A quick recap of our story thus far:

Past
Ah, the city of Boston. Small in size, but big in influence; teeming with people, yet few of them really know just what sorts of creatures live beside them, beneath them, above them. The common census shows six million people in the extended metropolitan area; but the census does not, for example, include the colony of goblins living in steam tunnels criss-crossing the subway lines. It doesn't count the vampires who hold court in well-appointed basements in the Financial District. It doesn't number the demons that lurk in so many dark corners.

(It does, however, include a healthy percentage of the town's Faerie population, many of whom, in their human guises, are considered to be Boston's most beautiful young people and top socialites.)

Three years ago, the city's peace was shattered when a nasty group of rogue vampires moved in. Newspapers reported a rash of kidnappings and other disappearances, mangled corpses and body parts being found; the supernatural community was in danger of being "outed". A small rag-tag band of do-gooders banded together under these unexpected circumstances: Marra, a human moon-witch; Jacob Hamilton, a hobo with MacGuyver-ish tendencies; Magdalene, a conflicted Christian witch; and Igor, a simple but kind Were-Bear. Times were tough and tense, but Magdalene warned them when attacks were coming and Igor covered their backs when the going got rough. Jacob's contacts led them to the general area of the nest, and Marra's ritual ability led them to divine the location more exactly. Combined, they found the daytime resting place and kicked in the windows, destroying the oldest ones with fire and weakening the younger ones enough that Igor could kick their butts right in.

It was an exhilarating and fulfilling experience, doing that kind of good, but they all hoped it'd be the last time they needed to do so. Two years passed fairly peacefully after that- new vampires moved in, but they were the far more subtle and cultured sort that kept a low profile and fed discreetly. But there's more evil than just vampires in the city: a group of human teenagers uncovered a tome of dark rites, and began summoning and worshiping a nasty demon. Magdalene rallied the group after having one of her precognitive hunches, and the four were joined this time by a crazy Seleigh Faerie calling herself George, the turncloak bat-Faerie Abroul-Nek, and the hippy New-Age witch Sarai.

The first order of business was figuring out what kind of demon it was; a strange fellow known as the Old Man of the Sea tipped them off on some key details about that. Information from a local occult librarian, Oren, told them more about the demon's particular weaknesses and gave them a banishing ritual. Some of the components were pretty obscure, but Jacob had most of them on hand for no sensible reason... so when Abroul-Nek's contacts tipped him off about the location- one of the worshipers was the son of a wealthy family and had a large summer home on Cape Cod- the group was ready to roll out.

The conflict was tense; Igor faced off with the demon while the rest of the group took care of the human worshipers, who were distracted by the fact that George was making them sweat snails. The demon had warped the reality of the summer home such that the passages and hallways connected in very strange ways; the Stranger had tried to warn them about it, but in the heat of the moment the demon managed to trick the group into leaving Marra, who was performing the banishing ritual, unprotected. He came upon her and nearly killed her, gouging a huge chunk out of her leg. Igor body-checked him into a wall and Marra finished the ritual before passing out from pain. Sarai used her crystals to close the wound off, and Igor carried her out of the building. It was a close call all around, but the dangerous tome was retrieved and the teens were sternly admonished and kept under close watch after that.

Present
Ethan Worthington, head of the local werewolf clan, has long been feuding with Claude Entremont, local vampire lord. Up until now, they've kept their fight out of public sight. But Claude took it one step too far: he kidnapped Ethan's fifteen-year-old daughter Jessica, his only child, and is threatening to turn her if Ethan doesn't pay a hefty monetary tribute.

Ethan doesn't like this. Ethan would rather sic his pack on the entire nest and burn the bastards alive. But the local supernatural community knows a conflict of that scale isn't going to be good for anyone...

Joining the group this time is Teaflower "Tea" Belane, a valiant knight of the Seleigh court; and the worm demon-blood Iszatz Imhotz Itouzun Doz. Both of them have vested interests in making sure this doesn't blow way out of proportion.

OUR PLAYERS:
* Marra, human moon-witch (Zahnnie)
* Jacob Hamilton, human hobo (Lonecoon)
* Avalbane "George" Argentil, crazy Seleigh Faerie (Arachne)
* Abroul-Nek, turncloak Unseleigh Faerie (S*S)
* Magdalene, human Christian witch (Pixie)
* Medvedov Igor Igorivich, Were-Bear (Colesla)
* The Stranger, human Old Something (The P.u.P.P)
* The Old Man of the Sea, unknown (Goo)
* Teaflower "Tea" Belane, Seleigh Faerie kitty-knight (Vel)
* Iszatz Imhotz Itouzun Doz, worm demon-blood (Mach)
* Orenithaz "Oren" West, dragonblooded librarian (Static)
* Sarai, human New-Age witch (Crystal)
* Rosamond Margaret Bamborough, dragonblooded warrior (Tamsin)

OTHER:
* Asdaeic Entwain, half-demon Oracle (IridiumFleas)

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JANUARY 6TH, 2009 - TUESDAY
MID-AFTERNOON
LONG WHARF, BOSTON

The day is cold but bright. The wharf, always so packed and busy in the summertime, is nearly deserted this afternoon. Not many tourists this time of year: just a few businessmen strolling back to work after a late lunch at one of the countless seafood restaurants nearby. Oh, and one tall woman, red hair in a bun, bundled into a heavy wool coat, tossing bread crumbs to birds at the edge of the wharf.

