|
Tirade posted:As the temperature edges towards freezing, You hear the sounds of pubs and nightclubs running a roaring trade on a Saturday night. You think back to your days growing up in Canberra, wild nights on the town, and try to recall if you ever saw the homeless of Canberra late at night during the winter. You're not having much luck. How do they survive? Most of them have sleeping bags, right? You think of the swag given to you by the volunteers not more than a few hours ago, waiting for you back at the homeless shelter. Too late to go back now. Michael Michael shivers, tries to pull his hands into the sleeves of the coat, but feels the cold wind slip in through the cuffs. He rolls back and forth, trying to keep whichever side of him is colder protected from the wind, but eventually, he realizes it's futile. Probably best to get up and walk, keep his blood flowing. Something suggests to him that maybe it'll be warmer on real earth. Pavement's too cold. Michael decides to go to the Canberra Nature Park. He bundles up as best he can and sets out. He passes through quiet residential areas, jealously thinking how warm and cozy it must be inside. He tries to hate himself, and to blame himself, but really, as cold as he was, all he can muster is pity. He arrives in the dark, unlit Nature Park. He finds a crook between two trees not far from Barry Drive, and tries to gather some brush to cover himself with. Is there brush in the winter there? Dunno how your trees or winters are. He starts as he hears a voice, clipped and accented. "Bunk down, ol' boy, you need your strength. We've got a lot of ground to cover in the coming days." Michael searches all around, frantic and panicked that he'd been found. He fails to find the source of the voice in the pitch darkness though. After a tense, breathless few moments, he decides his mind is playing tricks on him. He tries to go to sleep again.
|
#
?
Aug 29, 2014 05:09
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 25, 2024 15:53 |
|
|
The brush doesn't provide much shelter, but it's enough for you to get a few hours of fitful sleep. The wind seems to have died down somewhat, or at least isn't blowing through here with the intensity that it was earlier. Stamina + Survival again, 4 dice, 1 success. Speak up if you want Michael to get up to anything during the day, otherwise we'll fast-foward his story to the fair as well.
|
|
#
?
Aug 31, 2014 09:55
|
|
Tirade posted:
Woodstock stared at the man. The fingers of both hands twisted and turned his metal cigarette lighter between them, clicking the lid open and snapping it shut again after rubbing his thumb along its rough steel wheel. There was no doubt about it, the man was crazy. Clearly, unquestionably, one hundred percent batshit. Not the moon landing kind, the fluoride and kool-aid kind. And Woodstock had let him drive him around without a second thought. He could have been killed a dozen times over. He could still be killed now. His eyes flicked to the left and the right, gauging the neighbourhood. He remembered that there was a house with a big front hedge just behind him - maybe if he legged it down the side passageway he might be able to hop a few fences and lose this freak. It's okay, he told himself, just pretend he's a cop. It'll be just like the old days. He half-turned to the side to get a look at where he would be running, and found himself staring into the shaved skull of a young, angry man. Or through. There was something not quite substantial about him, like he was slipping in and out of focus. Tattooed arms led to tattooed hands whose scar-riddled fingers played idly with an eagle-embossed cigarette lighter. He looked away from the man's hollow gaze and found his own hands to be empty. He turned back to the car, opened the door, and climbed inside. The electric motor made a soft whirring noise as he closed his passenger door window, eyes staring straight ahead. The image of the man, foreign and familiar, hung waiting behind his eyelids. "I don't think that was my stop after all," he said. As they drove off, his right hand reached up to rub his pounding heart. Through the shirt he could still feel the contours of his electricity-ruptured skin. In his left hand he found anew the cold weight of a small metal cigarette lighter. Presumably this gives Woodstock the opportunity to catch up a bit on the universe and stop being such a dumb poo poo. I don't mind if we use this opportunity to fast-track through to the fair either, I think Woodstock has had enough of a scare that he'll be pretty mellow and obedient to whatever suggestions until he gets brought up to scratch. Sulla Faex fucked around with this message at 22:09 on Sep 2, 2014 |
|
|
#
?
