William, I hardly knew ya...
- Thread starter Maerdwyn
- Start date
Maerdwyn
First Post
William Blair
William Blair, Age 32
3rd Level Defensive Character (Unemployed Lawyer. Recovering Drunk)
HP: 19
Initiative: +2
Speed: 30 ft.
Space/Reach: 5 ft./5 ft.
Armor Class: 14 (+2 Dex, +2 Defense Option), Touch 14, Flat-footed 12
Base Attack/Grapple: +1/+0
Attack: +0 Melee (1d4-1, pistol butt) or +0 Melee (1d3-1, fist) or +3
+3 handgun (1d10, x3, 20ft, 9 shots)
Abilities: Str 8, Dex 14, Con 12, Int 14, Wis 14, Cha 16. San: 70
Saves: Fortitude +2 (base +1, Con+1), Reflex +5 (base +3, Dex+2), Will +5 (base +3, Dex +2
Skills:
Bluff (Cha), 6/+9
Concentration (Wis), 5/+2
Diplomacy (Cha), 6/+13
Intimidate (Cha), 6/+11
Gather Information (Cha), 4/+9
Knowledge (Law) (Int), 5/+7
Knowledge (Occult) (Int) 3/+5
Read Lips (Wis) 6/+8
Research (Int) 6/+8
Sense Motive (Wis) 6/+8
Speak Other Language (Int) 3/+5
Spot (Wis) 4/+6
Feats: Wealth, Trustworthy, WP/Pistol.
Money: $26520.34. (Potential Salary of $7000 - currently none)
Residence
Apartment building on King St., Jamaica Plain, Boston, owned by St. Andrew's Catholic Church Rectory. The building has many small rooms for rent, as well as a first floor which serves as a shelter for drunks. William has given money to the Church, which covers his stay for the year and a donation ($1000)
Equipment
Carried/Worn:
...Handgun, 9mm, 9 bullets. $30
...Wool dress suit, looking rather in need of a cleaning. $30
...Shoes. $5
...Shirt. $1
...2 Pencil and Paper. $.22
...Lighter, and Cigarrettes $.60
...Key to padlock
...Cheap Watch $6
...Rain Slicker (If Apporpriate) $5
...Handkerchief
...Folding pocket camera, 24 Exposures. $18.00
In apartment:
...In Expensive trunk and padlock. $15
......5 Dress suits, beginnig to look a little shabby: $150
......8 Shirts, $16
......Tailored Silk Suit, good condition, needs alteration to fit well again. $100
......Bible. $4.00
......Personal (badly done) drawings of "fly" that killed the Old Man
......Umbrella. $1.79
......Flask of Whiskey. $2
......A few law books. $50
......82 Bullets
...Flower pot with silk flowers, $1
......Handgun, 9 bullets. $44 (includes cost of 100 bullets) Hidden under
......flowers
With Father Gregory:
...Extra key to trunk
languages: English, Latin (3/+5)
*************************
The election. That’s where it all started going downhill for me, Reverend. Shoulda been a means to an end – a necessary, but ultimately insignificant, step on my path to the governor’s mansion. Or maybe Washington. Either one, no matter. Yeah? Well even that speakeasy on Washington Street’d be just Jake with me, now. Who wants to be mayor of Manchester anyway? Not me.
Hey, d'you know I didn’t even drink back then? I wouldn't touch it! Nope – not me, eldest grandson of the esteemed Henry W. Blair, former senator of the Great State of New Hampshire! Me being a Blair doesn’t mean much to you down here, but believe me, up there, back then, being a Blair meant you were dry as a bone, and expected everyone around you to be, too. I’d bought into it early on – helped that great state pass it’s ratification referendum. Went to a hundred-and-sixty-flippin’-four of those damned town meetings. (Hmmph. Nine people, six cows and whole gaggle of…chickens standing around in a barn. That’s your town meeting in most of New Hampshire’s little places.) But we passed it, and I was a damned shoe-in for mayor. I tell you what: voting for Prohibition, then, felt a lot better to people than living under it does, now! After being mayor, I was going to be governor. Grandfather practically guaranteed it. And only thirty years old, just like old T.R. in New York, Grandfather said. Of course, that night, he died. And they asked me how, and I told them. And that’s when things really went downhill for me.
See, Grandfather didn’t die like the records said. He didn’t get sick, didn’t even die in the arms of some younger woman like most of the other New England roylaty. That old man got his insides chewed up by a horsefly that was truly the size of a horse. At least, that what I think it was. Looked like it, to me anyway. I tried to shoot it – Grandfather kept a loaded pistol mounted on the wall of his library, but the damned thing misfired. The fly stuck it’s tongue or whatever down my grandfather’s mouth and pulled up what had to be his heart – maybe some other stuff, too, I don’t know. (I know you don’t believe me – no one does. Not sure I do, some times. Maybe if I’d shot it there’d have been proof…) Anyway, the thing flied out the window after it…after it turned to look at me, straight in the eye… and I just stood there for I don’t know how long, until my brother came in.
He didn’t know what’d happened; just that it was something bad and something bloody, and that I’d been there. I still couldn’t talk – I just stood there stupid while he cleaned everything up and put Grandfather on the washroom floor – like he’d fallen or something. Then my brother sat me down and tried to bring me out of it. Didn’t work, though. Just sat there stupid until the bulls arrived and asked what happened. That was the first time I opened my mouth. Before my brother could come up with a story about the washroom floor or something harmless, I told them about the big fly. And how it ate my grandfather’s heart and turned to stare me down before it flew away out the window. They looked at me as if I was blotto – wish I had been. The family doctor arrived a little later, but while the bulls were still there, and pronounced it a heart attack after whispering with my brother for a while. I laughed out loud, and the bulls we even surer that I was flozzled, so that went into the official report, too.
And that’s how I lost the race to become Mayor of Manchester in the Great State of New Hampshire in 1920, the Year of Our Lord. My opponent got the Union Leader to print my statement to the police on Sunday morning. He said I could disavow it and admit I’d been drunk or stand by it and admit I was crazy. I, rather convincingly I thought, maintained that I’d been “distraught”, but the damage was done. I mean, it’s a lot easier to believe that an old man fell and that his Prohibitionist grandson was actually a raving drunk, than it is to believe a five foot fly came in through the window and sucked down the old man’s heart before giving his grandson a thousand Evil Eyes and flying away, right? It was a landslide.
