Scion: The End of Times(recruiting)

Midboss

Midboss

Two Thousand Club
Officialy announcing recruitment for a scion game of my own composition. My plans for it are big, hoping a campaign that starts as a hero and ends up in God. So therefore, I am looking for dedicated players. The sort who post often, stay through the times. The sort to whom social life is something that happens to other people.


Synopsis: As discussed in the previous thread, this game is going to take place in my own verse for scion. It's doesn't have any contradiction with the backstory of the game, but the human side is the equation is explored more in detail. Titanspawn, mythical creatures, gods will only be some of the important characters the scions will meet. Demon hunter mercenaries, goverment paranormal shadow ops, curious FBI agents, scooby gangs, conspiracies... these will also take an important place in the story.


Inspirations include F.E.A.R., Doctor Who (and Torchwood), Buffy, Prototype, Delta Green, Hunter: The Vigil, Shin Megami Tensei games....


As for the story (well the start anyway):


Something strange is happening in Paris. People go missing in the night. First, it was bums and other people rarely missed by society but soon others dissapear, people of all social classes and origin. The strands of Fate surronding this business are thick and confusing, causing a great deal of worry in the Pantheons. Therefore they have agreed on cooperating, sending a group of their scions to look things up.


chargen rules:


Starting scion character. Any pantheon in the books (outside of WWII ones). Custom gods or pantheon on a case by case basis. Story will include a mix of action, social situations and investigating so a diverse in ability group is recomended.
 
Seriously considering a Scion of the Tuatha. Trickster-poet; Look at me. Now look at your employer. Now back to me. Sadly, he isn't me, but he could be if you put down your weapons and seriously reconsider your loyalties.


Alternatively, Chaka & I brewed up a Great Old Pantheon a year or two back - Scion of Nyarlethotep, anyone?
 
Well I have two Scions I've been dying to play for a while.


I have an ass kicking biker cold bitch scion of the Morrigan who has an unfortunate supernaturally imposed need to play the hero and a beleagured cop who has the misfortune of finding out that her dad happens to be the Loa god of criminals.


I'd love to play either one, depending on what fits with your game better and with the spread of other characters.
 
Belen Mikos


Scion of Iris


"Yeah, you might have heard of me. I'm kind of a big deal."

Raised by a single father in an impoverished inner-city New York neighbourhood, Belen Mikos grew up fast. Always smaller than the other boys, he learned to run fast and climb faster. Eventually, his father got him boxing lessons, but by the time he started them Belen was already running and climbing not because his life depended on it (no-one could catch him anyway), but because he felt at his happiest fifteen feet above the sidewalk bouncing from fire escape to fire escape. He enjoyed boxing and got good at it, but his first love was always movement, be it running or swimming. Like it was in the blood.


Which, of course, it was.


By his late teens Mikos was a talented traceur, swimmer, and boxer, as well as having rakish dark good looks that got him in to trouble with many a young woman's father. Fortunately, he was always agile enough to get out of it again. When parkour started getting noticed by the media at large, his group began attracting attention from talent scouts scouring Youtube looking for stuntmen in movies. Kids today had moved on from fancy foreign martial arts, they said. They liked watching fancy foreign climbing. Belen, perfectly happy to get out of the neighbourhood, signed up without looking back.


After a couple of stunt roles, Belen's natural charisma and charm began earning him minor speaking roles in action films. Getting some decent money for a change, he became a party animal. Convinced his career was going places, he began living a life of sex, drugs and rock and roll. Just another b-list action star.


All of this was about to change.


There was a party in a high rise. There was an awful lot of alcohol and cocaine at this party, and Belen helped himself to most of it. Then he decided he was going to give a demonstration. Climbing out on to the roof, he began sprinting toward the edge, intending to leap across the alley below to the next building. He'd never fallen. Not once. He was invincible.


He fell.


There was a moment when Belen's life flashed before his eyes, and he seemed to be moving through treacle. He seemed suspended in mid-air. It wasn't until the woman came walking toward him across empty space that he realised he was.


