So what I am experimenting here is a skill level system. Instead of straight bonuses I simply roll modified d6.
Misinformed: You have complete misunderstanding of your talent. You think you are professional while you actually don't even know what you are doing. So when you inevitably fail you'll always blame either others, tools or enviroment.
The die for this skill level has numbers 1, 1, 2, 2, 3 and 3. As you can see, result is mostly failure, often catastrophic. Even in best case you barely do anything good.
Dabbling: "Only a fool knows everything. A wise man knows how little he knows."
The die here is 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4. Little better, but not much. At least you know you don't know how to do this.
Hobbyist: You love what you do, but you are by no means a professional at it.
This die has numbers 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 4. Less failures but no expectional success or overshoots.
Professional: You actually know this shit. You have done it before and will do it again. As such the die here is normal d6.
Specialist: When you fail, you do so without hurting yourself or others.
The die is 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6.
Master: Being best in your field, it's only matter of how well you do it. Failure is not an option. Unless it is something really difficult such as ground breaking research.
This die has numbers 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6.
I'll take a look at your character and assign skills and levels at it as I see fit. Check it and voice your opinion. When we encounter an situation where you need to use a skill your sheet doesn't have, I will roll d5 (no masters) to determine your new skill and then use die of that level. While we are still starting you can suggest some skills and skill levels you think your character should have.
Please do give feedback during course of the game. Now, the actual thing:
Name: Sir Lucifer the Fourtysixth.
Appearance: A man in a very dapper suit. He has a monocle and a tophat.
Why you are here: .. 'Visiting' a 'family member.'
Contents of your hand baggage: Orphan meat.
As expected security only reads Donald Duck comics and completely ignores you and your bag of fresh flesh. This is good town for hunting. The real problem however is on the other end of this trip. Security there is taken more seriously, but you got that arranged already. Your buddy will be waiting you with identical bag containing money, assorted papers and other things classy man like yourself needs.
Your seat is on first row, left side, window seat. And right next to emergency escape hatch. Plenty of space for your feet.
Next to you sits a tired looking man. He seems to be very determined and focused, despite of black bags under his eyes.
Name: Carson Bush.
Appearance: A scraggly and tired looking guy in his late 30's, with short black hair.
Why you are here: New York, in order to get revenge on the gang that killed his family.
Contents of your hand baggage: You know, the usual, some clothing, a toothbrush and toothpaste, hand to hand combat weapons, a firearm, and some ammo.
Only one more flight after this and you'll be in New York. Two steps away from murderers. Two steps fom justice. Or hell, whatever way it will turn. Either way, you will soon get your rest and nightmares will go away. They will go away, won't they? That accusing gaze haunting you in your dreams... On hindsight maybe you should have hidden the pistol and knife better. Security on next airport is probably not as lax as here.
Your spot seems to be in first row, aisle seat on left side of plane. There's obviously rich man sitting on your left, in neat suit, monocle and tophat.
Name: Brother Marcel
Appearance: an intense, muscled young man with a tonsure, a goatee and a pair of sunglasses. Also has a monk's robe, sandals and a large suitcase.
Why are you here: he has been tasked by the local Most Noble Order of Arthurian Monks to reforge a suspected Excalibur. To do so, he must fly out to locate the finest swordsmiths of Japan and utilize their supreme metal folding, blade crafting capabilities (and, of course, their inimitable wu) to recreate this fabulous artifact.
Contents of your hand baggage: a whole bunch of surprisingly sharp shards of what might have been a legendary sword about a thousand or so years ago. Also a bottle of some of that good monk wine (it's not at all good, to be perfectly honest).
One more flight after this and you'll be in New York. From there it won't be long until you are in Japan and your duty will truly begin. Perhaps it is true Excalibur. Perhaps it is not. You can only pray it is. You will find out soon. But first you need to train under great blacksmiths of Japan.
You offer quick prayer for patience before you find your seat on first row. An aisle seat on right side of the plane. On your right sits older woman with fairly weird hairstyle.
Name: Tina Jay
Appearence: A retired woman on her sixties, she has average clothing, but her hairstyle is rather complicated.
Why you are here: Came to assist to the funerals of an older brother, now going back home.
Content of your hand baggage: Spare clothing, toiletry kit, knitting needles and yarn, motion sickness medication, sandwich
And so one more is lost. One after other your dear friends and family members die, leaving behind sadness you fond memories. Your brother had great friends who enlightened you about some of his hilarious antics you never heard before his death. Now he's under six feet of soil, only memories remain. And inheritance. There's gonna be a fight to ensure it gets distributed fairly.
Your seat seems to be in first row. A window seat on right side of the plane. Next to you is a muscular young man, wearing sunglasses, a monk's robe and sporting goatee and a tonsure. Very weird mix. Yongsters these days have very unusual sense of fashion.
