Bork Lazer

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

T H E D A Y W A L K E R

B L A D E

---

^{_{E R I C B R O O K S ♦ F U L L T I M E V A M P I R E H U N T E R ♦ N E W O R L E A N S}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

---

^{"Vampires, man. Every motherfucker wants to ice-skate uphill to immortality these days."}

Blade's a man stuck on the bridge between two worlds: night and day. The living and the dead. Monster and man. Luckily, he's chosen the side that doesn't suck blood for a living and mostly flipped the bird to the side that does. For fifteen years, Blade's been waging a one-man war against the forces of the night, safeguarding humanity from becoming prey in his hometown of New Orleans. Yet, in spite of all his efforts, Blade finds himself weary from being shunned from both worlds as an outsider, either out of fear or perceived betrayal of his heritage.

P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ):

---

Blade will largely be a Stationary Character who will be the keystone in most of the supernatural happenings in this world. New Orleans, as well, is a rich environment that's rife with storytelling potential that will allow for a myriad of interactions amongst obscure and popular characters that anyone chooses to play. Blade's storylines will attract characters of a mystical, gritty persuasion and players who have a deep interest in urban fantasy.

Issue 1: THE SANGUINE SYMPHONY

A vampire's plot afoot in New Orleans as a string of seemingly unconnected murders all have one thing in common: paper white corpses drained of blood. Only there's a problem. It's on the eve of Mardi Gras and all local vampire sects, regardless of affiliation, declare truce with the human race for a period of two weeks. No feedings, no kidnappings, no interfering with the livestock. With a full out war between the vampire clans of New Orleans on the horizon, Eric must delve into the seedy streets of the parish and find the true murderer before eternal twilight falls over the Orient City.

Characters Involved: Blade/The Daywalker, Rag(wo)man, Morbius, A Whole Lot of Vampires

Number of Players: 2-3

SPECIAL ISSUE: BLOODLETTING

A vignette based narrative centered around Blade's days of yore as he vows vengeance against Deacon Frost and his master, Dracula.

Characters Involved: Blade/The Daywalker, Stick

Number of Players: Solo

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

---

Supporting Cast

Allies

- Rag(wo)man

- Hannibal King

- Anna Whistler

- Stick

- Kirk Langstrom

Enemies

- Vlad Tepes Dracula

- Baronness Blood

- Deacon Frost

- Morbius

- The Cult of Chthon

- Vampires in general

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

The Locker Pt 1

The vampire is a creature of habit.

That was a lesson Hannibal taught him on his first proper hunt. That even monsters still had their routines. If vampires only cared about devouring humankind in the most efficient way possible, most of the country would be overrun in a couple of months by hordes of ghouls and newly Turned. No, instead, they had peeves and wonts about how they went about it. Traditions and rituals were passed down from each new generation of vampire and with every passing century, as humanity progressed, so did their palette. The Nosferati had entire ‘vinyards’ dedicated to fermenting blood into red wine. The Adze preferred congealing the blood into curds. The Yuki Onna adopted the tradition of ikizukiri - drinking humans slowly while they were still alive.

It was that singular characteristic, that weakness which had been exploited by better vampire slayers than him for centuries. So, when the trail led to yet another fishmonger this month, Eric almost could feel Hannibal berating him mentally for not spotting the obvious yet again and believing that vampires were more rational than they actually were.

It was the break of afternoon in New Orleans, when the sun began to nest in the Pontchartrain. Its orange rays bled down the dappled surface, the skyline bruised a hazy violet. It was at this hour when the French Quarter started to become alive, beating with the rhythm of jazz and dance - the oxygen of the Orient pumping and flowing through the streets from Chalamette to Jefferson. Yet, for where the music could not be heard, it casted shadows of silence across the Mississippi, where the brown waters bubbled and festered as it always had throughout the course of its thousand mile journey. And in that silence dwelled the coming night: ravenous in its zest for life.

He’d been tracking a pack of new arrivals for a month now - ten to twenty strong. They’d made their presence on the westside of Uptown, far away from the territories of other sects and the CBD where the NOPD strutted around like flamingos. The scent of the Great Lakes was smeared all over them - alpine smog and the dewy aroma of pine needles that followed in their wake. He pegged them as Krieger - maybe an Anchorite but most Anchorites preferred to stay in their wheat fields and little prariers. He had been watching them for the last few days, under the disguise of plain sight and from a fair distance as they skittered from the Garden District to the Quarter, playing themselves off as tourists. Eventually, that led him to where he was standing right now.

