He, the young man Clavicular, arrives,
A small channel's face, with one bold stare,
One of the cringe on whom clout sits
As a Stetson on a South African billionaire.

I mean, most games of any kind where you are some flavour of bastard tend not to do it well. In this case I couldn't even make the determination--I'm not interested in cruelty and humiliation for their own sake. Challenging to step outside your own tastes to give these games a fair shake.

IF U LOVE THIS #ART, PLS SHARE!

My uni in Gaza just told us to start finding patients to treat. I'm doing it for free cuz ppl here r already struggling. But paying tuition & affording dental tools?That part's crazy expensive.

Help u can help!
£400 to the next milestone!
chuffed.org/project/layl...

Hell yeah

I spend way, way too much time pondering the particulars of consent and who is allowed to be a desiring subject in games intended to make ya blast ropes.

I have many thoughts on that subject and no outlet so hey if you ever embarked on such a venture I'd be interested in contributing. Although I tend toward 'hey aren't the consistent aesthetic and ludic trends of this metagenre interesting to analyse' type articles.

The Gloaming Path Also called The Path of Nights Neverending. There are three ways to begin the Gloaming Path, the twilit way between the World Under Sun and the World Without Sun. The first is a terrible act of love and grief; a Leaden Skull cultivator searches the World Without Sun for your ghost, and takes it back to your corpse. With an infusion of deathly bri, they rejoin spirit and body. Without the harmony of body, spirit, mind, and bri together, the process is traumatic and laboured. The bri floods the bones and forces them to fill the corpse with blood, then the bri lives in the blood as the most potent medium in the corpse. It anchors the spirit to the flesh and provides animation. This fresh vampire is driven to psychotic disassociation by the uneven joining of body and spirit, the wrench of passing from one world to the other, the improper configuration of bri in the blood instead of holistically suffusing the body. Many slay their reviver in a frenzy of pain, hunger, and confusion. It can takes days, and many deaths, for the vampire to come back to themselves. The second way is in service to a mature vampire, a master-student relationship that forms a number of highly secret sects. If one grows sufficiently in power, one can impose their will on the blood-which-knows. Whether the master treats this as graduation or betrayal varies. The third and rarest way is intentional cultivation. To infuse your blood with your own bri through sensuous indulgence. Food, drink, sex, violence, sensory excession - combine these with meditative techniques and one can simply become a vampire, their bri thickest in their blood. The blood-which-knows. Some believe vampires need to drink blood to live, but this is not strictly true. Until they master their bloodborne bri, they need the blood of others to dilute it. If they do not, the pure appetite, the meaning of hunger in the blood takes hold and the vampire becomes feral, violent, a void impossible to fill. Some claw thei…

sickos.jpeg

My favourite thing about these threads is they're good and digestible starting points. My second favourite is how they keep coinciding with exactly the research I'm doing for An Ceofhid any given week.

*humming faintly with malevolent energies*
Offerman as Gideon, Tom Burke as Boq

Valhalla's version of Ireland was surreal to navigate for that reason, in part because they seemed to have channelled the spirit of Cromwell to say fuck Connacht.

Had a dream that was I writing for a game called FINAL TRESSPASS, which was like the Yakuza games except it was set in Hong Kong and the protag was a chainsmoking auntie in her 50s whose quest was to put manners on cops, gangsters, aliens, time travelers, and so on.

Human avatar of The Tumour-Logic

I hope everyone enjoys my show about the discography and influence of NiN: Terrible Pod

A pair of brothers try to resurrect their elder brother but he comes back as a vampire right as the not!French Revolution is about to kick off. Meanwhile, as a counterbalance, Death Herself brings their mother back. Three centuries of immortal family drama co-opting revolutions follow.

Maybe I should try to arrange an Crucible: An Ceofhid playtest, I always get ideas to flesh out settings through playtests and it'd light a fire under me to finish these lists of buanna.

Had some time to kill today and felt like I was divorcèmaxxing

pluralbutts

Next project, whenever a current project is done; Re-Welshing the fuck out of Arthur, and making Excalibur the mech he uses to fight Cthulhu.

I fell asleep in my King Missile t-shirt and when I woke up- listen I am not having a good morning, ok, and I really need to pee.

Couldn't keep paying for the age gating plugin on my erotica blog so I'm moving things over to Literotica.
Iwww.literotica.com/authors/SadGhost/works/s...

oh hell yeah OH HELL YEAH
you can get months of use out of such a small amount

@toni.bsky.team hey can you get moderation to stop disproportionately banning trans accounts, thanks

For some reason my brain is using David Lynch's voice for this.

Zephyr interior spread where a Windfolk is seen prostrated before a majestic Fleeting

Zephyr interior spread where a group of Wind Clan folk are seen traversing across a canyon, overlooked by an ominous bird-like creature, and a murder of crows flying away

Zephyr interior spread where Windfolk are seen playing under the tinge of a red sunset, in a lake, toying with what seems to be lit fires on the water surface

Spread showing a Windfolk making an offering at a fungal altar, surrounded by wheatfiends

In the Zephyr #ttrpg, Windfolk traverse the back of a sentient continent to find the source of their passion & convictions, and to to fulfill sacred communal obligations.

