Vudukudu
Farseer to the Warsong Clan
Every year, approximately four million dollars is approved as part of the US budget for a program simply entitled "Cleaners." For fifty years, Cleaners has appeared a few lines from the bottom of every budget report, and, to date, not a person on the globe has questioned it, and its probably better that they don't.
You're probably confused. Millions of dollars, every year, for cleaning services that ought to be filed under the budget of whatever institution is being cleaned. Couldn't your tax dollars be going to something better than hiring a few night janitors?
No. It couldn't. But after what you saw last night, maybe you can find that believable.
You remember it, even though your brain is doing back flips trying to forget. The way it threw itself at you, its skinless body glistening with ice crystals from the rings of Jupiter. Maybe it was luck that saved you, that made you run outside and grab the hatchet before hacking the thing into a hundred pieces and throwing every last one into a fire.
Yeah, we know. You called the cops after, gave 'em this whole spiel about some sorta nightmare hound with tentacles. Word got around the station pretty quick, making fun of you. Couple cops told the story in a locker room, one went home and told his wife about it, she joked to her nursing buddies, and, well, one of her nursing buddies is a Cleaner. We've got ears everywhere.
Point is, you've seen what humanity was never meant to see. A mess that never should have been made to exist in the first place. Fixing those messes is what the Cleaners are for. And well, quite frankly, the reason we've got you chained to this table in a cabin one hundred miles from the nearest town is to hire you.
All we're asking is the rest of your life.
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For Your Eyes Only will be a paranormal horror roleplay focused on a few new Cleaners, members of a black ops government organization dedicated to combating the unspeakable.
Style wise, For Your Eyes Only will be run as a GM + Player game. I'll be contributing primarily in narrative and NPCs.
Feel free to ask any questions here.
It had been fifteen years, almost. Fifteen years since you'd been taken from your home by a raven-haired man, your mother crying and your father hurling insults at the mutant who dragged you away. Back then, you'd been but a child, but that was before you underwent thirteen years of training to physical perfection and mental acuity. Now you were an Acolyte, one of only seven candidates who survived the torturous Trial of the Lake, from an original sixty three. Subjected to hideous, unspeakable arcane powers, you emerged alive, but not unscathed.
Your body had twisted and contorted, muscle doubling and tripling its strength. Your senses sharpened, your reflexes honed, your body capable of miraculous healing given mere rest. You're beyond mortal man, an Acolyte, slayer of all things inhuman. You are something between man and beast, familiarly human in form, but only barely. Your features are scarred beyond their years, and your eyes have turned a ghastly shade of neon blue, glowing even in darkness. The common man knows you by your appearance; the beast knows you by the scent of doom which surrounds you.
Yours will likely be a short, brutal life, if you are fortunate. If you are not, you may live one hundred, or even two hundred years in darkness, slaying that which mortal man fears most.
Your friends, the few you have, are like you or hesitantly tolerant of your ilk. Your family is a long forgotten relic, and the suffering you've endured has long since dulled your connection to mankind. Two years ago, having completed the Trial of the Lake, you were passed onto the next phase of your training. Finally, the day has come for you to venture forth and carry light to the darkest of places.
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Think Witcher meets post-civil war America. We'll both be playing recently graduated Acolytes (though I will, for the sake of plot, be slightly more experienced as a way to guide things, perhaps).
You're probably confused. Millions of dollars, every year, for cleaning services that ought to be filed under the budget of whatever institution is being cleaned. Couldn't your tax dollars be going to something better than hiring a few night janitors?
No. It couldn't. But after what you saw last night, maybe you can find that believable.
You remember it, even though your brain is doing back flips trying to forget. The way it threw itself at you, its skinless body glistening with ice crystals from the rings of Jupiter. Maybe it was luck that saved you, that made you run outside and grab the hatchet before hacking the thing into a hundred pieces and throwing every last one into a fire.
Yeah, we know. You called the cops after, gave 'em this whole spiel about some sorta nightmare hound with tentacles. Word got around the station pretty quick, making fun of you. Couple cops told the story in a locker room, one went home and told his wife about it, she joked to her nursing buddies, and, well, one of her nursing buddies is a Cleaner. We've got ears everywhere.
Point is, you've seen what humanity was never meant to see. A mess that never should have been made to exist in the first place. Fixing those messes is what the Cleaners are for. And well, quite frankly, the reason we've got you chained to this table in a cabin one hundred miles from the nearest town is to hire you.
All we're asking is the rest of your life.
_____________________________________________
For Your Eyes Only will be a paranormal horror roleplay focused on a few new Cleaners, members of a black ops government organization dedicated to combating the unspeakable.
Style wise, For Your Eyes Only will be run as a GM + Player game. I'll be contributing primarily in narrative and NPCs.
Feel free to ask any questions here.
It had been fifteen years, almost. Fifteen years since you'd been taken from your home by a raven-haired man, your mother crying and your father hurling insults at the mutant who dragged you away. Back then, you'd been but a child, but that was before you underwent thirteen years of training to physical perfection and mental acuity. Now you were an Acolyte, one of only seven candidates who survived the torturous Trial of the Lake, from an original sixty three. Subjected to hideous, unspeakable arcane powers, you emerged alive, but not unscathed.
Your body had twisted and contorted, muscle doubling and tripling its strength. Your senses sharpened, your reflexes honed, your body capable of miraculous healing given mere rest. You're beyond mortal man, an Acolyte, slayer of all things inhuman. You are something between man and beast, familiarly human in form, but only barely. Your features are scarred beyond their years, and your eyes have turned a ghastly shade of neon blue, glowing even in darkness. The common man knows you by your appearance; the beast knows you by the scent of doom which surrounds you.
Yours will likely be a short, brutal life, if you are fortunate. If you are not, you may live one hundred, or even two hundred years in darkness, slaying that which mortal man fears most.
Your friends, the few you have, are like you or hesitantly tolerant of your ilk. Your family is a long forgotten relic, and the suffering you've endured has long since dulled your connection to mankind. Two years ago, having completed the Trial of the Lake, you were passed onto the next phase of your training. Finally, the day has come for you to venture forth and carry light to the darkest of places.
---------------------------------------------
Think Witcher meets post-civil war America. We'll both be playing recently graduated Acolytes (though I will, for the sake of plot, be slightly more experienced as a way to guide things, perhaps).
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