Eldritch Cult of Mystery [XCOM/Cthulhu Mythos]

ECOM - Genesis

WarShipper

I'm here to stay, alright?
The world is a dangerous place. Wild animals, crazed gunmen, wars and famine and disease and more. You are human, and you are of humanity. You understand the dangers and troubles that assault the Earth and its' inhabitants perhaps better than any other creature to have crawled its' way from the primordial ooze from which all Earthlings were born. But until recently, 'Earth' was all you knew. A place of physical matter, of spirituality, of humans and animals and plants and little else.

You were raised by humans. You learned things like morality, math, social skills. You met people who you loved or you lusted or you hated. You desired to become something - a soldier, a leader, a savior. You were just like every other human.

But not now. Not since it happened. Not since your mind and your eyes were opened wide - so terribly, terribly wide - and the true nature of the cosmos was revealed to you.

Humanity is not alone. Earth is not alone. There are things far grander, far greater, and most of all... far, far stranger than you could have imagined. There are creatures that hide beneath the waves and above the skies, there are beasts that were human - centuries ago. There are beings which have meddled with the course of humanity, and there are creatures which hide from the fires and the rage of humanity.

At first, perhaps you thought you were alone. Perhaps you thought what you experienced was a fluke, a hallucination or even a single, cosmic accident - isolated, unindicative of more. Of worse. But still that need to know, to prove yourself safe or right, something made you seek out others. And you found them, and you shared stories, and you came to a decision.

Something must be done. Humanity cannot blindly stumble forth, like a blind man, and inadvertently doom itself.

And so you few scraped and scrabbled and pulled together an organization. An official, legal organization, one which you have thrust blood and sweat and tears into. But beneath the surface it is nought more than a cover, a method by which you can travel and explore and find the like-minded. Many would call you a cult, a collection of the insane, criminals and monsters. But none of that matters - what matters is that you can hunt down the things that go bump in the night.

You can, and you will.

Welcome to the Eldritch Cult of Mystery.

Welcome to E-COM.

=-=-=-=

Congratulations, and welcome to the Cult. You are the three heads, and the lead members of the organization it hides behind. Or you are the secret minds that drive this universe, and many of the decisions made by those beneath the leaders of the Cult. This is actually something of an experiment, for you see - it is not only a Council Game, but also a Quest. Essentially, three players who have provided sufficiently high quality and high interest character sheets will be selected to be a lead member each, and will make decisions of strategy and overall policy. Meanwhile, everybody else will be able to make votes on what certain NPCs do at critical points in investigations or missions, what kind of new recruits are available, the results of certain lucky breaks, and more. Don't worry councilmembers - if the quest portions of this game turn out to be a bust, I'll hand that power back over to you. Still, I hope to make this interesting for everybody involved, rather than a few four or five.

But before we get to any of that, we have a decision to make. Whether you're a Councilman or a Quester, please decide on the following, for it will affect the rest of the game.

Time Period:
[ ] Modern Era: Today, the Country! Tomorrow, the World! Computers, advanced aircraft, spycams, and satellites are at your disposal. But so too are they at the hands of your more intelligent foes and detractors.
[ ] Late 1800s/Early 1900s: Guns, automobiles, and industrialization have taken the world by storm, and humanity is beginning to become a titan of technology. But with lesser suspicion and doubt comes lesser ability and spread.

Organization:
[ ] Government: You're not just a cult, you're an official (if small) portion of the United States of the America. Most of your fellows believe you're crazy, but prove your worth and you'll have much greater access to advanced equipment, facilities, training... and greater and more brutal competition and oversight.
[ ] Business: Most people believe you've been put on Gods' green Earth to make lots, and lots, of money. And to some degree that's true - you're well on your way to quite a bit of income. But with business comes opportunity, and with opportunity comes suspicion. Draw too heavily on your official assets, put too much strain on your legal side, and fear the consequences.
[ ] Religious: Okay, so maybe openly being a cult wasn't the smartest idea. But hey, what you lack in people... and money... and assets... you make up for in the ability to openly run around looking for monsters and be dismissed as a bunch of loons.

=-=-=-=

Now, there's a lot that goes into being the leader of the cult. Most cults, all it takes is a solid face and the ability to sell a lifestyle. But to be the leader of a cult that goes and hunts down gribblies that'll eat your sanity and body, not necessarily in that order? It takes charisma, drive, power, and a whole lot of luck. You've got all of that. But not everybody reaches the end result by the same path.

What brought you to this point, leading people in hunting the things beyond our realm?

