[Other] Planet of the Pigs

[Red Leper]

Game Name Planet of the Pigs

Game System Other Roleplaying Games

Theme Post-apocalyptic One Shot

Flavour Man vs Pig vs everything else, Dystopian, future Sci-fi, Thundaar the barbarian, He-man, Dark water and other Saturday Morning cartoons from the 80's and 90's

Plot Summary In a world, not so different from our’s, a catastrophic event occurred. A runaway meteor hurtled between the planet and it’s moon. The gravitation forces cracked the moon and sent destruction down upon the planet. Earthquakes and Volcanoes cracks the landscape, reshaping it and the today waves and tsunamis filled in the cracks left by the former, creating a whole new surface world than what had been before. It’s been a hundred years and what prevails now, is wild sorcery and mad super science! Monsters and men, things that can only be dreamt of by those who didn’t live among it. In this world, the Porcine Overlord rules over all from his tower of Concrete. If not for his Immortal fighting force, the Pork Chops, he would not be able to hold such a tight grip on anything of value in the world. Rumor has it, he’s not even a full-blood pig. Fortunately, secret maps have fallen into the hands of those who might be capable of doing something about it. The factions of resistance against the Overlord have called to their greatest and most resilient heroes to make a plan to infiltrate the Concrete Tower. They will meet at the Old Gate Brig in secret on the night that the Moon’s Remains glow with a white light.

Details: -System: Classless d20, RP-Focus with some combat. -Players: 4-5 players -Type of campaign: This is a One Shot that could evolve but for now, your main goal is to take down the Porcine Overlord. -If you got a silly character concept that you want to try but can't find a campaign for it, here we are.

Application: Name: Race: Monster, creature, human, mutant ...whatever. Gender: Party Role: Skills: Pick 5 skills, general skills get lower bonuses but cover more situations, Specific skills get higher bonuses but cover less situations. Appearance: Decently sized picture required, paragraph. Personality: Backstory: RP Sample: Why were you chosen as your peoples' hero?

Player	Character	Role	Status
Nivek	Mehrfin	Ranger	Complete
Mitsubachi	Jin Shimmer-Wing	Light spells	Withdrawn
Ratchett	Stormalong	TankyBarb	Complete
ManicMonkey	Erik Belmont	Fighter/leader	Complete
PalladiaMors	Tessa Nahena	Tinkerer, rogue, ranged damage	Complete

[Nivek]

Character Details Name: Mehrfin Race: Torton Gender: Male Party Role: Ranger Skills: - Bowmanship - Medicine - Scavenging - Cooking - Fire magic Personality: Believes in peace, but believes more in protecting/defending his friends Backstory: Long ago he lived in another world, had another trade. Despite his prior fascination with magic and the mad sciences, his knowledge did not protect those he loved when he needed it to. So, he sought a different path .. made his way to this world and took up the cause of helping others with simple means rather than the complex magics he once commanded. He holds onto a little knowledge of fire magic, but even that has dwindled. It really is better this way.

