After 70 years of mostly menial service, and a disastrous clusterfuck of a first mission, I was judged worthy of commanding a squad (by dint of selfless loyalty and, barely, surviving) (also, the local Invictus are clearly getting desperate). A WW2 medic, a Southern Belle, and a blind kung-fu mistress
walk into knock politely at the door of a hunter conspiracy. "Is this some kind of a joke?" *sound of guns loading*
Hunters are *hardcore*, especially with preparation time. Still mortals, but with strength of numbers and horrific strength of conviction.
In the end, we killed more hunters than they killed.
No, sic- they had a *serious* friendly fire issue. Literally, at the end.
When all they have is large numbers of somewhat crazy people, facing supernatural abominations, they do as they must.
Our Belle did very well initially. Realizing that negotiations had failed, she announced her intention to defend herself. Turns out that modern drum-fed shotguns are effective at clearing doors and hallways. Fully automatic fire requires a lot of strength to retain accuracy-
supernatural strength, one might say.
Our blind martial artist (a horrifying fish-nosferatu with a severe allergy to light) also did very well. She was the only reason we weren't cut down by a particularly ridiculous katana-and-wakazashi weeaboo. Sounds ridiculous, but swords work better than bullets against kindred. And he had some absolutely bullshit merits, apparently, such
that he sliced apart a rifle round dead-on to his head, and managed to cut up the belle despite the shrapnel grazing his skullThe martial artist and I eventually managed to surround and tackle him, though. You know the hand-blades rogues use in Diablo 2? Well, rest assured, the "hand-claws" meme in our gaming group is still going strong. Because it
keeps working.
The belle went mindlessly hungry from her wounds, until we managed to hold down a "vessel" for her. My character was hungry too, soooo very hungry... But 70 years teaches restraint. My character's beast is a starved, sad thing, which has only once in all that time tasted human blood.
And that human was "sanitizing" her precious sewer, see. Still, that one taste was... distracting.
Such is the kind of digression which attempts to subvert a vampiric mind, lapsing it into a feral state. Giving into the beast. Not my character. And so, when the fricken Flammenwerfer emerged from the sideroom, we were reasonably ready... As much as vampires can be, when faced with a liter of distilled HATE. Holding a flamethrower.
(The DMPC's ashes flowed out the doorway. A classy 50's gangster who kept calling us dames - bizarrely, in the previous chronicle, our Malkavian had him as one of her random personalities. But now they both know final death)
I ordered retreat. The belle was not listening, but ran anyway, a feral beast fleeing from the hateful flame. I slammed the door on the fire, but late... My clothes ignited, and dry skin. I ran down the interior hallway, ripping off smouldering cloth and slapping at my crisp burning flesh, leaving a trail of dust. Despite nearly draining my willpower reserves to remain sane and put myself out, I did manage to do so... just. Large chunks of my body and arms were missing, and I was a handful of blood away from mindless hunger, but the line was held.
Showing even greater presence of mind, our martial artist actually jammed a door shut on our way out. Here's hoping the firebat burned in there- he did burn several of his wounded allies in his zeal to kill us. They are barbaric and desperate.
PS: It turned out that that region was overrun because my ancient sire never plugged in his phone, so he failed to keep in touch with his nemesis (the Mekhet primogen). This was all a failure to communicate. Still, risking the lives of neonates over trivial nonsense is kinda how neonates advance... Beats 70 years of maid-work.
Eating rats is fine, though. Eleanor likes being a cat.
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Topic: Re: Dungeons & Dragons / PNP games thread: COBRA!!! (Read 941500 times)