Name: Jack Fenway
Appearance: Early-middle aged, probably just into his '40s. He hasn't gotten the memo that it's not 1910, or that ratty trenchcoats and battered fedoras aren't standard wear for gumshoes any more. At least he bothered to shave. His hair's not quite going grey yet, but you can see flecks here and there.
Why you are here: "Heat got too hot, ya dig? Gotta move on to a new city, maybe go two weeks without my office burning down or my contacts turning up missing."
Contents of your hand baggage: S&W Model 36, the good ol' Chief's Special with the three-inch barrel. Two five-round speedloaders, seven loose rounds in various pockets, a box with 11 more in the bag, all the same .38 Special. What's left of a fifth of Jim Beam, a bit less than half the bottle. A mostly-clean shirt. Pack of smokes, six left. $57.38 in assorted bills and small change. A battered toothbrush, a crumpled letter, two sticks of chewing gum, ID, fake ID, all that random crap he shoveled out of his desk when he skipped town.
You can only hope they won't find you soon. Preparations were real bitch to do with fake ID, but you made it. Now you can rest at relative ease for a hour before you need to focus again. In theory at least. The loud noise others make makes you wanting to take a sip of Jim Beam.
You probably could do that, since it appears you got entire left side of second row for yourself. In front of you sits a man with a tophat. Looks like he didn't get a memo of 19th century being over.
Can people still join? If so:
Name: Martita Sanchez-Rios
Appearance: A Hispanic woman in her late 20s, wearing rounded glasses, and whose hair is in pigtails.
Why you are here: Going home, after visiting family members, in the old country.
Contents of your hand baggage: Glasses case, extra clothing, a romance novel, phone, and a laptop.
It was pleasant to visit family again. It could have gone better, but was pleasant enough anyway. Now in ahead you is return into reality and all the crap it brings along. Stupid reality.
You find your place in second row window seat on right side. On seats front of you are old woman and big muscular monk.
The flight attentand stands at the front of the plane, going over airplane safety. About seatbelts and other pointless stuff. Who cares. Certainly not the loud rabble filling rest of the plane. Kids screaming, teenagers yelling from excitement, that drunk shouting obscenities at flight attendants. Good lord...
Half hour after shaky take-off flight attendants start offering something to eat and drink. Chocklate bars, skittles, M&M, bottled water, limonade, cheap beer...
Anything you want to buy?
Sir Lucifer the Fourtysixth.
Inventory- (worn) Very dapper suit, including a monocle and a tophat.
- Bag of orphan meat. 15 kg.
Skills- Human anatomy: Specialist. You know where to stab when somebody needs to die. And how to make it hurt.
- Animal anatomy: Hobbyist. Derived from constant butchering of humans you can make educated guess where to kick that dog.
- Cleaning: Professional. To get away with murder you need to clean your traces very well.
- Butchering: Professional. Chop meat, organs, skin
- Cooking: Professional. Those delicious sandwiches...
- Speech/charisma: Specialist. To hide that monster under so classy shell takes some skill. Which is handy when you need to threaten someone.
Carson Bush.
Inventory- (worn) Generic clothing that nobody remembers.
- Three sets of more generic boring clothes.
- A toothbrush and toothpaste.
- Two sharp knives
- Beretta PX4 Storm Type F (unloaded)
- Five 9mm clips (18/18)
Skills- Pistol shooting: Hobbyist. Some shooting at target range. You know how to handle pistol and hit the target.
- Knife fighting: Dabbling. Doesn't sound like your main job.
Brother Marcel
Inventory- (worn) Sunglasses
- (worn) Monk's robe
- (worn) Sandals
- Shards of very sharp sword
- Wine
Skills- Blacksmithing: Specialist. How else you are going to reforge Excalibur? Need more training for that though.
- Memorization: Professional. Gotta remember the bible. And few hundred other books.
- Preaching: Hobbyist.
- Fist fighting: Hobbyist. I suppose young muscled monks do something to pass time and to stay in shape.
Tina Jay
Inventory- (worn) Average clothing
- Spare clothing
- Toiletry kit
- Pair of knitting needles
- Two rolls of yarn
- Motion sickness medication
- Sandwich
Skills- Knitting: Specialist. Grandma!
- Hairdressing: Professional. GRANDMA!
Jack Fenway
Inventory- (worn) Trenchcoat
- (worn) Fedora
- S&W Model 36
- Two five-round speedloaders
- 18 .38 Special rounds
- Bottle of Jim Beam (0.3/0.7 l)
- 6 smokes
- Shirt
- $57.38
- A toothbrush
- A rumpled letter
- Two sticks of chewing gum
- ID, real and fake
- Random office desk crap. You cheater.
Skills- Pistol shooting: Specialist. Sounds like a nicehobby.
- Investigation: Specialist.
Martita Sanchez-Rios
Inventory- (worn) Generic clothing
- (worn) Glasses
- Extra clothing
- Novel
- Phone
- Laptop
Skills- Computer technology: Hobbyist.
Author
Topic: Question: Conquistador (Read 55992 times)