La faune nocturne de Paris: A Short Story of Zl'f & Le Magister

[Trebuchet]

La faune nocturne de Paris

 

Part One

 

"Pack your bags, Pavla!" Eric Thorssen, PhD, Executive Director of the Europa 2000 Foundation, announced as he strode into her private office at 7:41 AM Oslo time. "You're taking a vacation."

"What?" Pavla Sergetov's youthful face twisted in confusion. "Sarah and I just went to New Mexico a couple of months ago."

"True, but Personnel says you still have five vacation days you have to use before the end of this fiscal year or you'll lose them, so as of right now you're taking a week off. I don't want to see you again before next Wednesday."

"But Eric, I've still got to finish the report on…" Pavla was his senior executive assistant and informal troubleshooter, and often handled difficult assignments for him personally.

Dr. Thorssen interrupted her with a raised hand. "Pavla, I'm not going to cross Mrs. Gräfeldr on this. You know what a stickler she is for dotting the i's and crossing the t's, and I doubt you want to argue with her either." Pavla's foster mother Gyda Gräfeldr was the Foundation's business manager, and ruled its financial empire with an iron lash leavened with homemade German and Norwegian pastries.

"Where should I go? I haven't made any plans for a trip."

"Well, I suppose you could just stay home for a few days or hang out at the mansion and go horseback riding, but as a matter of fact I do have a suggestion."

Pavla cocked her head suspiciously at her longtime friend and teammate.

"It just so happens we need to ship some materials down to our friend Monsieur Garneau in Paris." Jacques Garneau was a French expert on the occult; a captain in the French National Police; and (secretly) a sorcerer and MidGuard member. Garneau currently resided in Paris; and she knew Thorssen imparted this information as much for her secretary's ears as her own. "I've got Bjorn Andersen warming up the new Citation at the Oslo airport. If you'd care to copilot down to Paris with him, you can get in a few flight hours and maybe some IFR experience in a twin-engine jet."

Pavla's eyes lit up; there were few things she enjoyed more than flying. She was only a few flight hours short of being ready to fly solo and finally get her private pilot's license, and Captain Andersen was also a certified flight instructor. "I'll need to go pack..," she extemporized, but she was weakening fast.

"I told Andersen to wait for you. Jacques will meet you at Orly Airport. Spend a few days playing tourist and catching up with our old friend. I'm sure he'd enjoy showing you around Paris. So have a good time. Do a bit of shopping at the Paris boutiques. See the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triumph. You can stay at the Foundation's executive suite in Paris, and if you keep your receipts we'll even reimburse your meals per diem."

"Why do I get the impression I've walked into an ambush?" Pavla asked with a wry smile as she shut down her laptop computer and stood. It would be kind of nice to visit Paris without somebody trying to kill me, she mused as she recalled her previous two – or was it three? - trips to the French capital.

He smiled beatifically. "That's what they taught us at the Air Force Academy, ma'am - maneuver into your target's 'six' and smoke 'im before he even knows you're there." Colonel Eric Thorssen, USAF Reserve, had four aerial kills to his credit in F-15C fighters. He was also undoubtedly the only billionaire to have served on active duty in the US military.

Pavla laughed as she walked around from behind her desk, stood on her tiptoes, and gave him a warm hug. "Thanks, Eric."

"My pleasure. Kathy and I will expect to see lots of touristy pictures when you get back, young lady," he admonished his friend as he returned the embrace. As founding members of MidGuard they'd faced death together many times, and it wasn't as if his wife wasn't every bit as fond of Pavla as he was. "Now git!" He made a shooing motion with his hands, then grinned as his ever-energetic teammate said farewell to her secretary Ingrid and practically skipped out the office.

 

Despite the stormy autumn weather, the flight down to Paris in the Foundation's sleek new Cessna Citation CJ2+ corporate jet had been sheer delight. I've got to get me one of these the next time I've got five million Euros or so to spare – which should only take about fifty years, unless Eric gives really big Christmas bonuses this year. Who says only boys want the expensive toys? Bjorn Andersen had let her pilot the aircraft the entire 1400 kilometers from takeoff to touchdown and, as they'd taxied to the Foundation's private hangar, had capped off the flight by informing her that in his professional opinion she was ready to solo. If today gets any better, I'm going to start worrying I'll wake up.

 

Captain Jacques Garneau of the French National Police (still colloquially known as the Sûreté) met her in the Foundation's hangar at Orly Airport and promptly turned on the Gallic charm, kissing her hand and addressing her in French-accented Norwegian. Jacques was a solidly-built but ordinary looking Frenchman in his late 20's or early 30's, with brown hair and eyes. She supposed that ordinariness was useful in his chosen line of work, although he also had a presence to him that was at odds with his plain features. She'd worked with him on only a couple of MidGuard missions, so she didn't know him nearly as well as she did most of her teammates. The French detective-cum-sorcerer was also the only MidGuard member who didn't live in Norway and wasn't an employee of the Europa 2000 Foundation. As an officer of the French National Police he'd been stationed in Paris for the past year and a half. In fact, the last time she'd seen Jacques he'd been a mere lieutenant, but judging by his early promotion to captain he'd obviously caught the eyes of his departmental superiors. He'd driven her to the Hôtel Warwick Champs-Elysées, and then asked what she wanted to see first in Paris after she checked in. Having only recently seen The DaVinci Code, her answer was immediate: The Louvre. She wanted to see the Mona Lisa and other items featured in the blockbuster film. Jacques informed her there was also an excellent current exhibit of Tsarist-era Russian artifacts from the 15th through 18th centuries on loan from the Russian government, which sounded interesting.

 

They'd spent several very enjoyable hours together looking at the art in the Louvre, including admiring an enormous wool and silk tapestry of Tsar Peter the Great at the Battle of Poltava from 1722; the crown jewels and imperial regalia; including his crown, a gold and ivory scepter, and a large goblet made out of solid platinum and decorated with uncut rubies, with a strange inscription in Cyrillic lettering. Despite the fact Russian was her native language, Pavla could make no sense out of the writing. By the time she'd run out of digital film for her camera the museum was closing for the evening, and Jacques surprised Pavla by asking if she'd care to join him for dinner at one of Paris' finest restaurants. She agreed enthusiastically, and they'd run back to her hotel where she'd made a quick change of clothing into something more suitable for dinner at an elegant French restaurant. Fortunately she was used to hobnobbing with the rich and famous from years of public relations work for the Foundation, and had instinctively packed her little black dress and matching shoes. When she came back down into the hotel lobby thirty minutes later, she found Jacques was dressed in a very classy looking navy blue suit and tie. He probably travels so much he keeps a change of clothes in his car, Pavla speculated. It never even occurred to her that he might have employed magic.

