True, it's an interesting system and a fun setting. Thanks for the taste!
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Taking the advice offered, T.J. nods and returns to the tents where the others were lead. He's eager for the chance to relax again, though he doubts his mind will find much ease in this situation.
Sorry, I just realized that T.J. hasn't concluded his actions for the moment either. The loose ends are probably making it difficult to go on as GM-Peanuts can't be sure if we're ready to proceed or not.
T.J. bows slightly at the waist, thanking Hellstromme in spite of his absent attention. "We will seek out Buckner then. It will be good to feel useful."
With a simple nod of compliance, T.J. remains quiet. It seems rather serendipitous that they should end up here, but he's quite thankful for it. "Are there ways we can earn our travel? I may not have the know how, but I'd be willing to work a bit while you're helpin' us."
The boxer stands awkwardly in such a luxurious carriage, his hands folded behind his back as he finally lets his frame relax. Even though the man assured them that they were safe here, T.J. was hesitant to let his guard down. This room doesn't appear to be a trap however, so he is gradually easing out of his vigilance. As Shrewd takes a seat, looking truly comfortable in this ostentatious environment, T.J. steps forward pulling his hand free from behind is back and outstretching it to greet the others. "Thanks for takin' us in. Name's Tennison James Beauchamp."
That's how life works. Thanks for the update :)
T.J. slowly raises his hands up as he ceases his approach a few meters from the gentleman. "We've had a run in with some natives," T.J. says, turning his head to speak to the others who are slowly reaching for firearms. "There's some injured with us, and we could use some help. We don't need trouble, and we don't mean to bring it."
No worries. I'll watch for updates :)
With a nod, T.J. catches Abram's gesture and begins to slowly approach the group--arms straight at his side and palms held open about a foot from each side. He wants to show that he is unarmed, and move steady enough not to startle. If he gets close enough he'll try to say something before he gets right on top of them, but won't say anything before it's reasonable for them to spot and evaluate him.
As conversation is near impossible with the cacophonous sounds echoing through the chamber, T.J. finds himself continuously reflecting back on the contraption. It clearly saw them, and had opportunity to lash out, yet chose not to. He wonders if perhaps it was programmed to keep out something else. Naturally, his mind wanders after the concept of what else could be, but appreciates the confidence that they may not find themselves completely unwelcomed. As they approach the train that passed them earlier, however, much of that confidence wanes. He approaches Michael and tries to say something, but quickly finds it an exercise in futility--opting instead to raise his eyebrows and lift his chin inquisitively, then motion toward the group. The pugilist is more than willing to take point so long as he's not left flapping in the proverbial wind. The disconnect of such a statement while underground isn't lost on him.
Noting the relative docility of the machine, and taking advantage of Michael's conversation--T.J. attempts to slowly cross the other direction, noting whether the contraption follows him at any point as he attempts to pass by. Something about this whole ordeal makes the boxer quite uneasy, and his eyes continue to bounce around the cavern searching for what other unearthly things might be lurking about.
Speechless. T.J. has never seen such a thing before, and for a moment he's stunned. What's more astonishing is the face that Michael seems to be approaching it. The pugilist begins to prepare himself, considering that at any moment he may need to act quickly. Except he has no idea what that action might be. He likes to consider himself prepared, but what the hell do you prepare for in this situation. He too begins to draw closer, but makes sure to stay far enough back as to not create a greater threat. He does, however, stay out of the extended 'line' created between Michael and the contraption. Should it decide to open fire, it may be best if he's on a different track.
How do you do a common knowledge check? Simply with smarts?
T.J. chuckles as he helps the good doctor pop Michael's shoulder back in place. "Not an uncommon injury." he says with a smile. "I've seen more than a few fighters go through the same thing. It's gonna hurt for a while, and boy is it gonna turn some fun colors." He appreciates the tenacity of the man as well. Even being hit by a train does very little to dampen his spirits. With reigns held beneath his left arm and a healthy grunt as he helps lift the stretcher again, T.J. continues witht he others toward the slowing train car. However, as uncharacteristic as it is, he sticks toward the back this time as he carries a badly burned individual.
