Welcome to the Cool Zone
It’s July of 2020. Florida, in the (fictional) town of Marjorie, on the Atlantic coast a little south of Orlando. The pandemic is raging across the country. Politicians are trying to force businesses and schools to open. The hospitals are overcrowded, and the healthcare system is strained to the breaking point. People are restless and angry, and some are fighting back against an unjust and corrupt police system. Others are turning a blind eye to the suffering of their fellows, using ignorance and malice as a shield against even the most common-sensical practices.
It’s times like these, times when death is very near and lives are lost in their thousands, that the Geists of the Underworld are empowered to offer the dying a Bargain. Those who take it are called the Bound, and those who choose to use the power they’ve been granted to do something more, to bring some good to a world of chaos, are called Sin-Eaters.
You are one of these, and you are not alone.
The little god of death that bargained with you is ever at your side. Your fellow Sin-Eaters will march beside you, upholding the tenets of a faith you build together. Others, living and dead alike, will join your cause. And it is a cause, because the status quo sucks. It’s sucked for longer than you’ve been alive, and longer than any of your friends have been dead.
So get out there and change it.
This is a game of Geist 2E! It will be a true play-by-post, with a Discord for player discussion. We will be using google-docs for asynchronous writing of scenes, then post the text to the thread once a scene is concluded. (This makes content much easier to read or re-read, unlike pure Discord games.)
Character generation for Geist is a bit different than most WOD games, as we need to create the Krewe (which is a mini-cult/religion) and give it tenets that all the characters will follow. Given that, my preference as Storyteller is that we play an Undertaker Krewe. This sort of Krewe has a lot of interest in making the world a better place, and easing tensions between the living and the dead. It also spends some time in the Underworld, trying to learn from what the dead have to teach, or the vestiges of their mistakes. That said there’s plenty of room for ideas and differing player goals.
The town of Marjorie itself will be custom built once the players are chosen, to give the biggest possible playground to the themes and ideas we're interested in as a group, so for now just think of it as a middle-sized tourist town in Florida, hit hard by both the COVID crisis and the non-existant tourist season. You do not have to be from Marjorie (many of the Bound don't stay near where they died, for good reason) but you do need something or someone, dead or alive, that's piqued your interest enough to stick around.
To submit a character for this game, please include a picture of your character and answer the following questions (if applicable) below:
1: You lived. Who were you before? Where were you? How did you feel about your life?
2: You died. How did it happen? How do you feel about it? Who died with you? Who did you leave behind?
3: You lived again. What was the Bargain offered to you? Is your death commonly known or was it a secret? Is anyone looking for you? Did you ever go home? What's keeping you in Marjorie?
4: Your partner: Tell me what (little) you know about your Geist. What’s their special name? What do they look like? How do you feel about them? How do they seem to feel about you?
5: Your profile: What are you looking for in a krewe? How do you feel about ghosts, the Underworld, and what your Krewe’s relationship to them should be? What about the living? What are you trying to change about the world?
Not all of these questions will apply to all characters,and if you have other things to say about your character that aren’t on this list, please feel free. You also don’t need to answer in numbered format, a bit of RP that touches on the answers is basically what I’m looking for here.
Character Sheets should be filled out before the deadline but are less important than the questions. There will be one round of follow up, personalized questions. Once players are selected we will have a final round of Krewe generation and group world-building.
I am looking for 4-5 players. The Deadline will be Sunday, August 16th barring any extensions. Link to Discord [HERE]
mistaya fucked around with this message at 03:12 on Aug 10, 2020
|# ? Aug 3, 2020 03:26|
|# ? Sep 27, 2020 16:03|
|# ? Aug 3, 2020 13:24|
Sheets aren't 100% settled since Geist is complicated, but the Skills/Attributes/Merits are basically what I want
"Sagacious" Lou Quarterman
How do you do? You eaten well lately? The name's Lou. Lou Quarterman. Now if we weren't talking over this here computer, this is where I'd offer you some sweet iced tea, or hot tea if you're worried about your yang qi. Guess the traditional hospitality's got to take a breather with all this drat pestilence flying around.
I used to be...a chef. Hell, I still am one, 'sjust I can't do it for a living no more since now I ain't really one of the living. Gullah-Geechee cuisine, learned from the roots up back home on James Island. These days I mix in a few other styles I've picked up on the road, but Geechee cooking's the core and it's staying that way. See, we never used to move around much on the Islands, and we've liked it that way for over three hundred years. We know who we are. Which means when folks said Lou's jollof rice, or Lou's conch soup is the best around, they mean it.
