SHADES OF GRAYSHADES OF GRAY

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CREDITS

Authors: Kraig Blackwelder, Brian Campbell, ChrisHartford, Michelle Lyons, Dean Shomshak and LucienSoulban.

Storyteller game system designed by MarkRein•Hagen.

Additional Material: Genevieve Cogman, HarryHeckel, Matthew McFarland

Developer: Matthew McFarlandAdditional Development: Lucien SoulbanEditor: John ChambersArt Direction: Becky JollenstenLayout & Typesetting: Becky JollenstenInterior Art: Rik Martin, Ken Meyer Jr., and

Christopher ShyFront Cover Art: William O’ConnorFront & Back Cover Design: Becky JollenstenIntern: Shannon Drake

THE YANKEE THANKS YE

Thanks (in no particular order) to Michael Goodwin,BEAU Brown, Ryan Carden, Jonathan Shepherd, WhitneyCarnes, Jon Skoglund, Ric Nyer, Josh Lee, Jay Howe, EdHall, Bill Bridges, Adam Sabrin, John Chambers, DarciStrachan, Justin Achilli, Brad Williams, Aaron Voss, FredYelk, Jeff Holt, Skye Tomlinson, Lisa Charlton and every-one else who shared the gaming table and gave me thepleasure of their company while I lived in the pollen-saturated burg of Atlanta.

© 2003 White Wolf Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved. Repro-duction without the written permission of the publisher is expresslyforbidden, except for the purposes of reviews, and for blank charactersheets, which may be reproduced for personal use only. White Wolf,Vampire, Vampire the Masquerade, Mage the Ascension, Hunter theReckoning, World of Darkness, Aberrant and Exalted are registeredtrademarks of White Wolf Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved.Werewolf the Apocalypse, Wraith the Oblivion, Changeling theDreaming, Werewolf the Wild West, Mage the Sorcerers Crusade,Trinity, Dark Ages Vampire, Demon the Fallen, Orpheus, Mind’s EyeTheatre, Shades of Gray, Crusade of Ashes, Shadow Games, the

Orphan-Grinders and End Game are trademarks of White Wolf Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved. All characters, names,places and text herein are copyrighted by White Wolf Publishing, Inc.

The mention of or reference to any company or product in these pages is not a challenge to the trademark or copyrightconcerned.

This book uses the supernatural for settings, characters and themes. All mystical and supernatural elements are fictionand intended for entertainment purposes only. This book contains mature content. Reader discretion is advised.

For a free White Wolf catalog call 1-800-454-WOLF.Check out White Wolf online athttp://www.white-wolf.com; alt.games.whitewolf and rec.games.frp.storytellerPRINTED IN CANADA.

DEAD WRONG

Despite our best efforts, some oversights and errors havecrept into the first few Orpheus books. We’re here to do ourbest to fix ‘em, though.

In the Orpheus rulebook, under “Pigment” on p. 286,the lead scientist involved in pigment research and growthis wrongly identified as Dr. Harold Vermeer. That shouldactually be Dr. Amours Katilian, as stated in Crusade ofAshes and this book.

Also, Wail (p. 101) should include the following text(the material in italic is missing from the rulebook):

If a character spends two or more Vitality points, thenshe may use this Horror to physically wound one or morepeople directly in front of her, and within ten yards of her.If attacking a group of people, she may not distinguishamong them; everyone in the group risks taking damagesince they are all within range of her scream of fury. Victimsmay roll Stamina to soak damage, the difficulty of which is(number of Vitality expended by attacker + 3). Failing this, atarget suffers lethal damage equal to the number of successesscored by the wailing character.

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TABLE OF CONTENTSTABLE OF CONTENTS

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Table of Contents

Prelude: PlummetPrelude: PlummetPrelude: PlummetPrelude: PlummetPrelude: Plummet 44444

IntroductionIntroductionIntroductionIntroductionIntroduction 1212121212

Chapter One: The Pale RiderChapter One: The Pale RiderChapter One: The Pale RiderChapter One: The Pale RiderChapter One: The Pale Rider 1616161616

Chapter Two: The Living EnsembleChapter Two: The Living EnsembleChapter Two: The Living EnsembleChapter Two: The Living EnsembleChapter Two: The Living Ensemble 3434343434

Chapter Three: The Unearthed Players GuideChapter Three: The Unearthed Players GuideChapter Three: The Unearthed Players GuideChapter Three: The Unearthed Players GuideChapter Three: The Unearthed Players Guide 9090909090

Chapter Four: Storytelling the DeadChapter Four: Storytelling the DeadChapter Four: Storytelling the DeadChapter Four: Storytelling the DeadChapter Four: Storytelling the Dead 118118118118118

SHADESOF GRAY

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The fingertips ofhis outstretched

right handbranched out like abare tree, impaling

Kate through hershoulder and into

the wall.

