Recent Statuses

1 yr ago
Current Amy Winehouse has been sober for six years. Just wanted to remind folks of this.
1 yr ago
Apologies to my collaborators, I've been having a rough weekend and didn't get anywhere near what I wanted to get done in posting.
1 yr ago
Found a bolt in my front left tire today. It must be tire week on the Guild, because others had the same stuff.
1 yr ago
Hot dogs are already cooked. Might as well just sear them to add flavor.
1 yr ago
I love it when I catch up on my posting.


Most Recent Posts

Teal Deer

- Fantasy set in a world in the 17th century level of tech. A world of reason, where education and technology are starting to take off.
- Magic was a thing in the past, documented in history.
- The history, of course, is inaccurate. The real story is there.
- The Empire, which rules the continent and has for a long time, is built upon its founding myth, of the binding of magic by Jovon.
- Beasts of out of legends mount a ferocious attack on the Imperial family. They are led by men that seem to know magic, which is impossible since magic has been suppressed for millennia.
- Your character, a female descendant of Jovon and Yariel, his queen, watches her family being attacked and knows that the only thing she can do to save herself and even have a chance of fighting the fell beasts is to follow the instructions of a family legend - go down these stairs and insert that stone there.
- The plot proceeds from that start.
- Looking for advanced and someone that can collaborate on the design. The world as it is would be of your designing. I already worked out the world as it was. They now collide.
- You can PM or reach out to HeySeuss #6650 on Discord.

In Character

The official histories claim that Jovon, who became first emperor, defeated Ciron, the last great magocrat, a sorcerer that lusted to rule and coveted his wife to be, Yariel. Magic, that tore the world apart, was at last done for. Ciron, who represented all that was wrong with the world, was the end of the era.

Since that time, with the magic's sources suppressed, sealed away, civilization flourished under a peaceful rule without spirits, good or bad, to interfere in the affairs of mortals. The magic ebbed away without replenishment and there was a stable, prosperous golden age. No one had magic anymore, and order and peace prevailed. Humanity was not without strife, for there was unrest in the Empire, but the magic that nearly tore the world apart with its apocalyptic power was no more. The damage was limited.

Until, of course, someone found a way to partially unseal magic, and the Imperial family found itself under assault by fell beasts of a like from the legends of the Age of Tempest. Even the muskets of the guard could not stop these things, or the men that led them, wielding fire and lightning, felling those that ruled the Empire. It is the hell of the old stories come again, the old fear that someday, someone would figure out how to undo the ancient bindings.

An heir, knowing of an old family catacomb and a contingency against such a thing, stumbles down the stairs, as the palace rumbles, coughing from the dust, with a runestone in hand, to be inserted into a crevice only in the most dire of circumstances. They were Empress Yariel's instructions to her descendants, handed down from mother to daughter in the Imperial Family. This was only to be used in the most dire of need, when all seems lost.

Her savior, Yariel's contingency against the return of magic, the intended guardian of her bloodline, is none other than Ciron, the great villain of history.

Out of Character

There is, of course, a deeper story of what really happened, and I will be happy to discuss that in Discord with interested players. I need to use Discord to brainstorm quickly. What really happened in the Age of Tempest is a well kept secret, because the truth would shatter the Empire anyway. Who the heroes are, who the villains are, who did what? It's been centuries and an Empire intent on unifying a continent with ideas has been at the histories. The truth has long since been lost. Some of this plot will be the system shock of your character talking to a man that knew the heroes of the age in the flesh...and the danger of what he might say if it got out.

Is there an element of Mary Magdalene and that debate to this plot? Absolutely.

But what remains is that magic has returned and the Empire is being torn apart. And your character has to make decisions under duress.

If that's your kind of plot, please reach out and thanks for reading!

"The Soiling of Old Glory" by Stanley Forman of the Boston Herald American, 1977 Pulitzer Prize Winner

