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Author Topic: [Recruiting/OOC 1] Shinobi  (Read 13663 times)
Mister Andersen
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« Reply #105 on: October 29, 2012, 10:53:58 PM »

The sword is Aiko's special snowflake outright magic item; the saurian feats are more a reflection of good genetics combined with specialised near mystic but otherwise explainable as mundane wire-fu training
« Last Edit: October 29, 2012, 10:57:13 PM by Mister Andersen » Logged

Gatac
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« Reply #106 on: October 31, 2012, 05:35:05 AM »

Everyone should have one "free" feat in addition to whatever else your character options grant you, which is the power of your legacy item. Here at Level 8, you can now take the follow-up feat to that with your normal level-based feat slot (Fast Feats being in effect). I haven't explicitly said it but I'm okay with character options being taken that strictly speaking require a different species, as long as the mechanical effects make sense. Does that clear things up?
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MikeS
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« Reply #107 on: November 09, 2012, 11:27:04 PM »

I've finally completed updating Takao (on p. 6 of this thread).

He's even more of a lawnmower now, if I understand the rules correctly: Charge Basics gives him one free attack during movement, and if he downs his opponent, he can keep going at that location until everyone is dead, then continue his movement to the final location and kill everybody there, too.
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Valentina
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« Reply #108 on: January 12, 2013, 05:00:03 PM »

So far the game thread is freakin' awesome.
It's like you and Mr. Anderson are having a Writer's Duel.

Anyway, all full?
I'd be interested, a concept's bubbling around me brain bitz.
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"Cui bono?" -Lucius Cassius Longinus Ravilla, 127 BCE.

"Hier stehe ich, ich kann nicht anders" -Martin Luthor, 1483-1546.
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« Reply #109 on: January 23, 2013, 01:18:17 PM »

Ah, sorry, didn't see you there! And I'd love to have you aboard, sure.
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Valentina
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« Reply #110 on: February 05, 2013, 02:19:10 AM »

The Will of the Four, the god-speaker said.

In a violent storm far to the north Drusilla and Javan are struggling through a flash snowstorm.
Their clan's keep feels farther with every step.
A wendigo is tracking them. An old, hoary killer from the days when the campfire shadows drew longer and shaman spilled blood to appease hungry, feral spirits embodied in ancient totems.
As they fall against each other, weary to the bone, it strikes from the darkness, it's tusks snapping through Javan's spear with cruel cunning.
The darkness becomes a thrashing riot of plunging knives and cracking bones, panicked screaming and basso bellows of triumph.
The beast has pinned Drusilla beneath it, and has seized Javan's calve.
And it's dining in grunting delight.
Javan is stabbing furiously, but his skinning knife only grooves it's leathery scalp, only shaves off dry strips of the mossy white fur thick on it's parchment hide.
Drusilla is fairing no better, suffocating in the snow, it's surprisingly powerful legs crushing her down into a beautiful, pale death. She's beyond struggling, and instead is groping around it's torso, shoving and pulling at it in a fading hope at shifting it's weight even a few inches.
She can just start to hear her father's fathers shouting out for her to struggle on when....
*Squinch*, sudden pain, and an annoyed grunt followed by the beast resettling it's weight mid-bite.
She has simultaneously A) roughly thumbed the wendigo someplace intimate, and B) cut herself on Javan's spear.
Given only a moment's reprieve and a single deep breath to work with, Drusilla does the only thing to come to mind.
She stabs her hand with the spear as hard as she can.

Quite what the wendigo's exclamation of pain sounds like evades her to her last day. It's so sudden and loud Drusilla can't clearly recall more then the ringing in her ears that followed.
But Javan does, and with grim relish describes breaking his knife in the beast's snout as it froze in shock at the tearing pain interrupting it's much savored meal.
The last thing they can remember of it is it shriek-yipping away into the abruptly clear night, it's bloody hindquarters shoved squarely into the snowpack as it scoots away with alarming speed, a pink ribbon of blood marking it's escape.
Then torchlight, and voices, dogs barking and alarmed calls for the god-speaker.

Javan survives, though his days of hunting are over without legs beneath either knee.
Drusilla survives, though in turn she lacks the fingers she needed to weave and she's forever bent over by the muscles cut by the wendigo's talons.

A few months later the fruit of that formerly cold, but sunny morning blooms within Drusilla.
And it's like a cold stone turning within her.
Every month's growth brings a growing chill.