Now“I’m sorry,” Tom Hayes said. Whatever kindness

Kate Dennison knew of Tom was gone. A ring of brightred lined his black pupils, and his dark skin hardenedinto a hide of cracked mud. From his shoulder bladesand down the length of hisspine emerged two rows ofcurved, club-shaped bone frag-ments, each shattered sharp atthe point. The fingertips of hisoutstretched right handbranched out like a bare tree,impaling Kate through hershoulder and into the wall.

Ghosts weren’t supposedto be capable of this… notwhen manifesting.

Kate groaned against thepain. She felt light-headed…nauseated. “Please Tom… lis-ten to me. We, ah! We can’tlose you… not this way.”

The red in Tom’s eyesdimmed, whatever singularthought driving him to vio-lence fleeing him briefly, butonly briefly. “I’m sorry, Kate,”Tom said, even though his expression remained inertand dispassionate. His fingertips slipped out of hershoulder and snapped back into his hand. Kate col-lapsed to her knees, trying to staunch the blood that ranpast her fingers.

“I’m not fighting this,” Tom said. “I want to do it.It’s my fault, and I have to make it right.”

“It’s not your fault… find another way,” Kate saidbetween the stabs of pain. “You’re committing sui-cide.”

“Too late. I can hear them coming for me. I’mleaving with them.”

Kate tried saying something, but the pain laceratedher thoughts with cold distraction.

“Kate… please leave. If they attack you, I mightnot stop them. I might join them. I think I’d like that.”

Kate rose to her feet, using the wall for leverage.She glanced at Tom one last time, but could see he wasfighting just to let her escape. All the kindness she onceknew of him was evaporating like dewdrops in DeathValley. Tom was losing himself to the anger… to thehatred. He was becoming one of “them.”

Kate stumbled for the door.

“Kate,” Tom said.She stopped, but didn’t turn around.“I have to tell her…” he said, then stopped.“You can’t… save her, Tom,” Kate said. “She’s one

of them.” Kate staggered out the door, a sob escapingher trembling jaw.

“I have to tell her… I’msorry,” Tom said to nobodyin particular.

Tom stood there, fight-ing every urge to chase afterKate… to hurt and punishher, to pull strips of her fleshthrough his gauze fingers. In-stead, he focused on thebuzz-saw whispers ticklingthe back of his ears and fill-ing his skull with molasses.He could hear their approach.He welcomed it… but itscared him with freezing wa-ter chills. He released hisfinger-hold on this reality anddiscorporated back to hisghost-state.

Black, shadow shapesglided toward Tom, drown-

ing his thoughts beneath the ocean’s weight of theirnails-on-blackboard song.

“I’m sorry, Sarah. I didn’t keep my promise… butI’ll make it right this time.”

***Two Days Ago; 3:45 PMLet’s put it on.Put what on?The last suit you’ll ever wear.Tom remembered that line from somewhere, but

its origins eluded him. It wasn’t germane to his mindset,his situation. It was an odd thought that crept in andleft after a moment’s consideration. The afterlife wasmuch like that comment. The afterlife was a one-suitoccasion.

Unless, of course, you were willing……willing to abandon yourself……willing to die……all over again.Tom was willing. There was nobody around him to

watch his deliberate slip down charity’s slope, nobodyaround to watch him surrender compassion and kind-ness to become a monster.

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Tom was decayingrapidly. He let the seedgrow more powerfuland exercise morecontrol over his emo-tions, drawing uponevery nasty and vio-lent memory he couldremember feeling.

Except maybe Kate.Kate was almost always around, somehow sensing

Tom’s initiatives to drown himself. She was almostalways there to offer a kind word or gentle smile —almost always there to help him through his personaltragedy. Almost, almost, almost. And as Tom hadtaught his children… almost is not good enough. Kateneeded to sleep, but Tom didn’t. It was in these briefmoments of “almost” that Tom focused on the seethingseed in his breast, encouraging it to bloom in theabundant soil of his own anger and anguish. Tom’sappearance shifted. Hecalled forth the cancersblighting his soul, will-ing them to manifestupon his gauze, or drewupon his frustration andrage to keep himself in-fused to the bursting.When he didn’t drawupon the tiny thorns inhis soul, he seemed abso-lutely brilliant in cast,not a deathly blemish af-flicting his countenance.As every good carpenterknows, however, rot be-gins from within, andTom was decaying rap-idly. He let the seed growmore powerful and exer-cise more control overhis emotions, drawingupon every nasty andviolent memory he could remember feeling to fuel hisspiritual atrophy. It was working. The seed bloomed inhis chest and sent oily roots to his arms and legs.

