|
SINGUPS ARE CLOSED. PLAYTHREAD HERE: http://forums.somethingawful.com/sh...hreadid=3535112 The Frontier. Millions of miles, stretchin' from the great treacherous forests in the East, over the craggy peaks that glow with forges, across the sizzling plains rife with beasts, and goin' yonder through the gods' canyons for the glittering coast. Through these hostile lands runs the almighty Lightning Rail, massive strips of sparking stone that run 'cross the continent like turqouise arteries, bringin' precious supplies and freight from sea to shining sea. On this scorchin' midsummer's day, however, the locomotive Conquistadorado comes a'thundering athwart these crumbled badlands, chargin' yonder towards more aristocratic lands due East. A hoard o' riches lies 'neath her sturdy dark shell, both shining treasures and the people who own them snuggled decadently in opulent comfort. But this ain't no land for decadence. This is the The Frontier. Millions of miles of grit and hardship make up this land, and some folks gotta make a living in ways often called criminal.  You know, folks like you. --- Welcome to The Train To El Dorado, a Dungeon World game set in a high-fantasy take on the Wild West! I absolutely adore how Dungeon World works, and I'm showing that adoration by going in headfirst and running a game. I'm looking for a party of 4-6 players for this campaign. Recruitment will run until February 20th. Setting: Welcome to The Frontier, a high-fantasy re-imagining of the American Old West. A thing that drew me to this system was how everyone makes the setting up as they go along, and that's no different here. Elven slaveowners? PseudoMexican goblin banditos? Sharpshooting wizards? It's up to you! Go hog wild, and get silly if you want to. Characters: (PCs are level 1.) Hearty outlaws such as yourselves come in all shapes and sizes! While the core classes are perfectly acceptable, feel free to use a custom class, or tweak an existing one. I also highly encourage re-flavoring to suit the setting. Guns: One thing different from usual DW games is the addition of guns. I've written a basic mock-up of common weapons that one might find in The Frontier. Don't take these as being set in stone, however. Feel free to modify these examples or make your own. quote:• Derringer (close, hidden, reload, 0 weight) Note: This is my first time GM'ing Dungeon World, so if something seems off feel free to drop a message here in the OOC thread or PM me. I want to make sure this campaign runs as smooth as I can manage. saberwulf fucked around with this message at Feb 23, 2013 around 21:53 |
| # ? Feb 12, 2013 22:48 |
|
|
|
| # ? May 23, 2013 13:08 |
|
|
Welp, I just submitted John Marston to a totally different DW game, not that it'll stop me from going after this one. I am available most Sundays, plus this Saturday and every second Saturday thereafter.
|
| # ? Feb 12, 2013 23:00 |
|
|
Making a Sharpshooter, who is probably a Marksman class but definitely an Elf but reskinned as a Cactusman. Because what kind of Wild Mystic West setting doesn't have Cactusmen?
|
| # ? Feb 12, 2013 23:31 |
|
|
^^^ Well look who it is. You'll recognize this guy: This suave motherfucker is Twoson Steeplechase, Warforged Gladiator Glowing Eyes, No Hair, Huge Body, Elaborate Costume "Oh, I'm not just going to kill you. I'm going to beat your fleshy rear end within an inch of its life, and then utterly destroy you. And I am going to look great doing it." Constructed ages ago for a long-forgotten war, then forgotten about until his awakening by a group of adventurers, Twoson is the ultimate fighting machine, and he knows it. Rather than try and deny it or mope around about his lot in life, Twoson has embraced the life of an illegal underground street fighter. He's drat good at it, too--in a one-on-one fight, no prissy elf or measly halfling can withstand an iron boot up their rear end. Of course, such fights tend to bring with them unwanted attention, so Twoson has been looking at taking up bounty-hunting. The mercenary life might not be so bad; more smashing and less legal gray area. STATS STR 13 (0) DEX 8 (-1) CON 16 (+2) INT 9 (0) WIS 12 (0) CHA 15 (+1) Damage d10 Armor 2 HP 25 MOVES Race-Warforged: You can hack and slash or volley using CON instead of STR or DEX. Alignment-Lawful: Mark XP when I best an opponent in a fair fight. Arsenal (Improvised): When I go into battle fully equipped, I have 2-arsenal. I can have a maximum of 3-arsenal at any time. Gain 1-arsenal when I kill an armed enemy. Right Tool for the Job: Spend arsenal 1-for-1 for one of these effects. -Add an arsenal tag to my weapon for one move. -Treat a single damage die as the maximum value Are You Not Entertained?! (CHA): When I grandstand for the benefit of anyone watching roll+CHA. 10+: +1 ongoing until I miss or my audience leaves. 7-9: +1 forward instead. ARSENAL TAGS +1 Armor: You gain +1 armor. +1d4 damage: You deal +1d4 damage. Forceful: It knocks someone back a pace, possibly off their feet. Messy: Damage from this weapon tears people and things apart. 2 Piercing: Ignore 2 points of armor. Stun: The weapon deals stun damage instead of normal damage. Range: Change range to Hand, Close, Reach, Near, or Far. Thrown: Can Volley with this weapon, but it's lost until retrieveed (can't mark ammo on a 7-9) BONDS Bregolon freed me from the arena. Spouted a lot of crap about "the oppressive barbarism of this so-called civilization" too. Jack Audrey would be dead if it weren't for me. Well, except he kind of uh, y'know. He already is. I made William Duchamp a lot of money with my victories. Which he probably spent on whisky and whores. Dick. Saga...Sagro...Cactus man bet against me once. Once. HIRELING Rex, Dogforged Cost: Master's Approval Loyalty 3 Aww what a cute doggy!: -1 to all prices in town; automatically friendly in any place of food/drink/entertainment Tough ol' dog: (GM approval required): Instead of dying, Rex is removed from play and reappears when dramatically appropriate Rex was just an ordinary dog owned by a artificer acquaintance of Twoson, until both dog and master caught a bullet in a bandit attack. With uncharacteristic finesse Twoson fulfilled the gnome's last wish and performed an impromptu surgery to turn the dying dog into something resembling a warforged. Rex doesn't really understand what's going on, but his happy-go-lucky personality seems to be intact, and whenever he seems to be gone for good he always pops up a day or two later, no worse for wear. GEAR Load: 12/14 Ornate clothing (1 armor, clumsy, 1 weight) Improvised weapon detection module (2 weight) Shotgun (+1 damage, reach, messy, forceful, two-handed, 1 piercing, reload, 2 weight) Metal fist (close, +1 armor, forceful, 3 weight) Magic missile launcher (near, forceful, 2 weight, 3 ammo) Adventuring gear (5 uses, 1 weight) Repair kit (5 uses, 1 weight) 3 healing potions Captain Walker fucked around with this message at Feb 27, 2013 around 01:09 |
| # ? Feb 12, 2013 23:49 |
|
|