 

As they dined, Jacques was struck again by how much more relaxed Pavla had seemed all day than on previous occasions when he'd previously seen her, either in her professional persona at the Europa 2000 Foundation headquarters in Oslo or as the intense superheroine El’f. There was a playful side to her he hadn't seen before, and he realized he was probably finally seeing her real personality rather than what people expected of her. The designer-made dress she wore, which he knew was a gift from Eric Thorssen's wife, cleverly accentuated her best physical attributes: her athletic physique and flawless skin. So her halter-topped black dress showed plenty of leg and left her shoulders and back bare while artfully drawing attention away from her small bosom and slender hips. Even in her dress and skillfully understated makeup she only appeared to be about sixteen years old; but she was still an extraordinarily good looking young woman, and he hadn't missed the admiring glances directed her way by several men when they'd entered the restaurant. Judging by the faint flush on her cheeks neither had she, and he found that innocence rather charming. They chatted amiably as they both enjoyed one of the most pleasant meals either had ever eaten, and had just ordered dessert when Jacques' cell phone rang. He answered and listened to the caller for a moment, then said something in French and hung up. "That was bad news. Somebody just broke into the Louvre and stole the Russian goblet we saw earlier today. They suspect a possible occult connection, and have asked me to head over there to assist in the investigation. Shall I drop you off at your hotel, or would you prefer to accompany me to the scene of the crime?"

"Are you kidding? That chalice is part of my country's history."

"It's much more than that, I'm afraid," replied Jacques ominously as he leaned closer and lowered his voice so she alone could hear. "According to several occult tomes, the Blood Chalice, as that chalice is known in occult circles, is purported to be some sort of demonic or vampiric Holy Grail. So we're not talking about an ordinary jeweled goblet; but something which may be a powerful magical artifact. It could be extremely dangerous in the wrong hands. Remember, you have no official status, so you'll have to stay in the background and play wide-eyed tourist. Still want to come along, mon ami?" He had no doubt what her answer would be, and he wasn't disappointed.

"I'm coming with you." Her smile was forced, but her resolve was not. Oh well, there goes the perfect day...

 

It had taken the two only about ten minutes to drive over to the Louvre, which already had over a dozen police cars and vans out front. Captain Garneau scowled as several gendarmes stared openly at Pavla as she walked up alongside him, but none of them raised any objection to her presence. Yes, I know she's very pretty, but that's no excuse to be staring at her like a pack of lovesick adolescents. Jacques couldn't help wishing her dress were more appropriate attire for a crime scene. It wasn't that the dress was particularly immodest per se; any healthy girl showed considerably more skin when she sunbathed. She can only wear what she's got on when situations like this come up, but it isn't something seen routinely at crime scenes, and I doubt she really wants policemen ogling her all night either. I probably should have taken her back to her hotel, but I wanted some backup in case we run into any metahuman or supernatural opposition. Jacques stopped walking for a moment and touched her lightly on the shoulder, and she smiled gratefully as he gallantly slipped off his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders. Even though Jacques was only of average height, it still fell past her knees. Captain Garneau held up his badge and identification as he steered Pavla past the waiting officers and yellow crime scene tape and towards the open entry to the Louvre; then said something in French to the officers, who all laughed.

"What did you say to them?" Pavla asked in Norwegian as they walked through the police perimeter, past the famous glass pyramid and veered towards the open museum entrance at the Passage Richelieu, which was now guarded by a trio of gendarmes.

"I told them you were a Scandinavian colleague, so now, of course, they all think you're my mistress."

"Wonderful." She sighed theatrically.

"Sometimes the truth is the best lie. It's better than having them come on to you all night or asking awkward questions we'd rather not answer."

"Why won't they come on to me now?"

"Because I outrank everyone here, and it is considered a bad career move to seduce a superior's lover."

Pavla felt a momentary surge of annoyance, then the sheer absurdity of the situation struck her and she burst out laughing. Jacques looked startled, but an instant later joined her.

 

The two were still chuckling as they passed through the doors into the Louvre, and Pavla and Jacques turned left towards the missing chalice's display. Pavla's high heels seemed deafeningly loud on the antique parquet floors in the high-ceilinged corridors of the Sun King's fabled palace; now the world's most famous art museum. Arriving several minutes later at the location of the broken display case, they saw forensic technicians already beginning their painstaking examination of the crime scene. Captain Garneau gestured for a plainclothes officer to come over. "How did he get in, Henri?"

Inspector Henri Debussy was an experienced detective in the Paris Prefecture of Police, specializing in burglary cases; they'd known each other for almost seven years. He gave Pavla a quick once over, then replied to Jacques' question. "Through the skylight in the northeastern corner of the ceiling, Jacques. He bent the skylight's bars back from the frame."

"Surely it was alarmed?"

"Mais oui, but somehow he disabled most of the alarms in this section, and many of the cameras as well. It was very professionally done. Fortunately for us, he missed a new camera and alarm which were installed only last week to cover this specific display. The museum's security people are getting the video now."

"Excellent. Then let's pay a visit to the security office and see if we can figure out who our burglar is." With so many much more valuable items nearby untouched, it was difficult for Garneau not to suspect an occult motive for the theft.

A few minutes later Inspector Debussy, Jacques, and Pavla were examining video images together with two members of the Louvre security staff. "We caught this on one of the new cameras; it has both ultra-high speed and low-light capability. We've been upgrading our security for the past several years to deal with metahumans. Security video is now all stored digitally on computers offsite rather than locally on video tapes. There he is, in the upper left corner. Let's see if we can figure out who he is." They watched as the camera caught the intruder dropping lightly seven or eight meters down from the skylight to the floor and move towards the chalice's glass case. Pavla and Jacques exchanged a knowing look; anyone who dropped that far so casually was probably a metahuman. Then the intruder looked around and faced almost directly towards the camera for an instant. "There! Freeze that! Can you zoom in on his face?"

"Oui, monsieur." The museum security officer moved the cursor and tapped some commands into the keyboard and the image zoomed in on the burglar's face. The face was pixilated, but he tapped another key and the image was swiftly enhanced to the point they could have used it as a mug shot. It was a slender dark haired man in his mid-30's.

"Mon Dieu!" Henri Debussy exclaimed. "That's impossible!"

"What? Who is he?" asked Jacques.

"Gérard Montcrief, a professional cat burglar. He was found dead behind a nightclub two weeks ago."

"Are you certain?"

"Positive. I've arrested him several times, and I saw the body myself."

"Merde." Jacques turned and explained to Pavla in Norwegian what Henri had just told him, and she paled.

"He's certain?" Pavla asked.

"Absolutely."

"So either he faked his own dead body well enough to fool the police, or we're looking at some kind of reanimated corpse?"

"So it would appear."

"How are you stocked on garlic and holy water?" Pavla asked, only half jokingly, as she fingered her mother's antique crucifix hanging on a thin gold chain between her breasts.

