[PbtA] MoldyNolds' Duskwall Rising

[Hotshot lasgun]

no worries call it an early christmas gift from me to you.

i will play a tycherosi cutter with a wide lipless maw of shark teeth if i get in

[cottontailwind]

Application Status Status: Complete!

Character Application Luigi, a.k.a. Mr. Fortune. Art by Daria Rashev at https://nim.artstation.com/. The Spectacular Spectacular Signore Fortunado! on stage. Art by ShDream at https://www.deviantart.com/shdream. Name: Luigi Alias: Mister Fortune, The Spectacular Spectacular Signore Fortunado!, formerly Luigi Forner Playbook: Whisper (preferred), Leech (alternate; substitute "discovered forbidden magic tome" with "discovered forbidden alchemical process") Look: Where wrinkles had begun to crack into his tarnished skin beneath and beside eyes that witnessed too much and too fast, it could be assumed that he's tired. Tired all the time. Maybe approaching middle-age. Maybe well into it. But his narrowed gaze and slightly furrowed brow suggest that he’s ever-maintained his sense of focus. He still slicks his oil-sheened hair back following years of practice, though it takes him less and less time now, as he has less and less for his image in the eyes of others. Still can't shake that "you can come talk to me" look, for some reason. The slender man, growing a slight paunch in recent years’ professional malaise, is rarely found without his longcoat anymore - once a prop for his stage persona, which at the beginning of every act he would immediately take off and casually throw off-stage - a subtle gesture to show he was formal and should be taken so seriously, but also was approachable. Likeable. Worth hiring again. Now he wears it and its raised collar always as if to keep the whole world out. Out of his way. Out of his business. He can't help but look over either shoulder as he goes. Not just for the peppy new constable looking to pick him up on a debtor's due of all things. Pf. And not just for the next up-and-coming pickpockets who mistook him for some middle-esteem gentleman of leisure straying too far from Brightstone or Silkshore. He knew - perhaps not well, but well enough - the profane dangers of Doskvol. The incorporeal. The infernal. The unspeakable. He knew better than to hurry and show fear in his gait. But he knew better than to linger, too. When he does speak - at least to other corporeal mortals, anyway - his voice is low. Sharp. Lingering. As if perpetually bemused by the most simple things before him. Bemused at how innocent they must be. How unawares. He hasn't lost his sense of humor from his early stage career, though now, his jokes are entirely dry and punctuated with a generous pinch of cynicism. Strangely, he could sometimes be seen with a hint of smoke trailing from his person. Sometimes it was just the faint scent of ash. Or brimstone. Never smoked a day in his life, though. Huh. Odd. Motivation: Forbidden knowledge. Amass magical power. If he has to throw in with criminals to fund his endeavors, or scheme a few plots to remove some obstacles, then so be it. It's not like he can walk into a store and purchase what he wants off the shelf. Money has become such a tedious concept anyways. To a lesser extent, he wants to protect his sister - currently a possessor spirit - from exorcists and demon hunters, and eventually, return her to life. What Luigi doesn't know is that, after working with this crew for some time, they will be his strongest connections to remaining a part of the real world, to his own humanity, and not losing himself to his studies and The Worlds Beyond entirely. Heritage/Background: A fading stage magician pretending not to be a real magician (Akoros / Trade: performer).   Luigi's parents were simple folk who came who came to Doskvol from beyond its barriers. They hailed from the south of Akoros with the surname "Forner", migrating north while Luigi and his sister, Vivica, were still children. At some point in their life, their mother was imprisoned. Their father fell ill and attempted to return home to the south, though they didn't hear from him again. For all the horrors rumored to be in the world, Luigi found them fascinating. The closest he could come to real magic was tricks: sleight of hand, smoke bombs and sparklers, and lots of mirrors. He kept with artists as a young adult and found for himself a career as a stage magician, changing his name from "Forner" to "Fortunado". (It didn’t really translate to “Fortune”, but it had more syllables and sounded well enough as far as these native-northerners would know.) Thus, the Mysterious Fantastic Signore Fortunado! was born. A means for him to make an honest living, play with magic (as much as he could, anyways), and bring a smile to his mostly-child-aged audiences. It was good, for a time. But you can only put so many spins on the same tricks. And there were plenty who took no joy in faux-supernatural, knowing the real destruction of the very real eldritch horrors in the world. As the years went on, his debts increased, the joy in his audience's eyes waned, and where it did shine through, it didn't take hold in his heart anymore. Luigi spent some years going through the motions, but it simply wasn't the same. His sister Vivica perished unexpectedly during this time. A mugging. A completely senseless act of violence. In the aftermath of the funeral - a dreary occasion with meager attendance - Luigi found himself grief-stricken and pouring through his late sister's belongings. Poultices from her place of work - an apothecary. An old hat from their imprisoned mother. An old, heavy tome wrapped in spongy leather. An old tome? In short time, he'd found that Vivica was, for some reason, in possession of a book of forbidden magicks. In a fit of obsession and bitterness, he was consumed with this strange thing and stumbled across in its pages the very most profane: a ritual to bring back the dead. It failed spectacularly, of course, cursing Vivica into the half-life of one of Doskvol's many wandering possessor ghosts. Wracked with guilt and consumed with this new fold of surreality, Luigi returned to the stage with an unusual vigor during working hours, and under true night, began his search through Doskvol's underbelly for all other arcane secrets that'd been kept hidden, as well as the means to attain them... Vice/Purveyor: Obsessed with the occult (Weird: antiquing) as satiated by Chrysopompe the Antiquities Dealer (Purveyor).   