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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Little Bill
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The year is 1974. A pleasant time to be an American. The nation has watched the president flash some peace signs and fly off in a helicopter less than a week ago, Evel Knievel has unveiled plans to launch himself over a five hundred foot canyon in a rocket, and Blazing Saddles has worn out the reels of movie theaters nearly non-stop for the past five months. In Southern California, things are especially pleasant. This is where the longhairs, skaters, hippies, and hare krishnas of the country have condensed into a population large enough to vote. The few souls that didn't return home for a shower and a haircut after the Summer of Love, baking in the unforgiving heat and weaving flower chains by the side of the road. One such collection of flower-weaving loons is the Church of the Consuming Fire, a sect of Christian hippies known throughout the greater Los Angeles region as the source of the "Golden Tickets"; eye-catching yellow pamphlets that began circulating three years ago with the release of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Anybody who's anybody has seen at least a dozen golden tickets, be they tucked into the bus stop bench seats, wheat-pasted to the bathroom walls of any dive bar on Sunset Boulevard, or tacked onto the corkboards of every skate shop and grocery store this side of the San Bernandino mountains.

Aside from the tickets, the only thing a layperson could tell you about the Church of the Consuming Fire -- or CCF as they like to go these days -- is that they're involved with a lot of standard church charity and are unfailingly nice. They can be seen on Hollywood Boulevard seven days a week, handing out sandwiches, lemonade, toiletries, and pamphlets to the homeless. They offer a free hourly bus to their property twelve hours a day, every day, ferrying the residents of the nearby town of Rosamond to Hollywood for work in the morning and shepherding curious tourists and passers-by, as well as LA's destitute beggars looking for help back to their compound, a walled-off oasis thirty miles from two nowhere-towns, two hours from Hollywood, and firmly in the middle of the Mojave. That's why your job is so hard. You're the private investigator -- or at least, a private investigator -- hired to find one Darnetta Dietz, a sixteen year old girl last seen talking to a group of Consuming Fire enthusiasts on Hollywood Boulevard. The police have been on the case for three weeks with no leads, leaving the girl's father to your investigations company.


With that I'll drop the GM voice. I'm seeking players interested in either playing private investigators or CCF members. Have at it.
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General Information


As all prospective players are charged with the immense task of understanding a setting built from the ground up, this section is here to make that job easier. I will use analogues as a good way to help you visualize, as well as make sure you know naming conventions, geographical prevalence of ideas, and other such meta-information that you would need to know to write a character that fits in with the setting. Accordingly, this first post will be written in the GM voice, where I (Moth) am talking to you in plain and OOC terms so that all the information isn't Olde English postulation prefaced by "some say" or "long ago", which lend themselves to uncertainty and confusion.

Bastards

Bastards are given the surname “Black” due to the stain on their family’s honor and prestige that brings from siring them. Bastards of any station are entitled to plain black arms to distinguish themselves from the completely lowborn, though in the case of their knighthood, typically adopt a red or black bend on their arms to distinguish themselves from the truly highborn. Instances of bastards being granted lands and starting houses of their own exist in each kingdom, though it has always been the case that bastard-borne houses keep "Black" in their surname, as either a prefix or suffix.

Calender & Currency

The current year is 530AE, and the first month of spring is here.

The Ardacian calendar uses twelve months of seven day weeks, with each of the months being named after the twelve wandering stars. Only four of the wandering stars were known before Ardall's Conquest, and similarly, only four season-long months were recognized previous to his arrival. The days of months do not have names, and are only distinguished numerically, giving precedence to numerical dates rather than lunar dates. The calendar is based on Ardall's landing, using the Ardacian Era (AE) with everything recorded previously being referred to in a vague sense of historical notation as the Historic Era (HE).

Ulfdor, Rangidor, Capras, Ursor, Ibis, Aurdor, Hassendor, Cydor, Biendor, Pesdor, Esquis, and Hundor.

Currency in Orlandis is settled into the categories of bronze, iron, gold, and platinum. They are equivalently named "crowns". An example would be: "It took my entire coinpurse, about seventeen gold crowns."

Cultural Analogues







National/Regional Information







Royal Councils

Orlandic councils are held by six individuals.









