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Author Topic: Contemporary, Historical, Vampires, Fantasy, One-Shots & Collaborations  (Read 1983 times)

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Offline dad savageTopic starter

My Availability Level: in order to ensure each of my partners receives what I feel is the correct amount of attention and devotion there is a maximum number of disparate role-plays in which I am willing to be involved. Nevertheless the total number of role-play settings I am looking to eventually play exceeds this number, and so, regardless of the availability of my scenes, whether I am able to take on new games will always be explicitly stated here.

I am currently available.

        Welcome to my request thread, [you]. As you can see it is not exactly pedestrian, and generally speaking I do not post ideas, although I do have a section exclusively for one-shots, ideas and collaborations. Rather, I post a full set up for a plot, usually with a short history for each protagonist (whether they have met before or not) and sometimes with a prose excerpt to give some indication of the setting and mood along with the character(s) I might to play. I am usually equally happy to play either depending on my partner, but in some games this is not the case so please ask. I do all this to establish a dynamic which informs the games overall theme. My plots are open-ended however and unless stated otherwise (I will occasionally request certain characteristics) your character should largely be seen as a blank slate, and in terms of history, behaviour, attitude, etc., try to balance what will most make you happy with what you feel will best suit the game. Further the background, plot and setting itself is always negotiable, though I cannot field every suggestion, I try my absolute best to be flexible. I also try to be flexible regarding any adult content you might wish to include.
        One thing I will ask is that if you are not interested in any of these games please do not PM me, and ask me to collaborate on an idea unless it is already quite fleshed out; use my own section on collaborations as a guide viz how much depth. I am perfectly willing to play a game someone else has written (so feel free to direct my attention to a list of your ideas if you wish to play, but find none of my games appealing) however I am wary of the time it takes to set up a game between two people without a solid foundation on which to expand. Lastly, while I understand that a lot of people, particularly those new to role-playing, might find my style intimidating I have never been an elitist. As long as you can manage a few paragraphs on average (less if you post more often) I will be happy. If you are enthusiastic about a game, and a nice person who is genuinely here to play and have a good time we should get along. I will do my best to see you have a good time, and that includes making you feel comfortable, so I am very flexible about post length.
« Last Edit: September 12, 2011, 09:01:22 AM by dad savage »

Offline dad savageTopic starter

Contemporary & Period Games
« Reply #1 on: September 08, 2011, 10:50:09 AM »

Here you will find role-plays set in various versions of our own world which - as a result - are generally far less complex to set up and begin playing, and require less space and description as well as no grasp of an particular fandom. That said this might also include some alternate versions of our world provided such they do not require any such explanations, and do not easily fit into any of my other categories. For example if I wanted to play an X-men game based on the films I would no doubt set it here since it really is just a contemporary setting with the addition of a single, easily understood element. Even so I am looking to retain a more down-to-earth flavour for my contemporary games, and so do not expect the thread to be full of such things.
This thread is also where you will find the period games which I have written up though - generally speaking - I do not see that historical games have much to offer which fantasy games do not however I do acknowledge their charms in some respects; an abundance of tight-lacing, for example. That sad I wish to look at a range of eras, not just the standard Victorian, or Roman setting, for example. Not to say I do not enjoy such games, or will not post them though. Note also that there is a reason why my historical and contemporary games share a thread - aside from the fact that they also both occur in our world, as in most cases my contemporary games themselves, and vice-versa with regard to my historical games are not only negotiable in the usual way all my games are, but in chronological terms as well. Thus if you see a contemporary game which you think would benefit from a historical setting I will alter it so long as the date is not inimical to the plot.

This game's setting is somewhat negotiable in that it can be modern day, or if you want to go for a more repressive era where the dynamic between the female lead and her husband may have been more common that is fine too. I realize this may work better as a one shot, and I am aware the write-up is very long, but I needed to establish the nature of the relationships and history. I know this means the female lead is fairly fleshed out already, but apart from her crippling shyness everything is negotiable, and it says very little for her personality save that she is sweet and loyal, so there is still much room for your own imaginings. I wrote this game primarily because I think this sort of extreme modesty can be very endearing if played right, and wanted to role-play a game with a training aspect that did not involve non-con or kidnapping. Nevertheless this game can certainly involve plenty of soft non-con (such as if she is simply too embarrassed to go ahead with something and he forces her into it that she might overcome it) and also, while this will have a higher ratio of erotica than most of my games it is not porn without plot. The training will not just consist of sex, and foreplay, but many different aspects of seduction and flirting in many locations. If you are confused as to how this will work PM me

