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Seven years ago "Perhaps, one day, Dunwich would rise again. Not as an exercise for visions of madness, but as a true place of realization." Thanksgiving 2018 The Parkhurst Hotel Arcane energies crackling around its edges like so much barely-suppressed lightning, the mystic gateway opened and out stepped a visio n from beyond the very edges of our reality! Resplendent in his starry robes, his eyes glowing with the energies that lay between the planes, the Gatekeeper raised his gloved hands and said, "Hello, Nick!" Kyle and Eric were actually on a first-name basis but they both were working, the latter especially. With the holidays, Claremont students with no particular place to go had been attached to established heroes for a "ride-along" - which explained what Ms. Thursday was doing there. "And company, I see." The Gatekeeper brushed his hair, looking a little distracted; the faint smell of smoke rising from him. "Are the two of you free for a small favor?" he asked. "I hate to interrupt whatever you're doing for the holidays, but I have a situation."

OK, guys, whatcha gonna do about this? @Cubismo @trollthumper

The Parkhurst July 12, 2018 The Parkhurst had been a hotel, at one point. Between being a family home and being a haunted wreck, and long before it was a dwelling place for some of Freedom's occult community. It made perfect sense that it would serve as a gathering place for travelers tonight. Outside, in the distance, Nick Cimitiere watched the great fires lick up from Liberty Park. He had done what he could, where he could. But after the first day, he knew there was a chance this would not end as anyone hoped. He remembered the stories of the first Invasion, remembered being dragged out of school as grim angels with steel wings flew through the air and the scent of oblivion spread through the city. Now, death walked through the city again, hungry and rabid, with a taste for destruction that would make Ammut herself cringe. If there was a time for a miracle - or an infernal bargain - it would be tonight. And he could only hope for the former, but prepare for the latter. Nick stubbed out his cigarette and returned to the manor, ready to make preparations for his guests. Corporeal and otherwise.

McNider Hospital December 31, 2017 10:32 PM Nick Cimitiere generally avoided hospitals. Not out of a general phobia, that is. And it wasn't like his duties didn't draw him there on occasion. But he never really liked it when that happened. Because that meant he had to get on the costume, put on the war paint, and go into a place of wellness looking like the coolest reaper around. Which, needless to say, likely was not a source of comfort for patients or staff. But tonight, it couldn't be avoided. Something had been ticking away at his death senses from across Downtown. When his shift was over, he made his way to Midtown, only to feel the strange ripples coiling off of McNider. Not a sense of emerging souls, but... a lattice, almost. He had a feeling he knew what he'd find as soon as he went in. There was some sort of controlled chaos - nurses and orderlies rushing everywhere, patients in the ER who looked like they'd gotten an early start on the New Year's Eve festivities (and whose "festivities" had gone down paths not easily considered jubilant). There was this general pallor to the whole place, this sense of sterility that went beyond your average hospital. "Good. You're here." That really wasn't what Nick had been expecting to hear. He turned to find a doctor striding towards him. "I assume you're here because of the..." "I think I can guess. How long has it been going on?" "Six hours. Gunshot victims, car crash victims, burn victims... nobody's died. Which would be a good thing, but... they're not getting better, either."

Saturday, December 12, 2015 8:36 AM Eric LaCroix probably should have known better than to expect a peaceful day off. It had all started off well enough. He'd woken up, made a cup of coffee at the Parkhurst, and gone on something of a constitutional. The snow had turned from white to gray with time spent in the city, but had melted away to traces, leaving a relatively beautiful and unobstructed - if damp - urban landscape. He'd gone out bundled up in his jacket, intent on catching an exhibition at one of the local galleries. Then the police car had sped by. Followed by two more. The part of him that wanted him to leave it to someone else was swiftly shouted down. He decided not to go in in costume, though - just yet. Instead, he followed the cars, which eventually came to rest outside a restored brownstone off of Lechmere. They joined an ambulance that had already arrived; in the back bay, a man in a courier's uniform was being tended to by two EMTs. Blood ran down his face from a cut over his eyebrow, and he was desperately trying to get a hold of his words. "Door was open... I heard screaming... went in, and... things just started flying at me..." Eric shook his head. He didn't think this place was haunted - at least, it hadn't been the last time he'd checked on it. Then again, that had been 6 months ago. The place had undergone some renovations. He opened his eyes to the pulse of the grave... and saw the house quivering with necromantic energy, veins of black running through its walls. Great. He reached for his phone, placing a call to his associates. "Hey, yeah. We've got a house in Lantern Hill that wasn't haunted, and now is. And apparently, it doesn't like delivery boys."

