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You are here: Home --> Forum Home --> Recent posts by Bromern Sal
Topic: Advice for a new RDI GM
Subject:


Hey, Nomad! Welcome to the club.


1.  What is the best way to handle dice rolls?  I have been in games that handled this in a variety of ways.  What would you recommend?  Why?


Advice: I've used the Inn's die roller. It can email the player directly if you plug the email in. More recently, I've found roll20.net to be the best solution. Their die roller is pretty comprehensive and stores the rolls in the chat for reference. Plus, you can tie them into the character sheets and invite the players to roll bringing them into the game more.


2.  I've seen people having trouble posting pictures.  But I also think this got updated recently.  Is there anything I need to know about this?


Advice: That has been resolved. Just plug a URL into the "Add picture" feature when posting and you're good.


3.  How many threads can you have for one game?  Most seem to have a game thread, a Q&A thread, and frequently a recruitment thread that later goes dormant for obvious reasons.  Is it easiest to just post character sheets at the top of the Q&A thread?  


Advice: Every new thread adds the potential for confusion, so I usually keep it to the Recruiting, Q&A, and Game, but I know that Alacrity has done a Character thread as well. It really is a matter of preference.


4.  I've seen many GMs reserve the top 10 or so slots of the Q&A thread.  Are there specific things you do with these or are they 'just in case' slots?  


Advice: These are reserved for games where you need to introduce additional things to the players that will have import such as world structure, adventure information, rules, etc.


Additional Advice: I also keep the character sheets on Google Drive and share them with the players so they can edit them and check them as they need to. In addition, I've taken to adding the character sheets to roll20.net so their stats and skills can be tied right into the die roller and I can use the mapping tools.



Posted on 2018-04-14 at 18:59:30.

Topic: Hunter the Vigil, A supernatural Game
Subject:


Colum shrugs, "Might as well. You got WiFi?" 


Producing his cellphone from the inner breast pocket of his leather jacket, McRath waves it side to side for emphasis. "What's your address, Alex?"


Receiving the information he needs, the biker manually enters it into his phone's contacts. "What's your last name, Alex?" It's useful to have the whole contact filled out, especially when traveling like he does. (OOC: Assuming there's no reluctance to share such...) Nodding, Colum finishes the contact information and then sends the address through to the Google Maps app before pocketing the device once again.



Posted on 2018-04-10 at 21:34:11.

Topic: Hunter the Vigil, A supernatural Game
Subject:


"Beats me," Colum shrugs and looks to the kid with a severe expression. "But you best heed your own advice, Haze. This type of business ain't no place for a kid. And what about you, Pastor? How dirty are you willing to get your hands?"



Posted on 2018-04-06 at 21:58:48.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject:


I've made the update, chombattas. Now, if you'll note, there are some differences in time stamps. The group in the mallplex ends this interaction around 6:45 PM, so the regrouping would be "scheduled" for 7:00 PM. I've rolled for random encounters and Ghlahn and Charlie are lucky enough not to have any, so you folks are free to post your wrapping up/cleaning up overwatch and making your way to the front of the mallplex to be there by 7:00 PM. Casino is another story altogether as he's engaged in a random encounter right now. So, we'll see how that pans out. 


Tann, feel free to build this post out through PMs to me so you can catch up with the others (if Casino survives... muahahahahaha! ).


As for those in the mallplex with Dr. Carey, don't hesitate to add more to the conversations if things spring to mind as you're reading through it. I've allowed for a little play in time just in case other thoughts come to you.


I look forward to your posts!



Posted on 2018-04-04 at 15:20:14.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject:


I like the posts thus far. I'm looking forward to the promised additions.



Posted on 2018-04-04 at 15:15:25.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A Night City Adventure
Subject:


West Park Mallplex | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 8th, Day 2 (Saturday), 6:30 PM PST


Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)


Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)


“A couple of weeks past,” Dr. Carey muses while still observing the drifting art. “Young Jace approached me asking about Parental Rights in regards to their children. He was vague in his inferences, but was keen on the particulars in a child’s legal options where Parent Time is concerned. I found it odd at the time especially since Jace had never spoken of his family before… at least not to me. The entire conversation was quickly forgotten as the issues with my wife escalated, but I do recall this intensity to him that I’d not witnessed before.


“He’s something of a lonely boy, as a matter-of-fact,” Carey continues in a level lecturing tone. “And I didn’t see him spend much time with the other boys. He tended to like the company of adults—socially, I mean. He would engage in conversation about topics that most children his age veer away from. It was most endearing and I think you’d find that the staff at the school are all quite taken with him. He was such an amenable sort that I even witnessed him speaking with the janitorial staff on a number of occasions. Strangely enough, I don’t recall any other students even taking the time to notice the maids and custodians working the buildings and grounds except to, perhaps, make fun.”


Shaking his head, Phil finally looks back up at the edgers. “I’m sorry. I wish I could offer more but it isn’t exactly good form to get close to the children and as I already said, Jace is something of a loner.”


Parental rights?, thinks Echo to herself, The poor kid! What were his parents doing to him to make him want to be away from them?


Having started with the kindness act, Fixer decides he might as well continue with the good cop routine. He steps over and leans on a chair near their host. "Everything we've heard about the kid seems positive. He seems like a nice kid, although, at the moment, you seem to have the most personal comment about him we've heard. It doesn't seem like he had many people to talk to. Except you a bit, perhaps." He pauses to think a moment, "Parental rights? You mean like he was asking about getting free from their control? One of those 'divorce your parents' sort of things? Have I got the right idea?"  He shakes his head. "Ouch. If you thought he didn't have a lot of friends at school, it kinda sounds like he didn't have 'em at home either. Any idea why? Or do you know anything about his parents?"


Moving to sit near the seemingly shaken man, trying to keep his attention on her so the others can search, Echo softly asks him, “Sir, have you met Jace’s parents at all? Perhaps at teacher conferences or some such?”


“No,” Phil shakes his head. “Jace’s parents are pretty high up the food chain working for some megacorp or another. Jace has told me that he usually deals with personal assistants and I’m afraid that’s all any of us at Bartholomew have access to as well.”


“How did they seem?” the nomad gently presses. “Were they interested in how he was doing at school, or concerned in any way?”


“It has been all very business-like. They are mostly concerned with his marks.” Dr. Carey shakes his head apologetically.


Hearing the teacher’s response, Fixer has a couple of follow-up questions. "Since you teach law—even if corporate and family law aren't the same thing—I suppose you were a logical person to ask. And a friend to him, which probably helped as well. What did you tell him about it? What are his options?"


“Also,” Echo adds, “did you happen to notice any friends his age, anyone at all that he spoke to or seemed to hang around with more often?”


