Ongoing Games (In-Character)Play-by-post games are going on in this forum as we speak (well, read). All threads on this board are actual games, so please, only post on a thread if you are a player of that game.
The bright sunlight of a spring day does little to dispell the feeling of tension in the air. In Beirens, a sunny day just meant you could see the rot of the city more easily. The beggers and the drunks had been forcibly removed from this section of the slums, however, to make way for a parade- Senator Stonetreader, one of the few Dwarves currently serving in the current Senate, had announced the event in order to publicize his work in the poorest part of his district. As the various street people were removed, however, a more dangerous element moved in- protesters.
Protesters for the Senator, protesters against him, protesters for a cause, and protesters simply looking for a fight all lined the large alleyway, signs held high. Mob violence had become something of a local pass time in the last few years, and hundreds of eager people had flooded this particular slum looking for entertainment. They all screamed, growled, and threw insults before the Senator was in sight- when he arrived, there would be a full scale riot. Or there would have been, if not for the armed mercenaries strategically placed along the parade route.
Your orders from the Guard are simple, as told to you by your handler, Thrakin Derronar, a Dragonborn- maintain order. You are not allowed to use lethal force unless it is first used against you or another, and he wants the body count kept as low as possible. Like all the missions you are to be given, however, he has given you room for discretion, as the only times you are used are times when collateral damage is not a problem.
And so, you five stand back in an alley, a jostling crowd already assembled before you. The Senator is not supposed to come near this small block for another twenty minutes, but already the nerves of the different groups are beginning to wear thin in anticipation. Guards stand at regular intervals throughout the crowd, wielding swords. However, their orders are to surround and protect the Senator, not assist you in crowd control. The nearest guardsmen, an tall eladrin in fine chain with a long, curved blade at his side, throws an occasional glare at you whenever the sea of protestors thins enough for a clear line of sight.
You know almost nothing of the group you have been assigned to, having met for the first time at Derronar's office not an hour ago. Whatever happens today, you all know one thing- it should be an eventful day.
Spoiler
Some time for fluffyness and character introduction, another constant in most of my games. Take a bit to talk to each other, show off your personality, or not talk and not show off if that's how you roll. Just give others an idea of who you are.
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The Bear is Back.
Last edited by purepolarpanzer : 08-07-2008 at 04:55 AM.
The tall Lizardman walked through the crowd a little amused. He nods to the eladrin as he keeps his hand on the longsword hilt at his side. This should be intresting...
The rather frightening appearance of Segius greenish-brown scales, razer sharp teeth, vicious claws, and the brilliant scarlet crest on the top of his head as well as the sword at his side and glaive strapped to his back let his identity be known to the world. All most all knew he was a member of the Redscale Erumail family and even most of those who didn't kept a short distance from him, fearing his monstrousness.
Segius was used to it by now. They thought of him as a monster. To him they were pawns and sheep so good riddance... "Hopefully no fighting erupts...I don't think I can pull my punches"
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When life gets you down, nothing seems to go right, or you just cant find something, remember this... Got Ale?
-Dwarven Life Style
Last edited by drackcove : 08-07-2008 at 09:36 AM.
A cloaked man appears from the shadows, seemingly out of nowhere, and addresses the Lizardman. If fighting erupts, I don't plan to pull my punches. Death will come when it comes. And should they choose to fight many of their deaths will come today.
The hooded figure then glides across the street, disappearing into the shadows once more.
An elf stands in the center of the alley. His eyes scan back and forth across the crowd, watching for trouble, but his body, clad in forest green, is completely still. There is a sense of absolute calm about him, and he has spoken very little since giving his name and a summary of skills to Thrakin an hour ago. Upon hearing Zelek's statement, Coshim speaks.
"Yes, death will come when it comes. You speak wisely. I know not what we will face, friends, either now or in times to come, but we will face it as we will. Let me offer up a prayer for us now."
Coshim raises his left hand in a fist to his forehead. The rainbow-colored tattoo of a seven-pointed star is clearly visible on the back of his hand. He intones,
"I invoke the power and grace of The One who is Seven,
may Correlon inspire us,
and Ioun enlighten us,
may Melora guide us,
and death not frighten us,
may Erathis unite us,
and Sehanine hide us,
may Kord embolden us,
and The Raven Queen guard our souls."
Last edited by Edge of Dreams : 08-07-2008 at 12:45 PM.
