well get two other idiots to do it, I don't care if the freakin' thing is full of fritos and you already have the magical Ancient Assyrian Vessel of chili.  Those dang altars must see traffic like public restrooms or something, sometimes they'll give you something that ajax just wont wash off.


----------



## JERMED

*Virgin post to Drew and crew*

Just finished page 13 of your series in B'ham.  Alabama native here and really enjoyed the use of local places.  (I too love Surin's).  This is my first post ever!  I am an internet neanderthal.  Love your writing style and have hooked several others on your story.   Hope it continues to be as great as the first episode.  All of you have really made the characters come to life.  I will continue to read.  Next time I get to B'ham I'll treat you all to dinner or lunch at Surin's (although coming from T'town originally I do like Taco Casa).  Thanks again for the story.


----------



## ledded

JERMED said:
			
		

> Just finished page 13 of your series in B'ham. Alabama native here and really enjoyed the use of local places. (I too love Surin's). This is my first post ever! I am an internet neanderthal. Love your writing style and have hooked several others on your story. Hope it continues to be as great as the first episode. All of you have really made the characters come to life. I will continue to read.



Yet another bama native.  Glad you could stop by, OldDrewId can always use more praise to fuel his Big Giant Head  .  Maybe he'll give us another update one day...




			
				JERMED said:
			
		

> Next time I get to B'ham I'll treat you all to dinner or lunch at Surin's (although coming from T'town originally I do like Taco Casa). Thanks again for the story.



Hey, be careful now, I for one will hold you to that; I take my Surin's seriously .  And I love the Casa too, there's the one over on Highway 280 that I used to eat at when I worked in that area.


----------



## Gina

Hey! How about an update for your loyal readers who MUST know what happens to Willie and the others!


----------



## Pierce

For everyone's info: DrewId and his fiancee are getting married tonight!  Everyone wish him well (and wish me well on my best-man's speech   )


----------



## Angcuru

Oh boy!  First Fajitas and now OldDrewId!     Everybody's getting hitched!


----------



## HeapThaumaturgist

Congrats to the newlyweds!

My wife and I got hitched in june.   Hopefully you'll have some peace and quiet soon and all of the craziness will die down.  Weddings are stress with a bow tie.

--fje


----------



## ledded

Pierce said:
			
		

> For everyone's info: DrewId and his fiancee are getting married tonight! Everyone wish him well (and wish me well on my best-man's speech  )



The wedding was fabulous, the bride stunning, no one passed out on stage, and there was no secret zombie attack.

And Pierce's best-man's speech was great, I would have gotten all teary and whatnot had I not been so drunk  (just kidding).  Fludogg managed to hit on every woman there over the age of 18... er, ahem, 17... 

A great night, and we loked like a crew of mobsters in those black-on-black tuxedos (no bowties).


----------



## Angcuru

I've got a funny similar story, ledded.  

I remember a few years ago one of my cousins up in Rhode Island was getting married, and my dad decided that the whole male Jersey chapter of 'the Family' should wear Black-on-Black tuxes and Dark Sunglasses.  I didn't know why at the time, but it soon became apparent after the wedding.  

We were all sitting outside on the chapel steps waiting for the father of the bride to show up, looking all maifoso-like.  My dad and his buddy Richy kept putting their hands into their suits as if reaching for Pistols whenever someone came too near.  And NOBODY was saying anything, just lounging around looking suspicious.  Native Rhode Islanders are looking at us, the license plates of our rented black Lexuses that read "The Garden State", and giving us a WIIIIIDE berth.

Then the bride's dad arrives, in a black limo, he and the chaufer dressed the same as us.  Richy rushes over to the limo door and opens it for the bride's dad, who slowly gets out and looks at us, we walk over to him and do the whole 'greeting and paying respect to the Godfather' deal.  People on the other side of the street were acting all shocked and frightened, walking really fast or just staring at us.  The limo drives off and we all surround the bride's father, walk inside, and look around the perimeter of the chapel before closing the doors and posting the best man and his brother outside for a few minutes to look like a pair of guards.  

Man, that was one interesting wedding.     And the reception afterwards was even better.      Quite a few Freudian slips from the caterers.


----------



## Peterson

And here I thought our gaming group wedding traditions were....odd.

Whoever the player is - male or female - they are taken to a FLGS (normally sometime during the same week, and before, the bachelor party) to purchase a D20 or D6 (their choice) that they must carry in their suit pocket during the wedding.  During the reception, we have a "funeral" for the die by rolling it one last time - usually into a sewer drain or garbage disposal.

All in all, a total of 8 dice have been sacrified for the hopes of the newly-wed gamer to continue gaming.  Out of the 8, I believe 7 still game - out of those 7, only 2 have gamer-spouses.  Not bad odds if you ask me.

Of course, there's also a rumour that if you roll max (20 on D20/6 on D6) during the funeral roll, you automatically get to level your character (or gain 1D6 Force Points - we're D6 Star Wars players originally), but if you roll a 1, you have to burn your current character sheet and write up a Kobold (or Ewok).  It's a rumour cause amazingly enough, none of us ever rolled max or min yet.

(I'll say nothing about the die, the bachelor party, or the morning after however.  _"Never witness nothing.  Ya live longer."_ I believe is the unofficial rule)

Peterson


----------



## Eyas

hehe, I was there and I still want to read what happened next, so imagine how everyone else feels. Please sir! May we have another update?


----------



## Pierce

*Halloween!*

DrewId and I had our office Halloween party today.  Here's a pic.  I'm on the left.


----------



## Peterson

Pierce said:
			
		

> DrewId and I had our office Halloween party today.  Here's a pic.  I'm on the left.




Huh.  Strange - that's almost the exact same pic that ledded emailed me of your gaming group from two months ago, except there was a bible in your hand Pierce and and beer in DrewId's......he said nothing about costumes.... :\ 

Just teasing bud.    

Peterson


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Episode II - Session II: Crystal's Kitchen, Southside*

*Episode II - Session II: Crystal's Kitchen, Southside*

Taylor poured himself another cup of coffee while he watched Crystal reluctantly dial a long-distance number into her cell phone. By the time he had hunted down some sweetener packets from her kitchen cabinets, he heard her talking into the phone: 

“Paw-Paw? Hey, this is Crystal. Did I wake you?”

_Paw-paw_? Taylor stored that one in his head for later, in the “Things to make fun of Crystal For” file.

“I’m fine, Paw-Paw. It’s…five o’clock. I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

Taylor imagined the other end of the conversation in his head. _No, See-Saw, I’m always up before dawn on Mondays. _

Crystal continued, apparently satisfied that she had not waken her grandfather. “Um…no, I’m back in Birmingham. I…um…met this kid this tonight, Paw-Paw. And he’s in some trouble…Yes sir…”

Taylor wandered back into the living room with his fresh mug of coffee in hand. Willie was stretched out half-asleep on the couch. The prisoner kid was apparently asleep in his chair. Joe was sacked out on the floor in front of the television, watching some Japanese cartoon show with the sound turned way down, his aluminum foil hat perched merrily on his head. 

Behind the couch, Crystal had a small desk, loaded down with books and papers. Taylor sat down at the desk, absently rubbed some sleep out of his eyes, and noticed a little bit of sunlight creeping through the closed window blinds. He hoped Crystal’s plan would work. He wasn’t sure what else they could do with the kid now that that he seemed to have come back to his senses. 

Idly, Taylor started flipping through Crystal’s books. Native Cemeteries And Forms Of Burial East Of The Mississippi. The Craft: A Witch’s Book of Shadows. The New Encyclopedia of the Occult. Well, just a little light reading for the slightly psychotic. He flipped over another book which rested on top of a magazine, flipped open to an article that Crystal had highlighted. He pulled the magazine from the stack and saw the title of the article, Do you have the right hair style for your body type? Oh, this was a goldmine right here. He could tease Crystal for months about this one. 

Taylor caught himself in mind-thought. He was already assuming he would know any of these people months from now. He set the magazine back down on the pile of books. He had known these people less than, what, twelve hours? And in that time he had watched them bluff their way into some weird laboratory downtown, race their cars to a police shootout on Southside, and now hold some kid prisoner while they interrogated him with an aluminum foil hat on his head. And Taylor had not only supported those activities, but he had been an increasingly active participant. 

In college, Taylor had been a pretty good chemist. He had made a small, but increasingly profitable, business out of mixing up “party favors” in the school labs for his friends and flat-mates. But when one of his customers flashed a gun during a routine exchange, Taylor had dropped out the business altogether in favor of safer diversions. And when Taylor had been dating that grad student a couple of years back who had suddenly wanted to start bringing knives into their bed, he had exited that situation immediately. (Well, okay, not immediately, but as soon as they got back from their ski weekend, because she was really hot and because, hey, free ski weekend.) 

The point was, Taylor decided, he was a pretty wise guy when it came to dangerous situations and dangerous people, and he definitely knew better than to get hooked up with a bunch of…mercenaries or whatever these people were. So why was he here?

It felt right. He couldn’t explain it any better than that. He had definitely had those dreams about these people, but that wasn’t it really. It just felt right to be here, to be a part of this…team. 

Taylor shuddered on that one. The sensation that it just “made sense” for him to be a part of this group reminded him an awful lot of the way the kid had said that it just “made sense” for him to follow that White Oak nut into that nightclub. 

Fortunately, Crystal came back out of the kitchen at that point. Joe turned the volume on the television down the rest of the way, and Willie sat up on the couch, eager to hear what she had to say. 

Crystal looked tired, and more than a little guilty. “My grandfather is going to send some men from the tribe to bring the kid home. And they’ll keep the whole thing quiet.” 

Willie relaxed visibly, “Cool. Thanks, Little Wing. I know it ain’t easy to call in a favor like that. Did he know anything else about this White Oak dude?”

