ArmandChascour
Forty year noob.
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Written by ArmandChascour in portal Gaming

Into the Fray

"My godling meditates to open his Inner Eye."

"He's never heard of that."

"Sure he has.  He was met at the airport by cultists.  They gave him a pamphlet."

"No."

"Do I get XP for thinking that up?"

"No."

"Do I lose XP for that one?"

"Maybe."

We were assigned a very silly mission, IMHO, to investigate the theft of Coalition biological weapons from a small town in Missouri.  I figure we were going there to try to get arrested and interrogate the cops, who would be the ones to know something.  Taking an anti-vampire build godling into Coalition turf is not my idea of whomping rognons.  

But my lord, who is a wee bit overpowered superhero, decided we would go looking for trouble.  I suggested we loot the fabled ruins of Detroit, Michigan.  We found a troop of gargoyles, three of whom tried to eat us.  I toyed with shooting at one with a bio-energy bow while my tree elemental tried to grapple it.  Meanwhile my lord fought two gargoyles at the same time.  He beat one to death, then used its corpse as a club to slay the leader.  After he surrendered.

I pointed out that even us Aztecs took prisoners, and he pointed out what happened to Aztec prisoners.  He was a Demon Queller, and he quelled some demons.

I let Grell the gargoyle live after promising to serve me for a year and a day.  Unfortunately he wasn't Aberrant and he ran as soon as I gave him permission to hunt (animal) meat.  He wasn't interested in eating the corpses of his slain companions, despite my professional level Cooking skill. I maintain that he got lost on the way back.

Anyhow we did find 4 gargoyle eggs, which being the good guys (?) we took to be saved in New Lazlo.  We sold them to a scientist for 400,000 credits, which brought our session of RIFTS to an end while we thought about what spells to ask for worth 400,000 credits. My lord wants to throw his melee attacks at people.  As a warlock-biomancer I probably can't buy any spells at all, which gives him the whole kit and caboodle.  I'll use his insanely high PPE to make whatever goodies I need.

On to next session, when I start using sound effects from my phone!

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Written by ArmandChascour in portal Gaming
Into the Fray
"My godling meditates to open his Inner Eye."
"He's never heard of that."
"Sure he has.  He was met at the airport by cultists.  They gave him a pamphlet."
"No."
"Do I get XP for thinking that up?"
"No."
"Do I lose XP for that one?"
"Maybe."

We were assigned a very silly mission, IMHO, to investigate the theft of Coalition biological weapons from a small town in Missouri.  I figure we were going there to try to get arrested and interrogate the cops, who would be the ones to know something.  Taking an anti-vampire build godling into Coalition turf is not my idea of whomping rognons.  

But my lord, who is a wee bit overpowered superhero, decided we would go looking for trouble.  I suggested we loot the fabled ruins of Detroit, Michigan.  We found a troop of gargoyles, three of whom tried to eat us.  I toyed with shooting at one with a bio-energy bow while my tree elemental tried to grapple it.  Meanwhile my lord fought two gargoyles at the same time.  He beat one to death, then used its corpse as a club to slay the leader.  After he surrendered.

I pointed out that even us Aztecs took prisoners, and he pointed out what happened to Aztec prisoners.  He was a Demon Queller, and he quelled some demons.

I let Grell the gargoyle live after promising to serve me for a year and a day.  Unfortunately he wasn't Aberrant and he ran as soon as I gave him permission to hunt (animal) meat.  He wasn't interested in eating the corpses of his slain companions, despite my professional level Cooking skill. I maintain that he got lost on the way back.

Anyhow we did find 4 gargoyle eggs, which being the good guys (?) we took to be saved in New Lazlo.  We sold them to a scientist for 400,000 credits, which brought our session of RIFTS to an end while we thought about what spells to ask for worth 400,000 credits. My lord wants to throw his melee attacks at people.  As a warlock-biomancer I probably can't buy any spells at all, which gives him the whole kit and caboodle.  I'll use his insanely high PPE to make whatever goodies I need.

On to next session, when I start using sound effects from my phone!






