Giant in the Playground Forums - View Single Post - OOC Can't Take the Sky From Me-[Exalted, Heaven's Reach]

Nobody's called dibs on Dark Green, have they? Good. I'd hate to have to steal it from them.

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Name: Des Damasque, aka The Whiskey Dancer
Exalt Type and Caste: Chosen of Secrets
Anima: The dull, faded color of ill-gotten jade
Anima Power: Immunity to mental attacks from users of Essence lower than 3; +3 MDV against all others.

Motivation: Build the most perfectly ramshackle ship in existence

Background:
Appearance

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Backstory

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"Give me another."

The room was poorly lit and smelt of smoke and spoiled beer. The bartender grunted, and another glass of baijiu was poured. The man holding the glass swallows it in a single gulp, and returns to his game.

"3 Bits."

The man across the table glares at him, his face twisted in hate, and tosses his cards back on the table.

"Thank you kindly."

He sweeps up his winnings for the day, counting them with a miser's care and attention.

Damn it.

Not enough.

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He is seventeen and a prodigy, the world his oyster and the stars the limit.

He is nineteen, and working on his apprenticeship at the Aden shipyards, his master filled with praise and the growing knowledge that his apprentice might surpass even him.

He is twenty and blacklisted from every reputable shipyard or business that would take him.

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"It isn't enough."

The room is far more seedy than it appears at first glance. Gold and orichalcum and jade paneling and mosaics. Aged wood and the smell of fine cigars. A sideboard containing unnamed and unmarked decanters of amber liquid in various shades.

The man behind the desk makes a gesture, and the third person in the room slams a fist into the younger man's gut. He crumples onto the floor.

The man behind the desk tut-tuts.

"You still owe me nearly 5 mina, Des. And at the rate you're paying it back, it'll never be enough, with the interest."

He gets up, squats down next to the man to whisper in his ear.

"One more chance, Des. Then I'm afraid my mercy will be at an end."

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When you start out at a point where can't see how you can possibly go higher, falling is a long, hard, and brutal process.

He's too used to the little luxuries that eventually dry up; unable to wean himself from the best and finest.

Eventually, banks pretend he doesn't exist when he comes to call, and he pretends not to exist when they do.

In despair and in search for something to take the pain away, he turns to gambling. He finds he's surprising good at calculating the odds.

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This room is just upscale enough to not be called seedy and just seedy enough to not be called upscale. The people here wear clean, if inexpensive garb and talk casually as they play. There is no smoke, and people drink wine and beer that smells of actual attention and craft.

Just getting the minimum stake to play here had cost him his apartment.

Tonight, he would win, or he would die.

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In order to make money, you had have money. In gambling, this was doubly so. Playing in games where the night's were perhaps one bit would have only slowed the utter destruction of his fortunes if he had any fortunes left.

One night, a burly man who would later beat him up tells him of a man who could help. Who would provide enough money for a decently sized stake. Desperate, he accepts the deal with the metaphorical devil.

And discovers the devil in the details.

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The room is now considerably emptier than it was previously. They've left, one by one as his streak of impossible luck continues.

He can't stop. He's won far more than he's lost, but it still isn't enough. There are five players left in the room, then three, then two.

They stare at each other from across the table, cards in hand. By unspoken agreement, they won't quit. One due to pride. The other, desperation.

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Flush with his new infusion of cash, he moves to more high stakes games, arrogant in the knowledge that he has never lost. He buys himself a bottle of fine liquor for the first time in what seems to be eternity, and prepares to regain his fortune.

It takes him perhaps three days to lost almost everything. His victories over the tiny have ill-prepared him for the contests of the mighty. He returns to the minnow pond, and weeps.

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The room is silent save for the clink of chips upon wood and glasses filled with water upon cardboard coasters. The two men in the room look upon the pot with greed and desperation and pride and sorrow.

The other man doesn't have enough to match. Not this hand. He folds, and the last of his earnings go with him.

Smirking and secure in the knowledge of his victory, Des begins to sweep up the chips, but the other man holds up a hand to stop him.

"Double or nothing?"

Des scoffs. The other manreaches into his pocket.

"It's called a Shard."

The microprocessor is suspended in a millimagnetic field, unable to move beyond its confines.

Des has heard of such things. Legends. There are perhaps 700 Shards in existence.

"I can't use it. But maybe you can."

To own a Shard, even to use it...how could he resist? He agrees.

The final hand is nasty and brutish and short.

"...How?"

The other man cries in despair. Des says nothing as he sweeps up his winnings.

Says nothing, and does not think of the ace that he had hidden in his sleeve the entire game.

Sometime Later

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"Frisk him."

He's clean, of course. He wouldn't dare bring a gun to the man's presence.

He tosses the money onto the desk, the jade coins clinking together and reflecting off the computer monitor.

"Paid in full."

