The Seacrette Seven: The Story of Victoria Seacrette

"Uh...it's not what it looks like?" stuttered Duggan, his eyes meeting the unblinking, laser-burning stare of Victoria.

"I think it's exactly what it looks like," she hissed through gritted teeth.  "Exactly!"

It happened to be the scene into which Victoria had stumbled. Warm sunshine glowed through a thousand lazy motes of dust, oblivious to the activity beneath them: Duggan above, Heidi below.

Trousers down, dress up.

Panting.

Bits of hay gently floated to the floor, the frenetic activity that had so disturbed them now stopped.

Heidi, her face aghast, clapped her mouth shut and writhed out from beneath the scrawny Duggan to find her feet next to the rapidly shrinking boy.

"Victoria!" she gulped.

Victoria's eyes narrowed. "Heidi."

Duggan stepped forward, his finger raised. "Now don't you go starting anything, Vicky, there's a very reasonable explanation for all of this."

Victoria placed her hand on his naked chest, stopping him at arm's length. "Don't you Vicky me, you godless son of a bitch!" she rasped. "I won't be starting anything, but I will be ending something."

Heidi drew herself up to her full height and drew in her breath. The act of doing so caused her dress to fall back into place. "Don't you go threatening-"

In their frantic embarrassment, what neither Duggan nor Heidi had seen was the quiet clenching of Victoria's fists, the left a tight ball, the right tightly gripping the handle of the wooden pail she was carrying when she had entered the barn moments earlier.

Victoria instinctively led with the left. Heidi's nose was no match for the solid worker's hand that struck it. A brief surge of satisfaction registered with Victoria as she watched Heidi's eyes widen just before the impact. The wet crunch left little to any party's imagination as to the resulting state of Heidi's bridge.

Victoria's right hand followed through, swinging the bucket in a tight, vicious swipe that, now that Heidi had fallen to her knees, connected satisfyingly with the side of her head, the empty bucket disintegrating even as it's hollow thump echoed through the barn.

Duggan, too stunned by what he was seeing, tried to raise his arms and left leg in defence, hoping to ball up into a fortress of limbs. He never made it.

Victoria's now unencumbered right fist continued directly into Duggan's left kidney. Duggan did ball-up, but not in the fashion he intended. As he slumped to the ground, his chin, floor bound, met Victoria's left fist, ceiling bound.

The resulting gun-shot like crack both indicated the breaking of Duggan's jawbone and the conclusion of Victoria's attack.

Panting, she stared at the two figures, Duggan twisted over, unconscious, and Heidi sitting flat on the floor, blood streaming through her fingers as she clutched at her nose. The bleeding girl mewled in confusion and agony.

Victoria shook her head. Heidi had been a beautiful girl. Quiet how a snivelling wretch like Duggan had managed to attract her attention was quite beyond Victoria's imagination. Still, the bitch deserved to have her face re-arranged for messing around with other people's husbands, as far as Victoria was concerned.

She dropped the handle of the pail and turned to leave.

"Waid, pleade."

She turned to look at the pitiful form of Heidi on all-fours, trying to get to her feet. A brief pang of pity shot through her before the anger returned. Rage was a good teacher - both Heidi and Victoria experienced a first as Victoria learned the round-house kick.

Victoria closed the door of the barn, leaving both witless idiots unconscious on the floor. Burning the barn was a step too far, she realised - there was a difference in the sympathy one could expect between the jilted wife and the jealous murderer.

She had no real idea what to do now that she had beaten the two senseless. Doubt gnawed at her as she strode home - was she really planning on leaving? Where would she go? What about her marriage vows? She looked up at the forbidding darkness of the forest that ran alongside the road. Was that really a place for a woman?

She wandered through the village gates, turning just before the bridge. She sighed as she looked at the little tannery she and Duggan shared. Had the marriage really been that bad? This was the first time anything like this had happened, she thought.

Or was it? How would she know? Just because she didn't know, doesn't mean it wasn't happening, right?

