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Old Sep 9th, 2020, 10:21 PM
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The Witch is Dead, Volume I

APPLICATIONS ARE NOW CLOSED!

Please note that if you have already posted expressing interest (but have not completed an RP sample) your application will still be considered.

If there is continued interest after the conclusion of Volume I, I may run the game again with a new group.

Game NameThe Witch is Dead, Volume I
Game SystemOther roleplaying games (The Witch is Dead RPG)
ThemeBloody revenge, animal mischief
FlavorFun, one-shot, one-page RPG, light mechanics
Game SummarySeeking cute woodland animals for a game of The Witch is Dead, a one-page RPG about murder:

"Once upon a time, there was a kind and wise and beautiful witch who lived in the forest with her familiars, and her life was peaceful and happy until a #@$%ING WITCH-HUNTER broke into her cottage and dragged her out and #@$%ING MURDERED HER and now she’s DEAD. But if you get revenge and kill him and bring his EYES to her corpse within a week she’ll come back to life. Or so you’ve heard. Even if it doesn’t work, at least he’s dead. The Witch-Hunter has retreated to the village, the #@$%ING COWARD. Get him."

The rules and background are available for free on the creator's site, and a printable text version can be found here.

In short, each creature is assigned a set of four traits and a single low-level spell. Whenever a PC tries to do something, they will roll a d10 and add their most relevant trait, attempting to beat a DC set by the GM. Instead of HP, players will track "DANGER," a cumulative stat that can eventually result in death, capture, etc. That's it!

Much of the game's setup is left to chance - dice rolls will determine the players' species and cantrips, as well as the defining characteristics of the village and Witch-Hunter.
Application RequirementsBecause the PCs won't know what character they're playing until the game begins, applications should consist of a short, original RP sample, written from the perspective of a raccoon with it's hand stuck in a magic potion of a indeterminate origin.

Kindly describe how you, the raccoon, free your hand from the bottle as well as any consequences (intended or otherwise) suffered as a result.

I'm looking for 4-6 players able to post a few times per week, with an application deadline of 9/18 (applications may close earlier, depending on interest).
Applications in Process
PlayerCharacter NameStatus
ThebatrastardTBDAccepted
ElanirTBDAccepted
DemonSlayerTBDAccepted
Arundel val EstarTBDAccepted
RetryTBDAccepted
lydkleinTBDAccepted
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Get on up! Tug of War 97 rages on...

Last edited by Mallothi; Oct 7th, 2020 at 08:03 PM.
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Old Sep 9th, 2020, 11:14 PM
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I’m at my max number of games right now and can’t apply, but wanted to say that this sounds great. Love the application essay. Good luck, everycritter!
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Old Sep 10th, 2020, 12:02 AM
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Super insterested! Here is my meager submission

Trapped: A Short Story"Crooaakuh! Crooaakuh! Crooaakuh!" the blunt sound of frog laughter split the quiet night asunder.

"Oh shut up, flybrains!" retorted Bandit, the brows on the raccoon furrowed with frustration. He sat upon a mossy rock, a stone's throw from the sleepy village, his hand trapped inside a glass prison. Turning his attention away from the amphibious mockery, he narrowed his beady eyes and peered at the bottle stuck to him. The liquid inside was tan and pearlescent, he hadn't seen anything like it before; he had to have it.

Looks just like magic milk, Bandit thought to himself. Perfect for my collection. He hoisted himself to his feet and scampered off towards his hovel, certain he had something that could help. The soft sound of leaves whispering beneath his claws accompanied him to the abandoned cottage he called home.

Bandit made the awkward three limbed climb up to the second story window, grunting as he went. As he rolled his round body through the open portal, he landed with a crash on top of his oldest friend.

"Aaiiiii!!" the old rat screamed. "Come at me, yon scallywag!" the rodent hollered.