Jacques shook his head, then turned back to Henri. "You said Montcrief's body was found behind a nightclub? Where exactly?"

"In the alley behind a Gothic club called 'Diabolique' in the Marais arrondissement. You know, those stupid Goth kids, the ones who wear black and try to look like vampires. Counterculture idiots."

Sounds like a great place to hide an animated corpse to me, thought Jacques. We may be dealing with a necromancer. "Is it the kind of place Montcrief would have hung out at?" Jacques asked.

Inspector Debussy laughed. "Hardly! He was quite the homebody. If he went into bars at all, it was only to fence stolen goods."

"Intéressant. Then I'd say this Diabolique sounds like as good a place as any to start our investigation, don't you think?"

"You'll never get anywhere with them. You may as well hang a sign around your neck that says 'Police'."

"I'm sure Narcotics or Vice can provide a suitable disguise."

"Possibly, though you're a bit old for that crowd. I think it would be a very bad idea to go in there alone; and two men together still shouts 'cops'!"

"What about a man and a young woman?"

Henri looked at Pavla in surprise as he realized who Jacques must be referring to. "I thought she was your girlfriend?"

"No, actually she's a Norwegian colleague I met when I was posted in Oslo two years ago. She's on vacation in Paris for a few days, and I'm just showing her around. We were at dinner when I got the call about this."

Henri looked at Pavla skeptically. "She looks a bit young to be a Norse cop."

"She isn't exactly a cop, but she can take care of herself, and certainly no one will take her for one."

"That's true enough." Henri thought for a moment, then gave a Gallic shrug. "It might work."

"Excuse me, Jacques," interrupted Pavla in Norwegian, "but why are you both looking at me like that?"

 

Ninety minutes later, Pavla examined herself in a full length mirror in the women's locker room at police headquarters and tried to remember if she'd ever agreed to do anything crazier than this. Nothing comes to mind, that's for sure. The Vice Detachment had come up with an extensive collection of garments used by young policewomen to disguise themselves as prostitutes. Having seen Goths in Oslo and Copenhagen, Pavla had managed to assemble a reasonable facsimile of a typical Goth girl's all-black outfit – a translucent silk blouse, slit leather miniskirt with a chain belt, lace gloves, black panties (her own; she'd flatly refused to wear a proffered thong), a garter belt and fishnet stockings, high-heeled leather combat boots, and dark-tinted pince-nez glasses. A female Narcotics detective had pierced her in the appropriate places and put in a stainless steel nose ring and a dozen earrings. Aggressively teasing and back-combing her meter-long blond hair had converted it into an unkempt mop which hung past her waist; then applying pale makeup, heavy black eye liner, black fingernail polish and dark purple lipstick had completed her transformation into a Gothic fashion template. As she studied her reflection, even she could hardly believe it was her in the mirror. Even my own mother wouldn't have possibly recognized me in this getup, which under the circumstances I suppose is a blessing. It wasn't that the Goth outfit was all that revealing; the dress she'd worn earlier in the evening actually showed more skin. It's just that it looks so damn…sleazy. I look like the Teen Slut from Hell. She stopped herself before she pulled the miniskirt's hem down for the umpteenth time. Face it, girl, you're gonna show more leg than you're comfortable with. You'd just better hope we don't get into a fight or you're going to be flashing more than your thighs, she thought with a wry chuckle as she exited the room.

 

Jacques had completed his much simpler disguise, which consisted essentially of changing into all black clothing and throwing on a 19th century cape, quite a while ago and was discussing surveillance of Diabolique with Henri Debussy in the hallway when Pavla came out of the women's locker room. Despite the fact he knew who she was and her intended disguise, he literally did a double take. Mon Dieu! Incroyable! A more radical contrast from Pavla's normal straight arrow image would be difficult – no, impossible - to imagine. He knew he would never have spotted her in a crowd. Hell, probably not even in a lineup.

"Think I'll pass, Monsieur Garneau?" Pavla asked in Norwegian. She had to laugh at the dumbfounded expression on his face, and Detective Debussy looked almost as stunned. "And no inappropriate remarks, please, or I'll be forced to break your arm." She smiled as she said it, and Jacques was sure she was joking. Pretty sure, anyway. Under the circumstances, he decided discretion was the better part of valor.

"Ah, of course not. Shall we go?" With a dozen police officers from the evening and night shifts watching in amusement, he gallantly extended the crook of his arm, and she tucked her hand into it as they walked out of the police station together looking like any ordinary undead couple.

[Trebuchet]

Re: La faune nocturne de Paris: A Short Story of Zl'f & Le Magister

 

Part Two

It was almost midnight by the time Jacques and Pavla arrived at Diabolique. Even on a weeknight the parking lot was nearly full, and Jacques decided to park across the street. They pulled in right behind a utility van, and he informed her the van was an undercover police vehicle keeping the nightclub under surveillance. He reached into the back seat of his sedan and threw on his black cape over his black slacks and black silk shirt. As the two walked towards the club entrance, Pavla saw their next hurdle – a pair of large bouncers passing or rejecting people in accordance with some unknown criterion. "What if they won't let me in, Jacques?"

"They will. Just stay next to me and act confident."

Sure enough, after standing in line for five minutes they passed through the door wardens easily, although one of them shot a quick look at Pavla. She hadn't even realized she was holding her breath until she let it out explosively as they entered the nightclub. I can't believe I was so worked up about getting past a couple of Neanderthals I could beat up with my hands tied behind my back. This undercover stuff sure is stressful!

 

Diabolique's floor was packed with dancing and talking kids in their late teens and early twenties, all dressed almost entirely in black. Recorded music from Gothic rock bands such as Bella Morte, The Deep Eynde and Black Ice blared from enormous speakers with a bass thump so powerful Pavla could feel it pulsing through her combat boots. The lighting was dim, although there were plenty of black light fixtures glowing which allowed Pavla to see very well despite her dark glasses. Lasers and other colored lights flashed continuously from the ceiling. The perimeter of the main dance area was surrounded by tables and booths, most of which were occupied by necking couples or small mixed groups talking (or more accurately, shouting) over the music. Although she was hardly a connoisseur of the nightclub scene, Pavla's first thought was that except for the outré clothing and hairstyles (and appallingly loud music) it all seemed pretty normal for a gathering of young adults. Jacques managed to quickly push their way through the crowd to a miraculously empty table with a view of the entrance. They sat next to each other so they wouldn't have to shout as loudly and risk being overheard, although both calculated the odds of any of Diabolique's other patrons speaking Norwegian was infinitesimal. A waitress appeared next to their table.

"Something to drink?" Jacques translated the waitress' question for Pavla.

"Some red wine would be nice."

"Deux verre de Bourgogne, s'il vous plait," he told the waitress, who nodded and headed for the bar.

