Two posts. 

The windows are a good ten feet plus to either side of the door.  Windows can admit one at a time; the door can do two or three.

At the moment, there are four zombies inside.  It is dark outside, impossible to tell how many more may be out there, though it sounds like there defintiely are more.

-----w----------D---------w-----
|                                         |
|                                         |
| S                                      |
|                                         |
------------------------------------

w - window
D - door
S - staircase up to send level and rooms

Ch'dau is the first one down the stairs.  Nya, pale as a ghost, stares at the stout front door that is coming off its hinges from the blows being rained upon it from outside.  The two large, shuttered windows are likewise being forced upon.

It is, in fact, a shutter that gives way first, with a sickly, decying green arm reaching through.  Soon, the shutters are both gone, and the door follows suit, admitting several of the shambling dead like the party encountered on the road.  

Somewhere outside, maniacal giggling can be heard...

So be it.  I have edited the first post to reflect that you have that character,

You're the first responder, so you get first choice.

We are full - for now.

Hello, one and all!

So, it would appear that I am more or less active at the Inn once more.  I'd like to add a game to my plate, but nothing terribly demanding or serious... and my recent itch for Paranoia fills that wonderfully.

Paranoia takes place in the post apocalyptic future, set within the society of Alpha Complex. Alpha Complex is ruled by the ever so helpful Friend Computer, who benevolently cares for all of the clones that make up society. Friend Computer enures your happiness. You ARE happy, aren't you? Unhappiness is treason.

Yes, you are a clone. In the dark past of humanity, humans rutted as animals; now, all reproduction occurs due to genetically enginered clones. The food vats are laced with hormones that render sex drive nonexistent, which allows all members of Alpha Society to focus on the common goal of a wonderous coexistence.

Clones actually belong to a "six pack" of identical individuals - if your character unfortunately dies, he or she will be replaced as soon as possible with another clone, and play will resume for you. Note that death is frequent and expected in Paranoia.

All player characters begin the game as a security clearance of Red. The ranks are, lowest to highest: Infrared (visually represented by Black), Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, Violet, and Ultraviolet (visually represented by White). Within the game, Infrared-clearance citizens live dull lives of mindless drudgery and are heavily medicated, while higher clearance characters may be allowed to demote or even summarily execute those of a lower rank. Those with Ultraviolet clearance are almost completely unrestricted and have a great deal of access to The Computer; they are the only citizens that may (legally) access and modify the Computer's programming, and thus Ultraviolet citizens are also referred to as "High Programmers". Security clearance is not related to competence or even authority, though there is often a correlation; clearance is instead a measure of The Computer's trust in a citizen.

Citizens may only access areas or use equipment appropriate to their Security level. For instance a Red may access corridors painted red or black, but not a green corridor. This would be treason.

You became a Red by turning in a comrade for treason, whereupon Friend Computer promoted you.

Ah, yes... treason. Friend Computer is actually extremely paranoid about traitors, and especially, Communists. Not much is known about Communists, but they have been known to speak with stereotypical Russian accents, wear strange clothing, carry pictures of Groucho Marx, and listen to the revolutionary (and treasonous) music of John Lennon.

Treason is punishable, most often by death.

All player characters are Troubleshooters. That is... you see trouble, and you shoot it (most often, with your handy laser pistol). All characters are members of at least one secret society (membership in a society is generally considered treasonous), and characters typically have at least one mutation (mutation is treason, though registered mutants may be forgiven this treason).

Paranoia gameplay consists of your Troubleshooter team being assinged a mission, often to hunt for treason in some form or another. Hide your own treason, lest you be executed for it, while gathering evidence against your teammates (and perhaps executing them, or helping them to earn execution). Executing other Citizens without proof of treason is treason, however - so be careful. Successful completion of a mission may earn you a promotion and/or reward.

The Computer is everywhere, watching via cameras, recorders, and agents. Minor acts of treason are often noticed; your character will earn treason points. If too many are collected, you will be executed for your overall treason.

Combat is ruled by drama - if you attempt cinamatic stunts, such as leaping from a speeding vehicle while firing in midair - you have a much better chance for success than someone who thoughtfully plans out each move. Being boring gets you killed.

If you die, you may not hold it personally against another player - this is the point of the game. If you are not backstabbing, you are not playing corrrectly. If you die, note that your clone does not know how the previous clone died unless briefed - expressing knowledge of a past death indicates a mutant ability, which is treason. Expect to be shot for this.

This will be a tournament style game - player characters will be pregenerated, and the mission will be relatively short (which helps with play by post gameplay). You may request a given pregen, please be open to various roles.  If you desperately wish to edit a character, I will consider it... but really, it shouldn't matter too much.

I expect one to two posts per week. If you miss posting, your clone may die. 

You want to know the rules? Knowledge of the rules is limited to Ultraviolet or higher security clearance. Since you are a lowly Red, such knowledge is treason.


So, are you interested? I need six players who can commit to posting. You don't need long, drawn-out posts... but be prepared to be creative and/or entertaining, or else die for your boringness.

Have a nice day, Citizen.


A note on character names - Paranoia characters typically have extremely punny names. Name format is First name - Security clearance abbreviation - 3 letter code for home region (this is completely random and made up) - 1 digit indicating clone.

Example: Ima-B-DED-3 would be Ima, a Blue level clone, from the DED section. The 3 indicates that she is in her third clone.


Pregenerated characters for our game (with the public info on each):
Artie-R-FCL (SilentOne), Tech services. Big, strong, clumsy guy. Good with his hands, nice hygeine. Loves robots.

Brighte-R-NNU (Keeper of Dragons), Housing Preservation Development & Mind Control. Clever, smooth talking, really smug guy. Fast on his feat, which is good - he's a pipsqueak. Hates robots.

