Current
I'm about to be banished for the good of the realm again. Where is the trust in this world, I ask you?
1
like
7 mos ago
I'm sorry, you've reached his personal secretary, Department of Shrubbery, Floor 64, Desk 1024. How can we help you today?
8 mos ago
Or buy a van or a used rental truck. Something nobody would look twice at. You can put in a rack for the rope, duct tape, plastic sheeting, shovels....
8 mos ago
Never trust a car salesman - especially a used car salesman. Have a buddy park across the street and see how many stuffed body bags you can shove in there. Gotta have room for plastic sheeting, etc.
1
like
9 mos ago
Neil Gaiman wrote in his Good Omens bio that he likes it when fans send him $50. (He read Terry Pratchett's bio and figured it wouldn't hurt.)
Bio
I am a seven-foot tall minecraft-playing hindu guru drag-queen alien.
Possessor of an Ancient Deviceβ’ Model 17. No, I don't know what it does. No, you can't play with it.
Pronouns: It. As in: "What is it? What does it want? Why is it here? Oh my god, it's got my... <insert random body part or object here>"
Likes: World Domination, Writing, Rpg, scifi/fantasy, anime, sketchup 3d models, and anime music videos.
Companions: a host of characters from other games, my personal muse Penny (as in Bad), and the Badger gang - Toothpick, Buttons, Shark, and Mongo. They grew up in the balcony of an old theatre that played a lot of gangster movies. Normally benign, but may invade the OOC forums.
@Milkman I've explained it further, I've also reduced his medical knowledge to journeyman status. Mostly he needs practice, which looking like a kid isn't going to help him with despite his age.
βπππ: Elfir Jacob Horne πΈππππ€ππ€:Jake, The Medicine Man πΈππ: 29 ππ‘πππππ€: Half-elf (half-human) πΎπππππ£: Male ππππ¦π‘ππ₯ππ π: Doctor, Handyman, Antiques, Divvy πΈππππππππ₯: Chaotic Good
πΈπ‘π‘πππ£ππππ
βπππππ₯: 5' 7" (67 inches) πΉπ¦πππ: Wiry πΌπͺππ€: Gray, like two silver coins. βπππ£: Black, although in bright sunlight one can see a blue sheen ππππ ππ ππ: Tanned πππ₯π₯π π π€/ππππ£π€/βπππ£πππππ€: Birthmark on their back, small splotches that collectively looks like a dragon in a s-curve, many assume it's a tattoo because of the details.
Soft spoken * keeps his back to the wall * Pessimist * Honor before reason * can build or put together just about anything * Scruffy
βππππ₯ππ ππ€πππ‘ ππ₯ππ₯π¦π€: Single βππ£π€π πππππ₯πͺ: As the fatherless half-human child of a lady of the evening, Jake's been looked down at for much of his life by all the "decent people." He pays them little mind, usually, so it doesn't interrupt his sleep for taking them for a small ride with a pretty picture or a lovely 'antique' that's only a month old, still smiling that same small smile.
That being said, he has a fondness for the ones like himself on the other side of the street, trying to scratch out a living by any means they can.
But the one true light in his life are the genuine artifacts, the true antiques. A rare bit of honesty in a world full of pain and lies.
βππππ₯π€:
Slouches
Avoids eye contact (bordello clients don't like to be stared at)
βπ πππππ€:
Woodcarving
Painting
Reading
π½πππ£π€:
Flying (it's not the fall that kills you, it's the ground)
Can heal by touch by imagining the injury and reversing it in their mind. - A minor to moderate injury or defect will tire them out, requiring at least 4-5 hours of sleep to recover. - A major injury or defect can exhaust them to the point of unconsciousness, lasting up to eight hours.
Identify an antique (but not why) within the same room (10-15'), know the history of an object by touch, especially if marred by some violent event. - a dinner plate made a month before and put in a shop window last week has almost no perceptible history - a knife made a month ago and used to repeatedly stab someone has a perceptible history. - a table made over a century before by children sanding each piece smooth until their fingers bled has a very perceptible history.
- Knowledge and trained in the medical arts of the 19th century
- Knowledge and trained in the medical use of plants.
πππ§πππ₯π π£πͺ:
Daisy, cart horse
Delivery cart with harness
Medical kit
Apothecary chest
Tool chest (with block and tackle)
Bed roll with two changes of clothes, jacket, gloves.
The Devil's Journal of Andre Robertson's travels
The Bullet Catcher's Daughter - manual of stage magic, illusion, lock picking, fakery, chemistry formulas (fireworks, gun powder, small explosives, smoke bombs, fireproofing).