She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. And familiar... Stunning, with multicoloured eyes and golden wings, wearing a simple robe, she walked to him across a thin band of rainbow. She introduced herself as Belen's mother and quickly explained the situation to him. There was a War on. The gods needed Heroes. She was a goddess, Iris, and he, being of her divine blood, was one of the chosen few. If he wished to be. Considering his alternatives and half-assuming it was some hallucination brought on by a mixture of fear and coke Belen agreed. Smiling, she slipped a golden armlet around his bicep and handed him a pair of intricately-worked metal and leather cestus. A birthday present, she said. Then, gently, she pushed him. He glided across empty space and managed to grab hold of a fire escape before she disappeared and time sped up again. His friends and hangers-on were shocked to see him alive and unharmed, but this only confirmed his skill in their eyes.


These days, Belen is something of a changed man. He still makes the movies, and he's still supremely self-confident (almost to the point of arrogance), but he's cut out the drugs and cut down on the drink. He's training harder than ever before, and his body is responding. He's faster, tougher, and stronger now than he's ever been before, and suspects than any normal human could be. It's helping him land bigger and bigger action roles, but the movies are just so he can get money together. Enough money to finance his part in the war he knows is coming.


Belen Mikos is a stunningly handsome man in his early 30s, with the dark hair and olive complexion of his Greek heritage. In peak physical condition and a natural athelete; he never seems to stand still, but always moves, constantly brimming with good-natured energy. Belen is open, friendly and energetic, though sometimes he can be hard to keep up with and his cockiness can be irritating. He means well, however, and takes his part in the War very seriously. When roused to anger he becomes a devastating fighter, using his natural agility and speed to run rings around his enemies before pummeling them mercilessly. Belen is comfortably off - though not exactly filthy rich - and enjoys a small amount of fame and attention from action-movie enthusiasts. His minor celebrity status opens some doors and buys some free drinks, but he's no A-list celebrity. He always carries the gifts Iris gave him; a golden armlet of hers which allows him to access the Sky and Psychopomp Purviews and a pair of intricately crafted cestus made for him by Hephaestus at Iris' request. These use the Brass Knuckles stats with +1 damage and grant access to the Water and Frost Purviews.





Belen Mikos


Calling: Daredevil Stuntman


Nature: Trickster


Pantheon: Dodekatheon


God: Iris


Attributes


Strength: 3 (Epic Str: 1)


Dexterity: 5 (Epic Dex: 2)


Stamina: 3 (Epic Sta: 1)


Charisma: 4 (Epic Cha: 1)


Manipulation: 2


Appearance: 3 (Epic App: 2)


Perception: 2


Intelligence: 2


Wits: 3 (Epic Wits: 1)


Abilities (favoured abilities in italics)


Academics: 1, Art (Acting): 2, Athletics: 5, Awareness: 3, Brawl: 4


Control (Motorcycles): 2, Empathy: 2, Fortitude: 2 Integrity: 3, Investigation: 2


Presence: 3, Stealth: 2, Survival: 2


Birthrights


Relic: 2 (An ornate golden armband, owned by his mother. Grants access to the Psychopomp and Sky purviews.)


Relic: 3 (A pair of intricately made steel and leather cestus, created by Hephaestus himself. +1 damage and grants access to the Water and Frost purviews.)


Knacks and Boons


Epic Strength


Shock Wave


Epic Dexterity


Lightning Sprinter


Monkey Climber


Epic Stamina


Body Armour


Epic Charisma


Never Say Die


Epic Appearance


Game Face


Centre of Attention


Epic Wits


Monkey in the Middle


Psychopomp


Unerring Orientation (Psychopomp o)


Sky


Sky's Grace (Sky o)


Water


Water Breathing (Water o)


Virtues


Expression: 3 Intellect: 1 Valour: 3 Vengeance: 2


Legend: 3 (0/9)


Willpower: 6 (0 spent)


Health Levels: [-0][-1][-1][-2][-2][-4]
 
I'm incredibly tempted. Because gods know how much I want to try out this Scion of Ryujin that's been burning a whole in my pocket. And the moment you say Shin Megami Tensei, I'm THERE.


We'll have to see.
 
