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The official Log of the first session. I've put in HG-commentary on certain parts of the game to explain what or how I did something -- I won't always do that, but I think it's important at the beginning for people to understand how the story fits in the game system -- helps everyone understand. Also, I left in my original temporary notes from the first half-session, so we have a log of everything. If it makes the thing come off as uneven, blame me, not Margie. Mariska wakes up sitting near the door in a soup kitchen. She is wearing cords with a vest and polyester shirt. People occasionally look at her. She stands up and wanders over to the food line. (Digression on the gender of the group in general (MFFFFM and Fungus' “they”.) When she gets to the front the woman serving soup asks: “Do you need something?” “No, but I think this broth could do with a little meat and vegetables.” Guilt replies “Do you need a doctor? You are bleeding.” Guilt notices a gaping wound in her side. “Don’t worry about me dear.” “Let me get you a chair back here and bring you some soup.” (No domain miracles to twist the girl around her finger, other than her inherent gift with manipulating others.)
The assistant gets Guilt a chair in a back office and quiesces to the doctor being fetched. They ask Guilt her name and as she realizes that she doesn’t know a cold shiver runs down her spine. As soon as the woman is out of the room, Mariska’s vision swims and a clenching discomfort washes over her. (Nettle Rite: Chancel bond)
Sian Ewig (Punishment) wakes up face down on the cobblestones of a dirty alley. That, as her eyes blinked open, was the first thing she could bring into focus; grimy stones, bits of refuse settled against the juncture of a building's wall and the ground. She rolls over. The alleyway is dank and old (which seems familiar) and thick with the stink of moldy trash. (That seemed familiar too, although somehow for a different reason.) She sits up, resting her arms on her knees. She is wearing slacks, a jacket. Her knuckles were scraped and bruised. A taxicab drives by the mouth of the alley several dozen yards away and she realizes she’s in London. She doesn’t know how she knows it’s was London, what or where London is, or why it fills her with a certain relief, but she knows that she knows and she knows she is not wrong. Forcing herself to her feet, she takes stock of her surroundings. The dead body on the ground between her and the alley’s dead end catches her attention first. Her reaction is not fear or revulsion but resignation, as though this is a familiar scene playing out for the hundredth time to no happy conclusion. She approaches the face down body (too much like her own earlier pose for comfort) and rolls it over. A flash. A memory. Looking over the shoulder of a London bobby, looking down on a body lying in a very similar -- the same? -- alley. Blood everywhere. the poor woman's eyes wide with terror and death and the stink of blood and offal nearly overwhelming and -- Seven bullet entry points. Center mass. Also, his eyes are missing. It does not look as though he’d ever had them. She remembered. He was striding straight towards her from the dead-end of the alley, half-smiling. She had had a pistol and he had been wearing sun glasses. Looking around, she finds the gun against the wall and shortly thereafter finds a holster for it at the small of her back. She doesn’t see the sun glasses anywhere. (At this point, I hadn’t realized Dave wanted a spear-thing, so I did the gun -- later, we just decided the gun WAS the spear, with the ability to Guise itself as appropriate weapons.)
She frowns. It didn’t feel right, having used a gun. There was something... Something... off. Wrong weapon. Not the feeling that she wouldn’t have killed someone, but the feeling that it wouldn’t have been this way. So something was wrong, but that wasn’t the real problem. She’d been trying to remember her name since she’d first rolled over into the sun, and she couldn’t. Sirens are coming closer. There is a door to one side and a fire escape to the other. Punishment checks the door and it gives to his touch and she enters the mud room of an industrial kitchen. The room holds a drain and slop bucket. There is a ladder to a trap door in the ceiling. The next room is the pantry. Further on is the kitchen proper. As she enters the pantry her nose notes that it an Indian restaurant. Her stomach rumbles - an uncommon, yet remotely familiar feeling. She waits for an opportunity to slip past the workers and continues through the restraint, raising only the slightest eyebrow from the hostess. (Moving through the kitchen well enough to keep the two dishwashers and the assistant cook from looking up at the wrong time was a piece of cake -- Sian’s aspect is a 3 (at the moment -- it changed later when we rebuilt things), and what might have been a challenge for some ended up being a piece of cake for her.)
