With the creature in hand, he attempted to continually bash it into the floor, again hoping to knock the wind out of it, knock it out, or just do as much damage as possible.  He was painfully aware that time was ticking away and that those footfalls he heard earlier were probably on their way here right now.  He wanted to be long gone by the time that happened, but this wolf man was being a nuisance and then some.  Something had to give way, even if it was just his temper, which briefly flashed the question in his mind: did he even have a temper?


[Private to Omni-Tent: 23:09, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 13 using 1d20+11.  Close Combat.  Terrible Roll.

Just so I know, a Grab is just a Grab, right?.  I can't yank the werewolf down like I intended and do damage that way, can I?  I have to punch/attack to do Damage?  Can I have Dredd swing it around, bashing it into something to cause Damage?  Is there any other way to cause Damage from any position besides straight punching/kicking/force beams or what have you?  Thanks.]

[Private to Dredd Bloodkin: Sure.  Spin, squeeze, toss.  Whatever you like.  How you describe the damage is secondary.  The main effect is that damage is done.]

     Slamming the werewolf into the ground, it let out a dreadful wheeze and went limp.

That was a sight to see, and one which brought much relief, but only for a short while.  As he watched the wolf man's body for any signs of feigning it, he also listened out for those same footfalls he had heard earlier.  Were they closer?  Had they stooped?  Could he tell which direction they were coming from?  He desperately needed to know, for he had to get out of here, had to find somewhere quiet where he could just think.  Sit by himself and contemplate ... everything!

That would likely prove impossible, at least the sitting quietly bit, for he already had a head full of questions which would not allow him to stand much less sit still.  First things first, though.  Slow the breathing, calm the frayed edges, settle the mettle, and remain still while he listened out for any noise just outside this room or in the corridor.


[Private to Omni-Tent: 00:03, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 16 using 1d20+6. Perception.]

     He heard movement behind the walls.  There were muffled voices and footsteps.

     Suddenly, another werewolf, this one with lighter fur and wearing a vest, appeared in the open doorway.

     "Mordred?" it asked, coming into the dark room cautiously.  His body filled the backlit doorway.  His gaze fell on the crumpled creature in the middle of the room, and his fur bristled with anger.  He sniffed the air and growled.

     "Daywalker," he snarled.

[Private to Dredd Bloodkin: You get to go first because you heard him coming and he didn't immediately notice you in the shadows of the room.  He's in the doorway, so you'll have to barrel past/over him or attack him to get out.]

The footfalls outside sounded loud to his ears, but not so loud it was overpowering or deafening.  He very briefly wondered if that had to do with this experiment they had conducted on him, but it had to be oh so very brief, for another of these creatures was now standing in the doorway.  He crouched (much as Mordred had done a few moments earlier) as the second wolf man entered, however, as it said "Daywalker" he was springing into action.

He shot out of his crouch as an athlete on the starting blocks, gaining traction and momentum both, and ran straight for the werewolf blocking his way.  It occurred to him that there might be others out there also, but he could not think about it right now.  He had bested one with a little difficulty, if he stayed to fight them all, things might not go so well for him.  With that in mind, he drew both arms back, then shot them forward and into the wolf man's chest when he was close enough.  Of course, his intention was clear: shove the beast so hard it would not only lose balance but leave him with a clear line of sight of the outside.  Whether he made it out or not was going to be a delicate balance of luck and sheer determination.


[Private to Omni-Tent: 09:17, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 18 using 1d20+11. Close Combat.]

     While he seemed to be both ready for attack and very strong, Dredd barreled into the Werewolf, shoving him back into the hallway and causing him to stumble backwards.  Shaking it's head from the powerful blow, it lashed out wildly with a claw but missed Dredd completely.

     It began to howl.

The shove did not go as intended, as witnessed by the attempt on himself by the wolf creature, and the subsequent howling, but it seemed as if this was going to be as good as it got for him.  No matter how far away this one's "friends" were, he could not spend more time trying to shut it up or trying to knock it out.  Besides, relative freedom was right outside that window, he just had to land safely and outrun/outdistance a freaking werewolf.  That being the case, there was only one thing for it.

