Post by Someguy on Dec 3, 2010 1:26:18 GMT
Chapter 4: Unforeseen Consequences
Light breaks. It lances down through the cracks in the rafters of the barn and strikes the sleeping man in the face. He stirs and wakes up, blinks, shields his eyes. He rolls over to the ladder leading to the ground and descends, showering loose strands of hay downward. When his feet hit the bottom, the man brushes himself down.
He looks round when the barn doors are pushed open, and through them comes Farmer Coates.
“Morning, youngster,” he says, carrying in a bucket and a shotgun. “I was just about to come in and wake you.”
“Not with that, I hope!” laughed the man as he stretched. There were bandages on his arms, legs, and chest from his solo foray through the swamp; no mean task for anyone on their own, but this man had an unusual aura, a kind of intense focus that nothing would, or could, get in the way of. It was making Farmer Coates a little nervous.
“So, you sticking around or are you heading off like you said?” the farmer asked him. He handed the shotgun to him and in the bucket were boxes of ammo. The man took them and smiled.
“I’m afraid I can’t stick around,” he replied. “So I can really have this then?”
“Sure can,” said Farmer Coates. “Least I can do after all the good work you’ve done for us here.”
“It was nothing,” replied the man. He put the butt of the shotgun to his shoulder, and practised aiming with it. He tried aiming it from the hip, but still didn’t feel comfortable with it. And he knew exactly why.
“Say, do you have a hacksaw lying around?” he asked.
***
In London, light breaks through the rafters of the aeroport; a docking bay for zeppelins and airships. It soaks the crates sitting in piles ready for transit, and past them is guided a refined-looking man; a scholar, if you had to guess.
“So we’ll be able to set sail at about, say, lunchtime?” said the foreman, showing the scholar to an enclosed access ramp that had been set up between the hovering airship and the raised platform. There was a twenty foot drop below the gangplank and the scholar seemed to clench up and go a little pale as they went across.
“That’s good news,” said the scholar, through clenched teeth. “I’d heard it that we wouldn’t be able to depart until next week, you know.”
“That was because of the labour action,” replied the foreman as they cleared the gangplank and reached a sealed door. He gripped the valve and began to turn it. “Fortunately, the headquarters of the crime family that was organising the strike got flattened by a massive boulder. Freak accident, or so it goes.”
The scholar found this news bemusing, or would have if he hadn’t been so tense about the long drop below. The door swung open and they stepped through. The foreman swung the door shut behind them and sealed it. Inside, the airship looked just like any other 20th century water-vessel. They set off down the corridor and were soon climbing steps up into the private lounge.
“This’ll be where you and your fellows can convene of an evening,” said the foreman, showing the scholar around. “Drinks cabinet is other there, the books and study aids you all requested are over there in the ledgers, and if there’s anything else you need don’t hesitate to contact a porter with the buzzer there.”
The scholar sat down in one of the leather chairs. There was a semi-ring of them gathered round a fireplace. He could imagine it now; the roaring crackle of flame, the slosh of brandy, the rustle of papers, the dry debate of good company, the gentle drone of the engines, and the view of the dark land drifting by. He wondered, briefly, about his gambit with The Lady but now was not the time, even if it was the place, to be thinking of that business…crucial as it was.
“So when will we be able to leave again?” asked the scholar.
“Just after noon, sir. Of course, it all depends on when your fellows get here. We’ll depart when you’re all here, sir; the cargo’s pretty much loaded, the tanks are fuelled, and the staff are on stand-by in the crew’s quarters. We’ll arrive in Paris by midnight tomorrow, though I hear there’s a storm in the channel which might delay us a little.”
The scholar nodded and fixed himself a drink from the cabinet. He invited the foreman to one as well, but he politely refused and instead made to excuse himself.
“I’ve got to be there when the lads come off their break,” he explained. “Just a few loose ends to tie up. Enjoy your stay, Dr. Joulnath.”
“Indeed I will,” replied Dr. Joulnath.
***
And somewhere in the middle of the calming channel, light breaks through the windscreen of a certain beat-up old red pickup truck being employed in a use not envisioned by its long departed designers. You wake up in varying degrees of discomfort, and Starlong appears to have caught a cold sleeping in the half-inch of seawater swilling about in the flatbed (For this chapter, you may have to pass a sneezing check when sneaking; failure means alerting enemies to your presence).
In the front seat, Pete wakes up with a jolt, grabs the steering wheel wildly, then realises that in this particular scenario it doesn’t matter that he’s fallen asleep at the wheel. Vinny is still resting, having a lot to sleep through.
You look around and receive a pleasant surprise. The port-town of Nou Havre is actually within sight. It’ll be an hour’s ‘drive’ to reach it, considering the difficulty with which your improvised Toyboata goes through deep water like this. Nevertheless, you should be able to make it. You turn the engine on and start sailing the last stretch of the way. You’ve all got stuff to do in France. PM me in advance what your plans are, if any.
But, of course, an hour’s drive in a straight line is a perilous thing. Especially upon the high seas as you are about to find out. Introducing for the first, and probably last, time…the Mystery Check!
A Mystery Check tends to have a low SM, but you can turn this into a high SM simply by identifying what the threat is.
[Mystery Check]
Starlong
SM: 2 (5, if threat identified)
It’s got two words and here’s your clue; Foamwest.