More news, should of put that before but:


- I'll be taking six players. So put down concepts and/or sheets and I'll make a choice probably by next saturday. Choices will be made by quality of backstory and how much I like the character concept. Chaka has a space reserved due to him having wanted a scion game in the first place.


- Something I forgot to say, but the supernatural side will have a bit more of a mysterious feel to it.


As for Grey's suggestion: No Lovercraftian pantheon. In my verse, Chtulu (and all his little friends) is just something you find in books and webcomics. Of course, the titans as I see them will have more of a Lovercraftian horror feel to them.
 
Alright, I am considering a Scion of Lugh; Matthew Rourke, one day to become God of Bonds, of the Artist & Muse, and everything that binds them.

It should begin with a tragedy, really. These things always seem to. Tragedy is a fine Muse for a heroic tale, afterall. All black & white, and tears like diamonds. I have cared for her beauty too readily, and will do so again, I am sure. For now, though, I will not lose her; My love, my lady, my Muse. My Laura. Father approved. Well, more truthfully, he clapped me on the back at the handfasting, told me 'she's a fine arse for dresses', and handed me The Last Word by way of a wedding present. I'd regret taking her with me in all of this, but she loves the adventure - and I can't tell her no. We were that way before, though. Dropped out of university, doing a bit of this, a bit of that, buggering off 'round the continent. I stick to poetry, now. I won't be my father. But I'm getting away with myself, aren't I? It started with an anniversary, a book of poetry, and entirely too much mead. But! (BANG) I'll have to finish telling you another time - and I will, surely? I understand the bullets are hardly permanent to your kind. I'd finish you off, but good villains are hard to find. Peace and plenty, and may you never outrun your shadow.
 
Right, so I'm working on a Scion of Heimdall, with a special forces bent. Things may change as I develop him, but the divine parent is a certainty.


EDIT: So, I just realized that this means we'll have TWO Scions whose parents are gods of rainbows. One more and we can go off and form a Pride squad or something. :P


EDIT LE DEUX: So I spent some time drawing up an artifact based on the Gjallar, Heimdall's horn, with a modern spin, of course. It caused me some consternation, and I wasn't happy with the result. Then I ran across the iGjallar in Manifestations of Ichor. Sigh. That's a half-hour I didn't need to spend. Given the nature of the Gjallar itself (and its god), though, I'd like to request that I can access Guardian through it instead of Psychopomp.
 
I'm working up a Scion of Loki. A prosecutor who games the system both to advance his personal power, and to put away people who oppose the small band of thieves he employs.
 
ooooo, Scion? Haven't played in forever. I'll work up a full backstory for my rocker frontman scion of Dionysis.
 
And they're always paths. Iris calls the rainbow to walk on when she carries water from the sea to the sky to replenish the clouds after a rain, which is why you see rainbows after rainfall.


...isn't there someone who was going to play a scion of the Rainbow Serpent..?
 
I think I just thought of a new entry for The things Mr Welch isn't allowed to do in a rpg:


You may not make a band entirely made of scions of rainbow gods. And no, they can't shoot lasers out of their stomachs.
 
Actually, I'll think you'll find with the correct combination of Boons and Knacks...


Also, I know how I'm stunting Shock Wave from now on.
 
If it assuages you, I'm also drawing up a Scion of Sun Wukong, and I might decide to play her instead. Maybe. I gotta finish them both before I make any final decisions.


It will probably weight my decision if we can make a subset of our Band that's a "rainbow squad", however. Implications of homosexuality are optional.
 
I would take Creature: Robot Unicorn if that were the case.


EDIT: Actually, hypothetically, how out of line would it be for a Scion of Hephaestus to be a roboticist?
 
Hephaestus was building basic robots in the Iliad. They were braziers that would follow you around to provide light.
 
Name: Fianna “Fi†O’Neil


Calling: Tough Biker/Bargirl


Nature: Bravo


Pantheon: Tuatha De Dannan


God: The Morrigan


Will eventually become a godess of protection on journeys.

