From: owner-deltagreen-digest@nocturne.org (deltagreen-digest) To: deltagreen-digest@nocturne.org Subject: deltagreen-digest V2 #27 Reply-To: Delta Green List Sender: owner-deltagreen-digest@nocturne.org Errors-To: owner-deltagreen-digest@nocturne.org Precedence: bulk deltagreen-digest Monday, August 9 1999 Volume 02 : Number 027 ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Date: Mon, 9 Aug 1999 01:09:30 +0200 From: EHuelshoff@t-online.de (Eckhard Huelshoff) Subject: Re: DG: Reefer Madness! ScottSaylo@aol.com schrieb: > In a message dated 8/8/99 7:52:01 AM Central Daylight Time, > box_nine@ix.netcom.com writes: > > << > Lots of Civil War soldiers got hooked on opiates (morphine, IIRC - > I'm not sure whether heroin had been developed yet), due to the > wonderful state of Civil War era medicine. > >> > > Heroin was hailed as a CURE for morphine addiction in the late civil war > period. THen by golly they found out it was even more addicting. But taking a > lot of heroin sure kills that nagging need for more morphine. But taking PURE Heroin does not kill you, even if you are taking it for many years. It's the subway toilets, the crime, the infections that kill the heroine addicts. ECKHARD ------------------------------ Date: Sun, 8 Aug 1999 22:19:58 -0500 (CDT) From: Tenebrous Technologies Subject: Re: DG: Hey! At 04:47 PM 8/8/99 -0400, Daniel Harms wrote: >Yes, this does mean that your gaming buddies may get a copy of >Countdown before you do, but hey, you're getting yours for FREE, and >you're mentioned in the credits. So it works out for you in the long run. True, true,but let a brother whine. ;) Btw, Fantasy Flight is going to put out a supplement too called 'Cthulhu Noir' which is the CL supplement for gaming in the 30-50's....buy it! Matt C. +_+_+_+_+_+_+ Tenebrous Technologies- 'What we are up to is none of your business' A tradition in Guile, Deceit and Treachery since 1997 Matt Cowger, CEO tenebrae@earthling.net http://home.gvi.net/~tenebrae Vox: (###)###-##### +_+_+_+_+_+_+ ------------------------------ Date: Sun, 8 Aug 1999 23:47:47 EDT From: ScottSaylo@aol.com Subject: Re: DG: Reefer Madness! In a message dated 8/8/99 6:16:33 PM Central Daylight Time, EHuelshoff@t-online.de writes: << But taking PURE Heroin does not kill you, even if you are taking it for many years. It's the subway toilets, the crime, the infections that kill the heroine addicts. >> GEnerally speaking the, the street addict dies of the complications of his habit, not the habit itself. Occasionally one gets a bag of too pure and overdoses to death, but that is a rarity because street drugs are usually cut to the point of inadequacy rather than overdosing. It is the pneumonia, AIDS. street violence, tuberculosis, hepatitis and poor nutrition that do the deed. But heroin kills the "need" for morphine because it overwhelms on addiction with another. ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 9 Aug 1999 02:54:06 -0400 (EDT) From: The Man in Black Subject: Re: DG: Reefer Madness! On Sat, 31 Jul 1999, Eckhard Huelshoff wrote: > A swiss company that produces cushions filled with herbs is now selling a new > product: A cushion filled with hemp. The hemp they used has enough THC to make > it a pleasant smoking experience. Now many Germans and Austrians travel to > Switzerland not to buy watches, chocolate, knifes or cheese, but to buy swiss > cushions. Buy new, not used... :) > Hamburg a judge ruled that 6 pounds are just enough for personal use, while > Bavarian courts tend to say that everything above 0,01 pound is a critical > amount. Pounds... Ye Olde Englishe Weight, Ye New English Money, ad the Metric system. These issues (and some others) bring to mind a need for a International Writer's guide. Obviously such a beast already exists, anyone knows any good ones? The Man in Black is : Kenneth Scroggins Novus Ordo Seclorum : Annuit Coeptus : E Pluribus Unum Code Z: 233,1,42; 140,39,23; 91,3,7; 5,52,3. http://www.carnwyffa.u-net.com [EMERALD HAMMER] ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 9 Aug 1999 03:07:27 -0400 (EDT) From: The Man in Black Subject: Re: DG: A question for the DG Gun Fondlers (TM) On Sun, 1 Aug 1999 becole@juno.com wrote: > Lastly, does anyone on this diversified list dive professionally? Yeah. I am qualified as a instructor for the US Navy SEALS, The Company's Deep One Response Corp, Seaworld 2000 and the Galaxy Police :) But seriously folks, if you are looking for some ideas on Swimming in Role-Playing try the Blue Planet RPG, one of the few Hard SF games I respect. The Oceanography for Gamers chapter should suit most of your needs, bring your rubber ducky :) The Man in Black is : gonna play splishy-splashy now... Novus Ordo Seclorum : Annuit Coeptus : E Pluribus Unum Code Z: 233,1,42; 140,39,23; 91,3,7; 5,52,3. http://www.carnwyffa.u-net.com [EMERALD HAMMER] ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 9 Aug 1999 03:48:23 -0400 (EDT) From: The Man in Black Subject: Re: Flickers [was Re: DG: St. Jerome activity] On Sun, 1 Aug 1999, Davide Mana wrote: > Brunetta has spent the last ten years researching a follow-up to "Buio in > sala", tracing the development of an "iconaut culture" in Europe - a > culture of the image as opposed to one of the spoken or written word. > According to the guy, a language of images is today available to us through > the efforts of artists through the centuries - from the Caves of Altamira > through the Reinassance painters up to Howard Hawks. This shared social imagery is part of Western Culture. We watch the same (or similar) TV shows and movies, we read the same books. It's all common experience - and it's spreading. Distinctive cultures cut off technologically from the mass of information currently dominating the globe are being eroded. Each moment in time brings humanity closer to the day that the world will be homogenous in all ways. An important symbol of this encroaching sameness is the false and fallen language of Esperanto. We're not ready. Symptoms of the strange death of diversity is the struggles of Ireland and Islam, Chechnya and China. Many