A week's supplies for Jake and Daisy
A library box with an assortment of books, including medicine, dentistry, black smithing, history, carpentry, an atlas, seamanship, furniture, a mail-order catalog, and some penny dreadfuls.
Knife
Shotgun with cartridges
money hidden in the linking of the medical kit and in secret compartments of the chests and wagon.
Lock picks hidden in the seams of his clothes.
βππ€π₯π π£πͺ:
ππ¦ππππ£πͺ:
Elfir Jacob Horne is the bastard child of Fannie Horne, a scarlet woman at the Rotwater's Desert Flower Saloon and Bordello, renowned for her adventurous pursuit of pleasure. He was three when he made friends with the neighboring shopkeeper's daughter, Daisy - although her family never approved of him. It irked him that many of the children grew faster than he did, even Daisy, but Doc Rose assured him and Fannie this was normal. Besides his size, the kids would pick on him for not knowing more than a few words of Elvish, so he made up his own version.
Following a fight in the gambling parlor, Dusty Pete the bartender snagged one of Jake's pointed ears and told him to grab a bucket of water and a scrub brush to clean up after a dead patron whose draw wasn't as fast as the other guy's. Under the table, he found a journal belonging to "Andre 'The Devil' Robertson," full of illustrations and strange tales of lost cities, maps, hidden knowledge, strange rites and odder creatures. There was also a tarot card of a grinning devil with a cane, wearing a black tailcoat, top hat and a monocle in between the pages. Since he was deceased, Jake kept the journal and would read it regularly with a weird fascination.
He was twelve when a visiting fortune teller offered to tell him his future in exchange for a silver, which he slipped over. The strangely-dressed woman took his hands, her eyes rolled back in her head, and in a weird sing-song voice told him he had very special gifts that would serve him well. He would become a doctor, she said, then frowned, warning him that he would not see success as one for many years, and would need to take up a different trade for a while, spending some time on the road. After scolding the fortune teller, Fannie made an arrangement with Doc Rose for him to take Jake on as his apprentice. And Jake did have the healing touch, although it left him exausted. However, patients were reluctant to see him even in mundane matters, preferring the experienced Doc Rose than this "young kid." The fortune teller was right.
Following a shoot out in the Desert Rose that killed his mother Fannie, Jake took off, leaving Rotwater behind. He eventually found a job in Rich Springs, in a second-hand furniture store, restoring old furniture and even pictures for resale. Edward Day quickly noticed Jake had a knack, able to tell the genuine apart from the fakes - even if he didn't know why. Edward sought to improve Jake's knowledge of furniture and antiques so he'd have something other than a feeling. Word of Jake's gift reached the leader of a burglary gang, who needed an appraiser. He agreed to help them after they threatened to go after Edward if he didn't. It took a while, but he discovered the actual head of the gang was the mayor of Rich Springs, Jordan Russell, or "the Reverend" as he was affectionately known. Some of the stolen items wound up in the store, where they were discovered. When Edward was threatened, Jake told them about the mayor's gang, and a riot soon followed.
Edward told Jake to grab his few things while he hitched Penny the mare to the store's delivery cart, and told him to get out of town quickly before the gang came looking for him. Since then, Jake's been making a living in the cart as a tinker, handyman, sometimes doctor, traveling from place to place, not without a few brushes with the law.
"Wodan," Jack asks, an idea stirring in his mind, "Are you analyzing this music? Do you think you can bring up the ship's entertainment database and find something close to this style of music?"
The Ascendancy valued skills. Did they value music as well?
There was, of course, risks. What if they had some restriction in how music was to be played? Might they see their music to be a heresy? Especially if they could not see any musicians?
"I wish the autofacs were up," Jack sighs. "It would be interesting to see the locals reaction to a hand-cranked music box."
They could break out one of the projectors and show movies... but that might make Silbermine want them all the more.
How long she laid in her casket, Cian didn't know. There was always the thirst, made worse by the ever present drain that left her unable to move in the slightest. From time to time, animal's blood would drip into her mouth, providing brief relief but without the essence, and never enough to satisfy.
And then one day, something else dripped in her mouth, cold, wet, cloying, with a flavor she hadn't had since... since...
Wordless agony ripped through her as her body cramped against this vile, disgusting fluid, this... milk?! And yet there was nothing she could do, frozen, as it continued to drip into her mouth!
Yet in the midst of this torture, her tongue picked up a hint, a bare trace of the essence she hadn't tasted in ages...! Human blood.
The iron lid of her casket protested as it was pushed away, and she could feel her strength starting to return. Opening her eyes in the torchlight, she could see three human faces peering down at her. The ever-present thirst roared in her and she latched onto the nearest throat...
