Ian glares back at the Drow and turns his great sword point-down over Anthony's chest. "I'm gonna enjoy this more," and stabs downward with all his weight.
I've felt and feel like there's been some OOC hostility under the surface in this game, much more than other games I've been in. That seems like poison for a game's longevity, which is the most vulnerable part of PbP games. I hope we can talk it out and move on, I really want this game to last :] My thoughts on some of these issues: "It would probably help if we had a greater plot element other than 'get out of this jam we made for ourselves'." "I want the characters to be the story, instead of being witness to the story. Accordingly, characters need to have goals that make them plan and do things every morning, meet with people, seek favours, etc, instead of only having things happen to them." I think the intro was the railroad to get us together and started, and now we're in open waters (literally and figuratively). I also think we're doing great on paving our own path, I'm excited to see what we do next. "Further, 5e is supposed to be less rolling. They introduced the notion of Passive Perception and Insight, so you're not always rolling. This is effectively "Take 10" in 3rd, to keep the story flowing." / "...I just wish the pacing was a bit quicker?" I think the biggest issue regarding pacing is just a symptom of the play-by-post medium. A back-forth conversation happens in seconds across a table, but it runs like molasses in PbP. Example:
^ That was 14 days of posts. I'd suggest aiming for something more like this:
^Story progresses much faster, and no handwaving "you steal a ship and you're back in Sharn". Just more compact chunks instead of little bite-sized back and forth. One other thing that could help is that out-of-combat rolls can become somewhat pointless, because you're just rolling repeatedly until you succeed and each attempt only takes 6 seconds in-game. But in play-by-post that could mean it takes a real life week to get through what takes in game 18 seconds. So maybe hand-waving no-pressure rolls could speed things up. If we're in a situation where every second counts, then we should probably be in initiative going turn-by-turn. Whew, that turned into a wall of text, apologies! I just really want this game to survive :]
Johnathan is standing next to Delft when you all arrive, wearing plain commoners clothes, no RHC uniform. He watches the ritual quietly, stoic. Before they go, he approaches Cretien, expression unreadable. "Be careful out there. If you die, I'll be the only one left," he holds out a ring and amulet. "You'll need these more than me. Good luck professor."
Johnathan waits to speak up, thinking. He listens to Rognar, listens to Femi, and Cretien... then raises his voice quietly. "I...want both to be able to exist...I never had a choice with magic, it was forced on me. I like watching Cretien--Constable Dufrene. Pursuing what he loves by choice and doing amazing things with it. I don't want the people of Risur to not have a choice. To be stuck with magic like I am, or to be stuck without it. Magic can be beautiful...sometimes." He smiles sadly to Cretien then looks away at something that apparently only he can see, his brow furrowing slightly.
Would love to closely link my character to another PC, if someone's into that and I actually get selected. I.e. siblings, best friends, enemies, long lost romances, whatever works for the characters. I always find games more interesting when there's pc-pc history.
Ian is drinking and talking, to Edmond and Wraxus, or a random bar patron if neither of them will listen. "--and this bastard had quite a reputation, charming and fighting his way across Coran. Minor crimes, like walking out without paying, starting brawls, harassing people. Name was...Duke? Something like that, not actual nobility, just liked the title. Anyway, I was tasked with tracking 'Duke' down and throwing him in a cell for a week or somethin', grow him up a bit." "Takes the whole day, keep seeing the trail behind him, a dead man who picked a fight with him, a crying woman, a destroyed bar. One tavern to the next. Finally kick the right door in, and there he is f$@@in'. I pull him off the woman and he's laughing, and laughing. I punch him a few times but he keeps laughing, so I keep punching him. And he keeps laughing, hard as a rock still, pointed at me. Now his face is a bloody mess, but he's still wheezing and chuckling, smiling. Wasn't until he s%+$ 'imself that I realized he'd been dead awhile and it was just spasms making it sound like he was laughing. He stayed hard the whole time." I left the Duke there on the floor, his woman screamin', and him no-arm saluting like the mast of a ship, covered in s+$% and blood," he laughs, thoroughly cheered by the memory, and takes a drink, toasting. "To the Duke!"
"Did you know Terzuskan Dark was bottled thanks to cooperation between guilds in Terzusk. But the Sciinter's and Merchants guilds had a falling out and they don't bottle 'em anymore?" Kiril turns the page in his book. "I got... one bottle. Saving it for a special occasion. I think if we survive what's on the other side of that door and make it back, we drink it to celebrate."
