STATUS:
I'm tempted to say "I've lost better friends than you" to a lote of people lately. I'm not sure what I ever want to say to the better friends that I've lost, though.
9 mos ago
Current
I'm tempted to say "I've lost better friends than you" to a lote of people lately. I'm not sure what I ever want to say to the better friends that I've lost, though.
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Bio
Twelve years ago, I said something on this website that continues to embarrassing me to this day. I was a stupid kid, like most, but I've never quite gotten the taste out of my mouth. Anyone who knew me at the time can tell you about it.
I love this website. I'm pretty sure my phylactery is stored wherever the webserver is and a significant chunk of me will just disappear when it ceases operation. Until then, it comforts me. I should go to the hardware store and paint my bedroom walls with the same soft, brownish grey that the background color has been for the last twelve years. Some of my friends can't wait for the site to go offline but I don't know of any other places that offer the same sense of community.
I'm an omni-gamer. I like board games, tabletop roleplaying games, admire tabletop war games, suck at riddles, and have an absurd library of video games. Survival horror is basically my favorite genre. Otherwise I'm a fan of esoteric, occult bullshit and punk rock. But disco's cool. Disco is what humanity sounds like when it chooses to be happy. Between you and I, I'd like to hope that the days of my life can sparkle like a disco ball, accreting like sparks from a grinder held up against the unwavering dark of deaths own shadow. Burn baby burn.
You and I, we're gonna die. We should be friends first, though. Write some checks we can't cash and make eachother smile. Make believe for a while.
I will be accepting all non-core books on a case-by-case basis. So what this means is if you use something from Volo’s or Xanathar’s you will have to ask if it’s okay to use that. Yes, this includes Unearthed Arcana which I distinctly abhor for personal reasons.
M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ►With Daryl's mission-based plot structure and fixed squad, I'm really looking to emphasise collaboration with this character, and will be actively looking for other players to guest-write (or submit Supporting character sheets) the characters that surround Daryl. This includes, but is not limited to: - Captain Ben Daimio, Were-Jaguar and Daryl's commanding officer - B.P.R.D. Liason Katherine Corrigan, Daryl's primary mission contact and supervisor of his therapy - Johann Kraus, ex-Nazi ex-mortal, ectoplasmic field agent sometimes deployed alongside Daryl - Dr. Tom Manning, Director of the B.P.R.D. and the ultimate authority in the Bureau. - Any Human B.P.R.D. Field Agents, deployed alongside Daryl - Baba Yaga, an ancient and powerful Slavic witch, a back-and-forth entity known to the B.P.R.D., sometimes an ally, sometimes an enemy, sometimes neither or both at once. - Any entity or threat Daryl and his squad find themselves assigned to neutralising (of which there will be many, of colourful and strange varieties) -
March, 1989, Webequie. Daryl Tynon goes out for a hunt after an early thaw, thinking the clearing of the weather to be an omen for coming fortune. Seventy minutes after breaking through the treeline of the forest, he is caught in a freak blizzard, unable to see his own breath billowing out in front of him. Lost in the squall, Daryl wandered for three days, unable to find his way back out of the forest and its storm. During this time, he is overcome with paranoia, and the feeling of being watched and hunted, but cannot identify, or even confirm the existence of, his unknown stalker. On the fourth day, the blizzard breaks; but Daryl is starving, dehydrated, exhausted, and slowly freezing to death. He drops to the ground, half-dead - and it is then that the Wendigo uncoils itself from the snow and the trees, and descends upon him.
April, 1989, Webequie. Daryl awakens, confused and his mind mudded and foggy. He is hungry, and still lost - but the weather has cleared, and he slowly makes his way out of the forest to return home. His cabin is abandoned. His family is missing. There is no food. He goes back to the woods to find help. To hunt. To eat.
November, 1989, Webequie. Webequie Indian Reserve Sheriff receives a visit from a large, red-skinned, horned man, accompanied by a blue-skinned man with gills and goggles. They have come in response to the sheriff's queries about freak snow-storms, an increase in missing persons, and a disturbing frequency of animal carcasses being found by would-be hunters, torn up and chunks of flesh missing. After a difficult night for all parties involved, Daryl is made aware of his new state of being - the latest victim of a malevolent, body-stealing spirit: the Wendigo. They took him in, and his new un-life was now to be spent in the custody of the BPRD. He would slowly lose all his memories and sense of self, his humanity worn away and replaced with bloodlust, hunger, and the cold. But the world would be a little safer from monsters than it was the day before.
