Enigmatik

NaNoWriMo 2020

I’m such a pantser I pantsed joining NaNoWriMo. Nonetheless, here I am, hungover but with 300 words dunked into the basket. Good luck to everyone else; let’s crackalack!

The Wayward Stool (Open To Everyone, JUMP-INS WELCOME)

Following one sodden man came another. This one was not dressed in red, although the now-tranluscent white shirt he wore, along with the black waistcoat, trousers, very polished shoes and dripping wet fedora hat suggested that he had, indeed, been dressed for some sort of occasion prior to his current state. In one arm he held a hard case for a music instrument, in the other was clutched a now entirely soused slip of cardboard. He sighed heavily, reached up to the top of his head and let the rivulets of rain that had collected there spill down onto the ground, sweeping them back out the door with his foot. "Apologies for the mess," he would mutter, before looking around and processing the information that he was taking in.

Placing his instrument case against the ground, he patted his waistcoat down, as if searching for something, before pulling out a sleek stainless steel cigarette case. It flicked open with ease, the man drawing out a single hand-rolled white stick, placing it to his lips, and then extracting a match. Rubbing frantically at his trousers with his forearm, once it had been dried enough he would spark the match against the roughspun fabric, before touching the lit match to his ciagarette. Breathing in deeply, he let out a sigh, shaking out the match in a single smooth action.

Picking up his instrument case, he would head towards the bar, looking in faint amusement at the woman with the fancy suit and the other woman with the glowy robo-leg. "There a con in town or something? You guys put a lot of work into those costumes, huh." He would turn to the bartender, before noticing that another patron was smoking too.

"S'cuse me, mind if we share the ashtray? He let out what was supposed to be a winning smile, but in his drenched state was really more of a wilted grin, then turn to the bartender for good. "This is gonna seem a might bit weird what with this being a bar and all, but you guys have coffee? Doesn't have to be good, I promise you."

The Town of Exaster

Will the rp's focus be more on the resource management side of things and interaction with the NPCs of our lands, or do we get frequent chances to interact among player characters as well?

@Vertigo

The last time I attempted this RP the players had plenty of interaction- although they have different areas under their control, there's plenty of overlap that would allow for inter-pc discussions.

The Town of Exaster

The land of Bileth has been ravaged. The necromancer Borazum tore through the realm, indiscriminately slaughtering and killing. Towns and cities fell, the greatest holding on by the skin of their teeth, hiding behind consecrated walls. It took the rising up of five great adventurers- Eanril Argentblade, Vezz Darran, Iona Nially, Pellius the Wise and Dom Sevenstring to finally destroy Borazum's forces and return him to rest.

Now, a month on, the surviving towns are only now pulling themselves back together. You, adventuers of some renown through the realms, yet far from the power and glory of the now-vanished five, have all been sent a letter by the mayor of one of these surviving towns- Exaster.

He bids you to come to the town, settle there, protect it. In exchange, he offers you all tracts of land and wealth; enough for you to be called lords in your own right. Take the offer, he urges you, and return Exaster to its former glory. In a world rent and broken, you have the potential to bring some sense of order to the place.

---

---

To explain a little better what this campaign will be about, your characters will start as level eight adventurers in a campaign after the campaign, so to speak. The great threat of the ancient lich Borazum has been defeated, but the world has not simply gone back to being normal now that he has gone. Each of your characters has been offered tracts of land by the mayor of Exaster, and by taking him up on the offer you now go to administer to the town.

In this RP, combat will be a smaller focus. Instead, the conflict will come from how you manage the buildings and lands offered to you, and how this clashes with what others want. Perhaps your pleasant gardens will be frequented by thugs and ne'er-do-wells looking to lighten the purses of those visiting, or pirates are cutting off shipping to your docks. Maybe that new sawmill of yours has had a visit from a very peeved dryad... Or maybe someone's just stiffed you at a tavern and you want some petty revenge.

If you're interested in a more roleplay heavy campaign, then this might just be what you're looking for.

Warhammer 40k: It's A Wonderful Life! An Imperial Guard (40K) RP

He had been off of a planet. He had felt at home, at peace... But then he had discovered that as a guardsman, he couldn't just part ways and rejoin the crew, and that there were armsmen actively monitering him. Him! A voidsman himself by trade, being monitored by his own bred'ren to make sure he behaved and kept to the ship! Even when he had talked to them, tried to explain his situation, they had been hardened, turned away from him. So it was, that in grim dissapointment he had gone through the motions of military life, stirring his inner flame only to ensure it didn't die enirely.

