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Topic: What Dreams Become - Q/A
Subject: ...
Out of interest here, would you be willing to let me re-stat Hiram with a few Derangements? Probably nothing too major, just something to represent his frequent mood-swings and obsession with the hospital. I’m not planning on playing him any differently to before, it just represents his current mental state and might give you ideas for obvious progression once his Morality starts to fall.
Anyhow, I’m going to be away this weekend so don’t expect anything back from me until Monday. I might find the time to post, but it won’t be any more than a few lines.
Posted on 2008-02-11 at 12:08:56.
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Topic: What Dreams Become
Subject: Well, something's gone wrong...
After dealing with Einhart, Hiram made his way back through the hospital complex to visit his patient Annabell Holmes. Another shard in the psychologist’s dead mind tore loose, visiting a new spark of insight upon the busy ghost. There was something about the new Head Doctor that disgusted the phantom deeply, beyond even the old man’s blatant disregard for his patients’ welfare, and as he mused over the morning’s events the spectre fancied that he could see an echo of his living self in the self-absorbed misconduct of the hospital’s present master. Oh, make no mistake, Hiram would never have sought to force himself upon any of the patients in his charge, it was rather a lust for material wealth that had damned him, but that same grasping, small-minded contempt for the well being of those he was sworn to minister to had damned him all the same and he had destroyed a great many lives in the process. It was an unpleasant revelation, comparing himself to a reptile like Einhart, but the dead psychologist could sense some glimmer of truth within it nonetheless. Putting the thought from his mind, hurried on that much faster to his next appointment. Whether more or less directly, his mortal crimes had fettered him to this place, but for the present he could only work to atone through a constant and selfless service to the hospital he had failed, serving the grandchildren, and great-grandchildren of those he had wronged so many years ago.
***
As Hiram opened the door, and manoeuvred Tom Bradley’s body into the ward, he could see his latest patient curled tightly in the room’s far corner, hugging her knees with thin arms. A note of slight exasperation struck the wraith: had he suffered for nothing fighting to protect her from the dream-beast? Was she truly unable to comprehend that he would, that he could , shield her from any and all supernatural harm while in his charge? If anything, she appeared to be regressing to a worse state than before and that did not suit the spectre’s ambitions at all. Recognising the emotion as inappropriate, Hiram suppressed it quickly as he stepped forward into the hospital room, permitting the door to swing softly closed behind him.
A voice penetrated from the back of the room, “She has been too scared since this morning to even speak.” The spirit glanced back, it was Eve Mullins, one of the doctors who worked with the hospital’s paediatric wing. It had been careless of him not to knock, and he was intruding upon another doctor’s session. Still, she did not seem overly concerned at the interruption, instead continuing, amicably enough as far as the spectre could tell, “So how’s the missus, Tom?”
Fortunately, deceit came easily enough to Hiram, another unpleasant reminder of the double-life he had led in the final years of his mortal existence. “She’s doing well enough, Eve,” the ghost replied, casually enough. “Doctor Einhart is going to be out this afternoon and he asked me to talk to a few of the patients on his behalf. If this is a bad time, I can always call by later.”
The phantom raised the guard’s shoulders in a shrug as he spoke, indicating that there was presumably no understanding the eccentricities of the hospital’s new chief administrator. Unfurling the note from his jacket pocket, he handed it to Eve in support of his words. Perhaps it might be better for him to return when the session was finished, for if the girl was that badly shaken up he doubted he could make much headway as Tom Bradley. Nor did he have any particular intention of scaring off a valuable member of staff by revealing the restless ghost currently in possession of the unfortunate guard’s mortal form.
OOC: If it helps, Hiram will be relying on his specialty in ‘Lying’ to steer him through this one. 
Posted on 2008-02-11 at 12:01:57.
Edited on 2008-02-11 at 12:10:45 by Vorrioch
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Topic: how many colours can you name in 1 min
Subject: I got...
27
Posted on 2008-02-10 at 22:12:43.
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Topic: Star Trek: Operation:Persephone - Q&A
Subject: A couple of questions...
1. To what extent is this game freeform and to what extent do actions need GM approval? Apologies if this one's been covered already, I'm just curious to what extent I'd be free to write in NPCs and plot events?
2. Has a date been set for the point when the Charon would have left its dock and begun the voyage? Has a name been decided for the port from which it departed?
If not I'm perfectly happy to make something up of my own, but I'd prefer to avoid contradicting anything that's already been decided.
Posted on 2008-02-09 at 20:00:30.
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Topic: What Dreams Become
Subject: I'm going to regret this...
Hiram took another long drag on the cigarette, taking in and then releasing its nicotine saturated smoke, as he stood over Einhart, watching while the German doctor read over his note. Though any real chemical addiction had long since passed, the dead psychologist found the familiar action reassuring, enjoying the taste of the cigarette while he waited to see what decision the new Head Doctor would reach. The old man’s hands were shaking visibly as he came to terms with the spectre’s presence, obviously unnerved by the events of the past twelve hours, but there was little room for sympathy in Hiram’s mind. The new Head Doctor must either come to accept his place in the hospital’s hierarchy, a well tuned cog in a perfectly ordered medical machine, or he would be rooted out before his actions could further despoil the sanctity of the old place. If anything, the spectre was rather enjoying his fear, finding a rare pleasure in the power his unnatural form could exercise over those who yet clung to the more enduring joys of mortal life.
“V-vat d-do you pr-propose?” Einhart asked, his voice wavering with trepidation.
So be it, he had won and the hospital was his, though the spectre could not help but feel slightly disappointed at having been deprived a pretext for terrorising the new Head Doctor further. Determined to underline his advantage, making absolutely certain that Einhart understood the arrangement he was entering into, the phantom continued in a much the same tone as before: “One final point. I’m going to need you to sign a note excusing ‘Tom Bradley from work for the next couple of hours or so, and permitting him to speak freely with your patients. Write it up and we can both move on.”
