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[GuyOverThere]

Spoiler: OOC (click to show/hide)

You don’t know me, but I likely know you. At least if you were here four years ago, when I used to scour the board for suggestion games. I never posted anything, though I did get an account, but it has been lost in the mists of time. I don’t go here very often anymore, but recently I noticed some sort of renaissance of great games. I would consider Both Demonhood and Pantheon A-class games, and Spamkingdom is something I can’t quite remember I’ve seen before (Ashwood cross is looking gorgeous by the way, Solifuge). That and other brilliant games has made me decide to finally add to it myself. Who knows, I might even make my own suggestion, someday

This is not your first attempt, not even close, but for every attempt less money is used to repair it, and fewer adjustments made. Last time it was only the main frame that wasn’t strong enough. The construction merely collapsed in on itself, and none of the important bits were damaged. That was three days ago, and for the last two days you have been working as a madman, hypnotized by the potential of parallel worlds.

With trembling fingers you open an iron vault. The heated liquid travels through the titanium frame, and reaches the five synchronization nodes from bottom up, which start glowing with similar intensity. Then suddenly a shift happens. Tendrils of light spurt forward, merge and weave a swiveling vortex in a matter of seconds. The green, super layered spatial rift lashes out from its intended boundaries, accompanied by a swift wind and unimaginable implications. Suddenly, it is silent once again. You are left with the green vortex.

You stare at it for hours. You’ve spent three years of your young life on this thing. You’ve put yourself in debt and burned relationships for this intangible fabric of space. The world may be filled with amateur scientists, but none as you. This is yours. The patent office may never admit it, and the initial idea may have been your rivals, but this is yours, dammit! The foul thoughts of Leonora Duvane do not linger long, and are soon replaced by a green, whirling light…

Until your legs give up.

As you lay on the floor a hunger builds up inside of you. A hunger you haven’t felt before, worse than three days. You manage to stand up and drag yourself out of your basement and on to the street. A boy selling newspaper looks at you with round frightened eyes, which get even rounder once you pay for a newspaper. The fact that you are too fatigued to consider the worth of an English three pence is soon justified, once you see the date. You haven’t worked for two days, you have worked for over a week. You stumble across the street, your mind eerily void. You need food. While dragging yourself along, barely remembering who you are, you repeat your name a couple of times, as well as the name of your invention and a couple of things you care about. If only to ensure your sanity.

What is it you say?

Spoiler: Character Sheet (click to show/hide)

Your name:

The name of your invention:

Your companions (pick two, or one if you picked two possessions):

A talking cat

The cat’s a bastard, there is no way about it. It refuses to eat her food and makes ridiculous, bone-chilling threats whenever it doesn’t get what it wants. It was of pure respect you adopted it from your late colleague, but had you known the cat could talk you would’ve left her for her own. Still, the curious and inconspicuous pair of eyes has revealed a fair few “friends” who’ve not had your best in mind.

A drunken Prodigy

You don’t know what possessed you to invite that distant and ragged vagrant in for supper that fated night. But despite his appearance he proved to have an extensive knowledge of mathematics, engineering and hyper-spatial conformations. He even managed to get the spatial oscillators working, a problem you had worked on for two weeks straight. Since then you have kept your eye out for him, and though he smells of grease and occasionally insults your neighbors (loudly, all at once), he is an extraordinary conversationalist; as long as you don’t mention his past or his questionable habits, that is.

A reclusive ex-butler

Your aunt was an… eccentric individual. You yourself cannot forget a night in your youth, visiting her mansion. You don’t dance naked around a pyre with a raw goat skin on your head when you have sleepless nephews in the room facing the garden. The butler was there, of course, he was loyal and tireless, and deserved the inheritance he got. He has retired now, makes excellent tea and lives not far from you. Whenever you have him over you can enjoy a story of your aunt, or if you’re lucky, a tale of the occult.

