RP?

I’m missing all the chaos of roleplaying :P It doesn’t have to be complicated, just a bit of fun. Anybody up for one?

Certainly! My life got too busy to keep doing it back in the day. But now I have a bit of time. What sort of story would you like to tell?

Oh, I don’t know. My character is a chaos-maker, purely for the fun of it. I was thinking of something like a heist, but I’m entirely open to suggestion.

A heist sounds lovely! Tomorrow I will return, and edit this post with a starting post. I’ll make it fairly open ended.

Wonderful! I’ll leave an open invitation for anybody else who wants to join in!

Can i join?

I too, am interested. HAving only been in the game for a few weeks now, am finding it absolutley fascinating, and a seemingly wonderful world to role-play in, if you’ll have me.

Yes, and yes to both of you! The more the merrier. We’ll wait for a bit to see if friendshipranger comes back with the intro, but I can get us started should they be (understandably) busy. Either way, expect a beginning shortly!

I’m in, to no one’s surprise. Perhaps I should play a different character, for variety?

It’s a good kind of surprise :) Knock yourself out

(Okay, I’ll start off for now :))

A downpour from the cavern roof drenched the lively square of the Bazaar. Here, under the shadow of the great spires, lay a covered market, barely more than a colourful shantytown where those too poor to afford a coveted shop front plied their wares. Statues rose above the shining black sea of umbrellas and the cramped ramshackle rooftops of the stalls.
It was here – the last place the Special Constabulary would suspect – that a rendezvous was to occur. A bandaged man wandered through the crowds, a gentle plume of smoke rising from the scar of his mouth as he searched for the right statue. He found it in the graven image of the Traitor Empress, and knocked his pipe against her stony knee. He watched the passing faces, searching for those he was supposed to meet. His other hand slid to his pocket and touched at the handle of a gun. Caution was needed. It was not every day one robbed a train.

&quotYou sure that’s him?&quot A cloaked figure turned to me and gestured indescretley to a figure by the image of the Traitor Empress.

&quotMost certainly. One of the best.&quot The Last Constable may have her connections, but she didn’t know the criminal element of our wonderful city like I did.

&quotAre you sure you want to go through with this? We could just take him now…&quot

Ah yes. About that. As of that moment, there happened to be about… 15 to 20 constables in the area, undercover. It’s not every day some the best criminals in the Neath gather to rob one of Hell’s trains.

&quotOf course not. Catching them after they pull off the greatest heist of all time? Truly a feat. And the heist itself will make for great writing. Give me a chance to meet with them. Mask is after-all, the best disguise artist this side of the city.&quot I removed a black half-mask from my long coat and placed it onto my face. &quotShowtime.&quot

((I feel like I should explain my character a bit. Erasmus Kane has two alternate… uhm… characters, that he plays against each other. One persona, Mortanis, renowned poet and inspector of the Special Constable. And Kane is a famously good disguise artist and thief. As of right now, he is trying to run a sting operation on the thieves. And pull of a fantastic heist in the process.
edited by Erazmus Kane on 6/4/2014

[quote=The Foolsman](Okay, I’ll start off for now :))

A downpour from the cavern roof drenched the lively square of the Bazaar. Here, under the shadow of the great spires, lay a covered market, barely more than a colourful shantytown where those too poor to afford a coveted shop front plied their wares. Statues rose above the shining black sea of umbrellas and the cramped ramshackle rooftops of the stalls.
It was here – the last place the Special Constabulary would suspect – that a rendezvous was to occur. A bandaged man wandered through the crowds, a gentle plume of smoke rising from the scar of his mouth as he searched for the right statue. He found it in the graven image of the Traitor Empress, and knocked his pipe against her stony knee. He watched the passing faces, searching for those he was supposed to meet. His other hand slid to his pocket and touched at the handle of a gun. Caution was needed. It was not every day one robbed a train.[/quote]

&quotSunny day, Buddy.&quot A young man who wore dark brown overcoat appeared behind him. He slowly faced the bandaged man. He seemed to be in his early twenties but it was hard to tell with his overcoat and hat in such a gloomy weather.
&quotBig Easy.&quot He stuck his hand out to the man, intending that man shake it. But his eyes seemed to look past the bandaged man.
&quotToo many people here. Too many.&quot

((So sorry folks! I do a lot of political work, and the days before an election (and exams) sort of have a habit of eating up your attention. I am free, now, though. I’ll just riff of the train thing, that sounds rad. ))

&quotBetter than not enough.&quot Moriarty said, as he melted out of the crowd. His cloak was brown, with a slight trim-it glowed dimly, a hazy Irrigo, turning the eye away. No hat- he had simply an umbrella. Well, maybe not simply an umbrella. &quotSorry I’m dreadfully late. Had a bit of a disagreement with the Widow’s men.&quot

Moriarty dimly recognized Big. A coded phrase from…somewhere, he thought. Something about waffles. Sometimes the Game was glamorous, and sometimes it was a comedy of mistranslations.