“I vill sign the note, giving you access to the patients.” Einhart replied, slightly too quickly for Hiram’s taste. Of course the hospital patients would be perfectly safe in the spectre’s care- but how was the new Head Doctor to know that? Irrational as it may have seemed, it irked the dead psychologist to see the hospital he had stood guard over for so many years fall, however nominally, under the control of a man who cared nothing for the sacred principles on which its operation should have been founded. Einhart glanced down at the letter again, reluctant to meet the phantom’s icy gaze, and continued, “but... vat do you intend to do about that... thing?”
Truth be told, this was not an issue to which Hiram had given a vast degree of thought. It had simply seemed expedient to throw in an offer of protection in order to play on the old man’s fear and encourage compliance. Of course, he had no intention of admitting as much, and- as distasteful as the proposition might seem- if the creature really was out for Einhart’s blood then it probably served the phantom’s own interests to ensure that the new Head Doctor survived the attack. Through Einhart he would control the hospital, and Hiram had no intention of giving his newfound influence up to some upstart intruder.
Drawing out one last drag from the cigarette, flinging its smouldering stump into the metal waste bin in the room’s corner, the phantom phrased his reply in as cavalier a tone as he could muster. “Well, our friend rather implied that he would be returning for you tonight, so we should have a few hours to plan for his return. Now, you may well have noticed that one of the sketches on my patient Annabell Holmes’ wall bears a remarkable resemblance to the creature we’ve just encountered, so I intend to make a few enquiries with her next. I can see you as far as the door for now, and by the time you return this afternoon I should be able to offer you my undivided attention once again. I’ll stand watch over you while you gather the information I’ve requested and, should the creature return, will make it abundantly clear that there is no place for it here if it continues to detract from the hospital’s life. If it’s not inclined to listen to reason, or should it make any direct attempt on your life, then I’ll employ as much force as is necessary to drive the thing off.”
In all honesty, recent experience had left Hiram slightly sceptical of his own abilities if it came to a direct confrontation with the strange apparition- he lacked any benchmark by which to judge his own strength save that offered by the beast from the past night’s dream. Still, he had seen no sign of the creature before now in all the long years he had been bound to this place, and it was to be hoped that the thing might simply move on of its own devices. If not then, well… appropriate action would need to be taken.
Making an educated guess based upon his own experiences, and reaching restlessly into his blazer pocket in search of another cigarette, the spectre continued: “I imagine you’ll find that the creature is bound to something- perhaps a part of the hospital itself, perhaps to an object that one of the staff or patients have brought in here. If it returns tonight and continues to cause problems then we will need to call a search tomorrow to find and destroy whatever it might be fettered to.”
OOC: I've just reread the thread and Hiram should currently be down to 7 Essence (6 if I need to pay for using Transmogrify in the dream). 
Posted on 2008-02-07 at 22:17:33.
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Topic: Do you use gaming props?
Subject: Do you use gaming props?
So, just out of curiosity here… do you use props for your tabletop RPGs.
The GM of the last long-term campaign I played in at uni was a big fan of this sort of thing, handing out notes and letters addressed to our characters at almost every session. In retrospect I get the feeling he might have had a little too much time on his hands but it was a great touch and really fleshed the game out. When the party got conscripted we were each handed a little note, emblazoned with the city arms, informing our characters to report to the barracks at such a time or face charges of treason. When we decided to try our hand at bounty hunting he wrote up a list of our area’s most wanted, along with the charges each had been accused of, and we spent the next few sessions trying to bring some of them to justice. When our character spent time at the library between sessions, trying to find out a little more about some of his game world’s monsters, he wrote up a couple of pages of IC information from treatises supposedly written by some of the city’s experts and scholars (which generally weren’t all that reliable, being peppered with all sorts of odd rumours and interesting tangents). We also found all manner of weird stuff over the course of our adventures… medical reports from a dodgy military experimentation programme, a message from a demon etched on human skin (red paint on some kind of leather off cut) and no end of similar goodies.
A fun touch was that as the game progressed (it ran for over four years, two of them before I even arrived at uni) the players were encouraged to contribute to the system’s paraphernalia. We’d write letters to some of the game’s NPCs and receive replies IC. My last character was a priest who would occasionally compose prayers between sessions and send written reports back to his temple. One player character wrote up a few pages hypothesising on the nature of the game world’s undead and it found its way back into play a couple of years later when the current batch of PCs headed down to the library to do some research of their own (and, of course, accepted it as gospel, not knowing that the person who wrote it was as much in the dark as they were).
Anyhow, have you ever tried anything similar in any of your games? I’ve heard stories online of people bringing things like swords and torches along to their (tabletop) games or coming along dressed up as their characters. I’d be curious to hear what kinds of things other people have tried and what they found worked best to encourage immersion in the game.
Posted on 2008-02-06 at 00:49:24.
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Topic: Star Trek: Cerberus Recruitment
Subject: Fair enough
Okay then, I’ll start putting something together over the next week or so (or sooner, if the game starts up again).
I just thought it might be best to check first. There’s nothing worse than spending a couple of hours writing up a post for a game and then discovering that it's already dead.
^ Has happened to me before. 
Posted on 2008-02-04 at 18:11:14.
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Topic: What Dreams Become
Subject: A change in management...