Sep 2, 2014 22:06
|
|
|
Sulla-Marius 88 posted:Woodstock stared at the man. The fingers of both hands twisted and turned his metal cigarette lighter between them, clicking the lid open and snapping it shut again after rubbing his thumb along its rough steel wheel. There was no doubt about it, the man was crazy. Clearly, unquestionably, one hundred percent batshit. Not the moon landing kind, the fluoride and kool-aid kind. And Woodstock had let him drive him around without a second thought. He could have been killed a dozen times over. He could still be killed now. His eyes flicked to the left and the right, gauging the neighbourhood. He remembered that there was a house with a big front hedge just behind him - maybe if he legged it down the side passageway he might be able to hop a few fences and lose this freak. It's okay, he told himself, just pretend he's a cop. It'll be just like the old days. "Thank gently caress, I thought you might be one of the Wretched. Rumours have been running hot on the Twilight Network that Canberra has a few of them floating around." He sighs. "poo poo, but you don't have a clue about what I'm saying, do you. Look, I'm sorry mate but I don't have time to teach you the ropes. Head up to Mt Ainslie tomorrow and find the Flesh Fair happening up there. Kind of a meet-up for people like us. The local krewe are running it, they'll tell you what you need to know. Also it would help to meet the folks who call the shots in town. I'll be up there, we can talk about it more then." You're still not any closer to understanding what has happened to you, but at least you now have a lead. End scene
|
|
#
?
Sep 3, 2014 12:52
|
|
|
David Since the accident you've been occasionally hearing a voice in your head. She doesn't seem to like you or your life choices very much. For the past day or so the voice has been telling you to go to Mt Ainslie around sunset on Sunday. When you ask why, the voice mentions something about a "Twilight Network", and that you're a loving idiot for trying to ignore her advice. You plead with the voice that you're not ignoring her and are actually quite happy to go, but could she please just explain her position so that you can understand why it's important. The voice calls you a fuckwit. As the shadows start to get longer on Sunday you slowly make your way up the winding road to the top of the mountain. You still don't really know why you're here but you're convinced that it's for the best. Everyone else You arrive at the Mt Ainslie lookout just before sunset. The view is impressive, taking in the war memorial at the base of the mountain, Anzac avenue stretching out to the lake, and the Brindabella mountain range in the distance.  There's a few tourists taking in the view, but you all immediately stand out to one another: behind each of you stands a ghostly figure. It's almost like a double exposure on a film, or watching someone walk around with a strobe light flashing. Except the figures look nothing like the people, and one guy looks like he's being shadowed by a rusted ute.
|
|
#
?
Sep 3, 2014 12:55
|
|
|
Frank It had been a hell of a hangover this morning. Waking up outside a hotel was nothing new, waking up with the dual cab ute youre working on balancing on a flag pole was different. The fireys managed to get it down with a crane, and the cops could do nothing with four strong alibis from Doc and Stevo, Jonno and Mick at the pub. Fucks sake. After a full day of hearing please explain and only being able to shrug has left Frank a little bloody minded. Im gping to go to this fair, see if i can hustle up some work, then drink till im blind. Looking down from the point, doesnt do much for his mood. loving Canberra.
|
|
#
?
Sep 4, 2014 02:39
|
|
|
Frank Well gently caress this, Frank turns to face the group gathered around the viewing point. "Any of you jokers got a smoke?" Roll for charm/persuasion to get a smoke, and roll again to make a good impression.
|
|
#
?
Sep 7, 2014 02:26
|
|
|
Dunstan Dunstan is exhausted. He stayed up till 10 last night playing scrabble with his Ma. 10 isn't that late for him, it was the ensuing fight and screaming from his mother at her 'disappointment in her son for cheating'. Dunstan rarely ever won at scrabble. No, that's a lie. Dunstan never won at scrabble with his mother but he enjoyed playing it as it was good time spent with his 'Ma' and she seemed to keep of his back about spending all his time with his 'army men' if he played when she wanted. Last night however Dunstan was, inspired, for lack of a better word. He wasn't even sure of the words he was making but when his Ma had challenged them and they looked it up in the dictionary, sure enough they were real words. It was his last play of 'cumulus' that had ended the game with the board and the pieces flung across the kitchen and the accusations starting. Walking up the hill, he still smarted from some of the words his ma had called him. At the top of the hill he saw Canberra beneath him. The view, while he was accustomed to it never failed to impress him. He realised after a few minutes he was not alone. He turned to look at his companions and realised not everyone who was there, was actually there. He rubbed his eyes, no, they were still there. He wondered at this sanity then and shortly whether or not he was a possible psyker and therefore a gateway for Chaos to breach through from the Immaterium! He is interrupted from his usual fantasy by the dusty looking man asking if he has a smoke? He shakes his head. "Hi I'm Dunstan, I walk dogs!" he says eagerly and as always, inappropriately. He puts his hand out to shake ...... anyones
|
|
#
?