other complex causes for such tragedies exist, but these conflicts show that like Esperanto, Western Culture isn't as popular as many would like to think. > The whole Brunetta opus hints therefore at a secret history of > entertainment, in which audiences have been (unwittingly?) manipulated to > the point of effecting the development of the whole species. Every perception we experience has meaning attached to it. The longer our memories reach, the more meaning we perceive. Con Artists and Psychologists use the common background of human memory to understand and manipulate people. There are some who beLIEve that society (our common experience) is being manipulated in order to make us more easily manipulated. Manipulated by fear, by apathy; by greed and sex and violent media and stupidity and all the rest. This vicious circle is the goal of many mythos cults - and they are succeeding. Eventually, the Great Old Ones will return, and no one will care. Like the Chtorran scenario, our tentacled alien genocide will be hidden by those who think it best - maybe Majestic, maybe Delta Green, maybe the Cult of Transendence. Look at the clock, we're already out of time. The Man in Black is : concealing the secret Novus Ordo Seclorum : Annuit Coeptus : E Pluribus Unum Code Z: 233,1,42; 140,39,23; 91,3,7; 5,52,3. http://www.carnwyffa.u-net.com [EMERALD HAMMER] ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 9 Aug 1999 03:54:28 -0400 (EDT) From: The Man in Black Subject: Re: DG: A question for the DG Gun Fondlers (TM) On Sun, 1 Aug 1999 becole@juno.com wrote: > if someone has a good chart indicating visibility versus depth (PADI has > one, It's sneak/hide vs. Spot Hidden. Deep Ones get a bonus to Hide, Big Honkin' DSV's with Kewl floodlights are easier to spot. In any event, it's dark down there at 500-700 feet. Just Wing It dude! The Man in Black is : Kenneth Scroggins Novus Ordo Seclorum : Annuit Coeptus : E Pluribus Unum Code Z: 233,1,42; 140,39,23; 91,3,7; 5,52,3. http://www.carnwyffa.u-net.com [EMERALD HAMMER] ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 9 Aug 1999 15:03:09 +0100 From: Ward Phil Subject: DG: FNORD! This might start another unfortuante mess of Fnrods and 23 wonderings but..... Oh yeah, I'm back from holiday, Dave, I'llget you on the DGGF ASAP, and there should be a new, nicely edited version of Emerald Shell up this weekend, I was actually able to spend a few days shaking my head in horror at my poor spelling and on-line editing skills ;) Phil ============================= August 3, 1999: Star Wars Illumination: Derek Schin offers the following proof that George Lucas is Illuminated. Check out the credits scroll at the end of The Phantom Menace. Buried in the middle, listed in this order, are: BRAVO 5 BRAVO 2 BRAVO 3 No other BRAVO pilots are listed. And of course BRAVO stands for Bayern Raecht Aufschlussreich Verlusten Oftmals (Bavaria Avenges Illuminated Losses Often, as in Bail O.-- Bail Organa was Princess Leia's adoptive father). And don't forget that in Star Wars, Luke, Wedge and Biggs were Red 5, 2 and 3 (Red being not only the colour of the International Communist Conspiracy but also, along with White -- the actual color of their X- wings -- the official colours of the Bavarian Illuminati). ============================= ************************************************************* This email is confidential and should not be used by anyone who is not the original intended recipient. Sony cannot accept liability for statements made which are clearly the sender's own and not made on behalf of Sony. ************************************************************* ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 9 Aug 1999 04:13:20 -0400 (EDT) From: The Man in Black Subject: Re: Flickers [was Re: DG: St. Jerome activity] On Sun, 1 Aug 1999 LizardRoi@aol.com wrote: > realtime. The really interesting thing they discovered is that human beings > can't take that much visual stimulation for long. At this stage of our > evolution, we can only stand about 5 minutes of it. But I'm betting we'll get > better at it. Our kids certainly will. So Dykstra used high speed photography in film? Big Deal! I wanna know what happens to folks when their eyes eat the high frame rates. Is it just muscular fatigue? If so, then those muscles can be exercised. I spend a lot of time in my darkened room staring at porn on my monitor and thinking about the woman I left behind... OH THE ANGST~! That makes me spit on folks who can't sit in the front row at theatres or play Quake II for 8 hours a day. If it's neurological, then it may not be possible to reprogram those neurons. The Man in Black is : busy reprogramming Novus Ordo Seclorum : Annuit Coeptus : E Pluribus Unum Code Z: 233,1,42; 140,39,23; 91,3,7; 5,52,3. http://www.carnwyffa.u-net.com [EMERALD HAMMER] ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 9 Aug 1999 04:43:53 -0400 (EDT) From: The Man in Black Subject: Re: Flickers [was Re: DG: St. Jerome activity] On Mon, 2 Aug 1999, David Farnell wrote: > The movies have the POTENTIAL of being far more real than books (note > that most of them fail miserably), and thus affecting us with more ease. > What I mean is, it's a hell of a lot easier to watch a movie of > Finnegan's Wake than it is to read the book. The problem lies in the > near-impossible task of making a movie of Finnegan's Wake that would be > worth watching, that would have any affect on us other than boredom or > (inappropriate) laughter. The problem with making a book into a movie that lives up to the original source is that your average script is very-very thin compared to your run of the mill doorstopper. This means that most of the book gets tossed, and only the "good stuff" gets on screen. Many meaningful scenes, themes, characters and whatnot are removed, and thus remove meaning from what remains. Much of what *is* shot ends up on the cutting room floor. When Dan Ackroyd turned in the first draft of the Blues Brothers (go see it again - NOW~!) his script was many times thicker than a normal movie script. The movie would have been maybe