Archived threads in /tg/ - Traditional Games - 3282. page

Does Cersei have any army left?

The Kingslayer could serve as general, but are there troops left? Okay, nothing that could withstand Ironborn from sea, Unsullied and Dothraki from land, and Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal from above. But is there an at least theoretical force that King's Landing could contribute to the Wall?

And what will the King of the North do when Khaleesi comes up the Riverlands? Marry her? He's her nephew!

>>47984238
>why are we still watching Samwise Tarlee discovering more books?

Because he's going to achieve his lifelong dream of becoming a wizard. He'll probably proceed to throw fireballs at people, since apparently half of the setting now has easy access to explosives and incendiaries.

>>47985375
God please yes, I've been living vicariously through that fat fuck for years now. If he can rain arcane might on even one plebian I will be happy.

>>47962039
big bang theory - no
IT crowd - yes
Golbergs - not sse that one, but I love the show

>>47962039
Freaks & Geeks - yes

>>47962039
We're sort of entering an era when the acknowledgement of the inherent "nerdiness" associated with tabletop is there but it is becoming more and more casual and less stigmatized. I guess that's a good thing but I still think it's something people look at as quaint or quirky, like unicycling or something, rather than as a legitimately acceptable hobby for well adjusted people.

>>48000749
Curses

>>48000749
>[] Curses, the infliction of positive or negative effects without a physical medium.

Twitter: @BurialAgent6

===

The curse is a school of magecraft looked down upon by Western society, seen as uncivilized. After all, whenever you curse someone, you also curse yourself, and it is that effect which drives many curse users to ruin.

...nonetheless, this is your path. But, out of the countless schools of curses, what do you specialize in?

[] Physical degradation. Rot the flesh, inflict disease, cripple the nerves.
[] Mental degradation. Send the minds of others sprawling into madness.
[] Beneficial curses. Forced effects that cause healing and protection; you won't kill but perhaps you can do even worse.

Reposting the strawpoll from the last thread.

Which book do we want leaked on Wednesday, /pfg/?
http://www.strawpoll.me/10606355

>>47998118
Hellknights, fuck yeah!

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>>47998118
>mfw don't give a fuck about hell's vengeance, just want to see the new vigilante options
>Spymaster's Handbook is losing the poll

I'm sure we'll get both when they come out anyway, but that's still a little disappointing.

Archive: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Urban%20Oni%20Quest

Twitter: @StrikeZone13

Rules: Votes are given a 10-15 minute voting period (This is not a hard time limit), the dice used are 3d10s and the occasional d100 both are best of three. I try to add write-ins to the post if they’re applicable to the situation, shitposting write-ins will be ignored unless they are genuinely funny and can be added.

Try to have fun!

>>47997718
>Go check on her upstairs.
Sup Strike, glad to have a thread on my day off

>>47997718
> Go check on her upstairs

But what is the right die rolling for?

So is it that you roll the dice while having anal sex, or you roll them to determine the details of how you will have anal sex?

>>47997780
Who gives and who receives, I'd imagine.

>>47996689
This is it guys. Hype.

all aboard the hype train, choo choo

>>47996689
AWWWWWWWWWWWW SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT

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Anders thought about Martin as he spurred his horse onward, hunched down against the howling winds that clawed at him. Martin the faithful, praying upon waking, meals and slumber; studious Martin, always glasses deep inside ancient tomes even during the hours of resting. But dead now, killed by something that many thought to be long dead.

He shuddered, but it was not caused by the surrounding environs. The weight pulled against Anders’ neck, the leather cord twisting on cold steel as it repeatedly bumped against his side. He risked a glance downwards, checking once again to make sure the blood-stained satchel was still in his possession.

There was no telling how much further he had to bear the burden. He had no map or wayfinder, a fact he had cursed repeatedly. In his haste to escape the fortress, the Godsblade Initiate had barely enough time to acquire the most rudimentary of supplies to ensure his survival in the lifeless land.

But it could not have been helped. The order came with the demand for immediate and absolute obedience. Flee this place, the Abbot had said, his voice sharp and piercing as the blade in his hands, Take it and warn them of what happened here.