Light breaks. It lances down through the cracks in the rafters of the barn and strikes the sleeping man in the face. He stirs and wakes up, blinks, shields his eyes. He rolls over to the ladder leading to the ground and descends, showering loose strands of hay downward. When his feet hit the bottom, the man brushes himself down.
He looks round when the barn doors are pushed open, and through them comes Farmer Coates.
“Morning, youngster,” he says, carrying in a bucket and a shotgun. “I was just about to come in and wake you.”
“Not with that, I hope!” laughed the man as he stretched. There were bandages on his arms, legs, and chest from his solo foray through the swamp; no mean task for anyone on their own, but this man had an unusual aura, a kind of intense focus that nothing would, or could, get in the way of. It was making Farmer Coates a little nervous.
“So, you sticking around or are you heading off like you said?” the farmer asked him. He handed the shotgun to him and in the bucket were boxes of ammo. The man took them and smiled.
“I’m afraid I can’t stick around,” he replied. “So I can really have this then?”
“Sure can,” said Farmer Coates. “Least I can do after all the good work you’ve done for us here.”
“It was nothing,” replied the man. He put the butt of the shotgun to his shoulder, and practised aiming with it. He tried aiming it from the hip, but still didn’t feel comfortable with it. And he knew exactly why.
“Say, do you have a hacksaw lying around?” he asked.
***
In London, light breaks through the rafters of the aeroport; a docking bay for zeppelins and airships. It soaks the crates sitting in piles ready for transit, and past them is guided a refined-looking man; a scholar, if you had to guess.
“So we’ll be able to set sail at about, say, lunchtime?” said the foreman, showing the scholar to an enclosed access ramp that had been set up between the hovering airship and the raised platform. There was a twenty foot drop below the gangplank and the scholar seemed to clench up and go a little pale as they went across.
“That’s good news,” said the scholar, through clenched teeth. “I’d heard it that we wouldn’t be able to depart until next week, you know.”
“That was because of the labour action,” replied the foreman as they cleared the gangplank and reached a sealed door. He gripped the valve and began to turn it. “Fortunately, the headquarters of the crime family that was organising the strike got flattened by a massive boulder. Freak accident, or so it goes.”
The scholar found this news bemusing, or would have if he hadn’t been so tense about the long drop below. The door swung open and they stepped through. The foreman swung the door shut behind them and sealed it. Inside, the airship looked just like any other 20th century water-vessel. They set off down the corridor and were soon climbing steps up into the private lounge.
“This’ll be where you and your fellows can convene of an evening,” said the foreman, showing the scholar around. “Drinks cabinet is other there, the books and study aids you all requested are over there in the ledgers, and if there’s anything else you need don’t hesitate to contact a porter with the buzzer there.”
The scholar sat down in one of the leather chairs. There was a semi-ring of them gathered round a fireplace. He could imagine it now; the roaring crackle of flame, the slosh of brandy, the rustle of papers, the dry debate of good company, the gentle drone of the engines, and the view of the dark land drifting by. He wondered, briefly, about his gambit with The Lady but now was not the time, even if it was the place, to be thinking of that business…crucial as it was.
“So when will we be able to leave again?” asked the scholar.
“Just after noon, sir. Of course, it all depends on when your fellows get here. We’ll depart when you’re all here, sir; the cargo’s pretty much loaded, the tanks are fuelled, and the staff are on stand-by in the crew’s quarters. We’ll arrive in Paris by midnight tomorrow, though I hear there’s a storm in the channel which might delay us a little.”
The scholar nodded and fixed himself a drink from the cabinet. He invited the foreman to one as well, but he politely refused and instead made to excuse himself.
“I’ve got to be there when the lads come off their break,” he explained. “Just a few loose ends to tie up. Enjoy your stay, Dr. Joulnath.”
“Indeed I will,” replied Dr. Joulnath.
***
And somewhere in the middle of the calming channel, light breaks through the windscreen of a certain beat-up old red pickup truck being employed in a use not envisioned by its long departed designers. You wake up in varying degrees of discomfort, and Starlong appears to have caught a cold sleeping in the half-inch of seawater swilling about in the flatbed (For this chapter, you may have to pass a sneezing check when sneaking; failure means alerting enemies to your presence).
In the front seat, Pete wakes up with a jolt, grabs the steering wheel wildly, then realises that in this particular scenario it doesn’t matter that he’s fallen asleep at the wheel. Vinny is still resting, having a lot to sleep through.
You look around and receive a pleasant surprise. The port-town of Nou Havre is actually within sight. It’ll be an hour’s ‘drive’ to reach it, considering the difficulty with which your improvised Toyboata goes through deep water like this. Nevertheless, you should be able to make it. You turn the engine on and start sailing the last stretch of the way. You’ve all got stuff to do in France. PM me in advance what your plans are, if any.
But, of course, an hour’s drive in a straight line is a perilous thing. Especially upon the high seas as you are about to find out. Introducing for the first, and probably last, time…the Mystery Check!
A Mystery Check tends to have a low SM, but you can turn this into a high SM simply by identifying what the threat is.
[Mystery Check]
Starlong
SM: 2 (5, if threat identified)
It’s got two words and here’s your clue; Foamwest.