Crystal nodded. “He’s heard of him. His English name is Clint Dawson. He’s a member of the tribe, but apparently he just recently started getting involved in some of the ‘Traditional Culture’ groups. My grandfather says that White Oak’s connected with some tribal youth scouting group that’s supposed to be on a hiking trip this weekend. The left town on a chartered bus this weekend. ”

Willie was already dialing into his cell phone. While he was dialing, he asked Crystal, “I can put somebody I work with on the lookout for it here in town. Do you have the name of the company that chartered the bus?”

Crystal shook her head, “No, but I can get it.”

Willie nodded, “Good. If we want to find that spider, we’re gonna need to find that bus.”

. . .

The contents of Brother Cooper’s nightstand were, in order of closeness to the bed, a Bible, a telephone, and a cowboy hat. And under the cowboy hat, a gun. This allowed the portly evangelist to joke to himself each night about “the things he kept under his hat”, while also protecting him from accidentally waking up to the phone ringing, and sleepily holding his gun up to his ear (again). 

Brother Cooper thought of these things with a shudder, then stretched, threw the blankets back, cleared his throat, and answered his ringing phone. “Cooper residence, Brother Cooper speaking.”

“Yo, Coop, this is Willie. Saw you on TV last night! Lookin’ sharp!”

Brother Cooper grimaced in memory of the night’s events, “Well, thank you, Wilson. Although I must say I wasn’t really concerned with my appearance at the time. Just doing the Shepherd’s work. There were some grieving families last night that---”

“Yeah, that’s great, Coop. Glad to hear it. Listen, you hear anything last night from the boys in blue about …uh, our eight-legged friend? Or anything about a bus from Mississippi?” 

Cooper recognized the mixture of weariness and frenzy in Wilson’s voice. It was a side effect of being up all night and staying awake through a steady supply of coffee. He wondered how much he had missed last night when he had lost touch with the rest of the group. He answered, “No, Wilson, I can’t say that I have. The officers I spoke to last night appeared to be quite bewildered by the whole experience. Then again, I can’t say that I blame them. I’m as lost as anyone to explain the violence in that club last night.”  Of course, he added silently, that didn’t stop those victims and their families from turning to him for an explanation, but such was the burden of the shepherd that he had chosen to bear, and complaining about it wouldn’t help matters. 

Willie only seemed half-interested in his response anyway. “Alright, well I’m headin’ home for a shower and some shut-eye. Assuming they don’t kill each other first, we got Little Wing and Joe watching the kid, until the tribal police come get him…and that Scottish dude said he was gonna swing by his lab and mix us up some bug-bombs. So if you need me later---”

“Whoa, wait, just a minute there, Wilson…what kid are you referring to?”

Willie sighed before answering, “I forgot you wasn’t there, preacher. Hmmm…what are your plans later this morning?”

“Well, actually Wilson, I have a lot of work to do. I’m putting together this memorial service on Southside for the officers slain in the violence last night, and I have several sessions of grief counseling---“

“Um…okay, preacher, don’t worry about it,” Cooper could hear the exhaustion in Willie’s voice.  “I’ll fill you in real quick on what we found out. Oh, but first, you got any tin foil there at your house?”


----------



## weiknarf

yay!


----------



## Peterson

Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> And when Taylor had been dating that grad student a couple of years back who had suddenly wanted to start bringing knives into their bed, he had exited that situation immediately. (Well, okay, not immediately, but as soon as they got back from their ski weekend, because she was really hot and because, hey, free ski weekend.)




Beautiful - just freaking beautiful.....



			
				Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> The contents of Brother Cooper’s nightstand were, in order of closeness to the bed, a Bible, a telephone, and a cowboy hat. And under the cowboy hat, a gun. This allowed the portly evangelist to joke to himself each night about “the things he kept under his hat”, while also protecting him from accidentally waking up to the phone ringing, and sleepily holding his gun up to his ear (again).




Have I told you lately how much I love this storyhour?



			
				Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> “Um…okay, preacher, don’t worry about it,” Cooper could hear the exhaustion in Willie’s voice.  “I’ll fill you in real quick on what we found out. Oh, but first, you got any tin foil there at your house?”




Classic.

Man, am I glad you updated - and it was well worth the wait!

Thanks man!

Peterson


----------



## Angcuru

Ah, yayness.


----------



## ledded

Yay!  Drew *is* alive!

And better yet, he's _writing_ again!  

(ok, I knew he was still alive, but that does not diminish my happiness for receiving the much belated update, mainly because I know what comes next and I'm dying to get around to it)


----------



## CalicoDave

Hey, thanks for the update!

Any story with aluminum foil hats has to be good!


----------



## Broccli_Head

Yay! an Update? Drew's Alive....

You haven't been playing City of Heroes like me have you?


----------



## Paxr0mana

Drew is back! Huzzah!

Edit: Today I got to use the word "Machiavellian" in dinnertime conversation.


----------



## ledded

Player update, episode 10.

Ya know how you have those childhood fears, the fear of the horrible thing under the bed? You know, the one that snaps out, grabs your ankle, yanks you onto your back and then pulls you screaming nononoNOOOOO, fingers plowing furrows in the ground as you disappear from sight and the Dark Thing sinks terrible slobbering sharp fangs into your ankle and no one can help you or hear you scream?

The Dark Thing that has aleady left a series of people torn open like a paper-mache pinata at a 14-year old's baseball team birthday party.

Yup. Check. Lived that one. 

We don't even *need* a sanity mechanic for Medallions. *I*, as a player, took sanity damage last night.

Also, you know you have the RBDM that RBDM's talk about in hushed whispers when confronted with the choice of a couple handfuls of nebulous 'magic bullets' that may, or may not, hurt the Dark Things in exchange for irrevocable ability damage, and not only do you not even blink as you ask "where do I sign up for that?" but feel like you got a pretty good deal.

EDIT: That last line should have read: "...but feel like you got a pretty good deal _as you limp away throwing up blood_." 

Yes, Drew is the RBDM that even the nastiest RBDM's cower in fear of. But I now have the nicer stick (I couldnt afford the rock).


----------



## Xath

Awesome.  So.....when's the next update?


----------



## Angcuru

Xath said:
			
		

> Awesome.  So.....when's the next update?



When the marital bliss afflicting OldDrewId fades.


----------



## ledded

Angcuru said:
			
		

> When the marital bliss afflicting OldDrewId fades.



I wouldnt count on _that_, man.  OldDrewId married one of the best women EVAR, and I'm starting to think they have huge underground storage tanks of bliss hidden away somewhere.  It's really sort of disgusting , but then again I've been married for over 10 years now, and I can include things into 'marital bliss' like not being clubbed over the head with an iron frying pan when I come in really late and a little tipsy from game night  .  (Just kidding, my wife is also one of the good ones... heck, she'd have to be to put up with me).

I think I may just start annoying Drew into an update, as that has worked out so well in the past


----------



## Angcuru

Glad to hear it, ledded.  Now go prod him with the update stick.


----------



## nobodez

*yes*

Much with the updating!

I know it's thanksgiving and all, but I really want it!

Wait, that didn't come out right


----------



## Speed-Stick

Great story hour. Been reading it for a while, just posting to thank ya for it.


----------



## willofgod

I love this story!


----------



## Draco Bahamut

*Thanks, i am really grateful*

Well, there aren´t words that weren´t said about the greatness of Drew campaing. I reallly got inspired to try harder to be a better DM to my group after been reading this story hour for months and now i´m here only to express my gratitude to Drew and his whole gaming group. 

There already so many really cool moments, missed characters and impressive plots points. I don´t would wish to be part of it because it´s your experience, your unique chemistry that give birth to this wonderful series. But i hope that someday i´d play in a game just like this. 

Really thanks for all the trouble you got for sharing it with us poor mortals


----------



## Angcuru

Updating soonness?


----------



## Draco Bahamut

maybe we could write fanfics about this tread while we wait... like alternate universes where Taylor Chu had lived or Joe and Crystal somehow were married ^_^


----------



## ledded

Draco Bahamut said:
			
		

> maybe we could write fanfics about this tread while we wait... like alternate universes where Taylor Chu had lived or




That would be funny.



> Joe and Crystal somehow were married ^_^




Ok, now I would darn near *pay* to read that


----------



## Zuoken

Well Drew, I would like to congratulate you on a job well done with this unbelievable story hour, and good luck with the wifey   !

I just managed to finish this leviathan of a story hour in 3 sittings; you guys have me hook, line, and sinker.

If my players interacted half as well as the Medallions crew, I would die a happy GM.


----------



## Tesler

Drew Id, This story is friggin' awsome! A buddy of mine told me I should swing by here and check it out and man was it worth it. Quick question though. Does anyone know of any other really good Story Hours worth checking out?


----------



## Peterson

Tesler said:
			
		

> Does anyone know of any other really good Story Hours worth checking out?





Oh, we know.  We *know*.

Here's a couple of quick ones that I didn't have to dig for.  If you want more, let me know.  Plus, I'm _sure_ I missed a bunch of other really good ones in my quick link-search.

Copperheads (It's good!): http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=33285

This is just too wrong _not _to read!  Dungeon Crawl meets modern game show!  X-PATH: http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=85007

Done by the famous ledded, player of Willie, the P.I. Good WWII/Supers action!  We were like gods once: http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=76515

More from the players of Copperheads and X-PATH: Company of the Random Encounter: http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=26330

An infamous writer is the DM for these!  Darkmatter D20: Drunk Southern Girls with guns, Zombie Toddlers, and Bad Aliens: http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=4912

Pulp Spycraft: Nadia Tesla and the Agents of Extraordinary Caliber: http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&threadid=33586

Scarred Lands: None darecall them heroes:  http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?threadid=35948

The awesome (and hard to spell) Heap(somethingoranother) is the author of the following:
University Blues: Cabin Fever: http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=52840
The 88th Floor: http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=99247
A Dark and Restless Tide: http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?p=1440338#post1440338


_That_ should keep you busy for a while.  My work here is done.....for now.

