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Old Oct 2nd, 2023, 05:24 AM
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PotM October

The first of October has passed, and the bills are already brutal. Not sure if this is an international thing, but all of our bills are dated the first of each Month, which can be sometimes a bit of a hassle.
But, if you do not want to think about this real-life negativity :

--> Use our RPG-crossing escape pod and start reading this Month's nominated posts as a distraction!!!! <---

The posts in this thread are nominated for a reason, motivated by the one nominating these posts. Maybe the reasons can be different; maybe it's written in character in a way that you almost feel like that character, maybe it shows a thinking process, a character upgrade, a vivid memory. OR, the words used, the layout, everything in the post is awesome!

And, last but not least, you may nominate your post! No shame in doing that, we even encourage you to share that you are proud and want everyone to read and enjoy.

The Rules:
Old Oct 6th, 2023, 11:00 AM
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Swords, not words!
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Post: Fillyjonk
Game: Fey Ghosts of Saltmarsh
System: D&D 5e
GM: Fillyjonk
Post: Two Down Two to Go

Context: Our party tried to infiltrate a ship of monsters, and it didn't go well. The ship was stolen from one of our PCs, before the game began, and we've spent nearly two and a half years with this storyline on the backburner, slowly working on getting it back. We finally found the ship, assessed the situation, made an elaborate plan which went belly up within a few rounds, and now are in combat with a gelatinous cube, an ettin, a cloaker, an entire crew of Duergar sailors, and... it's really bad. Did I mention we're in the Underdark?

Reason for Nomination: This combat was never supposed to be combat. Spying and infiltrating and manipulating was the goal. But you know how plans go, right? Fillyjonk has handled this extremely complex and dangerous combat masterfully, with a horde of combatants on the deck. She's danced between letting us feel how very horribly real this is and smashing us to paste immediately. We're scared, but we're not despairing. And that's not an easy balance to maintain!

In this post, the enemies put down two of the PCs in the same round. Always, in every post, there are reverberations to our histories and connections outside the present moment, but these scenes are particularly elegant, as each PC going unconscious experiences it in a different, personal way. And then there's the mechanics -- spells flying, missiles flying, multi-level terrain, just wow. As a player, I so appreciate all the work and care that goes into writing a post like this, both creatively and technically. Applause from under the fallen paladin's shield!

❄❅❆ Come experience a JodaBokaFlod with us! ❆❅❄
What book would you flood the site with this holiday season?
Spend a little quiet time at the RPGX Book Club.
Old Oct 11th, 2023, 12:58 AM
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zevonian zevonian is offline
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The Artist- Strangemund
The Game- Old Gods of Appalachia
The System- Cypher System (Old Gods of Appalachia)
The GM- Strangemund
The Link- Post

The Reasoning- Y'all know about the significance of family, yeah. You go to parties, weddings, bail bonds persons, and courts for 'em. You watch vroom vroom car movies where noted RPG enthusiast Vin Diesel stress the importance of it. Maybe not all blood related, but somehow they're your kinfolk.

Strangemund would have you looking in on such a family, in a time nearly a century ago, where some scattered but now have to go back home for a most important visit. A funeral.

The Post-

Intro Post
She Never Liked Goodbyes

~~ Ambient Autumn Sounds ~~

Fall has come to our dear mountains.

No longer are the leaves on the towering sentinels we call trees bare that healthy glow of green.

Now they are cast in the color of fire.

Burning reds and baleful oranges.

Yellows as soft as a dandelion kiss on your nose, and browns so warm that they leave you yearning for the days those crinkled leaves would fall and crunch beneath your shoes, singing a sound which always elicited laughter and a kind of joy that you’d forgotten in your days of old.

A chill prickles the air.

Just enough to warrant a thicker layer of clothes on your outings out into a world that you know and you live but may not always love, may not always appreciate.

It is the start of the hurdle that is unpacking all them winter goodies that kept you nice and toasty throughout the colder parts of the year.

