Unabashed Self-Promotion

[Dr_Babylon]

Seems it's been a while since I passed the plate around. Or hit the campaign trail. Or whatever. It would appear as though I find myself, once again, with much time and little to do. And I feel that I have ever so much to offer.

As it stands, I remain involved with truly terrific campaigns on Wednesdays and Thursdays. Really great groups both and they have my loyal attention. But still I hunger for more. The burden of my company is one best carried by many (sales pitch!).

In my experience, this tends to be a good time of year for folks settling into routines and beginning long-term projects. It is my sincere hope to contribute to something along these lines. If any committed and creative soul out there has need of me, they can count on my interest.

Given my schedule during the week, I can't guarantee my availability before 9:30 pm Eastern Time Zone. Weekend evenings I'm good for after 6:30 pm. I strongly favor text-based communication. I've got a few fun ideas depending on the system but I am willing to learn new rules and eager to adapt. Pathfinder stands out as a recent success for me but I have a great deal of interest in FATE as well (and eight or nine other games).

Do yourself a favor and help yourself to a heaping bucketful of your old pal Dr Babylon today!


(I do hope I didn't come off too desperate.)


"Phone's gonna ring..."

[Andrepartthree]

Going to do my usual Dr. Babylon plug here :) .. he's a ton of fun to role play with and I can say that from personal experience having run a player character side by side with him a few years back :) .. really gets into character and takes the time to actually role play out his character's personality (kind of a weird compliment I know but there are so many players out there who DON'T bother to put any effort into RP'ing out their character's personality during gameplay so it's refreshing to see someone who does, and does it well at that :) ) .. and if you click on the posts he puts up here on FG you'll see that he writes some awesome backstories for his character.. which again is a rare, wonderful hard to find thing :) ..

[Dr_Babylon]

I like to think I've taken it up a notch since then, as well. Throw in a manner of speech. Have an idea of what motivates them and why they make the choices they do. I can do sympathetic bad guys and unfathomable good guys and lotsa types in between. I aim to explore who a character is now, who they wish to be, and what that journey is going to do to them as a person. I like stories...

I sincerely appreciate the endorsement.


(p.s. It bears mentioning that I am more than willing to join on with a campaign already in progress. I don't mind being late to the party.)

[Valarian]

Shame I'm not in a time zone compatible with your availability.

[Dr_Babylon]

I know, right? You do great work, Valarian, and I admire your commitment but daytime is my no-fly zone if I seek to continue collecting a paycheck.

And so we play the waiting game...

(Last kid picked at kickball, indeed.)

[Valarian]

(Last kid picked at kickball, indeed.)
That would be football?

[Andraax]

That would be football?

No; depending on which version you mean, that's called either soccer or football. Kickball is similar to baseball, but played without bats. Think a form of cricket without wickets or bats.

[Nickademus]

Muricans are weird.

https://www.theforecaster.net/files/imagecache/large/2009/10/06/p-kickball2-100709.jpg

[Dr_Babylon]

Football. Kickball. Both good. What's important is that we have created a dialogue. A meeting of the minds, so to speak.

[lachancery]

I too will vouch for Doc. I very much enjoyed playing with him in a recent campaign; our character developments were interesting, and so was the story arc of the campaign.

I'm fully committed this Fall... "Me too! Me too!" I'd be saying otherwise.

[Dr_Babylon]

Oh baby, you treat me so fine!

You and I will be reunited, lachancery. This I swear. And it will be...well, probably at least a little dramatic. It's funny, but when you really only know someone as a plucky, lovable halfling diplomat, the memories can't help but be fond. In any event, you're good people, Mr. L. and I hope you are doing well.

I've got a couple of light-hearted characters in play right now. I sincerely miss snarling out heavy-handed one-liners with nary an eye for the consequences. Need to brush the dust off one of my more tragic, grim, or deeply troubled concepts (of which I have a few).

[Paranoia]

Well... I'm not really bringing anything to the table.

But if you find something good and need another player I am more than up to joining. From the little bit I got to play with you, things looked like they could get pretty interesting.

[Dr_Babylon]

You're good people, Paranoia. And I wouldn't mind a bit.

If I were to run a game I would totally do something along the lines of the classic over-the-top action flicks from the late 80s and early 90s. Everybody would be former special forces turned cops and parachuting jewel thieves and smart-mouthed martial arts masters. Sort of do homage to that ridiculous (beloved) era. This would be a project heavily suffused with any and all random and vague movie reference submerged within my fragile mind. Not sure what system I would use but that doesn't really matter because I simply don't have the wherewithal to helm such a thing. But a man can dream.

A bunch of disparate gung-ho types and dangerous loners who inherit a mercenary company that specializes in (cinematic) tactical intervention...for some reason. Yeah. That's the ticket. With poofy hair and long coats and no one ever has to reload...

Oh well. I'm gonna go take a nap.

[Paranoia]

I am good people.

Unfortunately it seems that there are never enough DM's to players. I'm primarily a 3.5 guy myself but if story is there I'm willing to try new systems.

As for your idea... it does sound like something I could totally get into. It'd be great for reasons that a lot of times players get crazy ideas and it would be a scenario where that kind of thing is expected. You COULD be the guy that just walks around shooting all the enemies, or you could be the guy that jumps grabs a rope and swing kicks a guy off the platform (Whatever platform they might be standing on at the time). Also exploding a warehouse full of dudes with the line, "Have a blast."

[lachancery]

I would get into that 80's special as well. I think I'd find inspiration in "Doc" from the Back to the Future franchise for my character. :)

[Dr_Babylon]

I gotta stop staying folks are "good people" as I am certain there are some bad ones too. None here, but somewhere...

For the sake of pointless meandering, if I were to do a superhero game (which would be awesome!) I would totally riff on classic X-Men. The old "young people learning to use their extraordinary powers" deal. Only instead of being some posh school full of mutants, mine would be a group home (with elements of a mental hospital or substance abuse rehabilitation center) for the children of other super-powered individuals. So, like, Captain Powerful and the Cheetah Lady had a kid and he has trouble controlling his super-fast flight abilities. Thus, he lives in the relative security of the Kind Institute until he can get a handle on things. Think Liz Sherman from Hellboy as an adolescent and maybe some elements of the third Nightmare on Elm Street ("Dream Warriors") but in a world where superheroes are somewhat prevalent. The loose idea is that the world at large is not typically aware of that awkward stage between an individual's mundane and innocent childhood and their development into a functional super-powered hero or villain. Obviously the storyline would surround some nefarious figure attempting to exploit these dangerous and wonderful youths and they have to go on the run (road trip in a short bus) and from there the adventures begin.

...Why do I feel as though I've brought this up before? If I have gotten to the point of repeating myself, please disregard. There is no way I could ever bring such a project to fruition in any event. I suppose it's become clear that I have an ongoing fascination with the words I've written. There, I admitted it.

[Paranoia]

It's fine, and fun to think about. I think it might be pretty fun to play a "Charmer" character in it. Just with his "Charm" ability set to overdrive. To the point that it becomes an actual problem. Fanatical worshipers of him/super jealous people would constantly bother him. As a point he would probably be really... averse to his own powers. Kind of a, "I used to be normal... but now I can't even have a damn conversation without a mask." Or something to that effect. It sounds quite interesting.

[Dr_Babylon]

Like an automatic magnetic personality or some kind of pheromones he can't turn off? That would be interesting. And it would sure seem like a lot of fun for a burgeoning young egomaniac at first. Until, as you said, it becomes more of a burden. Neat idea. And how would the staff treat him? Food for thought.

[Paranoia]

Either he wears a mask, or they do. If it's Pheromones I expect he couldn't leave his room without a suit or something. Probably seen as a very... potentially dangerous power. At least a watch on him to make sure he doesn't go the wrong way, because don't underestimate the power of charming people.

I think major issues for the character would be level of control of the charm. By that I mean how powerful it is, because fluctuating levels could have people just liking him to fanatical about him.

[Dr_Babylon]

What about one with, like, a group of characters snatched from different points (and cultures) in history who wake up together on an alien (extra-dimensional?) ship and have to work together to figure out what's happening. Like a Roman legionnaire, an Old West cowboy, a Maori tribesman and a beatnik facing an unfathomable challenge. I'd use...the FATE rules maybe, though I know having characters with prior connections is fairly central to that system. Just seems to be the easiest fit.

*sighs*

Maybe if I go back to sleep for a few days some good mail will build up...

[Dr_Babylon]

Curse you, new X-Men trailer. Now I want to play a superhero game again. Still love the idea of dysfunctional, super-powered teenagers doing group therapy (share!) sessions.

"Is there anything you want to talk about with the others today, Dinosaur Girl? There's no judgment here."


(And it's finally happened. Following my own posts with no break for attention in between. I'm not even a man anymore...)

[Paranoia]

I always want to play some kind of Super Hero game. Man coming up with awesome dysfunctional superheroes is like a super power for me... and I would love to throw a lot of them into a campaign. My personal favorites are the ones with powers that cause them more trouble than they are worth and the people just have to deal with it... OR a really odd power that looking at it head on has very little normal situation application.

"I have the power to teleport... about ten feet at a time. I mean I can use it about as fast as I can think but it's hard to think faster than bullets.... at least and wind up somewhere that wont do more harm than good."

"I can absorb heat and release it at will. I'm kind of a battery for it... The downside is to absorb a level of heat that will have a real effect on people I need to spend a few hours with parts of my body sitting in a fire. That's to give an effect that can actually do something against a person... It's not like I can retain enough for a wave of it to kill people either. I can retain about two or three blasts of condensed heat which can set people off guard... Maybe later I'll be able to retain enough to boil blood or something but that'll take time."

"I can only become invisible when nobody is looking." (Love mystery men)

(Well I'd say there was actually a pretty big break. I mean this seems more akin to a long delayed bump.)

[Valarian]

Curse you, new X-Men trailer. Now I want to play a superhero game again. Still love the idea of dysfunctional, super-powered teenagers doing group therapy (share!) sessions.
Now there's an idea for a "Penny for your Thoughts" scenario.

[Dr_Babylon]

The last highwayman was quick and earnest in his desire to escape her but Riv was close on his heels and determined in her pursuit. She saw him enter the small, secluded cabin barely visible amid the dark thicket ahead with frantic haste and impulsively spurred herself on. Riv was firm as always in her resolve and she would see this fugitive brought to justice before the night was through. Impulsively, the young woman threw her hardy physique into clearing the last few paces and forced the door open with her shoulder.

The light of a lantern, bright only in contrast to the gloaming outside, rudely assaulted her green eyes, dazzling her for an instant. And then something made a more serious impression upon her and she felt an impact just below her right breast. The air left her lungs in a rush and her feet went out from under her, depositing her on the hard-packed earth of the little room in which she found herself.

"You stay down," ordered an urgent voice from above. "Or I'll give you another."

In momentary shock at the quick turn of events, Riv stared with bewilderment up at a spare, diminutive woman of indeterminate age beyond her weathered countenance and steel gray hair. As she watched, the older woman's small, strong hands worked deftly to reload the crossbow she held.