He steeled himself for but the briefest of mili-seconds, then stared for and attempted to crash through the window in front of him.  If this experiment had made him something other, not human, now wasn't exactly the time to find out just how much he had changed, but he had no other choice in the matter.


[Private to Omni-Tent: 11:40, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 19 using 1d20+11. Athletics.  11:48, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 11 using 1d20+10.  Strength.  Tried to break through the glass, but that's a fumble, I assume?]

[Private to Dredd Bloodkin: No critical fumbles on skill checks, only attacks.  But you can critical succeed a skill check.]

     Dredd plowed through the window, feeling it shatter as his body went through it.  He landed easily in an empty parking lot, but in front of him was a four-story office building.  The building he'd just exited was a lone one-story building with a rather large parking area surrounded by trees.  There was a fenced lot to the North and a divided road to the south.  Cars and trucks of all sizes drove by.  It was overcast in the middle of the day.

Standing to his full height, he quickly looked back at the window he had jumped out of, then around him at his surroundings.  He did not have a lot of time to weigh his options, but it did not matter, for he had decided already.  There was a fenced area to his right which he could clearly see and that was enough for him, especially as he had to keep his amazement in check at actually landing on his feet without injury after jumping out of a window, no matter how high up it was.

With a destination in mind, sort of, he started to run as fast as he could for the fence, looking back every so often to see if any of the wolf men creatures were in pursuit.  He was free of them for now, this Cerberus Clan or Pack or whatever they were, but he had no idea how long that would last.  Werewolves were supposed to be fast, weren't they?  Perhaps his saving grace would be the fact it was daylight and they might not want to be see during these times.  He could only hope.

     Taking off in a full run, he found himself moving faster than he ever remembered.  Rushing up on the wooden fence, he threw his arms up protectively and found himself smashing right through it and into an empty construction site.  Startled, he lost his footing and face-planted into the dirt, sliding to a stop among the piles of bricks and girders.

     Glancing behind where he'd come from, he saw a werewolf jump out of the window and immediately face him.  As it started charging, another came out of the window after it.

     There was more fencing on the far side of the lot, but it seemed to be against another street.  He was barefoot and wearing only a pair of loose green pants.

The speed was more his worry than any lack of clothing, especially with the wolf pack now chasing at his heels.  No longer human, huh?  Well, he was at least glad he could move fast ... really fast, and if that was a byproduct of the change, what else had they changed in him?  Time to ponder that when he had the luxury to do so.  Right now, these wolf people did not want to give up their little prize, but there was no way he was going to make it easy for them.

With no time to wipe himself down, he didn't even bother trying to get up, just launched himself into a run from his prone position.  At the fence, he would test what else his body could do, like leaping or vaulting over the obstacle?  And if he couldn't do that, he could at least jump high enough to clamber over and continue running when he dripped down.  Where he was going was anyone's guess, but it was another thing he did not have the luxury of figuring out just yet.


[Private to Omni-Tent: 21:08, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 15 using 1d20+11. Athletics.]

     Dredd's jump caught him by surprise.  It launched him a dozen feet into the air, easily clearing the fence and landing him in the middle of a two-lane road.  A taxi screeched and swerved to avoid him, hitting another oncoming car with a crash.

     As he continued up the road at blazing speed, he whipped in and out of traffic as if it were standing still.  After about a minute, he glanced back and saw he wasn't being followed.  At least, not that he could see.

     Slowing a bit, he caught sight of the Eiffel Tower over a low building.

He was surprised by the leap and just how far it took him, but at the same time, it was if he was getting used to being ... no longer human.  What that actually meant, he had still to find out, but the things he could do, that he knew of, were certainly coming in handy, and in more ways than one.  These thoughts, as well as avoiding traffic, were paramount in his mind, but as he slowed he caught sight of what he believed was a landmark of some sort.  He knew it or of it, his brain was telling him, but it was not registering as it should.  It was like that déjà vu moment when something occurred but you were certain it had already happened.

