# Diabolical.  a tale of Dark*Matter. (new 09/28/2006)



## Roudi (Aug 29, 2006)

*Prologue*

*Message One.*
“Hello, Dr. Hanover.  This is agent Jonas Riley... uh, we spoke a few days ago about an Institute matter, arranged a meeting on the morning of Thursday, October 12th.  Well it's Wednesday the 11th, I'm an hour out of North Bay, and there's a freak snowstorm impeding my progress.  I'm being redirected off exit 23; there's a rest stop here.  I could be here for a while.  Looks like I'm going to be very late for our meeting.  I've already informed Peters of the situation.  When you get the chance, call me back and let me know of a good time we can reschedule our meeting.  The sooner you can get a look at this orb, the better.  Take care.”
*Message time: 6:52pm.  Wednesday.*


Mary Carter's brow furrowed as she listened to the message.  Something was going on, more than just the mysterious death of a university professor.

A friend on the force had called her in; he knew both Mary and the prof had ties to “The Institute” and he owed Mary more than a few favours.  Dr. John Hanover, History Professor at the University of Toronto, was found dead in his campus office.  It was an apparent suicide: a diagonal slit across each wrist appeared to be the cause of death, and there were no obvious signs of struggle.  Time of death was approximately five hours ago.  There were, however, two things wrong.  One, there was not a single sharp object in the room.  Two, there was not a drop of blood to be found.

Now Mary had just discovered the deceased professor was due to meet with another agent of the Institute, Jonas Riley.  Jonas was currently delayed by a snowstorm.  In October.

Mary hit one of the speed-dial buttons on her cellphone.  Someone quickly answered.  “Peters, this is agent Carter.  I think we have a situation on our hands...”


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## Roudi (Aug 29, 2006)

A little info.

*Diabolical.
a tale of Dark*Matter 
on the fringes of sanity 
and dread Canadiana.*​
_System:_ d20 Modern.

_Books Used:_ d20 Modern core book, MSRD, Modern Player's Companion I & II, d20 Dark*Matter, SFX Skills: Diabolism, SFX Skills: Enochian Theurgy

_Characters:_ Six original characters were pregenerated for this game.  They started at an effective level 0. They had no class levels; simply the ordinary abilities array, starting occupation, INT mod x4 skill points, one feat, 4 + CON mod hit points, and an appropriate equipment package.  Level 1 was made available if characters survived the introductory adventure (Exit 23).


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## Peterson (Aug 31, 2006)

*claps*

About time I see this.  Lord knows, I've heard about it enough.  

Peterson


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## Roudi (Sep 12, 2006)

*Prologue (continued)*
** * * * **​
Jonas checked the time on his cell phone: quarter to midnight.  And still no signal bars, which was odd.  He'd just gotten off the phone as he was pulling into the Exit 23 rest stop, five hours ago.  His reception had been fine, then.  But now...

“Excuse me,” he began as he approached a threesome seat in a diner booth.  “Is anyone here getting any signal?”  He held up his phone to clarify.

All three pulled out their respective cellulars.  All three shook their heads.  “Mine cut off in the middle of a call,” responded one; female, twenty-four or five, brown hair, brown eyes, approximately 5'7” (hard to say, sitting down).  “I was just about to tell my mom where we were pulling in.”

“You think she's worried?” asked another; female, twenty-four, red hair, green eyes, approximately 5'8” - 5'9” (again, hard to determine while she's seated).  

“Of course she is, you know my mother.  She's probably all like-”

“You folks want summore coffee?” Mabel interrupted, holding a fresh pot.  Female, roughly fifty, black hair, brown eyes, 5'3”, proprietor of *Coffee Donuts* in the Exit 23 rest stop...

Jonas halted himself.  He was over-observing again.  It was his habit: everywhere he went, he mentally cataloged the relevant details of his surroundings.  That skill had earned him a job at the Institute, just under two years ago.  It had pulled him out of a dangerous situation with *(ACCESS RESTRICTED. INFORMATION IS TOP SECRET; SEE CASE REPORT DX-12I73-5447)*.

Mabel was obviously in some state of maternal ecstasy.  Aside from the three seated in the booth before him, there were at least eight others who had been diverted off the highway, and she was treating every one of them like a stray puppy.  Once she refreshed the girl's cups, and poured a fresh one for the male seated with them (mid-thirties, black hair, brown eyes, about 5'9”, gun in concealed holder, not concealed enough), Mabel turned to Jonas.  “How 'bout you, dear?”