The Trawler was a squat olive drab block in a sparsely populated neighbourhood that was accommodated by overdebted university students and old-timers who were too fond of the past to move on. There was only a single pane of glass for the average onlooker to look at the product inside. Styrofoam boxes laid in an undignified pile near the front door with an overflowing trash bin as its neighbour, bones and fish guts attracting a horde of flies.

The bell jingled, alerting the shopkeeper who was busy wiping the counter with a stained dish cloth as Eric entered the shop.

“ Hey, buddy. Store’s closed. If you have an order, you’ll have to pick it up tomorrow.“ The fishmonger slapped his hand on the counter loudly to catch his attention. Eric ignored it, continuing to parse throughout the store, stopping to look at the rows of redfish and perch that were on display on beds of ice. Their rheumy eyes stared up at him, almost pleadingly. “ You awrite in the head, man? If you don’t leave here now, I’m going to have to call the cops on you.”

Eric turned around and lowered his shades to take a better look. He took a look at the plastic name tag on his apron, with “Barry” written in flowery cursive.

“ So….” Eric drawled as he walked closer towards Barry who was shrinking with each step he took. “ Would you believe me if I said this was a surprise inspection?”

Barry’s right shoulder shifted, warily reaching his left hand somewhere under the counter. He signed. It always seemed how things always seemed to end in his line of business.

“ Damn. That’s a shame.”

In one swift practiced motion, Barry pulled out the Mossenberg from underneath the register, barrel swiveling towards him. Were he dealing with any common human, the fishmonger would have put him in the morgue by now. Unfortunately for him, dhampir reflexes meant that the shopkeeper was moving like molasses. Eric shot his hand forward towards where Barry gripped the shotgun by the stock and jammed his thumb between the trigger and the index finger. The barrel was aimed at Eric’s forehead but all the fishmonger could feel was his index finger pushing down on the trigger uselessly. Eric ripped itout of the fishmonger’s hand and tossed it away, sending it clattering to the floor. The fishmonger’s face was now paper-white, his body frozen like a statue and paralyzed in fear.

“ You - you’re the - the - “

“ Don’t say another word.” Eric lifted the collar of the butcher’s smock upwards to reveal his neck. It was thick, succulent with flowing, rich blood that just begged to be - Eric paused and shook his head as he mustered his concentration, turning his neck to the other side. His nostrils flared in disgust when he saw a cherry-red brand on his collarbone.

“ Now, listen here and listen good, familiar.” He hissed with contempt, the tips of his canines reflected in the fishmonger’s eyes. “ You’re going to walk out of this shop and call emergency services 30 minutes from now. If you dare call the police after I let you go, I will take this shotgun and ram it so far up your ass that you’ll go through puberty again, do I make myself clear?”

“ I had no - you can’t - They’ll hunt me down.” The fishmonger blubbered, eyes fidgeting anxiously. “ They’ll kill me. My master - URK!”

His speech stopped mid-way courtesy of a steel vice grip around his throat . The vampire slayer lifted him up a inch of the ground, his feet dangling uselessly in the air.

“ Only thing you gotta worry ‘bout is me hunting your sorry ass down.” He continued on, impassive to how Barry’s face was slowly becoming more red by the second. “ Now, you promise to not associate yourself with any unholy heathens from now on?”

“ Urgh.”

“ You promise to not seek out immortality through immoral means?”

“ Urghuh.”

“ You promise to pray to your lord and savior, Jesus Christ?”

“ Urgh?”

“ Nah, I’m just shitting you with the last one.” The fishmonger was then unceremoniously dropped to the ground. As he laid on the ground, heaving for precious air, Eric craned his neck down towards him and looked at him as if he were an insect.

“Now, scram. I’ve got work to do. ”

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

Here's my part one of my writing sample.

The Locker Pt 1

The vampire is a creature of habit.

That was a lesson Hannibal taught him on his first proper hunt. That even monsters still had their routines. If vampires only cared about devouring humankind in the most efficient way possible, most of the country would be overrun in a couple of months by hordes of ghouls and newly Turned. No, instead, they had peeves and wonts about how they went about it. Traditions and rituals were passed down from each new generation of vampire and with every passing century, as humanity progressed, so did their palette. The Nosferati had entire ‘vinyards’ dedicated to fermenting blood into red wine. The Adze preferred congealing the blood into curds. The Yuki Onna adopted the tradition of ikizukiri - drinking humans slowly while they were still alive.

