I will take a weak hit over a spectacular miss, @Hekazu, no less is it that I cannot imagine kobolds to be too sturdy now. Hopefully it is softened enough that someone particularly devoted to doing the ranged option as it were, would be able to see it off.
The Harbinger of Ferocity Member
STATUS: Masses are always breeding grounds of psychic epidemics. 6 yrs ago- Last Seen: 4 yrs ago
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6 yrs ago
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Masses are always breeding grounds of psychic epidemics.
6 yrs ago
The highest, most decisive experience is to be alone with one's own self. You must be alone to find out what supports you, when you find that you can not support yourself.
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7 yrs ago
One cannot live from anything except what one is.
7 yrs ago
The slave to virtue finds the way as little as the slave to vices.
7 yrs ago
The core of an individual is the mystery of life, which dies when it is 'grasped'. That is also why symbols want to keep their secrets.
Bio
The Harbinger of Ferocity
Agent of the Wild, Aspect of the Ferine
Nature, red in tooth and claw.
"There is, indeed, no single quality of the cat that man could not emulate to his advantage."
- Carl Van Vechten
I am, at my core, a personification and manifestation of those things whose blood and hearts run red with the ferocity of the animal world. It is this which convicts and controls my works, my writing, my being; the force and guidance in which I gain wisdom from. It is what inspires me as a creator and weaver of words, the very thing I admire as an author.
My leanings, savage as they are, are of the feline sort as there exists no greater lineage of beasts whom can be drawn from. No others captivate and motivate my talent and skill as the greatest of cats do.
Most Recent Posts
The strain on the sinew of the huntsman's bow tightened as the knocked arrow fell further back, the obscuring walls of the cave and their natural shadows affording just enough cover and concealment for the deadly bolt to be not only freed but launched at all. The air within the man's chest quietly exited and his whole body fell into a stillness; eyes watching the beating wings, he timed the shot to try and puncture one. Immediately, as his fingers loosed the shot, the entirety of the arrow launched itself with blinding speed across the cave and dead toward the scaly thing, just as he had peppered the far larger one some nights before. A bow wasn't the man's most masterful application of weapon but it was a deadly tool all the same when the enemy was out of reach, just as they were in the dark, low hang of the cave.
The second fight was on for real now, as the foes had probably realized it was far more than just an insult slinging halfling and an odd shadowed figure or two. Their odd flying knack was going to prove annoying as well but the priestess, old man, and small woman all had shown many times they had ample means to deal with that, not just in raw firepower either but wit. As for the half-blood? Brannor never pretended to know what the wildman had in store and as he knocked another arrow, fletching between his leather shrouded fingers, he was not about to spend the time thinking on it either; the cave, mushrooms, dragons, and now these flying vermin were his concerns.
@Hekazu@Ryonara@Gordian Nought@Lucius Cypher@Norschtalen
The second fight was on for real now, as the foes had probably realized it was far more than just an insult slinging halfling and an odd shadowed figure or two. Their odd flying knack was going to prove annoying as well but the priestess, old man, and small woman all had shown many times they had ample means to deal with that, not just in raw firepower either but wit. As for the half-blood? Brannor never pretended to know what the wildman had in store and as he knocked another arrow, fletching between his leather shrouded fingers, he was not about to spend the time thinking on it either; the cave, mushrooms, dragons, and now these flying vermin were his concerns.
@Hekazu@Ryonara@Gordian Nought@Lucius Cypher@Norschtalen
That I am aware of, I just needed to be sure that the attack would be what reveals; moving would have made this not so possible. That said, I will deal with it shortly enough.
Then as we are on to ranged weapons, can Brannor loose an arrow from his bow at the bottom rightmost kobold from his hidden position, @Hekazu? Or will he need step out and break his hidden position to do this? The goal is to try and retain that advantage and hopefully tag one of them with an actual hit.
"I have studied many philosophers and many cats. The wisdom of cats is infinitely superior."
I have now at last returned so on to the associated business. As such, for these flying kobolds, how many feet are they off the ground? Are they within melee range of Brannor's blade if he were to approach them or are they high enough that unless the weapon has reach, it will not strike, @Hekazu?
