Hmm... Good question. I'm tempted to say "you're all level 1 noobs" since I've never played as the DM before. And yes, story is going to be bigger than the actual rolling.
For character creation, I learned an awesome way to tie characters together at a con. We're going to play a game of "Yes and/but..."
Example: "My character owns the tavern where the adventure begins!"
"Yes, but: Your tavern is going to be closed by the royal bank tomorrow for failure to pay taxes, and my character is te tax collecter!"
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Coolness! I was going to keep it very free form, as much about testing my own abilities as a budding DM as telling a good, fun story! I think we just need one more and I'll be happy to make the OOC up.
Tentative interest. Do you have an overarching plot/villain to help drive the story?
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Strike Witches: The untold story of The 509th "Weary Witches"
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11 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
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Strike Witches: The untold story of The 509th "Weary Witches"
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11 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Name: Christoph Autumn
Age: 19
Appearance: Image hunt is taking me forever T_T However, looks like your standard spindly, blonde-haired and blue eyed Nordic teenager is what I'm going for.
Nation: Baltland
Rank: Conscript
Striker Unit: Panzer II
Weapon: Arm mounted 20mm light cannon.
Magical Ability: Coming from the Baltic, Christoph had developed a natural affinity for snowy landscapes and navigating in the winter wilds. When his powers came to be, he found a unique ability in being able to move quickly over terrain others found difficult. Experiments in his homeland found he was able to outpace most experienced wilderness runners. While solid foundations like stone, wood and concrete offer him no benefit, Christoph can move at almost double his normal speed in snow and sand.
Animal Familiar: Black, wolf-like ears and a thick, bushy tail.
Personality: Sensitive introvert.
Bio/History: The mystery of male witches, "Warlocks," have been troubling the nations since their discovery. They are rare treasures if only because their true purposes and power are so mysterious. When Christoph Autumn's powers manifested in the depths of winter, Baltland was unsure if they should treat him as a secret weapon or an unstable bomb. His home life seemed common enough to provide stability- raised by his grandfather after his parents died in a train accident, Christoph became a self-sustaining if introverted individual. Joining the military wasn't something Christoph envisioned for himself, preferring the life of a mountain trapper to that of a soldier, but his grandfather's insistence pushed him into the second war. His conscription into the 509th was seen by the powers at home as a mad gambit. Either this new found wonder of a warlock would help break through the Neuroi lines and finish the fight, or he would die trying and so remove a potentially unstable piece from the board.
Age: 19
Appearance: Image hunt is taking me forever T_T However, looks like your standard spindly, blonde-haired and blue eyed Nordic teenager is what I'm going for.
Nation: Baltland
Rank: Conscript
Striker Unit: Panzer II
Weapon: Arm mounted 20mm light cannon.
Magical Ability: Coming from the Baltic, Christoph had developed a natural affinity for snowy landscapes and navigating in the winter wilds. When his powers came to be, he found a unique ability in being able to move quickly over terrain others found difficult. Experiments in his homeland found he was able to outpace most experienced wilderness runners. While solid foundations like stone, wood and concrete offer him no benefit, Christoph can move at almost double his normal speed in snow and sand.
Animal Familiar: Black, wolf-like ears and a thick, bushy tail.
Personality: Sensitive introvert.
Bio/History: The mystery of male witches, "Warlocks," have been troubling the nations since their discovery. They are rare treasures if only because their true purposes and power are so mysterious. When Christoph Autumn's powers manifested in the depths of winter, Baltland was unsure if they should treat him as a secret weapon or an unstable bomb. His home life seemed common enough to provide stability- raised by his grandfather after his parents died in a train accident, Christoph became a self-sustaining if introverted individual. Joining the military wasn't something Christoph envisioned for himself, preferring the life of a mountain trapper to that of a soldier, but his grandfather's insistence pushed him into the second war. His conscription into the 509th was seen by the powers at home as a mad gambit. Either this new found wonder of a warlock would help break through the Neuroi lines and finish the fight, or he would die trying and so remove a potentially unstable piece from the board.
While his people were not accustomed to mass migration or forced marches, Aldred knew they could move faster than they currently were. Not through any fault of their own, of course. The crack of the whips told him that, clear as the daylight above them.
