Post by TheUdjat on Dec 17, 2007 14:46:53 GMT -5
(OOC) Alright, lady and gentlemen, it’s finally time to begin! I want to start out by laying down some of my general policies/practices for online gaming, just so we’re all clear on how things will work. Those of you that have been in my games before may be familiar with some of this, but most of you, I think, are not.
- I will try to post daily, Monday through Friday. I can answer individual questions more frequently than that, and my PM box is always open. I expect mostly regular posts in return. I understand that people get busy, and that’s fine, but let me know if you’re going to be out for more than a day – otherwise I might be waiting for you. Seven players is a big number, but I’m hoping to keep things moving. Together, we can. I don’t require brilliant, thought-provoking posts (though they’re certainly appreciated). Just something.
If somebody fails to post or notify me why they’ve been absent for two weeks, their character is forfeit. They will disappear however is most convenient (gruesome death, insanity, or taking a ship out of town), or else be taken over by another willing player. I hate doing this, but it happens.
- When I am working on a new post, I will lock the old thread. Because I hate having to retype things when a last minute post is made, and I like to keep the story in order. Please don't let this alarm you.
- I will be doing most of the rolling, and most of it will be done off-screen. This keeps the game moving, and keeps away any temptation to metagame a roll result. The rolls I won’t make (unless specifically requested) are: attack rolls, damage, and sanity rolls (I will do sanity loss, however). You are always welcome to state that you are using a skill, even if you don’t actually roll it (example: You enter a room and request an Art roll to identify some of the paintings and statues inside.) I hope this doesn’t bother anybody, but it’s really the smoothest and easiest way for things to get done.
- This game has a lot of handouts. They will all, predictably, be in the ‘Maps and Handouts’ section. I will link them in game threads when appropriate.
- Try to remember this is the 20’s. Prohibition is in effect, the “Great War” ended 7 years ago, and aircraft is extremely limited. Transportation in general is limited – roads are undeveloped in many places, so most cross-country or cross-continental travel is done via steamer or train, and it takes time. There are no personal phones, international phone calls may take hours just to connect, and you’re dealing with an operator no matter what. Telegrams are the most reliable long-distance communication. Mail takes weeks or more, depending on the location.
In short, things just take time. Just remember that communication is anything but instantaneous.
- Descriptive text is bold. Setting text is italicized. Out of character text is in [brackets]. Dialogue is in “quotes”, and mental communication (don’t laugh, it comes up) is in ::colons::.
I think that covers everything! Sorry to bore all of you with annoying out-of-game details. Now let’s get to the good stuff.
[I've taken some liberties with your character to get things rolling, Maestro. I hope you don't mind.]
Two days ago...
Sam Gravener was in his office when the telegram came for him. He was toiling over a number of unfortunate figures from accounting, and was just beginning to develop a headache when the courier arrived for him. Even so, he was ready to ignore it before he saw the name of the sender: ‘Jackson Elias’. Intrigued at a message from his old friend, Sam turned his attention to the telegram.
It was... unusual.
HAVE INFORMATION CONCERNING CARLYLE EXPEDITION STOP NEED RELIABLE INVESTIGATIVE TEAM STOP ARRIVE JANUARY 15 STOP SIGNED JACKSON ELIAS
Sam spends a moment staring at the curious telegram. Elias, a very secretive man about his work, was never one to ask for outside help with a project. He took his research very personally, sailing all across the world to follow leads and study strange religious sects up close. If he wanted a group of investigators for some task, it must be formidable indeed. And no doubt interesting...
The figures and numbers are soon set aside while Sam picks up a phone. January 15th is just two days away. If Jackson wants a group of investigators, he better work fast.
Today, January 15th, 1925
Over the past couple of days, Sam diligently recruited a handful of investigators to help Jackson. It was tricky, finding people on such short notice, but Sam nonetheless feels confident with his acquisitions: an archaeologist familiar with the Carlyle Expedition’s exploits, a photojournalist eager for a story on the Carlyle Expedition, and a reasonably competent private investigator willing to work for extremely cheap. Sam was also surprised to find two other individuals approach him on their own, stating that they were asked by Elias himself to join the investigative team. One was a tough prizefighter, apparently asked along in case matters get rough. The other was surprisingly a woman, though sure enough, she holds a telegram from Elias himself asking her along for her “unique expertise”.