RP Example   Extended Roleplay example (To introduce character): Mehrfin approached the hut slowly. Small spits of plume rose from the chimney. An ancient knowledge filled his mind. He considered the thatched roof. How far his people had fallen, not to mention the huge fire hazard this hut posed. He pushed the curtain that made for a front door to the left and worked his way in. Femrik, the village elder (what remained of the village), lay on the bed, covered in tattered blankets. Silmah sat at his side, dabbing his forehead with a wet cloth. Mehrfin considered Silmah briefly. She was of marriageable age, and had shown interest in Mehrfin. Femrick, her grandfather, would not have gotten in the way, but Mehrfin knew better. He might look young, but was far from it. His experiments of the past had made certain of that. No, unless it was absolutely necessary, Mehrfin would stay free from those kinds of entanglements. He had to. "You sent for me?" Mehrfin asked, shifting his focus to the withering Femrick. Femrick opened his eyes, looked with great effort over at his friend who had come with him from the old world. "Mare ... feen," he choked out, and began coughing. Silmah put the wet cloth she'd been using on her grandfather's forehead to his mouth to block the spread of germs. Mehrfin couldn't help thinking this would only aggravate the old man's condition. Nothing would stop that now, of course. A minute passed as Femrick got his coughing under control. He composed himself, spoke: "Silmah .. please .. I need to speak with Mehrfin .. in private. Please." Silmah looked up at Mehrfin. She seemed to want to stay. She had to be curious, but last time Mehrfin was in the village she was a little too clingy. Maybe she wanted to stay for him. Mehrfin couldn't know. He didn't really want to know. So young, he thought. She really has no idea. After a brief hesitation, Silmah nodded to her grandfather and departed the hut. Femrick waited a few moments more before speaking. "Merf .. man," he said weakly. A slight smile crossed his face. Mehrfin smiled back as he sat down next to his friend. No one had ever liked Mehrfin's name. They'd taken to calling him Merf-man instead half the time. Maybe he should change his name. "How can I be of service to you, old friend?" Mehrfin asked. He stared intently at Femrick. He wanted his friend to know he was serious, and ready to serve. "The resistance .. has called. I'm afraid .. it's time." Mehrfin nodded solemnly. He hated war. Why did it always come to this? "We always knew it would," Mehrfin stated. "It's just, there's so few left of us now. Can't they fight this war without us?" "You know .. we must help." Femrick paused. "It is the .. way of our .. people." Mehrfin nodded again. This truly was the way. It was also likely the reason they had not survived well in this new world. "Where do I meet them?" He asked. Femrick made as if to speak, but the words would not come. He closed his eyes briefly, regaining his strength, then opened them again and motioned to a makeshift bedstand. Mehrfin glanced over and saw a scroll. It had to be weeks old. He glanced back at his friend, who nodded slowly in acknowledgement. Reaching for the scroll, Mehrfin unwrapped it, then read aloud: "Old Gate Brig. In the night. When the Moon’s Remains glow with a white light." That was quite the distance, Mehrfin realized. No wonder they had summoned him back from his travels. There'd be little time to waste. "Very well," Mehrfin said, sighing. He looked more closely at his aging friend, who looked like he might be about to fall back asleep, or perhaps expire. "No offense, Fem, but you aren't looking so good. This may the last time we meet." Femrick smiled. "To better .. times," he said, then began coughing again. Mehrfin turned away briefly to avoid the sight, but forced himself to look compassionately at his friend again until the coughing stopped. Mehrfin reached for his satchel and retrieved a tonic. It was a basic painkiller, but it was the least he could do for his friend. "To better times," Mehrfin responded. He brought the drink to Femrick's mouth, who did not fight the gesture. It took some time, but when all was drunk, Mehrfin could see Femrick visibly relax. Mehrfin placed his hand on Femrick's head, then removed it and stood. He nodded to his friend, who nodded back weakly. Just before leaving the hut Mehrfin looked back to see that Femrick had closed his eyes, perhaps even dozing. "Farewell .. old friend," he whispered.

[Mitsubachi]

Withdrawn

[ratchett]

You had me at Thundarr the Barbarian!

Putting in a placeholder to show interest. Toying with the idea of either a straight-up Thundarr clone, or an intelligent, who might be convinced to let someone ride themmutant battle-cat.
edit: decisions were made

"Ookla! Ariel! We ride!"

