Announcement

Collapse
No announcement yet.

Back Alive or Maybe Dead [Quest]

Collapse
X
  • Filter
  • Time
  • Show
Clear All
new posts

  • #76
    Keep our silence.


    I write things.

    Comment


    • #77
      Keep our silence.

      Also, High Plains Drifter, True Grit, Lonesome Dove.


      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.

      Comment


      • #78
        The Ranger kept her silence, like she always did.
        I caught the John Wayne True Grit reference, missed the others.


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

        Comment


        • #79
          Silence of course. I just figured out we are dragon blooded. I'm ashamed.

          Comment


          • #80
            Originally posted by Jairain View Post
            . I just figured out we are dragon blooded. I'm ashamed.
            Well, this is the first time we've seen her on fire so I think it's okay you didn't spot that

            Silence. Silence even in adversity!



            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!

            Comment


            • #81


              The Ranger kept her silence, like she always did. She just watched, and waited.

              "One, two, three, four..."

              Stitch-Eyes tossed the knife from hand to hand, catching the point between his fingertips each time.

              "...Five, six, seven, eight..."

              He tossed the knife straight up and put both hands on his hips, only to snatch it out of the air just as it passed his chin. His head never moved, and his smile never wavered. The Ranger pulled back her poncho and held her hand near her flamepiece.

              "...nine, ten!"

              He threw the knife skyward and made an exaggerated show of looking up after it. The Ranger's eyes followed the glint of the sun on the spinning metal. Anybody watching - and by now, a small, furtive crowd had gathered - might've felt like that knife was up in the air forever. But it came back down soon enough. Then a bunch of things happened all at once, too quick for the eye to follow.

              The knife stuck down point-first in the dirt, inaudible over the background noise. The Ranger drew as fast as she ever had, aimed from the hip, and thumbed the hammer. Just as she was pulling the trigger there was a "chink!" sort of noise. Her eyes flicked down to her iron and saw one of Stitch-Eyes' knives sticking out of the barrel. She had enough presence of mind to let go of the trigger, let the flamepiece fall from her hand, and jerk back her arm - all too late. An instant later, the barrel exploded in a flash of burning dust. Bits of shrapnel perforated her clothes.

              Then Stitch-Eyes was in her face, having crossed the space between them as quick as a blink. He had a knife in either hand, jabbing and stabbing at the Ranger without a hint of uncertainty. She fought back, bobbing this way and that and using her arms to deflect Stitch-Eyes' attacks. Once or twice she threw a punch of her own, but the blind man always seems to know where she was and she only ever caught air.

              The flames around the Ranger burned hotter and brighter. If Stitch-Eyes minded, he didn't show it. For his part, the deep shadow that always stuck around him just got longer and darker, until it seemed like he occupied a patch of darkness in the middle of the street, right next to a bonfire.

              They traded attacks for quite a while, until finally Stitch-Eyes found an opening, He came at her from the side and drove a knife into her neck with a backhanded swing. The Ranger froze with shock. Stitch-Eyes kicked her in the gut as he pulled his knife free. She fell to the found, clutching at the wound. Instantly, the flames around her snuffed out and darkness covered everything.

              "Y'all see that?" shouted the outlaw. "Nobody - but NOBODY - crosses me and lives! Y'all should know that by now!"

              Curtains closed in nearby windows. Folks lurking about to watch the fight cringed, and began to walk away.

              "I am He Who Sees with the Eyes of Death!" he declared. "And I. AM. IMMORTAL!"

              The last things the Ranger heard before she passed out were Stitch-Eyes' guttural laughter, and....
              • ...the low, hissing growl of a sand-dragon.
              • ...a woman crying out.
              • ...chiming bells.
              • ...Something else?
              OOC Commentary
              Originally posted by Prometheus878 View Post
              Keep our silence.

              Also, High Plains Drifter, True Grit, Lonesome Dove.
              Well done. You've earned your Western cookies. Unless you used google, in which case I'll be wanting those back.
              Last edited by semicasual; 07-11-2017, 08:21 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

              Comment


              • #82
                Chiming Bells! Bells are so ominous!

                ((Now I got For Whom the Bell Tolls stuck in my head))
                Last edited by wonderandawe; 10-26-2016, 09:51 AM.