Name:
Age: (30+)
Appearance:
History: (Must have some manner of exposure to the eldritch world. Don't make it too crazy - most people who believe in this world have seen a man transform into a writhing mass of appendages within a dark sewer, or read a tome that lit their mind with inexplicable images of the past, at most.)
-Stats-
You have 5 points to distribute between Force, Charisma, and Study. 1 Point is standard human, 2 exceptional, 3 perfect. Anything higher is the realm of the non-human, and unavailable to you... for now.
Force: Your ability to enact things through force, whether of tech, arms, or personhood. Covers things like shooting a gun, kicking down a door, or torture.
Charisma: Your ability to navigate people, systems, and ideas. Covers things like convincing somebody not to shoot you, filing requests, or understanding body language.
Study: Your ability to learn, the things you have learned. Covers study, uncovering hidden knowledge, investigation.

Strength: A Strength is something unique to you, and informs how you handle every given situation or allows you particular options. A person with a high Study is smart, but will always be inferior in medical matters to a man with a Strength as a Doctor. A character with an Independent Income always has that little bit extra to spend. So on. Think of it as a specialization, or unique asset to call upon. All characters start with One.
Weakness: A Weakness is the opposite - a phobia, a skillset within which you are useless, an enemy. All characters start with One.

There are no defined "roles," amongst the Councilmen regarding which portions of the cult of they handle, as the problems and events you encounter can often be handled in varied ways and you will not always be available for every situation. That does not mean you cannot take up roles or focus, but that you will not always be called upon solely when your specialization is involved. Also keep in mind that as the leaders of a relatively small Cult, you may be called upon to intervene personally - or you may decide to do so yourself. Becoming involved in an investigation personally brings with it increased resources and ability to affect the course of the matter, but also means that there is less deniability and less ability to avoid potential consequences. A thug hired off the street can be replaced - somebody like you? Not so easily.

This is merely the first stage of the OOC. Once the Era and Organization Type have been decided, there will be a vote for your starting Cult Members, Initial Investigation, and a few Assets at your disposal. That will serve as your introduction to gameplay - a tutorial, of sorts.

Some of you may wonder at the apparent lack of Sanity mechanic or reference. After all, what's an Eldritch game about monsters and cults without people going nuts? To put it simply, sanity is a very personal thing to each and every character, and won't be left up to chance or statistical abstractions. Just keep in mind that you, and those you work with, are people... with all the strengths and flaws that comes with. When a persons' stress and instability becomes too much to deal with, it crystalizes as a Weakness... whether or not you're willing to deal with it from then on, however....
 
[X] Late 1800s/Early 1900s: Guns, automobiles, and industrialization have taken the world by storm, and humanity is beginning to become a titan of technology. But with lesser suspicion and doubt comes lesser ability and spread.
[X] Religious: Okay, so maybe openly being a cult wasn't the smartest idea. But hey, what you lack in people... and money... and assets... you make up for in the ability to openly run around looking for monsters and be dismissed as a bunch of loons.

Name: Sean O'Malley
Age: 62
Appearance: Weathered, gnarled, ruined. These words describe Sean pretty well. He's lost a leg, and much of his body besides, but his mind's still sharp, his tongue's still barbed and his friends - those alive anyway - still loyal. White hair hides a horrifically maimed face, missing an eye, an ear and most of the skin on the left side. His right arm is almost useless, the missing flesh removing all utility. His left leg is mostly gone, replaced by a peg halfway up the thigh. His chest is hidden by a heavy coat, but it's a weeping mess, old wounds refusing to fully close.
History: Former Fenian who moved to New York in his thirties, becoming a member of the Irish Mob and running a speakeasy. His first encounter with the 'supernatural' came when a batch of tainted booze killed his customers, forcing them to puke up tadpoles with human faces until they died. Sean burned down his bar with the things inside, smashing as many as he could, though many escaped. Tracking them to the sewers the then middle aged man spent half a year chasing down lead after lead, sighting after sighting. When he finally came face to face with the fully grown beasts, almost a year after the hatching, he lost an entire leg and chunks from his chest, face and arms to their jaws, dragging himself out of the sewer to a doctor who wouldn't believe his ravings. Now he casts out a wide net to find the monsters and those who hunt them from a new speakeasy run by his nephew.
-Stats-
Force
: 1 (His body is broken. The vital young man who fought for the freedom of his people and country has given way to a bitter old wreck who fights things that he never could have imagined. Though physically he is almost useless, Sean can still exert a lot of social and verbal force.)
Charisma: 2 (He's a crook. Booze, gambling, women, Sean can buy it. He can sell it. He can move it past the pigs and the other gangs.)
Study: 2 (Professors with... esoteric expertise have an unusually high incidence of alcoholism, self-medicating with whiskey and gin to block out the things they would rather not know. An expert bartender can learn a lot from a man seeking the peace of the bottle.)