It was that singular characteristic, that weakness which had been exploited by better vampire slayers than him for centuries. So, when the trail led to yet another fishmonger this month, Eric almost could feel Hannibal berating him mentally for not spotting the obvious yet again and believing that vampires were more rational than they actually were.

It was the break of afternoon in New Orleans, when the sun began to nest in the Pontchartrain. Its orange rays bled down the dappled surface, the skyline bruised a hazy violet. It was at this hour when the French Quarter started to become alive, beating with the rhythm of jazz and dance - the oxygen of the Orient pumping and flowing through the streets from Chalamette to Jefferson. Yet, for where the music could not be heard, it casted shadows of silence across the Mississippi, where the brown waters bubbled and festered as it always had throughout the course of its thousand mile journey. And in that silence dwelled the coming night: ravenous in its zest for life.

He’d been tracking a pack of new arrivals for a month now - ten to twenty strong. They’d made their presence on the westside of Uptown, far away from the territories of other sects and the CBD where the NOPD strutted around like flamingos. The scent of the Great Lakes was smeared all over them - alpine smog and the dewy aroma of pine needles that followed in their wake. He pegged them as Krieger - maybe an Anchorite but most Anchorites preferred to stay in their wheat fields and little prariers. He had been watching them for the last few days, under the disguise of plain sight and from a fair distance as they skittered from the Garden District to the Quarter, playing themselves off as tourists. Eventually, that led him to where he was standing right now.

The Trawler was a squat olive drab block in a sparsely populated neighbourhood that was accommodated by overdebted university students and old-timers who were too fond of the past to move on. There was only a single pane of glass for the average onlooker to look at the product inside. Styrofoam boxes laid in an undignified pile near the front door with an overflowing trash bin as its neighbour, bones and fish guts attracting a horde of flies.

The bell jingled, alerting the shopkeeper who was busy wiping the counter with a stained dish cloth as Eric entered the shop.

“ Hey, buddy. Store’s closed. If you have an order, you’ll have to pick it up tomorrow.“ The fishmonger slapped his hand on the counter loudly to catch his attention. Eric ignored it, continuing to parse throughout the store, stopping to look at the rows of redfish and perch that were on display on beds of ice. Their rheumy eyes stared up at him, almost pleadingly. “ You awrite in the head, man? If you don’t leave here now, I’m going to have to call the cops on you.”

Eric turned around and lowered his shades to take a better look. He took a look at the plastic name tag on his apron, with “Barry” written in flowery cursive.

“ So….” Eric drawled as he walked closer towards Barry who was shrinking with each step he took. “ Would you believe me if I said this was a surprise inspection?”

Barry’s right shoulder shifted, warily reaching his left hand somewhere under the counter. He signed. It always seemed how things always seemed to end in his line of business.

“ Damn. That’s a shame.”

In one swift practiced motion, Barry pulled out the Mossenberg from underneath the register, barrel swiveling towards him. Were he dealing with any common human, the fishmonger would have put him in the morgue by now. Unfortunately for him, dhampir reflexes meant that the shopkeeper was moving like molasses. Eric shot his hand forward towards where Barry gripped the shotgun by the stock and jammed his thumb between the trigger and the index finger. The barrel was aimed at Eric’s forehead but all the fishmonger could feel was his index finger pushing down on the trigger uselessly. Eric ripped itout of the fishmonger’s hand and tossed it away, sending it clattering to the floor. The fishmonger’s face was now paper-white, his body frozen like a statue and paralyzed in fear.

“ You - you’re the - the - “

“ Don’t say another word.” Eric lifted the collar of the butcher’s smock upwards to reveal his neck. It was thick, succulent with flowing, rich blood that just begged to be - Eric paused and shook his head as he mustered his concentration, turning his neck to the other side. His nostrils flared in disgust when he saw a cherry-red brand on his collarbone.

“ Now, listen here and listen good, familiar.” He hissed with contempt, the tips of his canines reflected in the fishmonger’s eyes. “ You’re going to walk out of this shop and call emergency services 30 minutes from now. If you dare call the police after I let you go, I will take this shotgun and ram it so far up your ass that you’ll go through puberty again, do I make myself clear?”

“ I had no - you can’t - They’ll hunt me down.” The fishmonger blubbered, eyes fidgeting anxiously. “ They’ll kill me. My master - URK!”

His speech stopped mid-way courtesy of a steel vice grip around his throat . The vampire slayer lifted him up a inch of the ground, his feet dangling uselessly in the air.

