Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Friday, September 21, 2007
…another job
“How many times have I been right here?” Tim asked himself this question over and over. He couldn’t even keep track anymore. Sweat beaded on his skin and glistened in the moonlight. The tall grass around him rustled in an almost imperceptible breeze. The air was humid and carried just a touch of ocean salt. The breeze also carried the smell of people and an intimation of passion.
He knew his targets were just past this thicket, lounging in the old abandon Tylor House. The breeze brought him all the information he needed. They are three of them and they are sweating. They had Chinese food, something deep fried and the fryer grease was not new. The air told him that the house was rotting away, mold and rot mixed with colonies of insects; it would soon be nothing more than debris. The wind that whispered all this or was it something else; in any case it didn’t matter he was going to kill them.
He tightened his grip on his weapons. In his right hand was a gladius. The whole of the blade was coated in a black pitch. He had learned a hard lesson in Florida that many things in the night can see much better than he can and the glint of metal, even in starlight, was enough to get you killed.
In his left hand he held the custom build hand-crossbow that he had grown to love. This little toy had saved his life more times than he could remember. It fired a small dart, but when loaded with neurotoxin it was deadly. Tim knew that not everything out there was affected by poison, but the snake venom he utilized has never found any resistance.
Of course he carried his silenced pistol and several other useful items. Experience is a brutal and nasty teacher, but the lessons are valuable. The grenade, pepper spray, duct tape, and fishing line are all results of these lessons. He carried the totem of the pointed nose woman for other reasons. The little clay sculpture gifted him with the ability to see smells. Its powers had brought him here tonight, that and the $500,000 contract.
The breeze washed yet another scent to him; it was the smell of sex. They were having sex. This was going to be easier than he had planned. If they were distracted and making noise, the approach would be simple. Easy money and no complications, he might even be able to get back to that little dinner on Route 10 for a steak-n-eggs breakfast.
Tim’s movements were fluid and elegant, like a practiced predator. He rose from the thicket and began to approach the dilapidated house. He was silent and graceful. The open space between the door and the thicket was nearly 200 yards, but Tim moved with swift confidence. The mixed aromas of passion, sweat, and carnal friction were so strong. He was swept up by it. They would never even realize what happened; they would simply die within the sin of lust.
The house was only dimly lit from a room on the second floor, and the front door yielded all too easily. Tim found the stairs and was nearly to the landing when the hair on his neck began to prickle. Prickle is the wrong word. They would have prickled if there would have been an unexpected noise, or an object out of place. This was a stabbing blade of ice right into his brain, and Tim froze.
The feeling was so abrupt that he stopped with his left foot amid stride. He slowly lowered it to the next step, making sure it didn’t make any noise. It was then that it hit him. Like a bat to the head it was upon him, the smell of blood and gut. The pungent smell of shit and freshly spilled blood were so strong. How could he not have sensed it before?
A need for urgent escape began to creep into his brain, but a professional never abandons a job, not when he was this close. Two months of tracking and a very long trip to Louisiana were compelling reasons to continue. Those reasons and the cash spurred him on. The door to the little room at the top of the stairs was open. The lantern light weakly spilled out of the door. Tim cautiously, very cautiously, approached the room.
Death had just arrived. The blood was still slick and wet, running from the tissues and soaking into the mattress, pooling on the floor. The splintered bones oozed pink marrow and the tattered organ meat was still glistening. He noted that an eye had been disgorged from its socket and was leaking a clear fluid into a small puddle just at his feet. The room had only an old mattress; a couple of upside-down cardboard boxes to serve as tables; and a battered Coleman lantern, but the whole of it was covered in blood, tissue and gore.
He was able to identify three skulls, or at least fragments from three skulls. All of his targets were here, but how could be he sure? There was nothing left that truly identified the remains even as human. Clothing was strewn around the room, but strangely enough it all appeared to be intact. There were two bras at the end of the mattress. Tim reached down to examine one. He turned it over with his blade. It was a lacy garment, once white, now turned red with blood. Perhaps he could discern identities from the cloths.
There it was again! That frost-knife slicing into his neck. Tim wheeled around, sure to see whoever or whatever had done this, but there was nothing. Only the quiet darkness of the house and the hissing sound of the gas lantern came to him.
