River Goblin

RIVER GOBLIN'S AVATARS AND CHARACTER ART SHOP

Gave him a sweet snake tongue.

The Redwatch

Glad to see some interest! The original interest check from the last iteration had me drop the GM voice at the end and clarify a few things, such as how Mouseguard inspired this is, but I ended up just recycling the original OOC for all the info it had. Redwatch is intended to be Mouseguard with all the series-specific bits of lore boiled away to make it easier for those unfamiliar with the series to join us, with some of the cozy Redwall atmosphere.

The Redwatch

Welcome to The Redwatch, a story about mice with swords, the things that try to kill them, and how they refuse to die. It is essentially Redwall played by the rules of A Song of Ice and Fire, bolstering the world with cozy settings and loving descriptions of food and festivals, while still delving into the details of vicious animals killing mice while even more vicious politicking does essentially the same thing. The setting of The Redwatch is what you might call “low fantasy.” There is no magic, few if any traditional fantasy elements, and the world operates according to well-understood natural laws. The exception, of course, is that there are sapient mice, and they've established what amounts to a medieval society in the middle of a forest known as The Kingdoms of Gnaw.

The mice of Gnaw have created a quasi-military force -- the titular Redwatch -- to elevate themselves from their place at the bottom of the food chain and overcome the forces of nature. The Watch exists in an ambiguous social area somewhere between knights, Tolkien-esque rangers, and FEMA agents. They are thankless heroes who exist outside of mouse society to better serve it. When something has gone seriously wrong in the kingdoms and time is of the essence, members of the Watch are dispatched to put it right -- even at the cost of their lives.

Despite their technology and fledgling civilization, they're still mice: when you're three inches tall, a snake is a creeping horror out of Lovecraft, hawks are terrifying dragon-like predators, a swollen stream is a deadly impassable torrent, and a good storm can annihilate farms and wreak havoc on your communities. One of the core features of a world of mice is the sense of scale this should impart. You are playing small creatures in a huge and hostile world, but highly motivated ones. With swords.

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History of Gnaw

The founding of Gnaw is one of the world's oldest mysteries, contested by sages, historians, and scholars throughout its domain, from Glendale's foggy ports to the furthest hillside keeps of Westercroft. Its earliest days are lost to history, as most mice do not think to ask of them. To the average mouse, Gnaw simply always has been, and that is all of an answer there need be. Regional monarchies insist their personal ancestral line raised the first castles, the pious preach that the kingdoms were made green and plentiful for mousekind by the Forest Spirit, and according to the accounts of rats and weasels, the Gnawer's Kingdom was once the Gnasher's Kingdom and was theirs by right. There are many accounts of Gnaw's founding by many different groups, with each of which coincidentally believe it to be theirs. The most well-read of the mice, such as those at the Sage's Lodge of Fogmount or Council of the Glen, all unanimously agree that the early vestiges of what would become the Kingdoms of Gnaw started as a far-scattered collection of burrows, gradually coming together to form hidden-away villages. This, of course, was in the Time before Times, when great black giants walked the lands and scattered stars in the sky, and flying snakes supposedly lived in castles in the clouds. Some say that the Time before Times has always existed, as a myth old mice tell their grandchildren to keep them by the fireside and out of the snow, and that the oldest tales of lore are simply myths. Some would argue that they were all literal, and that colossal mice truly did scatter the stars, spill the seas, and plant the stones in the beginning.

In the beginning, the true beginning, in the time long ago, mice were not yet mice. They were known as "Gnawers" by the creatures of the forest. Mice were prey. They were solitary creatures at the mercy of the elements and the seasons, holding meager territory only so long as something larger and less friendly didn't happen along, and could gather only enough food that it would not make them targets of other hungrier mice. They were timorous and jealous, shivering through rainy nights instead of giving away their location to the world with campfires, crafting slipshod escape tunnels to keep themselves safe instead of homes. Eventually, a group of mice came to the realization that their instinctive drives to flee from danger, steal their neighbor's food, and ensure their self-preservation at all costs would not allow their species, as a whole, to progress. Banding together, they carved out a hidden, defensible settlement into the face of a crimson rock wall and began bringing in mice who heard of their success, building a subterranean city within the red stone. Surrounded by impenetrable walls, garrisoned by a volunteer militia, and supplied by underground streams and deep granaries, the small mining settlement slowly grew into the most well-built fortress city of its time. They called it Redfort.

Over time, the mice of Redfort discovered that they were not the only mice to scratch out a civilization. Other communities had sprung up throughout the forests. Some called their collective lands "The Kingdom of Gnawers", while others preferred "The Kingdoms of Gnaw". Some simply assume "Gnaw" was the name of the lands because it was where Gnawers lived and left it at that. The villages and fortresses within the kingdom were smaller and less defensible than Redfort, but fiercely independent; They would never willingly incorporate into Redfort or abandon the expansive, if disconnected and weak kingdoms they had built. By their nature, mice are both clannish and skittish, which has been their biggest obstacle as a peoples -- Few speak up to build coalitions when their natures are telling them to hoard their resources, travel short and infrequent journeys, and live life with their head kept low. Accordingly, while Redfort grew into the stone, lesser strongholds were dispatched one by one. To some, this meant withering away after a year of famine, or entire populations scattering after war befell their town. To others, it was as simple as a particularly lucky snake finding a village and devouring the men, women, and children in a night. Eventually, only three major fortresses remained -- Redfort of Redfield, The Tall Tower of Westercroft, and Shellhold of Glendale. Within the scarlet halls of Redfort, this sparked a debate as to whether to leave the outsiders to their fates or bring them under Redfort's control by force for their own good. Eventually, they settled on using the strength of the city's militia to protect the kingdoms of Gnaw.

