#reddit’s shambling corpse

[settlercolonialismisbad]

Even though reddit is forcibly replacing mods and reopening subs, 4657 remain dark. Fuck you u/ spez

[darkaquarius93]

when writing prompts go hard

here's a story that I wrote in the replies of an old writing prompt on reddit. figured I'd post it here to keep it where I can find it. maybe I'll do something with it in the future

The Prompt: [WP] Necromancy, as a means of speaking to the recently deceased, is a common and useful tool for police, doctors, grief counselors, etc. You'd think it would be useful for archaeologists too, but there's a reason they're not allowed to do it...

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

I'm livid. Beautifully carved pots and weapon fragments that took weeks of painstaking work to remove in the ruins lay in shattered pieces in the alcove where I and my students had set them aside to catalog them. A shambling corpse from one of the sarcophagi deeper in the ruins was crawling through the pieces, crushing more under it's decaying body as students fled it in a wave. My senses buzz in all directions around me, like pings on a radar, meaning there were more than one awakened corpses tramping through the ruins.

Too many discoveries had been lost to such nonsense. Useful as we are, necromancers actually can't get jobs in the archaeology fields because of idiots trying to show off. The only reason I'm allowed to stay is because I'm a curse breaker - a rarety - and have proven myself time and again to keep my powers under tight control.

The corpse senses me nearby. It's beginning to look for me, turning to stumble into my direction. I throw out my hand and seize the tether of life that brought the poor soul back to it's corpse in an attempt to sever it so that it can return to it's afterlife to no avail. Whoever summoned it is just strong enough that I can't wrest control from their bond. That only leaves one way to deal with the shamblers: the slim sword at my hip.

Many of the older archaeologists and necromancers alike have laughed at my sword, sneered in disdain at my 'cocky and presumptuous' attitude.

'Or at least up until they come across an awakened whose tether can't be severed,' I think to myself as I destroy the corpse in front of me and move deeper into the ruins after the others. I strike down the ones I can't sever. Finally I turn a corner to an antechamber where I can feel the necromancer and pull up short. There's a massive awakened standing inside, staring unseeing at the necromancer that lay unconscious on the floor before him. I notice that it's a student that hadn't been a necromancer this morning, which means there's a curse in play.

The awakened senses me and turns towards me, revealing an ancient dagger dripping with blood. My gaze hardens as I settle into my stance without reaching for the tether; I know this one won't be severed.

Time to go to work.

[thesuperiorloki]

OG Loki is already dead and gone and has been since 2013. His shambling corpse is still being dragged out by Marvel whenever they want to make money off of him but the signs are there that they intend to get rid of Tom’s Loki to make way for someone else in the new roster of Marvel heroes. This is funny as hell to me because once Tom is gone no one is going to give a single infinitesimally microscopic fuck about Loki. No one. Tom is Loki: there is no one else. Mark my words, once he is really gone all the fangirls on here and fanboys on Reddit are going to start lamenting and missing him and wishing he’d never left. No one is going to watch the Sylvie and Mobius show. No one cares about any of these new off-brand characters in their cheap, off-brand costumes and none of these new heauxs are ever ever ever going to have that Hall H energy. Only Tom as Loki had that energy and he’s the only one who ever will.

[femwizard]

Hold my beer Ima break down the different uses of different social media:

Facebook: signing into generic applications that won’t take a simple email, letting your extended family know what’s going on in your life approximately twice a year, and the worst memes possible

Instagram: basically Facebook but less useful and yet somehow more compelling. Wana see pics from a party someone you knew in highschool went too?

Twitter: political shitposting & thirst. That is it

TikTok: the shambling corpse of what used to be music.ly, filling the gaping void left by the death of vine. No easier way to get your facial map into China’s national database. I’ve heard there are gays on there but I’ve also heard that gays are banned so what’s the truth.

Reddit: it’s the hole in the wall you go to if you’re smart enough to know yahoo answers is nothing more than a joke. Debatably a larger dumpster fire than tumblr. They got hella porn tho.

Tumblr: do you want an incoherent journal? Do you want absolutely incoherent memes? Do you want original content? Do you want to head 1/3 of the information on a discourse you have no connection too? Well you don’t get to pick but there sure is still a lot of content somehow.

