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Unpublished Prototypes» Forums » Play By Forum

Subject: [OOC] Grim and Dark rss

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Andreas
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Hello everybody,

this is the fifth game I run as a GM.


The players are:

Rosie Basset
United States
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Joke Meister
Hong Kong
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Lee Broderick
United Kingdom
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Dave Coins
United States
Muncy
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...the grey rain-curtain turned all to silver glass and was rolled back, and he beheld white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise.
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Marty "60 days to Summer" Malone
United States
Mansfield
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The Rules


Skill, Stamina and Luck
That’s what you’re made of. These three traits/values are all we need to roll.
These values will drop during the game, you can gain them back, but they may never rise above the initial value. Only in special cases... Maybe.


SKILL will be used in combat and is your dexterity and agility.
STAMINA is your health, your hit points. If you reach 0 or drop lower than 0, you’re dead.
LUCK is how lucky you are. That’s all.

A LUCK test goes like this: you roll 2d6 and if the result is less than or equal to your current LUCK, you are lucky – you succeed.

If you succeed, your LUCK will drop by 1. If you fail, you regain 1 point of LUCK.
For example, your current LUCK is 9, you roll a 7 and succeed. Your new LUCK value is 8.
Another example, your current LUCK is 5, you roll a 7 and fail. Your new LUCK value is 6.
Anyway, being lucky is better than being unlucky. Who would have thought!

SKILL tests work the same way as LUCK tests, but your initial value will not change after each test.
For example, your SKILL is 8, you roll a 9 and fail. Oops. Your SKILL stays at 8.


COMBAT
It’s a dice fest! We keep it Fighting Fantasy gamebook style. You get the full information from me. Like this:

Bad Ass Pirate
SKILL 8
STAMINA 6

You roll 2d6 + your SKILL value and that is your attack strength.
I do the same and the one who has the higher attack strength wounds the other.
That’s all. We can do a lot of role-playing here and I encourage you to do so! I am open for everything here and we will have tons of fun.

Whatever... the one who gets hit, takes 2 damage - basic attack that is. Usually this goes until someone’s STAMINA drops to zero.



In addition to this:

Natural 1 (the worst): every 11 you roll will be treated as a Natural 1.

Natural 20 (the best): every 66 you roll will be treated as a Natural 20.



Skill tests for anything else: it's like a Skill/Combat roll which we will do like a standard combat check. 2d6 + Skill but instead of beating your opponents result I give you a number which you have to beat with your roll.

For example: You try to hit your opponents right eye while riding a horse through a burning church. Crazy I know... the guy you try to hit is a ninja hobbit. He's small and sneaky. Means he's hard to hit even without riding the horse through that burning church. So I say you have to roll at least a 22 with you 2d6 + Skill.

Very important, please keep this rule: as soon as you have read a post give it a thumbsup. This way we all know where we are. There is no need to reply to every post, but please give it a thumbsup once you've read the last post in the thread, so that we can continue.
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Daerrom Theiduum



Background:

He's young, has tried a lot of things, but can't find his place in the community. He's decent at everything he's tried (well, not cooking so much) but just doesn't fit in. He has his own outlook on life that doesn't always coincide with the elders of the community. Or some his own age, for that matter. A lifetime of not quite fitting in has taught him to keep things and thoughts close. Less trouble that way. Though with his sunny outlook on life and lack of seriousness at inappropriate times, there always seems to be some sort of trouble. And after the incident at the inn the other night while traveling to a neighboring community, he's decided perhaps it's best if he doesn't continue that journey with the rest of the group.

Player:
Rosie Basset
United States
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Undecided
SKILL: 15
STAMINA: 15
LUCK: 8


INVENTORY:

-coins: 1 gold, 8 silver, 4 bronze, a silver and 2 bronze in side pouch, the rest hidden about his person
-5 dime-to-nickle sized rough uncut gems (they look like any other stone to the untrained eye), hidden about his person
-a small oilskin (or some such waterproof) bag of salt, in side pouch
-a waterproof packet of tobacco, in side pouch
-some dried apples and dried meat, in side pouch
-what appears to be a small volume or notebook, in separate side pouch
-flint and steel, in side pouch and another small set in belt lining
-needle, thimble and thread kept in belt lining
-a pickaxe-like main weapon (see picture)
-a dagger (see picture)
-2 medium knives (1 per boot, not visible)
-2 short knives (1 per vambrace, not visible)
-2 lockpick tools, thin one well hidden in beard braid and one in vest lining
-a straight bone flute (think Irish whistle), in side pants pocket
-a pipe, in hand or other side pants pocket
-a 20 ft piece of mid-weight rope, wrapped around waist under belt
-a waterskin slung across chest/back
-a tin cup, on waterskin strap
-a shiny rock, a piece of mirror made of polished metal, a whitish handkerchief, 3 blue glass beads, a small square of dried ink wrapped in oilcloth, a puzzle made of two pieces of twisted metal, a feather, some dried mushrooms, an acorn, a blank piece of parchment, some pine needles

He has this myriad of random small, lightweight stuff about his person where it's not noticeable and won't get in the way, especially if he would need to use and of his weapons. Plus he's traveling and doesn't want to be too weighed down, or look like he has a bunch of stuff that he should be parted with. No one who knows him would be surprised by this as he is always pulling stuff out of thin air when needed. Or when bored. Right now he also has a fresh apple from last night's dinner.
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Pebbledottir "the Mighty"



Background:

Pebs is the scholar at the library door.
His name, as I ought to have told you before
is really Pebbledottir, but that's a fuss to pronounce
that we usually call him just Pebs.

While his coat is still fine, his hair has no sheen
for he has already lived past 3 hundred years.
But he was in his youth, the smartest of dwarves
but no longer a terror to orcs or to elves.

For he isn't the dwarf that he was in his prime
though his name was quite famous, he says, in his time.
And whenever he joins his friends and begins,
where he always meets up in the neighbourhood inn,
to tell and regale them, if someone else pays,
with stories of how he first got his nickname.

For he once was a dwarf with the highest degree.
He could build any object to split an oak tree.
Now he likes to relate his success in the inn
where his buddies once gave him a leather wineskin.
For his grandest creation, as he loves to tell,
was the wooden trebuchet that flattened Groognell.

He has built in his time every possible part
and he used to know every design by heart.
He'd improvise engines, he'd pull and he'd tag
and he sure as hell knew how to barf and to brag!

He knew how to brace, he would top and he'd tail.
With just a hammer and nails, his plots never failed.
He could drink like a fish and still have the heart
to discard any bits that did not look the part.
He would sit up all night if that's what it took.
As the curfew was rung yet his candle still shook.

In the war against orc kind, he never fell flat
and he once killed an ogre with just a brickbat.
But his grandest creation, as history will tell,
was the wooden trebuchet that flattened Groognell.

Player:
Joke Meister
Hong Kong
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Inventor/Engineer
SKILL: 17
STAMINA: 12
LUCK: 9


INVENTORY:

- Axe
- Hammer and nails
- Book with various designs of different machinery
- Leather wineskin
- Red brocade jacket
- Pipe
- Glasses
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Kjolner Grimsdottir



Background:

She's worked as a smith in a community of around 50 dwarves for the last 183 years. Before that, she was a child in the same community. She's never left her halls before now and never felt the urge to. She's been happy there. 283 years staring into flames, at sparks and white hot metal, have left their mark on her eyesight. She can't see as well as she used to.

Her halls were attacked, recently, and, although left for dead, she was the only survivor. When she came to, she weighed up her options and decided that she wasn't ready to die yet. Staying there didn't seem the best way to live. The attackers might return. So, she's ventured out into the world.

Player:
Lee Broderick
United Kingdom
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SKILL: 15
STAMINA: 14
LUCK: 9


INVENTORY:

- Big Hammer
- Small Hammer
- Tongs
- Backpack
- Spare Hammer
- Dwarven Bread
- Water Flask
- Leather Apron
- Leather Gauntlets
- Sword
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Gerund Stonebender of Fracking



Background:

Gerund Stonebender from Dunwarr. He is 111 years old.

His leg was permanently crippled as a youngster in a forge accident. He didn't like fine handiwork (he was stuck doing that due to his injured leg) unless it was on his harp! Desiring to still contribute to his race (and keep his leg from atrophy) he became a wandering bard.

