Tower

Tower groggily cracked an eye open, then slammed it shut again after the daylight pounded his retina. He groped with a massive hand for shutters that weren't there before deciding to just keep his eyes shut forever. He grumbled incoherently under his breath, and reached down off the bed for a shirt. Finding a piece of cloth, he grabbed it and slowly sat up, scratching his bare chest. 

 

He stood slowly and blindly reached for the door, stepping forwards. The morning light wasn't going to defeat John Cromwell, no sir. Hand finding a handle, he pulled and stepped forwards into the Hall adjoining his bedroom and stepped through, putting one arm through a sleeve of his blindly found shirt. He opened his eyes, expecting the dim light of a hallway, not a lobby. His surprise overrode any pain from the stark light of the room. 

 

He froze, locking eyes with the shorter of the women in the group. 

 

"Still dreaming then, eh," he mumbled. He hoped, at least. 

Do I call myself Tower here?

 

John looked out over the cordoned off area. A huge canopy of a tent spread out over the vast majority of the celebrants, it reminded him of those old church tent meetings that traveling revivalists would set up. The place looked crowded, which caused him to purse his lips. He could leave, get back to his place before nightfall and not bother with all of this gala business. He tightened his grip on his walking cane. That would mean an entire evening wasted, and no chance of what some of the other players had called 'event loot', whatever all of that means. His grandson had really left him to learn all of this himself. The players he'd heard discussing the gala didn't mention a dress code, so john brought along a white dress shirt and black slacks, accented by a walking stick, which he gripped by the large knob on one end. 

 

He paced forward, tugging at the dense hairs of his silver beard, planting his cane in the cobbles with a quiet clack. his hand moved up to his similarly gray hair, which he pressed back around his ears so it wouldn't be in the way. It was unnecessary, of course, as his body worked perfectly in this world. Despite this, there was a nagging fear that he would falter again, that his disease would chase him no matter how far he ran. He dismissed the thought as he waded through the crowd as it grew denser. He tried to give the other players a wide berth, and found an opening close to the back of one of the refreshment tables, where the crowd was on the other side, chatting and drinking. He had to duck once he reached the tented area. The whole place smelled of perfume and was abuzz with the quiet noise of a party that people think are elegant. From the back side of the drink table he grabbed a mug of something warm and brought it to his lips. He smelled pungent cocoa before he tasted the drink. It felt good to get something warm in him, even if it wasn't a toddy with a little whiskey thrown in for good measure. Drink in hand, he surveyed the crowd, and wondered what benefit there could be to all of this. Andrew had claimed you could do anything in this game, though, so perhaps this was all it needed to be. 

BD: 6 (success)

MD: 5 (failure)

 

John admitted to himself that he did not know that much about this game and its rules, but he had learned a few things about fighting the little boars around what everyone called the starting area. He crossed the invisible line that drew the boar's attention, but not the rest of the animals', and it looked up, approaching slowly. The distance between them closed gradually until a little notification exclamation mark popped up in his HUD, indicating he was in combat. Tower took a step forward, planting his foot in the ground and steadying himself. It brought a smile to his face, even though he was fighting. In this moment, in this life, there was no tremor. There was no shame, and he had control. 

The charging boar came into range and snarled, leaping at John's outstretched arm, clamping its jaws around his forearm. The armor held, and John brought his fist up and struck the thing in the side. It yelped, being knocked to its side, and the health bar above the animal beeped pleasantly as it ticked down a little. 

Excellent, John thought. The animals had not been able to break his armor yet, but he still had a way to go before he could loot the thing. 

John turned, making sure he hadn't walked into the radius of the first boar, and glared. Normally, a man of his stature and size could make just about anyone take a step back with such a look, but this palace of insignificance had removed any consequence from most actions, and thus, most apprehension. If the whole world was a game, there were hardly any stakes, were there? He responded quickly. 

"How else am I to do it then, hm?" he questioned. "I may not have a fancy sword, boy, but I need materials." 

