Arlo keeps straining at holding the door, but is rethinking dashing through the zombies to freedom, or letting whatever is in here take his soul.
STR Roll
WD
Spending another Bennie (2/4)
STR Roll 2
WD2
And his feet begin to slide backwards in his indecision.
C'mon dice-bot, be nice!
= 7-1 = 6
Nate?
"Already been there!" Nate answers the voice(s) sarcastically, then resumes working with John on the ritual.
Hunkering down in the midst of all the chaos, John manages to continue the ritual as directed.
Gavril sees Arlo start to falter and sets his feet in a wider stance, pushing the other man along with the door. "Not... fail.... here..." he grunts, before turning to shout to the others. "You good? Stop soon? I no like music!"
The door holds, but barely. You can hear the zombies start to tear away the wood from the other side. It's only a matter of time before they break through.
Meanwhile, the walls start to bleed as a high-pitched keening wail of agony rends the air. The hot-water heater in the corner bursts open unleashing a torrent of scalding hot water and blistering steam.
Flashes of light reveal shadowy, incorporeal figures that bleed in and out of reality. Sometimes shockingly real, other times, merely merely wisps.
John suddenly remembers an overweight woman smacking him with a wire coat-hanger. "I will not have this blasphemy in my house, boy!"
Only the memory is wrong because her face is melting and covered with maggots all of the sudden.
Nate on the other hand sees a little boy playing with toy cars. He smashes them in together and makes a crashing noise with his mouth. He suddenly stops and looks at Nate, a cruel, wrongness in his eyes.
"Looking a little green there, Daddy. Why don't you take another pill and pretend you were fast enough to save us that night. And don't forget the shot of Jack Daniels to wash it down."
-Posted with Wayfinder
Nate looks distracted for a few moments and mutters something about Jack and Coke and green pills. Then he shakes his head and glares at nothing in particular.
"Zat all you got?" he shouts in a slightly disjointed and slurred voice, though to whom isn't exactly clear. "You don't scare me, I been swallowed by a Graboid!"
The demonic entity howls in pain as the Ritual continues despite its trickery.
Suddenly, John feels a compulsion and smashes the metal ritual dagger into the ground and it smashes into dust. And then a wave of energy seems to drive back the darkness.
The walls stop bleeding -- if they ever were in the first place. The animated objects cease moving. And you all can hear the sounds of the zombies on the other side of the door, collapsing on the ground as lifeless husks once more.
But more than that -- something otherworldly evil has been driven away, leaving the house as simply a house again.
"No, WAIT!" shouts Nate as John slams the dagger into the floor.
Then as the cacophony fades he lamely adds, "Oh... okay," before slowly slumping to the floor to join what's left of the weapon.
Sitting down heavily, John puffs and says "So now what? Are we done?"
Gavril looks around and draws a somewhat ragged breath before glancing outside the door. "Oh, gross," he comments, making a face and shutting the door. "I think I am finish, but I could use washing."
"I don't know about anybody else," says Nate wearily, "but I'm done."
He raises his head enough to look over at John. "I take back my earlier comment. Ya done good, kid."
"And thank you gentlemen for holding the door," he adds over his shoulder in a louder voice.
"Maybe someone should call what's-her-name and tell her the situation, and ask what to do?"
You check the wallet of the dead Baseball Cap Man and find he has $400, a really old condom and funnily enough a library card. He also had sawed-off shotgun strapped to his thigh. In his jacket you found a ziploc baggie with a wallet covered in blood inside of it. It matches the face of the dead man upstairs without a hand.
The hunters stumble out of the cabin into the late afternoon sun, exhausted, wounded and thankful to be alive. They make it back to their motel room, and do a little digging.
Arlo calls in a favor to an old friend on the force, and eventually gets a hand on their colorful histories. Turns out the two men were scumbags who had been arrested several times for vandalism, violence, sexual assault and a host of other grievances. They were even suspected of a case of vehicular manslaughter. The Baseball Cap Man was the son of a wealthy land developer, and presumably that's how they were able to skate by.
