Saturday, March 03, 2012
I did several that I'm reasonably happy with this week. Check these puppies out:
"A story about a promise"
By David Goodner
Markos stood on the ramparts on Ashday, watching the fighting below. Fires raged in the city, particularly in the
festering Carthian quarter, where the rebels had the strongest foothold. The King’s Guard were outnumbered by the
rioting peasants, but Markos had no doubt they would prevail. He had trained them, after all.
a bit of regret, he realized they had probably started the fires. Sir Borz, who now lead the Guard, was known
as a pragmatic knight. Markos might say
“callous,” instead. Setting fire to the
wooden shacks near the edge of the outer wall would give the rebels something
else to worry about, and the fire would be unlikely to spread to the
better-constructed portions of the city, and certainly it would not spread to
the castle itself. King Yoland was not
the man his father had been. He seemed
more concerned with his due as monarch than his responsibilities as steward and
The people chafed
under his rule. Where his father had been
kind, Yoland was cruel. Where his father
had made sure his people always had enough to eat, Yoland cared only that their
tributes filled his silos and coffers.
He took all his due and a little more.
It turned Markos’
stomach, but the old Knight had sworn an oath.
He turned away and continued his inspection of the defenses. Yoland had expanded and modernized the castle
since he took the throne. The work was
The fighting had
spread throughout the city. Not all of
the rebels were peasants and townsmen.
Yoland had seized the holdings of several Carthian Lords for
himself. One, Baron Taelaad, had been
Markos’ friend and a fellow member of the Royal Guard. But Yoland did not trust Carthians, even
though some of them had been in the Pyriades since before the Wars of the
Taelaad did not
submit lightly. He’d fled his keep with
a coffer of silver that he used to hire mercenaries and fund the
rebellion. And rumor said the man
himself had been seen in the capital.
The Guard had been searching for him non-stop. Other rumors said Taelaad had found Yistina,
the king’s eldest, the Lost Princess. If
so, Yoland’s entire rule was illegitimate.
heavily down from the battlements to inspect the old wall. The new wall for the expanded inner bailey
was incomplete. A temporary curtain
closed it off, but with the Guard spread so thin, it was less secure than
Markos would like. Still, the old
postern gate would probably keep the riff-raff out. You’d have to know about the old gate to even
know it was worth trying to breach the wall there at all.
before the old gate, really almost a secret door. It was too small to mount any kind of
successful sally. It was only really
designed as an escape hatch. Only the
castle servants and a few key retainers really knew it was there.
The old knight
stood for a long time. He reached under
his tunic, where his fingers closed on a sweat-stained parchment. He read it by torchlight for the thousandth
Ashday, three weeks hence, are all are hopes pinned.
you love this land more than its king, you know what you must do.
Taelaad’s badge of
two lovebirds before a crescent moon decorated the bottom.
Markos held the
parchment to the torch and let it burn.
Then he took an iron key from around his neck and opened the lock.
"A story about something stolen"
The Water and the Wild
By David Goodner
wandered through the wood, wondering.
This, he decided, was a tulgy wood if ever he’d seen one. In his eight years of life, he had seen many
more in his dreams than in real life.
Pale light filtered through the leaves of strange trees. Birds with songs more beautiful than real
life flittered and sang. Their plumage
liked the forest. It was nice here,
clean. If his mother was here, she
wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t need to
drink. She’d remember supper. And shopping.
little boy turned, frightened. No one
else should be in the wood, not even a bandersnatch.
was a woman. She had huge, green eyes
and long, blond hair. Her skin was
smooth, and glowed in the moonlight. She
was a stranger, but she seemed nice. She
held an apple in slender, graceful fingers.
do you know my name?”
know everyone in my forest, Jeremy.”
not supposed to talk to strangers.”
okay,” she said. “You’re probably not
supposed to take food from them either, but you can have this apple if you
want. I promise it won’t hurt you.”
stomach rumbled. His thoughts were
troubled. “My mama will want me home,”
he said, or perhaps asked.
woman knelt down. “Of course she
will. Mothers should take care of their
sons. But she’s asleep now, isn’t she? And she forgot to make your supper. Why don’t you come home with me? It’s late.
