[NSFW] From the Archives: The C.L.U.E. Files

[Moriah Silverleaf]

File #19 - May 24th, 2000: Lions and Tigers and Bears, OH MY!

Well, here in Colorado it is officially spring. The weather is warming, the evenings getting longer. I thought perhaps we all might enjoy a short trip to the zoo. It was a dark and stormy night (I can't help it - as a writer I've always wanted to use that J). Winter in Seattle: rainy, cold, and downright miserable.

The team had been hired to trace the supplier of a specific drug. Legwork and extended surveillance on a possible abuser of the drug finally resulted in a location, a Japanese restaurant downtown. Checking the place out revealed that the restaurant was most likely a front for the Yaks, with a couple of tough-looking cybered (and probably armed) Japanese gangster types in obvious residence.

Despite the other player's recommendations, the cat shaman decides to scope the place out for evidence ALONE and goes in using an invisibility spell. After sneaking past all the patrons, yakuza soldiers, and the manager of the restaurant (very lucky!), he proceeded upstairs to an office on the second floor. Not being able to access the computer in the office, he tries the desk drawers, and finds one locked. He failed miserably at picking the lock (still sustaining the invisibility spell).

Shaman: OK, then I'll try to force the lock.
GM: "What strength do you have?"
Shaman: "ummm. Two."
GM: (rolls dice vs. the heavy desk's barrier rating of 6). "You try with all your might to open the desk, but the heavy wood and lock are too strong." (perception roll to see if anyone downstairs hears anything - they don't).
Shaman: "OK. I have a shapechange spell. I'm going to shapechange into a panther so my strength increases to eight!
GM: "Sure, but remember that it only changes YOU, not weapons, armour, or clothing."
Shaman: "That's no problem, I'll strip off naked first!"
GM: (trying not to grin as he imagines this fellow stripping in the middle of Yak territory). "OK ermmm, you strip off all your clothes. Roll for your spell, please."
Shaman: "Right, I'll drop my invisibility to make the casting easier"
GM: "OK, you make yourself visible again and change into a panther."
Shaman: "I'm going to try and open the desk now."
GM: "Well, you're a panther. You have no hands, so the only way you can do it is to smash the desk to pieces."
Shaman: "OK!" (rolls dice and easily succeeds after one or two turns of bashing the heavy piece of furniture, AND destroying the computer ON the desk in the process.)
GM: (rolling perception tests once more for the people below. Needless to say, the loud crashes from above finally catches the attention of one of the Yak soldiers, who promptly heads upstairs to investigate, then rolls shaman's perception). "You hear somebody making their way up the stairs."
Shaman: "Right, I'll cast invisibility again and stand in the corner. (rolls and succeeds)
GM: "A short Japanese man in a suit comes into the room. The desk is splintered into pieces on the floor, and he looks about, shocked. He notices your equipment and clothes in a pile on the floor."
Shaman: "Damn! Right, I'm gonna run out the door."
GM: "The man is still in the doorway. He pulls a gun and is looking about with suspicion."
Shaman: "OK, I'll manabolt him.
GM: "You still have the invisibility and the shapechange sustained, so it's a plus to the difficulty."
Shaman: (rolls dice and fails due to the high target number).
GM: "The man realizes he is being attacked, screams in Japanese, and begins to fire randomly through the room" (rolls for blind fire). "A few stray bullets whiz past you and hit the wall, barely missing your naked panther body."
Shaman: "I'm still naked. Right, I'll jump through the window."
(Insert: shocked look and sniggers from the rest of the group)
GM: "You run up to the second floor window and attempt to jump through it..." (Compares strength vs. bulletproof plexiglass window - a fact that legwork hadn't uncovered.) "you hit the window with a thud and bounce off it. Roll for damage." (shaman takes moderate stun) "The Japanese man sees the window shake and hears your body impact. Still shouting, he begins to shoot in your general direction. (Shaman takes a light wound from bullet).
Shaman: "Damn! OK, I'll have another go."
GM: (absolute look of disbelief) "OK, you try to jump out the window again. You hit the window with a bang (dice rolling) and take another moderate stun."
(At this time the players are urging the shaman to just barge his way through the door)
Shaman: "Just one more try!" (more dice, and a light stun this time)
GM: "The window cracks as you hit it, but you bounce off again and land on the floor feeling dizzy."
Shaman: "OK, I'll try and run past the guy in the doorway." (more rolling and use of karma!)
GM: "With the amount of damage you have taken and two sustained spells, you barely manage to make it past the guy and down the stairs. You even manage to slip by the two heavily armed men on their way upstairs."
Shaman: "Good. I'll run out through the restaurant kitchen and out the back."
GM: "You run into a back storage area with a high fence leading into the alley."

So, to make a nauseatingly long story short, the shaman has to drop both spells after several unsuccessful attempts at climbing the fence and eventually makes it out into the street, injured, naked, and very visible in the cold winter rain. He can't contact the team because his phone, money and everything else he was carrying was left in the yakuza office, and the team has to leave due to the yak soldiers checking the area.

The GM who sent me this sordid tale did mention, however, that the shaman was tracked by ritual sorcery on his gear and promptly hunted down, a fact that made his life Very Difficult for quite some time.

OK, that's the lion and tiger part (OK, panther, close enough! - picky, picky, picky.). Now the bear. Oh… my.
-----------------------

Picture this. A dragon had committed suicide (why I won't get into) by dropping from thousands of feet high straight down onto a redwood tree, impaling itself. Needless to say, the attempt succeeded.

So my group of runners (yes, this is my group. Again. Sheesh. And people wonder WHY I continue my efforts with CLUE. I guess if I didn't have an outlet for my anguish, I'd end up like that dragon?). Right. To continue, MY group of runners found the body and, gleeful at the amount of money they could make by selling parts, start scavenging the corpse.

It was like watching kids at a Toys-r-Us.

Anyway, the Sammie of the group was on the ground, keeping watch. He hears a noise behind him, and turns to see a HUGE bear (read Piasma) shuffling out of the undergrowth towards this huge wonderful mound of food rotting nicely in the warm sunshine.

GM: "It's huge. What do you do?"
Sammie: "I turn and face it."
GM: "It stands on its hind legs and snarls at you menacingly."
Sammie: "I snarl back."

Needless to say, the bear attacked. =sigh= To this day, whenever a bear is mentioned, the other players manage to ask this fellow if he would like to snarl at it.

See you next month!

Karen - [email protected]

 

[Moriah Silverleaf]

File #20 - June 4th, 2000: Much Ado About Nothing

Hello yet again, my gentle readers. Say, have any of you considered seeing a psychologist for the streak of masochism you obviously suffer from, since you're here yet again to read another pathetic tale of the inept?

Regardless of your state of mental health, one must understand the state of Cluelessness manifests in many forms. Mostly, it shows itself with occasions of appalling bad judgment or thoughtlessness. Occasionally, however, the more dangerous form surfaces and infects our race, creating those who commit acts of gross cluelessness DELIBERATELY.

These cancers must be sought out, and 'treated.'

Barf bags are not provided. And, to the GM who submitted this tale, you're a brave individual…

The Team:
Hourglass: Sniper/elf
Xilla: Hermetic mage
Cur: NPC Dog shaman
Grunge: Sammie

The team had just finished a data-steal run on a UCAS research facility off the west Canadian coast just a hundred kilometers north of Seattle and were heading home with the package to collect their hard-earned nuyen. The van needed gas, so the team pulled off into a small gas station to fill up and get some munchies.