A little digging later and you find out that they were also into Neo-Nazi Occultism.
You call in the case to Maggie and she apologizes over and over again. Normally, demons leave very overt signs of their being in an area. And there were none reported. She promises that she won't let it happen again.
But she's also grateful for the work you've done. And tells you that you've more than earned your paychecks.
- $400 cash
- sawed-off shotgun
- $3,000 each from Patriot for this case
- Another $3,000 net each, over the next *6 months
*Assume you spent some money on living expenses, etc.
Ray, does Patriot have any "non-standard" weapons or tech (maybe sensors? - but anything) that they'd be willing to let us use?
I'd assume they'd have things like silver and cold-iron bullets that we could outright buy from them? And non-street-legal weapons like grenades and automatic weapons and such?
Any other gear besides what's in the Deluxe core rules manual? Anything in the manual NOT available?
Just checking : are you saying $3000 *per month*, minus living expenses (maybe $1000/month for bare-bones accommodations?), so maybe $12000 over the 6 months, plus $3000 from the first mission? $15,000 total?
ALL - it'll probably be a few days before I'm done adding 4 advancements...
Dot.
Faith started in on her second drink. She glanced around at the people she had just met, the people she would be working with on cases that put them at odds with the dark things from people's nightmares and campfire urban myth stories. They were an odd bunch, but so far, they had made her feel welcome.
She had listened to some of their stories of cases they had worked recently. Finally, it was her turn. She took a strong tug on her artisan hard cider (Original Sin) and considered what to say.
"Four years ago, I was a professional athlete, blissfully unaware that these monsters existed. I was traveling the world, racing rally cars across the Sahara, racing cigarette boats along Miami Beach, I was a fencer in the 2000 Olympics in Sydney, a biathlete at the 2006 winter games at Turin, taking trophies in Kendo tournaments in Japan, winning body building competitions in Santa Monica."
She glanced at these men and read the amusement in their faces. "I know," she said, "Typical California girl. And you're right. I am. Or I was. Then I visited a friend in the foothills of the San Gabriels, near Pasadena, for Thanksgiving. She had a rustic ranch house in a canyon community. I arrived and found the front door open, the house deserted, turkey roasting in the oven, starting to burn. I dashed through the house and eventually searched the back yard. I finally found her on the ground in a small grove of trees. She was naked and already dead. I called 911 and while I waited for the first responders, I studied her body, hoping to spot some clue about what had happened to her. She had a strange substance around her mouth and nose, some strange scratches on her body, and a sickly sweet smell I could not identify. Other than the scratches, there were no wounds--at least none that would cause death."
Faith paused and finished off her hard cider in several long gulps. "Long story short, the first responders pronounced her dead, the homicide boys took over and shooed me away. I waited a long time to hear anything official about her cause of death, possible leads, suspects. I showed up at the station house so much the detectives started avoiding me. Finally, they told me she had died of natural causes and they had found no signs of foul play. I was furious, but they blocked every effort I made to find out more."
Now Faith's dark eyes fairly glowed with emotion as she recounted what happened next, how she decided she would become a homicide detective, get hired to the Glendale Police Department, so she could gain access to the evidence files and try to figure out what the detectives had missed or what they had not wanted to find. "I entered the police academy, breezed through what they called boot camp. Should have been called warm fuzzy slippers camp, as far as I'm concerned. But then I aced the tests and qualified for detective training, breezed through that and within 18 months, I found myself on the force. First thing I did was look at my friend's files. Turned out the cops who had investigated that case had all retired or had died."
"Anyway, the autopsy found a number of strange substances in Beth's body, no evidence of sexual assault, and no fatal wounds. Her cause of death was ruled heart failure, but she was in peak condition, a marathon runner and body builder; no drugs were found in her body. But there was some strange substance in her bloodstream that seemed organic and definitely not human. So that was one piece of the puzzle."