Janos came from a well-to-do family who always wanted their boy-genius to be a doctor. When he went to the ivy-league university at the age of 12, he didn't take the normal classes. He instead became the assistant to Argilthrax, a planar construct with a laboratory and workshop in the university sub-basements. After graduation his mad tinkering sent his already disappointed family into an uproar, which only worsened when he 'fixed' his father's carriage so it didn't need horses... which he really should have told him, because later it ran over the horses, sped out of control, crashed into the house and burned it to the ground. His father survived and no one else was hurt, but he was instantly disowned and fled to the frontier. Now, unfortunately, he's down to his last few coins, getting desperate and feeling like a bit of mad-science may be the way to liberate some coin for himself...  Doctor Janos Malchior 'I'm not that kind of doctor.' Human - 4 gadgets instead of 3 Chaotic Artificer - use a gadget in a new and surprising way Look: mad eyes, spiky hair, burnt skin, lanky body STATS STR: 13 DEX: 15 CON: 12 INT: 16 WIS: 8 CHA: 9 Damage: d8 HP: 16 Armor: 1 Inventory Protective Clothing (1 armor, 1 weight) Engineering Tools (hand, close, 1 weight) Clockwork Crossbow (Near, 2 weight) Ethric detector goggles (Gadget, 1 weight) Alchemic regulator flask (Gadget, 1 weight) Anbaric projector wand (Gadget, 1 weight) Clockwork compensator glove (Gadget, 1 weight) Adventuring gear/5 (5 uses, 1 weight) Rations /5 (5 uses, 1 weight) Coin: 4 Max load: 10 Current load: 10 Bonds I have shown _________________ the secrets of my inventions. _______________ helped me with one of my projects. I owe him/her. _______________ called me mad. Mad! I'll show them! _______________ is my personal assistant. Moves Human You have 4 Gadgets instead of 3. Gadget Belt You have a Gadget Belt containing 3 Arcane Gadgets. For each Gadget, pick one optionfrom each of the following lists: • Etheric, hypnotic, magnetic, anbaric, ectoplasmic, steam, pressure, clockwork, alchemic • Matrix, coil, emitter, compensator, array, projector, regulator, sprocket, valve, detector • Glove, torch, apparatus, device, bracelet, periapt, flask, goggles, wand, mechanism When you use one of your gadgets to get out of a tight spot, tell us what it does androll +INT. On a hit, it works as expected and you spend 1 Charge. On a 7-9, you alsochoose 1: • The device is damaged. You can repair it, but it will take some time and concentration. • The device has a weird, unwanted side effect. • The device attracts attention. One of your gadgets is also a weapon of some kind. Pick which one, and it gains theNear and Pierce 1 tags. When you mark ammo when Volleying with a gadget, spend1 Charge instead. When you have less than 3 Gadgets for any reason, you can make a replacement by spending a day in your workshop. When you want to replace one of your existing gadgets, you can do so by spending a day in your workshop. Geomantic Charge When you spend an uninterrupted period of time manipulatingelemental fields and ley lines (usually about an hour), hold3-Charge. You can have a maximum of 3-Charge held at anytime. This Charge is used to power your Gadgets. Jury-Rig When you quickly fix or create a device without proper supplies, tools, or time,roll +INT. On a 10+, it works just fine. On a 7-9, choose one: • It'll work, but only for one use or a short amount of time. • You will need to cannibalize one of your gadgets. • It needs some juice. Spend 1 Charge. Master Artificer When you spend an hour or so in your workshop contemplating an engineeringchallenge, tell the DM what you're trying to achieve. The DM will tell you "yes, you cando that, but..." and then 1 to 4 of the following: • It's going to take days/weeks/months • First you must _____ • You'll need help from ______ • It will require a lot of money • You will risk danger from _____ • You'll have to add X to your workshop first • The best you can do is a lesser version • You'll need detailed instructions from _______ Ich fucked around with this message at Feb 14, 2013 around 16:45 |
| # ? Feb 13, 2013 00:22 |
|
|
e: hm, nvm for now
zachol fucked around with this message at Feb 13, 2013 around 06:26 |
| # ? Feb 13, 2013 02:26 |
|
|
So you finally did it, you wonderful bastard. Name: Samwise Jackson Class: Shaman Look: dead eyes, tired body, worn uniform, kempt hair. STR: -1 (8) DEX: +1 (13) CON: +0 (12) INT: +0 (9) WIS: +1 (15) CHA: +2 (16) Damage: d8 Armor: 1 HP: 18/18 Alignment: Chaotic (Convince others to break with tradition). Race: Language of the Dead You can understand and be understood by the spirits of the dead, whether corporeal or not. This does not guarantee they'll have anything interesting to say; non-intelligent undead are not known for their loquaciousness, for example. Honored Ancestors When you Help From Beyond When you take a few moments to draw upon the power of the spirit world for aid against your foes, take 2 damage (ignoring armour) and roll+Cha. On a 10+, hold 3; on a 7-9, hold 2. On a miss, hold 1 anyway, but the dead are angry - take -1 ongoing to Help from Beyond until the following dawn. Spend hold 1-for-1 to: * fill one creature with a supernatural sense of dread, making them cower or flinch for a few instants. * blind, deafen or strike one creature mute for a few moments; * fill one creature with unearthly lassitude, causing them to stumble or drop what they’re carrying. Whenever you spend hold, describe what aspect of the spirit world manifests itself in the real world (bloody mists seep from the ground, the wails of the damned assault their senses, etc.). Spirit Medium When you try to appease a distressed spirit, roll+Cha. On a 10+, you calm them down for a little while - long enough to find out what ails them and show them you are a friend. On a 7-9, you learn what has distressed them, but had better do something about it or get out of there - fast. Additionally, when you Parley with ghosts and other undead, you may offer the comfort of oblivion as leverage. If they accept, they depart this world for the one beyond the Black Gates. Gear: (5/8) * Worn-out uniform (1 armor, 1 weight). * Repeating Rifle (near, far, two-handed, 2 weight), a pouch with 3 ammo and a bayonet (reach, 1 weight) - originally a spear and a sling. * Enough dead man's whiskey to appease any angry ghost (3 uses, 1 weight). Bregolon is young and foolish. I will show them what the wisdom of the ancients is worth. - He knows about spirits, but it's all some dumb ooga-booga native poo poo, I'll need to bash it out of his head. One of William Duchamp’s ancestors knew one of mine - they were blood brothers. - Back in the Old World, you know? Both families went broke long ago, but apparently now I'm a carpenter's son, and he's the king poo poo. The spirits have told me to be wary of Sagaurombre de Sonora, but refuse to tell me why. - Then again, they might just be racist. Even though our peoples are worlds apart, we have much in common with “Weird” Jack Audrey’s. - I guess it's the thing about war - it spits you out and leaves as a one weird motherfucker. Hireling: Paul-Henri, Coureur des Bois (ghost). Loyalty: +1 Tracker: +3 Cost: Debauchery Paul-Henri comes from way up north - and I mean the real, tundra-north, not cocksucker-north. He was a true man of wilderness, pulling off poo poo I thought only natives could do. Some time after death he began wandering out of boredom until we bumped into each other. See, I could use a tracker, and he could use some dead man's whiskey to get ghost ladies properly drunk. - - - - - So yeah, I pretty much work as a shaman nowadays. Please, spare me the native ooga-booga poo poo, all that means is I'll never get a casting license. I'm from Nieuw Leeuwarden, born and raised. A city boy. I was a soldier once, you know. During the Southern Independence War - which I guess now makes me an outlaw. Anyway, ever heard of battle at Duneburg? William's charge and poo poo? I was there, man, XVII Corps. Young, proud and dumb. We were the first wave storming the old town. I died there, and let me tell you, that makes you think about a few things. No, it's not a loving metaphor, dumbass. I got shot, still have a scar to prove it. One of these small cannons, I think, the kind they keep towing from place to place. Hard to