Magic

I haven't written out a whole description for magic yet, but I can tell you with confidence these are the highest forms of magic in actuality (mythlore likes to doll up feats anyway):

    Arcane Sorcery - Practiced overseas in the royal court of the Imperium iz Olbiaen, arcane sorcery is limited here in that there are no complicated grandiose spells you would see in the like of Dungeons & Dragons and other conventional fantasy settings; it's more within the realm of using arcane magic as a "subtle" means of expanding human energy from the blessing they owe themselves to. Basically to describe it in two words: force mages. The highest caliber of spells one individual can do is no more than a handful of enemies. Spells include throw, levitate object, pull, and jumping greater distances.

    The Blessing of the Light - Practiced overseas albeit rarely as to be given a "blessing" (or for nature to be this random) in Fedos Plur, it is the basis of clerical warding and healing. Simple spells such as cure disease, heal minor wounds, and ward of protection. I guess in Fatal Souls this is a less coked out version of the God of Fire, R'hllor.

    Druidic Magic - Practiced overseas in the mysterious "ocean" of trees known as the Viridian Sea, basically light druidism/shamanism. Interaction with the elements, natural healing, animal affinities, and so on. I guess it'd be similar to the Children of the Forest? Analogies are hard.

    The Curse of Obdis - Antithesis of the one given to those who follow the Light. Practiced overseas in the Athraki region, some weird synthesis of voodoo and witchcraft. I haven't developed it much, but I figure there'd be nothing grand. I was thinking of having an expert assassin's guild practice this.


That's about it for ideas on magic. Magic in Orlandis would likely be exposed and quickly lynched by a witch-hunting mob, lol.

Technology

Despite taking place in the 10th Century of Orlandis, the technology level is near the equivalent of the High Middle Ages. Any scientific modifications should be discussed and such.

Religion


In Orlandis, there are four main religions. The Word of Aavaar that the majority follow, Diosaea which the people of Voltaani and Caelia practice, the Stormbroken Religion of the people of the Hinterlands, and Southern Kaardism of the Northlands.








Rules & Guidelines


I. The most important thing is to respect and follow the rules of our host site, which is no question. The themes are undoubtedly mature but we need to understand what we can and cannot write blatantly. Prose has many techniques referential and subtle where we can show the idea without outright being overtly over the line. If there’s sexual content there is always “fade to black”, if it is a particularly dark and questionable scene it can be referenced or hinted at instead of shown.

II. Respect fellow role-players. This is a collaborative project in nature so we shan’t dismiss or patronize those we should be working together with—lighthearted humor is fine but remember not to insult outright or start flame-wars; generally you know the drill so don’t be a dick and things should be kosher.

III. No meta-gaming—in Game of Thrones Robb Stark wasn’t prepared for the Red Wedding, so by good logic you shouldn’t be as well. The characters can’t know things outside of their timeframe, knowledge, and so on.

IV. Characters can and will die in this role-play. This means if five armed swords surround an unarmed individual there will be certainly a terrible end. Although, this is not to say GM’s or other players can kill others outright and without consultation—the characters in your house sheet are your de facto legacy characters and you have a say in plot progression but do remember this is a game of collaboration.

V. This is a role-play of interaction, character development, story progression—not one that fits the sub-forums of arena or nation RP. While yes, as rulers we have militaries and soldiers we should remember the sole purpose is not to do so. Interaction should be diverse and dick-measuring contest should be absent or at least kept to a minimum.

VI. Post length should fit the scene progression; also defer to the quote at the top of the page regarding “advanced role-playing standards”.

VII. You accept the responsibility that you can post every ten to fifteen days once. If you are taking a leave of absence you will be required to inform the GM’s.

VIII. This last one is more of a suggestion—both GM’s have skype accounts, and as such it would be highly useful if you are available to join the Fatal Souls group on skype. Skype is more active and eye-grabbing than any chatzy or mibbit and are more immediate for concerns and world-building.