Out the front door, she flows with the pedestrian traffic looking casually at what the policy are doing. They eventually find the body in the alley. The call goes out. Punishment finds herself at a newsstand from which position she can still clearly hear the chatter of the police radios in the cruisers. She pauses to check out the headlines. Macy Hamilton (Lust) wakes up on a psychiatrist couch. Taking her measure, she notices that she has an ornate but serviceable knife in her left hand -- both of which (hand and knife) are coated in blood that has long-since gone tacky; in her right hand is a cell-phone whose screen indicates she’s missed... ten calls. As soon as she registers that, the phone starts to ring. She answers it, and sits up to look around the room, which looks like psychiatrist’s office: dark read leather and mahogany, heavy drapes over the windows. The female voice on the other end of the line is speaking somewhat loudly, her voice is strained. Macy is not tracking the words however, as her attention is on the angel sitting in the traditional psychiatrists wing-backed chair across the shadowy room. He’s wearing the robes associated with angel imagery. Also, the big white wings hanging over the back of the chair is a give-away. He looks quite dead: his chest has been split open and Macy’s fairly sure even from across the room that his heart is missing. The voice on the other end of the phone is repeating a name over and over, as though trying to get her attention. (For the record, I didn’t start out thinking "Redtooth Rite" -- I just wanted to frame her for something nasty and realized later (after the half-session) that the angel was really her old boss and that she was a VERY new noble.)
The woman is calling her Macy. She seems upset and thinks that things are ‘going badly’ and ‘people are watching us’. She says she’s in New York and Macy realizes on looking out the front windows that she is as well. Macy says she’ll talk to her later and hangs up. She goes over, cuts the angel’s throat to ‘make sure’, then washes off the blood from the knife and the hand, wipes it down and sticks it in her belt until she can dump it. Then she leaves out the back of the building. Macy exits the brownstone by way of the rear door. She quickly and very easily jumps the walls and fences separating various back yards and works her way to the next street over. A few blocks later Lust tosses the knife in a convenient bin and she feels a subtle shiver run down her neck. Someone behind her says “Ah, there you are.” (Senachiel is the Marquis of Lost Things. He’s been to the house (mere moments after Macy left), knows the heart was removed with a knife, and hopes that it’s going to get dumped somewhere... he’s maintaining a Lesser Divination and as soon as the knife hits the trash bin, he knows it, AMPs up his speed and flies right there. Jackie avers that the knife wasn't really "Lost", since she knew exactly where it was. I counter by pointing out that she's not the one defining the Domain, he is :)
At the end of the street Lust notices that there are three muscle men gathering. (It occurred to me later that since he didn’t teleport there, he wouldn’t have had backup, so... I retconned in a Lesser Creation of discarded Mannequins next to the dress shop, then Lesser Change to Guise em and get them into combat readiness. DMPs flow like water, but Macy’s an unknown, and Sen is playing it safe.)