T.J. chuckles at Raveneau's comment. "And it appears we may have chosen the wrong line for our own travels. What doesn't kill ya..."
"Nor will they be happy to find out their tunnel has a cave in, if that explosion we hear earlier did what I think it did!" T.J. tries frantically to flag down the engineer, or even a crewman. He's kicking himself for not realizing it sooner, but was a bit more concerned with his own skin. Is that pride? Perhaps selfishness? Either way, he's bettin' it's on the good Lord's list.
GM: How wide is the tunnel that the characters are in? Does it seem wide enough for them (and their horses) to flatten against a wall and pray the nothing's sticking off the side of the train? Or are they stuck looking for a hole or crevice to squeeze into?
T.J. reels around when the explosions go off, trying vainly to see through the blanket of darkness that follows behind them. He wouldn't have thought himself claustrophobic, but he finds himself missing fresh air and open sky at the moment.
Likewise, T.J. moves toward the sides of the cavern, pulling at the reigns of his increasingly agitated horse. "Watch yourselves, boys. I think there's somethin' comin' this way... but not through the tunnel."
"Gladly." T.J. remarks through clenched teeth, as they carefully traverse down into the darkness. He doesn't have to fumble around his pack for long, as he always knows where his cigars are at. "I don't know if these braves 'ntend to follow us, but they do I'm bettin' it won't be on horse back. Settin' our own ambush might be a bit more beneficial than runnin'. Assuming we get far enough in to keep from bein' proverbial fish in a barrel." He's not sure what's up ahead, but he's liking the thought of taking a swing at some cocky natives should the opportunity present itself.
Quickly adjusting his grip on the makeshift stretcher, T.J. nods at the others with a quick tilting of his head toward the large hole in the ground. "Down we go then." he calls out to the others, his gaze lingering on the growing dust cloud approaching over the horizon. "This is not going to be easy going." he says to himself. Then replies to Michael. "Got some cigars in my bag... but they don't exactly illuminate a room."
T.J. nods with a grin at the doctor, glad to be able to help with something. "My pleasure." He then spits in his hands and grasps the other side of the makeshift stretcher, trying not to wince at the pain. He hadn't forgotten about the burns his hands sustained, but was getting used to the pain up to this moment. The extra pressure didn't help. "Personally, I'd be mighty impressed if it were a rescue party on its way already. Meanin' that I'm skeptical. Looks like tying up these horses won't matter anyway if we're going underground. They're either coming or we're settin' 'em free."
"Dammit!" T.J. blurts between coughs, hands still on his knees. "All that work for horses and tackle and you guys want to go undergrou--" More coughing. Without looking up, the man waves his hand dismissively in the air, as if he decided he really doesn't care. Then finally finding another pause, "Hell, I don't really care. You boys all seem to know what you're doing. We can just tie these things up."
After freeing his own luggage from the burning cart, as well as helping anyone else that may be searching for their own, he stumbles from the smoking container coughing and buckled over. He wipes the sweat and soot from his forehead, and continues to try and free the smoke from his lungs. The burning, however, doesn't go away. It seems he may have to wait this one out. Now would be a good time to get his horse back, as it appears to be the only remaining form of transportation short of his own two legs. Wishing he could breathe better he sets off after his mount.
T.J. does indeed force the doors open, leaping aside just in time to avoid the stampede. Thanking his reflexes and cursing his luck, he gets back up to his feet to begin freeing what luggage he can from the car before it too goes up in flames. He wipes his forearm across his brow, trying to keep some of the sweat out of his eyes. Whether from sweat or from smoke, they continue to sting and water. His hands are feeling burnt from forcing open the door to the animal compartment as well, so he tears some strips of fabric from the wreckage to wrap them in. He wishes there was water nearby that he could soak the wraps in as well, but for now he'll have to settle with what little protection and comfort they provide while dry.
