Anything without a home!
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EldritchImagination

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#1591
Nahztek-Shadowpath wrote:I might try to jump in on the new one. I’m kinda curious to see what Eldritch does with it.
I’m off tomorrow but it’s my only off day. So, I’m not sure when I will be awake... lol..


Well, let me lay down the law:

1). The game is called Dice of Fate, because every action you take, EVERY ACTION!...requires a dice roll that will determine the level of the action's success/failure. 10 is the middle point where the action succeeds normally, everything higher yields an increasingly positive result, anything lower yields failure to an increasingly negative result, with 1 being utter, devastating failure ending up with getting *$&%^# by a dragon or something, and 20 being uber victory where you get you're own harem......or something.

2). There are two exceptions to this rule. One is basic dialogue, just telling something to someone, conversing, etc. Only actions like charming, asking questions, and trying to intimidate someone requires a dice roll to succeed. The second involves combat with other player (yes, you can attack each other at will).

3). As for player vs. player combat, I wrote the rules a while ago. If there is any situation where two characters are in conflict (say one wants to steal from the other) the two players role. highest role wins. The higher the difference, the more in favor the action is to the winning player.

For instance, if say one of you tries to attack another player, and you both roll, a difference of 1-2 will lead to a light scar, nothing really damaging, a difference of 3-5 will lead to light wounding (15-25%), a difference of 6-10 medium wounding (30-50%), 11-16, heavy wounding (55-80%), 17-18, near fatal wounding (85-90%), and 19, instant kill by the most epic degree. Like, if there is a 1 vs. 20 roll, there will be a poem of badassitude of how badly the loser got killed.

I'm also going off of a percentage based health system, so everyone starts with 100%, unless they make a character that starts out wounded, like someone who just escaped a mutant attack or something. certain powers will boost health, and armor will be a percentage all it's own That absorbs all damage until it breaks.

Don't worry to much about dying. Everyone is immortal and will reincarnate after dying (I'll explain why later), buuuuuuuuut they restart back to how they were when they began.


3). Everything is legal. any action that is within reasonable plausibility can be done by the player. However, action that are unreasonable (not logically possible) can also be done, but must have a very high dice roll to succeed. Failing will result in.......something unpleasant.



Story: I haven't made the setting in great detail, was planning on world building as we went. Buuuuuut, just know that it's a heavy metal sci-fi post-apocalyptic fantasy that takes place on earth. Just about any character is possible just so long as 1) it's killable by normal means, 2) Is not unreasonably superpowered, and 3) must stay faithful to the role, as in oblige by it's established (by you) attributes and characteristics unless changed in game.

For instance, if you establish your character to be A pacifist who can't fight, then that character can in no way fight........UNLESS you roll a 20 (see rule breaking rule above), in which case the role will be temporarily disregarded, or I will contrive some outrageous situation where you still miraculously still obey the rules of the role. Just remember though, if that bi*ch die is even a 19, I will fu*k you silly for your sheer audacity, thinking you can try disobeying MY GAME RULES BI*CHES! Aside from that, it can be Zombie cyborg Jesus from the grave turned atheist and on a quest to murder his father for all I care.
Normality is a banality. Reality is a fallacy. Alter your perception, open your mind, and expand your world...with odd thoughts, eccentric beliefs, and an eldritch imagination.
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EldritchImagination

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#1592
Keep in mind that this is a game in which I am god, the keyboard is my bible, the mouse by Excalibur, I have no idea where i was going with this sentence, and you are all my bit**es. So, aside from the die, I create every situation and outcome by my, MY design, ergo, you must have faith that I will be a fair and benevolent Game master who only wishes you to have fun, and not turn this into my own personal torture orgy.
Normality is a banality. Reality is a fallacy. Alter your perception, open your mind, and expand your world...with odd thoughts, eccentric beliefs, and an eldritch imagination.
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thegourd

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#1593
well while Charles is writing a "torture orgy", to prevent the other game from going tooo stale, I am detailing the events that transpire while you are in the alternate world with the Emerald Herald; there are several parts to it, this is the first.

