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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_RTQk4YFnW0 Not many people left who could tell you this story, and I don’t suspect I’ll be able to tell it much longer. But you got to keep telling it to them who don’t know it, or it’ll all be lost in the dust. The year was 1935. That was when it all fell down around our ears. Maybe it started before then, but that was when we knew there was no going back. It was three calamities that brought us to our knees.  Used to be, everybody wanted to go to the city and make a fortune. Every farm kid and two-bit hustler thought the city was the place to be. And it was, ‘til the banks all croaked. 1929, that was. Suddenly nobody had a job, even them that’d lived there all their lives. Everybody was hungry, and nobody could afford to get out. The honchos in Washington couldn’t do a thing about it, ‘cept set up lines for bread and soup. They called it a depression, and but all we knew was it was hard times.  The next was worse. We thought we’d beat the Spanish flu back in the ‘teens but it came roaring back and overtook us. The government tried to hide it for as long as they could, said they didn’t want a panic in all us poor folk. But soon nobody could ignore the bodies flooding the streets or morgues.  The president begged for help from other countries, but not a bit ever came. Guess they had their own problems, didn’t want to touch us with a ten foot stick. Now everybody was running, like rats from a ship. There were rumors of clean places, safe places, to the west and south. And so that’s where they ran, toward the west coast and the Gulf. A few got lucky enough to go back to farming, but most just ended up as road people, living off what they could find and the small mercies of strangers. Soon the cities were all but empty no-man’s-lands, full of rotting buildings and huge vermin.  Then the dust came. 1935. All them amber waves of grain turned to fine sand and parched bones. The air choked with it, the sky blackened and the land itself seemed to rise up like a hive of wicked hornets.  That was what finally broke the back of the country. That next year there was no election. Far as anybody outside heard, America was dead. Not that anyone noticed. Things’d changed. Small tribes popped up trying to scratch themselves out a place. Feuds turned to wars, fighting over a little oil derrick or a fresh spring. A gun was the most valuable friend you could have in those last days, and life came cheaper by far.  But things started to get stranger. At first, nobody noticed the signal. We was all too busy fighting for our lives and trying not to starve to death. But when things settled a bit, everyone could hear it. Some said it sounded like the static of an untuned radio station, some like when you turn off an engine, that high whine. Hell you probably don’t know what it’s like to not hear it. Started getting stories of ghosts from those who were stupid enough to head back to the cities and lucky enough to get out. Could be all tall tales, but I’ve heard of stranger things too, holding on just like us, out there in the wilds. At least ghosts look human.  Welcome to the dust choked wasteland that was once the American midwest! Its been nearly 30 years since the US government fell and the dust has done nothing but spread. So tell me, who are you? How do you survive in this barren land? What stories have you heard? What do you cling to in the shifting sand? I'm looking for 3-5 people who can post every day or two, and I'm probably going to stick with the standard playbooks unless somebody gives me a really good reason. Feel free to ask me any questions you might have about the game.
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Jun 15, 2014 03:57
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Oh this sounds awesome. Gonna post a character tonight.
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Jun 15, 2014 04:19
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(Nevermind!) ritorix fucked around with this message at 03:45 on Jun 17, 2014 |
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Jun 15, 2014 05:05
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Sin - The Brainer Nobody quite knows when Sin got into town. Weren't too many other people wanting to set up shop in the dust-duned hallways of St. Dymphna's, after all. The blood never did scour all the way out of the walls, and weren't nobody terrible fussed about those poor demented souls in the chaos of the fall. Probably all starved to death, poor fuckers. Or drowned in silt. Was quiet for ages, and then...one day there were just lights in the windows, ghostly and spectral through the dirt. And gradually the sight of that ghastly clown mask, battered with wear and stained in ways that don't much bear thinking about, became, if not comfortable, then at least familiar. Still, if you can get over the mask, and the lurching tentpole nature of the man(?) and the high, shrill voice...well, he seems all right, as folk go these days. Always willing to lend a hand in times of need, stand in defense against the ravening of the outside world, and dig a fella out after a dust storm. And all right, so he knows a little more than seems right. Still, that comes in right handy sometimes. How do you survive in this barren land? Sin's got the remnants of a fairly decent library in the ruins of an old asylum, left to linger for decades uncared for. Between that and his...extra senses, he's able to make some scratch as an information broker. He's managed to get a few scraggly edible plants to grow in a corner of the asylum's arboretum as well, though it's not enough by itself to fully feed him, much less anyone else. And sometimes he's able to provide other services on a case by case basis. Also, depending, a Chopper or Hardholder might well retain his services directly. What stories have you heard? Some folk claim that the dust's got a heart - a center from which the hunger radiates. Might be that center's sentient, might be that it was some sort of weapon. Hard to say. But the other implication? Get far enough out and things might be a fair sight better. If you can get that far out. Mighty long road... Oh, and that buzz? Radio signal is about right. It's just that most folks don't have radios for this one. Sin, though... What do you cling to in these shifting sands? As strange and offputting as Sin is, he goes by that name for a reason. Redemption for that sin's what the man craves. But there's a distinct lack of baptismal fonts around to wash him clean. pre:Look: Concealed gender; abnormally tall, awkwardly angular and skinny; wearing faded professional suit, as though a doctor, with battered, stained clown mask and black gloves; pale, watery eyes. Stats: Cool: +1 Hard: -2 Hot: -1 Sharp: +2 Weird: +2 Moves: Casual brain receptivity: when you read someone, roll+weird instead of roll+sharp. Your victim has to be able to see you, but you don’t have to interact. Direct-brain whisper projection: you can roll+weird to get the effects of going aggro, without going aggro. Your victim has to be able to see you, but you don’t have to interact. If your victim forces your hand, your mind counts as a weapon (1-harm ap close loud-optional). Gear: scalpels (3-harm intimate hi-tech) a dusty, worn suit and tie, slightly ill-fitting a creepy clown mask psychiatric/medical gear (somewhat worn) worth 5 barter violation glove (hand hi-tech) For purposes of brainer moves, mere skin contact counts as time and intimacy. (Thin black gloves with a strange webbing on the underside. Worn everywhere he goes.) pain-wave projector (1-harm ap area loud reload hi-tech) Goes off like a reusable grenade. Hits everyone but you. (This looks like a tightly wound spring of an unknown metal. If compressed sharply twice within about five seconds, the spring uncoils, producing a psychic scream like that of someone being tortured to death. It then has to be recoiled to be used again.) Special: If you and another character have sex, you automatically do a deep brain scan on them, whether you have the move or not. Roll+weird as normal. However, the MC chooses which questions the other character’s player answers. XP: 0 Harm: 0 HX: Doc: +3 Bean: +3 Dagny: +3 Jack: +2 Chaplain: +1 malkav11 fucked around with this message at 05:08 on Jun 26, 2014 |
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Jun 15, 2014 08:18
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Hey FP! This looks like a great concept for AW! I wish I had more time right now 
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Jun 15, 2014 15:18
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Sin: How did you deal with the look that man gave you, even after you helped him? Where was it that you last felt like you belonged? Do you think that knowing the signal a little more intimately has changed you? Frankie:Who taught you how to take care of a rig like Old Bessie? Do you have any regular clients or are you more catch-as-catch-can? What do people pay you in? hctibyllis: This is all your fault for turning me on to Carnivale 
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Jun 16, 2014 00:13
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This looks really cool! Fausts pen would you mind if I submitted a Hardholder? I haven't played a ton of Apocalypse World before, but it seems like the Hardholder could be a bit unmanageable at times.
