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I thought it might fun to use my template at work to show his last clinical admit evaluation.  As for the start of the game, Jesús has been in Independent Living with Broad Horizons for two months with his Case Worker frequently checking in on him.  He has been doing well for the most part and is attending Brighter Futures Academy in the MO-Op program if available.  He also works as a janitor cleaning a nearby rundown boxing gym, where he spars and keeps in shape.

Riverside Teen Services

Clinical Admit Note

Name:  Jesús Santiago
Date of Birth:  21 November 1995
Date of Admission:  05 July 2012

Presenting Problems:  Why is client being admitted into residential care?

Jesús is being admitted due to increased struggles in the home environment after being placed with a foster family in St. Louis, MO.  Prior to this placement, he had completed his treatment at Second Chances in Kansas City, MO.  Jesús has a history of defiant, aggressive, and threatening behavior, especially when he perceives authority figures as treating him or his peers unfairly.  Possible triggers include bullying behavior.  Indeed, Jesús has expressed a significant loathing for verbally and emotionally degrading language or physically domineering attitudes.  His history indicates an individual who is unwilling to back down from any altercation.  Jesús has placed at least a dozen adults and twenty youths in the hospital.  As such, if Jesús becomes physically aggressive, staff are to immediately call the police.

Prior hospitalization, and/or residential placement prior to admission:

Second Chances in Kansas City, MO from 12/20/11 to 06/10/12 for eloping from foster family.  Grandview House near Rolla, MO from 03/11/11 to 10/16/11.  Sentenced for 1 year at Juvenile Detention Center in St. Louis, MO for assault from 03/11/10 to 03/11/11.  For more information on placements prior to March 2010, see client's record. 


Severe Oppositional Defiant Disorder, Attention Deficit-Hyperactivity Disorder, Post-Tramautic Stress Disorder.

Aftercare Plan:

The aftercare plan is for Jesús to enter Independent Living in St. Louis, MO, where he will complete the Missouri Options Program at Brighter Futures Academy.

Does the child present any of the following:

1) Run Risk:  Yes. Jesús has eloped from multiple facilities and foster homes.
2) Self-harming behavior:  No.  However, Jesús will put himself in harm's way to prevent an individual from becoming physically or emotionally abused by a bully.
3) Sexual Acting out:  No.  Jesús is sexually active but poses not sexual risk to other individuals.

Additional Information:

Jesús witnessed his older brother, José being shot by his father, Hector Santiago, who had grievously beaten Jesús. Hector Santiago regularly abused and hospitalized Jesús and his siblings after his wife's passing; however, Jesús received the majority of the abuse as his father blamed him for the death of his mother.  Jesús is highly aggressive and appears to show little to no remorse toward those he harms.

In client's own words.  Transcribed from the journal of Jesús Santiago

The consilers at dis new place wan me to rite down my feelings but wats the point.  Fate—shes a twisdid bich!!!  and God...shit he give no fucks!!  At leest dats how I sees it.  Its like were some big fucking expeariment or sum shit.  And he sits up there all comftable laffing wile we just be trying to figur out dis crazy shit down heare.  Like a dedbeat the kind who run out on you.  Wisht mine run out on me but no mine was more like to beat me just for sucking air   Well fuck him thats why he rotting away in dat cage.  Serves dat mothafuck right.  Dats wat he get for killing José.  I wish I cood go back and save him.  Stop that gun sumhow.  Turn it on Pa. 

I cant rember Josés face or his voice.  Its been 8 years sence they took Maria and Carlos and sent me to my abuela house.  She died and nobody wood take me.  Tía didnt have much but she was allredy taking care of Maria and Carlos.  They made me award of the state or sumthing like that.  Im not shure.  I lost trak of how many placemints I ben in..maybe 20....30?  I went to juvie three or four time.  And they sed if I didnt do better here I wood end up in jail cause Im no longer a minor cording to the state.  Fuck Missouri and FUCK RIVERSIDE!!!

I think Ross may still have my description of Gerard when we sent it off for Caleb's Christmas gift. Essentially I saw him as Marcus Fenix from Gears of War but with short cropped red hair and a few day's growth of facial hair. He's easily 7 ft tall and built like a linebacker. I think he had gray eyes. He was rarely without a beam rifle or heavy combat armor. Basically I imagine him strapped with beam weapons and grenades...not to mention the cowboy hat I added later once his memories returned. To me, Gerard strove to be a knight from the stories he read about but unerringly fell short of those lofty goals, and instead he became more akin to the actual historical reality of knights as brutes and killers.

