[a / b / c / d / e / f / g / gif / h / hr / k / m / o / p / r / s / t / u / v / vg / w / wg] [i / ic] [r9k] [cm / hm / y] [3 / adv / an / cgl / ck / co / diy / fa / fit / hc / int / jp / lit / mlp / mu / n / po / pol / sci / soc / sp / tg / toy / trv / tv / vp / x] [rs] [status / ? / @] [Settings] [Home]
Settings   Home
/tg/ - Traditional Games

File: Rosie - Copy.jpg (136 KB, 840x1440)
136 KB
136 KB JPG
Guess what everyone! Storytiem! Anyway, here's the last thread:http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/33605642/
Yes, this is a bit late, shutupshutupshutup.
Anyway, summary of that for those who don't wish to read it: a little girl, the ghost of her necromancer grandfather, a orphan whose parents were eaten and/or raped to death by bears, and a priest who has a cuddle pillow of his goddess teamed up to murder a group of people slightly more evil than them. Anyway, time to begin storytieming.
Oh, and do note I only have part of this typed up, so this is really going to slow down at some point. Also, I no longer have the skype logs, so this is going to be based off memory.
The trading post was depressingly generic, being a wooden building containing a old man sitting behind a counter stacked with an absurd amount of junk.
“Dammit,” swore Sean, slamming his hands down on the counter and sending badger furs flying. “Are you sure you don’t have anything that needs to be done? Rats in the cellar? Bandits in the attic?”
“No,” said the old man. “Things are fairly good, although the dwarves aren’t stopping by as much as they used to. Hear there might be a plague going through Cleavage.”
“Good,” said Sean, “a quest. Thank you for finally giving up the information I’ve been trying to drag from you for the past five hours.”
"Guess what?" said Sean, walking out of the trading post and jumping into the horse drawn cart where Rosie and the priest waited. "We're going to visit Cleavage. The Dwarven King has promised a reward for anyone who can end the plague."
"Very well," said the priest, grabbing the reins. "Giddyap,. Or whatever it is you say to make horses start moving, I don't know."
"Wait," said Sean, "If you don't know how to make horses start moving than how did we even-

Can't wait to see how that ended up.

>"Girl, holy shit," says Sean, backing away. "They just threw us a blood-soaked scroll that smells of brimstone, how are you still the creepiest thing in the room?"

You fucking guys, this was great.
I don't know why I expected MBTA free WiFi to be even remotely good.
After three days of traveling through bland and uninteresting forest, something marginally interesting happened: quarrels flew through the trees, landing around the cart as the horse halted to avoid being hit, and four bandits came out of the shadows, each one wielding a loaded crossbow.
“How nice of you to come and meet us,” said Sean, standing up. “Hand over your money and we might let you live.”
“Hey,” said one of the bandits.”That’s our line you little shit!”
“Look,” said Rosie, yawning loudly. “It’s getting late. Can’t we just go to SLEEP?”
The bandits hit the ground snoring before she could even finish the sentence. Sean hit the ground shortly thereafter, jumping off the cart and walking over to the sleeping bandits. Pulling out a knife, he quickly slit the throats of all but one. The contents of their wallets turned out to be fairly boring, but one had a letter, which, while bloodstained, was still legible enough to be read.
"Grunts. With the shit happening to the shortstacks in Cleavage means a lot of chumps on their way to help them. Stay to the roads and steal, maim, and even rape a few. Just bring me my share. -The Thieving Bitch. P.S: Look out for wolves."
“What’s a bitch?” asked Rosie.
“I’m going to leave answering that to someone else,” said Sean, using his cloak to tie up the remaining bandit before dragging him onto the cart. “Let’s ask this guy.”
A few miles ahead, the bandit woke up, and expressed his dislike of being kidnapped by shouting profanities before going into an overly long monologue on the methodology and procedure of how he’d rape everyone in a ten mile radius once freed.
“That’s nice,” said Sean, unfazed by the threats. “Who is this thieving bitch I keep hearing about?”
“You don’t know about the Queen of Thieves?” said the bandit. “She is the greatest of us, stealing fortunes and souls alike. She owns this land and every rock that holds gold. You’ll never find her unless you have something you want, and then she will steal your home, your wife, your money, your identity, and your little horse too.”
“Not Boris!” wailed Rosie.
“Don’t worry,” said Sean. “Boris will be all right. Hand me the tinderbox.”
“Wait,” said the bandit as Rosie handed Sean the tinderbox. “What are you going to OH DEAR GODS I’M ON FIRE!”
That last bit was his response to his shirt being set on fire by Sean, not how he planned to end that sentence. Just in case you were wondering.