Williams Street Friday, July 10th, 2015 9:32 PM Friday nights were far from quiet in Freedom City, but this one was at least the kind of buzz that many were used to. The streets below were bustling, and while Liberty Park itself was fairly empty, there were still the occasional couples strolling across the lamplit paths, as well as those who'd decided to seek some shelter from the summer humidity by the cool of the lake. Cannonade was happy to take to the rooftops tonight. Things were going well at work, classes at night school were going okay, and he hadn't had anything horrible to deal with on the streets lately. There'd been the occasional bit of street crime, but things had mostly been on the level. In all honesty, he was starting to feel a little bit restless. He was waiting for something to happen - either to break the boredom, or to thrust him back into potential unpleasantness. When it came, it came fast. For Harrier, it was a burst over his in-suit radio - discordant, shrieking static that almost sounded like screams. For Oracle, it was a sharp sensation of the darker side of human thought, black as night and curdled as old milk. And for Cannonade, it came when he saw a young woman open a fifth-story window, step out onto the sill, and prepare to jump...

For rolls and such related to >this amazing adventure.

July 11, 2015 Kimber finished etching the last rune into the surface of the ice with a telekinetically controlled chisel before floating a few meters into the air to survey her work critically. After the better part of two years of preparation and careful work she wasn't going to let the arcane ritual equivalent of a typo ruin everything now, especially now with so many of her friends on the way to help pull off her plan. Indira and Eve were already waiting on the bleachers on the other side of the plexiglass, the latter having been convinced to rent out the indoor ice rink for the day with only a minimum of pleading. Kimber had asked Tarva to head up to the announcer's booth so that she could double check the complex circles of inscribed sigils that made up the first step of the day's undertaking. Satisfied with the results, the poltergeist nodded and turned to her friends, hands on her hips. "Good to go! Just in time, too! Everybody should be getting here pretty soon!"

The OOC! To start off with the DuTempts Building crew are already at the ice rink with Kimber any everyone else can begin arriving! Nick, Equinox and Frost should all have a general idea of what Kimber's been working on since she'd have asked them for their professional opinions along the way. I'll leave it to each of you how complete a picture of the final goal you think they'd have. She'd have likewise let Temperance know she needed help with something involving Jotunheim and made a weak attempt to coach the whole thing in technobabble for Citizen's peace of mind. Papercut and Revenant may only know that Kimber asked for their help and that there's a non-zero chance that there's going to be some monster fighting involved. Kimber's friends from True North are stuck dealing with another Igneous (lava men) crisis, which Frost and Blue Fox would certainly know about, if it comes up.

St. Sebastian's Church Monday, December 1st 6:52 PM Eric LaCroix wasn't really much for church. He wasn't an agnostic or anything - when you'd seen all the things he'd seen, and even gone up to Heaven once, it was a bit hard to just bury your head in the sand and pretend that there was no higher order to things. His position was both political and sentimental. For one thing, when you dealt with as many entities that claimed divinity as he did, it looked a bit weird to hitch your cart to one horse - and even weirder to hitch it to two or three. For another thing, these days, he didn't really find the community in church that he had as a child. Back then, it was coming together to proclaim the mystery of faith. But nowadays, it didn't really seem like much of a mystery. But there were some things that still drew his attention towards the church from time to time. Like, say, arriving back in the West End after a bracing day of work, only to find a crowd of people and three news vans outside of St. Sebastian's. Night had already fallen, and the New Jersey winter was blowing hard, but that wasn't deterring people. Eric pushed his way through the crowd, hearing psnippets along the way. "Can you believe...?" "...a trick, maybe, or..." "...no, a miracle, don't you see, it's..." After a good few minutes, Eric finally got a glimpse through the open doors. He didn't get much farther, as a security cordon had already been set up. But in one of the eaves of the church, he could see a state of the Virgin Mary, her arms spread wide in supplication. And tears of blood running from her eyes. Something about the miraculous sight tickled the back of Eric's eyes. There was something going on here, something beyond trickery or hoaxes. But was it really a miracle? Maybe, once the crowds had thinned, he'd be able to come back and give it a closer look...

