Chapter 1: Valencia's

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"Woe to the inhabitors of the Earth and the Sea.
For the Devil is come down unto you, having great wrath,
because he knoweth that he hath but a short time."

..........................................................................................................-- Revelation 12:12


The war against the Church of Revelations has raged for fourteen years. Our game begins in Boston, Massachusetts - one of the most important cities in wartime America. As with many other places in the world, Boston is an embattled city. Though the United States remains a free country in the face of Revelationist aggression, this doesn't mean the Church has no presence here. Leviathian has followers in America, and they live scattered throughout the population of every major city. They wait, like a festering rot, to rise up and tear down the infidels in the name of their monstrous master. In the meantime, these true believers blend in with the locals, all the while committing calculated acts of terrorism designed to weaken the country's resolve. The American public lives every day in fear of attacks by the Church, and wartime supply shortages have led to a scarcity of certain common goods, hoarding, and the rise of black markets.

Boston is no stranger to Revelationist troubles. Despite their small numbers, the followers of Leviathan have done much to terrorize the city. It seems as though bombings and shootouts with police are an almost weekly occurrence. As an insurgent force, they've proven difficult to completely eradicate. For each cult that the Boston authorities or the Alliance locates and destroys, two new ones eventually rise to replace it. Things have gotten to the point where the Federal government has carved out "safety zones" within Boston: areas of the city in which Leviathan's influence has been (or is believed to have been) expelled with reasonable certainty. Neighborhoods outside of the safety zones have not been verified as clear of Revelationist infiltration. While not lawless, these unsecured neighborhoods have reduced police and military personnel, and suffer from increased crime and increased incidence of supernatural phenomena. Many residents have moved out of the unsecured neighborhoods in droves, but many don't have the means to do so.

Through discreet channels, the Alliance puts out a call for assistance. Perhaps you hear about it through a contact, or maybe you're informed by the Alliance itself. Regardless, the organization makes it clear that it has work to be done, though the nature of this work has not been revealed to you. If interested, you are presented with a time, date, and location. And so we begin.




"Welcome to Valencia's."

It's the first thing you hear as the doorman steps aside and you descend into the club.

In the spirit of a Prohibition era saloon, Valencia's operates in secret, hidden away from the general public. Situated beneath a commercial building in the North End neighborhood of Boston (a safety zone), the business is only accessible by coded invitation. Those given an invite are entrusted with the knowledge of the club's subterranean location and secret pass phrases. The establishment oozes atmosphere. Wide and spacious, it accommodates a fully stocked bar along the east wall, as well as a small stage at the front of the room, though no one is performing at the moment. Cocktail tables and couches with throw pillows abound. The entire place is rich in earth tones: leather, reclaimed wood, exposed brick, and dark concrete. Dim lighting, vintage glassware, industrial pipes, oversized vases, and art deco furniture make it feel as though you've stepped a century back in time to the Roaring Twenties of old America. Light jazz is playing over the speakers. The air is pungent with alcohol and cigar smoke.

There are a few dozen patrons at the club tonight. A mix of customers. A couple of tattooed men in a smoky corner playing pool. Several gamblers quietly sizing each other up in the midst of an intense card game. A pair of young lovers sitting and kissing in a darkened nook. People conversing and laughing over dinner or taking shots at the bar. In general, only the Gifted and supernatural beings are privy to the club's existence; the few mundanes who patronize the place are typically trusted friends or servants vouched for by supernatural clientele. In a reversal of the outside world, regular humans are the oddity in Valencia's and the paranormal is the norm. As a result, it doesn't take special powers to safely guess that the patrons around you are probably Gifted, or beings that are only marginally human - if human at all. Since the start of the war, Valencia's has served as unofficial neutral ground for the Gifted and supernaturals of the Boston Metropolitan Area, so it makes sense that the Alliance would want to meet here. The club is a safe space of sorts where all manner of beings, human and inhuman, are able to visit without fear of persecution. A place where the Gifted and non-humans can congregate and be themselves in a way that is impossible in the outside world. Each week, a healthy amount of the city's supernatural population passes through the establishment. Within its walls, violence is strictly prohibited and politics are expected to be left at the door. The ban on violence, in particular, has made the club an attractive site for the local Gifted and supernaturals to resolve their grievances. On more than one occasion, Valencia's has acted as a meeting place for warring immortals and opposing factions. Even the forces of Heaven and Hell honor the peace here, allowing for rare but tense interactions between angels and demons.