Echo waits patiently for his answers with a small smile, trying to keep eye contact with him.


“I instructed him on the legal process,” Phil looks up at the far corner of the room. “Most of this can be found online, so I doubt I told him anything he didn’t already know if he were serious in his investigation. The cost might be prohibitive; most of these children don’t come into any money until they come of age. Let’s see… I did tell him that I couldn’t help him with any such endeavor as it is in direct conflict with my employment contract.


“As for friends his age? Acquaintances, maybe, but no one he spent a lot of time with in particular that I’ve noticed. He really was a bit of a loner, more prone to spend time with staff than fellow students. As I’ve said, I’d see him talking with the grounds crew and janitorial staff more than the children his age.”


"Is there anyone else he might have asked about this?” Fixer acknowledges the information they’ve received with a nod and takes the conversation in a different direction. “Either someone you told him to talk to or maybe a logical other person on staff to ask? Or someone in the neighborhood? Honestly, we don't have much to go on and right now this might be Jace's best shot."  


“I am forbidden from directing students to non-school resources by my contract,” Dr. Carey replies after taking a deep breath. “So, no. I did not direct him to any others and seeing how the other teachers at Bartholomew have similar clauses in their contracts, I saw no need to refer him to any of them. As for neighborhood contacts… You may have noticed that the Bartholomew School is a walled institution. Visitors to the school are closely monitored and the local color isn’t allowed to interact at all with the students. So, I highly doubt he’s had any help from the neighborhood.”


“Here’s the summary, old-boy,” Vegas chimes in, affecting a much more friendly tone while wearing a genuine-looking smile. “We’re charged with finding this poor boy before the cops have to be brought in. It’d look bad for the school to deal with a missing student and I’m sure you can understand the sensitivity of it all. You’ve suggested we can look around and I appreciate that. It’ll help ease the minds of those holding the purse strings, if you get my meaning.


“But back to the info you have been able to share already,” the crooner spreads his hands wide, “you’re telling us that there’s no friends or other people at the school who’re close enough to Jace that they might know more?”


“That’s what I’m saying,” Phil levels his tired eyes at the solo. “I believe the other teachers would confirm my information. I would see him walking the halls happily talking with a maid, but I would rarely, if ever, see him engaging with the other children.”


"We don't want to upset your wife any,” Fixer interrupts, thinking the professor might be getting agitated by the same line of questioning. “It looks like things are tough enough there already. But, if you’re going to let us look around, we really need to get a look in the back room. Is there a way to do that without upsetting her? I don't know if it helps or hurts to play to her fantasy—be part of the game world, you know? But, for Jace's sake, a quick look would be great." He pauses, "I guess there is no chance that Jace knew her? No, just grasping at straws. The clock is ticking on this one."


“Professor,” Bloodbank scratches at the stubbly hairline at the base of his neck, his brow furrowed. “You could use some rest. If you’d like, I can administer a sedative that’ll safely put her out for a good six or seven hours. We’ll be able to do all of the looking we need to in order to satisfy our orders without disturbing her rest and you’ll be able to get some solid sleep once we’re gone.”


Phil studies the tall, black-haired young man for a moment and then nods, his shoulders slumping slightly. “That will be most appreciated.”


Mimicking the teacher’s slight dip of the head in acknowledgment, the med-tech sets his bag on the floor and crouches to unzip it. Finding his hypospray secure in the elastic strap along the inside wall of his smart bag, he then locates the correct canister for the sedative. Rising, he walks close enough to Dr. Carey that the man can read the label on the canister and shows him that it is as he says. Receiving another nod of approval from the skinny educator, Colin slips it into the administering device and says, “If you all will excuse me for a moment…”


“There’s no security devices lying about that we need to be aware of, Dr. Carey, is there?” Vegas asks as their team medic moves into the bedroom.


“On my salary?” Phil chuckles ruefully and shakes his head.


“Right,” Motioning fixer and Echo to join him in their walk-through of the apartment, the Frank Sinatra look-alike gathers his bearings by looking about for a period of two seconds before making his way over to the kitchen area. Snagging the comm-unit Fixer made for them, Luke Reeves, aka Vegas, turns the volume up just a bit and holds down the action button. “The kid doesn’t appear to be here, and the professor doesn’t appear to be our culprit. Regroup at the mallplex entrance in fifteen.”


Returning from the room, Bloodbank smiles at their host and informs him that the sedative has taken effect—Phil’s wife is sleeping a deep and restful slumber. Moving to join the others, the medtech speaks in a low volume, “I’ve checked the bedroom and there aren’t any hiding places I could find, nor any sign of a child. Just more of the poor woman’s crazy.”


“Yeah, well,” Vegas tilts his head dismissively, “The group isn’t reimbursing you for that drug. That act of kindness was all you, Mr. Bleeding Heart."


Sharing his gaze with the others, the crooner continues, “The kid ain’t here, and I don’t think he ever has been. I’ve notified the rest of the team to regroup. Time to share what little we’ve learned and strategize on where to go from here.”


“Oh,” he adds as an afterthought, “I’ve received a message from Blossom. She’s going to try and meet up with us as well.”


(OOC: Time is 6:45 PM PST)


 


----------------------------------------------


 


Wolf Point Plaza | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 8th, Day 2 (Saturday), 6:07 PM PST


Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)


Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)


Ghlahn moves into the room after cutting through the lock. It seems that for some reason security is higher than expected in the building. Moving towards the bank of windows he finds his luck going from bad to worse. The windows do not open. There is little time to search for another vantage point and it is unlikely that the other rooms have windows of a different sort. Resigning himself to the inevitable, he examines the window to determine if a torch will melt the glass. It’s worth the chance of being discovered. The only options are to cut through the window, break the window, or simply watch the street beyond and, if needed, break the window with a quick first shot. Taking out the torch, he lights it up.


If the flickering light from his cutting tool is drawing any unwanted attention, the Cee-Metal edger will have to wait to see the results. Glass, just like the rest of the buildings in the sprawling metropolis spanning the entire Californian coast, will be repaired by the nanobuilders that constantly tear older, dead buildings apart to reuse the materials in newer constructs. There’s no way for Ghlahn to determine when the nanobuilders for this building will make their presence known and all he can do is hope that the hole he’s rapidly melting away will last long enough for the rest of his team to reemerge from the mallplex.


Slipping the barrel of his .44 Nomad through the newly cooled hole just enough to rest the weapon in without drawing more attention to his position, M’haru Ghlahn establishes his overwatch position. Now comes the time that most people dread—the waiting.


(OOC: Time is 6:10 PM PST)


 


------------------------------------------


 


Tranquil Grotto | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 8th, Day 2 (Saturday), 6:10 PM PST


Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)


Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)


With the fifth floor a total bust Casino decides that there’s nothing to do but head up to the sixth floor and hope to find an open spot or room to provide overwatch from. However, his plan is quickly put on hold as the large solo turns to make his way back to the elevators.