"Faster, slave!" *CRACK* "Faster! The war-leader has no patience!"
The task of hauling their supply sleds had originally been determined by lots, but such menial work was a sure way to brew strife among the clans. Those who pulled the food and water would be exempt from battle and it's glories. The Draumdra clan, bearlings, had been the unlucky ones and still resented missing the attack on Gralhold. With the burning of the hold, the Nords had hundreds of slaves at their disposal- trophies of war they would be able to bring back to the Mountain as was their right of conquest. The slaves were closely watched for escape attempts, but the few who tried were quickly shot down.
"Half a thousand slaves," Aldred murmured to his war council, "And they cannot pull the loads between the,. If we do not leave the forests before tomorrow, the plan will need to change."
The plan would fail if they did not make the borders of the forest before tomorrow, undoubtedly. Even if that foppish oaf the king delivered reinforcements as promised. The fact of the matter was the war had been at a stalemate for decades, and the kings of Grapholo had likely fallen behind on their military prowess. The Kingsguard was probably at full strength, as they only ever received the cushy assignments. And the Nords COULD accomplish their next objective on their own- if the timing was right. But to finish the war would require an army from the King at their side.
"It's the trees," one of the chieftains, a great bearish man with an iron axe, intoned. "The war sleds cannot be turned by humans except on a road. The thralls will be slowed without smooth ground. If we left the forest for the road-"
"We stay here," Aldred said, cutting off that line of thought. "If we went to the road we would be spotted within hours. Finrick's gates would be closed, barred and barricaded. And the enemy would begin assembling conscriptions to meet us in the field. We must take Finrick. Our enemy has lost forts and towns before, but a city has never been lost by either side in this war. If we take Finrick, we control the momentum of the conflict. And while the nobility of our foe's court dither and hoard their knights for their own protection, the road to the Capitol will be open to us. If our dearest allies will deliver what was promised..."
"Faster, slave!" *CRACK* "Faster! The war-leader has no patience!"
The task of hauling their supply sleds had originally been determined by lots, but such menial work was a sure way to brew strife among the clans. Those who pulled the food and water would be exempt from battle and it's glories. The Draumdra clan, bearlings, had been the unlucky ones and still resented missing the attack on Gralhold. With the burning of the hold, the Nords had hundreds of slaves at their disposal- trophies of war they would be able to bring back to the Mountain as was their right of conquest. The slaves were closely watched for escape attempts, but the few who tried were quickly shot down.
"Half a thousand slaves," Aldred murmured to his war council, "And they cannot pull the loads between the,. If we do not leave the forests before tomorrow, the plan will need to change."
The plan would fail if they did not make the borders of the forest before tomorrow, undoubtedly. Even if that foppish oaf the king delivered reinforcements as promised. The fact of the matter was the war had been at a stalemate for decades, and the kings of Grapholo had likely fallen behind on their military prowess. The Kingsguard was probably at full strength, as they only ever received the cushy assignments. And the Nords COULD accomplish their next objective on their own- if the timing was right. But to finish the war would require an army from the King at their side.
"It's the trees," one of the chieftains, a great bearish man with an iron axe, intoned. "The war sleds cannot be turned by humans except on a road. The thralls will be slowed without smooth ground. If we left the forest for the road-"
"We stay here," Aldred said, cutting off that line of thought. "If we went to the road we would be spotted within hours. Finrick's gates would be closed, barred and barricaded. And the enemy would begin assembling conscriptions to meet us in the field. We must take Finrick. Our enemy has lost forts and towns before, but a city has never been lost by either side in this war. If we take Finrick, we control the momentum of the conflict. And while the nobility of our foe's court dither and hoard their knights for their own protection, the road to the Capitol will be open to us. If our dearest allies will deliver what was promised..."
I am absolutely still here! Was just waiting for a couple more posts before I made another with Aldred! Since that's happened I'll try to post tonight or tomorrow!
I like rPs on this site. I REALLY like tabletop RPGs.
So I thought, why not try both at once and see what happens?
You will be playing one of a circle of friends that gets together every weekend to roll dice for a generic fantasy game. Within the tabletop universe, you are a merry band of adventurers, seeking to destroy an evil Lich. OUTSIDE the game universe, the circle of friends is tearing itself apart- but why that's happening is completely up to you and what you write into the CS.