        Once while catching up with his parents at a five star restaurant Kurt did not think it untoward to excuse himself politely before sneaking into the bathroom to rendezvous with a pretty waitress whom he had been flirting with all evening, emerging a short while later - first naturally as she needed a while to catch her breath - with his jacket on crooked, and her panties in his trouser pocket  (he is rather proud of his collection, and - like many museums - one need not pay to get of- er… inside, but donations are encouraged) before resuming his seat, looking dear old ma and pa in the eye, and smiling at both before picking up the conversation again. In other words when it comes to sex he was shameless, but also rather gifted, and these talents extended to all attendant matters (flirting, and seduction for example) but unlike many fellows similarly inclined he could also be genuinely sweet, attentive, and caring. Women tended to appreciated this about him. Lots of women. In rapid, unending succession. For an aggressively motivated, feckless, avariciously libidinous, skirt-chasing panty-bandit and serial monogamist however he was not a bad guy, and certainly never dishonest or cruel. He did not cheat for example, and he never picked up a girl knowing in advance he was going to drop her, nor would he lie. For example the waitress mentioned earlier - who had given him her number as well - did actually receive a follow up call. Nevertheless the resulting interactions lasted a mere four days, or slightly less than average in his case. His longest ever relationship lasted a whole three weeks, and involved a girl who worked for Ikea. It only lasted as long because he so enjoyed screwing her in the ball pit on nights when she was supposed to lock up he could not bring himself to end it even when he realized it was going nowhere. He has never used the three magic words in his adult life, but he has been in love, and - in all honesty - he still is. It’s the reason he behaves the way he does, cycling through women hyperactively, searching without real hope for someone who can make him feel the way she did.
        Her name was Kate, and she had just started college when they met, and though she hardly seemed the type anyone would have expected him to fall for he did, and hard. Kurt honestly thought her the sweetest, prettiest, most lovely girl he had ever met. Unfortunately however Kate had always suffered terribly from social anxiety and crippling shyness. She was also quite ingenuous and exceedingly careful about her reputation. The mere thought of fooling around with someone with whom she did not feel genuine mutual affection mortified her. So despite finding him charming and handsome, and admitting something about him literally made her pulse race when he flirted with her Kate pushed him away and kept her distance. Partly this was due to his own reputation. Kurt, like Kate, could not really be with someone he did not feel for, but was also a charismatic, good looking young man with an aggressive charm that made it hard for a certain sort of woman to sit still when they were in the same room, and with so much nubile flesh on offer he could not always resist the temptation to convince himself that the tender feelings might come later, though they never did. Partly it was because she was so shy. Kurt was socially aggressive, and often suggestive in his flirtations, he said things on occasion that could still make her blush a week later when she remembered them, and she had a feeling, based on how he affected her, that if he ever really pushed he could have had her in bed, doing almost anything, no matter what she might tell herself about how cheap it would make her feel the next day. So she pushed him away. She was the first woman he had ever honestly felt he could have a future with though, and he could not just walk away, while being around her - even if they were not together - made him happy, though in a way it also hurt slightly.
       She was so shy that apart from her roommate he was the first real friend she had in college, and he quickly became one of her best friends. He was good for her, and helped her a great deal with her problems in that, while patient he never accepted shyness as an excuse not to do something, and would go to almost any length to get her to go out and among people with him even if it meant he had to play chaperone the entire time. The more she came to trust him the more he was able to help. For example Kate had been singing, and playing piano since her youth - both of them were in fact majoring in music - but she could not sing on stage. Kurt nevertheless convinced her to take part in an eisteddfod by promising to come on stage with her, ostensibly to provide a musical accompaniment. He did not find the irony amusing that it was largely a result of such help that she was able to join a rather prominent choir where she met the man who eventually became her husband, falling for him while the group was on a tour.
        Peter, her husband-to-be, was a quiet, rather bookish fellow and something of an introvert who struggled with shyness at times too, and so he claimed to understand her problems. He could be quite charming, and funny, and both sweet and sensitive at times as well without seeming less a man for it. A talented vocalist, in addition, and very serious about his musical career he shared, and understood her one overriding passion. Peter took things very slowly with her at first, and once they were together he did a lot to make her feel special, yet his true colours began to show as time passed, and these were far less complimentary. For example once they were married he said it would be stupid for them both to work toward a career in performance as their household would have no stable income. Partly because he was insecure about her superior talent then, and partly because he wanted to focus on his career while she saw the bills were paid he convinced her to get a teaching job. He did this quite cruelly by constantly assuring her that she would never get over her shyness and stage-fright, in the end telling her, point blank, that performing in front of potentially huge crowds was an incredibly stupid aspiration for someone who was too messed up to even have a conversation with a stranger. She was too insecure about the subject to argue, and because she loved him and wanted him to succeed she agreed, thinking when he started to make money he would do the same for her. She rather liked the work in truth, and it helped a great deal with her anxieties though she still finds teaching older students daunting. There were other, nastier things said at this time too however such as when she mentioned seeking professional help, and Peter said, simply, that if she was admitting to being that fucked in the head she could pack her bags and leave. The thought of calling his bluff, which she could not have imagined was a bluff, never even crossed her mind.
        The simple fact was Kate’s shyness and anxiety made it nearly impossible for her to meet new people herself, let alone men, while it also made her difficult to approach. She always thought herself very lucky whenever a stranger was willing to talk to her even after finding out all she could do in response was chew her lower lip, mumble, fall over herself, and look away while blushing frantically whenever something nice was said, and that was only if she had no choice. Otherwise, despite that she desperately wanted to meet people, she would usually make up an excuse to run away simply to spare herself the excruciating embarrassment. Only a few men had ever become serious about pursuing her, and fewer still had been patient enough to follow through. That one of them had married her was not something she dared compromise. Further as Peter put most of his time into work they rarely did anything together and so Kate had almost no-one in her life except for him, and those few people she spoke to at work, some of whom were quite friendly, but Peter always had a reason to keep her from seeing them, some errand to be run, or odd job. If all else failed he would bluntly ask why she bothered when she knew all she was going to do was mumble at them and chew her lip. 
        Another reason why she put up with this, why in many ways she did not even see that she was putting up with anything, was if their marriage ended it would have been a failure on her part, or so Peter had convinced her in light of their more intimate problems, though they were hardly her fault. Simply put, Kate’s shyness left her almost hyperactively ingenuous regarding all things sexual, not that she was an innocent by any stretch, and it  embarrassed her profoundly to even think of being sexually foreword in any way. She was so modest that she showered with the door locked, though she and her husband lived alone, and had never slept naked in her life. Further that Peter was in no way a dynamic lover, that his appetites were far enough south of prodigious as to require extensive stimulation, ensured that problems ensue. He simply was not able to see his wife’s needs were met, nor was he firm or supportive enough to draw her out of her shell, and instead of making the effort, or trying to help her deal with her anxieties that they might meet in the middle he simply ignored her, and told her bluntly that her insecurity made her too boring in bed to be worth touching. He never let up reminding her that she did not meet his needs in this way, and of course told her it was entirely her fault he could not meet hers, and all the while - from three months into their marriage in fact - he fucked around behind her back.
        Through all this Kurt, who had become a fairly successful studio musician, had been a genuine friend to Kate, and while he still had very strong feelings for her he had always respected that she was a married woman, though it was not easy. He was the only person whose company she considered worth defying her husband for, but she never talked to him about her problems. He could tell something was wrong though, and there were clues. Once he faintly heard Peter talking to her through a phone - her reaction to being called a mumbling idiot had upset him more than anything else - and he had heard at a studio where Peter had done some work that the latter had hit on a fellow musician. It also made him wonder when at times Kate would be very interested in hearing about some of his sexual escapades. Such stories were in truth almost the sum of all sensuality in her life. She had purchased an erotic story once, but her husband had been furious about it, and told her if she was too good to touch him then she was too good for porn before demanding she throw it out and never buy another, though she had finished it in secret. All things considered it is perhaps no surprise that one night while Peter was away - ostensibly a work related trip but in truth staying at a local motel with a girl - she and Kurt, after a few drinks, woke up in one another’s arms. Both had felt very guilty, but it did not stop them from doing it again.
        Kate trusted him, as someone who cared for her, and his experience enough that she let him take control of her completely, and Kurt wanted nothing less. In fact he would have accepted nothing less, and no matter how much she blushed, even if she whimpered no, in the heat of the moment he made her do exactly what he wanted, while he saw that she got everything she needed, and for the first time in years she did not feel like a failure in the slightest. She had also slept naked for the first time in her life simply because she had been too exhausted to find, and put her clothes back on, though she never did find her panties even in the morning. They both tried to avoid one another after this but it was quite impossible. Even so the affair was a guilty one on both sides as Kate was still convinced she loved, or at least could not loose Peter. She could not imagine a man like Kurt wanting her for long, and because she did not want to loose him as a friend their liaisons were strictly carnal. Through it Kurt could not bring himself to tell her how he felt, and that he had felt this way since they met, not when there was a chance it would drive her away for though he did not have everything he wanted it was better than not being able to see her, or be with her at all. Yet despite that they could only rendezvous rarely he did not so much as lay a finger on another woman, not for the full six months that they were secretly together before Peter told Kate that he was seriously considering divorcing her.
        She knew he was serious and quite shaken by it. She even suspected part of the real reason: that he was doing well enough in his career her income no longer mattered. She did not know however that in addition to this he was planning to move in with a girl he had been seeing for the last eleven months. Despite what she suspected Kate was simply too sweet natured a woman to believe he wanted to leave, but that her problems made it impossible for him to stay, that if she promised more, tried hard and was willing to work on herself he might remain. So she turned to Kurt for help. He was the only person she knew who could. Some time ago he had convinced her to think about participating in an anxiety workshop, and though Peter had tried to convince her not to go she had stuck by her guns as it had been Kurt’s suggestion, and as it was coming up she told him that while Peter thought she was participating she could instead stay at his home for the two weeks. She would do anything, she told him, anything at all if he could help her to get past her shyness enough to make Peter want her. Kurt agreed because he simply could not turn down the chance of spending two weeks with her to himself, but the thought of helping her to please a man who simply does not deserve her is not a happy one.  Worse still Kurt now knows for a fact that Peter is cheating on her - having spoken to none other than the girl he was with - but he does not know whether to tell her as she may think he is simply trying to drive a wedge between her and her husband for his own purposes.

Currently Closed

This is by far my most extreme game, and the title is quite apt, it is based entirely around a kidnapping and a calculated attempt to induce Stockholm syndrome. The female lead will get hurt and this cannot be avoided, but while truly horrible things will happen to her friends, family and anyone else who gets in the way she need not be mutilated, horribly injured, etc., and the torment can be more psychological. The only request I make for the female lead is that she not be a raging kink-goddess who will enjoy everything that is done to her though in time she may come to given the situation.

        Some people are just dangerous. They instinctively know how to break other people into tiny pieces. Eric was like that. He enjoyed it immensely, and he worked at it as one might a more wholesome habit; five hours a day piano practise was to a normal teenager what spitting on people at bus stops to provoke them into throwing hands was to Eric. He took pride it in. He thought about it, and whenever someone annoyed him he would do something horrible. Almost anything could annoy him. He was exactly the sort most people are too intelligent to even talk to. Not to say he has never taken a beating. As both an amateur boxer and kick-boxer (though at both these sports he was quickly blacklisted and thrown out of every comp and organization he qualified for, proudly framing life-time ban notices) as well as general dick he has had the shit kicked out of him (ironically this did not leave him transparent) numerous times. There is always someone tougher, better armed or with more friends after all, but that only made him meaner. It also taught him how to gut it out. He is not a nice man. Actually it is one of those well established facts; there are government files about it. Not about the time he shattered a drunk girls jaw with a glass ashtray for throwing a drink in his face, no, not about a number of incidences like that, perhaps the only reason he was able to join the military. On the other hand there is a file about the time after that when he shot two civilians, children actually, for cheering on insurgents during an urban fire fight. He was an incredibly good soldier and this might not have been completely catastrophic, but the problem was a number of his officers who has disciplined him in the past had also inexplicably come to grief (usually as a result of explosions during confused melees) though a lack of direct witnesses to his involvement, or information beyond the vague allusions of those others involved (he was not well liked within his unit) made it hard to place blame. They threw the book at him for what they could however and he was rewarded with a long prison sentence. This of course only make him even meaner still.
        Towards the end of his sentence Eric discovered that his sister (perhaps the only person in the world he was capable of being nice too, capable meaning could be though he often was not) and his twin-brother (who he was not nice to at all, but secretly liked) had been attacked. The event was national news and one of the most appalling crimes of the decade. Both were beaten to a pulp before, at gun-point, the perps made his brother swallow a number of razorblade on the provision that if he did so his sister would not be raped. They raped her anyway, all four of them, while he was forced to watch. The killers (ostensibly thought home-invaders) then forced a three foot PVC pipe down her throat and slid a number of fireworks down it, one-at-a-time. Luckily, or unluckily, as the case may be, she was not killed, but suffering severe internal bruising, ruptured organs and shocking internal burns was then dragged into the garage to watch as the perps shattered her brothers arms and legs with a barbell. Following this they slowly crushed his head in a tooling vice albeit only partly before he fell from the work-bench before they took turns tossing weights at him from across the garage to see who could finish him off by smashing in his misshapen head first. They did not realize Eric’s sister was still alive when they left although it took her over two hours to crawl back inside and reach a phone.
        Such was the reaction and public sympathy that Eric, despite his record, was allowed out of prison - albeit heavily escorted and only briefly - on an arranged visit to see his sister in hospital. This sympathy was directed primarily at her in that she had absolutely no chance of survival and he was her only close relation still living. He got to see her for one hour though she was not conscious; he cried for the first time in his adult life. She was kept alive for thirteen days in all, but spent the entire time unconscious. Eric was back in jail when he heard that she had died, and - pending this - when an inmate whom he considered a friend jokingly asked if he was going to cry, it did look that way after all, Eric beat him unconscious before sawing off his eyelids and lips with a razorblade. He did this despite having only a month left on his sentence and they tacked on five years more as a result.
        Eric had a good idea who was responsible for the murder, indeed, the very reason he had joined the military in the first place: a girl both he and his brother had fallen for, but who had only been interested in his brother. She was the daughter of a rather ruthless gangster and his recalled brother had written to him once about how angry she had been over his request that she help him find some underworld connections in order to make money. A while later, years on, after their sister was diagnosed with cancer he wrote Eric again this time about being worried to, but resolved about contacting her again despite that they had broken up some time ago to make the same request in order to assist with medical bills. Soon after this the attack occurred. For this reason Eric maintained that he was glad of the added five years saying it would take about that much time for him to think up, in precise detail, exactly what he was going do to the people responsible.
        Five years later, or rather five years and three days later Kris - the gangster’s daughter - was at a very exclusive night-spot where a badly dressed maniac started dragging her off the dance-floor. She had no recollection of who he was or why he might want to hurt her, but guessed he was connected in some way with her father. At any rate she was not, at first, especially frightened after all daddy never let bad things happen to princess, and there were some rather large and unfriendly fellows who followed her about at a discreet distance to make certain of it. Were it not for the crowd they probably would have shot him, but instead they approached. He noted them and turned to Kris, smiling before, while still holding her he rather casually cut the first mans throat with a knife she did not even see him draw. In a flash the second slumped with it between his ribs. She wondered if he planned it that way. If he moved at the club for that very reason, knowing they would not open fire in public, but had no time to muse further.
        Kris was dragged outside, right over the top of two bouncers, and hand-cuffed securely to the inside of a car. Before taking off the stranger explained - without telling her why - that they were going to visit her friends. All of them, one-by-one, and every single living member of her family. Then he would deal with her. As for why he said he would explain on the way.