Luigi has a hard time passing by rumors of little fetishes from strange lands, or trinkets associated with some paranormal event. Sometimes it's enough for him to stroll through the market or pawnshops, indulging in a bit of perusing to see what catches his (third) eye. There's a bit of novelty in it - every item has its own story to tell. Some new discovery which, in a way, is Luigi's way to hold onto that inspiration and imagination he was found in his early audiences as a stage magician. But when he really needs a fix, to satiate that endless need for the arcane and occult and taboo, he needs more than wandering through the leftovers of grandma's estate. That's when he goes to Chrysopompe's Antiquities. A terribly near-sighted mole of a man who stumbles over his own words and fidgets with his glasses, endlessly cleaning and centering them. But as unassuming as he seems, he and Luigi share something in common: a fascination with artifacts linked to the supernatural. Luigi may drop by Chrysopompe's office unannounced, picking through the items, whether he's seen them for months or whether they've just come in. A small ten-sided amethyst tied with strange hair. Half of a doorknocker, styled as some alien creature in a terrible mood. When he's lucky, Chrysopompe sends him an invite to go directly to his warehouse, where some larger oddity has come in. The cracked statue of peaceful dancer. Slabs of stone from the dais of an ancient throne. And every once in a while, Chrysopompe will pass on a mere rumor of some new item for Luigi to hunt down. Usually it's enough for Luigi to study the item. Peer at it from all angles, then from five feet away, then up close, then from five feet away in a different light. Sometimes Luigi and Chrysopompe will engage in the oddest of trades - Luigi's jade-and-silver elephant charm and his bone-carved jar mounted on taxidermied chicken legs for one of Chrysopompe's painting depicting the Lord Marshall being birthed by Doskvol itself - literally. This ongoing exchange has rendered Luigi's apartment - as dark and isolated as it's kept - even more inhospitable, where it's booby-trapped with endless barriers of hoarded junk and antiques. No matter, though. People shouldn't really be visiting anyways. Even if they did, they probably wouldn't understand the sheer importance of these things. Dangerous Friends: Vivica (Friend: possessor spirit). Luigi's younger sister who found work as a budding herbalist under Old Ushandul, the reclusive healer and mystic, but perished in a magical accident when exploring her mentor’s spellbooks. Was returned from death as a possessor spirit when her brother, Luigi, attempted to resurrect her. She and her brother enjoy a positive relationship - useful, even, when she’s able to hold onto those episodes of lucidity from her past living state. Sometimes she is able to gift Luigi with knowledge from beyond the grave. Sometimes he is able to keep Vivica safe from exorcists, other spirit-binding whispers, or even from her own would-be-life-filled meals. He does, however, live with the knowledge that holding onto this sibling connection means she must feed on the life essence of the locals... Due to her capacity to retain her sense of self, control, and humanity most of the time, the Reconciled have been observing her from afar and considering/attempting to recruit her, though due to uncertainty as to if she should formally re-enter society and not fully acclimating to incorporeal life, Vivica has remained undecided on the matter as of yet. Old Ushandul the Healer (Rival: witch). An unassuming witch who usually uses her powers to help others. She was once the mentor of Vivica, Luigi's sister. To many within Doskvol, Ushandul is simply a kindly old woman, offering herbal remedies and mundane healing to those in need. Now she harasses Luigi's attempts to delve into arcana, believing he will be too dangerous to the city, too dangerous to himself, and in many ways, as retribution for turning his sister/her slain pupil into a ghost.   Ushandul correctly sensed the latent gift of the arcane in Vivica and took her in as a pupil, focusing her on those powers of peace and community. Vivica excelled in these crafts, though one day she discovered that Old Ushandul also harbored a great deal of forbidden knowledge. After exploring these old tomes and profane artifacts on her own, she accidentally triggered ancient magic, and in the resulting spellblast, was slain. Luigi believed Vivica had perished to some passing criminal in the streets, but when he learned that his sister had been studying the forbidden arts under Ushandul the Healer, he fell into a fit of bitterness and attempted the taboo: to return his sister to the living. The ritual failed, of course - what did Luigi know about magic, then? - and Vivica found herself wandering as a possessor spirit, trapped within Doskvol's lightning-barrier. Ushandul never forgave Luigi for abusing the arcane and sentencing her gifted pupil to such an existence. And Luigi never forgave Ushandul for allowing his sister to perish under her watch. But how could he take any action against her, this little old witch, who is also so set upon helping the helpless in Doskvol? Role Playing Samples: A teenage, socially awkward gargoyle at a Hero Academy casts Command on himself to force himself to talk to someone new. While the PCs are investigating a noble's household, a retired maid casts Phantasmal Force on one of the servants to let them revisit their long-lost homeland in exchange for information. Do you have access to the BitD rulebook?: Yes, but still in the process of reading it. Have you played BitD before? If so, was it in-person, virtual, or on RPGx?: I have not played Blades in the Dark before. Love the atmosphere and inspirations for this game ad, though! I also enjoy trying new games, and the mix of roleplaying with rules mechanics.

