"There are two sorts of honest captain. The brave, damned fools who cut through the storms and cross the Waste Sea, and the softhanded seabarons who concede what little skill they had by passing through the Falsehaven Levee."
-Pirate Lord Picen doMoore
"A place of death. Or perhaps, unlife? Salt clings to the air and chokes the earth, longing to return to the Lost Sea, seeping into any moisturous flesh in can find. Desert Folk skulk the sands, living the only life they've ever known, in this Saltrock Sea."
-Duneman occultist
"The League is the calming force this desperate land yearns for. These bountiful fields we have been blessed with, pinched between desiccate sands, fetid wastes, willful waters, and unknowable and unnavigable thickets... They are the sole blessing afforded to us. There are only two paths: steadfast order... or outright chaos."
-Adjunct Coulu of the Tersiac League
"There have been many worlds. This world is ours to mold. There are many gifts from previous worlds. These are our tools. Mysteries abound. Every discovery brings us closer to a greater understanding of the past, and thus, our future."
-Excerpt from 'The True Aeon Sentiment'
"There have been eight previous worlds. You may refer to them as ages, aeons, epochs, or eras, but it’s not wrong to think of each as its own individual world. Each former world stretched across vast millennia of time. Each played host to a race whose civilizations rose to supremacy but eventually died or scattered, disappeared or transcended. During the time that each world flourished, those that ruled it spoke to the stars, reengineered their physical bodies, and mastered form and essence, all in their own unique ways.
Each left behind remnants.
The Ninth World is built on the bones of the previous eight, and in particular the last four. Reach into the dust, and you’ll find that each particle has been worked, manufactured, or grown, and then ground back into drit—a fine, artificial soil—by the relentless power of time. Look to the horizon—is that a mountain, or part of an impossible monument to the forgotten emperor of a lost people? Feel that subtle vibration beneath your feet and know that ancient engines—vast machines the size of kingdoms—still operate in the bowels of the earth. The Ninth World is about discovering the wonders of the worlds that came before it, not for their own sake, but as the means to improve the present and build a future." –Excerpt from the Numenera CorebookNumenera has really revived my interest in making a high sci-fi setting, though I still like the personal nature of small party adventures taking place on one planet (well, mostly) as opposed to a space opera-like setting. And so, here is...
Numenera: Return of Fire
Lore As the excerpt says, this is the Ninth World. Basically, after countless centuries, the earth is now a testament to any number of previous unbelievably advanced races who rose to great heights, then receded into obscurity. The people of earth today don’t really know for certain if they’re living in the ninth ‘generation’, but there is no debate; there have been predecessors. The core book goes into detail about what the current citizens of earth could infer about their predecessors. At least one flooded the air and soil with nanites, one traveled to alternate dimensions (or originated from one), one wielded great power over the very laws of physics. Basically, all these inferences boil down to the fact that the earth as we know it today, in the 21st century, is a far gone relic. Stellar lifting, terraforming, and the ever present forces of tectonics have sculpted the earth into something alien, yet strangely familiar.
Humans, of course, are far too stubborn to let a couple hundred million years separate them from their home. They hold an inherit connection with the earth, and most have a sense that the earth was once theirs, and though they may have lost it in aeons past, it is theirs once more.
The most important thing to take away from this is that civilization is once more in a formative era. The dark age has passed, and it is time for a renaissance. The inhabitants have an 11th century mindset wielding and fumbling with seemingly impossible technology. They have all the tools needed to forge a new great civilization, a Ninth World, but it is still to be seen if they have the capacity for such an undertaking.
The game will take place in a region known far and wide as Falsehaven, even to most locals; though powerful individuals or groups might have their own, more positive term for their seat of power. It is the gate by which the vast majority of traders, migrants, missionaries, and travelers find safe passage to either civilized hemisphere of the greater pangaea-like continent. It is a small reprieve bordering a stretch of arid dunes to the west, strange jungles to the north, and abhorrent corrupted lands to the southeast.
Your character will start his or her adventure just outside this region, about to take the northern passage through the mountain range separating Falsehaven from the Thickets. This means your character can originate from anywhere but falsehaven itself.
