Dresden Files RPG

I call, or otherwise contact, my local contacts and ask about recent activity by the Denarians in town, and, if possible, how it would relate to the death of Tom Watkin.

Tim tried to control is facial expression as he asked. "And what might that be, if i may ask?" This could be interesting...

Wolfe's contacts report that although some of Nicodemus' personal elite have been seen around the city, there have been no direct sightings of any actual Fallen. At least none that have been successfully reported.

"Uhm, as far as I can make out...a silver Roman coin," Doc Harris said, before chuckling "Someone probably dropped it. Who'd steal that on it's own?"

Tim thought noting printable as he heard what the Pathologist said. "Excuse me, but if I remember correctly Mr Watkins had an Assistant, do you have anything on him?" he asked while he tried to calm himself.

Minutes later his ride pulled up to the curb, "To the casinos." He said as he got in and began to go over his notes.

A street in Las Vegas. Nothing ordinary to be seen, until a black motorcycle drives around the corner. On it sits a above average height female person which doesn't seem to mind the Desert temperatures too much, given that she wars a long black leather coat at day. On her back is a black, backpack and a long, slightly curved piece of black wood. The only thing which seems to not fit the whole black theme are the pink headphones which vanish at the end under the shaded black helmet. The motorcycle stops at the side of the street and the helmet comes off. A quote lovely face with muted asian features appears and looks cooly around.

After not seeing aynthing what she seems to look for, she takes out a small notebook and peruses it. "James Wolfe" she mutters as she finds the right page. Afterwards she puts the notebook back into the coat, seems to switch the sond in the player belonging to the headphones and puts the helmet back on. The tires of the motorcycle scream as its accelerates back into the traffic to find whom she is looking for.

Felix headed towards the outskirts of town. "We're going to meet a friend of mine. Clued in to a degree, but he's jumpy, crumple under pressure-type of guy." He sighed. "Depending on circumstances beyond our control, he might be as useful as an asshole on your elbow, but it's worth a shot."

Miles nodded. "If he's that jumpy should I make myself scarce?"

"Not that jumpy." Felix said. "It'd probably be best if you didn't do the wolfy thing in front of him, and if he thinks he can stay out of trouble by not telling us a damn thing, he will. Unless... of course." He shrugged. "He owes me a favor. Worst comes to worst, I'll cash that."

"Right, then," Miles smiled. "No furry, got it. Let's pay him a visit."

Mohan prefered to walk around in broad daylight. He was eight feet tall, drapped from head to toe, boots, gloves baggy clothes, long coat and even a thick veil upon his head. If he walked around at night looking like that, people would be right to assume he was somekind of serial killer/rapist. Being that it was only late afternoon, people just assumed he was a weirdo.

Of course, that was his old haunts. This was Vegas, baby. He was part of some show, maybe, especially if he drapped himself in style. So he made sure to go with quite a bit of black and leather with a red undershirt, red gloves and some kind of abstract red design on his black veil. People looked and assumed he was on his way to work. He stopped in front of the shop of the murder, squatting down and peering inside.

He Saw everything, the magic of the place written in stark passionateless equations. A read out of arcane symbol all with variations waiting to filled so their sums would finally add up. This was an extremely simplistic way to describe it, really, but not completely innacurate.

Anarchy looked at the runes at the door. It was official: The Goverment was fucking with him, Attempting to kick the door down, he was blasted back. Getting to his feet, He pulled out his Sawwed-off remmington and fired, The door sparked but didn't open.

"Damn."