"Hush, Seasalt, leave me be," Bandit countered; shoving the old rat aside he headed for his hole in the wall. "I've a situation to attend to, don't bother me you old coot," he was in no mood for the rat's nonsense at the moment.

"Now y' wait just a hair," Seasalt called, poking his head into the hole, but Bandit was already gone.

In a matter of moments Bandit was in his treasure trove. Coins, jewelry, and knick knack's littered the small space; true treasures packed in among them: a dagger that belonged to a prince, or so Bandit claimed; a magic wand, or maybe a neat stick, he wasn't sure yet; a couple of stoppered potions, tested by the raccoon himself; and a piece of a hangman's noose, sure to be imbued with otherworldy powers of course.

Bandit nibbled at his wrist, pulling the bottle, hoping for a miracle. But none came. He sighed and groaned, then began to rummage through the hoard he'd acquired. That's when he felt the tingle. His hand felt like it had fallen asleep; or, well, sort of. It felt airier than that. He gulped and raised the bottle, his eyes piercing the darkness. His hand looked big. Or bigger. Maybe is was a trick of the -

Suddenly Bandit's hand grew in size, breaking the bottle. He didn't even have a moment for thought before his whole body exploded. He felt himself crash through the wall, then the floor as he grew and grew. In a violent moment, his entire body had expanded and filled the house. His head was pressed against a wall, his limbs were trapped, his fluffy tail waved through what used to be the front door.

"Seasalt. I might need some help," he sighed.

Last edited by Thebatrastard; Sep 10th, 2020 at 12:03 AM.
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Old Sep 10th, 2020, 08:54 AM
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I love one-page RPGs like this.

Tossing my hat in, consider this my placeholder
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Old Sep 10th, 2020, 04:14 PM
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The Story of the Raccoon, the Rats, the Owl and the Goldfish

Or

Why you should always call your pet by their name



"The world, my friends, is an unfair place. Unfair and cruel, especially towards animals like you and me."

Ricky the raccoon looked around the room, hoping that his words had moved the animals living inside the alchemist’s laboratory. They hadn’t. A pair of rats in a small cage, one grey and fat and one brown and skinny, looked at the raccoon and started sneering as it desperately tried to pull his hand (paw really) out of a glass bottle filled with a clear red liquid.

"Says the thief", remarked the brown rat. "Thief!", agreed the grey rat. "No, wait. He is a burglar. Burglar!", continued the rodent and cackled maliciously.

Ricky felt his cheeks burn red hot with indignation and had it not been for his black and white fur the sight would have been mighty impressive.

"I beg your pardon! I am no thief or burglar. I tried to purchase the potion of healing from Old Al. He just wouldn’t hear me out!"

The room filled with a strange laughter coming from somewhere near the ceiling. The raccoon almost strained his neck, but he finally located its source: A large fluffy owl with speckled white feathers perched upon a wooden beam.

"Hoo, hoo. That is, little one, because the alchemist is a human and you are a raccoon. He doesn’t understand our speech. Hoo, hoo."

The owl’s cry unsettled Gerald the goldfish who had been untiringly swimming in circles in his small bowl for the last few hours.

"Who?" Turning towards the raccoon the small fish’s eyes grew as wide as the owl’s. "Who are YOU?"

Ricky sighed. "As I already told you five times in the last three minutes, I am Ricky and I require this magical potion to heal Miss Fiona the fox, whose leg was caught in a hunter’s trap!"

The rats cackled. "A likely story!", said the grey rat. "A very unlikely likely story!", added the brown one.

Ricky shook his head in resignation. There was no use speaking to these foolish rats. Perhaps, the owl would be able to help him with the bottle. She seemed to be intelligent, not to mention the only animal not trapped in a cage or bowl. "Humans don’t understand our speech because they don’t care to learn it. They speak hundreds of languages themselves, one more shouldn’t be a problem!"

