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Everything posted by knave

  1. ::ohmy All it takes for boards to die is for good posters to do nothing... and I suspect Alex is right.
  2. As George moves down the concrete stairs, being careful to avoid stepping on anything that might crunch and give away the group’s arrival, he feels the small hairs rise on the back of his neck... A chill seems to seep into him from the surrounding concrete walls. And as much as he tells himself that it’s just in his head, he can’t shake the knowledge that this isn’t the normal controlled rush of fear and adrenaline he feels at the prospect of combat. But George is a Squaddie; his discipline is adamant - unlike the padlock that drops broken into his gloved hand after the hushed hiss of applied exothermix. With hardly a sound the gate is open and the group proceeds down. Covering the spare angles, Edmund is alerted to odd movement behind by his watch radar. Glancing back he notices notices that Vogel has started to shiver really hard, but it’s over in moments, with Vogel waving a hand to indicate that he’s Ok. Reynalds, bringing up the rear subvocalizes, ”Keep going, I’ve got my eye on him.” The passageway beyond the gate leads down more stairs - becoming gradually less muddy and more claustrophobic as the group slowly descends - weapons out. George, with his enhanced vision, negotiates his way down with little difficulty - noting that there is a dull glow of some green luminescence from below providing plenty of light to for him to see by, but it’s slightly more difficult for the others - the darkness, muddy, uneven concrete stairs and chilling atmosphere beginning to tell. George is just descending to the point where he can see into the room that is the source of the glow when his aberscope generates a single loud ping. What George sees: The tunnel the group has been descending ends in a large, bare concrete room sporting eight ancient-looking, glass-windowed copper pods - four on either wall. The nearest two pods along the left wall are empty, their glass cases shattered, but the far two and all four pods on right are half full with greenish, slightly luminescent liquid. In the centre of the room is a machine - a great and ancient looking machine that is all wires and vacuum tubes, and takes George back to a school trip he took to the Bletchley Park Museum in his youth - back to the machines that defeated the German menace in a still not quite forgotten war. From this central behemoth tubes and articulated arms reach out spider-like toward the pods - connecting messily at the top of each. The floor is a mess books. A book and tool laden camping table and chair have been pulled up to the side of the machine where one of the casing panels has been removed to expose even more insane-looking components. And as bizarre as all this is, it does nothing to chill George’s blood so much as the figure coming through another doorway at the far end of the room. Although of normal stature, and dressed in normal clothing, the man’s face is revealed clearly to George’s cybernetically enhanced eyes. For once George wishes his sight wasn’t so good. The man’s face - the skin has browned and died in patches; cracked and broken in others creating a horrific visage that yet manages to look familiar. Helpfully George’s agent pings up a message onto his hud that the man’s clothing matches that belonging to Manfred Johan Schroder - one of the victims. The man starts forward toward George, and starts to speak, voice deep: ”Hell...” He is perhaps 20 foot distant. The Group's ECSes all start to ping like mad, with George's showing faint taint readings from all the equipment and stronger focussed taint readings from the man. [note - on the rough scale of 1 to 10 that the Aberscopes work on the equipment registers as a 2 and the man registers a 3].
