October PotM

[chocoladevla]

Days are passing and the days are getting shorter, Fall has arrived and over here we are enduring rain, cold and storms. Nothing to complain about because there are worse things to deal with out there but being inside, maybe even turn the heater on creates the perfect vibe and setting to: NOMINATEEEEEE.

Yes, even in October I am sure there will be posts written that made you smile. That brought you a sense of being impressed by the excellent writing style, the words and sentences used or the ability of a player to describe their character in a very unique, cool, bold way. It does not matter to me what exactly made you appreciate a post but I do care that you share :-)
Use this thread to nominate a post to be the one that sparked up Oktober for you, link the post, add a bit of blurb why you liked this post and what you thought was outstanding and let us enjoy. Never hesitate to hand out RPXP and read what has been nominated before and after you, I promise you it will be worth of your time and energy. Nominate and share your joy....

[LeoByron]

Player: Elanir
Game: Blood & Guts
System: 1st EditionPathfinder
GM: LeoByron
Post: Pride Comes Before a Fall

Reason: Elanir has been consistently active and excellent in all his posts for this game, but this one stood out as particularly exceptional and deserving of a PotM nomination. The players in this game are all undead of various flavours and as Sergius, Elanir's character, faces a devastating trap inspired by Gygax's Tomb of Horrors, he comes to within an inch of his second and final destruction. This post reflects on his original death while the character comes to grips with the fact that somehow, this time, he survived. A great post worthy of the prize!

 

Sergius, the Prodigal Son Pride comes before a fall. That was Sergius‘ last conscious thought before the power of the crystal was released. It felt like trying to stop a tidal wave by raising a hand. It was man‘s attempt to challenge a god. It was no wonder that it failed. The energy that surged through the Necropolitan was of a magnitude he had never experienced before, greater than anything he could comprehend or imagine. He had thought himself protected through his Spell Resistancehatred of the divine and in the save bonusesShadow‘s embrace, but nothing could have been further from the truth. The light tore through his defenses effortlessly, through his cracked and wrinkled flesh, through the bones, muscles and tendons that gave his unnatural body form, through his very essence. The Shadow was torn asunder, its particles scattered, darkness replaced by light, from Bram Stoker‘s Dracula! the light of all lights. Sergius ceased to exist. This wasn’t like his first death had been. Having been impaled by Demetrious‘ spear had been a very different experience. At first there was surprise - was his father truly capable of executing his own son? Then came the pain and the blood, the agony of every move and every breath he drew. He acutely experienced the desperation as his mind feverishly looked for a way for him to escape, the profound weakness as he felt his life being spent in a pool of blood underneath his feet, the encroaching cold and the numbness of death slowly spreading over his body, calming his fears, drowning his thoughts and desires. It was painful, yes, but also comforting in some way. Anger and fear and regret gave way to oblivion. The revenge he sought, the injustice he felt, they no longer seemed important, relevant. He was claimed by nothingness, a nothingness that was neither good, nor bad, nor anything else. He simply wasn’t anymore. Until… he was once again, raised by a mysterious Master for an impossible purpose. Abadar’s divine might caused the Necropolitan pain too, an anguish as intense as if every layer of him was being peeled away by an uncaring hand, but only for a single moment. There was no surprise in comparison, no fear, no weakness, no numbness. There was only light and Sergius instantly became a part of it. He was a fly and the god had simply swatted him. Just like that he had been destroyed. But something managed to endure. One tiny part of the little fly managed to survive even a god‘s wrath. Why? How? Sergius didn’t know. He couldn’t think or wonder, not in the state he currently was. He couldn’t even feel anything, except for one thing. He could still sense the bond that connected him with the Shadow. It was still intact, greatly weakened perhaps, but unsevered. A 1 HP!single thread remained, but it was enough. It was the umbilical cord that would allow him to grow once more. he casts Harm upon himselfDrawing from the heart of the Shadow realm, Sergius‘ body slowly started forming anew, swirling shadow turning into bone, tendon, muscle and flesh, forming unseeing eyes in empty sockets and covering with pale skin the unliving creature‘s anatomy. It was only then that he noticed that something -someone?- was making a kind of noise, repeating certain sounds again and again. As the Shadow‘s presence in him grew stronger, Sergius was capable of thinking once more. A form of communication. Speaking. What are they saying? The sounds seemed familiar, but still the Necropolitan couldn’t exactly decipher their meaning. One sound -a word!- seemed particularly important, however. S-e-r-g-i-u-s. Ser-gi-us. He was Sergius! And then it all came slowly back. His rebirth. The Lattice. The orb powering it. Sergius and Sinadra exploring the room. The explosion… "Sinadra…" The Necropolitan‘s voice was more like the croaking of an animal than that of a sentient being. "Orb… Break…" There was a kind of urgency now, there was fear in Sergius‘ voice. And only then came the realization. The magical, oppressive silence was no more. The surge of divine power had been so great that it had depleted the protective spell around the orb, at least for a short time. "Magic… Ally… Leave…" He meant to ask Sinadra to leave, to protect him from another explosion, and summon an extraplanar creature to shatter the orb, but the words tied themselves in knots and seemed impossible to utter in a way that made sense. He was still weak, so weak. He leaned against the bars of his magical prison, his essence touching that of another, a very familiar being. "Nana…", he whispered. "Open…" He doubted that she would be able to open the cage, but he had to try. He would not stay inside this prison to be presented before his father like another one of his trophies. He. Would. Not.

