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Tricky Dick Nixon posted:
Tesslyn's relationship with Azar started before Kaja's service, so she does not know the circumstances that brought them together, but knows Mother often spoke with Miss Tesslyn over grand schemes and affairs of the world, both material and immaterial. It was actually Tesslyn who invited Kaja to come to Doskvol to pursue the mystery of Azar's capture, and offers Kaja a room at The Red Lamp in return for occasional employment. Kaja only worked one night as a "Flower", which went...poorly. After disposing of the spirit and body and apologizing to the Red Sashes, it was easily decided that perhaps Kaja should use her sword for security purposes instead. Over time, she has grown close to the other Flowers, and often spends her earnings treating her friends to a night of luxuries themselves - Kaja is quick to admit she wouldn't know what else to spend the money on. 'Poppy' and 'Oregano' are two girls who pride themselves on getting Kaja to break her stoicism, 'Fern' enjoys their evenings with Kaja watching the stars twinkle bright against the embers of the broken sun, and 'Clover' quietly smiles when he is able to catch her eyes. (With nearly a millennium of darkness, names of plants we normally wouldn't consider flowers are used as names.) Madame Tesslyn sometimes provides Kaja with information on nobility with occult inclinations, yet none have led her any closer to finding her mother. Azar was a demon who claimed to mortals she thrived in the fires and desires of romance, and it was not a lie. It was the burning agony of an unfulfilled love that set the demon's heart to beat. These temptations led many to seek her wisdom and power to steal the heart of their beloved...at often inconvenient mortal hours. Demons do not sleep, and Kaja quickly learned how to seek rest in the quiet moments between seances - a habit convenient for Madame Tesslyn's dimmer shifts, at the very least. As a demon close to human nature there are perhaps shadows of a secluded yet warm adolescence for Kaja. Like many children she has picked up some social habits of her mother, particularly to playfully dance around ideas to let them reach their own faulty conclusions, yet the blunt and simple words are the ones that forge progress. Though perhaps most alien of Kaja's childhood is the indifference to fleeting mortality. People are endless, one tinder is often as good as another, and nobody morns the coals that burn the fires of industry. Yet while Azar occasionally found enjoyment to speak of the great operas that have formed in the ashes of her schemes, nothing compared to the immediate spark of the present. Tricky Dick Nixon posted:To all, feel free to answer the following two prompts: Given Kaja's ignorance of mortal politics, and experience as a bodyguard and escort, she's really always needed at least another person to point her blade. Fortunately Madame Tesslyn serves many a scoundrel finding sudden wealth, and knows just as many in need of the coin for their next fix...and keep an eye on them to make sure they repay their debts. A crew for Kaja would pretty much be a bond of mutual convenience, and a band of smugglers would certainly help put her closer to finding unusual artifacts like the lamp that binds her mother. On a typical smuggling score, Kaja would rarely take the lead, but keep to the side of a Slide - lovely with sharp thorns. With her heritage it's near impossible to blend in as an ordinary citizen, but she does well when seen and the Lurk not heard. Sometimes it's best to stand out, play a lovestruck fool to lure a mark into the Spider's trap. A straightforward scheme works best for her, but in the end Kaja's a Cutter with a bloody sword, and every crew needs one when things go south. Plus, if a demon gets involved, Kaja would be more at home than even a Whisper. Most of all, she's learned best from her mother: To survive a deal with the devil, first put them in your favor.
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Aug 15, 2019 02:31
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Tricky Dick Nixon posted:Feedback: I notice that in your background you discriminate on your victims, picking the pockets of nobles but using violence and mugging laborers. The difference in degrees is interesting to me. Is there an intent there in expressing how Henrig relates with the rest of the underclass he is a part of? If intentional, I'd like to see that play out a bit, it's interesting to me. If unintentional, it might be worth thinking about it as a potential element for your character. This is simple... Laborers do not wear their wealth; they must be pried like nuts, where nobles simply let their fruit hang. And is it not my role in noble society to exploit the workers for my own gain? Especially when the city seems so insistent that someone must lose their coin. Who am I to deny destiny? It does require me to dirty my hands, but the income is much more consistent... I do understand that I'm not yet a noble, but once I've ascended I can overlook a trifle as such. Again... destiny. I am always where I need to be at that moment. quote:Prompt: Pick any two districts in Duskwall and describe for us Henrig following their "jones" there. They could be adjacent neighborhoods or far apart, that's up to you. I'd like to see you express Jones' relationship to the city in this way, how they navigate and find their means of travel, and what it "looks" like to us the reader when the city speaks back. I do most of my transactions at The Docks. Everyone is so drawn to the boats and all their larceny that there's no room to look out for the little people. That's where I strike... The city radiates out from Saltford's in its omniscience. Somewhere a coin ticks the bricks, the rattle vibrating through the alleys to my ears. Someone lost it, I hear in Doskvol's broken whispers. It's breathy like shifting waves, but low like a foghorn. To your right, behind the brothel, it conveys to me, and of course I follow its instruction. Ahead of me stones in the pavement hum in reverence, pointing the way to the dropped coin. Here, Doskvol drones as I eye someone stumbling over themselves grasping for change. They're drunk. As they crawl, I stamp my foot on their ankle and draw my knife. "Drop your purse on the ground and lay where you are," I growl at them. They look up at me--yes, a drunk man, probably a sailor. "I n't got one!" He says, head rocking. Of course he would say that. I lean onto his leg, watching him buck around until he gives it up. Thankfully, I hear it. Three gasps, sounding like his treasure. Left coat pocket. I rest my knife on the back of his neck and rifle through his coat. Sure enough, he keeps his purse within reach, the telltale sign of a laborer living above his means. I tell him to stay silent and prone until he counts to twenty, then be on my way. After a few such victims, I feel confident enough to return to Nightmarket, where I've recently acquired some meager housing--my intent is to buy out the whole building once I've secured my family's fortune. It puts me off that the area is so full of nouveau riche, but they make nice scenery. Here, Doskvol takes on a more playful tone. Look! Look! It calls out at many things, like the tapping feet on the boardwalk. Passers-by are so lenient about their wealth here... Ohh, cufflinks, it tells me as I approach a noble. I've become adept at removing them without arousing too much suspicion. I prefer when they wear things on their hips--hands are used too often to go unnoticed--but cufflinks are manageable. I raise my hand above my head and arc it down as I bow my head. "Good day, sir," I tell the fortunate noble. He tries not to make eye contact--must not enjoy the sight of himself--but grants me a bow as we pass. He stops paying attention to me as he continues, which is what I expect. I quietly follow behind him, recall what I've observed of his cuff, and free the item from his possession. Nice, pretty, Doskvol remarks. I assumed it expects my gratitude for calling my attention to it, but I assure it that its day will come. As I ascend a stairway, I appraise my finding. Onyx set in silver, no discerning markers... He won't miss it, and black goes with almost anything. If I see him again, I might shake his hand and try for the matching set, but as it stands this can be repurposed or fenced. I pocket it and continue home... quote:With an anecdote, tell us when your character realized they needed a crew. Maybe it was a score they tried to put on