Scott Larson

GI JOE of the bunch

Description:

 photo ScottLarson_sheet_zpsc719d135.jpg

01/09/13- 6 XP
01/15/13- 5 XP
01/20/13- 4 XP
01/26/13- 3 XP for character biography, 1 XP for character journal
02/06/13- 3 XP, 1 XP for character journal (23 XP remaining)
02/28/13- 4 XP (27 XP remaining)
03/07/13- 7 XP
03/14/13- 4 XP

Spent XP
Starting bonus XP 30 (I reconfigured some of this xp when i realized that i didn’t spend it correctly when i made this character.)
Persuasion *1 – 3xp
expression *1 – 3xp
Crafts *1 – 3xp
Intimidate *2 – 6xp
Clarity *1 – 5 xp
Father Wolf’s Speed – 10 xp

Accrued XP – total current 38 (as far as i can tell)
Occult *1 – 3 xp
The Right Words – 5xp
Dex *3 – 15xp
Stamina *3 – 15 XP

Bio:

From an early age I was a gun nut. I remember getting my first gun at age 8 from my uncle. It was a daisy BB rifle. The first thing i did with it was go outside and start picking birds off of the neighborhood phone lines, until the neighbors cats decided to start collecting them in their owners kitchens. After my parents got the angry mob that used to be the home owners association off of our doorstep, they made me take it to my grandpa’s house and use it only there. Granddad’s house was out in the country just outside of Clemons.

The hobbit hole, as he called it, was a friggin bunker built mostly underground. He was constantly talking to me about being prepared for the big bomb and all kinds of other doomsday shit. He was a bit nutty but taught me a lot and was always good to me and mom after my dad passed. I was a little too young to remember what happened.

After high school I went into the Army. I Graduated as commander of my JROTC class in School so the army was eager to scoop me up. I got a full ride through college and served the better part or my military career in Iraq. The place is as ever as much of a hell hole as I imagined. Once I graduated from Wake Forest University with my Bachelors in Political Science, I was called to duty in 1990 for Operation Desert Shield. My detail was assigned the negotiations of 115 Americans who were being held in an Iraqi hotel. It took the better part of the year for the brass to get Hussein to let them go. IT was touch and go for a while especially when they started using their “guests” as they called them as human shields. It wasn’t until December of that year that we managed to get the last of them out of that hell hole. I didn’t get to leave that damned litter box for almost another 10 years.

In 2001 i returned state side and finished up my masters degree in military history. Wake Forest University welcomed their native son with open arms and was happy to have my experience to their Poly Sci department. Over the next several years i taught various courses on foreign affairs as well as military history. Eventually i was call back to active duty.

The Phone rang one Sunday morning in early 2006. I nearly dropped the damn thing as I answered it, still mostly asleep. The Colonel was on the phone. He sounded just as asleep. You’re scheduled to report to the “palace” at 0800 Monday Captain. This is a special request. He hung up the phone without further comment or question. I’m sure that he’s probably back to sleep. As for me, the news of returning to Iraq was enough to get me the fuck out of bed. God damn sandpit. I knew the day would come. I hopped the first available boneshaker flying to the Victory Base complex in Al-Faw. The block of a building looked more like a prison than a palace. The only commonality is the god damn mote around it.

The debriefing was almost as vague as the Colonel’s phone call. I was told to report to Baqubah. A city about an hour and a half north of Baghdad. I would meet my contact there. An APC with two hummer escorts took my ass to the northern city. The trip was surprisingly quite, considering the last time I traveled this road we were attacked three times. The City of Baqubah holds about 250,00 people, most of them are still there, despite the insurgency uprisings of late. The driver filled me in on some of the local political happenings. Some asshole from the remaining Ba’ath party was causing a fuss over American involvement and occupation. This city is trying to be developed as a front line defense for the democratic progress in northern Iraq. It’s also became a hotbed for random attacks against political figures and people go missing all the time to turn up as trading pieces for anything from money to fucking aircraft. We pull into Baqubah by about 14:00. The first of my surprises is the mild weather, a nice 70 degrees. The second was when i stepped into the compound. There standing before me was a man I thought i would never again get the honor of seeing. The Ambassador Yosef Mohammed Al Afifi was standing in the foyer of the offices. The interior of the building wasn’t much more ornate than the exterior. We greeted one another as old friends do. “Good afternoon, Captain.” he said as he took my hand.
“You cannot fathom how appreciative i am for your speedy response to my request of your aid.”
“So I have you to blame for dragging me out of bed on a Sunday morning!” I jabbed back at him with a smile. “But seriously, i was getting bored trying get students to stay awake during lectures.”
“Next time toss a flash bang their way. I assure they’ll not doze in class again.” he grinned. His resolve quickly transformed to business. “But come, we have much to discuss.” He took me down the hall to a larger room where a handful of people in suits and uniforms were gathered. Apparently waiting for my arrival.
“Sorry to be late for the party gentlemen and ladies.”, i announced as i entered.
“Allow me to introduce Captain Scot Larson of the US Army.” Al Afifi proclaimed. "Captain if you would, have a seat. He gestured to an unoccupied chair next to a rather large man in a turban and Iraqi police uniform.
“Captain, since you’re the least in the know here allow me to catch you up. Our gathered associates are members of the local government and police agencies.” He introduced them individually. “As you may or may not be aware there is a growing menace in our city that we need your expertise in dealing with.” He flashed a photo of a man in Islamic cleric robes. This is Abu Qatar. His exact where about’s are currently unknown but he resides somewhere in the city. It’s believed that he is the leading cause of the recent up rising terrorist activity in this area. He operates mostly on a political level and so far we haven’t found any concrete evidence of his connections. The people of this city have looked to him as a revolutionary. Many of the citizens of Baqubah still cling to the Ba’ath regime. Local police enforcement have gathered much intel on various people of interest that may be connected to Abu Qatar. We need someone of your qualifications to help us find him and conclude that he is the head of the organizations that are responsible for the hostage takings. Some of the hostages who have been taken show up dead on the streets at the embassy as well as other democratic governmental offices."