But then it had been time to fight again. He had taken out his old shotgun and set to work. Cleaning out the barrel for the umpteenth time. Then he had slowly gone about fixing the elements to it. The stock, screwed in and secured. The foregrip, slid down and secured. Sight secured. He checked it, double checked it, triple checked it, and then took his lighter out, held it to the purity seal he had been handed by a red-robed man, then when the wax had melted just enough to become 'tacky,' he would press it against the side.

"Right den, machin bred'ren. We gon' be workin' together 'gain, so no funny business, eh?" That was as good as his machine spirit prayers got really. When the call had came to sit down in he gunship, he had followed without comment, wrapping first the bandana around his head, and then placing the helmet down, tightening the strap. He strapped his FUBAR to his backpack, slid his knife into its sheath, and then slung his gun over his shoulder, walking towards the dropship.

Once there, eyes darting about, he would remove his pack, strap himself in, and get ready for seeing a sky again. Looking towards the krieger, he would raise an eyebrow, shaking his head as he did so. He had quickly learned there was little to gain by asking him why he was so suicidal. "Would prefer t'be up 'ere directin' cannons den down on de ground, but, ifi gotta be doin' dis, den at least I be gettin' paid fi it."

Warhammer 40k: It's A Wonderful Life! An Imperial Guard (40K) RP

Talking to @Reia@CleanBreeze

---

Time for gambling. Time, for Voiddin. The rules of Voiddin were very, very simple- he made them up as he went along, under the guise of a simple card discarding game. The entire game, from top to bottom, was custom made for him to win (and to make out like a bandit with everyone's bets.) Flicking the cards out with a practised hand, he would explain the brief basics (play cards that were higher, lower, or the same, any suite,) before getting to work.

As he dealt out though, he noticed a large, burly shape on the edge of the campfire, holding up a card. "Ey there! Wha' you be doin' hidin' over there like? Playin' Voiddin', git here!" He flicked out a fresh set of cards for the newcomer (if he didn't end up playing he'd just fold them back into the draw pile,) crack his knuckles and get to work.

Alas though, he hardly had time to clear anyone's bets before his diminuitive Cadian translator was off like a shot, along with her bet. "Oi! Gi-" He cut himself off as he saw what spooked the trooper, gulping as he saw the distinctive uniform of a commissar crest the edge of the campfire. Placing the cards down on the table, he would quietly stuff his hands in his pocket.

Sure, he hadn't been on the surface for long, but he knew more than enough when it came to these particular scary-looking individuals. Paramilitary, right to execute at any time for any reason, could dish out punishments worse than any captain... Then, she stepped into the light and he was confused. Commissars were all black, this woman was in navy. His brain ticked over the information provided, until he came to the logical conclusion that this was not a commissar.

She was, in fact, an officer. Fingers crossed the cards wouldn't be confiscated then, he supposed.

Warhammer 40k: It's A Wonderful Life! An Imperial Guard (40K) RP

Talking to @Reia

---

No luck with the tribals understanding him... But hey, would you look at that, there was someone that did get his accent. "Wagwan sista!" The lho being stuck out towards him was especially nice, the man opening his mouth and plucking it straight out of her fingers. Raising a lighter to his lips, he would strike it alight instantly, breathing the smoke in nice and deep before letting it slowly trickle out of his nose. "Now dat be wha' I been lookin' for dis entire time, y'get me?" This woman seemed like something of a dream, if it wasn't for the fact that there was but one problem he had.

"And eh, sista, don't get mi wrong, 'preciate wha' y'been doing fi me, bu 'dirtyboy?'" He shook his head, the dreadlocks which were the exact reason he had been given such a name tumbling about his head. "Call me rudeboy if ya gotta use a nickname, else be calling me Telaci. Telaci vast." The lho-stick in his mouth jumped and bounced about with each word he spoke, but the next thing she said would quickly perk his interest. Mess kit and more lho sticks. He could take them, yes he could.