Soon, Tom would be devoured completely by hisown bitterness and regret.

Soon, Tom would run over the edge.So, he ran even harder.

***Seven Days Ago; 1:10 AM“She shouldn’t be up,” Tom whispered, sitting on

the still and silent dance floor, cradling the youngwoman. “It’s past her bedtime.”

“I’m sorry, Tom,” Kate said, a steadying hand onTom’s shoulders. “We have to go. The cops are almosthere.”

“You go,” Tom said. “I… have to find her soul. I—”

“Tom, we looked. She either fled when it hap-pened or….” Kate left the sentence unfinished. Shecouldn’t bring herself to admit the other possibility.

“I don’t care,” Tom whispered. “I have to find her.I promised. You go… cops can’t arrest a ghost.”

Kate stood up and walked off the dance floor. Shequickly whispered to the petite ghost, Annie Harper,however. “Stay with him. Make sure he makes it backsafely.”

Tom stroked the young woman’s hair and ran hisfingers along the smooth curve of her chocolate face,

trying desperately to re-member what her warmskin felt like. Hesearched her eyes for thegirl he remembered…for the laughing, happygirl, the one who wasalways somehow one,and three, and six, andten, and twelve yearsold. The one he couldalways tickle to laugh-ing fits when they playedtogether and hug whentears threatened to bursttheir dam. Tom couldstill feel her small arms,thrown round his necklike the world had fallenout from under her feet.Tom waited for her toblink, to smile, totwitch, to suddenly in-

hale and swallow sweet breath in the cradle of hisarms… to throw her hands around his neck… to tellhim she was okay. To tell him his world hadn’t van-ished from beneath his feet.

Tom wanted to wake up.But ghosts don’t sleep.Not in the way that matters anymore.Tom had to be with her.No matter the cost.

***Seven Days Ago; 12:50 AM“Nhh!” Tom cried, emotions unfurling so hard and

fast that they slammed into his throat, choking off allcapacity for speech. He materialized in the center ofthe dance floor and simply stared at the body at his feet.

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Chet looked at the doz-ens upon dozens of dead,young bodies aroundhim, their faces con-torted and frozen intoagonizing poses andtheir fingers crippledinto arthritic gnarls.

“Tom… Tom!” Katescreamed over the music,but the bombastic bass anddrums crushed her wordsunder their hydraulic-puls-ing tempo. Kate cursedunder her breath. They weretoo late.

Chet Mason stumbledacross the dance floor, hiseyes brimming with sting-ing tears, a rubber ball in histhroat expanding, pushingout. “Jesus,” he muttered.“Jesus.” Chet looked at thedozens upon dozens of dead,young bodies around him,their faces contorted and fro-zen into agonizing poses andtheir fingers crippled into arthritic gnarls. Whateverparoxysm snapped their muscles tight left behind gro-tesque caricatures of corpses, caught in mid-contractionthat betrayed some infinite and indescribable torture.Agony was never so inadequate in description as it wasnow in relating their suffering.

“Some are still alive,” Ben Cotton yelled from theother end of the dance floor. At his feet, a raver in silverpants and a glitter shirt contorted with obscene force.His back arched high, threatening to crack his spine,but leaving the crown of his head and points of hisshoes alone to touch the ground. The raver cried out amuffled scream, but his jaw remained clenched tight.Two teeth cracked under the pressure.

“Kill the music! And turn those bloody lights off!”Kate yelled back. She stared at Tom who had nowfallen to his knees, his shoulders heaving. She wantedto go there… to console him somehow. But Kate knewthis moment was somehow his alone, and she saw theghosts milling around, dazed and confused. Theystumbled, and they stared… but they didn’t under-stand. Hell, half of them probably thought they wereinnocent bystanders, not victims. Kate counted at leasta dozen low-ebb spirits, but she knew there were more.

Annie popped her face through a wall. “We’ve gotspooks wandering around all over the place. Many areleaving. I… I can’t stop them. Maybe I should flare andattract them back.”

“No!” Kate turned to Annie, catching her gaze,“They’ll swarm you. Let them go,” Kate said after apause, “There’s nothing we can do for them right now.Just stop more from dying.”

Annie lookedoutside one lasttime, then slippedthrough the wall andjoined Kate.

“Some are stillalive,” Kate saidover the music, “butwe don’t know whatthe hell’s doingthis.”

Annie materi-alized and studiedthe body of a youngwoman in a tightspandex bodice.Kate watched Tomagain, but he waswandering around

now, looking past the ghosts, trying to find something— or someone. “Where is she?” Tom asked to everyoneand no one. “She’s got to be here?”