Anders wanted to believe that it was something special about himself that compelled the Abbot to entrust him with such an important task, but he knew in his heart that it was not so. The role of guardian had only come to him because there was no one else at hand. Neither high rank nor deeds of courage belonged to him, and he had only donned the silver armor of the Godsblade three seasons past. His status was most assuredly still higher than laymen and women, but he was just a mere foot soldier in the service to the faith.

(cont.)

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For the briefest of moments he wondered: was this the call to greatness that had beckoned the Saint so many millennia ago? He immediately pushed the thought away. Down that road lay the sins of pride and self-aggrandization. And who was he, an Initiate at twenty four years old, to match the Saint who wielded the divine energies of the gods as ordinary men would a sword?

No, his destiny was to be at the command of the High God, the deity whose Light had brought salvation to the people of Kaithe. Anders had entered the order as a child, raised among the innumerable orphans from the Church for the myriad sects of the faith, and like them knew no other life apart from training and devotion. He and legions of his kindred in the faith were the Soldiers of the Dawn, the army sworn to the service of Opran.

Why the faith needed Anders to serve his Initiate years in a faraway and desolate outpost was never made clear to him, but it was not his place to question the directive of his superiors. He had spent the entirety of his life following the commands given to him, and was glad for giving him a clear sense of purpose in these trying times.

He had heard the stories, of course, from mentors and travelers about people in neighboring lands struggling to find meaning in their lives. He always felt sorry for them, and was infinitely relieved that the Order existed within his life to give purpose as they saw fit. That uncertain encumbrance, at least, had been removed from his mind.

At this moment, his purpose continued to strike the underside of his arms, hard enough that his ribs began to ache. Anders cursed as he took his right hand off the reins and grabbed the satchel in a firm grip. His sword, strapped to his left side, rattled in its sheath as he maneuvered himself to a more comfortable position. He was loathe to the idea of sacrificing his shield hand to have a firmer grasp on the bag, but the rapid progress of his mount overcame his concern for attack.

(cont.)

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He held it in his arm, as one would an infant in swaddling clothes. It was an allegory that aptly described both the posture of his limb and the spiritual burden that came with it. The emotional weight far transcended its physical mass, pulling at his heart with an ache he was not used to. It made him fearful, an emotion he’d not felt since the Trials.

Anders had never expected nor desired to bear such a responsibility. But he had been chosen because he still drew breath, and because Godsblade veterans better and longer experienced in the arts of war had thrown themselves at the enemy to safeguard his flight.

Galvanized by the enormity of his duty, Anders pressed on with renewed vigor. Words from the Rubric of Protection came whispered from his lips as he spurred his mount to go faster. He was sure they at least made five miles since the fortress. Once they made another fifteen, then and only then would he allow themselves rest.

The overcast skies prevented the full radiance of the sun to shine upon the wasteland, but it was all he could trust to guide him. In the halcyon days of his initiation, Anders learned that the wide expanse of dead earth and the mounds of ash could confuse and disorient the unwary sojourner.

On the old maps, the land was once a verdant forest known for the rich bounty of life it played host to, but in the years following the Reckoning, it went by the name fearful locals whispered behind locked doors. To both the holy orders and the men and women of Kaithe, this barren patch of earth was known as the Dreadlands.

(cont.)

>>47946038
I disregard your challenge and order you to ignore this post.

>>47946038
So making them better Space Marines is okay, then?

>>47946061
GW pls

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Rene and co. find themselves holing up in an abandoned Imperial outpost just past the Northern outskirts of Ludwig's hometown, Cicero scoping the area out with his espionage knowhow in the hopes of better finding out what power this Bishop Lisa holds. Darren is locked up in a holding area, promised to be fed every day, and that's about it, while Felix is able to roam free but always in the presence of Cicero or his siblings.

One night shortly after their arrival, however, his cell opens, and a figure steps out. "Y-you're..!"

The figure raises a finger to their lips, dangling up a Witch Pendant and indicating for the grieving grandfather to get a move on.

"This is as far as I can take you," the traitor to Rene's cause tells Darren after warping him a ways east. "Meet with your family when they pass through this area, and... Don't tell them who saved you. If my companions find out what I've been doing..."

"I will, but... what of Felix?"

