Dammit, smell! Why do you always lie about the taste of things!? Bread is never as good as you say it is! And vanilla extract tastes like petrified ass! PETRIFIED ASS!
3
likes
8 yrs ago
Using a phone on RPG. PROS: You can zoom in! CONS: fucking everything else!
11
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9 yrs ago
Glorious Math Teacher: "You know protractors, right? The rules we have for protractors are simple: Freshmen use these, don't put them in your mouth."
6
likes
9 yrs ago
Punching out Nazis and wrestling a yeti, sitting at home with some festive Spaghetti, rigging my boots up with high-power springs... These are a few of my favorite things!
9
likes
9 yrs ago
Still trying to figure out whether the Crusades qualify as actual wars, or a steaming hot mess of clusterfarkery best accompanied by the Benny Hill theme...
In a world where immortal overlords from times gone by meet POLITICAL DISCOURSE with FISTS and FURY, there is one government that people turn to...
MARRIAGE RIGHTS!? STEM CELLS!? WORLD HUNGER!? DEMOCRACY!?
If there's an issue that boils your gravy, KICK ITS ASS!
In this rp, you'll be taking on the roles of superhuman beings, (whether human, mutant, humanoid alien, etc.) who have, through sheer badass or popular vote, won their place in the Filibuster Federation. The Federation is a group of beings made impossibly durable by the powers of Managantamos, The Lord of the Arena. Nobody much cares about him, and he doesn't much care about politics. He just wants to see a good show. In fact, he's been very open about his apathy toward earthling issues. However, when you have a bunch of nigh-indestructible beings running around fighting each other, sometimes the local government will crumble and you'll end up inadvertantly conquering a lot of land.
Now that super fighters are around, a generous collection of nation states have banded together under the Filibuster Federation, those in Managantamos' repetoire who fancy themselves adequate government agents battle for supremacy. Parties form, power is squabbled over, and, most importantly, supremacy is being battled for.
The Filibuster Federation has a simple constitution under which the government operates:
-Do not use any outlawed holds or maneuvers. No hair-pulling, eye-gouging, no biting, no violence committed by or against the genitals. Any barred holds (whatever you decide those are going to be. I'm not exactly an expert on all the pro-wrestling moves.) will be subject to the count of 5, and the offender will be disqualified from the debate if they don't stop by then.
-No outside interference! If you try to help someone in a match you aren't involved in, the person you helped out will lose!... I mean, unless you're just cheering them on or giving them a weapon or something.
-We put weapons underneath the ring for a reason!... Violence is certainly not one of them...
-What the Ref says goes!
-It's technically not illegal to murder the referee, that just means no one's going to be there to validate either side winning...
-One may challenge another to an "extreme rules" match, wherein the only thing that matters is who gets the fall points. The previous rules don't matter unless you're being a goody two-shoes.
See any problems with that!? Doubt a pro wrestling federation's ability to effectively provide the masses with safety and prosperity!? THEN GET IN THE RING AND CHANGE IT! Currently, the Federation exists in a state of anarchy. All laws and rights must be decided from the ground up. Illogical extremists on both the side of the heel and the face are highly encouraged. Since this combat is going to be ostensibly much "realer" than real life pro wrestling, just with wrestlers who really are that durable (and who can be brought back from the dead when they are really killed, in all manner of ways) other martial arts and fighting styles than just the standard burly smacking can come into play, but all will be considered equal and pro wrestling moves in the form of signatures and finishers will be considered "More powerful" by virtue of the notion that the wrestler's energy and personality are channelled through those movements. Like Qi-Blasting, but, y'know, chucking people around.
And remember, the powers of Managantamos transcend space and time: Your characters can be anything from immortalized medieval folk heroes to space conquerors.
I plan on this being a high-casual rp, since that's just my style. This isn't going to be an arena rp in the typical sense, and it's going to be in the casual section rather than the arena simply because it's fundamentally different from an Arena rp: You aren't trying to win, you're trying to create the best fight scene and the best story. Who wins isn't really important, it's really about the how and why and what happens because of it. Get into the interaction and larger-than-life fantasy of Pro Wrestling characters that makes things awesome.
Does it have to be in the Witcher Universe? Having a set universe with set rules is probably useful in this context, since you have sort of an idea of how to build your arsenal, but having a universe similar to The Witcher and building our own new creatures and rules around the characters and their abilities gives us a lot more plots and creative freedom, without having to study up on the lore to know how to play and how to use creatures. That's just me, though.
"Any questions?" the Captain asked. That was a good one.
Vavnr was always a lizard of simple tastes. Especially pertaining to questions. He scratched his own shoulder with his tail and stroked his chin, as if seriously considering what question he would ask. He already knew what question he would ask. In fact, he had this in mind the moment he knew there was going to be a briefing, and therefore a captain asking "Any questions?" by the end.
"What's the biggest gun you have available?" Vavnr smiled, though his tone was dead serious, "And can I have it?"
"I don't mind being called Lizard-folk, there's no reason to. I take it you don't mind being called Mammals?" Vavnr half-smiled, fanning out his draw pile in a single flick of the wrist and scooping the cards up in front of him with subtle movements, before putting the cards in the pocket of his coat, "We're just called Kzargetts, though. Our planets have a lot of other names."
He moved onto his feet and rose up, extending his hand and taking off his hat, "I'm Vavnr Samn, and I also have a lot of other names. None of 'em are pleasant names, though. Speaking of, if you'd like, I can produce just about any card you can name. I've learned a few things in my free time."
Location: Low-Velocity Asteroid Kzarkon 3Z, Okarcorp Prison/Mineral Mines Date: Did not keep track.
They always asked why Vavnr kept track of every time the bell rang. The bell rang four times a day, and so far, it had rung 1514 times. He had an extensive system of tally marks on the walls of his cell to make sure he wasn't being kept a day over his time. There were so many people, so many corporations that wanted his head, that he wouldn't be surprised if he became one of the permanents. Just one of those individuals that was never told when they had the right to leave... And was beaten whenever they asked at the wrong time. Vavnr walked up a flight of stairs, to a balcony overlooking the cafeteria. Along this balcony was his cell, where he went to mark the day's second ringing.