Freedom City, New Jersey December 3rd, 2014 Afternoon It always began with tentacles. That was a lie. It usually began with a poor fool who stumbled on some book that no soul should ever read or even consider. Such books usually had ideas that were not simply intriguing, but were actually infectious. The ideas were impossible to get out of your head, to bury under the everyday and dull with mundanity. They strove to get out, to be expressed, to be birthed into the material world in all their hideous glory. It was one of those hideous glories that burst out of a third-floor window, tearing a hole in the wall as it fell to the street below. It landed with a wet splat and shivered, curling back into itself as it gathered its glutinous mass together again. The creature seemed impossible, a squid-like mess of tentacles that lashed and pulled and moved without any apparent intelligence. Asli Sadik found herself staring at the monster with the rest of the crowd. When the first stirrings of panic swept through everyone else, though, she merely stared up at the hole in the building for a moment, her stomach sinking as realizations piled up all of a sudden. Still, there was an eldritch beast to deal with, first; she put her bag down and stepped forward and shaking her arms free as she gathered her power to her. “Okay, big boy,†she called out, doing her best to get the creature’s attention. “It’s time to leash you back up and take you home.â€

April 16, 2015 As the young woman bustled into the Black Petal Cafe, flustered and wringing her hands, she bounced up on the tips of her toes, straining to see past the line up and over the counter. Her sea green eyes weren't scanning the board for the current list of seasonal lattes or the featured roast but rather darting from face to face until she spotted the barista for whom she was searching. Actually hopping up and down she waved urgently to the dark haired man with the sleeve tattoos, her long chestnut hair hanging in the air a little too long as she kept her lips pressed tightly together as though refraining from shouting his name would somehow make her less conspicuous.

Union Rail Yards Friday, May 30th, 2014 9:32 PM There was a wound in the world. Nick Cimitiere admitted that he wasn't the most science-minded individual in the world - his talents lay in the arts, the arcane, and perhaps an espresso machine. Which meant it was kind of hard to describe the sight before him. He'd been catching up with some of the ghosts that lurked around the neighborhood when a bright flash had caught his eye. Trailing it, he found the anomaly - a dark, blue sphere of light that hung two foot above the ground, neither flickering nor fading. It was almost the color of midnight, and it appeared as constant as any object - save, that is, for the occasional dark blue spark that crackled off of it. He planted his feet before the sphere. This might not be his department, but he had a feeling he didn't want to take his eyes off of it. Who knew what might emerge from its confines...

Rio Branco Avenue Rio de Janeiro, Brazil December 25th, 2014 5:25 PM local time Nick Cimitiere's jacket was tempered for heat and cold, meaning he didn't need to forgo protection - or mystique - based on the temperature. But the humidity of the Rio summer was still getting to him. The whole city was strung out for Christmas, but the tilt of the earth meant it felt more like the height of July back home. Speaking of back home... he'd told his family he'd be out of town for a few days, but would be back for Christmas. He always hated to lie to his family about these matters. Four years home from college, eight years as a superhero, and he still hadn't come clean about meddling in the affairs of life and death. But some matters of death were more important than matters of life. There had been a number of disappearances in Rio over the past few weeks. People from all walks of life had left messages for their family and friends, saying they were going to "a better place," and then had vanished entirely. Fortunatus, a local seer and fate manipulator who Nick had partnered with on a particularly tough job years ago, had given him a call about the matter. "The path is clouded to me," he had said. "I see that they are gone, but I cannot see where they have gone and who led them there. I fear this may be more your department than mine." "Anything else you can tell me?" "Just one thing. There are a number of 'great bumps' on the horizon." "Great bumps" was Fortunatus's term for a confluence of random factors that could spell either windfall or disaster. Nick had no idea where it came from. "I have one that I must handle myself, as it involves plucking the threads of chance like a harp. But I can see that these disappearances will not stop soon, and may breed a catastrophe of their own if unimpeded." And so, after spreading the word amongst the community and walking the back roads of reality, Nick had found himself walking a beat in paradise. Those who had gone seemed to be truly gone - after visiting their residences and the local cemeteries, he could find no trace of the vanished having left ghosts. Then again, he wasn't the only one on the beat. "How's it coming on your end?" he asked over the comms relics he'd handed out.

