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1 yr ago
Current Auld Lang Syne, everybody. roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
3 yrs ago
Vote in my new quest, Mirage, a RP quest set in the far, far future roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
3 yrs ago
Kink-Shaming. Kink-Shaming Never Changes.
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3 yrs ago
roleplayerguild.com/posts/5… Vote for Dead in Depression. The mechanics of the quest have now been posted!
3 yrs ago
Voting is open until the end of the week! Please come and vote! - roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
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Bio





ROLEPLAY BUCKET LIST
- Walmart Apocalypse Roleplay
- Nightmare Gas Station
- Underrail/Fallout/Post Apocalyptic Roleplay. Codename: Clausterclysm
- Anthromorphic Grimdark Animal Fantasy Roleplay. Codename: Fallowbrook.
- Eldritch Abomination Garfield Roleplay. Codename: Lasagna.
- Infinite IKEA Roleplay. Codename: God Morgon
- Roleplayerguild High School RP. Codename: Highschool Roleplay
- Cyberpunk South East Asia RP. Codename: Straits of Malacca. [CURRENTLY HAPPENING]


CURRENT PROJECTS

- FRAYED TAPESTRY - AN EPIC FANTASY RP (WIP)
- THE LAST DEPRESSION - A RED MARKETS QUEST/PLAY BY POST RP (UNDECIDED)

Most Recent Posts







War.

War never changes.


The final conflicts of the 21st century were not waged over religion or territory but over control of our dwindling resources. Nations that were once allies were at each others throats, intent on preserving what they had by taking what little others had. Finally, on the eve of 2077, the world was damned in a storm of nuclear fire and devastation. And for a while, darkness and quiet reigned over the cold, irradiated surface of Earth.

This would not mark the end of humanity. Many of those who survived the fallout did so in large underground vaults. When the surface became safe for settlement, the inhabitants spread out and colonized the surface, forming tribes and societies. As more and more of the world woke up, the same tired squabbles and conflicts that brought the world to ruin were reborn again.

Past the radiation storms of the Pacific Cauldron lie the myths of an unblemished paradise: the Aloha Isles. Before the Great War, the Aloha Isles were a haven for the rich and wealthy as they sought peace from the turmoil in America. However, on the shorelines of the Aloha Isles, another face remained unseen in its great harbors, that of nuclear warheads and fleets of warships hidden deep underwater.

In the decades following the end of the Great War, Kamehameha the Hermit, united the six islands under the flag of the New Hawaian Chiefdom and used military pre-war technology to turn the coastline into an expansive blockade. Over the next century, the New Hawaian chiefdom has defended their coastal heartlands from all manner of mutant, pirate and invader . As supplies began to dwindle on the island, new generations of Aloha Islanders began to relax their borders, recognising the need for trade and communication with the outside world.

It has been 50 years since the Aloha Isles announced their presence to the world and time has yet to judge their choice. Factions such as the Brotherhood of Steel and the fading remnants of the New California Republic seek to plunder the ancient military complexes on Aloha out of greed whilst others seek to begin again in paradise.

You are one tourist out of many seeking new fortunes on the recomissioned ocean liner, the Green Horizon. Whatever your intentions in the Aloha Isles, this cruise is on a collision course with fate itself…….





WHAT IS FALLOUT ALOHA

Fallout: Aloha is an action play-by-post roleplaying game set in the world of Fallout originally created by Interplay Entertainment. The majority of the roleplay will take place in the post-apocalyptic remnants of Hawaii in this universe. In Fallout: Aloha, you begin as a 'tourist' on a refurbished pre-war naval ship headed for a course to the Aloha Isles. You can decide the reason for why you have decided to travel to the Aloha Isles but for mysterious reasons, you find that the ship you are on has hit a major roadblock. What exactly does this mean? You'll have to join the RP to find out.

Players are allowed to play a total of one character (alongside any pets or non-human companions) that can be of any race (within reason) of any background whatsoever. Players can feel free to use elements from all other related pieces of media within the Fallout universe or substitute their fanon, provided it fits into the setting. Players can interact within their group or go off on their own to venture in the Aloha Isles (although this is highly discouraged).