So I left Manchester – came down here and set to the task of becoming what I’d been accused of being – a raging drunk. In between benders, I’m trying to figure if I was crazy, or whether there really are pony-sized flies flitting around sucking out old men’s internal organs. When I get an answer I can trust, I figure things will either take a turn for the slightly better or one for the much worse. I will certainly let you know..
Now, I know you’ve done a lot for me, Father, I appreciate you drying me out, and I appreciate the kind offer of job at the Diocese. But I’ve got money, enough, Father (it’s pride and character I lack.). After tonight, I’ll even keep my promise and stay dry. But that thing killed my grandfather in front of me four years ago tonight, and tonight.... tonight, I’m going to drink.
William Blair, Age 32
3rd Level Defensive Character (Unemployed Lawyer. Recovering Drunk)
HP: 19
Initiative: +2
Speed: 30 ft.
Space/Reach: 5 ft./5 ft.
Armor Class: 14 (+2 Dex, +2 Defense Option), Touch 14, Flat-footed 12
Base Attack/Grapple: +1/+0
Attack: +0 Melee (1d4-1, pistol butt) or +0 Melee (1d3-1
+3 handgun (1d10, x3, 20ft, 9 shots)
Abilities: Str 8, Dex 14, Con 12, Int 14, Wis 14, Cha 16. San: 70
Saves: Fortitude +2 (base +1, Con+1), Reflex +5 (base +3, Dex+2), Will +5 (base +3, Dex +2
Skills:
Bluff (Cha), 6/+9
Concentration (Wis), 5/+2
Diplomacy (Cha), 6/+13
Intimidate (Cha), 6/+11
Gather Information (Cha), 4/+9
Knowledge (Law) (Int), 5/+7
Knowledge (Occult) (Int) 3/+5
Read Lips (Wis) 6/+8
Research (Int) 6/+8
Sense Motive (Wis) 6/+8
Speak Other Language (Int) 3/+5
Spot (Wis) 4/+6
Feats: Wealth, Trustworthy, WP/Pistol.
Money: $26520.34. (Potential Salary of $7000 - currently none)
Residence
Apartment building on King St., Jamaica Plain, Boston, owned by St. Andrew's Catholic Church Rectory. The building has many small rooms for rent, as well as a first floor which serves as a shelter for drunks. William has given money to the Church, which covers his stay for the year and a donation ($1000)
Equipment
Carried/Worn:
...Handgun, 9mm, 9 bullets. $30
...Wool dress suit, looking rather in need of a cleaning. $30
...Shoes. $5
...Shirt. $1
...2 Pencil and Paper. $.22
...Lighter, and Cigarrettes $.60
...Key to padlock
...Cheap Watch $6
...Rain Slicker (If Apporpriate) $5
...Handkerchief
...Folding pocket camera, 24 Exposures. $18.00
In apartment:
...In Expensive trunk and padlock. $15
......5 Dress suits, beginnig to look a little shabby: $150
......8 Shirts, $16
......Tailored Silk Suit, good condition, needs alteration to fit well again. $100
......Bible. $4.00
......Personal (badly done) drawings of "fly" that killed the Old Man
......Umbrella. $1.79
......Flask of Whiskey. $2
......A few law books. $50
......82 Bullets
...Flower pot with silk flowers, $1
......Handgun, 9 bullets. $44 (includes cost of 100 bullets) Hidden under
......flowers
With Father Gregory:
...Extra key to trunk
languages: English, Latin (3/+5)
*************************
The election. That’s where it all started going downhill for me, Reverend. Shoulda been a means to an end – a necessary, but ultimately insignificant, step on my path to the governor’s mansion. Or maybe Washington. Either one, no matter. Yeah? Well even that speakeasy on Washington Street’d be just Jake with me, now. Who wants to be mayor of Manchester anyway? Not me.
Hey, d'you know I didn’t even drink back then? I wouldn't touch it! Nope – not me, eldest grandson of the esteemed Henry W. Blair, former senator of the Great State of New Hampshire! Me being a Blair doesn’t mean much to you down here, but believe me, up there, back then, being a Blair meant you were dry as a bone, and expected everyone around you to be, too. I’d bought into it early on – helped that great state pass it’s ratification referendum. Went to a hundred-and-sixty-flippin’-four of those damned town meetings. (Hmmph. Nine people, six cows and whole gaggle of…chickens standing around in a barn. That’s your town meeting in most of New Hampshire’s little places.) But we passed it, and I was a damned shoe-in for mayor. I tell you what: voting for Prohibition, then, felt a lot better to people than living under it does, now! After being mayor, I was going to be governor. Grandfather practically guaranteed it. And only thirty years old, just like old T.R. in New York, Grandfather said. Of course, that night, he died. And they asked me how, and I told them. And that’s when things really went downhill for me.
See, Grandfather didn’t die like the records said. He didn’t get sick, didn’t even die in the arms of some younger woman like most of the other New England roylaty. That old man got his insides chewed up by a horsefly that was truly the size of a horse. At least, that what I think it was. Looked like it, to me anyway. I tried to shoot it – Grandfather kept a loaded pistol mounted on the wall of his library, but the damned thing misfired. The fly stuck it’s tongue or whatever down my grandfather’s mouth and pulled up what had to be his heart – maybe some other stuff, too, I don’t know. (I know you don’t believe me – no one does. Not sure I do, some times. Maybe if I’d shot it there’d have been proof…) Anyway, the thing flied out the window after it…after it turned to look at me, straight in the eye… and I just stood there for I don’t know how long, until my brother came in.