OOC thread for rolls and resolutions for thread. Weird times in Small Town, Arizona, U.S.A. Nick, Equinox and Pitch investigate!

GM June 12th, 2014, 4.45 PM, Half-Moon Summit Park, west Springsvale, Arizona "Found it like this. Last week." said Jane Aqui as she climbed out of the truck, the middle-aged park ranger tilting her broad brown hat a little farther from her eyes, the better to squint at the ungainly, smelly heap in front of her. She'd kept a polite few feet from the new arrivals since first meeting them, the odd crew seeming to get a little more awe even than the usual outside the world's super-capital. Even the evidently taciturn Jane had dug a little deeper than the usual "Can you really do magic?" that seemed to come up every time they were recognized. Which admittedly had been twice. Springsvale wasn't much. At the best of times, and especially when perched a few hundred feet above the valley the town stood in, it was compact and industrious, a collection of pale houses, a brightly-painted school and dark warehouses, offices and factories hugging miles of the scrub-rich eastern bank by a small, fast-running, very blue river, the town's dusty road running south to the I-15 highway only a few miles distant. A few bits of suburbia spilled away from the river, looking very much like fingers on some skeletal hand. Somewhere behind them, far out of sight past the hills, lurked the rugged Grand Canyon's eastern end. Far below, another truck pulled into town, one of dozens they'd seen since getting to Springsvale forty-seven minutes ago. Small ponds and rivlets spilled away from the main Springwater, but beside those distractions it ran as direct as compass point. They weren't there for the sights, though. At least, not the natural, or man-made ones. They had been called here to deal with the giant snake lying in a dead, mouldering heap in front of them, surrounded by sickly-glowing runes. A small camp of white tents had sprung up in another clearing about 50 yards away, from Phoenix University judging by the emblem a few of the laughing, chatting twenty-somethings and dignified-looking elders sported, and the comically grand white-red flag. The heat and wind hadn't been kind to the corpse, it was bleached enough to disguise whatever color it had been before, and was now a feeble yellow-brown. It was lying on its back, belly cut open and resting a gaping, sunken head on its coils. It was already sagging from decay. They had been able to smell it long before they saw it. Ranger Aqui cleared her throat "Gathered you folks knew about this...kind of thing. Heard it from those kids who do that show about the town. It's not normally that strange. 'Least not giant-snake-strange." She turned her squint to the ghoulishly-painted necromancer, the robed witch, and the biker-looking woman with the stick "So..." her squint turned quizzically to the deceased serpentine object of their distress "...what's this mean?"

Wednesday, February 19th, 2014 9:52 PM The shining towers of North Freedom weren't exactly Nick Cimitiere's usual digs. Give him the bohemian splendor of Riverside, the long shadows of Lantern Hill, even the ambient decay of an abandoned rail yard in Greenbank. But then again, his usual activities didn't bring him somewhere like this. But then there'd been the stories. A string of tech break-ins still wasn't in his wheelhouse, but the fact that they'd gotten into places that seemed on total lockdown certainly caught his attention. That didn't automatically imply ghosts, but it certainly pointed fingers in that direction. But then there'd been the attack on the security guard. He'd been sedated after his injuries, so the police weren't able to get a good account - but the wounds on his body took on the shape of claw marks. Nick wandered among the looming skyscrapers, drowned out in their shadows. So... werewolves? Demons? Particularly feral ghosts? He reeled through the possibilities in his head, feeling utterly off of his game. And what the hell do they want with tech firms?