TL;DR List

- Modern-Fantasy setting. Modern United States, but probably AU for the purpose of playing with geography and events.
- Magic returns to the world; 2018, rather than 2012. This managed to scare everyone and make the Mayans question their calendar.
- Summer/Fall of 2018 got scary, fast.
- Not Twilight or Harry Potter; this has darker political overtones because humans know about magic and various supernatural beings and are scared shitless and are freaking out. You know how people are in large groups, right?
- In the United States, the government starts rounding up people with magic.
- By Spring of 2018, animals and plants, places and things, start to emerge; energy nexuses, mythical beasts, spirits even.
- The characters are part of a Coven of like minded people, probably with magical abilities they are just touching, in a town or city where there is an internment camp for others of their kind. They are trying to avoid being caught and figuring out a way to undermine the internment camps, to get support to their fellows.
- The characters will be forced to make some stark choices vis-a-vis retribution, justice, the law and nature.
- This RP was designed back in 2009, well before the current presidency (and I'll be happy to show people the link to it, because it still exists on another forum) and I do not want to shy away from the zeitgeist of the nation, because I think it's interesting material to work with and always have. All the same, I am hoping to avoid a huge discussion of politics outside of the need to discuss it to write good fiction. Themes like the structure of Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) and FEMA camps and all that jazz do feature, but these are policies rather than people.
- Inspirations: Anything John Carpenter did, especially "Escape from New York" and a whole lot of other stuff. Trying to avoid the touchy-feely 'magic in secret' thing. Magic is something that burst out uncontrollably and has turned everyone's lives upside down -- and a lot of people are freaking. Also taking inspiration from underground movements like the French Resistance and the White Rose, though it's also a lot of Martin Luther King meets Merlin the Magician. Someone mentioned District 13 - definitely a good thought.
- Still reading? I'd prefer to have one or two collaborators that have multiple character ideas than a bunch of players that drop off. I'm open to 1x1 for this, but my hard line on this is that I need collaborators that want to help weave the plot, add characters that drive it.
- HeySeuss #6650 on Discord. HMU!

Like this and will be happy to support. It's a nice jaunt off the beaten path.


Not going to write a lot here, but am looking for a partner interested in doing some RP set in Westeros (or hell, the Free Cities). I am flexible about a lot regarding era, but ideally the player partner has read the books and soaked in a lot of the lore so that we can work on the same playing field and generate good plot ideas.

Usually, I have a plot all laid out and I've got a hook and so forth thought of. In this instance, I am simply seeing who out there shares the interest. I am avoiding group RP's because they turn into Nation RP's. Instead, I am looking to do something more in line with the setting as it stands at various point using original characters, or at least characters whose histories are not heavily fleshed out to give us lots of room to improvise and develop within the framework of the setting.

Please PM or hit me up at HeySeuss#6650 on Discord. I am also present on the Guild server.

TL;DR Summary

  • Discord Chat for the RP. Come and plot the revolution, maaaaaaaan.
  • 1969, the United States. The US is doing a lot of drugs, playing lots of guitar, protesting the Man and is having a big argument with itself.
  • The world is ruled by supernatural factions that keep the knowledge of their existence tightly controlled.
  • A young outcast werewolf, drafted and sent to Vietnam met friends and fellowship for the first time. To survive in the face of a VC onslaught on their firebase, he bit a couple of his best friends. They survived.
  • One of the young men had a brother who ran the Wild Hunt MC. Soon, all the Wild Hunt were werewolves.
  • This story starts with their fight against the Man.
  • Weapons of choice: hallucinogens, free love and lots of guitar.
  • Inspired by "The Wild One," "Easy Rider," Hunter S. Thompson, every shit biker flick made in the 70's (damn there were a lot of them) and, hey, "I wanna be your dog" by the Stooges

In Character

Werewolves were always kept on a leash, at least since the middle ages, when the last great alpha was extinguished. Left shattered by the destruction of their royalty and courts, Werewolves became the bellboys, the doormen, the legbreakers of other supernatural beings that were more sophisticated at finance, commerce and politics. There were, of course, rumors of werewolf bloodlines producing an alpha, who could make new werewolves with a bite, but the rumors also were that other supernaturals were adept at finding and killing these individuals when they arose before they could surround themselves with others.

1968, in the worst of the Tet Offensive, a young werewolf undergoes a first change that is unexpected. He is indeed a werewolf, but far from the rites of his people, including an indoctrination into servitude. He is from a bloodline that serves others, but he was raised with the secret stories of the great werewolf lords, Alphas. He was told, in family gatherings, the glorious history of these failed uprisings, heroic and melancholic. That's the past. The present concerns him more.

He and his friends are being overrun by the Viet Cong in an outpost near Laos. The lines are stretched, air support grounded by the terrible weather. The guys know are going to die. Though the werewolf knows that his odds are good, he's bonded with some of the other guys, the first time he ever really belonged.

Knowing the tales, he attempts something desperate, to give his friends a chance to survive with him; the bite. It's an act of faith. To his shock, the bite works, his friend starts to turn. Others are bitten. They survive that hell-night in 1968, when the enemy assaulted their base camp under a full moon. He and his buddies are miraculous heroes, their deeds (massively fictionalized) feted in Stars and Stripes. What counts is that the Alpha has his pack, already blooded in battle. The real tale of the bloodbath is, of course, too crazy to be believed.

