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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

The Big Pointy One

Quill-Bearer
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Posts posted by The Big Pointy One


  1. An agile-looking elven woman steps into the room, gracefully stepping over the unconscious Stick with a disappointed glance. "Ah, well, since my comrade appears to be... unable to continue on in his sales duties, I shall be taking his place. My name is Roxxia, and I am pleased to introduce..." she produces a square object covered in a delicate cloth "...this. I dare not lift the veil that covers it, for you see, I personally retrieved this artefact from the tomb of a long-destroyed lich. It was one of his most prized possessions, the legendary Death Art Beware! All those who gaze upon the grizzly visage beneath this protective sheet are surely doomed! I have not seen its effects in person, but from my understanding, anyone who looks at the picture immediately drops dead, their soul seemingly drained out of them, but their vital organs (and fluids) still intact. I wouldn't offer such an item to just any vampire though, oh no! I offer this to you, because I know you are responsible, and surely would in no way find any method of which to abuse such an item."OOC: Sorry for the delay guys :S


  2. The drunken Stick stares blankly at the three salespeople in front of them and then looks like he is about to speak but abruptly falls over. As he does, he points to Katzaniel, seemingly implying that he wishes to purchases the Excuse Team.

    OOC: I loved all the pitches guys, but I'm giving it Katz on this one. I'll PM y'all your new cards; Katz will have the option of being the new customer this round. Let me know if you plan on discarding any extra cards.


  3. No wait, Legendary isn't a thing, I was thinking the Marvel RPG. The way you described it seemed to fit the way it works. Anyways. The odd time when I'm running tabletop games, I tend to think of an over-reaching story arc, and major events within that arc. There are usually places I'd like my players to do, but ultimately it ends up being more about making a world and let them run around in it. As such, I've found that it doesn't work really well if you try and force their hand, so you have to be prepared to adapt to what they want to do. Unfortunately, I think I've fallen victim to the "day-by-day" narrative style though. Although I do enjoy the randomness of consulting a chart and saying "okay, now this happens". It may not always be that relevant to a story, but I think that's kinda like life in that we're not really following a set story, and as such sometimes random stuff just happens. The next time I GM something, I'll also be keeping these notes in mind.


  4. OOC: Heh, you didn't have to share yours, I just did it since I got to see everyone else's. No harm in it though :) Snypiuer: Your cards have been sent! Good luck/skills!IC:

     

    Stick stumbles around, looking dumbfounded then grasps at the disc clumsily "Spaysh mushic huh? Wait, like Mush *hic* Muse? I love dem guysh... *hic!* Interesting... what elsh we got on the ol' chaaaawppin' block tonight? Woop woop!" Stick turns around to find the next salesperson.


  5. I think I get the idea here, I like what you two are saying. I wonder if that part about "zooming in" is from Legendary? In any case, this is stuff I don't really think about haha. I tend to just kinda... write, without putting much thought into it. I should really try and take this advice to heart; there's lots of good points here.


  6. OOC: I also forgot to mention, in case it wasn't implied, after the pitches have been made and the customer has made the decision, everyone "discards" the two cards they've used, and any other ones they don't want and "draws" new cards until they are back up to six total. That way, you're not stuck with the same six words all game.


  7. OOC: Alright, I'm sending out everyone's cards via PM, since I'm not familiar with how to set up private spoilers. I rolled a die between the 3 of us, since that's enough to start us off, and have determined that I will be the first customer. Since Alaeha wants to try and bring some RP to it, I will try and put in some effort as well :) It looks like the card I have drawn for myself is: "Frat Boy". Fun stuff. Once we get going, anyone else is still completely welcome to join in. Just declare your intention to join, and I will message you with your cards! :)

     

    Since I'm running the game, in the interest if transparency, I shall display MY cards. No one else is required to do this. I received:Cannon

    Foot

    DeathArtPosterWindow

     

    IC:Stick stumbles into the room, clearly inebriated, a bottle of Mr.Bunny brand carrot cake-flavoured vodka in one hand. He's wearing a black sweatervest with the greek letters "Lambda Lambda Lambda" over a makeshift toga made out of a bedsheet. He seems completely unaware of the various marker drawings adorning his face at the moment."Woo! Where's the part-hic-party at? Where'd everybody go? Hellooooo?"


  8. I'll get to dealing out cards shortly, just using this as a place holder. Please note that you don't have to really be in character; the only actual RP that has to be done would be as a salesperson trying to sell a given product to the customer. The customer could also RP their reactions if they want, but failing that, they can just say "I pick x person's product because y" (y can equal 'because I feel like it')Stay tuned, true believers!


