I was active here around 2008-2009, though it seems my post count must've been reset sometime in the past decade and a half. Glad there is still a community here, though I recognize basically none of the names [except, of course, that immortal wizard, Strange2]. Feels like it's been a lifetime, though I can still recall memories of those distant adventures.
How long have the current active members been here? Who are the "veteran" roleplayers of this day-and-age? Any cool stories or interesting tales y'all would care to share?
I check back this place once every two years seems like. I don't know if anybody else is afflicted with the perpetual habit or not, but I remember the good times we all had. For me it has been nearly a decade since I was a regular contributor, but I still think about this place sometimes. I don't know if anyone will read this post in the future or if every person has moved on, but just know that we all had some great times while it lasted. There are times when I'll be sitting at my desk thinking on our interactions through the perspective of years gone by and a smile still comes to my face.
Also, I was wondering if anyone else would be interested in helping me get an archive of our threads going, perhaps on Google Drive or some other platform, so that we can view them later, even if they are lost from the forums. If anyone is interested in helping, just message me. I'll work on setting it up so anyone can view the archive but only selected people will be able to edit it.
Upon returning from lunch, Mouse and Bigs were summoned by the boss and quickly made their way to the director's office.
Mouse spotted the Yale mug Hooper was sipping on and took note of it. Then the director asked them both about Kentucky and vampires, which seemed to catch Bigs off-guard. Mouse however, responded with his characteristically sly smart-assery:
"Well, I don't know much about vampires but I've seen a few Bela Lugosi movies in my time. An assignment to bourbon country sounds like a helluva first day on the job, though!"
The glare Mouse received in return could've slain a man less accustomed to chronic under-achievement. After a tense and momentary silence, Hooper wordlessly handed each of his new field agents a dossier under the freshly-minted DSSP letterhead. Mouse took his copy and skimmed through it as the conversation carried on, leaving Bigs and Hooper to sort out the details of travel, requisitons, and other mundane arrangements.
-----
CASE FILE: DSSP-1966-KY-01
...mysterious nocturnal activities reported by residents, with a series of unexplained disappearances taking place concurrently. Local law enforcement lacks capacity for exhaustive investigation and has turned up minimal evidence without conclusive leads in case...
Mouse covered the first page, but it seemed lacking in useful details and read more like the autopsy of poor policework. He turned to the second page.
...witnesses report strange activities taking place in remote locations. Detectives unable to make headway on reports of "disappearing figures" and conclude alcohol may be involved in misleading accounts...
The second page, at the least, had included the idea that perhaps drunken hermits were unreliable investigation assets. This brilliant insight from the local investigators wasn't exactly the juicy bits though, so Mouse continued to the third page.
...bodies found desiccated and entirely drained of blood with apparent puncture wounds and heavy bruising around neck and throat. Both human and animal remains discovered in isolated areas...
On the third page, buried between paragraphs of filler and nonsense, were some striking sentences that immediately caught the special agent's attention. Privately, Mouse wondered what sort of podunk investigator would leave such tasty information until the third page of the report. He reflected that there were probably plenty of people who had thought the same while reading reports he'd filed during his career.
-----
Having nearly tuned out of the conversation, Mouse heard his name come out of the director's mouth and snapped his attention away from the document.
"You got it. sir," Mouse responded without being sure what was asked of him, while pivoting the conversation, "So, is there anything else we need to sort out before leaving? Otherwise, best bet is to get on the road if we want to get down there before sunset and the local sheriff clocks out for the day."
Mouse hoped his improvising in the previous sentences was dexterous enough to cover up that he hadn't been listening.
The former MP and the former G-Man sat side by side at the counter of the greasy spoon.
Around them the lunch rush was in full swing. Rail workers stuffed their mouthes, the cook moved with careful rhythm, and grease sizzled on the grill. It was the very picture of Americana in stark detail.
Mouse turned his body slightly toward his lunch partner, noticing the army-man's apparent state of ill ease.
"Do I have a clue what we're doing here, ehh? Maybe not, but I have a few thoughts..." Mouse trailed off as the proprietor set down a glass of coca-cola in front of him, ordered moments before.
"Well, let me frame it from a rationalist's perspective," he went on, "The world is filled with many things, numerous events and phenomena. Some of them are well-understood, others remain a mystery, but through the efforts of great minds the mystery is drawn back, you see?"
For a moment, Mouse waited to see how Bigs would respond, but the MP seemed eager to hear him finish his thought so Mouse continued on.