say really, it's not like one could really see anything back then. Anyhow, I wake up, hungry as gently caress, my hat all trampled and apparently I'm ditched in some sorta common grave. Classy. So I dig my way out - thankfully that was the most half-assed grave I've seen dug in my life. I grab my gun, straighten my cap and wander off trying to find my captain and tell him what a loving splendid job he did. Then of course I nearly get shot for desertion, but I fiiiinaly manage to explain to these brickheads that I'm actually trying to find my unit rather than leg it. Well, long story short, I find the fuckers and Bones freaks out, like all white and poo poo. He swears I was dead for sure, no pulse, missing an arm - or was it leg? Doesn't matter. "Well, got better", I said. Not that he was entirely trustworthy, he was dead too. Died of dysentery some time after the battle, when I was buried in that ditch. So I find out that all of my buddies are ghosts and I'm all like, cool, no problem, we all die together but you guys just can't loving wait until I wake up and we can go do ghosty poo poo together. Fine, no biggie, that's what friends are for, right? I tell them they're ghosts and it's high time to chill the gently caress out, as there's no point in fighting the war with incorporeal bullets. So yeah, I see dead people. It's a passable coin out here in the frontier. Get a kid to speak with his dead granny for a few bucks, have a ghost spill whereabouts of his buried treasure. Banishing rear end in a top hat spirits. poo poo like that. Oh, right, everyone asks how is it being dead. Cold and makes you hungry when you wake up. In all seriousness, though, I don't really remember it. I guess I just got the gently caress out of there as fast as I could? Contrary to what his bio might suggest, I rather won't go into Dixie fetishism territory. It's just something to get disillusioned and grumpy about. Lichtenstein fucked around with this message at Mar 9, 2013 around 17:46 |
| # ? Feb 13, 2013 02:31 |
|
|
Absolutely loving all the sheets so far! I'll have a bit of free time tomorrow, so I'll write up some questions for everyone.
|
| # ? Feb 13, 2013 03:00 |
|
|
quote:
War isn't natural in the Wastes. That'd be what we folks of a Native persuasion call the Frontier. You go to war for three reason, the way I've heard it. You go to war for land, which would be a drat fool thing to do around here. There's thousands of miles of sand and heat to take that isn't staked out by one group or another. Another reason you go to war is for honor, person-wise and nation-wise. That's a whole lot of effort to make your ego bigger, and there's gotta be a thousand better pissing contests out there. The final reason you go to war is to take another man's things. That's understandable in its way. Not enough everything for everyone, such like that. But war? Just goes to show why the gods gave you the forests and the oceans and the ore full mountains. You're a wasteful folk. Now, the gods are wise and old, and when they saw the material they were sewin' with...well, the started matching patch to pattern. Elves, Dwarves, Humans, they all got put where they were supposed to be. And because the gods were wise, they saw you lot were a wasteful bunch on the whole. Too drat proud as well. So they put you where you wouldn't all die out doing the first foolish thing that crossed your minds. They put the Thirteen Tribes out here for a reason too. We're tough people, lean folk. Able to endure things you couldn't even think of. We don't war, because you can't get enough with war. But we fight, sure as hell. I was what you folks call a Bravo, riding out and taking things from other clans and tribes, getting honor. We'd take rock powder for bullets, riding lizards, sometimes nothing at all. You'd do it for the bragging rights, some days. Show that your clan didn't need anything of theirs. You wasteful folk are moving boxes full of life's good stuff across this Waste, just to show you can. It's a wasteful thing, and I've a notion to earn myself some bragging rights with the big east tribes. I've got a notion to earn brag and to show you how to use your things frugal. Man like me can live all sorts of lives on what you've got going 'cross the Waste. Mr. Maltose fucked around with this message at Feb 22, 2013 around 23:37 |
| # ? Feb 13, 2013 07:11 |
|
|
Is this PBP or IRC? Either way, I'll probably roll up a character tomorrow, too drat tired tonight 
|
| # ? Feb 13, 2013 10:00 |
|
|
Lur Foesmasher - The Man From Another World! Lur remembers every moment of the day, though it was over a decade ago. They were camped in the hills, when one of the children ran back to the tents, shaking and terrified. He had seen magic down by the stream. Eager to prove himself, Lur had run to investigate. Close to the fish pond, he spotted the strangest of men. Scrawny, pale, in peculiar, heavy clothes; and behind him - magic! It stood in the air, taller than the man, and spinning like a whirlpool made of light. Without fear, the young warrior charged; but the wizard simply stepped backwards, into the light, and disappeared. Lur followed him. He awoke in a stone room, strapped to a wooden chair. More strange men surrounded him. They spoke quickly, excitedly; did he understand them? Yes, he replied, though their accents were strange. Then came the questions, like a stream swollen with melt-water. Endless days of questions. In time Lur came to understand his predicament. He was in another world, or rather another version of his own world; in which time had changed, and men had become toolmakers, not warriors. The language was the same, or similar, and the geography too, but the people were different: as different to Lur as a crow is to a man. He came to understand, too, that the magic that had brought him here, 'the apparatus', could not take him back. Every time that it was used, it opened a portal to a different version of the world, seemingly at random. All those thousands of worlds were empty: apart from this one and Lur's they contained nothing but dried earth and hot sun. No-one knew why, and no-one could remake the link to his home. In time, Lur's rage subsided, and the men began to trust him more; so, as his use to them diminished, they gave him more freedom. After a couple of years he found a way to explore this new world. He joined the Walter Main Circus, and, as 'Lur Foesmasher - The Man From Another World!', would nightly tell a packed tent exaggerated tales of his homeland. He was happy, almost, at the circus; but, as time wore on, he realised that he was deceiving himself. Although his name was now spoken across the whole land, it was not as a warrior to be feared; but as a curiosity, an entertainment, a clown. In this new land he had brought shame upon his name and shame upon his clan. To right this there was only one thing that he could do: cause such destruction that all would whisper his name in awe. He took his savings from the circus, and bought the biggest gun that he could find: Lur Foesmasher would show them what a warrior could do with such tools. Barbarian Haunted eyes, mighty thews, strange tattoos, scavangers outfit STR: 16 (+2) DEX: 12 (+0) CON: 15 (+1) INT: 9 (+0) WIS: 8 (-1) CHA: 13 (+1) Damage: D10 Armour: 1 HP: 23/23 Chaotic: Eschew a convention of the civilized world. Outsider: You may be elf, dwarf, halfling, or human, but you and your people are not from around here. At the beginning of each session, the GM will ask you something about your homeland, why you left, or what you left behind. If you answer them, mark XP. BONDS _______________ is puny and foolish, but amusing to