Bay 12 Games Forum

Based on the great original by Iituem. I'll let them tell how it is, with some edits:

In this game, players take on the role of great titans of creation, shaping a new world. I will take seven players, and there are a handful of rules set up to give this game an ending and some basic structure.  There is no particular turn order, you create as and when you want once we start, as it is not possible to win this game.

Rules

 - Each Titan starts with 1000 points.  No more points may be earned.
 - Creating a new law or amending an existing law (or set of laws) of physics costs 250 points, or 20 if limited to a specific area (e.g. anti-gravity, magical ley lines, halt of ageing, the rudiments of a magic system).
 - Altering the cosmos costs 100 points. (e.g. A new moon, a new sun, destroying a world, tearing a rift in space and time)
 - Creating a major geographical feature costs 50 points (e.g. mountain, sea, jungles etc).
 - Creating a new broad family of life costs 50 points (e.g. trees, giant mushroom forests, dragonkin, giant vortices of light-reflecting obsidian).
 - Creating a new sapient race costs 50 points, but note: In this game, this race will never become more advanced than the Bronze Age.
 - Creating a specific new type of creature or plantlife costs 10 points (e.g. dragons, trolls, golems, triffids, cinnamon, chaos mushrooms).
 - Creating a special landmark costs 25 points (e.g. magical monolith, motherlode of gold, well of sorrows).
 - Creating a special artefact costs 50 points (e.g. the infinity sword, the bottomless bag, the bone of contention).
 - More rules and costs, as and when needed.

 - When you are out of points, or decide to retire, each Titan's final act is to create a god to steward the world in their absence, and then the Titans move on to another world.

There we have it. I will be writing the results of your creations and drawing a Wonderdraft map as we go along to represent our fine new world. I have no immediate plans for what to do with the resulting world, but it's a nice communal worldbuilding session that anyone can then use for their own purposes! The original was already great fun on its own. You are free to go wild with your creations, but creating blatant expies of some existing franchise or meme creations is heavily frowned upon.

Titan App

Name:
Appearance:

Eventual God Design (Do this at the end)

Name:
Sphere:
Typical depictions:
Preferred form of worship: (prayer, animal sacrifice, sapient sacrifice, ritual destruction of objects of value)
Expected Boons: (what kind of rewards the deity supposedly gives the faithful)

These tracks took lives to build. They worked to the bone in the cold and dark. You could tell a seasoned laborer from the digits missing from his hand, gnawed off in the night by frostbite. The unprepared bid farewell to limbs and good health for the rest of their lives. The unfortunate died. Cold and rigid carcasses line the route from Apex to Ossuary, beneath the ice, forgotten. Few of those who now take the line know of the blood shed to lay the rails. Few care to dwell on such things, safe in their heated compartments, blessed by the smoke-belching engines and fur-lined seats.

Of course, there are those who remember - who think of the men who oversaw the work, the captains of rail and industry, the drillmasters. Colder hearts can scarcely be found, they say, even in the Rime. The blood is on their hands. Pursuit of profit denied warmth to good, working men. Greed killed, as greed does. But what is the common man to do? They are beyond justice.

Five exceptional individuals board the train along its long route from the Thaw across the heart of the Rime. By chance, or perhaps fate, they share a destination. They are bound together, until the Rime claims them or they find what they seek.




Ronald 'Frostbite' McCarthy

Home is somewhere along this line, it occurs to you. The Terminus Express forms the main artery feeding the Rime, stopping at every town with any claim to the title. Coal and firewood is unloaded at every stop - it does rather make the journey drag on - to be used or hauled further to isolated settlements. The fuel filling the first ten wagons is the lifeblood of the Rime. Sure, there's coal in the Rime, trapped in frozen ground, and Cauldron survives well enough burning the vapors underneath, but few could survive here fully on their own. As loathe as Rimers are to admit it, you are dependent on the Inners and their supplies. By the time this train reaches its terminus in Ossuary, it will have saved thousands and thousands.

Assuming, that is, that it does reach its destination. You know too well the madness of the greedy and desperate. Coal bandits prey on the line. The train might be a behemoth of blackened steel and steam-fed power, but it doesn't take much to stop it even so. A simple blockade on the rails will force the engine to a halt to avoid collision. Raiders can just jump aboard, with the thing's limited speed - go any faster, and you'll slip off the treacherous ice on the tracks. There's always a chance for an attack.

You're not going home, however much your thoughts drift back to the place. You've left it behind long ago - and besides, it'd take a long trek through the wilds to even get there from the nearest station. It's work that's brought you aboard the Terminus. A town by the name of Stalwart is looking for hired guns to deal with a bandit problem. Someone over there mentioned your name, and a letter found you. The mayor's paying well enough in scrip or supplies for the job, and you've never said no to shooting people who oughta be shot anyway.

There's only a few passenger compartments in the train, and the damn thing's packed to the gills. You're one of the lucky ones, you're informed; in exchange for helping defend the train if it comes under attack, you've been given a compartment where there's space enough to sit. There's six other people stuck in there with you, shoulder-to-shoulder like kelpers in a slaughterhouse. At least you can share body warmth. You do the polite thing and try your best to pretend you're not at all uncomfortable. You suspect everyone else is busy doing the same.