WIP Application Name: Stormalong Race: Battle-cat (felinid) Gender: Try to find out Party Role: Barbarian/Thug/Brick Skills: Athletics, Acrobatics, Awareness, Intimidation, Cat-jitsu Appearance: A mature Battle-cat of the Nenglan Clan, standing just over 3' at the shoulder and weighing in around 200 lbs Stormalong is surprisingly hard to find in a forest or shadowed concrete hardscape. If one dares to take a close look at their claws and horns the metal-enhanced edges are easy to spot. These are the handiwork or subservient peoples that the Nenglanders suffer to exist within their territories. (The felinids are actually benevolent overlords, but they outwardly hate everyone.) Muscles bunch under the felinid's short fur and their gate is fluid and smooth. Personality: Mercurial and aloof, Stormalong is about what you would expect if a 20th century domestic short-hair suddenly became the size of a Bengal tiger with the intellect of an average homo sapien. While this may seem to indicate that Stormalong would not make the ideal travel companion or team mate, their dedication to the mission allowed them to put aside their usual distain for all other species, and makes them a loyal team mate. Backstory: The Battle-Cats exerted their dominance over the two legs well before the moon broke. The two-legs fed them, cared for them, and attempted to entertain them. After the cosmic mishap sundered the moon some of the Battle-Cats absorbed strange energies - for those from the northeast region of what was once the United States - there was a splinter of asteroid buried in the ruins of an old farm. The Battle-Cats born near its amber, pulsating glow grew larger, stronger and smarter than their forebears. They had always known the language of the two-legs, but now they could speak it as well. A colony formed, then a Clan. The Clan provided protection for the two-legs they had once allowed to care for them, and made use of their skills. But they also provided protection for other creatures - some new to this world, some familiar. And they warred with the Porcine Overlord. Into the Nenglan Clan was born the one called Stormalong by the two-legs and others who were not Battle-Cat. Among the Battle-Cats they were named the-twitch-before-pouncing in the language of their kind. Their third name was known only to them, as is the way of all cats. Stormalong was not the largest in their litter, but they grew to be. They grew to be large, strong and fast. They could run along the ridgeline of a two-leg's house and leap to the ground, then bound along and leap to the peak of the next house. The Council saw this and sent Stormalong to be trained for war. Under the tutelege of a one-eyed, patchy furred long-hair named Greebo to the two-legs, Stormalong learned the ancient Arts of Cat-jitsu. How to appear docile before clawing an opponent. How to tease an opponent into attacking unprepared. How to lay in wait for unblinking hours. And how to goad an opponent into cowering and running with a stare and a growl. And how to unleash the fury of a thousand tormented souls to take on rivals bigger than you. Stormalong's claws and horns were tipped with steel by the two-leg servants,a nd they were sent off to war. RP Sample: "All cats have three names," the hulking beast in the shadows said in a voice like wind-driven snow rattling through the rusty chain link fence of an apocalypse ruined playground. "I give you one of mine - Stormalong." Dilated pupils in amber eyes reflected the red of the firelight from the makeshift camp. Three figures crouched around the fire where something salty and thick bubbled in a dented pot with an occasionally bubble bursting in a burped "gloop" that sent brown flecks spitting into the fire below. First the figures had hunched around the fire for the comfort of companionable, cooperative cooking and the warmth of its coals. Now they huddled in the age-old tension of prey animals seeking protection from the darkness and the horrors it harbored waiting to startle the unwary with a sudden pronouncement of its name. A wordless growl may have been more welcome to the campers. A growled, yet polite introduction was another matter entirely. "I give you my name so you one of you may give it to your Master. Tell that two-legged swing that Stormalong is coming for him, "the voice trailed off into the dark. The eyes blinked once, ever so slowly. "Stormalong - champion of the Nenglan Clan. Remember it." One of the figure's hoof-like hands started to inch for a weapon nearby then froze as the distinctive sound of purring rolled out from the shadows, but not where it had been before. The figures looked at the shadows, but the red-reflecting eyes were gone. "Which one of you will give your master my name, you may ask?" the voice came again, like an iron blade sliding along the whetting stone. The three figures were on their feet now, weapons forgotten. Beady porcine eyes flitted this way and that. Wide-nostrilled snouts twitched frantically, trying to catch a scent. One shifted its feet to point away from the other two. This was the moment Stormalong had been waiting for - when one of them betrayed the other two out of cowardice. "THE FASTEST ONE!" came the shouted answer to Stormalong's own question and then all was a blur of grey-on-grey fur, light glinting off steel-rimmed claws and horns, squeals of terror and the tangy scent of fresh spilled blood. Moments later Stormalong crouched next to the fire - now guttering under the toppled cook pot - their ears twitched in the direction of feet pounding a receding beat as the lone survivor ran off into the night. "Run away little pig," the Battle-cat purred in their velvety voice. "Run away ... all the way home." Some Battle-Cats were poets - the best at spinning words like a spider spins webs into ephemeral and glistening weaves of light catching beauty. Others were diplomats - the best at working with their subject people or neighboring states to forge mutually beneficial treaties of trade and defense. Many were teachers - the best at shaping the minds of the younglings like a two-leg potter shaped clay on a wheel. The Council did not send one of them to treat with the Overlord. They sent Stormalong, the-twitch-before-pouncing, because killing was what Stormalong did best.

[ManicMonky]

I am interested and considering either

• Dual weilding butcher (fighter type maybe roguish)
• Whip weilding pig hunter (cleric fighter a la Simon Belomnt, but pig focused instead of undead)

[Red Leper]

Those both sound like alot of fun. I await anxiously to see your application, manicmonkey

[Mitsubachi]

Agreed. If I may dare express an opinion, I looked up Simon Belmont and he looks just like the leader we’ve been waiting for.