me. _______________’s ways are strange and confusing. _______________ is always getting into trouble—I must protect them from themselves. _______________ shares my hunger for glory, the earth will tremble at our passing! MOVES Unencumbered, Unharmed So long as you are below your Load and neither wear armor nor carry a shield, take +1 armor. Herculean Appetites Choose two appetites. While pursuing one of your appetites if you would roll for a move, instead of rolling 2d6 you roll 1d6+1d8. If the d8 is the higher die of the pair, the GM will also introduce a complication or danger that comes about due to your heedless pursuits: Pure destruction Fame and glory The Upper Hand You take +1 ongoing to last breath rolls. When you take your last breath, on a 7–9 you make an offer to Death in return for your life. If Death accepts he will return you to life. If not, you die. Musclebound While you wield a weapon it gains the forceful and messy tags. What Are You Waiting For? When you cry out a challenge to your enemies, roll+Con: On a 10+ they treat you as the most obvious threat to be dealt with and ignore your companions, take +2 damage ongoing against them. On a 7–9 only a few (the weakest or most foolhardy among them) fall prey to your taunting. GEAR Load: 8/24 Rations (5 uses, 1 weight) Decorated triceratops horn - drinking vessel MACHETE! (hand, 1 weight) Gatling Gun (+2 damage, near, messy, forceful, heavy, two-handed, 2 piercing, 4 weight) Bag of cartridges (6 ammo, 2 weight) Changes to playbook: Knife reskinned to MACHETE! just because Melee weapon replaced with the gatling gun Adventuring kit and more rations replaced with ammo - not sure about amount/weight though
|
| # ? Feb 13, 2013 16:40 |
|
|
 Jane "Ironhorse" Leastways There are many stories about Mama Ironhorse. Mother of three children, each worse than she is. Brought in a man near beaten to death, claiming that, as he was still alive, she could collect the higher price. Scourge of the badlands. None of those are true, but Jane likes those stories and keeps them going for her amusement. She is simply a very old bounty hunter (late forties is old in the business), and very good at what she does. She brings in lowdown no-good scumbags, dead or alive, and collects a fair packet of money to supply herself and her little wagon-come-house. She can be slightly motherly at times but is mostly no-nonsense and quite stern, although she's unkind only to those who deserve it. Whilst she is dedicated to her job, she tends to view the law as flexible at best. She has no patience for anybody who interferes in her duty, and even less for those who call her "old lady." Lately the work has dried up some, with nothing but small-town bandits and no-hope thieves. Her eyesight isn't quite what it used to be, either. Might as well go in for one last caper, huh? quote:Jane Leastways The Deleter fucked around with this message at Feb 14, 2013 around 00:31 |
| # ? Feb 13, 2013 17:20 |
|
|
William Duchamp "My grandfather built this rail line with his own two hands. They said that the Frontier was too wild for any man to tame, but he did it. By right the history books should be singing the praises of Hugo Duchamp. But my grandfather, he wasn't so good with the business end of things. He let his old friend Agustin Castranova handle the paperwork. They were like brothers, he could trust him to handle his money. And you know what he did, once the final stone was embedded? He stole it out from under him! Castranova got the credit, and my grandfather was left with nothing. My mother married into a more "stable" family before the worst happened, of course. I didn't exactly have to go to bed hungry. But I knew I could have had more. That I shouldn't have to act ashamed of my family name. And this theft? This is no crime. This is me taking back what is rightfully mine." quote:William Duchamp/William Duchamp-Marshbellow Honestly, I just thought the Noble looked really cool and thought someone with old money from back East would fit the setting. I'll have the info on my Hired Assistant edited in soon. Felix "The Clockmaker" Underhill  "Listen, I've been in this business a long time. Too long. I've got enough in these fingers for one last job, and then I'm done." Most halflings either have the good sense to not get involved in the criminal underground or the foolhardiness to get themselves caught before they become anyone worth thinking about. Felix is not most halflings. He's been in this business for over fifty years, and frankly he's sick of it. He's ready to just find a nice burrow and go back to actually making clocks. But some noble's son came along and offered him a job too good to refuse, so it's back to the criminal life for him. quote:Felix Underhill If anyone decides to apply as a Thief and we both get in, I'll be glad to change my Assistant. Lurks With Wolves fucked around with this message at Mar 28, 2013 around 04:17 |
| # ? Feb 13, 2013 19:54 |
|
|
I've got a few human artificer pictures for you, Ich.   Mage character incoming, as soon as I decide on the character art (and therefore concept).
|
| # ? Feb 13, 2013 23:27 |
|
|
Think I may put together some sort of lizard man from the bayou. Probably a druid, warlock, or mage.
|
| # ? Feb 13, 2013 23:31 |
|
|
Lisbet was never a slow customer. She grew up in the streets of the cities back in civilized territories. Her folks were poor, but she was determined not to get trapped in the cycle of drudgery they lived in. A minor talent for magic got her a place working as an assistant under a working mage. She used her connection with him and a lot of fast talking to get access to a much greater magician's talisman collection. By the time they noticed the missing artifact, she was long gone on the first train out to the frontier. She's determined to build herself the life she always wanted, one swindle at a time. And that amulet she took is going to help immensely. She's got quite the bright future ahead; at least, if the bounty hunters don't get her first. quote:
Tollymain fucked around with this message at Feb 14, 2013 around 00:41 |
| # ? Feb 14, 2013 00:39 |
|
|
Sorry for the delay, everyone! Now for some questions. Twoson Steeplechase - Captain Walker: Do you remember what happened to you to put you in that long slumber? Do you remember what "life" was like before that? What was the hardest street fight you were ever in? Doctor Janos Malchior - Ich: What University did you attend, and where? What was it like working under Argilthrax? Do you still maintain contact with him/her/it? Samwise Jackson - Lichtenstein: Who's an interesting spirit you've met in your travels? What's life like in Nieuw Leeuwarden? Do you still support the South? Sagaurombre de Sonora - Mr. Maltose: How's a feller of your persuasion end up as what you called a "Bravo"? What's your tribe like? Lur Foesmasher - exuma: Has the circus tried to recapture its primordial brute? Can you still contact the strange magical men that stole you? Jane "Ironhorse" Leastways - The Deleter: How in tarnation did you wind up hauling thugs through the dirt? Who was an interesting bounty you dealt with? William Duchamp - Lurks With Wolves: How'd you and Felix start a partnership? Know any of the fancy folk clinking wine glasses on the Conquistadorado? Lisbet - Tollymain: Think the mage will come to these blasted lands to recover the amulet? What troubles did you suffer living on the streets? And One For Everyone: Any specific goal you've set for this heist? Tollymain posted:Is this PBP or IRC? Either way, I'll probably roll up a character tomorrow, too drat tired tonight Play By Post, actually! It'll be run right here on the forums.