[pixelgrotto]

A look at D&D’s Curse of Strahd

From about October 2018 to August 2019, I led a group of four friends through Curse of Strahd, the latest campaign book featuring a dive into the realm of Dungeon & Dragon’s most famous vampire, Strahd von Zarovich. It went well, and it was an interesting experience for me as a Dungeon Master, since this was my first time using one of Wizards of the Coast’s official modules. In the past I’ve always come up with my own homebrew adventures, and I still homebrewed a good chunk of Curse of Strahd, remixing characters and formulating story twists on the fly once I learned the ebb and flow of my group.

One of the things I love most about D&D, however, is that such behavior is encouraged, and pretty much all of the major 5th Edition releases outright tell DMs that they shouldn’t hesitate to make a campaign “their own” by only following the book when necessary. Thus, the version of Curse of Strahd that my players ran through was an experience specifically tailored to them - one where a motley crew known as the “Well-Doners” (like a well done steak...or a stake to the heart of a vampire!) were sucked into Strahd’s strange valley of Barovia and forced to ally together for the sake of survival...aided by a few key comrades, including a funny gnome mage who’d lost his magical mojo, the reincarnation of Strahd’s lost love, a grumpy monster hunter and a massive ranger and his dwarf wife. If I ever run Curse of Strahd again for another group, it’s very likely that many of these key comrades - as well as the general crux of the adventure - will turn out completely different.

To all enterprising DMs who might wish to run Curse of Strahd for their own groups, it’s worth first noting that this is very much a Ravenloft campaign. Ravenloft is the setting that sprouted from the 1983 module of the same name, originally devised by Tracy and Laura Hickman and then expanded upon during the heyday of D&D 2nd Edition. In a nutshell, it’s D&D’s horror setting, and the horror is very much steeped in the gothic tradition, with a heavy dollop of foes inspired by the Universal Monster Movies of the 1920s to 50s, sprinkles of Eastern European creepiness and a dash or two of dark romance to complete the mix. I quite like this combination because it reminds me of the melancholy yet deeply beautiful world of Mordavia in Quest for Glory IV: Shadows of Darkness, one of the formative experiences of my youth and a game that has a great soundtrack for the backdrop of any Ravenloft campaign. (Interestingly, Quest for Glory creators Lori and Corey Cole were D&D players before they went on to design computer games, which means that the gothic realm of Mordavia surely is a clear descendant of Ravenloft.)

But horror of any variety isn’t necessarily everyone’s cup of tea, and certain parts of Curse of Strahd - if run straight from the book - can veer quite sinister, because Barovia is ultimately a crappy place presided over by a crappy undead warlord. The introductory adventure of the module, dubbed “Death House,” actually deals with ghostly children who’ve died of starvation in a haunted manor due to the cultist ways of their mad parents. It’s entirely possible to make these kids untrustworthy antagonists in order to emphasize that the Ravenloft setting simply does not mess around, but since I was running this campaign for a group of four new players whose prior experience with D&D ran the gamut from limited to absolutely zero, I decided to make them into a spooky but still likable duo who could “possess” the players’ characters and offer sassy running commentary on the monsters infiltrating the manor. Like Casper but with a tad more snark, in other words - and the endearing nature of the children made the moment where my players had to lay their corpses to rest and confront their sad origins all the more compelling.

This act of balance - between ensuring that players recognize this as a dark adventure but also making sure that just enough light and humor alleviates the depression - is one that I tried to perform during every session of our game, and I’d encourage future Curse of Strahd DMs to do the same. I’d also encourage enterprising Dungeon Masters to perform a similar balancing act on the monsters and scenarios that permeate the adventure - specifically on the ones in the Death House opener as well as Strahd himself.

Death House, more specifically, is described in the book as a means to help the party quickly progress from levels 1 to 3, but played as is, it’s quite possible for players to get absolutely curb-stomped by everything within the manor - particularly a “final boss” that they’re technically not supposed to engage with, at least in a fair manner. Veteran RPG fans might relish the challenge, which is more reminiscent of Call of Cthulhu than D&D, but newbies might not like having to re-roll a character because their first one got wrecked by a Shambling Mound after only a few hours of play. So, retool Death House to suit the needs of your party - in my case, I limited the encounters somewhat to prevent a steady drip of HP and also gave my players a few tips on how to beat tricky baddies via those aforementioned ghost kids.