Strength: Fenian Contacts - Guns, explosives, violent psychopaths for hire. Sean knows people, who know people.
Weakness: Fenian Reputation - A reputation as a violent maniac with anyone of English descent. (In modern day terms, imagine how a self-professed member of ISIS would be perceived by an American.)

If the modern day option wins, I can just change the Fenian bit to IRA and the speakeasy to drugs.
 
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Time Period:
[ ] the Late 1800s/Early 1900s: Guns, automobiles, and industrialization have taken the world by storm, and humanity is beginning to become a titan of technology. But with lesser suspicion and doubt comes lesser ability and spread.

Organization:
[ ] Business: Most people believe you've been put on Gods' green Earth to make lots, and lots, of money. And to some degree that's true - you're well on your way to quite a bit of income. But with business comes opportunity, and with opportunity comes suspicion. Draw too heavily on your official assets, put too much strain on your legal side, and fear the consequences.

=-=-=-=

Name: Jonathon P. Wilts
Age: 41
Appearance: Jonathon is a tall, willowy man. His back unbent and arms surprisingly strong, but showing the effects of both aging and several years of war, he still wears the hat that came with his dress uniform, and while many would disparage him for it he takes a particular comfort in wearing his uniform whenever it is considered acceptable.

History: Many a man came home from the great war broken in mind, body, and soul. Left as weeping wrecks of men that were unable to take care of themselves and left to die alone. Jonathon P. Wilts is not one of those men. He has been forged in the fires of war and come out the other side has seen the worst that man can do to itself. But, he also came out having seen an unnatural horror that would have broken a lesser man. It was September 1918, Jonathon was standing watch for Jerry counter attacks as the bitter winter cold chilled him to the bone.

As he awaited his replacement and a long cold night, he caught a glimpse of movement, and at that moment his eyes caught a glimpse of something inhuman and genuinely terrifying. A large black humanoid that seemed to be darker than the night itself stalked the ground outside of camp. He was frozen for a moment as an irrational fear overtook his body before he sounded the alarm and raised his rifle to fire at the strange creature with no face but, by the time he had looked back the beast was gone. He reported his experience to his superiors but, was dismissed as having hallucinated due to exhaustion and trench fatigue. Jon knew what he had seen, and after conversing with several of his fellows, he found that he hadn't been the only one to see the winged creature. So, against orders and risking accusations of desertion he left the camp one night with his rifle to find the beast and slay it.

He never found it.

Convinced that he had seen something that night Jon spent the rest of the war asking questions and gathering the scant amounts of he could. He's returned home know and is still asking questions. The part that worries him the most? He's always finding Answers.
-Stats-
Force: 2. (Training, Experience, and a Personal interest in Combat has given Jon an understanding of the myriad of ways that a man can commit violence on another man.)
Charisma:2. (While Jon does not have any apparent ability to convince men to follow his words. He speaks with a frank Bluntness that many find refreshing
Study: 1. (Jon is many things. Overly patient is not one of them, though he understands the need for the long periods of research that this field of work requires. He hasn't the head nor the intelligence to do so efficiently.)

Strength: Extensive Combat Experience: Over 20 years of accumulated combat experience and extensive training in tactics.
Weakness: No Sympathy: His long experiences with the horrors of war and the unending death has left him a hard, unsympathetic man who find sit difficult to offer anything but, pity for those that break under pressure.
 
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Time Period:
[ ] the Late 1800s/Early 1900s: Guns, automobiles, and industrialization have taken the world by storm, and humanity is beginning to become a titan of technology. But with lesser suspicion and doubt comes lesser ability and spread.

Organization:
[ ] Business: Most people believe you've been put on Gods' green Earth to make lots, and lots, of money. And to some degree that's true - you're well on your way to quite a bit of income. But with business comes opportunity, and with opportunity comes suspicion. Draw too heavily on your official assets, put too much strain on your legal side, and fear the consequences.

======
Name: Sven Magnusson
Age: 56

Appearance:
Pale from age and too many long, cold winters, with hair caught between slate and steel and eyes like an oncoming storm, Sven wears his years much like he wears his money, that is, like battle-armour. He dresses expensively austere suits, with the only spot of colour on him being the heavy golden rings that he wears on his fingers. He keeps his many nautical tattoos very well hidden.

History:
You learn many things on the sea. Things that would have been proclaimed as the basest superstition upon land, where you were not a tiny insignificant speck floating in a shell of iron above an endless darkness.

Sven learned these things from his father, who learned them from his father, in a line that passes back into the mists of time where his people wore leather and mail, and left ashes in their wake across the coasts of the world.