June, 2000, Connecticut Following Hellboy's abandonment of the BPRD, the Bureau finds itself suddenly bereft of its most valuable asset, and begins evaluation of its current capital to find a suitable replacement. The idea of Daryl the Wendigo is floated, and with little alternatives, the discussion moves towards how such a feral beast can be made effective in the field. In the days that follow, B.P.R.D. Liaison Agent Katherine Corrigan quietly begins recuperative therapy with Daryl - while the technical department figures out how to turn fire into a method of control.
Present. Twenty years of psychotherapy work, paranormal research, engineering innovation and tactical training have successfully drawn the man Daryl out of the depths of the beast Wendigo. He is a successful, if unnerving, B.P.R.D. Field Agent, under the command of Captain Ben Daimio, deployed as a stop-gap against threats of an extreme physical nature. Utilising a delicately balanced feeding regime, extensive and indefinite psychological treatment, and a containment suit lined with white phosphorus capsules, the Wendigo has been soundly weaponised for the greater good of Mankind against the dark that seeks to swallow it; but how much control does Daryl retain, over the baser urges of the spirit that possesses him?
The B.P.R.D. hope to never find out - but they have contingencies should they do.
P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S )
With Archangel89's Hellboy having departed the BPRD, I realised there was a gap for a replacement, and wondered what that replacement would look like. Hellboy is obviously a physical powerhouse, but also a being with a lot of prophecy and mythology behind him as well, and perfectly encapsulates the theme of embracing that darkness within us, but not allowing it to rule you. Hellboy is an inherently dark creature that chooses to be a force for good. So how best to carry that theme forward with a new character?
Enter Daryl the Wendigo, whose short arc, and the BPRD's interactions with him, are sublime shorthand for the tone of the comics. An innocent man befallen of a foul fate, holding onto his humanity while it's slowly eroded away - he is as much a victim as he is a monster, desperately trying to suppress the evil that picked him merely for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. As many here know, the Wendigo spirit is already a personal fascination for me, so to stumble upon a character that fit the mold for the concept while also being of personal interest felt like an opportunity too serendipitous to pass on.
Where Hellboy is out on his own personal oddessey, I very much want to approach Daryl with the idea of B.P.R.D. being on 'Business As Usual' mode; threats are identified, assessed, and dealt with, agents being deployed as necessary to detain, secure, or neutralise depending on the circumstances. Daryl is one in a long line of re-purposed 'assets', helping the B.P.R.D. 'bump back'. Interspersed with his assignments will be his own struggles with holding on to his humanity as the Wendigo spirits eats away at him, trying to figure how to live this new life (or if he even wants to), and crossing paths with other players as well as a myriad of weird and wonderful creatures and myths. Daryl will learn that as dreaded as the Wendigo is, it is far from the most terrible beast to wander the Earth.
@Dead Cruiser some of your text isn't great colouring for the guild any chance for us colour handicapped people I could ask you to change some of the darker colours?
@Retired These days whenever I notice a typo in one of my posts I remember a RP I applied to that counted a typo in my CS as a demerit against my application. The GM told me point blank that he wouldn't accept a CS with typos in it.
I understand that. It sounds hella frustrating but I really do see the value in that system.
Bit late to the party but it's nice to see some familiar faces. I've got something cooking in my brain, three guesses for who and the first two don't count. Just gotta get the hard part out of the way and make a character sheet.
lost a bunch of progress on my post somehow >.> i don't remember how, but i did. i thought i saved my progress pretty regularly but i APPARENTLY i didn't.
Very painful. I once lost a 5,000 word Blue Beetle post for one of the older games. Then I stopped RPing for, like, three months. I feel your pain
The Law Office of Nelson & Murdock Hell's Kitchen, New York
"eteen," huff, "nineteen," huff, and "twenty!"
The hand weights yielded a dull rap against the hardwood floor as the muscles within Franklin "Foggy" Nelson's forearms violently relax, with a vaguely painful surge touching down in his spine as he nods with satisfaction. It was his eighth set of the night and, if he had his way, it wouldn't have been his last. But Foggy Nelson, the only constant member of the business most often known as Nelson & Murdock, didn't need super senses to smell the load of bullshit in the air headed his way.
It was storming harder than usual outside. That meant that the region was slated for roughly a forty percent increase in activity for predatory ambush criminals and a one hundred and fifty percent increase in supernatural disturbances, if his Excel sheet was to be believed. The weatherman certainly wasn't.