six-eight hours long. Not viable for theatres, who need/want many screenings a day. Not watchable for most viewers either. This is why the movie will always SUCK compared to the book. It's inevitable try Mini-series or limited series instead. > The King in Yellow is a play. Reading it drives most people mad (in a > turn-of-the-century, angst-filled way). But it wasn't meant to be read--it > was meant to be watched! Imagine the performance--the effect would be much > greater. Now imagine a movie, done by a genius of a director. The Play could be filmed, it's a play - designed to be played in a few hours. I really want to read the complete side notes for backgrounds and props :) I imagine the Film in Yellow to be a commercialized piece of total crap. It would be over-hyped and a blockbuster at the box office. This would spawn all sorts of incredibly lame spinoffs and even [shudder] sequels. Local Theatre companies try to put it on but fail due to horrible accidents and tragedies. The Broadway show might be a great, but watered down, success - strewn with dark secrets. After years of crappy sequels, an artsy horrific version is filmed and shown just in time for the ENDTIMES... > And for the next level of terror, reread Nichol's post about Yellow. A > truly well-done video game would get much farther down into the psyche > with much greater ease than a book, a play, or a movie, because we > really become part of it, and we open ourselves up more willingly. It's not just the interactivity, it's the time invested into such an intellectual property. I don't recall the exact stats, but I would charge 1 SAN per hour (maybe nightside only), with additional small doses (1/1d3) for solving puzzles or passing a level. The game might even produce temporal fugues and other non-sensory perceptual paradoxes. It's rich for Keeper exploitation. The Man in Black is : Kenneth Scroggins Novus Ordo Seclorum : Annuit Coeptus : E Pluribus Unum Code Z: 233,1,42; 140,39,23; 91,3,7; 5,52,3. http://www.carnwyffa.u-net.com [EMERALD HAMMER] ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 9 Aug 1999 05:11:50 -0400 (EDT) From: The Man in Black Subject: Re: DG: Reefer Madness! On Mon, 2 Aug 1999, David Farnell wrote: > (PS: Just a little note--like virtually every American, I tried it in > college. Never got high, though--not for lack of trying! Something wrong > with my brain, perhaps?) I've consulted my files and... DUDE~! you smoked pencil shavings! HAHAHAHAHA! The Man in Black is : not inhaling. Novus Ordo Seclorum : Annuit Coeptus : E Pluribus Unum Code Z: 233,1,42; 140,39,23; 91,3,7; 5,52,3. http://www.carnwyffa.u-net.com [EMERALD HAMMER] ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 9 Aug 1999 05:18:45 EDT From: LizardRoi@aol.com Subject: DG: FICTION: Forrest Lawn (Part 1) [Exterior. Night] Credits appear during the following sequence. We see an overcast night sky, the moon coyly peeking through ribbons of cloud. The POV pans down to an empty, poorly lit warehouse district. The POV comes to rest on a SECRETIVE MAN in an inexpensive suit using a pay phone, seen from a MEDIUM distance. As the POV zooms toward the SECRETIVE MAN, we here his side of the conversation. SECRETIVE MAN: … No, no. …I don't believe you. ……Why should I trust you? You tried to have me killed. …I suppose that was a random convention of Blues Brothers fans. …Uh huh. Right. …No, this is how I see it. Given the choice between national security and self-preservation, I'll have to go with the Washington Post. Be seeing you. He hangs up the phone and briskly walks away, looking behind, right and left to see if he is being followed. With a muffled swooshing sound a large gray something fills the screen, apparently driving the SECRETIVE MAN to the ground. In a quick series of close-ups and a few very dimly lit MEDIUM POV, we see an enormous STEALTH PIGEON pin the SECRETIVE MAN face down on the ground with one taloned foot. It quickly hammers it's beak into the back of the man's skull. Then, grasping the man's corpse by the spine in it's talons, it beats it's mighty 24 ft. wingspan and vaults into the sky in a whispery swoosh. Although recognizably a pigeon, a BIG pigeon, the outline of the bird is obscured by it's neutral gray coloration and owl-like fluffy feathers. The instant the STEALTH PIGEON is off-screen, a Mission Impossible surplus panel van, still identifying itself as being from the GÄZ KØMPÆNY comes to an abrupt halt just short of the puddle of blood on the pavement. EXTREME CLOSEUP at GROUND LEVEL POV of an exceptionally well-polished conservative dress shoe crushing a cockroach scuttling past the van's driver's side door. In a quick series of James Cameron cuts and close-ups we see figures (or parts of figures) wearing black business suits, white shirts, black ties and black, nearly opaque Ray-Ban Wayfarers™ performing mundane actions in abrupt staccato movements with much snapping and tugging and slapping and cocking and ratcheting. Adjusting ties, shooting cuffs, tying shoes, taking mops and buckets and sponges from professional looking custom racks inside the van. The staccato pace continues with the van's rear doors bursting open, followed by an EXTREME CLOSEUP at GROUND LEVEL POV of a series of exceptionally well-polished conservative dress shoes hitting the pavement like paratrooper's boots, each turning smartly left or right. From an elevated POV at a MEDIUM distance, facing the left front of the van, we see the MIB double-timing around both sides of the panel van, each with his left arm through the handle of a bucket, holding a mop at port arms. MIB (ALL, WHISPERING): Hut. Hut. Hut. Hut. Hut. The POV retreats from the scene in an AERIAL PAN to the overcast sky. The POV soars into the clouds and catches up to the STEALTH PIGEON, which is soaring quietly through the clouds. Very faintly, mingled with the sound of rushing air, we can hear a muffled Whup-whup sound, apparently approaching judging from the Doppler shift. Something black fills the screen accompanied by a loud THUD. Through a rain of blood and bits and a swirling cloud of fluffy gray