[Fate] Gunsmoke and Brimstone (Inactive)

Game Master kdtompos

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Game Aspects:
Sold My Soul
Laws Don't Apply Here

Rolling Fate: 4d3-8

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The Disillusioned Sgt. Major of the Royal Scots Fusiliers; grit+4, menace +3, brains +3, shoot +2, resources +2, investigate +2, ride +1, survival +1, physique +1, fight +1

Orland takes a long pull on his pipe, and then exhales slowly. Seems like the train is slowing and nearing his destination.


The Disillusioned Sgt. Major of the Royal Scots Fusiliers; grit+4, menace +3, brains +3, shoot +2, resources +2, investigate +2, ride +1, survival +1, physique +1, fight +1

giving this a whirl

The train swayed on the track as it lurched and chuffed toward the town of White Chapel in the New Mexico territory. The United States, as it were. Just fought a war a few years back. A bloody one at that, to assure that they remain the United States.

Orland pulled on his pipe, smoke rolling out past the stem clenched in his teeth, as he watched the scrub outside the window in the dining car. Why the hell was he here? Fleeing the Regiment and the bargain he made? Yes, he made a bargain to kill the Colonel. Self righteous jack ass. But they are all the same, aren’t they? And did he bring doom down upon the Regiment by this deal? Blacken their spirit and doom them all to Hell? Or just himself?

The weight of the Webley RIC on his hip felt reassuring. This was America, after all. Folks would just as soon shoot you as talk to you, it was said. The truth wasn’t too far from that. The Webley was chambered for massive .50 caliber Trantor rounds. A solid shot, but not popular here. He will need someone to make him the proper rounds, or perhaps find a gunsmith to rechamber it. Or, blast it all, purchase one of those Remington, or even a Colt, chambered for the popular .45 American round. Only a few boxes of rounds left.

He sighed again. He had been running since he mustered out of the Regiment in Calcutta. Since he was sure his decision blackened the honor of the Regiment. A long ship’s sail across the Pacific to San Francisco. A long train ride here. To a small town in New Mexico Territory, a pimple, if you will, on the backside of nowhere.

Because I have had a dream of this place. Not a chance to recover my honor, but a chance to clear the name of the Regiment, a chance to stick it the Devil himself. Orland smiles to himself, resting his hand on the Webley. That, he likes.


+4: Investigate; +3: Charm, Grit; +2: Occult, Fight, Contacts; +1: Brawn, Speed, Brains, Resources

Spoiler:
The night before had been cloudless; the moon full. And Serra had what she could only assume was the worst hangover of her life. She pushed herself up from the ground outside her bedroom window, dusting herself off as she climbed to her knees. Very hungover, as she couldn't remember most of the night before, or even remember drinking. She hadn't been sick; and she didn't do much drinking to begin with, which was another oddity, but that didn't make the sunlight hurt her eyes any less, or cause the dirt and grit not to sting where she flicked it off of her skin.

She winced for a moment, looking around. Her father's horse wasn't tethered to anything... and the new grave he'd dug the day before hadn't been filled in.

Serra's yard doubled as the town cemetery. Half-hallowed by the burial of half the folks who lived around here. Half-unhallowed by the number that had died bloody. Her father had a habit of bringing in the latter to make sure they got a decent burial.

Her mind flashed back to the previous day. Her father had brought a man in from out of town who'd been gunned down, brought him in for burial since he didn't have any family nearby, was planning to sit up in a wake for him that night. There was a flicker of pain that set the throught process back a few paces.

She climbed to her feet and headed for the front door. Right past her mother and sister's gravestones. Expensive and meticulously crafted by her father. He didn't do a lot of that sort of thing, stonework, but he'd done it for them. She paused looking at the two, frowning. She'd been young when they'd died.

She moved on to the front door. Open. It shouldn't be open. She sat silently for a moment, listening, and didn't hear anything. She moved for the door. The place was a complete mess. Like some outlaws or vagabonds had had the run of the place. But... who? Her father was well-respected... She found herself following the trail of destruction. Tables overturned in the hall, rail of the stairway busted, long, jagged marks in the walls and on one of the doors.

Her heart sped up. Maybe not a vagabond. Some sort of beast? She would certainly hear a beast. Her hand went to her neck, to clutch the pendant... that wasn't there. A nervous gesture she'd had for as long as she could remember. In its place, she picked up a shattered chair leg and hunkered low to the ground, continuing to move. Her boots crunched in the broken glass of a lantern. She followed along to her father's room. A room she'd rarely entered. She paused for a moment on the threshhold, brain a livewire of possibilities, before she swung her body into the room, ready to swing the chair leg. Empty... but for the destroyed bed, and the closet door hanging off of its hinges. A dull light flickering in the darkness that led to the space beneath the stairs.

She headed inside, rapidly noticing that the light flickered from too low, too close to the floor. There was a stairwell. To a space beneath her house. A room she'd never known of.

Curiosity winning over caution, Serra moved forward quickly, crossing the intervening space, heading down the stairwell into the hidden chamber connected to her father's room. The darkness crept in around her, but the still-lit lantern did little to disguise the glinting of various tools along the walls. Tools she'd never seen and had no idea how to use, or even what many of them were for. More curious were the books around the room. Dozens of them. But one in particular stood out on the work surface, opened, with a silver chain acting as a bookmark.

Her pendant lay next to the snapped chain of her necklace across the book. Red and black ink filled the book, names. Dozens of them. She flipped the page back, and back, and back... dozens of pages of names. She flipped further. Her eyes stopped right in the middle of the page. Her name. Serra in red ink. An inkblot. Willmore in black.

Her hands clutched the chain, the pendant managing to stay dangling from it as she pushed away from the table, moving for the stairs, her head swimming, her head pounding, but her heartbeat slowing as the cool metal pressed into her hand. She came to a rest at the stairs, sinking to the floor, trying to piece together what she'd found.

A ledger, a secret room, her father missing, her broken pendant...

Fast Forward.

TL;DR Spoiler:
Serra wakes up after a wild night she can't remember, to find the dead man, her father's horse, and her father all gone. As she investigates her wrecked house, she finds a hidden stairwell in her father's closet, which leads into his office of sorts. Tools, books on lore, and likely much more exists down in the family's basement. Inside, she finds a ledger with her name in both red and black ink, and the rest of her line smudged... along with the broken pendant she'd worn for as long as she could remember.

Will add more later, this is more a preface to her 'first episode'


Here's what I wrote for my first phase.

After abandoning the army, Huey was afraid to return to his home town, where he would be recognized. Instead, he wandered aimlessly until he found himself in White Chapel (?).

There he had his first small adventure as an army runaway: He saw that a bartender was beating a drunken customer with the back side of his gun. Huey tried to interfere. He told the bartender to stop, and he fired his gun to the side in order to scare him. It worked, and the bartender freed the drunk.

