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  1. The Coffee Time Bake Shop was a nice cafe on Beach St. and contrary to Gabe's belief, entering did not entail having to drink coffee. Surprisingly the shop had other beverages from soda to water, to all kinds of stuff. Seriously though, aside from the coffee, the food there was great, and terrible for you if you were trying to diet. Devenne didn't really have to worry about diets, she seemed to possess the metabolism of a rabbit hopped up on coke. ,, As always the cafe was busy, mostly with kids hanging out after school and a few business types bumming he free wifi. The radio was set to the local Top-40 station, WODS. The pretty brunette bobbed her head slightly as Katy Perry's 'Dark Horse' played. She was well into her first days home work by this point, but thankfully there wasn't much, just the typical 'What did you do over the summer?' stuff to write up and turn in. ,, She smiled and read the text Gabe sent her, informing her he was on his way. "It's cool. We have all night. I'm not going anywhere."
  2. In 1692, 18 people were accused of witchcraft and they were all hung atop a place now called Gallows Hill. It's one of those things that a state doesn't really like having on it's resume so today, if you ask, no one really knows really knows the exact location of Gallows Hill. That is, unless you're a Scion and you follow the flow of Legend to the real story. ,, Gallows Hill, the real one, is in Swampscott cemetery, just south of Salem Woods where a ton of people go missing every year. Coincidence? Most think that, but Demigods know better, they see the World as it really is and they know what sorts of things lurk in the shadows at night. Swampscott Cemetery used to be a nice place until the titanspawn moved into Salem. Now it was a tangled mess of grave stones and gnarled trees just on the borders of a forest. Shadows were thicker there and perception seemed dimmed at times as one would walk around and not be able to discern what direction sounds came from and movement was always in the corner of the eye. If you wanted prestige at Salem High, braving Swampscott on Halloween was the time to earn it. ,, Those 18 people back in he day, they were demigods, demigods who opposed the wrong people and were sentenced to die by the titanspawn who really ran the show back then. Of course, when you could summon fire, freeze water with a touch, and inter yourself into the earth... witchcraft was a damn good argument. Some claimed they were careless, others claimed it was necessary for Fate's design. Whatever it was, still, eighteen people, demigod or not, were murdered and that had a tendency to taint the land with a evil funk. ,, Swampscott was, simply put, fuckin' creepy as all get out. That meant the local law stayed away from it and parents never considered their children would be dumb enough to hang out there. Ergo, every teenager in Salem used the forest on the boundaries of the cemetery as their personal stomping ground. Parties, hang outs, make out points... you name it and it was probably happening not to far from Swampscott. Now, mind you it was purely by Fate's design that the local high schoolers managed to find the original Gallows Hill (not that they knew it) and eloquently called their favorite hang out spot 'Hangman's Hill', as a nod to the lost location of Gallows Hill, not knowing that by them renaming the site they imbued it's Legend with power and by constantly partying there they were practically paying homage to the memory itself. By sheer accident, the kids of Salem High had imbued Gallows Hill with an incredible amount of untapped Legend and the Titans were always more that happy to collect it. ,, Corbin wasn't interested in gatherings or gossip tonight. Like every year after the first day of class, the area was packed with kids from school all assembled on sitting rocks, logs that had worn smooth from years of being sat on, and a collection of milk crates of varying hues. A few small camp fires were burning as the sun was creeping its way beneath the horizon. As he moved through the gossip circles and various games of tossing the foot ball and geeky debates of who was better at Call of Duty Ghosts, people got out of his way. They wanted no part of him and he seemed like he was on a mission tonight. Not that anyone payed him much mind anyway, talking with Corbin was a death sentence. The fact that he was here though made everyone feel like something wasn't right but that didn't seem to halt the merriment, once he was out of their line of sight they went back to what they were doing. ,, He found a shady spot on the border and stared off to the south, where Swampscott was just a few hundred yards away. In a large clearing on the property was an old, creepy funeral home. Tangles vines grew up the side, and while it was modernized, the style of construction was done in archaic 1800s design. The place was run down, that was for sure, but it was like a mansion. Three stories of what looked like a house that belonged on the coast as someone's summer home was a haunted mansion and mortuary in the middle a cemetery named "Swampscott'. ,, Life didn't get any better than this. Corbin thought as he pulled his leather coat around him, folded his arms and leaned against a tree. Silently he observed the estate while his 'peers' partied on behind him several yards away.
  3. At this point I'm not going to try to pretend there is enough demonstrated interest in the game to maintain it. In light of that, I'm calling it done. ,, Thank you for the time that was given.
  4. After School Special The summer had come and gone in Salem, Massachusetts; the autumn weather had already begun to set in and the summer heat was fading away. Eighty degrees had given way to seventy, but still the autumn breeze was fresh and clean, almost as if it was spring all over again. On the first day of a new school year, students, friends, rivals and faculty milled about the grounds, all waiting for that special time when the first bell would ring. Cars blared music in the parking lot as all the school buses let out their young cargo to wander. Freshman meandered about half paying attention while they studied their class schedules, dazedly wondering how to get to their first class. Sophomores, now thankful that they weren't Freshman anymore, took one of two universal paths: they either helped the froshes out, or they sat there snickering as the poor sods wandered aimlessly. It was the same every year. The bell hadn't even rung yet and the cliques from last year were already reforming: the popular guys, popular girls, jocks, preps, troublemakers, peacemakers, math nerds, science nerds, popular wannabes, goths, punks, skateboarders, band geeks, ghetto wannabes... you name it, there was a clique for it. Eric Donner was out by his old GTO where he could always be found with every other jock, tossing the pigskin around before class. The guy was the poster boy for athleticism: chiseled, handsome, attractive, and his family was pretty well off. The guy was just perfect at everything, like he was Captain Awesome's first-born or something. Mercedes Rhodes was close by; she was never far from Eric's side, since they were the most popular people in school and thus had an obligation to be seen together. When it came to Mercedes only two phrases came to mind: "Smoking hot" was the first. "Bitch" was the second. She was the typical 'most popular girl' stereotype from her rich parents to her perfect looks and amazing body (thanks to a $12k boob job for her sweet sixteen) and she seemed to have acquired her social graces by turning 'Mean Girls' into a religious experience. The girl delighted in treating others like crap out of spite; ever since her twin brother Donnie was allowed to go to school in Europe, she'd decided to make everyone's life as miserable as hers. Brigitte De La Croix laughed loudly across the street with several of her friends. She never waited on school grounds since Sheriff Farrow busted her for smoking on school grounds last year. If the school had an official 'slut' it was the cocoa skinned beauty, and she wore the mantle proudly. While no one was sure whether any of her reputation was earned, she never did anything to deny any allegation that was tossed in her direction. Larceny, promiscuity, violence... she never denied any of it. Violence was a given, nearly half the school saw her get into a fight her freshman year, and she didn't lose, not by a long shot. Brigitte was not the sort of girl who pulled hair, oh no. With clenched fists she pummeled her opponent for everyone to see until the poor girl's hands didn't have the strength to hold Brigitte's hair anymore and fell limp to the pavement. Since then, people would talk shit about Brigitte, just never to her face. The list went on... but four particular students were all that mattered today. Gabe Just another year. After already surviving two in this place it just didn't seem like it held any more surprises from him. With a smirk he scanned the crowds forming and, sure enough, he could pinpoint the same people hanging out with the same crowds they did last year. Gabe was part of the 'nerd' crowd, and he always had been, but thankfully his years of high school had been kind to him and most of the bullies left him alone. Most. Sure he had his fair share of harassment now and again, but he always reminded himself that one day those same thugs would be delivering pizza to his half-million dollar home on the east coast. Eye on the prize, right? "Gabe!" The voice came from inside the foyer of the school and within moments one of Gabe's best friends came running out to meet him. Devenne Bronikowski had been Gabe's friend since freshman year. They had similar interests... nerdy stuff. If there was such a thing as a 'hot nerd' Devenne could easily wear the crown. She was a lovely brunette who tended not to wear make-up with the exception of some eyeliner from time to time. Gabe didn't mind, she didn't need make-up to be gorgeous. She brushed her brown hair behind her ear, letting it tuck under the temple of her glasses. She was in jeans and a t-shirt with a green mushroom on it that read 'Get a Life'. "Hey, I took a peek at the student roster..." She paused for dramatic tension, before squealing, "We both got Mr. Farrow for history!" She seemed genuinely happy and it was moments like these that made Gabe wonder why she liked him so much. He was just, Gabe... there nothing particularly exciting about him aside from good grades. Sometimes he wondered if he should take the risk and ask her her out, but if she said no, things might get weird and mess up a good thing. "And we have Dr. Tigrillo for Biology, and Ms. Elliot for Art." She didn't seem too thrilled about the artistic portion of her curriculum. "So..." She suddenly seemed a loss for words. Looking up at him, Devenne grinned and he could tell she was thinking of a segue. "How's your morning been so far?" Ian Vice Principal Kane Taoka quirked his brow as he perused the contents of Ian Goldberg's school record. He inhaled and sighed heavily as his eyes scanned back and forth across the pages of one very impressively troubled past. While he read, Ian was like any other teen, not quite worried (what were they gonna do, kick him out his first day?) but still he was fidgety. His palms were sweating, mostly because this vice principal had shoulders like a line-backer and looked like he worked out regularly. That usually meant the guy was the no nonsense type who would be more of a bully than a role model. His office was decorated with several pictures of his family. Considering VP Taoka looked Asian (Japanese if Ian had to guess), it didn't surprise him to see a few pictures of him and a man who must have been his father. It didn't seem like the VP had a family of his own, since he didn't notice any pictures of a wife or children. A pair of katana were mounted