that was bad. Maybe it was something more introspective, but there was a moment where it clicked that you needed to band together. It's possible this isn't the first crew or gang you've run along with, and maybe you even had partnerships (potentially with other PCs, we'll have a chance to build on those connections later) with individuals, but you've never really been a "founder" before of a real venture. This is something special, so tell us what brought your character to that decision and how they look at it. I was short on my payment to the Bluecoats and spent an unpleasant amount of time in Dunvil "repaying" them. If I have to do that again I'm sure my family's reputation would be tarnished beyond recognition. I did learn more about teamwork while hauling such delicious-looking stones, and so I asked the city to find me someone who shares my passion for accumulating wealth... And then narrowed my search to people who might have need of me, as the usual whispers of Doskvol became cacophonous. Finally, I did what I always do and let the walls guide me... here. quote:Describe a score the crew might undertake, and the role your character would play. It can be from your character's perspective, or more detached. It can be relatively simple and straightforward, or have many twists and turns along the way. The important thing to communicate is where you (and the character) would see themselves fitting in with a team dynamic. When the spotlight is on them, how do they perform? What is the one unique thing they bring to the crew that no one else quite has? (tbc) Double May Care fucked around with this message at 23:47 on Aug 18, 2019 |
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Aug 15, 2019 04:01
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 artist "Jean" Tricky Dick Nixon posted:It's unclear why Jean originally left the Sandmen behind... When they were founded however many hundreds of years ago, the first Sandmen swore an oath: to uphold the laws of the realm, and to hold themselves to a code even stricter than those laws. Stuff like "let not the punishment exceed the crime" and "unless proven guilty, the accused has the right to be presumed innocent" and such. But codes and laws exist to be broken; by the time the Empire rolled, in the Sandmen were already experts at finding loopholes and exceptions in that code. To hear Jean tell it, as she occasionally does, training in the ways of the Sandmen is a threefold process. First, the instructors fill your head with the concept that you will be an honorable protector, arbiters of a justice that none escape. Second, you receive training in a variety of martial techniques, many less than honorable. You're taught how to win a duel, and more importantly how to kill a man before he ever draws his sword; you participate in a mock investigation and trial to convict a murderer from several suspects, right before you learn how to escape when disarmed and held captive. Last and most important, you master the mental gymnastics needed to "uphold justice" from the shadows with a knife; Jean dropped out of Sandman school long before finishing this part of the curriculum. Thing is, when you arrive in Duskwall with nothing to your name but a yatagan and the clothes on your back, you tend to fall back on what you know. In Jean's case, the stuff she knows from Iruvia goes by different names here: burglary, armed robbery, murder. That last one was an accident, but the Bluecoats don't tend to care. Tricky Dick Nixon posted:Give an account of a night at the Veil. A night at the Veil is best when you don't remember it well enough to give an account of it, or to know if you woke up in the club or somewhere else, or to recognize the bed's other occupant(s). Tricky Dick Nixon posted:Tell us when your character realized they needed a crew. "Take a guess what that little prick in in your bum might be, lordling," Jean from behind hisses. "I'll give you a hint: it's not that chamber-boy who's happy to see you." From the sound of his derisive scoff, Jean can imagine the poo poo-eating, holier-than-thou look on the nobleman's face. "That urchin came from the street, like yourself. I'm offering him a future away from th--urk!" The rich man grunts as Jean tightens her grip on his throat. "Don't misunderstand me, Lord Gutenberg. All the city knows you're a pillar of society and a regular saint. At the moment, a bleeding saint, actually." She releases the most intimidating, evil-sounding chuckle she can muster. "It's just when you make a ritual thrice weekly of dismissing your guards and arriving on this street at Ash o'clock and twenty...easy to mistake your honorable personage for another misanthrope." She twists the dagger slightly; it's now stuck firmly in Gutenberg's buttock, leaving keeping her right hand open to find his coin. "Or perhaps a would-be martyr? You here to atone for something, your worship?" She's having an unhealthy amount of fun here, but it needs to last; this score is her ticket into a real crew, but it'll also mean she can't go back to Silkshore until the heat dies down. Gutenberg coughs a bit before replying. "You can see I'm not carrying a purse," he sputters defiantly. "Release me at once, and I'll forget this all happened." Jean's right hand instinctively moves to her still-holstered yatagan; this could go sideways at any moment. "Of course I don't see a purse. This is just the kind of situation you're hoping to avoid by keeping it hidden. How else are you going to pay for your precious boy-toy's bright future?" She drags him back and whispers into his ear, almost sensually: "I suggest you reach into that fancy coat and show me where it's hiding, because when I leave this alley, I'll have taken your purse, or your purse and your life. You get me?" She loosens her grip on his throat; he inhales deeply through his nose and moves his hand towards a pocket on his right pant leg. "R-right here," he stammers, before composing himself, as his fingers grasp hold of a hidden stiletto. "Right here, there's a third option." --- Jean crouches behind the chimney of a Charhollow rooftop and gazes across the water. Fogcrest is a flurry of Spirit Wardens and Bluecoats, searching for the eminent Lord Gutenberg and his killer, respectively. But they won't find either. Dumping the body into the canal was a bad idea; she knew so even as she was doing it, but a bloody corpse, a bloody weapon, and a bloody arm were all immediate risks, and a vengeful ghost a future risk. Hopefully far, far in the future. With her dagger cleaned, Jean cuts the lower half of her right shirtsleeve and wipes her yatagan across it to remove the last of the blood from the larger saber. She checks the wound on her left forearm; not fully healed, but certainly not deep enough to scar. then tosses it away, allowing herself a moment to watch as it floats through the air, traveling slowly to its inevitable destination in the river besides its owner. Returning her attention to the task at hand, she scrubs the blood from the last of Gutenberg's silver pieces before sliding them into her own vest purse. Probably the worst part of all this was that Gutenberg was far from the big score she'd needed; despite having no less than four hidden pouches, the total still isn't quite enough to fill two full-size purses. By noble standards he was downright poor. A month of preparation to get the coin to buy into the Red Scarves, and nothing to show for it but a pittance; the least of their scores make probably five times what she's carrying. Jean wipes her brow and puts her headscarf back up; when she reaches the street she'll expose her mouth, and then she'll just be another Stranger in a strange city. She'll need a crew to get her off the streets, and soon, and she doesn't have the luxury of being choosy anymore. Yet there's something about the idea of killing Duskwall's poorest noble that causes Jean to crack a small smile. "The poor ones are always uppity," she muses to herself. Tricky Dick Nixon posted:Describe a score the crew might undertake, and the role your character would play. The client and their target will both be attending a fancy party. The client has ample means and motive to kill the target; they want to deflect suspicion by having an airtight alibi when the spirit bells ring. While the client distracts witnesses and security, the target must be abducted and transported to a third-party fall guy, who will kill the target in a specific manner. The crew must then capture the fall guy, return the original target's body, and kill the fall guy near