Las Vegas DFRPG ch1: The Desert Inn

[Belial_the_Leveler]

The Las Vegas Strip. One of the four largest tourist attractions in the world, it is a temple to entertainment, culture, free enterprise, luck and wealth 4,2 miles long. Some of the world's largest and wealthiest casinos and hotels are part of the Strip, a blight line in the night like some huge airport runway framed by the altars of ancient gods. The majority of people outside Nevada don't know that the Strip is actually outside Las Vegas proper and goes through the the unincorporated towns of Paradise and Winchester, which are south of the Las Vegas city limits. There is a reason for that of course; the Strip was originally designed and, over the course of eight decades its construction was partially funded and subtly guided by nonhumans. Of course, the vast majority of people both in and out of Nevada are unaware of the White Court vampires, lesser demons, faeries and at least one alleged dragon that helped plan and direct the entire effort. It is for that reason that the Strip is outside the city proper; easier to control and easier to hide the supernatural involvement. But the events to follow will put this delicate, hidden control into peril... along with everything else.




Where the aptly named "Desert Inn Road" meets the Las Vegas Boulevard, the Desert Inn is built. What's that? The Stardust Resort/Casino is there you say? Well, not exactly. The Desert Inn is an unassuming building; an old castle of sun-bleached stone not even fifteen floors high, it is short and dull by modern standards. So short and dull in fact that, impossibly, everyone who doesn't already know it's there cannot see it. They seem to subconsciously avoid the place without even realizing it - or the Inn itself is consciously avoiding them; nobody really knows. But space seems to flow around it and that's how both it and the "Stardust" seem to be at the same place if someone puts a measuring tape to the pavement.
Having existed since before the Strip was built, the building's owner managed to declare it Accorded Neutral Ground to end the white court's incessant requests that the Desert Inn move so they could build their little tourist town. In the decades since it has slowly succumbed to the influence of the region and become a casino itself; perhaps the only casino in the world that caters exclusively to supernaturals and those few mortals 'in the know' about the reality of magic and myth. And it is for this reason it attracts supernaturals of all kinds that pass through or near Las Vegas. In its gleaming-gold tables and seats, its silvered walls and gleaming white crystals in lieu of lights, its magically-powered game machines and nonhuman security, supernatural beings gather more to exchange favors, build alliances and bet on the spectacles exclusive to the Desert Inn: an underground arena in the old castle's dungeons, the magical dueling tournament with a powerful Warding that prevents permanent harm, the potion bazaar and the Dreamworld - a virtual reality system using illusions and the Nevernever rather than actual virtual reality machines.

And it is at this place that the recent upheavals in the world are going to have a major effect next.

[Razorstorm]

John Smith is sitting at a table playing a game of Texas Hold 'Em. Three other men sit around the table, plus the dealer. He looks down at his cards, a bored look on his face. He looks up at the leggy blonde standing behind him, "This is gonna be a long night, doll. Mind getting me another one of these?" She smiles vacuously and heads off. He looks back at the pile of chips in the middle. "Oh, right it's my turn." He looks unconfident, "Umm, yeah sure, I guess I'm in. I'll see you. Well, umm, I guess I'll raise by 50. Wait... no, I'll just match." He awkwardly shoves a few chips in. He looks at the next guy, "Your go."

The next guy barely contains his predatory smile framed by his Hell's Angel beard. He moves his chips in pompously, "I'll see, and raise by 500." John blanches a bit. Another guy at the table matches the chips grudgingly. The next takes a peak at his cards, then slides them to the dealer. "I'm out. Damn." The bearded man looked to John, "Well, Skinny, what's your move?"

John looked helplessly at the pile of chips, at his cards again in hand. He sighs, "I guess... I'll stay." He moves his chips in to match the pot. Bearded dude flips his hand over. "Full house! Hah!" The other player still in the game curses, and pushes his cards to the dealer. All eyes go to John. He sighs, looking again at his hand, and his shoulders slump, the cards face down on the table.