The GM will play the role of various faction leaders, allies and enemies of the player OCs on the Aloha Isles. Players are encouraged to suggest their own factions, allies or any enemy factions they feel would be natural for the setting.

THE SETTING

The world of Fallout can be summarized in one word as “ post-apocalyptic satirical retrofuturism”. Unlike other counterparts in the genre such as “The Day After” or “The Stand”; Fallout is considerably more optimistic and uses its unique retrofuturistic setting to make light of the bleak circumstances of the aftermath of nuclear fallout.

The timeline of Fallout diverges from our own reality roughly around the end of World War 2. Technological development proceeded down a different route in Fallout as humanity harnessed atomic energy as a means of power and fuel for all manner of retrofuturistic appliances and technologies such as nuclear powered cars, advanced exoskeletons and laser guns. Things roughly proceeded down the same route as reality except with a lot more McCarthyism, communist paranoia, corporate monopolies and a dizzying amount of american exceptionalism.

Unfortunately, the same problems we face in our current world weren’t solved by these radical innovations. Shortages of every major resource began to spread across every country. Geopolitical alliances were abandoned and small scale conflicts began to emerge as countries tried to scavenge for every last drop of oil and gas. The U.S.A and China emerged as the foremost rivals, each engaging in proxy wars of annexation and conquest against one another.

This would all eventually culminate in the Great War. On October 23rd, 2077, the world was engulfed in a veritable nuclear holocaust. Billions of people died instaneously, entire continents were reduced to a blasted desert and millions more died from radiation, starvation or both. Small pockets of civilization managed to survive in large underground fallout shelters built before the war by Vault-Tec Corporation. These fallout shelters were known as Vaults. The mission of these Vaults were to keep their inhabitants safe from the effects of nuclear radiation and when the surface was deemed safe to live upon, release its inhabitants to colonise and rebuild a new society.

After 200 years, new factions arose out of the ashes. Societies like the New California Republic on the West Coast sought to replicate the structures of pre-war governments whereas other factions like the Brotherhood of Steel or Caesar’s Legion sought to embrace less traditional forms of societal hierachies to seek their own methods of civilizing the wastes. Blood and sweat has been spilt by these factions in the name of reclaiming pre-war technology, territory or simple ideological difference.

Technology isn’t the only difference in the Fallout universe. The effects of radiation are less akin to real life where you suffer horrifying mutations and die from acute radiation poisoning within seconds. Radiation in the Fallout universe is equivalent to magic. The wildlife in the Fallout universe has been horribly mutated beyond belief into freakish montrosities that pose a threat to normal wastelanders. In addition, a new species known as ghouls were born from humans that survived being exposed to large amounts of radiation. These ghouls are seemingly immortal and can heal instantaneously from any injury but have a higher chance of losing their mental faculties as they get older.

TL;DR: Fallout is a kooky, bleak, horrifying, satirical rendition of the post apocalypse. Think every retrofuturistic trope ala Flash Gordon mixed with Mad Max and you’ve got Fallout.


TALES FROM THE SILENT WAVES





“.......wish to express our condolences with Espians who had relatives or friends in the township of Keahi. We again assure all loyal citizens that we strongly condemn this attack on our citizens. Military reports indicate evidence that the despicable foreign insurgents known as “The Green Knights” were responsible for this attack. We wish to express to all Espians to pray and hold a moment of 10 seconds of silence in memory of those in Keahi.

In other news, all planetary and systems-wide communciators and hyperpulse arrays on Espia will be under state control. All civilians in posession of a military-spec communicator is advised to surrender their device to their local sector administrator. In response to the attack on Keahi, new measures will be imposed in order to secure a safe and prosperous Espia for all.

Thank you for your attention and long live the New People’s Democratic Republic of Espia.

As always,we encourage all loyal espians to report any known collaborators of the Free People’s Army or Gawain’s Green Knights. Reports will be subject to monetary reward depending on the information provided.

….”