Dang, sorry to see you go Jean-Luc. That eastern mindset seems like it would really bloom in this context. We'll miss ya.
T.J. continues his charge toward the animal compartment, trying to stay low and avoid any missile fire. With some other train patrons firing at the natives, T.J. feels confident in his low priority. He doesn't notice, however, that Blackstick his riding his direction.
T.J. pulls the miniature gun from its holster at his side, trying to draw a bead on the three natives shrinking in the distance. Before he pulls the trigger, however, he resigns to the futility of such an attempt. Why the hell did I buy such a small gun! he chides himself. The thought made much more sense in the city, but seems rather comical out here. It's then that he finally hears the cries of the animals above the shrieking ghost rock. A mount would be decidedly more beneficial at this point than the toy in his hands. At that decision, he takes advantage of the lull between arrow volleys and takes off running toward the animal compartment, hoping to take cover before the next pass.
T.J.'s head is swimming. Luckily, a year of taking blows to the head has taught him some tricks at cutting through the thick fog of such concusions. Keeping to his knees, he curses whatever brought about this mess, as well as himself for deciding to travel west. He's not certain what God thinks of the language, but hopes he takes circumstances into consideration when judging it. His first objective is finding out where the attacks are coming from. From the relative cover of the car where his body remained, he scans through the smoke for any of the natives loosing their arrows. "Stay down!" He yells over the screaming of the ghostrock, noticing that the indians are picking off the obvious targets and hoping to introduce a bit of reason to panicked minds. He can feel his muscles tensing, as he anticipates having to cover open ground; which is when he remembers that he had purchased a derringer on advice of a friend for just such an occasion. His right hand reaches for the holster at his side, seeking whether the gun remains.
(New) Beliefs:
I haven't, but it sounds intriguing! That would be worth checking out. Thanks for the recommendation!
What are your thoughts, Mr. GM, on T.J. altering his second belief. I'm wondering if something faith-based rather than prestige based might have more direct goals, as well as greater opportunities for roleplay. But I know that you're already establishing things, and don't want to alter something that's already been put into motion.
With a nod, T.J. takes up residence in the new seat, reclining as before with one leg across his knee, but no longer needing to angle his derby for shade. He unfolds the paper with a flip, and resumes reading. There, he tells himself defiantly, or rather tells someone undefined I'm here now. If it's not enough, then you have to direct this.
With his derby tilted slightly to block the rays of sunlight flooding through the nearby window, and one ankle carefully crossed over the other thigh exposing a finely patterned sock, Mr. Beauchamp reclines in his chair perusing the local Gazette. His sleeves are rolled up neatly, his pants are pressed with meticulous creases down each leg, and his shoes seem newly polished. Occasionally he twists the waxed end of his mustache as he reads, but mostly his hand is occupied twisting the golden ring about his finger. Throughout his perusal of editorials and obituaries, the man continues to glance over the top of the drooping paper at the ailing gentleman in the corner seat across the aisle. Whenever the man notices the gaze, T.J. quickly resumes his reading. He lifts the small cup steaming on the end table beside him, testing the liquid's temperature before taking a swig. His face tightens at the sip and his body shudders as if trying to shake off the experience. Needs more sugar. He decides, quickly reaching for some more cubes and glancing again quickly in Abram's direction. After a few more sips, the man pushes the cup away, resigning to the fact that no amount of sugar will make that stuff palatable. He also resigns to the nagging within his chest. With a frustrated sigh, he folds the periodical as he rises, tucking it beneath his left arm. He presses the wrinkles out of his shirt with his free hand, and straightens his cap before covering the distance between his seat and Abrams. Reaching the grouping of seats he tips his hat at the sickly gentleman, inquiring "Might I join you, sir?" He remains standing, paper neatly tucked and demeanor slightly stand-offish.