“I guess that we are not playing nicely” Lust observes. “I am just looking into matters that occurred down the street.” “And you are….” “I am Senachiel. Obviously you can help me out” He says as he pulls the knife out of the trash can. “What were you doing with Sisera Twiceborn?” “You don’t look like police. Let me see your badge” “I assure you that I have sufficient authority. I in no way seek to persecute. I am here as the agreived party, looking for Sisera. To round up people, not to mete out justice-” Lust notices the three muscle men moving towards her from far up the street, though she isn’t looking their direction in any way. “I thought we were playing nice?” Senachiel motions them back with a slight surprise in his eyes. She relaxes a bit. “What would you be interested in?” “That looked like a Redtooth Rite back in the angel’s house.” “What is a Redtooth Rite?” “Come now, I can tell that you should know all about it.” The pais a deux continues until Lust blurts out. “I don’t remember anything about that... or anything else.” Senaciel searches her face. Finally: “My word, you ARE telling the truth.” Ambrose Donner (Electricity) sprawls across a threadbare and badly sprung armchair. A light bulb socket hangs directly overhead, dangling from the ceiling on a cord and holding only the shattered remains of a blackened bulb. He is the Power of Electricty. There is dust on the scarred wooden floor, the single windowsill, the radiator next too it, and on the misused armchair itself - all of which seems entirely undisturbed. The room is otherwise empty. Something in the chair is digging into the man’s back. He is lithe and wiry; lean, with short blonde hair so pale it was almost white. He wears a fine pair of slacks that quite are quite obviously part of an expensive suit, a dark, form-fitting sleeveless shirt somewhere between silk and mesh, and no jacket. A shoulder holster hangs along his left side, empty. He, unlike the room, is not covered in dust. He raises his other hand (instinct or habit) to take a drink and discovers he still holds the neck of a whiskey bottle between his fingers. He seems less surprised by the natural inclination of his hand to cling to a bottle even in unconsciousness than he is when he notices that the bottle ends in jagged shards about halfway down. There is something dark and tacky on the jagged edges of the bottle, and he is not injured (barring the damage the chair is doing). The room does not smell of spilt whiskey, nor does he see broken glass or blood (or footprint… how did I get here?) on the floor as he sits up and looks around. (Randy’s mentioned that this was a big telltale that something was off -- Donner’s a detective, and not seeing footprints was a big deal.)
He stands, wiping the bottle down to erase fingerprints and dropping it on the chair behind him as he looks over the room. Neither his jacket nor the presumably missing pistol are anywhere to be seen so the holster hanging at his side remains both conspicuous and useless. He slips it off, winds the straps around the holster itself and shoves it into a pants pocket where it bulged and ruins the line of his slacks, but does not draw as much attention. His gaze moves to the bare window and the world beyond. Tenements. Projects. He is certainly not dressed to blend in but, searching his mind, he finds no particular concern about such things. His natural instincts tell him he is more than competent enough to handle the dangers of such places, though he has no idea how or why. Of course, in searching his mind he finds precious little else in the way of information or memory, which does bother him. He is a well-dressed newborn delivered into an abandoned tenement in an unknown city. The room holds no further information for him beyond that. Electricity leaves the tenement. Shirtless old men are playing Go in the shade of worn-out buildings. They give him a look and complain to each other that the power is out and the fans won’t run. Electricity realizes that he knows how to play Go and that the men are speaking Tagalong - Odd. He gets a phone book and flips through looking for something familiar. The phone rings and an angry voice calls out as he puts it to his ear. “Where the Hell are you?” A women voice rings out. “Are you OK?” and then “It’s Gwen.” As a afterthought “I’m OK but my memory is shot” Electricity answers into the phone that should not work. “I’m trapped behind enemy lines, but I can still contact you this way.” Gwen replies. She says she can sort of phone him and whichever receiver was nearest me would ring, something he’d set up. (I did this because I thought it was cool -- that, as the Power of Electricity, his anchor’s prayers come through as phone calls... just seemed to fit. There’s a few problems with that (like it basically allows him to teleport to any supplicant), but in general it works kind of neat -- in the grand scheme, I think I’ll have prayers work normally for him and just have a “special phone number to god” that a few of his servants know -- it’s sort of like a weak version of “summonable” that isn’t worth any points due to balance of bad and good points.)
