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  • #61
    I'm for the ranger being the quiet type - it messes with people when you seem ghostlike

    Though I am tempted by the cheese of the second option...there's something about telling off the baddies with some flair.


    The artist behind the quests From Out of a Dream (complete) and Back Alive, or Maybe Dead (running!). Go give a read and make your choice!

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    • #62



      "..." The Ranger didn't answer. Ash had a distinct voice, you see, and figured that not talking made it her that much harder to recognize. Besides which, it added to her mystique. So she said nothing. She just drew her flame piece and raised her other hand to gesture for them to come at her.

      To anyone watching, it would have seemed like the street got dead quiet. A slight breeze lifted the Ranger's hair. The outlaws saw something unnerving in her stoic stance. The well-dressed, talkative man took a step back. The four toughs flinched.

      Only One-Eyed Em was unaffected. She was more pissed than afraid. She snarled, ran at the Ranger, raised her big club over her head with both hands, and started to bring it down. But the Ranger twirled her flamepiece around her fingers to grab it by the barrel. Then the vigilante sidestepped the bandit's attack and swung the flamepiece's grip into the path of Em's arm. The butt cracked into Em's elbow. Em swore and almost dropped her club. The Ranger followed up with a right jab, socked Em in the jaw. The rough woman went down like a sack of rocks.

      The others started to regroup. The fancy one rushed in to help, pulling a couple of tiny metal tubes from his pockets. He pointed them at the Ranger, and two gouts of red-orange flame billowed through the air.

      The Ranger grabbed onto her hat and fell over onto her back, watching waves of fire pass over her. She twirled her flamepiece back over, thumbed the hammer, and fired a dust-flare of her own. The fancy man, as well as the four men who were coming up behind him, were all caught up in the blast. One of the clubbers screamed and fell to the ground, ablaze. The other, quicker ones shielded their faces and fell back, smoking in patches. The Ranger rolled to her feet.

      "Now! Quick! Before she reloads!" screamed the fancy one, beating out a small fire on his sleeve.

      When they came at her again...
      • ...they surrounded her and took it in turns to swing at her. The Ranger dodged, ducked, and wove every which way, never staying still for a second. She shifted so fast it was like watching a flame in the wind, dancing and flickering.
      • ...the man with the chain struck first, swinging his weight at her gut. The Ranger let herself be hit and only gave a hard grunt for it. She dropped her flamepiece, grabbed the chain, looped part of it around her fist, then hauled it in with both hands so she could give its owner a tooth-breaking right hook.
      • ...the Ranger was faster, lunging at the swordman in front with a flying punch. She surprised him, got in his guard, and flattened him with one hit. Then she turned to the turned to the clubber and deflected a wild swing with her right arm. She followed up with a left cross to the gut.
      • ...the Ranger slowly and calmly backpedaled, reaching under her poncho with her off-hand. She scooped some dust from a pouch on her belt and flung it into the air before her. The Ranger caught that dust in her flamepiece like water in a cup and aimed it in the same movement. With less than a second's pause, she fired again and started another hand-trick load.
      • Something else?
      OOC Commentary
      Three things:
      • First, the decision point. A real western hero(ine) should be quick, tough, and good with both fists and guns, IMO. But which one do I want to use more?
      • Second, a houserule I have for Righteous Devil Style. In my games, "firewand" and "flamepiece" are synonymous. Buttstroking and pistol-whipping are equally fair game when you're using the Form charm. I would also like to do some spear-twirling with a bayoneted rifle-size firewand somewhere. I debated giving Ash/The White Plains Ranger dual flamepieces with bayonets, but I decided it would rather save that for later, if I do it at all.
      • Third, another headcanon - one-shot "derringer"-like fire weapons do exist. You make one by taking a small metal tube, filling it with firedust, capping one end of it with thin cloth or paper, and capping the other end with a carefully-shaped piece of flint. When you push on the flint, it sparks against the inside of the tube and ignites the dust, which will (usually) spill out the front end, burning through the cover. Reloading these weapons is frequently impossible, because the tiny flint can break or wear down after only one or two shots. Aiming from further away than-point blank is partly down to luck. If you're not wearing gloves, the pipe will likely sige your hands. Also, if the flint-cap isn't set properly, you may well incinerate your own arm. Despite these drawbacks, "torchpipes" are popular weapons in the criminal South, partly because of their power, partly because they are easy to conceal, and partly because (unlike a proper flamepiece) a torchpipe can be improvised from scavenged materials.
      Last edited by semicasual; 10-21-2016, 08:51 PM.