Peterson


----------



## Gina

Please? Update.....soon? 

I want to know what happens next! 

I need some Willie!


----------



## Peterson

Gina said:
			
		

> Please? Update.....soon?
> 
> I want to know what happens next!
> 
> I need some Willie!




Yes, we all need updates...hint, hint.  

However, I know that the writer for this little ditty is currently slammed at work, so it might still be awhile before the next push.

Still, keep this thread locked in the back of your mind, because it's no where near finished yet.

Peterson


----------



## ledded

Gina said:
			
		

> Please? Update.....soon?
> 
> I want to know what happens next!




Yeah!  Me too!  Err... well I know what happens next, but I'd still like to see it in print.



> I need some Willie!




Wow.  If only you knew how many times that exclamation pops up in game


----------



## Gina

ledded said:
			
		

> Wow.  If only you knew how many times that exclamation pops up in game




I'm betting there are a lot of people in game and out who need regular Willie! He's just that kind of guy!


----------



## Angcuru

Well, it's been one quarter of a year.  Updating soon, maybe, please?


----------



## The_Universe

Yeah - an update would rock my socks off.


----------



## caex

I first read some of this story a good while ago back when there was about half the number of pages and never posted what I thought because my comp crashed and I lost the address for this site and could not for the life of me remember it.

I finally found the site again a couple of days ago and re-read the whole thing and I just wanted to say that this has been one of the most entertaining things I have read on theh internet, or off the net, and wanted to say keep it up, and that you guys seem to really hava a lot of fun playing together, makes me wish I could play d20 modern, or even D & D but no one around here plays.

Any way, please update soon and keep them coming!!!!!!!!!!!


----------



## Bloosquig

Oh no... I've finally gotten caught up with the story hour.  Now I have NOTHING to live for!     Well, maybe I can just check back every five minutes and see if theres an update?  Yeah that could work.   
Great story, one of those games that keeps me up at night weeping that I was never in a game like it and probably never will be!  congrats on the marriage and update when you can!


----------



## Peterson

Well, at the worst, we could consider this to be liken to the work of Jonrog's Drunk Southern Girls With Guns.....

So, Old DrewId, when are you writing your first script?

lol.

Ah well, I'm one of the faithful, and will wait (mostly) patiently for updates....

Peterson

(er, this is not a disguised bump.....)


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Episode II - Session II: Willie's Bedroom*

*Episode II - Session II: Willie's Bedroom*

Willie’s cell phone woke him from a restless dream, where he was hiding from someone in a hut on a darkened beach. As he opened one bloodshot eye, the dream mostly faded from his memory, leaving only a general mood of unease. He gazed past the phone on his nightstand, through the empty bottle of rum (when had he finished that?), and over the dirty ashtray to the clock in the corner. He sighed without moving. 

The clock read 1:15, and from the sunlight in the window, that meant it was early afternoon. This was the result of his keen detective mind at work.

The phone kept ringing. He slid across the silk sheets (Seduction Secret #19, which he had learned recently from Carla) and put the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

“Hey baby…”

Willie cracked a smile. Even on the telephone, women could hear the smile in your voice (Seduction Secret #4). “Lucille? Hey baby, I was just thinking about you.”

Lucille responded with a disbelieving “Mmm-Hmmm. Boy, don’t you be lying to me. You only be thinking ‘bout me when you gonna be calling me needing a favor or something.”

“Now baby you know that’s not true! You ain’t got be like that. I was just thinking about having you over here this weekend and maybe cooking dinner for you.”

Lucille responded with another disbelieving “Mmm-Hmmm. So when you left this message for me this morning, what was that? Like an appetizer? Leaving messages for me like I’m some kind of secretary? Wanting me to do background checks for you?”

“Now baby, it ain’t like that at all. Now you know I was working. A man’s got to work, baby. See I left a message for you like that cuz when I call you, I don’t want to talk about work with you, baby. I just want to hear your voice.”

Lucille responded with a third “Mmm-Hmmm”, but this one was more willing to believe what he was saying. Willie could hear the smile in her voice now.

“Now come on, baby. Don’t be like that. You know Willie’s here for you. Now, are we on for this weekend?”

Willie listened to the silence on the phone patiently while Lucille waited long enough to convince herself that she was playing hard-to-get. “Alright.”

“There you go baby. Now, is that why you was calling me? Or did you find out anything about that Clint Dawson dude? I mean, it’s fine if you didn’t find anything…”

“Now Willie, you think I would do you like that?”

Willie rolled over onto his back and looked up into the mirror on his ceiling (Seduction Secret #11). “No, baby, I just didn’t want you thinking I was just calling you for work favors is all. I respect you too much for that, baby.”

“Well I ran a check on him this morning for you.” Her voice was sweet now, and eager to please. He thought he could hear her blushing, so he decided to throw her a bone.

“You’re an angel, baby. A real angel… so you find anything good?”

Lucille answered eagerly. “Not really. He’s clean as far as I can see. No criminal record. Not even any speeding tickets. Has an address here in town but his driver’s license is still registered in Mississippi. And it has a work address here for him too.”

“Oh yeah? Where’s he work?”

“The address is here in town. It’s a company called RGI? I don’t know what that stands for, though.”

Willie sat up sharply in bed. “Clint Dawson works for RGI?” 

“That’s what it says. Is that good?”

“Um…no, baby…I think that’s probably not a good thing.”

BEEP

“Shoot, Lucille, my other line is beeping in. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Huh? But what about this weekend? Are we still---”

Willie clicked over to the other line. 

“Willie? Hey, this is K.C.”

Willie was already rolling out of bed and grabbing his pants. He had called K.C. this morning when he had gotten the news about the bus from Mississippi. K.C. was a fellow investigator that usually worked for a nickel-and-dime outfit over in Bessemer and occasionally did sideline work for Gerald.  He was an aging barfly for the most part, but he had traded Willie a tip or two in the past. “What you got, man?”

“I got a sighting on that bus you was asking about.”

“I’m on my way…”

. . .

The street was lined with warehouses on both sides. Second Avenue had probably originally been designed for easy access to the freight being loaded on and off of the rails, but as the years passed, local freight had come to depend more on eighteen-wheelers than trains, and these warehouses were now mostly turned over to long-term storage or completely abandoned. There was no traffic on the street at all.

Taylor was riding shotgun in Willie’s car. Joe was driving, and Willie was hunkered down in the backseat with a camera, giving Joe directions. 

“Now when we get up close, keep it slow, so I can get a look at the place. But not too slow. We don’t want to seem suspicious.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. Drive casually.”

Taylor rolled his eyes as Joe slowed the car down to a casual speed. Up ahead, he spotted the bus. It was parked on the side of the street, near a line of warehouses.  As they rode past, they could see a recessed parking area behind the bus. A police cruiser was parked there, with two cops opening up the trunk. Joe slowed the car down even further, risking detection so that they could get a lingering look. 

The cops both pulled heavy cardboard boxes out of the car. One slammed the trunk closed, and they both struggled to carry their heavy loads into the nearby warehouse. Just before they were out of sight, Taylor managed to make out the logo on the side of one of the boxes: “Southeastern Meat Company”.

Joe cut down a side street several blocks away and turned the car around. As he backed the car up, he squinted at Taylor, “Did that seem weird to you?”

Taylor shrugged, “Na’ really. Back ‘ome, policemen make meat deliveries owl tha’ time.”

Joe furrowed his brow, “Really?”

Willie grunted from the backseat, “He’s being sarcastic, Joe.”

Joe shook his head, started to say something, and then changed his mind. As he turned the car fully around, he pulled it into a parking spot. “Okay, so if we are in agreement then on the ‘cops carrying boxes of meat is weird’ department, what does that mean, exactly?”

Willie pulled his shirt off in the backseat and fished a ragged, dirty jacket out of a paper bag. As he put on the jacket, he answered, “I have no idea. Could just be run-of-the-mill weird. Maybe their having a cop barbecue. But right next to the bus, yeah, that’s not something I like the look of.” Once he had the jacket on, Willie was now changing into some old sneakers. The toe of one of the sneakers had a large hole in it.

Taylor nodded at the new outfit, “An’ what ‘er ya’ doing there?”

Willie donned a grease-stained baseball cap as he answered, “I’m gonna go get a closer look at that bus. Y’all stay put. This could take a while.” As he spoke, he stepped out of the car and adjusted his disguise. With one hand he adjusted his radio in his waistband, while he used the other to pick up a bit of dirt and smear it down one cheek. He removed a half-empty bottle of rum from the jacket and took a sip, then leaned precariously on one heel and cocked his head to one side, slurring like a drunk, “How I look?”

Joe considered the disguise for a moment, then shook his head, “Take one of your feet halfway out of your shoe, and leave your fly undone.”

Willie adjusted again, and with Joe’s final approval, he staggered slowly around the corner.

. . .

Rather than walk straight over to the bus, Willie had staggered all over the street, checking out a dumpster and an alley as he worked his way towards the bus, and even stopping to relieve himself behind a streetlight.

Joe’s stomach growled. Taylor kept watch on Willie through a pair of binoculars, and tried to be patient. Joe tapped out a drumbeat on the steering wheel.

“I’m bored. Are you bored?”

Taylor brought the binoculars back down and nodded, “Aye”.

Another minute passed with a waiting-room silence. Taylor peered back through the binoculars again at Willie. He was standing in the middle of the street scratching himself. He was still two blocks away from the bus.

