ctrlsaltdel

Eidolon: Conspiracy Theory

The bartender smiles at Luka. With a few deft motions, he produces three plastic cups full of ice. A bottle of unlabled clear liquor appears in his hand and he pours a double shot in each, then fills the cups the rest of the way with a can of lemon-lime soda from under the bar.

"Sorry this is the best I can offer right now. As you can see," he gestures at the club in general, "we're kind of tapped out at the moment. Hoping to get restocked soon, if the checks clear and the providers come through. But not to worry! I can always find a little something extra for Mr. VIP." With a flourish of his hand, the bartender produces a cocktail sword on which a cherry and lime have been speared, stabs it into Luka's drink, and slides the cup across the counter to him.

"Right." The smile fades; he slaps his hands on the edge of the bar, leaning forward towards you. "Matters at hand. Yes, it is very much possible that you are dead. And you two are right that this is neither heaven nor hell. Tell the truth, I, uh..." He gives Emily and Ashley a look that seems almost apologetic. "Well, this ain't really a normal part of the process."

The bartender pushes off the edge of the bar and begins making himself a drink with that same mysterious liquor.

"But I'm being rude. I already know the four of you, but I haven't introduced myself. I've been called a bunch of names, but you bunch can call me Santana. This," he makes a little circular motion with one finger, "is my domain, E*D*E*N. Which you may have noticed is a little trashed at the moment."

Santana stirs the drink with a finger, then flicks the excess liquor off.

"I'm sure the question on your mind is, 'if this isn't the afterlife, then why are we here'? Well, I short-stopped you on your way to the final rest because I wanna make a deal with you." He takes a sip of the drink, pauses, and shrugs. "I've got some personal beef with the people who killed you. They're mostly responsible for the sorry state of what you see around you. That's why, when I noticed one of them had punched a bunch of tickets to that big train in the sky, I figured it was a good opportunity.

"Those cards you have in front of you?" He nods at the card currently under The Crow's talon. "Think of it as a mulligan. You take the card, you pop back to life, ehh... five or so minutes before you bit it. Enough time to do something about the whole part where you blow up."

He knocks back the glass, drains it in a single pull, and overhand tosses it at an overflowing trash can at the end of the bar. It bounces off the garbage sticking out the top, and ice cubes scatter across the ground. If Santana notices, he gives no indication.

"What I want from you in return--and I think this is a pretty good offer--is to use that second chance I'm giving you to completely fuck up their plans."

Shards of the World(D&D/Hunter X Hunter Inspired)

EDIT: Didn't mean to make a new post =V

Shards of the World(D&D/Hunter X Hunter Inspired)

Herman Hoenemaeker

Hermannus "Herman" Honemaeker

Art

"I always use every tool at my disposal"

O V E R V I E W

_{N A M E}

---

Hermannus "Herman" Hoenemaeker

_{A G E}

---

28

_{G E N D E R}

---

M

_{A P P E A R A N C E}

---

More than anything else, Hermannus looks like the human equivalent of a cluttered workshop. His build is short and slight--just clearing 5'4" and 115lb--and his hunched posture makes him look even smaller than he is. However, his long hair and whiskers are dark, coarse, and except for the occasional brushing mostly unkempt; round, lightly tinted glasses cover the small portion of his face that his hair doesn't, and the whole arrangement gives him an owlish demeanor.

His typical outfit consists of a simple but serviceable tunic and leather breeches suited for traveling, but he adds on to that a great leather coat meant for someone taller and wider, whose pockets are stuffed with wands, crystals, nuts, bolts, screws, and other bits of bric-a-brac. Looking closely, one may be able to see thin copper wires threaded into the stitching. Leather pouches ride on his belt, holding more of the same, with one dedicated to a small selection of tools he finds frequently handy. He also carries with him a large backpack for his traveling gear, as well as larger items which don't fit in his coat pockets.

His left leg is gone below the knee; he uses a magical prosthetic made of polished wood and brass, which is usually hidden underneath his clothing. It has no special features, except that it responds to his unconscious commands to act with most of the dexterity of a natural limb.

_{P E R S O N A L I T Y}

---

Herman is:
- Not a particularly warm person; though he's not unmoved by the suffering of others, he's often too practical a soul to attend to their emotions in the way they might like, and despite being creative when working on his creations, he is frequently too literal-minded in social situations
- Scatterbrained and absentminded; once he locks in on a task he often forgets tangential matters, like grooming, eating, and keeping previous obligations
- Determined; despite his tendency to forget about "trivial" matters when locked into a task, he is willing to power through hardship and pain to achieve his goals

_{B A C K S T O R Y}

---

Herman was born the son of a manor servant in Port Marian. His family--father, mother, and two older siblings--were comfortable, if not wealthy. As a child, he was attentive but quiet, and often faded into the background. Though he showed signs of a precocious intellect, he had few interests or hobbies, and generally preferred to sit and read quietly rather than chase his fellow children down the halls of the house. Yet, when the lord of the house looked to his staff for someone who could serve as a lab assistant for his arcane experiments, those same qualities were all the qualifications he needed to be recommended for the position above the other children his age.

