The ST Guy's page

May 1st, 2011

The day was not so unusual for Chicago. It had rained the evening before and the streets were still damp as the morning sun made its way lazily across the cloudy sky, emerging perhaps once an hour to remind the world of its existence before disappearing once again. It was Sunday, and the churchfolk of the Windy City were emerging from their morning services and filling the dirty streets, as they had done every week before. For the millions who called the city home, this was just another day. For a select group, however, the specter of death had cast its shadow upon them.

When you saw the obituary last Friday, you could hardly believe your eyes. Professor Lucas Stampf, the very same professor who had taught some of your obligatory sociology classes, had passed away at the age of 49. Professor Stampf was not like most teachers, however. You remembered his lectures on modern hate cults, religious fanaticism, and the nature of human conflict. He had such passion, such devotion to his field of study. For a time perhaps you considered a change of major because of his influence. Some of the students mocked him for his extremism but for some reason, it stuck with you. Now, even years later, the images of a KKK rally splayed across the massive lecture hall projection screen or the image of a Palestinian woman kneeling over the body of her child in the streets of modern Jerusalem haunt your dreams when you think too much about them.

You had spent time with the professor outsider of class at least a few times, as he made a point of getting to know his students better and engage them in conversation whenever the opportunity presented itself. He was an avid patron of local bars (particularly ones with live entertainment), though nothing suggested any alcoholism or similar maladies. He simply loved to be in the element of his study: society. Rumors persisted of the professor taking some students aside after hours or otherwise making contact with them beyond the realm of school, but these rumors were never confirmed nor did anyone think twice about such things if they were true. He was personable, friendly, and fiendishly intelligent.

Regardless of the impact he had upon you, news of his death was shocking not because you recognized the name, nor because of his relatively young age. You all received a personal invitation, delivered by Certified Mail, to the funeral, held today at the Muzyka & Son Funeral Home on Lawrence Avenue. The return address of the sender was simply a P.O. Box assigned to the University you had all attended. There was no name or other indication. Compelled by either respect, morbid curiosity, or a healthy serving of both, you have decided to attend.

Arriving at the parking lot adjacent to the funeral home, you notice that there are a number of other people here. Perhaps for another funeral service, perhaps not. As you exit your conveyance of choice, a chill wind sweeps through the lot from the south. Errant pieces of litter from the street are carried on the breeze, finding lodging in the short row of bushes that separated this lot from the alley. The sound of organ music can faintly be heard emanating from within as another group of mourners enters ahead.

This is just a placeholder thread while I wrap up the "auditions" in Gamer Connection. This is also the official avatar I'll be using as the Storyteller in the game. (This is Fatespinner, in case it weren't obvious.)

I also wanted to take the opportunity to lay out some posting guidelines to help establish some style unity for the game thread when we go live. As I said before, I'm very picky about my games and some might call me anal-retentive. Call it what you will, but I guarantee that if you can make yourself stick with the guidelines, we'll all have a lot of fun together. :)

July 17th, 2009
Miami, FL

As he stepped out of the driver’s side door of his Charger, Jon Simon noted that the parking garage on Flagler St. was unusually full tonight. Signs posted up the road and the billboard at the intersection of 1st Ave. suggested some kind of event was going on at the Historical Museum just across the street. Even from the 4th floor of the concrete structure, he could hear all the people talking and could see the telltale flashes of numerous cameras below. Descending to the street level, he was treated to 45 seconds of the obnoxious Latin instrumental that passed for elevator music in this district. The garage really was packed to capacity, as evidenced by the security guard putting up the “Garage Full” barricade just in front of him as he stepped out of the elevator doors. The guard, a young Cuban man, simply nodded to him as he passed on his way to the sidewalk. Simon wasn’t here for the media buzz, though. He was here on business.