Ash sifts, shifts, flows like moonlit seas over the rough, desolate earth. Its hiss fills the air almost so thickly as the choking haze that rises from its wind-stirred expanse. There clings to this place an impenetrable murk, like rivers clotted with blood, like an avalanche slow, ominous, and deadly. Rivers of grime snake slowly along piled drifts, winding toward a faint depression where the gritty darkness is somehow deeper still. That pit was like a pool of spilled tar, like a night without stars, a heart without hope; a nebula of winding shadow that swirls as if with a mind of its own. Oblivion reigned here, for this was a place no mortal eyes had scanned in some time, a realm where steps seldom fell, where breath was only in great caution taken. It was desolate, barren, alien. And only to sorrow was it home.
Then, something moves in the gloom, a figure becomes distinct as he shudders, soot cascading from his body like a shed skin. He kneels before five shallow graves, knowing their occupants not by name, but by calling, by who they were in the last frenetic moments of lives given to the call of freedom. Four warriors they were, arrayed still on either side of the woman they perished to protect. He did not know these warriors, had not traveled in their company, yet he mourned them all the same; it was a quest of his own that drew him here, a tale old and vile as the ravenous bleakness that lurks beyond the reach of stars’ light.
He came here to find vengeance, instead, he found the corpses of those who sought it first. While he knew not the brave souls who fell protecting this woman, he knew her. And he understood why they would perish to protect her. In life, she was vibrant, a brilliant soul whose rare smile was as beautiful as the rising Sun, whose eyes shone like cut emeralds, whose evergreen scent spoke of days when the world was full of life; whose distant, sorrowful expression told the tale of one who watched such a world die. He did not know her name, but she was one who needed no title. All the same, he wished there was something to engrave upon her shallow cairn, if only so those who cast errant eyes this way, would know the radiant soul that lay dark and still beneath the ash.
Ironclad knees creaked softly as he stood, filth rushing along his bowed head, leaving thin wisps of grime along his tarnished helm. He felt again the rage that drove him here, the helplessness that had crushed him once, the horrible, cold, clawing wrath which followed.
“May thy souls a well earned peace find.” His voice was rough and worn, like a cloak frayed and tattered from countless travels. “Thy battles were those which could never be won. Take solace in that you perished protecting the most precious thing I have ever known-” here his fractured voice broke at last, and it was several moments before he could press on. “You have my thanks, for you were there when I was not. And while your effort was doomed to failure, you were braver than I could ever be.” Another shuddering breath rasped through his helm, creating whorls of ash which twisted and danced before him.
“My name is Kellis, and you have my word: the wretched creature that eradicated my home, took your lives-” Fire and frost raced through his veins, alternatively spearing him with ice, or searing him from within. “Slew the one I loved.” Leather creaked as he clenched a trembling fist at his side. “Will pay in blood for the sorrow he has wrought,” Light flashed in his barren eyes, “He’s amassed a vast debt, and I shall be the one to collect on it.”
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Harbinger1997

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#1594
EldritchImagination wrote:
Nahztek-Shadowpath wrote:I might try to jump in on the new one. I’m kinda curious to see what Eldritch does with it.
I’m off tomorrow but it’s my only off day. So, I’m not sure when I will be awake... lol..


Well, let me lay down the law:

1). The game is called Dice of Fate, because every action you take, EVERY ACTION!...requires a dice roll that will determine the level of the action's success/failure. 10 is the middle point where the action succeeds normally, everything higher yields an increasingly positive result, anything lower yields failure to an increasingly negative result, with 1 being utter, devastating failure ending up with getting *$&%^# by a dragon or something, and 20 being uber victory where you get you're own harem......or something.

2). There are two exceptions to this rule. One is basic dialogue, just telling something to someone, conversing, etc. Only actions like charming, asking questions, and trying to intimidate someone requires a dice roll to succeed. The second involves combat with other player (yes, you can attack each other at will).

3). As for player vs. player combat, I wrote the rules a while ago. If there is any situation where two characters are in conflict (say one wants to steal from the other) the two players role. highest role wins. The higher the difference, the more in favor the action is to the winning player.

For instance, if say one of you tries to attack another player, and you both roll, a difference of 1-2 will lead to a light scar, nothing really damaging, a difference of 3-5 will lead to light wounding (15-25%), a difference of 6-10 medium wounding (30-50%), 11-16, heavy wounding (55-80%), 17-18, near fatal wounding (85-90%), and 19, instant kill by the most epic degree. Like, if there is a 1 vs. 20 roll, there will be a poem of badassitude of how badly the loser got killed.

I'm also going off of a percentage based health system, so everyone starts with 100%, unless they make a character that starts out wounded, like someone who just escaped a mutant attack or something. certain powers will boost health, and armor will be a percentage all it's own That absorbs all damage until it breaks.

