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." (1d10)
- Sawed-Off Shotgun: "Ah, this feeling of safety... And useful. Really useful." (3d6, 2d6, 1d6)
- 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: 20 - "Keeping fit nowadays. Also sleeping way better nowadays."
Knowledge: 60 - "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.
I could try "All of the above:, but that would get a little weird.
By the way, you spent 110 points in character creation
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You half cover your eyes, adjusting to the light of the harsh desert sun. It feels like a huge change, exiting the air-conditioned car with tinted windows, but you have been in the desert for hours now. Just as your eyes are starting to adjust, a man walks up to you. He is an aged man, well past his prime, with slightly wrinkled features and greyed hair. It was clear that at one point, he had been fit, and he is still a large man, a head taller than you and a good bit wider. Even in the desert, he seemed to be wearing a lab coat, without the slightest hint of sweating.
"Hello mien colleague" he greats you, with a slight German accent. "I apologize for making you come all this way, but could find no alternative. We tried taking pictures, but the image appears to be too faint. Every time we try it, you only see a blank wall. I tried tracing it as well, of course, but it seems the desert heat vaporizes the ink before we can even finish it. You may think it strange, but I swear it happened!" He states, before motioning you to follow him.
You walk on the yellow sand of only a minute, heading toward a small hill that appears to grow as you approach it. There is workers lounging about next to a series of tent like tarps-no doubt giving shade to the excavation sight. The workers were sitting about, fanning themselves and drinking water, without doing much work. You can't blame them, just from this short walk you find your hair wet with sweat, any work would have to be done later in the day.
"As you know, we have found a burial sight for the local Indian people" the scientist said, as you started under the tarps. "Mummified bodies under the sand, as is the custom. The strange part is this wall-we think it to be a tomb, but are yet to find a way to open it. The local traditions don't have any sort of tomb, nor do any they have contact with. We were hoping you would know something about it, or you would at least be able to tell us what this symbol means..." he continues, as you pass several open graves, some with dried human corpses at the bottom. Your attention, however, is directed at the hill itself.
Built into the hill is a series of three large blocks of rock. The one in the middle takes up the majority of your sight, with the two smaller filling in the gaps on either side. What you came for, however, was the engravings on the largest stone. Long lines crossed the stone lengthwise and width wise, like a spider web covering the entirety of the stone. In the center of this web was a large blob, perhaps a lake or puddle of some sort, with rounded edges jumping out at random intervals. In the center of the blob is what appears to be a human skull, mouth agape, starring back at you.
What do you do ?
=================
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
((Maybe try combining the different threads?))
I could, though every time I try an online "Party" it ends in disaster. If you want to combine threads with someone else, you can post it. I would prefer that if that is done, it is done after at least one individual adventure for both (Or every person) involved, so everyone gets a feel of the tempo and organization, and even then the "parties" could be temporary. Plot wise, they may or may not have anything to do with each other. I am not spoiling.
=====================================
The kid stumbles, falling on his hands once again. He seems to get his second wind now, picking himself up and running the best he can in the direction of your car.
Of course, your attention is on the dog in front of you. It stops in place, stopping all the energy of its charge immediately. With in instant, the smoke forming its lean head opens its mouth. A whip like tendril of smoke erupts from the mouth, as thick as a man's arm at the base thinning down to the size of a needle at its end. As this happens, the smoke on the tree produces two more of the dogs, these currently entities of pure smoke.
The "tongue" of the beast twists around in the air twice, like a cobra preparing to strike, making a sound like a bullwhip cracking. Again like a snake, the beast sends its horrid appendage directly toward you.
What do you do now?
=======================
Name: Rachel Lindy Stine
History: A simple housewife with martial arts as a hobby, Rachel isn't the person that people will point to as special. Weird? yes, but special? As a wife of the normal 2.6(3 in this case) family, you can't get much more normal, barring the karate.
However, with a single phone call from her eldest son, Tim, asking for help, sends this mother off to a creepy town. The thing to note is that most horrors have never heard the term 'don't stand between a mother and her cubs.' so Rachel got a lot to overcome if she going to save her kid.
Items:White karate gi-Black belt of course, Fists (1d6+2 LW)
Hand bag-money, phone, makeup, etc. Also doubles as a swinging weapon.
SUV-It a car. Can't carry it, but I had to get here somehow.
Armor: 5
Guns: 10
Melee: 30
Agility: 25
Knowledge: 15
Charisma: 25
Abilities: Fist of Steel
Five over the hundred point limit. Not sure how I even managed to notice this. In any case, would you like to fall into the mission or be hunting something down? (It sounds like you want to hunt something down, but never hurts to be sure.)
Name: Anders Lang
History: Once a bright linguistics student, Lang managed to finagle his way into an expedition to an ancient temple discovered deep in the Himalayas, and with inscriptions in an unknown script. They entered the temple and began their work, and surprisingly made great success in translating the writings, being able to largely read them within a few months. That was when they discovered a horrifying secret: that the temple was actually a seal over an ancient horror. They thought nothing of it at first, assuming that it was over a volcano or that some ancient wanderer had had a bad trip or something.
