You are Jin. You know this because of the words tattooed on your skin.
You are strange. You've always been, with your changing flesh and lying skin, you've never met one of your kind in all the twelve years you've spent in the Dwellings.
You want many things. To see the sky, to find out what you really are, to learn magic and become someone powerful and important. But, more than anything, you want to live a life worth living.
Unfortunately for you, you may even get what you want.
The Dwellings, Ward 87, Ravnica.
9th Gong - 25th of Zuun, 10,000 ZC.
Your name is Jin and you feel like shit.
You wake up upon a small nest of old cloth and pilfered furs. You twitch, burrowing deeper into the warm depths of your soft hoard. It is early, way too early for conscious thought.
Something pokes at you again, hard, and you grumble and growl. Like a beast of old, terrible and mighty, you demand an explanation. "Wha'?"
"Wake up, brat," the raspy voice of Old Man Clerk demands from above. He pokes you again, either with his cane or his peg leg, and shows both the lack of respect and fear he holds for you.
You are mighty and terrible, he should fear you. "Don' wanna," you grunt at him, eyes stubbornly closed.
"Bah," the old man says, "stayed up late again, you brat? Told you it was a shit idea."
"I didn't!" You defend yourself. In truth, you barely remember if your words are truth or lie. You are, after all, barely conscious right now.
Maybe you shouldn't have stolen that flask. Alcohol really ain't tasty at all.
"Even then, brat, wake the fuck up. The gong ringed a while ago and I have company today." Old Man Clerk says, poking you again and hobbling away. Soon, the familiar aroma of freshly-brew tea and rat-jerky rouses you from slumber, and you slowly drag yourself out of your nest.
Your daily routine is as follows. You wake up, clean your face and hands with what water managed to tickle down from the cracks on the roof, put on the least ragged clothes you can find in the hovel, and sit before Old Man Clark for your first and only guaranteed meal of the day.
"Told you I have company today, brat," Old Man Clerk says, even as he pushes a chipped mug of tea on your hands. "Put a face on, would ya? I don't want no Simic fuckers hounding my ass."
You blink at him, just now noticing that yes, indeed, you are in your true form. You gaze back at your hands, ivory-white and spindly, and take a moment to focus.
What Face do you wear outside your home?
[] Jim. Human boy. Short, tanned skin and auburn hair, green eyes and a big smile. [] Jean. Half-elf girl. Thin and lithe, pale-skinned and blond, face covered in freckles and blue-eyed. [] Jackal-Eats-Moon. Half-orc boy. More muscle than sense, white tusks and bright-red hair, black eyes. [] Write-in. Name, race and gender, brief description. Names starting with J are better.
With an effort of will, your flesh flows and your bones crackle, white hair shifts in hue and length, and your eyes and skin become something more… normal.
The only thing about you that doesn't change is your name. J-I-N, branded upon the inside of your wrist with black, blocky letters. No matter how you try, that tattoo never goes away. A part of you takes some comfort on it, on this unmutable reminder of who you are. The rest just reminds you to cover it up with some cloth.
"You meeting with a Guildmage, Old Man?" You ask after making sure your Face is put together. You could try to disguise the excitement in your voice, but the Old Man can sniff a lie from three wards down. It's better, in your experience, to simply not try.
"That ain't any of yer business, brat. Just remember to busy yerself with whatever the fuck you do and don't come till sevent gong."
You give him a cheeky smile. "So that's a yes?"
The Old Man snorts, and raises his can threateningly. You cower in jest, raising your hands and hiding a smile. "Kidding, kidding! Fuck, Old Man, I'm just an innocent young kid, can't blame me for being curious now can you?"
"If yer innocent then I'm a fresh-faced babe. Say, who did you stole that whiskey from, eh? A stupid tourist? Some idiot friend of yours?" He accuses, eyes hard and lips crooked. He rubs his bearded chin with one knobbly hand, and his bushy eyebrows raise to almost touch his mangy gray hair.
You blanch. "I have no idea what you are talking about," you lie. It, as ever, doesn't work.
The old human snorts. "U-huh. Just remember the rules, brat. If trouble comes here because of you—"
"You'll sell my hide to the Guilds without a second thought, I know Old Man. Sheesh, almost seems like you hate me or something." You are almost certain he wouldn't do it, no matter how much trouble you bring. He's been taking care of you for twelve years now, feeding you and clothing you and protecting you until you could do it yourself. You've even been contributing for years now, scavenging stuff to sell and brining what fodo you can find. You are too useful to throw away and both of you know it.
Still, just in case, you always keep what few important objects you own on you at all times. For if you need to run very fast without much notice.
You eat and drink with the old codger for a while longer, just the two of you sitting on the ground and enjoying the silence of the small hovel. The stone floor may be cold under the old and dusty rugs, the ceiling may be low enough to force the Old Man in a constant hunch and smell of cooked rat might linger for the rest of your life, but it's relatively warm and safe.
Home, basically, as much of one as anyone in the Dwellings has.
Soon enough, however, the gong sounds and the Old Man kicks you out of the hovel and into the outside world. You stumble out the half-broken door into a long chasm-like street. The alley is narrow and the floor is dirty, but the added protection is worth the hassle of squeezing out.
The Dwellings are a small portion of the slums under Ward 87 that approach something like civilized. People and their families live here, if in squalor and hunger. There are shops and street-vendors hawking their wares, all of them either stolen or scavenged. There re even some other kids running around, wearing gang colors and hard eyes.
