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[IC] Geist: The Sin-Eaters | Restless Winter
cj iwakura
The Rhythm RegentBears The Name FreedomRegistered User regular
The Rhythm RegentBears The Name FreedomRegistered User regular
Restless Winter
A Geist World of Darkness Chronicle
A Geist World of Darkness Chronicle
The newly departed do not know respite.
You've known this since you almost lost it all, and somehow gained it back. With that gift came a dire price, one you still continue to pay each day you draw breath.
The roads are empty this time of night, as they always are in the dead of winter. A lifeless wind passes through the streets, which remain almost devoid of lighting. An exercise in power conservation. No one with any sense would be out now, not with the weather as unpleasant as it had been as of late.
However, when every night was this deathly quiet, even the slightest sound got everyone's attention like the crack of gunfire. The sound of distant sirens would slowly bring the sleepy town to life. Lights came on in the few homes that still remained occupied by stubborn locals who refused to migrate south.
No one would dare venture out to investigate the source. They only knew something had happened.
The police had never been occupied in the town before. An officer, maybe two, on duty per day, and some thought that was unnecessary.
Yet as of recent, they were becoming busier and busier. First a missing teacher, found dead in her classroom a week later; written off as a lazy suicide. Then a businessman from halfway across town, found hanging in his attic. No relation whatsoever; except the nature of his remains. Bloodless corpses.
It was called a coincidence. Then when a high school student turned up missing, left for dead in a meat locker with multiple open wounds, dismissive thoughts turned to panic.
That student, their identity hidden by the media and police due to their age, was the only recorded survivor of what locals began calling the Cold-Blooded Killer.
That had been weeks ago. Surely the murderer had screwed up; the police were onto him, and he was lying low.
That seemed to be no longer the case. The sirens were sounding again. It had been weeks since anyone heard that many police responding to a situation.
No one knew why, but everyone felt it.
The killer had struck again, and any local immediately knew where the sirens had come from.
The municipal airport. There was nothing else of note in that part of town, and the planes had been grounded for days since the storm hit.
Now, for the first time since the winds began, it was densely populated by no less than three police vehicles and two unmarked sedans.
The crime scene remained untouched; the local cops remained waiting for the detectives assigned to the case to arrive.
In that weather, they knew they could be waiting many hours more.
____________
This is the IC thread for a Geist campaign, set in the quiet(though hardly peaceful) town of Eastport, Maine. The characters and their players are as follows:
Lindsey Wyatt, aspiring Musician (Mr Bubbles)
http://sheetgen.dalines.net/sheet/4421
Geist: The Crowd Surge
Stan "The Body Man" Carver, Necromancer (MoosehatIV)
http://sheetgen.dalines.net/sheet/4440
Geist: The Good Doctor
Tommy Gallo, former boxer (tzeentchling)
http://sheetgen.dalines.net/sheet/4475
Geist: Bloody Mary
Grady Daniels, P.I. (MundaneSoul)
http://sheetgen.dalines.net/sheet/4512
Geist: Little Angel
Daphne DeVille, schizophrenic (Ringo)
http://sheetgen.dalines.net/sheet/4537
Geist: The Last Word
Justin Lockhart, bullied revenger (Sevorak)
http://docs.google.com/fileview?id=0...ZWUwODIy&hl=en
Geist: The Howling Man
This thread is strictly for conveying the thoughts and actions of characters.
Dice rolls, if needed, should be posted in a spoiler, ideally using Invisible Castle.
Any other content should be posted strictly in the OOC thread.
cj iwakura on
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Hope you are quite prepared to die.
Looks like we're in for nasty weather.
One eye is taken for an eye.
Stan taps along softly on his steering wheel to the song playing on his car radio. Sighing softly, he shifts the wheel, turning them onto the long road leading out towards the airport. He had set it up for an associate of his to give him a call if any more deaths were reported in Eastport and it had finally paid off. He had been driving for most of the day and now was shifting in his seat every couple of minutes, ready to get out and stretch his legs. As a couple stray drops of rain splatter on the windshield he clicks his wipers on low, adding their soft thumping to the eerie quiet befalling the car.
Well, it's bound to take your life,
There's a bad moon on the rise.
Behind the Ray-Ban's, the earphones, and the orange travel pillow, it was hard to tell whether Daphne was awake or asleep. But the muffled voice was definitely coming from her position behind the driver's seat. "I hope you rented us separate rooms. I have no desire to find out how loud you snore."
"They'd better be taking good care of my car."