Slipp-R-YEE (Chessicfayth), Production, Logistics, & Commissary. A king among fast talkers, with a wonderful eye for turning a profit. Known to be an avid user of biochemical supplements. Has a bad nervous tic.

Blowz-R-UPP (Nomad D2), Research & Development. An earnest clone with a knack for fixing an creating things. Very charismatic.

Ammpe-R-AGE (Eol Fefalas), Power Services. Has a deep love for electricity. Speaks slowly, but has a hot temper - and is strong and tough enough to be scary when it flares. Is a true believer in the power of the Computer.

Steam-R-LLR (breebles), Armed Forces. An army clone who lives and breathes a life of regimentation and aggression. Despises mutants with a passion. Sometimes turns to biochemical supplements to help with depression.

Come on, folks.  Post!  I want to move this along. 

Kith has leather armor.  Per my earlier comment, that's one round with help, two alone.

I am envious of you, Roger! 

Also - I need to game with my boys some more.

A half night?  Really only a third of one, I'd say...

No worries, Blackthorn.  We gt that real life happens.  Just make your way back.  If I need to bump little spots like this to keep the game going, I will.

I was getting worried there, Blackthorn!

If we need to edit my post of how the evening ended, just let me know. 

Nobody here wants to see your "inner bard", okay???

Egad.  Why would it not be the responsibility of the storyteller to keep the story straight?

Why is it so alien to make your own story - especially one that features the players as the protaginists in a long arc?

Oi.

Sounds like a business opportunity to me!

Well, redact my breastplate statement.

But I'm still seeing two rounds.

That is a freaking cool idea.  No way I can do it when my wife is home, though... she would skin me. 

that's a good one, Brom.  Let me look into it.

Per the PHB it's one round for leather armor, two for chain - if you have help.  Double that with no help. 

Ch'dau's breastplate would be one round, another for the bracers.

So... assuming that most/all of you plan to rush downstairs, what exactly does "rush" entail?

People typically do not sleep in armor, especially when enjoying the safety of an Inn behind town walls.  Are ya'll armoring up before you go downstairs?

Ayrn, that should be doable.

12th Sempore (Fallday), 453 E.R.
The Nicked Shill Inn, village of Crandel

An hour or two after midnight, Ch'dau is the first to be awoken by a banging noise from downstairs. Less than a minute later, Kithran - in her room - is awoken by the same. Then, there is a scream.

The others quickly awaken. There are fearful voices downstairs, and the banging continues - as if someone is trying to force their way into the inn.

Aranwen is the last to awaken - naked and alone in Davena's room. There is no sign, however, of the blonde woman or her possessions - or of Garn, for that matter.

We are at a week since Aranwen's last post.  I figured that it was reasonable to expect him to go along with the events in my post; if that is not the case, then you can tell me otherwise and we can edit.  In the interest of furthering the story, however, I have posted.  Another post is coming.

It appears that once Aranwen changes the subject, Davena is suffiently mollified.  The bladesinger's tales - and the glasses of wine - seem to serve to relax the blonde woman, who asks quite a few very insightful, intelligent questions.  Whatever her other interests may be, it is clear that she is telling the truth regarding her academic interests.  As the conversation wears on, Davena's body language shows more and more physical interest in Aranwen.

Eventually, Davena kills a glass of wine - her fourth(?) of the evening - before placing her soft, warm hand atop Aranwen's. "I have some texts in my room," she speaks, double meaning doing a poor job of hiding between every word, "and I would like your thoughts on them. Perhaps, lady, I could persuade you to come and give them a detailed inspection?"

As well spoken as she is, the woman likely does have some sort of historical texts in her room, but even the most obtuse can recognize the actual invitation being offered.

OOC: assuming a positive response by Aranwen...

A sly smile spreads across the blonde woman's face as she takes Aranwen's hand and stands. She looks around the table. "If you will excuse us," she speaks.

Davena and Aranwen take a few steps before Garn catches up to them. The couple stops, and the woman shakes her head slightly. The bodyguard leans in close, a fierce expression on his face, and he whispers something to her.

Davena's blue eyes flash with fiery anger, and she hisses a retort easily loud enough for everyone to hear. "Mind your place, Garn Kargest! Who I share my bed with is my business, and no one else's! Leave me now!"

Garn's shoulders slump and his cheeks burn crimson. The warrior spins on his heel, ignores the others at the table, and stalks off towards the bar in apparent search of something stronger than ale.

As he leaves, the blond woman's cheeks color slightly with embarrassment, but the anger evaporates as she flashes a sheepish smile to the table. Then, she and the bladesinger head toward the stair, hand in hand.

**************************************

Upstairs, Davena leads the sylvari warrior into her room and closes the door. She turns to face her and cocks her head to one side. "As for the texts... I would love to peruse these with you, but there are other matters I would rather attend to first."

With that, most of her clothing falls to the ground.

She takes a step towards the bladesinger, a crooked grin on her face. The term "exquisite" would not be out of place when describing her body, though a portion of Aranwen's brain does idly note that the silvered scars from her face continue down her neck, across her chest, and down to her belly; however, the scars easily appear in their greatest concentration upon both of her breasts, centered around the nipples. It is clear that some years ago, this beautiful creature must have endured some sort of unspeakable torture. Be that as it may, she seems to not be self conscious in the slightest; she stands straight and tall, her natural assets proudly on display as her gaze fixes the warrior.

As the rest of her clothing falls to the ground and she advances further, Aranwen discovers that most of the blood seems to have been diverted from his brain, causing deep analysis to become impossible. Her own clothing falls away, Davena's warm, soft body embraces her, and for a time, conscious thought becomes astoundingly unimportant.

Blackthorn, I need a post from you to move forward.  Or I can assume...

I'll post a couple more times.  Haha, there will be a court martial.