Clever Hans

Black Powder Arcana

Jack Tatum

He was a tall man with a spare frame that sported just enough muscle to let you know he wasn't afraid of hard work. His clothes were plain but rugged. A battered old hat shaded his long nose and innocuous face. When the wind flapped his clothes around it wasn't hard to see why some folks called him Scarecrow Jack.

Jack ambled along the dusty trail, leading the docile brown mare the folks in Hannibal had recommended he get for the trek west. Jack was an indifferent rider, and used to traveling on foot; most of the time, the animal served as a pack horse.

Another man may have been more leery of the wilderness or the things that sometimes lurked in the deep shadows of the earth, and especially of the Indians said to be prowling about, but Jack had his faith and his wisdom, and was more concerned with the little tune he was composing as he walked:

With the sun and the mountains
And my pack at my back
I pointed my boots
Down the long dusty track
No comforts I'm wantin'
No courage I lack
With the sun and the mountains
And my pack at my back

"Whaddya think, Killer?" he asked the mare, who snorted in reply. Jack smiled his broad smile and hummed the tune to his song, watching the sun race him to the horizon.

* * * * * * *

When Jack had his hat pulled low to block the glare from the reddening sun, they chanced across a small stream running through a little dip in the land, surrounded by a few trees. It seemed as good a spot as any to camp, and Jack let the horse forage for herself while he set things up.

He managed to scrape enough deadwood together for a tidy little fire, and he strummed a few tunes on his silver-stringed guitar while the beans were boiling with a little fatback in the pot.

As Jack ate, the emerging night bugs were just warming up their nightly chorus – and then a bunch of them stopped, all at once. Jack heard a few uncertain footfalls just outside the range of the firelight.

"Why don'tcha step on over and share my fire, friend?" Jack called out, setting aside his guitar.

Jack did his best to keep the surprise off his face when an Indian loomed into the circle of light. He wondered for a moment how it was the man had made so much noise, since Indians had that reputation as silent hunters, but the wounds on the man's arm and leg quickly made that apparent. The gash along his arm was especially cruel-looking, and blood still dripped from it. The Indian caught the drops in his hand as they fell, but he held a knife in the other.

Jack smiled and nodded. "You speak my language?"

The man made no response.

"Well, even so, you have a weapon and I don't – " Jack held up his hands to emphasize the fact – "but it looks like you could use some help. Would you like somethin' to eat?"

He held his plate, slowly. The Indian's eyes shifted towards it, wanting it, not wanting it. With a quick move, he jerked the plate out of Jack's hands and sniffed it, then took a tentative bite, keeping Jack pinned with his eyes.

"Now, while you're eatin', I might could help you with that arm." Jack pointed to his own arm and pantomimed cleaning and dressing the wound as best he could. The man narrowed is eyes.

"So, I'm a-gonna stand up and get my bag so I can put together a poultice and bandages for you." Jack started to get to his feet, but the man stood up, brandishing his knife.

"Alrighty then," said Jack mildly and sat back down. The Indian put down the bowl and slowly backed away until he was hidden in the darkness.

Jack sat still for a few minutes, then blew out a long breath between his lips. He glanced over at his passive horse. "Well, Killer, that weren't the most friendliest conversation I ever had. Think I might keep the fire stoked for a while yet." He threw a branch on the flames and retrieved his guitar, turning over the words to a new song as he absently strummed.

* * * * * * *

The Indian sat a ways away from Jack's fire in a shallow depression, watching the firelight while he knotted a rag around his arm. He listened to the faint chords slipping through the night air from Jack's guitar. Once he finished with his arm, he stayed for a while before nodding to himself and slipping away into the night.

Black Powder Arcana

I am here. I will be posting. :)

Black Powder Arcana

A couple of qwuick questions...

Is the church in the center of town a Catholic church?

What time of year is it?

Black Powder Arcana

John Tatum (aka "Scarecrow Jack," "Wanderin' Jack")

Name: John Tatum (more commonly known as "Scarecrow Jack" or "Wanderin' Jack")

Age: 36

Descriptor: Appalachian guitar-pickin' Wise Man.

Appearance: One quick glance tells you where the nickname came from: John is over six feet tall, thin and tough like an iron nail. His clean-shaven face is not unhandsome, with blue eyes clear and sharp like a mountain creek, a prominent nose, and an honest smile. His brown hair is a bit unruly and tucked under a shapeless hat. His hands are large and capable-looking. While his clothes aren't fancy, they are rugged, practical, and in good repair.