"I learned how to make more effective Internet searches ...," she paused and noticed some looks of skepticism on the men's faces. "Okay, I learned to crack secure web sites and databases. Point is, I found evidence of other deaths with similar MOs."
"One thing led to another, and next thing I know, I'm breaking into a cabin high in the San Gabriels. Inside, I smelled that sweet smell and found it was more of a strange nest, like something out of Alien. I drew my katana and explored, my heart in my mouth. Strange thing, though, I found some way to stay calm and focused. Maybe it was all my kendo training and the meditation they make you do at the dojo. Anyway, this creature attacks me from out of the murk and webbing. It's got claws and fangs, but it wasn't just trying to kill me. It breathed some vapors on me and I began to hallucinate and visions of my worst nightmares surfaced. But I somehow ignored these, and brought to bear a series of katana blows that knocked it down, followed by some .45 slugs for good measure."
"I stayed just long enough to be sure there were no more and then boogied back to where I could get a cell-phone signal. Called in back-up, park rangers, since he was in national forest territory. I led them to the cabin and all the strange webbing and gunk had disappeared and where the creature had lain was now a teenage boy, stark naked, cut with sword wounds and my .45 slugs in his chest and head."
"Well, you can imagine the sh%#-storm that followed. Unfortunately, I had not taken any pictures of the crime scene before I left to get back-up. Fortunately, close examination of the crime scene turned up other kinds of evidence that definitely linked the kid to the deaths of not only my friend but seven other mysterious deaths and disappearances, including some bodies in his basement. So there was no reason to charge me with a crime, but the media made a big stink at first about how a police officer slashed and shot an unarmed teenager. Social media had a field day and I was suspended from active cases. My captain wanted to believe me but he could not bring himself to try to defend me when it required him to talk about strange shape-shifting alien sasquatch monsters. In the end it was easier to bust me down to a beat cop."
"I said, 'Screw that,' and quit. Got my PI license and began to work cases that involved unexplained disappearances and deaths."
Faith stopped and let out a guffaw. "Sorry," she said, still grinning like an idiot. "I just remembered some advice another PI told me just as I was getting started. He said, 'In this business, it's just one damn thing after another.' Boy was he ever right!"
At some point a few months ago, everyone else in the group got a call from me. We were between Patriot missions, and I asked to meet everyone ASAP at a fast-food joint we were all familiar with.
Once everyone arrived, I explained that I had received a message from an...old "friend" (I'm sure they could tell I was hiding some facts, here) who urgently needed my help right away. I explained that even knowing it was going to be dangerous, I *was* going to help her, but if anyone wanted to come along, their help would be greatly appreciated. To my relief, everyone said they were in. I owe every one of them a "solid".
Turns out my friend was being blackmailed by some pretty nasty customers, and we practically had to take down the entire group before they backed off. Fortunately the final showdown happened in a very out-of-the-way cabin deep in a forest, so no cops came around asking about all the gunfire. Nor will anyone be able to identify the bodies, what with the cabin burning down and all...
Along the way, while poking around in an old "abandoned" warehouse back in town that was one of the group's hang-outs, looking for the blackmail evidence, I instead found this beat-up old ring in a crack in the floor. It polished up nicely - on the outside was a deeply engraved lightning bolt, and on the inside was a cryptic pseudo-formula, "3X2(9YZ)4A". I later discovered that upon speaking that gibberish, I was able to move and act faster for short times.
(Ray - specs for a ring of Quickness, please.)
Once we'd gotten the evidence and busted up the gang, I asked everyone if they'd mind if I met my friend alone to tell her the results. But if anyone followed me , they'd see that I met up with a woman about my age (give or take a few years), and that we were friendly but reserved. The relief on her face when I handed her the evidence was obvious, and elicted a hug. But whatever I said to her after that put her right back to reserved, and she started shaking her head "no" to whatever it was I'd said, but I eventually convinced her of something that she reluctantly agreed to.
It's been a few months since that first case over at the Blume Cabin. Since then you've had a few tussles with the supernatural. It was a tough road, but you managed to survive and even make a bit of a name for yourself around the PATRIOT offices. And more than that you've learned to work together as a tight unit. Any behind-your-back snickering about your competence has long since stopped.