Sep 7, 2014 12:50
|
|
|
Michael Michael spends much of Sunday kicking around town. He grows hungrier than he can remember being. As he stands in the woods along the road, he considers going to the shelter Bob had told him would be open on Sunday, but he worries about being seen by Bob and the awkwardness of explaining where he'd gone. Maybe he can forage for some food. In the winter. Ugh. Most of his survival training was related to making signals and waiting to be found. He starts to feel despondent when he hears a voice behind him. "I say old boy, plenty of food to be had if you know where to look." He turns and sees the shadowy hunter again. "You were there, after the crash. Who are you? What's happened to me?" His stomach grumbles its own question. The hunter chuckles. "All in good time, chap. First, let's deal with that belly of yours. See that tree across the way? There's some sweet sap in the trunk. Use your keystone." Michael looks confused. "Keystone?" He looks around and notices he's holding an old, worn hunting knife. He drops it in shock. He looks back to the hunter, but he's disappeared again. Michael resolves to worry about the impossible after he's no longer hungry. He stabs the strange knife into the tree and is only somewhat surprised to see a bright, thick sap run down the blade. He tastes it, and finding it edible, sucks down as much as he can. -----//----- Michael makes his way up Mt Ainslie to the meeting spot for the memorial. He sees the gathered people and uh others. He rubs his eyes. Maybe something in that sap. He doesn't want to be that homeless man, so he makes a point to not even look at the shadowy figures and he's not going to respond if one starts talking to him. He just needs to make it through this. He surveys the real people. Two kids, a hippy, and a middle aged man stand out to him. As he's walking up, he hears the older man asking for a light. He'd offer one if he had one. One of the kids offers his hand. "Hi," he says without realizing how husky and coarse his voice is. He clears his throat. "I'm Michael." He winces as he forgets to use his fake name. Oh well. He's wearing ill-fitting clothing and a heavy coat. He has a darkening five o'clock shadow, and he must smell pretty foul by now. No one will recognize him. "So uh. How did you know--" he forgets the name on the board, shamefully, "--the departed?" he finishes lamely.
|
|
#
?
Sep 7, 2014 18:16
|
|
|
Perception check for you all to recognise Michael as the recently and very publicly deceased astronaut. Wits + Composure, two bonus dice because of the publicity surrounding his death and he gave you his name. Everyone succeeded, although just barely for Dunstan.
|
|
#
?
Sep 8, 2014 01:00
|
|
|
For clarity, you've all recognized that this guy looks just like the dead astronaut. Whether you make the leap to realise that he is the astronaut is up to you.
|
|
#
?
Sep 8, 2014 01:34
|
|
|
Tirade posted:Everyone succeeded, although just barely for Dunstan. Lol. Even if it was pointed out I think Dunstan would struggle to join the dots.
|
|
#
?
Sep 8, 2014 03:50
|
|
|
Matthew Beet posted:
I was hoping "the departed" was a name for some 40k squad but no luck.
|
|
#
?
Sep 8, 2014 04:24
|
|
|
Frank Hey Dunstan, good to know you. Hey Micheal, you look like that dead astronaut. Anyway, the fair kicks off later, let's get a meal, a drink and warm up for tonight ay? Frank shakes Dunstans hand and leads them all to a newly constructed meal tent.
|
|
#
?
Sep 9, 2014 12:01
|
|
|
BCR posted:Frank Hah not so fast BCR. I'll pick up the pace a little though. Give me a sec to kick you guys forward to the fair. Edit: as in there's no sign of a food stall, or really any sign of a fair up here. Gonna propose something in the ooc thread. Tirade fucked around with this message at 14:25 on Sep 9, 2014 |
|
#
?
Sep 9, 2014 14:10
|
|
|
Apart from the tourists there's not much else up near the lookout. There's certainly nothing that looks like a meal tent, or a fair of any sort really. There does however seem to be quite a few more cars in the parking lot than there are people at the lookout. Woodstock, you notice that the car of the man that gave you a ride yesterday is in the parking lot. Perception check (Wits + Composure), success. You have a quick look around to try and figure out where this fair might be.  You soon notice a path leading down to the bush to the right of the lookout. Written on the wall in faintly glowing substance that you can all see but my camera can't are the words "Canberra Royals Flesh Fair", and an arrow pointing down the stairs. You follow the stairs down and find a path working its way through the bush.  As you follow the path, you start to hear occasional faint bursts of music coming from somewhere in the bush ahead of you. You take a smaller path off the main path, searching for the source. Eventually you arrive in a relatively open clearing. There's a few stalls set up, and the preparations for a bonfire in the centre of the clearing. A sound system is set up but at the moment the music is fairly quiet.  Closer to dusk, more stalls, less hippy bush doof, but you get the general idea. There's about two dozen people here, all up. Each person here has the same ghostly double tethered to them that you noticed on each other. Most of the shadowy figures look fairly human, but there's a few that are far more grotesque: behind one woman you see an impossibly thin figure with sunken eyes, streams of water streaming from its nose, eyes, ears and mouth. A gaunt figure behind a man near the sound system writhes in constant pain, hypodermic needles instead of fingers on hands that stretch out towards passers-by. None of the people here seem troubled by the presence of these ghostly creatures.