  3. They're not entirely commonplace, but they certainly exist. In Britain they tend to be employed when targets are suspected to have explosive devices, and when the geometry of the target zone is known. In Nippon they're employed as much as possible. ::tongue
  4. 'Well now. ' ::biggrin William thinks to himself, as he plays to the cues, holding eye contact just slightly longer than than is proper and grinning in rapt attention as she speaks. William waves a hand slightly as if to say 'I understand perfectly', and lowers his voice quite a bit, because this is one time he REALLY doesn't want to be overheard, "Don't worry yourself, my dear lady, Mr Blakemore is somewhat out of sorts. He had a bit of a start last night and seems to have found the wrong side of the bed this morning. I'm sure that we will find ourselves warming to him very soon!" Aha! ::biggrin William allows his eyes to widen slightly into a 'slow male just cottoned on to the fact that he might be in with a shot here' expression. "I, I have only just arrived. I believe I am to join my colleagues at the hotel this evening. But, forgive me, I cannot call you dear lady even once more. Would you give me the honor of your name?" "Well, we are here on business, so our time is not entirely our own... as much as I... would like it otherwise... Ah Ah. Sorry, round glasses you said? Blast it. If that is Foggerty again my luck in business really run low. I, well ::smile I suppose it's all swings and roundabouts," he says looking at the waitress smiling sheepishly. William looks slightly pained at having to continue, "I'm so sorry <waitress's name - probably Ethel> I really shouldn't be involving you in this, but I do feel I can trust you. Y'see, I'm really in the motion picture business. I'm here looking at doing a public service picture about the the recent uh... well, the happenings here. This man, Foggerty, he is a rival of mine and he's beaten me to a story before. If it is him. Well, I wouldn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he has done it again. If you do see him here again, would you let me or one of my colleagues know? We'll likely be around the sheriff. I could come back and check, just t'see if it is ... I could maybe change my idea a little. But, whatever y'do, don't let on. Please promise? You are a true godsend! I do look forward to, more of acquaintance!" William then makes his way back over to the table once more, and says "Gentlemen, an inspiration has just come to me ::biggrin. Would you mind joining me for a short walk?" before leading them via a slightly circuitous route to the hotel - whilst filling them in on the possible 'stranger danger' angle.
  5. William grins back wryly... "Oh, don't you worry..." "Ladies and gentlemen, yet another reason to visit your local pie shop." Wiliiam's body language veritably shouts 'Oh dear, I've just remembered something!' as he looks toward the waitress, and sidles over - taking the opportunity to size her up, his warmest and best smile firmly in place all the while. "I'm terribly sorry, ma'am!" he says - his mannerism and speech pattern adjusting slightly to be more in tune with the locale. Leading behaviorists have, after all, already proven that it is very easy to mistake familiarity with affection. "Please forgive my manners. My name is William Sinclair and I just had to complement you on that pie! Do you make it yourself? Could I perhaps have the recipe? I do love pie!" ::biggrin "But then I'm sure you could tell from my order. I'm sorry, I do go on. My vices are pie and talking, really. I guess your pie must be pretty famous around these parts? Do you see many people from outside the town heading over?" [all the while he is watching for tells to figure out what she responds to]
  6. I was going for Only by reputation. The Sinclairs are supposedly at the point of the American Illuminati pyramid, as well as being one of the alleged 'grail families' It seems reasonable to assume that they will be aware of one another given the business and occult overlap.
  7. William's face betrays nothing... he is, after all, used to the occasional unorthodox handshake. But then, as soon as the Ophidian's back is turned, he allows himself a silent sigh of relief through a smile that's all clenched teeth. William continues to listen (and eats his pie) during this discussion, jotting the occasional point down using a notebook and expensive-looking, silver and gold pen that he produces from one of his coat pockets. He has a close look at the picture of the creature in Hadrian's book - jotting down the name of the book and page numbers as well as writing Jiang-shi in large letters and underlining it a few times. "I guess we could ask one of Mr Algreto's people, or failing that the coroner, to do the autopsy - if you tell him what to look for, Mr Blakemore. I do think we should consider splitting up and working all our leads at once," William says, glancing at Algreto. "Well, yeah...I suspect you're right - let me take that angle. I have been told I have something of a way about me. Of course, I'm not entirely certain it was meant as a compliment at the time." ::wink Turning to The Ophidian he continues, "Mr Blakemore, if you would, could you perhaps ask your learned associate if there is any way to entice this creature to a particular location or person. That might allow Mr Trooper to put his ideas into action and give us a fallback position." William wolfs down the last of his pie, produces a rather large moneyclip from inside his coat and peels off a few dollars to pay for everyone's breakfast. He stands, "Now, if I might be excused a moment, I believe I have a few questions to ask. Good luck to you all!" As he ambles toward the door of the diner, William fishes a silver pocketwatch on a thin silver chain from his waistcoat pocket, that he proceeds to pops open. If anyone is listening closely they might hear him mutter seemingly to himself, "Now which one of these people might be willing to tell me something useful about this creature I wonder...the waitress? the sheriff?"
