I dig the idea of mega-propaganda. Kinda has a They Live feel to it. Definitely cool.
As for worker exploitation, what about "company stores" like the mines and logging companies used to use in the early 1900s? Basically the mining company would provide housing for the workers that they and their families were required to live in, then charged them exorbitant rates for the rent. This effectively ate the miner's paycheck every month, so he couldn't afford to feed his family. The company then provided a commissary (like a super-walmart with everything from groceries to clothing and furniture), but all of the food provided was bought with credit rather than money.
Since the workers couldn't pay off their commissary tab with the company, they were essentially slaves, unable to leave and seek employment elsewhere because of the massive debt that would crush them financially if they tried.
Just a thought.
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So, due to circumstances involving life, the universe, and everything, I'm stepping back from this whole shindig. I can't make reliable posts, and it's not fair for me to slow things down for everyone else.
That said, Idlehands is taking temporary custody of my characters. I should be able to take back control after things calm down, but until then, she's running the Ragnarsson household.
Sorry to do all of this to you guys.
That said, Idlehands is taking temporary custody of my characters. I should be able to take back control after things calm down, but until then, she's running the Ragnarsson household.
Sorry to do all of this to you guys.
Getting some interest going. That's awesome. What kind of format were you looking for in Character Sheets? Did you have a specific template you prefer?
Corporate government...
Also, would characters have to be FROM that region? Because I've got a thug of a character from London's East End I've been itching to try out, and nothing says "gritty dystopia" like a belligerent Cockney debt-collector.
This sounds like it could be fun. I'll keep an eye on it, and maybe throw in if it garners more interest.
Sweet lord...I seriously thought the unicorn thing was a drunken fever-dream...I was incredibly shitfaced last night, and logged on to check my messages... And then I saw unicorns. I thought I'd drunk-dreamed it!
God damnit! I'm a fucking Unicorn! And so are all of you! That's not okay... This must be rectified... I blamethe boooooze.
Anndrais frowned at the Sigrid as she turned her back; Horrid woman he thought and looked down at the poor woman in the cot She would not be saying such things if she saw her lying in the muddy ground, bloody and broken; how fragile the girl was, she flinched at him out of fear that he would harm her… Only then would this witch realize how bad it truly was for the poor girl how broken she was.
Tora still held the monk’s hand, it was hard and calloused unlike the man’s heart. She had never heard a man talk like he had, especially not to owners. His words were strange but comforting, though he was wrong about her. Tora was a slave, the Norns had spun her thread and it was her destiny to be a drudge. To be used, to work and die. If she was lucky, her masters would free her before she was too old so that she may marry and have a child or two. They had never spoken of it nor given Tora her price so she could buy her freedom but then the young woman had not brought it up. Being free had not been something she had thought long on, unlike her fellow slave Faolan who brooded on his old life.
She turned her head and tugged his hand, whispering to the monk, “Don’t make them angry, they mean well. They are good masters.”
Anndrais leaned down and spoke gently to her; he whispered in her ear “But they are still Masters, good or bad, they have no right to treat you like they do; You are worth more than coin, you are a person Tora, a beautiful woman worth more than money, priceless would be the apt term.” He patted her hand gently “But rest, you need your Rest… Do not worry, I will be going nowhere. I will be here when you wake.”
She smiled slightly at his strange ideas but it was a comfort. After what Harald and his men had done she had felt like dying but the monk was kind and she clung to his words as much as his hand.
Wilfred had remained ignored through the entire encounter, listening closely to the exchanges and fitting rank and importance to each of those involved. It was clear that the brute of a man who had walked in with a severed head was no friend to the Christian people but Wilfred had always come to accord with warriors; it was in his blood. Slowly rising, the others couldn’t help but turn their attention to him; even injured and slightly bowed to stop his wounds reopening Wilfred was a large man by any standard, even standing over Ragnar’s considerable height.
“I am not skilled in the customs of your people but I can count well enough; if you tackle Harald head on his men will slaughter you by sole virtue of their superior numbers. I would not be so hasty to rush headlong to death.” His eyes twinkled darkly as his gaze fell upon Ragnar and Sigrid. He had quickly established the woman was the schemer of the two; the dagger in the night. “I have some interest in seeing his remains feeding the crows. As a cleric it is not seemly for me to contemplate vengeance for it is a sin but I believe God would forgive me for ridding the world of a devil such as this.” He could see some confusion on their faces and realised he had not yet introduced himself. Dipping his head the slightest bit, acknowledging their elevated rank grudgingly, he spoke again.