However, the drunk was in fact being beaten for not having paid, and when the bartender realized that Huey wasn't as much of a threat as the drunk, he forced Huey to pay for him, adding that the next time he would call law enforcement. Having made an enemy in the town, Huey wasn't eager to stay, but with no better alternative, he decided to give it another chance.


The Disillusioned Sgt. Major of the Royal Scots Fusiliers; grit+4, menace +3, brains +3, shoot +2, resources +2, investigate +2, ride +1, survival +1, physique +1, fight +1

see if this is what you are looking for

Orland's prelude:

Orland remembers boarding the train. His luggage in hand, he walked along the cars, looking for where he was supposed to be. The engine chuffed ahead, steam venting and filling the narrow gap between the rails and the train depot with clouds of white.

He checked his pocket watch. 10 minutes until the train pulled out. He stopped for a moment, absorbing the sounds and smells of this strange place. So different from the Indian Subcontinent. Cleaner, somehow. Certainly fewer people. A station like this in Calcutta would be swarming with people - travellers, beggars, servants, Indians, Sikh, English, - even mystics and swamis, and stranger folk.

To the side he heard a thud, the unmistakable sound of a fist hitting flesh. Followed by a gasp.

Orland turned, the pleasant facade of the traveler fading and the hard face of the Sergeant Major taking its place. A young man in fine clothes stood over an older woman. His fist clenched, his face red and angry. I told you, B*&^%, not to pack my bag like that! It will wrinkle the coat and vest inside! He raised his fist again and the woman shrunk down and whimpered.

I say Sgt Delmar stepped forward I don’t think that is necessary is it? Certainly proper direction and a verbal dressing down should do, what?

The florid young man’s attention turned to him. You speak funny. You best move along before you are lying here next to her.

Sgt Delmar closed the distance easily, his bag held in his right hand, the Webley RIC still in its holster, hidden under his jacket. As I said, sir. Your actions are unnecessary and improper. The intent is to draw the young man’s attention, he said to himself. He is right handed; expect a haymaker from that side. He smiled slightly Besides, I don’t think you have what it will take to make me have a lie down here.

With a snarl, the young man swung his right fist, hard. You asked for this! Delmar simply leaned back out of the way. The left fist then came his way, equally powerful. Delmar lifted his bag, the young man’s left hand striking the end plate and nearly breaking his knuckles. With a grunt, the man charged Delmar. Orland sidestepped, locking up his right wrist in a hook and tripping the man. With his right arm tied up in Orland’s, and his left hand already swelling from the failed punch, the man landed hard, face first on the wooden platform. Orland firmly twisted the man’s right arm up behind his back, leaning down and whispering in his ear It might be best for you right now to get up and move along.

The man staggered to his feet, Orland still holding his arm and assisting him, while making sure the man knew Orland was in control. The lurched off down the platform.

Then Orland turned and helped the middle aged woman to her feet. He pressed a dollar piece into her hand. Sorry for that, my good lady. I recommend you make your way out of the train station and avoid that ruffian for awhile.

She nodded quickly, and slipped off into the crowd.

Orland checked his watch. 6 minutes. Time to board then.


+4: Investigate; +3: Charm, Grit; +2: Occult, Fight, Contacts; +1: Brawn, Speed, Brains, Resources

Serra wakes up after a wild night she can't remember, to find the dead man, her father's horse, and her father all gone. As she investigates her wrecked house, she finds a hidden stairwell in her father's closet, which leads into his office of sorts. Tools, books on lore, and likely much more exists down in the family's basement. Inside, she finds a ledger with her name in both red and black ink, and the rest of her line smudged... along with the broken pendant she'd worn for as long as she could remember.

During the following week, her father doesn't return. She moves into town to question people... but no one knows where he's gone. She digs through the archives of the basement, reading her father's notes moreso than what was printed within the books, and discovers a man with more questions than answers. But perhaps more importantly, she discovers that her father hunted people. Not just people, but monsters.

There were no clues as to where he would have gone or why. No clues as to why a monster would have come to her home and dragged him off and left her. There was only the ledger. Names, places, dates, and ink.

Finally, she resolves to use it as a clue. A blank space - red ink with a date and nearby town. A black name, with the same date and a nearby town. That same name repeated, often, red and black. After repairing her necklace, gathering some of her father's tools and one of his guns, and putting on one of his suits - a surprisingly good fit, she heads into the city to find the man her father had helped, find out who he'd hurt, and seek out answers as to just what might have followed him home that night. And while she was there, she'd make sure her father's job kept getting done.

Everyone laughed. She'd expected that. She'd expected some level of respect from them as well, though. That she was there to make sure good work got done should have mattered more than her youth, inexperience, and gender. But it didn't. One man wouldn't laugh, though. The town priest Lazarus. The last man written in her father's ledger in black. Her father had done something for him, and she was going to find out what it was.

Lazarus didn't laugh. He quoted a whole lot of gospel at Serra, but he definitely didn't laugh. Her father hadn't been by, which was unusual. Not a holy man, but always punctual. The ledger was his confessional, apparently. Only God could judge him, but the devil was keeping a ledger. The man that had died bloody, the stranger... had been her father's victim. As had many before him. Lots of time, drifters would come into town, monsters of one sort or another. Not all of which, supernatural. Her father was the one who'd taken care of that sort of thing.

And now, with him gone, there wasn't much stopping evil from moving into the town, controlling it, besieging it from all sides. He didn't know where her father had gone, but he knew it'd go to hell without him. Lazarus would help her, just as he'd helped her father, try to keep that blackness from settling into her soul if she followed his same path. But most folks wouldn't see her as her father, so she had a long way to go. And there were still more names, red and black, to seek out for answers.


The Disillusioned Sgt. Major of the Royal Scots Fusiliers; grit+4, menace +3, brains +3, shoot +2, resources +2, investigate +2, ride +1, survival +1, physique +1, fight +1

Let me know if this isn't right - I am faking most of this here

Serra Part 2:

Where the road is dark, and the seed is sowed,
Where the gun is cocked, and the bullets cold,
Where the miles are marked in blood and gold
I'll meet you further on up the road.

Got on my dead man's suit and my smilin' skull ring,
My lucky graveyard boots and song to sing,
I got a song to sing, keep me out of the cold,
And I'll meet your further on up the road.

Now I been out in the desert, just doin' my time,
Searchin' through the dust, lookin' for a sign,
If there's a light up ahead well brother I don't know
But I got this fever burnin' in my soul
So let's take the good times as they go,
And I'll meet your further on up the road.

Further on up the road,
Further on up the road,
Further on up the road,
Further on up the road,

One sunny mornin' we'll rise I know,
And I'll meet you further on up the road,
One sunny morning we'll rise I know,
And I'll meet you further on up the road.

