"Gill and Kane, stay here and keep watch. Alert us if anybody sails near the wreckage. The rest of you, with me."
“Yessir, boss!”
Two men split off from the group and stand guard by the gaping hole that had allowed you all an entrance. It was a miracle the remains of the ship were afloat at all, nearly half of it shorn off by Sea Devil knows what. You count yourself lucky you weren't a part of the battle and count yourself even luckier that you and the rest of the bandits got here first.
Somehow, you doubt even your imagination can conceive the type of loot a ship from the fleet of an Emperor of the Sea might contain.
You proceed down the hallway, avoiding the gouges in the flooring and the dagger-sharp planks sticking out of the walls. The primary instinct that strikes you is to hover at the back of the pack, but there seems to be constant jockeying for position over there - no good bandit welcomes a backstabbing - so you stay where you are and keep your eyes and ears open. This wasn't your first job with these guys, but that was no invitation to let your guard down.
The boss kicks down a door and steps inside a room up ahead. With furtive looks at each other, the rest of you follow suit and funnel in. Scattered gasps and murmurs fill the silence of the chamber.
The chamber was chock-full of glittering, glorious treasure chests.
"Boys... we hit the JACKPOT!" The boss of the bandits nearly stumbles; such is his excitement in approaching the nearest chest. The rings on his hand clink together as he reaches for the clasp that separates riches from the ragged. One more step...
But of course, could it have ever been so simple?
"Boss!" the shout travels from the front of the wreck, faint, but not faint enough that you fail to discern the panic in his voice. "There's a pirate cre━!"
A crack of thunder swallows his final words. A body slumps to the ground on your left.
<span class="mu-i">Huh?</span>
It feels like time grounds to a halt for a precious few seconds, as your eyes trail from the corpse, to the hole where the bullet entered the room, to then finally land on the hole it left exiting. One bullet. Had you been a mere three steps to the left, that would’ve been your end.
All of you hit the deck. You wait a beat, but no further shots ring out. You peer over at the boss and notice that he’s still eyeing the chests, that familiar glint of greed in his eyes warring with fear and uncertainty.
What do you plan to do? >You’ll follow the boss’s orders; your best bet for staying alive is to stick with the others.
>You’ll betray the boss and the rest of the bandits at the first opportunity; you want all the treasure for yourself, and maybe you can use this chaos to your advantage.
>You’ll cut and run the moment you find a way; you don’t want to end up dead, even if treasure beckons.
>You’ll be arresting all of them; because you’re a Marine in disguise, conducting a sting operation.
You see his face. Sharp razor slit eyes etched onto a hulking creature’s giant head, which would give children across the galaxy vivid nightmares, stare into your soul. It produces no feeling of horror or fear, nor any other natural response, because you know him. Those eyes that are locked onto yours are dulled, empty, lifeless. The vacant glare causes your heart to wither in your chest. It was you, you did this, you killed your closest friend. A man who has saved your life, and you killed him. Now his face is slack, muscles relaxed, and his eyes are barren; all that vigour and life that he carried around with him is forever gone, never to return.
It was your choice to kill him. Sith Lord Yvalok presented the options to you. During your months on Lao training as a Sith Acolyte you, Vulfstahn a child of the extinct Sith people, have shown a wild potency with the Force which is unequalled by your supposed peers. This rare talent caught Yvalok’s eyes and has him captivated with your development, wanting nothing more than to see you flourish. The ancient human decided to gift you hate through a choice: slay Urr’tal in a duel or watch as Yira gets gangraped. You gave the withered husk of a Human your answer. With a slash of your sword, you betrayed Urr’tal, ending all the myriad great possibilities he could have achieved in his prodigious lifespan.
The Sith Lord that would be nothing but a frail old man if not for his mastery of the dark side of the Force stands above you as thick red ichor spews from the Whiphid’s severed neck. Forced onto the hard durasteel floor by a burst of lightning, you are enveloped by the growing pool of your friend’s blood. His decapitated head rests in front of you, not able to steal your eyes away from the lifeless face as his matted fur stains from his bleeding. Yvalok monologues and lectures, but you can’t hear him. The unblinking eyes have stolen your world.
You are a <span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-b">Wizard</span></span> and it is high time that you build a tower.
What do you mean you look like a witch? Silver hair? Black clothes? Skull motifs? The spooky gothic ruby choker that your old party's paladin never snapped with his ever-victorious pure-white Holy Sword because he was a thick-headed himbo who didn't know how to read the fucking mood and <span class="mu-i">accept your many invitations into your atelier</span>? No that's just your preferred aesthetic. Your tender taught you that human men - especially handsome paladins - wanted big tiddy goth mommies, and as an elf you can do two of those three things.
Your tits? Biggest in your decantation batch. Your aesthetic? Humans consider it goth, <span class="mu-i">especially</span> since your specialized school of study is necromancy. Your ability to bear children and become a "mommy"? Well, you don't have a womb, but nothing's stopping you from growing a child in your atelier with some blood from you and your husband.