the party to sound the spirit bells. If done quickly enough, the deathseeker crows would arrive separately, leading the to Bluecoats assume the target was killed at the party, and the Spirit Wardens to decide the fall guy died earlier in an unrelated incident. Jean would likely have the job of infiltrating a room where the target is alone, perhaps lured by a Slide's charm or a Whisper's magic, then incapacitating the target and getting him into the getaway vehicle. While the rest of the crew transports the target to the fall guy and back, Jean could also be tasked with turning the room into a false crime scene that matches the target's cause of death; for instance, if the target is killed with a blunt object, perhaps she'd damage a candlestick, polish the impacted area, then remove bits of the curtain to give the appearance of a hasty blood cleanup. Shady Contacts ▲ Petra, city clerk. A shining example of the fiery Skovlander domesticated by the civilized Akorosi; her rebellion against the Empire is now committed in secret sales of officially approved documents to fellow foreigners, at a steep discount. ▼ Roslyn Kellis, noble. Gutenberg was broke from funding a pet project of hers; that relationship took years to cultivate, and ensuring the house heir gets vengeance for his father is a matter of both pride and profit. Captain Walker fucked around with this message at 20:08 on Aug 16, 2019 |
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Aug 15, 2019 05:52
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 Lochlainn LammergeierTricky Dick Nixon posted:Why crime? With her skillset, they wouldn't necessarily be pushed into it, and their principles would often put them at odds with other scoundrels. Why not join the Spirit Wardens, or become a rail jack, where their talents would be directly applicable, and the need is always great? Were they rejected? Was there an incident or disagreement? Often a vice can play a part in driving you to desperation, but in this case a sense of duty seems more at odds with a life of crime than feeding into it. Let's address the elephant in the room: Spirit Wardens. The short answer to your question is pretty simple, in that they don't want me, and I don't want them, but let's talk about that. They don't want me. There's no question that I have the experience, but to put it in academic terms, I have the right degree, but went to the wrong university. There are a few people that agree with his methods, like Shrike, but for the most part Arkene might as well be radioactive in the Warden community. Rightly or wrongly, as a known associate, hiring me wouldn't look good, as it would be tantamount to picking a side. If I had to sum up his philosophy in a few words, it's this: 'treat the disease, not the symptoms'. Rogue spirits and rampaging monsters aren't the disease, they're the symptom. The disease is whatever poison festers in people when they're without any other options. Where do you think rogue spirits come from? They don't just appear out of nowhere without warning ... usually, anyway. Whether its through murder, suicide, accident, or that last one again but in air quotes, the job of a Warden is never done because the rest of society is busy churning out a new monster for every one that is dealt with. The problem is, that system's pretty comfortable, because it doesn't force you to confront any difficult questions about your place in the world. The work might be dangerous, but there aren't many mental gymnastics required to justify why a rampaging monster needs to be put down. Once you start asking questions about where that monster came from, though, or what political and economic systems might be contributing to the cycle of destruction, and your place in that cycle, the moral quagmire starts to get pretty deep. It's a lot easier to write off anyone who agrees with Arkene as an idealistic fool than it is to wade into that particular swamp. Although it's a bit of a mixed metaphor, I'm fresh from the swamp, so I'm sure it's not surprising that nobody is eager to invite me over for dinner. I don't want them. Even if all those other complications faded away with time, the cost is too high. You're expected to cut all ties, and have no families or close relationships, except for your fellow Wardens. There are good reasons for that policy, but it inevitably isolates you from the real world, and traps you in an echo chamber of people with shared experiences and shared opinions. It was different back in Tycheros, because our manpower and resources were spread so thin, but even we weren't immune to that. In Duskvol, with better logistics, infrastructure, and quite frankly fewer problems to deal with at any given moment, it wouldn't be long before I either called someone on their bullshit, or ended up losing sight of the real issues. Either way, we're all better off without me poisoning the waters. That's not to say I hold anything against them, though. The work they do is important, I just don't think we'd be able to work together day-to-day in a way that would be mutually beneficial. Why crime? I have a good answer for this, and a bad answer for this. Let's address both. The good answer. If there's one thing I took away from my time in Tycheros, it's that you should always be suspicious of the path of least resistance. I don't want to surround myself with people who were lucky enough to be born into or blunder into a decent life. I want to see the world as it really is, because I'm not willing to trade empathy for luxury. I want to be reminded every day what real people go through, and that most people aren't monsters -- they're just trying to survive, and sometimes they don't think they have any other option than to do the monstrous thing. Those are the people I need to learn to truly understand, and humanize, because ultimately, they're the ones that have the power to change this world for the better. Maybe that's naive, but there are different kinds of desperation in life. Poverty might be a common motivation to turn to a life of crime, but it isn't the only one. In a place like Duskvol, that hasn't yet reached the level of calamity that is Tycheros, could things turn out differently? Or did I grow up in a place that paints a picture of the inevitable fate of what remains of civilization? You might not agree with me right now, but I don't believe that all criminals are created equal. I can't believe that, because it would mean I've wasted my entire life. The bad answer. Gonna' be honest, I don't think I'm cut out to be a rail jack, or a leviathan hunter, or a bluecoat, or anything similar. As you might be aware, because more than a few of them are pretty fond of reminding people whenever they get the chance, the Wardens serve the Emperor directly and are not officially part of Doskvol’s law enforcement apparatus. In practice, that means we -- rather, they -- tend to see themselves as existing above or outside of the law. Given how thin we were spread back in Tycheros, amplify that attitude about tenfold to get a feel for how much room for improvisation I'm used to having on the job. Any 'honest work' where my skills might be useful are likely to have a fairly rigid chain of command, and that's just not me. In the criminal underworld, though? When we're talking about being a founding member of a team, and doing whatever it takes to survive and achieve our goals? I've got what you might call 'transferable skills'. Tricky Dick Nixon posted:Relate to us an incident that occurred just before your departure from your homeland. Working with the Spirit Wardens there would have put you up against many horrors. Perhaps there was a single instigating event, or it was just the last in a long sequence that pushed you away. Give us some color as to what that was like, and why it would make a place like Duskwall seem tranquil by comparison. On a purely tactical level, it would be hard to say that our efforts were not effective. When a cult calling themselves the 'Salvation Sisterhood' managed to tear open the veil and begin releasing exciting new horrors into the streets of Tricorne -- what passes for a major port in Tycheros -- we reacted.  