Name: Old Man Bridger
History: -Engaging First-person Monologue-
It was a cold gray September morning when I came outside to realize it had been taken. My entire collection of vintage lawn ornaments, stolen in the night! I knew it was those damned religious nuts over in the building down the road. Damned crazy scientologists over there were always parading about with rare lawn statues and such. They took my '97, my '86, even my '53 collectors' flamingo! I knew something had to be done. A man doesn't take another man's decorations. That's a capital crime in Florida, and this place sure is sunny. I strapped on my glove and picked up my gun, and headed down the road.
Items:
Leather Glove, Black Fedora, Gray Wifebeater, Pink Bathrobe, Gray Cargo Pants, Pink Bunny Slippers, ID Card, Wallet, '90s cell phone, Bottle of Whiskey, .357 S&W Magnum(2d6), Combat Knife(LW,1d6), Sasha, Celine, Mr. Smith, Eric Clapton, Joan, Bill Nye, Henderson, Little Joe (Combat Fitted) (Sub machine gun 1d10)
Guns: 20
Melee: 10
Agility: 35
Knowledge: 10
Charisma: 15
Abilities:
Duel Wield
When the screen fades back in, you are in the bird cage. You construct the perfect meca-falcon, the size of a dragon. Its bronze feathers sparkle in the sunlight, sending forth a rainbow of color as it flies off into the air, sending fragments of roof raining down. Seconds later, it comes back with Thomas Crews in hand, before devouring him like a mouse. It returns to the air, a sonic boom coming from behind it. It returns with the blood of hundreds on its hands, having completely defeated the enemy.
[Golden Ending!~!11!]
===========
Wait, no. None of that happened.
Turns out that not only do you not have any mechanical skills, blueprints, or anything like that, but you don't have any material. All you have is a ragged shoe string, hand soap, and paper clips.
You go down stairs to fix the fist-sized hole in the floor when you notice something at the bottom-pulling it up, you see that it is blueprints! It is labeled "SUPER-SECRET FUNGUS AMONGUS MECHA FALCON!!!!". You look it over, eyes sparkling. You rush up stairs, collecting the ragged shoelace, hand soap, and paper clips as instructed.
You are not sure what happened in that room. Every time you remember it, you always see the outside of a door, with lights flashing. Random sounds, like a saw, a cat screeching, and finally an old man jogging on a moving car. All that you know is that when you come out of the haze, you have assembled a mecha-falcon. For all intents and purposes it is a regular falcon, except shinier. There is a less then zero possibility that you just kidnapped a random falcon and dumped paint on it.
What do you do now?
=================
Name: Aiden Wainright
History: An Ex-English teacher who after getting fired because he mouthed of the head head of the school-board became a PMC after his entire squad was massacred by various Eldritch beings. He has since been tracking down any he can find and making sure they cease to exist.
Items:
-A Barrett M107A1 with bipod and custom carrying case labeled with Fenris in large gothic font. (2d12)
-A Beretta M9A1 (1d10)
-An ACU (Army Combat Uniform) with an Advanced Combat Helmet with goggles and balaclava.
-A large black trenchcoat with no pockets.
-And a larg[spoiler]e Malamute that follows him everywhere.
Armor: 5
Guns:35
Melee:0
Agility:10
Knowledge:25
Charisma:30
Abilities: One Shot, One Kill
((Now that I think of it I really need to name that dog.))
Might be a bad idea to get to attached to him. He has minion status, which conveys a lot of things, the worst of which is that he can not do reactions. If he ends up leveling up, Ill take that status away, but even then dogs in movies have an oddly high mortality rate. Especially if you want to win an Oscar.
====================
You yell at your dog (for all the good that does.) and move your heavy gun toward the next monster, which is seems huge. A shadow is over your body from the massive wings blocking out the sun as they prepare to fly toward you, probably while you are helpless. You manage to aim at it somehow, the bi-pod feeling more like a hindrance then a help at this moment.
You squeeze the trigger twice in quick succession, sending bullets into the nearby trees. Two shots, two misses. You manage to throw off the monster on top of you, while it looks powerful, it is somewhat light. Probably necessary to be able to fly, after all. The second monster is now in the air, again making a swoop toward you, preparing all four deadly appendages as if they were spears.
