Character Sheet: James "Spook" Chavez Appearance Prelude Journal Entries:
Name: James "Spook" Chavez Player: Tony Quirke Status: N.P.C. (Player Removed) Chronicle: Santa Cruz/Mage Essence: Dynamic Nature: Survivor Demeanor: Rebel Tradition: Euthanatos Mentor: none Cabal: destroyed ATTRIBUTES: Physical: Strength-2, Dexterity-2, Stamina-2 Social: Charisma-3, Manipulation-3, Appearance-2 Mental: Perception-4, Intelligence-3, Wits-3 ABILITIES: Talents: Alertness-1, Awareness-1, Brawl-1, Dodge-1, Intuition-1, Scrounge-1, Streetwise-3 Skills: Dance-1, Drive-1, Firearms-2, Gamble-2, Leadership-1, Lockpick-2, Melee-1, Stealth-2, Technology-1 Knowledge: Area Knowledge (Santa Cruz)-2, Law-1, Linguistics (Spanish)-1 SPHERES: Entropy-3, Mind-1, Spirit-2 Backgrounds: Ally (Street Gang)-2, Arcane-1, Avatar-1, Destiny-2, Resources (Bike & Cash)-1 Merits & Flaws: Addiction, mild (Tobacco)-1, Black Market Ties (+1), Curiosity (-2), Luck (+3), Medium (+2), Past Life (+1) Arete-3 Willpower-7 Quintessence-0 Paradox-0 Apperance: Young hispanic "gangster", often wearing a bandana or hairnet with black jeans and t-shirt in good weather, with a black pseudo-leather jacket in bad. Prelude: (to be added later) Thursday, June 1st, 5:49 a.m. Smoke dripped down the walls and formed thick columns descending from the ceiling. Twirling amidst the snaking coiling trees of smoke, Spook could see faces, pale and sad, writhing to the contours of the oily blackness they were trapped in. Rather than heat, the smoke seemed to suck the warmth out of the air and a keening cold came into the room and chilled him to his bones. "Don't worry, Death-man, your avatar will keep you from becoming one of us," a dead voice promised. "But it won't keep you from being dead," the voice went on to tell him. "Learn to serve and you will be served." The smell of seaweed was strong. Spook rolled over and looked up. Deathly white and choked in slimy green kelp, the eyeless face looked down upon him while stagnant seawater dripped onto his face. A crab crawled out of its eyesocket and Spook began to scream. Then he woke up. When he saw that it had been only a dream, he started to laugh, wiping the cold sweat from his face. The others of his Chantry would have laughed at him if they were here. One couldn't exactly master the spirits of the dead if one were to be startled at all the dramatic trappings they liked to wear. Fortunately, this time it had been only a dream. Spook had better prepare himself if should ever become real. He got out of the bed to head for the shower when his hand touched the sheets, he saw that they were wet also. He had been sweating so hard, he had soaked the sheets. Putting his hand to his nose, he smelled it. It smelled like stagnant seawater. Thursday, June 1st, 1995 9:05 a.m. He left the motel cabin. It was called the Hitching Post and all its units were made to look like western cabins, even though it was in the city. He didn't know where to go. He sought others of his kind, but as far as he knew, there weren't any Euthantos chantries in Santa Cruz. Still, there were probably a few individuals here or there. The time had come to find them and make a chantry. Those technomancers thought they had destroyed them, but Spook knew that one couldn't kill the Euthanatos really, only put them off a bit. They would come back, somehow, someway, they would come back and put paid to the force the Technocracy had used against them. For now, it would be better to stay low. Santa Cruz was notorious as the territory of Cultists and Dreamers. It was even said that the Chorus had found a niche here and Spook doubted that any of them would welcome a Deathmage amongst them. What he needed was a guide, Spook decided. And what better guide than one who had lived - and died in Santa Cruz. A quick look through a phonebook in a booth told him what he wanted to know. Catching a bus, he was soon speeding down Soquel Avenue, on his way to the river. Thursday, June 1st, 1995 10:01 a.m. The Memorial Park Cemetery was one of the oldest in Santa Cruz, predated only by that of the Mission. Many of the town's founders were buried there and Spook decided to try there first, casting out his soul net to see what it brought in. First, he began to ready himself, shutting out the burning warmth of the sunlight, the sounds of birds and passing cars, until he had withdrawn into himself. Opening his eyes, the living world seemed to fade and coexisting, more colourless and grey, formed the world of the dead - the Shadowlands of Santa Cruz. "I was wondering when you would get around to doing that," a voice greeted him. Turning, Spook saw a wraith standing before him, dressed in the clothes of a gentleman of the 19th century. Behind him, where in