      On the frontier of the Wild South, there's only one woman with the grit to take on its most dangerous outlaws and bring them Back Alive, or Maybe Dead.

      Avatar by K.S. Brenowitz

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      • #63
        Rapid Reload. They'll never see it coming!


        Mouse monk riding a tiny pig avatar courtesy of the very talented forumite Jen!

        Jen's original portrayal of Mouse Monk, featuring some human or other named Tybalt Farwander.

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        • #64
          Originally posted by Prometheus878 View Post
          Rapid Reload. They'll never see it coming!

          Yes! Rapid Reload.

          ((Also, the one shot flametubes are awesome!))


          I write things.

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          • #65
            Rapid Reloading Firecannon!


            Are you in the market for some Martial Arts? Perhaps some custom Artifacts for your campaign?

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            • #66
              .... the Ranger slowly and calmly backpedaled, reaching under her poncho with her off-hand. She scooped some dust from a pouch on her belt and flung it into the air before her. The Ranger caught that dust in her flamepiece like water in a cup and aimed it in the same movement. With less than a second's pause, she fired again and started another hand-trick load.

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              • #67
                The Ranger dodged, ducked, and wove every which way, never staying still for a second. Have to be able to win non-lethally for drunks, kids who will get themselves killed, and the like.


                Like my Avatar? Courtesy of Jen! : Anybody want their characters to be experimented on ? post 98
                An Exalt is never unarmed.

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                • #68



                  ...the Ranger slowly and calmly backpedaled, reaching under her poncho with her off-hand. She scooped some dust from a pouch on her belt and flung it into the air before her. The Ranger caught that dust in her flamepiece like water in a cup and aimed it in the same movement. With less than a second's pause, she fired again and started another hand-trick load. Twice more, the hammer clicked and bright orange flares spread out over the street in front of her.

                  The fancy man dove to the ground, dragging his finery into the dirt, and covered his head to shield himself from the blazing waves of sparks flying over him. His followers weren't as lucky. The man with the chain joined his friend on the ground, rolling to put himself out. The tough with the sword caught some dust in the face - he screamed, dropped his weapon and covered his eyes. He stumbled around, blind, and almost fell over on the last clubber. That one, covered in singe marks, started cursing up a storm, threw down his club, and ran into the alley behind the hotel without a backwards glance.

                  Smoke and the smell of firedust filled the street. Little patches of flame were littered about the front of the hotel. When the smoke cleared, the Ranger was the only one left standing. The rest were broken and hurt bad, but not yet dead. And there was something strange about the Ranger, something that you wouldn't have noticed before things settled down. When she paused to shake out the barrel of her flamepiece and reload once more - the normal way this time - you could see a shimmer in the air around her, like a heatwave that was only on her person. Of course, it was so hot outside you could be forgiven for thinking it was nothing.

                  She walked towards the hotel again, boots stomping over the ashes. She kept an eye on the fancy one, still face-down on the ground, to see if he'd make a move. But she was watching the wrong person.

                  One-Eyed Em grabbed the Ranger's leg as she went by, tripping her up and pulling her down. Em's left arm wasn't moving right, but the rough woman still had plenty of fight to spare. The Ranger fell down on her stomach, and Em hauled herself on top of the vigilante before she could get up.

                  "Got ya, dumbshit," Em growled, and she wrapped her good right arm around the Ranger's neck. Em squeezed and pulled, choking the Ranger out while weighing her down. The Ranger's arm was pinned and couldn't bring her flamepiece to bear. But she had one more card to play.

                  Em was vaguely aware that the Ranger's body was warm underneath her. Em didn't pay it any mind, until she noticed that the Ranger was getting really hot - hot like coals. Em felt a searing pain in her choking arm. She hollered out in shock and let go, then rolled herself off the Ranger when she finally realized the Ranger was on fire. Tiny yellow-orange flames licked all up and down the Ranger's body like hundred of tiny candles. Somehow the Ranger's clothes were untouched, and she herself wasn't showing any sign of fear or hurt.

