Game Thread Session 1 Scene A: The Frederick Douglass Bridge (Andre, Anne, and Farhad) - Page 2 - RPG Crossing
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  #16  
Old Jul 28th, 2023, 02:35 PM
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Andre, The Wolf
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The revelation of the Missionaries intent does not sit with Andre. He smells deceipt. His lips peel back. The urge to tear out the liars throat is powerful.

Questions dart through Andre's barely bridled hunger, questions that demand answers. But the liar can
not be trusted to reveal the truth. The Wolf must heel and find the answers himself.

Something warm and wet runs through his hair, a bloody caress. The Wolf jerks about snarling, anticipating an attack, but nothing is there. His hand moves to his head and comes away covered in blood not his.

A whisper in his ear sends chills down Andre's spine. My darling... they cannot take you away from me... He sees her again, flickering in and out of his view like the static of a dying television set and reals backwards, releasing his prey.

The prey scampers for his life, following the retreat of the other fleeing Missionaries. The Wolf wants to chase, to hunt and to kill. Andre wants to scream, and to shake and weep in fear beneath the possessive gaze of the spectre beside him. Crouching defensively, Andre's voice emerges from the Wolf's throat, tinged with a lupine growl. "It was you following me! I have sensed you before! I was so close to discovering the source of my mother's ailment, and then you messed it all up! Why are you haunting me, ghost? What do you want from me?"

The Wolf hears Andre's whimpering and snaps his jaws shut. He can feel the connection between them like a sixth sense. The Wolf is a canny hunter, perhaps there is a better way to discover the truth of the cold men that looked right through her unseeing. "These Godless Missionaries.... they hide their true intent. I could hunt them down and kill them, but then the truth would die too. Follow them unseen. Learn where they hide. Listen to their secrets. Discover what they truly wanted with ... your darling. If you return and tell me these things, then your meddling will be forgiven."

The Wolf watches the Spectre's reaction, trying to gauge if there is understanding there beneath the evident madness.


 
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  #17  
Old Jul 28th, 2023, 03:05 PM
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Famous Farhad What an eventful evening.

The sound of Farhad’s cane clicked rhythmically as he caught up to Andre.

The fight itself had lasted barely any time at all.

Not that Farhad minded. Fighting with weapons, teeth, and claw was… vulgar and beneath one such as him. Nevertheless, it was impressive to see his newest acquisition in action. It had certainly been a worthwhile purchase, a pittance of a price – an outdated detective comic and a tiny magical trinket of unknown provenance.

Not to pry into your business and what not, but, is there a plan?

The spectre toys with his things yet again, a dark look passed Farhad’s visage, momentarily – she won’t take anything else, not without paying a heavy price.

The wolf settled; he spoke with a clarity that could have only been the human still inside.

Curious. It seemed he still had some control in this form.

Farhad collected his car keys from his suit pocket.

If you’re dispatching the spectre, shall I fetch the car? We won’t be going anywhere while you look like… that, but perhaps you can shrink a bit while I return? The night is young and perhaps we can find out more information about these… what did you call them? Missionaries?
OoC Farhad is suggesting we hit the streets while Anne is off ghosting people.
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Old Jul 29th, 2023, 04:44 AM
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The Spectre
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Anne Charlotte Beall, the Spectre
The wonderful sensation ceased the moment Andre pulled himself away from Anne’s spectral hand. She looked at him sorrowfully, unable to understand why he would dread her loving caress. They had shared so much already. Her hollow eyes regarded him carefully. She didn’t remember him like that. He seemed different, larger and hairier, more bestial. But appearances were not what truly mattered. Anne too was not at her best, she had to admit, her hair tangled and dressed only in her nightgown.

"Your hair", she said, her voice soft and full of pain. "I have stained it with blood", she continued apologetically.

The man was talking about things she didn’t understand. Of course she was following him! What did he expect? The two had been as one and they could still be that. Wasn’t that what a married couple was?

He lamented his mother’s illness. Anne tried to recall her name. Elizabeth. Was she ill? She had always seemed perfectly healthy to Anne, quick to frown when she behaved in a way she didn’t approve, which was often. Her face grew dark. Mrs Beall had never approved of the Earl’s daughter from the old world. She had wanted a local girl for her son, one raised with Christian values, but the opinion of Thomas’ father had prevailed. If she is truly ill, this is her punishment, Anne decided, her eyes glowing with malice. Let her pray to a deaf God to heal her body. Let her call the doctors and have them tend to her with their useless art, doing more harm than good. It serves her right!

The man went on and on, angry at her, though she was unaware of any fault. He asked her what she wanted from him.

"Why, to be allowed to love you, my darling", she replied, not understanding. "And for you to love me. Like you used to."

The Missionaries. They had done this to him, changed him. They were tainted, evil, full of lies. She would find out the truth as her husband wanted. And then he would be free of their influence and they would be together again. She would be forgiven.

She felt herself fading, the strength of her arms failing her, her voice becoming softer than the sigh of the moon. "I will!", she called out to her love, but he didn’t hear her. I promise.