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Write the first several paragraphs of a horror/thriller novel.
Written by ArmandChascour in portal Horror & Thriller

The Bad Slope

"We found an altar in the woods," said Billy.

"Uh huh," said Susan, cleaning the oven.

"Yeah. The Ouija board kept giving strings of numbers. But Paul figured it was GPS coordinates."

"That's nice."

"So we tracked it on Google and found the intersection, and we hiked out there and found the altar."

Susan looked out the oven at her son. "I don't think I like where this is headed."

"We just want to camp out by the altar. See what shows up."

"No."

"Aw mom! Why not?"

"You tell me."

Billy bit his lip. Susan held him by the arms. "Say it."

Billy blurted, "Because I'm birthsworn."

"That's right. Your soul is already sealed. And lesser pacts would just complicate things. You don't have to worry about most humans interferring with that, but entities will be a problem. " She frowned. "But you'd better avoid Paul for a week."

"Aw mom!"

"Don't sulk, it isn't dignified.  It's for your friends sake too. I better do a warding. Go trance for a while."

"I don't want to!"

"Go on Billy!" Susan watched him stomp off. What a mess. Half her chores undone and a night of sorcery ahead.  The boy was growing up too fast.  Well, that was in the Book too.

Susan shrugged. He wasn't her flesh and blood, just the subject of her indenture. It made discipline easier. She began to prepare for magic.

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Write the first several paragraphs of a horror/thriller novel.
Written by ArmandChascour in portal Horror & Thriller
The Bad Slope
"We found an altar in the woods," said Billy.
"Uh huh," said Susan, cleaning the oven.
"Yeah. The Ouija board kept giving strings of numbers. But Paul figured it was GPS coordinates."
"That's nice."
"So we tracked it on Google and found the intersection, and we hiked out there and found the altar."
Susan looked out the oven at her son. "I don't think I like where this is headed."
"We just want to camp out by the altar. See what shows up."
"No."
"Aw mom! Why not?"
"You tell me."
Billy bit his lip. Susan held him by the arms. "Say it."
Billy blurted, "Because I'm birthsworn."
"That's right. Your soul is already sealed. And lesser pacts would just complicate things. You don't have to worry about most humans interferring with that, but entities will be a problem. " She frowned. "But you'd better avoid Paul for a week."
"Aw mom!"
"Don't sulk, it isn't dignified.  It's for your friends sake too. I better do a warding. Go trance for a while."
"I don't want to!"
"Go on Billy!" Susan watched him stomp off. What a mess. Half her chores undone and a night of sorcery ahead.  The boy was growing up too fast.  Well, that was in the Book too.
Susan shrugged. He wasn't her flesh and blood, just the subject of her indenture. It made discipline easier. She began to prepare for magic.
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Donald and Putin sittin' in a tree...
Written by ArmandChascour in portal Politics

Camp David Discord

"OK we're in a tree. Why?"

"Have a drink."

"Jesus you guys really do carry it everywhere. Would you put your shirt back on please?"

"For a fat old man you climb well. Drink! Do you really grab them by the pussy?"

"Hagh. I need a chaser...Jesus. Sometimes."

"You are new to politics! I lie there and beckon them to molest me."

"That is certainly one to try, Vladimir. May I call you Vladimir?"

"We have drunk vodka together and talked of women. Now to business. I will pull out of Syria if you will scream like a chicken and fly from this tree."

"You're kidding."

"No I'm  serious.  Yell like a chicken and leap for the ground."

"No, you're testing me. You want to see how far you can push me."

"Well done old man! NATO is in good hands. "

"I have a counterproposal. You join NATO and we'll pull out of the UN."

"Ha ha ha!"

"Seriously."

"No no no. Now you are joking with me."

"How can you tell?"

"You didn't tweet about it first."

"Ouch."

"Aw, now I have offended! Save your wits for how you'll get down."

"Same as you I expect."

"No my friend, shirtless super Vlad will simply jump."

"Yeah?"

"Yes! And now AAAAH!"

"Ugh. Oh my God."

