#But because of that the game is rotting and becoming more demented

[mrdrhenwardhykle]

PLEASE ASK FOR PERMISSION AND CREDIT ME TO USE

[thunderheadfred]

🤚Shigaraki HC's🤚

Part 1 of my Shigaraki Thesis HCs. The Second Worst: 1 - 2

This was rough because even though Shigaraki is one of my favorite characters of all time, I have nothing sexy to say about him canonically.

that's a lie, i'm lying. i had to break this post into parts, that's how much of a liar liar pants on fire i am

Warnings for quite possibly everything. Minors do not interact.

- - - - -

Okay first of all:

You know it. I know it. We all know it. This man is not boyfriend material. He disintegrates boyfriend material for fun.

You don’t want to date this man.

Frankly, you can’t date this man.

Seriously. Run.

If you’re a villain, you’re his underling. Maybe, if you squint, you’re kind of like his... um... least-hated workplace associate. What do you want, a trophy?

If you’re a hero, good luck not dying horribly. Maybe you’d make a cute hostage. Hope you can escape cuz he is NOT letting you out alive.

If you’re a civilian, perhaps that’s the best case scenario. He stalks you a little before he becomes infamous. You go on the worst date of your life but luckily you don't tell him where you live. Later you see him on the news standing in a pile of rubble and you just think, “ohhhhhhh.”

If he somehow, impossibly, against all odds, manages to develop a single affectionate feeling toward you, AFO is going to hunt you down for sport. You are NOT getting in the way of world domination. Again, good luck with that.

If somehow you managed to clear all those hurdles and kiss Shigaraki Tomura square on the lips, I can see one of two things happening.

1) You’re his body pillow now. Goodbye sunlight. You live in his room. He doesn’t have to chain you to the bed, because you know escape is pointless. Congratulations, the end is nigh.

2) Total mind break. At the first sign of genuine human affection, his trauma vault is instantly unlocked. Memories come rushing in, his quirk goes nuts. There’s like a 99.9% chance he’ll accidentally kill you and it will destroy his soul forever. But let’s say you’re the lucky 0.01% - then it’s time to fuck off together to a foreign country. He’s terrified, traumatized, and possibly broken beyond repair, but I guess he’s not a villain anymore? Have fun nursing him back to... semi-sanity.

Moral of the story: you’re better off getting hit with a quirk that takes you to an alternate universe where the worst thing Shimura Tenko ever did was throw a Playstation controller at his sister’s head. He’s an aspiring video game journalist with zero charisma and severe self-image issues. He has no earthly idea how hot he is. Please, for the love of God, fall for that guy instead.

haha just kidding

join me in hell, fellow Shigaraki fuckers:

- - - - -

Scenario the first:

so apparently you enjoy living in a cage?

Listen. He does not smell right. He doesn’t need to bathe much because his skin is constantly annihilating itself. So he’s not exactly dirty, but every instinct in your body is screaming in confusion, unsure if he’s alive or dead.

Breath of the damned. Sweet as moldy lemons. Whatever he eats just... rots. He doesn't produce enough spit.

He will kiss you very deeply. Until you choke. Forget the cold, chapped lips because they're the least of your problems. He's got those skeleton hands caging your face and you're trapped against a wall and his gigantic biting teeth are prying you open. He licks inside your mouth like he's trying to steal your soul. He'll probably succeed.

His hair is exactly as soft as it looks. Too bad you'll never get to touch it.

He’s either got no sexual impulses at all and will laugh at you for trying, or he’s a full-on incel. I don’t know which one. I don’t want to find out. Apparently you do, and I salute your resolve.

You will be lucky if Shigaraki treats you like a pet. He loves his Nintendo DS more than you.

Consent is not applicable. You showed interest in him once, now you're his plaything forever. There's a power imbalance between you so wide you could chuck a planet in there.

Safewords? lol

Doesn't want to break you, because what would be the point? He's already broken enough things. He wants to keep you around for a good long while. He'll take good, good care of you.

Unless you disobey.

Obsessed with making you cum whether you want to or not. Yes, this IS a high score thing. It's just so flattering. Say hello, orgasm torture. Was that another one? Aww. You barely moved. Oh, what's that? You're begging him to stop? Haha. He won't.

Don't cry. He'll drink your tears.

He'll touch you everywhere with bare fingers. Slow, feather-light strokes, like some kind of demented ASMR artist. This is not a trust exercise. He knows exactly how much it terrifies you.

Oh yeah. You're getting finger FUCKED. Do you fantasize about having a loaded gun shoved inside you? Same difference.

Will eat you out like nothing else, but not in bed. That's the kind of shit he does on a boardroom table where anybody could walk in and see you writhing. Spreads you WIDE open and sucks on you. Makes out with your asshole. The whole nine yards. It's wet and loud and nasty.

Only time you're out of his sight (and not locked in your room) is when he shoves a remote control vibrator where the sun doesn't shine. Operates it through an app while he calls you and jerks off. Wants to make your knees fail on a crowded train.

Come here. You get to sit on his lap like a dog. Four fingers on your throat, dick hard under your ass. He'll dry hump you in front of God, the Devil, and everyone else.

If he's playing video games, you're cock-warming. He does not care which hole. He won't even look at you.

He might get hard but he does not get naked. You do not know Shigaraki Tomura on a personal level. You have only the vaguest idea what his dick looks like. It feels long and thin, almost sharp. Maybe he's actually been fucking you with an ice pick this whole time. His hip bones dig into you and bruise. He likes to kiss and bite the marks he leaves.

He mocks you for being so fucking pathetic. Have you always been a such a needy slut or is he really that special? What is wrong with you? Even he thinks you're crazy.

Shigaraki won't kill you, but All For One will.

- - - - -

The Second Worst Scenario:

The half-mad ghost of Shimura Tenko is in love with you, and your life is about to become a tragic wreck.

(this half of the post went completely off the rails and turned into like... a whole-ass Victorian Novel)

[dovahkiin796]

Springtrap throughout the years.

Let’s not waste any time and jump right into it. Obviously, we must start off with the most iconic version of the suit and that’s Springtrap. His starting debut was in the third game of the FNAF franchise and boy! What a debut it was. This rabbit terrified lots of players and it’s easy to see why. His tattered-up suit, the emotionless round eyes, the rotting green color, and his wide slasher smile would give anyone nightmares for weeks. But the cherry on top is the fact there’s a mummified body inside the suit. Scott truly didn’t hold back when it came to designing Springtrap. He wanted this demented rabbit to be scary as much as possible and he succeeded. Springtrap has become a fan favorite in the franchise due to his design and of course the story he was involved in. Since he’s possessed by the man who started the whole thing. This rabbit will continue to haunt us as he’s not going anywhere anytime soon. And I’m ok with that.

