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God: Blurp, God of Sludge 1d100 = 5 womp womp Suggested Essences Brass Ghosts Rot Entropy Mirrors
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Jan 1, 2018 04:40
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+1 to Ravid +1, -1, 0 1 SP
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Jan 3, 2018 20:44
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Let's all go to +1 to Pseye -1, 0 2 SP
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Jan 5, 2018 03:21
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C Let's be a god: 1d100+2 = 4 paper bag with a face fucked around with this message at 23:12 on Jan 9, 2018 |
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Jan 9, 2018 22:46
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+1 to Armatur +1, -1, -1, 0 3 SP
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Jan 12, 2018 17:27
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+1 to Culinarion -1, -1, 0 4 SP
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Jan 15, 2018 22:57
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-1 Meztli -1, 0 5 SP paper bag with a face fucked around with this message at 19:21 on Jan 21, 2018 |
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Jan 21, 2018 19:17
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While I really like Sharpie and his new sleeveless hoodie I gotta go with D2 G because look at that little guy!
paper bag with a face fucked around with this message at 01:22 on Jan 24, 2018 |
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Jan 24, 2018 00:34
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B Come, but remain in control.
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Feb 11, 2018 22:17
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Vic Tydpodd-Whitecastle, Manifest: 1d100+5 95 AC paper bag with a face fucked around with this message at 10:41 on Feb 23, 2018 |
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Feb 23, 2018 10:38
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Vic Tydpodd-Whitecastle, 
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Feb 24, 2018 21:59
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 Vic Tydpodd-Whitecastle (3/3) The spirit that would become Vic Tydpodd-Whitecastle spent its sweet time manifesting. It spent relative eternities agonizing over its wardrobe before settling on a midnight blue suit with a scintillating tie that mirrored a cosmos the Middle would never know. And its hair! Its hair had to be perfect. The No time like showtime, baby! Node #138 was enjoying an otherwise normal sandwich when the Executive Producer suddenly, silently appeared before him. The Golemego barely had time for a surprised utterance before the divine being began talking at it. "Heya, kid, Vic Tydpodd-Whitecastle. Here's my card." With a single, lightning-quick motion, Vic reached into his suit, took out his business card, and flicked it. The card painlessly embedded itself next to Node's eye at a distance optimal for reading. "Please, call me Vic. No need to introduce yourself, I already know all about you." "I'm just gonna cut to the chase. The Network sent me because you guys are a loving mess. Let me just read to you some of the stuff the critics had to say about you." Suddenly the Executive producer was holding a clipboard. "They said, and I quote...", he read, ripping pages from the board and tossing them away with enough force to ignite them, "Critics have called you guys 'tyrant enslaver animals', they've called you 'life destroying thought monsters', they've called you 'effing mind flaying rocks', you guys are 'idiot bitchboulders', you guys are 'goons with smelly angular asses', they've even called you 'honko bonks'! The list goes on and on." Node tried to open its mouth to try and get a word in, but was interrupted when a nearby drinking "You little gem guys have a classic case of an image problem. But that's alright, because your buddy Vic here is gonna sort it all out for you. Check this out." Blessing/Curse of the Laughable Track: 1d20 5 Nothing seemed to happen. A confused Node finally spoke up, "Check what ou-" A cacophonous torrent of laughter assaulted the room. A smug Tyddpod-Whitecastle beamed, "That, my man, is called a laugh track. The Network loves them. The viewers love them. So I love them too! I added in a few saucy 'WOOs' and a couple of cool jingles for whenever one of you little guys enter a room in a really stylish way too." "I don't get it.", Node responded flatly, eliciting a few chuckles from the phantom audience. "Well the, hmm, let's call them beings watching this are total rubes and need to be told when to laugh." Node shot the Executive an incredulous glare, the impact of which was ruined by another peal of uproarious laughter. Vic scratched at his chin and continued, "Oh right, you guys are really committed to the whole fourth wall bit. Don't worry about what I just said. Think about this way. Cool Funny