De Vita In Excessum

Damage – Hit me baby one more time

Posted on October 21, 1999 at 7:51 pm by dvie

I’ve reworked that part of the entire WoD that I liked least about the characters: damage.

I can see supernatural creatures living of the extremely simplified damage system, but frankly, mortals should be given a lot more attention. I can also see this method be used by supernaturals, as it shows how an injury can be an actual hindrance. Here goes:

As mortals don’t have to worry about supernatural sources of damage, all damage done to them can be soaked normally, using Stamina. If any damage is left after this "soak-phase", the effect and severity should be determined, taking the place of the attack and the amount of successes left into account. Also, the type of damage should be considered.

Severity:
The severity of the damage done should, naturally, influence the effect as well. Not only this, but I feel it should also influence the time spend to heal the wound. I realize the problems this can cause, since time travels slowly in the WoD, when compared to the normal world, so perhaps an intermediate can be found:

1,2: Mild injury, can often be "shaken off" after the battle.
3: Effect can be ignored after one full day has past.
4: Effects can be healed in a week, unassisted.
5,6: Surgical aid needed
7+: Removed violently.

Placing:
The effect damage has to one’s system is highly correlated to the placing of the damage. A kick in the calf can be highly painful and even result in a broken bone, but it would not cause dizziness, like damage to the head does.

Type:
Bashing damage is pretty straightforward. The table below should cover that issue, or at least give some ideas. For fire damage, I suggest simply increase the damage by one or two levels. For slashing damage, make the probability or torn muscles (or even bones) lower, as for removal of the body parts.

Table:

Bashing damage; when does it does what?

Place	Severity	Symptom	Effect
Head	1 success	Dizziness	loss of initiative
	2 successes	small black out	loss of action(-s)
	3 successes	blackout + headache	loss of all actions for the remainder of the scene + all rolls diff.+1 afterwards
	4 successes	unconsciousness + severe headache	loss of all actions for the remainder of the scene + all rolls dive. +2 afterwards
	5+ successes	brain damage	above, +(permanent) loss of Wits
Limbs	1 success	bruises	no effect
	2 successes	bleeders	loss of all initiative for the next turn only
	3 successes	bruised	dive. of using limb +1
	4 successes	torn muscles	halved dice pools involving limb
	5+ successes	broken bone(-s)	useless limb
Chest	1 success	"skip a breath"	loss of initiative
	2 successes	temporarily out of breath	loss of action(-s)
	3 successes	bruised	all movement rolls dive. +1
	4 successes	cracked ribs	all movement rolls dive. +2
	5+ successes	punctured lung	movement (virtually) impossible

I hope these ideas make the mortals of your games a bit more "real", or at least make the general playability of them a bit better. Also, like I stated in the introduction, I can see this system being used with Supernaturals as well. For vampires, simply add Fortitude to the Stamina roll (or replace Stamina by Fortitude in case of Aggravated damage). The other supernaturals (mortal as they (usually) are) should require even less adjustment.

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Curiosity Killed the Cat: Millie’s Embrace

Posted on October 21, 1999 at 7:51 pm by dvie

by MillieCat

Winter 1976:

"What a cute baby", I told my teacher. She had brought her three-month-old son to our third grade class for us to see. "What is his name? How old is he? Where are his teeth? What is that plastic thing around his bottom…?" I asked on and on. My teacher had long since ignored the many questions that flowed from me constantly. I guess I am a wee bit curious, and was even then.

"Where do babies come from?" I asked earnestly and loudly. I really wanted to know, REALLY wanted to know. She knew that look in my eye and the edge in my voice. Suddenly, she got the same expression on her face that she did four months before, when she had brought her puppy to class and found me trying to take it apart. I just HAD to now what made that cute little tail wag.

Holding the baby even more closely, she spoke shakily, "Maybe you should ask your moth…" She stopped cold. She was aware that I did not even know my mother. "I will ask my papa", I smiled. I was looking forward to getting the answer, and nothing else was on my mind for the rest of the school day. "Papa! Papa!", I yelled as I ran in the door, breathless from sprinting all five blocks home. I knew he would probably be asleep, it being the first of the month and all, with a fresh check and a liquor store nearby.

"PAPA!" I wailed in earnest, and then I saw him coming out of the kitchen, bottle in hand. "Yes, Millie dear?" he asked. He, too, knew the tone of my voice now was one that NEEDED an answer. Papa understood. Papa loved me. He sat on the sofa and smiled at me, and stared at me, as he did quite often.

"Where do babies come from?" He just gazed at me. "Well, Papa, where do they come from?" Still nothing. "Papa, are you okay?" "Come over here and sit down", he said, finally. "You are a pretty little girl…so much like your mother. I remember when I first saw you, I knew that I had a daughter that I could love." He was close, and his breath was bad. "So, you want to know where babies come from." My ears twitched, my heart pounded, my body writhed. Yes, I wanted to know…needed to know. "Well, I will just have to show you, then." He quickly moved closer, and pushed me onto my back on the couch. I hoped that it would not take very long for him to show me.

He then lifted my skirt, and ripped off my panties. "Hey!" I said. "Why did you do that?" He just laughed. He then grabbed a wrist and a leg with each hand. Then came mind-bending pain. It seemed to go on forever. For a moment, I even almost forgot my question.