“Want to go to Arby’s?”

Taylor lowered the binoculars again and glanced back at Joe with a raised eyebrow, “Wha’ aboot Willa?”

Joe grinned, “We’ll bring him something back.”

Taylor pursed his lips, weighing the decision. 

Joe continued, “It’s only, like…twelve blocks to the Arby’s. At the rate Willie’s going, it’s gonna take him like ten minutes to even get the bus, so we can be back before he’s done.”

Taylor grimaced. He was half-convinced.

“Cooper ought to be here in a few minutes anyway, right?”

Taylor hefted the binoculars in his hand, back and forth, weighing them like he was weighing the decision. He set the binoculars down on the dashboard and picked up the walkie-talkie that Willie had left them. Finally, he nodded. “Willa does ‘ave ‘is radio, aye? ‘E could give us a ring if ‘e needs us?”

Joe had the car started before Taylor had even finished, and they cruised south towards some roast beef refreshment.

For once, Joe drove slowly, so they were only about nine blocks away when the radio crackled into life with Willie’s voice screaming for help.


----------



## Captain Claymore

Hip hip Whooooray! That's all, just a cheer for the resumption of things.
The whole fast food thing totally sounds like something my players would have pulled.


----------



## ledded

Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> <snip>
> Joe had the car started before Taylor had even finished, and they cruised south towards some roast beef refreshment.
> 
> For once, Joe drove slowly, so they were only about nine blocks away when the radio crackled into life with Willie’s voice screaming for help.




Yes, oh yes. The first occurrance in what becomes a long line of incidents involving Willie getting the crap kicked out of him for assuming someone had his back . <heavy sigh>

However, stay tuned for the next part, because this is just _starting_ to get good; there are events coming in the near future which pretty much set the tone for our entire campaign, and it aint one of those cheery-fancy-dancy-cell phone ring tones either. And Joe soon makes up for his priority-shifting in spades, in ways that still make me shudder with revulsion and fear...

But anyway, everyone give three cheers for unexpected update goodness.... hip-hip HOORAY...


----------



## Peterson

*YES!*

First off, good to see you're back, even if it's for a brief moment, Old DrewID.

That being said, *what a great update!* 

A slew of brilliant flavoring - Seduction Secrets, Star Wars quotes, Fast Food Runs, etc.

A well-crafted cliffhanger.

Man, that just made my day....


Peterson

_Edit: Hip Hip * HOORAY!*_


----------



## Captain Claymore

Peterson said:
			
		

> *YES!*
> 
> First off, good to see you're back, even if it's for a brief moment, Old DrewID.
> 
> That being said, *what a great update!*
> 
> A slew of brilliant flavoring - Seduction Secrets, Star Wars quotes, Fast Food Runs, etc.
> 
> A well-crafted cliffhanger.
> 
> Man, that just made my day....
> 
> 
> Peterson
> 
> _Edit: Hip Hip * HOORAY!*_




I can't wait (and hopefully won't have to for very long   )

And yes Peterson, I know how it's spelled, I just wanted the proper whhhhhhistle sound in my hooray. Sorta like the marine "Wh" ooo YA! Obviously it didn't come across right.


----------



## Angcuru

Wheeeee!!!!!


----------



## Gina

ledded said:
			
		

> Yes, oh yes. The first occurrance in what becomes a long line of incidents involving Willie getting the crap kicked out of him for assuming someone had his back . <heavy sigh>
> 
> But anyway, everyone give three cheers for unexpected update goodness.... hip-hip HOORAY...




Poor Willie! I do so love him. But then , being a chick, I suppose that goes with the territory, now doesn't it!

YAY! An update, enough to make me long for more and to worry about dear Willie and his clever plan going awry because of Joe's short attention span!!!


----------



## Pyske

Hooray!  Glad to see you post again, Drew.


----------



## Old Drew Id

*Episode II - Session II: Second Avenue South*

*Episode II - Session II: Second Avenue South*

Willie had nearly finished the bottle of rum, though to be fair, he had poured a least a couple of sips down the front of his jacket so that he would have the right smell. It was scary how easy it was to drink rum these days, but he put that down to just being “in-character”. He staggered forward now, to the edge of the recessed parking area, in front of the warehouse, and leaned against the corner. 

He was sweating a little in the heat of the day, and he adjusted his hat as he wiped some sweat from his brow. The foil he had wrapped up in his cap was making his scalp itch, and it was baking his head like a potato. He had just about decided to take that foolishness out of his hat when a teenaged kid marched around the corner right in front of him. 

Then another on. Then a third. 

They were young, maybe sixteen, seventeen tops. All Native American, and unless he missed his guess, all Choctaw. And every face was stone cold, just completely empty of any kind of emotion.

They looked at him with almost robotic faces, and moved to encircle him. Instinct kicked in, and Willie took a step backwards. He tried to play it off as a stagger, and went for the bluff, “How you boys doing? You want a drink? Got a quarter?”

The fifth kid to come around the corner was carrying a plank of wood, and the sixth one was carrying a length of chain. At that point, Willie glanced back and realized that the others were palming knives or screwdrivers or something similar. Willie took several more steps backwards and stumbled, for real this time, and he didn’t have to bluff the nervousness in his voice. “What the hell are y’all doing? Children of the Corn?”

The one with the piece of wood swung at him high, as the first kid with the knife swung low. Willie fell for the tactic, dodged the club, and felt the knife slash his ribs, biting bone.. Another kid punched at him and connected with his stomach, hard. The breath exploded out of him.

He staggered back and shrugged off the third kid, who was trying to grab his shoulder and plunge a screwdriver into his chest. Willie jumped left and staggered right, then broke out into a sprint away from the kids. He ran for the car as hard as he could. He fumbled for his gun with one hand while he ripped the radio out of his pants with the other. As he brought the radio up to his lips, he could see it was red with his own blood. 

“Mayday! Mayday!! It’s a trap!!! They’re killing me!!! Help!!!”

He heard the pounding footsteps behind him, and he even heard the whistle of the chain as it swung around behind him and connected with the back of his head.

. . .

Crystal speed-read through a few more pages of “Biology of Spiders” and then closed it with a barely perceptible shiver. She was glad she had not seen what the others had described to her in that lab last night, and she was not eager to see its mate in person. 

She set the book down on top of a growing stack to her left, and picked up the next one from the stack on her right. This next one was “How To Open Locks with Improvised Tools.” Below that was “Legends of Native America”, “The Private Detective’s Guide to Special Investigations”, and “The Preparatory Manual of Explosives.” Crystal reminded herself to shelve these books herself when she was done, so that the university library staff wouldn’t think she was a complete nutcase.

As she flipped through a few pages on deadbolt designs and common door-latch weaknesses, she wondered again whether she was fooling herself. After this morning’s conversation with her grandfather, she had realized that this thing, this “calling” or “purpose” or whatever she could call it, was something she had to take responsibility for. (On some sub-process of her brain, she corrected herself: not “something she had to take responsibility for”, but rather “something for which she had to take responsibility”. Despite being stressed out and suffering from lack of sleep, she would not begin ending sentences in a preposition, even in her head.)

This calling that she felt, it wasn’t just random chance. The events a few weeks ago, with the zombies and Taylor Chu dying and everything, were not something she could dismiss as a freak accident. She had tried that over the past few weeks. She had thrown herself into study, and gotten the new motorcycle, and tried to convince herself that she had just experienced something like an occult car wreck. A random mishap in which she had been a participant. But not a career, not a recurring event, not a… a life. 

Still, Crystal had checked in once a week with the others. She had jokingly referred to them as a “post-traumatic stress support group”, but the joke wasn’t all that funny. And she didn’t need to ask to know that they had all felt the same thing. There had been a reason that they all kept showing up at the library each week. They were _called_ there. 

There was a feel to the place when they were together, although not necessarily a pleasant one. Something more like an alert. A message, unspoken, but repeated for each of them, each week: “Be ready. Be alert. You have more work to do.”

When Crystal had seen the kids at the booth back home, talking about Sussistinako, she had felt an echo of that then. She had not been alert to it then, not like she should have been. Then at the library when she met… whatever she should call him, the _new_ Taylor and the Indian guy, she had felt it again, more intensely. Like a surgeon must feel when he wants to enjoy a party, but he knows at the same time that he is on call. Something was happening, and event, a crisis, a…mission. 

By the time she was being chased down the highway last night by the El Camino, she had been immersed in it again. But the phone call this morning to take care of that kid, that had brought everything home. As much as she was ready, in the sense of being alert, or keyed-up to handle this kind of thing, with…giant spiders, and Choctaw mind control, and whatever else came up, she had realized that she was not really ready, in the sense of being prepared. 

Crystal had not had a plan for what to do with the kid once they were done with him, and relying on her grandfather to clean up that mess was something she did not want to do again. She didn’t want him involved in any of this, for his own safety. 

The whole affair made her realize the other areas in which she should have already been prepared, but was not. Last night, when Cooper and Joe went through that locked door, if she had been there, she could not have gotten in after them, at least not without blasting through the door with a shotgun. She should have been able to pick the lock or disable the security system. During the gunfight a few weeks back at the construction site, she should have been able to prepare some additional options, like a smoke bomb, or something bigger, even. 

There was the realization, for the first time consciously instead of just something hovering on the edges of her thoughts, that this situation with the lab and the events from last month were not two unique occurrences, but rather, two events, two crises, two _missions_ in a series of missions that were sure to come. And she had better be more than just alert. She had better be ready.

Crystal was the smart one in the group. She needed to start acting like it. When Willie had called her earlier to tell her about the bus on Second Avenue, and their plan to check it out, she had wanted to be there, but this was more important. This was better for the group (the team?) for the long term. 

