As I do with all of my DC groups, I spend the first session gathering the party together. The way I like to do that is by roleplaying each and every player's character background with them individually.
The system of Dark Conspiracy has opened up way more doors than any other roleplaying game I've every played. For example, because the character's "grow up" during generation, there is a pretty extensive history involved with a starting character. That history is easilly manipulated by the Referee in order to help the players flesh out their characters as well as expose each PC to the darkness in the world as it is in the campaign. Ultimately I work through their background until they end up in the city or place that I am starting the first adventure and have a way to tie them all together.
Following I will recount each individual player's session and what they encountered:
Jonathan Livingston Neuropath Age - 37
Damian Ross started out his life at 9 years old as a street urchin. He continued to live on the streets until he was the age of 17. He wanted a different life style than the rest of the street rats and and adolescent gangs. Damian walked into a navy recruiter's office in Mike Town just outside of the Dreamland gates. Shortly thereafter, Ross was enlisted into the Military Academy. As everything in the military; housing, meals and clothing were all supplied to Ross. This was a serious change from what he was used to. Before Damian lived on the streets, he lived with his parents in a prole complex. They were neglectful and irresponsible drunks who'd spent all their corporate scripts on booze and what little food it took to sustain their miserable lives.
Damian received an opportunity to join the ranks of the Navy SEAL, that is if he made the cut. He did, and so began his life as a SEAL. He had various missions to OCONUS locations, like Somalia and France as well as some others not mentioned.
On Damian's final mission, they were ordered to France to abduct the Minister of State by a commanding officer who was told to do so by your typical puppet stringed government official. Their mission; to abduct, detain and interrogate the Minister to find out what he knew about shipments being made from one company to another. Ross' team prepared for their mission, leaving the getaway pickup truck well off the Minister's land and went into stealth mode through the woods surrounding his elaborate house. After sneaking in and busting into the official's study they bagged him without much trouble other than a few stray bullets flying wild from an untrained hand. While running to exit the building, guards began tailing them. Through the woods, weapon smoke blew in the wind as firearm discharges echoed off the trees. The team made it to the getaway vehicle with little problem. As the sped off to the rendezvous point, their assailents were in hot persuit. One of Damian’s men took a hit and fell from the truck. Making a commanding decision, Ross pressed on. Well on the outskirts of town, at an abandoned farm house they comondiered for the mission at hand, they pulled up and unloaded their prize. They took the Minister into the house and strapped him to a wooden chair and removed his hood. Then began the questioning, at first subtle then much more violent. Ross attempted to use his “intuition” to gain a feel of this fearful and pitiful government official before him. All he could tell is what you or I would tell from a man who was recently abducted and brought to a strange place; fearful and scared for his life. After about a half an hour of questions and beatings, the Minister gave Ross all he needed. Ross had his second in command end the miserable man’s life.
Upon returning to CONUS, Ross was called into meet with the commander of the medical department, Colonel Gary Michaels. At the Colonel’s request, Ross had a seat. Michaels proceeded to ask Damian about his intuitive “abilities”. Ross only gave vague answers as he was not truly aware of his mental capabilities. After many questions, Michaels entered Damian’s mind and “introduced” himself. Since Damian had never experienced someone touching his mind before, he fought back as white blood cells fight an infection. The Colonel tried his hardest to maintain a connection and awakened something he didn’t anticipate. Damian pushed to the brink of bursting blood vessels and “awakened”. (At this point I should interject to say that I don’t agree with the Neuropath rules of pushing. I believe they are nothing more than an Empathic Luck roll and therefore have changed the rules to either increase power level, targets affected, or range.) Damian left the Colonel catatonic and himself falling uncocious, slamming to the floor.
When Ross awoke, he could not remember who he was, where he was, or anything prior to this very moment. He looked around and the only thing he could tell was he was in a hospital ward, in a hospital bed and that he was in a hospital gown. As he took in his surroundings, he saw a man in a bed next to him and could not recognize. The man was Colonel Michaels. He was hooked up to various monitoring equipment and seemed to be out cold. Ross saw some fatigues folded on the chair next to his bed. They didn’t have a name on them, nor any other discernable markings. Shortly after putting them on, he snuck over to the door to the ward and had a listen. Hearing no sounds from the hall on the other side, he broke for the nearest exit door. He opened the door to a stairwell and began making his descent to the ground floor. He stopped as he heard voices enter the stairwell above him. After he heard them exit the stairwell on the next floor down, he continued on his way to freedom. He barged through the exit door to an opened parking lot and ran across to the tree line, disappearing from the scene.
When he next awoke, he did not remember how he got there. The previous day was a mystery to him. He wandered the city, sleeping on benches and in alleys as he came to need rest.
The following is direct from his journal (SPOILER ALERT some of the contents of his journal disclose a first person account from the first parts of my campaign) (credit must be given to Matthew Weaver for this writing):
Jon Livingston’s Journal – August 2075
(written on the inside cover of the journal)
Your name is Jon Livingston. You have no idea what your birth name is. This name is from the book Jonathan Livingston Seagull, written by Richard Bach. You found this book in your coat pocket.
You’re a psychic (yeah, it’s real) and you suffer from some form of amnesia. Once you fall asleep, you will forget everything you’ve experienced. For some reason, you will remember skills and basic knowledge that you learn, but people, places, relationships…those will be gone. You’re what the doctors call a “functional amnesiac”. It sucks, get used to it.
Captain Robert "Bull" Stockton is the captain of the Merchant Marine lake freighter American Spirit. He’s based out of Chicago, and is your only real friend. It was his idea for you to keep this journal. You’ve done some work for him in the past. Some as a crewman on his ship. Some doing odd jobs around his dock and warehouse. He’s a good man. He thinks that you might have been part of the military or a paramilitary group. This is just based off of some of the knowledge and skills you have.
Your home is a one-room apartment above one of his warehouses. It’s not much, but it’s a place to stay. Old journals, pictures and some other stuff are in a safety deposit box at Safety Net. Owner is Ralph. Key #652. Check this vault if you need info on your past experiences.
And remember…Take Good Notes!
(journal)
August 1, 2075
Went to Safety Net and skimmed old journals. Began this new journal even though the old one wasn’t filled yet. Have this bad feeling I’m going to need a lot of space to write soon. Looking at some of my old writings, it looks like these feelings aren’t something to be ignored.
August 2, 2075
Worked for the Captain today. Grunt work. Bull invited me to dinner with him and his wife Sandy. Truthfully, she doesn’t cook well. Still better than some nuked burrito from the Qwik-E-Mart.
Bull told me about one of his crewmen who’s disappeared. Guy’s name is Charles Michaels. Seems he was in Miketown visiting his family. The Captain asked me to look into Michaels’ disappearance. Looks like his family lived in some prole housing. (address as well as pic of Charles) Will begin looking into it tomorrow.
August 3, 2075
Fuck! That could have gone better!
Found the prole housing building for the Michaels (see pics of street and building). Spoke with Charles’ mom and step-father, but they hadn’t seen or heard from him since his visit a couple of days ago. Didn’t read them as lying. They seemed genuinely concerned that he was missing. I guess he had told them he was going back to the ship the next day.
Asked around at some of the other residents. Most didn’t want to talk. Few we did speak with new nothing, but seemed scared. Read them as just being distrustful of strangers. Some also were afraid when they heard of a disappearance from the building. No one seems to know anything specific, just that a few residents have gone missing recently.
One old-timer named Fred, did seem to remember seeing Charles in the building. He remembers because he thought it was odd that Charles was going into the maintenance room. Seems no one but the maintenance guy ever goes in there.
Tried to find the maintenance man, but he wasn’t around. Did a little recon and found the maint room myself. Everything seems in order, except for a manhole in the floor of one room (see pic). Grease and an odd rust colored smear (blood?) surround the hole. Marks on the floor show where the cover has been moved across it. Tried to move the cover myself, but couldn’t. Was looking for something to use as a pry-bar when security showed up to escort me off the premises. Got roughed up a bit by them, but managed to “convince” them to let me go and not mess with my notebook or camera.
Have a really bad feeling about that manhole. Feels like crosshairs on the back of my neck. Need to try again tomorrow…maybe sneak in after dark.
August 4, 2075
Day’s missing with no idea what happened. Fucking frustrating as hell!
Woke up early this evening in an alley behind the Anchor Bar (address). Killer headache, but doesn’t seem like I was mugged. Gun, camera, wallet, book…all still on me. Nothing in the journal to tell me what happened during the day. Had pics from Safety Net, my apartment door, and the Michaels’ prole building.
Will return to the building tomorrow.
August 5, 2075
Slept later than I think is usual for me. Head still hurts but not as bad. Not quite up to following up on Michaels today. Maybe later tonight.
Got a call from Mr. Steven Riley of Lee & Associates. He called me Mr. Ross. Maybe my birth name? I didn’t let on that I didn’t know who he was talking about. Seems Riley as a job for me. Supposed to meet him at his office tomorrow…10am in Dream Town (DT)(address).
Cleaning gun and prepping for the meet tomorrow. Going to bed early.
August 6, 2075
Dream Town security won’t let you in with weapons. Turned pistol and knife over to security to hold until I leave. Conceal weapons in the future!
Made it to the meeting with Riley. Seems he’s a Loss Prevention Manager for Lee & Assoc. His secretary’s name is Elizabeth.
Met three other’s that have also been hired for this job. Yamiko, a young Japanese woman (good with computers and a gun). Father O’Reiley, an Irish Catholic priest who seems to know his way around knives and guns). Professor Faraday, a physics professor at the University in Dream Town (pics).