I do honestly pose, having seen this topic arise again, that a completely free, no character sheet submission or the like topic be made, and anyone who wishes be allowed to join. I stipulate the latter because the general idea, the hope of this overarching endeavor, is that it would work. However, I do not wish to waste anyone's time on it and see it burn to the ground as a bunch of questionable characters, and or their players, have at it. I suppose it would be fair, based on the author's intent, that these people need collaborate with the Game Master but I believe this will just lead back around into the supposed infinite list of potential misunderstandings of varying ideas of what something means.
I would also offer that to be perfectly fair, it should not be stacked with persons the Game Master knows and trusts, i.e. those who would ensure this goes as close to flawlessly as possible because they all have a mutual understanding. For the best experiment we would need repeat this a few times over in varying manners and attempt to level it against other roleplays. Although I have the sneaking suspicion, some inkling, that I already know the answer; that without knowing each person individually and very well, this will not play out to any benefit.
I would also offer that to be perfectly fair, it should not be stacked with persons the Game Master knows and trusts, i.e. those who would ensure this goes as close to flawlessly as possible because they all have a mutual understanding. For the best experiment we would need repeat this a few times over in varying manners and attempt to level it against other roleplays. Although I have the sneaking suspicion, some inkling, that I already know the answer; that without knowing each person individually and very well, this will not play out to any benefit.
I believe both those things to be equally excessive, their act of doing so, and your own reaction to it. They might be irritating but the exaggeration of what should be down about it is slightly disproportionate, even in jest, @Chasebloodcrest. On a related fact, I do not understand why some couples must display just how "in love" they are to everyone and everything in all that it is they do; nothing of the individual seems to remain. I can understand, as unlikely as some might think it to be, that love is an irrational thing and to have even slightly touched it and known it, yet that level and beyond I cannot grasp. It strikes me as being so far above and beyond that it is forced, insincere.
I will simply state that hoping for any sort of affirmation on expectations is the epitome of naivety with players and Game Masters alike and that goes for everyone, myself included. Players will avoid asking the most simple questions regularly and Game Masters will do anything they can to avoid putting more weight on themselves; engaging in constant question and answer sessions is exceptionally time consuming. Worse still, I would say Game Masters have it worse as people only have so much patience for things to be hashed out or mulled over. Games that do not near instantly start, at least on the Roleplayer Guild experience what might be exponential odds of failure unless the genre is so popular people will rush to play it. No amount of one player being dedicated and attempting to be proactive will make up for the three to four other people who are not.
I simultaneously agree and disagree otherwise that length and detail do not pertain. By this I mean that if a player submits a brief essay about how important their second childhood dog was and that dog has no bearing or relevance to the character, it is absolutely a waste of time to even have read it. Yet contrarily, if that character gives me an idea of why they are the way they are and give me, the Game Master or even a fellow player, a psychological explanation for that frame of mind, that is essential. I expect that, through and through, especially in the realm of potential cliche which is, in this example, people playing mental illnesses they know nothing about and could never, with their skill level, play out in writing; we all know such a character. But without a character sheet, how is this to be known? A literary perspective would only serve to make matters worse in the context of a roleplay because the author is not trying to lure anyone in, they are effectively trying to pass an examination.
I would state that the barest, truest sheet, not that the content itself should be short, contrary to that instead, but still consist of a name, a physical description, an address to personality, and a sample of who that character is in a scene. The first is obvious, the second equally so but crucially not to be neglected as other players should write and describe back observations about the other's person; they have a need to know features, but the scar on the sole of the right foot shouldn't be a detail unless for some reason people will not be wearing anything on their feet. The third and fourth? The third is again, essential, although mostly reserved for the Game Master although shrewd players should try to pick up on things to keep in mind... of course if their character is observant and watchful for these things. The last of course? Well, it goes without saying that is the examination of the person to see if they will pass the mark or not, although it should not be limited to just these; if a game involves any sort of conflict it should probably be noted what their talents are there, among other obvious modifications.
Speaking but only for myself, I would shelve the idea of a roleplay without character sheets and instead refine the most perfect examples of minimalism, in actual length, and maximized content. It does not say, take five paragraphs to explain that the mage character can cast a ball of fire, it takes but a handful to say what it is and what it does. Likewise, a character does not need to list their favorite food or theme song or so on and if they do, for whatever plot reason, an example as this probably does not require more than the same amount, three to five, sentences if there is a very particular reason it is relevant.