Physical Description:
A grey headed dwarf wearing a burgundy tunic mostly obscured by his grey beard that is still shot with some rusty red as well as white. Chainmail peeps out at the hem of his tunic. Big dwarf boots and a fur cloak to his knees finish out his outfit. A harp and a bow and quiver are slung on his back. He holds a large staff in his right hand and uses it to help with his right sided limp. He has a short sword and dagger on his belt.

Personality and Ideals:
Though a bard, he is rather solemn. This hides a dry sense of humor however. His songs will often have many meanings therefore, though they are rarely jovial in tune.
Saddened by the decline of his race, he travels the lands singing and reminding the other races of what once was in order to inspire them to fight against the evils of the world.

Player:
Dave Coins
United States
Muncy
Pennsylvania
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Bard
SKILL: 17
STAMINA: 12
LUCK: 9


INVENTORY:

- Bagpipes (see photo)
- Attachments to turn the bagpipes into blow guns
- Darts
- Satchel with food, wine flask, and a medicinal salve for the leg
Small gladius style sword
- "special" flask in breast pocket
- Clothes
- "Gifts" from busking: Dwarven multi-tool, random map, rabbit's foot, ring
- 2 gold pieces, 10 silver, 5 copper
- stone chess pieces (missing 2 pawns and a rook)
- Brooch shaped like a squirrel
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Molsmc "Moles"



Background:

Portly, well from port. He likes to tell facts and chances but rarely takes chances. His name is Molsmc. Doesn’t like his name but didn’t choose it either. Most just call him moles. His fight is in his ability not to fight and relies mostly on luck and that his fighting ability is the root of many jokes. That’s okay though because the tales he tells are often riddled with knowledge and strategy. His weapon is his tongue and his quick wits but when the going gets tough he has rings with needles. He shakes your hand or pats your back, touches your arm or swats an annoying bug and the poison takes place within a few minutes. Or hours after he had passed. Most never know it was him and his smile that caused that debilitating cramp, or that bloody cough.

But as he bows to those with greater strength he smiles. Always loyal and always ready to support. To carry an extra pound or a ruck sack or a secret. Moles will scramble behind the trees or the brushes just to show in time to aid a hand, a calming smile or a dose of something you never knew he had to wake you to inspire you to be your greatest.

Player:
Marty "60 days to Summer" Malone
United States
Mansfield
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Bard/Gambler
SKILL: 12
STAMINA: 16
LUCK: 10


INVENTORY:

- Lucky Stein - for his drinks and he keeps different poisons and antidotes in the various removable faces of his stein.
- Deck of card
- Two knives
- Rings with small needles
- His musical instrument is a mix between a lyre and a guitar. Self made. Has a few hidden compartments built in for stuff
- gold
- a polished stone
- water flask
- bag of bread and dried meat
- an empty flagon
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Kjolner Grimsdottir
Skill 15 | Stamina 14 | Luck 9








Dry.

Metallic.

Blood.

Her mouth was full of dried blood.

Kjolner tried to focus. Blinking. Trying to see. That was difficult at the best of times, but right now there was something else. More blood. Her eyes were crusted with it. Something was on top of her, too. More than something - somethings. One was hard and heavy. The other was awkward and heavy. Soft. A dead weight. Dead.

A dead body was on top of her.

An image flashed through her mind. Violence. Pain.

Slowly, she began to remember. This wasn't something she wanted to do but something she must. To work out why she was here and what had happened.



Orcs. She's heard the cries of surprise from the great doors. They had guards, of course, heavily armed kinsmen who stood watch at the entrance. They'd never been assaulted before though, not in all the 300-odd years she'd been alive and not before that, that she'd heard. Her kinsmen had been sloppy. More used to nodding in traders than stopping armed warriors.

Correction. They'd had guards. She couldn't believe they'd survived. Within moments of hearing the cries from the guards, she'd heard more cries. Nearer. Closer. All around her. Then a sharp pain at the back of her head. She'd been hit, she realised. Then nothing until a few moments ago. Blood. Her eyes and mouth were crusted.

With great effort, she hefted the body off her. Pressing the weight over her, she shifted it behind her head. That hurt more than it should have.