Then he slowly starts turning his cards over one by one, very deliberately. "Let's see... 5 of Clubs. 4 of Clubs, 7, 8." He smiles at the bearded man. "Take a guess what the last card is?" He makes the card do a little dance on its edges, but keeping the face hidden. He gives it a little flick, and the card does a pirouette on it's corner, spinning for a long moment before falling face up on the table. 6 of Clubs. He cracks a goofy wide grin. "I could be wrong, but I think a straight flush beats a full house. I can never remember." He looks up at the dealer. "Is that right? I think that's right." The dealer nods.

The girl returns with his drink. "Ooo, that's a lotta chips. Who's winning?" He takes it from her. He takes a deep swig. "We were just discussing that actually." He leans forward, his elbows on the table, the drink in front of him, looking right at the bearded man. "So tell her, buddy. Who's winning?"

[Iron Warlord]

Virgil Hunter looked around the Desert Inn as he walked through the door. Most of the usual crowd seemed to be there and none of them gave him a second glance so he walked over to the bar to order a Scotch Highball before making his way to a blackjack table where he would spend the next hour playing five dollar hands. Virgil usually spent his evenings either at the small two bedroom house he had bought in North Las Vegas or at the Desert Inn, and tonight he had been too antsy to stay home, so he had hopped on his World War II motor cycle and rode downtown. The bike was actually an old military motor cycle that Virgil's grandfather had somehow managed to smuggle home from Europe after the War. After his old used '97 Civic had broken down completely for the fifth time Virgil had taken the bike out of storage and had it restored using as many original parts as he could. It still didn't run perfectly, but it worked well enough.

As Virgil settled into his usual routine of playing blackjack he kept an eye on the rest of the people around. He had been in Vegas for about a month and a half and he knew quite a few of the 'crowd' by name and face if not personally. In his time in Vegas he had learned a couple of important lessons, the first was how to play blackjack, everyone who went into a Casino needed a game to play, especially if they were there for more than just entertainment. The second was to drink without getting drunk or looking like you weren't drinking. Highballs helped with that, the alcohol was watered down significantly with ginger ale so he could work his way through three or four in a night with nothing more than a slight buzz, but at the same time he was drinking and playing so everyone around just assumed he was there for the same reasons they were. The last lesson was the tough one though, if you play against the favorite you are either going to win big or you are going to lose it all. Since his job here was to play big against anyone trying to take control of Las Vegas he knew that whatever happened he would need to win every time he had to show his hand or he wouldn't be in Vegas for long.

[Jack Arken]

"You're late. Do it again and you can kiss your promising career goodbye." The short balding man said, jabbing his finger into Heck's chest for emphasis. Narrowing his eye's Heck stared the little man down, maybe it was his silence maybe it was the black teardrop tattoo under his right eye but the manager stepped out of his way. "Get out there already." He said making a point to avoid eye contact. Walking out onto the stage of the Desert Inn Casino the dark haired man took a drag off his cigarette looking out onto the crowd of people. People, he smiled at that, not all of them were he was sure.

He grabbed the single stool sitting amidst the stage lights and moved it closer to the edge. Some of the crowd hadn't noticed his entrance and so no one heard the scrape of the stools foot over the conversations still going on. Or the clack of him popping open his guitar case, black and emblazoned in gold "Harry Heck". It wasn't until he transferred his cigarette to his right hand, between the myriad silver rings he wore and strummed his six string guitar that the crowd quieted down. Not even a whisper was heard before his deep voice reverberated around the room.

"I can hear what you're thinkin'
All your doubts and fears
And if you look in my eyes in time you'll find,
The reason I'm here."

He had been playing bars up and down Paradise when the talent manager at the Desert Inn had invited him to play a few nights. Heck had never heard of the place but now that he'd been here he knew why. The whole place was a freak show and only those like him got to visit it seemed.

"You know your days are numbered
Count 'em one by one
Like notches in the handle of an outlaw's gun
You can outrun the devil if you try
But you will never outrun the hands of time."

Well, as long as they paid well and he was safe in this "Neutral" ground he wouldn't complain.

[Hemnon]

in the shadows lurked Celina, like a shadow herself within them. She was simply on a recon mission for her clan, the target: recon and report any new arrivals and possible threats.

