Fellowship of the Witching Hour OOC Thread (Full)

[Dlsharrock]

Places people live (Arabella):

I see her living the bohemian lifestyle in Powder Mill, largely a run down, ethnic part of the town, but one stepped in 'history'. She lives in what would once have been homes for factory workers back in the 20s, now a freehold for low income citizens and migrants (illegal migrants, for the most part).

Powder Mill is a long, meandering road. On either side march the cramped columns of four floor Victorian terraces, each crushed and crusted against the crumbling shoulder of the building next door. Dominating the facade of each house are bay windows twice the height of a man, rotten sash shutters covered in ivy with turgid leaves of brown and grey creeping inexorably across stonework and glass alike. Three facets and three rows loom from ground to roof, topped with iron guttering and typically decorated gaily by pidgeons and their droppings. The windows themselves are sometimes improved with window boxes and flowers, but many of these have been choked by the rambling onset of ivy. A mantle of dismal coloured shingles cover the rooftops which generally sag at their apex where the rafters beneath are rotten with damp and chewed by woodworm. Ranks of crooked chimney stacks belch columns of grey smoke into the sky and the general impression is one of decrepit architecture and disrepair.

Leading to the main entrance of each house are great stairways of chiselled stone with thick ballustrades. Sneering gargoyles crouch on top of newels while the posts themselves are intricately carved- depictions of many bodies twisted together as one, or intertwined arms and legs woven with leaves and branches. No one newel is the same, all are macabre by design.

At the top of each stairway is a stone archway festooned with ivy and etched with melancholic carvings of faces twisted into disturbingly contrasted expressions of torture or ecstatic delight. Huge front doors furnished with great brass handles and door knockers resembling impish, other worldly creatures, open onto musty smelling hallways, and interior stairwells climbing into the dark heart of each house. Each floor houses a living space, barely more than a precarious landing, a living room and kitchen. The attics are considered no-go areas, the domain of rats, spiders as big as plates and unknown secrets most tennants would sooner leave well alone.

Steps leading down and set back from the sidewalk lead to the basement apartments. Here too, ivy and thorny nettles have invariably claimed a stake, twisting through iron railings and fretwork embellished with ugly, demonic faces or pipe playing satyrs and strange, unidentifiable symbols. The yard at the foot of these steps is invariably tiny and filled with stinking debris thrown down from the street above, rotted over time into impassable compost. Only the poorest residents of Powder Mill inhabit the basement flats. That's where the rats and cockroach colonies breed!

The street bustles on a typical day, with men sun-basking on the huge exterior steps, smoking, laughing and discussing the latest boxing match. The sounds of wireless and arguing drift from open windows. Children run in the street and dogs bark aimlessly at passing cars. Ethnicity is a running theme. Here are Hispanics, Italians, Jews and African Americans living a crushed existence in one anothers' pockets. But here also are those who choose to remove themselves from the accepted norm of Arkham life to live an alternative existence, side by side with people of every race and nationality. Such 'bohemians' as they are known, come from all walks of life and are usually poor by choice, rather than birth.

Surprisingly fights are rare, though when a spark does ignite the consequences are usually dire and ultimately violent. There have been a number of late night shootings in Powder Mill.

In years to come Powder Mill will become vacant as conscription claims most of the men and many of the women die of broken hearts. But that time is yet to come, and for now the area thrives.