He studied the monument for a while longer, then came to the realisation (once again), that he was wearing very little.  If he recalled correctly, and his memory was not filling in those blanks as quickly as he would have liked, being almost naked in any city was frowned upon.  So, taking stock of his options, especially as he seemed to have time to think without being chased own, he needed to find clothes, then a safe place to ponder everything that had happened to him so far as he understood it.

     He was in a low-rent part of town, with some apartment buildings, stores and gas stations.  One way or another, without any money, he'd likely have to steal something.  Should he try a clothing store, or check the back alleys for clotheslines?  Maybe he could find some other penniless vagrants and seek their assistance?

     He didn't like the look of the clouds.  They seemed to be getting darker.

The clouds seemed an ill omen, but he could not worry about them too much for now.  Looking around at his surroundings, he was guessing he would find something, anything at all in bins, maybe in or near a rubbish dump, or perhaps he would get lucky and find something relatively clean just lying there on the streets or in plain view somewhere.  The thought of stealing something never actually occurred to him, but he might have to if he was getting desperate.  So, he walked and, as he did, he looked, making sure he took the time to do so.


[Private to Omni-Tent: 09:10, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 26 using 1d20+6. Perception.  My first Crit.]

     By a shocking coincidence, there was a Thrift Clothes store nearby, and searching around the back, he found a bin full of discarded clothes.  They were either stained with paint or torn awkwardly. Not suitable for resale but not unusable.

[Private to Dredd Bloodkin: Feel free to describe the particular appearance of the clothes you take.]

Rummaging around in the bin, he was constantly looking over his shoulder to see if anyone might spot him and say something.  The clothes might not be usable to some, but maybe to others, like himself, they were as gold.  Still, it was not something he could afford to think about too much, for that would take time he believed he did not have.  He quickly held up as many pieces of clothing as he thought would fit, placed some against his body if he was unsure, and believed he had an ensemble he could be happy with.

So, he ended up with a worn pair of navy jeans with a few rips and tears, and threadbare in at least four or five places.  A yellow button down, granddad collared shirt with missing buttons, frayed at the cuffs and collar.  A green rollneck sweater with holes under the arms and string coming loose from the bottom.  A well worn pair of multi-coloured derby shoes with laces which did not reach the top of the holes and were at least a size and a half too big for him.

His saving graces were twofold.  A navy blue woolen trench coat that had holes in every pocket and a few pockets actually missing.  It would at least cover the rest.  And a black, pork pie hat that he could wear in such a way that, when tilted, the upper parts of his face would not be seen, especially if he kept his head low to his chest.  With these items, he was happy, or happier.  Now all he had to do was find somewhere to change, then try to make sense of his situation.

     Garments in hand, he went up the alley and found a niche between two dumpsters.  The clothes fit well enough, even though the jacket was way too big for him.  Once dressed, he felt confident he could walk the streets without being overly conspicuous.

He did not mind being mistaken for a tramp, hobo, or homeless person.  He guessed those types of people would be here, in this city too.  The main thing was, he no longer stood out as much as he did and, though he assumed he might get harassed by the local police, again it was better than being chased by werewolf men ... maybe.  Now, he needed time to clear his mind, process everything that had happened to him since he woke up on that table back there, including the words of the wolf man, Mordred.  After all, it was not every day you were told you were not human because someone had experimented on you.

The strangest part about that was, Mordred had said he was their number one enemy, so why change him into what he was now in the first place?  He thought about that and shook his head.  Surely the strangest thing had to be there were actual werewolves in the world and they were not just tales of myth and legend.  This was a lot to take in, but his mind seemed to be holding together enough that he could do it without falling into some kind of depression or despair.  In fact, hidden from most of the world in this little alley, he decided he would stay here for a bit, see if any of the pieces of the puzzle made any more sense than a few minutes ago.