So there she where, in a gambling den for those in the know, whether human, scion, Demon, Fey or anything inbetween. She didn't much care for these kind of places and the noises from the different tables and slotmachines where like nails on a chalkboard to her, grating her nerves. ''hng... I really hate these kind of places...'' she mumbled to herself as she, in a fluid motion, walked through the mass of people and Others, showing no signs of being present to anyone, being nothing more than a part of the setting.

Celina had her Katana and Pistol within easy reach at all times, and kept them well hidden within the folds of her cloak , out of sight from everyone.

[Belial_the_Leveler]

It is a slow night for the Desert Inn. Normally, the casino would be full of lesser supernaturals testing their luck, exchanging news or gathering by groups to renew alliances. But tonight, minor talents, shapeshifters, changelings, ghouls and white court vampires are in short supply. Even out here in the desert there is word of the Fomorian attacks and how they rarely play by the rules - few of the smaller fish want to chance an encounter with them. There is a small coven of three middle-aged witches smiling at the barely-legal, cute blond of a Raith scion entertaining them and trying to charm his way (or build up his courage) to suggest a foursome, a plump, balding, aging werewolf staring at a striking blonde teenage nymph changeling with a dangerous leer, and a ghoul idly shifting in and out of his human disguise while enjoying his drinks. There are a couple of serious-looking men rumored to be wizards at the card tables along with a trio of fellas with less identifiable origins and nature, a small band of musicians on stage and even a woman wreathed in perpetual shadow touching her gun and sword every so often. Not a small crowd for a supernatural establishment but a tiny one for a casino the size of the Desert Inn. There seems to be only a single waitress too, but she's a handful; a striking, six-feet-tall young woman of pale skin, a waterfall of silver hair falling to the small of her back, wearing a flowing, sleeveless black dress. The regulars know and seem to love her, calling her by her name -Chandra- just as she knows theirs. She's always there with a benign smile for the polite patrons, a mischievous grin for the tricky or adventurous ones and a piercing stare for those even thinking of disturbing the peace; there is a shotgun over the bar she keeps returning to, hanging just below the sign proclaiming this establishment accorded neutral ground. An old gun and well used; the meaning is clear. Even murderous monsters give her some respect and newcomers are uncertain if this "miss Tanith" doesn't have some supernatural aura of awe to go with her uncanny ability to always be there when a client wants to order and always manage such orders on time regardless of how big the crowd is. For the moment though, the Desert Inn's waitress/bouncer is enjoying her own drink since no new customers have arrived for a time.




Suddenly, the lights flicker. The soft music turns to an eerie drone and the slot machines begin to fizzle and chirp erratically, even when nobody is working them. Strange - the Inn's equipment is famous for its resistance to hexing. Then the temperature plummets at spots until every breath is a plume of white vapor while at others it skyrockets until people are sweating profusely as if scalded by the desert's midday sun. Something is very, very wrong... The whole disturbance has taken all of a second, even though it felt like half an hour. Except for Chandra the waitress who has already grabbed the shotgun and chambers a round with an audible double-click, everyone is still in their seats as the casino's outer doors open and two strangers march in. In unassuming business suits, flat shoes, outdated glasses and hats and barely clearing five and a half feet, the two young men could have been second-rate attorneys or small-scale businessmen. Could have been, except for their suits being messily torn, their glasses being broken, copious amounts of blood drenching them from head to toe to the point that they're leaving bloody footprints at every step, an eerie, feral glow in their eyes and snarls at their mouths. Oh, and the torn-off car door hanging askew at the second guy's left shoulder, with his whole hand and arm having gone through it and now wearing it like some monstrous armband. Not that he appears to have noticed he's doing so. The two strangers walk casually to the center of the chamber with deceptive speed, the first one idly swatting the ghoul as they pass him by. The ghoul's whole head explodes into pink mist and splatters against the wall in a wash of tiny, messy, sticky pieces and bloody goo. The body flops upright for a moment, blood fountaining at the stump of the neck as it begins to fall.


Your hearts beat once more in your chests; another second has passed.