Don't worry to much about dying. Everyone is immortal and will reincarnate after dying (I'll explain why later), buuuuuuuuut they restart back to how they were when they began.


3). Everything is legal. any action that is within reasonable plausibility can be done by the player. However, action that are unreasonable (not logically possible) can also be done, but must have a very high dice roll to succeed. Failing will result in.......something unpleasant.



Story: I haven't made the setting in great detail, was planning on world building as we went. Buuuuuut, just know that it's a heavy metal sci-fi post-apocalyptic fantasy that takes place on earth. Just about any character is possible just so long as 1) it's killable by normal means, 2) Is not unreasonably superpowered, and 3) must stay faithful to the role, as in oblige by it's established (by you) attributes and characteristics unless changed in game.

For instance, if you establish your character to be A pacifist who can't fight, then that character can in no way fight........UNLESS you roll a 20 (see rule breaking rule above), in which case the role will be temporarily disregarded, or I will contrive some outrageous situation where you still miraculously still obey the rules of the role. Just remember though, if that bi*ch die is even a 19, I will fu*k you silly for your sheer audacity, thinking you can try disobeying MY GAME RULES BI*CHES! Aside from that, it can be Zombie cyborg Jesus from the grave turned atheist and on a quest to murder his father for all I care.


I'm in, but I may be unable to participate for a while, school's gotten quite hectic.
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Harbinger1997

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#1595
thegourd wrote:well while Charles is writing a "torture orgy", to prevent the other game from going tooo stale, I am detailing the events that transpire while you are in the alternate world with the Emerald Herald; there are several parts to it, this is the first.

Ash sifts, shifts, flows like moonlit seas over the rough, desolate earth. Its hiss fills the air almost so thickly as the choking haze that rises from its wind-stirred expanse. There clings to this place an impenetrable murk, like rivers clotted with blood, like an avalanche slow, ominous, and deadly. Rivers of grime snake slowly along piled drifts, winding toward a faint depression where the gritty darkness is somehow deeper still. That pit was like a pool of spilled tar, like a night without stars, a heart without hope; a nebula of winding shadow that swirls as if with a mind of its own. Oblivion reigned here, for this was a place no mortal eyes had scanned in some time, a realm where steps seldom fell, where breath was only in great caution taken. It was desolate, barren, alien. And only to sorrow was it home.
Then, something moves in the gloom, a figure becomes distinct as he shudders, soot cascading from his body like a shed skin. He kneels before five shallow graves, knowing their occupants not by name, but by calling, by who they were in the last frenetic moments of lives given to the call of freedom. Four warriors they were, arrayed still on either side of the woman they perished to protect. He did not know these warriors, had not traveled in their company, yet he mourned them all the same; it was a quest of his own that drew him here, a tale old and vile as the ravenous bleakness that lurks beyond the reach of stars’ light.
He came here to find vengeance, instead, he found the corpses of those who sought it first. While he knew not the brave souls who fell protecting this woman, he knew her. And he understood why they would perish to protect her. In life, she was vibrant, a brilliant soul whose rare smile was as beautiful as the rising Sun, whose eyes shone like cut emeralds, whose evergreen scent spoke of days when the world was full of life; whose distant, sorrowful expression told the tale of one who watched such a world die. He did not know her name, but she was one who needed no title. All the same, he wished there was something to engrave upon her shallow cairn, if only so those who cast errant eyes this way, would know the radiant soul that lay dark and still beneath the ash.
Ironclad knees creaked softly as he stood, filth rushing along his bowed head, leaving thin wisps of grime along his tarnished helm. He felt again the rage that drove him here, the helplessness that had crushed him once, the horrible, cold, clawing wrath which followed.
“May thy souls a well earned peace find.” His voice was rough and worn, like a cloak frayed and tattered from countless travels. “Thy battles were those which could never be won. Take solace in that you perished protecting the most precious thing I have ever known-” here his fractured voice broke at last, and it was several moments before he could press on. “You have my thanks, for you were there when I was not. And while your effort was doomed to failure, you were braver than I could ever be.” Another shuddering breath rasped through his helm, creating whorls of ash which twisted and danced before him.
“My name is Kellis, and you have my word: the wretched creature that eradicated my home, took your lives-” Fire and frost raced through his veins, alternatively spearing him with ice, or searing him from within. “Slew the one I loved.” Leather creaked as he clenched a trembling fist at his side. “Will pay in blood for the sorrow he has wrought,” Light flashed in his barren eyes, “He’s amassed a vast debt, and I shall be the one to collect on it.”