dudes make people laugh. So if people are always hearing laughter around you l'il rock fellas, clearly they will think YOU'RE Cool Funny Dudes by association! See what this could do for you?" Vic didn't give the Gemego time to respond, "Rhetorical question. There's another problem you've got. Nobody can tell you apart. The Top Brass can't tell you apart, the crow guy with the rockin' shades and hoodie can't tell you apart, hell, even I'm having trouble! And you know what, it's breaking my goddamn heart. So here's an idea for you right off the dome. Hats. I can call wardrobe, but I wanna see what you come up with first. Think it'll be more charming that way, better for ratings." The Executive Producer rolled up his suit sleeve and consulted a small brass disc on his wrist, "Uh oh, running late for my next meeting. Remember what I told you and your ratings will soar, little buddy! VIC OUT!" And with that, the Executive Producer vanished. Node #136 spent the next few minutes in dumbfounded silence, wondering what the hell just happened. The sandwich was ruined now. The Laugh Track is intended to be equal parts helpful and incredibly annoying and affect the entire Gemego race.. Make of that what you will. Also "requesting" that they start wearing hats as well. paper bag with a face fucked around with this message at 07:04 on Mar 10, 2018 |
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Mar 10, 2018 06:59
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Vic Tydpodd-Whitecastle (2/3) Last week's ratings posted:-1, +1 Vic sat at the peak of one of the Middle's many mountains contemplating what the Critics thought of his Golemego experiment. Not good, not good at all. Nobody was watching it and Vic was pretty sure the hat lobby was responsible for all the positive reviews. So the little hate cubes were a bust, which Vic felt was a bit of a shame; they had ample merchandising opportunities, he felt. Oh well, the same could half the critters in the Middle. In hindsight, Vic realized, the idea of a Golemego family sitcom was possibly doomed from the start! It would've taken a lot of time to train them in Nuclear Family Dynamics and there would always the implication that parts of the cast were reproducing. Vic would've shuddered if he did not have 100% perfect control over his body at all times. He thoughtfully tapped his pencil against his clipboard as he thought of what to do next. Hmm, there WAS that jerk Crystar. She had been saying A LOT of things the Network didn't care for lately. Hmm... ----- Margerite was having a lovely (certainly not subversive!) scuttle through the City of Light until she heard a voice from a dark alley. "Psst. Hey, kid.", the voice rasped, "Spare a bit of food for, uh, a war veteran?" Crystar liked it when citizens supported the troops and Margerite was feeling charitable anyway, so she turned down the alley. "Hold up one second.", the veteran croaked, "Could you move a little to the right? I, uh, can't see so good in this eye." The young paraiba complied, reasoning that the poor guy must've gotten absolutely mauled by one of Jerichrochet's musclefreaks. As she advanced down the alley, she started to get a good look at the so-called veteran. He wasn't a paraiba at all, but somebody in a poorly made costume! She opened her mouth to cry out, but was startled by a sudden weight on her head. She instinctively reached up to touch it. It felt like some of...woolen beanie? "Ha HA! I got ya real good!", the false paraiba exclaimed jubilantly, "You thought I was one of you, but in fact..." A pair of arms forced their way out of the costume and proceeded to shred the costume, sending a flurry of low-grade costume Jewels flying down the alley. "It is I!", the newly revealed magnificent figure proclaimed, "Vic Tydpodd-Whitecastle! Executive Producer! I got a question for you! How would you like to be a star?" "Uh.", the confused Margerite stammered. Well, he was a God, that much was obvious. He didn't SEEM malicious, the beanie he plopped on her head with a rope and pulley contraption was quite comfy actually, even if it made her feel a little...strange. The intrigued paraiba asked, "I dunno, what's a star?" "What's a star?", the Executive Producer asked incredulously, "Whaddya mean? They're these shiny spots in the sky and you look at them and think, 'Wow, maybe one day I can shine as brightly as them!' You know, stars!" "What, you mean Above? Or some kind of jewel?", Margerite replied. She was beginning to suspect this God wasn't all there. A sudden wave of sadness passed through Vic as he realized that the people of the Middle didn't have stars. All this time he had been focusing on his work and hadn't looked up or out! He pushed the sadness away for now; he was too excited about his newest idea to feel sad! "Nevermind.", the Executive Producer sighed, "I'm asking if you want to be powerful and famous." "You mean if I want to be a Hero?", an obviously enthusiastic Margerite asked. Vic was strange to her, but she found his