[Hotshot lasgun]

Name: Zamira Welker

Alias: "smiley"

Playbook: Cutter, wllling to switch to hound if necessary.

Look: Zamira moves with the lean sweeping movements of a leviathan cutting through the waters of the void sea. there is no wasted movement, no stutter-steps; just pure catlike grace. she wears a long eel-skin slicker to keep off the rain, and her slate grey eyes have a flinty stare which makes most civvies back away if they weren't already intimidated by her wide lipless mouth that is fllled with serrated shark teeth.

Motivation: Zamira is looking for a surrogate family, as she was given to the temple of the weeping lady as an infant, and never knew her parents. all she has is a cheap locket with a blurry picture of two people which she keeps on her person at all times.

Heritage/Background: Tycherosi/Underworld

Zamira is used to having to fight tooth and nail for every scrap of food and every mouthful of water. she is the epitome of the phrase "survival at any cost". she has literally killed other street rats for their meager belongings, all in the name of staying alive for another day. and when the food runs out well, you do what ya gotta do to survive.


Doskvol is a mix of many cultures and traditions, and, as in most cities, exhibits a paradoxical fusion of cosmopolitan rapport and tribalistic strife. To give you a convenient touchstone for cultures in this fantasy world, they’re compared to various cultures from our world, in the rulebook. This is not meant to be restrictive or definitive, just a short-hand to help you visualize and understand them. In play, it’s your job to flesh out these sketches in the form of specific people, who each embody, reject, honor, or despise their cultures of origin depending on their own outlook and values.

Vice/Purveyor: Gambling
something about the thrill of betting on two humans trying to beat the absolute pulp out of each other stirs something in Zamira. she heads down to Dunslough to see Sergeant Velk who is an old acquaintance of her parents. he wont tell me anything about them, but he gets a far-off look in his eyes, when he thinks i'm not looking. he knows something, and i m gonna find out what.

The scoundrels of Doskvol are a special lot. They defy the powers-that-be and dare to prey on those who are considered to be their betters. They push themselves further than ordinary people are willing to go. But this comes at a cost. A scoundrel’s life is one of constant stress. Inevitably, each turns to the seduction of a vice in order to cope. A scoundrel’s vice is their obsession. But with this indulgence comes relief from stress and the ability to once again face the overwhelming challenge of their daring life.

Dangerous Friends: Similarly, pick a friend and a rival from the playbook (or make up your own!) and tell me about them! Where did they cross paths with your PC? Where do they keep court? Define the relationship a bit more beyond "friend" or "rival".

friend: mercy, a cold killer. mercy was my first tumble in the city. she lives in a little cottage in crows foot, and we had each other at swordpoint before she conceded the duel. had she not, i prolly woulda killed her, but that's neither here not there.

rival: seven-fingered mouse, a survivor: the only urchin to get away from zamira's hungry maw. she got away by breaking something over zamiras head, but she lost three fingers to the scuffle, which zamira prompty ate. she was a tough little thing, which Zamira respects, but the toughness, makes her all the more tasty.

Role-Playing Samples: Please provide at least two samples of your writing. These can be from other games you've played in, brand new scenes relating to the character you are applying with here, or something else entirely.

example 1 a little graphic: mentions of cannibalism

 

Zamira slunk along, the docks, looking for prey. she disregarded a drunk sailor "too gristly", when she saw an urchin, shivering and cold. a thin rivulet of drool escaped her maw and she entered the alley. a single high-pitched scream echoed, followed by the gong of the spirit bells. Zamira left the alley, wiping her chin on her eelskin slicker. hew maw was stained with blood and bone fragments, and she took a swig off a bottle of rotgut she had purloined from the drunk, the bottle washed away the residue from her feeding, and she moved off into the night "a beast i am, lest a beast i become" she murmured, and headed back to the den.

example 2

 

zamira was in the ring again, facing off against a hulking Skov with arms like tree-trunks. the Skov charged, bellowing an invective. Zamira spun left, slamming a fist into the Skov's ribs. she heard a crunch, and the Skov staggered. coming around, he snagged her by the throat and began to squeeze. spots danced in Zamira's vision and she thrashed, kicking him repeatedly in the unmentionables with her steel-toed boots. the Skov dropped her and Zamira staggered to her feet, gasping for air. she immediately dropped a snap kick into the Skov's temple. she heard the sound of bone give and the fighter dropped bonelessly to the ring. Zamira stepped over him, grinning like a madwoman. the adulation of the crowd washed over her, soothing the pain in her throat and washing the exhaustion from her muscles

Do you have access to the BitD rulebook? If not this won't necessarily preclude you from acceptance, however due to the non-traditional mechanics and the heavy lore included in the book having access is a big plus! You can find the player's kit for free on their website HERE

yessir i do

Have you played BitD before? If so, was it in-person, virtual, or on RPGx? This is more so I know who I might be able to lean on and/or ask for advice about mechanics and flow. I love it when players try out new systems, and this is still pretty new to me, too. All things being equal I'd strive for a mixture of seasoned BitD players and new players, but honestly this aspect carries very little weight one way or the other.
virtual

[Solid Snek]

Fish Hook Withdrawn

[HotsuSama]