Your handler, Maggie, has sent you a text message asking you to meet her in Sal's Diner over in Baltimore. Lunch would be on her.
***
A couple days ago you were sent an anonymous letter asking you to arrive at Sal's Diner for lunch. It referred to your "evening hobby" and said, "Come on in, if you're ready to join the Big Leagues. And relax. I'm not evil."
***
Maggie sits in Sal's, nursing a virgin strawberry Daiquiri, and perusing an open menu.
Result = 5; Success
Faith had arrived at the diner a day early. She was bleary from too much coffee in order to make the drive from San Francisco in record time. She sat in her black Firebird where she could watch the lunch time customers and take some pictures. After an afternoon of fruitless attempts to find anything odd about any of the customers, she had dinner at Sal's, chatted up the waitress and owner; called herself Sally.
That evening, she hunkered down in her hotel room, tapping her tablet computer intently, researching the place and it's owner. The woman had answered her questions convincingly enough, but some of her answers had a cryptic element, as if giving her clues without being obvious about it. One such clue was multiple references to being a 'patriot.'
She had also mentioned a few recent events as if they were on the local news, strange things, the kind of things Faith liked to research in an effort to scrounge up interesting cases. Funny thing was, they weren't on the news. She really had to dig to find anything. She found no direct connections to anything relating to Sally or the diner, but some common vectors suggested a Baltimore connection to the sources of information she tapped.
Faith hit the sack at 11:32 PM, slept off some of her post caffeine/energy drink let-down, but got up early enough to get some breakfast, do her daily workout and jog, and still get to the diner an hour before time indicated on the invite. She took pictures of people coming and going, noting nothing suspicious.
While she waited, she read the invitation letter again. She was intrigued by the offer to "join the Big Leagues". She was a little insulted at the reference to her "evening hobby," as if anything she did was a hobby, particularly paranormal investigation. As the hour approached, she checked the loads in her guns, made sure her weapons were hidden from view in the car, but easy to access if she needed them. She tucked a Colt, the one she affectionately called Lara, into a holster that held it ready behind her back and put on her black and orange San Francisco Giants jacket. She didn't want to draw attention to herself by wearing her swords, but just in case, she hid her survival knife in a wrist sheath under her left jacket sleeve. She tucked the letter she had received in her coat pocket and waited, listening to James Taylor on the CD player as she watched the new arrivals intently.
She made herself a little bet that she could spot the sender of her strange letter when he or she arrived. If she did, she'd get herself the skirt steak sandwich a food reviewer had given 5 stars. A line from the letter surfaced again for consideration: "Relax. I'm not evil." Yeah, right, Faith thought. I'll be the judge of that.
An attractive woman in a business suit looked up at Faith and waved her over. "Over here, Miss Sierra," she called loudly from across the busy restaurant.
-Posted with Wayfinder
Faith is parked up the street watching the diner as if on stake-out, just to try to spot the person who invited her.
Result = 7 - 2 = 5, success vs. passive observers.
Result = 3-1 = 1, failure
Guess she'll try a burger.
Eventually, she'll drive up to the diner parking lot (if there is one). She strolls in and over to the woman who called her name. She'll stop and wait for the woman to identify herself before saying anything.
"It's so good to see you Miss Sierra. Please, sit down. I'm Maggie. I sent you the vaguely ominous cryptic message. Sorry about that. It's sort of company policy."
-Posted with Wayfinder
Faith sits with one chair between her and Maggie at the large table. "Call me Faith. Lately the only people who call me Miss Sierra are motel clerks and cops as they're writing me tickets." She slides a water glass so she can see activity behind her in the reflection.
Before Maggie says anything else, Faith adds, "This better be legit. It's a long drive from San Francisco, so if this is a pitch to join Am-Way, you're in for a very cranky rejection."
Maggie feigned a glazed over look, and said in a faux monotone, "But I haven't told you about the Diamond Club yet."