“No thanks,” he replied politely.  Truth was, five of Mabel's ebon brews were currently churning Jonas' bowels into a sludgy mass in dire need of evacuation.  He excused himself politely and began towards the door.  He made two and a half steps before he stopped… he was forgetting something.  Returning to his seat at the bar, he reached down and picked up his black leather briefcase.  _Can’t leave this lying around_, he mused to himself.  However, a strange sensation prickled his nerves: the handle was ice cold.  Looking at the case, he was puzzled to see that the entire outer surface was covered in frost.

_Crap_, thought Jonas to himself.  _Another oddity.  This many strange occurrences in one day can only mean something ‘unpleasant’ is bound to happen_.  He gritted his teeth and started once more for the bathroom; he had to check on the contents of his case.

As Jonas exited *Coffee Donuts*, he heard a metallic jingling that set off his danger instinct.  His hand was halfway into his jacket when he noticed the noise had come from a young man to his left (late teens, black hair, brown- _quit it, Jonas_).  The guy gave him a friendly nod as he pulled a set of keys out of the door to the McDonald’s.  Jonas pulled his hand out of his coat.  _You have no idea how close that was, kid_.  He smiled at the teenager, who was still dressed in a striped McUniform, and walked in the opposite direction, towards the men's room.

Jonas heard a flush just as he stepped inside and nearly pulled his gun again.  He sighed in relief when he realized it came from the adjacent female restroom.  Pulling himself together, Jonas placed his briefcase on the counter and thumbed the combinations on each side.  He began to slide both switches to release the latch when a female voice screamed like she'd been run through with a sword.

Instinct took over; neither _fight_ nor _flight_, but rather, _hide the goods_. Jonas knocked the top off the garbage can and chucked the briefcase inside.  As he reached to grab the top back off the floor, a gust of arctic wind blasted the door off its hinges.  Jonas only got a glimpse of the thing; ice with claws, wind with teeth, a blizzard with a malicious face.  There was a flash and a chill unlike anything he had ever experienced, and then Jonas felt nothing at all.

Thirty seconds later, Jonas felt something.  It was like a pair of 2cm cylinders made of ice had been rammed through his shoulder and chest, pinning him to the wall.  He craned his neck down and saw that that was exactly what had happened.  The last thought in Jonas Riley's head, before he blacked out, was: _Figures_.


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## Urizen (Sep 12, 2006)

Very cool.

I look forward to reading more of this.


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## resscane (Sep 14, 2006)

NIce.  I live in miami and ran this as a hurricane hitting a truckstop out in the everglades.  It ran well and the players loved it.  You are a much better writer than I am,  and in that regards I look forward to reading your story hour.  Thanks


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## Haunted (Sep 20, 2006)

Ah...glorious.  I'll be watching this develop.

~H.


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## HeapThaumaturgist (Sep 26, 2006)

Nice.  Very quality.

Now I've gotta go get my gun and force the Birmingham crew to play Dark*Matter.

--fje


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## Roudi (Sep 26, 2006)

Thanks for the kind words, folks; sometimes I lack confidence in my writing, and it feels good to know that some people actually think it's good.

I haven't even gotten to the game itself!  I've been busy editing a certain project, as well as working out my remaining days at the last minimum-wage job I will ever work (on that note, my avatar's caption is true.  If you have paying work for me, I'm available!).  I should be able to post a new update later this week; time to show you who the players are, and whether they manage to survive the night.


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## Roudi (Sep 28, 2006)

CASE REPORT BX-12I25-01416
EXIT 23

There was a loud crash, like glass breaking, and suddenly the temperature in the diner dropped fifteen degrees.  At the same time, the lights flickered once and expired.  Then came the scream, a high-pitched cry that gargled before it terminated.  The wind howled like an animal, declaring its presence, telling all to beware... and then suddenly, the pitched changed to one of rage and frustration.  It was as if the storm outside had become a feral creature and gotten really pissed off.  At least, that's what it felt like to Leslie.

Right about then, Leslie realized a couple of things.  First, the sounds had come from the direction of the washrooms.  Second, her roommate Jenny had left a moment ago to use those very washrooms; just ahead of the cute guy with the business suit and briefcase.