[Togot]

Player: Hillsy7
Game: Elder Scrolls Skyrim
System: 5th edition
GM: Togot
Post: The final cries of the guard faded

Reason: Hills did an excellent job describing how a level one character would react to the blood shed and violence of fighting human guards while trying to escape wrongful imprisonment and scheduled execution. He uses good descriptions and nice imagery to describe the carnage and the casual disregard for life that his fellow escaping prisoners show while looting corpses.

 

The final cries of the guard faded, the dolorous drone of the bell waned, and Tren found himself breathing heavily despite doing almost nothing. The death and danger around them felt like a heavy mire, making even moving his hands from his ears a monumental effort. Looking up, he saw the others calmly picking over the corpses, chatting like farmers meeting at a market. He knew Aurelia and cestus were world-wise - and the Khajit had already shown he was colder than any of the mountain tops ringing skyrim - but it was still a shock. He pulled himself upright, and tried to feign being OK with this horror in the hope he might convince himself as well. He moved to one of the corpses, laying on a pillow of blood where Sondraeya's axe had split his skull, and set about unbuckling the armour. If he was to survive, he'd need at least something to keep his guts on the inside where they belonged. Of course, his guts were where that awful voice lived; the terrible warmth and power that swept through him.... He pushed the thought away, and slung the armour over his head, fiddling with the buckles to cinch it tight. Then he picked up the dagger and one of the swords. Kon'nar was making a small bundle of gear, seeming for all the world like this was just another day for him. Tren shuffled over, sword held out. "Here, you might want this. I don't really know how to use it."

[bananabadger]

Player: AnotherDragoon
Game: Luchador Lords of Kansas, 2072
System: Homebrew
GM: BananaBadger
Post: A Ninja and a Clown Rolled into Town

Nomination

Some clowns just know how to make an entrance. In this post, the ageing but legendary wrestler Payaso Pete blows into the small town of Midlin ahead of a tag-team wrestling bout against some up-and-coming locals. Times aren't what they used to be for Pete. No more luxury hotels and huge arenas; instead he's forced to lodge at the home of his wrestling partner's sister, and take his show to moldy gyms. Sure, Pete's knees are growing weak and his clout has taken a few hits, but this former champ knows how to work a crowd, even in a dumpy diner in the middle of nowhere.

Context and Reason

Luchador Lords of Kansas, 2072 is a homebrew post-apocalyptic libre lucha one-shot. In this game, two brothers from a dirt-poor dirt ranch—Henry Swap (played by Yoshimi) and Cain Swap (played by JustSomeGuy)—are making a run for the prestigious SunflowerBisonTornado Trophy. Things don't start out too well for the boys. Their manager has absconded with their money. Their trainer despises them. Their fan base is showing murderous tendencies. And Henry has caught a bad case of lovesick puppy. But that might change. After a sensational and unexpected victory, the Swap Brothers have drawn the attention of former great Payaso Pete and his new partner, Big Boi Ninja. Win or lose, a bout this big can define someone's career.

