196
Forum Games and Roleplaying / Re: The Age of Fire: A Modern Godhood Game (That's All, Folks)
« on: April 24, 2017, 07:32:53 pm »
I realize the previous subtitle for this thread was rather ironic.
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197
Forum Games and Roleplaying / Re: The Age Of Fire: Game Thread
« on: April 24, 2017, 07:29:37 pm »
CHAPTER 10: ALL THINGS
Fire.
He hated it.
He hated the extremes, boiling hot and freezing cold.
He hated what killed all life, salted the earth, denied possibilities.
Fire left nothing but facts.
Jules hated fire.
He drifted from place to place, time to time. But even now the Angel stretched back in time and throughout space. No corner was safe from it. The world was now in its grasp, and it had clenched its fist.
He was lost.
He was alone.
He wondered where his children were.
Jules found a place, safe from the flames.
A park bench, under an old oak tree.
He sat and watch the mile-high inferno eating up whole skyscrapers.
The Stranger was beside him.
Of course it was.
It had to end like it began.
So pathetic, he thought. Even reality bows to patterns.
“You're enjoying this, aren't you?” Jules said.
The Stranger tilted its head.
Jules stood up. “I know what you are,” he said. “You never got your story, did you?”
The Stranger crossed its arms.
“I thought you an ally, but you're just a vulture,” he said. “You come on in when the Angel's done his work, and you just... (he coughed – how mortal) pick up the pieces. You have nothing, you are nothing, so you just... You just... At least I made something new. At least I tried to make it happen. At least I strived.”
The Stranger looked around at the burning trees, the ink-black sky, the cindered grass.
“For this?” she said.
Jules stared.
Then sat down, his head hung down, green eyes filling with tears.
He looked at his hands, lined with imperfections. He could feel his heart beat, the rasping in his breath. He no longer felt lighter than the air around him: he felt heavy, like he was filled with water. Thoughts came unbidden into his head.
My children, I'm so sorry.
What have I done?
What was the point?
I'm a fool.
The Stranger awkwardly patted Jules on the back.
Jules looked at it.
“Give me a way out,” he said.
The Stranger shook its head.
“I want to see my children again,” Jules said.
“Not my job,” the Stranger said.
“Please,” Jules said. “You were human, too. What's behind the mask, Stranger? Do you know?”
The Stranger sighed.
Beyond the park bench, a door opened.
The fires crept closer.
Jules nodded, then stood. He offered a hand, and the Stranger shook it.
“Personal favor,” she said. “Nothing more.”
Jules smiled. He looked around at the city, wreathed in fire. “I'll miss this,” he said.
The Stranger nodded.
Jules stepped through.
The Stranger shut the door behind him.
It was a tight passageway filled with stars, twinkling in the far distance. He stepped forward across a mile, then he was there on the other side.
There they were! Merlin, Matthew, Lloyd, Robert. It was Merlin's shop. The lights were low, stains on the floor that weren't there last time. They lay on their knees, hands behind their heads. Why did red run down Lloyd's face? Why was their eyes so wide?
That's when the cattleprod got stuck into Jules's back.
He fell, screaming and twisting onto the ground.
The pain settled from a roar to a low drone. His hands twitched and refused his orders to move.
“This what a Level-10 looks like?” said Agent Mark.
“A dying one,” said Agent Tracy. She stabbed the Green-Eyed Man with the cattleprod again, just to make sure, then let Agent Mark jab him with the syringe. There wasn't much of a chance that the Green-Eyed Man had even a fraction of his former power, but Tracy preferred certainty. “They get like this when they reproduce. They crawl off somewhere to die. Like birds.”
“What's the use for him?” said Agent Mark.
“An autopsy should get some good organs. Then it's a one-way trip to the incinerator,” said Tracy. “You like your Level-10s medium-rare?”
Mark laughed.
Tracy told six troopers to prep the prisoners for transportation; they were destined for homebase, for interrogation and solicitation and (if things went badly) dissection.
The kid said something, so Mark hit him in the jaw. He could see the old guy getting angry, so he socked him one too. Tracy told him to knock it off: upper echelons don't like it when you damage the goods.
“Are you kidding me?” Mark said. He pointed at Merlin. “This asshole's security system fried two squads of our guys!”
“So?” said Tracy. “Did you know their names?”
Mark glared. Tracy touched him on the shoulder, smiling. “Sweetie, if you wanna let off some anger, go ahead,” she said. “But don't put my job on the line for it. Let's go.”
They walked along the corridor. The windows showed this was noplace and everyplace; the view was like a photograph of motion blur, constantly changing, no reference point. A lot of it seemed to be on fire.
“So, that it?” said Mark. “What happens now?”
“Well, we got what we needed,” said Tracy. “One half-dead Level-10, handful of Level-9s. Now we just let the mess down on the planet play out. The Angel will tidy up any remaining Level-9s and burn what's left of the plague, then he'll saunter on back to wherever he calls home, then we go in and pick up the pieces.”
“How long until then?” said Mark.
“Century, maybe two,” said Tracy. “This is the boring part of the job.”
“What about Agent Delores?” said Mark.
Tracy smiled. “Who?”
Mark nodded. “You're sly, you know that?”
“Welcome to Hades 13,” Tracy said. “We're all sly.”