"We've only known about electricity for a century or two, right? And yet, lightning has been observed since before history began. The Greeks thought it was Zeus casting bolts down from the heavens, a weapon gifted from the Cyclopes. In their day, this was a perfectly valid explanation. Nowadays, we know better, of course. Lightning is just a release of stored energy, like the snap of a coiled spring returning to position."
"Now, I expect there are plenty of things we're still in the 'Zeus throwing thunderbolts' stage of understanding, even today. Likewise, I'm sure there will be real smart folks who will look at these unexplained phenomena and make sense of them. However, I'm not a scientist, I'm not a great mind who can see beyond the horizon of knowledge, I'm just a man of the here-and-now," Mouse smiled to himself at this sentence.
"This world operates on laws and rules. The way I see it, we might just be primitive savages chasing lightning or whatever else, but we still got a job to do. The Greeks might not have known what lightning was, but they still had to put out the fires it started. Similarly, we might have things going on today we don't grasp yet, but somebody still has to take a look when the smoke starts rising."
"Maybe that's what the DSSP is, after all...just a big fancy fire department, and we're the fire-fighters."
Mouse laughed heartily after finishing this thought while putting his hand on his belly as if trying to contain the laughter.
"Yeah, we're the firemen..."
The food arrived, and the men took to their greasy repast.
Mouse thanked the departmental director, giving off the momentary impression that he was slightly miffed but his professional demeanor quickly returned.
At the conclusion of the meeting, Mouse went to inspect his new office. He was met with a musty storage room that smelled vaguely of old cleaning chemicals and mothballs. The majority of the space was filled with chairs and assorted miscellaneous furniture, obviously long since last use based on the coat of dust over everything. The special agent set down his suitcase just inside the room and loosened his tie. He removed his coat and set it atop a chair after wiping some dust away.
He spent the next several minutes transferring much of the furniture to the adjacent so-called "office", though each was little more than a glorified storage closet. Likely, whoever took that room later would need to move it further on like some corporate game of hot potato.
'Ohh well, that's the price they pay for showing up late' Mouse thought to himself with a chuckle.
Once the room had been cleared sufficiently, he was left with only two chairs, a table, and a few filing cabinets. He arranged the table and chairs into a makeshift desk where he could set up operations, facing the empty doorway. From this position, he had a direct view of the entrance and reception desk of the DSSP offices.
'Hmm, it'll be easy to see who comes and goes, if nothing else' he observed, noticing as a new face arrived and approached Sarah's private dominion. The newcomer spoke with the receptionist and Mouse overheard him give his name and position, making a mental note of this new information. Sarah's seemingly-uncharacteristic friendliness to this science fella also struck him.
'Maybe they know each other from somewhere...' Mouse conjectured regarding Sarah and this individual, '...I'll have to follow up.'
The agent looked down at his watch and checked the time:
...12:21...
Stepping out of his sparse office he scanned the area and his eyes landed on the first face he saw, Bigs, sitting at the central cubicle he'd been assigned.
"Hey, army-man! I know we just got here, but I see you didn't bring a bag lunch. Whaddya say we grab some chow at the diner up the street?"
Mouse took a seat directly across from Bueller and listened to the introductions, with a slightly perplexed look on his face. Although he had been briefed, he was still hesitant to embrace the explanations given. He didn't wish to make his skepticism obvious so he nodded and smiled politely during the run-down on departmental affairs.
During his time at the FBI, Mouse had investigated cases involving a number of things. Kidnappings, homicides, racketeering, and even espionage investigations were familiar to him. Despite his experience, this was new territory.
As the conversation worked its way around the table, he sat patiently and observed Hooper, Dr. Broom, Bigs, and Bueller all say their piece. His mind drifted slightly and he recalled the conversation of the previous day...
-----
The Previous Day - FBI Headquarters
"...and so, we're sending you to Central Intel. Frankly, I don't trust these yoo-hoos over in Langley as far as I can throw 'em. How long you been with the bureau, son?" the Director asked Mouse.
"Err...fourteen years, sir," Mouse sputtered out.
"Ahh, so you weren't around for chasing Nazi saboteurs or most of the commie huntin', ehh," The Director continued, "Well, no matter...I'll need a man on the inside, somebody I can trust, someone to keep me in the loop about this whole thing, you understand?"
"Of course, sir."
"Good. Just because Capitol Hill wants to set up some ramshackle outfit doesn't mean I like it. Domestic investigation should be our territory, ehh but that don't concern you. Just get down there tomorrow, see what they're about, and have a report for me by Monday. You think you can handle all that?"