Some personal thoughts for this part right here. I know in-game and in some renders, he does have the dead body in his suit and some people were able to see it. But truthfully, I never could and to this day I still can’t see it. Guess Scott did a good job when it came to only making those with keen eyes being able to see it.

As much as I tried. I couldn’t find an official render for Scraptrap as a full body image. The ones I did find were ones created with SFM and by fans and I wasn’t going to use someone’s work without proper credit. But not like it matters as I have nothing good to say about Scraptrap. For starters, he’s not the best-looking design. His face looks a bit goofy to me and the fear factor he had is lost with this look. It also doesn’t help there is no in-universe explanation to why he looks so different. Remember this is the Springtrap suit after Fnaf 3. He’s a bit thinner, has a completely different head shape and face, and he doesn’t look at all burnt in the slightest despite being in the Fazbear Frights building when it went up in flames. Also, Scott messed up with human skull beneath the rabbit mask. Yikes, it looks really ugly. This design was such a drastic change that it heavily confused the fans to the point where some thought there were two different Spring-Bonnie characters roaming around. I shouldn’t assume, but I believe Scott regrets this design he made. Since Scraptrap hasn’t made another appearance after Pizza Simulator in any side material. Not counting the coloring books.

Now onto another good design. I LOVE THE GLITCHTRAP SUIT. While we never saw official models for Spring-Bonnie and Fredbear and I think we’ll never will because it’s probably a Scott mandate. We knew enough about them how they worked. Since they were a hybrid suit, I always envisioned them as very impractical to wear, since at end of the day they’re also meant for an endoskeleton to be put in. There’s also the fact the endos are not removed from the suit but rather pushed to the side, so to speak. With that knowledge and using logic. Wouldn’t the weight of the endoskeleton still be applied? Making the suits really heavy to wear? With all this mind I could never get behind the Springlock suits, though that doesn’t mean I don’t like them. I really do, just pointing out how they don’t make sense. But when Glitchtrap made his debut in Help Wanted. I just clapped my hands and said, “This is peak design right here and makes a lot of sense for William to lure kids away.” Glitchtrap is a nice mix of looking both child friendly and extremely creepy. Love his purple vest, gives him more character to his design. It’s also interesting that this is how Willaim Afton images himself while trapped in the game. Like he made Spring-Bonnie look like an actual mascot costume and not an animatronic suit. I’m assuming he did this to look more appealing to whomever is playing the game. But you can tell his twisted mind influenced the appearance of the costume. As the suit looks a little old in a few places and a bit dirty. His large grin is scarier then friendly. It also seems after coming backing to the world of the living as Glitchtrap. Willaim became arrogant and confident. As he became very animated in Help Wanted. Waving to the player when they make it backstage and dancing during the credits in the Pizza Party ending. Glitchtrap easily became my favorite version of the Springtrap character. Hope we see more of him in the future.

Lastly, we get to the recent design of the Springtrap character, Burntrap. Burntrap is the Springtrap suit, but even more torn and withered and can actually see the burned damage. There’s hardly anything left of Willam’s corpse save for some strands of flesh and his skull, which is even more visible now. Remember when fans called Springtrap Salvaged? Believing he was the Fnaf 1 animatronics mashed together? Well, Burntrap is a bit more deserving of that name since he’s pretty much slapped together with whatever Vanny could find in the Pizza Plex. He’s mostly composed of the Glamrock Endos, but his Springtrap endo is still part of the mix. This shows us the desperate lengths Willaim will go to so he can keep coming back from the dead. Honestly, Burntrap looks terrifying, and I’ll be shitting my pants if I ever saw this thing chasing me down a narrow hall.

[earmuffstar]

glazed eyes, empty hearts

ao3 link!! Summary: Remus lay on the carpet in the Commons, drinking something inedible and trying to figure out if he could saw off his hand. OR: Remus has ways of keeping himself from full lucidity. Janus has some things to say about it. Genre: canonverse angst Relationships: Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders (platonic dukeceit/demus/intruceit) Words: 1589 Additional Tags/Warnings: Self-Harm, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Mentions of Dismemberment, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Swearing

Remus lay on the carpet in the Commons, drinking something inedible and trying to figure out if he could saw off his hand.

He’d have to clamp his right arm down—since his left arm was stronger—and on a table, probably, for the best angle. He’d use an electric saw, to keep himself from stopping halfway through from the pain. Maybe he’d even get away with it, too: right here on the living room table in the middle of Family Game Night, or whatever the Lights were doing, he wasn't paying attention. The others normally didn’t question what Remus did, whether a product of not wanting to look too closely or because they just didn’t care, he didn’t know. It came in handy at times like this—ha, handy, he should tell that to Pappy Patouille.

“Handy!” Remus screeched. The conversation stuttered like tripping over a stone, tumbling to the pavement, skittering off a cliff and ending up squished in half by a train on criss-crossed railway tracks before resuming its pace as normal.

Remus went back to pondering his drink, now half-empty. He kind of hoped it was alcohol, although even the more potent stuff didn’t do much for him anymore. Maybe bleach, then. He took a gulp. Snapped his fingers and malathion filled the rest of the concoction to the top. Downed the glass. It didn’t taste half bad—he almost wished it tasted worse—but it made his head spin and his thoughts appropriately fuzzy, which was all he needed.

Remus stood up, bracing himself against the armrest as the room wavered, legs quivering inappropriately under his weight. The room continued their conversation—he couldn’t make out the words, not like he wanted to, he was sure it was about Disney or some other unimportant shit—as he sunk out.