--
In the top floor apartment of number 13 Powder Mill lives Arabella. Her many works of art take pride of place on walls, on eisels and stacked canvas upon canvas in corners and cupboards. The rest of her belongings live wherever they can in the narrow space. Her necessities, a bed, a table, a chair and the marvel of compact living that is her kitchen, take their chances where they may. Upon every available surface stand pots of paint, jars filled with brushes, aprons spattered with every colour in the rainbow and stacks of books on art, subject matter and, to a lesser extent, occultism. In keeping with the architecture of the building, various gruesome details can be found in her apartment. A crumbling plaster arch over the landing outside her front door, forever covered in cobweb, is carved to resemble two entwined arms, fingers like talons with horrible sharp nails interlaced and inverted so that they seem to point down toward the floor. Over the doors inside the apartment are similar archways, these made of carved wood and furnished with gargoyle faces pulling mischievous expressions, sticking out tongues, eyes screwed shut, cheeks bulging. A popular urban myth prevails in Powder Mill, that several tennants once hacked down the gargoyles in their own apartments during one desperately cold winter, using the wood as fuel. Rumour has it that these tennants met a sickening end, hurled from the windows of their apartments by assailants unknown and impaled on the sharp tines of the railings below.

These days, nobody removes or tampers with the gargoyles, or indeed any other aspect of their building. Even the landlords, many of whom are rarely seen these days anyway, have taken to making only minor repairs. In some cases tennants are thought to be living rent free, landlords so reluctant to enter their own buildings they haven't been to collect payment in months.
--

(This is my vision, greenstar. Please feel free to rewrite the way the apartment looks to suit Arabella's tastes. From her description in your background I sense there may be a more gothic feel to her tastes and preference, but that may just be my interpretation. The above is an ecclectic description of the traditional struggling artist pad. Yours to alter however you see fit. The only thing you shouldn't change is the location and the ambient description of Powder Mill itself, plus the gothic details in the apartment, unless of course she wants to risk it and pull down the gargoyles!).

 

[greenstar]

I like the description of the building and apartment. I especially like that her apartment is the 13th.

 

[Dlsharrock]

Places people live (Adam West):

A few streets west of the Powder Mill district and things change with surprising abruptness. Here are the white picket fences and wooden shingle houses characterised by colonial architecture and the roving building designers of Nantucket. The Church District.

The streets are wide and clean. Cars are rare, people rarer still. There's a quietude to the place, broken only by the cry of birds or gentle chatter of locals meeting and greeting as they pass one another in the street. On a Saturday the sounds of the market in Powder Mill filter across, but this generally lends a pleasant, rather than obtrusive, background ambience. Strangely, the throng of Powder Mill give this part of town a wide berth. When they choose to travel west they go out of their way to take one of the other roads. Indeed the junction at Powder Mill and Peabody has been barricaded with a high brick wall topped with shards of broken glass. Thus does the area remain peaceful and unfettered.

Lich Street is a long, orderly road, flanked on one side by the Old Arkham Graveyard and its high stone wall, and on the other by a mixture of colonial style houses and typical Massachusetts architecture, some laid out in neat rows, others collected together hamlet-style, gathered in a decorous fashion around the grounds of the Lich Street Church. On the eastern corner where the detached buildings of wealthier residents stand is East College School and its accompanying playground.

At a glance, and to the casual visitor taking a well mannered stroll toward the busier side of town, the Church District is a place of good people and clean living. Large manicured gardens are well presented and the homes are well maintained. All in all, a fashionable, though not overtly wealthy, part of town.

But look a little closer and there is evidence of disquiet, or at least an atmosphere of misgiving. The gates of the graveyard are firmly bolted, criss crossed with a tangle of heavy iron chains, padlocked in many places. None venture into the cemetary from this side of town, only ever through the larger entrance with its wrought iron archway leading out onto Church Street.

Some of the houses, particularly those at the corner of Lich and Peabody, are derelict, though they remain well tended by the inheriting relatives of those who once lived here. The gardens, somewhat overgrown here and there, and one or two broken windows round back, the only sign that anything may be amiss.

Most notable of all is the school, closed and deserted, its windows boarded up, playground swings swaying untended with the passing breeze.

--
Adam West, a local inventor, eccentric and introvert is an atypical Church District resident. He occupies number 6 Lich Street, his house being one of the more grandiose structures, a hybrid of colonial and New England design. The walls are shingled with wood and the roof tiled with neat rows of grey slate. The layout is unique, with a variety of bay annexes extending to conical roofs upon which weathervanes spin lazily in the wind.