Now, while it wouldn’t be outlandish to allow players to create interdimensional or intergalactic characters, I’m gonna have to set a human only restriction, just so we don’t end up with a menagerie of outlandish reality warping horrors (as hilarious as that would be). However, due to the nature of the setting, there are many abhumans. Mutants, crossbreeds, genetic experiments and the like. I would think it not wholly implausible to see a range of somewhat benign, but vibrant mutations in a large crowd of humans. And just as varied would be the cultures of human communities, some uniform across several cities, some specific to small, isolated villages.
Your characters are meant to meet with a small caravan headed into the mountain pass. Each of you was promised a reward if you followed further instructions given by the caravan leader. Now, what reward, exactly, is up to you. Make it something out of your character’s grasp, possibly something few or any of your allies or companions know about. A promise so enticing, or perhaps, so specific that you could not resist the temptation of seeing it through. To see if there is even a remote chance that whoever sent this message could get you what you need (or want). Maybe it's something you didn't even realize you wanted. Or perhaps, you just want to find out how they discovered that thing you long for most of all (and what else they know).
Name: Given or chosen, what do they call you?
Appearance: Gender, obvious mutations, unusual attire, ticks, tells, and quirks.
Skills/Profession/Moniker: The skills or talents you have that make you worth a damn to the greater world. Most ‘magical’ abilities are the result of manipulation of the numenera (the general term for advanced technology, or anything outside conventional understanding), or some inherent quirk specific to you. Often, a mix of both. So, to use fantasy terms, a ‘Fire Mage’ could be anything from a nano (term for those proficient with the numenera) who found a couple neat flame spitting items, or a mutant who literally spits fire. Usually, it’s hard to tell the difference, even upon close inspection.
Of course, you don’t need to know the mumbo jumbo surrounding the numenera to be a hero. Somerimes, just knowing the button you need to press to make an inert metal rod transform into a free flowing metallic vortex of blades (and how to use it) is enough. That would be the glaive, a general term for any skilled warrior (though most appropriately applied to true masters of the art of melee combat).
For those who stand somewhere in between (many do), there is the title of jack. Basically, this is anyone who uses a mix of finesse and technical knowhow.
Though just declaring that you are a jack, or a glaive, or a nano is as meaningless a statement as ‘I am a hero’. Does your character jump in and out of reality to dodge attacks? Maybe she has a companion, corporeal or not, that assists her? Or a jack that has the right connections, and some strange way to contact them? It’s a strange and extraordinary world that breeds strange and extraordinary adventurers.
Bio: You were born somewhere, you lived somewhere, now you’re here. The events that happened then led to now. You are not perfect. You are missing something, something outside of your grasp. Maybe even a goal you've buried away, resigned to the fact that even in a world where reality is often bent and battered and abused to the benefit of others, there are some barriers that cannot be breached.
Name: Tristan.
Appearance: Tristan is of average height for a human with light well defined muscles and pale grey eyes. He has short black hair.
Tristan wears black leather armor with matching boots and gloves as well as a dark hood on the back of his chest plate.
Skills Through many years of training Tristan has developed the ability to fully control his own body allowing him to augment his own natural abilities.
As part of his training Tristan turned his body into a weapon to learn it's capabilities and push them to his physical limits. To control his body he first needed to master it so he could then push it further.
As part of his training Tristan learned the limits of his bodies agility to then discover how he could enhance it.
Tristan learned the anatomy of many creatures to understand how his own body functions to enhance himself and how best to strike others for the desired effect.
- Knife Fighter ( Combat and Throwing ).
Tristan chooses to fight in close to his enemy where he can look into his enemies eyes as he kills them.
To fight enemies with bow or gun Tristan learned to conceal himself to close with his target without giving them the chance to fire upon him.
Carries an ancient relic on a leather throng around his neck that shields him from magic. A gift from the monk who trained him.
Bio: Ttttan spent his childhood getting into fights, stealing and causing trouble, surviving on his ability to avoid being noticed or to outrun anybody who chased him until he tried to steal a relic from a monastery and was captured by the monks inhabiting it.
Rather then punishing him however he was taken before the abbot who proceeded to explain to Tristan that his current path would see him dead or imprisoned in short order and then gave him a choice. Remain and repay his debt for trying to steal from them or be turned over to the guards.
Tristan chose to remain and during his time carrying out menial tasks for the monks he observed the training they carried out every day, when his punishment was over he requested to join them in training and was accepted on the condition that he use the skills they would teach him however they saw fit.