“That looks painful,” said Sean in a conversational tone of voice. “What else can you tell us about this bitch?”
“She only communicates with us through letters,” said the bandit, writhing in pain. “I’ve never seen her! No-one has!”
“Where do you get these letters?” asked Sean.
“They show up in our pockets!” screamed the bandit. “They just appear! Please, put me out?”
“Wait a minute,” said Sean. “Older man, is that possible?”
“What if she’s invisible?” asked Sean as the bandit’s wails ceased, the fire presumably having eaten away his vocal cords. “Like, she goes around invisible and steals stuff, leaves notes, all that shit?”
“Huh,” said Sean, throwing the bandit’s corpse off of the cart, where it landed on a wolf. ”Next time chose a better line of work.”
“Didn’t he have your cloak?” asked Rosie.
Fuck, this is as far as I typed it up last time. Anywho, prepare for longer gaps between posts.
The rest of the trip was uneventful, containing no bandits, wolves or wolf-bandits, and in three days time, the party had reached a valley between two mountains, at the upper end of which was a cyclopean gate of steel and granite that served as an entrance into the dwarven city of Cleavage. A dwarven guard stood on either side of the gate, each one wearing a suit of mail and carrying a halberd.
“Halt,” said one of the guards, straightening up as the party approached. “Why do you wish entry into Cleavage?”
“We need to heal all the sick dworfs!” responded Rosie.
“Our uncle is a great healer,” continued Sean. “He’s here to help.”
“Yes,” said the priest, obviously unused to lying when not giving a sermon. “Their uncle. That is me.”

I'm ready to wait: I like it. Thank you for writing this down.
>four bandits came out of the shadows
>“How nice of you to come and meet us,” said Sean, standing up. “Hand over your money and we might let you live.”

>"she will steal your home, your wife, your money, your identity, and your little horse too"
>“Not Boris!”

>“What are you going to OH DEAR GODS I’M ON FIRE!”

>“Didn’t he have your cloak?” asked Rosie.

>“Yes,” said the priest, obviously unused to lying when not giving a sermon. “Their uncle. That is me.”

I love the way you set out to be as edgy as possible and then ended up playing in a sit com. It fills my heart with joy.
Yay! Thanks for putting up with the wait.
Of course,” said the guard. “Why am I not surprised? Another snake oil salesman. I’ll let you in, but you damn well better do something more than run off with your advance payment.”
“Wait,” said Sean. “We get an advance payment?”
“No,” said the guard. “But if we were giving you one, you would damn well better not run off with it.”
“Then why did you even bring it up in the first place?” asked Sean. “That doesn’t-
Dwarven stables turned out to be like stables everywhere, with the sole difference being that the accommodations were sized for ponies instead of full size horses, similar to how the doorways were sized for midgets. (A fact that did not bother our heroes protagonists, as to be expected when two thirds of the cast has not gone through puberty.)
“Goodbye Boris,” said Rosie, her eyes full of tears as the dwarven stablehand tried to squeeze a draft horse into a stall made for creatures one quarter of its size. “Promise to be good while we’re gone?”
“Who gives a fuck?” asked Sean. “It’s a goddamn horse. Worst case scenario, the stupid beast gets itself killed and we have to buy a new one.”
“Don’t be mean to Boris,” said Rosie. “He’s my bestest friend.”
“I thought that was your stupid piece of shit bear,” said Sean. “What the hell happened to him anyway?”
“Oh my god,” said Rosie in horror. “I haven’t seen him since-
“And here is where we keep those who have yet to die,” said the dwarven doctor, his white coat fluttering as he opened up a door to reveal a gigantic hall filled end to end with stretchers. “It is an odd malady, not seeming to come from any of the four humors. The victims lose the ability to move, and then their beards slowly fall out as-“
“Who cares about the plague?” said Rosie. “What about Mr. Tibbers? We-“
“Hush,” said Sean, pushing her to the side.
“No!” said Rosie. “Mr. Tibbers is missing and-“
“I said hush,” said Sean, putting his hand over her mouth. “Can we continue with the quest now?”
“Very well,” said the doctor, clearly confused. “As I was saying, those suffering from the plague lose the ability to move, their beards fall out, and then they have a high fever for three days before suddenly dying as a black liquid spews from their orifices. Patient zero was an exploratory miner who discovered some underground temple or somesuch.”
“Wait,” said Sean. “Are you all fucking retarded? Someone uncovers a temple, then they come down with some mystery disease? It’s a curse for desecrating the memories of the ancients or some shit. This is literally adventuring one oh fucking one.”
“We aren’t retarded,” said the doctor. “When we found the temple, we had the shaft bricked up. Last we heard, some werebears had gone and settled there.”
“Werebears?” said Sean, his voice filling with rage as his eyes filled with tears. “Those are the only things I hate more than bears. Ever since my parents were eaten and/or raped to death by a werebear, I’ve dreamed of-“
“HOW TIRING,” said Rosie, her eyes beginning to glow red as the priest and the doctor fell down, fast asleep. “ANOTHER HERO LEFT AN ORPHAN. LOOK, YOUR BACKSTORY IS SO GENERIC YOU LITERALLY BORED THESE POOR FELLOWS TO SLEEP.”
“Fuck,” said Sean. “Not you again. What the hell do you want?”
“POWER,” said Rosie, her eyes now glowing brightly enough she could be fined for using high beams were she on a road. “SAME AS YOU. THE DIFFERENCE IS THAT I KNOW HOW TO GET IT. GET THE FATHER OUT OF THE WAY, AND PUT ALL THE DEMIHUMANS IN THE CENTER OF THE ROOM. WE SHALL PERFORM A SUMMONING.”
I'm still here and loving it. Please keep going.
“Okay,” said Sean, clearly thankful that all the effort required to move the patients was being ignored by the narrative. “Now what?”
“JUST SIT BACK AND WATCH,” said Rosie as she pulled out a crayon and began to draw a pentagram around the pile of bodies. “ALLOW NOTHING TO DISTURB ME. WITH A BEAST AS POWERFUL AS THE WHAT I WISH TO SUMMON, EVEN THE SLIGHTST LAPSE IN CONCENTRATION COULD BE FATAL.”
After several hours of drawing various occult sigils in multiple variations of pink, red, and cyan, Rosie dropped her crayons to the ground and began to float in the air while chanting in a tongue that was old when the first fishapods were debating over if this land thing was really such a good idea.
The chanting also went on for several hours. After hour three, Sean became bored.
“Okay,” said Sean, tugging on the hem of Rosie’s dress. “I know you said not to disturb you and all but-“
“YOU FOOL!” shouted Rosie, falling to the ground as the corpses suddenly exploded into flame and the red light in her eyes started to fade. “YOU HAVE DOOMED US ALL!”
Dark purple smoke flickering with St. Elmo’s fire began to rise in a mushroom cloud as the corpses burned at a rate which seemed logically impossible. Soon, they were all but gone, and the smoke began to funnel downward, coalescing into an orb. Through the smoke could be seen flashes of chitinous limbs, writhing in impossible formations. Suddenly, the smoke dissipated, revealing
Shit, last stop. Will finish story later.