|
|
#
?
Sep 11, 2014 13:03
|
|
|
Before you can enter the fair you're approached by a man dressed in a sharp three piece suit. "Welcome. I'm Jim Royal, leader of the Royals here in Canberra. Welcome to our fair." He looks you over. "Haven't seen any of you before. You all together?" His eyes widen as he sees Michael, and a giant grin breaks over his face. "Well I'll be damned. Colonel Michael Evans, in the newly reconstituted flesh. If this ain't the most spectacular rebirth I've seen in a long, long time. You know that the whole drat town is mourning you, right? poo poo, I saw bits of the shuttle raining down myself. Hell of a sight. I tell you man, you'll have to grow a beard or something." He quickly picks up on the vibe that you're all giving off - namely, that none of you have any idea of what the hell is going on. "Wait a minute. You guys are all new?" He looks a little troubled. "Now that's strange. In Sydney, Melbourne, new Sin-eaters usually show up once every few months. Out here it's closer to one a year. Never heard of so many coming back at the same time." "Glad you all were able to find your way here. Let me get one of my krewe to show you the ropes." Tirade fucked around with this message at 13:08 on Sep 11, 2014 |
|
#
?
Sep 11, 2014 13:06
|
|
|
|
|
#
?
Sep 11, 2014 13:07
|
|
|
The sun has gone down and the bonfire in the middle of the clearing is roaring. Music is pumping from the sound system, and the fair is in full swing. You are all gathered around a smaller fire about fifty metres away from the fair, getting a lecture from a tough looking woman. Ex-army by the look of it. Your eyes now seem to be able to more easily pick up on whatever it is that's attached to all the people at the fair, including each other. Behind the woman swirls a dark mist. It's constantly twisting into different shapes, tendrils, occasionally forming into a humanoid figure before falling back into a swirling mass. [picture to follow] She introduces herself as Smoke. "That's what he calls himself" she says, pointing her thumb over her shoulder. "Shortly after I came back I figured it'd do for me as well. Better name than Rachael." "Royal told me to give you guys the basics. I've got some business to attend to tonight, so here's the soldier's five. "First. You're still human. That thing inside you has brought you back from the dead, given you a few tricks, and will largely stay out of your way. In return it gets another taste of being alive, so you're no good to it unless you're genuine flesh and blood, rather than undead like those vampire fucks that infest this city." Smoke casts her eyes across to the fair, before turning back to the group. "All in all I reckon it's a pretty good deal. It must be really poo poo to be on the other side if they're willing to offer all of this for a second-hand taste. "Second. The tricks I mentioned? Powered by plasm. Think of it as ghost blood. That poo poo's running through your veins now too, courtesy of your passenger. It's why your powers will look a bit like what ghosts do when they're haunting a person or a place. Blood oozing through walls, curses, that kind of thing. You can also use the stuff to hold your insides inside if you get cut up. It doesn't stop you from taking a beating, but if you're using it to hold your guts in place you'll heal in a day what would normally have you out of action for weeks. It replenishes if you've got access to a haunt, a place like this that has a strong connection to the dead. You'll also be able to top up your plasm if you're around when a ghost leaves our existence for the underworld, either of its own accord or by banishing it. "You can also eat the fuckers whole. Tastes like poo poo, or so I've heard. Not done in polite society. Never needed to do it myself, too much like vampirism for my liking. Also your geist will loving hate it, and although you're running the show you don't want to needlessly piss that thing off. "Ok, any questions so far?"
|
|
#
?
Sep 11, 2014 13:21
|
|
|
Woodstock raises a tentative hand. "I thought geists were ghosts. Are you saying we can eat other people's geists? And when you say vampires, is that just a name, or do you mean honest-to-god vampires, like in the movies?" Sulla Faex fucked around with this message at 13:41 on Sep 11, 2014 |
|
|
#
?