Grunge had been complaining for the last hour of boredom, and the team wanted a rest from his mouth. He is sent in to pay for the fuel and get the snacks. Bad mistake.

Grunge: "I go inside and grab up a lot of chips and two or three drinks, and head for the counter."
GM: The clerk is a middle-aged man who looks boredly at you and rings up your sale. He then looks out the window. "Is that your van?"
Grunge: "Why the FRAG do you want to know?!"
Clerk: (warily) "Because… I need to add the fuel to your…" Clerk stops talking because…
Grunge: While he's talking, I pull out my Savallette Guardian and point it at his face. "You NEED to shut up and give me all the cash in the Fraggin register for being such a nosy Fragger, and give me all YOUR money too, or I'll blow your Fraggin head off!!!"
GM and all other players at once: "WHAT???"
GM: Tell me you aren't serious.
Grunge: Yer darn tootin I am! What does the clerk do? Remember, I got my gun on him, safety's off, set for burst fire!
GM: He is terrified, but he is quickly pulling out all the N.A.N. cash out of the drawer.
Clerk: "WWWould you like this in a bag?"
Grunge: "Nawwww! I'll just carry it out in my hands for all the Fraggin world to see! Of COURSE in a bag, ya Fraggin MORON!"
Hourglass: I'm looking towards the store to see what's taking Grunge so long. Do I see him robbing the guy?
GM (rolls perception for Hourglass) You just see him talking to the clerk.
Xilla: Noooo! (bangs head on table)
Grunge: Is the clerk bagging up the money?
GM: Yes, and when he finishes, he reaches in his back pocket and -
Grunge: I blast the Fragger!
GM: You… what?
Grunge: He's reaching for a gun, so I burst fire his face off! (rolls dice)
GM: You blow his head all over the back wall, and his body falls to the floor twitching.
Grunge: Awesome! I go behind the counter to see what type of gun he was trying to pull on me.
Hourglass: Tell me I saw and heard that!!!
GM: Yes, no roll required as you said you were looking over there anyway. You hear a burst of gunfire and see the clerk go down in a spray of blood. Grunge has his gun out and pointed where the clerk was standing just seconds ago.
Hourglass: I yell "Holy Drek!! Grunge just killed the store clerk!"
Xilla: I'm still in the driver's seat, is Cur finished filling up the tank and back in the van?
GM: Yes, he'd just got back into the van when all of you heard the gunfire and Hourglass yell. Hourglass, you see Grunge go around behind the counter and bend over, presumably, the clerk's body. He is now out of your sight.
Xilla: I start up the engine, slam it into drive and peel outta the station like a bat outta Hell!!
Grunge: You WHAT?!
GM: Grunge, you don't see anything but the wallet that the clerk had been trying to get out of his back pocket. Don't you remember telling him to fork over his cash, too?
Grunge: Oh yeah… I take the wallet. Do I see them taking off without me?
GM: No, you are down behind the counter, but you do hear a vehicle engine roar and the squeal of tires.
Grunge: I raise my head over the counter and have a look/see.
GM: You see what could be your van racing off down the street and quickly go out of sight due to darkness and the trees that surround the station.
Grunge: I go outside to the pay phone and call the cops, after I grab up the moneybag and stuff it into my long-coat inner pocket.
GM: uh… I don't suppose you take the munchies too?
Grunge: Oh yeah, I take those too. I get a bag and dump em in it, I may need em if I can't steal a car. Long walk to Seattle!!
GM: OK, ya got the bag-o-munchies, ya got the bag-o-money, so you go outside to call the cops. I can't WAIT to hear why.
Grunge: I dial the emergency number and ask for the nearest police station.
GM: The operator connects you to the local constabulary "Police station, can I help you" says a polite but bored male voice.
Grunge (in a frightened and whiney voice) "TTTThey robed the store!! They killed the clerk!"
GM/Cop: "Who robbed what store? Sir, I'm pulling up your location now on the computer, stay where you are. Can you give me a description?"
Grunge: (same voice) "YYYess," and proceeds to describe the rest of the team, excluding himself, and the make and model of the van (succeeded in an Int. roll and remembered the license plate, too) to the officer. Forgetting completely to check and see if maybe there was a video monitor in the store (there was, of course) Grunge then leaves the station, with all his bags, and janders on down the road to the sound of sirens in the distance. He finds a car in a driveway two miles down the road, and proceeds to hotwire it. (He does have an electronics still, but only makes one success so it's taking a while) The owner of the car steps out of the door to see someone breaking into his car (Grunge fails perception roll) so he quietly steps back inside to get his shotgun.

Meanwhile, the team is hearing over their police-band radio a description of their van and a general description of themselves. They prudently decide to start looking for another vehicle. But, before they find one, they have a brief but not too violent encounter with some of the local constabulary. The team finds another vehicle and make it back to Seattle with no further trouble, They inform the fixer of the problem with Grunge, the fixer decides Grunge forfeited his final payment when he put the mission in danger, pays the rest of the team, and leaves.

Back in the NAN territories, a seriously wounded Grunge is driving back to Seattle after having to gun down an entire family because the father had the gall to shoot him while he was stealing the man's car!! (However, a wounded but very much alive twelve-year-old girl gave a description to the cops that matched the ID of the Perp in the convenience store's video monitor to a 'T'.

The softhearted, and softheaded (the submitter's description, not mine - Karen), GM allowed him to get back to Seattle after a rather bloody encounter with three suspicious cops that he, amazingly, defeated. Not surprisingly, Grunge was pissed at the fixer for refusing to pay him, and is currently hunting him down. The N.A.N. has a 500,000-nuyen bounty on Grunge's head, which grows daily.

The team no longer had anything to do with that character (Grunge's player was forced to make another character), and plans on collecting on the bounty when it reaches 600,000 (easier to split three ways).

Well, there you have it.

So, on a personal note, are any of my readers out there headed for Gencon in August? At present, there is a good 75% chance that I'm actually going to make it this year! (yippee!)

Karen - [email protected]

 

[Moriah Silverleaf]

File #21 - July 5th, 2000: Things that go BOOM in the night…

Ah, my friends… back again for another look into the less-than-professional side of the Shadows?

Well, get your flak jackets on, because once again the Clueless have managed to find some explosives…

Sigh. It just gets better and better… or worse and worse. Whatever.

Mr. Frost fancied himself as one of Seattle's best hit men. True, his skill with a firearm was truly munchkin in its scope, and his body was incredibly enhanced by bioware and cyber, but when it came to actually getting away with the crime in question, he proved sadly lacking. He had two apartments, one upscale place downtown, to use as a place to relax when the heat was off, and one lower class apartment for general use, which he shared with his fellow teammate, a crazed mage named Firebug. The other members of this group were a journalist named Brian Pinhead (pronounced Pinead, dammit, Pinead!) and a large, but mentally stillborn, troll Sammie whose name nobody really knew because he himself had long ago forgotten it. As to why on God's green earth a TV journalist was hanging out with runner scum is another story. Both these fellows had their own addresses.