[ratchett]

Originally Posted by mitsubachi

agreed. If i may dare express an opinion, i looked up simon belmont and he looks just like the leader we’ve been waiting for.

+1

[ratchett]

@Red Leper - is there an application deadline?

@ManicMonky - I never played Castlevania - now I feel compelled to.

[Red Leper]

Originally Posted by ratchett

@Red Leper - is there an application deadline?

not yet

[ManicMonky]

@ratchett I urge you to do a bit of research before you do play Castlevania. Some of them were atrocious. But no matter how good or bad the original was for the NES, I still love it. Belmont it is! I'll start working on an app.

[ManicMonky]

Character Details Name: Erik Belmont Race: Aasimar Gender: Male Party Role: Head Hog Hunter Skills: Whip/Chain weapons, Combat Maneuvers, Athletics, Survival, Pork Lore Personality: Years of combat have steeled Erik's emotions leaving him stoic in the face of danger. His sharp mind is always calculating several moves ahead to turn the tides of battle in his favor. He is relentless in his goal to rid the world of the pig infestation. Backstory: Erik Belmont, first born son of Raynard Belmont, first born son of Clayton Belmont, first born son of Gustav Belmont, only nephew to the cursed, childless king Samuel Von Drake unto whom the first title of pig-quisitor was bequeathed. As a descendent of decades of noble swine hunters, Erik took up his ancestors pledge to one day rid the world of the epigdemic that had descended upon them a hundred years ago. Each generation of Belmont had fought so the next would be one step closer to infiltrating the Tower of Concrete. Now, they were ready; plans that were in place for dozens of years were set to go off, seventy five years of planning were finally coming to fruition, and it was all on Erik to take advantage of his forefathers hard work to strike the fatal blow and rid the world once and for all of the pigs.

RP Example What a horrible night to have a curse. The sun was low on the horizon, just a few faint fingers clinging desperately to the sky. Erik glanced up toward the east where the first few stars could be seen piercing the dark veil that was creeping across the sky, smothering the rays of light. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly through his nose, groaning slightly as he did so. "Rest while we can," he said to no one in particular, "We have a difficult night ahead of us and the wind is not in our favor." Turning back toward the fire, the light danced across his armor like fireflies. He strode past the others and seated himself in the crook of a large tree, knees bent and arms resting atop them. "Four hours maximum, then we pack up and head out. I'll keep watch," Erik said in a powerful but reassuring voice. "The fort is an hour march to the north, we should be there slightly after midnight. They change shifts at one AM, is that correct, Pelwin?" The short man sitting near the fire lifted his head upon his name being called. "Yes, at one AM without fail. I counted twelve guards on duty before the shift, but they only keep eight for the new shift," he replied in an oddly melodic tone. It was quite often that Pelwin's voice would have him mistaken for a musician. Many times, at taverns, the drunks would demand he play them a song so they would have another reason to be loud and drink even more. He used to try to ignore them, but the bastards were so drunk they wouldn't listen to reason; that's when things would turn violent and he would be kicked out. Eventually the lithe man picked up a lyre and began to figure out how to play it. It turns out it's far easier to gather intel from a drunk when they were serenaded than it was from beating them into a bloody mess. "I estimate about forty of those filthy swine are holed up in that sty, give or take," he added before returning to his thoughts and readying himself for the battle ahead. "Very good," said Erik, nodding his confirmation. "Pelwin will sneak up and set the explosives on the east wall, we'll gather on the south side, ready to scale the walls. When he gives the signal, we attack. Leave no pig alive, let none escape. Don't forget," he added, locking eyes with each member of the small party, "We need to obtain the log book. If they destroy it, we will be back to square one." We can't afford to fail here. Too much is riding on this mission.

[Mitsubachi]

Yay for Erik!

In other news, I did my RP sample. Not sure if I hit right tone - I went a bit silly, inspired by those old 80s cartoons and a neat little movie reference kindly supplied to me by Ratchett.

If you need me to play it much more seriously in the game, @RL, I can do that.

[Red Leper]

I prefer the term 'whimsical' as long as you can keep typing like that, I'm happy.

[ratchett]

I think Stormalong's voice in the RP sample was heavily inspired by "The G'mork" from The Neverending Story. But being a cat he'll do whimsical, too. Might be more like the cat from The Last Unicorn or something from Labyrinth.