|
| # ? Feb 15, 2013 01:40 |
|
|
Do you remember what happened to you to put you in that long slumber? Do you remember what "life" was like before that? I choose not to be offended at the notion that my existence is somehow not life. To answer your questions, from what I understand, the war was over before I was activated, so I was constructed but never awakened until those mercs happened along. I just happened to be the only one of the many warforged in the complex that didn't require extremely difficult repairs or arcane procedures, so I was the only one they awoke. Some people would credit that to dumb adventures. I reckon it's more like my good luck. What was the hardest street fight you were ever in? Tiefling. Big fella. Unusually fast for his size, contrary to what you might imagine not all huge guys are slow. I hit him and hit him and he would not go down. Finally I had to get creative: I stepped on his tail as he rolled under me, and while he was off balance I broke off one of his horns and stabbed him through the heart, only the rear end in a top hat didn't have the courtesy to die before the match was called so I got half my usual pay. Or I would have, if I hadn't challenged the organizer right there for quadruple or nothin'; let's just say I didn't get nothin'. Any specific goal you've set for this heist? This is a heist? I just saw the recruitment brochure (pic in the OP) and thought, "I'm literally there."
|
| # ? Feb 15, 2013 02:59 |
|
|
How'd you and Felix start a partnership? Really, it all started when I wanted a pocket watch. Felix, for all his backroom dealings, is still one of the finest clockmakers you'd have the honor of meeting. I, being an inebriated young rake at the time, decided the best way to get one was to jimmy open his workshop's lock and put a sack of money on his counter then and there. I admit, between the gin and the concussion I can't recall exactly what happened after that but I must have left a good impression. A week later, a package showed up containing a pocket watch and an invitation to talk under better circumstances. In the three years since we've kept up correspondence, and frankly Felix did more to make me almost respectable than any finishing school. He's a good man, and I am honored he trusts me enough to accompany me on this venture. Know any of the fancy folk clinking wine glasses on the Conquistadorado? Fulgrim Nuldran, first in line to inherit the Grand Ironworks of Naldir. Snubbed me during the founding ceremony for their automata factory, but I can't really blame him. He's not a bad person, not really, just a bit full of himself. Awfully proud of his family's products, though. He could become quite the wild card, depending on what secret projects he wants to show to his entourage back West. Any specific goal you've set for this heist? Hit Castranova where it hurts. Make this heist so grand, no one will trust his trains again. Anything else is just gravy.
|
| # ? Feb 15, 2013 04:24 |
|
|
I think we're pulling off a heist on the Conquistadorado. It sounds like a bit of a treasure train? That said, I should answer these questions: saberwulf posted:Lisbet: Think the mage will come to these blasted lands to recover the amulet? What troubles did you suffer living on the streets? Any specific goal you've set for this heist? Oh, he won't personally come. It's just one treasure of many, and he's too fat and soft to come out to rough lands like these. I've dodged a couple bounty hunters in the last few months though. I don't doubt you've seen my face on a few posters. I think for him it's more about the theft than it is the value of the amulet, if you know what I mean. Still, this little talisman was a wise choice. I'm no immense talent myself, and the kind of aid it gives me has been absolutely ideal. As for how I grew up? Well, I'll spare your sensibilities. You know what can happen in the dirtier side of town even out here where the law isn't carefully crafted to protect the rich and powerful. I got off lucky, really. None of the real horror stories happened to me personally. Just a lot of people close to me. Worst that I personally experienced was a rough night with a couple young bucks who were thankfully too drunk to really come up with anything, let us say, irreversible. That, er, may have influenced the actions that lead to me being here today. I don't ever want to feel that helpless ever again. You can't count on good fortune, you have to make it for yourself. I hear that they've got more than gold and such on the Conquistadorado. They've got a few looted treasures from the natives that are worth far more than the materials they're made of. Strange magic that collectors and researchers alike are willing to pay a pretty penny for. I can't complain about the tool I've got, but I won't pass up the possibility of increasing my range, you understand? It's not as though I'm entirely uninterested in the mundane wealth, though. Not at all. E: Oh hey, glad to see you liked the pic Ich 
Tollymain fucked around with this message at Feb 15, 2013 around 06:32 |
| # ? Feb 15, 2013 04:44 |
|
|
 quote:Name: Bregolon Progress should really be a four letter word. Everyone talks about how far things have come in recent years. The rich prospector says, “Isn’t it great that you can finally get a decent suit as far west as Fort Highwatch?” The merchant says, “I can’t believe the Lightning Rail stretches all the way to the coast!” The heiress says, “It almost feels like being back east!” Bregolon says, “Bullshit.” It had been in the name of “Progress” that the Humans had driven his ancestors from their forest homes centuries ago. Many a late night tale told over a camp fire recounted this travesty: the screams, the death, the all-consuming blaze. His ancestors had no choice but to move on, find a new home and rebuild their shattered communities. And so they did, in the Whispering Plains. They learned to survive in a land bereft of the towering oaks and elms that had before sheltered them from the sun’s cruel light. They learned to listen to the wind, so as not be caught unprepared again. They learned to commune with the unfamiliar spirits of this land, and found new brethren among the animals of the plains. In time, they forged stronger bonds with these new lands than they ever had with the forests of their past. In this new home they thrived, and for over a hundred years they had peace. Some thought it would never end. Of course, it did. The first things to travel west were the tales. Tales of massive beasts of black iron, beasts that hurtled over the land faster than a charging bison, that lit up the skies with lightning, that deafened any who stood nearby when they rushed past. Tales of the human settlements that sprang up wherever the iron beasts traveled, settlements that grew into towns, then cities. Unfortunately for Bregolon’s tribe, tales of the Peacemakers didn’t arrive until it was too late. The Peacemakers were the Lightning Rail Corporation’s answer to the ‘wild, savage’ Elves of the west. After losing a few loads of goods (and more than a few workers) to raids, the Corporation founded the Peacemakers to ride out and secure areas ahead of the construction of a lightning rail track. When they came upon Bregolon’s people, they knew well how to handle them. Riding horses plated with steel and wielding the first guns these Elves had ever seen, they Peacemakers made quick work of the terrified tribesmen. In less than an hour Bregolon’s whole world changed. He had always been special – had always had a closer bond to the land than even the tribal elders. He could even take the shape of those animals who he knew well. It was only through this talent that he escaped that day. After seeing his whole family and nearly everyone he knew shot down, he did the only thing a peaceful young Druid could do – he flew away. Far away he flew, over leagues of grass, further and further west. The whole landscape changed as he went, the grassland fading into dirt, which in turn faded into sand. Only after flying several hours into this bleak desert did Bregolon feel safe enough to land, curling into a ball and crying into the night. Eventually, he picked himself up and moved on. Bregolon made a new life here. Like his ancestors fleeing the forest, Bregolon adapted to the new land. He became one with the sand, befriended the snakes, vultures and coyotes, and made a life for himself as best he could. Unlike his ancestors, however, Bregolon has no intention of waiting for civilization to one day find him. Rather, his purpose is singular: to stop the tyranny of progress in its tracks, however he can. edit: Any specific goal for this heist? The lightning train is a symbol of everything Bregolon despises. Every bit of damage he can do to the infrastructure is a bonus to him. Beyond that, it's hard to take down an entire civilization when you're a penniless druid, so Bregolon hopes to make some cash off of this heist as well. natenasty fucked around with this message at Feb 22, 2013 around 17:16 |
| # ? Feb 15, 2013 05:40 |
|
|
Tollymain posted:I think we're pulling of a heist on the Conquistadorado. It sounds like a bit of a treasure train? I don't think my character knows this even if I do 
Captain Walker fucked around with this message at Feb 15, 2013 around 06:36 |
| # ? Feb 15, 2013 06:31 |
|
|
Ohhh. More brawn than brain, I see.
