For My Valentine

Posted on February 28, 2000 at 3:09 pm by dvie

by Millicat

The blood of lover’s
never was so sweet
As that which flows from thine immortal kiss.
What innocence and passion we deplete!
From sacrificial lambs we carve our bliss.

We slash through bodies and morality
Feeding that which never can be sated.
We hunger for our long lost chastity
So long ago, new at love, elated.

I offer you this rose, this girl, this boy
Plucked in perfection moments before bloom,
A Valentine of centuries lost joy,
A moment of discovery and doom.

I give what I desire: first love’s breath.
I give you all I am. I give you death..

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Hunter

Posted on February 28, 2000 at 3:03 pm by dvie

by Laurie Johnson

January 1, 2000 11:29 AM

The revelers outside my window made it difficult to sleep, and so though I had nothing to celebrate I rose from my tangled bed and dressed quickly, throwing on layer after layer of clothing to guard from the chill of the frosty night. There was no reason in my dressing, and the odd assortment of clothing made me look rather like a circus clown instead of the dignified professor, but I left the confines of my room regardless, and onto the street I went. I had hoped to be able to lose myself in the throngs of people, even if only for a moment, but it was not to be. No sooner had I stepped from the relative quiet of the yard and onto the street I was swept away by the visions, the same ones that have played through my dreams, my waking hours.. my nightmares have become tangible, and I fear for my sanity.

It began as it always did. A face loomed before me and I tried to step aside, but something.. and that something cannot be explained.. bade me to stay, and to fight. But fight what? A hallucination? For surely the face that melted into being from the normal man that once stood there could not be real. But as I reached out to steady myself the chill flesh that touched my gloveless hand could not be denied, and a growled command escaped from deep within, a place I did not know existed until these horrors began. I screamed out as I always do; again, it’s unexplainable to me where the words came from.. but at the scream of inhumane terror that tore itself from my throat the "thing".. for what else can I call it?.. recoiled and turned, disappearing into the same mass of humanity that I’d thought to lose myself in.

I gave chase; my feet had life of their own. for if I’d had a choice in the matter I surely would have been back in my bed and hiding like the coward I’ve always been under the sheets. Alas, it was not to be, and I followed it as far as I could before it just.. dare I even write it lest someone find this and deem me insane?.. disappeared.

And so I write. My mind has found no rest on this first night of the last year of the millennium, and I need to find answers, but I cannot think clearly. I must find a way to do my research anonymously and to assure that none find out that it is I asking these questions that might come from a madman’s mind. For if I were found out it would mean the end of my tenure here, and the end of my life, I feel certain.

Monday, January 10, 2000 11:45 pm

My chance came today. The students were back in classes after the long holiday break, and it was hard to keep my mind on the lecture. I find myself searching every face I see now for signs of inhumanity. Thankfully I have found none in any of my symposiums, and I can relax somewhat here, and give my students the knowledge that their parents paid for. I only wish I could give them the knowledge of what really matters. But I digress.

As I was standing in the hallway, waiting for my second lecture of the day to assemble, I overheard a conversation between two students nearby. One had apparently received a computer for a gift, and he was telling the other about the internet, and newsgroups. I have never brought myself to read them since Andrew explained to me that viruses can easily be passed from one computer to another through the postings, but I had a sudden feeling that this was what I needed to do. I don’t ignore feelings anymore, as uneducated as that sounds, and after lectures were through for the day, I gathered my things and went to the computer store. I hesitate to write the name here for fear my purchases could be tracked, but I discussed virus protection in detail with several of the salespeople, and finally deciding on one I purchased it, and went home to install it.

I registered for the upgrades for the software as well. I say that here because as I was getting ready to send the online registration I had another "feeling", and I deleted my name and address and substituted another, made-up one. I have no idea why I did so now, but it seemed entirely important at the time, and as I said previously I will not ignore those mental nudges. I registered for the GO Network as well, using a different name and address, and I launched into my searching with a passion I have not felt since I put my hands on my first book of Byron poetry as a young teenage boy.

I have found nothing thus far. I cannot think that I am the only one out there that this is happening to, it’s unimaginable. And so I will not give up. I will continue my queries, I will place them in each newsgroup, each chatroom, each font of information I can find on this electronic highway, until I have my answers.

As a side note: When I was signing up for my free e-mail, I had another insight of sorts. And I find myself with the e-mail address of "Professor 23@hotmail.com" for whatever reason. I hesitate again to write this here for fear of discovery, but I also need to keep track of the visions and the insights, and so one outweighs the other.

Tuesday, January 18, 2000 10:31 pm

As I write this, my hands still shake.. my heart still pounds, the adrenaline races through my body like fire through dry brush on the plain. I cannot put words to paper quickly enough, and yet I am loathe to type this on the computer lest someone find the password to my files and see my insanity. At least in this journal I can lock my thoughts away from prying eyes.. would that I could hide them from myself.

Andrew and I went to dinner tonight at the bistro downtown. We’d planned to meet friends, and I was looking forward to the night of relaxation. I’d had no more visions, and I’d very nearly convinced myself that none of it had actually happened at all, that it was merely stress, and that I was now cured after the long break. I dressed in my usual hasty manner, throwing on the brown wide waled corduroys and the tan turtleneck to ward off the chill that always seems to be prevalent in the small cafe, no matter where we sit. Andrew arrived around 7 and we took his car, stopping at the bookstore for a few new novels that I needed for class, andthen proceeding to the restaurant. We took note of our friends cars in the parking garage and walked inside, their mood seemed light, upbeat; the prospect of a good meal and even better conversation a beacon to me against the darkness of the night and the tone of the past few weeks.

We found them quickly in the tiny place and joined them at the table. The chill seemed worse tonight for some reason and I shivered, but it was more a tingling of fear that licked at my spine rather than just a cool breeze. I could not shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong, and yet nothing presented itself. Andrew noticed, and thinking I was merely cold, draped his jacket over my shoulders; usually that gesture would bring with it such comfort, but not this night. I must have seemed crazed to our friends, eyes darting to and fro, watching each movement, each face with such intensity that I scared even myself.

The waiter came and took our orders. I had no appetite suddenly, not for the meal, not for the conversation, not for any of it. But I asked for consomme and salad to keep up the front of joviality, and picked at it fretfully once it was delivered. I could not shake the sense of doom that overwhelmed my very soul. I finally gave up and excused myself from the table and went to the restroom to collect myself.

How can I explain the wall of dread that met me when I opened the door? It was tangible; I could feel it, I could taste it, I could smell it like acrid sweat on a humid New York summer day. And though I should have run at that very moment, I was urged on through the door by something.. that same something I feel each time I begin to do one thing, and then change my mind without reason. It seemed as I must go in, as if I had no say in the matter, and now that I write this, I know that I did not.

I stood against the door, my hands behind me, my heart pounding. My eyes moved over the small room, and I could discern nothing that would cause me to feel so. The lights that encircled the mirror above the sink resembled that of the dressing room of an actor, naked bulbs in striate rows of warmth.. and yet I felt no light, no heat. I suppose it was the pattern of the lights, but there was a strange shadow thrown against the opposite wall, and it gave me some pause. After a brief instant I stepped toward the mirror and stared into it, finding that my expression was a mask of calm. That somehow surprised me as it was far from what I was feeling. I turned on the water and ran my hands through the comforting reality of the lukewarm stream after pushing up my shirt sleeves. I stood like that for a long moment, collecting my thoughts, or attempting to. And then I turned again toward the door, one foot lifted to take me toward the towel receptacle.. and that’s when I discovered I was not alone.

Now you must understand, the room had no hidden places. It was a tiny restroom, the commode a stark island of porcelain against one corner; the sink, the mirror, a small open trash receptacle were the only furnishings. The door had not opened in the entire time I stood there, unless I had blacked out and not known, a possibility I am only just now thinking of as I write. I saw no one in the mirror as I glanced up, but as I turned I very nearly walked into the man that stood watching me. The look in his eyes was feral, animalistic; I can only compare it to passion, but I now know somehow it was hunger. And he was dead.

