In Nomine - Infernal Players Guide

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    In Nomine and Infernal Player’s Guide are trademarks of Steve Jackson Games Incorporated. Pyramid and Illuminati Online and the names of all products published by Steve Jackson Games Incorporated are registered trademarks or trademarks of Steve Jackson Games Incorporated, or used

    under license. Infernal Player’s Guide is copyright © 1998 by Steve Jackson Games Incorporated. All rights reserved. Printed in the U.S.A.

    ISBN 1-55634-344-2 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

    STEVE JACKSON GAMES

    In Nomine was written by Derek Pearcy based on an original game by CROC, under license from Asmodée

    Scott Haring, Managing Editor

    Elizabeth McCoy, Line Editor Jack Elmy, Production Artist

    Monica Stephens, Print Buyer

    Loren Wiseman, Art Director Woody Eblom, Sales Manager

    By James Cambias, Sam Chupp, G.R. Cogman, David Edelstein,

    Matthew Grau, Elizabeth McCoy,

    Walter Milliken, Derek Pearcy and

    John Tynes Edited by Nettie Hartsock

    Cover by Rowena

    Art by Heather Bruton,Steve Bryant, Craig Maher, Ramón Pérez, Dan Smith and Ray Snyder Playtesters: Chris Blohm, Alain Dawson, Scott Haring, Kenneth Hite, Micah Jackson,

    John Karakash, Steve Kenson,Steve Long and Chris Pramas

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    A knock on the door at 2 a.m. didn’t bother Nicole. After all, she never slept. But still, it was never a good thing and today was no different. It was her old friend, Tariel. Tariel was the oldest angel Nicole knew, if you didn’t count her Archangel, Gabriel. Tariel had actually lived through the original Fall. Nicole had always assumed that this had given him a certain strength of will that was untouchable.

    Tariel stood on the porch, staring at Nicole. Neither said a word. Nicole stepped aside to let Tariel in, but he just stood there, silent and vacant. Then he put his hands

    to his face and began to weep in quiet little sobs, hisshoulders shaking. Nicole walked toward him, opening her arms. “Don’t touch me!” Tariel shouted, jerking away.

    “Don’t touch me, I’m not what you think.” “I think you’re my friend,” said Nicole. Tariel looked up at her with dark red eyes. He’d been

    crying for hours. “I’ve Fallen,” he said. “And I don’t seem to be able to care about anything any more. I just don’t care.”

    Slowly, tightly, they embraced. Nicole squeezed her eyes shut until the pressure turned her senses into white light and her heart pounded for release.

    Not again, she thought.

    She did the only thing she could do to help her friend. She called the demon.

    Nicole and her servant sat across from each other in the dirty booth. Her servant drank his coffee and ignored the grunge waitress who kept coming by and harassing him to order something. The waitresses knew better than to bother Nicole, but since they were the only cus- tomers in the place, they had the employees’ undivided attention.

    “Servants,” the angel Nicole said aloud, staring at the

    table. With her shoulders slumped, her blonde hair fellin long waves, obscuring her face. The door opened, and Nicole snapped out of her

    fugue. The new arrivals looked like degenerate prom dates – a smiling idiot, shirtless, in a rented tux, and a profoundly depressed woman in a draping white formal gown. It looked like they’d been wearing the same clothes for about a week, what with all the tears and scrapes and bruises. The waitress approached them with menus and a bored sneer.

    “My kind of place,” said Marcus, the demon. He rec- ognized Nicole’s servant, and flashed him a thumbs-up, chuckling. The woman with him hung back a few paces but followed him over to the booth.

    “Outside,” Nicole said, standing up. The demon’s servant slid into the space Nicole left in the booth, staring with thinly veiled disdain at the human across the table.

    “No problem,” said Marcus, backing away quickly to give her room to make her exit first. The last time they were that close, she’d planted a blessed bullet in his chest. Well, it wasn’t actually his chest, but that was another story.