feathers we see an unmarked BLACK HELICOPTOR disappearing into the clouds. MEDIUM POV of PILOT and COPILOT of BLACK HELICOPTOR through the forward windscreen as wipers squeegee blood and feathers away. COPILOT: (deadpan) There's something you don't see everyday Merle. PILOT: (deadpan) What's that Edgar? COPILOT: (deadpan) An adult pigeon. POV peels away from the BLACK HELICOPTOR and dives down through the clouds, finally hovering in an EXTREME CLOSEUP on a fluffy gray pigeon FEATHER as it dances in the night air. In the background are the lights of Los Angeles. As the credits finish and the opening theme recedes, we follow the feather as it flits and twirls, dancing from gust to eddy until it finally lands on the head of FORREST LAWN. [MEDIUM ESTABLISHING SHOT] FORREST is seated stiffly at a bus stop. He is wearing a Government Issue black suit, white shirt and black tie. The pants are too short and he is wearing white socks. He is looking directly at the posted schedule by the bench, and we can see from his furrowed forehead that he is squinting behind his nearly opaque black Ray-Ban Wayfarers™. Seated to his right, our left, is an UNLIKELY LOOKING GUY. He is wearing black Levis™, a black T-shirt with an Insane Klown Posse logo and black Reeboks®. His socks are black. He is seated cross-legged on the bench and is eating Cracker Jacks®. His shoulder length hair is dyed an unlikely shade of Burgundy and he is sporting an Errol-Flynn-as-Robin-Hood beard and moustache. He is bespectacled and Puckish. FORREST: (addressing UL GUY) Cross town bus run all night long? UL GUY: Doo dah! Doo dah! (pause) FORREST: … UL GUY: Uh, I guess. I don't think I've ever seen one. This being L.A. and all. You know? Like baby pigeons? FORREST: I see them all over the place. UL GUY: Cross town busses? FORREST: Baby pigeons. UL GUY: Really? What do they look like? FORREST: Pigeons. UL GUY: Oh. (pause) That was a letdown. They sit in companionable silence. The UL GUY offers the Cracker Jacks®. UL GUY: Want some? You know, life is like a box of Cracker Jacks®. The prize usually sucks. FORREST: My mother used to say that life is like a shit sandwich. The more bread you have the less shit you have to eat. I don't know what she meant by that, but I always looked real close at the lunch she packed for me. End of Part 1 ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 9 Aug 1999 05:23:31 -0400 (EDT) From: The Man in Black Subject: Re: DG: DGML Knowledge Pool On Mon, 2 Aug 1999, Davide Mana wrote: > One last question - do we get our backsides in gear and compile a working > DGML FAQ? Here's my contribution: "Why is the Man in Black such a world class a$$#0!3?" "He was neglected as a child. Acquiring negative attention is his way of crying out for help. Also, he's been trained by the best and works hard to offend as many pathetic bed-wetting losers like you as possible. The brain-damage doesn't help either." The Man in Black is : world class. Novus Ordo Seclorum : Annuit Coeptus : E Pluribus Unum Code Z: 233,1,42; 140,39,23; 91,3,7; 5,52,3. http://www.carnwyffa.u-net.com [EMERALD HAMMER] ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 9 Aug 1999 05:32:22 -0400 (EDT) From: The Man in Black Subject: Re: DG: Reefer Madness! On Mon, 2 Aug 1999, Phil A Posehn wrote: > Someone was looking for a DG reefer madness thread. How about this? > > One of the undeniable effects of the War on Drugs is the creation of a > rapidly growing private corrections industry. Suppose this company is > actually controlled by the Karotechia and is using convict slave labor > for its own evil ends? No no, evil corporations like Wackenhut (heh-heh "Wackenhut" heh-heh) are represented by New World Industries. Karotechia might have some kinda partnership tho'. It's the voluntary (and involuntary) medical experimentation that's better than the slave labor. Besides, we've done this thread to death. One day I'll post Concrete Mother "The inmates like to call the prison Concrete Momma. She's hard and she's cold, but she's always there for you." Y'all been watching Free Speech TV again haven't you? [www.freespeech.org] That is one liberal effort. The Man in Black is : Kenneth Scroggins Novus Ordo Seclorum : Annuit Coeptus : E Pluribus Unum Code Z: 233,1,42; 140,39,23; 91,3,7; 5,52,3. http://www.carnwyffa.u-net.com [EMERALD HAMMER] ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 9 Aug 1999 05:41:43 -0400 (EDT) From: The Man in Black Subject: RE: DG: Reefer Madness! On Mon, 2 Aug 1999, Shane Ivey wrote: > in 1991, in the same bombing wave that claimed a Kentucky Fried Chicken > restaurant. What kind of freaks would bomb the source of such > Extra-Crispy-or-Original-Recipe juicy goodness?!) ACH~! DAMN THE COLONEL! How I despise that White Haired, Goatee wearing, Rat-frying, turd serving, finger chopping, spatula freak. Always with the "Eat My Chicken." Eat me! you pissy panted Confederate! I'll get you and your Taco Pimping doggie! Pizza-Hut I leave to Papa John's. The Man in Black is : Kenneth Scroggins Novus Ordo Seclorum : Annuit Coeptus : E Pluribus Unum Code Z: 233,1,42; 140,39,23; 91,3,7; 5,52,3. http://www.carnwyffa.u-net.com [EMERALD HAMMER] ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 9 Aug 1999 05:49:06 -0400 (EDT) From: The Man in Black Subject: Re: DG: Church of the Yakuza On Mon, 2 Aug 1999, Graeme Price wrote: > Makes you wonder what you might find in the collection plate (he said, > cynically). Perhaps there's a scenario seed in there somewhere (ex-yakusa > starts cult?). Criminal becomes Convert, oldest trick in the book. I would think it's kewler to make him a friendly. DG trying to extract a secret he swore to never reveal. Also, Magic Tattoos (TM). The Man in Black is : Kenneth Scroggins Novus Ordo Seclorum : Annuit Coeptus : E Pluribus Unum Code Z: 233,1,42; 140,39,23; 91,3,7; 5,52,3. http://www.carnwyffa.u-net.com [EMERALD HAMMER] ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 9 Aug 1999 05:54:09 -0400 (EDT) From: The Man in Black Subject: Re: DG: SLANG On Mon, 2 Aug 1999, Janusz A. Urbanowicz wrote: > > >You can't "make up slang" like