I'm glad you finally found that pack of smokes.
Do you just think I run on whiskey and cigarettes or something? I'm not Ernest Hemingway.
I'm glad you finally found that pack of smokes.
I've read the post. I know you're not.
Mwah.
<Snipped quote by Hillan>
Yeah. Ernest was a minimalist while I am a maximalist. Good catch.
I wish RPG had a "love" button for that sheet.
Stein's clearly trying to take my position of best character proposal banner with this obviously mediocre attempt.
That looks really fucking good, Stein. I like it.
<Snipped quote by Hillan>
Yeah. Ernest was a minimalist while I am a maximalist. Good catch.
Hey everyone,
Over the past little while there's been some concerns about the behavior of the group, including the GMs. I've been on the defensive putting out some small fires here and there but it'd be nice to be on the offense for a little bit and take the time to remind everyone that this is a text medium. That said, tone and intent don't always translate through the screen even if you use italics, quotes or lower case letters.
Going forward, I'm all for having fun and a light ribbing here and there but unfortunately taking the piss out of one person repeatedly becomes a bit too close to bullying. We're all in this together and presumably have the same goals to see this through.
So let's not drive each other away, I want more posts damnit!
Don't be a dick.
This has been a public service announcement from the Board of Truth.
Hey everyone,
Over the past little while there's been some concerns about the behavior of the group, including the GMs. I've been on the defensive putting out some small fires here and there but it'd be nice to be on the offense for a little bit and take the time to remind everyone that this is a text medium. That said, tone and intent don't always translate through the screen even if you use italics, quotes or lower case letters.
Going forward, I'm all for having fun and a light ribbing here and there but unfortunately taking the piss out of one person repeatedly becomes a bit too close to bullying. We're all in this together and presumably have the same goals to see this through.
So let's not drive each other away, I want more posts damnit!
Hey everybody! Doc's back!
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A LV A L E N T I N E C A M P B E L L ⊠P O P S T A R / G O D ⊠U. K. ⊠T H E P A N T H E O NC H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:"When youâre as good as I am?This is humble."My vision of Baal is a god trying to find himself in this new Earth. He hails from an alternate version of Earth where heâs one of a Pantheon of gods. In this (also modern-day) Earth, select gods from every religion are reincarnated every 90 years. They are loved. They are feared. They are hated. Though his body was born human, once Valentine Campbell had his Ascension, his body and soul was irreparably melded and shifted to a being of divine energy and power. A god.
However, there was a caveat to his home Earth. Each pantheon of gods only exists for a maximum of around 2 to 3 years. After that, the incarnation of that god ceases to exist. Baal was at peace with that. It was part of the cycle. What wasnât part of the cycle, however, was The Great Darkness. A formless mass of, well, divine darkness. It held sentience and pursued his Pantheon back on his Earth.
Even with the might of Gods, there was only so much they could do. It came to the inevitable battle it always does in these epics. He was the oldest of the incarnated gods, a warrior. Of course he soldiered up first. Maybe it was Inana, missing him. Or even Persephone. Playing though his mind, their memories blurring his judgment.
But he held the vanguard. The Norn swore sheâd finally developed something, along with Woden. Something to hold it off, but it was untested. It didnât matter. Baal took the device from her. He took a pill blessed by Dionysus, pressed it under his tongue. Baal sank the hooks of the octagonal device over his left chest. No better time to try it.
Of course it didnât work. Of course his power overloaded the device. It exploded. There were three things Baal could remember before sucking sensation of Nothing took him over:The sizzle of well-done flesh. The Mass of Darkness cooling the flames on his legs, like ice slush on a fevered body. And a prickle under his tongue, light shooting from his mouth and enveloping his body.
And then he was here. In this Earth. No oblivion, no Great Darkness. Heâs retained all of the benefits of his world, and as far as he can tell, none of the consequences. Being a god, Baal doesnât lose track of time. His goodlihood and life had been down to days when he faced The Great Darkness. Itâs been 3 weeks since then, and heâs fine. Now, heâs trying to find a place in this world. Or an escape. He hasnât deemed whether this Earth is worthy of his presence, especially considering now he doesnât have that cumbersome 2 year expiration looming over him.