"Bloated idiot! You could have killed me!"

"Let that be lesson Putin. You never know when I'll pounce. Like a jungle cat. An ocelot? A jaguar. Pounce like a jaguar. Help me stand up."

"Soil yourself!"

"Aw come back! Gah. Still a better summit than Vienna. Foo. Gotta breathe a minute."

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Donald and Putin sittin' in a tree...
Written by ArmandChascour in portal Politics
Camp David Discord
"OK we're in a tree. Why?"
"Have a drink."
"Jesus you guys really do carry it everywhere. Would you put your shirt back on please?"
"For a fat old man you climb well. Drink! Do you really grab them by the pussy?"
"Hagh. I need a chaser...Jesus. Sometimes."
"You are new to politics! I lie there and beckon them to molest me."
"That is certainly one to try, Vladimir. May I call you Vladimir?"
"We have drunk vodka together and talked of women. Now to business. I will pull out of Syria if you will scream like a chicken and fly from this tree."
"You're kidding."
"No I'm  serious.  Yell like a chicken and leap for the ground."
"No, you're testing me. You want to see how far you can push me."
"Well done old man! NATO is in good hands. "
"I have a counterproposal. You join NATO and we'll pull out of the UN."
"Ha ha ha!"
"Seriously."
"No no no. Now you are joking with me."
"How can you tell?"
"You didn't tweet about it first."
"Ouch."
"Aw, now I have offended! Save your wits for how you'll get down."
"Same as you I expect."
"No my friend, shirtless super Vlad will simply jump."
"Yeah?"
"Yes! And now AAAAH!"
"Ugh. Oh my God."
"Bloated idiot! You could have killed me!"
"Let that be lesson Putin. You never know when I'll pounce. Like a jungle cat. An ocelot? A jaguar. Pounce like a jaguar. Help me stand up."
"Soil yourself!"
"Aw come back! Gah. Still a better summit than Vienna. Foo. Gotta breathe a minute."
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Written by ArmandChascour in portal Stream of Consciousness

Tea

Seventeen years ago

I had a cup of tea

In a Minneapolis tea shop

On a side street off of Nicollet Avenue

The owner was Nepali 

And assured me in a confidential tone

That the soil and climate of Nepal made for the best tea on earth

And he served me a cup of fragrant tea

And without milk or sugar

It was creamy and sweet and substantial

It was like eating a light cake

I bought as much as I could afford to buy

My mother got a box and made it last a year as a special treat for herself

So I have had the best in the world

At something

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Written by ArmandChascour in portal Stream of Consciousness
Tea
Seventeen years ago
I had a cup of tea
In a Minneapolis tea shop
On a side street off of Nicollet Avenue

The owner was Nepali 
And assured me in a confidential tone
That the soil and climate of Nepal made for the best tea on earth

And he served me a cup of fragrant tea
And without milk or sugar
It was creamy and sweet and substantial
It was like eating a light cake

I bought as much as I could afford to buy
My mother got a box and made it last a year as a special treat for herself

So I have had the best in the world
At something
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Written by ArmandChascour in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Werewolf

Werewolves are real

I pace within myself

Aching to feed

Severe depression with psychoses

Bad ideas

Take them and run with them

In the wee hours in place of sleep

Severe depression with psychoses

It is good to be alone

The beast has no other prey

Anymore

Severe depression with psychoses 

They say God is joy

But on Sundays 

When everybody prays

Lord I am not worthy you should enter under my roof

But only say the word

And my soul shall be healed

I could scream it

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Written by ArmandChascour in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Werewolf
Werewolves are real
I pace within myself
Aching to feed
Severe depression with psychoses

Bad ideas
Take them and run with them
In the wee hours in place of sleep
Severe depression with psychoses

It is good to be alone
The beast has no other prey
Anymore
Severe depression with psychoses 

They say God is joy
But on Sundays 
When everybody prays

Lord I am not worthy you should enter under my roof
But only say the word
And my soul shall be healed

I could scream it
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Write the first several paragraphs of a fiction novel.
Written by ArmandChascour in portal Fiction

Menudo Por Favor

James Bund woke at six when the alarm bells rang. He let them clang for a full minute. Then he blindly grabbed for the alarm clock. Deliberately, blindly, using his innermost animal reserves of unconscious power,  he beat the clock to death against the headboard.

