100 RedM /me examples for wounds, pain and doctor visits

How the /me command works in RedM

Type /me and a short description, and the server prints it in third person above your head: /me clutches his side becomes Arthur clutches his side. It covers what the game cannot show, a limp, a fever, a wound under a coat. Most servers pair it with /do for plain facts about the scene.

What makes a good /me line

Three habits make a good /me line. Describe attempts, not outcomes: swinging a fist leaves room to react, declaring it landed forces your result on another player, powergaming on most servers. Describe what shows: blood on a sleeve, a shaking hand, a grey face. And keep it short, two sentences at most.

• /me clutches the grazed arm, more startled than hurt.
• /me tries to put weight on the bad ankle, testing it.
• /me waves the barkeep over, asking for whiskey and a rag.
• /me pales, pressing both hands over the wound.
• /me watches the stranger's hands, waiting to see what comes next.
• /me grits his teeth and says nothing, though his hands shake.

Gunshot wound /me examples by body part

Twenty lines, shoulder to boot, mild to mortal. Rolled one of the 133 fate tables at d20rp.com? Match your tone to the result.

• /me stumbles back, red blooming across the shoulder of his coat.
• /me presses a palm to the shoulder, cursing through his teeth.
• /me grips the forearm the ball tore through, blood between her fingers.
• /me shakes out the grazed hand, checking the fingers still answer.
• /me stares at the hole in his vest, more surprised than scared.
• /me coughs wet and shallow, one hand clamped to his ribs.
• /me folds around the gut shot, breath coming in panicked pulls.
• /me tries to keep the leg under him, thigh soaked dark.
• /me knots a bandana above the calf wound, hands shaking.
• /me hops on one boot, swearing at the hole in the other.
• /me touches the graze at her temple, staring at her bloody glove.
• /me waves off help, calling it a scratch, face gone grey.
• /me screams for a doctor, both hands over the seeping shoulder.
• /me drags herself behind the trough, leaving a smeared red trail.
• /me tries to raise the revolver, but the arm will not lift.
• /me probes the ball lodged under his forearm and nearly faints.
• /me lies flat, chest fluttering, lips moving in a soundless prayer.
• /me limps a slow circle, testing the hole through his thigh.
• /me tips his hat to the shooter, then slides down the wall.
• /me clamps a rag to the neck graze, asking if it looks bad.

Falls, brawls and blunt trauma

Ladders, staircases, saloon floors and the flat side of a pistol. Blunt trauma is everyday business in RedM roleplay.

• /me lands hard off the ladder, one arm bent wrong.
• /me sits up in the street dust, feeling along cracked ribs.
• /me blinks up at the hayloft edge, unsure how the floor arrived.
• /me spits a tooth into his palm and studies it fondly.
• /me staggers from the pistol-whip, ears ringing, hat rolling away.
• /me raises both fists again, one eye swelling shut.
• /me cradles the wrist she landed on, hissing when it moves.
• /me crawls from under the busted card table, glass in his beard.
• /me clutches the back of his head where the bottle broke.
• /me tries to stand, but the ankle folds and drops him.
• /me leans on the bar, breathing shallow around a stove-in rib.
• /me wipes blood from a split brow, grinning like he won.
• /me lies at the foot of the stairs, checking what still moves.
• /me holds up a hand for a pause, wheezing.
• /me tests his jaw and decides it clicks too much.
• /me limps clear of the wagon wreck, splinters in both palms.

Animal attacks and snakebites

The frontier bites back, and every animal leaves a different wound. Your line should say which.

• /me kicks free of the rattler, finding two punctures above the boot.
• /me hisses through his teeth, forearm swelling around the snakebite.
• /me cinches a belt below the bitten knee, breathing slow.
• /me presses a torn sleeve to the wolf bite, watching the treeline.
• /me screams as the claw marks across his back soak the shirt.
• /me backs away from the carcass, mauled arm to her chest.
• /me limps in from the swamp, trousers shredded, refusing to say gator.
• /me shakes after the boar's charge, gored hip bleeding freely.
• /me pours canteen water over the coyote bite, muttering about rabies.
• /me holds up a hand skinned raw where the teeth caught.
• /me sits very still, cougar rake burning down one thigh, listening.
• /me faints halfway through describing the bear.
• /me swats at the bite like the snake might still be attached.
• /me counts the punctures on his calf aloud and dislikes the number.
• /me laughs shakily that the wolf came off worse, leg dripping.
• /me wraps the dog bite, asking whether the animal looked sick.

Sickness and fever /me lines

No bullet required. Fever, bad water and festering cuts made 1899 dangerous on their own.

• /me shivers under two blankets, teeth chattering audibly.
• /me coughs into a handkerchief and folds it before anyone sees.
• /me sways in the saddle, sweating on a cold morning.
• /me picks at his food, skin the color of candle wax.
• /me presses a wrist to her own forehead and grimaces.
• /me mumbles to somebody who is not in the room.
• /me doubles over with gut cramps, blaming the creek water.
• /me peels the bandage from a wound gone red and angry.
• /me insists it is a chill, then coughs the sentence apart.
• /me wakes soaked through, fever breaking or getting worse.
• /me squints at daylight like an insult, head pounding.
• /me sniffs the dressing, goes pale, and asks for the doctor.
• /me scratches at a rash climbing both arms.

Answering the doctor during treatment

Medical roleplay is a conversation. Give the doctor short answers, honest pain, real reactions.

• /me eases onto the cot, wounded side toward the doctor.
• /me gives the short version: shot an hour back, ball still in.
• /me nods permission, then grips the table edge.
• /me bites the leather strap, breath whistling through his nose.
• /me flinches from the needle, apologizes, offers the arm again.
• /me answers each question slow, pain shaving the words short.
• /me lies about the pain until the doctor presses the rib.
• /me watches the forceps go in, then finds the ceiling interesting.
• /me swallows the laudanum, face souring at the taste.
• /me holds the lantern steady so the doctor can see.
• /me counts backwards from ten as asked, drifting off near six.
• /me tries to sit up mid-stitching and thinks better of it.
• /me asks if she keeps the finger, voice steadier than her hands.
• /me refuses the whiskey, then reconsiders when the bone gets set.
• /me thanks the doctor twice, already reaching for his hat.
• /me shrugs the shirt off gingerly, showing the buckshot spread.

Recovery and lingering injuries

Wounds should not vanish when the bandage goes on. A fading limp or an old scar keeps the injury real.

• /me rolls the healing shoulder in slow circles, wincing.
• /me favors the left leg, taking the stairs one at a time.
• /me rubs the scar through his shirt when the weather turns.
• /me flexes the stiff hand around a coffee cup, working the grip.
• /me unwraps the bandage to check the stitches, satisfied.
• /me tires halfway up the street and pretends to admire a window.
• /me declines the arm wrestle, patting the sling.
• /me mounts slow off the fence rail, pride hurting worse than ribs.
• /me catches herself limping and straightens when folks look.
• /me startles at distant gunfire, hand jumping to the old wound.
• /me measures out the last of the doctor's powders, rationing.
• /me retells the scar's story bigger than last time.
• /me works the cough down to a rattle and calls it progress.

Questions from the floor

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