WlfSamurai
Maelstrom Engineer
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Frozen Hell (Apocalypse World 2E) - Main
- Thread starter WlfSamurai
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WlfSamurai
Maelstrom Engineer
Let's get started and play.
Chapter 1: Beginnings
First, let's do introductions.
Tell us your name, what you look like, and what your outlook on things is.
Chapter 1: Beginnings
First, let's do introductions.
Tell us your name, what you look like, and what your outlook on things is.
Teh Frixz
That lady robot
I am the mighty SARATOGA. Pit fighter, gladiator, performer, whatever you want to call it. I get told a lot that I look like someone who lost a fight with meat grinder, probably because of the scars. I lost my right ear and once got a hook through the opposite cheek. Couple toes missing on the right side but it all balances out with the half a middle finger I've lost on the left. I've been told to stop describing myself through my injuries but at this point that's the defining feature. Dark hair, not quite black though. Long arms and legs, hard body, I hope if when I get older I get some more curves. Those girls have it easier in the long run. I try not to spend too much time in my stage gear, chains and leather and black grease paint. Plus the hair for the shows takes a while to braid.
I guess that's my outlook too. I live off my shows, I make the fans happy for a bit, I live and let live, just trying to get some comfort before heading back into the arena where things are for sure, not comfortable.
I guess that's my outlook too. I live off my shows, I make the fans happy for a bit, I live and let live, just trying to get some comfort before heading back into the arena where things are for sure, not comfortable.
Ronan
debussy.
Clarke Arthur owns a 11,50€ empty candle box with medical supplies, but the box used to be something else.
The box was filled every year with wax candles for a silver menorah that used to sit in dining room of her cottage. Her father, Mr. Arthur was a devout believer of Tanakh and Torah. He would stick a candle in the spokes for each night of Hanukkah and Clarke would light them, and he would tell her stories of a city called Jerusalem- the Holy Land. She was a believer like her father, but Mrs. Arthur was not a believer. She believed in science because she was a doctor, and everyone came to the cottage asking for Mary Arthur.
It was paradoxical- Fred Arthur was a believer and sang in Hebrew to her at night, but Mary didn't. Her parents loved her but they couldn't be more different, and Mary told her that 'love comes in many shapes and forms,' and it was left at that. Love. How did Mary love Fred if she didn't believe? The Tanakh says that man is made in God's image, but Mary made a living cutting people open and breaking bones and stitching skin together. It was Sin, with a capital S.
That was the Arthur family; Fred Arthur, the believer, Mary Arthur, the sinner, and Clarke Arthur the confused, made on a social spectrum with two extremes and a middle.
But now the spectrum didn't exist any more. Fred Arthur died when she was eighteen for being a believer. The pseudo-city she lived in started seizing the religious and publicly executing them. It was an 'order from up top,' but that was the paradox, too. Mary Arthur worked 'up top' with the leader of the pseudo-city, but she didn't stop them from executing her husband. Mary sobbed and held Clarke as she kicked and screamed for them to stop, and that was it. Mary never order them to stop the execution.
He had four bullets put through his face, but Clarke knows for a fact that he was dead on the first bullet.
"Up top" said the executions were necessary to protect the people or something. She had to burn Fred Arthur's Tanakh because religion became a death sentence. She buried the silver menorah and candles six feet under the snow behind the cottage, along with the Hebrew stories she loved, too.
Six years later when Clarke is twenty-four, she works with her mother in a clinic that has holes in the walls and stains on the ceiling. The clinic is dingy, but it's the finest one around. She helps Mary with the patients as they come in- stitching, blood transfusions, broken bones, etc., and other times it's fixing up a scratch or bruise. At the clinic, Mary is what people would call an Angel, or more heretical, a malach, one who heals all. Clarke is the "nurse" of the clinic. The second-rate. The Mary 2.0.
She hates it.
Patients ask, 'oh, are you Mary's daughter?' as if she's just "The Daughter" and not Clarke Arthur, the nurse. She doesn't even look like her mom. For starters, Mary Arthur is three whole centimetres shorter than Clarke at 162cm with long brown hair and eyes. She's even skinner than Clarke, who, as Diamond put it, is a medium. A medium. Half-fat.