James O'Neil was a man who was proud of his roots. His grandparents had come to Boston from Kerry and he took his Irish ancestry very seriously. When the opportunity came up to go with a buddy of his on a motorcycle ride around the island he jumped at the chance, spending a decent amount of his savings to do so. A few days into the trip the group, mostly consisting of large rowdy men, was sitting in a local pub in a small village in Meath when the doors opened and a pale, gorgeous black haired young woman in biker leathers walked in. As she was on her way up to the bar one of the men, a few pints in, reached out and made a grab for her ass. She, calm as can be, laid him on the floor with a single punch. Needless to say no one else followed his example. The next day the woman, who called herself Morgan, joined up with the ride. James found herself incredibly drawn to her, and to everyone's surprise she took a rather brusque liking to him. The two became something of a thing for the rest of the ride. However, when James woke up the morning they were to return to Dublin, Morgan was gone.


James returned home, but never stopped regretting that he hadn't had a chance to ask Morgan to come with him. He had nearly succeeded in putting her out of his mind when he heard his doorbell ring one night and stepped outside to find a bundle wrapped in black cloth on the step in front of the door that led to the small apartment above his body shop. In the bundle with the child was a brief note, 'Care for her well, Morgan.'


His friends practically begged him to give the child up. His life was not one suited to the raising of a little girl. A struggling auto mechanic he spent most of his free time in bars or riding with his motorcycle club, the Hounds, a small but tight group that wasn't the type of club that organized charity rides or took part in parades. But he would here none of it. So Fianna, or Fi, as she came to be called, grew up with the Hounds MC as uncles, living in the little apartment over the body shop. When most girls were playing with dolls she was learning how to fight in a street brawl, fix cars and use a switchblade. She was a quiet girl, though this is not to be mistaken for shy. The other kids at her school didn't know how to deal with her distant manner, so she became the butt of their jokes. Until she broke the nose of an eight year old boy who thought intimidating a six year old out of her lunch money was a good idea. Even as she grew up she never shared her father's pride in their heritage, in fact she had little interest in "the home country" except for the mystery it presented, that of her mother.


When she was eleven, her father was killed in a drive by shooting by a rival gang. Though the Hounds had been willing to support his decision to raise her, none were willing to be saddled with a preteen girl so she went into the system. Though James had not been an exemplary father, he had done his best to keep his daughter out of as much trouble as he could where gang fighting was concerned. Without his guidance she fell in with several different groups over the years, getting involved in turf wars, finally winding up in a gang called the Southie Hoods.


She was sixteen when it happened. She got in fights often, but this time she knew she was out of her league. There were three of them, all bigger then her, and she'd had to dump her gun the day before to avoid getting caught by the cops. She fought harder then she ever had, and took down two of them when she felt a piercing pain in her side. She flew into a rage, breaking the skull of the last man off a wall. Then she slumped down against it. Detachedly, she knew she was bleeding out and that she was going to die. Then she felt a cold hand on her stomach. A woman crouched opposite her, and she looked up into a pale face framed by black hair out from which looked two hard black eyes. "Well fought, my daughter," she said, satisfaction in her voice. She moved her hand away from Fi's side, and slipped something over her wrist. Then she was gone. Fi woke up in the hospital two days later. The doctor said that it was a miracle she was still alive. She thought for a moment that it had all been a hallucination, the product of blood loss, then she felt a weight on her wrist and looked down. A silver bracelet hung on it, several charms dangling from the chain. She really had met her mother. A strange sense of purpose and direction took her from that day. She dropped out of school, not that she'd been going much anyways, and left the gang. The latter wasn't easy, but when she threw the body of one of the enforcers the leader of the Hoods sent after her through the window of their warehouse hideout he was deposed, and the new leader decided she wasn't worth the effort. She took up with her dad's old MC, wearing his old jacket and got a fake ID and a job at a bar in the city, starting her new life.


Personality: Fi is a cold, distant young woman. Those she is loyal to she will die for, or kill for, but the rest of the world can go to hell in a hand basket for all she cares. This would all be very well except for the fact that some of her new powers came with a price tag. The message from her mother, in the form of a talking raven sent to tell her the score on the whole child of a god thing, called it a geis. To save the weak. Though this grates on her, it leads to a fair few fights, something for which her appetite has increased since her visitation. She is quick to anger, but her temper is not explosive. It is cold and merciless.