Sep 11, 2014 13:38
|
|
|
Dunstan listens quietly as the woman speaks. After surreptitiously counting off the facts the woman has told him, on his hand in his pocket, he is quite confident as he speaks "what are the other three tips?"
|
|
#
?
Sep 11, 2014 13:43
|
|
|
Woodstock rolls his bloodshot eyes. "She's getting to that! What I want to know is if something out of Buffy is going to break my legs and drink my blood! What if I eat garlic, would that help?"
|
|
|
#
?
Sep 11, 2014 13:51
|
|
|
Michael Michael is still processing this. "Wait. So, you guys died too? I know I died, that's pretty easy to accept. But you guys? How'd you die?" He looks at Smoke. "Or is that not polite to ask?"
|
|
#
?
Sep 11, 2014 14:00
|
|
|
Sulla-Marius 88 posted:Woodstock raises a tentative hand. Smoke pauses for a moment, trying to think of the best way to phrase her response. "Geists are ghosts, of a sort. It's a bit hard to say for sure, as they're a bit cagey about telling us their secrets. I'll give you a rundown on ghosts shortly, but where ghosts have anchors that tie them to the world of the living - a love letter never sent to their secret crush, the casing of the bullet that killed them, the person who betrayed them - geists seem to have been able to replace their anchors with something else. Using ideas, themes, stereotypes as anchors instead. It gives them more power, including the ability to offer the gift of a second chance to people like us. "You can eat ghosts. Geists, not so much. I doubt their sin-eater would be too keen on it, for starters. I've heard of a few rituals or ceremonies that can be used to split a geist from their host, but that's only done in extreme circumstances. Not for newbies like yourselves. "As to vampires, it's pretty much exactly what you're thinking. There's a reason stories about vampires, werewolves, things that go bump in the night resonate so deeply with us. Most people think it's allegory, but I'm sorry to say it's all too real. I'll fill you in a bit more in a sec."
|
|
#
?
Sep 11, 2014 14:15
|
|
|
XyloJW posted:Michael Smoke laughs. "Depends on the sin-eater. That's us, by the way. Don't ask why, I think it's a stupid name. I prefer the term bound. Because we're bound by the contract between us and our geists as we were knocking on death's door, so to speak. "Maybe you were a victim of the elements - burned in a bushfire, drowned in a boat accident. Maybe you were the victim of violence. Maybe sheer bad luck. In any case, death is power. No doubt about it. And some of the power we now have comes from the way we died. As to how I died? Training accident in the ADF. Caught a bullet with my heart on a training range up in North Queensland, although by the time the field medic got to me it'd healed up enough to just confuse the guy. I got a discharge soon after. After having a local sin-eater teach me the ropes, I spent the next few months making the life of the guy who shot me a living hell. Laid a bunch of curses on him. Tied a crazed ghost to his rifle, so that the poor bastard heard screaming every time he touched the thing. "I'm not proud of my actions during that time, but it's a bit hard to adjust to your new life, and that includes figuring out a purpose to live anew. It's why we Royals are so willing to help out freshies like yourselves."
|
|
#
?
Sep 11, 2014 14:32
|
|
|
Matthew Beet posted:Dunstan listens quietly as the woman speaks. "Glad someone is paying attention. Right, point three. Keeping your geist happy. As I said before, it's mostly content to sit back and enjoy the feeling of being alive. But if you start doing things that it hates, the synergy between you and it starts to break down. That keeps happening and your geist is going to start trying to be a bit more assertive, and that can get pretty drat ugly. I've already mentioned eating ghosts, but they're also not gonna be pleased about destroying the various charms and fetters floating around the place that have a bit of death's power within it. Sometimes it's unavoidable, but get too out of synergy with your geist and you'll end up like the Wretched, a pathetic but dangerous mix of spirit and flesh where the bound and the geist fight for control of the body. It's not pretty when that happens - sometimes the Sin Eater's convinced they've rid themselves of the geist, but what's happened is that instead of working together they're taking turns driving the meat. Think Fight Club, more book than movie. "Speaking of charms and fetters, that'll do for point four. There's things in this world that have some aspect of death tied to them. They're always in demand, and work great as currency or to barter with at fairs like this." Smoke pulls a necklace out from underneath her shirt. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the tooth that hangs from it. It pulses with a power that feels both familiar and strange. It's a feeling of an aspect of the power of death, much like the affinities you feel for the keys you variously command. In this case, the primeval power of animals and nature. "See? Can't miss them. This tooth here came from a tiger in a monastery in Thailand. They dope the tigers up so tourists can have an "authentic tiger handling experience" without getting their arm chewed off. Someone hosed up the dosage and the tiger to which this tooth was once attached got a bit hangry. Killed three tourists and a monk before he was taken down." Smoke looks reflective for a moment. "At least, that was the story I got from the guy who traded this to me. Might well be bullshit, doesn't stop the thing giving a bit of an extra kick to my Primeval manifestations though. There's a bunch of different charms that range from little things like this to masks made out of dead geists. For charms like these, you usually need to get someone with a bit of know-how to focus their energy into something you can use. Most bound like to show 'em off, trick them out as necklaces, bracelets and the like. It's a good way to demonstrate power: shows you've been around a while, and are strong enough to hang on to 'em." Smoke pauses, and looks at you all. "Any further questions?" Tirade fucked around with this message at 13:59 on Oct 10, 2014 |
|
#
?