Clear Ky, the Iruvian Wisp Courtesy of Hero Forge Name: Kyrah Zargari Alias: Ky / Clear Ky Playbook: Lurk (Secondary choices: Spider or Leech, in that order - only minor revision required) Look: By Duskvol standards, Ky is not especially attractive, despite her exotic Iruvian skin; she's just a little too bony, her teeth seem a little too big for her jawline, and she can be obnoxiously loud-mouthed. She's barely into her twenties but is already starting to look more weathered than that. But she keeps a clean appearance and wears tasteful blouses only barely within her means, and that counts for a lot when she spends most of her time either on the fringes of Nightmarket, the salacious dives of Silkshore or her tenement in Charhollow. When 'out on the town' she turns heads for her intoxicated boisterousness; her full street name, 'Clear Ky', is both a remark on her sunny disposition when high on her indulgences, and a pun on how she borders on becoming 'clear as mud' when deep in fungal brew. While she's a social butterfly in the broadest sense, she chooses her company. Her two key criteria are usefulness and entertainment - if you can provide a useful service, or make Ky laugh, you're good company. Do neither, and you'd better be buying drinks. Do both, and she'll shout a round to keep you in orbit. Having put up with some oddballs in the upper echelons of society who have the money to have their depravities marketed as eccentricities, Ky's tolerance for non-supernatural strangeness is moderately high, as long as she can keep it at arm's length, although her facade may crack quickly after repeated exposure or escalating threat. Despite the flattering clothing, Ky rarely travels empty-handed. A puffy accessory can conceal slender tools; thick shoes for the rain-soaked cobbles can conceal a tiny knife. She has a long history of mischief, and usually has something on hand to allow her into the secret places of Doskvol, if she's so inclined. And with a devil-may-care attitude that easily sinks into agitated boredom, she is very often inclined. When equipping herself for a proper job, she has blouses with the frill and puff and dress cut away to prevent anything getting caught on a fence or doorway, while convincing herself she still looks stylish. Motivation: Freedom Ky has no love for the ties and obligations of being the cream of society, even while she covets the luxuries. She seeks to enjoy their pleasures while removing herself from responsibility. For now, that removal has cut her off from her old comforts, as her father has disavowed her. Necessity has sparked a dormant work ethic in Ky, a chronic procrastinator as a student. She makes a living with idle labour, using her limited education and competent literacy for the occasional assistant or clerk occupation. She never lasts long. A job is not in her blood. More often, she hears idle talk about someone needing a less legitimate job done, and takes the initiative. Her former antics as a college student may not have taught her much, but she picked plenty of locks between classes - she knows how to get through a stubborn door and stay hidden. Heritage/Background: Iruvian / Noble Ky's family has some limited prestige. Her father is Iruvian lesser nobility, and carried his family to Doskvol ten years ago to pursue his elevation in political favour closer to the Imperial heartland. Ky is the youngest of three children, and the only surviving scion; her bullish brother Amen was knifed in Silkshore over a debt to a brothel, and her sister Nadia vanished three years ago in mysterious circumstances. Their mother is sickly, and rarely leaves the family estate. Ky has spent as many years in Doskvol than in Iruvia, and learned from her brother's recklessness. With additional pressure placed upon her to carry the family name, Ky was enrolled in the College of Imperial Science to study law and political science. She was a terrible student, made worse by her penchant for pranks - she was good at sneaking through the college and planting seeds of chaos for her own amusement. When she inevitably dropped out, her estrangement from her father was irrevocable. Vice/Purveyor: Pleasure Ky's youth was not luxurious by the standards of most faux-noble waifs, but she has fallen far from her childhood standards of comfort. For her, the pursuit of ecstasy reconnects her to better, more innocent days. She favours drink (frequenting multiple taverns such as the Harping Monkey in Nightmarket - she'll covet good cap wine if she can get it), carnal delights (spread across multiple dalliances and occasional visits to Silkshore) and the occasional bathhouse pampering (especially in Crow's Foot). For now, she has a fairly solid control of these indulgences. Balance is tenuous, though. Her temperament is positive, but fragile. It may not take much to veer into desperate escapism, if misfortune piles upon her just as she's starting to crawl her way upward from her apparent nadir. Dangerous Friends: Friend/Ally: Roslyn Kellis. Ky has had several lovers, but the minor nobleman's wife Roslyn is her most regular paramour. Trapped in a loveless marriage with stagnant social currency, Roslyn has happily indulged in Ky's exuberance and the token thrill of an affair with a firebrand Iruvian, and Ky in turn has benefited from a noble woman's favour, but the two are growing bored with each other. Their tryst is slowly becoming defined by routine over passion, and although they still enjoy each others' company, they're both aware that their relationship is due for change - for better or worse. The Kellis estate is a small footnote to the former glory of northern Six Towers. Rival/Enemy: Bahman Zargari. Ky's father has a nominal position within the Ministry of Preservation, but this does not give Ky any political connections. If anything, it makes her more vulnerable. Bahman covets his status and has cut all ties with his daughter over her prior embarrassments, her abandonment of her studies being the final straw. There will be no favours here; if Ky gets her father's attention or causes him further embarrassment, he will move quickly to insulate himself from scandal - even if it means ensuring she doesn't trouble him further. He lives in Charterhall, and is also known to visit Nightmarket frequently for exotic goods that remind him of his homeland. Role-Playing Samples:   Belliger Belliger edged along the wall, not sure what he would encounter in the room. The faint moonlight from outside helped, but relying on that faint light to guide his way would be like a single breath changing the course of a storm. He froze when something shifted in the room. A light snore. There was a bandit sprawled across a lounge, only a few paces away. The shadowy mass shifted, and there was the soft clink of a thick-glass bottle. Belliger continued. Close to the corner closest to the door, he softly kicked a small end table before he could stop himself. The man on the lounge didn't stir. Belliger waited just in case. His heart thumped. He felt like a rodent. He opened the door, slowly. The light in the hallway beyond this room was dim, but it was still a growing beacon compared to the night contained in this room. He got a slightly better look at the bandit. He was overweight and clearly more unconscious than asleep, with more than one bottle resting next to an arm slumped over the armrest and onto the floor. It was a sleeping position that would be profanely uncomfortable without the assistance of spirits. Belliger scanned the body in the soft light for anything of use - keys, weapons, some distinguishing mark for this group of bandits. Nothing. He wasn't going to risk searching the body - despite the man's drunkenness, he was shifting and restless. Footsteps! Belliger shrank back, nearly knocked the end table again, and clamped a hand over his mouth like a pantomime fool. The door crashed open, and a woman stood there. She was bald except for a dark topknot, and had a bearded axe strapped to her waist. "Found you, Bartam! Get up or I'll drain the grog from a hole in your chest!" The drunken man didn't stir. The woman stomped over, paying no attention to the rest of the room to Belliger's eternal relief, and slapped Bartam several times. "You can't blame Boots this time for getting you on the piss! You're supposed to be on watch in an hour and I'm not pulling extra for you again!" Bartam's eyes scraped open, and he opened his mouth to reply. He vomited instead. The woman cursed as she jumped back to avoid the worst of the deluge. "You disgusting lump. Enjoy your sleep. Boss'll pin you to the ridge in the morn if I have anything to say about it." She swept back out the room, slamming the door behind her with such force it creaked open again. In response, Bartam groaned, said something unintelligible and turned over, asleep again, although now in his own sick. Belliger wiped the sweat from his cheeks. First sentries, then bats, then ... whatever that was just now. Galan barely felt worth this much trouble. But he was here now, and going back would be more trouble than going forward. He crept back to the door, held his ear to the opening to make sure no one else was going to storm along, and readied himself to move once satisfied the coast was somewhat clear. Behind him, Bartam snored.   Berkeley IamnotIamnotIamnot Something happens outside the skull, but Berk doesn't want to know about it. The code shuts off abruptly. Ah. No more intrusion. Let me stay. IamnotIamnotIamnot Please. I don't want to go back. "No stories, because all stories should cease." Offer's malicious voice rings from the void. The same words Berk had heard from the malignant old mule back in the Violet City, surrounded by cat-stools and purple haze. "Can't nothin' be done about the story, boss," says Offer's other voice, the one that usually acquiesces to Berk's needs and whims. Now it's more of a gentle prodding, a rebuke trying to sound like anything but. "Already got a story goin', boss. Just cause you tear up a page here and there, it don't burn the book." I'll burn YOUR book, you smarmy FAT-TOOTHED SON OF A- "Two. One thousand. Two. One thousand. Two... two... twooo..." The first declarations of the crab-drone escaped Berk's attention, as focused as he was on drowning out the bursts of code and keeping himself in a small pocket of not. But despite his growing irritation with ... Offer? Himself? ... he can't help but acknowledge that yes, he does hear this, and yes, that means he still holds an infuriating tether to the world it came from. Berk jerks upward, watching the crab twitch its last and Mex looking down on both of them, massive hammer-thing in hand. "Bit of a lark that I can be bait without any meat on the bones, aint it?" Berk says lightly, scrambling inelegantly to his feet and brushing dust off his jacket. "Good horsey. Extra mug of Vrang mead for you tonight. Employee of the hour, even. Back where I came from ..." A minor tic in the skull's facade, a jawbone flicking up and down in the wrong way, a tilt in the vertebrae. "... you'd get a fancy piece of paper and a leg of some big fat animal for that for roasting. Don't worry, it wasn't horse. Most of the time, at least." Berk, at least being sure this time the coast is clear, heads along towards the main edifice of the auto-farm. He looks up at the statues. "That don't track. Is that supposed to be them cupping all that is? But for us, it's all ... just stretched out. Flat. And they say the west sea never ends." He looks at the circle. "I bet this is some bunkum about how you can reach the west sea by going east! Yeah, pull the other funny bone." Do you have access to the BitD rulebook? Yup! Have you played BitD before? Nope! But I've perused the book before.

