Our Chronicle took place in Chicago, and though we didn't make it too far into the game, I found it fun and the game actually ran for almost a year, and could have been longer if not for an extremely long hiatus breaking focus amongst the players.
In this series, I will be posting the character sheet and logs for one PC per post. Along with the character sheet, I will give the background info submitted by the player, as well as various notes from me, including their "tie" to the supernatural, explaining where I wanted to take the game with them. The ties were all made early on, and I'm not 100% sure that's where I would have gone with them as the game progressed.
The logs and character sheet are presented as-is, with typos, etc. Player text is default color.
This one is for David P.'s character Shane Tomlinson.
Shane Tomlinson Virtue: Temperance Chronicle: Text WoDAge: 23 Vice: Sloth Faction:Player: Dave P. Concept: Slacker Group Name:AttributesIntelligence: ••• Strength: ••• Presence: ••Wits: •• Dexterity: •• Manipulation: ••Resolve: •• Stamina: ••• Composure: ••SkillsMental (-3 unskilled) Physical (-1 unskilled) Social (-1 unskilled)Academics • Athletics • Animal Ken •Computer • Brawl ••• EmpathyCrafts ••• Drive • ExpressionInvestigation • Firearms IntimidationMedicine Larceny PersuasionOccult ••• Stealth Socialize ••Politics Survival StreetwiseScience • Weaponry •• Subterfuge •Other TraitsMerits Health WillpowerResources ••• • • • • • • • • • • • •Toxin Resistance •• [][][][][][][][] [][][][]Barfly •Strong Back •Flaws Morality• • • • • • •Size: 5 Speed: 10 Defense: 2Armor: Initiative Mod: 4 Experience: 12/0/12Weapon/Attack Dice Mod. Range Clip SizeEquipment Durability Structure Size CostSmart phone 1 2 1 1Background: Shane is a 23 year old Irish underachiever. Within days of starting his new job at a home improvement superstore, he was running late. In order to keep things quiet (preserve his job) he rushed right out to the unloading floor and started to unstack boxes from a fresh pallet. Soon realizing that this box was pretty heavy and a little awkward, he adjusts his grip repeatedly. All of the stress on the box caused the bottom to fall out of it, along with fifty five pounds of very expensive, heavy duty wrenches on to his leg. The sheer weight, plus their acceleration to the floor crushed every bone in his foot and ankle.The ensuing lawsuit against the company that made the faulty box won him arguably enough money to never work again: 4.8 million dollars American, paid in installments. Needless to say, he was a little extravagant, but all the material things in the world mean nothing when you've got noone to show them to.-Lacy Brust, sweetheart/best friend. Needs money, but too proud to ask.Tie: Mage, looking for someone to bankroll. This could bring into conflict with Vampires, as they try to become the rulers of the Second City.
Logs
ST: You
awake a little before noon and roll out of bed, look at your phone... "New
Voicemail" You look, no record of a call, but sure enough, you have a
voicemail.
"Mr.
Tomlinson, I have no doubt caught you sleeping. I will call back at 9pm
tonight. It would benefit us both if you answered." The speaker is male,
the voice is clear, calm, very serious. No one that you recall, but someone who
seems all-business.
9pm is a
while off, right now you have a date with a box of Froot Loops and the Looney
Toons.
Shane: and hour
of cartoons and a box of cereal later I began to be a little curious of that
voicemail. Didn't sound like the usually whiney boyfriend ofa girl who saw a
bit too much of a goof time the night before. This man had no doubts that he
had contacted the right person. Ah well. Time to get the day started. Rifling
through my mental datebook I decide to meet with someone before seeing what
tonights night life looks like. This apartment is getting a little too quiet.
ST: [OOC:
nothing in the voicemail said you have to be at home to take the call. I assume
you're going out? you can continue that line of action]
Shane: I suppose
lacy would e the closest thing I have to a friend. She's who I go to when I
want a more stimulating conversation than " wow how much did this tv
cost?" Usually we sling insults at each other for a bit, see what the
other has done interesting lately, more insults about our latest conquests.
Things of this sort. Tonight though lacy is quiet and acting strangely. Some
would say drunk but other than myself lacy holds her drink like no other.
I chalk
it up to a monthly visitor or a family problem and don't dig too far. She
doesn't butt into my business why should I to hers?
later I
stumble into a nameless dive and sit around with some fairly generic people. A
fer drinks and I'm considering leaving. The night is young after all. Just as
I'm about to pay my tab and go, a hand claps my shoulder a little harder than
I'm comfortable with. I snap around to see that the hand belongs to a drunken
30 something man. "How much did daddy have to pay for the boxster?" I
reply with " my dad's dead. It was a gift from your mom" the grin on
his face becomes a scowl and he takes a swing at me.