"Another...?" Riv questioned muzzily. Then she noticed the crossbow quarrel buried nearly to the fletching in her chest. The second-hand hauberk she wore had been neatly punctured along with who knew what else beneath. She groaned more in surprise than pain, her fingers jarring the projectile as if making sure it was real.

"Why you after my boy?" the woman demanded, jerking her weapon to one side to direct Riv's attention to the immobile body slumped against the far wall, next to the wood-stove. His face was concealed by the coal black hood he wore but the young woman recognized him immediately as the man she sought.

"He...hurt folks, ma'am," Riv finally responded and her voice had an ominous hollow quality that she didn't much like.

"He never!" the fugitive's mother spat back. Somehow Riv had the idea the defiant anger in her tone wasn't meant purely in her son's defense. With the modest tongue of a commoner, well-worn traveler's garb and head shaved bare out of habit, Riv knew she didn't present an image even approximating inspirational authority, but she was still pretty good at reading people.

"He did," the young woman insisted with a calm that belied her current condition. Riv shifted uncomfortably and uttered a sob of surprised pain as the bolt caught in her chainmail and twisted between her ribs. She sank lower to the floor and swiftly decided any acrobatic maneuvers she might have planned were off the table.

"Watch it, girl," her captor advised, keeping her aim steady between the downed woman's eyes. "I'll end you."

"I know," Riv conceded with a sober nod. Her hand remained on the grip of her sword and it had not gone unnoticed. The young woman carefully pushed the weapon out of reach, quite certain now that she wouldn't have had the strength to lift the heavy blade anyway. Riv seemed to be having a great deal of trouble regaining her breath.

With a brisk nod of approval, the gray-haired marksman seemed at a loss as to how to proceed in the face of Riv's cooperation.

"I don't wanna die among strangers, ma'am," the wounded girl offered after a moment. She didn't think it was her imagination that the older woman's voice had softened ever so slightly. Riv had discovered in recent days that the population indigenous to this region were a hard people by necessity but that didn't mean they weren't capable of compassion. She had always been good about getting a feel for decency in folks, but that wasn't always an accurate gauge in matters of duress. "My name's Riv."

The spry matron chewed her lip in careful consideration for a long moment and the deadly crossbow wavered ever so slightly in her hands. Finally she told Riv, "I'm Bethryn." She indicated her unconscious son with one elbow and asked, "How do you know my boy Heward?"

"We ain't exactly friends," Riv explained quietly. "Suppose you could say we met on the road. And we came to blows."

"You cut him up somethin' awful," Bethryn observed, her voice once again tight with reproach. She shot a glance over her shoulder at her son, his dusky garb stained darker by wet blood. "You ambush him?"

"No ma'am." Riv felt like something was squeezing her ribs but she struggled to keep her concern from showing. "I was headin' down the road not far from here and come across a wagon bein' held up. Highwaymen."

Bethryn swallowed anxiously but said nothing.

"I did what I could to stop 'em," the girl continued. She sighed regretfully. "Wish I coulda done better. Or got there sooner, at least."

"My Heward...you said he was hurtin' folks?" Bethryn prompted expectantly.

"Yes ma'am," Riv confirmed. "Those that were on the wagon were...in bad shape. I could see that right away. And the robbers wouldn't surrender so I had to act. Your boy got away. He was quick and he surprised me is all." She grinned ruefully and then winced again at the pain in her chest. "Guess that runs in the family."

Despite the tension between them, a faint ghost of a smile played about Bethryn's mouth. It was gone in an instant.

"He was such a good boy once," the older woman recalled, her shoulders slumping. "The trouble he gets into...he's just lucky his momma's still around to patch him up." Bethryn moved to a nearby cupboard and fished out a small flask. She kept her crossbow trained on her reluctant adversary. "That'll be the last healing draught we'll see for a while," she muttered.

"I didn't want to kill him but I couldn't let it stand," Riv explained, feeling guilty. "I sure am sorry if I scared you comin' through the door like that." She imagined she seemed more than a little pathetic in apologizing, laid out as she was on the cabin floor with a crossbow quarrel stuck through her lung.

"You seem like a nice person," the older woman offered, sounding uncomfortable. "I'm...sorry I had to shoot you."

"It was a good shot," the girl allowed, grimacing now. "Sure put me down in a hurry." Bloody bubbles formed around the wound with every breath now but the gallows humor seemed worth the effort of speaking when it served to lessen the distance between them. Riv moved one hand to the injury, prudently applying pressure and concealing the grisly sight. "It's okay. You was just doin' what you thought was right."

"If...if I let you go, will you leave my boy alone?" Bethryn sounded hopeful but her expression suggested she didn't like the taste of her own words. If Riv left, she could go back to pretending she didn't know about Heward's night-time forays.

"No ma'am," the girl told her truthfully. She coughed wetly and made haste in wiping blood from her mouth with the back of one hand. "I can't make that promise. I'm here to stop him and that's all there is to it."

"I've...let you sit a spell and...now you need to be on your way!" Bethryn declared emphatically. "If you've the means to tend your wounds than you best do it outside."

"Doesn't work like that," the wounded warrior said with a little shake of her head. "My gifts are meant to be shared," she added enigmatically, "and I used everything I had on the good folks Heward left beside the road."

"Look, I can't have you in here when he wakes up! I know how he gets when his blood's up!"

"It ain't right, what he's done," Riv told her with quiet conviction. Despite the wounded hitching of her chest as she struggled to draw breath between blue-tinted lips and her trembling limbs that failed to support her as she tried to rise, there was a steadfast and serene acceptance in Riv's eyes that gave Bethryn pause. "It has to stop right here."

"I...I could kill you!" Bethryn insisted without authority, her voice a petulant squawk. The crossbow shook violently in the air between them.

"It's alright, ma'am," Riv assured her, her tone cool and comforting as a healer's touch. "If you feel you need to then I understand. You gotta stick by your kin."

"Please!" Bethryn whispered urgently, but she wasn't asking Riv for anything now. She was trying to ward off a difficult decision that could no longer be ignored. The woman had aged noticeably since she had first loosed her quarrel at Riv and her hold on this world suddenly seemed tenuous. Her once flinty eyes were fogged over with a deep sadness as they went to the bloodied man who lay slumped against the far wall. "He's all I got..."

Riv said nothing, recognizing that she'd said her piece and it was out of her hands now.

"He's been so different these last few years..." Bethryn murmured, her voice distant and thoughtful. "That fire last year in town after he'd been out drinkin' all night...I never thought...And then that neighbor girl from across the vale...I didn't want to believe it..." She took on a plaintive tone. "You try your hardest to give them what they need. You want them to have better than you did. But what happens when better for them means worse for everyone else?" Bethryn heaved a defeated sigh.

The highwayman's mother wore an unreadable expression as she stooped over Riv's fallen form. She pressed the flask she had intended for Heward into the girl's grasp and then went to kneel on the floor beside her son, her thin frame quaking with silent sobs as she watched him die.

[lachancery]

A splendidly-written tale immersing us in believable characters... well done, and still looking forward to our next game together!

[Dr_Babylon]

My monstrous ego doesn't deserve your kind appraisal, lachancery.

Yeah I'm still involved in a couple of game these days but I've got the itch to exercise more characters and, until I get the chance, I see no harm in entertaining myself here.

[Dr_Babylon]

Ah. Revisiting the old thread. Have I really been a member of this forum for five years? Good gracious, where does the time go?

Let's talk hypotheticals. What if we did a Star Wars game (guess what I've been watching recently...) where the player characters were primarily promising force-sensitives who have yet to be officially trained and are brought together by a rogue or "gray" Jedi (most likely in hiding and with ulterior motives). They'd all have their own lives and skills (former smugglers, nobles, farmers, slicers, etc) because none of them grew up in the classical temple setting. We could hit on all the favorite bits as these burgeoning practitioners learn to use their powers, struggle with morality (Dark side points!), discover their true purpose (build their lightsabers!) and what have you. Their mentor working behind the scenes is, of course, GM-controlled and essentially keeps the action flowing somewhat coherently but he might be a doddering archivist with a mission, a vindictive guardian with an ax to grind, or an arch-villain rising from the shadows (I am become Yoda, Destroyer of Worlds!). One of the fun bits early on would be deciding how being Force-sensitive has effected these individuals' lives. Maybe one is especially good at moving things with this power and another is troubled by precognitive dreams. Maybe a young scoundrel who uses Jedi mind tricks to influence his marks without even knowing it. We could mix up the superhero and Star Wars themes nicely! I tend to agree with the notion that, in a Star Wars game, everyone should be Jedi or no one should. And we could even travel to exotic locales to discreetly learn from alternate Force traditions! Imagine a bunch of halfway functional pseudo-Jedi trainees creeping up the steps to one of those ancient temples on some misbegotten jungle world knowing that the stormtroopers (or whomever) could be waiting just outside when they're done. Classic.

I realize this all sounds like it would fall somewhere outside canon and you're all thinking "But Dr Babylon, don't you love canon!?" Of course I do. And we'd only stretch a bit. Fact is, this would fit best during the Rise of the Empire or Rebellion eras and I don't expect us to be teaming up to steal the Millennium Falcon or put a hit on the Emperor or like that.

Anyways...just thinking about things...and stuff.

[Dr_Babylon]

(Well, it worked for Riv Fisher.)

The catfolk girl tore through the orchard as quickly as her little legs would carry her. She was small and lean and covered in thick, pale fur with regular duskier markings. She was aware that her heavy coat did not suit this climate any more than her coloration fit the landscape but that made her unique around these parts and that appeased her fickle vanity. Normally, she would have been elated to allow onlookers a glimpse of her striking appearance but at the moment she was in too much of a hurry. Today she wore a borrowed blue sundress that matched her eyes but slowed her progress through the low-hanging branches of the cherry trees.

Her adopted family, the Meriwethers, had officially named her "Nebibi", a word from an old human tongue, the meaning of which eluded her. For the life of her, she could not recollect her birthname as granted by her catfolk parents. Fortunately, she carried a plethora of appellations to make up for this failing. At any given time, she answered to roughly a dozen different titles depending on her actions at the moment and the individual addressing her. The women who worked in the kitchen called her Greedy-Mitts, for instance, but they rarely employed a harsh tone even when they scolded her.

The jewellers in town had unanimously dubbed her Lady Wiggletail whenever she viewed their wares alongside Angeline. They wouldn't let her enter their shops without her human companion, of course, as they thought her treacherous, and they maintained that Nebibi's tail moved in a most disconcerting manner as she observed their many shiny baubles. They didn't trust her wide and curious blue gaze even when she kept her paws safely behind her back but they could not afford the impropriety of refusing Angeline Meriwether's wishes.

Old Man Gurwin who cared for the hounds at the Meriwether estate, on the other hand, persisted in calling her Spot. He seemed to find this profoundly humorous in its banality, given the beautiful markings on her fur. He didn't normally have much use for Nebibi's company and she preferred to give the kennels a wide berth whenever possible. The bristly, slavering beasts kept within had trouble understanding why she was not locked up with them and she had been assured that their interest in her was anything but friendly, despite their wagging tails. The eager sounds they made and the ardent ferocity in their eyes promised a speedy resolution to the grave imbalance between her station and theirs should the opportunity ever arise.