Sep 11, 2014 14:39
|
|
|
"You said you cursed a guy and that we can do things like that too. How? Can I put a curse on moonflower here? If I did would there be any way to tell that I did it? Are we all packing untraceable weapons? If so, I kind of feel like I've just walked into a lion's den. What Mr. Royal doesn't like the way I looked at him earlier. Can he, I don't know, make my hair fall out? "And doing that sort of thing uses uh Plasm, right? Where do I get more of that?"
|
|
#
?
Sep 11, 2014 15:16
|
|
|
XyloJW posted:"You said you cursed a guy and that we can do things like that too. How? Can I put a curse on moonflower here? If I did would there be any way to tell that I did it? Are we all packing untraceable weapons? If so, I kind of feel like I've just walked into a lion's den. What Mr. Royal doesn't like the way I looked at him earlier. Can he, I don't know, make my hair fall out? "Well, I guess it depends on the gifts given to you by your geist. We walk the line between the realm of the living and that of the dead, and we can use the powers given to us by our geists to manipulate the world around us. There's seven different broad categories of manifestation: The boneyard, the caul, the curse, the marionette, the oracle, the rage, and the shroud. You unlock each manifestation using a 'key'. It's a bit hard to explain, but consider it a 'flavour' that each of you have, as a result of the manner in which you died, or the power that your geist draws on. The keys you control cause the manifestations to express themselves in a particular way. Smoke carries on for a bit longer explaining the details of manifestations. You're now all fairly well across the powers that each of you selected, and can use them as required. "As I said before, you'll pick up plasm if you're nearby when a ghost crosses over to the other side, either voluntarily or involuntarily. Haunts are also a good source: haunts are basically anywhere that has a strong connection to the dead, such as cemeteries, old battlegrounds, that sort of thing. Mount Ainslie is a good example of a haunt, controlled by the Royals. There's a surprising amount of people who have died on this mountain over the past hundred years. Exposure, misadventure, violence. Enough that there's a concentration of spirits that leak out plasm, which we can exploit. "A word of warning though, haunts aren't places you want to spend a lot of time. We're gathered here for the fair, but normally we live in town. Dropping past here for a few minutes each day is enough to absorb the ambient plasm. Actually living near haunts will give you horrible nightmares, so we don't try to establish our base of operations on them."
|
|
#
?
Sep 11, 2014 15:51
|
|
|
"I guess what I'm getting at, though, is what sort of society is there for boundeds? Is there any sort of formalized authority? Who handles crimes and disputes between us? If someone curses me, is it up to me to figure out who did that and deal with them? I can't very well take them to court for cursing me."
|
|
#
?
Sep 11, 2014 15:59
|
|
|
Dunstan "Hey, Boneyard! I've heard that before. Yesterday at the club house I heard man saying 'ossa' and 'boneyard'" Dunstan excitedly speaks up trying his best to imitate the Italian accent he heard. "Later on the place was on fire and that's where I met the man who told me to come here. He was, sort of nice. Spoke funny though. Was that one of those manifestations you mean?"
|
|
#
?