the living world were only old tombstones, large edifices of stygian stone loomed up from the ground like gates to the entrances of large estates. Pale wraiths shrouded in gossamer sheen could be seen milling about or engaged in deep conversation. Spook regarded the wraith who had just spoken to him. "Allow me to introduce myself," the wraith bowed his head only slightly. "My name in life was Germanus Alceister Crowder, of Springfield, Missouri. You'll excuse my forwardness, I trust, but I've been following you ever since you were accosted by those Mission Sellswords at your motel. And your name, sir is Guererro, is it not?" Spook had paid cash as the motel and signed the register with a false name. "Call me Spook," he told the wraith. The wraith nodded again, in return. "And call me, Germanus." "Tell me Mr, uh, Germanus," Spook began, "Do you know much about Santa Cruz?" Germanus took a pocket watch out of his waistcoat. It seemed more real to Spook than his other trappings. After consulting the watch, Germanus indicated that Spook was to accompany him while they walked.along. Germanus turned out to be a good guide, telling Spook much about the world of dead Santa Cruz. (See Wraith Background Mailer before reading on.) Thursday, June 1st. 3:46 p.m. Spook had said that he wanted to find other Magi like himself and Germanus told him that there was a place on the other side of the river where black clad magi were known to hang out. As that was Mission territory, Germanus said that he didn't dare cross the bridge. If recognized as a League citizen, he would be seized for a lottery prize in an instant. They walked along what was a bike path in the living world, but what in the shadowlands, just looked like a stretch of riverbank covered with dead dry grass and dead withered trees. Across the river, there was a blue building that could be just seen beyond the top of the levy. It didn't seem to exist at all in the Shadowlands. "There, that's the place you're looking for," Germanus told him. Spook rubbed his eyes. Seeing in both worlds was draining him. He relaxed and let the vision of the living world fade away. Now, though not there physically, he was standing with Germanus in the Shadowlands. The clapboard singlestory homes of Branciforte, derelict and rundown, stretched away below them. Across the river loomed the vast citadel of the Mission on Mission Hill and the other, taller fortress on the mound where Holy Cross church stood, while armed wraiths faced each other on the bridges. Below them, in the inky water of the river, Spook thought he saw a skeletal arm appear briefly from the water. Germanus had seen it too and visibly shuddered. Spook turned to Germanus. "You've been very frank and forthright to me, Germanus," Spook told him. "I'm not sure why, but you've told me some valuable things and I want to thank you. If you don't mind, I just want to ask why you're helping me. I assume you want something in return?" Germanus smiled. "Yes, Spook, I do. I want a friend. Here, in the Shadowlands, everything is give and take and friends are rare. I've been here since 1899, when I was taken off my ship, being ill. And here is where I died, though my fetters are far from me at home in Springfield. Making friends when you are away from home is never easy. Making them in a world of hostility and distrust is almost impossible, though I count myself fortunate to have a few. I could always use more, Spook." Spook smiled back, touched by Germanus' words, though he wasn't sure just yet if he could trust them. Spook extended his hand for a handshake, knowing though that Germanus couldn't take it. "My name is James Chavez, by the way. But call me Spook. And thanks, Germanus. I could always use a friend myself." Germanus made a show of making the motion of shaking Spook's hand. "Be careful on that side of the river," Germanus warned. "If the Sellswords from the Mission who accosted you earlier find you there, you might never escape. Don't let any wraith on that side know you can talk to or see them." "Thanks Germanus," Spook waved goodbye as the Shadowlands faded from view. Once more mentally in the land of the living, Spook could feel the heat from the sun once again. Below him, sunlight played over the rippling waters of the river as it rose from the incoming tidal wash. Dead grass, now coloured yellow, peeked out at him from the speckled grey granite rocks that lined the earthen bank of the dike. Walking along the bike path until he came to the Broadway St. bridge, Spook crossed over, imagining the wraith hoplites and legionnaires that he had seen earlier glaring at each other across the bridge. Though he could not see or feel them now, he knew they were there. Having crossed the