<span class="mu-i">If you had one</span>.
You don't. This is a problem. No one wants to marry an elf after her two hundred and fiftieth birthday. Twelve adventuring parties came and went throughout your career as a wizard, and every fucking time the Paladin or Warrior's childhood friend - usually a priestess who stood in the back row, squealed in terror, and cast heal cure spells - won before you could even shoot your shot. So now you're three hundred years old (and have been so for over two centuries), exhausted, single, a virgin who has never even seen a man's sword outside of paintings.
Not for lack of trying. Sun above and moon below you tried. You even went as far as to strip naked and walk into a camp of savage orcs rumored to take human women for their vile pleasures... only for their warchief to throw his cloak over you, take you aside, and explain quite clearly that orcs don't work like that. All male orcs may be, just as elves are always female, their reproduction is tied to battle and so most aren't keen on using their clubs like that.
The "breeding pits" you read about in the Central Library were the perfidious lies of the Holy Church.
How dare they give you <span class="mu-i">hope</span>.
You'll extract your revenge against them and all their wretched, man-stealing priestesses later. Right now, you're making a <span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-r">Tower</span></span> to get your mind off of your perennial loneliness and elfin desire to take a human male who vaguely resembles <span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-b">The Creator</span></span> to husband. Not a great spindling thing that pierces the space between dream and truth and anchors the real like the Elfhomes, just an ordinary wizard's tower, insofar as any wizard tower can be ordinary.
Where shall you build it? >In the desert, near to the elfhome of those harem building thots. >In the city, where it might catch some handsome stranger's eye. >In the mountains, where you can bicker with the dwarves. >In the islands, where you can shamelessly flaunt yourself. >In the plains, where many sturdy farmhands can be found. >Write in
Nine years ago King Aiden Perenolde betrayed the Alliance and sided with the Horde of Orgrim Doomhammer. Nine years ago Prince Alric Perenolde, the second heir of Alterac was sent into exile for his own protection. This exile turned permanent and Captain Normand Garside, your guardian for the past nine years made sure that you were safe and learned the useful skills that would help you in the future.
Now you are ready to carry the responsibility and unite the scattered Alteraci people and reclaim the lands that were once the Kingdom of Alterac.
Politely saying everything had gone to shit. King Varian in his melancholy and delusion had arrested Prince Alric for what he saw in Alric's part in Lady Katrana Prestor's attempt to wrestle the control of the Kingdom of Stormwind to herself. In reality Alric had been the voice of reason and tried to negotiate a peaceful solution to all this.
What had followed was a swift counter-coup and Malevus found herself being chased by a bunch of thugs wearing the King's tabards. Danger, intrigue and diplomacy filled her days as she was steadfast in her mission to rescue Alric.
And now she is on her way to the Stormwind Keep, into the Lion's Den to rescue the man she loves so much.
Welcome to CBF, a game set in the cyberpunk future of Charleston, SC, using the horror/urban fantasy world of Changeling: The Lost (and most of the rest of World of Darkness) as it's larger backdrop.
You will be a <span class="mu-g">Changeling</span>, someone that was taken by the <span class="mu-r">True Fae</span> to an alien realm, <span class="mu-r">Arcadia</span>, across the hedge between reality and dreams. They left a <span class="mu-g">Fetch</span> behind in your place, a simulacrum that took your place among your friends and family, making your disappearance unnoticeable. While in captivity, you were traumatized, and forcibly transformed into a creature, or perhaps a decoration, or tool. You've since escaped, back to the real world, back to Charleston, SC, now, in the year 2198.
You command certain supernatural abilities by making contracts and pacts with the forces of nature and reality, and can also make magically binding bargains with other Changelings and mortals. To non-fae creatures, you are by all appearances a human, maybe quite similar to your original self, but possibly older, younger, scarred, or with certain traits having since been altered - time passes in strange ways within <span class="mu-r">Arcadia</span>, and the marks left by the <span class="mu-r">True Fae</span> vary in their subtlety. Other Changelings, fae creatures, and certain other supernatural beings, however, can see past the <span class="mu-g">Mask</span> of concealing faerie magic, and view your true self - be that a musclebound troll, or an automaton cobbled together from wax and copper in your own former image.
Megacorporations and stranger monsters than yourself pull the strings of society in these neon nights, and you will struggle with maintaining your humanity, and sanity, while navigating the maddening world of the fae, and the soul-crushing dystopia that's been produced by generations of greedy, sociopathic humans. You escaped from the creature that abducted you some ten years ago, and have survived in that time by honing your skills and picking your battles.
>Fed job takes you to a fairy tale. >There is a robot in the fairy tale. >Get cursed with a ghost. >Met some of your co-workers. >Broke ghost curse, sort of. >Fed job takes you to fairy lands to find a missing person. >Now, it's time to split up, team!
You remember primary school: running past metal doors and out into the recess playground, the teachers would always say "don't play rough." But inevitably someone would cross the line, and pushes and kicks and punches would be thrown over a crude joke or a prank, or for any one of a million stupid reasons.