Kate was about to go help Tom, when Anniecursed under her breath.

“Turn off the music,” Annie said, her voice urgentand panicked “And the lights… keep them low!”

Kate turned to snap out Anne’s request, but themusic vanished, seemingly of its own accord. The lightshow followed, bringing a welcoming darkness to thewarehouse. Ben was at the DJ booth, turning off thepower. A few groans and pained cries filtered throughthe room.

“Find the survivors,” Annie called out, “but don’tmove them… loud music and bright lights make it worse.”

“What is it?” Kate asked. “What are we dealingwith, Annie?”

“I’m not entirely sure. The symptoms match up…with the seizures… but what’s more, bright light andloud music intensifies the reaction.”

“Reaction to what?”Annie paused. “Strychnine poisoning.”

***Seven Days Ago; 12:32 AMThe music played, a chattering selection of drums

and bass spinning off the speakers like synthesizedmachine-gun fire. In tempo, strobes and lasers createda light show that pierced the deepest recesses of thewarehouse.

Nobody paid attention to either staple of the rave,however.

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She dove into the fray,tackling a cloven-hooved Spectrehead-on. Within mo-ments, she straddled itschest, shredding its de-caying horse-head withher talons, her eyes pin-points of fury, hermouth in a feral curl.

Steve Handour was barely dead when the Spectreimpaled his gauze with its talons, pulling Steve up andthrough the ceiling. He vanished, his screams joining thedozens-strong symphony of ghosts beset by clawed andsharp-toothed shadows. The warehouse interior was aswirling mass of gauze — the rave’s dance floor a forest ofcontorted corpses, their limbs stunted, pitiful branches.

Tom and Annie arrived first, through the walls,and nearly cried out in horror. Ravers lay on the floor,caught in spasms of exaggerated suffering, bones snap-ping from muscle contractions, heart and lungs tooexhausted to pump bloodor deliver oxygen a secondlonger. Neither did deathprovide even its customaryrespite. All the dying soulsemerged from their bodiesin a state of shocked confu-sion, a terribly vulnerablemoment that allowed themultitude of Spectres tobeset the innocent ghosts.The Spectres tore, impaledand devoured their victims,carrying them off to pre-sumably consume them attheir leisure. More horriblestill were those souls caughtin a tug-of-war between sev-eral Spectres, their gauzedrawn and quartered by theshadow-blighted mongrelsclaiming their share of thespoils.

Tom and Annie imme-diately dove into the fray, their faces knotted by rage,their sensibilities stripped to frenzied vengeance. Tom’shands glowed and melted, becoming twin handguns,which he used to fire upon the closest beasts in adouble-fisted hail of bullets. Annie, however, alteredher gauze, manifesting clawed paws and a thick hide todeflect incoming punishment. Nobody was sure howAnnie could draw upon these thorns and not suffer forthem spiritually, but she did and was grateful for sucha small blessing. She dove into the fray, tackling acloven-hooved Spectre head-on. Within moments,she straddled its chest, shredding its decaying horse-head with her talons, her eyes pinpoints of fury, hermouth in a feral curl.

Kate and Chet arrived a moment later, their ap-pearance delayed by the limitations of their flesh.

“Oh, God,” Kate said, her voice betraying hermartyr’s eagerness to save others at cost of her ownsafety. “We have to help them.”

Chet grabbed Kate. “You can’t,” he shouted overthe music. “The minute you project, they grab yourbody. We’re useless here unless we can convince someof these bastards to manifest.”

Kate nodded. “Shit! You’re right. But Chet,” she said.“We have to find her… save her before Tom finds her.”

“Then, let’s try real hard to convince these bastardsto manifest.”

Kate pulled out herhandgun. Its weight wasuncomfortable in hergrip… but she held itfirm nonetheless. Chetalso pulled out his pis-tol and charged thenearest Spectres, a packof skinned dogs thatwere trying their bestto pull a screaming soulthrough the wall.

Chet swung hisarms through the dif-ferent Spectres’ heads,to gain their attention.He dispersed micro-strands of their gauzethrough his physicalpresence, annoying thebeasts. None mani-fested, however. Katefollowed suit with achittering, snail-like

creature, then with something that looked like a packof rats sharing the same large mouth of nail-long teeth.Finally, two creatures, both of them oily, slick andfeatureless humans, manifested. They ambled towardKate and Chet, who returned the Spectres’ attentionand consideration by opening fire with their guns,riddling the two advancing beasts.