This Earth might be good for him, while he figures out how to return. Thereâs no Ananke. No Persephone. Sakhmet. Fucking Baphomet. No memory of Inanna. Thereâs something new about this Earth. So many memories to make. So many new people to worship him.
Baal is looking to be worshiped like he was on his Earth. That is his primary focus.C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:I like the idea of exploring a character that rightfully has the mentality of a god. In his world he is a god. I think he carries more legitimacy to godliness than say, Thor. But past that, I like the idea of a god whoâs going through the human trials of being accepted by society as well as the human trials of grieving over the loss of a loved one and how does a god cope with that? Iâd ultimately like for Baal to fall in love with this Earth and even potentially desire to protect its denizens because of how they worship him in a hero capacity.C H A R A C T E R N O T E S: (WIP)Baal is arrogant, aggressive and minces no words about it. It doesn't come from a place of malice, simply from the knowledge of being a god. Knowing he's the best.S A M P L E P O S T:Issue 1.01 â Building Churches in the WildThe Everglades, Florida:In Baalâs defense, heâd only raised an eyebrow when asked the first time. The doe-eyed young woman behind the hotel counter appeared winded, while other resort staff bustled around the marbled lobby. It was busy, she was flustered. She was forgiven for her mistake.
These thoughts beguiled him, buzzing a smile on his lips, as he took in his current surroundings once more. Around 300 meters of cleared swampish area. Mixture of mudded sinkholes and tufts of grass and dirt. Discarded portions of rusted cars litter the area, half embedded in the ground. A modest shack, complete with sagging porch roof and dull wood. The metal roof splashed with rust of a large shed sat just beyond the shack. Immediately surrounding him, 8 men with various guns trained on him. Grime mixed with their faces. Their hair was matted with sweat and dirt. They reeked of bayou and sweat. Each set of eyes stayed focused on Baal; grimaces chiseled into their faces. No matter. Whether eyes watched him or not, the outcome would be the same. But he could enjoy the performance leading up to his debut.
Squeaking back and forth on the shackâs front porch by the shift of his weight, was the source of Baalâs amusement: a mortal doing an apt job of entertaining him. The mortal paced and stroked the bush of his beard. The creak of his footsteps on the sagging porch mixed with the continuous chorus of cicadas in heat. He prattled on, something about power. Making archaic points that Baal taught his worshippers a millennia ago.
ââŠyâsee, when you got power like this,â The mortal continued, gesturing to the clearing and men surrounding Baal, âland to keep, men followinâ yer word nâ such. Well, ya canât let certain things slide.â
He was looking at Baal now. The wiry mass of overused muscle, wrapped in sagging skin the color of a newborn babe. This man spoke to Baal of power like a child spoke of philosophy heâs learned that day in school. It was adorable. Endearing, really. Baal didnât hide his smile. Maybe this trip wouldnât be so unamusing after all. âPower and respect,â this sagging-man said, âthey go hand nâ hand. You get what I mean? How do I keep the respect of my Bayou Boys if I let your disrespect pass unchecked?âThe second time, the restaurant host might have been injured. A small myriad of sparks had tumbled down Baalâs arm. Even reached his clenched fist. That doddling fool was audacious in his slack-jawed gaze. And Baalâstill relented, extending a patience to the thin-lipped pissant for which he was not known nor worshiped for. It was something Inanna would want him to do.
Baal glanced skyward. Pressed his hands together in front of him, looking up at the cloudless sky. Not yet. He met the manâs gaze again and said nothing.
âNot one for pleading, is you?â The man asked, leaning on his rifle. Baal stifled a snort. Pleading? What use did he have for that? âGuess I can respect that,â the man continued, âYâall ainât never been the regretful type.â
The mortal was entertaining Baal less. His actions were traipsing from entertaining into being a chore for Baal to sit through. He had an appointment to keep and unfortunately, the flow of time was one area he did not preside over.
âNow I ainât gonna ask why you came here. Donât much really care. Gotta give it to you though, walking through that marsh and road, slick dressed as you are. You had a mission, didntja, boy?â
The smirk on Baalâs face flatlined. His brows knitted together.