Your possessions (pick two, or one if you picked two companions):

A collection of souls

You must admit you felt a bit disappointed when the only inheritance you got from your aunt was a tea set. Sure, it was a Chinese handcrafted 48-piece tea set, but considering the long profound conversations you two had you had expected something a little… more. You weren’t disappointed once you found the six small and slightly glowing glass bottles safely packed into the pot, however. An exciting and forbidden treasure worthy your aunt, for sure.

A diploma of humanities

While university was described as a refuge for intellectuals such as yourself your egocentric and family sponsored peers could rarely compete to your own intellect. Not that you weren’t egocentric and patronized by your household, but as fewer could discuss your own ideas, especially when you started your niched projects, university lost its charm. Goethe and Byron were worthy side projects, and you even managed to get your second diploma. Not that it has been of much use.

A dwarven debt

A very old one, at that. Your grandfathers, given from a polish merchant who had been unjustly accused of stealing a silver vessel from a church, and was sentenced to be burned alive. The fact that he had been hid away has been kept a family secret, and would probably have been completely forgotten if the dwarf hadn’t gotten his caravan seized and been unable to repay for his life. Though, considering it was a dwarf it is probably just a dishonourable excuse.

And your motivation for your masterpiece:

For the empress! (Start of disinherited and humiliated)

For riches and glory! (Start off with additional, serious debts with the moneylenders)

Just to relieve the boredom. (Start off with an even greater genius, but with slight social disabilities. The relationship with your rival Leonora Duvane is also more… complicated)

And where do you look for food?

[GuyOverThere]

I would like to get some suggestions before I go to sleep, so I will shamelessly bump this.

And I guess it will be a reserve too, which is nice.

[S34N1C]

PTW

[ShadowHammer]

We are Gregor Charleson, and we try to find a low-priced bakery to sate our hunger.

[Person]

Figured I'd have a go at this. Sort of assuming this is a suggestion game rather than everyone having their own character.

Your name: Edgar Warner

The name of your invention: Portable Teleporter (I tried to create an over the top steampunk name involving alliteration or acronym use. The results were all awful so I'll spare you my efforts.)

Your companions:

A drunken Prodigy: You don’t know what possessed you to invite that distant and ragged vagrant in for supper that fated night. But despite his appearance he proved to have an extensive knowledge of mathematics, engineering and hyper-spatial conformations. He even managed to get the spatial oscillators working, a problem you had worked on for two weeks straight. Since then you have kept your eye out for him, and though he smells of grease and occasionally insults your neighbors (loudly, all at once), he is an extraordinary conversationalist; as long as you don’t mention his past or his questionable habits, that is.

A reclusive ex-butler: Your aunt was an… eccentric individual. You yourself cannot forget a night in your youth, visiting her mansion. You don’t dance naked around a pyre with a raw goat skin on your head when you have sleepless nephews in the room facing the garden. The butler was there, of course, he was loyal and tireless, and deserved the inheritance he got. He has retired now, makes excellent tea and lives not far from you. Whenever you have him over you can enjoy a story of your aunt, or if you’re lucky, a tale of the occult.

Your possessions:

A collection of souls: You must admit you felt a bit disappointed when the only inheritance you got from your aunt was a tea set. Sure, it was a Chinese handcrafted 48-piece tea set, but considering the long profound conversations you two had you had expected something a little… more. You weren’t disappointed once you found the six small and slightly glowing glass bottles safely packed into the pot, however. An exciting and forbidden treasure worthy your aunt, for sure.

Your motivation for your masterpiece:

Just to relieve the boredom. (Start off with an even greater genius, but with slight social disabilities. The relationship with your rival Leonora Duvane is also more… complicated)[/spoiler]

And where do you look for food:

A low-priced bakery.

[GuyOverThere]

Figured I'd have a go at this. Sort of assuming this is a suggestion game rather than everyone having their own character.

That's right, this is a suggestion game. And you've got a sharp eye, the green vortex is a reference to Rick and Morty, but the invention itself takes up more than half your basement. If you still want to call it a portable teleporter that would be hilarious, but you could just leave it blank if you prefer.


