PotM September

[Admin Choc]

Fall has finally arrived and the bright, hot summer days are over.... (okay, hot and summer is very rare in the Netherlands anyway, but hey, we had a couple of summery days we enjoyed).

Over here, schools have started, vacation days were spent and it's back to work/ college/ business as usual. Something you can not say about the 'Post of the Month'- thread, it is never 'usual'. Every Month you manage to nominate posts that stand out because of various reasons, the details worked into a storyline, a background so touching that it needed to be shared in this thread, and so on.

So hereby I am going to summon all who read this: share this thread and encourage players to post in here!!!

So, what to do -->

• Please check over here to see if the player has won a previous Post of the Month, if so, they are not eligible to be nominated and possibly win again
• Pass us the link of the post (please set the post as not-private ;-) and explain what moved you, what was it that impressed you, why is this post nomination worthy?
• Yes, no shame in nominating your own post, be proud en share
• Try and refrain from nominating a post that already has been nominated in this thread, no need to add a post with '+1'

Do not hesitate and post/nominate <3

[Nasrith]

Nominee: DemonSlayer
Game: Fall of the Frostreaper
System: D&D 5e
GM: Nasrith (is me)
Post: Shiny New Toys and Their Stories

Background: The party members are preparing to embark on a journey to slay the dragon that had settled in their homeland. Think of this scene as the formation of the Fellowship of the Ring, except each player is also getting cool, powerful magic items to help them on their journey. Uthal is a craftsman and warrior, and he's absolutely geeking out about the items he received.

Reason: You know when a player takes something you created in your world and absolutely runs with it? That's what Demonslayer is doing here. I gave them a one-sentence description and the magical properties for each item. They took that information and made the items feel alive by giving them a backstory and seamless connection to parts of the world that are only vaguely developed. That level of engagement is enough to bring a tear to an old DM's eye, especially when the character's voice shines through the post as well as it did here.

 

Uthal Oretamer Iceheart 'Giants?' Uthal repeats, a hint of excitement in his voice. 'I've studied giants- their language, their works of course... Their dedication to their craft is... Incredible. But I have never met one.' He pauses for a moment, and with some effort sets aside thoughts of seeking out the giants and questioning them on their methods of crafting. 'I cannot imagine them being on friendly terms with the dragon. Might they be persuaded to aid us, instead?' he asks, casting a look at the assembled goliaths. 'Not to enter the dragon's lair with us, of course... But their strength might help preserve the blood of those fighting on the front lines.' Uthal's thoughts on securing an ally in this fight were lost, however, when Lothu presented him with her ring. He eagerly accepted the trinket, his manners forgotten at the opportunity to study an artifact of a lost tribe. 'Amazing,' he breathed, holding up the silver ring. 'Is that- yes,' he smiled, recognizing the stone which made up the band. 'Star-stone, or meteorite as some call it. Rock fallen from the cold, vast sky above. I've worked a thousand types of stone in my day, but this... Oh, this is a rare sight indeed,' he grinned. 'And look at the craftsmanship! There is nary a gap between silver and star-stone. Do you have any idea what level of skill is needed, to so seamlessly merge rock and metal? Truly, this is the work of a master,' the smith spoke, his gaze never leaving the tiny ring in his hand. The artisan was still recovering from his awe when another treasure was presented to him. Uthal let out an audible gasp at the sight of the weapon- though weapon was too simple a term for the artifact now presented to him. 'Stormhammer!' he spoke in a loud whisper, eagerly grasping the handle and inspecting the dark steel head. 'Mearad Boltcatcher Thulatake worked on this beauty for over a year, it is said. Exiled herself, and built a smithy atop the highest mountain, so she could catch the storm itself and lock it into her design. This hammer was actually the fourth attempt- the first three had broken when lightning struck, but the fourth alloy was potent enough to keep the strength of thunder contained.' He carefully swung the weapon, sparks of electricity trailing his every swing. But when the next treasure was unveiled, Uthal could only stand and watch in shocked silence. 'No...' he finally brought out, a reverent whisper at the sight of the suit of armour. 'This... Kaelith's Aegis!' He bent close to inspect each piece of the armour, each crafted by another great artisan of a bygone era. 'This greave!' he spoke, holding up the shaped piece of metal. 'No other than Loramuk Kalukamune worked on this. Look at its edge- its perfect curve! And the inscriptions,' Uthal laughed, beside himself with glee. 'Definitely Loramuk's work- see the slight bent to the Kho runes?' he asked of no one in particular. 'Typical of Loramuk- he was a visionary for his time. And this!' Uthal brought out, putting down the greave and holding up what appeared to be an embellished part of the shoulder guard. 'This floral pattern, engraved into the stone... It must have been Aurath Geanathai,' he spoke, reverence in his voice. 'Adding the beauty she saw in flowers, so rare to the Icehearts who dwell beneath the surface, to hard, cold stone. So generations of our kin could enjoy their beauty without ever setting foot outside our homes.' Uthal continues to raise piece after piece, giving each only a cursory inspection before another work of legend draws his attention. When he finally managed to compose himself, he still cannot help but smile, his eyes still on the suit of armour splayed out before him. 'When the darkseer spoke of our victory, I believed. Now, knowing the masters of old watch over us, I know. We will not fail, not with these treasures on our side. Mark my words, as one who knows the worth of such things. The dragon will die, and word of our glory will travel to the far corners of the world!'