Tuesday, January 21st, 2014 12:32 AM Nick Cimitiere knew it was going to be one of those nights when the pillar of fire appeared right in the middle of Lantern Hill Cemetery. He was on his usual nightly patrol, keeping up tabs with the local shades and making sure no hideous abominations were clawing their way back from the dark corners of the universe. So far, all had seemed pretty quiet - there'd been a tide of new souls from recent passings, young enough that they hadn't quite come to terms with their deaths. Nick knew they would need help in time, but that right now, they just needed to be left alone to cope with everything. Last thing he wanted to do was pry. That, of course, had been when the giant column of flame appeared right in the middle of the graveyard, after which anything would've been subtle. He raised his arm, partially for protection and partially to shade out the immense radiance of the conflagration - and as it passed, he could see a figure at the heart of it. Soon, the flame died, drawn back in towards the figure, leaving a man in an immaculate suit standing on ground that hadn't even been charred. "I apologize for the theatrics," said the figure, "but there are... obligations." "There's always a nice peal of trumpets instead," said Nick. "I mean, I'm not smelling brimstone, so excuse me for making assumptions, but..." The man cleared his throat. "Ah, yes. That part." He rose a foot off the ground, arms spread wide. "Fear not, child of Adam. I am Eremiel, of the Lord, and I come with good tidings." Angels. They weren't usually in Nick's wheelhouse. Yes, he was good friends with Heyzel, and knew Azrael rather well - including one initially awkward dinner party - but the other operations of Heaven weren't exactly something he got involved with. "I'm... honored," he said. "Really, really surprised --" It was very hard not to use swear words in front of an angel, but Nick was making every effort possible. " -- but honored. What good tidings are we talking about?" "There is a duty to be performed," said Eremiel as he reached into his jacket. "You have been chosen to fulfill an office of Heaven. Three others still of the flesh will join you in your duties, to fulfill the functions of the station and ensure the operations of the divine plan. Come and take your token of office." Nick stepped forward, tentatively, as if he was somewhat afraid whatever Eremiel would press into his hand might bite. "So," he asked, "what are we talking about here? Am I going to be helping Azrael fill out names in his book? Because --" Then Eremiel placed the object in his hand - a key. A large one, the type of baroque model used to lock gigantic gates. The look of it - the feel of it - was strange, as if it was made of both worn ivory and polished obsidian at the same time, depending on where you kept your eyes and fingers. The teeth on the key were numerous, tiny, and looked sharp enough to cut bone. And the thing glowed under Nick's death sense - bright black, a contradiction that was the only way to describe it. Lifting it closer, he could see tiny writing running up and down the stem in a script he didn't read, but could instantly understand. A dozen names, one after the other - Sheol. Gehenna. Tartarus. Purgatory... A bit of Scripture - from the back of the book - suddenly clicked into his mind. He knew what this was the key to, a place he didn't want to open. "Oh no," he said. "Oh no, no, no..."

Gabriel, Wander, Comrade Frost, and Nick Cimitiere get invited up to Heaven to serve as the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. What could possibly go wrong? First post for the thread will likely be along the lines of Nick - each member of the quartet is visited by an angel, who makes the great pronunciation and hands over the regalia of office. For Gabriel, it'll be a crown and bow; for Wander, a sword; and for Comrade Frost, a pair of scales. I had to take liberties with Nick, as Death isn't described with any real regalia except for "and Hell followed with him." In-game, each bit of regalia doesn't really boost powers - but since we've each effectively been upgraded to somewhere below god tier, it will represent a chance for two free Extra Efforts over the course of the thread, should you need them.