…B. Springsteen

Serra sat in her seat, contemplating what she learned from Father Lazarus, and the ledger. And her wrecked house, missing father, and the missing thing that her father killed, and apparently planned to bury. And she was in no small way angry. A deep, burning, anger.

Would it have hurt her father to maybe, just maybe, mention what he was doing here? So that maybe, just maybe, she had an idea of where to go next, just in case his butt needed saving?

Anger. Black and dark, she kept it buried deep inside, hidden. But anger.

The train rattled along toward Serenity. A medium sized man with a funny hat, and an odd accent moved down the car, pulling a pipe out of his pocket. Planning to have a smoke on the step of the car as the train bumped down the line. A few moments after that, a larger, florid man with a bruise on his face moved down the aisle in the same direction. Serra paid him no mind. He looked like a normal, albeit wealthy, rancher, who might have lost a fistfight. Or, more likely, the spoiled son of a wealthy rancher, who was thumped for bad manners.

As he passed, her amulet jumped. Twitched. And for a moment, just a brief moment, her nostrils filled with the scent of rotten flesh and corruption. She turned in surprise, looking down the aisle and seeing the heavy man move along. Again, just for a moment, he was dark, and large, and frightening.

He opened to door to the outside step of the car and went on through. Following the man in the odd hat. Hunting him, she was certain.

With a gulp, she grabbed her carpet bag and hurried down the aisle to the same door. Pulled it open and went on through. Just in time to see the dark shape shove the other man hard. The other man tumbled off the train, into the scrub on the outside of the long, slow curve before the descent into town. The thing looked over its shoulder at Serra and grinned – a wide, toothy thing with fangs – and Serra slammed her carpet bag into him HARD, knocking him off the train too. The creature sunk a fanged claw into the carpet bag, and pulled Serra off the train with him.

They crashed into the ground together, losing each other in the tumble, and the scrub grass and bushes. The train wooshed and wheezed and disappeared around the bend. Quiet returned. Dead quiet. Even the night noised faded, as if all the small creatures knew there was a hunter about.

Serra got to her feet and moved along the track. He heart jumped when a hand grabbed her upper arm and another clamped across her mouth. A voice in her ear whispered in that funny accent Easy lass. I am here to help you, or maybe you me, since you probably saved me once already. The hand came off her mouth. She whispered back Are you English? A shocked look from Orland Heaven forbid. Scottish. Sgt Major Orland Delmar, late of His Majestey's Scots Royal Fusiliers. He gave a short, half bow, removing his bowler hat and straightening a dent in it before replacing it.

Serra saw now that the man had a large bore pistol in his hand. She drew her own Colt. That thing. It isn't human. You will need a silver bullet to kill it Delmar grimaced Alas, I have no silver bullets….do you?

It was Serra's turn to smile. Yes, I do. So if you see it before I do – shoot it. Your rounds won't penetrate, but they will hurt it and stun it, and piss it off. Then, while its going for you, I'll plug it.

Seems fair enough Miss. But … please don't miss and put a silver round in me instead. It won't do me much good either, I suspect. Wait here

Orland slipped off into the dark. The thing that was hunting him was wearing the skin of the man he confronted on the platform, the one beating his servant. Was the thing hunting him for revenge, or was there more to it than that? Hard to say. But, if the lass has a silver bullet, that can certainly end this branch of the story.

He heard something move in the dark. And a snort. It is trying to spook me. Get me to move. Well, it obviously thinks I am English and not Scottish as well. He waited, still as a stone. A dark shape occluded the stars. Orland raised his Webley and fired. BANG CRASH as the thing fell, then came to its feet with a roar. BANG ...Orland put another round into center mass, then turned and raced back toward the left of Serra, hoping she was ready for an ambush. He could hear the thing moving, faster than he would have believed possible. Closing quickly BANG again. Serra this time. A smoking Colt held in her hand. The thing lying on the ground, mewling in pain. Orland and Serra walked up to it, gazing down. A whiner even in death. Put it down, Miss said Orland. Serra looked at him, then at the monster. And put a bullet in its brain.

Well Miss. Orland straightened his much abused bowler. And sighed as he looked at it. A long walk along the rails to that town, say what? He held out his arm as if escorting a lady to the theatre. He held her carpet bag in the other hand. I hope they hold my luggage for me at the station. It isn’t much but the clean clothes will be appreciated after tonight.

Serra smiled and took his arm. And off they went, taking the long walk down the rails, as behind them the creatures body boiled and fumed and turned to something blacker than carbon and stained the ground.


Ok, still struggling with this. I think I need to read some Western novels to get the feel of the writing. I have all of the visuals from watching westerns, but I can't find the right tone for writing them.

Auggie, a fat dwarf tracker (an actual dwarf, not a fantasy dwarf), was shot during a robbery as Auggie and Amaziah were leaving Virginia City, Nevada, with five thousand dollars in winnings. The bandits were wearing Confederate uniforms. Beaten and broke, Amaziah awoke to find the dead Auggie staring down at him, waiting for him to wake up. Auggie was 4 feet tall, 200 pounds, and ugly as sin. And that was before a man in a Confederate captain’s uniform had shot him in the eye.
Amaziah was confused at first, but then he realized that Auggie was here because he wanted him here. Amaziah wasn’t enough of a mountain man to track a group of soldiers across the wilderness. So following Zombie Auggie, Amaziah came to White Chapel. White Chapel was, apparently, a land of monsters, and that was just Auggie and Amaziah. The Bargain said that Amaziah should keep moving, but being robbed by a bunch of Alabama rednecks suggested that The Bargain might not be as ironclad as it seemed. In a dime novel, Amaziah would ride into town, find his Confederates in the Saloon, and gun them down. But this was no dime novel, and Amaziah was no gunslinger. Sure, he had a derringer up his sleeve and a knife in his boot, but if it came to drawing them, he had already lost.
The Captain was, apparently, well respected in town. A bounty hunter, a lawman of sorts. No good approaching him through the Law, then. But by the time Amaziah made it to White Chapel he was bearded, haggard, and hard to recognize from the robbery weeks before. His skin tone lent him an air of ambiguity, and he could pass as a Mexican, a white man, or a negro with equal ease. Respectable, perhaps, but The Captain was fond of women. It was hardly a challenge to arrange a meeting between him and the daughter of the local barber, to make him think that the girl was fond of him, and to make sure that he took full advantage of the girl as her father discovered them en-flagrante-delicto. All too easy. The poor barber shotgunning The Captain was easier than easy.
Now, to gain a foothold in this place. White Chapel. Well, the church and Lazarus were all right, but the
And this place, White Chapel, seemed nice enough. Great gambling hall, the Morningstar. Have to look into that place. Maybe running a gambling hall would be as much fun as gambling in one….