This team found themselves in competition against another team of runners, to see which was better suited for a job. Winner gets the job, loser either gives up or gets dead. Each team was given a full printout on their opponent, including skills of note and places of residence. Frost's team decided to go to a bar for the evening to look over the material. They hung out there until last call (about 2 a.m.) and then headed home. They also decided to stick together, just in case the opposing force planned to ambush them one at a time. The team felt Brian's place would be the least likely to be attacked (I mean, he's only a TV reporter for God's sake) so headed there to rest.

Now, it had been made abundantly clear that one of the enemy runners was a demolitions expert, and the group in general liked to blow things up. The team had also been told that the run had started the moment they received the printout on their opponents. With the six hours Frost and his cronies had spent at the bar, the enemy team had had plenty of time to rig up a plan.

The team arrived at Brian's building and headed up to the apartment, while Firebug parked the van. When they got to his place, they noticed that someone had been messing with his door (they didn't actually check, but the GM was sympathetic and didn't want them to die without a chance). So what did they do? Examine the door more carefully? Leave? None of the above? You guessed it, none of the above.

Mr. Frost took command of the situation, drew his weapon, and told the Troll to bust down the door.

BOOM!

Miraculously, they all survived, but Brian and Frost took a bit of a beating (medium wounds). The troll wasn't even scratched.

The team quickly gathered themselves up and fled the scene before the Star showed. Next stop: the Troll's pad. Firebug wisely decided to stay downstairs with the car once again, while the others went up to do recon. Once again, the door showed signs of criminal activity.

Frost: OK, I back down the hall about ten feet and tell the Troll to open the door.
Troll: Hell, No! I'm not gonna push my luck. You open it!
Frost: No way, it's your place, you open the door.
Brian: Ah, hell, I only took a medium wound last time. I kick open the door.

BOOM!!

Brian was blasted into a coma, Troll took a light, and Frost was boosted up to a serious.

They dropped Brian off at the hospital, then went over to Frost's low class pad, and guess what??

They got blowed up. AGAIN!!!

Anyway, after a long convoluted story they finally managed to beat out the other team. The job they were rewarded with was a full-time payroll position for Renraku, which the team turned down (much to the disgust of the GM, who watched his hook for the next several runs go down the drain).

So the team went to the hospital to check on Brian, only to find him missing (the enemy team was pissed about losing). After a half-hearted investigation, Frost & Co. gave him up for dead.

Several days later, there was a knock on the door of Frost's upscale apartment (the team was all staying there as the other abodes had been blasted to bits). When they opened the door they found two garbage bags full of Brian's dismembered corpse. Quickly Frost decided to get rid of the body…

Frost: Is there a window in this hallway?
GM: Of course.
Frost: OK, I'll open it up.
GM: (groaning quietly) It's a solid plate of Plexiglas. It doesn't open.
Frost: Dammit. OK, I'll break it.
GM: It's Plexiglas! How are you going to break it?
Frost: I'll shoot it!
GM: Ooookay. You punch several holes through the Plexiglas window, weakening it, but it stays in place.
Firebug: I leave.
Frost: Now I kick the window out, and then pitch the bags after it.
GM: With a terrific kick you send the plate sailing out into the air, the bags of Brian follow, and plummet seven stories to the ground, where they break open with a splat. Behind you, you hear a door slam shut.
Frost: Whatever. I go back inside.
Firebug: I'm going to a bar.

So it seems that one of Mr. Frost's neighbors heard the gunfire and came outside to investigate. Upon seeing Frost, smoking gun in hand, pitching body parts out the window, he quickly went back inside and called the Star. They arrived shortly, and following a brief struggle, took Mr. Master-Hit-Man to prison for a murder he didn't even commit..

Ahhhhh, poetic justice, no?

Ciao for Now,
Karen

PS: It's confirmed, folks. I'm goin' ta Gencon! Woo hoo! I'd love to chat with readers, get feedback, etc. If you see a shortish, wavy brown hair, mid-thirties, glasses, kinda round J woman walking around with a CLUE T-shirt on, stop me and say hi!

Karen - [email protected]

 

[Moriah Silverleaf]

File #22 - August 2nd, 2000: On the Ocean, the Mighty Ocean, the Clueless Sleep Tonight…

During the past two years that C.L.U.E. has been around (wow… it's been that long - go figure!), we've been confronted again and again with the sad lack of common sense in our species.

Case in point: if a person says to you, "oh, there's a huge safe falling from the sky right above your head: what do you do?" the general answer of anyone who has a clue would be, "I move out of the way." The Clueless, however, would simply stand and watch it fall, or tie their shoes, or wonder what to have for lunch, or whatever - don't ask me how they think.

The GM who submitted this tale did say the players were fairly new to the game, but there is a big difference between a new player who DOES have a clue and the totally clueless. Common sense does NOT require a rulebook.

Please accept the following tale (in the GM's own words) as a graphic illustration of this point….


The plucky team had just pulled off their first run and was heading back to Seattle from the San Juan Islands in their brand-new assault powerboat. Due to a rather violent retreat, the powerboat had more holes in it than the manufacturer would recommend. Some of these holes were large, steaming, and below the water line.

GM: "So the boat is in pretty bad shape. It's listing badly to the side and the engine is making a funny, choking sound. What do you do?"

Thorax, the Sammy team leader, paused and pondered the question for a moment. "I'm not sure."

I assumed he was thinking about how to fix the boat and get home without swimming. The other players seemed to be deep in thought as well. In a democratic move, Thorax turned to the team rigger and asked him "What do you think we should do?"

The Rigger was the repair expert, right? Seems like a logical thing for a leader to do; wanna make sure you hear the expert's opinion….

Rigger: "I don't know about you, but I could use a nap."

Now, before I could laugh at what could only be a light joke in a dire circumstance, Thorax nodded sagely. "Yes," he said, straight-faced. "A nap sounds like a good idea. We've had a lot of combat and I'm sure we're all very tired."

"Yes," echoed the other runners. "Naps!" (Karen insert: why do I just see the Knights of Ni all crying "Yes! A shrubbery!" at this point?)

Thorax turned proudly back to me. "We've decided to go down below and take a nap to rest up after the fight."

The look on my face must have been priceless. "You, uh…you want to go below and, uh…"

"Take a nap. Yes."

"Um… the boat is, um, the damage is… well, okay."

So everyone gladly took a nap. I have never seen anything like this in any game before or since. Seems that these players felt that the sleeping cycles of their runners were critical to the story or something. Or not. I can't begin to fathom how this plan was embraced by all five of them without anyone even batting an eye.

A moment passed and I described that the rigger was being awakened from his nap by water lapping against his cheek. The lower cabin had filled with four feet of water while he was off counting sheep.

"Oh, no!" he yelled and began splashing about looking for his tools and waking everyone else up. "We're really sinking now guys!"

Yeah… no shit.

By some miracle, everyone got out alive and tread water while they watched their half million-nuyen powerboat slide below the surface of Puget Sound, along with practically all their gear.

Naps. Jesus.

But the cluelessness doesn't end there! The group managed to dog-paddle over to a small nearby island in the Sound and wash themselves up on the beach. Since it looked like the rest of the adventure would probably take place on this forested island instead of back in Seattle like I'd planned, I decided that this island was an abandoned secret testing facility for Ares Special Projects.