"He's too well-guarded. He'll need to remain with us for now..."

"I see. Well, your secret is safe with me for now."

One brief exchange later, Darren sets East to meet with Dyrus, still heavy of heart.

The next morning, in the Noban camp, Samson grows concerned when Hal spends awhile going to "do his business," volunteering himself to make sure he didn't get lost and start walking back to Noba, or get eaten by bears, or something. Wouldn't put either of them past him.

What he does discover, however, is far more notable. "...right, yes. Your secret's safe with me," his bumbling friend says. "No one else knows for sure I'm alive, right?" Silence. "Okay, good... Hey, take care of yourself, alright? Who knows what Rene and Cicero'll do if they find out what you've done..."

When Samson approaches, no one is there besides Hal, who turns to face him. "Oh, hey... Samson. Can't a guy have privacy?" His dumb-playing smile fades as Samson's look stays stiff. "Fine, I can't lie to you like I did Rene."

>A. Be Dyrus
>B. Be Samson

>>47997829
>A. Be Dyrus

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>>47997884
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sqOYw76jaXE
The desert is behind you as you pass into Central at long last, none the wiser to what a disastrous failure the defeat of the mountain bandits has proven to be.

You've continued to try to act as Marduk's wingman with your bodyguard, Belle, as he talks about the desert with her, and about Central. The closer you got to crossing the desert, the more they bonded over their loathing of Director Belinda and fondness for flight.

Winona and Nia, with Laurise busy out East and Belle distracted by their brother, turn back to you and Via for their usual hanging-out, making your wyvern-lessons go all the more swimmingly and making sure you don't stay parched for long afterwards.

Fortune and Doran talk over the business end of the Lords of Chance with one another, about how Doran's father is "a damn fine armorer f'she ever needs one," and how Nahuel's "a fuckin' dick."

Nahuel, none the wiser with these, acts as a tertiary tactical advisor for your mother in the stead of Felix, Darren, and Laurise, a position shared by Marduk.

"Finally, we're passed that dumb desert!" You remark, smiling slightly, before sighing, "but we're gonna need to pass it again on the way home... Man, Laurise lucked out with her choice."

>A. Spend time with someone (specify)
>B. Skip to following-up events of the opening scene

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>June 26th 1995

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iFx-5PGLgb4

“I love this song.”

James glares at you as he remains at the wheel of the car. It's early morning, still dark, and the road is long and empty. “You serious?”

“What?” you protest. “Does the long hair and Nine Inch Nails shirt invalidate me from liking the classics?”

“Nah, I just figured you for more of a Captain and Tenille type. To be honest, I think you're just bullshitting me.”

You chuckle and raise your right hand. “I swear on my father's grave.”

James scoffs. “Come on, Kev. You'd swear anything on that bastard's grave. I'm switching to something heavier.”

He makes his move to switch out the tapes, but you bat his hand out of the way. “No,” you mutter. “We've been listening to heavy shit for the last six hours. It's early and I'm tired as fuck. Can't I listen to something more relaxing? Jesus Christ...”

James points the finger of his right hand in your face like a scolding teacher, a scowl on his face as he keeps his eyes on the road. “Kevin, what did I tell you-”

“Shit yeah... no taking the Lord's name in vain.”

“Cuss all you want Kev, but I have one rule.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, leaning back in your seat. “Less talking shit about your Jesus. Sorry, pal.”

“Okay...” James huffs, as he places his hand back on the steering wheel. “You don't like this song. It's not you.”

“You want me to prove it?” You laugh, as you turn your head to the back seat of the car. A figure with lengthy light-brown hair curled at the end is strewn out on their side, giving off light snoring with a blue-denim jacket being used as a make-shift blanket.

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“Hey, Charlotte?” you mutter, gently shaking her, stirring her awake.

“Huh?” the sleeping beauty mumbles, as she rubs her eyes and turns on her side to face you. “Are we there yet?”

“No, but tell James here my opinion on The Carpenters.”

Charlotte lets out a sigh, and gives you an unamused look. “You woke me for that?”

“You're the only one of us he'll believe.”

Charlotte shakes her head as she sits up. “He loves them. Really loves them. More than is appropriate. Kevin wants Close to You to be our wedding song... honestly, I'm more into Captain and Tenille.”