They arrived at their desks, sat down, started doing the inevitable paperwork. Not as big a pile as Roman Phoenix (what a clusterfuck that was), but it needed tackling. Mark went over to the filing cabinets to look for Red Kirmiz's file (they were missing him, Vasquez, and Jacqueline Coupe). Then something caught his eyes: “OPERATION PAPERCLIP”. He opened it, scanned it, looked at Tracy who looked at him, pencil in her bun.
“We've done ops here before?” he said.
“Yeah,” she said. “This is a volatile world, Agent Mark. Usually they don't get as far as they did here, Angel swoops in somewhere around the stone age. Don't know why, but the Level-9s were slow to arrive this time.”
“Think that'll happen every time?” said Mark, settling back at his desk.
“Doubt it,” she said, then turned back to her papers. She sighed. “Fucking Merlin. I'm really glad we caught him, he could have hopped right out of this dimension. Lord knows we don't need another Level-10 in the making.”
“You think, uh,” Mark lowerdd his voice to a whisper. “You think one of the others might have slipped the net?”
Tracy snorted. “Jesus, no. Listen, Level-9s are close-minded little shitheads. They don't think big-picture. They just think about themselves. Besides, where the hell would they know to look? Unless they turned into a Level-10 when we weren't looking, I think we're--”
The fire alarm went off, a few seconds too late to warn them about the massive ball of fire exploding out from the cafeteria.
Their death was short,
but intensely painful.
Jules looked up, squinting through the florescent glare. He was strapped to a gurney, pushed along by soldiers, when an explosion shook the walls. The soldiers dropped the gurney, pointed their rifles, and advanced forward. Jules tried commanding them to tell him what was happening, but all that came out was a ragged croak.
He heard gunfire, then screaming.
A smile spread across his face.
His children had come through.
Now I know where you hide.
No.
No, he would not allow it.
He tried sitting up, but the straps dug into his chest. He forgot what it was like, this pitiful allowance of three dimensions. He struggled, but it only seemed to make it worse. The straps were bite-proof, and even if he could free one hand the locks looked so complex. To think that once, he could unlock them with a look.
Jules heard shoes clacking against the tiled floor, the pace of a man with a purpose. Red walked by him, sparing him only a glance.
“Red, Red!” Jules choked. “Come back, I need help.”
Red sighed, then walked back. He stared down at Jules; he thought of Roman emperors, that look of authority. “Where is Johnny?” Red said.
“If we're unlucky, he'll be here any second,” said Jules. “Listen, you have to get these straps off me--”
Red turned around.
“WAIT! Just wait!” said Jules. Judging by the footsteps stopping, Red had obliged him. “I can help! You're powerful, you can feel it... But it's not enough, he'll squash all of you once he arrives. I can give you the rest of the power, just free me from my bonds and I'll hand it over. Then you'll defeat him. I promise.”
Red didn't move. Jules regretted every betrayal, every lie, every action that compromised his reputation with his children. He couldn't breath for the fear, the fear he had not felt since he was mortal, the fear washed away by the maddening power. The fear you got when you didn't know everything, and when your time on this Earth was so, so short.
Red sighed and removed the straps. Jules sat up, asked Red to lead him to the others, then staggered behind him through the labyrinthe halls.
The last of the Hades 13 troopers were backed against a wall in the archives. They used filing cabinets as barricades, fired off salvos at the invading gods. But they would be no escape. A horde of insects the size of cockroaches crawled up, too small to shoot, and consumed the front line. Brass robots, some man-sized, some bigger, advanced forward and crushed the second line. A man in a trenchcoat cut down the last stand with a tommy gun, and a small woman with terrible eyes lit the world on fire. Those who ran through the corridors were fried by beautiful, deadly spells cast by an old man and a young boy. Those who made it to the hangar to fly away found their aircraft sabotaged, all-too-late; a strange crystal attached under the wing drained the energy from the planes and eventually from the passengers themselves.
In less than ten minutes, an army had been obliterated.
Jules smiled with a father's pride.
The wall ripped open. Behind it, Jules thought he could see neon light shining through a hotel window.
The Angel stepped through, clad in a long dark robe, beaked mask, flamethrower.
“Johnny,” said Red and Jules. Red rushed forward. Jules reached out for him, caught only the tails of his coat.
Another Angel stepped though.
Another.
Many Angels.
Too many to count.
Fools.
Nothing escapes me.
The demigods tried. You could give them that. They pushed against the wave of inquisitors, beating them back by inches... But the inquisitors would not stop. Jules got caught in the melee, dragged down between the robots. He crawled on the ground, screamed when a metal heel crushed his hand. Where was he going? He couldn't see, through the mess of bodies and blood and stomping legs.
A revolver cocked.
Jules looked up.
”You gotta learn to take a hint,” Jacqueline said.
Then she fired.
The bullet touched the tip of his nose.
He saw a house.
He saw a family.
He saw... himself.
The bullet exited through the back of his skull, heading through most of the important parts of the brain on the way.
He looked at the demigods.
He thought, “Be anything you want, just don't be like me.”
His heart stuttered, then stopped.
Then... it shone.
What?
The Inquisitors halted, staring at the demigods, something like fear in their eyes.
No, not demigods.
Gods.
No.
A horde of inquisitors could destroy a village of demigods with nary a casualty.
Against a god, they would suffer casualties, but they would succeed.
Against half as many as stood there that day, they would only win at their cost of their lives.
No. I win. I always win.
But against six?
You will burn! Everything will burn! I am the
One moment, the room was filled with inquisitors.