The new alpha came back to the world with his military buddies, one of whom had a brother that ran with a biker gang. It was a good place to lay low, to marshal the forces of a new war against the other supernaturals, the ones that turned everyone into their slaves. They stayed on the move, nomads, to avoid the notice until they were ready. They added to their numbers so that it wouldn't be so simple as neutralizing the Alpha to keep the help from becoming restive. This time, the supernatural bigshots out there, worrying over stock prices and manipulating their politicians while their tame wolves did the dirty work for a pittance, would have a real fight on their hands.

This is the saga of the Wild Hunt, the Werewolf biker gang, and its fight against the cabals and conspiracies of the world arrayed against them.

Out of Character Info

Werewolf bikers in the 1960's/1970's.

I am going to break the convention and make the gang multi-ethnic and multi-gendered to allow people to create a great character that they feel. The Alpha, of course, is a werewolf of great power and influence, but also will be hunted by anyone supernatural who comes across them out of fear -- even the ones that doing have were's doing servant work for them aren't going to relish the destabilization of their cushy lives. Without an alpha, Werewolves are few in number and less potent, docile and content to serve other supernatural factions and live off the bones they gnaw, figuratively (sometimes literally.)

With an alpha in play, the game changes. Some weres are so far gone in their servitude that they will fight against them, but others are potential recruits to the cause. The alpha's leadership is primal and magnetic, he is a natural leader among his kind. Of course, the alpha is also in danger. Not all werewolves are apt to follow, particularly if they are kept addicted to drugs or are otherwise being controlled by a rival being. Of course, by the same token, wolves in an alpha's pack are not easy to subvert by mind domination and charm magic; they are bonded in spirit and that much more dangerous. Not only that, the bite of an alpha can make new werewolves. Without an alpha, it's all about who has the wolf-blood, descended from bitten werewolves.

Also, I am thinking there is an ebb and flow to the werewolves and their powers. At the full moon, they are at their most violent and dangerous, whereas the opposite applies at a new moon, it's a time for them to sleep it all off. By the same token, they can rouse themselves to fight. I am definitely looking for them to be able to go to that wolf-man form that the movies like to show off, and maybe see if they do a normal wolf form as well.

What we have here is a skeleton -- in the interest check, people asked "how do were's become were's?" and I came up with the 'bloodlines and alpha's bite' system. Hopefully, we can flesh out the plot and the factions more as we proceed. The alpha's bite is pretty disruptive to the ole bloodlines system, so there's lots of friction to look at there.
Posted. Not too long, but I didn't want to risk overextending myself.

It's been a while since I've written anything, other than my CS, so apologies for any rust or lingering issues.

We'll make sure that the larceny happens. Bakeries do production at night, but I already thought of another theft option.

Yay felonies!
I posted.

I also gave a great reason why guns blazing in the den of the monster is not a good idea, if P&H are held liable for damages.

I needed a good excuse for why they can't just shoot the spider so that we can do a Wile E. Coyote plan.
Gabe Boudreaux, nature lover and resident expert on supernatural animals...or, what a normal person would call monsters. The first thing he did was look at that warehouse, in the darkness, with its rows of barrels and tight confines and said to himself, hell no I won't go.

"Look, no offense, but let's try not to agitate the man-eater, okay? We need it to feel comfortable and potentially hungry, because we want it to come out, not stay in there and hunker down. Because I'm not volunteering to go in there."

The first instincts were usually best. He wasn't in love with the idea of tangling with a giant spider inside its domain, where it had webs, food, eggs, if female. He didn't get a good enough look yet to determine sex. Instead, the hairy man of the group, a flannel-wearing shit-kicker with a Mainer accent, which was a lot like a Canadian accent, was advising caution from a position of expertise on supernatural wildlife. He wasn't Steve Irwin, who got himself speared by a manta ray trying to shove a finger up its quacker and he sure as Hell wasn't Jonah, who got himself into the belly of the beast.

Beyond that, Priest and Hawthorne could be liable for damages to all this expensive-looking whiskey, in addition to human lives lost. So guns blazing didn't make a lot of sense here.

"Look, spiders usually aren't aggressive unless provoked, but they are predators and usually they eat things that eat sugar. They'll go after likely prey. That's us," he pronounced, "so stop provoking it." It probably picked the whiskey distillery for a number of reasons. It was cool, dark and there was a doughnut bakery with a retail space called "Devilish Donuts." There was a coffee roaster there too, Kahuna Coffee Roasters. And they had a shop right across from Devilish Donuts, so people could sugar up even more. While both of these had sweets, it didn't have the ideal conditions for a spider...but it was in proximity to the sort of prey a spider would eat at that size. It needed something that consumed enough sugar to satisfy the carbohydrate requirements, since a spider wasn't just going to raid the donut bakery. But it was going to find a lair close to the Diabeetus Den so it didn't have to go far to pick off some sugar-coated protein.