Appearance: Fi is tall for a woman, standing nearly 5'10" and athletically built. Her jet black hair is cut off about an inch below her chin and her eyes are a piercing green. Both stand out starkly against her pale skin. She tends to dress in jeans, tanks and combat boots with her dad old biker jacket or her own close fitting but flexible biker leathers, and of course the silver charm bracelet from her mother.





Name: Fianna “Fi†O’Neil


Calling: Tough Biker/Bargirl


Nature: Bravo


Pantheon: Tuatha De Dannan


God: The Morrigan


Strength: 3 Charisma: 3 Perception: 3


Dexterity: 5 Manipulation: 2 Intelligence: 2


Stamina: 3 Appearance: 4 Wits: 2


Abilities:


Academics: 1


Animal Ken*:


Art (singing):


Athletics: 3


Awareness: 2


Brawl*: 3


Command:


Control (motorcycle): 2


Craft (auto repair): 1


Empathy: 1


Fortitude*: 2


Integrity: 2


Investigation: 1


Larceny: 1


Marksmanship*: 3


Medicine:


Melee*: 4


Occult:


Politics:


Presence: 2


Science:


Stealth: 2


Survival: 1


Thrown*:


Virtues:


Courage: 4


Expression: 2


Intellect: 2


Piety: 1


Willpower: 6


Legend: 3 (7 freebees)


Epic Attributes/Knacks:


Epic Strength 1 (Holy Bound)


Epic Appearance 1 (Serpent’s Gaze) (4 freebies)


Epic Dexterity 2 (Cat’s Grace, And the Crowd Goes Wild)


Epic Stamina 2 (Self-Healing, Solipistic Well-Being)


Boons:


War Cry (War)**


Brehon’s Eye (Enech)*


Hero’s Geas (Enech)**


Unerring Orientation (Psychopomp)*


Birthrights:


Relics:


Silver Charm Bracelet with Charms:


Eight Arrows of Chaos (access to Chaos)


Spike Topped Battle Axe (grows to become full sized weapon, access to War)


Raven (Summons Flock of the Morrigan, access to Animal: Corvid) (2 freebees)


Boat (access to Psychopomp) (1 freebie)


Gessa:


Hero Relic Geas (Battle Axe): all rolls involving weapon at +2


Child Ability Geas (Empathy): +2 Integrity (Sworn to Manannan in exchange for access to Psychopomp)
 
Unerring Orientation is a Psychopomp Boon.


....also it's Carpe Noctem, but that's neither here nor there. :P
 
Grey said:
I would take Creature: Robot Unicorn if that were the case.
EDIT: Actually, hypothetically, how out of line would it be for a Scion of Hephaestus to be a roboticist?
Click to expand...
It wouldn't be out of line. Just don't expect to be able to build a T-700 at the beginning of the story.
 
It is COMPLETE.


Name: Jonas Dahl


Calling: Special Forces Operative


Nature: Perfectionist


Pantheon: Aesir


God: Heimdall

William and Thea Dahl immigrated to America from Norway a long time ago. They already had two children, girls, Sofie and Nora. Sofie was the elder, a rather level-headed and responsible girl, and eventually moved off to California to get married. Nora, however, was a bit of a wild child. She was rather disobedient, and could hardly be trusted around the liquor cabinet, or anyone of the male persuasion. It didn’t come as a horrible shock that she got knocked up at 15, or that she had no idea who the father was.


Little Jonas was raised much by his grandparents. They would sing him songs and stories of the old country, and cook him traditional Norwegian food. Nora was also responsible for him, looking after him much of the time, breastfeeding him, and later on, taking him to school and back home. Nora’s social life never recovered from Jonas’s birth, and in her heart, she resented him.


Jonas lived his youth egged on by hopeful grandparents. They wanted to see their little grandson get everything he could out of his wonderful, privileged, American life. He went to boy scouts (something he loved), did all his homework, did Church choir (something he did not love), and so on, and so forth. As he grew, his drive to achieve became something entirely separate from his grandparents. Jonas wanted to be all that he could be.