He reached for me then, his hands closed like a vice around my shoulders, and as his lips parted I saw incisors that were pointed, sharp.. they extended from his gums like the vampires one reads about in the novels of horror I force down the throats of my students but he was far from the gothic beauties described therein. His body was hard and cold, the very air in the room was lowered by untold degrees. His facial skin and the flesh that I could see hung from him like that of the corpse I saw dragged from the Hudson when I was a mere boy. I opened my mouth to scream in my terror, my hands lifted to grasp at his arms to push him away, and as my hands touched him the words that tore from my throat were not my own.

It happened so quickly that I am not sure the account I present here is accurate. I believe that I uttered a phrase near to, "By the Dead, ye too shall die!". And as the words were wrenched from me by breath that was not mine, the corpse’s eyes flew open wide, it seemed in that moment his terror matched my own, and he melted.. yes, I did write melted.. into the shadow that I had seen against the wall upon my entrance. And if that weren’t insanity enough for me to bear, the shadow then detached itself from the wall and slid across the floor, resembling a man in pain crawling to aid, then up the wall and through a tiny crack where a breeze from the outside billowed the thin gauzy curtain in the window.

I turned and took the two steps to the door and out, bumping into chairs, tables, other patrons.. I staggered like one who had been fatally wounded and could not die before his tale was told. Andrew saw this, and came to my side, and I barely heard the words of apology he uttered to our companions as he hastily led me to the car. I was shaking so badly that I could not have made it on my own, my knees were rubber, my breath was ragged, and I grasped the handle of the door of the car and tore it open with inhuman strength and the need to be inside of it. I slammed my hand down on the lock button in an irrational gesture, and I am embarrassed to say it, but tears poured down my cheeks as I shook silently, arms wrapped around myself as if I could hide there. Andrew drove in silence all the way home, and I was grateful for I could not have spoken at that time had he asked it of me.

As I write this, the telephone is ringing. Andrew, most likely, though I cannot yet explain to him what is happening to me as I do not know myself. I fear if this keeps on, I will lose him, and all I hold dear to me. I pray now, although I have not believed in God for some time, and that in itself gives me some measure of unexplainable comfort. I go to my bed a coward, every light I could find in my apartment are now in this one room, the shades removed and they are lit to keep the shadows away. I will not sleep I fear, but rather replay this night in my mind until the dawn comes.

::a slanting calligraphy-like script of the most delicate hand, ink drawn from a well, and penned with a quill onto vellum, each word a work of art, as if drawn by someone who had years of practice at such::

The 19th day of January in the year of our Lord 2000

I sit before you with news that I cannot yet fathom. Bear with the ramblings of this old man, for I fear that the dire warnings of the mindless puppets of the Camarilla may hold some merit. Be patient while I attempt to explain myself my friend, for the words come slowly to me this night, my mind seeks to understand that which I have had no experience with. And in my centuries on this earth, there is not much I have not seen.

I awoke with a relish this eve. My work here in New York has not gone unnoticed, and though we have lost much for reasons I will not go into in this missive, I remain hopeful that we can once again prevail here. But that is for another time. What I witnessed tonight bears investigating, and that right soon.

The hunger of several nights was upon me, I had not taken the time to feed in my haste to finish my work, and I went out in search of prey. My hunt took me to the University as it often does, and as luck would have it this night, to what I had assumed to be an easy conquest. I made myself unknown, and as the pair of men entered their automobile, I joined them. The older and more unkempt of the two seemed rather nervous, I have always enjoyed a bit of mystery and intrigue with the hunt; What fools these mortals be, in the words of Shakespeare. They stopped at one of those garish shops that sell what pass for books in these modern times, and then proceeded to a small restaurant. I followed them inside and then to the privy, just biding my time, waiting for someone to enter the tiny facilities. I opened the window just slightly as I waited, one never knows which way will be the best way out once one has fed. And so the trap was complete, all that remained was the waiting.

Soon enough the man I mentioned previously entered. He seemed hesitant, but we know that some of the more humane persons can sense us. I bided my time and the door was summarily closed behind him, and he stood there for a moment as if he was unsure of why he had come. The wait seemed endless, and his eyes fell upon my hiding place, I had almost thought I had been discovered in some way and that my game was off tonight, but he moved to the basin and began to run the water. I saw this as my chance and allowed the shadows to unwrap; I stood behind him, my fangs preparing to take sustenance. He turned toward the paper receptacle that passes for fine linen in this day and age, and the look on his face was one I expected, that of stark terror. My hand reached out to choke off the scream before we were discovered, but suddenly he spoke. The words ran into my mind like a hot poker, and I dropped him and stepped back, I must have mirrored that expression that he had worn previously, and he now owned mine. I can almost sense your impatience, my lord, and I apologize for the long description, but I fear it must all be said in order for it to be explained. The words, you are asking yourself? "By the Dead, so shall ye die".

With that utterance it was as if I had no reason of my own. I reeled back as if I had been hit, though the most he may have done was clutched at my arm in his fear. He took steps toward the door as I melted back into my shadowed form, and I felt as if I could not move. I slithered like aweak childe to the window and out, laying in horror of what I had just witnessed.

I fear that something we have not yet known is upon us now. You know me well, perhaps better than any ever have or ever will. You know that I do not run from the fray, but rather gauge my reactions as a general over his troops. You know that something more is present here, or that I would not have reacted so. I do not beg your forgiveness nor ask for pardon. I only wish to send a warning to you and the others, so that we may know the truth. Please impart to me your orders as quickly as possible, and I shall comply.

I remain ever your humble servant.

::the wax seal bears only the initial "S" in fine script::

::the script of this missive is written in red ink, carefully lined, as if the words were meant to impart an order with urgency in its words::

The 24th day of January in the year of our Lord 2000

My dearest Santiago;
Your letter was received in the haste in which you requested and I apologize for the time it has taken for my reply. I am sure you can understand that such news must be carefully considered by all, and agreement reached on the steps to be taken. Such an agreement has been come to this night, and it follows.

We wish for your immediate return. Arrangements have been made for you and will accompany this missive. Raoul, the bearer of the letter, is as you know one of my most trusted servants and he will see to it that your journey is as it should be. You need not worry yourself over your personal effects, they will follow you in due time. We wish a first hand account on all you have seen.

We will be expecting you on the morrow. May your journey be a pleasant one.

::the letter is sealed with the single initial, "M"::

Santiago read the letter as one would accept a death sentence. He turned his eyes upon Raoul, and knew him to be the executioner. One does not pronounce oneself a coward to the Sabbat without fear of retaliation and he had done so. His reasons mattered not, what he had seen mattered not; the sentence had been pronounced without trial or monomacy.

He faced Raoul now, his face a practiced mask of calm. He nodded his acquiescence, and as Raoul turned, Santiago made his move. Three tendrils of shadow coiled from the one cast by the single lamp at the table in the alcove and wound their sinewy way around his arms, effectively pinning them to his sides. Raoul struggled to break free, but enough time was given by the surprise distraction for Santiago to make his move. His potent vitae coursed through his body as he reached for the table that held the lamp and lifted it, slamming it against the wall once. It shattered; all that remained was the leg that he’d hoisted it by. Before Raoul could shake off the last coils of his bindings, the leg had found purchase in his chest and he fell to the floor wearing the same look of shock and hatred that he had adopted when the tendrils had first found their way around him, and Santiago was through the door and onto the street without a thought to his destination.

All Santiago knew was that his death sentence had been reprieved for the moment by his rash actions. And he knew without a doubt that when he had not made his appearance before the Archbishop on the morrow, another would come. And he knew that he would be prepared for this one. He wasted a bit more of that blood now to take the form of the shadows themselves, and sought a haven for the day to come. His unlife had become forfeit in one single moment of haste. Now he had become the enemy, and he knew in that moment he was truly alone.

He stopped his unreasonable flight and took a moment to glance around him. He had been running mindlessly without a thought to his destination, but as he paused he realized he had found his way to the University once again. A cold wave of fear washed over him then, but the dawn was upon him now, and he must have shelter. He must have answers. He found his way into a cellar of one of the older, more stately buildings of the campus, and then into a storage area inside. This days sleep would bring no rest; the nightmares of the truly damned were upon him no sooner had the sun risen.

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Path of Gluttony

Posted on February 28, 2000 at 3:01 pm by dvie

by Hastur the 7th

This is one of the "path of sins" practiced by the koldun of the tzimisce. This path deals mainly with the unnecessary over consumption of food and drink and the deterioration of the human body that goes along with it. This is the only path of sin currently practiced by tremere warlocks as well as tzimisce.