bridge, Spook turned up Front St. for just a little way until he came to a blue building across from the Metro Center (County Bus Station). There was a cafè in the front room filled with punks and leather aficionados. In the back, he could see a darkened room where there was a wooden stage and hardwood floor. Above it on a sign, it was labeled "Klub Kulture." Thursday, June 1st. 6:44 p.m. Bruno slammed the eavesdropper against the wall while at least six other Hollows entered the room behind him. (Spook is Bruised/-0) Bitchy, the apparent leader, sat down behind a desk and helped himself to a Yahoo chocolate drink from the cooler. Above him there was a mannequin with a sword stuck in its chest. The other Hollows, suitably attired in black and leather, and sporting interesting pierce jobs, sat down to hear the "trial" and make judgement. "This is the Fuck we caught eavesdropping on our plans to gig the furbacks tomorrow," a young woman dressed in black and with obviously dyed black hair, her blond roots showing, told them. "Yea," the man named Bitchy nodded, "I kind of got the idea." "Hey you!" he yelled at Spook. "What's your name?" "They call me Spook," he told them. "I'm from Salinas and I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I was just trying to get the lay of the area." Bruno grabbed Spook's hair and pulled back. "I say he's some lying techno-fink and I say we grease him!" "Look, I'm no Technocrat!" Spook told them. "My people were killed by the Technocracy. That's why I'm here. I'm looking for refuge." "Then you're going to bring the Techs here then," another woman with spiked orange and green hair told him. "Great, you lead them right to us. I'd better go check outside." She ran out of the room. Bitchy nodded to Bruno, who let go of Spook's hair. "Look little brother, it don't matter who you are. Techno-fool or lost little orphan. The point is, you caught wind of a very important plan to us and we're going to have to ice you for it." The other Hollows voiced their agreement. "What do we do with him?" Bruno asked. Before Bitchy could answer, the sword that had been stuck in the mannequin dislodged itself and floated in the air, its point leveled right at Bitchy's throat. The Hollows gasped. They all looked at Spook, expecting him to fry from Paradox any moment. "Don't worry, I'm a friend of Germanus'," a feminine voice whispered in Spook's ear. "He told me to look out for you." The dyed blond made an attempt to grab the sword, but it slashed back and all the Hollow's retreated. The sword returned to pointing at Bitchy's throat. "Whoa! O.K. little Brother! You passed the initiation!" Bitchy was smiling though he still kept a worried eye on the sword. All the Hollows started to applaud. The one called Bruno picked Spook up and patted him on the back, handing him an orange soda. The sword replaced itself into the dummy and everyone applauded louder, giving Spook credit for the display. "I wasn't aware I was being initiated," Spook told them all. "I thought you were all going to kill me," he told them. "We were," the woman with orange and green hair told him, coming back into the room. "Looks clean," she told Bitchy. "Alright!" Bitchy nodded to Spook. "Everyone welcome our new little brother Spook. Give him credit for being a brave man. And he's going to prove it tomorrow against the furbacks." Bruno cracked open a can. "Yea, that's how I love my Tass. Fresh and strong from a werewolf node!" He turned to Spook. "You ready for it, little brother?" June 2, 9.15 am, on the road to Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park It was, he thought, unusual to have three people on a motorcycle, and even more unusual to have one of them unaware of another. He heard Jeanette's laughter bubbling in his mind as Morgan tightened his arms around his waist. Transport was not a trivial problem for the chronically poverty stricken Hollow Ones, and they were happy to have him take one of their number with him. There was a small convoy of sorts moving up Graham Hill Road towards the State Park, where Bruno's run was going down. Spook was mildly amused to see a similarity between the Orphan's ad-hoc society of outcasts and his own Tradition's cooly professional ideals. In both, members were expected to demonstrate themselves by organising and leading activities useful to the whole. He doubted, however, that the Hollow One Chantry would appreciate him comparing Bruno's attempt to gain Tass by the dangerous expedient of raiding a Lupine node to those few assassinations he had planned as part of the Group. For a moment, he mourned his dead fellows, gone and left. He felt a peculiar echo, the result of his own talents reading the young Skinrider within him who was sharing