[Private to Omni-Tent: I forget how Trance works, and don't have the time to look it up right now.  Is it possible Dredd could induce it knowingly or not, to aid in thinking?  Thanks.]

     Dredd settled his mind, using the meditation techniques he had learned in college.  After a few minutes, the noise of the city faded away, he tried to remember all that he could from before he woke up on that bed.

     A woman's face flashed in the quiet darkness.



     A redhead with striking eyes.  She was laughing.  Then holding a gun.  He heard a gunshot and felt a stab of pain in his back.  He was gasping for air, struggling to keep running.

     He jolted back to reality, still gasping.  The panic subsided quickly and he could still remember her face.  It was Sarah Collinsworth, owner of Collinsworth Inc. and his employer.  He'd only been with the company for a few months, but had experienced a meteoric rise in status after having met her at a company party.  She always praised his work and said she was keeping an eye on him.  Then he had come home to find her sitting calmly in his ransacked apartment ... With a gun.

     With a wicked grin, she had told him to run, and he had.  Chased through London streets like a dog, she had caught him with supernatural speed and he'd been shot.  Then he collapsed and everything went dark before ... Awakening here.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:00, Thu 23 Feb 2017.

That was it!  The memory he had been waiting for.  Nothing had made sense up until then, not even his name or who he was.  Now, with the face of the woman, Sarah Colinsworth, fresh in his mind, he was starting to piece together some of his life.  He still could not remember his name, but some semblance of his former existence was starting to make itself known.  More faces, names, occupations, all of this was slowly making its way to the surface and he felt as if he could now connect with something solid.

What he had to do now was figure out who and what these werewolf people were, and how they were connected to Ms. Collinsworth.  Of course, all sorts of theories and speculation were entering his mind, but tangible evidence was what he had to go after, but where to start?  He was now in France, and judging by the landmark he was in Paris, but he did not speak the language so the start of his journey was going to be difficult.  Unless he could find somewhere English was readily spoken and he could make a start.  Maybe a library where he could check up on this Cerebus Laboratory?


[Private to Omni-Tent: 12:12, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 23 using 1d20+6.  Perception.  This would probably be more along the lines of a sense of direction from observing where he is going.]

     He moved out of the alley and moved down the sidewalk, taking in the buildings around him and the people all around.  Most paid him no mind, except to avoid him.  He was in a downtown business district, surrounded by historical buildings and a few modern constructions.  The area seemed to be full of tourists as well.

     However, as he moved along, trying to blend in and search for useful information, he caught sight of a car with darkened windows that seemed to be following him.  It had already circled past twice, and was coming up behind him again.

This was not coincidence, not by a long shot, and he wondered just how long they had been there.  Not that it mattered.  What mattered was that he had spotted them and could now try and evade them.  He wondered if they were possibly with with these were-people, or perhaps this new face, this Collinsworth might be behind it?  Perhaps the two were linked in some way he could not possibly connect?  It did not matter.  What mattered now was blending into the crowd, biding his time until he found an escape route, then ghosting on out of there without them noticing.


[Private to Omni-Tent: 00:00, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 22 using 1d20+10. Stealth.]

     Now that he was aware of them, he seemed to be able to effortlessly slip in and out of the crowd, taking advantage of shadows and alleys to slip out of sight.  Within a few minutes, he lost sight of them and never saw them come around again.

     He was now in an industrial part of town near the train tracks.  He saw all manner of boxcars, cranes, trucks and containers.

He now had no idea where he was, no idea how to get back to where he had been, and no idea where to go from here.  Signs would not help him, and neither would asking for directions, however, he still needed to get to that library.  As he strode past equipment and vehicles, he contemplated the two names he had, and wondered if they would even have information on Cerebus, much less Collinsworth.  Still, he had to try, because his life was not now his own, and to get to the bottom of it all, he had to start at the top somewhere, some kind of surface shell he could then dig beneath.  It would not guarantee he would get his life back, but it might lead him to some semblance of vengeance.  As he moved, he kept watch to see if maybe he had not slipped the car as easily as he had thought.