She snickered.
"Relax, I work for PATRIOT. We hunt and kill evil things like vampires, zombies, werewolves, poltergeists, etc. Perhaps you can relate."
-Posted with Wayfinder
Faith nodded, studying this woman whom Faith had pegged as a real-estate agent. "I've seen things," Faith admitted, "Killed some of those things. What's that got to do with patriotism? I've heard of the war on terror, but didn't realize the Patriot Act had any riders about taking the fight to the vamps and 'wolves."
Nate heads from Bertha towards the diner, pausing briefly to pop a pill before stepping inside. Spotting Maggie almost immediately...
... he walks to her table, fully aware the woman he doesn't recognize is probably watching him approach.
"PATRIOT. We hunt and kill evil things like vampires, zombies, werewolves, poltergeists, etc."
"You didn't mention Amway reps," he chided her with a grin. "Surely they're evil enough to rate more than 'etcetera?' Hi Maggie, how's tricks? Who's this?" he asks, jerking a thumb at Faith before plopping into a seat.
Micheal sits down after showing the manger his papers for Faust. He is a 90 pound weakling nerd. He is usually reading something on his phone. If you look close enough, then you can see some deep scars on his arms. He usually dresses in a very unassuming manor often referred to as urban camouflage.
Distracted by the odd circumstances, and sensing Maggie is not a threat or a set-up, Faith does not notice the newcomers approach. She studies the two as they take their seats.
Faith has a pretty face with Latina/Asian features (or could be Native American), and short black hair. She unzips her jacket, as it's a bit warm in the diner. She's wearing a T-Shirt with a stylish spiral galaxy splashed across the full front; near the bottom stands an astronaut holding a surfboard. Looks like this. She fills out the shirt well. She neither smiles nor frowns, but looks to Maggie for an explanation.
Maggie smiles at Nate and stands to give him a quick, friendly hug.
"Nate! My dashing hero! It's so good to put a face to your voice again. Sit, peruse the menu. I recommend the skirt steak. By the way, great work on the Cincinnati job with those vampires. I was just giving Faith and now Michael here the welcome wagon speech."
She turned to Faith and Michael.
"PATRIOT isn't the government. We're private sector. But we do a lot of contract work for the government. Uncle Sam's got a vested interest in the world not ending. Tends to play havoc with the stock market."
Faith did a double-take between Maggie and Michael. She looked like she was going to make a snarky remark, but thought better of it. "Okay, you've got my attention. Feeling the need for some context, maybe some history, job description, pay scales, chain of command."
An average-looking, only slightly overweight (probably lost a *few* pounds in the last 6 months from all the running) guy in his early 20's dressed in jeans and casual shirt pulls up in a Corolla and walks up without trying to hide or notice anything. He says "hello" to everyone he knows, and his eyes linger on the newcomer. He glances at Maggie with a question mark on his face.
Maggie happily waves John over, and hugs him as well.
"Well, we'd be hiring you to investigate potential supernatural phenomena and dealing with them. But you'd be listed as a consultant. We wouldn't technically be your employer and therefore we wouldn't technically be responsible for any havoc you caused, like say, for instance, with an unnecessarily large amount of explosives."
Maggie smiled and shook her head. "God that makes us sound way more ominous than I intended. Was I this terrifying when I recruited you guys," Maggie says addressing John and Nate.
Maggie shrugged and sipped her daiquiri.
"Anyway that's all legal smoke and mirrors. In practice we're very protective of each other. And I've been accused of being a mother hen to my teams on more than one occasion."
-Posted with Wayfinder
I guess my biggest question is what sort of medical do you offer. I would also like to point out that if Faust here starts barking like mad, then odds are I am about to have a seizure.
Faith takes all this in, a pensive look on her pleasant face. She takes a deep breath and says, "It sounds like you'd be paying me to do what I'm already doing, except that I'd have back-up and extra resources?" The last statement changes into a question on the last word, as she glances pointedly at Maggie. "I guess the main thing that concerns me is that there are enough paranormal threats to make dealing with them a potentially profitable enterprise. I'll want to read your case files, particularly those that the team has already worked. It's good to know what the others know and what they can do."