Heavy wool blankets stitched by hand. Jam jars that were set to marinate throughout summer needed to be hauled out and stocked in your cabinets. Stashes of that liquid gold herald as a sin in the time of Prohibition no longer tucked away for just a rainy day but for those extra chilly nights by a well-stoked fire.

It is a changing of seasons.

Where the days grow shorter in Appalachia, the nights longer, so frighteningly longer.

But we won’t talk about that just yet, Family; no, them shades and shadows can wait.

Instead we look upon Passelbranch, Tennessee, during a time of harvest.

Aplenty is how one would describe the farm lands that dot the stretch of valley that laid cradled in the mountains like a newborn babe.

Lucky is the farmer who settles in these lands. Their homestead is of a rich, fertile soil that knows only to give birth to the sweetest and ripest of fruit. To give and give and give and give and give and… well, you get the point, Family. Only a truly cursed fool couldn’t plant a seed and watch it bloom here.

Joseph Cleary, who lived on a plot of land south of the Good Shepherd Church, past the newlyweds, April and Cletus, who were expecting their first come Christmas day– well, Mr. Cleary already had his hands full with plump, round pumpkins this season. They were every which color you could imagine. Purple. Yeller. Green. But orange engulfed his field the most, like a wildfire set loose.

Those were especially popular ‘round this time. Kids and their folks eager to pick out a sturdy squash from his patch so they could get set to working the traditional jack-o-lantern. It’d be only a matter of time before a slew of scary faces were propped up on windowsills and front porches, with the smell of roasted pumpkin seeds drifting through every home in town.

Mr. Briggs and Mr. Bristol-- who folks say are brothers although they don’t look a spick alike-- got themselves a sea of sweet corn on their land, just north west of the railroad outta town. You could barely catch a glimpse of their scarecrow, the corn stalks so tall that it’s become just a regular hideout for the local teenagers looking for a place to get away and get cozy beneath the stars.

And of course, we can’t forget Mr. Lamb. Everyone in Passelbranch knew Mr. Lamb. He owned all the pig farms ‘round these parts. Bought them all up some decades back despite originally being a city boy himself. His pigs were infamous for how tender and delicious they were. Ooh boy, any cut off them was guaranteed to melt in your mouth and fill your heart with a song!

All the grocers and families with a lot mouths to feed were ready to get them a hog or two for the holidays to come. Some of them saved up for the occasion just so that dinner table was brimming with pork chops, bacon, glazed ham, and oh Family, I am gonna have to stop before I find myself salivating like a dog at the idea.

In all your time here, though, it ain’t the corn, the pumpkins, them fat bellied pigs that remind you of home– that remind you of The Stray House.

Its apples.

Or more specifically, sweet, buttery apple pie.

You always thought how lucky ya’ll were for the holler to have apple trees. Not just one but dozens that grew tucked away in the woods you grew up in. Them shiny green apples hanging from the branches like little treasures. Ready to be plucked from their twigs and carried back to Granny Innes’ kitchen, where she’d start her work on the best apple pies you’ve ever tasted.

She always joked the secret ingredient was worms, just to make you young’uns laugh, and you older ones, who showed up late, she did it to make that facade you wore slip, just a little. Give you a chance to really be yourself.

You never knew how she did make those apple pies.

Never thought to ask for the recipe. Those of you stuck ‘round these parts, well, you just knew she’d have Kermit sent off with a pie or two once the leaves started to fall. Those of you who left, maybe you thought to yourself you’d ask for it down the road. When you were a little wiser, a little smarter, a little more together. It’d be a momentous occasion when you showed back up and told her just how well you’d be doing.

It never occurred to a single one of you that you could lose that chance.


Granny Innes stood on her front porch, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of ginseng root.

Eyes older than the years on her wrinkled face stared long and hard into the woods just outside her protection lines, beyond anything us normal folk could glean.