  9. Hey guys, so in the better interest of trying to generate a little casual buzz, I've decided to run a play-by-post game of Snake Oil. Essentially, Snake Oil is a game of on-the-fly salesmanship and creative thinking. In the actual card game, the way it works is everyone who's playing is dealt out a hand of six cards, each of which has a single word on it. After that, one person is selected randomly to be the 'customer'. The customer will be dealt a two-sided card with two different occupations/lifestyles/etc. on it. They pick one, and everyone else playing now has about 30 seconds to come up with a sales pitched based on an item made out of two cards from their hands. After everyone has had a turn pitching their product (in the actual game you have about 30 seconds to make your pitch, after which, the customer can just say "Nope, not interested" or something of the like) the customer then has to decide which product they want to buy. This decision can be made based on who's product was the best, which one they liked the most, who gave the best pitch; it's all completely arbitrary, decided on by the customer. They decide by giving their card to the person they chose. After everyone has had a chance at being a customer, the person with the most customer card wins!The way I think I'll do it for the forums is thusly:

    I will "deal" everyone participating six unique cards either via personal spoilers (if someone can show me how to do this) or via PM. I'll randomly select someone to be the customer after say... four people at least join in. People can drop in at any point, even if a round has gone by. It's a slight disadvantage, but the game is really open like that, and it still works out okay. Anyways, I'll also let the person who's customer know their two options and then they can make it publically known which one they chose via a post. Everyone else now has about a week or two (ample time, right?) to come up with their pitch and post it in the thread. You may choose to either make it public or hide it via spoilers if you don't want the other players to see it until after they've posted. It's not a big deal; often times in the card game players alter their pitch based on the players before them, so it's okay. After the two weeks have gone by, or after everyone who has been 'dealt' cards has posted, then the customer will decide who will get their 'card'. A new customer will be selected out of everyone else, and play will continue. Everyone at this point has the option to 'discard' any number of cards and get replenished back to six.I'll now give an example of play.So, let's myself and my imaginary friends Spiderman and Batman are playing at the moment. Batman is the customer and Spiderman and I are the salesmen. After much consideration, he decides he's going to be the Runaway. I have been dealt the following cards:Horse

    Seat

    LockEarGlitterVirus

     

    And Spiderman has been dealt:

     

    SuitMonkeyDiamondHornTapeCostumeSpiderman, being quick on the draw, sees Monkey and Costume and is good to go. He goes ahead and makes his pitch like so:Alright Batman, so I see you're on the run. I'm not sure who you're running away from, since you don't have parents, but anyways. I bet running around, trying to find shelter, not having parents, all that stuff, it's very depressing. Well sir, I've got something that I think can brighten up your days: it's the Monkey Costume. Slip into this bad boy, and I guarantee that every day will be a barrel of fun! Need I say anymore?Myself, quite upset about all the "you don't have any parents" jabs, decide to go with Glitter and Horse, like-a so:Oh wow, that was pretty harsh. But let's get real here, Mister Batman. Not only is being a runaway sad, but it's also dangerous. You might not have your batmobile with you, or any of your other sweet crime fighting gear, so I've got a little something for you. It's fabulous, it's expedious, it'll keep you warm on those cold nights, my friend, say hello to the Glitterhorse! Not only can you ride it out of a sticky situation, but it'll also bring a little bit of extra sparkle to your day!Batman then thinks for a moment, and although he was upset about the 'no parent' jokes, there's just no way he's being caught dead on some sparkly horse. Monkey suit it is. He gives the card to spiderman, and play proceeds as outlined above.Sound fun?

     


  10. Certainly interesting. I used to dabble in a few different things myself; I used to do Tarot readings for my friends, but mostly just for entertainment. I didn't really take much stock in it, myself. (Please note that I don't mean that in such a manner as to deride the value of anyone else's view on the subject though.)