on each wall on either side of his desk; one pair was black, the other white. Ian thought of Yin and Yang, although he knew it was a Chinese philosophy: the black on one side, white on the other, and there was Mr. Taoka sitting quietly in the center. Wow, that was pretty deep for Ian, at least this early in the morning. Finally, Mr. Taoka closed the thick folder and laced his fingers together, resting his hands on the 'tome' of Ian's academic history. "Very... impressive, Mr. Goldberg. My sympathies for your uncle, I'm sure you've been through a lot this summer. I'll not lie, Ian, I have no magic words to make all the problems you've had go away. I know you're dealing with a lot: your loss, a foster family, a new school with new faces. For a young man your age," Ian had to admit, he partially thankful Mr. Taoka referred to him as a 'young man', not a 'boy' or 'kid'. "A transition like this must be difficult. If you need anything please do not hesitate to come to me, especially if someone gives you any trouble." Yeah, right. Everyone knew school was like prison: snitches get stitches. "What concerns me the most, Mr. Goldberg, is that I won't get any trouble out of you." Man, this guy's glare was serious as the grave, but his tone was so cordial Ian couldn't really bring himself to feel intimidated. "I'm sure you'll do me the honor of keeping your head above water here, won't you?" Just to the left of Mr. Taoka Ian saw them: way out through the large windows in his office, across the parking lot and on other side of the fence, there they were. Two tall men wearing black suits, white shirts and black Ray Bans stared at him from over fifty yards away as if they could see him as clear as day. One of them raised his wrist and spoke into his cufflink. "Mr. Goldberg?" Moonbaby Salem wasn't so bad. It had history, and Nadya could respect that. It could be worse... she could have ended up in New Jersey. The first bell of the year hadn't even rung yet and she'd already sold seven mix CDs, four Riot Points Cards she'd pickpocketed from guys coming out of GameStop, several packs of smokes and a Twix bar (long story). Lunch was covered and she'd have a bit left over for something later. Everything was going good until she rounded the corner and came face to face with her worst nightmare... Coach Fingers. Victor Fingers, coach and head of the physical education department (which was PC-speak for 'Gym Teacher') stood in her path along the side of the school as she made her way to the entrance. Gods she hated this guy... he was like Eric Donner, all muscly and broad shouldered with his military crew cut and Dolph Lungren scowl. She expected him to lean in and mumble 'I must break you.' At least that would have been borderline awesome. Instead he scowled (on top of his pre-existing scowl, like, seriously, this guy could double scowl), and grabbed her as she tried to move past him. "Not so fast, Moonbaby!" He couldn't pronounce her name last year and had been calling her Moonbaby ever since. His voice was stern and he sounded like a Drill Sergeant. "Last I checked it was against the policies of this institution for you to be opening up shop on this property! Explain yourself Backdoor Barbie, or Taoka's gonna have your ass." Nadya had enough crap just dealing with Mercedes and her bruised ego, Fingers though... man this guy either had a serious crush on her and this was his twisted way of flirting, or he was born to hate her with the passion of a thousand fiery suns. She made a mental note to hate Mercedes a little more, thanks to her half the school thought she was a slut... the other half kept spamming her socials for a 'good time'. She stood stunned for a moment, as any normal teen would in the face of this level of aggression. The 'WTF' look didn't quite clear from her face fast enough and he pounced like a lion smelling blood. "Ears not working, Jezebel? E-X-P-L-A-I-N. Sound off like you got a pair!" "Um, Mr. Fingers..." A quiet, yet lovely voice rose up from behind the enraged behemoth. The coach spun about face so fast Nadya could feel the breeze. "Um, Mr. Appleton was just looking for you. Something about how wonderful communism is, I didn't understand him. Who's Ronald Reagan?" If the coach could have turned any redder he would have passed for an apple on steroids. He stomped off like an ogre. "Commie bastard..." He mumbled. He spun around just long enough to glare at Nadya. "Fourth block, Moonbaby. Your ass is mine." Great. She knew what he'd do; extra push ups and sit ups until everything she had ached, and probably a few things she didn't even know she had. Finally though, she was was able to see her rescuer. Marie Glapion greeted her with nothing more than a prideful smile that wasn't very well hidden under her pursed lips. She had short, auburn hair almond eyes and as far Nadya knew, wasn't much of a talker. She'd always been a shy one and despite her good looks, guys tended to ignore her due to a certain 'creep factor'. "Hey," she said softly. "Sorry, didn't mean to butt in, but he's been acting like a dick all morning. Hope you don't mind..." Erika Forty five minutes. That's how long it took for Mr. Guiler, the school's new Guidance Councilor, to eat a pop tart, call about picking up his basketball tickets, send some texts and browse Carfacts about an Impala he had his eye on over the weekend. He'd taken over this year after Mr. Pinkerton had a complete nervous breakdown over the summer. Everyone knew about it, in a small town like Salem, it was hard not to know. Apparently he'd been caught firing off his shotgun in the wee hours of the morning one night screaming that his garden was infested with a giant, man eating worm. Poor Mr. Pinkerton, he'd be missed. His replacement was a man in his late twenties to early thirties with impeccable fashion sense. The suit, Erika could tell, was tailored and a bit outside the price range for a school councilor, but hey, he probably just wanted to look good for his first day. He was handsome but in that impish kind of way with a roguish grin and well groomed strawberry blonde hair. All the while Erika sat there, her new school supplies clutched tightly to her chest, wondering what exactly was taking him so long to get to the point of why he had called her in here, first thing. Finally, after all of that he leaned back in his chair, clipped off the tip of a stogie, and fired it up, filling his office with a plume of low budget tobacco funk. With a 'you've got to be kidding' look on her face Erika pointed to the "No Smoking" sign that was large as life on his own wall. He rolled his eyes and put it out gently as if to say she was seriously inconveniencing him. He asked puzzled, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. "Who're you again?" "Erika Clark." She said, slightly irritated. "I've been waiting forty five minutes." "The Hel you do that for? Damn, I'd have left after ten minutes." He reached into his desk and pulled out a folder. "Alright, says here you're a smart kid. Congratulations, daddy must be proud..." He skimmed a few more lines. "Yadda, yadda... okay grades... yadda... foster kid. Foster kid? Wow, that has to suck. So, I guess the daddy comment's probably lost on you, duly noted. How's that working out for you? You're obviously a complete mess, kid. So... you wanna talk about something? Your loneliness in this sea of strangers... no one understands your pain... what about suicide? Though about it lately? Do you, uh... own any trench coats?"
  5. The weeks following Swara-Ann's performance went by very quickly. The band held a rather small, yet still very solemn memorial for the fallen Scion of Raiden. Many stories were told about the fighter pilot's exploits and the series of hugely improbably but still no less epic events that had led to her legend being what it was. ,, While her body and her plane was returned to the Amaterasu to deal with in their own way, the investigation into the events surrounding her passing would eventually rule that while the riot was clearly incited, her own circumstances were more being in the wrong place at the wrong time. An unfortunate casualty of a panicked crowd. The Aesir Scion, Disa Odinsdottir was gone by the time the band had eventually filed out of the venue. There was a number of questions asked of them about the events leading up to the fire and while they managed to clear their names of any suspicion of wrongdoing, the evidence simply was not there to pin the event on any particular individual or group of individuals. ,, Now, two weeks to the day later, the Band finds itself gathered together, facing the question that they all know on some level must be answered. Where do we go from here?
  6. Because it's becoming apparent that we need one of these. ,, At this point, if it was not made clear enough in the post (in which case, I apologize), between the members of the Band (Big B, meaning Heroes) both of Alex's meetings should be known. ,, The first, with the musicians, is mostly unimportant. They show up, sound checks, all that stuff, nothing terribly out of the ordinary unless someone really wants to put a few threads about silly mortals wanting to get a glimpse of the characters. ,, The second, with Alex, is with everyone else (though the musicians are invited also, being part of the same Band.). It's where adventures live. The introduction thread is to let characters get introduced and mess around for a bit. Alex is presently acting as the questgiver. He's there, in a not OOC-ly time sensitive manner, with "Stuff to Do" ™
  7. The town of New Tombstone is not a large one. With a population nowhere near a thousand, it consists primarily of the necessities. Distinctly lacking in any of the larger warehouse type stores that distinguish more "civilized" cities, it has managed to get by fairly well without so much as a franchise. Everything, from the grocery store to the hair salon has resulted from a citizen of Tombstone seeing a need, an opportunity, or both, and meeting it. During the daylight hours, it is not uncommon to see a good amount of activity as residents go about their daily routine. Watching them go about their business, one almost forgets that at any given time, a roaming beast or a band of inhuman marauders could descend and shatter this peace. Almost. ,, That possibility, as well as the fondness for strong drinks that some of the town's more "unique" residents tend to have, explains the abundance of bars, taverns, saloons, and other alcoholic establishments. Dubbed simply "Company Circle" and right in the middle of town, there is a cobblestone circle, edged on three quarters by every form of entertainment venue that can be imagined, and on the fourth quarter by the courthouse and clock tower. This circle's storied history makes it one of the most famous parts of New Tombstone. Put simply, more than one rivalry between legends has been settled there. The streets that bisect Company Circle and divide it into the quarters are closed from sundown to sun up for all except licensed cab drivers, who even then are not allowed into the circle itself and must find their fares on the edges. ,, Most of the establishments that surround Company Circle are open to any and all who wish to, attracting no small number of tourists and pleasure seekers. The exception to that rule is a bar called simply Jack's. Decorated like a strange mash-up between an old fashioned burlesque house and a chinese gambling hall, Jack's caters exclusively to those who stand out from what the owner refers to as the "Typical Mortal Crowd". The bartender, who at the very least claims to be Jack is a slight, thin, hispanic man, rarely seen away from the bar. Jack also keeps a number of good-sized strongarms on hand to keep the peace, but it has been noticed that even in the event of a full on brawl, they tend to stay out of the way until something more valuable than a table breaks. It is here that our story begins...
