Changeling: Session 2

When we last met, the group had finished playing get-to-know-you, and was just starting to deal with the disappearance of their friend, while reeling from the chaos of a major explosion right outside of their old meeting spot.

44 Hours After the Bus Exploded

Drake had reached out to a contact of his who works in Atlantic City, asking what he could find out about Meagan.  He learns that she had a record, pot possession, and that she was known to have been in contact with a local dealer known only as “Diggles”.  Obviously that’s an alias, but no one seems to have any other information on the guy.  Drake figures this is better than nothing, and thanks his contact.

Wally is at work, manning the CVS prescription counter, and it is a slow night.  He jerks awake suddenly, realising that he’d dozed off.  He looks down to find that while he was off, he’d been writing furiously on an empty prescription bag.  A chemical formula.  Just as he’s trying to make sense of it, the pharmacy phone rings.  He answers it, but there are only a series of four clicks and then a dial tone.  He thinks nothing of it and returns to the formula.  Suddenly it clicks.  He knows.  It is the formula for whatever was in the bomb the blew the #7 bus two nights before.  And whatever was in the bomb was mostly solid state rocket fuel.

The phone rings again.  This time it is an old woman, a regular customer, inquiring about her prescription, and after she hangs up, he hears it again – four clicks followed by the dial tone.  Suspicious, Wally carefully takes apart the receiver (it is an old phone, permanently connected to the wall base with a curling cord) and finds two small components soldered in, components that are clearly much newer than the ancient phone.  He wraps them carefully in a latex glove for later examination and checks the phone still works.  It does.

That night, Alex is working at a homeless shelter, something he does from time to time, hoping to find his daughter.  As he’s cleaning out a massive soup pot, his cell phone rings.  He answers, but only hears four clicks, and then dial tone.  Twenty minutes later, it happens again.  Never any caller ID.  By the time he leaves the shelter around 9:45, he has received more of these unusual calls, and as he steps outside, it happens again.  Only this time, across from him in a dark alley, he sees a black panel van start up, and inside is the silhouette of someone lowering a phone from their ear.  The van moves off, and Alex notes that it has no license plates.  He immediately texts the group members, inquiring about the strange calls, and gets a reply back from Wally.

Gareth is in his studio apartment, working on a new piece of sculpture, news radio on in the background, still listening to coverage of the explosion investigation.  They’re zeroing in on a suspect, they say, and the attack is definitely domestic and not Islamic in nature.  The chemical signature is providing great leads, and they can report that the suspect is a white male between the ages of 16 and 35.  Morgan is in her shop, doing readings for late night customers.  Neither receives any calls, suspicious or otherwise.

Goom is asleep in a maintenance tunnel.  He awakens to hear heavy rain and notes that his wristwatch has stopped.  He hears a groan in the distance and advances towards it.  Around a bend in the tunnel, he sees a male figure in a canvas coat, arms akimbo, long greasy hair in his face, kneeling.  There is a puddle of water around him growing ever larger, and the sound of falling water is coming from him.  Goom double back to get his gun before investigating further.  The man begins to shake, and the closer Goom gets, the more violent the shaking becomes.  As Goom comes around to face him, the man’s head snaps up – his face is melting like a candle.  Goom knows he looks familiar, he’s seen this, and as this thought crosses his mind, the man’s body just dissipates, becoming one with the puddle.

Goom sits up suddenly from where he’d been sleeping in the maintenance tunnel.  There is no more rain, although he notes he has wet himself.  He collects his meager belongings, intending to burn his soiled sleeping bag in an incinerator.  When he looks down the corridor where the man had been, there is no evidence of the puddle, although the exact canvas jacket is there.  He takes that, too, to burn it.  

The next day, Morgan goes out to find a new spot for the group to meet, as they don’t feel comfortable at the old building any more.  She finally gets a Christian book store to agree to host, after hours.  The shop will be empty, although there will be an employee staying around the front, just to keep an eye on things.  No offense meant, of course, but they have to be careful.  She informs the group of the new meeting place via text messages, although she leaves a note for Goom at a diner he had specified for them as a drop point for communications.