It will be getting colder. I can
make you some supper, and if you want I’ll take you back to your mother when
fingers were warm, maybe even hot, where they gently touched Jeremy’s
face. “You can have the apple either
* * *
sat by her son’s bedside in the hospital, missing a shift at the factory,
craving a drink. But she couldn’t leave
him. She’d never leave him again, if
only he’d wake up. The coma had come out
of nowhere. The doctors still didn’t
know what caused it. And she hadn’t
noticed for a whole day. She’d been so
lost in herself, drunk out of her mind, that her son had slept for a whole day
and she didn’t realize. And he slept
“Baby, come back to me,” she
begged. “Momma is so sorry. Just come back to me.”
"A story about a wish"
I really liked the voice in this one.
By David Goodner
on a lonely hill, stands the old chapel, a shrine left by forgotten priests,
and maintained because no one wishes to offend the gods. Though the ground nearby is fertile, no one
furrows the soil with a plow, because this is a place where the veil between
the world of the living and the world of the dead grows thin. Or so the old women say.
hill, with its little copse of trees, is a cemetery of sorts, for those who die
near the village without kin to claim them.
With no one to say their names, the villagers think, perhaps it’s easier
for their souls to find the way to the afterlife here than back in the
village. And if not, they’d rather the
hill be haunted than their homes.
old women also say that if you come here on a moonless night and make an
offering on the shrine, your wish will be granted. But only a certain kind of wish. Whatever god once lived in this shrine, he’s
long gone. The dead answer prayers here
now, and there’s only one prayer the hungry dead can hear.
here comes Meg Willow, daughter of Bran Willow, who everyone knows as a good
man. Meg’s his good daughter, born
before his son Little Bran. She was
always a bit of a wild one, sneaking out of the house at night to watch the stars
or listen to the night birds. And later,
she came out to see Kemp MacAsher, son of the Laird.
MacAsher was betrothed, just a moon past, to Bella MacRea. Their marriage will make the Laird a little
richer and tie the clans together so the MacRea boys will go east instead of
west to steal sheep. It’s good for
everyone, they say.
has a bundle with her, thrown over her shoulder. Inside are two rabbits, tied with twine. The twine she spun with her own fingers, and
the rabbits she raised in her own pens.
She’s taking nothing from her father that won’t be easily replaced. In the bundle also are two scraps of
aspen-tree bark. Paper is too expensive,
even if Meg crushed her own rags to make it.
Long before rags should be paper, they could be patches for a tunic, or
batting in a quilt.
she has a taper lamp, and a bundle of twigs and dried moss, and a cake of
sheep’s dung. The old women say it’s bad luck to burn the wood from the hill.
reaches the shrine by the feeble light of her lamp. The night is clear and dark. To Meg, it seems that there’s too much space
around her. The familiar hills are
invisible, and the night drinks in all the sounds.
the altar, she starts a fire. She uses
the lamp and kindling, and the dried sheep dung to keep it going. And she pulls from her bundle the two
rabbits, one for each wish. She kills
them and lets their blood decorate the altar, careful not to douse her fire.
the fire change? Does it now burn with
ghost light? Meg doesn’t know. All her life, she’s stayed away from magic
and faeries and anything that stinks of the veil. But now she doesn’t know any other way
So she pulls out
her little scrolls of tree bark. The old
women in the village say that if you make a sacrifice and write the name of a
person and burn it in a fire on the altar of the shrine on the lonely hill, the
keepers of the dead will take the person who’s name you wrote, and they’ll
dwell in the land of the dead forever.
The first scroll
has a name scratched out in charcoal, “Kemp MacAsher.”
The second one
says “Meg Willow.”
Tune in next week for more. Unless they all suck so bad I won't post any.
Welcome to another semi-regular feature. My legions of fans from my days as a podcaster will no doubt remember the "Hey, Look at This" segments from Radio Free Hommlet. I'm not podcasting right now, but I still see cool stuff I want to talk about from time to time.
This is one of those times. Yesterday, I clicked on an RPG.net banner ad for a cool-sounding product. Based on a look at the website, it's an actually cool product.
Basically, a set of map tiles designed so they'll all fit together in any orientation. You can get them on dice to randomly roll up a dungeon, or on cards, or on geomorph tiles, or as a font so you could just type up a dungeon. (Reminds me of Sparks! from S. John Ross, of which I have a few sets)
If I had some money to blow right now, I'd buy the whole set. Unfortunately, I can't quite justify the expense since I'm not running anything where I need large, random dungeons. But still, very cool. If you're a dice fetishist like me, I totally suggest you buy a set. And if you're looking to buy a gift for a former podcaster and occasional blogger...