This RP will require the players make 2 characters- one in game and one "IRL". Added to this, I'll be asking you bring a 1d6 to this party to resolve combat and preserve randomness in the tabletop element (we'll be playing on the honor system here).
Finally, I will only be GMing the tabletop section. The player section will have to be driven by someone else- I don't think my work schedule will allow me to do both.
Any interest?
So I thought, why not try both at once and see what happens?
You will be playing one of a circle of friends that gets together every weekend to roll dice for a generic fantasy game. Within the tabletop universe, you are a merry band of adventurers, seeking to destroy an evil Lich. OUTSIDE the game universe, the circle of friends is tearing itself apart- but why that's happening is completely up to you and what you write into the CS.
This RP will require the players make 2 characters- one in game and one "IRL". Added to this, I'll be asking you bring a 1d6 to this party to resolve combat and preserve randomness in the tabletop element (we'll be playing on the honor system here).
Finally, I will only be GMing the tabletop section. The player section will have to be driven by someone else- I don't think my work schedule will allow me to do both.
Any interest?
They came in the dark of night to Gralhold.
This was not a new thing. Every summer, there was always a raid. A dozen or so unblooded Nords coming down from the hills to steal a flock of sheep, torch a homestead and take their share of thralls and slaves. It was why the good king had ordered this holdfast to be built. On paper the sum of money must have looked to buy an impressive castle, furnished with a true armory and a mighty commander. But Gralhold was on the fringes of the king's domain, and so much of the money dried up before it reached its destination. Where there should have been a castle with tall walls and a sturdy keep, there was a wooden palisade, a single archer's tower, and a longhouse and stables.
A hundred men at arms called this place their home, led by the good Sir Robbit Grey, a bastard Knight who had fallen in disfavor with the king. A man who loved wine and ale far more than drills and duty. Whose answer to THEIR coming was to let the mongrels take a few sheep and leave.
So when THEY came this night, the townspeople shrieked and rang their bells, lit their watchfires and ran for the safety of the fort.
A hundred of them, they screamed. On the east road, looting and burning! They took old woman Margaery as a thrall, stole all the sheep and cattle! Something must be done!
Sir Robbit did not know whether to dismiss the townsfolk as raving mad over a handful of bandits or to lock the gates and let them be. The smallfolk had been late on their taxes, and a man of his age required extra funds aside from what his Lord dispensed. He was on the verge of going back to bed when the watchmen spotted the fires in the fields.
Bandits did not burn crops. It drew too much attention to them. Better to steal whatever you wanted in the dark of night, then leave. No, the townsfolk were right. It was THEM this time. And in sufficient numbers to be this bold...
An hour later as the whole of the East fields was on fire, Sir Robbit rode out of the fortress with the hole garrison behind him. A hundred men at arms and a dozen freeriders at his back. If he could put the mongrels down decisively, he would be invited back to the capital, his lands restored, and all that business with the filthy merchant forgiven.
The townsfolk he left inside with the squires to lock the gates. A dozen lads to protect several hundred. He was expected to return within the hour, he said. Don't let them get too comfortable.
At dawn, his head came sailing over the gate. From the tower the squires could see their doom writ plain. A hundred of THEM? No. Many, many more than that.
They stood in clumps a hundred strong all around the fort, banging iron against steel. Their weapons were crude and aged. Some held the arms and armor of the garrison as trophies. But what they lacked in steel the horde made up for in size. They were giants, each of them. Bestial and hulking. Some were tall and lean, graceful in every movement they made with their pointed cats ears. Others were huge, hulking things- the men covered in thick hair which hid rippling muscle to match any troll's. More still had great tusks jutting from their mouths. The worst of them, however, were the ones at the gate. Tall, muscled, their hands contorted into long claws while their teeth were jagged, almost saw like. A hundred of them carried the largest axes they'd ever seen.
One among them stood at the gate, a mighty two-handed sword clutched in his hands, point driven into the ground. Buried in the fur of a great white bear, his head covered by an ancient and battered horned helm, he made no move or sound.
