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Blades in the Dark / Re: Dramatis Personae
« Last post by The Dan on March 20, 2017, 07:59:11 PM »
Extortionist, and business partner of Breaker.
Lucky enough to have graduated from leg-breaking to running a small crew of leg-breakers.
Sour-faced, practical, businesslike; not impressed by pretty much anybody or anything.
Doesn't like Mercy.... or most of the Drop Outs.
Lately 'manager' of Clearwater Dock and security at the Orchid.

Blades in the Dark / Re: Ruffians, Rebels, and Rogues (Other Gangs)
« Last post by The Dan on March 20, 2017, 07:36:33 PM »
A new and ambitious cult, freshly arrived from Tycheros. They practice a strange philosophy revolves around unleashing harnessed madness from beneath a veneer of sanity.
Turf: Demon's Cross (Charhollow), and expanding northwards towards Crows Foot
NPCs: The Thing in the Suit (leader, mysterious, unnatural, immobile); Master Phang (obese, jovial, monstrous), Master Skin (pale, horned, sinister spectacles), Little Sin (doll, hull, hideous), Slit (leatherclad cutter, lips stitched closed)
Notable Assets: A dire opiate den, an expendable cohort of desperate and insane thugs and addicts with nothing to lose
Quirks: They buy essential alchemical supplies and exotic drugs from the Drop Outs
Allies: Forgotten Gods, Circle of Flame
Enemies: Spirit Wardens, Cult of the Ecstacy of the Flesh, Inspectors
Rumours: The Scream are expanding rapidly, and seem to have their heart set on hurting the cult of the Whispered Lady - targeting a number of their flophouses and soup kitchens.
Blades in the Dark / Re: Word on the Street
« Last post by The Dan on March 20, 2017, 07:21:06 PM »
Nyryx: Hey hun, I hear the Janglers are pissed at you. Something about you wasting their time? They're pretty well connected in Silkshore, once you get away from Menu Street and south into the Riddlers Corner. I hear they got hit hard by the Bluecoats last night, so I doubt they have the time and energy to cause you any bother. Could be worse, I suppose - could be the Red Beggars unhappy with you - they're serious trouble.
Blades in the Dark / Re: Word on the Street
« Last post by The Dan on March 14, 2017, 12:37:21 PM »
Marlo - Looks like da new barckle is 'tween Drops and Snuffers, no love lost dere, over the big man's going, savvy? Word is Baszo's daughter took Gnurlnap and struck some deal with the Billhooks to hit the feet who run their top shelf snort. Not bad.

Adric Smiles - yeah but she smells like week-old piss.

Nyryx - Velvet and her sisters were back in the Bones last night, saying its too long since they enjoyed Frankie's companies. I said I'd not seen him, they... didn't like that. Told 'em I'd tell you.

Salia - Clearwater is back in the Drop Out hands, and so are most of their Nightmarket customers. Can't believe someone finally gave old Gnurlnap a second smile... or a first one, for that matter. He went out like the cantankerous old fox he is, at least. Still, uncertain times in the Drop - the Urn-bearer's been on Clearwater for as long ass anyone can remember, through wars and hauntings, famine, plague and devils know what other trouble - weird he has gone.

Well, at least the Wardens got 'im, so he wont be back.

Blades in the Dark / Re: Ruffians, Rebels, and Rogues
« Last post by The Dan on March 14, 2017, 12:26:12 PM »
A bloody gang of thugs and killers who dismember their enemies and strut the docks armed with hatchets, meat hooks, and pole arms

Turf: The Butcher's Block tavern, all the alleys between Red Hook, Sanguine Street and the Dangling Market
NPCs: Tarvul (leader, serving life in prison, savage, arrogant, family man). Erin (captain, Tarvul’s sister, confident, deadly, ambitious). Coran (thug, Tarvul’s son, fierce, loyal, quiet).
Notable Assets: A large gang of bloodthirsty butchers. A pack of death-dogs.
Quirks: It's said they chop up victims and turn them into cuts of meat for resale
Allies: The Bluecoats, Ministry of Preservation, Snuffers, Drop Outs
Enemies: Ulf Ironborn, The Lost, Citizenry of Crow's Foot and the Docks
Rumours: The Billhooks have a bloody reputation, often leaving the butchered corpses of their victims strewn about in a grisly display. Many wonder why the Bluecoats turn a blind eye to their savagery. Allegedly they can murder people without the deathseeker crows finding the body too. Since Tarvul went to prison, they have been terrorising various magistrates to try and get him and their men released from ironhook.
Blades in the Dark / Re: Dramatis Personae
« Last post by The Dan on March 14, 2017, 12:15:34 PM »

Alice Baz - a tough, tattooed girl running a fearsome band of killers and leg-breakers, keen to carry on the conflict against the Red Sashes, in Bazso Baz's name.