Looking upon this castle-like house from the outside, with its picket fences, whitewashed walls and grey painted woodwork, one can imagine a veritable labyrinth of rooms inside.

A front gate opens onto a gently snaking path which wanders up to a wide porch. A mailbox of dynamic proportions stands just inside the gate, resembling a cross between a bird-house and a smaller version of number 6 itself. Mail men approach it with caution, knowing that within is an intricate device which takes letters and propels them through vacuum shutes to the heart of Adam's house. Several postal employees have nearly lost fingers. There have been several complaints.

Within the house Adam has made the space his own, many of the living areas doubling as part of an ever expanding system of workshops and laboratories. Half completed creations adorn every surface, and scattered about them are screwdrivers, ratchets, tenon saws, nuts, bolts, nails, files, hammers and every other imaginable tool required for the fashioning of this, that or the other.

Mote filled light streams through the high bay windows, illuminating metal cannisters, pipework and cogs, wheels attached to pulleys and mechanical turbines attached to motors and belts of varying sizes. Dismembered engines and engine parts fill almost every nook and cranny and yet despite the chaos, there is order here. Each step of the grand sweeping staircase leading to the mezzanine landing houses a different size cog and in many cases a small pile of different sized screws. Turbine belts hang over newel posts and schematics are nailed to walls where paintings might seem more appropriate. Every drawer and dresser is filled with an orderly array of washers, rubber connectors, wire lengths and other items of miscellany, all stored in and seperated by tiny wooden slats. Whenever Adam needs something, he invariably knows exactly where to go to find it.

Downstairs in the basement is a fully fitted workshop with fret saw, sander, engineering press and work table. Here are more tools, and the main substance of his work in progress. Steps lead up to a trapdoor which leads outside to his back garden.

Upstairs, the many rooms are preserved much as they were when he moved in, save for the addition of a library in one corner of the house and an archive in which he keeps the majority of his paperwork, keepsakes and memories. The library stands in a circular room in the southwest tower. Here he stores his vast collection of occult books on a series of custom made curving shelves which reach from floor to ceiling some twenty feet above. There's even a moveable ladder on wheels allowing easy access to the higher shelves. An iron spiral staircase leads to a turret at the top of the tower and here Adam often goes to sit and flick through the pages of one of his favourite titles, gazing out over the rooftops of Arkham and giving his mind, and his imagination, free reign to wander.

He knows little of the area, being relatively knew to Lich Street, and knows even less about Arkham itself, though he has read of several bizarre historical occurences in his books, particularly those related to Salem and the witch-hunters of that era. Suffice to say he's hoping to explore the town in more detail. The strange pall that seems to hang over Lich Street is a mystery to him. Being an introvert and not the sort to hang over his garden fence for a chit chat with the neighbours, he's had little chance to delve into the matter.
--

Again, this is my vision. It's not my intention to take characterisation away from players, but in the creation of the setting it sometimes requires some assumptions, and sometimes I get carried away Please feel free to change anything you want about the interior state of the house, Dire Lemming, but everything about the exterior, the size, the general architecture and the Lich Street area should remain unchanged. The mail box was just an idea, feel free to discard it, or change it Also, the ordered chaos may suggest he's a bit fussy, which may not be the personality you're going for. Change as you see fit.

 

[kookalouris]

Quick notes preceeding longer notes

First, let me welcome Lucean and Dr. Phillip LeGraid to the group. What kind of Doctor is LeGraid, is he a 'shrink?'

Since I posted last, there has been a lot of good posts that I want to compose a lengthy post in reply to. But let me get some quick notes off first.

David, I don't have the rules and I would actually prefer you make the character if you don't mind. I trust your greater experience. Heck, as far as I am concerned, I don't even need to see the sheet. No one really knows that they have a STR of 17, just that they are really strong compared to others. And not knowing exactly how much you are damaged adds to the unease.

I will try and get some non-rules notes written that might inspire.

