Book
Of Nasty
page
5
Sons of
Ether: Rogue Scientists
Black
Grenade
(AKA:
worse than you thought)
Mind
2, Matter 3, Prime 2
This bad boy was developed by the geniuses of
Lockwell Avionics, during a firefight between their unique design consultants
(a pair of fomori who had snuck past their security screening processes)
and the upper management (a trio of retired scientists, working on a plane
that flew purely on methane gas produced by decaying garbage). As the fight
progressed, the munitions supplies seemed to grow drastically smaller with
every passing moment. The last weapon used was a small, black spheroid,
with a small yellow dot on the top. Closely resembling a grenade, it was
hurled through the window of the room the fomors were using for cover.
Due to it's sinister look, angle of approach, and possible nature, the
fomors ran directly into a trap, trying to escape the obvious threat of
a tossed explosive. After the fighting, the grenade (actually a lemon,
painted black) was turned into a new weapon in the Ascension War. Fear,
it has been said, is worse than the threat itself. Proof, eh? I give you
the "Black grenade".
:Game
System:
Given the highly volatile nature of a firefight,
or similar armed confrontation, this rote is suprisingly coincidental.
By giving the "lemon" or similarly-sized product, and image/impression
of "bomb" or "dangerous to be around", it's fairly easy for it to be misinterpreted
as a grenade, unless it smashes open on a pane of glass, filling the room
with the zesty odor of lemon-freshness.
Dr.
Foreman's Etheric Subliminal Security Screen
(AKA:
Peace Through Psychological Warfare)
Forces
4+, Entropy 3+, Mind 3, Correspondence 4, Prime 2
The good Scientists at Lockwell avionics
seemed to be having the most difficult time finding high-quality security
gaurds/systems, and were enraptured with the idea of using the most common
of all emotions as a defense system; by carefully spreading the rumor of
"ultra-high tech experiments" and "secret tests" in their local community,
they were quickly noted by the local criminal syndicate as "eggheaded and
dangerous" and the local media bega running nonsensical blurbs on "the
spreading rumor of various types of scientific indecencies" being performed
in and around their complex. Thusly, the intrepid Scientists installed
a complicated series of amplifiers, speakers, and assorted auditory goodies,
playing a steady, if almost completely inaudible, stream of multiple half-truths,
innuendoes, and the like into the area surrounding the buildings. the Technocracy
had been doing such stunts for decades; ala the projects at Area 51, Roswell,
etc. The Etherites used a different tact: using already existing fears
(spread with the help of forewarned Acolytes and assistants) Twisting the
errant invaders' thoughts of what lie ahead, and what comparably little
could be gained by an unsanctioned entrance, 90% gave up, returning home
empty handed. Some, as it worked out, didn't get the hint their subconscious
was telling them: this place is BAD. Bad people doing bad stuff for bad
reasons. Worst part of the ordeal for the hapless burglar: they were wrong.
Very wrong. The mood amplifiers understate the incredibly subtle message
of truth: they were bad people, doing bad things, for bad reasons. and
as any Scientist can tell you, nothing is more satisfying than a lab animal
that walks into it's cage...
:Game
System:
Watch a player twitch when you let him
know that his most recent suggestion about what's going in the Sons of
Ethers hidden lair, is completely accurate. Don't tell the player, let
his character know. And enjoy the show when the player scrounges for possible
outs, with you twisting the character's perceptions into new and horrible
dimensions. This is your time to shine, Storyteller. Get sick, demented,
and wrong.. Example: Bob the Player wants to break into the Super Secret
Hideout of the Evil Dr. Menace Tu Societ'ee. the ST then Allows the player
to gain entry via any given method (practically a cakewalk, on reflection),
Bob, in an eerie moment of clarity, finds himself defining his environment,
confusing the ST's apparent lack of descriptive abilities for his actual
location. Bob announces the worst thing that could happen would be land
mines, and rabid dogs. Woof woof BOOM. A dog detonates, stepping on a toepopper
mine. He then says, "Oh, dear.. Best run for them hills." just in time
to see the hills merge with the flat landscape, leveling the playing field
for the dozens of rabid dogs to chase him. Every two steps equal a roll
of Perception+Demolitions to spot the mines. After six minutes of running
through a barrage of attack dogs, he elects to retreat, the landscape returning
to normal.
End of session status:
Home Team: 1
Bob:
0
Not all lessons in humility are violent, lethal,
or player-killers; some are just fun.
Mobile
Laboratory
(AKA:
Shopping Cart Biology lab)
Correspondence
4, Matter 4, Prime 2
This rote was designed by a young Ethernaut with
an unfortunate problem with money: namely, he didn't have any. Amongst
the Sons, money is as temporal a concept as mortal authorities; it is something
best left in the hands of those with an active concern. It's not like it's
Science. It's *just* money. But, as any Hollow One can tell you, money
ain't the only thing that matters. It's what you do with what you got.
The intrepid scientist, a Dr. Roland T. Bryce, found his chantry in ruins,
along with the final edition of his newly arranged Harmonically-attuned
Vibro-Virus Crystals (found only in the Deep Umbra, with aid of a Dreamspeaker
compatriot), thusly ruining his credibility amongst his community of energy-based
scholars and peers. Destitute, homeless, and now officially broke, he wandered
the tattered remains of his chantry, finding only the most rudimentary
of all his belongings, scrounging them together into a shopping cart, pushing
it around town, still nervous over the Technocratic raid that supposedly
ended his life. A chance discovery of a burnt-out hardware store, and his
new dream was formed. "Aha!", he thought, rummaging through the detritus,
finding odds and ends, "I have found my greatest flaw.. I was not mobile
enough to evade the raiding party...". With this stark realization in mind,
he set upon a task insurmountable to the rigid and inflexible mind
of his colleagues: jury-rigging a mobile laboratory. The shopping cart
became the new form, the old lab the ideal, and this rote the result. After
three years of research on the streets of Los Angeles, Dr. Bryce (now a
noted adept of Life) has made leaps and bounds in the field of counter-HIT
Mark warfare, bringing it to new heights (or, when he sets up shop in the
L.A. river beds, depths). For the three years in question, HIT Mark Amalgam
#1330-B has had no positive results, sightings, or conclusive proof the
initial raid was less than a total success.
:Game
System:
"Damn", the player murmurs, his burning
chantry filling the air with his science goodies. "Now what?"
Now, young intrepid Men and Women of True Science,
you have two choices; use this rote ahead of time, or you get to start
over, from the ground up. Forget about the whole "When will I get published
in Paradigma" routine, and start worrying about dinner. Allies and Contacts
can only help so much, and this rote goes a long way to restarting an abruptly-ended
lifestyle. With one or two successes, the initially lost lab's gear, or
more specifically, a small portion of it, "survived the fire", "avoided
the worst of the blast", or "was only partially chewed on by the Garou".
With three to five, consider half of the remaining gear available to the
average player, provided they don't mind being a lawbreaker . For six to
eight, the lab is intact, but needs a new roof/floor/wall/etc. Consider
it, for damage purposes, equal to the Forces damage chart, but count it
as Health levels, rather than direct damage. This simulates the use of
"advanced materials and techniques" during the construction of the
area in question. If the roll is botched, I bet the ST can tell you how
many blocks it is to the local shopping center....
Mmmm. Nothing like a night on the town
in a CostCo Cadillac.
Buy a good lab, you cheap Shemp. Or suffer the
consequences.
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