But you'll probably won't be knifed on the kidney unless you annoy someone important, and the more dangerous beasties avoid coming this close to the surface.
Well, for a given meaning of surface. You look up, at the layers and layers of metal and rock, mortar and brick, walkways and crumbled ruins between the sun and your skin.
You wonder what the sky looks like.
Then you shake your head and rub the medallion hidden under our clothes. You have an entire day to yourself, now, best not waste it.
What do you do in your free time? (Choose Three)
[] Studying. Old Man Clerk has some books hidden away, and you like to read them in your free time, specially that old primer on can-trips. You've even managed to make one of them work! (Blue. +1 Spellcraft, choose one cantrip to learn.) -[] Blade Ward (You have advantage on your next Shield or Dodge roll. Lasts for one minute or until you roll Shield or Dodge.) -[] Mage Hand (Conjures a spectral hand you can control, lasts for one minute.) -[] Fire Bolt (Ranged attack, roll Spellcraft, deals a normal injury [X]. Can be used to start fires.) -[] Friends (Roll Spellcraft. For one minute, advantage to all charisma rolls against the target. When duration ends, target becomes hostile.) -[] True Strike (You gain advantage on your next attack. Lasts for one minute or until you attack.) -[] Minor Illusion (Creates an illusory sound or image, lasts for one minute.) -[] Toll the Dead (Ranged attack, roll Spellcraft. Deals a normal injure [X]. If the target is already injured, transform a normal injury [X] into a crippling wound [/].) -[] Prestidigitation (Perform one of various minor tricks, effects last one hour)
[] Scavenging. You've been scavenging more and more lately. It serves as a good way to get funds for your future, and you've found some nice stuff hiding under the occasional corpse. (Black. +1 Perception, starts with 1 Gold Coin and a Nasty Knife that deals [/] damage but cannot be used to Shield)
[] Running Errands. You've been helping around the Dwellings, doing some odd jobs and lightening burdens. It feels good to help people, even if only as a delivery boy. (White. +1 Diplomacy, starts with a Mysterious Package.)
[] Fighting. There's a bunch of thugs and bad sorts down here, and they annoy you. A lot. You've been getting into fights lately, not against anyone important, you ain't ready for that yet, but you've gotten some good practice in. (Red. +1 Unarmed and Dodge. If taken with Black, you start with +1 One-Armed and Dodge instead.)
[] Relaxing. You've found a small, hidden tunnel with an opening that goes all the way trough the city. The sunlight feels nice. There's even a small shrub there, and the snake that lives in its branches is pretty friendly. (Green. +1 Animal Handling, start with a pet snake and two days worth of berries.)
When voting, please just imput the bolded parts of the options. I'll be implementing approval voting, so just vote on any number of choices you want to see. These choices exist mostly to determine your character and initial Colo Identity, which can be changed in the future depending on future choices.
Rolls
You roll a 1d20+related skill/Stat whenever you need to do something important. You always roll agaisnt a fixed DC of the GM's choice.
Training
To gain Ranks in a skill, you must spent a number of weeks of training equal to the rank you wish to train to. For example, to gain 1 Rank in Bluff, you must spend 1 week training Bluff and generally lying to people. For Rank 2, 2 weeks, and so on. If you wish to gain a Rank, you first need to have the preceding Rank. So, for example, to get Rank 3 in One-Handed Weapons, you must first have trained up to Rank 2.
Critical Rolls, either successes or failures, always count as week of training for the rolled Skill.
You may train up your Stats with a month of dedicated training, cumulative, for each point. So, to go from 10 to 11 you need a month, to go to 12 you need 2 months and so on.
Training aids, teachers or other ways to boost your learning speed exist.
Healh and Healing
Your Health is abstracted into boxes, like this [O]. A [O] voice is full, a [X] means you've received an injury, and a [/] is a crippling wound.
You have a number of boxes equal to 3, plus or minus your CON modifier, with a minimum of 1 box.
To heal injuries [X] you only need time and peace, healing a number of [X] boxes equal to your CON modifier (minimum of one) every time you take a rest. If you've received a crippling wound [/] however, it will not heal without medical attention.
For each crippling wound [/] you have, you suffer a -1 to all your rolls until it can be healed.
Weapons
-Nasty Knife - One-Handed +0, deals [/] on hit, can't be used to Shield.
Armors
-Tattered Clothes - Protects against indecency. Old, dirty, and ragged. Could smell worse.
Coinage
-Copper Coins (5) - The lowest kind of coin, made out of copper and half the size of a silver coin.
-Silver Coins (2) - The common man's coin, one inch in diameter and as thick as your pinky finger, is made out of pure silver.
-Gold Coin (1) - The nobleman's coin, made out of pure gold and minted with the emblem of the Orzhov Syndicate, is just slightly bigger than the silver coins.
Items
-Rat-Jerky (1) - A staple in the slummer's diet, guaranteed not to kill you. Enough to feed a child for one whole day. -Bag of Rations: Enough food and drink to keep watered and fed for a week straight! The bag is reusable, too, so that's a bonus.
Important Stuff
-Lucky Medallion - An old brass medallion that has been around your neck since before you can remember. It brings a warm scene of familiarity with it. If it bore any symbol, the passing of time has long since worn it away. Probably not very expensive, but best to keep it hidden.