  8. Interest check. Premise: Scion Demigod game. Style: Fun, with some dark to it. Number of Players: 4-5 (Genders must be equal (2/2, 2/3 or 3/2, if you guys all hand me female PCs, I won't even consider them) Synopsis: Normally you have to earn Demigod status, in this game you will start as a Demigod. Once you have your visitation you are promoted to Demigod and away you go. Why are we starting at demigod? Seriously, don’t dwell on it, it will allow you access to more powerful purviews and more options for advancement without having to load up on legendary deeds. Higher Legend will mean more of a burden, but those are the breaks. The PCs will start as high school students, all in attendance at the same school in a state I’ve not decided (open to idea of someone has one). Chances are your PCs will know each other from the hallways; maybe even one or two of you are friends. Perhaps all of you hate each other because you’re all in different cliques (see The Breakfast Club). Whatever, it’s up to you; you’re adults, talk and figure it out. As Fate would have it you’re all going to be brought together to protect each other and survive those evils that are now hunting you. As the game moves on I’m hoping to time lapse a bit and press them beyond the high school years, we’ll see. Unless the Gods intervene and make this mythic… I don’t see this game reaching Godhood. Character Creation: Real simple and done in three easy steps. 1. Make a Hero. Any of the 6 core Pantheon’s are permitted. Do not spend any Bonus Points. 2. Apply the Demigod template. Do not spend any Bonus Points. 3. Spend 30 Bonus Points. Since you spent 0 at the Hero stage and 0 at the Demigod stage, 30 are the total amount of Bonus Points you should have to spend. That’s it, no more than 30. Caveats: Only 1 of your Attributes can be rated at 5, regardless of what your Legend allows. You are not given free Legend. Whether you decide to go with Legend 2 or Legend 6, you have to pay for it with your Bonus Points, so, if you choose, you can start with a Legend of 6, but it will cost you 28 of your bonus points. Even if your starting Legend is 4 or below, you still apply the Demigod template, everyone gets this, regardless of their Legend. If your Legend is 5 you will start with one permanent mortal Fatebinding. If your Legend is 6 you will begin with three permanent mortal Fatebindings. Who these people are is up to you, and if you can’t think of something, I’ll pick for you. They don’t need long, drawn out stories, just a synopsis will do. ,, When making your Scions, don't include in their history anything about having been visited by their parent. As the game starts, no one has been visited by any Gods... at least, none that said so. ,, Now, I'm hoping to get this game started by January 13th. This gives you guys plenty of time to mull this over and to make your PCs. If also allows you guys plenty of time to talk amongst yourselves and decide how you wanna handle your PC interactions. If some of you are done before the 13th and people are itching to start, we might get it going sooner. ,, As always I'll answer any questions you have.
  9. Shamelessly Lifted from Dave's House Rules post from the Cycle of Six Rivers. ,, What to Expect The game will, hopefully, be more than just the typical Scion high-octane action where the PCs are walking away from explosions they’re too cool to look at. I’ll break it down: Physical: Combat falls into this category so I’ll get that out of the way first. Scion only permits a single dice roll per action and that speeds up combat tremendously. Challenges will be geared to the characters themselves, which means if you made a combat monster with DVs in the untouchable range, I will create challenges to test the PCs ability. It will be impossible to get through this unscathed so, honestly, it’s useless to try. To help speed things up, most ‘Extras’ will be felled with a single blow, so, providing you hit, you don’t need to worry about messing around with them. Those characters will be defined as such. Since this is a PBP venue we need to cut corners where we can to save on time and increase posting frequency. Keep in mind though that just because extras can be felled in a single blow, doesn’t make them any less dangerous. Physical challenges are a staple for any good legendary tale. Even the weakest of you will be called on to perform great feats of physical prowess from time to time. No one gets anywhere in life by sitting on their ass while the tough guys make them look good. Social: Social themes are a necessity. Frankly if people are just running around kicking open doors and blowing stuff up the game will get tiring fast. Since a majority of social knacks take a majority of the difficulty out of social situations I’ll remind you that they usually cost Legend to activate and spending Legend causes Fatebindings to occur. You are encouraged to rely on your characters skill first and fall back on knacks as an alternative. Also remember that most social knacks require you, the player, to be as convincing as your knack is allowing you to. Benefit of the Doubt for example, has no mechanic, but the character attempting to use it still needs to provide something tangible for the victim to believe, not just any old B.S. story will work. I’m afraid ‘I use X knack’, will not be acceptable and a convincing post must be provided to back up the knacks use. Command, Empathy, and Presence are the most commonly use social abilities and they are usually resisted with some combination of [Attribute] + Integrity or Empathy dice roll. The abilities are used as follows: Command: Characters use Command when they need to direct or lead other people, especially in crisis situations. This is more useful than it sounds, since chaos and trouble seem to follow Scions wherever they go. Empathy: Characters use this Ability to tell if they are being lied to, to aid in a negotiation with a hostile party or to convince someone to open up to them. Great for pick up lines, breaking the ice or trying to get people on your side so you can juice them for intel. Presence: Characters use Presence when they want to terrify their foes, motivate their allies or give hope and courage to the downtrodden. Also, this ability is great for posturing or social situations that require less tact than Empathy, like trying to bribe a bouncer at a nightclub. You don’t need to connect with they guy, you just have to show him you’re cool enough and deserve to be in that club… for a small fee. Keep in mind; what’s good for the goose is good for the gander. NPCs can, and will use their knacks and boons on you. This means that your PC might be the target of Benefit of the Doubt, or Overt Order and you are expected to have your act accordingly (sometimes you won’t even know it). This isn’t Aberrant where you get screwed and just spend a Willpower point to completely negate the effects (which always pissed me off). Let’s clear up the Willpower argument, shall we? “Resist mind-influencing powers: The player of a sentient supernatural character (read: you) may spend a temporary Willpower point in order for her character to automatically resist the effects of supernatural or divine powers that attempt to influence her mind or emotions.” Keep in mind that this rule is contingent on your character knowing that he’s being influenced. If an NPC just beats you in a social roll to lie to you or get you to see things from their point of view doesn’t necessarily mean you can spend a willpower point to automatically win. People lie all the time and Willpower is not end all be all argument to make your PC immune to being gullible. People get tricked sometimes, get used to it. Mental: I love to challenge players mentally at the gaming table. The problem is: this isn’t a gaming table. At the table I don’t let people get up and reference the Internet to search for the answer. This is a PBP forum and frankly any mental challenge is wasted on players because someone out there is going to just look up the answer. The down side is that I can’t award bonus incentives for a player using their brain on the fly but the upside is we can be sure everyone will be honest. Mental tasks such as research and riddle solving or perusing through ancient lore will require rolls and to accumulate successes in order to solve them. There will be no blurting out the answer simply because you know it or looked it up. Certain Knacks will assist you with your research, like Know-It-All might provide bonus dice to a roll or what have you. Stunts Stunting is something that’s hard to do in a PBP setting from the mechanical standpoint, since one must read the post in order to award stunt dice. Awarding something after the post is complete complicates things by asking the poster to go back, edit his/her rolls then apply the new totals. Frankly, that’s a pain. Stunting is equivalent to good posting and everything can be stunted. Research, combat, social interactions, all of these can be more than just “I do X, so I roll to make it happen.” So when players put forth the effort to make even the simplest actions legendary they may be awarded with bonus successes instead of dice to roll. These successes I will add to their total roll so the player doesn’t have to go back and edit anything new. The catch is: since I’m awarding successes and not dice, that it will be a bit harder to garner those two and three dice stunts but not impossible. Our posts are more than just us being descriptive at the gaming table, we are writing stories so it’s required that we do more than simply explain what it is we’re doing. Legend Legend is cool. It allows Scions to do all sorts of really neat stuff, but it’s more than that: it’s a representation of your PCs deeds in the World. Character’s who aren’t doing much, simply put, don’t gain Legend. While not every character is required to be a combat monster he should be able to defend themselves but there is more to Scion than combat or standing toe to toe with monsters and mayhem. Being that guy who researches the weakness of a creature and then applies it while his brave band distracts the beast is an example of something Legendary. Without that PC, who never lifted a finger in combat, victory never would have been possible. Drowning an enemy whose skin is impervious, dowsing fire giants with you powers over water, convincing an entire cult you are their god in the flesh… these are examples of awesome things that make your Legend grow. The higher your Legend the greater your Fateful Aura. The more powerful you are, the more trouble you bring to you which can be a problem for the lower Legend characters who are in your presence. The long and the short of it is that your PC must accumulate a certain number of heroic deeds in order to get the okay to spend experience on raising your Legend score. Fatebindings Fatebindings are really simple. When you spend Legend, you run the risk Fatebinding mortals, titanspawn and even other Scions to you. Keep this in mind when spending your legend. The rules for Fatebindings will be in effect, even for PCs (meaning you can Fatebind one another). There are a few rules changes for the degree of Fatebindings. The strength of a Fatebinding is anywhere from 1 (24 hours) to 6+ (permanent, even after death). When you accrue a Fatebinding then that binding remains in effect for a number of fictions equal to the strength of the binding. The Fated will always a character in those fictions and they must be Plot Driven fictions. You can’t just write a couple short fictions to remove yourself from an unwanted burden. Permanent Fatebindings will be just that, permanent.
  10. For the time being, until there is a section of the site dedicated to this game, I would like discussion of characters and ties between them put here. ,, FOR CHARACTER CREATION We are going with the Legend 4 Option, meaning that characters are to be created using the rules out of Scion - Hero, with 20 Bonus Points to spend total. Characters begin at Legend 4 and players have the option of writing up a fiction about the legendary deeds their characters did to get from Legend 2 to 3 and from 3 to 4. These stories are worth 3 Bonus Points each. (So players who write up stories to cover both Legend increases will have 26 BP to make their character with.) ,, Players can either post their mechanical character sheets in this thread or send them to me in PM format though a quick breakdown of what is known to the group should go here. For the character sheets themselves, I ask that mechanics and powers that are not specifically in Scion - Hero have the book and page number cited so I know where to look.
  11. Sometime at the beginning of the 21st Century, the World ended. The Overworld caught fire as Fate brought the Aesir Pantheon center stage for Ragnarok. As the climactic events that had been foretold long before played out largely as they were meant, the World suffered for it. The vast majority of the World’s population had little to no clue what was happening. All they knew was that comets were striking the Earth, the global climate was fluctuating drastically, earthquakes, tsunamis, hurricanes, firestorms, and all manner of natural disasters as well as more than a few man made ones wracked the human race. All of this was brought to a head when a second sun, the titan Muspelheim, fiery and angry, appeared in the sky and the miles high, black iron giant Surtr appeared alongside what were unquestionably Gods. The battle they had tore the landscape apart until finally the Gods prevailed. Muspelheim’s hate and anger was exhausted in the conflict and the World was not made to feel the searing inferno of the Titan of Fire. Instead it simply settled in the sky, a new addition to the World’s sky. A reshaped, deformed, devastated, and utterly transformed World, but the World all the same. ,, That was centuries ago. ,, Not quite forced to start over, as Muspelheim had not bathed the Earth in its final cleansing inferno, the people of the World rebuilt. It took time and there was no small amount of adjusting that had to take place. Nations as they were known before were no more, replaced by new societies. Cultures experienced an unheard level of spiritual revival. The Divine, the Legendary, the Mythological, these things were unquestionably, undeniably, real. Decisively real, without any need for Faith or Belief. And where there were Gods, there were also Monsters. Humanity recovered, civilization lives on, but the World has been changed forever. ,, ,, To The Players ,, As most of you know, Scion is a game about the children of the Gods, and in that aspect, this game is no different. The World prior to the Twilight of the Gods was the domain of the Old Gods. This World is not theirs and the oldest and the wisest of the Pantheons know this. Their time is coming to an end, with the new World Fated to be defined by the actions of the New Gods. As they become aware of their Fated ends, some will go quietly, others will go loudly. Some will work to dodge the machinations of Fate and campaign for their own continued existence and relevance, others already have. As players, you will be portraying some of the New Gods. Not alone by any stretch of the imagination in their divine pedigrees, Fate itself conspires to ensure that they live “in interesting times” and whether the World is better or worse for their being in it is beyond the ken of any Oracle to perceive. ,, The printed Pantheons are largely freely available so long as the below factors are taken into account.