“Holy s***! You startled the hell outta me, solo. You a f****** solo, right? You look like a f****** solo. S***! You here to croak someone? F***. Can I watch?”


Maybe fifteen or sixteen years old, the young man making his declaration of surprise wears a red, green, and white leather jacket. His head is shaved into a short mohawk that’s been dyed neon green. He’s of Indian heritage or a half-breed, and hovering over his left shoulder is a SkyWorm cybernetic companion—a six-inch drone that acts as an entertainment device, recording device, and net link. Having controlled his first instinct to kill the kid all he could do was talk. Being a bad lier Casino would take a chance and tell the truth.


“Naw, kid. Not here to kill anyone. Just looking for a place to watch that building across the way,” the big solo casually replies.“Hey, maybe you can help me. Know any good watch spots?”


“Bruh! You got the right Raff,” the teen smacks his chest, causing the leather jacket to jingle all of the metal accouterments attached to the zippers and pinned through the leather supplement. “I can pass ya through the gate to the s***, Hammerhead! So long as I get paid, savvy? Twenty’ll have you sittin’ in comfort, true! There’s a park just ‘round the bend with an open view of the s******* ‘plex. You got a meatbag scoped inside that ‘plex, Choomba? Bet it’s a Sheila some corpse zombie’s pissed she’s playin’ input for another John, right?”


Further back the way Casino had come—towards the elevators—the music that had chased him this direction in the first place is getting louder.


(OOC: Time is 6:12 PM PST)


 


-------------------------------------------


 


Infinity Towers - 3rd Floor - West Beach Garden | Night City Integrate | Midcity | Urban,Zone - March 8th, Day 2 (Saturday), 6:08 PM PST


Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)


Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)


As with most boardwalks, the ground beneath his high-end half-boots is wood. Benches line the wood rail (which sits just inside the Plexglass barrier between the outside world and the inside) and despite the architect program’s best efforts, their surfaces are wet from the rain being blown in. Here, too, people walk the length; some are arm-in-arm, and others are walking real animals, or cyberpets, and still others are leaning against the rail looking out on the city street twenty meters below oblivious to the rainfall and the large air purification fans that filter out the pollutants from outside.


Charlie finds a quiet place to sit, an empty wooden bench near the wooden rail so that he can work in peace within the safety of the Infinity Towers. Settling in, he opens his laptop case removes the drone from the foam encasement, setting it on the ground at his feet. Producing his agent, the well-dressed fixer calls up the control app and begins his real-time feed.


Charlie centers on Infinity Towers and decides to fly his drone over all three buildings (Wolf Point Plaza, Tranquil Grotto Building, and Infinity Towers) despite the earlier conversation with the large, leather-clad solo named Casino. The problem he must overcome is that though the mallplex consists of most of the structure visible within this level of the integrate, it continues into the next level so there’s no conceivable roof to fly over. Luther is left to fly his drone at an altitude that provides a decent bird’s eye view while skirting the exterior of the mallplex. With this realization, Charlie goes to work and begins to identify potential targets, look for his teammates and.


“ Alrighty people,” buzzing motors lift the small drone from its perch and out over the Tower’s street. “Let’s find out where everyone is...”


Setting the Skymaster Delta Cross XLT in a slow forward trajectory, the Native American thrusts his hand into his coat’s breast pocket and retrieves the device Fixer put together for them. Double-tapping the action button, he breaks squelch twice in short succession.  


“Charlie's up,” Luther "marks up" on the channel and hopes that one of his teammates will answer to let him know if anything is going on.


Glancing down at his agent while he waits, Cred Stick Charlie performs a quick survey, spinning the Skymaster about so that the camera can sweep the street below. So far, he isn’t able to see anyone that he recognizes. Setting the walkie-talkie on his right thigh, close to his abdomen, the fixer returns his attention to the screen and now with both hands, begins to direct the drone on its path. Mentally calling up the time from his agent to his optic splice, Luther registers the hour.


Sending his drone through the air traffic is done with caution. While it has a built-in obstruction and anti-collision sensors, some corporate delivery drones move at a high-enough speed that collisions aren’t unheard of. Then, there are anarchists who just like to watch the world burn and might find it fun to shoot down a drone. They don’t usually target corporate machines, but a private drone? Those are fair game: not as much chance of repercussions being dealt.


Twelve minutes is what it takes to fly the full route. Thumbing the autopilot control on, Luther sets about reviewing his business on a split screen function of his agent while waiting for some news.


(OOC: Time is 6:25 PM PST)



Posted on 2018-04-04 at 15:07:54.

Topic: Hunter the Vigil, A supernatural Game
Subject:


“My take on the guy who left this envelope?” Alex returns to the question at hand. “For what it is worth, my gut says to trust him. Not,“ he quickly turns to the kid he’d previously called Fry, “blindly Haze. I have heard you. But it is possible that not all juju is the same. He didn’t seem like the Man in White. When he was up here, he dropped it off and then left expecting to be unseen. When I was able to follow him, he was surprised. He was also frightened. Not of me. I think he was afraid of the Man in White. 'Eyes are always watching,' he said. He was getting information on this thing but seemed almost terrified that his role would be found out. I’m not sure what he was. He was badly scarred. If I were to guess, I’d suspect that he was a victim of something like our Man. His scars, his fears, he was afraid, but something was driving him to overcome that fear and act. I’d have thought him a human victim, but as Haze indicated, his eyes were red and he had an unearthly ability to slip the mind. I don’t know what he is.” Alex looks back at Colum, “Yes, it is possible that what he was afraid of was his boss who had sent him with that envelope and would be angry if he saw him speaking to us. It is possible. But that isn’t what it felt like. His name is Damian.” Like the Devil, McRath immediately associates, remembering a sermon from some time ago when he was much more innocent.


“I’m not sure what hunting this thing actually means. Something is causing these events. But while I know I don’t want to end up somethings dinner,” Alex's eyes dart towards the kid, “but if someone had been able to do anything to help his parents, what would that have been worth?”


“What do we actually have besides this envelope? All I knew when I got here—and all I’ve been able to learn from those I talked to here—can pretty much be summed up as ‘a man-in-white has been seen around when good people go bad.’ That’s it. I wouldn’t even know where to go from there. In fact, this is where I came to try and learn more. And all I learned was more of the same.” Alex's gaze drifts to each of them and he holds up the envelope he has in hand. “Except for this. Unless you know more than I do, this is the only lead we have.”


