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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: We've updated!
The game is underway again. Thank you for all of your posts last week.
Looking forward to your posts. Make sure you provide me with the following in your posts:
What your character does while trying to sneak their way along.
What your character does if they are engaged in combat.
What your character does if another character is wounded or dropped.
What your character does if they are forced to retreat.
What your character does if they make it to the compound again - in other words, how they approach the back door and exit the building.
Posted on 2017-07-17 at 19:22:41.
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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A Night City Adventure
Subject: One Task Done... Escape?
West 43875 St. 52 High -- The Bartholomew School Grounds and Sewage/Runoff Drainage System | Night City Integrate | High City | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 4:08 AM 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)
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Hugging the wall with both reloaded guns drawn, Vegas chooses his sentry post; close enough to aid his companions in case they are ambushed once they entered the office, but far enough away from the office door to engage a security team which would hopefully buy Blossom enough time to access the information the group needs to continue their search for the missing boy.
Although not much time actually passes, it feels like forever since he has handed the card over to the pretty nomad and yet Fixer feels that he knows what's on everyone's mind. They are coiled as tight as springs. What would they find behind the door? Bullets? A flash-bang that blinds them all so the bullets can rip into them? Or something equally as devastating? Best not to dwell on that, he decides. And on top of all that, where the hell is Casino? Holding the large solo's stuff isn't exactly slowing Fixer down, but it would be nice if he could unload back to it's rightful owner. So he waits, slightly removed from the pending results of his most recent work.
As Echo accepts the card from Fixer, she looks at Blossom waiting for her to back away. Seeing the netrunner in as safe of a position as possible, she looks over to Bloodbank and nods, whispering with a small grin, "Here's where the fun begins." She cannot see the medtech's expression behind his cracked, grinning skull combat mask but he does hold his handgun up and shifts his grip in preparation.
Inserting the newly-made keycard into the slot, Echo silently asks the Fates for fortune on this part of their mission. She really doesn't want to kill anyone, but will do so if her companions lives are put in danger. Also, she will like to have a long, serious three-way talk with those that took the boy and her rather large survival knife.
Echo hears a small click and the door opens just enough to not relock itself. She puts her arm up to signal the others down the hall that she's going in, and ever so slowly opens the door just enough to see in a little. Behind her, the silvery samurai summoned by Blossom stands at the ready, katana before him.
Silence greets her audaciousness at first. The visible chamber beyond the door lit by yellow fluorescent lights, a faux wood desk up against the wall to the immediate right of the door. Judging by the amount of space left between the doorframe and the corner of the room, Echo can estimate that either the security office is small (maybe 3x5 meters), or the door sits on the far side of one of the walls expanding the room deep beyond her immediate vision. The wall running parallel to her line of sight against which rests the desk, is also home to a series of monitors. Flat screens hung three tall and an unknown number wide, each depicting various scenes in full color, high definition, of the school grounds and halls. And that's as far as she gets before hell breaks loose.
Rapid fire automatics blare on the other side of the door, jarring the barrier with force enough to kick it from the leather-clad nomad's loose grip and push it against her left shoulder, but none of the rounds penetrate the metal of the door. The number of rounds pelting the reinforced door is enough to give the smart young woman pause. Her gut tenses up and her blue eyes flash towards the masked visage of the medic across from her as a really bad feeling rapidly spreads throughout her body at the thought of rushing in.
"Let me do it," Blossom suggests from behind the nomad and the samurai presses forward.
Bloodbank dips his head in agreement and acting on her better judgment, Echo steps back away from the door and towards the crouching wardriver. Pausing before the slightly opened door, the shimmering samurai warrior construct brings the sword up over its right shoulder and then leaps forward, crashing into the door with a bang that echoes down the hall. It is fast but the distance it has to clear is formidable when facing automatic weapons fire. However, the one thing that the sacrifice of the construct does provide is cover for additional support fire and that's when Echo turns the corner and enters the room.
Warm excitement courses through her adaptive nano connections as she raises the H&K MP2020 over the left shoulder of Blossom's attacking construct and pulls the trigger. Now, on burst mode, the submachine gun kicks in her hand sending three armor-piercing rounds into the man standing at the back of the room. His right leg jerks, then dust or blood spray, or something kicks up from his lower ribs area, and finally, his helmeted head snaps back and yet he somehow remains on his feet!
Seeing that Echo has been preceded into the room by the samurai construct, Vegas turns his attention back down the hall towards the receptionist area, heart thumping in his chest, both handguns trained on the mouth of the corridor as he guards against reinforcements. In fact, he returns fire with his Arasaka Minami, spraying the doorway and his assailants with twenty rounds of hot lead that has Echo ducking behind the bulk of the samurai as it is shredded. Miraculously, not a single round penetrates the construct enough to threaten the nomad and the samurai presses forward.
Taking a deep breath, Bloodbank rounds the corner amidst the rat-a-tat-tat of submachine gun fire immediately fired up from his reflex booster and lining up the crosshairs from his optic splice and smart weapon on the bogey over the right shoulder. Perhaps out of pure luck, perhaps out of reflexive training, the target drops lower into a crouch and the medtech's shot buries itself into the wall where he had been.
Adjusting his bag so that the weight is more evenly distributed, Fixer considers how much assistance he could offer with the rapid intelligence of a genius. With his Uzi, he'd be as likely to hit his allies as not and with his Avenger he might be of some use, if he could unlock his joints and swallow the block of ice weighing down his innards. There was a very hot firefight taking place in that room and the techie just can't bring himself to press after the medtech!
Slashing at the security officer on the left side of him, the samurai's sword scrapes through the drywall and wood studs of the wall as the man ducks under the strike, right into the oncoming burst from the attacking nomad. This time, the three rounds of armor-piercing 11mm burn him and he falls against the wall, dropping his Minami and sliding to the ground.
Glancing over his shoulder, Vegas can see both Fixer and Blossom still crouched in the hall but there's no telling what's going on in the room; just more gunfire. Returning his attention to the area he's guarding, the dapper solo presses his lips together and maintains position.