  12. Each of the Scions, in their own way, were invited into Broder's private dining area. This was not to say that they were all led in together or that they were by any means encouraged to mingle with each other; hell, they really didn't recognize their fellow Gods after a thousand years. The Morrigan sat with Corbin at a small table and it wasn't long before the wait staff presented her and Corbin menus and informed them that their tabs were covered by Mr. Broder. Thor stomped in like the behemoth of a man that he was. The bar welcomed him and he was already half way through his first beer before the bartender managed to tell him that it was meant for another customer. Bast sat several seats away from him, observing the room with a calculating perception, noting exits, bodyguards, and any directions that a possible ambush might come from; indeed the Gods that were mentioned had all had bad blood with the others over the eons, and this could end very badly. Hey, at least drinks were free. Hades and Sun Wu Kong were, as always, 'special' cases. Sun Wu Kong simply slipped through the area unnoticed and seated himself in a small inconspicuous booth in the corner where he could observe everything as it happened. Hades was a different spectacle entirely. She strolled in wreathed in a plume of cigar smoke, passing by Thor and Bast as she did, in a heated debate on her cell phone about her most recent acquisition of the City of Angels. Within moments of her arrival, she and The Agent were sitting down at her booth, briefcases were open, lap tops were syncing with Wi-Fi and it was business as usual. Broder entered from the kitchen several minutes after everyone had arrived. It was awkward, so the Gods just simply kept to themselves. Two large thugs barred the exit. Bast noticed and Sunny noticed, but it seemed more to keep people out than keep the Gods in. Mr. Broder was dressed to the nines in a sharp, expensive suit and he looked every bit of the billion dollar element he was named after. "Thank you all for coming." He greeted them as he simply walked about the floor, making eyes contact with everyone he could. "For those of you who do not know me in this form, I am Auric Broder, and I am the one has asked you all to join me here today." He spoke with a confidence and articulated tone that broadcast that he was no stranger to public speaking. "First, let me say that I'll not doubt for a moment that some, if not all, of you might think that my proposal is absolute bullshit." He swung his hands out wide and grinned broadly. "Hey, I wouldn't blame you in the slightest. It is pretty outlandish, isn't it? I mean, to have your powers back, to be Gods again, that just seems too good to be true, right?" He simply wandered about the large room at a slow pace, taking in the Gods and offering them polite smiles in between sentences. "The Titan's polite cease fire that brought about your fall was, as I'm sure you've guessed, a ruse. Casting you down from your respective realms was also part of the plan. After all, where do you think they acquired the sorcery to enact such a curse as to remove the powers of a God and seal them in their avatar form? Each of your brothers and sisters who foolishly stayed behind are bound by oaths that prevent them from involving themselves in the world for one millennium. A thousand years of peace, and that time is almost up." He picked a drink up off the bar and thanked the bartender. Sipping his scotch for a moment he savored the taste and went back to his speaking. "Two thousand years ago, Aten the Avatar of Light, devised a grand plan: Christianity. In the thousand years that followed it spread like wild fire and in time nearly all the 'Old Gods', namely, all of you, were being replaced this one divine figure, God." He paused to let them take that in. "You receive your power from where? Belief. It's the Legends of your existence and your deeds and your power that make the mortals revere, respect and worship you. And without that belief, that worship, what have you? Nothing." The ice clinked in his glass as he tipped it once more. "Aten realized the effect it could have on the Pantheons and so he put his plan into motion. For the last thousand years your fellow Gods have been up there existing without any prayers from the mortals at all. Can you imagine what they've become? They've turned on each other, warring amongst themselves to gain the worship from the neighboring Pantheons to fill the void. When the treaty has expired, the Titans will sweep through the Godrealms and we will be powerless to stop them. Weakened from lack of prayer and infighting, they won't pose even a minor annoyance to the Titans, much less a genuine threat." "You mean to tell me," Hades cut in smoothly, glancing up over the screen of her laptop, "that they brokered a deal with the same beings who'd been working to overthrow them for the last thousand years? And now they're suffering up there, starving for even the most meagre shred of essence, fighting over scraps like junkyard dogs as they slowly waste away and wait for their inevitable destruction?" The dark-eyed god crowed with laughter. "Oh, that is just too delicious. Broder, is this a sales pitch, or are you just trying to make us feel better? Let's face it, if you're trying to play to the sympathy of the crowd..." She trailed off, gesturing at the other ex-gods scattered around the bar. "Your routine might need some work. Comedy's all in the timing, man. Timing." "Bloody brilliant plan," The Morrigan said while sipping her drink. She shook her head in disgust, the ancient war goddess seeing how some of the pieces were fitting into place. "And we fell for it." Actually," Broder continued, grinning at Hades for her most welcomed ice breaker. "Therein lies our problem. Rest assured if I have this information, they do as well, hmm?" He let them ponder that a moment. "The Gods have come to blame the mortals for their lack of belief. And they want that belief back." "They're planning something." Bast said calmly. "What is it?" "Yes, they are." Broder set his drink down and inhaled. Up until now he'd been very forthcoming with all his information, but this seemed like it was hard for him to say. "They're planning something called, 'The Joining'. Reinstating their worship at this point would be impossible, or so we thought. Erecting temples and building cults would take more time than they have with the expiration of the treaty so close. Converting would take decades, if not centuries. They need one big hammer blow that proves their existence without a shadow of a doubt." He sighed, prepping the punch line. "They're going to merge the Godrealms with The World in an attempt to usher in a new age of Legend. Then they'll divide The World among the Pantheons and regain their powers to fight the Titans. It's madness and an act of pure desperation. The effects the Godrealms would have in this world are unknown, but humanity will suffer greatly for it. The only ones who can stop them are those who never swore an oath and all those who didn't swear an oath, are down here, mortal and powerless." "That's where you come in." His gaze fell upon each of the Fallen. He was silent a moment afterward, letting them assess the full weight of what was about to come next. "Not even the Sisters of Fate are powerful enough to undo the full power of all the Gods working in unison, which is why they've agreed to side with us. You will become Legends once more, here, in this world among these people, and I will set you on the first step towards doing so. There are no unbreakable curses, some just take longer than others. I will help you become Gods again, and that brings us back to what I said before: It sounds a bit too good to be true doesn't it? That's what brought you here today: Hope. Hope that you could have your existence back. Hope that you could be rid of this curse. Hope that maybe, just maybe, I could help you." "And hope, my friends, is all we have left." Broder leaned against a table and folded his arms. "But I know where we can get more. The first step to breaking the curse will require you to work together. You're going to get the last of what is left of Hope. In Atlanta, Georgia they are displaying an exhibit of ancient Greek artifacts, and among them is Pandora's Box. I'm sure Hades will remember what it looks like. If you are going to shatter this curse, then the first means of doing so lies within the box. Fate has demanded that it must be you who accomplish this task, else I'd have already had the box stolen and brought here."