Greenstar, a little Photoshop might be able to change the eye color and remove the makeup. I volunteer if you are interested and will let me know what color Arabella's eyes are. Again, it's completely up to you. I could use the picture for Sam in a rare glamour moment (with a little photoshop tweaking of my own.

More to follow...

Gerry

 

[Dlsharrock]

Places people live (Dr Philip LeGraid):
Welcome to the forum Lucean

The Southern District, or Rich District, as it is known is a far cry from both Powder Mill and the Church District. Considered by many to be the heart of town life, the Rich District is actually little more than an attractive sanctuary, removed sufficiently from the bustle and jostle of central Arkham to be quiet and clean, while being close enough to allow the fashionable rich easy access to the best facilities. Suffice to say, when the police receive a call from Powder Mill, they take their time to respond. When they receive a call from the Southern District, they try to attend at least two minutes before the call was made.

High Street is a typical artery running at a steep gradient down and through the heart of the Rich District from west to east, serving only two blocks, but two blocks whose length and breadth are greater than any in Arkham. A sweeping grandeur of road, asphalt as perfect as the day it was laid, snakes its way steadily downward through the ranks of the rich and famous, lined on either side by rows of trees and sparklingly clean sidewalks. Homes are not so much visible as glimpsed; grandiose rooftops, turrets and chimney stacks rising above the greenery of leylandi and fir, the houses themselves hidden behind walls or great expanses of hedge and set a considerable distance back from the road. Invariably the driveways leading to these houses are inaccessible, barred by wide, electric gates furnished with warnings to 'beware of the dogs'. There are no cars parked by the roadside and it is rare indeed to see anyone moving around the district on foot.

Once inside, a visitor will find themselves awed by the overwhelming sense of oppulence and extravagance lavished upon the construction of homes and grounds. The houses are in fact mansions, each with their own far ranging estates containing terraces, swimming pools and car ports. Front doors stand beneath ostentatious porchways of white stone and marble. Multiple paned windows are similarly framed with columns, corbels and stately shutters. Where lights are on inside, chandeliers can be seen hanging from ceilings illuminating the polished grandeur of rich furniture.

A visitor to the Rich District will feel a prevailing sense of silence and abandonment. At its highest point, the aptly named High Street affords a spectacular view down and across Arkham and the visitor may feel himself to be standing upon the fringe of reality, gazing down into the rational landscape of a populated world while all around him remains deathly still and deserted.

Indeed, behind the high reaching hedgerows and brusque gates of the Rich District live some of the haughtiest citizens of this town, as removed from the rabble they perceive as society as they are from their own community, such as it is. It is perhaps their lack of spirit that gives the area its prevalent sense of emptiness. More likely the sheer untouchable nature of the Rich District intimidates most people who venture there, leaving them with an uncomfortable sense that no matter how hard they work, or how hard they try, they will never possess money enough to live here.

--

Doctor Philip LeGraid occupies one of the less impressive, but no less expensive, houses near the lower end of High Street. This location is not ideal, but gives his family plenty of privacy, room to breath and, of course, the house is close enough to the hospital that he can get to work each day without travelling too far.

His house stands, as many here do, behind a high hedge. The approach is not barred by a gate, but meanders off the road and along a well tended garden before arriving at a large circular drive. In the centre of the drive is a disc of lawn at the heart of which stands a huge oak tree with gnarled trunk and sky-reaching branches. At some point lightning has struck the tree and split the trunk asunder. Though the tree is dead, its ashen bark no longer a lustrous brown and its branches permanently leafless, the previous owners were inexplicably attached to it and included a hidden clause in their side of the house purchase contract stating none should ever try to cut down the tree. Thus the doctor has been forced to keep the ugly thing in situ.

The house stands behind the tree and is a large edifice of gothic architecture, baroque by design, florid in aspect and immensely unique. The grand entrance stands in a shrouded arch of white marble with a front door hewn from a solid chunk of wood and engraved with a depiction of the oak tree as it probably looked when flourishing and in full leaf. A metal grill covers a small glass window and a large iron door knocker fashioned to resemble a grimacing dog furnishes the middle of the door.