He didn’t know what’d happened; just that it was something bad and something bloody, and that I’d been there. I still couldn’t talk – I just stood there stupid while he cleaned everything up and put Grandfather on the washroom floor – like he’d fallen or something. Then my brother sat me down and tried to bring me out of it. Didn’t work, though. Just sat there stupid until the bulls arrived and asked what happened. That was the first time I opened my mouth. Before my brother could come up with a story about the washroom floor or something harmless, I told them about the big fly. And how it ate my grandfather’s heart and turned to stare me down before it flew away out the window. They looked at me as if I was blotto – wish I had been. The family doctor arrived a little later, but while the bulls were still there, and pronounced it a heart attack after whispering with my brother for a while. I laughed out loud, and the bulls we even surer that I was flozzled, so that went into the official report, too.
And that’s how I lost the race to become Mayor of Manchester in the Great State of New Hampshire in 1920, the Year of Our Lord. My opponent got the Union Leader to print my statement to the police on Sunday morning. He said I could disavow it and admit I’d been drunk or stand by it and admit I was crazy. I, rather convincingly I thought, maintained that I’d been “distraught”, but the damage was done. I mean, it’s a lot easier to believe that an old man fell and that his Prohibitionist grandson was actually a raving drunk, than it is to believe a five foot fly came in through the window and sucked down the old man’s heart before giving his grandson a thousand Evil Eyes and flying away, right? It was a landslide.
So I left Manchester – came down here and set to the task of becoming what I’d been accused of being – a raging drunk. In between benders, I’m trying to figure if I was crazy, or whether there really are pony-sized flies flitting around sucking out old men’s internal organs. When I get an answer I can trust, I figure things will either take a turn for the slightly better or one for the much worse. I will certainly let you know..
Now, I know you’ve done a lot for me, Father, I appreciate you drying me out, and I appreciate the kind offer of job at the Diocese. But I’ve got money, enough, Father (it’s pride and character I lack.). After tonight, I’ll even keep my promise and stay dry. But that thing killed my grandfather in front of me four years ago tonight, and tonight.... tonight, I’m going to drink.
Maerdwyn
First Post
Sofia of Merinitia
Sofia Maratkova, Merinitia Age 23 Female
Twilight Points 0, Decriptude 1, Confidence 3, Size 0
Personality Traits: Outgoing(+2), Soft Hearted (+1), Fearful of Betrayal (+2)
Str -3 (Weak)
Sta -0 (Wan)
Com +2 (Witty)
Pre +1 (Comely)
Dex +0
Qik +0
Int +4(Sharp)
Per +2 (Insightful)
Virtues and flaws
Outer Mystery: Faerie Magic (+1)
Lesser Glamours (+3)
Arcadian Bridge (+2)
Great Intelligence (+2)
Student of Faerie (+2)
Fear of Rivers (-2)
Non-Combatant (-2)
Enemy (-2), Dernyaya, the Rusalka
Flawed Parma Magic (-1): Aquam
Decrepit (-2), damage to health during escape from Dernyaya, 1 point.
Compulsion(-1), Compulsion against lying. (Is the the right way to express this flaw, or should it be something else?)
Abilities (26 xp-13 starting xp = Age 23)
Faerie Lore 3 (+2, 5xp)
Faerie Magic 3 (+2, 5xp)
Magic Theory 4 (0)
Organization Lore (Order of Hermes) 2 (+1, 2xp)
Certamen 2 (+2, 3xp)
Parma Magic 4 (+2, 6xp)
Scribe Latin 4 (+1, 4xp)
Speak Latin 4 (+0)
Speak Slavic 4(+0)
Sing 2 (+2, 3xp)
Swim 1 (+1, 1xp)
Charm 2 (+2, 3xp)
Arts
Techniques
Creo 8 Intelego 0 Muto 7 Perdo 0 Rego 7
Forms
Animal 0 Aquam 3 Auram 3 Corpus 0 Herbam 0 Ignem 0 Imaginem 7
Mentem 7 Terram 0 Vim 0
Spells
Ward against Faeries of the Water, ReAq, 15
Glamoured Horse, MuIm, 30, Faerie
Glamoured Sustenance, MuIm, 20, Faerie
Wizard's Sidestep, ReIm, 10
The Captive Voice, ReIm, 15
The Danse Arcadian, ReCo, 15, Faerie (As Despair of Quivering Manacles, but enforced dancing)
Aura of Rightful Authority, ReMe, 20
Disguise of the Transformed Image, MuIm, 15
Call to Slumber, ReNe, 10
Wizards sigil: A drop in temperature
Description: Sofia is a slight young woman, whose skin is quite pale and cool to the touch. Her features are attractive, if a little severe, though her smile tends to mitigate their severity somewhat. Her voice is quite high, and often causes people to think her younger, or perhaps of less import, than she really is.
Goal: Sofia really wants Maerdwyn to keep thinking about her goals.
History: When Sofia was a young girl, her family, farmers near Lake Ilmen, went to a Kolyadki festival in Novgorod. She reveled with everyone else, until it was to go home the next morning in the family's wagon. When finally they came to the crossing at the Volkhov River, Sophia fell from the cart. Though the river had been frozen for months, and the wagon had crossed at just that point two days before, Sofia crashed through and vanished into the icy water. Her parents and siblings could see no sign of her, after a time and much anguish, she was sadly given up for lost.
Under the water, Sofia was chilled, and felt her body stiffen, even as she choked on the icy water. But Sofia lived. She awoke, lying on a bed - stil underwater, but no longer cold, and quite comfortable. A young, girl stared happily back at her. She was Dernyaya, a kindly Rusalka, and she explained that she had cast a spell upon Sofia that let her breathe underwater and survive in the cold. But, the Rusalka told her, the spell wouldn't expire for a year, and that Sofia would have to stay until it was over. Scared, but still quite fascinated, Sofia stayed. Dernyaya, despite being several hundred years old, looked to be about Sofia age, and the two girls became fast friends. Dernyaya told her of the faeries and of their magic, and Sopfia told Dernyaya about the town and life among humans. And always, when Sofia would ask if it was near time to return home, the Rusalka would tell her, "Just a few more months, Sister, but it is not so bad here with me is it?" And so Sofia stayed.
But one day, while mimicking some of the gestures and words that she'd heard and seen Dernyaya use, Sofia found she look see a picture of what the Rusalka was thinking. She practiced this, peering in at her friend's thoughts and using the knowlege to win game here or play a practical joke there, until one day when Dernyaya was sitting and gazing up at the surface of the water, Sofia saw a clear memory in the Rusalka's mind.