This time, Bloodbank calculates the flow of the target's movements and puts a round right into the forehead of the helmet, snapping the man's head back with the impact and drilling a hole into the armor. Staggering, the soldier barely manages to avoid another slashing attack from the badly damaged samurai with the glowing eyes but such a move puts him right in Echo's line of fire.
Another pull of the trigger and three rounds bury themselves into the black-garbed soldier's body. One to the gun that convulses him as the second tears out his throat and the third drives his left shoulder into the wall. He spills forward and tumbles over the legs of his companion's body.
"Clear!" Bloodbank calls and Blossom slips into the room with a rustle of leather and flash of thigh.
Taking but a moment to locate the computer array, the diminutive netrunner immediately sets about connecting while Bloodbank cautiously moves to check the vitals on their victims and Echo stands guard.
In the hall, Vegas hears the call of clear and recognizes the medtech's voice despite it's strained sound. Restraining himself in his desire to look after the beautiful netrunner's position, the Chairman of the Board remains vigilant in his guard.
"I'm in," Blossom informs the room. "Gonna just, OK! I've found the security footage for the past month. I'll load it to the cloud and set a program to oversee the command, done. One last, fun time is over! Let's get the hell outta here."
Disconnecting herself from the machine (the whole event took less than a minute) the pretty little Asian practically dances out the door followed immediately by Bloodbank and Echo.
"She's got it," the medtech calls out. "Let's go!"
Outside, Ghlahn snaps his magazine in place and frowns as one of the standing team members rushes towards him, assault rifle at ready, firing a three round burst. The end of the fired rounds' trajectory is unknown to the red-headed sniper, but the fact that the man is rushing his position is grounds enough to back off, or is it? There's just one running his way. The other is running towards the injured team member's position. Reloaded, Ghlahn has a decision to make.
Posted on 2017-07-17 at 19:19:16.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: Yup!
That's what you'd do. You'd lead right up to any information actually being given, describe actions, etc. If you are bribing, you ask for a bribe check. If you are convincing, you ask for such a check, if you are gathering information, you ask for that check.
I've updated the game. Things got really interesting for a couple of you. 
Posted on 2017-07-17 at 12:44:31.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon
Subject: Update... Pay close attention.
Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), 10:00 A.M.
The Sun Dog's longboat carries a total complement of fourteen comfortably, sixteen when cramped. Having lowered it to the crystal blue waters below the first of the Dog's crew to go ashore boards by climbing down the rope ladder one at a time under the watchful jealous gaze of the rest of the crew not assigned to their various tasks of making sure the ship is at rest. Anna is last to venture onto the boat and deftly moves to the bow of the small vessel where she plants herself next to Maggie and adjusts her sash and sword to a more comfortable position. Eyeing her sister for a moment, the unlikely captain allows her thin eyebrows to rise just a little before leaning forward and saying in a low tone, "We're attemptin' t' establish positive relations this day, Mags. Tha' scowl yer wearin'll likely move people away jus' like a squal movin' in would."
(OOC: Mags' reply.)
Shaking her head in mock dismay, Captain Cole settles her mouth in an amused smirk and pats the side of the boat loudly. "Let's make shore, boys!"
With a heave and a hearty call of deep-voiced excitement, the men set to rowing and within short order the first of the Dog's crew to set foot on Tortuga arrive at the beach, driving the vessel right onto the shore. Anna is quick to stand and jump into the ankle deep water as the momentum of the waves and the rowing carries the boat further into the mud. Striding forward, she again adjusts her belted blade and the pistol brace to a more comfortable sitting while ignoring the curious looks from those repairing nets and sails in the warm Caribbean sun. Everyone has their orders and she doesn't feel the need to repeat herself. Making her way up the beach, she barely spares her sister a glance to make sure she's with her and before long, the two women find themselves walking into the packed earth streets of the settlement.
In discussion with Fin, and through her own information gathering, Anna has determined where they'll stop first. There's a tavern close to the waterfront that is supposedly run by one Vergil Grover, a businessman with a shipping interest in the Islands that carries up to the New World and across the ocean to British soil. The last that Fin had heard from his stint in the Islands was that Mr. Grover was the man to see for the fairest price. Anna isn't at all delusional enough to pretend that any man in this world will see a female captain as someone to deal fairly with and she's prepared to do what she must to establish her reputation amongst the powers that be as a solid contender. Finding the street that Grover's tavern is located upon proves to take close to a half hour and by the time the two Cole women push through the swinging doors they are glistening with sweat.
Grover's tavern is simply named, Grover's Tavern and despite the prominence that the owner supposedly holds, it is a simple affair. The taproom is wider than it is deep with a low-hanging ceiling that reminds Anna of the hold of a smaller ship complete with rafters that people need to duck under and lanterns swinging in the occasional intruding breeze through porthole sized windows. Two serving maids maneuver throughout the square tables bearing tankards and mugs in their arms and playfully inciting the patrons to tips through flirtation. Sourness hangs in the air as a strong odor mixed with the stench of spiced sweat exacerbated by the heat. There's barely a murmur at this time of day as those that are in attendance are either early drinkers or leftovers from the night before. Standing at the entry for a short few seconds, Anna allows her eyes to adjust to the dim light before moving boldly towards a nearby table.
"Thars a women's club a few blocks down the street, miss," one of the serving wenches smiles broadly in her approach to the table. "Perhaps you'd be more comfortable there?"
Anna ignores the suggestion, preferring to allow Mags to reply, and continues to assess the room. (OOC: insert Maggie's retort as appropriate). In the far corner another door leads to the back and it is there that the serving women constantly return, so it is there that Anna assumes the proprietor resides.
"I wish t' speak with Mr. Grover," she turns a cold and calculating eye on the wench. There's no misgivings, no judgment, just a detached icy presence addressing a servant. "Business."
Raising her eyebrows, the serving girl looks to be about to reply with a practiced retort but thinks better of it. Glancing between the two armed red-heads, she nods briefly and turns to make her way briskly to the back room. Both of the Cole sisters can see that they've drawn the attention of the few patrons present; men staring over their mugs with dirty, swarthy complexions and sunken eyes filled with self-loathing and hate. And though Anna is mentally categorizing the perceived danger of each man, she otherwise makes them think that they are of no interest to her by using a short fingernail to dig at the wood grain in the scarred tabletop and staring, for the most part, at the door through which the waitress went.