Huey Humphrey wrote:

Here's what I wrote for my first phase.

After abandoning the army, Huey was afraid to return to his home town, where he would be recognized. Instead, he wandered aimlessly until he found himself in White Chapel (?).

There he had his first small adventure as an army runaway: He saw that a bartender was beating a drunken customer with the back side of his gun. Huey tried to interfere. He told the bartender to stop, and he fired his gun to the side in order to scare him. It worked, and the bartender freed the drunk.

However, the drunk was in fact being beaten for not having paid, and when the bartender realized that Huey wasn't as much of a threat as the drunk, he forced Huey to pay for him, adding that the next time he would call law enforcement. Having made an enemy in the town, Huey wasn't eager to stay, but with no better alternative, he decided to give it another chance.

Amaziah wasn't surprised when the soldier fired his gun into the ceiling of the gambling hall on the first floor of the Morningstar. A~&!**%s did that way too often, forgetting that there were only a few poplar boards between them and the whores upstairs. Billy was roughing up Nathaniel for being behind on his bill, and the a&+~~!% figured he was going to be a hero. Amaziah was shifting a double shot derringer into his hand as Billy grabbed the shotgun from behind the bar and leveled it at the hero. Things seemed to be in hand, but Amaziah figured he would keep things from getting violent. He approached the hero from the side. He didn't want to approach the man from behind, no sense spooking him.

"Nathan there is about two weeks delinquent on his tab, and has lost a fair amount at the faro tables as well. I'll ask you to remember that there are ladies upstairs trying to earn a living, and they'd appreciate it if you didn't shoot up their boudoirs. It'd be a good idea, as reparations, sort of, if you paid Nathaniel's tab and maybe found yourself a seat at a table. Billy, a shot of whiskey for our young Chevalier here, on the house..."

Amaziah's voice is low, and feels like butter wrapped around an iron rod.


+4: Investigate; +3: Charm, Grit; +2: Occult, Fight, Contacts; +1: Brawn, Speed, Brains, Resources

Serra gains Blood Begets Blood, when she shows that she's willing to take the hard approach to a situation to minimize the harm it can inflict on others. It highlights her unwillingness to kill and directly do harm - though in a fight or flight situation, she's more likely to fight if cornered.

There was something that Serra didn't like about Amaziah... but it was hard to put her finger on. He was the defacto-friendly of a southern gentleman to a tee. He'd wound up deep in the seediest part of the town, though... maybe that was part of it. She'd made it a point to avoid the Morningstar and its denizens for the majority of her life. They just weren't her kind of people...

But she'd wound up spending more time there, since her father had gone missing. She'd made it a bigger point to keep an eye on the drifters, or in this case, the new man in town. And drifters came to the Morningstar, as probably the only real entertainment that didn't require a gun, for miles.

But it wasn't at the Morningstar that she'd found him. She'd found the stranger hovering around the outer reaches of the local sheriff - or what passed for one. She'd very quickly learned that he wasn't worth her time and wouldn't be of any help. He was more the problem than the solution.

But she had noticed him hovering, and the man doing something incredibly stupid... and one of her friends getting hurt as a response. Really hurt. The sort most people wouldn't recover from - and she'd know. She was the Undertaker's Daughter.

So... there was really nothing she could do, besides be there for Belle. So many horrors visited on her in one day. She'd finally managed to get her to sleep in her own bed, and took the opportunity to skip out of the house, and head to where the Drifters always wound up. The Morningstar.

As she slid into the seat across from him, and pushed a tumbler of gin in his direction, she wasn't smiling, but was wearing a full suit. "Hi. We haven't met. The name's Serra Willmore, and I'm the local Undertaker."


The Disillusioned Sgt. Major of the Royal Scots Fusiliers; grit+4, menace +3, brains +3, shoot +2, resources +2, investigate +2, ride +1, survival +1, physique +1, fight +1

following Amaziah

Orland sat in the Morningstar, at the bar, drinking. Not much else to do here. His bowler sat on the bar. It had taken a terrible beating, Orland saw. Almost time to seek out another hat.

He saw the woman from the train (an undertaker, eh wot?) talking to the gambler who owned this place. The Morningstar. He would like to say the girls here were pretty - but that would be a bit of a lie, wouldn’t it? Kind of like saying the booze here was the finest in the land. Well, that part was true. As awful as it was, it probably WAS the best in the land.

The girl had met him, had even saved his life. But not the gambler. Orland smiled to himself. The Gambler had set up the Captain to get a shotgun in the gut. Orland saw him smile as he heard the blast of the two barrels. Later, Orland saw him talking behind the Morningstar to a runt who smelled bad. Not just the normal bad, but more the smell of meat left in the sun too long.

Orland knew it wouldn’t end here. He knew that this town of White Chapel was …. a center, a nexxus ... of strange and evil things.

Later, Orland killed the ghoul that hunted the rotting little man. He wasn’t sure protecting a zombie was a good thing, but killing the ghoul certainly felt right.

I am thinking about Some Evil is Necessary for this one.


Female Human - Refresh Rate: 2 | Fate Points: 3

Nora (1) - Huey (2) - Amaziah (3):

Nora hadn't been on her own for long but riding a high of independence and freedom helped to cover up the guilt and fear of leaving her family. She was distracting herself with her work, tracking a low-class bounty in hopes of getting an easy payday but her mark was proving far more annoying than expected. After nearly a week of coming up short she had finally found him at a bar in a town so small it wouldn't even be marked on maps now all that was left was to bring him home and collect her reward.

She approached him with a knife drawn hoping to scare him into submission without coming to blows, they did want him alive after all. "Let's make this easy. You go back home without a fight and I don't have to make you, everyone wins." A look of panic quickly overtook the mans face before he took off running without a second thought.

So much for scare tactics. She sighed as she took off after the man.

He didn't have much in the way of places to hide and Nora was quickly gaining on him, in his desperation he turned on her drawing a knife ready to fight his way out of this mess. Nora stopped a few yards in front of him a smile spread on her face as she put her own knife away and dared the man to try with a hand gesture. The man didn't get more than a few steps toward Nora before a gunshot dropped him to the ground writhing in pain, he had been so focus on Nora he didn't see the real sheriff show up behind him.

Nora watched, with disappointment, as her mark was properly arrested. She knew she wouldn't get credit or payment since she wasn't the one to bring him in but at the very least he would be back in jail, she'd take what she could get.

Orland (1) - Nora (2) - Huey (3):

Nora stared at the sign listing off ticket prices and train times, it didn't really matter where they were going just some place that wasn't here or home but should she really risk a train? So many things could go wrong.

You'll be fine, keep your head down and nothing bad will happen.