She saw her family. They were crossing the Volkov in a wagon, laughing and smiling in memory of the Yule festival. And then there was Dernyaya, reaching up and grabbing Sofia's leg, and pulling her down, and pointing a hand at the ice, shattering it for the two of them go past back down into the water. Sofia could feel the memory of the Rusalka's joy at finally having a playmate, of loneliness defeated forever. And Sofia understood that Dernyaya would never, ever, let her go.
When the spell ended, Sofia resolved to flee. She waited until that night, when the Rusalka was asleep, and swam away, as far and as fast as she could, but found herself back at Dernyaya's home. She wailed, and began singing a song she had almost forgotten, a lullaby her mother had sung to her as a babe. To her astonishment, she suddenly found herself in the middle of a forest, still wet, but now terribly cold, and desperately hungry. The wandered through the wilderness, unsure of where she was, living on berries and moss until she she stumbled into the village below Gormenghast, only hours from death by pneumonia and hypothermia.
Since then, Sofia has entered and completed her apprenticeship as a maga of House Merinitia. She has grown into a confident young woman of great power, but whenever she passes a river, especially a frozen river, she feels a stab of fear at the memory of her childlike captor, whom she had once thought of as a friend. And somehow, she is certain that Dernyaya still thinks of her, nursing bitterness over Sofia's abandonment.
Now that she has begun to control some of the same magics that Dernyaya showed her as a child, Sofia has come to believe that Faerie Magic hold great promise for the covenant. In fact she suspects it is one of the keys to Gormenghast's revitalization. At this point however that's little more than a guess.
Sofia Maratkova, Merinitia Age 23 Female
Twilight Points 0, Decriptude 1, Confidence 3, Size 0
Personality Traits: Outgoing(+2), Soft Hearted (+1), Fearful of Betrayal (+2)
Str -3 (Weak)
Sta -0 (Wan)
Com +2 (Witty)
Pre +1 (Comely)
Dex +0
Qik +0
Int +4(Sharp)
Per +2 (Insightful)
Virtues and flaws
Outer Mystery: Faerie Magic (+1)
Lesser Glamours (+3)
Arcadian Bridge (+2)
Great Intelligence (+2)
Student of Faerie (+2)
Fear of Rivers (-2)
Non-Combatant (-2)
Enemy (-2), Dernyaya, the Rusalka
Flawed Parma Magic (-1): Aquam
Decrepit (-2), damage to health during escape from Dernyaya, 1 point.
Compulsion(-1), Compulsion against lying. (Is the the right way to express this flaw, or should it be something else?)
Abilities (26 xp-13 starting xp = Age 23)
Faerie Lore 3 (+2, 5xp)
Faerie Magic 3 (+2, 5xp)
Magic Theory 4 (0)
Organization Lore (Order of Hermes) 2 (+1, 2xp)
Certamen 2 (+2, 3xp)
Parma Magic 4 (+2, 6xp)
Scribe Latin 4 (+1, 4xp)
Speak Latin 4 (+0)
Speak Slavic 4(+0)
Sing 2 (+2, 3xp)
Swim 1 (+1, 1xp)
Charm 2 (+2, 3xp)
Arts
Techniques
Creo 8 Intelego 0 Muto 7 Perdo 0 Rego 7
Forms
Animal 0 Aquam 3 Auram 3 Corpus 0 Herbam 0 Ignem 0 Imaginem 7
Mentem 7 Terram 0 Vim 0
Spells
Ward against Faeries of the Water, ReAq, 15
Glamoured Horse, MuIm, 30, Faerie
Glamoured Sustenance, MuIm, 20, Faerie
Wizard's Sidestep, ReIm, 10
The Captive Voice, ReIm, 15
The Danse Arcadian, ReCo, 15, Faerie (As Despair of Quivering Manacles, but enforced dancing)
Aura of Rightful Authority, ReMe, 20
Disguise of the Transformed Image, MuIm, 15
Call to Slumber, ReNe, 10
Wizards sigil: A drop in temperature
Description: Sofia is a slight young woman, whose skin is quite pale and cool to the touch. Her features are attractive, if a little severe, though her smile tends to mitigate their severity somewhat. Her voice is quite high, and often causes people to think her younger, or perhaps of less import, than she really is.
Goal: Sofia really wants Maerdwyn to keep thinking about her goals.
History: When Sofia was a young girl, her family, farmers near Lake Ilmen, went to a Kolyadki festival in Novgorod. She reveled with everyone else, until it was to go home the next morning in the family's wagon. When finally they came to the crossing at the Volkhov River, Sophia fell from the cart. Though the river had been frozen for months, and the wagon had crossed at just that point two days before, Sofia crashed through and vanished into the icy water. Her parents and siblings could see no sign of her, after a time and much anguish, she was sadly given up for lost.
Under the water, Sofia was chilled, and felt her body stiffen, even as she choked on the icy water. But Sofia lived. She awoke, lying on a bed - stil underwater, but no longer cold, and quite comfortable. A young, girl stared happily back at her. She was Dernyaya, a kindly Rusalka, and she explained that she had cast a spell upon Sofia that let her breathe underwater and survive in the cold. But, the Rusalka told her, the spell wouldn't expire for a year, and that Sofia would have to stay until it was over. Scared, but still quite fascinated, Sofia stayed. Dernyaya, despite being several hundred years old, looked to be about Sofia age, and the two girls became fast friends. Dernyaya told her of the faeries and of their magic, and Sopfia told Dernyaya about the town and life among humans. And always, when Sofia would ask if it was near time to return home, the Rusalka would tell her, "Just a few more months, Sister, but it is not so bad here with me is it?" And so Sofia stayed.
But one day, while mimicking some of the gestures and words that she'd heard and seen Dernyaya use, Sofia found she look see a picture of what the Rusalka was thinking. She practiced this, peering in at her friend's thoughts and using the knowlege to win game here or play a practical joke there, until one day when Dernyaya was sitting and gazing up at the surface of the water, Sofia saw a clear memory in the Rusalka's mind.