[MoldyNolds]

And just like that we have 4 applicants, wowee! I created a table to keep track of everyone and their status.

Originally Posted by HotsuSama

Damnit, only just too late to be the first Lurk. Oh well. WIP as it still needs me to add more meat on the bones later.

Luckily I won't bring order of applicants into the selection process Clear Ky and Fish Hook both sound like awesome Lurks so far, though!

I'll leave everyone's application status as "In Progress" and refrain from providing any feedback until asked for. Excitement is building for this game...

[cottontailwind]

I think Luigi’s application is complete and ready for review!

I have another possible character concept I’m toying with, that would be for two different playbooks, so if helpful I’ll keep toying with that to see if it manifests fully.

I really just want to keep reading the rule book and watch some Let’s Plays of BITD instead of working today! Got gothic paranormal crimes on my mind…

[HotsuSama]

Yeah, it'll be another day or two before I can flesh out Ky properly. Excited to see what else pops up here!

[Solitaire64]

completed application

Name: Erden (to a very few)

Alias: Khunbish

Playbook: Leech (I have thoughts on a Hound or a Cutter if this character doesn't work for you)

Look: His wiry physique and brown skin speak of his Iruvian origins. His hair is black & braided, down to his shoulder blades. He normally wears high-neck and long-sleeve clothing to hide the chemical burns and stains; he keeps a bushy moustache and a trim beard for similar reasons. He doesn't dress so as to attract notice most of the time, favoring open-tip gloves, sweaters, workman's trousers and boots when on the streets.

Motivation: Money for his efforts to contact his mother's spirit, if it survived. Money to learn about the Iruvian heritage and possible family connections inherited from his mother. Did I mention money and mommy?

Heritage/Background: Erden was the only(?) son of a courtesan in the city of Sunfall. His mother, Iwe Tatenda, said his Iruvian father Talib Tatenda was a sailor, and that he died at sea leviathan hunting while he was just a babe. The people around Erden treated him like a fatherless bastard though, so he didn't believe her. Erden lived and worked in an inn by the apartment where his mother met her clientele. His was a lonely childhood, spent with books and occasional tutors.

How his mother got him into the imperial academy in Sunfall, he never knew for sure. He did know that in addition to her upscale clients, she had ‘fits’ when she would speak in strange tongues. She also had creepy visitors who spoke Tycherosi and Iruvian. He didn’t need her warnings that no one could find out about her fits or her ‘friends.’ But someone did, because she was arrested and sentenced to death for treason. Erden barely escaped capture, and fled to Doskvol, a place his mother had spoken of with hope for a better life. How she could have felt hopeful about this hellhole he has no idea.

Yet she had been clear; their family's past and future were tied to Doskvol, and she promised that if he had to flee alone--and he would--that she would meet him there no matter what.

Khunbish has been making a living as a back alley physicker and tinkerer but he is frustrated; he needs money and connections. He still tries to keep a low profile (at least until he can gain enough patronage/status) so he can't seek direct employment among the educated and wealthy. So he has decided to seek partners in riskier and rewarding work.

Vice/Purveyor: (Weirdness) Erden consorts with psychics, witches, and the like in hopes of contacting his dead mother’s spirit, out of love, guilt, and a desire to know about his heritage. Mesi, a spiritual medium in Six Towers, is an on-again, off-again lover and ‘consultant.’

Dangerous Friends: Stazia is an apothecary in Six Towers. The cranky old man has some respect for Khunbish since the later will medically treat the urchins of the neighborhood as best he can for token payments, not that the geezer would admit it aloud. The leech and the apothecary have soft spots for orphans, but both know better than to articulate the 'weakness.'

