Name: Alexander Prekar
Description: A tall and strong man, wearing simple cloth garments. Has a golden cross hanging around his neck on a chain.
Method of death: He was assassinated while asleep, during the crusades.
Demon: He always believes he is absolutely in the right, and has trouble understanding other people, especially those who disagree with him. His is the only way, and all others will lead to fire.
Never-Die: 3
Pay-Attention: 7
Go-Through: 3
Move-Quick: 4
Keep-Hold: 6
Accuracy: -2
Melee: +3
Agility: -2
Poise: +0
Resistance: +3
Medical: -2
Extraction: -2
Determination: 3/3
Focus: 7/7
Stamina: 2/2
Speed: 4/4
Corruption: 0/6
Status: Fine!
Weapon: None!
Armor: Plate armor [Armor4][weight1][noise+2]
Weight: 1
Inventory: Nothing!
You're woken by the sound of a door opening. You don't bother to open your eyes; exhausted as you are from campaigning, you need the rest.
By the time you realize your mistake, it's too late. The man has walked to the side of your bed and his blade slashes your neck open.
The man's strike was sloppy; though painful, you realize that you can still fight! You strike out at the assassin with all the strength you have.
Your fist collides with the man's skull with a satisfying crack and he's down. You quickly get up and grab your sword to finish him off. He is the owner of the house you're staying in. As you drive your sword into his chest, you stares you down defiantly.
Then, already exhausted, you collapse.
The wound in your neck is worse than you thought, it's infected. Healers do what they can, but it's ineffective. All they can do if pray for you. You pray as well. But despite everything, one night you find that you cannot breathe. The wound has become swollen and it blocks the air from reaching your lungs. Consciousness fades, and you accept your fate...
Name: Rakiit Amph
Description: A 6 foot tall cat girl covered in surgical scars and injection ports. short brown cat ears and similarly brown tail. Wearing a ragged guard uniform with a gaping hole in the abdomen. She's holding an LMG protectively to her chest
Method of death: Cardiac arrest from massive stimulant overdose sustained while escaping the lab
Demon: trouble trusting people, hyper active, somewhat unstable. Unsure of purpose.
Never-Die:6
Pay-Attention: 3
Go-Through: 3
Move-Quick:8
Keep-Hold:3
Accuracy: +1
Melee: -2
Agility:+5
Poise:-2
Resistance: -2
Medical: +0
Extraction:-2
Determination: 6/6
Focus: 3/3
Stamina: 0/0
Speed: 8/8
Corruption:0/3
Status: Fine
Weapon: LMG
Armor: none
Weight: 3
Inventory:
Gasping for air, You stumble down the hall as fast as you can manage. Your weapon is heavy, and you feel like nothing but laying down, but you need to keep. Moving. Another tranquilizer dart slams into your thigh, and you rip it out before it can deliver too much of that toxin. Still, the world goes fuzzy and your body starts to ignore your will, shutting down. No, not yet. You take out your last syringe of stimulant and jam it into your arm; all at once the world becomes clear again, your movements easy. You round a corner and finally see the way out.
You crash through the glass door into the sunlight outside and don't look back, running into the woods.
After a while more, your body starts to give out. It's not far, but it'll have to be far enough. You find a hiding spot in a large hollow tree trunk and instantly fall asleep...
...When you wake up, you're in a hospital bed. No. You didn't run far enough. You're hooked up to several machines, beeping and buzzing and whirring. You share the room with two doctors conversing with each other, but... You can't bring yourself to care about their conversation. You're just so tired. You close your eyes, feeling the cold creep into your skin.
Name: "I... I've forgotten. Many call me 'The Scribe,' though I know that is incomplete. In whispers, I am 'The Mad Scribe.'"
Description: A withered old man in a tattered robe
Method of death: Starvation, locked in his tower while he worked on his latest tale of another corrupted realm, which he still clutches.
Demon: Isolation, as well as the madness that follows when you have visions of other, twisted planes.
Never-Die: 5
Pay-Attention: 7
Go-Through: 3
Move-Quick: 5
Keep-Hold: 3
Accuracy: -2
Melee: -2
Agility: 0
Poise: 0
Resistance: +2
Medical: -2
Extraction: +2
Determination: 5/5
Focus: 7/7
Stamina: 3/3
Speed: 5/5
Corruption: 0/3
Status: Fine
Weapon: The Mad Scribe's Last Novel (Unknown effects, Range: Audible, hits all. Can be used Melee, Single Target, by shoving the mad words into the target's face.