Albino Fleabag tries to do. It has to > > >develop naturally, like pidgin languages and regional accents. This means > > >it moves kinda slow. I am against the idea of a slang Esperanto. > > > > Are you by any chance aware of the origin of the word 'quiz'? The -- > > possibly apocryphal -- story is that a fellow decided that you could make > > new words simply by using them. Yes, but making up an entire patois fails. One or two words at a time, yes, that's linguistic evolution, but trying to make an Esperanto of Slang is not credible. It must come into play naturally, like house rules. The Man in Black is : Kenneth Scroggins Novus Ordo Seclorum : Annuit Coeptus : E Pluribus Unum Code Z: 233,1,42; 140,39,23; 91,3,7; 5,52,3. http://www.carnwyffa.u-net.com [EMERALD HAMMER] ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 9 Aug 1999 18:02:33 +0100 From: Ward Phil Subject: DG: RE: Italian commnetary requested/ EH Spoilers Sorry for the lateness of the reply, but I'm catching up here... Emerald Shell, (Chapter 06 of Emerald Hammer) finishes up with the Bischoffe's attempted sacrifice in the basement ares of an earthquake collapsed old manor house where the Aryan Brotherhood have organised an illegal rave for the sub-races, drug users, homosexuals and other less beings. I'm off to the site for some idea's, nice one :) Phil. Oakland! My manor might be in Oakland! Dammit! ;) > -----Original Message----- > From: Jeff Ewing [SMTP:ewing@postbox.csi.cuny.edu] > Sent: Thursday, August 05, 1999 2:34 PM > To: Delta Green List > Subject: DG: Italian commnetary requested (Davide) > > DG relevance: Well, I think Emerald Hammer simply must feature a visit > to "The National Front Disco." I once staged a CoC90s scenario which > had an episode at a rave in an abandoned factory in Oakland. I put out > the lights, turned on a strobe and a loud dance mix tape and made the > players conduct their interviews at the top of their voice. Later there > was a fight, wherein the crowded environs prevented the usual shotgun > and HK mayhem from starting up. Many players who had scorned the lowly > Fist/Punch and/or Martial Arts in favor of weapons skills changed their > minds after that one! ************************************************************* This email is confidential and should not be used by anyone who is not the original intended recipient. Sony cannot accept liability for statements made which are clearly the sender's own and not made on behalf of Sony. ************************************************************* ------------------------------ Date: 9 Aug 1999 12:17:47 BST From: "Jacob Busby Bsc." Subject: DG: Eclipse From: Jacob Busby, IT Consultant, Tech Futures, IT Data Centre, Hampshire County Council, The Castle, Winchester. Tel: (01962) 845375 Following the discussions concerning the eclipse on Wednesday, interested parties might want to check out http://www.devon-cc.gov.uk/eclipse/ which is Devon County Councils web-page concerning the eclipse. ObDG: How are the DO just off the coast of Cornwall going to react to the forthcoming phenomenom? What mystical effects might take place at Men-at-Tol during the eclipse? _________ I think that I shall never see /__ __/ /__ a billboard lovely as a tree. __/ / / . / /___/ /____/ Ogden Nash, Song of the open road ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 9 Aug 1999 08:53:06 -0400 From: becole@juno.com Subject: Re: DG: KEEPERS EYES ONLY?????? On Sat, 7 Aug 1999 15:54:27 -0700 (PDT) Chris Womack writes: >I'm hereby [...] making it a List Requirement: For a >period of not less than three (3) months following its publication, >any reference to DG: COUNTDOWN on the list MUST contain a "Keeper Eyes >Only" label in the subject line and/or a spoiler warning in the body of the >message. Don't know if this will qualify or not, but, just to CYA **************SPOILER******************************** **************SPOILER******************************** **************SPOILER******************************** **************WHALETAIL***************************** **************SPOILER******************************** **************FIN*************************************** IPSO FACTO**QUID PRO QUO**NO LO CONTENDRE There is quite a bit of reference out there recently concerning the Brotherhood of the Yellow Sign (which can only indicate Hastu........uh, He-Who-Is-Not-To-Be-Named). What you should prepare yourselves for, depending on how much you rely on supplements such as Delta Green: COUNTDOWN, is a fairly innovative approach to Hast..., He-Who-Should-Pick-Another-Monicker. IIRC, and I haven't looked at it for about a day now, the section is written by Mr. Tynes, and it will give you a very new and viable approach as to how to interpret Mofo-Needs-A-Nickname with regards to the Mythos universe. The ideas for integration I am not so sure about, but the foreward in the section itself is solid. I won't say whether it is a pro-Derleth or Anti-Cthulhu view, but I think you can arrive at the same conclusion as the section if you stick with the abstract view of Hasty as presented in HPL/Derleth (if you can't, don't blame me, just wait for your local retailer ;-). IA: Tynes! IA: Detweiler! IA: Too Numerous to Mention! IA: PAGAN! Black Typewriter of The Woods with a Thousand Ribbons! -B ___________________________________________________________________ Get the Internet just the way you want it. Free software, free e-mail, and free Internet access for a month! Try Juno Web: http://dl.www.juno.com/dynoget/tagj. ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 09 Aug 1999 15:46:28 +0200 From: Davide Mana Subject: Re: DG: The Lizard People Greetings. Talk of rocks, and I'm boud to pop up sooner or later... Mark wrote >2) The chemical melting of the bedrock reminded me of some theories in an old >National Geographic that many stone monoliths were not solid rock hauled over >hundreds of miles, but rubble that was liquefied and cast into monolith >blocks at the site. The "reintegrated rock (just add water)" turned from ACME stunt into archaeological theory when an Egyptian researcher found a thirty-odd long human hair inside a block of Cheope's pyramid - this in the early '80s. I read a few articles about the follow-up researches, but I was always rather skeptical about the whole thing. If they had the technology, sure they used it sparingly. Just two cents in the fountain. Cheers! Davide Mana ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 09 Aug 1999 07:09:56 PDT From: "Stabernide -" Subject: RE: DG: The BOYS Andy Gable wrote;- >The BOYS probably see the Mi-Go (who respect the GOO, but don't >serve >them) >as, basically, heathens. Intelligent and valuable heathens, perhaps, >but >heathen nonetheless. Thus, the BOYS' conflict with the aliens is >probably >more of a holy war than anything else - they probably only disguise >their >activities as saving mankind from the Mi-Go to make them seem more >acceptable and "the lesser of two evils," as you wrote. This is pretty much the view I advocate;- The way the Mi-Go 'worship' the Old Ones is going to be significantly different from the kind of wholehearted devotion practised by the Kn'yani. Many of the Mi-Go's actions would be considered blasphemy in their eyes. In addition, the Kn'yani's arrogant belief in their own innate superiority won't allow them to acknowledge anyone else could be worthy of Hastur's favour. Hence, they will at times direct their efforts at human cultists as well. In a version of the Evil Stars I ran a few years ago, the Brotherhood assasinated Brian Lochnar before he could complete the summoning of Hastur, and set up one of the investigators as the Mark Chapman of the nineties (que futile attempt to clear the guys name by fellow investigators). Then Dave said;- >Maybe. I always went with the "You scumbag fungi experimented on my >great-grandmother!" revenge motive. I figure the K'n Yannis have a >considerably better understanding of the cosmos than we, and so >concepts >like "heathen" mean little to them. Also, the K'n Yannis are still > >fighting >to survive--there's not many of them, and the Mi=Go would probably >love to >finish them off. As I understood it, the Kn'yani themselves are fairly secure in their underground cities; there's no evidence to suggest that the Mi-Go have ever actively sought to change this. No doubt the Brotherhood can prove to be a real pain in the arse to the Mi-Go, but by and large their operations on Earth aren't going to be seriously disrupted by them. As a consequence, I have the Mi-Go as being largely indifferent to the Brotherhood- attacking them re-actively rather than pro-actively. Someone rattled Steve's cage;- >A question is whether the BOYS represent 'mainstream' K'n-yani >culture, as depicted in "The Mound," or whether they're an activist >offshoot. Without giving away the story, "The Mound" does seem to >depict the K'n-yani as introverted, languid aesthetes. I paint the Brotherhood as an activist movement originating in Kn'yan many thousands of years ago- then coming to the surface and maintaining only minimal contact with Kn'yani ever since. They have support at an 'official' level, but would probably find it difficult to call upon it. >Also, I tend to make K'n-yan MUCH bigger than just a small portion of >the Midwest underground. There are stories about advanced underground >civilizations along the West Coast, with one of their main cities >being under what is now the main branch of the Los Angeles Public >Library. Honest, you can look it up on LAPL's web page: >http://www.lapl.org/central/urbanleg.html Being a fan 'Hollow earth' and 'King of the world' type mythology, I concur. Some time ago I ran a Gaslight adventure where my investigators provided the inspiration for 'Tarzan at the Centre of the earth'. Great link by the way; I only wish I'd seen it a year ago. Dave had more to say;- >Connections with MJ-12 could be interesting--BOYS trying to aid MJ > >projects >that will be used against the Mi-Go. The Brotherhoods leadership don't like or trust 'surface cattle'; I don't think they'd side with Majestic as they see them as the Mi-Go's latest pawns. The Brotherhood also have their own extremely effective anti-Fungi technology. Getting back to the issue of recruitment I brought up in the first post, I see the Brotherhood achieving this largely through mind control/brainwashing. I have in mind an 'initiation' process that makes MKULTRA look like the Paul Mckenna show. One feature is a subteranean fungus called Rez- a halluconegenic that is administered alongside a Brother's psychic sendings, and also results in certain metabolic changes. Two of my players got fed this in the final chapter of my last campaign; although they didn't get 'the full monty' as far as the psychic/brainwashing bit goes; a good thing, for them. The Brotherhood doesn't just rewrite minds; but souls. ______________________________________________________ Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 09 Aug 1999 15:59:02 +0200 From: Davide Mana Subject: Re: DG: Eclipse Cheers again. Jacob wrote >ObDG: How are the DO just off the coast of Cornwall going to react to the >forthcoming phenomenom? What mystical effects might take place at Men-at-Tol >during the eclipse? Mystical I don't know. Sure they're gonna feel the pull. Cue to Blondie doing "The Tide is High" Later. Davide Mana ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 09 Aug 1999 16:25:47 +0200 From: Davide Mana Subject: DG: [fiction] Chasing the Bride (Part 7) Chasing the Bride - pt. 7 There's a tract of the derelict Kled shore, south of the dolphin-shaped Ogrothan peninsula and facing the island of Mtal, where the coast is steep and rocky and sharp as a blade. The waves come a long way to munch the foot of the scarp, and periodically a thin, ample sheet of pink calcareous rock fails with a sinister creaking noise that can be heard from miles around, and while the seagulls take to the sky in a frenzy, hurls into the sea in a cloud of white spray. As gravity shifts its grip on the rock, huge cracks spread through the white billboard-like fragment, and large shards of sharp limestone rain into the sea to finally settle, like broken bottles on the top of a