* SENSE THE VICE: this allows the koldun too second-guess any addiction or craving the target might posses.
SYSTEM: each success on the rolls increases the knowledge of the addiction of the target and who accurate the knowledge is.

** THE CRAVING: this increases the craving for a certain item or thing on the target.
SYSTEM: the more successes, the more the target crave the thing.

*** IRON STOMACH: this allows the fiend too devour virtually any thing he can fit his mouth around (this can be interesting when combined with vissitude)
SYSTEM: the more success, the more stuff could be packed away and the more lethal/disgusting the substance eaten.

**** FATTENING: this is the most dreaded power of the koldun. The ability too turns an opponent’s muscle into fat.
SYSTEM: every success decreases the targets strength, dexterity, comeliness, and stamina by one. This can be resisted the same way the blight of aging is.

***** CREATE VICE: this horrible power causes a target too crave a certain thing decided by the koldun.
SYSTEM: the more successes, the more the vice are craved.

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Elseworlds: II

Posted on February 28, 2000 at 3:00 pm by dvie

by Anonymous

Hesitance.

"But Onimbus, we can spend the day at the beach. Or anywhere you want. With the -warmth of the sun- washing over us." Her pleas had been incessant for the duration of the destinationless ride through the Hollywood streets. "Can’t you imagine shopping on Melrose in -broad daylight-?" She gestured outside, at all the shops they passed.

So many years it’d been since he’d even thought about seeing the sun rise. It seemed the chance of a lifetime. So many of their kind would, and have, killed for such a chance. So many had ended their unlives in hopes of a mere glimpse. But he wasn’t most. He was like no other. Yet, he couldn’t deny her this. After all, what harm could it possibly do either of them? The mere appearence of this question within his psyche should have been warning enough.

"Please, baby. For me. Induldge me on this an’ I’ll never ask for another thing. Please!"

He offered a snort, followed by his oft-present sneer. Afterall, the mere thought of her never asking for anything again was ludicrous, if not somewhat disheartening. How she loved it when he sneered. She knew he was on the verge of giving in.

"I’ll even take all the cartoon character stuff out of our bedroom an’ put it in the dogs room." Not quite a whine, but she’d restort to that if need be.

"Even Scooby? An’ the Winnie the Pooh stuff?"

A radiant smile dances onto her lips. She knew she had won. "Even Scooby. ‘Specially Pooh. Hmm… I letcha tie me to the rack for a week?"

He simply, and damned near imperceptibly nodded.

"Oooh, I love you!" Almost child-like in it’s enthusiasm, she doubted she’d ever meant anything as much as she meant those words to him. Leaning over, she cupped his face in her hands an’ gave him a big smooch on his lips, as they were stopped at a red light.

"You better," he grumbled as the engine purred, before coming to a stop outside the Beverly Center. "Now?"

She nodded, that damned smile still lingering on her lips only caused him to grumble more. Not that her gloating actually irritated him, he too had his moments.

Gently, she twisted the top from the vile an’ raised it to her nose. An action that prompted the feature to crinkle with slight digust.

"Eww," she offered. Yet the bad smell, an’ taste that promised to be even worse wasn’t enough to keep her from sharing this with him. Not even close. Her eyes raised to meet his as she drank half of the contents and passed it over.

Hesitance.

Had a clue as to what events were to transpire in the next 36 hours surely it would have been enough to change their(her) mind. But the deed was done, their fates sealed.

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Divine Blessings

Posted on February 28, 2000 at 2:35 pm by dvie

by Ivo Luijendijk

"We’re on a mission from God" – The Blues Brothers

Introduction
As the natural counterpart of demonic investments, I expected this idea to have been fleshed out by White Wolf long ago. Since they seem to be releasing the demonic investments idea in their newer books, however, the possibility of an official angelic powers write-up seems remote. Therefore, I present my humble take on a possible system for this. It is partly written so as to complement my rewrite of Demonic Investments.

As a Divinely Blessed, you were given the power to "do good". You probably witnessed horrible wrong doing in your vicinity at one time, or have a natural affinity with the Lords’ ways (or whatever you call the Almighty), motivating you to become a force of good. Apparently, your faith was not only well-placed, but you seem to be even rewarded for your noble and pure beliefs, since the Almighty blessed you with the power to do your goodness with more power and efficiency. He chose you for a blessing, making you effectively an agent of God on earth.

Blessings
A Blessing can be literally anything. Usually, however, an Agent of God will be awarded something fitting his nature and his means of protecting his Lord. Blessings may be bought after True Faith has been achieved. See below for a rework of True Faith, needed to make it complementary with this take on Blessings. Usually, a starting character will have no Blessings, even if he has bought True Faith. Your number of Blessings may never exceed your Ranking of True Faith. In this system, any individual with True Faith has the potential to be Blessed. Whether or not someone actually becomes blessed is a pure role-playing consideration and entirely up to the ST. The Blessed in spe must show signs of divine inspiration. This requires following his 10 commandments, abiding the Bible, etc. Usually, priests or other men of the cloth are chosen for such a blessing, but the Lord does work in mysterious ways…. If an individual with True Faith has been blessed by the Lord to receive the holy gifts, that individual may check one Soul point of each level of the Blessing he or she wishes to buy. Please note that this is not the same as spending Soul points. The Blessed One still has her Soul intact. It is merely away to keep track of the Blessings bought. If a Blessed has checked all his soul points, but decides he’d rather have a higher level Blessing instead of the two lower ones he has, then he may make a True Faith check. If it succeeds, then he may swap his Blessings. A failure means that the swap may not be made and that the check may not be made again for the remainder of the story. A botch is an automatic loss of one True Faith level. If a success is gained, you may swap two Blessings for one other, but this may be done only once per story.

True Faith is bought at the expenditure of (7 * current level, 10 for the first level) experience points, but only if he has a conscience of at least 3 and a Humanity (or similar path of ethics) of at least 7. Additionally, if someone with True Faith falls to a Humanity of below 7, remove all True Faith and all Blessings. Someone can loose True Faith by failing Conscience or Conviction rolls. A botch removes a level immediately, a failure forces you to make a Faith roll.

True Faith and the Chosen
Under the official rules for True Faith, this "power" allows you to do great deeds. Under my write up, True Faith is simply needed to be granted Blessings and a stat to show how strongly you believe in your Lord. True Faith may be there for added to any Conscience or Conviction role, and it does grant some characteristics(note: remove these bonuses as soon as the Faith level drops below the required level.):

Rating Characteristic
1 An aura of purity is granted, which is visible with Aura detecting powers and gives "an edge" when dealing with religious individuals.
2 All scars are removed from the Blessed individual, all future wounds heal perfectly (though at normal speed and at normal costs). This includes Battle Scars (for the Lupine). Also, all sensory tissue is restored to perfection, removing the need for glasses, hearing aids, etc.
3 Appearance is at least 2. If it below this rating, raise it freely.
4 All dice pools to withstand any effect of any Demonic Investment are raised by one.
5 The Blessed has natural ability to spot individuals which are Demonically tainted (roll Perception + Empathy, difficulty is the number of Soul points left).
6 Appearance is at least 3. If it below this rating, raise it freely.
7 By spending two Willpower points, the Blessed may radiate a holy light, capable of completely blinding anyone with less then 10 Soul points, but harmless to anyone else.
8 Your touch alone is soothing and can remove frenzies or other losses of self control.
9 Remove all abnormal atrocities your body has suffered. This includes amputations, bone trauma, animal features (for Gangrel), seizures and foreign agents. This does not mean that all damage you suffer will be "shaken off". It only means that if you suffer permanent consequences, like a scar or an amputation, that this will be restored (regeneration requires one day per kilo of flesh). If a lethal damage is suffered, you still die.
10 Your
hands do Aggravated damage, as does the holy light you can produce (though the latter only to those with less then 10 Soul points).

Amples of Blessings
(Note: All activation of a blessing requires a True Faith roll to be passed (difficulty 6). A failure will cause the Blessed to potentially doubt his true faith and this forces the Blessed to make another True Faith check, this time to see if his belief is unharmed. Failure causes the loss of one True Faith point, a botch causes the loss of two.