                I write things.

                Comment


                • #83
                  OOC Commentary:
                  Kat Brenowitz, AKA midnightcyclist, is once again doing art for this project! To start out - poker deck pictures of the main cast. Here's one for Swifthand Ash/The White Plains Ranger: I'll be adding this to the story post where Ash/Ranger is introduced.



                  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

                  Comment


                  • #84
                    ... the chime of bells chased the Ranger into the waiting embrace of darkness.

                    Comment


                    • #85
                      ...the low, hissing growl of a sand-dragon.
                      Hi-yo, Silver! er, King.
                      Last edited by L'het'esh; 10-26-2016, 05:24 PM.


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

                      Comment


                      • #86
                        Hm... The crying of a woman. New character!

                        *Passes back plate of cookies* I had to look up the Lonesome Dove quote.


                        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.

                        Comment


                        • #87
                          I like the bells, all Notre Dame like.

                          Comment


                          • #88





                            ...chiming bells. Ominous though they sounded, they still lulled her into unconsciousness.

                            The Ranger lay there on the ground, who knows how long? Her awareness of the world around her faded away. The bright hot sun became dim and chilly. It felt like all the warmth in her was flowing out through the wound on her neck. The noises of the world went quiet. Soon there was nothing but dark, cold silence.

                            She stayed there in the black, still alert, still awake, still aware. She wanted to move but she couldn't, and when she tried to think about it she didn't know why. She was lying somewhere in between places, going nowhere. It didn't feel right, but she wasn't scared - she was beyond little things like fear, then.

                            "My, my. That didn't go too well for you, now did it?"



                            A amiable, drawling voice emerged from out of the darkness. There was a sound like a match being struck. A tiny flicker of flame briefly illuminated a hand holding a tiny burning stick. The stick went to the mouth of a little lamp, and the darkness cleared up a little. The lamp had a strange kind of light - it didn't have the same liveliness of fire, and it seemed to cast even deeper shadows than you'd expect. The Ranger's eyes couldn't focus on the light, but she could make out what the light showed.

                            A pale-skinned man holding three-quarters of a cigar sat in a big, plush armchair next to a small table with the lamp. He wore a nice vest over a nice shirt and nice trousers, all black and white. He had a face with a permanent squint, shaped by smile and worry lines, and short, slicked-back dark hair. He was slouching, resting on one arm of his cushy throne and looking at the Ranger with a bemused expression.

                            "'Course, ol' Stitchy is one of my best. No surprise, there." He took a long pull on the cigar, followed by a long, smokey exhalation. "Still, I must admit, you had me going for a while. If you were a little quicker, a little luckier...." he pauses for a second draw. "...you'd still have been whipped, but you might've done some damage first. Ah well, live and learn!"

                            The well-dressed man chuckled to himself. The Ranger didn't respond, either for lack of will or energy. The man leaned forward in his chair and flicked some cigar ash in her direction.

                            "Oh, don't be too hard on yourself. You did as well as you could have, little as that might be. It might seem like you had a run of bad luck, but the truth is, this game was rigged. Most power games are." Another pause, another draw on that cigar. "You knew it was rigged, too, but you chose to play anyway. That takes guts. It's a shame you're taken, ma'am. I think you'd have fit right in with my company."

                            He smiled a condescending smile and shifted his pose again, sinking back into the chair and letting his cigar-hand hang off the side. Then suddenly he straightened up, turned his head as if he heard something, and made a "tsk" sound.

                            "Well, it looks like we're about out of time. This has been a riveting conversation, miss, but I'm afraid you've got to go. One piece of advice - don't get in Stitchy's way. He hates that even more than he hates being called 'Stitchy.' You tried your best, and it didn't work. That's life!" he laughed. "Anyway, I think you could be more... productive... somewhere far away from here. There will certainly be trouble if you stay..." He tilted his head down, and then the Ranger noticed that his eyes were solid black... No, not black. Empty. There were two voids in the man's head that seemed to draw in the light around them, leaving gloom behind. Maybe they were always like that.

                            "...trust me," he finished as he reached over to the lamp. He snuffed the flame with his fingers, and darkness swallowed everything again. Only then did the Ranger find that she could close her eyes and drift away.