When the group next meets, they discuss the strange calls – Alex has continued getting them and had gone to a Verizon store to get his phone repaired.  They gave him a refurbished phone as a loaner, and he still gets calls.  Wally brings up his insight about the explosive formula, and they all figure that it was rigged in such a way to only take out the bus and everyone on board, not actually wreck the surroundings.  They also talk at length about Meagan, and what to do about finding her.

Drake mentions the lead he had gotten from his contact, and when he mentions the name “Diggles” Gareth snaps to attention.  He knew a dealer named Diggles, back in the late 80s, during the height of his heroin addiction.  This guy, actually Mark-something, was a notorious idiot with a strange business model – he wanted to be the “Dominoes delivery guy of drugs”.  He had apparently been inspired by some guy in the 70s who ran a grilled-cheese-and-Mary-Jane delivery service, although Diggles had designs to take it beyond Manhattan, to service the whole NY-NJ area, and beyond.

As the group is departing, the young girl at the front of the store comments darkly about some advert on TV:  A famous magician (think David Blaine or Criss Angel), Konstantyn, will be holding a “Christmas Day Massacre” live on NBC in Times Square.  Konstantyn, as it turns out, bears a striking resemblance to Alex, who acknowledges that this is the guy who replaced him and ruined his family.  With this knowledge, they all (except Goom) head for a bar.

After some time at the bar, everyone but Morgan and Gareth notice a kid on a bike pull up outside of the bar and enter.  He’s a character – spiky hair with frosted tips, an oversized puffy coat, basically an idiot.  He approaches a table of college kids, hands them a brown paper bag, and leaves.  When the others comment on the guy, Gareth notes that this seems very much like the fashion that Diggles might have adopted, although the kid is easily 25 years too young to be his old dealer.  Drake questions how someone would have gotten to be so close with the guy who sold him drugs, but Gareth just shrugs it off.

Over the next few days, the group goes about their separate business.  Wally confronts his landlord, Hank, who he knows to be a small time dealer, if he knows a guy named Diggles, and Hank confirms that he does.  He is not, however, on good terms with Diggles, as he has taken a lot of good business from Hank.  When Wally informs him that some people are just interested in talking with him, Hank hands Wally Diggles’ calling card – a sticker with a pot leaf on it, a phone number, and his slogan.  Hank asks if these people are going to teach Diggles a lesson, at which Wally just shrugs.

The group decides to meet outside of their regular meeting time, selecting Aberdeen Park Square, an open public area, to have a picnic and discuss new developments.  Wally offers up the sticker, and Drake calls the number, smarming his way through a series of lower level guys until he speaks to the man himself.  He tells Diggles that he’s interested in “starting a franchise” and wishes to speak with him.  Diggles, all the while spouting off forced thug-speak, agrees to meet him the next evening… at the very same park they are sitting in now.  Drake agrees and, ending the call, lets everyone know.  A message is sent to Goom in the usual way.

So the next day, there they all are again, though not together.  Goom is feigning sleep on a park bench, curled under a blanket.  At the appointed time, a black Escalade with pot-leaf spinner rims and underbody lighting pulls up.  A large guy steps out of the car and waits by the open door.  Drake approaches and indicates he is the guy who called, and Diggles (who is inside the Escalade) says that he wants Drake to get in so that they aren’t seen talking in public.  Drake refuses, as he’s not sure what Diggles, or more importantly one of his two overlarge body guards, might do.  Diggles goes through some show of pulling a gun and waving it around, but Drake doesn’t move.  They go back and forth about the matter for some time, ultimately culminating in Diggles actually shooting at Drake. 

Shooting at him – not actually shooting into him.  Diggles has a thing about firing his gun sideways, which kills his aim.  Drake dodges and runs around the vehicle for cover, and that’s when all hell breaks loose.

From under the blanket, Goom brings out a M-16 assault rifle and expertly fires a single shot into the Escalade’s engine block, killing the ride.  Diggles and his goons flee, wildly firing shots behind them.