"TELL ME!" I screeched, "TELL ME!" He got off of me, laughing. I tried to sit up, but could not. It hurt too much. "Papa! Tell me now!" He laughed, "I just did", and he started off to the bedroom. "I do not understand." I sobbed. "Please tell me." He just laughed. I managed to wrench myself upright. "Please, please, please…I have to know. You tell me other things. Why not this? You told me about the bad people that we must steal from, about how mother did not love us and left us alone, and about how there is not really a god. Why won’t you tell me this?!?"

He stumbled to the bed and fell hard on it. I managed to get up painfully and follow him. I went to the foot of the bed and screamed at him "Wake up! Wake up!" but he did not. I pulled his face towards me and yelled in his ear "Wake up! Tell me!" I slapped his face, harder and harder. I pried his eyes open. I let go and they fell closed. I pried again, and again, and again, until my hands were covered in blood, as were his eyes, what was left of them. I did this for longer than I can remember. The next thing I remember is waking up to screaming. Our neighbor who took me to school in the mornings was in the doorway of the bedroom, and was screaming. She ran out of the house. I guess I fell asleep again because the next thing that I remember is being held very closely by a lady cop, and hearing a different scream. It was Papa. I was being held too closely to see, and I was rushed out of there. I never saw my Papa again.

Spring/Summer 1986:

I was much the quiet child and teenager after that. I found that listening and watching was a much better way of finding out the things that I wanted to know. If I wanted to know if Billy had a girlfriend, I simply followed him. If I wanted to know what my foster parents were arguing about I would just get in my closet that shared a wall with their room, and listen. I even found out about the baby thing from a book. Papa had been showing me, after all.

Then, when I was sixteen, a lovely girl came to our school. She was not in my grade, but a senior. She caught my attention as I was walking through the hall and heard the loveliest lilting French speech that I had ever listened to. I did not even speak French, but this caught me instantly, and her beauty held me there. ‘Who is she?’ I wondered. I would find out.

It was nearing the end of school and her imminent graduation so I needed to establish where she lived and her regular hangouts quickly while I still had school from which to follow her. I found out her name easily enough. It was Allyson. ‘Lovely name for a lovely creature,’ I thought. At first, her routine seemed normal – she would get a ride home with friends, get something to eat (I love those big dining room windows), and maybe go mall hopping or movie seeing, though she preferred plays, and other sweet but expensive pastimes. I also occasionally got the very definite feeling that I was not the only one watching her.

Then, two weeks before the end of school, her parents disappeared. There were police, reporters and friends around her constantly, but she felt utterly alone. I, of course, knew that she was not. I was with her. She was eighteen, so by all rights an adult, and had no other family. Of course, she had offers from everyone imaginable to stay with them, but she declined. All but one, that is. By this time, I could get into her house without tripping the alarms. Come to think of it, the police may have suspected that the same person who had been tripping those alarms might be responsible for her parents’ disappearance. It was, sadly, much easier to get in without her parents around. That is how I found out about the offer of a ‘safe haven’ from a person whom I had not seen before, but who felt eerily familiar. It was at night, very late in fact. My foster parents did not notice when I went out, as long as I brought home a report card and bathed regularly. Not that they could have stopped me. I was her the house, in Allyson’s own closet behind a wedding dress that never moved.

"Come away with me," he said. "I have a place for you. You have nothing here." Not very eloquent, I thought, but through the course of the conversation he convinced her to go to Ft. Worth with him. She must have been so lonely, to accept such an offer.

‘My poor Allyson. I will come with you.’ I mouthed. She almost seemed to hear. "I am going to Canada with my friend Allyson. You know, the one who’s parents are missing." No objection yet from my keepers. "She is sooo lonely, and I am her bestest friend, and she said that she would pay for everything for the whole summer." I heard them discussing it later. They were talking about how they would still get the money for keeping me, and how they would have no expenses for me for the summer, and how I had not seemed this happy about anything since they knew me. It worked! They did not even call Allyson, thank goodness, or they may have found that I lied about her destination and everything else. They even gave me $100 of ‘just in case’ money!

The next day I got into her house again. To my surprise, she was there, asleep. I looked through her things until I found a plane ticket and an address paper clipped to it. There was also a lot of cash. This guy wanted no mistakes. I memorized the address but got edgy so found something to write it down with as well. I ran home, grabbed a backpack that I had prepared for myself, hid the luggage that I had packed under the baseboards, left a note, and was out of there. A bus to Ft. Worth turned out to be pretty expensive, so I hitched a ride. I got picked up by a truck driver who was going to Dallas, who lectured me on how I should NEVER do that again the WHOLE way there. Sheesh. Ah well, free is free. He even fed me a bit, and took pity on me and brought me to Ft. Worth. I said I was headed for TCU, so that is where he let me off. It was also close to the address, but I was so tired. I found a nearby storm drain. I had never seen one so large. I went about twenty feet inside and fell asleep in the cool dark. When I woke up I did not see the light of daylight at the entrance, but rather the dim yellow of artificial lights. I wondered how late it was, and felt a great need to get out of there.

I emerged to the city. It was so pretty here at night. I felt instantly at home. Wandering a bit, I came to a group of restaurants. The food smelled so good. I was not alone in this opinion. Many stray cats enjoyed the aroma with me and I could hear others digging through the dumpsters.