Perhaps it was the smell of death that prevented him from sensing it, or perhaps it had no smell at all. Alert and attuned his senses did him no good. It was like it made no noise, had not smell, and could not be seen. Tim felt the life drain from him, his weapons and training were useless. A desperate hand slashed at…nothing. He could feel his muscles becoming weak and everything appeared dull. His brain was begging for sleep and his body was all too willingly capitulating.
The short trip the floor resulted in a muted thud, probably the most noise he had made all night. It was that sound that jolted his mind back from its black wandering. His body was unwilling to move, but his eyes were partially closed and he could still see.
…
The quiet of the house was then pierced by an oily clam voice, “There were only supposed to be three, a man and two women. You make four.“ He moved from the shadows towards the newly fallen addition to tonight’s work. He had only moments before the tissues were so badly damages that his identity would be lost forever. “This one looks military.” he thought as he gazed upon the doomed thing.
…
With the wave of his hand he cast off the gloom like a traveling cloak. Tim only saw him after he stepped from these shadows. This man took a step towards Tim and looked down at him, a quizzical look upon his angular face. He wore a long leather duster, far too warm for this climate. His boots and broad brimmed hat were also leather, perhaps ostrich or some other exotic skin. It was at that moment that Tim became critically aware of the overwhelming numbness.
The cloaked figure bent down, placed his hand around Tim’s head, and gently lifted. There was no feeling, but as the stranger lifted him off the ground Tim saw his body below him. Almost whimsically Tim noted how strange a sight it is to gaze at one’s own decapitated self, but he could see the added crunches were worth it. Afforded only a brief glimpse he was rapidly turned over to stare into the eyes of this figure.
His cold eyes were alien and lifeless. The pure black almost cat-like pupils, were perfectly framed in pumpkin orange and examined Tim’s head with disdain. Their eyes locked for the briefest of moments, the gaze broken as Tim lost focus. The world had drifted away from clarity and was rapidly disappearing. “That is not a human” was the last thought that pushed its way into Tim’s mind.
He knew his targets were just past this thicket, lounging in the old abandon Tylor House. The breeze brought him all the information he needed. They are three of them and they are sweating. They had Chinese food, something deep fried and the fryer grease was not new. The air told him that the house was rotting away, mold and rot mixed with colonies of insects; it would soon be nothing more than debris. The wind that whispered all this or was it something else; in any case it didn’t matter he was going to kill them.
He tightened his grip on his weapons. In his right hand was a gladius. The whole of the blade was coated in a black pitch. He had learned a hard lesson in Florida that many things in the night can see much better than he can and the glint of metal, even in starlight, was enough to get you killed.
In his left hand he held the custom build hand-crossbow that he had grown to love. This little toy had saved his life more times than he could remember. It fired a small dart, but when loaded with neurotoxin it was deadly. Tim knew that not everything out there was affected by poison, but the snake venom he utilized has never found any resistance.
Of course he carried his silenced pistol and several other useful items. Experience is a brutal and nasty teacher, but the lessons are valuable. The grenade, pepper spray, duct tape, and fishing line are all results of these lessons. He carried the totem of the pointed nose woman for other reasons. The little clay sculpture gifted him with the ability to see smells. Its powers had brought him here tonight, that and the $500,000 contract.
The breeze washed yet another scent to him; it was the smell of sex. They were having sex. This was going to be easier than he had planned. If they were distracted and making noise, the approach would be simple. Easy money and no complications, he might even be able to get back to that little dinner on Route 10 for a steak-n-eggs breakfast.
Tim’s movements were fluid and elegant, like a practiced predator. He rose from the thicket and began to approach the dilapidated house. He was silent and graceful. The open space between the door and the thicket was nearly 200 yards, but Tim moved with swift confidence. The mixed aromas of passion, sweat, and carnal friction were so strong. He was swept up by it. They would never even realize what happened; they would simply die within the sin of lust.
The house was only dimly lit from a room on the second floor, and the front door yielded all too easily. Tim found the stairs and was nearly to the landing when the hair on his neck began to prickle. Prickle is the wrong word. They would have prickled if there would have been an unexpected noise, or an object out of place. This was a stabbing blade of ice right into his brain, and Tim froze.
