L. Marcus

Re: Complicate the Person Above Cancer knows much forbidden lore . . .

Re: Reasoning from effect or vice versa? . . . Why would he peon us?

Re: Complicate the Person Above Cancer's Sock Puppet Of The Month is Stevie Long.

Re: Longest Running Thread EVER . . . That would be nice in the middle of a Call of Cthulhu game finale.

Re: Longest Running Thread EVER . . . Makes the 'puters go "Doi?"

Re: Daily Art Findings . . . I've gotta do a dwarf character . . . !

Re: A Killing Song . . . And now i'm baffled.

Re: A Killing Song Bad english on my part -- someone coming in in the middle shouldn't be able to see anything.

Re: A Killing Song Mostly a matter of flavour. The visions brought forth by the bard didn't actually take any physical form -- it was all in the heads of the audience.

Re: A Killing Song *fetches book* . . . I'd say it goes something like this: Live Performance: Mental Illusions 1d6, Cumulative (+3/4), Area of Effect (8" radius; +1 3/4); 18 APts; Incantations (must sing throughout; -1/2), Gestures (must play instrument throughout; -1/2), OAF (instrument; -1 1/4), Extra Time (one minute; -1 1/2), Target Must Be Able To Hear Music (-1/4), Target Must Understand Language (-1/4); 3 APts [2 END]

Re: A Killing Song I don't think Images is the way to go -- someone coming in in the middle of the song won't see anything.

Re: A Killing Song . . . Another thing: Remember from LotR, how Elven bards and storytellers had the ability to make the stories and songs come alive to the audience? How would that be done? Mental Illusions, AoE, Incantations springs to mind . . .

Re: A Killing Song Also very nice! Repped!

Re: A Killing Song Naah, Personal Immunity fits the SFX better.

Re: Wwcyfd? CYF is hard to piss off, but when he's pissed, he stays pissed.

Re: A Killing Song We must do this again!

Re: A Killing Song . . . You guys rule . . .

Re: The Last Word . . . Brekkies . . .

Re: A Killing Song I have no trouble with the bard needing to see his victim, so the Indirect issue isn't an issue. And as ghostie wrote the power, it has a range of almost a kilometer! Limited Range (range of hearing; -1/4) would fit.

Re: The Last Word . . . Um . . . Where to start . . .

Re: The Last Word Poor, poor accountants. Ah, well. Coulda been worse. Coulda been me.

Re: A Killing Song . . . Yeah. But would Does No STUN be an Advantage or a Disadvantage? It makes the Power more powerful, after all.

Re: The Last Word But then they wouldn't be accountants any more!

Re: A Killing Song Thanks, guys! How didja know it was a question? I've been pondering on how to best build this Power for some time . . .

The feast was nearing its finale. The Duke, being as generous (if cruel), had saved the best for the last -- a bard, famous throughout the land for making the sternest men cry. The young man stepped forward. A hush spread out among the revellers, and everyone craned their necks to get a look at the handsome singer. With a bow to the high seat, where the Duke and his lady sat, beaming with anticipation, the bard strummed a chord on his lyre. "My lord," he said, in a warm, beautiful voice, "I shall sing to you The Ballad of Ebbe Skammelsson!" A sussurration swept through the room, as everyone approved the choice of song -- an old favorite, romantic and bloody. The balladeer plucked at the strings, while his voice sang love, treason, madness and blood. Such music no one there had ever heard before -- before the first chorus the ladies all had tears in their eyes, and when the battles were sung every man present felt his blood flow and his knuckles clench. The song climbed up to its climax. The revellers all shivered when the hero returned from battle to find his love being married to his own brother. The hero gripped his sword, charged at his brother and swung the blade -- The Duke screamed. He stood up from his seat, a look of terror in his bulging eyes. He screamed again, clawed at his throat, and fell down, dead. The ladies screamed and the lords shouted. Everyone thronged to the fallen Duke, trying to aid him, shouting for water, for the wine cup to be saved, a pillow, a medicus. All the while the troubadour stood still, forgotten, with a small smile playing on his lips . . .