Inside is a large reception with a marble floor and grand, sweeping staircase. Rooms lead off in all directions, including a vast kitchen and dining room through a large set of wooden panelled double doors, a living room to the right and a second living room to the left. A variety of corridors are also accessed from here through a succession of narrow, arched doorways, each marked with a roman numeral (the reason for which the Doctor has never been able to fathom). The rest of the interior is expansive and luxuriously spacious, well decorated by the Doctor's good wife with ornaments tastefully arranged and an abundance of softer furnishings. Rugs and cushions used to diffuse the cold, hard edges of marble and stonework.

Being unable to comfortably climb stairs, the Doctor lives largely on the ground floor, with a library and study in the west wing and the bedroom he shares with his wife to the rear of the house overlooking the splendour of the rear garden. Upstairs is well tended by the Doctor's wife and the children have made themselves at home up there with bedrooms and a play room. Guests, when they come, are also granted one of the spare rooms on the second floor. Many of the building's original furnishings live up here, being part and parcel of the purchase detail. As the family are relatively new to the residence, they are yet to search through these furnishings and decide what they should keep and what they should discard, particularly as the Doctor's wife has been actively avoiding the task, preferring not to venture into those rooms where the furniture is stored.

The Doctor's wife also prefers to remain on the ground floor, but not because of any problems with the stairs. She has professed an uncommon fear, completely at odds with logic, of the entire second storey. Particularly she feels ill at ease when passing beneath the hatch leading to the attic or the rooms containing the previous owners' furniture. As the Doctor could never ascend the ladder with his bad leg, he never saw fit to go into the attic and readily dismisses his wife's irrational fears as unfounded anyway. Her unease is probably more to do with the emptiness of the second floor rooms and the sheer age of the house than anything spooky or untoward, especially as the children have never professed any misgivings and spend most of their time up there.

Throughout the house, the image of the oak tree in the garden is repeated in carved motifs, decorative designs on marble plinths, small emblems on doors or door handles and intricate reliefs on ceiling roses. The reason for this seems fairly straight forward. Presumably the oak tree must once have been an impressive centre-piece at the front of the house and at some point a previous owner grasped this aspect and reproduced it as a common running theme. Most who visit the Doctor and his family notice and comment on the oak tree devices they spot around the house and it has become something of a novelty, even though the Doctor feels little love for the horrible shattered tree.
--

Again, my vision. The tree, the clause in the purchase contract, etc. should all remain. If you want to change anything it's that he lives only on the ground floor, or general decorations and the way they've been used. It should also be assumed that his family haven't explored the furniture left behind by the previous occupant yet, even if they do all live on both storeys of the house.

 

[kookalouris]

Sam as a character sheet...

Character notes on Sam

Attributes:

Sam is about average in stats with no real limits or strengths. Before the 'incident', she probably had very fast INT and DEX, the gifted reaction of a skilled pilot. Her SAN is currently lower than average and will probably drop like a rock.

Her appearance was above-average so that no one, not even Sam, knows how much of her career was given to her by her talent. This will also undermine her confidence. Her appearance may or may not have been reduced by scarring.

To have been a buxom beauty, I picture her as a cornfed valkyrie, so her size is probably above-average but not necessarily justifying odd stats.

Skills:
Above all, Sam was a good pilot (and still might be if she could believe it about herself).
She also enjoyed the sports cars her past fame had bought for her. She has some tiny skill piloting a boat, perhaps the Gilman influence.

In short, she could be the team transport. She also has a few other skills handy for traveling. During her missions, she may have picked up some lessons in navigation and survival. She is also a fairly skilled wireless operator (operating a radio was relatively complicated in the 1940's given the fairly primitive equipment).

Combat skills:
No formal training. It could be that Sam has learned a few tricks with fists, kicks, broken bottles and revolvers, given the places she has been.