“ Only thing you gotta worry ‘bout is me hunting your sorry ass down.” He continued on, impassive to how Barry’s face was slowly becoming more red by the second. “ Now, you promise to not associate yourself with any unholy heathens from now on?”

“ Urgh.”

“ You promise to not seek out immortality through immoral means?”

“ Urghuh.”

“ You promise to pray to your lord and savior, Jesus Christ?”

“ Urgh?”

“ Nah, I’m just shitting you with the last one.” The fishmonger was then unceremoniously dropped to the ground. As he laid on the ground, heaving for precious air, Eric craned his neck down towards him and looked at him as if he were an insect.

“Now, scram. I’ve got work to do. ”

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

T H E D A Y W A L K E R

B L A D E

---

^{_{E R I C B R O O K S ♦ F U L L T I M E V A M P I R E H U N T E R ♦ N E W O R L E A N S}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

---

^{"Vampires, man. Every motherfucker wants to ice-skate uphill to immortality these days."}

Blade's a man stuck on the bridge between two worlds: night and day. The living and the dead. Monster and man. Luckily, he's chosen the side that doesn't suck blood for a living and mostly flipped the bird to the side that does. For fifteen years, Blade's been waging a one-man war against the forces of the night, safeguarding humanity from becoming prey in his hometown of New Orleans. Yet, in spite of all his efforts, Blade finds himself weary from being shunned from both worlds as an outsider, either out of fear or perceived betrayal of his heritage.

P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ):

---

Blade will largely be a Stationary Character who will be the keystone in most of the supernatural happenings in this world. New Orleans, as well, is a rich environment that's rife with storytelling potential that will allow for a myriad of interactions amongst obscure and popular characters that anyone chooses to play. Blade's storylines will attract characters of a mystical, gritty persuasion and players who have a deep interest in urban fantasy.

Issue 1: THE SANGUINE SYMPHONY

A vampire's plot afoot in New Orleans as a string of seemingly unconnected murders all have one thing in common: paper white corpses drained of blood. Only there's a problem. It's on the eve of Mardi Gras and all local vampire sects, regardless of affiliation, declare truce with the human race for a period of two weeks. No feedings, no kidnappings, no interfering with the livestock. With a full out war between the vampire clans of New Orleans on the horizon, Eric must delve into the seedy streets of the parish and find the true murderer before eternal twilight falls over the Orient City.

Characters Involved: Blade/The Daywalker, Rag(wo)man, Morbius, Hellboy, A Whole Lot of Vampires

Number of Players: 2-3

SPECIAL ISSUE: BLOODLETTING

A vignette based narrative centered around Blade's days of yore as he vows vengeance against Deacon Frost and his master, Dracula.

Characters Involved: Blade/The Daywalker, Stick

Number of Players: Solo

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

---

Supporting Cast

Allies

- Rag(wo)man

- Hannibal King

- Anna Whistler

- Stick

- Kirk Langstrom

Enemies

- Vlad Tepes Dracula

- Baronness Blood

- Deacon Frost

- Morbius

- The Cult of Chthon

- Vampires in general

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

The Locker Pt 1

The vampire is a creature of habit.

That was a lesson Hannibal taught him on his first proper hunt. That even monsters still had their routines. If vampires only cared about devouring humankind in the most efficient way possible, most of the country would be overrun in a couple of months by hordes of ghouls and newly Turned. No, instead, they had peeves and wonts about how they went about it. Traditions and rituals were passed down from each new generation of vampire and with every passing century, as humanity progressed, so did their palette. The Nosferati had entire ‘vinyards’ dedicated to fermenting blood into red wine. The Adze preferred congealing the blood into curds. The Yuki Onna adopted the tradition of ikizukiri - drinking humans slowly while they were still alive.

It was that singular characteristic, that weakness which had been exploited by better vampire slayers than him for centuries. So, when the trail led to yet another fishmonger this month, Eric almost could feel Hannibal berating him mentally for not spotting the obvious yet again and believing that vampires were more rational than they actually were.

It was the break of afternoon in New Orleans, when the sun began to nest in the Pontchartrain. Its orange rays bled down the dappled surface, the skyline bruised a hazy violet. It was at this hour when the French Quarter started to become alive, beating with the rhythm of jazz and dance - the oxygen of the Orient pumping and flowing through the streets from Chalamette to Jefferson. Yet, for where the music could not be heard, it casted shadows of silence across the Mississippi, where the brown waters bubbled and festered as it always had throughout the course of its thousand mile journey. And in that silence dwelled the coming night: ravenous in its zest for life.