                            She came to somewhere soft and warm. There was a bright light coming from somewhere to the left. She still felt lightheaded, not to mention thirsty and tired.

                            There was a noise like someone talking. She could hear the words but couldn't make out what they meant. She wanted to close her eyes and dift off, but somehow she pulled together enough wits to focus. It sounded like a woman's voice, coming from a vague shape hanging above her head.

                            "Your eyes are open... Mistress, can you hear me?"

                            She tried to turn her head, but it was stuck in something like a cushion and she couldn't quite push over it. She tried to move a hand, but she could barely make her fingers twitch. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words come out. Instead, she tried making an affirmative groan.

                            "Take it easy. You are lucky to be alive."

                            The sound of liquid pouring into a cup preceded something being put to Ash's lips. She tasted water, swallowed, and shut her eyes. Ash's limited awareness of the world around her slipped away again.

                            When Ash woke up for the second time, she felt much better. To start with, she could make out the room she was in - a tiny bedroom, lit mostly from the light of one window, filled mostly with the downy cot and frame she was lying on. There was a little end table with a little lamp, a pitcher, and a cup on it, plus a little wooden chair. A little wooden door separated this room from whatever lay outside.

                            She had a big, bloody bandage on her neck. It ached, but not nearly as much as before. That and a general feeling of stiffness and fatigue seemed to be all that was wrong with her. Someone had taken her clothes and put her in some kind of sack-cloth robe and underwear.

                            Ash tried to sit up but couldn't quite manage it at first. She reached out to the windowsill and unsteadily pulled herself upright. Still holding onto the sill, she stretched out her other arm, grabbed the pitcher, and poured herself a drink. The pitcher was a little heavy and she nearly spilled it. Still, she managed to get that first cup and it did wonders for her overall wakefulness. The second cup helped, too. By the third cup, she realized that she was starving and her underwear ought to be changed.

                            Ash swung her legs off the bed and carefully got to her feet. The door opened by the time she'd taken two steps towards it.

                            A skinny woman in a dull brown dress with dull brown eyes and dull brown hair up in a bun walked in, carrying a small pile of clothes identical to what Ash was wearing. Her eyes were turned down at the floor, so she practically walked into Ash before she stopped short and looked up.

                            "You are up," said the woman in brown, stating the obvious. She had a strong River Kingdoms accent. If a voice could sound careworn, hers surely would.
                            • The Ranger said nothing, waiting for the other woman to make the first move.
                            • "So I am. And it looks like I've got you to thank for it," said Ash, with real gratitude. "My name's Ash. What's yours?"
                            • "Where am I? How long was I asleep?" asked Ash, voice full of worry. "What happened while I was out? Where's Stitch-Eyes?"
                            • Something else?
                            OOC Commentary
                            Here's a proposed Dragonblooded charm. I wrote this with fire aspects in mind, but I suppose it could be adapted for other sorts:

                            A Single Ember Yet Burns
                            Cost: Special;
                            Mins: Resistance 3, Essence 1
                            Type: Passive
                            Keywords: Story
                            Duration: Instant
                            Prerequisite Charms: None

                            The spirit of a Dragon is not easily extinguished. Once per story, when the Dragonblooded recieves an injury that would kill her, she may opt to spend all remaining motes and Willpower to survive the attack without suffering any permanent injury. She will remain unconscious until she heals naturally, and is vulnerable to further attack during this time.
                            Last edited by semicasual; 07-11-2017, 08:22 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

                            Comment


                            • #89
                              "Where am I? How long was I asleep?" Makes sense we'd be all confused after just coming to.

                              Also:
                              Originally posted by semicasual View Post
                              [CENTER][URL="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fAOPkT61sMk"]A pale-skinned man holding three-quarters of a cigar is sat in a big, plush armchair next to a small table with the lamp.
                              Your tense slipped there for a bit.


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

                              Comment


                              • #90
                                Ash's mommy taught her to always say her thank-you's.

                                "So I am. And it looks like I've got you to thank for it," said Ash, with real gratitude. "My name's Ash. What's yours?"


                                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.

                                Comment

                                Working...
                                X