Attributes: Strength 3, Dexterity 3, Stamina 3; Charisma 2, Manipulation 2, Appearance 3; Perception 4, Intelligence 4, Wits 3
Virtues: Endurance 2, Harmony 2, Intellect 2, Order 3
Abilities: Academics 2, Athletics 1, Awareness 2, Control (Planes) 2, Fortitude 2, Integrity 3, Investigation 3, Marksmanship 2, Medicine 1, Melee 2, Occult 2, Science (Forensics) 3, Stealth 3, Survival 3, Thrown 1
Birthrights: Guide 1 (Hans Steferson), Relic 2 (Woven Bracelet – Death, Justice), Relic 1 (Horn Canteen – Water), Relic 1 (Kukri – Weapon)
Join Battle: 5
Kukri: Accuracy 1, Damage 3L, Parry 0, Speed 4
Beretta: Accuracy 1. Damage 3L, Range 20, Speed 4
Unarmed, Light: Accuracy 4, Damage 4B, Parry DV 2, Speed 4
Unarmed, Heavy: Accuracy 2, Damage 7B, Parry DV 1, Speed 5
Health Levels: -0/-1/-1/-2/-2/-4/Incap
Dodge DV: 4 Willpower: 5 Legend: 3 Legend Points: 9
Notes: The woven bracelet, complete with sapphire, allows Abadi to channel the Death and Justice purviews. His horn canteen allows him access to his Water boons, and his Kukri is enhanced with an additional +1 to Parry DV, which has already been calculated into the final attack stats here.
“Looks like we got another one for you Abe.” “Back to Africa?” “How’d ya know?” “Saw it on CNN.” 24 hours later… Abadi wiped the sweat from his brown and loosened another button on his shirt as he asked himself why mass graves were never found in nice tropical places. 312 bodies and counting. Official estimates originally put the body count at around 100 but Abadi knew there were more, there were always more. Only three years on the job and already Abadi was regarded as an expert. He always had had a connection with the dead, especially those that passed before their time.
“Hey boss, we got a jeep rollin’ in. Looks like locals, pissed off locals.”
Life as a UN War Crimes Investigator was never dull. Abadi scanned the site for Janje the liaison officer. Luckily Janje was already heading to intercept the jeep. Abadi preferred to almost deal exclusively with the dead. It wasn’t that he hated people but with his quiet and stern demeanor he often had more in common with the departed than their living counter parts. Abadi nudged Jackson signaling her to continue with her work and to ignore their newly arrived visitors.
“Sandersen, go ahead and start on quadrant three. I want to have this site wrapped by the end of the week.”
Abadi shouted over the screech of the dilapidated jeep’s brakes. Abadi then turned his attention back to the massive pit he was standing over. A macabre mass of tattered clothes, sun bleached bones, and laughing skulls. Most people cringe and gasp when they see a scene of unadulterated hatred but sights like this only galvanized Abadi’s resolve and sense of justice. He didn’t need an international tribunal to assign guilt; he just needed for the dead to point the finger of blame. Abadi and his team continued to work throughout the day and deep into the night. After all was said and done they had found another 85 bodies bringing the final total to 397. Abadi made his usual rounds making sure the site was secure and sentries were posted in order to keep it that way. After another 18 hour day he finally made it back to his tent and slowly drifted to sleep.