âYâhurt my son. Broke that arm clean with intent, now. Thatâs my blood, and I damn sure canât let that pass. You fuck with a powerful man, you bound to get fucked yourself.â
Baal rolled his eyes. The novelty of the ape had long since expired. He focused on the metal shed, trying to discern inside.
âYou will look at me when Iâm addressing you!â The man shouted, making a quick gesture. The 8 men surrounding Baal raised their weapons. âClearly, you donât understand who I am. I run these glades. Every bubble that damn swamp pushes forth, I know. Ainât a damn drug deal, arms trade, dead spouse or dead whore that goes down here that I donât know about.â He shouldered his rifle now. âAinât a single marshal in the area whoâll find or look fer ya, not if I say so. You better take note. I rule this area.â
The dull sound of an overhead plane brought Baalâs eyes to the powder blue of the sky again. Not yet.
The man raised his gun, firing two shots in the air. Two birds struck the ground. The man roared. âIâm the Bayou King.â He pointed a finger at Baal. âSo now, before you die, I wanna know: who the fuck are you?âBut this third time, Baal wouldâwell, put simply: he could only be so lenient before his judgment requires a searing swiftness. Baal didnât announce himself.
So, Baal didnât blame the stick of Florida humidity, bringing the scent of hot moisture and the subtle sweetness of decay. Nor the ruin brought to his Italian loafers. The audacity of this Bayou King, though grating, didnât hold the blame of ultimately fueling his actions. He blamed himself and his leniency. These mortals had to be taughtâand the first lesson was always the hardest.
âWell?â the Bayou King asked. A series of clicks and metal jingles fill the air. All the weapons cocked in succession. âWho the fuck are you to anger the Bayou King?â
Baal looked at this Bayou King."A god."Electricity bubbled over his eyes, crackling over the edges.
Before the mortal to his left could grip the gun tighter, Baalâs grip had found the man's throat. Sparks played on Baalâs fingertips, lifting the small hairs around the other manâs neck. With a release and flex of his hand, Baal shot the man through the air. The overgrown hood of a car caught him and the muffled sound of cracking glass followed. Baal turned his gaze toward the false king.
âIâll give you one moment to lower that toy.â The sparks now danced up his arms, creating small tears in his suit jacket. âBut Iâm hoping you donât take it.â
âSupers and mutants donât scare me none!â The Bayou Kingâs men had taken a step back, guns still trained. âThese bullets drill through concrete. Ainât no prayer can save you. Ya dead now, boy. Any last words?â
Baal looked up, âFinally.â His shoulders dropped and hands splayed, âAll the planes are gone.â
7 bolts came down simultaneously. Striking each man, the bolts arced to Baal and the god pulled the mortals in to himâall before the speed of sound delivered crackling of the bolts. With a flick, he propelled them away. A boom of thunder rumbled as their bodies struck discarded metal pieces and weak cries softened the air.
Baal turned his head toward the Bayou King in time for two bullets to be stopped by his electrical field, their metal still red-hot, spinning in the air. The Bayou King lifted his gun again, only to be thrown off balance. The firearm pulled from his grip, sailing through the air to Baalâs outstretched hand. Baal was upon him now. The Bayou King raised his hand to stop the god. Baal grabbed it, hoisting the man into the air.
âYou were amusing, at first. You should know when your jester-like skills have reached their apex. Though, that Bayou King line will always make me chuckle.â Baal ran a jolt through the manâs arm, evoking a weak cry. His vocal cords stuttered from electrical interference.
âNow, Mr. Bayou King. Iâve a question for you:â Baal flung the man from the porch onto a clearing of grass. âWhatâs a king to a god?â
Before he could stand, four pillars of electrical energy erupted from the ground, bathing the entire clearing in a purifying light. The man was hunched in the crater aftermath.
Baal shrugged. âSimply a servant whose forgotten his place.â
He pointed a finger at the false king. An arc of lightning found its way between the manâs eyes, and he slumped over in the dirt. Lesson learned.
âNow,â Baal asked aloud, âwhere the hell is my car?âP O S T C A T A L O G:A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed arcs and stories.