"Here, kitty, kitty," I called as I sat down on the pavement. Some came, others were shy. I loved cats, and always had. We were much alike. I petted and petted them. Cats like me, too. One even fell asleep on my lap in short order. I then reached around to my backpack and took out one of my precious cans of tuna fish. The instant I started to open it I was surrounded by cats and kittens licking, scratching and biting my fingers, and fighting each other. With bloody fingers, I managed to get the can open and set it down. They even fought over the empty can! I laughed and laughed as I wiped the blood from my hands and fingers on the inside of my shirt.

Suddenly, I felt a strong, frightening presence. The cats all slowly disappeared into the allies and dumpsters. I heeded their keen senses, as well as my own feelings, and made for a nice lighted populated street in search of the address. No worries with the trusty Mapsco that I had stolen. It was for the greater good, though. The clerk would not have understood. I found it, a small house just outside the main hustle and bustle of the college district, and inside I saw my fair Allyson. I was long past curiosity now. I knew all that I need to know. I had seen her in joy, in jubilation, in sorrow, and in desolation. I knew that I loved her. I knew that is what I had been trying to find out.

Ah, the rush of truth flooded through me. With no conscious thought of my own, I found myself knocking on the door. Allyson answered it. "Millie?" she asked confusedly. "Millie from school?" I swooned. She knew my name? I had never talked to her, and had tried not to ever bother her. I had only once made eye contact with her, and then I had looked away quickly. "What an interesting surprise! I know that we never talked. Do you know me? I am Allyson, I was a senior there. I heard that you were probably one of the shyest people in school. I know how it is to be shy, so I tried to talk to you sometimes, but you always seemed to fade into the crowd whenever I tried. What are you doing here, anyway?" My head was swimming. "Please, come inside." She was always so gracious. Then she stuttered a bit, "Um, Paul, this is Millie, a uh, friend of mine from school." I looked at the figure to which she was speaking, and was cowed to silence. "How sweet," he said with a definite edge to his voice. "Since you were so KIND as to let her in MY little house, perhaps I will just take a little stroll and let you two CHILDREN have some girl talk," and with that he whisked out.

I looked at her apologetically, and her eyes followed him as she murmured, "Strange, he has always been so kind and genteel. Perhaps he has things to take care of." Then she looked at me and asked again "So, what ARE you doing here? Not that I mind."

I tried to speak, but nothing came out. Then, through the still open door, another presence appeared. I KNEW that I had felt this presence before. I shuddered. Allyson gasped. He looked at her intently and commanded, "You really should go to bed, now. It is late. You will get the chance to see Millie again later." To my surprise, that is exactly what she did. "So," he said when Allyson was gone. "You like to find out things." He led me out of the house and locked the door with a key. ‘How did he get a key?’ I wondered.

He guided me along. I could not seem stop, or at least could not seem to WANT to stop. "I had to see how far you would go. I had to make sure. I have been watching you for a long time. You came all of this way, alone, for your need to know." Though I knew that this guy was probably about to kill me, or worse, all that I could think was that it had been worth it. I knew what I needed to know. That is what mattered.

"Ah, tuna fish, I smell," he sighed. "The kitties do love that, don’t they? Well, you shall have a long time to spread your particular brand of enlightenment, Millie. A very long time." With that, I snapped momentarily out of my trance to realize that I was in the same storm drain that I had slept in during the day. He then got close, the way Papa had.

I started crying, and shrieking, "No, Papa! I understand now! You do not have to show me!" And then the same kind of mind bending pain, though not between my legs and in my stomach, but in my whole body. The pain stopped suddenly, replaced by a pleasure so wholly indescribable that I would put gladly endure whatever pain to feel this ecstasy. And then, I felt nothing. I had slept through the day again it seemed. How strange, for the last thing I remember was early evening. ‘Oh my, last night, and I am still here. What of Allyson?’ I worried. I found my way out of the drain again, but I seemed to be in deeper than before. I felt strange, but I had things to find out so I ignored it.

I came across the way to the restaurants again. Though I had not eaten, the food did not smell appealing as it had last night. And the kitties that I had petted and fed seemed to be keeping a safe distance from me, watching with their glowing eyes. "Here, kitty, kitty." I called, but none came. I still had my backpack, so I got out another can of tuna and opened it. The kitties were obviously wanting of it, yet holding back for some reason. I set it down and backed up a couple of steps. The bravest ones came and ate cautiously, and I smiled. They were so cute. Very pretty. I love kitties. Then, faster than I could consciously stop myself, I grabbed one up, ripped its throat open with a sharpness of tooth that I did not know I had, and sucked it dry of every ounce of blood that I could squeeze from its malleable body. And then I did it to another. And another. Some were trapped in the dumpster, trying to claw their way past my flesh, but I just grabbed and stuffed the hissing, clawing mess up to my mouth, ripped, and squeezed, over and over again. When there were no more to be found I slumped inside the trash and wept.

"Please let me wake up!" I cried. Then, I heard some rustling very near where I was. I dragged myself up over the top of the dumpster and peeked out. It was a street person. He was very old, and babbling to himself. "NO!" my brain cried. I knew what I was about to do. I hardly even remember doing it. If only he had not looked me in the eyes as he was dying. He almost looked grateful. I knew that what I had done was wrong. Why did he have to confuse the issue? "Not totally wrong," came the voice that had carried me into this nightmare. I turned. "It could be totally wrong, if you left that body lying around for others to find. I will take care of it this time, childe, but in the future, I may not be around. Or I may choose not to help." And then he was gone, vanished instantly before my eyes. "And go and see Allyson, she is concerned," he said, though I still could not see him. I was worried for Allyson, too.