He lay still.  The morning sun crept along the carpet through the jalousie windows.

Then Bund dragged himself half upright and coughed. He crawled across the .25 Beretta with the skeleton butt. Lying on his gun, Bund vomited onto his shoes. He retched and fell back into bed. He pulled a pillow over his face and groaned.

The phone by the bed rang. It was the direct line to headquarters. Bund shot his hand to the receiver. He raised it enough to clear the cradle. He dropped it home. He shoved the phone off the table and groaned.

That was the first day.

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Write the first several paragraphs of a fiction novel.
Written by ArmandChascour in portal Fiction
Menudo Por Favor
James Bund woke at six when the alarm bells rang. He let them clang for a full minute. Then he blindly grabbed for the alarm clock. Deliberately, blindly, using his innermost animal reserves of unconscious power,  he beat the clock to death against the headboard.

He lay still.  The morning sun crept along the carpet through the jalousie windows.

Then Bund dragged himself half upright and coughed. He crawled across the .25 Beretta with the skeleton butt. Lying on his gun, Bund vomited onto his shoes. He retched and fell back into bed. He pulled a pillow over his face and groaned.

The phone by the bed rang. It was the direct line to headquarters. Bund shot his hand to the receiver. He raised it enough to clear the cradle. He dropped it home. He shoved the phone off the table and groaned.

That was the first day.
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Write the first several paragraphs of a sci-fi novel.
Written by ArmandChascour in portal Sci-Fi

I was very suprised that Master Tsien was allowed out of China. It had been a treaty condition that gong fu be restricted to the People's Republic of China. 

It had been a typically Martian kerfuffle. The Emperor asked to be awarded the martial dignity of shaolin master. The temple, being touchier than any mere military, refused.  That almost sparked the war right there. Finally the UN worked out a deal and the Crown Prince Imperial was allowed to study gong fu at the monastery. 

Ten years later he abdicated to devote himself to his vocation.  Mars exploded in rage, but the Chinese were hit in the soul for the second time and preferred a fight.

Now Tsien was in America. I was just curious, because it wasn't  my problem, when my phone howled.

"Yes Chief!"

"Watching CNN? Tsien is in America. Get down here now. Word is he wants political asylum."

"But nobody admits China represses anybody."

"Asshole, that's a political decision. No court can be held to it. And that's as far as we go over the phone. Come in."

We had already gone far enough. I got moving.  To be late would be the same as handing in my resignation. And I wasn't sure it was that serious.

Yet.

A ninja assassin has to set limits, after all.

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Write the first several paragraphs of a sci-fi novel.
Written by ArmandChascour in portal Sci-Fi
I was very suprised that Master Tsien was allowed out of China. It had been a treaty condition that gong fu be restricted to the People's Republic of China. 

It had been a typically Martian kerfuffle. The Emperor asked to be awarded the martial dignity of shaolin master. The temple, being touchier than any mere military, refused.  That almost sparked the war right there. Finally the UN worked out a deal and the Crown Prince Imperial was allowed to study gong fu at the monastery. 

Ten years later he abdicated to devote himself to his vocation.  Mars exploded in rage, but the Chinese were hit in the soul for the second time and preferred a fight.

Now Tsien was in America. I was just curious, because it wasn't  my problem, when my phone howled.

"Yes Chief!"

"Watching CNN? Tsien is in America. Get down here now. Word is he wants political asylum."

"But nobody admits China represses anybody."

"Asshole, that's a political decision. No court can be held to it. And that's as far as we go over the phone. Come in."

We had already gone far enough. I got moving.  To be late would be the same as handing in my resignation. And I wasn't sure it was that serious.

Yet.