Gwen then tries to explain what/who Electricity is and what the chancel is and what had happened. She gives Electricity the phone number for ‘The Angel’ and describes the other ‘members’ of the chancel, then hangs up. The phone goes dead, cuz there’s still a power outage. He pushes the next call through the power outage (Lesser Creation of Electricity.)
and the call goes all the way to... New York, it feels like... east coast, certainly. A phone rings. A man with a deep, gravelly voice picks up. He said the Angel was in the shower. Wants to know where Donner is. Meanwhile, several street thugs approach the phone booth, attracted by his swanky duds. The Graf (Fungus) A wooded copse looks down over an open expanse of grass. Faeries flit from shadow to shadow in the gloaming beneath the trees, occasionally circling the head of the creature that stands at the border of darkness and light. The creature is not human, but seems to give the impression of a humanoid form, if that form were composed of the firm but pliable substance of a mushroom, it’s skin the durable ‘leather’ of a puffball. It’s toes dig into the earth beneath it and flat black ‘eyes’ take in the world beyond the trees. The strange shadows of a city loom all about this small patch of tamed wilderness - the place were she stands is a temporary refuge at best. Why the creature thinks it needs a refuge is unclear even to it, but somehow it knows. She feels a strong painful stitch in her side. (Again, a Nettle Rite on her Chancel bond.)
Fungus is in a park in the middle of a city. The hamadryads were grumbling about the nasty air. A deep shiver runs through Fungus, a sense of wrongness. A pixie spirit flits by his face/front. “What are you doing here? It has been like forever since you’ve been here, or at least you weren’t here yesterday.” Tinkerboy continues without pause. Fungus tries to discern the direction or location of the wrongness. He follows it to a nearby copse of trees. There is a faerie ring of mushrooms in a cave. The fungus chatter and gab, then settle into a chant. “Are you going to do that thing again like you did before with the ring y’know - whoosh” “What thing? “You went there and then you went somewhere else. I don’t know where.” The ring is where the wrongness is -- or it leads to that place... or... something. Fungus steps into the circle of toadstools and nothing happens. S/He relaxes and the chanting of the little mushroom spirits increases. The power rises up out of the ring and flows through Fungus. It feels good. “Bye! See you soon. Have a nice trip. Whoosh! Zoom!” Tinkerboy calls as Fungus sinks into the ground. S/He is in a large cave filled with giant mushrooms and fungi. “There it is! Get it!” A voice calls out, followed by the sound of many feet pounding towards Fungus. (At this point, we’ve established by process of elimination that the as-yet-not-built Chancel has “Convenient”. It’s also “important” in a bad way, has an Enemy Gate, a couple banes, and all sorts of magical inhabitants. Fun place. Too bad we don’t know what it looks like.)
Terminus Ex Deus (Death) wakes up in a morgue, on a cold tray. He automatically pushes open the door and slides out, as though he’s done this sort of thing many times before. Something is not quite right. This isn’t my morgue. There is a familiar tang in the air, though. A morgue worker squeaks at his appearance. “No one was supposed to be in there, so... You’re free to go.” Death notes his face for future reference. “Why am I here?” “I don’t know. Did somebody drug you?” Death pushes past him, and the poor soul faints. Death wanders through some wards on his way out, twisting dials and pushing buttons. A few deserving souls meet their end. (I sort of forgot about the Code Fideli-whatever that forbid harming those who have done none -- in retrospect it works just find -- Death doesn’t remember it, so he’s basically responding to his basic nature -- he is, after all, a Pawn of his Estate. That said, and excuse like that only works when you’ve got amnesia. Instictively, he’d be focusing on the ‘right’ people to work on, anyway.)