Get it w/free shipping in the US at tabletopbookshelf.com/products/zep... or else at araukana.com/store

#dnd #rpglatam

What then of An Ceofhid? Forests-and-mists, wanderer. The woods are ancient and immovable, and spread across the world entire even in the cold north. Even in the stretches between town and city the forests reign. One must cross the wilds to go anywhere and when you go deep enough the forest refuses any human rule. It is here those who pursue enlightenment and power through Pattern Cultivation spend their time. Seeking sacred places to commune with the pillars of the cosmos, or hermit-masters from whom to learn. To engage in sparring matches, ritual duels, personal rivalries, and sacred contests. To hunt the Pattern-Beasts and even, if very brave or foolish, seek the enigmatic Sidhe. To find the lodge-houses of heterodox and heretic sects which teach secret techniques and offer guidance to true understanding. And some even fall into darker or stranger paths. The Way of Mag Mell practiced by the Sidhe, the twisted power of the Fomorian Sixfold Pact, or even for a most terrible few the Path of Night, the blood-which-knows. Who will you be, wanderer? Do you wish enlightenment to transcend the suffering world? Do you seek power to protect your loved ones? Do you dare raise up your sword against Empire? Comprehension is power, and power is seductive, and that seduction is unto monstrosity; be ye wary so, wandering soul, of adoring the tyrant called I.

The empire couid not conquer them without significant loss and hardship on both sides, not to mention the lasting political fallout of assaulting Danu even by proxy. And so the High Temple of Beathunach, goddess of life, brokered a proposition made by the cunning empress; marry her son Aodh to the queen of the Tuatha Dé. The ruling family of the city of Danaan became a cadet house of the imperial line from which empresses are drawn to this day, and the empire went from the Impiréaltai (Empire of Stars) to the Empire of Moon-and-Star, Impireacht na Gealréalta. Danaan became the new capital and seat of imperial authority, while the old capital remained the industrial and military base. The warrior aristocracy of the northlands resent the political primacy of the south, and the southern nobility resent their subordination to the imperial family. The regular folk, by now, largely all view themselves as citizens of the empire as cultural integration proceeds apace, and the High Temples work hand in glove with the imperial bureaucracy to maintain stability. But this is, of course, tenuous. Wealth and power still flow to the squabbling noble families, the most recently conquered and cultural different are suborned to the hunger of empire, and as reach exceeds grasp some territories are protectorates. The local ruler remains nominally in power while consuls represent imperial oversight, with varying success, and only the pressure of outside threats truly holds it all together. Many cultures exist beyond and sometimes within the borders of the empire, and are either beneath notice, or too distant or dangerous to conquer -- and may have old grudges against protectorates that make an imperial garrison appealing.

The continent is, very roughly, divided by a range of mountains largely known as the The Fin (from an archaic belief the world was on the back of a vast whale or similar creature). North of the range, the land is mostly rugged and the weather cooler, and it's rockier. It was here a chieftain set about conquering his neighbours with superior metalwork and skilled cultivators, eventually establishing the old capital of Cathairi. But the conquered home provinces were restive, and so the new king turned to the High Temples, the most widespread religious institution in the land. The circle of high priests declared him Nuada I, emperor by mandate of the gods, and set about a long process of formalising imperial culture and rule. Even now the backbone of the imperial bureaucracy is intertwined with the temples. After a period of consolidation, the burgeoning empire had a problem - food and material, mostly food. The northlands weren't great for agriculture even with Silver Tree temple acolytes working what magic they could on the soil. At this time, the empire was ruled by Empress Niamh following a quiet but bloody coup, and besides the economic imperative to expand she was ambitious to a fault. And so the empire marched south. The southlands beyond the Fin are mostly temperate rainforest, and home to thousand small kingdoms. The largest at the time called themselves the Tuatha Dé Danaan, for they dwelt in the city around the base of Danu, the towering sacred Mother-Tree. They were not the true Tuatha Dé of course; the Sidhe had long since vanished from the waking world, and these people claimed descent and so legitimacy.

Maybe Gaelcon if it's in playable state in time and I can find the energy around work.

CRUCIBLE: AN CEOFHID The Empire of Moon-and-Stars claims dominion over the world, propped up on the pillars of old warrior clans, the blessing of the High Temples, and sanctity of the Mother-Tree. But reach is not grasp; a multitude of kingdoms froth at the borders like ocean swell and further-flung protectorates chafe at the influx of bureaucrats and soldiers. There is peace, yes, but peace as empire would have it, fragile and crueller than the eye can see. Thus do some seek the between-places. The wilds, the lost villages, the sacred sites hewn by no human hand. An Ceofhid; the mists-and-forests. This is the wandering-way, threading in and out of the world of mortal law. Where those who would cultivate mystic power do so beyond the dogma of the High Temples. Where you, o wanderer, would go; duel rivals in rings of elder trees, seek hermit-masters for secret techniques, brush the skin of civilisation once more in roadside inns and border-towns. Yet be not reckless, for the verse of filidh cut deeper than steel, and the binding geas of Dlí Ceofhid ensures the rites of the way are kept with threat of terrible curses. Beware the deepest clearings, the eldest stone, the places where root and mushroom ring the soil, lest the Kindly Neighbours join you to their sport. Travel the world, wanderer. Seek wisdom. Seek power. Cultivate the Patterns and become yourself. Resist temptation, resist hubris, for the way is hard and the shortcuts sweet, but at the end of every crooked path waits the tyrant called I.

Seized by an idea for yet another TTRPG