Again, Alex looks around at the others at the table, “I agree, we need to be cautious about how much we trust it, but it is at least something. Energy fluctuations and really good people as targets—some of which seem to have achieved a bit of notoriety for their good hearts. This is something. Is there any history of paranormal activity associated with electric effects? Is there a way to track when and where such effects take place? Going backward, this might allow us to expand on the pattern this envelope identified. At the very least it might confirm or debunk it. Going forward it might be predictive. Likewise, at least a couple of the targets seemed to have had reputations for ‘goodness,’ for lack of a better word. We could look up the previous victims—were their stories in the paper about them? Is there one particular media source in which many of them were mentioned? If so, like the electricity, that could prove to be predictive.” 


He shrugs. “You asked my opinion. The envelope provides something. What else do we have? What do you know?”


"Let's assume we can trust this docket," Colum leans slightly forward so that the lack of volume in his voice isn't a hindrance, "like you say, it only proves that there's an electrical issue before these events and that the victims were decent people. But, you're right. It does provide something to start with. 


"Here's what I'm going to do." Tacking off items on his left fingers with his right, the biker continues, "I'm going to look into each of the victims and see if there's anything in their histories that ties them together. Next, I'll check the history on the locations where each of these people worked and lived. Perhaps there's some sort of connection there; perhaps not. After that, I'm going to search through newspaper articles, local church bulletins, and event announcements to see if anyone else in this community pops out as a potential target. While I'm doing this digging, I'll send the information we have on the Man in White to my contacts and see if anything rings their bells. I'll better know how to approach this... thing... once I've collected all of this information.


"So, I guess the only question outstanding is, are any of you interested in working with me?"



Posted on 2018-04-02 at 11:51:09.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject:


All players have posted! I'll be making an update to the game either today or tomorrow. Look frosty, meatbags!



Posted on 2018-04-02 at 11:30:32.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject:


No sweat. I've posted! Carry on.



Posted on 2018-03-30 at 13:00:03.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon
Subject:


Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 1:23 P.M.; The Sun Dog


 


“Tell me then,” Anne draws his attention to her eyes by turning her face slightly towards him, her red hair catching in the warm breeze and drifting lazily about her freckled cheeks. “Is this somethin’ you wish to pursue?”


 


Fin tilts his head slightly to one side in lieu of a shrug, his gaze dancing between the clear, green pools of Anne’s eyes and the wind-driven capering of her fiery locks as he contemplates the query. “Up t’ you in th’ end, Capt’n,” he answers after a moment, “As I said, th’ up-front haul’s not much – a hundr’d guineas be a hundr’d guineas – but th’ promise o’ bigger an’ better on th’ return’s somethin’ worth a considerin’, anyway.”


 


His eyes let go of hers, then, and he lifts the rum bottle, again. He doesn’t drink from it this time, though; instead, Fin just looks at it for a long moment, his brow furrowing slightly as he seemingly gets lost in quiet contemplation. “Th’ way this blue-bird, Oken, acted,” Fin rumbles softly, then, his gaze still fixed to the bottle in his hand, “an’ th’ way others made way fer ‘im, gives me cause ta believe that he’s in a fair position o’ power, Annie.” A mirthless smirk plays across his lips as his gaze comes back to briefly meet hers before redirecting toward the town beyond the beach. “If what ye say bout this Grover an’ Davenport’s true, I’m figurin’ Oken’s a hand o’ one er t’other… likely Davenport if Grover’s playin’ th’ deposed king, aye? F#%kin’ peacock had too much swagger bout ‘im ta be lined up wit’ a failin’ monarchy…”


 


Fin takes a long pull from the bottle then and turns to face Anne in the process. “If we’re t’ make Tortuga our port,” smiling a bit, he parrots her earlier words, “it mightn’t hurt ta take a wee swim wit’ one o’ th’ bigger sharks in ‘er waters, savvy?”


 


“Aye, but I don’ like gettin’ in bed with strangers,” Anne chews on her tongue and narrows her flashing eyes. After a moment, she allows a minute shake of her head and continues. “An’ there’s no profit in honest work. We need t’ find a mark worthy o’ this crew’s time, Fin. ‘Fore we no longer ‘ave a crew. An’ as you say, a hun’red guinea be a hun’red guinea. Tha’s a li’l o’er five an’ a half gold per man,” she turns a sly eye towards her quartermaster and unceremoniously takes the bottle from his hand, “which won’ las’ a man but one, maybe two days, ashore.”


 


Drawing hard on the rum, Anne uses the back of her sleeve to once again wipe her mouth as she delivers the bottle back into Fin’s hand. “Still a lot o’ daylight left. Others’ll return t’ the Dog later this eve an’ we’ll know more then.


 


“Meanwhile,” leaning her left elbow against the gunwale, the beautiful woman faces the rugged sailor at her side. “I hear tell tha’ Shark Tooth brought a new recruit aboard my ship. You’ll go find ‘im an’ make sure he’ll do?”


 


“Ye’ll get no argument from me, luv,” Crowe nods in response to Anne’s last words on the matter, “I’ll see it happens as ye like it.”


 


Pushing away from the railing, now, and peering back in the direction of the town, the Sun Dog’s quartermaster asks; “Now, what about yer sister, then? Would ye be wantin’ me ta go find her er would ye rather jus’ wait her out?”


 


“Maggie?” Anastasia’s face softens. “Tha’ li’l bird needs t’ learn t’ fly on ‘er own sooner er later. We’ll see what she brings us this time. Yer free t’ go ‘bout yer duties, Mr. Crowe.”


 


Still contemplating the conversation she’s just engaged in, Anne Cole twists her body to fully face the Bay of Tortuga and wonders when the port authorities will be visiting the Dog.


 


(OOC: Time is roughly 1:28 PM.)


(OOC: Skip forward a couple of hours… 3:18 PM.)


 


After taking care of what duties he feels necessary for this time of day, Fin retires to his cabin in the forecastle across the narrow hall from Maggie’s. Three porthole-style windows are open to the bay allowing some of the heat to dissipate and a little wayward breeze to wander into the chamber on occasion. Though dimmer for the fact that the waning sun is towards the port and aft portions of the Dog, there’s still enough ambient light to eliminate the need for a candle or lantern. Propped up on his bed with his back to the inner wall, the quartermaster is enjoying another cigarillo and contemplating the events of the day when the distinct sound of a door closing across the hall pierces through his considerations. This is followed by boots falling purposefully on the wood floor and the faint echo of the door leading to the main deck being unlatched. It is here that Fin follows some muffled conversation between Maggie and what sounds like Cracker.


 


Fin hadn’t known that Maggie was back; she must have returned when he was off tending to other duties.


 


----------------------------------------------------


 


Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), aboard the Sun Dog, 2:45 P.M.


 


Watching the distance between them, wind off the water stirring her hair about her face as the patrols scurrying around rousting up women, a self-satisfied smirk twists her lips. "There be no place like home," she sighs, feeling herself relax a bit.