  13. Scion Profile: Hades Real Name: Hades Aliases: Adriana Dionekou Former Pantheon: Dodekatheon Calling: Investment securities broker Nature: Autocrat Attributes Physical: Strength - 2 Dexterity - 3 Stamina – 3 Social: Charisma - 4 Manipulation - 4 Appearance – 3 Mental: Perception - 3 Intelligence - 4 Wits – 3 Skills *Academics 3, Animal Ken , Art 2, Athletics 1, Awareness 3, Brawl 1, *Command 4, Control 2, Craft , Empathy 1, Fortitude 1, Integrity 3, Investigation 1, Larceny , Marksmanship 4, Medicine , Melee 1, *Occult 2, Politics 3, *Presence 4, Science , *Stealth 4, Survival 1, *Thrown 2 Other Traits Epic Attributes: Stamina 1, Charisma 1, Manipulation 1, Perception 1, Intelligence 1, Wits 1 Birthrights: Followers 3, Guide 2 Boons: Arete (Command) 1, Darkness 1, Death 1, Earth 1 Knacks: Stamina: Solipsistic Well-Being, Charisma: Charmer, Manipulation: Overt Order, Perception: Unfailing Recognition, Intelligence: Know-It-All, Wits: Social Chameleon Willpower: 6 Legend: 0 (2) Virtues: Expression 2, Intellect 3, Valor 2, Vengeance 3 Health: 7 Dodge DV: 2 (3 with Legend 2) Parry DV: 1 Unarmed (2 with Legend score) Join Battle: 6 Movement: Walk: 3yds. Run: 9yds. Jump: Vertical, 3yds., Horizontal, 6yds. Climb: 1yd (2 with Legend score) Swim: 1yd (2 with Legend score) Soak: 3B/2L (4B/3L with Epic Stamina) Armor: Armored Clothing (Miguel Caballero suits, http://personalbodyarmor.com/, stats based on Bulletproof Vest per ST): Soak +2L/2B, Mobility Penalty 0, Fatigue 1, Tag B Weapons: Desert Eagle: Acc +0, Dam +5L, Rng 50, Clip 7, Spd 5 Equipment: Wealth beyond avarice. Creation Log: Bonus Points: Dexterity 3 (4pts), Perception 3 (4pts), Command 4 (1pt), Stealth 4 (1pt), Presence 4 (1pt), Integrity 3 (2pts), Marksmanship 4 (2pts) = 15pts Experience: Date Trait/Exp. Type Rank Gain/Cost Balance 05 August 2011 XP Award for Preludes - +25 25 24 August 2011 Ability increase: Art 1 -3 22 24 August 2011 Ability increase: Brawl 1 -3 19 24 August 2011 Ability increase: Control 1 -3 16 24 August 2011 Ability increase: Investigation 1 -3 13 24 August 2011 Ability increase: Melee 1 -3 10 24 August 2011 Ability increase: Survival 1 -3 7 24 August 2011 Ability increase: Art 2 -2 5 24 August 2011 Ability increase: Control 2 -2 3 24 August 2011 Virtue increase: Expression 2 -3 0
  14. Birth Name: Morgan O'Sidhe Nick Names: Crazy Bird-Lady Aliases: Morrígu, Nemain, Mor-Ríoghain, Babd, Macha, Phantom Queen, the Washer at the Ford Calling: Fortune Teller Known Relatives: None Nature: Loner Age: mid-twenties Gender: Female Ethnic Background: Irish Nationality: United States Height: 5'7" Weight: ~230 Eye Color: Blue Hair Color: Black Handedness: Left Distinguishing Marks: Appearance: Once upon a time, The Morrigan was tall and unquestionably beautiful. Her hair, either black or red at her whim, was a glorious fall of waves. Her eyes were flashing and strong, while her body was strong and athletic. At the moment of her banishment, she had black hair and striking blue eyes – but she was stuck in a youthful guise, locked away from her fearsome glory of her hag. Lately, she's gotten flabby in addition to annoyingly young but this is her fault. Despair has created depression in the near-mortal and living the standard US lifestyle has put on the pounds. She's a bloated shell of what she once was. History: The Fall: The Tuatha de Danaan had long resisted the Firbolg, but then Nuada lost his courage and Danu backed him. The Morrigan wasted no time in leaving her throne in The Veiled Court to decry the truce as a gutless shift in policy. She remembered how she'd killed the Firbolg by the hundreds in their battles; now she was to suffer them to live? It was too much for the goddess of War, especially when she foresaw the futility of such an action. But to her shock, no one listened her prophecy. That was when the Morrigan lost it. Screaming, she denounced all those who backed the truce as cowards and no better than the Firbolg themselves. Before all of the assembled Tuatha de Danaan, she ranted and railed, rebuffing their pleas to understand, to be calm or just to be silent. It was the last that truly angered her: they demanded that she deny what she had seen? They denied her prophecy? Her flock of ravens screeched in unison with her, giving further voice to her rage. Be silent?! How dare they demand she hold her tongue! The Goddess of War lashed out, striking at all who supported the truce. Her act of aggression tore the pantheon asunder, into the sides that agreed with the truce and those that didn't. Those that did outnumbered those that didn't, and soon those who didn't agree were cast out into the mortal realm, stripped of almost all their powers. The Morrigan found herself on a beach in Galway, bereft of most of her powers. Only her most loyal of her ravens remained at her side, Niall. Since Then: The Morrigan quickly set herself up as a powerful Irish warlord, using her meager powers to form a cult around herself as the Phantom Queen on Eire. Her goal was to regain enough power to rise against the gods themselves, overthrow them and annul the cursed treaty. But the Tuatha de Danaan rose against her again, still afraid of their former Warrior Goddess. They tore her band asunder and reduced her gains to ashes and charred bones. The Morrigan moved on from Ireland and tried again. Again, she was stopped by the Others working against her. With their greater strength, she couldn't stop them. Determined, she kept trying. She did everything she could think of but she was found and stopped each time. Gradually, she began to follow the humans wars, doing what she could to feel like herself again: prophesying the death of soldiers and even helping bury the dead. She fought when allowed or when she could disguise herself, losing her pain in the fury of battle. But war changed. It stopped being about the Courage of the soldiers and became a matter of distant technology. Humans came to understand the psychological price of combat, but instead of paying the toll, they sought to insulate their soldiers from it, defying the natural order. Killing became pushing buttons and using computers. The Vietnam War, with its close-up violence offered her some hope that humanity was returning to the Old Ways of War, but that didn't happen. Instead, the soldiers were reviled for doing the hard work of war and humans insulated themselves from violence more and more. Soon, the only way she could see a good killing was to watch television. The last thirty years have been hard. After the Morrigan realized that things weren't going to change, the fire that had been burning in her died. The once-steely, cruel former goddess sank into despair. She drifted into the background of America, wearing the guise of Morgan O'Sidhe. Her wanderings more or less stopped in New Orleans where she set up a business telling fake (happy) fortunes and getting fat. Niall is very worried about his goddess, but isn't able to do much to stop her. Caught in misery, the once goddess is almost completely crushed by life. Birth Name: Morgan O'Sidhe Calling: Fortune Teller Nature: Loner Pantheon: Tuatha de Danann Patron: The Morrigan Rivals: Ares, Odin, Quetzalcoátl, Raiden, Tyr Hero Name: Morgan O'Sidhe Pantheon: Tuatha de Danann Calling: Fortune Teller Nature: Loner God: The Morrigan Attritubes Strength - 3 / 1 Dexterity - 3 / 0 Stamina - 3 / 1 Charisma - 3 / 0 Manipulation - 3 / 0 Appearance - 3 / 1 Perception - 4 / 0 Intelligence - 3 / 0 Wits - 4 / 0 Abilities Academics (favored) Animal Ken 3 Art Athletics Awareness 2 (favored) Brawl 3 Command 1 Craft Empathy 2 (favored) Fortitude 2 Integrity 3 Investigation Larceny (favored) Marksmanship 2 Medicine 1 x Melee 1 Occult 2 Politics Presence 3 Science Stealth 2 Survival 2 (favored) Thrown 2 Birthrights Creature 3 Niall, the only of her supernatural flock of ravens to remain loyal to her. Followers 2 The Fianna - the last descendants of the warriors killed by the gods to keep her opposed and downtrodden. Knacks Hurl to the Horizon (Str) Inner Furnace (Stm) Serpent's Gaze (App) Boons Enoch 1 Animal (Corvid) 1 Animal (Cattle) 1 Death 1 Death 2 Prophecy 1 War 1 War 2 Soak / Armor / Total Bashing 3 / 0 / 3 Lethal 3 / 0 / 3 Aggro 1 / 0 / 1 Legend 3 Legend Points 9 Willpower 7 Bonus Points 15 / 15 Attribute 0 Ability 0 Birthright 0 Virtue 0 Willpower 0 Legend 7 Epic Attribute 0 Knack 0 Boons 8 Additional Spell 0 Experience Points: 23 Fortitude 2 - 1 Brawl 3 - 3 Presence 3 - 3 Stamina 3 - 8 Dexterity 3 - 8
  15. Birth Name: Gunnar Torsdag True Name: Thor Aliases: Ving, Hammer Calling: Construction worker, drunk and troublemaker Known Relatives: The Aesir Nature: Loner Apparent Age: mid-to-late 30's Gender: Male Ethnic Background: Norwegian Nationality: American Height: 6'8 Weight: 290 lbs Eye Color: Blue Hair Color: Red-gold Handedness: Right Distinguishing Marks: On the back of his right hand above the knuckles is a tattoo in runic-style english script reading "I say." On the back of his left the same script reads "Thee nay!" Appearance: A long life wandering as a near-mortal has dimmed the lightning in Thor's eyes and stolen the fire from his red-gold hair, as well as having left him with lots of scars and tattoos across his arms and body. He doesn't look like the handsome, rugged Thunder God he used to be, now appearing as simply imposing and surly. He usually dresses in hard-wearing denim and construction boots. Personality: Morose, bitter and mean. The long years of oppressive mortal living have turned Thor from a quick-to-anger, quick-to-forgive well-meaning warrior into a foul-tempered, moody drunk who will bear a grudge as long as his broad shoulders can carry it and with zero sense of humor. He owes the world nothing, owes the gods nothing, and he longs for the day when the inevitable betrayal of the Titans comes and all those Asgardian bastards come crawling to him for salvation, only for him to turn away from them and say "No." The fires of his anger have burned low and murky indeed. Interests: Drinking, fighting, and demolition/construction. There is something Gunnar finds inherently soothing about setting explosive charges, piloting a crane with a wrecking ball, and wielding a sledge or jackhammer, then building something new from the wreckage. History: It was only natural that Thor, god of Strength, Destruction and Lightning, would scoff at the thought of making peace with the Titans. It was a cowardly way out, the deed of a nithling (dishonorable, despicable person). Unfortunately, Thor was never the best at keeping quiet in the face of overwhelming opposition, and said as much to Odin's face, pouring his scorn on the All-Father and all those who agreed with him. "You trade the glorious battle of Ragnarok for a coward's bargain with those who wish you dead, old man. I suppose it is as well: ones so afraid of death will surely fall with wounds in his arse and thus merely have to watch the truly brave as they feast and revel in Valhalla!" It took most of Odin's supporters and the All-Father himself to throw Thor out of Asgard, and loud was the wailing and clashing of arms that day. They stripped him of his might, and his hammer, and his godhood. But they were never able to make him admit to fault or surrender his position that they were all cowards and traitors. He's drifted through the centuries since, taking solace in fighting good fights wherever he's found them. He's fought in practically every major conflict in Europe over the years, on one side or another as his moral compass decided which was more worthy. In the modern age, though, war has become a matter for soldiers and politicians, not warriors, and there is nothing but shades of grey and complication, so the increasingly bitter Thunder God has taken to working in construction and demolition, putting his skills to work tearing down old structures so that new ones can be built in their place. It satisfies... barely. When the work is done, strong drink, a good brawl, and the occasional dalliance with mortal women suffice to numb his pain... barely. But he still dreams of the thunder of his goat-drawn chariot, still feels the burning power of Mjolnir in his hand. When he sleeps he rides the lightning once more with his beloved Sif by his side, only to wake up weeping. Pantheon: Aesir Virtues: Courage 3, Endurance 3, Expression 1, Loyalty 2 Physical: Strength 4(5), Dexterity 4, Stamina 4(5) Note: Effective Str and Sta are 1 higher due to Jotunblut 2 Epic-Physical: Strength 2, Stamina 2 Knacks: Crushing Grip, Holy Rampage, Body Armor, Solipsistic Well-Being Mental: Perception 3, Intelligence 1, Wits 4 Epic-Mental: Knacks: Social: Charisma 4, Manipulation 1, Appearance 4 Epic-Social: Charisma 2 Knacks: Boys Will Be Boys, Never Say Die Abilities: Academics Animal Ken Art Athletics# - 3 Awareness - 1 Brawl# - 5 Command Control#(Heavy Vehicles) - 2 Craft(Construction) - 3 Empathy Fortitude - 2 Integrity - 2 Investigation - 1 Larceny - 1 Marksmanship - 2 Medicine - 1 Melee# - 5 Occult - 1 Politics Presence# - 3 Science(Explosives) - 2 Stealth - 1 Survival Thrown# - 4 Birthrights: Relic 3 Followers 2 Boons: Sky: Sky's Grace Jotunblut Alternate Version : Heroic Stature, Giant Among Men Join Battle 4 Attacks: Soak (Bashing/Lethal/Aggravated) Stamina: 5/3 (due to Giant Among Men) Epic-Stamina: 2/2/2 Armor: (Body Armor Knack) +3/3, -1 mobility) Total: 7/5/2 (10/8/2) Health Levels: 0, -1, -1, -2, -2, -4, -4, Inc Dodge DV: 5 Brawl Parry DV: 5 Melee Parry DV: 5 Willpower: 6 Legend: 3 Legend Points: 9 Misc. Equipment: Click to reveal.. Bonus Points: 4 on Throwing 2 on Brawl 2 on Melee 7 on Legend increase Magni's Wood-axe 3 dot relic "I swear, Vidar. I have no idea how it ended up on Earth!" Maybe Magni sent this out into the world to find its way into his father's hands... And maybe he didn't. The gods know that Thor's sons aren't the brightest shavings from the log. Someone did, though... With an axe-blade on one side and a hammer on the other, this large double-headed weapon was used by Magni as a household tool, but it doubles nicely as a weapon. It can inflict Bashing or Lethal Damage without having to use the 'flat of the blade' rules, and is heavy enough that only someone with divine strength could lift it, let alone wield it in combat. It functions as a maquahuitl, with a +3 damage bonus. Acc: +0 Dmg: +6 B/L Defense: +0 Speed: 5