A few minutes pass before a burly man in a stained leather apron over a rough cotton shirt with an open collar follows the maid from the back and looks to where she points. Vergil Grover is no more than five eleven with a bald head, large handlebar mustaches, two huge gold hoop earings that drag his lobes down, and a broadness about him that makes Anna immediately think of a bull. The all-seeing eye is tattooed on his chest between his collarbones, staring out from the opening in his collar and his beefy forearms are covered with additional ink from Asian styled dragons to African tribal marks. He stands in assessment for a brief time before touching the serving wench's bare shoulder and sending her on her way as he clomps towards the Cole's table.
"You demanded an audience?" he rumbles in a voice that heralds straight from the center of the earth. The sarcasm wasn't lost on Anna.
Rising up, she looks him in the eye, standing with no more than a foot and a half between them. "I asked t' meet with Mr. Grover, an' if'n yer ‘im, then I'm pleased with the service o' yer establishmen' thus far."
"I'm Virgel Grover," he replies, the left side of his mustaches twitching. "An' who might you be, young miss?"
"I am Captain Anna Cole o' the Sun Dog," Anna motions to the chair opposite her and to Maggie's right. "An' this is my first mate, Maggie Cole."
"Ne'er heard o' ya," he remains standing and so, too, does Anna. "Either o' ya. So, tell me why I should be wastin' my morning talking with ya an' be quick ‘bout it."
"We was told tha' you'd be the one we want t' strike up a business relationship with t' offload cargo." Captain Cole tilts her head, the plume on her hat drifting a little in the breeze caused by the motion. "If tha's no' true, well then, we'll be on our way. I've no time t' waste with pleasantries, Mr. Grover."
Suspiciously eying the two women through beady little orbs, Virgel chews his tongue and frowns. "Two women come int' my place an' want t' do business, Captain an' first mate, ya say?"
"Aye," Anna replies evenly. "Captain an' first mate o' the Sun Dog. New to Tortuga."
"How, in the bloody nine, is it tha' two women captain a ship?" Apparently deciding that at least this bit of information is worth his time, Grover steps to the side and pulls out the proffered chair. "Most sailors can barely stand to be on board a ship when women are passengers."
"I'm no' gonna sit here an' debate the merits o' my captaincy, Mr. Grover," Anna attempts to steer him back to the matter at hand. "Are ya interested in me cargo, or should I be lookin' elsewhere fer a business partner?"
"Tell ya what, miss," Virgil slides easily into the chair and places one heavy arm on the table. "You spend that sass elsewhere. I can tell that ya got spunk, an' the other one here seems t' have the devil ‘n her heart. So, I've no doubt that the two o' you can muster enough steel t' hold yer own in most situations. But, I've got t' test the waters ‘fore I cast off. I'd like t' inspect yer hold before committin' t' a thing."
Anna can sense Maggie's response coming. Most often, the cargo is brought to a location for inspection. The only reason that Captain Cole can fathom Grover wishing to see their hold is to get a better idea of the women he's dealing with and how they run their ship.
"I'll show ya mine if ya show me yours," Anna Cole states coldly after a moment's thought.
Grover flashes a wily grin, "Delightful."
"Mags," Anna begins without taking her eyes off the wide features of the proprietor. "Head on back t' the Dog an' prepare t' receive a visitor."
(OOC: End time at roughly 11:00 AM)
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Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 11:00 A.M.; The One-Eyed Parrot
Shark Tooth sets his now-finished third mug of grog on a nearby vacant table, as he slowly, but cautiously, glides silently between the tables and chairs filled with the boisterous patrons who had gathered to relieve themselves of gold, silver, and other personal possessions, he finds another nearly vacant table within range of the brewing ruckus. The Master Gunner focuses his gaze upon a certain buccaneer silently sipping his ale much to the annoyance of a group of rum-sodden patrons who are taking great offense to the perceived insult of being ignored.
Seven or eight ruffians gather around the brooding buccaneer with the apparent intent to teach the silent sipper some manners—not because of any particular insult, but rather because they are ready to dispense a flogging for no particular reason and it seems to them that now is as good a time as any!
One of the ruffians has barely gotten the words "You bilge-sucking rat!" out of his mouth, when the silent sipper leaps to his feet and smashes his ale mug against the side of his slow-witted head. Another of the agitators manages a hurried, "Blimey!" before having his legs cut out from under him by a well-timed leg sweep! Unfortunately, that's as much advantage as the buccaneer maintains as the rest of the mob falls upon him while he attempts to regain his feet, fists flying, booted feet kicking.
Blackheart Daxon has been using this pub as a temporary refuge from his past; dwelling on the losses he has endured in his time. Considering the loss of his parents, who were murdered by a double-crossing trader in front of him is always angering. He sits silently sipping his ale. Petty talk means nothing to him anymore. He has lost too much, all things considered, with the recent passing of his captain—the only person who he cares about after his parents' death. He had been with that captain for years and traveled from land to land. Hearing the chatter and insults coming from the scallywags near him does not distract him enough to keep him from seeing the stranger approach a nearby table; a man apparently new to these parts.
"Reckon'd yer better t'an us, ya scum bag. Yer a deck washer." Blackheart decides that he has had enough as he absorbs the insults being thrown at him. Bracing himself and having no time to deal with fools, he grips his mug firmly. One more insult thrown and he leaps, smashing the cup against the face of a dirty old pirate delivering the words! If the group of sailors wants trouble, they'll get it from him. Not waiting to see the results of his surprise attack, Daxon follows his swing with a leg sweep while pulling his dagger from its sheathe in his belt. That's when the room darkens for the rush of bodies swarming him and he feels the first kicks and punches landing against his legs, back, ribs, and neck.
Shark Tooth has seen enough and leaps into the fray! Fists swinging, he is determined to even the odds and perhaps acquire a new friendship for his trouble! His aft attack delivers a telling blow to the back of a thin-haired man with an octopus tattoo on the back of his deeply tanned neck. The fellow grunts and staggers forward a step before regaining his balance and turning towards this new threat.