"Hoo, hoo. Be that as it may, you tried to take his potion without permission. The master will be angry. And we expect him to return any minute now. Hoo, hoo."

"Who? Who is this?", asked the goldfish the owl, but no one paid it any attention.

The raccoon had had enough! These animals were not like his friends living in the forest. They were odd, more like humans than true animals. There was a dreaded name to describe such fauna traitors: pets! Frustration turning to strength, Ricky raised his arm (leg really) and brought it along with the bottle crushing down to the table he was sitting upon. Once, twice, three times. The glass cracked and then shattered, spilling the liquid all over the wooden surface.

"Vandal!", screamed the brown rat. "Gangster!", shouted the grey one.

"A vandal gangster!?", asked the goldfish, his voice trembling with fear. "Where?" His eyes narrowed suspiciously when he spotted the raccoon. "Who are you and what are you doing here? I have never seen your face again. Don’t think you can fool me!"

Ricky stuck out his tongue at the amnesiac goldfish, the malevolent rats and the holier-than-thou owl. "You deserve your fate. I hope you enjoy the rest of your life with the alchemist. Bye!"

Oh Miss Fiona, thought the raccoon as he leapt upon a chair, landed on the floor, swiftly crossed the room, climbed an armchair, pushed open the window and jumped outside. Your poor leg. I fear you’ll have to limp from now on.

"Hoo, hoo. Wait! You forgot this." As Ricky turned his eyes to the sky, he saw the owl carrying another bottle of red liquid in her claws. The owl landed next to the raccoon and gave him the bottle. "You are right, you know. In all the years I have lived with Al, he has not once called me by my name. „Owl do this. Owl do that.“ My name is not owl! My name is Ophelia."

Ricky smiled. There was hope after all! "Thank you, Ophelia!" The owl smiled and flew away, far away. She flew towards the forest, not the alchemist’s laboratory. She would find a place to live where others would call her by her name. Was this too much to ask for? "Hoo, hoo."
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Old Sep 11th, 2020, 03:07 PM
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This looks like a lot of fun! Already downloaded the rules (the whole page!), and I'll get my application up before the end of the weekend (probably tomorrow).
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Old Sep 11th, 2020, 03:38 PM
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Consider me interested. I will work on my app soon.
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Old Sep 12th, 2020, 11:11 AM
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Application's finished! Hope you like it- if you have any feedback, please let me know !

Application: A Merry taleListen, kits, for I have a story to tell you.

Once upon a time...

There was a quiet cottage, standing lonely in the shadows of Milldraven forest. Its mistress and sole resident, an old lady by the name of Frida Heller, had left two days ago to go and forage further into the forest. For she was a witch, a herbalist who brew her concoctions from the forest's herbs and mushrooms, selling remedies for various ailments and afflictions, as well as the occasional love potion, to the people of Milldraven town. And that night, the time was just right to harvest the rare and potent Glimmerleaf, which the witch used to brew some of her rarest medicine.

But the cottage was not abandoned, for the witch did not live alone. In the garden stood an enclosure where the chickens lived, as well as a big, red rooster. A goat roamed the gardens, never straying far for fear of wolves prowling the forest, and knowing all too well the witch kept her well fed in return for her milk. And lording over all these creatures was the witch's familiar; a large, golden-eyed cat, her coarse fur black as night and with a heart to match. She hunted the mice who dared come too close to the witch's pantry, chased the birds away from the garden, and kept the chickens and goats from stepping out of line with her sharp claws.

The fox, Maple, knew of the witch's cottage, and of the cat's poor treatment of all who went there. Indeed, Maple had several scars on her snout, souvenirs of an earlier run-in with the black beast. But still, the fox could not stay away from the cottage- for she knew that in the witch's larder there were half a dozen juicy, succulent hares, strung up by their necks. The witch, Maple knew, did not eat these hares- instead she cut off their feet and sold them as good-luck charms to the gullible and superstitious peasants. And then she would cut open the hares' bellies and read their entrails, telling the fearful people of things to come.