wall, just under the surface as yet another deterrent for the curious traveller. - I'm not taking my ship any closer, Master. It was a miracle the piece of junk had carried us relatively safe 'till here, I reflected, eyeing the self-styled captain of our sea venture with distaste. The guy was no Hornblower, and he was clearly pretty anxious to get back to Hlanith to drink the silver pieces we had put down to rent him, his piece of flotsam and his two morons, that acted as deckhands and had apparently substained themselves these last three days on fish heads and foul-smelling algae. It was the best we had been able to put together in a hurry, and was well below par. - Nobody asked you to, - snapped Val, passing me the folded map she had traced from memory on cheap parchment. The old temple was supposedly up there at the top of the cliff, according to the map no more than a slingshot from the edge of the scarp, probably closer considering the age of the original map and the discontinuous but stiff Wakeworld/Slumberland time ratio. - What do you plan to use, - she had asked me a few minutes before, the seasickness of the last two days sharpening the irony in her voice - hang-gliders? I had ignored her bitterness and turned to our skipper. - We go back, - I said now. The happy glow illuminating his mug was roughly shut down but my next instructions. - Back to that litte harbour we passed on our way last night. We land there. He croaked, made an absolutely unpleasant rasping noise and spat something unnameable over the bulwarks. - Our agreement did not mention any landing party, - he gurgled, - and I wait for nobody. - Nor did anybody ask you to land or to wait. You'll land us there.... - And get lost, - added Val by my side. Orchids were everywhere. Thick leaves and meaty-looking flowers parasited the trees around us, spreading their scents through the shaded undergrowth. Hummocky, thickly vegetated landscape forced us to climb up and run down the small hillocks, the sun casting strange shadows over us. - Sure thing, - Val said during a brief pause - this place would give Nero Wolfe the hots. We were standing in the shadow of a large ivory stelae pointed at the sky like a bony accusing finger, wrapped in vines and at least fifteen meters high. I passed a hand along my damp collar and looked around, short of breath. - I's giving them to me all right, and I don't give a damn about the flowers. - You need more exercise, - she sentenced, passing along a small waterskin. - I need sixty percent of humidity less and a steady wind. She sniffed. - We should have rented a couple of gashants in Hlanit and come cross-country. Of course. But it was too late to recriminate. The pieces we had collected so far fit together in a partial image of something unprecedented - as far as we knew. The Wakeworld guys needed someone in place when it happened, to assess and put a stop to it. And we were the ones. Tough luck. I limited myself to two mouthfulls of water, knowing I'd be sweating it out in about ten minutes flat. I handed it back and scanned the surroundings. At the base of a large tree laid a human-looking skeleton, a large purple orchid flowering between its teeth, making it look like some long dead flamenco-dancing weirdo, or something out of a Grateful Dead cover, or both. - We should get there before sunfall, - I said, starting again. The sun was low over the cliff as we scrawled up an inclined wall and spied the courtyard. We had not met the brown short men mentioned in the reports, nor any other sign of animal life, apart from a widddershins, corkscrew-snouted critter that had popped out of the ground by a forlorn sundial, and retreated instantly upon seeing us, with a sharp gyre and a distinctive sound, something uncannily like "Blimey!" No birds sang, no insect buzzed. The whole Jungle of Kled appeared to be empty of animal life around us, and the illusion had persisted up to the moment we first perceived the faint clanging of the bell. Now the sound of the single bell had been guiding us for the last half an hour, a beacon in the increasingly frequent buildings surfacing from the felt-like ground, leading us here, laying on our bellies and watching the small procession unfolding in the six sided courtyard. At the head, two huge brutes, head like "vagina dentata", protruding eyes, too many arms and too little ellbows. These effortlessly carried a blakened plank between themselves, a huge, old bronze bell hanging from it. One step behind, a man in yellow rags carried a huge hammer in both hands, hitting rhythmically the gray-green metal. Five or six yards behind these, a Von-Stroheim style bullethead in classier cytrine rags, cerimoniusly held the hand of a tall veiled woman in what looked like a marsupilami skin cape. Their steps were characteristically rhythmed, one step and a pause, then the other foot forward and a pause, and again. They were followed by a third party carrying something red and wet over a yellow cushion, red stains spreading over the fluffy surface with each step. And behind them, keeping a respectful distance, came two-score lesser worshippers, assortedly bedecked, minimal style details revealing their various provenances across two continents, and their general awkwardness in dealing with the surrounding belying their communal Wakeworlder status. The column entered the ivory dome through the low slit of a gate, and disappeared. The bell boomed one last time, riverberating through the ground and dislodging small crusts of dirt from our hanging refuge. We slid back. - Looks like we're just in time, - I said, picking up my crossbow and rapidly checking the repeat-action lever. With a natural movement, Val tightened her sabre-belt. - Let me see... - she began, eyes reduced to gree-gray slits - We're about to take on a templefull of Ragman cultists on their own turf, not counting the two veedees and whatever they can come up with? - Uhu. - And the Ragman himself might be on his way this very moment? I nodded, loading the quarrell-holder. She sniggered. - All right! A pause while she dropped all unnecessary