An elf of wiry stature stands in the shadows, his arms crossed and his head down. His dark hair covers his pale green eyes, which dart back and forth constantly. Those who don't know him assume that he is looking for any trouble that may come from the crowd, when in truth something far more dangerous is after him. After all, any assassin of the syndicate found working for the guard is to be put to death on sight. One of his hands raises to his face to brush a tattoo on his forehead. A plunging hawk confronted by a hissing viper, the symbol of one of the elves best trained assassins. His fingers then trace down the scars that cover the left side of his face, handiwork of the syndicate as well. Far less delicate work. How he survived failing a mission the syndicate sent him on is far beyond most persons comprehension. Be it trough toughness, luck, or sheer willpower, Erandan Willowstep still lives.
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GENERATION 13: The first time you see this, copy it into your sig and add 1 to the generation. social experiment.
Talk to LordRod if you want him to make you an avatar as cool as mine.
An elf with scraggy hair and an unkempt mustache stands obviously at the mouth of the alley, taking the looks from the Eladrin as a sign of maintenance. He has a sudden feeling of inadequacy, looking at his own equipment. Rust spots, dings, and erosion has taken its toll on the plate Lambert wears and a shoddy leather strap holds his sword and shield to his side. Reassuringly, he thinks of Sun's Hand dogma: your faith is power beyond.
He feels comfort in Coshim's words of prayer, not minding Pelor an absentee in his prayer. Most people didn't even remember there being a temple to The Light before the great riots.
Lambert goes over a talk in case a protester confronts him, reminding them that the Senator is here to only spread good.
The protestor, an elf with a sour look on his face, bears his teeth in a sneer and roughly shoves past you.
Senator? Bah! Puppet more like it! This fool is an insult to his position! He takes bribes from the Fists, and those dwarven louts are the only reason he got elected anyway!
As he moves past you, his green eyes flash open just before a meaty fist lays him low. The elf falls back, hitting the stone with glazed eyes. A dwarf stands above him, his sign held in his left hand while he cracks his right's knuckles. He wears the clothing of a skilled laborer, with a leather harness covered in tools for carving either wood or stone, including a razor sharp knife and a large hammer. A bronze clasp on his left shoulder shows a broad fist clenching a hammer, holding it upward with a mountain backdrop. This symbol of the Adamant Fists marks him as one of their mid level members.
Get yer arse up, ya great girl you! Did yer Fairborn Syndicate send ya to attack our champion, ya prissy piece a filth? Or does it just stir yer blood to see tha backbone a this city git a say? Either way, I'll bash yer nose so bad they'll never call ya Fairborn agin!
Several elves filter their way through the crowd and pick up the fallen protester, while several dwarves sprint to back the craftsmen who laid the elf low. Already insults and threats are yelled back and forth, before the Senator's parade even arrives.
__________________
The Bear is Back.
Last edited by purepolarpanzer : 08-10-2008 at 08:12 PM.
That didn't work... Pelor! Bless me with a tongue of reason! With his inner-plea, Lambert now feels much more adept at calming the tension.
He turns to the elven side. My ancestors! Do not retaliate; violence is not what either of us are here for.
Lambert then faces the dwarves. If you wish to support your Senator, honor him by not making a scene at his parade. Nobody would feel honored by a fight breaking out by his soon-coming presence.
Coshim stands still, saying nothing, waiting for the moment when the line between the time for words and the time for action is crossed.
Spoiler
OOC: This is kinda a "hey, don't wait for me to do something, I'm not going to" type of post. For the sake of game progress, such things are sometimes necessary to indicate that a player is choosing not to act, as opposed to failing to post.
__________________
I spent an hour on the edge of dreams,
I walked between the worlds,
and when I woke I never knew
to which side I had fallen
"Damn, I'd hoped the syndicate wouldn't get involved today. This could be bad..." Erandan whispers to himself. He stands still, waiting for the right time to act.
__________________
GENERATION 13: The first time you see this, copy it into your sig and add 1 to the generation. social experiment.
Talk to LordRod if you want him to make you an avatar as cool as mine.
Before a real fight can break out, you hear trumpets sounding down the street. Several men dressed in horribly pompous outfits stand with brass horns, announcing the coming of the parade. You see several mules turn the corner and make their way down the street, pulling a large cart. The cart is heavily adorned with shining shields on the outside, both for show and for protection. Guards surround the cart, eyeing the tense crowd as they hold glaives outward, ready to push back any offenders. On top of the cart, wearing fine armor and a large, flowing cape stands a grey bearded dwarf. He smiles with broad, white teeth and waves, while heralds to either side of him yell through cones into the crowd, shouting the praises of the Senator's work. You see that the crowd, at first cowed by the procession, now has forgotten the fight in favor of shouting curses or praises up at the Senator.