The opposite strategy goes for Strahd von Zarovich himself, who might be the big bad of Barovia but is surprisingly squishy when confronted by a hardy group of level 8 or 9 players, especially if they’ve found all the fancy sunlight-shooting artifacts of the adventure that can limit his powers. I can’t count the number of posts I’ve seen on the D&D Reddit or a Curse of Strahd Facebook group I’m in where frustrated DMs have written something like “Strahd was killed by my players within two rounds, where did I go wrong” - and in order to circumvent this from happening in the last session of a shared storytelling experience that had nearly spanned a year, I took a heavy pair of tweezers to Strahd’s stats and gave him three forms, each with their own HP. The first was his regular vampiric self, the second was him riding on his Misty Steed-summoned horse Bucephalus, and the third was basically Strahd going into berserker mode with black angel wings bursting from his back. (I stole the concept art of Satan from Castlevania: Lords of Shadow 2 for that. Worked perfectly!)

Speaking of Castlevania, I drew inspiration from the recent Netflix series - which I’ve written about here and here - when it came to developing Strahd’s actual personality, because even though the book updated his original Bela Lugosi-esque appearance into something more regal and fantasy-inspired, his essence is still something of a two dimensional bad guy, and the fact that one of his eternal missions in undeath is to make the reincarnation of his original lover fall for him is a problematic pill to swallow in 2019, even if it is meant as an ode to Dracula’s obsession with Mina Harker in Bram Stoker’s original novel. And so I decided to make my version of Strahd similar to the depressed, weary-of-life Dracula in Netflix Castlevania, turning him into a vampire of complexities - a guy who’s been immortal for so long that he almost wants the players to kill him, a man who believes he’s entitled to the love of a woman yet somewhere deep down realizes the inherent selfishness of that belief, and a lord who’s grown bored with his kingdom yet can’t quite relinquish the power he’s held over it for centuries. My Strahd, in other words, was still a bad dude, but at least a somewhat deeper bad dude that the cardboard cutout as presented in the book, and one of my players even described him as “a little like Kylo Ren,” which I took as a compliment.

Before I wrap this up, I’d like to return to the concept of the balancing act with regards to the structure and scope of Curse of Strahd, which is a true sandbox adventure. Players are not required to visit half of the locations outlined in the book, and the replayability factor is high, because the various artifacts that you need to defeat Strahd, as well as the specific non-player characters likely to assist you along the way, are dependent on a tarot card reading that occurs near the start of the adventure. The locations that I found the most important for my players were the towns of Barovia and Vallaki, the Wizard of Wines Winery, Yester Hill, Van Richten’s Tower, the Ruins of Berez, and Castle Ravenloft itself. Other groups online swear by Krezk, a third town that my players never bothered to visit (though I would have urged them to go there if we’d had any clerics or paladins in the party, since Krezk is a town with a giant church), and the Amber Temple, the lair where Strahd obtained his undead powers (a place I feel is best suited for players of neutral or evil-leaning alignments). Your mileage may vary, but if you’re going to DM this module, one of the best bits of advice I can give would be to see which locations your players are naturally inquisitive about, and then focus on those. Exploring every nook and cranny of Barovia can quickly turn into a slog otherwise.

With all this in mind, I think it’s time for the so-called “Well-Doners” to leave the world of gothic horror behind for a bit. They’ve somehow managed to find their way back to their home plane and the city of Waterdeep, and only one of the party was infected with a seemingly fatal curse after their stay in Ravenloft. What further quests await, I wonder, and what new campaign book will I hack apart to suit my players’ tastes? That’s for me to know, for them to find out, and for another long blog post examination...sometime in 2020, hopefully!

All photographs taken by me.

