"Look alive, ladies."
Someone flicks on the light. A supernatural light that pierces straight through you, scorching the inside of your body before the pain vanishes, so quickly that you can't even be sure it wasn't your imagination. It blinds you for an instant, during which the owner of the first voice to speak to you since you entered continues without pause.
"If you're here, it means your background check came up clean."
Your blurred vision is starting to clear. There is a room of brown and gold with colourful furniture, a blurry figure standing on the opposite end, and...
"If you're here and still moving, it means the diagnostic spell didn't snuff you out like the rats you could've been."
Something acrid hits your nose. The familiar scent of fat burning, coming from your far right. The blur in front motions with an equally fuzzy hand, and the source of the smell disappears, leaving behind only traces. But it does the job. While your mind is preoccupied with the scent, your eyes finally clear fully, revealing everything.
The man is nondescript. Not only average, but excessively so. Short, cropped hair, a prickly chin, and too many lines on the rest. If his pockmarked face weren't so dull, he'd be an excellent lead for one of those American blockbusters. He waves with a hand that holds a clipped cigar, unwittingly showing off the tight fit of his suit.
"Now that we've got the pleasantries outta the way," he grunts. "Let me introduce you to your new employer."
The regal room has two doors: the one through which you were shepherded, and the one through which said employer is brought in, sitting on a gold-rimmed wheelchair that moves by itself. It squeaks as it moves, wheeling to a stop next to the tall bodyguard. The chair's occupant, a gaunt, withered man with traces of grey in his grizzly hair, frowns upon glimpsing you, but refrains from voicing his obvious disappointment.
"You've been brought here to perform a service," he proclaims, voice strong despite age's toll. He is less offensively American than his subordinate, but only slightly. "And, because you are in dire need of the assistance I offer. The former will bring about the latter."
Of course. That's why your here. This Lord is the only one that can bail you out, now. Whatever he asks, it's your only hope.
The Lord clears his throat.
"Take a look at the people beside you. When you're risking your lives tomorrow night, they will be your only lifeline."
On its own, your head turns, to see...
[-------------------------------]
TheHolyFifth
[-------------------------------]
Yeah, that's right. It's that time of year again.
Here's the deal: You're a person in the Nasuverse. Wanna be a magus? Fine? Vamp on the run? Go ahead. Demon Hybrid with no reason to be outside of Japan? Hell yeah. Normal person with inexplicable knowledge of the Moonlit World? Whatever you say, weirdo.
Whatever you are, you are also this: In need.
Be it money, ingredients, protection, or some over vague thing, you need it, fast. You're so damn desperate that you took a near-suicidal job in exchange for getting that thing. Maybe you're a Freelancer that offed a hoity toity magus with a powerful bloodline, and need some clout to get the heat off your back. Perhaps your body ain't normal, and you're running out of that expensive thing that keeps you alive. Or maybe you're just a greedy asshole that wants cash, and a lot of it. The end result is that you're here and you're ready to break a fuck ton of laws to get whatever it is that you want, even if it means getting into the most highly guarded parts of the Clock Tower to steal whatever it is your employer wants to get his hands on.
So you hear, maybe through the local grapevine, a trusted friend, some shady guy in a magus bar, or through sheer coincidence, that some Lord has what you want. So you get in contact with him and he says "Yeah, I got what you need, but only if you got what I need."
So you say "I got what you need," and he believes you.
So now you're here.
All five of you.
[-------------------------------]
Character sheet needs a name, some kind of description, and what your deal is. Background, personality, all that jazz. How you got here would be nice, plus what you need. And of course what you can do. No number systems or anything like that, so don't feel too restricted in terms of abilities. Just remember that you're not a Big Deal and if you try to make a Big Deal sheet it's gonna get cut down to size or cut out entirely. Each of the Five has a different sort of niche, so if I get two sheets that fill the same one, somebody's getting the boot. Try and think of what kinda players a heist is gonna need, and build from there. Go hog wild.
Got any questions, just ask me on IRC. Don't know what IRC is? A PM is fine too.
Oh, right. And one of the five, not gonna say who, ain't who they say they are. Assume these guys know you're coming. Security's gonna be tight. There are countermeasures to consider, and it looks like the Lord's spell didn't catch one. But who?
Maybe it's you.
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Originally Posted by Mike1984