As the group headed up the sand, they heard some sort of alarm or siren coming from the trees and a garbled computer voice said something unintelligible to them. They just shrugged at each other and kept walking towards the sound. It was at this point that the automated sentry-guns activated and started tracking their movement. I called for Perception tests, and the dwarf Sammie, Urp, got a huge result.

"Looks like there are some automatic defense guns hidden in the trees up ahead," I tell him. "They could be light machine guns or assault cannons: it's hard to tell because of the trees. The muzzles are pointed right at you."

"Humm. Better tell the other guys," says Urp. I'm about to say OK, when Urp's player interrupts. "No! Maybe the guns track on sound and it will pick up my voice when I talk to the others! I stand still and try not to breathe!"

"Ah… OK. Everyone, you notice that Urp has stopped walking with the rest of you. His eyes are fixed on the trees ahead and he's standing stock-still."

Thorax got that thoughtful look on his face again (I swear that I thought they were about to take naps again). "I stop moving," he says.

"Yeah, me too!" the other players chime in.

Well, well. Everyone was just a big fat target then, weren't they?

"Everyone roll their reaction." Bullets erupted from the trees, taking Urp square in the chest. Everyone else was actually smart enough to beat it and dive for cover of some nearby fallen logs.

A miracle happened on the damage roll, and Urp came out with only a medium wound. I said that his flak vest caught some of the burst, but a round got him in the side and deflected off a rib. "It's bleeding and you feel like you've been it with a baseball bat," I said.

Urp's player dutifully recorded his medium wound on his character sheet. When it was his turn to act, I asked him what he wanted to do.

"Me? Nothing, man! I've been wounded! I just lie here on the sand in pain."

Carefully, I explained the situation again to Urp's player, stressing that he could still take action with only a small penalty to any tests he had to make.

"Forget it," says Urp. "I'm not taking any chances now. I try to lie completely still and make no noise."

"Umm, okay."

Like, that really worked last time, didn't it?

I asked the other players what they wanted to do. "Stay behind cover!" was the unanimous response. Next turn the sentry gun opened up again on the only target it could see with its heat sensor: poor Urp. This time he was out for the count and dying. What did the other players do? Why, stay safely behind cover, of course!

The gun finally ran out of ammo shooting Urp's slowly cooling corpse.

In the end, no one made it off that island alive, even though the only other threatening device (that still worked) was an electrified fence. But that's another story…
-------------------------------------------
A Note from CLUE Administration:

Please remember that, in the vast majority of these files, I am NOT the GM. If I am, I say so up front. So, before you break out flame guns for any of these files, remember it's not nice to shoot the messenger. I'm a big girl and I can take flames; hey they come with the job! But I do have to laugh when, for the SAME file, I get two separate nasty grams, one for the GM being too easy on players and one for him being too hard.

Anyway, only nine days to Gencon! Yayyyy! CLUE T-shirts are being printed up and my friends and I will be wearing them during the con, at least on Friday and Saturday. The shirts are navy blue, with 'Get C.L.U.E.D IN!" and the site address in metallic gold on the back. Since I'll be the only female wearing one, anyone with a CLUE should be able to identify me...

Hummm, perhaps I'd better keep my bodyguards close...

See you next month!

Karen - [email protected]

 

[Moriah Silverleaf]

File #23 - September 2nd, 2000: The Body Electric
Gentle Readers:

In my years of service to CLUE, I've read some pretty horrifying cases. Sadly, I've become more than a little jaded - I was sure there wasn't much more out there that could surprise and/or shock me anymore.

I was wrong.

The following is account came from an eyewitness, namely the player of Tombstone.

The Players:

Calibre - Human weapon specialist
Reaper - Orc Street Sam
Shade7 - Orc Decker
Tombstone - Human Gargoyle Shaman

My group had recently blundered their way through a run that involved trying to stop a maniacal cult. The cult was holed up in a cemetery.

While standing outside the cemetery planning our attack, we caught sight of two people walking along the outside of the fence with submachine guns casually slung across their shoulders.

Well, Calibre sprang into action, putting into motion his 'shoot first and interrogate the corpse' policy, ignoring Tombstone's pondering of whether the people were in fact just security guards.

As it turns out, they were neither cultists nor guards, but members of a magical group/gang known as the Sons of Son. They were holding a midnight funeral for one of their fallen lieutenants and the two patrolling had merely been making sure that no rivals interfered.

So, after the murder of two of their members, the Sons of Son put out a 150,000-nuyen reward on the head of Calibre and 50,000 nuyen on the rest of the team, even though they had nothing to do with the deaths.

Calibre arranged for a new face, and SIN to match, through Reaper's street doc contact. While he was hidden safely away recovering from the surgery, Reaper, Tombstone and Shade7 began searching for a scapegoat who (with a little plastic surgery) could be handed over to the Sons of Son.

Searching the streets of Seattle, Reaper and Shade7 spotted a man who closely matched Calibre's build and appearance.

Please Note: It is five o'clock on a Monday afternoon in downtown Seattle.

Approaching the man, Shade7 exchanges a few words and discovers that the fellow is a male prostitute. Shade7 offers him one thousand nuyen for 'services' and they both get into his car, while Reaper follows them in another vehicle.

GM: OK, you get in the car and begin to drive away. The joyboy looks pretty happy, you offered him a LOT of money. He turns to you with a smile: "So, have you ever had a blowjob while driving?"
Shade7: No. Why don't we wait until we get to my place?"
Joyboy: trails his hand up Shade7's leg. "Trust me, I'm very good. I think you'll like it."
GM: He's unzipping your pants.
Shade7: "Hey, cut it out!" I'm going to push him off me.
GM: He's a fairly big guy, just as big as Calibre. You're not budging him. Besides, you're driving in rush hour and have to keep your attention on the heavy traffic. He reaches his 'objective,' pulls it from your underwear and starts to go down.
Shade7: I'm going to pull out my taser and zap him!
GM: (after a moment of silence) Oooookay.

At this point, the joyboy is administering a passionate, deep-throat blowjob.

The God-knows-how-many-thousands of volts of current goes through the joyboy and, via that wet and beautifully conductive 'connection' through to Shade7 as well.

This knocks them both unconscious with stun damage.

The car crashes.

Reaper pulls up behind his friend's wreck. He runs over, hauls Shade7 and joyboy from the wreckage and dumps them into his own car. Even though the joyboy wasn't buckled in, he is still alive (after almost going through the windshield). Reaper prepares to leave as dozens of eyewitnesses watch in disbelief. One brave and civic-minded citizen draws a light pistol to stop the Orc from leaving the scene of the crash. Reaper responds by pulling out his Ares HV LMG from the back seat of his car and tells the Samaritan, in no uncertain terms, to back the frag off.

Reaper gets into the driver's seat and pulls away but is soon stopped by Docwagon, who are responding to Shade7's medical bracelet (platinum contracts - where would we be without them?). He hands over the unconscious body of his partner (scorched and still smoking trouser-snake prominently displayed) and leaves.

Five minutes later a Lone Star patrol car is hot on his tail, responding to emergency calls from the witnesses.

He turns onto a street choked with rush hour traffic, making escape difficult. So, Reaper comes up with the 'brilliant' plan - get up onto the sidewalk! Totally forgetting the poor pedestrians, he jumps the curb and begins mowing down helpless workers returning home after a long day. He kills four before his car can't take anymore and crashes. Again the joyboy isn't buckled in. But this time he isn't so lucky and promptly dies from massive head injuries.