gear. - You think that's one of the missing kids? - she asked. - Stands to reason. - What about the others? - If there's others.... - There's gonna be some, for the sake of statistics if nothing else. I passed a hand over the front of my tunic to wipe away the sweat. - Statistics do not always work here in the 'Lands. She stood, cracking her knuckes. - I won't complain about that right now. The inside of the dome was breathtaking. It was not only the fact that this was a single carved piece of ivory of colossal proportions. It was the craftmanship of the artists that had sculpted a multitude of figurines following one after the other along a spiralling path over the concave surface, the material so thin in points that the red light of the sun filtered through, pale as a distant fire in the carven landscape. Here a goat-legged faun chased a nymph, there a a couple of centaurs necked under a weeping willow, further on a fat guy on a unicorn donkey revelled, glass in hand, vines in his hair. I glimpsed more, much more, including thunderbolt-hurling deities, demons, huge reptiles and hippopotamuses and what else, but let the impending sense of deja-vu die down. There were more pressing matters at hand. In the centre of the hall, under a star-shaped skylight and a few hundred steps from the wide, low door from which we entered following the procession, the head hierophant was salmodiating to the assembly, the veiled woman in yellow pelts standing by on a small elevated platform, surrounded by four pikes, three of which already occupied by blackened lumps of stuff. As the guy kept cantilenating, the woman picked up the red thing on the proffered cushion with both hands, turned to her left and with a low growl progressively raising to a liberating, shrill scream brought up and then slammed the thing over the waiting blade, where it settled with an unpleasant, wet crunchy sound. Blood sprayed her veil. The assembly sighed. I felt Val stiffen by my side and looked at her. She had recognized the chunks of meat before I did. - Let's wipe out these fuckers. I raised the crossbow and went for the leader. The quarrell crossed the floor in a low parabola over the cultists heads and connected with the guy's shoulder, spreading a red pool over the yellow garments. Too far to do any real damage, but enough to give him something to think about in the next few minutes. That was all we needed. We stepped apart from each other while they took us in and reacted. They came all together, wielding naginata-like polearms with more enthusiasm than expertise. They were lacking in discipline, attunement and pattern. All their strenght was in numbers, and we would see to that in no time. Val needed about forty seconds, so it was up to me. I nailed the first five with as many quarrells as they tried to rush me, the sixth taking my last projectile in the throat at no more than two yards from me. Next. I roteated the not-yet-useless weapon, catching the following in the crotch and opening him up to the sternum. The crescent-shaped steel blade under the crossbow body stuck to the bone, so I let the thing go with the falling corpse while pulling the emergency poignard from its stock, sidestepping two spans of steel, turning on the axis of the left foot, and hitting the next attacker with an upwards blow that entered under the chin and nailed tongue to palate, killing the brain. Next. Another sidestep, I crouched, a foot sweep, a body crashing on his back, breathless. By that time my sabre was out and the remaining men had spread in a circle around me, keeping a distance, surrounding me with a wall of shaky blades. And Val went off. No warning, no ripples of power or straining of the texture. She's a certified full Elton-class, intensively trained and focused. No messing with that kind of power. I felt absolutely sick as the floor seemed to twirl under my feet, gravity pulling in too many directions at the same time. I was anchored. The yellow kids were blown away. When I got my bearings again, those that had been surrounding us were mangled as many broken dolls dripping unpleasant humors. The veedees, probably the original target of the shaping, were crunched and smeared as a greenish gooey stuff across the ivory basreliefs. Val staggered to the left, two, three paces, ending propped against the wall, eyes glazed, lungs emptying in a whistled breath. She slowly slid down to the floor. Time started flowing again. I stood, shaking, and looked for my sabre, that was lost and bent some yards away. My eyes had problems focusing. I found val, shook my head and went to her. She was coming back, falling back inside herself as the patterns rearranged. She stood, shakily. We exchanged a glance, nodded and turned towards the dais. The hierophant was standing in front of the Bride. He was pale and drawn and not so sure of himself anymore. I massaged the back of my neck, collected a reasonably workable weapon and nodded to Val. - Let's nail this biz shut, - I said, surprising myself with the croak that came out of my mouth. I took a step forward. Stopped. I needed not my limited powers nor the hierophants ashen features to understand what was happening. We turned as one. The Thing in Yellow Rags had just entered the building, sending shivers down the walls. Val closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. - Jesus Christ! The Thing smiled. We felt it through our bones like a cancer munching on the marrow. - No, darling, - He said, suavely. - Not tonight, at least. [end of part 7] - -------------------------------------------------------- Blimey indeed! The Yellow Kids got The Wrong Guy! [or did they?] Stay tuned for the eight, Mytho-theologically challenging, action-packed (well, maybe not) installment of Chasing the Bride. On your screens within 24 hours. Incidentally, with all this stuff about Hastur going on on the list it was a hell of a job revising the text and sending it at regular intervals. You guys messed me up all right! Be seeing you! Davide Mana ------------------------------ End of deltagreen-digest V2 #27 *******************************