No points for guessing how I charmed the love of my life. Ah, Therese. Face as pretty as the golden clouds at dusk, her walk as graceful as a bird on the wing. She's my one and only, now and forevermore...Hey, Therese! You ain't hidin' off-screen again are you?
Hahaha, I'm just kidding you. She did pull that on me once. Very witty lady, picked it up from all those novels she reads. And sharp as a knife. Therese's also Geechee, though more freshwater than saltwater. Meaning she's from the inland. Wasn't a very welcoming place for her, I'll tell you that much. The two of us met out on St. Helena when she was trying to get back in touch with her own roots, and our stories've been woven together ever since.
Unconquered Of Six Directions
But you're not here to hear me reminisce, are you? You're here to ask about how I'm the handsomest haint you've ever seen. Well, I'll tell you.
I was on a trip out to Atlanta, to meet up with some friends I hadn't seen in...ooh, must've been thirty-five years now? From across the other ocean, out in Asia. Even after all this time they were a bit like my brothers-in-arms: we had bled together and sweated together, and groaned for weeks about the first two. Training under the great Cheung Si-fu, yeah? The real deal, what everyone back then just said they'd go out and do. My Cantonese is still pretty good, as it happens.
We'd re-connected on a web board, Butterfly Blades. Small miracle in itself, that. Felt like the universe at work. So wasn't it a ripe goddamn shame when I died of some stroke on the way over! I think I must've been, anxious, or something. Being away from Therese, even for a little while, or having to explain to the guys how we didn't and couldn't have any kids. Mr. Unconquered over here didn't give a poo poo about that, though, he was chomping down on the red rice I'd had packed and brought me back so I could make him some more. Hey, hey, you were!
OK, alright, so that's not the whole story. Full name, Unconquered Of Six Directions, is a warrior. Dressed in honored fabrics won over two hundred years, with a flywhisk of life and death in each hand. A slave who freed himself, joined a nation of the free in the swamps, and fought the bastards who'd return him to shackles from here to Oklahoma. I understand he's quite the big deal. If the warrior needs my help in his fight, then I'm bound to give it.
But keep in mind: he did save me, but I also saved him. There's a reason I'm here a full six years after I went "missing", after my dear Therese was cheated out of our home and was forced into sickness and squalor here in Marjorie, where I had to limp to her door, drenched in a hurricane to finally see her again. By all accounts I - hell, him and I should've forgot everything, drowned in those rivers below and been done with it. But I heard the drum. The only one I had left mourned for me, after hoping against hope for so long. And now here I am.
Bendigeidfran fucked around with this message at 06:01 on Aug 16, 2020
|# ? Aug 6, 2020 20:12|
Also an interest post. Just workshopping.
|# ? Aug 6, 2020 20:20|
These days, it doesn't feel like much of a stretch when you tell people that things are hosed up. They don't have to be! They weren't, at least not like this, but... ugh. Sorry. Let me start over. Sera, nice to meet you, and I am — or was, anyway — an aspiring politician. Okay, no, that comes off wrong. I wanted to make things better. When I say politician it definitely gives the vibe that I want to slide into the grift. That's... that's like the opposite of what I want. Wanted. gently caress, sometimes it doesn't really sink in what happened.
So I died, obviously, and... uh. Well, you know how "I have information that will lead to the arrest of Hillary Clinton" was a meme for a while? It's kind of like that, but I didn't — I don't exactly run in those circles — and it was more of a local organization deal. Someone with money and interests that were getting threatened by rhetoric like "hey wouldn't it be cool if we had enough money to fund our schools, get people the care they need, and make sure people don't go hungry? you know who has money for that?" Well, apparently my dark horse run in the Oregon primaries ruffled an incumbent's feathers. Or the people holding their leash. Who knows?
Either way, I got grabbed from my place, shot in the head, and dumped off a bridge. I looked up the news story, after the fact, and it got cleaned up real nicely. Did you know I had a drinking problem, an illegal firearm, and suicidal tendencies? Me either. Now... I'm not happy about that, to say the least, but the thing that absolutely kills me — other than the bullets, then the fall — is that it happened before I even got anything done. Did I ever figure I'd last long enough to see how things shake out, once things get rolling in the right direction? No, not really, but... I didn't even get that far.
Not until I met her.
