The Pageant of Mysteries
PC: Chopper (player: Brent Not Broken) - ON HIATUS
X X O O O
Sharp +1 *
Weird -1 *
Sawed-off (3-harm, close, messy, reload)
Crowbar (2-harm, hand, messy). The crowbar is for salvage work; the other one is for scaring away vultures.
Personal fashion worth 1-armor: Gravel’s got this jacket and pants made out of old, cracked leather with bits of metal and some kinda plastic sewn in at some of the joints, all stitched up like Frankenstein’s monster. Looks like parts of it have been replaced two, maybe three times.
Bike: Leslie (rugged, vintage, roaring, unreliable). Don’t ask about the name. Actually, don’t you dare even say a word about Leslie, I fucking swear.
(2-harm, small, mobile, 1-armor, vulnerable:desertion)
Gravel’s crew is a bunch of nomadic bastards who ride out with him on salvage jobs and keep the circus built up and functioning. Some of them were with Gravel from way back; others shuffled in when he started working with the circus. Looked at one way, they’re a bunch of roadies and mechanics. Looked at another way, they’re a dozen-plus roughnecks with sledges and big-ass wrenches and callouses on their hands.
- Matilda (Capable and thorough and knows her shit.)
- Daff (Been there the longest, since before-the-circus times. Knows Gravel as well as anybody.)
- Dog Head (Always trying to get away with something. Gotta watch him all the time)
Pack Alpha: when you try to impose your will on your gang, roll+hard. On a 10+, all 3. On a 7–9, choose 1:
- they do what you want
- they don’t fight back over it
- you don’t have to make an example of one of them
On a miss, someone in your gang makes a dedicated bid to replace you for alpha.
Fucking Thieves: when you have your gang search their pockets and saddlebags for something, roll+hard. It has to be something small enough to fit. On a 10+, one of you happens to have just the thing, or close enough. On a 7–9, one of you happens to have something pretty close, unless what you’re looking for is hi-tech, in which case no dice. On a miss, one of you used to have just the thing, but it turns out that some asswipe stole it from you.
If you and another character have sex, they immediately change their sheet to say Hx+3 with you. They also choose whether to give you -1 or +1 to your Hx with them, on your sheet.
So this guy Gravel, right, he’s lived out in the wasteland for years, stripping down wrecked shit and selling the bits. Got himself a bit of a work crew, on account of his weird eye for what’s valuable and what’s not, and not being afraid to give some goddamned orders. Some people say he used to ride out into the Daytime to salvage all the scorched junk that nobody else will touch, and that’s why his skin’s all crusty and leathery, but Gravel won’t talk about that. He’s no-nonsense and resourceful and incredibly superstitious, and you get the impression that when he looks at you he’s using that same eye as when he looks at a wreck out in the wastes, figuring out what bits are worth something and what bits aren’t. Lately, he runs with the circus out of inertia, because it’s steady work and the carnies are used to him by now, so nobody gives him any shit. Gravel can’t stand it when people give him shit. People oughtta just do their jobs and let everybody else do their jobs, and then stuff gets done, and then we can all move on with our fucking lives, you know?
Gravel is an open book, whatever, who the hell cares.
Oban stood up to Gravel in the past regarding payment. Forgiven, not forgotten.