Barf Forth Apocalyptica

barf forth apocalyptica => Apocalypse World => Topic started by: Judd on August 24, 2010, 03:53:28 PM

Title: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: Judd on August 24, 2010, 03:53:28 PM
Architecture made of telephone poles and mud.

Armor made from street signs.

Lanterns made from stop lights.

The treasure map: a list of survivalists in the area but due to the total lack of street signs and address markers, it is more like a cryptic pirate map with X marking the spot.

Bone Highway: tens of thousands of automobiles with people's bones inside

The librarian: two kinds of books - good books and kindling
Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: tonydowler on August 24, 2010, 04:18:32 PM
The slender black strands woven between buildings by the spiders who inhabit the decrepit skycrapers

The faceless rag men who wander the concrete canyons, erasing the identities of those they capture

An antique guitar, conjuring faces, visions, and music from a strange place called "the past"

A rusting aircraft carrier where twisted parodies of naval discipline still rule moored to the remnant of the Brooklyn Bridge
Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: Judd on August 24, 2010, 04:36:38 PM
Architecture made from those storage containers that used to go from ship to truck.

A gang known for dropping barbell weights on their enemies from their hold at the top of a skyscraper.
Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: John Harper on August 24, 2010, 06:35:13 PM
The raider bus that uses living people chained to the outside for armor. You recognize Tak and Wonder among them, screaming.

The ruined building toppled on its side -- walls for floors, floors for walls. Meaningless stairs.

A perfectly green and manicured lawn.
Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: nemomeme on August 24, 2010, 08:23:19 PM
The Stopyard: A graveyard where each tombstone is a stop sign, the names of those who've passed scratched in an arch over the foreboding word of those who no longer ride the highways.

Twice: The strange old man with dark skin who stands on the tracks at the edge of the hardhold and plays his bassoon.  Mumbles about the Before a lot.  Says everything twice.  If you listen long enough you might catch some know, jack.

Rum:  Biker gang leader.  Looks like that Captain Morgan fella on the hooch bottles.  His gang must have raided an athletic store a ways back.  They've all got golf clubs and their armor's made a pieces of them balls with the black and white pentagons.  All wearin' them choice "Serengetti" shades too.  When they start talking about "tee-time" you better fuckin' run.

The Promise: That freaky cult that actually drinks the water from the lake.  No wonder they've all gone fuckin' crazytown.  Check this out from their "hymnal":

Show me the way to go home. / I'm tired and I wanna go to bed.
I had a little drink about an hour ago / And it's gone straight to my head.
Wherever I may roam / On land or sea or foam
You will always hear me singing this song. / Show me the way to go home.


They sing it all slow and spooky.  Creeps me right out I tell ya.  Here they come now.
Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: Willow on August 24, 2010, 11:28:31 PM
Batball:  A sport, reputedly once the Great Hardhold's National Pastime.  A Batter stands at one corner of a square.  A Pitcher stands in the middle, with a bucket of balls.  The Runners run laps around the length of the square.  The Pitcher throws balls at the Batter, who tries to hit them with a bat so they strike the Runners.

War Memorials:  When the Ancients went to War, they would "kick ass and take names."  Ancient Soldiers wore their names around their necks on ceremonial collars.  Victorious Soldiers would inscribe the names of all the conquered on giant memorials, a testament to their victory.
Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: Judd on August 25, 2010, 08:58:13 AM
Crossbow bolts made of rebar. They have the precision of a drunk child throwing a jagged bottle but when you manage to embed one of these suckers in someone's chest, it makes it all worth it.

9-2-5: Shack town made of office cubicle walls. 

Feral dogs and feral cats forming a symbiotic relationship, much like wolves and ravens.

Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: Bret on August 25, 2010, 09:11:26 AM
A subway station full of survivors, burning fires in empty barrels and cooking rats and pigeons. They hear a subway car coming and they scatter, screaming, as the doors open and raiders armed with chains and clubs and pistols pour out, their bodies tattooed and their faces masked.
Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: Elizabeth on August 25, 2010, 10:40:34 AM
A baby bassinet made of a length of truck tire, suspended by chains.
Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: Judd on August 25, 2010, 12:53:19 PM
Ravens that spew forth old world pop culture bullshit...there must be an old radio or TV running where they get this shit, right?