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
There were two people inside, and a child - a baby really - the three of them sitting within the living room. A middle-aged woman on a couch watching day-time television with no real interest, an elderly woman wheezing away on an easy-chair using an oxygen machine, and a child sleeping peacefully. All three started, and the child began to cry when an explosive bang was heard outside following by another more resounding bang which echoed down the hall. It was the sound of their front door being kicked in, and it was followed by heavy footfalls. A man appeared in the doorway holding a large revolver just as the mother came to her feet in surprise, his thumb curled around its cocked hammer.
        ‘Sit,’ he said while training the barrel on her as she came to stand half-way and he paced into the centre of the room.
        He calmly took a seat in a wood-framed chair, and looked once at each of the three.
        ‘Where is your son?’ he asked the younger of the two women as she glanced anxiously at her crying child.
        ‘I don’t know,’ she responded.
        As though in response to the mounting tension the child cried more loudly, but when the mother instinctively made toward it she was motioned once more to sit as the intruder drew out a packet of cigarettes with his free hand.
        ‘She has emphysema,’ the younger woman motioned to her mother even as he held a cigarette in his mouth and brought a lighter up to it.
        Taking a drag of his now lit smoke the intruder glanced between them, nodded and then shot the elderly woman once in the right side of her chest. She flinched within the chair as if she had been punched and a red stain became visible on her chest even as the piercing crack of the massive .454 sounded deafeningly within the confines of the room and the younger woman all but leapt out of her chair in shock.
        ‘It won’t bother her now,’ the intruder stated.
        Seeing what had occurred the younger woman was distraught, her features shot with torment, and despite her fear stumbled in a panic over gone to her own mother, and fussed over her while she died seeing at first the incongruously small entry wound in her chest. Thinking it perhaps survivable until she realized that trailing down her back and drenching the cushions of the chair was a disturbing volume of blood and the already unconscious woman now seemed eerily still so that coming off her, realizing her mother was dead the woman looked over at her killer.
        ‘Where is your son?’ he asked before she could comment herself.
        ‘I don’t know!’ she screamed through protesting sobs.
        He stood up and started to walk calmly over to the day-crib that held the now screaming infant. Seeing this the mother forgot her fear and rushed over to beat and drag at him heedless of the firearm in his hand, and straining to avert his course until he turned and smashed in the bridge of her nose with the grip of his pistol. She fell, benumbed by shock and blinking as blood dripped from her face down onto the carpet. Looking up as he lifted her child by one leg and left the room she followed, stumbling, partly crawling in blind terror and following him into their kitchen. She screamed wordlessly, in absolute terrified disbelief when he opened the microwave and placed the now-shrieking child inside. He did not turn it on, but stood watching her.
        ‘Don’t kill him,’ she sobbed over and over again, and ‘I don’t know where he is,’ while he stared down impassively.
        ‘This will not kill him-’ she shrieked, protesting, as he turned the timer up to one-hour though he did not as yet engage the switch that would turn on it on, ‘not all at once-’ he placed the wattage on its lowest setting, ‘there will be time,’
        Turning it on he did not even hear the sound of it operating over the mothers indignant howls as she threw herself as him once more, and was once more thrown to the floor. The shrieking of the child was deafening as well, but joined now by a more quiet blubbering murmur as the mother keeled over against a cupboard and pressed her hand and face into it while babbling in shock to her slowly cooking infant about how bad a mother she was.
        ‘Where is your son?’ he asked again and seeing she appeared to have switched off he fired a round into the cupboard not six inches from her head which made her start violently, ‘your son?’
        ‘Turn it off, I‘ll tell you-!’ he did so. ‘He’s hiding-’ she sobbed, ‘hiding in the back room,’
        ‘Thank you,’ the man responded.
        He did not leave immediately however, not before he shot her once in each kneecap, and - stepping on her chest to flatten her on her back - once in each elbow, turned the microwave on once more, and left the room while dragging her out with him as she screeched and tried to claw her way back toward her cooking child while humming gently to himself over the sound of screams before he let her go. In the living room he saw her son standing, trembling over his dead grand-mother. He was armed.
        ‘What the fuck did they do to you?’ he asked.
        ‘This is not really about you at all,’ the intruder responded before he swiftly darted foreword to grab the young man’s wrist even as he brought up his automatic, stopping him, while he discharged a round into his foot.
        Twisting his arm around behind his back the intruder then physically threw him through a glass coffee table where the young man rolled onto his back, bleeding from many cuts where the jagged ends of the broken glass had caught him passing through. He groaned and reached around for his gun, but it had been kicked away from where it had fallen from his grasp.
        ‘Get up,’ the intruder ordered.
        ‘You shot me-’ he held his foot. ‘I can’t,’
        The revolver went off loudly once more and blew a hole in his other foot.
        ‘Walk to the door and I’ll let you go,’ he went on.
        Looking up from where he bled onto the carpet the young man was prepared to believe this though he could read nothing in the man’s impassive features. Thinking only that he did not deserve to die, and that he had suffered enough when his entire family had been killed, he tried to stand up and force himself to walk. After several attempts he began to crawl after pushing himself up onto his knees, grunting through his clenched teeth. The pain of putting any pressure on his feet caused him to exhale sharply in an agonized hiss, but he held it, and he trembled visibly from the effort as he slowly, unsteadily began to crawl, groping along from chair to wall to shelf like a blind man feeling his way, grunting and straining past each step until finally he collapsed outside of the doorway.
        ’I did it,’ he gasped while hauling in shallow breaths as the intruder stepped outside after him.
        ‘You did, good job. It saved me dragging you this far,’ as he said this the killer took his ankle and dragged him ungently over to where he had reverse-parked in their own driveway.
        He begged to be let go, but silence rebuked him utterly and he was inexorably hauled over and chained to the vehicles tow bar before his assailant walked to the drivers side of the vehicle, and circled around to the front where he opened the door and sat down. Inside a pretty young girl was handcuffed in the passenger seat.
        ‘Wind down the window,’ he said to her.
        ‘Where did you find him? Were they all there-’ she tried to peer back and see what had been done behind the vehicle, but the angle cut off her field of view, ‘-Grandma, and-’
        ‘They’re not there now in the sense you mean. I said open the window.’ he cut her off.
        Though a certain pride thread her face which resented anyone should see her cry the young girl started to sob, and her entire upper body was wracked with heaving distress as she cried although no tears came, her chest heaving in anguished silence as she broke down in absolute terror.
        ‘Why?’ she asked after some time, and by this she meant why he was killing her family, but since he thought that obvious he assumed she could only be asking why he wished the window down.
        ‘I want you to hear him scream,’ he came back as he put his foot down.
        He never went past thirty and it was a full half-hour before the screams stopped and they went on driving for a full five or so minutes until she had finally stopped sobbing and someone spoke.
        ‘I feel like ice-cream,’ he said. ‘Do you like ice-cream?’
        ‘Go to hell,’ she said icily.
        ‘We‘re in hell,’ he responded evenly. ‘Even so I’m stopping for ice-cream, but first,’ he slowed the car, and pulled over at a soft shoulder where at gunpoint the made the girl exit the car and see, and she added to the mess the contents of her stomach when she saw how what was left chained to the tow bar resembled her brother now about as much as a steak resembles a cow, and she unlocked the cuffs and left them by the body, but it was no longer a body at all. She could not believe it and thought it more horrible than death; she wished he was dead, but he was not unless in death one still breathed.
        ‘Kill him please,’ she begged in a softly pleading voice. ‘Jesus Christ-’ reaching for the gun holstered at his shoulder desperately she closed her eyes, and looked away after he brushed her off. ‘-He shouldn’t be alive!’
        ‘It‘s not fun is it?’ he touched her cheek.
        ‘Please shoot him,’ she put her hand on the back of his as the horrible man-shaped thing gurgled at them both.
        ‘You want him dead, you shoot him; see what its like,’ he seemed to say this to himself, speaking in a low voice barely above a whisper, and while speaking he removed a revolver from a hip holster and extracted the rounds letting them tinkle onto the floor while with his thumb he held one in and his other hand caught hers, and he held the back of it. ‘Show me,’ he closed the breech on the revolver and pressed it into her palm.
        As she knelt there he moved her hands to train it on her brother’s chest. With tears silently running down her face two, three, and one, chasing one another over he cheeks and leaving gleaming trails as they fell from her eyelashes one after the other on and on while her hand tensed slowly until the hammer clicked. She flinched wildly at the violent crack of the big .454 going off, and when he took it from her she softly stroked her now dead brother’s ragged cheek.
        ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whimpered.