They looked around more carefully and quickly spotted a heavily muscled man standing like a guard next to a door near the rear of the club. Several other similar closed doors were visible, and Jacques speculated they were private rooms for assignations or possibly more illicit activities. "None of the other rooms have a guard at the door. I'd really like to find out what's going on in there."

 

Before Jacques could explain how he intended to go about that, there was a disturbance at the club entrance. They turned to look as a tall voluptuous woman with long raven hair entered the club; an athletically built man in a suit and a small mousy looking woman with glasses and short brown hair followed her closely. The tall woman was clad in a slinky black silk evening dress with a deeply plunging neckline and back, and slit clear to the hip, and the crowd parted before her like she was Moses. All over the nightclub conversation stopped as patrons of both sexes turned to stare.

"My God," hissed Pavla, "she's absolutely gorgeous! Who is she?" She'd never seen a woman who radiated such raw sexuality. She glanced at Jacques, who like most of the men in the club was staring at the woman open-mouthed, then kicked his shin under the table. "Hey! Remember me? Your so-called 'date'?"

Jacques started, then reluctantly tore his eyes away from the woman's awe-inspiring décolletage and replied, "I've never seen her in person before, but I've seen her on TV and on billboards. She's a late night radio talk show hostess called Lady Morganna. She caters to the wiccan and druidic fringes; kind of like a French version of Art Bell." Pavla had no clue who Art Bell was, but she nodded sagely as they watched Morganna strut directly over to the door with the guard and go through it with her small entourage in tow. "Seems like she's a regular here. I recognized the man with her too. Martin DeCoeur; he was a Paris police detective until he resigned about three months ago. Looks like he's her bodyguard now. I have no idea who the brunette woman is. Now I've got to find out what's going on in that room."

"What's your plan?"

"I've got a handy little spell that allows me to hear what's being said at a distance. I can go to the men's room and then listen in on any conversation from there."

"What should I do?"

"Just wait here." He stood and headed for the men's room just before the waitress arrived with the wine.

The waitress held out her hand to Pavla. "Dix-sept euros, s'il vous plait."

Oh damn, I'm not sure how money much she needs. She reached into her purse, pulled out a €20 note, and raised her eyebrow questioningly. The waitress nodded, then took the bill with a quick "Merci" and walked off.

 

No sooner had the waitress left and Pavla taken a sip of her burgundy than a young man approached her and tried, as near as she could guess, to invite her to dance. She shook her head, and he looked disappointed but left to try his luck elsewhere. A minute later another tried, with the same result. A third, obviously inebriated and accompanied by three equally intoxicated friends, came by about two minutes later. This one actually tried to physically pull her out onto the dance floor, but since she was at least twice as strong as he was she simply rotated her arm sharply and easily broke his grip. He plopped down drunkenly in Jacques' vacant chair in an attempt to further his case, and Pavla finally responded by turning her back on him. His friends all burst out laughing, and he finally snarled something in French and stalked off angrily. Another hotshot pilot shot down in flames by the heartless Red Baroness, Pavla murmured to herself with a wintry smile as she reached for her wine glass. He's lucky I'm undercover, or I might have bruised more than his pride.

 

In the men's room, Jacques found an unoccupied booth and quickly cast his clairaudience spell. It took him a few seconds to move the reception point into the room in question, but soon enough he was listening to an interesting conversation.

"Gérard's late, Morganna," said a woman's voice.

"Only by a few minutes, Paulette. Relax. He was told to bring it in through the secret entrance," replied a sultry voice Jacques recognized as the radio hostess'.

"I don't like it." A male voice commented.

"Stop worrying, Martin. It's not like he could betray us, is it?"

Jacques dissolved the listening spell and left the men's room. Clearly they'd come to the right place; now the two heroes just needed to decide how to best deal with the situation.

 

He slid back into his chair next to Pavla and leaned in close. "Montcrief is due any minute with the goblet. He's supposed to come in through a secret entrance."

“Good.” She gestured at the wine glasses. “Have a drink. So what's your plan? Wait until he delivers the goblet, then arrest them all?"

"Non. I heard three of them in there. I don't want to deal with more than that at once. I think we should go in and take down the others first, then we can just wait for Monsieur Cat Burglar to arrive at our convenience."

"And if there are more metas?" The virtual impossibility of two or three unknown metas being able to defeat two full-fledged members of MidGuard went without saying, of course.

"Then we back off and send for reinforcements."

Pavla (or El’f, as she was known to most of the world), was justly renowned amongst her peers for her utter lack of planning in tactical situations, so she just nodded and asked, "So how do you want to go about it?" Despite the fact that, as MidGuard's acting team leader, El’f theoretically outranked Le Magister, she never even considered second guessing him in his own bailiwick. Besides, he'd been trained as a SWAT team leader. This type of operation was more his specialty than hers.

"Here's my thinking. Since we know for a certainty Montcrief is dead, I think it's far more likely we're dealing with a necromancer than metahumans. I'm betting the mousy-looking woman, Paulette, is the necromancer; and Martin and Montcrief are almost certainly some type of zombies. Morganna is probably just a human front-woman. So I'll take out Paulette magically while you deal with Martin, and Morganna if necessary."

"I would have figured Morganna for the boss."

"Hah! Only in the movies is the femme magnifique the evil sorceress; most people with true power in the occult arts are pretty ordinary looking. That's what makes Morganna such a splendid front. Remember if you have to fight one that zombies are dead, so they're immune to pain or other attacks that would incapacitate a normal human. You'll have to use attacks that would kill a human outright. Once I take down the necromancer, the zombie should collapse or simply stop.”

"Sounds like we've got a basic plan. So what's the first step?"

"Let's see if we can bluff our way past the bouncer at the door and get into that room."

"What makes you think he's just a bouncer and not another zombie?"

"I'd like to claim it's my supernaturally-attuned senses and extensive experience in such matters, but honesty compels me to admit I could see he was afraid of Morganna's entourage as she approached. Besides, he's wearing a Diabolique polo shirt just like the other bouncers."

"I'm impressed you were able to pull your eyes away from her magnificent backside long enough to notice such a trivial detail," Pavla teased.

Jacques put his hand over his heart and assumed a solemn mien. "A French officer must make many difficult sacrifices for the safety of the Republic," he sniffed, with just a faint twinkle in his eye. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I'll ever be to fight undead, I suppose.”

“Then let's do it.” He stood and wrapped his black cape around himself. “I'll pretend I have something for Morganna. You just follow me and try to look intimidating.”

“Jacques, even in these ridiculous high-heeled combat boots I'm only a bit over a meter and a half tall. Just how intimidating do you think I can look?”

“Are you serious? I've seen you at the office. Just use that face you wear when someone at the Foundation is late with a report you need, and you'll scare the poor guy half to death.” He headed for the guarded door, his cape swirling behind him and Pavla following in his wake. Jacques stopped a half meter from the bouncer.