Instincts:
Beliefs:
Thanks for the tip. $5 is nice to get back. And yes, the intention was knowledge of the New York underground, as in the seedier side of life. I don't know what of that would connect out west, whether there would be connections or just a simple familiarity with how that stuff works. If that is too obscure, I could switch it to a basic knowledge of law, since his father was a lawyer.
Ten Minute Background Step 1: write five things about your character’s concept and background, five things that you think are the most essential parts of your character. You don’t have to stop at five, if you like…this is just a minimum. Spoiler:
1. T.J. is a gentleman, and has always prided himself on being such. He's quite specific and intentional in his actions, and mindful of anything that seems 'unsportsmanlike', 'undignified', or 'unmanly'. This tends, rather often, towards misogynistic behaviors.
2. About 5 years ago, in his early 20's, he got caught up in gambling, drinking, and philandering. It's cost him his inheritance, and soiled his image. He now seeks a new setting and clean-slate opportunity. 3. In the valley of these struggles, T.J. latched onto faith and 'better living.' He tries diligently to avoid these past 'vices', though he still feels that itch. 4. T.J. was a bare-knuckle fighter in New York, managing to win a few prize fights in the lower tiers. He left those circles out of necessity, as "the grip of temptation was sorely more than [he] could bear in such sordid settings." - His own words. 5. The Beauchamp family was a rather prosperous New York family, with British and French heritage. Archibald Parker Beauchamp, T.J.'s father was a lawyer, and successful enough to raise his son with proper manners and perspective. 6. Eleanor Beauchamp (previously Whistler... T.J.'s mother) passed away when T.J. was 10, but the family had seen it coming for a few years as the sickness slowly overtook her. Raised mainly by his father at that point skewed T.J.'s perspective toward the more masculine tenets of life. His father, A.P. Beauchamp, presumably died about 3 years back while travelling to Oregon on business. His coach never arrived at the location, and after a year and a half of speculation and litigation was pronounced dead and his estate released. This helped spur T.J.'s vices, and the inheritance he received funded them. The only remaining item of this inheritance is a large ring his dad always wore bearing the imprint of the Fleur de Lis. 6. T.J. is rather level headed, but curt. He assumes that if people don't see the world the way he does, they're misinformed and ought to. He believes that: "Struggles are the very bricks of character, and endurance the mortar." And "a man without dignity and pride is not a man at all." And that a man should "Speak softly, but carry a big stick." Step 2: List two goals for the character that you, as a player, think would be cool to see accomplished in-game. Spoiler:
1. While T.J. always strove to be a gentleman, he does so now with a focused determination. He has a deep seeded sense of guilt at tarnishing his parents' name, and an even deeper fear of what his mother would think if she knew. Because of this he seeks to rebuild a reputation for the name of Beauchamp, and strives for opportunities re-establish prominence.
2. I want T.J. to learn more about his father, and in turn about his background (for better or worse). He's quite ignorant of the truth (see secrets below), but had ample opportunities for suspicion had he not blindly idealized the man. Step 3: List two secrets about your character. One is a secret the character knows, one is a secret that involves him but that he is not actually aware of yet. This will help me in creating plots that center around your character. I will also be creating a third secret which you as a player will not be aware of, so expect some surprises! Spoiler:
1. T.J. cries when he thinks of his mother. It's the only time he can't control his emotions. If you tell anyone, he'll deny it.