|
| # ? Feb 15, 2013 06:33 |
|
|
Well, more not caring. The idiot fighter is a little overdone. I like the average intelligence fighter who knows what he's there for and it sure isn't making friends, or subtlety, or really anything except for smashing the opposition into a fine red paste. e: actually I didn't realize we were robbing anything myself until I read the OP a second time, but I figured I'd run with it.
|
| # ? Feb 15, 2013 06:36 |
|
|
Lur Foesmasher Has the circus tried to recapture its primordial brute? Mr Walter Main is too honourable to call me a brute, so we separated as friends. He treats the circus people like a clan, and said that if things didn't work out I could come back, and maybe be security. That's because he doesn't really understand why a warrior's name is so important, but no-one here does, so I don't blame him. Can you still contact the strange magical men that stole you? They're back East, in Massachusetts, working in the Institute. Doctor Coke, who runs the Apparatus, sends letters to the circus. Mr Walter Main reads them to me, and writes a reply, when they eventually turn up. Dr Coke always tells me how the project is going, but it is always the same bad news. To him I am a stupid man, and to me he is a fool, but we share a bond: we have seen many, many empty worlds, and they disturb us. If I needed to, I could send a telegram to the Institute, although I have never done so. Any specific goal you've set for this heist? Fame. I want everyone to know that I am a great warrior, and that hiding in little boxes playing with clever toys is no way for an adult to live. The train is nothing but a toy, but people here do not see that. These are Lur's low-wisdom perceptions. Walter Main, who probably thinks Lur won't manage alone, may be less benign than the barbarian thinks; and Doctor Coke, who let him leave the Institute without dissecting him, may be more. All his communication with the Institute for the last few years has been mediated by Main, who may have his own agenda. exuma fucked around with this message at Feb 15, 2013 around 21:50 |
| # ? Feb 15, 2013 08:39 |
|
|
saberwulf posted:Doctor Janos Malchior - Ich: What University did you attend, and where? What was it like working under Argilthrax? Do you still maintain contact with him/her/it? Sorry for being so vague. I didn't want to brag, you see. It was Harvard. I went to Harvard. Please, try not to think differently of me now. Working under Argilthrax definitely took some getting used to. He was cold as anything. But, later I learned to appreciate the no nonsense directness, and actually realized how caring he was in his own, harsh and demanding but all for the better, way. We write occasionally, though, I must admit, it's been a while now... I'm not too eager to share my current poor state of affairs with him. I'm sure you understand.
|
| # ? Feb 15, 2013 11:46 |
|
|
saberwulf posted:Jane "Ironhorse" Leastways - The Deleter: How in tarnation did you wind up hauling thugs through the dirt? Who was an interesting bounty you dealt with? Didn't do it by choice, kid. Used to be a farm girl. Hardest thing I ever dragged around was a stubborn ol' cow called Juliet. Life was just drifting me by, though. Got it into my head that being a bounty hunter would change my life. Romantic bullshit. Well, soon as I saved enough, I bought me a gun, a horse an' enough food for a few weeks, and off I rode. Well, twenty years later, and you'd think id've learned my lesson. Hah. 'course, they don' let just ANYONE be a bounty hunter. They wanted me to prove I could do it first. The guy was Dirty Peter Andrews - held up stagecoaches across th' whole county. I tracked him to a little cave, with bones all scattered outside the entrance, kinda like lizard bones. Bastard had been hunting kobolds. Poor devils. He laughed at me and called me all sorts of nasty names not fit to be heard by a young woman of my age, so I took him in dead. Less money, but hey, it was my first, and they stopped whining when I told them about the skeletons. I still dream about 'em crackin' under my feet, sometimes.
|
| # ? Feb 15, 2013 19:40 |
|
|
Samwise Jacksonsaberwulf posted:Who's an interesting spirit you've met in your travels? I absolutely love meeting dead musicians. The things they can do, when you gather a bunch of them together!.. There was this guy, Hopkirk I think. Young deputy, shot in line of duty. He kept fighting crime after death. Patrolling at night, haunting the criminals, exposing their hideouts, that kind of stuff. Nice guy, if a bit tense. Did some bounty hunting in the area with his help. Sadly, when I was passing through town again - about 8 months ago, I think - I heard he tried policing the ghost world and got his rear end handed to him and kicked out. I wonder where he is now. quote:What's life like in Nieuw Leeuwarden? I was meant to be a carpenter, you know? Like my dad used to. I know, I know, it doesn't sound like much, but it made for a good living, unlike scrounging for job down by the docks, like all the newcomers do, before they inevitably flee west. It's not half bad for proper citizens, though. Big city, a lot do do. Many bars, many shops - we even have a nickelodeon back there. A lot more things happening, not like this big middle of nowhere. I miss that place sometimes. Heard it's going through a rough patch since the war. All the tariffs and sanctions scare the trade away, they say. quote:Do you still support the South? It's uhh.. You see... The Republic is bullshit, like it always was. A bunch of greedy, fat scumbags bleeding poor folk dry and making GBS threads on the very same constitution they've signed themselves. gently caress these guys. But then again, during the war I saw some hosed up poo poo happening. As much as I'd love the easterners gone, it's not really like life in our short-lived Free Union was that much better. Nor really free, while we're at it. See, it's the whole system that is busted. East, West, South, Old World, it'll always come down to some bastard trying to steal whatever you've got. Now that I'm in the Frontier, they can all kiss my rear end. Not that I don't enjoy messing up an easterner if I find one dumb enough to drink alone out here. quote:Any specific goal you've set for this heist? Get money. The thing with casual labour is, sometimes you're just poo poo out of luck. It'll be nice to have something to fall on in the quieter months. Sure, it's fun to know you're robbing bunch of fat easterners, but it's not like you're gonna change the world by robbing trains, you know? Note: following paragraph assumes we're going to stop the train, like robbers tend to do. Feel free to disregard it if you've got other plans. One might ask why the gently caress one would take a shaman on a heist. See, the plan is so loving brilliant I'm amazed it's not industry standard. See, active sparking stone can draw particularly stupid ghosts, which then gently caress with the mechanism. I'm not too sure about details, but I think they mess with thaumaturgical fields the engines rely on. Or something along these lines. That's why the companies are so keen on hiring hedge wizards and so, to pluck these out. Anyway, where was I... Right, ghost. So, the plan is, we toss a bunch of them under the wheels to overload the thing. It's pretty slick, an invisible roadblock outta nowhere. It was a major pain in the rear end to find volunteers to do that for dead man's whiskey, which is kinda weird if you ask me - it's not like they can still feel pain or something. I guess it's just pretty counterintuitive to toss oneself under the train. Also, train robbers tend to be a trigger-happy bunch so it might be prudent to have somebody continue interrogation after they lose patience.
|
| # ? Feb 15, 2013 23:40 |
|
|
Questions for the Plains Elf! Bregolon - natenasty: Do you know of any other Elven tribes that may still exist? Will you ever return to your tribal lands? Have you ever seen the black iron serpents that thunder down the Lightning Rail? ---  Since there have been so many great applicants, I will be closing the thread tomorrow morning. If you wish to put in an application, please at least make an interest post and I'll leave it open.