Take your time.
Dude I remember reading the first part of this literally years ago on here, what's going on?


I saw this in another thread and I also remembered reading this.
“A crab?” said Sean, clearly confused, for a crab it was. Not a giant crab, not a fire breathing crab, not an eight hit die crab, but a perfectly normal crab.
“Aww,” said Rosie, walking into the pentagram and picking up the crab. “I will call you Mister Snippers and you will be my new bestest friend. We can have tea parties together and share my secret clubhouse and-”
“Oh dear,” said the priest, standing up from the corner in which Sean had shoved him. “I must have been much more tired than BY THE WIFE’S SHAPELY ASS! What happened here?”
“Um,” said Sean, looking over to the bloodstained pentagram filled with blood, ash, shards of bone, and little girl. “Werebear attack.”
“Werebears?” said the priest quizzically.
“The biggest!” said Rosie, waving her arms about as Mr. Snippers scuttled onto her head for safety. “It burst into the room and went roar and ate all the dworfs but then Sean scared it off with his sword.”
“And the pentagram?” asked the priest, clearly suspicious.
“I was bored and couldn’t find my coloring book.”
See >>39305933
The priest sighed, even though he should have become used to hearing lies after twelve years manning a confessional booth. “Very well,” he said. “I just hope you know where these werebears went, as the doctor seemed to be the only one interested in telling us-
The temple was fairly disappointing as far as lost remnants of long dead civilizations go. It was basically an empty room, with a large pillar of jade in the center, smoothly shaped by inhuman hands. A large chunk appeared to have been recently removed by what might very well have been inhuman paws.
“Wait,” said the Priest. “How the hell do we know this was shaped by inhuman hands and/or paws? Are there claw marks or something? Furthermore, how did we get here in the-”
Also, there was a werebear. “Roar,” said the werebear.
“You aren’t Mister Tibbers at all,” said Rosie. “What have you done with Mister Tibbers?”
“Who the fuck is Mister Tibbers?” asked the werebear.
“More importantly,” said the priest, “who are you? What are you? You don’t even have a description. What does a werebear actually look like? What are you trying to do?”
“I’m glad you asked,” said the Werebear. “I was afraid I might have to skip my vilanous monologue altogether. We werebears are a proud species of bears with opposable thumbs that enjoy going around and eating and/or raping people to death. I took off a piece of that jade pillar so that I might gain true might. In just a few weeks, I will have finished devouring the souls of every dwarf in this city via the powers of the McGuffin Crystal!”
“That is quite possibly the stupidest fucking monologue I have heard in my life,” said Sean.
“Ha,” said the Werebear. “That’s a lot of big talk coming from a kid whose parents I ate and/or raped to death.”
“That was you!” shouted Sean, now incandesant with rage. “YOU ARE GOING TO DIE YOU FURRY PIECE OF SHIT! I’LL-”
File: princessbride.jpg (44 KB, 400x269)
44 KB
Anyone still reading?
Oh dear. I seem to have lost this portion of the chat log.
>Come on grandpa. Can’t you at least try to tell the story right?
If I must, but I’m going to have to skip this bit.

