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Yeah, I just play the numbers game. I hope that if I only apply for the games that look promising, that draw me in for some reason, that eventually one or two will break past the barrier and keep going. Weirdly, I was recruited into a long-running game that is working for me, so I joined a couple of others run by the same GM that are not even close to the same experience. The GM is a major aspect, but the player base can invoke significant changes even so.
The young Varisian will attempt to stick this last giant rodent, stepping around it for a better shot if possible.
Sorry, wife decided to drag me off to the Texas Rangers Fan Fest, so I ended up taking Friday off and we drove 5 hours one-way, spent the night, she went and tried to get in the various lines for all the signatures while I kept the grandkids entertained down on the field. She failed. People went to specific lines to wait for specific signatures, and they were only allowing so many to get through each line. Now, the Rangers DID offer "Fast Passes" that allowed people to do what my wife was trying to do, but they were sold out before she decided to go AND they were $500 apiece. Primary purchasers for those are sports collectible dealers, who can expect to recoup that money selling only 2 or 3 of the signatures the pick up . . .. Not very Fan-centric, but, hey. Business. Then, of course, after a couple of hours running around through the inflatables that were up in the outfield, the 4-year-old expressed a fever. So we got to head home early with a sick child for the 5 hours drive home. In the rain. I think I would rather have gone to work on Friday.
Instinctively avoiding soiling her scarf on the rodents, the limber Varisian pulls her rapier and thrusts upward at the unbelievably large rat, bringing her leg in and raising her form to a more standard fighting stance.
"THAT's not a rat!"
Sorry. Was playing Santa, then came down with COVID. Coherent enough for simple posts again. Had to sit out the last 5 days of the season in isolation. Yep. Includes today.
The young Varisian slides her left leg out to her side dropping her torso behind the knee of her right leg, before leaning over and basically putting her head on her left leg as she attempts to see under the boilers, to try to get a glimpse of the light source. The fluidity and speed with which she moved into a position most of us find unreasonable even to consider suggests she's spent a great deal of time improving her flexibility for some reason.
As practiced as her body says she is at squeezing into small spaces, the flume just seems like another place, almost another room. But she quickly realizes how little she knows about climbing, and how weak she is in comparison to many of these others.
No Take 10? Uh, okay . . ..
I think maybe I wasn't clear enough. I understand the advantages of having a marching order, and recognize the importance of such time-saving devices in the slow pace of PbP gaming. I don't really care much where in the order my character sits.
Really not too concerned about the marching order positions. Typically lightly armored weakness and better than NPC attack ability, but takes things away from opponents, so . . ..
Not sure why, but confident in her ability to fit in the chimney, the young woman helps the others get started before heading up herself. When she discovers that she can fit well enough but moving up the chimney is an unfamiliar kind of work.
Simza looks at the walls. Stone or wood is her first concern. I see the first room was described as mortared brick. "I don't know about oil off-hand, but since those stairs go nowhere, there's quite a supply of firewood available. As long as you don't go too big, the brickwork shouldn't catch. Only problem is if the smoke catches a draft and heads for the chimneys we'll be climbing. At least we should have until the smoke comes down fomr that valted ceiling and works through the door . . .."
"Not sure I like the idea of climbing the chimney flume, but if he can do it," indicating Cole, "I should fit without a problem." Again, signing as she speaks. She tries to sign what the others are saying, but her hands aren't always empty . . ..
Signing as she speaks . . . "I know they look suspect, but there is a set of stairs over there, too. But, Slip, he wants to know if you think any of us are too big for the chute." She turns and looks at the pile of bodies. "If these all came here through it, though, I think we'll fit. I don't know how hard the climb might be, though. The chute would be designed so there's nothing for the bodies to snag on, right? Means no holds."
The young Varisian pulls the set of tools from the first chest. "These would have been good for getting out of the cell. Not as good as the key, mind you . . .." She squats next to the chest for a moment, looking at the tools. Why do these feel comfortable, but the others did not? As the others move around the corner, she rises fully to her feet, and follows the group. Stopping and staring at the dead before forcing herself to consider the pile of equipment. Picking through the pile, various items just feel right as she picks them up, while almost identical items next to them do not. This doesn't make sense. Why this blade and not that one? Why the hidden blades and not open ones? Thinking about it, this time she signs, unlike the bit a few moments earlier. "Why would we know where we are? We don't know who we are! Somehow we know what is ours. Why should I recognize this cuirass and not your armor, 'Short Hair'? They aren't that different, but we both knew the difference without thought. How? Why are we wherever we are? Why don't we remember more? How do we remember what we do? Hopefully, we can find an answer, but I don't think it will be in here."