It was at that time he met the Warden, standing in front of his cell. The crusty old bat had some pretty interesting security measures. Though he lost his eye and some digits in the process, he managed to beat the hell out of the biggest of his fellow Prison Board Members, who, in turn, he had beat the hell out of his biggest guards, who beat the hell out of the other guards, who beat the hell out of nearly every prisoner over the course of the week. Warden Reott was the Alpha of the entire prison. If the guards couldn't stop you, 762 inmates would. This made it particularly threatening when he showed up, alone, in front of his cell, and asked, "What the hell did you do, you little shit!?" in a tone that was anything but jovial.
"I just finished up my quota for the day-quarter, and I'm working on a hobby I recently picked up. Good afternoon to you too, Warden!"
"I have received word from higher-up..." This was really good. Reott never mentioned anyone being above him, he always wanted to feel like a god among men, bosses interfered with that, "Okarcorp is selling their share of your sentence to the Humans in exchange for trade subsidies and tariff cuts... Cidacorp and Rippacorp have also cashed in."
"Oh? Whatever for?"
"That is what I am asking you, slimeball!" His growl wavered with annoyance Vavnr hadn't ever heard before, "Do not play coy with me!"
"Okay, fine, I'll lay my cards on the table... So to speak, anyway. I don't know what's going on, and the moment I walk out the front gates and try to contact them, you're going to find some minor misdemeanor or something and imprison me again for 1st degree suspicion!"
"The humans seemed aware of this. That is why they offered to sweeten the deal for Okarcorp with an additional 100,000 Units up front. In exchange..." The warden bit his tongue in disgust, "When their representative arrives, you will be considered a Class 4 Okarcorp diplomat for 28 homeworld hours."
"Wow? A diplomat?" Vavnr smiled, however incredulous, "I've always wanted to be a diplomat! What class of diplomacy was it again?"
"Class 4." The Warden glared down at him with his good eye and his lack of eye, "Your clock is ticking."
"The representative's here?"
"They sent me to escort you personally."
"I don't need an escort, the law's on my side now." Vavnr said cheerfully. He then smacked his claws into the side of the Warden's face and threw his muzzle hard into the balcony railing.
"VAVNR SAMN, YOU LITTLE SHIT!" shouted the warden, standing up to his full height and swinging blindly around to hit him, "I WILL KILL YOU! YOU ARE DEAD! DEAD LITTLE SHIT!"
"That's not very diplomatic of you! A Class 4 Diplomat could have you imprisoned for saying things like that during an international event!"
The Warden roared, leaping up into the air, ready to dropkick hooked claws into his chest, but Vavnr ducked underneath him and spun around, slamming his tail into the Warden's back. His claws were in the Warden's face again, and he pulled the old man to his feet, though he took a few blows to the midsection, leaving small claw tears in his uniform and minor scratches in his hide. The old Warden was scrappy, but definitely not the boxer he used to be.
"You're a gentleman and a scholar, Warden Reott." Vavnr said, "I know we've had our ups and downs together, but I really want you to know, in no uncertain terms, how much of an honor it's been extracting minerals for you."
Claws were breaking skin over the Warden's jaws as he tried to speak, "Frck... Yoo..."
"It wasn't!" Vavnr said, headbutting the Warden and then tossing him over the railing.
He then took the opportunity to yell "I'M THE ALPHA NOW!" down into the cafeteria as the warden picked himself up and started running, as fast as he could, toward the stairs.
Location: Chronos Station
Vavnr was in the process of sitting down and setting up a game of solitaire on his lap when the Captain left. Thank goodness he finally stopped talking. Now he could finally converse with cohorts. He looked up from his game so he could subtly cheat.. against himself... And also look at his new co-workers. It was an astounding array of misfits, though it was mostly a colorful assortment of boob-ape lookalikes, it did vary. There were animals, vegetables, and minerals, so it all came full circle. He must have been the token reptile.
It wasn't long before someone was accusing him of murdering again. Well, in this case, he was being accused of hypothetical murder, but it was still good to see that nothing had changed since his time out of prison. He'd like to think he'd be nicer to this fine fungal fellow than this bounty hunter gave him credit for. Prison changes people, after all. Well, it changes people enough to know that sticking one's claws in a forming rift only digs it up further, so maybe it would be best to talk to someone else... The chef! Yes, the chef! That's the one person on a ship that no one argues with!
"Ladies and gentleman, I am sorry to bother you, but I am the ships chef. So, if there is any dietary requirements you have, anything you are allergic to or anything that you would like me to cook for you, please let me know. Thank you for your time." @CatchPhrase
"My bowels aren't long enough to digest a salad properly, I'm afraid. It'd be best if I had my vitamins wrapped in animal protein? I'm not sure if your have any vats, but I'm pretty sure as long as you have a variety of animals on hand, I should be fine."
Most of the Kzargettian information on him is limitted at best. The government always keeps the juicy stuff to itself and limits the general populace to just "This criminal is BAAAD!" propaganda. Amid heaps of advetrisement, one might find a Vavnr Samn, who was an alleged "Corporate Bandit", whatever that meant, who murdered and burgled regularly "In his free time", on a scale not explained.
Non-Kzargett planets have him down as a pirate. And a ruthless one. Of course escape pods were filled with live men to tell his tales, but the fatalities were heavy, and about 23 Megafreighters were reportedly looted and burned by none other than Vavnr and his bloodthirsty fleet. During certain months near the beginning and end of his career, when certain freighters stopped surrendering, the survival rate of voyages near his port of call dropped to 10%. He had a hook and everything, the scallywag!
Name: Vavnr Sammn (VAV-ner SAM-mun) AKA Slippery Sam, Slimy Sam, Vagrant, and other unflattering things.
Age/Race/Gender: 45, Kzargett, Male.
Appearance: Roughly 5 foot 8 inches tall. blackish brown and glossy scales, with assorted sand-red ones down his face and back. A few of his back-teeth are missing on the right side, and he's got an iron prosthetic pounded into the end of his tail. It didn't necessarily replace any length, but he does put a gnarly-looking hook on the end of his tail when he's expecting a fight. This causes him to stagger sometimes when he walks casually as this graft-piercing thing has deadened nerves in the end of his tail, which Kzargetts typically use for balance. but he moves well enough vertically, or horizontally on even ground or in a full run.
