Friday, June 24, 2022

QHWC: HEIMJING

Inspired by Library of Attnam.

The trees around yellow like butter left overlong in air, then darken into crisp black spears. Through its windows, orange light flickers from the gentle tone of an orange peel to the red glare of sunset through a ruby.

The forge continues its work.

Each sill spread thickly with a layer of ash. Your feet will perch on their tops, where grime has collected. Let the soot thread its way into your hair as you enter. Take a long breath of dry heat.

Crooked figures stalk the low ceilings, staring into your eyes through gaps in dusty stacks of charcoal, as they stamp towards the furnaces, casting sheaves of that blackened fuel into its maw. Others rise and fall over the bellows, ancient shoulders swollen, pinching their heads between their bulk.

In the workshop, sparks cast out across the stifling air seeking tinder fruitlessly, cast out from each thick hammerstrike clanging off a yellow bit of metal. The shape is slowly coming into relief, as it has one hundred, one thousand, ten thousand times. The ceiling is covered with them. Near the windows, they rust when the few droplets make it inside from the melting snows. 

Occasionally, the huge figure quenches its task in a greasy black pot which rises quickly to steaming, then withdraws the blackened metal tool from the oil, turning it over with the slow patience of exhaustion. 

A small sound of clattering arises from between its feet. It lumbers outwards towards the windows, seeking a rusty scrap to reforge. At this time, and only this time, its silhouette can be seen stooping, blocking the orange flicker with a dense blackness.

The task begins again.

HEIMJING beta here.

Thursday, March 31, 2022

Buckets of Blood: JANITOR

WHO CLEANS UP THIS BLOOD?

 THERE ARE BUCKETS OF BLOOD - WHO CLEANS UP THE GODDAMNED BLOOD, YOU SLOPPY PIZZA-GREASE-SLATHERED CHIPMUNKS, MY GOD I HATE YOUR PUERILE FUCKING FACES. GET THAT - THAT FUCKING SLIMY BURRITO AWAY FROM THESE FLOORS - I'M GOING TO FLAY YOU AND MAKE THAT RATTY SCRUFFY SCALP OF YOURS INTO A FUCKING DISHTOWEL GET BACK HERE

[.m4a audio clip found on a 2017 Samsung. Device's battery combusted violently before playback was finished.]


Pissants. Every last god-damned burger-munching booger-wiping Monster-pounding one of them. If dust is the gentle excreta of a building to its horizontal surfaces, a message strained through sunbeams, these bipeds overflow from every orifice with radioactive slag.

We clean up your empty Takis bags, discarded vape cartridges, and toilets. Blood-busters. Stain-slayers. Fucking Knights of Sanitizer (the Holy Ratio: One Part San and Six Parts Water).

JANITOR


Look, if you had gear or skills, you would be doing something else.

A: Deckswabbing, Essential Worker
B: Closet, Keyring
C: Bag It, After Hours
D: The Little God Of Little Places

Deckswabbing
If there's a mess, you can clean it in under an hour. Don't try me with who, where, how, or when. For the bad mommas of messes - we're talking decapitations, the busful of sick tweenagers, motile clots of soaked TP - it produces 1d4 BUCKETS filled with the absolute dregs of molecular matter. Each BUCKET is capable of befouling an entire room, no matter how large. Anyone close enough to smell it that isn't you can't breathe. Anyone who touches it with bare skin becomes ritually unclean. Anyone who drinks the stuff - fuck, man. 

Essential Worker
If it's a building which contains humans who excrete, you know the location of the maintenance entrance and fit in as long as you avoid making eye contact with anyone and carry the tools of your trade. This does not get you past actively guarded thresholds, locked doors, or into rooms full of people in white coats unless your services are required.

Keyring
When entering a building you don't have the keys for, you can unlock 1D4 DOORS. Why 1d4? Well, every time you unlock a DOOR, roll 1d4. On a 1, the keys stop working for that building. Did you prop the swing doors open?

Closet
Using your KEYRING, you can declare, before rolling the 1d4, that you are unlocking your CLOSET, which contains enough space to prop up one human-shaped corpse into a standing position. (If you actually do this, the corpse will fall out dramatically when the door opens.) The CLOSET can be used to store anything which fits inside. It maintains a constant temperature of 69 degrees Fahrenheit and has a dim orange bulb with a pullcord.

Anything you put inside the CLOSET stays there, with the exception of:

  • Any device which contains music from Def Leppard's High and Dry, ZZ Top's Eliminator, 
  • An object colored #DF73FF, 
  • Anything alive.
A musical device will be exchanged for a blunt rolled with dark brown paper. The object will be replaced by a jittery confetti-under-a-halogen-light shaded object-sized void which can be superimposed over unwanted things. Latex gloves can be used to manipulate the void, which has the texture of Space Sand, and gradually shrinks over the course of a day into something small, dark, and wrinkled.