Lacking the faith in the gods that had allowed the other monks to join Tristan accepted and indeed excelled in this training taking the skills he had already learned and honing them over several years of intensive training until he was deemed fit to leave upon the condition that if they required his services he would provide it without question.
Since then Tristan has performed several tasks for them often involving some form of heretic that needed to be removed or a monk who had abandoned his faith.
Through all this Tristan has never really discovered who he is and so when offered the chance he accepted the contract to join the caravan for the promise of discovering himself.
Name: Ailana Meredy
Appearance: A slightly below average in height female with dark brown almost black eyes, and dark brown hair tied back into a ponytail. She wears full body grey leather armour missing the left sleeve. The arm on that side is almost completely covered in tattoos, along with her right hand. Slim enough to look malnourished but what is there is almost all muscle. She is extremely paranoid and constantly looks around her at all times rarely appears to be paying attention to anyone she's with.
Skills:
Gravity Control: Ailana can control gravity around her body, currently all the control she has is to lessen the effect on her so she feels lighter and can carry more on her and even that is mostly subconscious control.
Gravitic Control Bow: To most it just looks like a normal bow, but it has a special ability. It is able to make the arrows go in any direction it wants, though only in the loosest sense. The arrows are made of a super dense metal only usable with the bow. Ailana also carries a line of rope to attach to the arrows for climbing on.
Shadow Cloak: Ailana has a cloak that fully blocks all light in or out of it. This does have the disadvantage of making it impossible to see out of and it leaves a conspicuous black spot wherever it is, Ailana though is rather attached to it.
Bio: Ailana lacks memories of her first 10 years, her first memory is running through the woods trying to get away from something or someone. She stumbled onto a farm and the farmers took her in, she spent about five years there before everything went wrong, she suddenly felt that something was watching her all the time life a predator waiting for something, then the father died suddenly when a beam fell on him, the mother took ill not long after.
The eldest son was kidnapped not long after and was killed when the remaining children couldn't raise the ransom. The eldest sister, fell off of a nearby cliff and the remaining three had to leave after the farm was taken away. Ailana came with them at first but after the youngest child fell ill she decided she must be the reason they had so much misfortune and ran.
Others have tried to get close but if they do misfortune always falls upon them and that presence is always there watching. So she wandered taking odd jobs to stay alive, when she was told that the presence could go away and people would stop dying around her if she joined the caravan and she accepted without a second thought.
Name: “Trenton Mercator” ((But his real name is Johnathan Edwards))
Appearance: He is male with black hair, green eyes and is usually seen wearing professional looking clothing. Business casual while traveling and suits while inside a town. He also is usually seen with with what looks like a kind of monocle on his right eye, however this monocle is attached to to some kind of device that hides behind his hairline. He always has a bit of currency hanging from his neck by a string. It is golden in color and doesn't appear to be anything special. Johnathan has a very energetic voice, one that makes people want to listen to him, and he is generally very clear in his speech.
Skills/Profession/Moniker:
Johnathan is a very skilled merchant, able to barter with the best of them.
He is able to sense the dormant energy in currency and use them as a one shot weapon.
Using a form of Alchemy he can transform items into currency
He is also very skilled in map creation and trade route creation, and has a good amount of trade contacts spread around the continent.
Bio: Johnathan was born to a merchant family. Ever since he was young his father always placed a great deal of faith in currency. Johnathan's father, Andrew Edwards, would always remind his sons that those who held the most money, held the most power. This made sense to Johnathan as he could see that some currency held some kind of latent power. His brother, Marcus Edwards, on the other hand always argued that it was the strong who held the most power. After all, Marcus argued, they could just take the money by force. As the father and son arguments increased, Johnathan found himself playing the middleman. Arguing that the nomadic lifestyle of a merchant must be taking its toll on his younger brother, and often times he found himself following behind his hot headed brother who decided to run off in order to try and calm him down. One day as he was following his brother, Johnathan wound up falling down a hole and landing in some kind of ruin. When he regained his senses he realized his brother was calling down to him, and to wait while he got help. Taking in his surroundings Johnathan found a rather intriguing object. It looked like a pair of glasses, except it only had one lens and the other end was completely metallic. His curiosity got the better of him and he found himself putting the thing on. Unfortunately the thing immediately fused with his brain and he wound up falling unconscious.