For Lady Igraine, I never really described her but she was modeled after her depiction in the Arthurian legends, so I would say a beautiful woman in resplendant regalia with an inherent regal bearing and commanding presence. She was one of the first muse prototypes, and Gerard's mother imbued her with a nurturing and considerate personality which became augmented over the years as Gerard matured. Although she was fond and proud of Gerard for the most part, she would not hold back her objections or hide her discontent over some of his less-than-noble actions.

Yeah, I'm like the merchant of death. No tongue shall go uncut!

As for Vo, one could say she has a stake in this business. Oh I slay myself...see what I did there?

Ok well I did the math wrong, so here's my new breakdown:

Might 2
Influence 2
Treasure 2
Territory 2
Sovereignty 4 (Asset: Defiant Tradition)

Renown 1



Trinkets, Healing, Charms, Fortune Telling
Asset: Improved Herbalist (Poisons)

Misc. Assets
Desert 2

I thought it would cost 4 raises to increase might and influence both from 1 to 2. Am I wrong?

In my case, wouldn't I be able to sell trinkets, charms, and tell fortunes already since I have the asset for that company? I really don't want to sell poisons, but I would like to produce them for my personal use. Perhaps I can make a Survival check to find scorpions or snakes in the desert so Ra'if can make poison?

Crap!  I just realized I am maxed out on assets.  Defiant Tradition and Herbalist.  I think may spend it on renown, so I'll be Ja'Qim al-Kehlat, The Ever Vigilant Crow.

I really need to start working against The Unspoken.  They have their fingers in both of my markets.  Any suggestions?  I may follow Caleb's lead and flip someone low on their payroll.  Or would it be best for me to quickly eliminate the Black Knives?

As for my 7 raises, I'm raising my Territory and Treasure to 2.  I'm spending 2 on desert assets.  That leaves me 1.  I'm tempted to add an asset to my Healing/Charms/etc. market that will help us survive the desert climate.  Perhaps develop some kind of divining rod to find water?

I will be looking to eliminate the drug cartel and start muscling my way into vice next session. Which competitor is in charge of the drug market?

So how many raises to our qualities do we get?

I had a 4x7 on my Herbalist/Healer.  I believe David got a 3x3.

My Qualities before adding last night in are as follows:

Might 2
Influence 2
Treasury 1
Territory 1
Sovereign 3

I am also in charge of the Protection racket even though we didn't get to explore that last night

Part II

The next five years I spent studying among my brothers and sisters in a hidden temple, learning the sacred tenets of our Mother and recognizing my venerable purpose in Her service.  The temple, a sanctuary from the hazards of the insatiable desert and the stifling oppression of Man's world, had been built in a majestic oasis, protectively nestled between two large mountains.  The natural cracks and surrounding weathered rock formations bore a striking resemblance to elegant female legs and feet, a clear manifestation of our Mother, and a not-so-subtle reminder that while Her shadow may shield us from the world, we are servants to Her will, owing our lives to Her grace.  I knew peace for the first time.  No longer would I need to fend off hunger or steal from others to survive.  And my peace lasted for a time.

I praised Néshara with every waking moment, thankful for Her divine intervention.  Spending most of my days in silent contemplation, I often reflected on my former life.  Although my actions appeared unseemly to some, I accepted they were borne of desperation, vengeance, and the rash reactions of youth.  However, I began to acknowledge Néshara's role in my life, past and present.  Certainly, many did not survive infancy or their first few years, especially for those born and raised without sufficient shelter, nourishment, or care.  My mother had sacrificed her health and life so I might thrive in those conditions.  Her gift was Néshara's gift—a mother's love.  In addition, my response to her death had been influenced by Néshara, for She knew of the unforgivable crimes against my mother.  Moreover, our most holy of laws decrees any harmful act against a female, whether in body or mind, is punishable by death.  In our eyes, the female form is the earthly representation of Néshara, and must always be honored.  Therefore, these men not only harmed my mother, they defiled our Mother.  While my mother's death ensured my life, her sacrifice needed balance, and the long-unanswered crimes of rape and betrayal needed a willing advocate for Her will, so I unknowingly became Her hand in my unquenchable desire for revenge.