The morning passed uneventfully, like most others since the hospital’s reopening. As Hiram idly prowled its wards, continuing the incessant hunt for impropriety which had become his routine, his mind worked over the past night’s events, deliberating over how best to proceed. Since his death he had made little attempt to interfere directly with the hospital’s administration, content merely with the enjoyment of minor victories: terrifying an orderly who stole or dozed off on the job, drawing the attention of the nearest doctor when a patient suffered a seizure, working tirelessly in a small and unobtrusive way to ensure that the old place functioned as he knew it should. As time wore on these pursuits had grown stale- they were still worth performing, no doubt, and indeed he could scarcely comprehend doing otherwise, but the thrill to be reaped from them had grown tired and dull and they were no longer sufficient to absorb the ghost’s interest. Now, still flushed with the excitement of the past night’s events, the spectre began to wonder whether it might be worth making a bid for the hospital outright.
Watching Einhart closely as the German doctor made the hospital rounds, Hiram was pleased to note that the old man still appeared on edge from the warning that the ghost had administered to him on the preceding evening. With the application of a little more pressure, the spectre was willing to wager that the new Head Doctor might even be willing to cede him the authority he craved. As ancient memories were jarred and startled to life within the dead psychologist’s brain a near-forgotten ambition resurfaced and, somehow, even after the passage of so many years, the fact that Hiram had made it no further than General Practitioner himself re-emerged as an issue of some resentment. Along with his mortal remains, the ghost’s medical career had fallen victim to the early death that had claimed him long before he could climb to the upper echelons of the hospital hierarchy and there seemed some perverse justice in the fact that now, in death, he would have the opportunity to claim the position that had been denied to him in life. He knew the hospital, the dead psychologist reasoned, had tended to the old place for near eight decades, and was certainly to be judged more capable of managing it than Einhart or any of his contemporaries. If anything it would be a criminal waste to deny it, and its patients, the benefit of his experience and expertise and the new Head Doctor was certainly not to be trusted if left to his own devices. The memory of the beast too, lingered within the phantom’s mind: he had provoked the antagonism of a powerful enemy indeed, and with the hospital’s staff and other resources at that command he would be that much better placed to take the fight to his adversary, whatever it might be, to prevent it from taking his patients as prey.
Thus decided the ghost latched onto the mind of another visiting intern, a youth whom it had been trailing for the last five minutes or so. The student, a tall man who looked as though he might play rugby for the university side, had time to exhale a sharp breath as Hiram stepped into his mind, but proved unable to resist the spectre’s hold. That much ascertained, the ghost and his victim set off together in pursuit of the new Head Doctor. Finding a small notepad and fountain pen in the youth’s jacket pocket, Hiram began composing a letter as he walked, setting down the message he had been deliberating over for the past quarter hour in an elegant, Edwardian hand. Tearing the page free from the pad with a satisfying rip, the phantom waited for the ink to dry before folding it neatly in two. That done he continued at a brisk pace, turning the corner and continuing down the corridor in hot pursuit of Einhart.
***
As Hiram finally caught up with the doctor, the folded page still gripped firmly in his left hand, he could see an expression of utter terror form upon Einhart’s face. Could the old man somehow have become conscious of his presence? A disembodied voice rang out from behind the spectre, “Laugh or cry, Laugh or cry. The good doctor is coming by. Laugh or cry, Laugh or cry. Tonight is the night you’re gonna die” and the spectre turned abruptly, astonished at the interruption. There was some thing hanging in the air above his head, a burned and blackened apparition clad in the remnants of a doctor’s coat akin to his own. The dead psychologist’s mouth fell open, ready to voice its owner’s surprise and indignation at finding another ghost in his domain, but he was cut off by Einhart’s abrupt scream before he could find the words. Then, in the blinking of an eye, the creature was gone.
Irritated by an interruption he did not understand, and refusing to tolerate any further disturbance, Hiram seized the new Head Doctor by one shoulder with his free hand, ushering the old man through the door of the nearest empty ward.
[[[Pending Einhart’s reaction.]]]
Pushing the door shut behind them with his free hand, blocking any avenue of escape, the phantom began to impart his message, in a tone that brooked no interruption. “Doctor Einhart, we need to talk. Take this and read it. I believe you must have some notion of who I am.” handing the old man the letter, the spectre stood over him, holding the door firmly closed as he began to read.
[[[If Einhart actually takes it and starts reading.]]]
Pleased to find a pack of cigarettes in the student’s pocket, Hiram lit one and began smoking while the doctor read. “Now,” the spectre continued in a more affable tone, “If you have any questions then this would seem an opportune moment to ask. I can assure you that our recent visitor, whatever it might be, was done of my doing. I believe you’ve witnessed first hand that I take good care of your patients and staff. If you’re willing to do as I ask, then I can extend you the same protection. Not a bad deal, I’d imagine, with a creature like that on your tail.”
[[[If Einhart’s agrees.]]]
“One final point. I’m going to need you to sign a note excusing ‘Tom Bradley’”, the phantom glanced down to check the identity badge on the intern’s jacket, “from work for the next couple of hours or so, and permitting him to speak freely with your patients. Write it up and we can both move on.”
OOC: I’m making a few assumptions about Einhart’s reaction here. If he resists then Hiram will try to manhandle him through the doorway- if he thinks he can get away with it without making too much of a scene.
Here's the note. Sorry if it's a bit long, I probably went slightly overboard writing it. 
Dr. Frederick Einhart
Before we begin I must make two things plain:
1. You are not insane. I exist, as an entity in my own right, no less than you and your living compatriots. It would be a mistake - and one which I would not be disposed to look upon kindly - for you to dismiss me as merely some figment of a strained or tired mind.
2. I am not here to do you harm. If I wished you dead then I have ample power at my command to ensure that you would have joined me already. My sole interest is in ensuring that Longchester Hospital continues to perform its proper purpose and that due standards of medical responsibility are met.