He’d been tracking a pack of new arrivals for a month now - ten to twenty strong. They’d made their presence on the westside of Uptown, far away from the territories of other sects and the CBD where the NOPD strutted around like flamingos. The scent of the Great Lakes was smeared all over them - alpine smog and the dewy aroma of pine needles that followed in their wake. He pegged them as Krieger - maybe an Anchorite but most Anchorites preferred to stay in their wheat fields and little prariers. He had been watching them for the last few days, under the disguise of plain sight and from a fair distance as they skittered from the Garden District to the Quarter, playing themselves off as tourists. Eventually, that led him to where he was standing right now.

The Trawler was a squat olive drab block in a sparsely populated neighbourhood that was accommodated by overdebted university students and old-timers who were too fond of the past to move on. There was only a single pane of glass for the average onlooker to look at the product inside. Styrofoam boxes laid in an undignified pile near the front door with an overflowing trash bin as its neighbour, bones and fish guts attracting a horde of flies.

The bell jingled, alerting the shopkeeper who was busy wiping the counter with a stained dish cloth as Eric entered the shop.

“ Hey, buddy. Store’s closed. If you have an order, you’ll have to pick it up tomorrow.“ The fishmonger slapped his hand on the counter loudly to catch his attention. Eric ignored it, continuing to parse throughout the store, stopping to look at the rows of redfish and perch that were on display on beds of ice. Their rheumy eyes stared up at him, almost pleadingly. “ You awrite in the head, man? If you don’t leave here now, I’m going to have to call the cops on you.”

Eric turned around and lowered his shades to take a better look. He took a look at the plastic name tag on his apron, with “Barry” written in flowery cursive.

“ So….” Eric drawled as he walked closer towards Barry who was shrinking with each step he took. “ Would you believe me if I said this was a surprise inspection?”

Barry’s right shoulder shifted, warily reaching his left hand somewhere under the counter. He signed. It always seemed how things always seemed to end in his line of business.

“ Damn. That’s a shame.”

In one swift practiced motion, Barry pulled out the Mossenberg from underneath the register, barrel swiveling towards him. Were he dealing with any common human, the fishmonger would have put him in the morgue by now. Unfortunately for him, dhampir reflexes meant that the shopkeeper was moving like molasses. Eric shot his hand forward towards where Barry gripped the shotgun by the stock and jammed his thumb between the trigger and the index finger. The barrel was aimed at Eric’s forehead but all the fishmonger could feel was his index finger pushing down on the trigger uselessly. Eric ripped itout of the fishmonger’s hand and tossed it away, sending it clattering to the floor. The fishmonger’s face was now paper-white, his body frozen like a statue and paralyzed in fear.

“ You - you’re the - the - “

“ Don’t say another word.” Eric lifted the collar of the butcher’s smock upwards to reveal his neck. It was thick, succulent with flowing, rich blood that just begged to be - Eric paused and shook his head as he mustered his concentration, turning his neck to the other side. His nostrils flared in disgust when he saw a cherry-red brand on his collarbone.

“ Now, listen here and listen good, familiar.” He hissed with contempt, the tips of his canines reflected in the fishmonger’s eyes. “ You’re going to walk out of this shop and call emergency services 30 minutes from now. If you dare call the police after I let you go, I will take this shotgun and ram it so far up your ass that you’ll go through puberty again, do I make myself clear?”

“ I had no - you can’t - They’ll hunt me down.” The fishmonger blubbered, eyes fidgeting anxiously. “ They’ll kill me. My master - URK!”

His speech stopped mid-way courtesy of a steel vice grip around his throat . The vampire slayer lifted him up a inch of the ground, his feet dangling uselessly in the air.

“ Only thing you gotta worry ‘bout is me hunting your sorry ass down.” He continued on, impassive to how Barry’s face was slowly becoming more red by the second. “ Now, you promise to not associate yourself with any unholy heathens from now on?”

“ Urgh.”

“ You promise to not seek out immortality through immoral means?”

“ Urghuh.”

“ You promise to pray to your lord and savior, Jesus Christ?”

“ Urgh?”

“ Nah, I’m just shitting you with the last one.” The fishmonger was then unceremoniously dropped to the ground. As he laid on the ground, heaving for precious air, Eric craned his neck down towards him and looked at him as if he were an insect.