GKU INTERNAL COMMS BOARD

ADMINISTRATOR ANNOUNCEMENT: “ Functionality has now been restored to the official in-real-time chat system. Please remember to thank all fellow members of your unit for lending their assistance since the attack. Additionally, Lyons has given me permission to begin deleting system messages containing ‘sightings’ of General Kerensky (haha, laugh all u want. u know how much frequency rate you guys are taking up. the first few were funny. this shit could break our entire network. we have been getting comm lag in the milliseconds cause of this bs. imagine if I have to explain to the Colonel that our network infrastructure was done because of cat vids.)

>ACCESSING Private chat GKU IRC PG 81 out of 81

[12:53:45] Keren-stan: noooooooo, my kerensky picsscssssss ; (
[12:54:44] LosTechnician2999: fuckin finally. we want to use this place for actual strategy
[12:54:54]Keren-stan: pls, u guys just use this place to bitch about the colonel and the mechwarriors
[12:55:15]brbgonnacbill: can i bitch
[12:55:25]brbgonnacbill: u guys know how much high-comp endosteel it costs to outfit 6 mechwarriors
[12:55:35]brbgonnacbill: especially when we don’t HAVE ANY MONEY
[12:55:55]LosTechnician2999: speak for yourself, i have to repair them
[13:10:22]lit50calibro:speak for yourself, i have to load them
[13:20:22]gun4hire385: wellll, spk fr urself cuz i don’t want to get stepped on by them
[14:10:22]wordofblakeydoo: wait, what was this about cat pics.




> ACCESSING COMSTAR FREQUENCY 3.4189/O/4.19017

>,,,,,BYPASSING ENCYRPTION

CF-D.1241 - we lost alonso this week

CF-D.1356 - shit

CF-D.894 - fuck

CF-D.950 - good. fuck alonso.

CF.D. 950 - so, who wanna get first pick of his storage locker?

CF-D.1356: wtf

CF.D.950 HAS BEEN REVOKED OF SYSTEM PRIVELEGES

CF-D.1241 - it’s those blue dipshits again

CF-D.1241 - fucking a.i correctionsof

CF-D.1356 - you mean those green dipshits

CF-D.1241 - look, i don’t care whether they’re red, pink or fucking purple. command is on my ass about it.

CF-D.1356: i mean, they just got really lucky. we got the numbers advantage plus, we got their primary command base

CF-D.1241 - i had to explain face to face with CK and fire witch why we are losing

CF-D.1241 - to a mercenary unit

CF-D.1241 - with 7mechs

CF-D.1241 - 7

CF-D.1241 - get me

CF-D.950 - aff

CF-D.950 - did u hear about the plan command gave us about frying that village?

CF-D.1241 - yeah, pretty fucked up

CF-D.1241 - but i get first pick of the basements. those backwater shitholes always have something juicy in them.





“.....May 5th, 3032

I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. I hear it in my dreams. The sound of actuators shifting, that mechanical drone of 15 foot tall metallic giants, those fucking footsteps. I tried to request command to move me back to artillery. I see them in the buildings. I see them in the smoke. I see them in my sleep.

I can hardly tell what side we’re fighting on anymore. One moment we’re legitimate revolutionaries, the next day we’re insurgents. I think I shot one of my cell members from five months ago. He was fighting for another group of people calling themselves the free people’s movement. We all have the same names but we keep moving in different directions.

I can’t tell if I’m going mad. I can only take hope that there’s someone else more crazier than us out there in Espia.




“ …. loss at Nui Awa was regrettable but for ever swordsman soul we lost, we spilt three times the blood of every infidel. This day will be remembered. One day, we will bathe in the blood and tears of our capitalist oppresors and languish in the lamentations of their consorts and children.”

“ Remember, my fellow disciples. It is not simply enough to kill the capitalist to save the downtrodden. Th downtrodden must learn. They must recompense for their failure to heed the teachings of the Celestial Throne. Our hand must be wise and unrelenting. We must subject them to torture so their very spirits will become malleable enough to accept our teachings.”

“To impress upon our new recruits the fervor of our mission, we will be broadcasting the torture of captured Aqua Vitae corporate board members for the next eight hours. Savor their screams. Use it to fuel your hate and you will be gueranteed a seat in the heavens.”