  16. Name: Sunny Kay True Name: Sun Wukong Nicknames: Monkey King, The Sage Nowhere Equal to Heaven (self-given Post-Expulsion) Apparent Age: very late 20's, early thirties. Apparent Ethnicity: Asian Height: 5'8 Weight: 160 lb. Former Pantheon: The Celestial Bureaucracy (Or as he sometimes calls them, the League of Pen-wielding Morons) Calling: Bitter and suspicious martial arts sensei, street musician and wanderer Nature: Survivor Physical Attributes Category- Primary Strength 3 Epic-Str 1 (Holy Bound) Dexterity 5 Epic-Dex 2 (Cat's Grace, And the Crowd Goes Wild) Stamina 3 Epic-Sta 2 (Inner Furnace, Body Armor) Social Attributes Category- Tertiary Charisma 2 Manipulation 2 Appearance 3 Mental Attributes Category- Secondary Intelligence 2 Wits 4 Epic Wits 1 (Rabbit Reflexes) Perception 3 Abilities Academics 2 Animal Ken 1 Art (Music) 2 Athletics 5 Awareness 3 Brawl 5 Command 1 Control 1 Empathy 2 Fortitude 2 Larceny 3 Integrity 2 Melee 5 Occult 3 Presence 1 Stealth 5 Survival 2 Legendary Traits Virtues: Duty 1, Harmony 2, Intellect 2, Valor 4 Legend: 3 Legend Points: 9 Willpower: 6 Birthrights and Boons Birthrights: Relic (Shard of the stone egg encased in ice, Access to Chaos and Frost) Relic (The Monkey's Meteor Hammer, Counts as weighted-end weapon, +1 Acc, +1L/B Dam, +1 Defense) Boons: Animal (Monkey) 1, Chaos 1, War 1, Frost 1 Other Stats Join Battle: [1] 6 Attacks: Unarmed, Heavy - Acc 9, Dmg 7B, Parry DV 6, Spd 5 Unarmed, Light - Acc 11, Dmg 4B, Parry DV 8, Spd 4 Monkey's Meteor Hammer - Acc 12, Dmg 9L/B, Parry DV 8, Spd 4 Soak Stamina: 3B / 2L / 0A Epic-Stamina: 2B / 2L / 2A Body Armor Knack when active: 3B/3L/3A Total: 5B / 4L / 2A or 8B / 7L / 5A w/Body Armor active Health Levels: 0,-1,-1,-2,-2,-4,Inc Dodge DV: 9 ,, ,, History: The famous, boisterous, controversial and very powerful Great Sage Equal to Heaven was one of the loudest and most indecorous voices in arguing against the pact, which itself did cause a bit of shuffle and downsizing in the Celestial Bureaucracy. No surprise considering that the leaders of a stable and most orderly divine pantheon chose to make a deal with the Titan of Chaos and its kin, but Sun Wukong took it a step further, deriding the intelligence of the Jade Emperor and the Five Heavenly Emperors, and eventually in desperation, managing to provoke a massive brawl in the halls of the Purple Forbidden Enclosure of Heaven. That action, more than anything, has kept the whispers and rumors, the quiet and private discussions over tea pots about the motivations of the Handsome Monkey King, alive even to this very day. The notable factor was his vehemence and desperation in opposing letting the Titans free. His history is well-known, so was it simply over the top opposition? Fear of being targeted by various titanspawn that he had alienated by ascending to Godhood and fought during his Journey to the West? Or, as some of the darkest chatter goes, was he doomed no matter what he did, a sacrifice and concession for the safety of the Celestial Bureaucracy? Regardless, it is known that in the end of the fight, Sun Wukong barely had time to react to the sentence pronounced on him before the shen tore away almost all his powers and quite literally threw him out of Tian into Earth. All the thrown out gods have wandered certainly, but Sun Wukong did so more than most, only settling down from a drifter's life relatively recently. Originally, he spent the first 400-500 years in China and Southeast Asia, before changing his direction to Japan. When the Dutch traders came in with the blessing of Ieyasu, Wukong went out on a Dutch ship back to Holland, and divided approximately a century and a half between England and the Netherlands among the Westerners before judging it safe to return to China. Since the 1880's he was wandering back and forth in the United States. The reason for all this traveling was as the shen thought, Sun Wukong had the strong belief, warranted or not, that the Titanic enemies of his were bound to take advantage of his losses and attempt to exact revenge on him for his 'betrayals.' Several years ago, he felt he had covered his tracks enough to decide to take a break from all this traveling and settle down in San Francisco. Still a gymnast and martial artist more able than the best mortals, he has a part-time job as a martial arts instructor in many disciplines, supplementing his income-gathering with playing street music and collecting bills from the occasional passerby. He never takes the same route twice though, and he has few students despite his skill, not getting too open with them and severely scrutinizing them. His boisterous personality is rather frayed, his barbs are sharper, very frequently used to insult or drive away people. He sometimes intentionally starts a scrap or gets into another sort of mess because he can, and it provides distractions for anyone who's trying to follow him, of the Titan-serving variety. He's not paranoid, heavens forbid! But he is very alert, very on guard enough that the distinction may be academic. In this bitter, seemingly-eternal parody of his previous adventures, he is not the Great Sage Equal to Heaven swatting away godlings. He is the monkey fleeing from hunters, hiding out in the concrete and natural jungles alike. Monkey's Meteor Hammer A Relic version of a meteor hammer, somehow this divine weapon of the sort normally handed out to Celestial Bureaucracy Scions vanished from the Most Glorious Armory for the Equipment of Divine Descendants without the proper paperwork and authorization being filled out thousand-fold. Of course, given that all notices of missing Relics must go through the proper channels, the Celestial Bureaucracy has yet to even categorize the meteor hammer as stolen. In any case, Xuangzang, lesser immortal, disciple of Guanyin and former master and traveling companion of Sun Wukong, is responsible. A member of Broder's network, the monk has dared to retrieve this weapon so that Sun Wukong will not go unarmed in the battles ahead. It isn't Ruyi Bang, but Xuangzang isn't that foolish (always not suspecting the travelers he met in the Journey to be demons notwithstanding).
  17. Mortal Name: Batya Ben-Gurion Nick Names: Tiger of the West Bank Calling: Soldier of Fortune Nature: Bravo Age: 26 Gender: Female Ethnic Background: Caucasian/Mediterranean Nationality: Israeli Height: 5' 7" Weight: 130lbs Eye Color: Brown Hair Color: Dark Brown Handedness: Right Distinguishing Marks: Birthmark in the shape of a small vertical line descending from the corner of her right eye. Knife slash scar on left shoulder extending down to left tricep. Three surgery scars on midsection from shrapnel removal. Bullet wound scar on right shoulder. Appearance: In her years of warfare Bast has honed her mortal shell into the human equivalent of a great hunting cat; sleek and muscular and deadly. There is a beauty to her, but it is the savage beauty of a well-made sword, or a customized firearm. Her face has lost what warmth it once possessed, and her eyes are cold reminders that everyone, and everything has a time to die. Personality: Bast has many aspects, but since she decided to view the world as little more than a gladatorial arena that she'd fight in until she finally died, the goddess has been focused entirely on her hunter and warrior personas. She sees everything in terms of challenge and conflict; the more physical, the better. Gone is the riddling sphinx, the doting mother, the curious explorer. Or if not gone, at least banished to her dreams, and nightmares. History: Cleaning it up a bit from my original submission. Pantheon: Pasedjet Virtues: Conviction ** Harmony *** Order *** Piety * Physical: Strength ***, Dexterity ****, Stamina *** Epic-Physical: Strength *, Dexterity **, Stamina * Knacks: Holy Bound (14yrds high, 28yrds long), Cat's Grace, Untouchable Opponent, Self Healing Mental: Perception ****, Intelligence ***, Wits **** Epic-Mental: Perception **, Wits * Knacks: Predatory Focus (6d+2auto), Spatial Attunement, Eternal Vigilance Social: Charisma **, Manipulation ***, Appearance ** Epic-Social: Knacks: Abilities: Academics ** Animal Ken * Athletics **** Awareness **** Brawl **** Command ** Control (Car) * Fortitude * Integrity ** Investigation * Larceny ** Marksmanship **** Melee ** Presence * Stealth *** Survival ** Thrown ** Birthrights: Relic **** Followers *** Boons: Epic Attributes - 7 Purviews - 3 Sun * Moon * Animal (Cat) * Join Battle 7 (+1 auto) Attacks: - Unarmed (Light) Acc 9, Dmg 3B, Parry 6, Speed 4 - Unarmed (Heavy) Acc 7, Dmg 6B, Parry 5, Speed 5 - Soak Stamina: 3B/2L Epic-Stamina: 1B/1L/1A Armor: / Total: 4B/3L/1A Health Levels: Dodge DV: 7 Parry DV: 6 Willpower: ***** * Legend: *** Legend Points: 9 Bonus Points: 15 +1 Legend 7 +1 Str 4 +2 Birthrights 3 +1 Brawl 1 Experience Points: 25 +1 Athletics, 5xp +1 Awareness, 5xp +1 Stealth, 3xp +1 Firearms, 6xp +1 Command, 2xp +1 Larceny, 2xp +1 Thrown, 2xp
  18. Nervously Saul Gunderson fiddled with something his hands. The briefcase by the side of his chair held information that he was not particularly thrilled about having to deliver to who was widely known as the “Meanest Bitch Ever”, a title she didn’t earn by being pleasant, especially when it came to her money. Once again he tried to look up at the massive offices two other occupants, but his courage had forsaken him. From their lofty perch, about three decent sized steps Adriana Dionekou, the world’s richest person and her right hand man, simply known only as “The Agent” or “Her Agent” impatiently waited for Mr. Gunderson to begin his report. No one knew who The Agent was, his history, background and criminal record all came up empty, he didn’t even seem to possess a Social Security Number, but he’d been serving Mrs. Dionekou faithfully for the better part of fifteen years. If she made a deal with the Devil to earn her vast wealth and empire, then people were pretty sure The Agent was Satan’s messenger boy. To her left he stood his hands patiently clasped in front of him. His expression was as devoid of emotion as that of his employer as he slowly freed one hand long enough to push his thin, wire-framed glasses. “Now, Mr. Gunderson.” His voice seemed just loud enough to suit any situation and no one ever could recall hearing him ever raise it. “Please, for Mrs. Dionekou, repeat the contents of your report, aloud.” It was uncommon for anyone; especially an auditor to be asked into Mrs. Dionekou’s office, in fact, only a handful of employees at D.I.S. could even attempt to guess about what she might look like. Mr. Gunderson’s day was not going well. “Uh, w-well…” He tried to find the words, but the simple silence was intimidating. “A-as you k-know… I uhh… d-did an audit…” He fumbled for words but the woman’s gaze was piercing. The Agent quirked an eyebrow as the sweating, round man could barely talk straight. “The bottom line Mr. Gunderson, start there.” He stated in a grim monotone. “Uh, well, uhh… the bottom line?” IT was obvious the man may suffer a heart attack at any moment brought on by sheer stress, but he managed to compose himself and simply blurt it out. “F-four point two billion dollars. All of the investments within the last three years, and their investors, have seemed to, um… vanished. It’s gone… the money is gone, um, ma’am.”