This militia blazed trails, patrolled the roads, delivered mail and supplies, fought off predators, and handled the backbone of creating the early infrastructure of Gnaw. They built stone outposts in every kingdom, which slowly became surrounded by mice eager to live near the strongholds of the militia without having to risk their lives by joining. Gradually, these keeps became castles, and the number of mice living near them became entire villages. However, more important than the villages they founded or the snakes they had butchered was the Spoorwall. the Redfort militia was responsible for its creation -- an invisible border around the kingdoms made of strong pheromones, repoured and reapplied every five years -- which has successfully kept snakes, wolves, foxes, and badgers from reentering the kingdoms ever since. Over time, mice far from the borders began to forget that foxes and wolves were not created by storytellers, or that mice had ever lived in anything but the warm, safe cottages their families had held for generations. Gnaw had become a thriving land, able to concern itself with frivolous matters such as the lineage of its rulers and upholding societal traditions instead of the apocalyptic threats they had once faced. Over time, the local militia of Redfort, which had built Gnaw from the ground up became The Redwatch -- a politically neutral group dedicated to continuing the work of Redfort's first militia; Protecting the denizens of Gnaw, keeping peace and order, and watching over mousekind.

Kingdoms of Gnaw

Named for the prevalence of dried leaves through its perpetually autumnal weather, Redfield's safety, wealth, and abundance of farmland has made it the most populous of the three kingdoms. As a result, its mice are typically the happiest, who may focus their attention on festivals, courting, and pursuing hobbies in addition to their lifelong trades. For this reason, Redfield is known for its many gardens, countryside markets, and cultured history. Its capital is Redfort, an ancient subterranean city which houses the Redwatch, a military order devoted to the protection of Gnaw. Redfield and the Redwatch are both ruled by a monarch chosen by their predecessor, as opposed to the traditional succession by lineage used by lords, barons, and other lower rulers. As a result, mice in other kingdoms, particularly during times of political tension, are less grateful for the presence of the Redwatch than those in Redfield.

Westercroft, named for being the westernmost kingdom, is both the largest and least populous of the Kingdoms of Gnaw. Cold and dry all year round, Westercroft is known for its many mountain ranges, and the progressively furrier, sturdier, and less mouselike their denizens become as you move west. They are a hearty people known for their hardworking, humorless natures, as well as their practice of sparrow husbandry. Their westernmost border is the only part of Gnaw not contained within the Spoorwall, known as "The Valley of Bones". Because they hold the line between Gnaw and snarling behemoths unaware of it, Redwatch's valley stronghold houses some of the watch's strongest warriors. Westercroft's capital is the Tall Tower, a hilltop keep that allows their king an all-encompassing view of his kingdom.

Glendale, also simply known as The Glen, is a kingdom situated in the southeast, where it is warmer and wetter as the year goes on. The mice of the Glen are svelte and oily, typically viewed as a crude and unking people for having grown up in the swamps, or simply farther between, less informed, and less educated than the mice of their neighboring kingdoms. The Glen is ruled by a group of ten elders called The Council of The Glen, which are elected by virtue of their intellect. They rule from Shellhold, a short, squat castle built on the back of a gigantic tortoise, which doubles as a moving capital. The mice of the Glen are typically fishermice, toadherds, or reed farmers. Because much of their soil is too muddy to build castles, they typically live in villages built into the many trees of Glendale.

The Redwatch

I will protect Gnaw and its denizens with my life.
I will uphold the honored duties of the mice whose steps I walk in.
I will destroy the enemies of Gnaw, and defend her allies.
I will follow the order of the Redwatch into the very jaws of death.

Above all, I will watch.

The Redwatch is the largest order within Gnaw, whose duties are described with their oath -- to protect, uphold, destroy, follow, and most importantly, to watch. It is overseen by a monarch who doubles as governor of the Redfort and ruler of Redfield. As the head of the only serious military force in Gnaw, Redfield's ruler -- currently Queen Gothlun -- something like the Secretary of Defense for the loose confederation of mouse city-states. By treaty, the Watch is the final authority in the wilderness between cities, and more like an order of patrolling knights within Redfield, but they have no more authority in Westercroft and Glendale than any other mouse, a fact they routinely ignore. The kingdoms are also supposed to help The Redfort supply the Watch, which has grown larger than any one city can support, though they aren't obligated.