"Yes, sir," Mouse smiled professionally.
"Attaboy, my mole on the inside!" The Director laughed to himself.
'Or Mouse if you prefer' the special agent thought to himself.
-----
Present - DSSP Offices
Sensing a break in the conversation, Mouse sat forward and took the opportunity to introduce himself to the group.
"Well, I'm certainly looking forward to getting started," he stated, taking a moment to glance at the assembled faces, "Up until yesterday, I was a special agent with the Bureau so I'm hoping my investigative experience can be of use to this department. Ohh, right...most folks call me Mouse, by the way," Mouse smiled before continuing with a brief explanation, "Academy nickname."
After speaking, he leaned back into his chair and glanced at the face across from him, Bueller, the forlorn-looking man with a vaguely suspicious appearance and crazed demeanor.
'Well this fella certainly seems right in his element...'
I was active here around 2008-2009, though it seems my post count must've been reset sometime in the past decade and a half. Glad there is still a community here, though I recognize basically none of the names [except, of course, that immortal wizard, Strange2]. Feels like it's been a lifetime, though I can still recall memories of those distant adventures.
How long have the current active members been here? Who are the "veteran" roleplayers of this day-and-age? Any cool stories or interesting tales y'all would care to share?
He wiped some sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief as he exited the elevator at the CIA headquarters.
He was not an impressive man, neither on paper or in-person. Within the FBI, his career record was insignificant and he had passed through several divisions having never been seriously considered for promotion. Though Mouse was an above-average special agent, he seemed to lack ambition and the most common word in his file was "satisfactory".
Until the previous morning, he expected nothing more than an unremarkable career within the Bureau as an investigator, followed by a pleasant retirement with a pension.
All of this changed, though, after a fateful meeting with the Director...
-----
May 31st, 1966 - Washington DC
Mouse's supervisor mentioned that "the man upstairs" wanted to see him.
Mouse had only met the Director on the day he was sworn in as a special agent, a cold morning in February of 1952. He could think of no good reason why there was interest in him now. This made Mouse very nervous.
Upon confirming his meeting with the secretary, Mouse had entered the door marked "J. Edgar Hoover - FBI Director" and tried his best to put on a brave face.
Over the next forty-five minutes, a conversation took place which would change the course of the unassuming agent's life permanently.
-----
June 1st, 1966 - Langley, Virgina
Mouse approached the reception desk and nodded politely to the serious-looking woman sitting before him.
He provided his CIA-issued identification and smiled at the receptionist. The receptionist did not smile back, and Mouse felt uncomfortable.
"Clyde Roebuck," the woman stated with a tone that could be mistake for irritation.
"Ahh yes, most folks just call me Mouse, though. It's an academy nickname you see-" Mouse replied before being abruptly cut-off.
"The meeting has already started," the receptionist interrupted him while recording something on some tedious-looking paperwork.
Mouse thanked her and picked up his suitcase before stepping toward the conference table, where several individuals were already present.
In his head, Mouse privately hoped that he wouldn't be the last to arrive that morning. He hated to be the latest person to show up to a meeting.
This joke took nearly half a decade to pay off. 4 years of uncertainty and waiting, just so that you might one day come upon it years later and be shamed by a poop and pee joke. The universe is serendipitous, indeed.
Indeed. Every time I visit I feel like a sailor returning to a port he hasn't seen in years and inquiring after news of old friends to find that I've missed them by months and years and then leaving a message for them should they stop by again sometime in the future.
I check back this place once every two years seems like. I don't know if anybody else is afflicted with the perpetual habit or not, but I remember the good times we all had. For me it has been nearly a decade since I was a regular contributor, but I still think about this place sometimes. I don't know if anyone will read this post in the future or if every person has moved on, but just know that we all had some great times while it lasted. There are times when I'll be sitting at my desk thinking on our interactions through the perspective of years gone by and a smile still comes to my face.
I am unaware if anyone who still visits this place remembers me, but I am planning on returning anyways.
Background: I started roleplaying on this site in roughly 2008 and kept up for, perhaps two to three years. In the intervening time period, I made several efforts to resume, but the banality of my conscious existence prevented a full-fledged attempt to be made. Needless to say, I was unsuccessful.
If anyone would like to collaborate, I will be creating a new thread which, I hope, will allow us all to escape into new and fantastic realms of fiction. It will be a simple premise, with little narrative, and accessible to those veterans of our storied art as well as the laymen who aspire only to gaze upon the fantastic.