[Iron Warlord]

"Sciath," Virgil mutters as he fingers the metal and leather gauntlet on his left arm. A subtle shimmer spreads through the air to create a shallow dome in front of him as his magic creates a shield against most typical forms of attack. Whoever these gentlemen are they are quite obviously here to cause trouble, but he isn't stupid enough to throw the first punch on Neutral Ground. Okay technically the fellow jellied that ghoul's head threw the first punch, but it was a ghoul so Virgil would give them the benefit of the doubt.

[Jack Arken]

The next note falls flat and the words die in Harry Heck's mouth. What the hell, these guys weren't fooling around. Still, best not to get involved. They were probably here for one of the wealthier patrons. But... just in case he reached down into his guitar case and tilted his revolver to make sure it was loaded. Yep. He saw the back of six .45 caliber bullets before he flipped the cylinder closed and turned his gaze up to eye the newcomers. Ready to draw if they came his way.

[Hemnon]

What in the nine circles of hell are those two??? Celina thought to herself as she slipped further out of sight, being in the line of fire was NOT a good idea and the mix-match of creatures obscured her line of sight. So she slowly slid from shadow to shadow, trying to get both a better vantage point, as well as being a more safe place than on ground zero.

Her thoughts began revolving around just what those two really where. they where dangerous, deadly and had an aura of fluxxing temperature as evident by the sudden hot- and coldspots randomly appearing and vanishing.

Rolls

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Lore Check to figure out what those two danger-guys are:
(4d6)[5][5][4][3](17) + 2 (Lore Skill)
Total: 4

[Razorstorm]

Mr Smith looked up from his cards at the newcomers, looking scared and helpless like a mortal would. His goal is simply to be overlooked by the new comers. When the ghoul gets splattered he gasps and ducks under the table, and activates a veil.

Roll

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Deceit (4d6)[4][2][2][5](13)+5 skill
Total 4

[Belial_the_Leveler]

Virgil is not the only guy in the group to hide behind a shield, though his is a full-fledged spell whereas the three others are cantrips cast by the three middle-aged witches and unlikely to help against a serious attack.

The other musicians are practically falling over themselves, their organ cases and each other in their haste to distance themselves from the danger. The violence has not reached the band yet but almost everyone in the room is running away in abject terror - and it's catching.

Moving herself to one of the darker corners of the room and fading from sight thanks to her affinity with the shadows, Celina appraises the threat and searches her memory for anything she might know about supernaturally strong and fast assailants with glowing red eyes... and comes up with a blank. She has no idea what they are... beyond the fact that they are mad with rage - supernaturally so.

Under the cover of a table and newly invisible, Mr Smith has the perfect vantage point to see what happens next in great detail. While one of the newcomers smashes through a row of slot machines that must weigh a couple of tons in total and scatters them like so many leaves in a strong wind, the other jumps towards the table with the three middle-aged witches... and lands on the vampire. A small, bloody, once-expensive shoe on his chest, the young white court scion is pushed into the table with such force that the wood snaps, his torso hits upon the floor and his ribs audibly groan. He screams as that bloody shoe -followed by the bloody madman's leg and body- finds a momentary obstacle in his torso. Then his scream is cut short as his torso collapses, blood and gore squeezing out of it, as the monster that attacked him firmly steps down with far more force than a man's weight would allow until the vampire is crushed like a bug and cracks start spreading on the Desert Inn's floor.


The silver-haired waitress scrambles from behind the bar, crosses the intervening space in a series of steps too fast to see and shoves the business end of her shotgun in the other monster's face. The large firearm roars. Pellets strike and scatter. And the monstrously enraged man, covered in gore, still has a face despite an almost perfect hit from point-blank range. It might be all torn up like a litter of cats had a few angry words up close and personal but still functionally whole... and from its expression the man is even angrier than before, if that is even possible.

[Iron Warlord]

"Hey ugly," Virgil shouts at the man who just squashed the White Court Vampire, while he draws magic into his right hand. "Soinneáin" He nearly screams as he releases the pent up energy in the form of a blast of kinetic energy focused on the man's chest.

Spoiler

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Kinetic Blast rote Discipline - (4d3-8)[2][1][2][1](-2)+5=3 to attack.