The corner of Thomas’ mind which embodied Dark Creativity, forbidden thoughts, the macabre, badness, demented reason, remained perpetually in disrepair. Remus tripped over shards of glass—broken Bud Light’s?—needles, plastic orange bottles, and crashed to his knees somewhere wet, cheek brushing against bones and plywood as his eyelids drooped shut.

~~~

Remus shifted as he came to: alive, in his room, with a mind far too alert and lucid. Had he messed up with whatever he’d drunk last night—accidentally used orange juice or some shit instead of malathion? Remus growled in frustration. The easiest methods of forced mental incoherence—starvation, lack of sleep, the like—always took the longest time to take effect. If he’d paid attention last night, he would have been able to perpetuate the misery longer without this unfortunate break. He’d have to resort to more drastic measures for instant relief.

At least the blackout was nice. He normally didn’t get such an easy reprieve. When nightmares didn’t torment his sleep, the knowledge of coherence and well-restedness it offered did.

Dark Imagination always exhaled cold, stinking of rot and filth, miasma and decay. His thoughts always amplified in his domain, spinning and twisting in a way that felt good—or rather, felt terrible, which was good. Remus sank his foot into the muck, his realm unnaturally still. His creations normally drew into hiding when he came here like this—they didn’t like to see him do this. Welp. Too bad for them.

Here was a total blank slate. He could do anything. Remus’ claws itched.

It sucked how much it hurt, was the thing. The pain was delicious, and he soaked it up, reveled in it like cloth soaking blood, he needed it—but it still hurt, at the very beginning, the moment when knife hit flesh. The physical pain always hurt like hell, but the greater the pain at the beginning the longer it would keep hurting, and if at least some part of him was hurting he didn’t have to hurt a different part again to balance out the hurt in his brain.

Remus heard the footsteps only after rivulets of blood ran down his fingers.

“Remus?” The voice came soft, low, with a hint of a hiss curling the edge of their words. Remus’ blood ran cold, drip, drip, dripping onto the ground, and he grinned a false smile as he turned around—pointless, Janus always saw through him, Janus was the one person who wouldn’t brush off his antics as his simply unfortunate nature.

“Hey, welcome, Janny-Jan! Just messing around, you know me.” Remus was still far too coherent for this, brain just as awake as it had been when he’d woken up feeling nothing unnatural in his system despite the pain. Remus summoned a bottle of arsenic, aiming to chug it, when his fingers grasped empty air. Janus held the bottle away from him with one of his extra hands.

“Give it back, Jan.”

“Remus, this isn’t healthy.”

Remus cackled. The notion of “healthy” deserved that much. “Does it look like I care? Give it back.”

Janus sighed, looking resigned, and Remus knew what was going to happen before it did. That didn’t mean he didn’t struggle as six arms wrapped around him, yanking him from his domain into Janus’ room. Janus deposited him on a bed, holding him down by his arms and ignoring Remus’ pleas with practiced care.

Gloved hands met his own, stopping him every time he tried to scratch his arms, eyes, limbs. Already Remus could feel the effects of Janus’ room sink into his body, denials becoming truths as they healed his wounds, and Remus detested the comfort even as he gave in to it. Janus sat down next to him as the fight bled out of him, its absence hurting somehow more than blood and guts spilling from his wounds.

“Why do you keep doing this?” Janus said quietly, no more to Remus than to the air, but he shrugged anyway. He’d tried for far too long to rationalize his actions, formulate some sort of reasoning, some story, some grand reason why. Eventually he stopped trying, because no amount of reasoning ever stopped him. He would either do something or he wouldn’t, and that was how it worked—whatever thought that had led him to that action could have been fleeting, could have been in response to the opposite inclination, could have been anything. He’d long since given up on trying to understand his mind.

Janus should stop worrying. It wasn’t like anything would kill him, anyway.

“Well!” Remus struggled to sit up. “This has been fun, but—”

“Remus, you can’t—”

“I’m perfectly fine now, so—”

“You’re not —”

“I can’t say it’s been lovely but I should be going, got places to be—”

Janus looked about to explode, or cry, and personally Remus thought the former would be much cooler, wondered how flesh would become explosive, charred, twisted, dead. “We have to talk about this, Remus! I can’t— I can’t let you continue like this.”

Something furious and burning licked through his spine. Remus went still—still like the night, still like corpses buried six feet under the winter chill, still like death. Janus’ expression quickly smoothed over, but Remus was pleased to read fear in the pinch of his brow. “What I do,” Remus hissed, “is not up to you. I am not your charity project, and I understand perfectly well what I’m doing. You don’t get to take this away from me.”

“Remus, you—” Janus’ breath hitched. Remus didn’t— couldn’t turn to look at his face. “You can’t possibly think this is a long-term solution to your problems! ‘Oh yes, continually hurting myself will make my life better, it won’t have any lasting effects on anyone at all—’”

“I don’t want to think !” Remus screamed. He would have glared at the yellow-clad side had exhaustion not burrowed into his bones. Or maybe that was just the blood loss, or the aftereffects of the alcohol. “I don’t want to feel better, I don’t want to feel normal, or healthy, I just want to— to be numb, to be—”

He’d grown too used to incoherence to be able to deal with reality without it. The fact that the poisons gave him an excuse for being a fuck up, and that he’d have no shield, no scapegoat, no backup if he was still a fuck-up while being fully coherent. He didn’t particularly want to stop, not anymore, not for all the effort it’d take with too little payoff—but Remus knew better than to talk about his self-destructive tendencies to Self-Preservation.

Remus turned his back on Janus, though he felt his gaze tracing his spine. He wondered how long Janus was going to sit here with him—Janus knew better than to leave Remus unattended in his room.

Janus stood up abruptly, drawing Remus’ eye. He grabbed Remus by the arm again, and, to Remus' surprise, he felt the vertigo-like falling sensation of sinking back into his own room. Janus released his grip, opened his mouth, closed it again without speaking, and suddenly Remus found arms around folded him in an embrace. “We will be talking about this again,” Janus murmured, before both him and his touch disappeared as quick as it had come. Silence resounded in his wake, and Remus realized he’d been given what he’d asked for—his freedom.

Remus summoned another bottle of arsenic and drained it, relishing the way it instantly weakened his limbs, confused his thoughts. He sunk back onto his bed of corpses and plywood, gaze falling limp over his realm, wind rustling over eyes that saw no sights and ears that heard no sound.

[marginalgloss]

my record of this bird

There’s a moment near the beginning of The Fifth Head of Cerberus by Gene Wolfe where two young boys are being quizzed by their schoolmaster, a sentient robotic attendant named Mr Million. He has presented the boys with some replica tools supposedly taken from Sainte Anne, the sister world of their planet of Sainte Croix. Mr Million asks the boys to present an argument for why these items, presented behind glass in the local library, actually had little importance in the lives of their owners. The narrator, who is one of the two boys, put it as follows:

‘You might say they needed those obsidian arrowheads and bone fishhooks for getting food, but that’s not true. They could poison the water with the juice of certain plants, and for primitive people the most effective way to fish is probably with weirs, or with nets of rawhide or vegetable fibre…those stone things got in the glass case here because the snares and nets rotted away and they’re all that’s left, so the people that make their living that way pretend they’re important.’

But David, the other boy, says this: 

‘If you could have asked them, they would have told you that their magic and their religion, the songs they sang and the traditions of their people where what were important. They killed their sacrificial animals with flails of seashells that cut like razors, and they didn’t let their men father children until they had stood enough fire to cripple them for life. They mated with trees and drowned the children to honor their rivers. That was what was important.’

Both answers are two sides of the same coin. We are more than the sum of our future trash. A universal tautology: a precious thing is precious because we know it is ephemeral, and that is what makes it precious. But it is the inner life, the dream life, that is the most precious because it is the most fragile, the most formless. In retrospect inner lives become vague abstractions, senseless reproductions; a description written in a language we have forgotten how to read. 

In this case, the ‘they’ the boys are referring into is the aboriginal inhabitants of the other planet, Sainte Anne, who would later become the inhabitants of Sainte Croix. We are told at least two versions of what happened to them. The first version is that they were wiped out by the human settlers. The second version is that the aborigines were shape-shifters who killed all the human settlers and mimicked their forms. But becoming human did something to them. They forgot their ability to shape-shift; they forgot they were ever anything other than human. 

The story of the video game Nier: Automata is also a story of two worlds which are, perhaps, not two worlds at all. In the distant future, aliens invade Earth, using robots to take over and destroy the planet. The surviving humans escape to the moon, where they fight back against the robots by developing sophisticated android soldiers. You play as one of these androids, 2B, accompanied by her partner 9S. You go to Earth: it is an unholy post-apocalyptic mess. Nature has reclaimed the cities. But everything is not quite what you were told. 

After fighting through waves of faceless, primitive robots, with their spherical heads and unblinking eyes and funny little clockwork legs, you find little clusters of robots who seem to want to have nothing to do with fighting. Some of the robots are dressed as people. Some of them are dressed as families. Some of them have formed communities. Some of them won’t fight you, and if you attack them, they plead for their lives. 

All this time the game is telling you that what you’re seeing isn’t supposed to be possible. These are only robots. In the name of humanity it is necessary to wipe them out, even when what they have come to imitate is a primitive, half-remembered version of humanity. The fact that you are controlling an android dressed like a woman who is also not supposed to be encumbered with things like ‘gender’ or ‘emotions’ is not commented upon. The absurdity is supposed to be self-evident: 2B’s assertions that emotional responses are forbidden for her kind are punctuated by anguished phone calls from her heartsick android operator back on the moon. 

Both The Fifth Head of Cerberus and Nier: Automata initially posit this dichotomy between a world of primitives and a world of sophisticates only to subsequently prove it false. One can get used to anything. The world of Sainte Croix is founded on slavery. Children are traded openly in the markets. The narrator is indifferent: not uncaring, just disinterested. His tone is lofty, considered, educated; the tone of the story is conversational, ruminative, with an opening line that seems like a direct reference to Proust. He is capable of profound reflection but is seemingly devoid of moral sensibility. Later, he and his friends will break into a locked room in his father’s study and murder the malformed slave they find there.

The protagonists of Nier: Automata are equally aloof. Much like any other avatar for a video game player, they are capable of a certain amount of self-reflection, but they never let that get in the way of the violence at hand. The tone of the game veers between melancholy and absurd. An early boss battle pits the player against a giant comedy tank in the repopulated ruins of a theme park, crewed by cheerful robots. The player can choose not to destroy it at all. But this is mostly exceptional. You are, for the most part, regretfully cleaving through them in their hundreds or thousands. 

It is a lonely affair. There are not many other characters in this game. Almost all of the robots and androids are unnamed. 

2B and 9S move and respond as if they are two complementary sides of the same person: one cold and calculating, the other ardent and sentimental. Tender moments are scattered throughout this game but they are always framed as distant improbabilities. The little robots seem capable of feelings of great intensity, but for the most part our androids only look on in disbelief. 2B and 9S don’t have families like they do. They don’t belong to a society; they are part of an organisation. They aren’t heroes; they are only actors, performing a role whose purpose has been forgotten. 

Part way through the game they witness a group of robots performing a demented version of Romeo and Juliet, which degenerates into a massacre. A dark joke about how games ape the profundity of other art forms while retaining violence as a crutch, perhaps. But what else is there? If you don’t do it, says Nier, somebody else will. 

The final revelation in Wolfe’s story is that the narrator’s body is not his own. He is a slave in his own particular sense: he and David are clones of his father, who in turn was a clone of his father. It is clones all the way down until Mr Million, who was the original of them all until he put himself in a computer. For the narrator the question of personal ownership is no longer so simple as it is for the people in the marketplace, or the long-limbed women who walk the halls of his father’s house in a parody of human sexuality. Even if he gives up his life he’ll only be reproduced again in another form. 

Nier: Automata is equally familiar with the process of endless duplication. The game explains that every time you transport yourself from one location to another, your android consciousness is uploaded into the network and transferred into a new identical body at the destination. The myth of the Ship of Theseus is invoked, floated in the context of the trope of ‘dying’ in a game, only to be dismissed again: perfect duplication of the mind and everything it involves is taken for granted. If you are destroyed a thousand times and rebuilt a thousand times, it doesn’t matter. You’re still a slave to the context of a system which owns you. Living forever in the cloud means the most elemental struggles in our nature are played out on the battlefields of eternity.

‘It doesn’t matter’ is a valid reaction to all of this. There is a point of view that says the question of origins in The Fifth Head of Cerberus is a literary puzzle that it serves no purpose to solve. Similarly, one could argue that the endless pondering over the nature of existence in Nier: Automata is equally uninteresting: the humanity of all involved is real on a psychological basis, if not on a material one. 