With a numbed mind, I trekked to the house and peeked through a window. I saw her there, wringing her hands. I heard people walking up the street. I had no chance to hide. The only thing between us would be the trellis and it did not even have any vines on it. ‘They must not see me!’ I thought frantically. They walked past and looked my direction. ‘NO!’ I did not even breathe, and strangely, it was easy not to. They looked back to each other and kept walking. ‘How could they have not seen me?’ I puzzled. I looked down. I was covered in blood, and lit by the porch light. How careless, yet they did not notice me. I was afraid to let Allyson see me in this state, but the overwhelming unconscious urge that made me knock on the door the first time was doing it again.

"Millie!" she half sighed, half screamed. "I was so worried about you." Then she looked me up and down. "And it was for good reason, I see! Please, come inside. You can borrow some of my clothes." I came in, but kept my distance from her. The thought of the street person’s eyes as he died was fresh in my mind. And though I felt somewhat sated, she looked positively enticing. She would have none of that standoffishness, though. She grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me to the bathroom. Next, she turned on the shower, took my clothes off, obviously trying not to gag, and pushed me in. It was the most normal I had felt all night.

I got out and dried off. She brought me, of all things, a dress. Oh well. After tonight wearing a dress did not seem so weird after all, even though I had not worn one since the last time I saw my Papa. "Look what I found on my night stand when I got up," and she handed me a business card. It had a black silhouette of a bird on it. Handwritten underneath it was: ‘Worry not, childe, for Paul will trouble you no more.’ "What am I to do, if the plans that Paul had made for me are not to be? He said that he would take care of me. He said that he loved me, even though he had known me for such a short while. And his words went right to my heart. Strange… the effect seems to be fading already." "I will take care of you." I said without thinking. "And I think you must have other friends as well, judging by that card." She did not seem to remember her other visitor last night. I was quite relieved at the thought of that. She looked at me. "I am why you came here, aren’t I?" I nodded. "I think that perhaps we can take care of each other. There is no telling what Paul really had planned for me. He was just preying on my vulnerability. I do not think that is what you are doing. I think we need each other." I nodded again, and looked into her beautiful eyes for the first time.

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Beauty: Inside and Out

Posted on October 21, 1999 at 7:38 pm by dvie

by Nicole Cave

"Excuse me, miss? I couldn’t help but notice your breasts."
"Si, they are perfect, no?"
"Yes, quite perfect. Do you always show them off?"
"Would you rather I cover them? It would be like draping a heavy cloth over a perfect statue.

The man seemed innocuous enough, she had known his kind, quite well in fact. Her eyes took him in, hard lines of the face gave way to the hard planes of his broad shoulders, covered in a thin acrylic which hugged every muscular delineation. He was quite simply, perfect. She wanted him. That was an easy conclusion, and from his roving gaze she knew he wanted her as well. Though to which use each would use each other had yet to be seen.

She performed the dance. The ritual known to any woman worth the breasts upon her chest, smiling, laughing at his jokes, letting him talk incessantly about himself while feigning interest, making it possible to touch him in an inconspicuous way. The dance. He could not seem to break his gaze from her breasts, she decided to tease him, her nipples coming out to say hello before shying away.

The dance, as always worked, soon he was lying nude on her bed as she tied his arms to the bedposts with a nylon rope. She secured his ankles to the posts as well, sprawling him open before her. Her tongue snaked about his lips as she whispered, "Que bellisimo, que belissimo." His mouth worked for her kiss, his body straining against his restraints but she gave him no more. Now her pleasure will begin.

Slowly, she pulled the blade from her jewel toned pendant, the silver making a delicate sound leaving an echo in the warm air about them. His eyes grew wide at the blade, belying his own soft moan escaping his lips. Yes, fear of pain brings pleasure. With an experienced hand, she slid the blade across the flesh of his thick, muscled thigh, watching as his flesh parted to reveal the thin line of blood. His sharp intake of breath sent a shiver through her dead body, a moan of her own escaping as she placed her full, warm lips to the thin line. She continued her ecstatic journey around his body, tasting from his arms, his belly, his nipple and finally his now fully engorged manhood.

The taste was sweeter as it rushed into her mouth, sliding over her lips and down her neck. His last moan was a shuddering breath as with one quick movement she brought the silver blade across his neck to end him. Now, her work began.

Stabbing into his sternum she ripped the blade down his chest to eviscerate him before her hungry eyes. Each organ, lovingly extracted, held above her lips as the still warm liquid dripped into her waiting lips.

   Drip.
            Drip.
                   Drip.

The incessant drop of crimson liquid lulled her into a state of blissful ecstasy. Her fingernails, sharp, pointed and in a matching hue to the "paint" worked the lines in the flesh. Giving, pliable, not yet hardened with death, it moved to her touch. Her art was escaping through the corpse, the pleasure coursing through her fingers, her eyes and her ears. The cavity before her held a still softly pulsing heart. It’s soft glub creating a subtle duet with the vitae marking the stone floor.