Riley’s job involves finding out what’s happening to residents (ballot men) of a prole welfare compound in Miketown. A number of them have gone missing. We have 2 days to complete the job and report back to Riley. He gave us the address and a list of the missing ballot men (address). We are each to be paid $1500 for the job.
Met with the rest of the team at a coffee shop in DT, and then went out to the prole building. Faraday drove us out. Had an incident with some of the locals due to something Faraday said to them about “getting a job”.
Impression of the rest of the team…
Yamiko: smart. Is a bit trigger happy. Pulled a gun and fired at the prole thugs. Just a flesh wound, but fists would have worked fine. Thugs were unarmed. Have also asked her if she can hack into Lee and Assoc. and find out what kind of file they have on Mr. Ross. Offered to hire her. She said ok, but that she’d have to hack from their building.
Father O’Reiley: seems like a clam and reasonable man. Probably a prerequisite for a priest. Made a comment about having a military background. Probably a reliable teammate.
Professor Faraday: the man might be smart, but has NO common sense. Don’t think he’s been outside of DT in years. Has no idea how the world truly functions. He’s erratic, temperamental, and ignorant of the world outside of DT.
We talked to some of the residents. The professor chose to lock himself in the car and wait there. Some of the residents acknowledged that some proles have gone missing, but had no idea what’s happened. Seems like many of the missing people have been sick lately, and have visited the local clinic.
Learned that Mitch (Jones) is the maintenance man, and will most likely be the person who will have the best idea of what’s going on in the building.
A local told us that his friend has gone missing. Said his friend had mentioned seeing a person coming out of the sewage drain and into the ditch behind the building. Friend then disappeared. The local gave us the key to his friend’s apartment (apartment number).
In the friend’s apartment had been trashed. The place was a mess. Blood covered sheets (pics of the room). The team found his employment contract and a diary. Mitch showed up and wanted to know what was going on. Tried to get a read on him, but couldn’t. The man’s coveralls were covered in grease and rust (blood?). We told him we were there on behalf of Lee and Assoc. to learn what had happened to the missing ballot men.
We checked out the apartments of a couple of the other missing prole’s. Yamiko can pick locks. One was high up in the building and had a shattered window. Claw marks in the carpet as if someone was crawling across the floor towards the door, and was pulled away from it.
Also learned that many of the missing people have had scratches and illnesses prior to disappearing. We’ve decided to check out the clinic. Going back to the car to get Faraday. He supposedly knows about medicine and biology and such.
Went back to the car, but Faraday’s gone missing. Window broken in. Some notebook with Faraday’s ramblings. All I remember from it was something about his wife dying, liver-eaters, and him working on some machine to travel to other dimensions. Might have this wrong, but I think he was getting at his wife being killed by liver-eaters from another dimension. Not sure. Like I said…old man’s crazy.
Got jumped by several of the local thugs behind the cafeteria. Same ones we roughed up when we arrived. They weren’t pulling punches, so we used lethal force to take them out. Might have been unnecessary for me, but I don’t think Yamiko or the Father had anything better to use in the situation.
Found Faraday bound and gagged in the dumpster.
We went to the clinic and also ran into a couple of other men that Riley had hired. Guess word travels fast, and Riley didn’t feel we were being discreet enough. Their names are Hawk Wilson and Terry Richards. Both are cocky bastards for having been sent to “babysit” us. Assholes.
Doctor at the clinic has a drinking prob. Dirty and rundown place. No patient records other than a sign-in book. Most of the missing people have been in to the clinic shortly before disappearing. No record of what they came in for though (sign-in book at Safety Net).
Doctor had a patient behind a screen. Woman yelled and then exploded into some kind of pink goo. There was literally nothing else left of her. Everything had been turned into this goo. Doctor fled the clinic after that. Faraday has some samples of the goo.
We decided to check out the maint room. Went down the hole into a steam or power room of some sort. Faraday decided to stay above, and Richards stayed back to play bodyguard.
Found a shotgun wired trap that caught Yamiko and Hawk. Injuries could have been much worse. Faraday came down to tend their wounds. He’s going to continue on with us while Richards stays above to keep watch.
Trapped door leads to Mitch’s (maint guy) room. Place is a sty. Various bloody, mis-matched shoes under his bed…male and female. Looks like he has something to do with the disappearances. Trophies maybe?
Passed some storage rooms and piles of debris and pink goo. Blood. Rats. This place has to be crawling with diseases. Yamiko got us into the sewer tunnel, and then both she and Hawk collapsed with some fever. Faraday got them stable and we secured them in a room while we continued on.
The sewer is a sewer. Remember to bring a flashlight in the future. Found a young woman’s body. Head nearly severed and she had given birth. The birth was very messy and most likely killed her according to Faraday. Father gave her last rites. There was also a hatched pod of some kind in the corner of this sewer room. We believe the pod came out of the woman, moved to the corner, then hatched. Really having a hard time believing this shit (see pics).
Found Mitch, another man, and some fucked-up alien baby in another room of the sewer. Mitch and man were talking, but didn’t make out what they were saying. Baby crawling around. Father and I opened fire on the men. Man exploded into pink goo and the puddle tried to escape into the sewer water. Killed it. Mitch was also taken down. Before we could deal with the baby, a line of light appeared in mid-air, and a cloaked man stepped out of the line. He picked up the baby and stepped back into the line and disappeared. Faraday has seen something like this before.
Cloaked man had an odd symbol on the back of his robes. Mitch has the same symbol scarred into the back of his neck (see pic). We got $1000 off of Mitch, along with a note. The note mentions a Lord Balin being pleased with Mitch’s work in taking these people and their souls having gone to this Balin person. Note is signed “T”.
Mitch’s hands had claws. Body turned to ash shortly after his death.
We left. Got out of the hole and no sign of Terry Richards. The guy seemed a little odd. Don’t know what’s up with him.
The group decided to meet at the Father’s church the next morning to talk. I agreed to call Riley and set up a meeting for later that same day. We want to tell him that Mitch was a serial killer. We don’t want to tell him about the crazy alien baby and the goo. Father and Faraday took Yamiko and Hawk back to the church. Father will keep an eye on them. I took the bus home. I have the pod.
Dropped off camera for developing. Have the pics now.
August 7, 2075
Just read my notes. What a fucked up mess! Is this real? Did these things really happen? Looked at the pics. Am I going crazy?
Called Riley this morning. He wanted details before we meet. Just told him that the maintenance guy was a serial killer and that we found the shoes he was keeping as mementos. Told him Yamiko and Hawk have gotten sick from being down in the sewers. Meeting set for 1300 today at his office.
OK, we’ve had the meeting and the day’s gotten stranger by the minute. Have a little better idea of what’s going on…but not really.
Met the others at the church. No change in Yamiko and Hawk. Told the Father and Faraday about my call to Riley. Tried to stress to Faraday how important it is to not tell Riley about the odd “alien” stuff we found out. I don’t know why, but I don’t trust Riley. He’s definitely a greedy corp type, but I think he had an idea of what we would find at the prole building.
Anyway, I decided to see if I could do something to aid Yamiko and Hawk’s recovery. I could see a halo or aura around them. Could also tell that something “foreign” had attached itself to their auras. Was able to push it off a little from Hawk, but not Yamiko. I think I bought him a little more time. Not sure though.
Then a woman named Lila showed up (description). Seems both the Father and Faraday knew her. The Father also seemed to recognize the symbol that had been on the guy who took the baby, as well as on Mitch’s neck. He stepped out of the room and made a call…to the Vatican I think.
This Lila woman’s like me…only much more powerful! She seemed to read my name from my mind. She also immediately recognized what was wrong with Yamiko and Hawk. She also said that the Father and I were infected. Hawk recovered almost immediately, and she said Yamiko should recover in a day or so.
She also told us a little of what’s going on. She talked about the collapse of the governments, the destroyed environment, and all the missing people around the world. All the troubles that have happened since 2005. Said it’s all part of this shadow group that’s manipulating things. That the things we saw in the sewers is part of this “alien conspiracy”. Seems she’s part of an underground resistance movement to stop them. She said that there’re cells of rebels, but it sounds like them mostly work independently. For security reasons, I won’t mention any of the groups’ names here.
Lila told us that Mitch is what’s called a “plagueling”. That they carry and spread disease (like the pink goo disease), and that they are from a different dimension. The Lord Balin from Mitch’s note is most likely also from another dimension. Not sure about the cloaked man who took the baby. Might be someone like me and Lila. Also don’t know about this “T”. Guess there’s not much difference whether they’re alien or human pawns. Both are now our enemies.
She doesn’t know for certain if Riley or Lee & Assoc. are pawns or not. She thinks Riley might know something of what’s going on, but she just doesn’t have enough information on him/them yet. Lila said her group is strong on information gathering, but they need some muscle. She’d like us to join them now that we have seen some of what we’re up against. We told her that we needed to talk, and we’d get back in touch. Faraday knows where to go to contact her once we decide.
Father O’Reilly said he had to rush off and he’d be in touch once he returned. This was shortly after his call, so no idea where he’s going. A little after he left, we heard a crash and the sound of broken glass. Hawk and I went to investigate and found two large rats had broken in through the windows. By large…I mean the size of German Shepards! Hawk and I shot them. Faraday investigated them and said they were mutations. I saw a man running away from the church and down the street. Shot him in the leg and chased after him. He got in a car and sped off. Got the license plate of the Yugo…745TDT. Will have Yamiko or someone in Lila’s group see if they can track down the owner.