[Razorstorm]

Not terribly keen on sticking his neck out yet, John scrambles his invisible butt out of harms way to the perimeter of the room.

[Jack Arken]

Alright, now they're taking a shot at everybody. He had to bet that that kind of power wasn't natural, something was giving them an extra boost and he had to pull the plug. Grabbing a piece of chalk from his pocket (Never leave home without it) he bent over and started tracing the circle around his place on stage.

[Belial_the_Leveler]

Virgil's kinetic blast slams against the blood-soaked madman... and fizzles. There's a sort of pressure against his magical senses and with his hasty effort not being very good, the magical pattern of his spell simply unravels. The man seems entirely unaware of his attack. Something however does take notice; something unseen and unheard that is there nevertheless, a presence as alien as it is malevolent.

John scrambles away from the struggle under cover of his invisibility and almost bumps into the young woman armed with a sword and a gun that is hiding under the shadows at the corner of the room. At the same moment, some sort of presence seems to reach out and look at the inn from somewhere far, far away. And more in the way a rabid dog looks at a passersby than that of a George Lucas movie.

Harry is scribing his magic circle. He has no idea how much of a help it will be with the chaotic, cluttered environment of a casino but it's better than nothing. While he's writing though he feels as if he's being observed - observed by someone... or something. And they are mildly amused by his efforts.




The two blood-drenched, raging madmen pause for a single moment as if to catch their breath. And then they scream; no sound ensues from their open mouths... ...and a voice of indescribable magnitude shouts indecipherable obscenities right into your minds, as if an entire nation possessed by wrath is screaming its doom with a hundred million mouths while consuming itself.

[Jack Arken]

Harry barely had time to look up before a torrent of sound assaulted his ears. Clutching his hands to his ears to stop out the sound he realized it was coming from inside his head. The rage and hate was almost enough to wipe out all thought and reason, but he wrestled it back down. It took another moment to dim the tirade to a distant murmur. Closing his eyes he let out a long breath and grabbed the chalk where he had dropped it to the floor.

He finished the circle and rose up cocking his heavy revolver and pointing it at the monster on the right. The gun went off, the bullet heading towards the Raging monster with an intent to piss him off. "Come on. Come get a piece of me." He muttered under his breath as he took a step back out of the circle and bit his thumb, a bit of blood stemming through the cut he had made.

Spoiler

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Gun skill 3+ 3 = 6 (+2 or 3 for the weapon)

Once the beast charges at him and gets in the circle he's going to try and complete the circle. Trapping it inside and cutting whatever's pumping him up off.

[Hemnon]

From within her cover of shadows, Celina slowly slid her sword free, unholstering her gun with her other hand, Readying herself for what where about to happen.

To her, anyone who casually kills anything and everything was valid targets for termination, but still, they might not be the true source of the evil that was present.

For GM

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Hey, I'm wondering if my 'Darkness Within Thy Soul' Aspect should be compelled her, since she could just as well attack without more thought about the 'bad guys' really are bad. those killer instincts could easily cloud her judgement ;3

[Razorstorm]

John stumbles backward invisibly, holding his ears, stopping when his back finds a column painted in faux marble.

He looks at the newcomers with real fear. What the hell were these things?

He steps behind the column and pulls out his ginormous pistol, takes aim and fires at the nearest one, then runs like hell to a new hiding spot!

Guns (4d6-8)[8]+2 weapon shifts if it hits.

[Belial_the_Leveler]

The psychic attack flattens almost everyone in the room, the majority of the Inn's patrons simply falling lifeless where they stand, their minds battered into submission.

The waitress seems to have survived unscathed. In fact, she laughs in the possessed men's face and unloads another shotgun blast at point-blank range, which knocks one of them down, bloody suit totally shredded. You are unsure how much damage was done to the body underneath all the blood already there.

Celina unsheathes her weapons and is about to move into the fight. That is when she notices the man suddenly appearing out of the shadows to her right, a huge revolver already aimed at one of the possessed men's back, the weapon booming like a cannon. The raging intruder stumbles and a tiny trickle of blood can be seen going down his back; a round as large as Celina's thumb and more has been lodged about an inch into the creature's flesh... but appears to have done little more than superficial damage.

