[hider=Hōl: A Game] Hōl: A game This RP will fuck you up. We swear. It will make you take drugs whose chemical composition is beyond the spelling capacity of the GM. You will begin a prostitution ring made up of fourteen-year-olds and destitute nuns. Eventually, of course, you will most likely leap from the balcony of your local theatre with seven running chainsaws strapped to various parts of your body. There’s a good chance it will be the matinee showing of BAMBI as well. So, if you feel like ending your days by being the center of attention in a big, hard, humming chair, please read on. And submit a character in the CS section. Thank you for your time, worship the Antichrist, and have a nice day. But enough of these pleasantries. The nuts and bolts of this RP are rather simple; you are a prisoner. Can’t be avoided, sorry, them’s the breaks. But we’ll get back to that. It is the far, far future. Humanity has colonized the entirety of the galaxy, and we’re all very proud of ourselves, except that we’ve transformed our ideals of justice, freedom, and decency into a dystopic quagmire of suckdom and mediocrity. The saddest part is that the average Joe the Plumber doesn’t even realize it. But, it could be worse! You could be stuck on Hōl! …wait, you are… Ok, getting back to that later. Every dystopian future needs completely self-absorbed hedonistic assholes running it. This power is divided between two major offices: Rupert IX, Emperor of the Confederation of Worlds (C.O.W.), and His Holiness, Rashneesh “Big Stevie” Zimmerman, Megapope and CEO of Our Lord’s Church, Inc. You’ll meet them, or at least representatives of their awesomely bulky and oppressive power. They’re everywhere. Not so much on Hōl, but they’re still around. But what is Hōl, you inquire? How to explain… Image a once lush, green world in the ass end of space, surrounded by NOTHING. Lots and lots and lots of NOTHING. A huge, veritable cosmically exponentially vast grouping of NOTHING in one place, at one time, all surrounding what one day would become Hōl. Now imagine that some asshat (or some two asshats) decided to use this lush, green world to be the dumping ground for the rest of the colonized planets. And hazardous waste disposal site. And spot to cram every tossed disposable diaper. And industrial machinery graveyard. You have an entire planet utterly skullfucked by the powers that be, that for some reason still retains a breathable atmosphere. So, in a prancing leap of logic, the Powers That Be decide that it’s be a WONDERFUL place to keep all of their worst criminals and social rejects. Then their second-worst criminals. Then people who may rise to positions of authority that don’t agree with them. Then anyone who’s above average and can’t directly help them maintain their horrific status quo. Finally, any excess accountants. Generally, your characters will not be accountants. There are creatures who dwell here by choice, but for the most part you really don’t want to meet them. Sharing the #1 spot are the Fleshtenders and the Sodomy Bikers. There are Cannibalistic Accountants, Nortons, Uncle Mickee, Crickets, Necrodoodles, Wastits, and Dump Technicians, as well. Just naming a small handful of painful and/or useful NPCs you likely don’t want to meet unless you really, really have to. Oh yes – for you purists – there are Orcs. The goal of this RP is not to free the people, nor is it to effect social change. No, your primary goal is to NOT DIE. At least at first. Considering the life span of the average guest of the Hotel Hōl post-arrival is seven to nine seconds, you have your work cut out for you. If you’re one of the lucky few not to be spread thin over the planet’s uncertain surface like so much sticky convict marmalade your first half-hour in, your secondary goal, still, is not to die. Or more specifically, survive in this environment that is the very definition of Hostile. If you can eek out an existence under these conditions, you then try to escape. But beware! Hōl has a way of changing people. You’re going to drop in there a fresh, nubile young mass murderer/psychopath/animal porker/mime/accountant/regular guy/DWB, but you’ll leave a very, very different person. Ok, so you probably won’t leave, but there will be a lot of changing before you die in a fusillade of plasma fire or chainsaw colonoscopy. Or both, probably both. If you already know the game system, GREAT! Otherwise, we’ll have to have a series of PMs to get a workable character together. Doesn’t have to be massive or special, no paragon or hero needed. But do consider this: the bigger you are, the bigger the opposition I will slam in front of you. [/hider] Penal Colony #665: Human Occupied Landfill Better known to its inhabitants as Hōl. Most guests of the penal system receive a mass produced letter looking something like this: *** Congratulations, Fucko! You have been found guilty of [s]insert infraction here[/s], and very well could have been sentenced to death by (your choice of) Butt Spiders or Open Pit Roasting. Luckily, the Honorable Judge [s]insert Wednesday’s judge here[/s] has taken pity on your undeserving, worthless carcass and has set aside this verdict. Instead, you are sentenced to Life (yay!) without the possibility of reprieve or parole on Galactic Penal Colony #665. If you wish to send a fruit basket thanking the judge for his mercy, please make arrangements care of your local Hall of Justice. We here at Central