                  One-Eyed Em lay on her back, steam rising off her, thanking her lucky stars she thought to wear leathers today. But luck only went so far.
                  • The Ranger got to her knees beside her and flipped her flamepiece over once again. She gave Em one hard whack on each side of her head with the butt of that iron, making sure this time Em was out of the fight. As much as she played with fire, the White Plains Ranger wasn't a killer unless she needed to be.
                  • The Ranger, still on her belly, reached out with her flamepiece and put it to Em's temple. She pulled the trigger, and a big burning hole put an end to that outlaw's life. The White Plains Ranger didn't leave enemies behind, and she didn't take prisoners.
                  • The Ranger got up and stepped over Em's head. Then she brought her boot down, driving a spur through Em's good eye. Em screamed in agony and clutched at her ruined face. The White Plains Ranger could be cruel, when she took it into her head to make an example of somebody.
                  • Something else?
                  OOC Commentary
                  Further headcanon regarding firedust:

                  When it burns, it explodes with a modest amount of concussive force, which is why most of the dust gets blown out of a firewand's barrel as it ignites. This is not enough force to drive any projectile, however - you will note that dust-blooms do not travel far, even though firedust grains are very light. That said, it's still enough force to generate firey Hollywood-style explosions if a lot of dust is involved, or blast small holes in things if the flamepiece or firewand is at point-blank range. And you absolutely should avoid stuffing anything solid inside a fire weapon before firing it, or it may burst apart.

                  Firedust smells kind of like charcoal and sulfur. That smell gets a lot stronger when it is burned.

                  Firedust does not cling like napalm. But it burns so hot and so quickly that there's no real hope of scraping it off before 2nd or 3rd-degree burns set in. Secondary fires from burning hair or clothing are almost inevitable.

                  It's actually quite difficult to kill someone outright with any fire weapon. The nature of firedust is such that most of the damage is confined to the skin (epidermis, dermis, and hypodermis), and crippling injuries from burned flesh are common. Actual death may result from suffocation when secondary fires consume all oxygen or, more rarely, a body can ignite due to the Wick Effect - ( https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wick_effect ). But most often what will happen is that someone will become temporarily disabled or pass out from pain, making them easy to finish off by other means. Or, if they do not recieve adequate treatment for their burns, they can easily die from infection. Protip: in Creation, adequate treatment is rare and infection is common.
                  Last edited by semicasual; 10-31-2016, 09:23 AM.


                  On the frontier of the Wild South, there's only one woman with the grit to take on its most dangerous outlaws and bring them Back Alive, or Maybe Dead.

                  Avatar by K.S. Brenowitz

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                  • #69
                    Unnecessary cruelty breeds enemies...but Em has proven herself too dangerous and too vicious to be spared. If she's left to walk away, others will suffer. Pull the trigger, and put an end to that outlaw's life. Let the others go to spread the White Plains Ranger's legend.


                    Share your wonders in The Artifact and Evocation Workshop

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                    • #70
                      Originally posted by Ferryman View Post
                      Pull the trigger, and put an end to that outlaw's life. Let the others go to spread the White Plains Ranger's legend.
                      We don't leave enemies behind to harm more innocents.


                      I write things.

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                      • #71
                        The Ranger got to her knees beside her and flipped her flamepiece over once again. She gave Em one hard whack on each side of her head with the butt of that iron, making sure this time Em was out of the fight. As much as she played with fire, the White Plains Ranger wasn't a killer unless she needed to be.
                        Didn't finish off fancy-pants or the others....


                        Like my Avatar? Courtesy of Jen! : Anybody want their characters to be experimented on ? post 98
                        An Exalt is never unarmed.

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                        • #72
                          Ash ain't no Buddha, but she ain't no sadist neither.

                          The Ranger, still on her belly, reached out with her flamepiece and put it to Em's temple. She pulled the trigger, and a big burning hole put an end to that outlaw's life. The White Plains Ranger didn't leave enemies behind, and she didn't take prisoners.


                          Mouse monk riding a tiny pig avatar courtesy of the very talented forumite Jen!

                          Jen's original portrayal of Mouse Monk, featuring some human or other named Tybalt Farwander.

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                          • #73
                            I'll go non lethal this time, huge departure for me. But we ought collect on the ones with a bounty, alive usually pays considerably more.

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                            • #74
                              "She gave Em one hard whack on each side of her head with the butt of that iron" - we may be hard, but no need to be cruel.

                              (So glad no one's voted for eyeball stabbing - ew )


                              The artist behind the quests From Out of a Dream (complete) and Back Alive, or Maybe Dead (running!). Go give a read and make your choice!