A wall of heat hits Death as he exits the hospital. It has to be Houston. Death looms tall over passerby and looks a bit less genteel than Death-warmed-over. He feels the constant hum of people wishing others dead. He tunes out the prayers to Death and feels a stronger, different tug on his spirit. June (Reality) looks over her shoulder and shudders deeply. (She remembers everything about what’s happened, as opposed to everyone else, who remember nothing.) She flees through one of the lesser gates of the chancel. She thinks that everyone got away in one way or another. It is clear that they got to the imperator and executed him. It should have killed Reality. It should have killed them all. She saw Fungus die, but who hasn’t seen that. Punishment killed her way out and Electricity exited the way he always does. She did not even bother to worry about Death. Lust hadn’t been around. They must know that we are all summonable, eventually they'll catch us all. Reality arrives in a corn field in Minnesota. Got to find someone helpful she thinks as she heads for the highway and flags a Good Samaritan that she knew would be driving by. (De’s definition of Reality is (paraphrased, and filtered through HG’s sketchy understanding) the strength of cosmic purpose that a thing has by virtue of belief in itself or other’s belief in it... and the ties that give a thing substance and connect it to the rest of the world. In this sense, losing “reality” is what made the Invisible Girl invisible in the first season of Buffy. Using that definition, when she says she wants someone who’ll help, I’m having her use a Lesser Divination to find someone who thinks of themselves as a Good Samaritan, then doing a Lesser Preservation on that person to reinforce their instinct to stop. De very helpfully bought a nice high domain so she really doesn’t have to sweat the miracle levels on little stuff and let me figure out if she needed MPs for whatever she was doing. It worked well.)
“How did you get here?” The Samaritan asks. “Is there a Home where you should be?” “I need to get to my daughter’s house.” Reality drawls. “Well, we’ll try and find it. Do you have her number?” “Why I do! Do you have a phone?” The Samaritan digs into large (read: enormous) purse (read: macramé bag) and retrieves an older cellular phone. Reality calls her anchor in Chicago. “Yeah!” “Hello” “Oh! Her nibs.” “Boss is dead.” “You said that we would all kick the bucket if that happened. Are you still on this side of reality?” “Yes and No. I need a rain-dance and some other things.” “I can do that.” Guilt knows that something is wrong. It pulls at her. She gets a flash of people who are not familiar in rooms that are familiar. They are looking through closets and rummaging among the papers. Guilt notes a badge worn by most of these folks. The scene shifts to people being herded into buildings. Some are being beaten. Others are standing by looking severe and pious. Guilt knows that this place (her home?) is in danger and she wants to do something about it. “Honey, do you have some paper and a pen?” Guilt asks the staff member. “The doctor is on the way. You won’t need a will.” She says as she hands guilt the requested items. Guilt draws the design from the badge and asks the staff member if it means anything to her. She doesn’t recognize it and leaves Guilt alone so she can intercept the doctor. “Who calls the inquisitor?” A male voice rings out. The rune/symbol/image on the paper glows. “Sorry, can’t help you.” Guild replies as she feels the air go heavy around ehr with a scrying. “You are speaking to The Bronze Man. Who are you?” “Sorry, I don’t know you…” and Guilt tears the paper in half. The paper resists at the sigil, but gives with some effort. The staff returns with the doctor. “Are you OK? The doctor is here.” Guilt feels that she should not stay here long. Punishment browses the headline - “Power Outage in Malaysia.” “Rave Fire Kills Hundreds in Chicago.” “Knightsbridge Gun-Battle.” She listens to the walkie-talkies of the near-by and not-so-near-by police. They have made no progress on the murder scene. The experts have arrived. No suspects have been found in the area. No suspects seen by the neighbors. (Sian’s aspect is more than high enough to clearly hear (and more importantly, understand) the police chatter over the radios in the Metro cars -- actually, if it came right down to it and she were close enough, she could eavesdrop on inserted radio ear buds.)