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Jun 16, 2014 01:22
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deadking posted:This looks really cool! Fausts pen would you mind if I submitted a Hardholder? I haven't played a ton of Apocalypse World before, but it seems like the Hardholder could be a bit unmanageable at times. Actually, having a Hardholder can be great because it'll both give a stable(ish) home base as well as some internal tension. Go for it!
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Jun 16, 2014 13:06
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I'm on an AW roll, I guess- this sounds fun! Chaplain, The Gunlugger There's a desire, here, buried inside the people. A gnawing hunger for something more, something deeper, something that transcends man. It's not enough to eke out a meager existence in the dunes. It's the same hunger that was there before, but the Dust has magnified it, made it more sharp. It's not a dull ache anymore, but now more like a needle, jabbing hot into that dark corner of your brain. That was my job before, before the darkness, before the fall. I ministered to that hunger, helping people fill it with something more than themselves. I used to work for God, telling people about His love and grace. Letting people know that their desires could be fulfilled by our Good Lord. That's a tough sell, these days. But that hole in the soul, needing fill, that's still there. I preach when I can, telling people that there's a guardian angel out there for everyone, and that those who live pure lives get the better angels. Most people don't want to hear about it. But some, some find the ability to hear what I'm saying, and ease their suffering by connecting to the Word of God. Of course, some people aren't willing to listen, and that's when a more poignant message is required. How do you survive in this barren land? An exchange of favors. There's a lot of injustice in this world of ours, and I've got a divine mandate to mete out what fairness I can. I took a vow of poverty a long, long time ago, so I don't take cash. No payments of any kind. Usually a soft bed and a warm meal is enough of a trade, but occasionally I'll find someone who's got a service I require. I keep a list of those favors in the back of my Bible. You never know what help you might need when the Devil's knocking at your door. Also, when the occasion calls for it, I'll give a sermon and offer confession. Sometimes a town needs a minister. What stories have you heard? I've heard people tell me that they've seen God in the whirlwinds. That He walks the earth, touching those with His radiance where he can. They say you can hear His message, buzzing out of the Dust, and if you open your mind and listen you'll receive His glorious message. I can tell you right now, with certainty, that whatever's walking around out there isn't God. Not my god, anyway. It might be a dark spirit, maybe even the Devil himself, but if I come face to face with whatever's making that noise I won't be kneeling in awe. I'm going to be standing, and I'll have my biggest shooter locked and loaded. What do you cling to in these shifting sands? The one thing I can cling to, which is God's Love. I've still got my rosary, wrapped around my wrist, and it's the feeling I'm doing something worth more than my mortal life that keeps me going. Each bandit I drive off from a God-fearing family is one more step forward into the Kingdom I get to take. pre:Chaplain, the Gunlugger Look Man in custom homemade armor (armored suit w/ collar) Bony face, sad eyes, battered body Stats Cool+1 Hard(+3) Hot-2 Sharp+2 Weird-1 Moves Battlefield instincts: when you open your brain to the world’s psychic maelstrom, roll+hard instead of roll+weird, but only in battle. Insano like Drano: you get +1hard (hard+3). NOT TO BE hosed WITH: in battle, you count as a gang (3-harm gang small), with armor according to the circumstances. Gear Fuckoff MG (3-harm close/far area ap messy) Serious magnum (3-harm close reload ap loud) Serious ap ammo backup many knives (2-harm hand infinite) Barter If you’re charging someone wealthy for your services, 1-barter is the going rate for: one act of murder extortion or other violence one week’s employment as bodyguard or gang leader one month’s employment as thug-on-hand. sephiRoth IRA fucked around with this message at 18:45 on Jun 16, 2014 |
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Jun 16, 2014 16:15
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 Dagny, the Operator To hear the old folks tell it, this place used to be a paradise. Food? Just run into one of the fields that covered this place and grab it. Booze? All over the place, even if it was against whatever used to call itself the law. Fuel? Bubbling up out of the ground, uncoaxed, and ready for you to throw into your hot rod of choice. A lot of folks get all sorts of down, wishing for what was, or may have been. gently caress nostalgia - the world's as bountiful as its ever been. You've just got to be clever enough and ruthless enough and willing enough to take it. How do you survive in this barren land? You gotta know people to survive. It pays to have someone willing to be a set of eyes or ears - you can't be everywhere at once. You see a house, or homestead, no one there? You bet your bottom dollar there's something worth it inside. Most chickenshits grab the first shiny object they can carry and bolt, but patience is a virtue. Most importantly, you gotta keep making moves - you get complacent and the dust turns to quicksand real fast. What stories have you heard? Half my job is sifting through piles of bullshit looking for gold. What I can tell you is that I've heard it from multiple reliable sources that the dust is actin' funny. Receding or lessening in some places, and overtaking some of what used to be considered the calmer spots. A shame, I used to think I knew the area, but it seems the area doesn't want to be known anymore. What do you cling to in the shifting sands? Somewhere out there, the dust is hiding plenty. Most stores and factories are picked clean, but I'm sure there's a stockpile of something worth sinking into the quicksand of retirement for. pre:Dagny, the Operator Look: Woman, Vintage Wear, Pretty Face, Weary Eyes, Energetic Body Stats: Cool+2 / Hard=0 / Hot-1 / Sharp+2 / Weird-1 XP: X X X O O Harm: - Operator Moves: Moonlighting: you get 2-juggling. Whenever there’s a stretch of downtime in play, or between sessions, choose a number of your gigs to work. Choose no more than your juggling. Roll+cool. On a 10+, you get profit from all the gigs you chose. On a 7–9, you get profit from at least 1; if you chose more, you get catastrophe from 1 and profit from the rest. On a miss, catastrophe all around. ?e gigs you aren’t working give you neither profit nor catastrophe. Whenever you get a new gig, you also get +1juggling. Easy to Trust: when you try to seduce or manipulate another player’s character, roll+Hx instead of roll+hot. An NPC, roll+cool instead of roll+hot. Gigs: Deliveries (1-Barter/Bushwhacked) Scavenging (1-Barter/Impoverished) Brokering Deals (1-Barter / Shut Out) Pursuing Luxury (Beauty in your Life / You Wind Up in a Bad Spot) Crew/Contacts: Jackson (Sneak-thief, male) Irene (Shotgun-toting drunkard, female) Gear: 9mm (2-Harm Close Loud) Oddments worth 1-Barter (A stock of pre-Apocalypse magazines) Red Dress, with a heavy-woven long woolen coat (1-Armor) Hx with: Sin : +/-0 Bean: + 3 Chaplain: +3 Jack: +2 Doc: +2 Jolinaxas fucked around with this message at 09:37 on Jul 9, 2014 |
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Jun 16, 2014 17:59
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Jack Callahan, the Hardholder Jack can barely remember a time before Saint Theresa’s. There was a blue house with white trim and parents. Then, one day Jack coughed up blood and his parents sent him to the consumption ward. Jack grew to adulthood within the sanatorium’s walls. His condition, while in remission, was chronic and hope for a cure and release was small, so Jack became intimately familiar the sanatorium and its grounds. When the dust came in ’35 the doctors and the staff fled, abandoning the inmates in order to save themselves and their own families. In their absence, Jack took charge of the sanatorium and its resources. The first years after the dust were hard. Desperate people from the surrounding area came looking for food and took it by force when Jack turned them down. Jack learned some hard lesions during this time, but the sanatorium endured. Its residents stockpiled food and weapons, boarded up the windows, and learned to endure. Now, Saint Theresa’s has become a tiny island of stability in a world gone mad. Still, the dust-storms rage outside and roving bands stalk the wastes, willing to kill for a crust of bread; keeping the sanatorium a safe place for its residents to live and for peaceful newcomers to put up their feet and do a bit of business takes constant work. How do you survive in this barren land? Jack makes his way in this god-forsaken world by overseeing Saint Theresa’s. Formerly a tuberculosis sanatorium, Jack has converted the building into a stronghold against the dustbowl. The residents grow crops on the grounds and Jack allows outsiders to meet at the sanatorium and conduct business, taking a percentage for providing a safe venue. What stories have you heard? Somewhere out there, right before things went bad, found a cure for consumption. The scientists’ lab is supposedly at the center of the storm, surrounded by howling winds. Still, the story gives Jack a glimmer of hope that one day he might cure himself and the other residents of St Theresa’s who suffer from the disease. What do you cling to in these shifting sands? Family. Jack was long ago abandoned by his parents and has come to see the residents of Saint Theresa’s as a surrogate family. Protecting them has become Jack’s primary concern. quote:Look: Hardhold: Saint Theresa's Hospital  Saint Theresa’s was originally built in the mid-19th century to provide a home and treatment center for people suffering from tuberculosis. During the second Spanish Flu outbreak, Saint Theresa’s became a de facto prison, quarantining the inmates from the outside world. When the dust came in 1935, the staff and doctors abandoned Saint Theresa’s, leaving the residents to fend for themselves.  The Cross of Lorraine. Once the international symbol of the fight against tuberculosis, now the insignia of Saint Theresa's and its militia. Since then, Jack Callahan has organized the residents and their children into an armed community. The population has been supplemented by families who have chosen to throw their lot in with the residents. The people of Saint Theresa’s make their living through crude farming and scavenging. Saint Theresa’s is also home to a market, where local traders exchange goods and information, under the watchful gaze of Saint Theresa’s militia. This militia is well-trained, having learned from experience over the years. Jack has further assured the safety of the hardhold by paying off some of the local gangs. He has also overseen the addition of makeshift fortifications to the sanatorium.  Members of St Theresa's militia, in a lighter moment. Unfortunately, disease is a perennial problem at Saint Theresa’s. Many of the residents and their children still suffer from consumption. Jack has attempted to stop the disease from spreading by making those with symptoms wear masks and by isolating those with acute symptoms in a separate dormitory. quote:Choose 4: deadking fucked around with this message at 19:43 on Jun 22, 2014 |
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Jun 16, 2014 18:02
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Chaplain:What did you do when that group of bandits tried to use you? What have you heard about the cults springing up out of the dust? Have you ever taken a life you didn't need or intend to? Dagny:What was your last big score, and what did it get you? What does retirement look like to you? Do you have any friends who aren't also clients? Jack: Don't forget to outline your holding, its a pretty big part of the character! What do you do for food and fuel at St Theresa's? How well did everyone react during that last black blizzard that came through? How do you stop the TB from spreading to the uninfected in your holding? Great apps everybody! I'll probably keep accepting them until about Friday (or sooner if I get a lot more) and then I'll pick five of them. Once again, feel free to ask questions, since I'm certainly going to ask you some! That is, assuming the SA robot gods look kindly on us.