We left Yamiko in the care of another priest and the two altar boys. Faraday, Hawk and I went to our meeting with Riley. Faraday was extremely erratic and difficult to manage…nearly late for the meet. I took the bus to DT, but Hawk went with Faraday. Having Hawk as his handler is for the best. I’d end up putting a bullet in Faraday’s head if I had to manage him.
Riley was a dick. We gave him our story. I think he knew we were leaving parts out. We got our pay. Yamiko and Father won’t get theirs unless they report into him by 1000 tomorrow. Riley’s not happy with how we handled things and the deaths of the three thugs. Took notice of cameras and security personnel on the way out (rough sketch).
After the meeting, Faraday decided to go back to his lab. Hawk and I returned to the church to check on Yamiko and decide if we wanted to join Lila’s group. Personally, I’m all for it. I want someone to actually teach me to better use what I’ve been seemingly doing instinctively. Being able to step out of thin air…that would have great tactical potential!
When we got back to the church, there was a man waiting outside for us (description). He didn’t give us his name, but said you were interfering in things that were not our concern. Knew about our job for Riley. Said Riley would be dealt with. Got the impression that he and the rat man might be connected. Said he knew where we were and could track us.
Went into the church and found Yamiko and the altar boys tied up. No sign of the priest. Untied them and checked them out. Other than the altar boys having some bumps on the head, they all seemed ok. Put them on the cots in the back room.
Hawk and I decided to join Lila’s group. Hawk called Faraday to arrange to meet him at his lab to get the address. Faraday was addled and thought Hawk wanted to ask Lila on a date. This man is a serious liability.
Went to DL and met Faraday. He couldn’t give us the address…had to drive us there. After one wrong address, we met with Lila. As we began talking with her, short goblin-like creatures broke in the door. There were a lot…a couple of dozen maybe. Lila yelled for us to get out. We fought our way through them to Faraday’s car. They’re fairly weak individually, but definitely a threat en mass (description of critters). Just as we got to the car, we heard a roar behind us. At the end of the alley was what I could only call a demon. Wings, tall…10 feet at least, claws, kind of a cross between a bipedal bull and lion (description). It picked up a dumpster as we got in the car. It threw the dumpster at us, but Lila did something that caused a hole to open in the air, and the dumpster vanished into it. I think she opened a door to another dimension between us and the demon. The dumpster went into it.
We sped off. Lila figured we had been followed. She closed he eyes, then told hawk to remove his shirt. She found a bug on it. A real bug…some kind of beetle. She said it was something like alien tracking tech. She crushed it.
She directed us to a farmhouse (deliberately not putting location here, again for security). The setup there appears to be off the grid. Met a few of her fellow rebels. Man named Thomas appears to be some of her “muscle” (description). I was concerned about Yamiko, so asked if someone could drive me to the church to get her. Was taken to another of Lila’s people named Michael (description).
Michael’s like Lila and me…definitely strong like Lila. He’s in a room covered with scraps of paper with symbols on them. Kind of like the symbol we saw with Mitch. Michael was sitting on the floor and reading a book. He asked for my name. Said he preferred to ask for it, unlike Lila who prefers to read it from a person’s mind. Michael opened one of these doors to another dimension, took my hand and brought me with him. We walked a short distance, then he opened another door and we stepped into the church. Then I began vomiting. Horrible retching. He got Yamiko (and checked her for bugs). As we started to leave, more of the goblin things broke into the church…along with the demon. We stepped into the other dimension, and were being followed by the demon. We came out in the farmhouse and Michael closed the door behind us. He thinks he closed it before the demon could track where we are.
More violent retching!
OK, feeling a little better now. If Lila and Michael can do this without being sick, I can definitely get used to it.
A quick note regarding the dimension travel. It’s not teleportation, that I’m sure of. We traveled…had to actually walk…to cross the distance. We just didn’t walk as far as we would have had to in our own dimension. As we walked, I saw trees and terrain around us. I couldn’t focus on it though. It seemed to warp and blur around us. Intense colors, like some fevered dream or hallucination.
I’ve taken long enough to recover and write my notes. I need to get downstairs to the others. We need to find out if we will stay here, or find our own place to hole up. We need supplies…resources. If corporations have become the puppets of these aliens, then they can fund our little resistance. Not sure the others realize how expensive this could get. Then we need to secure intelligence and find a target. Something that will hurt these bastards. Then find allies. Surely others have seen some of what’s going on. Not all of them are pawns. Not all of them are already working in groups like Lila’s. We establish a beachhead. Bring in reinforcements and supplies, and then strike out. Once we liberate Chicago, we can move on from here.
The First Contact Campaign
Re: The First Contact Campaign
Father Seamus O’Reily
Catholic Priest
Age: 37? (may correct later)
(With this particular introduction, I will simply copy the player’s background to this entry as he took everything we had roleplayed and simply put it into his character’s own words. Thanks Brian! Just to add, his background kind of bouncing around from present to past, back to present. A very interesting delivery.)
The stone cathedral was quiet with the weight of age laying over it. Itʼs stone walls and
high vaulted wooden roof had stood for nearly two centuries, safeguarding the southern
neighborhoods of Chicago, a sentry of serenity, watching over the passage of time and
providing a place of peace and tranquility for the locals. Itʼs age was beginning to show,
however, worn down by the weight of a world that didnʼt really seem to care anymore. In
truth, St. Patrickʼs Cathedral was falling apart.
The church was quiet, closed for the night, although considering the number of
parishioners who showed up for mass these days, it was hard to tell when the church
was open or closed. Things were beginning to pick up, slightly, since the young new
priest had showed up.
~ ~ ~
They say that our earliest memories can have more effect on us than we ever realize.
My earliest memory is vague, visually; just the color blue really, that sharp, cobalt blue
you only see in the sky on cold fall afternoons, late in the day. My nose was filled with
the faint oak and smokey smell of cigar and old Irish Whiskey. A rough, unshaven chin
scratched my cheek. To this day I donʼt know if this memory was of my father, a
mysterious figure, along with my mother, that I never knew. Iʼve always assumed that
this memory was of Father Callahan, one of my priests at the orphanage who would
influence my young life, but as I got older, I started to imagine that maybe it was a male
relative, my father or perhaps my grandfather, dropping me off at the orphanage for
whatever reason.
I never really got over that first memory, that sense of abandonment that so many
orphans carry with them throughout their lives. I guess it was with that sense of irony
that Father Callahan had my birthday legally listed as October 28th, the feast day of St.
Jude, Patron Saint of Lost Causes.
~ ~ ~
Father Seamus OʼReilly was feeling pretty good about today. It was the first day since
heʼd arrived at St. Patrickʼs that attendance at daily mass had numbered over 20, and
he had even had more the the usual suspects wait around to attend confession. Usually
it was just the “Tri-Mamʼs” or three grandmothers; three older ladies, one Hispanic, one
Italian, and one Irish. There was only so much of their local gossip that Father OʼReilly
could listen to, but at least they were helping him to rebuild the congregation of the
church.
He had finished dusting down the church, putting away the hymnals and bibles, and
was in the process of sweeping up when he heard the screaming coming from the
offices. This kind of work would normally be left for the alter boys, but since a church
this size usually had 12 to 14 alter boys, and there were only two of them left, Mr.
Sanchez and Mr. Giovanni. They had both been working very hard, so Father OʼReilly
had given them the night off.
~ ~ ~
I was eight...no, nine, when I first snuck out of the orphanage. It was one of those rare
hot summer nights in Dublin, with no breeze off the ocean to cool things down. If I
remember correctly, the heat wave broke around dawn, as a cold front moved in and it
started to rain as usual, but around midnight, with no air conditioning, sealed windows
and lots of little squirming bodies; well, the dormitory was hot and humid. It wasnʼt my
plan to sneak out. I had been lying in bed for over an hour, unable to fall asleep, so I got
up because there was nothing else to do, except lay there in my sweat-soaked bed.
I knew that it would be a bit cooler in the basement, so I quietly slipped on some clothes
and made my way down there. I knew Iʼd get me arse beat if I got caught, but it was
better to be caught fully dressed, instead of just in my y-fronts.
The heat must have made everyone a shower of savages, because I snuck past two of
the nuns sneaking food in the kitchen, and Father Callahan having a smoke on the back
porch, the door propped open with a stack of bibles.
The basement was a bit cooler, if only because nobody was down there, and someone
had left one of the little windows open. On an impulse, I pulled a chair over beside the
window, and pulled myself up to look out. It was right about street level, and across the
way I could see a park. It wasnʼt anything fancy, like St. Stephenʼs Green; it was just a
simple neighborhood park across the street. For myself and the rest of the kids in the
orphanage, it seemed like a million miles away, since we werenʼt allowed out to see it.
There was a playground behind our building, but in reality it was little more than an dirt
lot with mostly broken equipment.
On a whim I pushed the window open further, and quickly realized with a little squeezing
that I could worm my way out the window. Just a few minutes later and I was sitting on a
swing that didnʼt have rusted chains or squeak like a banshee. I just sat there for hours,
enjoying the sweet taste of freedom that only a runaway could. I made it back inside just
minutes before it started to rain again.
After that, I was sneaking out every opportunity I had, and was soon running the streets
with other kids like myself; runaways, orphans, or kids who just had no other place to
go. We would sneak into St. Stephenʼs Green and splash in the lake on those hot
summer nights, or scrape together enough money to buy one movie ticket, then sneak
in through the emergency exit, spending several hours watching movies and hiding from
the ushers.