Jacob next door won't even look at her; he'd rather look at her mother because she's more fairer. She doesn't care.
But she also does.
She doesn't like Jacob.
But she cares.
So one evening she stands naked in front of the mirror to see what was appealing about her: blue eyes, wavy blonde hair and ... that's it. Clarke turns away from the mirror to avoid looking at the stretch marks or cellulite on her thighs. Diamond was right; Clarke Arthur was a medium with fat on her hips, a cleft chin, stretch marks, and, worst of all, her breasts- honestly, what in the world? Mary says that all Arthur women are small-breasted, but not Clarke. Clarke is anything but small-breasted. They sag and hurt when she runs. In the old world they used to have a feminine luxury called a "bra". They held your breasts up and kept them in place, and that's what Clarke needs. Order in her upper regions! But "bras" don't exist in this world. Only the clinic, the suppression of religion, and the perpetual winter do.
So Clarke Arthur, a medium nurse who wants a "bra", wants to get rid of Mary Arthur because she is everything she isn't, and because she killed Fred Arthur.
The box was filled every year with wax candles for a silver menorah that used to sit in dining room of her cottage. Her father, Mr. Arthur was a devout believer of Tanakh and Torah. He would stick a candle in the spokes for each night of Hanukkah and Clarke would light them, and he would tell her stories of a city called Jerusalem- the Holy Land. She was a believer like her father, but Mrs. Arthur was not a believer. She believed in science because she was a doctor, and everyone came to the cottage asking for Mary Arthur.
It was paradoxical- Fred Arthur was a believer and sang in Hebrew to her at night, but Mary didn't. Her parents loved her but they couldn't be more different, and Mary told her that 'love comes in many shapes and forms,' and it was left at that. Love. How did Mary love Fred if she didn't believe? The Tanakh says that man is made in God's image, but Mary made a living cutting people open and breaking bones and stitching skin together. It was Sin, with a capital S.
That was the Arthur family; Fred Arthur, the believer, Mary Arthur, the sinner, and Clarke Arthur the confused, made on a social spectrum with two extremes and a middle.
But now the spectrum didn't exist any more. Fred Arthur died when she was eighteen for being a believer. The pseudo-city she lived in started seizing the religious and publicly executing them. It was an 'order from up top,' but that was the paradox, too. Mary Arthur worked 'up top' with the leader of the pseudo-city, but she didn't stop them from executing her husband. Mary sobbed and held Clarke as she kicked and screamed for them to stop, and that was it. Mary never order them to stop the execution.
He had four bullets put through his face, but Clarke knows for a fact that he was dead on the first bullet.
"Up top" said the executions were necessary to protect the people or something. She had to burn Fred Arthur's Tanakh because religion became a death sentence. She buried the silver menorah and candles six feet under the snow behind the cottage, along with the Hebrew stories she loved, too.
Six years later when Clarke is twenty-four, she works with her mother in a clinic that has holes in the walls and stains on the ceiling. The clinic is dingy, but it's the finest one around. She helps Mary with the patients as they come in- stitching, blood transfusions, broken bones, etc., and other times it's fixing up a scratch or bruise. At the clinic, Mary is what people would call an Angel, or more heretical, a malach, one who heals all. Clarke is the "nurse" of the clinic. The second-rate. The Mary 2.0.
She hates it.
Patients ask, 'oh, are you Mary's daughter?' as if she's just "The Daughter" and not Clarke Arthur, the nurse. She doesn't even look like her mom. For starters, Mary Arthur is three whole centimetres shorter than Clarke at 162cm with long brown hair and eyes. She's even skinner than Clarke, who, as Diamond put it, is a medium. A medium. Half-fat.
Jacob next door won't even look at her; he'd rather look at her mother because she's more fairer. She doesn't care.
But she also does.
She doesn't like Jacob.
But she cares.