« Last Edit: September 13, 2011, 08:44:46 AM by dad savage »

Offline dad savageTopic starter

Fur & Fangs
« Reply #2 on: September 08, 2011, 10:50:40 AM »
Games involving vampires, those who hunt them, and - on occasion - werewolves, making use of my own, original setting. In this setting such creatures are in no way magical, and so may not be what you are used to. To learn more about either - their specific traits and abilities - PM me. I can also provide as much additional information on the setting as you may need. Also as I am aware of how hard it can be to play in someone else’s original setting I ca relax my normal expectations pursuant to time - as listed in my O/O's - regarding both pre-game planning and post rate. That said I will endeavour to make this a simple process. Further, though this setting is mine, it does not mean I will not modify it so feel free to make suggestions.

        In this setting both vampires and werewolves have almost always existed alongside humans, although the latter are all but extinct, while the former are simply referred to as predators, in the modern era. In both cases they are less 'vampires,' or 'werewolves,' in the forms detailed by various mythology, but rather aberrations whose existence gave rise to such myths. The existence of Vampires - predators as they are known - is officially recognized by most governments around the world. This occurred in the mid nineteen seventies, and was thanks in part to the invention of an instantly administrable test involving a portable electric bulb able to produce UV light, known as Clark testing and named after its inventor. Werewolves on the other hand were incredibly rare even when they did exist - though historical data suggest small populations were extant in Europe up until roughly the eighteenth century - are considered the purview of crypto zoologists as the majority of persons assume their alleged existence was simply the result of persons who mistook predators for something else. That the tiny number who remain intensely detest cities, or indeed any other area where large numbers congregate helps ensure they remain unrecognised. Also while predators, and werewolves have little reason to like one another - for as many things they have in common there are differences which would lead to antagonism - there exists no fixed relationship between the two groups. They have no history, and the average predator is as ignorant of their existence as the average human. In the United States, where most games in this setting will be played out, predators are considered an invasive species, and live like refugees, while anyone suspected of being one can look foreword to having their citizenship revoked, and their assets frozen before facing summary arrest unless prepared to submit to testing. Those arrested are placed in sealed 'planned communities,' deported back to their country of origin (if it can be determined) or exported as live-stock to those few nations which - having worked out more profitable arrangements - are prepared to accept them. Known vampires are hunted ruthlessly by the well organized, funded and equipped agents or marshals of the Prohibition Enforcement Agency. These individuals have the right to practise summary execution of dangerous captives, and can, in short, do whatever else they want to get the job done. Predators have no rights under the law as a result of their non-human status, and crimes against them at worse might involve a charge of cruelty to animals. Most people despise them partly as a result of extensive propaganda, and partly because, unable to work, they have become intrinsically linked to criminal activity in the public consciousness. This came about when criminals, especially those in organized crime, began employing them so successfully as enforcers and muscle that they eventually realized they could not be contended with and, ironically, essentially took absolute control of every profitable racket south of legal in the entire country. There are those who advocate for them politically, but there is much vested interest in the current system, and it will not be altered without a fight. Two vast companies have obtained, respectively, the privatised contracts to open and run planned communities (Glaxo Verazon, a freight, packing and shipping concern which uses them for hard labour, paying their wages direct to the state) and the contract to supply said communities blood to keep the workers alive (Smith-Krane acquisitions, a bio-tech and pharmaceuticals conglomerate, to whom the Government transfers the predators wages) by paying individuals to donate blood in banks run at most hospitals. This also secures them the sole right to experiment medically on those predators who are executed for breaking prohibition; a very profitable extra in that the regenerative properties of their cells can be used to produce a number of immensely successful, expensive and effective drugs and cosmetics. Since their exposure a sub-culture, a group, has formed of those, calling themselves culture-freaks or freaks, of people obsessed with the predator culture itself, and their style. They dress like and try to act like predators themselves and the most extreme among them even volunteer themselves to be fed on despite the risks. It is not uncommon for a Coven of predators to have a large entourage of such hangers-on, but most freaks are in truth quite harmless and have never met or seen a predator up close. There were never many to begin with after all, and even fewer remain in the US outside the planned communities.

This game was inspired by this picture so I ask that you base your characters appearance on it. If you would like to play though but hate it I can supply a photomanip for her instead. Apart from that, and a request that you make her somewhat sympathetic you might go wherever you imagination takes you. This game's setting is in some ways extreme, but I am not especially interested in writing out the abusive aspects of this plot as erotica. Thus we need not even write out such scenes (which will all involve NPCs) and can simply play the reactions. As the game progresses it will come to include a great deal of action. The romantic aspect is something which I hope will build up slowly, blossoming tension between them hopefully leading to no more than resentment fuelled put-downs and intense competition, affection developing between the two leads as the plot advances and they begin to trust one another. The female lead can be played sub, switch, or vanilla, but I would prefer a dominant and assertive attitude in general even if she is submissive.

        He used to read books about them as a child, and they always fascinated him, though of course he knew they did not really exist. Save that they did, and when he came to discover this it was through his father who, he also learned, had devoted much of his life to hunting them. It turned his fascination into guilt whenever he confronted the fact that he was attracted to creatures which had to murder people just to stay alive. Real people, and not just characters in some story. So he grew to hate them. His father made this very simple, and it became even easier after his mother died when he was in his early teens. She was bitten by the partner of some predator his own father had dispatched in a vicious reprisal, a revenge attack, and by this time Pierce did not think much of watching his father empty her skull into their bathtub, courtesy of a three-five-seven hollow point. She had stopped being human after all. After this, with no-one else to look after him, Pierce spent most of his teenage years being dragged back and forth across the country in winding pursuit of the prey his father hunted so obsessively, and though never exposed to the actual violence he had still learned a great deal of the trade by a remarkably young age. In being made to ride in the cab of his father’s truck with their bodies, while they found a place to dump them Pierce was left thoroughly desensitised. It was all to drive home that he should think no more of a dead predator than one might a steer, or a trophy buck. In fact he should think less in that their extinction was desirable. Their deaths always a plus. It should not be wondered then that when his own father was eventually bitten he had very little hesitation when it came to doing what he felt he had too, nor that, in time, he became a hunter himself. He was ruthless, energetic, talented, totally focused and completely dedicated to the work, and seemed to possesses an almost instinctive flair for violently outmanoeuvring others and causing them a great deal of damage, obsessively tinkering with different kinds of ammunition, blades, and incendiaries, and among those who knew he began to acquire an incredible reputation.