"Death in Art, Art in death. Pleasure be mine." Her voice, low, sultry and laced with her Hungering passion filled the room. She stepped back, backing slowly into the velvet divan and draping her body across it. Her gaze admired and critiqued her masterpiece as her bloodied fingers slid between her full lips. The soft suckling an accompaniment to the moans vibrating her body.

She has never lost her marvel at the awe-inspiring beauty of the human body. Inside and out.

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Happy New Year

Posted on September 21, 1999 at 7:16 pm by dvie

by Millie

Crank it up!
Midnight won’t wait.
Fill the cup,
Tempting fate.

Harsh revelry
Harsher doom
Imbibing destiny
While demons loom

"Don’t worry," His retched breath spews at me as he speaks. "My New Year’s resolution is to stop doing this." His hands are firmly around my throat, cutting off any air that I may have chosen to breathe. His grip is far stronger than what a mortal of even his size should be, so no doubt he is a huge mass of alcohol and chemicals at the moment. I think the bastard has even snapped a bone in my neck, so I make a play of ceasing to struggle. "Ever heard of Jack the ripper?" he talks to my motionless form, looking at my garb. The spike heels and dress are real, even if the painted face is not. This costume just makes it so easy on this night. "Well, looks like old Jack has got himself another one."

Jack. the same name as my sire. The thought grips me. Suddenly, the hunter becomes the prey as he finds his victim of the night attacking with unnatural strength from behind. He falls to his knees… I hear blood loss can do that. As his consciousness starts to fade, I whisper, "I think you’ll be keeping that resolution, Jack."

Jack. Sometimes, I think there is not enough scum in the world, so good it feels to be totally sated. This one was more than scum.

He was. insane. Giggles, giggles, in the back of my head. "Do it…" they urge. I have been hanging around nutcases too long. because it sounds. perfectly. glorious. "Do it."

What more horrid fate than the one I loathe? Simple death is so. simple. Is their really madness in my blood? I think it’s time to find out.

"There, there. It will end soon. soon." He is so lacking on blood that even as a kindred he cannot struggle against his restraints, naked on the rooftop. "And, I am going to give you something special. Something I have always wanted, little Jack Jr. A nice, lovely, final sunrise." What little blood he has streams from his eyes. in the ecstasy of torment that he so long given and never received, until now.

Life sucks
And so do I.
Light fucks
And then you fry.

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Legacy of the Wolf

Posted on September 21, 1999 at 7:08 pm by dvie

by Father Deitrich Lenoj

I personally have always had a hard time gettng into Werewolf: The Apocolypse. I felt the Garou lacked a lot of the "horror" that Vampire and Wraith had. I always liked the werewolf though, and so decided to make a few changes to reflect my favorite legends. The rule modifications given below are best used when ran along the same lines as a Vampire game. They make cross-over games a little easier and work well if a Storyteller has access to Werewolf but wants to introduce them differently into another World of Darkness Game. The rules below are the ones I use in my Vampire games. Enjoy!

The Changing breeds (namely Werewolves) are created through the awakening of a recessive gene transmitted through generations by an ancestor who has been infected by the Lycanthropy disease. The disease is spread through the contact of the infected blood of a Lycanthrope and the pure blood of one that is not infected (much like the AIDS virus). The "gene" as it is called is not exactly like any normal gene. Instead it is both a curse and a disease. A sort of "spirit gene" undetectable by most means of DNA study.

Upon infection the host does not become a Werecreature. Instead the "gene" lies dormant in the hosts DNA structure. The "disease" passes on to the victim’s children then their children and so on. It tends to skip generations and there is only about a 15% chance that a infected infant will ever exhibit any signs of the disease.

In those that the "gene" awakens, it usually never becomes obvious until the host reaches puberty. Some clues are given though, such as: exceptional senses, odd eye color, slightly lengthened canines, and hardened nails. Also the child will reach puberty at a young age (around 13) and males will always develop body and facial hair early.

The first transformation usually occurs near the end of puberty (17-20) and it is unlikely the Werecreature will remember much about it other than the sensation of a very "real" dream in which he feels free and truely alive. It usually takes about a year for the youth to master his transmogrifications and after that time he will begin to develop his "Gifts".

Not long after the first transformation, the youth will be approached by a "Mentor" and this will usually dictate the outcome of the fledgling’s Tribe. The Auspice is not determined by the phase of the moon he was born under, but the same as the original lycanthrope that "infected" his ancestor. Initialy this is called the "parent" lycanthrope.

The changes made from the original rules are as follows:

A Rage point must be spent to shift forms. Though in times of great stress ( Roll Rage; diff: 6, four successes indicate an uncontrolled change)the shift to crinos will be unintentional and a willpower roll (diff: current Rage)must be made to halt it. The spending of a willpower point grants automatic success. "Stress" is considered bloodlust, anger, passion, full moon (made on first sight of the moon), fear, and excitement. In addition, on nights of the full moon the werecreature’s difficulty on Rage rolls is decreased by -2. And the difficulty on willpower to resist Rage is increased by +1.
Werewolves are incapable of stepping into the Umbra. Though this ability may be taken as a Level 3 Gift.
The transmogrification to another form takes one round (takes all of the round and nothing else can be done except dodge with half dice). Though changes to Glabro or Hispo allow actions to be taken with half dice pool. (+1 penalty to all difficulties.)
Gnosis can be spent to heal damage from silver at a rate of one Gnosis per health level. (Note: Only one point can be spent per round this way.)
Breed is no longer a factor in character creation. Therefore only the Gifts from the character’s Tribe or Auspice can be learned at a lower XP or Freebie point cost. (Breed is now identified as Garou, Bastet, Guraul, etc.)
Werewolves no longer worship Gaia or any other such thing though it is still held as some to be the origin of the "Gene". Let it be known that no Werecreature worships her persay except the Children of Gaia. The Wyld, Weaver, and Wyrm also no longer exist . All former creatures of the Wyrm are now considered to be a form of demon or other magical creation.
Rank is still a factor, but is viewed differently. When a character gains XPs he also gains Renown points to add in. When a werecreature gains enough Renown to advance to the next Rank, the transition is made as his superiors see he has progressed and they begin to teach him the more potent "Gifts".
A werecreature’s natural Attributes can never exceed 5, as the creature’s human form retains it’s human limitations.
All werewolves start out with a Gnosis score of 3. And though more can be purchased with freebie points, a character can have no more than 5 at the start of the game.
The Backgrounds: Kinfolk, Past-life, and Totem can no
longer be taken. Fetishes are now very rare and 1 point of Fetish costs 2 points of
background. (NOTE: Almost all fetishes can be used in Homid or Glabro form only.)
Totems are no longer relevant. The pack’s totem will now be considered the pack’s basic philosophy.
Werewolves are no longer considered part spiritual and part material. Therefore they suffer the same limitations as others when dealing with spirits.
The delirium is no longer relevant. Werecreatures must follow a "Masquerade" much like vampires now.
Werecreatures and vampires are no longer mortal enemies and can work together or against each other as per individual or pack.
Werewolves no longer detest the city and many see it as the ultimate hunting ground. Though many still prefer the open country, the thirst for human flesh usually bring them back to civilization eventually.
Though not immortal, werewolves usually live quiet longer than do normal humans. The average life expectancy is around 475 years. Assuming they are not killed prematurely due to the violent lifestyle of most.

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Baron-Luna, Toreador Prince

Posted on September 21, 1999 at 7:06 pm by dvie

by Natalie Ford

Baron Luna was the foremost influence in the City of Nocturne. He designed the City’s Elysium, and served as Prince until his untimely death by assassination in May of 1998. Known for his firearm talents, and more so for his seductive ways, he was considered by most Nocturne Camarilla as a hero.

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Seanchai’s Corner – Creating the World of Darkness

Posted on September 21, 1999 at 7:06 pm by dvie

by Shaun R. Baggett

Welcome to a new installment in my work for DeVita Excessum and the benefit of all the players of White Wolf’s World of Darkness system. Over the next few months I will provide this e-zine’s readers with tutorials and hints on how to create chronicles or simply improve the ones they already have going. This series will cover the formats of MET (Mind’s Eye Theater), TT (Table Top) and even Online role-play. This month (September) we will start with a few basics on working the beginnings of a chronicle.

Every story requires one thing – characters. And those characters in the WoD are brought forth by a myriad of players. How does a Storyteller go about finding players? Most often it’s a group of friends that game together normally. But sometimes it isn’t.

When without a troupe of players, a Storyteller must set out to find players that will fit his criteria. You heard me, criteria. A fundamental step for all Storytellers is to make sure that a player can handle the game he/she is planning to present. In my times of creating chronicles I often interviewed the player to find out if they would work out for the games I had planned.

How does one go about this though? First you let the player know what you’re planning to play (system-wise) and a few possible settings. Then make sure to let that player know of limitations and expectations you will have for each player within this group. Find out how this would effect the player. Don’t just take "I think it’ll be cool" for an answer. Get some genuine insight intothe player’s motivations and why he role-plays the White Wolf systems.

Now you have players, so what now? You get the players together to talk and discuss. Throw some ideas out that you have for a chronicle and allow the players to discuss them. Take notes, find out what will make this group of players feel challenged and most important – have fun.

For the October issue I will address areas on how to create a chronicle and what steps to take in formulating a workable format for said chronicle.

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Hollow Sanctum – The Power of Belief, Subjectivity and the importance of Paradigm in MAGE

Posted on September 21, 1999 at 4:48 pm by dvie

by Malcus Dorroga

"There’s no scientific law that says a vampire can’t become a lawn chair." – Anonymous MAGE player

I love Mage: The Ascension. Out of all the games White Wolf puts out, it is my favorite, the one I will choose above all others. There is deepness to the game that, at least for me, the other games do not exhibit. To play a mere mortal, a frail human being, who is suddenly given powers over the universe itself, is to explore the very foundations of who we are, what we believe, and how we hold those truths to the light of reality. The game holds an infinite potential for philosophical and personal exploration, as well as raw power and universal melodrama.

That being said, I have to wonder why, for a game where belief is so important,paradigm is not stressed more in Mage. With each new supplement, I hope beyond hope that the ideas of belief will be revisited and brought to the fore; with each new supplement, I sigh heavily as paradigm is ignored or, even worse, downplayed horribly. The last straw for me was when The Orphan’s Survival Guide came out. There was a nice section on how belief can save your sanity and give you a framework to work your arts around… and then proceeded to throw a bunch of silly new-age religion at you to compensate.

If any book should have addressed the importance of paradigm, it was that one. Whereas the Traditions have strong beliefs they are taught from Awakening,orphans are on their own, often without a leg to stand on, making their arts haphazard and their potential unrealized. Only those who adopt a framework for their magick ever truly learn to use it.