She saw her family. They were crossing the Volkov in a wagon, laughing and smiling in memory of the Yule festival. And then there was Dernyaya, reaching up and grabbing Sofia's leg, and pulling her down, and pointing a hand at the ice, shattering it for the two of them go past back down into the water. Sofia could feel the memory of the Rusalka's joy at finally having a playmate, of loneliness defeated forever. And Sofia understood that Dernyaya would never, ever, let her go.
When the spell ended, Sofia resolved to flee. She waited until that night, when the Rusalka was asleep, and swam away, as far and as fast as she could, but found herself back at Dernyaya's home. She wailed, and began singing a song she had almost forgotten, a lullaby her mother had sung to her as a babe. To her astonishment, she suddenly found herself in the middle of a forest, still wet, but now terribly cold, and desperately hungry. The wandered through the wilderness, unsure of where she was, living on berries and moss until she she stumbled into the village below Gormenghast, only hours from death by pneumonia and hypothermia.
Since then, Sofia has entered and completed her apprenticeship as a maga of House Merinitia. She has grown into a confident young woman of great power, but whenever she passes a river, especially a frozen river, she feels a stab of fear at the memory of her childlike captor, whom she had once thought of as a friend. And somehow, she is certain that Dernyaya still thinks of her, nursing bitterness over Sofia's abandonment.
Now that she has begun to control some of the same magics that Dernyaya showed her as a child, Sofia has come to believe that Faerie Magic hold great promise for the covenant. In fact she suspects it is one of the keys to Gormenghast's revitalization. At this point however that's little more than a guess.
Last edited:
Maerdwyn
First Post
From a Mechwarrior/Batletech game that didn't quite get going:
Malcolm Zhang, 27-year-old Male. Son of Ainsley Scrimgeour and Maj. Zhang Tong Pei (Now divorced)
PXH-1 Phoenix Hawk pilot
Malcolm remembers his early years as his happiest days. His father loved him then, and let him play in the family Phoenix Hawk, regaling him with stories of the battles he fought before settling down as a professor of tactics at the Capellan War College, and telling of the day when he, too, would pilot the mech in the service of the Great House of Liao. His mother, meanwhile, told him stories of his grandfather, Malcolm Scrimgeour, a decorated pilot with the Northwind Highlanders who had died in service to the Capellan Confederacy, and for whom Malcolm had been named, despite the objections of his father.
Malcolm didn't really understand those objections until he began elementary school. It turned that "Malcolm" when pronounced by native Mandarin speakers, sounds like "maokong." Further, it happened that maokong meant "dirt ditch urinal." Children being what they are, Malcolm had cruel nicknames, as well as school bullies, attached to him almost from his first day of school. The bullying continued for years, unhelped by both the fact that Malcolm was small for his age, and the fact that his father, rather than coming to his son's defense, instead became increasingly embarrassed and shamed by the boy. Malcolm, meanwhile, dreamed of the day he would grow up, and take the Phoenix Hawk off to the academy, and bring honor to the family like his grandfather and father had before him. In a mech, Malcolm reasoned, it didn't matter how physically strong you were, or what your name was. In the present, however, he was scared and miserable. Eventually, it got to the point where he refused to go to school, telling his parents he was too afraid. His father left the room without a word, but his mother comforted him then went to his father privately and demanded he train the boy in self-defense. "Won't do any good," the man said, and let the matter drop. But over the next months, she argued with him again and again, until finally Malcolm came home with another broken nose. His parents fought again, and the next thing he knew, Malcolm's father had enlisted him in the Daxan People's Defense, a local paramilitary outfit. "Maybe that will toughen him up," his father chuckled to his crying wife, as a terrified Malcolm was dragged from home to begin his service.
Two years later, Malcolm returned. He was certainly tougher now, and a growth spurt had made him at least average size and strength for his age. He refused to speak to his parents about his time in the DPD, and wanted only to get back into school, so as to improve his chances of qualifying for acceptance to the Capellan War College - His dream had not changed. However, it quickly became clear that his father's opinion of him also remained consistent. His father's attitude toward the boy was plain, and while (at his mother's insistence) he allowed his son to train with the family mech, the man vowed to himself that he would never allow Malcolm to inherit it. He never said as much to Malcolm, until the day came that he was to submit his application to the academy. His grades had been excellent, and he showed a natural skill with the mech, but that day, his father refused to support the application. Additionally, as an instructor, he was in a position to make sure Malcolm was not accepted. When the inevitable bad news came, he looked at his shattered son and said, "Cheer up, boy. I've found you a position in the Ministry of Finance. It's perfectly suited to a boy of your abilities and character."
Crushed, but without options, Malcolm was forced to settle into a steady, but unexciting, career as a mid-level bureaucrat in the service of House Liao. He was doing quite well - he had been an excellent student, and found he was good at his job. In the professional world, where performance mattered more than it had in school, and where physical prowess mattered not at all, he found himself happy and at ease. He was quickly promoted to positions of greater responsibility, and began handling some minor financial negotiations of the House.
It was during one of those negotiations, that Malcolm met Liao Mu Xiao, Planetary Governor of Daxan. Malcolm was negotiating the nationalization of some land held by a rural noble whom the Liao's suspected of possible disloyalty. Despite some misgivings about the Governor's legal position, Malcolm performed admirably in the negotiations. They were just wrapping up when they all felt a slight tremor. It subsided, and everyone brushed it off, until several seconds later when it resumed, with a vengeance. Paintings fell from walls, and the chandelier swayed ominously. As the shaking continued, a bookcase toppled, and a crack appeared in the ceiling. The noble and his team fled the Ministry, along with most of the Ministry's staff. Malcolm was about to follow, dragging the elderly governor in tow, but Liao said, "Please - Mrs. Liao is ill - she is resting upstairs!" Malcolm nodded and said, "Liao Tongzhi ("Comrade Liao"), I will help her, but I must get you outside first." He scooped up the older man, thankful for the fact he was small enough to carry easily, and sprinted outside, delivering the governor onto a park bench just outside the ministry's front gate. He then charged back into the building and up the stairs. The second floor was filling with smoke from an electrical fire, but he quickly identified the richest of the four suites there, and ran in, calling "Liao Popo! Liao Popo!" ("Grandmother Liao!"). He heard a soft whimpering, and entered to see Mrs. Liao lying on the floor in pain, with a dresser pinning her legs, and fire spreading along the carpet. She looked at him hopefully. Somehow, Malcolm found the strength to lift the massive bookcase off the woman, and she pulled herself out from under it with her arms. He gathered her up, taking care not to traumatize her obviously broken legs, and raced downstairs, passing a fire brigade as they raced up to look for more survivors. Governor Liao smiled broadly when he saw them exit the Ministry, and ever since, has done his best to look out for Malcolm's well being.