excitment contagious. "Of course I would! But I have to know, what is with the hat?" "That's mindweave, kid! Keeps Crystar out of your head. Don't take it off. Also why I put on that awesome disguise." Vic lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "I don't want her to know I was here, it'll ruin my little project." "What? Crystar would never do such a thing! The Queen is great!" Vic groaned, "I don't have time to send you to the psych department to be deprogrammed so we're just gonna do this the quick and dirty way. Look into my eyes." Margerite locked eyes with Vic and was drawn into his steely blue gaze. What felt like months, years, ages passed before the Executive Producer's left eye winked with an audible "Ting!". All of a sudden it came rushing back, all the times she had felt discontent that vanished in an instant, all the times she thought something disagreeable but lost her train of thought. ALL of it. At first she couldn't believe it, but her disbelief quickly turned to rage. "She was lying this whole time?" the paraiba clacked angrily, "She's been controlling all our thoughts! That tyrant! That utter despot! I wanna make her pay! Please, help me, mighty God!" Vic smiled and gave a thumbs up, "Now that's what I like to hear! Well, except for the God part. Gods are sooooo Second Age. But I digress. Lemme tell you what I've got planned. Now your queen's really drat powerful. And tough enough to give guys like me problems! But she's weak of mind. I mean, look at what she's doing here. Isssssssssues. So what I'm thinking is that you conduct a campaign of psychological warfare against her! I'm talking hilarious pranks! The viewers and the critics will eat that up! And when she's nice and crazy, well crazier, you and maybe some buddies can take advantage! You'll need a tough codename. I'm thinkin' Jewelass. It's funny, subversive, and it tests well in the 18-25 demographic!" "Huh. Okay. That sounds cathartic and kinda fun! What's stopping her from killing me though? This hat's not going to cut it.", Margerite responded. "You're absolutely right! The hat's just some thing I grabbed from Wardrobe. I got the good stuff right here." Vic reached into his coat pockets and removed Neverending Bounty and a thin brass disk with a hole in it. "I stole this horn thing from a bunch of chefs. They never even saw me! According to the Margerite eagerly took the gifts offered to her and stashed them in her bag, "Thanks, Mr. Tyddpod-Whitecastle! I'll do my best!" Vic once again checked the device on his wrist, "Glad you like 'em. Sorry, kid, I'd love to hang around but I've got to make a golf game with the VP of Marketing! Good luck and make me proud! VIC AWAY!" And with a rush of air the strange god vanished. Margerite left the alley, trying her best to pretend nothing had happened. Crystar was always watching, after all. Though she tried her best, Margerite couldn't suppress her wicked grin. ----- That night, Margerite had the strangest dream. There was a being that looked a lot like the God she met earlier that day, but he had a mustache and a bandana tied around his head. "Howdy! I'm Rick Lockeheid-Blackwater and I'm here to teach you..." The sound of explosions and Quith cawing could be heard. Giant text zoomed to the forefront of Margerite's vision. "CROWVERT OPERATIONS" Operation Jewelass: 1d20 3 tl;dr: Raise a Paraiba hero with the skill of Crowvert Operations, focused on the concealment aspect of Crow. They're equipped with Neverending Bounty and a directive to play hilarious pranks on Crystar. paper bag with a face fucked around with this message at 06:17 on Mar 13, 2018 |
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Mar 13, 2018 06:01
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Vic Tydpodd-Whitecastle (1/3) "I don't get what you're so angry about!", Vic shouted to no one in particular, "It's spewing out lollipops just like the guy woulda wanted! If I had my way it would've been raw sewage or drawings of butts or something!" A pause. "So what if I stole it? It happens all the time! Hell, the happy coincidence guy's lucky kidney stone or whatever got stolen and fed to the freaky murdersnails and their guys didn't make so much as a peep!" Another pause. "You know what? Screw you, buddy!" Vic angrily hung up and popped open his Entertainment Warchest. Between the lawsuit and the licensing fees for <REDACTED GOVERNMENT>'s special intelligence training films, he was starting to run a little dry. A phantom intern passed him a clipboard with the previous week's ratings, which ruined his mood even more. Last week's ratings posted:-1, -1 Even worse than the Golemego family sitcom! Vic cursed and pitched the board into the inky abyss of Below. Back the old drawing board, he supposed! Clearly in the age of prestige programming, a little levity wasn't wanted! ...That was it! He'd blow the last of his money on a big budget drama! Vic excitedly began writing down ideas for premises. Rav political thriller? No, there was enough of that in the intermission. Drama about the lives of mind control victims? Ugh, definitely not. After a few hours of turbulent brainstorming, Vic had narrowed down his list to one idea, which he circled with red pen. "Ghost Cops?" --- ????, the God of ???? (???