In the end, all six individuals find themselves sitting patiently in Sam’s office on the appointed day, waiting to hear what Mr. Elias has to say. [You can assume you’ve all been introduced, and know each other’s names and basic occupations. Feel free to post introductions, physical descriptions, etc. to familiarize yourselves with each other.]
As time wears on, the phone does eventually ring. Sam diligently answers it – as expected, it’s Jackson. “Sam!” he says, with relief evident in his voice. “It’s good to hear you, Sam. Tell me, did you get my telegram? Did you assemble a team?” His questions seem hurried, a little rushed, though he’s clearly making some attempt at etiquette. This is quite unlike the Jackson Sam’s familiar with, a usually suave and calm individual. He assures the author that the team is assembled and ready to meet with him.
“I have not heard better news in weeks, Sam – perhaps months. Perhaps I won’t hear any again for a long time to come. Perhaps none of us...” He trails off, and Sam can almost imagine him shaking his head clear. “But never mind that now. I’ll explain everything soon, but not over the phone. Bring your team and meet me at the Chelsea Hotel, Room 410, at 8 pm. Sharp! I’ll be in touch, Sam. And again... thank you. You can’t know what this means to me.” And he leaves it at that. If pressed for further questions, Jackson merely declines to answer and hurriedly hangs up, reminding him one last time – Chelsea Hotel, Room 410, 8 pm.
Something about his tone still sits wrong with Sam. It is undoubtedly Elias, for he knows the man well enough: it is his voice, his mannerisms of speech, his appreciation of promptness. But he still seems hurried and frantic, and the strange, cryptic references...
Well, it is certainly interesting. But perhaps not the kind of interesting Sam was hoping for.
[Discuss! The time is 5:00 pm – still a few hours until the meeting with Elias. What would you like to do?]
Jeremiah-
It is a day like any other, albeit cold in the January air. However, with the success of his tricks and Samuel’s music, Jeremy has been able to afford warmer clothes. He almost doesn’t notice the chill when he’s performing.
Like any day that conforms to Jeremy’s particular schedule, he is happy. He does his tricks, Samuel plays his music, they eat. Simple, repetitive, understandable. But all of that changes that evening.
Jeremy and Samuel have just finished a set of tricks to the mild applause of passersby and are getting ready to head over to the pub for a drink and some food. But as Samuel starts packing up the money and his flute, a well-dressed man steps out from the audience, clapping. He looks friendly, though he isn’t smiling, and his eyes bear the signs of fatigue. Samuel visibly starts when he sees him, shocked rather than afraid.
“Mr. Elias!,” he says, stunned.
“Mr. Van Dyke. It’s been a long time. I’m sorry to see things have come to this.” He gestures at the man vaguely.
“Bah!” Samuel waves it off. “I like it better this way. And me and the fellow here? A damn fine team, we make!” He laughs, but it soon falls into a fit of coughing. Samuel is not often unhealthy, but he has his moments.
The so-called Mr Elias looks at Jeremy, nodding politely. “Pleased to meet you. If you’ve been looking after my friend here, I thank you.”
Samuel recovers from his fit, his last cough a nervous one, rather than a sick one. “And what, uh, what brings you here, Jackson?”
Elias looks back at Samuel, sighing heavily. “Information. I want to know what you know about this place.” He hands Samuel something small – a card, perhaps.
Samuel diligently crosses himself. “Not a damn thing! And if you’re wise, Jackson, you’ll say the same thing.”
“If I were wise, I’d never have gotten this far. Come on, Samuel, I know you know something. You hear things. Just point me in the right direction and I’ll be gone.” His voice is patient and calm, with just and edge of desperation.
Samuel seems to struggle with this for a while. He looks side to side, as if worried that somebody might be watching him. “Silas N’Kwane,” he finally says, uttering the syllables as quickly as possible. “That’s their contact. But that’s all I know! Now go, Jackson, before somebody sees. If you’ve been asking after them...”
Elias nods, scrawling something on the back of the card with a pen. “Believe me, my last wish is to bring you harm. Thank you old, friend. I needed this.”
Samuel eyes him dubiously. “About as much as this country needs probihition, I’d bet. Godspeed.” His hands fidget nervously. “Please don’t come around here again, Jackson. It isn’t safe.”
Jackson smoothly tucks the card away. “I won’t. Goodbye.” And then he steps off into the night.
Across the street, Jeremy notices three shabbily-dressed men watching from a parked car. When Elias is far down the street, their car slowly rolls after him, lights off. They are clearly following him.