-Mysterious Package - A small wooden box the size of a matchbox. It is magical, impossible to break or open without power you do not possess. According to Illona, only Old Man Clark can open it. Really, what the fuck? (DC to open is 25)
Jin
12 Years Old • ??? • Orphan
STR 7 (-2) - DEX 14 (+2) - CON 10 (+0) - INT 10 (+0) - WIS 10 (0) - CHA 13 (+1)
Training:
STR(2/4) - WIS (1/8) - CHA (1/4)
HEALTH [O][/][/]
PERKS:
-Shapeshifter: You are a creature of shifting flesh and lying skin. You have the supernatural ability to change your appearance and voice at will. You determine the specifics of the changes, including your coloration, hair length, and sex. You can also adjust your height and weight, but not so much that your size changes. You can make yourself appear as a member of another race, though none of your game statistics. You can't duplicate the appearance of a creature you've never seen, and you must adopt a form that has the same basic arrangement of limbs that you have. Your clothing and equipment aren't changed by this trait. You stay in the new form until you use an action to revert to your true form or until you die. (+2 CHA, +1 DEX. +2 Bonus to Bluff, Intimidate and Sense Motive. +10 Bonus to Disguise.)
-Child: You are a child, young naive, and harmless. (+1 to DEX and CHA, -1 to STR and WIS, your size is Small) (Temporary)
-Size (Small): You are the approximate size of a human child. (+2 Bonus to Dodge, -2 to Shield. +4 Bonus to Stealth, -4 to Intimidate. +2 DEX, -2 STR)
-Street-Rat: You grew up on the streets alone, orphaned and poor. Despite all odds, you survived. (+1 Ranks to One-Handed, Stealth, Sleight of Hand, and Survival. Whenever you are trying to navigate a city you roll with advantage.)
-Motivation and Miracle (One Piece): This world is a plane of burning will and unyielding determination before all. As long as you remain on this plane you gain the following benefits:
- Crits now count as a week's worth of training not only for the Skill rolled but also it's Key Stat.
- Fighting an opponent of equal or higher ability than yours count as a week of training for all Skills used, and their relevant Key Stats.
- Each time you do a training activity for a Stat, you roll a d20 and add your CHA modifier. If you roll higher than your current score in the Stat being trained, you automatically gain a point in that Stat. If this is your first time training the Stat, you gain two points instead.
-Etherium Shaper: You hear the song of Artifice, and your hands shape the world. Crating skill replaced with Artifice. +10 Bonus to Artifice Rolls. Can use Mana instead of materials when creating an Artifact.
-A Spark (Untrained): Your soul holds a spark of the endless power of the In-Between. You are capable of learning any and all magical and supernatural abilities, with enough time and study. Your soul produces 3 motes of Mana per long rest, this Mana can only be of your Color Identity. You can take a week to attune your being with a landmark, adding its Mana production to your own. Spellcraft becomes replaced by Mana Skills. Once a year, you may Walk the Planes.
FLAWS:
-Scoleciphobia (Severe): You are deadly afraid of worms. You are shaken (–2 penalty to all rolls) if you are aware of the presence of worms nearby. If a worm enters direct contact with you, you become frightened and immediately do your best to flee from the situation. You may suppress the effects of this flaw with a DC 20 WIS roll if you are shaken, or a DC 25 WIS roll if you are frightened.
COLOR IDENTITY
Yore (Black, White, Red, and Blue): +5 Bonus on Mana Skills of these colors.
[X] Jim. Human boy. Short, tanned skin and auburn hair, green eyes and a big smile.
[X] Running Errands.
[X] Fighting
[X] Scavenging
The Dwellings, Ward 87, Ravnica.
10th Gong - 25th of Zuun, 10,000 ZC.
You walk carefully trough the mess of alleyways, streets and catwalks that make out the Dwellings. There is no sun down here, but the constantly burning lamps, candles and torches perched on every wall and corner give enough of an illumination that you don't need to strain your eyes to see.
The smoke is a bit annoying, but it's a simple matter to cover your mouth and nose with some bit of clean cloth. Fires are more of a problem, but thankfully today seems to be a quiet day.
That or Orland's Boys are actually doing their job for once. You snort at the idea, those bunch of idiots wouldn't piss on their own flaming mothers without a couple of coppers exchanging hands first.
People like them are why this place is so shitty. Part of it are the Orzhov and their taxes, squeezing what few coppers anyone here could scrounge up. Part of it is the location, too deep down to reach the more populate places, too high up to tap into any natural resources. You live atop an ancient graveyard, the only worthwhile occupation to brave the tombs and loot what you can, hoping not to die in the process.
But that could be fixed. You know it, if people worked together, if they stopped pissing on each other all the time, if they could stop dragging everyone down… If everyone could just organize, make a system to make looting both safer and fairer…
But people are shit, and that's a lesson you've learned young. The gangs are few and not very strong, in the grand scheme of things, but they lord what little strength they have and keep everyone around them down on their level.
Petty thugs breaking the knees of anyone who tries to climb up. It pisses you off.
But you are a kid, and busy enough trying to feed yourself and Old Man Clerk to do much about it. That pisses you off even more.
Your mood is a strange mixture of bitter and determined as you make your way, hood up and head down, back to continue scavenging trough the outer Tombs. Around you the dwellings are waking up, people emerging from their hidden places and stalls being quickly set up. The noise of people moving and shouting loosens your shoulders a bit, a sign that no gang war is on the horizon. Still, you keep your eyes open and your ears perked up. Just in case.
[Perception: 16 - Pass!]