The Abyssal Contessa
As I sank into the depths, I saw her. Ethereal, bound in chains and seaweed, terrifying to behold, but... more than anything, just sad. We connected, in that instant, two kindred spirits. She wants... it's hard to say, all flashes of a struggle and being pushed off a ship... a wooden one, real old style... but I think she wants what I want. To fight this system that's chained us all down. To make a difference. To be remembered. Our hands met. And... just like that. I wasn't dead. Wasn't alive, either, but that's how it goes.
When I pulled myself out of the water, I didn't really know what to do. I'd been killed. Like, professionally killed. Even as whatever I was, I didn't much like my chances if things got out that it didn't stick. I grabbed a few things, emptied out my checking account, and skipped town. I just headed east for a while. Long enough on the road to get a sense of who I am now, what I'm here to do, and long enough to get the itch back. I'm not ready to stop fighting. Maybe politics was a dead end. Maybe I need to engage in a little more direct action... and god — or whatever the gently caress — knows it's a good time for direct action. The people are ready for it. I'm ready for it.
As I went, I started to get these... bits and pieces, I think, of how she died. Chains, the briny scent of saltwater, and a clear vision of a coastline as she fell backwards into the water. It took a little digging, but I managed to follow that stretch of coastline here. To Marjorie. Now, what comes next? That's... that's a good question. I'm fairly sure the answers we're looking for are here, but until I find them, there's no shortage of work to be done.
Tricky fucked around with this message at 17:41 on Aug 14, 2020
|# ? Aug 10, 2020 19:37|
So, I recon you want me to answer your questions and tell me a little something 'bout my life. Name's Ezra Willett. My daddy's name was Ezra Willet, and he named me after him. It's a family thing. Willets come down to Florida, oh, middle 19th century, after the Seminole War down from Georgia. Weren't a good war from what I hear. Course, you could say that of any war. Anyway, guy named Nehemiah Willet, he fought in it. got a patch of land and farmed it. So I'm from that stock, I guess you could say.
So anyway, you wanted to know about me. I had a job making cement, till I threw out my back something bad and am on disability for it. Doctor told me once even though I'm 30, I have a bod of a 50 year old. I don't think that's true, but life wears a man down. Saw it happen to my daddy and my mama. Too many bills need paying, not enough money to pay them. Shame when you think on it. Baby comes into this world, full of hope, and then what happens? All the weight of the world comes down on that baby. It's just the human condition. Sorry, philosophizing again. My mamma used to tell me as a little boy, she'd say "Little bite, you got a mind on you. You should become a teacher." Course, you have to go to school to be a teacher, and well, you know how it is. College is for rich people.
Anyway, you want to know how I died. Funny thing to think about, somebody telling you how he died. Answer is, got et by a gator. Figures, right? There'x Covid all over the place, people rioting and the police tear gassing them, and I get mauled by a gator. Car broke down on the road, and of course, was a few miles to the near\est town. That car's always breaking down. So I'm walking, and I slip and fall down an incline into a drainage ditch. Sure enough, was a gator just resting down there, He must've thought I was a dear or something, and he's right on top of me, smacking me around, tearing me up. I'm smacking that gator, and just saying, Jesus, God, save me. That's when I see him.
He don't really look too much like that. That's much too cute. But he's a little alligator man. He don't talk much. I mean, he can talk, and when he does, it sounds like hissing and the way somebody sounds when he's pissed at you, if that makes sense. I don't know what his name is (I call him Gary, Gary the Gator) , and I don't even know what he wants, most of the time, but I know that while that gator was chomping down he was looking at me, as if it say, "Well, son, you done it now. I can get you out of this, but then you're mine, and gave me that toothy smile like the devil hisself. Then, the gator just stopped and walked off. And I tell you, I felt fine. Even my back stopped hurting. I get back to the car, and even that starts working,
I had nothing keeping me where I was. My people back home are dead. Have a cousin who lives in Marjorie, So I just started driving, and here I am. I figure, hard though it is to believe, I'm dead. And I see other dead people around, some of them who don't even know it, and they don't even have a cranky aligator man. My momma always said I should be a teacher, so maybe I can make something of that....help the dead come to terms with it, and help the living people come to terms with it, so that when they die, they're not trapped in that halfway world too. I've never done anything worth doing in my life before. Ain't even anyone cares I'm dead. So maybe there's a first time for it. Maybe I can finally make a difference.
|# ? Aug 12, 2020 04:46|
1: You lived. Who were you before?
Gary Lawson Jr.
Where were you?