Like mist she glided, following the cold men with the dark hearts, passing between them, even through them. She could feel their fear. They had come to conquer and intimidate, but they had been driven away, routed. She had spilled the blood of one of them, blood as cold as ice.

She would follow. Yes, she would follow them for the Wolf-man, her Wolf-man. She would find out the truth. And then she would know love again. Thomas would forgive her. And she would forgive him.



 


 
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Old Aug 1st, 2023, 03:35 PM
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Under the bridgeAndre is done with the sniveling Missionary. He throws the man to the ground. He struggles to stand up, suit filthy. As he rises he adds "Farley said you'd be cool with this. You didn't have to..." But then he decides that reprimanding this hulking beast for the gorefest at their feet is not the best idea, and he beats feet, fleeing southeast.

Andre and Anne have an intimate exchange as Farhad approaches. At its end, Anne seems to blow away in the cool wind that has uhhh.... your scene had rain and the other didn't. So I guess this is about when the scene at the Blue Room starts? Yeah sure that's what I intended all along...come as the rain lets up.

Andre stands there, ready for pure action where no more is to be found. One elder departs as another approaches, and both please themselves to think that this elemental force is theirs.

Farhad offers the idea that more investigation could be afoot, but it would be easier if Andre were to shrink. That might not be so easy, though Andre can feel his single-minded focus on the hunt wavering now that his prey has been fully dispensed with. Why did the Missionary bring up Nelson Farley?
The streets of the cityAnne follows the feeling Missionary. Barely part of the corporeal world, it is no matter to follow unseen. It is Anne's entire nature. The man goes up to a car, but realizes that the car was not his, and the keys must still be below the bridge, a place he is not returning to. So he walks. Early on, the walk is a place that Anne knows: Old Anacostia was not a place she frequented, but it was part of her city, all the same. But soon enough, the suited man leaves that part of the city. Anne would know he is approaching Maryland, but in her circles, this was all but Terra Incognita. Then he comes to the place Anne has heard of: their base, on a blighted block.

It's a ramshakle two-story building, part of a set of three attached houses - a 1930s aproximation of rowhouses, planted in the outer edges of the city. All look empty. He goes in, and true to her word, Anne follows. Inside, the house looks just as empty as it did outside. The cold man goes to the basement. It is also uninhabitted. There, he finds a wooden trap door set into the floor. He opens it, revealing a steep set of wooden stairs. He goes down. Anne can hear speech below. She I don't want to 'force' movement further, so you can decide what this means, Elanirmoves enough to see the man shrugging off his suit coat with relish. A conversation starts: "where is everybody else..."

Anne sees that there are a few people down there, in a long corridor of concrete and pipes and cables. It's a passageway into the Metro tunnels.

OODMSo I think the answer to Farhad's question is a mixed bag. On one hand, this was a successful hunt; the targets are all vanquished and the hunt is done. So the single-minded focus of a hunt need not remain. Andre can act more-or-less freely and reasonably. But one of the rules of The Transformation is that you can only change back at sunrise. We were perhaps playing a little fast and loose with transformation rules in this first scene. It's not clear to me, on re-read, It's easy enough to say that Andre hopped into the dumpster right at sunset; the rain made it darker than usual at the timethat Andre can CHOOSE when to transform. It's actually a corruption move ("sun and moon") to be able to do that. On my read, you can only try to resist the transformation for the night.

I've obviously planted the seed that Nelson Farley is a person to Hit the Streets after. But as always, I'm open to other suggestions.
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Old Aug 6th, 2023, 04:27 AM
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The Spectre
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Anne Charlotte Beall, the Spectre
Before dying Anne never used to walk aimlessly through the streets of the city. It hadn’t been proper for one of her station and one of her gender to do so. Her husband’s home was her domain and his children her duty, or at least that was what everybody used to tell her. Whether she agreed or not was unimportant. She complied as was expected of her. She never left her house without a chaperone and even then never for long. It wouldn’t do for the slander born of envy and wicked tongues to reach the ears of her beloved.

Death had liberated her from all such conventions, giving her the freedom to wander the length and breadth of the city, even as it imposed new rules and limits upon her incorporeal body and damned soul. For two centuries Anne had been searching for a reason for her continued existence in the alleys, roads and avenues of a city she had come to know very well. Though she could pass through physical objects with little difficulty, for the most part she didn’t make use of this ability, choosing to walk, or rather float down the streets that both divided and connected the various neighborhoods of the great city. She believed that if she remained faithful to her old self some semblance of normalcy could be achieved. She was of course wrong. There was nothing normal about her. She knew it as well as those who had the misfortune of encountering her at some point.

The cold man was one such individual. He had never laid eyes upon her and had been quick to disregard her warnings as tricks of the wind, but even he, oblivious that he was, could sense that something was wrong. He often glanced behind his back, looking for some terror that he felt, but couldn’t detect. His mind no doubt tried to rationalize things and told him that he was wary of the Wolf coming after him, but the truth was more complicated than that.

