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Steel Dragons' World of Orea RPG playtest: "Shadows Loss" (still accepting PCs)
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<blockquote data-quote="Binder Fred" data-source="post: 6164107" data-attributes="member: 63746"><p>Awh, really..? John the Dead shakes his head:<span style="color: #8B4513"> "No sense of give and take, that's your problem boss man." </span>No sense of humour either, obviously! (Why does the big guy have to make everything so bloody serious all the time? It's like he's forgotten the meaning of the word fun! Kill or be kill, sure, but do it with a GRIN, right? Right!) </p><p></p><p>What a letdown!</p><p></p><p><span style="color: #8B4513">"Fine, fine..."</span> Insincere surrender. The young human stomps down on the bed with his (previously positioned and now utterly wasted) bare foot, sending his first short-sword twirling through the air and into his opposite hand. The casually extended tip then plucks John's purse from up top the barrel-table and flicks *that* into his opposite hand.<span style="color: #8B4513"> "If I get a sun-burn you'll never hear the end of it though,"</span> he warns.</p><p></p><p>Make it - what? - 10 sovereigns and change? Down into his own purse it goes.</p><p></p><p>At this point provision-getting has *got* to be more entertaining than staying here with Toothy-Carvy, Snory and Uncle Bugbear - he smothers the beginning of a crooked grin - assuming he ever gets there, of course.</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">* * *</p><p></p><p>Minutes later a bandana-wearing, squinting John emerges into the (forsaken too bright) blaze of the sun out front, taking the time to let his eyes adjust. ('Uncle' couldn't ha' chosen a worse day for this, could he? And what a grumbly hour to be out and about to begin with!)</p><p></p><p>He's now, perforce, sporting a stylish pair of raggedy laced-up boots with too-thin soles (it sucks to be poor), leather bracers are buckled to his wiry forearms (you never know) and a rope belt winds its competently-braided way around his thin waist, secured in place by a big, crudely-shaped black iron vampire buckle, bat-wings half-extended.</p><p></p><p>Which is pure devil-may-care bravado on his part, granted: you'd think enough people <em>already</em> think he's one of the undead with the whole 'no soul, no shadow' thing (hence "the Dead", one of his more popular nicknames), without putting ideas into their heads... He reflexively tightens the buckle in place: Screw them. If his experience is anything to judge by, you don't *need* a soul: he doesn't feel a wick different than he felt before it happened. Not - a - WICK. (And he's *not* getting a tan just to throw off suspicions either, no matter how many times Hygarr brings it up, alright?)</p><p></p><p>Now where to first? (As if there ever was any question.)</p><p></p><p>Subtly grinning to himself, John plunks Hygarr's (just stolen) wide-brimmed hat atop the dark-patterned bandana that holds his unruly (and right now unwashed) gray hair in check, taps it into a rakish angle and strides out into the (much too) bright streets of Threeways, coarse canvas shoulder bag dropping into its familiar groove on his shoulder (for 'provisions' -- or, you know, his winnings: he isn't <em>too</em> picky at this point <img src="http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devil.png" class="smilie" loading="lazy" alt=":devil:" title="Devil :devil:" data-shortname=":devil:" />)...</p><p></p><p></p><p>[OOC]And it's off to Damodil's noodle shop, please. John will 1. try to keep to the shade as much as possible and 2. casually keep an eye out from trouble/the watch or things that have changed/seem out of place since the last time he came through here. Friends and acquaintances will be greeted and beggars/lepers will get a little something from him as he goes by (it's supposed to bring good luck, don't you know <img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite1" alt=":)" title="Smile :)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":)" />).</p><p></p><p>Oh, how much in Big John's purse by the way?[/OOC]</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Binder Fred, post: 6164107, member: 63746"] Awh, really..? John the Dead shakes his head:[COLOR="#8B4513"] "No sense of give and take, that's your problem boss man." [/COLOR]No sense of humour either, obviously! (Why does the big guy have to make everything so bloody serious all the time? It's like he's forgotten the meaning of the word fun! Kill or be kill, sure, but do it with a GRIN, right? Right!) What a letdown! [COLOR="#8B4513"]"Fine, fine..."[/COLOR] Insincere surrender. The young human stomps down on the bed with his (previously positioned and now utterly wasted) bare foot, sending his first short-sword twirling through the air and into his opposite hand. The casually extended tip then plucks John's purse from up top the barrel-table and flicks *that* into his opposite hand.[COLOR="#8B4513"] "If I get a sun-burn you'll never hear the end of it though,"[/COLOR] he warns. Make it - what? - 10 sovereigns and change? Down into his own purse it goes. At this point provision-getting has *got* to be more entertaining than staying here with Toothy-Carvy, Snory and Uncle Bugbear - he smothers the beginning of a crooked grin - assuming he ever gets there, of course. [CENTER]* * *[/CENTER] Minutes later a bandana-wearing, squinting John emerges into the (forsaken too bright) blaze of the sun out front, taking the time to let his eyes adjust. ('Uncle' couldn't ha' chosen a worse day for this, could he? And what a grumbly hour to be out and about to begin with!) He's now, perforce, sporting a stylish pair of raggedy laced-up boots with too-thin soles (it sucks to be poor), leather bracers are buckled to his wiry forearms (you never know) and a rope belt winds its competently-braided way around his thin waist, secured in place by a big, crudely-shaped black iron vampire buckle, bat-wings half-extended. Which is pure devil-may-care bravado on his part, granted: you'd think enough people [I]already[/I] think he's one of the undead with the whole 'no soul, no shadow' thing (hence "the Dead", one of his more popular nicknames), without putting ideas into their heads... He reflexively tightens the buckle in place: Screw them. If his experience is anything to judge by, you don't *need* a soul: he doesn't feel a wick different than he felt before it happened. Not - a - WICK. (And he's *not* getting a tan just to throw off suspicions either, no matter how many times Hygarr brings it up, alright?) Now where to first? (As if there ever was any question.) Subtly grinning to himself, John plunks Hygarr's (just stolen) wide-brimmed hat atop the dark-patterned bandana that holds his unruly (and right now unwashed) gray hair in check, taps it into a rakish angle and strides out into the (much too) bright streets of Threeways, coarse canvas shoulder bag dropping into its familiar groove on his shoulder (for 'provisions' -- or, you know, his winnings: he isn't [I]too[/I] picky at this point :devil:)... [OOC]And it's off to Damodil's noodle shop, please. John will 1. try to keep to the shade as much as possible and 2. casually keep an eye out from trouble/the watch or things that have changed/seem out of place since the last time he came through here. Friends and acquaintances will be greeted and beggars/lepers will get a little something from him as he goes by (it's supposed to bring good luck, don't you know :)). Oh, how much in Big John's purse by the way?[/OOC] [/QUOTE]
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