RPGnet Columns
03-29-2005, 06:59 AM
Post originally by Fulsrush at 2005-03-29 05:59:28
Converted from Phorums BB System
Personally, I'd avoid the time travel angle like the plague, for fear of starting an outbreak of *coughripoffcough* amongst the players. Someone predicting the future is a nice twist on the "pre-emptive assassination" plot.
Hmm, I've just thought of a problem with the CoC example:
---------------
I walked into the office and flung my hat at the stand - I missed, in case you're wondering - and saw a blonde sat in my chair. She was a classy lady, if a little stiff-necked, with cold eyes and sharp nails.
"Can I help ya?" I drawled, holding my cigarette between my teeth. I don't like it when customers sneak in while I zip down to the newspaper stand. I should learn to lock the door, I guess.
"Are you Connor?" she asked, her voice flat, her words carefully-pronounced. "John Connor?"
"Damn it!" I yelled, whipping out my .38 revolver. Six muzzle explosions and the chair wheels back against the wall with her inside it, and six bullets inside her. There's no point in taking any chances here, not after the other two John Connor murders.
Her fancy suit was ripped and bloodied, but she was still trying to stand up. I struggle to reload my pistol.
"J-John... Con... ner..." she gasped. She pointed a sharp fingernail at me.
No, I realised, she was pointing past me.
I glanced over my shoulder, at the door. The lettering in the frosted glass read, as it had since I started renting this joint three years ago, "John Connor, Private Investigations".
:-)
Converted from Phorums BB System
Personally, I'd avoid the time travel angle like the plague, for fear of starting an outbreak of *coughripoffcough* amongst the players. Someone predicting the future is a nice twist on the "pre-emptive assassination" plot.
Hmm, I've just thought of a problem with the CoC example:
---------------
I walked into the office and flung my hat at the stand - I missed, in case you're wondering - and saw a blonde sat in my chair. She was a classy lady, if a little stiff-necked, with cold eyes and sharp nails.
"Can I help ya?" I drawled, holding my cigarette between my teeth. I don't like it when customers sneak in while I zip down to the newspaper stand. I should learn to lock the door, I guess.
"Are you Connor?" she asked, her voice flat, her words carefully-pronounced. "John Connor?"
"Damn it!" I yelled, whipping out my .38 revolver. Six muzzle explosions and the chair wheels back against the wall with her inside it, and six bullets inside her. There's no point in taking any chances here, not after the other two John Connor murders.
Her fancy suit was ripped and bloodied, but she was still trying to stand up. I struggle to reload my pistol.
"J-John... Con... ner..." she gasped. She pointed a sharp fingernail at me.
No, I realised, she was pointing past me.
I glanced over my shoulder, at the door. The lettering in the frosted glass read, as it had since I started renting this joint three years ago, "John Connor, Private Investigations".
:-)