That “business” was in the form of young Hank Monroe, an ex-ganger with ties to the old Cortez family. He sat in the darkest corner of the poorly air-conditioned Caciques Corner Café, listening to some Spanish-speaking news program and idly munching on a taco while he waited for the “professional” to arrive. Hank had never met Jon before, but the dealers and gun-runners he had roughed up on the way out of Overtown all suggested that, if he had beef with Cortez, Jon was the man to see… and Hank most certainly had beef with Cortez. As Hank took another sip of his Coke, the door to the establishment chimed its entry bell and admitted the man he’d been waiting for. As the door opened, Hank could hear the media din outside, the flashes of cameras readily apparent through the shop’s massive picture windows, even with the blinds pulled down as they were. Must be a big night at the museum…

Another Friday night, another domestic abuse call. Officer Garabina Vasquez thought to herself as she wheeled the squad car down 1st St. towards 1st Ave. She pulled into the gated parking lot that surrounded the Mendoza Arms Estates, a run-down apartment complex from the 1920s that should’ve gotten bulldozed when the area re-zoned for commercial but somehow went beneath notice. Stepping out of the car, she could already hear the frantic Spanish argument. The man, standing at the bottom of the staircase, was yelling up at the woman standing on the balcony, accusing her of never taking the car in to get registered. Both of them were obviously furious with the other, but the items that really caught Garabina’s attention were the 5-year-old boy clutching the woman’s leg… and the .45 caliber handgun in the woman’s right hand. Neighbors were peeking out from behind windows and leaning out onto balconies to get a better look. Vasquez hoped that no one would have to see anything they didn’t want to tonight.

Adrian Birch heard the commotion as well, and had given a cursory glance out of his second-story window to see what the fuss was all about. Just another couple of immigrants with their dysfunctional relationships, nothing new. He quickly closed the blinds when the police car appeared around the corner, however, but couldn’t help but hazard another glance out of morbid curiosity. A female officer emerged, looking especially tense. Her hand was hovering over the holster on her hip. Another glance towards the arguing couple told Aido all he needed to know what was about to go down. The furious woman clutched her young son to her on one side… and a loaded firearm on the other. At the entrance to the complex, he spied a familiar face with a dark sweatband across his forehead…

Gabriel Kuroki, on his way to the bookstore up the road, couldn’t help but stop as he passed the Mendoza Arms Estates on his nightly job this night. He saw the police car pull in and listened to the rapid-fire Spanish being exchanged by the angry couple. Normally, he would just keep jogging, but this was Adrian’s complex and he’d been considering chatting with him about the latest occult titles for awhile. Perhaps, once things had cooled off a bit, they could chat. Meanwhile, he stepped off to the side of the walkway and peered out at the proceedings from a position of relative safety. The female officer emerged from her squad car, looking especially tense. Gabriel couldn’t quite make out what was happening through the bushes and darkness, but whatever it was clearly had the officer on edge.

Anu had seen the billboards. He saw the camera flashes from his makeshift shelter beneath the Metro tramway. He knew that something big was going down at the Historical Museum tonight. He and the other vagabonds he had joined up with for the night all sat around in relative silence. One of them, an older man named Joe, produced a candy bar from his jacket and offered bits of it to the others. The night seemed usually cold, particularly for July in Miami, but Anu paid no mind to it. Instead, he watched with interest at the gathering of museum-goers, all waiting for the doors to be opened. There were several local celebrities present, including Angelo Bassati, the owner of the new Miami Beach club, Hurricane. Anu had seen his photo on flyers down by the boardwalk to Miami Beach last weekend. He was much more captivating in the flesh, though. With all these rich people standing around just waiting for something to happen, maybe he could capitalize on the opportunity. Anu quickly dusted himself off and gave consideration to his attire. While he certainly wouldn’t be welcome at a black tie event, he was confident that he at least didn’t look like a hobo. Thus did he make his way across the street, passing a tall, stern looking gentleman in a black duster entering the Caciques Corner Café on the way…

New York City, FSA
Aeon Trinity East Coast Command Station
1800 hours

The rain outside came down in sheets, heavy on the windows of the high-class office complex that Trinity called it's Command Station for the American East Coast. The waiting area was quite impressive in it's own right, flanked by steel helical pillars on either side of the stylishly curved oaken desk. The blonde woman on the other side of the desk busied herself with numerous datapads and entered various pieces of information into the computer terminal emitting a soft bluish-green glow from the shadowy recess of the desk.