For the most part, that position involved sitting on a stool in the corner of the room, waiting for the master to call out over his shoulder something he needed. Though most 10 year olds would have considered that torture, Herman was delighted. The first couple of weeks had been awkward, but once the master had gotten used to his presence, he resumed his habit of narrating the experiments to himself, and Herman absorbed that information like a dry sponge. Five years passed, during which his life followed a simple pattern: House chores in the morning, school in the afternoon, attending to the master in the evening, and--if the master dismissed him before the hour grew too late--nights in the library, pouring over whatever texts of magical theory he could get his hands on.

His quiet demeanor meant that few realized what he was up to, and they mostly let him be, except where his personal studies interfered with his duties around the house. The master certainly didn't realize that his able assistant was beginning to follow his experiments--at least until one fateful day, when Herman spoke for the first time without being directly addressed, to let him know that one of his solutions was unstable. The master's initial reaction was a mixture of surprise and irritation, that a common servant would speak to him as if he knew the craft. His second reaction was shock and outrage, as the slight teenager tackled him to the ground. His third reaction was terror and shame, as the flask exploded and took several other items on the workbench with it.

The study half-collapsed around them, and everyone--especially the master--agreed afterwards that only Herman's quick actions had saved them both.

The master escaped mostly unharmed, but the same was not true for Herman, whose lower leg was crushed in the wreckage and had to be removed. In recognition of the debt owed--and of Herman's now obvious intellectual ability--the master of the house made the young man his apprentice, and hired a tutor to oversee his arcane study.

For a time, Herman occupied a position of importance and respect in the household--though true to form, he seemed to barely recognize it, and focused mostly on his studies and work. Before his 20th year, the apprenticeship had become more of a partnership between the two men, and the master of the house--Baron Damien Erkens--became his first close friend.

Unfortunately that idyllic existence was shattered when General Guanyu's forces launched their attack. Both Herman and the Baron threw themselves into the defense of their city, but when the conflict ended Port Marian was under the boot heel of the invaders, and the Baron--along with most of Herman's family--were dead or captured.

With his hometown crushed under the weight of the General's occupation and everyone he knew either in a grave or scattered to the winds, he was at a loss of what to do next, and spent most of the six months idling in the manor house, while the occupying administrators tried to decide what to do with it.

Then, as if by serendipity, he received the letter from the Arnmagne City Academy alerting him to his admission. The Baron, it seemed, had enrolled him and paid his way prior to the fall of the city, then perished before he could spring the surprise. Letter in hand, Herman gathered what objects of use and significance he had left and set off from Port Mariam, intent on making the most of this last gift.

_{S T R E N G T H S}

---

High analyical intelligence and creativity

Strong grasp of magical theory and mechanics

Talented and experienced at creating and using magical artifacts

Tenacious and determined; high tolerance for his own discomfort and pain in pursuit of his goals

_{F L A W S}

---

Short and scrawny; will lose a purely physical contest to most people

Bad at people; can sometimes read them ok, but consistently fails to identify what they want, or how to get what he wants from them

Not a trained combatant; he has some "military experience" from the fall of Port Mariam, but that basically amounts to logistics and supply work, with one or two frantic back-alley confrontations near the end

Abilities are mostly dependent on his equipment; he has a couple of useful cantrips under his belt but given his training, anything more complicated needs to be channeled through a focus or a pre-prepared magic

Determination paired with physical frailty often leads him to exceed his own limits

A T T R I B U T E S

_{C L A S S}

---

Artificer.

_{P R O F E S S I O N}

---

Artificer/Arcanotech researcher

_{A B I L I T I E S}

---

Has the ability to cast a couple of minor spells on his own (mage hand, prestidigitation-style effects)

Can produce magical items that create larger/more powerful effects, given time and materials

_{E Q U I P M E N T}

---

Battle Coat - Leather coat designed and crafted by him; incorporates channels for magical energy that increase its protective effect, and can allow him to control the movement of the coat

Staff of Fire - Arcane implement he "borrowed" from the defense forces during the fall of Port Mariam. Primary purpose is offensive, but allows a skilled user to manipulate heat and flame, within reason.

Journeyman's Wand - Arcane implement used for creating magical items. Provides a variety of useful functions, including magic detection (to help diagnose issues with items), heat (to fuse or cut small pieces of metal), steam (to help put out fires), electricity (to energize items), and so on. Can also be used as a general-purpose magical focus, though not as effective in this role as a dedicated focus.