Pushing these unpleasant thoughts aside, Nebibi entered the Meriwether's courtyard and circled the ornamental fishpond only once, momentarily mesmerized as always by the gleaming scales of the exotic swimmers within. Someday she just might have to take the time to get to know them all one by one. But not today.

She sprang up into the lowest branches of a tree grown too large for the ornamental garden and quickly scaled its rough surface to reach an open window on the third floor of the sprawling manor house. Finding herself in one of the guest rooms, Nebibi could hear soft and familiar footfalls in the hallway beyond and dove under the bed. A moment later, her fleeting patience was rewarded with a hapless new quarry.

The day-to-day goings-on of the Meriwether household were largely overseen by a stodgy halfling chamberlain named Rammelfred Downcellar who considered himself the ultimate authority on all matters beneath the Lady Meriwether's notice. Nebibi and Angeline had always called him Rumple, much to his chagrin, and the furry youth considered him fair game in her sport.

Nebibi waited until Rumple had passed her by in the hallway, her tail lashing energetically beneath the bed, before she sprang from cover. She had an instant in which to relish the halfling's look of panic-stricken startlement as he turned at the last instant before he tumbled to the floor and she hopped easily over him. The catfolk girl giggled with delight, astounded that others might not recognize her cleverness.

"Must I beseech you yet again to abandon this most unladylike behavior, Nebibi?" the little man began irritably, launching into one of his favorite diatribes. The truth was, despite his lofty obsession with protocol, Rumple treated her well enough. Nebibi suspected that some part of him actually enjoyed her harmless predations, though he had become no more stealthy in response.

"Gotcha!" Nebibi laughed with a flick of her tail. She helped him to his feet.

"Indeed," he responded dryly. "Very amusing." Rumple glanced around as though surprised to find Nebibi alone. "And where is the young mistress?"

"Angie's on her way back from town," Nebibi offered noncommittally. "We had a race. I won." She could feel her attention, a nebulous thing at the best of times, wandering away from this interaction.

"You left her alone?" the chamberlain prompted, evincing something between disdain and sophisticated horror.

"Don't be ridiculous, Rumple," the catfolk girl answered automatically. She fidgeted peevishly on the spot, eager to be elsewhere. "She's with Hog and Dunce." These were members of the household guard who had been assigned to protect Angeline Meriwether's person at all times. Hoggett and Dunstable were dependable men and seldom overbearing in performing their duty. More importantly, they were a hilariously mismatched pair in physical appearance and defying their directives with spectacular dramatic effects had become something of a specialty for Nebibi.

"Thank the many gods for small mercies," Rumple uttered. He had long since given up any hope of wresting his real name from her whiskered lips. "Should I presume they will be along shortly, then?"

"Sometime later this week, perhaps," Nebibi confirmed with a snort. Racing Angeline back home was admittedly no contest with Hog and Dunce puffing along behind the human girl in their heavy steel hauberks and kettle hats. Once the catfolk girl left the road, she tended to run on all-fours and then all bets were off. For some reason, she was never quite comfortable exploiting her more animalistic gait where Angeline could see.

"Let us hope so," Rumple nodded primly. "The Lady Meriwether should be returning soon, as well. I would expect dinner shall not be far behind. Off with you now."

Nebibi swallowed nervously, hoping the chamberlain didn't see her unease. She would never admit how intimidated she was by Angeline's mother and she positively loathed dealing with the older woman outside of her friend's influence.


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[Dr_Babylon]

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Trotting out onto the landing overlooking the vestibule, Nebibi was quick to ascertain that no one bore witness to her willful defiance of house regulations before hopping up onto the railing. The furry bottoms of her feet slid smoothly along the polished hardwood and she gave a little cry of joy as she descended its length. Despite her adventurous spirit, Nebibi was careful to keep her claws from marking the banister in any way, knowing all too well the dire consequences for damaging the Lady Meriwether's treasured veneer of superficial perfection.

Reaching the bottom of the expansive staircase, she leapt through the air, using her momentum to propel herself onto the fireplace mantel some distance away. Nebibi perched there for a moment, pausing to push certain decorative knick-knacks off the edge and onto the floor. She watched them fall, not understanding the impulse but unable to resist nonetheless.

She heard sounds from the main entrance beyond the vestibule and dropped easily onto the tiled floor, quick to obscure any misbehavior on her part. Nebibi turned toward the doors in greeting, already relishing the chance to gloat over having beaten Angeline's travel time by such a wide margin. Instead of her childhood companion's wide smile and shining coppery locks, she found herself facing the sour countenance of the Lady Meriwether.

"Milady," the catfolk girl offered with as graceful a curtsy as she could manage. Nebibi was unable to keep from laying back her ears but she somehow kept the hiss from her voice. She realized she was wearing one of Angeline's old sundresses today and she furtively inspected the garment with as much discretion as she could muster to assure herself that it had not been torn or muddied in her flight from town.

The lady of the house made a huffy noise in response. She was tall for a human woman and her imperious presence lent her an aspect of looming enormity in her darkly conservative garb over little Nebibi.

"Here you are," the Lady Meriwether observed, "and yet I do not see my daughter. Explain."

"We were off shoppin' in town, Milady." One always included the expected title with Angeline's mother or one's life was forfeit. "She's with Hog...Hoggett and Dunstable."

"I should certainly hope so." The woman's nostrils flared with indignation. "Why are you here, then?"

"I just won the race, is all," Nebibi retorted, trying her very best to squeeze all willful protestation out of her voice but to no avail.

"I do not care for your tone," the Lady Meriwether announced, clearly taking some pleasure when Nebibi flinched in response. Even the mildest rebuke from her carried the force of a lashing and brooked no dissent.

"Of course, Milady," the catfolk girl immediately corrected herself. "Please forgive my rudeness."

The woman cast an appraising eye over Nebibi's small, furry frame, as though searching for some additional fault that might require illumination.

"You might do well to remember that when my husband...procured you from that rat-infested slum of your birth, you were granted goodwill the likes of which your kind rarely sees," the aristocratic woman proclaimed in the typically soft, sharp tone, like shears cutting silk, that she reserved for Nebibi. "This boon did not confer upon you any special rank outside of a plaything for Angeline. Your silly fantasies aside, you are, in truth, neither sister or friend to her and your position in this household is forever on a provisional basis. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes, Milady." Nebibi nodded, terrified of meeting the woman's apathetic gaze with anything even approaching effrontery. They had, of course, had this private conversation before. The matron's intolerance for Nebibi's place in this house was by no means a well-kept secret.

"Enjoy your games and mindless capering, pretending to be a member of this family," the Lady Meriwether continued coolly. "Never let it be far from your thoughts that you have not truly arrived home safely until my daughter walks through these doors unharmed as well." She wore a crisp smile as she added, "Angeline will not always have a use for a pet so unbiddable. When she grows to abandon her childish values and her interest in you wanes, so too will my charitable nature."

"Yes, Milady." The catfolk girl dutifully dropped her gaze to the floor, understanding that the older woman preferred her properly cowed. Nebibi had privately decided that she might let Angeline lead next time.

Winning wasn't everything.


(And yes I realize the cat-girl character thing has been done. I assure you my motives are pure.)

[Andrepartthree]

Awesome stuff, as always :) ..

[Dr_Babylon]

(There was a fellow some time back who got me interested in the World of Darkness: Innocents game, though nothing came of it. I thought this would be an interesting place to start with a character there.)


Annie had had this dream before but that vague sense of familiarity did nothing to lessen the overwhelming sense of dread it always brought her. And she was incapable of forming a defense for the fresh despair it inevitably left behind once she had awakened. This nightmare's cruel edge cut deep and never seemed to dull.

She was in the back of a rugged and familiar vehicle traveling along a nondescript road with the kind-faced man. When she was awake, Annie thought of him quite differently but in the dream he was always the Kind-Faced Man. She had little understanding of their route beyond the notion that they were heading home after a long day of many personal frustrations and less obvious rewards. Any day filled with challenges was a good one as long as you found it in yourself to turn and face them.

Despite the positive feelings of good-natured camaraderie hanging unspoken in the peaceable silence, a palpable sense of wrongness lurked above the pair, as though longing to crush them under its weight. The air was pure cold gnawing on the windows and shuttling through the night on this lonely country road gave an impression of almost complete and fragile isolation from the world at large. Aside from the teasing glimpses of pavement rushing soundlessly beneath the truck's external lights, the darkness loomed unknowable and absolute outside this tiny bubble of warmth.

Annie noticed the amorphous shape ahead at the same instant as her vigilant driver. With its own running lights switched off and moving at a similar pace to their own, the strange vehicle would have been easy to miss except for the more opaque and shadowy profile it presented against the murky surroundings. Her companion moved his hands at his console and Annie was bathed by an artificial twilight in a flickering sequence of red and then blue, again and again. They followed the hulking shape ahead for a few more moments before it obediently pulled over to the shoulder of the road.

The Kind-Faced Man paused and Annie recognized that he was inexplicably apprehensive about following the expected course. She wanted to tell him that his doubts were correct, that he should heed his fear and simply look the other way, but she could not find the words. She could only offer sounds of indecipherable worry as the man made some final preparations that she was unable to observe from her vantage point.

Perhaps sensing Annie's distress, the man she knew twisted in his seat and offered her a wide smile that almost convinced her of his confidence. In her agitated state, she could not make out his reassuring words but she understood the meaning. This was invariably the point of the dream that she found the most haunting, that burning desire that this one time Annie might get through to him. Sadly, that was never the case. It was impossible for her to produce the right words to lead him away from this ominous path. Even if she could properly articulate her misgivings, she knew that he would never ignore his duty.

The smile faltered an instant before he turned to open his door and it was clear to Annie that the terrible trepidation had touched him, too. Inevitably, he rose from his seat, placing his hat on his head as he looked toward the idling specter that squatted in the impervious darkness ahead.

The ugliness of the unknown van was barely illuminated by the red-then-blue flashes and Annie found it hard to take in clear details. From her position, she couldn't keep the kind-faced man in view on his approach until he reached his destination and she found that troubling. Annie had never been a part of this ritual but she was well acquainted with how it was meant to play out. She could not hear the words now but she could imagine their focus as her companion made his points plain.

Silent now, Annie waited, the engine and other systems of her conveyance grumbling complacently. The warmth around her barely seemed to keep the cold at bay now. The lights blazed red and then blue as dread formed like a fist in her throat, pushing implacably toward her heart.

There was a sudden searing flash of white from ahead, colder than the icy wind outside, and with it came a roar louder and more terrifying than anything she had ever heard before. Annie watched the Kind-Faced Man drop to the pavement like a discarded toy. He was too far to see clearly but there could be no doubt that he had been mortally wounded.

