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Multiple Settings Brave Enough - A Werewolf: the Apocalypse Quest

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000 - Quest Info
  • Index
    • wonderandawe

    wonderandawe

    Most likeky not a Sidereal
    Brave Enough updates each Monday (most of the time). All are welcome to comment and vote. Votes after Thursday Night may not impact next quest post.

    In Character Posts Only | Post Archive​



    You beat the shit out of your ex-boyfriend. You broke up with him and he decided to betray you. Scott posted those pictures you sent him on Facebook for everyone to see. This betrayal enraged you, so you put him in the hospital. Now your mother stares at you in fear. She says you both have to move back to Kirksville, TX. The small town she stole you away from when you were five. You don’t want to leave Austin or start fresh at a new high school but frankly you are lucky not to be in Juvie. Yet as you settle in Kirksville, you discover the secret of your family's heritage. A secret that will change the rest of your life.

    Because soon you will change. Soon you will know the true meaning of rage.

    Quest Player Character Brave Enough is a Werewolf the Apocalypse Quest set in Hill Country Texas. Sigrid Kirk, the Player Character, is a sixteen year old girl returning to her mother's hometown after beating up a fellow student. There she discovers a family secret that will affect the rest of her life. Sigrid will have to adjust to small town life, deal with high school bullshit, make new friends, reconnect with family, pursue or ignore potential love interests, and deal with ramifications of her family's secrets.

    As a player, you will vote on who the Player Character is, how she relates to those around her, and how she grows as into an adult. This quest will encompass a six month to one year span of the player character's life. A relatively short time period, but one that will define the rest of the character's life.


    Quest Setting Kirksville is a fictional small town in Texas Hill Country. It is not far from Fredericksburg and has a population of just less than two thousand people. The Player Character's ancestors settled in the area in the mid 1800s. A good third of the population is related to the Player Character and her mother. Kirksville consists of a single main street of businesses, a small neighborhood of houses, and is surrounded on one side with cattle ranches and other a wildlife refugee. The refugee protects an old growth forest. A single granite monolith rises above the old growth forest. The locals refer to this monadnock as the Crying Rock.


    The quest is set in the World of Darkness, which is a dark, horror-driven reflection of our world. Warning: this quest may have curse words, references to sexual situations, illegal drug use, bullying, child abuse, gory violence, and more gory violence. If you fucking have a problem with teenagers talking about smoking pot and sucking dick, beating the shit out of each other, getting the shit beaten out of them by their parents, and getting ripped apart by angry werewolves, then perhaps this quest isn't for you.


    Werewolf: the Apocalypse Spoiler Note This quest is designed so you learn about the Werewolf: the Apocalypse setting as the player character does. However, some players may be familiar with the setting already. I ask those players to use spoiler tags for discussing any WtA details. I will do the same. For example:
    The quest will go from the player character's pre-change difficulties though her first adventure after her Rite of Passage.
     
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  • Index
    • 001 - Jail
  • Index
    • You pace in your cell.

    The lights above are dim. The cell’s concrete walls painted flesh pink. The walls remind you of a cold, dirty womb. A place of drowsy waiting. It was far different from the bright and minimalist jail cells you watched on TV. No bars, only a steel door with a single window. No graffiti, only the dirty flesh pink walls. No other prisoners, only yourself left alone with your fears.

    The reek of urine from the toilet overpowers the sour stench of the drunk woman in here before you. The cops relocated her to a different cell. They didn’t trust you to share a cell with anyone. Not after what you have done.

    Once, when you were younger, you visited a police station on a field trip. One of the officers told you the cells were painted pink to soothe the inmates. Studies have been done, he said. Then the officer offered to lock you up. A few of your classmates squealed in fear as the door slammed shut. Not you. You giggled as the officer wave at you from the scuffed up window. You knew this was a game. They weren’t going to leave you in here forever.

    Now, you weren’t so sure they were going to let you out. The dirty flesh walls failed in their task; you felt far from soothed. You paced the cell, back and forth, over and over again. Seven steps from one end to the other. Three and a half paces to cover the whole cell.

    You still had blood under your fingernails. You tuck your hands in your sweatshirt and hide them under your armpits. Your fingernails bit into your palms, drawing fresh blood. Scott had no right to share those photos on Facebook. Those pictures were personal. A gift between the two of you. Facebook took them down not long after he posted them. But enough people have seen them. Enough to blow up your phone with texts to tell you what happened.