Now for the other weight. It was smooth, cold. No wonder pressing the first weight (she wouldn't call it a body - smelling of leather and sweat, she thought she knew who it was, one of her kinsmen) had hurt so much. An anvil had fallen against her, no doubt breaking several ribs. With a great deal of effort, she pushed it away from her and rolled away from it.

Staggering to her feet, she tried to get her bearings.

She'd been working. Hammering the hot, white metal that was just about the only thing she could still see, these days, when she first heard the cries. That must have been her anvil that had fallen on her. That meant...

She took three steps to her left and blindly flung out her arms, groping for what she knew must be near. Finding the water butt she used to quench her steel, she dunked her head.

Cold. So cold. It hadn't felt hot steel in its wake for hours, more likely days.

She drew her head back out of the water, screaming a noise born of cold, of a need for air and of unvoiced horror and rage. Gulping air back into her lungs, she thrust her head back into the water. This time she rubbed her face vigorously, to rid herself of the filth. Doing so, she notice that there small blocks of ice. Days then, maybe more than a week. The only way it could be that cold was if all the forges had been unlit for quite some time. That had never happened before.

If the forges were unlit, that meant... but she had survived.

Laboriously, she felt her way around her home, the halls she had lived in all her life. She found them all. All her kin. Some orcs, too, but not a single other living creature except for a beetle. Oblivious to the carnage wrought around it, it worked away as normal, gathering its food and storing it.

It took her a few weeks.

Slowly, it dawned on Kjolner that she couldn't stay here. Not only might the orcs return but doing so would mean condemning herself to a slow death. Without her kinsmen she had no support. With her eyesight so poor, she was a hazard to herself. Always just moments away from a spilled fire or accidental wound on an unseen weapon.

That pain at the back of her head. She hadn't seen it. It had come from behind, of course, but she had no idea there was an enemy so close. She should be dead.

She wasn't.

Some may have dwelled on this question. Wondering why the old and infirm should live when the young and strong perished. Not Kjolner though. She knew such thought was pointless and a lifetime of practicality - of doing the job in front of her without philosophising - her conditioned her to act without prevarication.

She took a rucksack one of her kinsmen used to carry ore to the furnace. They'd smelted their own steel, of course, that was the only way to guarantee quality. It was what had brought the traders from so far to their little settlement in the mountains and what had enabled them to survive for so long.

From the forge, she took her hammers and tongs as well as some bread that had been lying around. So hard, it could last for years, it was this that she'd been surviving on for the last few weeks. Nibbling some as she needed it. And she didn't need much, in her grief and old age.

As she started heading for the doors, she tripped.

The clanging of metal.

Reaching down to grasp the nuisance reminder of her disability and hurl it away, she instead found a reminder of her own craft. She recognised the sword instantly. A special order. One of the last things she'd finished and one of the final blades she'd crafted. She'd never used a sword before but outsiders always seemed to want them. She instantly decided that they must be important, and stuffed it into her backpack. It wasn't likely that the man who'd ordered it would count it as theft, if he came back and saw the wreckage of her home.

Getting back to her feet, she continued to walk towards the light.

So it was that, for the first time in her life, she came to pass through the great doors that marked the edge of her home.

She didn't like it. She felt exposed.

Scree skittered somewhere nearby. Loose rocks falling down the mountain. The wind? A fox? An orc?

She braced herself, waiting for the blow she knew must be coming. She'd die on the threshold of her home. Hefting her hammer she waved it all around her with all her years' might. Screaming and raving that she'd defend her home though she was the last.



After some minutes, she stopped. She was alone.

She'd lost her orientation but she found she could see slightly better out here. It was blurry but there were colours. The mountain gloomed dark behind her. In front of her, blue, and a band of green.

She'd heard the stories. She'd heard the rumbles and groans in the earth. Giants and trolls lived in the mountains. Now wasn't the time to be sentimental. She started to make her way down. Slowly, trying not to trip or slide.

It took her two days to get down the mountain. She did slip, she did trip and she did slide. Often. Grazed and bruised, she saw a brown shape ever in front of her, framed by greens and other shades of brown, she found that no matter how far she walked, this went ever onwards.