Punishment checks her pockets - twenty two pounds and an ID card/Drivers License (name of Sîân Ewig) and a local address in Whitechapel. She picks up a tourist map and memorizes the city that she feels she should already know. She cautiously heads towards the address on an oblique route, watches the area, and spots a guy who is not moving with the traffic. He is sitting on the stoop on the building across the street from ‘her’ address, reading a paper. Well, not really reading a paper, but doing a good job of pretending. He’s not turning the pages often enough. Sîân She moves back a block, enters the building the guy is sitting on the front steps of from the back, figures out which front apartment is ‘clear’, picks the lock using the lock-picks in her vest. (Hmm, lock-picks in the vest.), and ghosts inside. The watcher is still watching and Sîân doesn’t spot another. When the street is clear, she steps out and, putting a gun to the back of the watcher’s neck, and pulls him into the vacant apartment. Lust continues her conversation with Senachiel. “Well, this is a puzzlement! Normally, it is impossible to empower a Noble when the Imperator is dead.” Senachiel continues to puzzle over Lust. He says he can’t tell if Macy’s actually ‘the new Power’ and decides to test her hearing by having a lady carrying paper grocery bags (two) three blocks away stop and whisper that Macy should tell him everything she knows. (She’s one of Senachiel’s anchors, a Bag Lady (and not inconsequentially a Human embodiment of his Estate) -- he can’t just randomly take over nearby mortals.)
Macy hides that she can hear that well or that far away; he doesn’t notice her cover up. It is obvious that he likes her. Lust makes an offer that he declines. “I am not... this is an awkward time for that suggestion.” “You’re gay?” “No, use your vision. Look!” With some work the view ripples and he is revealed as a winged... angel... like the other dead guy, basically. He has large feathered wings and a glow about him; an aura that reflects the afterimages of things like coins, papers, toys, golf balls, socks, and something that Lust somehow associates with innocence. “I am the Marquis of Lost Things. I am faced with a quandary. Your Imperator is dead. Killed for his treason, but you came after his execution and had nothing to do with what he has done.” Senachiel continues to try and convince Lust to come with him to the Inquisitors’ Chancel and get this all straightened out. Lust finally agrees to go with him and let him speak for her. “I am at bit of a loss,” he admits. “Everybody is at your chancel. Can you help me get there?” “Oh sure, what’s a chancel?” Lust replies as her cell phone rings. Lust answers it, and holds forth without attempting to exclude Senachiel. “What’s going on?” Jessica wails. “I’ve been detained” “They are hunting everyone and killing them.” “I have to go to the Inquisitor and talk to them.” “Are you crazy? With everything you’ve done, we’ve done. They will kill you.” “Then I’ll have to politely decline.” “Politely decline? What do you think they’ll do? Send you flowers?” Before Macy can decide for certain, the lights on the street dim and the sidewalk vibrates. (This is the Manifestation of Donner's Major Creation back at the house.)
When Lust turns around, Senachiel has already drawn his weapon. Electricity is interrupted by someone tapping on the metal side of the booth. A grinning punk and five of his street-tough buddies are tapping clubs to palms, playing with butterfly knives, cracking knuckles. He tells Gravel Voice to hang on, puts the receiver down and turns to the lead gang member. He makes his fingers (and eyes, apparently) to the Electric Slide. Five run. One wets himself and then runs. Donner picks the phone back up and reaches out to the other phones and power outlets around the guy he’s talking to. The call feels like the East Coast, a major metropolitan area, New York, Atlanta, or Miami. He’s thinking about waking up in a chair under a broken light fixture in a dusty, trackless room -- he gets an idea. He thinks positively about being in the room next to the guy... his body changes to pure electricity and about 35ms later, he’s there. Very tingly. He’s 18 feet away in the next room. The voice has already stopped talking to the phone and turned to face the Donner would have to come though to get to him. Electricity enters the room and knows he may be in a bit of trouble. The man looks dangerous. “Are you going to come quietly?” “Where is the Angel?” Avrileros points with his chin to the cleft Angel. “Not from us. He was found that way. We are here as the wronged party.” Electricity tries to bullshit for some information, and then decides to just punch him with electricity -- everything he has. (In game terms, Donner took his default Domain 4, DMP’d it up to a 7 (Major Creation), then tossed his last two DMP’s onto the thing for penetration, just in case. (which is wrong for a number of game-mechanics reasons, but we won't figure that out for many sessions) Avrileros is Durant, so a level 7 miracle means a Deadly Wound. He deals with it, but isn’t happy. Takes a swing at Donner, but only manages a Serious-level Wound. Donner still has Deadly wounds left, so it doesn’t do much but ruin his shirt.)