  11. An elderly dark-skinned man dressed in an elaborate house red house coat, a comfortable-looking pair of plain brown slacks and some navy blue sippers paced around a small room. Across from the only door was a large square window overlooking downtown New York. Infront of the window was a wide wooden desk that must have been at least 75 years old, sturdy in design if not faded in colour. The room was flanked by rows and rows of books, broken up occasionally by the odd curio here and there. A simple round rug took up the space on the floor between the desk and the door. The man hummed and hawed, then stopped pacing. Turning to the desk, he activated the video camera that was sitting on top, made his way around to the other side and sat and turned the camera around so it was facing him. It was resting on top of a few books so as to be at face level. Frowning, he spoke."Greetings children. If you are viewing this, then I am dead. Permanently this time. While I don't think Banner is the type for cold-blooded revenge, I have the feeling that after what I did to him, well, if he ever recovered from that, he'd coming looking for me. More likely than not, I wouldn't be able to keep calm, he'd hit me with some sciencey jibbery jobbery, and he'd turn into the Hulk and put me out of my misery. At least, that's the way I'm pretty sure it will happen. I wanted to leave you all, my adopted family with this diary in the hopes that it may give you some insight into who I really am, and perhaps uncover the secrets of my past, if I haven't done so by the time of this recording." He paused a moment."...where to start. Well, I guess first off, I don't even know my real name. 'Ghost Dad' is the code name SHIELD gave me after I first reappeared on the mortal plane about 30 years ago. I overheard someone saying something once about the irony in the name, but I never understood it. In any case, as much I wanted to know my real name, they told me that it was imperative that I never found out. That is a secret they have locked up tighter than the address to Colonel Fury's current hiding spot. I've been searching for a long time, and I still can't find out WHY. Until Banner finds me, I'm not going to give up on finding it out, but in the mean time, I have you kids now to look after, and that gives me meaning. Let me say right now, as an aside, that I'm really proud of you all. I've been mentoring young people such as yourselves for literally decades, and none have managed to make as much as of an impact on me as you have, so thank you. It does bring me pleasure to call you my family. Up until these recent months, it's always been a job for SHIELD, calling in their favours and doing their bidding; with you, I've managed to break free and start fresh somehow. Thank you."He paused again and cleared his throat, a mostly meaningless gesture. "Anyways. I need to tell you what I do know about myself, and my past. If I don't survive long enough to find out the answers to my questions, my only request is that you at least try to find out for me. The truth must be known. So, before I touch on my past, I will tell you about myself in general. As you all know by now, I am indeed an actual ghost. I don't eat, I don't sleep, I don't breathe. Through decades of practice, I have been able to alter my form to the point where not only can I touch the physical world, but actually manifest in it in a solid form. Even lately my abilities in this area of vastly improved. Heh, I think you kids have truly brought out the best in me there too. Anyways. Although I don't sleep, from time to time I will leave the physical world as you all know it, and enter some sort of trance-like state. Time seems to flow differently, and I seem to not have full control over my actions. I guess I'd equate it to having a really vivid dream. That isn't truly accurate, but it's the best way I can describe it. While in this state, images come to me. Terrifying, gruesome images. I see people in pain, suffering, bleeding, screaming. Screaming at me. I look down," Ghost Dad looks down at his hands, turning them over, a worried look creasing his forehead, "and it's my hands inflicting the pain and suffering, making these people scream and bleed. Doing terrible things. I don't understand, I'm scared, I fall over, I try to run away, but the sounds, the feelings, they follow me. Everything swirls around me, then I'm in complete darkness. He reach out, and find a wall. I hear a faint, muted buzzing. Weird noises, noises I've never heard before. Words in a language I don't understand. I feel this wrenching at the center of my being and then a sensation like I'm being pulled up. I shield my face from the wall of darkness but I find that the wall isn't there, but the darkness is. Moments later, I find myself in a dim light. I look up, and there's this rectangular device with a glowing white screen, shining light downwards onto me. C.L.A.I.R. I look at my surroundings and stumble backwards when I see a tombstone. My tombstone. I try to read the name then... then I 'wake up'. It's a terrifying sensation, and I hope it's one any of you never have to face in your lifetime."He runs his hands through his short, curly grey hair then looks into the camera again and speaks, "I... I think they're my memories. From when I was living. I'm not sure, but I think the reason SHIELD doesn't want me to know about my past is because I wasn't a nice person at all. I think whoever I was, whenever it was, I did some terrible things. Why SHIELD wants me around if that's the case, I don't know. But they don't want me to know, and I intend to find out." He stands up and sighs. "...that's all for now."