Unfortunately, a year or so later (some eight months before the present day), Malcolm had need of such aid. In his negotiation, he found himself opposite an old schoolmate, whom he did not recognize. At a sensitive juncture, the man referred to Malcolm by his old nickname, embarrassing him in front of both his opponents and his sponsors. Malcolm was taken off guard, but continued on, shamed, but determined to do his job. However, his opponent had found a weakness, and kept pressing it by working insults and digs at Malcolm into the conversations at every turn. Malcolm had to concentrate more and more on controlling his emotions and could think less and less about the deal he was making. In the end, he was unsuccessful in both endeavors, and punched the opposing diplomat in the mouth. The deal fell through when the other party withdrew from negotiations in protest of Malcolm's actions. House Liao lost a good deal of money and not a little prestige. Malcolm was fired, on the spot and, to his horror, stripped of his Liao citizenship, reducing him to the status of servitor. He lost his government provided home, his salary, his prestige: Everything. He turned to Governor Liao, who made some inquiries, but was unable to restore citizenship to Malcolm, for fear of angering the Mandrins who had voted to strip him of it. Instead, having spoken to Malcolm many time about his early dreams of piloting a mech, Liao advised Malcolm to repair his relations with his father, and convince him to let him strike out on his own with the family mech. He strongly hinted to Malcolm that his prospects within House Liao and on Daxan would be severely limited. Still, he gave Malcolm a large sum of money, and a promise that he would do whatever he could for Malcolm in the future.
Without much hope, Malcolm did go back to his father's house (His mother had left his father soon after Malcolm had moved out, and apologized for shaming him. He entreated his father to fulfill the promised that had been made to him as a boy, and to let him inherit the Phoenix Hawk. Predictably, his father simply belittled him for his failure and job loss, but Malcolm persisted until finally his father, rose, took something from his desk, signed it, put it into his pocket. He smirked and said, "Okay, Maokong, follow me," leading him outside. Without warning, he turned on a dime and punched Malcolm in the stomach, "Your gall is amazing, Maokong. You show me nothing that would make you worthy of this magnificent machine, then disgrace yourself in the career I arranged for you, and now demand I help you again by giving you what you consider your birthright. Well, boy, here is your chance. If you can take his deed from me, you can take the mech. If not - if I break that nose of yours one more time and I take you down - Well, then I don't want to see you here ever again."
Malcolm didn't hesitate, and threw a punch at his father. The vet dodged easily and delivered a blow to Malcolm's belly. Then to his face, then body again, then back to the face, and then shoved Malcolm into the wall. A little wobbly on his feet, Malcolm did something he still isn't proud of - he kicked his father in the groin. The older man doubled over, and Malcolm had time to deliver a chop to the neck that knocked him down. Letting loose with all the resentment he'd built up over the years, he kicked his father in the head until he was unconscious. Without waiting to see if the man was okay, Malcolm bent down and grabbed the deed, and left.
He stopped by his mother's modest apartment, and apologized for shaming her as well. She offered to let him stay with her, but he said that it would be best if he left the planet until he could return proudly. He kissed her on the forehead, and said good-bye.
He was already carrying the gear he'd collected as a member of the DPD, figuring if it was useful as in the militia, it would be useful as a mercenary. He purchased a few more things, and then went to pick up the mech from the War College's hangar. His father apparently hadn’t called over with orders to stop him, and he did bear a properly endorsed deed to the mech, so he was allowed take possession, and had it moved tot he starport.
He soon made his way to Solaris, where he has been intensively training with the mech ever since. He hopes to get in a few more arena battles to prove his skills to himself before looking for mercenary work - better to get beat up in an arena than on a real mission where his inexperience could lead to harm for others depending on his competence.
Stats
3 Build (BLD)
5 Reflexes (REF)
6 Intuition (INT)
5 Learning (LRN)
5 Charisma (CHA)
Athletic (18-3-5) 10
Physical (18-5-6) 7
Mental (18-5-6) 7
Social (18-6-5) 7
Languages:
Chinese (Native)
Scots Gaelic 2
English 2
Skills:
Mechwarrior Package:
Gunnery/mech 2 (5+)
Piloting/mech 2 (5+)
Small Arms 2 (5+)
Unarmed Combat 2 (8+)
Leadership 1 (6+)
Survival 1 (6+)
Technician/Mech 1 (6+)
Administration 1(6+)
Bureaucracy 1 (6+)
Climbing 1(9+) (Life Path)
First Aid 2 (5+) (Life Path)
Interrogation 1 (6+) (Life Path)
Negotiation 1 (6+)
Perception 1(6+)
Protocol: Liao 2 (5+) (Extra rank from Life Path)
Running 2 (8+) (Life Path)
SI/Liao History 2 (5+) (Life Path)
SI/Northwind Highlanders History 1 (6+) (Background)
SI/Liao Politics 2 (5+) (Background)
SI/Bagpipes 1(6+) (Life Path)
Tactics 1(6+)
Advantages: Extra Edge(1), Contact (2), Wealth (1), Well-equipped (1)
Equipment:
Noteputer 500 Cb
Highland Bagpipes, 200 Cb (?)
Communicator, military 50 Cb
Medkit 10 Cb
2x Jumpsuit
1x Camouflage Fatigues
1x Business Suit and Tie, 150 Cb (?)