A ninja assassin has to set limits, after all.
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Write the first several paragraphs of a comedy novel.
Written by ArmandChascour in portal Comedy

The Trunk

My mother had her best glassware wrapped in newspapers in a big trunk at the bottom of the hall closet. Once I was fascinated to read that one of the stories preserving her delicate plates was the announcement of the disappearance of Jimmy Hoffa. This struck me as a coincidence so bizarre as to be meaningful.  When I got older I knew better. Those plates were wrapped in the 1970s. It would have been some damn disaster or other.

Its hard to describe the 1970s to young people today. It stunk, the way a dead skunk stinks in the dead of night: nobody's fault, but unavoidable. I think that lack of anger is most peculiar to moderners. In the 21st century we know who to blame. But where Americans today gravitate towards Glenn Beck or Michael Moore, the 1970s celebrated Irma Bombeck, who explored the curious notion that Mom's Good Housekeeping books of 1950s gracious living were as phony as Star Wars.

I'm talking regular folks. The guys doing coke and David Bowie were a deliberately exclusive club.

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Write the first several paragraphs of a comedy novel.
Written by ArmandChascour in portal Comedy
The Trunk
My mother had her best glassware wrapped in newspapers in a big trunk at the bottom of the hall closet. Once I was fascinated to read that one of the stories preserving her delicate plates was the announcement of the disappearance of Jimmy Hoffa. This struck me as a coincidence so bizarre as to be meaningful.  When I got older I knew better. Those plates were wrapped in the 1970s. It would have been some damn disaster or other.
Its hard to describe the 1970s to young people today. It stunk, the way a dead skunk stinks in the dead of night: nobody's fault, but unavoidable. I think that lack of anger is most peculiar to moderners. In the 21st century we know who to blame. But where Americans today gravitate towards Glenn Beck or Michael Moore, the 1970s celebrated Irma Bombeck, who explored the curious notion that Mom's Good Housekeeping books of 1950s gracious living were as phony as Star Wars.
I'm talking regular folks. The guys doing coke and David Bowie were a deliberately exclusive club.
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Written by ArmandChascour

Sign Challenge

We Proudly Serve Farmer Jim Products

And Other Brands Too Without Blushing

ask quietly for some we're ashamed of

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Written by ArmandChascour
Sign Challenge
We Proudly Serve Farmer Jim Products
And Other Brands Too Without Blushing
ask quietly for some we're ashamed of
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Written by ArmandChascour in portal Gaming

Here We Go Again

So after a year of hosting two modules of Wrath of the Righteous, our GM is bored.

Um, OK. I just made level 8 with my monk. Things were starting to get interesting.

Just a break, he swears.

Well OK. He's not our slave after all.

So now it's RIFTS. I'm an Aztec godling warlock- biomancer in bound servitude to my friend, the Demon Queller with superpowers. Level One.

Really? I want to say, if you're inclined to get bored after a year, let me have a year actually doing stuff with this guy. I mean I'm really looking forward to riding a giant crab into battle in a storm of my own creation as we smash through the city with earthquakes. If you're gonna bail in a year, let's have a year of awesome first.

But probably he'll object, and we'll go along to keep the group together.

I'm looking forward to the days when tabletop gamers will be in retirement homes so I'll be able to get a real game together every weekend.

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Written by ArmandChascour in portal Gaming
Here We Go Again
So after a year of hosting two modules of Wrath of the Righteous, our GM is bored.

Um, OK. I just made level 8 with my monk. Things were starting to get interesting.

Just a break, he swears.

Well OK. He's not our slave after all.

So now it's RIFTS. I'm an Aztec godling warlock- biomancer in bound servitude to my friend, the Demon Queller with superpowers. Level One.

Really? I want to say, if you're inclined to get bored after a year, let me have a year actually doing stuff with this guy. I mean I'm really looking forward to riding a giant crab into battle in a storm of my own creation as we smash through the city with earthquakes. If you're gonna bail in a year, let's have a year of awesome first.

But probably he'll object, and we'll go along to keep the group together.

I'm looking forward to the days when tabletop gamers will be in retirement homes so I'll be able to get a real game together every weekend.
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