Fire surged through her veins again as she recalled his puffing cheeks and her yelping cries of satisfaction. She looked around, daring any other woman to appear - no doubt the bastard would have had his way with half the bloody village - could she really kick all of their arses? Would she?

She slammed the door behind her and thumped up the stairs, her mind made up.

Except -

No. Sort it out, Victoria. You're leaving him, and that's that!

She could return home, of course. To her parents. Mum had always had her doubts about Duggan anyway and Dad would just be happy - he always was. And it's not as if they didn't have the space - Daddy had done quite well despite his lack of education. He just knew how to do business, is all.

But to return home would be to return a failure. To face the delighted stares of her younger sisters, both beautiful, both married to responsible, loving husbands. Could she face such condescension?

Victoria realised that she had stuffed the few items of clothing she had into a leather pack he had left lying on the bed. What on earth was she doing?

Think, Victoria. Just think. Go downstairs and sit down. Sit on your hands. Just until you have an idea.

She nodded to herself. Good idea.

***

Twenty minutes of sitting had done much to clear her head. In that time, she had both wept and sworn, kicking at his work bench and breaking her favourite tea pot.

The answer that kept coming to her was the convent up at Ratchitt. That's what happened to unfaithful wives and unwed daughters whose integrity had been compromised, wasn't it? Why shouldn't she do the same? They were bound to accept her. She was hard working and practical.

But Ratchitt was over a week's journey away. How would she get there? More importantly, how would she get there safely?

It was another frustrated kick that revealed an answer. The heavy work-bench, laden as it was with tools and skins, skidded across the rough floor, before shrugging off the load of skins upon it. There gleamed a beautiful axe, half a holster wrapping its head. Presumably the holster was here for a repair?

She reached over.

No, Victoria, it's not yours. 

Her hand stopped.

Neither is he, anymore. 

She touched the handle.

That doesn't matter. Taking this would be theft. 

The wood was sensationally smooth. She ran a finger up to the blade.

So? He's responsible for it! Besides there's no point going into the forest just to get eaten by wolves - you're hardly showing him then, are you?

Her hand clutched the handle. Suddenly she was holding it in both hands, testing its weight. She realised she was grinning.

Go on. Take a swing...

***

Victoria ran through the forest, desperate to put as much distance between her and the village as possible. The lantern jangled about in her hand, its light dancing crazily over the road and the surrounding trees.

You stupid, stupid girl! she thought. You'll never be able to return, now!

"Just take a swing!" she fumed, muttering to herself. "You couldn't have bloody done it outside, could you have!"

She didn't even register the presence of a fork in the road as she jogged along - she chose left.

"I mean, its not as if it didn't look sharp, is it, you daft cow! What did you think was going to happen?

"Besides, who builds these houses anyway! I mean, what a stupid place to put a wooden pillar! And to have the whole weight of the upper floor rest on it? I wouldn't build a house that way!"

She felt sick as she remembered the house collapsing behind her. She'd had just enough time to register what she'd done, stuff a few essentials into her pack and dive out the door before the whole thing came down.

She slowed to a walk. She had been jogging for some time now and the weight o both her physical and emotional baggage was telling. "You can't keep this up, dear," she announced to herself.

But you can't go back either. Nothing says 'divorce' quite like breaking your husband's jaw and knocking his house down, does it?

She stopped and sighed.

"Better find a place to rest."