Everyone respects the sanctity of these rules, both Lone Wolves and Alliance members alike. Breaking the rules results in permanent banishment from the establishment. Not only that, the offender risks earning the ire of Valencia herself, the club's proprietress and a powerful being not to be trifled with.

Once you make your way into the speakeasy, you head to the club's VIP area, as instructed. This adjacent room is separated from the rest of the speakeasy by a long hallway and a velvet curtain. Two black-clad bouncers guard the entrance. One of them nods to you and pulls the curtain aside. The VIP area in Valencia's is furnished with a dozen posh chairs, several tables, a personal bar, and more. Like the rest of the club, the room is dimly lit with mood lighting and votive candles that cast flickering illumination.

Vidar was well on his way to creating the greatest French fry skyscraper ever constructed. It was a masterpiece, surprisingly detailed considering his implements were cocktail onions, umbrellas, and ranch dressing. His handsome featured face was contorted in extreme focus as Dr. Tyrz dissected a small sliver of a cocktail onion and finished the third wall of his construction.

He stopped for a moment, after affixing the "window" in place with bits of a broken cocktail umbrella and admiringly grinned. A set of enormous pearly whites, flashed and centered on the pretty cocktail waitress who brought him another plate of fries and a hatchet steak. "Thanks Caley! Another pitcher too please and thanks."

Vidar downed the contents of his glass, a golden colored beer that smelled strongly of lemon. His enormous hand covering two thirds of the sixteen ounce glass. It looked almost comically small at the end of his oarlike forearm. In his black muscle tank, and outrageous black, red, and dark grey joggers it was obvious this was a man who took strength training very seriously. The term Greek ideal came to mind, complimented by his brindle hair and symmetrical features. Vidar was easily in the top ten most attractive people of the crowd.

Digging into his steak with gusto, the man, who doubled as a wall of meat, devoured a full quarter of the enormous steak in minutes. Stopping only when Caley brought his requested pitcher to fill his glass, and clean his teeth on a lemon. A gulp of beer washed down the lemon juice, and he returned to the beef with gusto.

It took him seven minutes. Sixty four ounces of steak was gone, he picked his teeth with the bone. Vidar moved to the adjacent chair to his masterpiece, then studied the final side, a challenge, the last of which demanded by his art.

Carter took the last drag of his cigarette before heading into the club. Getting inside he runs his head through his dark hair, reminding himself it's about time to get a haircut. He considers leaving his leather jacket in wardrobe, but reconsiders, who knows how quickly I have to be on the move.

Making his way to the VIP section, he looks longingly at the game tables. He'd much rather spend what little cash he has left on a few rounds than some fancy schmancy VIP section where he sticks out like a sore thumb.

He sits down at a table, about to put his army boots clad feet up on the adjoining chair before thinking better of it. No reason to be kicked out before the meeting.

Valencia's was definitely one of the nicer places Rylani had been called to when meeting a contact or picking up a job. While this was her first time she had heard of its reputation and dressed accordingly. Black heels added to her already tall height, and the simple blue dress she was wearing was picked not so that she stood out from the crowd but instead blended in. After all dressing not to fit the scene was another way to draw attention to one's self. It and the shoes restricted her movement slightly, but in a fight that wouldn't matter long anyway.

The bag she checked in along with her jacket contained more sensible clothes, in case the Alliance was eager this job got underway immediately. She hoped not. She could use a drink or two, after the long chase her last mark led her on.

As she enters the VIP room her eyes immediately flick over everyone else in the room, reflexively taking them in, assessing for any threats, even as the rational part of her mind reminded her this was one of the safer places someone could be right now.

Content the area was safe, but also seeing no-one who was obviously her contact she approaches the bar and orders a light beer. The cocktails could start later, once she knew she could relax for the night.

Rylani Noah

Having exchanged the secret password with the doorman, the tall Asian woman proceeds inside. She briefly stops at the weapons and coat check, peeling off the jade over-garment, that matched her stunning green eyes, and handing over the sheathed katana carefully across the flats of her palms.