Anne didn’t care about the Missionary’s thoughts and she certainly didn’t care about his feelings. She stalked him with unnatural precision, her hollow eyes utterly focused upon his suit that was tattered and full of mud from his encounter with the Wolf. Her Thomas had never left his house looking like that, she had made sure of it. Only once did she remember him unkempt and without any self-control. She had tried to comfort him, talk some sense into him, but he wouldn’t listen. He was merely staring in horror at the two bodies in front of her, small and silent, and the blood that stained her nightgown. I am free, she tried telling him, but he was unable to feel her words in his heart, raising his hunting rifle instead, aiming at her…

The mist of memories parted and Anne realized that the cold man had entered a building, old and decrepit, much like her. The house seemed to beckon to her and she accepted the invitation passing through the still open door like a gust of wind. Looking around at the empty space, she tried to imagine the history of the place. What had this shell of brick and concrete experienced during the days that it had been a shelter to beings of flesh and blood like she had been? Though the walls were bare, there were still the marks of the pictures that used to hang there. People always tried to capture moments of happiness on canvas or paper in order to persuade themselves that their lives were worth living. When they had no such moments they invented them, standing contentedly in front of a photographer’s apparatus, deceiving others as well as themselves. Moments of happiness were like sunlight passing through gaps in dark, stormy clouds, always fleeting, always immaterial.

Anne searched for her wedding ring worn on her finger but found nothing. She was no better than anyone else. Even now she clung to such moments of bliss, half-remembered and half-constructed. Just like the pictures that used to hang on these walls, her own happiness had faded and there was nothing to remember it by.

No!, she whispered, her voice inaudible, but still making the old floorboards groan and the flaked paint on the walls crack with the intensity of her emotion. She would be loved again. She would be cherished. All she had to do was obey. Follow them unseen. Learn where they hide. Listen to their secrets. Discover what they truly wanted with ... your darling. The words echoed in her mind, though the voice speaking them constantly changed. For a moment it was an unnatural growl like that of a wild dog. At the very next a youthful voice, shy and vulnerable, just before turning into the familiar voice of her spouse. I will. I will!, she assured the man -the men- speaking to her, and glided down into the bowels of the city.

The empty house gave way to a long dark corridor with plain walls of concrete and thick pipes hanging from above like entrails. Anne’s eyes no longer needing light to see, looked for the Missionary and the one who had welcomed him. A serpent’s nest, she knew, as she took in her surroundings. The people of today called it the “Metrorail” and they were eager to enter the locomotives rushing through the tunnels with such speed that one grew dizzy just by watching. For Anne it was madness. Why would anyone choose to travel below ground? The earth was meant to hide the rotting corpses of the dead, not the bodies of the living. Did they not realize that the more they stayed there the more they became like her? Fools, she whispered, shying away from the sun. Enjoy it while you can. The pipes shook in protest, but Anne paid them no attention. Her gaze was glued on the cold man’s back. What was he doing here?



 


 
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  #21  
Old Aug 11th, 2023, 11:53 AM
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Andre, the Wolf
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Shrink a bit while I return... The Wolf looks down at his bloody claws. We won't be going anywhere while you are looking like that... The Wolf turns back to where Farhad has his car parked. We can find out more information about these ... Missionaries... The Wolf looks down at the corpses littering the homeless camp. He hears curiosity and condemnation in Farhad's voice. He is unsure if Farhad is curious about the cold men or curious to learn something else. The condemnation he hears is not for the murder committed but for the mess that Wolf's bloody claws might inflict on his pristine vintage car. Farhad is a dangerous man... with the shadow of a dragon.

The Wolf turns to the well-dressed dragon. "The change comes when it comes. It stays until dawn." Andre's voice can be heard at the core of the snarl that came with each word, calm and rational. The need to hunt is subsiding, Andre's curiosity taking over. "Farley. Nelson Farley. Do you know the name? He runs the wrestling circuit... what am I saying? I doubt you are into that kind of thing. The man ... the Missionary? He said Farley's name before he got away. I was thinking of paying him a visit." Andre wipes his bloody paw on his furry thighs. "No more blood. Just to watch. See what there is to see without being seen. Of course, Farley would probably love to meet someone all fancy like you. You would make an amazing manager. You know, like Jimmy Hart or Bobby Heenan? Lady Elizabeth? No? Well ... If you are curious too... "

Wary of asking any more favours of Farhad, Andre lets the question hang unspoken. An invitation to Farhad to involve himself if he wanted.

After hearing out Farhad's response, the young Wolf makes his way through the city's urban shadows, doing his best to remain unseen on his way to Nelson Farley's wrestling ring. His plan is simple. Lacking. The building has far less windows than Andre remembered and far more security guards on the doors. He watches from the roof of a warehouse across the street. People come in, people go out. But no sign of Farley and no easy way to even learn if he is there.

Wolf MoveFigure Someone Out: (6 = fail!) I want to go to Nelson Farley's known location (Wrestling 'ring'?) and observe Nelson unseen, using my Wolf skills to remain hidden and quiet, stalking Nelson to learn who he relies on, who he trusts, who he doesn't trust, and maybe if anything is going on with his business at the ring that is more than meets the eyes.

