Search Posts
"A bar you say?" Chance says with a light in his tone and features. "The Drowned Rat sounds like a wonderful one!" It's hard to tell if he's sarcastic or not, but you suspect he's being honest. "And I'm with... er, Rengo right? I'd rather not hit the tavern smelling like sewage. Charm is more than just a pretty face." He smiles lopsidedly as his face continues to swell with the black eye.
I'm sure everyone's waiting on me. Sorry for slowing things so significantly!
As Chance rushes in on the scene, he skids to a sliding halt atop the smoothed stones. With Esmeralda raised in one hand, and sliding the Sergeant's hat on his head with the other, he clears his throat loudly to garner attention. Esmeralda is staring at the back of one of the guard's heads, and the wheel is primed to spin and spark at Chance's petition. "Easy there, chaps." He calls out, trying to mask how out of breath he is and look composed despite the fact that he can only see out of one eye at the moment. "Time to play cops and robbers on some other playground. This one's real, and you're about to lose more than some prisoners. So piss off, eh?"
I feel the same way. It's starting to make some sense, but I think I'm gonna need to play with it quite a bit. And I don't think we've done anything with stunts yet either.
With the Sergeant patched up as well as Chance can accomplish in such short notice, the young man resolves the officer to his fate and rushes back into the fog to find the other three--strength in numbers and all that. But he's quick to lift a token from the fallen Sergeant before he rushes off. As he pursues Willard and Rengo, following the sound of conflict, he's working to prime and load Esmeralda again. A loaded gun is slightly more intimidating than a spent one, with significantly more potential.
Esmeralda sings out--music to Chance's ears. It's the way she should sound, at home in his arms. The shot tears through the Sergeant's upper thigh and hip. It's a nasty wound that drops him to the cobblestones. With medical attention, there's a hope that this won't be his last memory. Chance clicks his tongue at the man on the ground then turns to join the others in the fog. There seems to be quite a commotion further into the alleys, and his presence might prove beneficial. But he can't take more than a couple steps before he turns back around, cursing under his breath. He kneels beside the Sergeant, bleeding out onto the street, and quickly tears part of the man's uniform. Then, taking the strips of cloth, tries to hastily tie a tourniquet round the man's upper leg to stop some of the bleeding.
Sorry everyone! I'm in heavy training until Friday, and keep putting off letting you all know in hopes of being able to catch up and update. But that just isn't going to happen. I'll be back Friday though, and am so sorry I didn't warn you all in monday!
His reckless action is hardly well placed, and likely would have worked against him had some of the crowd fleeing from the escapees and conflict not bumped the Sergeant off balance. And Chance has never been above making a cheap shot. So rather than do something swift or impressive, he opts for the crotch shot with his knee while sprawling for his Wheellock before it has a chance to fall.
-------------------------
Chance rushes toward the sound of gunfire and the scent of powder, likely with furious guards hot on his tail. Then with little tact or self control the young man grabs the Sergeant's shoulder from behind and attempts to snatch the firearm from his grasp while pushing the man further away with a swift boot.
---------------------------
Nowhere near quick enough to get out of the way, Chance takes a firm blow to the forehead just above his right eye. The eye immediately begins to swell, making it harder to see from that side. Now that the rest of the wagon is vacated, Chance quickly stumbles out the other side, with little doubt that the guards he provoked will be coming around to meet him. And that's when he hears the familiar cry of Esmeralda. "No!" Chance shouts impulsively. Even in the thick fog and pressed crowd he at least was able to find the general direction. He has to free her before he can truly consider any sort of further escape.
Chance stumbles backwards, half cursing and half laughing as the guards thrust their truncheons through the bars. He barely has time to spring backwards before their on him, hoping to avoid the blows and thankful they have such a small space to strike through.
Before the blackglass shatters, Chance steps clear to the other side of the paddy wagon and readies to leap free. There's hardly much room and the other gents seem more than capable of pushing through. So the young hooligan slaps his cheeks a bit to prepare himself. As Willard and Rengo burst through the bars, it doesn't take much to notice that the space left is in now way something they all could burst through at once. They'll need some time. He grabs part of his own shackles and rushes back to the bars on the opposite side of the paddy wagon. Sliding one hand out through the bars, he hurtles the chains at one of the nearest guards on that side. He knows it's unlikely to hurt the man physically, but might be able to keep some of their attention on this side while the other two shimmy out on the other. "Hey, be a good lad," he shouts from between the bars, "And just bind yourselves for us, would ya? Save us some time. And do better this time than the last, wot?"
Yeah, I'll need to scratch that and revise. If only I could delete that post.
With his shackles free, Chance ignores the Corporal who clearly is onto their attempted flight, and instead closes as quickly as possible on the Sergeant who's mistreating 'Esmeralda'. "Someone with curves like that deserves someone who can handle her far more deftly!" he remarks, as he tries to knock the Sergeant's gun arm down with one hand while snatching the wheellock free with the other.
Chance is a little distracted by the elven woman who slips the note to Willard. As soon as she passes on, the young hooligan flashes a look towards the writer that indicated mutual awe and jealousy. "Well chaps," he whispers, "If there's anywhere I'd like to step off, this would likely be it." At that he tries to slip himself free, utilizing the fault in the cuffs.
He also will need to retrieve his wheellock before he can really sneak out, but needs to figure out where that could possibly be...
No worries on the slow start. I'm really interested in learning this system, so any pace at all gives me that opportunity. I'll gladly commit to a post a day through the week, but will struggle to maintain that on weekends. I'll try to at least pop in and keep the story from stalling!
I'm not sure if I should be continuing with Chance, or let others give some input. But I want to be checking in so you know I'm still around and excited!
Quick heads up: I've been called in for jury duty tomorrow. So I will be absent, but not of my own accord.