For this crucial portion of the game, RPG members AnotherDragoon and Kenjitsu agreed to step in for about 2 weeks to take over the personas of Payaso Pete and Big Boi Ninja, giving those characters a much richer voice and expanding their story and interactions with the two permanent PCs in ways that simply wouldn't have been possible had those luchadors remained plain ol' GM-controlled NPCs. To do this, both AnotherDragoon and Kenjitsu had to master the background story so richly built by Yoshimi and JustSomeGuy; and then they had to step into the middle of the narrative and pick up and expand story lines like the old pros they are portraying. That's a tall order for any player, but this post (and the one by Kenjitsu) shows how it's done.

 

A ninja and a clown rolled into town Pete was just happy to have a gig again after what happened in Granite City. He still doesn't believe all the charges, some of that had to be his former partner Jacques the French Tickler, but since he can't remember anything about the week surrounding that particular incident who knows? Traveling with Big Boi Ninja made it feel like old times. Back when he was on the fast track straight to the top and way before his knees cracked when he yawned. Where were they at again? Union City? No, Lawrence? Midland or something doesn't matter much really. But for some reason, Big Boi seemed more excited than usual. "Your sister?! Oh, that's right, you're from here, aren't you? Who says you can't go home, huh?" Pete clapped the very large Ninja on the extra wide back, "I'd love to stay with your family Big Boi! Sure beats sleeping in the van. But don't worry, your sister's honor is safe. I learned a long time ago to keep my moves inside the ring. Remember what happened to Don Juan de Muerte? He was always trying to steal his opponent's girlfriends or sisters and now where is he? Nobody knows," Pete said with a chuckle and a conspiratorial wink, "not even the sheriffs." The little town wasn't half as bad as he was expecting. Everyone recognized him and Big Boi wasn't lying about his sister's cooking. Pete ate until he was worried he would rip his trunks and fell into a deep sleep sprinkled with dreams of golden belts and screaming fans. Morning broke and his appetite came roaring back so, at the diner, he ordered up a tall stack of flapjacks (the most hilarious breakfast food), a pot of coffee, and four raw eggs along with a lemon and an empty glass. Naturally, a small crowd formed as he demolished the pancakes and two steaming cups of coffee. Now, if Pete knew anything it was how to work a crowd. He deftly twisted, bent, and inflated straws much like an arm or leg in the ring between signing coasters and flexing. The luchador was so in character that didn't notice the other wrestlers come in. He was in the middle of a joke when he heard Uh, gosh, it's Peyosi Pete!, Cain, look.... "So I says to her, I says listen. To be Frank, I'd have to change my name!" Pete said as he pulled a small beat-up silver flask from his trunks and poured some of its contents into his mug. He stirred it with the tip of his cigar while he sized up other luchadors. Henry and Cain? The local hopefuls? Pete downed his mug of spiked coffee in one gulp and then made a face before holding the mug up for a closer look, and a sniff. That Brown was stronger than he remembered! Or maybe seeing the young wrestlers sparked some sentimental feelings deep inside because things He's maybe feeling a bit stupid and contagious herestarted getting warm and just a little fuzzy. "So, you've seen the rest, now you get to meet the best. Did you little guys come to see how champions do it?" Pete asked while he cracked all four eggs at once into the glass. He squeezed the lemon on top of the eggs and produced a bottle of hot sauce from his trunks. With a wink to one of the older ladies sipping tea in the booth opposite, he shook a few generous drops of the red liquid into his glass and gulped the mixture down. Peyosa Pete sauntered across the diner with the swagger of luchador nobility and pulled a rolled-up poster of himself, in peak condition, out of his boot and spread it on the counter. He grabbed a nearby pen and wrote 'To my biggest little fans,' then looked to the Swap brothers with a wide grin. "Who are you two again?"