He usually wears coats and finery made of bulky layers of fancy looking ballistic fabrics, as well as a wide-brimmed hat with exotic feathers.
He has a war cleaver, (The bottom one, naturally!*) by his side most of the time; A low tech and inexpensive answer to life's problems. It's easily capable of delivering heavy, potentially armor-piercing blows with two-handed leverage, and still fairly ergonomic to use and parry with with one hand if he needs to keep somebody busy for a flintlock shot, though you won't be cleaving any heads in half that way.
*Except, of course, with the sword-catching upturned guard in the back and the hand-protecting bit of guard in the front. Don't know why the silly buggers didn't include those in the picture. They're pivottal!
He has a few “Fast Deploy Mines”, which can be tossed a few feet after arming for quick deployment. They have light adhesives on their broad sides that can attach them safely to most surfaces, and they can be thrown like frisbees for much longer distances, though they usually end up exploding on impact instead of safely deploying as mines.
He has his aforementioned tailhook, of course. It doesn't curve far around or downward, but rather tapers off shortly after it becomes parallel to the original bit of hook. This makes it easier to use under duress, as one can merely use straight swings to slam the pointy bit into enemies and grab onto things, at the expense of a decreased length of grip, should he decide to hang from it. The finest in prosthetic equipment, it can turn itself around with the dexterity of a living appendage.
He also carries with him four (Or as many as he can carry given his other equipment, but that's usually 4) Pressure Blasters, colloquially called "Plasma Flintlocks". They’rebulky little handheld jobbies that go off with a big bang and fire slugs of superheated tungsten at supersonic speeds.
They are heavy, powerful mechanisms that use small, controlled reactions (And, of course, freakin' laser beams on quick, high focus) to bring these relatively large tungsten chunks to nigh-melting temperatures as it rather loudly launches them out of the barrel. The incredible force behind them and the tremendous temperature causes them to create enormous smoking holes in most conventional materials, organic or otherwise, and leave hot, burning trails of air behind it. By weight alone, they can deliver a righteous pistol-whip, and the handle and barrel are left mostly perpendicular to assist in its use as a baton as well as a firearm.
After two shots of any kind, the mechanics are considered highly strained and very probably heat-damaged. Firing any charges out of a heat-damaged pistol with a higher melting point than raw iron (Which would be pretty much vaporised by the combustion process) cause it to clog up and explode spectacularly, like a pineapple grenade that gets molten metal and toxic metal gas everywhere. (Though the gas usually dissipates into metal dust and particles fractions of a second after firing, simply because of how freaking cold the air around it usually is compared to the environment it was vaporized in.) The user usually gets a good click and three seconds of warning before the gun explodes, though.
They can fire one slug before a reload is required, and while not as destructive as tungsten, they are usually used with slugs of lower-heated metals because the sheer temperature, pressure, and velocity of the gas and particles expelled does create a temporary lethal area in front of the shooter, much like a regular bullet, for a distance of up to 25 feet. Firing vaporized slugs, it exchanges stopping power and range for pure killing power with comparatively little recoil. Metals that melt more easily, like lead, are actually comparatively quiet, and thus Plasma Flintlocks are favored by Assassins, even when weapons with atmosphere-based-combustion are feasible. It's entirely possible that Kzargett wields these because he likes to scare people into thinking he's about to put a hole in any ship he's currently on.
The Cidacorp M9862 Anti-Personnel rifle is a particularly nasty area-denial weapon that can shoot its own ammunition twice. Sort of. It is nearly functionally identical to the Cidacorp M9861 Anti-Personnel rifle, but with a few key differences.
The '61 rifle primarily fires focussed photon beams that cause very little surface damage but superheat things that they pass through. A tree may look relatively unharmed before the affected area crumbles and blackens as if it had just been set on fire. A person may look relatively fine, save for a seriously burnt patch of skin, but the insides are usually utterly garbled by burns as the beam passes through and spreads out, and they would have serious organ damage and internal bleeding until the beam either exits or "stabilizes" and act as undisturbed photons instead of a beam.
It can fire uninterrupted (With only minimal scatter) for up to one minute before reassembly and part replacement is required if belt-fed. This makes it a popular choice in regions where the ammo is common as the strategic equivalent of a light machine gun. With its typical drum magazine full of large pressurised batteries, it can fire up to 60 times (each battery has charge for 6 beams) before running out of charge.
Now, the batteries, being roughly cueball-sized and full of noxious substances, presented the engineers with a unique opportunity. Recharging these laser batteries took more time than was practical on the field. The carryweight consumed by bringing a charger to battle took more time and offered less efficiency than just bringing more rounds with you, and high-mobility combattants who used drums of ammunition were leaving expensive, heavy barrels of nothing behind them that could easily be recharged and used by enemy scavengers if the line was pushed back... So a creative solution was introduced in the M9862.
The '62 was more mechanical and bulky, so it was usually reserved for specialised soldiers in demolition squads. The additional mechanisms actually attached detonators to the batteries and fired them like grenades... And they sure exploded like grenades. They also left a short-time lingering gas that stung eyes, caught at throats, blurred vision and stank like hell. Cidacorp, willing to flaunt its advances in clean energy at every turn, is always proud to say that aside from fucking exploding, the insides of the batteries have no long-term ill effects on the health of most creatures. This means it's also a perfectly safe, if perhaps unexpected weapon, for spacefarers to use in enclosed structures that recycle their air...
The '62 has been the number-one choice of terrestrial soldiers and space pirates alike for generations in places where Cidacorp is prevalent.
Armor:
He usually always wears the hat and coat made from fabric armor, as that is his signature gear. This not only makes him difficult for his enemies to take seriously, but the overall bulkiness and flow of his long coat distract people from his movements and makes him look bigger than he really is, thus, he is harder to shoot or hit at a distance. It is very light and allows him to move with ease, and allows him additional protection from piercing and cutting by most archaic and improvised weaponry.
When he's not in a breathable atmosphere, or he expects he won't be in a breathable atmosphere soon, he wears something a bit like this.
Except more platy and less skintight, because his skin by nature is platy and not very skintight. It allows for some minimal protection from energy weapons, if only by taking the burn before the rest of him does. It’s good at deflecting and redistributing tangible force, as it was meant for exploring potentially hazardous environments, but things still hurt and he has to remain careful in combat. Sometimes, he wears the hat, the coat, and the space armor at the same time, but this is mainly for aesthetics.