 

 
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  #22  
Old Aug 14th, 2023, 09:39 PM
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Famous Farhad Farhad tapped his cane as he thought about the name.

Farley.

Nelson Farley.


Nelson Farley. Farhad’s mouth twirled the words as if he were savoring a cigar – the scent triggering his memories.

That wretched little man who runs the… coliseum?

Farhad studied his companion carefully.

You are correct to assume that I don’t find much value in the… crude entertainment of the unwashed masses. However, I am interested in places of power, and where there are powerful people, there is power. Knowing is my business, my boy – and I am very good at my business.

Farhad scanned the area once more, making sure they were isolated and alone.

Perhaps we should stop by his establishment this evening? The night, as they say, is young. It is a place of wheeling and dealing in the shadows, and perhaps I can find a bit of information – though there is very little that can be acquired for free.

Farhad slowly began making his way toward the car.

Perhaps we can throw a duvet over top of you and call you a specialty act? Lycaon of Laundry – eh?
OoC Farhad succeeded in his Mortal Put a Face to a Name.
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  #23  
Old Aug 16th, 2023, 02:32 PM
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The ColusseumAndre will not let that mention of Farley lay dormant. The natural next step is to seek the man out, and there's only one place to start such a search. Farhad is not interested in the sport that goes on at Which is, now, the canon name of the location.The Colusseum, but the mix of passions and power is too heady to ignore, and he agrees to go along with.

With Andre's guidance, they arrive at the Colusseum. Conveniently, it's just a few blocks away, across the bridge and just off the Navy Yards. Andre's foot pace can just about match Farhad's circuitous driving route to get over the river. When they arrive, Farhad can see that the name is obviously at least in part ironic. It does host mixed-arts and mixed-combatants style battles, so there is some vague historical reference. But the place is the opposite of grandiose. It is, on its outside, a run-down three-story brick-fascade small-windowed building. It must have been built in the first years of the 1900s, when it started as a factory when steam power was a valid industrial alternative to electricity. Factory turned warehouse, warehouse turned derelict. Now it's re-purposed as a black-market entertainment venue.

No shows are being put on right now, but Andre knows it will still be a hub of quieter activity. Inside, some wrestlers will be working out or sparr.ing Managers, promoters, and entrepeneurs will be huddling around small tables. Die-hard fans will be hanging around the section of the building dedicated to concessions, drinking, lounging, and hoping to get autographs from their favorite gladiators. As Farhad enters, he can see that the building is nowadays essentially divided into two. There is the social hub for fans and business is on one side of the building. On that side, the three floors are intact. The other side of the building is roped off. That's where the wrestlers work out, seperated from distractions. That side of the building has had its floors knocked through. It is a single giant three-story high chamber, with a wrestling ring in the middle. A square cage is suspended overhead, to be lowered when the match style dictates. Most of the audience would watch from the ground floor, and some risers are pressed against the three exterior walls. There is some prime seating where the three-storied portion of the buulding meets the knocked-through portion and overlooks the ring.

Andre does his best to enter the building unnoticed, so that he can stalk Nelson Farley within. Unfortunately, those die-hard fans at the bar have eagle eyes and The Wolf is a massive hulking beast. He hears a voice cry out, "Hey, The Wolf! It's The Wolf!" Andre, with his family obligations, does not appear at the Colusseum on off-days as often as some other wrestlers, and it's a treat to see him now. Before he knows it, he has five autograph books being pressed at him from all sides, as fans tell him their name (to whom he could sign his well-wishes) and recount some of his best encounters in the ring.

Andre towers over the surrounding press of fans, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see Nelson Farley ringside. The toadlike man catches a glimpse of Andre. He lowers his plaid fedora down over his eyes and then nonchalantly heads to the far side of the ring and then makes his way towards the exit.

Abandoned house over the Metro tunnelsThe conversation at the bottom of the ladder continues.

"I don't know where the others are," replies the cold man that Anne followed. "Or if they're still alive. That Wolf, he's an animal! I thought he was supposed to be reasonable. Like, it was an act. But he just came out of nowhere and he, he..." the man has to pause to recover himself and make sense of the blurred visions he grasped, of the battle under the bridge.

"It's all right. You're all right," another voice chimes in "That's why we're doing this. They're all animals up there. It's not your fault. If he doesn't want to be part of The Better World, then **** him. And his weak-ass mom. We'll move on to the next person on the Citizen list."

There is a pause and some shuffling. The first voice continues. "He was with others. A wizard." At this, there are a few knowing hmmmm....s and uh-huh...s. There might be 4 or 5 people nearby out of Anne's view. "And a ghost? I think? I dunno if she was with The Wolf and the wizard, or if she was protecting the tent people. If she was there before the Wolf, after that scene, maybe we could recruit.... Ah!" the man ends the thought with a gasp of pain.

"C'mon, let's get you looked at," one of the other voices says. And with that, Anne hears a number of people walking away.

OODM@wodine and jbear: I'll leave it to you to describe if Farhad is trying to adopt the "manager" guise, or enters under other methods or pretexts. Unfortunately, with the miss, Andre is not going to be able to move around inconspicuously.