Virgil knows his shield is about to collapse anyway, and it hasn't been much use in the fight yet. So he reaches out with a bit of mental effort and pushes the solid barrier of the shield right into the closest monster with the force of a wrecking ball. The monster stumbles about as much as a boxer that just took a good punch - any human being would have been splattered into the opposite wall into very tiny gory bits but the apparently possessed man appeared to be as resilient as a tank.

Harry's heavy revolver barks and sends a round that would make an exit wound the size of a pizza on any human target right at the second possessed man's chest. Naturally, the round gets deflected as if by tank armor,the ricochet barely missing the waitress' head and eliciting an annoyed "watch it, kid!" from her.






The monstrous men are barely registering the bullets and the magic doesn't seem to be fazing them either. One of them, ignoring your barely effective attacks, reaches out to the nearest patron, an aging man of middle-eastern persuasion in a robe, one of the possible wizards. The old man must be insane from the psychic attack; he seems to be reading from a small piece of paper even as the raging attacker shoves his right hand into his gut, flesh parting as if it is wet paper and blood gushing out as if from some grotesque spring. The old man shouts out one last time as he dies;

OHR AYN SOF!

Everything seems to pause in the casino as if the world holds its breath. And then something that was there, something unseen, unheard and yet its hideous presence felt, screams with the mouths of the two possessed men, its fury evident in a million voices that, though deafening and horrible, pale into insignificance after the final statement of a dying old man. Robbed of its horror, the million-voiced presence rages impotent for a moment, then its two hosts scramble out the doors and vanish into the night.



The casino is in chaos. Almost every patron has been flattened by the mental assault (except for you and the waitress) but all seem to be bruised yet alive. Except for the old man; too pale, eyes glassy and lifeless, fist-sized hole all the way through his torso. He died in a pool of his own blood, the small paper he read from even as he was killed still held feebly into a slowly cooling hand.

[Hemnon]

Celina was thirsting for the kill now, her feet dragging her towards the exit while she swings her sword around in her hand, as to get a better grip. She pops out the empty magazine she always carried in her gun to start with, a safety precaution of hers, slamming home a fresh clip and took the loadinggrip with her teeth, pulling the mechanism backwards and releasing it to click home, loading a bullet into the chamber. ''Run my prey, run and let me have some fun... hehehe...'' she laughed evily, temporarily lost to her darkness, unable to regain control. her long black hair flowed behind her as she began speeding up, an omenous air around her. And woosh, she was off, sprinting after the two monsters that had made a mess back there. She was just about to set into full sprint, reaching the doorway outside.

[Jack Arken]

Well, that was anticlimactic. He uncocked his revolver and slipped the chalk back into his pocket. He turned to see the ghost of the wizard floating over his corporeal body, staring down at it vacantly. It seemed his death and his magic gave him enough of an imprint to leave a sizable mass of energy. Well, best not to waste time. Stowing his gun in his case he closed it and hopped off stage. A shadowy woman ran off into the night after the things that had been possessed.

Slipping his hand in his pocket Heck approached the crazily brave woman with the shotgun. "You alright?" he asked, bringing his cigarette to his lips. He turned his eyes to look over at the Ghost. "One second." He said walking over to the body and rooting around in the supposed wizards pockets for his ID.

Spoiler

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Should I make a declaration with the ghost? If so. Lore+See the dead to put "Haunted" Aspect on the area.

[Razorstorm]

John steps out from his last hiding place, a rare look of genuine fear on his face. "What the hell was that? What were those things? Whatever that poor grey-beard just did only seemed to send them running, so they're still out there!"

[Belial_the_Leveler]

As Celina approaches the door, it suddenly closes on its own accord with a resounding boom. A musical voice rings out over the silence of the aftermath and speaks one word in a tone of obvious fury; No! For a moment, you are not sure who has spoken until you realize the waitress has dropped the shotgun and is giving you a measuring stare that might be superficially calm... but is more like the eagle eye of a predator measuring its next meal right before she explodes into violence.