Items:
Usually one large mason jar containing benign slime creature. Highly sticky prokaryotic animal augmented by Cidacorp. Responds to basic stimuli, light, and follows salt and sugar, and other trails of chemical nutrients. It is an opportunistic vegetable detritivore. It is a high-powered explosive that can be detonated with an electric charge.
An amalgamous card deck with upwards of 150 different individual cards. Various traditional alien card images are depicted from a wide array of different sets, and they are divided up into 8 suits which roughly correspond to the 4 suits of the stardard 52-card system and the 4 suits of the Minor Arcana. Because of their ability to look vaguely familiar to a myriad of different cultures and be adapted to billions of different games, Vavnr often brings this deck to social settings to entertain himself, get people to speak a little easier, or straight-up suggest a game nobody at the table has ever played before and bullshit everyone out of their money. He also does card tricks, of course.
Various small, adhesive explosive charges for door and vehicle sabotage. (Door sabotage, not door opening. They’re big enough to utterly screw a metal space door’s mechanics and function if placed over the lock/opening module, but not blow it open. Good for people like him who hate being followed.)
Various trade-restricted goods and substances for trafficking purposes. Incinerated after trial, never returned.
Skills:
He is an adept liar, and whether he’s bluffing or telling the truth is nearly impossible to determine until you’ve found external proof. He could read The Lord of The Rings to a lie detector while presenting it a physics textbook, if he put his mind to it, without any out-of-the-ordinary reading.
He is an expert in sleight-of-claw movements, and he can pickpocket and hide handheld objects with the best of them. He is also a veritable card-cheating wizard, and his fluent knowledge of several obscure card games and versatile deck allows him to cheat extensively, even rewriting rules when people don’t pay attention.
He’s a fairly accurate shot under durress, and he doesn’t easily crack in tense situations. He can speedily aim and fire nearly anything with a trigger and still hit more often than not.
He is very agile, even for a Kzargett, and can quickly dash, dodge, and maneuver around most obstacles like nobody’s business. He’s fast to react to things and fast while in the process of doing things.
He knows how to handle himself in close quarters. Since it is the Kzargett philosophy to maximise reward and minimise effort, he usually avoids brawling encounters and shoots people, but there isn’t a pirate still alive that hasn’t gotten into a good ol’ swashbuckling melee. And besides, sometimes the other guy has something shiny! Burnt loot is less valuable. Someone with legitimate training will probably very easily pick out the madness in his methods and screw him up, but he's not one for making blatant, stupid mistakes either.
Powers: Most of a Kzargett's powers come from their physiology.
They aren't particularly large humanoids, (They come to a full stop (discounting infirmities) at 5'10", with an average of 5"0'-5'5") but they are covered in tough hide and built with strong bones and powerful, if wiry sinew. As social predators, they were built for fighting with each other, as well as things bigger than they. They have claws that are curved and pointed, and long, powerful digits with arms to match, which easily turn their paws into quick, maneuverable clubs that rest just below their first knees. Their jaws are long and powerful, can open almost up to perpendicularity with the upper teeth, and have applied bite force known to wreck steel piping. Their skin is stiff and loose, enabling them to wriggle, fight, and more easily escape the tight grasp of larger things, be it building debris or the carnivorous pets of sluggish space gangsters.
They are kept upright by digitigrade legs, which offer them a faster means of jumping and pivotting out of the way of dangerous things, and they sure offer one helluva dropkick with the hooked claws on those too. Their feet themselves have articulated digits and are also capable of gripping, but they have less phalange joints, only four digits, no "thumb" and this makes them typically less manueverable or precise, this dexterity and strength of the toes is primarily used for climbing and running up steep surfaces, and holding things in place while the hands do the important things.
Of course they have strong, hide-armored tails about as long as their legs fully extended, which are nimble and capable of making a full semicircle around either side of the body. This gives them impeccable, catlike balance and a last-ditch weapon for running away with.
Without technology assistance, they are endurance hunters, and can sprint at speeds up to 25 miles per hour for one hour, or 55 mph for 10-20 minutes, before (figuratively) dropping dead. They usually charge, bite, and claw at their prey, but mouth injuries, which can lessen the effectiveness of bites, are exceedingly common when one fights with large, writhing animals. This is why the survivors have evolved particularly aggressive enzymes in their saliva (Not Riptor Acid or anything, it just hurts and gets infected easily, like a row of really big beestings.) and ridged scale "helmets" resting on thick skulls that can really take blunt force like a champ. Being of stubborn mind and conniving manner himself, one could say Vavnr perfectly embodies those last aspects of his anatomy.
As far as humanoids go, Kzargetts tend to be lithe and lanky in build, even very musclebound ones, which tend to look more normal in comparison to humans.
For an easy go-to for head/face structure, think of Bossk from Star Wars with an Argonian snout. The forehead comes down at a broad angle, rather than down flat like a humans', and it extends forward from the neck, giving the jaws ample space to swing open. Their eyes can change from oval pupils to horizontal slits depending on how much light is around, which gives them an excellent vision range, (Not only allowing them to see in the dark, but be less disoriented by flashing lights, given time to focus. They blink with transparent membranes, which, rather than making things go dark, blurs things until they're no longer over the eye. They have thin, closeable nostrils for breathing, like snakes, as larger ones tend to be a structural weakness for frequent headbutters, and also like snakes, they smell by flicking their tongues, because perpetually slitted nostrils aren't exactly a satellite for your olfactories.
Vavnr lost his original voicebox, probably violently, (And probably had several people hired to do that very thing to him in the first place) so he had a mechanical one implanted. He can almost perfectly imitate voices, sounds, and accents by memory, and, with a quick change of clothes and some blotched or painted scales, can easily pretend to be a completely different Kzargett. He can also speak without using his mouth, but then you just hear muffled noises coming from the inside of his neck.
Other:
Ever since the invention of hunting traps and agriculture led to Kzargett Civilization, the Kzargetts put great value on maximising rewards for less effort. Inventiveness, Craftsmanship, Perception and Wisdom are the most valued of virtues to the Kzargett, who are known for their guile and reverse-engineering skills. Their stereotype acts much like the Darths and Droids version of Ewocs except quite deliberately crooked. This isn’t especially far off. They’re actually a bit like the Dwarves from Dwarf Fortress… At least when they’re played by the kind of person who makes mermaid farms to hoard treasure with...