Physical skills: Before the accident, Sam was a 'natural' swimmer, ran to stay fit, and climbed a small mountain once to impress her flight crew.

Education:
Bright and curious, Sam has a high school diploma and has studied her peculiar pursuits with a collegian's zeal. She may be taking classes at Miskatonic (the Gilmans may be entitled to a scholarship, this would convey no real power). In a sentence, Sam is idly fascinated with weird mysteries in weird places and wants to learn what she can about them (history, archeology, 'weird lore', etc.)

Languages:
Sam hasn't really devoted the time to learn another language besides English (well, maybe Boston 'Bah-stan' English. )
She may knew a few important phrases in most languages ("Get Help!", "We mean you no harm.", "Take me to your leader."). In the world of Aviation, traffic controllers speak English so there has always been translation wherever Sam has flown.

Interpersonal skills: Sam has a natural charm that she would rarely bend to deceit. So openly honest skills such as Diplomacy she might excel at. Now, too trusting of others and not of herself, she might be more vunerable to deception than her stats might warrant.

Mythos skills: It would never occur to Sam that people might have some power over weird fate. However, she might have picked up some skills at a very low level and a barely detectable SAN loss. For example, she may have found some of the odd artifacts on the shelves of the Witching Hour compelling. And studied them without having any real chance of comprehension except on a basic level.

I always wondered what would happen if someone read the Necronomicon but didn't know the language. Would the pictures be enough? Would the odd script itself affect through the sheer alienness of it?

Equipment:

Sam might have some rusting weapons somewhere in the inn. I assume the inn has an old Model A truck for errands. She may have a neglected sports car of her own.
She probably knows places to get planes and exploration equipment (which is not the same as having the means).

Not quite trusting her sanity, Sam is reluctant to carry anything that could harm herself or others (although there has been no violence from Sam's mental states, she is overcautious). She has a pawn-shop bought Swiss Army Knife deliberately bought for its worn, dull blade.

Unnaturally attracted to some of the 'worthless' items and charms found on the Gilman grounds, Sam may feel the need to wear the smaller items as jewelry.

SAN and sanity

The difference between genius, eccentricity, and madness is really rather one of degree rather than kind.

Currently, Sam has the following traits that are not yet at the point of actual mental conditions...

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (hyper-vigilance, flashbacks, irritability)
Guilt and Survivor's Guilt (feelings of worthlessness, utter lack of confidence, secret desire to be 'punished').

Also, when rescued Sam had a busted leg and concussion plus some scarring. As far as the doctors and the head doctors are concerned, Sam should have healed past all of that awhile ago. But, currently, Sam still has trouble remembering, walks with a cane, and believes herself to be horribly scarred. How much is real and how much is psychosomatic is a plot device for David.

She may also be scared of heights, flying, or more accurately, piloting, especially piloting others.

Deliberately sober as a rock before, now Sam is 'medicating' with alcohol, cigarettes, caffiene and perhaps more exotic substances. So far, her former flying reflexes and quick intuition cover how much medicating she actually does.

Any of these coping mechanisms (good and bad) can be used by David when the SAN wears thin.

I think that's enough for the sheer stats side of the character.

Feedback is always welcome. More to follow...

Gerry

 

[greenstar]

Wow there's something creepy about every characters house.

 

[Lucean]

Doctor Phillip LeGraid

History:

The LeGraid family has been one of the most prominent families in New Orleans for over a century, being influencal in the finances, politics and culture of the fair city. It has also always been one of the most central families in the internal structure as well. It was extremely rare for the head of the family to have more than one child, who in turn would become the new head of the family. If there were more than one child, one of them would be chosen to become the new head and receive almost all of the family fortune as inheritance with the other receiving only a little or married off to another family. This had prevented the family from fragmenting despite it's great age and also had allowed it's head to remain unquestioned in their position. It was also always central that the one who had been borne as a LeGraid was the one controlling the family in case of a marriage, be it a son or a daughter, although it was almost always a son.