You are not sure how but the white-haired girl's presence seems to have magnified now that there are neither orders to take nor enemies to fight and her merely looking at you is making you uncomfortable.

This is accorded neutral ground. It was invaded and, as far as I can tell, it was the reluctance of the four people who could have stood up to the invaders to fight that led to one death and nearly two dozen people potentially facing more than death. Explain yourselves.

[Jack Arken]

He eyed the mans ID, "Well, I hope you don't include me in that group. I was shooting at them after all. Same as you." His thumb is still bleeding, and he starts to smear the crimson liquid over his fingers. There's power in blood, especially someone like Heck's. "You want that I should have them followed?" Looking over his shoulder at her it would seem he's unfazed by her anger. Afterall his contract didn't mention him having to fight anyone, nor was he a part of the Accords.

[Belial_the_Leveler]

Despite his expectations after such a violent murder, Harry sees no ghost when looking at the dead man. And yet, he could have sworn he saw the old man standing there for a single moment, nodding at him with a calm, peaceful smile before fading away.
What he initially thought was the man's ID is revealed to be a library card after the copious amounts of blood are cleared away. The name reads "Judah Levai". Apart from that, the only other piece of paper the body held was the one in the corpse's hand, from which the man read at the moment of his death. It is a simple white paper without lines upon which a hand steady enough to almost pass for a printing machine has drawn a small square and filled it with the numbers from 1 to 9 in no apparent order;

[Jack Arken]

Looking back the ghost has disappeared, Heck is visibly unamused. Letting out a sharp exhale he wipes the blood off of the card and his hands with the dead man's robe. "Nevermind then." He said standing up again.

[Razorstorm]

John scoffed, and held both hands (including the ginormous revolver) up in the air with a smirk, "Hey, I merely took the time to secure my own personal safety, which is my right. Not all of us are capable of blasting every problem as our primary response!" He shoots a glance at the warden. "There is nothing that says I am beholden to foolishly throw myself at a threat in a way that I am unsuited for. I launched an attack when I was capable of doing so effectively. Frankly, even then, it was rather ineffective, so there's a compelling argument to say I was at no time a viable threat to these monsters. I'm terribly sorry for what happened here, but I did what I could based on what made sense in the situation."

[Jack Arken]

Glancing over the numbers he realized it was a Magic square. All the rows adding up to fifteen. He wasn't sure what it was for, maybe the guy just had weird hobbies? He wouldn't have grabbed the paper in his last moments for kicks though, Heck was sure. Folding it up he stuck it in his pocket.

[Hemnon]

Celina halted at the door as it slammed right in front of her, the wish to kill and snuff out the lives of those two bad guys from earlier burned in her mind, a shadow had fallen over her form as well. She looked as if shadows truly grew out from her, darkening her form.

She slammed a fist Hard against the door in an attempt to channel out a bit of her deadly mindset and holstered her gun and sheathed her sword, slowly turning her head towards the person who were implicating that it was her fault or problem that someone got killed. her eyes were dark, like empty shadows within darkness. she looked scary as hell.

[Belial_the_Leveler]

As an old friend of mine is always saying, "evil doesn't need good men to do nothing for it to win; it merely needs not-evil people to do less than their best."
The white-haired waitress says as she frowns.
Now, I am fairly new to this whole "good and evil" thing but I'm an old hand at laws. And the law says "whosoever harms another in ground protected under the Accords, be he, she or it not the guarantor of the Accords for that ground, will be fully culpable under the Accords". It also says "The guarantor of Accorded neutral ground, should he she or it so desire, may seal the gates of such ground to any individual for any reason."

She smiles at you, prettily and nastily.
Since the presence of evil from beyond the boundaries of the world does not incite an immediate desire to help responsibly in you, let's apply the law instead. You stay here and think things through while I am making sure the psychic infection does not devour these peoples' souls, then uses them as carriers to infect the city and then the world until we're sitting on a pile of seven billion corpses.
She waves a hand, indicating the damaged casino tables and games.
Go on, have fun. I'll be along momentarily; the cure shouldn't take more than eighteen months or so.