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sasha_d3ath
Jun 3, 2016

Ban-thing the man-things.

Prepare to enter a grim world of cold tea and bad manners.

Listen to servants of spooky gods scream relentlessly as Chaos infects all, like a deeply annoying song that won't leave one's head. Watch as the earth, the air, the seas become so suffused with tortuous magics that poo poo gets all weird and bad stuff starts to happen. Come hear the endless whining in the streets as bygone sorceries that once kept the world safe come apart like fresh bread, and the ancient chains they preserved crack like American infrastructure. And now taste terror as the Spookygods stir in the bowels of their totally metal hells, sensing, finally, that the end is nigh, that the time to feast, to revel, and to slay has come. That the Grimdarkening has begun.

Look now to the Reikland, the mightiest realm of the Empire. It is a land at war, its Noble Houses dicking each other over and ignoring the apocalypse while rampaging dissident Orcs, opportunistic Beastmen, and the monstrous creatures that haunt the wild places totally gently caress poo poo up. Even at its heart, in its capital of Altdorf, poo poo totally sucks. There, thieves, street rats, and smugglers do dirty deeds dirt cheap, mirroring the deeds of their betters on the world stage.

The tide of corruption rises in the hearts of all, filthy and stained, driving even the strong to pursue forbidden lore and profane arts, to sacrifice their brothers and sisters on the altar of their own folly. Damnation is not a heartbeat away, it has already come. The evil that men do lives on and on.

Yet, amidst this never-ending torrent of ceaseless weeping and declarations of doom, there are those who would stand tall. There are those who dare face the Grimdarkening and kick some serious rear end. They may not be good, they not be noble, they may not be kind, but they are the only heroes this damned world has. And by their grit, their tenacity, and their sheer bloody-minded determination, the fate of the world is decided. Damnation or salvation? Soon, all will know.

This is a world of endless rain and total bullshit.

This is the world of grimDARK: The Grimdarkening of the Old World.




DA RULES
1. This game will be using the setting of famously unprofitable Games Workshop IP Warhammer Fantasy, based off the Starter Kit of the 4th Edition. The ruleset used will be grimDARK: A Fistful of Ashcan Edition, the stable beta edition of the upcoming grimDARK: The Grimdarkening.
1b. Guided character creation will take place in the OOC thread and will involve usage of material from [REDACTED], supervised by me, the GM.

2. This is NOT the first IC post. This is just the rules, the meta-setup, and the thread-starter. Out of character interactions, including guided character generation, will take place in the OOC Thread over here.

3. This game will take a sort of laissez-faire approach to Warhammer lore and will likely very quickly deviate from lore. I like settings that are more livable and less openly-hateful than WFRP, so while there will be a lot of the familiar elements (and antipathies), there will be no “kill on sight” character types, factions (or even species) who are wholly defined by their worst actions, or anything that delves too deep into childish grimdark or staunchly black-and-white morality (so if you see some night goblins, they more than likely won't try to kill on sight). Lore-policing and arguing will not be welcomed except in extremely egregious cases, such as those that might make a player feel uncomfortable or unsafe.

4. All participants will be given a free PDF copy of grimDARK: A Fistful of Ashcan edition, and will be gifted a signed copy by the author if the campaign successfully continues with active participation into February 2022 (my birthday month, I'm always feeling generous then).

5. Bigotry, hate, fascism, and other things that weird and awful people enjoy will NOT be tolerated. Arguing with this rule will not be tolerated either.
5b. I know bigotry, hate, fascism, etc. are very common in Warhams. Please keep your PC as free from those things as possible – you're supposed to be the setting's exceptions, not its awful, awful rules. No slurs, edgy content, completely unjustifiable lovely behavior beyond the scope of the game, you know the deal. Don't be a poo poo.

The next post will be the first in-character post, and will set up the scenario and ask for the PCs to introduce themselves and act a little. Until that post is live and I give the word, pls don't post in here!

Thanks,
Sasha De'ath, GM

sasha_d3ath fucked around with this message at 11:53 on Dec 9, 2021

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sasha_d3ath
Jun 3, 2016

Ban-thing the man-things.

Drinking comes fast and easy here. Known colloquially as "The Docks", or Teubrücke if you're a pedant, dark slums surround a neverending line of wharves, warehouses, inns, guildhouses, cheap shops, and sites of ultimate evil (that is to say, tax and customs offices). In this place of low value criminal acts, you've chosen the famous Red Moon Inn to lock down and take a load off as the sun slowly drops over the horizon. The Red Moon Inn is easily the cleanest drinking spot on the Docks, which is to say on a scale of "rat-infested hellhole" to "upper class establishment", it's "noticeably shabby".



Public drinking happens at the bar, while the walls on this first floor are lined with a variety of private booths, mouldering curtains hanging over each. Some are closed, for maximum privacy, while others hang open - either empty, or packed to the walls with surly-looking patrons. A group of people trying very hard to look inconspicuous hold a corner booth, hoping their sinister glares and ominous demeanour will be enough to dissuade onlookers and eavesdroppers. A couple in matching heavy coats pass a large mug of steaming wine between the two of them, apparently in the midst of a discussion as heated as their drink. The owner of the bar, a stout and bearded dwarf, sits in a private booth, looking troubled to the point of near-weeping. Empty metal mugs surround him.