“Now, scram. I’ve got work to do. ”

Bork Lazer's Storage Bunker

T H E D A Y W A L K E R

B L A D E

---

^{_{E R I C B R O O K S ♦ F U L L T I M E V A M P I R E H U N T E R ♦ N E W O R L E A N S}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

---

^{" Vampires, man. Every motherfucker wants to ice-skate uphill to immortality these days."}

Blade's a man stuck on the bridge between two worlds: night and day. The living and the dead. Monster and man. Luckily, he's chosen the side that doesn't suck blood for a living and mostly flipped the bird to the side that does. For fifteen years, Blade's been waging a one-man war against the forces of the night, safeguarding humanity from becoming prey in his hometown of New Orleans. Yet, in spite of all his efforts, Blade finds himself weary from being shunned from both worlds as an outsider, either out of fear or perceived betrayal of his heritage.

P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ):

---

Blade will largely be a Stationary Character who will be the keystone in most of the supernatural happenings that occur in New Orleans. It's a rich environment that's rife with storytelling potential that will allow for a myriad of interactions amongst obscure and popular characters that anyone chooses to play. Blade's storylines will attract characters of a mystical, gritty persuasion and players who have a deep interest in urban fantasy.

Issue 1: THE SANGUINE SYMPHONY

A vampire's plot afoot in New Orleans as a string of seemingly unconnected murders all have one thing in common: paper white corpses drained of blood. Only there's a problem. It's on the eve of Mardi Gras and all local vampire sects, regardless of affiliation, declare truce with the human race for a period of two weeks. No feedings, no kidnappings, no interfering with the livestock. With a full out war between the vampire clans of New Orleans on the horizon, Eric must delve into the seedy streets of the parish and find the true murderer before eternal twilight falls over New Orleans.

Characters Involved: Blade/The Daywalker, Morbius, Ragwoman

Number of Players: 2-3

SPECIAL ISSUE: BLOODLETTING

A vignette based narrative centered around Blade's days of yore as he vows vengeance against Deacon Frost and his master, Dracula.

Characters Involved: Blade/The Daywalker, Stick

Number of Players: Solo

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

---

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

What's your favorite meal for any occasion?

BREAKFAST
- Half Boiled Eggs With Roti Canai, Orange Slices and Curry

LUNCH/DINNER
- Pork/Beef Congee with Kimchi and Chinese Onion Omelette

ALL TIME FAVOURITE COMFORT FOOD
- Lo Bak Gao/Pork Belly Rice Dumpling with Sriracha

This isn't working out: Part 3

Related too food, an unwillingness to try various types of food would be a massive pass for me.

Obviously, I don't expect everyone to eat Surströmming (or any particularly extra food), but I couldn't date someone who scoffed at the idea of having Thai food one date, Georgian food the next, and maybe Brazilin food on the third date.

Life limited to one national cuisine would be so hideously boring.

@Rapid Reader

God, yes. Adding to this, anyone who doesn't like eating at a South-East Asian hawker mart can go starve if they want me to date them.Also, not liking noodles or an inability to deal with south-east asian cuisine is general will make me err on the side of caution.

There is no bigger turn off than a person who isn't willing to eat food they view as peasant or foreign. Variety is the spice of life.

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖 - Cyberpunk Political Intrigue Roleplay

INTERMISSION

Keah found that the body was a more complicated and ill-tempered machine than any piece of cyberware or car. Metal didn’t feel pain. Metal didn’t bleed. Metal didn’t think. Machines had one singular purpose and were laser-focused on achieving that aim in the most efficient way possible.

At least, that was what he tried to tell himself as he stared solemnly at the cracked headlights of the Jury-Rigg, which were blinking spastically in chromatic seizures. He dropped the voltage torch onto the ground and limped away, eventually resting his body against a collapsed filing cabinet. The abandoned building was bare-bones in terms of spaces to park his ride but the Pirates had helpfully provided him with an empty refrigeration unit for him to rest in. The Reclaim Zone, like always, provided its usual din of rain that sloughed through the gutters with its petrichor aroma.

Keah glanced at the wet patch on the left side of his T-Shirt and sighed. No use putting it off now.

Grasping the tweezer in his hand, he lifted the hem of his shirt and stared down at the left side of his stomach where a piece of jagged laminate was stuck in, about the size of a grape. Sucking in a breath, he pinched it with the tongs and began the arduous process of pulling it out. The advantage of using the Octo-Dactyl was that he could shut off the impulses that his brain was screaming towards his hands, to let go, to stop. Bit by bit, he gritted through the agony as his right hand calmly pulled the shrapnel out with a wet squelch. He popped the cap off the toti-thrombin hypo and punctured it into the skin above where the blood oozed out, feeling his flesh boil as the cocktail of stem cells and steroids began to kick his metabolism into overdrive. His Iconoclast, laid on the ground next to the Jury Rigg, began to beep urgently with an alarm just as he slapped a kera-patch on the now sealed wound.