The man behind the desk runs his fingers through them, nodding as he does so. Then stops.

"I'm sorry, Des. But you're too late. And I can't grant extensions for anyone, or I'll have to grant them for everyone. I'm sorry. It's just business."

The first shot takes him between the eyes. There is no second shot.

"...How?"

The body guard kneels over, dead, his body riddled with holes but not lead, as Des blows nonexistent smoke off the end of his finger.

"I got me an upgrade."

He strolls over to the sidetable, pours himself a glass. Drains it, shoulders nearly collapsing as he sighs with pleasure.

"Sorry, Boss," he drawls, pointing his finger at the man cringing before him.

"It's just business."

Attributes

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Primary (Physical/Social/Mental): 8
Secondary (Physical/Social/Mental): 6
Tertiary (Physical/Social/Mental): 4

Physical:
Strength ●
Dexterity ●●●●●
Stamina ●●●

Social:
Charisma ●
Manipulation ●●●●
Appearance ●●

Mental
Perception ●●
Intelligence ●●●●●
Wits ●●●●

Abilities (Specializations +)

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[Note: Place [A]uspicious and [F]avoured (You get four) tags, for clarity.]
Total without BP/XP: 35, with at least 15 in Auspicious and Favoured.
(If using Dawn Solution rules, 4 free specialty dots)
Caste Requirements:
Journeys
Resistance: ●●●(+1 Liver of Iron)
Drive: ●●●
Sail:
Survival:
Thrown:

Serenity
Craft: ●●●●●(+2 Tinkering, +1 Magitech)
Dodge: ●●●●●(+2 When Drinking)
Linguistics: ●●
Performance:
Socialize: ●●

Battles
Firearms: ●●●●●(+2 Pistols)
Athletics:
Melee:
Presence: ●●●
War:

Secrets
Investigation: ●●●
Larceny: ●●●●●
Lore: ●●●
Occult: ●●
Stealth: ●●

Endings
Awareness: ●●
Bureaucracy: ●●
Integrity:
Martial Arts: ●●
Medicine:

Backgrounds, Artifacts and Equipment:

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Backgrounds:

Artifacts and Equipment:
Artifact: 2 Silken Armor
Artifact: 1 Laminate Dragonscale Vest
Artifact: 1 Six-Storm Hellsplitters

Connections(Gamblers and Con Men): 3

Resources: 3
Various scams, cons, and the remnants of the diposed wealth of a crime boss
Purchases

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Blaster Pistol - The Equalizer
Motorcycle - saddlebags enchanted with Celestial Drifter's Panoply.
Exceptional Crafting Tools
Whiskey. Lots of Whiskey
Motor Oil
Anti-Freeze
Industrial Lubricant
Coral Snake Venom.

Savant 3

Charms

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Excellencies
Fateful Craft Excellency
Fateful Larceny Excellency
Fateful Firearms Excellency
Fateful Presence Excellency

Firearms
Holistic Bullet Methodology
Steel and Smoke Mandala (x2)

Resistence
Someone Else's Destiny
Shield of Destiny
Optimistic Security Practice

Craft
Excellent Implementation of Objectives
World Shaping Artistic Vision (Starships)

Drive
Celestial Drifter Panoply
Never an Empty Alley Technique

Larceny
Avoiding the Truth Technique

Investigation
Efficient Secretary Technique

Astrology:

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The Key ●●●●
The Lightning Bolt ●●●

Combat Stats:

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Join Combat: 6

Attacks:

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Dodge DV: 8
Permanent Charms (Effects)

Soak:
Bashing: 10B (+5 vs. Solid Projectiles)
Lethal: 11L (+5 vs. Solid Projectiles)
Aggravated: 9A

Hardness:
Bashing: 3B
Lethal: 3L
Aggravated: 3A

Health:
-0 [ ][ ][ ][ ]
-1 [ ][ ]
-2 [ ][ ]
-4 [ ]
X [ ]

Mental Defenses:
Dodge MDV: 7

Virtues:
Compassion ●●
Conviction ●●●
Temperance ●
Valor ●●●

Virtue Flaw/Flawed Virtue:

Intimacies: Whiskey(Love), Gambling(Addiction), Nexus VI(Hive of Scum and Villainy, but a good place to find work), Sidereals(Damn fools the lot of them), The Empire(Don't Bother Me)

Languages:
Galactic West (Native)
Empire Standard
The Tongue

Willpower: 10/10

Essence:
Permanent: ●●●
Personal: Current 16/16
Peripheral: 30/38(-3 Celestial Drifter Panoply, -5 Armor)

Bonus Points and XP:

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Bonus Points:
Total: 30/30 | Flaws:
-7 Essence
-5 Willpower
-2 Specialties
-14 Abilities
-2 Background(Artifact, Laminate Dragonscale Vest)
[b]Experience Points. Spent: X | Left: Y | Total: Z