Abadi sat straight up in bed fully alert not sure what had awoken him. He scanned his tent and strained his ears for any sound, nothing save for a slight breeze rustling the elephant grass. Suddenly a voice ringed in Abadi’s ears “Go outside my son.” Abadi, now somewhat panicked, groped for his kukri in the dark. It wasn’t so much the proximity of the voiced that bothered him it was the words, my son. Abadi never resented being an orphan but anytime someone jokingly called him son or tried to insult his mother, what little sense of humor he had soon evaporated. “Ready yourself” the voice boomed again. Suddenly the dead night became alive with muzzle flashes and the cackles of Kalashnikovs. Abadi instinctively dropped to the ground and rolled under his bunk, this wasn’t the first time he had been under fire while on an investigation and with any luck it wouldn’t be the last. Abadi felt for the lockbox under his bunk and retrieved his side arm from inside. POP POP POP. A short flurry of bullets ripped through the tent. Slowly a machete began to part the tent flaps followed closely by a rifle barrel. The two intruders slowly made their way into Abadi’s refuge. All he could see was bare feet on the soft savannah grass. Slowly the feet crept forward. Inch by inch the closed in on their prey. POP POP, two shots ripped through the cot; one grazed Abadi shoulder. He grimaced and tightened his grip on the pistol. Slowly he cocked back the hammer on the Beretta. Suddenly, he heard anther voice outside the tent. It had the crisp bark of authority to it as it yelled in Arabic. Two of the feet swiftly turned and exited the tent. “Now’s my chance, quick and quiet” Abadi thought to himself. He slowly uncocked and unsheathed his kukri in one smooth motion. As the feet passed the edge of the cot, Abadi rolled out from underneath the bed and slowly stood up. His eyes burned with a mixture of fear, determination and survival. He grabbed the intruder from behind covering his mouth and jabbed the kukri between the man’s ribs from the side piercing his heart. He became heavy as his life stained the cool savannah grass. Abadi laid the man down and cover his cold dead eyes. Even a murderer should be dignified in death. Examining his newly acquired AK-47, Abadi crept out the back of the tent and prepared to save what was left of his team and get the hell out. The smell of gunpowder lingered in the air as Abadi surveyed the scene; of his team of 30 he saw six of them sprawled upon the ground already dead. Small fires had broken out in the impromptu tent city; the guerrillas were razing the camp. He heard more small arms fire from his right and recognized it as the standard issue M9. He made his way towards the gunfight using what he could for cover. He saw one of the newest members of his team, Loretta Jackson, to his left taking shelter from gunfire behind a shot up jeep. They locked eyes. Abadi scanned the horizon for the attackers; steadied himself, drew a deep breath and fired a volley towards a group of three would be assassins. They let out a yelp as they jerked to the ground. He looked back towards Jackson but she was already running away. The unnerving and all too familiar sound of bullets whizzing by brought Abadi’s attention to his left flank. He raised his AK again and pulled the trigger. Click. Click click, the simple sound that often preceded death. Abadi cursed to himself and threw the empty AK down and dove behind a supply crate. He hit the magazine release on his M9 and checked the clip, 15. He quickly peeked his head around the side of the crate and was greeted by a salvo slamming into the ground in front of his face. Abadi again drew a breath and prepared for battle. He leaped up and fired five times hitting two of the guerrillas narrowly missing the third. He kept firing as he moved towards a jeep for cover. Abadi cursed again not remembering how many times he had shot. No more than six he thought to himself. Only five rounds left. Another round of bullets shuttered into the jeep. Abadi aimed carefully from underneath the jeep. The attacker flopped to the ground. One round left. Another bullet hit the jeep, this time it came from behind Abadi. He turned looking down the sights. Click, the simple sound that often preceded death. Another puddle of blood stained the cool Savannah grass.
The smell of lotus blooms and jasmine tinged at Abadi’s nose. “Strange, thought I was dead and in Africa.” He slowly opened his eyes and say blue feet. “Strange, thought angels were white.” Abadi sluggishly raised his gaze up and found himself starring at a large blue man. Abadi recognized the figure, or at least its likeness. Abadi slowly sat up and looked down at his chest. “Strange, thought I was dead and in Africa.” Abadi said to himself again, this time aloud.
“Your time is yet to come. We must hurry I have much to do and do not wish to loiter.”
Yama; Abadi recognized the figure as Yama, the Hindu god of the dead. “How did I come to this place, Yama. I never thought myself as a Hindi.”