At the beginning of the 20th century, the head of the family was Charles LeGraid, who was considered one of the strongest patriarchs in the family's entire history. He was a shrew businessman, always anticapiting the economic and political situations to come with frightening accuracy. His only son, Michael, was however another story, more interested in attending parties and cultural events than learning of the family business, somehow believing that just sharing his father's blood was enough. However, suddenly enough to cause a scandal, Michael disappeared from the city, only to return a year later with his new-born son Phillip. A great deal of rumours spread of this, speculations of what had happened, with each one more wild than the last. The story offered by the family was that Michael had met a daughter of a poor merchant family from New York and fallen deeply in love. Never being one for thinking ahead, he had eloped with the daughter, fearing his father's disapproval. His new wife had become pregnant soon after, but had died giving birth to their son. Finally, the mourning son had returned home with the child. The power held by the family made certain that no one questioned this story too vocally and prevented it from blossoming to a true scandal.

The returned Michael was slightly different from before, being more tempered and even beginning to involve himself in the family business, but was still a prominent member of the local social life. For some reason though he seemed to avoid to have anything to do with his son, hesitant to even treating Phillip as his own flesh and blood. Charles LeGraid however developed a soft spot for the child, acting almost as a surrogate father to Phillip. A few years later Michael married again, this time to Augustine Reynolds, a daughter of prominent family in the Mid-West. Through Charles's skill the opportunities provided by this marriage lead to even more wealth and power for the family. From this marriage a daughter, Evelyn, was born and Michael treated her more as his own than he ever had Phillip, who was eight at the time of the birth.

As Phillip grew up, although never in public, a great of whispering was done of the circumstances of his birth and his standing in the family. Members of the family itself and those associated with it treated him with distain, no one more than his own father, while Evelyn was doted upon. Somewhat ironically the only member of the family aside from his grandfather who Phillip got along with and even cared for was his half-sister, who always called Phillip her brother with great pride in her voice. Despite Charles LeGraide 's attachment to the boy, it became clear to him that Phillip could not remain in New Orleans, that he was too much of a sore spot to the family and even a danger to be exploited by some outsider. So with heavy heart Charles summoned Phillip to him when the boy turned 16, and told him that he could not remain within New Orleans for much longer, that he had to seek his fortune somewhere else. Charles did however offer to pay for whatever life Phillip decided to seek for. Phillip understood, to be truthful had expected the discussion to have taken place even earlier, and three years later informed his family that he would be leaving for medical school in New York. On the day of his departure only two people watched him depart with sadness, his grandfather and his young half-sister, who begged him to stay with tear-filled eyes.

When Phillip moved to New York, it was the first time during his entire life when people regarded him as more than the mystery of the might LeGraid family. He however remained somewhat distant from his fellow students, not willing to truly expose himself to anyone, and extremely driven in his studies, as if he was trying to escape the secrets of his birth that way. He never drank much and always behaved very cordially, not letting himself loose. Despite all of this he managed to make a great deal of friends during those years, as most people found him to be someone to get along extremely well with as long as they didn't try to probe his secrets too deeply. Finally Phillip graduated as a M.D. and after having proven himself to be an exceptionally promising doctor, received more than a few offers from local hospitals as it was clear that he could not return to New Orleans. Yet he shocked everyone by instead choosing to join the Red Cross and leaving the country for foreign lands.

-------------

Have to stop now, both because I need to sleep and because that's already quite a lot of story. I'll try to get the rest up tomorrow with notes about the character. I already spoke with David about the secret concerning Phillip's birth, but I'll send him a more exact description of it, if it is alright. Let me know if there's anything wrong with the character story so far, it never hurts to point out where something doesn't work.

 

[Dire Lemming]

Wow, Kook. I'm assuming Adam doesn't know most of what's in that last post. He wouldn't be the kind to let a friend go on like that, though he might not know what he could do to stop it, and considering how few friends he actually has, he wouldn't have to split his attention. It would probably cut into his inventing at this point. Kinda funny though that it's the bar tender with the most problems.