AVALANCHE

The spray of hot water ended with a squeak of steel and a loud exhale that sat in between fear and relief. Lachlan ran one of his hands through the slick black strands of his hair as he stepped out of the stall and towards the mirror. A wall of condensation had formed onto the glass which Lachlan rubbed off with a smear of his hand. Just as he was about to grab the towel hanging off a side rack, he paused midway and chuckled. It was abrupt and sudden like the hiss of a boiling kettle. It was the prelude to a question that had been hanging on his mind ever since M15 and M16 dragged him onboard the Minerva Force program.

How the hell was this normal? How was any of this normal?

Yes, the tours in Afghanistan and painstaking hours of boot-camp had helped but they were preparing him for insurgents and enemies of the Queen instead of extraterrestial invaders. There had been many firsts each member of Minerva Force had done today. The first to see an alien. The first to kill an alien. The first to successfully win against an alien incursion, he could go on and on.....

Yet, for all the fanfare in the base, Lachlan couldn't help but let his pessismism win out. The stares the other personnel were giving him as he walked into the base's retreat room made his skin itch. He could imagine some members of the squad who would eagerly soak up the attention like a sponge but dealing with the aliens was a duty, not an achievement to be proud of. Three bodies wouldn't be the end of it. It would be the beginning of what was to come. His bones seem to become more heavier as the Nepalian trudged his way towards the fullly stocked bar cabinet. He flipped open the cabinet door curiously and the benefits of a internationally funded organisation glew at him ominously in amber light.

" Oi, oi, oi, gents!," A loud racuous voice made Lachlan turn around as a crowd of base personnel strode into the retreat room. Their yellow flourescent vests marked them as the base's auxillary personnel; engineers, service cleaners, the like. They clambered messily into the retreat room in a tangled mess. " Looks like we've got an alien killer to keep us company!"

Lachlan politely coughed. " I wouldn't exactly call myself that - "

" How's 'bout you pour us a drink." One of the base personnel leaned onto the bar top towards Lachlan, a bemused look on her face. " Tell us how it all went down? Frankly, I prefer the word of someone on the ground than waiting for Command to give us the official report."

" Yeah, is it true one of ya boxed them to death?" Another person piped up.

" How many fingers do the fuckers have? Do they have...uh...you know...private par-?"

" Did you see their spaceship?"

" Don't be ridiculous, Carl! They were in the middle of the Atlantic."

Lachlan let the storm of conversation pass over him for a few minutes, waiting patiently for the din to die down. When it didn't, he deftly retrieved an block of ice out from the cooler and took out his kukri. He whacked the back of it against the ice at an diagonal angle, causing a high pitched wobbling whine to reverbate through the bar and break apart the clouds of gossip.

" If I'm going to talk, I'm gonna need a drink to loosen my lips. You gents up for it?"

The crowd cheered in unison as an answer and Lachlan signed as he got to work hacking away at the ice with his kukri. Hopefully, he wouldn't be too shitfaced before debriefing began.




issue 2: the rider and the warrior

pt 1






The walls in here are bleached the colour of bone. The fluorescent lights never dim, never set. Underneath the sweet stench of disinfectant lies the stink of death, vomit, shit and blood. The slow, monotonous beeping of the ECG, the valleys and peaks forming a maze of suspense, is a funereal bell in disguise.

The skeletal hand gripping his own is ice-cold. The skin is stretched and pale from years upon years of burnt hopes and failed promises. The man who first taught him how to ride a Harley Davidson at the age of nine is dying. He presses his keys into his palm, a eagle feather hooked through the ring. He whispers words meant for him only. The hand then falls and the maze becomes a straight line headed in one direction, one road.

it’s time to collect your debt

He had a promise. He made a deal.

the deal was 8 years. 8 years to savor the life of the client and settle your affairs. You had more than enough time.

He lied. The rage burns through him. A thirst begins to bubble in him. Vengeance.

ah, you’re a quick learner.

The fire boils in his belly and scours his skin until it is char. He has no recourse but the endless road ahead and the souls of sinners to sate his thirst.