Hm, children, he thought, about to turn back to engage the 'monster' as his lexicon had called it, but continued facing the boy. He was short, but then again most were when compared to his size, and quite obviously had a higher skill, or level, or whatever they called it these days. He hmphed again, thinking about all the times he chided other boys for playing games, and now he was a 'gamer' himself. 

Then again, I never had time to do anything but what I had to do. Maybe this is a legacy of prosperity. He added a quick or whatever, to the end of his internal monologue, and turned back to face the boar. 

LVL: 1                    EVA:

SP: 5                      MIT: 26

EP: 2                      DMG: 1

HP: 20                   ACC:

Tower never understood videogames. 

A ridiculous premise, coupled with escapism, generally led to laziness. 

He looked around the sunlit plain of shin-length grass that waved in the breeze, unobstructed by trees, save a copse of pecan or oak dotted around the plain. He had to admit, though it was escapism, that it was incredible nonetheless. 

Just the place to spend your last days, he thought, watching some of the boars grazing around one group of live oaks. He smiled as he looked down to an open palm and closed it into a fist smoothly. No wobbling, staggering, or shaking. He felt strong again, in control again. Something he hadn't felt in a long time. Now, to teach those pigs a lesson. 

Tower opened his menu, providing him with a wide array of buttons, sliders, and inventory options, most of which he simply did not know the function of. Of the few that he knew, he was aware of how to swap his clothing. His finger drifted over the 'equip' option under his heavy armor, and a soft blip sounded as the inventory disappeared, leaving Tower in full plate armor, sans helmet. 

The boars were really difficult to kill, and he needed to be prepared. He never quite understood how the kids in the game did it all, he wasn't even halfway to his next level. Well, waiting isn't going to help. 

He kept walking toward them. 

pending

Profile

Username: Tower

Real name: John

Age: 76

Gender: M

Height: like 6’8”

 

LVL: 1                    EVA:

SP: 5                      MIT: 26

EP: 2                      DMG: 1

HP: 20                   ACC:

 

 

About: History/personality

John Cromwell is a self-made man if ever there was one. He was born to good parents who loved him, but were poor. John never missed a meal, but santa and the tooth fairy never seemed to remember his address. At a young age he realized he was just bigger and faster and stronger than most of the kids his age, and lied his way into the military. He went on multiple tours around the world and sent every penny he had to his wife.

 

She invested wisely, and when John had come out of the army, with substantially more scars and gray hairs than he started with, he started his own business and got down to raising a family. His hardworking nature shone when after failed products and brands never got picked up, but as they say, you only need to hit it out of the park once. His company made him a small fortune, and ensured generational wealth for his children and children’s children.

 

Johnn was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease early, and at first he relied on his wife for the support (physical as well as emotional). But over time, John grew weaker and his wife’s health declined faster than his, and she died before he hit his seventies. WIth his age and infirmity, John wishes to escape to a place where he can live some of his last days with relative independence.

 

Virtues:

 

Steadfast: Tower is loyal, nearly to a fault, though he seems slow to trust. his commitments run deep and he has a propensity to give more and invest more than other men. In the face of opposition, John will redouble his efforts rather than give in, even at risk to himself.

 

Sagely: Tower was an old man before he came to the great game, and as such he is more wise and patient than most. He usually has advice to give and truth to help those who will listen, if they can pry his mouth open, that is.

 

Hardworking: Tower lived a hard life before the game, and through this he built a small fortune and a large family. He considers himself a self-made man, and most of that is true. He is shrewd and thrifty, and seems to always be able to make something out of nothing.

 

Flaws:

Blunt: Tower has never been a man of subtlety, and this reflects in the way he interacts with others. He routinely says things as he sees them, and this often offends people. He calls it 'just being honest' or 'speaking my mind', but generally, John lacks tact, even in situations that would benefit from it. 

 

Prejudiced: Though he seems a logical man, Tower has been given to certain not-quite-rational dislike of certain people due to their beliefs or practices. He tends to draw unnecessary conclusions, perhaps not from his initial interactions with people, but give him a few minutes to get to know you and he'll find a nit to pick about your personality, and he tends to be fairly blunt about it. 