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Jun 16, 2014 18:34
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Yeah, sorry I just finished typing up the second half of the post. The information's been edited into my previous post.
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Jun 16, 2014 18:52
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What was your last big score, and what did it get you? Well, me and a couple fellas I know, Morris and Santa Fe, we were rummaging around this farmhouse. The root and canning cellar was, as usual, picked clean, but the fella who lived there - a pastor, judging by the bibles and stuff lying around - must've figured something awful was comin' and hid a bunch of canned goods and whiskey in the floorboards under his bed. Morris is one hefty son of a bitch, and found it accidentally while steppin' over where the bed furniture used to be. We managed to get enough in trade to pal around for a while, score some cigarettes, -and- get Morrie's leg unbroke and unsplintered. Well, mostly, anyways... What does retirement look like to you? A house, enough of whatever the hell I need to trade to live comfortably, and a bunch of fellas scary enough to keep bandits away, but easy enough on the eyes to keep me from gettin' bored. Do you have any friends who aren't also clients? You say that like those things are mutually exclusive. Lemme ask you this - if a real old pal of yours screwed you on a business deal, he wouldn't exactly be counted among your friends anymore, now would he? The same goes in reverse. Now, technically I haven't had any business dealings with Greta as of yet. A real odd duck, that one - still lives with her pa, helpin' him carry stuff to market. He's some kind of tinker, I guess you'd call him. Better than makin' a living on her back, like her sister.
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Jun 16, 2014 19:53
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Psalms 38:12 "Those also who seek my life lay snares for me; Those who seek my hurt speak of destruction, And plan deception all the day long." It wasn't the first time somebody tried to con me, and I'm sure it will not be the last. There are many deceivers in this world. I came to a town, once, maybe a hundred people total. Small town feel, certainly. I offered my services as a holy man, and was approached by several local farmers. They told me that the man who had taken the mantle of "town protector" had recently begun to require significant taxes for his protective services. It was to the point that the farmers' families were starving. I should have seen the demon in their eye, but I was blinded by their unassuming and meek nature. The act was very convincing. They offered several days' worth of food to remove the lawman from this mortal plane and I accepted, fool that I was. My first bullet hit him in the spine, for which I thank the good Lord daily. It probably paralyzed him, so he didn't feel when my second and third rounds punched out his kidney and perforated his liver. I stood over him, offering last rites as he deserved, when he began to cry. Not tears of fear, or anger, but as he whispered his last I realized they were tears of sadness. The "farmers" were actually bandits who had set upon the town in the last month. There were nightly raids, and the town was suffering greatly. This man I had just killed was the town's last hope. His blood had barely dried when a group of fifteen men came to pillage and raze the entire area. I had done the Devil's work, and I still give prayers for redemption for my bloody act. I had to atone, of course, for releasing this blight, these evil men upon the town. I did what I felt God was telling me to do. I killed them all. Leviticus 26:30 "I will destroy your high places, cut down your incense altars, and cast your carcasses on the lifeless forms of your idols; and My soul shall abhor you." I have heard of those that follow the false god. As I was saying previously, I do believe there is a spirit in that foul cloud, and it has ensnared many to its infernal path. I have met only one person I would truly call a servant of this spirit, a man who walked in a cloak of sand, whose touch withered plants and people alike. He preached on how the Dust would consume us all, and to welcome its dry embrace, for only those who chose to follow now would be redeemed. I wasn't entirely certain I was witnessing the act of a man, but I was reassured when my knife found his dirt-choked heart. There is a foul presence seeking to devour, prowling like a lion, waiting for our shield of faith to falter. I will find the source of these dark cults, I will end it, this I promise in the name of God. Romans 6:23 "For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life through Christ our Lord." I have made transgressions in the past. These are not acts I am proud of, nor are they acts that I believe were unavoidable. I have taken life in anger, and my punishment for those sins will be between me and God. There is one instance that I will tell you about, as a lesson about the nature of man's wrath. We are all weak beings, and while made in the image of God we lack His grace and mercy, among many other traits. There was a family I knew well: the father, his wife, and his three small sons. I happened to be staying with them while his brother was visiting as well. I suppose he saw my armaments and figured he could weasel some material wealth out of me. He claimed that I was abusing him during the night, and demanded that my friend take something from me in recompense. I denied his charge, but my friend was angry. We fought. Thankfully I did not shed his blood, but he did receive injuries that plague him to this day. I received my own scars. I departed and have not darkened their door. I regret that I have lost a friend, but I regret more what came later. I came across the brother, years later in a different place. He was a barber, and appeared to be living a life of kindness, from what I heard from other people in the camp. That did not stay my hand, unfortunately. It was only after I had taken his life that I had realized my mortal sin began the very day I left my friend in anger. Forgiveness then would have prevented my wrath now. God will have words for me the day I reach His gates, and I hope that I will be forgiven despite my failure to forgive. This is seriously the most fun I've had writing a character. Sure it's a bit hacky, but it's fun as hell to quote bible verses and poo poo. Edited for clarity/re-write sephiRoth IRA fucked around with this message at 04:21 on Jun 17, 2014 |
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Jun 16, 2014 20:17
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Lot's of good AW settings lately. Maybe I'll be lucky enough to get into this one. I'll get something posted tonight. Leaning towards a pulp inspired Savyhead.