Gareth, Morgan, and Wally scatter, returning to their own homes.  Drake, shaken, similarly makes tracks.  Goom, with his rifle… disappears.  Alex, however, who has been sitting in a Starbucks across the street, takes out his phone and calls 911, staying on the phone with the dispatcher until authorities arrive.

Changeling: Session 1

We've started a new game, now that Deadlands has come to an end.  The same group of players is now wading into a modern-age game using White Wolf's New World of Darkness Changeling: The Lost rules.  I've taken on the task of writing the session recaps, as our GM liked it so much when S.P. did them for Deadlands.

It is definitely weird, being in the Now, with cars, and cell phones, and other lines of communication beyond telegrams, letters, and shouting, as we've been stuck in the 1870s for the past two years.

Every Thursday night at 10:00, a support group for abduction victims meets in the basement of a church in Manhattan.  These aren’t your run of the mill abductees (if there really is such a thing) these people have stories that are strange.  Off.

A young woman named Meagan – Rule #1: no last names – runs the group.  She’s a wild child, a lone wolf, never content to stay in one place for very long, although she’s been heading up this group for the past several years.

Also in the group:  A young woman named Morgan who favours the Gypsy styles that go along with her chosen profession of fortune telling.  Wallace (Wally), a Korean kid who works the over-night shift at a 24-hour CVS pharmacy and has a scary aptitude for science.  Gareth, a skinny freelance artist with a history of drug use and the track marks to show for it.  New to the group are Alex, a guy who works odd jobs, primarily in the janitorial sector, and is looking for the daughter he left behind when he was taken, and Drake, a dark and smarmy fellow who works as a private accountant.  There’s also a strange fellow known only as Goom, who works at the church cleaning things.  He’s quiet and suspicious, always cautioning the others to live off the grid and under the radar so that They won’t find them.

Meetings progress about as normally as these things do.  People share stories of daily struggles and small triumphs.  Alex had a panic attack at work and had to spend the rest of his shift cleaning toilets.  Gareth just had a mildly successful art show in the Village.  Meagan shares  that a former member of the group, a fellow now known as Michael “Mickey” O’Shannahan, recently committed suicide.  He had been close to Meagan, sort of a sponsor.  Diagnosed with bipolar disorder, he’d been medicated until recently, though it was debatable whether that was truly effective.

The group all acknowledges that they know they were replaced in their old lives by Others.  Others who look like them, who sound like them, who have taken over whatever it was they each were doing at the time they were taken.  Others whose existence means that they can each never go back to what they used to have, can never be who or what they were before.  Others who, it must be admitted, are all far more successful than those that were taken might ever have been, abduction or no. 

Are they mad?  Of course, some of them are.  But not all of them are filled with the venom that Drake seems to have.

Three weeks into our story, Meagan announces that she’s ending her time in NYC and handing over the group to Morgan, the next most senior member.  Meagan will be shipping off with a “School at Sea” to teach photography.

The next week, the first without Meagan, the group convenes at the church as normal.  When they go into the meeting room, however, an unsettling sight greets them:  Scattered maliciously about the room are several copies of seven photographs, all of Meagan.  One of them, on the seat she usually occupied, has had the eyes cut out and black permanent marker scribbled across her mouth.  Turning the photograph over, they find “TOUCHED” scrawled in permanent marker.  None of the other pictures have been vandalised.

The group discusses whether or not to call the police, ultimately deciding against it, because what would they say?  There’s also a healthy amount of paranoia among the group, which helps sway that vote.  Gareth collects one of each photo, as well as the defaced one, and tucks them into his ever present sketch book.  Others take some of the photos as well.

It is decided not to hold group tonight, as they don’t know what might be lurking around.  Everyone makes their way out of the building and up to the street.

That’s when the bus explodes.

The #7 bus goes up like a torch, spewing scraps of white hot metal and debris into the air.  The fire is hot, so hot, and all the bystanders in the area (including, of course, our wayward foundlings) scatter.  They notice that it is not all entirely bus materials, some of it is biological.