Anything alive is no longer, medically speaking, 'alive.' If multiple living creatures are placed in the CLOSET, when reopened, its surfaces will become tacky, like honey, and unreliable.

Bag It
When you're inside a building, if a thing can be lifted by you and your friends and staggered over to a large trash can, you can dump it in, regardless of the state, size, or type of entity, and it vanishes inside, not to emerge if you tie the top of the trash bag. If this would overfill the bag, you have 30 seconds after departing the building to get the bag into a dumpster, or it explodes.

After Hours
If you run into someone inside a building who shouldn't be there, and you're alone, you can tell them to leave, and they will. Strange and terrible creatures will move out of earshot once. If you run into them again that's your problem.

The Little God of Little Places
It speaks to you from the darkness in between the drywall, a closed toilet stall, the drippings left underneath a trash bag. If you placate it, you can close your eyes and step between the little places inside a building.

If you open your eyes mid-step, you end up impossibly wedged into a small place, and it runs its little fingers over your mashed lips and presses its dense little bulk against you.

They won't find anything besides a set of keys and a rolled-up trash bag.

Wednesday, December 15, 2021

CHAR2TERIE BOARD ANNOUNCEMENT

 

From the people who brought you the Charcuterie Board...

THE GRETCHLINGS OF PHLOX'S GLOG SERVER PRESENT


A PRODUCTION 366 DAYS IN THE MAKING STILL IN PRODUCTION


CHAR2TERIE BOARD

Electric GLOGaloo


SIGN UP HERE BEFORE 12/22/21

TALK TO THE GRETCHES HERE

SUBMISSIONS DUE 1/24/2022
(send me a pdf of your formatted, finished submission or a txt doc for the layout gretchlings to format)
(Oblidisideryptch#7143 for DM's or oblidisideryptch@gmail.com for file transfers)

SEE YOU SOON

Sunday, December 12, 2021

ONE INTELLIGIBLE SKIN (Fire Priest)

<digression> This is an unfinished draft, posted to finally lift the curse of Paimon. <end digression>

Such a love lingers in long strokes of flame, a love of wood, and earth, and flesh. A fire is such a curious thing, unweighted by old obeisance or the blanket of all the years to come. It gorges on the space between seconds, illuminating and devouring with a russet skirt of embers.

You have spent too long in front of a fire.

The hands and eyes catch first, soft grey smears discoloring your vision and held objects, small shells cracking and falling with every blink and gesture. Bind your fingers and lids softly. Prepare to lose more as the fire explores you.

A: Now that you carry an ember within you, at any time you may cup your hands and blow softly to ignite it, casting the spark onto a flammable surface, or into someone's eyes.

B: When you cast a spark into someone's eyes, they begin burning.

BOUND SEEKER or CHARCOAL RIND

BOUND SEEKER:
Your skin is past sweating, now - there is a dry, sore heat to your touch, as certain as the thrust of the knife into a heart. Your fingers are heavier with bandages, and shift like a loose tooth if you push too hard. Trail the cakey remnants of your nails across something to tell where the fire would explore if you burned it. Recently extinguished fires will reawaken.

Thrust your hands entirely into the remnants of a fire, squat and shuffle, bandages flickering around half-remembered contours to discern exactly what objects were burned. You may pull one of these objects out, and brush any clinging coals away - it functions exactly as it did before. When dawn's light touches you next, it blows away in ash.
Instead of withdrawing an object, you may unbind your eyes and read from the lacunae between flaky layers extinguished by your bumbling, beetling fingers. The meaning of any writing or figurative representation torched is discernable.

Each ash carries something known, and you are known. Unbind your hands and forearms, letting them dissolve into the wind, exposing blackened bones. No agony awaits you - this is something known for a long time now. Now you may grasp at the world with whorls and forks of cinders billowing from any fire which lights your way. These fragments tug at more than the mass of an object - they seek its purpose, which you can choose to extinguish - rendering emotions cooled puddles of slag, or tomes tepid with colorless words, or knives to temporarily forget their nature.
Focus this blizzard of fragments on something, and it must Save versus being discorporated into a puddle of ashes. After you do this, you will not be able to reach with the embers until you burn something of equal value.

CHARCOAL RIND:
Underneath the ashes a harder truth is revealed.
 - stiff blackened hands

QHWC: HEIMJING

Inspired by Library of Attnam. The trees around yellow like butter left overlong in air, then darken into crisp black spears. Through its wi...