The first thing he woke up to was his father screaming bloody murder. After a moment he realized that his father was blaming Marcus, and that Marcus wasn't trying to say anything in his defense. As Johnathan slowly regained his senses he reached for the side of the machine and happened to flip a switch on the device. The thing hummed to life and he immediately somehow knew what the device was and what it did. It allowed him to gain a crude understanding of any object he scanned. Any object he scanned would allow him to see a couple of various symbols on the eye piece that would translate to some kind of property. He would also later find that he could now exploit the inherent power laying within currency.
It felt like a second to him, however when he snapped back to his senses he found his mother calling out his name and roughly shaking his body. Apparently, he would later be told, he had been sitting still for a period of several hours. It wasn't until the next day that he realized his brother was gone. When confronted, his father adamantly denied any wrongdoing, and proclaimed that Marcus would be back within a few days like he always did. They waited as long as they could, about a week, on the supplies they had before they had to move. From then on it was a question of trying to track Marcus down. At first the entire family was involved, but it soon became apparent that either Marcus was dead, or didn't want to be found. The search had also dipped into the familes coffers as they spent their currency on phony leads and constantly traveled from town to town barely making ends meet. The constant struggle took its toll on Johnathan and his family, and soon they found themselves without any money left. Calling in a few favors his parents were able to get themselves a home. It had looked like their search had come to an end. Johnathan was prepared to go out and search on his own, but he took a few days to make sure his parents were able to take care of themselves. While he was there he was approached by a member of a caravan, promising him knowledge about his brother's whereabouts in exchange for joining. With no other leads Johnathan accepted the offer and joined.
He could tell his parents had mixed feelings about the situation, after so many false hopes they couldn't help but be reserved. However upon explaining to them that he would not stop searching until he either found Marcus, or his corpse, the fire they once had re ignited and they urged him to hurry and bring back their son. With that they urged him to also create a name for himself, and to become the greatest merchant that they could never be.
At that last bit Johnathan pondered his own name for a moment. He didn't think of his name as being all that title worthy. So he decided to change his name. He figured it might also help him locate his brother, after all Marcus wouldn't have a reason to hide from the great Trenton Mercator!
Name: Severo Alieus
Appearance:
A tall, dark haired man with wildly varying skin tones. He is sturdy and muscled, though this becomes strange to look at when coupled with his mutation. He often appears deep in thought and is quite quiet.He wears travel-worn clothes and is often seen with a large backpack on. He seldom lets others see the contents. He often changes his skin tone to camouflage himself, and his clothes and bag are made out a mysterious material that turn into colors as he sees fit. He also owns two mysterious and bulky metal gloves, in which a variety of installments can be found, detailed below. He often carries a sturdy walking stick. Goggles are wrapped around his head, and he uses them only occasionally. Otherwise he keeps his eyes uncovered.
Skills:
Metal Gloves: These gloves contain a huge amount of incredibly small nanobots that shoot out and start repairing tissue, bone, almost any living thing. They return on the will of the owner, in this case, Severo.
Backpack: Who knows anything about his backpack? I don't.
Inside there is a huge variety of tinkering tools, and Severo's experiment, 4 unfinished automatons. The automatons fold up into small cubes, and currently are small spider-like models that are not programmed yet. All this is stored in one compartment with a lot of scrap metal and interesting bits and bobs that Severo has found on his journeys. The rest of the Backpack is used to store other practical things, like survival tools, food and water.
Spiders:
1 nano Computer (un-programmed)
8 metal insect legs
1 small robot shell
50 cm copper wiring
2 small solar panels
1 small robot chassis
1 small battery
Chameleon Skin: A strange mutation allows Severo to change his skin color and tone at will. It may also change to reflect his mood.
Colour Mutation:
Red = Angry
Yellow = Nervous
Green = Passive, Calm
Blue = Sad
Tinker Tool use: Severo is skilled in using tools to tinker with his creations.
Survival Skills: Spending 8 years in the wild with a friendly computer has taught Severo many survival skills. He can use most survival skills, like lighting fires (He has a flint and steel), butchering animals, finding water, and tracking.
Bio:
From an early age, Severo's family noticed two things about him. He hated to see anyone hurt, and he loved to tinker. Severo grew up tinkering with scrap metal, computers, and other mechanical devices his parents brought home with them, purely for this purpose. His parents were archaeologists, and had the same mutation that he had: chameleon skin. They dug up ancient artifacts for a living, selling the objects to various museums. One day, they brought home with them an ancient nano-computer, one which they had decided to give to 'their little Sev' to play with. Who knew that after a day and a half taking apart and putting back together this wondrous thing, that Severo (aged 15) would have it talking back to him! Severo made great discoveries in this field, and had often thought of sharing them to the wider world, but decided to keep it to himself. It was too risky, he reasoned.