But to go further we have to set aside those questions of origin which initially hang over both works. The truth emerges from the mystery of the question, not the possibility of an answer. Imagine solving the Turing Test by an overwhelming assertion of humanity, even when the material evidence of machined artifice is equally overwhelming. Imagine a world in which we are all revealed as copies indistinguishable from a common template. Does that leave us debased? How do we avoid becoming the worst versions of ourselves when we’re only capable of repeating the past? 

All screenshots were taken directly from the PS4 edition of Nier: Automata.

[justgarbagehonestly]

Oh, the Places You'll Bleed! by Dr. Insane

Congratulations!

Today is your day. You're off to Great Places! You're off and away! You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself  any direction you choose. You're on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the guy who'll decide where to go. You'll look up and down streets. Look 'em over with care. About some, you will say, "I’ll choose to work there" With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,  you're too smart to work any not busy street... And you may not find any you'll want to go down. In that case, of course, you'll head straight underground. It's darker down there in the cold condensed air. Down there things may die   and frequently rot like people as demented and crazy as you. And then things start to happen don't worry. just scream. and tear at the seams... You'll start breaking too. OH! THE PLACES YOU'LL GO! You'll be on your way down! You'll be seeing blood and flames! You'll join the insanity and never come back. You won't lag behind because you'll have the speed. of a demon whose hunting and deadly hungry... Wherever you fly, you'll be best of the best. Wherever you go, you will off all their heads. Except when you don't. Because, sometimes, you won't. I'm sorry to say so but, sadly, it's true that sometimes not headshots and decapitations but dismemberment and skinning and cannibalism. You can get all goods from the flick of a wrist... Against the beautiful skin. You'll be hungry no more. You'll come down with a slice with blood gushing flow. And the cheeks are the human, delicatessen. And when you're eating the finest, you're not all cleaned up. just wash off the blood although not easily done. You will come to a place where the streets are not marked. Some windows are lighted. But mostly they're darked. A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin! Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in? How much can you lose? How much can you win? And IF you go in, should you turn left or right... or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite? Or go around back and sneak in from behind? Simple it's not, I'm afraid you will find, for an insane person to make up their mind. You can go so bonkers and do it all again down the hell driven path that’s keeping you sane and grind on for miles till you’ve got your grip again, you’re headed, I fear, to an oh so dark place. The Asylum ...for people just waiting. Waiting to be set free for a bus to come, or a plane to go or the mail to come, or the rain to go or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow or the waiting around for a Yes or No or waiting for their fear to go... Everyone is just waiting. Waiting for the flames to burn or waiting for the sane to reach point break or waiting around for Friday night or waiting, perhaps, for their uncle Jason or a pot to boil, for their next victim’s fate or a string of bodies to be dropped down to hell or a scalp with curls from Buffalo Bill Everyone is just waiting. NO! That's not for you! Somehow you'll escape all that waiting and staying You'll find the dark places where blood is just raining. With personalities flip-flopping, once more you'll say hi! From another person that lives in your mind. Feared, because you're that kind of a guy! Oh, the places you'll go! There are fears to face! There are points to be scored. There are games to be won. And the magical things you can do with that fear will make you the most feared person of all. Fear! You'll be as feared as the monsters under the bed, with the monsters in your head and the monsters that are dead. Except when they aren’t Because sometimes they feed. I'm afraid that sometimes you'll be fed off of too. fear is the best 'cause it quenches the thirst. All Alone! Whether you like it or not, Alone will be something you'll like quite a lot. And when you're alone, there's a very good chance you'll meet things that scare you right out of your pants. There are some, down the road that you will become that can scare you so much you that the fear will be gone. And on you will go though the monsters within Will feed on the fear of those more ignorant than most. On you will go though the doctors will chase. hide in the shadows to wait for the time though your arms may get sore and your sneakers squeak. On and on you will drag them to their unfortunate fate and slice up their delicatessen to feed the monsters in your head You'll be full for awhile, of course, as you already know. You'll get hungry again with many strange cravings to force. So be sure when you step Step with care and great tact and remember that Life's  not always happening in a single great act Just never forget to live in the dark And always find beauty in the light and the dark And will you succeed? Yes! You will, indeed! (98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.) KID, YOU'LL MOVE MOUNTAINS! So... be your name Hannibal or Harley or Bill or Jason, Freddy, Joker, or Mary, You're off to hot Places! Today is your day! Your hell is waiting. So...take off your sane!

~Princess.exe (my version of Dr.Seuss’ Oh, The Places You’ll Go)

[vintage1981]

#FlashbackFriday to Jess Franco’s Faceless/Gorezone Issue 6

Toward the end of the decade of decadence (aka the 80s) exploitation auteur Jess Franco attempted to break into the commercial horror market. Faceless is the most notable production, with a cast that brings together ex-porn actress (and Jean Rollin regular) Brigitte Lahaie, British genre icon Caroline Munro, German character actor Anton Diffring, Luchino Visconti muse Helmut Berger, and seventies US TV and film superstar, Telly Savalas! Although still a low budget affair, this Rene Chateau production does offer a slick and glamourous look, unlike anything typically seen in a Jess Franco production.

Dr Frank Flamand (Helmut Berger) runs a posh clinic that specialises in expensive beauty treatments and quack "youth-enhancing" therapies for the excessively rich and vain. What his pampered clients do not know though is that many of their treatments are developed at the expense of kidnapped experimental subjects who are kept prisoner in the soundproof padded cells behind a locked door deep within the labyrinthine corridors of the clinic!

When a dissatisfied patient (who was horribly scarred during bungled plastic surgery) attempts to gain revenge by throwing acid in Flamand's face, she instead hits his beautiful sister, Ingrid (Christiane Jean) and badly disfigures her. Flamand vows to restore the beauty of his beloved sister and, together with his ice-cold assistant (and lover) Nathalie (Brigitte Lahaie), organises the kidnapping of coke-addicted model Barbara Hallen (Caroline Munro) with the intention of using her in a new face-transplant operation he intends to develop for his sisters benefit. Barbara is the daughter of wealthy industrialist Terry Hallen (Telly Savalas) and after his daughter's disappearance, Hallen hires American private detective Sam Morgan (Chris Mitchum) to find her. Meanwhile, Flamand and Nathalie consult Dr. Karl Heinz Mozer (Anton Diffring), an ex-Nazi associate of Flamand's mentor Dr Orloff (Howard Vernon), and employ him to help them experiment on more kidnapped victims in their attempts to perfect the complicated operation.

Gorezone Issue 6: Caroline Does Splatter by Steve Swires