Processing hope you spend your well-deserved imprisonment thinking very hard about what you have done, secure in the knowledge that, upon reaching the planet’s surface, every trace of your existence will be deleted from public record. It will be just like you never existed, which we think is for the best. Considering your present circumstances, it was very probable that no one important liked you anyway, and we’re all better off. See? You’re already making the galaxy a better place with your absence! It’s a great first step. To show that there are no hard feelings on our end, we have given you, the convicted, a free Zippol lighter with nuclear fuel source, and a pamphlet titled “So Your Life Is Over”. In the event that you were convicted of a crime involving arson, you will instead find somewhere on your person a lima bean. Plus the pamphlet. It is our sincere wish that your time on Penal Colony #665 is spiritually fulfilling and that you make a lot of new friends to speed your rehabilitation. Yours in Christ, Associate Doug C.O.W. Penal System Central Processing Colony #665 *** Isn’t that just a swift kick in the ‘nads? Well, here you are. As a player, there are a few things you should know going into this: 1 – I will cheat, if I think it will be funny. 2 – You have a random number of Grace of God points, between 1 and 6. You won’t know how many. If you use one, I will get you out of whatever situation you’ve managed to cram yourself into. BUT, if you try to use one and you’re out, you will incur the Wrath of God. I’m sure you can figure out what happens then. This is 1 to 6 points for the whole group, for the whole RP. Have fun with that. 3 – You throw the punch, I land it. Tell me your intentions, I will make the appropriate checks to see if they succeed. Much simpler on you guys, trust in the players for me. If you fail a check utterly, there is an entire chart titled “You Lose” I will reference. It is the opposite of fun. 4 – Wastems (That’s Waste-‘ems). The all-purpose cuddly stupid creature that breeds like tribbles. Look them up on Wikipedia, look for images, familiarize yourself with them. They are frigging EVERYWHERE. You can eat them, you can rub them in as sunblock, stuff them in cracks for cheap insulation, render them into oil, distill them into very potent booze, use them for target practice, etc. Generally anything you can think of, they can be used for. Problem: On Hōl, one out of every ten is something called a Wastit (That’s Waste-it). These little bundles of Satan look just like Wastems, but will explode into a maw of teeth the size of a whale’s privates and attempt to destroy anything that bothers them.( If you have the “Spot Wastit” skill, you stand a chance of keeping your hands. Really only learnable on Hōl.) Also, not useful for jack squat. Best of luck. 5 – The stats range from -2 to 10, and are as follows: Meat, Feets, Mouth, Greymatta, and Nuts. For a breakdown, Meat: Strength and Endurance related stuff. Feets: Dexterity and Accuracy, also dance steps. Mouth: Charisma, kinda. Both “How” and “How Loud” you say something. Greymatta: Used for Thinking. May come up in conversation. Nuts: Short form is Courage. Mental, emotional, and spiritual fortitude. 6 – The Skills are …interesting… at best. Range from 1 to 6. If you don’t have a copy, get with me and we’ll work this out. Shouldn’t take long. Let me know the stuff you want your [s]target[/s] character to do and level of said skills. If it can be finagled, yay. 7 – The Church & Munch. Something else to Wiki. They’re everywhere, even one rumored to be on Hōl. The only place on that Godforsaken planet you can get a decent burger AND be absolved of your sins. But the way is perilous, and the parking lot immense. Courage, young pilgrim. 8 – Money. Right now, don’t worry so much about that. Primary economy on Hōl is barter. Imperial Chits, while great to bribe offworlders, is otherwise useless here. Grobs, well, we’ll get to those. Imagine money that could potentially kill you. Also only found on Hōl. 9 – Faster Than Light Travel. Made possible by creatures called Jumpslugs. Giant creatures that consume rotting human corpses, while mating radiate enough power to convert matter to energy, when channeled properly. Wrangled by Jumpslug Handlers. Very odd people, don’t let them touch your food. 10 – Crickets. Smallish robots with four pincer-like blades for legs, they are essentially roving cameras. You see, Hōl is also the galaxy’s greatest reality show, and Crickets follow the action. If it’s a slow day, or someone goes over a PG-13 rating too often, or someone exposes themselves in a manner unbecoming basic cable, the Crickets will latch on, count down, and explode. Again, best of luck. 11 – Death. Yeah, he’s out there. However, because of the abundance of business he does on Hōl, he will often use underlings or interns to take his excess clients there. Play will start with our wonderful protagonists dumped off, shiny and new, on Hōl’s surface. If may be possible to arrange for things to be smuggled in with you, as neither the C.O.W. nor the Church give a rat’s ass what you do when you get there. It’s pretty lax that way. Your goal, at least initially, is to LIVE. If you do in fact LIVE long enough to catch a breather and set up some manner of stability, we can discuss exploration. Escape… way down the road. If. Now, talk to me. How can I, your humble Hōlmeister, help you make your very own Convict?