Ulien Inervios

Your sisters and your diving suit are the only things you have left from your old life, and you are very acutely aware that neither of them is at hand's reach now. The suit is safely stowed away in the train's cargo wagon, sure, but your sisters are another matter. You've sent them ahead to stay with Lukas, a friend in Stalwart, and are on your way to join them. You wish you could've traveled with them, but money is tight and you had to take what you could get. It pains you to be apart from them - Lukas is trustworthy and a good friend, but he's not family. The sooner you can get to Stalwart, the better.

The Terminus Express grinds on at a steady pace, steam rising from the rails as it passes. The engine breathes out gusts of black smoke without pause - a good thing, too, since if it stopped, so would the heating in the compartments. It's chilly enough as it is. The Inner girl sharing the cabin with you is shivering already, much as she tries to put on a brave face.

They say bandits attack in these parts. You're a few miles out of Cauldron, by your reckoning, with endless miles still to go before Stalwart. That's a lot of time for things to go badly wrong. You have your sixshooter hidden in the folds of your dress just in case. The barrel is cold against your leg, even through the leather holster. Bandits might be the least of possible problems, though. At least you can shoot bandits. Engine trouble or ruined tracks or the train slipping off the rails are all very real possibilities which the gun can't do anything against. You hope they have qualified engineers on board to take care of that sort of thing - or you'll have to step in, with the little understanding of these machines that you have.

You lean back against your sit and try to get comfortable. It's rather impossible with the other passengers pressing against you on both sides, though. You thought it a lucky break to get in here in exchange for pledging to defend the train, but you're beginning to rethink that. The air is both cold and humid with everyone's sweat. Someone's elbow finds your ribs with astonishing regularity. This might be a long journey.


Fiona McDougan of Cormwall ('Fry')

The Rime is so very pretty, but it is also so very, very cold. An expanse of blinding white snow stretches on through the window, broken at times by distance markers made shiny with ice crystal sheens. On occasion, there's a patch of slick bare rock or a distant frost-hugged mountain. Somewhat amusingly, the map you saw identified the peaks as islands. It's either very out of date, or part of that peculiar Rimer humor you're still trying to understand.

The train is a marvel - tons of steel and wood thundering away faster than any horse through this cold land - but, um, this compartment could be a bit larger. There are seven people jammed into a space you don't think was intended for more than five. They all look quite interesting - Rimers typically are - but you've not had a chance for much conversation yet. Perhaps you should change that soon.

You're headed for Stalwart - for no real reason, but someone you met mentioned the local saloon offered the worst meals he had ever tasted, and you thought that perhaps you could help rectify that and find work at the same time. If not there, then something else. There seems to be a lot going on in Stalwart; you've met quite a few Rimers heading that way already. Plenty of opportunities for a lady of your skill and will to start making a new life. Certainly since your funds are running quite low!


Sir Rimelight ('The Croc')

There was a time you could've had a compartment all to your own. There was a time when you could've bought this entire train. At least you were offered a place in a seated compartment - having to stand all the way like the common poor would've been... irritating - after you implied that you'd help shoot some bandits dead, if necessary. Not that you are terribly flush with scrip at the moment, either. You made some bad investments in Marrow - misplaced trust - slight errors of judgement - and in any case, they're all dead now, so it's no use dwelling on it. You'll get what's yours in time, and for now, you'll get by as you always do.

The Terminus Express continues on towards new opportunities. Stalwart's hiring hard men, and that's where you're headed. Frankly, it's little more than an excuse. If there's nothing of worth there, you'll find something else. You just needed to get out of Marrow. The bodies, well, they weren't great company, and it was best to get out of the town before anyone started asking unwelcome questions. It wouldn't do to kill everyone there, after all.

You show none of your discomfort, but this is simply not a very restful journey. You're starting to think you should begin a conversation with one of your fellow passengers, just to distract your mind from the discomfort of being packed in here with six other people and their luggage. Nobody seems too keen on talking to you, per se, but that is fine. You find you sometimes have that effect on people.


Cormac Hess

You're going deep into the Rime, getting as far away as you can from people who might recognize you, who might return to finish what they stared. Bandits are popular nowhere, however much they are tolerated by the pragmatic and the cunning. It's probably best to shed your old life as much as you can. Further East await new opportunities, new beginnings. You intend to follow the Terminus Line to Stalwart at the least. They're hiring men there - to kill bandits, supposedly. The idea holds a strange twisted appeal, but you might as well seek out the bandits and join them instead. Maybe you'll take some other job; there's been plenty of killing in your life in the last year. There are better ways to survive.

The train company gave you a seat in a compartment in exchange for some empty promise of shooting bandits if they came after the train. You don't expect you'll have to. Only idiots would attack a train of this type - you noticed the rotary gun up top as soon as you came near, for one - at this time of year, with easier targets aplenty. Idiots or the desperate, you suppose. A bandit's life is not an easy one.