&quotSo, I hear we have mutual business interests? Something about exports from a more…southern clime?&quot

The trains were unremarkable, surprisingly. Hell responded with cruelty to theft, but in all honesty, Hydrogen and Brass were not valuable (outside bulk sales) enough for anything short of an army to break even with the cost of actually surviving such an endeavor. Trains. Not advisable for most small crews. Most.

The pits of Hell are some of the oldest places in the universe. The trains had plenty of things on them- the locals had an eerie way of finding treasures to bring home. Something-artifacts, rare and powerful souls, terrible secrets somehow captured- would be there. For people who knew how to look. He had vetted this job offer thoroughly. His contacts at the Embassy confirmed it was possible. The business going on down there was never certain. But the Embassy was preoccupied with the Convention. With the right strings pulled for security, of course.

Something told Moriarty something was special about this trip to Moloch Station.
edited by friendshipranger on 6/6/2014

“Are we all gathered?” I approached the group, avoiding eye contact with my men. Inwardly, I grinned. This was going to be fun. The heist of the century…and the arrest of the century. I casually sauntered up and leaned back against the statue. All this brittishness made everything feel so stuffy. I much preferred The States, my country of origin. Being on loan from the Pinkertons certainly did have it’s perks. But, being an American would make it harder for me to gain their trust, better start with a bang.

The twang of an American accent caught the ear of the bandaged man; it was curious how the New World had become so invested in London’s affairs. The other two were equally remarkable. On one hand, a man making an attempt to turn the eye away – it did not work on the experienced, but one who tried so hard was worth a second glance – on the other was a fellow who seemed to draw glances. An ageless little creature. He did well to hide.

‘Too many is what we wish’ he replied to the latter, ‘the roving eyes of the Masters are easily turned in crowds.’ A special constable walked by, giving nothing more than a passing glance as he jogged to keep up with a sprinting lunatic shouting nonsense about “yellow matter custard”.
‘Call me Dolos, and yes…distinctly southern. Specifically the train to Hell, which we will rob as it returns to the pits from whence it came.’
Here he drew out a small map the size of his palm, motioning for the others to come closer.

‘It stands empty in Moloch Street station, and upon arrival it unloads merely the supplies needed to continue trading with the Bazaar. In both instances, we could find nothing worth the risk. But when it departs, then it carries a great deal… souls for one, memories, secrets, and artefacts of the old cities. Even these pale in significance to what burdens the vacationing devils carry with them.
They are all stored here, between the carriages of the damned, and the first-class boxes reserved for the infernal, in four lockboxes in a tightly secured carriage. Only one door exists from the inside, and it faces the devils. A goat-demon guards the entrance. The outside, however, does not appear to enjoy such security, but there we have other concerns. The train crosses the marshes between London and Hell, and devils ride the space between, hunting for the unwary; if they see us, we are equally doomed.
Those are our tests. Our advantages: I have procured tickets for the service. We can board the train without issue. There are also avenues of escape, two to be precise: the train crosses the Stolen River twice. I do not have to tell you what would happen if arrived with at its destination with us on board.’

Dolos leaned back against the statue, and lit his pipe again, ‘So. Thoughts?’

&quotI think you’re quite bold. Foolish, but bold.&quot

A devil, which had been watching the group unseen, strolled languorously into view. &quotDon’t mind me,&quot he said, tipping his hat. &quotOnly a traveler, passing through.&quot He smiled at the group, pointed teeth turning a gesture of comfort into something more sinister. &quotAlthough–I believe you were at the stage of the plotting where you discuss flaws? I have some incredibly relevant knowledge; I believe I could be of assistance to you.&quot

“It depends,” Moriarty said, “On why. If you’re looking for a cut of souls, well, I can’t guarantee a take that will fully satisfy you. And if you’re with the Brimstone Convention…” Moriarty trailed off. People who knew that name knew the cost of meddling in the revolutions below. The others said nothing. “This isn’t my production. Let him decide what to do with you.”

Dolos let a plume of smoke rush out between his scarred lips. ‘This eavesdropping infernal, dear Moriarty, is the last member of our plot. His price is the same as our own; he shall take a cut, for his own purposes. You may thank him for the tickets’ he nodded to the devil, ‘Please, go on.’ He watched the others, careful to mark the physical shifts. There were a great many spies interested in robbery, but they all had something that betrayed them. The devil was the most the trustworthy ‘soul’ in the present company.[li]
edited by The Foolsman on 6/6/2014

Big Easy turned to see Moriarty. His curious eyes focused on the umbrella. Then he frowned when his eyes focused on his cloak.
&quotFriend, that’s awful choice of color.&quot
Then he faced Dolos again when he spoke. He listened closely and only stopped when the devil appeared.
&quotThis just gets more and more exciting! So our Buddy got his tickets from Mr Hell.&quot Big Easy chuckled. Then he looked his pocket watch.
&quotWell, everybody is here now. Time to move out.&quot
Big Easy almost started to leave by himself until he noticed the masked man.
&quotI should have brought my own mask with me like Mr Mask over here did! Should i buy one along the way? What do you think?&quot
edited by Blank on 6/6/2014