And besides, she had her cell in her bag next to her, and she was only a few blocks away, with her Harley parked right out front. If they needed her, they could call. 

At that moment, her phone rang.

. . .

Crystal burst through the swinging doors out to the front of the library at a full sprint, her bag slung over one shoulder and flailing behind her like a flag, and her helmet in the other hand, careening off the door frame with a tooth-rattling clang. She collided head-on with a couple of co-eds walking arm-in-arm and ducked under them as they cursed at her and separated like a drawbridge to her left and right. 

Past the angry couple, she used a bench as a ramp and jumped the hedges in front of her, now running full speed across the grass towards her Harley. She swung a leg over and slipped the key in the ignition while pulling her other arm through the  backpack’s strap. She screwed the motorcycle helmet down tight onto her head, pinching her nose hard enough to make it red, and feeling a weird crinkling feeling along the top of her scalp. She paused for a split second at that sensation, remembering the book she had been reading about spiders, and picturing a spider sleeping in her helmet which somehow she had just crushed into her scalp, before remembering the just-as-insane scrap of aluminum foil that Joe had convinced her to line her helmet with earlier this morning. 

The bike revved loudly and roared out of its parking spot and into oncoming traffic. She swerved wildly and brought her bike back into line in time to dodge an eighteen wheeler that could have turned her into splattered pudding. In the back of her mind, she made a note to include a defensive driving or a motorcycle racing course of some type into her new curriculum. 

She raced through the downtown campus, past the classrooms, past the medical library, past the hospital, past the Kirklin Clinic, dodging between cars, using the turn lane, the oncoming lanes, even the sidewalks as she needed, to dodge traffic and race towards Second Avenue. Cars swerved around her, pedestrians jumped out of the way. She heard brakes squealing and people yelling in her wake, even over the screaming growl of her own engine. Around the corner onto Fourth Avenue now to avoid the viaduct, the whole time yelling into her helmet radio for Willie to respond, hearing Joe and Taylor as they also tried to reach him, and all the while hearing nothing in return. 

Now she was on Second Avenue: she dodged around another parked eighteen wheeler, and the scene came into view. She spotted Willie. 

She was already going about fifty miles an hour. She twisted the throttle for even more speed. 

. . .

Willie staggered backwards, tasting blood. One eye was swollen shut, and his ears were ringing. His radio lay on the ground fifteen feet away. His ribs ached where he had taken a crack to his side, and his wrist still stung from where the chain had violently disarmed him of his attempts to call for help.

With his one good hand, he pulled his gun, and staggered back a few more feet, making contact with a chain link fence. He was cornered now, and the punks knew it. He held the gun forward with one trembling hand, off-balance and off center, and gestured with it as menacingly as he could. 

“Alright, that’s it!! Next one of you mothers makes a move and I’m shooting every last one of ya!!”

The punks didn’t seem scared of the gun. In fact, they weren’t showing any emotion at all, really. Despite the bloodthirsty beating they had just bestowed on a complete stranger, they didn’t even look excited. They just stared at him, and wordlessly formed a half-circle around him.

A second passed, and they didn’t attack again. Willie felt dizzy and took a halting step to the left, but the punk to that side menaced with his knife. He didn’t close in for a swing, but he didn’t back down either. Willie ran his tongue over the cut on his lower lip and tasted the blood, judging the cold predatory look in the kid’s eyes and trying to keep the gun pointed in every direction at the same time. 

They didn’t need to attack again. They were like wolves circling their prey. They just had to sit now, and wait for him to bleed out. 

With the taste of blood coating his tongue, he also tasted something else…the rum he had been drinking earlier. He pursed his lips and swallowed deep. 

He whispered, “Oguon, if you can hear me, you voodoo b*&^%, I need some help…” The gun wavered in his hand, and he felt feint. 

The punk in front of him reared back to take a final swing with his makeshift club. 

The ringing in Willie’s ears grew more intense, and changed tone. It was lower now, more of a guttural, buzzing growl, and growing louder. It sounded a lot like a motorcycle.

Willie looked up with his one good eye. The punk in front of him raised the club over his head, and then was smashed and thrown across the street by the front of a speeding Harley-Davidson.


----------



## Gina

Two updates in one week! 

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! 

At least SOMEONE came to help poor Willie!


----------



## Bloosquig

Woowoo!  Thanks for all the updating goodness!    Hopefully the rest of the episode will come quick because I don't think I can take all the cliffhangers much longer.      But I'll wait if I have to.


----------



## Peterson

Awesome!

Well, I was having a bad day....


Thanks for changing the Old Drew ID!!

Oh, and are we going to get to see more Voodoo Magic?

Peterson


----------



## Pierce

I think all there are in Medallions are cliffhangers. Sometimes literally


----------



## Vigilance

Awesome as always.

Chuck


----------



## ledded

Great update Drew!  Fabulous!  I can almost taste the blood again, and see all the scratch marks through my Vitality Points! 



			
				Peterson said:
			
		

> A slew of brilliant flavoring - Seduction Secrets, Star Wars quotes, Fast Food Runs, etc.




Yeah I never thought that in-character Willie would ever have a need to speak geek a la Star Wars quotes. But to be honest, Willie had to start borrowing DVD's and comics from Joe so he could just communicate with him...

Willie: "Okay Joe, we need to establish a 3-point surveillance perimeter on the perp's vehicle, with us bein' the close tail man..."

Joe: "Huh? Whatsa-whosey? Whaddid you say Willie?"

Willie: "<sigh> You remember innat Matrix 2 movie, on the highway when them dudes with the dreads were like all up on the heroes, and them pasty agent cats were like hangin' back and takin' over folks and closin' in and cuttin' them off and stuff?"

Joe: "Oh *yeah* man! Sweet, that was the part..."

Willie: "Yeah, well, we da dudes with the dreads, dig? Now hit it Pillsbury!"

Joe: "<rolls eyes> Hell Willie, why didn't you just *say* so...<VROOM>"

And don't be too hard on Joe, later in the campaign he chases some guys in a stolen vehicle that very nearly gets him killed, and ends up covered in his own urine, while Brother Cooper and Willie are sitting at a Sonic Drive thru dicussing the merits of tater tots and whether hamburgers should have mayo on them or not.



			
				Gina said:
			
		

> Poor Willie! I do so love him. But then , being a chick, I suppose that goes with the territory, now doesn't it!



Well, he *is* the private **** that gets all the chicks.
He's one baaaad mutha-shutyomouth... jus' talkin' bout Willie... 



			
				Gina said:
			
		

> YAY! An update, enough to make me long for more and to worry about dear Willie and his clever plan going awry because of Joe's short attention span!!!



Oh hell, I wouldnt ever really call the stuff Willie does a plan, more like a series of rash and usually self-destructive actions that are taken in the absense of, or in lieu of, of a decent plan.

Funny though, after all this time Crystal has a saying every time something like this happens (at least once or twice an episode, it seems):

"Yeah Willie, I got your back, but I can get it just fine from waaaaay over here, ok?"

As many times as we, as a group of players, tried the Monkey-pile tactic in D&D on enemy spellcasters, I was totally unprepared for it to happen to me 



			
				Peterson said:
			
		

> Oh, and are we going to get to see more Voodoo Magic?



Oh, just wait. The PC's end up with quite a few wide and varied powers with which to injure, frighten, immolate, nauseate, or drive themselves insane with. And sometimes they work on the bad guys too!



			
				Pierce said:
			
		

> I think all there are in Medallions are cliffhangers. Sometimes literally



 Oh man, don't remind me of _that_ one.


----------



## Pierce

ledded said:
			
		

> Pierce said:
> 
> 
> 
> 
> I think all there are in Medallions are cliffhangers. Sometimes literally
> 
> 
> 
> 
> Oh man, don't remind me of _that_ one.
Click to expand...


Did I say "Sometimes"?  I meant "Often"


----------



## Len

ledded said:
			
		

> And sometimes they work on the bad guys too!



Now _that's_ something to look forward to.


----------



## ledded

Len said:
			
		

> Now _that's_ something to look forward to.




Actually, by some crazy method OldDrewId has made it so that it's _so_ much more fun when you throw a spell and it has some reasonably mundane effect by D&D standards, but your PC begins hearing voices, his legs go numb, he shoots blood out of an ear, loses the sight in one eye, and then coughs up a chunk of something that looks a lot like his pancreas.

Of course, we've also had in-character arguments over who gets the nicer stick...

Go figure. 

I can't tell you how many times someone has cast a spell at a key moment and then promptly failed some check and knocked themselves unconscious/nearly killed themself in the middle of combat, or worse yet, dropped out and then lost _control_ of _something_. Something _bad_.


----------



## Henry

Drew, lest you think your story hour goes unnoticed through the lack of responses,  let me say I love this one, and it's one of the very few I follow regularly when it gets updated. This is an awesome story, I hope to keep seeing more!


----------



## darkbard

ditto to what henry said.  i'm still here eagerly awaiting each update and loving every one.

keep it coming and thanks again to you and the players for such a great tale!


----------



## recursive_1

Wow!  Great stuff, simply great.

I have to confess I figured Drew was busy with other stuff and there wasn't going to be anymore updates.

I also love the dialog between Joe and Willie on the disguise, absolutely hilarious.

Looks like Willie/Leded is also (inadvertantly?) quoting _Pulp Fiction_ as well with the "...I'll kill ever last motherf**king one of yous...".


----------



## Pierce

recursive_1 said:
			
		

> Wow!  Great stuff, simply great.
> 
> I have to confess I figured Drew was busy with other stuff and there wasn't going to be anymore updates.
> 
> I also love the dialog between Joe and Willie on the disguise, absolutely hilarious.
> 
> Looks like Willie/Leded is also (inadvertantly?) quoting _Pulp Fiction_ as well with the "...I'll kill ever last motherf**king one of yous...".




