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<Snipped quote by Zombiedude101>

Please change his ability to rapid cellular regeneration and we’ll be good to go at that point.

EDIT: Additionally, your character being killed prior to the Energy Storm would mean he would stay dead. The way it works is that after the storm, your character becomes infected with the plague and then they have their abilities. I hope this makes sense. PM me if you have questions.


My view was that the Energy Storm took place prior to his execution (while he was being dosed with heroin) so by the time they actually put a bullet in him he'd already been rendered in his current state.
@Chulance as requested


Loosely based on a character I played in another setting, everything between meeting Gulbuddin up to the kidnapping actually took place on an RP community I was at way back in 2017. Was good stuff.

Ayy
I'm game.
What're the rules surrounding powers? Any hard limits?




As the others discussed among themselves and addressed the Queen, a Bastard contemplated the offer laid at their feet.

New Kaimeria? Artur had been there, done that - he harbored little desire to rush back into the arms of the Kaimerians, but all the same - it wasn't impossible. The treacherous whoresons that had counted themselves among the Captains of the Bastardborn had seen fit to leave him in that pitiless place, yet all the same he'd clawed his way out with a renewed vigour. And, in a sense, he understood why anyone would be reluctant to march an army into that realm, given how the last war had turned out. A smaller group, however? It could be done, perhaps.

The Sorrowfields? A deeper, bitter pang run at the pit of Artur's stomach - old memories of a time when he could barely consider himself a man, of lost raiding parties and routed armies that had been forced to detour across that vast stretch between the great cities and the northern coast. Still, he had

As for the Desolation? In all his days as a boy, then a man grown, Artur had known the rivers, coasts and ocean like the back of his own hand. He had sailed from the shores of New Kaimeria all the way to that frigid, hardy asylum from slavery for which its people had named it Hope. The Desolation harboured naught but ash and skulls, skeletal ruins visible from afar as the ship he was upon cautiously traversed the rocky shallows at the coast. Even then, without the stories, it had made him uneasy.

That truly gave him pause. Artur remembered that phrase oft spoke among the free companies. There were old soldiers - and there were bold soldiers, but there were no old, bold soldiers. An old saying - ancient, most like to stretch back to a time before Deadwood had earned its name, a thousand years and more.

Yet, what else was there? Artur knew he was not a young man - not anymore. His Bastardborn - both the son and the collective rabble he'd hammered into soldiers - were out in the world somewhere, unknowingly waiting for him. His birthright rest out there, waiting for him. Swords and spears. Then, the crown.

"Part payment upfront, contract and all - those are the terms I'll agree to, aye." Artur was perhaps playing it bold, to haggle with a Queen - a Witch-Queen of all things - but considering what was being asked of them, there had to be some measure of guarantee that there would be a payment for them. The others had their own motivations. The half-giantess - her child had been taken by slavers. Artur, for all that he had done in his life, felt a pang of sympathy for her plight - perhaps a semblance of guilt that he was not immediately present to ensure that his own son was being raised properly. Slavery, he found, was a poisonous coin. He had treated with slavers before - even worked for them, but he found the trade an unpleasant business if for nothing else then because it had its own price.

Perhaps, in that case, the giantess' favour - if not loyalty - could be acquired. It was something to consider, eventually. Briefly glancing towards Fourteen, he continued to address Tabitha with a certain courtesy not unlike a bristled courtier. "Unless you mean to give the stone-one wings, a ship to take us upriver would serve well. Surely, your magics can provision this?"
I mean to get a post in soon, work's been riding me hard.
Definitely intrigued, I'll have to look this over.



The Golem had briefly caught Artur's attention, if only for the fact that it had plainly stated its opinion of him. Though he found it somewhat queer - magical constructs were things that few men encountered in Deadwood, let alone lived to tell the tale. "Aye," he simply answered, though in truth he wasn't sure what to make of Fourteen. "Follow me and you'll do well."

Onwards they stepped, until finally they came to the regal interior which both dwarved snd made a hovel of the only other throne room he'd seen. And Tabitha? The Witch-Queen was no less a surprise - perhaps a part of him expected her to be clad in totems and sigils like some hermit sea witch of the Shattered Isles. But all the same, the regal finery and excess of decorum felt hollow to him. His own experiences as a boy, well before the cusp fo manhood, had taught him to be wary of such places, vipers' nests of plots and court intrugue.

"... What did you all come here for? Riches, safety... but why? Down there, money is truly worthless when you get down to it."

"And yet you've a use for our lot from the Lower Realms," Artur interjected bluntly, "Elsewise you wouldn't have fed your sorceress and her guards to the desert to bring us. Your Majesty." Though the bastard's tone lacked the insolence one might've expected of a sellsword, he never stooped low to kneel or bow, merely offering a forward tilt of the head in acknowledgement of Tabitha's place. Deference wasn't in his nature, though he was wise to recognise just who's guests they were.

"Some of these might want a place in your Kingdom, or riches mayhaps - but I'm a simple man, with simple tastes and I'll ask only for what's mine. The drunken whoreson who sired me named his bastard after a greater grandfather, nothing like the arselicker keeping the dust off our seat."

"I mean to have it back. Swords and spears. I have some wayward bastards of my own for that purpose, but a Queen's favour is one I'm not like to forget." Artur glanced towards the rest of the group, "No less would I forget any other. I am Artur, of the Bastardborn."
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