The last to join the fray, Ben slipped through thewall, his body stashed elsewhere and safe. A momen-tary pause was all he needed to unleash his anger in asmall trick Kate taught him. He inhaled, a reflex borneof being alive, and unleashed a scream to drown thestereo and cries of terror beneath a wave of his ownacoustic rage. Several Spectres in the scream’s wakecollapsed before the shredding wail, their oil-stainedgauze stripped into thin, dissolving tatters.

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The reporterwas talking abouta tragedy… at least200 dead at a rave.

Kate and Chet continued firing, trying to draw outthose Spectres that could manifest. They couldn’tlocate their target, however, not in the pandemoniumof so many people dying. It really didn’t matter anyway.They were too late in almost all respects.

***Seven Days Ago; 12:00 AMThis is Radio Free Death, with <static> urgent message

for all you list<static>. People are dying <static>night. It’salready be<static>. Please… to all those listening <static>save them. It’s a rave <static>house district. Somebodypoi<static> them.<static>.

“Did anybody get that?” Kate asked, looking aroundthe hotel room.

Tom shook his head, but Annie jumped in. “Somerave in the warehouse district… I think.”

“Where in the fucking district, Annie?” Chet said,fuming at the mounting helplessness gnawing at hisnerves. “Which fucking warehouse district?”

“Shit, Chet,” Annie said, almost spitting gauze inthe process. “That’s all I heard.”

“Shut up,” Kate muttered. “All of you. I’ll figure itout myself.” Kate shifted to the middle of the bed andused the remote to mute the television. She assumedthe lotus position, bringing one leg over the other,before slowing her breathing. Her heart rate followed,a lazy descent into the cool and calm waters of her soul.Time dilated around her, everything becoming a blur ofaccelerated motion. Kate opened her eyes, not reallyseeing her immediate environment, at least not now.She was elsewhen, a stumble of a few hours into thefuture… the room was dark, quiet, except for the bluishglow of the television screen. Kate reached for theremote, turning the television volume up again.

A news report played, a warehouse loomed in thescreen, and ESU and paramedics ran in and out ofthe building.

The reporter was talking about a tragedy… at least200 dead at a rave — Katerecognized the buildings inthe background. Similar re-ports were streaming in froma house party and a highschool dance. Many died hor-ribly. The reporter spoke, hervoice dragged underwater,warbling. Dozens of ghostswalked behind or in front ofher. Shadows moved amongthem. Finally, the ghost of ayoung, black woman walked

straight for the camera. She was beautiful, blessed withelegance despite her tender age of 18 years, dressed in70s chic and infinitely familiar. The young womanwalked through the camera and into the room. Kategasped, but the woman was a reflection of a reflection,a ghost’s ghost no more real than smoke in a mirror.The young woman walked up to the bedside, and threwher arms around thin air.

Kate, shook herself awake. The young womanfaded from sight, still hugging something. Reality re-turned into focus again. Tom stood there, watchingKate, but Kate could still see a faded afterimage of theyoung woman… her arms around Tom’s neck.

“What?” Tom asked, suddenly mystified at theexpression of horror Kate directed his way. “What is it?What did you see?”

“Oh, God,” Kate said. “We have to go….”“Shouldn’t we project first?” Chet asked.“No. Some of us will need to do First Aid… mouth-

to-mouth. Grab the kits.”“Shouldn’t we call the cops or paramedics?” Annie

asked.“No, no,” Kate said. “I think we have Spectres, and

the cops won’t let us do our jobs properly either. Wehave to go!”

“Kate,” Tom said, insisting. “What did you see?”Kate couldn’t bring herself to say it. She couldn’t

tell Tom that she recognized Sarah, his daughter, fromthe pictures he asked Kate to keep around so he couldsee her. The dead didn’t get to have keepsakes.

“Not now, Tom,” Kate said, instead. “Please… wehave to go.”

***Ten Years Ago“How is she?” Tom asked the doctor, but it was a moot

question. Tom knew exactly how his daughter was doing,and the answer set his nerves on bladed edge.

Dr. Bennings smiled atTom and Jasmine with allthe heartfelt sympathy hecould muster. He was aboutto say something, but hecaught movement in theshadows, out of the cornerof his eye. Six-year-oldThomas, Jr., and three-year-old Nathan werepeeking from their bed-room door, their eyes widewith worry and concern.They didn’t know enough

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to understand what was really happening, but theysensed the troubled air nonetheless. Jasmine and Tomcaught their two boys peeking as well.

“Go to bed,” Tom ordered, trying not to raise hisvoice in the corridor, trying not to direct his fury atthem.

“Go on,” Jasmine said. “I’ll be in in a moment totuck you in.”

The two boys obeyed, reluctantly, and closed theirdoor.