  19. Our story begins with a Goddess of Old, whose name inspired fear in the hearts of the bold. She was vibrant and tough, she was fearsome and cagey, and even her followers would say, a bit ragey. On one grim, fateful day, in those long ages past, she defied all her kin, from the Tuatha was cast. From a small, humble shop, she now weaves her tales, telling fortunes for cash, with bright futures on sale. Gone is her power and lost is her pride, and hope is a memory she keeps locked inside. As her story unfolds, on an ordinary day, a couple chance by with whom Fate has its way… “I’m not sure about this Brad,” the young blond spoke up hesitantly as the chime above the door… well, chimed. She was lovely, in a Susan Sarandon sort of way but on the streets of New Orleans one could smell ‘up state New York’ all over her. “I mean, this is a little silly, don’t you think?” “Come on!” Her companion, a handsome man with a sweater tied about this shoulders. “Janet, The Firm gave us the weekend off, right? Come on, we’ll have some fun, see how the other side lives. This a center of culture, let’s take in a few sights and have some fun…” “I smell pot.” Janet said bluntly. “Incense, I’m sure, sweetie.” Brad chuckled as he looked about the small shop filled all manner of occult materials. “All these small stores burn it to… uhh… to…” “Cover up the smell of pot.” Janet said bluntly, none to thrilled to be in this small hole in the wall store that obviously offended her designer senses. Her husband sighed and looked to her. “The proprietor could have glaucoma, it could be medicinal. We should not judge others, especially those with Obama’s health plan, they have enough worries.” In that moment, the beads concealing the portal to the back room were brushed aside…
  20. Gunfire tore through the foliage as bullet after bullet ripped through her cover shredding the trees into confetti. Arms dealers like these guys were a dime a dozen and barely a match for Batya and her crew… except when they had .50 caliber machine guns. “Someone mind telling me how we missed that?” Dillon, a member of her squad shouted over the headset. “Christ on a cracker…” He ducked low, just in time as the entire tree he was using for cover was blown completely apart, leaving only a small trunk for him to duck behind. Enrique Escobar, one of South America’s finest and most successful arms dealers had apparently pissed off the wrong people. Those people called people like Batya’s people. Batya’s people shot at them, making them dead. All in all it was an incredibly profitable business if one lived long enough to enjoy the retirement. She got to see the world, travel to exotic locations, and napalm the shit out of ass holes like this Escobar guy who supplied guns to every third world country and made a profit off war and death without ever lifting a finger himself. In her prime, The Morrigan would have had a field day with this guy, but today The Morrigan was nursing a Big Mac while listening to My Chemical Romance and jotting down depressing poetry with her free hand… This day was Batya’s… or Bastet as the ancients used to call her. The famed Goddess of Egyptian myth, cast down to earth and stripped of her power over a millennia ago, was the one charged this day with bringing this scum to justice. Right after she took care of the .50 cal that was blocking the main gate to the guys villa…
  21. Within the dust filled, hollowed halls of Valaskjalf the rays of the morning sun pierced through two massive windows on either side of an intricately carved gray granite throne. Set within the stone were carvings of all manner of beasts doing battle amonsgst themselves or against mighty heroes from times long past. Upon it’s surface one could see the heroic deeds of each of the Norse Gods, locked in epic conflict with the titan spawn for all eternity. Heavy foot falls echoed through the halls until finally a ring of dust scattered at the sudden impact of a thunderous step. The unknown God, obscured by the shadowy mingling of morning dust and the sun’s rays stood staring at the massive granite seat, Hlidskjalf, Odin’s throne and the seat of power amongst the Aesir. A sudden glimmer filled the hall, a sparkle of light that flashed softly leaving behind a beautiful woman clad in a black breastplate with golden accents. She was lovely beyond reason with long black hair tied tightly in a thick braid that ran down to her hips. Upon her belt was a finely crafted broad bladed sword and with every step the shaft of the massive, intricately designed spear she carried tapped softly upon the stone floor. She approached and knelt behind the throne gazing God. “We have found him.” “It’s about time, Brynhildr.” The God replied. “Send Sigrun to claim him.” “Claim him?” Brynhildr, eldest and most respected of the Valkyries failed to keep her enthusiasm in check and did not go unnoticed. “Then, he is to be allowed home once more? Our Thunder God returns?” An iron fist clamped tightly about her throat, and all her great strength was nothing compared to the Gods crushing grip. “You misunderstand and forget your place Valkyrie. I am the Lord of Asgard now. Your precious Thunder God is gone. He is no longer a god, but he was once our finest warrior. He will serve in Ragnarök, one way or the other and since he’s no longer a god it looks like he’ll be serving as an ‘other’.” Brynhildr choked as her spear fell to the ground while she struggled to stay on her feet but to no avail. Her knees slammed to the floor, cracking a stone. “Send Sigrun to collect his soul.” His grip loosened and the mightiest of the Valkyries fell to the floor, clutching her neck. Instinctively she grasped the handle of her sword with the desire to cut the bastard’s heart from his chest but her sense got the best of her. “It will be done.” She said, disgusted with the sight in front of her. She body glimmered and she faded once more from view in a soft light.
  22. “HAI!” The students cried out in unison. Their foot kicked straight out in a basic maneuver while Sunny Kay, their instructor looked at the lot of them, some twelve students, with a critiquing glare. Here in this small kwoon on the western side of San Francisco, Sunny Kay, or Sun Wukong as he was once known, had been making ends meet for the better part of a decade as an average martial arts instructor. Sure he could have shot for ‘unparalleled’ but honestly, what would have been the point? Melancholy was his bedfellow now and although he did his best to teach his students well, at the end of the day his Chi still remained out of focus. The fallen God was nothing more than a ageless man who drank deep in the lives of those around him but it never quenched his thirst. Again and again the children, none barely over the age of fourteen, continued to perform their katas even as the ring of the bell above the door caught their xiansheng’s attention. Three men, two Chinese and one Caucasian entered clad in gray business suits and dark sun glasses. They spend a moment, conversing amongst each other while the students listened to what Sunny had to teach them next.