She'd never been much good with sleeping in moving vehicles and even with the onset of night she continued to peer out of the window to alleviate the travel sickness that had been creeping up on her. She squeezed her green eyes shut, with a gentle groan and took another swig of the ink black take-away coffee that was held tightly in her woollen, fingerless gloves.
'Anyone else want some of this? It's still pretty hot'
"Sorry bout that, kid. Ain't driven a car in a few years, not since back in Chicago. Still a bit rusty, I guess," he says to Justin, whose eyes have gone a bit wide. "Don't worry, you ain't gonna die. Again, I mean," Tommy jokes. It falls uncomfortably flat.
"No thanks, kiddo. I think I'm gonna need something a little stronger to survive this day."
He reached into an inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small, unadorned steel flask and took a long, slow draw from it. He let out a satisfied sigh and stretched his legs as well as he could.
"Now that's more like it."
He watches the road go by out the window, nervously playing with the tarnished silver necklace he was wearing. He thought of it's previous owner and how he had starved out in the cold streets of New York before Justin could find him and get to know him. The necklace was left touched with his death, even though he left no ghost. He didn't think the victims of the murders in Eastport would be so lucky, but at least he would be there to help.
"What d'ya think we're getting ourselves into, heading into this killer's turf?"
His mind turns to the task ahead of them. A part of him truly hopes that the killer is supernatural as Stan has been spending most of his free time with his head buried in tomes of the occult persuasion, but has yet to have some first hand experience. Some sort of rogue geist or some beast crawled from the Underworld would be perfect. However, if it just your standard boring human with a nasty streak, at least he can catalog which murderees become ghosts and which don't. It also wouldn't hurt to pick up a few more charms or trinkets from the bodies.
Grady reached over to crank up the heat a notch and then slumped in his seat, staring distractedly out the window, ready for the drive to be over. He ran through what they knew so far in his head, trying to find some common thread that would tie it all together and make sense of it. Whoever or whatever was responsible for these murders had to be stopped before they could kill again. Grady absentmindedly fidgeted with the lighter in his pocket and thought of the way Charity used to love playing in the rain, splashing through every puddle she could find.
Tommy checks the rearview mirror to see if anyone is behind them, and swears (followed by a quick apology and Hail Mary) when he sees Her staring back at him, eyes weeping crimson tears. She doesn't say anything, this time, but Her presence suggests to Tommy that he and his krewe are on the right track for justice.
Upon closer arrival, the road branches off towards a small parking lot, designed to house no more than a few dozen cars, and a path that leads to a narrow baggage claim area; barely two lanes wide. The municipal airport specializes in local flights to adjacent counties or sometimes a neighboring state. Much of the tourist traffic, if any, gets handled at the larger airports to the west, so Eastport's has never been exactly spacious.
The baggage claim area, concealed beneath a narrow overpass, is definitely the more popular area. The only occupied vehicles are parked there, and two uniformed police officers can be seen guarding the automatic entrance; each of them holding a steaming paper cup.
He pulls on his simple black beanie and gets out of the car. While stretching his legs he throws on a bit of his gear from the trunk. First is his trademark vest, which is simply covered in pockets. From experience, they know it contains pens, paper, notebooks, and hundreds of little trinkets or tools he might use. Fishing through it, he finds his small plastic badge which proclaims him an Autopsy Tech. On it there is a relief of scales branded lightly behind his name and job description. Over all of this he tosses on his heavy coat. From the noise, one can bet this one has several hidden pockets as well.
Justin hops out of the car once Tommy parks after only slightly skidding on a patch of black ice at the entrance to the lot in the process. He wears only a collared shit, left untucked from his jeans, covered by a light jacket. It's far less than any normal person would wear in this weather, but Justin seems unfazed by the cold. It's only when he catches the visage of the Howling Man watching him, face as always barely visible through the coruscating icicles hanging from his army helmet, that a visible chill run down his spine.
"Well you're the one with the badge here Stan. We're all behind you the whole way," he says with a smirk.
Suddenly an idea popped into her head and she smiled at the idea of some potential wrongdoing.
'Hey Stan, do you think we could convince the cops I'm a student of yours? I'd really love to get a first hand look at what's going on here, this is my first... case, I guess' she attempted to set her hair straight again, before letting the wind win 'It is case right Grady? Am I getting the lingo right?'
"Indoors, preferably," she adds as she pulls up the parka's hood.
"Hell, everything's a case to me anymore, Linz. I guess you might as well call it that too. Smoke?"