"Say, mess kit and the lhos. 'ow much you be wantin' fi dem? 'Can offer ya someathis." He would place one of the bottles he had so recently acquired down on the ground closer to her, before then remembering something. She was selling scrap metal, and hey- he had scrap metal as well. Just happened to come in a weird shape. With the booze and his medals combined, it was an easy deal, and he'd put his new mess kit down on the ground, and his new lhos in a pocket of his.

"Now, this be a good day, fi shure." From the same pocket he had put his lhos into he drew out a pack of cards, emptying them out into his hand and giving them a quick shuffle. "Y'be doin' a pretty good job o' translating mi talk, but one ting ya got wrong was wu 'Voiddin' is. Voiddin' ain't no spaceship, it be a game. A good one too. Anyone up fi a little bita gambling?" Down here? Planetside? Oh he was going to make a killing off of these sods.

Warhammer 40k: It's A Wonderful Life! An Imperial Guard (40K) RP

Paging @Eisenhorn

Telaci Vast was not a fan of this ceremony. For a start, there was the fact that he looked very obviously out of place. He had never stood in parade stance in his life, his gun was held very casually, he clearly wasn't in the uniform of the fellows around him, and more than that, there were perilously few of those fellows. So many commissars had stared daggers into him that he was starting to wonder if he'd just be shot outright, but none of them had actually seemed to be willing to finish him off, so he supposed he was alright for now. Bloody commissars- that wasn't something he had had to worry about on the Graced Blade, that much was for sure. Hell, he'd been in charge of discipline up there.

Also, there was the fact that he was receiving medals. This, to him, suggested that he would be attending more functions where such medals would be needed to be worn. He did not like this idea. Not in the slightest. It implied that he was to be stuck planetside for far longer than he had any intention of actually being on a planet for, and what's more, it implied he'd be doing more fighting on the ground. The greenskinned bastards he had battled weren't new to him... Well, they were new in person, but not as a concept, but he really didn't want to find out what else there was out there for him to be thrown at.

So when he had two medals pinned to his chest, he felt mighty uncomfortabe. The only thing that kept him reluctantly standing there were the slips of paper in his pocket- when one of the idiots he'd been with had fallen poking his head out of the trench, he'd given him a quick once over and found none other than triple alcohol rations. Up in space, these things were worth more than any credit, but he had a feeling he'd be drinking all of them today. A celebration of his last fight on Vernum. Or whatever this damned rock was called.

When it was finally done, and they were being directed off to 'pick up their personal belongings,' he ignored it. He didn't have personal belongings, because he'd crashed in from sodding space. Hadn't even received a mess kit yet, which had made eating the rations he had been given harder than hard. Still though, even he had to admit that rockrete structures with cots inside was a welcome sight, regardless of how little he had to slam down in that footlocker of his.

A trip to the supply quartermaster (as opposed to the weapon one, which he had stubbornly avoided out of fear of receiving a lasgun like everyone else) and he would learn that he had enough ration slips for a bottle of finer amasec... Or four bottles of cheap rotgut booze. He knew exactly which one he was picking up, the sailor walking away whistling an old tune and swinging two bottles of 40oz liquor in his arms. Now this? This was what he fancied.

Outside, where the ground was mostly rockrete and dry, he could see campfires slowly igniting, people drinking, gambling, talking. Perfect, a little celebration going on, and he had exactly the thing to contribute. As he wandered through the fires, looking for one where he could pull up a pew, he would finally settle on one which seemed fairly welcoming. Vast, bulky soldiers sat around it, and judging by the tattoos that swirled across his body, the armsman would be willing to guess they were more of the feral inclination.

"Ev'nin bruvdems." He would say, squatting down by the fireside. "Nice t' see boys cracking sum and chillin', get me? An' no badman commissar nowehere." He nodded, content, before taking a swig of the potent liquor he had purchased. "Anywan up fi a game'a sumting? Any'ya know 'bout Voiddin? Ah, an any'ya got a fag fi me? Ain' nobody been welcomin' wit a lho."

~ 1959: Into the Darkness ~ - Vietnam Dieselpunk [Open]

I think unfortunately I will be withdrawing my interest.

Warhammer 40k: It's A Wonderful Life! An Imperial Guard (40K) RP

Should have been 65kgs because I'm English and we're weird like that.

@JB Any chance of a discord server?