Application



Hidden 4 yrs ago 1 yr ago Post by Little Bill
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"𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝
𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝
𝐓𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐲’𝐚𝐥𝐥’𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝"





Can you see me? Can you read these words? Don't react. They might see you. Just keep reading.
The year is 1983. Ronald Reagan is President of the United States of America, The Return of The Jedi has dominated movie screens for over half a year, and the Orioles have recently defeated the Phillies to win the World Series. In the face of a recession and a war on drugs, America has marched onward through the Cold War. It is a time of scientific innovation and academic progress. It is a time of technological wonder and social justice, bravely taking bold steps towards the future while abandoning a discolored, dysfunctional past. With the rise of toys like Atari, SNES, and The Cabbage Patch Kids, it is a good time to be an American, but an even better time to be an American child. Fortunately for you, you happen to be both.
It is the year 11,985. Mankind has proved itself too easily placated to resist subjugation. They are distracted with patterned music, electronic lights, and pre-prepared food.
You live in the sleepy mountain suburb of Wiscasset, Colorado. It isn't as fancy as the city folk have in Denver -- Old Man McRobert resets the pins instead of a high-tech robot at the bowling alley, there are two radio stations able to penetrate the Rocky Mountains, and the nearest shopping mall is a town over -- but it is far safer than the streets of Denver. In fact, Wiscasset is statistically the safest town in Colorado, a feature pointed out on its highway entrance sign. It's the kind of town you would move to after a difficult city upbringing to raise children to settle down in, and equally the type of quiet, sheltered town those children would grow up despising. It generally sees tourists twice a year, when its forested summerhouses are reopened, and once more when there are pumpkins to be picked and cider to be sold. As it just so happens, it is the middle of October, the prime time for both.
Don't read from it out loud. Don't let anyone know you have it. They'll kill you. They'll kill your family. They don't care that you're children. Keep it secret, whatever you do.
Our story begins with the Emerson Middle School's Book Club. They are a small group of Coloradans between the ages of eleven and thirteen, who belong to the club either out of a fondness for literature, a desire to be in extra yearbook pictures, or a need for English credit offered by spending every Wednesday afternoon with a roomful of bookworms. Your character's motivations will be left up to you, but where they are is on a field trip to the Colorado State Library. It is here they find, like groups of plucky protagonists often do, an unspeakable power not meant for them. Not meant for anyone. Whether they attempt to harness this power for their own gain or try to return their world to normalcy is in your hands.
I have to go. They found me. Don't let anyone know about the book, not even your family. Visit his bio. Stay sharp. I'll see you soon.



Welcome to The Book Club. I hope you've read this far because you're interested, so let me drop the GM mask and explain what I've got in mind with less cagey wording. The Book Club is strongly inspired by Stranger Things, and is meant to fill the coming-of-age-horror shaped void left in my heart by completing the second season. Thematic sources also include Gravity Falls, Welcome to Night Vale, and Hocus Pocus. I've always been fascinated with the occult, conspiracy theories, and modern fantasy settings, so naturally, this RP will heavily feature all three. Following that theme, I should point out that this RP will encourage investigation, reading between the lines, and real-world puzzle-solving.

If you can find the page where I've hidden a secret message, you may apply, but please know that this is the most ambitious RP project I've undertaken, and thereby the most competitive in terms of how harshly I'm judging your sheet. The main group of kids will be no more than five, and ideally, I'm aiming for four. I'm playing one, so there are three to four slots, and as of writing this, six people have managed to find the sheet. There will still be less-harshly-judged available openings for side characters after the main cast is filled -- bumbling cops, investigative teachers, parents, siblings, and local teenagers -- but they will not take the center stage, or only briefly become aware that there is a stage before a horrorterror eats their face. If you have any questions, comments, concerns, or threats, now would be the time to voice them.

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Welcome to The Redwatch, a story about mice with swords, the things that try to kill them, and how they refuse to die. It is essentially Redwall played by the rules of A Song of Ice and Fire, bolstering the world with cozy settings and loving descriptions of food and festivals, while still delving into the details of vicious animals killing mice while even more vicious politicking does essentially the same thing. The setting of The Redwatch is what you might call “low fantasy.” There is no magic, few if any traditional fantasy elements, and the world operates according to well-understood natural laws. The exception, of course, is that there are sapient mice, and they've established what amounts to a medieval society in the middle of a forest known as The Kingdoms of Gnaw.

The mice of Gnaw have created a quasi-military force -- the titular Redwatch -- to elevate themselves from their place at the bottom of the food chain and overcome the forces of nature. The Watch exists in an ambiguous social area somewhere between knights, Tolkien-esque rangers, and FEMA agents. They are thankless heroes who exist outside of mouse society to better serve it. When something has gone seriously wrong in the kingdoms and time is of the essence, members of the Watch are dispatched to put it right -- even at the cost of their lives.