[The Rat Queen]

Nominee: GleefulNihilism
Game: It's a Lost Art
System: Serenity
GM: Drachenspirit
Post: Daddy's Here

Background: The crew of Jingwei was en route to intercept a luxury space liner, where we had intel that that Penny, the young daughter of the PC (Barrett), was being held hostage by the antagonist. Penny was part of Barrett's backstory and has been missing for over a month, so Barrett was already a bit on edge, a dangerous condition for a mercenary who was hired as security/enforcement.

When we find the ship, we discover that it's currently in the process of exploding. Escape pods are ejecting, but a radio message informs us that there aren't enough (Titanic, anyone?) pods for the remaining passengers, one of whom may be Penny. We decide to dock with the doomed liner, a risky decision, and realize that there is likely to not only be a panicked mob on the other side of the airlock, but we have no way of knowing if Penny is among them, on an escape pod, or in one of the exploding sections. She may also be being used as leverage by the antagonist...and possibly a shield.

Reason: GleefulNihilism does an excellent job of representing the horror a single father might feel in such a situation, portraying the tension, determination, fear, and 'I'll kill anyone who stands in my way" attitude such a father would have. He not only adds to the drama, description, and tension of the scene, but he provides an additional obstacle for the captain and crew. Not only do they have to account for being attached to a ticking time bomb and face a panicked mob while searching for the bad guy, but now one of their primary assets is himself on the edge...a borderline catastrophe waiting to happen. It really builds the moment and adds an extra dimension to the roleplay.

 

Barrett Numb. Numb Horror at what he was seeing. Just looking at the window and for a brief moment he wondered if his Lucky Penny was just Space'd and the emotions skip Fear, Panic, and go straight to Numb Horror as if his mind was jettisoning them to protect itself. Numb, Numb horror - he can't pull from the window and his eyes get wider and wider and - Stop. People are talking. Something about boarding, something about escape pods and not all of them working and - it takes time to click things back together and rejoin the real world. The thought that ultimately does it? The idea that if Penny is still on that boat then there was probably only one person on that boat even pretending the care, and they'd probably ditch her the moment it was convenient. Alright, he gets moving again, quickly going for his rifle. "Tell 'em anyone who has 'Miranda' with them gets a ride. Everyone else gets a bullet if they get too pushy. Permission to get to work the moment we dock, Cap'n?" he gives simply, cycling a round into the chamber. Just hold on a little longer, kiddo. Daddy's Here.

[Sirviantis]

Nominee: Iron Signet
Game: Prowlers & Paragons
System: Prowlers & Paragons
GM: Iron Signet and Sirviantis
Post: Poor Henry

Background: The party in this thread finds themselves wake up in test tubes with a variety of sensors attached to their bodies. From their they've made no efforts in stealth during their escape. The poor barnacle creature that possibly used to be called Henry is the last in a sizeable line of victims of genetic tampering to morph humans into sea-creatures. The characters don't quite know that a significant portion of the monsters they fought were once humans, but every once in a while after defeating one Iron treats us to the internal mechanisms of the poor sods that get ground up into experience for the would-be heroes.