    Why did you send him those photos when he asked? You hadn’t even been on a date with Scott yet. You should have at least asked for dick pic in exchange. You proved to the entire school everything they say about blonde girls is true. Airhead. Ditz. Fool.

    Scott seemed almost dead after your classmates pulled you away. While you have been in fights before, you never beat someone until they were unconscious. It scared you how easy Scott went down. You only smashed Scott’s head into the car window a few times. When you let him go, he collapsed to the ground without a sound. Blood dripped out of his crushed nose unto the asphalt.

    Yet another part of you enjoyed bashing his head in. Your rage was intoxicating. You relieved the memory again and again. The texture of his hair caught in your hands. How he struggled against your grip. The sound of his nose breaking against the glass. Watching the blood drip down the car window.

    How far could you have gone? What would it feel like to end someone’s life? You should have kept going. You had this instinct if you kept going, you would have found something profound. Like through Scott’s death, you would have discovered the true meaning of life.

    You shake your head, ridding yourself of these insane thoughts. Society said killing people was wrong. No need for the judge to think you are crazy. If you told anyone this, you are sure they’d lock you up forever.

    Anyways, you didn’t give a fuck about Scott. The bastard deserved the beating you gave him. Going on one date didn’t mean he owned you. He’s never seen you naked, at least not in real life. He should have accepted your rejection and moved the fuck on.

    And you pace through your emotions again.

    Anger.

    Self-Loathing.

    Fear.

    Longing.

    And finally, Hope. You stop pacing at the sound of a distant steel door opening. You step to the window to look out. You don’t see anyone from your vantage point, but hear footsteps echo down the cell block. You sit down on the concrete bench and steel yourself for disappointment again. They always walk past your cell. They are never here for you.

    A police woman with short fake orange hair appears in the window. Extra pounds and years weigh down her face. She puffs her cheeks out as she consults her clipboard. Then she knocks on your cell door and calls your name.

    What is your name?
    • Jennifer, a name meaning “fair enchantress” (Pure Breed 3)
    • Abigail, a name meaning “my father’s joy” (Pure Breed 3)
    • Emma, a name meaning “whole” (Pure Breed 4)
    • Sofia, a name meaning “wisdom” (Pure Breed 4)
    • Regine, a name meaning “queen” (Pure Breed 5)
    • Sigrid, a name meaning “beautiful victory” (Pure Breed 5)
    • None of these are my name! My name is….. (Pure Breed ST Choice)
    Out of Character Information
    ((In case it matters, your last name is Kirk. ))

    ((If you don’t know what Pure Breed is, don’t worry about it. Just pick the name you like. ))

    Spoiler Werewolf the Apocalypse Setting Notes

    You’ll notice I didn’t list the tribe for the Pure Breed. Just like real life, you can’t choose your ancestors. If you haven’t guessed the tribe already, you’ll find out along with the player character. But just because you were born into a tribe, doesn’t mean you have to choose that tribe at your Rite of Passage.
     
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  • Index
    • I like Sigrid Personally. (I have no idea what the stats mean I've never played OWoD)
     
    (( Don't worry about the stats.  The character doesn't know about them either. ;)  ))
     
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    Vote totals thus far:


    Regine
    KymmeSeven
    Jairain
    CaelaL


    Sofia
    JayTee
    Atraxia


    Sigrid
    eura
    buggybran


    Fezzes
    megapixel


    Voting closes tomorrow morning at 5 AM CST.  


    I'll be posting the next post tomorrow morning, as the Forums will be down for Maintenance next Monday.  
     
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    002 - Release
  • Index
    • “Sigrid Kirk?”

    “Here.” You rise to your feet, recognizing you answered the police officer as if she took attendance. You swallow your fear and blank your face clean of emotion. You weren’t going to let this cop see how scared you were. You were brave enough to handle a little jail time.

    The police officer unlocks the steel door. You didn’t want the cop to notice bloody scabs on your palms. You hold out your wrists, palms down, for handcuffs. “You don’t need cuffs.” She informs you with a smug smile. “Someone posted your bail.”

    “Who posted my bail? My mother?” You dread the thought of facing your mother. If by some miracle you didn’t end up in prison, you are sure to be grounded for the rest of your life. Or until you leave for college in two years. But more importantly, how did she raise the bail money? You and your mother barely scraped together rent some months. What did she pawn this time?