“This is a private room. No one may enter,” the man standing guard informed them.

“You will inform Morganna that a Master has arrived, and will speak with her.”

“I don't care if you're Napoleon Bonaparte, you cannot enter.” The bouncer reached over to grab Jacques' lapel and push him away, but Jacques made a subtle gesture with his left hand and rendered himself insubstantial. The bouncer's hand passed right through Jacques' shirt and cape, and his eyes widened in sudden fear as he found himself unable to even touch the caped man. Behind the man he could see a petite young woman in dark glasses, her mask-like face devoid of any emotion, and he abruptly realized he didn't really want to deal with either of these people. Certainly not for the paltry €10 an hour Diabolique paid him.

“I'll… I'll ask if they'll see you, monsieur.”

“A wise decision, young man.”

The bouncer opened the door and entered the room, closing it behind him. He came out a minute later, his face pale and frightened. “She will see you now.” He gestured for Jacques and Pavla to enter the room; then closed it behind them.

Jacques and Pavla had expected a small room with a table and maybe a couch for sexual liaisons; they were surprised to find themselves in a moderately-sized and luxuriously appointed wood paneled office; another door visible on the right wall. Morganna was seated regally behind a heavy mahogany desk; the brown haired girl was standing just behind her left shoulder. Martin DeCoeur stood to the left of the door.

Morganna looked at the pair in distaste. “Who are you?”

“My name is unimportant, but I believe I have something you want.”

“The only thing I want are you two fools dead. Martin, Paulette, kill them!”

 

Martin reached into his coat, pulled out a 9mm Beretta pistol, and shot at Pavla. She easily dodged the bullet; then advanced and pushed him back three meters into the wall hard enough to have knocked a normal man unconscious, cracking the wood paneling but otherwise leaving him seemingly unfazed. He hadn't felt like a normal person when she'd shoved him either; it was more like she was pushing a bag of cement. As in not human. Uh oh. I guess that confirms the zombie theory!

 

Le Magister blasted Paulette with a bolt of magical energy, but she merely staggered back a few steps and then leapt clear across the room and swung at him, but he ducked aside and she dented the heavy soundproofed wood door behind him. Superhuman strength, toughness, and better than average human agility, the sorcerer noted analytically. That's definitely not typical of a zombie! What in Hades have we run into? His magesight told him Martin and Paulette were both supernatural creatures, but what kind? He didn't have time in the middle of a fight to cast the spell that would get him a more definitive answer, so he searched his memory for possibilities as the woman struck at him again. This time she hit his shoulder, but fortunately no damage got through his mystical defenses.

 

Meanwhile Pavla advanced on Martin; seized his pistol, and twisted it from his grip. He was superhumanly strong, but not quite strong enough to retain his grip on the weapon against her superior speed and leverage. She tossed it across the room; it landed with a clatter in the far corner from Martin. Her next move threw him to the ground. He might be stronger and tougher than the average human, but she was still many times faster and more agile. She heard a hissing sound, and spun around to watch as Morganna's sultry eyes turned blood red, her skin assumed the pallor of death, her fingernails became talons, and fangs sprouted from her mouth. Oh Jesus! Jacques didn't say anything about vampires!

 

Jacques also witnessed Morganna's transformation, and realized he'd made a serious error. Vampiric necromancers were almost unheard of, but it explained the unanticipated power of her undead servants – they weren't zombies at all, but revenants. Only very powerful and experienced necromancers could create revenants; the spell had to be cast immediately after the person died. Revenants possessed much of the indestructibility of vampires and few of their vulnerabilities. Unlike vampires they could go out in daylight and were immune to holy symbols, but unlike zombies revenants could pass as humans indefinitely. They even retained their original intelligence, personality, and limited free will as long as they obeyed their creator. Le Magister realized he and El’f might be seriously outmatched here, especially if there were more revenants nearby. Merde!

 

Morganna vaulted across the desk at Le Magister, but before the vampire could reach him El’f intercepted her and threw the creature to the floor. The undead monster shrieked in rage, then scrambled with supernatural speed to her feet and slashed at El’f.

 

This started as such a perfectly nice day too, thought Pavla sourly as she dodged the potentially disemboweling blow from her inhuman adversary's talons. Is this any way to treat a tourist in 'gay Paree'? Next to her, Paulette once again hit Le Magister but again failed to cause him any harm; then he englobed her in some sort of magical sphere. Martin had pulled out a collapsible steel baton, so El’f took a half second to quickly knock him back down again, then turned to deal with the vampire. What hurts vampires? I'm fresh out of holy water or garlic. Wood! Wooden stakes kill vampires! She looked around for any handy wooden stakes, then her eyes lit on the massive mahogany desk on the other side of the office. I'll bet if I break that, there'll be plenty of sharp wood pieces I can use. El’f bounced across the room, then delivered a powerful spinning kick which shattered the heavy desk into dozens of pieces. She snatched a spinning one roughly the size and shape of her forearm out of midair and sprang back to engage the vampire.

 

In the meantime Le Magister had switched tactics on his own undead opponent. Having discerned her attacks were not powerful enough to penetrate his defenses, the MidGuard sorcerer dissipated the globe of force holding Paulette, and cast a new spell; one which would slowly unbind the necromantic magics which gave her a semblance of life. It was slower, perhaps, than simply blasting her with magical force, but would guarantee she would no longer be undead.

 

Pavla placed the sharper end of the wood stick over Morganna's heart and struck it hard with her right hand, driving the stick into the monster's chest almost a centimeter. She actually heard the creature's sternum crack, and she hammered the mahogany stick repeatedly into the monster's chest as fast as she could; with each blow it went a little deeper towards the undead heart. Each and every blow to the stake splattered the vampire's blood onto Pavla's clothing and skin. Without a doubt it was the bloodiest and most brutal thing she'd ever done in her life, but there was no way she was going to allow this satanic monstrosity to escape. Morganna tried again and again to slash El’f with her claws, but never succeeded even once, and Pavla instinctively avoided meeting the vampire's eyes. Although any vampire was very quick and agile by ordinary human standards, compared to El’f Morganna was impossibly clumsy. Several times as El’f worked to destroy his mistress Martin tried to interfere, but a swift back-kick always knocked him back across the room without ever breaking her rhythmic pounding on the wooden stake. Slowly but inexorably the stake went deeper and deeper into the vampire's chest, and blackish blood began to pour out of the wound and the creature's eyes and fanged mouth. Suddenly Morganna stopped moving, then almost instantly her flesh and skeleton crumbled to dust, leaving behind nothing intact but her evening dress and jewelry.

 

With Morganna destroyed, Jacques then turned the same spell onto Martin, and within mere moments both revenants had collapsed.