Dealing with a rampaging monster is hard, but it's feasible. I was lucky enough to track down the cultists that set off the fireworks before things really got out of hand. Their leader, she was an older woman, forty, maybe fifty years old. Whatever dark power she was consorting with - some kind of snake demon, I think - had promised to restore her youth for the bargain price of the lives of a hundred innocent souls. It hit me like a blade to the chest, but I recognized her. I'd saved her life a few years prior, and she certainly hadn't been giving off 'ritual sacrifice' vibes at the time. I interrupted her ritual, things got a little weird as hell snapped back into position, we ended up fighting, she fell into the sea never to be seen again. All pretty standard stuff, actually. A few weeks went by, but I couldn't get it out of my head. I'd recognized her, but how many others had I failed to recognize? How many other people had we saved, only for them to go on to perpetuate the cycle? Were we giving them hope, or just giving them time to fall into the depths of depravity themselves? Had Tycheros fallen too far? Was it even possible to climb back out of the abyss at this point? I couldn't question our effectiveness, but if I were to judge it purely by the results, I had to ask the question ... was what we were doing really feasible? I spent some time checking up on people and places where we'd been active in the past, and I found out that woman wasn't entirely an outlier. It wasn't everyone, but more people than I would have liked hadn't been saved, they'd just been granted a reprieve. Some ended up dead months or years later when the next problem came around and we didn't get there in time, others starved or ended up dying of infection after brawling for scraps of food, some joined other cults, or similar organizations to survive. Nobody else ended up on the 'nightmare' scale of ripping open portals to hell and sacrificing dozens of lives in the process of getting a revitalizing makeover, but that's a pretty low god drat bar, you know? I came to a conclusion that I didn't like, but couldn't refute: Arkene's math made sense, but his formula was a lot more likely to work before things got bad. Tycheros was too far along in its decay, and the feedback loop of demonic energies would ensure that no matter how much good we did, it would never be enough. We didn't have the manpower or resources to hit the reset button, and the best we could ever hope to do is hold back the tide. I brought my concerns to Arkene, but the conversation quickly became heated. Looking back, I probably touched upon a nerve: he's got a lifetime of experience in this line of work, and it was unrealistic to think he hasn't had the same conversation before. I toughed it out for a few more months, trying to get my head back into the game, but I couldn't. He saw it before I did, but he let me come to the conclusion myself. I had to choose -- I could be loyal to him, and continue a fight I didn't believe in, but if I didn't believe his approach was feasible, I would be disgracing the lessons he taught me about how to see the world, and how to interact with it. In the end, we both knew there was only one option: I needed to leave, and find my own path. If I honestly believed that his philosophy could work, but that it needed to take root earlier in the cycle of a decaying civilization, that meant I needed to find one that fit the bill and then try my own hand at bringing order to chaos. For a place ripe with monsters and more than a few demons, it's an unusual thing to admit, but saying goodbye to Tycheros was the hardest thing I've ever done ... though, I don't regret it. Tricky Dick Nixon posted:With an anecdote, tell us when your character realized they needed a crew. Tricky Dick Nixon posted:Describe a score the crew might undertake, and the role your character would play. Let's talk specifics, though. If every square inch of land inside Duskvol is claimed by another crew, maybe we should look beyond the walls for a score. Leviathan hunters get up to all kinds of shenanigans on the open seas, and once in a while they're in need of a delivery service for that 'last mile' between port and the mainland. You can't declare stowaways or refugees at customs, after all, and why pay duties on that artifact you fished up from the depths? It just makes sense. As long as we keep our fees below what they'd have to pay in taxes or tithe if they declared the goods, we're only helping them rob the government. On paper that sounds ... not great, admittedly ... but every delivery we take helps line the pockets of that house. There's no faster way to make friends than helping someone else get rich. If we provide last mile delivery service of a smuggled artifact, we're likely to gain an opportunity to network with whatever cult or other illicit entity takes the delivery. Every job builds and strengthens our network with both the buyer and the seller. It's not perfect, but it's a start. Let's talk about my role. Considering the crew I used to run with, I've never been what you would call the 'heavy hitter' of the bunch. I can hold my own, to be sure, but I'm far more accustomed to being the eyes and ears of the pack. Between myself and Pazu, we hear, smell, and see things coming. That might not give us enough time to change course and keep unexpected problems out of our way, but at least we'll be on alert. That works to our advantage for finding scores and helping to build out our options, as well. I've got good ears, and I'm not ashamed to eavesdrop on people from the shadows. Who knows what juicy gossip I might pick up tonight?
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Aug 15, 2019 05:55
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Tricky Dick Nixon posted:Prompt: Tell me about what you stole from the royal house of Anixis. It must have been precious enough that you can never return to Iruvia due to the weight of it, but it must have also not been valuable enough to guarantee the life you wanted for yourself. Or perhaps it was difficult on your own to capitalize on the fortune it could have been. Perhaps it was even taken away from you, or you were cheated in some way, being unfamiliar with Akoros and out of your element? That might have finely honed your bullshit detector ability. Ixis had people like me doing research on this magical ring. Seems like he was real interested in it and when I found out what it could do I knew why - and that this could be worth betraying him for. Demons can scry into their elements, which make the rulers of U'Duasha real good at catching anyone acting against them. But anyone wearing this ring would not only be invisible to demonic scrying, they'd also be invisible to demons in person. Presumably Ixis wanted to see if it would be worth keeping to use on his enemies with the threat of it being used on him. So I managed to convince the people keeping an eye on it that I needed to look at it in person to compare the description to texts. Then I put it on and ran. Not the best plan, but it was stealing a powerful magic item under the eye of a demon and his followers. I was good at talking to people, but what could I say that would let me leave with it? He couldn't find me in the shadows, but went through people who knew me. I evaded them until I got to the train station, when one of Anix's top guards found me. Ziba came in and cut me down, grabbing my hand and trying to wrestle the ring out. But then she paused, and I realized what was about to come. "Hira, you did a fantastic job at this. Never thought someone like you would have pulled it off. And getting away? Risking the house and Ixis himself coming after you? Well, good luck to you then." She wanted the ring and for me to take the fall - and that was the only way I was getting to that train alive. So I let her leave with it and I ran to the train to get away from Iruvia as fast as possible. I had almost nothing then, but I built up from that before. I knew I could do it again. Maybe find people who needed someone like me, who could survive and endure whatever got thrown at us. If there were more like me, we could have had a better plan and possibly gotten the ring out of Iruvia. I wouldn't have lost people I made a connection with because of a split-second decision that I felt I had to make with no one else's help. But if there's one thing I'm good at, it's knowing when people are lying to me. Makes it easier to just ask "Are you going to work with the team or would you be willing to betray us all?" If they lie, move on. If they refuse to answer, move on. But if they say they would not betray us and would work with us, I'm happy to see what they have to offer. Maybe one day I'll tell them about that ring...but who knows what's happened to Ixis and Ziba now, let alone U'Duasha. Maybe someday I'll look into it. Maybe someday I'll get out before I get too badle chewed up. One can alwas hope, right?
