Here we go! GM note: The sun rises and falls in one month. Weeks are phases of the sun, AKA quarters of the month. There are no days. Months are normal in length (~30 days).
Hover over italicized text to read a description. Apologies to phone users, I'm not sure how the {abbr} tag works on those.
+1/-1 means that if you get a 6 you go down to a 5. You can mention "Allow Overshoots" in your action to negate the effect of the /-1 temporarily.
On how the skills work: they round DOWN. The decimal value is simply a percentage telling you the level of the skill. Plot-related events and [5]'s will increase your skills by a certain amount based on the difficulty of the action.
Name: Reg Fenion
Appearance: A man of average height, Reg has tanned skin, a knowledgeable look in his hazel eyes, and walks among the wild as one who belongs there.
Background: Reg was born on the outskirts of the village, where he was made to gather plenty of wood from the ages of his youth. He learnt how to deal with the cold, often being hit by frostbite, and was made to bring back herbs that only grew in these parts of the world, used for herbal remedies (no they're not narcotics). After a while he took up the job completely of brewing the teas and making medicines, thus becoming quite proficient in this field. He often took to the wild though, and has a habit of talking to animals he comes across.
Profession: Herbalist
You recline on a wooden stool next to your work desk, slowly sipping down a cup of your latest tea. Tea keeps you alert and helps you stay awake during the long, quiet hours nearing the end of the week. The sun is low and the farmhands are spraying the plants outside to make them ready for morning. As the sun disappears over the edge, it will rise again just over the rolling hills to the east.
You've been reading the local paper, blotted out crudely on coarse paper by some novice printer. The prose is dull and subjects mundane, but still it is a semblance of civilization. The only stories worth remembering are of course the visit from "the Agewalker," as well as a recent accident at a pigtail gin: the steam-powered mechanism had turned brittle due to the reheating of the metal, and when the machine was overloaded yesterday it broke. This second story was notable because you yourself had been there during the incident, and a piece of reinforcement had been blown in your direction, but it hit a man named Riccolo instead and paralyzed him from the waist down. But that was history by now. The man was sent to High Daevzig, the nearest city, where a skilled surgeon would stitch his torso back together.
The Agewalker is another ordeal altogether. Lacking enthused followers, he recently spoke to the village elders and tried to convince them to lend him a boat. When they asked him why he needed a boat, the man said he planned to cross the Farlands in one month. Impressed, but doubtful, the village elders politely declined.
At the moment, the Agewalker can be heard outside shouting to the villagers in the town square, standing next to a well. Your office is fairly close to the heart of the village, which is clustered on the bank of the river. Actually, there are two halves of the village, one half clustered on the fertile plain just south of the river, while the other half resides on three islands separated by narrow channels, several meters of stagnant, bubbling water.
The village center is on a wooden platform clustered around a well which lowers a bucket deep into a bubbling spring, the source of warm water for the otherwise chilly village. Around the platform are administrative buildings and dockyard facilities: hand-powered cranes for handling large loads, warehouses for the storage of goods, and broker's offices which lay mostly unattended as their owners are always outside talking or at home sleeping.
Though largely a commercial center, all citizens of the village come here to retrieve warm water from the well. This makes it a meeting-ground of sorts--in other words, ripe ground for demonstrators and beggars.
Condition: Perfect,
Sharpened WitItems: A spot of tea (located on table)
Local Newspaper
Abilities: [2]
Brewer (+2/-1)
[1.5]
Herbalist (+1/-1)
Name: Eudes Reimont
Appearance: A mildly bulky build with messy blond hair with bandanna.
Background: One of the most renowned blacksmiths in the village, he often sells his ware civilians and guardsmen alike. He often comes up with outlandish names and equally outlandish properties for each weapon he crafts.
Profession: Blacksmith
You sit back in a large, comfy chair reading a book on smithing technique, although not so much reading it as looking at the artwork and mentally criticizing the designs.
Weapons of all names and forms surround you. To your right lies
Yaroslavig, Durendir, Agurashi, Mythos, and Pointy-Demon-Spanker, the legendary quintet of swords fabricated by your hand and brought to bear upon human flesh by only yours truly.
To your right lies a bin containing
Agathabig, Ornato, Valentin, Zoroaster, and Split Spine the Gruesome Divine. These are the spears that pierce through all hides and plate.
Hung from the ceiling above the anvil to your front float
Mjolag, Dra Bolg, and Iron Beaty Thing, the hammers of justice.
And just outside the door which you inconveniently left open and never felt the motivation to close, stands the Agewalker with his radiant spear over his shoulder and his harp singing in his elbow.