For a long moment, nothing happened at all, aside from the maddening sequence of lights from the top of her vehicle. Then, almost as if he were too shy to face his audience, the unknown driver swung his door open and leaned out, wishing perhaps to inspect his handiwork. Unbearably, no matter how often Annie suffered through this nightmare, she could never perceive any noteworthy traits about this inconceivable butcher. He seemed enormous next to his fallen victim nearby, certainly, but his face and clothing remained swathed in inky blackness in defiance of the lights shining upon him.

Annie raised her voice now, issuing a desperate challenge to this savage apparition. She was unable to liberate herself from her spot but she dared him to come remedy that so she could let loose the helpless rage that exploded like a wildfire inside her.

The tall man in black did approach her, though he didn't seem phased by her snarls of outrage. Reaching the driver's side of her cage of glass and steel, he hovered there, fingers tracing grooves in the frost that edged the windows while something metal scraped out of sight against the door's handle. He stood high enough that she could not see his face but she could sense cruel amusement. And she could do nothing to abate his mirth.

After an interminable instant of arousing her pointless defiance, the man leisurely strode back to his ride. He paused at his door, noticing as Annie did that her companion had rolled over on the road, the fight not yet having left his body. The grim specter gave a little nod toward Annie, as if in salute, and there came another white flash aimed down toward her companion's crawling form. The roar this time was even louder as it ended the Kind-Faced Man's desperate struggle. With this business taken care of, the stranger reclaimed his van and rumbled off.

That gruesome image remained frozen beneath the sterile red-and-then-blue flashes and all Annie could hear was her own furious barking.


(continues...)

[Dr_Babylon]

(...continuing)


* * * * *

Angharad "Annie" Price awoke heartsick and disoriented as she always did from this nightmare but she fought to keep from crying all the same. She knew from experience that her mother would hear her sobs and hurry to her side and that was the last thing she wanted. It was far more important for the beleaguered woman to get the rest she deserved. Annie's mom worked two jobs to Make Ends Meet and she never seemed to get enough sleep. Recently, Annie had taken to thinking of things that she felt were worth remembering with capital letters. Trying to Make Ends Meet seemed like an especially important endeavor to many grown-ups she knew so the phrase went on the list, even if Annie didn't have a entirely clear idea of what it meant.

Remaining silent as she wiped away the few persistent tears that had squeezed out, Annie glanced at her alarm clock and saw that it was nearly ten after six. She didn't have to be at school for hours yet but she knew that it was no use trying to get back to sleep. Rising this early had once been a tradition that brought her a very special kind of joy and, despite her upsetting associations since then, she seemed unable to adapt.

Annie had just turned eleven and her dad, Deputy Sheriff Greg Price, had been shot and killed by an unknown assailant during a traffic stop on a quiet country road a little more than six months ago. Her father had been her hero and they had shared a tremendous bond that had since left her feeling broken and incomplete. His death had understandably shattered her family and Annie had learned more than she had ever wanted to know about how different people deal with personal trauma. She remembered one of the doctors telling her mom that exceptionally intelligent or creative children tended to suffer grief worse than others but recover more quickly. Annie would have gladly told him this morning that she must not be as bright as he presumed because she couldn't imagine hurting any worse than she still did today.

Karen Price, Annie's mom, had made a point of communicating openly with her children on the subject, accepting that they had as much of a right to mourning their loss as she did. She exercised some restraint, of course, referring to the Bad Man Who Hurt Daddy, for instance, in front of Annie's younger brothers. Privately, Annie used this phrase as well as, in her mind, words like "gunman" or "assailant" or even "perpetrator" didn't come close to describing the tall man in black who haunted her nightmares. In more innocent times, Annie might have compared notes with her sister but the older girl had become something of a Problem Child since their father's death, expressing herself through anger and defiance.

The family had seen a phenomenal Outpouring of Support in the wake of the tragedy but finding a new pace was something the family had to do on their own and Annie didn't think they were anywhere close to that yet. Still, she had been amazed at the help they had been given at the time. She wished she could see more of Deputy Sheriff Jimenez, who had worked tirelessly alongside her father to get their department's K9 unit up and running. Annie greatly admired the feisty Colombian woman, with her Adult Humor and her fanatic devotion to soccer. Unfortunately, Jimenez's workload had increased substantially in her dad's absence, though Annie still saw her around town occasionally.

More rarely, Annie caught sight of Dash, the big Dutch Shepherd who had been her father's four-legged partner. She had read that it could be difficult to reassign police dogs under these circumstances and, thanks to her nightmares, she could understand why. Dash was fearless and loyal and strong but he had been utterly powerless to help his best friend while witnessing his final desperate moments. That would screw up anyone.

As she went about her morning routine, Annie was reminded of a time not so long ago when--along with a little help from her favorite teacher Mr. Sutton--she had organized a fundraiser at school to help the Sheriff's Department buy bulletproof vests for Dash and the other dogs. She couldn't believe that hadn't even been a year ago. Irritably, she wiped away more tears and crept into the kitchen to make herself some oatmeal.

The whistle of the kettle was much less disruptive than the Ding! of the microwave as long as she was fast enough and, curiously, boiling water the old-fashioned way gave her comforting thoughts about her grandfather on her dad's side. Annie was fairly certain her love of oatmeal came from Grampa Price's influence and she maintained that it was a more grown-up selection than the marshmallow-studded cereals she used to insist on.

The tough old man had worked in Law Enforcement as well until he had been injured on the job just after Annie had been born. In her grief-stricken haze following her dad's funeral, Annie could still clearly remember asking Grampa Price if he would still let her come spend time with him now that she wasn't in his family anymore. He had hugged her very tight and that was the only time she had ever seen the man cry. Something changed for her too, right then, and it had been a Turning Point in helping her accept her loss.

The girl sat and ate her breakfast in somber silence, though she had little taste for the food. Only half a year ago, Annie and her dad would have sat in this very spot, laughing quietly together and sharing stories of the previous day's accomplishments. She would have asked him anything she wanted about policework and he would have asked about school projects while Dash waited patiently nearby, eager to start his day. They would make plans to practice whatever sport had caught her attention as soon as he could find the time (and he always did before too long) and they would compare notes on up-coming action movies (none of the really violent or gross ones). Admittedly, a lot of that stuff had lost its appeal for her. Annie didn't really find anything as interesting as she once did.

What she really needed was a new and unexpected challenge with which she could truly involve herself. Now that Annie thought about it, she had been hearing some strange rumors from the other kids at school recently that might be worth looking into...



(Put this smart, kind-hearted, slightly self-righteous girl in a storyline like It or even Goonies where the kids are the heroes and you got yourself a diversion, buddy.)

[damned]

Where is the +1 button?

[Mgrancey]

Star at bottom left corner of post?

[damned]

I already did that. I always enjoy reading Dr_Babylon. :)

[ballan4]

Wow, That is an amazing story. I would pay to read more even.

[Dr_Babylon]

Well it's been a month since my last self-interested post on here and we've reached my very favorite time of year in the interim. This tends to be a time when schedules for many stabilize for the foreseeable future and folks tend to settle into a more sedentary routine (laughing time is over!). I find myself hoping against hope that there is some innovative thinker out there on the verge of announcing a new project for which they might require my variety of devoted theatricality.

Give me something to do!

Yes, yes. I am indeed a fussy little egomaniac with a rather difficult schedule and a determined penchant for text-only communication but...well...I'm sure there are some strengths there, as well.

(I remain involved in a few other projects here and there which I am enjoying to enormous degrees but I have much time and little else to occupy my attentions.)

[Valarian]

There are still places in the Yggdrasill game if you're interested & available. Fri 8pm UK time.

[Dr_Babylon]

You're a real sport for mentioning it but I simply cannot meet that time. Thanks!

[Dr_Babylon]

(Here's a slightly longer one. Been bored.)

I have honestly never been bothered by excessive heat.

My opinion on the subject may well be biased, I suppose. Accustomed as I am to the expansive, sweltering plains and torrid savannas of my homeland, I have honed a fond appreciation for its less biddable characteristics. If one cannot persist in the face of an insurmountable strain, only surrender or retreat remain in one's repertoire.

While I will allow that I am less positively inclined toward the more oppressive humidity I have experienced on my occasional explorations into neighboring regions of fathomless jungle, I maintain that there is a certain beauty inherent in even the most unapologetic aspects of the natural world. I have always perceived a modest but unwavering honesty on those sweeping grasslands beneath the scorching sun. It is forever abundant with life occurring unhidden and without shame.

I stood now at the outer edge of a ring of towering baobab trees surrounded on every side by a trackless range of tall, dry grass spotted here and there with persistent scrub growth rising higher. There was almost no breeze and the only motion in sight was made up of shadows cast by the few scattered clouds as they made their way ponderously across the eternal blue above, jealously guarding what little moisture they carried.

A collection of small mountains stood out against the haze on the horizon far behind me. Their presence was reassuringly familiar, like recognizing a family of neighbors I had lived next to all my life but never met face-to-face. Closer at hand, a legion of unseen insects chirred a soothing, almost soporific cadence. Tranquility was exactly what I sought in that place and, at this moment, I could not help but smile at my accomplishment.

Near my feet, a small furry face peered out from the grass. Kgosi, my constant companion and sagacious guide in all matters spiritual, stood as tall as a meerkat could manage on his hind legs. He was a shrewd fellow and perceptive in ways that I could not hope to match. To refer to him as a pet, a servant, or anything similar would be a grave disservice. It would be more accurate to describe myself as his human. Indeed, if Kgosi had a failing, it was that he was even more aware of his own uncanny brilliance than I, though he was quite capable of at least feigning humility when necessary.

At that moment, the animal's typically stoic mien seemed to suggest a deep apprehension about the course set before me. Appearing as somber and disapproving as he did was no easy feat for a such a creature. He remained upright and motionless as if standing guard against whatever might occur. I found myself unsurprised at his disinclination to accompany me further.

"I understand," I assured him in earnest. "I am ever grateful for your participation nonetheless."

His ears twitched and he turned his dark golden eyes away as if dismissing me. I imagined that he was embarrassed by my genuine appreciation for what little support he offered me now.

With a sigh, I stepped toward the grove, listening to the murmured susurrus from the leafy branches high above my head. The trees were sharing worried whispers at my presence as if I did not belong. The notion was unsettling and not easily quelled.

In the center of the little clearing stood a much smaller tree that I could have sworn had demonstrated enormous growth in the short time since last I had visited. Next to this sapling and shaded by its branches, a large, flat-topped stone rose from the earth like a stage made from exposed bedrock. I was somewhat mollified to see, even at a distance, that the modest inscription in the language of the ancient serpents that I had left chiseled into the edge of the stone remained. I knew that would mean far more to the one I came to meet even if she never admitted it aloud.

"Punctuality has always been one of the more practical virtues among the many you espouse," announced a familiar voice without preamble.

I started at the suddenness of the other woman's appearance. A moment ago, I had been most assuredly alone here and, just like that, there she sat atop the flat rock. That was Ghalyela as I knew her; pomp and pageantry propelled by unpredictably boisterous urges. She knew how to make an entrance and ruffle feathers without seeming to expend any great effort.

"Hello, Ghalyela," I offered in greeting. I could feel the faintest of smiles raising the corners of my mouth and I was encouraged to find the foremost emotion in my mind at this awkward reunion was genuine delight.

