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Gallant Role-Playing System - OpenDyslexic Edition by Rafellin Gallant Role-Playing System - OpenDyslexic Edition by Rafellin

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Gallant Role-Playing System - OpenDyslexic Edition by Rafellin

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/ ©2015-2019 Rafellin
At last. :) The OpenDyslexic edition. It's doubled in page count over the standard edition purely due to the font. Any future editions will be dual release standard and OpenDyslexic editions.

In addition to twelve years playtesting, there are four years 'in the wild' behind this 4-page comprehensive role-playing system.

I originally created this as a method to do one-nighters when one of the group couldn't make it. It went from there to be the most versatile system I could make it, with the able assistance of my gaming group - who, at peak, brought over 100 years RPG experience to the table between them.

It's free. The download option should deliver you the 4-page PDF. If it doesn't, message me and I'll get it sorted.
:icononlytheghosts:
OnlyTheGhosts Featured By Owner Dec 3, 2015
Thanks, I'll check it out.
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:iconsimonjm:
SimonJM Featured By Owner Oct 15, 2015
Four-page version for me when viewed/downloaded :)
Nice addition to the stable!
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:iconrafellin: More from Rafellin

WitnessesWe don’t have the technology to make the instruments to understand what they do, let alone resist. Every eleven months or so, a grey column descends from space and encloses a city. Twelve hours later it lifts. The population is dissolved and non-organic surfaces are covered in a toxic sludge. All devices are flatlined and erased.
It’s eleven months since the last raid. Cities used to attempt evacuation, but the next grey column would be wide enough to encompass the bulk of the evacuee zones. Thankfully, people are very good at ignoring risks: earthquake, tornado, alien attack, it makes no difference. Shrugs are the response to direct queries. Well, shrugs and the stockpiling of weapons, to be accurate.
Just after dawn, I awoke to a twilit reality rent by screams and sirens. So I looked out the window and started sketching with permanent marker on plastic sheets.
I’ll add an approximate 12-hour count to my notes. For reference, it’s 01:00 and the sketches are don
Airlord“My mum said that wouldn’t fly.”
She stands there, looking up at me, hands behind her back, daisy-print summer dress blowing in the hot breeze.
“Why did she say that, little lady?”
Her eyes widen, then she smiles: “Because you’re a heretic, and the airlords don’t like you.”
I burst out laughing and she flinches away, then her smile gets wider.
“Little lady, your mum is right, but they can’t take the sky from me.”
She purses her lips: “I don’t get that, mister.”
I crouch down and look her in the eye: “Just because someone doesn’t like you, or doesn’t like what you do, it doesn’t stop you doing it.”
“It doesn’t?”
I grin: “Truly. Words can only bind you if you let them.”
She looks back toward her folk’s shanty. It’s bigger than mine. But then again, it’s built to last, whereas my bivouac was built to make do.
Turning back,
Unmoored“Where did we find him?”
“Outside a pizzeria on the Alpenring in Walldorf.”
“Obviously a man who travels first class.”
Hans chuckled.
Dolf stretched: “So, before he vanished, on camera, from a locked cell, and the infestation of sharp-dressed young men with Hamburg accents began, what did our mystery guest tell you?”
Hans pulled out his notebook: “He spoke almost perfect Hessian. I had to get my grandfather to verify my translations. Grandpa said that he was speaking ‘Darmstadter’, and he hadn’t heard that spoken since he was a child.”
Dolf raised a hand: “So he’s a bit of a linguistic mystery as well. Move on.”
Hans grimaced: “We’ll have to. The suits took the tapes.”
Dolf glared at Hans.
Hans ducked his head and continued: “He claimed to be Grustaf Kolingt, a ‘Geldaj’ – some sort of private detective. Anyway, he had been hired to look into a trio o
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HillsEven before everything came apart, I hated hills. And, back then, I had gears. This old clunker only has one cog at each end. So there’s nothing for it but to push down on one side while hooking the other side under the pedal to pull up. If that isn’t enough, it’s time to walk.
Which is a bit of a bugger with forty kilos of scavenged stuff in the panniers. Then again, I’m going back to Racehill Fort, where sanity still exists. I have three people with me, and we chat about things and laugh as we go. Most of the south coast is a feral wasteland. If pedalling harder is the tariff for being part of civilisation, I’ll happily do it.
“Chargers!” Cindy’s cry is hoarse with fear.
Damn and blast. I’d hoped that the new equivalent of mechanised cavalry hadn’t spread this far. Should have guessed it – electric motors do good work on smooth going, but off roads, they’re shite. The mountain bikers, foresters and horsefolk make
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Consider it our little contribution to that wish, Harry, my old friend.
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“Simon! Put this on it.”
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Her eyes drop. I met Agoryn Fredor after I got mugged in Gagra. He was the translator the police called to make sense of what the battered Englishman was ranting about. Over the subsequent years, he and I corresponded about many things. Mostly based around our mutual fascination with alternate history.
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Acheron was to be the utopia that Homo sapiens deserved. The omen of seeking to build that fabled ‘no-place’, and the abysmal history of previous attempts, did not matter: we were the ones who would succeed.
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