It's a nice compartment, all in all - pelts on the walls and seats, heating, plenty of space to stretch your legs as long as the fellow opposite isn't also stretching any at the same time. Everyone's very close together, but it sorta reminds you of the old family pit - cramped even before the kids were all full-grown, but damned if it wasn't nice and cozy. These people don't look all that keen to share body warmth, though. A few of them look rich enough to make good targets... if you were still a bandit, you mean. You can't help but to wonder what's inside their bags and suitcases - especially the one with the fancy lock.



All

The compartment holds seven people; a brown-haired young man concealed beneath many furs that some know as 'Frostbite', a tall and gaunt woman with short grey hair by the name of Ulien Inervios, a strangely healthy-looking woman with sun-warmed skin and what seems to be a parasol at her side going by the name of Fiona 'Fry' McDougan, an imposing man in a suit with crocodile leather shoes and a regal fur cloak on his shoulders known to many as Sir Rimelight, or the 'Croc', and a short and wiry man with black hair and Rimer-pale skin by the name of Cormac Hess.

In the window seats - already sitting there when the rest entered - are two men. The first is a stout and short gentleman with neat brown hair and spectacles. He has a strong jawline broken by what might be whip scars. He wears a practical wool-lined coat over a fine suit and vest. He looks wealthy, but not Inner wealthy; too practical, too rough and provincial. His attention is focused on a newspaper he's perusing, but his eyes rise above the rim of the paper every now and then to steal a look at his fellow passengers. A large revolver decorated in silver sits at his hip.
   
The man opposite him has the look of a hired gun. The barrel of a stocky rifle peeks out of his bag. He keeps his eye on the others at all times, except for the gentleman in front of him. There is something to them screaming of 'gentleman and his bodyguard'.

The train continues its long circuit of the Terminus Line. The unchanging landscape rolls past through the window. If there is trouble on the way, it has yet to rear its ugly head.

Under Jupiter's baleful gaze, the Ark Bharatama carries on its eternal yearly circuit of Sol. One of many forgotten colonies-to-be, she has made her way in the light of the Sun ever since her launch in the last days of the Indian nation on Old Earth, never settling down as her builders intended. Instead, she claimed a much more significant destiny; a free ship, a neutral zone for all Sol's inhabitants. Here, free tech, information, bodies for hire and wealth all gather and mix, luring in Solars wherever she goes. A hundred lesser ships trail in her wake while their owners and crews see to business aboard.

Five Solars have come, for their own reasons. One, like many, comes for answers. Another watches, listens, and sees, hiding its true nature. A third searches for salvation for a people who will never accept her. One is lost in a world he hates, but perseveres, devoted to his nation and his mission. Yet another simply seeks work, offering its deadly skillset and ship to any willing to pay.

Perhaps they will join forces; perhaps their ways will part. Sol has something for every soul, or so they say.


Captain Gurshin Broo

Chatter on the 'net was that there'd be interesting work aplenty up for grabs on the Ark. That's usually been true, in Captain Gurshin Broo's experience. Four decades offering his guns and ship in the darkest corners of the Solar System has given Broo a good sense of where his particular skill-set is going to be needed next.

The Ark is packed full, as always. Solars of every form and origin wander her halls and gilded corridors, from Orbitals - ranging in appearance from the angelic to the obscene to simply incredibly strange - to backwater loners jumping at every sight and sound. Broo thinks it even spotted some Earthborn earlier, though it may have just been an Orbital with a plain designer body. The cyborg can only imagine the effect the splendor of the ship could have on an Earthborn, anyway, though the ornamentation of her stately corridors cannot quite hide the original stark industrial nature of the ship. Regardless, the Ark's inhabitants have given it their best shot. At points, the ship looks rather like a palace in the style of Old India - but Broo's seen it all before. The cyborg is here to shop, and shop it shall.

The Market has its physical stalls and places, but Broo does not need to go near to be hit with an immediate wave of incoming data and comms attempts. It is thankful for its robust security system; this place is usually rife with worms and spy-code just waiting for a vulnerable Caster to overwhelm. Broo lets the safer messages wash over him. Oh, yes. This place is hiring.

Team or sole body sought for confidential mission. Contact Akhigbe, Mwenye, information broker, for further details. Payment in tech, information, or currency of choice. Those seeking to waste my time should not expect to live pleasant futures.

...prospective artificers invited to showcase by Lazarus Andrei Gulth, master biocrafter, Room of Petals, Seventh Gate...

QUERY. 60203430. ATHWHKLGL. NN42009991. KEY CODE: ZENITH. AWAITING ANSWER.

...name is Líle de la Croix. I require assistance. I dare not speak more here. Please, if there is a merciful soul out there, seek me out on the Observation Deck...

BOUNTIES: For Slavers of New Hong Kong. EACH CONSTRUCT FREED & EACH MASTER KILLED Will Result In Reward! -Captain Glass, Void Cavalry.

Employment: Retrieval of stolen property. Employer: BioHab Consortium. Payment: Negotiable.