"WHERE's the BEEF! CAW! CAW!"

"BORN IN KENYA!  KAWNYA!"

Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: Joe Beason on August 25, 2010, 01:06:43 PM
Ghost wheat: it looks like good, tastes good, but has no nutritional value whatsoever.  You can starve to death eating it.



Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: Judd on August 25, 2010, 02:29:57 PM
Pipers: a gang that attacks only in the pitch of night with lux night vision goggles and different size pipes as clubs.  No one knows that they only have 3 pairs of goggles.

Mademas and Scroungemas: 2 different holidays, one on the spring solstice and one on the winter solstice in which you give your family members something you made and the other where you give them something you found.



Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: DannyK on August 25, 2010, 03:27:03 PM
Jones and Dremmer, playing rocket tag in the burned-out skyscrapers of the old business district with bazookas.  What it looks like, if you're not a camoflauged ninja headcase: sudden fireballs blossoming forty stories over your head in Technicolor orange and red, the roar hits a second later and the garbage rains down two seconds after that. 

Why do they do it?  Why doesn't one of them get killed, or run out of ammo, or just go away?  Schmitt says they're ghosts of the old days.  Dusk says they're in love, but he says that about everyone.  I think they do it to piss me off.
Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: Mike Sands on August 25, 2010, 07:01:03 PM
Ratdog packs are dogs (they kind of look ratty, not actually part rat) that hunt through the ruins. They all share their brains in the psychic maelstrom, so they act as one - what one sees, they all see. When they attack, they'll tear you to pieces. Still, they're good eating.
Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: Judd on August 26, 2010, 11:56:30 AM
Prime Time: just after the evening meal (or the evening nap if you didn't have a meal) folks gather and tell stories that their parents and grand-parents told them about TV shows.  It is half remembered sitcoms as a window into the golden age of the past.

There have been knife fights over disputes concerning if the Golden Girls was a comedy or a drama and if Fantasy Island had some sex or lots and lots of sex in it.
Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: Bret on August 26, 2010, 12:24:35 PM
I'm reminded of that one movie about dragons where the adults were acting out Star Wars for the kids.
Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: Judd on August 26, 2010, 02:37:56 PM
I'm reminded of that one movie about dragons where the adults were acting out Star Wars for the kids.

I didn't see that movie but heard about that scene; it was the inspiration, that and people getting together to talk about TV shows and it ends up sounding like this: "Remember X scene...that was cool."  "Yeah...and Y scene <quotes scene>." "Totally."

But enough of that...more vomiting and barfing!

The Grab-n-Shivs: They tend to attack in 3's, two kids and an adult.  The kids grab your legs and the adult either shivs you or shoots you, depending on whats at hand.  Its simple and it works more often than it doesn't.  When the kids get big enough, they grow into the role of the shiv/shooter.
Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: Motipha on August 26, 2010, 02:43:32 PM
Reign of Fire.  Great AW story.
Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: Motipha on August 27, 2010, 10:45:04 AM
So this one was from my playtest group:

The Stacks are giant piles of techno-bits, Tv's and speakers and amps and computers and monitors all piled together in giant towering heaps up on the top of the ravine.  They stand like plastic-and-glass teeth, pulling lightning from the sky even when it's sunny and clear.  Every time there's a hit the stacks light up, screaming out blasts of nonsense sound and vision that can seem to have some purpose or meaning if you look hard enough.  Don't get caught up there in a storm.


Another idea I had during my commute this morning:

A colony of musicians who have come to be close to the last grand piano.  In this world, he who knows perfect pitch is king, and is always called Steinway.  Down in the pit, The clans of Man Man (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UhMUffbS-g8 (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UhMUffbS-g8)) and Gogol Bordello (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=elyQ4ShVw-Y (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=elyQ4ShVw-Y)) have been feuding for a generation now, no one quite knows why.  Their feud is in the form of endless back and forth music, two stages set across from each other.  Know one really knows the form, but eventually one or the other will win and then the party will be over, so people come to cut loose while they can.  Even up in the Tuning hall where Steinway presides and answers petitions for tuning you can hear the noise of their ongoing argument.

They only stop when the colony is threatened and everyone fights.  This latest round has been going for most of the year.
Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: mcdaldno on August 27, 2010, 01:15:24 PM
I write a daily poetry blog in which I barf forth apocalyptica.

dailyanxiety.wordpress.com (http://dailyanxiety.wordpress.com)
Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: tonydowler on August 27, 2010, 01:44:47 PM
Holy sweetness Mcdaldno!