Next, it was filled with bodies.
Johnny gasped.
Red ran over, crouched by his body, pulled off the mask. A thick river of blood ran down from Johnny's nose, clotting in his beard. His eyes were bloodshot, turning the green red.
“Got me good,” Johnny said.
“No,” Red said. He took off his coat, folded it up, and slipped it under Johnny's head. “Johnny, you're going to be okay, just hold on.” Red forced reality to bend to his will, to his imagination, to his desperate hope that Johnny would survive, he would live, he would not suffer the same stupid fate as so many before him.
But that day, Red learnt the first rule of being a God:
Whatever you do, you can't take it back.
“Red,” Johnny laughed. “Don't worry about it.”
”It wasn't meant to end like this,” Red said, eyes filled with tears.
“I don't know,” Johnny said. “It turned out okay...”
Red sniffed. “I suppose it did.”
Johnny said nothing. Red said his name, shook him slightly. His eyes were lifeless. Red closed them, then looked down. Jacqueline reached out a hand to pat him on the shoulder, but Red recoiled from it.
“Mr. Kirmiz?” Quinn said. Red looked up.
In the hotel room, on the other side of the transdimensional gateway, Quinn lay handcuffed to the bed. Her eyes were wide, but not in disbelief: she had seen too much before to be surprised. No, this look was alien to her.
It was relief.
“Holy shit, am I glad to see you,” she said. Then she looked behind him, at the others. “... Who are you guys?”
Red stared.
Jacqueline patted him on the shoulder, smiled at the girl, then looked behind her at Lloyd, Merlin, Robert, and Illumina.
”Oh, just the dawn of a new age, nothing special.”
The sun rose over New Athens.
Maybe it rose over ruins, if you like a fresh start.
The Inquisitors are good at that, making fresh starts.
But if you want, you can keep the city just like it was.
Keep the alleyways and the drug dens and the docks.
It doesn't matter.
Really, the city never mattered.
You mattered.
Fire.
He hated it.
He hated the extremes, boiling hot and freezing cold.
He hated what killed all life, salted the earth, denied possibilities.
Fire left nothing but facts.
Jules hated fire.
He drifted from place to place, time to time. But even now the Angel stretched back in time and throughout space. No corner was safe from it. The world was now in its grasp, and it had clenched its fist.
He was lost.
He was alone.
He wondered where his children were.
Jules found a place, safe from the flames.
A park bench, under an old oak tree.
He sat and watch the mile-high inferno eating up whole skyscrapers.
The Stranger was beside him.
Of course it was.
It had to end like it began.
So pathetic, he thought. Even reality bows to patterns.
“You're enjoying this, aren't you?” Jules said.
The Stranger tilted its head.
Jules stood up. “I know what you are,” he said. “You never got your story, did you?”
The Stranger crossed its arms.
“I thought you an ally, but you're just a vulture,” he said. “You come on in when the Angel's done his work, and you just... (he coughed – how mortal) pick up the pieces. You have nothing, you are nothing, so you just... You just... At least I made something new. At least I tried to make it happen. At least I strived.”
The Stranger looked around at the burning trees, the ink-black sky, the cindered grass.
“For this?” she said.
Jules stared.
Then sat down, his head hung down, green eyes filling with tears.
He looked at his hands, lined with imperfections. He could feel his heart beat, the rasping in his breath. He no longer felt lighter than the air around him: he felt heavy, like he was filled with water. Thoughts came unbidden into his head.
My children, I'm so sorry.
What have I done?
What was the point?
I'm a fool.
The Stranger awkwardly patted Jules on the back.
Jules looked at it.
“Give me a way out,” he said.
The Stranger shook its head.
“I want to see my children again,” Jules said.
“Not my job,” the Stranger said.
“Please,” Jules said. “You were human, too. What's behind the mask, Stranger? Do you know?”
The Stranger sighed.
Beyond the park bench, a door opened.
The fires crept closer.
Jules nodded, then stood. He offered a hand, and the Stranger shook it.
“Personal favor,” she said. “Nothing more.”
Jules smiled. He looked around at the city, wreathed in fire. “I'll miss this,” he said.
The Stranger nodded.
Jules stepped through.
The Stranger shut the door behind him.
It was a tight passageway filled with stars, twinkling in the far distance. He stepped forward across a mile, then he was there on the other side.
There they were! Merlin, Matthew, Lloyd, Robert. It was Merlin's shop. The lights were low, stains on the floor that weren't there last time. They lay on their knees, hands behind their heads. Why did red run down Lloyd's face? Why was their eyes so wide?
That's when the cattleprod got stuck into Jules's back.
He fell, screaming and twisting onto the ground.
The pain settled from a roar to a low drone. His hands twitched and refused his orders to move.
“This what a Level-10 looks like?” said Agent Mark.
“A dying one,” said Agent Tracy. She stabbed the Green-Eyed Man with the cattleprod again, just to make sure, then let Agent Mark jab him with the syringe. There wasn't much of a chance that the Green-Eyed Man had even a fraction of his former power, but Tracy preferred certainty. “They get like this when they reproduce. They crawl off somewhere to die. Like birds.”
“What's the use for him?” said Agent Mark.
“An autopsy should get some good organs. Then it's a one-way trip to the incinerator,” said Tracy. “You like your Level-10s medium-rare?”
Mark laughed.
Tracy told six troopers to prep the prisoners for transportation; they were destined for homebase, for interrogation and solicitation and (if things went badly) dissection.
