TheGrundlesnart — Roleplayer Guild

THE WITCH'S CLOSET

Has your heart always contained this wanderlust? It is true now, for sure. You can hardly stop the under-the-skin itch that draws you away from this tiny town and its tiny ambitions and its tiny curiosity. 

The only thing that seems to scratch that itch is browsing the shelves of The Last Page, the local bookstore. It was on one of these trips that your life changed, though you didn't know it at the time. 

You found a book. Leather-bound, ancient, and beautiful. It was unmarked by any pricetags or barcodes, and set into the center of the cover was a necklace. A length of crystal no thicker than a ballpoint pen's ink tube, set into a simple fixture on a chain of blackened gold. You must have been so surprised to find such an incredible book that you were seeing things. Because you could swear, when you touched that crystal, you felt a heartbeat. 

Little did you know what would happen when you got that book home and opened its cover. Little did you know what you'd been chosen for, and what that key represented. The power it would give you. The wonders it would show you. The places it would take you. 

Nor did you know the powers that would want it. The people that would seek it. The monsters that would claim it. 

So What The Hell Is This?

This is a modern fantasy-ish, magepunk-ish, mysticism-inspired RP where your character, a young woman who longs for more in her life, gets her wish granted to a much, much greater degree than she bargained for. 

It is weird, and I want to spoil as little as possible. The less I say, the weirder it will feel. 

This is designed for MxF or FxF, with my partner providing a female protagonist. I could do a male protagonist, but it would take some rewrites. In any case I'll be taking on more of a GM role as far as "playing the entire world," but I do want a partner who brings a character that will proactively interact with the world. 

So What Will Happen?

Your character will be dropped into a very strange and expansive world. There will be exploration of exotic locales, cultures, and peoples. There will be political maneuverings among ascendant beings. There will be enlightenment, achieved through violence. Royalty, Magic, Mastery, Wisdom, Ascendance, and Blood. 

Oh, and a lot of weird shit and unexpected takes on fantasy concepts. 

What Should I Do?

-Bring a character who is ambitious and has a desire to explore. 
-Be ready to geek out with me OOC, because we're gonna make something kickass and worth geeking for. 
-Send me a PM.
-Smut Policy: My default is to go through the whole uh... proceedings. Lemme know if that's not your thing. All in all? Smut will not be a focus. But it might happen. 
-MOST IMPORTANTLY: Keep being sexy.

DEUCES.

Let the drums play on...


Speak With The Damned: discord.gg/NENyBZYkMX

Let's do this shit again....




There was an old saying once,
 in the golden age. "Humanity is a rash on the Earth's back. We're just lucky it hasn't decided to scratch." They got to say things like that, back then. Back before the Earth decided to scratch. 

The old-timers say it all the time. They were just young kids when it happened. Ground started shaking, buildings started swaying and falling, planes dropped out of the sky like birds dying of heatstroke mid-flight. That's where Old Tom says Steelbird Landing came from. A couple of old planes went down in the same stretch of rainforest and managed to not fall into the new crevices. Old Rio, with its big statue of someone important now laying in pieces at the edge of the cliff-beach, has been absorbed by the green. The Earth takes back what the rash infected. 







Out in the jungle, the lions and tigers and bears prowl. The Jaguares sharpen claws and obsidian upon the flesh of man. War-drums howl, hearts are consumed, heads are taken. The psychic screaming of the dead tickles at your nerve endings and peeks in with the venoms and poisons of the flowers and wilting fruits. Its glow fills the sky each night, draping colors across the sky like one of the silk-dancing women at the flesh-house. The sacred dusts and powders placed upon your guns are of little comfort when the rabid apes emerge from the jungle, a band of psychotics with the strength of two men each and the cruel glee of children. What is left of faith when you hear the screams of a man torn in half by an ape shrieking with laughter? What sort of god would even want that faith? Plenty would. 