The priestess Marlista, on the other hand, nurses a definite grudge that she doesn't admit to publicly. The leech applied his expertise to help in construction of a flesh-golem, to be used in her cult's rites. All well and good, but he spurned both her bed and her cult, insisting on the money he was promised. If he hadn't arranged for a possible PC tie-in?cutter to pick him up from the site the golem was assembled, it would have been an ugly scene. As it was, he embarrassed her in front of the cult. She hasn't tried for revenge, and he's hoping she will be 'reasonable' since he could still be useful.

Role-Playing Samples:

 

He had almost refused Marlista’s demand for help. But he needed money, including the money she owed him. He had insisted that the other half he was due from the previous ‘project’ be delivered before he would consent to discussing anything further. When they finally met he laid out several conditions, and she had gotten angry enough that he almost lost his nerve, almost apologized. But Khunbish was done deferring to minor predators like the priestess. He had played it 'safe' too long. That's no way to play this game, and no way to live.

Instead he leaned forward over the café table, their noses inches apart. His eyes were hard, his shoulders squared, though his hands gripped the table. "Enough," he said speaking in a tone that was both a hiss and a whisper. "I’ve kept every promise I ever made to you. You think I’m afraid to explore the mysteries of the dead without you, so afraid that I will meekly take my place as your cur if you cuff me soundly enough? I don’t think so, Marlista. I think you keep coming back to me because you’re afraid to risk trusting another back-alley physicker in projects that would earn you the noose if the Inspectors learned too much."

Her eyes narrowed as he leaned back, though she kept her face impassive. "No, that wasn’t a threat, it was reminder of why you need me. I am no less trustworthy than I was, my silence will not be broken. But you will pay me promptly on completion, or we will not work together, ever."

Her face stayed impassive a few moments longer, and then she smiled. She sipped her tea, then reached across to hold his hand, as if they had been lovers quarreling. Khunbish did his best to relax, cradling her hand in both of his, trying to lessen the attention he had drawn to them. It wasn’t easy; the smile that was in her eyes was far colder than the one on her lips. "Your bravado doesn’t fool me boy," she whispered. "All right, we will do it your way. But I warn you that if you ever throw a tantrum at me again, ever, you will beg for your death." She looked into his eyes. "Understand?" He smiled back and nodded, and she felt grudging respect for the composure he was showing. She didn’t know how many hours he had spent practicing what to say with a mirror, practicing his facial expressions while visualizing her icy eyes.


It was approaching dawn, but he was finishing the last few stitches on the golem at last. The creature had come together from various body parts, the skin tones of the alchemically preserved flesh showing that the ‘contributors’ were from throughout the Empire. An interesting metaphor for Duskwall, Khunbish reflected, and smiled. He had worked long through the night under the electric lights of the large, rusty building. Marlista had stayed with him and observed, her followers milling about near the back doors impatiently. She had started the night stiff and nervous, pacing with arms crossed. But that had changed as the work progressed, confidence flowed into her face and body language. He had advised the dark priestess over the past month on how and where to join muscles, tendons, bone, drawing diagrams he knew she would recopy for use in a dark ritual. He had even consulted on the materials to use for stitching the golem together. And now...

"Done," he pronounced. He placed the final bag of silver in his coat. "Would you like to examine the stitches?"

"No, I can see you have done your usual work," she said coolly. "Now, would you care to tell me why I should let you walk out of here unharmed?"

She even asked it the way I expected. And she only threatened harm, not death. Maybe I am getting better at this. "I promised to stay silent. I didn’t promise not to take out insurance. But you are a zealous servant of your goddess, so you might not care if you die." Then he took out his pistols, one aimed at the sheet metal warehouse wall, the other aimed at the golem’s skull.

"STOP!" For the first time he saw her panicked. When he had insisted on coming armed, she hadn’t considered that he would threaten the golem. Or that sheet metal doors would ring like a gong if they were shot. "I’ve kept our deal. Just take your silver and go!"

"I’m sorry to have upset you, but you did ask that question. Don’t try to get between me and the golem or I will shoot." He walked calmly to the front, still aiming at the golem, and whistled. 2 short knocks and a quick whistle answered. "Time to go," he said calmly, tilting his head respectfully to the priestess and trying not to let his relief show. The front door opened, and Khunbish exited. The followers of She Who Feeds finally rushed in from the back of the warehouse to prepare the golem for transport. It wouldn't be long before the next guard shift arrived, and they hadn't been bribed.

The front door closed and Khunbish's bravado evaporated. He let out his breath in a whoosh, and his legs quivered, to the amusement of his companion. He gave a weak smile but shook the purse of silver just enough to confirm the payment, and his associate's smile became one of approval as they entered the carriage. A long nap, a meal, and a bath he decided, swaying slightly as the horse's steady 'clip-clop' rhythm helped him relax, and this evening I will see a girl about a ghost.

 

Confor is a favorite character of mine

Do you have access to the BitD rulebook? Yes, I have a copy of the book.

Have you played BitD before? I played it on RPGX but the game died when the GM ghosted I ran a BiTD campaign in meat-time for about 9 months; it went pretty well, though I have an obvious bias.

 

Erden Tatenda Alias: Khunbish Playbook: Leech Crew Name: ??? Crew Type: ??? Heritage: Iruvia (sort of) Background: Academic Vice: Weird Purveyor: Mesi, spirit medium, six towers Coin: 0 Stash: 0 Armor Uses: Armor Heavy Special STRESS TRAUMA                   HARM 3 Need Help 2 -1D 1 Less Effect SPECIAL ABILITIES X Physicker After each score, mark XP here if you addressed a challenge with (from playbook) or (from playbook)PLAYBOOK Every time you roll a desperate action, mark XP in that action's attribute hereINSIGHT O O O O O O X O O O Hunt X O O O Study O O O O Survey X X O O Tinker Every time you roll a desperate action, mark XP in that action's attribute herePROWESS O O O O O O X O O O Finesse O O O O Prowl O O O O Skirmish X O O O Wreck Every time you roll a desperate action, mark XP in that action's attribute hereRESOLVE O O O O O O X O O O Attune O O O O Command O O O O Consort O O O O Sway FRIEND RIVAL Stazia, apothecary Malista,priestess

[MoldyNolds]

Welcome Solitaire! I was always partial to the Leech side of the techno/magic spectrum myself

[Humble Hero]

I had an application started back on page 1. It is now complete.