Sunday, February 26, 2012
This is not the only story I've written since "The Lie," but it's the only good one. I'm aiming to do one every day M-F, but I'm only going to post the ones that don't suck here. I also didn't write this in five minutes. It was closer to twenty. If I get a good start and feel like the story will be worth the effort, I don't mind going over my time limit.
What I'm trying to learn to do is write on demand, and get stuff down quickly without agonizing over it.
A Small Boat on a Dark Night
By David Goodner
Todd pulled his hood lower, again.
Working the oars made his shoulders start rolling it back, again. So the rain dripped in his eyes, again. He tried to think more about the three silver
pennies in his neck pouch and less about warm broth, fresh bread, and roast sea
bass in his cozy, dry, cottage by the dockside.
three silver coins, he’d row further, and with much more cargo than a spindly
old man with a bent back and a crooked staff.
His passenger was so old and wrinkled that his eyes were almost
invisible beneath the lines of his face and the bushy eyebrows. The rest of his hair was wispy, like
something an artist had barely sketched in.
And his nearly toothless mouth lent a mushy sound and a bit of spittle
to every word he said. He wore no cloak
against the chill or the rain, just a tattered robe in a style Billy didn’t
to the right,” the man said. “And
faster. If we’re not there, we’ll miss
Codger. If you want to go faster, take
an oar,” Billy said.
“Bah! Mind your elders. If we get there on time, it’s another penny
for you. Hell, if we get there on time
I’ll not be needing coins at all.”
time for what?”
the conjunction, of course.” The old man
said. “The day and the hour, the place
and the time. Stars, moon, and sea are
perfectly aligned, as they haven’t been for twenty years and won’t be for
another twenty. I missed the last one,
but I won’t miss this one.
pointed with his stick, to something over Billy’s shoulder. Billy half-turned to see, but there was only
dark sky covered by thick clouds through which the moon barely shown as a
slightly lighter smudge.
and stars? There are none. Try not to make me feel like more of a damn
fool than I already am for being out in this mess.” But Billy knew those three silver pennies
would see him in fish and ale for several days.
Hells, he might buy pork or mutton.
can’t see them, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there, stupid boy. Just like the faeries, and the Isle of the
Isle of… Satan’s shit! You’ve dragged
me out here to find the Isle of the Young!
It’s just a stupid legend, and anyway it’s supposed to appear on clear
nights once each seven years off the coast of Mahnn.”
went. Legend was wrong.” The old man spat off the side of the
boat. “But the Isle is real. I lived there once. Fell in love with a mortal girl and followed
his passenger was crazy, Billy rolled his eyes.
He had the coins. He could turn
back. “Did you?” he asked. “So you was a fairy? Then why don’t you just fly to the damn
I’m a man as true-born as you.
Stolen from my cradle as a child.
I stayed on the island and aged only a day every year. But out here time took what it’d been robbed
of. And once I left the island, I knew
no way back.
I was smart, wasn’t I? I listened. I learned.
I read books.”
couldn’t even read his own name. But he
could see that the cold and the wet was doing the ancient man no good.
learned to follow the stars and the moon.
I learned about conjunctions, like tonight, when the moon comes near to
the earth and the ways open. I’ll go
back. You’ll take me there. And the faeries will restore my youth, and
never again will I be so stupid as to touch mortal soil. Never aga…”
old man didn’t finish. He keeled
straight over the side of the boat in the space of a word. Billy reached for him, but the dark sea was
hungry, and the light of their one lantern wasn’t even enough to reflect off
* * *
in the end, Billy’d rowed out past the harbor lights for naught but three
pennies. He wasn’t going swimming to
find the rest. But he had a story to
true and sure, as he was rowing back for home and hearth, he saw an island
appear out of the gloom, shining silver and bright. He fancied that he might have seen a few
people on the shore, but he didn’t look too close. There were things a wise man didn’t poke
at. One was ant hills. Another was sleeping bears. A third was anything to do with faeries.
decided he’d spring for a meal of mutton and a bottle of good wine.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
I just picked up a book called Fast Fiction
from Half-Price Books. The basic idea is to use the story-seeds it provides to write little five-minute stories.
I've decided to do at least one a day until I get bored or find something else to do. Since anything worth doing is worth doing in public so you can be humiliated if you fail, I've decided to post them here.
The first inspiration on the list is "tell a story about a lie."
By David Goodner
“Come, Jimmy, it’s time to go,” said mother.
“To meet Daddy?” the boy asked. Only just awakened, his eyes were cloudy and his voice still quiet.
"He’s waiting for us at the restaurant,” mother said. “He gets angry when we're late.”