Kzargett society works on a capital-based feudal system. Whoever is crafty and beguiling enough to own a Kzargett Supercorporation is effectively the king of the corporation’s property and jurisdiction, who provides money and services to chairmen in exchange for upholding and enforcing his authority, who provide money and services to managers for managing and advising them (And, yes, serving as military commanders and elites, of course.) They provide money and services to the laborers for their labor.
While killing is generally frowned upon, and the highly durable nature of the Kzargett makes even very destructive and murderous-looking physical disputes between the equivalent of a slap-fight, much like rams butting heads hard enough to create an echoing thump is basically harmless to the rams in question. Strength and martial prowess still have just as much of a place in Kzargett society as intelligence and charisma. Whoever establishes themselves as Alpha, through whatever means, can effectively command their social circle and arrange the hierarchy beneath them however they want. Usually, boards of chairmen are small enough that the C.E.O. will be their Alpha, and a challenger can freely take the throne if the C.E.O. doesn’t protect himself with contracts and bureaucracy.
After generations of bureaucratic befuddlement as C.E.O.s, Chairmen, and Managers squabbling amongst themselves for power and financial gain, Kzargett laws vary from company to company and are foggy at best. In general, unless strings are pulled, public duels are legal, even to the death, corporate espionage is an act of war, recreational drugs and narcotics are a plague to productivity and only illegal to use and sell for use between employees, but they can be sold to other countries or companies, and are legally bartered between employees for that purpose. Interplanetary insider trading and fraud is practically a sport, and everything can be sold, from sex to one’s own person.
As anyone rich enough to own slaves already has serfs a rung or two underneath them that will do anything they say, so slaves are primarily used as status symbols and entertainment, as non-Kzargett labor is rarely needed. Slaves often live luxuriant lives as exotic pets do, and are given basic jobs that don’t require them to leave their owner’s domicile, where the image is less important. Slaves are often employed as bodyguards, secretaries, scribes, cooks, general house servants, and other things, and are addressed by their personal numbers or by pet names and never by their real names. They are ordered in the order that they are received by their current owner. An owner’s first slave is called “1”, and the second one would be called “2”, and so on.
Sports are commonly played by slaves and pets for the amusement of their owners and whoever pays the owners to watch. Historians suggest slave sports may have been started by rival chairmen pitting slaves of the same number against each other in a variety of contests to determine whose slaves were worth more and determine whose household was more valuable. However, sports are often played by up-and-coming Alphas of an athletic disposition to obtain supremacy.
The mating process as recognized by Kzargett culture differs depending on one’s social status. Reproduction is done casually and recreationally across the board, (And unwanted eggs are bought by the governing corporation to be raised at corporate facilities to become serfs) but peasants by and large avoid marriage because families rarely have much to give each other and any ceremony would be a frivolity that impedes their progress toward overthrowing their Manager and becoming the new one. However, managers and those above them frequently practice nepotism and attempt to establish dominant dynasties and birth unconditional supporters. Entire companies merge into supercorporations by the mating of two (or more) CEOs.
Kzargetts are known to be polyamourous, though more romantically notioned individuals may debate the “Amour” part. They are by and large considered draconian in manner and cold-blooded in feeling. (Puns intended.) Most accounts would describe them as industrial barbarians.
The fact of the matter is, they’re actually fairly okay. Fairly. Personal gain, power, and GDP is considered its own reward, yes, and their heroes of legend are not self-sacrificing or noble creatures, but rather people who just managed to get their way through some spectacular scheme or feat of skill. However, they do display certain degrees of altruism:
Leaders have been known, bafflingly enough, to make choices statistically likely to reduce fatalities and unhappiness even when there’s nothing to gain from it, even if it actually decreases the overall efficiency and profit of their Corporation. Granted, they tend to do some barely legal things to make up for that lack of efficiency if they realise they’ve made it, and they don’t exactly go out of their way to do these things, but it’s there, and it happens.
Guardians of hatchlings, whether they are biologically theirs or not, will usually dote on their young and teach them as much as they can if public education isn’t available, despite the financial disadvantage of raising young ones. Total strangers to young hatchlings easily become protective of them and each other if something dangerous is around.
And, yeah, a lot of them do build meaningful friendships and relationships that go beyond the cold profiteering logic of the usual Kzargett society. Their Dwarflike greed is not all-pervading. It’s just 76.5%-pervading.
“Farmers” grow large amounts of self-sustaining clorophyll and vat flesh to sustain the atmosphere and each company’s large carnivorous population, though there are recreational biodomes full of reserve animals for company owners to hunt in. Population and morale issues are solved with war and nationalism that is tightly controlled by the corporation. Companies are never just one thing, but rather an entire trade-intensive society built to supply the needs of its employees whilst pumping more of everyone else’s currency into itself.
One more thing:
When three or more C.E.O.’s (Chief Executive Officers) merge companies, they actually maintain C.E.O. status. The one in that group who becomes Alpha is called the C.E.Ō. (Chief Executive Overlord) which is the closest thing Kzargetts have to a God-tier emperor. The backbiting nature of Kzargett Corporations makes joining together rare enough, when they stop squabbling and agree to submit to one leader, that makes the Kzargett in charge the most powerful creature there is in the eyes of society. They are added to a veritable pantheon worshipped by those who wish for success, a place of honor in history records, and bury themselves in as opulent and magnificent a tomb as they can afford… Which can get pretty absurd. It is considered a cardinal disgrace to disturb an ineffable tomb such as theirs, and such a crime is usually punishable only by death or a lifetime in the arena doing embarrassing and/or dangerous things for peasants.
There have been 6 of them in all since industrialisation. There has not been a Chief Executive Overlord for over 4 centuries.
Name: Vavnr Sammn (VAV-ner SAM-mun) AKA Slippery Sam, Slimy Sam, Vagrant, and other unflattering things.
Age/Race/Gender: 45, Kzargett, Male.