"Hello yourself, Adhiambo." She returned my smile, though she likely wore it better than I. Ghalyela and I shared a great deal in common and I suspect that any casual observer could likely guess the nature of our connection. She was taller than I, though we exhibited the same lean build and litheness of movement. Ghalyela's complexion was a dark and dusky brown much like my own but she exuded a preternatural confidence merging with fey mirth where my own expression seldom ranged outside solemn perturbation. We dressed alike as well, even if I favored wraps in earth tones as opposed to Ghalyela's vibrant red and purple garments. Even the plates stretching her earlobes were similar to my own, though hers were made of polished ebony where my own were formed from simple clay. To hear others speak of her, Ghalyela had always been gifted with great grace and beauty whereas I was forever deemed pretty but so very dour. I had never held it against her.


(...continues...)

[Dr_Babylon]

(...continuing...)

"Is Kgosi not with you?" she asked abruptly, peering curiously around my feet.

"He...prefers to permit us some privacy, I think," I offered. I do not lie well but I sincerely hoped that this half-truth might spare Ghalyela's feelings.

"I see." She nodded in acceptance but I could see that the meerkat's absence still hurt, regardless of the intractable creature's reasons. Her smile had faded slightly and her dark eyes were raised to watch the towering trees around us. The branches seemed to sway more arduously now despite the scarcity of any strong wind but this may not have been so. "This is the place you chose for me then?"

"It is," I told her, moving with guileless eagerness from one unpleasant subject to the next. "To the best of my recollection, of course."

"Not exactly the palace I might have envisioned," Ghalyela murmured ruefully, but the corners of her lips twitched upwards in that playful grin once more.

"We're not exactly queens," I reminded her. My tone was somber but I did my best to add my own rare smile to hers once again as I have found they work best in greater numbers. She laughed lightly at my response and I was delighted still to hear her mirth. "I am confident that this is a better place for you," I added quite earnestly, after the levity had passed.

"I do like it, Adhiambo," Ghalyela gently declared after another moment's consideration. "You did very well."

I stood mutely before her, pleased with her charitable praise but still feeling a little like a child about to confess a terrible mistake to a respected authority.

Fortunately, instead of pressing my discomfort, Ghalyela rose and, holding her arms spread wide to either side to aid her balance, she began walking around the periphery of the great flat rock as though it were a harrowing edifice much higher.

"What was it you wished to discuss?" she prompted casually over one bare shoulder as she strode nimbly away from me. "Something important? Or did you simply wish to see how I was settling in?"

"Well," I offered rather awkwardly. "I am pleased that you are...are..." I stared up at her, suddenly without words once more. What was she doing that appeased my concerns? Taking care of herself? Dressing nicely?

"Adhiambo!" she chided after another peal of laughter. "Ever the diplomat." She shook her head in wondering amusement, turning in place so she could face me. She continued her circuit of the rocky ledge, now setting each foot behind her in perfect precision without watching where she stepped. "You do not need to...beguile me so! Speak to me as you would have before. I will decide whether or not I bear a grudge. And I will change my mind as I like with only my whims to guide me."

"I simply wanted to report that I will be leaving these lands soon enough," I told her and, despite my mundane delivery, I knew she understood the ramifications immediately.

Ghalyela paused once more. Her eyes met mine and I saw true compassion there, though she was unlikely to put it into words.

"They will not have you back?"

"I...I do not believe so," I confessed. "I am not certain how any will react in the long-term but I know that things will never be the same back home for me now." I was quite concerned that I sounded as if I was affixing blame. "I simply cannot be what I might once have been to them."

Something in Ghalyela's expression changed every so slightly. The skin about her eyes and mouth tightened almost imperceptibly and the leafy boughs above us hissed urgent warnings to each other.

"I am afraid I am in no position to come to your defense," she finally observed. The words were mild but there was a hard edge concealed beneath them.

"I would never ask for that," I insisted. "Even before you..."

"I know," Ghalyela interrupted generously. "You have learned to interact with the world in ways that I could never understand." She smiled again though I would not be convinced that the edge was gone. "I almost envy you. And I am certain you will prevail no matter where you go."

"I will try my best to...to continue in those pursuits." I wanted to appear as something other than a lost child, brimming with apprehension, and I suspect I fell short.

"I see your medicine stick has met with some alteration." She coolly indicated the target of her observation with a nod of her head. "It this a part of your preparation for your journey or has the healer's art become such a rough sport?"

I started at that unexpected change in direction, my eyes following her own to gaze guiltily at the cudgel I grasped in my right hand. I had not realized I was even holding it.

"Well there is the question of carrying the right tool for the job," I offered distractedly as I secured the weapon at my side on a leather thong. I regretted the words as soon as they had left my mouth. "I only meant--" I began to recant in haste.

"I understand," Ghalyela assured me, her expression unreadable. "Peace is something we have to put away every now and then. And we might not get to see it again unless we are ready to make the appropriate sacrifices." She nodded thoughtfully. "Believe me, I understand."


(...continues...)

[Dr_Babylon]

(...continuing...)

"Yes," I mumbled without real conviction. The healers among my people often carried such items as a symbol of their station, certainly, but also as a sort of beacon for myriad spirits on this plane. Mine had once been a thing of simple beauty, made of plain wood carved from an ancient, gnarled root by my own hand and decorated with fetishes to identify my values to the spirits with whom I sought to interact. Now it resembled nothing so much as a cruel bludgeon, ending in a heavy head of ugly spiked iron. The only thing it seemed to advocate was my willingness to employ brutality to achieve my ends. I was ashamed that I still wielded it in its current state but could not disavow my need for its solid reliability given the dire straits before me.

"Poor Adhiambo." Ghalyela spoke softly now, soothing in spite of her peculiar teasing manner. "How am I to take you seriously when you make this face?" She produced the scowl of a petulant adolescent in apparent imitation of my own expression. "It is as though the world itself is ending around you." To her, no burden on my shoulders could ever amount to more than a pebble in the palm of her hand should she choose to bear it in my place. I am not too proud to admit that her condescending self-assurance had put my mind at ease in the past. I hoped it would in future. "Surely circumstances are not so terrible as all that."

"I am afraid, Ghalyela," I finally admitted, trying my best to avoid sounding as forlorn as I felt. Detachment has never come easily for me. "I suppose I wanted to assure myself that I could still find you here if..." I trailed off. How could I possibly justify my needs to her?

"If you should require a valid perspective at odds with your own?" she asked, raising one eyebrow in a curiously imperious smirk. "How appallingly morbid given our recent history." Her nostrils flared in indignation.

I paused, swallowing somewhat nervously. I could never tell when I had truly offended Ghalyela or when she was merely entertaining herself at my expense. She recognized my perplexity immediately, of course, answering it with her rich and throaty chuckle.

"Rest easy," she told me. A smile warmed her lips once more and she may have been reflecting on the bittersweet irony of her words. "You know deep down, I think, that I will always be there for you when you have need of me." There was real affection in her tone and I felt an ache in my heart I had thought mercifully faded. "Nothing you can ever do will change this, Adhiambo."

I felt a great swell of relief in my chest and I very nearly sobbed with gratitude. As much as it would hurt me to abandon the rest of my people, being forced to turn my back on Ghalyela would have been the end of everything I valued in my life.

"Thank you," I said. Still nearly overcome by her kindness, I reflected that these rare bouts of benevolence on her part were made all the more precious by being at odds with her more characteristic tempestuousness.

"No problem at all," Ghalyela answered with a carefree shrug as though she were unaffected by my emotional reaction. She hopped down from the large flat rock and stepped closer to me. "Somehow I suspect I will be able to find the time for you."

"I...thank you," I repeated. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and hug her fiercely but I was not at all certain about how that might work out.

She did not seem at all concerned, of course, reaching out nonchalantly to take my hands in hers.

"If the situation is truly so desperate, Adhiambo," Ghalyela informed me, affectionately squeezing my fingers, "then I would imagine you wish you had not killed me when you did." With that, she offered me a weary, sympathetic smile before kissing me on the cheek. An instant later, she was gone, as though she had never been at all.

"With every breath I take, sister," I told the empty grove. I could still feel the warmth of her touch on my skin before it seeped quickly away. Past the lump in my throat I managed to whisper, "I miss you so much."

I forced myself to read the inscription that I had carved for her into the rock once more:

A spirit that shines so bright is boundless and never truly dims.

With those words in mind, I turned to leave the grove, prepared to carry whatever I could of the life I knew no matter how far I roamed from here.

[ballan4]

I have to say Doc, Your stories are amazing. I really enjoy reading them. Thank you very much!

[Dr_Babylon]

It's kind of you to say so.

The real fun of portraying this kind of character for me would be to place her in a more conventional (pseudo-European, etc) fantasy setting. This child of the savanna with her unique perspective on the spiritual world would have a grand time exploring sprawling castles ("I did not know men could build such things...") and riding on horseback and bundling up for the winter and so on. Just give her a chance!

[Dr_Babylon]

(Again, not my best work. Still, it's got a tiny bit of a Halloween feel. Maybe.)


Creature Comforts

When the young woman awoke with a start she had difficulty immediately discerning her location. She squinted against the glare of the nearby lanterns, though their light seemed too dim to warrant such a response. She was alarmed to find herself largely immobile, with her arms stretched high above her head by iron chains and the tips of her bare toes scarcely touching the stone floor. She was no stranger to untenable circumstances so her initial reaction was one of wary pessimism as opposed to outright panic.

Peering cautiously about the chamber, she quickly recognized that this was indeed a place of frequent suffering where sick joys and gruesome excesses were entertained. Her wide, anxious eyes made out numerous edged instruments and crueler devices among the clutter decorating shelves and tables nearby. Stains that could only have been painted by the parting of flesh before apathetic whims and perverse curiosity served as ghastly monuments left behind in honor of the untold horrors perpetrated here. Some appeared quite fresh and coppery smell that hung in the air was unmistakable.

The girl identified the gaunt, middle-aged man before her as Goodspeed, the innkeeper who ran the Heavy Head. He had provided rooms to the group she was traveling with and had gone well out of his way to be accommodating to their meager needs. She remembered that he had joked about the four young wanderers being his only lodgers so they would garner special attention.

"I never got your name," the man observed rather mildly. Goodspeed's thin lips formed a poor facsimile of a smile and his flat, somehow asexual voice seemed less indifferent now than emotionless and utterly soulless. His rheumy gray eyes were devoid of any humanity, like twin pools of stagnant water on the verge of freezing. Looking at the accouterments of this secret workroom, she wondered at what abominable diversions might excite his passions. "What do they call you?"

"Sloane," she tried to tell hosteler and she issued a nervous-sounding cough before trying to squeeze the answer once again past her dry throat. "My name is Sloane, sir." She understood that her best chances for now lay in cooperating with this man's ritualized power-games, if only to buy herself more time.

"I have to admit that you didn't make quite the same impression on me as did your friends," Goodspeed informed her chidingly. "I almost didn't wake you after the first one." He indicated the corner beyond his left shoulder with a quick flick of his eyes and Sloane's alert gaze alighted there.

