In classic Furtive fashion, I fretted over a post for several days in a row and got it around 80% finished before completely forgetting about it for years. Earlier today when I found out that it's not only December but late December, I started to scramble for something seasonal to write. Failing in that, next by chance I searched through my unfinished drafts for anything containing the word "Narblesnard", and lo did I find this neglected installment in that series of shamelessly self-referential Troika! backgrounds that I was working on for a while in the hopes of eventually publishing a d66 table (which will still happen Eventually).
The other backgrounds don't really have a common thread between them, certainly nothing holiday-themed, so think of this post as more of an ugly, re-gifted sweater than a proper present. But hey, that's more than I usually manage to do on short notice.
Your tribe of techno-barbarians follows a simple code of governance: leaders and representatives are elected on an ad hoc basis, and all eligible voters do so with their fists. The candidate who receives (and endures) the most punches from their fellow tribesfolk is appointed to temporary office. Unfortunately your platform proved to be a little too popular with your fellows, and you passed out under the hail of approval. Now you nurse your bruises and hope to toughen up before the next caucus.
- A Mild Concussion.
- Muscles, Scar Tissue, Callouses & Microfractures (Lightly Armoured).
- No Shirt, ever.
- A Data-Sphere filled with your ancestors' wisdom and also workout tips.
Whenever you strike a Mighty Blow with an Unarmed attack, you deal triple damage instead of double.
Additionally, people who have punched you in the face find it easier to like you.
You are called "necromancer" by some, and on the surface that may appear true. You speak to the dead, and under great duress might beseech their help. But you love the spirits in your care, and strive to see the wheel spin on, uninterrupted. The humid river deltas still echo with your jovial songs to the dead, even in your absence.
- Weathered Old Staff
- Talisman-Bedecked Robes
- Coffin containing a Deceased Loved One
You can see all ghosts and undead by the aura around them. It's impossible not to see them, they're so glaring and bright. You can also speak to all undead and corpses, even if they are normally mindless. Getting fruitful conversation out of them is another matter, though.
Once feared, reviled, and propagandized against for tinkering with flesh, outsiders now seek your kind out for the potential that you can draw out of the physical form. With enough time, patience, sinew, and bone, you can induct anyone into the Fair Folk. But the creativity of a yearning heart knows no bounds, and you must search far and wide for just the right donors.
- Far Too Many Knives
- 3 doses of Anesthesia
- Dreadful Beauty
- 1 Random Roll on a Mutation/Augment/Prosthetic table of your choice.
You may Test Your Luck to perform a special surgery upon a creature to add or replace an appendage or other body part. This process requires a day of uninterrupted preparation and work, the spare parts in question, and enough anesthesia to knock out your patient (unless you are operating upon yourself). Failing the roll or interrupting the process reduces the target to 1 Stamina.
You are one of the little hole-dwellers living next to the perilous woodland realm of the squirrels. You celebrate the winter solstice as a time of quiet and safety, when the narbling horde has finally laid itself down for hibernation. Yet you know in your heart that their malice always lurks close by, no matter where in the spheres you've burrowed yourself to.
- An Anxiety Disorder of your choosing.
- Letter Opener (Damage as Knife).
- Running Moccasins with Decade-Old Socks.
- Sack of d66 Acorns.
- Jar of Emergency Peanut Butter.
2 Woodland Lore
You instinctively know the exact location, health, and aggression level of all squirrels, chipmunks, marmots, or other sciurids within a 1 kilomile radius.
Your people are born of the sea, and the sea of stars and spheres is just another ocean for you to explore and conquer. Or so you thought. Your flotilla is scattered, and you are marooned on curious shores. But you hold true to the teachings of the Eternal Blue Above & Below and keep floating on.
- An Old War-Dinghy painted in totemic images and tamghas.
- Brocaded Sailcloth Sarong.
- Fishing Net, sporting a few holes.
- Waterproof Composite Bow (Damage as Bow) and 20 Arrows.
While piloting an outrigger canoe, catamaran, war-dinghy, or other small water vessel, you may Test Your Luck to perform extraordinary tricks with it. This includes but is not limited to jumps, banks, rolls, sailing against the wind, and the time-honored tradition of oar jousting.
That petulant, shrouded upstart. He did this to you. After he stole your crown, it all went downhill. He broke the natural order of things- surely the people would not have otherwise risen up and deposed their liege and lord? No. 𝒰𝓃𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒. The blame lies squarely with him, and with your vengeance you will reclaim your kingdom. You will claim many. You will slay the Double King.
- A Compulsively Well-Maintained Royal Seal.
- Tattered Royal Robes.
- Mostly Ceremonial Weapon of your choice.
- A Sad little Replacement Crown.
Your obsession with "good breeding" allows you to identify the genealogy of anyone you come in contact with, and determine whether or not they are a royal. "Royalty" is a culturally subjective term you have no control over.