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                              • #75

                                The Ranger got to her knees beside her and flipped her flamepiece over once again. She gave Em one hard whack on each side of her head with the butt of that iron, making sure this time Em was out of the fight. As much as she played with fire, the White Plains Ranger wasn't a killer unless she needed to be. She got to her feet and dusted herself off. She was very nonchalant about it too - mighty strange to see, since her corona of fire wasn't going away.

                                Then she saw movement on the second-floor balcony of the hotel. There was a man standing up there. He cast a long, dark shadow - longer and darker than you'd think, under that sun. He was leaning over the railing and looking down into the street, but not straight at the Ranger or her surroundings. "What's all the ruckus?" he said. His voice was gravelly like only a hard-drinking, hard-smoking man who'd had his throat cut could have.

                                Stitch-Eyes looked like a tall, thin man with skin white as a sheet. He always wore a long, black coat over a charcoal vest, black trousers with silver trimmings, black leather boots with big, shiny spurs, and a wide black hat that shaded his disfigured eyes most of the time. Two belts laden with leaf-shaped steel knives crossed his waist below his belt, alongside a much bigger knife with a curved handle. He also wore a black silk ribbon around the high collar of his shirt. Some people said that ribbon was like a fastener, keeping his head on his shoulders, but nobody ever dared try pulling it off. And of course, his eyes were indeed sewn shut. Fine needlework, black thread.

                                The well-dressed man was picking himself up, shaky as he rose. "Sir, ah... there is a woman here to see you. Uninvited," he called, without turning away from the Ranger.

                                "Having trouble keeping the riff-raff out, Hark?" Stitch-Eyes sniffed. "What's she look like?"

                                "She is... ah..." Hark's head zipped to Stitch-Eyes and then back to the Ranger, like he couldn't decide who he should look at. "...she is wreathed in dragonfire, sir."

                                "A marshal?"

                                "She has no shield, sir."

                                "Mierda. I haven't killed a marshal in years. So what's the toll?"

                                "Ah..." Hark dared take his eyes off the Ranger to check on his companions. "Listher ran away. Thom, Oster, and Turk are wounded. Em, too." Hark seemed genuinely shocked by that, but maybe it was just nerves.

                                "Em? I thought she was being awful quiet." If Stitch-Eyes was upset, he didn't show it. "Well, fine. I'll take care of it. Drag the wounded inside. Then go find Listher and break his legs. Tell him he can stay if he drags himself back."

                                "Ah... yes, sir." Hark started with the man whose face was burned - Turk, perhaps? - helping him to his feet and ushering him towards the hotel doors.

                                Stitch-Eyes shrugged his shoulders, straightened up, and hopped over the railing. He dropped down into the street with a dull thump and a loud clink of his spurs. the long fall didn't seem to affect him at all.

                                "Mighty rude of ya, interrupting a man's siesta," he rumbled, ambling into the middle of the road like he had nowhere better to be. He turned to face the Ranger. "So, who the hell are you?"

                                The Ranger, of course, said nothing. She took a few steps to the side, making some distance between herself and the fallen.

                                Stitch-Eyes gave a little chuckle - could have been a growl, coming from him - and followed her. "Strong silent type, are we? Better than you have failed to bring me down, little girl. Why don't you run on home to daddy?"

                                That touched a nerve. The flames surrounding the Ranger flared up and turned an angry red color. She raised her flamepiece and cocked the hammer.

                                Stitch-Eyes smiled a mirthless smile. He pulled a knife from his belt and twirled it around his fingers. "Now, now. No need to rush. I tell you what - let's make this sporting, shall we? I'm gonna count to ten, then toss this little nicker into the sky. When it hits the ground, draw. We'll see who's quick and who's dead. What do you say?"

                                The Ranger wavered, then carefully reset the hammer. She holstered her flamepiece and readied herself.
                                • The Ranger kept her silence, like she always did.
                                • "You're gonna look damn silly with that knife coming out of your ass," the Ranger growled.
                                • "Fill your hands, you son of a a bitch!" taunted the Ranger.
                                • "I hate rude behavior in a man. I won't tolerate it," said the Ranger, strangely mild.
                                • Something else?
                                OOC commentary
                                When we get a tie like that, I'll decide what happens. In this case, I decided I'd rather have Em live and join a small rogues' gallery of recurring villains.

                                I'll give an internet cookie to anyone who can name three westerns this post references.
                                Last edited by semicasual; 10-31-2016, 09:25 AM.


                                On the frontier of the Wild South, there's only one woman with the grit to take on its most dangerous outlaws and bring them Back Alive, or Maybe Dead.

                                Avatar by K.S. Brenowitz

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