Willie's quotes are *never* inadvertant.


----------



## Arkhandus

Hurrah for OldDrewId!  He's throwing us poor desperate sods a bone! :^D
More please!


----------



## The_Universe

Awesome.


----------



## TDRandall

Third page!  What is this doing so far down?  * Casts "bump to top" *

Since I have made it to the current end of the thread, I figured I would appear long enough to echo the chorus and say that I'm enjoying the stories along with everyone else.  Great characters, great events, great chills!

Which means I now must also join the choir and start chanting for more!

* Attempts to cast "induce update" in the general Alabama direction before arranging his leather cap, scarf and goggles and setting his butt back on top of the large rocket with 'MEDALLIONS" on its side.  Gives it a kick and says "giddyup", hoping to ignite the fuse, before he slowly fades away with his cloaking device now fully reactivated. *


----------



## Pierce

Quick player update: we're in the middle of the _Season Finale_ and just wrapped an incredible firefight.  Hopefully one day everyone will get to read about it 

Trust me, I bug Drew constantly about writing updates - it just seems like the past few months have been a constant explosion at the workplace.  If we could clone him....


----------



## Len

Pierce said:
			
		

> If we could clone him....



...one of him could run the zombies and the other could do the giant spiders.


----------



## ledded

Player update, part 2.

To further elaborate on Pierce's description, in said killer combat not only did he run me over with a car, but it was *my own car* and came almost as close as we have gotten in Medallions to a TPK. *Every* character took a lot of damage, and several were very close to the proverbial end. Taylor 2 was nearly killed before he ever got out of his chair and onto his flat-feet.

And for OldDrewId's RBDMedness... there was one point where there was a conversation that went a little like this:

me: "Man, I have this spell that would be _really_ useful fighting the bbeg right now, but..."
fludogg: "But what? Can you bust up his evil magic dohickey effect that is annoying us so much? Jeez man you gotta help me out here..."
me: "Well, yeah, I mean maybe, but it costs me a little..."
fludogg: "Like what?"
me: "Put it this way. There's a very good chance I could die, or be rendered comatose in the middle of this very intense combat. And that's if it works."
fludogg: "Ah. And if it doesnt?"
me: "Oh, it gets *much* worse from there."
fludogg: "Mmm-hmm. One of those spells that you dont exactly want to cast in the middle of combat"

I swear, I looked over at our very own king RBDM, and could have sworn I detected a tear of proud accomplishment. Give players magic so wicked but to make them so afraid of it that they hesitate to cast it even when it might save their life... now THAT's the RBDM's RBDM.


And yes, we do bug ol' Drew. Often. 

Like when he came in my office the other day and said "Hey, what's up man?" and I responded with "Oh, just sittin' here wishing you'd write a freakin' update".

Unfortunately, that's about as much free time as the man has had lately.


TDRandall, I laughed myself stupid at your strange imagery there man. Very Slim Pickens of you.



			
				Len said:
			
		

> one of him could run the zombies and the other could do the giant spiders.




Oh, those are the tamest and *least* disturbing things he's thrown at us. *Shudder*


----------



## Peterson

I knew I liked Drew.

That's all I had to say.



Peterson


----------



## Omega Lord

Huzah for updates!

You guys really do have an amazing chemistry if these transcriptions are any indicator. I think I know a few "Joe's" IRL. *shudder*


----------



## Arkhandus

Back to page 1!!


----------



## Bloosquig

Please update... I need a good storyhour to keep up my mojo.      Please?  :\


----------



## Arkhandus

'Tis a crime how long the Medallions group has been away from page 1 with updates.   Mustn't let you drift any further down the pages!  */me invokes Willie to use that voodoo magic and make Drew update*


----------



## PallidPatience

M....o....r....e!


----------



## Mantic

Bumping, Just to make sure this thread doesn't disappear.


----------



## Draco Bahamut

I have finally started my own D20 modern campaing after liked so much Medalions. I  hope to be good enought. I also really hope to read more soon, althrought it´s not directly inspired by it.


----------



## Pierce

Draco, that's the highest compliment we in the Medallions group can be paid.  Thanks and have fun!


----------



## johndaw16

Pierce said:
			
		

> Draco, that's the highest compliment we in the Medallions group can be paid.  Thanks and have fun!



 Well Pierce if thats the case you and your Medallions group should know you inspired me to try my hand at D20 modern game as well.  It's been a blast reading about your game and I'm glad you guys show just how much fun D20 modern can be.


----------



## ledded

Omega Lord said:
			
		

> Huzah for updates!
> 
> You guys really do have an amazing chemistry if these transcriptions are any indicator. I think I know a few "Joe's" IRL. *shudder*




Heh.  That's actually one of the things we were going for... to have characters that, no matter how they are played, could be guys you know one of IRL.  I'm not sure what it says about most of us that we all know more "Joe's" than we know of the other relatively more normal folks... .  Our group does have a good chemisty, mostly being the pretty smart but smarmy jokesters that we are, it's usually a long roll of one-off comments and insults, and you get extra credit towards a free action point if you make the GM snork drink out of his nose.  And we're all pretty good friends who do stuff outside of game night sometimes too.  Though Drew does an *excellent* job of writing up our stuff, and adds a nice bit of flavor and flair here and there that often makes it read better than it played.  That is, when we can get him to write nowadays (hint HINT)

Draco, johndaw16, thanks from all of us.  It is the sincerest form of flattery when someone tells you that they liked your game/SH so much they wanted to try something similar.  We do appreciate it, one and all.  There were at one time a couple of pretty good Story Hours on here that were modern games from folks who read Medallions and started up their own, and there are other Modern/Horror SH's that had nothing to do with reading OldDrewId's that are pretty darn good also (Heapthaumaturgist has a couple, among others).


----------



## fludogg

ledded said:
			
		

> Heh. That's actually one of the things we were going for... to have characters that, no matter how they are played, could be guys you know one of IRL




I think we like to play characters that all have flaws and that are just average who are placed in situations where they are forced to become a hero.  I think it makes for more fun and a great story.  Plus who wants to play the guy who is good at everything... what is the challenge in that.    




			
				ledded said:
			
		

> Draco, johndaw16, thanks from all of us.  It is the sincerest form of flattery when someone tells you that they liked your game/SH so much they wanted to try something similar.  We do appreciate it, one and all.





I agree, we really do appreciate it...     I know I don't post that much, mainly because I can not get to enworld from work. (web nazis block me). Oh yeah and I live in the stone ages without the net at home.  Go ahead and chuckle everyone else does.  I however can read the post since they are sent to my email (at work)... So thanks for all the kind words about Medallions.  Keep sending in the bumps and lets get Old Drew Id to give us an update...  I know we bug him every game night to drop another post to the story hour... SO POST AN UPDATE PLEASE...



Thanks,
Flu DoGG


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## Zuoken

Old Drew Id said:
			
		

> Willie had nearly finished the bottle of rum, though to be fair, he had poured a least a couple of sips down the front of his jacket so that he would have the right smell. It was scary how easy it was to drink rum these days, but he put that down to just being “in-character”. He staggered forward now, to the edge of the recessed parking area, in front of the warehouse, and leaned against the corner.




I chuckled last night when I was flipping through one of my old books of mythology and came to Ogoun's entry; from now on, I'll assume that nothing happens for granted in this story hour.


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## Old Drew Id

*Episode II - Session II: Second Avenue South*

Episode II - Session II: Second Avenue South

Willie’s beat-up old sedan bounced and sparked around the corner at a dangerously unstable fifty miles per hour, lobbing hubcaps off in three different directions. The engine was roaring like an angry mama bear coming back to protect her cub as Joe jammed the gas pedal to the floor. 

A few blocks up ahead, Joe could see Willie staggering away from a gang of young Indian punks. Crystal was on her Harley half a block farther down, circling back around for another pass. The punks were still closing in on Willie, and he was covered in blood. Joe growled gutturally in tone with the engine, “…get away from him, you son of a…”

“Watch fer tha’ policemen. Thar not oot ‘ere yet!” Taylor warned, looking up to the warehouse door on the right, with the suspicious police cruiser still parked outside. 

Joe’s gaze turned strategic. “Open your door when I say ‘Go’. Three…two…one…”

Joe drove head on into the melee, quickly faked left and watch the pack of kids scatter. At the last second, he swerved right, and Taylor kicked his door open, catching one of the punks neatly across the hip. The kid’s body collapsed like a rag doll over the car door, shattering the window and falling limply to the pavement. Glass tinkled down in a blood-pink fountain all around. 

The car never slowed down. Joe lined up on a second punk with his door. He threw the door open, but the punk side-stepped. Joe swerved hard left, but went too far. Suddenly a dark shape loomed ahead. He slammed the brakes, but his open door slammed into a parked car. It closed hard on him, the window shattered, and the side mirror came flying into the front seat in a shower of broken glass. With a ‘fingernails on the chalkboard’ screeching, the car scraped to a stop another few feet down. 

Taylor looked over at him incredulously, “From now oon, Ah’m drivin’!”

Miraculously, neither of them was even hurt, though they were now both covered in broken glass. The windshield was spider-webbed beyond the point of visibility, and the glove box was spilled open. Joe shook pebbles of safety glass from his hair and focused in on the warehouse door, where the cops should be about to come out. “The cops must still be inside…”

“My car!!!” He could hear Willie screaming outside.

One of the punks was moving past the hood of the car now, armed with a crowbar. Joe motioned to Taylor. “I’ll take care of the cops. You help Willie!”

Taylor shoved something into the glove box, and then confidently hopped out of the car and hustled off to intercept the kid. 