Yama, thought for a moment, “Yes, your upbringing in the West has alienated you from your heritage but I thought it better than subjecting you to a low caste in the East.” “Now hurry I do not want to be delayed any further.” Yama reached down and help Abadi to his feet. As Abadi brushed himself off, Yama reached for the reins on the large water buffalo lazily gnawing on tuffs of grass next to the God. “Walk with me, my son.” Yama said as he gently spurred on the buffalo. Abadi saw he had little choice in the matter and strode beside the blue God atop the giant wildebeest.
“Do not waste our time with useless questions. Listen and you shall know all you need in time. You are my son. Your mother died during birth and the hospital not knowing of any family placed you in an orphanage, but that is not important. What matters is your future.”
Abadi said nothing soaking in all he had just heard. The three made their way silently to a white palace in the middle of a great valley. Once inside the palace, Yama went directly to what seemed to be his study. A balding sat silently in the corner scribbling away in a large tattered tome. Yama made a motion to a small window and told Abadi to look out of it. Abadi inquisitively approached the window. The sill was made of shiny marble and the frame was carved out of the same material. Looking out, Abadi saw what he thought was a stream stretching out into the distance. He looked closer, it wasn’t a stream but a line of people, thousands and thousands of people.
“The dead.” Yama put rather simply. “All your life you have felt a closer connection to the dead than the living; that is because I am the Emperor of the Dead. My duty is to judge those that die and reward or punish them accordingly. Now I need you to take over my duties but on Earth.” Abadi turned to ask a question. Yama held up his hand and stopped him. “You have noticed the turmoil the Earth is in. You strive to correct some of these mistakes and I am proud of you for that. But now you must fulfill your true potential. The old gods, the Titans as they are called, are trying to stage a coup and return the Earth to a dark time. We Hindi have stood with the other Gods against the Titans for some time but now the battle is at its peak. We Gods are too busy fighting the Titans in this realm and cannot battle on Earth. This is where you and your divine brethren come in. You must fight in my stead. I am giving you these in order to aid you on your journey.” Yama rang a small bell aside his throne. A veiled hand maiden came in holding a pillow with what looked to be a simple hollow horn and a woven bracelet adorned with a sapphire. “The horn is from my Vahana. It will allow you to channel the power given to us from the mighty Ganges. The bracelet is woven with strands from my rope used to retrieve souls. It will allow you to commune with the dead. The sapphire is from my gavel used to judge the deeds of man. Use it to see that my divine justice be carried to the land of the living.”
Abadi took these gifts and felt the power tingle through him. “Thank you father, I will do my best.”
“You must do more than that my son, you must succeed. For the land of the dead and the living depend on it. Now go and join those that are mighty like you.”
With that, Yama rang the bell again and the doors to his study slowly swung open. Abadi had so many questions but knew better to ask. He was never one for conversation anyway. Abadi neared the threshold and turned to look back at Yama. Yama was already busy greeting and judging some of the newly arrived dead. Abadi nodded his acquiescence and stepped through the door way. The sound of a mechanical beeping and metallic clanking awoke Abadi.
“He’s coming to, better sedate him.” Abadi looked down and saw someone’s hand deep inside his chest. His wrist was starting to tingle. He raised his hand to his face and saw the bracelet. “What the hell is going on?” A face behind a surgical mask yelled. Abadi grabbed the surgeons hand and lifted it from his chest. “If you don’t mind I could use some quiet.” Abadi said underneath the muffling oxygen mask. As he spoke a nurse gasped and the surgical team stepped back in horror as the gaping wounds in Abadi’s chest began to heal. Still groggy, Abadi sat up and removed his IV and heart monitor. Abadi placed the bloody towels and surgical tools in his lap on a tray and gently placed it aside. As he swung his legs off the bed and began to stand up he noticed his shoes were missing. “My things?” Abadi questioned one of the surgical staff. She pointed to a small plastic bag in the corner of the room sitting on top of his boots. Abadi thanked the group of doctors and nurses for their assistance and walked out of the operating room toward whatever unknown fate awaited him.