Biography: John was born and raised in the part of Appalachia that would later be called West Virginia. He was trained as an outdoorsman from an early age. He had a quiet step, a sharp eye, and a fair hand with a rifle even before he was conscripted into the Union army. With a copy of The Long Lost Friend in his pocket he was able to help his fellow soldiers maintain their health and their faith on the campaign trail.

Once the war ended, John Intended to settle down in his beloved mountains. But was seized with a restlessness that has occupied him ever since. His endless travels and natural curiosity have led him to people both good and evil, and circumstances both natural and unnatural. Soon enough he realized he was a Wanderer, propelled by some unseen calling to travel about and help the small folk across the land.

More recently, that drive sent him across the mighty Mississippi. Nowadays he's not sure if there's something pushing him from behind, or calling him forward. Is Ulysses the cynosure of his calling? He doesn't know, but that's where he's headed...

Normal skills:

Outdoor survival. John is an accomplished outdoorsman, actually more comfortable sleeping outside than indoors. He can fend for himself outdoors for an extended period of time, identify plants and animals, track, hunt & forage well, and do a pretty good job of not getting lost.
Good shot with a rifle. Less so with a revolver.
Broad scope of folk knowledge. Including herbal lore, basic homey skills, and a vast array of knowledge about spirits, ghosts, ghouls, and all kinds of unnatural creatures and how to deal with them.
Wandering balladeer. John's an excellent guitar player who knows hundreds of songs. He can also make up a song on the spur of the moment.
Bare-knuckle fighter. John can put up his dukes when he needs to.
Will power and resolve. John don't give up easy, and he never surrenders to evil.

Special skills:

White magic. While John has never been apprenticed to a magical teacher, he has a lot of practical experience with white magic, mostly protective/defensive/abjurational charms and rituals. He still has his dog-eared copy of The Long Lost Friend to help him.

Normal possessions: Bedroll, tinder box, Bowie knife, hunting rifle and cartridges, water skin, change of clothes, good boots, beat-up hat, copy of The Long Lost Friend

Special possessions: Hand-made guitar with silver strings. The guitar itself is only special in that it sounds very nice. The strings are pure silver, but somehow put forth remarkable music. John sometimes uses his music to aid him in his white magic.

Black Powder Arcana

John Tatum (aka Scarecrow Jack, Wanderin' Jack)

Name: John Tatum (more commonly known as "Scarecrow Jack" or "Wanderin' Jack")
 
Age: 36
 
Descriptor: Appalachian guitar-pickin' Wise Man.
 
Appearance: One quick glance tells you where the nickname came from: John is over six feet tall, thin and tough like an iron nail.  His clean-shaven face is not unhandsome, with blue eyes clear and sharp like a mountain creek, a prominent nose, and an honest smile.  His brown hair is a bit unruly and tucked under a shapeless hat.  His hands are large and capable-looking.  While his clothes aren't fancy, they are rugged, practical, and in good repair.
 
Biography: John was born and raised in the part of Appalachia that would later be called West Virginia.  He was trained as an outdoorsman from an early age.  He had a quiet step, a sharp eye, and a fair hand with a rifle even before he was conscripted into the Union army.  With a copy of The Long Lost Friend in his pocket he was able to help his fellow soldiers maintain their health and their faith on the campaign trail.
 
Once the war ended, John Intended to settle down in his beloved mountains. But was seized with a restlessness that has occupied him ever since. His endless travels and natural curiosity have led him to people both good and evil, and circumstances both natural and unnatural. Soon enough he realized he was a Wanderer, propelled by some unseen calling to travel about and help the small folk across the land. 
 
More recently, that drive sent him across the mighty Mississippi.  Nowadays he's not sure if there's something pushing him from behind, or calling him forward. Is Ulysses the cynosure of his calling? He doesn't know, but that's where he's headed...

Normal skills:

Outdoor survival. John is an accomplished outdoorsman, actually more comfortable sleeping outside than indoors. He can fend for himself outdoors for an extended period of time, identify plants and animals, track, hunt & forage well, and do a pretty good job of not getting lost.
Good shot with a rifle. Less so with a revolver.
Broad scope of folk knowledge. Including herbal lore, basic homey skills, and a vast array of knowledge about spirits, ghosts, ghouls, and all kinds of unnatural creatures and how to deal with them.
Wandering balladeer. John's an excellent guitar player who knows hundreds of songs. He can also make up a song on the spur of the moment.
Bare-knuckle fighter. John can put up his dukes when he needs to.
Will power and resolve. John don't give up easy, and he never surrenders to evil.