Joe sat very still and stared at the warehouse door. He concentrated, and let the insanity take over. Somewhere in the back of his throat, in a voice far too alien for human lips, he began whispering. 

. . .

The sight of his own car rounding the corner was more refreshing than walking into an air-conditioned building in the middle of July. Invigorated, at least for the moment, Willie had bolted out of the gap that Crystal had created for him, and run towards the middle of the road. But then the punks had tried to encircle him, and suddenly Joe was driving just _right the hell through everybody_ and Willie had been forced to dodge off to one side. 

With his back turned, he heard a sickening wet crunch, followed by shattering glass. As he turned around, he watched in slow motion as the driver’s side door smashed into a parked car and the entire driver’s side of his car slid up against a parked truck. 

“My car!!!” He tasted bitter cigar leaves in his throat and the world seemed to be tinted red. 

The punks had scattered, at least for a few seconds. Willie hobbled towards his car. He saw Taylor starting to climb out. 

“Hit the trunk button in the glove box!” Willie ordered, his voice hoarse and angry. 

Taylor reached back into the car and hit the trunk-release button in the glove box. The trunk popped open a few inches. Willie dodged one of the punks making a clumsy swipe with a knife, punched the kid in the nose hard, and kept staggering over to the car’s trunk. 

A wasp flew past Willie’s face as he opened the trunk, but he ignored it. With the trunk open, he was safe for a moment. He tucked his gun back into his belt with one hand and used the other to toss aside a half-empty gas can and an all-weather tarp. After a moment, his hand closed down over a familiar piece of cold metal. 

A fly buzzed in his ear for a second, and the taste of sour rum came unbidden to his throat. He ignored that too, and turned back towards the battlefield. His expression was grim, and maybe even pleased.

In his hands, he held his shotgun.

. . .

Taylor faced off against the little punk with the crowbar. He curled his hands into fists and met the kid’s eyes with a cold steely gaze of his own. 

A couple of dragonflies darted past him, as though even the very insects were afraid of his wrath in manual combat. He grinned grimly. With one flick of his fingers, he motioned the kid forward.

“Ya want ta pick a fight, do ya? Give us a try, ya wee little sh---”

Pain exploded in the back of his head. He staggered forward, half-blind. Another kid had snuck up behind him and smacked him with a pipe across the back of his neck. 

The world spun neatly around in a circle as darkness closed in. Just before it completely winked out, he saw a fat red ladybug flying past his face. 

. . .

Crystal gunned the engine and began racing forward again. Her targets were scattered now, and she no longer had the element of surprise. But with Joe and Taylor crashing the party, the enemy were no longer so organized either. She wanted to pick up Willie and just get the hell out of here, but already, that looked impossible. 

A fat horsefly splattered itself into a purple stain on her visor. She was going too fast to wipe it off now. She aimed the bike at one of the closest punks, but as she drew close, the kid saw her and he dodged hard to the side. She only managed to clip him on the elbow as she went past. 

She hit the brakes and felt her control of the bike get a little splashy as she turned wide. She tried to circle over to Willie when she noticed Taylor down on the ground, with a bloody wound on the back of his neck. She cursed in Choctaw.

She paused for a moment, judging the situation. Taylor was struggling to get up, two kids were standing over him with weapons, and Willie was nearby armed with a shotgun facing down another kid. Where the hell was Joe? Still in the car? A swarm of gnats buzzed around her helmet, and she took a second to wipe the smear off her visor. 

To her right, she saw a cop car parked next to some steps leading up to a warehouse door. It seemed completely out of place. Why was a cop car parked over here? And why had it been parked here for so long that there were roaches crawling around over the top of it?


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## Peterson

An update?!

*Faints*


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## Pierce

Woo hoo!  My Lots of people's begging finally succeeds!


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## Pyske

Yay for updates!


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## Broccli_Head

Hooray! An Update.


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## ledded

*game update*

A note to the teeming masses yearning to be updated:  ENWorld's Capellan of Q-Ship and other great story hour fame stopped by this weekend while visiting friends in our fair city and shared an evening of gaming and gaming war stories with us.  OldDrewId couldnt make it, so I ran a Medallions one-off that was good for a few laughs.  Cap is an excellent roleplayer who took to the game like a duck to water.  He was a joy to play with and fun to share gaming stories with, so if anyone else out there gets a chance to anytime soon, do it.


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## A'vandira Silvermane

Delurking to bump. Back to page 1 with you.


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## A'vandira Silvermane

**Slowly enters, looking around pleadingly for an update. Alas, no such thing and saddened beyond understanding crawls back out again, crying for a story hour that seems to have died a silent death.**








(May be seen as a bump, although it's actually a plea for an update)


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## Devin Cole

So im sitting here reading the story hour and loving it.  But i have a huge problem......Im only on post number 281 and there are almost 700.....keep it up drew!


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## A'vandira Silvermane

Devin Cole said:
			
		

> So im sitting here reading the story hour and loving it.  But i have a huge problem......Im only on post number 281 and there are almost 700.....keep it up drew!




Be glad for it. As soon as you've caught up you'll have to join the masses of petitioners, moaning and crying for updates.

Perhaps Ledded could do some prodding to get Drew to post something again


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## ledded

A'vandira Silvermane said:
			
		

> **Slowly enters, looking around pleadingly for an update. Alas, no such thing and saddened beyond understanding crawls back out again, crying for a story hour that seems to have died a silent death.**
> 
> (May be seen as a bump, although it's actually a plea for an update)




See, Drew, *now* you're makin' 'em cry for it ya big meanie... didnt you say you were going to hold off that update until people actually started crying for it?

Oh wait, maybe that was "until someone puts out an eye for it".  Yeah, I think that was it.


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## Devin Cole

Im caught up Drew....so if i told you it was my birthday would you post an update.....great writing.....great group....great story.....good job all around.


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## Peterson

Puts an eye out for it?!  Sheesh.  For an update?!  Good lord man, you *are* evil.

BTW ledded, come over here for a second.  No, really, I just something to tell you.  (hides fork)...


I'm wanting me some updating.


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## Angcuru

Bumpification for new readers to spot this.


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## ledded

Here, here.

We were just getting to the part where Joe starts doing scary things, and Willie gets some voodoo and a 10 gauge shotgun ("Why does my shotgun have bad-mutha-***** engraved on the side?  ALL my guns have bad-mutha-**** engraved on the side, man... that's so you knows who they all belong to").

So OldDrewId, I know you have that cool new job with all the free time, couldja take a break from wheelbarrow-ing all that extra cash home every day to cut us poor schlubs an update?  C'mon, I *know* you want to.  

Tell you what.   You update yours, and then *I'll* even update mine (if it's still on these boards somewhere), and make sure that Frogbot does something really cool.   Not that he'd need any help from me, mind you.


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## PallidPatience

*having recently bumped "We were like gods once", assumes that this piece of awesomeness is suffering from similar real-life problems, but bumps it anyway in the hopes that it will return updating to Drew's attention, should he get some time*


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## Old Drew Id

*Episode II - Session II: Highway 31 North*

Episode II - Session II: Highway 31 North

There was a small Baptist church in Carbon Hill that owned an even smaller AM radio station which Brother Cooper had once visited when he had first gotten started in broadcasting. They only broadcast during daylight hours, and even then the signal was so weak that reception faded in and out sporadically, even in good weather. But Brother Cooper was a long-time listener and a frequent caller, and had long ago built up the habit of dialing in 690 AM as soon as he drove across Red Mountain. 

Today was a good day. The signal came in with minimal static, and a fiery old preacher was expounding on the message of Exodus. “See! Evil is clearly before your faces!” the radio quoted, and Brother Cooper nodded to the invisible preacher. Exodus chapter ten, and he was pretty sure it was verse nine or ten. Not the King James Version, but an acceptable translation, probably American Standard. 

A suitable sermon for today, Guyzell mused. The unexpected violence of last night still haunted him. He had spent the morning trying to console the families of some of the victims and the fallen police officers, trying to make some sense out of the senseless. But the violence did have a sense to it after all. It was evil, with a capital E, and it was clearly in their faces. And only recently had he begun to see. 

His faithful pick-up truck lumbered down Highway 31, and he turned off onto the Fourth Avenue South exit. In the daylight, it just didn’t seem possible that the city could house such evil. The evil wasn’t really in everyone’s face, then. For most people it was really invisible. But Brother Guyzell Cooper was not most people, and he knew that he had to start to see. 

The radio preacher went on, outlining other types of evil in the world, describing what men could see or what they would choose not to see. Then he went on to the next verse. “Go now, you that are men, and serve the Lord.” Guyzell nodded again, and offered a solemn “Amen” in response. Not that only men were called to serve, he thought. Crystal had done well enough for herself to show that she was cut out for this sort of thing, but he couldn’t say the same for Taylor Chu. 

It wasn’t about being a man, though, not really. At least, that wasn’t the message that Guyzell thought the Lord was trying to impart. The message he heard was about being a warrior. Being strong enough to serve the Lord. 

He glanced over at the silenced walkie-talkie on his front seat, and beyond it to the cowboy hat covering his Colt revolver, resting just beside his beloved Bible. The tools of a warrior, he thought, the tools of a servant of the Lord. 

A fat horsefly splattered on his windshield as he turned onto Second Avenue, and Guyzell absently flicked the windshield wiper switch to clear off the mess. The radio preached on. 

“And when it was morning, the east wind brought the locusts…”

. . .

Joe-Grottu received reports of new motion from flying scouts on the edges of the hive. The nest of the soft-beasts to the north had a sudden opening, and the opening spit out two soft-beast warriors with abdomens of blue. 

The hive had gathered strength now, and was prepared to act. From the smoking metal nest, Joe-Grottu issued the command to swarm. 