The duties of the Watch mostly consist of traveling the wilderness while maintaining trails, keeping the roads safe, delivering mail, scouting for natural dangers like predators or dangerous weather and less natural dangers like incursions from rats. Since the Redwatch is ostensibly neutral, watchmice are also expected to act as mediators in disputes between kingdoms, villages and sometimes between individual mice. Finally, the Watch maintains the Spoorwall, a miracle of mouse science which keeps most large predators like wolves and foxes out of Gnaw.

The final tenet of their oath, to watch, is a major theme within the Redwatch and the story. Watchers are meant to watch. This usually correlates to scouting missions, in that mice who do not closely observe their surroundings and situations they enter can easily be killed. Additionally, the Watchers cannot act in many situations, such as the mediation of disputes in kingdoms where they do not hold authority. They are resigned to non-interventionist policies in Westercroft and The Glen. Finally, the need for Watchers to watch is reflected in their thankless protection of Gnaw. They do not protect Gnaw within its societies, but on their edges, watching over the kingdoms.

Compendium of Creatures

Mice
The smartest, most advanced sentient species. Their greatest achievements are glasswork, iron, sewer systems, chemistry, the loom, and a mastery of fire. Mice typically live to be 60, shorter if they are lowborn and longer if they are highborn.

Shrews
The most common non-mouse species in Gnaw, Shrews are second-class citizens who can only rent homes for work, which they mostly find cooking, cleaning, or performing construction alongside mice. Many cut off their furry tails to claim to be mice, leading to a stigma of suspicion against tailless mice. Many subvert Gnaw's immigration laws by living year-round in Gnaw's forests in impermanent gatherings such as tents and caravans.

Voles
Little is known about voles, due to their language barrier and unintelligible accents. Born with names like Glyndŵr and Gruffudd, Voles typically keep to themselves when they pass through Gnaw. Their settlements are scattered subterranean villages past Westercroft's Spoorwall, which are routinely flooded or dug up by predators. Many Voles work in Glendale as sailors-for-hire and itinerant workers.

Moles
A cousin of the Vole, Moles are a bronze-age civilization far past the edge of Westercroft, where they claim to live in cities deep beneath the Earth to avoid predators. They are known for being a mathematically gifted people, especially concerning their economics -- Moles are an extraordinarily mercantile people, going as far as to bid on the bodies of their loved ones at funerals to pay for funeral rights, paying hundreds of tiny "fees" at businesses such as the use of cups and napkins, and having holidays based on fiscal quarters. It is a mole custom to leave a small tip in a doorside bucket as soon as you enter one's home.

Rats
A stone age peoples with a brutal, primal society, who live short, savage lives. Their afterlife being supposedly reserved for warriors who die the most gruesome deaths, many rats ingest Bloodspore before battle, a mushroom that grants them a minute-long fit of blind rage and strength before their brains begin to hemorrhage. Their only art form is the playing of a vuvuzela-like instrument used in long-term raids and sieges to deny opponents sleep, and their only alphabet is a crude form of hieroglyphics used to denote property and insult one another at a distance. They typically eat mice, though they are not above to enslaving them for a source of food, labor, or leather.

Weasels
A believed cousin of the Rat, who wield bronze weapons and armor, and fight with forethought and tactics. They ride opossums, wield spears and swords at a short range and javelins at a long rage, and frequently employ poisons and decoys. Aside from eating and enslaving mice, Weasels typically attack the northeastern tip of Westercroft, far from the Valley of Bones, where they have slowly pushed the borders of Gnaw back over centuries.

Squirrels
It is unknown whether squirrels create goods, or simply take them from mice, rats, and weasels. They are typically solitary and wield no weapons, using their lightning-quick speed and daggerlike claws to effortlessly rend mice to pieces. When they band together, it is typically to raid entire storehouses, where they then divide their spoils and go their separate ways. Many Squirrels claim to have a connection to the trees not shared with the Gnashers, though this is believed to be a superstition by Mice.

Hamsters
Hamsters come from a desert kingdom thousands of miles away they call the Caliphate of Ham, and come to Gnaw once every few years during their travels to trade. They bring goods such as incense, exotic woods, teas and spices, elaborate puzzles and jewelry, tropical fruits, and poppies. They claim their society is kept safe from predators with mile-high walls, though they are the frequent subject of raids during their travel, which they mitigate with a martial tradition of archery.

Guinea Pigs
A cousin of the Hamster and second class citizen within the Caliphate of Ham, Guinea Pigs are typically trading partners with Hamsters, carrying goods and hamsters on their back during travels in exchange for a percentage of sales. They are a slow, simple people, who many claim would devolve into a non-sentient species were it not for the Hamster.

Turtles
Beasts of burden used by Mice, who typically pull their carts, plow their fields, and assist the uprooting and processing of their crops. When they die, their shells are used to make some of the sturdiest rooftops and boats used in Gnaw.

Lizards
A predator species, typically preying on domestic insect colonies and young mice. Some mice, particularly the foolhardy swamp-mice who live alongside the reptiles, have taken to riding them. Those who accomplish this do so in order to ride them up trees, along walls, and across ceilings.

Toads
A beast of burden used primarily in Glendale, either as a cheap mount, source of meat or leather, or to keep away insects.