|
| # ? Feb 16, 2013 17:12 |
|
|
Sagaurombre de Sonora How's a feller of your persuasion end up as what you called a "Bravo"? I don't call us bravos, the first men to head out from the east did. Apparently it's what some nation calls young bucks with more sword then sense. It sort of stuck as the word for the native savages that attack caravans for no reason, pillage the women and ravage the goods. Heh, eastern folk have strange ideas sometimes. Our name translates into something like "Glory Finders." Except glory's a bad word for it. Honor, maybe. Pride. There's a lot of words that get part of what it means, but they're all wrong. I became a bravo because that's what I was good at. All of the tribe would go on raids when the planting season and the harvest season passed, and sometimes you'd go steal a brace of prime lizards when you wanted to prove you could provide for your husband. Other times the only one's who head out are the bravest and most restless, going out to show how they were too big to plant and too wild to raise lizards. The more and better loot you brought in, the less of a drain you were to the tribe. That's why we raided the caravans. So much loot, some of which had never been seen before. The first man to ride back on a Horse will be famous long after everyone here's turned to dust. I'm a far better shot than I am a planter, no doubts about that. What's your tribe like? Well, we're all green. Got spikes and drink water through our feet. Good with guns, not strong as a general rule. Take the heat of the sun better than just about any other tribe, 'cept the Cliff Walkers. Every "cactusman" is a member of the tribe, you understand. Just like every owl person is a member of the Night Hunting tribe, or how every talking tortoise is of the Wise Back tribe. Now, my clan is the Sonora. That's a bit more specific. Every human is a human, but not every human comes from the same country, understand? The Sonora are a clan of some note, but we're far from being a great council clan. We're at the far ocean side of the Waste, and the salt in the air reaches us. Makes the Sonora grow tall and lean. We didn't have much need for glory hunters until the eastern caravans began plying trade from the west ocean. By that time, the clans farther east had grown rich from trade, and we had to compete to keep status. Did well enough but you can always do better. I might have half an idea about how to do that. Any specific goal you've set for this heist? I doubt it will happen, but...they have the body of one of the great elders in the train. One of the far east elders, one of the first to make life difficult for the elves and the dwarves building the rail. He's in a cask of spirits, supposedly, and they're drawing him along to gloat about "The power of progress to stifle the dread savage." Shameful business for any folk, let alone "civilized" ones. But if I can take the cask holding Murrieta Splitstem, I can earn some of his glory by taking it home. Grabbing anything else of value wouldn't hurt, either.
|
| # ? Feb 16, 2013 22:59 |
|
|
Bregolonquote:Do you know of any other Elven tribes that may still exist? My tribe was fairly insular when we inhabited the plains, keeping mostly to ourselves. That said, the Talren Elves, who inhabited the mountainous areas to our north, would sometimes come down to trade precious stones and mystical baubles for the more practical items that we excelled at crafting. I should think that the Peacemakers would have had little reason to molest them. Riniel, a merchant girl of the Talren, was always kind to me, though that was very many years ago. The Rhuivir tribe of the riverlands to the south probably fared better than my tribe as well. We knew of them only as fearsome warriors to be avoided at all costs. Parents in our tribe used tales of the Rhuivir raiders - faces painted in the blood of their foes, unholy magics at their beck and call - to keep their children in check. Misbehave, the tales went, and you may find yourself carried off in the night by one. If anyone could put up a fight against the Peacemakers, it would be them. And, of course, there are the so-called Iron Elves of the east. To some, that name refers to their stiff backbones or tough demeanors. To any true Elf, however, the name mocks them for forsaking their woodland homes for the comfort of Human civilization. They coexist with Humans in their cities, though as I understand it they are treated as second-class citizens, unable to gain any real power. Serves them right. quote:Will you ever return to your tribal lands? That was a dream I held for many years after my exile into the desert. Part of me dared to hope that some remnant of my tribe remained, that somehow they had found somewhere to live unmolested. After nearly twenty years in the desert, I retraced the path of my escape and headed back to find out. What I found devastated me nearly as much as the day that I lost everything. I smelled it before I ever saw it. The aroma of death and filth wafted through the skies for miles around. Pens crammed full of creatures waiting for the slaughter stretched as far as the eye could see. At first I took them to be the same animals I remembered stampeding across the plains in my youth, but they were somehow... lessened. They had clearly been bred to fit the needs of the human settlements - they were fatter, slower, dumber. I began to question whether my memories of the majestic herds were just foolish dreams. A massive walled city stood on one edge of the pens - New Destin, I later learned it was called. I couldn't bear to actually land in the city, but what I saw from the skies haunts me to this day. I'm sure you've heard tales of the squalor of the newer cities of the West; maybe you're even jaded to it at this point. For me, the sight of all those thousands packed into such a small space was too much to even comprehend. Ever since that day, I've known that there is nothing left there for me. quote:Have you ever seen the black iron serpents that thunder down the Lightning Rail? I've had that misfortune more times than I'd like to recount. For many years I would follow them as best I could, flying overhead. The mere sight sickened me, but I couldn't help myself. I had to know why? Why would anyone destroy the land for this? What was so great about these iron beasts? How could I possibly stop them? I began to experiment with trying to destroy the beasts. No amount of wind seemed to be able to affect their course, and the pitiful rockslides I was able to conjure failed as well. I had some limited success with assassination - perhaps you heard of the train that derailed a few years back after both conductors fell to scorpion stings? - but ultimately it was an unreliable tactic, as more often than not everyone and everything else on the train avoided harm.
|
| # ? Feb 16, 2013 23:01 |
|
|
This is an interest post. Duke  quote:Name: Duke
|
| # ? Feb 17, 2013 00:35 |
|
|
Ich, should have used this boss: I'm going to browse through some more pictures and see if I come up with an idea that I like for this to apply with. Sounds like a fun idea.