Reason: Iron's continuous use of flashbacks of creatures is just amazing. It feels great to learn so much about what's going on in this place through the thoughts and memories of whatever baddies are lurking down in this cellar. His impressions of these (presumably) tortured and disfigured humans are amazingly detailed and positively alien, it's amazing. I never quite expect it, but it's a great surprise and I'm happy to get to read them!

 

Poor Henry The Barnacle didn't used to be a barnacle. At one time, it was sure it was... something else. What memories it had were hazy though, and there was little introspection to try to recall them. There was hunger though, the ever-overbearing desire to feed. It still had some mental faculties though, which it used to catch its latest prey. It had no eyes to see and no ears to hear, but it didn't need ears to hear, its entire body was almost like an ear. It could feel the tremors in the air and on the ground, through the ceilings and walls, that told it exactly where its prey would be, how big it was, how its prey was moving... all sorts of information, anything the Barnacle needed to know. There were other kinds of prey, lower down, noisy, but that prey was risky. The upper level had been mostly quiet for so long, no prey within its reach... but then, all of a sudden, it could hear activity up there again. This happened every once in a while. There would be long periods of silence up above, then chaos and violence, and then there would be easy prey up above once again. Occasionally something would manage to sneak by, but only after the Barnacle had already hunted and had its fill. After some of the initial vibrations of violence broke down, the Barnacle snuck its slithering tentacles up into the familiar room, no need for the access code there was an easy hole in the door, with plenty of tasty morsals to munch on inside. More vibrations. The Barnacle allowed its tentacles to slither, coaxing prey closer, and was met with some trepidatious steps heading its way... perfect! With a grasping tentacle, it grabbed its prey's leg and pulled. This prey was stronger than it had thought! Sudden pain smashed into its tentacles and it made a hasty retreat. It would have to resign itself to the food it had found already for the time being. Maybe it would be enough to sate the Barnacles hunger for a while. It popped a small octocrab in its maw and crunched down, relishing in the cerulean juices that spilled from its crunching rubbery carapace. Some time later it could feel activity just above it past the stairs again, but it was actually filling up. The largest of the octocrabs had been very filling and had hardly the strength left to struggle before the Barnacle put it out of its misery. It felt the approach of the medium sized too legged prey that had hurt it earlier, as well as some other very filling sounding creatures. One that seemed to have six limbs was particularly large and felt like it would make an excellent meal, the Barnacle may have to kill it now and save it for later. Then, something struck it from out of nowhere, the Barnacle was realling from the blow and it could feel a screech coming from somewhere deep in its gullet. "Why, why is this happening?" it wondered, the first coherent thought in ages forming from pure shock. Its hypersensitive touch was overwhelmed, and it could hardly feel what was happening around it. Then, something began to happen to the air. Its skin felt itchy, its normally hyperfocused thoughts becoming more and more disjointed by the irritating feeling in the air on its skin, gills, and lungs. Then it gets hit again, and several of its tentacles get bound up in something... it couldn't tell what. Too much was happening... it couldn't see... it couldn't feel what was happening around it properly. Something smashed its tentacles again. It attempted to lash out in response, but there was a sudden cold pain around the base of its armored body... right where it had glued itself to its surface. It attempted to smash its bound tentacles around there instead but found nothing. Screeching with rage again, it flails its tentacles even harder, searching for some kind of prey to bludgeon and eat, and then it felt fire, an intense series of percussive heat... and then it felt nothing.

Scene The fight with the Barnacle proceeds easier than any of the intrepid heroes had expected. Following up the surpise attack of stun grenades and debilitating gas, the gross mound of carapaced flesh never seemed to even realize what hit it. Mermaid delivered a solid blow with her fire extinguisher, but with the combined factors of entanglement, stun, and irritation, the Barnacle is able to do nothing productive in response. When Ghost arrives at the creature's base, he sees that rather than gripping tentacles, the creature seems to have secreted some sort of cement-like glue from its base tentacles and glued itself to the ceiling. He attacks anyways, and the Barnacle lashes out, passing through him without a trace of discomfort on his part. When Ion's blast hits, the Barnacle has nothing left, and shuffles off the mortal coil. A lifeless chunk of volcano-shaped carapace remains glued to the ceiling, but the shreds that are left of its rubbery tentacles hang loosely down beneath it like a curtain, and an all too humanlike head lolls out from the volcano mouth, lipless mouth gaping wide in limp death. Almost as if to break the spell of quiet that comes after that, bullets are again heard down the hallway. There is more yet to do on this floor, maybe even survivors to save.