Vrand had been one of her traveling companions, a half-elven youth with a sweet voice and a great talent for the lyre. Sloane hadn't known him well but she had found him pleasant enough. She could see that Goodspeed had done something to the boy's hands but the shadowy illumination made details difficult to interpret. From the mess left on his elegant garb, she was thankful that Vrand's long golden hair covered whatever was left of his face. He was most certainly dead now but she doubted that it had been an easy transition for the young minstrel.

The two others were not in sight and Sloane didn't know just how to feel about that. They were gorgeous sisters accustomed to a status of moderate celebrity and, on some level, she supposed she felt somewhat overshadowed by their natural grace. Absurdly, she was a little offended that he should save them for later. It was true that Sloane had rarely been afforded any description so lofty as beautiful but she had been told on occasion that she possessed a raw vivaciousness, bordering on ferocity, that lent her a certain charm. There was nothing glamorous about her appearance and she wondered how someone with her unruly mop of raven-black hair, pallid complexion, and plain, homespun clothing could ever be mistaken for a professional performer.

"They're not my friends!" Sloane assured him eagerly, ashamed of the potentially self-serving nature of this declaration. "I was only hitching a ride with them to the next town."

"Is that right?" he prompted, taunting her with the artificial understanding in his town. "Why would you say this? You know how much I like bards."

"Yes, sir," she dutifully agreed. "You said so before." Sloane shifted uncomfortably and her toes lost purchase on the slick, cold stone for an instant. Her shoulders were beginning to ache from this uncomfortable position.

"You were all going to play for me," Goodspeed reminded her. "You promised."

Sloane did remember. He had been treating them to a late supper, asking with avid interest about their craft. Sloane had mostly kept quiet, letting the three performers, who had been kind enough to allow her to join them on their little wagon, lead the conversation. She realized now that the hosteler must have put something in the food to incapacitate the party. Sloane could only foggily recollect climbing the stairs to her room and preparing for bed. It went a long way toward explaining why she was clad in nothing more than the thin shift she used for a nightgown.

"I know, sir," she nodded, listening to the clink of her restraints. She clenched her fingers above her head, hoping her simpering wouldn't spur the man to premature violence. "But I'm really not a bard."


(continues...)

[Dr_Babylon]

(...continuing)


"I understand," Goodspeed told her. "Opening night jitters. That's okay." He perused the dully gleaming metal items arrayed on the table before selecting a small knife of the type one might use for fine detail in leatherwork.

"Please, sir!" Sloane cried helplessly, quite aware that similar words had been spoken here before to no avail. "You don't have to do this!"

Goodspeed paid her no mind, moving in very close to her so she could see the incredibly sharp edge on his tiny blade.

"Do you want to know what I love most about bards?" he asked in a disturbingly breathy, almost rapturous tone.

"No," she sobbed, shaking all over now as she strained against her bonds. "Please, no."

"It's the art I help them make in the end," Goodspeed's mouth slackened and his expression grew vacant but his eyes took on a manic glint. "That final ballad they scream to me that makes my heart soar. Their feet drumming uselessly on stone as their limbs twitch uncontrollably in a last dance with me. The silent poetry stretching on forever in their eyes as their light flees into me." He heaved a bittersweet sigh. "They spend their lives giving others a taste of their unique brilliance and then I take away every last trace of it for myself with their deaths."

"I can't do any of those things!" Sloane squeaked. She pulled at the manacles with surprising strength but it wasn't enough to free her. "I've never given anything to anyone else!"

"Then we can play a different game if you won't play mine," he hissed menacingly. It was clear his patience was at an end. "Let's pretend I'm a priest here to scourge the wickedness from your soul."

Goodspeed dragged his knife very gently down the inside of one of Sloane's sleekly muscled arms and across her collarbone.

"Do you have anything to confess, my child?" he prodded, ready to cut her down and rebuild her in whatever form he wished.

"Sure," Sloane answered, having finally grown weary of maintaining this farce. "I'm a terrible houseguest and you should never have let me wake up."

The young woman dislocated her left thumb at the same instant she lashed out with both feet, propelling her gangling tormentor away and using the impact to assist in yanking her hand free of its cuff. Even as Goodspeed tumbled backwards, spilling his wicked tools every which way, Sloane pulled the long chain through the metal loop that suspended it, coiling several links of the makeshift weapon about her right fist. Her wounded thumb throbbed but it was the kind of pain that only enhanced her willingness to mete out punishment.

"In all fairness," she offered pointedly, "I didn't really do anything to deceive you here..."

"Trevin!" Goodspeed shrieked, his clinical detachment now long gone.

The lumbering form of the stableboy Sloane had seen outside the Heavy Head crashed through the reinforced door of Goodspeed's private dungeon wielding a pitchfork. She had a sudden impression of the burly young man lurking routinely in the corridor beyond this chamber, exulting in the sounds of terror and anguish coaxed by his master from their hapless guests.

"Gragh!" Trevin managed to articulate as he quickly assessed the situation and stabbed at Sloane with his crude weapon. The brute's mouth hung ajar in his unthinking rage and she could count the few scattered teeth within, sticking up from the dirt of his gums like gravestones with the names of the dead worn away.

Coolly sidestepping Trevin's awkward attack, Sloane slapped her chain contemptuously across the big man's face, listening for the satisfying crunch of his nose giving away as she passed him by. Goodspeed still lay sprawled where he had fallen, perhaps hoping that his churlish rescuer would soon end this inconceivable threat.

Trevin made another angry noise, only slightly more cautious now despite the blood streaming from his nose, and lunged again at the lean girl. Sloane easily dodged again, rolling her eyes at his blundering assault. His was a poor choice for a weapon in these tight quarters. This time, Trevin's steel tines pierced the thick wood of the tall cabinet behind her. The big man stared stupidly at her as he failed to dislodge the implement and she stomped hard on his closest ankle.

"Gragh?" Trevin wailed as he lost his grip on the haft of his fork and crumpled to the stone floor.

Sloane wasted no time, delivering a savage kick to the goon's jaw to keep his head spinning and then, after a moment's consideration, tipping over the enormous bureau on top of him. Trevin's head took all of the weight of the heavy wood and the wet sound it made told her that any chance the stableboy had at earning a fortune modeling fashionable hats was now long gone.

"Trevin?" Goodspeed whimpered, now sounding truly desperate. He still held that ridiculous little knife out before him like some holy symbol warding him against evil.

Sloane ignored the man for the moment, noting with some interest that he had claimed a number of cheroots from her personal possessions. She used a long wooden splinter to transfer a spark from a lantern to the tip of one of the leaf-bound cylinders and inhaled its sweet-tasting smoke. Idly, she swung the chain still secured to her wrist to and fro as she watched the bard-killer's terrified face.

It had been by design that she had begun traveling alongside this band of ill-fated minstrels. Indeed, she had been searching for Goodspeed on behalf of the family of one of the nefarious hosteler's previous victims and the trail had led her to the Heavy Head. While she hadn't wished any particular harm on the trio of performers, Sloane had to admit that they had proven quite useful as cover for this operation. And she certainly couldn't have simply raided Goodspeed's inn without some kind of evidence of his complicity in these dark affairs. Once she was done with the sniveling torturer, she fully intended to make sure the other girls remained safe.

"I think you were telling me about music, Goodspeed," Sloane commented in her most dulcet tone as she finished her smoke. "I bet you have a lovely singing voice."



(Note: I want to be clear that I'm ripping off a scene from Hannibal and not Agents of SHIELD with the thumb thing. Totally important. I really miss playing more brutally pragmatic mercenary types.)

[Dr_Babylon]

So I'm a huge fan of portraying social characters where possible and Pathfinder still seems to be my game du jour. I'd totally play something else should the opportunity present itself, of course, though I am aware that my methods are currently not in vogue (I'd love to do up a Star War but no one answers my calls). The odd new system I've tried have typically been a blast, especially when everyone involved was new as well...

Anyways, the point of this post was to ask about which Adventure Paths (or whatever) are best suited to subtle threats and cunning manipulation, power-brokering through contacts and so on among the Pathfinder repertoire. The vast majority of settings I've seen have been a little heavy on the "undead hordes streaming out of the north" and similar plot devices (not that there's anything wrong with that). Thus, the humble enchanter or mega-Bluff bard may as well hang with the packhorses. I realize that those kinds of characters are always going to see the occasional spot of ineffectuality in their adventures (they need to diversify!), but are there any campaigns that are intentionally geared toward that kind of play? I adore a spot of the old ultra-violence as much as the next player for resolving conflicts but I yearn for the opportunity to at least periodically wrangle the wills and destinies of dangerous men and women. Isn't there one where you end up running the underworld in a city or something? What's the deal with that Kingmaker one? Appease my boundless curiosity!


(Also: Boo. Left a bad taste in my mouth with that that last little tale as my final entry for so long. Need something flashier...)

[Nickademus]

What you are looking for is LB1: Tower of the Last Baron. It's a 3.5E PF module (from before the PF rule system), not an adventure path, but shouldn't be hard to convert to full PF. It has a unique design that promotes non-combat means of accomplishing goals. Having played with a player that talked about his experience in this module, I get the feeling you enjoy it highly as well. It has a sequel too, though not of similar design.

Might be able to sweet talk a GM into running it for you.

[Trenloe]

Anyways, the point of this post was to ask about which Adventure Paths (or whatever) are best suited to subtle threats and cunning manipulation, power-brokering through contacts and so on among the Pathfinder repertoire. The vast majority of settings I've seen have been a little heavy on the "undead hordes streaming out of the north" and similar plot devices (not that there's anything wrong with that). Thus, the humble enchanter or mega-Bluff bard may as well hang with the packhorses. I realize that those kinds of characters are always going to see the occasional spot of ineffectuality in their adventures (they need to diversify!), but are there any campaigns that are intentionally geared toward that kind of play? I adore a spot of the old ultra-violence as much as the next player for resolving conflicts but I yearn for the opportunity to at least periodically wrangle the wills and destinies of dangerous men and women. Isn't there one where you end up running the underworld in a city or something? What's the deal with that Kingmaker one? Appease my boundless curiosity!
Council of Thieves is where the players have to get involved with the underworld: https://paizo.com/pathfinder/adventurePath/councilOfThieves (Assuming you mean criminal underworld, rather than the Drow invested, deep down underworld).

Curse of the Crimson Throne involves court intrigue: https://paizo.com/pathfinder/adventurePath/curseOfTheCrimsonThrone

Kingmaker involves turning a wilderness into your own realm: https://paizo.com/pathfinder/adventurePath/kingmaker As written it has some diplomacy aspects to it (certainly later on from book 3 onwards) but early on it is mostly hex-crawl type exploration.

[Dr_Babylon]

Thank you very much for the quick and insightful responses! Some very feasible options there.

Hard part's over now. All that's left is to find a patient and adaptable GM who will produce the exact gaming experience I seek and a collection of fellow players who want the same things as me and are willing to pause to celebrate my brilliance at every turn.