 


Reaching the Dog, Maggie ascends the rope ladder and moves past Chimwemwe without a word, heading for her cabin and the relief that it holds. But once inside, the confines of her cabin feel too close, and she paces, her energy building. Nothing satisfies her. Not the bottle of rum stashed in her bunk, or the peace of being finally off that wretched rock. She takes only a few moments to assemble herself, to make sure she's presentable and fearsome once more, before storming out and off in search of her sister. What happened back there may well have unintended consequences, and the Captain will need to know. Better from her own lips, than from a too quick lawman if they start searching ships.


 


(OOC: Time is roughly 3:15 PM)


 


Cracker quickly nods his head at his captain’s command and says, "Yes, Captain." He isn’t sure where to begin, but assumes the other Cole sister is still ashore.  "Uhm, Captain? Assuming the First Mate is still ashore, may I commandeer a few men to begin a search of the city? Shark Tooth and I alone can't cover much ground."  


 


“Do so, Mr. Wiley,” Anne snarls, “but do try t’ be a li’l discreet. Can’t ‘ave Tortuga thinkin’ we’re an invasion force.”


 


Cracker dips his head with a quick, "Sir," and left the captains quarters. Once outside, he turns to the gunner and lets out a breath of air in relief. "You got lucky. That could have gone much worse. We now need to find our missing officer. Go to your chest and grab some clothes—smaller and clean if possible—and put 'em in a bag. Get 'em from someone if you have to. Don't tell anyone why you need 'em, just get 'em. Keep your mouth shut. We'll be leaving this boat together in only a few minutes. I'll be on deck getting a few extra hands. Hustle."


 


Shark’s Tooth is no fool and immediately picks up on the Boatswain’s plan. He feels some relief at not having to speak when meeting with the fiery captain, but he’s also feeling put out by the bosun’s blame. Without more than a grunt, he moves off to obey the younger man.


 


William Wiley then moves the other direction across the main deck. Approaching the largest group of sailors (three, consisting of Chimwemwe, Zeno Contos, and Jackson Richards). "Ok, lads, break time is over. By any chance has the First Mate returned to the ship?"


 


“Aye,” Chimwemwe lifts his head from the dice game and slowly rises to his feet. “She be back.”


 


"Wait. She DID return? How long ago? Where did she go?" Hearing that she has disappeared into the bow of the ship, he can only assume that she has gone to her own quarters. Clearly, she has not gone straight to the captain or they would have run into each other. Ships aren’t that big and there are only so many paths that lead to that particular door.


 


His first thought is to go to the captain and tell her, but no; she had clearly said, 'bring her to me.' That means bring 'her,' not 'news of her.' Oh, this is not going to be fun.  


 


He looks back at the group of pirates and tries to cover the surprise he feels at the news. "Ok, when Shark’s Tooth gets here tell him 'change of plans.' Just tell 'im to stay here till I return." As he starts to turn towards the door leading to the First Mate’s and separately, the Quartermaster’s bunks, he throws one last question at the waiting group, "Anyone here see the quartermaster?  If you do, tell him I need to speak with him." And then, he spins on his heel and heads towards the First Mate's quarters. Did he want to find her there or is he hoping her chambers will be empty? He really doesn’t know.


 


Just as he reaches the door to the forecastle, Maggie “Hellfire” Cole pulls the barrier open and ducks through, stepping out onto the main deck, her freckled face shaded by the broad brim of her hat.


 


(OOC: Assuming some sort of interaction that eventually leads to Bosun Wiley escorting Maggie to Anne’s quarters&hellip


 


“Come!” Captain Cole’s sharp command pierces the red-painted door almost immediately after the knock sounds.


 


Stepping through to the relatively large room, the first mate and boatswain stare across the seemingly extended and long space between the door and the captain’s desk to where the older of the Coles is sitting imperiously with her fingers steepled before her shadowy face.


 


“Bosun,” Anne snaps. “Yer dismissed.”


 


(OOC: Assuming no objection to the orders&hellip


 


“What in the name of all nine hells,” Anastasia doesn’t raise her voice; there’s no tremor of rage either. She’s cold where Maggie runs hot, but there’s no mistaking her mood, “are ya doin’ killin’ officers o’ the city?”


 


(OOC: Time is roughly 3:45 PM)


 


----------------------------------------------------


 


Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), aboard the Sun Dog, 7:30 P.M.


 


(OOC: I’m going to assume that everyone remains on the ship and that the rest of the afternoon/early evening is spent taking care of other duties. For the sake of regrouping everyone, the Captain will have called her “council” together to discuss the day’s findings, events, and options.)


 


Evening finds Captain Cole sitting at the head of the small table that has been brought up from the cargo bay area for the purpose of councils such as these. A cooler evening breeze draws the Caribbean heat from the deck and off the attendee’s flesh while a jug of ale is present to be shared amongst the lot of them should they wish to imbibe. At this table sits Fin Crowe to Anne’s left and Maggie Cole to her right. Goncalvo and Cracker share the other end.


 


“In summary,” Anne slowly turns the tin cup with the amber liquid on the table, “we’ve still no’ been visited by the port authority, so this is likely one o’ them ports tha’ require me t’ go ashore which I’ll do t’morrow. We’ve precious li’l on the powers here’bouts but ‘ave already sold t’ one—Mr. Virgil Grover—whilst Mr. Crowe’s received an offer o’ bounty from an agent o’ the other—Mr. Davenport—or so we assume… an’ we likely ‘ave an issue brewin’ with the authorities ‘ere that’ll need addressin’.” Anastasia’s green eyes flit briefly to where Maggie sits and her mug stalls its rotations. “This be where ideas be brought t’ the table. How’re we t’ no’ get dashed on the political rocks o’ Tortuga whilst buildin’ a network o’ folks willin’ t’ give us line when probable hauls be runnin’ these waters? The crew be happy fer the time bein’ so long as their purses are full. This… well, we all know this is no’ long asail an’ other captains’ll be poachin’ our crew once they learn there be a female captain o’ this boat. So, spill yer guts.”



Posted on 2018-03-30 at 12:59:32.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject:


No problem. Been really busy at work, myself. 



Posted on 2018-03-29 at 15:10:35.

Topic: Hunter the Vigil, A supernatural Game
Subject:


"All right," Colum rumbles. "Pull it together, Haze. You don't wanna scare this crowd into a frenzy.


"Sorry about your parents. There's nothing right about what happened to you." Eyes darting over the head of the frantic young man, McRath surveys the crowd for indication of any who might have heard the skater's outburst. While assessing the situation, he continues in a much-reduced volume. 