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Aug 15, 2019 09:03
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quote:I'd also be curious if your character had any interaction with Sister Thorn or the scavengers at all, or if that's something to explore in play. Corwin himself doesn't remember any interaction with Lady Thorn, but he did meet her once. She and her company chanced upon him in a state of near-death. They nursed him almost fully back to health, but in the grip of a fever he fled their company, convinced they were demons preparing him for a stew. While he never had any further direct contact with Thorn or her scavengers, they still tracked and watched him all the same. quote:Prompt: Describe a horror you witnessed beyond the lightning curtain. To be sure, most of what Mort witnessed and still remembers, he would rather soon forget. The death lands and what lies beyond the city is intentionally kept vague in the fiction, so this is also an opportunity for us to fill in that blank space, with just a glimpse. And it should likely just be that: A glimpse into something most of the other PCs will have no experience or understanding of, a particular small-t trauma that you carry and understand. Corwin hesitates before nodding, "The ones inside the city... they make up stories. Not-too-scary ones to keep the kids well behaved. Horrible ones to keep the adults in line. All those stories rush through your head when you get pushed out into the Death Lands. But then you also got the stories of the heroes that brave the wastes. Like Jav the Tall, the rail jack who held off an army of ghosts by himself to protect a train that broke down, or the Severosi riders with their bloodthirsty horses that actually hunt down the ghosts." "That second one... there was a group of scavengers I was following. Fresh meat, not a day out of Ironhook. One of them somehow had a lamp and I wanted it. They'd stopped for the night and huddled all close together around that lamp. So I waited, but it weren't too long before I heard something. Hoof beats. A ways off, but closing quick. I thought of those ghost hunting riders, that maybe somehow one'd found their way to us. The scavs heard the noise too and were moving, one of them grabbing the lamp and holding it up in front of him as if it'd shield him from what was coming. "I... it weren't no man from Severos. It was a rider, sure, but with eyes of flame and a horse that had no worldly right to be galloping as it did with only half a body. I only got a glance, but that was enough. The scav with the lamp was the first to go, the rider's spear driving straight through the light into the man. With the lamp gone I couldn't see what was happening, but I could hear it. Oh god could I hear it. The screaming, the crying, the chewing." Corwin tenses up and stops talking for a moment. Then he quietly whispers, "That's it. You got your story. We're done talking about this." quote:With an anecdote, tell us when your character realized they needed a crew[/b]. Maybe it was a score they tried to put on that was bad. Maybe it was something more introspective, but there was a moment where it clicked that you needed to band together. It's possible this isn't the first crew or gang you've run along with, and maybe you even had partnerships (potentially with other PCs, we'll have a chance to build on those connections later) with individuals, but you've never really been a "founder" before of a real venture. This is something special, so tell us what brought your character to that decision and how they look at it. Telda sat bundled up beside her patchwork shelter, watching the stars above lazily twist their way through the night sky. The weather had been shockingly clear and she was enjoying the rare opportunity to see those motes of distant light. She was also waiting for Corwin to return. The boy seemed to have no concept of resting. Always moving about, even in the late hours of the twilight. On the few occasions that he did settle down to sleep, he thrashed and cried out so often that it seemed like he'd wake the whole of Dunslough. She often worried that her newest friend was going to do something suicidal. So she waited, silently offering prayers to whatever god might be listening that this was not the night Corwin had gotten himself killed somehow. The sound of a puddle splashing nearby drew Telda from her reverie. She was surprised at how quickly she noticed Corwin stumbling down the alley towards her. Usually the boy moved as quietly as a ghost. Here he was however, making what positively seemed like a racket by comparison. It was hard to make any details out in the dim moonlight, but she could still feel that something was amiss. Eventually Corwin planted himself next to her with a thud, breathing heavily. Seeing no need to rush him, she waited until he'd caught his breath before questioning, "The bluecoats again?" "Yeah. Bloody bluecoats... smelled me." The shame in his voice was apparent, "They're locking down Brightstone harder than ever, but I made it inside. All for one sodding bluecoat going by to tell his buddy that something smelled awful. It coulda been garbage, they could've just kept walking and ignored it. But no, they needed to find out exactly what it was that stank." Telda let her eyes drift back to the sky above as the boy aired his grievances. She made sure to listen to every word he uttered however. A good hostess did not ignore her guest's woes. Eventually he petered out and she cast her gaze back to him. "You know, you're pretty awful at this," She said matter-of-factly. Corwin turned towards her. Between the faint light and his mask it was impossible to see the expression on that scarred face, but she could feel the anger coming off him just the same. "Don't you look at me in that tone of voice!" She said harshly. "You know I'm right. Every night you sneak off and try to clamber into that fancy district without so much as an idea of what you'll do once you're in there. Plenty of fools in this city have done that exact same thing and wound up shot or worse!" Her tone softened as she continued, "I don't want that happening to you too just because you feel scared to ask for help or think making it through those cursed lands turned you into some kinda demon yourself. Now we ain't known each other for long, but I can tell there's a smart boy underneath all that gruffness you try to put out. Smart boys listen to the advice of their elders. Don't try to do things alone in this city. All it'll do is get you killed." Having said her piece, Telda finally retreated back into her shelter, leaving Corwin alone to contemplate her words and the stars. The stars that continued their slow dance across that infernal blackness above him. She was right of course. Her words had stung him deeply, but she was right. Flinging himself blindly at Brightstone wasn't getting anything done. He needed money. He needed help. He needed a crew. quote:Describe a score the crew might undertake, and the role your character would play[/b]. It can be from your character's perspective, or more detached. It can be relatively simple and straightforward, or have many twists and turns along the way. The important thing to communicate is where you (and the character) would see themselves fitting in with a team dynamic. When the spotlight is on them, how do they perform? What is the one unique thing they bring to the crew that no one else quite has? Corwin examined the docked ship with a patient stare. Ten and four men had disembarked, meaning two were left on board if that manifesto they'd looked over held true. Only two men between him and the prize within. All he needed to do now was wait for his distraction to wander up and pull those men away. He vaguely wondered what his compatriots had planned, though that wonder didn't last long as he heard the drunken singing in the distance. The two cutters plodded down the dock, bellowing out some strange tune, until they reached