"The mist has already come to the western lands! You must come with me, and end the stagnation of time's flow! There is little time, for we must set sail before dark." he wails, apparently to you.
Condition: PerfectItems: Shoulder-Bag-Portable Anvil
-Smithing Hammer
-
Charcoal PotAbilities: Supernatural Smith
Name: The Librarian. Nobody in his town can remember his actual name. He has stated he has one. He simply never uses it.
Appearance: A somewhat pale, wizened old man. Usually wearing an offcolor, bluishgrey hooded robe. Oddly he's a bit more physically fit then most people his age.
Background: The Librarian is the Librarian. He was the Librarian's Assistant after he was adopted as an orphaned child and became The Librarian upon the death of the first one. He caretakes for the town's rather large library. The only library in quite a ways actually. The Librarian's Apprentice has already been trained. Lore of old, found in dusty tombs deep within the archives hints that the stranger speaks the truth. He will be leaving shortly. Someone after all has to record this chapter of history.
Profession: Librarian
This library happens to be so large it's quite easy to get lost in no matter how long you've spent inside. In fact, this just happened to you. The shelves deep in the history section have been organized only according to immediate convenience and not long-term ease-of-access. It's quite literally a labyrinth.
You wonder if this mist the Agewalker speaks of can get indoors. Wouldn't an underground bunker be sufficient? Digging a hole sounds a lot simpler than crossing the far side of the world in a month. Still, the man speaks with confidence. It would be foolish not to investigate.
Condition: PerfectItems: On the History of CartographyAbilities: [1]
Meta-Knowledge (Currently: doubles)
Name: Rob Blackfrost
Apperance: Wiry and strong with every part of him defined. Greyish green eyes and a angular face with a bent nose and a sharp chin.
Background: was a fisherman, then got married but his Wife died a year after they married. Started spending more time in the wild alone until he basically just started living there, hunting, fishing and trying to do what it takes to survive.
Profession: doesn't have one but if he did it would be Survivalist.
Word has it that a stranger from upriver has visited the town and started preaching about some kind of dark mist that comes after sundown when the sun is supposed to rise again. Some rumors say he is a Celestial, coming to warn us of the apocalypse. Others say he is an old crazy sage, wielding great power but having no wit left to make use of it.
You are currently located on a large, flat, green plain just outside the border of the village. It is a communal orchard, planted with a single ancient tree every several dozen meters. Each tree has a trunk thick as a whale and an impressively complicated root network that reaches so far that the borders between each tree's "zone" is apparent--there is a small ridge where the roots of the two trees push up against each other and raise the ground.
The smooth, bubbly grass acts almost like a cushion, so walking barefoot is quite comfortable. It's not tasty, but it does feel unnaturally succulent for something that covers the ground. You spot a rare sight grazing the fields: An Elefphant Strider. These animals are twice as tall as a man and have large mouths on both their feet. Their armless trunks are covered in many eyes as black as igneous riverstone, and the sharkfin-like crest on their head contains some kind of homing beacon for their batlike young, which follow the solitary creature as a large roaming flock, swarming like locusts, although once they land on a patch of grass it usually takes a while for them to squeeze it dry and make it hard as rock.
Condition: PerfectItems: Hunting Bag-Emergency Ointment {numbing}
-Brass Binoculars
-A small, hand-drawn map
Abilities: [1]
Fisher (+1/-1)
[1]
Hunter (+1/-1)
Name: Sir John
Appearance: An averagely built man with brown hair and blue eyes.
Background: He comes from a family of guards, which they basically forced him to become a guard. As well as making his first name 'Sir'. His family has some weird obsession with guarding things, which he never felt, but oh well.
Profession: Guard!
As a guard, you don't really have a very interesting life. You stand in front of the Mayor's office even though he isn't inside. It's rather cold as the wind blows into the east, and the uniform you are wearing isn't adequately prepared for the cold. Which is strange, because it's cold almost every day in this village. And in this world. The least they could do is let you wear a coat, but that's unprofessional.
And then an old man walks by. He has a radiant spear on his back, glowing with the heat of a hundred suns. You feel inclined to follow him if only for the fact that you are freezing. He seems to be talking about some kind of apocalypse, though, like some kind of evil mist that will come when the sun goes down.
Condition: FreezingItems: Tall Feathered HatAbilities: [1]
The Reluctant Guardsman (+1/-1)
Ceremonial Combatant
Author
Topic: Mistbusters - On the Shores of Time - Turn 3 (Page 3) (Read 6489 times)