Frankly, part of my issue with even wanting to dispel character sheets in concept is that I just do not trust players or even Game Masters that much in regular terms to get away with that.
I simultaneously agree and disagree otherwise that length and detail do not pertain. By this I mean that if a player submits a brief essay about how important their second childhood dog was and that dog has no bearing or relevance to the character, it is absolutely a waste of time to even have read it. Yet contrarily, if that character gives me an idea of why they are the way they are and give me, the Game Master or even a fellow player, a psychological explanation for that frame of mind, that is essential. I expect that, through and through, especially in the realm of potential cliche which is, in this example, people playing mental illnesses they know nothing about and could never, with their skill level, play out in writing; we all know such a character. But without a character sheet, how is this to be known? A literary perspective would only serve to make matters worse in the context of a roleplay because the author is not trying to lure anyone in, they are effectively trying to pass an examination.
I would state that the barest, truest sheet, not that the content itself should be short, contrary to that instead, but still consist of a name, a physical description, an address to personality, and a sample of who that character is in a scene. The first is obvious, the second equally so but crucially not to be neglected as other players should write and describe back observations about the other's person; they have a need to know features, but the scar on the sole of the right foot shouldn't be a detail unless for some reason people will not be wearing anything on their feet. The third and fourth? The third is again, essential, although mostly reserved for the Game Master although shrewd players should try to pick up on things to keep in mind... of course if their character is observant and watchful for these things. The last of course? Well, it goes without saying that is the examination of the person to see if they will pass the mark or not, although it should not be limited to just these; if a game involves any sort of conflict it should probably be noted what their talents are there, among other obvious modifications.
Speaking but only for myself, I would shelve the idea of a roleplay without character sheets and instead refine the most perfect examples of minimalism, in actual length, and maximized content. It does not say, take five paragraphs to explain that the mage character can cast a ball of fire, it takes but a handful to say what it is and what it does. Likewise, a character does not need to list their favorite food or theme song or so on and if they do, for whatever plot reason, an example as this probably does not require more than the same amount, three to five, sentences if there is a very particular reason it is relevant.
Frankly, part of my issue with even wanting to dispel character sheets in concept is that I just do not trust players or even Game Masters that much in regular terms to get away with that.
In
Printed guns, melded metal - An experimental GM-less Cyberpunk RP
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8 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Getting transport back was easy, they wee expecting the terminal's call now, it was all just a matter of how long it took to physically drive there. After all, normally an armored roller wasn't sent into the Zone, it wasn't like one of the tanked-out taxis or Doc Wagon vehicles. But tip off that you have your mark and finishing up business, business they have been waiting for? Rest assured most corps or their contacts were... eager, to put it kindly. The type of salivating, hungry for that next splash of credits, kind. It meant more tech for everyone, most everyone, anyone that had a hand in it; all the bureaucracy at its finest. It didn't matter if you were a suit sitting in the glitzy side of town who just happened to "okay" the entire ordeal of the security who were on a retrieval team, your hand was in the jar, and that meant more stuff for you. Not much, but when you're at that level? Anything you touch makes you money and without the risk of getting your shiny, upper crust chrome blasted into a million pieces like the scavs fighting in the slums were for a piece of that profit.
So Theron considered himself lucky, real, real lucky after everything he had dealt with. Not just Tracy or Golemeth or all else, no, he meant everything. It wasn't like he was praising high heaven for it either, just deep inside glad that they were so damn hungry for their cut of the pay that they weren't going to leave him out here waiting. Freaks, tweaks, tuners, boosters, whatever the hell else existed now legitimately lived here in the Combat Zone and knew it like the back of their hand, because there wasn't any escape; sure as hell not into the Wastes and their particular brand of freakshow wasn't going to make it far in anything but the slums. So whatever they could get, they wanted bad.