Auto Pistol, Magnum 75 Cb
4x Magazines 16Cb
Knife 8 Cb
Mini Stunstick 50 Cb
3 PowerPacks 15 Cb
Silencer 25 Cb
Suit, Flak 150 Cb
Helmet, Flak 25 Cb
Combat Boots 48 Cb
Total Cost: 1322 Cb
Left Over: 4678 Cb
Malcolm Zhang, 27-year-old Male. Son of Ainsley Scrimgeour and Maj. Zhang Tong Pei (Now divorced)
PXH-1 Phoenix Hawk pilot
Malcolm remembers his early years as his happiest days. His father loved him then, and let him play in the family Phoenix Hawk, regaling him with stories of the battles he fought before settling down as a professor of tactics at the Capellan War College, and telling of the day when he, too, would pilot the mech in the service of the Great House of Liao. His mother, meanwhile, told him stories of his grandfather, Malcolm Scrimgeour, a decorated pilot with the Northwind Highlanders who had died in service to the Capellan Confederacy, and for whom Malcolm had been named, despite the objections of his father.
Malcolm didn't really understand those objections until he began elementary school. It turned that "Malcolm" when pronounced by native Mandarin speakers, sounds like "maokong." Further, it happened that maokong meant "dirt ditch urinal." Children being what they are, Malcolm had cruel nicknames, as well as school bullies, attached to him almost from his first day of school. The bullying continued for years, unhelped by both the fact that Malcolm was small for his age, and the fact that his father, rather than coming to his son's defense, instead became increasingly embarrassed and shamed by the boy. Malcolm, meanwhile, dreamed of the day he would grow up, and take the Phoenix Hawk off to the academy, and bring honor to the family like his grandfather and father had before him. In a mech, Malcolm reasoned, it didn't matter how physically strong you were, or what your name was. In the present, however, he was scared and miserable. Eventually, it got to the point where he refused to go to school, telling his parents he was too afraid. His father left the room without a word, but his mother comforted him then went to his father privately and demanded he train the boy in self-defense. "Won't do any good," the man said, and let the matter drop. But over the next months, she argued with him again and again, until finally Malcolm came home with another broken nose. His parents fought again, and the next thing he knew, Malcolm's father had enlisted him in the Daxan People's Defense, a local paramilitary outfit. "Maybe that will toughen him up," his father chuckled to his crying wife, as a terrified Malcolm was dragged from home to begin his service.
Two years later, Malcolm returned. He was certainly tougher now, and a growth spurt had made him at least average size and strength for his age. He refused to speak to his parents about his time in the DPD, and wanted only to get back into school, so as to improve his chances of qualifying for acceptance to the Capellan War College - His dream had not changed. However, it quickly became clear that his father's opinion of him also remained consistent. His father's attitude toward the boy was plain, and while (at his mother's insistence) he allowed his son to train with the family mech, the man vowed to himself that he would never allow Malcolm to inherit it. He never said as much to Malcolm, until the day came that he was to submit his application to the academy. His grades had been excellent, and he showed a natural skill with the mech, but that day, his father refused to support the application. Additionally, as an instructor, he was in a position to make sure Malcolm was not accepted. When the inevitable bad news came, he looked at his shattered son and said, "Cheer up, boy. I've found you a position in the Ministry of Finance. It's perfectly suited to a boy of your abilities and character."
Crushed, but without options, Malcolm was forced to settle into a steady, but unexciting, career as a mid-level bureaucrat in the service of House Liao. He was doing quite well - he had been an excellent student, and found he was good at his job. In the professional world, where performance mattered more than it had in school, and where physical prowess mattered not at all, he found himself happy and at ease. He was quickly promoted to positions of greater responsibility, and began handling some minor financial negotiations of the House.
It was during one of those negotiations, that Malcolm met Liao Mu Xiao, Planetary Governor of Daxan. Malcolm was negotiating the nationalization of some land held by a rural noble whom the Liao's suspected of possible disloyalty. Despite some misgivings about the Governor's legal position, Malcolm performed admirably in the negotiations. They were just wrapping up when they all felt a slight tremor. It subsided, and everyone brushed it off, until several seconds later when it resumed, with a vengeance. Paintings fell from walls, and the chandelier swayed ominously. As the shaking continued, a bookcase toppled, and a crack appeared in the ceiling. The noble and his team fled the Ministry, along with most of the Ministry's staff. Malcolm was about to follow, dragging the elderly governor in tow, but Liao said, "Please - Mrs. Liao is ill - she is resting upstairs!" Malcolm nodded and said, "Liao Tongzhi ("Comrade Liao"), I will help her, but I must get you outside first." He scooped up the older man, thankful for the fact he was small enough to carry easily, and sprinted outside, delivering the governor onto a park bench just outside the ministry's front gate. He then charged back into the building and up the stairs. The second floor was filling with smoke from an electrical fire, but he quickly identified the richest of the four suites there, and ran in, calling "Liao Popo! Liao Popo!" ("Grandmother Liao!"). He heard a soft whimpering, and entered to see Mrs. Liao lying on the floor in pain, with a dresser pinning her legs, and fire spreading along the carpet. She looked at him hopefully. Somehow, Malcolm found the strength to lift the massive bookcase off the woman, and she pulled herself out from under it with her arms. He gathered her up, taking care not to traumatize her obviously broken legs, and raced downstairs, passing a fire brigade as they raced up to look for more survivors. Governor Liao smiled broadly when he saw them exit the Ministry, and ever since, has done his best to look out for Malcolm's well being.