Appearance: Roughly 5 foot 8 inches tall. blackish brown and glossy scales, with assorted sand-red ones down his face and back. A few of his back-teeth are missing on the right side, and he's got an iron prosthetic pounded into the end of his tail. It didn't necessarily replace any length, but he does put a gnarly-looking hook on the end of his tail when he's expecting a fight. This causes him to stagger sometimes when he walks casually as this graft-piercing thing has deadened nerves in the end of his tail, which Kzargetts typically use for balance. but he moves well enough vertically, or horizontally on even ground or in a full run.
He usually wears coats and finery made of bulky layers of fancy looking ballistic fabrics, as well as a wide-brimmed hat with exotic feathers.
He has a war cleaver, (The bottom one, naturally!*) by his side most of the time; A low tech and inexpensive answer to life's problems. It's easily capable of delivering heavy, potentially armor-piercing blows with two-handed leverage, and still fairly ergonomic to use and parry with with one hand if he needs to keep somebody busy for a flintlock shot, though you won't be cleaving any heads in half that way.
*Except, of course, with the sword-catching upturned guard in the back and the hand-protecting bit of guard in the front. Don't know why the silly buggers didn't include those in the picture. They're pivottal!
He has a few “Fast Deploy Mines”, which can be tossed a few feet after arming for quick deployment. They have light adhesives on their broad sides that can attach them safely to most surfaces, and they can be thrown like frisbees for much longer distances, though they usually end up exploding on impact instead of safely deploying as mines.
He has his aforementioned tailhook, of course. It doesn't curve far around or downward, but rather tapers off shortly after it becomes parallel to the original bit of hook. This makes it easier to use under duress, as one can merely use straight swings to slam the pointy bit into enemies and grab onto things, at the expense of a decreased length of grip, should he decide to hang from it. The finest in prosthetic equipment, it can turn itself around with the dexterity of a living appendage.
He also carries with him four (Or as many as he can carry given his other equipment, but that's usually 4) Pressure Blasters, colloquially called "Plasma Flintlocks". They’rebulky little handheld jobbies that go off with a big bang and fire slugs of superheated tungsten at supersonic speeds.
They are heavy, powerful mechanisms that use small, controlled reactions (And, of course, freakin' laser beams on quick, high focus) to bring these relatively large tungsten chunks to nigh-melting temperatures as it rather loudly launches them out of the barrel. The incredible force behind them and the tremendous temperature causes them to create enormous smoking holes in most conventional materials, organic or otherwise, and leave hot, burning trails of air behind it. By weight alone, they can deliver a righteous pistol-whip, and the handle and barrel are left mostly perpendicular to assist in its use as a baton as well as a firearm.
After two shots of any kind, the mechanics are considered highly strained and very probably heat-damaged. Firing any charges out of a heat-damaged pistol with a higher melting point than raw iron (Which would be pretty much vaporised by the combustion process) cause it to clog up and explode spectacularly, like a pineapple grenade that gets molten metal and toxic metal gas everywhere. (Though the gas usually dissipates into metal dust and particles fractions of a second after firing, simply because of how freaking cold the air around it usually is compared to the environment it was vaporized in.) The user usually gets a good click and three seconds of warning before the gun explodes, though.
They can fire one slug before a reload is required, and while not as destructive as tungsten, they are usually used with slugs of lower-heated metals because the sheer temperature, pressure, and velocity of the gas and particles expelled does create a temporary lethal area in front of the shooter, much like a regular bullet, for a distance of up to 25 feet. Firing vaporized slugs, it exchanges stopping power and range for pure killing power with comparatively little recoil. Metals that melt more easily, like lead, are actually comparatively quiet, and thus Plasma Flintlocks are favored by Assassins, even when weapons with atmosphere-based-combustion are feasible. It's entirely possible that Kzargett wields these because he likes to scare people into thinking he's about to put a hole in any ship he's currently on.
The Cidacorp M9862 Anti-Personnel rifle is a particularly nasty area-denial weapon that can shoot its own ammunition twice. Sort of. It is nearly functionally identical to the Cidacorp M9861 Anti-Personnel rifle, but with a few key differences.
The '61 rifle primarily fires focussed photon beams that cause very little surface damage but superheat things that they pass through. A tree may look relatively unharmed before the affected area crumbles and blackens as if it had just been set on fire. A person may look relatively fine, save for a seriously burnt patch of skin, but the insides are usually utterly garbled by burns as the beam passes through and spreads out, and they would have serious organ damage and internal bleeding until the beam either exits or "stabilizes" and act as undisturbed photons instead of a beam.
It can fire uninterrupted (With only minimal scatter) for up to one minute before reassembly and part replacement is required if belt-fed. This makes it a popular choice in regions where the ammo is common as the strategic equivalent of a light machine gun. With its typical drum magazine full of large pressurised batteries, it can fire up to 60 times (each battery has charge for 6 beams) before running out of charge.
Now, the batteries, being roughly cueball-sized and full of noxious substances, presented the engineers with a unique opportunity. Recharging these laser batteries took more time than was practical on the field. The carryweight consumed by bringing a charger to battle took more time and offered less efficiency than just bringing more rounds with you, and high-mobility combattants who used drums of ammunition were leaving expensive, heavy barrels of nothing behind them that could easily be recharged and used by enemy scavengers if the line was pushed back... So a creative solution was introduced in the M9862.
The '62 was more mechanical and bulky, so it was usually reserved for specialised soldiers in demolition squads. The additional mechanisms actually attached detonators to the batteries and fired them like grenades... And they sure exploded like grenades. They also left a short-time lingering gas that stung eyes, caught at throats, blurred vision and stank like hell. Cidacorp, willing to flaunt its advances in clean energy at every turn, is always proud to say that aside from fucking exploding, the insides of the batteries have no long-term ill effects on the health of most creatures. This means it's also a perfectly safe, if perhaps unexpected weapon, for spacefarers to use in enclosed structures that recycle their air...
The '62 has been the number-one choice of terrestrial soldiers and space pirates alike for generations in places where Cidacorp is prevalent.
Armor:
He usually always wears the hat and coat made from fabric armor, as that is his signature gear. This not only makes him difficult for his enemies to take seriously, but the overall bulkiness and flow of his long coat distract people from his movements and makes him look bigger than he really is, thus, he is harder to shoot or hit at a distance. It is very light and allows him to move with ease, and allows him additional protection from piercing and cutting by most archaic and improvised weaponry.