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
There was little he could make out within the frantic waters or along the jagged banks, and he slowed down substantially, carefully gazing over the boiling surface and the rocky shore where his headlights lit the undulating wavelets and the bank driving off the imperceptible shadows while his truck crept foreword on the loose gravel until at last Pierce saw what looked to be a body beside the river, and he braked. The vehicles tires crunched loudly against the wet, loosely packed dirt before he turned in reverse to make certain. It was almost certainly the female. She had been hitch-hiking, and whether she honestly had needed to get somewhere, or had simply been hungry Pierce could not guess although when he thought about what he was going to do to he preferred to imagine the later. She had bolted with unbelievable speed, noticing him long before he had expected her too, but it was impossible even for one of her kind to outrun a car once it had time to accelerate. He had sandwiched her between the hood and the iron railing of a bridge she had been about to leap off at about forty five miles per hour, but to his astonishment she had hauled herself back onto her feet granted, at first, merely to reel unsteadily before he had even shook clear his impact dazed head. He had sent thirty three hollow points after her, shredding her back, even as she clambered over the rail though, and when he watched her drop some forty feet into surging, near freezing white water to bounce like a rag-doll off a partly submerged rock and then be swept along in the icy current, dragged beneath the surface before it swept her away Pierce had thought it strangely pretty how the boiling white water had been streaking with lashing, of scarlet-dyed streaks. It had taken him almost three hours to find her, and now he had it was approaching dawn.
        ‘Jesus Christ,’ Pierce muttered to himself in disbelief after turning on his high beams. She was actually still moving.
        For a moment he simply stood and watched after stepping out of his vehicle. He had not heard her voice or seen her up close yet so he had no way to guess her age, but she must have been old, uncommonly old for any predator outside of Europe, and he guessed she was of an old world bloodline. That or simply hard as a coffin nail by nature. For some time he could do nothing but stare.
        As he stood there, backlit by the high-beams of his own truck, any onlooker would have found his precise age impossible to guess, but it was clear he was not a very young man, and a strangely deliberate intensity marked his features despite that they evinced a look of clear astonishment. It did not do much for his heavily-scarred, but otherwise precisely, statuesquely handsome visage which, for all its text-book symmetry, seemed devoid of any real animate charm. Roughly unkempt, dark brown hair fell almost to his shoulders and he had to brush it back from where it fell over his eyes after he looked down to reload his automatic. Something about his hair might give the impression it was only long because he did not care enough about his appearance to cut it. He certainly did not style it after all, and in every other way, as with the severity of his expressions, he seemed uniformly contemptuous of all such superficiality. The only thing which seemed out of place in this, not in keeping with the stoic and weathered severity of his visage, were his eyes. Yet even they did their part thanks to three large scars - formerly they must have been deep gashes - which tracked across his face, from one side of his brow on the right to where they ended a few inches above his jaw on the left, one of them cutting a path through his right eyebrow with scar-tissue. It made him look as if he had been mauled by a big cat. Yet his eyes were expressively, sympathetically attractive in their shape and movements. Two clear windows to his soul, and perhaps so sympathetic in that while expressively in sync with his deepest moods they so often evinced nothing but a certain intense hollowness. Next to such harshness it was a picture of vulnerability and grief, and around them he most showed his age in deepening lines; the remnants of old laughter perhaps, but certainly old at any rate. He did not look capable of laughter as he stood there staring at the female predator as she slowly crawled up the steep, rocky bank. He could see she had fought the current to land as the rivers shape would not have seen the surging water itself throw her ashore here otherwise, and she had just managed, by way of what must have been an agonizing effort, to work her way onto a patch of sandy bank almost devoid of the savage rocks which at other points would have been impassable. She had dropped clear over five feet to do so, and now would have seemed dead but for the occasional shallow twitch of her chest. That she seemed to have finally given up did not detract from how incredible a feat it was simply to have made it as far as she had.
        Pierce pulled open the door, a little wider, and from a holster inside it he selected a TASER before holstered it at his waist. Thinking fast consciously was not his forte, but he did his best, and then he stopped, uncertain, assailed by last minute doubts over what he was doing, but they did not last. It did not matter now. Even if his actions overall were not something he would love himself for later, he knew they were not, there was no going back now. Leaving her here to cook would be no better than what he planned otherwise, and there was no way she would reach shelter on her own before sunrise. Thus moving around, away from the trunk of his vehicle after pulling it closed with a clunk, Pierce stood, watching for a moment in shock as she once more started slowly crawling up the bank in determined desperation, no doubt fully aware of the coming sunrise. No amount of effort could transform that image in his mind into something which did not feel pain, which could not be hurt, that did not understand fear. His eyes flashed for an instant showing clear sympathy. The image was not a pretty one. She was still bleeding, and blood-dyed water now covered the bank, the sand, had splashed over rocks to make the scene appear the result of complete exsanguination, so that it looked astounding that she could be moving at all.
        Taking a deep breath before he tore himself away from his car Pierce strode slowly toward the high fence which demarked the bank and the shoulder of the road. He checked his watch and knew there was no time to find a gate, and so leapt up and caught the wire-mesh before climbing to the top where he let himself drop onto the other side, his boots crunching on the gravel. There he spent a moment holding his wrist and flexing a four-fingered hand which was scared as though it had once been impaled on something. His face twitched, and for a moment his eyes spoke of some wearing, griping pain which they greeted with tired, long suffering resolution. Coming closer he closed his eyes, and his face fell seeing her more closely. Despite the injuries, the pain, he could tell she was as pretty as he had guessed earlier in the gloom, and he knew he could not use her appearance as an excuse to post-pone this, to let her go, and go after another. She looked to have been thrashed into rocks and torn open in the surging water though and he marvelled all the more that she had escaped the river even if all she could now do was slowly drag herself foreword an inch at a time with one arm while the other hung limp. One of her legs was smashed shockingly, and Pierce could barely look at it the image rent him with sympathetic agonies. A shattered, jagged point of bone visibly extruded seven inches from the top third of her calf, and a gruesome trail of blood and crimson-dyed water showed a clear trail where she had dragged herself from the water’s edge. Pools of it showed the painful slowness of her progress plainly, yet she had come some distance. Now however she was just trembling, half-frozen, lying on one side with her eyes glazed and staring up at the fading stars, looking dead, lying absolutely still as the bullet wounds in her back bled slowly onto the uneven, sandy ground beneath her. Yet many of her injuries, and even some of those sustained in the river he could not make out wholly, but for scratches and marks on her face where no doubt she had mostly healed. Her back would continue to bleed however until the bullets were removed, and Pierce knew he would need to do this himself once he had her restrained somewhere safely. He could not risk total exsanguination as he would not be able to revive her.
        That picture of her lying there in such a state stirred emotion within him such as he had always believed was meant for human suffering exclusively, and just feeling that way about her filled Pierce with conflicting doubts, and a nasty old, familiar sense of guilt. He had seen them hurt before, he had hurt them himself, he had killed more of them than he could remember, but here it seemed worse, and he knew it was because at its root was not justice or revenge. It was not about keeping people safe. It was about money, and some wealthy, entitled, depraved individuals, and their desire for exotic pets. He tried to think of all it really was about entirely by way of euphemism and metaphor. It was better to cloud it that way than facing the sickening, cold reality, and even as he thought Pierce moved closer, while reaching for a set of reinforced cuffs.

        Pierce had successfully parleyed his exuberant attraction into a very cold, and precise form of resolution. He, quite simply, wanted them gone and meant to do all he could to expedite that desire. Every single one of them needed to be dealt with. There was no passion in his methodology, no cruelty, he regarded them as a man in the tropics might be inclined to see the Malarial mosquito. This cold sense of resolution gave him little time for anything else although he did marry in his mid twenties, and it should not be thought odd that she was a hunter as well, although her speciality was tracking and discovery and she always worked with a partner to handle the actual violence. He realized after it had been a mistake as it was only a matter of time until she became involved by way of some reprisal in the ugly side of their work, and just as with his father he did what he felt he had to, in the end, when this resulted in her being bitten. It is not something he likes to think about.
        Through his life Pierce funded his endeavours by way of occasional work on offshore rigs, and investments made after the sale of the family home; he spent so long on the road that he hardly needed it after all. He lived out of his car for the most part after his wife’s death. This money did not last forever, but he was lucky in that it did not need to. Even as his reputation peaked, a number of Governments around the world finally acknowledged the existence of predators when a reliable, portable method of discovery was struck upon by a hunter adapting a new kind of fluorescent bulb which otherwise would have had no commercial value, and during the period in which they were organizing a state run force to deal with them the government, along with their corporate partners who ran the privatised planned communities into which they were to be confined, began to offer substantial bounties for living predators. Still this was barely enough for Peirce who could have poured any sum right back into the job itself. The nature of his obsession did not allow him to think that there would come a time when he could no longer hunt.
        A good hunter, it is said, must be able to empathize with their prey. It is the truth, and Pierce was a good hunter, in fact he had become a legend, and the more he hunted the more impossible it became for him to go on seeing them as mindless animals. He started to feel guilt, but he would feel guilty over this in that he had surrounded himself with people who saw hating them as a high virtue. It was one of the reasons he knew he would have to retire. One of the many reasons. By his late thirties he was after all not much of a hunter anymore despite that his reputation had only grown. He had lasting injuries, strains, deep, distracting regrets. He could almost never bring himself to kill anymore, and had trouble keeping himself in peak shape. For a few years he made up for this by way of sheer knowing, talent and guile, he still had the same obsessive focus and determination after all, but it was not enough. Yet even when he finally forced himself to face up to these facts it was too late. The new government agency was handling matters, unlicensed hunting had recently become illegal, and bounties were no longer being paid. He was broke. With almost no education, little work experience, few assets beyond firearms - mostly illegally modified - and huge medical bills he was quite simply fucked. Then a friend told him there was still a way to obtain a bounty, and that such payments were substantially larger than the government had ever offered. He told Pierce to find a predator. It would have to be a female, and if he wanted good money he would need to make certain it was a very pretty one. He was not to use incendiaries. Nothing that might leave it scarred, but bring it in all the same. Starve it for a few days, until it was too weak to need chaining up, and see that it came to understand a certain inevitability about its new life. Pierce did not like, and was certain he would not be able to do what he was told came next, but his friend said he would make a few calls, and take care of it for him. He would need to put up a few young men in his home for a week or two, but otherwise it would cost nothing. Some might even pay to be involved. Pierce was not happy with this idea either, really, but then he had little choice. So he told himself they were monsters, and reminded himself that they killed people just to stay alive, and then he started looking for a pretty female.