  12. I guess my question is the matter is, how important is it that something is considered "art" (and a person be considered an artist, by extension)? It's like when Roger Ebert (rest in peace good sir) declared that video games aren't art. I don't think he was entirely correct, but then again, maybe he was at least somewhat right. While they certainly had aspects of art, and were beautiful in their own way, especially for the emotional reactions I have had playing a lot of them, but does that make them "art"? Tough to say. But why does it matter so much that video games be called art? I was initially upset about it until I asked myself "why do I care?" Then I realized, oh wait, I don't. Video games are video games, and whether they are considered "art" or not doesn't bother me in the slightest, nor does it take away any of the enjoyment.But apples to oranges. Is writing art? Well, songwriting is art. Poetry is art. Storytelling? I don't know, but I think so. I think my definition of art would be "a creative endeavor that seeks to have an emotional interaction with its audience". That's a pretty generic definition, and I'm sure there are counter-examples, but I think that's how I'd simplify it. Me, I write stories for the fun of it. Poetry/songs, because I just want to express myself. Does that make me an artist? Well, others could call me such, and I wouldn't hold it against them. Would *I* call myself an artist? No, not really. Why? Mostly because it's a hobby for me; it's not the sole method by which I'd define myself. I write, but I am not a 'writer'. I might create something that is considered to be 'art', but I am not an artist. If my life's effort were to write songs and poetry, then I would most certainly consider myself an artist. Stories? I feel as if 'writer' would be sufficient; I wouldn't feel the need to call myself an artist, although I don't think I'd argue if someone labeled me as such.


  13. "So what you're telling me Dar'vek, is that you have a pirate ship."

     

    "Yes."

     

    "That can fly."

     

    "Aye."

     

    "That can also cross whatever needs to be crossed to get me off this planet and back to Terra and then back here again so I can clean things up?"

     

    "Also yes."Stick paused for a moment. "...and that your ship is currently being guarded by a dragon."

     

    "That about sums it up.""I don't suppose you have a plan here, do you?""Plan? No, I've tried the tactician thing, not really my style. I'm more of the act first, think later type. It worked pretty well up until I got stranded here."

     

    "Heh. Well, I guess that makes two of us, doesn't it? I don't like it, but I think it's the best hope I have. What do you say we..."

     

    There was the sound of a door breaking into splinters. Dierden ducked just as a large chunk sailed over his head. "MURDERFAAAACE!" a figure from the door bellowed. It appeared to be a half-orc of rather bulky proportions. "I'm here for your bounty, lizard!" he shouted, pointing a mace at Dar'vek."Mur..what...did that guy just call you Murderface?! What kinda name is Murderface? Did I hear that right?" Dierden asked quizzically. "Is that a half-orc thing?"Dar'vek spun around, drawing two large swords from sheathes on his back, sparing Dierden a sidelong glance. "Eh heh. It was early in my career. I WAS a pirate after all. I mayyyy have bloodied my hands a little.""...okay, but Murderfa..." Dierden was cut off by a throwing knife flying towards his face which he plucked out of the air rather handily with a spin and a flourish. "Hey, we're talking here!"

     

    This was met by a snarl from the half-orc, followed by a charge with the mace. Dar'vek parried it wide, sending the mace crashing through an adjacent table. Wood splinters and food off the table flew everywhere. With a growl, the half-orc swung it out of the table and took aim at Dar'vek's skull. This was met by a more controlled block and countered with a thrust from the draconian's other sword. The half orc hastily grabbed a large knife from his belt and managed a clumsy parry and the two traded blows back and forth while chaos erupted around them. Few patrons hid, while the most decided to air the grievances with each other through violence. Fists and pewter mugs flew alike, curses and the sound of bone hitting flesh echoed throughout the common room of the tavern. Stick edged around his large companion and his opponent slowly, dodging chairs and flying bodies as he did so. He snagged a serving girl that was trying to scoop up her tips from the ground just before a chair crashed down where she was knelt over. Stick grimaced at another serving girl holding the remains of the chair shrugged, smiled and hopped off to join the fray elsewhere."But anyways, really, Murderface? Who does that? Who says 'hey, I'm going to call myself Mur-'"Dar'vek interrupted him as he parried another blow that probably would have caved in his temple. "Enough man, fighting!""Aw, come on, don't tell me you can't talk and fight?" Dierden jeered as he gingerly ducked down and kicked out the legs from beneath a burly patron who had managed to find a kitchen knife. "Tch, how rude. I'll have to take that." With a quick chop from his right hand, he snapped the larger man's wrist, causing him to drop the large knife which Dierden quickly picked up.

     

    "Raaagh!" Dar'vek shouted out as he found an opening in his opponents defense. As a high-arcing swing from the mace was coming down towards his head, Dar'vek kicked the half-orc in the abdomen, causing him to reel back briefly. In this moment, the Draconian dropped the sword in his left hand, rolled forward over his shoulder and thrust with both hands on the handle of the sword in his right, catching the half orc in the gut. With a gurgle and some incrompehensible words (most likely in orcish) the thug keeled over and passed out. Hopping to his feet, Dar'vek wiped his sword off on a randomly discarded towel he picked up off the ground and grunted. "Bandits. Always with the bandits. Find a wanted poster and all of the sudden you're 'bounty hunters." He spit at what was soon to be a corpse. "Ha, don't make me laugh. You don't have the talent, the equipment, or the experience.""...uhhh huh. Um, so this place kinda went to hell, I think we should get moving... Muuuuurrrderface."

