The Revival OOC (Closed for the writers of this thread)

Fauxy Post!

FD.. are we going to see a char sheet anytime soon? Are you still with us?
 
Sorry its taking me awhile.
Is Scuttles, uh... ever actually around? I had a question for him relating to our chars and didn't want to just run on it myself and have him wonder what the hell I was doing.
 
Sorry its taking me awhile.
Is Scuttles, uh... ever actually around? I had a question for him relating to our chars and didn't want to just run on it myself and have him wonder what the hell I was doing.

He'll be 'back' in the next day or so but I'd suggest shooting him a PM with whatever's on your mind so he can be thinking on it prior to that.

grins

Just a suggestion, of course... :D
 
Had a friend in town visiting so I was gone for a bit. But I am back! Ask me your questions! Fire at me from the quiver of your queries! Give to me sentences that end in question marks!
 
Fauxy Post!

FD.. are we going to see a char sheet anytime soon? Are you still with us?

I lost my D6's. How am I supposed to roll a character?!?!

Kidding, prolly went over your head anyway. Yeah, you might see one.. some time soonish.

RL has been more important lately.
 
I lost my D6's. How am I supposed to roll a character?!?!

Kidding, prolly went over your head anyway. Yeah, you might see one.. some time soonish.

RL has been more important lately.

In 4th ed. you use a d20. but a stat array is way easier.

Suck. It.

Post your char asap, special kid.
 
Virgil Esau Hawkins
32 years old
Foreman at Etham Ironworks

It all went downhill after high school.

Hell, it all went downhill after the tenth grade. The tenth grade was when Virgil first met Cathy Rogers, in Geometry class, second period, Mr. Jenkins. She sat three desks in front of him, in the next row to his right. Virgil could barely remember what a cosine was, and couldn’t calculate a tangent if you held a gun to his head, but he sure as God made little green apples could remember Cathy Rogers. In fact, she had also been in his Biology class, but it had taken him a couple of days to realize that, since she sat two seats directly behind him. But one day Miss Hicks had made some funny comment, and there was no mistaking Cathy’s laugh. High and bubbly and clear as a bell.

Virgil didn’t remember much about biology, either. He did remember that somehow, he hadn’t had another class with Cathy Rogers through the whole of high school, until the last semester of their senior year. By that time, she was already dating Steve Rogers, the all-conference running back on the football team. Virgil played football, too - safety and receiver - but he was nowhere near as good as Steve. No one was as good as Steve. And Cathy only had eyes for the best.

Shorn of the distraction of Cathy in his classes, Virgil did manage to get enough schooling that, once he graduated and got a job at Etham Ironworks, he was able to eventually make foreman. He supervised a shift of fifteen workers, fourteen if Al Blackburn had gotten drunk again last night, and the bosses were talking about making him the supervisor of the whole shift! That would be worth another four dollars an hour, and would also mean that he could work farther away from the molten iron itself. Fewer burns, and less feeling like he’d been baked every night when the shift whistle blew.
 
Vail! Just so you know. Cause I haven't told you yet, but should be obvious, LCN is taking over for FD and Tess will shortly be taking over for Foxy.

I'll update the char sheets soon.

With the changes, we're hoping that the thread keeps moving smoothly forward, because Ali is not nearly done with the Mayor.
 
See, this is what I'm sayin'...I'm 100% out of the loop

pouts

That said, Ali has no clue who she is messing with.

I'm sorry honey. I'll endeavor to keep you 100% in the loop.

kisses her cheek

I don't think Ali cares. In fact I don't think I care either. I think she's going to make a mess, a very big one.
 
Character Name: Bethany “Beth” King

Age: 24

Background: "For the man is not of the woman; but the woman of the man. Neither was the man created for the woman; but the woman for the man." (I Corinthians 11:8-9)

Beth King, née Holcomb, had been baptized in river water. Her father, Tilford Holcomb, had dipped her into the liquid clear and mountain-cold, his stern face unusually soft as her vision clouded. The world above blurred and shifted, and Beth had felt her submersion deep in her bones: what sins she had were washed away. Her legs and arms quiet underneath the surface were in harmony with God, with her white dress flickering like a testament to her virtue. The current could run, and would run, and her soul would stay cleansed and good. Her father's voice, echoing above, “...I now baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.

Tilford had lifted Bethany from the creek, led her from the water, and kissed her cheek. It was the only time Beth could recall her father touching her in affection.

She had grown up in north Georgia, a town called Followill, with the Blue Ridge Mountains a constant feature of her childhood. The hills and valleys would have seemed poetic to her compared to her life, if Beth had known anything of poetry. Her life was a series of canyons, with a couple of glimpses over the next ridge: a pretty sunrise here, some wildflowers there. Sometimes she brought them home to her momma in a mason jar, with yellows and purples and whites bursting over the edges of the glass in riotous profusion. Or she at least she did until her momma died after complaining of horrible stomach pains for days. Abigail Holcomb had begged for a doctor, but Tilford had stood firm: only God would heal her, if it was His will. Had Abigail been seen by a doctor and treated for appendicitis, she would've gotten up from the tangle of sweat soaked sheets that became the last place she would ever lay her head.

Abigail had died at eight o'clock in the morning on a Sunday. Beth was thirteen years old.