With emergency sirens starting to scream in the distance, Wally finds himself grabbed and pulled into an alley – he takes a wild swing that misses before he realises that it is Goom.  Goom mutters something about keeping low and not letting anyone find them before he ultimately disappears into the shadows, presumably going back to wherever it is that Goom lives.

The group all return to their respective abodes, keeping close watch on the news.  Over the next several hours, nothing of note is said.  The word “terrorism” is never directly stated, although the officials suspect it is an intentional bombing, and they are closing the harbour, bridges, and airports, and are looking for multiple suspects.

Initiation

So we're inducting a bunch of n00bs into roleplaying tonight.  This is going to be awesome.

Recently, a few friends had approached M'Colleague, expressing an interest in tabletop RPGs, as they had honestly never encountered them ever, aside from whatever cultural osmosis.  Having had gaming as a part of my life for ages, this is an exceedingly foreign thing to me. 

Of course, sitting down to play tonight will be just as foreign, if not moreso, to our mates.  This hit me hardest when, just a bit ago, I observed M'Colleague scanning the character sheets and setting aside the specific die types each new player will need.  Of course!  Presenting them with our jar o' dice and letting them rummage through it is one approach, but as this is meant to be an educational evening, it seems appropriate to say, "Here are the tools you need [dice and character sheets] let's take it from here."  If the game continues and levelling happens, along with the acquisition of bigger and better weaponry, dice rummaging can happen.

We're breaking them in with a 1st level 4th Edition D&D game that, according to M'Colleague, was partly inspired by that Red Riding Hood movie that came out a couple years ago.  While I can't recommend it purely for the story (it was just too cliché for my taste) the setting and atmosphere is really great, and I'm excited to see what comes of the game.

The players described what they wanted to play and characters have been pre-generated from there.  One wanted to play Arwen Undomiel, and she's ended up with an Eladrin Warlord.  Another wanted to also play an Elf, but to be a magic user, and good with the fightings; she'll be a Hexblade.  Our third newbie spotted Sir Bearington in a forum post and was inspired.  He's ended up with a Longtooth Shifter Druid.

I'll also be playing, since S.P. is running.  I was on the fence on what I should do.  The party already has a Leader, Striker, and Controller, so we were in need of a Defender.  I want to be helpful, but I also want to try something new.  And, let's be honest, I want to mess with my friends a little, because that's always fun.  So I drew up a Paladin.

A Pixie Paladin.

A Pixie Paladin who is pretty much a literal interpretation of Sunflash from The Mighty Boosh's Future Sailors live tour.  M'Colleague let everyone pick Themes and Backgrounds, so I took the theme of Seer (he's from the fyoocha after all) and the background Born On Another Plane (from a planet called Camden, in another dimension).  Check out Noel Fielding in glammy action as Sunflash here:

 Yeah, I'm a dick.

The Wedding Dress: A Love Affair

I'm getting married in nine months.  Nine.  Single digits.  Fewer than the fingers on my hands or toes on my feet.  Granted, it is still most of a year away, but it still seems that there is so little time.

First order of business is to make the dress. I'm that insane, I'm making my wedding gown.  And yes, I'm posting about it on the blog that my fiancé reads.  It's OK.  He's already seen the pattern, and we're not terribly traditional or superstitious anyway.  If I can help it, I'll try not to let him see me in it until The Day, but knowing me I'm bound to get excited and try it on anyway.

Crafting my own wedding gown wasn't always a part of my Someday plans.  But it sort of just fell into place and ended up making so much sense.  Things do that.  My whole relationship with this dress, not yet even started, has been one crazy serendipitous moment after another.

My junior/senior year of college, I worked at a fabric store, which was one of the best retail experiences of my life.  One morning, I was putting away new patterns in those big filing cabinets, when what should my eyes behold but The One.  Like many girls, I had a general idea of what I wanted my wedding gown to look like, but suddenly there it was, all folded up in an envelope, staring back at me.  My eyes went wide, mouth suddenly dry, and I think I made some sort of unseemly noise.  I had to have it.

McCall's M4713.  Sadly out of print.