The briefing lasts for another hour with details of known terrorist cells and suspected henchmen who are running these cells. After they lay all their cards on the table they then turn to me for my thoughts. I give them some advice on objectives that i see that need to be completed; restoring civilian confidence in the city, ascertaining who are the leaders in the cells and how are they communicating, or if they’re individuals acting alone.

Over the next few days we setup our task. The local officials are more than cooperative in the mission. Most of the week is spent interviewing shop owners that the local police know to be friendly. Early saturday a report of shooting near a local grade school gets the team on the move. We head out in a hum-vee to respond. AS we are heading through the streets of Baqubah, out of the corner of my right eye i see a figure in robes step out of a house and toss up a long tube on their shoulders, i immediately recognize that I’m staring down the business end of a stovepipe bazooka. As I swerve to evade the impending attack the rocket slams into our armored vehicle. The hummer flips sideways and forward as the whole compartment is engulfed in flames. The world goes black as I fight unconsciousness. I fail in my struggle and eventually awaken with a slamming fist to the temple. The sound of wet meat being pounded caught my attention as I realized that it was once my face.

As the blood and sweat drained from my vision the starkly lit room came into view just enough to make out my hosts. Standing before me with most of my blood and some of my teeth dripping from his hand was a surprisingly familiar face. The large rag head I sat next to at the debriefing.
“Well looks like you stepped into a real shit storm this time Captain.”, a voice crept out of the shadows like the fingers of death to scratch at my soul. As i tried to turn my head I saw two other guards standing by a metal door. The walls were bare cement blocks and little else, other than a table. I attempted to move, then realized I was tied to the chair they sat me in. “It seems that your little plan to charge in and save the day like a good little boy scout has failed yet again my dear Mr. Larson.” The disembodied voice chided. “The middle east is ripe for new beginnings and there is no room for western idealism where there is profits to be had. You can take your Coke and Old Navy back to the spoiled children who gobble that slop up like the little piglets they are. As for you my friend, we will have fun seeing what makes you tick. That little love tap on the street should have blown your teeth all over the cobblestones. It certainly made rat food out of the rest of your team. There is certainly something special about you, friend.” The owner of the voice stepped into the light. His complexion was dark but pallid, cheeks sunken in and his eyes burned like a Siberian gale. “See the capt. to his guest room.” He grinned a toothy smile. His teeth seemed to be a bit sharper and longer than the usual psychopath, as if he filed them down…

I was hauled down a corridor that matched the room i just left and unceremoniously tossed into a small cell. The door slammed shut and i was left alone in the darkness. Time is meaningless when you can’t see your own hand. Oddly enough, I awoke and felt alert, and rather unharmed. Sitting up it was rather surprising to find that my head didn’t throb from the pounding it took. That realization alone made me wonder just how long i had been in this cell. Though i felt hunger it was nothing to indicate that i had been out more than a few hours, certainly not enough time for my apparent wounds to heal. I felt the floor around me, stone. Then I heard a scratching, like tiny claws scraping on the floor. “Damn rats.” I muttered.
“Damn yourself!” A tiny voice called back! Then i knew I was loosing it. “Be patient, you’re not alone. You are however about to realize your true destiny.”
“Who’s there!” I yelled, frustrated and wary that this was just a part of their torture process.

