Black Magic Nights

Return to Glory (Part 2)
It's about to get heavy

I should have seen this coming. The one job I’m perfect for and the bunch of asses decide it’s not safe for them. “I’ve got a job” she says. “I’m a recognizable face.” He says. Pardon my attitude. I get pissy when I haven’t kicked anyone’s ass in a while.

The only thing that manages to calm me down is the promise of more pain to come. Jason’s man has another job for us, and this one is an extermination mission. We are the only ones allowed to leave alive, and I like the sound of that.

It’s some group of smugglers who’ve been robbing all kinds of companies. Jacking shipments and the like. Truthfully, I don’t care who they are, what they do, or why someone is willing to pay to see them killed. All I care about is that I’m gonna get paid to release some stress in the form of good old-fashioned gratuitous violence.

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Return to Glory (Part 1)
(As told by Arthur Tonius)

I was wandering for what seemed like weeks. You would think a fox, a satyr, and gecko would be pretty easy to find, but when you’ve lived as a loner for so many years all the faces just sort of blend together.

I stayed at the apartment complex for days, but they never came back and that’s when I started driving around. Saw plenty of strange things, but nothing of particular interest. It gave me alot of time to think about my life and where I’ve been, and all that did was sink me into a depression. Christ, I’m living out of a fucking tracktor trailer and besides that trailer, a stash of porn is all I have to my name. If only I’d have bought a God damn phone I’d be able to call Jason right now and find them all, but no. I didn’t. And here I sit.

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RAID, Inc.
Preparing to RAID the Colony

After some good old-fashioned detective work, Sable and Jason West managed to track down the location of Marcus Durangel’s New Ant Colony, while Aioda SiSyntax hid with the ghouls to avoid the hitman on her tail. Aioda and the others learned that Rev. Jeb was a Chicago lockdown survivor, and sought his advice on how to take on the colony – so he taught them how to make bug bombs.

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Gone Buggy
Madness is relative.

There are some things I know.
The first is that, by most standards, I’m pretty much a nut bag.
The second is that Jason really needs a new coat.
The last is that I seriously hate some bugs.

Jason says that we need some sort of initiatory group. I know I have my magical bits and goodies but that’s about it, so I take his advice and go check out one of the names on the list Patrick gave us. It’s in a bad area of town, but it’s a soup kitchen, and the metro frowns on me wearing all my favorite sharp, shiny things, so I went out kinda bare bones.

The guy in charge was kinda skeevy, but I’m very judgmental. I helped out for a bit, then headed out. I saw one of the helpers – a real creeper – heading around back, and curiosity got me going so I followed. He knocked out a homeless dude right in the alley, the crazy fucker! I hollered, and dude turned around and I saw it.

Those sparkly eyes were undeniable – sure as heck was one of the bugs. Now, I’ve heard stories and seen the news, but never have I seen something like this in my real life. I thought I was done for

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Hello, lady and germs
(as told by Jason West)

I wouldn’t consider myself a racist. I doubt many racists would consider themselves racist either, but that’s besides the point. I mean, I regularly hang out with a satyr and shapeshifter. They practically live in my house. I let a homeless minotaur use my cell phone whenever he wants. I even do work for an orc who sacrifices chickens to divine the future. So, I would confidently assert that I’m not a racist.

Now, ask me if I discriminate based upon personal hygene, and I would say, “Hell yes!” Ghouls, sadly, fall under that category. I know – it’s not their fault. They’re victims of a terrible disease, cursed to live off the flesh of metahumans. It’s not fair, I get it, but they still smell like a hot pile of owl drek. And, yes, I happen to know quite well what that smells like.

But, there I go getting ahead of myself again. So, Aioda gets a call from dear, old Teddy and says a pal of his needs help of the illegitimate sort. As that’s pretty much what we do best, we head on down to the casino and are introduced to a Mr. Bill Flint, that chicken genocidist I mentioned earlier. He tells us his daughter has gone missing and wants us to find her. While Aioda and I were both thinking it, in a rare stroke of restraint we neglect to note the irony of a diviner not foreseeing his daughter’s disappearance.

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You know that you're toxic...
(as told by Jason West)

Sometimes the shadows go quiet, and that doesn’t really sit well with me. Sure, I would love to be able to just stay in my apartment and experiment with new spells in my lodge, never having to worry about somebody trying to kill me, but that doesn’t exactly pay well. Sometimes you have to take the initiative and find work on your own. You listen to the news, notice trends and start looking for reasons as to why magic users are being picked off one by one. Then you get a call from your Adept friend who nearly got squashed by a two-ton robot, and suddenly you’re back in business.

So, as I said, I saw my Awakened peers winding up brutally murdered on the evening news and thought to myself, “Should’ve had invested in a Levitate spell, pal.” But, after that, I thought to myself, “There’s got to be a connection.” So I call my buddy Patrick, a Talismonger in the Lower City, and ask him if any of these blokes bought anything from him recently. Turns out one guy bought himself a heavy duty Barrier spell, so he knew something was up. Then I get a call from, Aioda, my aforementioned Adept friend, and it turns out she’s gotten intimate the back of a homicidal robot’s hand. Remember what I said about trends?

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The Story So Far
Highlights From the First Few Runs

First Run

The runners realized all the others worked in the shadow business when they all found themselves together at the Five Aces to get work from Theodore LeBlanc. Some eco-nuts from Terra First! were occupying a local corporate executive’s hunting lodge out in the bayou, and he wanted them gone ASAP.

After a catastrophic first attempt that left Jason West with a few structurally superfluous ventilation holes, the group returned to finally root out the terrorists by turning their own booby traps and their ‘pet’ behemoth against them. The runners managed to make some extra cash on the guns the activists were smuggling to fund their operations, and on some paydata they swiped from the executive’s safe.

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