Post-Christmas Pre-New Year Chat

Hello everybody. First things first - did y'all have a good Christmas/Hanukkah/Ramadan/Solstice? Get all the presents you asked for? Or... whatever it is that happens in non-Christmas holidays... I'm gonna be honest, I'm a bit vague on other religions... downside to going to a church-funded school, they aren't exactly fond of promoting different faiths.

... Which is a shame. It's always left me a bit sad/embarrassed.

Anyway, with that out the way, I just thought I'd take this opportunity to consider the year in passing, and the year still to come.

So, first off, I probably owe an apology. Cos, last time I did this... which I now realise was on the blog's birthday, not at the end of the year... I promised to do more bat-reps... which I have plainly failed at. To be honest, it's not that I don't like doing them - I honestly really enjoy them... it's just that they're incredibly time consuming.
First off, because they require me to organise them in advance - which, admittedly, isn't a great deal of effort, but does require I okay it with everyone the day before, find the charger for the camera and set that away the morning of, and then steal a notebook to jot everything down in... Which, brings me to the main reason I don't do them. They're less fun games. Not the game itself - that's as fun as ever - but it means that, rather than sharing stories and making jokes with my friends, I have to sit off to one side, frantically scribbling away in the vain hope that I don't slow down the game... which, at best, means I have less fun, but could well annoy everyone else if I take to long...

So, yeah... bat-reps are not perfect. Maybe at some point I should record a game of magic on camera and just post that. but, then you'd actually hear how annoying my voice is, and no one wants that... Maybe if I muted it.

But, I will put in a bit more effort these next two months to post stuff. Maybe just a battle-report of X-wing - I did mention starting that, right? - perhaps I'll be lucky enough to post our first session of Scion. I hope.

... but, regardless... I really wanna thank you all for the past year. It's... well, not been the best. But, I've enjoyed having an outlet, and the fact that people actually want to read it... well, that's almost too good to be true.

So, seriously; thank you. I really hope you enjoy reading this even half as much as I enjoy writing it.

Here's to a fantastic new year.

Volodanti out.

As to Tony...

So, ... I thought I'd write a bit about Tony, my character in Scion.

Bit of backstory first. So, Anthony Fascili was born - assuming our game is contemporary - in Detroit in the mid-nineties to an Italian-American family. His mother was Samantha Falisci, a waitress in one of the cafes by the marina, his father a coastguard who left soon after his birth. Samantha never remarried, and often struggled to care for her son, less financially than for time - she usually left for work not long after he woke, and rarely returned before dark. Lacking family in the area, she frequently relied on neighbours to ensure Anthony was cared for.

Things changed when Tony hit puberty - he began to refuse the help of others, growing more and more embarrassed by the constant care. At the same time, he grew hostile towards his mother, blaming her for much of their problems. Rows grew frequent, as did nights when he refused to return home.

What he did these nights was a secret he never told his mother, but it  wasn't half so bad as she imagined. He was simply trying to get the money to move away; through cons, tricks and fast-talking. Some nights, he'd convince the clerk in the convenience store that his brother was through the back, and it was okay to sell him that crate of beer, then sell it off to the underage for twice the price. Others, he'd be the street magician, or the kid on a street corner shelling you with a couple cups and a silver dollar.

Throughout his early teens, Tony came up with a dozen or more ways to get rich quick, with varying degrees of success. The best earned him a couple dozen dollars, which he tended to spend a lot sooner than he'd intended. Other times ended rather worse; generally with a black eye and a bruised ego, though he had so far managed to avoid any excessive attention from the police - certainly none that he couldn't bluff his way out of.

And then everything changed when he turned sixteen. The day started as normal; he awoke alone, a note from his mother wishing him a happy birthday and promising a nice meal that night sat upon a small pile of presents. A few new games, a pair of socks, and a couple books. And then, at the bottom of the pile was something quite unusual:

A present from Quinn; his father.

Bemused and more than a little surprised, Tony opened the box to reveal three items; a brass signet ring, and a pair of cuff links displaying a horse on one, and a wolf on the other. At the bottom was a small note inviting him to a pier at midday to meet his erstwhile parent.

Tony reacted... less than well. He thought that the present meant his mother had at least some contact with his father, and had deliberately concealed it from him. He flew into a rage, throwing the box out of the window and marching across town to confront his mother; angry, hurt and confused.

What precisely occurred is a bit of a haze, even to Tony. He remembers flashes; getting off the bus, marching up to the marina, someone ungodly tall, a scream, and his lungs screaming for air. The next clear memory he had was of awaking downriver on Grosse Ile.

And, more importantly, of the Hippocampus staring at him in disapproval. After a short discussion about how, no, he was not actually hallucinating, honest, the Hippocampus explained Tony's unusual heritage, about why his father had never been there, and most importantly about his new found calling in life. Tony was... unhappy about some of them, but realised that this was essentially the chance h'ed always wanted - a reason to go off, make a life, have adventures, and the knowledge that he was doing it all for a reason.

