Fairfax OSR - IC Thread

Fenris-77

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The Fairfax OSR - a puny dank little office in the downtown core, with faded upholstery and yellowed wallpaper and a sign out front that reads Bremner and Sons Consulting. A ancient secretary crouches behind a massive metal desk, a brutalist relic of some cold war college campus, who fingers an MP5 whenever someone comes in the door. Through the back is a bathroom with a toilet no sane person would ever even crouch over, and a cramped supply closet with cleaning products dating back to the world wars. You pull on a mop handle and a section of wall slides aside and you enter the inner sanctum of the your OSR field office.

Down a rickety flight of wooden stairs is another dank, cramped, office but this time with yellowed arcane parchments on the wall and an underwhelming collection of cryptozooology specimens in formaldehyde valiantly trying to fill a small set of shelves. There are six cubicles, four currently occupied (by you and you stalwart compatriots). One door on the left reads Manager in faded paint on frosted glass, and another door on the right, made of solid steel and looking like it was purchased from a submarine supply depot, reads Storage in large important red lettering, above which some funny wank has added Lip and Asshole in pink sharpie. Desultory efforts to remove the sharpie have obviously met with limited success.

Each cubicle has a desk and office chair, both of indeterminate quality and provenance. Every desk is piled high with stacks of paperwork, post-it notes, empty takeaway containers, and half mugs of questionable coffee. The two currently unoccupied cubicles have become dumping grounds for everything from outdated field manuals to half-built flame throwers to velvet bags that seem to writhe when you catch them out of the corner of your eye. The only evidence of the current century in the room are the laptops on each desk, which are quite obviously very new, and who's sleek lines suggest a level of functionality that no mere mortal will ever need.

Your desk has an sizeable collection of overlapping post-its from your manager, each with lettering larger and more jagged than the last, requesting the submission, ASAP, of your overdue A5-3 and C-44 forms from last week's field operation. Welcome home.

Please add final character writeups here as you have time.

Link to the Character Keeper
 
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Fenris-77

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Your Manager - Glen Drumsetter -
rip-torn.jpg

A pudgy, smart, and somewhat sweaty fellow. Something like 50, and veteran of OSR fieldwork. He's harried, and always busy, but still somewhat an enlisted man's manager, at least up to a point. His managerial style is idiosyncratic, to say the least, relying more on post-its than on anything as fancy as email. That said, he's a fiend for paperwork, and like some kind of alien slug, he will crawl right up your ass is your A-45's aren't in on time after a field op. On the upside, he mostly leaves the agents alone to work as they see fit, and at least so far has had your back when things go sideways.
 

Fenris-77

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Richard Dale (Deltone)
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  • Stats: Charm +1; Cool -1; Sharp +2; Tough +1; Weird 0
  • Gear: Magical Dagger; Juju Bag; .357 Magnum
  • Moves: Precise Strike; Preparedness
  • Haven: Lore Library; Armoury; Workshop
  • Deets: Lined face; tailored clothes; grumpy
Deltone is a tall, gaunt, man who might be 50 or 150, it's hard to tell. He's veteran of the Twenty Palaces and his place in the Fairfax Field Office is something in the way of semi-retirement (by comparison anyway). He sits at his desk and reads mostly, when he's not managing the office library or fitting a holy water infuser to a flamethrower. His response to gladhanding is a grunt or a nod, and he never seems phased by anything that comes across his desk. Deltone is always impeccably turned out in a black suit, and, in fact, black everything. You heard a rumour that someone once bought him a white shirt for his birthday and he shot them in the forehead. When he does speak he tends to the laconic and sarcastic.

History:

James Hew
has done a bit more Twenty Palace work than the other agents, and has seen first hand what Deltone has had to do and is capable of. The Twenty Palaces is completely uncompromising on the subject of rogue grimoires, and their sanctioning methods are ... extreme. Deltone appreciates that Jimmy doesn't run his mouth.

Agent Winters came to Deltone for advice on one of his early cases for the Fairfax Field Office, a nasty bit of business with a Necromancer named Kriezler. Deltone told him to call in the Twenty Palaces. That saved the team's bacon, but the collateral cost is something that Winters has trouble forgiving, or forgetting. It was the right call, but the price...

Bobby Leslie helped Deltone acquire a complete copy of the Sefer Raziel Ha-Malakh, which now resides happily in the Field Office special collection. The book mysteriously vanished from the collection of a German Count and arrived at the field office via FedEx the next day. No questions were asked.