“My name is Wilfred, a former priest from Northumberland. Harald took me as a slave as punishment for distracting him while my congregation fled the church I ministered to. I am in here for returning alive from that little supply run which he was too cowardly to go on while better men died for others.” He sat down, no longer needing to force their attention and also due to the roaring pain searing through his back. “I would set myself free from his clutches even if I were to be a slave for another; in this corner of the world being a free Saxon is probably more dangerous than being an enslaved one.”
Sigrid looked up at the big slave who had lay in the bed next to Tora. Another Christian, of course,she thought to herself as she listened. Her hands were on her hips and she glanced at Ragnar to see his reaction to the slave’s speech. The slave was out of line and his words dripped with Christian imagery, it bothered her but she could also see an advantage. He was a strong man and she could feel the hatred of Harald coming off of him in waves.
Anndrais looked up at Wilfred and nodded speaking in Latin to the man to keep it out of the prying ears of the danes. “You speak true Brother Wilfred, I only pray we do not have repercussions for the death of the man whose head was once attached to his shoulders, I hope Orran is alright with the children.” Anndrais looked back to Tora and continued to clutch her hand in his.
Hallerna frowned, disapproving of Wilfred’s willfulness, and ill-pleased with his disregard for the seidrmadr’s kindness and the expensive materials spent in repairing the flayed meat of his back. She scowled at him crossly, like a mother toward a stubborn child, but held her tongue as she crossed her arms over her chest.
And she listened, not to the strange garbled Christian talk, but to every sentence, every last word concerning Harald and his men and all the evil they’d done, the stern look on her face giving away nothing of the genuine worry that was beginning to twist her gut.
Ragnar was silent throughout the encounter, his eyes unfocused as his mind worked. Despite his brutal appearance and warlike demeanor, he was by no means stupid. A Viking did not live long or attain as much status as Ragnar had by being a fool, and though his muscles bulged from twenty years of pulling oars and swinging weapons, the mind lurking behind his ice-blue eyes and wind-weathered face was as sharp as Skull Taker at his hip. He assimilated Wilfred’s words as he spoke them, ignoring the impropriety for the moment in favor of tactical thinking. Wilfred would be valuable to have on his side when the time came for confrontation with Harald and his men, and to discount a potential ally was foolish, even if the man’s faith stuck in Ragnar’s craw.
Sigrid watched her husband’s face and held her tongue, her own thoughts churning. If she could use the slave to get close to Harald and kill him, it would save much blood shed on her side. Ragnar and his men were proud and fierce warriors but they were few to Harald’s many, though most of them looked like scoundrels and nithingr. Her cat like eyes raked over Wilfred’s large form and a plan began to sprout in her mind. She would leave it though until later when she could mull it over in privacy.
Tora still held the monk’s hand, it was hard and calloused unlike the man’s heart. She had never heard a man talk like he had, especially not to owners. His words were strange but comforting, though he was wrong about her. Tora was a slave, the Norns had spun her thread and it was her destiny to be a drudge. To be used, to work and die. If she was lucky, her masters would free her before she was too old so that she may marry and have a child or two. They had never spoken of it nor given Tora her price so she could buy her freedom but then the young woman had not brought it up. Being free had not been something she had thought long on, unlike her fellow slave Faolan who brooded on his old life.
She turned her head and tugged his hand, whispering to the monk, “Don’t make them angry, they mean well. They are good masters.”
Anndrais leaned down and spoke gently to her; he whispered in her ear “But they are still Masters, good or bad, they have no right to treat you like they do; You are worth more than coin, you are a person Tora, a beautiful woman worth more than money, priceless would be the apt term.” He patted her hand gently “But rest, you need your Rest… Do not worry, I will be going nowhere. I will be here when you wake.”
She smiled slightly at his strange ideas but it was a comfort. After what Harald and his men had done she had felt like dying but the monk was kind and she clung to his words as much as his hand.
Wilfred had remained ignored through the entire encounter, listening closely to the exchanges and fitting rank and importance to each of those involved. It was clear that the brute of a man who had walked in with a severed head was no friend to the Christian people but Wilfred had always come to accord with warriors; it was in his blood. Slowly rising, the others couldn’t help but turn their attention to him; even injured and slightly bowed to stop his wounds reopening Wilfred was a large man by any standard, even standing over Ragnar’s considerable height.
“I am not skilled in the customs of your people but I can count well enough; if you tackle Harald head on his men will slaughter you by sole virtue of their superior numbers. I would not be so hasty to rush headlong to death.” His eyes twinkled darkly as his gaze fell upon Ragnar and Sigrid. He had quickly established the woman was the schemer of the two; the dagger in the night. “I have some interest in seeing his remains feeding the crows. As a cleric it is not seemly for me to contemplate vengeance for it is a sin but I believe God would forgive me for ridding the world of a devil such as this.” He could see some confusion on their faces and realised he had not yet introduced himself. Dipping his head the slightest bit, acknowledging their elevated rank grudgingly, he spoke again.