"Things that go bump in the night are what I hunt and I'm not running. God brought me here for a reason and this pimpin' dude with the cane seems to be it."


"These," he shakes the envelope from the bottom causing the papers within to ruffle, "tell me one thing and one thing only. The Man in White is targeting god-fearing, good people for some reason and making them do bad things. It's like he's tainting their souls before killing them off.


"Maybe a demon, or a wraith-like creature drawing energy from eating their souls and he just likes to really screw them up before he dines... whatever his reason, I'm not running; I'm hunting."


Turning to Preston, Colum offers the envelope back and states, "Our little spy is another story. The Man in White doesn't seem to be particularly stupid. He comes across as more of a strategist manipulating people to do uncharacteristically evil things and that means we can't rule out the idea that this dossier might be concocted to throw us off his scent. 


"What's your take on this fellow, Alex? You met him—talked with him, even."



Posted on 2018-03-29 at 15:06:11.

Topic: Supernatural Q&A thread
Subject:


There may yet be a flogging if there's not another post forthwith by the one and only Eol. 


A suggestion, if I may be so bold, Impulse, would be to provide those who've seen the inside of the packet with the info contained therein and allow us players to post until we've hit an impass.



Posted on 2018-03-27 at 01:17:22.

Topic: Supernatural Q&A thread
Subject:


Sorry for any delay in my posting. I've since seen the light and have repented of my sin! 



Posted on 2018-03-26 at 11:45:56.

Topic: Hunter the Vigil, A supernatural Game
Subject:



When they reached the second floor Castle moves over to the table where the priest stands while the other man remains seated--A biker from the look of him. Interesting. "What can I do for you?" the priest asks.


Colum gives the newly arrived individuals a once over and then leans on his left elbow against the table, drawing the packet the clergyman has offered closer to him. Intent on perusing the contents, he pauses when the fellow answers.  


Castle turns to the kid and says, "Why don't you get some of the food and then come back." It is, after all, why the kid is here. He then turns and responds to the question. "Hey. I'm Alex. I was here for the meeting earlier. As have others here, I've seen the Man in White, and I saw when that envelope you have got dropped on the table. I'd be curious to see what is in it."


McRath turns an inquisitive gaze back towards Alex and raises his eyebrows. He has assumed that the packet he's been passed is something the priest put together, not something that has been dropped in their laps. Sensing that the information might be taken from him at any time, the biker slides the envelope from the table and opens it while smiling slightly at the newcomer and not bothering to even glance down at the contents of what's now in his hands. 


"Ephraim O’Malley," he says by way of explanation. "With the Biker Club Pastor Circuit." Now, he drops his gaze to the information and begins to skim through it. He knows nothing about this Man in White and has even less to offer to the immediate conversation. Perhaps whatever has been delivered to them in this dossier would help him understand more of what's going on here. Perhaps Alex will share more of what he knows with Prowler enlightening him further... and who's this kid? Is Alex dragging around baggage? A single parent with a responsibility for some punk? 


You know nothing yet, he chastises. Keep frosty.


"So, who dropped this love letter on the table, Alex?" McRath says in his deep, rolling bass as he continues to rifle through the contents.




Posted on 2018-03-26 at 11:45:13.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject:


Fluff is good! Mmmm... fluff.


OK, the Quartermaster would be who the Boatswain reports directly to unless given other orders. Chain of command would be something akin to...



  1. Captain

  2. First Mate

  3. Quartermaster / Sailing Master

  4. Boatswain

  5. Gunner Sergeants


Of course, normal pirate ships wouldn't have a first mate, but that's neither here nor there for the Dog. Auxilliary positions (like surgeon, carpenter, etc.) would have precedence in giving orders under certain circumstances, but would still report to the boatswain and then on up the line.


I'm looking forward to the rest of the posts.



Posted on 2018-03-26 at 11:27:45.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject:


So, it's all good now? By the way, feel free to reach out to fellow players (all-y'alls) if they haven't posted. Get's to be a drag being the one to always poke and prod.



Posted on 2018-03-26 at 11:21:18.

Topic: Salutations!
Subject:


Hola, mi amigo!


Join the fun!



Posted on 2018-03-22 at 16:41:51.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject:


Two posts... (thank you)... where're the rest?



Posted on 2018-03-22 at 16:41:07.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject:


Sometimes friends suck...


Well, more power to you, then! I'll be interested in seeing how it works out.



Posted on 2018-03-22 at 10:56:40.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject:


I have posted. Please note the time stamps. When I leave off for each character we're looking at the following...




  • Goncalvo: still way ahead of everyone else...




  • Fin: 1:23 PM (Cracker and Maggie haven't returned to the ship yet. As a matter-of-fact, this is about the time Maggie is randomly murdering people.)




  • Cracker: 3:12 PM (Maggie is in her cabin, though Cracker and Sharky don't know that she's even on board yet.)




  • Maggie: 2:45 PM (Fin may, or may not, be on the ship as we haven't yet reached that point in his storyline. Cracker isn't back on board when Maggie arrives on the ship, but Shark Tooth is though he's gone directly below deck so she doesn't see him and none of the crew know enough to report anything to her.)





Posted on 2018-03-21 at 16:35:39.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon
Subject:


Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 7:23 P.M.; The Sun Dog


 


(OOC: I am honestly trying to get everyone caught up with Goncalvo&hellip


 


Goncalvo walks the deck of the Sun Dog. It feels strange to be aboard a ship at anchor. The usual pitch and yaw of the deck are held in check by the anchor that ties them to the seabed. In a way, it is like being on land. The ship is calm, almost as if it is sleeping. Here and there a stray deckhand sets about a minor task with no more urgency than that of a starfish opening a clam. So different from when under sail and all hands moving with a purpose to ensure the ship moves according to the Captain’s whim.


 


The Captain says where the ship sails but it is Goncalvo who is in charge of how. The crew furls or unfurls yards of canvas to allow the wind to propel them according to his sets. Only he knows how to read the stars and use the astrolabe to determine their location. True, he relays that information to the Captain and makes sure she impresses the crew with her ability to get them to their destinations safely but in truth, he is the key to their safe journey. Oh, there are other aspects of sailing that he knows little or nothing about. Gunnery is a loud and dirty job that he avoids. Battle plans are not his specialty, though he takes careful note of the decisions the Captain makes during a fight; one day he might wish to become a captain himself, but for now, he is content to be a Sailing Master.  


 


A rumble in his stomach reminds him that he has not eaten in a bit so he makes his way to the galley (which is, in fact, just a sectioned off portion of the hold large enough to allow whichever sailor is assigned to prepare meals enough room to perform the duty while having direct access to the food stores). Hopefully, the cook will have something other than hardtack available.