Heal minor wounds to yourself (only wounds of the Bruised health level). For a higher level, add a level to the health level limit the healer is capable of healing. For each level bought, you may remove one sustained damage to anyone and try to soak it yourself. If you fail, you will suffer the damage.

Level 1: All healing powers are also translatable to others then yourself.
Level 2: Remove any non-lethal sickness, like the flu or gonorrhea.
Level 3: Summon a guardian spirit, which will act as a buffer for you, reducing all dice pools by one (after soaking).
Level 4: Remove a bodily disfunctionality, like a paralysis, any disease or a lobotomy.
Level 5: Create a bolt of heavenly wrath, which you may hurl at an opponent. This bolt does 4 damage instantly, aggravated if the target has a Soul of less then 10.
Level 6: Restore one point of Humanity in someone, by praying with him.
Level 7: Summon a lesser Angel, which will fight for you. The Angel has Strength 2, Dexterity 4, Stamina 5, Perception 5, Intelligence 5, Wits 5, Brawl 3, Dodge 3, and Melee 3. The angel wields a sword, which can do Strength + 4 damage, aggravated if the victim is demonically tainted (less then 10 Soul points).
Level 8: You may inspire faithful masses to intervene for God. This means that the mass will recognize a Demonically Tainted individual if they see him and their collective burst of religious faith will do him an amount of aggravated damage equal to your Charisma + 3 per turn.
Level 9: You may resurrect any recently deceased (up to one day old corpses.)
Level 10: If you die, your body will automatically be resurrected. (If you make your roll, that is!)

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Be Mine

Posted on February 28, 2000 at 2:30 pm by dvie

by Millie

The little Malkavian sneaks onto the grounds of the Toreador Primogen’s estate, disabling a sensor with a pair of pliers. She then creeps across the lawn, looking for shadows in the windows. Inside, the Primogen, Claudius Van Buren, goes over some of the books in his library, reading ancient notes by candlelight. He slams the book together after a while and proceeds to put it away and heads upstairs to a sitting room overlooking the lawn.

Outside, Millie, The little urchin Malkavian, grimaces as the sprinkler system comes on in the cool air, soaking her completely.

Claudius stretches and ponders the hour. Looking out the large window, he sees a mousy girl outside on his lawn and squints his eyes. "Can it be… ?"

Silently, Millie slinks closer to the estate. Claudius walks upstairs and over to the front door. He opens it and steps outside in the cold night and walks out onto the lawn, looking for… someone… He feels the sprinklers, their cleansing cold. The waifish vampire presses herself against the mansion, only her eyes moving.

Claudius thinks: ‘A phantasm..’ He looks around a little, than looks down. He walks through the wet grass, turning around and heading back. Millie scoots along the edge of the wall, following the Toreador Primogen as he reaches the front door again, slipping slowly inside. Claudius lets the door slam slowly behind him then he walks into the large warm room to the right and starts to unbutton his wet shirt. His shadower hugs the walls, watching him with unblinking eyes as he removes the top layer of wet clothes and heads toward the main staircase. He runs a hand through his wet hair as he ascends to the top. Reaching a door, he opens it and steps into a dark room. He flicks on the light switch in the room, walls lined with clothes cupboards.

The Malkavian closes her eyes tightly for a moment against the light. She steps behind the door and slowly pushes it closed, leaning her back on it softly as it clicks.

Claudius puts the wet clothes down on the well-made bed in the middle of the room, then pauses at the click, turning slowly. His eyes light up. His smile lights up even more, though slightly embarrassed at his state of undress.

Millie looks down and speaks softly, "Hi."

"My eyes did not deceive me after all… hello" , he quietly greets in return. Millie smirks, still looking down. Droplets of water fall to the floor from her hair,.the resonance of the tiny splatters sounding like dreamlike tinkling of crystal to both supernaturally perceptive kindred. "It’s been a while." Millie nods faintly as Claudius walks up to her slowly, smiling gently. Millie ‘s eyes rise to meet Claudius’ as he nears. "Are you alright?"

The street urchin/kindred whispers with an edge to her voice. "What do you think?"

The striking Toreador furrows his brow and looks at the wall. "I think not then. Is there anything I can do to help?" Millie narrows her eyes at the question, "I guess not." She reaches behind herself to open the door. Claudius swallows. "I am glad you came here. Please…" He takes a few steps forward, then stops. Millie closes her eyes, composing herself as Claudius sits down, leaning against the cabinets. "Would you like to talk?"

Millie untenses a bit at the conciliatory posture. Claudius sits quietly, waiting for her to speak, and she does. "Would you?"

Claudius smiles gently, "I would. If you do."

The Malkavian leans back on the door a bit more, "I am pretty boring. Never much up with me." She looks around the room, taking everything in.

"Maybe that’s what I like about talking to you. Is there anything you would like to talk about?" Claudius asks her, the idle chatter of the situation obvious. She wraps her arms around herself. Claudius tilts his head, looking at her damp clothes. "Maybe you would like to change?"

"Change?" She looks down remorsefully. "I should change, yes. I should not be here…" She starts to leave again.

"You are more wet than I. There is plenty of clothes in here, I’ll go outside… please. You are my guest now."

Millie stays her departure again, and looks down in embarrassment. "Oh… change… change my clothes you mean." Claudius gets up and steps towards her, smiling. "I am… fine." she hugs herself more tightly. "It’s warm in here. Warmer than… some places."

"Very well…" Claudius steps back. "Yes… I suppose it is. My home is your home." He looks down. "The… warmth is yours."

Millie grits her teeth, eyes closed. Claudius looks to the window in the corner of the room. Lines of red trace her eyelids as he looks away for a moment. Claudius takes a slow, barely audible breath. She then speaks through gritted teeth "Why would you offer me this? You have no idea how vile I am."

"Maybe I know you better than you think. Maybe I just wish to. In any case, it is my choice to make, no?" He pauses for an instant, "It is my privilege… to offer you my hospitality." Millie fidgets at his enchanting grace. Claudius lowers his head.

"You are too." she stops the sentence, "I mean… why?" Claudius turns his head, looking at her wet hair and slender hands. "You could be with… have with you… anyone you want. Why am I here alone, with you? You should be with pretty, happy people…" Her small form seems to shrink even further.

"I think you can answer that better yourself than I ever could," Claudius answers still looking down.

"Then I think I should go." Millie gets another glimmer of resolution.

"Please don’t." Claudius sighs. She stops at his words, standing perfectly still. "You… I…"

Millie expression becomes pained. "Oh god… I… I did not come here to hurt you…"

"If there is anyone I would help in the world, it would be you. It is my fondest wish." Millie melts, sliding down the door, curling up into a tiny ball. "I am glad you came. Very." His small visitor wraps her arms around her knees, grabbing her arms, digging her small nails in slightly.

Claudius steps forward, lowering his knees until he sits kneeling in front of her. She breathes out, looking down, "I could hurt you so much…."

Claudius continues despite her words, "Please stay. Let my assets be of use for once. I will be here when you wake in the evening. I would never leave you. I would do all in my power to keep you safe." The Malkavian digs her thin nails deeper into her arms, blood filling in between the cuticle and nail, trickling. Claudius reaches out a hand, almost touching her reddening fingers. Still through gritted teeth, Millie implores, "But how can you trust me? *I* don’t trust me."

Claudius lets an unspoken wave of sympathy be the silent answer, not knowing what else to say, but tenderly trying. "Let me… let me ease your hurt if, if there is any way I can." He exhales, pure emotion rather than need. "Will you let me try? Please?" Millie nods in answer almost invisibly, looking down at the floor through her legs. "I am at your service. Please let me accommodate you for the day. It would be my honor and pleasure." Millie stands and nods again, looking down at him. Claudius looks up at her, an unchanged look of pain and joy on his face and stands up in front of her slowly, regally, causing her to reel a bit from his overpowering presence so close. He slides his arm around her to reach the doorknob behind her. "Would you like to remain in this room? I can arrange it."

Claudius opens the door with a quiet click, and smiles in subtle surprise, a ghostlike answer heard in his mind: "Yes…" He tries faintly to step behind her and out through the door, while whispering the words "Don’t go away" reassuringly through his lips, but something keeps his feet from moving away from her, this wet girl beside him. Claudius cannot help but look at her, trying to catch her eyes. She glances at him sideways, drawn in by his attentions. His mind finds hers this time. ”Would you like me to stay?" Her nod is like a shudder in slow motion, but there nonetheless. Hecloses the door as quietly as he opened it. Millie grows almost fearful at the closing of the door, and then looks down, not able to deny or dismiss the offers of the charming Toreador Primogen tonight.