And, indeed, you hear something. As you walk trough a particularly wide alley, you hear something coming from your right, trough the mouth of a dark and little-tred tunnel. You pause, curious, even as the people around you continue walking as if nothing happened. It sounds like… grunting, flesh hitting flesh and someone whimpering.
A fight? No, you realize, a beating.
The smart thing here would be to ignore it, like everyone else. Just keep walking and pretend you didn't hear shit. But, fuck, weren't you just thinking about how that kind of attitude is at fault for literally everything down here being so shitty?
You curse under your breath. You are no fucking hypocrite.
[Stealth: 9+6=15 - Pass!]
With silent but quick steps you approach the alley, narrowing your eyes at what you see.
There's a small shape on the ground, your size more or less, having the shit kicked out of them by two kids just a little older than you. You remember these fuckers, part of one of the urchin gangs that ape at importance. Vicious little shits, but you've fought them before, beaten them even.
Though, not both at once.
Krin, the taller of the two and bald like an egg, kicks at the small shape again with a sneering grin. His victim whimpers and Kartu, the short and squinty one, laughs at them.
Yeah, no, fuck this shit. You're not letting this slide, not today.
[One-Handed: 6+5=11 - Pass!]
You grip your knife tightly, the long and serrated one you found yesterday. They are two of them, both bigger and meaner than you, and you need all the help you could get.
You don't roar, or shout or scream. Instead, you simply run. Your naked feet aren't very loud on the alley's stony ground, and Krin doesn't notice you until the last moment. He tries to dodge, the boy quick on his feet and used to danger, but he's barely too slow.
Your knife traces a long line along his arm, and he screams in pain, eyes wide. Kartu turns around, surprise and anger on his face, married with recognition. He opens his wide mouth to say something, probably an insult of some kind, to banter and win time while his friend recovers.
[Initiative: 10+2=12 - Pass!]
You don't let him, your feet already turned to lunge at his face, knife-first.
[One-Handed: 13+5=18 - Pass!]
He's slower than his friend, and your knife stabs deeply into his shoulder. He screams, loud and high like a pig, and pushes you off with what little strength he can muster. You step back, bloody knife in hand, and—
[Dodge: 8+5=13 - Pass!]
—Duck! A fists sails above you, fast and vicious, but you manage to barely dodge it. Krin grunts in pain, the wound you gave him bleeding steadily. You grip your knife tighter, suddenly thankful you chose to use it. That punch could've been pretty nasty.
So, in response, you do the smart think and stick him with your knife, agin. He screams, backing off, and you dodge Kartu's reprisal easily, the idiot screaming his attack and alerting you. For that, you draw a line along his leg, and he drops.
You breath deeply, your muscles on fire and your heart beating like crazy. The smell of blood reaches your nostrils, making you twitch, and both your enemies lay on the floor, slowly bleeding and defeated.
You realize, then, that they might actually die if left like this.
The question is, do you care?
Well, do you?
[] Yes. Rip out their clothes and try to use them as makeshift bandages. You are no healer, but it'll staunch the bleeding enough you can drag them towards Madam Mandala. She'll know what to do, even if it'll cost you. (White. -1 Silver Coin, you are not a murderer.)
[] No. Fuck them. They like to use their strength to get what they want? Well, turnabout is fair game. Loot them for anything of use and leave them here. Plus, your fight made a lot of noise, so someone will probably investigate sooner or later. (Black. +Loot, these kids may die.)
But there's someone else in this alley, too, the victim you fought to defend. You… almost forgot about them, what with the fight and all.
You should… probably put down your knife? You do so, and your hands tremble slightly. Man, you aren't new to this kind of stuff, but… You'll calm down soon enough, yeah.
You make sure the two idiots will keep breathing for a litte while longer. Then, you take off your cloth mask and gently kneel besides the still-whimpering shape.
It's a girl, you realize, with long blonde hair and pointy ears. An elf of some kind, then. "Hey," you say with a smile, wide and friendly. "It's fine, you're fine. I took care of them, see?"
The girl opens her eyes, still wet with tears, and you suddenly realize something. Her clothes, her skin, her hair… Even for an elf, they are clean and shiny. Way too clean. As in, important person clean.
As in, rich person clean.
But before you can do anything with this realization, a blond missile impacts against your chest. You tense for a moment, hand inches from your knife, but relax soon enough. The girl, this clean and probably rich little elf, is hugging you. Hugging you, crying, and babbling way-too-loud thanks in your ears.
A girl is hugging you and crying. What the fuck do you do?!
[] Hug back?! Maybe comfort her? That's what heroes do in stories, right? [] Stay very still. If you don't do anything, you can't make things worse. Genius. [] Pick her pockets. She's distracted and also rich, this is a perfect opportunity. [] Write-in. Something else?
Adhoc vote count started by RedLegend on Jul 29, 2022 at 8:04 PM, finished with 6 posts and 4 votes.
[X] Yes. Rip out their clothes and try to use them as makeshift bandages. You are no healer, but it'll staunch the bleeding enough you can drag them towards Madam Mandala. She'll know what to do, even if it'll cost you. (White. -1 Silver Coin, you are not a murderer.)
Winners: Helping the kids not bleed out, showing the rools, and a tie between staying still and ptting her back which I'll interpret as patting her once very akwardly.
[] Yes. Rip out their clothes and try to use them as makeshift bandages. You are no healer, but it'll staunch the bleeding enough you can drag them towards Madam Mandala. She'll know what to do, even if it'll cost you.