Badgers, Porcupines, Raccoons, Lynxes, Foxes, Wolves, Snakes, Wolverines, Fisher Cats, Birds of Prey
Various flavors of ragons.

Bears, Moose
Kaiju.

Beavers
Arguably non-sentient, nonverbal creatures. They live in the part of south Glendale that meets Redfield. One Watch journal describes being caught stealing from a beaver dam by a beaver, who noticed the Watchmouse but didn't seem to care, or particularly understand. They live in crude wooden forts, and have no material goods but hats fashioned from grass, which seem to be their sole currency as well.

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Worldbuilding FAQ

Do mice wear clothes?
No. Mice wear clothes depending on their needs, particularly the needs of their occupation. Bakers, butchers, and blacksmiths all wear aprons to keep their trade's respective gunk off of their fur. Kings wear crowns to let people know they're king. Farming mice wear long-brimmed hats to keep their ears from being burnt by the sun. Regular mice, which make up most of the world, are entirely naked, or wear a single piece of clothing they call their own. Aside from their compulsory red armband, members of the watch buy and wear armor depending on their needs -- Most don't because it's heavy. The closest thing mice have to a concept of nakedness is being hairless.

Can other animals talk?
Yes, but they do not speak the same language and have varying degrees of sentience. Shrews, voles, hedgehogs, hamsters, and moles can generally speak the Mouse tongue, while some even temporarily live within the Gnawer's Kingdom as merchants, ambassadors, or translators. Rats, weasels, and squirrels generally do not speak the mouse tongue, and are culturally analogous to either vikings or mongolians in that they are feared for their raids as they are unaffected by the Spoorwall.

What do the mice eat?
Medieval food, but pescatarian variants. They're big into pasties, pies, potatoes, berries, vegetables, that sort of thing. They brew ales, ferment wine, and get cheese from pasteurized milkweed sap. Don't question it. Some mice eat meat, but it's viewed similarly to if you saw a dude chowing down on some bugs, because the only meat mice hunt or farm is bugs. Glendale has frogs and lizards, but they're kind of chewy.

How advanced is mice civilization? How about other civilizations?
Gnawers (Mice, voles, moles, hedgehogs, hamsters, and shrews) are essentially medieval. They have metal because they mine, fabric made on looms, and cottages and castles instead of burrows. The poorest mice are serfs, the richest are kings, and so on. Aside from the existence of class divisions, there are vague social divisions -- Black mice are superstitiously seen as unlucky, red or white mice are seen as attractive, while the common brown and grey mice make up the bulk of the population. Predators (Wolves, foxes, wolverines, badgers, etc.) are wild animals, whereas Gnashers (Weasels, Rats, Squirrels) are bronze-age savages who typically use stolen mouse tools.

Is the Redwatch good or bad?
I like to focus on social questions in RPs, and this RPs question is "Do we need the Redwatch?" which I'm sure civilians all across the kingdoms ask too. The Redwatch is a fundamental part of Gnaw's early history, which definitely has -- or at least started with -- noble intentions, but consider the following; Kingdoms have rulers, laws, and are self-governing. The Redwatch, while technically being a politically neutral group, is strongly tied to the government of one kingdom, while maintaining outposts in other kingdoms. Additionally, the Redwatch has full clearance to act as judge, jury, and executioner while on missions, and is frequently used by the monarch of Redfield for political means. Are we members of a noble guild of rangers, or the soldiers of a kingdom occupying foreign lands? Ultimately, I'm not here to answer those questions, I just want to ask them. I'd like you, and the story you help write, answer that question in your own way.

What the fuck is the Spoorwall? How do you repour a border? What?
In short -- The mice developed a cologne that smells like an impossibly large, scary predator. Everything with a predator drive (larger critters) is deeply afraid of the smell and avoids the borders of the kingdoms at all times. The mice basically repaint it on the ground and on trees along their kingdom's border every five years. It gives mice anxiety to even smell, and is definitely toxic to drink. It doesn't ward off rats, squirrels, or weasels, because they're more intelligent than larger animals, which are essentially unchanged from their real-world versions.

Humans?
No.

Character Sheet Part One

This half of the character sheet will serve as an application so I can see if I want to write with you for months on end. It sounds harsher than it is. Anyway, you know how to write an application, so have at it. No pictures because it's unlikely we'll find matching styles. Also, feel free to play with the formatting, but don't add too much.

[center][color=Textcolorhere]"This is where your "Belief" goes. Beliefs need to be clear, powerful statements with a potential for conflict. “The Watch is good” is a bad belief, but “The mice of Gnaw must know that the Watch is good and must be supported” is pretty hot. Beliefs tell the other players (And me, the GM) what you're interested in and want to explore in the game. Someone who writes the belief “A Watcher thinks with their head and acts with their heart” wants situations in which they can be clever and compassionate, and possibly ones in which cleverness and compassion are set at odds with one another.[/color][/center]

Name: Mice names are either Anglo-Saxon, such as Archibald, Cecil, or Patton, or derived from nature, such as Rowan, Jasper, or Dawn. Instead of surnames, Mice generally go with "Of Hometownhere", unless there is something immediately outstanding about them (Physical deformities, infamous deeds, important ancestry, etc.) in which case, they get respective surnames. Feel free to go with locations already mentioned or create a new one, just try to follow the naming conventions I'm using.