Grady grabbed his wallet with his free hand and flipped it open so his PI license was prominently displayed, then stuck it in the front pocket of his jacket.
"Hopefully between Stan and me we can strong arm these goons into letting us in."
'Wish I'd had the forethought to bring a hood' she commented, looking at Daphnes particularly warm looking coat, pulling her gloves on tight. 'Anything useful left in the other car?'
The air is not just thick with the cold wind, but the sense of foreboding. Something bad has happened here, and that something has lead to growing occupancy on the Other Side.
An unfamiliar specter, appearing half-frozen to death with icicles draped from its dead visage, is looming just behind the officers. It watches with a mirthless smile from the other side of the door. A decrepit hand rises up, and traces a set of words into the fog of the automatic door; backwards to the writer, legible to the Krewe.
IT REMAINS, AND
IS NOT PLEASED.
Justin:
"Lovely. Didn't I tell you I had a bad feeling about this, Stan?"
He breaks off as he notices the specter writing the message. He looks notably disturbed as he looks around at the others. "He's n-n-never t-t-t-talked to others bef-f-f-fore. Th-th-this can't be g-g-g-g-good," he says, teeth suddenly chattering. He pulls his light jacket closer, wishing, for the first time since his death, that he brought something warmer to wear.
'Suppose there's no such thing as a routine investigation for people like us, is there...'
He begins walking towards the officers, letting the others trail behind him. "Now remember, just remain calm and let me do the-". Stan stops dead in his tracks when he sees the specter. His blood runs cold for a moment and he can hear the blood pounding in his ears. Quickly patting his pockets he pulls out a small notebook and starts scribbling frantically, "Man... apparently frozen... apparently related to the army... interesting... interesting... "
After a couple minutes of scribbling details and a light sketch Stan seems to come to. "Oh, what are we doing again? Oh right. Right. Just follow my lead." He continues walking towards the officers, proudly displaying his official badge.
"Good evening, I am here from the Portland county coroners office. I was sent up here to help with the ... situation."
"Take it easy, son. It's just his way."
He follows Stan up to the door and awaits a response from the officers guarding it.
"You're a long way from home, son. I don't think you need all this help to check out a corpse. Or what's left of it." The officer tosses the cup into a nearby trash can, which appeared to have been half-full of coffee. The bronze sign on his lapel reads 'Anderson'.
"I can let you in, but your friends will have to stay here, unless they've got some credentials."
He gesture to Grady next to him "This is a very good colleague of mine. Private Investigator Grady. I have hired him, at my own expense, to report anything he can find directly you."
Still full of smiles, he gestures to the two women. "These are my apprentices, for lack of a better term, Lindsey and Daphne. They are part of the Punks to Professionals program and have been assigned to me by the state. I am required to give them a certain amount of field time that has happened to coincide with this ... event. I assure you they are under my direct supervision and are not allowed to touch anything."
He stands there for a moment, making sure he didn't forget anything. "Oh right, and the two in the back? They carry my tools." He leans in towards the officers "They are quite heavy and I didn't want to inconvenience anyone here..."
Only 4 successes.
Also, for future reference, are we using the 10 again rule?
Damn, I even got another 10. But still not enough. Sorry guys!
Edit: I screwed up. Only 3 successes. But two of them were 10s! So.. that is kinda cool.
"We're still waiting for County to show up and investigate, so that means the crime scene is still untouched. Don't go screwing it up."
"I think you'd best leave your preschoolers out here while we phone this in." The other officer finally chimes in, while pulling out a two-way radio, which gives off only static. "Damn this weather."
"Don't mind him; I'd rather someone with some experience checks things out before the body goes cold. The brass'll be pissed if we don't get some leads this time. So tell me..."
The officer looks over to the two men.
"What kind of tools are talking about here?"
Turning back to the officer, he gestures back to his cars trunk. "Oh, it depends. We have to get blood samples from any and all blood spatter. So that is vials, q tips, and bags. We have to take pictures of everything, so that is a camera or two. Plus... in this weather... plus rigor mortis." He puts on a fake wince "Bodies tend to get sort of... stiff... and sometimes it takes a lot to get them to move"
"Trust me, boys, you want results, we're gonna need every pair of eyes we can get. The girls may be newbies, but they're both naturals. Give us a break, will ya?"
Well shit.
"Shut the hell up, Roberts. Excuse my partner; he's not used to anything that doesn't involve running stop signs. Go on in, and don't make a mess of things."
As he walks into the building he leans to Grady with his professional smile now replaced by a smirk, "I thought you were supposed to be good at this."