With a departing glance from the lovely young lady in the coat check to note the lavishly detailed gold and green ink of the coiled dragon that covered most the tall woman's back, she enters Valencia's. Her coat no longer covetously concealing her ensemble, the night's denizens see a black jersey gown with beaded choker and embellished thigh slit on the left side. The sleeveless dress has a bejeweled halter neckline and opened down to her lower back to give full view of the dragon tattoo.

Her ankle-strapped stiletto heels echo across the rich oiled wooden floor, as the attractive Asian woman appearing to be in her mid-twenties, strides confidently toward the two guards at watch at the curtained entrance to the VIP room. She hesitates only long enough to get a smile and an opening before proceeding within.

She heads directly to the private bar and orders some sake. With the brief wait for her drink, she turns with her back to the bar and slightly inclines her head to regard the others in the room. The tail of her long silky black hair, held in a high knot at the back of her head by two long silver needles, shifts with her new pose.

The Doctor's gray luxury car cruised nearly soundlessly through the narrowing streets towards the address he'd been given. The late model electric, one of the few the government neglected to impound while he'd been...away, glided into the old historic neighborhood towards the address he'd been given through his new contacts. He wasn't entirely sure where 'the Valencia' was located but his driver, a heavy set Asian man of dour mood and silent nature, seemed to know the location well enough. His new associates from " the Alliance" had arranged for the taciturn Asian man to assist the Doctor with the odd jobs and random tasks he might require and this far he'd found the man's assistance invaluable. The world had changed quite dramatically during his absence and none the better for it...

The Doctor was no stranger to clandestine meetings in places such as the Valencia and suffered through the layers of security that ensured the neutrality of such places. Of course he'd went armed (who didn't these days?) but surrendered his weapon at check in, giving a faintly lopsided smile as he delicately handed over the Walther pistol and went into the lounge proper.
He could appreciate the elegance of the richly appointed venue. It struck him as if the owner was trying to maintain a sense of control in a world rapidly spinning out of any sort of control. These days the appearance of control was just about all the control anyone had.

He tapped his knuckles on the bar to get the bartender's attention, I'll have a martini. Extra dirty, if you please... Catching sight of his reflection in the mirror behind the bar he grimaced a bit and ran his handover his jaw. Being clean-shaven was still new to him after the last few years and the pallor of his skin was still an unhealthy, fish belly white. At least he'd dropped some weight, he thought, as his reverie was broken by the bartender sliding the oversized martini glass into his hand. Adjusting the charcoal grey tie that contrasted the pale grey of his tailored suit, he scooped up the cloudy martini and dropped a hundred dollar bill on the bar and strode towards the VIP area. He memorized the faces he passed as he walked by. One never knew when recognizing a face would come in handy...
He entered the VIP lounge confidently, reaching to pull an expensive cigar from his suitcoat pocket as he scanned the room. Selecting an opulent high backed leather chair with a good view of the room, Dr. Avel took a drink as he sat down.

Arashi Akari

Each member of the group makes it to the club. Those of you who check in their coats and/or weapons are given a numbered yellow ticket in return. A couple of you, by virtue of your looks and sophisticated attire, draw lingering stares from several patrons as you disappear down the hall to the VIP room.

All of you trickle into the VIP section. A statuesque gentleman building a structure from the food on his dinner plate. A dark haired man clad in a leather jacket and smelling of cigarette smoke. A tall, no nonsense-looking woman dressed in blue evening wear. An elegant woman in black with a tattooed dragon gracing her back. And a clean-shaven, bald-pated man in a gray suit and tie. Some of you are acquainted with each other, and some of you are not. It's clear that people other than yourself have decided to answer the Alliance's call. These individuals are either about to become your colleagues or your competition.

Most of you have grabbed drinks or ordered food as you wait for the Alliance's representative to arrive. A bartender quietly serves drinks while a cocktail waitress, Caley, makes her way around the room.

The Doctor sat in the high backed chair, sipping his cloudy martini as he observed the others. None of them knew each other well, the social cues just weren't there for anything more than perhaps fleeting acquaintance between the five assembled. Curiosity was an old vice of his and he intended to indulge it.