Head cocked to the side, she rested her gnarled, calloused hands on a walking stick she’d come to use for more than just sorting out snakes from the bushes, and listened to the sounds of the Green.

The laughing wind that spun itself through the branches and leaves that shaded the brush below, its joy contagious in its simplicity. She listened to the babbling creek that spoke in hushed whispers, and yet carried itself to far and out of reach places, its secrets not always plain. She listened for something she knew she should not be there.

Something that smelled of rot.

The hundreds of wind chimes she set to every door, window, and low hanging purchase jingled all ‘round Granny Innes in a cacophony that blotted out all other noise.

And Granny Innes, the Bear of Passelbranch, who stood in the center of such chaos, simply snorted, and said, "Well then. Best I get to work."


Last edited by zevonian; Oct 11th, 2023 at 01:00 AM.
Old Oct 20th, 2023, 01:01 AM
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PlaidPeregrine PlaidPeregrine is offline
Story Harvester
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Player: LostCheerio
Game: Fey Ghosts of Saltmarsh
System: D&D 5E
DM: Fillyjonk
Post Link:Click Here for the Post

Context: Bingle Curiosa Wildwander, Forest Gnome Wizard and rather new Warlock in the service of the infernally evil Glasya has found herself in the Underdark having just survived a very bloody fight onboard a docked ship next to mushroom-farming island of free (freer than most it seems) male Drow. Being a Good Gnome, she is doing her very best to be EVIL and serve Glasya in a most opportunistic way - to bring fresh water to this horrible tiny island where mushrooms are tapped for the impoverished Drow's nourishment and um..tasty water supply. Fresh water is very valuable to the Drow here. Her plan is to convert the poor souls to follow, if not to worship Glasya if she could provide such a kind luxury of clean, fresh water, giving the Evil Entity a foothold in the Underdark (ie, the Nuderdark as the Gonmes say).

The Reasoning: This is simply a beautiful, lively and such a brilliantly executed idea. Seeing a good and kind Forest Gnome serve Evil by providing something so wondrous and valuable as fresh water is so on point. Cheerio is selling such a good and pure thing, the bringing of a spring of water, to her evil patron as a way into her graces. Adding in a bulletpointed presentation was very humorous as well to anyone who understands the infernal mechanisms of such organization.

Posting: Slow and/or waffley due to RL.
"Speak your mind even if your voice shakes." RBG


Last edited by PlaidPeregrine; Oct 20th, 2023 at 01:02 AM.
Old Oct 29th, 2023, 01:56 PM
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Wynamoinen Wynamoinen is offline
Eternal Bard
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NominationNominee: Elanir
Game: Shadows of the City
System: Urban Shadows (PbtA)
GM: Wynamoinen
Post (w/ link): Anne lives life for a day

Context: Anne is a specter. She was alive when Washington DC was a literal swamp with a few government buildings. Now she's dead, and she's gotten used to being a ghost. Ghosts don't need to pay attention to a lot of things, and they don't need to care about how human society changes. There were no cars or phones or electricty in her day, and now as a ghost she can't interact with any of that, so why should any of it matter to her? It can sometimes be hard to read game posts from Anne's perspective, because she is so disjoint from lived life and mortal time. This is a clever and challenging stylistic choice that Elanir has made in this game.

But in this post, Anne has posessed a person and finds herself in a terrifying cituation: living in regular human society with a regular human body! All the minor things that we don't think about (tying shoes, pedestrian traffic law, eating), Anne has to deal with for the first time in over a hundred years.

The Reasoning: it's a clever fish out-of-water story, that doubles as body horror, that triples as character advancement and worldbuilding. Also, it's Halloween season, and here a specter is telling us the spoopiest story of all: Mere Human Existence!

he/him - MC of Shadows of the City, an Urban Shadows (PbtA) game.

Check out Astral Agents in Boats, a 5e Spelljamer adventure, run by jbear. New episodes go up weekly. I am a player, as are a few other RPGX stalwarts.
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