Jett the child is called, for the sparse, scraggly wisp of black hair clinging to her otherwise entirely white body, her hair as black as her skin is white and her eyes dull red.
Jett the Cold she is, and numb as a stone, too. She doesn't run, she lumbers. She can't walk, but she stumbles forward persistently, ever behind the other children in every game and every sport.

In the spring of her majority as a maiden the Jarl comes for his tithe of soldiers, and with them she goes.
There isn't much emotion to the parting, and in her distant way she understands.
Her life had wrung her parents dry of tears, had forced them to face that they did all they could and that had to accept being unable to do any more.
No friends bid her goodbye.
This too is acceptable, none could love a stone.

Numb, she is.
Jett the Cold, the winter-cursed she is.
Forever walking the crossroads of the world.
« Last Edit: February 05, 2013, 03:51:40 PM by Valentina » Logged

"Cui bono?" -Lucius Cassius Longinus Ravilla, 127 BCE.

"Hier stehe ich, ich kann nicht anders" -Martin Luthor, 1483-1546.
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« Reply #111 on: February 05, 2013, 02:48:30 AM »

The near-decade since her chosen exile has been a surprisingly hot one.

The Wendigo's curse stole her life from the very cells furiously dividing in her mother's womb, leaving her forever distant and numb to the world.
And yet...
The Jarl's sergeants were quick to see that while their new charge was slow and clumsy she did have a gift useful to another kind of warrior: stillness.
Jett could be walked 5 slow, awkward miles into a clearing, instructed to lay down, left overnight and by dawn be found variously walked over, nested in, and pooped on by the forest's creatures.

Cold and still, she was little more then a stone to them.

The Jarl's scoutmaster Cael was intrigued, and with the Jarl's blessing took to molding her into a Ranger.
Jett could march, that was clear. She could be set to walk to Byzantium if he told her, but that wasn't so useful for a Ranger -this he made clear.
No, she had to learn to climb, to think, and hide, and count, and feel the vacuum her peculiar stillness created.
These things were the challenge.
By comparison Jett took to swordplay and shooting with an odd precision. You could almost walk up and stab her with little fear of even her starting a clumsy parry. And should there even be two threats harrying her, Jett's death seemed almost inevitable as she became rapidly overwhelmed trying to defend herself.
But, if she was striking first, she could puncture Old Grim the boar skin through his ratty teats ten times out of ten, and plant a throwing knife to the hilt in the tree beyond.
So Scoutmaster Cael made her run. And balance. She could count readily enough, so she'd be set to cross a stream by way of a mossy branch, and to not stop 'til she could do it ten times without slipping.

Still Cael could not warm up to his charge. The other Scouts (that Jett was called a Ranger wasn't a deliberate exclusion, but that the Scoutmaster couldn't help but think of her as Similar, yet persistently Different) said she lay her in bunk like a corpse. She didn't seem to dream, or mutter, or giggle or toss and turn. They gossiped that she didn't sleep so much as just wait with her eyes closed for dawn like a corpse in a youth's jerkin.
And she was indifferent to the soldier's miseries. Rotten food, brackish water, the stench from the latrines, mucking out the stables -all of it just seemed to wash over her. It was soon clear she was no more likely to rise to jibes or petty torments then accidental ones, and aside from loading her with their burdens during field exercises Jett was largely left unmolested, her cold clammy skin and dead complexion rebuffing even teenage hormones.

Soon enough came the call to arms.

The months of War stretch long in the southern lands the Jarl sought to plunder, and soon enough Jett was just one more anonymous shadow in a long column slowly marching south to death or glory.
« Last Edit: February 05, 2013, 03:01:52 AM by Valentina » Logged

"Cui bono?" -Lucius Cassius Longinus Ravilla, 127 BCE.

"Hier stehe ich, ich kann nicht anders" -Martin Luthor, 1483-1546.
Valentina
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« Reply #112 on: February 05, 2013, 03:24:08 AM »

By the time Jett is arriving in Shinju she is a veteran of several major battles and well versed in her arms skills.
Battle proved to be a surprisingly catalyst. Having finally had the chance to stare a kill in his dying eyes Jett came to truly, in-her-core understand what death was and that while she wasn't really alive, she was definitely not dead.
Emotional extremes registered, just a little. Combat brought the strange thirst of undeniable stakes, slavery brought a smoldering indignation at the denial of even basic choices, to stand bloodied yet defiant atop a pile of enemies with her Jarl's standard thrust into the sky caused a feeling of...of..TRIUMPH! Of enduring the battering confusion of battle to see the enemy falling back beaten and the cheers of her comrades and of knowing that, in that moment she was not a Ranger among Scouts, but a comrade among soldiers and that regardless of her disinterest she would be obligingly swilling down beer and mead and doing her best to act like the dandy paid to steal kisses and wriggle his fingers around under her mail was in fact creating a kind of "heat" the others claimed would lead to the pinnacle of human pleasure.