Overwhelmed by the odds, Blackheart lashes out with his blade and lands a back-handed cut on the thigh of one man, hearing the satisfying cry of pain penetrate the scuffle just as he's clocked in the right jaw by a heavy hand that drops him to his knees. He twists just as a boot careens into his abdomen and tenses against the pain that ripples through his gut.
Another two of the trouble-causers turn with their octopus inked fellow and spread to face the interloper. "Lookin' fer a beatin', eh?" one growls as, perhaps hoping to distract Shark Tooth while the other two rush him. Octopus goes low while his shirtless friend attempts a haymaker. Able to avoid the latter, Wylie is wrapped around his middle and driven back onto a table only to have the piece of furniture roll to the left and spill both men to the ground below amidst raining mugs and sour ale.
Driving both hands down on Octopus' back, Shark Tooth strike hard and the air is pushed from the man's lungs. Wylie is able to grip the sailor by the shoulders and roll him from on top just in time to receive a boot to the face that kicks his head back and drops him to the floor, stars in his eyes.
The use of a dagger in a fist fight is, perhaps, a bit uncalled for and the men pressing Blackheart are not forgiving. They drive him further to the floor and wrap his arm in a grip so that he cannot swing that blade again. The dour man finds himself completely immobile, held under the arms and up about the neck while two men stand in front and repeatedly strike him in the face. Mercifully, he's not long conscious and darkness soon sweeps him away.
Mercy isn't so intent on bestowing anything Shark Tooth's way. Reeling from the kick to the face and the subsequent smashing of his head against the wood floor, he feels a weight press against his ribs as a body crouches over him, and that's when the beating really begins. The other two men set about securing his arms and legs so that he cannot fight back, but no matter how hard he is punched, no matter the cuts to his eyebrow, the split of his lip, he remains aware of the beating. Weakened to a point of being unable to fight back at all, Wylie Shark Tooth Stryker eventually feels the weight leave his upper body and through his swollen eye, can barely make out the shadowed silhouettes of the men who had delivered the beating standing over him.
"That's a special gift from Toby O'Reilley o' the Foam Rider, ya one-eyed cur." The sound of spit being issued is how Wylie knows he's been spit upon. He doesn't feel it. His body is in shock from the beating. The assailants move away and the sounds of the bar return to normal. Wylie and Daxon have been left to recover of their own accord on the dirty floor of the One-Eyed Parrot.
(OOC: Approximately fifteen minutes have passed, time being 11:15 AM).
Finally feeling enough energy to move, Shark Tooth rolls over and drags himself to his knees. The table and chairs next to him have been righted and the crockery pulled away. Using what little returning strength he has, the Sea Dog's gunner pulls himself heavily into a chair and hangs his head over the table, trying to see through his swollen eye whether the man he had moved to help is conscious yet.
Blackheart stirs, the blackness giving way to light as his eyes flutter open. Pain registers about his face and neck, his ribs throb, and there's a dull ache in his left thigh. Wincing, no longer dwelling on his losses but rather focusing on his present condition, Daxon strains to rest upon his elbows and looks down his length. Sticking out of his left leg at a right angle is his dagger. The ruffians had been kind enough to leave it with him, stabbing it through his muscle and into his bone. Blood soaked the floor beneath him and the throbbing turned instantly into a screaming pain.
(OOC: All right, gentlemen. Your actions.)
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Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 10:30 A.M.; The Beach
Standing just outside of the surf, boots already spattered and dusted with the beach, Fin and Cracker survey the settlement and the fort on the hill beyond. The fort's position provides cover fire for the bay, but any ship positioning just outside of those heavies could pummel the coastal region of the settlement in comfort. At least for a while. Turning about on his heel, Fin can't see anything that would represent a standing navy. Ships are in the harbor, sure, but banners are showing varying ship allegiances and none are flying any colors representing any particular country. The question is, where to go to begin finding their next prize.
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Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 10:30 A.M.; The Le Porc Fattest Tavern
Eventually focusing on a table where three men talk about the weather patterns and their recent arrival in port, Goncalvo walks over to the table, "Good day gentlemen. I must admit, I overheard your talk regarding the blowing of the winds and found myself intrigued. My ship has just recently arrived and I find myself at a loss in regards to the local conditions. It would be a shame to see harm come to my good ship due to my lack of knowledge. If it pleases you, I would join your table and provide libations for all in return for any enlightenment you could provide."
A chubby, red-faced man with short, curly gray hair and beard raises his eyebrows at being interrupted and places both hands on the edge of the table. He wears a gray long coat with black buttons and trim over a sullied brown cotton poet's shirt. A thick black belt is strapped over his left shoulder to his right hip and his middle girth is barely contained by the ornately silver buckled belt at his waist. A flintlock pistol is ready for a left-handed draw from his right side and a cutlass with a bronze handle is strapped to his left.
To his right sits a rail thin man with wide eyes, pointy features, and a scruffy mustaches and beard of blonde that can barely be seen except in the right light. Long-necked and balding, he wears a simple red shirt that's been mended and patched a few times but has ruffles at the collar like a gentleman would have at court. His sword is slung from a belt over his right shoulder down to his left side and there's no apparent pistol.
To the red-faced man's left is a dark-haired man with tight curls that extend into his thick beard and mustaches. Of Spanish heritage, he's olive-colored with hazel eyes that are lined about the orbs from squinting into the sun. He wears a faded blue long coat with silver trim and a sweat-stained blue blouse, open at the collar down to mid-chest to reveal a puff of graying chest hair. He carries a dirk, a cutlass, and a brace of two flintlocks.
"New here, eh?" the chubby man says after eyeing the Portuguese sailor up and down. "I wasn't aware any trade was due this day. Please, be seated." He points to the remaining chair at the table between the other two and continues. "I am Captain Thomas Levy of the Azure Seas. This is my sailmaster," he motions to the wiry fellow,"Mr. Olsen, and this is my quartermaster, Mr. Fernandez. We thank ye kindly for the libations, Mr,?"
Posted on 2017-07-17 at 12:41:40.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: I very much enjoyed...
Reading everyone's posts thus far. Bravo.