the foot of the plank. Once there, they began to shout and swing at each other. The noise drew the two guards from the ship's innards as was planned, but they stopped and rested on the ship's railing to watch the "fight". That was a problem. The guards were supposed to leave the ship. His distraction was certainly being distracting, but not in the right way. They were getting a free show of two drunkards clumsily flailing at each other and saw no reason to step in. Taking a deep breath, Corwin calmed himself. That was fine. Not good, but fine. Sliding up to a crate, he checked that the guard's attention was still on his compatriots, then he angled himself towards the ship's nose that hung over that accursed ink. Another deep breath, then he sprinted and launched towards the nose. The leap covered the distance between the dock and the nose quickly. Had anyone been aware and watching, they'd have been impressed for a bit before calling the bluecoats. Thankfully, no one was aware of the man jumping on board the ship and then proceeding to steal into its hold. Mistress Mayer had only requested a bag of Iruvian seeds that the ship would be transporting, but as he searched through the crates, Corwin saw no reason not to pilfer anything else he could fit in his sack. His special little reward for the two idiots outside making the job harder than it needed to be. Brainamp fucked around with this message at 00:22 on Aug 20, 2019 |
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Aug 17, 2019 17:05
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Tricky Dick Nixon posted:Prompt: Tell us your favorite story of your people. With your sheet opening with overtures to the myth of Skovlan and heroic pretensions, it feels like it would hang over Tristaine a bit the stories of her grandmother, and help inspire her. Give us a taste of a particular story. Give us at least a beginning, middle, and end to it, though it needed be fully written out. What's more important is how it influenced her, and why she finds herself thinking about it. What lessons do such folk tales still have? When Tristaine was at her lowest, when frost seeped through her sister's cracked windowsills and all she could do was gently thump over her raw wounds and shiver, that's when her grandmother's voice came back to her. Tristaine rarely thought of her childhood, it was mostly a blur of cold days and unfortunate events, and so she'd let the woman's face and voice slip away. Her life as a duelist had been fast and hot -- a continous roar of training, fighting, drinking, kissing, and laughing it all off as the shattered rays of this world's pathetic excuse for dawn cracked over the horizon. What use were the strange fables of an old woman in a life like that? But that life had ended, and now she was stuck in a bed with only the steady thrumming of her heartbeat to listen too. Like frost creeping up the side of a window, her nan's stories returned to her. There was once a boy named Dywn who lived near the high rock of Yore... For all the things her grandmother had told her about the cities of Skovland, the thing that fascinated Tristaine the most was the snow. In Doskvol the streets were never idle, so as soon as snowfall reached the ground it was pounded into an ugly, brown slurry. In Skovland the cities were built on hills, and her grandmother told her that after a snowstorm one could stand on the barricades and look over miles of fresh snow. It was a sight impossible to see in Doskvol, but Tristaine could envision it in her mind. An untouched plain of perfect white. The Legend of Dywn the Great and Foolish posted:There was once a boy named Dywn who lived near the high rock of Yore. His family herded goats, and when a kid went missing on a snowy night he was sent to find it. He tracked it's steps through the snow into the deep of the forest, and found it shivering and lost by a dead oak. On his way back he stopped for water and rest underneath a white birch, which are known to be blessed by fairies, growing alone in a small glen. Just as Dywn got up to leave he realized he was being watched. On the other side of the glen there was a dark cave and at the entrance something shimmered and writhed. Dywn froze, and the thing froze as well. He could not make out it's features through the snow, but it shimmered in an otherworldly fashion, and only seemed to move when he did. Dywn's heart was struck with fear, and so he did not move for many hours. It was only after he realized the goat he'd been retrieving had frozen to death and that he would soon follow that he broke from his terror. Even after he returned home he saw visions of the shimmering watcher in his sleep, and did not know peace. Here, Tristaine's recalled that the story split into numerous smaller tales, like a river turning into a delta. Shorter, more formulaic scripts that followed the trio as they learned about a problem in the land, set out to solve it -- usually through violence or a clever trick -- and then always returned home to celebrate their success. She remembered asking her nan to tell her 'Dywn and Kept Princess' over and over again. It was a simple story: the mad king Fionn kept his daughter in covetous confinement, so Dywn and his boon companions infiltrated his keep, slew the king, and gave the princess the freedom to marry him. Tristaine realized that her younger self's attraction to the story was both easily explained and a little embarrassing. It's easy for a young girl to imagine herself a princess, and even easier to wish a brave hero would storm in a rescue her from everything painful. That idea was a true fantasy, at least in this city. The men of Doskvol fell quite short of the mythical heroes from her nan's stories The story of Dywn did have an true ending, though, which came back to Tristaine with surprising clarity. She remembered being very cold as she heard it, her nan speaking forcefully through blue lips. It was probably one of the last stories she ever told. Through his years of adventure Dywn had hunted many beasts and horrors, married a princess, raised a city, and performed many other extraordinary feats. He surmised that he was as strong as he'd ever be, and so he told his companions and family that he was going on a hunt and they were not to follow. With only his weapons in hands, Dywn left for the forest beyond Yore. It was-- The Legend of Dywn the Great and Foolish posted:It was cold and snowy, just as it had been all those decades ago. The memories of the forest were burned into his mind from the fear of that night, and so he was able to find his way back to the white birch without trouble. He stopped underneath it and warily brushed away the snow at the base. There, exactly where he'd dropped it so long ago, was the small white skull of the goat kid he'd dropped as he ran in terror. Dywn looked across the glen towards where he knew his horror would be, and there it was. Dark and shimmering, haunting and obscure, the thing twisted at the base of a cave. Dywn charged towards it, unafraid of any beast or demon, but right before he reached it -- he suddenly fell to his knees as he realized what truly lay before him. He threw his weapons on the ground in disgust and walked away. The memory of her grandmother's voice faded from her ears. It was just a fable for children. It was just a way for a grandmother to let her granddaughter know that 'warmth' and 'comfort' even existed in the world. It was just a punchline ending to the myth of an old hero. But Tristaine could not stop her mind from revisiting the tale even if she wanted to. The image of Dywn, great and foolish, drinking near the fire played itself whenever she closed her eyes to rest. Even if someone did everything in their life for a mistaken reason -- a foolish reason -- as long as they gained strength and used that strength to take what they wanted, they couldn't end up truly unhappy. It was just a story for small girl, but why wouldn't happiness follow strength?