Reaper abandons the car only to be confronted by the two Lone Star patrolmen, who tell him to drop to the ground. Being the raging psychopath that he is, Reaper ignores their orders and proceeds to tear them to pieces with his cybernetic 'Kid Stealth' legs, in full view of a dozen witnesses and the dashboard camera on the patrol cruiser.

Finally, Reaper manages to escape into the sewers. Many difficulties plague him, but he finds a group of street scum that live there (eating rats and garbage) and gives them his credstick with 100,000 nuyen as payment for showing him the way to his doss. Taking the credstick, they guide Reaper through the sewers to his destination. Reaper thanks them, guns them down, and pries the credstick from their dead fingers.

Wounded from his exchange with the cops and finding his picture plastered all over the trid and screamsheets, Reaper decides to call his street doc to arrange for a little plastic surgery of his own. However, after he picks up the phone he remembers - not only is the doc is in hiding with Calibre, but he has no idea where the hideout is!

The session ended there, with the following results:

Calibre: unwrapping his bandages in an unknown location.
Reaper: trying to unsuccessfully heal without medical attention.
Shade7: lying in a hospital ward while a nurse applies burn cream to the withered remains of his penis.
Tombstone: pondering why the HELL he hangs out with these idiots.

And, in the end, it was all for nothing since they managed to get Calibre's decoy killed
Well, what can one say to that, except to ask that you please keep the moans of pain, cries of disbelief, and general wails of agony to a bearable level.

Enough of that! Onto a different subject! Yeah!

It was great to meet Paolo, 'the mysterious dvixen,' Adam, and other members of the Dumpshock team at Gencon! Much fun was had by all. However, I DO have a few CLUE T-shirts left over from the con. If anyone is interested in obtaining one, please e-mail me.

Next month: the first installment of a series on stealth.

Ciao for Now,

Karen - [email protected]

 

[Moriah Silverleaf]

File #24 - October 10th, 2000: The Clueless And Stealth (Part One)

STEALTH: n. 1. Secret or sly action. 2. The act of stealing or going furtively into or out of a place. (The World Book Dictionary, 1976 edition - yes, 1976... my family used it for school... what? Alright! Fine! So, I'm OLD, dammit!)

Call me crazy, but that definition seems pretty clear to me. However, it's known that the clueless have difficulties understanding the above. Consider the following as cases in point:

The job was to break into a small corporate research facility and get our decker inside, where he would plant a virus into the corporate mainframe. No problem, right?

The light security we had been informed of was, in reality, a lot heavier than we had expected (basilisks), but we had cased the place pretty thoroughly, got blueprints, and formulated a plan.

The physad and the decker slipped through security into the building while the elven mage and troll street sam waited outside to cover us in case anything went wrong. Everything was going according to plan...

Until one of our number decided to join the legions of the clueless, that is.

The elven mage happened to spot a door and, breaking from plan, he decided to check and see what was behind it. (Is it Murphy's Law of Gaming #238 that states one must ALWAYS check behind doors?). Totally forgetting about taking an astral look-see, he used his Maglock Passkey, entered a hallway, and stopped at the first door he came to.

Mage: "I stop and listen at the door." (Karen note - I think this guy's played too much DnD, don't you?)
GM: You can hear regular breathing on the other side of the door. From the looks of the area, this is probably the groundskeeper's quarters.
Mage: Maybe. I'd better check. I'm opening the door.
GM: You see a bedroom. There's a man asleep on the bed. It's bloody early in the morning after all.
Mage: OK, I'll close the door quietly.
GM: Make a stealth roll for that.
Mage: Errr... I don't have stealth.

So the mage defaults to quickness (with a modifier). Rolls. No successes.

GM: The breathing stops for a moment, then resumes. Mage: OK... maybe he woke up and is just pretending to be asleep. I'm going to open the door again and check.

Nothing, still asleep. So he rolls to close the door quietly. No successes.

At this point, the rest of us, wandered off to find large solid objects to bang our heads against. We all had a good idea where this run was headed...

The mage yet again decides to open the door to make sure that, when he closed it with no successes, he hadn't woken the groundskeeper up. The guy seemed still in dreamland, so he closes the door AGAIN with no successes. He botches his listening roll, so can't hear if the guy is still breathing or not.

Disgusted, the Mage gives up on 'all this stealth crap.' He throws the door open and SHOUTS at the groundskeeper, who wakes up and reaches for his glasses. Feeling street-samish, the Mage decided not to use his mana bolt or sleep spell, opting instead to silence the groundskeeper in a more permanent fashion.

Mage: He's going for his gun! I pull out my Uzi and shoot him!
Other Players: groan in pain
Mage: Hey guys, no problem! Don't worry. I've got a silencer on my Uzi.
Other Players: feel slightly more relieved.
GM: The man is no more than five feet away. Target No. 2.
Mage: (rolls) Can't miss. I hit him with the burst so that means he takes... No, wait! I forgot. The damage level goes up on all three shots. I'm using explosive ammo!
Other Players: Drop their heads to the table.

Well, at least the rounds were quiet as they left the barrel...
The gentleman who submitted this story did say that the run continued, but eventually resulted in the decker infecting himself with his own virus

So, let's move on, shall we?
So, the runners are sneaking (this is important, they are SNEAKING) through the plumbing system of an ancient temple. They can hear a low murmur from around a sloping drop ahead of them.

After a whispered discussion, they decide to lower one of their party members around the slope to see if he can tell what's ahead.

10 meters... 15 meters... 20 meters... 25 meters.

GM: "You can hear the murmuring is increasing and there are definite, almost musical, rises and falls. It could be a chant or even a song being sung by a number of people. Or it could be a weird acoustical effect. But it sounds like a chanting murmur to you."
Player: I whisper this information to my team-mates."
GM: "They're 25 meters away and can't hear you whisper."
Player: (cups his hands to his mouth and yells) "It's definitely chanting!"
GM: (without missing a beat) "The chanting stops."

The silence at the table was TANGIBLE. Then it was broken by the sound of three hands simultaneously slapping foreheads (all the other players except one) and one slapping sound as the idiot was bitch-slapped by the remaining player.

Then, again simultaneously, every player cupped ONE hand to their mouth and put a single finger from the OTHER hand over their lips in the universal "shut up!" gesture and said, "SHHHH!"

GM: "Did anyone tie off the rope?"

Four players smiled and shook their heads.

The idiot player plummeted fifty meters to his death.
Let me take this opportunity to thank all the GMs and players who, in their commitment to CLUE, keep us informed of actions of the Clueless from around the globe.

Next month: The adventure 'Breaking into the Temple' continues. Same GM, same adventure setup, different players, and even more cluelessness. Join me, if you dare, for: Stealth, Part Two.

Karen - [email protected]

 

[Moriah Silverleaf]

File #25 - November 4th, 2000: The Clueless and Stealth, Part Two

Ahhh, my pretties. Back yet again for another sorry tale? (cue evil cackling laughter and dead runners rising from the crime scene to terrorize a hapless Lone Star cleanup crew).