Prologue Port Regal, Freedom City Friday May 31, 2013 10:21 PM Darkness had fallen over Freedom City. The bright lights of the city’s downtown shone brightly in the darkness, reflecting out over the waters of the Wading and South Rivers and the Centery Narrows. But up in the depths of Port Regal centered round Lake MacKenzie, the bright lights of the city were little more than a glow over dark trees and hills. Once, Port Regal was one of Freedom City's most affluent districts, but it had faded in that regarded in the last several decades. While many of the old mansions and Victorian-era homes had been sold to business or turned into bed-and-breakfasts, there were still some of the old established families that retained their traditional family homes in the area. One such home was situated on sprawling grounds along the banks of Lake MacKenzie. Set back dozens of yards from iron gates that provided entrance through the brick walls that surrounded the grounds, the large stone mansion was dark and foreboding. Most of the building stood at three stories high, though there were a few small towers that continued on for another floor or two. The old structure showed signs of decay and wear. The grounds surrounding it were covered with what had clearly once been a large, well maintained garden that had long since withered away. Tucked back in one corner of the garden, behind low iron fences, a fair number of headstones were visible in the shadowy sections of the family cemetery. The large windows of the house were primarily dark voids, with only a few showing faint traces of light. One such window was tall, curved topped window on the third floor, along the section that looked out towards the main garden and cemetery. The room inside was lit only by a number of candles scattered throughout. The ceiling of the room rose up fifteen feet above the floor, the upper recesses of the room lost in shadow that hid the detailed crown molding that decorated the ceiling. The walls of the room were covered with tall oak bookcases, filled with old dusty tombs. Close to the wall on the side of the room opposite a fireplace was a large table covered with old maps and stacks of other papers. Most of the floor of the room was covered by a large antique oriental rug, other antique decorations faintly visible in the shadowy recesses of the room. Across from the fireplace was an old brown leather sofa and just to the right, also slightly facing the large windows, sat a matching large brown leather chair. It was in this chair that the room’s only current occupant was seated. Dressed in warm clothing, with an old quilt over his legs, the elderly man sat with a large leather bound book on his lap, its pages showing signs of age. Though there were a number of candles on a nightstand nearby, the elderly man was not reading the book. Sergio D'Ascenzo did not need to read the words before him, as he already knew all of what it had to say all too well. The same was true for many of the other tombs contained within his study. The ninety two year old head of the D'Ascenzo family had a gaunt face with sunken eyes that glowed faintly in the candlelight. He was thin and frail, his hands almost skeletal as they rested on the book on his lap. Just beside the chair was the wheelchair that he had been confined to for the last ten years. His breathing was slow and somewhat ragged. Sergio knew that time was growing short, not only for himself, but for the D'Ascenzos as a whole. For forty years, he had spent the majority of his time, and huge amounts of money, researching the family history all the way back to the late Renaissance in Italy. But it seemed that the more he learned, the more an answer alluded him. A sound at the door to the study pulled his attention from the dark shadows of the trees on the window as he slowly turned in the direction of the door to see his butler enter the room. In his early seventies, Walter moved rather slowly as he came across the room towards the chair Sergio was sitting in. Tall and thin, Walter was still in the suit and tie he wore for his duties, despite the late hour. For over forty years, Walter had worked for Sergio, and was unfailingly loyal to his employer. Coming to a halt beside the chair, the elderly butler held out a cordless phone. "The phone sir." Reaching up slowly with one skeletal hand, Sergio took the phone from the butler "Thank you Walter." He replied, his voice weak, and slightly raspy as he paused for a moment, looking at the man before him before he went on. "The time is drawing near once more Walter. Soon I am afraid your time here will be over." The old man standing beside him seemed to stiffen slightly at the comment. "I sincerely hope that does not come to pass sir. There is still time." With that, the elderly butler turned and started back towards the door. "Not enough Walter. Not enough." Sergio stated quietly as he began to slowly enter in a phone number on the phone. As he finished the number, the elderly D'Ascenzo raised the receiver to one ear as the line connected and the phone on the other end began to ring. It was no long before the call was answered. "Hello?" Came a male voice very familiar to Sergio, a confident voice, and more energetic than his own. "Jonathan, it is time to gather the remaining thirteen of us." Sergio said without further introduction. There was a brief pause on the other end before Sergio heard a reply. "Yes uncle. I will begin making the arrangements." Jonathan paused for a moment before he quickly spoke again. "I have been able to track down the necromancer and ghost expert that operates in the Lantern Hill district and will be making contact with him soon. Hopefully he will be willing to provide his expertise to trying to assist us." "Hopefully indeed. This will be our last chance for salvation." Sergio replied. There was a long pause before Jonathan spoke again. "I know uncle. I will see you before the end of the weekend." The line went dead as Sergio lowered his hand back down onto his lap, turning back to look at the dark window.