Samuel doesn’t seem aware of it. He just crosses himself again, and searches out a drink from a hidden-away stash of whiskey in a coat flask.
(EDIT: Fixed some second-person references.)
- I will try to post daily, Monday through Friday. I can answer individual questions more frequently than that, and my PM box is always open. I expect mostly regular posts in return. I understand that people get busy, and that’s fine, but let me know if you’re going to be out for more than a day – otherwise I might be waiting for you. Seven players is a big number, but I’m hoping to keep things moving. Together, we can. I don’t require brilliant, thought-provoking posts (though they’re certainly appreciated). Just something.
If somebody fails to post or notify me why they’ve been absent for two weeks, their character is forfeit. They will disappear however is most convenient (gruesome death, insanity, or taking a ship out of town), or else be taken over by another willing player. I hate doing this, but it happens.
- When I am working on a new post, I will lock the old thread. Because I hate having to retype things when a last minute post is made, and I like to keep the story in order. Please don't let this alarm you.
- I will be doing most of the rolling, and most of it will be done off-screen. This keeps the game moving, and keeps away any temptation to metagame a roll result. The rolls I won’t make (unless specifically requested) are: attack rolls, damage, and sanity rolls (I will do sanity loss, however). You are always welcome to state that you are using a skill, even if you don’t actually roll it (example: You enter a room and request an Art roll to identify some of the paintings and statues inside.) I hope this doesn’t bother anybody, but it’s really the smoothest and easiest way for things to get done.
- This game has a lot of handouts. They will all, predictably, be in the ‘Maps and Handouts’ section. I will link them in game threads when appropriate.
- Try to remember this is the 20’s. Prohibition is in effect, the “Great War” ended 7 years ago, and aircraft is extremely limited. Transportation in general is limited – roads are undeveloped in many places, so most cross-country or cross-continental travel is done via steamer or train, and it takes time. There are no personal phones, international phone calls may take hours just to connect, and you’re dealing with an operator no matter what. Telegrams are the most reliable long-distance communication. Mail takes weeks or more, depending on the location.
In short, things just take time. Just remember that communication is anything but instantaneous.
- Descriptive text is bold. Setting text is italicized. Out of character text is in [brackets]. Dialogue is in “quotes”, and mental communication (don’t laugh, it comes up) is in ::colons::.
I think that covers everything! Sorry to bore all of you with annoying out-of-game details. Now let’s get to the good stuff.
[I've taken some liberties with your character to get things rolling, Maestro. I hope you don't mind.]
Two days ago...
Sam Gravener was in his office when the telegram came for him. He was toiling over a number of unfortunate figures from accounting, and was just beginning to develop a headache when the courier arrived for him. Even so, he was ready to ignore it before he saw the name of the sender: ‘Jackson Elias’. Intrigued at a message from his old friend, Sam turned his attention to the telegram.
It was... unusual.
HAVE INFORMATION CONCERNING CARLYLE EXPEDITION STOP NEED RELIABLE INVESTIGATIVE TEAM STOP ARRIVE JANUARY 15 STOP SIGNED JACKSON ELIAS
Sam spends a moment staring at the curious telegram. Elias, a very secretive man about his work, was never one to ask for outside help with a project. He took his research very personally, sailing all across the world to follow leads and study strange religious sects up close. If he wanted a group of investigators for some task, it must be formidable indeed. And no doubt interesting...
The figures and numbers are soon set aside while Sam picks up a phone. January 15th is just two days away. If Jackson wants a group of investigators, he better work fast.
Today, January 15th, 1925
Over the past couple of days, Sam diligently recruited a handful of investigators to help Jackson. It was tricky, finding people on such short notice, but Sam nonetheless feels confident with his acquisitions: an archaeologist familiar with the Carlyle Expedition’s exploits, a photojournalist eager for a story on the Carlyle Expedition, and a reasonably competent private investigator willing to work for extremely cheap. Sam was also surprised to find two other individuals approach him on their own, stating that they were asked by Elias himself to join the investigative team. One was a tough prizefighter, apparently asked along in case matters get rough. The other was surprisingly a woman, though sure enough, she holds a telegram from Elias himself asking her along for her “unique expertise”.
In the end, all six individuals find themselves sitting patiently in Sam’s office on the appointed day, waiting to hear what Mr. Elias has to say. [You can assume you’ve all been introduced, and know each other’s names and basic occupations. Feel free to post introductions, physical descriptions, etc. to familiarize yourselves with each other.]