After a few more days walking, she came to a village. The people there knew there were dwarves, in the mountains, of course, but like her, they'd never wandered. She was the first dwarf they'd seen. They accepted her blindness without question, assuming that all dwarves were similarly grey and myopic.

She offered her services and they were glad of them, for a week or two. The village had a smith and he was keen to learn what he could of his art from the legendary dwarves and, for her part, Kjolner was happy to stretch her muscles and, once more, see the white and red heat of her creations. Still the only things she could see clearly.

After making more horseshoes and hinges than the village really needed, though, she was on her way again. The villages pointed her in the direction of the nearest town, where they'd heard there were other dwarves.

There weren't. There was another smith, though, and so it was that she wandered, for nearly a year, before, one night, she ducked into an inn and overheard a language she hadn't heard in twelve months.

It was garbled. It didn't sound the same as when her own family spoke the words but a small part of her heart sang to hear it. Another part, wary, hardened, wanted to turn and run.

Like a pinball, bumping into several chairs, tables and other patrons, she made her way to the voices. They stopped talking when they saw her. They probably eyed her with a mix of curiosity and pity, though she wouldn't know that.

'Come old timer, have a seat and some beer, I'm Gerund. These are my companions.
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Pebbledottir "the Mighty"
Skill 17 | Stamina 12 | Luck 9




"How's come ya buys her a drink bu' ol' Pebs here has ta drink from me own wineskin!?"

Pebs directs a scowl towards Gerund. Actually, truth be told, Pebs always looks like he's scowling although this is more due to his drooping cheeks than anything else. Another reminder of his advanced age.

"Travesty, so it is! Ah 'member duh days when people use' ta line up ta buys me a drink. An' no' duh cheap swill dey call beer aroond 'ere neither. Naw, twas duh good stuff people wood buy me. Why, ah 'member wan time, ah even managed ta get a glass o' Finnerian Red! Tha' barman said i' was a bottle o' der finest from '83. Migh'y fine tipple ah can tell ye. Wi' dat said tho, I do summat wondah if it wa' really from '83. Ah recall me a story ah heard wance aboot hoo, in Finneria a' duh back end o' '82, some peasants decided tha' dey wanted moor oot o' life dan back breaking toil and labour. Tha's a ridiculous thing tho innit? Ah mean, if yer no be workin' den wha' point be dere in yer paltry life? Ya ken wha' ah mean son? Iffen ye ask me, them lazy bums wa' just lookin' fer an easy ride. Le' me tell ye, iffen ah were the boss o' dem dere wineries, ah woodnae take nae crap from nae peasants! An' ah ain't jus' tootin' me own horn neither! Why, ah 'member one time, when ah was oot and aboot wi' ol' Kagrim. Does anywan 'member ol' Kagrim? Now dere was a dwarf hoo knew how ta drink! Anyhoo ... wait, wha' was I jus' sayin'?"
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Gerund is a bard and already knows Pebs - possibly he listen to some of Pebs stories for bardic inspiration. One day, while in the local pub, they were witness to an altercation by Daerrom and some local undesirables. Gerund and Pebs helped out their fellow dwarf and, with the lack of anything better to do, Daerrom is currently tagging along with them until something better comes along.

Regardless, their altercation led to them leaving that town in a hurry. Not a big deal as they simply settled down in a different inn in a different town. Not long after, while in their new local pub, Kjolner stumbles in after escaping the desolation of her small community. Gerund buys her a drink and Kjolner decides, for some as yet unspecified reason, to stick around with Gerund and Pebs.

Meanwhile, Moles has been running around the world pawning himself off as Pebs who he sees as some kind of idol. He was in the new local pub as well when Kjolner stumbles in which is how he finally sees Pebs for the first time. At this point, Moles decides that he may as well follow along. Pebs is naturally okay with this as he loves nothing more than having another audience member for his stories.
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NPCs: (Non Player Characters)

Grymgarr Brunnhultz, Lord of Cliffcall.

Old Grikk, head of the Gravedigger Guild.

Anskar, boy.

Basso, missing boy.
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Maps:
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Notes: (anything you want to keep in mind)
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Reserved.
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Andreas
Germany
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Andreas
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I've blocked Gary again.
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