The kid said something, so Mark hit him in the jaw. He could see the old guy getting angry, so he socked him one too. Tracy told him to knock it off: upper echelons don't like it when you damage the goods.
“Are you kidding me?” Mark said. He pointed at Merlin. “This asshole's security system fried two squads of our guys!”
“So?” said Tracy. “Did you know their names?”
Mark glared. Tracy touched him on the shoulder, smiling. “Sweetie, if you wanna let off some anger, go ahead,” she said. “But don't put my job on the line for it. Let's go.”
They walked along the corridor. The windows showed this was noplace and everyplace; the view was like a photograph of motion blur, constantly changing, no reference point. A lot of it seemed to be on fire.
“So, that it?” said Mark. “What happens now?”
“Well, we got what we needed,” said Tracy. “One half-dead Level-10, handful of Level-9s. Now we just let the mess down on the planet play out. The Angel will tidy up any remaining Level-9s and burn what's left of the plague, then he'll saunter on back to wherever he calls home, then we go in and pick up the pieces.”
“How long until then?” said Mark.
“Century, maybe two,” said Tracy. “This is the boring part of the job.”
“What about Agent Delores?” said Mark.
Tracy smiled. “Who?”
Mark nodded. “You're sly, you know that?”
“Welcome to Hades 13,” Tracy said. “We're all sly.”
They arrived at their desks, sat down, started doing the inevitable paperwork. Not as big a pile as Roman Phoenix (what a clusterfuck that was), but it needed tackling. Mark went over to the filing cabinets to look for Red Kirmiz's file (they were missing him, Vasquez, and Jacqueline Coupe). Then something caught his eyes: “OPERATION PAPERCLIP”. He opened it, scanned it, looked at Tracy who looked at him, pencil in her bun.
“We've done ops here before?” he said.
“Yeah,” she said. “This is a volatile world, Agent Mark. Usually they don't get as far as they did here, Angel swoops in somewhere around the stone age. Don't know why, but the Level-9s were slow to arrive this time.”
“Think that'll happen every time?” said Mark, settling back at his desk.
“Doubt it,” she said, then turned back to her papers. She sighed. “Fucking Merlin. I'm really glad we caught him, he could have hopped right out of this dimension. Lord knows we don't need another Level-10 in the making.”
“You think, uh,” Mark lowerdd his voice to a whisper. “You think one of the others might have slipped the net?”
Tracy snorted. “Jesus, no. Listen, Level-9s are close-minded little shitheads. They don't think big-picture. They just think about themselves. Besides, where the hell would they know to look? Unless they turned into a Level-10 when we weren't looking, I think we're--”
The fire alarm went off, a few seconds too late to warn them about the massive ball of fire exploding out from the cafeteria.
Their death was short,
but intensely painful.
Jules looked up, squinting through the florescent glare. He was strapped to a gurney, pushed along by soldiers, when an explosion shook the walls. The soldiers dropped the gurney, pointed their rifles, and advanced forward. Jules tried commanding them to tell him what was happening, but all that came out was a ragged croak.
He heard gunfire, then screaming.
A smile spread across his face.
His children had come through.
Now I know where you hide.
No.
No, he would not allow it.
He tried sitting up, but the straps dug into his chest. He forgot what it was like, this pitiful allowance of three dimensions. He struggled, but it only seemed to make it worse. The straps were bite-proof, and even if he could free one hand the locks looked so complex. To think that once, he could unlock them with a look.
Jules heard shoes clacking against the tiled floor, the pace of a man with a purpose. Red walked by him, sparing him only a glance.
“Red, Red!” Jules choked. “Come back, I need help.”
Red sighed, then walked back. He stared down at Jules; he thought of Roman emperors, that look of authority. “Where is Johnny?” Red said.
“If we're unlucky, he'll be here any second,” said Jules. “Listen, you have to get these straps off me--”
Red turned around.
“WAIT! Just wait!” said Jules. Judging by the footsteps stopping, Red had obliged him. “I can help! You're powerful, you can feel it... But it's not enough, he'll squash all of you once he arrives. I can give you the rest of the power, just free me from my bonds and I'll hand it over. Then you'll defeat him. I promise.”
Red didn't move. Jules regretted every betrayal, every lie, every action that compromised his reputation with his children. He couldn't breath for the fear, the fear he had not felt since he was mortal, the fear washed away by the maddening power. The fear you got when you didn't know everything, and when your time on this Earth was so, so short.
Red sighed and removed the straps. Jules sat up, asked Red to lead him to the others, then staggered behind him through the labyrinthe halls.
The last of the Hades 13 troopers were backed against a wall in the archives. They used filing cabinets as barricades, fired off salvos at the invading gods. But they would be no escape. A horde of insects the size of cockroaches crawled up, too small to shoot, and consumed the front line. Brass robots, some man-sized, some bigger, advanced forward and crushed the second line. A man in a trenchcoat cut down the last stand with a tommy gun, and a small woman with terrible eyes lit the world on fire. Those who ran through the corridors were fried by beautiful, deadly spells cast by an old man and a young boy. Those who made it to the hangar to fly away found their aircraft sabotaged, all-too-late; a strange crystal attached under the wing drained the energy from the planes and eventually from the passengers themselves.
In less than ten minutes, an army had been obliterated.
Jules smiled with a father's pride.