Fantasy films’ first lady has been systematically subjected to an onslaught of cinematic indignities — stalked by slashers, menaced by madmen and terrorized by tormentors. Rarely, however, has she been asked to exercise her acting ability; usually, she is merely required to look helpless, scream her lungs out and defer to the heroics of her male co-stars.

Finally, after two decades of dramatic dues-paying in such creatively constrained circumstances, Caroline Munro feels confident enough to test her talent. A veteran of 13 consecutive genre excursions— including Dracula A.D. 1972, Captain Kronos: Vampire Hunter, Maniac and The Last Horror Film — she recently ended her involuntary screen hiatus by starring in two new English-language European horror movies, Paul Naschy’s Spanish-lensed The Howl of the Devil and Jess Franco’s French Faceless. Reaching beyond the limitations of her cult status, she also made her first non-genre appearance in 20 years, in the British TV movie Maigret.

Selected by her Slaughter High collaborators Peter Litten and George Dugdale to play the female lead in their proposed big-budget production of Dr. Who: The Movie as well as the title role in their unorthodox multimedia creation Roxscene, Munro grew increasingly restless as both major projects were delayed by a lengthy development process. Anxious to resume her acting career after four years as hostess of the popular British TV game/variety series 3-2-1, she gratefully accepted the unexpected offers of overseas employment.

“The more I’m on camera, the better it is for me,” the British actress reasons, relaxing one morning in her London flat. “As with an athlete or a dancer, an actor must keep training. Since Doctor Who and Roxscene have yet to reach fruition. The Howl of the Devil, Faceless and Maigret gave me an opportunity to get out and do a bit of work. Frankly, I become very bored when I’m not working.”

There were few occasions for boredom on the rugged Spanish locations of The Howl of the Devil (a.k.a. El Aullido del Diablo). Shot in Madrid and the quaint mountain village of Loyzoya— complete with cobbled streets and an 11th-century monastery — during July and August of 1987, the film was written, directed by and stars Paul Naschy. A short, toupeed, barrel-chested John Belushi look-alike whose real name is Jacinto Molina, Naschy has appeared in more than 75 Spanish movies bearing such luridly Anglicized titles as Frankenstein’s Bloody Terror, The Werewolf vs. the Vampire Woman, Count Dracula’s Great Love and Night of the Howling Beast, earning him the crown of Spain’s King of Horror.

Designed as an ambitious showcase for his performing abilities, Howl presents Naschy in 10 different roles, reflecting his affection for the classic Hollywood movie monsters of his youth. A demented retired actor named Hector lives with his young nephew Adrian in an ominous chalet, where he dresses up as Fu Manchu, Rasputin and Bluebeard to torture nubile female victims procured by his loyal manservant Erik, portrayed by Howard Vernon. A horror fan himself, Adrian (played by Naschy’s 12-year-old son, Sergio Molina) fantasizes visits from his favorite celluloid creatures, recreated in elaborate prosthetic makeup by Fernando Florido and embodied by the ubiquitous Naschy: the Frankenstein Monster, the Phantom of the Opera, Quasimodo, Mr. Hyde and — inevitably— Naschy’s best-known character, the melancholy werewolf Waldemar Daninsky. This Happy home life is eventually interrupted by the reappearance of Adrian’s dead father, Hector’s twin brother Alex, a rotting corpse also essayed by the resilient Naschy.

Cast by novice producer Juan Gomez after he spotted her photo in David Quinlan’s book The Illustrated Directory of Film Stars, Munro plays a poor Spanish maid named Carmen, relentlessly pursued by the homicidally horny Hector. Unfamiliar with Naschy or his work, Munro asked her solicitor father to read the clumsily translated screenplay, which was filled with guilt and retribution, sexual repression and religious obsession. “Obviously, he didn’t think it was brilliant,” she admits. “But he said, ‘It’s certainly no worse than some others you’ve done, and it might be an interesting part for you.�� I thought it could be a mistake for me to do it, but because I liked my part, I decided to take a chance. Besides, if my dad thought it was all right, then it must be OK.”

Burdened by an unwanted glamor image as a perennial sex symbol, Munro enthusiastically donned plain-looking clothes, flat shoes and an apron, and pinned back her long dark hair to* convincingly portray her earthy character. Likewise, Munro actually scrubbed floors and even chopped the head off a real dead chicken on camera. “I wasn’t very keen on that,” she concedes. “Paul gave me a whacking great knife — twice the size of Crocodile’ Dundee’s, knife— and said, ‘Cut the head off the chicken.’ I told him, I can’t do that.’ I just cut it gently down the middle. He said, ‘That’s no good. You must look like you’ve done it all your life.’ So I finally did cut the head off. It was a touch of the Tom Savini there.” A popular genre figure in Europe and Japan, Naschy has yet to conquer the more demanding American market, his voice will subsequently be dubbed by an American actor. This unusual production problem created an awkward acting situation for Munro, who performed her part with her normal British accent, at Naschy’s instruction. “It was a bit more difficult than I was used to, but that made it more of a challenge,” she notes. "Most of the master shots were done over Paul’s shoulder, showing me speaking. Some of the time, he was actually speaking Spanish. Because I understand Spanish fairly well and I knew the intention of the scenes, I could tell what he was saying and when it was time for me to speak. “I was nervous at first, because Paul is a foreboding-looking fellow with a great deal of energy. He is very intense in his work, very European in his approach, with extraordinarily piercing eyes. But he was exactly right for his character. Once we began working together, I found him quite easy to get on with.” Naschy even allowed Munro to rewrite her own dialogue. “I’m hopeless at writing,” she maintains. “But the script left something to be desired, because it was translated too literally from Spanish to though three of his films were released here theatrically in the mid- 1970s by Sam Sherman’s Independent-International Pictures and several of his other movies are currently available on home video. To facilitate American distribution, Naschy shot The Howl of the Devil since he doesn’t speak the language, he delivered his dialogue phonetically, and English. Many of the lines were archaic and ungrammatical. So I rewrote my dialogue to make it more conversational. I offered to help rewrite the rest of the dialogue as well, but Paul didn’t want to confuse the other actors.” Adding her creative input in such a manner is a new occurrence for Munro, who previously would passively accept her scenes as written, regardless of any misgivings. “That comes with experience,” she observes. “You learn what you will or won’t do in a scene. There are certain things I won’t do. Generally, there isn’t much substance to the characters in most genre movies, unless you create some for yourself. Now, I feel I’m in a position — at my age — to be thinking more about characterization.” Munro, satisfied with her Spanish sojourn, believes The Howl of the Devil will spotlight a more self-confident side of her acting personality. “I won’t say I enjoyed every minute,” she acknowledges, “but I was certainly kept on my toes. I hope people will see more range from me as an actress than they’ve seen before. I had to extend myself more in the role. I had some initial reservations, but everything felt right while we were making it. There was nothing about my scenes that offended me. Of course, I don’t know how the finished film will turn