I apologize for the mistake I made in placing the game in the Freeform section and the confusion it has caused. I thought about putting it in the D&D section, but seeing as I harbor nothing but disgust for the rules of D&D on a whole, I didn't want to sully the realityBITES system with association.
So, here are some common rules to writing posts that should be notes:
If you want the character to perform a skill check (the better you'll know once you receive your character sheets), just put it in parenthesis with an OOC: in front of the request. e.g. OOC: Awareness check.).
If you wish to engage in combat, or in the event that combat erupts, you'll need to provide me with an Offense, Defense, and general purpose (such as, Fin's purpose is to stay close to Anna and see to it she doesn't get flanked). That way, I can write out as much combat as possible without having to draw it out as that can get tedious in PBP games.
Small interactions with NPCs like what Eol posted with between Fin and Blaze is fine. You can rest assured that most of the NPCs will do whatever they are told. Longer discourses and special circumstances will require my involvement.
If I think of any others, I'll share them with you. I'll endeavor to update the game every Monday for sure and will do so with the majority of players having posted for their characters. If I don't have majority, I'll hold off a week to update the game until majority is attained. If I don't have majority for three weeks running, I'll consider the game dead and close it down. An alternative to shutting the game down is removing characters from play (which is really easy to do and is usually done through character death). I'll be happy to continue the game as long as I have players willing to play.
Posted on 2017-07-17 at 10:41:28.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: I think so far is no worse than...
most PG-13 movies would be. For the sale of the site, let's try to keep it at that rearing. The asterisks help a lot. 
Just a reminder that though I posted the game thread in the freeform section ood the site our little game is a rules based one. Benign interactions can be role- played out a bit, but interactions where the characters will potentially gain something (info, favors, etc.) have outcomes determined by skill checks and die results. Especially combat.
Keep in mind that I named my game system realityBITES for a reason. Consequences do occur and they can be quite heavy.
Posted on 2017-07-15 at 01:25:49.
Edited on 2017-07-15 at 01:26:00 by Bromern Sal
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: But...
Writing is fun!
Posted on 2017-07-14 at 17:30:42.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: Get to the tavern post haste!
We've some hunting to do!
Posted on 2017-07-14 at 10:40:44.
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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: For those who are interested...
I've met Mike. Had lunch with him. I think any of you who are interested in understanding 'Punk should read this.
Posted on 2017-07-13 at 19:28:08.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: I've added another post to the game.
I felt that there needed a bit more.
Posted on 2017-07-13 at 11:39:05.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon
Subject: More.
As the captain laid out her plans to head to the coast of America, Goncalvo made mental notes regarding the charts he would need and the route that would take them past the best ports. America promised Spanish galleons filled with gold but it was Portuguese plunder he valued most. Unfortunately, the Portuguese were focused on areas much further south. Perhaps a lone Portuguese ship might cross their path but it would be a stroke of luck. "With your permission captain, I would like to seek out other sailing masters in port and see if I can gather any new charts. It would also give me a chance to see what plans other nearby ships are making. Tongues seem to wag easily when in my esteemed company." Â
--
"With your permission captain," the well-kept Portuguese sailmaster speaks up from his position at the helm a few meters behind where the officers of the ship stand. "I would like to seek out other sailing masters in port and see if I can gather any new charts. It would also give me a chance to see what plans other nearby ships are making. Tongues seem to wag easily when in my esteemed company."
Knowing that their maps and charts—really most of what they know of the Caribbean—is outdated or highly suspect, Anna cannot help but be grateful for the foresight of this man. Despite his penchant for keeping himself as well-kept as an English Lord, he does his work well and Captain Cole has found him to be an invaluable asset. Where Adamson—God burn his soul in Hell for eternity!—found Goncalvo, she can only guess, but she thanks the stars for him and his experience through every storm and every time they've entered new waters.
"You have my permission, love," she responds while turning her head slightly to the right and speaking into her blustering hair. "By all means."
The closer to the small colony they draw, the more crew gather on deck. To Ebenezer Hughes, this port o' call is both foreboding and exciting. He, like his brothers among the Dog Crew, is practically transfixed by the clay and brick, wood and cobblestone that appears to have been haphazardly strewn about the exotic island's coastline and hillside. He, most likely the same as his brothers, also takes note of the fort at the top of a nearby hill and wonders who mans its cannons and whether or not their will ever be a time when the Dog Crew need worry about it. Glancing over his shoulder, Hughes scratches thoughtfully at the scruffy beard he wears while he considers the two most powerful people on board, the Cole Sisters.
Captain Cole, strong-willed, solid, some would even say stoic, with a gruffness and quick decision-making personality is still an anomaly to him even after a year of following her across the cold waters of the Atlantic. He'd stitched her up after fights, both mortal and brawls, and has seen more of her body than any other man on board this vessel. Aside from, perhaps, Maggie Hellfire and Fin, he knew her the best and yet, he feels that he is still learning more about her every day.
Maggie "Hellfire" Cole is another matter. Where the captain is stoic, Maggie is quick to temper enough so that most of the men have realized just how to avoid poking that particular bear. There are always some whenever they pick up new crew who try to challenge Hellfire, want to take advantage of having women on board while they are out to sea—after all, there's got to be some reason for it—who quickly discover that in order to keep their giblets, they'd best not press their luck. Of course, Fin in all of his darkness, was always someone to reckon with when it came to any dissent and that helps.
Taking a long moment to survey his brothers as they stand staring out at the Port of Tortuga, Hughes wonders what trouble lies in wait for those who would follow women in a Man's world. Educated in the best schools of medicine Edinburgh had to offer, Hughes had felt fairly enlightened before he had been conscripted off the Dog's first prize. But nothing had prepared him for the Coles. Nothing.
"I'm gonna git me some strong drink an' then a strong woman," Scotts rumbled at Hughes' left elbow. The brawny Irishman grins wolfishly at his more educated Celt companion showing dirty teeth through his ragged red beard. "What you gonna do first, Doc?"
"First?" Ebenezer raises his eyebrows and thoughtfully muses. "While I most certainly can understand the draw of both strengths you've endeared yourself to, sir, I shall first be attending to my duties as ship's surgeon and making certain we are stocked with the proper tools of my trade. That is what I'll be accomplishing first."