When he's not in a breathable atmosphere, or he expects he won't be in a breathable atmosphere soon, he wears something a bit like this.
Except more platy and less skintight, because his skin by nature is platy and not very skintight. It allows for some minimal protection from energy weapons, if only by taking the burn before the rest of him does. It’s good at deflecting and redistributing tangible force, as it was meant for exploring potentially hazardous environments, but things still hurt and he has to remain careful in combat. Sometimes, he wears the hat, the coat, and the space armor at the same time, but this is mainly for aesthetics.
Items:
Usually one large mason jar containing benign slime creature. Highly sticky prokaryotic animal augmented by Cidacorp. Responds to basic stimuli, light, and follows salt and sugar, and other trails of chemical nutrients. It is an opportunistic vegetable detritivore. It is a high-powered explosive that can be detonated with an electric charge.
An amalgamous card deck with upwards of 150 different individual cards. Various traditional alien card images are depicted from a wide array of different sets, and they are divided up into 8 suits which roughly correspond to the 4 suits of the stardard 52-card system and the 4 suits of the Minor Arcana. Because of their ability to look vaguely familiar to a myriad of different cultures and be adapted to billions of different games, Vavnr often brings this deck to social settings to entertain himself, get people to speak a little easier, or straight-up suggest a game nobody at the table has ever played before and bullshit everyone out of their money. He also does card tricks, of course.
Various small, adhesive explosive charges for door and vehicle sabotage. (Door sabotage, not door opening. They’re big enough to utterly screw a metal space door’s mechanics and function if placed over the lock/opening module, but not blow it open. Good for people like him who hate being followed.)
Various trade-restricted goods and substances for trafficking purposes. Incinerated after trial, never returned.
Skills:
He is an adept liar, and whether he’s bluffing or telling the truth is nearly impossible to determine until you’ve found external proof. He could read The Lord of The Rings to a lie detector while presenting it a physics textbook, if he put his mind to it, without any out-of-the-ordinary reading.
He is an expert in sleight-of-claw movements, and he can pickpocket and hide handheld objects with the best of them. He is also a veritable card-cheating wizard, and his fluent knowledge of several obscure card games and versatile deck allows him to cheat extensively, even rewriting rules when people don’t pay attention.
He’s a fairly accurate shot under durress, and he doesn’t easily crack in tense situations. He can speedily aim and fire nearly anything with a trigger and still hit more often than not.
He is very agile, even for a Kzargett, and can quickly dash, dodge, and maneuver around most obstacles like nobody’s business. He’s fast to react to things and fast while in the process of doing things.
He knows how to handle himself in close quarters. Since it is the Kzargett philosophy to maximise reward and minimise effort, he usually avoids brawling encounters and shoots people, but there isn’t a pirate still alive that hasn’t gotten into a good ol’ swashbuckling melee. And besides, sometimes the other guy has something shiny! Burnt loot is less valuable. Someone with legitimate training will probably very easily pick out the madness in his methods and screw him up, but he's not one for making blatant, stupid mistakes either.
Powers: Most of a Kzargett's powers come from their physiology.
They aren't particularly large humanoids, (They come to a full stop (discounting infirmities) at 5'10", with an average of 5"0'-5'5") but they are covered in tough hide and built with strong bones and powerful, if wiry sinew. As social predators, they were built for fighting with each other, as well as things bigger than they. They have claws that are curved and pointed, and long, powerful digits with arms to match, which easily turn their paws into quick, maneuverable clubs that rest just below their first knees. Their jaws are long and powerful, can open almost up to perpendicularity with the upper teeth, and have applied bite force known to wreck steel piping. Their skin is stiff and loose, enabling them to wriggle, fight, and more easily escape the tight grasp of larger things, be it building debris or the carnivorous pets of sluggish space gangsters.
They are kept upright by digitigrade legs, which offer them a faster means of jumping and pivotting out of the way of dangerous things, and they sure offer one helluva dropkick with the hooked claws on those too. Their feet themselves have articulated digits and are also capable of gripping, but they have less phalange joints, only four digits, no "thumb" and this makes them typically less manueverable or precise, this dexterity and strength of the toes is primarily used for climbing and running up steep surfaces, and holding things in place while the hands do the important things.
Of course they have strong, hide-armored tails about as long as their legs fully extended, which are nimble and capable of making a full semicircle around either side of the body. This gives them impeccable, catlike balance and a last-ditch weapon for running away with.
Without technology assistance, they are endurance hunters, and can sprint at speeds up to 25 miles per hour for one hour, or 55 mph for 10-20 minutes, before (figuratively) dropping dead. They usually charge, bite, and claw at their prey, but mouth injuries, which can lessen the effectiveness of bites, are exceedingly common when one fights with large, writhing animals. This is why the survivors have evolved particularly aggressive enzymes in their saliva (Not Riptor Acid or anything, it just hurts and gets infected easily, like a row of really big beestings.) and ridged scale "helmets" resting on thick skulls that can really take blunt force like a champ. Being of stubborn mind and conniving manner himself, one could say Vavnr perfectly embodies those last aspects of his anatomy.
As far as humanoids go, Kzargetts tend to be lithe and lanky in build, even very musclebound ones, which tend to look more normal in comparison to humans.
For an easy go-to for head/face structure, think of Bossk from Star Wars with an Argonian snout. The forehead comes down at a broad angle, rather than down flat like a humans', and it extends forward from the neck, giving the jaws ample space to swing open. Their eyes can change from oval pupils to horizontal slits depending on how much light is around, which gives them an excellent vision range, (Not only allowing them to see in the dark, but be less disoriented by flashing lights, given time to focus. They blink with transparent membranes, which, rather than making things go dark, blurs things until they're no longer over the eye. They have thin, closeable nostrils for breathing, like snakes, as larger ones tend to be a structural weakness for frequent headbutters, and also like snakes, they smell by flicking their tongues, because perpetually slitted nostrils aren't exactly a satellite for your olfactories.
Vavnr lost his original voicebox, probably violently, (And probably had several people hired to do that very thing to him in the first place) so he had a mechanical one implanted. He can almost perfectly imitate voices, sounds, and accents by memory, and, with a quick change of clothes and some blotched or painted scales, can easily pretend to be a completely different Kzargett. He can also speak without using his mouth, but then you just hear muffled noises coming from the inside of his neck.