He rides.





“ - towards your next destination. We remind all guests that we have arrived at New Orleans, Louisiana. We thank all guests for riding with Amtrek and await your ….”

The honeyed, dulcet monotone of the tour bus announcer wakes Johnny up. He blinks as laggard memories of the last few weeks trickle back down into his brain like water down a shower drain. He remembers Vegas, a few drinks, the back of his throat burning with booze. His lips purse in recollection. The casino over by Fifth and Smesson. The fortune teller. Fire. He draws blanks after that.

Being the Rider is a bender and hangover cure all in one.

Rubbing his head, he crawls off the bus, stepping onto the grass knotted sidewalk on to the I-90. It’s midday and the sun is cutting a boiling red streak towards the horizon, the blue sky growing duskier by the minute. He waits for the crowd of oddly dressed tourists and travellers to disperse before walking to joining another oddly dressed group of five individuals waiting underneath the rusted hulk of a bus stand.

“ Well, that was sure weird as hell,” Johnny said, flicking a thumb over his shoulder at the departing tourists. “ What the hell’s wrong with their get up?”

“ It’s New Orleans,” Jack answered. Teh werewolf, to Johnny's amusement, is currently huddling underneath an oversized trenchcoat. The werewolf signs at at Johnny’s blank stare. “ You ever been down south before or do you mainly just go around the rockies wearing leather all the time?”

“ Eh, beats being you, wolfie. ”

“ Don’t call me wolfie,

AVALANCHE

Throughout the storm and the hundred mile per hour winds in the depths of the Pacific Ocean, Lachlan thought that it was the most comfortable sleep he had after finishing his tour in Kurdistan. He had sat on his bed in Leceister and thought he’d would sink into it as though it was a cloud of marshmallows. The Osprey was a baby’s crib in comparison to Fallajuah.

Lachlan rolled his shoulders to shake off the pricking sensations of numbness and looked outside. The black waves outside rolled and slammed against each other, sending up sprays of white froth in the turbulent storm the Osprey was cutting through. It was hardly the kind of weather the Osprey was conditioned for and most veteran pilots would blink twice before stepping into the cockpit.

Then again, this wasn’t a usual mission.

Aliens. The mere thought of the word alone made him giggle. When he was first debriefed by his superiors on the nature of Minerva Force, he thought they were pulling his leg. Being in the Majesty’s army was a simple concept. Fighting for your country required no thought. Joining a multinational taskforce to fight hostiles of unknown origin was certainly new ground for him. If Lachlan was in the foot of the invaders, he would have wondered why they hadn't brutally slaughtered every head of government. Certainly, if he was in the enemy shoes, he would consider that. Yet, these aliens were not Gurkhas and Gurkhas had never fought aliens. He would be the first.

Then again, all that mattered was if they bled.

If they bled, they could be killed.

Satisfied with his musings, Lachlan unsheathed his kuhkri and held it up to eye-level to examine it. The blade glimmered in the dim red light of the bay, the spine curving at an oblique angle. The metal shone dark grey and the width was short at the hilt, growing wider before ending in a wickedly sharp point.Lachlan took out a whetstone from his belt and tilted the blade downwards. His arm began to move up and down against the blade, scraping away against it with mechanical precision. It was more out of habit rather than out of necessity, like how a person chews their nails or gnaws the inside of their cheek during a task. The knife was sharp enough, he was sure of that.

“ I’d hardly refer to Manchester as a ‘shithole’, yankee," Lachlan said in a calm, steady tone, " but a mission is far more better than being stuck in the reserves all the time.”

“ But I’d recommend we concentrate on the task ahead,” Lachlan gave the kukri one final stroke before sheathing it. “ There is no need for this….dick-waving contest as you Westerners call it. We are one unit. We act and focus as one. The sooner we put our egos aside, the sooner we can go back to base and rest up." He looked pointedly at Paladin after he gave his comment. " A little too soon for titles, comrade. Mission control specified that we were to locate the maritime vessel. There is no certainty of a hostile being present."