@Elanir - It sounds to me like Anne was not planning on following down deep into the tunnels. So from the house at the top of the ladder, she overhears and oversees what I've given. She can follow into the tunnels and see and hear more, but I'll tell you that there will be another 20-30 minutes of following before anything might happen down there (absent Anne's intervension), so I don't want to presume that she'll just dive in with both feet.
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Old Aug 20th, 2023, 03:27 AM
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The Spectre
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Anne Charlotte Beall, the Spectre
The voices were faint, but Anne had no trouble following what was being said. After all, her whole existence was one of whispers and shadows. Normally, she wouldn’t have paid attention to the schemings of thugs and criminals, but this time she had promised Thomas to find out what this was all about.

Promised Andre, she corrected herself, not Thomas. Her thoughts were tangled and full of knots and there were moments when she couldn’t distinguish what was happening right now and what had happened centuries ago. Reality was so pale and bland that she had great difficulty staying attuned to it. Or maybe it was just her time to move on. Humans were not meant to dwell on this earth for so long. Only… what would be waiting for her afterwards? Not heaven, she was sure of it. Hell? A reunion with the little demons she had given birth to? No, this world was better. It was not her world, but it was one she was familiar with. One she knew what to expect from. Even pain was better than the great unknown.

Without hesitation Anne followed the cold men, unafraid to venture deep inside the earth. They had obviously been watching the Wolf, but why mention his ill mother? Anne had spent many nights next to Becky Valentine, simply staring at her, tasting her agony. It reminded her of her own past, when she had been confined to her bedchamber, unable to take part in a life she had so greatly enjoyed formerly. The doctor had insisted, as had her husband and father-in-law, but mostly it had been them who had been keeping her weak and helpless. She could still hear their cries all around her like the incessant barking of wild hounds that threatened to make her ears bleed.

Feeling the panic surge inside her, she pressed her hands against her ears, trying to drown out the voices. No, not now. Not now. Stop. Go away! They didn’t go away, she knew that from experience, but the screams subsided somewhat. Enough that Anne could once more focus on what was being discussed.

The Better World. A Citizen List.

What were they talking about? She didn’t understand. It sounded like a conspiracy. They were actively recruiting Wolves, Wizards, Spectres and possibly other such beings as well. That was the reason they were called “Missionaries”. They didn’t serve God. They served a Purpose, which was worse. She had seen many Purposes served in her years in the shadows and they had always led to bloodshed, misery, and hunger. A better world. For whom?

Realizing that she had stayed behind and now genuinely intrigued, Anne pursued the men with the cold skin and the cold hearts. Time didn’t concern her, nor did distance or fatigue. She would chase after them as diligently and untiringly as a hunting hound. Thomas would be so happy. He always claimed that she had the mind of a man. She would make him proud!



 


 
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Old Aug 26th, 2023, 01:52 PM
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Farhad The smell of this place.

Farhad’s nose curled as he breathed in the stench.

Stale beer, dried blood, sweat everywhere, is that… vomit?

Farhad catalogued the scents of the Coliseum as he delicately walked through the arena, doing his best to avoid the spills and stains.

Farhad scanned the area, his eyes looking for anyone of importance – of which the list was, unfortunately, lacking.

A shimmer of unnoticed gold and amber flickered in Farhad’s eyes when Farley moved a bit too quickly – like startled prey.

Click.

Click.

Click. Click.


Farhad’s cane quickened as he pushed through the minimal crowd, luckily Andre had attracted the bulk of the plebian rabble that filled the place.

Farhad homed in on the little toad-like man, like an owl soaring down on a…toad.

Mr. Farley.

Hmph.

There was no way the man didn’t hear Farhad.

Farhad continued to close in, his cane continuing to click

Mr. Farley.

Farhad punctuated the name, calling out as the door closed.

Wretched little man. Farhad scoffed under his breathe.

Just a few steps behind, Farhad pushed the door open.

His eyes flickering in the light, a rumble of thunder in the distance punctuated his final address.

MR. FARLEY.

The thunder in the distance shook the heavens, the vibrations resonating through the derelict warehouse.
OoC Farhad is setting the scene for either a figure someone out or persuade depending on Andre.
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Last edited by wodine; Aug 27th, 2023 at 05:17 PM.
  #26  
Old Aug 27th, 2023, 05:14 PM
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Andre, the Wolf
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Remaining outside is pointless. Nothing can be learned that way.

Inside, the press of bodies around him floods the senses. Pens waggle in Andre's face. Someone tugs his arm. Some fool tugs his tail. Andre licks his lips. The desire to tear through the neck of the obnoxious man tapping his chest with a Starter cap is strong.

Fans? How is that even possible? The folk who hang out here must be the diehards who even follow the rookie nobodies in case one day their signature becomes worth something. Wolf isn't even my ring name.

Andre snatches the offending cap and a marker and scribbles L A on the brim before running it through the middle with three horizontal lines. Claw marks. He tosses the cap up into the air. The small congregation gasps; arms stretch towards the ceiling to claim the prize. "Lupus Alpha. Not Wolf," he growls, sliding through an opening created by his distraction.