[topofreddit]

The Walking Dead's 100th episode shambles along like the walking corpse the show has become

Original post | Reddit thread

[creativitytoexplore]

[FN] Critique: They're Only Children https://ift.tt/3vUANuI

Hi guys! I'm really new to writing, though I read voraciously. I have been working on this for a bit, and I really wanted to try to do.. something.. with it since it's Pride month. I appreciate any and all feedback, and I'm thick skinned. I want to do better, not be coddled. I have zero clue how formatting works on Reddit, and copy/pasting it from Scrivener did not go well.

TW: Violence towards Children; Transphobia

They’re Only Children

The great wyrm roared as its dessicated rib cage tore asunder, spilling its vile payload onto the streets below. The undead abominations that poured out of the dragon’s putrid body cavity plummeted to the ground, many simply exploding into diseased shrapnel as the fall proved too much even for the necromantic power that held their forms together. Their shattered forms tore the homes and buildings of the doomed city apart just as easily as it did the flesh of the panicked citizenry.

Others though, others, rose to their feet, flickering rainbow hued flames illuminating the recesses of their bodies. As if the bombardment hadn’t been enough, the undying abominations tore into the survivors, the soldiers unable to stop them. The crimson blood of the victims seemed to glow from the reflection of the eldritch light coming from within the animated corpses.

As they shambled towards he and his men, Andzdrej ran his ebon skinned hands through a series of precise, fluid movements that was every bit as eloquent as their native eldrazi. “Hold position til they hit the glyphs; then fire, and retreat.” Andzdrej shouldered his heavy repeater, centering its four steel arms on one of the approaching horrors. The squad’s gem colored eyes shining from their obsidian faces followed suit.

As the abominations neared the nearly invisible sigil that the squad’s mage had inscribed in the cobblestones, the door to one of the tenement buildings burst open, a woman and her three children running out to escape the burning house. Before Anzdrej could react, the nearest fire filled corpse snatched one of the children. The child’s wails of pain were matched by the mother’s scream of horror, as the unholy rainbow hued fire poured from the abomination, covering the child.

Even as he brought his hand down in the shartp motion for his men to fire, the sickening savory smell of burning human flesh filled his nose. The mother, her onyx skin, pointed ears and slanted eyes marking her as an elf, grabbed her child; the flames, hungry daemons that they were, poured from the child to the mother. The heavy steel bolts of the squad tore through the undead, several providing the elven mother and her child the only mercy the soldiers could give. After the volley, nothing moved save the flickering rainbow hued flames.

Andzdrej arose, stomach roiling from the charnal stench of the burning bodies, mind awash in pain from the lives he had failed, again, to save. Racking another bolt into his repeater, Andzdrej and his men warily approached the cowering, wailing, children. The squad mage rushed to the fore, his mates guarding all approaches, and set to disarming the sigil separating the children from the soldiers. His eyes glowed as he used the Sight to work the trap.

Speaking as low as he could and still be heard, Andzdrej said, “Stay still, faedin. We’ll evacuate you to the forward command station as soon as the sigil’s down.” Whether it was the use of the term all elven mother’s used for their children, or the empathy that the war hadn’t quite yet burned out of his voice, the children quieted, holding each other. They stared at the soldiers with glassy eyes, obsidian cheeks glistening with tears, but silent.

Turning to the squad mage Andzdrej said, “Hurry the pharr up, Drellin! More of the rainbows are going to converge on this street any minute.”

Without turning his glowing eyes, Drellin growled back, “This sigil wasn’t meant to be tore down; it was meant to blow up. Give me space, and I’ll get it down. Until then, guard the damn streets!”

Andzdrej chuckled, turning back to the street. Scanning the street, he stiffened as he saw movement from one of the cross streets ahead. His repeater was shouldered and sighted before a short whistled code identified the soldier’s approaching from the other side of the sigil. As they approached, Andzdrej lowered his repeater with a grimace, recognizing the other squad’s lieutenant. Glancing around, he knew he wasn’t the only one unhappy to be reinforced.

Sauntering past the children, Reigndol smirked at Andzdrej. “Too late again, eh half-breed?”, glancing down at the children with distaste he continued, “Not that it was any real loss. Why we are even trying to save these filthy demi-humans is beyond me.”