The only gods left to watch our wretched souls demand blood and suffering in exchange for each small boon. Or so their prophets whisper through painted lips sewn shut with barbed wire. They say that we are insects to them. We deserve to be thrown into the cracks of the world and be impaled upon the spear-rocks below. They say our heathen blood is a wine to the angry planet we are forced to scratch our livings from. We are little more than the last, persistent agents of its cleansed infection. The last vestiges of a virus too stubborn to die. Therefore, we are punished for our hubris.



So rise, remnant, you child of a dying breed. Rise, child of ash and rift and blood. Carve your place among the deadly green. Stand in the bleak sunrise, sweating from the midnight heat and panting for your morning water. Bathe yourself in the viscera of days long dead. Burn in the throes of passion, too alone to do anything but cling to what skin you can hold with desperate lips. Brandish your blade, your gun, your jaguar claw. 

Power must be taken by force.
Enemies must be slain on altars. 
Peace must be purchased with blood. 
Knowledge must be written in pain. 

The jungle will give you Nothing.


You are among the last remnants of humanity, stranded on the planet after a massive geological disaster changed the face of the planet and utterly destroyed human civilization. You are the children of those who were children when the world died. The world of before is nothing to you but a fairy tale told by those with gray hairs and feeble hearts. 

You live in an area that would have been east of Rio de Janeiro way back when, the descendants of passengers on two commercial flights and one cargo flight that crashed within the same square mile. These planes teeter on brand new cliff faces, deep in the jungle. The world has changed since your ancestors knew it, with new horrors and realities to contend with. 

The Maelstrom looms over everything, creating something of an Aurora Borealis at all times of year, but always in sickly and disturbing colors. With the right drugs, the right brain defects, or the right psychoses, it is possible to hear the whisperings of the dead, and have them reveal truths to you under the guise of metaphor and vision. Those who do this most easily go by many names: Seer, Brainer, Listener, Skull-reader. All of them the same: Lifeless, doll’s eyes watching the world around them, bending other to their merciless whims, playing mouthpiece to the gods… or taking the guise of gods for their own ends. 

To the north, a tribe of formerly Brazilian men and women have reverted to the old ways, sacrificing humans to the sun god and beginning to have dreams of empire. 

To the east, the broken remains of Old Rio sit in crumbling husks, almost picked clean and a hotbed of raiders, bandits, and gangers fighting like dogs over the last scraps. 

To the south, slavers keep their camps, readying their catching hooks for “jungle cruises” where they’ll pick off the stragglers and haul them away to you-don’t-want-to-know.

To the west, a massive cleft that brings the sea deep into the heart of the land, where the wind sings terrible songs, and where monsters are said to creep from beneath the stony cliffs in search for something more than meat...

It is in this environment that you must carve out a living. This is where you will make your last, and only stand. Who will you be?

Will you be the Governor, keeping your settlement on the razor’s edge between too lenient and too brutal, struggling to protect what your ancestors built?

Will you be the Gunlugger, bristling with weapons and ammunition, the only one to recognize that the only price left to pay for anything is blood?

Will you be the Skinner, holding what fragments of beauty are left in the world between cupped hands, offering it to strangers with whispers of “come and see it, there is more than blood and rutting, there is music and light here, don’t worry about the cost…?”
Will you be the Brainer, dragging secrets from minds on puppet strings and staring into souls with the empty eyes of a thing long dead?

What else could you be? What else would  you be?



Long story short, I need some people for a Post-apocalypse RP. This shit will be MATURE. 
Expect some VIOLENT SHIT.
Expect some DRUG USAGE.
Expect some SEX. (But fade to black for the children, please. But you are allowed and encouraged to carry on in PMs and brag about it on Discord.)
Expect some HUMAN SUFFERING.
Expect some HAVING YOUR CHARACTER'S SHIT PUSHED IN.
Expect some VIOLENT, DRUG-INDUCED SEX THAT PRODUCES BATSHIT VISIONS OF DARK FOREBODING. 