He studied archaeology with his parents and had this as a job. However, it was mostly a hobby, and he always spent more time on his machines.
When he turned 20, the ancient computer led him to several ruins far away from civilization. Here, the computer sent out a signal, and before Severo's eyes, a cloud of nanobots appeared. The computer told the nanobots to obey Severo's every whim. He now houses them in his metallic gloves. The computer taught him many things about what it had been life in the computer's time, giving Severo a massive boost in the knowledge of ancient computer technology.
However, sometime after he turned 25, things started to go awry. At this time he had been prototyping spider-like bots capable of following most orders Severo gave them. People accused him of dabbling in dark magic ("There is no such thing!" he complained) and chased him away from his home, like a classic angry mob, armed with inadequate but fearsome looking weapons. He had quickly packed his belongings into a large backpack he had kept just for this purpose, and left quietly.
He traveled around the world, picking up survival skills and travelling the various settlements. However, the station was always temporary, and he always left before anything bad could happen again. He tinkered with his machines where no one else could see, and hoped that no one did. He always left before the year was out, and sometimes long before that.
His travels took him to Falsehaven. A conspicuous name if ever there was. He was offered by a caravan leader to be taken to somewhere where he could tinker with his machines and nobody would be frightened. He accepted the terms warily, but was glad to be there. A caravan was never temporary, and with it came the chance to not be so alone.
He is now 33.
Name: Niles Firquick, or Patrolman Firquick, or perhaps Inquisitor Firquick, depends on who he's with at the moment. Probably Niles Firquick right now.
Appearance: somebody you'd confidently describe as a burly fellow. He has a shaved head, with the top of his skull looking oddly conical or at least triangular (definitely not a head that you'd shave if you weren't going bald or otherwise didn't have to). A recessed chin, and a little bit of an underbite. Rather stout, with a look of obvious strength. Wears a very slight pencil mustache above his unusually full lips and beneath his bulbous nose. Not a very handsome guy, it need not be said, and probably not very far from middle age, either. Dressed in rather thick clothing in case of unseasonable weather, ostensibly, but it's probably more to poorly disguise his two important devices of note, both rather blocky and protruding from under his greatcoat.
Skills/Profession/Moniker: a jack would be a way to describe Mr. Firquick, a very enthusiastic and somewhat able user of two important implements found on his person. The first is the Scanner, a diagnostic tool he recovered over two decades ago, which seems to be designed to work on most organic lifeforms to determine their age, disposition, obscure physical details, surface thoughts and sometimes even memories, if Niles listens in carefully, the weather is good, the interference is minimal and the reception feels like being kind to him. The second is the Beamer, which is like a shiny metal box that fits around his fist - he points it at things, grips its internals tightly and the indicated things start to burn. Or, if the dial on the side is turned down, just heat up a lot on the very outside layer, which to a lot of people feels a lot like burning. The ownership of both of these is a very decent supplement to Niles' own skills at diplomacy, which, in the event of its failure, is supplemented by his skills at intimidation and, when that fails, good old fashioned fisticuffs.
Bio: Niles Firquick once thought he had a bright future ahead of him. He wasn't the scion of Firquick or anything, oh no. He was said scion's first cousin (middle child of nine, no less), a much more low-priority member of the family.
To put this in context, perhaps a little information on the town of Firquick is in order. The town of Firquick was a prosperous one to say the least - located atop a particularly ancient, mountainous ruin of some previous world, it subsisted on scavenging its technology. Three very extended families made their home here - the Firquicks, who styled themselves founders and chief scavengers of the community, the Yngles, who counted many skillful engineers among them, and the Zeels, who provided much of the protection of the town. Despite each having a niche to safely occupy, the three families hardly ever got along for more than, say, a month. Always there was some kind of dispute, and sometimes it escalated into semi-friendly violence. And sometimes that escalated into less friendly violence. It wasn't exactly the nicest place to live, truth be told.