Marra sighs, checking her watch for what seems like the hundredth time. "Stop it," she tells herself under her breath, "they'll be here. Emergency meeting means just that. Probably had to make excuses at work, that kind of thing." She shivers as a breath of wind curls in from the sea, teasing at the fringe of her scarf.

A bold seagull hops closer to the witch, looking up at her hopefully. Looking around for her companions, Marra tosses the bird a bit of bread. They'll be here, she tells herself again.

Marra looks up from feeding the seagull and shakes her head slowly at her companion. "Defenestrated bits of us? Oh no, dear Oren, of course not. It'll be exsanguinated bits of us," she returns with a small smile.

She takes a long moment to collect her thoughts, looking out over the water at the harbor. There's something nice about the way the Harbor Islands look in the winter- so pristine. Not crawling with tourists. It's soothing, in its own way. She tucks a bit of hair back behind her ear, then realizes abruptly that she's stalling, and shakes her head. "It's Entremont and Worthington, of course," she begins to explain. "They're--have you been keeping up with the feuds? It's not--well, it's the context, but the details aren't hugely important." She tilts her head slightly, meeting Oren's eyes. "Or have you been eschewing current events in favor of history again?" she teases.

The seagull, irritated at Marra's failure to toss bread, flaps its wingspan and squawks in irritation. She shoots it a dirty look and aims the next piece at the bird's head.

An eyebrow raised. "Exsanguinated eh? Sounds terribly..." He trails off, not really having the will to keep putting forth humorous banter at the situation's expense. "Terrible." He finishes, letting out a deep sigh. The steam coming from his breath looks of a decidedly wrong consistency as he scowls to Marra's news. Reaching into a pocket he pulls out a pipe and lights it, puffing a few times and giving her a sidelong look at the jab about his reading habits. The arrival of Jacob forestalls any further friendly banter.

Oren nods politely at the other man's arrival, taking his bit of introductory banter as a chance to try to calm his nervousness. Ice is settling in his stomach as his mind races with the prospects of what two powerful members of the community entering into a feud could mean for... well, everyone. He barely represses a shudder at the thought.

"Civility?" He replies around the pipe, turning to look Jacob in the eye. "Civility was most foully murdered the moment one being decided another had something it wanted. And what they did with the corpse will likely turn your stomach."

The crisp city air seems to nip at her skin, and the young woman frowns absently to herself as she meanders down the sidewalk, veering one way, then the next. Pigeons scatter at her looming avocado green converse, but she pays them no mind, continuing to mumble under her breath. She looks troubled, wandering about in her vividly colored paisley trench coat- eye searingly vivid, really. It seems to detract from her widely spaced and somewhat protruding violet eyes.

Abruptly, the young woman looks up. For a moment, her features shift- a brief flash of crazily zagging tattoos over her cheek bones, slightly thinner lips, a more button-like nose- and in the space of time it would take to blink, that flicker of difference vanishes, as if it never occurred. She draws herself taller, and marches, business-like, to a small group which begins to assemble.

Without saying a word, she sidles close to Marra, and straightens her posture. She cups her two hands together, and her features grow very, very solemn. She holds completely still, and hisses under her breath to the witch-

“They told me to be syrup-dishes.”

The Immaculate Stranger replaces the toothpick he was chewing and wanders into a Starbucks. In his right hand is a fistful of shelled pistachios. He's been following the ripples of caffeine craving the pistachios have been letting off for several days now, and they've led him to Boston, to this very Starbucks in fact. At the counter he places his order.

"White chocolate peppermint mochaccino, please," he says. "And I assure you, despite my order, I am quite macho. It's for the nuts." He opens his hand and shows the lady the pistachios.
"Whatever," she says, and goes about the business of preparing the beverage.

His drink in hand, the Stranger sits, he crushes the pistachios and drops them into the cup, they immediately let off waves of relief and gratitude and he smiles.
From his coat pocket he pulls a vial of purple, sweet smelling liquid, and pours a drop into his drink. He stirs it with his toothpick and takes a sip. His mind immediately clears, and he realized how far gone into the Strange he'd been.

"Oh, god," he says. "I've been doing favours for innanimate objects again."

Well, they better appreciate it, he thinks.

A man in a dark robe approaches him, oddly, unnoticed by anyone else.