Crams' "spidey senses" tingle
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thegourd

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#1596
[I'll be on this Tuesday]

The storm of silt swirls heavy and choking, staining once radiant armor dark and foul, restricting sight even by the keenest of eyes to a mere pace in any direction. Kellis strode with one arm raised to shield his face, a gritty torrent parting around his forearm like a serpent’s forked tongue, its two streams splashing against him with near staggering force. There was a weight about him, a thunder in his steps, a heavy shifting in the rhythmic sway of ironclad arms and ash sodden legs; it was a burden wrought neither of metal nor fatigue, but of the vile twins that haunted him ever since the day he lost all he held dear. They were ancient things, cold and cruel, and their names were sorrow and despair. These were the emotions that burned him, that dragged him down, that threw him back into the days before his world was dark and bleak.

The Sun has been described in many ways: beaten copper or brilliant gold; warm and kind or cruel and keen. How he wished he could see it again. Now that loving star was dim, sullen, fading like the embers of dreams from waking mind, and for it, Kellis grieved. He would gladly suffer those scorching rays, would have his flesh singed and eyes stabbed if it meant a return of the lost light; yet he knew such yearning would inevitably prove fruitless. There were no gods to hear his pleas, though whether deaf or dead he could not, dared not say.

While wishes can lift high the unburdened soul, they only caused his shackles to bite ever deeper. So he banished these dregs of hope, let them drain away to join the rest of his broken soul in the squalid murk of abject despair. Perhaps his hope would drown in that fetid pool; at least then he would not so fiercely ache for that which he could never have.
Kellis shook himself, eyes glinting like tarnished copper in the dim, fitful light. There was no sense indulging the darkness lurking in his heart; it would consume him all the faster that way. With a wordless breath he bade himself forget. With his next step, he failed.

The Sun blazes bright, glorious, and warm; its wondrous light washing over long swathes of verdant land which dips and rises in frequent, if shallow hills, as if all the land had once been raked by a titanic dragon’s claws. Among these hills crouched some two dozen structures: cabins of rough hewn wood huddled in cloaks of thatch, watching with glowing eyes the labor of their occupants, who diligently tilled the fields beyond, harvesting that which a season’s labor had wrought.
Life here was simple, lacking a grander purpose, a higher meaning to guide cautious steps. They provided for their own, and neither sought nor accepted the King’s coin, choosing instead to make a destiny all their own. This place was quiet, dull even, yet it was peaceful as well, filled with the calm of lives lived without authority’s crushing weight. More than anything however, this placid realm was a place he once called home, and one he longed with every heartbeat to see again.

Kellis growled, raising a hand to his chest and closing fingers of iron over his heart, feeling it pulse wearily through his battered cloak. Tears burned at his eyes and agony bathed his feverish soul in a suffocating tide cold as winter, keen as steel. His steps faltered, then halted completely as he doubled over, pain of the deepest sort shredding him from within.
Glittering eyes slowly crept closed, tears shining at their fringe. He could find no peace in the darkness behind those drawn shades however, for it was there that his nightmares waited, and now their overwhelming weight came heavily down upon him, shattering what had been broken far longer than it had been whole.

He felt a cry rise up within him, and it was all he could do to hold it back, to keep it trapped inside where that caged fiend raged and ravaged, slicing his riven soul with white hot talons. Stooped there in a blizzard of ash, Kellis felt as though he would be consumed by the void that dwelt where once he carried his innocence. Strong as he was, the shattered warrior wanted now nothing more than oblivion. He hoped for it with greater avarice than he would ever admit. This battle was one he wanted nothing more than to concede; yet there was among the ash of his soul, a few embers that refused to burn out. No matter how he lusted for death, he would not, could not find it.
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thegourd

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#1597
@EldritchImagination
@Mr_Peer
@Harbinger1997

Anyone up for Sin tomorrow?
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EldritchImagination

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#1598
thegourd wrote:@EldritchImagination
@Mr_Peer
@Harbinger1997

Anyone up for Sin tomorrow?


Yes. TIME FOR $&%^@%$^#*&#^$% IN THE MIDDAY SUN!
Normality is a banality. Reality is a fallacy. Alter your perception, open your mind, and expand your world...with odd thoughts, eccentric beliefs, and an eldritch imagination.
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thegourd

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#1599
Excellent. I think I can get Crams in on it to... maybe you can catch up to Grom the Swole
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thegourd

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#1600
We'd probably meet around 2:00 CDT by the way
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