So one evening she stands naked in front of the mirror to see what was appealing about her: blue eyes, wavy blonde hair and ... that's it. Clarke turns away from the mirror to avoid looking at the stretch marks or cellulite on her thighs. Diamond was right; Clarke Arthur was a medium with fat on her hips, a cleft chin, stretch marks, and, worst of all, her breasts- honestly, what in the world? Mary says that all Arthur women are small-breasted, but not Clarke. Clarke is anything but small-breasted. They sag and hurt when she runs. In the old world they used to have a feminine luxury called a "bra". They held your breasts up and kept them in place, and that's what Clarke needs. Order in her upper regions! But "bras" don't exist in this world. Only the clinic, the suppression of religion, and the perpetual winter do.
So Clarke Arthur, a medium nurse who wants a "bra", wants to get rid of Mary Arthur because she is everything she isn't, and because she killed Fred Arthur.
Buckteeth
A Good Start
Colum, for all the things he'd done sticking up scavs out in the wastes, actually did have a working sense of empathy. So, looking back, he could understand how he'd gotten his first job without a rep to back him. After all, Colum was fuck-all huge, and with his weird sack mask and unforgiving, darkly colored eyes, he probably seemed like the type of guy who could butcher a family and sleep without so much as a thought about it. It was probably the first thing people assumed about him. His heavy, corroded armor and jagged slicer helped reinforce that assumption. People don't notice his darker skin, despite how rare true sunlight is. They don't notice how short his nails are, or how the tips of his fingers poking out of his gloves are cleaner than most others. So the man in the market who "could use a guy with experience" probably thought that was what he was getting. Colum took the job, because it paid more than a whole storm-cycle of stick ups if he had a lucky haul, and because everyone who kills for money has to have started somewhere, right? What better time than now? He'd killed before, so he had "experience" there. He knew he wouldn't choke up when it came down to it. So he'd agreed. He'd kill her, sure, half now, half later, no problem.
But there was indeed a problem. Since, when it came down to it, this time was different. Colum had killed, sure, but only when someone was trying to kill him, or some scavver tried to fight him instead of giving up half their scrap. It didn't help that in the second situation, Colum tried not to kill, instead choosing to scare or just beat his half out of them. It was only the real hard-boiled bastards who fought to the end that Colum killed, because screw those crazy junkers. But in his first job, there was no way she'd get out alive. No matter how much she wailed, and begged, and bargained, he'd kill her, and not a damn thing that happened before mattered unless she somehow killed him or made a better offer. Colum remembered how skinny her arms were, and how dirty her shack was. He didn't even know why the man in the market wanted her dead, and that might have saved her life. Because without a stake in the fight, Colum just couldn't do it. He couldn't find that wellspring of fire, that heart thumping push that made it hard to see details and made killing a whole lot easier. If she'd fought back, or screamed at him, or even just said nothing, Colum knows he'd have killed her. But she didn't do any of that, and Colum remembered how pathetic she seemed, and how he hesitated and then, to the surprise of both of them, ran. He remembered finding the fire on his way to tell the man in the market to shove it. He remembered the look of surprise on the fucker's face as his head hit the dirt before his body. But, for the life of him, Colum can't remember why he did it. He can't remember how he saw himself in that wretch, and was appalled at what he'd agreed to do. He can't remember how the familiar hate for how unfair it all was, for the fact that this was how the world worked, lit up again. Because if Colum remembers, he won't be able to look on himself and think, "It's dog eat dog, but at least I'm not hungry." If Colum remembers, he'll have to take a good long look, and stop himself from vomiting in his mask. So Colum won't remember, that's what it takes to survive without being stepped on, and Colum's worked too hard to compromise that. He thinks he's too invested in the very cruelty he despised, so he shuts off his mind. He's afraid of going back to that helpless, half-naked idiot in the wastes, beaten in a corner. So, even though he believes the cold ways of the world shouldn't be, Colum grows colder, and tells himself there's no other way. A grim outlook, but maybe, someday, he'll find an easier way. Or so he dreams.