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Jun 16, 2014 23:15
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Fausts Pen posted:Sin: How did you deal with the look that man gave you, even after you helped him? quote:Where was it that you last felt like you belonged? quote:Do you think that knowing the signal a little more intimately has changed you?
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Jun 17, 2014 01:06
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Doc, the Angel Who are you? Doc. It’s not the name I was born with; I got a real name, first and last, like most of us born before the bad years. But everyone calls me Doc, so… that’s what I go by. If it isn’t obvious, I patch people up, try and keep ‘em from getting sick. Been doing it since before all this happened, I’ll probably keep on doing it until I can’t. How do you survive in this barren land? People get hurt, they need someone to fix ‘em. I can set a broken bone, sew up a cut, fight off infections… most of the time, anyway. I save lives, friend, and those that I can’t save, I ease their passing. That is a valuable commodity in these trying times. Fix someone up and you won’t ever have to pay for your own drinks in that town, I tell you. What stories have you heard? Had a guy on my table once, covered in all these short but deep cuts, looked like he’d run through a tangle of roses, only with thorns three inches long and sharp as all hell. He was burning up and delirious from some kind of poison or toxin. His buddies said they’d been caught in a dust storm and they didn’t see what happened. He spent the night in a kind of agony I wouldn’t wish on anyone and died. Never seen anything like it. Don’t know what could do that to a man, but I’m extra careful not to get caught by dust storms out in the open these days. What do you cling to in the shifting sand? The signal. Lot of folks don’t like it, especially folks born before the bad days who remember what it was like without it. But it comforts me for some reason. I dunno. Makes things peaceful. And when I hear the signal, I find that… well, I can touch someone and take away their pain. I can’t explain it. It just happens. So when I feel anxious or afraid or overwhelmed… I just listen to the signal. quote:Look: Man. Casual wear plus utility. Rugged face. Hard eyes. Sturdy body. BlurryMystr fucked around with this message at 10:00 on Jun 27, 2014 |
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Jun 17, 2014 02:38
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On second thought I probably don't have time to dedicate to an AW game right now, but I'll be reading!
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Jun 17, 2014 03:45
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Bean, the Skinner. Bean was a solo act before the whole hullabaloo went down, and when things finally turned their worst he let his saxophone do his wailing for him. Following a few simple tenets of showmanship, the performer eased into his new surroundings as smoothly as the notes he played. Sure, some things were a li'l different, but the rules of the stage stayed the same. -Rule one: broadcast an invitation. Whenever Bean's about to play, you can bet the whole town knows it. People put up fliers even if the dry winds tear them down right afterwords. -Rule two: project warmth, passion, and enthusiasm. Watching him play is an intimate experience, and every ounce of his demeanor oozes sentimentality and compassion. The stage is his home, and all viewers are his honored guests. -Rule three: take control. Once Bean raises that horn to his lips, no one else makes a sound. Not out of courtesy or respect, it just isn't possible to think about anything else when the man starts his serenade. A curious person might start to question that. After all, Ol' Bean's been broadcast all over the radio waves before it all happened. You don't think.. Nah, that's just crazy talk. After putting on a few performances and living the high life for a while, Bean typically moves on to the next town quote:Look: Man wearing luxe wear, with a sweet face, laughing eyes, quick hands, and a fat body. red plastic cup fucked around with this message at 18:39 on Jun 28, 2014 |
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Jun 17, 2014 05:08
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Doc:Tell me about your assistants, what are their names and how did they get hooked up with you? What keeps you up at night? Have you become a different person since the dust came? Bean:How do you get around? What was that weird thing that happened the last time you played? Have you ever taken advantage of anybody to make a buck?
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Jun 17, 2014 14:42
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My character is still incoming. After having some time to think on it, I decided my initial concept didn't make much sense. Going to take a little time to rethink it and plan my Savyhead a little better. Should have it posted before Friday. Oh, and I promise it won't take so long to make posts once I have the character worked out, should I get into the game. It always takes more energy for me to create the character than to actually play.
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Jun 17, 2014 14:45
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glitchwraith posted:My character is still incoming. After having some time to think on it, I decided my initial concept didn't make much sense. Going to take a little time to rethink it and plan my Savyhead a little better. Should have it posted before Friday. Oh, and I promise it won't take so long to make posts once I have the character worked out, should I get into the game. It always takes more energy for me to create the character than to actually play. No worries, that's why I figured a week would be good!
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Jun 17, 2014 15:02
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Man, I want to put a character in but I'm probably over committed to games already.
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Jun 17, 2014 15:16
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Fausts Pen posted:Jack: Don't forget to outline your holding, its a pretty big part of the character! What do you do for food and fuel at St Theresa's? "We grow our own food at Saint Theresa's. The greenhouses keep the dust off the crops and make up for the poor sunlight. They're a pain in the neck to maintain though. There's not a lot of glass around anymore, so if a panel breaks there's not much to do but board it up and wait for someone to find or make a replacement. Occasionally, the scavenger teams will find something edible out in the waste or a trader will sell us food. It'd probably be enough if we didn't have to pay off that damned Cutter and his boys." "Fuel, on the other hand, is always a problem. We're totally dependent on trading for it, and the supply's far from steady. Electricity's a luxury around these parts, so we burn wood to say warm and candles for light. We've got a couple of clunkers as well, but we can't run them that often." quote:How well did everyone react during that last black blizzard that came through? "The last blizzard taught us a valuable lesson about over-extending ourselves. The hold's been growing, and there isn't enough room for everyone in the original buildings. We've been putting up cabins and palisades on the grounds to house newcomers. The dust tends to be thicker in the valleys, so we started building new structures on the hill opposite the sanatorium. The black blizzard tore it all down, and anyone out there without a mask died choking on dust. The families of those people blamed me for a while, and they're probably right to do it; I shouldn't have sent work crews so far away from shelter." quote:How do you stop the TB from spreading to the uninfected in your holding? Preventing the spread of consumption is a delicate issue. Consumption often goes dormant, so without a doctor there's no way of knowing how many people are infected. That said, wearing masks in public is mandatory, as is reporting anyone who starts showing acute symptoms. Anyone with symptoms is confined to the right wing of the hospital building so they can hopefully recover. Without a surgeon, however, there isn't much we can do other than prevent the spread of the disease. Only half of the people in quarantine live to make it out. These rules are the source of a lot of tension here. For good reason, those who suffer from the disease feel that Saint Theresa's is theirs by right and resent the rules, which they see as favoring uninfected newcomers. On the other hand, I suspect the uninfected would rather run off the infected and have done with it. They haven't dared say it to my face, though; not yet in any case.