 

Slow to trust: In a game where collaboration is key, Tower tends to do things alone. He seldom parties up with other players, and when he does it is usually because he has no other choice, and he does not expect them to watch his back. Due to this he has few friends in the game. This is compounded with the fact that he sometimes relates poorly to other people in the game, himself being an older man. 

 

Profession: (N/A)

 

Skills

Non-combat:

»N/A

 

Passive:

»N/A

 

Combat:

»Heavy armor, 1 rank: 8 MIT

 

Weapon skills:

»N/A

 

Inventory

Weapons/Tools:

»Heavy armor (rare, 2 sockets)

                »Sockets: 2x mitigation, 18 MIT

»Vanity weapon (A spiked gauntlet)

»Health potions (50hp): 3

»Mats

                »tier 1: 10

»Col: 2500

 

Roleplays

N/A

 

Relationships

N/A

 

Story Thus Far

John looked around with a wobbling head, making sure there wasn’t anyone around to see him. To his relief, the kitchen was empty, at least for the moment, and he had the room to himself. He stared at a glass, half-full of water. It had been mostly full when he pulled it from under the refrigerator dispenser, the excess water now slicking the floor slightly.

Alexander would have something to say about that, something about ‘my safety’ and ‘dangerous’, he thought, looking down at the floor’s white tiles, smoothed marble for easy sweeping and mopping. He turned his gaze back to the glass, his field of view shaking slightly with the tremors in his torso and neck.

He reached out, tensing all the muscles in his arm that he could. They felt like stretched rubber bands; wobbling, ready to snap, all at the same time. The tremor lessened, and he closed his hand around the glass. I can do this, I WILL do this, he thought as he lifted it from the counter. The water shook slightly, and he tried to loosen his grip. With a shaky breath, he concentrated, tried to predict the wobbling and compensate as he lifted the glass to his lips, and misjudged one of the motions, crashing the glass into his lip, pinching the thing against his teeth hard enough to knock his head back. He lost his concentration, and dropped the glass, bringing the hand up to cover his mouth, stifling a grunt as the glass shattered on the tile floor.

Almost immediately, John heard a young man’s voice, along with approaching footsteps

“Grampa?”

A stocky young man appeared in the doorway, already moving to support John’s large form. Alexander was a third his age but still in his early twenties. John leaned into his grandson’s arm. Even though age had bent his back, he still had to reach down a little to drape his arm around the younger man’s shoulders. When John was younger he had been a giant of a man, and even though age and infirmity had bent him over, he was still large, and seemed to have that peculiar presence about him that made men somehow more than what they were

“You need to let the nurse-”

“I know!” John rumbled roughly, regretting his temper instantly. He continued, slower and more deliberately as Alexander guided him to the table. “I know, boy. Sit down, let your grampa tell you something.”

Alexander was a good man. He may have played too many videogames, but that made for a good living in some circles nowadays. He felt ashamed, as he did on his more shaky days. He wasn’t the rock he was, no matter how much everyone of his children insisted otherwise. Alexander dragged a chair around close. It all welled up within him sometimes, his infirmity. Maintaining an air of control was harder now than it ever was, and every time he tried to regain a part of his independence, it had backfired.

“Alexander, I can’t-” he stuttered, the words caught as much by muscle spasms as by his own emotion. Of all the things to kill him, it was this thrice-damned DISEASE. “-I can’t live this way. This body, this disease. I have been strong, I have done everything I could do for my family. God, sometimes I just wish I was gone, just somewhere I didn’t have to have a damn nurse all the time.”

Alexander looked down. He was focused on the floor, like a man banishing distraction from his mind. He had that look about him often while he was working on his videogames. The boy always said there was always a way to win, no matter the odds. He liked that quality. Alexander looked up, a rueful grin almost upsetting him for making light of the situation. He spoke in that way of generals who knew their gambit was risky, but perhaps worth it.

 

“Want to play a game, grampa?”