/3) An Undisclosed Location, 3:37AM REDACTED awoke with a start to find a strange figure perched on the end of their bed. It was tall, immaculately dressed, and had a face made out of blurry squares. When it spoke, its voice was unnaturally deep and distorted, "I'm an Exec---God. I'm a God. If you want this conversation to continue, sign this." The God tossed a piece of paper at REDACTED. "It's an NDA. By signing it, you agree that this meeting never happened. Get it?" REDACTED did so. The Gods were uplifting a lot of Heroes lately, maybe this one picked them? Why else would they be having this conversation? The contract was strange, sure, but maybe this was part of its shtick? When they finished writing their name, the contract vanished in a gout of flame. "Excellent", the blurry faced God stated, "Tell me, how would you like to be a genius, remembered, studied, and discussed forever? Nod yes if you're interested." What was this guy, the God of Plausible Deniability or something? He was talking about Heroism, right? REDACTED reluctantly nodded. "That's the spirit.", the artificially voiced God boomed, "Let's shake on it." It extended a gloved hand. REDACTED reached to shake the mysterious God's hand but...wait. The glove was all wrong. The glove was all wrong!!! The false-glove split apart and covered REDACTED's appendage, snaking its way to the poor REDACTED's eyes and mouth, forcing its way in. At first nothing seemed to happen. Then REDACTED's mind simultaneously expanded and snapped in a fundamental way. REDACTED broke down into maniacal giggles. Everything made sense now! But with great intellect came unnatural hungers. REDACTED thought about a Person he ran into earlier, how exquisite they looked. How much more beautiful they would look all cut up, blood splattering the walls! The God patiently waited for REDACTED to calm down. "I have a couple of notes for you. If you agree to them, I'll give you a lovely little gift to help with your, hmm, unique desires. Are you interested?" REDACTED nodded again. The God had already got them this far! "Are you familiar with the Daughters of Justice? I'm sure you'll attract their attention in no time. I want you to make things interesting for them. Taunt them. Do stuff like leaving them little puzzles or writing them notes in a language of your own invention. I'm sure a Creature of your intellect will have no problem doing that." REDACTED nodded enthusiastically. What a wonderful way to showcase their newfound genius! "I will do that.", they whispered, "Now what is your gift? What could you possibly offer me?" The God let out a garbled chuckle, "Ooh, you're getting arrogant. I love it. Watch this." The God removed a brass coin from its suit pocket and flipped it into the air. REDACTED watched as the God seemed to vibrate for the smallest instant. "Which hand do I have the coin in?", the God asked. REDACTED took a guess and motioned to the God's right hand. "Wrong.", the God said, "It's in your neighbor's house. I'm just that fast. You'll only ever be a fraction as fast as me, any more and your little mortal body will tear itself apart under the strain. That's fine, though. I'm sure that twisted noggin of yourself is already churning with ideas." Blurrygod removed a protein bar from its coat and underhand tossed it to REDACTED. "Eat it. It's what the pros eat." And like that, the deep voiced God was gone. The protein bar was the most delicious thing REDACTED had ever eaten, but the thoughts of what they would do with this power were so much sweeter. The Curse of Villainy: 1d20 16 --- Vic Tydpodd-Whitecastle, Executive Producer. Totally not the guy from last scene, I swear! (1/3) Daughters of Justice Headquarters, 10AM "Heyyyyyy, officers.", Vic said casually as he strolled in through the front door. "I'm just gonna follow you guys around for a bit. You all are doing such good work and getting so little screentime that I felt bad. So here I am!" tl;dr: Vic is creating a new class of Person: Villains. They're intended to be super intelligent and inexorably driven to flashy, high profile crimes (not necessarily serial killing, mind you!) There is only one at any given time and the Curse passes on to someone else if the current Villain is killed/defeated/dies of natural causes/etc. This only happens once per season, however! How long is a season? I dunno! paper bag with a face fucked around with this message at 10:15 on Mar 18, 2018 |
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Mar 18, 2018 09:56