Unlike most of the other kids, I also found enjoyment hiding out in the library, spending
hours reading through books on all different kinds of subjects, or sneaking into one of
the many museums around Dublin, looking at the displays, art, and whatnot. Since I
could always sneak back into the orphanage, I tended to be cleaner and better dressed
then most of my fellow sneaks living on the street, which allowed me to get away with
sneaking into places like museums and art galleries.
I also spent time running around Trinity University, where it was easier to get into the
libraries, and the I could occasionally pick up cash doing odd jobs for the students there.
By the time I was eleven I had my own little side business, working as an errand boy for
the university students, and by twelve I was out of the orphanage completely. I had
several places I could crash; empty or unused areas of Trinity during the winter, or
several different spots in either St. Stephenʼs or Phoenix Park during the summer. If
worse came to worst, Father Callahan, back at the orphanage, was always willing to
help out, even though I wasnʼt officially living there anymore.
Besides working as an errand and odd job boy for the students at Trinity, I learned how
to hustle the tourists of Grafton Street and Temple Bar. The economy wasnʼt in the shitcan
yet, so there were always Americans from across the pond trying to rediscover their
non-existent Irish roots, or Brits come over for a long Stag or Hen weekend. They were
often willing to throw you a few for showing them the sights that most tourists missed
(and were often made up by my fellow street urchins and myself). According to the tours
I often gave, James Joyce and Oscar Wilde slept in damn near every house in Dublin.
I tried to stay away from the stuff that the Garde really cracked down on, like pickpocketing
or rolling the drunks. Thatʼs not to say that I didnʼt do it once in a while, but I
tried to do it only as a last resort. As I got older, though, I saw more and more of my
street friends turning to that kind of work, or even prostitution, which really scared me.
By the time I was 16 many of my original street gang were either dead, in jail, or had
just disappeared all together. We like to believe that those who disappeared had moved
on to find something better, but when reality hits you in the face like a cold, hard hand,
as youʼre looking for food after not eating for almost three days, or trying to find
someplace warm and dry to sleep on a cold, rainy January night, we knew that those
who disappeared were probably not in a better place. Still, living in the city was all I ever
knew, and I didnʼt think I could do any better.
It took for me to watch one of my best friends bleed out in my arms for me to realize I
had to find a way out of this dead-end situation.
~ ~ ~
Father Mitchell, the senior priest at St. Patʼs, and Father OʼReillyʼs boss, as it were. The
two men had reached an agreement not long after Father OʼReilly arrived from Ireland;
Father Mitchell allowed Father OʼReilly a free hand at trying to fix up the church, while
Father OʼReilly wouldnʼt disturb Father Mitchell when he was drinking or visiting the
local strip clubs.
Usually, but this time of night, Father Mitchell was passed out drunk in his office, a small
room behind the main sanctuary. Father OʼReilly would usually check in on him after he
finished cleaning up, often having to move the unconscious man to one of the bunks in
the basement of the church.
Tonight, however, it was clear from the screaming that Father Mitchell was, if not totally
sober, at least not dead to the world yet. Father OʼReilly assumed it was some kind of
case of “the horrors” as they used to refer to the screaming drunks he grew up around.
Father OʼReilly leaned the broom up against the wall and was just turning to go check
on Father Mitchell, when the priest came screaming out of the office like hell was on his
heels.
~ ~ ~
I tried for an honest job, but without any formal schooling it was tough to find anything
legit. I was able to draw some dole, and between that and my other odd, semi-legal
jobs, I scraped together enough to get a forged Secondary School certificate from my
old orphanage. It opened a few doors, but it was still easier to just take the dole, since
jobs were becoming about as rare as virgin whores.
There was one option, however, that would get me off the street, and open doors with
training I could use later; the military. Most of the street kids, true anarchists at heart,
thought it was a stupid idea, and had not interest in subjecting themselves to the
discipline of the military, but I figured after nine years living in a Catholic orphanage, that
the military wouldnʼt be too difficult, so I signed up.
In all honesty, I saw it as just an ends to a means, a chance to maybe pick up a basic
trade, like mechanic or something I could use later. Get in, do my four years, and get
out with a few bucks in my pocket and a CV that employers wouldnʼt immediately throw
in the trash. Surprisingly, it turned out I had a knack for this military thing. My years of
living on the street had made me harder and tougher than most of the young men my
age joining up, and although I didnʼt have the education that they did, I was as sharp
mentally, and I had no problem following orders. My training Sergeant suggested I to the
Defence Forces Training Centre, to see if I might qualify for any special training. I did,
and ended up getting accepted into the the Army Ranger Wing, the Irish version of the
special forces.
It turned out that this was, depending on how you looked at it, either a really good time,
or a really bad time, to be in the military. The economic situation in Ireland, which had
been going down hill since 2010, and only got worse after the collapse of the European
Union had also led to a resurgence of ʻThe Troubles,ʼ the age old conflict between
southern and northern Ireland.
~ ~ ~
Father Mitchell barreled down the outside isle of the church. As he closed on Father
OʼReilly, who moved to try and catch the older man, Mitchell glanced back, and thus
tripped over a candelabra, sending both himself and the stand crashing to the ground.
Father OʼReilly had to choose between his boss and the half-dozen still lit candles about
to crash down on to the isle runner. Assuming Father Mitchell was having some kind of
DT attack, OʼReilly let him crash down, while stepping over to catch the flaming stand.
Mitchell, meanwhile, hit the floor hard, and slid headfirst into one of the pews. OʼReilly
was setting the candelabra back up when he saw something coming else coming out of
the back of the church.
~ ~ ~
Anyone who knew anything about Irish history knows that the problems between the
north and south started long before St. Patrick entered the picture. The historical/
mythological cycle, “Táin Bó Cúailnge (The Cattle Raid of Cooley)” describes a battle
between the north and the south the probably took place back during the Iron Age.
My greatest problem with what we were facing was that there was no clear-cut battle
lines, no good guys versus bad guys. Some days we were protecting the people of the
north against the rIRA, the Revised Irish Republican Army, who wanted to one unified
island of Ireland. Other days, we were protecting the people of the south against the
New Orangemen, Protestant terrorist who feared that if Ireland became united, the
higher populated Catholic south would turn the Protestant north into second-class
citizens.
Things only got worse when the British pulled out, finally tired of playing policeman to
the problems of the Irish. Things were getting bad all over, including back in Britain,
where they had record high unemployment, and were beginning to develop a serious
problem with Muslim immigrants. So for the first time ever, the English finally gave up all
claims to Ireland, to which the Irish all responded by collectively giving the Brits one last
“Fuck You!” by proclaiming peace in the land. That lasted a little over a week before the
fighting broke out again, and we were back to being military policeman between rIRA
and NOM.
I can remember one incident that really wore at me, even more then all of the fighting
and death we saw. My squad and I were stationed in a small town, Ballygawley. It was
only important because it was the crossroads for two major highways in Northern
Ireland, the A5 Omagh–Monaghan and the A4 Dungannon–Enniskillen. The town was
only a few hundred people, but it was almost 85% Catholic on the Protestant side of the
border, and had been the site of a couple of attacks in the 1980ʼs.
We had been put up at one of the local churches, St. Bridgetʼs of the Glen, where we
slept and ate in the basement. It was actually a pretty quiet assignment, all things
considered. Our last posting had been in Belfast, which was quickly sliding back into the
war-torn city it had been for years during The Troubles. Ballygawley, this place was felt
like it was just south of heaven.
Saint Bridgetʼs was run by a Father Borresen, a giant but peaceful man originally from
Sweden. He used to joke that centuries before the Vikings had raided Ireland, killing
priests and sacking monasteries and churches. Father Borresen said that this was just
his way of replacing one of the Irish priests his family probably killed. He reminded me a
lot of Father Callahan, the priest who had been in charge of the orphanage when I was
growing up. Father Borresen and I often sat up late at night, talking about the war, and
our shared backgrounds growing up in the church. The good father also liked to brew
his own mead, which made him very popular with everyone in the squad.
It was a quiet, rainy kind of day, like most days in Ireland. The Lieutenant had split the
squad up into pairs, and sending us out on different patrols everyday, to break up the
monotony. Murphy and I, who had been together since basic training, had been
assigned to watch the crossroads. On our first day we had set up a protected blind, a
place we could watch the highways from cover. Murphy and I just sat there, comfortable
in our own silence. We had known each other for nearly five years now, and about the
only thing we debated anymore is which of us was luckier.
Traffic was quiet, mostly passenger cars and hauling trucks, with the occasional tour
bus. Despite everything that was going on, Americans still wanted to come over, explore
their roots, and see the countryside. Most of the tourists were stuck on armored buses
these days, protected by guards, although the truth was they were probably
untouchable; both sides knew that the Americans pumped lots of money into the
economy, money which benefited both sides.
Murphy and I had just been relieved by our replacements, and were walking back into
town when we heard the explosion from inside the town. We both double-timed it back
to the church, which was on-fire and starting to collapse. Murphy beat me by half-astep,
and went through the door just before I did. Whoever had planned the attack didnʼt
know our schedule; almost the entire squad was either heading out to relieve someone,
or on their way back. The only people who were still in the church were the Lieutenant
and Father Borresen. Murphy headed for the LT, while I started looking for Borresen.
I finally found the Father in the sanctuary, buried under one of the main beams. It
appeared that the only reason Borresen hadnʼt been cut in half by the beam was his
size. He was barely hanging on when I got there. Now Iʼve seen death before, but itʼs
always been death in combat, where it has either been quick and done, or the medics
showed up and took them away. Iʼd never held the hand of someone while I watched
the light of life disappear from their eyes.