As time wears on, the phone does eventually ring. Sam diligently answers it – as expected, it’s Jackson. “Sam!” he says, with relief evident in his voice. “It’s good to hear you, Sam. Tell me, did you get my telegram? Did you assemble a team?” His questions seem hurried, a little rushed, though he’s clearly making some attempt at etiquette. This is quite unlike the Jackson Sam’s familiar with, a usually suave and calm individual. He assures the author that the team is assembled and ready to meet with him.
“I have not heard better news in weeks, Sam – perhaps months. Perhaps I won’t hear any again for a long time to come. Perhaps none of us...” He trails off, and Sam can almost imagine him shaking his head clear. “But never mind that now. I’ll explain everything soon, but not over the phone. Bring your team and meet me at the Chelsea Hotel, Room 410, at 8 pm. Sharp! I’ll be in touch, Sam. And again... thank you. You can’t know what this means to me.” And he leaves it at that. If pressed for further questions, Jackson merely declines to answer and hurriedly hangs up, reminding him one last time – Chelsea Hotel, Room 410, 8 pm.
Something about his tone still sits wrong with Sam. It is undoubtedly Elias, for he knows the man well enough: it is his voice, his mannerisms of speech, his appreciation of promptness. But he still seems hurried and frantic, and the strange, cryptic references...
Well, it is certainly interesting. But perhaps not the kind of interesting Sam was hoping for.
[Discuss! The time is 5:00 pm – still a few hours until the meeting with Elias. What would you like to do?]
Jeremiah-
It is a day like any other, albeit cold in the January air. However, with the success of his tricks and Samuel’s music, Jeremy has been able to afford warmer clothes. He almost doesn’t notice the chill when he’s performing.
Like any day that conforms to Jeremy’s particular schedule, he is happy. He does his tricks, Samuel plays his music, they eat. Simple, repetitive, understandable. But all of that changes that evening.
Jeremy and Samuel have just finished a set of tricks to the mild applause of passersby and are getting ready to head over to the pub for a drink and some food. But as Samuel starts packing up the money and his flute, a well-dressed man steps out from the audience, clapping. He looks friendly, though he isn’t smiling, and his eyes bear the signs of fatigue. Samuel visibly starts when he sees him, shocked rather than afraid.
“Mr. Elias!,” he says, stunned.
“Mr. Van Dyke. It’s been a long time. I’m sorry to see things have come to this.” He gestures at the man vaguely.
“Bah!” Samuel waves it off. “I like it better this way. And me and the fellow here? A damn fine team, we make!” He laughs, but it soon falls into a fit of coughing. Samuel is not often unhealthy, but he has his moments.
The so-called Mr Elias looks at Jeremy, nodding politely. “Pleased to meet you. If you’ve been looking after my friend here, I thank you.”
Samuel recovers from his fit, his last cough a nervous one, rather than a sick one. “And what, uh, what brings you here, Jackson?”
Elias looks back at Samuel, sighing heavily. “Information. I want to know what you know about this place.” He hands Samuel something small – a card, perhaps.
Samuel diligently crosses himself. “Not a damn thing! And if you’re wise, Jackson, you’ll say the same thing.”
“If I were wise, I’d never have gotten this far. Come on, Samuel, I know you know something. You hear things. Just point me in the right direction and I’ll be gone.” His voice is patient and calm, with just and edge of desperation.
Samuel seems to struggle with this for a while. He looks side to side, as if worried that somebody might be watching him. “Silas N’Kwane,” he finally says, uttering the syllables as quickly as possible. “That’s their contact. But that’s all I know! Now go, Jackson, before somebody sees. If you’ve been asking after them...”
Elias nods, scrawling something on the back of the card with a pen. “Believe me, my last wish is to bring you harm. Thank you old, friend. I needed this.”
Samuel eyes him dubiously. “About as much as this country needs probihition, I’d bet. Godspeed.” His hands fidget nervously. “Please don’t come around here again, Jackson. It isn’t safe.”
Jackson smoothly tucks the card away. “I won’t. Goodbye.” And then he steps off into the night.
Across the street, Jeremy notices three shabbily-dressed men watching from a parked car. When Elias is far down the street, their car slowly rolls after him, lights off. They are clearly following him.
Samuel doesn’t seem aware of it. He just crosses himself again, and searches out a drink from a hidden-away stash of whiskey in a coat flask.
(EDIT: Fixed some second-person references.)