Despite their technology and fledgling civilization, they're still mice: when you're three inches tall, a snake is a creeping horror out of Lovecraft, hawks are terrifying dragon-like predators, a swollen stream is a deadly impassable torrent, and a good storm can annihilate farms and wreak havoc on your communities. One of the core features of a world of mice is the sense of scale this should impart. You are playing small creatures in a huge and hostile world, but highly motivated ones. With swords.












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Ever since man has been capable of hitting other man with a rock, the world has been divided with power, between those who have it and those who do not. On this world, perhaps even more than ours, this division is more important than any other. Some secure power with the right mechanical gadgets and the years of study necessary to build them. Others seek out power at the bottom of a chemical vat, with the handshake of some otherworldly evil, or in the bite of a genetically unstable exotic pet. A few with enough money or federal funding simply strap six tons of bulletproof power over their chest and call it a day. All of these people, designated by their power, are known as Supers. Some are heroes. Some are villains. Universally, they're all pretty dramatic.

The powers that be reigning in these powerful persons are known as the United States Department of Hero Regulation and the Villain's International League of Evildoing -- they are the respective equivalents of a high-ranking government agency and an international labor union working in tandem to ensure the other side follows roughly the same rules. The fleshbound VILE Codex of Cruelty, for instance, shares no less than 500 identical pages to the official DHR Federal Mandates & Regulations Handbook, and this is no strange coincidence. Both sides have inscrutable teams of lawyers and investigative sub-agencies, and both sides are just about as scary as the IRS when you're on their bad side. Every ten years, they hold a summit to review and revise the rules, and the 2020 summit is to be held only seven days from our story's inception.

Supers!, which I am already regretting stylizing with an exclamation point, is to be a semi-sandbox story -- that means I am giving you a fair amount of freedom with your individual stories and themes -- with two overarching subplots going on for Heroes and Villains. I expect probably two people to apply to this, so accordingly, there are a bunch of rules (not in the annoying "i'm the GM i reserve the right to shit down your chimney" way) in order to ensure that these two people have sheets that demonstrate an understanding of this difficult-to-understand world. With that, I'll drop my GM voice and get down to it.




𝟷𝟿𝟼𝟿
𝟷𝟿𝟼𝟿 Text.
𝟷𝟿𝟼𝟿
𝟷𝟿𝟼𝟿 Text.
𝟷𝟿𝟼𝟿
𝟷𝟿𝟼𝟿 Text.
𝟷𝟿𝟼𝟿
𝟷𝟿𝟼𝟿 Text.
𝟶𝟶𝟶𝟶
𝟶𝟶𝟶𝟶
𝟷𝟿𝟼𝟿
𝟸𝟶𝟷𝟶 Text.
𝟸𝟶𝟷𝟶
𝟸𝟶𝟷𝟶 Text.
Hidden 4 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by Little Bill
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•SHINTAI•


Both the victor
and the vanquished are
but drops of dew,
but bolts of lightning,
thus should we view the world.

- The death poem of Ôuchi Yoshitaka









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In the beginning, there was Terra. Certainly, its inhabitants may have called it something else; perhaps their word for "Blue" after the sky, or perhaps their word for "home", or simply "place". All the same, just as it is now, there was Terra. According to its wisest scholars and historians, Terra has seen three ages, each divided by Terra's slumbering for a hundred-hundred years. Though our oldest history is lost to time, modern advancements made in the field of archaeology tell us much about Terra's past cycles -- Denizens of the first age were each extraordinary builders and architects, constructing great stone homes and fortresses, while their descendants of the second age were skilled scientists who engineered the ancestors of today's races. The races of the Third Age.

Ours has been an age of peace. There are Kings, but not so many that they have yet fought over lands. There are warriors, but no armies yet to join. There are demons, but none so foolhardy to wake them. Terra, for all its forgotten ruins and ancient mystics, is a relatively new world. The radiation of yesteryear has long since settled to the dark corners of the world, and life has flourished in its absence. Pockets of civilization exist, but they are few, far-between, and rightly fearful of the world outside their high walls. Terra is a land where ancient horrors dwell in the glowing seas, where fearsome giants pillage small villages with impunity, and where the weak are picked off by harpies if they cannot protect themselves with a sufficient fort, sword, or spell.








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