his emotions. While the miles hummed beneath the wheels, and the teenager behind him turned greener stoically, he silently shared his feelings on death with his new ally, hoping that the perspective of the Euthanatoi might help them both understand her condition. The motley collection of vehicles turned off the road, bumping along a dirt track deeper into the Redwood State Park. Spook gritted his teeth and vowed to give the bike some extra maintenance at the next possible opportunity. The area was damp, but the track well made and without much mud. At the first clearing, Bitchy pulled the vehicles off the track for parking. "Emile, you keep a good eye on these things. The rest of you get your stuff." Bruno hadn't been happy with Spook's insistence on being included in the "strike party" as he called it. Spook refused, however, to be left with the vehicles when he'd never seen a Lupine, and his demonstration of a certain ability in firearms led them to consider him more useful in the event of an emergency. Spook winced as he listened to the heavy footed party travelling through the forest. "You're sure the furbags are elsewhere ?" said Grub uneasily, her orange and green hair a mad contrast to the forest's muted colours. "Yes, I'm sure the furbags are elsewhere.", Bruno mocked. "I've had some friends keeping an eye on them for the last week, and they moved out on some sort of mission two hours ago. Like I told you, there's only a few toothless doggys left, and the spirits they're so proud of. And I" - he boasted, cracking his knuckles - "have a way with spirits." Chavez kept his own counsel. From what he had heard, the Lupines were pretty good shamans, and subverting their spirit guardians wouldn't be easy, no matter how good Bruno thought he was. He and Morgan crawled on their bellies towards the top of a hill overlooking the supposed location of the node. Their job was to keep track of the situation, warn Bruno, Bitchy and Grub of any problems, and in the worst case, distract the Lupines with sniper fire. Chavez looked at his rifle, a badly maintained .303 with distaste. It was a good thing he wasn't being relied on to *hit* anyone with it, but it wouldn't do any good if there was a need for it. "Look !" whispered Morgan, passing the binoculars to Spook. "I think they bought it." Spook watched as a pair of furry figures moved away from the rock-pile and clearing, loping further west into the forest. Bruno's claim that he could get their own spirit watchers to lead them on a wild goose chase seemed to be true. He still wasn't convinced. "Keep watching." he told Morgan, sliding a bit further back down the hill.Morgan, inexperienced as any of the Orphans, didn't bother asking him why. He could feel Jeanette's interest growing as he poked under some old bark on the forest floor. The young ghost was well aware that he was a mage, and was looking forward to sharing the experience of working magic. Spook hadn't really had the words to explain what it was like, and she appeared to be expecting something out of the movies. He just told her to wait. Fungus. The third major kingdom of life, distinct from animals or plants. Growing under the debris on the forest floor were some excellent examples, mould, mushrooms and the like. Spook closed his eyes, moving his body unconsciously in remembering the dancing he once thought necessary for this type of magic. He could feel the fungi. It was tiny scraps of life clinging to the decay, sucking breath from the corpses of the things around it. It was many very small things, yet it was one thing. While many mages called on Nature spirits, the Euthanatos kept quiet about the nature of the fungi kingdom, the mass being made of a area's humblest inhabitants, seeing in it a sort of reflection to their own philosophies. While many would consider it weak and overlook it, the Euthanatos knew that it had it's own power, perhaps equal to the more vital realms of the natural spirits. "Yessss" he could feel Jeanette breathing in his mind, as he reached out and touched a vast insentient force in a way indescribable. While his body sat motionless on the ground, he called and shaped a connection to this, moulding it to something that had only a spiritual reality. He didn't think the Lupines had bothered making alliance with this, and he thought Bruno might have made a mistake. He was right. Morgan started firing towards the valley below as a garbled message crackled over the walkie-talkie by his side. Excited, he hissed back at Spook to join him. Spook scrambled up the hill, one part of his mind holding the spirit near him, and peered at the clearing below with two pairs of eyes, one living, one dead. Below him, crouched by the rockpile the Lupines seemed