Posted in Storytelling, Vampire | Comments Off on Be Mine

Path of Anger

Posted on February 28, 2000 at 2:26 pm by dvie

by Hastur the 7th

This is another of the paths of sin practiced by the koldun. While the path of gluttony was mainly concerned with feeding the desires of humankind, the path of anger feeds the rage of a person, causing it too swell and grow too the victim becomes a raving animal.

** MINOR IRRITATION: this causes the target too be mildly irritated by a specific thing. Not enough for frenzy, but enough too cause the victim too try and ignore the object or thing.
· System: the more successes, the more irritated the target becomes.

** MAJOR IRRITATION: this is an advanced version of minor irritation. It works the same way, except it can cause frenzy in garou or kindred (bedlam for changelings, catharsis for wraiths, quiet for mages, and just general insanity for hunters and sleepers.) System: the more successes the worse the effect, frenzy (or whatever) if 5 or more successes are scored.

*** DARK IMP OF ANOYANCE: this dark power summons a minor jaggling too go and irritate a specific person. This imp is immune too physical attacks and can only be seen by the victim. Many people go mad with rage from the demons mental onslaught. Others aren’t so lucky…. System: the imp remains for 1 day per success rolled. Every day, the victim must roll willpower (diff. 8) and get at least one success. Failure means they frenzy (or whatever) a both mean its permanent.

**** HATRED: this power programs the victim too react with anger too a certain person place or thing. This hatred does not have too result in violence, but it may very well could. System: the more success, the more intense the hatred (one success means tolerating the hated thing but cursing them in silence, 5 successes means they actively seek out the thing they hate too destroy it.)

***** GRIP OF ID: this is one of the most dreaded powers of the koldun. It causes the ID of a person too completely take over. Turning them into a raving snarling lunatic. This power is very devastating when used on garou, as it causes them too shift into crinos for the duration. System: the effects last 1 hour per success gained. A willpower roll (diff 7) is needed too resist. Failure has no effect and the power continues normally, a botch makes the effect permanent.

Posted in Articles, World of Darkness | Comments Off on Path of Anger

The Thirteenth Legion – ‘Fixing’ Werewolf: the Apocalypse or Neutering the Furries

Posted on February 27, 2000 at 6:07 pm by dvie

by Kabael

Well everyone, I’m back. I bet a lot of you didn’t even notice I was gone (I’ll punish you later), but I was. And in my absence a lot of things happened. I got three job offers, started playtesting for 3 different gaming lines, finally began the long, hard road of crafting a useful webpage (in progress now at kabael.8m.com and had to get a whole new slew of email addresses (my present one being kabael@yifan.net). Oh, and I moved in with my girlfriend, as seeing as I have no home of my own. Quite a lot, eh?

So, to begin the with the news. The great and wonderful people (for hiring me) at Eden Studios have given me lots of work to do. Not only am I playtesting on all of their Unisystem lines (those being WitchCraft, Armageddon and the much-to-fun All Flesh Must Be Eaten), but I’m also going to be writing for WitchCraft. I’m in charge of pulling together the sourcebook on the Twilight Order, a group of rather benevolent necromancers. I’ve also been hired by the Apophis Consortium to be an ideas consultant on their game Obsidian: the Age of Judgement, mainly because of a very negative review of the game I wrote on RPGnet. Lastly (at least in the business news), I’ve also been hired by Gamers.com, a site that intends to make a comprehensive list of all the gaming links all across the net. Right now the site is just up in preview, but I find it to be pretty nice-looking and useful already (plug plug).

That’s about it for the off-topic news that I just can’t keep to myself. Not my fault if I’m excited, right?

Anyway, on to this week’s topic: Neutering the Furries: ‘Fixing’ Werewolf: the Apocalypse. I thought that a column that is sure to piss off lots of people is just what I should write when I finally return to De Vita In Excessum. So then, let’s begin class.

Before we go full-tilt, however, I feel it necessary to state up front that Werewolf: the Apocalypse is, by far, my least favorite White Wolf game (repeat after me: Street Fighter does not exist, Street Fighter does not exist). Why is that? For many reasons, primarily among them is the lack of distinctive culture between the tribes and how the game really seems to lend itself to “Argh! I am angry! I rip your arms off and stuff them down your throat! Now I am happy and you are wrong!” Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t really like “Good ol’ hack-n-slash.” I never did. I’m not saying there is something wrong with people who do, or that anyone who runs out and plays some game just to rack up the kills is not a “real gamer,” I’m just saying it never appealed to me. It’s like video games that way. You can play whatever you want, but playing Werewolf just so I can rip 12 fomori a new asshole each round just seems really damned boring to me. Go figure.

So Werewolf always remained low on my list of favorite World of Darkness games. I really love so much of it (and damn if I ain’t a Bastet, laziness and all), but the rest of it just kind of drove me off (a situation similar to my love-hate relationship with Trinity). For a long time (and through flame-wars on the werewolf-l mailing list), I’ve said “Werewolf is broken!” but I usually just said “C’mon, just look at it! Can’t you tell?” so I’ve decided to sit down and try to lay this out logically. So bear with me and try to understand what I’m saying (and that I’m not saying it from above the business end of a flamegun), deal? Deal. Great. Let’s move on.

first he summarizes..

In broad, general statements, there are three major problems facing Werewolf, I think. They are (in no particular order) tribal homogeneity, an over-emphasis on combat and a disturbing clarity of purpose
(really, I mean that last one).

  • When I say “tribal homogeneity,” what I mean is that I really think that there is much too little difference between the tribes. Sure, the Get of Fenris aren’t all lovey-dovey like the Children of Gaia, but beyond that, how much of a difference is there? For an even more extreme example, what about the differences between the Get and the Wendigo? I’m sure that any Werewolf fan is ready to jump up and count off lots of difference, but when you boil it down, they are more similar than, say, Sparta and Athens were, and the two tribes were supposed to have been separated from each other for millennia. Their Umbral cosmologies are almost identical! This makes absolutely no sense to me.
  • The problem of overemphasis on combat is simple one, however. Maybe it’s just me again, but I find the pages of combat moves in the basic book really boring. I’ve always been a proponent of freeform combat in all my games. Why should Werewolf be any different? I can understand why some people would want them, however, so that isn’t much more than a burr up my butt. Another problem, however, is the Garou’s bonuses to attributes, which border on the obscene. I would nearly half all of their physical attributes, bringing them a little bit lower on the whoop-ass-itude scale. I think that more information on the culture and traditions of the tribes would help this as well. The Tribebook: Wendigo, for example, was nice in that it showed a side of the tribe that had nothing to do with smushing fomori like bugs under their feet. The things like the rituals for purification and whatnot were great. I think that Werewolf needs a whole Hell of a lot more 1/2 point rituals, the kind that provide culture and detail but only the mildest of mechanical benefits.
  • The “clarity of purpose” may be the touchiest of Werewolf‘s wounds, in many ways, because I hold strong to the idea that the world the Garou live in is almost completely black-and-white. It’s not really a World of Darkness, it’s more the World of Darkness – and I have a flashlight. The Garou are right. Their methods are right. They are fighting a war where any atrocity is justified because their enemy is that bad. On top of that, the entire Garou race knows that Gaia came down and said “Here, have a combat-machine for a body and go kill people. I’m God. If I say you can do it, it’s okay.” There are no sects to the Garou Nation (and the idea of a unified Garou Nation kinda bugs me as well) that question that. There are no renegades. There are no heresies. They get hunted down and killed. But that’s okay. ‘Cause Gaia said so.
I wish I was like you…

Within this broad category of issues there are many smaller problems that rear their heads, from a lack of difference between the European tribes to a startling similarity between the Pure Ones and the Wyrmcomers, tribal culture is something that has plagued Werewolf for a long time.