Adam McGregor almost died on a botched meet with a conspiracy contact, but Deltone showed up out of the blue and pulled him out. Adam can't figure how Deltone even knew where he was, and has harboured suspicions ever since. Deltone can live with this state of affairs.
 
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Silverlion

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I am Fēngbào zhī shī also known as James Hew (Chinese: Hu, Closer to Who but no relation) he's busy playing music over his phone, via earbuds. Though has a Company official PDF open on his issued laptop scanning the Welcome And Readiness Manual (WARM-3.9) and comparing the Chinese and English version making notes of mistakes in translation. Google translate is NOT good enough for the specifics required. As a human, he wears casual day-to-day attire, jeans, and a slightly oversize T-shirt today it says "Wierd Every Other Wednesday" of course most of his T-shirts have humorous jokes on them that allude to strangeness, such as "Not an Official Man-in-Black" its one way he copes with being in human form. Right now he's only managing because full hands are useful.

He looks pretty ordinary, average height, average healthy weight, dark hair color, and some obvious Chinese ancestry elements. That is when he's not a guarding spirit for Buddhist Temples, out doing things. Then he is an inhuman, monstrous-sized, vaguely leonine creature with glowing eyes.

Charm-1
Cool=0
Sharp+1
Tough+2
Weird+1

His divine armor appears to be a collar with a sphere on it, and for some reason, he always has a crocheted ball with him, of course, the thing is really a Meteor Hammer (stats as per 5 Demon Bag) right now he's got it rolling between his hands. Moves: Smite, Lay on Hands, Cast Out Evil.

The group knows I'm a big living Shī, and that I deal with the human form in quirky ways.
Now with Adam McGregor: They’re the person you go to for advice on mortal stuff (e.g sex, food, drugs, television, etc). Mostly because as a kook it will lead to some unlikely fun misunderstandings.

Richard Dale (Deltone) They are, at heart, a good and righteous person. You must help them stay that way.

Finally, with Gary Winters. They should not be involved in this situation: the prophecies didn’t mention them at all. This gets your attention but you don’t know what it means yet.
 

Simon Hogwood

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Slipping his rumpled jacket over the back of his chair, Adam McGregor casts his suspicious eyes over the carefully cultivated mess. Satisfied that Glen hadn't poked too deeply into the esoterically sorted piles, he sits and prepares to begin the day.

Tending towards paranoia and conspiratorial thinking even before recruitment, Adam proved almost too mentally compatible with the OSR, slipping the Arcane War and the Twenty Palaces right in with theories about how the Centralia Mine Fire was caused by the Dero defending themselves from Snake Demons using the miners as catspaws.

Stats: Charm +1, Cool -1, Sharp+ 2, Tough 0, Weird +1

Flake Moves: Connect the Dots, Often Overlooked, Net Friends

Gear: 9mm, Holdout Pistol, Watchman's Flashlight

He was recruited by Gary Winters, who found him through conspiracy and cryptozoology websites. He's been keeping an eye on Richard Dale (Deltone), who he thinks somehow tied into it all. James Hew he sees as a fellow freak, and is a close relative of Bobby Leslie (if Voros Voros is still playing, and cares to define the exact relationship).
 

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Winters enters the office carrying a cup of coffee and gives McGregor and Leslie a weak good morning wave. Before he sits down at his desk he glances at Hew for a moment. Hard to accept he's a supernatural, there's something about when they're in their human form you just can't imagine some magic being is sitting in front of you.

Looking away from Hew before he is noticed, he groans as he sees Drumsetter's collection of post-its. He sits down to handle the first one: following up on delayed shipping of some arcane text. He sighs and picks up the phone.

Stats: Charm 0, Cool +2, Sharp+ 2, Tough -1, Weird -1

Professional Moves: Bottle It Up, Unfazeable, Leave No One Behind

Gear: Assault Rifle, .38 handgun, Knife, Combat Armour

History with other characters:
OOC: Filling out things a bit, no problem if it contradicts ideas of your characters just going off your stats and moves.

He'd been posted here on account of his "expertise" with Chinese mythological creatures* which made him the "perfect fit" for working with James Hew especially since they'd worked together unofficially and successfully on a separate minor mission. It did feel reassuring to be on the team with somebody who could magically heal.
Deltone scares the shit out of him, despite him saving Gary from a botched investigation of a higher vampire nest (saved from FUBAR mission). How the fuck did a regular man get past the vampires?! Even worse was how prepared Deltone was for the whole thing. Who could source a cross of Saint Agatha on such short notice?
He'd worked with McGregor before in an official capacity on a werewolf case and even suggested him to be placed in a proper unit. His cryptozoological knowledge allowed him to spot signs of more obscure creatures. The werewolf had turned out to be a werehyena.
He's been told by higher ups to keep an eye on the grifter Leslie whose suspected of selling some OSR inside info for quick cash, though Gary doubts it.