Suddenly the doors flew open and i was hauled from my cell to a room that resembled a small hanger or garage. A covered personal carrier was parked on one side of the room in front of a overhead door that was closed. Several guards were standing at all corners of the room in full riot gear and assault rifles. From out of another adjacent door two guards entered hauling in Yosef. Severely beaten, his hair was matted with dried blood. His face was almost unrecognizable. Next thing we knew the creep from the interrogation room appears from out of no where atop the truck. “Ahh, reunions always choke me up.”, He cackled as the guards deposit yosef onto the floor. “But, Alas, this one will be short lived, I’m afraid.”, the gaunt husk of a man mockingly pouted. A low growl rumbled from under the tarp of the truck as two guards cautiously approached the rear of the vehicle. The bed heaved to and fro as it’s passenger anxiously waited to be unleashed. As soon as the doors were flung aside a great black claw lashed out striking one of the men in the shoulder tossing him like a leaf in a windstorm. Upon seeing his comrades violent demise the other guard turned to run only to be cut down as well. A huge black blur the size of a bear leaped out of the bed and was upon the second guard in a flash. In a flurry of oily black fur and razor claws the man was devoured in merely a few seconds. The beast then turned it’s attention on to me and my friend who lay helplessly at my feet. It’s eyes were as red as blood. It appeared to be a massive wolf but twisted and demonic. It lowered it’s head and stared at be for a second and then to Yosef’s mangled body. The creep cackled. He clapped his bony hands once. The sound echoed through the garage like the crack of a bull whip. The beast lunged through the air to bring it’s might down upon us like the helpless quarry that we were. Without thinking, i dashed forward To defend Yosef. As the fury of this monster bore down upon us, I returned the fury and struck the creature in the temple with all of my power. It’s head snapped to the left but quickly regained it’s footing and lunged on me and sank it’s teeth into my shoulder and tried to rend my arm from it’s socket. It turned from me to finish it’s task of dispatching Yosef. I rolled to my knees in screaming agony. The monster was upon him biting and tearing my friend to bits before i could muster the strength to stand.

Suddenly, as i saw the ambasador meet his fate, I would never forget the sound of my blood pumping through my veins and the lashing of my muscles tearing as my transformation took hold. I can’t really say for sure what happened but I was standing nearly eye to eye with the gaunt figure who was now frozen in place with an expression of wonderment and sudden fear. The worf creature snapped at me and lunged for my throat. I swung at him catching it dead in the side of the neck with razor sharp claws. AS it writhed in my hand, the stinging of bullets raked up my back as the guards were scrambling to take me down. I threw the limp body of the creature at them bowling them all over like so many pins. The gaunt figure vanished from the truck and was upon my back stabbing at me with a knife that gleamed with silver. He burried the blade into my back. The fiery hot pain was more than i had expected. More than the bullets from the assault weapons. I dropped to my knees in pain and howled mournfully. My call was returned as a distant howl responded. With an explosion of shattered plastic and metal the roof rained down upon us. Several tall hulking figures descended some on ropes others simply jumped to the floor. They all looked like something from a horror movie. Wolfmen. They took out the remaining guards and seized the creep from off of my back and snapped him like a twig.
“You’re safe brother.” A tall black wolf reassured me as he removed the blighted dagger from my back.“Let’s move out!” he commanded. He and two others aided in my ascension. I looked back at the floor at the remains of Yosef and the guards. In the morass i saw in place of the dead wolf creature laid a naked man, badly bruised and scarred.

Over the next several weeks i learned of my true nature and was initiated into the Red Talons. The Pack leader explained to me that I was an truly ideal Red Talon for i was of the Full Moon. That the warrior spirit burns brightly within my soul. I ran with the Dire Wolves for the rest of my time in Iraq. The Dire Wolves, I learned were all members of the armed forces of various branches. They were a pack of werewolves unofficially backed by NATO to defend liberty and stomp out the terrorist threat. Who happened to by filled with the undead and other sinister beings that haunt this world.

This service lasted for the next 4 years until our exploits drew the attention of a powerful warlock in Afghanistan. I spent several years in the mountains of Afghanistan with my brother’s the Dire Wolves. We were to the human forces an elite team of specialized soldiers who For the most part our true nature was kept a secret and we really only used our gifts when it was needed the most. The Dire Wolves’ totem Was Ol’ Boom Stick, an M1 Abrams Tank. Ol’ Boom Stick was always at the head of our pack and we followed her everywhere. She was out protector and mother. After the battle of witch mountain, where the warlock destroyed us. The remaining pack scattered and Ol’ Boom Stick went off to find herself a more worthy pack to mother over. I managed to escape to fight another day. But, I didn’t escape unscathed.

The scars on my body never fully healed from the mages fire, and when i shift the fur is a sickening brown tint that resembles a blast pattern over the otherwise sand colored coat that i grow in my Uratha forms.

I eventually returned home to North Carolina to nurture my childhood home and see what aid i may give to my old town. With the experiences i have had abroad with the Dark side of the world, i can only guess what spirit forces haunt the hills of north carolina.

Scott Larson’s Player Journal

Scott Larson

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