She lied to herself as she finally purchased a ticket and made her way to the boarding area until she heard a thud, the unmistakable sound of a fist hitting flesh. Followed by a gasp.

The sound of a fight was familiar tune to Nora and quickly got her attention, she arrived at the scene just in time to see Orland pin the weaker man to the ground. The scuffle ended before she could intervene to help the poor man being abused by a clearly more competent fighter but it was more than enough to mark him for her shit-list at least she'd found someone to sit next to for the ride.

I think hope I did this right. Created my own scene separate from others, Responded to Orland's Prelude, Will need to talk to Hotaru before Responding to Orland's response to Serra's Prelude.


I like the idea of The House Always Wins as an aspect. I also like, from the above post, something like Best Not to Spook Him. Has a nice horsey feel, and works well as a compel.


Nora (1) - Huey (2) - Amaziah (3)

As Huey was strolling aimlessly, thinking about his precarious situation with the bartender, he noticed how a woman said something with an Irish accent, apparently threatening a man with a knife. Sensing trouble, he put his hand on his gun. But he released it when he remembered how badly it went for him the last time he took the law into his own hands. Instead, he decided to watch and wait to see what would happen.

The man started to run away, and was promptly arrested by an officer. As the police started questioning the bystanders, Huey realized that defending him would have associated himself with a criminal. He was glad that he didn't shoot.

When the police made their way over to him, they asked him who he was and what he had seen. Huey pointed in the direction of Nora and recounted how he had seen the Irish lady threatening the criminal before he was arrested. Noting that there had been a bounty on the criminal's head, one of the officers went to Nora, while the others moved to speak with the other eyewitnesses.

Aspect: Restraint Is Hard

Aspect from the first story: The Bartender Dislikes Me

I'll try to have my next continuation up soon.


+4: Investigate; +3: Charm, Grit; +2: Occult, Fight, Contacts; +1: Brawn, Speed, Brains, Resources

Huey's story:
Huey Humphrey wrote:

Here's what I wrote for my first phase.

After abandoning the army, Huey was afraid to return to his home town, where he would be recognized. Instead, he wandered aimlessly until he found himself in White Chapel (?).

There he had his first small adventure as an army runaway: He saw that a bartender was beating a drunken customer with the back side of his gun. Huey tried to interfere. He told the bartender to stop, and he fired his gun to the side in order to scare him. It worked, and the bartender freed the drunk.

However, the drunk was in fact being beaten for not having paid, and when the bartender realized that Huey wasn't as much of a threat as the drunk, he forced Huey to pay for him, adding that the next time he would call law enforcement. Having made an enemy in the town, Huey wasn't eager to stay, but with no better alternative, he decided to give it another chance.

"Right, and as if you'll get the Captain to actually come down here - and from that little plot of land I buried him in, I might add, to do that. Stop being such a bully. And you-" she says, turning to Huey, "Never pull a gun on a man unless you're willing to use it. Because you don't know whether he's willing to use his or not. The town is looking for a Sheriff, though. Could probably use someone who stands up to bullies. Preferably someone who'll get the facts first, though." she says with a wry grin that could be either scathing or welcoming in equal parts, depending on Huey's own state of mind. "Or at least, some of the town is." she says rolling her eyes at the jeers from the crowd at her suggestion that the town needed a lawman.

Leaning towards something like 'I only tease the ones I like'. as an aspect, but I want something a bit more pithy.


Orland (1) - Nora (2) - Huey (3)

Huey was getting off the train that had taken him to New Mexico, looking at the street signs that would guide him to his next destination. Some of them were big cities. A few were towns that he recognized. He didn't know which destination he wanted.

He then heard a stagecoach driver calling for passengers. "Three more passengers for White Chapel." Every few minutes he called out again. Huey decided to take the opportunity, even though he didn't recognize the name of the town.

A woman was already seated in the stagecoach, and Huey heard a British-accented voice asking about the fare. As he got closer, he noticed that the woman was getting increasingly uneasy. When the Brit sat next to her, she told the stagecoach driver that she had decided instead to make her way by foot. The driver was obviously annoyed.

Huey tried to ask her what the problem was, but she seemed not to notice and didn't respond as she ran away from the carriage, leaving Huey and Orland alone on their trip.

Aspect: Failed Peacemaker


Nora-Huey-Amaziah
Amaziah poured a snort of honest to God Kentucky Bourbon into the Sheriff's glass. Most of what they poured at The Morningstar was a mixture of grain neutral spirits mixed with sulphuric acid, burnt sugar, water, and, sometimes, a little prune juice. But for a service rendered, the Sheriff, who was a man of taste, got the real deal.

"Excellent work, Sheriff _________. Can't have Lester escaping local justice and ridden off to the East with some carpet bagging leprechaun. Mighty kind of you to make sure that he sticks around. Now, about that matter with Mrs. Lester's medical needs...

"Ah, and here is the bog jumper now. What is it that we can get for you this evening, young lady?"

Aspect: The Real Deal


Female Human - Refresh Rate: 2 | Fate Points: 3

Serra didn't help me with this so sorry if it's more scattered than normal, If I have the timeline right this should be taking place shortly after Nora followed Orland onto the train after the fight at the station?

Serra - Orland - Nora

Once on the train Nora had found a familiar face in Serra and had quietly taken a seat with her but made sure she could still able to keep an eye on Orland. Since the train ride had been a fairly safe and quiet one Nora's interest in Orland had started to falter as she turned her attention more to how her being on-board was likely to ruin this.

Having retreated into her own thoughts she didn't notice the man passing by and didn't think twice about Serra following him until she'd be left alone for far too long. After tracing the steps she saw Serra take and coming up empty handed she'd turn to the other passengers but they were about as helpful as she expected, with no other real option Nora would wait out the ride and begin her search again once they'd stopped.


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

Opening Scene 1 --- Approached Cinematically

Scene Characters: Amaziah and Nora.
Scene Aspects to be revealed.

Everything's black. Slowly building into recognition is the faint sound of strained breathing. The breath is raspy and heavy, occasionally broken in its rhythm as whatever is making the noise continues to exert itself. Gradually the breathing fades behind along with the prevalent darkness. A faint light ahead, moving ever closer, reveals that the camera is moving down some sort of corridoor, away from the source of the breathing--earthen walls take form as grey borders at the edge of the scene, braced with beams beside and above like a mine shaft. The camera is approaching a closed door with mere slivers of illumination breaking through at the portal's seams and casting long shadows back down the hallway behind.

There's a loud click, then the grinding of heavy wood against stone as the sliver of light at the edge of the door begins to stretch. For a few moments, the scene is blindingly white as if the camera has to compensate for the sudden brilliance. As the focus adjusts, we see two silhouettes--male and female--posed in ignorant preparation for whatever lies beyond.

