Hey everyone! I'm still semi-new around here, and some of you probably don't know me, but I hope you won't hold that against me. Below you'll find a few details on my upcoming pseudo-industrial post-apocalyptic weird-fantasy NES, Our Terrible Purpose.
It is my intention that you will play as a city-state, kingdom, tribe, confederacy, etc. etc. in this oppressive, ruinous and sparsely populated world. I've written a few short items below that might help you understand the tone and setting of the game, but there's still a lot to be filled in! I'll be adding a few more things in the coming days, but it's my hope that you - the players - will develop most of the world by proposing your state (note: you are also free to play as Grist, Ath or New Hayne), and by playing the game itself.
I will be vetting your applications, but I'd be more than happy to help any prospective players work on their proposal. I can often be found on #NES on the warrensofthought.com IRC network. There is no strict format here for those who want to play, if you'd like to give a simple description that is fine, but if you'd like to present your application as a story, that is also fine. I'd only ask that you indicate your preferred location.
This is a relatively serious game, but I'm a fairly forgiving GM and above all I'd like people to actually enjoy playing this NES. I don't expect that I will be allowing more than 10 players at this point in time. I will be working out the system shortly, but I expect I will be borrowing some popular NES mechanics.
Feel free to ask questions (I know I'm light on details), discuss, and critique.
I will probably update this post in a few hours when I notice all the things that are wrong with it.
Map
Current Roster
Cities and Places
Ath
White walls strong, tall and fine, roofs of gold and green, a hundred towers against a clear blue sky. But as all cities must, Ath succumbs to the Fugue. Streets that once bustled lie silent and empty, and a thousand windows yawn black in the dead of night. Here many ships still call, but they seem so few amidst a great harbour built for many more. The people of Ath forget their dignity and feign grace that has long since forsaken them. The body wounded, the spirit ails, and empire quickly slips from weakened grasp.
New Hayne
Hayne may be centuries gone, burned away by the Red Fever, but its prideful legacy persists. Triumph is sweet upon the tongue, and the Mercers grow fat on the spoils of their victory. Haynish dreadnoughts sail unopposed upon the Fugue Sea, and their guns enforce a new regime. But Ath is merely humbled, and the Mercers yet fear revenge. The Crown's authority must be broken utterly and in finality - lest the specter of the enemy foil the ambitions of New Hayne.
Grist-on-Blackest
Here a city has always stood, astride the river Blackest. It has borne many different names, and the robber princes of Grist know each and every one, for they are keen students of history. It is by plunder that a man grows rich and rises in his house, perhaps one day to sit upon a throne. The ruins of the Weald provide, and the lure of gold blinds many to their mortal peril. A dozen and more expeditions depart each day into that hot and gnarled wood, which now grows close enough to touch the crumbling walls. Some return laden with ancient tomes, with coin and jewels, with powerful artifacts of ages past. More return hollow-eyed and empty-handed, or twisted in some subtle way, grinning that fell grin - a different man behind it. Many return not at all, claimed by the wood and that which lurks within.
The Fugue Sea
Calm waters unremarkable and unremembered. Shores of grey sand, and upon them the final gasp of civilization as the world dies a still and lonely death. Here men live in the shadow of better days, of terrible days. Here they play out the same tired roles as the final act draws near.
The Sweltered Weald
They say that once the Blackest ran clear, but that was long ago, and the river chokes on the detritus of ages. A dark forest grows up around it, slick and fetid, deep and trackless. Stones molder in the gloom beneath leaf and vine - the great cities that were. Eas, the Alchemists City, brought low by its own hubris -a bright and terrible light, a thousand colours, screams and a flash of searing heat, silence as the world fades into chiaroscuro relief. Somnesht, city of dancing shadows, city of a thousand doors. Golden Dis, where the Son of the Morning led his Choirs in song. All belong to the Weald, and the Weald is a jealous keeper.
The Dead Sands
A desolate wasteland long sundered from the sea. A green and bountiful paradise, once, before the world was changed. Tombs both grandiose and elegant rise from the shifting sands, from the cracked and shattered earth. Here lie ancient lords in all their glittering regalia, warrior-poets in bare repose, witch kings wrapped in a dozen curses - final gift of fearful servants dreading a master ill contented by death's embrace. Water is precious and scarce, but blood runs freely, for the men who dare live here are hard and cruel.