This month's featured story is perfect for Halloween. You may recall that last month, in part one of this series, we had a group of runners trying to sneak into a temple? Well, when I first received the submission from an alert reader, the story was in two parts. The first part had a clueless individual being dropped by the rest of the group after blowing the group's stealth.

The second part of the story occurs during the same scenario, but involved an entirely new group of runners, which makes me REALLY sad for the GM in question. And leads to the question… can a run be cursed?

So, let us revisit the pain…
The Mission: sneak into the temple of a maniacal cult and rescue the virginal daughter of a CEO before she is sacrificed to a kraken.

During the infiltration, the intrepid group manages to 'borrow' some white acolyte robes for disguises. Clad in white from head to toe, they stealthily make their way through the twisted passages of the ancient temple.

From ahead one of the group hears muttering and they stop. It turns out they have reached the dining hall of the temple guards who are congregating for the morning meeting/briefing. As the group ponders how to go about passing this obstacle, one of them hears someone approaching fast down the hall towards them. The runners shrink back against the walls and, as the guard runs by, tackle him, incapacitate him, and then the Sam of the group (hereafter known as Mr. Bloodlust) chops off his head!

This minor commotion, though too quiet to be noticed in the meeting, disturbs a room full of 'sacred animals' being kept for sacrifices. In order to silence them Mr. Bloodlust jumps into the room and, using his combat axe, slaughters the twenty or more sheep. He does this with great abandon, spattering their blood and gibs all over the walls in the process (killing with a combat axe is MESSY).

After this little killing spree, Mr.Bloodlust leaves the carnage and returns to the group. As he passes by the body of the dead guard, he realizes he has a chance at a free weapon and, reasoning in typical sam fashion that one can never have too many guns/too much ammo, strips the cooling body of combat webbing (complete with pistols and grenades), and slips it on OVER his robes.

At this point, the group realizes that they have to pass through the meeting room in order to get to the remainder of the temple and complete the mission.

The voices from the guardroom have increased in volume as more people arrive. As the group stands around pondering their next move they hear someone in the meeting call out "Hey! Where's Abdul?"

Glancing down at the combat webbing name badge that says 'Abdul', Mr. Bloodlust gets an idea…

Of course, he consults no one else regarding this cunning plan.

He bursts into the dining hall and yells out, "Somebody killed Abdul!"

At this point, the GM stopped the game. As he puts it "I had fallen to the floor laughing so hard that I could hardly breathe!"

GM: "What the Hell were you thinking?"
Mr. Bloodlust: "Well, I figure they'll all want to investigate Abdul's death."
GM: "Okay, let's imagine this scene. An ork clad in the blood-drenched robes of an acolyte, bearing a bloody, gore encrusted combat axe and WEARING the combat webbing and name-badge of 'Abdul' rushes into a room full of security personnel and freely announces the death of somebody HE HAS MURDERED!
Mr. Bloodlust: (is quiet for a moment) "Ooops."

At that point, three other players passed notes to the GM stating they would take shots at Mr. Bloodlust during the ensuing battle.

Does it surprise you that the character didn't survive?
Personally, my imagination is still reeling from that. It's like something out of a bad comedy/action movie, don't you think?
--------------------------
Regarding our next little tidbit (which was submitted by one of CLUE's network of alert readers), this is NOT a clue story. And it's not even a stealth story. But it sends enough chills up the spine to warrant mention, especially so close to Halloween.

Please note that this account was submitted by eye-witnesses, and I did confirm.

Who needs a curse?

"My group of six runners was in the process of breaking camp to continue on our journey through some flatland. From over the horizon came the silhouette of two GMC Banshees. Not prepared for a firefight, the team scrambled to break out the ordinance, the rigger sprints for the Bison, etc.

The troll mage, who has had an unfortunate experience with Banshees in the past, panics and tosses a fireball at the closest one, throwing in all the dice he can get his hands on. The result? He rolls 28 dice for the fireball.

The group was hushed as he shook the huge handful of dice and cast them onto the table.

They came up all ones.

So, as the Banshees bear down onto the camp, the troll mage erupted into a mushroom cloud of organic debris.

We stopped playing for the night. It was a baaadddd omen…"
Wow. I hope never in my life to see that. Can you calculate the odds of that happening?

Players get complacent about the rule of one, after all, if you're rolling more than two or three dice, the odds of getting all ones are pretty negligible, right? Guess not. Let this serve as a warning to us all…

See you next month!

Karen - [email protected]

 

[Moriah Silverleaf]

File #26 - December 3rd, 2000: Born to be Wild

"Get your motor running
Head out on the highway!
Looking for adventure
In whatever comes our way."

OK, that sentiment aside, it seems that stepping into the car these days is taking your life into your hands. And it's getting worse.

----------------------

Fasten your seat belts! The clueless have hit the road again!
Most of the players were speed freaks. One owned a powerful Porsche, two of them had BMW Blitzen bikes, and the only one with a trace of common sense owned a Jackrabbit.

The newbie in our group owned one of the bikes (a veteran player had another) and had arranged to have his bike turbocharged up the hoop. In response, the veteran player had HIS bike set up with a nitrous-oxide injector and custom rocket booster.

Well, the newbie was not happy at having been outdone, but had no money to further upgrade his Blitzen. In a fit of jealousy he hid a small pack of C4 explosives on the rocket bike of the veteran player.

All this vehicle tuning costs nuyen, so the group arranges a run with their fixer. Events progressed well and led to the group needing to make a trip around the city. Of course, everyone took his own vehicle.

Cruising down the interstate, the two bikers started to play speed games. The newbie went on full throttle and managed to lead for some distance until the veteran activated his rocket booster. Needless to say, the bikers barely managed to avoid hitting other cars on the highway and causing an accident. The driver of the Porsche, however, managed to stay close. Only the little Jackrabbit was left behind, where he cruised along inconspicuously.

Engines screamed as the two bikes swerved in and out of traffic lanes. Other drivers swore and honked their horns at the two maniacs. Eventually the booster bike drew alongside the newbie and started to pull ahead.

Newbie: "That's it, I've had it. I'm pulling the remote detonator out of my jacket and activating it!"
Veteran: "Huh?"
GM: "Fine. The booster bike, along with the gallons of rocket fuel in its auxiliary tanks, goes up in a brilliant fireball, killing its rider."
Newbie: "Woo hoo!"
Veteran: "What?!?"
GM: (continuing along as if uninterrupted) to the newbie: "The explosion occurs directly in front of you and you drive straight into the blast wave."

The explosion and resulting crash finished off the newbie. Meanwhile, the Porsche closed on the bikes and, like in the movie Days of Thunder with Tom Cruise, drove straight through the black smoke and nose-dived into the crater the explosion left behind.

A few minutes later the driver of the Jackrabbit arrived on the accident scene and, after asking the Star what happened, decided to take a few days off.

Elapsed Time for this Super Hose-Up: Less than ten minutes
Result: 75% of team dead.

------------------------------------

A Street Sam, a Physad and a Shaman are hired to stop a convoy of trucks that were headed from the NAN into Seattle.

The runners find a good spot in a forested area and plan an ambush. After discussion, the Street Sam comes up with a brilliant plan! They could use a fallen tree to block the road!

The Street Sam and the Physad use their combined strength to take down a large tree. With much maneuvering they pull it from the woods and place it across the road. Then the Sam tells the Shaman to cast invisibility on the tree.

