As pleased as punch.
May. 17th, 2002 03:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
davywavySister and I sat down last night and brainstormed the plot for Garou of the Baskervilles, and we've come up with something *evil*. It's very simple, nice, linear and easy. And if it gets solved, I'll be astonished, impressed, and somewhat gratified.
Here's the first draft of the flyer; it'll be changed again yet, but I'm just so chuffed at the moment I'm posting it anyway.
`Were they the footprints of a man or a woman?'
Dr. Mortimer looked strangely at us for an instant, and his voice sank almost to a whisper as he answered:
`Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!'
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle: “The Hound of the Baskervilles”
Devon, late 1942
Snow was falling over the platform as the private train pulled into the station. The blackout left the entire building in darkness, and were it not for the train stopping you might have believed it deserted. You stepped from the train onto the platform, the only illumination coming from the carriage lights through the open doors, and looked about. Twenty-one Vampires, some known to you, some not, gathered from throughout the Empire and Allies for this one night, each of them possessing some skill or piece of knowledge that may be of use in the coming talks.
Unconsciously, you all moved closer together, feeling the need of shared protection. You knew only too well where you were – Dartmoor. Miles from civilisation, and in the very heart of the territory of the Lupines, the Werewolves, your eternal foes. Only extreme circumstances could have brought you here.
British Intelligence had carried reports from Norway of German efforts to isolate a new compound called Deuterium - heavy water - which might one day lead the Nazis to a terrible new weapon. If the only way to fight this new menace is to forge an alliance – however brief – with the Lupines, then it must be done. You were not reassured by the knowledge that the Werewolves are as unhappy about this situation as are you.
A small fleet of Bentley Limousines ferried you from the station to your final destination – Baskerville Hall. Sir Henry Baskerville, Ancilla to the Ventrue, had lived here for years, the only Vampire allowed to live in the heart of Lupine territory. Ambassador to the Werewolf nation, they tolerate him, nothing more. You were once again reminded about where you were when you arrived. The Chauffeurs grimaced at you, and wrinkled their noses as if you stank as they opened your doors. Courteous, but it was a façade; they were werewolves in human form. If you were not here with their invitation, you are sure that you would have been dead in an instant.
Your cases were dumped unceremoniously in the drive and the cars sped away, leaving you alone in the falling snow. You looked up at the house before you. You had been told that ancient magics created when this place was a meeting point for garou and kindred long ago would prevent you form using certain of your vampiric powers. This knowledge did not worry you further – if the Werewolves decided to destroy you, there would be little you could do about it anyway.
Sir Henry, your host, greeted you with all appearance of warmth and welcome. He explained that the leaders of the Werewolves would appear some time in the early hours, some hours away. He advised you to rest after your journey, and gave you permission to roam freely in his house. He had no secrets that you would find, he assured you. Relax, he said. You shall need to be alert and intelligent to get a final treaty with the inhabitants of this moor. He joked with you about the tale that Conan Doyle had once written about his home, and told you that the real hounds that inhabited the moor were even more dangerous than those encountered by Sherlock Holmes. You laughed, nervously, along with the rest.
He first took you to his ballroom, where a small meal of fresh blood was served, before each clan retired to a separate room to discuss their plans for the coming night. After some time of this, you returned to the Dining Room and Ballroom, to await Sir Henry.
A cough from the butler surprised you all. You turned, and saw that he was pale and drawn. If you would excuse me, Sirs and Ladies, he said, it appears that, during your meetings, someone has murdered the master.
There was silence for a moment, and then everybody hurried to the front door, where the butler was pointing.
Lying in the centre of the drive was Sir Henry, with a look of absolute terror upon his face. He was quite, quite, dead, and in the snow around him were the footprints of a gigantic hound.
It seems that the curse of the Baskervilles may be true after all.
Millennium Moon Proudly Presents:
The Garou
Being a murder mystery set in White Wolfs “World of Darkness” setting. Twenty-one kindred of astonishing power gathered in a lonely old house – but can they find a killer in their midst when their powers are useless, and failure will imperil all their lives?
Here's the first draft of the flyer; it'll be changed again yet, but I'm just so chuffed at the moment I'm posting it anyway.
`Were they the footprints of a man or a woman?'
Dr. Mortimer looked strangely at us for an instant, and his voice sank almost to a whisper as he answered:
`Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!'
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle: “The Hound of the Baskervilles”
Devon, late 1942
Snow was falling over the platform as the private train pulled into the station. The blackout left the entire building in darkness, and were it not for the train stopping you might have believed it deserted. You stepped from the train onto the platform, the only illumination coming from the carriage lights through the open doors, and looked about. Twenty-one Vampires, some known to you, some not, gathered from throughout the Empire and Allies for this one night, each of them possessing some skill or piece of knowledge that may be of use in the coming talks.