 

El’f looked down at the pile of dust and clothing which had been a vampire moments before, then walked tiredly over to Jacques and watched as the unlife finally left Martin's twitching corpse, crossed herself, and said a brief prayer. “May God have mercy on their souls.” She looked over at her teammate as she tried to wipe the dried blood off her face and hands and beat it off her clothing. When the vampire died, even her blood had turned to dust. “What now?”

 

Le Magister looked at his young comrade and handed her his handkerchief to wipe her face with. “We still have one more probable revenant - that's what Paulette and Martin were, not zombies - to deal with. I'll explain the difference later, if you want. We can just wait here for Montcrief to arrive, or try to find the secret entrance I heard them talking about and meet him.”

“If it's all the same to you, I'd just as soon get out of here. I feel like I'm going to be sick.” Her voice sounded distant, and he realized the bloody slaying of the vampire had affected her emotionally far more than she'd admit. If there was anything Pavla Sergetov was not, it was a killer; even if what she was “killing” wasn't truly alive. He suspected the real impact wouldn't hit her until later.

“Let's go look for Montclair then. When the gendarmes arrive here, all they'll find is some dust and two weeks-old corpses.”

“Thank you.” She smiled wanly, and he patted her arm reassuringly.

Captain Garneau spent only a few minutes searching before he found an artfully concealed doorway which opened into a sloping passage downwards. The two followed it for only a minute or two before they heard footsteps, and they stopped and waited as Gérard Montcrief came around a curve in the passage. He was carrying a wrapped container about the size of a shoebox, and came to an abrupt stop as he saw the two of them standing in the corridor.

“Who the Hell are you?”

“That is none of your concern, Monsieur Montcrief. All you need to know is that we are the people who just destroyed your two undead comrades, Paulette and Martin, and your mistress, Morganna. She's nothing but a pile of dust now.”

“You did that?”

“If you don't believe us, you're quite welcome to check.” He gestured up the corridor behind them.

“No, I believe you. What do you want?”

“That box, assuming it contains the Blood Chalice you took from the Louvre earlier this evening.”

“The damned bitch killed me and made me undead just so she'd have a cat burglar to steal the damned thing. I didn't want to take it, you know, it's too high profile. But she ordered me to, and I had no choice.”

“I know that, Gérard. So if you'll give me the Chalice, I'll let you go on your way unharmed.”

“What?” exclaimed Montcrief in disbelief.

“What?” exclaimed Pavla in disbelief after he explained the offer to her.

“Mon ami,” explained Jacques, “this man was murdered by Morganna and turned into a revenant just so he could take the Blood Chalice. Yes, he's a professional thief, but even if he'd taken it of his own free will, theft is not a capital crime in France. And the only way I could hold him would be to strip away his undead life; in essence killing him again.”

He turned back to Montcrief. “Give the Chalice to the young lady.” The revenant hurriedly complied, and Pavla took the Blood Chalice out of the box and examined it carefully. “It looks intact.”

“Then we shall send him on his way, with a little caveat.” The sorcerer quickly cast a spell on the undead thief, and then told him, “I can now find you anywhere, anytime, to the ends of the Earth, my friend. You owe me a favor, and should I ever ask you for information on the French criminal or supernatural underworlds, I will expect you honestly attempt to get it for me. If not, then you'll just be another rotting body the gendarmes will find like Paulette and Martin upstairs. Understood?”

“Oui, oui!”

“Then I suggest you go.” The revenant looked at them as if he expected to be shot in the back, but he turned and ran swiftly down the corridor away from the two MidGuardians.

“You don't think that was a serious mistake?” asked Pavla.

“I am an investigator, mademoiselle. I live and breathe information, and an informant like Gérard could give me useful material for decades. He's a burglar, not a killer.”

“Well, it's your jurisdiction, I suppose. I guess we'd better get the Blood Chalice back over to the Louvre.”

“My thoughts exactly. Shall we see where this passage comes out?” He extended his arm, and she tucked her hand into it again as they left Diabolique once and for all.

[Trebuchet]

Re: La faune nocturne de Paris: A Short Story of Zl'f & Le Magister

 

Epilogue

 

Three days later, Jacques and Pavla watched as Captain Andersen slowly taxied the Citation CJ2+ out of the Europa 2000 Foundation hanger at Orly field, came to a stop, and lowered the door ramp to wait for Pavla to board. The morning air was cool, and Pavla stood in blue jeans, high-heeled boots and a wool sweater next to her fellow MidGuardian. Her luggage had already been loaded onto the executive jet. Once she boarded, she would be piloting the jet back home.

 

Jacques had returned the Blood Chalice to the Louvre the morning after they'd recovered it, earning himself the profound thanks of both the museum's Director and the Russian Ambassador and, more importantly for his career, a formal Letter of Commendation from the head of the French National Police. Pavla's name and participation had been kept carefully absent from the official reports.

 

"Jacques, I'm curious," Pavla asked over the whine of the jet engines. Nobody could possibly overhear their conversation. "How did you explain getting back the chalice without apprehending the thief?

 

"Simple. I told them the thief threatened to destroy the chalice unless I gave him my word of honor as a French officer I'd let him go. Police do negotiations like that all the time."

 

"And did you tell them the thief was actually Gérard Montcrief?"

 

"I said he must have been a look-alike, perhaps a relative, but that we knew Montcrief was dead. After all, his body was positively ID'd by the coroner from his fingerprints."

 

"And they actually accepted that?"

 

"It's easier to accept than the truth would have been - that a vampire necromancer and her undead gang had stolen it for reasons unknown. Some things I suspect the Powers That Be would just rather not know. I'm certain they know there was information I withheld, like your name and participation."

 

"Jacques, I, umm, know what with all the official stuff you've been busy with in the past couple days, we haven't talked much since... that night, but I can't seem to get Morganna's face out of my head. I... I've never killed anyone before, not even a vampire. I keep having bad dreams... well, more like nightmares... about her. I still feel... dirty; like the blood splatter never washed off." Garneau nodded understandingly. He knew she'd spent so long in the women's shower back at National Police Headquarters that she'd used up all the hot water in the building. What he didn't know was that she'd spent most of that time crouched on the tile floor of the shower stall under the running water, with her arms wrapped around her knees, crying.

 

"It's never an easy thing to do, Pavla. It wasn't for me either, and I used magic, not a wooden stake. It will take time to get over it, but I have confidence you will. You're a strong young woman. Talk to your friend Dr. Richmond if you need to; she's got her head on straight. I know that Russian Orthodox crucifix you always wear isn't just jewelry. Go to church, and maybe talk to your priest. And of course I'd be pleased to talk with you any time. Just call me, or use the hypercom." He tapped the tiny new MidGuard hyperspace communications device hidden behind his ear; one of the things she'd brought down from Oslo to give him.