Describe yourselves, Nora and Amaziah. How do we see you as this door opens up, revealing you peering in?

Further Questions:

  • Nora, (1) who was the first to reveal to you that Lester's corpse (the bounty you had been hunting) was missing from it's exposed casket in front of White Chapel's jail? (2) What were you up to when Amaziah came to fetch you at 10:07 in the evening,
    insisting you come with him?

  • Amaziah, (1) what tipped you off to this secret passage in the cellar of the Morning Star? (2) What did you immediately notice that made you want to bring the young bounty hunter along for this initial opening?


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

Opening Scene 2 --- Approached Cinematically

Scene Characters: Huey, Orland, and Serra
Scene Aspects to be revealed

Once again the camera shot gazes through a dark cavern, illuminated from a faint light in the distance. This time the walls and constructed with thick, stone blocks occasionally punctuated by recesses housing objects that the camera can't quite pick up in the dim light. The opening, drawing closer as the camera approaches, reveals that this tunnel is constructed vertically--looking straight up at the vaulted ceiling beams of a chapel, with the drooping countenance of a massive hanging crucifix gazing down. Two others faces, also peer down this chasm that hid beneath the altar.

Describe yourselves, Serra and Orland. How do you two appear as the camera gazes up from below?

At the far end of the cathedral, a third character makes his presence known. How do you reveal yourself, Huey? Do you call out, do they hear your footsteps, do you tap one on the shoulder, etc.? Also please describe how you appear in this scene.

Further Questions

  • Serra, (1) how did you find out about this passage before ever seeing it? (2) Who do you need to keep from realizing that you discovered it?
  • Orland, (1) why did you insist on coming along? (2) who have you seen entering this chapel, late other evenings?
  • Huey, (1) why were you following Serra and Orland? (2) What strange object did you find sitting outside your door this morning, and where are you keeping it?


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+4: Investigate; +3: Charm, Grit; +2: Occult, Fight, Contacts; +1: Brawn, Speed, Brains, Resources

There had been notes in some of the lorebooks on Lazarus. They were small snippets all throughout different books, seemingly with no rhyme nor reason. Just like most of her father's notes, they were more questions than answers. Her father's notes tended to be the right questions at least, though.

Some of the notes cast a lot of doubts about who exactly Lazarus really was, but one in particular had noted that Lazarus often seemed to not be around only shortly after entering the church. That, combined with the local townsfolk muttering about much the same, didn't so much tell her there was a passage... but did tell her that the priest had a way out that wasn't readily visible.

So it wasn't a surprise to find the hidden space. The little wear marks had almost made it too easy. The question was, how deep could they go without letting Lazarus... or really, any of the town... know about this little space. Or at least keep them from knowing she knows. The former or latter might change, but for now, she was neck deep in none-of-her-business. Which was always the most fun place to be.


On his doorstep, Huey had found a gold coin emblazoned with what looked like a devilish smile. Huey was used to seeing defaced coins scraped for gold, but never with such a picture on it. It seemed to him to be a veiled threat from one of his neighbors. It might have just been a coincidence, but then again, gold coins don't show up on doorsteps by chance alone.

Later that day, Huey spotted a familiar face. He remembered Orland from his stagecoach ride. Being the only ones on the way to White Chapel, they had had ample opportunity to speak with each other. The well-mannered Scottish sergeant was the most congenial person he had met in all of White Chapel. And after the incident in the bar, Huey was certain that just about everyone else in the town hated him...

He was happy to see Orland again, but he recognized the girl by his side as the one who said something snappy at the bar. So he followed Orland until the girl would leave.

By the time they reached the cathedral, Huey began to think that the girl's presence wasn't just a coincidence. And realizing that he might be trespassing in a sort of secret area, he thought it better to reveal himself before someone else discovered him. Hopefully Orland would make known to the girl that he meant no harm.

He walked a few steps closer and nervously announced his presence. "Fancy seeing you here, Orland."


So Huey, you've got a gold version of a hobo nickel, which sounds pretty awesome. We don't really keep track of equipment, per se, in Fate Core, but you'll want to note somewhere that you have that so you don't forget it. (I won't forget, it's in my notes.)


The Disillusioned Sgt. Major of the Royal Scots Fusiliers; grit+4, menace +3, brains +3, shoot +2, resources +2, investigate +2, ride +1, survival +1, physique +1, fight +1

Orland walks forward, his abused bowler in his hand, and leaned over to look in the well. Well, lass he remarked casually to Serra Why do you suppose there would be a well here in a church? And a crucifix of the Almighty guarding it?

He straightened and looked around. [ooc]is the church in good shape? Well maintained?[/b]

And, I know why I see the good father coming and going at all hours - that is what a priest would do, eh wot? He continues to look around. But why would I see one of the those Indian folk, those natives you see about, coming in here also at odd hours?.

Orland then whirls, hand going to his Webley as Huey walks out of the shadow. He relaxes. Well, Mr. Humphrey. Good to see you, good Sir Orland tips his hat. Do you know Miss Serra? he says with a sweep of his arm to the young lady.

Who is not as nearly naive as he might think.


Ida was a hardworking woman built like a brick outhouse. She had no problem carrying heavy casks of spirits into the cellar or crates of bottles back up to the bar. Ida was a genius with making clear corn liquor look and taste, well, not good, but not bad enough to kill you.

But when the cellar involved became, according to Ida, "the home of a serpent sh@! from the bowls of Hell," she wanted nothing to do with the place until Amaziah cleared it out. And so it was, that in a night when the tables were hopping and the girls onstage were whipping the crowd into a frenzy, Amaziah found himself leaving his typical role watching over the house to look for a snake in a dank hole by lantern light. The wall of the cellar were delicately decorated by nature with minerals from the water that seeped in. The cellar itself was clearly older than The Morningstar above, but Amaziah had no idea of its provenance.

He suspected that Ida was wrong, and that the German had seen a rope wiggle in a flicker of lantern light or something similar, so he was surprised when he moved aside a bag of barley to find a fat rattlesnake coiled up near the wall. Instead of rattling, the creature chose to retreat into a hole near the floor. Not knowing how else to proceed, Amaziah stabbed his cane into the hole, assuming it was only a small depression. Again to his surprise, his cane sunk deep, deeper than he was willing to go, or at least deeper than he was willing to put his tender hand with a venomous reptile involved. Clearly there was some sort of abscess behind the wall.

Returning to the main room, he spotted the bounty hunter. Amaziah didn't mind at all if this carpet bagger met mr. serpent, and he knew that she was willing to work for coin. He offered her five dollars at the tables and two days free drinks to help him with something in the cellar. Nothing untoward, of course.