Gritting his teeth, Andzdrej retorted, “There isn’t anything for you here, Butcher. Move along, we’ve handled it.” Returning Reigndol’s smirk, Andzdrej finished, “Don’t you have belongings to liberate, or children to rape? I forget, which of those was your last censure for?”

Reigndol snarled, his hand darting to the pistol at his hip. He froze as Andzdrej blurred, his repeater dropping to hang from its sling, his hand gripping the plain black worn hilt of the massive sword sheathed across his back. Eyes widening, the lieutenant stumbled back, sprawling to his feet, hand moving away from his bladed pistol.

As Andzdrej’s squad burst into quiet laughter at the cowardly lieutenant’s discomfort, Drellin glanced up at Andzdrej. “I’m almost through Andz. Just a few more minutes. Keep them calm for your father’s sake.” Noting Andzdrej’s grimace of distaste, Mead chuckled softly. “Sorry mate, figure of speech.”

Rising to his feet, Reigndol ostentatiously dusted off his ornate pauldron that marked him as noble born. “You and your degenerate squad can laugh all you want, but we all know what you are, Andzdrej. Worse than a half breed, a bastard sword for the bastard born, no?”

Reigndol smiled, his squad chuckling at his jest, as Andzdrej’s knuckles tightened on his sword. “Draw the blade, bastard. Give me a reason to purge our ranks of you and your squad’s taint. We should have never let elves into our army. The Umbral Cohort doesn’t need your kind! It was your kind, your father, that started this war!”

Andzdrej eye's flashed, his perfect composure cracking at the slight to his men. He snarled as his sword slid from its sheath, the chaotic shining colors of the rainbow erupting out from the blade as if a prism had been hit by one of the sun’s. As the power inherent in the blade infused his body, his eyes blazed to life with every color of the rainbow, and more. The colors swirled, illuminating his men’s ebony faces as they shouldered their weapons, shining on Reigndol as his face, pale already, blanched, as his squad uncertainly moved their hands to their weapons.

He froze as a hand gripped his calf, the sword only drawn a few inches. Glancing down, Andzdrej watched as Drellin signed. “This is nothing new. Ignore them, let me break the sigil, and let’s take these children to the tents. We cannot do this! Don’t give them the satisfaction of a clean death that they haven’t earned.”

Clearing his face of all emotion, Andzdrej slammed his sword back into its hilt, making sure the disappointment as the magic left his body didn’t show. “You’ll find your death elsewhere, Butcher. We are taking the children and reporting back.”

Smiling in satisfaction, Reigndol nodded. “As it should be. Report back to your betters.”

Turning his attention to the children cowering behind him, Reigndol’s eyes sparked with malice. “As to the children.. Why, they’re wearing Twice-Born armbands. I wonder where their permits are?”

Andzdrej felt a flicker of unease at the tone of Reigndol’s voice. “Their mother and sibling are dead, consumed by the undead. We’ll deal with permits when we get them to the camp.”

“Ah, but we won’t half-breed. We won’t. Magic is illegal, and even demi-humans know that.” Turning back to the children, Reigndol’s high, falsetto voice dripped with malice. “Where are your permits, you galdo filth.”

The older child glanced back and forth between Andzdrej and Reigndol, obviously panicked. “Our madra h- h- had them. The monsters b- b- burned her.”

Turning to Andzdrej, Reigndol gave him a smile that seemed more carnivorous than pleased. “Twice-Born are legally required to carry their permits. Excuses don’t matter,” He purred.

Andzdrej retorted, “What does their damn gender matter to you, Butcher? They aren’t your’s to use, and you aren’t even the jury much less the judge. Magic or no magic.. They’re only children, Reigndol.”

Reigndol stared into Andzdrej’s eyes, his brown orbs empty of all emotion except for hate. The pistol gave a dull crump as he fired his pistol twice, killing both children. “The law is the law. And you’re right.. They’re only children.”

submitted by /u/gheistling [link] [comments]

[settlercolonialismisbad]

something something eaten by the monster they created

[settlercolonialismisbad]

this article reminds me that i never reviewed the reddit ios app, despite having it on my phone for years before switching to apollo and then deleting my accounts in light of reddit’s recent bad faith behavior. i think i’ll go do that.

[settlercolonialismisbad]

Reddit has a serious problem with consent.