"He needs a strong woman more'n a strong whiskey," Bellfonte chimes in from the surgeon's other side and even goes so far as to give the doctor a friendly nudge. Bellfonte, being a large black man and ex-slave with a shaved head and many an African tribal scar across his broad, flat face, stands at roughly six and a half feet and is slightly more broad than most other men on the crew. Instead of a saber at his side, the heavily accented pirate carries a maul that Hughes has seen at work. Months, it took, to reconcile the barbarity of the weapon with the good-naturedness of the man wielding it.
"Perhaps I do," Ebenezer grins into the guffaws of those about him. "Perhaps I do, indeed." Continuing to scratch absently at the beard covering his left cheek, the surgeon turns his attention back to their destination. "Perhaps we all do,"
Blaze Campbell pauses on the starboard poop deck stairs and turns a gauging eye to the treeline. Pine, Palm, fruit trees of varying kinds, and obvious lumber operations. Good. he allows a soft smile to play across his face. We need it.
They hadn't taken much time to repair damage from two prizes ago as they'd ferried their way down the Floridian coast and the lumber supply they normally carry is gone. Continuing his hasty climb up to the captain's position, he pauses just shy of entering what he considers to be the blood circle of Hellfire Maggie. Snatching his hat from his head (an ingrained habit from his days in London's shipwright unions) he ducks his head enough that his dark hair—matted though is it by sweat and saltwater—falls before his face like a curtain.
"Beggin' yer pardon, Captain," he begins. "But is there a stipend fer restockin' the lumber an' fixin' the rails? There's a hole on the port bow I've got patched with tar and scraps that I'd like t' do proper."
"If the Dog ain' proper ready t' hunt, Mr. Campbell," Anna turns a calculating pale blue stare his way and despite her beauty, Blaze can't help but feel terrified every time she places those cold eyes on him. "I'll hold you responsible. Make yer arrangements with Fin. You'll ‘ave wha' ya need."
"I understand, Captain," Campbell had long ago forestalled any formality of calling either of the Cole sisters, mum, miss, or ma'am. They are Captain and Maggie when speaking to their faces and the Ice Queen and Hellfire when spoken about.
Dipping his head again, the Sun Dog's carpenter rings his cap as he makes his way around their backs between where that dandy of a Portuguese sailmaster steers and where the three officers stand. "Mr. Crowe? Uh, sir? About the needs,"
Goncalvo keeps a keen eye on the approaching dock, not at all distracted by Campbell's discussion. Timing the furling of the sails is an art and he is an artist.
"Drop all sails!" he calls as they steer into the shallower waters.
"We anchor in the ‘arbor, Mr. da Nazere," Anna barks, still looking out at the town before them. "The boys can take the longboat in."
Sounds of complaints erupt from the main deck as sailors overhear. There's one longboat on the Sun Dog and by giving this order, Captain Cole has delayed a great many men from seeking relief in a bottle or whorehouse. But, this matters not to Captain Cole. As a matter-of-fact, she has planned it this way. Rushing her crew into a new, untested settlement can only lead to trouble. Still unsure of what kind of welcome they'll receive, the red-headed beauty can only proceed with caution.
"Before any of you get other ideas," Goncalvo calls out to the men rushing up the netting to obey his orders, "furl those sails correctly and ensure they are properly lashed." He always looks after the sails for without them the Sun Dog is just a floating lump. It is the sails that capture the wind and allow the ship to fly across the waves.
Posted on 2017-07-13 at 11:38:30.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: The intro post is up.
Have it me maties!
Posted on 2017-07-12 at 15:21:55.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon
Subject: Bring Me That Horizon
Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga (Ile de la Tortue), 10:00 A.M.
Captain Anastasia Cole is a rarity in this world for more reasons than one. First, and foremost, is her captaincy. Not many would normally allow a woman pirate on board a ship let alone follow her orders and accept her as their leader, and yet, here she is; captain of the Dutch schooner painted red and gold, crimson sails unfurled, aptly named the Sun Dog. Then there's her height. At five foot nine inches, Anna strikes a cutting figure tall and curvy hands on her hips with her booted feet a shoulder's width apart. Long red hair flows in the westerly breeze billowing out from beneath her fancy plumed hat—a piece taken from a dandy of a Frenchman on a hunt nearly six months ago. Her white blouse hugs and swims about her upper body giving relief to the threat of a sweltering Caribbean day. On her left hip rested a saber with a steel basket, the blade hidden by a black leather sheathe of utilitarian design. Tucked into the crimson red sash tied about her midsection are two flintlock pistols trimmed in worked silver and made from a rich white oak. A blade-breaker dirk is sheathed in the outside of her right boot, polished black leather pieces that rise up to just below her knees with solid hardened leather soles and a small series of buckles that ride up the front of each to the cuffs.
Here they are, the crew of the Sun Dog, flying into the Bay of Tortuga at a little under one knot, half her sails furled, the banner depicting a dancing headless skeleton on a black field snapping from the mast over the crow's nest with near worthless blankets, linens, and clothing in the hold as a reminder of how scarce the prey had been on the journey from the western Florida coast. One scrawny little cargo sloop had crossed their path after the original target, the Belle Alamoure, failed to show. The sloop hadn't even put up a fight to satiate the bloodlust of the crew—seventy-five dirty, unwashed, and unscrupulous souls who sought wealth only to piss it all away once they hit port, then repeat the cycle again and again until a ball or a blade ended their sorry existence, or a hangman's noose.
Eyeing the fort atop the rolling Haitian hillside overlooking the ragged port community, Anna's brow creases. She's heard that pirates are welcome here, but the sight of a fort flying is always more than a little disconcerting. The tradesman she had overheard talking in the tavern at St. Augustine had revealed the constant struggle between the Spanish and the English for the region and how this upheaval lent certain freedoms to the Brethren of the Coast. News that was readily received by the captain who had determined to learn more about the Brethren and what kind of freedoms they enjoyed.
Research enlightened her to the possibility of joining with the loosely knit group of pirates who would provide fences for cargo, a port to repair the Dog when needed, respite from the harshness of the Sea, and more, all located in Tortuga.