 

"Thank you, Jacques. I really appreciate that." Something changed subtly in her eyes, and he could see she finally understood she would get past this, with help from her friends and her deep faith in God.

 

"Chéri, it has truly been an honor serving with you again. I hope we will see each other again soon." He kissed her hand, then straightened and met her eyes, which as usual were covered by blue-tinted glasses. He'd noticed the multiple holes from her nose and ear piercings had disappeared without even the faintest trace by the next morning. Must be her healing ability. I didn't realize it worked that quickly.

 

"I hope so too." She even managed a faint smile; the first he'd seen in three days.

 

"By the way, I have a gift for you. A little memento of your visit to Paris." He reached into his suit pocket, pulled out a slim package about the size of a hardback book wrapped in patterned silver foil, and handed it to her.

 

She looked at it in puzzlement. "Can I open it?"

 

"By all means."

 

She slit the wrapping with her long fingernails, and slid out an antique silver picture frame. What the...? She flipped the frame over and gasped as she saw the picture in the frame - A full frame black and white photograph of her standing in her Goth outfit outside Diabolique; Jacques right behind her dressed in his black clothing and cape.

 

"You knew we had the club under surveillance. I had the boys in the photo lab enhance it a bit." He smiled. "They were quite taken with you."

 

I don't doubt they were, she thought dryly as she realized how short her miniskirt had been and how translucent her thin silk blouse appeared in the photo. Neatly handwritten across the bottom of the photo in black felt-tip pen was a phrase in French - 'La faune nocturne de Paris' "What does it mean?"

 

"Paris Night Life."

 

Pavla smiled, then surprised Jacques by fiercely embracing him. "Thank you, my friend. Au revoir." She released him, then stepped back, nodded at him, and boarded the jet for the trip back to Oslo. She had a long flight home, and a new picture to put up on her office wall. Certainly nobody back home would ever recognize the female subject. Besides, she thought as she slipped into the copilot's seat, put on the safety harness and headphones, and began going through the preflight checklist with Bjorn Andersen, nobody would believe it even if I told them.

[Trebuchet]

Re: La faune nocturne de Paris: A Short Story of Zl'f & Le Magister

 

Note: This is the first short story featuring Zl'f I've written that is based on an actual Champions adventure I participated in instead of strictly my own imagination; and so I had to adhere fairly closely to the actual events of the scenario. I took copious notes during the course of the adventure. I did flesh out some of the dialogue and internal monologues (with input from both the GM and the other player) and add a bit of detail to the background, but the basic story is fairly close to the adventure run by the GM and pretty close to how it actually went (including how Eric "Cyberknight" Thorssen enticed Pavla to fly to Paris). The epilogue is mine and wasn't role-played, it was based on discussions with the GM and the other player. This also turned into the second longest story I've ever written and the longest one I've ever posted; over 11 pages of 11 point text. How the heck did that happen?

 

Any mutilation of the French or English languages (except for the title, which was kindly provided by Mister Khan) is entirely mine.

 

Blackjack was the GM, and Le Magister was played by El Tripon. For reasons beyond his control, El Tripon was unable to play in our MidGuard campaign for an entire 18 months and that's why Zl'f and Le Magister didn't know each other well. (We discussed it and realized this adventure was probably only the second or third time they'd worked together.)

 

If you're wondering how Pavla managed to disguise herself as a Goth chick so well her own mother wouldn't have recognized her and also got past the bouncers at the door despite the fact she normally looks fourteen years old (it's one of her DisAds that she looks like, and is often treated as, a minor) it's because she rolled a natural "4" on her Everyman 8- Disguise roll.

 

BTW, I used 1 XP from this adventure to finally buy Pavla the Perk: Licensed Pilot which (amazingly) I've been thinking about doing since at least July '04.

[ghost-angel]

Re: La faune nocturne de Paris: A Short Story of Zl'f & Le Magister

 

Very cool stuff. It can be hard to get an actual game session down into paper sometimes - admirable job.

[Trebuchet]

Re: La faune nocturne de Paris: A Short Story of Zl'f & Le Magister

 

Very cool stuff. It can be hard to get an actual game session down into paper sometimes - admirable job.

Thanks.

 

We thought we had it all figured out, and El Tripon was convinced the mousy chick was the necromancer. We were floored when it turned out it was Morganna, and that she was a 400 year old vampire as well. I certainly never expected Zl'f to be staking a vampire; and it traumatized her quite a bit even at the time (which I expanded upon in the epilogue). She's just not a killer.

 

It was a great game session, and I'm glad the story turned out so well too.

[ghost-angel]

Re: La faune nocturne de Paris: A Short Story of Zl'f & Le Magister

 

Somehow I see Z'lf hesitating if the situation ever arises again. . .

 

(oh and i'd Rep you but the usual .. gotta spread the lovins around first)

[El Tripon]

Re: La faune nocturne de Paris: A Short Story of Zl'f & Le Magister

 

It was a fun game. Blackjack did a great job. Trebuchet did a great job putting it on paper.

[Trebuchet]

Re: La faune nocturne de Paris: A Short Story of Zl'f & Le Magister

 

Somehow I see Z'lf hesitating if the situation ever arises again. . .

Oh, no doubt about it. That's what you get with a Total CvK, even when you're dealing with a vampire clearly intent on killing you and a friend. Actually, I can pretty much see Zl'f melting down into a quivering pile of jello if the situation were ever to arise again. (And forget her doing it in "cold blood" with the vamp sleeping in its coffin. Ain't gonna happen.)

 

(oh and i'd Rep you but the usual .. gotta spread the lovins around first)

's cool. At least your love taps are worth waiting for...

[Vestnik]

Re: La faune nocturne de Paris: A Short Story of Zl'f & Le Magister

 

Zl'f is an awesome character. But why does she have Restrainable on her Running and Leaping? Aren't they just legs?

[Trebuchet]

Re: La faune nocturne de Paris: A Short Story of Zl'f & Le Magister

 

Zl'f is an awesome character. But why does she have Restrainable on her Running and Leaping? Aren't they just legs?

All of the Powers in her MP have Restrainable because she requires freedom of movement for full combat efficiency. The Restrainable doesn't effect her base 3" Leaping from her 15 STR, or her base 6" of Running and the +14" Running (Superfast Muscles) outside of her MP.

 

Does this really bother you so much you actually felt obligated to dig up her stats in another thread, dissect the character design, and post this nitpicky complaint here? If it doesn't bother my GMs, then why the Hell should you care? This is your idea of insightful commentary? Why can't you just enjoy the story?

[Vestnik]

Re: La faune nocturne de Paris: A Short Story of Zl'f & Le Magister

 

Mellow out man! I liked the build so much I printed it out, and as I was reading it the Limit caught my eye and I wondered what the rationale was. Nothing more than that. Like I said it's a great character.