     

    Dar'vek grimaced. "Ugh. You're right. Let's get out of here before they make us pay the tab, or clean up.""Sounds good. Y'know I can't let this lie, right? I am now obligated to harass you about this for at least until we find your ship. At least."

     

    The draconian just rolled his eyes and pushed his way through the rabble and out the door. "Come on, we're burning daylight. I want my ship back."OOC: Ask and you shall receive.


  14. Flash

     

    He was in a tavern, in another time, sitting across from a man with fiery red hair and burly shoulders. He was fuming, and unable to look Dierden in the eye. A serving girl walked by, leaving a pair of frothing mugs on the table. Halfheartedly, the dropped a few coins onto her tray and waved her off.

     

    "...you... what did you do? You know what... you know what they..."

     

    Dierden frowned, looked at the mug in front of him and slid it closer to the edge of the table. "What do you mean?"

     

    "...in those caves... my village... damnit..."

     

    "Tayne, you're not making any sense man, talk to me!"

     

    Tayne looked up, fury raging behind darkened eyes. "Magic... you..."

     

    "Magic? ...oh wait, you mean in the caves where I found this?" he gestured to what appeared to be a simple quarterstaff that with pointed ends. "I already told you Tayne, I have no idea what happened back there. However it happened though, I'm glad; we would have DIED otherwise!"

     

    Silence. Dierden knew what happened years ago. Some years ago, a travelling sorceror came to Tayne's village, to offer his services. In the very same evening, something went wrong with his powers and he was unable to control them. By the time dawn came, everyone in the village save Tayne was dead, burned to a crisp. He hated any sort of magic users ever since then. It didn't come up too often, but after what had happened in that cave... Tayne's chair scraped across the floor as he jumped to his feet.

     

    "Stay away from me! I thought we were... I thought you were..raaaaaghh!" he yelled and turned to run out the door. Dierden chased after him, clasped him on the shoulder and was about to speak when the burly man turned and punched him square in the face. "STAY AWAY!"Things went dark for him as he hit the ground. It wasn't supposed to be this way...

     

    Flash

     

     

     

     

     

    OOC: Spaceholder. I forgot insomnia is my muse, but I must succumb for now.


  15. The sounds of skittering, heavy breathing and arguing could be heard from the distance.

     

    *Skitter skitter skitter*

     

    "Waaaaaaaaait!!"

     

    The skittering got closer then, suddenly, a lanky looking man in coveralls crashed through a side door, a mop bucket following behind him.

     

    "Wait! I've got this!"

     

    Tzimfemme and Wyvern turned his direction and looked in surprise. They couldn't really figure it out who it was at first.

     

    "I've got it, I've got it!"

     

    "..."

     

    "I so do, you overpowered rodent! Let me at it!"

     

    "..."

     

    "Fine, fine, you can help too, just hurrrreeeee!"

     

    "Excuse us, do we know... Stick?" Tzimfemme asked. Yes, it was most certainly Stick. There was a grimy nametag on his coveralls that announced as much. Underneath his name was the word janitor, in quotation marks. "...what are you doing?"

     

    "Why, I'm here to deal with the fire of course! Job's never done and all that." Mr.Bunny hopped out from behind the mop bucket and shrugged as best a rabbit can.

     

    "..."

     

    "Sorry, we're here to help. Did I overhear something about a stepladder? I think I can help. Observe." Snatching the water-filled mop bucket in one hand, and producing the bigpointystick from somewhere in his coveralls with the other, he gingerly stepped out the front door and around the stepladder. With a thrust he snapped one end of the BPS firmly into a softer spot of ground outside. Keeping his hand on the haft, he concentrated hard for a moment. The BPS started to glow, then grow. First taller, than wider. Once it was about a foot and a half wide, gaps started appearing at regular intervals, until it finally resembled a ladder. Being made out of wood, it seemed to attract all sorts of flame, but instead of catching fire it simply scored and burned in places. A few moments later, the affected burns would simply flake off and reveal unharmed wood underneath. Without hesitating, Stick climbed the ladder, trying to lose too much water as he made his way up. He shielded himself from the heat as best he could, since he didn't share his weapon's immunity to harm. Once close enough to the top, he hurled the water from his pail at the fire. It hissed at him in response, clearly upset and not overly impressed. Overall, it didn't seem to affect the blaze much at all. "Huh."

     

    Stick slid down the bigpointyladder and shrugged, "Well, that's my plan. Anyone got any marshmallows?"

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