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Aug 17, 2019 20:14
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Tricky Dick Nixon posted:Feedback: Amnesia is a classic plot hook, especially headache amnesia. I also really like the academic connection as the academia of the setting in Duskwall is an underrated element. The motivation is also very clear for the character as to what would draw them into the crew. Something to think about thought not explicitly state is... What happens after? It's, of course, hard to know for sure as Viper likely imagines that their hidden memories will help define a new purpose for them, but what would keep them in the life even after they "finished" what they started for? It'll depend on the nature of the revelation, of course, but the way I imagine it is that the thing that would keep Viper in the game is her endless curiosity for Alchemy. Even if she does end up finding a new purpose, she'll still want to push herself to her limits, seeing how far she can go, and then break those limits, and she wants to do it all while unrestrained. Her current work gives her the freedom to go as far as she'd like, and gives her access to ingredients that would normally be much harder to get, so if there's ever a reason for her to stay, it might be for that. quote:To all, feel free to answer the following two prompts: "Hm," Viper's attention is solely on her research, and it appears as if she's giving the one she's talking to only the barest amount of attention as she scribbles down some notes, "Why did I join in with that group? Hm," she drops her notes on the table, and picks up a vial with a green, translucent liquid inside of it, "I have various reasons. One of those reasons is that I am not a fool," she brings the vial up to eye-level, so she could peer closely at the liquid, "For all my skills, there are still things that I am deficient at. I am not a fighter, nor am I a negotiator. I know much about the sciences, but my knowledge about the underworld is much more limited. In short, I needed others to make up for what I don't have." It was the first decision she made after she left the academy, but her actual main reason for finding potential partners, which she keeps to herself for now, is to protect her from whatever might be pursuing her from the shadows. Her work had bought some unwanted attention to her, and she realized the best solution to that problem, for now at least, it to surround herself with others. The shadows are less likely to act when there are more people around, she surmised. Viper goes back to her notes after she sets the vial back down, "I've worked with another before. They came to me when they needed my aid in "procuring" an item of worth for a client. A simple job, and one that proved lucrative to the both of us," it was the first time Viper had done any kind of fieldwork, as well, which proved to be highly informative for her. It let her observe how well her conceptions worked when they were put in action, and it provided her with a lot of valuable data that she can use to improve on her work, "There is a value to working with others which I cannot deny. It's like alchemy," she takes a different vial this time, one containing a purple colored liquid, "Alone, it is nothing. It is inert, incomplete. But when mixed together with the right thing," she drops the purple liquid into the vial containing the green one, causing both to mix together, and forming into a liquid that has both colors evenly matched together, "It becomes the perfect match. Two things supporting each other, making up for their own weaknesses. It becomes complete. It becomes whole." quote:
[quote] Describe an alchemical solution to a problem in the context of a score. Alchemy is wondrous, though it has its limitations. And side-effects. This maybe expands a bit on the second generic prompt, which you describe your personal role, but goes a bit more specific. I'd like you to imagine the actual act of mixing and brewing, what it looks, feels, smells like, and share with us a bit of the visceral experience it might entail./quote] Going to mix these two questions together since I think it'd work out better that way. "No, no. That's not it either," Viper mumblers to herself, as she observes the chemical mix in front of her. She had spent the last few days toiling away in her make-shift lab, working on a formula that would allow someone to temporarily turn themselves into a spirit, but she's had no successes so far. Their current client wanted them to deliver an amulet to a spirit within the ghost field, which would normally be an incredibly hard task, but Viper took it upon herself to find a way for them to do so. The problem, though, is that such a formula is dangerous. There are so many different ways it could go wrong. You could have your spirit ripped out of your body, leaving it as an empty husk. It could accelerate the aging process, turning even the most youthful person into an old man in just a few short minutes. There are all manner of things and side-effects that could happen, and none of them are good. She grabs the vile next to her, and drinks it's contents all down in one gulp. It was a potion meant to give her an adrenaline boost, so she wouldn't have to worry about sleep or anything like that getting in the way, and she had been drinking a lot of them the past few days, and she knows if she doesn't drink one ever few hours, she'll come crashing down, horribly, but that's something she can worry about later. Now, she has a more important task to take care. "Let's see," this time, she carefully mixes together two different types of liquids together, making sure that they're both even out, and that one is not overpowering the other. Next, she puts in a pinch of grounded up voidflower seeds, and after that, a few liters of vampire's blood. "Now, what will happen if I add this into it?" She muses, as she takes a jar of ectoplasm from the shelf, and adds but a drop into the mix, and once she does that, something happens to it. Each ingredient begins to mix together, and the liquid they form begin to change into various colors. Green, blue, red, violet, and then, finally, it turns clear, like water. And, unlike almost every other potion she had brewed up before, this one is completely odorless. There is no smell,and no color, which means she is on the right track. But there is only one way to test her new creation to see how it works, and that is to drink it all in herself, and see what happens. And so she does. And once it reaches down her throat, an almost violent reaction happens within her body. Her heart begins to throb, and it almost feels as if it is about to tear itself out from her body. Her vision blurs, and the urge to throw up is especially strong. She collapses onto her knees, clutching at her chest, her face now pale as a sheet, as the pain takes over, and all she could feel is great anguish for what feels like an eternity. But the pain eventually subsides, and when her vision comes into focus, she notices that her body had... changed. She looks down at her hands, which are now white and translucent. Just like a spirit, which is what she had become. "Hm, interesting," is the first thing she says as she observes her changed body. After five minutes, her body returns to it's solid, living state, and she's left with a feeling of light-headedness, and a bit of nausea, which is not the worst side-effect you could have considering how much worse it could have been. A rare grin forms on her face, which she only reserves when she's satisfied with her work. Her potion had worked. On the day of the heist, she gives each and every one of her crew the potion, warning them about the extreme pain they'll experience beforehand. Some took it better than others, but it let them enter the ghost field. There were a few things Viper didn't account for however. She did not expect that, when used in an area filled with spirits, that it would attract the more dangerous ones to them. It got a little close there, but in the end, they managed to complete their task, and Viper managed to gain more information about her formula, which she knows she could improve on next time they need it.
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Aug 18, 2019 01:20
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 Name: Anderson Weyland Alias: Wren Archetype: Slide Look: Man; Tall, Thin, Calm, Warm; Suit and Tie, Long Coat Heritage: Skovlan Background: Law (Former Advocate) Vice/purveyor: Faith, The Charterhall University Insight • Hunt Study • Survey Tinker Prowess • Finesse • • Prowl Skirmish Wreck Resolve •• Attune Command Consort • • Sway • • Special Abilities
▲ Bazso Baz, a gang leader; Bazso Baz helped get Anderson on his feet in Doskvol, and in return Anderson has passed plenty of juicy bits of information to the gang as thanks. ▼ Klyra, a tavern owner; Cheating at cards is bad enough, but Anderson has skipped out on his tab far too many times to ever be welcomed back at Klyra’s tavern. Background Anderson Weyland is a ray of sunshine in a world of darkness, metaphorically speaking; always a kind word and a warm smile for anyone he meets. “Politeness costs nothing,” as he so often reminds his colleagues. He is cordial, or downright friendly, with everyone, always seeking an opportunity to turn strangers and enemies alike into assets. Anderson presents himself as an Information Broker and Negotiator, acting as a neutral middle-man in the Doskvol Underworld, when he isn’t working for himself. But like so many things in Doskvol, that pleasant exterior is nothing but a mask hiding a darker truth; Anderson Weyland is a devotee of The Near-and-Far, He Who Walks Between, The Watcher in the Dark. The Forgotten God of Secrets and Hidden Ways walked the land ages ago, or so they say, and his followers operate alone or in cells to prepare the Way for his return. A return many believe is coming soon. Anderson was born and raised in Lockport, in the nation of Skovlan. His parents were members of the Cult of the Near-and-Far, and inducted him into its mysteries at an early age. Though they were just shy of being properly upper-class, they still had enough wealth, and connections through the Cult, that few opportunities were denied to him. He excelled in school, devoting himself to the study of Law. Through his education and natural understanding of people, he became a successful Advocate, known for his unusually persuasive arguments. His position and what minor wealth his family had allowed him to avoid the front lines, instead eventually acting as a clerk for the State. After the assassination of the King, he fled the city as chaos descended and the Empire arrived in force to reassert military control, abandoning everything he owned in order to avoid execution as a seperatist and boarding a refugee ship to Doskvol. But for a Skovlan refugee in Doskvol, there was little opportunity for anything more than a meager existence. And so, like many of his countrymen, Anderson turned to crime. But running confidence games in gang territory without a patron is a good way to get you killed, and such was nearly Anderson’s fate, except that Bazso knows good material when he sees it (with no small amount of help from Anderson’s natural charm). Though he never joined the Lampblacks, Anderson and Bazso forged a mutual understanding, and as the scope of Anderson’s ‘game’ grew, he continued to show Bazso preferential treatment in every dealing. Keeping Bazso happy was well worth the cost, after all. Rhjamiz fucked around with this message at 17:11 on Aug 19, 2019 |
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Aug 19, 2019 03:20
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Rhjamiz posted:Anderson "Wren" Weyland Feedback: I really enjoy the idea of a barrister turned to crime, especially one brought down to street level and unable to make a living due to their refugee status, thus the turn to crime. This is also one of the few directly cultist applications, which is interesting that you picked as a friend Baszo Baz because he also is mentioned as a cultist, and that might have been a point through which the two of you forged that bond, even if your dedication be to different forgotten gods. As mentioned on discord, I'd like you to think about your vice's purveyor. We built on this idea, a librarian that you might see as an avatar or connected to your god in some way, though the truth might be more ambiguous. Prompt: In addition to the standard prompts, relate a practice of the cult of the Near-and-Far. Something specific, one might look to the table on page 305 for a starting point. Likely, Wren has only bits and pieces left, without the support of a full network. They are a sole practicioner, so how do they keep the old ways alive? How might it play a role in their life as a scoundrel?
