Status

Recent Statuses

10 mos ago
Current Got a bad case of the "don't wanna"s. Dozen things I should do, but I don't wanna.
9 likes
10 mos ago
Offered a job .. because the civil service list is stale and the people they wanted to hire withdrew. Do I really want to be the person that they settle for?
1 like
10 mos ago
That's cause the coward has 80-90 years to work on those extra deaths, while the hero gets knocked off at 18.
4 likes
10 mos ago
Wondering what modern genres could be considered "pulp," IOW written quickly for profit, sold cheaply in mass numbers. Romance is a long running good example. Seen a lot of military scifi ebooks.
1 like
10 mos ago
Furiously packing. Oh, for the days when everything I'd need for a week would fit in one backpack.
3 likes

Bio

Mid-forties. Old enough to know better, yet here I am.

Falling out of love with dice as I get older. Getting tired of putting effort into scenes only to have them fall apart because of a bad roll.

Most Recent Posts

"Actually, Jesus only started out as a wizard," replied the woman named after someone 'outstanding among the apostles'. "After his resurrection, he was technically a lich." *heartbeat* "Sorry, one of mom's favorite jokes."

"Anyway, we're not looking at a case of water into wine, we're looking at a case of ink-injected-into-body, like an ink-jet refill gone horribly wrong. Morton Smith isn't going to help us here."

Junia turned back to Anna. "I think you're right; the manner has to be significant. Using ink to kill someone has to be symbolic of something. Is there anyway to figure out who this guy was? If he was an author or a journalist, that might be clue."

"I am not from here. How are these people like?"

Hattie gives a half-shrug. "Stand-offish, I suppose. Uh ... what's a word you'd know ... private? Quiet? Don't like to be bothered?"

She shakes her head. "I know a guy from the reservation who sells me deer hides. Anwe, that's his name. It's taken me about ... 7, 8 years to get on a first-name basis with him. They're polite enough, helpful, but they're not outgoing with folks not from the reservation. I guess it comes from being stared at by all the tourists. It's no fun being a spectacle everywhere you go."

"But now the question is, how do we get there? I can fit another two people in my truck. Well, more if someone wants to ride in the back with the dog cages."

The gunman's starched uniform stretchy obscenely across his shoulders. Someone had tried to cram a soldier into a servant's uniform, and almost succeeded. The bulky shoulders twisted as he brought up a submachine gun, aiming it at the unguarded back of Opportunity Knox. The gunman breathed in, steadied ...

... then shouted in rage as his fingers were smashed by the metal tip of a fighting staff. Before he could recover, Chesa brought her Vigny cane around and rapped him smartly across the back of the head, then again across the back of the knees. The man crumpled, and Chesa lent a shoulder to leverage him up and over the railing. The man fell with a scream(*), crashing down on a dinner table. The table collapse, scattering shattered wine glasses and silver in every direction.

Chesa has only a moment to catch her breath before throwing herself to the deck flooring. Bullets rattled the railing and punctured the wall behind her.

"Well, I have succeeded in distracting the gunmen from Opportunity. Now how do I save myself?"

Down below, Opportunity and the new woman continued their deadly dance. Chesa recognized Tatiana Yusapova from the files of British Intelligence, although who the elegant woman was working for was a mystery. As Chesa watched, the fearsome Yusapova managed a swift kick to Opportunity's side, despite the constraints of her burgundy dress. Chesa was just able to draw her eyes away from the conflict long enough to notice that the second gunman was focusing on Opportunity again.

Chese pulled a foot-long sharpened stick from where it had held her hair in a knot, then flicked it across the dining area at the gunman. The man was clearly a professional, as he spotted the motion and dodged to the side. The twirling spike left a rip in the shoulder of his shirt and drew a spot of blood. The gunman clapped a fresh magazine into his submachine gun and returned fire of Chesa.

Chesa went from a crouch to a forward roll, evading the gunfire by a hairs breadth.

"And now I am out of ranged weapons. Perhaps the others were right to carry guns?"

Hattie stares at Elias for several moments, trying to judge whether he's serious or not. Finally she seems to decide that it doesn't matter.

"Ha! You forgot the Wood Devils, young man. And the ghost of Ruth Blay, God rest her. And the Witch of the Woods, who lives in the clearing with her hounds and steals away -- wait, that one's me! Sorry, forget myself sometimes. Ha!"