“Adam?” Jasmine asked.“Sarah’s been through a terrible ordeal,” Bennings

said. “She’s confused over what happened to her andwhy everyone wants to talk to her. She needs time…time and love, but you need to make sure they don’toverwhelm her with questions either. I’ll leave you thename of a good counselor. He works with abusedchildren.”

Tom went rigid at the thought that Sarah was nowlabeled… she was “abused.” There was ugliness to theword, a brutality in its pronouncement that somehowdefied the innocent beauty of his daughter… his prin-cess. Tom pulledJasmine in closer, of-fering the image ofthe strong husbandthere for his family,but he needed herreassuring presencejust as desperately asshe needed his. Theyneeded oneanother’s touch tovalidate themselves,to crush the guilteating at theirnerves, the guilt thataccused them of fail-ing their daughter ina manner so hor-rible, soinconceivable. Jas-mine rested her headagainst Tom’s chest,but otherwise held strong for her daughter. She wouldn’tbetray the nausea poisoning the pit of her stomach, notin front of anyone but Tom.

“Did you press charges?” Bennings asked.Tom nodded, his neck muscles straining to the

breaking at the thought of what his own brother did.“He confessed,” Jasmine said.

“I’m sorry,” Bennings said again, “but I suspectyou’ll be hearing a lot of that in the coming weeks.”After an uncomfortable pause, Bennings said “I best begoing. You have my number if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Adam. I’ll show you out,” Jasminesaid, and she escorted the doctor downstairs. Tomwaited a moment, then crept silently to his daughter’sdoor. He opened it a notch, throwing a blade of lightacross Sarah’s bed. He watched her, measuring his ownbreath with the rise and fall of her tiny frame, tryingsomehow to connect in that simple action.

“Daddy?” a tiny voice asked. It was Sarah.Tom slipped into the room and was at her bedside

with barely a whisper.“I’m here, pumpkin.”Sarah sat up, and Tom stared into her round, deep

brown eyes. She wasn’t sleeping. Her eyes still lookedhaunted. Tom felt instantly ashamed. Guilt supped onhis soul and tore away generous morsels of his alreadytattered self. Sarah seemed so tiny, so frail, and he lether down. He told there were no monsters, but therewere. In fact, he brought one into the trust and confi-

dence of his ownfamily. He was guiltyof hurting his owndaughter, ofshepherding her tothe lion’s den. Hesnorted hard andquickly wiped awayan errant tear thatthreatened to spilldown his face.

“Are you crying,Daddy?”

“No, pumpkin,”Tom said, quicklycomposing himselfand fighting theburning in histhroat.

“Are you madwith Uncle Eric?”

Tom stared at Sarah, trying to find the right answerto a lie he wouldn’t be able to carry convincingly. Hedespised Eric… for betraying every trust he knewexisted between them… but more, for making Tom feelthis way. “Don’t you worry about that,” Tom said,finally breaking the silence.

Sarah looked down at her hands, her fingers jab-bing each other softly in her typical telltale display of

Jasmine rested herhead against Tom’schest, but otherwise heldstrong for her daughter.She wouldn’t betray thenausea poisoning the pitof her stomach, not infront of anyone but Tom.Sam

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nervousness. “Is it because of me?” she asked, her voicea whisper.

Tom’s heart wrenched, like a pulled, exhaustedmuscle broken by the strain. The burning in his throatspread to the back of his mouth. He tried biting backthe pain, swallowing to drown it in the pit of hisstomach, but he couldn’t. The tide broke past hisalready crumbling veneer, the torrent of guilt andinfinite sadness spilling into his soul.

Tom cried, the first tears and sobs bursting out inone wet sound. He pulled Sarah into him and held herhard.

And Sarah, in her own innocent confusion, start-ing crying as well. She’d never seen her father crybefore.

“It’s okay, pumpkin” Tom said, his voice shudder-ing and stumbling over his tongue. “Don’t ever… don’tever think it was your fault. Uncle Eric did wrong. Notyou… him.”

Sarah nodded, her face buried in her father’s envel-oping embrace. She didn’t even mind the hot, wet tearsstaining her shoulder. She was safe now.

“I swear, Sarah,” Tom said, his voice still filled withhiccups. “I promise you… I’ll never let anyone harmyou again. Not Uncle Eric… nobody. I’ll always bethere for you… to protect you. I’ll make it right.”

“I know, Daddy,” Sarah said. But just to be sure…she wrapped her thin arms around her father’s neck andheld tight…

…like the world was no longer beneath her feet……but encompassed in his embrace.