There is much, much more. Broo could delve deeper into the job market, but that's not the only draw of the Ark. There are always contacts to be made, wares to browse, people to kill... Broo rolls over to a terrace overlooking the main Market. A hardlight art display flickers from from to form here. There are a handful of others; a Remnant (Enceladus, if it knows its savages) with a distinct lack of augs showing up on its scans, a juggernaut of a bioroid that Broo automatically sizes up for strengths and weaknesses and concludes it has more of the former, and two seemingly purestrain humans - though that seems hardly possible. Could they be Earthborn? How curious.



Zahir Spencer

It is a brave new world, and Zahir Spencer hates every bit of it. There are so many freakish people, beings, made ghoulish and unnatural by their augs and surgeries. There is so much noise, so much data battering on the Caster he's been forced to obtain to get anything done out here. He's considered turning it off to get some peace, but apparently that's somehow viewed as 'suspicious' among these people. Besides, he understands its value. He is on a mission, after all. This is just an irritant. One of many.

Zahir's spent an unhappy series of journeys aboard automated cargo ships headed outwards, seeking to get away from the Orbitals and their watching eyes. From what he's heard, this is a place where tech is sold without much question - perfect for the needs of the Dominion. The funds the Dominion was able to obtain for his mission are dwindling rapidly, though. The Orbitals claimed they'd moved beyond money; clearly the rest of the Solar System hadn't. Or perhaps that was just more lies, too.

Zahir overlooks the Market, trying not to look too hard at the beings there. Messages keep coming in on his Caster - he supposes he'll have to check them eventually. There are others nearby, and one, blessedly, looks human, a young woman. It's probably best not to trust appearances, though. The others are strange, unnatural - only one of them looks even remotely human. Zahir supposes circumstances might force him to work with beings such as them, regardless.



Brooklyn of Clan Spyche

She can feel the poison in her blood, like a whisper, always at the back of her mind.

For her, Bloodburn is a slow death. For those she left behind on Enceladus, it burns higher every day, growing in their veins, polluting their corpses beyond use. Her mission is an urgent one. Brooklyn has come to the Ark in her search; she has heard of a scientist here, specializing in engineered diseases. It was not mentioned if he specialized in curing them or creating them, but either way, it is a lead - the only she's had so far.

She does not know where to find the scientist, though, not yet - an unfortunate delay. But... there is a rich trade in knowledge and favors here. Someone is bound to know.

Her masters have outfitted her with new augmentations, to go with her own. The most curious of them is an extensive series of modules she spent a day in surgery for, capable of masking the signals and radiation any piece of technology is bound to send off. It is a powerful tool, for certain.

The Market she overlooks hosts a great number of merchants and peddlers - a disdained lot, in her old life, but powerful here. There are offers here, in the datastream, ready to be plucked. Some are more insistent than others. Her Caster has already blocked out several attempts at intrusion. Others are nearby, beneath a strange, shifting sculpture of light - a strange, heavy bioroid, a multi-limbed cyborg, and two humans - purestrain, though it seems improbable. In her experience, limited as it may be, nobody goes around that primitive in Sol. It is probably another vain affectation of these Orbitals she keeps seeing. In any case, they may be of some assistance as she pursues her goal - but just as well, it may be best to work alone.



OCOS-998

The Ark Bharatama - a place of information, of technology and of commerce. It was given high priority in her briefing files, and she agrees with that decision. She has already saved footage of several points of interest for upload - but the real secrets are not so easily found. Sightings of some elusive figures of interest have been repeatedly reported on the Ark. She cannot take such reports at face value, of course, but they bear investigation. Certainly, the Ark has many employers seeking bodies to go into the Black of the outer system. That is information more valuable to the Orbitals than any material good.

The Market is abuzz with activity. Trades and offers clog up her monitoring programs. Sometimes, something devious tries to enter her systems, but she is quick to backtrace them and disabuse their senders of the notion. Payment in the Market comes in many forms - primitive currency, commonly in the Credits of Tharsis Anchorage, forms a part, but she is more intrigued by offers information, technology and favors. Of course, should she wish it, any Orbital could upload as much wealth for her use as she could possibly want. It is such a crude form of exchange, but if needs must...

998 notes a few oddities nearby - even by Sol's strange standards. She watches them while giving the perfect impression her attention is fully on the delightfully rustic hardlight sculpture hanging above them - a simple trick, with her ocular implants. One of them is an Earthborn, by all accounts. It's not that rare for them to leave the surface, of course, but this one must be a fresh arrival - she can sense no augs at all anywhere on him! There's also a bioroid that sends off threat warnings in her cortex just from her looking at it, a Remnant with rather ramshackle-looking augments, and a mercenary automata - correction, cyborg. How interesting!



Medulla-3

Do Machines possess souls? A famous philosophical conundrum. The android community has long been split into three camps of varying size on the issue. The Certains argue that, yes, all sapient beings, well including Machinekind, do possess souls. The Potentials hold that souls exist, and that Machines may or may not have them. The Deniers reject the idea that Machinekind can possess souls, and often refuse the idea of a soul entirely. This is not even touching on the opinions of the larger Machine community, nor on intriguing questions such as - if sapient beings possess souls, what is the point they will begin to possess them? And what is a Soul, in the end? Is it something quantifiable? My humble work cannot hope to answer such questions, but I will touch upon them regardless, hoping my gentle readers will show some measure of mercy...