With increasing clarity and a calm heart, I accepted my duty and pledged an oath to be Her agent in this world.  Not long after my decision, the Order of The Mother's Last Embrace, a shadow sect within the temple, witnessed my dedication, determined my worth through additional trials in my daily lessons, and recruited me into their ranks.  Their training proved arduous and more challenging than any I had ever experienced.  Over the course of many months, I endured more than the other recruits.  I survived  poisons, beatings, drownings, stabbings, and being bound to a pole, exposed to the desert for countless days.  Keeping Néshara foremost in my thoughts, I persevered while others crumbled beneath our trainer's hands, some renouncing our Mother.  Their deaths came quickly once the words left their mouths.  My trainers eventually yielded to my unwavering faith, embracing me as their brother.  Then the real challenge began as my trainers honed my skills of stealth and guile, transforming me from mere street thief to Néshara's swift hand of justice, Her knife in the dark. 

For years, I served our Mother, eliminating those who stood against Her.  I became a favorite of the High Matron, who would call on me for the more demanding tasks, whether it be a particularly sensitive target, a ruthless enemy, a crafty rival, or satisfying her in bed.  I obeyed her assignments as if our Mother spoke them directly into my ear.  Nobles, merchants, thieves, murderers, and cult leaders silently fell before me.  The High Matron's moans of pleasure quenched both my base sexual desires and fulfilled my oath of service, appeasing Néshara through my devotion.

While enemies filled my nights, my days consisted less of silent study and more of discussion with my peers, Ra'if chief among them.  We often pondered our Mother's teachings as we completed our daily assignments.  Although Ra'if and I belonged to the same order, he was more a scholar, than an assassin, deadlier with the pen than I with the blade.  Recording the names of Néshara's dead enemies, he chronicled our history.  He also translated a variety of ancient texts, ranging from forgotten philosophies and scriptures of our faith to those of lost civilizations.  We bonded over our dedication to our service, and the crucial, albeit controversial, belief that our service came by choice, rather than by Néshara's divine will.  For Ra'if and myself, service from free will offered an unshakable affection and allegiance to our Mother, one that could only be gained through loyalty, and could never be replicated through forceful obedience.  However, many of our sisters, the High Matron among them, believed  this to be heresy.  Women were made in Néshara's image.  Being men made us inferior.  I could never accept this, but I was content.  And my contentment lasted for a time.

My last assignment came from the High Matron.  A younger priestess had threatened her position, conspiring with enemies of Néshara to kill the High Matron.  I knew what this meant, killing a woman, especially a priestess of Néshara.  My life would be forfeit after I completed my charge.  Nonetheless, I did as I was bid.  Sneaking into her room late that night, I found the priestess sleeping peacefully in her bed.  So young, I thought, and so gorgeous.  Serene in her slumber, why would she try to kill our Holy Matron—she who is Néshara made flesh?  I moved forward, steeling myself for what must be done.  Truly Néshara has blessed her, for I have never seen such beauty.  And then, a voice spoke to me.  “She is not to die, Ja'Qim.”  I spun, but no one was there besides myself and the priestess.  “Look closer, my child.”  I examined the room carefully, my eyes drawn inextricably to the nightstand.  A rose and a note from a suitor lay gently upon its surface.  I read the name of the suitor and froze.  “Yes, Ja'Qim.  He is the one your High Matron has had her eye on for some time.  I did not speak this young one's name.  She is pure.”  Breathing heavy, I left the room in a state of shock.  Not only had I been betrayed, but I heard Her speak to me.  I knew not what to think.  Néshara only spoke to the High Matron . . . and never to men.  Did She speak to me, or have I gone mad?

Ra'if found me sometime later to inquire about my target, and reluctantly, I informed him of my failure.  I told him the High Matron intended for me to kill her romantic rival, and once the priestess had been dealt with, I would be killed immediately without any inquiry into the matter.  He closed his eyes, and I thought for a moment he would turn me over to the order for punishment.  Instead, he told me about his suspicions over the past year.  Ra'if believed the High Matron was using her station at her own whims, exerting her power to eliminate those who spoke out against her, solidifying her authority and gaining vast quantities of wealth. 

Without waiting to hear the rest, I foolishly stormed off to confront the High Matron.  She was not in her chambers, but her attendants informed me she had been called to an emergency meeting with the other Matrons and should not be disturbed.  Ignoring the guards at the doors to the council's meeting, I burst through the doors and shouted, “You dare defy our Mother with your own personal agenda?”  The High Matron stood to object, and the guards attempted to seize me, but I sprinted ahead, drawing my dagger.  “She was innocent!  You dishonor your station and our Mother.  Why?”