Any everyone should read Brendan's 101 word poems. They are an apocalypse world unto themselves:

http://www.xorph.com/anacrusis/
Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: Judd on August 28, 2010, 06:41:32 PM
The Wandering Jew is equal parts botanist, linguist and gunsmith, leaving writings around the wastes like Johnny Appleseed left whatever the fuck it was he left.  Here's a pair of words I read about on a copy of a copy of a copy of one of his scrips.

Wish he'd define what a Jew is, no one here remembers.

G.O.G. - Gift of G-d is a noun, an acronym if you know what that is.  It refers to the landmines that take certain children.  These children are the ones who, come winter, would have forced their parents to make all-too-hard choices about rationing out food, kids who have no ability to get their own barter, not even begging.

G.O.D. - Gift of the Devil is a noun, another acronym and if you are canny with patterns, you have figured out what that means.  These children are the ones who are killed or simply maimed beyond recognition by landmines but who were gaining barter for the family, who were trained or who had forged a relationship that was keeping kin fed.

Both of these words refer to children hurt and killed by landmines.  There are words for other types of killings, just not these.

Its supposed to be vomit and barf, not full on dry heave.  I need to limit myself to a sentence or two, not this micro-fic bullshit.
Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: Jim Crocker on September 12, 2010, 11:49:32 PM
<Special Flora and Fauna edition:>

Them dolphins has always been able to talk. They just ain't never saw nothin' scarier'n us afore.

The apes and monkeys seem to worship something in the reptile house. It likes its meals whole, and live, so they don't cook for it, even though that smoke we've seen over the wall means they know how.

When the queen really want to impress a crowd, she dons the Colony Dress, her ant farm. They move around so she can sit down, or show off her legs, and clean up any blood she gets on her from the Opera.

Nah, no one knows who figgered out them Megaleeches could be made to inject blood as good as they suck it up, but that dude saved my life. Look, sorry, Sport, but they gotta stay fed if they're gonna keep us on our feet, nothin' personal!

Well, the Scabbers ain't exactly immune to all that poison ivy overgrown the valley so much acclimated to it. Don't never eat or drink nothin' they give you, if you follow.

-JC
Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: Margolotte on September 13, 2010, 02:35:24 PM
Megaleeches and Scabbers' Ivy ftw!
Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: orklord on September 14, 2010, 07:43:42 PM
There's this gang who always wear crimson caps.  They call themselves the Hat Reds.  They used to have a different name, long ago, but since they cannot read, they don't know it anymore.  But they have these red hats, you know?
Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: drnuncheon on September 14, 2010, 08:26:37 PM
In some parts of the Apocalypse World, parents tell their children this story: that if they misbehave, then in the dead of winter a great beast named Cinder-claws will creep into the house and take them away, and leave coal for the parents as payment.


They say that snow used to be white.  They say it only came a few months of the year, too.


(This is from a different game I ran, but I think it fits.)
A mule plods slowly in a circle, every step pulling more water from deep beneath the sands. Occasionally the withered fifth leg twitches against the straps that hold it up against its belly, away from the other four. Some people walk clear across the city and push a well-wheel themselves to avoid drinking water drawn by it.


Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: dragonraven on September 15, 2010, 11:05:26 AM
A slaver's settlement, and colosseum, where the currency is human ears.

More often than not, you'll see some poor scab sweeping floors who decides to give up sunglasses, lest he go without his next fix, if you know what I mean...
Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: mease19 on September 29, 2010, 09:28:32 PM
Johny Kudzu - a haggard looking, reformed alcoholic who wanders the wasteland with a cargo bicycle and a giant potted kudzu plant.  Every a couple of miles, he cuts off a tiny piece and throws it on the ground.  He talks about finding a place with clean water, maybe if you follow the ever-more-rampant trail of Kudzu you can find it.
Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: michael.harrel on September 30, 2010, 11:25:19 AM
The Children's Crusade - Like Reavers from Firefly, only they're all under the age of twelve, roaming through the desert, swarms of them attacking lone travelers or even caravans.  Is this a disease that only affects children?  Some sort of mutation?  Are they being controlled by someone?  Or are they simply what happens when children, abandoned and alone in the wilderness, clearly hear the call of the psychic maelstrom?
Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: Christopher Weeks on September 30, 2010, 12:08:48 PM
The world is poisoned. The real settlements are growing food under glass -- scavenged from the suburbs and assembled into greenhouses. And every year, one more crop-type disappears, having succumbed to infection that slipped through the cracks. And the fucking forest; it fights back, I swear! Chokevines. three-foot SqWARels. Flesh-eating locusts. Fuckers, all of 'em. And the wind. When the wind picks up everyone dives for cover, gets inside and wraps their faces. New threats come on the wind that might erase whole regions.