Medulla-3 pauses her processing (a treatise by the name of 'Does This Unit Have A Soul?', by an obscure android philosopher known as Cortex) and studies the sights in front of her. She has been here for some time, watching. The Market is a curious place - she has even received some offers of organics for consumption - but it is the people here that interest her more. It's nothing she hasn't seen before, not truly, but seeing them mingling, working, communicating in so many ways - it is a rare experience. Data comes into her Caster in a steady stream. There's always work to be had here on the Ark.

Others are watching her, in turn. A cyborg warrior who might even be a match for her, a Remnant of, she thinks, Enceladian origin, and two seemingly purestrain humans. She's only consumed a handful of purestrains, and half of them bore foreign pathogens or nanotech in their bodies. Not that she'd just go and eat them. Not without orders, at least. Those she hasn't received in some time, but there is plenty of information, and sources of information, aboard this ship. She has never left here empty-handed.



Concept

I've been playing the wonderful 80 Days recently and it gave me the idea for a game. We collaboratively write a story/build a world by describing the journey of an adventurer/explorer across the world.

Each player tells about a city/place and sends our character onwards to the next, where the next player picks up. They come up with whatever adventures, people, wonders they can imagine, write it up, and on goes the next. The goal is just to write and worldbuild through these places, forming an explorer-slash-adventurer's dream world in the process. Adventure! Mystery! Wonder! Are things we'll hopefully include.


Feel free to mention if you think something's missing.

I'm happy to answer any questions you might have, but in the meantime, let's get started! As said, you don't need to have a similar format or length for your posts.


Day 0. Setting Out.

Today, my faithful readers, is the day! I have said my farewells to friends and family, given my beloved city one last walk, and set out to see the world! My dream is finally coming to pass. Years of poring over old maps and reading the accounts of others... how I've waited for today. At last, I may see all their wondrous cities and lands for myself.

I have prepared sturdy travelling clothes, some products for the general maintenance of my person (one cannot neglect one's appearance simply because they are on the road!), a number of other essentials, and a modest sum of money I hope will last me at least a month or two. I have no doubt I can earn what I may need on my travels.

Siran is fast falling behind. I cannot deny a I felt a certain forlorn longing as I reached the far end of the Lion Bridge. I will miss Siran; her long, winding streets, the quiet and irresistible scents of her coffee-houses, the sea of blue lights of the city at night - and much more, of course, I will miss her people.

But I have made my decision. Siran is a city of many wonders, but there are untold more in the world outside her walls. I will not rest until I have seen it all!

I write these words from a clanking carriage on the Great West Road. Pleasant green countryside rolls by, dotted by tangled villages, their houses built close together and crowned with wild flowers. By nightfall, I will be at the first stop of my journey - the city of...

I hope I didn't totally miss an existing thread, but Creative Assembly have finally confirmed what everyone hoped/knew; Total Waaaaagh War: Warhammer is on the way!

...granted, no pictures or concrete information yet, but the hype train is now rocketing out of the station. Aaaah.

The Gods of Elysium rule their strongholds and towers across the vast red plains of their world, ever-squabbling and fighting among themselves. To those they serve, they are divine, possessed of impossible power - to a more advanced eye, they are simply a breed of transhuman, their power maintained by powerful technology. In the end, it is the same. These gods command sworn armies and champions to go across the land, battling eachother and protecting the peasantry from the dangers of the land when they bother. Gene-grafted champions, vat-grown and blindly loyal, sacrifice and dedicate their acts to their patrons for further favors and rewards. Servants gifted with divine technology roam the land doing their bidding. Great machine- and flesh-beasts and monsters are unleashed by intention or accident. Entire villages may be slaughtered in dedication to a patron god; great heroics performed in their honor.

Lately, others have taken an interest in this strange world. It is evident truth Elysium is the center of the universe, the only home of mankind and other races - but it appears there may be further universes. The barriers of reality are weakening; some whisper of an Abomination, a devourer of worlds... but that is all far away. Still, it is clear the people of other worlds are coming to Elysium, with their own plots and machinations that may threaten the power of the gods.

A shaky alliance of divinities has called together their champions and servants to fulfill their will. They are to be sent out, gifted with a mighty Myrmidon to carry them, to fight, investigate and honor the gods wherever they go.

The red wastes are dangerous, especially now, and the gods make poor allies for eachother - it is only natural they should aim to accomplish their own, private goals in secret as well. Should these champions serve them well, they will be rewarded; but they may just as well soon be bones and dust to be swallowed up by the earth.

---





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Player List
1. Warbreaker Kazren, Champion of Rennahn (Draignean)
2. The Everchild, Champion of Basius (Yoink)
3. Fenrik, Champion of Nilvath (adwarf)
4. Dust, Champion of The Weaver (IronyOwl)
5. Arlia the Shaman, Champion of Aeraimua (Samarkand)

Waitlist
1. Malbjorn of Hal'grath (Cheesecake)
2. Plasma Electra Lazzara of Colossal Hugh Jay-Jay (Harry Baldman)
3. Harkus Wildblood of Gartuk (VinnietheDead)
4. Ahlona of Coula (wolfchild)
5. Akkar Gustemica of Orolo (The Ensorceler)
6. Orion of Ophiuchus (Salsacookies)
7. Sindis Yager of Jenshin (BlitzDungeoneer)

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I'll be taking 5 players. Quality comes over speed, this isn't first-come first-serve. Length of apps can be much longer than the example.