"Max," he says.
"Jacob!" Stranger says, "I hardly recognised you not lurking in a dark basement."
"Someone has been trying to get in contact with you," Jacob hands the man a note.
"Thanks," Stranger says, pocketing it without really looking. "So how you been?"
"You are no longer with us, Max."
"Aw, you're not still mad about my abrupt departure, Jacob, that was yeeears ago."
Jacob almost smiles, "I'm not concerned with your comings and goings, your soul was always too restless to be content to watch and whisper. But, we are not a mail delivery service, get a P.O. Box or something, for crying out loud."
And then Jacob is gone.

Max frowns.

An old babushka climbs into the chair across from the Stranger.

Climbs is a much more literal, involved process in this case, as the bent over woman stands just slightly over four feet tall.

Her clothing is colorless and forgettable. Her skin is worn out and wrinkled like the hide stretched over an ancient drum and her eyes are two black dots hidden somewhere in the recess of her brow.

After a few wobbly attempts, she successfully manages to get seated.

She looks at the Stranger and cracks a broad, friendly, smile that is missing half its gnarled brown teeth.

She produces a small cup of coffee from somewhere and takes a sip, then resumes her cheerful little smile.

"Hello all," says Jacob. "Glad to see you could make it." He crumples up his coffee cup and puts it in his pocket. "So I haven't seen you guys in a  while. You never visit my culvert."

"Hm," the Stranger says.
There is something odd going on here, but then again who is he to speak.

"Funny thing, cards," he says. "They talk when they want to, and they want to talk."

He shuffles the deck, and pulls two cards out at random, placing them, face up, on the table.

Two jokers.

He considers this for a moment, and then says, "Go fish?"

The babushka lets out a chortling weezing sound that is possibly a laugh or possible a dying croak. Her eyes twinkle from beneath the folds of her face. Probably a laugh.

She reaches across the table and shuffles the two jokers back in with a quick, practiced motion that would be more suited towards a Las Vegas blackjack dealer than an old Russian peasant woman.

But she is clearly not an old Russian peasant woman.

She pulls off the top card and sets it down on the table. It shows a jester, much like the two jokers the Stranger pulled earlier, with a motley outfit of various clashing symbols and colors. Over the jester's shoulder is a stick with a nap-sack tied to the end. He has a jaunty quality to his step and there is a blissful... wait... a troubled, confused... no. definitely blissful, oblivious expression on his face. There is a small 0 at the bottom of the card.

The babushka cackles.

She draws another card and places this atop the first. Eight men holding swords stand over a young woman with their swords crossing over and around her, forming a prison around her. There is an expression of resistance on the woman's face, but her situation seems hopeless.

The babushka murmers thoughtful and you see sympathy on her face.

She draws another card and places it on the table to the right of the others. A great tower stands at the edge of a cliff, surrounded by a great maelstrom. Weighty black clouds threaten to crush it from above and a massive wave seeks to tear it down from below. A lightning bolt has struck the tower, blowing apart the top of is ramparts in a huge explosion, and you can see small burning people falling to their death. There is a small 16 on the bottom of the card.

The babushka clucks thoughtfully, then flips another card over, placing it to the right of the other cards.

The card depicts a man, hanging upside down from a tree, suspended from his ankle by a thick rope. He smiles incongruously to his predicament, though as you study the card more, you realize there are several much smaller people suspended from the top of the tree with the rope around their necks instead of their feet. There is a small 12 on the bottom of the card.

She clucks again, then flips over another card, placing it again to the right of the others.

This one depicts an old, dirty man, sitting in front of a cave. His beard and hair have grown wild, covering his otherwise naked body. His posture is meditative, like an Eastern monk, and he stares thoughtfully off into the distance. There is a number 9 on the bottom of the card.

The babushka laughs again, clapping her hands a few times in mirth.

She flips over another card, placing it again to the right. This one shows a young woman, naked in her innocence, crouching by a pool of water, in the process of bringing her cupped hands to her lips for a drink. Above her a cheerful comet flies through a sky of twinkling stars. A small 17 is written on the bottom.

The babushka lets out a long "Hmmmmm," then flips another card and places it above the rest.

This one depicts several pale horsemen and women flying through a tumultuous sky on phantom steeds. All of them are clad in long white robes and they all hold scythes in their hands. Though each person is made of flesh, you can make out their grinning skulls under the faces. There is a small 13 at the bottom of the card.

She smacks her lips thoughtfully, making a sick, wet popping sound, then looks back up at the Stranger and stares into his eyes, as if attempting to impart some sort of information, though who knows what it is.

Then with one smooth motion she scoops up all of the cards in one hand, shuffles the deck, and pulls out the two jokers and places them on the table where Max had before.

She cracks her partially-toothed smile again, then sips her coffee.

The babushka nods her head at the Stranger.

She takes another sip of her coffee.