The feeling was so abrupt that he stopped with his left foot amid stride. He slowly lowered it to the next step, making sure it didn’t make any noise. It was then that it hit him. Like a bat to the head it was upon him, the smell of blood and gut. The pungent smell of shit and freshly spilled blood were so strong. How could he not have sensed it before?
A need for urgent escape began to creep into his brain, but a professional never abandons a job, not when he was this close. Two months of tracking and a very long trip to Louisiana were compelling reasons to continue. Those reasons and the cash spurred him on. The door to the little room at the top of the stairs was open. The lantern light weakly spilled out of the door. Tim cautiously, very cautiously, approached the room.
Death had just arrived. The blood was still slick and wet, running from the tissues and soaking into the mattress, pooling on the floor. The splintered bones oozed pink marrow and the tattered organ meat was still glistening. He noted that an eye had been disgorged from its socket and was leaking a clear fluid into a small puddle just at his feet. The room had only an old mattress; a couple of upside-down cardboard boxes to serve as tables; and a battered Coleman lantern, but the whole of it was covered in blood, tissue and gore.
He was able to identify three skulls, or at least fragments from three skulls. All of his targets were here, but how could be he sure? There was nothing left that truly identified the remains even as human. Clothing was strewn around the room, but strangely enough it all appeared to be intact. There were two bras at the end of the mattress. Tim reached down to examine one. He turned it over with his blade. It was a lacy garment, once white, now turned red with blood. Perhaps he could discern identities from the cloths.
There it was again! That frost-knife slicing into his neck. Tim wheeled around, sure to see whoever or whatever had done this, but there was nothing. Only the quiet darkness of the house and the hissing sound of the gas lantern came to him.
Perhaps it was the smell of death that prevented him from sensing it, or perhaps it had no smell at all. Alert and attuned his senses did him no good. It was like it made no noise, had not smell, and could not be seen. Tim felt the life drain from him, his weapons and training were useless. A desperate hand slashed at…nothing. He could feel his muscles becoming weak and everything appeared dull. His brain was begging for sleep and his body was all too willingly capitulating.
The short trip the floor resulted in a muted thud, probably the most noise he had made all night. It was that sound that jolted his mind back from its black wandering. His body was unwilling to move, but his eyes were partially closed and he could still see.
…
The quiet of the house was then pierced by an oily clam voice, “There were only supposed to be three, a man and two women. You make four.“ He moved from the shadows towards the newly fallen addition to tonight’s work. He had only moments before the tissues were so badly damages that his identity would be lost forever. “This one looks military.” he thought as he gazed upon the doomed thing.
…
With the wave of his hand he cast off the gloom like a traveling cloak. Tim only saw him after he stepped from these shadows. This man took a step towards Tim and looked down at him, a quizzical look upon his angular face. He wore a long leather duster, far too warm for this climate. His boots and broad brimmed hat were also leather, perhaps ostrich or some other exotic skin. It was at that moment that Tim became critically aware of the overwhelming numbness.
The cloaked figure bent down, placed his hand around Tim’s head, and gently lifted. There was no feeling, but as the stranger lifted him off the ground Tim saw his body below him. Almost whimsically Tim noted how strange a sight it is to gaze at one’s own decapitated self, but he could see the added crunches were worth it. Afforded only a brief glimpse he was rapidly turned over to stare into the eyes of this figure.
His cold eyes were alien and lifeless. The pure black almost cat-like pupils, were perfectly framed in pumpkin orange and examined Tim’s head with disdain. Their eyes locked for the briefest of moments, the gaze broken as Tim lost focus. The world had drifted away from clarity and was rapidly disappearing. “That is not a human” was the last thought that pushed its way into Tim’s mind.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Character Bonus
Characters that are finalized by 9/21/07 will be awarded 1 point of morality. This point may be used to recover from a point exchange; morality for experience points.
Please submit your characters via email. Best results are to my handheld device.
Please submit your characters via email. Best results are to my handheld device.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Billy Ray Thockmortin
Quote: “Now that story does not seem to match your husbands, would you like to try telling the truth?”Background: Billy Ray Thockmortin is a sheriff’s deputy in Lafourche Parish, Louisiana and he has been since 2000. Billy Ray has had a troubled relationship with the Sheriff Reginald Haysues. Because of this he is frequently given assignments that Sheriff Haysues does not want to bother with. They tend to be assignments where the victim is black. Other common cases have been socially malignant disputes [trespassing, loitering, vandalism]. He graduated second in his class, and should have been first. His instructors criticize him for self-defeating behaviors, and his performance seems to reflect these assessments.