Now, if we can set the past night’s sordid indiscretion behind us, and agree that there will be no repetition of its unfortunate events, then you will find my friendship greatly to your advantage. Your patients will benefit from my professional expertise and you may claim the credit for their recovery. When they suffer mishaps, or otherwise endanger themselves, then I will, if nearby, ensure that medical personnel are alerted before any serious harm can be done. Your staff will not steal, will not fall into lax habits when administering their duties and will not abuse the patients in their care, because if they do, I will find them and administer due chastisement. The hospital will flourish and, as Head Doctor, you will find yourself in an ideal position to reap the medical reputation and pecuniary rewards that my hard work will bestow upon you. Conversely, if you are set upon further abusing the responsibilities vested in you then I will have no qualms about removing you outright. If you believe that you cannot be relied upon to do as I have asked, and abide by a code of common decency in accordance with your role, then I suggest that it would be best to seek employment elsewhere.
For the present, while you consider your options, I would advise that you head home. Call a cab if you cannot trust yourself to drive. Shower, change your clothing, drink some coffee, and take the time to review my offer. Should you decide that you would like to remain a part of hospital life then I simply request that you return here by 3 p.m. as I have a couple of minor tasks that will require your (or your successor’s) attention. You will no doubt be aware that your behaviour is already the topic of staff gossip, but some reasonable explanation can no doubt be fabricated. Perhaps you suffer from some unfortunate condition and passed out in your office last evening? Perhaps you merely worked late and fell asleep over your papers? Should it become necessary then I am willing to personally intervene and curtail the further spread of any malicious rumours as, and when, they might threaten your authority.
If you return, I would be greatly obliged if you could look to the following tasks as matters of some urgency. I will return to your office at 5:30 this afternoon, at which point you will begin perusing the information which you have collected and I, along with you, will read through it page by page.
1. If they are not already in the hospital’s possession, contact the town police department and request copies of their files on the death of Annabell’s brother, James Holmes. Be as insistent as it necessary: I need to know who killed him, how he died and the circumstances of his death.
2. Go over the files of the other insomniacs. I would be interested to learn what they dream of when afflicted by nightmares and when their insomnia began. If this information is not already on file then contact the doctors responsible for their treatment and seek answers to these questions yourself.
3. A security guard in the hospital’s employ, one Samuel Taylor, has come to my attention as an individual whose diligent service here deserves some monetary reward. At the first possible opportunity you will offer him either a bonus or a raise of some description, whichever might be easiest to arrange. For your information this man knows nothing of my existence, I merely commend him to you as a good and capable worker. Be so kind as to ensure that this recommendation does not go unheeded.
For the present, this is all I require of you. Should you feel the need to contact me directly, today or at any later time, leave your jacket hanging from the handle of your office door. I will recognise the signal and be with you presently.
Regards
Hiram
"The Demon of Longchester Asylum"
Posted on 2008-02-04 at 17:53:48.
Edited on 2008-02-04 at 23:04:19 by Vorrioch
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Topic: Star Trek: Cerberus Recruitment
Subject: Ehm
Is this one still alive then?
Given that only three people have posted over the last month I'd assumed it had died off over the Christmas holidays. 
Posted on 2008-02-01 at 14:35:28.
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Topic: What Dreams Become
Subject: Hiram: Day 2
As the security guard’s rough hands shook Annabell from her slumber, Hiram found himself torn from the hungry maw of an adversary whose strength he could not hope to match. Consumed by adrenaline and pure animal terror the spectre gnawed ineffectually at the beast’s hide with a thousand barbed mouths as the memory of the farm crumbled about him and his right arm vanished into the creature’s jaws. Over the past seventy years he had grown arrogant, thinking himself the only supernatural terror this world had to offer, and confident in his ability to shepherd and punish the living with impunity when they encroached onto his hospital’s grounds. Now, returned to the relative safety of the hospital ward only by a chance intervention from the outside world, the ghost knew he could no longer afford the luxury of such illusions. Heaving with relief and unspent aggression, the phantom’s pale form flickered more wildly than ever in the half-light of early morning as he gazed out once more at the collected sketches with a fresh-fledged interest and trepidation.
Disentangling herself from the guard’s questions, Annabell rushed across to the phantom, flinging her arms about his shimmering, incorporeal form. “Oh, Hiram, I was so scared that you were hurt.” What cause she might have to care for his continued well being the spectre could hardly help but question, for the altercation at the farmhouse might well have provided a warning signal that her best interests would not be served by continued proximity to the ravening horror the spectre had revealed himself to be. Still, it assuaged the phantom’s ego that she should worry for his safety, and he determined to repay her trust with better care in the future. A temptation was certainly there to retreat into his previous routine of policing the hospital and forget the supernatural horror that had imposed itself into his world, but Hiram could not in good conscience abandon his patient to a life of continued fear and paranormal predation. If a way could be found to cheat the beast of its victim then he would work to discover it, and if he could not match the creature’s raw physical strength then he would rely upon a natural ingenuity and resourcefulness to find some way to meet the deficit.
The guard, seeing the girl rush past him to wrap her arms around the unseen phantom, hurried out of the room in alarm and (Hiram suspected) slight embarrassment. No matter, the ghost had already taken note of his name and face and, once the chance presented itself, would repay him in full for the good turn his vigilance had done the pair. Good conduct, along with bad, must be seen to reap its just reward if the hospital was to prosper.
As the door swung closed, and the two were left alone once more, Hiram stepped backwards, lightly retreating from his patient’s embrace. “Oh, there’s really no need to worry about me,” the spectre gently reminded her, fobbing off her concern with an assurance he did not feel, “I died quite some years ago.” Almost as an afterthought the dead psychologist continued in a more sober tone, “it was brave of you to trust me back there, I’m just sorry I couldn’t take better care of you.”