***

Name: Victoria Seacrette
Race: Human
Gender: Female
Age: 20
Height: 6'2"
Night Vision: None
Alignment: Neutral
Psychology: No effects
Languages: Old Worlder

Career Class: Ranger
Career: Herdswoman

Name: Victoria Seacrette	M	WS	BS	S	T	W	I	A	Dex	Ld	Int	Cl	WP	Fel
Starter Profile	5	28	33	2	4	5	27	1	23	34	34	23	34	29
Advance Scheme			+20	+1		+2	+10
Total Advance				+1
Skill Benefits					+1
Current Profile	5	28	33	3	5	5	27	1	23	34	34	23	34	29
WFB Profile	5	2	3	3	5	1	2	1	-	7	7	5	8	-

Fate Points: 3

Money: 8 GC

Skills:
Dance
Luck
Astronomy
Animal Care
Charm Animal
Musician - Wind Instruments
Specialist Weapon - Sling
Animal Training
Herb Lore
Very Resilient


Trappings:
Hat
Cloak
Leather Boots
3 Blankets
Cutlery
Tinderbox
Small Cooking Pot
Flask of Water
Axe
Knife
Sword
Pan Pipes
Sling (and ammunition)
Staff

***

Of course, the line we're the most interested in will be the WFB profile, but I thought I'd include everything I've generated just to round the character off. My plans essentially are to give her an experience bump for each outing, and then use events in each outing (be that outing a small skirmish or a full battle) to determine further experience.

Over the Christmans break, I'm hoping to start her story as game, pretty much from where we've left her today...

The Seacrette Seven

A vast swathe of October, the entirety of November and so far, this small chunk of December, have been consumed by real life.

The unavoidable variety of real life, specifically.

And, as much as I consider life to be the lesser of two evils, sometimes I just wish it wasn't quite so real. Or, at least, if it intends to be as real as it has been of late, at least to spread that reality evenly over the year, rather than carefully saving it up for a time when I look sort-of comfortable so that it can burst out of behind the bedroom curtains and beat the shit out of me.

What I don't have for you today is any further progress on the Lichemaster, or the Dark Elves, or any modelling work at all, in fact. Not a thing. Painting has happened, but pictures have not. And we all know the rules: pictures, or it didn't happen.

But what I do have this evening is the first stage of the outcome of a joyful dip into fantasy wonder much akin to my first forays into the Realms of Chaos.

Long time (well, June...) readers might already remember Victoria Seacrette and Dumbel Doore - possibly even their involvement in the events at the village of Mourning Glory. Coupled with the recent completion of Albi Schutz and Antonio Epstein, I realised that I have enough painted figures to do some dungeoneering. That is not to say that I've forgotten about my alternative adventuring party - but rather, that I've found synergy between the Terror of the Lichemaster objective and dungeoneering.

So by way of connecting point A (The Realms of Chaos one) to point B (the painted adventuring party one), I must reveal that I have broken out the polyhedrals,  the rulebooks and the character sheets, and generated four characters.

Using Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay rules.

The 1st edition, to be precise.

Now I had considered using the sensei rules included in the Realms of Chaos books. There are a few tables and some equipment to generate and I'm sure its interesting to do - but hardly the same fare as act of generating a chaos champion. Why, I think generating a sensei warband might take nearly as long as ten minutes, if one was to dawdle.

Fortunately, by using the WFRP rules, I instead was to sip from the smooth, well matured cup of narrative randomness that only comes from many tables, allowing my characters to slowly reveal themselves to me, some being forthright about themselves, others being coy or playful.

Of course, not all things were random. I shall specify the method I used and which bits I used the its-my-stuff-and-I-can-do-what-I-like override. I trust you will approve of how few times that golden hammer needed to be used.

The figures, sculpted as they were, already told me a story. The story allowed me to make the class selections and determine which age range they would come from.

Drumman Bace and Ferrero Rocher

The figure of Albi Schutz was evidently going to be of the Fighter class. He looks experienced - a tough and practical soldier who had lived through many battles. We agree that he's already peaked - perhaps been through a few tough campaigns, but unable to let go of the adventure and battle of excitement, or possibly just not knowing any other way. So, he continues with adventure. Somehow I get the impression he's not very good with money management - never a beggar or a wastrel, but unable to focus on any goal long enough to practice any intelligent financial planning or to enable a life outside of adventuring.

We looked at each other for bit, before he told me his name: Drumman Bace.