Daytona Beach. Well, if you’re a local, Port Orange. But for everybody else, Dayton Beach. Close enough.
How did you feel about your life?
Lucky I guess. ‘cept when I wasn’t. lovely parents. Happens. Got out, lucked into a job as a mechanic, mostly boats at first but some cars and trucks too. Had a bit of a knack for it. Just good at seeing how stuff should fit together. My places never did get hit too hard by any of the ‘canes, I got a couple promotions and was trainin’ new guys. Met Jenny, got engaged, got married. Was working on buyin’ a house, ‘til, well. You probably saw in the papers.
2: You died. How did it happen?
Right after they moved me to the Tomoka Correctional Facility. Got shanked. Fuckin’ useless guards.
How do you feel about it?
Pissed the gently caress off! Some fuckhead murders my wife, lazy fuckin’ cops don’t bother to investigate and throw ME in jail, and I get stabbed 18 times before I even get to say anything besides Not Guilty!
Who died with you?
Not a goddamn soul. Didn’t even see it coming until I was bleedin’ out.
Who did you leave behind?
Besides a useless fuckin’ guard? My sister in law and their mom, but they probably think I did it, so whatever. The boys at the shop, I guess. Mrs. Hernandez, the neighbor. She’s gettin’ up there and her kids don’t do poo poo to help. We were takin’ her shopping list to the store so she didn’t have to go out in this shitstorm, but… without Jenny, really didn’t leave nobody behind.
3: You lived again. What was the Bargain offered to you?
Justice. Or revenge, depending on how you wanna look at it. I figure it’s a chance to figure out what happened. Maybe right another wrong or two along the way.
Is your death commonly known or was it a secret?
All over the goddamn papers! Not that I look a thing like that fukkin’ mugshot they plastered everywhere. Findin’ out your wife got murdered and they ain’t even lookin’ for who done it and are just gonna throw you in a hole to rot takes a lot out of a man.
Is anyone looking for you?
God, I hope not. They’ll just lock me up again.
Did you ever go home?
Once. Middle of the night. Looking for clues.
What's keeping you in Marjorie?
I found one. Room key for a lovely motel in Marjorie. Jenny n’ I ain’t never stopped in that town, nevermind spent the night. I don’t think she was cheatin’, but… I dunno. That’s the clue I found, so this is the town I’m in.
4: Your partner: Tell me what (little) you know about your Geist. What’s their special name?
Way she looks, figure she musta had a real name at some point, but she just refers to herself as The Queen Of Spades.
What do they look like?
She looks like… well, like an angsty teenager, to be honest. Black and white and sad and angry. Mighta been a KISS fan. Or Marilyn Manson. But I think she died before any of them showed up.
How do you feel about them?
I… I get her, I think. She’s all raw emotion and pain, but she’s got a soft side too. She doesn’t like killin’, she just wants the world to be a better place. Problem is, it ain’t. And some people don’t deserve quiet, happy little lives. Some people deserve all the pain we can heap on ‘em.
How do they seem to feel about you?
As much as she sympathizes with me, I ain’t her first and I won’t be her last. She’s got deep scars, that one. I’m not perfect, I’m not her tool of destruction, but I’m what she’s got, and she’ll take it for as long as I’m willin’ to be here.
5: Your profile: What are you looking for in a krewe?
Protection. Somebody to help me figure out what happened to Jenny. A friend, maybe.
How do you feel about ghosts, the Underworld, and what your Krewe’s relationship to them should be?
We all got unfinished business, true enough. But some don’t wanna finish it. And that’s a problem. Not a problem I necessarily got the solution to, but a problem.
What about the living?
poo poo, most of them cause more pain than they even know, but stupidity ain’t a crime. Maybe it should be, but it ain’t. The ones that do know, and fuckin’ do it anyway… they’s a problem. And I do have some solutions for that.
What are you trying to change about the world?
Too many bad folk gettin’ away with whatever the gently caress they want, ‘cuz their daddy in politics or are fuckin’ the detective or just have more money than any one person needs. Seems I’m in an unusual position to correct some of that, and by god, I’m gonna.
|# ? Aug 20, 2020 01:14|
|# ? Sep 27, 2020 16:03|
Howdy everyone! How's it going? Everything good? Nice, nice, you love to hear it. My name's Brooklyn. Friends call me Bookie -- which means you can't do that just yet. But maybe, with time and a little bit of effort, we can fix that. Interested? Great. How about we go for a couple drinks and I tell you a little story? It's a fun one, you're gonna love it, promise. So let's see, where does it start...