Meanwhile, your dog is combating the third monster. The monster throws a halfhearted slash far over your dogs head, probably at the height a man's head would be. If anything, it put the dog in a better position to attack. Your dog jumps up again, biting into the bony hand and causing red liquid to build up around its mouth. The creature still doesn't respond, but it looks like it at least got damaged.
What do you do now?
-----------------------
Name:False: [Jane Shepard] Real: [Jade Smarke]
History: Child of two cultists, Jade was to be sacrificed to some nameless horror when she was 12. The ritual interrupted by a mysterious group, Jade saved and taken into care. Her parents riddled with bullets and bleeding behind her, Jade never looked back. Trained as a long-distance problem-solver, Jade grew up in the company of people who faced horrors for a living - she grew up silent and grim, rarely if ever cracking a smile. She spent her days on the firing range, spending high-calibre rifle rounds downrange.
She went on her first mission when she was 18. Now she's 26, and along the way she picked up a slight addiction to opiate painkillers. A guilty secret - she knows it's bad, and she has to stop, but she always takes just one more...
A tacturn, dark-skinned woman, Jade (or as she goes by, Jane Shepard) is a part of a eldritch-abomination hunting group known as the Crimson Shield. With the aid of her team, she found monsters and those who would wake them and discourage such activities. A hunt gone wrong left her alone out of the seven in one piece, the in a rest in thirty pieces between them. Technically discharged for medical leave, Jane does not seem to have left well enough alone...
Always seems to be wearing some kind of hat. No particular reason. She just likes hats.
Items: "Love Tap" OSV-96 Anti-material rifle w/ scope, bipod (folded) inside carrying case
A heavy rifle, folded inside a generic looking carrying case. The name of the rifle is written carefully on the stock in cherry red, with a lipstick style-picture of a pair of lips next to it. Cared for like an old friend, the rifle is one of the most precious things to Jade.
2d12
- carry case
A generic hard plastic case Jane keeps her rifle inside. Just a case. The rifle must be folded and the scope removed before it fits.
- Painkillers, 4 bottles of
Opiate painkillers, far in excess what any person might need.
- Casual clothing
Basic t-shirt, leather jacket and cargo trousers. Beanie hat if it's cold. Baseball cap if it's not. Generic enough to not draw undue attention.
- Wallet
A battered leather wallet. Some cash, some "work" ID in the name Jane Shepard.
- Shooting glasses
A mirrored pair of shooting glasses, designed to protect against dust and rifle discharge. Slightly scratched.
- Hidden Knife
A vicious knife, one edge serrated, hidden in the small of her back under the leather jacket. Could do someone a mischief with this, that's for sure. (Lw, 1d6)
Armor: 5
100
Guns: 50
Melee: 15 Melee was never her forte. Try as she might, she never could put on too much muscle mass.
Agility: 15
Knowledge: 20 She never bothered to learn too much - she just aimed and fired.
Charisma: 0. Quiet and unfriendly, she has a surly demeanor. She left the talking to the others.
Abilities: One shot, One kill
Alright, enough to work with. I don't know whether he normally uses the real or fake name, so I will just use the fake under the assumption he would avoid using real names unless absolutely certain the situation warrants it.
========================
"Jane? What the hell are you calling for? Damnit, don't tell me....*Sigh*. Your a loose cannon, Jane! (.....Had to say it.) Why in the world are you facing unknown monsters right now?" he states, in his deep, gruff, police-chief like voice.
What do you do now?
================
Name: Alfred Simmers
History:
Starting out as an atheistic scholar of theology and the myth associated along with the religions, Alfreds initial goal was to find out more about humanities culture, their roots and how it all fitted together. Piecing together the relations between gods, legends and customs, chasing the divine mono-myth from the norse to the indian gods and further - it all was bound tightly, seperated mostly by the passing of time and distance traveled by mouth.
While investigating the birthplace of the "shangrila" mythos, (an idea quite present in asia, but in scholary circles long known to be lake ural in the more european parts of russia) he was part of - yet another natural drug-utilizing - shamanistic ritual. Not his first, and certainly not his last - but... something happened to Alfred that night, and a piece of the big puzzle he was working on was pieced together. Further Investigations into that new-found sliver of truth were made, relations discovered and at some point, proof was obtained. Proof that was far more than he ever bargained for. Proof, that better had stayed hidden, but impossible to ignore and not to be acted upon.