[PsychicNomad]

I've just found this. An official Blades in the Dark SRD.

[MoldyNolds]

Oh, that's awesome, thanks PsychicNomad!

Humble Hero thanks for the heads up, I didn't see you sneak that in there I've added your character into the table and I'll endeavor to get some feedback for Redeye and Mister Fortune soon!

[Chylopan]

[APPLICATION COMPLETE]

Application Name: Percival Allan Blake Alias: Beau Playbook: Slide (Alt. Spider) Look: Debonair to an nigh-unfathomable degree, the man known as Percy Allan Blake — or just Percy for short — oozes a what seems to be a supernatural level of charm and grace. Indeed, with every spoken word there is a sly and affable grin, just as there is with every mono-eyed stare some underlying message hidden just beyond a dazzling glint. Oh yes, this one is charismatic to the point of predation; hold fast, for he is relentless and accustomed to getting what he wants when he wants it. Though not very imposing physically, Percy is nonetheless tall and chiseled enough to stand on his own if need be. Most of his clothes, while elegant and pristine, show signs of wear and tear — a hole here, a frayed stitch there —but most assuredly they are well maintained and tailored to a meticulous specificity, for if this darling Beau is any one thing it is… particular. More still, aside from his damnable good looks, there are many eccentricities that make him hard to forget. At the front of his head rests a meddlesome streak of stark white that sullies a full head of color. Strangely, this only seems to add a dash of flair to his overall preternatural appeal. Should the luxury of conversation befall another, it would become readily apparent that the man hailed from somewhere in the Southwest — the deep Southwest. His voice is very rich and holds a refined drawl like the kind heard amongst antebellum aristocrats and other assorted gentry of a bygone era. However, these superficial oddities pale in comparison to his most distracting peculiarity: a handsome eyepatch slung over his left; it stands in great juxtaposition to his otherwise sleek-and-refined persona, denoting just hint of the many roguish inclinations that lie beneath what has got to be the most beguiling presentation known to man. A sharp tongue born into a world of vice and sin. Amongst them, the prodigal son. Motivation: To make meaningful personal connections. Percy can be known and make known whenever and whatever he wants on most occasions; he can mix and mingle with the best of them; he can traipse up and down the social ladder as he pleases; he can connect here and there, near or far, people that others might write off for one reason or another as a lost cause — and so on and so forth! Such is the life of a serial socializer, after all. Day in, day out. What he cannot do, however, is make any of these things last. At least, last in the sense that they become meaningful outside of the ethereal mire that is high-caliber socialization or business-like quid pro quo. In truth, Percy’s friends are actually more akin to acquaintances, regardless of how familiar or comfortable they might be; his connections to organizations or important people are… — well, just that… connections, for there is no deep root which cements him to any one person or group of people. And this has become something of a problem for him on more than one occasion. Still, while Percy is well aware of his short comings and their potential pitfalls, it’s all he can do to keep up the routine, lest the entire house of cards come crumbling down o’er head and leave him a mess beneath. Heritage/Background: Military/Doskovol. Though terribly cliché, it must be said that, publicly, Percy’s history is somewhat vague and mysterious — this is by design. What he has told one person is often not exactly the same as what was told to another. Heck, sometimes, when the mood strikes (or he’s feeling rather scandalous), it can be downright contradictory. That said, all good lies have a bit of truth sprinkled therein. Percy is very proud to reside in Doskovol… for some reason, though where he picked up the colorful accent is anyone’s guess. More to the point, for those versed enough in bull-hockey to pick the fact from fiction, they would surmise that Percy is, in fact, from Doskovol and has likely spent the majority of his life around the middle-to-upper echelons; for those who simply cannot help but pry, most notably, there exists a record of his enlistment in the armed forced under a different last name, Croft. The record indicates that Percy served a short stint as a low-rung, commissioned officer before receiving a dishonorable discharge. The reason for which is listed as but two words: “Officer Misconduct”. Still, whatever skeletons Percy might have in the closet, now-a-days, there’s one thing that’s for certain: the man gets around — like, around around. He’s always floating in and out of circles, parties, dinners, soiress, some-such other events, like the little social butterfly that he is! If there is a black cloud looming over head then by golly gosh he’s oblivious to the impending rain, else he wouldn’t smile so brightly or laugh so deeply. Yet, necessity begs of him that he do many unscrupulous things in the name of food and coin. Per chance, Percy enjoys it; per chance, it’s an excuse to hone persuasive skills that border on sociopathic; or, per-friggin-chance, the guy’s just looking for another scene to crash in hopes that this one, finally, might be the one to stick. Vice/Purveyor: Pleasure. Percy delights in anything that might provide him with the opportunity to gratify himself socially. He’s a people-person — a people pleaser, more specifically — and cannot help but schmooze, suck up, flatter, jest with, or playfully jape at, others when given the opportunity. He will gather around the surly men taking bets on bare-knuckle boxing down by the docks, just to ingratiate himself with the scummy underclass which frequent the joint; he will dance with the hideous daughter of that certain political official at the midnight soiree, just to earn points with her lofty old man; and, most importantly, he will get the last word in edge-wise, even if he has to pen a blasted letter to you after the fact just to see it done properly (don’t tempt him)! Dangerous Friends: Friend: Madame Chesiree Dumoux – Escort/Consort: Is it truly surprising that someone such as Percy might frequent, or know someone who does frequent (ergo, frequent by proxy), an establishment of ill repute? Well, frankly, the Black Gate Bordello, where Madame Dumoux plays mother goose to a slew of high-class escorts, is everything but a