But there was indeed a problem. Since, when it came down to it, this time was different. Colum had killed, sure, but only when someone was trying to kill him, or some scavver tried to fight him instead of giving up half their scrap. It didn't help that in the second situation, Colum tried not to kill, instead choosing to scare or just beat his half out of them. It was only the real hard-boiled bastards who fought to the end that Colum killed, because screw those crazy junkers. But in his first job, there was no way she'd get out alive. No matter how much she wailed, and begged, and bargained, he'd kill her, and not a damn thing that happened before mattered unless she somehow killed him or made a better offer. Colum remembered how skinny her arms were, and how dirty her shack was. He didn't even know why the man in the market wanted her dead, and that might have saved her life. Because without a stake in the fight, Colum just couldn't do it. He couldn't find that wellspring of fire, that heart thumping push that made it hard to see details and made killing a whole lot easier. If she'd fought back, or screamed at him, or even just said nothing, Colum knows he'd have killed her. But she didn't do any of that, and Colum remembered how pathetic she seemed, and how he hesitated and then, to the surprise of both of them, ran. He remembered finding the fire on his way to tell the man in the market to shove it. He remembered the look of surprise on the fucker's face as his head hit the dirt before his body. But, for the life of him, Colum can't remember why he did it. He can't remember how he saw himself in that wretch, and was appalled at what he'd agreed to do. He can't remember how the familiar hate for how unfair it all was, for the fact that this was how the world worked, lit up again. Because if Colum remembers, he won't be able to look on himself and think, "It's dog eat dog, but at least I'm not hungry." If Colum remembers, he'll have to take a good long look, and stop himself from vomiting in his mask. So Colum won't remember, that's what it takes to survive without being stepped on, and Colum's worked too hard to compromise that. He thinks he's too invested in the very cruelty he despised, so he shuts off his mind. He's afraid of going back to that helpless, half-naked idiot in the wastes, beaten in a corner. So, even though he believes the cold ways of the world shouldn't be, Colum grows colder, and tells himself there's no other way. A grim outlook, but maybe, someday, he'll find an easier way. Or so he dreams.
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Scattered Ambitions
4,000 club
Mercury is an artist. She loves to sing. She loves putting her art out in the world, and she loves making using it to people happy. But often, art alone doesn't pay. And in this world, if something doesn't pay, it really isn't worth doing. So she spends her time as a companion. Never anything intimate, she doesn't trust anyone that much, but as a source of well...companionship. Often she ends up just talking to people. Sometimes she is asked to entertain them, and she does, but most of the time she is just there. She can understand why someone might pay to simply be around someone. This is a harsh, rough world, and she is a very soft person. She listens to their plights, something humans need but not something that is easily found anymore. In another life, she probably would have been a therapist. But this is not another life. This is her’s. And right now, it is early morning and she is supposed to have left the apartment she spent the night in. But instead, since the person who hired her has not woken up, she is sneaking around, looking for things that they wouldn’t miss if they were to end up disappearing. Mercury looks for and covets the beautiful things in this world, but people aren’t and have never been one of those things, and so she doesn’t mind taking from them.
WlfSamurai
Maelstrom Engineer
Great to meet you, Saratoga, Clarke, Colum, and Mercury.
Now, let's do Hx. For those that don't know, Hx stands for history. Find the Hx section of your playbook and follow the instructions. Normally, we'd take turns, but in this case, act as if it's your turn and ask Hx questions that you want to from your sheet.
Then, find look at the other character's questions and choose which one you want to asnwer. You need to answer one question per character.
Now, let's do Hx. For those that don't know, Hx stands for history. Find the Hx section of your playbook and follow the instructions. Normally, we'd take turns, but in this case, act as if it's your turn and ask Hx questions that you want to from your sheet.
Then, find look at the other character's questions and choose which one you want to asnwer. You need to answer one question per character.
Scattered Ambitions
4,000 club
My hx:
• Which one of you is my lover?
For
Buckteeth
:
I know you choose these but I think this would fit (and you've only got one question): One of them was once kind and unafraid towards you. Ignore what they tell you and write Hx+3.
For
Teh Frixz
:
Again, I know you choose these, but I think this would work well (and you've only got one question): On a night that the crowd hated you, one of the characters pulled you out of it. Whatever number that player tells you, ignore it; write Hx+3 next to the character’s name instead.