|
| # ? Feb 17, 2013 03:53 |
|
|
Bjorn Blackhammer, the last Vampire Hunter If only they'd stayed out of the black marsh his brothers might still be alive. While most dwarves followed the gold rush West and dove straight underground, the Blackhammers made a killing at what they were good at: bounty hunting. Vampire hunters generally have a life expectancy measured in the hours between now and dusk, but holy dwarven engineering and centuries of battling the ghoul-kin underground had blessed the Blackhammers with an arsenal of tips, tricks and explosives. It was a typical job: the Blackhammers sailed on in to the town bar and drank it dry while listening to sob stories about drained corpses, howling dogs and bat infestations. The next morning, nursing hangovers and heavy repeaters to match, they headed to the mayor and collected promises of gold for the bloodsucker's fangs. It usually worked well; whether the vampyre was preying on villagers from the hills, the abandoned graveyard or in plain sight while wearing a sherriff badge, most undead out this direction were barely a century old. The ancient vampyres tended to be traditionalists, preferring the dark frozen North or the aristocrats across the ocean, not sun-bleached desert. That assumption was the Blackhammer's fatal mistake. A vast marsh murks out South, just beyond Chasetown. Every draining attempt had just resulted in more drained prospector corpses, so the Blackhammers set to bless their gunpowder, carve runes into shells and mix new blackpowder recipes. It was a total disaster. Even in the height of summer the marsh proved leafy, stagnant and dark and what the brothers found in the centre shocked them; an ancient temple covered in strange runes. They never stood a chance; Asbard and Hrodgar bled out into the dark waters before they could fire a shot, and cruel laughter followed Bjorn through the trees as he fled. He returned to the Blackhammer's ancestral home in the canyon of Varsgard to break the news, but it beat him there. Varsgard's massive stone doors were smashed open and inside there was terrible devastation; dwarves impaled into the ceiling dripped blood, while the few survivors had been driven mad and were feasting on the corpses of their ancestors. Bjorn burned the place to the ground and swore vengeance. It still mocks him; cruel laughter fills the night whenever Bjorn stops in a town, often waking to find the inhabitants slaughtered. He must not die, as with him goes the knowledge of how to track the vampyre, where they hide in towns and his suspicions about a nest inhabiting one of the Great Trains. quote:Bjorn Blackhammer The Supreme Court fucked around with this message at Feb 17, 2013 around 04:22 |
| # ? Feb 17, 2013 03:53 |
|
|
Edit: Whipping up a class called the Hotshot, feel free to comment! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4k4i0Tjo7J4  “Weird” Jack Audrey Race: Human - When you Fan the Flames in a situation where greed is the driving factor, take +1. Class: Hotshot Chaotic: Light an inanimate object on fire to achieve a goal. 8 STR (-1) 16 DEX (+2) 9 CON (0) 12 INT (0) 13 WIS (+1) 15 CHA (+1) Damage: D8 HP: 17/17 Armor: 0 [Moves] Firestarter A weathered old lighter emblazoned with the British Army insignia. Play with Fire (DEX) When you take a few moments to toy or fidget with your Firestarter, roll +DEX. On a 10+ gain 3 Heat. On a 7-9 gain 1. Spend Heat, one for one, on the following:
Smoked You’ve got quick hands and a hair trigger. When an enemy would get the drop on you, you get to shoot first. Fan the Flames (CHA) When you use your sly wit to exacerbate a tense situation, roll+CHA. On a 10+ pick 2. On a 7-9 pick 1, but you’ve drawn attention to yourself, your GM will tell you how.
[Gear] Candied Almonds (5 uses, 1 weight) Modified Webley Longspur (Near, Reach, 1 weight) Rusty British Army Knife (hand, thrown, 1 weight) Apache Pipeleaf (6 uses, 0 weight) Longspur Ammo (10 uses, 1 weight) Redridge Reinvigorating Rye (healing potion) Enchanted British Army Lighter 3 Coin Load: 4/8 [Bio] “I don’t trust that son of a bitch one bit. He’s got that air about him, you know? Like he’s seen some poo poo, but you don’t want to know what that poo poo is. Fellas say he fought in the war, no not that war. They say he fought in the revolutionary war, for the Brits no less! A joke right? That’d make him, what, almost a hundred years old? Guess that might explain the stupid accent and that gnarled flesh of his. I ‘spect something otherworldly is holding those bones together. poo poo I fold.” The man leans back and takes a long drag from his cigar. “The way he moves that pistol, man it ain’t right. It just sort of appears when it has to, like he wasn’t moving at all. I seen him pop a pair of cheaters without putting his cards down, and he was sipping his tea before they hit the floor! They call him weird, and that sure ain’t for nothin’.” “Carmen you flatter me!” A dry voice cuts through the smoke and darkness accompanied by a pair of gleaming eyes. Carmen’s face goes pale as a ghost. “Deal me in, won’t you?” Weird Jack Audrey takes an empty seat at the table, his face cloaked behind a wide-brimmed hat. The men next to him slide their chairs away with trepidation as he places his old Webley & Scott pistol on the table. It has clearly undergone some personalizations, a longer barrel, gold detailing, and a hair trigger. “I assume my money is as good as anyone’s, right?” He places a pile of coins on the table, dried blood clearly visible on several of them. His hands are pallid and bony. He pulls a hand-rolled cigarette from his jacket and lights it, illuminating his twisted face. wrl fucked around with this message at Feb 22, 2013 around 17:44 |
| # ? Feb 17, 2013 07:09 |
|
|
Loving the new entries. MadRhetoric, all I need from you is background and I can ask you questions. Okay, this seems like an ample amount of people to choose from. SIGNUPS ARE CLOSED.Sorry if you didn't get a chance to apply! I'll be back later tonight to ask the last questions, and once they're answered I'll lock the thread and choose players.
|
| # ? Feb 17, 2013 17:39 |
|
|
Edit: Blathering about Spellslinger mechanics. I'll probably homebrew something a bit different.
wrl fucked around with this message at Feb 17, 2013 around 20:09 |
| # ? Feb 17, 2013 19:12 |
|
|
Sorry about the delay on those final questions! My free time for the past two days got sucked up. I'll post them around noon tomorrow.
|
| # ? Feb 19, 2013 04:14 |
|
|
Bjorn Blackhammer - The Supreme Court: What was a vampyre hunt of particular note? Do you ever think you will return to the marsh temple? What evidence do you have that vampyres are aboard the Conquistadorado? “Weird” Jack Audrey - wrl: Did you really fight for the Redcoats? What gave you that knack for fire? And remember to answer: Any specific goal you've set for this heist?
|
| # ? Feb 19, 2013 18:06 |
|
|
|
| # ? May 23, 2013 13:08 |
|
|
saberwulf posted:“Weird” Jack Audrey - wrl: Did you really fight for the Redcoats? What gave you that knack for fire? A cigarette hung loosely from Jack's lips as he toyed with his small mechanical flint. "Sure enough I did. Queen's Rangers, 1775 to 1780. Lieutenant Colonel by 1814. Do my years show?" His face was twisted enough that if he had told you he were 500 you'd have believed it. "Had a yank musketball snap my arm in half. Thank the gods the elves were on our side. Fixed me up right quick, was marching towards the Brandywine not more than a week later." He poured some steaming tea, far too hot to drink, but he sipped it without flinching. "See the thing with fire is that most people are afraid to use it. 'Too dangerous. Too chaotic.' Bah! If you want to win, you win at whatever cost. When our flank at the Brandywine failed, they said we were to ford the river regardless. That didn't sound too enticing when the coward Washington and his forest giants were pelting boulders at us. Instead we launched flaming barrels at the other bank, confident that a kind breeze and the river would keep our side cool. Have you ever seen a forest giant struggle to extinguish itself? Truly a sight to behold. Fire is primal, chaotic, and beautiful. From then on it just seemed like the easiest way to solve problems for me. Saved me from a nasty divorce. Took care of a hideout of pogue rebels in 1798. Can't forget the burning of Washington, now that was a fun one!" "The heist? Well anyone whose anyone knows that those trains come loaded to the brim with fools paid well enough to defend them. Pays better to rob them, that much is for sure. I'd like to say we'd find a way to take our share without having to shoot a gun, but I know better, these things always end in chaos." He grinned. "I have expensive alcohol habits and a few people in the motherland I need to pay off. This should help nicely."
|
| # ? Feb 19, 2013 20:24 |
|