Fie upon the Europeans! (and all the others) – Starting small and working our way up, let’s begin within the tribes. Many of the tribes, even when just taken alone, are bland and vanilla in many ways. For some reason, almost every tribe is directly tied to one Auspice or another, often making the Auspice pretty much redundant. “Get of Fenris Ahroun.” “Uktena Theurge.” “Fianna Galliard.” Doesn’t anyone else get bored of this? What’s the point of having a difference between tribe and Auspice when there pretty much isn’t one as far as the source material goes?

When I read the (horrible) Tribebook: Get of Fenris, I wanted information on Nordic magic and gifts and culture and Gods. I want to play a Get Theurge who is dripping so much flavor that he drowns small children if he stands in one place for too long. The Tribebook didn’t help me (except to decide not to simply buy every other Tribebook). The problem is that like many other splats (both from White Wolf and not), the tribes are much too narrow, at least within the source material.

How do you fix that? Research and ideas. If I had my way, each Tribebook would have been filled with tales and legends of the tribe, and then a great deal of information on how the Auspices work within the tribe, as well as how members relate to (and view) the various Incarna and Totems. I don’t think that a Silent Strider and a Fianna are going to call all the totems by the same name. The realization that each tribe has a slightly different “religion” is a late unto Werewolf, but it did appear in Rage Across the Heavens, and it was one of the reasons I loved the book so much.

Kill Whitey! (and the red-skin!)– Moving one step above each tribe, we reach the Garou nation. What’s the problem here? Look at Europe. Then look at North America. Look again. Get a better map if you need to, this is really important. Do you see the sheer distance between the two lands? Yes? Good. Why are the Garou pretty much identical on both sides of the pond? You don’t know either? Well I’ll be, ’cause I certainly don’t either.

I could understand this if Werewolf made specific mention of how the tribes used Moon Bridges to hop here and there and everywhere (we are the gummi bears!… ahem…), but I’m fairly certain it says the opposite, that they were not used to frequently cross the Atlantic and that the distance between the Pure Ones and the Wyrmcomers was part of what set the stage for the bloody conflict between the tribes that followed. Note: this is also what made Werewolf: the Wild West so absurdly cool. Screw the Apocalypse, gimme my six-shooter, pahtna.

So the tribes are separated by thousands and thousands and thousands of years. Yet after all of that, they still have the same society and the same cosmology and religion. Does anyone else find that hard to swallow? Don’t give me the “they’re actually right and the spirits in the Umbra told them about how everything really worked and stuff” excuse because that’s just a weak cop-out. I don’t want any group “really” knowing what’s going on. That just doesn’t fit the World of Darkness. It’s hard to retain ignorance when you can just steal the teacher’s cheat sheet, isn’t it? So why is it that the Pure Ones and the Europeans worshipped the same deities, had the same totems, and had the same cosmologies (as in the same lay-out for the spirit worlds and hierarchies)? I certainly can’t think of a reason.

So how would I fix this one? I’d come up with broad, continental cosmologies (because remember, each tribe should have a different spin on it) that are different from each other in as many ways as possible.

In generalities, I would give the Europeans a much more structured view of spirits and the Umbra. Complicated hierarchies and specific regions of the Umbra would be in order. A spirit’s brood would be very important, determining just how the theurge should interact with it. For the Native American tribes, I think that a much looser, symbolic organization would work well. Sometimes their classifications of brood would differ greatly from those of their European brethren and questions like “Can you draw me a map of the Umbra?” would be met with blank stares.

Note: I just did this with the most cursory of thoughts. This is obviously a stereotype on both Europeans as well as the Native Americans. That’s what research is for, however, to provide that extra detail that takes it beyond stereotypes and into something both useful and cool.

It’s a good thing Gaia left this-here book of short-cuts to reality – Argh. This ties in directly with the problem of Werewolf being much too clear about nearly everything, but is more of an effect of that than a root.

For some reason, Werewolf, the World of Darkness game with the most potential for rich, unique cultures, seems to have the least amount of it. In Werewolf, things that should be central to each character and caern are left as afterthoughts and add-ons. Totems should be like personal Gods. Imagine how much it would affect your life it you could just say “Hey, God, Can I ask you a question?” and you hear a rumbling voice that says “Sure, why not? I kinda like you.” How would you react? As far as I can tell in Werewolf, most of the Garou react by turning their totems into nifty slaves to do their bidding. That says something about humanity’s relationship with their Gods, I’m sure, but that’s another game. For some reason I’m not able to fathom, the Mokol&cute; are able to have a more distinct culture between their “streams” than the Garou do between their numerous tribes – and the Garou don’t have an over-riding racial memory to tell them what do. Breedbook: Mokol&cute; really did a good job with the Mokol&cute;, the kind of work that should have been done on the Garou from the beginning.

Much more energy in Werewolf should have been spent in defining their culture, providing holidays, superstitions, minor rituals, religions, heresies (such as were
mentioned in Breedbook: Ratkin) and whatnot instead of Rage Across East Bumfuck. The tribebooks should have been filled with sections on cosmology, religion and heretical sects. Like Clanbook: Assamite, most of the tribebooks have astounded me with their ability to be completely empty.

them’s fightin’ words…

So what about the “overemphasis on combat?” What do I mean by that? Well, maybe it has something to do with the obscene combat abilities of the Garou, but that might just be me. I have to wonder why the special Werewolf dice don’t have upwards of 20 dice in there. Some characters need that many dice, even when down due to wounds.

Sure, the Garou are Gaia’s warriors and pledged to defend her and yadda yadda yadda, but do we need to make every Garou a ginzu-fighting machine? When you start out as a death-dealing god, it’s hard to have some feeling of progression, you know what I mean? Even without Gifts, Garou are monstrosities, giving new meaning to “handfuls of dice.” With Gifts, they can just get disgusting, and I’ve seen many Werewolf games devolve into “Ayaih! I can do more aggravated damage than a sun going nova! Wahoo!” That’s not really that fun, I don’t think.

So just what do you do about that? Surprisingly little, actually. Drop the attribute bonuses a bit, cut some of the more outrageous combat Gifts and replace them with something else and have lots and lots of material on how to bring the game away from being that red in tooth and claw.

Like I said, this is a relatively minor and easily fixed quibble, but it’s one that I’ve seen ruin many a game, sadly.

let’s all put on our Gaia-colored glasses…

Now is the time for my biggest beef with Werewolf, and the one that is the hardest to fix, because it lies at the very heart of the game.

So what is this Big Nasty Bad Thing? The fact that the Garou have no reason to doubt that what they are doing (and how they are doing it) is right. They have no reason to feel guilty for committing murder (or even mass murder) on a daily basis. I have to say that there has never been a game more in need of being played within Powerkill – it’s the best way to show just how absurd and immoral the Garou act. Even the token nod at accepted morality that the Children of Gaia are doesn’t help much. They are just too “nice” and set into the fringe.

My problem here ties in with the first issue I dealt with, that of culture. Werewolf needs more cultural deviation, but that is kinda hard when the book comes right out and hands you the objective truth and says “That’s okay, I’ll do the thinking for you. Go kill the baddies for Mommy, ‘kay?” Again, not really my kind of game. I do not like anyone in the setting of a game having a direct “in” on how everything works. The Garou know they’re right. They know that they are justified in committing murder.

People have argued with me saying “How can you say that they aren’t right in fighting ecological destruction?” I can’t. But does that mean every Garou can’t either? There are people in the world who could care less about the environment, or to whom other things take precedence. Why should the Garou be any different? Why don’t we have more focus on how the Bone Gnawers have turned to helping the down-trodden man, or how the Black Furies have tried to change society and help women?

Le sigh. Let me try to rephrase. Werewolf (and Kindred of the East and Land of Eight Million Dreams) suffers from a clarity of vision. The “right and true way” is much too obvious in the setting, it pretty much over-rules everything else. That is a bad thing, in my opinion. Sure, the fight against the Wyrm is damned important, but so is world peace, and how many people really work towards that? It just seems unrealistic to have so many people so intently focused on one thing. It’s hard to have a character who just wants to have a good ol’ life breaking the law when he’s abandoning the War. You can’t say “Hey! It’s my life and my decision, ain’t hurtin’ nobody else if’n I wanna live here and hunt ‘coons.” It is, because the Garou were so obviously created for a purpose. I don’t like that restriction on characters.