Rank: Your rank within the Redwatch. The first rank is [i]Greenband[/i], which are recruits who wouldn't be trusted to tie their own boots if mice wore boots. They wear green armbands and generally only go on missions to act as squires for Watchers, cleaning armor, carrying weapons, and cooking meals. The second rank is [i]Watcher[/i], which make up the vast majority of the Redwatch. They vary in skill, but are all competent warriors. The third rank is [i]Watchguard[/i], a rank given to mice who wield a level of authority over members of the Redwatch. They typically lead parties. The fourth is [i]Watch Captain[/i], of which there are only a few dozen. They get the most important missions, and you are not one.

Appearance: Mice don't accessorize a whole lot, but the Redwatch wear colored cloaks chosen by the mentor who taught them, presented when they graduated from Greenband to Watcher. The mentor picks the color to represent some aspect of their student. Those whose mentors die before their graduation receive white cloaks. Nobody gets black cloaks, firstly because it would be an insult, and secondly because it attracts edgy mice applications.

Personality: You've written a CS before.

Legends of the West

Just a shot in the dark here, but what does Orc dialogue sound like? Could you tell me about their racial strengths/limitations and culture?

RIVER GOBLIN'S AVATARS AND CHARACTER ART SHOP

@Darth Shadow the only shade darker than black is invisible, so i made u this sick grindcore album cover

RIVER GOBLIN'S AVATARS AND CHARACTER ART SHOP

Sorry it took so long, I am a forgetful, lazy person. Now accepting ADDITIONAL requests.

Diapergate: Reflections on the Movement Twenty Years Later

This time of year, it feels like everybody is reposting their diapergate stories, so I thought I'd take a trip down memory lane and share mine.

I was born in a small town in what would later be known as Kosovo, where the majority of men worked at the local steel mill and women married men from the next town over. I was an only child, with a housekeeping mother and a father who worked on the diaperguard near the town's border -- Crimea and Kosovo have a long history. It's a long story, and I won't get into it now, but the gist of it is that our diapers have not been so easily filled as theirs for long, if you catch my drift. My father was one of many diaperguardsmen -- a cut above the steel mill, but not a very big cut -- checking diapers of people coming and going through state borders.

We were a humble family, but we were happy. When I close my eyes, I can still remember our little green icebox. It's gone now, of course, but I'll always have those memories. I remember it had pictures taped to it the way you'd stick a photograph on your fridge, and I can remember every picture we taped to it. There was my father in his uniform on the top right corner of the icebox, looking sternly into the camera, diaper as full as a highwayman's purse. The edge of that picture was always stained with our fingers prying the icebox door open year after year.

The second picture was of my parents on the night of their wedding. My mother, holding her finest Russian-made purse in her delicate hands, and my father in his best shirt. The third pictures -- I always thought of them as a set more than a third and fourth -- were in the top left corner. One of me shortly after I was born, an old tin-type photo stained with grime, and a sun-faded polaroid my mother took when I was a toddler. I was wearing my father's hat, with my hands on my hips and a diaper that must have been full for days. I wonder if I wanted to be like him even then. I suppose I'll wonder as long as I can remember that icebox.

With the same clarity I can remember our rusted green icebox, I remember the day they took my father away. I remember the black ski masks the soldiers wore, and the stripes on their rifle straps. I was sleeping when they came, and I thought we were being robbed. When I saw the masks and the camouflage, I simply thought the Crimeans were finally invading. That would have been fine with me. It would have been impersonal -- The result of politicans squabbling over borders and soviet-era corruption going unchecked. It would have been the same for every poor kid on our poor block. But it wasn't. It was administrators from Roleplayerguild.com, and even as a boy, I immediately knew what that meant.

They dragged my father out of bed, thrashing and shouting, but not screaming. He didn't have time to pull me aside, to tell me to be strong for my mother, or that he was proud of me. They threw him onto our half-paved yard bright and early in his oil-stained pajamas. I don't know why, but one of the things that makes me madder than the rest is that it had just started raining when they shot him. It wasn't a cathartic funeral rain, but it wasn't dry. A half-hearted drizzle. I remember my mother holding his body, beating her delicate hands into the clay. They hadn't even let him die in his diaper.

We would bury him in his diaper, but it felt like a farce by then. He couldn't see the honor he was given in life, because he was dead. That admin made sure of that when he shot him in the chest. He didn't die with honors, he died cold and confused, awake for no more than a minute. Sometimes, when I'm on the bus or work is slow, I imagine I'm in the admin's place. I'm wearing the ski mask and camouflage, gripping my machine gun tightly. I burst through a door and grab the admin by the hem of his mask -- he's wearing the mask in all these dreams, and I never really bothered constructing him a face in my subconscious -- and I pull him out of bed and out the door. I hold him down with my bootheel while his wife begs for his life and his son cries in the misty rain. It doesn't matter how the daydream ends, does it? They're only daydreams. My father will always be dead at the hands of anti-diaperists.