He kept to agreements that were old when the Leif Erikson was nothing more than a glint in his mad father's eye. Offerings, of gold, of song, even, one terrible night as a storm howled down upon him and the songs of the Drowned Ones thrummed in the water, of flesh.

In turn, his ship sailed swiftly. In a time when a day could mean a fortune won or lost, that meant a great deal indeed. Especially when he happened to have something of a gift for the stock markets. Through rumour-mongering, careful timing, and an instinctive grasp for the dark arts of finance, he made his first fortune there.

He went on to wager almost all of it purchasing the leases of several other vessels. If he had not had the favour of the sea, and the ones below it, he would have beggered himself, but he had, and rather than a begger, his gamble made him a latter-day merchant prince.

In New York, where his first fortune was made, he married, and feeling content, he forsook the sea. For many years, his concerns and worries were those of any other financeer, of stocks and options and leverage. Up until the blood of his family ran true in his son, and he did as his father had done for him, and found him a role aboard one of his ships.

On the night that his ship sailed, a storm as black and foul as he had ever known rolled across the ocean, and pale-faced at the window, Sven could swear that he heard the laughter of the Drowned Ones, claiming recompense for all they had given him.

The ship his son was on was never seen again. That was a year ago. Now his money worms its way through the city, pooling in the pockets of navy officers and hard-hearted sailors. Forsaking the tales of his youth, he stalks his prey with implacable numerology, hunting for abberations and anomalies, for the scent of offerings made and boons recieved.

He may be a hypocrite of the highest order, but his rage is only logical in its means, not its ends.

Stats:
Force: 1. (It has been a long time since Sven was a sailor. He does his violence these days with his cheque book.)
Charisma: 2. (A man does not become as rich as Sven has without knowing people of influence. He does not stay as rich without becoming one of them in turn.)
Study: 2. (There are many secrets hidden in numbers. The wealth of nations, the secrets of kings, the past, present and future, all neatly wrapped up in nine simple symbols. Sven is their master, and they dance for him.)

Strength: Shipping Magnate: Once he sailed ships. Now he owns them. He might not yet lay claim to be the beating heart of that great beast that is Capitalism, but few would contest that he governs a not insignificant collection of veins and arteries.
Weakness: Management: The burden of the crown is that you must wear it. Sven cannot take actions that might damage his social standing without suffering financial losses from the loss of confidence in him such actions install.
 
Time Period:
[X] Late 1800s/Early 1900s: Guns, automobiles, and industrialization have taken the world by storm, and humanity is beginning to become a titan of technology. But with lesser suspicion and doubt comes lesser ability and spread.

Organization:
[X]Business: Most people believe you've been put on Gods' green Earth to make lots, and lots, of money. And to some degree that's true - you're well on your way to quite a bit of income. But with business comes opportunity, and with opportunity comes suspicion. Draw too heavily on your official assets, put too much strain on your legal side, and fear the consequences.

Name: Rhys Dignam

Age: 37

Appearance:
Tanned from so many trips to the sunny shores of the Canary Islands and Spain with hair a deep brown and eyes that are an emerald green. He usually wears casual clothes such as hoodies and tracksuit bottoms on his lanky form, that look baggy from how skinny he is. A long scar seems to go from his jaw to his forehead in a jagged line.

History:
Rhys was a self proclaimed entrepreneur who had started a business in the trading industry, his silver tongue helping him make deals more in his favour in terms of quality and monetary gain. Rhys was still in disbelief that him messing around with a few rituals in his great grandfathers old house had gotten him so much.

Rhys spent five years on easy street thanks to the power he had made with one of the beings but all things involved with those creatures eventually turn sour. His family members started dropping like flies, killed in their homes with no signs of forced entry, disturbances or cause of death. The only thing that stayed the same was the bleeding eyes of his family and the look of utter horror etched on their faces like a mask.

Rhys was the only one who knew what had happened, what had caused this and as expected he was angry. Rhys knew however that he stood no chance of fighting the gods that had given him these gifts so for his own bitter pleasure, he started hunting the monsters that belonged to those gods, for his family.

Stats:
Force: 1(Rhys has never been much of a fighter preferring to run instead of fight and as such is only average human strength)
Charisma 3( Rhys's natural charisma and powers given to him by the gods have caused him to have a silver tongue able to convince most)
Study: 1( While Rhys knows numbers from the trading industry, he is not profiecient in his intelligence)

Strength: Recruiter: Rhys has a way with words, able to convince men and women to join much more easily than others.
Weakness: Fragile: Rhys was born with a condition that makes his bones more fragile and easily breakable than the norm.

I thought that I might as well put my hat in the ring, whether I get in or not. Love the idea though
 
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