I got insanely lucky.  Not only did I get my employee discount, but McCall's patterns were on sale that week.  I think I acquired it for a grand total of $0.80 or something ridiculous like that.  I wasn't even dating anyone at the time, so it just got put away among the dozens of other patterns in my collection.

Some years later when M'Colleague and I started getting Serious, I busted it out to show him, and it was met with immediate approval.  

Other than that, I'd only ever shown the pattern to my mum and a sibling.  Two years ago my grandmother, one of my best friends, was losing a battle with cancer.  Knowing that she would not see it in person, I brought the pattern to the hospice one afternoon.  Before it was out of my purse, she described to me what she thought it would look like, and damn it if she didn't hit on every detail almost exactly.  Granted, this is the woman to whom I owe both my sense of style and passion for sewing, so it must not have been a far stretch for her to guess; it still floored me.  I wish I'd shown it to her sooner, but I'm so glad I got her blessing.

Nana-Lady styling Tiny-Me

Recently, my mum accompanied me on a weekend of flitting about from fabric shop to fabric shop to start buying the materials to make the dress.  There was a lot of really lovely fabric to choose from at each stop, but what we ended up buying was found back at the store that I'd worked at several years before, where I'd found the pattern.  Though I have a fierce loyalty to that store, it wasn't a conscious decision to buy there; it was just the right fabric.

Also, I lost the pattern.  When we started heading in the direction of moving house, I lost the envelope and its entire contents.  I looked everywhere (I swear!) but it was nowhere.  In a blind panic, I flew to my trusty Internet to find a new copy, knowing I'd have to pay out the ear for it since it is out of print.  Not so - I ended up finding it through Etsy, for less than $10.  And of course almost as soon as the replacement arrived, I uncover the "lost" pattern.  Yup.  At least I've got a backup and/or keepsake.

And now to the business of the thing.  I'm giving myself until August to complete the dress, leaving in a buffer of about 6 weeks before Wedding Crunch Time.  I've already got the hard part out of the way - cutting out the pattern pieces and sellotaped the edges to prevent tearing.  For the record, I despise cutting out patterns; it is too tedious.  Yeah, I still need to cut the fabric, but at least the paper portion is done.  If only I could cut (hah!) straight to the pinning and stitching...

Been a long time since I rock and rolled

Let's give this another try, shall we?

I'd like to say I've been away travelling the universe with the Doctor, and that's why I made only a scant few entries before going utterly silent.  Truth is, I just chose the absolute worst time to start public blogging.

Did you know that buying a house and moving eats up all of your damn time?  Apparently I didn't.

So yes, between holidays and the madness that comes with new homeownership, I have just not been able to be bothered to keep up a blog.  We're mostly settled in now, so I'm going to make a valiant attempt to start this cursed thing up again.  Let's pretend that earlier stuff didn't really happen and start afresh, shall we?

And what better way than with a guest post on someone else's site?

Really, now, Nicole...

The plague hit our household last week, and S.P. was unable to attend the first Deadlands session of the new year.  He offered to let me do the session replay, which I immediately agreed to.  For the sake of completion, and to make it easier for other players to track back, I asked him to post it in the usual location.

So quick!  Stop reading my writing here, and go somewhere else... to read more of my writing.

Truly, though, I'm going to do my best to make at least one post of some substance each week.  I'll be starting on my wedding dress soon, so there will be many progress updates to share, which should help.

Allons-y!

The Dice Are Strong With This One

I've been reading a web comic lately called "Darths And Droids", and I cannot sing its praises highly enough. 

Its premise is not a new one - it takes an existing story, in this case the entire "Star Wars" franchise (prequels and all) and presents it as though it were being played through by a group of D&D players, utilising screen caps of the films as their story panels.  There is commentary that accompanies each page in which the authors address some aspect or other of roleplaying.  They readily admit to being inspired by "DM of the Rings", which I have also read in its entirety and enjoyed super lots.

"Darths and Droids" is still in production, and they have only just wrapped up their take on the prequels a few weeks ago and are now getting into "A New Hope".  I must say, reading their interpretation of the prequel films (and their story does differ quite a bit from Lucas', though keeps some of the same basic structure) gave me a whole new appreciation for them.