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Jun 17, 2014 16:03
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Fausts Pen posted:Bean:How do you get around? Have you ever taken advantage of anybody to make a buck? Well, I tend to keep my eyes and ears open when it comes to folks who might give a feller a lift. Nobody wants to travel much these days, and I don't blame 'em! drat place is a hellhole and a half! Still, I got my ways. After a show, I like to look around the audience and see who sticks around. There's always a few, usually some awestruck young man or pretty young slip of a girl who wants to see how I do things. I make a big show of it the next day, about how ol' Bean's got himself a partner, and he's gonna take his show on the road! The townsfolk are usually pretty happy to offer us up some means of transportation after that. Of course, my partners don't stick around too long. Usually I just blow their brains out once we get out on the road. What can I say? Feller like me is a rare commodity in these parts, and I can't have no competition wondering around. A man's gotta take what he can get. Fausts Pen posted:What was that weird thing that happened the last time you played? Last time I played it was for an audience of ghosts. You see, the place was called Ephraim and few weeks back half the townsfolk decided to pack up and head for the hills in search of greener pastures or some other nonsense like that. Bunch of dummies if you ask me. Anyway, when I walked out on stage, I saw a full house staring back at me, even though there was no where near that many people for miles! It was hard to tell which ones was ghosts at first, but if you stared at one long enough, you'd start to see through 'em. Don't know if anyone else saw 'em, but once I was up on stage I just let the music take over. I figure them spooks like a li'l song and dance just as much as the next feller. Didn't bother me too much at the time, but I didn't stay in Ephraim for too much longer after that.
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Jun 18, 2014 03:35
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Fausts Pen posted:Doc:Tell me about your assistants, what are their names and how did they get hooked up with you? What keeps you up at night? Have you become a different person since the dust came? I used to move around a lot - have scalpel, will travel, you know? Sometimes I'd meet someone who wanted to come with me. Lots of worse ways to earn your bed and breakfast than helping out an old sawbones. And a lotta these kids - most of them were under twenty - I was their best chance at getting out of bad situations. I had five assistants at one point, had ourselves a little traveling clinic. That was nice. But I'm not as spry as I used to be and I needed to settle in one place. Bank and Fisher stayed and helped me set up shop, the rest went their own ways. Bank's a good kid, a little slow but he follows instructions to the letter. Fisher's bright, but she lacks patience. They balance each other out most of the time. Sometimes when I'm lying in bed, I listen to the signal and I'll think that I can pick out a pattern in all that noise. I'll lie there for hours trying to make sense of it, figure out what it's trying to tell me. Then the sun is up and I have to start another day. I'm definitely a different person than I was before the dust. I studied medicine to make a living; I was more concerned with helping myself than helping others. Now, it's all that matters to me. The dust and the signal have helped me find my calling.
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Jun 18, 2014 04:24
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Sin:What did you do when that little girl tried to look under your mask while you were sleeping? What did you last do for some scratch? Have you ever encountered anything strange between towns? Chaplain:Have you ever had any travel companions or followers? Guns have to get hard to take care of in the dust, have you modified them at all? What passage do you turn to when things are at their worst, for you or others? Dagny:Why'd you refuse to take the cave job? Where do you go when things go wrong? What have you done that you're proud of? Jack:With so many people in the Sanatorium, you certainly can't do everything yourself. Who are your lieutenants? Do you celebrate any holidays? What did you do with the man who came in babbling about monsters? Doc:How did you find out about your new abilities? Why were those people afraid of you? How do you defend your infirmary? Bean:What kind of connection do you have with your instrument? How did you get out of your last bad scrape? You seem like a pretty bad guy, do you have any soft spots?
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Jun 18, 2014 21:21
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I've decided, due to lack of time and knowledge of 1930s technology, to not submit my savyhead character. Thanks for the opportunity though. I hope the game goes well. 
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Jun 19, 2014 13:46
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There was a woman, once - Margret. Not in the sense you're probably thinking, of course, but rather a chaste young woman drawn to the glory of God. She saw my work and believed it was something worth a sacrifice. But the path of righteousness is fraught with difficulty and she became unwilling to make the decisions required of her. Sometimes the failings of our fellow man help us strengthen our own resolve; she simply reached a point where she could no longer end another human's life. She claimed she had too much blood on her soul. I told her that without people like us, who would stem the tide of evil? It is the cost we must pay. We parted as friends. She's had children since then, and I visit her and her husband frequently. I love those children like the ones I never had or will have. --- Ah, the guns. I permit myself few pleasures, and one of them is meticulous care of my holy weapons. The dust does seem to render everything back to its original form, doesn't it? Guns were originally very simple, with few moving parts. They were, of course, very unreliable at the outset of their history, but their mechanisms were easy to manipulate. As guns got more advanced, so did they get more complicated. Lots of tiny parts for dirt and grime to gum up; in a mission such as mine, where many seek my death, having my gun jam is undesirable. I chose weapons with a very low failure rate for precisely that reason. The magnum is plain- a simple trigger and hammer, requiring only basic care. My other beauty, however, is much more complicated, requiring much more attention. I make sure everything is lubricated, and have altered the it by stripping the weapon down to an almost bare-bones configuration. Instead of attempting to keep the dust out of the firing mechanism, I have removed all covers leaving the working parts open to the environment. I find it is easier to clean the weapon quickly that way, rather than letting dust accumulate in unseen places. Much like our souls, keeping things hidden inside can cause significant damage. --- There are many! So many bits of wisdom to choose from contained in the Word. Most might tell you the Lord's Prayer, but I find that there are passages much more specific to the life I lead. Psalm 27:1-3 The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? When the wicked came against me to eat up my flesh, my enemies and foes, they stumbled and fell. Though an army may encamp against me, my heart shall not fear; though war may rise against me, in this I will be confident. See? Extremely pertinent. Clothed in the armor of God I will be unstoppable in this dusty place.