Cavell slowly re-gags the prisoner as he speaks, fully cutting him off around 'rescue'. He gives his cheek a pat and turns his attention to Caira and Grellik. He gives her a little wave. "We're your dashing rescue, love. Grellik's in charge for now, direct all complaints and flames his way please."
Nah no worries, did everything I'd wanted to.
Visitation Rights:
Ian remembered the house well. It was an old, beat up thing, once upon a time. Now barely a frame with planks nailed all over it. Just a shack, made almost weatherproof, in a long crowded line of others like it. He wore a tan cloak over his breastplate to hide the Tower insignia, and a helmet to hide his newly pointed ears, with the visor raised. It was raining again, just like last time, and the upturned visor helped keep the water from his face. As he walked up the stairs to the front door, a step gave way underfoot with a rotten snap and his boot came up covered in mud and rot. Cursing, he smashed his gauntlet-clad fist on the door to knock--and it opened a few inches, unlocked. "Kira?" Ian called out into the dark shack. No answer. He pushed the door open as he stepped inside. "Kira," he called out again. The shack was dark, no fires or light inside, just dim overcast daylight shining in through holes in the roof as rain spattered and dripped on rotten, water-soaked old floorboards. Ian's boots thumped dully as he walked through to what was once a bedroom, the door hanging from one hinge. "It's mine. Get out. Mine. Get the f+!# out. I'll gut you. Out," came a low raving voice from the dark of the room--but Ian could see him there, a shaggy man in rags, backed in a corner with a hatchet. "Ain't here for your spot. Looking for someone who used to live here," Ian said with a level, flat tone, lowering his hand from his greatsword. Apparently the man saw that as a sign of weakness and rushed him, swinging his hatchet in a wide arc. Ian stepped into it, the shaft of the hatchet bouncing harmlessly off his armor, and smashed the forearm of his gauntlet into the squatter's mouth, knocking him flat on his back. While the man lay there stunned and bloodied, Ian snatched the axe from his hand like a parent taking a toy from a child. "Just stay down or I'll knock you down again. I said I ain't here for your spot. Just want information." Spitting blood and angry, the haggard, scarred man around Ian's age glared daggers up at him. "Wut den?" "Girl, bout 19--no, I guess 23 now... short, blue eyes, brown hair, named Kira," he frowned. "With a boy." The squatter tried to stare Ian down in the slim hope he'd just go away, but sighed heavily. "'Bout a week ago, some thugs came, killed the boy, girl got away. That's how I got the place," he sounded proud of himself. "What thugs, who? Where'd she go?" Ian took a step closer, looming over the fallen man. He seemed to shrink, curling his body up defensively. "Dunnow, dunnow. She just ran, she climbed out tha window, ran and ran." "What. Thugs. Who. What's their names, who they work for?" Ian gritted his teeth. If he couldn't find Kira today, at least he could get a little payback for her. Keep her safe. "Who every thug works for here. You dun know? Gregory. They all work for Gregory now, ever since summun' killed ole' Esteban, one-eared Gregory been in charge. Ruthless bastard. And paraonid." Ian remembered Gregory. Remembered taking his ear off, too. And the memory of killing Estaban? That almost got him hard. That was a good kill. F&&&ing bastard, he thought, remembering. The squatter had crawled backwards all the way to the wall, cowering there, apparently not liking whatever he saw in Ian's eyes. "Wait wait, wait. Please. I, I think I know where she ran to. Alright? Please, just leave me be," he nearly sobbed. "There's a orphanage, takes in runaways. She worked there, every day, helpin' the kids. I think she'd go there. But but I'd never tell Gregory and 'his lot that. We gots to stick together, you know, us kids o the slum. Eh? Please..." Ian turned and left. Something was eating at him, deep in his gut. Something about Kira working at an orphanage tore him up inside. He'd find her, and then he'd track down his old friend Gregory and get reacquainted. Orphanage first. Mother Mercy Orphanage was its own little independent power in the slums. Nothing as grand as a Thieves' Guild, but a respectable neutral ground. Most of the city's thieves grew up there, or at least spent time there. And if they hadn't, they were close to someone had. All sorts of criminals grew out of Mother Mercy's, but that's not what was bothering him. If anything, that was a good thing. She'd be safer, with some protection, some family. Orphan. May as well have been. When her mother died she lost her dad, too, he thought grimly. He'd stalled long enough, staring at the orphanage, thinking. He worked up his courage and stepped inside. Hungry, suspicious faces watched him from bedrolls, hammocks, and tables. It smelled like mold, but there was food on the air, too. Maybe a stew. A weary old woman approached, maybe twenty years Ian's senior, and put on a forced smile. ”Can I help you with something? What brings you