“My name is Wilfred, a former priest from Northumberland. Harald took me as a slave as punishment for distracting him while my congregation fled the church I ministered to. I am in here for returning alive from that little supply run which he was too cowardly to go on while better men died for others.” He sat down, no longer needing to force their attention and also due to the roaring pain searing through his back. “I would set myself free from his clutches even if I were to be a slave for another; in this corner of the world being a free Saxon is probably more dangerous than being an enslaved one.”
Sigrid looked up at the big slave who had lay in the bed next to Tora. Another Christian, of course,she thought to herself as she listened. Her hands were on her hips and she glanced at Ragnar to see his reaction to the slave’s speech. The slave was out of line and his words dripped with Christian imagery, it bothered her but she could also see an advantage. He was a strong man and she could feel the hatred of Harald coming off of him in waves.
Anndrais looked up at Wilfred and nodded speaking in Latin to the man to keep it out of the prying ears of the danes. “You speak true Brother Wilfred, I only pray we do not have repercussions for the death of the man whose head was once attached to his shoulders, I hope Orran is alright with the children.” Anndrais looked back to Tora and continued to clutch her hand in his.
Hallerna frowned, disapproving of Wilfred’s willfulness, and ill-pleased with his disregard for the seidrmadr’s kindness and the expensive materials spent in repairing the flayed meat of his back. She scowled at him crossly, like a mother toward a stubborn child, but held her tongue as she crossed her arms over her chest.
And she listened, not to the strange garbled Christian talk, but to every sentence, every last word concerning Harald and his men and all the evil they’d done, the stern look on her face giving away nothing of the genuine worry that was beginning to twist her gut.
Ragnar was silent throughout the encounter, his eyes unfocused as his mind worked. Despite his brutal appearance and warlike demeanor, he was by no means stupid. A Viking did not live long or attain as much status as Ragnar had by being a fool, and though his muscles bulged from twenty years of pulling oars and swinging weapons, the mind lurking behind his ice-blue eyes and wind-weathered face was as sharp as Skull Taker at his hip. He assimilated Wilfred’s words as he spoke them, ignoring the impropriety for the moment in favor of tactical thinking. Wilfred would be valuable to have on his side when the time came for confrontation with Harald and his men, and to discount a potential ally was foolish, even if the man’s faith stuck in Ragnar’s craw.
Sigrid watched her husband’s face and held her tongue, her own thoughts churning. If she could use the slave to get close to Harald and kill him, it would save much blood shed on her side. Ragnar and his men were proud and fierce warriors but they were few to Harald’s many, though most of them looked like scoundrels and nithingr. Her cat like eyes raked over Wilfred’s large form and a plan began to sprout in her mind. She would leave it though until later when she could mull it over in privacy.
While I'm definitely a fan of 40K, I'm not really confident enough in my knowledge base to try leading a faction. I've only been into it for a couple of years, and with the amount of lore out there, that means I'm still pretty fresh.
That said, if someone heads up a Space Marine faction, I'll probably throw in with them. I did some reflection, and while Imperial Guard is fun to write in a small, Guard-centric RP, doing so in something this size could be bad Juju.
"Guardsman Jim" would, more than likely, end up having his spleen ripped out his pee-hole, and I'd rather play someone who can stand up to the generic Faction minions.
------------EDIT------------
That being said, upon further reflection, there's something rather grand about playing a plucky human with a squishy body, who has to somehow survive a world where the base-level enemy can generally be counted on to disassemble you in a one-on-one fight. It's kind of the entire point of playing Guard anyway... So I guess we'll see how masochistic I'm feeling when the time comes, now that I've negated my own argument?
That said, if someone heads up a Space Marine faction, I'll probably throw in with them. I did some reflection, and while Imperial Guard is fun to write in a small, Guard-centric RP, doing so in something this size could be bad Juju.
"Guardsman Jim" would, more than likely, end up having his spleen ripped out his pee-hole, and I'd rather play someone who can stand up to the generic Faction minions.
------------EDIT------------
That being said, upon further reflection, there's something rather grand about playing a plucky human with a squishy body, who has to somehow survive a world where the base-level enemy can generally be counted on to disassemble you in a one-on-one fight. It's kind of the entire point of playing Guard anyway... So I guess we'll see how masochistic I'm feeling when the time comes, now that I've negated my own argument?
Sounds like fun. I'll tentatively throw down for this one, though I'd like to see how well developed the idea gets first. I'd love to get my boots in the muck with the Imperial Guard.
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