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Jun 19, 2014 14:51
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Why'd you refuse to take the cave job? I wasn't gonna take it anyway, on account of the no-good crew that Joyride was puttin' me in with, but well, it's like this: any cave you find is going to be caked, positively choking, in dust. If there's anyone in there, they're going to be the kind of crazy you really don't want to tangle with. And they're dark as gently caress, so you gotta carry a light of some kind, which makes you easy to spot. I don't like caves, okay? Where do you go when things go wrong? Well, there's this small town - Grafton, I think it's called - where I offload merch sometimes - the townfolk themselves are gossipy as hell, but outside, there's a bunch of grain silos - long cleared out, before you ask - that are a real keen spot to lie low in, as long as you bring supplies. What have you done that you're proud of? I hate to brag, but I'm real proud of this series of jobs I pulled for this kinda creepy family a little ways north. They kept askin' me for very strange things - big ol' curtains, wood varnish. They had the goods to back up their jobs, so I did what I could. Turns out they were fixing up an old theater! One of these days, I might head back up that way and see if they're puttin' on shows.
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Jun 20, 2014 00:45
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Fausts Pen posted:Sin:What did you do when that little girl tried to look under your mask while you were sleeping? quote:What did you last do for some scratch? quote:Have you ever encountered anything strange between towns?
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Jun 20, 2014 01:17
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Fausts Pen posted:Jack:With so many people in the Sanatorium, you certainly can't do everything yourself. Who are your lieutenants? "In the beginning -when everything went bad- it was just me and some of the other patients, scared and looking to me to get them through each day. We've grown since then; the men and women who were interned here have started families, and their children are just starting to reach adulthood. We've also taken refugees in over the years who don't always have the same attachment to Saint Theresa's as consumption patients." "All this means I've had to rely on others to help keep this place running. Sister Catherine has been with me the longest. She's the only staff member who didn't run off when the dust came. Instead she stayed to help the people to whom she had dedicated her life. Today, she still represents the interests of the original denizens of the sanatorium. I think some of the newcomers resent her for this; ironic seeing as she was the one who first convinced me to open our gates to outsiders. Catherine also oversees the manufactory, directing those people who are quarantined "Alice Clarke speaks for most of the newcomers. A lot of these folks are farmers or road people who left the cities during the second Spanish Flu. When the dust came, the countryside wasn't safe anymore and people started looking for any form of shelter. Alice came to us about five years ago leading a group who'd been through hell. Alice studied at one of those agricultural colleges, so she's got the know-how to keep these people fed. She and I don't always see eye to eye, but I know she's got Saint Theresa's best interests at heart." "Calvin Johnson leads the militia. I've heard he was in the army right before things went to hell, but he's tight-lipped about it. He's responsible for training up a ragtag group of volunteers with busted equipment into a decent fighting force. On the other hand, the man's got a bad drinking problem, so I've been keeping an eye on him. Cal also keeps an eye on the marketplace and makes sure the people who come to do business give Saint Theresa her due without a fuss." quote:Do you celebrate any holidays? Holidays are a luxury we can scarcely afford in this dust-choked world. That said, we always have a communal meal on Christmas, and some people will exchange little gifts. I wouldn't call it a holiday, but depending on the harvest we'll have ourselves a little feast. Sister Catherine and some others try and keep track of Easter and celebrate it, but not me. If there ever was a God he isn't listening anymore. quote:What did you do with the man who came in babbling about monsters? "Look, the man was making a scene and scaring the little ones. Amos told him to stop shouting and come inside, but he wouldn't listen, so he had to crack him one. When the fellow came to he spun a crazy story about devils robed in whirling dust tearing the skin off his friends' bodies with claws as sharp as steel. He told us the last thing he heard before passing out was their cruel laughter. The man's clearly off his rocker or a drunk, but just in case I posted extra watches for a while."
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Jun 20, 2014 02:07
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Fausts Pen posted:Doc:How did you find out about your new abilities? Why were those people afraid of you? About a year after the dust came, I was spending time in a small camp of survivors, stitching 'em up to pay for my supper. It was a nice place, soil wasn't as dead as it was in most other places, there was grass and a few trees and they had a small garden going. A guy who was working on putting up defenses around the camp slipped and sliced open his leg. I was nearby at the time, so when they shouted for me, I was there quick and slapped my hands on the wound to slow the bleeding. I shouted for someone to grab my kit. As I was waiting there, trying to keep this dumbfuck kid from bleeding out with my bare hands, I kind of... zoned out. The signal got really loud in my head and it drowned everything out. When they finally brought the kit to me, I took my hands away and there was nothing there. Just a lot of blood smeared over intact skin. No one would come near me. They were all wide eyed and staring at me. I thought it was because of what I'd done, but then I looked down and saw that all the grass around me was dead. I left the next day. Fausts Pen posted:How do you defend your infirmary?