The smaller cousins of this spider evolved to eat ants and pollinating insects, so it made a certain twisted sense that this spider made a lair near a prime food source. There were spaces between the slab-sided warehouses with their metal doors, which were tall enough, but there were plenty of things where a spider might string up its webbing. Sure enough, he drew a flashlight out of a leather holster on a worn leather belt, clicked it on and shined LED's on the points where there were webs, thicker than the usual kind, but still the iridescent lines that were familiar to everyone. They were strung up all over the place, strategically, but there was plenty of open parking lot/loading yard space where the spider couldn't strike easily.

Unless of course, it decided to charge. But spiders didn't work that way, usually.

"Let's stay clear of those for now," he noted to his colleagues.

He caught a whiff of something sweet and groaned; it had been a long day of sitting in that fucking van with Blackwood, rubbing Vicks under his nose and trying not to turn into a drooling, sex-starved caveman. He'd done as much as he could to open windows, spray Fabreeze and otherwise disrupt the charm. He'd probably pissed off everyone else and offended Morgan multiple times. The Fabreeze made him sneeze, chemicals and a sensitive nose, so he switched to Vicks. In fact, he was moving to keep her down-fucking-wind when the plan clicked and he stopped in mid-stride on those scuffed work boots like lightning hit him.

"Guys, I have a plan," he told the group, "We need to get our beasty to get comfortable, so let's try not to be too loud or bright with lights. And I'm gonna need some help on a couple wish list items. We need to make that warehouse kind of warm and the air out here a little more humid while keeping it cool. We also need a way to create something really sticky on the ground. We're all professionals here, so I'm just listing our needs."

Then he turned to Morgan and, quite conversationally, addressed her, while rubbing his nose a bit to disrupt the more overt tones. In the course of the spider punching through a wall with one hairy, frighteningly spiny leg, the adrenaline must have kicked up her scent production or something. He thought he was used to it and then she blasted him with this whammy. It was their first time really working a case together, so there was a learning curve. He kept the tone very conversational, all things considered, though his voice was a bit muffled by his hand on his face.

"Blackwood, if I may respectfully suggest, you look like you're famished. It's time to go get some donuts."

The Mist exploded overhead, causing him to flatten to avoid the shrapnel from that, hissing through the air. He managed not to be perforated with hot metal, but it was a close thing. Along the way, other pockets erupted. Even so, while prone, he got his rifle into position, both eyes open, irons on the two, but he held fire even before the talking started. Others were moving into their positions, even as they tried to reason through the situation.

He knew the calculus; one girl, throwing power around. Setzer, held hostage.

As the others started to talk and otherwise address the girl, he took the time to get on one knee and assume a firing position, the stock of his rifle nestled into his shoulder as he regulated his breathing. This was no sniper rifle and Setzer was so damn big that this girl practically was hidden behind him anyway. He didn't have a particularly good shot, not that he was in a rush to take it. It was not the optimal situation to be taking shots, even if he was damned good with a rifle.

Unlike most Wardens, he didn't need optics for easy firing. He compensated subtly, using minuscule amounts of the Mist to modify the visual effect that replicated the effect of magnification and backlighting and even target designation. It was minor trickery, but it assisted in a well-trained rifleman's sense of aiming the weapon, particularly welcome when under an actual threat with actual adrenaline.

All the same, he'd spent more time in Vangar courses than Zimmy or at least retained it; his training reflected the interests he had. He wanted to do recon and light infantry work, and he'd deliberately adopted the courseload that would put him into that line of work. He was extremely fluent with the language, which the Citadel taught with a junker-class accent, like a proper von type, educated, collegiate. Useful for debriefing Vangar officers if the need were ever to arise.

"We are Wardens on leave, you are on Rassvet soil and this is a search and rescue operation. That is, of course, unless you decide to actually harm our friend, in which case you cease to be the subject of a rescue operation and then become an enemy combatant. Your choice, fraulein. We are not the enemy unless you decide to make it that way."

His Vangar was cold and aristocratic, and he was casual in flicking the safety selector switch on his rifle down to 'fire', which had a very distinctive 'click' sound, as if to say, think carefully about the next move, since you're speaking so glibly of moves.

"I just told the bitch that this is a search and rescue and that if she does anything to Setzer, we're slotting her," he added, to the others in Rass as he covered his sector. She couldn't watch seven at once. So he locked eyes with her. His were hard, especially behind the sights of a rifle.

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