“OʼReilly,” the priest gasped, his legs twitching slightly. “Is this really how you want to
spend your life, watching your friends die? You can do better than this...you can
do...better...”
~ ~ ~
The thing coming out of the back office was unlike anything Father OʼReilly had ever
seen before. It looked like a coyote, but bigger, much bigger. There were patches of fur
missing, not like the mange, but as though it had been burned off, or perhaps bit off.
The strangest thing were itʼs eyes - there were glowing red. It started to stalk towards
OʼReilly like it owned the church. Seamus might have been new to Chicago, but he was
pretty sure this wasnʼt normal. His grip on the candelabra tightened as the creature
drew closer.
~ ~ ~
I peeled off the bandage and looked at the new tattoo on my arm. My flight had been
delayed again, and I was getting bored. It was written across the inside of forearm, just
below the elbow, matching my other one.
My original tattoo was one I got after joining the Army Ranger Wing, a copy of the unitʼs
motto:
“Glaine ár gcroí, neart ar ngéag agus beart de réir ár mbriathar (The purity of our hearts,
the strength of our limbs, and the commitment to our promise).”
Almost every member of the Army Rangers had a copy of it tattooed somewhere on
their body. It was words that we literally lived and died for, so it made sense. After
mustering out, and joining the clergy, however, I felt I needed another, something to
remind me of this part of my life. I decided to get something that my old mentor, Father
Callahan, used to say over us every morning before we began school at the orphanage:
“Bail ó Dhai ar an obair (Bless, oh God, this work).”
As I sat there, looking at the new tattoo, I started to realize my life was leading up to this
moment. While I had enjoyed the military, I never really felt like Iʼd fit in there. I liked the
feeling of protecting people, but as The Troubles reignited the civil unrest in Ireland, I
found the constant fighting beginning to wear on my soul. After the death of Father
Borresen, I realized I needed to make a change in my life, so when it came time for me
to re-enlist, I instead choose to take my discharge and join the clergy.
Now, surprising, for the first time in my life I am about to leave Ireland, as I head to
Rome to attend seminary there.
~ ~ ~
The creature lunged at Father OʼReilly, who unconsciously thrust the candelabra out at
the thing, old training from his days in the Irish Army Ranger Special Forces coming into
play. The monster flinched back from the improvised weapon, apparently reacting to the
still burning candles. OʼReilly thrust forward again, scoring a strike to the creatureʼs hind
quarters as it tried to turn and dance away.
~ ~ ~
I quickly realized two things during my first few weeks at seminary; first, that I loved
what I was doing and learning, and second, that I was completely the wrong guy for
what I was doing. Sure, Iʼd had a catholic school education, which helped me, especially
with faking my way through Latin and laid a foundation for the basic knowledge I
needed, but so many of my fellow students were college graduations before coming to
school here, I quickly discovered that I didnʼt have the study skills or patience that they
used to pass our classes.
My floundering efforts did not go unnoticed. During my second week there I was called
into the office of Bishop Minya, who taught Basic Theology, the one class I thought I had
a under control. Bishop Minya explained to me that he understood my struggle, but he
had a solution. He told me about the Society of Jesus, also known as the Jesuits, an
organization within the clergy, of which he was also a member. He told me about how
the Jesuits were also called Soldiers of Christ, their founder a former soldier, and were
always on the look-out for others like me, clergymen with backgrounds in the military.
Bishop Minya went on to explain that the Jesuits had also founded several Colleges and
Universities in the United States, such as Boston College, Fordham University,
Georgetown University, Gonzaga University, Loyola Marymount University, Regis
University, and Xavier University. In other words, he said, the Jesuits know a lot about
educating others, and they would be willing to help me get through seminary if I was
willing to join them. So I joined, and I made it through, thanks to a lot of late nights and
the Jesuit brothers, I made it through seminary. They taught me how to study, how to
built habits which helped me with my classes and free time, and got me involved in
some excellent study groups.
~ ~ ~
After hitting the creature with the lit end of the candelabra, Father OʼReilly swung it back
around, and struck it in the head with the heavy end of the stand. Strangely enough, this
attack didnʼt seem to bother the monster as much as when it had been hit by fire. The
creature leaped up, past the clergymenʼs attempt to parry the attack, and slashed him
across the face, opening a wound from his left ear down to his chin. The two
combatants, each with a solid hit on the other, fell back slightly to re-evaluate their
possibilities for attack.
~ ~ ~
After graduation, I was sent back to Ireland to serve as a junior priest. Catholic priests
usually spent their first few years moving around to different churches, to experience
new situations, and work with senior priests to develop their skills. They assigned me to
Saints Mary and Patrick Church in the small town of Avoca, County Wicklow. About fifty
miles south of Dublin, and just in from the coast, it hadnʼt experienced any of the conflict
that was still going on up north.
Except for a visit up to Dublin to visit Murphy, I purposely decided not to have any
contact with the old life Iʼd left behind. The only reason I went to see Murphy was that
he was in the hospital, having lost his left leg from an IED. I guess we finally learned
which one of us was luckier. I ended up visiting him several times, and when he finally
got out of the hospital, I was there to help him move into his new place.
My time in Avoca was spent under Father Aidan OʼConnell. He was a kind, older man,
who knew his congregation well, but didnʼt have much experience with the outside
world, and so he appeared to be living several years behind the times. He was,
however, an excellent orator, and helped me to sharpen my skills when delivering
sermons. I also spend a fair amount of time hiking the hills around Avoca, and visiting
Glendalough, the site of a medieval monastery, now a national landmark with lots of
hiking and rock climbing.
After almost two years at Avoca, I was given another assignment. I was to head to Saint
Patrickʼs Cathedral, in Chicago, to work for a Father Mitchell.
~ ~ ~
The monster lunged once again towards Father OʼReilly, but he was ready for it this
time. He step aside at the last minute, allowing the creature to rush past him, headlong
into the pew behind. The blow stunned the thing, and Father OʼReilly thrust down hard
with the candled end of the candelabra, hoping the the fire would again injury the beast.
The blow appeared to be mightier then expected, as the creature caught fire and
disintegrated into nothing.
This was clearly not the welcome Father OʼReilly had expected upon arriving in
Chicago.
Catholic Priest
Age: 37? (may correct later)
(With this particular introduction, I will simply copy the player’s background to this entry as he took everything we had roleplayed and simply put it into his character’s own words. Thanks Brian! Just to add, his background kind of bouncing around from present to past, back to present. A very interesting delivery.)
The stone cathedral was quiet with the weight of age laying over it. Itʼs stone walls and
high vaulted wooden roof had stood for nearly two centuries, safeguarding the southern
neighborhoods of Chicago, a sentry of serenity, watching over the passage of time and
providing a place of peace and tranquility for the locals. Itʼs age was beginning to show,
however, worn down by the weight of a world that didnʼt really seem to care anymore. In
truth, St. Patrickʼs Cathedral was falling apart.
The church was quiet, closed for the night, although considering the number of
parishioners who showed up for mass these days, it was hard to tell when the church
was open or closed. Things were beginning to pick up, slightly, since the young new
priest had showed up.
~ ~ ~
They say that our earliest memories can have more effect on us than we ever realize.
My earliest memory is vague, visually; just the color blue really, that sharp, cobalt blue
you only see in the sky on cold fall afternoons, late in the day. My nose was filled with
the faint oak and smokey smell of cigar and old Irish Whiskey. A rough, unshaven chin
scratched my cheek. To this day I donʼt know if this memory was of my father, a
mysterious figure, along with my mother, that I never knew. Iʼve always assumed that
this memory was of Father Callahan, one of my priests at the orphanage who would
influence my young life, but as I got older, I started to imagine that maybe it was a male
relative, my father or perhaps my grandfather, dropping me off at the orphanage for
whatever reason.
I never really got over that first memory, that sense of abandonment that so many
orphans carry with them throughout their lives. I guess it was with that sense of irony
that Father Callahan had my birthday legally listed as October 28th, the feast day of St.
Jude, Patron Saint of Lost Causes.
~ ~ ~
Father Seamus OʼReilly was feeling pretty good about today. It was the first day since
heʼd arrived at St. Patrickʼs that attendance at daily mass had numbered over 20, and
he had even had more the the usual suspects wait around to attend confession. Usually
it was just the “Tri-Mamʼs” or three grandmothers; three older ladies, one Hispanic, one
Italian, and one Irish. There was only so much of their local gossip that Father OʼReilly
could listen to, but at least they were helping him to rebuild the congregation of the
church.
He had finished dusting down the church, putting away the hymnals and bibles, and
was in the process of sweeping up when he heard the screaming coming from the
offices. This kind of work would normally be left for the alter boys, but since a church
this size usually had 12 to 14 alter boys, and there were only two of them left, Mr.
Sanchez and Mr. Giovanni. They had both been working very hard, so Father OʼReilly
had given them the night off.
~ ~ ~
I was eight...no, nine, when I first snuck out of the orphanage. It was one of those rare
hot summer nights in Dublin, with no breeze off the ocean to cool things down. If I
remember correctly, the heat wave broke around dawn, as a cold front moved in and it
started to rain as usual, but around midnight, with no air conditioning, sealed windows
and lots of little squirming bodies; well, the dormitory was hot and humid. It wasnʼt my
plan to sneak out. I had been lying in bed for over an hour, unable to fall asleep, so I got
up because there was nothing else to do, except lay there in my sweat-soaked bed.