She shakes her head. "Look. In two months time, this whole area is going to be crawling with leaf peepers from New York and Boston. That's not going to let up until January at the earliest. During that time, there's not going to be a square inch that the tourists don't walk over, poke their noses into, or piss on. If there was a goblin or ghostie in these parts, someone would have snapped a photo on their cellphone by now. And anything spooky with any sense would have moved far north of here by now."

'Mister Malkinson, Miss Hattie, if we get time later, I'd like to interview you both more thoroughly,'

"Well, sure. But let's find this missing boy first. I have a feeling that could change the questions a bit."
"I do not know if these are right words in English but... dangerous animals? Are there any?"

"Weeellll ... yes and no. We got bears - black bears - some wolves and a few cougars. But they're mostly used to people by now and they stay well away from us. Just make a lot of noise and you'll be fine. There's moose, but they're only dangerous if you're driving. We've got snakes and such, even a few rattlesnakes, but with this ..."

She kicks at the snow.

"I figure anything cold-blooded has gone into hiding by now. Don't go poking under logs or picking up rocks and you shouldn't even see them. Hopefully, the cold has killed off the ticks and mosquitos, too. So ... make noise to scare off the big things, don't stick your hand into someplace a little thing could be hiding, and you'll be safe."
'Miss Hattie, was it?' she asked the older woman. 'Um, I think I would like to borrow some of those gloves and scarves, if that's okay.'

"Of course, sweetheart. Lemme just grab some out of the truck."

Hattie stomps over to a battered but serviceable pickup truck. The old red paint carries over to a faded cap, inside of which are visible several dog cages. Hattie rifles through a canvas bag of clothing and comes out with a bundle of scarves and gloves.

"Here we go. You're a small thing, just like me, so I think I can fit you just right. Here's a scarf ..."

It's obviously hand-knit, silver and bright blue, a mixture of wool, synthetic fibers and dog hair.

"... had someone on Etsy order a Ravenclaw scarf for their daughter, but she switched to Gryffindor right at the end. Kids. Here's a pair of gloves ..."

Deerskin - literal deer hide - gloves, hand-stitched.

"Made these for myself as a project, ended up never using them. They're lined with thinsulate, but at my age you need a bit more than that."

She passes them over and turns towards the man with the walkie talkie.

"Alright, Jake, we're here. What are our marching orders this time?"

"Bloody buggering hell,"

"I believe your uncle would be horrified to hear you use such language ..."

Chesa came around Opportunity's side and caught sight of the bleeding remains.

"God of Cathay ... Killed by a single slash to the throat. This doesn't bode well. We're not the first -- although, judging by the wound, we're not far behind. We must hurry now. It's almost certain that whoever did this is after the journal as well."

Chesa waved Alcander and Pierre onto the catwalk.

"I will climb down the netting to the control car, that's the easiest way into the main areas of the zepplin. The rest of you follow me as soon as I get the door open. I will be sweet-talking the pilot, and I may need the back-up."

Chesa deftly swung herself over the catwalk railing and seized the netting with one hand. Once again more monkey than woman, Chesa ignored the howling winds and scampered down and under the gasbag to where the control car jutted out. With two hands gripping the netting, Chesa applied her feet to the great handle of the door. Twisting and shifting, she finally gained the proper leverage, pushing the far end down with one foot and pulling with the other. The door flew open, caught by the winds. Chesa flung herself inwards ...

... only to tumble head over heels when her feet came down on something slippery. She came to a stop as her shoulder slammed into a console, and she shakily looked around her. The floor of the control car was slick, and red.

She found herself staring at the remains of a pilot. He would not require sweet-talking after all.

"... we may have a problem."
So where do we go from here?

Should we examine the body, climb down the side of the gasbag and enter the zepplin?

Meeting any new PCs inside the zepplin?

Hattie didn't bother pulling down her scarf or taking off her mittens before shaking Hank's hand.

"Hi, Jake. It's Hattie under here. We'll find him, even if I have to go fetch my dogs."

"Hi, I am Kurosaw- Hanako Kurosawa. Not the best way to meet new people, is it?"

"Take whichever way you can get, hun. Not many new people in a town like this, at least not any that stick around. Name's Hattie Durlin, I live out towards the reservation."

Hattie stomps her booted feet to knock off the dirty snow. "You'd think with all this blasted muck on the ground, it'd be easy to find tracks. Course, if the poor bastard has any sense, he's hold up someplace keeping warm and not making tracks. Guess it's not gonna be that simple."

She trows a glance at the rest of the group. "I got spare gloves and scarves in my truck if anybody needs a pair. Can't swear they'll fit right, but it's better than losing a finger or a nose to frostbite."

© 2007-2017
BBCode Cheatsheet