She glared at me.  “I am not the one whose honor is in question, Ja'Qim,” she said smoothly, eying the dagger.  “You interrupt a closed session and dare bear a blade against me?”

“I am not your pawn!”  I lunged forward, but she slipped out of my way.  In one fluid motion, she used my momentum against me, twisting my arm and pinning me to the ground.

She leaned forward, pressing her weight against me.  My arm popped, and I groaned, losing hold of my dagger.  “You should have killed her, Ja'Qim.  I might have been lenient in your punishment,” she whispered.  “Now I will enjoy drawing out your death.”  She motioned for the guards, who took me away.

Days passed.  I had been subjected to a deeper, more profound level of pain than ever before.  The High Matron delighted in torturing me, prolonging my pain, killing me, and then bringing me back.  I had failed, and she had won.  Even worse I had failed Néshara.  But before despair completely took me, I heard muffled sounds from my jailers and saw the cell door open.  Ra'if quickly entered and unlocked me from the manacles.  Calling me a fool and a few choice words, he helped me out of the cell.  I recall little after that as I kept slipping in and out of consciousness, but some distant part of me knew that Néshara had not abandoned me.  I could almost hear Her humming to me softly, like my mother did when I was a child. 

More days passed.  We fled the temple and the land we knew, getting as far away as possible.  As I gained my strength back, I asked Ra'if how he had managed to free me.  Looking back toward the way we had come, he told me others had helped in my escape, but trailed off before he finished.  I winced and said a quick prayer, knowing they were with our Mother now.  I wanted to return, to strike against the High Matron, and to wrest control of the temple from her corrupt hands.  But the thought was completely absurd.  We would never stand a chance, at least not now.

Soon we found ourselves in a foreign land, short on supplies, and out of gold.  Finding gainful employment proved difficult.  However, we eventually joined a band of mercenaries, hoping we could earn enough gold to sustain ourselves in the days to come.  And that worked for a time.

End Part II; Let the campaign begin!

I've been working on my back story and it got a little out of hand.  I'll need time to finish it up, but here's Part I

From the personal log of Ja'Qim al-Kehlat

I do not consider myself to be a good man, nor an evil one.  I make no excuses for my past, nor will I apologize.  I do what I must in the name of our Mother, Néshara—She who carried us from darkness into light and sustains us with her every breath.  Her voice guided my hand long before I knew Her words.  Indeed, She had been with me from the beginning, observing and directing events around me so I might go to Her.

My earliest memories blend together in terrifying nights and uncertain days.  I remember the unbearable stench of soiled garments and discarded linens; the coarse, ragged fabric rubbing my skin as I lay in a fitful sleep of hunger and fear; my mother gently rocking me, her reassuring humming lulling me back to sleep; the sounds of wild dogs fighting over leftover meat, the muffled sobbing of nearby children, and the quickly silenced sound of some poor soul pleading for mercy or help; and the ever-present coating of human waste accompanying the alleyways I called home, while others slept comfortably on feathered pillows and warm beds just on the other side of the walls. 

My mother would speak of better times, when she had worked with needle and thread in her parent's store.  Her mother had been a seamstress of some renown before her passing, while her father, a moderately wealthy merchant, sold rare herbs and spices to the nobles.  Sometimes my mother would stare off blankly, reliving those days, I believed, or perhaps longing for her fortune to change.  But these were wasteful dreams.  Unable to accept the dishonor she brought on his house, her father cast her out.  Her rape had stolen more than her purity and innocence; it had undone her father's schemes of marrying her off to further his business endeavors.  Thus, she found herself shunned, alone, and with child.

Despite the terrible circumstances fate forced upon her, my mother endured.  For the first year or so, her modest skills with the needle brought in some coin, while her knowledge of herbs from her father earned her a fair reputation among the poor.  However, fate would not relent.  Refusing to lose even a small measure of their profits, her competitors spread false rumors of her consorting with demons from the desert.  Moreover, many believed me to be the spawn of that dark union.  Threatening and cursing her, they forced my mother onto the streets.  The streets proved less than kind to her.  Begging rarely afforded her any sustenance and stealing seemed to risky, so she gave what little food she could to me.  Each day I watched a little more of the life seep from her bony frame.