The dead psychologist had no doubt that a doctor or some other member of the hospital staff would soon be on their way and it would not do for them to find his newest patient crying and clutching the empty air where he stood. Glancing ahead, through the shuttered window the ghost could see a new day dawning overhead, and struggled to rouse a new energy in its tired remains to meet the challenges of the morning to come. Exhausted not merely by his skirmish with the dream-beast but also by an afternoon of near incessant engagement with the material world the urge for sleep, to retreat from the living and lie dormant for many days to come until his energies slowly replenished themselves, was almost overwhelming. But Hiram Withers had not been raised to lie indolent when there was a job to be done, and the discipline he had nurtured in life harried his tired remains even in death. There was work to be done, and the spectre’s agile mind already leapt to the task of plotting and ordering the long day ahead.
OOC: According to the WoD book Ghosts regain one point of Essence and Willpower each day. I’m not sure if you’ve factored this in already, but if not it seems as good a point to bring it up as any other.
Anyhow, I’m making a few more Ghost Speech rolls. Could you give me a name for the security guard? I’m assuming they wear name tags as well, right?
Posted on 2008-02-01 at 14:32:32.
Edited on 2008-02-01 at 16:49:52 by Vorrioch
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Topic: What Dreams Become
Subject: The lesser of two evils
“This girl is my patient, find your victim elsewhere,” Hiram informed the creature, the shotgun’s steel and wooden body gripped tightly in his hands as he took careful aim on the approaching beast.
“You are brave, phantom, but the girl’s fate belongs to me,” the monster replied, its shadowy lips curling back in the grotesque parody of a smile to reveal a maw that bristled with jet-black fangs: a sinister promise of impending carnage. “The girl is mine,” the creature repeated, it's voice raised to a roar as it prowled ever closer, now no more than a few yards from the pair, “but you will feel my fangs as well!”
As the beast bounded towards him, Hiram squeezed firmly on the shotgun’s trigger. A deafening roar shook the field, almost drowning Annabell’s panicked scream, as the ancient weapon exploded, two barrels of compressed shot tearing into the impending predator’s body and flanks. Gusts of black, oily smoke streamed from the monster’s wounds, and in the heartbeat before it tore into him the spectre could see a string of anguished faces forming in the mist, but the beast kept coming. For the first time in seven decades the dead psychologist found himself gripped by an icy, uncontrollable fear as a mass of shadowy muscle and jet-black teeth launched itself towards him and, consumed by a primitive survival instinct, brought the gun’s wooden stock up to protect a face and jugular which no longer served any practical purpose in sustaining a long extinguished life.
Colliding heavily with his body, the creature instead lowered its head to catch one leg with razor-sharp jaws, throwing the ghost high into the air to collide with and crash through the barn’s wooden wall. The dream did not end as the beast tore past him: it could not yet have reached his patient. Landing, sprawled on his back amidst the wreckage of where there might once have been a haystack, Hiram could see the beast looming over him, feel its hot breath against his icy skin. “You are brave, phantom,” the creature boasted, drinking in his fear, “but here it is I who holds power.”
Willing the dream to end, determined that if he could at least distract the monster long enough to allow Annabell to escape then some element of victory might yet be gleaned from the encounter, Hiram surrendered fully to the wave of berserk, animal terror that swept over his spectral remains. The white doctor’s coat and the shirt beneath it shredded as the phantom’s skin tore open, burrowing back inside his flesh to reveal a mass of raw, shredded meat, shattered bone and pale, ropey entrails that seized and enveloped the limbs and body of the beast before him. Hundreds of hungry, biting mouths, each capped by a ring of tiny, needle-sharp teeth, burst forth from every inch of the dead psychologist’s flesh to gnaw at his attacker. A voiceless, primeval scream of “mine” consumed the spectre’s agonised face, though Hiram himself would have been hard-pressed to qualify whether he was referring specifically to the patient he had claimed as a daughter or merely pronouncing an empty denial of the beast’s claim to a hegemony of power. Then it too vanished before a mass of broken flesh, bone and jagged teeth as the ghost raised itself to bite at the beast it held grappled with a dozen coils of intestinal muscle.
OOC: Yep, Hiram is indeed using Transmogrify on himself. I'm just using "Grappling" here for descriptive effect... not trying to claim any mechanical benefit. 
He’s also trying to use Dream Thief to try to end the dream. I’m guessing that Baba Yaga’s spell or the beast’s own powers might get in the way here, but it's worth a try.
Posted on 2008-01-27 at 22:34:32.
Edited on 2008-01-28 at 08:19:55 by Vorrioch
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Topic: What Dreams Become - Q/A
Subject: ...
Okay, so I’ve just noticed the new XP system and have a couple more questions:
1. To clarify: are you ruling that ghosts can gain Morality? According to the book they can’t but if you are allowing this then I might buy an upgrade or two for him depending on the way things pan out.
2. Why do Attribute increases for ghosts cost more than for anyone else? Unlike every other character (who can buy Skills, Attributes or Special Powers to increase their dice pools) this is the only way Hiram’s abilities are ever going to increase and I imagine he’ll get left behind fairly quickly as the game progrsses.
To use a quick example:
A vampire uses Nightmare. They can increase their dice pools by buying dots of Presence (5 xp per dot), Intimidation (3 xp per dot) or Nightmare (5 or 7 xp per dot).
They’re probably not going to need to go beyond 3 in any of these to build up a fairly impressive dice pool.
A ghost uses Terrify. They can only increase their dice pools by buying Power or Finesse (6 xp per dot).
They’re going to need to buy four or five dots in each (at about double the cost) for the same result.
Posted on 2008-01-25 at 23:39:19.
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Topic: What kind of new game should I run?
Subject: ...
Oh, and unless you plan on starting over the next month or so I certainly would be interested in joining.