Still unmoving, he watches the procession. Though his eyes are on the crowd, Coshim speaks just loud enough to be heard by his allies. "These people are only united by the way they are divided. Words and blows may equally persuade when violence is the act we must dissuade."
__________________
I spent an hour on the edge of dreams,
I walked between the worlds,
and when I woke I never knew
to which side I had fallen
The lizardmans eyes narrow. His voice is low and it vibrates a little as he speaks. "No. Words are reason. Reason has a disadvantage against unreason. The tactic is flawed. Reason has its time but now is not it. Unless there was advantage i missed." He hisses a little as he ends.
__________________
When life gets you down, nothing seems to go right, or you just cant find something, remember this... Got Ale?
Coshim remains composed, and responds slowly, "Words may spark emotion, if spoke with clever tongue, but as for who to speak them, I am not the one."
He gestures to the crowd and the passing senator, "See how they love a leader, to follow, hate, or mock. With words a caring shepherd could make these wolves his flock."
__________________
I spent an hour on the edge of dreams,
I walked between the worlds,
and when I woke I never knew
to which side I had fallen
I used my words because it is a weapon that draws no blood. In a situation like this, violence will only exacerbate the crowds. They want someone to draw a sword, so they have an excuse to draw their own.
The erumail chuckles, a rather unpleasant sound "If i draw mine they will run in fear. The unreason of fear is always the best weapon against the unreasonable. They know my clan, and the slaughter we can bring."
__________________
When life gets you down, nothing seems to go right, or you just cant find something, remember this... Got Ale?
Erandan shakes his head, the argument of his "companions" seeming like a waste of time and attention to him. He looks around the crowd, trying to see anything of merit.
Spoiler
Perception Check: (1d20+11)[20]
__________________
GENERATION 13: The first time you see this, copy it into your sig and add 1 to the generation. social experiment.
Talk to LordRod if you want him to make you an avatar as cool as mine.
Eranden's trained eyes search the crowd. He sees a rush of emotions- anger, hope, joy, woe. Everyone seems to be thrown to some extreme by the political situation, extremes rarely seen during the hum drum of daily life. Some even seem to thrive off the tension. For Eranden's Eyes Only
Spoiler
Especially the thin, normal looking elf, leaning against the bricks of a closed store. Your eyes begin to pass over him, but he stands straight and begins to slowly make his way foreword, towards the road. As the folds of his cloak are pulled back, caught on someone else's sign, you see a large dagger in his hand. He quickly pulls the cloak back, peering around the crowd before moving foreword again.
Hmm, negotiating does nothing, life ends in death, when that death comes is the only variable, all attempting at a negotion does is delay the inevitable...
Zelek remains in shadows, pondering why people fail to realize the absolutes in life.
His bow in hand before anyone can blink, Erandan shouts "Over there!" before sending an arrow through the crowd at a would be assassin.
Spoiler
to panzer: I can't seem to get onto mythweavers right now, so you can roll a doubble tap for me if you can get on.
__________________
GENERATION 13: The first time you see this, copy it into your sig and add 1 to the generation. social experiment.
Talk to LordRod if you want him to make you an avatar as cool as mine.
stepping closer to his target andpulling back his bow, Erandan lets two arrows fly into the crowd, hunting their target with deadly accuracy.
Spoiler
Two fanged strike with his bow
attack 1: (1d20+7)[24]
attack 2: (1d20+7)[8]
assuming I'm now closest to the target, otherwise it's only +7
Damage 1: (1d10+3)[11]
Damage 2: (1d10+3)[7]
with an additional +3 if both hit.
__________________
GENERATION 13: The first time you see this, copy it into your sig and add 1 to the generation. social experiment.
Talk to LordRod if you want him to make you an avatar as cool as mine.
need to double post for elven accuracy on the second shot: (1d20+3)[11]whoops that's supposed to be +6
__________________
GENERATION 13: The first time you see this, copy it into your sig and add 1 to the generation. social experiment.
Talk to LordRod if you want him to make you an avatar as cool as mine.
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Corrupted Foundations (IC, Group One)
"Verb, verb, verb, verb the adjective noun! 