I try not to be as bitter as I am, and in fairness, I'm not outwardly bitter. I don't let it affect my day-to-day life, or hold any prejudices. Sometimes, when I stay late at work, the night janitor chats my ear off about how the country's gone down the drain and how kids these days, and this, and that. A week ago, his rant was about diaperists; He said it was wrong and unnatural, and that the only good diaperist was a dead one. I about wanted to sock him in the mouth right there, to break his mop over my knee and tell him that close-minded bigots like him supported the murder of innocent men. But I didn't. I'm not an anti-diaperist, after all. I don't hurt people for being different than me.

I'm turning thirty-two next year, and my dad will have been dead for twenty years. He would have loved the diaper scenes in Shrek 4. He would have loved to watch those ogre babies gleefully scoot across the floor in their full diapers. And you know what? I would have loved to watch them with him. Two decades have passed since Diapergate, but it still feels like yesterday. I still see people comment in our remembrance threads, and I still hear the things they shout. I still smell their fresh, unsoiled scent. I will never forget what Mahz did to my family, but I will also never forget my father. I will never forget the feeling of a warm, soiled diaper, or the first solidarity march with my diaperboyes-in-arms. Thanks for letting me relive this memory.

We will never forget Diapergate.

One black guy, to rule them all

One black guy, to rule them all

You're not far off. I think there are like three or four you might have to battle for rulership of RPG. Welcome!

Choose a Theme Song for the User Above

River Goblin's Sheets

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Ever since man has been capable of hitting other man with a rock, the world has been divided with power, between those who have it and those who do not. On this world, more than on ours, this division is more important than any other. Some secure power with the right mechanical gadgets and the years of study necessary to build them. Others seek out power at the bottom of a chemical vat, with the handshake of some otherworldly evil, or in the bite of a genetically unstable exotic pet. A few with enough money or federal funding simply strap six tons of bulletproof power over their chest and call it a day. All of these people, designated by their power, are known as Supers. Some are heroes. Some are villains. Universally, they're all pretty dramatic.

We (That means you!) will be playing Supers brought together by luck, or rather, by being down on theirs. All of our characters, at least for those introduced early enough to be responding to this interest check, should be answering a call in the papers for Superheroes Level 4 and below -- a rare prospect in today's Super world of glitz and glam -- to join a revived Super group that has been retired since the 90's. Whether they are trying to relive their glory days, trying to seek vengeance, or are just superpowered and interested in the concept of sharing subsidized rent 10 ways, the players will all be members of the newly-reformed Justice Squad.

Supers

A Super is currently defined as someone employed by The Villain's International League of Evil or the Department of Registered Crimestoppers. They're known to strangers, their names are followed by gasps, and they operate on a much larger, more magnificent scale than everyday people. They settle their disputes by battling armadas of henchmen, or with battles that reshape the surface of the moon. They regularly steal or retrieve works of art priced in the billions, and are frequently on a first-name basis with world leaders and transdimensional octopi. Or at least, the good ones are.

Supers are classified by ten levels of power, with pitiful losers at the bottom and primordial god-kings at the top. As mentioned, The highest that any player-controlled Super can start out is level 4, so we're not exactly going to be reshaping the surface of the moon any time soon. Leave that for the big guys.

Level 1
A Level 1 Super is someone worthy of pity. Statistically speaking, the majority of Level 1 Supers are children dying of disease, granted admission into the DRC or League through the actions of a foundation. Other than this category, Level 1 is the Level reserved for Supers who present a clear and present danger to themselves, either through an unfortunate power or complete lack of skill, who require secret monitoring by their respective organization. Such supers include super-affluent children, pugilist-themed heroes who sustained a great amount of head injuries, and those unfortunate enough to be born with human-torch style powers and no resistance to fire. Most Supers are told they have been promoted to Level 2 before their paperwork has been completed.
Eg: Humphry Dumpler, Flatman, Leatherboy, Mister Immortal, Ma-Ti, Dogwelder, Friendly Fire, Krypto

Level 2
A Level 2 Super is essentially a LARPer, separated from a Level 1 Super through their capability of completing a fitness course. They have either completely mundane powers, such as those used by Backwards-Head-Harold, Quincy Quadruped, and Glowria, or use gimmicky weapons several grades below anything that can be considered lethal. Most Level 2 Supers fit into one of three groups; The first group are crazy people willing to shell out a thirty grand admission fee over their obsessive love of something like riddles or cats, and the second group is made up of walking billboards for companies, religions, charitable causes, and micronations, while those in the third group are superpowered persons with completely benign powers.
Eg: Jazz, Jubilee, The Riddler, Pepsi-Man, Calendar Man, Kick-Ass, Arm-Fall-Off Boy, Foreskin Man

Level 3
Supers on Level 3 are generally serious members of their respective organizations, but the bottom of the barrel for whatever reason. Because of this, Level 3 is the second-largest categorization, as it includes powerless martial artists, gadgeteers with utility belts and arsenals of scientific tools, and legitimately superpowered individuals who are either too young, old, poor, or irresponsible to become "serious" Supers. The highest level that a sidekick can be is Level 3, leading many heroes to stay at the level intentionally until they can be picked up by a higher-ranking Super as a sidekick.
Eg: Iron Fist, Matter-Eater Lad, Blue Beetle, Hawkwoman, Nemesis Kid, The Goon, Bouncing Boy