[] Stay very still. If you don't do anything, you can't make things worse. Genius.
And
[] Write-in: Pat her on the back. You aren't great at this consoling thing. However, you at least know a pat on the back means something....right?
[] [Rolls] Show me the thing!
The Dwellings, Ward 87, Ravnica.
11th Gong - 25th of Zuun, 10,000 ZC.
There's a girl hugging you and you don't really know what to do.
It's like… If she were trying to restrain you for someone else to punch your kidneys? No problem. Trying to distract you while she cuts your purse? You don't even have a purse, so that.
But hugging? Actual hugging? Mind blank, head empty. No idea what to do.
So you just… do nothing. Stay still there, think about what you'll need to do to stop those two idiots from dying, think about food, think bout— Ok, this hug is lasting way too much, so you'll just…
Pat her, on the back, once. She… doesn't react. Great! No, wait, bad. And she's not saying anything anymore just… quietly hugging you?
It makes your skin shiver. Not actually shiver, because if you did that she would notice and probably scream, but like… metaphorically.
"Uh…" you try, "could you let me go now?"
Those were, apparently, the magic words. She lets you go as if you were on fire, jumping back on her feet with surprising alacrity for someone who's shit got recently kicked in, and blushes deeply.
You stand there, looking blankly at her because, hey, what the fuck do you do now?
She meets your eyes. Her ears twitch, her brow scrunches down, her lips draw into a line.
"That," she tells you, "did not happen."
You nod, agreeing to ignore reality and save both your dignities. You, too, would like to forget it and move on.
"I did not cry," she continues instead of moving on, "or whimper. Or hug you. I specially did not hug you."
Okay, now you're feeling a bit offended. "What's wrong with hugging me?" You ask, standing up for yourself. Both metaphorically, to defend your hugging prowess, and literally, because the floor here is dirty as fuck and you like these pants.
She blushes, ears twitching. "Nothing! Well, you were pretty stiff—"
"You hugged me outta nowhere! I thought you were about to stick something on my kidney—"
"I would never stick something on a kidney, I am not a violent ruffian—"
"Oh, so sticking people's kidneys is now a violent ruffian thing? Should I just not saved you then?"
"I did not mean—" She takes a look at your face, at your twitching lips and eyes full of mirth, and she huffs. "You are making fun of me," she states.
"I'm a violent ruffian, what did you expect?" You shoot back.
She glares at you, and you glare back. Then, like dam breakin, she laughs. It sounds like the bells and windchimes Old Man Clark always hangs around the hovel during holiday, and you laugh with her. If it sounds a little hysterical on her end? Well, you ain't judging.
"Thank you," she says after calming down, "trully." She sounds very grateful.
"You're welcome," you nod distractedly, more focused on… Yeah, Krin and Kartu are not doing well right now. They won't die soon, but they'll probably won't survive the night if you leave them there.
You wince. Healing ain't cheap.
"What are you doing?" she asks as you kneel near Krin and begin the arduous process of bandaging his wounds. "Are you… stealing his clothes? Really?" With his own clothes, of course, you don't have any bandages on you.
"Need something to stop the bleeding," you explain.
"Oh… Do you… want help?" she offers. You take a glance at her hands, perfectly clean and soft. The hnds of someone who've never done an hour of scavenging in her life.
You slap a makeshift bandage on Krim to demonstrate. Immediately, he beings screaming and trashing. Eyes wide, you scramble out of his reach. Oh fuck, oh fuck he's dying what the fuck do you do—
The elf girl speaks a word that makes something inside you pulse with warmth, the sound tasting like clean air and feeling like a good night's sleep besides a fire. You look at her, at how she's pointing a finger at Krim. A glowing finger, which she twirls around in a pattern that makes your eyes water slightly. And now Krim is glowing, too, and screaming less and less until he finally goes quiet.
"You were saying?" The girl asks, one eyebrow raised. Krim's wounds have stopped bleeding. She looks very smug, and normally you would feel a bit embarrassed but—
"You're a mage," you say with wide eyes, wonder in your voice.
The girl blushes, and her ears twitch again. "Just an apprentice, nothing more."
You both stand silent for a while. Then, looking at the still wounded Kartu, you ask, "Could you do that again?"
"Ah," mumbles the girl, "not really. I… spent it all before. That was my emergency reserves, you see."
"Oh," you say. Well… shit. That means you still have to pay Madam Mandala a visit after all.
"I just realized I never asked your name," says the elf girl, walking besides you with Krim's meaty arm around her neck. "I apologize, that was rude of me. My name is Illona, pleased to meet you."
You grunt, Kartu's considerably more bulky form hanging off you like so much dead weight. "Jim," you say, "nice to meet ya and all."
The girl, Illona you suppose, decided to help you along in your self-imposed quest of stopping these idiots from dying. She even bandaged Kartu herself, and did a much better job that you could ever do.
It doesn't sting your pride, really. You are much better at sticking kidneys and not being mugged.
"Well, Jim, may I ask where are we going?" Oh, and Illona is very obviously some kind of noble-girl or something. Well, she's a mage and that makes her automatically more important than you, but there's also her weirdly formal way of speaking and her entire… demeanor. Oh, and her very clean clothes.
No wonder Krim and Kartu tried to mug her, those clothes stick out like a sore thumb. You had to give her Krim's jacked to cover them a bit, and to her credit she only sniffed disdainfully at it before putting it on when you explained the matter.