He adjusted his watch cap, making sure to strap the camera on it before cocking the trigger of the M249 SAW slinged on his shoulder.

" I, for one, am looking forward to having a nice long drink back at base once this is over."
Post-Post 1 thoughts

- this took way too long

- references in phantom stranger dialogue to Neil Gaiman stuff. Feels appropriate for this.

- i think abstract came up with the idea of xanadu and vegas somehow felt natural to begin aka city of sin and all that jazz.

- lex luthor is a easter egg. he's prob just some elon musk guy in our alternate earth.

- personally was thinking about writing an extended intro where each character enters into Xanadu's place of residence but
that would have taken way too fucking long.

- is this the perfect intro? no, but it sets the stage.

- NOLA was chosen randomly. i think i also used the setting for my version of Blade (which never really took off).

- and that's it in terms of thoughts.
I was the Phantom Stranger.

I see the end of days. I see a woman, ivory-skinned and dressed in black, turn off the light and close the door. I hang up my hat and my coat. I walk out with her. I don’t look back.

I am the Phantom Stranger.

I see a blue world. I see pearls falling onto damp concrete. I see a comet from a doomed world. I see gods fall. I see men rise.

I will be the Phantom Stranger.

There is nothing more to say.

don’t be so sure, darling

I am the Phantom Stranger and I see your defeat.

when? in a million years? i will be defeated, wanderer, but not anytime soon.

I am the Phantom Stranger and I have the first move.

ah. the mortals.

well, wanderer, you now have my attention. try to amuse me this time.






issue 1: call 666-666-666 in case of emergencies





SOMEWHERE IN LAS VEGAS

MADAME XANADU’S TAROT HOUSE


In all of the various casinos that lined the Vegas Strip, the Tarot House was not the most famous but it commanded a certain reputation. It was the oldest on the strip by far and if you asked a local, they would have sworn it had been there since 1970. Or 1950. Or before the Alamo. Regardless, it was a squat purple brick, the old wood and concrete walls intertwined with vines and speckled with vines. Within its walls, its patrons gambled their lives away under the guise of violet curtains and lily-scented oiled smoke that cloyed at the walls.

In the basement of the Tarot House, guarded by two burly half-troll guards with sloping bear-like shoulders, was a door. And a door after the first door. Past several heavy doors wrought in wood, iron, silver, and all manner of strange materials, Madame Xanadu sat unmoving. A cigarette burned impossibly slow between her fingers, embers never traveling further along the rolled paper. Bookcases lined every wall of the room. Ancient tomes marked with swirling scripts, battered things, summoned from the ether, and rested heavy on the shelves, full of words written in tongues long since forgotten. Scattered objects, strange in every imaginable way, filled the gaps between the books. A collection of grim talismans that pulsed with magic and the unmistakable touch of the occult.

The faint, pleasant smell of jasmine was everywhere, overcoming even the burning smell of nicotine. A candle flicked on the table, red wax slowly seeping onto the table. Six chairs had been strewn in front, occupied by six strangers. Cards spun slowly through the air, one held in place above Madame Xanadu's extended finger.

Turning her attention away from the floating card, she spoke, her sonorous voice sickly sweet for a moment, “You wonder, perhaps, why I have brought you here?”

“Free drinks?” The first voice that morphed into a multitude of voices replied, whispers of hideous laughter seeming to shiver into existence from several parts of the tatterdemalion form all at once.

The second voice that replied was clipped, slow, each vowel a cog in some great mechanical device“ Hauling six strangers out into the Mojave desert, each of whom have no prior connections to each other.Everyone here acts familiar around you. They know you. You’re here to collect.”

Ah, an astute observation. There may be hope for you yet.” “I have aided you, one and all, and my help does not come free. You knew this, I told you my price, I warned you, when you sought me out that my services do not come free. You will not refuse me, not now, not ever. We have a contract. We have a deal.

“ YOU THINK YOU CAN HOLD ME TO A CONTRACT?,” The third voice crackled like a furnace, each syllable piercing the air like a fire poker. The temperature in the room rose by a few degrees.

Madame Xanadu smirked, her eyes calmly meeting the two smoldering embers that glared at her with righteous fury.