He was just in the middle of finishing up his Powerade bottle when it came, the tit, tit, tat of his closest friend in the whole wide world, pretending to find his way with a cane.
"Beautiful evening we're having, Matt," Foggy said, kicking his hand weights out of sight.
"Hey, Foggy. Quick question: Did you know that Wilson Fisk has a grandson?"
"Not specifically, no," Foggy furls his brow. "I can't say that's something I knew. Is that a bad thing?"
"Probably...?"
"Well that's foreboding. Did something happen to your phone?" he probes, his quick legal mind going through the motions of decoding the obvious, "Or is this the sort of thing where you're here to tell me that I can't go to my own house until I get the all clear?"
"Neither actually," Matt grins devilishly. "I don't think is actually aimed at us this time. Yet. But I did bring you an apple fritter."
"Damn you to hell, Matt Murdock," Foggy says, succumbing to the sticky salience of four hundred calories of refined carbohydrates in a sudden snatch.
"Did you bring me any milk?"
"I love you, Foggy," Matt says, backing towards the door.
"You only say that when I'm in in critical condition."
"That's why you're the world's best lawyer. Also, almost forgot, the reason I'm here: Turk Barrett dropped Fisks grandson into my lap because his estate is in some undefined trouble and the kid's cologne literally smells like the guy who killed my dad. So I assume it means that I need to be ready to put up some kind of fight tonight. Which is a shame, because I'm really in the mood for an apple fritter but if its a fight night, I really need slow burning energy."
"Do you think we should arrange to get the kid out of town?"
"Not... immediately. That doesn't quite seem necessary. He seems normal."
"Okay, then. Lemme tell you what. I'll just dial up Exeter and have her on retainer for the next few days in case we need an exit. Worse case scenario: Everything is peachy and we're out a couple hundred bucks."
I'll likely try to but I'm getting ready to go on an overseas trip so I won't be around at all for about two weeks. Swimming and drinking and sightseeing. Fully psyched.
(PS I dig what you're doing with Cpt A)
Overseas? Get that shit outta here. There's nothing I hate more than water
Twelve years ago, I said something on this website that continues to embarrassing me to this day. I was a stupid kid, like most, but I've never quite gotten the taste out of my mouth. Anyone who knew me at the time can tell you about it.
I love this website. I'm pretty sure my phylactery is stored wherever the webserver is and a significant chunk of me will just disappear when it ceases operation. Until then, it comforts me. I should go to the hardware store and paint my bedroom walls with the same soft, brownish grey that the background color has been for the last twelve years. Some of my friends can't wait for the site to go offline but I don't know of any other places that offer the same sense of community.
I'm an omni-gamer. I like board games, tabletop roleplaying games, admire tabletop war games, suck at riddles, and have an absurd library of video games. Survival horror is basically my favorite genre. Otherwise I'm a fan of esoteric, occult bullshit and punk rock. But disco's cool. Disco is what humanity sounds like when it chooses to be happy. Between you and I, I'd like to hope that the days of my life can sparkle like a disco ball, accreting like sparks from a grinder held up against the unwavering dark of deaths own shadow. [i]Burn baby burn.[/i]
You and I, we're gonna die. We should be friends first, though. Write some checks we can't cash and make eachother smile. Make believe for a while.
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">Twelve years ago, I said something on this website that continues to embarrassing me to this day. I was a stupid kid, like most, but I've never quite gotten the taste out of my mouth. Anyone who knew me at the time can tell you about it.<br><br>I love this website. I'm pretty sure my phylactery is stored wherever the webserver is and a significant chunk of me will just disappear when it ceases operation. Until then, it comforts me. I should go to the hardware store and paint my bedroom walls with the same soft, brownish grey that the background color has been for the last twelve years. Some of my friends can't wait for the site to go offline but I don't know of any other places that offer the same sense of community.<br><br>I'm an omni-gamer. I like board games, tabletop roleplaying games, admire tabletop war games, suck at riddles, and have an absurd library of video games. Survival horror is basically my favorite genre. Otherwise I'm a fan of esoteric, occult bullshit and punk rock. But disco's cool. Disco is what humanity sounds like when it chooses to be happy. Between you and I, I'd like to hope that the days of my life can sparkle like a disco ball, accreting like sparks from a grinder held up against the unwavering dark of deaths own shadow. <span class="bb-i">Burn baby burn.</span><br><br>You and I, we're gonna die. We should be friends first, though. Write some checks we can't cash and make eachother smile. Make believe for a while.</div>
Member
Sep,
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