For
Ronan
:
• One of them, you figure doomed to self-destruction. Tell that player Hx-1.
• Which one of you is my lover?
For
Buckteeth
:I know you choose these but I think this would fit (and you've only got one question): One of them was once kind and unafraid towards you. Ignore what they tell you and write Hx+3.
For
Teh Frixz
:Again, I know you choose these, but I think this would work well (and you've only got one question): On a night that the crowd hated you, one of the characters pulled you out of it. Whatever number that player tells you, ignore it; write Hx+3 next to the character’s name instead.
For
Ronan
:• One of them, you figure doomed to self-destruction. Tell that player Hx-1.
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Teh Frixz
That lady robot
Scattered Ambitions
It was a new place, new face, and the fight wasn't ace. I was going down hard and in a big way, something was just off that night and the Crowd wasn't having it. I felt fingers grip my ear, tearing it off. I felt blows dislocate my shoulder. I was ready to go down in glory, slinging chain and pain every way I could but in the end it wasn't fighting that got me out alive. It was Her, the artist. Doing something that got the crowd off me and me onto her shoulder. Mercury. I owe them and I don't like being in debt.
Now one of you thinks my fights are a barbaric waste of time, you get Hx +3
The rest of you, do you work around the Arena where I fight? Which of you does, because I add a +1 if you do, -1 if you don't
Teh Frixz
That lady robot
Mercury
I don't know what it is or why my stomach feels like someone has their hands around it and is trying to rip it out but you are a curse to me. I love you, what you stand for. The beauty of the Golden Age makes my jaw drop, I can charm crowds with feats of ultraviolence but you show off a painting and leave me a stammering fool. I hate that I love you, It makes me feel small. Hx -1
I don't know what it is or why my stomach feels like someone has their hands around it and is trying to rip it out but you are a curse to me. I love you, what you stand for. The beauty of the Golden Age makes my jaw drop, I can charm crowds with feats of ultraviolence but you show off a painting and leave me a stammering fool. I hate that I love you, It makes me feel small. Hx -1
Buckteeth
A Good Start
Scattered Ambitions
Mercury is an odd one. She doesn't make her trade in violence, like him, but she doesn't toil like the settled folk do either. She, for lack of a better word, creates things, and people pay her for it. But that wasn't what made her odd, he'd met bullet-casers and metal-shapers before. What made her odd, was that Mercury seemed to make feelings. He hadn't understood when some of the settled traders told him of her, so he'd sought her out and watched her from a ways off. It didn't take much for him to understand. Her songs, her very words seemed to illicit things he had never before encountered within himself and others. Mercury was unique, and that's why he approached her at first, to learn the why and how of it. But the way she talked to him, without a hint of fear despite how gruff he was, it made him feel strange, but a good strange. He left that first meeting more curious than when he approached, and knew he needed to learn more about this woman. So whenever he knew she was around he'd seek her, being careful not to disturb her while she worked. He didn't even realize it when he started letting his guard down around her, no longer assessing her as a possible threat or mark for raiding. He had no reason to be hard with her. He could even allow himself to be soft. He visits her often, one of the few in Colum's life he's ever trusted enough to consider a friend. (Hx +2)
Teh Frixz
Colum does not frequent the arena. He sees enough violence out in the wastes where he works anyway, far away from any place suited to such twisted sport. (Hx -1)
- Which one of you once helped me do something terrible?
For that character, write Hx+3. - Which one of you do I think is pretty? For that character, write Hx+1.
Teh Frixz
That lady robot
Buckteeth
Terrible things cost terrible prices and while many in the Apocalypse world would try there are few that can cash in on that price. Saratoga is one of those few. A bandit camp needed removal, like snipping away a skin tag but Saratoga went in with a power saw instead of scalpel. The camp wasn't just bandits but it didn't matter. By the time Colum found out, those that weren't dead were sold off into slave trades personally killed by Saratoga in her arena. More blood for the crowd to ooh and ahh at. That's what the Apocalypse world calls a win-win-win situation. HX +3
Ronan
debussy.