  8. William shows the waitress his most winning smile and says, "I'll have a coffee, white with three sugars and three slices of pie, thank you my dear." ::smile As Algreto and Adam talk he listens intently whilst working his way through the pie with obvious relish. He also casts a casual eye about the room, doing his best to notice anyone eavesdropping. If he does, he gives no sign of it. Returning to the conversation, William nods slowly, "Well then, gentlemen, I guess we have a few lines of enquiry: we can try to find correlations between the victims from their records, examine the evidence from the hotel, speak to our injured colleague, and speak to the good people of the town to see if anyone knows anything they haven't said yet."
  9. Willaim leans closer, looking at the odd strand and wracking his brain for anything he might have heard about such things on his travels. Speaking matter of factly, and just loudly enough for only Adam, the Ophidian and Algreto to hear, he says "I know I've only just arrived, and do stop me if you've already heard this one, but it doesn't strike me as terribly credible that the creature knew to come after you, rather than any of the other investigators... unless it's rather intelligent and has been watching you... or it's been led by someone who has... I don't suppose you've noticed anyone... ahem... witchy then?" "Because, let's face it, if it is the creature acting on its own we're a bit out of luck..." "Which way is the pie?" ::ultracool
  10. I haven't heard from either of them for a while. If you want to continue I will NPC them until you get back, or we can put the game on hold / can it completely I guess. ::sad
  11. William Stuart Sinclair, 32 Nationality: American Accent: Upper Class New England meets the Queen’s English Appearance: 6’ and good looking, but with a pretty average build. He dresses well and acts the part. Think a younger George Clooney. Second son of the American branch of the family that, by tradition, hold the reins of the Illuminati; descended from Templars who took the refuge offered to them by Robert, The Bruce, and some say with the blood of Christ Himself in their veins, there is no denying the connection the family of Sinclair, or Saint Clair if you prefer, has with the world of the occult.
  12. William’s Introduction Taking a shallow puff on the cigarette, William approaches Adam Trooper and The Ophidian, silver cigarette case open for the the offering. ”Looks like I’m real glad I packed extra underwear,” he says with a rueful half-smile and an understanding nod of his head. His voice is a pleasant tenor. His accent a blend of upper class New England and the Queen’s English. He avoids exhaling smoke in anyone’s direction. Whether or not Adam or Hadrian accept a cigarette, he’ll offer to shake their hand, grip firm and easy, making eye-contact long enough to be both polite and sincere without being even slightly threatening. Nor does he seem particularly overawed by the Ophidian’s presence. (He has, after all, had a moment to take in the scene) ”Pleased to make your acquaintances” he’ll say - whether or not they choose to shake. ”Although, of course I know of Mr Blakemore, by reputation. More than a few of my father’s brothers swear by his services... in the art world.” With a quick glance around at the locals he continues ”Can I maybe buy you gentlemen a coffee and some pie? It might be a good for the locals to see you eating. Might make them a touch more comfortable... And besides, I like pie. When we’re done, if either of you would be so kind as to fill me in on exactly what we’re facing I’d be happy to do what I can to help.”
  13. ECS readouts ping up into George’s vision - scope options, ammo and temperature readouts all nominal. Then, with a thought, he activates the scope recording and transmission options. ”London is receiving your datafeed, Agent Kalnan. Good hunting!@ Reynalds nods, bringing his weapon up to a covering position, whilst Vogel just nods and takes a half step back. George’s cybernetically enhanced eyes have little difficulty with the filtered light in the grove and are quickly drawn to several partial impressions in the mud. From the depth the maker clearly wasn’t overlarge - Moneypenny is quick to identify the tread pattern as belonging to a Nike Ultimo trainer; size five, a match for Doctor Chang. ‘She’ appears to have been moving away from the entrance way - back toward the bioscience department...