It took a goodly while to get home from there, even hitchhiking, but by sundown he was ready to set out for his new life. He'd recovered his Birthrights, and the money he'd managed to save up, which was just enough to buy him an old Plymoth Barracuda. Soon after he departed, travelling west to find Titanspawn to fight, and mortals to trick.

Sometime in this period he picked up the habit of wearing almost exclusively a pin-striped suit, and blue- or green shirts, though it is a rare day he adds a tie. He reached the west coast not long before his eighteenth, and after spending several months in Seattle he felt a tug drawing him south and east, until eventually he met his troupe in Las Vegas.

... And, I reckon we'll leave it there. I might go into characterisation at a later date, but... to be honest, I'm still coming to grips with this guy. I'd like a little more time to see what comes natural before writing it down... not much going back after I tell you lot, is there?

Anyway, thank you for reading... and sorry I'm cutting it a little fine. But, on the upside... Merry Christmas! Thought I'd forget, didn't you? Well, no - it's Christmas in less than a week, and I am positively buzzing. Let's see how exited I am in a week's time...

Volodanti out.

A lil more Perry

Still no pictures I am afraid. I actually visited the Unjust's the other day, and played a game against him... And yet still forgot to take the gorram pictures.

I'm kinda an idiot.

So, anyway... since it's so late (I probably owe an apology for that too), here's a bit more of the story of Peregrinus... I should probably start writing, since we're damn-near caught up.

Told you it was a short story.

Anyway, cheers hope you're still enjoying it, and I'll see you next week with something a bit less thrown together.

Volodanti out.

In the end, it took almost an hour to positively identify him. Zach Taechum; a low level accountant working; as I had presumed, working in the city’s financial department. He lived alone in a rented flat twelve blocks west of the Plaza; a sizeable commute by the chute. By this time I was anxious to continue my investigation. I flagged down the first passing cab and directed him to the address, during which time I made a series of vox-calls to the local police, Morticians and the Arbites.

Near half an hour later I stood outside his building; a grey, decaying hab-block as made up the vast majority of the city. The building had been roped off, its inhabitants taken in to the closest bio-hazard isolation unit. They’d be held there until I could confirm the source of the corruption.

I took the lifter up to his floor; a cage of steel mesh pulled by huge, if ancient, hydraulic lifters fixed on the roof. The interior of the hab-block was haphazardly whitewashed; the paint peeling in places, lights flickering half-heartedly above me. His door was ajar, and as I approached I could hear someone fumbling around beyond, taking little care to remain silent. Hand hovering over my holster, I entered the room.

The room was cramped, less ten paces from end to end. Inside it was a combination of lounge and kitchen, with a small, creamy sofa, a vid-screen, refrigeration-unit, an oven, and several cupboards with an inbuilt-sink crammed inside. The walls were painted a faded maroon; obviously left unchanged for a decade at least, clashing quite awfully with a brown carpet and creamy ceiling. A bulb hung unadorned from the centre of the ceiling, weakly casting its harsh light over the room. There were a pair of adjoining rooms to my right; inside one I could see the bowl of a toilet and a small shower. The other, I reasoned, was his bedroom.

Sat on the settee, leafing through a series of letters was a young, wiry man with short, spiky black hair. He wore a loose brown waistcoat over an off-white shirt, along with a pair of leather trousers tucked into high black boots, an autopistol holstered at his waist. He didn’t look up as I entered, so enrapt was he in his work.

“Aelius! I thought I told you to remain outside.” My voice was faintly muffled by the helm I wore.

He looked up at that, frowning apologetically. “Sorry sir, I was anxious to get to work, and you took quite a while to arrive.”

I shook my head, moving into the room. Aelius was my savant, though he functioned more as an interrogator every day. He was thirty years standard, young by both normal standards and those of the Inquisition, with the tanned skin and dark eyes of Talliks. I’d recruited him eight years ago from Ascension, where he’d worked illegitimately as a hacker and data-scourer to pay off his debts to a crime-lord. He’d assisted me in taking down the man in return for a lenient sentence, though neither of us had realised it would be his service in my retinue. Since then he’d served me well both procuring information and cracking any security that barred my way. But, he was also quite apathetic when it came to orders, and I was regularly forced to admonish him. It was a shame; really, his mind was far quicker than mine, and his martial prowess would likely surpass me if he ever made it that far. Still, a good servant turns away no tools.

“What have you discovered then?” I enquired, moving to stand before him.

He grimaced at this, shaking his hand. “Nothing. At all; the man was a perfect citizen. No criminal record, beyond a few nights in the drunk-tank in his early years, and I’ve found no evidence of any illicit activities on his cogitator. Either he’s much better at disguising files than I am, or he’s just a victim.”