It didn't, but that sleepless night she did make a friend in the dandy Corinth, who himself took pleasure from men and who was none too upset by her rebuffing his carnal prowess. His tales of the tragedies and comedies of the flesh trade much intrigued her, and she came to follow him around the brothels and bars to sit and watch the dramas of loud, bawdy human life unfold in ways alien to her grim, stoic kin.

Jett is a little more alive, and bearing a weird, dawning optimism.
The Curse might be breakable, the Sage Ataraxia had said, and supposedly the weird, flamboyant mystics of the Sanin Empire might know more. The Shugenja and the Wu-Jen, she called them.

Hope.
Jett can surely feel that.
« Last Edit: February 05, 2013, 05:18:33 AM by Valentina » Logged

"Cui bono?" -Lucius Cassius Longinus Ravilla, 127 BCE.

"Hier stehe ich, ich kann nicht anders" -Martin Luthor, 1483-1546.
Valentina
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« Reply #113 on: February 08, 2013, 06:48:37 AM »

Name: Jett the Cold
Type: Medium Construct
Origin: Unborn Acrobat
Class: Scout 8

Str: 16  (+3) Dex: 14 (+2)  Con: 14 (+2)  Int: 14 (+2)  Wis: 10 (+0)  Cha: 11 (+0, Comely)

Interests: Curses, faking human behavior, ballistic physics, hunting.
Rep: 80
Life/Legend 2/2
Cash: 360 sp
Pan/Prud: 0/2
AD: 4d6

Encumbrance: 63 of 120/360

Combat
(click to show/hide)

Qualities, Feats, and Skills
(click to show/hide)

Gear
(click to show/hide)
« Last Edit: April 21, 2013, 04:27:40 PM by Valentina » Logged

"Cui bono?" -Lucius Cassius Longinus Ravilla, 127 BCE.

"Hier stehe ich, ich kann nicht anders" -Martin Luthor, 1483-1546.
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« Reply #114 on: February 27, 2013, 12:57:07 AM »



^not perfect, but pretty close.

Anything entirely in Italics is something Jett is thinking.

I'm sure that's obvious, but I wish to be equally redundant.

Oh, and if that's obnoxious or intrusive or whatever, let me know of course.
« Last Edit: February 27, 2013, 03:00:08 AM by Valentina » Logged

"Cui bono?" -Lucius Cassius Longinus Ravilla, 127 BCE.

"Hier stehe ich, ich kann nicht anders" -Martin Luthor, 1483-1546.
Valentina
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« Reply #115 on: April 28, 2013, 07:20:59 PM »

MOAR LIES!
MOAR VIOLENCE!
MOOOOOAAAAAAARRRRRRRR!

Also, a bump.
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"Cui bono?" -Lucius Cassius Longinus Ravilla, 127 BCE.

"Hier stehe ich, ich kann nicht anders" -Martin Luthor, 1483-1546.
Gatac
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« Reply #116 on: June 02, 2013, 11:06:39 AM »

Want a reply from Valentina before we move on.
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Valentina
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« Reply #117 on: June 02, 2013, 04:31:01 PM »

Oh!
Sorry, didn't think of saying anything.
Can I go with the Golgo-13 standby? "......"
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"Cui bono?" -Lucius Cassius Longinus Ravilla, 127 BCE.

"Hier stehe ich, ich kann nicht anders" -Martin Luthor, 1483-1546.
Gatac
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« Reply #118 on: June 16, 2013, 09:57:39 AM »

A small update, but I hope we can regain momentum and carry on a more lively pace from here.
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Valentina
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« Reply #119 on: June 17, 2013, 02:52:43 AM »

No worries, sir. Wink

Mr. Anderson: don't your +2 to Notice from me. Cool
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"Cui bono?" -Lucius Cassius Longinus Ravilla, 127 BCE.

"Hier stehe ich, ich kann nicht anders" -Martin Luthor, 1483-1546.
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