I was never in the rageboner-hate camp of Star Wars fans when it came to the prequels, although I do acknowledge that they're... inferior to the original trilogy (especially "Phantom Menace").  Some things are best left as they are, but I guess if  you're going to make fat loads of cash for yourself, well I guess there are better ways to do it, but there are worse ways, too.

So yes, please do check out this clever web comic.  Come for the Star Wars, stay for their commentary on running, playing, and crafting RPG stories.

Still Around, Contemplating Games

I've been terribly lax in posting, which is probably not the best way to start off a blog.  But daily life, she calls to me, and she has demands that must be met.  Being a productive grown up is really cramping my nerd style!  Although we got in our regularly scheduled Deadlands game last week, saw some action in a Warhammer Fantasy (though not quite fantasy) game, and even got down and dirty with some Fiasco, I feel as though I'm not playing nearly as much as I should.

In short, I miss M'Colleague's D&D game which he has been running for the past year and counting.  What with our player group contending with babies, new houses, weddings, and life in general, we haven't played for a few weeks.  I miss my fabulous Bard, damn it!

Anyway, I just came across this breakdown of player types from a larger body of writing on roleplaying, which seems like something worth checking out.

The brief article linked above breaks down seven player archetypes (not characters, but the actual dice-rolling player) which should not be unfamiliar to anyone who has even dabbled in the RPG hobby, although the names for the various types may differ depending on to whom you're talking.  I personally know at least one of each of these, and I'm guessing you do as well:

The Power Gamer (Min-maxing FTW)
The Butt Kicker (Just wants to blow off steam by combatting the snot out of some NPCs)
The Tactician (That guy who just gets battle planning, sometimes eerily so)
The Specialist (Doesn't matter the system - can he play a Wuxia monk?  If so, all is well.)
The Method Actor (Role playing is improvisational theatre, a form of personal expression, dig?)
The Story Teller (Wants to feel as though she's taking part in a cinematic plot, XP isn't important)
The Casual Gamer (Has fun, but is really just along for the ride)

I am a combination Method Actor and Story Teller, which should be no surprise to anyone who knows me.  I have a background in theatre arts; heck, I even attended a theatre conservatory that masqueraded as an accredited university, and I've got the BFA to prove it!  Also, I have the 9-to-5 desk job which resulted from graduating just as the economy tanked, but at least I got to live in a fantastical art student dream world for a few years.

Improvisational scene crafting had been my weak spot in high school theatre.  Then I started roleplaying, and I really think I improved.  I became more confident in taking a character and/or situation, embracing it, and running with it.

Typically when I create a character, I'm not just stating out a character sheet.  I try to create fully realised people (elves, dwarves, cyborgs, whatever), down to the smallest detail possible.  I'm pretty proficient with accents, and will often utilise this ability at the game table to fully step into my character.  These characters become an extension of aspects of my personality, whether actual or desired - I even have a Promethean character who is the personification of my social awkwardness.  She's adorable, you'd love her.

When I'm playing, I prefer to embrace the method school of acting.  I'm not so scary into it as, say Daniel Day Lewis or Johnny Depp (to give present-day examples), but I try to maintain that character's mindset as much as possible.  I don't feel right playing in M'Colleague's D&D game without a glass of wine in my hand and my Bard's journal by my side.  The number of times I've come close to crying at Deadlands as the world is falling apart around my poor displaced Southern belle borders on the absurd.  But that's what feels right for me.  If I didn't get to that point, I'd feel as though I was doing something wrong.

Sometimes it takes me a while to get to know a character, even if I've planned out their whole history, but that's part of the appeal.  My Bard had been living in my head for months before our current campaign even existed and he hit the table ready to go; Ruby O'Flahertie's back story was easy enough to craft and get into, although it took me a few sessions to hit my stride with her; I'm still feeling out my characters in Unknown Armies and Warhammer.


What about you?   What player type (or types) are you, and why does that approach to playing appeal to you?