ST: [OOC:
pause before that scene. I want to add something before moving on]
Shane: OOC [ ok
done now. Sorry about the breakup of the messages]
[OOC: ok]
ST: you
have a few more drinks with Lacy and nothing seems to make her mood better or
poorer, more or less distant...she eventually gets up, collects her purse,
looks you in the eyes after hugging and kissing you on the cheek and says
"I love you, be safe. I'm gonna catch a cab home," leaving you to
your own designs.
Shane: [OOC:
should I wait to reply? Or does this just squeeze in where it belongs?]
ST: [OOC:
squeezes in before you're at the dive]
Shane: I'm sure
I look like a buffoon right now. "I love you" ? Not sure what's more
strange. Her mood or that statement. We've never had a relationship like that.
At least not in my mind. Sure we fooled around some but I had always written it
off to the drink. Shaking the shock off of my face I step into the bathroom for
a draining then I make my way out the door.
ST: the
drunk throws a wild punch that is meant for your face, but glances off your
shoulder [OOC: you can continue the fight or whatever from here]
Shane: the old
bastard is completely soused. I give him a couple firm swings to the
breadbasket and ring his bell once for good measure, putting him out cold on
the bar floor. The bartender is pretty irate until I drop 200 on the counter
for my 3 jack and cokes. I make my way out of the bark, making sure to lock up
the car. I could use a little bit of a walk to calm down.
ST: you
bust him up good, he looks to need medical attention, but the money on the bar
and the bartender's quick "Drinks on our myterious friend, here"
seems to quiet the angry/concerned mumbles before he gets on the horn to 911.
Your fist is aching, but it feels good to have released some tension.
As
you're walking to your car, your phone indicates you have a voicemail, though
it never rang. The voice is familiar "I'll be calling in
5...4...3...2...1" your phone rings, your mysterious caller "Mr.
Tomlinson, I hope this is a good time, unless you're going to continue to rough
up the locals?"
Shane: "ah
only as much as necessary. Can I help you?"
ST: "I
think we can help each other, actually. I represent a...league headed by a
group called The Ladder Foundation. All we wish from you is
certain...allocations of funds, discriminate funding, if you will, to our
league and the Foundation proper. IN return, we could arrange certain inroads
and conveniences for you. A simple yes or no, Mr. Tomlinson, and you can be a
rising star in Chicago, or will probably never hear from us again"
Shane: "ah yeah? What I'm hearing is " we want your money and we
won't tell you what for" I like to know what pie I'm putting my hands in
sir. How about we elaborate some?"
ST:
"Fair enough." he says, his voice as smooth as before "The Ladder
and its conglomerates are enablers. We enable certain "potentials" to
become potentates.
Elevation
and insertion into positions of rank. The Ladder deals mostly in politics. We
could take John Q Schoolboard-member and make him a city councilman." He pauses
a moment, letting that sink in before continuing. "Adamant, one of our
partners, does the same with military, police, or securities. It's all very
non-intrusive. We take care not to be overt, not to destroy as we build. Nobody
gets hurt, because nobody finds out. You do understand, Mr. Tomlinson, how
important it is that nobody finds out?"
Shane: "yeah
I can see why you would want to keep things like that under wraps. You still
haven't let me in on what good this does me. "Why should I throw my money
away so that someone else can get a free step up?"
ST:
"Throwing your money away? Are you always so fatalistic, Mr. Tomlinson? We
change things for the better. We keep things running smoothly. In fact, our
league has been in Chicago since before the fire." a little irritation
creeps across his voice, but he clears his throat an continues, "I
appreciate your misgivings, sir, I do, however, I've offered you all the
information I can for now. Legalities get involved if I speak further. With
that said, however, I would like to clarify my offer: you get all the
conveniences The Ladder Foundation can arrange on a continuous basis as long as
you aid us. That's the deal on the table. I've been authorized to give you one
day to decide, if you would like?" he trails off here, waiting on your
response
ST: the idea
seems like a good one to you, and you can see how it would affect your life in
the positive, but at any rate, The Ladder Foundation's secrets will be safe
with you, no matter what you decide
ST: [OOC:
I'm not arbitrarily controlling your character, something happened]
Shane: "
well if its a "you can quit at any time" kind of thing I suppose I'll
go long. Send me a bill. I'd give you my address, but something tells me you
don't need it" I finish this off with some smug
ST:
"We can call it that if you wish, it more or less works that way. Believe
me, Mr. Tomlinson, you're not making a mistake." the call ends abruptly
here, followed by a text asking for your confirmation of a bank draft
transaction, equaling $75k every month for an indeterminate timeframe
Shane: [OOC:
dumb question. Is this 75000? And if so will this infringe upon the characters
lifestyle? Basically will he be missing this money monthly?]