Maple didn't believe the witch really could read the future from the hares' insides. But she did know the witch was robbing all the hares from the forest, leaving none for Maple to eat. And so, with the witch away, Maple decided to go to the cottage and take some of the hares for herself. But she needed to deal with the black cat, and remembered from her last attempt that she could not steal the hares by herself. Maple needed someone to help her- someone smart enough to break into the cottage, but small enough not to keep all the hares for themselves.

And so, the fox came to visit me, Merry. Back then I had a reputation for being Milldraven forest's best thief, you know. I didn't really trust Maple- as you well know, foxes are not to be trusted, and Maple was certainly the worst of her kind. But I was hungry that day, and more foolish than I am now, so I agreed to help her. Wish I never had...

We arrived at the cottage, the pair of us, in the earliest hours of the day just before dawn. We had our plan, and Maple set to work immediately. Knowing the nocturnal black cat was still drowsy, Maple ran up to the cottage and called out her challenge. 'Hey cat!' she barked, startling the goat and all the chickens. 'I'm here for your hares, and I bet you can't stop me this time!' Now, it was a poor challenge, and if you or I, or any smart raccoon would hear it, we would know right away that it was a trap. But you must understand the cat- terribly arrogant, proud, and quicker to act than to think. All she heard was a challenge to her ability to protect her domain, and if there is one thing cats can't stand, it is being told they can't do something.

So the cat came running out of the cottage, hissing loudly as she chased Maple around. But Maple was quick on her feet, too quick for the cat, although not by much. Cats are fast and nimble, but this particular cat had grown fat and lazy on the witch's scraps, while Maple was a hunter, used to chasing the forest's animals all day long. Maple ran around the place, always keeping just a bit ahead of the cat, luring her ever further away from the cottage. And that's when I approached the door- I was so happy seeing it was already open, thinking those fresh juicy hares were already mine.

The goat didn't object to my passing; she was paid to provide milk, not to keep trespassers out. And while the chickens clucked their protests, none of them could escape their enclosure to come and stop me. So, unopposed, I went inside, into the dark, shadowy cottage. It was a strange place, with acrid smells unlike anything you might come across in the forest. Like a frightened skunk, but worse, somehow. I ignored the tall wooden legs of what Maple had explained were chairs and tables, and ran across the room to where I knew the larder was.

That's when something slammed into my side. It didn't hurt so much as surprise me, and I'm not so proud that I'll deny being startled then. I jumped up and turned to see what had struck me. To my horror, what had struck me was still there- a long, wet rope, stuck to my side. Try as I might, I couldn't get it off. Then I looked where the rope came from, and to my horror, saw that it was not a rope at all. It was a tongue, and at the far end of it was the biggest, slimiest, wartiest toad you'll ever find.

'Let go!' I called out, but the toad just laughed. I pulled and pulled, but the tongue wouldn't come loose, and the toad wouldn't flinch. I tried biting and scratching the tongue, but it was thick and sturdy, and the toad didn't seem to feel any pain. I could've ran at it- bite it, scratch it, try and chase it away- but this toad was bigger than me. It just stood there, keeping me tethered, probably waiting for the black cat to return. I was very afraid then, and I cursed Maple for ever asking me to come along with her.

Then I noticed a small crate nearby, with several fluid-filled bottles. Not knowing what they were, I picked one up and thew it at the toad. It impacted heavily againt its head, and shattered into a thousand shards when it hit the ground. This, finally, made the toad flinch. 'Stahp it,' he croaked angrily, its voice slurred because of the tongue still hanging out of its broad mouth. Thinking I had found a way to dislodge the toad, I picked up another bottle and prepared to throw it.