You were never one of the offenders. But you do remember a close friends being a frequent troublemaker and an almost semi-permanent fixture inside the principal's office; on returning he would parody the principal's lecture in a faux serious voice—”propriety this, behavior that,” and other such things that kids liked to make fun of.
But at the end of whatever day he'd decided to make trouble, you would always spot him sitting on a chair inside a bereft classroom, looking downcast. Then you'd see his mother and the homeroom teacher deep in conversation, walking down the hallway and entering the room, closing the door behind them.
The following day he'd always return muted and solemn, and no roughhousing would occur for several days. You'd learn many years later that at dinner, when his father would ask "How was everyone's day," his mother would report on her son's mischief. Sometimes his father would wait until after dinner to bring out his belt. Other times, right there and then, he would administer his displeasure.
It befuddled you. Education at the point of the sword—a paradox if ever you saw one. But it wasn't something you ever personally experienced growing up, getting "disciplined" in that manner.
Your father…
>wasn’t around much >wasn't around at all >wasn’t prone to violence
<span class="mu-b">ANTON PEAS:</span> that’s your name, don’t wear it out! Originally a mild-mannered grilljockey, a botched demonic summoning brought you to <span class="mu-b">ZORAL:</span> a fantasy world shrouded in perpetual darkness!
You get used to it!
The memory loss and everyone trying to kill you? That’s the tricky part. See, your unexpected trip landed you in one Hell of a mess: not only did you lose a huge chunk of your memories, but you also forfeit your soul to <span class="mu-r">RED</span>--you don’t know the specifics, but essentially your summoning granted you some <span class="mu-r">DEMONIC POWERS</span>, so it’s not all bad!
What <span class="mu-i">IS</span> bad is what you’re up to now: your hellish helper can restore your memories, but he won’t do it for free! The price: delivering the heads of <span class="mu-r">THE FOUR LORDS OF ZORAL:</span> tyrants and titans that rule the darklands with iron fists, claws, and… you dunno, tentacles, maybe? There’s a reason they’ve ruled for so long, however, and despite your platoon of pals and plentiful powers you can’t help but feel a little apprehensive about the whole thing!
Exhibit A: <span class="mu-r">ARCHMAGE TRIER.</span> Arriving in <span class="mu-b">UMBERAL:</span> Zoral’s very own city of tomorrow, you were swiftly introduced to the <span class="mu-r">TEKSOULS:</span> menacing magitek that follow every whim Trier can think up… and you met the guy–he thinks a <span class="mu-i">LOT!</span>
Not to be outdone, you also ran into <span class="mu-r">THE SPICE CARTEL</span>--not only is Umberal their home turf, they’re also running some kind of deal with the Archmage… as for what it is, well, you shudder to think!
Your search for leverage over the Archmage took you to <span class="mu-b">TRIMBAULT ACADEMY:</span> Zoral’s most prestigious magical academy, and whole you managed to snag some goodies and teach a surprisingly-decent class (don’t ask), you didn’t manage to find notes other mages took on their Archmage adversary! Even worse, all signs point to The Cartel snatching them up for their own perfidious plots!
Luckily you had an in: <span class="mu-b">TZAH-TZIE</span>, skilled songstress and your current beau, has an axe to grind with her musical rival <span class="mu-b">LUTZA</span>. Having saved the starlet from a kidnapping on the Umberal Skyrail, you earned your way into holding a concert in Umberal, and some of the biggest names in The Cartel just happen to be huge fans!
You were just about to plot out the details at the glitzy <span class="mu-b">CRYSTALMELT HOT SPRINGS LODGE</span> when you ran smack-dab into The Cartel’s higher-ups… and the big cheese himself, <span class="mu-r">VHALE NESSURMOS</span>.
Did we mention he’s also your girlfriend’s husband? And that she freezes up like a clam on Pluto at the mere mention of his name?
Cornered by the Cartel, THIS is where your tale continues…
You are Marnie, a girl living in the Ark known as the Digital World. For all your life, you've endured a dreary existence in City 87-O, haplessly railing against a skin-deep system that denies you all but the most meaningless human experiences. You've spent years beholding the shining tower in the center of the city, and watched its guardian Digimon circle it endlessly, protecting the portal that leads out of this sunless landscape. Throughout your youth, you never thought you'd actually be able to make your dream a reality. But things have begun to change over the past few months.
A chance meeting with a Digimon has plunged you into a hidden world of wonders, filled with wild Digimon, enigmatic Code Crackers, mysterious server partitions that reveal the City's inner workings to you, and underground organizations seeking to bring change to this world. Amidst this danger is the authenticity you've so dearly craved, and you've never been happier.
Right now, you're in the middle of a mission to take down your Digimon Nemesis. You and your partner, Phascomon, have broken into the lair of DarkTyrannomon, who has taken over an entire Job District. You've made it past his lieutenants and minions and are mere steps away from facing down your foe one last time and putting an end to his danger.
Once that's done, you plan to climb The Tower, defeat its guardian, and finally claim your freedom. The real world awaits.
