Author Topic: Stories by the Fire  (Read 422 times)

Cind

  • Posts: 1833
Stories by the Fire
« on: April 07, 2019, 11:06:01 AM »
Tell us your stories, that are at least one year old, and not including current pcs.

Hmm, now that I've said that I can't think of one...

I have a lot of good memories of House Kadius, and a lot of not necessarily good, but cool memoris of being unmanifested as a Tuluki citizen in Tuluk. Two of those stories intersect, with my human pc Siko becoming a member of House Kadius, and being the sort of sociopath who really just wanted to be left alone and wanted to believe in something, but wasn't capable of doing so. She was a rukkian, and I'm sure it boosted her jewelrycraft. The other members of the House made the experience, and it was my only Tuluki Kadian, but for some reason the experience was better than most of my experiences as a southern Kadian. Its possible that crafters and other socialites tend to head north rather than south, increasing the number of people in a GMH there; there were a lot of active people there at the time.

I also have several memories of, not playing half-giants myself, but hanging around them and helping them resize their armor as a friend. With donations and things like that. Seemed like that part was tedious with how much it costs to get a giant's armor sized up from human size. I remember a half-giant was in the Byn, left after his year, and killed a mek by himself the day after--- this was during legacy class era. The day after -that-, he went to kill another mek--- and died.

I've died quite a bit to legacy wind witches doing stuff in the wilderness. I usually don't skill up like I care, but nothing would have really protected you from the wrath of a legacy witch, especially if you're mundane and by yourself.
Playing something new could be just what you need!

Nile

  • Posts: 441
Re: Stories by the Fire
« Reply #1 on: April 09, 2019, 03:08:24 AM »
Do we really need to recap the whole Quick/Gin saga?
Free your hate.

Riev

  • Posts: 5333
Re: Stories by the Fire
« Reply #2 on: April 09, 2019, 09:28:56 AM »
Do we really need to recap the whole Quick/Gin saga?

No, but it was a big thing during the era of wide plotlines and semi-unrestrained PC power.

Eventually, I'll remember everything that happened with my Split Personality Bynner and re-write it.
Masks are the Armageddon equivalent of Ed Hardy shirts.

Feco

  • Posts: 1968
Re: Stories by the Fire
« Reply #3 on: April 15, 2019, 01:56:56 PM »
I'm sharing a series of stores over in other forums.  Not only do I hope people enjoy reading them, but I'm hoping they can attract a few more players.  Maybe from tabletop crowds.

This first one is a simple Way conversation between Amon'Ma & The Butcher Brons, about a man named "Alamar."  The logs and some details have been changed to protect certain IC things.

At the start of this tale, AmoníMa found himself alone, deep in the wilderness, absolutely loaded down with loot. He was prone to burying his treasure in hard to find places.

I think it might be fun to post the logs, here, instead of the written stories.  The Fat, Chalton-Faced Fucker, Chapter I:

Code: [Select]
You are Amon'Ma.
Sdesc: the herculean, one-eyed dwarf
You are 41 years, 1 months, and 24 days old,
 which by your race and appearance is young.
You are currently speaking mirukkim with a rinthi accent.

This creature stands tall for a dwarf -- his form is massive, absolutely
corded with muscle, and his skin deeply leathered and bald.  His face is
lacking fat, his eye-sockets deeply sunken, his nose flat, and his jaw
square, altogether making his head appear as if it is nothing but a massive
skull clad in skin and taut muscle.  His teeth are rotting out of his head
-- they are black and yellow, crooked and chipped, and covered in a sticky
film.  His ears are subtly pointed, and his earlobes are stretched and
drooped, as if weighed down by some heavy ornamentation.  His missing left
eye has left a deep, viciously scarred socket -- it seems to have never truly
healed, and is always oozing a bit of clear fluid.
The figure in a dusty knee-length, grey leather duster is in excellent condition.