The wall ripped open. Behind it, Jules thought he could see neon light shining through a hotel window.
The Angel stepped through, clad in a long dark robe, beaked mask, flamethrower.
“Johnny,” said Red and Jules. Red rushed forward. Jules reached out for him, caught only the tails of his coat.
Another Angel stepped though.
Another.
Many Angels.
Too many to count.
Fools.
Nothing escapes me.
The demigods tried. You could give them that. They pushed against the wave of inquisitors, beating them back by inches... But the inquisitors would not stop. Jules got caught in the melee, dragged down between the robots. He crawled on the ground, screamed when a metal heel crushed his hand. Where was he going? He couldn't see, through the mess of bodies and blood and stomping legs.
A revolver cocked.
Jules looked up.
”You gotta learn to take a hint,” Jacqueline said.
Then she fired.
The bullet touched the tip of his nose.
He saw a house.
He saw a family.
He saw... himself.
The bullet exited through the back of his skull, heading through most of the important parts of the brain on the way.
He looked at the demigods.
He thought, “Be anything you want, just don't be like me.”
His heart stuttered, then stopped.
Then... it shone.
What?
The Inquisitors halted, staring at the demigods, something like fear in their eyes.
No, not demigods.
Gods.
No.
A horde of inquisitors could destroy a village of demigods with nary a casualty.
Against a god, they would suffer casualties, but they would succeed.
Against half as many as stood there that day, they would only win at their cost of their lives.
No. I win. I always win.
But against six?
You will burn! Everything will burn! I am the
One moment, the room was filled with inquisitors.
Next, it was filled with bodies.
Johnny gasped.
Red ran over, crouched by his body, pulled off the mask. A thick river of blood ran down from Johnny's nose, clotting in his beard. His eyes were bloodshot, turning the green red.
“Got me good,” Johnny said.
“No,” Red said. He took off his coat, folded it up, and slipped it under Johnny's head. “Johnny, you're going to be okay, just hold on.” Red forced reality to bend to his will, to his imagination, to his desperate hope that Johnny would survive, he would live, he would not suffer the same stupid fate as so many before him.
But that day, Red learnt the first rule of being a God:
Whatever you do, you can't take it back.
“Red,” Johnny laughed. “Don't worry about it.”
”It wasn't meant to end like this,” Red said, eyes filled with tears.
“I don't know,” Johnny said. “It turned out okay...”
Red sniffed. “I suppose it did.”
Johnny said nothing. Red said his name, shook him slightly. His eyes were lifeless. Red closed them, then looked down. Jacqueline reached out a hand to pat him on the shoulder, but Red recoiled from it.
“Mr. Kirmiz?” Quinn said. Red looked up.
In the hotel room, on the other side of the transdimensional gateway, Quinn lay handcuffed to the bed. Her eyes were wide, but not in disbelief: she had seen too much before to be surprised. No, this look was alien to her.
It was relief.
“Holy shit, am I glad to see you,” she said. Then she looked behind him, at the others. “... Who are you guys?”
Red stared.
Jacqueline patted him on the shoulder, smiled at the girl, then looked behind her at Lloyd, Merlin, Robert, and Illumina.
”Oh, just the dawn of a new age, nothing special.”
The sun rose over New Athens.
Maybe it rose over ruins, if you like a fresh start.
The Inquisitors are good at that, making fresh starts.
But if you want, you can keep the city just like it was.
Keep the alleyways and the drug dens and the docks.
It doesn't matter.
Really, the city never mattered.
You mattered.
The End
Spoiler: Final Notes (click to show/hide)
Is there space open?Afraid not.
198
General Discussion / Re: Pure Shitposting [Safeties not included!]
« on: February 22, 2017, 09:59:25 pm »
I miss the summers spent on my father's canoe, paddling upriver. I miss the days when I could get a drink of water for a buck fifty in a plastic bottle. Now the rivers all ran dry and the water costs you your daughter, and all seems lost.
Then, the heat grows. At first you think it's the sun, then you wonder if it's your brain. Finally, the world expands and you see it, bleeding your eyes of fluid: the earth angel, sprouted from the ground. She holds up her sword and cries,
this life is not for us, but for the ones we forsook.
And we wept, and we were purified, and our tears brought the rivers back.
Then, the heat grows. At first you think it's the sun, then you wonder if it's your brain. Finally, the world expands and you see it, bleeding your eyes of fluid: the earth angel, sprouted from the ground. She holds up her sword and cries,
this life is not for us, but for the ones we forsook.
And we wept, and we were purified, and our tears brought the rivers back.
199
Other Games / Re: Gaming Pet Peeves
« on: February 20, 2017, 09:36:07 pm »Horror is a narrative genre, not a game genre like real time strategy or first person shooter. The fact that you're supposed to be scared says nothing about what you're actually doing in the game. "Survival" is... almost a game genre. I'd label Resi as a survival action game with a horror story.I don't know about the other two, but Duskers is what I'd call a horror-RTS.
But then, almost every horror game seems to fall into that category. Where are all the horror-RTSes? Horror RPGs? Horror MOBAs?
200
General Discussion / Re: Social EXP
« on: February 09, 2017, 11:53:15 am »
There's this house down the road from me that's been abandoned since the Celtic Tiger finally got caught. My home got close to that - we finished it just as the economy crashed. Perhaps if we had been a few minutes shorter, we'd have ended up just like it.