Something bit her. By reflex, she grabbed it, coming face to face with a rat. Instinct took over as she bit it, ignoring its anguished squeal, and began feeding. Sitting up, she took in the dim room and the other rats.
"This... isn't the crypt," she muttered, wringing its neck before tossing the rat away and catching the next one. All their eyes were on her, watching despite themselves as she broke the neck of the second before tossing it at the first, then reaching for the the next to feed on.
In the dim light, Cian examined the door. This had to be one of the doors down from the punishment room underneath Mor's house, what the staff whispered were the cells. It wasn't much, a mattress stuffed with straw, a bucket in the corner, and a sturdy door bolted on the other side. Had she not been wearing the necklace bearing the seal of the Dead God, she might have easily battered it down, fortified as she were with human and rat blood.
"Does she really think I would turn one of the girls...?" the vampire said softly, shaking her head. It was clear Mor wasn't going to let her out until she was ready. But she needed no mirror to know she and her leathers were caked with filth.
"Attendant!" Cian calls out, banging on the door. "Attendant! I need a bath! Lots of hot water! Soap! My box with the combs and brushes! Attendant! Where are you?"
It may have been hours or days, she couldn't be sure, when something heavy rolled past outside the door before stopping. The flap at the bottom of the door was unbolted and latched up.
"Bucket," orders the man on the other side. "Attendant! Where have you been?" Cian demands. "I called for a bath hours..."
The flap slams shut then bolted.
"Where are you going?" Cian demands angrily. "I told you I need a bath! Clean clothes! My combs and brushes...!"
The cart rolls on.
The next time the flap opens, she wordlessly passes through the bucket and the dead rats. The empty bucket was slid back, then she got a small jug of water and a cracked bowl with a hunk of coarse bread and a lump of hard cheese. Cian scowls at the vile lump, then sets it aside on the floor, waiting for the next rat to show up.
Let Mor play her games.
She'd lost count of the times the flap opened, but this time only two rats crawled through the crack in the wall and were mesmerized. After draining the first, Cian studies the second one, a gravid female, before placing it on the floor and gave it a kick to the rump. It wakes up with a squeal and darts for the crack. Fetching the lump of moldering cheese, she shoves it in the crack after it.
"Go have babies," she orders. "I grow thirs..."
Sleep.
Cian's eyes roll up and she falls to the floor, unmoving.
There was buzzing, like some fly near her ear. Cian's hand jerked, but the buzzing continues. She scowls as consciousness slowly returns. This wasn't buzzing, this was words...!
She bolts upright, hearing the jangling of her necklace.
There were others around her, stirring like she had been, but her eyes were on the woman.
"Who are you?" she demands. "Where is Mor? Do you know how long I've been waiting for a...."
Be silent.
To the vampire's horror, her mouth clamps shut. Her hands fly to her face, but she couldn't open her mouth! Cian stares with horror at the woman standing there.
@Red Wizard So, I'm going to assume she's in a very basic cell - solid stone or masonry walls, stout hardwood door with iron straps and bolts, a flap to pass things through, possibly a grill or a slot in the door for talking? A straw mattress for sleeping, perhaps a bed frame or just a wooden shelf built much like the door that it rests on? A bucket in the corner for relieving oneself? Perhaps a spy hole?
I am a seven-foot tall minecraft-playing hindu guru drag-queen alien.
Possessor of an Ancient Deviceβ’ Model 17. No, I don't know what it does. No, you can't play with it.
Pronouns: It. As in: "What is it? What does it want? Why is it here? Oh my god, it's got my... <insert random body part or object here>"
Likes: World Domination, Writing, Rpg, scifi/fantasy, anime, sketchup 3d models, and [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jmKRgqWGrWc]anime music videos[/url].
Companions: a host of characters from other games, my personal muse Penny (as in Bad), and the Badger gang - Toothpick, Buttons, Shark, and Mongo. They grew up in the balcony of an old theatre that played a lot of gangster movies. Normally benign, but may invade the OOC forums.
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">I am a seven-foot tall minecraft-playing hindu guru drag-queen alien. <br><br>Possessor of an Ancient Deviceβ’ Model 17. No, I don't know what it does. No, you can't play with it.<br><br>Pronouns: It. As in: "What is it? What does it want? Why is it here? Oh my god, it's got my... <insert random body part or object here>"<br><br>Likes: World Domination, Writing, Rpg, scifi/fantasy, anime, sketchup 3d models, and <a target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jmKRgqWGrWc">anime music videos</a>.<br><br>Companions: a host of characters from other games, my personal muse Penny (as in Bad), and the Badger gang - Toothpick, Buttons, Shark, and Mongo. They grew up in the balcony of an old theatre that played a lot of gangster movies. Normally benign, but may invade the OOC forums.</div>