Let’s face it, a mage Awakens to some pretty heavy-duty truths. To suddenly realize that the fabric of reality can be twisted and reworked is a big moment,probably bigger than the average human can handle. In that moment, a magus learns that the scientific paradigm is no more correct than, say, a religious doctrine, and that belief is what decides what is true and what is false. If a mage doesn’t have beliefs of her own, she can get lost in the possibilities, or,worse yet, become overwhelmed by the meaningless of it all.

Subjectivity

The basis of the magick system is a pretty simple premise: reality is subjective, bound by only a few "laws of nature" and the belief of the many.

OK, so it only seems simple on the outside, so sue me for my philosophy minor. This simple statement is possibly the most misunderstood thing about Mage, and one’s interpretation of it affects almost every facet of game play, especially judging on the vulgarity or effectiveness of a magickal effect.

In essence, a subjective reality is free form, a place where all possibilities exist simultaneously, where anything can happen. Leaping into physics for a moment, and tapping into my "inner Son of Ether", the example of Schrodinger’s Cat is a wonderful way of explaining this subjective state. Putting aside the quantum mathematics (and that God-awful isotope device), we are presented with a simple, yet elegant, difficulty: if you seal a cat in a soundproof box, and comeback an hour later, how can you tell if the cat is alive or dead? You can make theories based on present conditions, but you can’t know for sure until you open the box. In essence, the cat is both alive and dead at the same time, or, to put it more simply, both possibilities have an equal chance of being true at the same time. Only when observation and judgement whittles down the possibilities do we attain the "truth" of the matter. The Mage metaphysic places reality in the same quantum state. All possibilities exist, from the sublime to the ridiculous, until they are seen and judged. Only then does something become"true" or "false."

Of course, not everything is fully subjective in this universe. As it says above, there are "laws of nature" that form a backbone upon which the swirling maelstrom can center. One should not confuse these basic patterns in reality with scientific laws; they are far more basic than that. There are issues, such as the existence of certain things and forces and the basic ways those things act, that cannot be argued otherwise; they exist, plain and simple. Gravity isn’t subjective, but it’s malleable.

The universe also finds some measure of stability in the form of the Consensus,the belief of the Masses. In essence, if enough people believe in one of the myriad possibilities the universe offers, then that possibility becomes more likely to happen. As certain possibilities become more "acceptable" to the Consensus, the old possibilities do not vanish, but they become less likely to happen.

Think of this metaphysic as a large hole dug into the earth, then covered by a blanket. It has a few basic boundaries (the walls and the bottom) but is empty,devoid of anything truly solid. The blanket covers this hole, just as the Consensus covers reality; the hole still exists, but all you can now see is a blanket on the ground.

Now throw an Awakened avatar into this mess…

Paradigm

At the first stages of enlightenment, the mage recognizes that possibilities exist in the universe that most people wouldn’t even consider. However, the mage still cannot truly comprehend the sheer volume of that possibility, and seeks a way of explaining what she can do. This explanation is called a paradigm.

Paradigms are inherent to all the Traditions and to the Technocracy because a mage wouldn’t be able to cope otherwise. The Awakening bares the pure force of existence to the mage’s sight, and there she sees… nothing. Everything she believed about the universe, about the meaning of life, and about herself, means nothing. Only through the power of belief is any of it given form or meaning,and her belief now transcends the Masses, giving meaning to the raw potential before her.

It’s enough to give you a headache… or drive you mad. Faced with meaninglessness, many Awakened succumb to Quiet and possibly go Marauder, or,worse still, submit to having that void filled by Nephandic masters. Only a mage with some kind of belief in the way things are, or the way things should be, can get past this.

Paradigms fill this void, and provide a starting mage the foundation for their particular brand of magick. Foci, rotes, and even the general appearance of magick are all determined by the way that a mage thinks things should happen. While technomancers will explain gravity in long terms involving mass and rotation, attractions and equations, a Celestial Chorister would talk about the"way of the One", and a Dreamspeaker would discuss being "held to the bosom of Gaia". Moreover, paradigm gives the character a structured starting point toward Ascension. It allows her to sort through the mess in front of her and carve a path toward greater wisdom.

Each Tradition and Convention adheres to its own group paradigm, giving its initiates a ready-built foundation. Of course, individual mages may vary on this "group paradigm" in various ways, but each mage tends to stick with the heart of her mentor’s teachings. Magi of House Thig may use technological devices, but they still scrawl the names of God on each listening device. Each Celestial Chorister may pray to a different form of deity, but they all agree that their prayers do reach the One.

Orphans, on the other hand, don’t have a guiding hand through Awakening. A new mage, alone and without an explanation for what is happening, can quickly succumb to pain, avarice, and hopelessness. By the same token, however, this person is still Awakened; having seen the truth about reality, she is bound to develop some kind of rough paradigm. Maybe she reads a little too much La Vey and chooses the path of indulgence; maybe she practices some variant of Wicca;maybe she latches on to the teachings of a great philosopher, or bases herself on some mythical being. In any case, the arts of an orphan are still based on some form of belief, because without belief, there can be no Art.

Paradigm in Game

What does this all mean for your gaming? Paradigm is a facet of character creation that is often overlooked, leaving a two-dimensional character with no beliefs, no goals, and no real power. For Mage, more than any other game, what a character believes is possibly the most important facet of its creation.