Anyway, when things got tough I made a habit of visiting it. The forgotten tools and half-plastered walls, an empty place for me. When I was eight it was a place to explore and imagine, when I was eighteen it was a place to smoke dope and forget my teenage troubles. It was security to me, felt more secure than my home at times.
One day it burnt down. Nobody was sure what happened; an errant can of gasoline or teenagers making fun or something else.
I suppose it's for the best it went away. It wasn't getting me anywhere, just a place to run and hide.
But I wonder if I'll ever feel as safe out here as I did in there.
Anyway, when things got tough I made a habit of visiting it. The forgotten tools and half-plastered walls, an empty place for me. When I was eight it was a place to explore and imagine, when I was eighteen it was a place to smoke dope and forget my teenage troubles. It was security to me, felt more secure than my home at times.
One day it burnt down. Nobody was sure what happened; an errant can of gasoline or teenagers making fun or something else.
I suppose it's for the best it went away. It wasn't getting me anywhere, just a place to run and hide.
But I wonder if I'll ever feel as safe out here as I did in there.
201
Forum Games and Roleplaying / Re: ENCIRCLED: Werewolves in a Siege (Roll20)
« on: February 08, 2017, 03:43:07 pm »
Fantastic! There's still opportunity to join, especially with such an interesting character. S34N1C does already have a character with Piercing Eyes, but I think the concepts are separate enough that you shouldn't worry about it.
Game's on tomorrow, peeps. Hope to see you guys then.
Game's on tomorrow, peeps. Hope to see you guys then.
202
Forum Games and Roleplaying / Re: ENCIRCLED: Werewolves in a Siege (Roll20)
« on: February 07, 2017, 02:15:36 pm »
Hello gents,
We'll be playing at 8pm on Thursday (Feburary 9th). Again, times adjustable, but that seems to suit most (Apart from Icytea, sorry, but I work weekends
)S34N1C, Draignean, and HB: you're invited and I'll send you guys links to the Roll20 when I get it set up. This first session will be a sort of prequel: we'll be collaborating on establishing why we want to do in this game and doing a bit of worldbuilding.
Anyone who's had their eye on this roleplay (Judging by viewcount, there's a fair few): if you're interested, now would be a good time to say so. Three players is sufficient but the more the merrier.
On another subject, I've considered setting up a Discord chatgroup for the roleplay. Would that suit you folks?
We'll be playing at 8pm on Thursday (Feburary 9th). Again, times adjustable, but that seems to suit most (Apart from Icytea, sorry, but I work weekends
)S34N1C, Draignean, and HB: you're invited and I'll send you guys links to the Roll20 when I get it set up. This first session will be a sort of prequel: we'll be collaborating on establishing why we want to do in this game and doing a bit of worldbuilding.Anyone who's had their eye on this roleplay (Judging by viewcount, there's a fair few): if you're interested, now would be a good time to say so. Three players is sufficient but the more the merrier.
On another subject, I've considered setting up a Discord chatgroup for the roleplay. Would that suit you folks?
203
Forum Games and Roleplaying / Re: ENCIRCLED: Werewolves in a Siege (Roll20)
« on: February 05, 2017, 02:23:03 pm »Looks great, S34N1C. A practical type compliments the two intellectual types we have at the moment. Plus, the family angle goves me good materials to work with. I like the age spectrum we're getting on characters.Spoiler (click to show/hide)
Interested, though the time wouldn't be perfect for me (it'd be midnight). I also don't have the book, though I do happen to have nWoD's main rulebook. I might make a character concept later unless the schedule conflicts so badly that I shouldn't even consider.Well, it's looking like 8pm GMT. Would that suit?
I'll go with eight, since that gives me more time to work with.Indeed! I'm easy on the time; 6pm is just the earliest time I could think of. For such an intriguing character (scholarly types in brutal situations makes for good drama), I'd be happy to start at 9pm.
That sounds great, though I could likely do your 7:30 or 8 instead of 9 if it would be easier for you.
Anyway, I suppose I should get started on one or two of those short questions.
204
Forum Games and Roleplaying / Re: ENCIRCLED: Werewolves in a Siege (Roll20)
« on: February 03, 2017, 05:54:50 pm »
Indeed! I'm easy on the time; 6pm is just the earliest time I could think of. For such an intriguing character (scholarly types in brutal situations makes for good drama), I'd be happy to start at 9pm.
205
Forum Games and Roleplaying / Re: ENCIRCLED: Werewolves in a Siege (Roll20)
« on: February 03, 2017, 04:50:02 pm »this looks pretty interesting. I'll get around to writing all that stuff eventually.Cool, can't wait to hear what you have to say.
I'll probably write more about spirits after I've read through my rulebook, so expect more in the future.That all sounds excellent, Harry. Reminds me of the Syrian National Orchestra, or the Leningrad symphony.
206
Forum Games and Roleplaying / ENCIRCLED: Werewolves in a Siege (Roll20)
« on: February 02, 2017, 01:55:50 pm »
“Come on,” the father says. “We were just trying to get out of the city.”
You're squeezed into a cage, men women and children; it's an Ukultra camp, just outside city limits. Iain Zamendek and Vladimir Putin's posters stare down.
Hanzik Rasnov, the Ukultra general, steeples his fingers. His bodyguards point their guns at you, kevlar-wrapped and balaclava-clad.
“The UN said we could leave,” the father croaks. “The UN said we were safe.”