She helped the boy out of his bed, found his shoes from where he’d kicked them before his nap, took up his favorite bear, which had fallen aside while he slept.
He insisted upon tying his own shoes. She tried not to fret, not to interfere. The boy took such pride in these small accomplishments.
“Hurry, now,” she said. “And get your jacket.”
The bear, Mr. Muffles, she stuffed into a knapsack. It barely fit into the top. While Jimmy found his jacket, she put the bag next to another, larger one by the door. Both knapsacks rested against a larger suitcase. She put her own coat on, turned up the collar, felt the large plastic sunglasses in the pocket.
Jimmy had trouble with his jacket sleeves, the jacket being a hand-me-down from a larger cousin.
“Here, let me help you,” his mother said. She sorted out the too-large garment, and couldn’t resist hugging the boy tight.
“I love you, mommy,” he said. “I love daddy, too.”
“... That’s good. Now get your bag. We’ll be late if we don’t hurry.”
“Why do I need my bag?”
“Just in case, baby. You never know what can happen. Now it’s time for us to get gone.”
Sunday, February 19, 2012
The second unscheduled interruption has finally ended. This one was all my fault. I'll try to get back to regular updates as soon as I can think of something cool to post.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
This unscheduled interruption has finally ended. I'll try to get back on regular updates next week.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
For today's update nobody really cares about, here's my character origin for the Emerald City game we'll be starting shortly. I spend way too much time on these things. This one takes the form of a fluff piece in a local magazine. I used a Seattle skyline since I didn't have an Emerald City one. Close enough.
As usual for me, there are tons of subtle little pop culture references, and at least one reference you'll only get if you live in my town.
Emerald City’s favored son, Jon Clark Nedor has long been
loved from afar, traveling the world, frequently alone, sometimes assisting
parties as varied as Doctors without Borders, Books without Frontiers, and the
U.S. State Department. He’s often known
as the Renaissance Man of the new Millennium: a true polymath, scholar, and
inventor. Recently, he has returned to
the city of his birth
EC caught up with Jon, who the press has dubbed Mister
Amazing, for an interview.
EC: Thank you for
your time, Mr. Nedor. Lots of people
want to know more about you. Pardon the
humor, but you’re pretty amazing.
JCN: It’s my
pleasure. Ask me anything. I might even know the answer.
EC: Since you’re
known as the seventh smartest man alive, I certainly hope so.
<laughs> That was totally a joke, and now it follows me everywhere. I don’t really know where I stand, or even if
you could really make up a list that wouldn’t just be “my favorite geniuses.”
EC: Well, you’re
our favorite genius. And a certified
one. Besides multiple advanced degrees,
three well-received books, and a Centurion prize, you’ve developed some really
impressive technology. Of your inventions,
which is your favorite?
JCN: They’re all
my favorite, at the time. I mostly build
things I see a need for, and once I have it I move on to the next
challenge. I guess my favorite is the
skybike. I mean, seriously, it’s a
flying bike. Who wouldn’t love
that? The core of them all, of course,
is the Deep Energy Converter, which remains held up in litigation with the
Department of Energy. I have a Congressional
dispensation to build them for my own use, but not to distribute them or use
them for “public provision of energy.”
EC: But you’re
not bitter, right?
JCN: I’m pretty
solidly bitter. Deep Energy stands to
free the world from its fossil fuel addiction, reduce pollution, and improve
quality of life for billions of people.
But instead, I have four converters, one running my home, one in the
skybike, a little one for my force pistol, and one for emergencies.
EC: What can you
tell us about the case?
JCN: I can’t
really discuss pending litigation, and I won’t express an opinion of the merits
of the case, scientific or legal. The
scientific literature on Deep Energy speaks for itself, and anyone with an
internet connection can find out all they need to know about the legal case.
EC: You’ve been
abroad for over twenty years. For quite
a bit of that, you were completely off the grid. What were you up to, and why did you come
JCN: My father
always pushed me to excel, not in an adversarial way, but he encouraged me. He gave me the tools. He paid for the best tutors, made sure I had
the best opportunities. He never made
things easy for me, but he always told me I could do anything I put my mind to,
and he’d be there to catch me if I fell.
When I was eighteen, I felt like I’d reached the highest
point I could reach at home and it was time to go see more of the world, and it
was time to see how I could do without my dad there to back me up. I sort of went on walkabout. I studied for a few years at a monastery in
Tibet, and spent about a year as a fugitive of the Chinese government. I traveled to the Middle East and
Africa. I attended Oxford. I did a fellowship at CERN. Mostly, I just went wherever I felt like and
did whatever seemed to need doing. I
tried, as much as I could, to avoid dropping my dad’s name or use his
connections. It didn’t always work out
that way. Several times, people who were
connected with my dad needed my help.