I knew that it would be a bit cooler in the basement, so I quietly slipped on some clothes
and made my way down there. I knew Iʼd get me arse beat if I got caught, but it was
better to be caught fully dressed, instead of just in my y-fronts.
The heat must have made everyone a shower of savages, because I snuck past two of
the nuns sneaking food in the kitchen, and Father Callahan having a smoke on the back
porch, the door propped open with a stack of bibles.
The basement was a bit cooler, if only because nobody was down there, and someone
had left one of the little windows open. On an impulse, I pulled a chair over beside the
window, and pulled myself up to look out. It was right about street level, and across the
way I could see a park. It wasnʼt anything fancy, like St. Stephenʼs Green; it was just a
simple neighborhood park across the street. For myself and the rest of the kids in the
orphanage, it seemed like a million miles away, since we werenʼt allowed out to see it.
There was a playground behind our building, but in reality it was little more than an dirt
lot with mostly broken equipment.
On a whim I pushed the window open further, and quickly realized with a little squeezing
that I could worm my way out the window. Just a few minutes later and I was sitting on a
swing that didnʼt have rusted chains or squeak like a banshee. I just sat there for hours,
enjoying the sweet taste of freedom that only a runaway could. I made it back inside just
minutes before it started to rain again.
After that, I was sneaking out every opportunity I had, and was soon running the streets
with other kids like myself; runaways, orphans, or kids who just had no other place to
go. We would sneak into St. Stephenʼs Green and splash in the lake on those hot
summer nights, or scrape together enough money to buy one movie ticket, then sneak
in through the emergency exit, spending several hours watching movies and hiding from
the ushers.
Unlike most of the other kids, I also found enjoyment hiding out in the library, spending
hours reading through books on all different kinds of subjects, or sneaking into one of
the many museums around Dublin, looking at the displays, art, and whatnot. Since I
could always sneak back into the orphanage, I tended to be cleaner and better dressed
then most of my fellow sneaks living on the street, which allowed me to get away with
sneaking into places like museums and art galleries.
I also spent time running around Trinity University, where it was easier to get into the
libraries, and the I could occasionally pick up cash doing odd jobs for the students there.
By the time I was eleven I had my own little side business, working as an errand boy for
the university students, and by twelve I was out of the orphanage completely. I had
several places I could crash; empty or unused areas of Trinity during the winter, or
several different spots in either St. Stephenʼs or Phoenix Park during the summer. If
worse came to worst, Father Callahan, back at the orphanage, was always willing to
help out, even though I wasnʼt officially living there anymore.
Besides working as an errand and odd job boy for the students at Trinity, I learned how
to hustle the tourists of Grafton Street and Temple Bar. The economy wasnʼt in the shitcan
yet, so there were always Americans from across the pond trying to rediscover their
non-existent Irish roots, or Brits come over for a long Stag or Hen weekend. They were
often willing to throw you a few for showing them the sights that most tourists missed
(and were often made up by my fellow street urchins and myself). According to the tours
I often gave, James Joyce and Oscar Wilde slept in damn near every house in Dublin.
I tried to stay away from the stuff that the Garde really cracked down on, like pickpocketing
or rolling the drunks. Thatʼs not to say that I didnʼt do it once in a while, but I
tried to do it only as a last resort. As I got older, though, I saw more and more of my
street friends turning to that kind of work, or even prostitution, which really scared me.
By the time I was 16 many of my original street gang were either dead, in jail, or had
just disappeared all together. We like to believe that those who disappeared had moved
on to find something better, but when reality hits you in the face like a cold, hard hand,
as youʼre looking for food after not eating for almost three days, or trying to find
someplace warm and dry to sleep on a cold, rainy January night, we knew that those
who disappeared were probably not in a better place. Still, living in the city was all I ever
knew, and I didnʼt think I could do any better.
It took for me to watch one of my best friends bleed out in my arms for me to realize I
had to find a way out of this dead-end situation.
~ ~ ~
Father Mitchell, the senior priest at St. Patʼs, and Father OʼReillyʼs boss, as it were. The
two men had reached an agreement not long after Father OʼReilly arrived from Ireland;
Father Mitchell allowed Father OʼReilly a free hand at trying to fix up the church, while
Father OʼReilly wouldnʼt disturb Father Mitchell when he was drinking or visiting the
local strip clubs.
Usually, but this time of night, Father Mitchell was passed out drunk in his office, a small
room behind the main sanctuary. Father OʼReilly would usually check in on him after he
finished cleaning up, often having to move the unconscious man to one of the bunks in
the basement of the church.
Tonight, however, it was clear from the screaming that Father Mitchell was, if not totally
sober, at least not dead to the world yet. Father OʼReilly assumed it was some kind of
case of “the horrors” as they used to refer to the screaming drunks he grew up around.
Father OʼReilly leaned the broom up against the wall and was just turning to go check
on Father Mitchell, when the priest came screaming out of the office like hell was on his
heels.
~ ~ ~
I tried for an honest job, but without any formal schooling it was tough to find anything
legit. I was able to draw some dole, and between that and my other odd, semi-legal
jobs, I scraped together enough to get a forged Secondary School certificate from my
old orphanage. It opened a few doors, but it was still easier to just take the dole, since
jobs were becoming about as rare as virgin whores.
There was one option, however, that would get me off the street, and open doors with
training I could use later; the military. Most of the street kids, true anarchists at heart,
thought it was a stupid idea, and had not interest in subjecting themselves to the
discipline of the military, but I figured after nine years living in a Catholic orphanage, that
the military wouldnʼt be too difficult, so I signed up.
In all honesty, I saw it as just an ends to a means, a chance to maybe pick up a basic
trade, like mechanic or something I could use later. Get in, do my four years, and get
out with a few bucks in my pocket and a CV that employers wouldnʼt immediately throw
in the trash. Surprisingly, it turned out I had a knack for this military thing. My years of
living on the street had made me harder and tougher than most of the young men my
age joining up, and although I didnʼt have the education that they did, I was as sharp
mentally, and I had no problem following orders. My training Sergeant suggested I to the
Defence Forces Training Centre, to see if I might qualify for any special training. I did,
and ended up getting accepted into the the Army Ranger Wing, the Irish version of the
special forces.
It turned out that this was, depending on how you looked at it, either a really good time,
or a really bad time, to be in the military. The economic situation in Ireland, which had
been going down hill since 2010, and only got worse after the collapse of the European
Union had also led to a resurgence of ʻThe Troubles,ʼ the age old conflict between
southern and northern Ireland.
~ ~ ~
Father Mitchell barreled down the outside isle of the church. As he closed on Father
OʼReilly, who moved to try and catch the older man, Mitchell glanced back, and thus
tripped over a candelabra, sending both himself and the stand crashing to the ground.
Father OʼReilly had to choose between his boss and the half-dozen still lit candles about
to crash down on to the isle runner. Assuming Father Mitchell was having some kind of
DT attack, OʼReilly let him crash down, while stepping over to catch the flaming stand.
Mitchell, meanwhile, hit the floor hard, and slid headfirst into one of the pews. OʼReilly
was setting the candelabra back up when he saw something coming else coming out of
the back of the church.
~ ~ ~
Anyone who knew anything about Irish history knows that the problems between the
north and south started long before St. Patrick entered the picture. The historical/
mythological cycle, “Táin Bó Cúailnge (The Cattle Raid of Cooley)” describes a battle
between the north and the south the probably took place back during the Iron Age.
My greatest problem with what we were facing was that there was no clear-cut battle
lines, no good guys versus bad guys. Some days we were protecting the people of the
north against the rIRA, the Revised Irish Republican Army, who wanted to one unified
island of Ireland. Other days, we were protecting the people of the south against the
New Orangemen, Protestant terrorist who feared that if Ireland became united, the
higher populated Catholic south would turn the Protestant north into second-class
citizens.
Things only got worse when the British pulled out, finally tired of playing policeman to
the problems of the Irish. Things were getting bad all over, including back in Britain,
where they had record high unemployment, and were beginning to develop a serious
problem with Muslim immigrants. So for the first time ever, the English finally gave up all
claims to Ireland, to which the Irish all responded by collectively giving the Brits one last
“Fuck You!” by proclaiming peace in the land. That lasted a little over a week before the
fighting broke out again, and we were back to being military policeman between rIRA
and NOM.
I can remember one incident that really wore at me, even more then all of the fighting
and death we saw. My squad and I were stationed in a small town, Ballygawley. It was
only important because it was the crossroads for two major highways in Northern
Ireland, the A5 Omagh–Monaghan and the A4 Dungannon–Enniskillen. The town was
only a few hundred people, but it was almost 85% Catholic on the Protestant side of the
border, and had been the site of a couple of attacks in the 1980ʼs.
We had been put up at one of the local churches, St. Bridgetʼs of the Glen, where we
slept and ate in the basement. It was actually a pretty quiet assignment, all things
considered. Our last posting had been in Belfast, which was quickly sliding back into the
war-torn city it had been for years during The Troubles. Ballygawley, this place was felt
like it was just south of heaven.
Saint Bridgetʼs was run by a Father Borresen, a giant but peaceful man originally from
Sweden. He used to joke that centuries before the Vikings had raided Ireland, killing
priests and sacking monasteries and churches. Father Borresen said that this was just
his way of replacing one of the Irish priests his family probably killed. He reminded me a
lot of Father Callahan, the priest who had been in charge of the orphanage when I was
growing up. Father Borresen and I often sat up late at night, talking about the war, and
our shared backgrounds growing up in the church. The good father also liked to brew
his own mead, which made him very popular with everyone in the squad.