A fight ensues behind the Wolf to reclaim and defend claim. The kerfuffle buys Andre a moment to get his bearings. Farhad is heading towards the exit behind Farley, his voice thunderous.

Andre is far away. The ring seperates him from the fleeing organiser in the fedora hat. For the Wolf it is little distance at all. Leaping onto the cords, he propels himself upwards, landing in the middle of the ring in a single bound. He sprints towards the turnbuckle, which he leapfrogs with enough momentum to land just a few feet behind Farhad.

"Farley! My manager wants a word!" he growls.


OOCMove: Lend a Hand to Farhad for his interaction with Farley
Faction: WILD (right?) 7 > success but puts me in a tight spot

Farhad has a +1 bonus to roll vs Farley

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Last edited by jbear; Aug 27th, 2023 at 05:14 PM.
  #27  
Old Aug 29th, 2023, 09:04 PM
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Farhad The wolf had joined him.

Farhad walked with a cane and Andre had been swarmed with… plebians.

Fans.

Regardless, Farley was only a man. He wasn’t going to get far, not without their allowance or considerable interference, and it was unlikely that he had that kind of clout. At least not tonight.

The toad was caught in his talons now – if he’s lucky he won’t leap into anyone’s maw.

Mr. Farley.

Farhad cleared his through to punctuate the introduction.

The little man was trapped now. Not responding to Andre and Farhad was simply not an option.

Mr. Farley, my client and I had a most unusual experience this evening.

Farhad smiled, his broad toothy mouth spread across his face, his fangs shimmering in the poor lighting.

We were beset upon a group, of what I could only assume, were hustlers trying to extort us, as if we were some common riffraff. Can you believe, men of my… er… our stature were treated as if we were commonfolk?

Farhard’s eyes starred at the man, unblinking.

Surely a man of your stature wouldn’t make such a mistake as to treat us so… familiarly.

Farhad sucked his teeth in a show of disappointment.

And yet, the only name that escaped their lips as the light left their eyes and the blood pooled in their mouth was your name.

Now, how is that possible, Mr. Farley?


Farhad waited, for what would undoubtedly be a stuttering and staggering answer as the man tried to make himself as unappetizing as possible to prevent anyone from finishing him off.

Now, I, and my client, are forgiving men, Mr. Farley. I’m not one to hold a grudge, as long as proper apologies are made and proper etiquette maintained. I want to be able to forgive such a trespass, Mr. Farley, but I need you to help yourself, before I can help you – if you understand.

Well of course you do, a man of your intelligence and panache.


Weaving a delicate web Farhad made it as difficult for the obtuse little would-be power broker to get away without insulting one or both of his betters. Farhad could smell the flop sweat beading on the man’s forehead, and was relieved he didn’t have what he assumed was the superior olfactory abilities of the large man over his shoulder.

Farhad watched as the gears slowly turned in Farley’s little brain.
Go on now, hop along little toad.
OoC Figure him out. 13/12. Holding 2 spending them to ask questions. These are the actual rulebook questions I’m asking:
  • What’s your character’s beef with Andre?
  • How could I put your character in my Debt?

I will likely be AFK for about 2 weeks after this weekend as I move across the USA. Please go around Farhad as necessary.

Personal opinion about PBtA, when you roll a 12 or higher you should get a crit bonus, and something hilarious should happen if you get a 0 or less.
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  #28  
Old Sep 4th, 2023, 03:08 PM
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The ColusseumFarhad single-mindedly (and three-leggedly) hunts down Farley. Neither of them, out of context, looks at all intimidating, so it's an awkward scene. But both have their own sorts of power. Awkward, perhaps, but serious.

Andre is stopped once, and manages to extract himself by chastizing a 'fan'. He can hear the superfan mob piling shame upon the one who revealed their ignorance (Andre can almost hear a wikipedia entry being updated with correct information at that instant).

Farley passes through a door. Farhad, close at his heels, goes through. Andre rushes to do the same. Just as fast, a barrier interposes as the door slams shut. A huge figure has stepped between Andre and the door. The two people slam against each other, and Andre is shoved back a step - not an easy thing to do! Standing there between Andre and the door is a man anyone in the Colusseum would know - The Morgue. He's a top-flight wrestler, and has been for a few years. Bald head, permanent five-o-clock shadow. He's not as tall as Andre, but he's easily as wide. He's in his street clothes - sweat pants, spandex workout shirt bursting at the seams - but he's giving Andre the mad-dog sort of a look you'd expect at the start of a match.

"Fresh meat. Don't you know anything? Managers only." Andre can hear the superfan group gasping and ooooh-ing at the unscheduled drama. They are smart enough. at least, not to approach. "You win a match, you think you own the place, huh? You've only beat on the patsies they give to test the noobies. Learn your place. Sit down, or you might get sit down. Promoter access is for guys who can bring in the crowds. Not..." he looks at Andre's tail "puppies who need to be housebroken."