Eventually, I figured out that dad would always be a part of
me, but that didn’t mean I was letting him carry me. Then, in the past year or so, I came back
home a few times, more and more often.
Last month I decided to stay. Dad
loves this city, and so do I. I thought
it was time to give something back to the city that has done so much for our family.
Wow, all that sounds really self-aggrandizing. I don’t want people to think I was running
around like some kind of superhero who needs no one and nothing. I had a lot of help at every turn. I wouldn’t be here today without the aid and
sacrifices of many good people.
For that matter, I’ve met a few superheroes, and they don’t
need no one and nothing either. They’re
people with some really stressful jobs.
EC: Now that you’re
back in town, what are you going to do?
JCN: I’m starting
a consultancy, bringing unique perspective and expertise to unusual
problems. It’s probably not really the
kind of thing you can make a living at without a multi-million dollar trust
What I hope is that my experiences will let me see things
other people don’t see and my skills will let me do things that might otherwise
take a host of separate experts. At the
same time, I want to help with the Nedor Foundation and volunteer with some
local charities to help them make the most of resources and opportunities.
EC: Is there
anything you don’t do?
JCN: I can’t make
a soufflé to save my life. My teacher at
La Cordon Bleu despaired of me.
And really, there are a lot of things I can’t do. People hear that I’m skilled in multiple
disciplines and think I’m omnipotent. I’m
really not. If I’m more skilled than
other people, it’s because I’ve had more opportunities, and I’ve always been
very focused on learning whatever the world could teach me.
EC: People do say
you could do anything. They say if you
turned your hand to politics, you could be state governor in the next election
and President in no more than twelve years.
You’re not just a celebrity, you’re a voice for change and unlike a lot
of celebrity spokespeople, you really know what you’re talking about. Experts in the causes you champion
acknowledge your expertise. If you
wanted, you could be JFK, Bill Gates, Lee Iacocca, maybe all three at once.
JCN: But I don’t
really want any of those things. I enjoy
helping people. I love learning. I thrive on solving problems. Power comes with responsibility, or it
should. And money is just a tool to get
what you want. I pretty much have all
the responsibility I can handle, and I have all the stuff I’ll ever need.
EC: Tell us more
about these problems you solve. Like the
job you did for the State Department in the Congo.
JCN: I carried
out negotiations, and when those failed a rescue mission of some hostages from
the Sons of the Dark Earth. That was pretty
intense. Despite what people think, I’m
not usually an international man of mystery.
It got even more interesting when the SDE called up something called a
Dark Totem. The Freedom League even got
involved to put the thing down. Captain
Thunder really is awesome to behold.
That was the first time I used a force gun. I had cobbled one together as a proof of
concept. It was kind of big and failure
While the Freedom League fought the Dark Totem, I helped rescue
the hostages from the SDE compound.
EC: Was your life
JCN: Not really,
although it was pretty scary at the time.
The Totem was at a temple several miles away, and there were only a few
guards left at the compound. And it
turns out that other than all their crazy magical stuff, the SDE didn’t have
much in the way of weapons – they were on patrol with AK-47s with just a few
I’m still trying to figure out what the Dark Totem really
was, maybe an energy-based alien trapped in a matrix of Element X, and the
latent psychic energy from the terrorists was enough to free it.
EC: And what kind
of problems do you solve now?
JCN: I hope less
dangerous ones, although a little excitement is good once in a while. Right now I’m working with a company that
owns the old Forum Imperial mall and a group of Suquamish merchants and
craftspeople, along with some Chinese Americans and an artists’ collective to
revamp the mall into a cultural center.
They all really want the same thing, but they don’t always know how to
communicate with each other. I can’t
talk a lot about specific details, but if we can iron out the kinks, it’ll make
a lot of money for some people who really need it. It’ll help revitalize a part of the city that’s
currently suffering economic decline.
And it’ll be cool.
Since the alternative is that the mall where I saw all three
Star Wars movies gets bulldozed and turned into warehouses or something, I
think something cool is a much better alternative.
I’m also consulting with PrimaTech on a new aerosat design
that will be able to help rescue workers in isolated areas and improve
communications in the third world.