Which, fair, it was pretty dirty. Everything is dirty down here, tho. Which begs the question, what the fuck is she doing walking around the slums?
[Perception: 5 - Failure!]
"Jim?"
Right, she just asked a question. Think about her mysterious goals later. "We're taking them to Madam Mandala." A pause, and you realize the name probably means nothing to her. "A healer, she's cheap and most people don't die under her watch."
"Ah. Is she too far away?" Illona asks. You've been dragging these two idiots for a good couple of blocks now, and the streets are in full swing. A multitude of various bystanders have been giving you looks, and only the dweller's well-bred instinct to avoid trouble and keep to yourself has been saving you from trouble.
Well, that and the very obvious knife you have at your hip, too. And the blood, can't forget the blood.
"Not too far now," you say, and thank the Forgotten for that. As it is, you only need to walk a little longer and you'll be done.
You steal a glance at Illona. Maybe this is a good chance to shed some light into her mysterious existence?
Do you ask her something?
[] [Ask] Ask away. Choose one: -[] Goals. What is she doing here? -[] Origins. Where does she come from? -[] Magic. Magic? -[] Health. Are her ribs okay? -[] Write-in.
The rest of the walk passes quickly, and you soon arrive at your destination.
"Jim," Illona says, her voice carefully level, "is that a brothel?"
You look at the half-broken building in front of you, at the red lamp shining brightly above the half-open door, at the half-naked women posing on the street besides the door. You hear the sound of drinking and chatting from inside, and smell the scent of sweat and grilled food, mix with alcohol and cheap perfume.
"Yep," you agree, "seems like one."
"You said we were going to a healer!" Illona accuses, trying her best not to look at the half naked gnome in front of her.
"Madam Mandala is a healer, and also the owner of this place."
"Jim!"
[Diplomacy: 9+2=11 - Pass!]
"Look, Illona, nothing bad will happen if we go in. The Madam is a good sort, and if someone gets too rude I can just stick them in the kidney. It'll be fine!" And if something really bad happens? Well, you could always run away, it's not like this building lacks holes on it's walls.
Illona looks at you for a while, looking at your face specifically, until her shoulders slump. "Fine," she says, "but you owe me a favor."
"Really?" You ask the girl you just saved from a beating.
"Well, uh… I seem to be in need of a guide, you see, and you've been rather competent for what I've seen." You give her a look. "I could pay you?"
"Two silvers," you declare quickly.
"Done!" She says, zero hesitation in her voice.
You blink. Fuck, that was… Rich girl mage, right, should've asked for more. Well, you could just say no, you guess, but…
That would mean letting her wander alone like a lost pidgeon, and… Well, it would be a waste after saving her and all.
Do you take the deal?
[] [Illona] Take the deal. Two silvers are two silvers, and you do need money. Plus, she's not the worst company you've had. -[] Negotiate. Also, she's rich, you could probably squeeze more than two silvers outta her. (Requires Diplomacy roll)
[] [Illona] Don't take the deal. You already wasted a good while on her, and you're sure she can take care of herself. She's a mage, after all.
[X] [Ask] Ask away. Choose one:
-[X] Write-in: My favorite food. You don't know the first thing about talking with people your own age. Best to start with something small.
You'll be asking about Illona's magic and taking the dael, go you!
Also, some PATCH NOTES: First, i've decided to get rid of the 'up to twice the key stat's modifier + Int' limit on skill ranks, because it seemed way too restrictive. Also, I've moved the bonuses Street-Rat gives you from the Bonus category to Ranks, and lowered them all by one, to mke our orphn protagonist slightly less hypercompetent.
And, finally, I would love it if you guys could start suggesting soem settings to visit, for when the Planeswalker part of this quest starts actually happening (which will be soon, I promise!)
@GamingandReading In regards to magic, I'm sorry to say you'll eventually have to learn something supernatural, if only to not be immeditly ganked by the first wizard you encounter. But hey, you can always try for the full monk build! Or become an artificer and build superweapons to kill things for you! Spells are not the be all of magic stuff, after all!
Anyway, I'll be starting on the update now, thanks for voting!
[X] [Illona] Take the deal. Two silvers are two silvers, and you do need money. Plus, she's not the worst company you've had.
The Dwellings, Ward 87, Ravnica.
11th Gong - 25th of Zuun, 10,000 ZC.
You and Illona walk silently for a long moment.
"So…" you decide to break the silence, start some conversation, maybe try to pump this rich girl up for the secrets of the arcane. "Magic?" Hey, you never claimed to be good at it.
Illona blinks at you. "What about it?"
"Well… mostly, I'm surprised a mage—"
"Apprentice," she corrects quickly, "I am not a full mage yet."
"Right, I'm surprised an apprentice like you decided to slum it out down here. Don't you have, like… books to study? Ghost to bind, potions to brew?"
"That is what you believe magic to be, binding spirits and practicing alchemy?"
"I mean," you're starting to feel a bit embarrassed now, "maybe? I dunno, I'm not an wizard myself. What is magic about, then?"
Illona takes some time to think about it, and you let her. You may be curious about shooting lightning from your eyes, but you would also like a good answer.
"Magic," she says at length, "at least the magic Master Merrick has taught me, is all about determination."
"Determination?"
"Yes. Determination, focus. The colors of mana— Do you know what mana is?"
"Magic stuff?" you shrug.