Miscellaneous - Herman carries with him an assortment of small magical items intended to produce specific effects, including: enchanted feathers (to slow a fall), salves (to heal minor wounds), talismans (to defend against magical attacks), and so on.

_{N E N}

---

Emission type; final ability would be focused on remote sensing, maybe with a focus on sensing and understanding magic effects

_{N O T E S}

---

Relationships

Baron Erkins - former master, partner, and friend. Paid Herman's way to the academy.

Hermannus Hoenemaeker uses 7ca4ba.

Ok thanks, I'll just put this back then. Feel free to let me know if anything needs changing!

Shards of the World(D&D/Hunter X Hunter Inspired)

Just realized this is still an interest check; not sure if you want us posting char sheets?

Eidolon: Conspiracy Theory

@ctrlsaltdel btw, couple of questions I'll need for my post:

Pet Talk allows the Crow to understand human speech, and for anyone with an unsealed eidolon to understand him. Is that working now or is that only going to happen once our characters learn about their eidolons?

@XxFellsingxX

Let's say that kicks in now for the sake of having a more interesting scene; we'll just chalk it up to Undertow shenanigans.

Eidolon: Conspiracy Theory

i have acquired a tarot deck from my partner and am now shuffling =D excited to get started

Eidolon: Conspiracy Theory

had a lull so I went ahead and posted it now =V

Eidolon: Conspiracy Theory

Mario's is a small diner in New York City. Its furnishings make up for their cheapness with gaudy red and white coloring; even if the chrome fittings could do with a polish they still shine in the dawn sunlight. The hour is early, and the restaurant is almost empty, but the smell of cooking grease and strong coffee hang heavy in the air as the staff prepare for the coming breakfast rush. A waitress behind the counter watches the few patrons for empty coffee cups, while they in turn tend to their meals with various levels of lethargy. Viewed without context, the scene could be set in any of a hundred thousand diners throughout the country.

That quiet scene is broken by the front door flying open, apparently of its own accord. It hits a rack of classifieds, which are sent scattering. Objects on the bar and tables start exploding. Salt shakers and ketchup bottles send fragments of glass flying everywhere, and their detonations trace a path from the door down the restaurant. Near the end of the bar, a plastic display case full of pie tumbles off its perch, and a waiter standing stunned in the back of house entryway is pushed over by an invisible force.

From the kitchen can be heard the sounds of falling pots and pans, as if a wild animal were wreaking havoc, but for a few moments the dining room is once again quiet. A patron might have enough time to catch their breath and check themselves for cuts. They might even have enough time to look out the front windows and see a man in a cheap suit standing on the sidewalk out front, with a look of concentration on his face.

Then the diner erupts into flame, killing everyone inside.

-----

You wake up with a start. The plastic of the barstool creaks below you. You are sitting at a black plywood bar in what seems to be a dance club of some kind. With the house lights up, the whole place looks cheap and dirty. Overflowing trash cans stand near the walls, bits of lank streamers hang from the exposed rafters, and sticky spots on the bar and floor where drinks were spilled the night before have yet to be wiped up.

A slightly-built man stands behind the bar, grabbing the edge with both hands. He looks to be pushing fifty; his over-tanned skin makes it hard to tell one way or the other, and his eyes are yellow. He's wearing a tassled black leather vest with nothing underneath, and a pair of tight snakeskin pants the same color. His mouth is open in a toothy grin, and his teeth are the same gaudy gold of the massive lightbulb-studded sign above the liquor, which reads E*D*E*N.

Looking back and forth, you can see that four of the stools are occupied; three with people from the diner, and a fourth which has a crow on a wooden perch, positioned so that it can see over the bar. On the bar in front of each is a card. It is larger than a regular playing card, and is covered with a fractal design which shifts subtly in color and pattern as you look at it.

Something about the card gives you a feeling of recognition--like seeing an old friend, or finding a childhood toy you had almost forgotten about.

"Well, hello." Before you can contemplate that further, the man's voice--deep, melodic, and ripe with affected charm--breaks the silence. "I'm sorry to be the one to have to tell you this, but the bad news is that you're all dead."

Eidolon: Conspiracy Theory

If no one has any other pre-game business, then I'm ready to kick off whenever, just didn't want to do it on Christmas day lol. I'll get the first IC post up tonight, probably after work.

Eidolon: Conspiracy Theory

@ctrlsaltdel

Quick Question, how do you plan on handling per session moves?

@rush99999

lol I was just puzzling over that myself. i'm leaning towards a sort of 5e style short rest/long rest thing; downtime already covers when the party has a few hours or more to decompress, so maybe we can have the "per session" moves refresh whenever there's an hour or so (IC) break in the action?