The hive swarmed.

. . .

Willie wanted to check the shotgun to confirm that it held a non-lethal load, but with the punks still surrounding him and swinging every makeshift weapon imaginable, he couldn’t risk the distraction.  He swung the gun like a club in front of him, connecting with the chain-wielding punk’s jaw and sending him reeling backwards. Willie closed the gap by staggering forward a few steps, drawing closer to Taylor. 

The Scotsman was conscious again, on his hands and knees staring at the ground, blood dripping slowly from a gash on the back of his head. His gun was on the ground beside his hand, but he seemed unaware of its presence. Flies swarmed around his head wound like a scene from a Sally Struthers commercial. Willie called out to him, “Taylor, get up! Get your gun!”

One of the punks on the other side of Taylor saw the gun and immediately bent down to pick it up. Willie couldn’t get a shot off at this angle without risking hitting Taylor. Willie yelled for him to look out, but Crystal was twice as fast. 

As the punk reached down for the gun, Crystal gunned the engine on her Harley and rode right over him. The kid was thrown to the side, without the gun, and with a broken wrist thrown into the bargain. Crystal wheeled around again and pulled up next to Willie, as Taylor picked up the gun and weaved over to them. 

Willie nodded grimly. The situation was looking better. There were still a half-dozen of these kids here, armed for a serious beating, but with Crystal and Taylor watching his back, the three of them could form a line and maybe hold their own. 

Then the door to the warehouse opened and the cops came out. 

In unison with Crystal and Taylor, Willie groaned, “Oh s*&#…”

What happened next seemed like a nightmare come to life. The first cop started to reach for his gun, but his hand never closed around the weapon. 

The first wave of swarming insects swept over him, mostly wasps and bees. They didn’t just circle around his head and arms. They were focused, flying straight for his eyes, his fingers, and the palms of his hands. He tried to shut his eyes but his eyelids were too thin to keep out the stingers. He hand crunched down on the hilt of his service revolver, but closed only onto more poisonous barbs, crushing the insects who had filled his grip, but only driving the stingers deeper into his flesh. 

If the cop had been in a trance like the punks before, he sure as hell broke out of it now, because he let out a howl of fear and pain like Willie had never heard. But things only got worse, because that’s when the second wave hit him, filling his now-open mouth with flying cockroaches and dragonflies and stuffing his nostrils and ears with gnats and flies. His sudden scream turned into a choking rasp as he collapsed to the ground. 

In unison with Crystal and Taylor, Willie yelped, “OH S*&#!!”

. . .

The punks were undeterred by the horrific display, and threw themselves even more savagely into the fight. Through it all they maintained calm almost-bored expressions on their faces. But they were attacking wildly now, leaving themselves more open to counter-strikes in an effort to deal as much damage as possible. 

A punk with a Louisville Slugger lunged forward with a wide overhead swing at Crystal, and she blocked him with the barrel of her shotgun raised up in both hands. The impact jarred her so hard that her teeth rattled. 

She was still straddling the bike, and wasn’t sure whether or not to dismount. If she stayed on the bike, she could always use it to escape, but while she was sitting still, it served only to limit her movements. She didn’t want to waste her time mounting and dismounting the thing repeatedly in combat, so she just did her best to keep up her defenses. 

The punk tried a roundhouse swing, and Crystal lay back on the bike to let the swing pass over her. Taylor circled around behind the kid and kicked him hard in the kidneys. The kid staggered forward onto his knees. Taylor started to swing again at the kid with the butt of his gun, but hesitated doing that much damage, and instead backhanding the punk across the jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground unmoving. 

Crystal had only a half-second to breath before the next kid was on her, this time from the other side. The punk made a grab for her throat, and she countered with by spearing him in the solar plexus with the butt of her gun. He collapsed inward like an old pillow, and she decked him again with the gun just under his chin. 

To Crystal’s right, Willie was in trouble. One kid had come in behind him and tried to garrote him with a length of bicycle chain. Another was in front of him, dodging Willie’s flailing legs and trying to grab for his gun. Crystal could see that Willie could have pulled the trigger, but he obviously didn’t want to kill anybody any more than she did, so he kept struggling and kicking. 

Beyond Willie, Crystal spied another punk creeping forward with a knife. But rather than coming after the nearly overpowered black man, the kid was instead climbing into the passenger seat of Willie’s car, right next to Joe. 

. . .

Joe-Grottu measured the swarm’s differing effectiveness with the two blue-bellied soft-beasts. The first seemed to be well contained and would soon be suitable for foraging. The second still struggled and was causing the destruction of numerous scouts. 

Scouts reported a new threat, immediately apparent near the smoking metal nest and far too close to the hive king. The bulk of the swarm was too far away, too slow, and would be ineffective in eliminating the intruder. 

Joe-Grottu reviewed all available defensive measures in the nest. The soft-beast egg sac of the king had no pincers and no poison, and the mandibles were ill suited for crushing the intruder. The soft-beast egg sac had one weapon, a soft-beast stinger. The soft-beast egg sac lifted the stinger. 

. . .

The punk had crept halfway into the car with Joe and was raising the knife when Joe shot him dead in the face. His brains splattered across the road, and his body tumbled backwards out of the car and lay on the ground at a contortionist’s angle. Crystal screamed, “JOE!!! NO!!!” but already knew that it was too late. 

Willie wheeled around at the sound of the gun blast and shoved the kid behind him into a parked car. When he saw the body on the road he joined the outcry, “Joe! What the hell are you doing?!”

Joe lifted his eyes to survey the situation. He hadn’t even been looking at the kid when he shot him. He had a dazed thousand-yard stare that seemed to slowly fade into focus. He shook his head once and looked over at the kid’s body. 

With a sudden gagging cough, he turned back to the steering wheel and started the engine up again. 

At that precise moment, a pick-up truck appeared from around the corner, and Guyzell pulled up.


----------



## Pierce

*picks jaw up off floor*

Glad you got a new job.


----------



## Henry

A year and a half, and he hasn't broken stride. YOWZA! 

Awesome work, Drew.

More! More!


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## ledded

Nice.  Glad to see ya back in the swing, as it were.


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## Angcuru

Wow update!


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## Gina

WOW! A great update! 

I'm so happy to see the story continue!

Gina


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## Sidekick

Holy socks down the jocks.

That was one helluva update Drew.

And the whole summon swarm/insect viewpoint was great. Did you enforce that view upon the player at the time?


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## HeapThaumaturgist

Very quality.

It all reads differently now that I've been hanging about the city off and on for over a year.  Seeing the places referenced and whatnot.

Now I miss Modern gaming again.  

KAAHHHNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!

--fje


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## Broccli_Head

w00t!! a post!


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## PallidPatience

w00t! w00t, I say!


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## TDRandall

Hallelujah!  The dead CAN rise!

I'd finally gotten through the various stages of grief and loss over this mighty story, and here it is delivered again, all fresh and spangly new.

Very creepy insect-controlling thing there.  Thank you!


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## PallidPatience

New tradition! Monthly bump!


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## masshysteria

This won't do. I'm all caught up and the story hour is on the third page. Here's to hoping we get another update before we say good-bye to 2006.


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## Pierce

masshysteria said:
			
		

> This won't do. I'm all caught up and the story hour is on the third page. Here's to hoping we get another update before we say good-bye to 2006.




I seriously doubt it.  *I have the happy task of announcing the birth of YoungDrewId early on the morning of 12/18*.  Lad by the name of Ethan.  The Id family is happy and healthy, if tired.  I imagine Drew's time will be taken up in the near future with diapers and feedings and such.

Dang life getting in the way of our collective fantasy.  Ah well, the next generation of gamers have to come from somewhere, eh?


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## PallidPatience

Congratulations, Drew!

Also, bah to you.


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## masshysteria

Pierce said:
			
		

> *I have the happy task of announcing the birth of YoungDrewId early on the morning of 12/18*.  Lad by the name of Ethan.  The Id family is happy and healthy, if tired.  I imagine Drew's time will be taken up in the near future with diapers and feedings and such.



Congrats and what a great Christmas present for the family!


----------



## ledded

Ah yes, a very happy time for the OldDrewId clan.

And despite Drew's best genetic efforts, his wife's stunning good looks won out hands-down and Ethan is one beautiful baby.  Sorry Drew, Mrs Drew's chromosomes kicked your chromosome's butt.  Better luck next time


----------



## Angcuru

Hoorayness!  Congrats Drew!


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

*Slowpoke*

A very belated but still wellmeant and heartfelt congratulations.
Been away for quite a while from this SH and when I do return I see updates and RL newsflashes all over the place.
One might even consider this a *bump*, but doubt that it will be able to draw Drew away from his offspring.


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## Bloosquig

Very belated grats and maybe, one day, this thread will rise again.    

I don't have a whole lotta hope but hey its done it before.    

p.s. grats again on your kid!


----------



## Ceres Tauri

*/rez*

I really hate rezzing such an old thread.

I feel forced to due to the untimely demise of the flow.  If this was picked up somewhere, the transcribing of the playtime into these SH's, please linky me.  Seems the RBGM's family life took over and took him out of the writing business?  Sad.  He could get a career going as a creative writer, no question.



Anyway:

Fav OMGWTF? moment:

"when he left... with Mrs. Weaver."

I sat back and realized the full implications of that.  OMGWTF gripped me for several delicious minutes.  Like No F***ing way-ness.  Love it when a writer can give me that feeling.  Thank you, sir!  Well played.


Fav ROFL moment:

Crystal: "Is that my kimono?"...

..."GET OUT OF MY F***ING KIMONO YOU SICK F***!"...

One of the most epic scenes of roleplay ever written.  Priceless.


Thank you all!


----------