out, but for my part, I’m really pleased I did it.” Completing her Howl of the Devil role in 12 shooting days over a three-week period, Munro next flew to Geneva, Switzerland to star in the unusual industrial show The New Travels of Marco Polo. While in Geneva, she was contacted by director Jess Franco, offering her a leading role in his latest thriller Faceless. Filmed in and around Paris during November and December of 1987, Faceless (a.k.a. Les Predators de la Nuit) revives the moribund subgenre of surgical atrocity movies initiated in 1959 by Georges Franju’s classic Eyes Without A Face (a.k.a. The Horror Chamber of Dr. Faustus) and imitated by Franco’s own The Awful Dr. Orloff in 1961. The first feature produced by Rene Chateau, France’s leading video distributor, Faceless boasts an impressive international cast including Helmut Berger, Telly Savalas, Anton Diffring, Chris Mitchum and 79-year-old Howard Vernon , reprising his tireless Dr. Orloff persona. Jacques (Lifeforce) Gastineau provides graphic makeup FX. Doubling as screenwriter under the pseudonym “Fred Castle,” Chateau personally chose Munro, having seen her work in Starcrash and Maniac, which he released on video in France. In a resonant bit of casting, she plays jet-set American model Barbara Hallen, whose mysterious disappearance motivates the entire storyline. Kidnapped from a modeling session by actress Brigitte Lahaie (France’s most notorious porno queen in a rare mainstream role), Barbara is brought to a fashionable health farm run by sinister plastic surgeon Doctor Flamand (Berger), who constantly requires fresh blood and organs with which to rejuvenate his chic clientele. 

Aided by ex-Nazi scientist Juan Moser (Diffring), Flamand plans to graft Barbara’s exquisite face onto his horribly disfigured sister, until a savage assault renders her skin unusable. Meanwhile, alarmed by his daughter’s inexplicable absence, New York millionaire Terry Hallen (Savalas) sends Vietnam-veteran-turned-private-detective Morgan (Mitchum) to Paris to discover her whereabouts. As Morgan’s investigation draws him closer to the truth, Flamand and his sadistic henchman Gordon sharpen their chainsaws and drills for the inevitably gruesome final confrontation.

Chiefly confined to a padded cell in an actual clinic undergoing renovation, Munro spends most of her screen time in a short white hospital smock. As her character recovers from her brutal attack, she is repeatedly injected with debilitating drugs, hastening her mental and physical deterioration. Abdicating her reluctant glamor image with a vengeance, Munro had no qualms about appearing progressively more disheveled. “I wanted to look as extreme as I could get,” she insists. “In fact, I encouraged them to make me look worse. It actually helped me as an actress. The worse I looked and felt, the better my performance.

When I was crying, my tears were real. I didn’t need glycerine, because I felt truly degraded. It had to be that way, it was so important to see the change in Barbara— to show the glamorous, confident, attractive woman at the beginning, and the poor, sad, pathetic creature at the end. Otherwise, the film wouldn’t work.”

Responsive to the actress’ concerns. Franco thoughtfully decided to shoot Munro’s unpleasant scenes in reverse order. “That way, I could look forward to feeling clean,” she points out. “It was a good method, because I hated being so dirty. I had grease in my hair. I really looked a mess. But it felt absolutely right for the part. “In fact, I looked almost too convincing,” Munro smiles. “At one point, I was walking down the back stairs at the clinic, wearing only a little white smock. I was made up with a bloody cut on my face. One of the real nurses saw me and exclaimed, ‘Oh, mon Dieu! What happened?’ She thought I had really been injured. Many of the actual patients gave me very funny looks. I should think it put them off going back to that clinic.”

Jess Franco, according to Munro, proved to be a surprisingly careful and considerate filmmaker. “I had never heard of Jess before, but I enjoyed working with him very much,” Munro remarks. “I trusted him and felt confident with him. He speaks very good English. I could ask him questions, and he would help me. He has a great sensitivity with actors. He understood how we felt and gave us encouragement.”

A former model herself, Munro easily mastered the American accent she delivers in Faceless. “It’s better than the American accent I did in Slaughter High,” she comments, “because I’ve had more experience at it. But it’s still quite a soft American accent, since the character has been living and working in Europe, and that has affected the way she speaks. I suppose it’s more of a mid-Atlantic accent. I just hope people won’t assume I’ve been dubbed by an American actress again.”

Finishing her Faceless fright fest after three hectic weeks in France, Munro next appeared in her first TV movie, Maigret. Directed by Paul (Prom Night) Lynch, the film is based on a popular series of mystery novels by Georges Simenon. Munro portrays Carolyn Pace, power hungry secretary to scheming American millionaire Patrick O’Neal.

“I just want to be a working actress,” she says, then pauses to reflect on her future plans. “Frankly, I never thought of myself any other way. I’ve never wanted the huge success that other people have wanted for me. I’m very happy doing smaller films. “Without shouting to the whole world, I can push myself quite far within these roles and not be looked at too critically,” Munro decides. “The success or failure of these movies is not on my shoulders. Each one’s just another acting experience for me. And I find I get better with each new experience; I’m still learning my craft all the time.”

[kingdoms-of-fate]

Vertilli

Setting

Mordeadus - homebrew

Country

Vertilli

Race

Human,vampires Note: Vampires are playable in this setting

Terrain

Heavy pine forests, vast fields, rolling hills

Vampire Clan

The Vertilli Note: There are other clans of vampires with abilities explained in other countries

They are a clan of artistic violent bards. They enjoy haunting music, creepy poetry, intimidating dancing, gruesome paintings and perverting every enjoyment into some that is twisted and painful.

The Vertilli come off as a a bit crazy, often talking to themselves and having sometimes violent outbursts, which is considered art by the clan.

Vampire Abilties

Counts as undead vs turning They do not eat or drink Immune to poison/disease No CON bonus to hit points D12 hit points per level Damage resistance 1/blunt per 4 class levels Vampires cannot be healed with healing spells and instead regenerate 1 point of damage a day per level Healing/holy deal double damage Sunlight deals D6 damage per round. Note: Because vampires are overpowered compared to someone playing a human, consider awarding less XP to vampires per encounter.

Blood Pools

Each vampire has a blood pool which they use to live and grant themselves abilities. If a vampire's blood pool reaches 0 they die and turn to dust. Every day a vampire loses 1 blood point automatically.

Every vampire has a number of blood points in their pool with a maximum number of 10 plus 2 per class level.

To gain 1 point in the blood pool, vampires must drink blood from a human, draining 1 CON point from their victim per blood point which the human can regenerate at a rate of 1 CON a day.

If the victim reaches 0 CON, they die.

The Vertilli Specific Vampire Ability

To create a Vertilli vampire, a human must be drained of blood, then given 1 Vertilli blood point and a bardic song and dance played in their honor. Note: Any bardic ability will do.

Anyone who becomes a Vertilli vampire loses all previous classes and replaces them with bard levels. Note: This represents a person's mind transforming, forgetting what they once knew as their innate vampiric abilities take over.

Gains +2 CHA and -2 CON