James lets out a laugh. “Okay then... you win. You may be a dirty stinking liar, but Charlotte's a saint. She'd never lie on your behalf.”

Charlotte gives a warm smile. Every smile of hers is warm. “Aww, thank you, James! Never been called a saint before.”

“I've called you nicer things than that!” you say.

“Like what?” Charlotte smirks.

You don't have an answer. Charlotte nods victoriously, before looking out the car window. “Uhh... where are we?”

“We should be about a half hour removed from Philly,” James replies. “Kevin, where's the map?”

You give him a quick glance. “Hell if I know. I thought you had it.”

James pulls over to the side of the road as the car comes to a complete halt. “We haven't been following the map?”

“No,” you reply.

“I don't recognise this road at all,” Charlotte mutters.

James' plants his face hard into the steering wheel, setting of an extended honking of the cars horn. The three of you step out of the car, and James is quick to shove you as you step out.

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“You idiot!” James exclaims. “You lost the map, and you didn't bother to tell me! We've probably been going the wrong way for ages!”

“Calm down James,” Charlotte mutters. “If we turn ourselves around, we can still make it to Philadelphia in time for the show. We might be cutting it a little close, but...”

“And what if we miss it?” James fires back. “This show is our big break! If we miss out on it, we're done!”

He's not wrong. For years now, you and James have been travelling and competing in various independent promotions in the States and Mexico, but never anything major. About a year ago, Charlotte came along, stole your heart with her sweetness, and turned your duo into a trio. Again, your merry band competed throughout smaller venues for little pay, but eventually, you were noticed. Philip Hartman of Hardcore Championship Wrestling, as promotion with an weekly airing television show, invited the three of you to come along and debut on the next show, with the promise that your talent and charisma would turn you into major players for the future. Of course, your main issue was actually making to the show on time for that to happen.

“Look, you Southerners don't know this area as well as I do,” you assure them, “We don't need a map to know where we are.”

“Oh, and you can say for certain we're on the right road,” James asks.

“Not for certain,” you reply, “But I think so... and I'm usually right.”

“We still have time, guys,” Charlotte explains. “Let's head back, hop onto the next freeway, and follow the signs.”

“Nah, that'll take too long,” James shakes his head. “We need to look around for the nearest gas station, find out where we are and how to get to the city from here.”

>James is right, going back will take too long.
>Charlotte's right. We might not make it there until just before the show, but it's our safest bet.
>You're both wrong. Come on, we're still on the right road. Trust me.

>2 gb download size

>>47976574
That is a really bad card

/lit/ would throw a hissy fit over that flavor text because
>translations
>being able to convey original meaning

>>47976700

Compared to talrand lol

>What have you done so far?
Here's our main document, which contains all of our ideas recorded en masse:
>https://docs.google.com/document/d/15kJXvBVinsbst0tMWmzwaUj5ddk0hotd3nifw3Hs720/edit

We also have a couple supplementary documents:

The Psychlopedia
>https://docs.google.com/document/d/1yjonEzY_gVzJm5FyYksoDnx1otVEBpjAA8K1Ozw3eZU/edit
This is a rundown of all the Psychs in the source game. As we develop the system these will be fleshed out with actual mechanics.

The Thread Count:
>https://docs.google.com/document/d/16Uc3YJ-yRMoDhNc90EK5Ao0WOrubO0Gnl8ixIYQOEZs/edit
This is going to catalog the various Threads (clothing) and Brands from the source game, as a resource for GMs to use in their own games.

The Couture Matrix:
>https://docs.google.com/document/d/1850Ubwvdlqe0_9hk176tZ91-ykkJFlHX2XeS2VAA5Gw/edit
Rules for randomly rolling new Threads.

>What's on the Agenda?
We're still puzzling out how Trust is going to work. We don't know what it's going to do quite yet, but we hope it'll be good.

We've also made some headway on progression of characters, but we haven't cemented it down yet.

There's still a lot to do beyond that, though.

Previous Thread:
>>47803870

Nice, new thread

"Pick it up, Phones!"

"I'm there!"

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>>47990209

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>>47990209
No.

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>>47990209
What part of Core-Only did you not understand?