[Taonna]

If times work I'm always up for interesting things Dr.B you know that

[Dr_Babylon]

Quite some time back, there was a fellow talking about doing a superhero game. I can't remember if it was going to be Mutants and Masterminds or something else entirely but I vaguely recall being rather excited. It never came to be, sadly, though it still got the ideas rattling around inside my impulsive melon.

To tell the truth, I've got a couple of comic book-themed stories socked away for a rainy day but this little project here deals with a simpler concept. Just a girl who might fit well on a superhero team in a world where special powers are a new occurrence and public scrutiny is a demanding mistress. I'm imagining some big corporate entity fielding a group of superheroes (the player characters) who have to appease focus groups and media attention at nearly every turn. Collateral damage in that fight with the Atlantean terrorists last week means Nike and Coca Cola pulled their funding and so on.

Any way...it exploded on the launchpad. But for those who like reading my stuff, I give you...


Running Off At the Mouth

Bo Wainwright had never been a fan of riding the bus. Charleston wasn't that big of a city but she accepted that making the commute to the other side of town necessitated the indignity of public transportation. Still she could never get over the idea that there was something terribly impersonal and burdensome about this routine journey, like begging a ride from someone you could barely stand and having to listen to all their stories on the way. Bo's mother liked her current school better than those closer to her home. She said it was more "up-scale" and the girl had to admit that she fit in there well enough.

Staring out the window at a bright and sunny day, Bo listened to the city rumble by and reflected on how much easier it would be to simply run home on her own two feet. Recent events had changed Bo's life in ways she never could have predicted. Her best friend Brett said that she was part of a new and elite sub-culture on account of certain powers she'd obtained. He was kind of funny like that, always making up fantasies about those kinds of things, but even Bo had to admit that she was indeed pretty different from other girls her age.

Folks on the TV talked about the big changes a lot but no one seemed to really have a clear idea of what created them. The most widely accepted theories pointed to energy coming from alternate realities that only effected a small part of the population. They said that a lot on the news, referring to "extra-dimensional radiation" and similar terms that scared the heck out of Bo when she first started changing. Some folks even used words like "mutation" and "sorcery" (honest to God!) but she didn't really think about it all that much anymore. All she had to know about the strange powers inside her was that they let her sprint fast as lightning and made her tough enough so that she wouldn't rattle apart when she did. And Bo liked that just fine.

The bus passed an intersection near the middle of town and Bo's eye was drawn to what looked like some trouble just heating up far down the block off to one side. She leaned forward, craning her neck to see out the window and holding her breath as she tried to make out some extra details. She thought maybe her vision had gotten a little better since her change. That would only make sense, Bo figured, as she needed to see where she was going. Not many of those effected in the rest of the world had come forward to speak about their powers but those that did seemed to agree that some kind of thought had got into their design. A man who became super-strong tended to become tougher too, if only so that his bones didn't crumble under the work his muscles did. Right now, Bo's eyes were sharp enough to make out an armored truck like the kind used for bank transfers stalled on the street and a group of armed men in black ski-masks moving towards it.

Bo yanked the cord to let the driver know she wanted off, noting in her excitement that none of the other passengers had seen the robbery in progress. She felt giddy and her heart was racing. Bo had done a few things to test out her super-speed since the change but this was the first chance she'd had to really involve herself in something like this. Brett said that the other people he'd heard of were superheroes and, at first, that had sounded pretty silly to Bo. She loved her friend dearly but she had the idea that maybe he played too many video games and read too many comic books. Since then, she'd been paying attention to all the media coverage the special people got and she was slowly growing to accept the strange possibilities.

Hopping off the bus as soon as the door slid open, Bo nearly forgot to suppress her powers and cast a worried glance over her shoulder, certain that someone might have noticed. Her cheeks burning with shame, Bo darted (at normal speed) into the closest alley she could find, intent on changing out of her school clothes. She was plenty quick but that didn't mean she wanted to chance anyone getting a look at her fighting crime in a skirt and sweater-vest. The plain hoodie and black yoga pants in her bag would have to suffice. Bo just thanked her lucky stars that she'd thought to switch to the running shoes in her locker after class.

Almost quicker than she could have said the words, Bo was out of one outfit and into the other. Sparing another moment, she tucked her cellphone inside her schoolbag and hid that behind a dumpster in the alley. Her family didn't have a lot of money and it would break her heart if she lost the phone her mother had worked so hard to buy for her. With her things secured, Bo peered around, trying to get her bearings. It had been less than a minute since she exited the bus but she suspected that things were already getting well out of hand back at the bank truck. Staying off the street, the teenager let the energy swell inside her and took off at a trot faster than any saddle horse to cut across the block.

Even worried like she was for the anyone who might get hurt, Bo couldn't keep from grinning. Among the many powers that had been identified, she didn't imagine any would be quite so much fun as hers (except maybe flying).

Her history teacher, Mr. Mackay, had told her class about how some scholars felt that there had been special people gifted the same way she was in the past. He said that was maybe where stories about Greek myths and angels in the Bible and other things had come from. Bo thought that was a pretty neat idea. Like some people just became special when the world needed them to make a difference. She had actually considered telling Mr. Mackay about her because he was her favorite teacher and he knew about a lot of things. So far, only Brett knew but she was pretty sure that Mr. Mackay could keep it secret (and she maybe thought he was kind of handsome, too).

Whirling around a corner, Bo felt the treads on her shoes sliding more than she liked on the pavement and made a mental note to explore that issue later. She had spent some time browsing online for costume choices, figuring that she ought to do this superhero thing right. Since the other changed people had appeared, there were a few companies that marketed tougher materials and other special options toward them. Brett said that it was just a PR stunt but Bo couldn't help but bookmark those sites, even if she could never afford ultra-tough boots and friction-free leotards.

(continues...)

[Dr_Babylon]

(...continuing)

Spotting her quarry just ahead, Bo pulled her hood lower, wishing that she'd thought to wear sunglasses. If anyone got a good look at her, she expected they'd be less than impressed. Bo wore her honey-blonde hair in a sporty bob cut and her wide sage-green eyes were anything but intimidating. She knew that she had a bad habit of looking puzzled even when she had a pretty good handle on things and while she certainly wasn't just some bimbo, she often found herself giggling helplessly where others might laugh and join in on the joke. Petite and bordering on waifish throughout most of her life, Bo was secretly quite pleased that she finally seemed to be filling out like many of her classmates had before her. Brett had taken pains (in his own awkward way) to encourage her whenever he could in this department but his reassurances did little to placate her. When backed into a corner, Brett seemed to relish telling her how cute he thought she was and that never failed to gall her for reasons she could never understand. She sure didn't know any other girls her age who spent time in front of a mirror to rise to the glowing praise of "cute". Right now, at least, none of this mattered. As long as she kept her makeshift costume in place, she could be whoever she wanted.

Bo heard one of the masked men swear as she came to a stop nearby and she couldn't help but blush beneath her disguise, whether out of embarrassment at his creative language or pride at having startled him so. Seconds had passed since she had switched appearances in the alleyway and she hadn't come up with any fresh thoughts regarding how to actually stop these men.

"Didn't know this town had any supers!" the robber bellowed, leveling what looked like a shotgun at her and pulling the trigger.

Bo's mother didn't like guns and she didn't have much interest in them either. The noise was enormous as it fired at her but she was already moving out of the way. Absurdly, she wondered how easy if would be to pick the pellets out of the air as they passed her by but she focused her attention on the gunman. The girl felt like her mind was working at a million miles a minute as she closed on the robber, his fingers seemingly frozen in the task of working the slide on his weapon. She was a tiny bit frightened now as she had never been in a fight before. She knew that she was fast enough that she could dodge bullets all day long but she really had no idea how to begin striking back at them in return.

Since she had been granted her powers, Bo had expended no small effort in brushing up on physics. That had been Brett's idea, of course, and he even took the time to tutor her whenever he could (science stuff wasn't really her thing, normally). He told her how important it was to understand the forces in play when she moved at super-speed and she tried to do her best. Honestly, concepts like velocity and inertia all sounded like an alien language to her and she didn't think her mass was really any of Brett's business but he sure seemed to take it seriously. Noting now how the masked man towered over her, Bo vowed to try harder (and maybe look into a kick-boxing class on the side).

"It's awful easy to get a bank card if you really want one!" Bo told the man, her words linking together in a speedy, high-pitched buzz.

His stupefied gaze locked on hers for an instant before he tried to swing the big gun toward her. One of her little fists lashed out at such speed that the weapon rocketed from his grip and flew across the street. Later on she would be thankful that she hadn't torn his fingers off. Right now, Bo just wanted to knock him down.

"Even my little sister has a bank card!" she chortled, punching with both hands against his brawny chest now. She would have to practice slowing down her witty banter later on so everyone could enjoy it. Despite the discrepancy in size, Bo recognized that striking him about the sternum seventeen times in a second should have the desired effect.

The first robber sank to the street before Bo and she was trying to decide whether or not she should hit him again (and thanking heaven for her own mildly enhanced durability) when she heard a tell-tale click behind her. Bo twisted to one side, thinking vaguely of firing pins and how little she understood guns, and then hurled herself at a second gunman. Slightly more cautious now, she unlaced his fingers, one by one, from the grip of the heavy revolver he held and then swung it like a hammer to give the side of his jaw a sharp rap. Slowing down once more, Bo was sickened to hear the bone crunch in his mouth at the exact instant the first and only bullet he had fired bounced off the armored truck's wheelwell with a jaunty spang!

"Nobody told me this was a team event!" she commented, meeting a third criminal's eye across the hood of the bank truck. "This job come with full dental?" Bo was truly elated things were going so well but she decided she should go a little easier on this guy. She was kind of afraid all of the sudden that she might be able to really hurt somebody.

"Stay back!" he ordered. "I'll kill these guys!"

Craning her neck slightly, Bo could see that he had both of the armored truck's occupants laid out on the ground and what looked like an automatic pistol pointed down toward them. If she was the only one at risk, Bo would have had no problem charging in there, but she was unwilling to take a chance that one of these guys might suffer.

"Calm down," Bo told him, raising both her hands so he could see they were empty. Like that mattered. "You sound like one of them yappy little dogs, you know." She thought it might be a good idea to keep him angry and focused on her. She made another mental note to google "hostage negotiations" when she got a chance.

"Who the hell are you?" the last gunman asked, his voice cracking.

That had been a topic of much contention between Bo and Brett. With his background in superhero literature, he had been all over the idea of her picking a name for her alter-ego right from the start. Bo had felt ridiculous even considering the notion. After she'd committed to a few training exercises around town and rumors surrounding her existence had started to fly, Bo had begun to acknowledge the significance of her new role. Brett had given her a list that hadn't really sparked her imagination (he'd been particularly proud of "E-Motion" for some reason). Having put a lot of thought into it, Bo had picked a favorite after saving two little kids from a burning house the previous week. She'd told them that her name was Double-Time and she had loved the wondering admiration in their eyes as they'd stared up at her. In her idle moments, Bo pictured how an official logo might look once she pulled together the money to buy a real costume. And her heart had soared the day after the house-fire when she made her first headline in the Post and Courier ("Does Charleston Have Its Own Special?"). Bo didn't like to admit how good her burgeoning fame felt, and it certainly came in second to helping folks, but it was a factor.