“'The UN is like a man putting out a forest fire with a glass of water,' Iain Zamendek, Dead Flag Blues, page forty-seven,” a bodyguard says. “The UN won't save the Kajiji. This siege will break your backs, starve your families, and extinguish your genetic line--” Hanzik holds up a hand, and the bodyguard splutters to a stop.
Hanzik stands, tugging his collar. He points to you and three others. Those with monobrows, moon-shaped birthmarks, eyes that stare into another world. A chill comes over you. The father grabs you.
“Sorry, man,” he says. “It's war.”
He shoves you forward. You break your nose on the metal bars. The bodyguards pull you out and shove you down. One keeps a rifle pressed against your temple while the other pours gasoline over the cage.
“No,” the father says. “No, my children! My children!”
Hanzik strikes a match and takes out a key. “If Kajiji culture is truly collectivist, you should have no trouble escaping,” he lights his cigarette, then throws in the key and the match.
Your skull compresses, your tongue gets caught in your throat, the petroleum burns your eyes. The sky is on fire, the cage filled with wailing women wrapped in duct tape. Two men with jailcell faces stand above, beside a beast binding you with its light, reaching inside you and tying your soul
Hanzik watches the cinders in the cage. All is silent. Blue sky.
“Typical,” he turns to his soldiers. “Take them away.”
They drag you across the camp, toward the smoking ruins of Gardai. You look behind, to the horizon, to Ukraine, Poland, Germany...
You were so close.
What Is This?
I'm looking for 3-5 players for a Werewolf: The Forsaken 2nd edition chronicle set in a Siege of Sarajevo-expy.
If you haven't heard of it, Werewolf the Forsaken is an interesting take on the werewolf myth. There exists a world of animistic spirits lurking behind our material one. Spirits are greedy creatures, dedicated to enforcing their concept. Unchecked, they can cause chaos. Werewolves are half-spirit and half-human creatures who keep the spirits in check.
Meanwhile, this game takes place in the fictional failed state of Tejekov. After a revolution outsed the tyrannical Glorious Leader, a civil war between the Kajiji and Ukultra ethnicities ruined the country. This takes place in the capital Gardai, held by the Kajiji Storm Front (KSF) and besieged by the Confederated Ukultra Fireteams (CUF) for the past month.
How will these two very different premises interact?
Let's find out!
We'll be playing on Roll20. Times are every second Thursday of the month, 10pm GMT, 5pm EST (times negotiable, excluding Saturday or Friday).
Spoiler: Character Creation (click to show/hide)
Spoiler: Names (click to show/hide)
Spoiler: Tells (click to show/hide)
Any questions, feel free to ask.
207
General Discussion / Re: Out of context and funny quotes thread. Where trying too hard becomes art.
« on: February 01, 2017, 07:41:11 pm »Quote
Like a mix of being a wolfkin and being initiated into a terrorist cell.
208
Forum Games and Roleplaying / Re: Gaming Block (Game Discussion Thread) (Totally Not Roller's Block)
« on: January 01, 2017, 04:37:26 pm »
So, discussion:
What make a forum game have a good first impression for you?
How does this differ between a roleplay or a suggestion game?
What make a forum game have a good first impression for you?
How does this differ between a roleplay or a suggestion game?
209
Forum Games and Roleplaying / Re: Seaside Ghost [SG]
« on: January 01, 2017, 01:47:37 pm »
The stairs creak as I tiptoe down. The walls are lined with landscapes, ranging from the pelagic to the coastal. A decade back, every town with a lake or sea got dozens of these identikit cottages for city yuppies. The quality didn't matter, it just had to be close to the beach and the bars. Like many of its sisters, the plaster is peeling and the ceiling is watermarked from previous deluges.
I land in the kitchen and my troubles begin. If it was just Spiderweb and Mohawk (where's Grinner?) sitting at the dinner table, that would have been enough. If it was just them sitting with the largest collection of firearms I have ever seen outside of Texas, that would have been enough. And you know what? I would have tolerated everyone staring in my direction just as I entered.
What I can't tolerate is the old man sitting at the table, staring me down like he knows me. His clothing fits but doesn't suit him, like someone's dressed him. And I don't like the way Spiderweb is glancing at him for affirmation and how Mohawk can't meet his eyes.
"Sit down," he tells me. "We're gonna eat stuff."
I do what he says. I clock my police radio and revolver at his side of the table, beside the machine guns and the rocket launcher. I feel for their supplier, this must have been a bitch to smuggle in. You don't stock this kind of shit unless you're planning a civil war.
"I'm gonna die now, right?" I say.
Spiderweb smirks and nods at the old man. "Not until she says so."
She? I ball my fists and lean forward, showing my teeth. "I appreciate your hospitality, old man, I haven't slept in a bed for a long time. But may I ask what the fuck is going on here?"
"You said a bad word," the old man says.
"What?" I say. "Oh, goddammit, can someone just tell me what's going on?"
"We owe you nothing," Spiderweb says.
"He's dead anyway, Jess," Mohawk says. Spiderweb glares at him, he shrugs. "It's just polite."
The old man laughs and looks at me. "Do you know how many little skinflakes come off your body in just an hour? Forty thousand. All the dust in this house, it's all just itty-bitty skinflakes. But it makes a big pile, doesn't it? A big huge pile of dust."
"That..." I sigh. "He's senile, then?"