*Gary didn't seem to be able to convince anybody that the Nian in San Fran was just an easy going guy. "I majored in Etruscan studies!" he'd argued hoping for a post in Italy
 
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Voros

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Leslie ended up staying overnight in the office, falling asleep at his desk and comes out of the bathroom having washed up in the bathroom.

He believes he has the others fooled so they don't realize this but his unshaven, ramshackle appearence makes it all too obvious.

He greets everyone a tad too cheerfully, particularly his cousin James Hew who he plans on asking for a few hundred from during lunch today.

Charm +2, Cool +1 Sharp 0, Tough -1, Weird +1

My guy is Bobby Leslie, the Crooked, a former cardshark and Grifter on the DL after crossing and owing too much to too many people. My Day Job, which I'm keeping just by my fingertips, is with The Company where I spend most of my day in the 10-year-old Dell desktop trawling betting sites, trying to beat the spread and losing on absurdly long shot parlay.

I have a Grimoire, the Dragon Rouge in patois, I won in a game of craps from a dangerous Santeria priest and steadfastly believe gives me good luck (it doesn't although it does work as described in the Playbook) and Friends on the Force who I know from my haunting of cop bars to avoid my creditors.

.38 revolver, baseball bat, .22 revolver.

6a00d83451cb7469e20263e944937f200b-800wi.jpg
 
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Fenris-77

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The door to Drumsetter’s office pounds open, rattling the ancient glass, and he comes striding out like a man on a mission, holding a sheaf of papers and chewing gum like it’s a favored enemy. “Alright you lazy susans, put away your macramé and stop painting your nails, we have a case,” he growls, and starts tacking some papers up on the already crowded mission board. Swearing under his breath he moves some sheets from your last case to one side, and grabs the collection of memes and cartoons that inevitably collect in the middle of the board, crumples them up, and tosses them over his shoulder, plainly expecting someone else to pick them up. “Deltone! Why is this board such a goddam mess all the time?” he asks.

Deltone shrugs and replies, “The folly of youth? Poor parenting?”. He picks up the crumpled paper and sets it gently on the top of the tower of crumpled paper overflowing his personal trash bin.

Drumsetter finishes tacking up the papers and steps back, satisfied, and puts his hands on his hips as he turns to face the cubicles. “OK, pay attention, there’s not a whole lot to go on here, but it came priority from the Twenty Palaces side, so we’re moving on it ASAP, I hope you have you go bags packed because you don’t have time to go home for a schvitz.” He glances at the papers on the board.

“Here’s what we know. A report came in from the coroner in Landry, South Carolina, maybe an hour ago, about some, hmm, irregularities with an autopsy. They had two dead in some kind of home invasion. The one schmuck checked out, but the perp caused their coroner some grief. Apparently there are some issues establishing time of death. Issues measured in days”. He rubs the bridge of his nose and sighs. “You know the Twenty have a stick up their collective asses about certain possibilities here, if it’s Necromancy related we need to get it under wraps right quick before they decide to, whatever, nuke the town from orbit. We don’t have the police report yet, so you guys will have to connect with the Sheriff down there to get orientated. He’s expecting you, and we fed him some shit about terror and bioweapons. Deltone, you can coordinate from here.”

“Despite the bite out of my poor, stretched, budget, you’ll fly down,” Drumsetter says, “You’ll fly into the airport at Sumter and there will be a couple of rental sedans waiting for you. The drive to Landry is maybe half an hour. Try not to trash the rental cars this time gents, the damage deposits are killing me.” He glances at his watch. “The plane leaves at 1400 from the Fairfax airport, so that gives you about 45 minutes to grab your balls and get there. Questions?”
 

Séadna

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Winters feels compelled to answer first as the most "official OSR" member of the team.

"So, guy breaks in, home owner and perp die in altercation, but perps body has something..." he searches for proper OSR terminology "...postnatural about him. Body explicitly in an advance state of decay is what I'm wondering? Or something more subtle making TOD difficult to establish. Or is this just a get there and talk to the coroner deal?"
 