Sunday, February 16th, 2014 5:09 PM His shift had wrapped a while ago, but Eric LaCroix was staying on at the Black Petal, playing amateur electrician. This was far from his usual purview, but it had officially gotten to the point where something had to be done. Most of the work day had been pretty good - regular flow of customers, good sales on coffee and pastries, and a musical sampler of some of the local acts playing over the speakers. Then, in the last hour, the audio had started going weird. It started small at first - the bass would drop out on one track for about thirty seconds, or the high notes of the octave would get a bit pitchy. But by the end of his shift, everything that came out of the speaker sounded more like noise rock being produced by rabid garbage disposals. The speakers had been shut off entirely, but attempts to play the music using just the computer had been just as disastrous. With few options, Eric was left to apply the magic touch. And, cursing as the browser window on the computer clicked shut, it was getting to the point where that would have to be literal. He worked the utterance to the tip of his tongue - syllables learned at the throne of Hecate herself - and soon, he was speaking the language of the computer, sublime as radio waves. "So," he asked, "what's wrong?" "Wrong?" the computer replied in booming bass. "Nothing's wrong! I'm playing everything that's there!" "The files aren't corrupted?" "Hmm... nope. They're right as rain." That was weird. So, if the files weren't weird... Eric pulled out his iPhone on a whim, picked out Music, and played something by Tiger Army. What came out sounded like a tiger being fed into a woodchipper tail first. "Great. Something's wrong with the music."

Monday, February 25th 9:32 PM He realized it hurt the mystique, but Nick really needed a cup of coffee. The urn had broken at work late in the afternoon, he'd found himself quite short of beans when he got home, and now that he was out on the street, he could feel himself starting to flag. So far, the night's patrol had been really peaceful - many of the ghosts were staying in at their haunts, there didn't seem to be new restless dead, and he hadn't run into any street crime. And he didn't exactly want to be dealing with anything while he was less than alert. There was a 7-Eleven on the corner of Lark Street. It was far from his preferred brew, but it would do. The cashier certainly started when Nick entered - having a man made up like the dead would do that. Nick had been amiable for the entirety of the visit, but the clerk never really let his guard down. Guy probably doesn't have many heroes stop by, he said. Or at least heroes that look like me. He'd just gotten back to the Pale Horse and taken a sip when he heard a loud bang in the distance. Any vague hope of it being a car backfiring was cut off by two follow-up bursts. He jumped into the car and took off towards the source of the gunfire. And now we're back in the swing of things... so to speak.

Nick Cimitiere and Wail deal with a street gang that seems to have some supernatural backup.

April 1, 2013 In downtown Freedom City, the shops about the base of Pyramid Plaza bustled with customers looking to make up for the day prior's holiday. The spring weather meant lighter jackets than the receding winter chill had necessitated but the light cloud cover kept the breeze cool as shopping bags were juggled and grumpy children coming down from an excess of cheap chocolate added to the general din of the street. That noise was abruptly overshadowed by a booming rumble in the skies above, the clouds directly over top the towering Plaza darkening into storm clouds without warning. Another peal of thunder sounded almost immediately, lightning flashing amidst the slate coloured sky, red-tinged and angry. A city all too familiar with the malicious exploits of Dr. Stratos and similar villains glanced upward warily, the more cautious among the shoppers already looking for the shelter of overhangs or awnings. Even they were surprised, however, when a streak of blindingly crimson lightning speared downward and struck the middle of the street, sending bits of pulverized pavement flying outward. There was just enough time for panicked screams to register as vehicles were abandoned and pedestrians fled backward from the manhole cover sized crater before another bolt struck the same spot, accompanied by another boom of thunder. The next bolt came more quickly, then another even sooner after, building to a column of white hot fury searing a red after-image into the vision of those brave or foolish enough to still be watching. Just as suddenly the barrage from on high stopped, nearby shopfronts still vibrating from the reverberating thunder. At the center of the cracked street and the circle of hastily vacated cars stood a young man looking inquisitively about with piercing grey eyes. Appearing no more than seventeen, he had a slim, well defined build amply displayed by his lack of shirt and a skirt of overlapping white cloth bordered with red. Simple sandals adorned his feet while ornate gold armlets stood out against flawless skin bronzed from the sun and thick dreadlocks of deep red hair. Black markings framing his eyes completed the look of someone who had just stepped out an Ancient Egypt exhibit at the nearby Hunter Museum. Placing his hands on his hips, the figure offered the stunned crowd a broad, self-assured grin. "Hail, mortal realm!" he greeted them resoundingly, a note of laughter in his voice as he threw his arms up into the air. "Tis good to be back!"

For rolls and such! Feel free to make whatever Knowledge, Gather Information or Sense Motive checks seem appropriate.