Armor: Cloth robes, if those help?
Weight: 0/3
Inventory: Blank as the final pages...
He done.
You stare into your tome, your eyes seeing not letters in ink but unspeakable patterns. Your gaze doesn't track your pen as it meanders over the page, right, left, up, down, deeper, deeper. When the pen is finished, you sit back and look at the page. Half covered in ink, no describable pattern, but it's
perfect. The page describes nothing that exists even in your own twisted mind, but when you look at it, you
know.
Then you flip the page and work on the next.
Your pen isn't steady. Your hands shake, no matter how much you try to focus. Sloppy, imperfect. Not a work of art, merely the scrawlings of a madman. You need to control the shaking. You need to nourish your body so that the novel may be finished. But it's far too late. Once in motion it cannot be stopped.
You cannot be stopped. By the time you reach the final page, it's impossible to even try to form words with your pen, but you still need to keep writing. You cover that last page in a chaotic scribble. Your signature. Then everything goes dark.
Finally, you awaken. You rub the images of felines from your eyes and survey your surroundings.
You seem to be in some sort of natural cave, uneven ceiling staring back down at you from 10 feet away. It's dark, but you can still see pretty well, as if the stone itself were giving off a faint light.
Laying near you are two other people. Jeez, talk about a pair of weirdos. Oh well, maybe you can talk to them and learn something about where you are?
Name: Alexander Prekar
Description: A tall and strong man, wearing simple cloth garments. Has a golden cross hanging around his neck on a chain.
Method of death: He was assassinated while asleep, during the crusades.
Demon: He always believes he is absolutely in the right, and has trouble understanding other people, especially those who disagree with him. His is the only way, and all others will lead to fire.
Never-Die: 3
Pay-Attention: 7
Go-Through: 3
Move-Quick: 4
Keep-Hold: 6
Accuracy: -2
Melee: +3
Agility: -2
Poise: +0
Resistance: +3
Medical: -2
Extraction: -2
Determination: 3/3
Focus: 7/7
Stamina: 2/2
Speed: 4/4
Corruption: 0/6
Status: Fine!
Weapon: None!
Armor: Plate armor
Weight: 1
Inventory:
Plate Armor: Steel armor of a crusader. The helmet has a flat top rather than a dome, unlike many armors.
[armor4]
[weight1]
[noise+2]
Cross Pendant: A little golden cross on a chain, symbolizing one's faith, and providing protection from unholy forces.
[unknown]
Name: Rakiit Amph
Description: A 6 foot tall cat girl covered in surgical scars and injection ports. short brown cat ears and similarly brown tail. Wearing a ragged guard uniform with a gaping hole in the abdomen. She's holding an LMG protectively to her chest
Method of death: Cardiac arrest from massive stimulant overdose sustained while escaping the lab
Demon: trouble trusting people, hyper active, somewhat unstable. Unsure of purpose.
Never-Die:6
Pay-Attention: 3
Go-Through: 3
Move-Quick:8
Keep-Hold:3
Accuracy: +1
Melee: -2
Agility:+5
Poise:-2
Resistance: -2
Medical: +0
Extraction:-2
Determination: 6/6
Focus: 3/3
Stamina: 0/0
Speed: 8/8
Corruption:0/3
Status: Fine
Weapon: LMG
Armor: none
Weight: 3
Inventory:
LMG: Rakiit's very favorite gun. It's got some scratches and mud on it.
[melee: pain3]
[Ranged: lethal/AP3 pain2 min4 short12 long150 snap20 focus1/2]
[ammo ??/200]
[weight3]
Name: "I... I've forgotten. Many call me 'The Scribe,' though I know that is incomplete. In whispers, I am 'The Mad Scribe.'"
Description: A withered old man in a tattered robe
Method of death: Starvation, locked in his tower while he worked on his latest tale of another corrupted realm, which he still clutches.
Demon: Isolation, as well as the madness that follows when you have visions of other, twisted planes.
Never-Die: 5
Pay-Attention: 7
Go-Through: 3
Move-Quick: 5
Keep-Hold: 3
Accuracy: -2
Melee: -2
Agility: 0
Poise: 0
Resistance: +2
Medical: -2
Extraction: +2
Determination: 5/5
Focus: 7/7
Stamina: 3/3
Speed: 5/5
Corruption: 0/3
Status: Fine
Weapon: Book?
Armor: None
Weight: 0/3
Inventory:
Mad Scribe's Last Novel: A leather tome with a simple image of a cat on the cover. Nobody's quite sure what the pages hold.
[unknown]