here.” ”Lookin' for Kira,” Ian answered bluntly. He noted the recognition and instant defensiveness in her face when he said Kira's name. ”Haven't seen her in a week or more. Sorry,” the old woman began to turn away, returning to her duties. Ian walked past her, towards a closed door to another room that had caught his eye. The old woman frowned, calling out after him. ”If there'll be nothin' else I can help ye with, I'd have to ask ye to leave, sir.” He tried the door handle and it opened to an empty office with a desk and dusty shelves. ”I'm—I'm afraid I'll have to fetch the guards, “ she threatened. Ian tried the next door down, and it was locked. He shoved his shoulder into it and it obliged with the soft crack of wood splitting. He saw Kira, then felt the point of a dagger slip between armored plates, press through the leather and chain mail to rest against skin, from behind him. Kira's face went from fear, to recognition, to frustration. ”It's okay mum, I know him.” The old woman slowly pulled the slim dagger out from Ian's armor, but whispered harshly to him before leaving, ”Poison'd kill you before you could turn around. Don't f#!+ing touch her.” He let out a careful breath, then grinned at Kira. ”Fierce protector.” She ignored him and turned away, ”Shut the door—if it even closes now. You're going to get me killed.” He walked in and obliged. Kira sighed heavily and turned back to face him. ”What do you want? Money? You can donate it to the orphanage, I'm not taking it.” ”It's...good to see you,” Ian mustered as he set a heavy coinpurse on her bookshelf. Kira crossed her arms and stared at him impatiently. ”Good to see you too. So, goodbye? I have work to do.” Ian took a deep breath and hoped he could say the right things. ”You're a woman, I mean, not a kid. You've grown up—and I'm sorry about the boy, you were with. You look good, and...” He took another breath. ”I thought maybe with this new job at the Tower I could just throw enough coin around and get us all together again. You, your brother and sister. Provide for you all and protect you, that's all I wanted. But I don't think you need it. I mean you've all survived just fine without me. Seeing you now, grown up, I get it. Hells, you've thrown it in my face enough times. When you actually needed a father I wasn't there, and now you don't need me.” Kira's face had softened, despite her jaw being clenched. Did that mean he was saying the right things? ”I just, wanted to say I'm sorry, and...” his chest felt deflated but he forced the words out anyway. ”If you tell me to not come back, then I won't. I'll stay out of your life for good. I promise I won't look for you anymore. If you say so.” Gods, don't say it, please. She laughed, angry. ”I've been telling you it for years, you want to hear it again? Fine. Stay. Gone.” He stood there, a prisoner of his own decision, realizing this might be the last time he'll get to see her face. Kira started crying and Ian felt even more trapped in uncertainty. Somehow he thought this would be it, when the walls would finally collapse and they'd reconnect. Did I f+$! it up? Anguish slowly calcified into a cold, hopeless anger. He nodded. ”You won't have to see me again. And you won't have to worry about Gregory and his thugs, either. We're old friends,” he walked away and didn't look back. Turns out Gregory had tried to kidnap Kira to get at Ian, hurt him, extort him. Didn't make any difference. After they were all butchered meat littering their little 'headquarters', Ian bought a night's worth of Pesh from a local dealer and a cheap room at a cheap inn. At least she's safe.”
Johnathan proceeds as if barely aware of his surroundings, practically catatonic ever since they arrived in the dead magic zone, silent. It doesn't seem to be anything physically effecting him--just a kind of psychological stupor. Cretien may guess it's from the feeling of powerlessness and vulnerability. The only sign of life from him are when he smiles faintly at the half-orc child Tarro's excitement at sewing an arm back on. As soon as possible he retreats to his cabin to read.
Johnathan stares at Axis Island the whole way past. When the captain makes grim predictions, Johnathan speaks up plainly, "We won't sink on the coral."
"It's settled then, let's move out," Kiril leads the way.
Johnathan wanders the deck, eventually finding his way to Asher as if blindly, and whispers to him for a good while. Asher:
"The sides push in, the top, the bottom, everything presses in on Us. Something Else is pushing back, holding the sky up, but someone's punching holes in the hull and we're taking on fire. We chose our friends carefully before, but we've lost the luxury of choice. We all have to hold the rocks above our heads before we can get back to killing eachother. Destiny gets fuzzier as the walls close in, it's not meant to be. We can only hold our heads above the flames. If we breathe, we die. Your instincts will get you close but there's more...something more. Something Other. It hates Us because we Are." He then nods meaningfully and pats Asher's shoulder reassuringly, then goes to the ship's rail and stares into the deep.
