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

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:iconrafellin:

Gallant Role-Playing System - OpenDyslexic Edition by Rafellin

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/ ©2015-2018 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

Promo Teaser for 'The Ballad of Septimus Mak' by Rafellin
First to FallEvery anniversary of the counterstrike, they show that cursed video. You know the one: snow on the ground, ashes in the air, a lone woman in a ragged battlesuit moving cautiously across an open field. She’s gripping a Mantis 14 like the ancient beam weapon’s a holy relic.
She straightens, bringing the beamer up. The discharge is violet laced with blue lightning, a clear sign the main tube is overstressed. It also means the effective range is under eight metres. The Drandic were in no danger, but they didn’t know that. The pulsing green riposte is blindingly fast and actually comprised of two dozen needle-thin beams in a searing helix. Her arms go wide and she falls, pierced through. Hitting the ground, her limbs bounce once. The snow raised on impact sprinkles her body, mixing with the ashes caught in her dark hair. The field is still.
Music swells, poignancy segueing into stirring tones. From behind her – to the viewer’s left – a dozen battlesuited
Bad CyberThe Amour Club is light on love and heavy on by-the-minute. It’s popular with non-johns as the full-time privacy mode prevents surveillance and squashes infobuzz down to a whisper of priority feeds.
I usually enjoy being anywhere that quietens my ConstantTouch and serves JD in liquid form. But the Amour’s regulars are lowlifes who’ll never make it, because talk is cheaper than decisions and appearances are cheaper than experience. Tonight, however, I’m being paid to put up with them for a while.
“Lincoln Shields, as I live and breathe. Who cracked your rock and drove you into the light?”
The comedian on my left is Vinny Roe. The cybernasty on my right is Vinny’s latest goon, Clem. No surname on record. No specialities, either; he’ll do anything that pays him to hurt people.
Vinny waves at the ancient robot bartender – this place is so cheap it won’t even hire an android.
“Get Mister Shields another of whatever mouthwash
War GamesI’m impressed: the manufacturer’s claim was true. C-NhD – Compressed Nhildentium – really does make a ship unbreakable.
“Sir, the worst casualty is Engineer Ruson: both legs broken. Apart from that: cuts and bruises.”
I treat Dral to my best expression of disbelief: “How?”
“It spun us, sir. Everyone was pinned to a solid surface. By sheer luck, the majority were backs to the impact.”
I’ll be drinking a half bottle of brandy with our guardian angel as soon as we get out of this.
“What’s our manoeuvring capability?”
“None, sir. We’re embedded in a cliff face.”
“Can we blast our way free?”
“It’s a two-kilometre drop, sir.”
“Use launch boosters?”
“Tubes are buried in the cliff, sir.”
I perform a mental orientation from that info.
“So, presuming we’ve lost both turrets, surviving weapons will only fire along the cliff face?
StartupMy guardian wakes me with a mental alert: “Intrusion!”
I lie there, unmoving, keeping my bodyware idle. The first rule of surviving killsoft: do nothing to allow it further access.
“Where, Teriya?” I silently reply. – It’s a difficult skill to master. There are alpha-class cyberops who still mumble when conversing via headware.
“Left eye.”
“I don’t have a left –”
Yes, I do. There’s hardware in the eyedock.
“How the frack did a wandering eyeball get in there? No bastard got into this cubby and nothing gets past my drone monitor.”
*Ahem.*
Teriya and I chorus: “Who the frack?”
*Please allow me to introduce myself.*
“You’re a man of wealth and taste?” Teriya deadpans the lyric. I have to suppress a smile.
*Once upon a time. Currently, I’m a bodiless intelligence locked in a holographic matrix that’s hidden inside this Zeiss XR1010.*
“How the frack have y
Hag GuardThe monsters are just about to carve into my flesh when the fright-spasm finally wakes me. I struggle to breathe until panic releases my chest; gasping breaths hiss and thunder. The viewport is fogged with condensation and I’ve wet myself.
Just another ‘night’ in my TARP – Therapeutic Accelerated Rest Pod – and one of the reasons I’m thankful TARPs are never for communal use after you qualify. No more sharing the sack with the last sleeper’s leavings – or getting ragged for whatever you left behind. Plus, no need for Kevlar pillows and ballistic nylon sacks as TARPs are cased in the same armour they use on main battle tanks.
I flush the ‘iffy-whiffy’ – gas and air mix – that the TARP uses, then peel myself from the pad as the lid rises.
“Mmmm. You’re ripe. Happened again?”
“What can I say, Doc? Dreams of you are hard on a man.”
My partner-in-banter winces. Doctor Maera Hughes, inventor
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