house of ill repute — a den of debauchery, sure; ill repute, no! Percy met Chesiree on a fluke. He was attending a — shall we say, bachelor party? — at the bordello with a colleague before a miscommunication about the price for certain services rendered brought the fiery-headed Madame’s fury down on another member of the party. It took an entire night of skillful placating for the Beau to see the dispute resolved. In the end, not only did Percy spare his lot the fury of a flop house scorned but he also managed to earn the favor of a woman whose web is spun oh so very, very wide. But gracious was his jaw sore by the end of it… From all that pleasant conversation, of course! Rival: Commandant Alister G. Hawthorne – Military Official Commandant Hawthorne is the man who oversaw Percy’s dishonorable discharge and, thereafter, made it his personal goal to try and see the youth ostracized from higher society. Even under his new name, no matter how air-tight or confident Percy might be at any given point in time, he always makes certain to avoid any groups or circles that might run in lock-step with the old Warhawk’s own. While this bit of paranoid precaution has put a hard cap on the Beau’s social net worth, it seems he’s more than comfortable settling somewhere on the lower rungs if it means not chancing the spiteful ire of the Commandant. You can't win 'em all... Role-Playing Samples:   A Young Samurai's Fateful Decision Going so far back as when they had crossed the waterfall bridge, the entire journey up to this point had seen Meiji occupied by a deep, contemplative silence that was so very, very unlike him; uncharacteristic, undoubtedly, and, perhaps, a bit unsettling given how stern his idle expression had become. But still... the bakemono had successfully guided them through all the sharp and winding paths, through eerie, vacant villages — which brought to the Lordling's mind terrible thoughts of his own neglected domain; thoughts which he was quick to quell, lest they unnerve him any further and steal his focus for encounter to come — and, finally (fatefully), to the doorstep of the Demon Daimyo, whereupon an unholy coterie beckoned him within. Meiji took a moment to simply stare, to find in his body and spirit the necessary will and determination to proceed, before wheeling a leg over saddle and dismounting proper. "Take care of her," he bid of Jun, handing over the horse's reins before then pressing something else into boy's palm, subtly. "And stay vigilant, translation: boku no göshi (bo-ku no gö-se); my lowborn samurai (lit: my village / country samurai)ぼく の郷士. If ever there was a time to test your mettle..." The words trailed off, but only for a second, enough so that the young daimyo-to-be could meet eyes with Tsuyui and Sophie, to then continue with, "... or prove yourself a true Tenkan. It is now." Meiji grabbed the odachi stuck comfortably between saddle and steed before turning to face the ominous lot of shadowy oni that awaited him. Another long moment passes. An evening breeze rolls in. And then he proceeds forward, resolute. Yet, halfway there, something caused him to stop and peer back at the rest of the party — nay, at Turushno in particular, had to be! translation: osewa ni narimashita (ose-wa ni na-ri-ma-shi-ta); a thank you with gratitude to the point of implying a debt (lit: thank you for helping me.)"お世話になりました." Meiji disappeared after that, making his way into the demon's lair.   Spurned Lovers Battle Wits It wasn't exactly Simon's game of choice but Corinne knew what she was doing by challenging him. The boy was too stubborn and strong-willed to ever turn down an opportunity to prove his superiority, even when said contest came at the behest of a spoiled-apple like this... this... heartbreaking-pirate-to-be! Thankfully, regardless of Simon's unfamiliarity with Sava, he could put up a good front — a poker face, if you will. Wag, however, seemed to take to the game like a natural. It gave the youth some room to breathe, and, most importantly, allowed him to fixate on eliminating his opponent (the only opponent in his mind), Corinne. She had always been good at games, especially those of a — ahem — social variety, but there wasn't an actual game around that Simon could lose... at least not to the likes of someone like her, a two-timing, no-good... "Do you remember the time we first met?" Simon's warrior began crashing through Corinne's gates, routing whomsoever stood in its path. "I caught you sneaking into some loanshark's office window while I was kicking in the door, and we fought, and wrestled, and... " Behind the Warrior, moving in lock-step with her fated companion, Simon's Priestess supported the rampaging efforts which tore down defenses both dwarven and sea-fairing. "Anyhow, we were both so distracted that neither of us left with what we came for. Well, that's not exactly true. You got what you wanted, at least." Simon transitioned his Warrior into a square that spelled certain doom upon his opponent's next turn; it clacked on the board with gusto! "Still, I'll never forget what you whispered into my ear that night, softly, sweetly..." The Warrior stood surrounded by foes on all sides, but with the guidance of his Priestess surely he would prevail, surely! But the Priestess was no longer there. The Warrior had been thrown to the wolves, a sacrificial lamb. "You said, and I will always remember this: you're making a mistake." Corinne jumped at the opportunity and fell straight into Simon's trap, too eager to rake and claw, too eager to cause injury lest she be injured herself. When the Warrior fell, abandoned by its ally, the Priestess's gambit was complete and she took two birds with one stone, securing vengeance for the fallen and overthrowing the house et all. "I don't make mistakes anymore, Ms. Darkwater." The game concluded, Simon glanced between all those present (and all those waiting in the wings), unnerved, almost expecting a brawl to commence regardless of their decisive outcome, but he waits, patiently, hoping for the best. "Now, about Floon. What do you know?" Do you have access to the BitD rulebook? I do, actually. I have yet to sit down and actually dig through anything beyond the character creation, but I think getting into the game would be a good excuse to do exactly that. Have you played BitD before? I have not, but it has been on my radar for some time and I'm excited at the prospect of finally getting to. I catch on pretty quick and try to make up for my lack of mechanical knowledge with more in-depth posts from a roleplay perspective.

[MoldyNolds]

Welcome Chylopan!

Some reviews below!