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Vic Tydpodd-Whitecastle (1/3) Vic stared at his visage in a brass mirror and ran a hand through his rapidly greying coif. He was nearing retirement age, no doubt about that. A buzzing came from his pocket. Perhaps his boss congratulating him on his impending departure? "Ciao.", Vic said to the emptiness in front of him. There were congratulations, yes, but also A Problem. "You mean to tell me nobody else took care of this? poo poo, SAG is going to be pissed if they find out." Despite all the People working full-time hours, there were no amenities expected of a program of this size and complexity. No break rooms, no catering, and so on. Vic was dumbfounded that nobody had provided such essential services earlier. "That's the outmoded God mentality for you.", Vic thought. The Executive Producer responded to the phantom President, "Don't worry, baby. Vic'll take care of it. No, don't worry about it. It's a favor to you." He'd have to be sneaky about this, if SAG even caught a whiff of this, the Network would be facing a massive lawsuit. Or worse, a strike. Vic looked to last week's ratings for inspiration on how to solve this difficult problem. Last Week's Ratings posted:+1,+1,+1 Vic made a triumphant fist pump! A hit! In spite of the fact some ne'er-do-well had leaked the killer's identity before the climax, it was an unmitigated success! So the critics liked a good mystery, huh? That's how he'd slip this one past! Vic starting making calls to some guys he knew who could work quickly and, most importantly of all, discreetly. - - - The Ectoplasm Lake The meeting between "Boom!", it exclaimed, "Vic! Tydpodd-Whitecastle! Executive Producer ! ! !" The Executive producer paused for a second to let it sink in, but mostly to straighten his tie, "I'm here to tell you all about something wonderful that, for some inexplicable reason, nobody has bothered to tell you about. Not you, Xenon, you're fine. Don't worry about it. Can you believe that? It's been here this whole time and not even so much as a hint! Well, that's a travesty, I say!" "It's called Backstage.", Vic said, "It's...well, it's complicated. Think of it like a whole other world that exists *sideways* to this one. Yeah, that's the ticket. And it's full of all sorts of cool stuff that you guys might find useful! Here's your hint: Seek out The Green Room, it's, uh, the link between here and there." "Sorry for being cryptic. It focus tested really well.", Vic pushed up his sleeve to check his watch, "Anyway, I gotta run. I have a meeting with Crystar, but more importantly...I'm buying a jet ski! Stay cool and spread the word! See you at the retirement party, Xenon!" There was another crack as Vic sprinted off to his next meeting. Whew, that was a close one. --- Crystar's call to the heavens was followed by a curt throat clear. "Don't talk. I'm not interested in anything you have to say.", an aged but still very handsome Vic said. "I'm going to be straight with you. I don't like you. You've been saying a lot of stuff that the Network doesn't care for, and, worse, you jumped the proverbial shark loooong ago. More mind control? Really? It's pretty much a cliche at this point. You're lucky the CEO's kid is a big fan of yours or I would've cancelled you ages ago. Instead, I'm going to tell you a couple of things you don't want to hear." "First, there's a new "But that's small potatoes. You saw a number of things on your trip to the Above and you want Our help understanding them. Very well." Vic's jaw unhinged and his mouth expanded, encompassing all Crystar could see. Could feel. The mouth bellowed for what felt like an eternity. "YOU SAW WHAT WE WANTED YOU TO SEE!" And just like that, Vic faded into the obscurity of Retirement. When he said his last words, he had no idea what he was talking about. But that was fine. It was both provocative and dramatic. But best of all, it made for some great TV. tl;dr Vic is trying to create a Lynchian otherworld called Backstage, accessed through some place called The Green Room. Think the Black Lodge if it contained ~showbiz~ instead of evil. How do you get there? What's back there? 
paper bag with a face fucked around with this message at 03:55 on Mar 31, 2018 |
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Mar 31, 2018 03:47
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Wow! I wasn't expecting that!
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Apr 18, 2018 02:59
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Vic's Idol: Lights, Camera, Action!
paper bag with a face fucked around with this message at 00:34 on May 3, 2018 |
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May 3, 2018 00:00
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1 spirit +1 to Rem. (+, -, 0) Spotlight: What's Margerite (who?) been up to? Catch!: 1d1000 472 paper bag with a face fucked around with this message at 03:58 on Sep 5, 2018 |
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Sep 4, 2018 15:47
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The blue man is obviously some kind of production assistant or perhaps a gaffer.
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Apr 25, 2019 23:41
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