The Return was six months ago.

And yet it has barely begun.

Entire regions of the Earth remain battlefields. Burned-out husks of cities litter the world, stomping grounds for the Ancients. Humanity has survived the beginning, taking victories where it could, fighting back with what weapons it had, defending what had to be defended and abandoning the rest. The entire world is at war - the old alliances have collapsed and become little else than paper, replaced by the only things that were prepared for this war - the ancient conspiracies and forgotten state divisions, the remote research facilities and the guarded military bases. The cities and countries that remain 'safe' live in eternal fear, putting their faith in conventional weapons of limited use - and the stranger weapons of half-humans and experimental technology. But even they are rarely enough to stop the Ancients.

The Deep Ones rule the oceans, the forces of mankind huddled in a handful of protected safe harbors. With every incursion, they grow more numerous, enslaving what they do not devour. The primordial Titans roam unchecked, rising from the very earth itself. They leave destruction in their wake, treating the insect-like mankind with indifference at best. From the hungry void, the Star Gods are finally beginning to arrive en masse, descending from the skies with alien technology and minds. Stranger or worse beings roam in the darkness, ever-hungry, ever-hunting. 

The ballistic missile, the nuke, the gas cloud still remain humanity's most effective weapons, but when those stockpiles have been emptied, what then? When the Ancients have adapted and changed, what then?

Taskforce EUROPA has defended the continent to the best of its ability, saving much, losing more. But to kill Titans, men are not enough - and so EUROPA has begun building Olympians, great war machines towering above the highest skyscrapers, powered by the remains of Ancients themselves. Experimental weapons are being converted to use for their warships and armies. But their energy weapons are inferior copies of the Star Gods' bio-technology, their missiles barely enough to pierce Abyssal crests. It remains to be seen if anything they possess will be enough, in the end.

Over the Atlantic, where Central America falls deeper and deeper under the sway of the Deep Ones and where vast Titans battle Star Gods throughout the north, the US government has announced the USMW program - Mechanized Walkers, smaller cousins of the Olympians. Unlike EUROPA's creations, they are claimed to be pure human technology, crewed by unaltered men and women - but will this symbolic victory be of any worth against the Ancient Return?

In Russia, the Ark Projekt continues its development of the KOSCHEI fighters, rumoured to be capable of flight outside the atmosphere. They've proved to be effective, but as the Return begins in earnest even they can be overwhelmed and swept aside. Their other weapon, a joint project with China and East Asia, are the Hounds, inhuman amalgamations of technology and Enemy flesh shaped after predators, powered by imprisoned Ancients tortured to the point of feral madness. They give the machines minds of their own, crazed by bloodlust, like animals. The danger of 'bleed-over' to the pilots is brushed aside in the face of the greater and increasingly possible danger of human extinction. 

All over the world, humanity is creating new weapons... but it may still prove far too little. Without the Shackled, mankind will fall... but their blood calls out to them, every night, and as they grow more and more powerful they begin to lose more and more of their humanity.

The Earth is ancient, both in body and in mind. Mortal life has not always ruled it, and their age is now at an end. Its old masters, the Titans, are awakening, terrifying giants kilometres in size, carrying mountains - or even cities - on their backs. But they are not the only beings looking to master the world - from the abyssal depths that connect all worlds, the Deep Ones rise, singing dreams of prophecy and destruction, bending man's will to their own and bringing madness wherever they go. From the black void between worlds come the Star Gods, grown fat from devouring stars, alien and incomprehensible to man in their goals and thoughts. And beyond, even stranger and more ancient beings, turn to Earth with hunger on their minds.

This all was foreseen. Forces and invididuals from the dawn of history have long prepared for this day. Beneath the illusion of everyday normal life, ancient conspiracies and prophecies of doom form a network of defense, employing the Enemy's own weapons against it. Ancient-mortal hybrids fill their ranks, and slumbering beasts bound to the will of mortal bodies are their potent weapons. But will these halfbreeds and imprisoned gods retain loyalty to a dying race when their true brethren arrive?

The ever-advancing technology of mankind may prove surprisingly devastating against these beings, but will it be enough? Once the nuclear stockpiles are emptied, the ballistic missiles wasted, the armies of humanity broken and scattered and their defenses cracked open, who will step up to guard mankind? Secret, long-buried projects in deep underground complexes? The weapons of the enemy turned against them? It will not be the 'simple willpower and courage of normal men and women', in times where your mind and body can be taken from you by the mere thoughts of dark gods.