In short: It's rough out here. 

If that doesn't tickle your pickle, GET THE FUCK OUT.  
If there is the slightest chance you'll fuck off before we hit page 2, just save the trouble and fuck off now. 

I'm taking minimum 3 players, max 4. At 3 I'll provide a character, at 4 I'll stick to just playing, you know, the entire world. 

WHAT I NEED FROM YOUR SORRY ASS:

Make me a character. Use the following CS and Handy Dandy Post-Apocalypse Character Guide:

[center][Color=???][H2]Their Name Goes Here. Short and Sweet.[/H2][/color]
[Img]i.imgur.com/rxaIRiv.png[/img][/center]

[center][img]Picture Goes here. If you gotta use art instead of a photo, fine. I know this shit is hard to find.[/img][/center]

[Color=???]¤ Age, approximately.[/color]
Put a rough estimate here. Nobody has ever had a birthday party. Most only have a rough guess.

[Color=???]¤ What Are You?[/color]
The Gunlugger? The Skinner? The Brainer? The Driver? The Hardholder? The Maestro? The Faceless? The Monster? The Child-thing? The Waterbearer? The Priest? The Ganger? The Chopper? The Jaguar? The Tribal? Something Else? 
Whatever you are, you're the only one of it. No doubling-up allowed! Give us a brief description of what the fuck one of what you are even is. 

[Color=???]¤ What defines you?[/Color]
Pick one of the following 5 words. At the end of the day, you are this, by default:
HARD - it means you're a hard motherfucker. Hard of heart. Hard of skull. Hard of fist. Hard of tooth. You take no shit. Of course, sometimes a delicate hand is better...

SHARP - you're a clever one. You might even know how to read. You probably build shit and solve problems with your wits and quick thinking. But brawn is useful...

COOL - icy cold under pressure. You're hard to rile. You are the very definition of a smooth operator. But of course, cold means distant...

HOT - damn you look good. You're a whole dollop of charisma on top of a tall glass of charm. Your body does the talking. But of course, being the object of desire invites danger...

WEIRD - holy shit you're weird. The spirits speak to you, my friend, and often. You've got friends on the other side. But of course, it's hard to be sane when the dead whisper so loud...

[center][Img]i.imgur.com/rxaIRiv.png[/img][/center]

[Color=???]¤ Who are you?[/Color]
Tell us a little bit about your history. What are you known for? Who loves you? Who hates you? What spins your wheels? 

[Color=???]¤ What do you want?[/Color]
Tell us what it is you're really striving for. Tell us the ugly truth, or the sweet lie. Remember that sometimes, out here in the jungle, the most surprising thing to be... is honest.

[Color=???]¤ What do you believe?[/Color]
What do you think is the truth about the world? What great insight guides your actions?

[Color=???]¤ What do you follow?[/Color]
Pick a body part. Real or metaphorical. This is the body part that leads you through your day. 
Is it your nose? Your brain? Your genitals? Your stomach? Your pain? Your honor code? Your anger? Your hope?

[Color=???]¤ A scarcity embodied:[/Color]
You embody one of the many scarcities in this world of entropy. 
Maybe you're the lack of...
Food
Freedom
Water
Peace
Joy
Love
Safety
Sanity
Hope
Tell us what you embody, and how we can tell.

[Color=???]¤ Basic Instincts:[/Color]
Tell us what you do on instinct. Make a list. The good, the bad, the ugly. I as a GM will always assume your instincts hold true. If you're always keeping a knife hidden on you, that's ALWAYS true. For good or bad. If you don't indicate otherwise, of course. Choose NO MORE THAN 3 INSTINCTS.