 


Making his way down the hatch and into the darkening confines of the hold, the Sailing Master finds the dank space void of people. The cooking space is cold having not been used all day and the food stores are alarmingly bare. Crowe would have assigned a number of the crew to set about procuring more foodstuffs, but such a chore usually takes a day or two to arrange, so it is likely old, dry salt pork and some scraps of biscuits for his dinner.


 


Scavenging amongst the crates and barrels, Goncalvo puts together a decent spread of a handful of salted pork, two smallish rusk biscuits, Suffolk Cheese, and a tankard of Arrack drudges. There are other sailors spending their coin on far better meals in Tortuga for certain. Unfortunately, waiting for the remainder of the ship’s officers to meet means not returning to shore.


 


(OOC: Time is roughly 7:30 PM)


 


------------------------------------------------------------------


 


Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 1:15 P.M.; The Sun Dog


 


Resplendent in her white blouse, baggy gray cotton trousers, and thigh-high boots, Anne Cole has her hair pulled up beneath a red cloth, her saber at her side, and a brace of two flintlocks across her bosom secure in a black leather baldric. Squinting her lovely eyes, she scans the deck from left to right before spotting her quartermaster.


 


“I weren’t expectin’ you ‘til after dark, Mr. Crowe,” she states before thinning her lips and standing firmly with her feet a shoulder-width apart, hands on her hips. “Whate’er you’ve experienced ashore is likely t’ be a tale judgin’ from the blood you’re wearin’.”


 


The genuineness of the smile that plays on Fin’s lips when Anne’s eyes meet his is a thing rarely seen by anyone aside from the Captain and her sister. If there is anyone on sea or shore of this God-forsaken world that the swarthy quartermaster truly loves, surely, it is the Sisters Cole… and, at times like this, when he’s had more than just a little to drink, he occasionally finds himself wondering if that love might not exceed the platonic, familial sort that he freely admits. He shakes the thought away, tamping down the rum-stoked warmth in his chest and belly as he forces his gaze to let go of the stunning Anastasia Cole and regard the blood that spatters his still damp clothes.


 


“Aye, luv,” he chuckles, brushing ineffectually at a bloody streak on his tunic, “Disappear from th’ place fer a few years an’ ever’body wants ta throw ye a welcome ‘ome party when ye return… Din’t turn out th’ way they were hopin’, I reckon.”


 


With a faint shrug and that characteristic half-a-smirk playing on his lips, Crowe strides in his Captain’s direction, lifting the bottle by way of an offer as he approaches, “Took me less time than I’d figured ta find a bit o’ work, too,” he says, drawing up within arm’s reach of the woman and pulling the stopper from the bottle. “No’ th’ biggest haul, right up front,” he admits, “A hundr’d guinea ta go fetch a bloke who’s playin’ a game o’ hide-an’-go-bugger-yerself wit’ one o’ th’ local fops. We pull it off, though, an’ it’s like ta open our h’rizons ta bigger an’ better opp’rtunities…”


 


“We can’t be sittin’ in th’ doldrums if we wanna capitalize on this’n, though, Capt’n. Th’ lubber offerin’ th’ purse fancies hedgin’ ‘is bets an’ has already go’ more’n one other crew on this lad’s scent.” His eyes slide away from her for a moment, panning across the Dog’s deck and across the waves, too, where they briefly linger on Tortuga’s shore before coming back to meet Anne’s, again. “Anythin’, yet, from Cracker er th’ rest?”


 


“Aye,” Anne remarks in answer to his question. “The lot o’ them just went ashore t’ look into a fella by the name o’ Davenport tha’ has his hooks int’ a bit o’ everythin’ hereabouts.” Taking the bottle from her quartermaster, Captain Cole lifts it to her lips and pauses as her green eyed gaze drifts out towards the settlement. “Found a buyer fer the junk in the hold—one Mr. Virgil Grover. From wha’ I gather, he’s been a king on this chessboard for some time, but has recently been demoted by Davenport.”


 


Taking a long draw on the liquor, Anastasia Cole uses the back of her free hand to wipe away any lingering rum from her lips and hands the bottle back to Crowe. “This work you’ve chartered… whose wheelhouse does it reside in?”


 


(OOC: Assuming a, “A feller by the name of Oken who works for someone I don’t know…&rdquo


 


“If we’re t’ make Tortuga our port, it stands t’ reason we best be gettin’ a feel fer the waves beneath our hull an’ the sharks tha’ lie beneath them waters ‘fore we cast off, wouldn’t ya say, Mr. Crowe?” Walking towards the rail, Anne expects him to follow. Leaning her trim belly against the rail, she grips the weathered wood with both hands and narrows her eyes as though she can see the various actors along the beach in full detail. “Truth be told, I wish you’d have been here t’ join Maggie in her search for details on this Davenport. Bless her, but she wouldn’ know guile if it spent the night with her in ‘er bunk an’ slapped her awake in the morn.


 


“The work you’ve netted is a distraction tha’ doesn’t sound like it’d take the whole crew t’ complete, or am I missin’ something Mr. Crowe?”


 


(OOC: Assuming something akin to agreement&hellip


 


“Tell me then,” Anne draws his attention to her eyes by turning her face slightly towards him, her red hair catching in the warm breeze and drifting lazily about her freckled cheeks. “Is this somethin’ you wish to pursue?”


 


(OOC: Time is roughly 1:23 PM.)


 


----------------------------------------------------


Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), Docks, 3:06 P.M.


 


Cracker whispers, "Does the captain know what happened with the first mate? Have you told the captain where you last saw her?"  


“You foolin’, sir?” Shark’s Tooth opens his one eye wide, a feat in and of itself since it, too, is swollen from his earlier brawl. “No’ my place, to be sure. I’m afraid tha’ honor falls on yer shoulders, Boatswain. I’m jus’ a lowly gunner, after all.” Scratching with thick fingers at his scruffy chin, Sharky tilts his head to the side and sniffs. “‘Course, you could always wait ‘til, Hellfire Maggie tells her herself.”


 


Wiley listens to the other sailor explain how he has been too afraid to speak to the captain about what he had seen and shakes his head. He looks Sharktooth in the one swollen eye and cusses, "Not your place?! You fool! You are a part of this crew."


 


He keeps his voice low so nobody else will hear, but Shark Tooth can have no doubt that the Boatswain is angry. "Your PLACE and your DUTY and your REASON FOR BEING ON THIS SIDE OF THE WAVES is to help make sure that this ship and the rest of its crew stays secure.  That does not just mean running a gun crew and getting in brawls; it also means making sure that the captain has the information she needs to make the decisions that will keep you, me, and the whole ship safe! You don't think knowing the First Mate is running is vital?"  