“Some deal,” The fourth voice bitterly intoned with a heavy french brogue. “An agreement made at gunpoint is hardly a fair bargain.”

What price would you put on your life? Do not play the fool. I saved you. You would not have made it out of Paris if it had not been for my help. I can happily see you returned if that is your wish? No? How terribly unsurprising. A sensible choice, but your lack of gratitude does you little credit.

The fifth voice, a soft voice, full of the sounds of the West, the City of Angels, interrupted. The most normal figure in the room, the young woman looked like a poster child for a dated music video featuring the Cure. Black lipsticked lips were pursed in a careful frown, a hand rested nervously on the silver ring of her choker, and her painfully obvious magical staff was held in her other hand, leaning lightly against the side of her chair as she gripped it tightly, "Umm, I don't mean to be rude, but I’ve got some things to deal with, some bigger problems, maybe you can find someone else? Someone better suited for this task.”

“Bigger problems? Someone else?” Madame Xanadu hissed, shaking her head.

“Yeah, maybe you can find someone else! You know, some real heroes? Like Zatanna, Doctor Strange, or Brother Voodoo,” the cackling collective cheerfully added, somehow managing a conspiratorial wink beneath the strange garb they wore.

“Are you questioning my judgment?” The goth fashioned girl shrunk under the clairvoyant’s glare as she continued speaking. “ I choose the tools according to the task, but……you wouldn’t be my first choice.”

“ What the hell are you trying to say, lady?” The sixth voice said, no, growled, hackles raised, the anger in it leashed and tugged at its collar frenetically. “ You summoned us here, all the way to bumfuck nowhere, just to shit on us?”

“Pah, Vegas is hardly nowhere, the rooms furnished to you were nothing to complain about. I could have left you sleeping on the floor in some warehouse. Perhaps next time? I do not waste kindness on the ungrateful…”

The fabric shrouded figure shook its head, “It would’ve been a whole lot nicer if I didn’t have to share my room with a stranger, no offense to Miss Stabbity and her glowing sword over there.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, as they say. A sad fact that I am well aware of at this very moment. You’re not the best. You’re not even the second best. You’re a bunch of losers. Thieves. Deadbeats. Butchers. Magical sledgehammers, vagabonds, and pantless beasts.”

The wizened fortune teller continued to hold her expression of contempt for a few seconds, emerald eyes before surrendering it with a sigh of resignation.

“ But you will do, you will suffice for this mission.”

“ What mission?,” The fourth voice enquired.

“ The Phantom Stranger has gone missing.”

“ IMPOSSIBLE. I WOULD HAVE SENSED ITS PRESENCE.”

“ Yes, if only you had the patience to remain with your prior host, Spirit. You only have had time to acclimate to your mortal form for a week.”

“ I don’t get it. Who the heck is this stranger guy?”

“ He is a Lord of Balance.”

“Never heard of him,” the multimodal voice quipped, draping itself over the armrests of the large fabric chair it had claimed. The opossum perched on their shoulder released a low yawn, before they continued, “Balance doesn’t sound like my problem.”

The second voice interjected, their voice terse.“ He is an agent of the Green Hooded One, the Guardian of the Aether, the Spectre. They are the gatekeepers of this reality. ” With realization, the second voice slowly turned their head to the clairvoyant with a new look“ And you are as well.”

“ The Hooded One has many voices and hands on which to act, hedge mage.” The second voice bristled at the jab. Madame Xanadu took no heed of it as she continued on. “ But your observations are correct. He has gone missing.”

“ I don’t get it.” The final voice, the beastly one, asked. “Why doesn't this Spectre guy just deal with his own business?”

“ Take care of how you speak his name, half-breed. You talk blithely about matters of which you know nothing about.”

“ What my esteemed colleague means to say is that the Spectre has many matters to focus his attention on. Direct intervention by him in the mortal plane would take an inordinate amount of focus and limitless power does not equate to finesse. It’s why the Spectre usually uses agents such as Xanadu over here or…the Stranger.”

“ A simple explanation, hedge mage,” said Xanadu.