Oops. So was the roll supposed to be 4d3-8, instead of 3d4-8? I guess I'm not sure where the 1d3 bonus is coming from, but I want to get it right in the future. As for the complication, I'll take a minor cost associated with the success--granting Watch That One as a boost. Should have been less conspicuous eh? *Ahh, and that edit makes sense. I really wasn't sure how the advantage thing worked, but that clicks.
I like everything about what you just suggested. Of course he wouldn't get away without it, and damned be whatever consequences come as a result! Consider it claimed, and compelled. I'll record it in the profile.
Ahh, yes! Thanks for pointing that out!
Chance winks at Rengo as he notices the man slowly regaining consciousness. The young hooligan clicks his tongue and motions with a roll of his eyes toward their surroundings and immediate predicament. "Not sure what you may have been dreaming about a moment ago," Chance begins with a smirk, "but I bet you're wishing you were still with her." He's wriggling in his seat, as if extremely uncomfortable or trying to scratch some itch on his back. Even after acknowledging Rengo's increasing presence, his eyes return to a spot on the ceiling near the front of their compartment where they've been fixed for quite a while before. "If I can just..." he whispers, still twisting and shifting, "...figure out where... oh! I may have found it." Chance has spent more than his fair share of time in chains, even if only briefly. And he's always thought the craftsmanship ought to be of a higher quality for such critical application as confining prisoners. Most shackles had a weak point near the clasps around the wrists, and if he could find where these ones were then he might be able to share that knowledge and get the others working at it as well.
Currently I've sketched out initial intentions with skill points. They aren't set in stone, but I wanted a rough road map so that I didn't spend them all but miss something that really interests me but just didn't come up. I figured it would also help me limit the bonus, since my tendency would be to grant things large bonuses initially just because I can and want to succeed at the current task. Current Skill Impressions:
And obviously if we find any spots where the group is really lacking as a whole, I might be able to shift around to cover that area.
That all really helps Ryuko! And the My Family's Best Wheellock sounds fantastic. I may use that idea verbatim. As for skills right now, however, if we were to use one would we just declare a value for it then count it against our allotted pyramid stack? For instance, as I'm thinking of directions I want Chance to go I'm liking the crafting ability. So if I just declare it as a +3, then it is... diminishing then the points I can allocate elsewhere?
Chance's Arrest: The young man sits in the back of his temporary cell nursing his swollen eye. The bruise is forming quickly and the skin stretching over it begins to split rather painfully. A large gentleman seated at the bench on the other side watches him with a smug look of satisfaction. Chance too, fights back a smile; in part because the gesture would further strain his swelling features, and in part because it might incite the larger one to even him out with a second strike. So he laughs inwardly, as the vision in his left eye slowly fades. He recalls the couple of sucker punches he got in before being dropped, lamenting that the brute didn't have any visible marks as tokens, but hopes he can feel them at least. Surely Madeline had been impressed by the way Chance bobbed and weaved as well, beneath the booming fists and thundering insults. Girls love that stuff right? He hopes so, because there's really no reason to have started that fight otherwise. Then, as has happened so many times before, the mustachioed warden stomps down the corridor with cell keys in hand. Chance's reprieve is at hand, which is surprising given the sincerity with which his father indicated the exhaustion of his resources at the young hooligan's behest. This time there were a dozen other men, armed and alert, who accompanied him. Chance recalls that usually there were only two or three. The warden is cautious and quick as the keys click in the cell door, and the others spill in like a wave of steel and flesh to separate the others and wrench Chance prostrate onto the dusty floor. There's the sound of tearing fabric as they rip the tailored shirt from his back, despite the young man's growing protests. There it was, clear even in the dim light that filtered through the high, dingy windows. Just below Chance's right shoulder blade was the mark of The Stranger. "Birthmark, I swear." he tries to joke, through lips pressed to the floor. "Mum thinks it kinda looks like a girra..." A baton to the back of his head, and the world goes black.
Weekends are horrible for me, and MLKJr day was a holiday for me as well. But it gave me time to think and plan. I'm also still reading through these rules. I've been looking into some other different games, and think I may be crossing wires between some. But I've dotted gameplay just so I can track it easily from my account page.
History: Charles (or "Chance") Dillinger III (the Third) is heir to the Dillinger legacy. The Dillingers are a fairly affluent family, even by the heightened standards present amongst those of the Palatial Quarter. His father, obviously the second Charles, had much to do with their rise in status through his exceptionally crafted firearms as well as prowess with them. As a family, they have ties to old blood and money, but receive an even greater respect as Charles II has so thoroughly proven his worthiness of it. Charles the Third, is the only son amidst four older sisters. Thus he is the child of the family, but also the heir. The former he boldly personifies, while the latter he shirks. Growing up his father took immense pride in finally having a son to carry his increasing legacy, and did everything to foster it in the youth. Charles the third was trained in etiquette, in the art of gentlemen's combat, in marksmanship, and the intricacies of craftsmanship. And while he managed in every area, marksmanship is the only area in which he showed any passion. Instead, the boys passions were just that--boy's passions. He's grown to be quite a blemish on the Dillinger name, as his father spent much of the boy's youth calling in favors to keep him from facing the full repercussions of his delinquent actions. The past year is when the young man reached the end of his incredibly long rope. Frustrated at the boys constant rebellion and haphazard lifestyle, not to mention the flagrant disrespect of the name that he represents, his parents have cut him off from the chords that tie him to their affluence and privilege. He no longer has access to their limitless funds, completely cut from access to their account (though he still has a generous amount he's ferried away under his own name). He also no longer has them to free him from the penalties of his almost nightly charades. It was during one of these most recent blunders, where he was forced to occupy a cell like so much of the riff-raff he chooses to associate with, that his warden took notice of his mark...
|