Barlang Rift - her chief lieutenant a lampblack cutter and explosives expert, horribly disfigured. and apparently in love with her.

Pickett - pale and dead-eyed, a haunted young woman and former imperial scout and deadlands scavenger.

Blades in the Dark / The Drop Out Problem List
« Last post by The Dan on March 14, 2017, 11:43:02 AM »
The current list of 'problems' afflicting the Drop Outs, in no particular order.

Lyssa and Mylera Klev – they are both about to claim the title Ward Boss and demand you (and everyone else) pay up the chain to them. Also: You have been visited by Lyssa’s new enforcer Rooster, and “encouraged” to join them now and get a good deal.

Baszo Baz – Thank goodness he is dead and gone.

Billhooks Business – You have sided with Erin over Coran (Alice Baz is allied with Coran). You have given up your suppliers to the Hooks (Erin controls a third, Coran two-thirds); in exchange they protect your supply line. There’s still strife inside the gang, while former boss Tarvul and his men are in Ironhook.

Dissident Debts – you owe both the Janglers (Anya) and the Red Beggars (Natasha Nogoodnik).

Ghost Dog – Toku is now getting possessed by a ghost dog

Gloved Hands – a band of thieves with a professional reputation, enemies of your new 'friends' the Foghounds. A problem?

Ironhook – Breaker is now inside, smoothing things over with Sgt. Lachlan and the Bluecoats. He has a big name inside, but it’s still dangerous

Lampblack Supply Caches – there are there left, but they are all on other people’s turf. Goldie says the next one is

Rail Jacks – Weaver and Vond are back in Crows foot, looking for whoever robbed them and killed their teammate, Callista.

The Orchid - is now up and running. This has brought you to the attention of the Whoresons, a Sillkshore gang.

Snuffers – they hate you. They also hate Adric and the Blackouts. There’s a good chance that if the peace between them breaks down, so does the one with the Red Sashes…. And Mylera will likely hold you responsible.

Whispered Scream – they are expanding, getting near your turf – but are also your customers. Is this a problem?
General Wargaming / Re: A Tilean Campaign (Warhammer Fantasy Battle)
« Last post by damo_b on March 05, 2017, 06:41:05 PM »
great work as always.
just looking forward to what happens next.
Might even get some miniatures painted.
General Wargaming / Re: A Tilean Campaign (Warhammer Fantasy Battle)
« Last post by padre on March 05, 2017, 11:18:24 AM »
Media Vita in Morte Sumus
(In the midst of Death we are in Life)

Biagino grinned as he scrutinised the two prisoners before him, an expression of joy somewhat marred by the sharp fangs revealed in doing so, and the malignant gleam of his narrowed eyes.

They were the only two living people within a mile, yet this did not mean the graveyard was otherwise quiet, what with the fluttering of Biagino’s robes in the breeze and the clinking clatter of bone meeting iron armour – the undead were unquiet. 

“I have to say, this is a most pleasant surprise,” Biagino declared, his voice a croaking whisper, yet audible nevertheless. “You are exactly what I was hoping for. More than that,” he added, his dry hiss transforming into something more akin to a growl, “I like you. It will be a pleasure to have your service for a long, long time.”

The men before him were a disparate pair. Both exhibited deep fear, but each in their own, particular way. One, a dedicant of the Disciplinati di Morr, stood in desperate, rigid defiance, determined to die on his feet and so conjure the illusion of courage to the end. Open mouthed, he gulped at the air, like one who had only moments before been drowning. Both his robes and flesh were torn and bloodied, the delicious sight and scent of which stirred up with the smell of his hot, exhaled breath to arouse the ancient hunger in Biagino.

The other was a lesser priest. He knelt, his tonsured head bowed, wringing his hands tightly together as he stumbled over a prayer, his strained voice nothing more than a suppressed whine. A mortal man would have struggled to discern the words, but Biagino had the acute senses possessed by most vampires and could hear every syllable. Not that he needed to, for he knew the prayer intimately, having spoken if often enough when alive. It was a prayer for protection against evil.

“Júdica Morre nocéntes me,” the priest intoned, forcing the words – along with spittle and blood - through clenched teeth, “expúgna impugnántes me … me … Confundántur et revereántur quaeréntes ánimam meam.”

Biagino was surprised to feel the prayer’s potency working upon him. There was a sting to the words, a sharpness, as if their very sound was barbed, and the intent they carried scratched against some weakness hidden deep within him. Rather than recoil at the sensation, however, he gave himself up to it, like someone lowering themselves into bath waters a little too hot for comfort, and so turned the feeble curse into a source of stimulation. Quite contrary to its purpose, he was enlivened by it, pricked into an even more present awareness than his ordinary state of being.