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INTRODUCTION

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Every storm has its swells and its lulls. The charactersof your Orpheus chronicle dove headfirst into the stormon the day they decided to become projectors for thecompany (or were employed as post-life entities). Theyexperienced the clamor of that storm during the initialstages of the chronicle, but the most violent lashing of allcame in Crusade of Ashes (the first supplement) whenthe Orpheus Group came under savage attack byNextWorld. The chaos and destruction of that blitzfaded, but the storm swelled again, this time as the FederalBureau of Investigation took jurisdiction over the caseand began a search for any surviving Orpheus employees.

Since then, the storm has not abated. The charactershave had chances to rebuild or retake parts of their old lives,to make contacts and even friends within the intelligencecommunities and, of course, to hone their own supernaturalskills. At the same time, though, agencies such as the DEAand the FBI search for them, NextWorld and Terrel & Squibmake their own preparations for the future, and the inhumanSpectres make hiding on the other side of the Shroud a badidea in the long term.

The storm is about to swell once again. The howls ofthe dead are about to drown out the storm winds. And, ofcourse, the characters will be right in the middle of it all.

THEN AND NOW:AN OVERVIEW

While we assume that you’ve read (or played through)Crusades of Ashes, a quick recap might be in order. Someof this information is repeated or paraphrased fromOrpheus and Crusade of Ashes. Remember that anydates mention here or elsewhere in this book are sugges-tions. The Storyteller should feel free to adjust the timelineof Orpheus as necessary for her chronicle and is encour-aged to ignore established World of Darkness canon withregards to that timeline. Orpheus works best on its own.

THE BEGINNINGIn 1994, a firm called JDG Cryogenics became the

Orpheus Group in an event that barely sent ripplesthrough the local market. Under normal circumstances,the Orpheus Group would have been seen as a crackpotorganization chasing the ravings of cryogenic patientswho emerged for treatment and spoke of out-of-bodyexperiences. For some strange reason, however, theOrpheus Group slowly gained prominence and notice forits ability to traffic with the dead. While the doubtingThomases still remained vocal about their dislike for suchobvious charlatans as projecting firms, the Orpheus Groupslowly won against all attempts to disprove its claims. Theworld slowly accepted the presence of ghost hunters.

The Orpheus Group remained pioneers in its field,but somehow, more projector firms staked out their mar-ket share. NextWorld and Terrel & Squib, in particular,became major competitors, if not publicly, then privately.If you wanted reliability and assured quality, you hired

Orpheus Group. If you wanted a savvy, professional-looking firm, then Terrel & Squib provided that service.If you wanted a no-nonsense operation with few questionsasked (and you knew the right people), then NextWorldwas there.

Despite the public’s acceptance of ghosts and pro-jecting firms, however, the projecting firms still kept theirsecrets. Few people knew, or wanted to know, aboutSpectres. Few possessed any inkling of what a ghost wascapable of accomplishing. In short, people believed inghosts and projecting firms, they just didn’t know theentire truth. And it seemed that not even these firms’ ownagents knew everything. Orpheus’ history is surprisinglynebulous and inconsistent, and rumors abound of secretassassinations and failed experiments.

Then, there were gaps in what scientists understoodabout the hereafter. Why were there no ghosts beyondthree to five years old, and why didn’t spooks depreciatein strength or ability the older they became? Who wasbroadcasting Radio Free Death? And what were Spectres?These questions, and others besides, remained unan-swered. If Orpheus had been able to continue in itsresearch, who knows what might have been uncovered?

Such was not to be, however.

THE STORM BREAKSIn Crusade of Ashes, Orpheus Group came under

attack by mercenaries armed with automatic weaponsand explosives. More specifically, these mercenaries wereprojectors in the employ of NextWorld, although whohired that company for the job is still a mystery. NextWorlddestroyed the Orpheus compound, killing many of itsprojectors and smashing their sleeper pods.

During the aftermath of the attack, the FBI steppedin and claimed jurisdiction over the investigation,claiming it was domestic terrorism. They immediatelybegan hunting for any surviving members of OrpheusGroup… which, of course, includes the characters.The characters must deal with this situation as bestthey can, probably by going on the run as they avoidthe authorities and the Death Merchants still attempt-ing to ambush and kill them.

IN THE BETWEENBetween the close of Crusade of Ashes and the start

of Shades of Gray, the characters may have endured allmanner of hardship (specifically, whatever the Story-teller felt like throwing at them), but the world hasn’tstood still. The other projecting firms of the world havecome under attack as well, although none has suffered asgreatly as Orpheus. Most of the smaller firms have closedin the wake of the attacks. Terrel & Squib, Orpheus’greatest competitor, is undergoing heavy reorganizationand is focusing much more on its pharmaceuticals busi-ness than its paranormal investigations in the wake ofattacks on their facilities. NextWorld, who, of course, hashad a hand in most of these acts of violence, should now

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be in a position to take over much of the projectingbusiness in the country… but it seems to be pulling out ofthe business altogether.