  14. Homecoming William Sinclair approached the door to his father’s bedroom with trepidation. The distance between himself and the far side seemed a gulf that might swallow him whole. It wasn’t simply that he hadn’t seen Father for twelve years, nor that his return was only brought about by the fact that the man who had raised him was dying. Nor even that, for once, he had absolutely no idea of what he might say to make amends. No, clearly it was far to late for forgiveness; he was beginning to resign himself to that. It was just a feeling that something was about to change forever - just a feeling and yet so very clear that it almost seemed to have happened already... William drew a deep breath and steeled himself as he reached for the gold plated doorknob; only to have the door open inward before he could make contact. The man in the doorway was immaculately turned out in a suit and waistcoat with gravitas added by hair silvering at the temples; he could be what William saw in the mirror in five years... if life was kind. “Oh,” said George Sinclair... ”It’s you. He’s been asking after you. Though God alone knows why. He wants to speak to you, alone.” Where once Roland Sinclair had been a giant - of presence, if not physique - now, where he lay sleeping in his antique four poster bed, the smell of frail mortality in the air, he seemed so very fragile. William shuffled closer and coughed softly. “Hhmm” the Roland’s dark eyes sprang open and focussed on William with such ferocity that he took a step back... “Ha... the prodigal returns then... “ he coughed. William nodded slowly. “Good. I didn’t want to snuff it... before... we had... a little talk. “Father, surely you shouldn’t be speaking.” “Shut up and listen... boy. I’m... your father. A terrible father perhaps. I pushed you too hard. Made you run off.” “No. I was...” “I said shut up. You never were much for listening, were you. I cut you off and you still had your own way.” “I...” “Listen! I don’t have... long to say this, and it needs saying. I watched you. I had people watch you. I know what you’ve done... how you’ve lived. How you drifted across Europe from party to party. Woman to woman. Disreputable scheme to disreputable scheme. I know... what you are. Sit down.” William sat. The chair by his father’s bed was an antique mahogany; superbly uncomfortable. “I know you made a small fortune through gambling and graft. I know that you never asked any of your friends for a penny... or took one from any who didn’t deserve it. I know what you are, my son. You are fully trained.” “What?” William wasn’t quite keeping up with this. “Hah... did you think me a fool... a... an old fool? You aren’t one for running the show from the boardroom. You’re a doer. You like... to get your hands... closer to the dirt. You are just like your Uncle Thomas... who, incidentally I will be seeing soon...” “Father, no... don’t say that. You... you still have years left in you.” “I don’t want years, boy. I want to give you this... to pass it on.” Roland drew forth a small silver disk, apparently a pocket watch, on a thin silver chain. “It’s your legacy. I can’t give you anything else... well... aside from your share of the fortune... but my place in The Brotherhood must go to your brother. That is just the way of things.” William gingerly took the watch from his father’s frail spotted hand... shivering slightly at the moment of contact. And what it meant. Popping the watch open he found that it wasn’t a watch at all... instead it seemed to be a compass with the directions marked clearly along the edges, but with a strangely shaped curved needle. It was pointing steadily at William. But, as he watched, it slowly swiveled around to point at his father. It was then that he noticed the inscription on the inside of the lid. “I am the way.” Roland smiled sadly. “That bit of bronze in there doesn’t point North... It points where you need to be. Where you need to look. What you need to do. It points to the truth... It’s from the point of one of the nails... you see...” the fit came on fast - coughing and bloody. The last word William heard clearly as the doctor and his elder brother ran in was “Follow”.
