“I don't deny that I get excited, but that's what happens when you're passionate about what you do.”
― Zak Bagans, Dark World: Into the Shadows with the Lead Investigator of The Ghost Adventures Crew
A class for Buckets of Blood.
Class: VigilanteYou are a Vigilante, a hard man for a hard world. Life is a sequence of events that fucking suck. Dead parents and dead kids. Everyone deserves it. You can't be a real Vigilante until you understand that everyone deserves it. There is no good on earth that isn't smiling and waving with a gun in the small of its back. You beat up people on the street to cover your rent. Drug dealers, if you can get them, since the cash is untraceable and drugs are always good to have around. Homeless people too, if they have nice shoes. If you could only go after criminals that would be swell, but sometimes a Vigilante needs to make do. Roll for a Tragic Backstory if you want. It doesn't make a differnece. Everyone is just as fucking miserable.
Skills: 1. Cinema 2. Canoeing 3. Fashion
Starting Equipment: Iconic mask, dark clothing (as unarmored, +1 sneak), a signature light weapon (like a boomerang shaped like a bat), grapnel and 60' of rope.
- A Perverse Incentives, Improv Class
- B Death Note
- C Death Wish
- D Death Sentence
Nothing means anything. For some reason, the police never care about what you do. Scenes of brutal violence left in your wake are quickly forgotten. They'll pursue you if they see you doing something bad, but after a car chase and one of those classic cop-car pileups they'll forget all about you again. Deliberate effort by authority figures (mayors, sleuth reporters, mob bosses) can override this, but only so long as the effort is continued.
To be clear; no one means anything. The world is laden with tools of emergency self-defense. Any rigid object the size of a fork or bigger is a light weapon in your hands; the object is probably destroyed on a nat 1 or a max damage roll, or the first time you hit someone with it, depending on how fragile it is. Ignore any penalties for improvised, shoddy, janky or implausible weaponry.
There is, always, a little notebook and pen somewhere on your person. If you write down someone's name in your notebook you have advantage on all movement-related rolls while pursuing them, such as when scaling walls, dropping down from skylights, or hoofing it through the woods.. If you write down someone's birth name, you always know the last place that they slept.
When you attack someone from surprise, they must save vs. death. no matter how ludicrous your position (like hiding beneath a bed or up on some rafters) or plain ol' stupid your weapon (like a single arrow, or a plastic bag) is.
Whenever you receive damage, you may choose to play dead. While playing dead you are immune to bullets, knives, long drops, fire, water, cars and poison. Superficial damage to your body (e.g. being burned to a crisp or impaled) does not permanently harm you in this state. Even trained medical professionals are unable to tell you're merely playing dead, until you abruptly catapult up to kill them with a scalpel.
TRAGIC BACKSTORY (roll or select):
- Father fell down the chimney on Christmas Eve and broke his neck, and that's how you learned there ain't no Santa Claus.
- Parents killed in front of you by a man in clown makeup.
- Mom killed Dad, after Dad killed Mom, after Mom killed Grandpa, after Grandpa forced Mom to marry Dad.
- A seven-tailed demon was bound inside your chest. Everyone hates you.
- Corporate American raised you as a child-soldier who infiltrated other parts of Corporate America to blast CEOs through their 100th floor office windows.
- Hideously disfigured as a result of illness in young adulthood, person they considered love of their life turned out to be depressingly shallow and left them over that.
- Father made them kill their dog to make 'em tough.
- Manipulated for years to help with a deeply immoral scheme (I dunno, poisoning old people to steal their achilles tendons, that was apparently a thing in Poland for a while) until they realized how fucked up that was and quit.