    The police officer puts a manicured finger to her lips to silence you. She leads you out of the cell block and into a dusty office, the same one where the police processed your arrest earlier. After the dim jail cell, the bright and sterile fluorescent light burn your eyes.

    An older man, well-aged as fine wine, searches through the desk drawers. Between his expensive grey suit and his haphazard search you know this man is no detective. The grey suited man stares as you enter the office, his eyes soured like vinegar. When you return his scrutinizing glare, the grey suited man looks away. He crams the papers back into the drawer. “Where are her fingerprints?” The grey suited man slams the drawer shut.

    The police officer purses her lips in frustration. She pulls the card with your fingerprints from a file organizer on her desk. The grey suited man plucks your fingerprint card from her hand and slips it in an orange file folder. Your name is printed on the file tab. “Take care of the digital records after you release her.” the grey suited man orders as he vacates the room.

    You observe this exchange and wonder what the fuck is going on. This may be your first arrest, but your instincts warn you this release procedure is shady. They also warn you to shut the fuck up until they let you out.

    The next stop is the evidence locker. The police officer tells the clerk your case number and waits with you. “You look nervous,” she observes, leaning against the dutch door.

    No shit, bitch. You bite back your snarky remark. You had no clue what the fuck was going on, but you watched enough cop shows to know not to speak. Not without a lawyer. Anything can be used against you in the court of law.

    “I wouldn’t worry. Your mother has some powerful and rich friends.” The police officer emphasizes rich with a smirk. She taps her french manicured nails on the dutch door. “Soon this will all be behind you.”

    Your mother was a freaking artist who worked minimum wage jobs under the table. She drove in a sun bleached Dodge Caravan older than you were - when it was running, which was rarely. Caroline Rothenburg did not have any rich friends.

    Shit, they must be releasing the wrong person. You worry at this thought when the elderly evidence clerk returns. He passes over a large plastic bag containing your backpack and other things. Every item on your person - from a receipt for lip gloss to your uncharged cell phone- had been labeled and sorted into little plastic bags. You shove them all into your backpack. You’ll deal with them later. You needed to leave before someone realizes this bitch released the wrong person.

    You follow the police officer though a maze of hallways haunted by the ghosts of stress and stale coffee. Despite the police station being open all hours of the day, all the offices are empty. The police officer fiddles with the fire escape door and busts it open without setting off the alarm. The muggy Texas summer heat invades the air conditioned office. You want to pull off your sweatshirt, but it hides the blood stains on your tee shirt.

    The sun has long set and street lights illuminate the half filled parking lot. Your mother waits with another person under a street lamp at the edge of the lot. The street lights cast a yellow pall over her pale skin. She is dressed in her art clothes - a white tank top and jean capris stained with earth toned paint. Her long blonde hair is haphazardly pulled into a claw clip. You squeeze the strap of your backpack with sweaty hands as your mother glances up at the fire escape. She breaks off her conversation mid-sentence as she starts towards you. Her pace picks up as she draws closer, not quite achieving a run.

    What is your relationship like with your mother?
    • Sacrifice. Between paying the bills and keeping your fed and clothed, your mother barely has time for her art or herself. She comes home from work late and leaves early. Your mother feels guilty for leaving yourself all the time.
    • Neglectful. Her art and friends consume all your mother’s time. You wish she’d paid as much attention to you as her latest project. Heck, beating up Scott may bring you and your mother closer. It certainly attracted her attention.
    • Combative. You and your mother constantly argue. Yelling is your form of communication. Yet you know if something were to go wrong, she’d kill a man to protect you. You’d hate to see what your mother would have done to Scott if she got to him first.
    • Permissive. You and your mother are close. Between the frequent moves, she is the only constant in your life. She is your best friend and it has always been the two of you against the uncaring world. You have no curfew. She trusts you and doesn't ask too many questions.
    • Other. Be sure to describe your relationship with your mother.
     
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  • Index
    • Permissive. No reason to give our hero a bad childhood just yet. That can come later when she gets killed off  :smile3:
     
    Not everyone has voted. 


    At the beginning of the last vote, Regine looked like the clear winner, but the  Sigrid won in the end. 
     
    God damn it.  They moved the downtime to next week.  This totally screws with my schedule!  


    :smile14:


    /first world problems
     
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