The O.P.
A shadowy figure returns to their ground-level apartment to find the window broken. They let out a strangled cry and rush inside.
The single room is a mess. A table has been overturned, cookware is scattered everywhere. Ceramic sherds cover the floor.
The figure goes stock-still . . . and picks up a semi-intact ceramic dog. The neck is covered in teeth marks, and the head is missing.
A low, almost animal groan issues from the figure. They sink to their knees. Tears fall upon the broken ceramic. The groan becomes a roar, a snarl . . . and then the figure is silent.
The figure retrieves a hammer from beneath their wash basin, and retreats into the bedroom. We hear the smashing of wood.
When the figure emerges from the bedroom, they are transformed. Layers of armor and bandoliers of ammunition are poorly concealed by a long military coat, all insignia and sign of rank torn off. They wear a gas mask not dissimilar to that of a Deathlands Scavenger. A rifle crosses their back, and a longsword is sheathed at their hip. Their every step clanks with concealed gadgetry and weaponry.
They do not bother closing the door behind them. They will not return to this place.
Session Recap
The Nameless narrowly evade Oopsy Poopsy Bootsy, legendary assassin, with… the power of the sun?
Oopsy Poopsy Bootsy’s bloodlust is sated unless extraordinary events reveal the imperfections in his repaired Mothers Little Hunter Dalton ceramic figurine.
Translation Error
The woman in a darkened room sits before her desk, a blank piece of parchment in front of her. She squints at it, seemingly at a loss of what to write.
“Something wrong, your Ladyship?” intones Scurlock from the other side of the room.
”. . . I . . . No, Scurlock. I believe all is well.”
Scurlock nods, and goes back to whatever incredibly wet-sounding work he was performing in the shadows of the apartment. The woman dips her quill and begins to write.
ASSAULT!
Assassin Activates at Art Annihilation, Attains Amity
The legendary assassin O.P. (elsewise known as OOPSY POOPSY BOOTSY, brother to KNOWN LUNATIC OLD BOOTSY) emerged from RETIREMENT and let loose a HURRICANE OF VIOLENCE upon several denizens of Duskvol last night.
The roaring rampage of revenge was occasioned by the destruction of the assassin’s PRIZED “MOTHER’S LITTLE HUNTER” DALTON CERAMIC FIGURINE at the hands and mouth of PROFESSIONAL WRESTLER and YOUNG JACKASS Jeremy “THE SHMEEK” Pendryn. Though this Dalton figurine retails at a fair 18 slugs from licensed vendors, its loss was catastrophic to the O.P. for SENTIMENTAL REASONS.
Having traced the culprit through ARCANE MEANS, the O.P. set fire to the PENDRYN MANOR and chased the Shmeek into the LOST DISTRICT, the latter having been conveyed there by the noted UNNAMED GANG OF THIEVES.
The thieves had gone there to meet up with LADY THORN’S DEATHLANDS SCAVENGERS, who had procured a rare “DIVINE EPIPHANY OF RENDER” DALTON FIGURINE to offer to the O.P. as a peace offering. After finding the Scavengers with the help of FELL SPIRIT “OLD WICKHAMM”, who exchanged this aid for CONVEYANCE INTO THE OLD DUSKVOL MINES-
Here the woman lifts her quill. A snide smile slides across her face as she turns back around.
“Oh, I’d nearly forgotten, Scurlock . . . It may interest you to know that our little proteges have conveyed Elia Wickhamm into Duskvol. I’m sure-“
With a sound like a rushing wind, Scurlock is out the door. The woman chuckles to herself and resumes writing.
**“Heh . . . never let it be said that I cannot have fun in my old age . . .” **
-the thieves discovered that the Scavengers had been ambushed by HORRORS. Fighting and running their way through, the heroes evaded the onslaught of the O.P. and the demons of the lost district through-
A slight pause, and then resumption.
-UNKNOWN SUPERNATURAL MEANS. Upon the O.P.’s execution of the demons and several of the Deathlands Scavengers, machinist ARKIN WOLLSTONECRAFT was able to broker peace with the assassin through rendering the Divine Epiphany figurine and PROMISING TO FIX the broken Mother’s Little Hunter. Both were done, although the latter was accomplished with A MINOR DEGREE OF IMPERFECTION. The O.P. has once again retired, and peace has resumed.
The old woman sets down her quill, and frowns at what she has written. After a moment, she devours the paper and begins to levitate. Still, the frown does not leave her face.
” . . . The power of the sun . . . Surely not . . . A mistake, of course . . . My senses must be confused by the lightning wall . . . Yes, that’s it . . .”