You stagger through the crowded streets of London, quietly repeating your name (Edgar Charleson) as well as a few of your friends’. You don’t have very many; they tend to break off contact once you start ranting about the infinite possibilities of parallel planes, which, if properly hydrated, you could do for hours.

Alfons Aakhus, your aunts’ old butler, and Old Tom Overholt are the exceptions. Alfons has known you since childhood, and forgives your inconsiderate ways. And Old Tom really isn’t in a position to say anything about your manners.

You are wrenched from your thoughts as a curious scent discerns itself from the usual smell of horses and waste. A scent that almost moves you to tears. You half stumble, half sprint towards the small unnamed bakery.

As you slam the door open the overweight, rose-cheeked owner stares at you, and her young daughter hides behind her skirts. Not that you would’ve ever noticed this, not usually and certainly not half-starved. You throw yourself over the selection of bread and pastries, starting with the most flavourful-

“Hey, you have to pay for that…”

-bannock you have ever laid your hands upon, and continuing with a loaf, golden brown as if sent from…

“This is not a charity! If you don’t have money, please leave my shop!”

A harsh prod from across the counter wakes you up, and you quickly empty you left pocket of loose change with your free hand, still with your eyes locked onto your newfound baked treasures. They are whispering now, with alluring voices commanding you to -

“This is not enough! There are constables outside and I expect to be payed!”

The change of tone startles you, and you turn to leave the shop, grabbing a baguette as you do so. The furious grunts from behind you would suggest some degree of haste, but you are not in a state to do so. As you slam into another costumer and fall to the floor for the second time today all you have time to notice is his surprised expression, the redness of the owners face and the calming light of a cast iron gas lamp before the blackness surrounds you.

You wake up with a coughing fit, covered in a sudden cloud of flour. The small girl you didn’t notice before stares at you with wide eyes, a linen bag in her arms, then rushes off to the safety of her mother. A few seconds later she enters the kitchen, stout, tall and with a worried expression on her face. She wordlessly reaches out a large bannock with a bitemark the size of your fist.

(1! -2 (poor social skills) = -1) You look at her for a moment, then exclaim “Oh, you expect to be payed!”

You hand her a two-pence, snatch the bread from her hands and wave her off as you take another large bite from the bun. She stares at you, dumbfounded. Moments later she shouts ”Out of my shop!”

You are shooed outside the store, which is incredibly impolite, and bad business practices at that. And as you try to reenter the shop to at least get the bread which you’ve paid for in overprice, she shouts for the constables, the witch!

Well, if there are any around they will certainly have heard that. What do?

Spoiler: Edgar Charleson (click to show/hide)

Status: Half starved, fatigued, ecstatic
Inventory: A small purse of coins (approximately five pence worth), a newspaper from today, a piece of bread.
Misc: You look about what can be expected from a man who've slept twice in a week
Inventions: The portable teleporter?, its many components. (You should perhaps look into them individually)

[heydude6]

Run away and try to climb onto the roof of a random building

Is this one of them flying cities (ala Columbia) or is it on the ground?

[GuyOverThere]

Run away and try to climb onto the roof of a random building

Is this one of them flying cities (ala Columbia) or is it on the ground?

It is London, at some point in the 1800 hundreds, but it is loosely based on Fallen London, so roof parkour is a valid suggestion.

[TopHat]

Find a nice bench to sit on whilst eating and glance through the newspaper. What if Duvane finished yesterday and beat us to it?

[TheBiggerFish]

Ooh, PTW!

[The Froggy Ninja]

ptw

[hops]

We can't even human properly, how are we going to parkour?

Do the newspaper trick. Every suspicious sort worth their salt knows that the Constables don't look at people reading the newspaper.

[NUKE9.13]

Let yourself get arrested. You haven't actually committed any crime, so you should be let out quite soon, and a night or two in a cell would be an excellent opportunity to get some sleep.

[Person]

Newspaper stealth.

But yeah it doesn't have to be a teleporter I guess? Was kind of messing around.

[Gwolfski]

Read newspaper, whistling innocently.