[ratchett]

Nominee: Mitsubachi
Game: Voided Warranty
System: Warhammer 40K: Rogue Trader
GM: ratchett. psuedenim, sageheart
Post: Sister Gianna is on the trail

Background: The party has endured the perils of their maiden voyage through the horrorscape of the Warp, and is sorting out the trail of their prey - a former pirate holed up on a lost world. Sister of Battle Gianna contemplates the voyage and the party's next move.

Reason: You may have noticed that there are three GMs for this game. It's because we lost our GM and three of the players volunteered to carry on the narrative. Posting may have slowed but Mitsubachi always brings their A-game when they post, as exemplified here. They move the story along, incorporate the mechanics of their skill roll, and give us insight into their character's thoughts. Plus, the constant updates of the character portrait using AI keeps us guessing what Gianna will look like next!

 

Gianna Sister Gianna stands in the command hall of the Emperor's Torch, full of expectation. The senior crew team is assembled around her. Today is the last day of their voyage through the Warp. And Gianna cannot wait another moment. Her skin crawls as if covered with insects, no matter how many icy showers she takes. She never did find that thing down in the lower decks. Ghostly howls, crewmen going mad, and that strange incident with the stench in the officers' mess; all of them betrayed to her that some kind of malign presence was with them on the ship. At least that phantom procession of her dead sisters did not reappear. But her sword is still hungry. It twitches in its sheath at her hip. Lucien had sent out his gathered learnings about Grace just the other night. Gianna had studied it only half-heartedly, not confident that she would be able to contribute much to their exploration plans. However, now that they are gathered together again, a little voice is nagging at the back of her mind. A detail amongst the Senechal's pile of documents, a detail she should know about. What, where, when, who? It is just beyond her recall, but somewhere in her memory, rattling in a box waiting to be opened. Along with the constant itching caused by the warp all around her, it is maddening for the young Sororitas. She bites her lip, hoping their re-translation to realspace will just make it all stop. Mendaric is not yet here, alarming Gianna for a moment until she realises the huge navigator must perform the final ritual before their re-translation. She glances toward the sealed portal toward the navigator's sanctum. One of the many adepts in the hall, sitting amongst the rows of pews, head-cables plugged into the cogitator before him, begins the countdown. Gianna tenses, silently mouthing it with him. Finally they get to 3, 2, 1, zero... and her world lurches. It is like leaping off a huge clifftop, her stomach flies up into her mouth and she has to stop herself from staggering. It is not the first time she has felt this sensation, but still it is always unnerving. It is even stronger than leaving the material realm to enter the aether. But it is still welcome, because Gianna knows what it means. It means they are back in reality. Gianna feels better almost immediately. Her feet feel more securely planted on the ground. Her skin feels normal. A sudden calmness spreads in her mind, like a nasty voice she could not hear had been whispering in her ear constantly for months, making her tense, and it had now suddenly disappeared. Even things around her seem more clear and real, solid and normal, like waking from a nightmare. But if the gladness of this return to reality had lifted her spirits and those of her companions, a new emergency soon eclipsed it. Moments after coming out of the warp and performing the re-orientation checks, the augurs obtained a fix on Grace. And with that a stream of signals flooded the great hall. Crewman and adepts rushed to and fro between cogitator stations. Captain Morse bellowed orders. Lucien consulted his documents. And finally the niggling memory in her mind burst out and made itself known to Gianna. "Grim-Grin. Grim Grin!" she said aloud, excited. "I remember now. I read about him before we set off. I thought it sounded like an ork's name..." Gianna taps one finger against her chin, trying to recall what was important about Grim-Grin. It was to do with all the cacophony of signals and gibberish coming through the augurs now. What is it? Then, realisation. She turns to Captain Morse and Lucien. "His major-domo and known associates were listed on an Imperial Navy crew list. He employs navy men! If he is sending distress calls now, he is probably using a navy code. Is there a way you filter that out from all this noise?"