However, over the next week the expedition began suffering from mental problems. Fatigue, anxiety, eventually breakdowns. Alarmed, they decided to leave - only to find the gates sealed shut. Lang doesn't remember more than snatches of the next terrifying days, but he does remember fleeing from the final collapse into the depths of the temple, and finding a partially blocked ventilation shaft. Starting the climb. After that, nothing but waking up in the hospital. He has never found any of the others.
Lang was deeply affected by this experience, surprisingly enough; he lived in an obsessive fear of everything for some time, but then determined to end that. Decided that instead of waiting for the dark to come to him, he would go into the dark. That he would fight against that beyond understanding for both himself, and for mankind (mostly himself.) He spent years mastering those tools which would not abandon him as they had on his expedition - his hands, and his will.
Anders is driven by a fear of the Other and of powerlessness, and especially of losing his mind and identity. Not much of true death, but of effective death. He has trained in many martial arts, especially those which focus on agility and which promise the ability of punching out eldritch horrors, and of controlling his thoughts and emotions. He values knowledge, but considers it only a tool for destroying what remains unknown. His hope is to master all which humanity cannot comprehend, and if Death happens to pass that way all the better.
Items:
A close-fitting white suit, cut to allow effective movement as possible.
A pair of cold iron gauntlets, with lots of religious, occult, and talismanic symbols written on them in silver. Lang isn't sure if any of that helps, but they sure are good for hitting things. Light melee weapons. (1d6)
A necklace with a small lens on it, which symbolizes reason and light and is also pretty cool. It always distorts light in an unusual way, which Lang has memorized exactly.
A small notebook and pencil.
Armor: 5
Guns: 0
Melee: 35
Agility: 30
Knowledge: 20
Charisma:15
Abilities: Proposal: Strong-willed - General ability, or maybe knowledge? The character will not easily give up, whatever faces them. While not actually any tougher, they will be able to withstand more pain, more mental stress and insanity, and to see their decision clearly however confused the situation - though there is no guarantee of that choice being right.
You walk down to the beach, as casually as you can manage, leaving your car on the side of the road. You walk down the paved road, the ocean, though calm, is the only noise you manage to hear as you quickly walk toward the scene. Though from what you can tell from here, the woman is mostly unresponsive, shivering and sobbing without moving her mouth to actually say anything. The police keep attempting to talk to her, calm her down, and console her, to little avail.
In the end, the only part of the conversation you are able to hear is a snippet that the woman yelled at the top of her lungs. "Jus...Just get me the hell away from here!" she manages to shout, between sobs that sound like she has trouble breathing. "Ill answer your damn questions once we get away from this damn ocean!" she continues, before getting in the police car and cuddling around her legs, still sobbing and shivering. One of the police man shrugs, gets in the front of the car, and drives off just as you are almost there.
The other police man, who seems to be writing something on a notepad, puts out his hand to stop you. "Sorry sir, but you probably don't want to be swimming anywhere around here any time soon." he states, walking up to you this time. He then points out to the water. "Shark attack." he explains, before going back to writing. "Bad one, too. Normally they only take one or two bites, but these guys look like they had a feeding frenzy. Probably desensitized or something, tourist boats keep feeding sharks around here to give people a show. I'm sure you will be able to read all about it in the paper tomorrow, what little a story there is." continues, before putting down the notepad. "Well, Id better start putting up the tape before some other poor fool gets himself eaten. Have a nice day, sir." he continues, turning toward his own police car.
What do you do now?
================================
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)
Guns: 20
Melee: 10
Agility: 35
Knowledge: 10
Charisma: 15
Abilities:
Art of Throwing
You enter the house, now speaking like a pirate for whatever reason. The floor creaks with each step, sending up a cloud of dust and leaving a footprint as if in snow. You explore a little, finding another door, this one much flimsier. You Sparta kick it open, revealing the remains of a kitchen. All appliances have been removed, leaving only outlines on the eggshell white walls. You turn around and look for another room, donkey kicking it open this time. (Note:All of these doors have been unlocked so far.) It is a bathroom, without a bath. Or toilet, sink, or anything that is not eggshell white paint or dust. You kick open another door, leading to another empty room like the one you had originally entered. Besides the banshee like scream of a woman as you entered, it was simply empty. Empty, empty, empty!
You were about to leave this room as well, when you notice the gleam of something in the corner of your eye. You turn to see it. There is a thin sliver of light, illuminating all the dust you so rudely disturbed, coming from the window. This sliver of light is glaring off of something. You examine it closer, walking to the center of the room. The glimmer appears to be coming from under the floor boards...
What do you do now?
Author
Topic: Death May Die- Modern Eldritch Action! Room for one more! (Read 8429 times)