2. T.J.'s Father (Archibald P. Beauchamp) was a member of a secret society, which helped spur his prosperity and prestige. It was as a member of this society that he often travelled for 'business purposes', using his profession as a cover. While he really is dead, there's a lot of reason to cover up how he died as well as what he was doing. I leave it to the Marshal to decide whether this secret society was a noble one or a sordid one. Step 4: Describe three people that are tied to the character though blood, romance or honor. Two of them are friendly to the character, one is hostile. All can do something useful for you, if you can get the situations to line up. If you like, you can include an enemy of yours here as well, so I have an instant NPC nemesis to throw at you. Spoiler:
1. Charity Deloise Alcaster: T.J.'s crush from New York. They dated for a year before she moved south with her family. It was during the time that T.J. was training for bare-knuckle fights, which at the time Charity thought was barbaric. Things were getting rocky at that point, which made her decision to leave much easier. T.J. still carries a strong flame for this one that got away.
2. Lafayette Bennet Beauchamp: T.J.'s quirky uncle. Where Archibald was the 'responsible' brother, Lafayette was the spontaneous one. He moved west over a decade ago to further his inventing career and business. To T.J.'s knowledge, there's been no family contact for at least 13 years. 3. Silas Eli O'Malley: One of the dirtiest, cockiest, most arrogant sons-of-b%@~#es to ever raise fists with T.J. Beauchamp. He was another regular in the prize-fighting circuit in New York. He was on par in skill level with T.J., maybe even a little better. They fought twice, each winning one of the bouts; Jessop O'Malley the most recent of which. At the conclusion of which he spewed a string of crude boasts and humped a pole in effigy of T.J.'s mother. It was one of the few times T.J. was willing to break the law, but was ushered away by his trainer. 4. Jackson Hartly: T.J.'s aged trainer. He's a grizzled old fighter who rather 2-dimensionally fits all the stereotypes. Rude and tough, but cares deeply for his fighters. (Likely wouldn't come up, but still a name that may be thrown around by T.J.) Step 5: Describe three memories that your character has. They don't have to be elaborate, but they should provide some context and flavor. Spoiler:
1. T.J. remembers sitting with his dad, trying not to cry, the evening his mother finally passed away. His father, stoic and unemotional, dealt with the pain by listing every tenet of being a 'gentleman'. "You don't have a mother to keep you proper anymore. So burn these into your heart. First: Don't you ever hit a woman. Second: Always say please and thankyou. Third: Take your hat of when indoors or in the company of a lady. Fourth: Don't you ever say something that's not true. Fifth: Always keep yourself..."
2. T.J. remembers a cool night in May, while riding with Charity to a dinner function of his fathers. They were sitting quietly while he was stealing glances of her as she comfortably watched passerbys, hair gently blowing in the breeze. He remembers thinking to himself "My God, I could marry this woman." 3. T.J. remembers the sickness he felt when he lost his father's house on a pair of snake-eyes. He didn't have the money to even cover his bar tab for the evening, and uncharacteristically had to borrow from a compassionate friend. A local church, whose pastor he had recently met, allowed him to stay there for a few nights while he tried to get his feet under him again. While he's not sure if God actually speaks to people, or if that's just what crazy people and swindlers say. But if He does, T.J. thinks he heard him that first night in the church.
Final Step: Worst Nightmare The ghost of his mother returning. She's decaying with small coals lit inside the hollow sockets where her eyes used to be, and a jaw open further than any jaw should stretch. She's grieved by her son and driven mad by it - unable to rest until she rips his soul from his shredded body and removes this desecration of an offspring.
This is kdtompos. T.J. has a strong pugilist/boxer feel, and I'm debating AB(Miracles) Crunch (WIP):
Agility: d4
Smarts: d6 Spirit:d6 Strength: d10 Vigor: d6 Skills: (15 points)
Edges:
Hinderances: One Major, Two Minor
Gear:
Extra funds: $198
I have a question on the 'Martial Arts' edge. It seems to change between Savage Worlds and Deadlands. So I'm assuming that only the Deadlands rules apply (Counts as armed even when unarmed, and can't be swarmed by multiple opponents) and not the Savage Worlds rules (Counts as armed even when unarmed, and fists deal an extra +d4 of damage as if weilding a weapon). More to come, including a decent background and character sketch. |