Fenris-77

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"Yeah, lets go with postnatural," says Drumsetter, frowning. "You know medical types, when they don't know something they tend to be mighty cagey in their official reports. The gist of it is that the normal indicators of time of death would have him dead for a day maybe two, the the body was plainly, by other forensic indicators, definitely involved in an altercation with the home owner within hours of being brought in." Drumsetter sighs. "This could be nothing, just a lab mix-up or regular idiot country bumpkin who's seen too many episodes of CSI, but we need to be sure. Talking to the coroner should be a first step though, yes, in addition to getting up to speed with the local badges."
 

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"Do we have any background on the homeowner?" MacGregor asks, mind spinning with search terms to use in his own background gathering.

OOC: Rolling 2d6(?)+Sharp(2) to power my Connect the Dots move. Result is . . . 12, for three answered questions later in the mystery.
 

Fenris-77

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"It's in the report," replies Drumsetter. "Fellow's name is Roy Howard, some kind of banker."

OOC: Keep a note of the forward three somewhere. You can ask anything even tangentially related to Howard and/or his business, acquaintances, etc etc.
 

Silverlion

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Having pulled his headphones out, he adjusts his pants and pockets his phone. He keeps rolling the crocheted ball around in his hand like a touch-juggler, using fingers only to shift it around over and under. "Postnatural, I like it, but it's not good at all. Are we sure the body wasn't on ice? Did they send us any pictures? I like pictures, they're worth what is it, uh, ten million words?" James says slipping on a light sports jacket over his shirt, switching the ball between hands by just rolling it there along his knuckles to slip his previously occupied hand through the sleeve. Do I get to check out a gun? They always expect us to have guns.

He shrugs not really expecting answers to his questions, he just doesn't know what else to say. "I hope it's not jiangshi, they're a ...a....I don't know the word." He sighs.
 

Fenris-77

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Drumsetter gives James a flat look. "Ice? No, we don't know about ice. No, there aren't any pictures. Its just a preliminary report. Like I said, medical folk are cagey when they don't know things. All we know is that the Twenty have their knickers in a twist about it. And yes, take a fucking gun. Flashing a badge and your bloody macrame doesn't have quite the same effect I'm told. Try not to shoot yourself."
 

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"Adam? He asks quietly, what kind of gun should I get? I mean, on TV they always get these big things, I think they're called shotputs?" He asks a little nervously. "or on the news they say a lot that automatic rifle's were used in these horrible crimes, let's stay away from one of those.."
 

Fenris-77

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If you address a particular character, it's always a good idea to ping that user at the end of the post, just so they know someone is playing their song. So in this case: Séadna Séadna
 

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OOC: Adam is actually played by me.

Silverlion Silverlion "Oh, don't worry - we're not nearly at the point to resort to those," MacGregor responds, attempting to be be reassuring. "All we'll hopefully need for the fact-finding is a pistol or two. They usually give us Glocks of some kind - " he pauses to hand his friend the appropriate form - "I keep asking for the ceramic ones that don't show up on metal detectors, but someone keeps diverting the requests. Personally, I suspect Dale." This last is said in a softer, barely audible whisper.
 

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"Ceramic I understand, but how do they...no never mind, just let me get this filled out. I can at least understand the forms, especially with all the work on the Chinese version of W.A.R.M." He sighs a bit sad he was wrong but fills out the form.
 

Fenris-77

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OOC: You guys only fly small airlines and charters, so metal detectors aren't really a concern.
 

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OOC: That aside was intended less as a serious concern, and more as an indication that Adam is, well, a Flake.
 

Fenris-77

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I know, that was just an info dump, not an indictment of the smack talk.
 

Voros

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'So...uh, how much are we getting paid for this?' I ask as I reach into a bottom drawer and feel around for some Tylenol.
 

Fenris-77

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Drumsetter rolls his eyes heavenward and makes and obvious attempt to calm himself. "You. Are. On. Salary." He says, with difficulty.
 

Voros

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'Oh yeah, right, right...' I say. 'But there's a per diem right?' I look around at the others as if I expect them to agree, then wander over to the coffee pot.
 

Fenris-77

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Drumsetter walks away from you and spends a solid minute staring into the corner. He sighs deeply several times and then walks back. "Yes, there is a per diem. The same per diem, in fact, that you've been paid every time you've been in the field. You have filed expense accounts for it. No, you can't claim change for the Magic Fingers, and trying to expense prostitutes needs more substantiation than the last time you tried. I want you to memorize this phrase," he says, with another sigh "relevant to the case. Say it with me, relevant to the case." He pauses for a second, regarding you steadily, and then smiles, but not meanly, "Now fuck off and get your shit together."
 

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"Yes Sir" Gary says with a nod and hops off his desk, doing a few neck stretches.