Because I never knew a life of privilege, I adapted quicker to a life of begging for scraps, but more often than not, I took whatever I could pocket.  Thieving came naturally to me.  I figured if they had so much, they could easily share their wealth with those in need.  I alleviated their carts and stores of the excess, so they would not feel guilty when food would grow old.  I saw myself as doing a public service.  Of course, they disagreed and gave chase when they caught me.  I eluded them with ease and would distribute my bounty to our little homeless community.  And this worked for a time.

Unfortunately, my skills as a thief matured too late to save my mother.  By the time I was twelve, her health had deteriorated from malnutrition, insomnia, and finally ended with pneumonia, but I knew the actual causes of her predicament.  The disease had been a merciful release to a consigned death from her father and her rapist.  I had seen my grandfather many times from afar, and her rapist once.  My mother had pointed to a noble of a minor house—a sweaty, round man—and absently said, “That is your father.”  There had been no anger or malice in her voice.  She seemed almost disinterested, despondent perhaps, as if she were simply stating a matter of fact.  Or maybe she had already passed from this world long ago and her shade lingered.

Surprisingly, my grandfather had been a remarkably easy target, especially for my first kill.  His daily routine took less than a week to memorize; his locks were old and easy to pick.  As he slept soundly in his silk sheets, I tied him up and gagged him.  I poured his precious spices around him and dowsed him with lamp oil.  Lighting a torch and running its bottom across his face, I woke him with a greeting, “Hello, Grandfather.  You chose your spices over your own daughter, so I'm sending them with you.”  I hurled the torch on top of him and left.

Being a noble, her rapist proved more difficult.  Guards patrolled the grounds frequently, sometimes with hounds.  His routine varied from night to night, but he kept the same chambers every night, and sometimes drank in excess.  I followed him to the tavern frequently, tailing him for weeks.  Once he appeared deep in his cups, I made my way to his manor.  After sneaking past the guards, I patiently waited for him to return to his room.  In the late hours of the night, he swayed into his room, and without disrobing, fell onto his bed.  I quickly rolled him over, tied him to the bed and gagged him.  I wedged a chair against the door, so we would not be interrupted prematurely.  Then I turned toward the matter at hand.  He had indeed drank his fill, for I had to slap him several times and dump the contents of his chamber pot on him before he awoke.  At first, he seemed disoriented, but eventually he struggled against his bonds and tried to call out despite the gag.  I silenced him with a wave of my dagger and a glare.  “You raped my mother.”  I slid the dagger between his legs, splitting open his trousers.  “They you a noble, but your actions say otherwise.”  With a quick tug and flick of my wrist, I castrated him.  He howled beneath the gag.  I pulled the gag aside.  The scream echoed briefly throughout the manor before I forced his manhood in place.  “Choke on it, Father!”  I pressed all my weight on top of his face, holding his mouth shut.  Guards shouted from the other side of the door, but they received no response.  I watched the rapist's eyes roll back, and yet I still pressed myself over his face.  The guards began ramming the door open.  I remained fixated on my target until he finally stopped thrashing.  The chair cracked, the door burst open, and I leaped out the window.

I had no escape plan.  I had only planned the murder—the retribution for my mother.  Fleeing frantically, I twisted through passageways, knocking over carts and barrels in my wake.  The guards came after me with a ferocity and determination I had never witnessed.  But Néshara had been watching, and She had sent her servant to save me.  A cloaked figure snared me in a tight grip and pulled me indoors as I rounded a hovel.  “Shh, little one, Néshara will protect you.”

End Part I

Damn, Caleb. How am I supposed to follow that up?

More stretchy goals! 

You'll put a write up your Cthulhu Dark scenario?
A swimsuit calender?
A recorded game of Pantheon where everyone plays elder gods? :)

I wote for a RPPR swimsout calander. I would pay good money to see Ross in a bikini
I would pay money to avoid seeing that.

I think many of us would be happy to throw in our character stats for anybody who wants to see them.  We could downgrade them to the initial 250pts or put in our current 500+ characters.  I still think a great pic for Ean to do would be a group shot of our heroes.  Perhaps at street level and/or global/cosmic tier.  Also Ross don't forget Pericles!  He'd be perfect for the comic.  And when are you going to release the one-shot with Thad, Brian, and me?  Verily!

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