« Last Edit: September 09, 2011, 01:34:48 AM by dad savage »

Offline dad savageTopic starter

« Reply #3 on: September 09, 2011, 12:01:28 PM »

These are games which contain a fantasy element; even in some cases games containing vampires of werewolves, those which would not be more at home in the Fur & Fangs section, in that the vampire games in the above section are those in which the focus, or high-light of the setting is the vampires or werewolves themselves, while in these games their existence is a more incidental factor, even if they are central to the plot. Expect to see a mixture of games here regarding both pre-existing settings, for example I am a fan of WFRP and would like to do a role-play set in its world, as well as original settings. The focus, by and large, will be high fantasy of the darker variety, and especially contemporary, or urban fantasy. That said this is such an inclusive genre there is no telling what I might add in time. I hope eventually to place some Arthurian themed role-plays up here, but as it stands am having difficulty thinking of a plot so feel free to PM me if you have an idea you would like to work on.
If I do post something original as opposed to a role-play set within a pre-existing fandom it is likely to be more of a historical game with some kind of minor twist as I do not plan to post anything here which a stranger would have difficulty coming to grips with. In other words involved fantasy worlds of my own making are not something you will see. That said, while I do have my own fantasy setting should I ever feel inclined to create a game within it I will create a new section in which to place it so as to limit confusion and provide background information in the header. Further for games set in pre-existing worlds, whether from games, books, or anything else I will try to include links to resources, or useful information for those unfamiliar with the setting so long as it is not the sort of thing that would require an epic effort on your part.

Currently Closed

This game involves a historical setting - the vampires being supernatural as opposed to those in my own setting - although I am not tied to any one era or location especially, and am happy to take suggestions. Also to give due credit this setting (the house, and in a very small part the story) was inspired by the short story The Rats In The Walls. I may eventually add a second chapter exploring the perspective of the antagonists in this version. The theme is mystery, horror and suspense as the lead female finds herself married to a sinister figure she does not understand who - despite her attempts to convince herself he is merely a rogue who swindled her father on his death bed - seems to know more about the home she has spent her entire life in than she does. It will soon become clear to her he has a purpose in Exham beyond simply enjoying the scant remains of the de la Poer fortune, and lording it over the district as its new master. Depending on how you envision the main character this story is likely to start off non-con, but either way I forsee much bruised pride as she is essentially made to wait on her husband as if she were a maid.

        It was held to have been one of the most beautifully constructed places in the nation, yet for one-hundred and seventy five years Exham Priory has lain in ruins. It was built atop an older Saxon pile which, like the priory itself, had once been a splendid place. It too had been destroyed in some fashion however just as the even older Roman temple whose remains formed its foundations had, after a brief life, become a withered husk. It has always been a place of ill rumour. Some who had explored the ruins deepest cellars spoke of rocky vaults beneath, and though such things were hardly to be thought impossible even more wild tales of pre-Roman stonework in those depths, scratched with dedications to some nameless god the Romans knew not, were casually dismissed. Such was the stuff of illiterate superstition after all. Yet even if the villagers who spoke these tales are mostly illiterate they, unlike the erudite and neatly ordered minds who laughed their words to scorn, are less concerned with words on paper, and more so with what they see and understand, and some both see and understand the priory. For in Exham, in the villages hard by the ruins, it is a childhood game to test one another’s nerve by venturing among its dark ruins. Yet every now and then a young explorer will go missing. Some returning with thrilled tales about what was found while they were lost amid the cellars, but - every now and then - a young explorer will go missing, and stay missing. Of that small number who disappear some are found a day later , or a week. Some are never found. Of those who are no useful tale can be told. They will not speak at all, and make no sound but to cry. Most then throw themselves into the frigid lake not far from the village, or off the wind-blown cliffs atop which the priory itself is perched.
        Walter de la Poer, the seventh Baron Exham, thought little of such rumours, and thought the standing architecture, and strong construction of its vast foundations more inviting than terrible. He remade the priory for the fourth time though it cost a fortune. It became one of the finest private homes in the country however and his families residence. It pleased him to show up his rival, Giles Du Lac, who had recently built a new estate himself at great expense. Unfortunately from the day they moved into the priory on his family seemed almost to have fallen under a curse as the Baron began to loose money and influence hand-over-fist. This could however have been explained by the redoubled efforts of his determined rival, Gilles Du Lac, to sabotage him in every way possible as he was a cunning man, and apt to such underhanded malice. Walter nevertheless saw how he might raise his fortunes. His daughter and only child, newly come of age, had grown into a young woman of such supernal charm, and sweet temperament whose almost angelic tenderness was coupled with a sharp mind, and beauty that left her with a legion of blindly smitten men who would have killed to be attended by her gentle favours. Walter knew her marriage would gain him much influence. It was after all up to him to select the suitor, and many of the men vying for her hand were fabulously wealthy or high born, but this all unravelled. One of her suitors was a none other than Gilles Du Lac’s own son, Antoine, and despite her fathers fury over this she found him handsome and charming, and she saw him often. However one day she returned home alone after walking out to see him, planning to stroll the gardens in his company, her maids nowhere to be found, and her clothes half-shredded, held on only by her trembling hands, her hair spun with twigs and dirt, while her skin was a thatch of bleeding scratches as though the hysterical girl had been ravaged by some vicious beast.
        She could but gabble deliriously that, while walking with her maids in the gardens, waiting for her beau she had heard the sound of soft padding behind her as of a large hunting dog trotting along. One of her maids had turned back, and died in that instant, her hair turning shock-white, her face a pallid mask of terror. They had run, but the temptation to glance back had been too strong, and her last maid had glanced back and fallen dead even as she clutched her skirts and ran on more swiftly. She came upon a shed, but the door was locked, and she heard a low growl behind her. Unable to resist she had turned, and seen no more than two red eyes which had blazed like fire before all had gone back, and she knew no more until she collapsed sobbing on the threshold of Exham Priory itself. Needless to say Walter refused to believe this, and when it came to light later that her virtue had been taken he flew into a rage, and accused Antoine, Gilles son, of raping her, calling him a base animal. Yet Antoine maintained his innocence, and possessed a strong alibi, while Walter’s own daughter refused to incriminate him, and would not change her testimony. That her father did not believe her coupled with the stress of her attack left her bedridden, and she refused to leave her chambers at all. Her condition only worsened when the rumour of her shame was whispered far and wide, and one by one her many suitors all seemed to fade out of her life.
        Soon after his daughter took to her rooms Walter was struck by a terrible disease, yet he was a strong willed man, and he held out for many months. He was determined to marry her to a worthy heir, and would compel her by force if necessary. He simply refused to die until he knew Antoine Du Lac and she would never be wed. It was a fruitless search though when she sabotaged his efforts for despite her beauty the lady de la Poer had become melancholy in her isolation, and lived in fear of what strange terror had come upon her, growing both sickly pale and thin, while her mood grew dark and she scorned all men but Antoine, whom she was forbidden to even speak of. She was hurt that her own father had not believed what she had seen with her own eyes. Not even after the twisted bodies of the maids were found months later, rotting in a moss pit three miles from the garden. The man who found them said they had been partly eaten, but this was called a wild fancy - he was confused by their decomposed condition it was claimed - and the bodies were burnt before others could inspect them. Thus months later even as the eleventh baron of Exham, Walter de la Poer, lay on his deathbed his only daughter, his only child, was still unmarried. One final time the young Antoine begged leave of him to marry his daughter, and Walter cursed, and spat at his feet, howling at him to get out. Rising despite his illness he sat up among his sweat-stained sheets and cursed the God he deemed responsible for the ill-fortune which had befallen them. When his daughter herself knelt by his side then, leaving her rooms for the first time in many months, and begged for his blessing upon a union which would come about regardless when he died - even if she had to give up her title - Walter swore instead that he would see her married to the devil himself before he let her wed Antoine.
        Later that very evening, during a fierce storm, an incandescent bolt of lighting sheared through the night air and shivered the mast upon which the de la Pore crest flew, and as the flag itself floated to the ground the wind died, but the rain beat down harder. Another flash of evanescence lit the sky, and three great booms echoed through Exham Priory. A black coach had drawn up on the causeway, and a sinister shadow stood at the great doors which he had struck three times.
        This shadowy figure was led inside when he demanded to see the Baron of Exham only after his coachmen revealed a princely sum which he offered as the bride-price for his daughters hand. After he strode into Walter’s presence he recited a long list of his noble antecedents, impressing on the august deeds and auspiciousness of his family name, calling himself a prince, ‘… South of here,’ however was all he said when the baron asked where his home lay, seeing he was no native, yet it discouraged further questions when an attendant spoke of the princely sum his coachmen were transporting into the priory even now.
        He demanded the hand of Walter’s daughter then although the baron said they should meet first, and be properly introduced, while his daughter stood by helplessly. Watching in a state of shock that her father - feverish and half mad with pain - could be ready to tie her future to this unsettling stranger.
        ‘We have met briefly, once before-’ he had glanced at her with this, ‘She will not remember,’ throwing herself down by her father as he spoke she plead suddenly a final time for him to relent. She told him even if she could not marry Antoine that she would take any other man as her husband, but for this stranger.
        Walter only called for the priest who oversaw their small chapel though. He meant to watch himself before he died so he might know it had been done.