Meanwhile, on the streets, the pigment business isbooming. The Drug Enforcement Administration is con-tinually frustrated as it tries to track the drug; its agentsknow that pigment typically originates in Turkey,Myanmar, Colombia and Mexico, but its path once itreaches US soil is a bit more confusing. No matter howcomplicated the sting operations the DEA puts together,no matter how experienced the agents it sends under-cover, the pigment dealers always seem to be able to sniffout the narcs — usually with bloody results. The rave andcasual drug-use crowd, of course, knows little of all this.They only want to know when their next score will arrive.

The club kids and college students aren’t the onlyfolks using black H, though. Pigment cults continue topop up, usually with messianic overtones. The Temple ofthe Mother of Vision is among the most prominent,although the city contains many smaller ones. Loved onesof the characters, even former Orpheus employees whoescaped the purge, may well fall into the thrall of suchcults, becoming addicted to pigment and seduced bywhatever philosophy the cult espouses.

Finally, Spectres have become more visible. Project-ing for any length of time reveals Spectres lurking onrooftops, hovering about accident sites and generallypresent throughout the city. They seem to be waiting forsomething — a signal, an event… or possibly a leader?

HOW TO USE THISBOOK

Shades of Gray covers the current events of theworld and the ongoing chronicle in four chapters. Thesechapters are designed to offer relevant tidbits of informa-tion, with a split offered between player-related materialand Storyteller-related data. Since the chronicle canunfold in any city, the Orpheus series keeps mention ofspecific locations to a minimum. This also means that,because there is no city-book for the line, each factionexample contains a sample supporting character to illus-trate the nature of the entry and to provide Storytellerswith instant personas. Many of these personas are new tothis book; although characters introduced in Crusade ofAshes and Orpheus are occasionally mentioned, includ-ing new characters in each book allows for a great deal ofdiversity in the Storyteller’s supporting cast. It also cutsdown on the possibility of a character who died in yourgame showing up again (although, granted, that’s rarely aproblem in a game about ghosts).

THE MOVIE MODELFollowing the example begun in Crusade of Ashes,

consider the movie Aliens. After Ripley agrees to returnwith the marines to the planet where she encountered the

creature, the story is subject to a number of small plottwists. The fact that nearly every colonist now harbors analien, the little girl hiding in the complex, the battle withthe aliens where the marines are almost wiped out and thesubsequent revelation that the complex is going to gonuclear in a few short hours are all important wrinkles inthe story, all necessary for the climax, but all secondary tothe themes and events of the final “act” of the film.

The same is true of Shades of Gray. In this supplement,the characters have a chance to peel back more of the layersof the conspiracy against them and to discover who their trueenemies are. In Crusade of Ashes, we referred to “mysteriousantagonists.” That kind of mystery is present here as well —even if the characters discover an immediate enemy, they’llstill find themselves dealing with a puppet and searching forthe being pulling that puppet’s strings.

We know that this isn’t everyone’s idea of the perfectway to present a chronicle. Some Storytellers would likeeverything laid out at the beginning, a timeline of eventsand a chapter of supporting characters presented in thefirst book, so that they can weave things together as theysee fit. To that we can only say: Trust us. Present theinformation and the events to your players as presented inthe sourcebooks, and it will all make sense before the finalcurtain falls. Plus, in the “cracks” between the stories,you’ll find more than enough information to run supple-mental stories related to the ongoing plot, should you sodesire. And, if you’d rather keep Orpheus alive and welland run stories within the framework provided in the corebook, you’ll find additional missions in Crusade of Ashesand this book for exactly that purpose.

But if you’re one of those folks who can suspenddisbelief and trust in the story… keep watching.

CHAPTER BYCHAPTER

Shades of Gray is presented in four chapters (exclud-ing the prelude and this introduction). Some of theinformation is for players and some for Storytellers, butthose sections are clearly marked as such.

A note to players: We can’t tell you what to read. Ifyou bought the book, you’re entitled to read it. But you’llhave a lot more fun with it if you read the players’ sectionsonly and leave the real surprises for the game.

Chapter One: The Pale Rider is the next “wrinkle”in the plot, involving the pigment trade and what hap-pens when someone decides to use the drug to create a lotof ghosts very quickly.

Chapter Two: The Living Ensemble includes infor-mation on all of the factions likely to plague (or aid) thecharacters, including the FBI, the DEA, Terrel & Squiband even the media. New information is presented on theBlasphemers and on Spectres, and players will find sug-gestions on making allies of many of these groups, ratherthan simply running from or fighting them.

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