Illona sighs, but keeps explaining. "Mana is the energy that makes up existence, it flows under the earth trough veins called leylines, and it is what mages like Master Merrick use to cast spells."
Mana, leylines, you commit that information to memory. Just besides the important things like the Rules of Loot and Salvage, or the optimal ways to roast a frog. "Got it, yeah. But… what does that have to do with being determined?"
"Mana comes in various kinds," Illona says, her voice taking a certain cadence that makes you want to pay attention, more than magic lessons already do, you mean. She sounds like she really enjoys talking about this stuff. "We call them colors, and they are five of them. The important part is that each color of mana has a certain personality, almost, a way in which it likes being used and certain tendencies it wants to follow."
"So magic's, what, alive?" you ask.
"Hardly," Illona denies, "the colors have tendencies the same way water tends to flow, or rocks tend to be heavy. They each operate under different rules, and to be a mage is to understand these rules and bend them to your purposes."
You nod, that sounds kind of really cool.
"But a mage needs determination to do that. Not only because these rules do not like to be bent, but also because the colors themselves tend to influence the caster."
"Wait, so… magic makes you mad?" That sounds way less cool, now.
"It can," Illona allows, "if you try to use too many colors at once, with too little understanding or preparation. But the effects are often less marked, more of a push towards certain ways of thinking that anything malicious. Red, for example, tends to make its casters more impulsive and prone to action, while Blue is the opposite, inciting thoughtfulness but also promoting inaction."
"So… Red makes you stupid and Blue makes you a know-it-all. What do the rest of them do?"
Illona gives you a look, nose scrunched up and brow furrowed, but chooses not to comment. "Green puts the caster closer to their instincts, for good or ill. White promotes unity and selflessness, but makes one rigid of mind and soul. Black is the color of ambition, but also of ruthless action."
"Green makes you an animal, White makes you a stuck up, and Black makes you a bastard," you summarize helpfully, and Illona scowls. "Which one do you use?"
"Master Merrick says it's important to get a well-rounded eduction, and not to limit ourselves to only a few facets of magic," is her non-answer.
"But…?" you press.
"But I have a talent for Blue, Red and Green. In that order." She… well, she isn't really bragging, but it almost feels like bragging. She's looking kind of full of herself, is what you mean, proud of her magic talents.
"I can see Blue," you agree, "but… Red and Green? Really?"
"What is that supposed to mean?" She demands, ears twitching.
"I mean…"
"You mean what? Are you saying that I am not passionate? That I am not in touch with my instinct? Well, I am! But that does not mean I must act like an uncivilized savage, incapable of thought or focus." Her ears are twitching like mad, and she looks really, really angry. Yeah, you can see the Red there.
"I was just saying you looked too smart for that, that's all." You try.
Thankfully, it seems to mollify her at least a bit. She huffs, and stops talking.
"So…" you try after a bit, "what was that spell you used earlier about? It looked kind of white-ish?"
Immediately, she perks up. "It was a mixture of two colors, actually, You see, both White and Green have a tendency to mend what is broken, and with a—" Great, she seems to have moved from angry to passionate, so you're probably safe.
[Knowledge (Colored Mana) gained as a Skill!]
You spend the rest of the walk listening to Illona's increasingly complex ramblings bout magic, and even manage to learn a thing. Go you!
The Grand Madam's Emporium of Fine Delicacies, Treats, and the Exotic , Ward 87, Ravnica.
11th-ish Gong - 25th of Zuun, 10,000 ZC.
You look at Illona's wide, innocent eyes, at her small stature and delicate hands. She looks, you conclude, like the perfect victim.
Plus, you kind of agreed already. Or, at least you did so in her mind, you could justify just saying no but… Two silvers, man.
"Fine," you accept, spitting on your palm and offering your hand to shake, "deal."
Illona looks at your hand. "I am not touching that, Jim." You shrug, and clean your hand on your trousers. Ain't your problem if she wants to let you an out.
You two get into a small, out of the way corner before exchanging coin (your insistence), and just a couple minutes later you come back to Mandala's Emporium, as it's called around these parts, now officially guide and… guided person?
Follower? Eh, wathever.
[Gained: Two Silver Coins]
After that, the business in the Emporium is comparitvely easy. You simply go inside, nodding at the minotaur bouncer and ignoring the gratuitous displays of naked flesh and drunk weirdos, dragging Krim and Kartu with you, and press on the bell at the bar counter.
"Can I help you?" a half-naked woman asks, not a minute later. She looks bored, as if seeing a couple of kids in a brothel were an everyday thing for her.
"I got a couple idiots here," you shake Kartu for emphasis, "who need some medical attention."
The woman gives your charges a long look. "Your friends?"
"Nah, I just found them there, bleeding out. No idea who they are."
[Bluff: 4+3=7 - Fail!]
The woman purses her lips. "Look kid, we ain't in the business of trafficking children so—"
"Hey!" You respond, a little insulted, "I'm not asking you to traffic nobody, just heal these idiots so I can say I did my part, okay?"
"We are also not in the business of harvesting organs—"
"What kind of monster do you think I am?"
The woman shrugs. "Kid, you just waltzed here with two near corpses and started acting shady, what did you expect me to think?"
"Just… make sure they don't die, okay?" You say, defeated, a silver coin finding its way out of your pocket and on top of the counter.
The woman immediately takes it, hiding it… somewhere on her person. "Sure thing, just let them here and Tiny over there will take care of it." She points at the hulking minotaur near the entrance, who waves at you.