Niles first distinguished himself at his initiation into the Firquicks. Heading down into the deeper, less explored parts of the ruins to attain a treasure to prove himself, he and his group of fellows managed to find what appeared to be an armory of some kind, replete with strange artifacts of many kinds - being the smallest and least mean of his group (Firquicks having a notorious reputation for being larger than average and with an equivalently scaled-up temper), Niles had to content with the devices left after his cousin Julia, his sister Ilsa, his niece Frances, and the adopted Honor-bound Tom had gotten their pick of extraordinary-looking implements - silvery weapons shooting unpredictable lances of crystallized electricity, mostly, as these seemed the most impressive. Niles obtained three of the most interesting remnants - a box that heated things, another box that spoke in garbled gibberish, and a third box that seemed to become unbearably cold when activated. Once back topside with their loot, the group found themselves showered with praise, and given a choice of things they could do - all four of his compatriots picked more scavenging, feeling quite lucky. Niles, on the other hand, held off and decided to seek help on what his artifacts were. A Yngle former friend of his proved to be of use - she fixed the Beamer and the Cooler, and managed to make the Scanner's gibberish slightly more logical, to the point where Niles actually became able to interpret it with a whole lot of practice and experimentation. She took the Cooler as payment, though that seemed entirely fair.
So, with the Scanner and the Beamer, and both of their respective functions well-practiced in due time, Niles decided he'd be a lawman from here on in. He'd be Patrolman Firquick, ensuring the safety of the community with liberal application of fire and scanning. There weren't a lot of lawmen in Firquick until that point, as they invariably got on the wrong side of a feud more often than not, and had no real accountability, either. And for Patrolman Firquick, this sadly turned out no different. He was the same as his predecessors in many ways, only with slightly more invasive methods - the very minds of the families did not seem safe from his Scanner, and many were brought low when the Beamer was brought to bear. Nobody was killed, of course, but things did get quite shaken up as Patrolman Firquick, known better as Inquisitor Firquick among the Yngles and Zeels, started getting his nose into business nobody wanted him to uncover. Even the Firquicks themselves started to quite dislike some of his methods, as inevitably they also revealed many of their own indiscretions (even if Patrolman Firquick was kind enough to never mention them, he knew, and that was quite enough already).
With all this in mind, it is hardly surprising that Inquisitor Firquick was told by his closest family members on his nineteenth birthday and fourth year of his lawman career that if he stayed in Firquick for much longer, he'd be lucky if he spent his twentieth any higher than six feet under. Niles, not about to question that sort of wisdom and being already somewhat aware of the writing on the wall, proceeded to leave town for the first time, never to return. It has been fifteen years since that day, though his life has been mostly a repetition of this pattern since then, his offer of helping keep the peace accepted, and his methods eventually reviled. Longest he lasted was eight years in a small city named Brespen, and he wasn't even a patrolman there - instead, he worked as a guard for a paranoid aristocrat, scanning his closest confidants for any signs of treachery as surreptitiously as possible, until such a time when said aristocrat ceased trusting him and attempted to lace his food with arsenic (Niles managed to scan this intent before it happened, otherwise he certainly would have fallen for it, too).
It is on the tail end of this job that Niles has found that perhaps being a lawman isn't his strong suit. The aristocrat was a nice fellow, by and large, and he did like guarding his estate from assailants both real and imagined - how would it be, goes his fantasy, if he could do the same for a king? Or an emperor? Much more complicated, certainly. But much more fulfilling as well. A momentary flight of fancy of his, no more, truly, but a flight of fancy that he did dare voice to a certain enterprising party after drinking a little too much (which, for Niles, seems to be any amount at all - man couldn't hold his liquor to save his life) - much to his surprise, they did not just fail to point out the obvious difficulty of ever being trusted by a king, but they seemed of sufficient importance and inclination to perhaps provide a referral to some interested parties, were Niles inclined to do something in return.
Even more surprisingly, the offer was still on the table the very next morning. Niles, now more sober and far more incredulous, felt it was worth the task - he had to leave town anyway, and he didn't have a job, so perhaps, even if this did not pan out, he could find a job that's half as good as the one offered on the way to Falsehaven.