<on head>                a dusty colorful, polished shell helm
<over eyes>              a dusty pair of reinforced, deep-blue sunslits
<face>                   a rough tattoo of a dark crimson wyvern
<on face>                a dusty fitted, ash-grey storm mask
<in left ear>            a dusty sapphire-beaded obsidian hoop
<around neck>            a dusty polished, colorful scalemail collar
<about throat>           a crimson bandana
<slung across back>      a dusty massive, composite warbow
<across back>            a dusty oversized black backpack
<on torso>               a bloodied polished, colorful scalemail hauberk
<over right shoulder>    a dusty leather bandolier
<over left shoulder>     a dusty stiff, grey leather travel satchel
<on arms>                a bloodied pair of polished, colorful scalemail sleeves
<around right wrist>     a polished, carved shell bracer
<around left wrist>      a polished, carved shell bracer
<on hands>               a dusty pair of grey leather, styrax-studded gloves
<hands>                  an inking of a Kruth card: the Wind of Death
<primary hand>           a dusty siltflyer skull hammer-pick
<secondary hand>         a dusty triangular scrab shell shield
<on forearms>            a dusty supple, dark-grey strap-sheath
<on left index finger>   a dusty roughly-carved styrax ring
<as belt>                a thick pouched belt
<hung from belt>         a dusty studded wood-handled mace
<around body>            a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak
<about waist>            a dusky-red, bristly fur quiver
<on legs>                a bloodied pair of polished, colorful scalemail leggings
<around right ankle>     a dusty leather-strapped green glow-crystal
<around left ankle>      a dusty simple, grey leather knife sheath
<on feet>                a dusty pair of golden-colored, spurred leather boots

It is a warm day.
A harsh sandstorm from the east fills the air with whirling sand and dust.

Rolling Mountain Scrub [N, E, S, W]
  This stretch of scrub lies on low, sandy hills broken by boulders and
towering stacks of black rock.  Hardy pech grasses and maar trees are the
predominant plants here, though a few swathes of arruth grass snake through
the scrub.

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

You think:
     "Ah, shit."

The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak growls.

The fat, wall-eyed dwarf sends you a telepathic message:
     "When ya gets ya an opportunity, we can talk. I work wit Sticks and Ratseller."

You contact the fat, wall-eyed dwarf with the Way.

You send a telepathic message to the fat, wall-eyed dwarf:
     "Yar?  What do you want to talk about, friend."

Freezing darkness consumes the mountains as the red rays of Suk-Krath fade.

Crossing his legs, you sit down.

The fat, wall-eyed dwarf sends you a telepathic message:
     "Yer a popular fella late. I got several fancy fucks 'roun 'ere wantin' ta set up a meet wit ya."

The fat, wall-eyed dwarf sends you a telepathic message:
     "If I were a sand-ass noggin' knocker like yerself, I'd do the meet somewhere safe. Mebbe Red Storm. Ya want ta contact a fella named 'Alamar'."

You send a telepathic message to the fat, wall-eyed dwarf:
     "Alamar.  I'm guessing there's sids in this?"

The fat, wall-eyed dwarf sends you a telepathic message:
     "Fuck said he'd bring ya a present. All I said was I'd deliver tha message."

You send a telepathic message to the fat, wall-eyed dwarf:
     "Well, then Amon'Ma appreciates it."

The fat, wall-eyed dwarf sends you a telepathic message:
     "That's it fer now. I'm bogged down in me work inside tha walls, which is much like yer work outside. Only our worlds don' collide much."

The fat, wall-eyed dwarf sends you a telepathic message:
     "We'll arrange fer a drink 'tween us stumps sometime in tha future. I'm sure it'd go well."


You send a telepathic message to the fat, wall-eyed dwarf:
     "Yar.  The Crimson Wind Blows, my friend."

The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak grunts.

You think:
     "I should find some better shelter."

You stand up.

[Amon'Ma continues his journey, as darkness sets in.]
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