A friend of mine (hey Joe!) once told me that he thinks Werewolf is too subtle. At first, I was confused by what he said but after he explained it, I have to agree. In many ways, Werewolf is a game about just what it means to be evil and the role of religion in our lives. Unfortunately, the fact that the Garou are themselves racist, callous hate-mongers with “IMPULSE CONTROL PROBLEM” tattooed across their forehead is, generally, completely missed by the players, as is the religious side of the game, because it is relegated to just what each totem provides you and how many background points it costs. Don’t bother with worship or veneration, you paid the points… right?

Werewolf tries to show the horror that man can be by having the players take on the role of horrible monsters that have managed to rationalize all their atrocities until they think that they are holy warriors fighting for their God. The problem is, almost no one reads the fine print (written in the blood of innocents that just happened to “be in the way”) and instead of making the players ask themselves “Just how far is too far?” the game says “Yes! Step right to be decapitated!”

I don’t like being spoon-fed myself, and I’m in the “if you answer it yourself, you’ll remember it better” camp myself.

is that all?

Not by a long-shot. There are other problems I have with the game, like the mere existence of the Veil (argh! I hate it!) and the proliferation of boring Gifts, but those are problems that are solved even easier than that combat situation. Just cut them right out. Simple.

So those three major problems are what I see as Werewolf‘s major elements of gimp nature. Those are the things that keeps the game from being the best damned shamanistic spiritual horror game out there. I mean, it’s Call of Cthulu meets werewolves, or at least it could be.

In the ideal, Werewolf: the Apocalypse would be a game that is just as philosophical as Mage: the Ascension (just what is evil?) and as much about personal horror as Vampire: the Masquerade (screw “lest the beast I become,” you already are the beast – what does that mean?). Spice it with Call of Cthulu and Kult (so I like “your life is a lie” kinds of games, so what?) and you have a winner. A game that makes people go “You play Werewolf?
Wow…..”

But again, that’s just me…

so now that you hate me…

I’ll try to be back next month, ain’t that great! What will I be doing? I haven’t the faintest idea, really. Please, send me your comments and suggestions – that’s why I do this column, you know, for the response mail.

Some people liked the character idea column from long ago, maybe I’ll continue that. For the non-Camarilla Clans or for a new game line? Maybe I’ll look at Changeling: the Dreaming the same way I did Werewolf this week. I know that there has been some really nice work done on the web with Changeling.

Wait! I know! I’ll do a special column looking at resources on the net for the World of Darkness. What I think was good and bad and what I have links to. That sounds good to me, but if someone has a better idea, I’m all ears… :)

-Derek Guder
-Kintaro Oe
-kabael
–kabael’s netbook
–the McGuffin Group
Posted in Articles, Werewolf | Comments Off on The Thirteenth Legion – ‘Fixing’ Werewolf: the Apocalypse or Neutering the Furries

Transgresssions

Posted on January 24, 2000 at 8:05 pm by dvie

by Justin

The Man stands just in the hallway looking past the partially closed door in to the playroom. Children ages 4 through 8 are happily playing all types of games with each other and an older girl. The teenager stops to stare at a picture drawn by one of the children. She becomes intent on it for a long period of time, and then finally looks down with pity at the child who made the drawing. She whispers to him softly, "You should let someone know."

Gently rubbing his cross, the man concentrates on not being seen, a difficult task because it was so different from his nature, but he persevered. He ponders the scene. ‘How pleasant they look. No screaming, no fear. Yet If I walked into this room there would be instant panic.’ He shakes his head slightly and almost regrets many things. ‘At least I can give them their childhood.’ Though he knows that his very presence helps destroy this fragile gift.

The older girl starts to stalk around like a cat, her motions and silence utterly feline, making some of the children laugh.

The man snaps from his reverie and goes back to studying the victims inside, watching the performance, as always, observing, weighing. ‘I think she is trying to look like an animal.’ Though why the children found this funny he did not understand.

The kitty-sitter pounces on a little child, tickling them, threatening to lick them like a mommy kitty. She laughs as the small one giggles with glee.

The man watches the performance with interest but continues to caress the old wooden cross on his sash. ‘I am not here, I am not here.’ The teen-mommycat releases her child-kitten and stalks around a bit more. He continues to watch the display. ‘It seems to be working. No one is looking at me.’

Little by little, the children crawl into their beds and fall to play-exhausted, happy sleep. The teen starts to soundlessly creep towards the door. The man slowly moves back so that she may slip out. She maintains her silent kitty walk even once outside the room.

The man waits patiently for the teenager to slip out the door so as not to disturb the children. His finger softly touches his lips for silence though she moves like a very shadow herself. Once the teen is out of the play-sleep area completely he gracefully closes the door and induces the thin teen to another room.

She heeds his subtle direction without daring to look directly at him, slipping into the indicated chamber. Stepping into this room the man closes the door after them and quietly approaches the quivering young woman until he is looming over her, very much like a hawk might with a mouse. His robes gently rustle as he raises an arm and exposes a length of pale forearm.

With a suddenly tormented mien, she grabs handfuls of hair with shivering hands, forcibly pulling herself down to her knees as if an opposing force tries to keep her standing. Slowly bending at the knees the man flows with the girl staying near enough to brush her with his robe. She releases her hold on her hair, scooping up and cradling his wrist with both hands. Now taking her hair and wrapping his fingers through its tresses he gets a firm hold. The teen slowly looks up, meeting the man’s predatory gaze with a plea in her eyes. "Please make me stop…"

"It is that time." The words flow out like warm wine. Gently the man pushes her head toward his exposed flesh.

The teen shrinks with defeat and allows her lips to press against his wrist. She then rubs her face from forehead, to cheek, to chin slowly across his wrist and hand, then back up again, resting her forehead on the thin skin below the palm. Looking down still, she whispers almost coyly, "What are you afraid of?"

Entwining his fingers yet further through her hair he steps closer and carefully presses his wrist closer to her lips, whispering back like a breath from a tomb, "The grave." The youth trembles at his nearness, "I fear death and what is beyond." His words seep into her hearing. "I fear what no one can know."

She murmurs back softly, lips brushing across his wrist, "I fear never knowing what is beyond." Her canines glide across the surface of his dead skin. Then, brushing her cheek along his wrist again, she catches his eye, "But you will show me that someday, I think." The teen smiles at him with eerie, childlike solace.

He bends closer still, until his lips are not quit touching her ear. "Yes I will grant you that boon someday," the words flow like silk. "By my lips shall you someday meet the great beyond."

The young woman quakes at the promise. She breathes out, her lips caressing his flesh, "Reality paints itself obscene," and bites until the thin covering of skin gives way, shocking at the draught. The man stiffens as her teeth penetrate the cool flesh. His hand tightening in her hair he pushes her harder into his arm, betraying a subtle gasp. She shudders at his reaction then closes her eyes allowing the liquid sin to flow through her with morose euphoria. The teen swallows harder, deeper, with the pressure on the back of her head, then closes her eyes hard and tries to pull away.

His body quivering from his essence pouring into her, the man bends down, keeping her pressed against his flesh. The man slides his lips down her neck until he finds the joint between neck and shoulder. The girl recoils slightly at the cold lips sliding down her skin. He bites cleanly and deeply into the muscle and flesh, his teeth sinking in far to find and free her vitae. ‘No,’ his mind rebels the act, but the word is lost among the waves of heat and joy that race through his body.

The young woman stiffens as her world explodes in a kaleidoscope of euphoria and terror, barely maintaining her hold on his arm, drinking as she is fed from. Now pulling her hair back he frees his wrist and exposes more of her throat. With sensual pain Joseph slides his razor sharp fangs through her flesh until he reaches the traditional spot on her neck, leaving a deep gash behind him. She gasps at the gouging then succumbs to the abyss of dark pleasure.

Bringing his arm around he pulls her into him and drinks on as the waves wash over him, threatening to drown out all reason. The teen convulses with attempts at action. She reaches a clenched hand up to his shoulder, then another on his other side, focusing her will on a meager attempt to push him away.