This game is set in the Warhammer Fantasy world (a darker, high fantasy setting with pre-Renaissance technology and culture) although it involves original characters. My own character is from a story I am writing in the Cafe which you may read if interested, though it is still in progress. A detailed knowledge of the setting itself is not necessary as I can provide the requisite (small) amount of background info and maps for all locations. Aside from the minor points listed below regarding her history (which are open to negotiation) the female lead is a blank canvas. The plot should centre around an almost episodic series of fairly standard swashbuckling fantasy adventures in various exotic locales. This one could get steamy quite quickly however that is not a necessity, and any genuine affection - as opposed to simple attraction - should take time. There is room for much competition, sarcastic put-downs, and sexy sparring, but also for drama, rescues, and even a little angst.

        Kalix Varketh was born in Naggaroth, in Har Ganeath, on death night. The very night his father, a wealthy merchant prince, was ruined utterly and his family all killed or enslaved. Taken as a child to the temple of Khaine Kalix survived the secret trials, the tests applied to all such male infants stolen on death night, and from the age of three months was trained as an assassin thereafter. He slept among the dead in the bowels of the temple beneath the sacrificial chambers, where fading screams impelled by slow torture, and death rattles at the last were his lullabies. Trained to use hatred as a weapon in its most focused form he became a killer nonpareil, but beyond this, such things the learned know of all Druichii assassins, little is known of his past. Save that after more than a millennia of service he fell in love with a Witch-Elf, one of the handmaidens of Khaine, and for this, for profaning one of his chosen brides, Kalix is held accursed by that dark God. He was forced to flee his home as well, and earned the enmity of his entire race for that deed. Few know how he managed to escape Naggaroth and make his way to the Old World, but he had been seen on rare occasions since, a shadowy figure working as an assassin, performing tasks for almost any party. Even if they knew how to contact him however few would retain his services as he is always prepared to accept a higher bid from his victim, that he might turn his blades on his employer instead. It is rumoured all that remains alive within him now is the desire to hone his skills and kill.
        It is even claimed by some that this mysterious figure deliberately allowed himself to become enslaved in the Far Eastern lands of Cathay by the shadowy adepts of Clan Eshin - members of the subterranean rat-like race whose civilization is said to spread beneath the cities of man which it copies in its own twisted fashion - though he knew it would mean decades of torment and slave-labour. It is true, and he did, but in time his masters became aware of his skills, and he struck a Faustian pack to train ten of their finest in the killing-arts of the Druichii in exchange for being taught their own secrets. For Kalix it was double victory as in teaching outsiders the secrets he had learned in Khaine’s most holy temple he flaunted his defiance and hatred for not only his former kin, but the God himself, once more. This only served to make him more deadly.
        By the year 1979 of the Imperial calendar he had spent five hundred years in the Old World, honing his skills and killing for pay. Always working alone - as Kalix simply cannot resist the opportunity to test his skills against other assassins when he does meet or come across them - until 2302, a time of war and mass upheaval, when offered a particular job, to seek out and regain a number of artefacts held in various obscure locations across the old world, for an outrageous sum. His employer, aware of Kalix’ predilection for turning on his benefactors if offered enough gold, has remained in the shadows. Thus far he has dealt with Kalix entirely through representatives. Thus why he wishes the cult destroyed is a mystery, but Kalix has never been one to care much for such details in the past. What he certainly will care about is that his employer has not awarded him an exclusive contract.  He discovered this after entering the beseiged city of Erengrad - slipping through the attacking forces camp in the night - in disguise to meet his final contact, a man who would tell him where to seek the first artefact in that city itself, but the single ship which arrived at the docks instead turned out to be carrying what, from afar, looked to be a young Imperial noblewoman. She was in fact an assassin herself, and it is her task to ensure Kalix does not turn on her employer, while - the man accompanying her explained - it is his to ensure she does not steal, or use any of the artefacts herself. This is because she is a vampire, and the objects they are to reclaim would be of much interest to a being such as her.
        Her reputation is no less formidable than his, and no less mysterious. She was an Imperial noble from a wealthy and respected family who, luckily or unluckily, attracted the attentions of another high-born lady who was in fact a Lahmian vampire. The later became so infatuated she turned her by force, but the young woman was so horrified by what she had become she escaped her new patron, and was never taught to come to terms with the gifts of her blood or the history of her bloodline. Over the centuries however she discovered the former herself, and she put her newfound abilities to use in various theatres, assuming many identities over the years, but always hunting criminals and killers to slake her thirst, unable to take innocent life, while as an assassin she exclusively accepted marks who, in her opinion, seemed deserving of death. She has always worked alone herself and is no more pleased at the thought of working with another than is Kalix, though she has no idea of his true nature, never guessing her partner might be anything other than a human. Just as he is ignorant of hers.

« Last Edit: September 12, 2011, 09:14:35 AM by dad savage »

Offline dad savageTopic starter

Re: Contemporary, Historical, Vampires, Fantasy, One-Shots & Collaborations
« Reply #4 on: September 13, 2011, 12:48:29 PM »

Occasionally I will think of a novel manner in which two people might be thrust together, or drawn to one another, but have little interest in their story beyond the tension leading up to, and their first series of romantic encounters. I must admit however I am as likely to simply write out such scenarios myself, either privately or for the café as I am to role-play them as I do not generally see the point of playing out porn-without-plot, but even with that said my 'porn without plot,' tends to still have at least a little plot. It is rare I play such games however since not only do I simply find it easier to write out smut if I feel inclined to create it, but I do not feel comfortable role-playing intense, sex-focused games with people until I trust them enough to know they totally respect the line between themselves and their character. Some people make this very plain about themselves, and you do not need to know them to see it, but with others it can be more ambiguous, and for that reason I cannot approach gaming in this style with the same inclusiveness as I do more in-depth games. Do not think this means we cannot play if I do not know you as long as you do appreciate the difference between the in, and out of character world. Even if it is not made plain in your profile, on's and off's, etc., a short discussion is often enough to discern such things. Also please appreciate this is not me being exclusive in an elitist sense, but a question of respect for the woman with who I am involved (if any mods happen to be reading this she is not a member of E); for people I know none of this is an issue naturally. That said I do have other stipulations for those wishing to pick up such scenes which really just come down to whether I can find a partner who I think appreciates the focus of the encounter, though I will endeavour to make it clear, and their availability. Also, should you feel any of these ideas has long-term potential, even if only pending certain alterations, feel free to suggest as much. This of course leads on to the next part of this thread, which will follow any one shots I have listed. Lastly due to the nature of this section my game write-ups will often be quite sparse compared to the others, and rarely include graphics unless the game is inspired by an image or I wish a particular look for one, or both of the characters.

This scenario (based on a story I wrote on commission some time ago) is unique among my one-shots in that it represents a series of one-shots as opposed to a single scene, and contains no particular female or male lead. It is up to you whether you wish to play it out as a series of episodes, swapping characters for each (though I would recommend playing out one scene first to see whether you enjoy it, or focus on one pair. Ages, and plot are negotiable (I can raise the age of the male characters should you wish, or potentially even swap the setting to a college campus to raise them further) and the female characters are all blank slates. This is almost pure smut, so be warned although in spite of that I am personally more interested in the psychological angle - coercion and the taboo age differences - all of which can be taken very slowly and realistically. Lastly the unique set up of this game means it cannot be 'taken,' in the normal sense (unless someone is playing it through entirely) so even though the Kelly and Jared scenario is unavailable the game is still open. There are also additional scenarios which I have not written out - those detailed represent only the first encounters between the various 'couples,' - though do not think by that this game has a fixed plot. Like all of my games such things are negotiable.