Special skills:

White magic. While John has never been apprenticed to a magical teacher, he has a lot of practical experience with white magic, mostly protective/defensive/abjurational charms and rituals. He still has his dog-eared copy of The Long Lost Friend to help him.

Normal possessions: Bedroll, tinder box, Bowie knife, hunting rifle and cartridges, water skin, change of clothes, good boots, beat-up hat, copy of The Long Lost Friend

Special possessions: Hand-made guitar with silver strings. The guitar itself is only special in that it sounds very nice. The string are pure silver, but somehow put forth remarkable music. John sometimes uses his music to aid him in his white magic.

 

Black Powder Arcana

In what year (or, y'know, real-Earth year equivalent) is this taking place?

Black Powder Arcana [Hard West Inspired Western Roleplay]

This sounds pretty awesome. Is the setting more along the lines of "dark/horrible/magical things lurk in the shadows and most people don't even know they're there"? Or is it closer to "dark/horrible/magical things are everywhere"?

Until The Next Day!

OK, first draft:

Name: Devin Constable
Gender: M
Age: 27
Appearance: Caucasian, average height, slender build; dark hair that's usually falling over his eyes, thin face with a sharp nose and chin; arched brows and glittering black eyes.

Personality: Devin is a witty, gregarious man who's at ease in any kind of social gathering, with a knack for making others at ease in his presence. He values his privacy, so while he has many acquaintances, he has few true friends.

Bio: Devin was born and raised in an upper-middle-class Chicago suburb. His parents moved there specifically for Devin to attend school there, and their finances were stretched to the breaking point to afford it. Young Devin was very afraid of not fitting in, and learned early how to schmooze and entertain his fellow students so they wouldn't notice that his clothes were not the latest styles or that his phone was not the highest-end model. While Devin wasn't a part of the ultra-popular clique, he was also never ostracized or bullied; always around the fringes of activities, but never in the center. He got good grades, and after graduating from college with a business degree, Devin got a job as a salesman for a liquor distribution company, where he has won sales awards.

Powers:
- Transformation: Devin can transform into a flock of ravens, anywhere from a dozen or so to a massive flock of two hundred or more. While in this form, Devin can use the collective senses of the flock to take in information about his surroundings. With concentration, he can focus on the input from a particular bird. While Devin can still understand human language in flock form, he can only croak single words.
- Avian communication/influence: Devin has a limited ability to communicate with and influence (not control) the actions of birds outside his "flock self." The complexity of conversation depends on the intelligence of the bird.
- Remarkable agility: Devin has acquired a great sense of balance and superb body control and coordination.
- Magnetic field sense: Devin can use the Earth's magnetic field to orient himself to magnetic north.

Likes: Group activities, the nightlife, having a private space to retreat to
Dislikes: crappy weather, being alone for too long, confrontation
Family: Parents, no siblings, cousins on the East Coast he vaguely knows
Friends: Marcie Bateman, one of his few close friends from high school; Marcel Moussa, a buddy from Northwestern University who is currently finishing up his PhD in Physics
Sentimental Attachment: His old iPod, which he still keeps his favorite music on
Weapon: None (unless you count having a silver tongue)
Other:

Supers RP using Icons (written by Steve Kenson of Mutants & Masterminds fame)

*crickets*

Bumping, because there has to be at least one or two Icons players out there somewhere... maybe?

Also, the game is simple to play and easy to learn, so if you don't know it, I'd be happy to teach you.

Supers RP using Icons (written by Steve Kenson of Mutants & Masterminds fame)

Wondering if there's any love for Kenson's "other" supers RPG, Icons?

The game I'd like to run would feature the player-characters as the premiere team of a city built upon the ashes of Gary, Indiana in the 1990's, shortly after the first supers appeared, and the first super-villain blew up the whole town. The man who designed and oversaw the construction of the new metropolis, Millennium City*, turned out to be as insane as he was brilliant (a fact only discovered well after the fact, unfortunately), and the place is a little… off.

The tone of the game would be strongly Silver Age, seasoned with Astro City dramatics and a touch of Grant Morrison uber-weirdness.

Why Icons? I like the simplicity of the system, but it retains some tactical considerations and a strong emphasis of thinking outside the box. Warning: You would be rolling random characters (you would be allowed to arrange your stat rolls as you please).

Any interest?

*Not the Champions setting