The toad then pulled at me, and I lost my balance- and I landed with my front paw in one of the bottles' necks. What was worse, I couldn't get it out again. The toad laughed again- I couldn't hold a bottle with my paw stuck inside one, and they were too heavy for me to lift single-handedly. Worse, I felt that vile liquid inside the bottle washing over my hand, and it prickled my skin something fierce. It felt as if my paw was absorbing the liquid, and it was somehow changing me. I panicked, jumping up and down, smashing the bottle against the floor trying to get it off. But it didn't work, and the toad just laughed and laughed.

Keeph jhumpin'! it croaked, clearly having the time of its life. 'Shoon, the cath will be backh, and then you'll be shorry!'

That's when I bumped into the table's leg. I must've knocked something off, because the next thing I knew something heavy fell on my paw. It broke the bottle, spilling fluid everywhere and bruising my paw. I withdrew- it hurt badly, and while the bottle was broken, the neck was still stuck around my forepaw, with sharp, jagged glass at the end. Without thinking, I drew the sharp glass across the toad's tongue- and with a cry of pain, the toad jumped back. Looking down I saw that a part of the tongue was still attached to me- I had cut the toad's tongue in half. Panicking, barely realizing I was free, I ran out as fast as my trapped paw would let me.

I never saw Maple again, but after a few days, I discovered something strange. Whatever was in that bottle, it had done something to me. I first noticed it when I tried to comfort Billie the badger after she had hurt herself on a human's trap- when I touched her, the wounds closed, and the pain was suddenly gone. Since that day the animals of Milldraven forest come looking for me whenever they hurt themselves.

Unfortunately, some humans got wind of it- that a raccoon could heal with a touch. And ever since, they have been hunting us for our feet, instead of the hares.

So, kits, what did we learn from this story?

Never help anyone besides yourself, because it will only come back to hurt you.

And never, ever trust a fox.
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Old Sep 12th, 2020, 10:15 PM
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RP Sample
Bramble and The Not-Water

Oh no! Ohnoohnoohno! Her Shiny! Her special special sparkly shiny! She always wore it. She never went anywhere without it! It had fallen. Down down down it had fallen.

Scrabbling through the old, wooden rafters of the old man's wood den Bramble had jigged when she should have jagged and then slip, slip, slipped, boom-oof! In one hand the usually nimble racoon had been holding on to her newly acquired treasure-what humans would call a "prism"-and had not been quite so... nimble as usual. Slip and oof and crash she went onto the beam. Desperate to remain up on top, the little rascal released her death grip on the prism and fell smack onto her fuzzy belly. With more than a little horror she watched her precious fall with some clink, clank, tinks until it slipped though a hole one of the rats had chewed in the attic floor. Through the minute opening it disappeared leaving poor, devastated Bramble looking on wide eyed.

"Oh! My sweet sweet treasure! I'm coming! I'm coming for you!" Scrabbling quick like, the furry little (not so little) ball made her way to the vile hole of treason and pressed her eye to it. Beyond, the flickering light of a small fire flickered shadow across the surface of a table. Scan, scan, scan went her little eye finding nothing, all the while her little heart crack, crack, cracked a little more the longer she scanned. Then the waft of a breeze sent the flame this way instead of that and a telling little sparkle flashed across her eye like a little hand waving hello. The silly little thing had fallen inside one of those human things they like to put not-water in. Her favorite treasure needed rescuing and well before the human came back! "Oh! Hi hi! I see you. I'm on my way!"

Once more she scrambled down. This time it was down thought the stairs of the attic and across the cabin to the humans favorite cave-space. Bramble ignored all the little fires set under glass bowls and beakers and zeroed in on the bottle holding her little sparkly hostage. Up the stool, up the side of the table and there it was. Tiny hands nimbly grabbed the neck of the clear vessel. Shake, shake, shake went her hands, the bottle and the prism. Splish splash went the not-water inside. Splish splash went the clears liquid inside. The red seed-like thing went big then small then big then small all around the sparkle-treasure. Bramble just had to rescue it! Just had tooooooo!!

