Sierra

Shadows in the Dread City- A Cyberpunk RolePlay

@Kingfisher I'm already neck deep in porting the lore associated with this character and I see no immediate contradictions to anything you just added, so any objections to me continuing to work on Panopticon Securities and some other referenced organizations (you know how mega corps are .... few thousand subsidiaries each)?

Also sculpters are Eldar confirmed? :P

Shadows in the Dread City- A Cyberpunk RolePlay

And what if I beat you to the lore? :P

The character I would want to use has a fairly large amount of material integrated into her history to the point where its getting more and more difficult to actually adapt it. This is kinda my issue actually, since I'm basically caught between being able to have the setting/lore I want, and being able to tell the story that needs to be told.

Prisoner's of Pandora. (Scrapped for now)

@ShwiggityShwahAwesome! Those ideas are spectacular, I'll definitely add in a section for that kind of occupation, thank you.

Yes, satellites and space travel as well as more things on ground like medical science and vehicles are very advanced.

@Aamaya

Judging from that im going to guess the parallels to Avatar (the movie rather than the S-tier cartoon series) are very intentional.

Shadows in the Dread City- A Cyberpunk RolePlay

I've got some competing interests on the table, but I'll still bite.

Endless Horizon - Sci-Fi Space Nationgame

Out of curiosity did this ever end up going anywhere? Though I was warded off by the semi-contradictory description of FTL I've maintained my lurk.

Character Creation Opinions/Methods/Discussion.

Gonna crash the party with an outlandish opinion. There is no such thing as a good character sheet. There are only varying degrees of bad. Why do I dare say such heresy? In no world can you condense the complexities of human emotion and psychology into something remotely digestible.

For every CS I write, there's usually 2-3x more words in a separate doc I refer to as a psych profile. This is haphazardly scribbled notes I used to keep track of the complexities of characters. As I've grown more complex and more believable with my characters I've taken to putting less and less into CSs because to me, nothing I write in the CS will be truly representative so I do my best to minimize misrepresentation. The art of a CS as I see it is about giving just enough information to allow the character to be fairly judged by the GM, while giving as little else as possible to avoid misrepresentation.

I kept this version extremely brief because there was no point being verbose and going into various minutia of things.

EDIT:

Best course of action is to just not use character sheets as a point of reference for a role player. Lurk their previous posts instead.

@tex

There are people on this site who know I take massive issue with what you're implying there, Lady A being among them.

✢ Affairs of the Court ✢

You already know that my name cannot be in that hat.

✢ Affairs of the Court ✢

I'm with @ayzrules on this one. Yall have no authority to make that kind of usurp and I'm rather disturbed it was even considered. Coming from slower moving RPs, 4 days is nothing. That said, @bloonewb that was a massive overstep on your part. I appreciate @eclecticwitch's more tempered approach to it.

Tear the World Down

BEST LAID PLANS

A collaboration of Sierra, Drunken Conquistador, and Whoami.

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---

A rumble in the air snapped Adi from her somber stare. Another horse. Even in her exhausted state, she reflexively turned to face what was almost certainly a second round of hostile forces. Mercifully it was just another of the party and not more soldiers. In her battered state, a second wave would be a tall order to survive without question. He seemed to have fared the battle far better than she did. She was alive though, and that had to count for something. There definitely would be a round two if they stayed here.
"We have been compromised! Make ready to break camp and move soon!"
Here he was taking charge. This band of misfits would be a hard one to rally under a single plan, though he was right. Getting far away from here was the only sound course of action. "No shit ... how in the hell did they find us?!" she hollered as he and his horse strode past.

"That's what we need to find out!" Gabriel shouted back, bringing his horse to a stop "Where's the prisoner?"
"Over there with our practicing witch," Adi gestured with her free hand towards where Gwynne had the terrified imperial soldier pinned to the dirt.
"It's a start..." Gabriel half muttered as he dismounted. "I don't suppose you have any actual experience in interrogation?" He asked the woman.
She looked over towards where the captive was still held. He would be a seasoned fighter like the rest, but none of the imperials were mentally prepared to face down sorcerers as powerful as any one of them. He looked barely older than she was and he was scared shitless. "I don't think that's even necessary," she remarked, "He's pissed himself already. Look at him funny and he'll tell you everything he knows."
But what did he know? That was the question. Who among them had they tracked to find them here?
"Good." Gabriel smiled, extending an arm for his eagle to land upon. "It has been a while since I last had to break some legs personally". He then turned fully to look at Adi. "You look threatening enough, follow me." And with that he moved towards the prisoner and his captor.