It was a quiet, rainy kind of day, like most days in Ireland. The Lieutenant had split the
squad up into pairs, and sending us out on different patrols everyday, to break up the
monotony. Murphy and I, who had been together since basic training, had been
assigned to watch the crossroads. On our first day we had set up a protected blind, a
place we could watch the highways from cover. Murphy and I just sat there, comfortable
in our own silence. We had known each other for nearly five years now, and about the
only thing we debated anymore is which of us was luckier.
Traffic was quiet, mostly passenger cars and hauling trucks, with the occasional tour
bus. Despite everything that was going on, Americans still wanted to come over, explore
their roots, and see the countryside. Most of the tourists were stuck on armored buses
these days, protected by guards, although the truth was they were probably
untouchable; both sides knew that the Americans pumped lots of money into the
economy, money which benefited both sides.
Murphy and I had just been relieved by our replacements, and were walking back into
town when we heard the explosion from inside the town. We both double-timed it back
to the church, which was on-fire and starting to collapse. Murphy beat me by half-astep,
and went through the door just before I did. Whoever had planned the attack didnʼt
know our schedule; almost the entire squad was either heading out to relieve someone,
or on their way back. The only people who were still in the church were the Lieutenant
and Father Borresen. Murphy headed for the LT, while I started looking for Borresen.
I finally found the Father in the sanctuary, buried under one of the main beams. It
appeared that the only reason Borresen hadnʼt been cut in half by the beam was his
size. He was barely hanging on when I got there. Now Iʼve seen death before, but itʼs
always been death in combat, where it has either been quick and done, or the medics
showed up and took them away. Iʼd never held the hand of someone while I watched
the light of life disappear from their eyes.
“OʼReilly,” the priest gasped, his legs twitching slightly. “Is this really how you want to
spend your life, watching your friends die? You can do better than this...you can
do...better...”
~ ~ ~
The thing coming out of the back office was unlike anything Father OʼReilly had ever
seen before. It looked like a coyote, but bigger, much bigger. There were patches of fur
missing, not like the mange, but as though it had been burned off, or perhaps bit off.
The strangest thing were itʼs eyes - there were glowing red. It started to stalk towards
OʼReilly like it owned the church. Seamus might have been new to Chicago, but he was
pretty sure this wasnʼt normal. His grip on the candelabra tightened as the creature
drew closer.
~ ~ ~
I peeled off the bandage and looked at the new tattoo on my arm. My flight had been
delayed again, and I was getting bored. It was written across the inside of forearm, just
below the elbow, matching my other one.
My original tattoo was one I got after joining the Army Ranger Wing, a copy of the unitʼs
motto:
“Glaine ár gcroí, neart ar ngéag agus beart de réir ár mbriathar (The purity of our hearts,
the strength of our limbs, and the commitment to our promise).”
Almost every member of the Army Rangers had a copy of it tattooed somewhere on
their body. It was words that we literally lived and died for, so it made sense. After
mustering out, and joining the clergy, however, I felt I needed another, something to
remind me of this part of my life. I decided to get something that my old mentor, Father
Callahan, used to say over us every morning before we began school at the orphanage:
“Bail ó Dhai ar an obair (Bless, oh God, this work).”
As I sat there, looking at the new tattoo, I started to realize my life was leading up to this
moment. While I had enjoyed the military, I never really felt like Iʼd fit in there. I liked the
feeling of protecting people, but as The Troubles reignited the civil unrest in Ireland, I
found the constant fighting beginning to wear on my soul. After the death of Father
Borresen, I realized I needed to make a change in my life, so when it came time for me
to re-enlist, I instead choose to take my discharge and join the clergy.
Now, surprising, for the first time in my life I am about to leave Ireland, as I head to
Rome to attend seminary there.
~ ~ ~
The creature lunged at Father OʼReilly, who unconsciously thrust the candelabra out at
the thing, old training from his days in the Irish Army Ranger Special Forces coming into
play. The monster flinched back from the improvised weapon, apparently reacting to the
still burning candles. OʼReilly thrust forward again, scoring a strike to the creatureʼs hind
quarters as it tried to turn and dance away.
~ ~ ~
I quickly realized two things during my first few weeks at seminary; first, that I loved
what I was doing and learning, and second, that I was completely the wrong guy for
what I was doing. Sure, Iʼd had a catholic school education, which helped me, especially
with faking my way through Latin and laid a foundation for the basic knowledge I
needed, but so many of my fellow students were college graduations before coming to
school here, I quickly discovered that I didnʼt have the study skills or patience that they
used to pass our classes.
My floundering efforts did not go unnoticed. During my second week there I was called
into the office of Bishop Minya, who taught Basic Theology, the one class I thought I had
a under control. Bishop Minya explained to me that he understood my struggle, but he
had a solution. He told me about the Society of Jesus, also known as the Jesuits, an
organization within the clergy, of which he was also a member. He told me about how
the Jesuits were also called Soldiers of Christ, their founder a former soldier, and were
always on the look-out for others like me, clergymen with backgrounds in the military.
Bishop Minya went on to explain that the Jesuits had also founded several Colleges and
Universities in the United States, such as Boston College, Fordham University,
Georgetown University, Gonzaga University, Loyola Marymount University, Regis
University, and Xavier University. In other words, he said, the Jesuits know a lot about
educating others, and they would be willing to help me get through seminary if I was
willing to join them. So I joined, and I made it through, thanks to a lot of late nights and
the Jesuit brothers, I made it through seminary. They taught me how to study, how to
built habits which helped me with my classes and free time, and got me involved in
some excellent study groups.
~ ~ ~
After hitting the creature with the lit end of the candelabra, Father OʼReilly swung it back
around, and struck it in the head with the heavy end of the stand. Strangely enough, this
attack didnʼt seem to bother the monster as much as when it had been hit by fire. The
creature leaped up, past the clergymenʼs attempt to parry the attack, and slashed him
across the face, opening a wound from his left ear down to his chin. The two
combatants, each with a solid hit on the other, fell back slightly to re-evaluate their
possibilities for attack.
~ ~ ~
After graduation, I was sent back to Ireland to serve as a junior priest. Catholic priests
usually spent their first few years moving around to different churches, to experience
new situations, and work with senior priests to develop their skills. They assigned me to
Saints Mary and Patrick Church in the small town of Avoca, County Wicklow. About fifty
miles south of Dublin, and just in from the coast, it hadnʼt experienced any of the conflict
that was still going on up north.
Except for a visit up to Dublin to visit Murphy, I purposely decided not to have any
contact with the old life Iʼd left behind. The only reason I went to see Murphy was that
he was in the hospital, having lost his left leg from an IED. I guess we finally learned
which one of us was luckier. I ended up visiting him several times, and when he finally
got out of the hospital, I was there to help him move into his new place.
My time in Avoca was spent under Father Aidan OʼConnell. He was a kind, older man,
who knew his congregation well, but didnʼt have much experience with the outside
world, and so he appeared to be living several years behind the times. He was,
however, an excellent orator, and helped me to sharpen my skills when delivering
sermons. I also spend a fair amount of time hiking the hills around Avoca, and visiting
Glendalough, the site of a medieval monastery, now a national landmark with lots of
hiking and rock climbing.
After almost two years at Avoca, I was given another assignment. I was to head to Saint
Patrickʼs Cathedral, in Chicago, to work for a Father Mitchell.
~ ~ ~
The monster lunged once again towards Father OʼReilly, but he was ready for it this
time. He step aside at the last minute, allowing the creature to rush past him, headlong
into the pew behind. The blow stunned the thing, and Father OʼReilly thrust down hard
with the candled end of the candelabra, hoping the the fire would again injury the beast.
The blow appeared to be mightier then expected, as the creature caught fire and
disintegrated into nothing.
This was clearly not the welcome Father OʼReilly had expected upon arriving in
Chicago.
Re: The First Contact Campaign
Sorry I haven't been keeping up with this post... Had life going on lately. Just wanted everyone to know that the campaign is still going on every Wednesday night. I will try to keep up on my posts, writing as I can during lunch at work. 
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Morthrai
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Re: The First Contact Campaign
Just bring us up to speed whenever you are able 
Lee Williams.
"Superstition is the name the ignorant give to their ignorance"
"Superstition is the name the ignorant give to their ignorance"
Re: The First Contact Campaign
Okay, let's try just getting on with the campaign blog, and skip the rest of the introductions. See if I have better luck with typing that up.
So, through roleplaying all the character's backgrounds out with them, I've arranged their characters in a way they will meet up with eachother. (Seamus O'Reilly was given a mission from the church to arrive at a meeting at a real estate agency called Lee and Associates. Yamiko, a computer guru, has received an email from someone in Japanese to join an investigative team hired by Lee and Associates and to report back to them through secure channels. Livingston received a phone call from a Mr. Steven Reilly, loss prevention speciallist from Lee and Associates. When Reilly introduced himself to Livingston he called him Mr. Ross instead of Livingston. Professor Faraday was asked by a cloaked woman to help this team of investigators on their job. She said that his expertise in physics would come in handy and be most useful in this job request.
<Session 1>
One by one, all of the characters begin to arrive at Lee and Associates. As soon as they walk through the revolving doors they find 30 foot high ceilings and marble everywhere. The lobby is gargantuan, putting it lightly. A mahogony semi-circle desk stands before them. Mounted on the front of the desk is some sort of a computer panel facing the revolving doors. People in business suits walk from one side of the lobby to the other, passing between pillars only to disappear down the cooridores on the left and right of the lobby. Service bots are busy at work in their various tasks. At the back of the lobby are two elevator doors that employees and visitors alike are boarding and disembarking in random intervals. The first to arrive is Livingston. (I'm going to go through this once to avoid repetition) As Livingston steps up to the mahogony desk a holigraphic image of a man in a business suit appears behind the desk.