Sep 11, 2014 23:28
|
|
|
XyloJW posted:"I guess what I'm getting at, though, is what sort of society is there for boundeds? Is there any sort of formalized authority? Who handles crimes and disputes between us? If someone curses me, is it up to me to figure out who did that and deal with them? I can't very well take them to court for cursing me." "Not much of a formal society to speak of. We usually form into small groups - known as krewes - for mutual protection and to lay claim to haunts, hold fairs like this one, or for performing some of the more complex ceremonies. In terms of size, krewes can be anywhere from three to fifty. That's not a hard cap, it's just that any more than that and it tends to be a bit hard to control. Nothing else, really. No council of krewes, anything else like that. We're mostly an anarchic bunch, even krewe leaders tend to be first among equals rather than lords of their fiefdoms. "Krewes sometimes fight but mostly relations are pretty cordial. It's a dangerous world out there, not much point making it worse by fighting each other. That's not to say that all sin eaters are your friends, far from it. The Royals aren't the only Bound in town, and some of the free agents are complete nutters. Everyone's got their own agendas". Smoke pauses, eyeing the geist hovering behind Woodstock. "Geists too." "There's no rules or regulations to govern how to live your new lease on life, but I'll give you some advice: don't draw too much attention to yourself. There's a lot of dangerous things out there. Plenty of supernatural critters, and the cops aren't going to ignore you if you decide to start settling old scores or go on a killing spree."
|
|
#
?
Sep 12, 2014 03:04
|
|
|
Woodstock raises his hand again. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but with these vampires: Has anybody told the police? How do you tell a vampire from a human or a .. sin-eater? Shouldn't we do something? If they're, you know.. killing people?" Sulla Faex fucked around with this message at 09:06 on Sep 12, 2014 |
|
|
#
?
Sep 12, 2014 09:00
|
|
|
Matthew Beet posted:Dunstan "Hmm. Haven't heard anything about a fire. Spoke funny how? Prone to talking all dramatic, that kind of thing?" Smoke looks a bit concerned. "About the voice, sounds like your geist was giving you a few pointers. Each geist is different - some won't say a word, others will talk constantly. Some are fairly human, and some..." Smoke glances across at Frank. "Some have almost completely become an archetype."
|
|
#
?
Sep 12, 2014 09:33
|
|
|
Sulla-Marius 88 posted:Woodstock raises his hand again. "Police? Hah, you could certainly try. But think of how it would have sounded to you a few days ago if someone told you that vampires were real. They've got an interest in keeping quiet about the whole 'monsters drinking the blood of the living' thing they've got going on. In any case the vamps are political beasts, they've got enough influence with the cops to make the occasional suspicious report go away. "To be honest they're not something we're too worried about. We've got our own set of problems thanks to the affinity we've got for the dead. The bloodsuckers can be vicious but they're mostly busy stabbing each other in the back. They're usually only a problem if you get caught in the middle of their pissing contests. Also helps that they don't really know what we are, or what we can do. We stand out to each other - by now you folks should be able to see into the Twilight and spot the geists tied to each of us - but don't look any different to your average mortal to the vamps. We'd prefer if it stayed that way."
|
|
#
?
Sep 12, 2014 09:44
|
|
|
Frank Mate, that all sounds great. Nothing strange has happened to me. It's not like I can clap my hands and a ute drops. Roll for ute drop on a tree.
|
|
#
?
Sep 12, 2014 13:06
|
|
|
lol
|
|
#
?
Sep 12, 2014 13:31
|
|
|
BCR posted:Frank No roll required for the ute drop BCR, just a point of plasm You stare at a point about twenty metres away from the group, trying to remember the dream you had the night before. The truck... talked to you? What was it? I will show you. A ute appears in the Twilight, hovering about four metres above the ground. As you stare at the ute it starts to materialise, pushing through the boundary between the Twilight and our world. It only takes a few seconds. At the exact moment that the ute is fully solid, gravity takes hold and the ute crashes to the ground. The windscreen shatters from the impact, and several people from the fair look over towards the ute before recognising it as a keystone, and turning back to the party. Smoke, David, Woodstock and Michael noticed the ute as it was materialising, and watched on in fascination as it transitioned from the Twilight to the real-world. Dunstan was blissfully unaware, busy as he was trying to recall whether vampires showed up in 40k. Dunstan jumped about a foot as the ute hit the ground, snapping him back to reality. Smoke nods approvingly. "Neat trick. Guess you're across using your keystones. Most are trinkets, but looks like you've got yourself a nice ride. You mentioned 'ute drops', don't forget that it can be used in its more traditional role as well - keystones that big will gravitate back to the Twilight after an hour or so, but having a getaway car on hand like that should be handy if you're in a tight spot."
|
|
#
?