  15. Ideas off the top of my head: 1) A UFO abductee from the future who lost his sense of fear (no sense in speculating how ::tongue) [probably 'improved' to be a stalwart] 2) Or the scion of a family with a reputation for producing Adventurers and crusading knights - some say that they have the blood of avenging angels. [Daredevil / Stalwart]
  16. Thanks - Wow - that was fast! ::biggrin Will do... mmmm now time to come up with a concept that doesn't let the side down. ::unsure ::biggrin
  17. [i’m going to push this along a bit, hopefully no-one minds too much] After a short delay, Moneypenny comes back with: ”Mr Greaves sends regrets. Unfortunately he was unable to source psion resources due to requirements in other operations. However, the weapons and attached Aberscopes and vehicle you requested will be available within minutes. Co-ordinator Greaves also suggests that you ‘get on with it’ as he requires your services for a time critical operation that can begin no later that tomorrow.” A quick trip to the station’s rear parking garage reveals that your transport is a silver Shendai Airfoil, a sleek yet reasonably unremarkable sight on British roads. Close economic ties with Nippon and traditional relations with the Australia means that Shendai Pacific holds the largest share of the British skimmer market - making it the perfect vehicle for spies who occasionally need to move quickly. A burly Home Guard Officer exits the vehicle and presents you with a datapad to sign - not for the vehicle, but for the four boxy and businesslike Mac-803s set on rear seat. A quick check reveals that they are indeed fitted with the latest integrated aberscopes and ECSes. So, forearmed (heh), you set off. The Airfoil’s engine spins up with a soft electric hum and the vehicle rises up a good foot and a half on its cushion of air. GeoNav quickly points you in the right direction, and even with traditional soft Edinburgh rain, the traffic seems minimal. Minutes later you head down Blackford Road toward the University, then easily climbing the curb, you skim over Blackford Glen toward the small copse of pine where the old shelter was marked on the map. Reynalds suggests parking quite close in to hide your hardware from the students at the university and from the clubhouse visible some way off perched on the top of a hill. Reynalds checks his weapon and exits the vehicle - pinging the scope on. Vogel, by contrast is all frowns, and not just for your weapons. ”Yes...” he says - not too sure sounding - ”I believe there is taint over there...” - pointing into the trees. ”It is not strong... but I think it has the sticky quality, maybe” A few steps into the copse reveals what they were most likely put there to hide. The shelter is ugly - a set of needle and soil covered steps, just wide enough for two abreast, leads down into the side of a low ridge in the ground, to a wire-mesh gate locked with a new looking padlock. Through the gate the way turns immediately to the left - sloping down into the ground. Without proceeding beyond the gate it’s impossible to see any further down the tunnel. ”I have a really bad feeling... Vogel murmers to himself. Reynalds looks across at the two of you. Over your radio implants you hear his subvocalized transmission - “Nothing on the scope, yet. We can call in the cavalry if you like, but we will tip our hand... and if we’re wrong we’ll look like complete tits.” Both of you notice that there are proportionately fewer pine needles and more mud on the central portions of the steps leading down to the gate.
  18. Vogel’s answer is at least defiant, if lacking in the confidence department. ”..I... I’m not really much of a fighter. But I will help you if I can. But you will let me go after.” Reynalds smiles a tight-lipped smile. ”Our transport should be here in the next few minutes. And Moneypenny has completed processing your release to us, Doctor... providing you remain fully co-operative that is.” Doctor Fraser simply nods and bids you a gruff ”Good hunting then.
  19. Moneypenny quickly relays the information - following up with ”Sightings of Mr Doherty surround the Blackford Glen Park and Golf Course immediately to the South of the University and the Biosciences building in particular. No sightings of the other victims have been recorded, but I will point out that the areas security footage is only maintained for two weeks. My records indicate that buildings in the Blackford Glen include the Blackford Glen Clubhouse, an electrical substation and a decommissioned World War 2 air raid shelter. Map coordinates downloading now.”
  20. No, I'll take it on the chin. I had an idea for something I wanted to happen, but I hadn't slotted it into the genre cleverly enough because I didn't think it would take very long. Now I wish I'd gone with a more traditional story. The problem is - with an apparent aberrant serial killer type on the loose, if I let you find out exactly who it is before hand you never need get your hands dirty. But with an apparent abbie serial killer on the loose you can hardly blame 'normal' PCs for doing decent research from somewhere safe.
  21. No worries. I've been down that dark road a few times myself ::tongue Of course you're welcome. The game does seem to have slowed down thought, but I think that's my fault. Investigation elements are probably best left for tabletop games. I'll try to avoid them in future. ::sad
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