"Okay. I'mmmm . . . Petra? No, that doesn't feel right. So, my name is . . .. Well, maybe I AM Petra. We should gather some weapons and other tools. I wonder what's in that chest?" ----- She continues signing as she raises her voice for the others to here. "The halfling here is deaf. He can't hear you. I can communicate with him, and you can too if you let him watch your face while you talk to him. I wonder if any of these keys will open that trunk. Guess it is time ot find out!" She moves to the trunk and gives it a once over, trying to see if it is safe or not.
"Allera? Okay. I'mmmm . . . Petra? No, that doesn't feel right. Simza? That feels far more comfortable. Call me Simza. We should gather some weapons and other tools. I wonder what's in that chest?" As she starts to move that way, she notices Erebus, and signs back to him in Varisian Sign Language. Her comments: "I did ask. Do you not hear? Lucky we both know this, then. Let us see what is in that chest, shall we?"
Shaking her head even as Martoff tries to grip her nose, Simza goes to open the cell door, checking to see if it is unlocked before trying the key.
"Gimme those!" She reaches for the keys, planning to take them over and open the cell herself. She sees a drop of blood splatter on her arm, though, and she stops to feel her nose, to see if she can identify why she's bleeding . . ..
Simza's eyes pop open, but it takes an instant before she stops seeing the blood-soaked cobblestones and brick wall super-imposed over the almost equally bizarre setting actually (?) before her. So, not dead? As the strange doctorish figure moves up against the cage and the others that she recognizes from that nightmare attempt to grab him, Simza simply joins the pack as a first instinct.
As a splotch of blood lands on one of her outstretched arms, she realizes she's bleeding. Still bleeding? From being shredded? "Looks like a cage. Can anyone reach those keys? Or even a slim bit of metal?"
/me waves!
The woman's eyes seem to grow even wider, though it doesn't seem possible, as the situation continues to deteriorate deeper into nightmarish territory.
The woman's eyes open wider, the whites showing around her irises as she realizes she's still close enough to read the blood-spattered words, despite all the cobblestones and bricks she has sped across. Even so, the off-kilter laughter about how roads have to end hasn't faded, though there's no hint of humor to it. The road only ends when you die. It has always been so, and always will be so. The quote runs through her mind, in her mother's voice, as she slowly fails to find a way to convince herself she can survive this chase. Am I PETRA?!? stomps across her mind as she recalls the traditional warning story of the Varisian girl murdered in town.
The first body hits the pavement and slides, and Simza stops in shock, motionless as she realizes the blood spatter is a word . . .. The second body squelches as it lands. Simza isn't there anymore to read the second word, as her feet are working again, and she's moving away as quickly as she can manage. "Roads have to end right!?" When she hears the question from behind her, she starts laughing. The laughter is broken and quieter because she's trying to breath while both running and laughing, and the human body's just not built to do that.
Simza's eye shift back to the others and then to the wall and street once again. "Yes, there should have been something here by now. But we are moving forward!"
Illusion and misdirection being old familiar friends, Simza focuses not on the fog and pursuer, but on the wall and street, seeing the bricks and stones pass behind her as she continues to move away from the pursuer.
Illusion and misdirection being old familiar friends, Simza focuses not on the fog and pursuer, but on the wall and street, seeing the bricks and stones pass behind her as she continues to move away from the pursuer.
The player didn't even wiggle an eyebrow at the use of Gypsy. The "normal" European understanding of traditional Roma is pretty much the source for the traveling Varisian culture and mores. As I have played Varisians over the years, I have done some (minor, online) research into Roma norms and attitudes to help me better portray what I understand the Varisians are supposed to be. Purrun is a traditional Roma family name, and my stable of Purrun PCs all have traditionally Roma personal names as well. Pretending the word used was the Golarion equivalent of Gypsy, a less panicked Simza would have automatically judged the speaker to be a prejudiced, uneducated brute, and therefor a perfect target to use and manipulate to ensure she and her own had what they needed. His dismissive, negative term of choice already indicated that he believes they are less than proper people, after all. The currently panicked Simza, with an unexplained sense of familiarity to those with her, probably didn't actually hear the word at all, just the fact she was addressed. That was probably a minor source of comfort in the panic, actually. WELL outside her normal reaction, but fitting to the specific situation.
"Must move, get away. This way, go!" Simza tries to coherently warn the others as she prepares her scarf, before moving away from the footfalls as quickly as she is able.
Fear? Of what? So ready to run. Wait. On the ground? Pressure on back and butt, but bent. Sitting. Cold, moist seat. Ground? She opens her eyes. Familiar but unknown people? Doesn't help. Pursuers in the mist? Don't vanish like Petra! Need to get away. Which way is away?
I would rather you built the character you are trying to play instead of the character you think I want to have at the table with me.
Monty? Anything in particular you want in the post headers? HP, AC, Saves, Perception, & Sense Motive seem to be the most common elements desired.
Thank you for the opportunity. Currently at home, caring for the spouse post-surgery. Weirdly, it seems I have far more time to post while doing this than working normally. My posts tend to be evening (central US) only normally. |