Besides, of course, taking in the sights and having the place described to you, what are you doing in the Red Moon Inn?

Leperflesh
May 17, 2007







Talakhamani

A thin, still, quiet figure inhabits an open booth, not far from the door. A wooden cup sits square on the table before him, untouched: it is the least-expensive drink this drinking-house serves, and its purpose is to satisfy the wait staff that Talakhamani is "a customer" and therefore allowed to remain. He is clad in dark, roughspun dockworker's clothing: inexpensive, ordinary, meticulously arranged, spotless. One gloved hand rests on the table, slightly open, and he is turned toward the open room a little, head even, watching the goings-on with an exact, practiced air of inoffensive interest. His mask occasionally glints a little lantern-light from behind the soft leather mantle draped over his head. "Do not worry about the mask," says his demeanor, "I am just an ordinary fellow. See? I am enjoying a drink, and I am approachable. Just a normal, very very normal approachable man."

This is the posture and presentation of a person who is looking to be invited to do something. Perhaps someone will join him at his table. Perhaps someone needs recruits. They will notice him, and approach his table, and make arrangements to exchange labor for coin.

This is Talakhamani's intent, anyway. Just at the moment, it is not working.

Heliotrope
Aug 17, 2007

You're fucking subhuman


Alder

Alder is sitting near the owner, putting aside his mirror as he ensures he looks like the kind of person the customers would love to have fun with in all those private booths. He steps towards the owner, hesistant - but this dwarven man has helped him out when he needed a place to get customers and occasionally kept him from having to sleep on the streets. "Everything all right sir?" He smiles. "If you have a bit of trouble, I might be able to help." He looks at the empty glasses and tries to remember how much is too much for a dwarf.


quote:



Name: Alder

Profession: Prostitute

People: Reiklander Human

Corruption 1

Flesh 1

Alder has been without a home or family for most of his life. He does what he can to get by, and tries to look out for himself and the people he knows.

Talents:
Get Lucky - Where you from, you sexy thang? You may add 1 to the highest rolling die in your pool on attempts to charm, seduce, and otherwise gain the personal attention of a single target.
Light Sleeper - You cannot be surprised or caught-off guard while asleep, and always awaken when danger catches you sleeping

Posessions: Sheepskin (for protection when loving around). Knife (for protection when finding out). Attractive clothes. A beautiful pocket watch.

sasha_d3ath
Jun 3, 2016

Ban-thing the man-things.

Alder: Given he is presently so deep in his cups he is actively washing through the pile so he can swiftly refill them, you suspect he's on the further end of "time to cut him off". Being spoken to snaps him from a dolorous haze and he snaps to attention. "Hrmflb...evenin'." he says woefully, then stifles a hiccup. "Hrng. 'm off-duty. Direct yer orders ter the...ter the barmaid." he says, shifting over.

Before the young man has an opportunity to leave him to his misery, he suddenly snaps back around. "Actually, I was mistook!" he says, grabbing his wrist. "Things're bad fer me. Real...bad." he admits. "But it 'tain't woes fer a single man. 'm lookin' fer...fer a hardy band." he says, trying to look dignified but only exemplifying how thoroughly soaked his beard is in wine, beer, and sputum. "Aye! Bravery overtakes me. This misery ends nigh!" he says with a raucous cry. "Gather yerself some mates and we'll strike at the bastards tonight!" he says with a nearly-malign cackle. "Fools and roustabouts all! If yer lookin' fer work, I'm offerin'!" he shouts before slumping over for a nap.

Talakhamani: As you settle in to look for work, openly stating your clear and undeniable regular personfulness, one of the men in the corner booth suddenly rises and crosses over to your table. He places a hand in front of you, hard, and peers down at you from behind a concealing cloth mask. "You. You're looking for work. The dwarf might have an offer, but I promise you ours is better." he says. His voice is high and imperious, clearly from a MUCH nicer part of town, and the cleanliness and cut of his cloak implies someone trying very hard to cosplay a poor person. His eyes flick to the young Reiklander next to the snoring dwarf.

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Leperflesh
May 17, 2007







Talakhamani

Given how stiff and motionlessly Talakhamani had been sitting, it might be slightly surprising to an observer how smoothly he moves, once disturbed. Perhaps there is a certain grace that one earns, inhabiting an unchanging body for a few centuries. He gestures to the empty seat opposite, a neat little wave above his untouched drink.

"WE WILL NEGOTIATE NOW" his mask intones, in a not unfriendly tone. His voice is firm, unwavering, his pronunciation too perfect, the diction of the foreigner who has mastered the local language better than the majority of its native speakers. "FIRST YOU WILL INADEQUATELY EXPLAIN THE NATURE OF THE TASK. THEN YOU WILL OFFER A PALTRY FEE. I WILL BE OUTRAGED AND DEMAND A PRINCELY SUM. YOU WILL INSIST THE TASK IS SIMPLE AND STRAIGHTFORWARD. I WILL COUNT MY WIVES AND CHILDREN. YOU WILL DECRY YOUR CERTAIN FINANCIAL DESTRUCTION BY MY HANDS. I WILL RISE AND WALK TOWARD THE DOOR AND INFORM ALL PRESENT OF YOUR ATTEMPTED LARCENY. YOU WILL STOP ME AND MAKE YOUR FINAL BID, WHICH I WILL RELUCTANTLY ACCEPT. BEGIN."

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