Clever Hans

Gifted Tempest

John Dexter Severin

Name
John Dexter Severin

Age
47

Sex
M

Description
6' tall, 210 pounds. Dirty blond hair and beard, sharp blue eyes. Still in good physical shape, although combat and the intervening years have worn him down to a certain degree. He almost always rugged, practical, outdoor clothing.

Power
JD can generate and channel vibrations from his hands. He will be able use this gift to shake whatever he touches. Depending on the make-up of the object, he could reach its resonant frequency and cause it to shake apart. If he touches a living being, he can "shock" them with a high-frequency buzz (think of a giant joy buzzer). Once he manifests, his power level would be very low to start with (like maybe being able to shatter a juice glass or a window), and get progressively stronger. (I'm also toying with the idea that his medication limits his power, so that the only way to reach his true potential is to go off his meds... not sure what you think of that notion...)

Limitations
He can't "shoot" vibrations through the air at people. The effect is not instantaneous; the larger and tougher the object, the longer it would take JD to shake it apart. The longer it takes, the more of a drain it is on him.

Brief history
JD grew up in a small farming town. He didn't care much about school, but he did enjoy athletics and hunting. Bored of his hometown, JD joined the Marines right out of high school, and wound up doing a full 20 years. He saw action in Iraq and Afghanistan. Due to problems with fighting and insubordination, JD bounced between ranks, and was a Private First Class when he retired.

JD's military pension was held up and eventually reduced due to some legal wrangling that was never adequately explained to him. Feeling betrayed by Uncle Sam and dealing with PTSD, JD bounced from town to town and job to job, until he finally found a job in the warehouse of a national wilderness supply store chain. Looking for the stability the military had once provided, JD fell in with a local "militia," and began to get steeped in anti-government dogma. He became convinced that the U.S. government was on the verge of instituting national martial law, and he plotted with fellow militia members ways to bring down government institutions and fight the imminent takeover.

JD began struggling with virulent nightmares, and eventually went to see a VA doctor. The doctor prescribed antipsychotic medication that JD was very reluctant to take, but after a particularly bad night, he started the medication routine. To his surprise, the drug reduced his nightmares and daytime episodes - at which point JD realized he was hanging around with some very dangerous people. While he hasn't "broken ranks" with the militia (he still feels that the government is up to something very sinister involving overthrowing the democracy, and the recent treatment of the Gifted hasn't brightened that outlook any), he is now aware that there are some very unstable people in the "movement," and he is considering distancing himself from their efforts. He is still very much in favor of stopping this action through violent means, but he is taken aback by the lack of concern for civilian casualties some militia members express.

Gifted Tempest

John Dexter Severin

Name
John Dexter Severin

Age
47

Sex
M

Description
6' tall, 210 pounds. Dirty blond hair and beard, sharp blue eyes. Still in good physical shape, although combat and the intervening years have worn him down to a certain degree. He almost always rugged, practical, outdoor clothing.

Power
JD can generate and channel vibrations from his hands. He can use this gift to shake whatever he touches. Depending on the make-up of the object, he can reach its resonant frequency and cause it to shake apart. If he touches a living being, he can "shock" them with a high-frequency buzz (think of a giant joy buzzer). His power level would be very low to start with (like maybe being able to shatter a juice glass or a window), and get progressively stronger. (I'm also toying with the idea that his medication limits his power, so that the only way to reach his true potential is to go off his meds... not sure what you think of that notion...)

Limitations
He can't "shoot" vibrations through the air at people. The effect is not instantaneous; the larger and tougher the object, the longer it would take JD to shake it apart. The longer it takes, the more of a drain it is on him.

Brief history
JD grew up in a small farming town. He didn't care much about school, but he did enjoy athletics and hunting. Bored of his hometown, JD joined the Marines right out of high school, and wound up doing a full 20 years. He saw action in Iraq and Afghanistan. Due to problems with fighting and insubordination, JD bounced between ranks, and was a Private First Class when he retired.

JD's military pension was held up and eventually reduced due to some legal wrangling that was never adequately explained to him. Feeling betrayed by Uncle Sam and dealing with PTSD, JD bounced from town to town and job to job, until he finally found a job in the warehouse of a national wilderness supply store chain. Looking for the stability the military had once provided, JD fell in with a local "militia," and began to get steeped in anti-government dogma. He became convinced that the U.S. government was on the verge of instituting national martial law, and he plotted with fellow militia members ways to bring down government institutions and fight the imminent takeover.