When I ran my most recent Mage game, I required each player to come up with a full paradigm as well as a history. While this was a seeming pain in the ass for them, it made role-playing their characters far easier than they expected. With paradigm in hand, they could easily pick their foci, basic rotes, and the very style of their magick. It also made relations between characters far spicier; the Euthanatos player spent half the game trying to justify his paradigm and his Tradition’s beliefs to the other players.

Paradigms are a good tool for Storytellers as well. Is one of your players ready for a Seeking? Grab their paradigm, compare it to their Nature, and find a weakness you think can be strengthened. Paradigms can help determine the vulgarity of a specific effect or the way that effect appears in game. NPC paradigms can be tailored to clash with the players’, making relations with such a person difficult.

In the end, paradigm is a tool to enhance role-playing and make each character unique. In Mage, belief is everything, and only true believers ever get anywhere.

NEXT MONTH: I hope to continue writing about the metaphysics of Mage and its implications for game play. More specifically, I hope to open Pandora’s Box a bit and pull out the ever-popular topic of adjudicating magickal effects within this air of subjectivity. Fun for the whole family…

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Praetorian

Posted on September 21, 1999 at 4:43 pm by dvie

by Adamus

"I am Khalid," said the black man with the bald head. "I will be your guide." Khalid’s reflecting sunglasses showed me my own face, a battered and twisted mask of desperate fear. "Your guide into the realm of pain." I shivered. Khalid stood a few feet away in front of the worn wooden chair I was tied onto.

He looked like something that walked right out of a bad horror flick. Tall, dark skin, his head perfectly bald, not a single hair visible. He was wearing a long black leather trenchcoat, buttoned up to the top, and a pair of small round sunglasses hid his eyes. Khalid was smiling, a soft menacing smile. His voice was actually quite soothing and comforting, and I would have enjoyed listening to him had I not been selected as this monster’s victim.

I gathered the last of my willpower.

"Fuck you," I managed to whisper, although it lacked the defiance I would have liked to have put in it.

I was a mess. Most of the bones in my body were either broken or bruised, and somehow I was unable to use my Vitae to heal my wounds. Earlier I had tried to summon my inner beast, knowing that Frenzy might be my only chance of survival. I failed. Somehow my abductors had stripped me of the use of my Blood. It was almost as if I was human again. I would have welcomed the return of my humanity under any other circumstances.

Khalid kept smiling. "Tsk tsk, no need to employ profanity, my Toreador friend." He reached out and touched my forehead with two of his lean fingers. "It is best if you remain silent." Folding his hands serenely before him, Khalid closed his eyes and concentrated. Suddenly I felt as if my lungs burst out, extreme flashes of pain raging through my chest as my own blood ravaged my veins. Violently I coughed up blood, trying to bend over, but the ropes held me close to the chair. Vitae oozed from my mouth as the pain subsided.

"You may scream of course," Khalid said in a mild tone as he opened his eyes once more, barely visible behind the mirror surfaces of his shades. I couldn’t scream even if I wanted to. I was too weak to inhale the air that screaming required. Not that I would give him the pleasure of hearing my cries anyway.

I could hear a chuckle from behind Khalid. My eyes turned to look at the huge, demonic creature that leisurely sat on one of the wooden boxes the loft was packed with. "You find that amusing, John?" Khalid asked without turning towards the demon. John was a demon. Standing over 6’5", muscles bulging all over his body, his skin a pale purple, his eyes glowing continuously with a fierce red glare. Two large fangs protruding from a mouth that always seemed to carry a smug grin on it, his black hair rough and wild, accenting the horrific features of his face while at the same time revealing the rows of needles, earrings and safety-pins that decorated his long pointed ears. He looked like the Elf from Hell, but then worse. All-black, leather-and-chrome clothing enhanced his threatening appearance even more.

"Yeah, I think it’s fucking hilarious," said John with a voice that sounded like an earthquake combined with a speed-metal guitar going into overload. Khalid didn’t respond, but smiled at me again. I mentally braced myself for another ride on the pain-train.

"We could ask you all manners of questions regarding local Camarilla activities, pump you for information about havens, leading figures and the local underworld, but we won’t," Khalid stated. I wanted to ask him why the fuck then he and his monstrous companion had dragged me from my haven and tied me to a chair in the loft of some decaying mansion. Khalid continued after a short pause, no doubt meant to enhance the dramatic effect of his next sentence.

"Instead, we will test the resilience of a random Kindred victim, in order to make a valid assessment of the tenacity of our opposition in this charming little village." Bullshit of course. He just needed an excuse for torture. Khalid smiled warmly at me. "Let us proceed." My vision blurred as new waves of pain hit me, my body spasming involuntarily as my blood boiled in my veins. I could hear John’s sadistic laughter echoing through my mind. This was going to be a very long night…

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Obfuscated Reason, Blessed Obscurity -or- Not Being Seen is Not Being

Posted on September 21, 1999 at 4:15 pm by dvie

by Millie

Darkness falls, and so do I
Into stricter realm’s mind’s eye
The judge and jury are within
Sentencing for sloth and sin.

Existence is as others see
No witness of atrocity
Wrapped inside my cloak of night
There is naught to know this blight.

Trading friends for sanctuary –
Eternal social celibacy
Trapped in fantasies obscene
To ever see, and not be seen.

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