Ideally, if it won't be horribly inappropriate for the game, then I've already got a character concept in mind:
http://www.rdinn.net/view_topic.php?topicid=492&page=1
It's the character concept I like, and he could probably lose any class levels quite easily as needed. 
Posted on 2008-01-25 at 22:55:13.
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Topic: What kind of new game should I run?
Subject: About that...
Ehm, TBH “Reverse Dungeon” might be a slightly misleading title.
As far as I can recall the idea was just that the players were a group of pretty average goblins and adventurers were coming to kill them and their tribe.
There were some caves that the players could try to defend (probably not that great an option, as that’s where all of their tribe’s non-combatants were holed up) but they also had a lot of open terrain between them and the human village, neighbouring tribes of monsters they could try to form alliances with and the option of either trying to make a break for it or of taking the fight to the humans and launching a raid on the village that had hired the adventurers in the first place. I can see that a standard dungeon in reverse probably wouldn’t make for that entertaining a game… either you’d take down the adventurers in your 30’ by 30’ room or they’d run you down trying to flee down the corridor.
If you’re interested then I’m guessing that you could probably find the PDF online somewhere. Failing that I could always copy or scan mine to send you (might take a couple of weeks since it’s currently at my parents’ house along with the rest of my old D&D stuff). 
Posted on 2008-01-25 at 22:41:32.
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Topic: What kind of new game should I run?
Subject: Regarding goblins...
Have you read Reverse Dungeon? It’s an old 2nd ed adventure module that ran a pretty good take on the game you’ve just described.
The idea behind its first chapter (there are three, the players take control of a different species of monster in each) is that the party are the warriors of a small goblin tribe coming under attack from adventurers.
I don’t think I’ve ever actually run it as written but some of the setting info was quite good and it had a few ideas which could make for entertaining twists:
1. The PCs don’t start play with any class levels at all, just as standard goblins from the Monster Manual with the equipment you’d expect from a standard goblin war party.
I really liked this one, as when a fair fight becomes a suicide tactic you start seeing players getting that bit more into the mindset of goblins. Hit and run tactics, sniping and laying traps became the order of the day pretty quickly.
2. Running the players’ own standard adventuring characters as adversaries.
I’m not quite sure how you could make this one work for a forum game, but it struck me as a nice twist.
Posted on 2008-01-25 at 22:09:52.
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Topic: What Dreams Become
Subject: Soft words and a gun
The memory ruptured. Hiram found himself standing in the middle of the field, gazing out at the shoot before him not through a child’s eyes but with full benefit of his adult stature. Though he knew the ground must have been frozen underfoot and a sudden gale of bristling, icy wind tugged and clawed wildly at the scarves and overcoats of the old men around him, the spectre himself could hardly credit either sensation. Glancing down, the ghost could see his white lab coat blown and twisted about him by an angry breeze, but could not feel the fabric tug and whip against his skin. Implicitly he understood: he was dead here too.
The light was fading overhead, late morning vanishing into dusk in the blink of an eye, as the wind rose to a crescendo. The farmers, not seeing, not hearing the turmoil about them blindly continued their shoot, an occasional blast from their guns punctuating the gathering storm. A prolonged, unearthly shriek rang out from the darkness, the cry of no man, no quarry Hiram could ever dream of having encountered, and Annabell crumpled to her knees by the ghost’s side. Staring out across the open field Hiram could see it too, a behemoth of a beast, larger by far than the wolf its form resembled, stalking towards them. “You are not to meddle in this business, phantom,” the creature’s voice rang out as the creature prowled ever-closer, but Hiram had no intention of obeying. Whatever the creature could be, its reluctance to face him suggested that it feared he could do it harm, and the ghost had no intention of lightly surrendering his new patient - a patient he bore responsibility for bringing here - into its hungry maw.
Hefting a weapon himself, one of the spare shotguns that had been brought along in case of malfunction, and slipping two bright shells into the gun’s chamber, Hiram stepped forward to stand between the beast and Annabell’s huddled form. “This girl is my patient,” the ghost replied simply, “find your victim elsewhere.” Adopting a balanced shooter’s stance, weight balanced evenly between his two feet in preparation of the weapon’s recoil, Hiram took careful aim on the encroaching animal. Doubting he would get the chance to reload, he resolved to make the blast count, awaiting the moment when his target would get close enough to offer a clear shot.
OOC: If it takes more than one round for the creature to reach Hiram, then he’ll spend the time aiming (+1 die each round).
Stats-wise I’m pretty sure there’s no way I’ll be able to take the thing down (which, let‘s face it, would probably be pretty anti-climatic at this point). IC Hiram’s not so sure. 
Posted on 2008-01-25 at 18:09:34.
Edited on 2008-01-25 at 23:04:11 by Vorrioch
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Topic: Riddle Me this.
Subject: A splinter
Right?
Posted on 2008-01-25 at 01:06:16.
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Topic: What Dreams Become - Q/A
Subject: How does Piers know Hiram's a ghost?
All you're going to see is a man in a white labcoat.
Like what you did with the dream, btw. I think I can see where this one's heading. 
Posted on 2008-01-23 at 22:14:48.
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Topic: D&D Annoyances
Subject: My two cents
Three things:
1. The dungeon crawl:
Probably because I like the base concept so much… you’ve got your group of intrepid treasure seekers (or monster hunters or whatever) descending, torches in hand, into that system of ancient catacombs beneath the earth, or the ruins of that temple to an evil god, or mine swarming with evil spirits. The perfect setting for a game of dark, survival horror, the uncovering of ancient mysteries or just a healthy dose of setting forth into the unknown.
So why does it almost always degenerate into a basic game of resource management? Hacking down orcs and ogres in 30’ by 30’ rooms until you start running low on spells and hit points and need to bail. I really shouldn’t complain, because I’ve run my share of adventures like this too, but sometimes it just grates when you could so easily add so much more.