Clenching her teeth, Captain Cole remembers how she had come to captain the Sun Dog and the tumultuous journey such a role has been as the curvature of the coastline leads them further into the Bay revealing the two smaller forts cradled amidst a series of warehouses on the hook peninsula at the mouth. It was not unlike the setup in London where she had commandeered the Dog. Could that really have been only a year ago? A few weeks hiding in a shoal-protected cove repairing the damage done to the Dog escaping the pursuing Ships of the Line had nearly cost her the captaincy—Nay! It had nearly cost her life.
Mr. David Adamson had been instrumental in putting the crew of cutthroats together to follow her bold plan in the first place, but he (like so many others) had seriously underestimated the Cole women when he thought to take the prize for himself once they weighed anchor. The crew they had hired on consisted of eighty men total. She hadn't wanted to be light on manpower when they rushed the Dog's deck that night. She also knew from experience that the optimal crew complement for a schooner such as the Sun Dog is seventy-five and expected more than a few men to fall to the blade and lose their lives to the shot of the Dutch sailors protecting the ship. She had been correct. She is rarely wrong.
Thirteen of her men had lost their lives in that skirmish. The entire original crew of the Dog had been executed. Anna had accounted for more than her share, as had Maggie, Anna's younger, more fiery sister. Mags' ferocity had made the bold red-head proud and they had celebrated their victory loudly and brazenly as they sped away from the responding Royal Navy.
As with any shipboard battle, the Sun Dog had taken damage from cannon and swivel gun fire on its way out of London Harbor. The speed of the vessel was something that Anna had heard spoken of by her crew which is what had drawn her to the Dog in the first place, and by God did she fly across the water reaching eleven knots under full sail. Escaping cost the lives of another four of her pirates. Admittedly, she is more appreciative of the number seventeen over thirteen. Omens can come in all kinds of shapes and sizes, and thirteen is a highly dangerous omen to be starting out a journey to the Americas on.
Within the cove, Mr. Campbell set the crew about the work of repairing the Dog while Anna worked with Adamson, Goncalvo, and Maggie to plot their course towards the riches of the North American shipping lanes. At least, that's what Anna thought they were doing. David had other plans.
Playing on the natural suspicions of sailors, he spent the hours away from the Cole women cultivating mistrust and suspicion amongst the crew. Just as the ship was about to set sail he made his move. Supported by almost half the men who had helped take the Sun Dog, Adamson mutinied. The quiet gray cove of the British coastline became a bloody battleground within seconds. Bodies drifted in the water spilling bright red fluid into the surf, catching on small coral and rock protrusion. When all was said and done, Adamson was dead, slain by her own sword, and the supporting crew (led to her aid by Fin Crowe) were left to pilot the Dog severely undermanned with the Royal Navy searching the seas for them.
Since then, they had managed five hauls. One had been very lucrative resulting in outfitting and refitting the Dog enough that they endured three mediocre prizes and one dismal without Anna losing the trust of her men.
Blinking the sting of the salty air from her pale blue eyes, Captain Cole returns to the present and steps to the rail of the poop deck, calling out behind her, "Take us in, Mr. da Nazare."
Creaking timber and the cries of sailors going about their work fills the air as the sailmaster sets about the task of bringing them to anchor in the harbor. Eyeing the busy wharf, Anna glances to her right and meeting a furtive look from her little sister.
"Once at anchor," she instructs. "Give the men a schedule tha' keeps fifteen on board the Dog at all times. Fifteen sober men, Mags. We're no' in familiar waters ‘ere an' I wanna see how warm it is ‘fore we dive in."
Receiving the acknowledgement she has come to expect from her kin, Cole turns to her quartermaster. "We'll set ‘bout findin' somethin' t' hunt right away, Fin. Can' afford t' have the men growin' bored. We must keep them fed. Set Cracker ‘r Simple Jack about restockin' the hold an' take the other t' find me somethin' t' hunt. Let's be quick ‘bout it.
"I'll take Mags an' seek out the contacts we need t' establish a line o' sale fer the cargo we hold now. We'll hopefully be able t' pull enough t' keep the men waist deep in liquor an' tail ‘til we have somethin' lined up."
Turning her questioning look between the two of them she asks, "Any questions?"
Posted on 2017-07-12 at 15:21:06.
Edited on 2017-07-12 at 18:23:24 by Bromern Sal
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: Debating...
First, Welcome Elious to the crew of the Dog. His character, Blackheart, is on Stryker's gun crew.
Second, I absolutely love Whiskey in a Jar by Metallica, so thank you for sharing. And Ray Stevens is hilarious.
Third, As I'm the one handling all of the rules and such, we could actually get started with the game while I finish up the character sheets for all of you scallywags. Unless any of you have a concern with not knowing character stats and such, then I am certainly debating moving in that direction.
Thoughts?
And Keeper, I'm the one filling out the sheets as this is a game system of my own development so I don't expect any of you to spend the time to get to know it, especially during character creation.
Posted on 2017-07-12 at 10:41:25.
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: So long as it isn't Rocinante that blows up...
I'm good with it.
Get feeling better and call 811 if necessary.
Call 811
Posted on 2017-07-12 at 10:35:54.
Edited on 2017-07-12 at 10:36:28 by Bromern Sal
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Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: I liked and appreciate the post!
So hoping that this game doesn't die.
Posted on 2017-07-11 at 12:33:11.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: One character sheet delivered...
Just a few more to go.
Posted on 2017-07-10 at 22:38:19.
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: My pleasure!
Glad it worked.
Posted on 2017-07-10 at 22:37:52.
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Topic: Genesis Q&A
Subject: Ah!
There's the Grugg I remember. 
Posted on 2017-07-10 at 22:37:23.
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Check this out, Roger...
https://www.labnol.org/internet/embed-google-photos-in-website/29194/
Posted on 2017-07-10 at 19:10:34.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: I believe that I've resolved that issue...
Please perform a server refresh (CTRL-F5 on a PC or APPLE-F5 on a Mac) and let me know if you don't see the images now.
Posted on 2017-07-10 at 18:29:59.
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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Yup!
It has been. By the way, y'all done fergot to reload so I gave that allowance as you were moving down the hall. Keeper, Ghlahn is needing to reload now.