Thank you and good day, I welcome any questions or greetings from those I have known and all new-comers.
The shock of having fired his weapon was quickly washed away as a hard knock smashed into his foot, and nearly into his face. Instantly the fear and anxiety left him, and new-found rage made his way into him.
'You bastard,' Solo thought to himself as he dodged the swing at his face. Immediately he tossed the empty handgun at the elderly veteran while the man in the leather jacket was yelling at him. Solo turned and yelled at Richard to leave before going to the driver's side door of his car. Richard continued to stand in front of the car with a bewildered look. Solo took this as a sign that he was useless. He opened the door and popped the trunk, just as he heard sirens blaring a few blocks away.
"Guess the pigs were close, huh?" Solo yelled to the others near his car as he moved to the now open trunk, "Well see how they hold up to this old girl."
As he said this he retrieved two things from the trunk of his luxury Lincoln; a duffel bag loaded with supplies, and a fully-automatic Avtomat Kalashnikov model of 1947 he had meant to be a present for a friend the next day, which he proceeded to load with a magazine of 7.62 mm rounds. It appeared his friend would not be needing as much as Solo, however. He didn't much care for the friend, actually, nor any of his friends, as he thought about it. Indeed, life had gotten boring, almost as though he were a walking zombie, moving from one expensive meal to the next, he knew he couldn't do it anymore and that it was killing him slowly.
You know you want to live, don't you?
Oh, right. He wanted to live. Well. Now was as good a time as any, he supposed.
Solo noticed the Greek approach them and listened to Strange's request, replying with, "I'll go at once," and an affirmative nod. Though he could speculate at the nature of the unspoken intercourse between Strange and the Greek, Solo instead choose merely to complete the task he was given, however simple. He made his way to the hall, watching as men of the band, and its recruits marched up and down the hillside carrying cauldrons and other cooking utensils. There weren't any servants available to help him with his goal, however.
Nonetheless, it wasnt difficult for Solo to locate the sleeping quarters and go from room to room until he spotted what he was looking for. Within one of the rooms, he discovered the oak chest with silver latch. Facing upward was the branded mark of the Band, indicating the ownership of this container. Solo squatted down and lifted the bottom up from one side with one hand while moving the other along its underside. After this he positioned his arms so he could lift the heavy object without putting undo strain on his back, making sure to keep his spine straight and lift with the legs. Throwing out his back on the first day, the first basic task, even, would likely not have been the best course of action.
Though the chest was large and cumbersome, as it was weighed down with armor, Solo was able to lift it to his chest and began making his way back to Strange. He was athletic and fit, so this task did not bother him, though he cursed himself for not returning earlier in the day, having overheard some men discussing earlier training sessions, as he passed. After a short while he found Strange again, near some men who were beginning the process of chopping wood from grove of pine.
He set the chest down, with a slight grunt before the older man and stepped back. He expected that Strange would need him to carry the chest back soon as soon as whatever business he needed it for was through. Keeping this in mind, he stepped back from the chest and stood awaiting further instruction.
Solo was caught off guard by the attack and stumbled backward, out into the street, clutching at his throat with his left hand. Under normal circumstances, this would've been the time he reconsidered his actions and backed off, but late nights and hard, yuppie partying have a way of limiting a man's inhibitions. Without thinking, he reached into his coat and drew the miniature handgun he was carrying, fully intending to blow the man away. However, due to the fact that his throat had just been violently battered, his aim was pretty far off and he fired all seven shots wildly outward.
The first bullet struck a wall, far left, embedding itself in the old brick structure. The next two hit a wall, to the right. Another shattered the window of the abandoned cafe. Two more shots entered through the doorway of the building where Rosie had been cleaning. Finally, the last shot struck an old man passing by, though Solo was unable to determine where he had been hit. Immediately after the rush of the excitement wore off, Solo felt his stomach drop.
Also, I was wondering if anyone else would be interested in helping me get an archive of our threads going, perhaps on Google Drive or some other platform, so that we can view them later, even if they are lost from the forums. If anyone is interested in helping, just message me. I'll work on setting it up so anyone can view the archive but only selected people will be able to edit it.
Solo was a young man, going on his seventeenth year in the village surrounding Gunn's Hall. As the years went on, he yearned to join the Band of Merry Friends on one of their raiding expeditions, as many boys in the area often did. It was very romantic and exciting to watch the longships depart each year, filled with adventurous men, only to return loaded down with loot. However, he was, throughout most of his youth, a rather short and thin individual, and was often laughed away by the veterans who he wished to accompany. In the previous year, though, he had grown remarkably and spent a great deal of time hauling nets full of fish on the small vessel he constructed to help him ply the trade. He had hoped this would be the year he could finally join the Band and find glory and excitement on the battlefield.