"I doubt anybody has any sight-seeing to do here, so let's head straight for the airport?" he says heading to the small locker that has his stuff.
 
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Fenris-77

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So you all pack yourselves and your various baggage into a couple of SUVs and drivers run you out to the Fairfax Airport. There you find a small plane fueled and ready to go, piloted by Gavin Brules, a regular pilot for your field work flights. He's a slim man with a vaguely ridiculous ginger goatee who gets you and your kit squared away in short order.

The flight to Sumpter takes less than an hour and goes smooth as butter. When you arrive your baggage is offloaded quickly onto three carts and Gavin waves goodbye, telling you he has another company pickup, but next time lets get beers.

You lug your carts into the pokey little airport and see the rental kiosk just inside the tarmac doors. An older gent sits behind the counter reading a copy of Guns and Ammo though a pair of tiny circular reading glasses.

What do you do?
 

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"Okay we pick up the Sedans here, but lets have a game plan.

Leslie you speak to the coroner initially, you know how to speak to people to get them to open up and we need the coroner to be willing to discuss anything he has noticed but fears he'll sound nuts for saying. Then if needed I'll follow with more specific questions. McGregor that'll give you time to inspect the body or anything else in the morgue. See if you can use that cryptozoological database in your head to spot anything funny. Hew be on guard. Even something like talking on the coroner can go South fast. He could already be a puppet for some entity and you're our powerhouse. Sound good?"

Gary delivers this in a confident tone he ruins with the occasional glance to the OSR field pocket book.
 

Fenris-77

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Winters delivers this monologue as you get to the rental kiosk. The old duffer slowly gets up out of his chair and beckons you to follow, says something about there only being two sedans left. You walk out into the parking lot and he hands Winters two sets of keys. The first is a for relatively new Crown Vic in a neutral grey colour, it looks like a cop car, but oh well. The second set of keys is also for a Crown Vic, but this one of a decidedly older vintage. It's an early 80's model, in a sparkly gold finish, with a plush purple velour interior, and equipped with the newest and finest in 8-Track technology. So who's driving what?
 

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"C'mon, big guy, let's you and me take the Satanic Panic-mobile," says MacGregor, elbowing Hew in the side as he reaches to take one set of keys from Winters.
 

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"Satanic Panic Mobile? I do not understand your reference, but sure let's take the one you've chosen, once we are on our way you can explain." Hew says with a confused look. He scans the airport to see if anyone else is around. While they walk.
 

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Voros Voros
After giving the keys to MacGregor, Winters turns to Leslie and hands him the other set for the older Sedan.
"You're probably the better driver, I'll take shotgun"
 

Voros

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'Let's roll,' Leslie says as he shuffles to the car.
 

Fenris-77

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Deltone would appreciate pics of Bobby driving the pimp mobile.

Now that you guys are saddled up lets figure out who's going where and talking to whom. The drive into Landry is pretty, but uneventful. There are a lot of cars on the road, and you pass a sign as you head into town that tells you that this week is the Hog Wild BBQ fest in Landry, which might explain the traffic. You pass a likely motel on the way into town, the Cozy-8, nestled in the middle of some light industrial stuff, mostly flat office building looking factory buildings and a couple of box stores. As you get into Landry proper you see that's a picturesque little town, with a very turn of the century downtown strip. The sidewalks are packed with tourists, looking sunburned and happy. Lots of ice cream cones, Tilly hats, and guys wearing socks and sandals. Your GPS tells you that the police station is just ahead, a couple of blocks off the main drag.
 

Séadna

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Voros Voros
Winters smiles idly at the tourists.

"Hey Leslie, looks nice huh? Maybe we can hang out a bit after the mission" though somehow he doubts it.
"Maybe only you and I need to speak to the coroner. MacGregor and Hew can talk to the local cops, especially the ones who were at the scene of the crime. I'll see what they think"

He calls Hew to see if himself and MacGregor agree.
 

Fenris-77

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OOC: Crime scene is currently taped off but no one is likely to be there. If you want to talk to the po-po you should go to the station.
 

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Leslie grunt in agreement and squints painfully in the sunshine. 'Road trip to the morgue it is... Let's pick up some coffee and hashbrowns at Micky Ds on the way,' he suggests.
 
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Silverlion

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"Why are so many people dressed the same?" Hew asks and scans the crowd.
 

Séadna

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"I thought you wanted me to look at the corpse?"
OOC: Sorry should have said. Just take this as Winters ringing to confirm what exactly what you and Hew think is best, i.e. come with to the morgue as originally planned or do you want to scope out the local police first yourself.
 
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