So, now there is a large invisible tree lying across the road. Thinking they have the perfect roadblock, the runners settle in to wait for their target.

While they are waiting, two commuter cars come around the curve. The first car crashes into the tree at over 100 kph, sending a shower of glass and blood across the asphalt. The second car immediately crunches into the back of the first and drives almost halfway over the smaller car.

The runners watch in stunned silence.

A third car comes from the opposite direction and it, too, impacts with the tree. Mere seconds later the spilled gasoline ignites in a blazing chain reaction of exploding cars.

The runners slink away and begin discussing Brilliant Plan B...

I was supposed to drive into Denver today to do some Christmas shopping but you know, after writing this, I think I'll just stay home...

This will conclude the efforts of CLUE for the first millennium. Do you think, just maybe, there's a chance we might see the end to Cluelessness in the second...?

(pauses to think)

Nahhhhhhh!

My best wishes to all of CLUE's faithful readers and their families for a safe and enjoyable holiday season!

See you next month,

Karen - [email protected]

 

[Moriah Silverleaf]

File #27 - January 8th, 2001: Out! Out Brief Candle!

Here it is, officially, a new millennium. We're all still here. The world was not destroyed by any wrath of god(s) and somehow we've managed, so far, to avoid blowing ourselves up (miracles DO happen).

However I am very sorry to report that, despite the ongoing efforts of C.L.U.E., Cluelessness has continued to thrive. They're lurking out there… Driving to work, walking to class, shopping at the mall… they can be found anywhere, at any time. The Clueless have infested every level of society, from drunkards beating themselves to death with frozen turnips (yes, that DID happen) to the US Presidential election (a prime example of mass Cluelessness, in my humble opinion).

Sigh. Oh, well. It keeps me busy

Now - on to business.

There is a quote that I think particularly appropriate for this File: "… a poor player who struts and frets his hour upon the stage and is heard from no more. It is a tale (of) an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

See for yourself.

* * * * *

We had decided to play Shadowrun one night and so constructed some quickie characters: a Sammie and a Sniper/Hitman. The third player arrived late and was still putting together his character while the GM set up the evening's job.

The run was a tricky one - a rogue Fuchi Spec-Ops team had broken into a board meeting and was holding a large number of stockholders, execs and family members hostage in the boardroom. They were demanding 50 million nuyen in payment and a helicopter to take them out of Seattle.

The Corp decided that hiring a shadowrun team to free the hostages for one million was much more wallet-friendly. However, since the hostage takers were their own people, Fuchi wanted the whole incident kept quiet.

At this point, the third player finished his character and the other players asked him what he was. The new character introduces himself as "Death" and said he was a death mage, complete with white face paint, scythe, black robes, skeletal figure, anti-charisma and annoying laugh. The Sammie player suggested that the character be converted to a shaman because of the identification with death, but the player shook his head vehemently, countering that "Death shamans have minuses and mages get to call fire elementals." He followed this comment with Incessant High Pitched Giggling (from now on referred to as IHPG).

Stunned speechless by that logic, the players and game continued. They managed to bargain the corpers up and used some of the extra money to hire a freelance rigger with a chopper.

The plan: Have the rigger drop the Sniper on the building across the street and then drop the Sammie on the actual building housing the hostages. The Sniper would take his shot and drop the Spec-Op team leader (a troll) through the glass window of the boardroom. The Death Mage would make his way into the building while the Sammie rappelled down a rope to the boardroom window. Once the sniper had killed the leader the other two PCs would simultaneously enter the room and waste the terrorists while the Sniper provided any assistance necessary.

How this can be classified as 'keeping things quiet' is beyond me…

Regardless, the runners are placed as planned. The Mage was waiting with some lightly armed security personnel outside the boardroom, ready to break in when called. As the two other team members were setting up (the sniper on top of the other building taking aim and the Sammie rappelling down the building) the Mage got bored.

GM: All right, you've got the troll in your sights and you've his head right in the crosshairs. You-

Mage: I'm bored. I'm going to walk around. (the three others turn to stare at the mage player)

GM: (pause) Okay… where are you going?

Mage: Outside.

GM: Okay, you go out on the street.

Mage: Do I see anybody?

GM: Yeah, there are a lot of people walking around. Closest to you is a middle-aged man in a corp uniform with glasses and a briefcase.

Mage: I walk up to him and tap him on the shoulder.

GM: Sure. He turns around, sees you and turns pale.

Mage: COOL! (IHPG) I say to him "I am Death, I will take you!" (IHPG)

The other two players hang their heads.

GM: Okay, he goes even paler and passes out.

Mage: COOLER! I pull out my scythe and begin laughing, pointing to others and saying "I will take you ALL!" (IHPG)

While the Mage is getting his jollies (and attracting a crowd outside the building) the Sammie hooks himself to the side of the building, pulls out a charge of C4, and attached it to the side of the building in order to blow in the boardroom window.

Sammie: Okay, I set the timer for fifteen seconds.

GM: Sure. The numbers read fifteen and begin to count down.

Sniper: What?? Do I still have the radio? Can I talk to him?

GM: Yes

Sniper: "What do you think you're doing?"

Sammie: "Setting a charge, what does it look like?"

Sniper: "This is a hush job, remember?!"

Sammie: "Oh, yeah. I forgot. Ooops." (pause) Ummmm, I grab the explosive and throw it off the building.

Mage (in the background) "I am DEATH!" (IHPG)

Sniper: What?? Why don't you deactivate it-

GM: Too late. You grab the explosive and chuck it away from the building. A few seconds later there is a gigantic explosion beneath you."

Sammie: Oooops.

At this the terrorists in the boardroom panic and shoot a hostage. The sniper takes his shot and blows the troll's head off. The Mage then realizes he was supposed to be doing something and runs back up into the building.

GM: You notice the helicopter is flying away.

Sammie/Sniper: (together) What?!

Mage: "I am DEATH! (IHPG)

GM: You hear over the radio "This is drek! I'm not being paid enough to have Fuchi pissed off at me."

Sammie: I'm leaving. (rolls his athletics)

GM: (winces at the number of ones) The pin you set to hold you on the side of the building is stuck.

Sammie: Crap. Umm… I take out my Ingram smartgun and go full auto on the window, then I'll break through.

GM: (noting the fact that the Sammie's gun has neither sound nor flash suppression). Okay.

After the noise fest, the Sammie breaks clean through the window, with the sniper effectively covering his entrance.

Sniper: I'm shooting the terrorists.

Sammie: I open fire on the terrorists with my Ingram.

Mage: I am DEATH! (IHPG)

GM: (dice rolling) You plug one of them. He's down. The Sammie kills his target. There are three more left. One is holding a hostage.

Mage: "I am DEATH! (IHPG)

Sammie: I'll go full auto on the guys that don't have hostages.

Mage: "I am DEATH! (IHPG)

Sniper: I'll go for the guy with the hostage.

GM: (rolling) You disable one of your targets, the other is dead. The guy with the hostage gets one between the eyes.

Sniper: Okay, I keep scanning the room for any more bad guys.

Sammie: I shoot the guy again to make sure he's dead then I begin to comfort the civilians.

Mage: "I am DEATH! (IHPG, except the giggling is much louder and extended this time)

Sammie: What else is happening?