“ Shit, Demon.” A coarse, smoky voice, like burning exhaust, came out from his helmet. “ How’d you get a beaut like this totaled?”

“ Mdakwe.” He crouched next to the helmet, placing the gel cryo-pack on his bruised forehead with a wince. Staying silent, he waited as the South African dove into the Matrix and sifted through what was left of the Jury Rigg’s custom OS to inspect the damage. Every so often, there would be an unintelligible swear in Afrikaans followed by a vaguely patronising sigh and a snort.

“ So, what’s the bill?”

“ Well…..let’s start with what’s not damaged, ja? You’re so goddamn lucky that your drive shaft and engine managed to survive a hail of EP rounds. They’re perfectly intact. Surprising for someone with your reputation.”

Keah ignored the biting sarcasm at the end, inwardly relieved that all the rudiments which made the Jury Rigg run were still okay. He took the cryo-pack off and replied back as he picked up the voltage torch again and strode to the back to inspect more of the damage. The bullet holes made for a nice background against the scratches and nicks that left strips of metal peeling off like pencil shavings. Was it even salvageable at this point?

“ I’m not hearing the downsides yet.”

“ Where to begin? Your fuel-tank ruptured. All but one of your mag-wheels have been completely disconnected from your drive assembly. The smart circuitry inlaid into your sub-systems also melted like ice cream. We’ll disregard most of your cosmetics. Better less said about them.” Mdekwe paused. Keah could make out the sound of her clicking her teeth in disapproval. “ You turboblazers….Always the sentimental type, aren’t you? Are you trying to repair this hunk of junk?”

“ Say, I wanted to.” Keah traced a finger on the windshield and examined where the loose flakes of paint stained his skin. “ How much would it take.”

“You’ll have to stick with the subpar stuff for now. Oly-laminate plating’s rare as a non-myco steak on the black market. My supply of mag wheels went dry as well. I can send you the schematics for how to repair them but you might have to stick with the old frictions for now. Probably.” There was a pause whilst Keah poked around under the Jury Rigg’s belly with a flashlight. “ I hate to tell you this but it’s going to bankrupt you to try and make another one from scratch. Sure, your ride was impressive but this isn’t Detroit. There is no gearhead in a thousand miles of the Reclaim Zone that’d be willing to refurbish your ride.”

“You don’t know that.” Keah replied weakly, wriggling his fingers out from a bullet hole and wiping off the brown coolant that leaked from it like a faucet. Looking at his car this way was like dissecting a dead animal. Any repair he could have done was the equivalent of taxidermy. As hard as it was to accept, the Jury Rigg was gone. Dead.

“ Look. Keah.” Mdeke’s voice took on a gentler tone as she said his real name, like she was tip-toeing over landmines. “I’m willing to loan you a new set of wheels. Me and da boys can come over here later to scrap it after the press conference.”

“ Fine.” Keah grumbled, tossing away the voltage torch in frustration. “ At least tell me it doesn’t have one of those stupid fucking spoilers.”

Mdekwe’s silence was damning.

“ Shit.”

---

“ And that is all?”

“ Yes.”

“ Good. The sooner we help Petrukov with this farce of an election, the sooner we can crack open Amalgmation’s closet of skeletons. Keep doing what you’re doing.”

“ Is that all you called me for?”

“ What? Did you think this would be enough to get back into our good graces, Kaito? I do not care what these *outsiders* call you. We all know your real names. To them, you might be a legend, but to us, you’re just a lost little fool who ran away who was tempted by the ideals of these mainlanders.”

“We have always been lost ever since Hawaii sunk, brother.”

“ Do not ever call me brother. You have your orders. Complete them this time without causing a scene.”

“ You know me. I can’t help but make one.”

Priest and Hawthorne Investigations: A Modern Fantasy Adventure!

Not a submission, since I rescinded my join request in the Discord but this is what I managed to spin out of the background for those who are interested.

Lecture

The Phenoma-Forums

Safeguarding Against Strangeness Since 1998

Public Lecture Series: Pathology of the Paranormal 101

This series is an overview and analysis of common paranormal diseases and injuries which affect both humans and sapient para-species. Topics covered includes the following but not limited to: resuscitory exorcism, examination of silver toxicosis in lycantropes, vampire hematology, emergency para-species surgical procedures and histological analysis of paranormal afflictions. I hope you find these lectures an invaluable resource to supplement your own knowledge with which to arm yourself against a wide variety of ailments and afflictions, both mundane and magical.