"Right," Spiderweb passes the old man a revolver. He dangles it by the end of the grip and looks at it curiously. She sets it right in his hand. "Pull back the hammer, point at it at his head. Squeeze, don't push, the trigger."
He points the revolver at me. I shut my eyes. After a certain time, living just gets boring. I mean, I still want to live... But inevitably I'd get bored of it. So I might as well try to get into that mindset so I'm not so pantswettingly terrified.
idontwannadie
You think I do?
willithurt
Probably.
Don't worry.
This is where the pain stops.
For a moment, I hear the shot and find what Hell is. Darkness, alone with your thoughts. Then I open my eyes and the old man pokes at the kitchen knife embedded in the side of his skull. He smiles at her, as she rips the knife out of his head in a gush of blood and brains.
She approaches me, wiping the knife on her blouse, and breaks out in a grin.
“Wanna go home, sweetie?” she says.
Spiderweb grabs a sawn-off shotgun from the table and points it at mom. Mohawk is too busy throwing up his breakfast to help out.
She faces Spiderweb, holding the knife reverse-grip.
“You crazy fucking bitch,” Spiderweb gasps, eyes-wide.
“Fair point,” she says, testing the tip of her blade. “But here's the thing, little missy. That turkeyshooter might scare a normal person, but me... I'm not in my right mind. And I'm pretty sure you have no way to kill me before I gut you. You see where this is going?”
“You don't scare me,” Spiderweb says.
Mom smiles. “Darling, that's horseshit.”
The old man watches, bemused.
A. Sneak the radio under and switch it on. Maybe the cops will come to help... Maybe.
B. Grab a gun. Mohawk's easy prey, maybe Spiderweb... But the old man took the knife like a champ and I don't know what he's gonna do.
C. See what happens and get ready to hide. She can handle herself... can't she?
I land in the kitchen and my troubles begin. If it was just Spiderweb and Mohawk (where's Grinner?) sitting at the dinner table, that would have been enough. If it was just them sitting with the largest collection of firearms I have ever seen outside of Texas, that would have been enough. And you know what? I would have tolerated everyone staring in my direction just as I entered.
What I can't tolerate is the old man sitting at the table, staring me down like he knows me. His clothing fits but doesn't suit him, like someone's dressed him. And I don't like the way Spiderweb is glancing at him for affirmation and how Mohawk can't meet his eyes.
"Sit down," he tells me. "We're gonna eat stuff."
I do what he says. I clock my police radio and revolver at his side of the table, beside the machine guns and the rocket launcher. I feel for their supplier, this must have been a bitch to smuggle in. You don't stock this kind of shit unless you're planning a civil war.
"I'm gonna die now, right?" I say.
Spiderweb smirks and nods at the old man. "Not until she says so."
She? I ball my fists and lean forward, showing my teeth. "I appreciate your hospitality, old man, I haven't slept in a bed for a long time. But may I ask what the fuck is going on here?"
"You said a bad word," the old man says.
"What?" I say. "Oh, goddammit, can someone just tell me what's going on?"
"We owe you nothing," Spiderweb says.
"He's dead anyway, Jess," Mohawk says. Spiderweb glares at him, he shrugs. "It's just polite."
The old man laughs and looks at me. "Do you know how many little skinflakes come off your body in just an hour? Forty thousand. All the dust in this house, it's all just itty-bitty skinflakes. But it makes a big pile, doesn't it? A big huge pile of dust."
"That..." I sigh. "He's senile, then?"
"Right," Spiderweb passes the old man a revolver. He dangles it by the end of the grip and looks at it curiously. She sets it right in his hand. "Pull back the hammer, point at it at his head. Squeeze, don't push, the trigger."
He points the revolver at me. I shut my eyes. After a certain time, living just gets boring. I mean, I still want to live... But inevitably I'd get bored of it. So I might as well try to get into that mindset so I'm not so pantswettingly terrified.
idontwannadie
You think I do?
willithurt
Probably.
Don't worry.
This is where the pain stops.
For a moment, I hear the shot and find what Hell is. Darkness, alone with your thoughts. Then I open my eyes and the old man pokes at the kitchen knife embedded in the side of his skull. He smiles at her, as she rips the knife out of his head in a gush of blood and brains.
She approaches me, wiping the knife on her blouse, and breaks out in a grin.
“Wanna go home, sweetie?” she says.
Spiderweb grabs a sawn-off shotgun from the table and points it at mom. Mohawk is too busy throwing up his breakfast to help out.
She faces Spiderweb, holding the knife reverse-grip.
“You crazy fucking bitch,” Spiderweb gasps, eyes-wide.
“Fair point,” she says, testing the tip of her blade. “But here's the thing, little missy. That turkeyshooter might scare a normal person, but me... I'm not in my right mind. And I'm pretty sure you have no way to kill me before I gut you. You see where this is going?”
“You don't scare me,” Spiderweb says.
Mom smiles. “Darling, that's horseshit.”
The old man watches, bemused.
A. Sneak the radio under and switch it on. Maybe the cops will come to help... Maybe.
B. Grab a gun. Mohawk's easy prey, maybe Spiderweb... But the old man took the knife like a champ and I don't know what he's gonna do.
C. See what happens and get ready to hide. She can handle herself... can't she?
210
General Discussion / Re: Out of context and funny quotes thread. Where trying too hard becomes art.
« on: December 31, 2016, 07:05:41 pm »Quote from: My best friend at 11:59, 31st December, 2016
Squats improve everyone's butts