Her daddy hadn't said a word at her funeral, but instead had stood at the graveside in grim silence. Beth waited for him to cry, for his shoulders to shake in noiseless sobs, anything. A word, a curse, a prayer. Tilford uttered nothing. The line of his back in his white shirt and black suspenders held stiff would stay in her memory for a long time.

Their life continued in the white clapboard house that was the only residence she had known. Generations of Holcombs had been birthed and raised in that house, but after her mother's death, the shadows of the pine and stunted-oak trees had stolen the last remnants of Abigail's quiet serenity. Beth read her verses and kept the house while Tilford continued working at the coal mine. She rattled around the rooms like a little ghost. The single comfort the girl had was the stack of books that her mother had hidden away in a cupboard under the stairs: they were the only impression Beth had of a world that was wide and totally alien beyond the smoky hills surrounding them. She read of oceans and deserts, castles and mud huts, kings and slaves. While the Bible had all of those things, the pictures it painted were—God forgive her for doubting it—not as rich or satisfying. And so after she left school to take care of her daddy at fifteen, Beth had nothing but those sequestered books and her walks along the gravel road that ran past her front door. Just waiting for something, anything to happen.

And then, when she was eighteen, Beth met Levi King. Her father had brought her to an eight day meeting that took place yearly for their congregation in Followill. The decision that Beth would attend had been made after he discovered her perusing a bedraggled copy of Jane Eyre. Shocked out of his remoteness by his daughter's display of timid independence, Tilford had burned the books behind the house and informed her that the only book she needed was the right word of God. Her arrival at the retreat was marked by eyes made red with weeping and bruises ringed around her wrist from her father's brutal hands. Tilford had left her in the care of mountain women who knew too much of the ways of men to comment on the marks, but instead ignored her as she sat in quiet obedience on the end of a bench.

Bethany wore a blue dress and a white ribbon in her hair. She had slipped out to pray alone, unnerved by the fervor displayed in the tent's interior. The reverberating litany of channeled tongues followed her out to the freedom of the evening air. Her face had returned to its sweet countenance, with no evidence of tears remaining. Levi King had came upon her there, with she as worldly as a fawn, and asked why such a pretty girl needed to hide outside. He was charismatic, all comforting words and charming smiles. Beth had felt something inside of her loosen, a desperate need for kindness nurtured at last.

She married him a week later.

Tilford had been surprisingly pleased by this turn of events and sent her off with the traveling preacher with nary a word of protest. Then again, Bethany was little more than a reminder of a long-dead wife to him and he had no use for a daughter in his ascetic existence. It was only later when Levi's true nature, his violence and merciless caprice, came roaring into her hasty marriage that Beth thought to wonder if her father had known. Was she being punished? Had she displeased God? In their travels through the southern states, the backwaters and sleepy townships, she prayed for forgiveness and guidance. It was her lot, her burden in life, and she knew nothing else. There was nothing but a distant memory of books where women thought as they wished, lived as they wanted. On nights when she lay awake and alone after her husband left her used and battered those thoughts nudged her, but she forced them away. It was her punishment, her penance, and that long ago dip in the river that had left her clean and pure was a bitter reminder that women were the entrance to sin.

And so Beth prayed, and prayed. She was tender hearted, never critical, always compliant. She did her best to serve as Levi's helpmeet in their travels, each town giving her a brief surge of hope that it would be different this time. Bethany King, née Holcomb, was a good Christian woman. She was a preacher's wife.

Character on/offs: Beth is obviously very submissive and eager to please. She's so used to being treated like a piece of furniture that kindness is completely foreign, although she still is naive and innocent. She's understandably afraid of inspiring ire in any form and so even a small display of generosity will be treasured.

Player on/offs: There's the profile. Ask me if you have any questions! :rose:
 
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Excellent! So here's how I see the next little bit going...


Tess needs to get an intro post up, and then

- Preacher and his wife for a bit, to establish their 'home life' as it were.
- Preacher pays a visit to the Mayor to introduce himself and formally invite her to the Revival (with a bit of a cameo by Vivi)
- Get the revival started that night, while will involve everyone for a short time (excluding, potentially, our mayor if she declines afore mentioned invite)
- Follow Brit and LCN's characters out of the revival, to establish their relationship


Good? Bad? Suggestions? Complaints? More question marks?
 
Excellent! So here's how I see the next little bit going...


Tess needs to get an intro post up, and then

- Preacher and his wife for a bit, to establish their 'home life' as it were.
- Preacher pays a visit to the Mayor to introduce himself and formally invite her to the Revival (with a bit of a cameo by Vivi)
- Get the revival started that night, while will involve everyone for a short time (excluding, potentially, our mayor if she declines afore mentioned invite)
- Follow Brit and LCN's characters out of the revival, to establish their relationship


Good? Bad? Suggestions? Complaints? More question marks?


I have a question!!!
Here's my question mark payment...??????

Now. This plan requires quite a bit of posting from our preacher. You gonna be able to keep up with it?
 
I have a question!!!
Here's my question mark payment...??????

Now. This plan requires quite a bit of posting from our preacher. You gonna be able to keep up with it?

That's the idear, my dear.


See what I did there?


That's the kind of genius turn of a phrase you can expect from me in this thread.
 
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