Soldiers and Warriors
Athish Knights
These knights eschew the horse and fight afoot with their retainers. Encased in masterfully angled and mechanically assisted heavy plate armour, an Athish Knight need fear few weapons. Arrows, bolts and bullets alike ricochet harmlessly from their plate, allowing them to exchange fire with the shotguns and revolvers they favour even when heavily outnumbered. Likewise, they may close upon the enemy with impunity, even under heavy barrage, and make short work of their foes with gruesome heatblades. A charge of Athish Knights is a fearsome sight indeed, and entire armies have scattered on contact with these butchers.
Heyden and Roen Heyden
Servants, attendants and retainers to the Knights of Ath, Heyden train all their lives in the arts of combat in order to protect and serve their masters. As Ath's authority vanishes as dust upon the wind many have abandoned or lost their former masters, and now find themselves without bond - Roen. These men are looked down upon in the loyal holds as honourless, and so they make their living as they can - swearing their blades and their service to the strongest of their own number. Heyden are fierce and brave in battle, throwing themselves recklessly upon the enemy - trusting in their ferocity and skill to carry the fight. They are well protected and well armed, wearing thickly plated cuirass and masked helm, carrying breech-loading rifles and shiverswords.
Mercer's Guild Infantry
Recruited exclusively from the Haynish population, and the mainstay of any Guild army. They are a trained and well-motivated professional infantry force. Wearing identical uniforms, ironweft jackets, a steel helmet, and armed with repeating carbines, these soldiers are distinctive on battlefields across the Fugue. They excel at engaging the enemy from a distance - or from prepared trenches and fortifications - where the power and accuracy of the Haynish carbine can be best demonstrated. Should they be caught in melee combat they will suffer terribly. A bayonet is little match for a shiversword or shiveraxe in a man-to-man fight.
Blackest Plundermen
A motley collection of men who make their living as as thugs-for-hire, as brigands plying the Blackest in mildewed junks, as scavenger-soldiers in the employ of Grist's Robber Houses, or sometimes all three. These men are coarse, callous and hungry. Their training, if any, is not standardized. Though fierce and eager fighters, they cannot be relied upon to hold disciplined ranks, or to maintain position if they sense advantage. Diversely equipped with an assortment of clubs, knives, and axes, with crude muskets and pistols or the occasional imported shiversword. More often wielding shellblades - the living crustacean swords for which Grist is famed, carefully cultivated in the shallows of the Blackest. They fight either unarmoured, or wearing a light lamellar cuirass of shell and lacquered wood.
It is my intention that you will play as a city-state, kingdom, tribe, confederacy, etc. etc. in this oppressive, ruinous and sparsely populated world. I've written a few short items below that might help you understand the tone and setting of the game, but there's still a lot to be filled in! I'll be adding a few more things in the coming days, but it's my hope that you - the players - will develop most of the world by proposing your state (note: you are also free to play as Grist, Ath or New Hayne), and by playing the game itself.
I will be vetting your applications, but I'd be more than happy to help any prospective players work on their proposal. I can often be found on #NES on the warrensofthought.com IRC network. There is no strict format here for those who want to play, if you'd like to give a simple description that is fine, but if you'd like to present your application as a story, that is also fine. I'd only ask that you indicate your preferred location.
This is a relatively serious game, but I'm a fairly forgiving GM and above all I'd like people to actually enjoy playing this NES. I don't expect that I will be allowing more than 10 players at this point in time. I will be working out the system shortly, but I expect I will be borrowing some popular NES mechanics.
Feel free to ask questions (I know I'm light on details), discuss, and critique.
I will probably update this post in a few hours when I notice all the things that are wrong with it.
Map
Spoiler:
Current Roster
Spoiler:
Cities and Places
Ath
White walls strong, tall and fine, roofs of gold and green, a hundred towers against a clear blue sky. But as all cities must, Ath succumbs to the Fugue. Streets that once bustled lie silent and empty, and a thousand windows yawn black in the dead of night. Here many ships still call, but they seem so few amidst a great harbour built for many more. The people of Ath forget their dignity and feign grace that has long since forsaken them. The body wounded, the spirit ails, and empire quickly slips from weakened grasp.
New Hayne
Hayne may be centuries gone, burned away by the Red Fever, but its prideful legacy persists. Triumph is sweet upon the tongue, and the Mercers grow fat on the spoils of their victory. Haynish dreadnoughts sail unopposed upon the Fugue Sea, and their guns enforce a new regime. But Ath is merely humbled, and the Mercers yet fear revenge. The Crown's authority must be broken utterly and in finality - lest the specter of the enemy foil the ambitions of New Hayne.