He tapped his ring against the half-full martini glass, sending a clear ringing tone through the room for attention. I find silence both oppressive and unhelpful.... he intoned as he rose from his seat. His diction was precise and punctuated, sounding as if every crisply enunciated word were capitalized, his posture and movements military sharp if somewhat awkward. We were summoned here for reasons both obvious and yet unclear. Perhaps introductions are in order to alleviate at least some layer of mystery from our assembly. The Doctor spoke with an accent that was difficult to place exactly. Not strictly American nor entirely British but distinctly European...perhaps South African. Perhaps you'd like to begin. No one who wears a dress that stunning could be shy...

The tall Asian woman gives a slight grin at the well-dressed man's comment and takes a sip from her glass. In a faintly inflected reply she answers his challenge. "Arigato gozaimasu. Akari Arashi I am. And you sir? To whom is it my pleasure of a personal introduction?" She asks in return.

She wasn't the only one, that wasn't the a surprise. An alliance contact had flagged it to her, so she knew it wasn't exclusive. The question was was it an open call as they needed a team, or they just thought the more people who answered the higher change someone would get it done. She didn't care either way. As a bounty hunter the person who brought in the mark got the pay out, but sometimes it took a team to track down the more weaselly or stubborn targets.

She leans against the bar drinking, but her eyes flick over to one as he starts speaking. He was...odd. The others she could smell the essence, the gift, something, but not on him. Was he suppressing it. That or he was extremely brave if he was in fact mundane.

As the asian woman speaks up she makes note of the name, before chiming in herself. 'Rylani Noah. Bounty hunter.' Her british accent hasn't been diminished by her years spent tracking targets in America. She tips her beer towards the pair in greeting before taking a sip, returning back to observing.

Akari returns the British bounty hunter's polite gesture; raising her glass slightly in salute before taking another sip of her sake.

My name is Avel. the Doctor returned the introduction, somewhat dramatically, as if he expected the name to carry some weight. Doctor Douglas Emil Avel.. An awkward pause followed before he continued, his blue eyes searching for a possible flicker of recognition in the others' eyes.
He cleared his throat and continued, rolling the unlit cigar between his fingers as he spoke, All pleasantries aside, the details of my life are quite...inconsequential...really in comparison to whom, or rather what, you may be. The Doctor circled the high backed leather chair he'd been seated in as he spoke, turning to regard the others in the VIP lounge when he felt it necessary to punctuate his language. Let's cut to the chase, shall we? We're all here at the behest of "the Alliance"... he actually used 'finger quotes' as he spoke ...so I'd like to know if anyone else knows why we've been summoned? Hm?

The Doctor caught the young hostess as she walked nearby, quaffing down the dregs of his martini before setting the glass on her tray. Another, if you please. Heavier on the Goose than on the Vermouth this time. We're not stripping paint here.

Carter watches the people talking and eventually akwardly stands to introduce himself. He runs a nervous hand through his hair. He'd much rather be driving at break neck speed while being shot at than talk in front of a lot of strangers. "Name's Carter. Don't even know why I'm here. Just an ordinary wheelman."

Having said his words, he sits back down, wishing he had gotten a beer. But alcohol and driving was a bad combo, and it would have to wait.

"Reminds me of a joke..."

Vidar didn't elaborate further. He was still working on his modern art project. So engrossed was he in his work he nearly knocked his glass off the table, catching it before a drop was spilled he raised it to his lips and gulped its contents down. Setting it back to the side, as if he meant to do it.

Vidar worked diligently, and with a fair bit more grace than his physique suggested. He was surprisingly dexterous and nimble considering the bulk of his size. Not enormous, for even in this room there were taller and larger specimens, but he had a gravity to him, even seated as he was his latissimus muscles and trapezoid muscles formed a hood not unlike a cobra's. Just a few years ago, he may have been an Olympic athlete. This only served to make his eccentric behavior more put of place with his "look."

He was equally unconcerned and uninterested in the conversation. Whether he was being rude on purpose or because he didn't understand that modern people talked before acting, anyones guess. He did look up scan the room, lingering only on the ladies in their surprisingly similar fashion choices. This caused him to smirk. But, shortly thereafter he returned to his art piece.