Level 4
A Super on Level 4 is the most common categorization, as it is generally the level many Supers make or break their career during. Level 4 is the first level a Super must attain to enlist a sidekick or recruit henchmen, and is a requirement to join a Super group larger than a temporary team-up, have a legally recognized personal logo, or use any weapon that cannot be considered a firearm. They are separated from Level 3 by an endorsement from three existing Level 4 Supers of their organization, and are generally deputized in their county to bring criminals to justice.
Eg: The Thing, Ant-Man, Storm, Taskmaster, Spiderman, She-Hulk, Bulletman, Hawkeye, Dick Tracy

Level 5
A Level 5 Super is one of the lesser populated groups -- Bad candidates for Level 5 stay at Level 4, and good level 5's usually have a work ethic that makes them yearn to become Level 6's, who have considerably more Super-related rights. Supers at Level 5 can found Super groups, and have access to otherworldly materials, typically meaning alien technology, magical artifacts, or use of an item from brought from the future.
Eg: Mr. Fantastic, Zatanna, Booster Gold, Starfire, Cyclops, Aquaman, Bishop, The Flash, Green Lantern

Level 6
A Level 6 Super is given the right to bear arms, creating a large power gap between Levels 5 and 6. Because of this allowance, Level 6 Supers are allowed to kill their nemesis, or members of their nemesis' super group. Level 6 Supers are given deputizations for their state, allowed to bring criminals to justice at a larger scale, or be more easily forgiven for the deaths of bystanders during large-scale raids and attacks. Level 6 Supers are the third largest group for both the League and DRC, as many retire quickly upon receiving their Level out of fear for their lives, and the greater pension offered at this level.
Eg: The Punisher, Wolverine, Deathstroke, Red Hood, Hellboy, Cable, Bullseye, The Joker, Bane

Level 7
A Super at Level 7 is powerful -- not extremely powerful like a Level 8 or reasonably powerful like a Level 6, but simply, powerful. Level 7's can hold their own against entire local police forces or supervillain groups, and are usually famous enough to live in affluence. Level 7's are separated from Level 6's by successfully killing at least one arch-rival, as well as a secondary payment of their membership fee (A hefty thirty thousand dollars) to cover the yearly payments of their deceased ex-rival. Because Supers do not receive additional benefits at Level 7, the Level is stereotyped as being a wealthier version of the previous level.
Eg: Batman, Ironman, Lex Luthor, Black Panther, Professor X, Emma Frost, The Green Goblin, Kingpin

Level 8
A Level 8 Super is the most powerful a Super can be without being considered one of the most powerful Supers. It is the last Level where a Super gains benefits, such as a country-wide legal jurisdiction. Superheroes at this level are usually entangled in federal affairs, whereas Supervillains at Level 8 lead and fund global crime syndicates. Where a Level 6 can effectively fight a town's police department, a Level 8 can effectively battle an army.
Eg: Captain America, Thor, Apocalypse, Scarlet Witch, Red Skull, Cobra Commander, Doomsday, Dr. Doom

Level 9
A Level 9 Super is nearly equal in power to their respective organizations, and are thereby under the most monitoring. Because they are effectively the highest ranking of Supers, Level 9's are typically working towards retirement, or are powerful enough to continue Super-ing forever, granted they do not make themselves a worldwide target by attempting to proclaim the title of a Level 10 Super. Fortunately, most that reach this point are smart enough to not want to announce that they are the most powerful being alive.
Eg: Iceman, Shazam, Magneto, Martian Manhunter, Doctor Strange, Braniac, Mister Mxyzptlk

Level 10
In both the League and the DRC, Level 10 is explicitly never granted -- it is only used by those so powerful that their respective organizations could not possibly hope to restrain them with rules, who can proclaim that they are a Level 10 Super without repercussion. Fortunately, they're kind of hard to find and tend to keep to themselves. There are currently three Level 10's; Captain Cosmos, Olympian, and X, who respectively live in the core of the Sun, a fortress on the North Pole, and an entirely separate dimension.
Eg: Doctor Manhattan, Galactus, The Silver Surfer, Superman, Goku, The Mask, Spectre

The World

The Super world is much like our own, but with superheroes. History is identical to ours up until 1948, the year Trent Harks discovered the Girdle of Zeus and became Captain Titan. Since then, societal shifts have been the same as our universe, though they have also been reflected by Supers. The first Supers in the late 40's and 50's were largely tools of patriotic American propaganda, who donned golden age costumes and battled campy villains such as "Yellow Peril" and "Captain Catastrophe". Crimefighting Supers were officially regulated in 1952 with the founding of the Department of Regulated Crimefighters. A year later, a criminal Super known as Black Mask founded the Brotherhood of Evildoing in order to similarly organize villainy, though theirs is at a unionized level. Since then, the two regulatory organizations have worked within an alliance of sort, right down to their similarly-organized rulebooks.