Her .... threatening ... Her neck was black as the ribbon on her necklace, her hair was a nasty tangled mess, and her clothes were torn in more than one place from being caught by sharpened steel. "Honest question, what's it matter?" she yelled after him, "They found us this time, they'll find us again. At this rate they'll pick us all off one by one." her melancholy pessimism reared its head again.
Gabriel stopped, turning slowly towards the woman with a slight frown on his face. "By all means, walk out and look for the nearest Imperial patrol if you have already given up."
"You know what I mean!" that was a little too pointed for her liking, "Running around camping in abandoned ruins and dark forests only slows down Vahkran's goons. It won't stop them."
"If you would stop moaning and crying for a moment, girl." Gabriel spat, taking a moment to put down his growing irritation.
Her eyes snapped up towards him. She shrugged off most things without issue but that was over a line. She stomped after him, fist tightening against her weapon."Say that again and you'll find out just how injured I am ..." she growled through grit teeth, "Now show me you have a plan that isn't suicide."
'Now is not the time to fi-' 'Shut. It. Kassandra.' she cut off the voice in her head.
"The entire world wants us dead." Gabriel replied, deliberately keeping his voice level. "If we are to have any chance to succeed in our mission, we need to be careful and come up with a plan. The Imperial whelp might not know much of the machinations that brought him here, but he's sure to know if there are more patrols in the area, their numbers and general dispositions. We need to get out of these ruins and lose our pursuers, if there are more of them. Once we have achieved some measure of safety, then we can sit down and work out our next step."

Adi took a breath, not breaking her burning stare. "Alright fine," she conceded, still peeved, "We find out what the whelp knows, and then we figure out where on the gods' earth we can go from here."
"Then let's go." Gabriel replied simply as he resumed his walk to the captive. "Keep the angry face." He chuckled, petting the eagle that had now moved onto his shoulder. Beneath the calm facade, Gabriel was already wondering how he would deal with this group if all future interactions were going to be like that. "Alas, these are not your mercenaries. Making them follow you will be much more challenging than simply commanding sellswords. Nor it's something we particularly want, my fellow Legionnaires are a prideful bunch, they won't take it kindly to you ordering them around"

---

"Speak!" Gwynne commanded as she willed a shard of ice deeper into the footman's wound.
The man let out a cry of pain. He had a look of fear on his face, a fear that Gwynne was all too familiar with. People who had beared witness to her magical talent feared her like the footman did. He whimpered, "Gods Above, protect me! Gods Above, deliver me from this evil!"
Gwynne clenched her teeth. She wasn't going to make much progress with a man attempting to find faith as his last resort. The force orb orbited around Gwynne, the light pulsating from it slowly. Topesh spoke for everyone to hear, "There are more effective ways to glean information from broken men, Apostate. "

"But none more expedient!" Adrianna bellowed from a distance, overhearing the talking ball trying to countermand its bearer.
While torture had abysmal success rates, it got at least something faster than any other method. "Allow me to take a different approach." Gabriel called out as he approached, Adrianna right behind him, "The way you're going might end up killing the captive before he talks."
Gwynne stopped what she was doing when she heard the other two approaching. The footman was left whimpering on the ground as the ice shards caused cases of frostbite around his injuries. Gwynne took a deep breath and gestured to the footman while looking at Gabriel. "Very well. What do you suggest?"
"A trade." Gabriel replied before turning to kneel before the whimpering footman. "I'm not gonna lie, boy. Your situation isn't looking too good right now. So, here's what I propose: you tell me what you know about this whole operation and you don't die a terribly painful death. We even got a fellow back there who could take a look at your wounds. Or you could keep what you're doing and...well, you can imagine what's gonna happen."