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Spoiler: Whasss' going on? (click to show/hide)

Eldritch horrors from the stars, incomprehensible monstrosities from the ocean depths and ageless titans from the Earth's crust awaken-slash-arrive and decide mankind's time is over and the Earth is theirs now, bitch. The nations of the planet, aided by experimental tech and ancient conspiracies, fight back as well as they can. But their best hope really is you, the players; the Shackled. Hybrids of both Ancient and mortal DNA, whether 'naturally'-created or in a lab tube somewhere, and normal humans housing ancient horrors in their heads are the best bet for survival.

This RTD takes influences from Lovecraft and other weird horror authors, to Neon Genesis Evangelion, to the game Prototype. You play these hybrids or folks with imprisoned gods in their heads. There are also Enemy Slots I'll pull into play at the worst possible moments you can also create and play.

The Ancients

Spoiler: Primordial Titans (click to show/hide)

The Earth is ageless beyond understanding. It is not merely physical age. The very core of it, the being of Earth, has existed since the dawn of time. All life on the world's surface is imbued with its presence. Today that is the races of man and the animal kingdom – but in aeons past, that spark belonged to another race entirely. Their deaths shaped the surface of the world, and now the spark is shifting again. With the land itself rising up to walk across the Earth's surface once again, what will become of mortal man?

Titans come in a variety of sizes, but on average fall somewhere between two hundred meters and three kilometres, while their width and diameter can differ dramatically. Their form is often humanoid or an animal of Earth, alive or long-dead, but some take to stranger shapes.

Being of the Earth and born of the Earth, Titans are almost universally hostile to powers from outside it meddling in its affairs. Their view on its present favored, the ever-present mortal race of man, varies. Their age is at an end, and some of them have no greater wish than to speed them along.

Common Subtypes

Mountain/Solid Form: With a splintering of the earth and wail of ancient stone, something breathes again deep beneath the high peaks of the land or in the lifeless badlands. Usually falling to the higher end of the height scale, these ancients benefit from an extremely high 'natural' toughness owing to the vast masses of stone upon them.

Wilderness Form: With a groan of earth and crack of wood, something comes into consciousness beneath a vast marshland, dense forest, or vibrant jungle delta. In an eyeblink, all pretense of sentience is wiped away as the awakening Titan bends the simple-minded fauna and flora of its new form to its will. Walking, slithering or even flying onwards, these ancients benefit from constant growth and life on them, regenerating wounds in moments.

Inhabitated Form: There are few corners of the world not taken over by mankind. Their cities have sprang up everywhere, as have their great fields of crops, canals, fortifications, roads and railways. Titans who once went to the long sleep in a world of little life now find themselves carrying the great wonders of man on their backs, bursting with the frantic mortals. What this entails for them remains to be seen...

Unique Form: Make up your own! I'll determine the final bonuses and penalties for balance, but go wild.

Spoiler: The Abyssals/Deep Ones (click to show/hide)

In the Abyss that connects all worlds, beings of vast, dark intellect dwell. They once fed on the Earth, and will again - the barriers between realities are weakening. Their influence has already touched and corrupted minds for thousands of years, birthing hundreds of prophecies and visions, inspiring macabre art and creation. Hunger consumes them all, their cold home devoid of bright, satiating life.

Flesh-smiths and mutators of terrifying capability, the Deep Ones corrupt all they touch. Their black touch sucks entire continents of life. Twisted hordes of Deepspawn follow in their wake, and their mere thoughts reduce thousands to mindless slaves. Terror is the herald of their arrival, madness their foremost weapon.

Physically, the Abyssals vary in shape. Often, they resemble bizarre combinations and mockeries of deep sea creatures such as squids and ameobas - likely having corrupted these animals into their likeness in the first place - but stranger and more alien forms are known. They vary in height and diameter, from a few dozen metres to over a kilometre. Their thick black shells provide ample protection from most mortal weaponry.

Common Subtypes

Dreamsinger – Bringers of madness and dark inspiration, these beings twist and bend the minds of mortals and ancients alike with glee. They are the corruptors, the manipulators, the shapers of minds.

Great Mother – From the coldest reaches of the Abyss come beings born for the purpose of growth, of the spread of Abyssal life. Gene-smiths and assimilators of natural life, they carry within them great swarms of Deepspawn and corrupt flesh.

Vanguard – Vast in size and strenght, ever-hungry, ever-growing, Vanguards hide behind layers of black armor that can withstand even direct nuclear detonations. They can reduce cities to rubble and mountains to dust with their devastating organic weaponry. Most purely deathly and destructive of all Deep Ones.

Spoiler: Star Gods (click to show/hide)

Perhaps the most disturbing of all Ancients, the 'Star Gods' come from dying stars and arrive on Earth for purposes only they can fathom. Some look unsettlingly humanoid, with long, overly-elongated limbs and golden wings, some bear less recognizable shapes. All share something known as a Nexus Field. An invisible storm of energy centered on the Star Gods' hearts, it has myriad uses, defense being just one of them. The Star Gods possess weapons most easily recognizable as technology, sleek machines capable of generating immense blasts of energy, and 'wings' that double as semi-organic solar sails.

The Star Gods fought over the Earth millions of years ago. Their return has long been prophesied, but their goals and thoughts remain unknown - perhaps they are incomprehensible to mortal minds.