"Hello! Welcome to Lee and Associates, I am assistant Thomas! How may I help you!?"
As each character, accept for Professor Faraday, answers assistant Thomas, they are given directions either verbally or via the compu-terminal display at the front of the desk. Professor Faraday, however, wants to explore how the projection is being produced. He begins walking around the desk trying to find the source, absolutely enamored at the technology he is witnessing.
Father O'Reilly asks the old man why he is there today and what he's doing. A very stuborn Professor Faraday replies that he's trying to find the source of the projection. Father O'Reilly asks if he needs help up. The Professor says no and that he needs help finding the source of the projection. Eventually Father O'Reilly gives up and starts heading to the elevators. Faraday's player realizes he's being a hinderance and gives up his silly distraction and joins the good Father.
Everyone arrives at Mr. Reilly's office at random intervals and his secretary, Janeen, seats them all until Mr. Reilly is ready for them. After everyone arrives and is seated they wait another five minutes or so. Then over an intercom, Mr. Reilly calls for Janeen to let them in. Everyone enters Mr. Reilly's office and he tells them to have a seat. The party does, with the exception of Livingston who says he'd rather stand. A very stern Mr. Reilly repeats himself and tells him to sit.
After everyone is seated, Mr. Reilly begins to explain that he has "assets" outside of Dreamland that are coming up missing. Two weeks ago, five balotment went missing. Last week, seven more were missing. It's now the beginning of this week and we are already up to six missing ballotmen. He explains that he wants the party to go and find the missing individuals or any information they can on the missing individuals. Reilly wants a full report in 48 hours time or their contracts will be null and void. He has included, in an email to the entire group, the names and room numbers of the missing individuals as well as their photographs. He tells them that the job will pay $1k per member, provided they keep within the guidlines of their contract for this Job.
Yamiko pipes up and asks why Reilly doesn't just have his employees do this. Through a gruff scowel, Reilly replies that this is a matter better left from the sight of his superiors and anyone else in the organization. He says if they have no more questions, he is a very busy man. Reilly instantly turns back to his computer and further ignores the members of the party.
When the group adjourns from Reilly's office, they all meet back up in the lobby and discus going to a coffee shop or something to be better acquanted since they will be working together for the next few days.
Once their introductions were completed, the party decided to go to the prole complex as per their instructions from Mr. Reilly. As they began to pull up to the ballotman building, just on the outer rim of Miketown, the party begins to realize just how destitute and povertish this place really is. The pull up to a building that has numerous broken windows. Bricks that are losing their morter and begining to separate from the structure walls. Hooligans and poor people roaming around the complex yard.
Professor Faraday, in his infinite wisdom, rolls down the window and yells at no one in particular to get a job! The four individuals, standing in front of the building in which the group will be investigating, don't take kindly to this. The one who appears to be leading this gang of riff raff approaches the car and places his foot on the bumper. He proceeds to question the group as to why they are there in his little paradise.
Feeling froggy, Livingston does not hesitate to swing on the ganger. He manages to land an exceptional blow, knocking the leader to the ground with a right hook. Upon which, excites the other three ruffians and they approach ready to fight. Yamiko pulls out her pistol and fires on them, hitting one in the leg and causing all of them to flee as they cannot match the odds against them.
As the encounter is over, the group decides to mount up for the investigation and head inside to question the residents. The good professor does not like this idea and opts to stay in the vehicle. After a few minutes of trying to coax the stubborn man to join them in their investigation, they head in without him. (at this point I bring up an old saying from the D&D realm of Ravenloft: DON'T SPLIT THE PARTY! But ofcourse my warning goes without heed.)
The group opens the rickety door to the foyer of the appartment complex and finds a group of three residents cowering in a far corner of the room. Father O'Reilly attempts to question the individuals about the goings on of late. He asks them if they know of any people gone missing. The residents are very reluctant to discuss anyone with the party as they look to Yamiko and withdraw even more in fear. <End Session 1>
So, through roleplaying all the character's backgrounds out with them, I've arranged their characters in a way they will meet up with eachother. (Seamus O'Reilly was given a mission from the church to arrive at a meeting at a real estate agency called Lee and Associates. Yamiko, a computer guru, has received an email from someone in Japanese to join an investigative team hired by Lee and Associates and to report back to them through secure channels. Livingston received a phone call from a Mr. Steven Reilly, loss prevention speciallist from Lee and Associates. When Reilly introduced himself to Livingston he called him Mr. Ross instead of Livingston. Professor Faraday was asked by a cloaked woman to help this team of investigators on their job. She said that his expertise in physics would come in handy and be most useful in this job request.
<Session 1>
One by one, all of the characters begin to arrive at Lee and Associates. As soon as they walk through the revolving doors they find 30 foot high ceilings and marble everywhere. The lobby is gargantuan, putting it lightly. A mahogony semi-circle desk stands before them. Mounted on the front of the desk is some sort of a computer panel facing the revolving doors. People in business suits walk from one side of the lobby to the other, passing between pillars only to disappear down the cooridores on the left and right of the lobby. Service bots are busy at work in their various tasks. At the back of the lobby are two elevator doors that employees and visitors alike are boarding and disembarking in random intervals. The first to arrive is Livingston. (I'm going to go through this once to avoid repetition) As Livingston steps up to the mahogony desk a holigraphic image of a man in a business suit appears behind the desk.
"Hello! Welcome to Lee and Associates, I am assistant Thomas! How may I help you!?"
As each character, accept for Professor Faraday, answers assistant Thomas, they are given directions either verbally or via the compu-terminal display at the front of the desk. Professor Faraday, however, wants to explore how the projection is being produced. He begins walking around the desk trying to find the source, absolutely enamored at the technology he is witnessing.
Father O'Reilly asks the old man why he is there today and what he's doing. A very stuborn Professor Faraday replies that he's trying to find the source of the projection. Father O'Reilly asks if he needs help up. The Professor says no and that he needs help finding the source of the projection. Eventually Father O'Reilly gives up and starts heading to the elevators. Faraday's player realizes he's being a hinderance and gives up his silly distraction and joins the good Father.
Everyone arrives at Mr. Reilly's office at random intervals and his secretary, Janeen, seats them all until Mr. Reilly is ready for them. After everyone arrives and is seated they wait another five minutes or so. Then over an intercom, Mr. Reilly calls for Janeen to let them in. Everyone enters Mr. Reilly's office and he tells them to have a seat. The party does, with the exception of Livingston who says he'd rather stand. A very stern Mr. Reilly repeats himself and tells him to sit.
After everyone is seated, Mr. Reilly begins to explain that he has "assets" outside of Dreamland that are coming up missing. Two weeks ago, five balotment went missing. Last week, seven more were missing. It's now the beginning of this week and we are already up to six missing ballotmen. He explains that he wants the party to go and find the missing individuals or any information they can on the missing individuals. Reilly wants a full report in 48 hours time or their contracts will be null and void. He has included, in an email to the entire group, the names and room numbers of the missing individuals as well as their photographs. He tells them that the job will pay $1k per member, provided they keep within the guidlines of their contract for this Job.
Yamiko pipes up and asks why Reilly doesn't just have his employees do this. Through a gruff scowel, Reilly replies that this is a matter better left from the sight of his superiors and anyone else in the organization. He says if they have no more questions, he is a very busy man. Reilly instantly turns back to his computer and further ignores the members of the party.
When the group adjourns from Reilly's office, they all meet back up in the lobby and discus going to a coffee shop or something to be better acquanted since they will be working together for the next few days.
Once their introductions were completed, the party decided to go to the prole complex as per their instructions from Mr. Reilly. As they began to pull up to the ballotman building, just on the outer rim of Miketown, the party begins to realize just how destitute and povertish this place really is. The pull up to a building that has numerous broken windows. Bricks that are losing their morter and begining to separate from the structure walls. Hooligans and poor people roaming around the complex yard.
Professor Faraday, in his infinite wisdom, rolls down the window and yells at no one in particular to get a job! The four individuals, standing in front of the building in which the group will be investigating, don't take kindly to this. The one who appears to be leading this gang of riff raff approaches the car and places his foot on the bumper. He proceeds to question the group as to why they are there in his little paradise.
Feeling froggy, Livingston does not hesitate to swing on the ganger. He manages to land an exceptional blow, knocking the leader to the ground with a right hook. Upon which, excites the other three ruffians and they approach ready to fight. Yamiko pulls out her pistol and fires on them, hitting one in the leg and causing all of them to flee as they cannot match the odds against them.
As the encounter is over, the group decides to mount up for the investigation and head inside to question the residents. The good professor does not like this idea and opts to stay in the vehicle. After a few minutes of trying to coax the stubborn man to join them in their investigation, they head in without him. (at this point I bring up an old saying from the D&D realm of Ravenloft: DON'T SPLIT THE PARTY! But ofcourse my warning goes without heed.)
The group opens the rickety door to the foyer of the appartment complex and finds a group of three residents cowering in a far corner of the room. Father O'Reilly attempts to question the individuals about the goings on of late. He asks them if they know of any people gone missing. The residents are very reluctant to discuss anyone with the party as they look to Yamiko and withdraw even more in fear. <End Session 1>