His desire to join the band stemmed from more than youthful exuberance, however. Indeed, his father had been one of the Band, nearly ten years prior, and it had seen his death during a particularly brutal expedition into Norman territory. Solo's father had been a long serving member of the Band, and had a reputation as one of the most well-behaved brothers of the group. This stemmed from his father's background as a member of the Byzantine Army, a Kentarch hailing from Thrace, near the capital of Constantinople. Throughout many campaigns, he had found himself to be an excellent soldier and was given command of a kentarchiai of forty men. One year however, the Thrace themata met heavy resistance on an expedition in Anatolia, and his unit was captured and sold into slavery by the Saracens.
Many years of slavery passed and Solo's father was eventually sold to a Celtic nobleman. During a raid, the Band had accidentally freed him and through a combination of fate and gratitude he stayed with them until his death, years later. During this time, he married a local girl who bore him a daughter and a son. The daughter had died of fever in her second year, but Solo managed to outlive his father, and later his mother, who had gone mad and cast herself into the sea upon hearing of her husband's death. A boy of only nine, Solo survived on the hospitality of the townsfolk and later taught himself to fish, constructing a new craft each year to aid him. Now, eight years later, he hoped he could live up to his late father's destiny by joining the Band, himself.
On this eventful day, Solo had been fishing in the waters surrounding the island directly opposite the side where the explosion occurred. Though he thought the commotion was odd, he assumed it must simply have been thunder and so he returned at the usual time, to his shack on the shore, near the village proper. Upon his arrival, he noticed that things were a bit off. After salting and storing his daily catch, he ventured into town. There were men drilling up on the hillside near Gunns Hall! This could only mean one thing; a raid was being organized and the Band was recruiting.
Solo rushed to his shack, and grabbed his purchased shield, leather armor, and dagger. These things he rushed to strap to himself before he retrieved his most prized possession, his fathers spathion, a double-edged, heavy, longsword. His father had given it to the Greek the day he had died with instructions to return it to Solo, should he ever choose to follow the same path one day.
After checking that he had grabbed everything, Solo began to eagerly run up the hillside toward Gunns Hall. Though he was familiar with most of the veterans, as many in the village were, he knew the Greek best of all, due to the particular friendship between him and Solos father. When times had been difficult for Solo, the Greek often made sure Solo had a place to sleep and food to eat. These facts made Solo hope to find the tan mediterranean when he arrived at the hall, but as he approached, the only one could find was Strange.
Hoping that Strange would remember his father, even if he did not remember Solo from his younger days hanging about the hall, he approached.
"Hail, Strange the Rus. I am Solo, son of Elias of Constantinople. I hear you are looking for able-bodied recruits, and though I have no experience in combat, I hope that I can prove to you and the brothers that I am up to the task," Solo stated to the warchief before him.
After exiting the still moving vehicle and angrily crossing the empty street, Solo was mildly startled to hear a voice coming from his side. His first instinct was to reach for the miniature 9 mm Beretta he carried with him, on account of him being in a dangerous neighborhood. On this matter he hesitated, instead choosing to turn towards his would-be aggressor.
'Just my goddamn luck, another disenfranchised f**ker,' Solo thought to himself as he spotted the modestly dressed individual approaching him, he simply repeated the words back with an angry tone, "Is there a problem?!" He turned fully to face this new person and to get a better view of him.
"I'll tell you what there's a problem here!" He yelled, his body seething with rage as a result of the loss he had suffered on his phone, "There's a punk-ass with a bone to pick to the left of me and a guy who looks like an uglier Jack Kerouac in front of me!"
'Maybe this night isn't a total loss after all,' Solo thought as he readied himself for a fight. The cocaine and scotch buzz left over in his body from the office party and subsequent escapade at the club had been steadily declining over the last half-an-hour, but the prospect of street fight brought a rush of adrenaline that felt like a godsend into his body. In truth, he had been mentally hoping and preparing for this ever since he had left the club earlier in the evening. Although he wasn't a great fighter, he could hold his own, he thought, though it might've simply been the confidence boost of the coke. Besides if things went south he could dive for the car or, barring that, reach for his gun. In the instant all these thoughts raced through his brain at astounding speed, only the idea to reach for the gun seemed appealing at this point, and he forced himself not to act on the impulse.
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