Once per day at the DMs choosing, all Vertilli must roll a will save or suffer the effects of insanity for INT in round. Note: This represents a Vertilli's perverse connection with art. Something getting so deep, they enter a stupor as their mind wanders off. The more intelligent the Vertilli, the longer it takes for them to come back.

Vertilli vampires can use blood points to fuel abilities causing the essence to become permanently lost till replaced.

Using 1 blood points heals 1 hit point per level Using 2 blood points can add 1 dice of a damage to a any bard spell Using 2 blood points can increase the range or radius of a bard spell by one Using 2 blood points can increase the duration of a bard spell by one Using 2 blood points can increase the save difficultly of a bard spell by one Using 2 blood points can increase CHA by 1 for 10 mins - this can stack up to four times Using 2 blood points can increase an art skill by 2 - dancing, singing, poetry, using musical instruments, painting, etc. - lasts for 10 mins, can stack up to for times

Clan Culture

The Vertilli group together in clans they refer to as the circus, a family of related vampires all forming one art show.

They love to preform in front of each other, other clans and their human populous, although to many outside the clan their art is considered nothing more than freakish.

Each circus, although independent, gets along, even though each group considers their circus the most entertaining and complete for an audience.

Settlements

Humans

The region is dotted with villages and towns with few cities. Several settlements are under one circus. Within the center of each town is the grand pavilion made of leather hide cut from the faces of animals and humans, this is where the Vertilli preform for the settlements and require all to attend when they show.

Vertilli Vampires

Spread out over the vast rolling plains are several bardic universities. There is only one university for every 3-10 settlements.

Architecture Style

Humans

The citizens of Vertilli build with wood and stone. Under the order of the Vertilli vampires, the people have to build circular houses and then paint stripes around the outside in bright colors similar to a carnivora tent.

The people although required to do this are not given paint nor are reimburced, instead all paint is paid for by the people. If someone fails to paint their home correctly or lets it fade and chip, the penalty is often bardic torture in front of the settlement. This is where the Vertilli will sing and dance while carving images into the person's flesh till they die of exposure or their wounds. This can sometimes last days.

Vertilli Vampires

Each circus is based within a series of domed stone buildings connected by halls of stained glass. The universities are large and broken down into several wings, each dedicated to one art – music, writing, painting, sculpting, dancing.

Art is everywhere in the university - galleries of paintings, elaborate drawings scrolled across ceilings, intricate scenes handcrafted into the stained glass and legions of statues lining the halls and courtyards. The art, well made and detailed at the hands of the Vertilli, is twisted and demented like the minds of the vampire, their works depicting mounds of disemboweled people, mutant conjoined twins, cannibalism, vivisection and torture.

The halls echo with haunting music with instruments unnerving, out of tune and halls pound with the sound of dance classes where the Vertilli twist and contort their body into odd angles under the beat of drums.

Clothing Style

Humans

The people are forced to wear brightly colored tunics, greens, yellows, reds with hoses of triangle and square patterns running down the legs. Many wear jester caps and have curly toed shoes that end with small brass bells.

The clothing is expensive due to the dye and patterns with many having to give up food and basic necessitates to pay for them. The people, although required to do this, are not given clothing nor are reimbursed, instead all clothing is paid for by the people.

If someone fails to wear the correct clothing or lets their clothing become torn or too dirty, the penalty is bardic torture in front of the settlement. This is where the Vertilli will sing and dance while carving images into the person's flesh till they die of exposure or their wounds - this can sometimes last days.

Vertilli Vampires

They dress as clowns with powdered white and rouge faces, they have fluffy collars, jester caps and brightly colored tunics, greens, yellows, reds with hoses of triangle and square patterns running down the legs.

The Vertilli love to be flamboyant and will take pride and care of their clothing.

Religion

There is no known religion.

Government

The Vertilli rule over the people as dictators. They rarely tax and often leave the day to day affairs to the people, instead focusing on the arts.

Besides the rules above, the Vertilli require all people within their country to learn and practice one art skill. They don't require anyone to be good, although those that are, are favored by the vampires. Anyone who fails to practice at least 8 hours a week in their chosen art skill is sentenced to bardic torture in front of the settlement. This is where the Vertilli will sing and dance while carving images into the persons flesh till they die of exposure or their wounds - this can sometimes last days.

They enforce few laws except for those above, and the courts for all other matters are in the hand of the settlement elders.

All army recruitment is done by the elders with each settlement having their own militia, each under the jurisdiction of the circus. They recruit potential art students to their universities with the most skilled turned into the vampires, the rest are fed off of as part of their tuition. Note: Most human bards passed through these doors, some leaving a little more tainted then others.

Economy

The main import is dye. The main export is art due to most people having a second art trade. Painting and cultures are the most common, with glass blowing and pottery being close behind.

Issues

The Circus Parade

Every few weeks to months each circus makes its rounds to each settlement in a grand parade.

Jugglers juggle skulls, fire eaters set their flesh ablaze and Vertilli stab each other and the people, drawing blood for their amusement. Bands of bards play haunting music, which invokes fear and nausea to the unfamiliar. Note: Once per day, anyone hearing the circus music must roll a will save or suffer the effects of fear or nausea for D4 hours.

Bannerguard carry poles of bone with dangling rotting animal carapaces and flag bearers wave flags of stretched human faces. The Vertilli celebrate with games, forcing the population to play such things as: pin the hot iron on the human, bobbing for eyeballs, raw organ intestinal pie eating contests, dunk tanks into rotting food, tossing spiked barbed rings onto people's outstretched hands. face carving instead of face painting and people giving unwanted tattoos of blood and gore on obvious parts of their body

The circus parade will have wagons of caged mutants, undead and the mad, which the Vertilli will have preform tricks.

They tell ghost stories and sing songs of torture and gore. Vertilli clowns will break into people's houses at night, wearing human skin masks and scream and laugh at kids dragging them outside to be painted with blood.

While cruel, perverse and upsetting, the Vertilli do not preform the parade for the sake of evil nor will they ever kill for amusement, but are there to get their human populous to engage in art on the level they do. They hope to broaden and deepen one's mind to a finer understanding, that art can be pleasant and uncomfortable, pleasurable and painful.

The parade can last days or weeks with the people exhausted by the time the Vertilli leave.