Sep 13, 2014 02:52
|
|
|
Dunstan looks at the ute. "A keystone? I don't think I have one. At least not that large" Dunstan thinks back over the previous day and he gets a flash of an image in his head from earlier that morning. He was washing up after breakfast and was washing a plate he had never seen before but had eaten his toast on. He had presumed his mother had been to the salvos the day before, she was always collecting weird old trinkets from there; plates, glasses, little glass statues. What a waste of money Dunstan had always thought. The plate from that morning was a white plate with a gold leaf cicrlet running around the inside just in from the lip. In the center was the image of a man. His arms and legs, eight in total, were spread out towards the gold circle . Dunstan had presumed it was a Genestealer cultist, seeded in preparation for a Tyranid invasion. Thinking about the plate he realized that this is probably what the lady was talking about. It was, more than likely, his keystone. He could almost feel it was in his hand, no wait. It WAS in his hand. He blinked in surprise. He was sure he didn't have it a few moments ago. Dunstan raises his hand and says "Excuse me Ms Smoke, I have a plate in my hand."
|
|
#
?
Sep 13, 2014 03:10
|
|
|
Matthew Beet posted:Dunstan looks at the ute. "A keystone? I don't think I have one. At least not that large" Dunstan thinks back over the previous day and he gets a flash of an image in his head from earlier that morning. He was washing up after breakfast and was washing a plate he had never seen before but had eaten his toast on. He had presumed his mother had been to the salvos the day before, she was always collecting weird old trinkets from there; plates, glasses, little glass statues. What a waste of money Dunstan had always thought. "That'd be your keystone. It's a gift, of sorts. Given to you by your geist as part of the bargain. It's not usually particularly useful, but it's powerful nonetheless. It's normally looked after by your geist in the Twilight but you can call it to hand, and dismiss it back to the Twilight, with a thought. Although for our ute-wielding friend here, pulling it between the two realms takes a bit more effort. The keystone signifies the bond that you and your geist have. In some ways, it's an expression of submission by the geist. As I said before, both the bound and geists benefit from the bargain. You get a second chance, and some impressive powers to boot. The geist gets another taste of truly living - when not bound to a human, a geist isn't much more than a powerful ghost." "Which brings me nicely to point five. Ghosts, and other things to look out for. The world isn't as safe as you might remember. I mentioned the Wretched and the bloodsuckers, but there's a few other things to look out for as well. Ghosts will be your main concern, simply due to how many of them are around. How you deal with them depends on what kind of ghost you're dealing with. You should be able to see into the Twilight by now. As I hinted at earlier, it's sort of a mirror to our own world. Or more precisely, a layer that sits just behind it. Populated mostly by ghosts, geists, a few other nasties. Unfortunately your new gift works both ways: ghosts will recognise that you can see them, and if they think you can help they can get bloody annoying." During the last part of the sermon you hear yelling coming from the fair. Smoke trails off and she turns, eyes scanning the people in the distance for signs of trouble. Over the music you hear someone shout, "Private party, fuckhead!". Smoke continues to look towards the fair for a few more moments, before relaxing and turning back to the group. "Right, where were we. Ghosts. Usually come in three different varieties: nice, nasty and nuts. Best way to-" A shot rings out from the trees to your north, and Smoke slumps forward. Emerging from the shadows to the north you see four men striding towards you. One of them is holding a metal bar, and another a length of heavy chain. You can't make out the shooter in the darkness, or if they have any company. Almost immediately Smoke is back on her feet. Her geist seems to merge with her, twisting and contorting her body in horrifyingly unnatural ways as she starts moving towards the men. The sides of her mouth stretch out, first as if she's grinning, but it continues to stretch until the sides of her mouth are almost touching her ears, teeth growing long and pointed. An additional pair of arms sprouts from her sides. "Help", she growls at you. You are now in combat. Everyone describe their actions. For those who are new to this type of game, combat is slightly different to regular turns. While in combat, actions should be short - roughly five seconds or so - and should describe a single thing you're trying to do. E.g. 'I drop a ute', 'I punch a guy', 'I use a power', that kind of thing. You can ask questions prior to declaring your action, such as whether you could reach someone in a turn, additional info about your surroundings, etc.
|
|
#
?
Sep 13, 2014 04:10
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 25, 2024 15:53 |
|
|
I activate Primeval shroud 1. Is that my whole turn? If not, I'll head towards cover. I'm assuming the shooter is in the same direction as the other bad guys and I'm looking for cover from that direction.
|
|
#
?
Sep 13, 2014 05:02
|
|