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Aug 19, 2019 03:48
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thanks for the feedback, but I'm going to bail on this one.
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Aug 19, 2019 13:32
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Tricky Dick Nixon posted:Feedback: I love the elements of a crime family in the back story. I was surprised to find in the book that there really wasn't many elements like that, and was planning to inject one or two such factions in myself, so the Sisterhood and Night Sheikhs will definitely feature. However, joining another crew might cause some conflict. You've explained a little about why Dash would seek partnership, but would their first loyalty always be with the Sheikhs and their ambitions there? It might be an interesting avenue to explore. Dash really, really has not thought about the possibility of conflicting loyalties. He's still an enthusiastic young man and has not really thought ahead enough to think that maybe the crew and the Sheikhs might sometimes end up at odds. If it came to that...at this point, it'd be hard to say how that'd fall out. He loves his family dearly and wants to rise in their esteem and that of the Sheikhs, but also feels pride in helping to start up his own thing here. It'd be stressful. Rival is gonna be the Silver Nails, details are a WIP.
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Aug 19, 2019 22:27
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Tricky Dick Nixon posted:To all, feel free to answer the following two prompts: Wren knew he would need a crew the moment he stepped off the boat to Doskvol. He was a Skovlan refugee with no connections and no money in a hostile city that resented his existence. Sure, he had an education, but no employer in Doskvol would give two shits for a Skovlan education, and their Law may as well be a foreign language for as much as it mattered. He'd seen how things worked in the Underworld, admittedly by looking in from the other side of the fence, and he knew in broad terms how things were supposed to go. Independent operators like him either joined a gang, formed a crew, or ended up dead. Bazso's gang would be an important stepping stone on that path, but Wren had ambitions beyond the reach of the Lampblacks. He wanted something a little more... flexible. Tricky Dick Nixon posted:Describe a score the crew might undertake, and the role your character would play. It can be from your character's perspective, or more detached. It can be relatively simple and straightforward, or have many twists and turns along the way. The important thing to communicate is where you (and the character) would see themselves fitting in with a team dynamic. When the spotlight is on them, how do they perform? What is the one unique thing they bring to the crew that no one else quite has? Smuggling is a very personable business, and Wren is the hub around which the wheels of that business turns. It isn't all just sneaking and skulking about. You want to bring in a shipment of Dust from the Dagger Isles and sell it to a dealer Charterhall? First thing's first, you're gonna need to find a Supplier; Wren is there to gain his trust and negotiate a price. And once you've got the goods, you're gonna want to get it into the city; Wren is there to cut a deal at the docks and convince the Bluecoats to look the other way, or forge a cargo manifest and certificate of inspection that'll pass the sniff-test long enough to unload the goods. Then you need to find yourself a buyer, and who better than Wren to ask around about interested parties? And then once you have them, Wren is there to negotiate a lucrative arrangement for all parties. And at every step of the process, Wren ensures that everyone is dealing in good faith; years of dealing with every kind of scumbag society can produce has given him a finely-tuned ear for bullshit. Wren, quite simply, is the Face of the crew. The Legitimate Front-man. He's the guy you talk to if there is any talking to be done. Tricky Dick Nixon posted:Feedback: I really enjoy the idea of a barrister turned to crime, especially one brought down to street level and unable to make a living due to their refugee status, thus the turn to crime. This is also one of the few directly cultist applications, which is interesting that you picked as a friend Baszo Baz because he also is mentioned as a cultist, and that might have been a point through which the two of you forged that bond, even if your dedication be to different forgotten gods. As mentioned on discord, I'd like you to think about your vice's purveyor. We built on this idea, a librarian that you might see as an avatar or connected to your god in some way, though the truth might be more ambiguous.  The Near-and-Far. The Traveler. The Watcher in the Dark. He Who Walks Between. The One Who is Many Places. Many names, many faces. A shadowy figure associated with secrets, darkness, and conspiracy. Often represented by cloaked figure, face in shadow. I'm thinking the Vice Purveyor is a Librarian by the name of Lomond; Wren made contact with Librarian Lomond once he got his feet back under him and some coin in his pocket. For a nominal fee, Lomond allows Wren to access the restricted/rare books for Wren to study, both to uncover new secrets for himself and to perhaps piece together lost information about the Near-and-Far himself. He's trying to rebuild a Cult from scratch here, after all. It's possible others managed to escape to Doskvol, but Wren isn't taking chances. How much Lomond knows is unclear, as the Librarian is coy when it comes to questions, but Wren suspects there is more to the Librarian than is let on. Cut off from all support and Cult resources, Wren has done his best to keep the small observances alive. One such practice involves the creation of a sacred Ledger. The faithful keep a small book in which they ritually record whatever lost knowledge or hidden secrets they uncover in their daily lives. The book is written in a personal code used specifically for this purpose, and is kept hidden somewhere in their home. Cultists typically record everything they've collected on a weekly basis, though some deeply devout (or skilled) faithful make it a point to record something in their Ledgers every day.
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Aug 20, 2019 00:19
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It's time for our crew to assemble. The scoundrels of this particular story are...       This wasn't easy. I mean, it rarely is, but people came out in force for this recruit and it put a fair bit of pressure. My only hope is that this inspires more Blades games to spring up and accommodate for the obvious hunger for this game. I've been workshopping it for the last few days. I ended up having basically two different parties that I had to decide between, and decided that the stories this one would tell would be the ones most natural to me. From the group makeup, I identify the following themes:
There's also three channels in the Discord set up for doing some pre-game work. We will go into the first score the crew did together, built a web of relationships between the character, and finish out crew creation. I'll be looking for input from everyone as much as possible, but looking to have it mostly wrapped up by the middle of next week.
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Aug 21, 2019 01:44
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