Grist-on-Blackest
Here a city has always stood, astride the river Blackest. It has borne many different names, and the robber princes of Grist know each and every one, for they are keen students of history. It is by plunder that a man grows rich and rises in his house, perhaps one day to sit upon a throne. The ruins of the Weald provide, and the lure of gold blinds many to their mortal peril. A dozen and more expeditions depart each day into that hot and gnarled wood, which now grows close enough to touch the crumbling walls. Some return laden with ancient tomes, with coin and jewels, with powerful artifacts of ages past. More return hollow-eyed and empty-handed, or twisted in some subtle way, grinning that fell grin - a different man behind it. Many return not at all, claimed by the wood and that which lurks within.
The Fugue Sea
Calm waters unremarkable and unremembered. Shores of grey sand, and upon them the final gasp of civilization as the world dies a still and lonely death. Here men live in the shadow of better days, of terrible days. Here they play out the same tired roles as the final act draws near.
The Sweltered Weald
They say that once the Blackest ran clear, but that was long ago, and the river chokes on the detritus of ages. A dark forest grows up around it, slick and fetid, deep and trackless. Stones molder in the gloom beneath leaf and vine - the great cities that were. Eas, the Alchemists City, brought low by its own hubris -a bright and terrible light, a thousand colours, screams and a flash of searing heat, silence as the world fades into chiaroscuro relief. Somnesht, city of dancing shadows, city of a thousand doors. Golden Dis, where the Son of the Morning led his Choirs in song. All belong to the Weald, and the Weald is a jealous keeper.
The Dead Sands
A desolate wasteland long sundered from the sea. A green and bountiful paradise, once, before the world was changed. Tombs both grandiose and elegant rise from the shifting sands, from the cracked and shattered earth. Here lie ancient lords in all their glittering regalia, warrior-poets in bare repose, witch kings wrapped in a dozen curses - final gift of fearful servants dreading a master ill contented by death's embrace. Water is precious and scarce, but blood runs freely, for the men who dare live here are hard and cruel.
Soldiers and Warriors
Athish Knights
These knights eschew the horse and fight afoot with their retainers. Encased in masterfully angled and mechanically assisted heavy plate armour, an Athish Knight need fear few weapons. Arrows, bolts and bullets alike ricochet harmlessly from their plate, allowing them to exchange fire with the shotguns and revolvers they favour even when heavily outnumbered. Likewise, they may close upon the enemy with impunity, even under heavy barrage, and make short work of their foes with gruesome heatblades. A charge of Athish Knights is a fearsome sight indeed, and entire armies have scattered on contact with these butchers.
Heyden and Roen Heyden
Servants, attendants and retainers to the Knights of Ath, Heyden train all their lives in the arts of combat in order to protect and serve their masters. As Ath's authority vanishes as dust upon the wind many have abandoned or lost their former masters, and now find themselves without bond - Roen. These men are looked down upon in the loyal holds as honourless, and so they make their living as they can - swearing their blades and their service to the strongest of their own number. Heyden are fierce and brave in battle, throwing themselves recklessly upon the enemy - trusting in their ferocity and skill to carry the fight. They are well protected and well armed, wearing thickly plated cuirass and masked helm, carrying breech-loading rifles and shiverswords.
Mercer's Guild Infantry
Recruited exclusively from the Haynish population, and the mainstay of any Guild army. They are a trained and well-motivated professional infantry force. Wearing identical uniforms, ironweft jackets, a steel helmet, and armed with repeating carbines, these soldiers are distinctive on battlefields across the Fugue. They excel at engaging the enemy from a distance - or from prepared trenches and fortifications - where the power and accuracy of the Haynish carbine can be best demonstrated. Should they be caught in melee combat they will suffer terribly. A bayonet is little match for a shiversword or shiveraxe in a man-to-man fight.
Blackest Plundermen
A motley collection of men who make their living as as thugs-for-hire, as brigands plying the Blackest in mildewed junks, as scavenger-soldiers in the employ of Grist's Robber Houses, or sometimes all three. These men are coarse, callous and hungry. Their training, if any, is not standardized. Though fierce and eager fighters, they cannot be relied upon to hold disciplined ranks, or to maintain position if they sense advantage. Diversely equipped with an assortment of clubs, knives, and axes, with crude muskets and pistols or the occasional imported shiversword. More often wielding shellblades - the living crustacean swords for which Grist is famed, carefully cultivated in the shallows of the Blackest. They fight either unarmoured, or wearing a light lamellar cuirass of shell and lacquered wood.