[center][Color=???][h3]¤ Spill Your Guts[/h3][/Color][/center]
Pick 5 of the following questions and answer them. If the answer requires a named person, you may make up a name or pick another player's character. You don't NEED their permission but they'll like you better if you have it, or at least hash something out with them. If you make up a name, that's all you get to make up. Your loving GM will do the rest, baby. Sit back and hate it. (You can steal names others have already used, too. I love it when my players make up some right and proper bastards.)

[color=???]¤ What is the worst thing you've ever done to stay alive?[/color]

[color=???]¤ What do you most regret doing?[/color]

[color=???]¤ Who do you owe?[/color]

[color=???]¤ Who owns you? Literally or figuratively.[/color]

[color=???]¤ Who did you fail to save? What did it cost?[/color]

[color=???]¤ Who makes you feel (angry/sad/murderous/lustful)the moment you lay eyes on them? Why?[/color]

[color=???]¤ What/Who are you addicted to? What are you willing to do to acquire it?[/color]

[color=???]¤ Who's intentions do you question?[/color]

[color=???]¤ Who wants you all to themselves?[/color]

[color=???]¤ Who or what do you worship?[/color]

[center][Img]i.imgur.com/rxaIRiv.png[/img][/center]

[h3]Hear the Whispers...[/h3]
When you open your brain-case to the whispers and visions of the Psychic Maelstrom, what is it like for you? Is it like a dream? Is it like standing underwater? Is it like standing on the curved glass surface of the sky, watching the land above your head twist into prophetic form? Do you find yourself in an endless black, surrounded by masked judges who put crimson handprints on your flesh and chant the truth into the endless dark? 

Do you use drugs to achieve this? Meditation? Does it come upon you in the heat of battle? 

Tell us. 

[center][Img]i.imgur.com/rxaIRiv.png[/img][/center]

[h3]Own What You've Become[/h3]
When you've decided What You Are, PM me with what title you chose and a brief description of what you mean by it (doubly so if you made one up.) 
Based on what you describe to me, I will give you 3 more questions. These are non-negotiable. You will answer ALL of them. 

[color=???]¤ Question Will Go Here[/color]

[color=???]¤ Question Will Go Here[/color]

[color=???]¤ Question Will Go Here[/color]

[center][Img]i.imgur.com/rxaIRiv.png[/img][/center]

[color=???]¤Your theme song goes here, if you are so inclined.[/color]
And some lyrics down here, if you are so inclined.


Your characters are not named John or Jerry or Mike or Sarah or Daisy or Abigail. 
Names like that don't fucking exist anymore. 
Nobody has a last name, nobody has a family. Not a real one, anyways. Just two people who produced another kid into this shit stain you call home. 

People are named after shit that's actually around, but they've got no context for what is and is not supposed to be a name for a kid. 
So your name is something like:
Brick
Cheeto
Mother Theresa
Bible
Audi
Beemer
Hatchback
Kringle
Cuppa Joe
Blind Eric
Screech
Bebop
Scratch
Mouse
Tiny
Grinder
Smiles
Daddy
Brass
Viking
Flywheel
Kodak

You get the picture.

Your character image should be post-apocalyptic in tone. I only made you grab one because they're hard as shit to find. If you have to use realistic-ish character art instead, OK. I get it. Just no anime shit. It can be helpful to find portraits of homeless people and veterans. I know that seems kinda mean, but shit... they look like they've had it rough, and that's exactly how these poor fucks have had it: Rough.

Don't feel obligated to explain that your character is an asshole. Pretty much everyone is/will be. It's expected at this point. 

Remember: I'm assuming your character is a gun-toting badass, a chem-fueled psycho, a miracle-worker healer, an iron-willed scavenger. Don't be afraid to be cool as shit. Just recognize that flaws in the Jungle are big, bold, and suffer-making. Have plenty.

You want more?
Fine. Have this. It's some fuel for the creative fire: pin.it/7hEgVhK

That's it. We're done here.

TheGrundlesnart Member

Snarting Grundles since 1838

Status

Recent Statuses

Bio

Most Recent Posts