Quite a contrary Dr Avel. The fact that you may be what others call inconsequential as you put it makes me curious, that you are willing, an capable, or working alongside us.' At least that was what he had assumed by his words. Whether he had hoped they rest would share more specifics of their supernatural qualities she wasn't sure, but she at least like to keep her hand close to her chest.

'I unfortunately don't have any details. I work with alliance time to time, my contact flagged this to me. Given none of you run in my circle, unless you are all brand new or very good at being discrete, I'm guessing its more than just tracking down a person. It will be a nice break I suppose.'

She glances over at the one who called himself Carter. He seemed young and more nervous than everyone else. She made a mental note to keep an eye of him. If the message had got to him someone saw potential, but a trial by fie wasn't always the best way to realise such potential.

Drinking down the last swalow from her glass and handing it off to the lovely cocktail waitress, Caley, with an indication of having another, Akari seats herself finally and glances at the out-of-shape bodybuilder's food diversion. "A person's true worth is measured by more than the circumstance of their birth, dear Doctor, and being born of privilege, whether by affluence or genetics, does not insure one's quality in the schemes of all existences."

I suspect none of us here could be considered...Ordinary...by any stretch of the imagination, Mr. Carter. the Doctor countered, his hands resting on the back of his chair as he stood behind it. His face held a quiet smirk, as if he knew more than he was letting on. I can appreciate the skills of an accomplished Wheelman. I've had more than a few in my employ in years past. No doubt whomever assembled the lot of us together has a similar appreciation for such skills. No?

His blue eyes scanned across the room again,Each of us here has a rather unique set of skills. A Wheelman, a Bounty Hunter, a woman of action one could surmise from you choice of dress Ms. Akari, myself and a...bulbous food architect perhaps? He scooped the fresh martini from the server's tray and took a long, slurpy sip. Much better, my dear. Compliments to the bartender.

Resuming his thought trend, he continued As I was saying, this is no random assemblagé despite none of us having any solid connections to one another. We're here for a purpose. A mission. I was curious if any of you had more information than I about it.
On that matter, I quite agree Ms. Akari.
The circumstance of one's birth may color one's existence but do not predetermine it. The Doctor adopted a bit of a distance to his gaze, perhaps reminiscing for a moment, As for myself, I was born in Bruges to the destitute owner of a french bakery with mental instability issues and his underaged mistress. We traveled the world pursuing one addled dream after another until he was institutionalized and she died of a tropical illness contracted in Rangoon. My circumstances were not one of privilege yet I rose to no small prominence in both academia and my...chosen profession. It seems that the rise of the Church has put all of that behind me just as it has affected others.

My apologies if I was unclear about what I had meant. the Doctor shifted mental gears after indulging his reverie. Let me be more clear... While I am Human, I don't believe that is the case for everyone here...at least, not entirely human...but something More. That idea has fascinated me since I discovered the existence of such things shortly before the emergence of The Church.
I never considered myself as inconsequential, only the details of my past. I place much more interest on what you are. I've made myself quite familiar with humanity but those that lay beyond it are a source of deep curiosity to me. Things such as this were legend and conjecture until the rise of The Church brought things of legend into the light. He felt as if he needed to clarify before verging into fanboying, I am a scientist. The idea that there is a whole new realm of previously unknown knowledge to research motivates me deeply. I wish to understand what was previously unknowable. Working alongside "the Alliance" he again used 'finger quotes', gives me such an opportunity. That and working with "the Alliance" 'finger quotes' is also a condition of my parole. the last part he said quickly and under his breath.

Rylani lets out an amused chuckle as the doctor once again emphasises on 'What' they are. She was almost tempted to see how many times he would have to repeat it before somebody finally decided to divulge.

'You are asking what makes us not human Doctor? That is something a lot like to keep to their chest unless necessary. Especially those who grew up in a time they had to stay hidden. Some of us not even just for our supernatural side.' While the situation the world know found it in with the Church was dire, it was one where the feral had learned to thrive, compared to a life of hiding and shame before hand. She keeps sipping on her beer eyeing up everyone else. With the unique mix of skills this seemed more of a team situation than a competition to see who completed the task first situation. Sharing a little may not hurt

'I will grant you one thing, I am aided by the spirits of the Savannah, as my father and those before him were. How and to what capacity? Once we hear this job and if we all agree to work together I will go into the details you will need to know.'