Mac Dowd's page

Where is my grandma!

She is substitute teaching kindergarten!

The number of witches in my woods is Too Darn High!

GRRR! I smell RIBS!

Speak of the devil

"Sheriff wants to put his eyes in all the dead monsters... And they call ME mad."
Mac lets out an exasperated breath.

Think Mac is all set to go on being mad. Let me know if I screwed everything up when I leveled him.

Taking half plus 1 is fine with me.
I'll try to see to the other leveling matters asap.
Been oddly busy of late.

Dowd pulls out his knife and starts carvings some graffiti into the table. g-o-t-t-a c-a-t-h-c 'e-m a-l-l. Yeah, that's how you spell it.

"No fear for the immortal soul. You should keep those toys in the toybox. I dont want to play with them. They dont want to play with them.

He gestures around the table with his carving knife.

I could like you, Allen, if you weren't mad. You see Allen, whether you know it or not, your pets want to play with you.

Mac stops laughing and pours himself a whisky before sitting at the table with the group. "Witch, How does a witch hunt?" He seems amiable enough now, maybe-almost-normal even.

Dowd rises up from the fire. He is humming under his breath as he approaches the few around the stranger.
"There's more rotting. In you." He reaches out to touch the stranger with a finger.
"In Me." Dowd pokes himself in the chest.
"Over There, too much rot," he drops his hands to his sides. "Only hold back the tide of filth."
He laughs, "If you kill it quick enough."

He walks in with his rifle and fires over to the fire place / stove. He stares into the ashes.

The madman is mulling over the ugly critter, what they killed.
planar knowledge check: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (8) + 4 = 12
He leans his rifle against the wall leisurely. Then the madman takes up an iron poker to play with the ashes and the fire.

He can hear the fuel sceaming. He giggles.

Will Save: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (16) + 4 = 20

Dowd reloads and rests his rifle over his shoulder.

He starts muttering and licking his lips as he approaches the stranger.
"You're New" he smiles baring every last yellow tooth in his scarred face.

Dowd takes aim and fires on the furry door destroyer.

Point Blank Rifle v Touch: 1d20 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (18) + 3 + 1 = 22
damage: 1d10 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 = 2

His lip quivers, remembering the little splintery bits. Better cut this thing up before it finds the whiskey.

looks like Cole brought the thunder

Does gets up and heads down the alley past Cole. If he has room for another action, he reloads his rifle.

Fort Save: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (14) + 4 = 18

If they could see his eyes, they might see his laughter die.

Rough day for Dowd. Since he's paralyzed, he cannot get out of grapple, either! At least, by my reckoning.

initiative: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8
Mac's belly rumbles.

Dowd withdraws further away from the bear as far as he can get. He puts himself in the mouth of an alley and sends a roaring laugh at the shimmying hulk. Rule One of Bear Chess: Don't get caught.

Sorry, thought I had already posted for some reason. It must have got stuck in limbo.

perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (12) + 7 = 19

Bear teeth, blood and guts as I understand it. I'm cool with whatever. Maybe pouring a whisky in the bar with the sheriff is a good idea.

intro

Nice to meet y'all. Where's the meat in this fine bloody story?

Glad you like it. Eager to get this spinning whenever.

I have a really long and drawn out story for this guy on my tablet. Long plane ride today. Here's the short of it.

Mac's pa died in the tail end of the Seminole Wars before Mac could meet him. His mamma was a busybody who spent all her time at the orphanage in Charleston, so she sent Mac and his sister Gail to live with one of her borthers-in-law, a certain Major Dowd of the Old Goave plantation.
Mac, his cousins, and his sister were mostly raised by the house staff. At every chance he and his cousin Robert would tear off into the woods like wild indians or make mischief. His sister Gail was the only really studious sort, and she tried to keep little Mac in line.

Another cousin, Henry came back from out west. He gave Mac a wooden gun as a toy and taught him "how to play indians the right way"

Then one night a storm. Mac walks out into it to see Major Dowd talking to a strange man.

In the war the family lost all their material possessions, Mac and his relations fought in a few campaigns, won some, and lost a whole lot more.

The thing that crawled up inside his head is gone now, but who's to say if it's really Mac that's left inside.

Mad Mac Dowd here for review:

Mac is one creepy son. It took him almost a month to convince the sheriff to let him have a gun. Once it was in his hand though, he could make it dance. (more backstory to come later)