    “You kids play nice,” Marcus called to

    the two humans. The demon’s servant pulled a deck of cards out of the many folds of her draping white dress and began to set up the table for a game of solitaire.

    “Don’t talk to her,” Nicole told her ser- vant.

    “He won’t,” the woman said, fwapping her first card down against the gold- specked Formica. “Talking to me would just piss him off.”

    SolitaireSolitaire

    4 S O L I T A I R E

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    Fwap. Fwap. He’d stopped paying attention to the woman in the torn up prom dress, so it surprised him when she said something.

    “I’m working for the Revolution, okay?” He returned to reality, and focused his eyes on her. “The . . . revolution?” he said. “You people,” she pouted, waving half a deck of cards

    around. “You think you’re so right. You think you’re, like, the only people who can have a handle on what’s really going on.

    “Riddle me this, Batman,” she said quietly, leaning for- ward. “You ever spoken to God?”

    He paused for a moment, wiping coffee from the cor- ner of his mouth.

    “No,” he said. “You ever seen God?” “No.” “But He exists, right?”

    He mulled it over for a second.“The way I understand it,” he said, “it’s that God is everything. And occasionally, His consciousness – some sort of über-pattern for the cosmos and everything – appears and says things or does stuff no one can explain.”

    “And yet,” she said, dealing her cards more gently, “God is everything. So when I’m, like, in the shower or whatever, God’s there because I’m God and so is the shower and the water and all the processes that brought it to me and everything, right?

    “The way I see it,” she said, putting the cards down, “is that I’m as much God as your angel is, so I’m going to do whatever the hell I feel like doing with my creation, with the world I’ve created around me. So I hope that answers your question about why I’m with . . . the guy I’m hang- ing out with.”

    “I’m not a theologian,” he explained. “I’m just telling you what I’m told.”

    “You mean, what she told you?” “Okay, what she told me,” he said with a nod. “And she

    doesn’t tell me everything, she just gives me little pieces.” His eyes unfocused for a second, full of thought. “But let me see if I get this, right? God’s consciousness has a con- nection with everything else or something, so even though He’s only in that one place at that one time, He

    still knows everything He knew when He only existed aseverything. At least, that’s the way I understand it. So I think you’re not distinguishing between the way that God is, say, passively you – or me, or the water, or what- ever – and the way that God is actively Himself, in some overarching way. Like, God would know what I ate for breakfast this morning, but you don’t, so you must not be God.”

    “I know it sounds logical,” she said, returning to her cards, “but it’s wrong. Once the Revolution started, there

    was nothing that a God could do about it, because we were right. You can do whatever you want to, whenever you want to, as long as you’re strong enough to stand up to the consequences.”

    “What do you mean about a revolution?” She puckered up her face and squinted her eyes

    together, barely holding back her frustration. “TheRevolution,” she said. “Like capital-R Revolution. “What is it with celestials and capital letters?” “Emphasis, I guess,” she said. Fwap. Fwap.

    “So what was it like?” Nicole asked him softly. She spoke in a soft tone she saved for an Archangel or a lover. Marcus, having once been the latter, recognized the tone. It wasn’t a condescending tone, or a seductive tone, it was an honest tone. It said, “You’re talking to the real me, the one I keep hidden underneath all the other faces and the bullshit. You’re talking to the person behind the curtain.

    I’m asking you a real question, and I want a real answer.”He glanced up at her, shook his head and walked on for a while, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. They crossed the creek and sat down at a picnic bench, across from each other in the darkness.

    “It was no fun,” he said, his voice trembling. “My ves- sel was dying . . . I followed the trail of the demon who left, just before the explosion, and I woke up in the des- olate plane of Saminga’s principality.

    “I remember denying that I was supposed to be there. I mean, I knew that I’d Fallen. I knew that I’d made my own bed, but I didn’t think I’d really have to go to Hell. I just thought, you know, I’d hook up with somebody and everything would be okay.

    “Being an angel was different. In Heaven, I was treat- ed with respect and everything. In Hell, until I was some- body, I wasn’t anybody. You

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