The figure of Antonio Epstein was, having eliminated the other models, obviously the Rogue of the party. Straight away I knew he was (to anchor us in the Warhammer world) a Tilean. Regardless of world, his influence was fully and solidly Italian. Stereotypical, really, in that he's not as fond of the fight as his boisterous and challenging words might suggest he is. He is a risk taker, though - just not a fighter. He seems to be an irrational optimist. He won't tell me any more, though.

"Roll some dice," he suggests, winking. "You'll see who I am."

His name is Ferrero Rocher.

Victoria Seacrette and Dumbel Doore

The figure of Libby (from Hasslefree) we already know a little about. She's introduced herself as Victoria Seacrette - and the name checks out. She wasn't lying. In fact, the single outstanding characteristic about her is her unfailing honesty. Not borne of simplicity or stupidity, just of a wise head on young shoulders, perhaps coming from the fact that its a tough life in the Warhammer world for ladies. She never intended to be an adventurer - it seems she had some man problems earlier in her life and having set herself upon the course of an adventuring life has found supreme liberation at being in control of her destiny. She's never looked back.

Of course, she's bigger than other ladies, a fact that she's well aware of. Fortunately, she's embraced who she is and is certainly found playing to her strengths.

She will be of the Ranger class.

The figure of Gymlet is also a known quantity. He, too, has proven to be honest about his name: Dumbel Doore. It is a 'humanisation' of his Dwarf name, which I don't yet know, but he's been around humans for so long now that he doesn't mind. Dumbel strikes me as a mischievous fellow with a robust sense of humour. He is hardly the dour dwarf, though: he is chatty and cheerful and although he hasn't admitted it, I suspect he practices yoga. He is certainly far more vigorous than he lets on. Curiously, although he witters away happily covering a wide range of topics, he doesn't actually tell me much about himself: not so much from lack of trust, but some sort of throwback to his upbringing or maybe his culture? He just doesn't talk about himself.

"S'rude," he mumbles, before showing me how far he can bend his thumb back. "Double jointed, see?If you really want to know something useful about me, then have this: I love roast lamb. Love. It."

Dumbel will be of the Academic class.

They haven't yet revealed how they've met or quite why they now work together, but despite Drumman's age and experience, Victoria seems to be the party leader. These two certainly have an interesting dynamic - she asks him for advice, but he's happy to let her lead. The other two seem to trust her and are both bemused by and proud of their adventuress leader.

The party so far..

Next time, I'll post the character sheets of each character and hopefully reveal more about each, including their 'translation' into WFB terms. You'll be amazed at how closely the dice ended up reflecting their character...

Just before we move away from the party, Victoria suggested there might be other members of the party we've not yet met: when I asked if the party had a name (as some do - there are even adventurers who formalise their relationship in contracts...), she grinned and said, "Why, the Seacrette Seven, of course."

She raises her finger to her lips. "But they don't know that. Yet."

WFRP: Play by Post - We're Underway!

Well, Erny has chucked us into the thick of the thing. As mentioned in my previous post, I've opted to participate in a Play by Post WFRP campaign. We have a forty eight hour 'turn', in which our actions are to be posted. Quite sedentary by the standards of most role players, but still punishing for new dads.

Also, we opted to start with the Oldenhaller Contract - the intro scenario in the rule book, just so we could get into the thick of things before commencing with The Enemy Within. Our characters are the same, however.

I play Wanda:

Anyway, check out the unfolding of this little exercise over at the blog:

http://theernywithin.blogspot.co.uk/

A word of caution - we are seven different authors* working completely independently of each other, as and when we're able. It's not The Lord of the Rings.

Finally, by way of linking this post to something vaguely warhammer related - now that I've mentioned the Oldenhaller Contract, you should be able to cross the bridge of the river Pun and make the connection with the Oldhammer Contract. Clever fellow, that Zhu.

*I use the term loosely

Sabotage - The Enemy Within!