Rufus must have been thinking the same thing.  He reached across the table and put his hand on Leslie's shoulder.  “I'm sure she's okay.” His voice betrayed a slight hint of his Russian roots.  “We'll go make sure.”

His other hand was inside his vest, removing his revolver from its holster.

Leslie recognized the motion immediately.  “Flashlights!” she exclaimed, a little too loudly.  “We need flashlights.  It's too dark.”  The message was clear to Rufus: _put the gun away_.

A few tables down, a long-haired youth sat clutching his sketchbook.  The Giger-esque drawings his professor had found so “disturbing” were nothing compared to the sheer terror he now felt.  And this time, he was clean; no bad trip, no...

“Hey.”

He almost screamed.  When he had turned to see who had spoken to him, he saw only a pale, ghostly face peeking at him from the next booth.  The girl was spectral in the darkness, illuminated only by the dim glow from the storm outside.

“Go see what that was,” she half-whispered to him.

He collected himself, roused his shoulders, pushed his John Lennon glasses back up the bridge of his nose.  “Hell no,” he replied.  “You go look.”

“Fine,” answered the albino.  “I will.”

Leslie and Rufus were already up, helping Mabel search behind the counter. “I coulda sworn I put that thing under here a few months ago.  Back when the power went out last time.  I swore I-”

“You guys looking for a flashlight?”

Rufus looked up as he answered.  “Mabel says she has one he-”

The pale-skinned woman raised her eyebrow.  “What're you looking at?”

“Uh, nothing.  Sorry.”

“I know where we can find a flashlight.”

Leslie emerged from behind the counter.  “Where's that?”

“My truck,” responded the albino.  “My name's Jessica.”

“Nice to meet you, Jessica.  I'm Leslie, and this is my friend Rufus.”

Jessica nodded her acknowledgment.  Then she turned to the rest of the diner.

“Any of you coming to help?”

The assorted dozen other occupants of *Coffee Donuts* looked at her with a mix of fear and apathy.  They were safe where they were; that's all they really cared to know.  Even Mabel crossed her arms.  She wasn't about to leave her beloved diner.

Leslie shook her head.  “Figures.”

Carefully, the trio slipped through the diner doors and into the lobby.  A freezing chill hit them as soon as they entered.  Using weak penlights, the three followed the wall until they reached the outside door.  The door's glass had been completely smashed, and one barely hung from its hinges.  Rufus nearly slipped, but he caught himself; the ground was covered by a slick layer of ice.  However, when his penlight shone upon the ground, Rufus saw that the ice was a dark crimson.  It pooled in a frozen puddle that led to the right, towards the washrooms.

Leslie followed the trail with her light until she found a shoe.  She recognized it immediately.

Jenny McCallister, long time friend and roommate of Leslie Beau, lay face-down on the floor.  Protruding from her back was a single, four-foot long icicle that shimmered in the penlight's glow.  Beneath her was the frozen puddle of blood.

Rufus put his hand to his mouth.  “Oh my God,” he began.  Leslie was already at Jenny's side, unzipping her duffel bag with one hand while checking for a pulse with the other.  She counted for a few seconds, and shook her head.

The silence broke as a groan emitted from the men's room.  Leslie and Jessica whipped their penlights around; Rufus reached into his vest for something far more useful.

** * * * **​
_I'm slipping.  It's all a slope, a slope covered in ice, and I'm wearing toboggans for shoes, and I'm slipping.  Into the black.  Can't hang on.  Just sliding downward into the black.

Bright.  Pain.  Hurt. Ow...

Female, twenty-four, red hair, green eyes, 5'9”.  A doctor.  No; A nurse.  No; emergency medical technician.  Used to stress.  Cold hands.  Has a medkit in a duffel bag.

Male, mid-thirties, black hair, brown eyes, 5'9”, holding a gun.  Detective; former cop.  Stance says it all.  Accent's a bit Russian.

And...
An angel.

No.  Elohim.  Enochian.  Angels don't exist.

But maybe they do.  Maybe this is dying.  Maybe she is death.

The orb.  Is it safe?

Darker.  Fading.  But pain... gone.

Not slipping._


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## Bryon_Soulweaver (Sep 28, 2006)

I remember reading a horror story that started off like this, and I have to have more.


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