Other:
Ever since the invention of hunting traps and agriculture led to Kzargett Civilization, the Kzargetts put great value on maximising rewards for less effort. Inventiveness, Craftsmanship, Perception and Wisdom are the most valued of virtues to the Kzargett, who are known for their guile and reverse-engineering skills. Their stereotype acts much like the Darths and Droids version of Ewocs except quite deliberately crooked. This isn’t especially far off. They’re actually a bit like the Dwarves from Dwarf Fortress… At least when they’re played by the kind of person who makes mermaid farms to hoard treasure with...
Kzargett society works on a capital-based feudal system. Whoever is crafty and beguiling enough to own a Kzargett Supercorporation is effectively the king of the corporation’s property and jurisdiction, who provides money and services to chairmen in exchange for upholding and enforcing his authority, who provide money and services to managers for managing and advising them (And, yes, serving as military commanders and elites, of course.) They provide money and services to the laborers for their labor.
While killing is generally frowned upon, and the highly durable nature of the Kzargett makes even very destructive and murderous-looking physical disputes between the equivalent of a slap-fight, much like rams butting heads hard enough to create an echoing thump is basically harmless to the rams in question. Strength and martial prowess still have just as much of a place in Kzargett society as intelligence and charisma. Whoever establishes themselves as Alpha, through whatever means, can effectively command their social circle and arrange the hierarchy beneath them however they want. Usually, boards of chairmen are small enough that the C.E.O. will be their Alpha, and a challenger can freely take the throne if the C.E.O. doesn’t protect himself with contracts and bureaucracy.
After generations of bureaucratic befuddlement as C.E.O.s, Chairmen, and Managers squabbling amongst themselves for power and financial gain, Kzargett laws vary from company to company and are foggy at best. In general, unless strings are pulled, public duels are legal, even to the death, corporate espionage is an act of war, recreational drugs and narcotics are a plague to productivity and only illegal to use and sell for use between employees, but they can be sold to other countries or companies, and are legally bartered between employees for that purpose. Interplanetary insider trading and fraud is practically a sport, and everything can be sold, from sex to one’s own person.
As anyone rich enough to own slaves already has serfs a rung or two underneath them that will do anything they say, so slaves are primarily used as status symbols and entertainment, as non-Kzargett labor is rarely needed. Slaves often live luxuriant lives as exotic pets do, and are given basic jobs that don’t require them to leave their owner’s domicile, where the image is less important. Slaves are often employed as bodyguards, secretaries, scribes, cooks, general house servants, and other things, and are addressed by their personal numbers or by pet names and never by their real names. They are ordered in the order that they are received by their current owner. An owner’s first slave is called “1”, and the second one would be called “2”, and so on.
Sports are commonly played by slaves and pets for the amusement of their owners and whoever pays the owners to watch. Historians suggest slave sports may have been started by rival chairmen pitting slaves of the same number against each other in a variety of contests to determine whose slaves were worth more and determine whose household was more valuable. However, sports are often played by up-and-coming Alphas of an athletic disposition to obtain supremacy.
The mating process as recognized by Kzargett culture differs depending on one’s social status. Reproduction is done casually and recreationally across the board, (And unwanted eggs are bought by the governing corporation to be raised at corporate facilities to become serfs) but peasants by and large avoid marriage because families rarely have much to give each other and any ceremony would be a frivolity that impedes their progress toward overthrowing their Manager and becoming the new one. However, managers and those above them frequently practice nepotism and attempt to establish dominant dynasties and birth unconditional supporters. Entire companies merge into supercorporations by the mating of two (or more) CEOs.
Kzargetts are known to be polyamourous, though more romantically notioned individuals may debate the “Amour” part. They are by and large considered draconian in manner and cold-blooded in feeling. (Puns intended.) Most accounts would describe them as industrial barbarians.
The fact of the matter is, they’re actually fairly okay. Fairly. Personal gain, power, and GDP is considered its own reward, yes, and their heroes of legend are not self-sacrificing or noble creatures, but rather people who just managed to get their way through some spectacular scheme or feat of skill. However, they do display certain degrees of altruism:
Leaders have been known, bafflingly enough, to make choices statistically likely to reduce fatalities and unhappiness even when there’s nothing to gain from it, even if it actually decreases the overall efficiency and profit of their Corporation. Granted, they tend to do some barely legal things to make up for that lack of efficiency if they realise they’ve made it, and they don’t exactly go out of their way to do these things, but it’s there, and it happens.
Guardians of hatchlings, whether they are biologically theirs or not, will usually dote on their young and teach them as much as they can if public education isn’t available, despite the financial disadvantage of raising young ones. Total strangers to young hatchlings easily become protective of them and each other if something dangerous is around.
And, yeah, a lot of them do build meaningful friendships and relationships that go beyond the cold profiteering logic of the usual Kzargett society. Their Dwarflike greed is not all-pervading. It’s just 76.5%-pervading.
“Farmers” grow large amounts of self-sustaining clorophyll and vat flesh to sustain the atmosphere and each company’s large carnivorous population, though there are recreational biodomes full of reserve animals for company owners to hunt in. Population and morale issues are solved with war and nationalism that is tightly controlled by the corporation. Companies are never just one thing, but rather an entire trade-intensive society built to supply the needs of its employees whilst pumping more of everyone else’s currency into itself.
One more thing:
When three or more C.E.O.’s (Chief Executive Officers) merge companies, they actually maintain C.E.O. status. The one in that group who becomes Alpha is called the C.E.Ō. (Chief Executive Overlord) which is the closest thing Kzargetts have to a God-tier emperor. The backbiting nature of Kzargett Corporations makes joining together rare enough, when they stop squabbling and agree to submit to one leader, that makes the Kzargett in charge the most powerful creature there is in the eyes of society. They are added to a veritable pantheon worshipped by those who wish for success, a place of honor in history records, and bury themselves in as opulent and magnificent a tomb as they can afford… Which can get pretty absurd. It is considered a cardinal disgrace to disturb an ineffable tomb such as theirs, and such a crime is usually punishable only by death or a lifetime in the arena doing embarrassing and/or dangerous things for peasants.
There have been 6 of them in all since industrialisation. There has not been a Chief Executive Overlord for over 4 centuries.
Simple Unicycle