His mother’s suicide took a lot of the wind out of his sails. He could not avoid blaming himself, and was in depression almost entirely throughout high school. His grades slipped, and he stopped going to extracurricular activities. He was officially off the “fast trackâ€. And for a while, he didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, there wasn’t a point to any of it. He got over it, eventually, as ever-moody teenagers tend to do eventually, but he had already permanently taken himself off the A-list. Gone were any hopes of getting into some big-name college and getting a big-name MBA.


So, instead, Jonas went the military route. He enrolled in the Army ROTC, and excelled. In addition, he did well at foreign languages, taking Arabic all four years of college and completing a basic level of French (his fluency in Norwegian wasn’t really taken note of). He was taken aside for training for Special Forces, and in just over a year, he was a Green Beret.


Jonas’s Visitation came a year into his service. It was a pretty simple night op, or at least it was supposed to be. Just some scouting, and then they were to head back. In and out, quiet as mice. Only problem was, the terrorists they were supposed to be doing recon on were waiting for them. And they were hidden well. Only one of the group got hit by surprise, and he wasn’t even killed. But they had been set up, and there was no good cover. It was a slow fight, and a losing one. Reinforcements were on their way, but they wouldn’t get there in time. The enemy was practically invisible even with the night gear, and they were being smart, too. It didn’t take overly long before Jonas was the only one standing (though not the only one alive, even if that would be the case rather quickly). But as he stood over his fallen comrades, keeping them alive to the very last, the fight got easier. Tiny movements in the brush were enough for him to land a killshot. The shift of a gun against a shoulder warned him where shots were coming from far in advance. He was untouchable. At least, he would have been. The last guy got smart and aimed for one of the still-living incapacitated soldiers. And Jonas was faced with a choice.


Though it was not debilitating, Jonas was sent home for his injury. His memory of the night was considered too affected by his injury to be considered reliable. Still, he couldn’t discount that the care package he got was extremely strange, or that the note that came with it was even stranger. First order of business was to Google this “Heimdallâ€.





Strength 2


Dexterity 4 (Epic 1)


Stamina 3 (Epic 1)


Charisma 3 (Epic 1)


Manipulation 2


Appearance 2


Perception 5 (Epic 1)


Intelligence 3 (Epic 1)


Wits 3 (Epic 1)


Abilities:


Academics 2, Animal Ken 1, Art (Trumpet) 1, Athletics 3, Awareness 5, Brawl 1, Command 2, Empathy 2, Fortitude 2, Integrity 2, Investigation 4, Marksmanship 5, Medicine 1, Politics 1, Presence 1, Stealth 5, Survival 3


Birthrights:


Relic 2 Boots of Bifrost: Not everyone can cross the Rainbow Bridge...but having these boots certainly helps a Scion. These leather combat boots offer a Scion all the magic he needs to stand on the path to heaven. The magic is in the soles, which have a tread pattern with runes. Grants the Sun and Sky Purviews.


Relic 2 iGjallar (made from real Gjallar!): A smartphone that looks impossibly cutting-edge, yet with no recognizeable brand (seriously, it's just a stylized ram's horn. Who's heard of that?). Grants the Guardian Purview.


Relic 3 Fjarekkr: This rifle was constructed by dwarves working for Tyr. The barrel is rifled with a story told in runes, giving any bullet fired from it a perfectly straight shot. The rifle can make no errors, though it certainly can do little to prevent its wielder from making any. Mechanically, this means that Fjarakkr suffers no penalties for range (though it still has the same maximum range). Also grants the War Purview


Virtues:


Courage 3


Endurance 2


Expression 1


Loyalty 3


Willpower 6


Knacks:


Dexterity


-Trick Shooter


Stamina


-Holy Fortitude


Charisma


-Never Say Die


Perception


-Subliminal Warning


Intelligence


-Perfect Memory


Wits


-Instant Investigator


Boons:


Guardian


-Vigil Brand


Sky


-Sky's Grace


Sun


-Penetrating Glare


War


-Blessing of Bravery


Legend 2


4/4


Combat:


Fjarekkr (Remington template)


Accuracy 13; Damage +8L; Range 200*; Clip 4; Speed 6; Tags: P


Beretta


Accuracy 10; Damage +4L; Range 20; Clip 15; Speed 4; Tags: P
 
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