Posted on 2017-07-10 at 11:53:23.
Edited on 2017-07-10 at 11:54:19 by Bromern Sal
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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A Night City Adventure
Subject: Moving right along...
West 43875 St. 52 High -- The Bartholomew School Grounds and Sewage/Runoff Drainage System | Night City Integrate | High City | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 4:07 AM 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 feels a moment of remorse as the dog tumbles, dead, but he has no time to dwell on it. The remaining sec-team member from the first team yells for help while trying to reach the safety of the building. Meanwhile, the second sec-team seems content to assess the situation. That yelling has got to stop. The sniper's scope stops on the wounded man's heart and milliseconds later a bullet flies. Ghlahn hopes the others are near their objective as it is becoming quite a party out here in the courtyard and Ghlahn does not like parties.
Discharging the shell, the round flies true and strikes the target exactly where the red-headed sniper's crosshairs align. A ghost of a tendril of smoke floats from the still open chamber indicating that the magazine of the Nomad .44 rifle he's using is empty and it is time to reload. Still checking through the rain-swept night to make sure his target is dead, M'haru Ghlahn frowns as the body (which had been thrown onto its back from the impact) rolls over again and the black clad, injured man continues to crawl away again.
Turf and water splash up as bullets from the other sec team dart about Ghlahn's position. A couple smash into the cement foundation of the mouth sending splinters and chips across his battle mask with small clinks echoing in his ears. They've located his shooting perch and have unwisely opened up on full auto with their Militech assault rifles.
* * * * *
Echo shakes her head as they hurry down the hallway after Blossom, the netrunner's words about needing to get to the security office yet ringing in her ears. When did she let herself get so flustered, so off her game? Was allowing herself to have feelings for these new friends making her a liability? Was her protective instincts going to get one or more of them hurt, or killed? She mentally and fiercely scolds herself hoping that her fears would not become reality.
Vegas is more focused on getting the advantage in the unexpected firefight with the private school's security forces than he in being aware of which office Blossom needs to access and, especially where such an office would be located. The Frank Sinatra look-alike holds back taking a defensive rear position while Blossom leads the charge to the security office. He does not lag too far behind the group, but holds a position of vanguard in case any security forces come charging down the hall behind them with guns blazing.
He takes note when Blossom slides past a particular door and points to it, silently mouthing the words, "This is it."
When they arrived at the door, Fixer immediate going to work getting out his tool for the card reader, the young nomad catches "Monsieur Love" moving towards her with an eye over his shoulder. Vegas cautiously approaches Echo, being very aware of their surroundings, making sure that no security forces are approaching, before whispering to her, "Guard Blossom when Fixer gains access to this office. I will stand guard out here and cover your backs!"
Nodding affirmative, Echo simply says, "Copy that," and moves over to the door by Blossom, determined to do her job properly, perhaps a bit quieter this time.
The Chairman of the Board has realized that Echo has an interest in protecting Blossom—maybe not a romantic interest—but an interest that he feels reveals Echo at least considers Blossom to be a friend. Friends are important in this business. Vegas thinks momentarily about his friend, Casino. They have pulled each other out of the fire numerous times. The Crooner has a momentary regret that the present circumstances have separated the two partners, but in the heat of the moment, with guns blazing and bullets flying, one does not always have the opportunity to make the choices that one would prefer to make in hindsight.
Vegas refocuses on the task at hand, dismissing any regrets or second guesses of being separated from his partner, Casino, as he searches for the best location in the hallway near the security office door to provide cover fire for the others in the group. Settling for pressing against the wall with his handgun down range, as it were, to deal with any approaching combatants.
The Dapper Solo will use everything in his arsenal to protect Blossom and ensure that she and the others would have the best odds of making it out of this predicament with the info they need to locate the missing boy! Vegas will not sacrifice his life needlessly, but he will do what is necessary to protect Blossom and give them all the best chance of making it out of this school alive and free!
He searches for any security cameras and does his best to avoid being seen, becoming one with the wall, then settles in to wait for Blossom to do her thing so they can get the info and 'Get Out of Dodge' as quickly as possible!
As everyone steps aside to let him through, Fixer un-slings the small backpack he has been carrying and starts rummaging through it, humming softly to himself. He extracts a cellphone like device with a card reader attached to some wires for the second time tonight. Pushing a button marked READ, he patiently waits for the device to do its thing, imagining murmurings of "come on," and "hurry up," from the others.
A few seconds later, a message lights up the screen INSERT BLANK. Pulling a blank card from a pocket in the rear of the device, Fixer places it in the appropriate slot and pushes the CREATE button on the device. It takes about 15 seconds and then the DONE button lights up.
Fixer removes the card and hands it to Blossom. "This will get you in," he says and then fades back down the hall near Vegas and as much into the shadows as he can manage.
Echo stands on the right of the door, card in her left hand, newly reloaded H&K MP2020 in her right, the feeling of oneness between her and her adaptive nano weapon a comfort despite this adrenalized situation. Blossom shifts the weight of her bag and scoots further to the left of the door. Her position ending up approximately two meters from the entrance and hopefully well outside of an errant bullet's blood circle. Bloodbank stands behind Echo, ready to assist if necessary, his as yet unfired Armalite 44 at ready. Fixer is next down the hall by another meter and Vegas is another meter beyond Fixer. Time is of the essence, yet haphazardly rushing into a room where a security team likely awaits is suicide. The data they have been pursuing is there on the other side of the door, waiting.
Posted on 2017-07-10 at 11:52:09.
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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Perhaps it was...
Due to the Holiday week. I've enough players who have posted that I'll continue the game.
Posted on 2017-07-10 at 10:22:53.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: Interesting...
They all show for me. Except, obviously, the two I don't have yet. Which are missing for you besides yours, Keeper? I'll figure out what's going on once I know and fix it.
As for the start of the game, I'm hoping to be able to get the ball rolling sometime this week. Working on fleshing out character sheets now so expect some emails with sheet sharing (sounds gross, but it isn't) in the near future.
Posted on 2017-07-10 at 10:21:28.
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What game do you own the 
Return to Charadun - Q&A
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