Gabriel terrified him slightly less. Maybe it was the vague similarities between a mercenary captain and his commanding officer. Former commanding officer at that, as he too was now among the mess of corpses. Maybe it was him not being the one driving icey nails into his flesh. His quivering breath had slowed just a shred, enough for the adrenaline high to begin to fade. With its departure came the throb of his injuries, his teeth gritting ever harder. He was so tense he could barely move his neck but he nodded feverishly to the proposal. Perhaps this one among them would at least show mercy and put him out of his misery.

"That's good". Gabriel smiled. "The first thing I want to know is how many more of you there are in the area, can you tell me that?"
He struggled to get words into his mouth. "I- I- Uh- ... Um- whole regiment, sss... south- southeast I think," he stammered out as fast as he could think, "D- D- Day and a half march from here!"
"And what about officers? Do you know who's in command of the operation?" Gabriel pressed on, ignoring his own growing discomfort at the news.
"I- I don't know! It never mattered... ummm.... no one special I know of. There was... there was a um ..." he rambled on trying to appease his captors, "Imperial Inquisitor! There was an imperial inquisitor ... the commander mentioned. Commander, commander hmm, Geisler. And the inquisitor ... what was his name? what was his name? c'mon ..."
"Would some water help jog your memory, boy?" Gabriel asked, as his black warhorse calmly approached the group.
He didn't fully hear what was asked of him next. His whole body felt heavy, the exhaustion taking its toll, and the edges of his vision were going fuzzy. "I ca- I can't feel... can't feel my hands ...." he sputtered, head writhing on the ground.
"Shit, he's fading," the hoarseness in Adi's voice was growing worse, as speaking became more painful for her, "I'm gonna... go get that wrelmsman girl who can help."
She turned and jogged off, careful not to overexert herself.

Gwynne stepped forward, "I can charge some aetheric energy into his body to keep him lucid for a bit longer. Though once it filters out, he won't be of much use to us afterward."
"Thank you." Gabriel said to Gwynne before turning back to the captive. "C'mon, boy. Just a name, you can do it!"
Gwynne waved her hand, commanding the orb to float just above the captive's weakening body. "Give him a charge, Topesh. Nothing much."
The legionnaire scoffed, "I'm astounded that you're so willing to give away your aetheric energy just to prolong this boy's suffering for a few extra minutes."
Gwynne rolled her eyes, "Do it Topesh..."
The orb didn't speak again. It started pulsating with energy, which eventually funnelled down to connect to the footman. The boy gasped as magical energy flowed into his body. It worked like a sort of adrenaline, heightening his senses and quickening his heartbeat. The energy would take a toll on his body, but it would serve the chosens' purposes in the short term.

The jolt got him awake again, his chest pumping rapidly with his panicked panting. Every fiber of his being burned from the shock, not even counting the ice nails still sunk into his soft tissues. "F-f-f-f-... v- v-... v- ... va- ... Valdi ... Valdi is-is- is-his name ..."
His head rolled sideways, barely able to maintain consciousness even with Topesh shocking him back from the brink.

---

Adi's jog didn't last more than about ten paces. She couldn't keep up the exertion both from exhaustion and her half-closed throat. She could yell just fine a moment ago but now she had nothing left. She tried to recall the other girl's name. They were only introduced briefly the night prior. "Fay, Fayvre!" she managed to grunt aloud, "they're interrogating our one captive ... but they're losing him fast ..."
She had no doubt she looked like shit, but she would live for the next few minutes. The prisoner very well might not.

✢ Affairs of the Court ✢

For all the fiery resistance to the domineering will of her mother typical of Sam, this time she sat in silence across from the perpetually-dissatisfied woman, finally conceding partway through the carriage ride ... or so Mother thought. The reputation of the untamable Samantha Whitmore would not be proven false on this night, or any other night upon which Sam drew breath. Mother father and daughter all wore the frowns residual of the night’s previous argument. The gaudy red hat, giant bow, and sparkling gold ribbons in her braids were obviously not Sam’s idea, and the girl would not stand for anything that was not her idea. To do so would subject her to being paraded in front of men like merchandise on display, with her value being reduced to whatever last name she could be compelled to take. This trip was no different, so thought the parents. She had other plans. She always had other plans.