In terms of height, Star Gods vary. The Angels often fall somewhere between sixty and two hundred meters, while the Collectors and Colossi are significantly larger, up to several kilometres.

Common Subtypes

Angel – A disturbing humanoid Star God, with long, elongated limbs, bladed tentacle-like appendages and 'wings' of light. Fast, mobile and skilled with the Nexus Field, capable of using it in states unseen with other types.

Colossus – A kilometres-wide, four-to-six-legged crawler with thick armor. Basic Nexus Field. Heavily-armed, its back bristling with organic cannons and energy weapons. Sometimes capable of flight or burrowing underground, like sort of a gigantic beetle.

Collector – Collectors are composed of cylinder-shaped shells hidden behind dozens of hardened claw-like appendages drooping down around it as it flies across the world. Unlike the other two most common Star God types, collectors bear little resemble to anything Earth-like, and have no eyes or recognizable facial features. Collectors feed by landing on populous areas, digging itself in with the claws, and sucking everything into its shell. Unarmed, but apparently capable of corrupting and mutating devoured lifeforms and technology into mindless monstrosities, Collectors have an extremely strong Nexus Field, though they lack the Angels' terrifying skill in using it.

Spoiler: The Shackled (click to show/hide)

During the past few million years, humanity has not stood idle. Ancient conspiracies and state divisions both have seeked to harness the powers of the Ancients against them. Gene-splicing and 'natural' remnants from the old times have led to hybrids, beings with both Ancient and mortal DNA. While they may look human on the outside, they possess greatly increased physical might and toughness and fragments of Ancient powers. Whether they will remain loyal to mankind as the influence of their Ancient side grows remains to be seen.

The darker alternative has been imprisoning and binding slumbering Ancients into mortal bodies and their wills. Incapable of containing such great powers, these mortal shells usually burn out quickly, or draw into the trapped gods' power and become immortal or near-immortal themselves, helping themselves to their might. They are in even greater danger than the hybrids of losing control to their Ancient side, which for them is no mere tempting whisper, but a vast, calculating intelligence raging against the walls of its prison.

But humans are not the only ones to use these weapons. The Ancients themselves are capable of focusing their will into Avatars inside mortal bodies. They can pass for human and subtly work against mankind unseen and unnoticed.

Hybrid – A creature of two worlds, born from the seeds of man and ancient both, unwelcome in both. The last of the ancients set forth the bloodlines of the hybrids and modern technology has been used to fabricate more. Bent into or willingly in the service of mortals, they are now at last regaining the power that should be theirs.

Imprisoned Ancient – Sleeping giants can offer little resistance – is it any wonder the mortals, even with their limited minds, could harm them? But to go even further, to enslave and bind, to limit their existences to pitiful shells of mortal flesh, held in place by mortal minds... they have had time to cultivate their wrath, and with the mortals' bonds on them weakening, it seems like they will soon get a chance to unleash their true power.

Avatar – The ancients can be subtle in their methods, too. Putting their form into a lesser host, they wield another sort of power entirely. They will take what is theirs unseen, from the inside.

Spoiler: Unique Ancients (click to show/hide)

With Earth a battleground, it is only a matter of time before other entities are drawn there as well. Ancients can come in many forms and purposes.

If none of the three above interest you, you can choose to be a Unique-spawn (hybrid/imprisoned ancient) or play an Unique Enemy. All the details are up to you, with balance tweaking by me.

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Player List
1. adwarf - Alfonz Wulfric (Imprisoned Unique)
2. Caellath - Alexis Zielkov (Prototype Superman)
3. Tiruin - Alessa T. Tairon (Star God Hybrid)
4. wolfchild - Calla (Abyssal Hybrid)
5. mcclay - Alex Vondgas (Imprisoned Titan)
6. Talarion - Aaron Gray (Abyssal Hybrid)

Enemy List
1. Toaster - SarCha the Broodlord (Abyssal Great Mother)
2. Xantalos - 'Quaritch' (Unique Ancient)
3. Harry Baldman - Jitch 4758/The Egg (Unique 'Ancient')
4. draco1234 - Rourk (Wilderness Form Titan)
5. Criptfeind - The Bishop of Detroit (Inhabited Form Titan)
6. Objective - Shaix-Jilaid (Wilderness Form Titan)
7. miauw62 - Stronghold (Star God Collector)
8. Rolepgeek - Estelle/Horseman-4 (Unique Ancient)

Waitlist
1. GUNINARUNIN - Rick Neil Ronin (USMW Pilot)
2. Draignean - Razvan 'Roz' Moro (Imprisoned Unique)
3. SomeStupidGuy -
4. sjm9876 - Harold 'Irontooth' Rorikson (Unique Hybrid)
5. Unholy_Pariah - Bruce (Unique Hybrid)

Returning players may use their old characters (that includes Enemies) or create new ones. If the first, there may be some sort of multiple-choice questions thing to determine what you've been doing in these past six months, though not necessarily. Please repost your old app if you wish to continue playing them - without the Superweapons of the new apps, mind you.

New players - I can guarantee someone's gonna die sooner or later, so the waitlist isn't that a bad place. The more people on it, the more comfortable I feel killing everyone off.