Begin Pre-Recorded Lecture Recording?......

[Y]/[N]

Processing……..

Enter Password

************

INSERTING RUNIC FIREWALLS

INSTALLING ANTI-SPIRIT SOFTWARE

ONLINE LEY-LINE STABILITY AT 98%.

[00:02:43]

“ Welcome to the second seminar on Paranormal Pathology. I know the grimiores I prescribed to you during the last seminar are a bit barbaric but hopefully, you got a taste of what we’ll be delving into today. Today, we’ll be covering the six classes of classification and yes, It will be more of an overview but trust me guys when I say this is necessary . We’re laying out the structure of the maze you’ll be getting into and trust me, even though I’ve had 15 years of experience, I’m still stuck in the maze as far as I can tell.”

“ Now, firstly, we’ll begin with werewolf physiology. - Goddammit, I got the wrong papers. No, that’s not until- Why would I even - - God, what are you doing, Ambrose? 10 years of residency at Mayo, 5 years at St Angel’s ER and look at where you are right now. If only Chandler could see me now. They’d all think of me as a quack - “

“ Shit. I’m still recording, aren’t it? And I’m going to have to cut that one out. Great. Just great.”

[00:10:13]

“ Now, as we turn to the next slide, we can see several photos of bite marks from several para-species. In the right corner, we have a bite from a southern loup-garou and on the left corner, a bite from an Atlantic merman. Notice any patterns yet? Alright, let’s compare the inflammation across the periphery of the wound si-

“ No, Bartleby, bad boy! Bartleby, don’t touch tha - Dammit, Bartleby! Do you know how long it takes to embalm pixie corpses?”

[00:20:25]

“ A rule for paranormal infections is to distinguish between syndromes and full metamorphosis. What do I mean by this?”

“ How many of you of you know Andre the Giant? And I know all of you MDs and PhDs must be screaming right now. Yes, he’s classified as having acute hyperthyroidism. The truth is that he got bitten by a werewolf. The only reason why he didn’t tear up his match when it was a full moon was because he got a syndrome, not the full metamorphosis. Yes, you’ll notice that most creatures that rely on transforming their target due to physical contact end up causing ‘blank’ bites. The factors for this phenomenon can vary depending on the individual. You can stay asymptomatic for weeks, months at a time before you start having a craving for blood or start shooting up a meter in height.

Don’t even get me started on what happens when you get multiple blank bites. South Park didn’t come up with ManBearPig out of the blue…….

[00:50:50]

“ Take a look at this doctor’s report. Dilated pupils, elevated levels of epinephrine and norephrine, cardiac arrhythmia. Now, take a look at this ECG. 10 year old boy. Notice the tachycardia? Would you believe me if I said that he wasn’t reporting any referred pain on his shoulders? It makes one think how many overdoses, heart attacks and panic attacks are really just a phantom or spirit trying to have a crack at puppeteering your corporeal body.”

“ We’ll be covering emergency exorcisms in a later part of this series but all you need to know is that it’s a broad spectrum of possessions. If we’re talking western pagan spirits, they tend to be on the reasonable side but say your prayers if you encounter a yokai or hell, a demonic spirit. You’ll need to bust out high voltage defibrillators and do STERIS with steel clamps.”

“ One important rule of note. Never do sedation. I’ll repeat it again, never tranquilize or try to do heavy sedation if you suspect that a person is under possession. Get a priest to confirm before you use heavy sedatives. If you make a mistake…..”

“ Well….”

“ ….I’ll just say an angry family’s worst to deal with than a pissed off phantom.”

[02:01:25]

“ And we’re at the end. If any of you have any questions, please DM me about it and I’ll try to do my best to answer. As I said before, most of you aren’t going to get an answer because that’s the best type of answer.”

“ Trust me.”

“ Some things are better off not knowing and sometimes, even with all the knowledge in the world, you’ll make mistakes.”

“ God, that became depressing. Probably going to have to delete that one…..”

This isn't working out: Part 3

I think a big no-no for me would definitely be if anyone hated any of Wes Anderson's animated films. There's something fundamentally lost in your soul if you can't enjoy something whimsical like that.

Dead in Depression - A Red Markets Quest

Alright, everyone. I need 2 d10s rolled right now from you! First roll is automatically chosen to be the one included in the next post!