"Our medical insurance policies are pretty bad ass, and should be accepted nearly anywhere. If you're ever in a pinch and a hospital won't take your card and they pull that 'out of network' nonsense you call me. And I will personally bring the wrath of God crashing down on their house," Maggie says sounding deadly serious.
She then smiled and sipped her daiquiri as if nothing had happened and turned her attention to Faith.
"Our records are pretty extensive, so you'd need to be more specific about what you'd want to see. But sure. In the meanwhile, the guys here are free to tell you whatever they want about their own cases."
She took another hefty sip and then winced.
"Ow. Ow. Stupid brain freeze," she muttered.
-Posted with Wayfinder
I would give you a demonstration, but I fear that I would cause a panic. I say with a bit of a grin.
Faith reached into a jacket pocket and pulled out a slim wallet that contained an ID card with the blue EMT emblem. She flashed it at Micheal and then laid it out on the table. "I'm EMT certified and I keep a medical kit in my car. Just be sure you have your meds and brief me on your condition before we start an op."
She gave a worried look at the slender young man and then looked at John and Nate. "Is this it? team of 4? Just so you know, I'm an ex-cop, homicide detective, turned private investigator. I am a crack shot and I am renshi 6th Dan kendo master, an experienced race car and motor boat driver, and professional athlete. What do the rest of you bring to the table?" There is more than a touch of pride in her smooth Californian accent and dark brown eyes.
My phone has my grimor and my occult library. Faust here is also my familiar. If you see a creature rip itself out of a wound in the ground, odds are I did that. I also know how to order people, or at least demons around. He shrugs at when saying that last part.
Faith looks at Michael a bit slack-jawed, glancing next to the others at the table as if expecting someone to crack a smile. She says to Maggie, "Is junior here for real? Sounds like the person you would send us out to investigate and possibly eliminate."
"By the way, great work on the Cincinnati job with those vampires."
"Thanks, but vampires aren't much of a challenge when you're packing garlic bullets in the old Desert Eagle," he says as he pats a holster hidden beneath his jacket. "It's all about having the proper tool at hand."
In response to the introductions he nods and offers a pair of handshakes. "Faith. Michael." He then leans over a bit so he can look past the edge of the table towards the floor. "Faust."
He chuckles at Maggie's question. "As I recall you didn't come off 'terrifying' so much as... well... 'off your rocker'." He turns to Faith and adds, "Faith, there's no reason you should trust me any more than Maggie here, but I can assure you she shoots straight. And she's definitely done right by us -- our team -- so far. Just don't expect coherent conversation from her immediately preceding a baby shower," he cautions with a grin and a wink to his handler.
He coughs and suddenly becomes very interested in the label on the ketchup bottle when Maggie mentions "an unnecessarily large amount of explosives." Perhaps for that reason, he doesn't speak up when Faith asks what everyone brings to the table.
I'm an ex-cop, homicide detective, turned private investigator. I am a crack shot and I am renshi 6th Dan kendo master, an experienced race car and motor boat driver, and professional athlete.
John makes no attempt to hide rolling his eyes in disdain when she says this.
John nods at Faith and Michael without offering a hand. "I'm John. I have some special abilities of my own, but they don't have fancy titles. I can stun a person from a distance, make myself and others harder to be hit by knives and bullets, and as a last resort heal wounds - without 'no stinkin' EMT card' (the last said with a Mexican accent), but I don't know if that would help you with a seizure (looking at Michael). I've also gotten to be a pretty fair shot over the last few months."
"I'm aware of Michael's abilities, Faith. He's no different than any other person we recruit. Mostly harmless. If I thought otherwise I wouldn't have sent him an envelope."
"And actually we're still waiting on a couple of members of our the team. They'll be along shortly I'm sure."
-Posted with Wayfinder