My HX:
- Which one of you do I figure is doomed to self-destruction? For that character, write HX-2. // For
Scattered Ambitions
- Which one of you put a hand in when it mattered, and helped me save a life? For that character, write HX+2. // For
Teh Frixz
- Which one of you has been beside me all along, and has seen everything I've seen? For that character, write HX+3. // For
Buckteeth
I will edit this shortly!! I just wanted to get the HX out before I insert the character stories or w/e. Hope this is OK!
WlfSamurai
Maelstrom Engineer
Okay, everyone should have their Hx set. We'll do lifestyle and highlights in a minute.
The world is fucked. I mean, royally. Like, some shit went down—really no one remembers what—and then this winter set in everywhere that has been going on since. And it's fucking angry. I mean, winter yes, for sure. But also the Maelstrom. It's always there. Right at the edge of your brain. It's all related somehow.
And so, amid this shit, you and yours are eking out this shitty existence. All the while scarcity grows.
You're all in this pocket of what once was. This settlement—if you can call it that—is made of the tippy-tops of old buildings sticking out of the snow. I'm talking a few floors that are actually used to live. That leaves everything below the snow-line. The Depths, they're called. People don't go down there. Not ones that come back.
This place has been named York Town. Probably because of some torn-up sign that was found at one point. Matilda runs it. She's the Holder. And man, she's a piece of fucking work. We'll get to that.
For now, know that we have the Arena where Saratoga fights, we have the O'Ven's Swinehaus where Mercury usually works her craft, and we've got Clarke's infirmary.
Each of you tell me something interesting about the world. Tell us of a different place or someone else who we should know about.
Teh Frixz
,
Scattered Ambitions
,
Ronan
,
Buckteeth
,
ThaDruid
The world is fucked. I mean, royally. Like, some shit went down—really no one remembers what—and then this winter set in everywhere that has been going on since. And it's fucking angry. I mean, winter yes, for sure. But also the Maelstrom. It's always there. Right at the edge of your brain. It's all related somehow.
And so, amid this shit, you and yours are eking out this shitty existence. All the while scarcity grows.
You're all in this pocket of what once was. This settlement—if you can call it that—is made of the tippy-tops of old buildings sticking out of the snow. I'm talking a few floors that are actually used to live. That leaves everything below the snow-line. The Depths, they're called. People don't go down there. Not ones that come back.
This place has been named York Town. Probably because of some torn-up sign that was found at one point. Matilda runs it. She's the Holder. And man, she's a piece of fucking work. We'll get to that.
For now, know that we have the Arena where Saratoga fights, we have the O'Ven's Swinehaus where Mercury usually works her craft, and we've got Clarke's infirmary.
Each of you tell me something interesting about the world. Tell us of a different place or someone else who we should know about.
Teh Frixz
,
Scattered Ambitions
,
Ronan
,
Buckteeth
,
ThaDruid
Teh Frixz
That lady robot
I hate York Town. I hate the snow and yet it seems all the money from the KNOXMEN has decided to come up this way.
KNOXMEN is the largest trade group on this coast. Big and powerful, they have a fortress town down south and from there all sorts of things flow.
Up here in York Town the local KNOXMEN Hall is half dilapidated but in the process of getting rebuilt. TRADER LUKE has his men and is putting in an investment after getting courted by that fuck head MATILDA.
She cost me nearly an arm to setup an arena. Found a fancy place, warm enough to fight in skins and a place to live above it. Nothing crazy fancy ‘cept the look of it. Old World beauty built into the rotting building that I Infest.
KNOXMEN is the largest trade group on this coast. Big and powerful, they have a fortress town down south and from there all sorts of things flow.
Up here in York Town the local KNOXMEN Hall is half dilapidated but in the process of getting rebuilt. TRADER LUKE has his men and is putting in an investment after getting courted by that fuck head MATILDA.
She cost me nearly an arm to setup an arena. Found a fancy place, warm enough to fight in skins and a place to live above it. Nothing crazy fancy ‘cept the look of it. Old World beauty built into the rotting building that I Infest.
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