to consider home, were the three Orphans doing the actual raiding. At the edge of the forest, vague glimpses of the two Lupines, reluctant to cross the clearing while the sound of gunfire echoed in the valley. Very soon, Chavez realized, they'd figure out that there was little chance of them being hit, and tear the trembling figures to pieces. "OUT !", he yelled into the radio, "Head for the recall point. Move, damn it !". The three below started haring off for the side of the clearing opposite the Lupines. Spook added his fire to Morgan's, attempting to pin down the enraged Weres, but to little avail. The Lupines moved around the far edge of the forest, faster than a human runner, moving to intercept the three fleeing mages. Morgan and Spook slipped down the hill headlong, their rifles unbalancing them as they ran. Spook's mind worked frantically as he considered the various options. If only... Yes ! There was a chance. As he and Morgan approached the rendezvous point, he pulled the teenager down, bringing them both to a halt behind a tree. He could hear a faint crashing as the three they were trying to rescue fled towards them. The Lupines, as he might have expected, were nowhere to be seen. Closing his eyes, he reached out again towards the spirit he had contacted. Scrabbling in the dirt, he uncovered a toadstool, a minor element in the pattern he felt. His connection *spread*, becoming something connecting the entire forest with a vague, diffuse perception. Snapping a piece off the toadstool, he noted the change in this sensation, and opened his eyes, scanning the forest wildly. *HERE* was his own location, a small damage point in that field. And *THERE* was his tentative friends, halted and gasping, looking around wildly for he and Morgan. He could see them with his eyes, and also feel them trampling the forest floor due to his connection with that vague and vast spirit. And *THERE* - Abruptly he fired, snarling at Morgan to do the same. The Lupines were hidden to his sight, but he knew where they were hiding. And the shots being fired at them served as a means to protect the Tass raiders. He didn't think lead would really hurt the Weres, but they appeared to be wary of it, and hitting them might slow them down. He felt Jeanette slip from his mind, whispering a soft "I'm on it. Get the kids away". And, as he raced towards the three figures, he knew that they had a chance. With the Lupines unable to hide from his perception, and with Jeanette distracting them, hindering them with her abilities, they'd be able to disengage and head for the vehicles. Friday, June 2nd, 1995 10:32 a.m. A grey haired werewolf bounded into the clearing below him and raced up the side towards Spook with a speed that he would have thought impossible. Suddenly it veered, snapping at something that wasn't there, giving Spook the chance he needed. A flurry of gunshots hit the garou square in the head and chest, sending it tumbling against a the charred stump of a fallen redwood giant. In the distance there was a baying that was at once answered. Reinforcements would soon arrive. "Get it on!" Spook barked as Grub raced awkwardly up the slope. Bitchy paused to kick the unmoving werewolf, who had transformed to human form even as Spook watched. "Is she dead?" Spook asked. In answer, Bitchy pulled out a pistol and shot the werewolf in the head. The garou's body twitched once and bright blood flowed out onto the ground. "Let's get the fuck to flyin!" Morgan yelled to Spook, who gunned his bike to life. The other Hollows were only just behind, eating Spook's dust as the mob of Hollows tore through the redwoods. "Did you get the tass?" Spook yelled back to Morgan, who could only barely hear him over the bike's roar. Morgan held a sack forward for Spook to see. "Fuck yea! And we would have gotten more if those fucking furbags hadn't of shown up. We'll get them next time," he vowed. Just as he said this, Spook stopped the bike. The others stopped behind him. There in front of them, two other bikes were torn apart, the smell of gasoline and oil polluting the air. Flies, their buzzing silenced by the loud rattle of the bikes, flew up in clouds, revealing the remains that they had feasted on undisturbed. "Well, I guess we know for sure what happened to Grunt and Jolly," Morgen commented dryly. Spook stared in fascination at the two bodies. Their faces were absent as their heads appeared to have been torn off while they hung there, having been gutted like fish for some fiendish garou feast. Hearing a howl not so far behind, Spook gunned the bike and raced on, Morgan holding on for dear life. Spook found himself wondering how Jeanette had fared. Friday, June 2nd 1:05 p.m. Bitchy and the others gathered to