The squires called to the town's mayor, thinking the lone man demanded a parley in THEIR old traditions. But as they dismounted the tower the walls began to shake with loud, deep THUNKing noises, all the while the cries outside growing louder and louder.
Within the hour, the wooden gates were chopped to pieces.
By day's end, the holdfast was a bonfire.
By nightfall, the Nord were moving west...
This was not a new thing. Every summer, there was always a raid. A dozen or so unblooded Nords coming down from the hills to steal a flock of sheep, torch a homestead and take their share of thralls and slaves. It was why the good king had ordered this holdfast to be built. On paper the sum of money must have looked to buy an impressive castle, furnished with a true armory and a mighty commander. But Gralhold was on the fringes of the king's domain, and so much of the money dried up before it reached its destination. Where there should have been a castle with tall walls and a sturdy keep, there was a wooden palisade, a single archer's tower, and a longhouse and stables.
A hundred men at arms called this place their home, led by the good Sir Robbit Grey, a bastard Knight who had fallen in disfavor with the king. A man who loved wine and ale far more than drills and duty. Whose answer to THEIR coming was to let the mongrels take a few sheep and leave.
So when THEY came this night, the townspeople shrieked and rang their bells, lit their watchfires and ran for the safety of the fort.
A hundred of them, they screamed. On the east road, looting and burning! They took old woman Margaery as a thrall, stole all the sheep and cattle! Something must be done!
Sir Robbit did not know whether to dismiss the townsfolk as raving mad over a handful of bandits or to lock the gates and let them be. The smallfolk had been late on their taxes, and a man of his age required extra funds aside from what his Lord dispensed. He was on the verge of going back to bed when the watchmen spotted the fires in the fields.
Bandits did not burn crops. It drew too much attention to them. Better to steal whatever you wanted in the dark of night, then leave. No, the townsfolk were right. It was THEM this time. And in sufficient numbers to be this bold...
An hour later as the whole of the East fields was on fire, Sir Robbit rode out of the fortress with the hole garrison behind him. A hundred men at arms and a dozen freeriders at his back. If he could put the mongrels down decisively, he would be invited back to the capital, his lands restored, and all that business with the filthy merchant forgiven.
The townsfolk he left inside with the squires to lock the gates. A dozen lads to protect several hundred. He was expected to return within the hour, he said. Don't let them get too comfortable.
At dawn, his head came sailing over the gate. From the tower the squires could see their doom writ plain. A hundred of THEM? No. Many, many more than that.
They stood in clumps a hundred strong all around the fort, banging iron against steel. Their weapons were crude and aged. Some held the arms and armor of the garrison as trophies. But what they lacked in steel the horde made up for in size. They were giants, each of them. Bestial and hulking. Some were tall and lean, graceful in every movement they made with their pointed cats ears. Others were huge, hulking things- the men covered in thick hair which hid rippling muscle to match any troll's. More still had great tusks jutting from their mouths. The worst of them, however, were the ones at the gate. Tall, muscled, their hands contorted into long claws while their teeth were jagged, almost saw like. A hundred of them carried the largest axes they'd ever seen.
One among them stood at the gate, a mighty two-handed sword clutched in his hands, point driven into the ground. Buried in the fur of a great white bear, his head covered by an ancient and battered horned helm, he made no move or sound.
The squires called to the town's mayor, thinking the lone man demanded a parley in THEIR old traditions. But as they dismounted the tower the walls began to shake with loud, deep THUNKing noises, all the while the cries outside growing louder and louder.
Within the hour, the wooden gates were chopped to pieces.
By day's end, the holdfast was a bonfire.
By nightfall, the Nord were moving west...
We're back? I mean, WE'RE BACK!!!
I'll try to adjust my CS in a couple hours. As for my post, I think I'll be starting a little farther away from everyone else. I don't have the time or the writing capability to write an altercation with every character.
Writing with the necromancer sounds very cool!
Edit: DONE! I'll start working on a post shortly!
I'll try to adjust my CS in a couple hours. As for my post, I think I'll be starting a little farther away from everyone else. I don't have the time or the writing capability to write an altercation with every character.
Writing with the necromancer sounds very cool!
Edit: DONE! I'll start working on a post shortly!
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