She stared at the neck of the bottle before impulsively shoved her hand inside. Shove, shove, shove and bloop went her hand as it audibly popped inside. The striped tailed youth stretched ignoring the not-water trying to reach her precious. She wiggled and waggled lifting and raising and lifting the bottle in an effort to 'save' the little prism. All the while the contents of the liquid dripped and drabbled down her arm to her shoulder and on, soaking her fur in the process. All her wiggling moved her closer and closer to the edge of the alchemist's table until one final effort Bramble violently shook the container over her head. With a final shake the prism jumped into her palm. Petite and dexterous fingers grasp it for dear life just as her feet stepped on empty air.

BoomCrash! she and the bottle went onto the floor. For a moment she lay there stunned and soak, but successful. Bramble looked over at her fist. It clutched the Precious Treasure heroically. A squeak of joy squeezed from her stunned lungs and she brought her now freed hand to her chest hugging the prism close. Still completely lost in her own joy, Bramble began absent mindedly grooming herself. Lick lick lickty wash went her little tongue removing the strange Not-water from her beautiful pelt. And as Bramble the racoon washed away the liquid-little pulsing red bead and all-smaller and smaller did the Alchemist's cabin become. It wasn't until the last of the funny taste of the Not-water disappeared did she look up and into the eyes of the equally surprised tiny, grizzled human.
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Last edited by lydklein; Sep 12th, 2020 at 11:13 PM.
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Old Sep 12th, 2020, 10:21 PM
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Sample is done. Any feed back is welcome!
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Old Sep 14th, 2020, 04:06 PM
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Sorry for the delay, weekends tend to be a touch difficult for me.

Furry Chaos"Alright. You're cool - you're fine! Everything is fine!~ You can do this - she won't even notice a thingggg!!" The pressure built in Lincoln's wrist against the glass bottleneck as his lithe shoulder attempted to pull said wrist out. This time - THIS TIME freedom was assured!! The pressure seemed to climb more and more, he was sure his paw would utterly snap!

With a huff the raccoon gives up staring at his glass-made hand prison. The expertly tailored glass prison, designed with the sole purpose of imprisoning all raccoons foolish enough to believe that they could ever attain that wonderful smelling liquid inside!

There was only one option left: "I'M GONNA DIEEEE!!" Lincoln cried out in resignation.

"Can you die quietly then?!" the spider Loreen snapped from her finely crafted web "Just break the thing and be done with it!"

"Thats easy for you to say - you don't have hands!" the raccoon wanted to lift his paw to show her yet he couldn't even lift this darn thing! It was at such an odd angle. If a spider could snicker he knew she would be at his predicament. Curse his desire for honey - or at least, that's what this stuff was supposed to be right? Master's supply of honey, purposefully kept on a shelf with odd picture labels on it far up off the ground near Loreen's nest away from all of us? This way we wouldn't swipe it, right?

Right?

"Think Lincoln, think! Master relies on you to be the brains of the group-"

"No she doesn't!" the spider chimes in

"Maybe, maybe if I place it like so-" the raccoon lowered his paw towards the wooden shelf's surface pulling it towards the edge. The content of the potion sloshed forward soaking his hands. IT BURNED!! "GAH! Nope - a mistake, mistake!!" quickly lifting the stuffed mouth of the bottle to a level plane so that the liquid retreated back into the confines of the bottle Lincoln noticed the pressure was more intense than before on his wrist. His fingers, his paw - they were growing!! "Uh-oh" was all he could say as a large crack was heard, the neck of the bottle snapping as his paw and arm swelled in size. The crack growing wider and wider until the glass burst splattering its contents all across Lincoln and Loreen up in her web.

"You furry little twit! You will only get me in trou-" the spider's body began to tremble as both of them started to swell in size.

The wooden shelf gave out causing more concoctions to be volleyed into the air and come crashing to the ground below.

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