2. Hit Points:
Past a certain level, these just kill combat for me. This one probably just boils down to gaming preferences but:
a) IMO combat should never feel like a safe option. If you know both in and out of character that those goblins realistically have a 0% chance of killing your paladin, no matter how well they roll, then why bother having the encounter at all? At the point where your character stops talking and walks into a battle, sword drawn, he should be taking a risk- and it should be for something that he’d be willing to die for. Being willing to fight when you know you’ve got everything to gain and nothing on the line probably doesn’t say that much about you as a person, knowing that you believe in something so strongly that you’d be willing to lay your life down for it does.
And conversely, if when it comes down to it your characters decide they really aren’t willing to risk death fighting their way into that old mine to free the hostages then that gives plenty of opportunity to enrich the game in itself. Try telling the guards the truth about that priest they’re working for, bribe them, sneak past them or bluff it and pray they’re no more willing to die over it than you are. You might end up fighting as a last resort, but you can bet it won’t be your default option every time an obstacle presents itself.
b) It just seems a little odd when someone can shrug off enough physical damage to kill an elephant or whale and just keep walking as though nothing had happened. Again, this is basically just a gaming preference, but in most genres it’s a bit weird when someone can be tough enough to automatically survive a direct hit from a catapult or ballista.
3. Resurrection spells as an everyday fact of life:
This one just feels a bit cheap, as death doesn't mean much when you can just off-load a fraction of the loot from your last adventure to bring your friends back if anything goes wrong. And to be honest, why shouldn’t your game world’s NPCs be able to do the same for the king who that necromancer assassinated last session, or the beloved mentor who died in your background, or the evil overlord you’ve spent the past five months trying to kill? If death’s no longer final, then why bother?
Sorry if any of this sounds a bit elitist or like an attack on D&D, it really isn’t meant that way. D&D’s one of the games I’ve grown up with, and I wouldn’t keep playing if I didn’t enjoy it… but from time to time some of the mechanics really grate.
Posted on 2008-01-21 at 20:29:06.
Edited on 2008-01-21 at 20:40:13 by Vorrioch
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Topic: What Dreams Become - Q/A
Subject: ...
Why feel bad about it? You’ve managed to set up the third game for a system other than D&D I’ve seen on a site pretty much dominated by D&D players and freeform.
Just saying that most people (myself included) are probably going to be a lot less willing to learn a whole new system for the sake of one game than they would be to register an account on a new forum to play something they already know and enjoy.
Posted on 2008-01-21 at 19:26:09.
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Topic: What Dreams Become - Q/A
Subject: Just a suggestion…
As you’re still advertising for new players might it be worth putting a blurb up on a few WoD forums (assuming you haven’t done so already). There must be dozens online and there can't exactly be any shortage of people looking for new games.
Posted on 2008-01-21 at 13:43:54.
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Topic: What Dreams Become
Subject: The dream
“Once you go to sleep tonight, I will simply take away your dreams. I will replace them with something less unpleasant, probably a scene from my own lifetime, as that is what I will be able to detail the most easily. I believe that you are having these nightmares for a reason, and we won’t be able to get to the bottom of that tonight. I can, however, offer you a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, without relying on drugs, to keep your strength up and help speed your recovery. Now, you don’t need to answer right away, and I will understand if you’d prefer to do without my help, but the offer stands if you want it.”
“A-Alright,” Annabell replied, hesitantly. “I think I-I can trust you. Let’s d-do it.” The prospect of sleep, and with it the danger of a return to the pattern of nightmares which had blighted the last decade of her life, obviously terrified her but the ghost, conversely, had every confidence in his abilities. She would sleep, a process of healing would begin, and, in the fullness of time, her recovery would offer ample proof to vindicate his superior professional abilities over those of Einhart and his colleagues.
Moving discretely to face the wall as his patient got into bed, Hiram found himself confronted with the snarling graphite and pastel face of the wolf she had drawn that morning. A shallow smile formed on the apparition’s face, unable to recall quite why the sketches had exercised such a macabre fascination upon him earlier. They would need to come down, he had long since decided, for the girl could hardly benefit from being near continuously confronted with the accumulation of her fears over the past months. If anything, it seemed remarkable that none of the present hospital staff had thought to remove the pictures themselves, though no doubt they cleaved to different standards of medical responsibility from his own. His expression soured slightly at the recollection of Einhart, scarcely able to help but wonder just how different those standards could be.
“One last suggestion,” the spectre informed his patient, turning away from the wall to face her, “it might be best if you didn’t mention me to anyone. Just tell them the truth, that you slept freely tonight without any unpleasant dreams. When the same thing happens tomorrow, and every night from now on, they’ll get the message soon enough.” It would be a cruel irony indeed, and one which had only just occurred to the phantom, if he were able to cure the girl’s illness only for her belief in his existence to be taken as evidence of continued mental instability and used as grounds to extend her imprisonment.
Seeing Annabell now safely in bed, Hiram floated a few steps closer, his feet, as before, trailing some distance above the floor. Halting a good three paces from his patient the dead psychologist paused as she settled down: there were standards to be observed, for his own reassurance if nothing else, and the fact that his form was less substantial even than the light from the fluorescent lamp on her bedside table was beside the point. Waiting patiently as she finally succumbed to exhaustion, the ghost selected a dream from his own memory to offer her sleeping mind. The gesture seemed strangely personal, in contrast to simply prescribing sedatives or some other drugs, the analogy he had drawn previously, and the phantom found itself strangely reluctant to share any detail of real meaning from its living existence.