Again his non-beast mind implores, "No." The word works its way slowly through his mind. The teen starts to shake, quivering under the kiss. Liquid life surging through his body the man barely notices. His mind commands again, ‘NO!’ as every rapturous convulsion of the one beneath him screams, ‘Yes…’

With an act of will the man jerks his fangs out of the teens throat, splattering his orange robe with bits of her scarlet vitae. The teen ‘s hands fall down as a marionette’s with strings cut would, then with sudden anguish reaches up grabs her hair and scalp again, clawing of flesh softly heard in the still silence. The man rises and drags her up with him. She looks up into his eyes with awe. "No," he states quietly. "Once more in control." Slowly untangling her fingers from her hair, she nods without removing her gaze from his, her eyes bright with obsession.

Looking down into her gleaming eyes, a smile briefly touches his hard features. Raising his hand he gently once more tilts her head and this time closes the wound he had given her with a cool brush of his lips. Then raising his arm to her he waits. She gently lifts his wrist, ensuring that no harm remains, kissing it subtly before lowering it.

Shakily turning the man helps guide the teen out the door and back to the children.

Posted in Storytelling, Vampire | Comments Off on Transgresssions

Hollow Sanctum – My Own Private Paradigm, Creating Paradigms for your MAGE character

Posted on January 24, 2000 at 8:00 pm by dvie

by Malcus Dorroga

After my initial discussion of paradigms in this column, a few readers wrote to me, asking for something more substantial. While pointing out the importance of paradigm was well received by these readers, some pointed out to me that many people simply do not understand how to create a paradigm for their characters. This is understandable; most role-playing games either have self-contained paradigms or simply do not require players to question their beliefs in reality as much as Mage does, and suddenly being thrust into such a situation can be daunting.

However, paradigms should not be so difficult, since they are simply extensions of the already existing Mage mechanics. In the most abstract sense, a paradigm is what a Mage believes about reality, magic, and existence. However, boil away all the high-flung metaphysics and the self-analyzing philosophy and psychology, and the players is left with a simple way to explain game mechanics and characters statistics from the point of view of the character.

General Issues

Paradigms are best made simultaneously with character creation. Very rarely is there any good time to make the whole paradigm in one sitting. Rather, bits and pieces of it should be created as various aspects of the character come together. When you choose your spheres, for example, ask how this person is going to explain this sphere to others; no character is going to say, "Hi, I’m Brianna, and I have Life 3!"

For those playing members of an established mystic group, the job of creating a paradigm is half done. Each Tradition, Convention, and Craft has its own ideals and views that it will teach its younger members to follow. Most mages will follow Tradition paradigm fairly closely, if for no other reason than the fact that it’s the only way they know to explain what they do. If Brianna’s mentor is a Verbena, and she teaches the young mage that blood and sacred oaks allow her to heal and harm, then Brianna is going to use blood and wood, and her paradigm will reflect those beliefs.

Of course, mystic groups only provide the skeleton of the individual paradigm, and it is up to the player to build on this and make the character’s magic as personal as possible. Does the character prefer some aspects of the paradigm to others? Is she rebellious, or is she a rules stickler? Maybe the character tries to mix paradigms a bit, such as a Virtual Adept trying to justify hermetic circles or a Chorister who still follows tribal ways.

The challenge of making a personal paradigm comes when playing an Orphan. These people have Awakened on their own and do not have the "controlled" Awakenings of most Tradition mages. Whereas a trained mage enters her Awakening with the Tradition’s preconceived notions about magic, an Orphan comes to power in a random environment, with only her own beliefs to explain what is going on. For these characters, the moment of Awakening is probably the biggest influence on paradigm. If Brianna Awakens during a drug high, for example, she may truly believe that what happened was a drug trip and can only be duplicated while high. This may, of course, eventually lead her to the Cult of Ecstasy, but it’s a start.

The final thing to keep in mind is that, no matter how a character Awakens, he or she will have some notion about how the universe works and why she can do the stunts she suddenly can. Awakening, to some degree, is all about insight and enlightenment; a mage simply cannot, by definition, function as a willworker unless she acknowledges some form of metaphysic, even if it’s something as simple as fairy tales or as everyday as common science.

Creation

The actual process of paradigm creation has three steps: Basic Metaphysic, Sphere Metaphysic, and Background Metaphysic. While creating your character, answer as many paradigm questions as you can. Imagine how this character will explain her mystic abilities to another mage, and avoid actually using MAGE’s terminology as much as possible.

The Basic Metaphysic coincides with character concept, and should resolve the character’s essential worldview. Ask yourself what this character thinks the nature of reality is and why she thinks she can use magic. These answers do not have to be deep by any stretch of the imagination; paradigms can be as simple as wishcraft or as complex as witchcraft. If the character doesn’t have a deep universal metaphysic, you should at least resolve the issue of how and why her abilities work; everyone’s going to come up with an answer for that.

The Sphere Metaphysic is fairly easy, especially if the character’s worldview has been developed. At this point, you should explain how the character explains each individual Sphere. These explanations should fit with the metaphysic; a Dreamspeaker explaining Forces as "the power of Satan" probably won’t cut it. The explanations should sound plausible to the character, and should cover as much of each Sphere as possible. It helps to define the character’s starting spheres at first, then explaining the others.

The Background Metaphysic defines the mage’s views on the Avatar, Arete, Quintessence, Paradox, and the mystic backgrounds like Arcane and Sanctum. These are important to clarify just how the mage sees her everyday life, as well as the things that affect her the most. A mage may not necessarily see that the avatar is what allows her to work magic; some may see it as "creative genius", while others revere it as a guardian angel or animal spirit. Arete is a measure of enlightenment, and everyone follows a different inner path, whether it is devotion to the One, inner balance, or acceptance of an idea. People will explain Paradox differently, based on their own experiences with it and the experiences they have shared with others.

Once these issues have been resolved, the player is left with a simple role-playing tool that allows her to get into the character’s head and mindset far easier than without.

Genesis: An Example Paradigm
Ok, let’s try this step by step. First, let’s grab a concept and a basic background. Our character will be a Virtual Adept… let’s call him Bob for now… and he was Awakened by another Virtual Adept during a Quake death-match. (Don’t giggle, just work with me here…) He was trained by the Adepts, and follows much of their paradigm, but the whole death-match Awakening has skewed his outlook somewhat.

For the Basic Metaphysic, we can pretty much use the standard Adept paradigm that has been drilled into his head: the universe is a vast network of information that can be hacked, altered, and uploaded. However, Bob is partial to the idea that the information for the physical world is written in Quake code, allowing for "spectacular, real-life 3D effects". Bob can take part of this code, play with it a bit, and modify the universal program in small ways. He’s even developed his own set of "cheat codes" (rotes); all he has to do is "hit the tilde", input his code, and the cheat takes effect.

For his Spheres, Bob has spent most of his time working with simple environmental changes. He has 1 level of Correspondence, 2 of Matter, 2 of Forces, and 1 of Mind. We’ll stick to just explaining those for now. Since Bob’s paradigm is code-based, his explanations for those Spheres should also be code-based. After a bit of thinking, we may come up with something like the following:

  • Correspondence – LAN: Code can be accessed from just about anywhere, as long as you have access to the right pipelines. Everything is linked, so everything can be accessed from one place.
  • Forces – Power: the easiest way to relay code is by pulse. Universal code requires plenty of power pulses, and the right hardware or software can divert these pulses as easily as the codes they contain.
  • Matter – Hexagonal Bitmap: the things we touch and see every day are coded, just like anything else, and these codes are fairly easy to hack and change.
  • Mind – CPU: my mind is a center of code processing, a place where the universal code is translated into something I can understand. If I can’t deal with the code properly, I can always overclock. :)

Moving onto Background Metaphysic, we can already see the general tendencies of this character, so Bob’s explanations for other things should be simple, yet potentially geeky. Bob will certainly not, for example, be using any flowery phrases to explain what his avatar is any time soon; he’ll just call it his "inspiration". His Arete can be explained as his ability to hack, his "eliteness", if I may steal a phrase. Paradox is just "bugs in the system" or "anti-hacking defenses", while quintessence is little more than a system backdoor or a code crack. His other backgrounds will take on similarly technical definitions.

And there you have it: Bob, the Quake hacker.

Paradigms really flesh out the character and make the role-playing experience far easier. There is no really deep philosophy required to do this, just a little creativity and a little thought. What you come up with may surprise you.

NEXT MONTH: Barring natural disaster or a burning need to write something else, I’ll delve into the Storyteller’s nightmare that is running a Seeking. We’ll look at the role of the Avatar, using Nature, and how to set this bad boy up.

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