        In almost every high-school there is a popular, successful group, often jerks, who seem to get everything they want. A kind of school-yard aristocracy. Well this school is essentially no different. It differs slightly only in that when one of the group’s members finds himself introduced into the wonderful world of coercion, blackmail and extortion he gets to thinking that, really, he does not actually have everything he wants, but apropos of the former introduction all of that is about to change, and not just for him, but for his friends as well. In fact they all become quite determined to continue pushing the envelope until they do, literally, have everything they want. The problem with wants however is what seems enough one day quickly becomes passé, and then you end up wanting more. Things which, in the back of your mind, you always knew you wanted, but which you also knew were wrong to take.

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
Jared waited in his room for his step-sister. She had promised him something that would make him think twice about getting rid of her; he had the power to now, after all, and wanted too. She had only been living with him for three months, it should probably be noted, so he did not see her as family, and she was so much older than him they had nothing in common. He resented her, and especially the way she breathed up his air, and took up space in his house. In truth most of this resentment came down to the fact that she was neither unattractive nor shy about it which, while it had been fun at first after three months, for a teenager gripped in the berserk throws of raging adolescence lusting after anything and everything even vaguely female in shape with unutterably obscene intensity, it was like being forced to eat a bottomless bucket of sand with some sadist standing by offering a cool glass of water, but only if you can finish. So while he did like her in a rub-up-against-you-in-a-crowded-train kind of way he did not like her in an honest, bare-your-soul kind of way, and he had had enough and wanted her gone. His father was no fan of hers either, and sadly enough for her (although Jared thought it hilarious) her mother (who would have done anything to stay married to Jared‘s, rather wealthy, father) was now of the same mind. So when Jared discovered she had stolen a cash-advance from one of his father’s credit cards to pay for college materials (which her parents refused to help out with saying she needed to pay her own way) after loosing a job he decided to tell her first. He had wanted, mostly, to see the look on her face. Plus their parents were out of town for a week and as she was ostensibly in charge Jared thought it might flip the power dynamic, and it had. She had been his slave, and it had been hilarious. He even made her get up and change TV channels by hand despite that, at the time, the remote had been sitting in his lap. He had never before realized how genuinely satisfying, deep down in a special part of his inner-most soul, it could be to make someone you hated do humiliating, menial tasks. The best part however had been her face when he had said after a few days, despite all she had done, that he was getting rid of her anyway.
         None of this was amusing for Kelly. She was, in fact, quite desperate. Desperate because she could potentially end up in jail (although she thought it unlikely however even a fine would be catastrophic given how her college might react to a criminal record) or, at any rate, genuine legal trouble. It had been threatened numerous times when money had been found missing in the past, her step-father saying if it turned she had taken it he would press charges, but he had never possessed proof. She had only done it once, and honestly believed Jared himself responsible for the other instances, but all would be blamed on her. There was zero doubt. It killed her to think even her own mother probably would not stand up for her and that she was at least going to be kicked out. She knew that because her mother had been pushing for her to move out, and would use this as an excuse to make her. Thus, taking all this into account, Kelly was making a last, desperate bid to convince Jared to relinquish the evidence he had; a screenshot taken of card details which she had saved on her computer (that he had even been snooping around in her laptop, alone, would have been bad enough) which he had sent it to his and hosted it online with password protection so that even if she smashed his hard-drive it would still exist. Thus she had made her promise, but she really did not have anything to give him.
         Kelly glanced in a mirror above her bed-stand, and examined her own worried reflection. It gave her an idea, but it was an idea which immediately caused her to begin frantically attempting to think of something else. Only there was nothing else.

        Well Jared and his two best friends Chris and Kurt have never been all that concerned with wrong or right. The later explicitly so, but then again he does live in an awful neighbourhood and his mother is a famous slacker who’s almost never even home and so most people are willing to overlook the fact that he already has a record, despite being a sophomore, or at least they are until they meet him. Then they find out why he has a reputation as a bully and a preternaturally aggressive little thug. The school’s music teacher just cannot seem to see that though and is constantly reaching out to him in that she worries about his home life. He finds this humiliating and has been looking for a way to turn the tables for some time. Jared facilitates him in this. Meanwhile Chris, the last member of this charming trio, was perhaps a little over-eager about getting in on the action himself. A miscalculation with one of the school’s cheerleaders saw him facing court. Even so his wealthy family supplied the best possible legal counsel (a female lawyer naturally to aid in swaying the juries sympathies) and given the victims reputation is should not have been a problem and nobody even expected it to go to trial. Had it there would have been a problem though in that Chris’ own counsel found the arrogant young man so appalling she attempted to sabotage his defence by leaking certain details to the accuser. This would probably have worked, but fortunately for him he found out before too much damage was done. Or unfortunately depending on whose view you take. Conspiring against ones own client is a serious crime after all. There is a lot some people would do rather than face such a charge.

No More Heroes

        This one is exceedingly simple - short and sweet as it were - a young woman, perhaps of the professional persuasion, is enjoying a holiday during which she promised herself she would obtain a tan such as might generate an enjoyable degree of envy back home. She works very hard, and as a result is quite happy to spend the entirely of her vacation lying on a beach with nothing to do. This goes perfectly despite that the locals do not seem especially friendly, and for that reason she takes the advice of someone in her hotel to try a certain beach which tends to be all but deserted. The solitude is wonderfully relaxing, and the only other person there is a young man who seems to spend the entire day surfing. Before returning to her hotel she always takes a brief swim to cool off, and - unfortunately for her - this routine has been marked well. The surfer, who hates tourists and all but considers the beach his private property, takes down a no-swimming sign one morning prior to her arrival which warned of a dangerous rip resulting in her being swept out. If not for his intervention she might well have drowned, and even so the ordeal has left her exhausted to the point where he must all but carry her back to her car. Only when they arrive at the deserted car park however does she realize he intends to be repaid for "saving her life," and, of course, she knows nothing about the sign herself...

Generally speaking when there is a scene, or scenario I believe might be interesting to play, but cannot develop to the point where it would be suitable for inclusion in any of the above threads, that is to say I have a character, or a potentially enjoyable dynamic, relationship or situation which might result in an enjoyable game, yet cannot think of a concordant story with which to provide any character-external source of drama in the instance where the characters themselves are not compelling enough that their day-to-day lives would make a good story I will generally include it here. Also at times I will think of a story I wish to do, a certain type of adventure, struggle, discovery, etc., within a certain type of world or genre, yet I am either unable to think what sort of characters would suit it or, in the case where I have already envisioned as much, I simply cannot think how to include a potential romance. For me this is not a big deal as I enjoy non-adult, as well as adult story telling, but it appears to me games attract more interest when there is the possibility of erotica, a romance, or some kind of relationship between the two protagonists. In other words this section is entirely about collaboration. For that reason my normal specifications, as listed in my O/O's, regarding time can be relaxed substantially, largely because anyone PMing me about a game listed here is assumed, on my part, to be interested in what can be made of it than in rushing to set things up prior to playing with all speed. If that is not the case however please let me know

The Magician

Ideally set in Victorian London, I envision this being something like a cross between the film The Prestige and the recent Sherlock Holmes film. The magic itself I would like to keep very subtle so there will always be a certain ambiguity as to whether or not it is just plain trickery. What I am stuck on and would love to hammer out with someone is who is the mysterious group from whom he learned to do what he can do, why he left them in the first place, and what will happen once they go after our heroes. Also instead of what I have another suggestion - this is not to say you might not have your own - might be that she is also a member of that group, and keeping an eye on him in secret.

        She is the daughter of one of England’s most famous gentleman illusionists, and has never seen a trick she did not regard as transparent in its methodology. It was a world she had thought herself thoroughly sick of, indeed it was one of the reasons why she absconded from her own rather privileged family in order to pursue her dream of becoming an acclaimed actress. The dream did not come easily however and when, after a string of brutal rejections, she is presented with a choice of not paying her rent, suffering the humiliation of returning home or auditioning for the role of a stage assistant to some nonentity known as Felix Schaeffer, with the ridiculous stage-name of Dante the Warlock, she begrudgingly assents to the latter. At the dilapidated old theatre where the auditions are held however she is astounded to discover his illusions, despite having little stage appeal, are beyond indecipherable. She is also rather taken on a more personal level with the charismatic figure performing them despite his enigmatic nature. Thus she becomes determined to win the job and informs him of his works limited appeal, explaining that she can tell him how to impress a wider audience, although she does not tell him why, should he give her the job. He agrees however much to her confusion he instead asks her to advise him on keeping his audience insignificant. She is certain that as part of the show she will discover his methodology, but is frustrated when nothing of the sort occurs, and determined to discover how his illusions are performed she decides to steal a glimpse at his notes. When she find they consist of nothing but irrelevant sketches it begins to dawn on her that the reason his illusions are indecipherable is because they are not illusions at all, and she realizes that for some reason he is intentionally remaining obscure despite having the potential to draw incomparable acclaim. Desirous of fame she therefore begins by way of her advice, ostensibly to limit his audience, to instead lead him into creating a show which will bring almost instant, and universal celebrity, while attempting to coax him into teaching her his skills. Unfortunately this new found fame attracts the attention of certain shadowy individuals, a secret society of which Felix was once a member, who do not take kindly to their methods being given so wide an audience.