Not having tech, other than a coat, some glasses, gloves, and a gun, made that a whole hell of a lot easier, as did dragging around a bleeding, burnt heap of a broken down cyborg. It just still wasn't easy, nothing was for the man as he tucked himself there in the alley, eyes glancing from one side to the next. He could hear engines, here that wasn't all too rare given some things still were going combustion, but what Theron sure as hell hadn't heard yet was the whine of a hydrogen turbine. An armored transport was a big, beefy wall of plasteel and plain old heat and projectile resistant ceramic, and had no shortage of firepower. It also was a beast of a money sink considering it was a privately owned tank on wheels, but when you were a corp the rules changed. Want an auto-cannon that would put holes through wall after wall and had self loading magazines from its batteries of armament? Sure, sure, whatever you want, as long as the money was good.
Just another symptom of what had happened to everything, apparently back in the day, before it all that wasn't the case. But now? Now that sweet whine of industrial engines was somewhere not far, which meant whatever service they dispatched for a pick-up of corp business was getting closer.
That just meant the man's eyes sifted through the gloomy, old neon glow and stared long and hard at the problem bot-man. He was even more a mess just laying there on his side in a puddle, jaw limp and probably drooling on himself. Theron just couldn't get the attraction of it all into his head. He signed this deal for biotech expressly, god knows where it was coming from or why, but it still got into his nerves and made him uneasy he simultaneously didn't have that kind of staying power all the while the fact it made someone that vulnerable. Hell, someone like Tracy, some decker or ripperdoc, of even moderate skill could just slap some plugs into the ports and browse the brain like it was no issue from a sleazy thought-trip house. It got a huff out of him, a shake of his head and a slight nudge of his boot to the crumpled mess of somewhat person.
"Still not worth the envy..." The man muttered as he rubbed the back of a sleeve to his nose, displacing the discomfort with the gesture, and allowing his attuned hearing to pick up the closing sound. Again that just led him to looking up the alleyway and back, no visitors yet.
So Theron considered himself lucky, real, real lucky after everything he had dealt with. Not just Tracy or Golemeth or all else, no, he meant everything. It wasn't like he was praising high heaven for it either, just deep inside glad that they were so damn hungry for their cut of the pay that they weren't going to leave him out here waiting. Freaks, tweaks, tuners, boosters, whatever the hell else existed now legitimately lived here in the Combat Zone and knew it like the back of their hand, because there wasn't any escape; sure as hell not into the Wastes and their particular brand of freakshow wasn't going to make it far in anything but the slums. So whatever they could get, they wanted bad.
Not having tech, other than a coat, some glasses, gloves, and a gun, made that a whole hell of a lot easier, as did dragging around a bleeding, burnt heap of a broken down cyborg. It just still wasn't easy, nothing was for the man as he tucked himself there in the alley, eyes glancing from one side to the next. He could hear engines, here that wasn't all too rare given some things still were going combustion, but what Theron sure as hell hadn't heard yet was the whine of a hydrogen turbine. An armored transport was a big, beefy wall of plasteel and plain old heat and projectile resistant ceramic, and had no shortage of firepower. It also was a beast of a money sink considering it was a privately owned tank on wheels, but when you were a corp the rules changed. Want an auto-cannon that would put holes through wall after wall and had self loading magazines from its batteries of armament? Sure, sure, whatever you want, as long as the money was good.
Just another symptom of what had happened to everything, apparently back in the day, before it all that wasn't the case. But now? Now that sweet whine of industrial engines was somewhere not far, which meant whatever service they dispatched for a pick-up of corp business was getting closer.
That just meant the man's eyes sifted through the gloomy, old neon glow and stared long and hard at the problem bot-man. He was even more a mess just laying there on his side in a puddle, jaw limp and probably drooling on himself. Theron just couldn't get the attraction of it all into his head. He signed this deal for biotech expressly, god knows where it was coming from or why, but it still got into his nerves and made him uneasy he simultaneously didn't have that kind of staying power all the while the fact it made someone that vulnerable. Hell, someone like Tracy, some decker or ripperdoc, of even moderate skill could just slap some plugs into the ports and browse the brain like it was no issue from a sleazy thought-trip house. It got a huff out of him, a shake of his head and a slight nudge of his boot to the crumpled mess of somewhat person.
"Still not worth the envy..." The man muttered as he rubbed the back of a sleeve to his nose, displacing the discomfort with the gesture, and allowing his attuned hearing to pick up the closing sound. Again that just led him to looking up the alleyway and back, no visitors yet.
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