Behind the door, the 'manager' speaks. It's a sort of backstage area. Spare concessions, towels, ropes for the ring and for light rigging. Farley's office might be back here somewhere, but he was most certainly heading for the exits. Farhad manages to catch up. The promoter has many off-putting characteristics. He gives the impression of being a cross of a toad, a weasel, and a hummingbird. Squat, slippery, watching for angles, and looking where he can zip to wet his beak next.

"I got nothing against ol' Andre!" he half-whines in response. "Good kid, big kid. Crowds respond. Takes hits. He's got a future. Why would I have anything against him?" Farhad presses about the encounter under the bridge. "Yeeeeeaaaahhhhhh weeeeeellllllll...." Farley winds up. "What am I gonna do? Those Underground guys, they're everywhere. Preaching recruiting pressing. Glad handing. Creep me out. You say no to one and three show up next time. You know? Sometimes you gotta get em off your back. You know, c'mon now. I dunno what they want out of him. Why should I care?

"What do you want from me?"
Farhad can see a few meanings in that. One, a weasely 'what else could I do?' But also the more direct: 'so you're Alpha's manager? You must be here to negotiate something.' "I'm a businessman. I can't just throw money around. I told 'Dre, three matches, three wins, then we re-negotiate. Not before. I gotta be fair, yeah? Can't just throw money at every guy with a thick neck ho walks in the door. Can't throw money at every mob of creeps in suits. Don't need anymore suits than I got already." Farley is inching towards the door as he talks, hoping Farhad doesn't notice or doesn't care.


The Metro tunnelsAnne follows.

The small group of folk who were at the bottom of the stair were a diverse group. A few men, a few women. They looked mixed in background, ethnic or geographic. If there was anything that was common among them, it was a simpliicty of clothing. Nothing archaic or shabby, just basic unadorned cotton T-shirts or sweat shirts and cheap khaki or jeans. Not the stiff suits the Missionaries worse aboveground, nor the tattered/slick/spiky/fashionable garb that might be expected of an underground shadow society, if one had ever picked up on the whole 'motion picture' fad.

They walk a while, talking about nothing of consequence. Sometimes they follow the main rail line. Travel is easier and faster there, but of course plagued with trains. Sometimes they follow side maintenance passages. Rooms that were perhaps meant for storage or utilities often have their doors open, and people sitting inside. In a few places, it looks like openings were crudely smashed through the concrete of the tunnel, and then hallways dug out from the earth behind. Haphazard cables are strung down the hallways, and the sounds of everyday life can be heard within.

Eventually, the Missionary Anne has been following enters a cavernous room. An abandoned Metro station? One that was half-built and then never connected to the system? Hundreds of people are all about. The Missionary is taken to a side room, which appears to work as an infirmary. A nurse looks him over, and gives some first aid before departing. He is left alone for many minutes, and then a man comes in. While dressed as simple as the others, he bears himself in a commanding way. The Missionary stands up. "Populi!" he says, startled. The man nods, and replies "Vasili. Sit, please."

They talk for a while, where the cold man, apparently named Vasili, relays all that Anne has already seen. The commanding newcomer called "Populi" asks questions in a level, engaged manner. Eventually they come to a new topic. Vasili rubs his face and asks: "So do we still want this Wolf? He's not coming easy. We blew that." The other thinks for a minute, then replies. "Let me worry about that. I think we'll need to put further... pressure... on his family." A slight sneer passes over his face as he says 'family.' "If he doesn't want a part of the movement at that point, he's lost. Get some rest."

With that, the man leaves. and notihng more of interest happens in the infirmary, absent some action by Anne.Vasili sighs and lays back.

OODM@Elanir: If I'm being honest, I'd like to avoid playing out an entire day in the life of the underground society as Anne creeps along indefinitely, so I'm hoping to either shift into action, or a re-convening of the PCs in the near future. If she has a directed goal, we can push that objective along. But I think this is all the lore I intend to dump into your lap on the present course of action.

@jbear: OMG wolf-form Andre has a tail? Wolf tails are pretty fuzzy-looking and irresistable...

@wodine: it's possible to level up such that rolling above 12 actually does improve the outcome, like a crit - it's called 'advancing the move'. I don't think there's ever a RAW penalty for rolling below a 0 (or below 2, since that's what's impossible on a straight 2d6). As far as the answers to your questions: NPCs don't have to answer honestly, but GMs do. Farley is being truthful, in that he doesn't have a beef with Andre (except insofar as he'd prefer to underpay everyone for everything). He was pressured into telling these folks about Andre. That pressure is your leverage. If it gets out that Farley is folding to pressure from these 'The Missionaries, the Undergrounderscreeps in suits' - that they're able to squeeze him for information and pull strings in how things are run in the Colluseum - then that could ruin Farley (or at least make things difficult for him going forward). He'd be in your debt if Farhad didn't blab.
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Last edited by Wynamoinen; Sep 18th, 2023 at 07:58 PM.
  #29  
Old Sep 6th, 2023, 06:58 PM
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The Spectre
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Anne Charlotte Beall, the Spectre
A man appeared. Simple, yet special. A man of authority. "Populi!" The Missionary instantly rose to his feet. Respect or fear? Probably both. One rarely encountered one without the other. "Vasili. Sit, please." The man was friendly, nodding. But also intense. He wanted to know what had happened. He wanted to plan his next move.