To one side of the desk was a small walkway leading to the elevators that provided access to the rest of the building. On the other side was a long hallway that hosted a series of offices and conference rooms. The individuals in the waiting room had been called here by a Neptune Division field commander by the name of Daniel Hawthorne. Whether that was his real name or not, there was no way to be sure, but his credentials and background checked out. His message was legitimate:

Dear Trinity Associate,

My name is Daniel Hawthorne and I have contacted your supervisors on behalf of Aeon Trinity to recruit you for a very important assignment. Our operatives have located evidence of a rather disturbing nature within the Great Plains Quarantine Zone in North America. We have reason to believe that there may be a laboratory there which is conducting Aberrant research. We suspect surviving members of the Chitra Bhanu may be involved. Please meet in New York City on July 1st. Enclosed with this message is a credit transfer. It should cover your travel expenses. I will see you there.

The message had also included the dossiers of the four men and women who had been chosen for this assignment:

Marcelo Carlito Tavares Silva a.k.a. "Urso"
-A Biokinetic on loan to Trinity from Norca, his dossier is highly classified and contains little more than his name, photo, and allegiance.

Spyridon Spyridonos
-One of Trinity's own, this Electrokinetic had previously worked with Orgotek on several high-end electronics research and development programs. He is presently on assignment to serve as the technological expert should the laboratory be discovered and is capable of disabling security and accessing encrypted files.

Therese Beaupre
-An Orgotek pilot under contract to Aeon Trinity, this Clairsentient has been assigned to the team to provide psionic reconnaissance as well as adding a capable combatant to the field team in case of hostile activity. She will also be piloting the insertion vehicle into the operation zone and will be responsible for the exfiltration as well.

Frederick Falen
-Another of Trinity's own, this Telepath from Trinity's Neptune Division has been assigned to the task force for diplomatic reasons. The laboratory's suspected location is very near to several settlements of refugees and survival groups who have remained in the area despite the widespread devastation. It is hoped that some of them may be able to offer relevant information to aid the cause. Also, if the laboratory is not what it appears to be, Frederick will be on hand to handle diplomatic relations with the individuals operating the facility.

Spyridon & Therese:

Therese & Frederick:

Spyridon & Frederick (and Therese, though she's not directly involved, she'd know about it):

Lightning flashed outside with a distant rumble of thunder. The rain continued to hammer at the windows. Aside from the weather, it was strangely quiet in the waiting area, the only other sound coming from the quiet sounds of the secretary's fingers hitting keys on the datapads before her. A beep came from the desk and a tiny blue light pulsed slowly on, then off. The secretary pressed a button on her earpiece.

"Yes sir?" she said quietly, then paused. "Okay. I'll let them know, sir." She pressed the button again and turned to look at the assembled crew with a smile. "Mr. Hawthorne is just leaving a meeting. He'll be with you very shortly."

The waiting area itself contained several hard leather couches, all black, and was tiled with large black-and-grey speckled marble. In the corner was a large fern, unremarkable except for the fact that it was a real plant and not artificial or a holographic projection. Having only just arrived, you all finally have the opportunity to look around and visit with one another before Mr. Hawthorne shows up.

I'm considering starting up a very small Trinity game on the boards here using White Wolf's original Trinity (d10) system. I'm looking for a total of 4 players, 2 of which have already signed up (Karelzarath and Ithuriel).

Knowledge of the Trinity universe is a definite plus, but is not entirely required. Familiarity with White Wolf's d10 system is strongly encouraged, though Trinity varies slightly from the Vampire and Werewolf rules in that target numbers are static (always 7) but multiple successes are needed to accomplish difficult tasks.

As with my other PbP games, I will be rolling the dice for you. The posting style will be entirely narrative and the mechanics will be screened (though I may make comments in OOC text to give you a glimpse behind the screen from time to time). Actions will be declared by the player with the intended outcome and I will adjucate the results.

If you are interested in this game, please make sure that you are available to post throughout the week. I've had too many games die on me because players have stopped posting altogether or can't commit to making posts often enough to advance the storyline. Weekends will likely be slower and that's fine as I don't browse the boards terribly often on the weekend either.

As with most White Wolf games, this game will involve plenty of roleplaying and investigative work with substantially less combat than your typical D&D game. That said, there is most certainly going to be room for a "combat character" in the group (or more than one) since the resolution of many investigations involves bringing someone (or something) to justice one way or another. I advise against making a "meathead" character who excels at combat and has no other functional skills, however, as you will likely find yourself bored for long periods of time.