 


He starts to turn away, saying, "You had better hope your name does not come up—" when he stops. Turning back to Shark Tooth, he smiles, "No. I didn't actually see anything besides the First Mate and your sorry arse running through the streets. But you know more, and the captain needs to know EVERYTHING. You will come with me. Now. We are not waiting for Ms. Cole to return."  


 


Shark Tooth’s upper lip twitches but he straightens up during the dressing down and juts out his jaw when Cracker delivers his orders. “Aye, sir,” he practically growls.


 


The boatswain pushes Wylie ahead of them and they head back up to the main deck, around the main mast towards the Captain's quarters. Arriving at the closed door, he knocks and waits for a response.  


 


“Come,” Anne’s calm alto calls out.  


 


William Wiley removes his hat and holds it in his hands as he enters the captain's chambers.  He is followed closely by a very nervous Shark Tooth who seems to want to stay behind the boatswain as much as possible—and even in a captain's chambers there isn't much room to move around.


"Captain," he says with a dip of his head. "I'm thinkin' you probably already know, but it seems information you would want..."  He hesitates for just a moment to make sure he gets the words right before plunging ahead. "It seems our First Mate might be in some trouble with the local authorities."  He pauses a moment to see what reaction his words drudge up from the temperamental captain.


 


Anastasia Cole pauses in the review of maps spread out in unfathomable disorder upon her desk and looks up at her boatswain and gunner with raised, thin, dark red eyebrows.


 


"Just a bit ago,” Cracker hurries on, “I saw The First Mate and Shark Tooth here running through the streets. They ran like someone was after them. I don't know what happened, Captain, but they ran. After just a bit, Sharky and I were ordered back to the ship and she ran on.  Shark Tooth here might know more since he was already with her when I caught up. I came straight here." With that, he turns to the very nervous Shark Tooth.


 


“Aye, Cap’n,” Wylie coughs, keenly aware of the scrutiny he’s under and the vision he presents in his beat-up state. “I don’ know why, Cap’n, but Miss Cole done ran a soldier an’ someone looks like an official type bloke through on the wharf. Caused quite the stir, Cap’n. Plenty o’ folk runnin’ away an’ callin’ fer the guards. When I got t’ Miss Cole—Uh, see, we was—that’s t’ say Cracker ‘ere an’ me was ordered t’ split off from ‘er an’ see what we could drum us up as far as information on that Davenport bloke, so we wasn’t right nearby, but I caught sight o’ the tail end jus’ as she drove her sword through the fancy bloke’s belly an’ int’ the beach ‘neath ‘im.


 


“When I gots to ‘er side, she was all fired up an’ told me t’ run without offerin’ so much as a ‘ello. So, I ran, followin’ Miss Cole, an’ eventually Cracker ‘ere caught up wit’ us. Tha’s when Miss Cole ordered us back t’ the Dog.”


 


Anne sinks back into her large armchair and eyes the damaged man with a calculating eye for a full two minutes of silence during which time a small twitch develops under her right eye. Clenching her jaw, she pushes away from her desk and rises, pulling her hair back from her shoulders as she rounds the desk.


 


“Where is she?” she asks simply though there’s a tremor to her voice. Tying her hair back with a bit of black cloth, she looks back on the two men. “Where’s my sister now?”


 


(OOC: Assuming a blank look or a denial of knowledge&hellip


 


“Find her,” Anne growls. “Bring her t’ me.”


 


(OOC: Time is about 3:12 PM)


 


----------------------------------------------------


 


Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), Docks, 2:15 P.M.


 


With her dreams of finding a suitable disguise dashed, Maggie races past the ladies in the back and bursts out the door like a force of nature. Beneath the awning, she pauses in the shade to get her bearings. The sea calls to her, sending her its beloved scent on the breeze. Taking another precious moment, she secures her weapons before taking off to her left, towards the safety of the sea. With her booted feet rapidly pounding the ground, she pushes herself farther, faster, almost flying.


 


She knows people will turn and stare, that some will whisper and point. She doesn't care. She just wants the ship back beneath her feet, wants to just put some distance between her and any who might be pursuing her, and with it perspective, and move on. And deal with whatever her sister has in store for her.


 


While she runs, she works out what exactly went down and the many ways this may have an effect on the upcoming work they hope to find here, and the ways in which it might actually help them. And wouldn't that just be an unintended bonus if it turns out to be the case?


 


Ahead, she can see the masts and tied off sails of the ships in port, and a heavy weight lifts from her chest. Something inside her relaxes, just a little, and she scans the horizon as she races towards them, looking for her ship, her home, her world. She can't wait to throw herself down onto her bunk and decompress after this mess, and heaven help anyone who might stand in the way of that. But she knows it won’t be that easy, and she knows she won't get that chance for a while.


 


It's not till she's in sight of the longboat that she feels truly back in control of herself. She’s confident that once aboard, the uncertainty and fear she feels will vanish. With barely a glance around the beach, she breaks from the backstreet path she’s been traversing and immediately slows her gait from the sprint to a fast stride, leaving those around her to bear witness to the walking maelstrom that is Maggie Cole.


 


Tom Harris is the sailor manning the oars at this time of day and he looks up from the shell he’s inspecting with a bit of surprise when she calls to him to get the boat in the water. Scrambling to obey the fiery redhead, Harris drops the iridescent conch into the lapping waves and turns to heave the launch from its rest in the sands. Maggie is quick to set her right hip to the starboard edge of the boat and roll her toned body up and into the lurching longboat where she plants herself on the foremost bench and pulls her coat up about her shoulders. Only when Tom turns the boat with the oars so that her back is towards the Dog and her eyes are able to easily scour the beach does she see the patrols she’s just missed stopping women and pulling them up to inspect.


 


“Enjoy yer time ashore, Miss Cole?” Seamus smiles.


 


(OOC: Maggie’s reply, as it is&hellip


 


Reaching the Dog, Maggie ascends the rope ladder and moves past Chimwemwe without a word, heading for her cabin and the relief that it holds.


 


(OOC: The timestamp here places Maggie right between when Shark Tooth returns to the boat and Cracker’s return. So, I just had Maggie head for her cabin as you’ve already indicated her desire to go there.)


 


(OOC: Time is roughly 2:45 PM)



Posted on 2018-03-21 at 16:30:19.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject:


Perhaps I'm not understanding...


Screenshot of Casino in Roll20



Posted on 2018-03-21 at 14:39:38.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject:


Who are you and what did you do with Roger? 5E?! Really?



Posted on 2018-03-21 at 14:33:04.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject:


It appears as though I have player posts in full so I'll work on getting a continuation in place pronto. 


FYI - Merideth has expressed an interest in taking on the role of the doc, Ebenezer. I'll be working on that character sheet and she'll be joining us once I've completed it.



Posted on 2018-03-20 at 18:28:22.

 


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