Unconsciously, you all moved closer together, feeling the need of shared protection. You knew only too well where you were – Dartmoor. Miles from civilisation, and in the very heart of the territory of the Lupines, the Werewolves, your eternal foes. Only extreme circumstances could have brought you here.
British Intelligence had carried reports from Norway of German efforts to isolate a new compound called Deuterium - heavy water - which might one day lead the Nazis to a terrible new weapon. If the only way to fight this new menace is to forge an alliance – however brief – with the Lupines, then it must be done. You were not reassured by the knowledge that the Werewolves are as unhappy about this situation as are you.
A small fleet of Bentley Limousines ferried you from the station to your final destination – Baskerville Hall. Sir Henry Baskerville, Ancilla to the Ventrue, had lived here for years, the only Vampire allowed to live in the heart of Lupine territory. Ambassador to the Werewolf nation, they tolerate him, nothing more. You were once again reminded about where you were when you arrived. The Chauffeurs grimaced at you, and wrinkled their noses as if you stank as they opened your doors. Courteous, but it was a façade; they were werewolves in human form. If you were not here with their invitation, you are sure that you would have been dead in an instant.
Your cases were dumped unceremoniously in the drive and the cars sped away, leaving you alone in the falling snow. You looked up at the house before you. You had been told that ancient magics created when this place was a meeting point for garou and kindred long ago would prevent you form using certain of your vampiric powers. This knowledge did not worry you further – if the Werewolves decided to destroy you, there would be little you could do about it anyway.
Sir Henry, your host, greeted you with all appearance of warmth and welcome. He explained that the leaders of the Werewolves would appear some time in the early hours, some hours away. He advised you to rest after your journey, and gave you permission to roam freely in his house. He had no secrets that you would find, he assured you. Relax, he said. You shall need to be alert and intelligent to get a final treaty with the inhabitants of this moor. He joked with you about the tale that Conan Doyle had once written about his home, and told you that the real hounds that inhabited the moor were even more dangerous than those encountered by Sherlock Holmes. You laughed, nervously, along with the rest.
He first took you to his ballroom, where a small meal of fresh blood was served, before each clan retired to a separate room to discuss their plans for the coming night. After some time of this, you returned to the Dining Room and Ballroom, to await Sir Henry.
A cough from the butler surprised you all. You turned, and saw that he was pale and drawn. If you would excuse me, Sirs and Ladies, he said, it appears that, during your meetings, someone has murdered the master.
There was silence for a moment, and then everybody hurried to the front door, where the butler was pointing.
Lying in the centre of the drive was Sir Henry, with a look of absolute terror upon his face. He was quite, quite, dead, and in the snow around him were the footprints of a gigantic hound.
It seems that the curse of the Baskervilles may be true after all.
Millennium Moon Proudly Presents:
The Garou
Of The
Baskervilles
Being a murder mystery set in White Wolfs “World of Darkness” setting. Twenty-one kindred of astonishing power gathered in a lonely old house – but can they find a killer in their midst when their powers are useless, and failure will imperil all their lives?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2002-05-17 07:20 am (UTC)IF Karim ever gets back to me..
no subject
Date: 2002-05-17 07:26 am (UTC)Karim hasn't come back to you either, well golly gosh!
Re:
Date: 2002-05-17 07:30 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2002-05-17 07:36 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2002-05-17 07:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-05-17 07:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-05-17 07:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-05-17 07:42 am (UTC)Da-da-da-daaa-da-da-daaaa
Da-da-da-daaa-da-da-da-da-da
Da-da-da-daaa-da-da-daaaa
Da-da-daaa-da-da-daaa-da-da-daaa-da-da-daaaaah!
no subject
Date: 2002-05-17 08:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-05-17 08:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-05-17 09:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-05-17 09:32 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2002-05-17 07:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-05-17 07:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-05-18 04:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-05-19 05:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-05-17 09:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-05-17 10:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-05-19 09:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-05-19 09:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-05-20 10:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-05-17 07:37 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2002-05-17 07:40 am (UTC)Will you be at gencon?
no subject
Date: 2002-05-17 07:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-05-17 07:41 am (UTC)Picking Nits.
Date: 2002-05-17 11:57 pm (UTC)Or is that the first puzzle?
Re: Picking Nits.
Date: 2002-05-18 08:46 am (UTC)Re: Picking Nits.
Date: 2002-05-19 02:09 am (UTC)consider me picky
tim
ME ME ME ME ME ME!
Date: 2002-05-20 03:56 am (UTC)I wanna play!!!!!
John C
"being enthusiastic"