"I'm Double-Time," Bo told the robber, smiling confidently beneath her hood. "And I'm taking you to jail, mister." She wasn't completely proud of that last line but she supposed it fit the situation.

"Well Double-Time," he answered, raising his pistol to aim it at her, "you're about to become double-dead!"

As soon as his weapon was away from the defenseless guards, Bo was in motion. Clearing the space between them in less than the blink of an eye, she threw all her limited weight behind a hard shove and darn near rebounded off the heavier man in her haste. Bo was fortunate in her angle of attack and the soles of her shoes maintained contact with the asphalt beneath her.

"That's just dumb!" she told the final robber scornfully as he flew away from her, eager to cover for her near-miss. "Double-dead doesn't even mean anything. Think it through, bro!" Bo's lecture was lost on her incapacitated adversary and she heaved a hefty sigh despite warm pride she felt at a job well done. That had almost been too easy and she wasn't even winded!

"You guys o--?" she managed to utter in her typical chipper tone as she turned her attention to the prostrate bank guards.

From behind, the slim teenager was hit by some unknowable force, sounding like a savage howl accompanied by a much lower tone that she felt more than heard and it left all the softer tissues in her body throbbing like a broken tooth. The blast knocked the sense right out of her and sent her cascading head over heels, as if she'd been hit by a freight train, onto the hard pavement next to the truck. Struggling to turn over, she stared muzzily up at a trio of ominous figures who had appeared as if out of thin air.

(continues...)

[Dr_Babylon]

(...continues)

"Nice hit, Wolfwhistle," the man in the middle acknowledged. Bo was having trouble resolving any details in their appearances; it was like trying to discern silhouettes in front of a rising sun. This one sounded just pleased as punch and she could tell he was smiling. He sounded affable, like some good-old-boy country-western singer, only with a hint of menace just beneath. This one was a candy apple full of razor blades, she mused absently. "She don't even look too hurt."

"No problem, Kenny Ray," the one who had struck her responded, his voice soft and gruff. He was tall and thin and he appeared to be clad in a long coat of dark leather with gray fur trim, despite the hot sun. Between that and the mask he wore, with two points rising like ears on either side, Bo would have laughed out loud at him if her lungs would get with the program. The fact that he had pounded the crud out of her without even touching her made her feel a lot less giddy, too.

"Should I grab her?" rumbled the third man, a bulky, scowling monster. Almost as wide as he was tall, this one looked like he could he could scamper off with the bank truck tossed over one shoulder. Bo realized, with a belated sense of dread, that she was looking at more super-people.

Brett had told her that might happen. If there were specials doing good things in this world then it was only a matter of time before others showed up who were only out for themselves. Her friend had even suggested that this might have happened already but the government or media were covering it up to keep normal folks from panicking. Bo had dismissed this, presuming Brett was just living out his comic book fantasies but now his idle thoughts had become her waking nightmare.

"Nah," the one called Kenny Ray replied, and Bo could only furrow her brow in confusion at his mercy. She was certain this was one of Brett's video game death-matches and that she had already lost. Peering in puzzlement up at the jovial redneck mastermind, Bo didn't know that she was quite ready to feel relieved just yet. "You leave her be, Aggressor. She an' I gonna have us a chat."

"Wha...?" Bo managed, trying to rise.

"Hold it right there, now," the leader advised, his disarming tone edged with venom.

Bo stayed where she was. She was just now discovering a crippling numbness in her limbs that positively terrified her. She couldn't so much as ball a fist much less fight the three of them off. Vaguely, she wondered if this Kenny Ray had any powers.

"You're plenty quick, honey, but my man here can hit you with a wall of sound that won't leave you no way 'round it." The leader chuckled, sounding almost good-natured. "Make you crap your pants an' wish you was dead." He took a step closer, taking her surrender for granted. "I expect you best just lay there an' listen to what I gotta say."

The man hunkered down before Bo, just out of reach should she swing an arm his way.

"You know who I am, girl?" he prompted.

"You're...kinda familiar..." she offered dimly, still pretty addled.

"Growin' up hereabouts I expect you known your share of Kenny Rays," he assured her with a grin. "But I was the first one you ever met."

Bo stared stupidly up at him, her mouth hanging open in startled bewilderment.

"That's right, Bonnie," the leader of the super-powered goon-squad told her. "I'm your daddy, Kenny Ray Dodd."

"Uh-uh," she moaned, shaking her head like an angry toddler and feeling wretched. "My...my daddy died inna army."

"Oh that is just too cute!" hooted Wolfwhistle. He and the big man still stood at Kenny Ray's back, peering off in different directions as if they were keeping watch. Bo suddenly wondered at the absence of any police or other authorities. How much time had elapsed now?

"I expect that's what your momma told you," the man in front of Bo snorted, still grinning.

"Guess that makes you some kinda war hero, Kenny Ray," the big man suggested thoughtfully, in a voice like distant thunder.

"Guess it does at that," the leader agreed, shaking his head in amusement. "That why you called yourself Double-Time?" he mused. "Like some kinda army slang?"

Bo stared up at him, perplexed that this slimy crook would be the first to understand the meaning of her chosen moniker. She nodded dumbly.

"You'da just called yourself Hummin'bird you woulda saved us all some confusion," Kenny Ray pointed out.

As soon as that familiar nickname from so long ago left his lips, Bo's heart sank. His words blew the dust off primordial, half-formed memories from her earliest days, confirming without doubt that this callous, self-serving rogue looming over her was indeed her father.

"No!" Bo whimpered, angry at the quavering tone she used and the angry burning in her eyes that she wouldn't let grow into tears. She didn't feel very much like a superhero right now. Her pending destruction at the hands of these villains seemed almost a secondary concern next to her embarrassment at her own childish meltdown. "You gonna kill me now?" she asked as an afterthought.

"Not hardly," her father responded. "Just checkin' in on you is all. Saw them reports of some pretty little thing on the news who had herself some special powers. Said to myself you hadda be mine. An' here you are." For an instant, Bo had the bizarre notion that the man was about to scoop her up and hug her but he didn't. "You just gettin' started out an' I expect you doin' well enough. But you sure ain't ready to tangle with me an' my boys. Got a whole bunch more, by the way, in case you was wonderin'."

"So...?" Bo was still so confused.

"Give it time, is all I'm sayin'," her father continued. "We sure gonna meet up again. An' maybe we'll be enemies an' maybe we won't..." He nodded meaningfully at his cohorts. "Either way, I'm keepin' an eye on you. So try to slow down every once in a while an' lemme see how you doin', okay?"

"I...I can't let you leave," Bo protested. Right about now, she doubted she could overpower a bowl of frozen yogurt.

"We've all had us a busy day, Hummin'bird," Kenny Ray told her magnanimously, dismissing her concerns. "I expect you're thinkin' about maybe settin' there for a spell to mull over all I said while we get outta your hair."

"Actually," Bo retorted, hoping desperately that she sounded more threatening than sulky, "right now I'm thinkin' that punchin' you in the throat at Mach 3 will start me feelin' a whole lot better!" Her arms and legs felt shaky but she positioned them subtly against the asphalt all the same, hoping to take the three of them in a rush.

"That's more like it!" her father chuckled, clearly delighted. He looked to his companions. "Is she my girl or ain't she?"

"Right, Kenny Ray," Wolfwhistle murmured impassively while Aggressor nodded his blunt head.

"You got a lot of spunk, kiddo," her father told her, and all the warmth was gone now from his voice like it had never been. "But if you get up before we're gone, my boys are gonna hurt you real bad. Just 'cause I ain't gonna enjoy it don't mean it ain't gonna happen." He smiled once more but his eyes were colder than frost on a tombstone. "Play it smart an' be plenty scared of me, girl, an' you might just live long enough to see me again."

"Yes, Daddy," Bo answered, immediately ashamed of her spinelessness as the strength fled from her trembling limbs once more. She felt like she was four years old again. Tears finally erupted in her big green eyes, like policemen arriving at a crime-scene far too late to stop the violence, and rolled freely down her cheeks as her father looked on.

"Grab up that money there," her father ordered casually to his troops. "But leave them guards in peace," he added charitably, smiling down at his daughter as he rose. "My little Hummin'bird done saved some lives today. Makes a father proud."


(fin)

[Dr_Babylon]

Let's do another hypothetical for all you wiser and more experienced gamers out there. Those are always fun.

It's late in 1944 and things aren't going so well for the German war effort. The best-laid plans are beginning to unravel and the men at the top are growing desperate as they feel time running out. Pressures from within their own ranks--to say nothing of the foreign enemy closing in--leave them willing to entertain notions once thought ludicrous. This story makes use of that old standby about the Axis powers snatching up artifacts of religious or supernatural significance in order to gain the edge during World War II.

The player characters are members of a sort of think-tank tasked with chasing down every possibility. They are occultists, antiquarians, treasure hunters, crackpot scientists, scholars of folklore, and perhaps even psychics. Individually, they may be serving their Nazi overseers out of loyalty, greed, fear, or even detached and professional curiosity (with access to otherwise unobtainable resources, perhaps). Likely, these are not evil people but they have been forced into an untenable position by the slime of humanity because they possess unique powers or esoteric knowledge that make them valuable. Their assignment is to move with purpose across a war-torn globe in search of anything that might benefit their cruel masters, who wait with knives and nooses and ever diminishing patience. Can our unlikely heroes find the means to strike from within against the dark heart of tyranny? Or will it simply be enough to for these creative thinkers and erudite explorers to survive in the face of the grim savagery of man and the strange mysteries they manage to unearth?

With that setup in mind, what game system do we feel would best serve? An atmosphere of paranoia would be ideal as well as a pervasive "race against the clock" element. Violent combat would likely be a last resort kind of thing so lethality would be essential. Diverse skill rules would be handy as well, utilizing knowledge and charismatic manipulation, to say nothing of being able to pilot a cargo plane and navigate a safe path through the jungles of India. Also, accuracy to the era regarding technology, geography and social perspectives would benefit the overall feel. Anyone have any suggestions? Is there already a system or campaign world that touches on these aspects?

Just making conversation.

[dulux-oz]

Sounds like Call of Cthulu would fit nicely, or maybe Hell On Earth-Weird Wars (I prefer the pre-Savage Worlds version, personally).

You could also do it with d20 modern, Alternatity (I'm thinking more the X-Files stuff as opposed to the StarDrive setting), Indiana Jones RPG or even GURPS.

That should get you started - and throw the cat amongst the pigeons.

Cheers

[bcp001]

Smacks of Call of Cthulu as the previous poster mentioned, there's also a pulp source book for Rolemaster that would fit but would play a bit drier.

Maybe Dark Conspiracy, but there's no ruleset for FG.

[Dr_Babylon]

Thank you for the thoughtful replies. I thought that would be an interesting setup, though I expected that innovative game-builders had beaten me to that sort of premise on some level.

[darrenan]

Not to mention you can basically do anything with Fate.