Populi…

What a strange name. No, not a name. A title, more likely…

The room shifted. The smell of rusted metal, old blood and disinfectants was replaced by other, more pleasant scents, closer to Anne’s heart: old leather, lacquered wood, and heavy cloth. The flickering light, cold and artificial, gave way to sunlight filtered through patchy clouds and thick curtains, soft and gentle, illuminating the large room. So many books! They belonged to grandpapa and they had been his pride and joy. No more. He would never again pause to inhale deeply as he handled their heavy covers, never again close his eyes as he listened to the rustling of the pages. He was gone, never to return.

Anne sat behind a small desk, her back straight, her hair tightly bound with ribbons. Next to her were two of her sisters. She didn’t pay attention to them. She was reciting.

"Populus, populi, populis…"

"Non, non, non. Attention, mademoiselle." Madame Beaulieu’s voice interrupted the girl. Stern and disapproving, it made young Anne blush.

"Écoutez-moi, s’il vous plaît. Popul-us, popul-i, popul-o, popul-um, popul-o. Et le pluriel: popul-i, popul-orum, popul-is, popul-os, popul-is. Puis je avoir un exemple?"

The middle-aged woman loomed in front of the girl like some gigantic raven, dressed all in black. Mary had told her that she had recently lost her husband, a civil servant of some kind, though there had been no inheritance of note. Otherwise Madame Beaulieu wouldn’t have had need to work as a governess at Claydon House, a Frenchwoman in Buckinghamshire.

"Oui, madame. Vox populi. La voix du peuple."

Vox populi. The voice of the people.

The woman’s expression softened somewhat, though it didn’t show any kindness. No, never that. Kindness was a weakness. It undermined authority and respect.

"Très bien. Répète avec moi. Vir, vir-i, vir-o,…"

The words before Anne’s eyes started shifting, leaving their places on the pages of the book and becoming tangled, dancing wildly and shouting for her attention, rebels disregarding the proper order of latin grammar.

Anne shut her eyes tightly. The chaos of letters faded, leaving behind a single word: populi.

Vox populi, she whispered, though her voice was softer than the sound of falling autumn leaves. Who is the Voice of the People?

She tried to memorize the man’s characteristics, to feel his voice in her translucent skin.

"Let me worry about that. I think we’ll need to put further… pressure… on his family."

A slight sneer passed over the man’s face as he said ‘family’ and Anne unwittingly took a step backwards. That comment, that threat scared her. She pictured Andre’s mother, pinned beneath a blanket, her hair wild, her forehead covered by glistening beads of sweat. Her eyes were unfocused, blurry, her hands covered her ears. She gritted her teeth. The cries drove her mad, they wouldn’t stop. Vox populi!

The man left. Anne didn’t follow him, but with her eyes. She didn’t dare. Instead, she looked among the scattered shards of her memory for something familiar, some likeness of him. Spirits gossiped as much as living men and women. It was understandable, for they had little else to hold their attention. Besides, what was the purpose of watching, always watching, if one didn’t share that information? It was as much a form of currency as Thomas’ dollars had been.

Anne didn’t pay attention. But she listened. How could she do otherwise? Normally, she let the whispered words pass through her fingers like sand, instantly forgetting them. Sometimes, however, a few grains remained behind. They stuck beneath her nails or between the lines of her palm. She looked there for the memories of others.

Who among the ephemeral beings knew about the Voice of the People?



 


 
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  #30  
Old Sep 13th, 2023, 01:34 PM
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Andre, the WolfAndre wants to ask the Morgue for an autograph. The no-nonsense fighter with his unbeatable death stare is one of the kid's favourites. The Wolf snarls at the living barricade and tattoos the door frame with the run of his razor claws.

Yes, sir! Of course, sir! I didn't mean to intrude! Words remain unspoken thoughts beneath the Wolf's growls. "Fresh meat." The Wolf marks the Morgue's scent. "That smells like you."

It isn't immediately clear what the Wolf's attempt at a witty comeback means, but the threat and the challenge is evident. Unchecked the situation is about to escalate. The Wolf's talent is not expressing himself with witty remarks or poignant insight, but rather with raw, unadulterated violence. Violence is the Wolf's love language; it is bubbling beneath the thinnest veneer.

Sharp ears catch the snippets of conversation beyond the human barricade. Andre registers their meaning. Farley merely kicked a problem down the line. There is nothing more sinister here than a coward guarding their own self-interest.

Andre yanks the Wolf's collar. The Wolf takes a step back, hackles bristling. Andre takes his shot. "Why not take your shot at puppy training... in the ring, sir? We'll see if it's just patsies I beat on. Or are you scared I would ruin your reputation, sir?"

Move - PersuadeAndre tries to persuade the Morgue to teach him his lessons in the ring, in a scheduled fight.

Heart: 9 = success but with conditions

 
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Last edited by jbear; Sep 13th, 2023 at 01:35 PM.
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