review the haul that they had gleaned from their raid on the werewolves. Displayed in pans of water laced with moss, water lay scintillating with a light trapped in its matrix. It was Tass, pure and wondrous and though Spook had no skill in Prime with which to make use of it, he could smell its power nonetheless. At the gathering, Spook learned that the raid he had participated on had been the second. The first, a feint to draw the attention of the furbags and make them think that they were safe had gone sour. Three of the Hollows had been killed and todays raid, Spook also learned, had been as much for revenge as for the gleaning of Tass. There was much grumbling over the deaths of the Hollows, though todays raid, thanks to Spook, had been greatly successful. Helen, a survivor of the first raid, looked up with curiosity at the stranger. Spook found her stare both unsettling and stimulating at the same time. Bitchy apportioned out the Tass, quantities going to everyone with bonuses for those who had shown great prowess in the raids. Having given everyone their share, Bitchy approached Spook and handed the young Euthanatos a large quantity of Tass that had been poured into a plastic Coke bottle. (Spook receives 5 squares of Tass/Quintessence) "I can't use it," Spook shook his head. "I rode with you today as a friend. You keep it." But Bitchy shook his head. "No, its yours. Maybe you can make use of it sometime. We have rules and if you want to give it away, that's your stupidity. But you have to take it as your fair share." Bitchy also pressed three bullets into Spooks hand. Strangely, they were the correct caliber. "Next time we go hunting furbags, you'll want these," Bitchy promised him. Spook turned one of the bullets in his finger, watching the silvery gleam. Reluctantly, Spook took the Coke bottle. His hand nearly burned feeling the power contained in it. "So, is that it for the initiation?" Spook asked. There was a chorus of snickers and smirks. "Not quite," a Hollow named Lump called out. Spook looked around, still holding his Coke bottle. He didn't know whether to expect an attack or adulation. "You hetero or homo?" Bitchy asked Spook, not seeming to make any judgement with the question. "Uh," Spook started to back away suspicious, "hetero, but what's going on?" There were more snickers. The Hollow named Helen got up, her mouth chewing gum loudly. Grabbing Spook's hand, she led him into a back room, while hoots and whistles sounded out behind them. Not even saying a word she took off her leather leggings, shirt and jacket, keeping only a bra on as she tossed her clothing onto a pile of beanbag chairs. A raucous tune from the Beat Farmers played around them. Spook, feeling somewhat awkward, tried to push her hands away, but only had his shirt ripped off for his efforts. With surprising strength, Helen pushed him down. They soon became a mass of entangled limbs, lost among the garish colours of the beanbag chairs. Voices could be distantly heard from the other room, but that was the only intrusion into their activities. Saturday, June 3rd, 1995 4:10 a.m. Spook had spent the rest of the night partying with the Hollows. Jeanette showed up sometime around midnight. She drifted among the young Orphans and skinriding into Spook, told him that the other werewolves had collected the one that Bitchy had killed and taken her back deeper into Cowell. She had tried to follow, but a barrier kept her from going deeper. She had also witnessed the werewolves discovering the butchered bodies of the two Hollows, Jolly and Grunt. Her impressions had said that the furbags had been shocked to see the dead Magi and they seemed genuinely surprised. According to Jeanette, the garou had shown gentle attention even to the dead Orphans. Spook shrugged this information off. Sensing the distaste Jeanette felt for this war, he too wondered if it was really necessary. A lot of blood had fallen under the trees, he thought, but none of it belonged to the Technocracy. "Hey pusher man!" Helen slammed into him, whirling out of a dance in the pit. She was drunk. But then Spook realized she wasn't. Grabbing her arm, he saw the pinprick mark on her arm, while the indentation from the tourniquet still hadn't left her skin. "You want some more?" She licked her lips but Spook wasn't turned on. With disgust, he took her back to the room where only a few hours earlier they had celebrated physical love. Dumping her to be alone with her high, Spook stomped out of the Klub, looking around the dead streets of Santa Cruz with a cold feeling growing inside him. He felt hollow and dead and wondered if that was why these Orphans had labled themselves as Hollow Ones.
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