[Lost: One Silver Coin]
You wave back at him. Then, before more misunderstandings could happen, you grab a highly amused Illona by the arm and powerwalk away.
Next time you should just leave them there to bleed out.
"So," Illona says, barely-hidden mirth in her voice, "it seems my guide may be even more shady than I thought. Are you planning on kidnapping me and selling me for parts, too?"
"If you don't shut up," you glare at her, "I just might."
She snorts, and you roll your eyes, but you feel better now. So it works both ways, huh?
"Anyway," you say, "you bought my services, so where do ya wanna go, boss-girl?"
Illona raises her chin, playing along. "I was sent by my Master with a package and a letter, to be delivered in person to one of his old associates. I believe he is going by Clerk this days?"
… What?
"Clerk?" You ask, just to be sure. "Old Man Clerk, old as dirt human with a peg-leg?"
"You know him?" Illona asks, almost as surprised as you.
Almost, because— "Know him? I— He's my grand-dad!" Or, at least, the closest thing you have to one. "I live with him! Are you sure that's the right person?"
"Yes," Illona asks, giving you a hesitant nod. "Yes, your description matches the one I have been given. He has gray hair, a missing right leg and dark skin?" You nod, a bit dumbly. "Then that is probably Lord Clerk."
"Lord?!" You try to imagine the Old Man in a suit, drinking tea with his pinky up and ordering a servant around. You fail. "Since when is he a Lord?"
Illona shrugs. "I m not aware as of his exact station, but Master Marrick mentioned him being quite important before his exile."
Exile?! What the fuck. Just… That shitty old man has so many fucking questions to answer, and you'll make him answer even if you have to break his other fucking leg.
"Can I see the package?" you ask, as calmly as you can manage.
"You won't be able to open it," Illona warms, but nonetheless she rummages trough the pockets of her dress and takes out…
A box. Small, like a match-box but made of some dark kind of wood and covered in weird symbols. You take it, without protest from Illona thankfully enough, and try to examine it.
[Spellcraft: 12 - Failure!]
It's… uh… a box. It seems solid? An also small. And probably magic. You try to open it, but there's no seam or lock you can find.
"Its size has been changed for ease of transport," Illona informs you, "and it will only open for the correct person."
"Right," you say, looking down at this magical box. "Do you mind if I carry it? Please?"
Illona sighs. "Very well, you are probably better at avoiding pickpockets, I suppose. But I m trusting you with this, Jim," Illona's eyes pierce into you, dispelling the fog of confusion that managed to overtake your mind. Her eyes are blue and fierce. "Do not, as you would put it, screw me over."
You nod, pocketing the box, and give her a sloppy salute. "Wouldn't dream of it, boss-lady."
[Gained: Mysterious Package!]
She rolls her eyes, but the fierceness of her posture banishes. "Good. Now, where are we going?"
"Right," you turn around, "I'll guess I'll show you the Hovel."
"The name inspires confidence," Illona says, and you both giggle at it, even if it wasn't too funny.
Old Man Clark's Hovel, Ward 87, Ravnica.
12th Gong - 25th of Zuun, 10,000 ZC.
The walk back home is thankfully devoid of problems. There was a couple of thugs, bit older than you but not fully grown, who tried to give you some shit, but a flash of your still-bloody knife scared them away. The rest of the walk was spent trying to grill Illona on Old Man Clark's secret and mysterious past, but she didn't knew much.
According to what she was told, Old Man Clark used to be some big-shot researcher in one of the Guilds, she didn't know which, who did some fucky shit and ended up exiled for life. The fact he's still alive at all, she told you, is proof of how important he was.
Good info to have, for certain, and you're thankful for what she could tell you, but it's not enough. You'll have to extract answers out of the old man himself, it seems.
You march up the slight ramp, help Illona squeeze trough the opening in the wall, and finally arrive at the hovel. "Stand behind me," you tell Illona, "and let me introduce you first. The Old Man is not fond of strangers."
"Understood," Illona agrees, and you knock on the door.
"Old Man?" You call, "Are you naked, you old fossil? Put some clothes on, we have company!"
There's some muffled cursing from inside, and a couple moments later the door opens. "What the fuck you mean company, shitty brat?" Says the old man who opens it. His mangy gray hair is a mess, his beard looks dirty and his voice sounds raspy and rough.
[Sense Motive: 20+1=21 - Critical Success! Sense Motive Training now at 1/1 - Gained 1 Rank of Sense Motive!]
But this man isn't Old Man Clark. If you were asked how you knew this, you could point at a thousand different clues. His nose is not crooked enough, his ears are subtly different, his clothes are weirdly clean…
But, the most important thing? The thing that really jumped out at you? His voice, and his eyes, are wrong. Cold, distant. There's a lack of warmth, of that mixture of annoyed fondness an affection, that makes your skin almost crawl.
This is an impostor, a man wearing your grandfather's face. The question is…
What do you do?
What do you do?
[] Play along. You need to keep your cards close to your chest. Maybe the Old Man is fine, or maybe he is trapped somewhere. Play along, buy time to formulate a plan, and try to hide that you know the truth. (+Blue)
[] Run. Just, run away. This is so obviously a trap it hurts, and your instincts are screaming at you. If you stay here, you'll regret it. (+Green)
[] Fight. This monster is wearing the face of the only family you've ever known. Beat the shit out of it and demand to know where the real Old Man is. (+Red)