I nodded my head, turning to survey the room. Generally, cults were good at covering their tracks – better than most criminals – but they always left a few signs that a skilled inquisitor could find. Aelius knew these signs almost as well as I, and if he hadn’t spotted them there was little chance I would.

Thankfully though, I wasn’t looking for evidence of cult activity, I was looking for evidence of the warp.

“There likely won’t be any – he’s a victim, not a perpetrator. We’re looking for evidence of Warpcraft somewhere… Did you bring your psy-scanner?”

“Oh, yes, one moment…” He lent over the arm of the chair, opening the bag he’d dumped there. After a moment of fumbling he withdrew the scanner; a short rod; with a two-pronged tip, which would emit a faint hum if it detected any evidence of the warp. As ever, around me, it gave a faint, half-hearted whine at my latent abilities, but what we were looking for would be much louder.

“Scan the bedroom, and bathroom; I’ll take this room. Alert me if you find anything.” I nodded to him and moved off, reactivating the Ghost-Sight as I scanned the contents of the room.

We worked for perhaps twenty minutes – far longer than it should have taken to inspect the small apartment, perhaps, but I’d always placed thoroughness above speed. Eventually; about the time I was checking the cupboard under the sink, Aelius called for me.

“Sir, we got something.” He stuck his head out from the bathroom, waving me in. Closing the door to the cupboard, I moved through to the small room.

Inside, Aelius was pointing the scanner towards the sink, the device emitting a loud drone as it detected the psychic energy emitting from the area. Sadly, the device was no more precise than that, and without touching anything Aelius could not narrow the search.

I could though; one object there was lit up with an inner light; a purplish-red that seemed both malevolent and welcoming; inescapably evil, but wanting to drag you down with it. We had found the source of the affliction.

It was tooth powder.

A bit more Zetum

So, slightly wobbly week. Didn't get a whole lot done, and the Unjust still hasn't taken any photos of my most recent work... so, that's that out the window. And I don't wanna give you two weeks of Perry, so what to do?

Well, I could relate what happened in Scion, but as I said, I think it'd be better for everyone if I did that after a couple sessions - cos updates will be few and far between, and I don't wanna give you a thirty second update now when I could write a decent sized post if I just waited.

So, more Zetum I suppose.

He had a lot of adventures over the most recent campaign - he joined a crusade, killed a Chaos Lord (after being crushed by him) and even became the leader of a Khornate Cult at one stage... whilst wielding a plasma gun and a combat knife. No one ever called him sensible.

Except himself. Repeatedly.

But, well, I've talked about his past, and then his motivation... but what about his skills? It was a common joke during the campaign that he'd be unstoppable if everyone around his would just behave rationally for ten minutes. His main strength was how good he was at planning, and weakness that everyone around him was... well, Chaotic.

So, what's he good at? Well, as I said - he's an excellent planner. He exemplifies the Alpha Legion's multi-layered strategies - he has a dozen or more back-ups for any situation he's likely to face, though he's less good at improvising. It is a very rare occasion when he has not plan to counter his foes, but when that happens he tends to either freeze up - just for a moment or two, but that's often long enough - or else do the first thing that pops into his head... exemplified in the campaign when he deliberately toppled a Terminator onto himself...

He is also, apparently, a very popular leader - inspiring Khornates to express genuine concern at the thought of his apparent death... though, to be fair, he had taken to shooting anyone who disagreed, so maybe he'd just routed out the less-idolising members of his coven.

... But what about his skills as a warrior rather than a sergeant? Well, like most of his kin, he is proficient in both stealth and sabotage - the first thing I ever wrote about him, actually, was sneaking into an outpost and deactivating the defences. In melee he's... well, decidedly average. In a fair fight, he's a fifty/fifty chance of beating a loyalist, and would probably lose to most Chaos Marines... that being said, it is a rare day when he fights fair - he'll happily shoot a foe who looks to be gearing up for a duel, and if that's not an option he has a wrist-blade that comes as quite the surprise to his would-be-adversary...
... and in case you're wondering - it's mounted on the back of his arm. So I'm ripping off Republic Commandos, not Assassins Creed.

But, ultimately, where he excels is as a marksman. He favours either plasma guns or scoped bolters - the former in open combat, the latter on reconnaissance. He is a capable pistolier - actually that might develop as his storyline progresses - but mostly he prefers two-handed rifles. He'll never be a Telion, but he can out-shoot 90% of his fellows, and carries a variety of tricks to aid him in when he's outgunned - from smoke grenades and cryo-bombs (developed quite recently, and never used for their intended function), to more esoteric equipment - at least when he can get a hold of it.

... I reckon that's probably a good time to cut off. I could describe him physically, but I don't know that it'd add much - and since I still don't have a model for him, I don't wanna write myself a cheque my clumsy mitts can't cash.

So, lets leave it here. Thank you so much for reading, and I'll try and get some photos taken for next week.

And Merry Christmas. Gotta love this time-a-year.

Volodanti out.