I am willing to aid you in character creation if you are committed to play. I highly recommend securing a copy of the Trinity rules PDF (the dead tree version is out of print) in order to expedite character creation and give you a good overall impression of the world. I do not expect to actually start this game until a couple of weeks after character generation is completed (which could take a couple of weeks on it's own).

It was a city full of life: from the artists in the bohemian Haight-Ashbury district to the digital moguls in South of Market, San Francisco had a vast array of resources to behold. Over a hundred years of history defined the City By the Bay, yet the creatures who would determine the next century had been around since long before the first shovel broke soil on the West Coast in the days of iron and steam.

A heavy fog crept into the San Francisco bay, blanketing the bustling city in its obscuring embrace. It had been a long autumn for the Kindred of the city, and it was sizing up to be an even longer winter. Only a few months prior Los Angeles itself, the Camarilla bastion of the Pacific Coast, had fallen to the jaws of the Sabbat raiders from Mexico, driven north on a bloodthirsty rampage by their enigmatic leaders. Vital elders were slain, numerous neonates lost or murdered, and decades of meticulous planning torn asunder and set ablaze. Many of the wiser Kindred fled the city in the days prior to the siege. The Brujah Justicar, Jaroslav Pascek, ordered a tactical retreat to the city of San Francisco to regroup during the second week of the attack and every able-bodied Kindred capable of answering the call did so. Losses were heavy on both sides and the siege left holes in the Masquerade that could not easily be filled, so the vampires of both factions crept into the shadows to lick their wounds… and prepare for the next battle.

Never before had the city of San Francisco been host to such an array of powerful and legendary Kindred. The Brujah Justicar himself was present, as well as numerous Archons from every clan and even a fair number of potent Independent Kindred seeking shelter after being displaced by the war to the south. The Prince of San Francisco, a French Toreador by the name of Julian Renault, was among the more minor presences within the city now that his throne was temporarily invalidated by the greater Camarilla authorities present and he was visibly displeased by this fact, though powerless to do much about it. The Primogen of the city had been conscripted to perform various tasks by their respective Archons, setting out to establish barriers and watchposts amongst the mortal world in preparation for the attack that was due to come at any moment. The Sheriff, a Gangrel known only as ‘Lupus,’ was similarly tasked, though on a much more personal level, to maintain vigilance.

The city had become a hotbed of Kindred activity, filled with far more predators than it was accustomed to. The Masquerade was in danger due to the overpopulation and explicit orders had been given to the assembled Kindred to exercise extraordinary care in their nightly feedings. Nonetheless, the murders happened. The missing persons multiplied. The crimes escalated. Unable to exercise their usual degree of law enforcement, the Camarilla vampires could do little to police themselves in a time where their attention must remain focused outwards. Alienated, then, from all this activity, were the neonates: the lesser-known vampires whose Primogen had no special tasks for, whom the Justicars and Archons would not deign to speak with, and whom even the Sheriff barely had the time to even acknowledge. Thus, it came as quite a shock when one of these neonates, a young Brujah named Jonah, was Blood Hunted by the Prince’s edict under accusations of diablerie and sedition. Relatively unknown even to his clanmates, the young Brujah had been an upstart anarchist in the late 1980s who was brought into the blood by Edgar Reeves, a respected member of the court of San Francisco who managed the nightclub scene at the time. When Edgar disappeared only a few weeks after the massive influx of refugees from the south, Jonah was captured, interrogated, and found guilty of diablerie by the city Scourge, a Tremere named Lauren Olstes. The Blood Hunt was ordered the same night to formalize his execution, but Jonah managed to escape his captors and fled into the night.