“ But where would we even begin finding him?,” The voice of voices spoke once again, amusement turned to a screeching whine.

“ I do not give you the answers, soulkeeper. Only this promise. That your debts will be released upon completion of this task.” Xanadu took another drag from her cigarette, her face growing more shadowed before stubbing it out in a copper ashtray. She snapped her fingers and a circle of candles lit around the seven figures, turning the room red and orange. From under her left sleeve, a curved dagger emerged, pale scrimshaw gliding across the flat, and the ruby encrusted grip glowing ominously in the candlelight.

“ Your hands,” said Xanadu. “ If you would please.”

Slowly, six hands came forth, four of flesh, one of flame and one of fur.

“ Hold on,” The fifth voice whined. “ Are you sure you cleaned that knife properly-”

Xanadu was swift yet gentle, the edge of the dagger biting through the skin and sinking into the flesh. Streams of ichor pooled into a small pewter basin, swirling together in a stormy red eddy. Xanadu began to chant slowly, her voice pouring like a river into every corner and crack of the small basement.

“ I, Madame Xanadu, in authority of the Lords of Balance, the Earth and the Hooded One, bind you to three truths. I bind you to find the Phantom Stranger. I bind you to not seek any ill intention against my patrons. I bind your shadows to be one until this pact is fulfilled.” She paused and the candle flames became frozen. “I bid you six thee farewell.”

The pewter bowl bubbled, a fountain of red spraying up in the air, before the . Before the six strangers could say a word, Madame Xanadu clapped her hands and stood up.

“ Alright, we’re done here.” She said quickly. “ Shoo now. I have a very important guest coming in the next 30 seconds.”

“ Wait, where do we begin looking - “

“ Get. Out.” She nodded towards the pair of burly trolls that arrived in, wielding clubs that were about the size of a man. “ Boris, Kochansky, please escort our guests out.”

As they were being roughly guided out of the basement, the faint shadow of Xanadu’s voice could be heard behind them, growing ever more quiet.

“ Ah, Mr Luthor, I have been expecting you. I assume your investments in LexCoin have paid off…..”




The doors to the Tarot House slammed shut, leaving the hastily shepherded group of magicians with a fading vision of the two considerably sized trolls and their menacing cudgels. A chill wind battered the unlikely party, the unlucky souls who had been unceremoniously tossed out into the desert night. Bright neon strips loomed in the distant, no longer glowing pleasantly, but instead shining with a fell light that filled their hearts with uncertain dread. The threads of the ritual still hung heavy in the air. Powerful magic did not fade so quickly. They were bound together now and the chains that bound them seemed to rattle in the darkness.

“ So, where the hell do we begin?”, The wolf-man asked,

“ In a bar with good drinks, I know just the one,” the laughing tatterdemalion offered, shrugging with obvious boredom when they were met with pointed glares.

The trenchcoat hatted man sat on the side of the boardwalk, ignoring the looks drunk tourists and casino-gamblers sent his way. He reached into his trenchcoat and produced the pewter bowl that he had snatched from Madame Xanadu. The bottom was still dried with blood from all six of them. He took out a piece of chalk, hastily sketched a circle on the concrete and placed the bowl in the centre. With a snap of his fingers, the pewter bowl cracked in two and smoke erupted from the pieces that were split in twain.

“ Oi, wolfie.” The trenchcoated man recoiled briefly as the wolf-man snarled, hackles raised again. “ You mind taking a sniff?”

The wolf-man lumbered forward and took a deep draught of the crim-coloured smoke.

“ I smell……baobab against skin……powdered sugar…beignets……seawater……..gunpowder and blood…….the stink of split blood against leather whips….”

“ Well, anyone up for a trip to the Crescent City?,” The trenchcoated man asked.

“ Hell seems as good a place as any to start…” The french swordswoman said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

The midnight sky began to purple as dawn fiunally arrived and stretched their shadows, six in total, as they lengthened across the asphalt strip of the Vegas Boulevard into the barren desert beyond.......

Moved my character over to another sheet and changed the Earth the Shadowpact is in from Earth Prime to another Earth.
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