...Oh, right! So there's this guy, right? Scrawny, quiet, nice smile, you know, the type that you pass by on the street by the hundreds every day. And he's got a nice, pretty little wife he's been going steady with for some ten-odd years, a nice, cushy IT job, a fancy house...you know, life's been good to him. But like most of those guys on the street, he's got no balls. Life's crushed them to fine paste while granting him all those gifts. He doesn't fight back when someone disses him because it's not worth the trouble, takes on overtime to 'make a good impression for the bosses' and gets a pat on the back and no pay rise for it, tries to find constructive ways to channel his rage when he gets pissed off. He deals with it, because so long as he's got his wife, anything's OK by him. She's his everything, and the feeling's mutual...until...until....dundundundundun...they have a little fight. It's not that important. Maybe a mistake while doing the groceries, maybe a forgotten t-shirt at the mall, maybe the Miami sun is beating down extra hard today. What matters is that they say things they don't mean, and instead of getting mad and talking things out, they decide to set the matter aside. 'We'll talk about it later!', they say, and they never do. And slowly, that pent-up anger poisons their relationship. The next day, the morning goodbyes on the way to work are a bit curt, the smiles a little forced. A couple days later, there's no greeting when they both come home. A week in, sex between them — which has always been explosive, they're kind of freaks under the sheets, rowr! — it comes to a dead stop. The anger and resentment just build and build and build, borrowing from years of minor slights that never mattered in the face of their love, until they can barely stand each other. Just talking to wifey is enough to piss our muchacho off something fierce. Not having a good outlet for that anger ('cause remember, no balls), he takes to smashing his collection of glassworks and figurines. Shattering something precious like that feels good. It's a nice, comfortable substitute for his failing relationship, makes him feel like they can still fix it. Can you believe this guy? It doesn't get much more delusional than that, really.
And then, one day, our boy dies. Ever since the last row, he's been so pissed he's forgotten to take his heart pills, and while having an argument at work, it catches up to him and bam! Dead as a fuckin' doornail. As his heart fails him, he realizes just how badly he hosed up. He thought he could fix it, but never took the chance to do so. And now, it's too late. What a total sad sack, eh? It's honestly pathetic when you think about it...
...Her name was Lexie. I still miss her. There was a fig I never got around to breaking, the glass heart she gave me the week after she started going out with me. It's got a drop of her blood in it, and the black chemicals inside still turn pink when I press my thumb against it. 'So long as it still lightens up, our love will never die', she said. God, how did I gently caress up so badly? I should've done something different, anything...
...Aaaanyway, enough with the sob story for now. So I died, and after I shook off the trauma, I promised myself two things: one, no delaying doing what I want for anything. Time's too precious to waste on poo poo you don't care about. Two, no more lies, ever. I'm on a 100% misdirection-free diet now! That, and a mission. I made myself a bucket list...well, more like a post-bucket list, but you get the idea, and it's got all the things I needed to do and never got around to. So I'm gonna go do them now. And that's what brings us here. I'm looking for someone with the right talents for a little something-something, and a friend of a friend of a friend of yours gave me a description that makes me think you just about fit the bill. So what do you say about hashing things out over those drinks I promised? My treat, of course. When you're pursuing happiness and closure like I am, no price is too high to pay.
Oh yeah, you must be wondering who the diva in the red dress shooting me those dirty looks is. Well, wonder no more! This is my partner in crime, the Homewrecker. I know she looks scary, but she's a real darling when you get to know her, trust me...well, when she's not getting all crazy, anyway. She's got a real temper, this one, but honestly? It suits me just fine. She reminds me about how important it is to feel strongly about things, and to let the world know about it too.
Psst. Just between you and me, she really likes the spotlight. It's funny, I think I've got her figured out, except when she's under lights. It's like she becomes a completely different person, really shows off just how much stuff goes through her head. I'm pretty sure she's some kinda thespian, which really says everything you need to know if you think about it for a minute.
This little errand I'm on's connected to her, actually. See, I'm pretty sure she killed someone, if the blood-spattered ball-and-chain wasn't a clear enough indication. But, and this is the interesting thing, I'm pretty sure it didn't stick. She's been real insistent on going to this little town, Marjorie I think it's called, to look for them. Why? Your guess is as good as mine, honestly. But I'm not about to say no to such a lovely lady when she asks for something. It's fair compensation for dragging me back over the edge of death, right?
|# ? Aug 22, 2020 02:51|