I lamented in my previous post about the considerable amount of time I've had to allocate from my hobby to my new family. And, try as I might, I've yet to be able to convince my dear daughter that being quiet and lying still is a hugely rewarding activity to be undertaken whenever possible.

I tend to use the word 'sabotage' to describe anything that inhibits hobby time (you know - like life), but almost always, that sabotage comes from elsewhere - an outside source.

Unfortunately, I think I've just gone and sabotaged myself.

Erny, the proprieter of Erny's Place (not to be confused with Ernie's Place) declared that he would start running a Warhammer Fantasy Role Playing campaign. It is to be an online exercise, you see.

Interesting, I thought. I'd like to see how something like that pans out, seeing as I have a vested interest in online 'board' gaming. But then he did something unexpected: he invited people from the internet to play.

And, like James Bond to the arms of an eastern european spy in a bikini, I folded and applied to participate.

Masochism being my new favourite activity, I then thought - I wonder if I could write some sort of journal from the view of the character I play?

So, I've clipped time from my dwindling supply of hobby time in order to play an offline RPG online. And I've proposed to write about it.

The campaign he will be running will be the (apparently) hugely atmospheric The Enemy Within - the first of what I understand is a series of campaigns set in the Old World. We will be using the pre-generated characters the module supplies, and in the end I have elected to play one Wanda Weltschmertz.

Wanda, as you may have guessed, is a woman. And, whilst it may never have been expressly stated, it is now: I am not a woman.

Which brings me on to my role-playing credentials. Like almost all of the the people involved in this hobby, I started with Dungeons and Dragons (the Rules Cyclopedia, if you must know), before discovering the joy of lead. I was young and I didn't really understand the difference between role-playing and roll-playing. I wasn't entirely clear why my strength 18(99) minotaur dragon knight fighter/mage couldn't carry 10,000 pieces of gold and 500 feet of rope in his pockets, whilst hefting two vorpal axes of berserker rage with extra giant strength (+5/+10 vs undead).

Later on, when I started mastering games, I realised what role-playing really was. But by then, it was too late. The problem with roll-playing is it quickens the route to meta-gaming. Very quickly, I realised that I couldn't 'unknow' the things I knew. All my characters knew that killing trolls involved fire - even though they'd never seen a troll before.

But, throughout the D&D, I never ever played a female character. Or even a human character.

At this point, I'd suggest my credentials are, at best, dubious.

Now I've kicked around the fantasy world a bit. Been around the block a few times. I know Wanda probably looks like this:

Or this:

...because that's what fantasy women look like, right? I mean, the fantasy we're talking about here is not the fantastic, is it?

This is the drawing from the module that Erny provided:

I mean, its very 80's, but she's in the ballpark, right?

But a casual conversation with someone regarding WFRP set me straight. Apparently, the old world is a dark place. It is the historical medieval world, but with extra hopelessness and darkness thrown in. He advised that something like this might be more appropriate:

He also mentioned mud. Lots of mud in the Old World, apparently:

Anyway, this is another drawing of Wanda from the module:

Whilst there's nothing to say she isn't wearing a plate mail g-string, I would suggest that's probably not the case. I imagine she would call that garment she's wearing a 'frock'.

Her special skills are that she can read and write. Look - she has a handbag. And she's not afraid to use it!

Back to WFRP. I've never played it. Ever. I remember picking up the book once, paging through, and taking note that necromancers will eventually develop a funny smell and that children and small animals will avoid them. Apart from that, I know nothing. 

So, I know nothing about WFRP and I know nothing about playing a woman. And, just because I've had a recent brush with pregnancy, doesn't mean I'll only draw on that experience and act irrationally and emotionally. I'll park my horse badly and buy lots of shoes too. 

My point is that, for Erny (the GM), I should make the ideal player - because I know nothing. He could tell me anything and I would have to believe him. I can never say something like "1d6? I'm sure it says 2d6 in the description..."

In short, my role-playing credentials are second to none.