Name: Myreen
Appearance: Female, Myreen has Hazel eyesm shoulder length red Hair and a somewhat tanned complexion, She usually wears a light leather travveling outfit that would bare her midriff if not for the garrish Purple Shirt She wears under them, the outfit is more padded on the left side, where a large metallic box hangs from her shoulders. On her Forearms and legs there are stripes of mutated skin, normally either covered in patchy scales or what called be termed fur, to those that know her each of these was a scarring injury that she used probably a bit to much of the healing salve from her device on. Myreen never lets anyone else touch her Numenera, even getting aggressive and is touchy about her "scars" , and if she gets a serious expression and she is not working with her alchemy or practicing medicine, then she is either nervous or extremely angry.
Skills/Profession/Moniker: - Alchemist
Alchemical Aparatus: This Suitcase Sized Numenera is carried via a strong material that is uncreatable today, when provided with raw materials and the correct function entered into it's console it produces relatively swiftly some form of wonderous liquid, based on the formula entered, a suitable container can also be manufactured at cost of raw materials, some examples include:
(Myreen probably calls them something else and describes them differently)
- Explosive Mixture, This mixture explodes within a few seconds of being vigorously shaken
- Sterilizing Agent, A potent antibacterial, be careful it stings
- Healing Salve, Encourages the body's natural healing, a concentraded version can heal before the eye, but can cause generally ugly mutations, that are generally skin deep
- Organic Acid, Eats through Organic Material
- Metal Acid, Eats through Metallic Material
- Glowstick Liquid
- Parralytic Agent
- Contact Glue
(Maybe more if I can think of any)
- Poisoning Blade, Not always used for poisons, this blade is however designed to hold semi viscous liquids and deliver them to targets, Myreen has become somewhat adept at using it in real situations
- Medical Training, Aside from her miraculous concoctions, Myreen is also trained in 9th world medicine
Bio: Myreen was born in a large city, and at first seemed to be growing into a proper Lady, she took up Medicine because her parents fortunately beveled that her quick mind should not be wasted. This all changed however when she failed to save a young man that she had taken a liking to, from a rather vicious bout of Influenza. Myreen locked herself in her room for a week after that, she would accept food into her room but otherwise said nothing, and when this pattern was accepted, she grabbed what money was in her room and fled out the window. She found herself unready for the road and was almost out of money when she stumbled upon her Alchemical Aparatus, it was in the back of an attic that she had paid for the privilidge of sleeping in, it had obviously not been touched for a century, but she felt drawn to it, when she left in the morning she took it with her the coupple that had given her the overpriced bed too interested in the breakfast they were interested in to notice. Myreen then spent some time experimenting with her find and learned to pattern quickly enough for some basic concoctions, but thinking back to her failure she gave heself a mission. Myreen has grown a lot and learned a fair bit too since then, she has cone to Farhaven as a continuation of this, she is looking for ingredients or formula for a Panacea.
Andres
Name: Tchatcha Ianmo
Appearance:
He is wrapped from head to toe in rags and bandages, reeking heavily of embalming fluid and rot. His eyes are cloudy and aimless, but Ianmo can see clearly for some reason. His frame is nearly skeletal and has no physical strength left, except only enough to shuffle around. His voice is raspy and unclear, and his speech is broken and guttural.
Skills/Profession/Moniker:
Stemming from the same force that's keeping Ianmo alive, he can inflict his curse onto other corpses, raising them temporarily. The zombies are completely enthralled to Ianmo, but if they move too far from him or Ianmo stops concentrating they die permanently. Ianmo excretes a strange fluid from his hand that he can lob at enemies to corrode their skin and anything they're wearing. It's also quite poisonous.
Bio:
For unknown reasons, Ianmo could not pass on to the next life, nor could he find the reason for this. The occultists and shamans say that his spirit was cursed. The more advanced 'doctors' thought it had something to do with nanites that lingered in the tomb Ianmo was buried in. He still isn't sure.
One witchdoctor witnessed something similar that happened many years ago, and in his studies of the man they found that he would live forever in great pain unless he found his 'true' death. Any other kind of death would render his body useless, but keep his mind fully conscious. They would rot away, but their spirit would linger there for eternity and suffer. Unfortunately, that man died the wrong death. Ianmo didn't want to suffer like he did.
Ianmo was contacted by people who knew his true death. They would not tell him, unless he used his skills to escort the caravan and follow the leader's instructions. Ianmo accepted right away. He didn't care how they knew about true death or his condition; all he cared about was ending his pain and meeting his ancestors.
Author
Topic: [OOC] Numenera: Return of Fire [8/6] (Read 4382 times)