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Jun 20, 2014 03:14
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Fausts Pen posted:What kind of connection do you have with your instrument? The saxophone? I've had her for a long, long time. Back before the storms and the crash and all that nonsense, I was a soldier. Never saw any combat, but I did happen to play in the US Marine Band under the direction of a gentlemen by the name of Sousa. Kept the instrument after being discharged, but I didn't get the idea to start playing on my own until a few years later. Turns out I was still drat good at it, and I could turn a crowd even before the dust storms hit. Considering the likelihood of finding such a fine instrument in these times, I keep a pretty close eye on the thing. It's rare that I let it out of my sights, even. Fausts Pen posted:How did you get out of your last bad scrape? I'll tell you! I had just put on one hell of a show at a place called Welco's Creek. Ironic name, considering it was the driest place I've ever been. Anyway, I was resting up at the Mayor's house (feller offered me room and board after I played him a li'l ditty he knew from way back when) when this tall, thin man burst through the door. Shouted that his name was Press, that he was the daddy of my previous "partner", and that he found her body out in the wastes with a bullet through her head. He also wanted me dead, and he had a shotgun shell with my name on it. As you can see, I had to act pretty fast. The mayor of Welco's Creek didn't especially look like me, but we were both pretty large men. He's heading downstairs to see what the ruckus is about, when get the idea to yell out to Press and make him think the mayor was me. Sure enough, it worked just as I thought it would. Press blew the mayor away and I managed to slip out the back door before Press realized what he'd done. Don't know if he's still after me, but I do know the folks of Welco's Creek aren't gonna let him go easy. Fausts Pen posted:You seem like a pretty bad guy, do you have any soft spots? I like animals. Or at least, I like the ones that are still around. Animals will love you no matter how mean you are to 'em, but at least they got an excuse. They're stupid by nature, you see. People should know better than to trust a stranger who plays pretty music. I probably shouldn't complain, though. I make my living off of suckers like that, after all.
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Jun 20, 2014 04:27
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Alright everybody, signups are closed! And with nice round numbers and my own generosity I present: malkav11 as Sin, the Brainer areyoucontagious as Chaplain, the Gunlugger Jolinaxas as Dagny, the Operator deadking as Jack Callahan, the Hardholder BlurryMystr as Doc, the Angel and red plastic cup as Bean, the Skinner! So now its time to figure out what you already know: how and how well you all know each other. Using the Hx rules, I'd like each of you to flesh out your relationships a bit. You can be as long winded or as short as you please, just as long as everybody knows each other. I'd also like explanations from everyone who isn't Jack about how you came to be at Saint Theresa's and how closely you're associated. Once the Hx phase is over I'll let everybody know when I have the OP up, but you can expect about a day's turnaround. Ready? Go!
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Jun 21, 2014 03:59
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Bean Dagny.. Now there's a woman with an attitude I can admire. We have a way of finding each other whenever I roll into a town, and though I've never been too close to her, I can tell that she's got that same sort of cut-throat sense of self-preservation that I do. She's probably the closest thing I'd have to a friend in this madhouse hospital. Jolinaxas, Hx+2. Everyone else, Hx-0. Bean showed up at Saint Theresa's a few days ago, and he's been itching to leave ever since. No one wants to catch TB, but for a musician like him it would be the end of his career, and likely his life with it! I imagine he's weaseled his way into getting a room of his own in exchange for putting on a show at a later date. He's been uncharacteristically reclusive though, and mostly sticks to his room.
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Jun 21, 2014 06:06
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Fausts Pen posted:Alright everybody, signups are closed! And with nice round numbers and my own generosity I present: Should we all assume that we are a part of the Hardholder's settlement? I think it'd definitely be appropriate for my angel.
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Jun 21, 2014 06:30
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Sin I tell everyone HX -1: I keep myself secret. Doc has slept in my presence, as one of the common places I spend my time is his infirmary. I have some medical knowledge, and a keen sense of where things hurt, though I am admittedly not the most soothing bedside presence, so I can make myself useful there. And it is nice to occasionally save lives. But as well, he positively buzzes with the signal, and though its presence is manifesting as a power of life...I have my concerns. Best to keep an eye out. I ignore what Doc tells me and assign HX +3 Bean has also caught my eye, though I must be more circumspect with him. His signal seems angrier, more disturbing, and it's not yet clear to me how it manifests. He's human, though. I would not have let Jack welcome him in if he were not. I ignore what Bean tells me and assign HX +3 Dagny doesn't seem to like me very much. I cannot say I am surprised. The woman has no care for the deeper morals, no appreciation of the nature of sin...and so my motives do not seem to make sense to her. Who trusts what they cannot understand? I ignore what Dagny tells me and assign HX +3 I add one to the HX everyone else tells me. I understand more than they think. Sin's been wandering quite a while, but something about the mixture of lost souls and fragile safe haven in Saint Theresa's called to him and he turned up a couple years back, without fanfare. Somehow nobody really noticed his coming. And it's only a few that remember he wasn't there the whole time, in the shadows and the corners. He's harmless enough, despite his oddness, and he picked out space nobody else was willing to inhabit and has been doing the upkeep, so between that and the evident usefulness of his services, Jack's been happy enough to keep him around. (Obviously my original "he lives in an insane asylum nobody else wanted to go near" concept doesn't really work in the current hardhold context, but maybe a creepy abandoned outbuilding, or a disused corner? Up to you, Jack. Your place.
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Jun 21, 2014 06:58
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I tell everyone Hx+1 Jack Callahan once let me down in a pinch and left me holding the bill - I tell him Hx-1. A little while back (let's say two weeks), Dagny showed up with a bunch of shifty-looking associates, but he only wanted to let one of them in, since there was a premium on space (as explained in one of his posts, they've been expanding too fast). She had to slide them some extra trade-bait to help 'em out on their way to the next nearest civilized town. I add 1 to the Hx you all tell me - I depend upon clear relationships. Also - since I've never played with or as an Operator, how exactly should we handle the contacts/crew bit? I guess just have 1-2 NPCs - I don't think any of the other PCs quite fit the bill. As mentioned above, Dagny came into the hardhold about two weeks previous, having to send some "business associates" packing. She's down to the 1-barter she starts with (which I'll establish as a stock of pre-Apocalypse magazines in fairly good condition) after spending the rest of her trade goods on costs of living while waiting to hear anything that could lead her to another gig. Jolinaxas fucked around with this message at 10:22 on Jun 21, 2014 |
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Jun 21, 2014 10:11
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