GM: Well, there's a huge crater at the base of the building. A crowd has gathered because of that and the death mage, and your helicopter is long gone.

Mage: "I am DEATH! (IHPG)

Sammie: (grabs at head). Ah, Crap! This run is screwed! Fuchi's not going to let us live! (looks up with an evil twinkle in his eye). The terrorists did this!

The Sammie laughs maniacally and proceeds to shoot every civilian in the room except for one, which he reasons would be valuable for reward purposes. Then he declares quite lucidly, "No Witnesses." He shoots the last remaining hostage in the head. He is about to go for the death mage (after the mage has said his favourite line for the fortieth time) but the sniper takes him out.

Sniper: Crap. Oh well, I pack up my gun and walk out.

GM: OK, as you go to leave you finally notice the same surveillance camera that is on every single other downtown building.

Sniper: Well, I'm not doing anything suspicious.

GM: You see two figures peek out of the maintenance door. They say "Freeze! Lonestar!"

Sniper: Oh, drek.

The sniper was found in possession of a highly illegal rifle and cyberware enhancements. He is incarcerated and, being SINless, promptly disappears into the organ donation bank. The Sammie's body is taken apart for his 'ware.

The kicker on this whole screw-up was that the Death Mage was the only survivor, as his only response to the Fuchi interrogators was "I am DEATH! (IHPG). They determined he was no threat.

* * * * *

While reading this, did anyone else have Monty Python's The Meaning of Life come to mind, specifically the whole death sketch?

So, is there anyone out there who plans to attend Denver's GhenghisCon in February? I'm planning on going sometime over that weekend, most likely Saturday. I'll be wearing my 'Get C.L.U.E.d In!' T-shirt (hey, yes it's a shameless self-plug… so?? . If you spot me wandering around, stop and say Hi!

Ciao for Now,

Karen Karen - [email protected]

 

[Moriah Silverleaf]

File #28 - February 12th, 2001CRASH AND BURN

Back yet again, my faithful readers? Wow, are you gluttons for punishment!

The perpetrator himself submitted this month's first story of terminal cluelessness. Apparently he read my column and "felt the need to turn himself in." Proof positive that the C.L.U.E. Foundation IS, slowly but surely, managing to raise public awareness of the cluelessness that abounds in our society.

Ahhhh, the sweet smell of success… (or is it just that the cat's litter box needs cleaning again?)

* * * * *

The job was cliché class easy. Somebody had stolen some heavy ordinance and we were supposed to intercept the semi in transit.

I was the rigger, Hammerhead. I had just spent a minor fortune on my baby, an armored van with all the luxuries of home. I didn't want my baby getting shot up in some road duel so I decided to come up with a plan that involved us not getting shot at.

Simple enough, right?

The plan was to take the semi by surprise and the others (at the time) thought my idea a good one. We parked at the end of a T-intersection where we could get a clear shot at the vehicle's driver as he came to the intersection

Right on schedule the target came roaring towards us. The team flung open the van doors and opened fire.

We were so proud of ourselves! We took out the entire crew of the vehicle before they could fire off one shot! Now we just had to wait for the vehicle to stop and we'd run out, grab the loot and take off.

However, I had forgotten one thing. A very basic rule of physics, that reads 'an object at rest stays at rest; an object in motion stays in motion.'

The semi, now uncontrolled, continued to barrel down on us - and my vehicle wasn't even running!

In a fit of panic we opened fire on the truck itself. Yeah, on a vehicle containing an unnamed heavy ordinance.

So we ended up with a giant, uncontrolled flaming ball of some kind of napalm-like substance barreling down on our sitting van.

The last thing that went through the street sam's mind was "Maybe if I just close the side doors…"

Signed: the ghost of Hammerhead

* * * * * *

That's one way to kill off your entire team in six seconds or less.

This next sad turn of events, submitted by an Alert Danish Reader, occurred in the Chicago Containment zone.

* * * * *

Players:
Anderson: human PhysAd
Washington: human shaman
Doc: troll street sam

The group was after a gang. This gang had holed up in an abandoned church. There is a very old apartment building, badly in need of repair, across the street from the church. After some planning, the group places Anderson on the roof of the old building and Dock and Washington in a third-floor apartment of the same building.

Washington levitates a block of C12 and drops it into the alley behind the church, right next to where the gang had parked their car. Anderson shoots the lookout in the bell tower and the bomb goes off. The church partially collapses and begins to burn. The smoke and fire drive the gangers out and a short but messy firefight ensues, leaving the gangers dead in the street.

At this point Anderson (on the roof) has taken a medium wound and Doc sustained a light wound.

Doc looks down at the dead bodies. He wants to make sure that all the gangers are dead and maybe score some ownerless gear. But how to get down there quick???

Doc, the troll, gets an idea!!

Instead of running down three flights of stairs, he decides to use his rope and rappel down the building.

Doc: "Is there anything here I can tie a rope to?"
GM: "The apartment is pretty much cleared out. There's an old-fashioned hot water radiator on the other side of the room."
Doc: "Perfect! I tie my rope to it and go out the window, feet first."
GM: The window is pretty small. It's a tight fit for you."
Doc: "I wiggle around and squeeze my way through."
Washington: "I'll give him a push, I guess."
GM: "With Washington's help you scrape through the opening and start to fall."
Doc: "I'll break my fall about two meters from the ground."
GM: "You grip the rope to stop. Washington, behind you the radiator is violently ripped from the wall and flies through the air. It strikes you hard in the back before flying out the window. Resist 5S, no combat pool. Doc, you're fall does not break. You hit the ground on your back. Hard.
Anderson: rolls on the floor, laughing hysterically.

Net result:
Washington and Anderson: moderately wounded
Doc: In a coma, desperately needing a new liver (0 successes on a permanent damage roll) and they are still in the CZ.

* * * * *

Well, there you have it. Tune in next month as the clueless discover various ways to be messed up by security surveillance in: "Smile, You're On Candid Camera!"

Karen - [email protected]

 

[Moriah Silverleaf]

File #29 - March 1st, 2001: What Dreams May Come

We all have dreams. Some of them are impossible, some improbable, and some are attainable with effort, patience and perseverance.

Since I was old enough to walk I've loved horses. When I was a teenager I even had one for a while. Tailor was a great horse, but after two years my family couldn't afford him any more and we had to sell him. From that sad day onwards I've dreamed of having my own horse again.

Yesterday, after twenty-five years of waiting and wishing, that day came. Tristan is a grey gelding of indeterminate origin but amazing potential. I can hardly wait to start working with him.

But, you say, this is a Shadowrun column. What does this have to do with Shadowrun?

To support my purchase and ongoing expenses, I've had to (temporarily) take a full-time job. In the evenings, my husband (who is working on his Masters of Computer Engineering while holding down his own full-time job) hogs the computer. He has to - assignments have to be completed and submitted on time. The time and opportunity to write CLUE, at least for the next three months or so, will be extremely scarce. In the free time I DO have, I want to enjoy my dream horse.

So, with that said, I've decided to take a short hiatus from CLUE. Don't think I've given it up. There will be columns in the future, just not on a monthly basis. Please keep sending me your tales of woe and cries for help - I'll need your input for future files.

Remember - the Clueless are out there. There is no escape. Be vigilant!

Ciao (for now)
Karen
Karen - [email protected]