***
It was the winter of 1915 and Hiram was walking with his Great-Uncle Joseph through the corn field to the south-west. Though the crops had long since been harvested patches of stubble remained here and there, stalks bristling upright in clusters, or lying in droves upon the black, frozen earth. The ground was unsteady underfoot and the old man puffed incessantly as his boots crunched their way through the icy mud, his breath forming clouds of condensation in the cold air. Tucked beneath his arm was a battered, well-polished wooden box, inside which the boy knew two shotguns were hidden, but though Hiram must have offered a dozen times or more to take the weight from him, his relative chuckled and refused until they finally reached the old farmhouse.
A clay-pigeon shoot had been organised, and maybe two dozen elderly farmers were gathered round, wrapped in thick overcoats, scarves and flat caps against the cold. The air was thick with the smokes of their pipes as they huddled together, talking idly of the weather, of church raffles, of sons and nephews at the front and how the Boche must crack, maybe not this Christmas, but surely before the next twelve months were done. Finally the shoot began, the young Hiram scarcely able to muzzle his eagerness to shoot a gun. Uncle Joseph took aim first as he watched impatiently, reminding the boy how it was done, raised his shotgun with a deafening bang and his great-nephew watched awestruck as the white dinner plate shattered in a thousand pieces at his feet. After what seemed an eternity it was his turn, Uncle Joseph tucking the butt firmly into his shoulder as he took position, reminding him to breath out as he squeezed the trigger shut. The brilliant white disk was released, soaring through the air overhead, and Hiram heard a second explosion, a haze of grey smoke clouding the air as he pulled the trigger. Jolted backwards by the gun’s recoil, his shoulder aching from the weapon's kick, the boy lowered the barrel, glancing around impatiently to see where the plate had landed. It was unbroken, finally coming to rest face down by a privet hedge. Loading another cartridge, Uncle Joseph handed him the second gun, reminded him again to aim slightly ahead of his target, to tuck the stock more closely into his shoulder. Another disk was released, shimmering as it sped through the early morning air. Again Hiram fired and this time he did not miss, a spray of hard, metal pellets catching the plate, splintering it into a shower of broken ceramic shards. Again he took aim, shattering the third plate with a lucky shot, and then it was the next man’s turn to shoot and he and Uncle Joseph returned to the back of the line.
OOC Edit: I've just reread this one, and the plan was that Hiram would provide her with at least 5-6 hours of filler dreams (as anything less would be a bit pointless), something I didn't make obvious in my post.
As I'm never going to be able to write that much text (and I doubt anyone would want to read it anyway) would it be okay to say either that it's just one of many memories of his early life that he includes in her dreams or to do some sort of time warp thing so the dream actually lasts that much longer in character?
Posted on 2008-01-20 at 10:41:39.
Edited on 2008-01-20 at 21:07:15 by Vorrioch
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Topic: What Dreams Become
Subject: Hiram the friendly ghost?
“I’m already dead, Annabell, but I’m still offering you my help, if you’re willing to accept it.”
“Okay, but how are you going to help me?” Annabell replied, a smile spreading across her face as she spoke, but with an understandable note of curiosity in her voice. Hiram’s guess was that his patient expected another session of counselling, but the spectre had a better solution. “Once you go to sleep tonight,” the ghost responded, in a crisp, clinical tone, trying to ascertain that she could not misinterpret the proposition, “I will simply take away your dreams. I will replace them with something less unpleasant, probably a scene from my own lifetime, as that is what I will be able to detail the most easily.” Pausing to make sure that she understood, and wishing idly for the luxury of a cigarette to smoke as he continued, the dead psychologist went on, “I believe that you are having these nightmares for a reason, and we won’t be able to get to the bottom of that tonight. I can, however, offer you a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, without relying on drugs, to keep your strength up and help speed your recovery. Now, you don’t need to answer right away, and I will understand if you’d prefer to do without my help, but the offer stands if you want it. ”
Waiting for her reply, Hiram could hardly help but wonder what his medical colleagues would have made of the situation. He would simply be treating the symptoms of her disorder, that was true, but common hospital procedure would have dictated the same in simply prescribing sleeping pills- an option not presently available. In addition some sort of regular sleep pattern could only do her good, and might even go some way towards restoring sound mental health once she was no longer plagued by the macabre images her sketches depicted on a nightly basis. Moreover, though he would never consciously admit it, the phantom wanted to feel as though he was safeguarding something, could not credit that the pleasure it took from tormenting miscreants and chastising the living was reason enough to continue, without first seizing a moral high ground to justify its actions. Until now, abstract notions of medical responsibility and maintaining the hospital itself had seemed justification enough, and he had duly punished those who had become dangerously lax in their duties or whose actions brought the place damage or disrepute, but better by far to have a living, breathing patient to protect and release safe into the outside world. He would have done her no harm, the spectre reasoned, quite the contrary in fact, and in return he asked only the opportunity to tell a few chapters of his own story- nothing unpleasant, of course, just enough to give some indication of who he was and where he had come from. The fun of keeping animals like Einhart in line was, of course, purely incidental, as would be the eventual vindication of his own professional abilities over those of the imbeciles who had been content to simply shunt the poor girl from one institution to the next over the past ten years.
OOC: Ha, no more Ghost Speech rolls! Go exceptional successes or, um, playing a normal character.
Posted on 2008-01-18 at 19:31:06.
Edited on 2008-01-18 at 19:56:27 by Vorrioch
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Topic: Riddle Me this.
Subject: Love
Would be my guess.
Posted on 2008-01-16 at 15:03:38.
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Topic: What Dreams Become - Q/A
Subject: Just out of interest...
... are you using any of the setting info from Shadows of the UK?
It's got a few nice ideas for British chronicles, though (like most other White Wolf books) there are some parts where the writer's probably a bit too aggressive in putting forward his own political views.
Posted on 2008-01-16 at 14:13:42.
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