Amaziah is dressed like this, with a more colorful patterned vest. He is generally immaculatedly tailored. He has clean, strong, manicured hands. He isn't a dandy so much as he dresses to impress and distract. He only wears a hat outside, for the most part. He is balding and has his hair slicked back and a well waxed mustache. He holds a silver headed cane in his right hand and a lantern in the left.


Orland Delmar wrote:
He straightened and looked around. is the church in good shape? Well maintained?

Yes indeed, the chapel is impeccably well maintained. With such dusty surroundings, it's clear that a significant amount of effort is put into maintaining the appearance and cleanliness of this facility.


The Disillusioned Sgt. Major of the Royal Scots Fusiliers; grit+4, menace +3, brains +3, shoot +2, resources +2, investigate +2, ride +1, survival +1, physique +1, fight +1

Orland frowned to himself. Why did he insist on coming here? Something just seems off to him. His read on the Priest, Father Lazarus, did not reassure the Sgt Major.

And that odd looking native fellow (although, truth be told, they all looked odd compared to what he was used to in British India). He was pretty confident it was the same individual. Was he ever here when the good Father was here? Hmmm.

And now this odd well, here in the middle of a Church? Almost as if the Church is a plug, holding the well closed?

And did we just open it?


Female Human - Refresh Rate: 2 | Fate Points: 3

Nora had been sulking around the sheriff's office hoping to find a new face posted on the wanted board when the man himself showed up looking troubled. Hoping to scrap some work out of whatever gave him that look Nora had struck up some conversation with the sheriff where she learned about the missing stiff. She offered to help for a price, a dead bounty was still a bounty.

After wasting an entire day searching for a dead man Nora had ended her search at The Morning Star ready to end the day with another disappointment when Amaziah approached her. She was use to doing the dirty work and seeing a suit that was too prim to do it himself wasn't new either, She could use the cash after losing her bounty and based on his looks he'd rather pay than a bend down so she doubted it would be any real work.

Once Amaziah confirmed her suspicious of this being over quickly she was more than willing to pry open the hidden door.

Nora's hair is the first thing that the camera is able to clearly see, her features instantly giving away her heritage. Her clothing is a contrast to man next to her being composed almost entirely from shades of brown tinted by dirt save for the metal of the knifes on her belt and the distinct shine of a necklace that looked out of place around her neck.


"No, I don't, but we've seen each other around town. A pleasure to meet, Miss," he says to Serra, stifling for the moment his curiosity about the strange place in which he found himself.


Group 1

As Nora pried open the hidden door, both of you (Nora and Amaziah) can feel the warm and familiar air suck out of the cellar you're in. It suddenly smells like cold earth, mildew, and... some type of smoke. The scent is faint, but like a good cigar there are hints of rich leaves and subtle undertones (underscents?). The temperature has dropped a good five degrees in the past twenty seconds to meld with the tunnel that goes on into the darkness.

Something inside the tunnel catches Amaziah's eye, along the walls much like the mineral deposits in his own cellar. However, these are man made -- small symbols etched into the hard earth seem to line the hallway in thin strips.

Not only was Ida right about the snake, it seems that she stumbled onto something much deeper, and it leads right up into your new establishment, Mr. Bienville.

What would you guys like to do? Do you have a light source of some sort? (If so, change Scene Aspect "Pitch Darkness" to "Clinging Shadows")

Scene Aspects

  • Pitch Darkness
  • Writing on the Walls
  • Soil and Stone All Around


Group 2

The sanctuary you are standing in is meticulously well maintained, constantly dusted and prepped. The low moonlight shines through stained-glass windows, casting faded colors across the pews and floorboards. The altar was easy enough to move, and you can't believe you didn't notice the scratches along the floor before.

This, this stone paved hole in the ground, must be how Father Lazarus has been leaving the chapel. How exactly he climbs down, as well as how he manages to re-position the altar however remains a mystery. Perhaps that native Orland has seen as well has something to do with that.

You (also) catch the scent of rich but faint smoke wafting up from the well (for lack of a better term). The large crucifix above looms over the three of you, trespassing on holy ground in the middle of the night. It looks like Mr. Humphrey is in on your secret now as well, either to bring along or somehow silence.

What do the three of you do now? Do you have a light source of some sort (trespassing in a church, at night)? (If so, change Scene Aspect "Pitch Darkness" to "Clinging Shadows")

Scene Aspects

  • Pitch Darkness
  • Holy Ground/Beneath the Cross
  • Moonlight and Whispers


+4: Investigate; +3: Charm, Grit; +2: Occult, Fight, Contacts; +1: Brawn, Speed, Brains, Resources

There were likely some old tallow candles inside the church, though where to get something to light them would probably fall to the men. And beyond that, given the level of care the Father took of this place, he'd likely notice if one of the candles were to be used or go amiss.

So she shifted her weight and slipped down to the floor to peer over the edge instead of looking down from so far above, as if getting a little closer to the darkness would let her peer any further.

"Willmore." she says in a hushed tone. As far as people discovering her being a busybody mid busybodying, she supposed two of the more well-meaning drifters wouldn't be all that upsetting. She'd brought Orland in case something went horrifically wrong. Huey also seemed more than willing to shoot first and ask questions later... which might be good. To be fair... she was used to being found. She wasn't as much of a sneak as she'd like to be.

She was at a loss though, for how to explain the majority of this. There had to be a way down. Maybe using the little crevices that held things as hand and footholds. But that would probably risk breaking something. So she peered over the edge, catching the small wafts of the smoke, looking for whatever mechanism the man (or, according to Orland: Men) would use to reach the bottom - and seal the top.

Investigate: Discovery (The Best Part!): 4 + 2 + 4d3 - 8 ⇒ 4 + 2 + (3, 1, 1, 3) - 8 = 6

Speaking of scents... perhaps now's a good time to ask if I can exchange one point of my refresh for a stunt that lets me 'smell the occult'? :3 I was leaning towards 'Sixth Scents', though 'Smells Like Teen Spirits' gets a minor nod for being funny.


Yeah, that's a great stunt. Either name is a great pun, so go with whichever one you prefer :)

Only a few inches below the rim of the 'well', you notice two iron rings about the size of your fists. This would be a simple place to attach any contraption needed. In fact, beneath the corner of the altar that still hangs over the edge of this pit, you note the hollow bottom. The easy gamble says there's somewhere deep in there that you can attach something as well; and though the leverage is far from ideal, you could see it pulling that altar back in place from below.

Indeed, the crevices are spaced at even intervals that could serve rather well as a ladder of sorts as well--but you also notice that there are far more than one would need (unless the person had an incredibly small reach). There are probably some intended for use, and others intended to discourage unintended us.

Aspect: Tread Lightly, with (1) free invoke. You're noticing that one needs caution if they decide to descend here.