As for Adam's house. I really like the mailbox, though after that many complaints he probably would have been up a warning sign with instructions on how to avoid injury next to it. Or even reworked it so that the mail carrier could activate the suction manually. Course if they then started to forget to do it he'd send complaints and finally go back to the old system if that didn't work.

One thing that was conspicuously absent from the house is materials for making prototypes of cloth objects. I could say that machines are his love, but most of his inventions in that area haven't really been successful, so in order to fund them he's made his far more successful slings, bags, and carrying systems, or what have you.

One last thing, Adam has never had a girlfriend, and still doesn't. As such, he's somewhat lacking in certain things that only an intimate relationship can provide, unless you have money. So, to stop beating around the bush, Adam can afford to pay for high quality escort service, and probably has in the past, and will in the future, assuming there is such a place or people in Arkham. Dunno if you can do anything with that information, or even want to, but I figured I'd add it just in case. Also, considering how introverted he is he probably hires the services of the same person consistently.

Man, my character's background is so boring compared to the others.

David, I fixed my sheet, I can't send Email from my usual E-Mail application at the moment for some reason though, so I need to use webmail, which is a pain. I can still receive it fine. Though of course email notification for ENWorld is again broken and has been for weeks.

 

[Dlsharrock]

Heh. The last post was from Lucean, Dire Lemming.
Lucean- you don't need to post your character's entire history in the recruitment thread unless you really want everyone to know about it. If you're looking for comments/constructive advice that's fine, but I should add a note to the effect that this is all strictly out of character information, not stuff players should refer to in the game.

Great stuff though, really detailed. If I have a suggestion it would be to have Charles removed from play and this be the reason for Philip leaving New Orleans. I don't really know why I prefer this to the existing scenario, I think maybe it's just a more compelling reason for him to leave. A way it could work out:

Charles dies and as he's Philip's only adherent in this ultra-powerful family, apart from his sister in law, this kicks the safety chocks out from under Philip, leaving him vulnerable to those family perils you hinted at (and which, IMO, should be introduced in his background). The family hatch a plan to force him out of New Orleans, or possibly to discredit him as a true LeGraid (the circumstances surrounding his birth were foggy enough after all), but then horror of horrors, it turns out Charles has left a substantial sum of money to Philip and a fairly large chunk of family property. Now Philip is in real trouble. The family don't just want him out of New Orleans, they want him dead. One or two failed attempts on his life later, he flees New Orleans with his inheritance and seeks to establish himself elsewhere. Hoping to cut himself loose of the family wrath he gives up his stake on the family business, handing it to his sister in law. If this all goes, it could also be a valid reason for his leaving the country and joining the Red Cross. Turns out the family don't consider the return of his stakehold to be good enough, find him in New York and try to kill him again. It's no longer about the money (as it so rarely is in these kinds of families), it's about the slight Charles has paid the true LeGraids by officially recognising Philip as rightful heir. His only choice now is to head for foreign climes.

From a Keeper's point of view Charles is better dead than alive. If he remains active there's a chance Philip could use him in-game and that's one mighty powerful NPC right there. Better to remove Charles and leave the lesser power of Philip's sister in law. She can still pull strings perhaps, but on a different level.

General note for all:
Kouk, I'd like to comment on some of your character details and there's still some more OOC stuff to discuss. I'm still thinking on Arabella's psychic/magic points combo and Lucean is yet to post the finished background for his character. On top of all that, I have to go to bed

Tommorrow I am undergoing some dental work which may put me out of action for the day (wisdom teeth out). I should be back on Wednesday to tie up lose ends and, I guess, play catch up on like 200 posts Seriously though, it's great to see some enthusiasm for the game and I'm really looking forward to starting the IC thread, just not today as originally planned.

Apologies as I can tell everyone's revved to go, but here's a classic case of real life strikes again

Witching Hour Bar description also to follow, and will feature in the first post of the IC game thread.