Both her parents had important business to attend to back home during her time attending. Zero parental supervision. That was honestly low hanging fruit. Was she not supposed to use this time for her own adventures? No, that is exactly what she was going to do. Maybe she’d flirt a bit with some cute guy, but this was mostly going to be about her. ‘Noblewoman’s grace’ was out the window. This would be one of the few and treasured times when the wild side of Sam Whitmore could take center stage.

She wanted her hat back. Not the hideous crimson umbrella with a massive bow that made her look like a bloody christmas present Mother had forced upon her head, the slimmer black hat that matched the jacket Mother had also taken. The thin gold trimming on the brim looked far better on her head than tacky ribbons. At least if she couldn’t take the braids out it would match her hair too. It naturally matched with the cuff embroidery on the jacket that prevented her dress from feeling like the apparel of a streetwalker. That would need to be taken back too, lest the undecorated top advertise her bosom constantly.

The displeasure wagon came to a halt out front where a greeter promptly opened the door for the arriving guest. Sam seized upon the opportunity and tossed the abhorrent red frisbee at Mother. In a single swift motion she stood, reclaimed her choice of wardrobe, and exited the carriage. Mother lurched after her but did not set foot to the ground. Father had seized her by the arm, knowing better how to pick battles with their oxheaded daughter. “Samantha Meredith Whitmore you bring that back here!” she bellowed in the distance.
“You never did care for my fashion choices Mother, but I care for yours even less,” she goaded back.
Mother wouldn’t stand for a public spectacle, especially not right before her daughter appeared before lords and kings. Sam would, though, and the defiant girl knew that. “It’s not worth it,” Father pleaded with his wife, and he was right.
With both of them returning to Chesterford at once, there simply was no time or point fighting a battle over wardrobe here and now. It was unlikely one they would win. Mother conceded the contest and slammed the carriage door shut. “Where did I go wrong with that child ...” she mused aloud.

Sam was already halfway to the chateau by the time the carriage pulled away, and was pulling at the ribbon woven into her head. Were the braids smaller she might have been successful, but instead of using only a few locks Mother had the bright idea of putting her entire head of hair into a crown braid that wrapped around the sides of her head and then came together in a single large rope. That had to go, and the sandpaper-like quality of the ribbon frizzing her hair with every pull wasn’t helping either. Thus the braids were gone by the time she reached the door, her hands incessantly combing it out for a down-but-wavy style.

---

She was no royalty and garnered no special introduction. It suited her though. She would take the spotlight on her time, not anyone else’s. There seemed to be enough women who favored a crimson red for her to not immediately stick out. There would be a time for that soon enough. For now, the periphery was populated with random gentlemen only worthy of a glancing inspection, nothing more. It would take more than title to catch Sam’s eye, and more than a fashion statement to hold her attention.

She paced through the room, catching the occasional stare. ‘Let them stare,’ she thought to herself, caring not what a few petty noblemen thought of her choice of outfit. She had paired a brilliant scarlet dress, of full collar and quarter sleeves floor length as typical but split up to the knee and wide enough to spin a perfect circle, with an unbuttoned black men’s jacket with gold embroidery on the cuff. Her affinity for hats withstanding, she topped the outfit with a relatively short flat-top hat in a matching black. Her hair being down lent a much more appealing caramel color to the mix where the gold ribbon had simply been tacky. The trademark style of Samantha Whitmore struck an odd balance between provocative and reserved, with a mandatory dose of unconventionality ... and a certain overtness as a result.

She kept her brisk pace along the perimeter, passing by the uninteresting folk rambling on about something inane as far as she cared. There seemed to be a handful of interesting parties floating around, much as she was. Some of them had managed to gather together, likely gossiping in the same pattern of the uninteresting rabble. It left her selection of potential acquaintances irritatingly small, but that was the price for being as ultra selective as she was. At least Mother wasn’t here to parade her in front of every drab, half-inebriated and overly handsy noble in the manor.