[Trebuchet]

Re: La faune nocturne de Paris: A Short Story of Zl'f & Le Magister

 

Mellow out man! I liked the build so much I printed it out' date=' and as I was reading it the Limit caught my eye and I wondered what the rationale was. Nothing more than that. Like I said it's a great character.[/quote']Sorry if I overreacted.

 

I generally expect comments about character builds in threads where those builds are posted; not in story threads. I was also overdue for my pain meds from my recent back surgery, and so in a bit of a snit. 20 mg of codeine and 5 mg of valium have done much to restore my mental equalibrium.

 

Other than my snippiness, did you like the story?

[Vestnik]

Re: La faune nocturne de Paris: A Short Story of Zl'f & Le Magister

 

I think the story is excellent (and I'm a former editorial writer and editor for a newspaper, if that means anything). I really quite admire people who devote that much time to develop their characters in a really literary way. I am far too lazy to do so myself.

[OddHat]

Re: La faune nocturne de Paris: A Short Story of Zl'f & Le Magister

 

Fantastic work, Treb. Sounds like a blast of an adventure, and you've put it together well as a short story.

 

Next sub-plot: Zl'f is mistaken for a Slayer. How can she cope with being followed by an annoying English amateur occultist, four chirpy high school students (one of them a werewolf), and a dreamy vamp boy?

[ghost-angel]

Re: La faune nocturne de Paris: A Short Story of Zl'f & Le Magister

 

Fantastic work, Treb. Sounds like a blast of an adventure, and you've put it together well as a short story.

 

Next sub-plot: Zl'f is mistaken for a Slayer. How can she cope with being followed by an annoying English amateur occultist, four chirpy high school students (one of them a werewolf), and a dreamy vamp boy?

. . . I see her buying off CVK temporarily. I would.

[Trebuchet]

Re: La faune nocturne de Paris: A Short Story of Zl'f & Le Magister

 

I think the story is excellent (and I'm a former editorial writer and editor for a newspaper' date=' if that means anything). I really quite admire people who devote that much time to develop their characters in a really literary way. I am far too lazy to do so myself. [/quote']I really devote too much time to it, but it's not like I have a real life.

 

Several other Zl'f short stories, an "interview", and her backgound writeup can be found here:

 

Crossover: http://herogame.dans.cust.servlets.net/forums/showpost.php?p=1055086&postcount=4

 

My Summer Vacation: http://herogame.dans.cust.servlets.net/forums/showthread.php?p=978881#post978881

 

Vignette: http://herogame.dans.cust.servlets.net/forums/showpost.php?p=990078&postcount=23

 

Writeup: http://herogame.dans.cust.servlets.net/forums/showthread.php?t=45413

 

Interview with a Superheroine: http://herogame.dans.cust.servlets.net/forums/showthread.php?t=7331

 

 

"My Summer Vacation" is my favorite Zl'f story so far, despite the fact she doesn't even use her powers at all during it. I most like writing about the people, not their superpowers and the fights.

[TheRavenIs]

Re: La faune nocturne de Paris: A Short Story of Zl'f & Le Magister

 

All I can say is that Zl'f is a great C. I love the way you write her and her world.

 

You must spread some Reputation around before giving it to Trebuchet again.

[Trebuchet]

Re: La faune nocturne de Paris: A Short Story of Zl'f & Le Magister

 

Fantastic work' date=' Treb. Sounds like a blast of an adventure, and you've put it together well as a short story.[/quote']It was a lot of fun. Several of the players and GMs in our gaming group have decided we're going to try and run more of these small 2 - 3 player adventures because you can just get in so much more good roleplaying than you can with the full 7 man team present; plus it's so much easier to highlight specific characters. I'll be running one for El Tripon's Le Magister and Blackjack's NPC Jinx in a couple of weeks.

 

Next sub-plot: Zl'f is mistaken for a Slayer. How can she cope with being followed by an annoying English amateur occultist, four chirpy high school students (one of them a werewolf), and a dreamy vamp boy?

First step is to get rid of a troublemaker named Robert Dorf.

[Trebuchet]

Re: La faune nocturne de Paris: A Short Story of Zl'f & Le Magister

 

All I can say is that Zl'f is a great C. I love the way you write her and her world.

 

You must spread some Reputation around before giving it to Trebuchet again.

Thank you, kind sir. I really enjoy writing, but I like reading other players' stories about their characters even more.

[OddHat]

Re: La faune nocturne de Paris: A Short Story of Zl'f & Le Magister

 

It was a lot of fun. Several of the players and GMs in our gaming group have decided we're going to try and run more of these small 2 - 3 player adventures because you can just get in so much more good roleplaying than you can with the full 7 man team present; plus it's so much easier to highlight specific characters. I'll be running one for El Tripon's Le Magister and Blackjack's NPC Jinx in a couple of weeks.

 

It's also easier to schedule. I've been running smaller two player games for a while when everyone can't make it. In those two player games, the Players have sometimes played the roles of minor villains. It lets them see more of the game world and plot without giving everything away, and nicely sets up the informants and back story for the Heroes. Highly recommended.

[Blackjack]

Re: La faune nocturne de Paris: A Short Story of Zl'f & Le Magister

 

Next sub-plot: Zl'f is mistaken for a Slayer. How can she cope with being followed by an annoying English amateur occultist' date=' four chirpy high school students (one of them a werewolf), and a dreamy vamp boy? [/quote']

 

Uh... no...

 

/inner voice: Now wait a minute, you really should at least consider the possiblity. *whistles and thinks for a moment* Right, OK...

 

Uh, H*** NO!

 

Seriously, it was great to get a chance to see two really good roleplayers have a chance to really get into their characters and to kick some butt at the same time. As a GM and an observer, it was really satisfying.

[El Tripon]

Re: La faune nocturne de Paris: A Short Story of Zl'f & Le Magister

 

I really quite admire people who devote that much time to develop their characters in a really literary way. I am far too lazy to do so myself.

 

Me too on both counts. Unfortunately, with Trebuchet, Mentor and Blackjack in my gaming / friend group, it makes me look like a slacker.

 

I guess I'll just have to make sure they feel a need to write next time I GM. I understand it's good therapy.

[Trebuchet]

Re: La faune nocturne de Paris: A Short Story of Zl'f & Le Magister

 

Me too on both counts. Unfortunately' date=' with Trebuchet, Mentor and Blackjack in my gaming / friend group, it makes me look like a slacker.[/quote']Get to work, you slacker!

 

If you'd stop taking 28,000 credit hours during summer sessions, you'd have more time for the important stuff like gaming.

 

I guess I'll just have to make sure they feel a need to write next time I GM. I understand it's good therapy.

Good point. I need all the therapy I can get.

[Trebuchet]

Re: La faune nocturne de Paris: A Short Story of Zl'f & Le Magister

 

Le bosse.