Kiril goes inside without hesitation.
HOW ABOUT MY F%$~ING FIST?
"No no no, no no no no no no no," Johnathan murmurs, raising his crossbow at the Mayor. A few drips of acid fall from his shaking hands, then sparks which make little glowing embers when they land. "We have to," he nearly sobs. "Have to. Souls pour themselves into endless mouths. Endless teeth. So dark, dark. We can't," his mumblings turn completely incoherent from there, and he slowly starts squeezing the trigger.
Cavell grins at Trissae. "We're famous. I think they captured me rather well--pun intended." "Silvers. We heard Giant went down. How are the others?"
Tenro knows aaaaalll about adjustable leather straps Merry Christmas all!
Outside, Johnathan sits slumped against the wall, staring up at the sky. He doesn't seem to notice Falko at first, but eventually speaks up, his voice soft and monotone. "On my first big mission for the RHC, we were part of a raid on Axis Island. An infiltration team of experienced commandos was to sneak in and hold the sea-gates open for the navy to enter. Our job was to come in after and help them maintain control, and capture some VIP." "They never even made it to the island. A magical trap sent a rock-slide down on them underwater and crushed or drowned the whole team. We... managed to save one of them, through no small effort, but he was too injured to continue the mission--Burton was his name--which meant it was in our hands. Mithas, Cretien, Joseph, Merle, Wintry, and me." He shakes his head, "That island was...a jungle, but shifting, illusory...Fae. Fortified and dangerous. We sustained a lot of injuries trying to make it inland--thinking back, I'm surprised we survived to make it to the lighthouse, but we did. We had no choice, we were all there was." "We took the lighthouse and seagate through guile and planning, and a bit of rushed improvisation. There was a mage inside, and a young dragon. It wasn't easy, by any means." Johnathan idly formed little magical constructs from thin air, shaping a crude little dragon and making it hover, slowly flapping its angular wings. "Very young. A thing of Fae, I believe." The figure crumbled and dissolved. "We signaled the fleet with a firework scroll, fortified the lighthouse as best we could, set magical wards, barricaded windows and doors. It wasn't long until a small army marched on us, the six of us." "Jospeh and Wintry went out, while the rest of us tried to sound and appear like we weren't just a few, but many. Shouting orders to no one, bustling past windows. Joseph faced the army and put on a brave voice, trying to delay them, put some doubt in their steps, while Wintry secured the outside of the lighthouse. It worked, for awhile, but more troops kept gathering and it emboldened them. Finally, they loosed arrows on Joseph and Wintry." Johnathan sighed, not sadly, just resigned. "Cretien sabotaged the gate controls, so when we were all dead the gates might stay open long enough for the fleet to get through." "Wintry and Joseph survived the arrows, barely, and the enemy forces took them hostage, threatening to finish them off if we didn't surrender. We attacked, surprising them, but we couldn't push them back enough to save our friends. Enemies had broken in through our barricades and we would be overrun in moments. There was some sort of magic, out in the ocean, a giant amber...flash, and a massive wave hit, washing enemies and our friends alike out to sea--and then our fleet arrived." "If Joseph and Wintry hadn't stalled for those precious minutes, we would have all been dead and they may have found a way to close the seagates in time to block our fleet. Maybe there was a way we could have saved them, something, but the mission was more important." After a silent moment, Jonathan says quietly, "Joseph was the same age as I, at the time. We were both seventeen. He was charming and courageous--I looked up to him, a bit. I wasn't either of those. Seventeen and sacrificed his life to buy us a little more time. Wintry was always...selfless, and too caring to be a soldier." He shrugs, exhausted by the retelling, "It takes courage to sacrifice your own life, but it's something else to sacrifice a friend. I think I'm beginning to understand that." Johnathan stares up at the night sky a moment longer before he's startled by Delft's hand. "Liria was my mentor. A sort of grandma-aunt-mother all in one. I barely remember my real mother. Anyway, we succeeded and she was collateral. No RHC downed." He takes a heavy breath and stands, wandering off to his quarters, "Perhaps I'll dream tonight."
"We just...were doing our jobs, as we were today," Johnathan says cautiously, sitting. He intertwines his fingers, staring down at them, avoiding Kell's gaze. When Kell digs in obnoxiously to the sandwich, Johnathan makes a slight hand gesture towards it, flavoring it with rot by way of Prestidigitation. The corner of his mouth twitches, hinting at a smile as Kell goes for the next bite. "We do need to contact this doctor, if you're implying who I think you are, so let's hear it." |