Also, the previously mentioned scene aspects: Pitch Darkness isn't an aspect yet... you're in Moonlight and Whispers. Instead, the first aspect should be Godliness is Cleanliness to reflect the state of the chapel.


+4: Investigate; +3: Charm, Grit; +2: Occult, Fight, Contacts; +1: Brawn, Speed, Brains, Resources

"I think someone in decent shape could get down pretty easily. There's something that helps lower folks down... somewhere. Could look for that, but it probably went down with them. Something with pulleys, maybe. Folks like me would need to be a bit more careful getting down, though." she continues in the same hushed tones, eyes sparkling with excitement as she looks to each. "I know they say ladies first, but both of you look a bit more fit for climbing than me. What do you think, boys? Just be careful you don't break anything on the way down."


Huey was eager to take the opportunity that Serra presented him. He knew he wasn't as strong as they come, but he was still aspiring to be America's Greatest Hero. "Let me try that," he said, making his way to where Serra and Orland were.

Huey wasn't a very brawny person, which he realized was advantageous as he set his foot down on the first crevice. The task was harder than he had expected, but he tried to continue down the crevices as nimbly as possible.

Should I roll Speed for this?


The Disillusioned Sgt. Major of the Royal Scots Fusiliers; grit+4, menace +3, brains +3, shoot +2, resources +2, investigate +2, ride +1, survival +1, physique +1, fight +1

Orland grabs a few candles, and makes sure he has a pocket full of matches (normally used for his pipe).

He steps to the edge and watches the gunman scurry down.

When it is his turn, he goes, after giving a couple of matches and a candle to Serra.

can I use brains to figure out the odd rung placement? If so - how - roll ?(rookie question)


I likely didn't describe it well enough, that the number of extra crevices suggests that some should be used but others are likely quite dangerous--that part of getting down safely is knowing which ones are safe and which ones aren't.

With that said, I still have a compel for Huey: since you are, as you said, America's Greatest Hero, you're quick to descend and place yourself in danger before others... too quick for Serra to accurately warn you of the danger she suspects. This goes wrong when you use some of the treacherous holds--taking a moderate consequence to be revealed shortly.

If you're game, you're at the bottom and receive a Fate Point for it. If you resist the urge to be the hero, it'll cost you a Fate Point instead, but tell me how you keep control.

On Compels:
So this compel thing is a big part of the economy of Fate. All of your aspects have good things that you can use to make yourself excel, but they also have downsides (at least the good ones do) that may push you into bad choices or bad situations. They're supposed to be rough, which is why you get a Fate Point for it. You don't have to accept it, you can pay out of it; but honestly I'd recommend taking as many as you can stand. They not only empower you to really kick a** later when it's really important to you, but they make the story even more interesting in the present. Your call though, and I honestly doubt you'll want to take me up on all of them.


I think I'd rather spend a fate point for the first time rather than accepting the compel.
Do we all have 3 fate points to start (as your profile seems to say)? I had been under the impression that our refresh was 2 because of the bargain aspect.


You're right! 2 Refresh to start... foolish me.

Before anyone jumps down the hole, Serra had noticed that there are far too many of these holds in the stone to be necessary, suspecting that there may be greater caution needed before simply descending. You doubt that all of them are equally safe.


+4: Investigate; +3: Charm, Grit; +2: Occult, Fight, Contacts; +1: Brawn, Speed, Brains, Resources

Is the well large enough for one of the men to simply brace against each wall opposite, and mostly skip the crevices?

Investigate(Create an Advantage): 4 + 4d3 - 8 ⇒ 4 + (2, 3, 2, 1) - 8 = 4
Serra watches for a moment as Huey starts to head for the edge, and holds up a hand - though she isn't sure whether she'll listen or not, she adds, "Wait, the crevices may not be a good idea. There might be something in them, or they might not be sturdy..." she says, keeping her voice low. Putting the unshared - accidentally - knowledge in character.

"Maybe... maybe it's wide enough to just brace down? Wouldn't be able to use your hands for much of anything, but..."


Certainly. That sounds feasible. and the stones are big enough to provide meager grip.

Tight Quarters aspect for the well. (1 free invoke)

Orland, I also forgot to mention. Candles sounds good, and of course you'd have matches for your pipe. No rolls needed on that one.


The Disillusioned Sgt. Major of the Royal Scots Fusiliers; grit+4, menace +3, brains +3, shoot +2, resources +2, investigate +2, ride +1, survival +1, physique +1, fight +1

When it is time, Orland works his way down the well.


I'd say this is a Brawn (Physique) roll with Fair (+2) opposition. So you'll want to beat +2 to get down safely that way. Serra can pass her invocation if she wants to.


The Disillusioned Sgt. Major of the Royal Scots Fusiliers; grit+4, menace +3, brains +3, shoot +2, resources +2, investigate +2, ride +1, survival +1, physique +1, fight +1

Orland slips into the well, climbing down quickly and confidently.

(Can I add physique at +1 level? Its something a foot soldier would probably have).

test: 1 + roll: 4d3 - 8 ⇒ (1, 2, 3, 1) - 8 = -1

Which means Orland failed by 3! Plunging to the bottom, perhaps?

did I do that right? not sure what Serra can pass her invocation means or does. also, does his knowledge of how climbing danger help in any way?


GM Mogthrasir wrote:

Group 1

What would you guys like to do? Do you have a light source of some sort? (If so, change Scene Aspect "Pitch Darkness" to "Clinging Shadows")

Scene Aspects

  • Pitch Darkness
  • Writing on the Walls
  • Soil and Stone All Around

Amaziah raises his lantern and carefully pushes forward into the tunnel.

Amaziah wrote:
He holds a silver headed cane in his right hand and a lantern in the left

"Curiouser and curioser, Miss O'Leary. You will find a miner's lantern on the work table behind you. One must be careful around the vapors and spirits one encounters working with whiskey. Perhaps you would be so kind as to see if this tunnel goes anywhere while I take a look at these strange characters."

Amaziah slips into the tunnel, hoping that if he shows no fear that Nora will follow without a great deal of thought. He holds the lantern so as to cast his own elongated shadow down the tunnel, investigating the writing on the walls.


Amaziah, roll your Occult (4d3-8 +bonus) and try to beat a standard 2, it's well lit and not unbelievably obscure. Any extra is further information.

Also, I missed that lantern part. So obvious! Good call.


Wasn't trying to call you out on the lantern, just reiterating.

Occult: 4d3 - 8 ⇒ (1, 2, 3, 1) - 8 = -1

Apparently, Amaziah doesn't know anything.


But Amaziah should have Occult ranked at +3 right? That's what I see listed in the Discussion thread anyway, so it's on my notes. That bonus is added to the roll, which brings you precisely to what you need. So nothing extra, but you hit it!

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