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  #16  
Old Yesterday, 10:52 AM
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wodine wodine is offline
The Lord of Gifts
 
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Quote:
Originally Posted by OneDarkness View Post
Bugger a CoC game and one run by Wodine, the old west is a nice touch too.....
I thought it would be a fun twist to do it in the old west, but it seems like it has actually decreased the number of interested players...

I'm trying to get CoC a better foothold on site after all.
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  #17  
Old Yesterday, 09:27 PM
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Good girl by day.
 
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GM: Question about the setting and our characters. Should our background be fairly normal to the setting? Have our character seen anything 'weird' or supernatural or anything before the events of this game?
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  #18  
Old Yesterday, 10:04 PM
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The Lord of Gifts
 
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Quote:
Originally Posted by girlplay View Post
GM: Question about the setting and our characters. Should our background be fairly normal to the setting? Have our character seen anything 'weird' or supernatural or anything before the events of this game?
It has been life as usual for the characters. They've never been exposed to the mythos.
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  #19  
Old Today, 12:45 AM
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Quote:
Originally Posted by wodine View Post
I thought it would be a fun twist to do it in the old west, but it seems like it has actually decreased the number of interested players...
We'll just have to make up for it with quality
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  #20  
Old Today, 10:56 AM
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I'm very interested in this game. I will come up with a character concept as the week progresses.
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  #21  
Old Today, 11:31 AM
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John Lynch
WIP
Name: John Lynch
Age:44

Occupation:Drifter

Origin:Cork Ireland

Physical Description:Standing just under six feet John is thickly boned but gaunt. Age hangs off his face. His once white Irish skin has long been thoroughly tanned sagging a cross a well worn and wrinkled face. Droopy eyes drag down and the bags under his eyes sag into a thick poorly trimmed mustache draping over his mouth. A bowler cap covers a shaggy head of hair and he is garbed in a faded suit littered with patches and reeking of a musk. There is little care payed to his appearance, keeping himself just above what would be considered acceptable with the blue collar company he normally keeps.

PersonalityThere is not much to John that stands out. He is mellow and affable with barely a mean bone in his body. His emotions seem even keeled, never raising his voice in neither excitement nor sorrow. His company is pleasant but uninspiring, his competence on par. The only defining trait that makes him stand out from the masses is a neurotic need to never be, as if quiet contemplation to him is torment. Be it work, duty, or just something that needs doing ones finds him more than an eager volunteer but to have already begun. His hands need to be busy and his mind occupied with anything but the past. He is a perfectionist, not for the sake of perfection but to juice whatever task he is on for time. He has no goal or purpose but to keep going, burn up the clock until oblivion finally frees him of his misery.

PC relationships WIP

Back StoryHome seemed to be the defining ideal that grasped for by the age. The ideal the liberals strived for, eager to pass it on freemen, Indians, and immigrants so that they might lift themselves up. Home was what defines a man stoic and providing, home was what defined a woman each a Stewart of her own little abode. Home was what the nativist hoped to protected from the mobs unwashed immigrants flooding New York. It was a myth clung too of those dreaming of a simpler past, and everything the drifter John stood in antithesis to. His journey began as a budding teen in Cork, the fourth son of a farmer he saw little in the prospect of inheritance while the new world offered wealth and opportunity, at least according to fliers stapled to the local pub. Young and reckless he leapt before he looked and soon found himself packed in on a voyage to the new world, only contact being a cousin far removed with the vague promise of work. He labored for several years in New York as digger, dockworker, or whatever he could fine till the brewing war finally took the land. Never one to save, when the choice came fight or pay the three hundred dollar commutation fee, his only choice was to fight. The rifle in his hand and the songs from his youth planted in him the naive glory of Brian Boru and other great Irish warriors. His childish ideas were soon shredded by the harsh realities as men he would call brothers fell in droves around him. Lads of brilliants minds, awash in talent and potential far more than he ever was or will be fell by the hundreds. He only survived by mere luck of the draw of where he stood in the line. Like all who served the war changed him, planted images and traumas in his head from which he could only find reprieve in flight and drink. With the wars end he took the road and rails, moving from one place to the next, taking work where he could find, and flight when his demons caught up to him. This was an age of movement, tides of peoples, capitol, and technology. Currents John was more than happy to ride to feed his incessant need for escape. He would only stay as long as the newness distracted him, the business kept his mind occupied on the task. As the images slowly crawled back, he would take to drink to wash them away until their intensity forced him to flee once more to find something to hold back the torture idleness bore.

RP:The man was suppose to be here an hour go. Johns demeanor seemed relaxed but his mind was racing. The sergeant would never… John stopped himself before the deceased man's name entered his mind. The tramp had been in Rosewell a week and the idleness was beginning to eat him. If only I had…. A breeze passed the street, giving his mind a momentary reprieve to collect itself. He closed his eyes and let coolness distract his mind as he felt a weeks old tabloid sail into his legs. He leaned down grasping the crumpled paper in his gritty grasp and opening it up to read. His eyes glided across the headline “Ancient Artifacts Found” “Anasazi Treasures” “Skeletons”. John looked up and down the street hoping his contact might appear. He’s not coming John thought as he caught sight of the general store and the prospect of drink. He began to turn before look down once more at the article, noticing the artifacts were on display just a few miles away. He looked once more at the general store Too early for that John was a drunk but he had a method to his madness. With a calm thoughtful turn about he look down at the paper and began making his way to where the artifacts were being shown. Whatever they might be, whoever the Anasazi were, they were at least something besides idleness or drink to bide his time.
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