“Your faith is palpable,” he said. “I am impressed by the power of it. Such spirit, such strength. I want you to keep these things, only I would have them serve the great Nagash and not your pathetic, sleeping excuse for a god. Morr is not worthy of such passion. It is wasted upon him. I will put your fervour to much better use.”

Biagino turned his attention to the two robed and hooded thralls standing behind the prisoners. They were the first of his newly made clergy, La Fraternita di Morti Irrequieti. They too were vampires, but begotten in such a way that they were wholly beholden to his will. Their service was so complete that their very thoughts consisted almost entirely of echoes of his own; their minds were almost solely concerned with serving him, with just enough of their own, personal cruelty to revel in their deeds.

It took only the tiniest of nods to convey his command, and the two thralls began chanting.

“Anima Nagashi, sanctifica me. Corpus Nagashi, salve me. Sanguis Nagashi, inebria me.”

“Yes, we are blessed by him,” said Biagino, and for a moment was tempted to join them in the chant. Instead he looked down at the Morrite priest, who was rocking gently as he continued his own prayer. Biagino chose instead to listen to the priest’s words, having completely forgotten that when alive the confused jumble of sound – rasping breaths, chanting thralls and mumbling priest – would have left him struggling to comprehend any individual part. Now no effort was needed, especially as the words were laced with delicate shards which prickled at his mind.

“Avertántur retrórsum … et  ... et … confundántur, co … cogitántes míhi mála.”

“I am not going to wrong thee,” complained Biagino, “but rather make thee right in the eyes of a true god. And I am afraid it is too late to overthrow us, for your battle was fought and lost.” He chuckled. “I am surprised you did not notice. It didn’t escape my notice, as you can see. Why don’t you turn your thoughts to what is to happen now? It is foolishness to dwell on that which has passed, that which cannot be changed. You would do well to accept that which is happening now, and to embrace that which is to come.”

The priest whimpered pathetically …

… then recommenced his weakening attempt at prayer, “Fíant táamquam pul … táamquam púlvis ante fáciem vénti …. et  … et Daemonus Morre coárctans eos.”

“Tut tut, good priest. You can see that I am not dust, and you know your prayer cannot make me so. As for the languid demons who serve your god, they are no more able to wake than he. Your prayer is wasted, your power is waned, your god is wanting.”

Biagino brought his staff down to point at the priest, mere inches from his bald pate. “Enough,” he hissed, for the first time allowing anger to brace his words. The priest fell silent, his hands suddenly limp, his shoulders sagging. Biagino had wrapped him in his own curse, unspoken as it was but much more powerful than anything the priest had conjured.

“Forget all the prayers you have learned. They are ash. Forget all whom you loved. They are lost. Forget all whom you knew. They are doomed. You are to be remade, your flesh refashioned to serve us despite its worldly corruption, and your mind will no more be your own. Oh, and you must learn some new prayers.”

The thralls’ chanting, delivered as if one voice, grew louder. “Aqua lateris Nagashi, lava me. Nagashi, conforta me. O Nagashi, exaudi me.”

“Listen, learn and know. He will wash the flesh from you, and give you strength like you have never known. And your prayers will allow almighty Nagash to drink deep of your soul.”

Biagino smiled, his eyelids part closing as malevolent satisfaction coursed through him. Then he turned his attention to the dedicant. This one would be easier, for not only was the man of a more malleable nature, his raw anger and fear already almost perfectly formed, but he had already made the mistake of looking into Biagino’s eyes. As soon as he did so, Biagino refused to let go, and within moments the man was so entranced that he lost the power to blink, or do anything else for that matter.   

Now Biagino joined the thralls’ droning intonation. “Intra tua vulnera absconde me. Ne permittas me separari a te. In hora mortis meae voca me, et custodierit me in aeternum, ut cum servos tuis laudem te in saecula saeculorum.”

There was a moment’s silence. Then Biagino said, “Now, let us all pray together.”

The prayer was repeated, once, twice, thrice. By the fourth repetition both priest and dedicant also intoned. Biagino himself fell quiet, to watch and listen for a little while. When the prayer came to an end, there was silence.

Then Biagino made the tiniest of gestures with his forefinger. Quicker than any mortal man could manage, the thralls lurched suddenly forwards, arms outstretched, as if they might embrace the two prisoners as old friends.

Needless to say, that was not their intent.
Student Nationals / Re: Nationals Hotel
« Last post by BioSpark on February 28, 2017, 04:29:32 PM »
Thanks for sorting this.
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