Avrileros soaks it, though he is not unharmed. His knife flashes out along Donner’s side. (And thus we have my ubiquitous inclusion of Michael Wincott into the game -- at least I didn't call him Kethos.)
Fungus “There she is! Kill him!” A wall of fungus appears across the cave, and choking pores fill the air. (Lesser Creations/Attack)
Fungus works without thought. Bullets impact the temporary wall. The pursuers cough at the spores and more bullets fly. Some of them pierce the fungus wall and Fungus, but she is unharmed. Quickly searching around, Fungus finds several other Faerie Rings. S/he spies one that makes him smile. A perfect circle of morel mushrooms - earthy and spongy. Fungus puts a scuff neat a ring of little death-caps and fills the cave with blinding spores. S/he leaps for the morel ring. Fungus’ companions in the fairie ring sing out and raise their voices in a magical chant. Fungus drops through to a shaded spot by a mountain spring. There is a tang of pollution in the air and a condom by the river. He hears a car pass by not too far away. A dirt path leads to a fire-break road. “Best get on my way,” Fungus thinks as s/he heads down Mount Baldy in Southern California. Death The summoning feeling pulls him to an open marble square with a large fountain in the middle complete with very tall ornate central statuary. Greek-style pillars front the building that borders the square. He’s confronted by a Romanian named Cerny Krizova, introduced also as the Baron of Knives, who’s been sent to take him in/down/whatever. "Now, Let us start again. You are here for execution.” "And you are? "” Death asks. "I am Cerny Krizova- Baron of Knives. We have already met several times." "Now that we have established who you are, who am I?"” "You must be joking. You are Terminus - Baron of Death. We have worked together often. It saddens me to have to execute you, moreso because you do not seem to remember why it must be." The Baron of Knives continues to discuss the failings and crimes of Terminus’ “Imperator”. How he committed grievances against another chancel. As his oration continues, Death opines that Cerny is insane and turns to leave. Cerny moves to attack with a long knife. They do a couple passes that are too fast for anyone to really track (fighting in full-speed Matrix bullet-time), and Death has a slight edge using his big sword, but only a slight edge, because the Baron is also GOOD. Cerny steps back for a moment, waves a hand and the blade of the zweihander disappears. This puts Death on the defensive and, noticing already during the fight that he can leap around like a wire-fu grasshopper, heads for the rooftop of the pillared museum that surrounds the square on three sides. Cerny follows. (Cerny's aspect is very high, much like Death's, but I'm using a variation on the 'staging' rules from Game of Powers, so Death's sword give him a slight edge. Cerny plays a little loose with his Domain (he's been doing this gig awhile) and does a Lesser Destruction on the Blade of the sword. He blows all his DMP's on this to both achieve the affect and deal with any auctoritas, but does even the fight up, since Death's left with just a big hilt and crosspiece to block with.)
Reality rides along with Vera the Samaritan. At one point they stop and she buys Reality some lunch at Big Daddy’s Cafe. After some thought, Reality calls her anchor back and describes all of the summoning rituals for the nobles of her chancel. “But first go out and get some good liquor. They may be cranky when they get there.” “Do I need any chickens or anything?” “Only for Death, and a pigeon would do better than the other alternative.” “I can get a few pigeons. The booze and the girls will be easy. You’ve seen my bathroom so mold is no problem.” Hank Dzeniak goes out and spends way too much good money on booze and then calls in a favor for the pigeons. Some of the girls show up so he wastes no time in performing the proper tantric ritual to summon Lust, but nothing happens - well, Lust doesn’t show up, anyway. He starts in on Guilt while he waits for the people he needs for the Electricty rain-dance to show up. June is still hours away. |