  23. Scion: Legends of the Wild West Pecos Bill's boots hit the packed dry earth and raised little puffs of dust from the parched soil. The wind whipped away the clink of his spurs and the whinny of the horse. He flipped the leather cord reigns over the hitching post and allowed the animal to drink; or it would have drunk had the trough not been bone dry. The little group of buildings barely had right to be called “town” and yet it went by the name of Ciudad del Río. Two streets meeting in an oversized town square around a dried up well, a dozen and a half buildings, and one saloon cum whorehouse. Something had dried up the well, the land, and everything else worth having within fifteen miles. That something was what Bill's pa called a sandwyrm, a titan spawn of the Titan Vritra. Bill's footfalls on the boardwalk thudded hollowly as he moved toward the saloon's swinging doors. Inside it was darker, and moderately cooler as a result, if no less dry. A couple of emaciated rancheros sat with glasses of what looked like whiskey but was probably a passing excuse for water. The bartender was whipcord thin and bald as an armadillo with a bushy mustache that looked like it had been grown in reaction to the man's bare pate. The only other figure was sitting at the end of the bar with a slew of empty mugs, glasses, and bottles before him. “Muchacho, more beer! More whiskey! I'm THIRSTY!!” The man at the end of the bar cried as the last drops of rotgut dripped out of the bottle he had inverted over his mouth. The hombre behind the bar twitched and pulled a bottle from the glass shelf behind him. He walked quickly down to the customer, his footsteps sounding like the scurrying of a mouse. Bill mused that, in a way, the man was. Bill took a moment to focus, barely an act of effort, to tap into the ichor that flowed through his veins. The man at the end of the bar smelled like desiccated corpses and dry sand. Bill's rolling gait took him across the floorboards followed by the even clunk-chink of his boots and spurs. He bellied up just out of arms reach of the sandwyrm's host and took a close look as the thing drank down a quart of whiskey in a single draught and then beckoned for more from the proprietor. The wyrm had burrowed into the human body it now wore through a bullet wound in the arm it seemed. There was a hole in the shirt that was surrounded by the dark rust of dried blood. Through the hole Bill saw the wound was healed over with scaly cracked flesh. The things lips were so dry and cracked they looked like wood from the Petrified Forest, and the rest of its face was dry, cracked, and peeling. It turned and looked at Bill, smiling, its thick swollen tongue lolled out of its mouth. “Ssssscion,” it hissed, “Leave here or...” BOOM! Bill's left hand held the smoking gun across his torso. The cylinders glowed with the fires of Hade, which was appropriate given that they were filled with those very fires. The creature's head exploded in a cloud of dust as Bill stepped away from the bar. The dry husk of human seeming crumbled away leaving something awful behind. The revolver fired again as the angry sandwyrm lunged for the Hero … ********************* The American west. The year is 1875; the Civil War is ten years ended and yet the wounds are still fresh. Six years ago the first Transcontinental Railroad was completed connecting California to the East Coast. Texas Longhorn cattle are quickly expanding into lands emptied by the Bison slaughter of the 1860s. With the cattle came the first of the cowboys. The Comstock Lode (silver) and the various California Gold rushes resulted in boomtowns up and down the Rockies while others would soon be started in the Dakota Territory, including the infamous Deadwood. The US military, and the nominal landowners and settlers were ever pushing into Indian Territory sparking the Apache and Navajo wars among other armed conflicts. Chinese immigration to California is in full swing bringing cheap labor for both rail and mine work. Rogues like Jesse James are at the height of their careers while others like Billy the Kid are just getting started, and who knows, some of them may well be Scions as well. Outside the World: Most of the Titans remained within their prisons the Gods look down on the world and do what they can to guide their mortal charges without falling deeper into Fate’s skein. The Yankee Pantheon, young and brash and newly formed watches the United States push westward. Uncle Sam and Columbia thrill as their idea of Manifest Destiny results in a growing nation, unaware of the damage being wrought; the Pantheon of Great Spirits (the gods of the Native North Americans) are being weakened by the death and displacement of their peoples. Several gods have disappeared and are presumed dead or corrupted. The Titan Logismoi, the Titan of Corruption, has escaped his prison as a result of the weakening of the Pantheon of Great Spirits. The other Titans, imprisoned in the underworld, are slowly coming to wakefulness. Its only a matter of time before their own prisons begin to break and the Overworld erupts once more into war between the Titans and the Gods. ********************* What's the setting? Geographically … pretty much anywhere. The focus early on in the game will be the western half of the US, everything west of the Mississippi River as well as northern Mexico. Later the game could range far and wide however … So? Char Gen ... as standard from the book? Yes, mostly. Except... House Rules: Epic Attributes - Require a bare minimum of 3 dots in the baseline Stat before you can purchase your 1st dot of Epic (I would prefer 4 but the signature PCs in the game have done it at 3) Legend – All PCs start with Legend 3 at no cost but cannot purchase additional points of Legend with Bonus Points. Bonus Points – remain at standard 15 during chargen Gaining Legend - During play players will not be allowed to purchase Legend with Exp. Instead I will hand out Legend, free of cost, periodically when the group has earned it. I want to be a Scion of ... See the below... Allowed Pantheons and Gods: All Pantheons in the books will be allowed with the exception of the Atlantean Pantheon. The “modern” Pantheons presented in Part 6 of the Scion Companion contain some Gods who don’t yet exist in the time frame of this game, they are: American: Rosie the Riveter, Pecos Bill (still a Scion at this time), and Paul Bunyan (likewise still a Scion at this point), Soviet: The Citizen A note: Br'er Rabbit is at this time not yet affiliated with the Yankee Pantheon and is known primarily as Coyote and/or Raven, a member of the broken Pantheon of Great Spirits. Replace Industry with Illusion as an associate Purview. While there is no cannon Native American Pantheon(s) detailed I will consider player requests to custom made NA Gods as part of the broken Pantheon of Great Spirits. Ethnicity: The gods are all whatever ethnicity their Pantheon was created by, as such unless you are an adopted scion you are going to be at least half of whatever ethnicity your parent is. Adoption is the only way around this and of course begs the question of why your true parent disowned you. Likewise some ethnicities will be far rarer in the US in this time period than others. Players are advised to use this opportunity to come up with detailed backgrounds to justify their presence and/or their adoption by another Pantheon. I want to play an old dude! Good for you, there are plenty of other games where you can go complain about dentures and healthcare. Scions are young and vital, visitation happens in the late teens maybe as late as 20. Since the PCs are all going to be Legend 3 that’ll give you some upward leeway, say between 18 and 30 or so… Can I use Boon/Relic/Creature/etc. XYZ from Book ABC? At this time we will be using the following Scion Books: Hero, Demigod, God, Companion, and Ragnarök as resources for this game. For anything cribbed from a book other than the Hero core rules please reference the Book and Page where the entry can be found. This will help the ST stay sane.Geasa ... cool! Hold up there bub. Members of the Tuatha Dé Dannan may NOT choose their own Bans when creating their geasa. The ST will find something appropriately mean for you. Yes I am a meany.I want a birthright that allows me access to a Purview I don't yet have boons for ... is that ok? Yes and no. If the Birthright in question has multiple purviews and you will be using some but not all at char gen that is fine, if you are just buying a 1 dot relic with a future boon purchase in mind ... Well why would mommy or daddy give you something you couldn't use right now? See below ...I want to reserve some of my Birthright dots for later is that ok? Yes. If you want to be able to have your PC gain a new birthright after some RP time you can reserve points at Char Gen and assuage some of the hoops that the ST will push you through to get a new birthright. This is also appropriate if you know at Char Gen that you will want a relic for a purview you will not start with any boons for... Control and Athletics seem to have some overlap, what's the deal? They work as written. More specifically Control covers anything that isn’t you. Horses, wagons, bikes, steamships, rowboats, griffons, etc etc. If you are in doubt ASK ME.How do Bonus Points work when buying Boons? OK Boons bought with BPs cost 5 (or 4 if favored) Bonus Points per dot. For General Purviews this means you take the value/rank of the boon and mutiply by the cost above. For Specialty Purviews and Pantheon Specific Purviews which must be bought in order the cost works just like a skill or attribute. Quote:Example: Bob wants the 3 dot War Boon. He has no other War boons and it is not one of his Parent's purviews. He pays 15 Bonus Points for that boon. Example: Kelly wants the 2 dot Animal Boon. Animal is a purview of her parent. It costs her 8 BPs to purchase. Example: Theo, a Scion of Thor, wants to have Jotunblut 3, but he did not allocate any dots to it already. He pays 4 BPS for rank 1, 4 BPS more for rank 2, and 4 BPs more for rank 3. The total cost would be 12 BPs.Do the bonus dice from Arete or Geasa for the Athletics ability apply to DV? I'm going to rule that they do not. My logic being that DV is not rolled and Arete/Geasa grants bonus dice, re-rolls, or auto sux to Ability Rolls. If anybody locates and can provide an official answer to that question (either supporting or supplanting my ruling) we will abide by said Official answer.Detecting Other Legendary Beings We will not be using the optional sidebar on page 57 of the Scion Companion. Either buy it as a knack or find out when somebody beats you down with a covered wagon.OK I built my PC and wrote my background, now what? Once you are ready to submit please send the character to the Ouroboros as a PM with the subject [sCION] {Character Name}. Include and accounting of your bonus point Spends as well please. I will review and feedback to you. My mommy says I can't play big boy/girl games. Is this a big boy/girl game? Yes, Scions fight hard and play hard. I'm a touch confused about X, what should I do? You can ask your fellow players, the ST, or check WW's official FAQ found HERE. A few useful references: Scion Quick-Reference Information Comprehensive List of Knacks Comprehensive List of Purviews What of racism and sexism? While people will still be racist and sexist I don't intent to play it as heavily and I do intend that in this game characters (both PC and NPC) can change people's impressions of them through their deeds and actions. A Scion (or mortal) who happens to be black (or Chinese, or native, or whatever) will be treated according to their deeds. For the PCs this means that the higher your legend you better received you will be (unless your legend includes a penchant for destroying everything in your path). What kinds of media has influenced the game? Deadlands, specifically the Doomtown CCG The Adventures of Brisco County Jr. The Dollars Trilogy, a.k.a. The Man With No Name trilogyTo some degreee The Dark Tower Series A dash of Firefly mostly the frontier aspect of the setting (not the spaceships and laser beams)...and others .... What kind of posting pace is intended? As a ST I intend to update the main thread as often as needed, I expect that will be 2 to 3 times a week normally, more often during combats and based on player activity. I ask that players be prepared to post to the main threads every 2 days or so in order to keep things going but I understand that this isn't always possible. The exception to this is Combat where you will be given a 24 of 48 hour window to post when your turn comes up. In fictions with other players the participants should set their own speed/posting frequency. So I've got this relic, and it's awesome ... Yeah relics are awesome, as are followers, and even creatures and guides to an extent. Putting them down on paper is one thing but give me more, give me something to make them pop out as part of your PCs legend, or part of the greater legend of his pantheon. Example: Bob submits a PC names Hercules, he has relic armor that is a lion's pelt. That's all he gives up for detail. Its kind flat and boring, nothing about that says that its legendary or myth worthy. Example 2: Bob submits a PC names Hercules, he has relic armor that is a nemean lion's pelt. Maybe he even says that its nearly impossible to cut. Better that the above but still not something fully myth-worthy. Example 3: Bob submits a PC names Hercules, he has relic armor that is a nemean lion's pelt. He goes on to explain that his PC was tasked with killing the beastie but found that its hide couldn't be cut so he hand to wrestle it down to the ground and choke the life out of it. Once he did his father (ZEUS) removed the skin and gave it to Hercules as armor, knowing that it could never be cut. ... That is LEGEND. That's the kind of detail, in only a couple of sentances that makes a relic pop off the page. Example 4: Tim sumbits a character (Maerlyn) who has a book that gives the Magic, Mystery, and Prophecy Purviews. *yawn* Example 5: Tim's character Maerlyn is given a tome of power by his mother Brittania. The book lays open the secrets of Fate as recorded by over 1000 years of mystics and wizards since the British Isles were first settled. AWESOME. Even though this relic was just given/gifted to Tim's PC it has a sense of history and Legend of its own, its no longer just some book, its a tome with the work of generations of magic users and prophets. Dude what's your point? My point is that relics should never be just a couple of dots and a 3 word description. Do yourself, myself, and the other potential players a favor and put a little effort into your relics (and you followers, etc). It'll help to establish a sense of both depth of character and a sense of wonder.
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