The strain on food supply was another major issue faced by the multitude of Kindred in San Francisco, causing certain areas previously declared off-limits to be opened up by the Brujah Justicar’s command, including the business districts along the north coast and Chinatown, though the latter was still avoided by most sane Kindred for fear of encountering the clandestine group of Asian vampires rumored to dwell there. Lately, the Nosferatu and Malkavians of the city have been working diligently to degenerate certain areas of the city in order to make them more ideal (if somewhat more dangerous) feeding grounds for the swelling population of undead. Masterminding this operation is an elder Nosferatu known as “Warden” who makes his haven in the dank tunnels and sewers beneath Alcatraz Island. He has asked Lens Samaniuk, a young clanmate, to obtain vital records from City Hall regarding the zoning regulations in place over the districts to be “slummified” by the joint operation. A pair of Malkavians, Juan Pablo Esposito and Frank Harris, along with several other members of both clans, have been asked to inhabit the Silver Terrace district, specifically the eastern portion, and engage in covert operations to undermine property values in accordance with the intelligence provided by Lens’ discoveries. Isaac Cole, a Brujah with ties to the San Francisco police department, has also been enlisted into this operation to provide muscle for the Kindred if needed as well as knowledge of police operations and patrols in the area. Jonquil, an older Gangrel who has lived in the area for some time, has dwelled in the Silver Terrace region since the early 90s and knew much of the surrounding area as well as the neighboring lower-class district of Baywood. Given her familiarity with the gang activity in the region as well as the knowledge of where certain “safehouses” could be located, the city wasted no time in recruiting her for this goal as well. The Sheriff himself, as the only ranking Gangrel in the city, bestowed the task upon her with a knowing smirk. He knew that the anarchist Gangrel wouldn’t pass up a chance to intentionally degrade the order and safety of a major metropolitan center. He also knew that she was competent enough to make it out alive if the Sabbat showed up in the southern district unannounced. Finally, the Tremere Scourge personally sought out the young and relatively inexperienced Sergei Rustav, a recently Embraced member of Clan Tremere who had been operating as a body fixer in the Baywood and Silver Terrace districts, to offer Clan Tremere’s unique assistance in this operation and to work with the other Kindred to maximize their efficiency in destabilizing the region and turn it into an ideal hunting ground. It would also serve the two-fold purpose of creating an effective crime-ridden barrier along the southern end of town, forcing Sabbat coming from the south into a hostile territory and making it less likely that they would be able to find suitable havens in that area (due to the vigilance of the local Nosferatu and Malkavians).

Only a week into the operation, however, Kindred in the region started mysteriously disappearing. The first few were virtually unknown neonates believed to have fled the city in the face of the coming conflict. The Malkavian Primogen, however, was the next to vanish. A potent Kindred well over a century in the blood was working with some of his clanmates on the southern end of Silver Terrace when, according to others present, a sudden darkness fell upon them and devoured the Primogen, leaving the others unharmed. Naturally, the testimony of the Lunatics was suspect but none could deny the strangeness of a Primogen’s sudden disappearance. The Prince bestowed an edict upon Kindred operating in the Silver Terrace district: No one is to travel alone. Every Kindred must find one or more others to work in tandem with as they go about their operations. Further disappearances occurred in the next few weeks, however, but the frequency had notably diminished. Several of the vanished Kindred have begun to reappear in recent nights, though little more than bloodstains and ash have been recovered, with only Tremere sorceries capable of discerning the victims’ identities.

Now, in this troubled time, an assembled group of six Kindred meet to discuss recent events and further plans in a small apartment on the northern end of Silver Terrace, a region currently not subject to the accelerated degradation plans of the Camarilla Kindred...

We're going to say, for the sake of argument, that you're all meeting in Jonquil's apartment unless she has some issue with that. It's a fairly small 2 bedroom, 1 bathroom ordeal, maybe 850 sq. ft. I know you guys are going to have lots of questions for me at this point and that's fine. Feel free to fire away in OOC text and I'll answer you with character-specific spoilers to get things kicked off. You're welcome to just jump into conversation and make up a few mundane events off the top of your head or discuss the disappearances if you'd like. Whatever floats your boat, I'll be here to poke you all with a stick fairly regularly!

Hey everyone! This is the discussion thread for my World of Darkness game. We'll use this thread to put the finishing touches on character generation, discuss backstories, and tie everyone into the plot before I get the game started in earnest. I'm hoping to start late this weekend but, given my current workload, it might be next Monday.

For the time being, please throw a post up in this thread to let me know you're still interested in playing so that I know who's still around. Thanks!