Description: Billy Ray has always been tall and skinny. His father affectionately called him beanpole, but this nickname was tainted by childhood torments. Billy Ray is of French and German descent. His farmer tan often betrays the inherited light skin of his mother. His hair is light brown and rarely well kept. When he is not wearing his required uniform hat, his hat hair bears witness to his profession devotion. He has powerful brown eyes that reflect his keen intellect. In the winter Billy Ray prefers to grow a beard, but by March he rediscovers his razor.
Storytelling: Billy Ray is a diligent peace officer. He is very good at his job, but he is not an ethical man. His endeavors into the realms of illicit dealings and illegal work are known to some, but the general public sees a proficient Johnny Law. The mayor of Thibodaux [Charles Caillouet] has exploited Billy Ray’s weakness to smooth over many legal transgressions. His frequent conflicts with Sheriff Haysues has left him somewhat “out of place” to assist many people. Office gossip is that he is seeing Deputy Jenny Walker: The Voice of Lafourche Parish Police Radio
Apparent Age: Twenty Eight
Mental Attributes: Intelligence 4, Wits 4, Resolve 1
Physical Attributes: Strength 2, Dexterity 3, Stamina 2
Social Attributes: Presence 2, Manipulation 2, Composure 2
Mental Attributes: Intelligence 4, Wits 4, Resolve 1
Physical Attributes: Strength 2, Dexterity 3, Stamina 2
Social Attributes: Presence 2, Manipulation 2, Composure 2
Mental Skills: Academics 2, Crafts 1, Computer 0, Investigation 4 [Body Language], Medicine 0, Occult 0, Politics 0, Science 0
Physical Skills: Athletics 1, Brawl 3, Drive 2, Firearms 3 [Pistol], Larceny 0, Stealth 1, Survival 0, Weaponry 1
Social Skills: Animal Ken 0, Empathy 1, Expression 0, Intimidation 2 [interrogation], Persuasion 0, Socialize 0, Streetwise 1, Subterfuge 0
Physical Skills: Athletics 1, Brawl 3, Drive 2, Firearms 3 [Pistol], Larceny 0, Stealth 1, Survival 0, Weaponry 1
Social Skills: Animal Ken 0, Empathy 1, Expression 0, Intimidation 2 [interrogation], Persuasion 0, Socialize 0, Streetwise 1, Subterfuge 0
Merits: Encyclopedic Knowledge (••••), Eidetic Memory (••), Unseen Sense (•••), Fighting Style: Police Tactics (•••)
Willpower: 3
Morality: 4
Virtue: Temperance
Vice: Gluttony
Health: 7
Initiative: 5
Defense: 3
Speed: 9
Willpower: 3
Morality: 4
Virtue: Temperance
Vice: Gluttony
Health: 7
Initiative: 5
Defense: 3
Speed: 9
Notes: Billy Ray Thockmortin is a three dot retainer for the party PCs. He will have some tangent connections in his history for most (if not all) of the characters – More to come on this.
Equipment:
Anti-ballistic vest [Kevlar] ½
Glock 17 9mm automatic light pistol Dam:20/40/80 17+1 STR:2
Shotgun Remington 12 gauge Dam:4 20/40/80 5+1 STR:3
Handcuffs
Police Radio
Knight Stick
Tazer / stungun
Chemical Mace
Note Pad & Pencil
Cell Phone
Police Cruiser - Crown Victoria
Ford F150 Extended Cab truck – Black
Equipment:
Anti-ballistic vest [Kevlar] ½
Glock 17 9mm automatic light pistol Dam:20/40/80 17+1 STR:2
Shotgun Remington 12 gauge Dam:4 20/40/80 5+1 STR:3
Handcuffs
Police Radio
Knight Stick
Tazer / stungun
Chemical Mace
Note Pad & Pencil
Cell Phone
Police Cruiser - Crown Victoria
Ford F150 Extended Cab truck – Black
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