Before you ask, an aerosat is an ultra-high altitude dirigible
with minimal payload that uses solar power and storage batteries. Put one up, and it’s good for about a week to
bounce data. I’m helping them improve
their batteries and power efficiency so they can stay up a little longer and
have slightly more powerful engines so they’ll be more stable.
EC: All work and
no play makes Jack a dull boy. What do
you do for fun?
JCN: Work is fun
for me. Otherwise I’d do something
else. But I try to find some time every
day to relax. I like live music. Emerald City is great for that. On Thursday nights, I play jazz and blues
with some guys at Sachmo’s down on Byrne and Claremont sometimes. It’s kind of an informal jam session.
I like to build new stuff and test it out. Sometimes I’ll do some surfing or diving.
I still love to travel
and see new things, so even though Emerald City is my home again, I think I’ll
move around a bit, at least to visit friends.
For now, I’m trying to get reacquainted with my home. I’ve been away too long.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Next month, I'm going to be playing in an Emerald City M&M game. So I've been in a supers mood lately, and have been playing with Fabrica de Herois again.
Yesterday, I got the idea of seeing how close to some published supers I could get. I did three yesterday in amongst several original designs.
Captain America came out fairly well. One big disappointment was that as far as I can tell, Fabrica 2010 doesn't have a shield you can use anywhere. I would have settled for the kite shield design, but I couldn't find one at all. I guess I could have put a round shield on his back by abusing the circular symbol, but I didn't think of that until just now. But I managed to get the wings on his helmet by abusing a set of pointed ears, so I'm reasonably pleased.
The striped midriff was really tricky, by the way.
EDIT: And I just now noticed I forgot to put the scales on Cap's uniform. Darn.
Spider-Man was remarkably easy. I wish I'd used the option for a thinner body But there was no challenge in the costume panels or the chest emblem. His eyes aren't quite right. I could have messed around a little more to get the black rings around the white lenses if I'd wanted to take the trouble.
And to represent DC a little, here's Captain Marvel. He was dead easy, other than the cape. There's not really a way to get the cape Captain Marvel really wears. It's a very complicated half-cape worn across one shoulder. I settled for the one you see here, which at least has the nifty gold cord.
And as a last treat for the day, here's the costume I'm probably going to use for my character in the M&M game: Mister Amazing! (The "!" is part of his name.)
Mister Amazing is a pulp-type hero who's amazingly (heh) good at all kinds of stuff. His mind and body are at the upper limits of human ability. He's the master of dozens of esoteric disciplines, and inventor of new technologies. Now he's turned his abilities to protecting his adopted home of Emerald City.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
I've actually had the image, the text, and the stats since Monday. I'm just now getting around to bringing them all together in one place. This guy is a Novice level character, and pretty straight forward. He flies around, hurts people, and breaks things. Leveled up, I'd probably throw some more damage and modifiers into his attack, primarily.
Agility d8, Smarts d4, Spirit d4, Strength d8, Vigor d6
Charisma 0, Pace 6, Parry 6,Toughness 5
Driving d4, Fighting d8, Intimidation d4, Notice d6, Piloting d8, Shooting d8, Stealth d6, Taunt d4
Gloator (Major), Vengeful, Greedy
Arcane Background (Superpowers), Deadshot, Power
Armor 6 (requires activation)
Attack (ranged) AE 1, Knockback
Small-time thug Bruno Maltese was one of several
criminals involved in a raid on an experimental technology lab. The job
was to smash the place up and engage in a little good-natured arson to
teach the squints what happens if you don't pay your protection money.
was merily smashing his way through a robotic assembly station when he
found the suit - an advanced prototype power armor built around a unique
microreactor. He decided to take it as a souvenier. And he really hit
the jackpot when it turned out the damn thing worked. The suit was
made out of light-weight, very strong ceramic and carbon-fiber
materials, and was a platform for a unique vibration weapon. It could
project waves of force or tear up the ground.
decided to go into business for himself as an enforcer for hire.
Mostly, he still does contract work for his old boss, but he'll hire out
to anyone who needs people hurt and stuff broken. With the suit, Bruno
could be a major threat, but he still has the mentality of a small-time
thug. Left to his own devices, he'd knock over banks or something, and
swiftly end up in Dankwell. As it is, he frequently has to work for
employers who have the means to repair his suit and recharge its power
source. What loot he doesn't waste on booze and hookers generally gets
sunk into black-market technology. But he still dreams of the big score
that will set him up for life.
He absolutely hates the name "Rattletrap," but can't decide on another one.
© Copyright 2013 David Goodner
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