Unfortunately, a year or so later (some eight months before the present day), Malcolm had need of such aid. In his negotiation, he found himself opposite an old schoolmate, whom he did not recognize. At a sensitive juncture, the man referred to Malcolm by his old nickname, embarrassing him in front of both his opponents and his sponsors. Malcolm was taken off guard, but continued on, shamed, but determined to do his job. However, his opponent had found a weakness, and kept pressing it by working insults and digs at Malcolm into the conversations at every turn. Malcolm had to concentrate more and more on controlling his emotions and could think less and less about the deal he was making. In the end, he was unsuccessful in both endeavors, and punched the opposing diplomat in the mouth. The deal fell through when the other party withdrew from negotiations in protest of Malcolm's actions. House Liao lost a good deal of money and not a little prestige. Malcolm was fired, on the spot and, to his horror, stripped of his Liao citizenship, reducing him to the status of servitor. He lost his government provided home, his salary, his prestige: Everything. He turned to Governor Liao, who made some inquiries, but was unable to restore citizenship to Malcolm, for fear of angering the Mandrins who had voted to strip him of it. Instead, having spoken to Malcolm many time about his early dreams of piloting a mech, Liao advised Malcolm to repair his relations with his father, and convince him to let him strike out on his own with the family mech. He strongly hinted to Malcolm that his prospects within House Liao and on Daxan would be severely limited. Still, he gave Malcolm a large sum of money, and a promise that he would do whatever he could for Malcolm in the future.
Without much hope, Malcolm did go back to his father's house (His mother had left his father soon after Malcolm had moved out, and apologized for shaming him. He entreated his father to fulfill the promised that had been made to him as a boy, and to let him inherit the Phoenix Hawk. Predictably, his father simply belittled him for his failure and job loss, but Malcolm persisted until finally his father, rose, took something from his desk, signed it, put it into his pocket. He smirked and said, "Okay, Maokong, follow me," leading him outside. Without warning, he turned on a dime and punched Malcolm in the stomach, "Your gall is amazing, Maokong. You show me nothing that would make you worthy of this magnificent machine, then disgrace yourself in the career I arranged for you, and now demand I help you again by giving you what you consider your birthright. Well, boy, here is your chance. If you can take his deed from me, you can take the mech. If not - if I break that nose of yours one more time and I take you down - Well, then I don't want to see you here ever again."
Malcolm didn't hesitate, and threw a punch at his father. The vet dodged easily and delivered a blow to Malcolm's belly. Then to his face, then body again, then back to the face, and then shoved Malcolm into the wall. A little wobbly on his feet, Malcolm did something he still isn't proud of - he kicked his father in the groin. The older man doubled over, and Malcolm had time to deliver a chop to the neck that knocked him down. Letting loose with all the resentment he'd built up over the years, he kicked his father in the head until he was unconscious. Without waiting to see if the man was okay, Malcolm bent down and grabbed the deed, and left.
He stopped by his mother's modest apartment, and apologized for shaming her as well. She offered to let him stay with her, but he said that it would be best if he left the planet until he could return proudly. He kissed her on the forehead, and said good-bye.
He was already carrying the gear he'd collected as a member of the DPD, figuring if it was useful as in the militia, it would be useful as a mercenary. He purchased a few more things, and then went to pick up the mech from the War College's hangar. His father apparently hadn’t called over with orders to stop him, and he did bear a properly endorsed deed to the mech, so he was allowed take possession, and had it moved tot he starport.
He soon made his way to Solaris, where he has been intensively training with the mech ever since. He hopes to get in a few more arena battles to prove his skills to himself before looking for mercenary work - better to get beat up in an arena than on a real mission where his inexperience could lead to harm for others depending on his competence.
Stats
3 Build (BLD)
5 Reflexes (REF)
6 Intuition (INT)
5 Learning (LRN)
5 Charisma (CHA)
Athletic (18-3-5) 10
Physical (18-5-6) 7
Mental (18-5-6) 7
Social (18-6-5) 7
Languages:
Chinese (Native)
Scots Gaelic 2
English 2
Skills:
Mechwarrior Package:
Gunnery/mech 2 (5+)
Piloting/mech 2 (5+)
Small Arms 2 (5+)
Unarmed Combat 2 (8+)
Leadership 1 (6+)
Survival 1 (6+)
Technician/Mech 1 (6+)
Administration 1(6+)
Bureaucracy 1 (6+)
Climbing 1(9+) (Life Path)
First Aid 2 (5+) (Life Path)
Interrogation 1 (6+) (Life Path)
Negotiation 1 (6+)
Perception 1(6+)
Protocol: Liao 2 (5+) (Extra rank from Life Path)
Running 2 (8+) (Life Path)
SI/Liao History 2 (5+) (Life Path)
SI/Northwind Highlanders History 1 (6+) (Background)
SI/Liao Politics 2 (5+) (Background)
SI/Bagpipes 1(6+) (Life Path)
Tactics 1(6+)
Advantages: Extra Edge(1), Contact (2), Wealth (1), Well-equipped (1)
Equipment:
Noteputer 500 Cb
Highland Bagpipes, 200 Cb (?)
Communicator, military 50 Cb
Medkit 10 Cb
2x Jumpsuit
1x Camouflage Fatigues
1x Business Suit and Tie, 150 Cb (?)
Auto Pistol, Magnum 75 Cb
4x Magazines 16Cb
Knife 8 Cb
Mini Stunstick 50 Cb
3 PowerPacks 15 Cb
Silencer 25 Cb
Suit, Flak 150 Cb
Helmet, Flak 25 Cb
Combat Boots 48 Cb
Total Cost: 1322 Cb
Left Over: 4678 Cb
Last edited:
possum
First Post
Unisca Wolfclaw has to be one of my favorite characters that I never played. The epic game that he was supposed to be in was cancelled an hour after I posted him. As he was an epic character, I had to write a good backstory for him.
For the stat lovers Unisca was an Orc Barbarian20/Fighter5. The premise was that several great warriors and mages were summoned by someone to prove their worth. If they survived a challenging dungeon, they were rewarded with their own plane of existance to rule as they saw fit.
Anyway, here's the long, 36 year timeline of Unisca Wolfclaw
For the stat lovers Unisca was an Orc Barbarian20/Fighter5. The premise was that several great warriors and mages were summoned by someone to prove their worth. If they survived a challenging dungeon, they were rewarded with their own plane of existance to rule as they saw fit.
Anyway, here's the long, 36 year timeline of Unisca Wolfclaw
Angel Tarragon
Dawn Dragon
You've got some pretty cool characters here Maerdwyn. 
the Jester
Legend
Well, a while back someone else had a thread like this and it inspired some of the dms involved to put the hat back on (so to speak) and resume the game, so you never know what'll happen! 
Good luck!
Good luck!Similar Threads
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