As a result of the race to create nuclear-powered Supers in the 40s and 50s, many heroes of the golden age -- Comrade Red, Atomic Man, and the Nuclear Family, in particular -- died of radiation cancer in the early 60's. Along with the controversial use of Supers in Vietnam and society embracing pacifism as a whole, the role of Supers shifted to fighting (or abetting) low-scale crimes such as drug trafficking and extortion rather than aiding international conflicts. Heroes like Groovemaster and

Major Organizations

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The Villain's International League of Evil, more commonly abbreviated simply as The League, was founded in 1953 as The Brotherhood of Evildoing, though this was changed to "The League of Evildoing" in 1967 in the infamous "Electricia v. Brotherhood of Evildoing" case, and once more to the current name in 1971 as part of a rebranding effort. It is essentially a global trade union for villains, serving as the authority over every facet of supervillainy, be it dealing with a villain’s legal recourse, supplying henchmen, screening offensive alter-egos and gimmicks, creating suitable nemesis pairings for heroes, and so on. The League’s rulebook is bound in human flesh, and is extensive, strict, and notoriously bulletproof -- There are no loopholes to be exploited, or any matter it does not cover in great detail. The League’s legal team is one of the best in the world, and when matters can no longer be settled in courtrooms, they rely on their equally-skilled assassins.

VILE employees -- entirely separate from villains -- are somewhere between Imperial Stormtroopers and the DMV. They handle the massive amount of paperwork generated by the League, as well as public relations and administration. They are all identical, wearing black uniforms likened to pajamas and plastic skull masks resembling their logo, which has a considerably thin mouth grate, muffling their speech at all times and making it impossible for employees to take lunch breaks. The League is led by its founder, the aging and increasingly senile Black Phantom. His current decline in health and subsequent need for replacement is an unspoken issue and the subject of constant gossip within the League, as there is no known replacement lined up.

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The Department of Registered Crimestoppers

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The Department of Registered Crimestoppers is a federally owned bureau of management for heroes, founded in 1944 after the infamous Mighty Man Incident, wherein Sam J. Reynolds, AKA Mighty Man, was found guilty of Destruction of Property by a prosecutor seeking payment for a barn damaged by Mighty Man's flight. After breaking the handcuffs he was placed in, Mighty Man incinerated the courthouse with his heat-vision and flew to Nicaragua, where he remains in hiding to this day. The proceeding national outcry lead to the DRC's establishment, and federal funding for devices and training to handle Supers. Due to the passive role heroes take defending themselves from villains, the DRC has significantly fewer rules than their counterpart organization, though this is not to say that the rules are not enforced as strictly as VILE’s. Most of the DRC’S rules focus on acceptable levels of force and permitted scenarios for the escalation of conflict -- As an organization, the DRC is more focused on capturing unregistered heroes and villains and threats to global safety. They typically only involve themselves in the affairs of higher level villains, such as those capable of purchasing nuclear weapons or summoning world-devouring creatures. They are also in charge of assigning appropriate “Units”, which are essentially sets of preapproved dynamics such as “Lone Hero”, “Hero Family” or “Hero/Sidekick”. When a single man in a cave applies for a young, spandex-wrapped male sidekick, it is the DRC's screenings they have to pass. When Super families routinely risk their child's safety crawling into tombs to press secret buttons, it is the DRC who investigates. When a hero breaks the rules, it is the DRC who hunts them down.

Style

Most Supers have a secret ID. After all, these are superheroes in a world relatively analogous to ours, and alter egos are the best way of keeping away those John-Lennon-Assassin types who have shrines to you in their spare bathroom. Alter egos are easy to imitate, however, and there's money to be made in endorsements and public appearances, so basically any Super who's anybody is registered with DHR or the League. Some supers don't have secret identities because their lives are tied to their work, though those supers typically have nicknames -- Think 007, Indiana Jones, Flash Gordon, or Buck Rogers. While the 1960's Mod Scene is the dominant motif, your ultra does not have to follow it; There's room for gymnast assassins in black vinyl bodysuits, super-nerds loaded with spherical white plastic gadgets, Victorian or Edwardian throwbacks, fantastically-colored ethnic costumes, archetypal heroes like cowboys and detectives, shadowy figures of dark magic, etc. Create a style, but seriously, own it.

Not all supers are super-wealthy, but most have enough to live a life of leisure punctuated with battles against tentacled horrors or the brain-washed militia of self-proclaimed messiahs. The money for these wealthy supers comes from a complex array of endorsement deals, action figures, fashion labels, and other investment schemes driven primarily by the worth of celebrity status and the occasional cash reward. To maintain this cash flow, supers are frequently fashionably larger than life. Villains spend months planning the dramatic entrance that will crash Royal Weddings, and heroes spend their inheritances commissioning bulletproof wingsuits.

The player characters are not nearly this wealthy. In fact, they should all be relatively down on their luck. For the purposes of worldbuilding, I'll describe two accepted characters; An elderly Chinese martial artist who could only find work in his youth as a racist caricature who was eventually replaced for being a racist caricature, and an out-of-work DHR agent still reeling from the psychological effects of failed experimental super-serum.