I am stil here.

Just to be sure, how much are you making it up on the spot to fill in the blanks? Because the previous one was less meta than this one.
“Take that you useless dick eating cunt faced yiffer!” shouted Sean as he desecrated the Werebear’s corpse. “Oh, and look, I found that precious stone you pulled from the pillar! Oh, no, wait, THAT”S YOUR SPINE.”
“Of course,” said the priest as he reached into the werebear’s intestines and pulled out a greenish rock. “This is the stone from the pillar. And now, we must set things right.”
“Wait,” said Sean, looking up from the Werebear’s corpse just in time to see the priest put the stone back into the pillar, which began to glow an eerie green as the crack marks dissapeared. “What the fuck! That was loot! Do you know how much we could have sold that for?”
“This was a temple,” said the priest. “Even if it isn’t to the best of all gods, it still must be treated with respect.”
“You’re just as bad as him,” said Sean. “Loot is for selling, nothing more.”
“Is mortal power or wealth worth more to either of you than the afterlife?”
“Yes, it is! Why don’t you two both have you’re values straight?”
And so on.
The smash cuts were added by me, as was some of the content of the werebear's monologue. To be honest, I don't even remember what the fuck it was doing down there, only that it was the werebear that ate and/or raped the fighter's parents to death.

Well, they are nice to read anyway.

A great story, thanks. Did the group fall apart right after this one or is there some more?
Read and appreciated, thank you.
>Did the group fall apart right after this one or is there some more?
Fell apart sadly.
You're welcome.

A pity, but I'm happy we at least have these two storytimes: you are pretty good at writing them. Thank you again.
I have heard of this game, even saw a free module, and it seemed... off.
I could see myself taking some ideas, especially for creature design, but I don't see how the game itself would be enjoyable, as the tone seems to be all about shitting on the players as hard as possible.

It's an OD&D retro clone inspired by death metal and gore movies. I think you just need to play it with the right spirit to enjoy it. From what I read, if you fully embrace the edge you can have a lot of fun with it.
Basically, yeah. Ruleswise, it's OK as far as OSR goes, but do not take any of Raggi's advice on adventure design. Remember, he is the man who thought a dude that ejaculates Web would be a good addition to a module.
>a dude that ejaculates Web
Sounds like a blast.
This is supposed to be a dramatic tragedy though. Not a punch line.
Was he some inhuman thing masquerading as a man, at least?

That's exactly what I was talking about: to play this game you need to embrace the schlock, instead of taking it seriously.

Raggi thinks he's some kind of deep and subversive writer, but his stuff is hilariously bad if you are willing to laugh about it.
I was told there was some kind of parasite involved.
>but his stuff is hilariously bad if you are willing to laugh about it.
>to play this game you need to embrace the schlock, instead of taking it seriously.

I greatly disagree if you don't take the genre seriously all it becomes is a big joke which is not what it should be. It's meant to be freak and twisted not a circus act.

>it becomes is a big joke which is not what it should be. It's meant to be freak and twisted not a circus act.

Then it's a bad game that fails miserably at what it was trying to do.
>It's meant to be freak and twisted not a circus act.
But it's bad at that. It doesn't really mater what Franz Liebkind intended Springtime For Hitler to be like, the fact is that it is a comedy.
To be fair, the reason for Springtime for Hitler being a comedy was the casting. People actually were incredibly offended until Hitler hit the stage. So it's a poor comparison, since it would imply the game is only shlock when the players treat it that way.

No, it's actually a very fitting comparison: Lamentation manages to be offensive for twenty pages at most, before you suddenly realize that the "actors", that is to say, the peope writing for it, are more fit as comedians than horror writers.

The idea for the game is solid, but the people that were actually involved with it made it a joke that should be enjoyed for what it is. Schlock
That doesn't mean Hitler doing a Judy Garland homage is any less funny.
Although to be honest, I'd probably be that one asshole from the original movie who actually clapped after the opening number and ended up being stoned to death.

[Advertise on 4chan]

Delete Post: [File Only] Style:
[Disable Mobile View / Use Desktop Site]

[Enable Mobile View / Use Mobile Site]

All trademarks and copyrights on this page are owned by their respective parties. Images uploaded are the responsibility of the Poster. Comments are owned by the Poster.