[Starflier]

Nominee: NoizePollution
Game: Class of 2001
System: Monsterhearts 2
GM: HexCursed
Post: Heart to heart

Background: After a series of missed moments, Quinn finally decides take a leap of faith, baring her feelings and her heart to her friend Ash.

Reason: Monsterhearts is a game about the messy lives of teenage monsters, and this post from NoizePollution embraces that subject even more than most. Raw and emotional, it touches on tough subject matter and highlights the vulnerability of a character that normally projects herself very differently.

Game link: Heart to heart

 

Quinn Hot -1 Cold +1 Volatile +2 Dark -1 Exp 0/5; Harm 0/4; BullyQuinn, the Ghoul The seconds feel like hours and when the door swings open for Ash to step through Quinn almost jumps out of her skin. She starts forward but stops short as Ash closes the distance toward her. Quinns spacing is very deliberate, five good steps away, but she doesn't shrink back if Ash moves closer. She tucks her hands behind her, interlocking her fingers to keep them there. "Coach was a dick but he wasn't wrong." It feels weird but she needs to start there. Where she shriveled under the scrutiny. The way she'd withdrawn at the sniping comment, the way she'd run. It was the worst way to end that conversation. "Look, I know I'm a lot. I'm loud. And angry. And I can be mean." She hadn't really thought of what she'd say if this moment came. It was enough to force herself into the moment in the first place. The words just keep coming, freed from a prison deep inside her after so long. "But I'm really just scared. All the time. Scared of what I'm thinking, or feeling. Of people knowing..." She stops, trying to rein in the flood of words that jockey to be part of the conversation. "I have...complicated feelings for you, Ash. That's really hard for me to say." A beat, a breath slowly inhaled as she considers how easily that could be misread. "Not because of who you are. Because of who I am." She takes a step forward, but only one, and slips the fingers of her right hand under the left sleeve of her undershirt. It isn't exactly cool enough to warrant the extra layer but Quinn always wears layers. "I grew up with a very specific idea of what is right and wrong." She laughs a bit on the tail of it, a hitching nervous chuckle that is nothing about humor. "My parents would absolutely lose their minds if I told them I like girls." She hesitates for a moment, then pulls the sleeve up and rolls her hand so the underside of her forearm is up. Three red welts, each about the width of a narrow belt. Fresh enough to not have yet turned to mottled bruises. "This was for the trouble in school, and that's not even a sin." She turns her eyes back to Ashs as she pulls the sleeve back down. Her hand moves forward briefly before she catches herself and tucks her arms behind her back. "And I don't mean that this is easier for you than for me but..." She's drifting, and she shakes her head against the desire to follow that tangent away from what comes next. "I am bad at picking up on signals. Really bad, lately. So maybe I'm way off and maybe you don't want to talk about this. It's fine. You can go back to the stands and I'll go back to the field and I'll bury all of this. I'm real good at that." And she would hate it. So many times in her life she's hidden her feelings. It would be awful, but she would do it. "But I'm tired of pretending like I don't want to kiss you. And maybe you want to kiss me, too?" Quinn searches Ashs face for any sign of guidance in that. Any tell that might indicate her feelings. She pushes forward with those thoughts, in on the honesty train a hundred percent. "And if you want to go somewhere and talk about it, we could do that. After the game? Or now? Anywhere is fine." Her hands are shaky, held tight around each other, and her right foot rocks heel to toe with a jittery motion. "I guarantee I can get ejected from this game." And she would. She is certain of it now. Turns out there is something she would sacrifice baseball for. "I know we both have unresolved stuff with other people." She releases her hands to extend her arms in either direction, making a quick spin as she speaks to indicate the room around them. "But it's just you and me here." It isn't fair. She has no idea what Morgan or Luke might be involved in right now. And she can only imagine what's happening between Morgan and Ash is as uncertain as what's happening between Luke and her. Fair or not, this is about her and Ash. Nobody else. She doesn't close the distance. She doesn't reach for Ash. This is as far as she is willing to place herself here, what seems to be halfway. The other half feels like it may as well be a million miles, but maybe for Ash it seems like less than that. Quinn really hopes it does. "Do you...want to talk to me?"