ST: [OOC:
yes, $75,000, and yest, it will put a slight crimp on his lifestyle, but since
you told me he's pretty much bought everything he wants already, I assume he
has quite a lot in savings, and it won't affect him immediately]
Shane: "sure.
Let's see what this merry little band has for me. Confirmed.
ST: another
text goes through showing that the first transaction has just been cleared.
Seventy-five thousand dollars, and you haven’t even partied all that hard
tonight. The night is, for the unemployed like you, relatively young yet
ST: the
next few days are as normal as can be expected for someone who doesn’t live on
a schedule and wants for nothing, except for the books. At first, just a few
show up, packed carefully and tightly, always in unmarked, plain cardboard
boxes, and always at your doorstep.
No one
knocks when they are delivered, and nobody claims to have seen a courier, if
asked.
The
books deal greatly with the histories and locales of Chicago, including many of
the local legends, as well as mentions of the Ladder, and various groups with
ties, or in opposition, to them
Shane: the books
keep piling up and yet I have no clue about the actual corporation that ive
dropped a condiserable amount of money into. Only that they’ve done quite a bit
of good for communities and a few select people. Im a little suspicious but not
enough to commit to in depth investigation. I feel like I may go out tonight.
See what the real world is up to
ST: tonight
brings you to a familiar spot, Lacy’s new favorite spot, a glitzy newish club
called 8 Fifty 8 in West Town. When you first meet up, she seems distracted,
and when questioned about it, says that she is stressed, and apologizes about
how she acted last time you hung out. “Just work, you know? Deadlines and
shit,” she shrugs, before tugging you out to the dance floor.
The
night goes well and helps you blow off some steam and sink more than a little
money into drink, but as 3am rolls around, both of you are tired and drunk and
ready to call it a night. You both linger in the street for a minute before
being able to hail a cab for her, that parks across the street to wait. She
gives you a peck on the cheek and stumble runs across to the cab, making it
halfway before a dark colored old car races onto the street, coming to a
screeching halt in front of Lacy, a large man exits the car from the passenger
side, obviously brandishing a gun, and grabs her, throwing her in the car
before getting in, himself.
As the
car speeds away, your phone rings, thinking it may be Lacy, you answer to hear
a familiar male voice, “Mr. Tomlinson, how goes your reading?”
[OOC:
Lacy is a copy editor for UR Chicago, a magazine detailing Chicago night life,
entertainment, and pop culture.
Before
we continue, I’d like to know if you’d share anything about the deal you’ve
made, the books, anything, with Lacy.
Also, I
know I sent a book, remember that you can do actions during that time, just
tell me what and when you want it inserted, if so]
Shane: [OOC Id
share what I knew as much as she would like to know since we seem to hang out a
lot. Im having to sore through the messages cause I received them mixed for
some reason]
My mind
is racing as much as it can considering that the last shot went down about 5
minutes ago. “this is going to have to wait. Call me later” I hit the end key.
(What the hell just happened?!) I try Lacy’s phone a few times to no avail. I
decide to go over to the cab and ask the driver if they saw that car and where
it headed.
ST: [OOC:
that’s the last message you’ll get today, if anything comes up, or you change
your mind about anything, let me know]
Shane: [OOC: im solid]
ST: You run
over to the cab as well as you can, sobering quickly as the situation
solidifies. The car begins to pull away, but halts as you approach, the rear
window rolling down and Lacy’s head popping out. “Come to give me a kiss
goodnight?” she laughs. It’s the last thing you remember before a voice stirs
you. “How did it feel? When you thought you had lost her.” The voice is a
familiar one, and when you open your eyes, after realizing you are in your bed,
you finally put a face to it. He’s a slight man with a serious, slightly
angular face, with round-rimmed glasses and short dark hair that is receding in
peaks. He is dressed in a rather plain, drab suit, like you would expect a
college professor to wear
Shane: “How did
you get in here?!” jumping out of bed I grab the nearest weapon I can, which
turns out to be one of those reach grab tools for old people. What can I say
sometimes standing is a chore.
Though fairly tightly focused, Shane's Chronicle was one of the loosest (and busiest, as Dave played longer than most). Next up, I'll present Llana.