JD began struggling with virulent nightmares, and eventually went to see a VA doctor. The doctor prescribed antipsychotic medication that JD was very reluctant to take, but after a particularly bad night, he started the medication routine. To his surprise, the drug reduced his nightmares and daytime episodes - at which point JD realized he was hanging around with some very dangerous people. While he hasn't "broken ranks" with the militia (he still feels that the government is up to something very sinister involving overthrowing the democracy, and the recent treatment of the Gifted hasn't brightened that outlook any), he is now aware that there are some very unstable people in the "movement," and he is considering distancing himself from their efforts. He is still very much in favor of stopping this action through violent means, but he is taken aback by the lack of concern for civilian casualties some militia members express.

Clockwork & Anima

Bumpitty.

Gifted Tempest

Definitely interested.

Do Gifts typically conform to some aspect of the psyche of the individual, or are they pretty random?
Do people have "single" Gifts, or "suites" of Gifts?
Is there a way of detecting Gifted people (other than watching them work their Gifts)? Is that fact known to the general public?

Clockwork & Anima

Your eyes flip open with a faint click. Looming in your vision is the careworn face of a kindly old man, spectacles perched on his long, thin nose.

"Ah, there you are, my dear," he says softly. "Welcome back to the world."

"Where am I?" you ask, puzzled.

"You are in my home," he replies, smiling. "With your family."

He gestures across the candlelit room where several life-size dolls stand. The details of their construction are breathtaking: their hands delicate, their faces exquisitely detailed, their hair perfectly-styled - and as you glance at them, their heads turn to look back at you!

Somehow, this seems familiar and not at all shocking to you. "How did I get here?" You ask.

"Aha, now that is a very long tale, and perhaps best left for another time. For now, let me help you to your feet, my dear."

You have little problem swinging your daintily-clad feet off the low table to stand up. In fact, you worry that the old man would be incapable of supporting your weight. He guides you to a mirror lit by flanking candles, and stands beside you as you see yourself…

His skin is wrinkled, while yours is smooth and pale. His hands are large and gnarled; yours are small, delicate, and perfect in every way. When you reach to touch the mirror, your fingers click lightly as they touch the glass. Impulsively, you take his hand in yours, turning it over, feeling the warmth and texture that yours lack.

"I am... not like you," you hesitantly conclude.

"No my, dear. You are not human. You are avtomat."

---

Europe, 1778. You are part of a group of sentient clockwork automata called avtomat. Your self-awareness comes from an anima located deep within the complex mechanisms of your body. When it's in place, you are a thinking, feeling being, with a full range of emotions. If it is removed, your mind is shrouded in darkness and your body is a clockwork curiosity.

Being a clockwork automata has many advantages: You don't have to eat or drink. You don't have to breathe. You don't get tired. You don't need to sleep. You don't feel physical pain. You don't bleed.

But there are a few disadvantages. You don't heal when you are damaged. Your parts wear out. You are not buoyant. Your memories may not be complete.

Oh, and one other small detail: nearly every one of the millions of humans on the planet would likely destroy you as blasphemous products of witchcraft if they found out what you are.

This is Clockwork & Anima. The key to your survival is to keep your true nature secret from humanity as you pursue the questions basic to all sentient beings: Who are you? Who created you? What is your purpose?

---

I'm looking for a group of 3-6 players who are interested to try a game that's a bit off the beaten RPG path. This is a plot-driven game, but I can promise you that I am not a railroading GM. The decisions you make can greatly affect the course of events. The entire world is a potential destination, and you will be surrounded by great events of the times as you search for meaning in a hostile world.

We'll be using a very rules-light system to resolve risky actions. It's a hack of the free game Laser and Feelings by John Harper. (You can look at the original game here to get a feel for the simple dynamics of the system. Obviously, the details of my hack will be different.) Defining a character in game terms takes just a minute or two.

I would slot this game as "high casual." Lengthy posts are welcome; shorter posts are also perfectly fine.

I would like at least two posts per week.

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.