Nowadays, Dr. Dr. Dr. Simmers (Theology, Mysticism, and Honorary Theoretical {heh} Archaeology [he normally keeps it at one "Dr." for Introductions]) travels quite less, but with more purpose, always keeping at least one armament on himself. He really doesn't want to part with them, you see - he is quite sure that sooner or later he might will need them again, if push comes to shove even for himself...
Items:
- Silenced 9mm: "Never leave the house without it. I mean it. Always leave at least one bullet untouched. Also mean that."
- Sawed-Off Shotgun: "Ah, this feeling of safety... And useful. Really useful."
- 5 Moleskine's: "The one used for accounting and lectures is the only one unencoded. And the most harmless by far. As for the other's content... you don't want to know. Trust me."
- First Aid Kit: "Always stocked with a suspicious number of sedatives, calmatives and sleeping pills. And one undescribed, lethal poison one. Go figure."
- Travelers Odds and Ends: - "Swiss Knive, Lighter, Forged Passports, Light 10m Rope, Binoculars, Pocket Flask of Absinth, Two Pack of Gums - two "kinds" of gum, at that - and a seewing kit. All in a days work."
- Souvenir Pouch: - "Algiz Rune, Visnu Stattuete, O-Mamori, Different Crosses, Talismans, Fetish-y. Not sure any of them do their job, but trying is worth it."
- Traveler Boots: "Never underestimate the quality and state of your footwear. Never."
Armor: 5 - "Luck 's been on my side.. till now that is. Still quite sure that I can't thank any good for it either."
Guns: 23 - "A man's gotta do..."
Melee: 2 - "Yeah.. tried that. Once. Once was enough."
Agility: 15 - "Keeping fit nowadays. Also sleeping way better nowadays."
Knowledge: 55 - "Dr. Dr. Dr. Simmers. Need I say more? ... Figured."
Charisma: 5 - "... long time since I was invited for tea 'cept for polite necessity. Far longer since I took up the offer."
Abilities:
Identify Supernatural: Dr.³ Simmers bread, butter and potential undoing. He knows what he is talking about. Well, almost-certainly-not-talking-about, but still.
You look through your scattered, encoded, and bizarre notes once again, looking for something that might protect you. You find a poorly scribbled sign that is supposed to work without magic, and decide that it is probably your best choice. You remove some ink from a pen, and begin drawing on yourself. Somehow, your notes mention that this sign could either be a star with a flaming pillar in the middle, or a tree branch like object. Just to be safe, you paint both on your body, up your arms, on your chest, and anywhere else you would like to keep. The technique you use acts as a temporary tattoo- the inc staining your skin just enough to last for a day or two, or one good washing.
If you managed to survive that long, of course. A considerable part of the day has already been wasted, the once high sun is now casting long shadows. You manage to set about looking for a similar stone, wasting an even larger part of the day. There is, of course, no visible stone in the sand dunes nearby, even if there was it would be buried deep, so you stick to the hill the tomb is situated under. Much of this stone has been warn away by the nearby sand, eroding to crumbling rock.
It is by chance that you find a suitable stone, you trip walking up part of the hill, sending you falling several feet with the surrounding stones and dirt. You manage to avoid any injury, the fall was slower then a children's slide, but through up a lot of dust. Once it finally settled, you see the perfect stone, almost an exact replica already of that which you hope to vanquish.
You collect some equipment the workers left here, chisels, pickaxes, and the like and begin carving the rock the best you could, hoping the modern items don't remove the power somehow. You work ferociously and skillfully, somehow finishing an incredibly close approximation just as darkness sets (Rolled a 4 on your "mock the stone" test!).
However, there is no apparent change in either rocks. You still can not chip the one at the bottom, and the one on the top still manages to chip to the slightest blows. Perhaps you need additional spells to make the rock gain its power? You attempt to look over your notes again, yawning, but are unable to see anything. The light is leaving quickly, you are now surrounded by darkness. Maybe it would be best to return to camp for the night?
What do you do now?
Author
Topic: Death May Die- Modern Eldritch Action! Room for one more! (Read 8421 times)