We've seen two basic lifestyles. The reasonable people who live in the ruins; settlements of concrete and wood, using what artifacts of the old world they can scrounge up. They're the ones fighting against the dying past. These people make sense. Sure, some would eat your skin, but you can read them. But there's also the tribes. Those fuckers out in the woods. They actually live with the chokevines and the bugs. They eat the sqWARels and their nuts the size of your head. And they look at you like they haven't had a Halloween Goose in twenty years -- those fuckers don't even know what a Halloween Goose is; no tradition with that sort. And worst of all, sometimes you can trade with them. It's not all kill, kill, kill; but it would be easier if it were, because you never know!
Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: Bret on October 05, 2010, 02:16:28 PM
A worldship fired into space centuries ago. People eventually emerged from cryostasis to find that they were far off course from their destination, with no back-up plan. The best they could do was plot a course that would last several millennia without sending them into any asteroid belts or suns.

A couple generations later, and no one remembers how to work most of the tech. The eco sectors have been allowed to flourish untamed and are hunted in for meat and wild fruit. The agriculture sectors are fought for and grow a variety of foods in regulated environments.

There are a variety of holds throughout the ship with their members swearing allegiance to and fighting blood feuds over old separations that no longer hold the same meaning they did - Research, Engineering, and those sick fuckers Security.

Sometimes power flickers. Sometimes the whole ship shakes. No one really remembers they're on a space ship anymore, or even knows what that means. It's the whole world now.
Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: skinnyghost on October 05, 2010, 02:44:58 PM
A worldship fired into space centuries ago.

Wow, do I ever LOVE this.
Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: deleted213516 on October 07, 2010, 03:00:21 PM
The Black Soul Choir is what that nutter Rothschild calls his people. They go out into the Wastes unprotected for days at a time, constantly singing songs about their fucked-up god. If you're a mover or a shaker, Rothschild will mark you as one of his own, and that wacknut can use the maelstrom to find you if you don't keep your brain in check.

If you hear incoherent screaming out in the Wastes, or see people on fuckin' horses wearin' masks made of old stop signs and brandishing bolt-action rifles, you'd do well to run as fast as you can in the other direction. The Black Soul Choir is on your heels, and they ain't made of flesh and bone.
Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: DannyK on October 15, 2010, 05:42:53 PM
(A few things from my Seven Cities in Seattle game that never got going)

Master Island, Monster Island, Nasty Island, it doesn't matter what you call it, they got the guns and the slaves and the bridges, so they're the ones laughing at you.

When you're out in Old Seattle, you have the choice of sticking to the cleared roads, which makes you really obvious to bandits and patrols, or walking through the jungle.  The jungle's full of suburban homes rotting in place in the heat and rain and mostly held together with vegetation.  You never know when you'll disturb a nest of crows or stumble into an ambush from a neighborhood watch.  And if you don't like seeing people watching you from the windows of abandoned buildings from the corner of your eye, like all the time, then probably don't come to Seattle. 

There's a place called Sleepless in one of the lakes, made up of houseboats and rafts and yachts all lashed together.  You want to live there, you spend one night of every seven on watch duty with gun and spike, killing anyone who tries to swim up.  That's why they call it Sleepless.

The Ducks are these complete A-Holes in souped-up amphibious vehicles, they'll track you across land and water and never ever give up if they want your ass.  It's really better to give them what they want, as long as what they want ain't you.

The Hurst is this little fortified penninsula that sticks into the lake, whole place is run by one family they say, a bunch of inbred rich folks with too many guns and not enough privacy.  They make the Nasty Island bunch look sane and friendly.  Sometimes their kids sneak out to play with the commoners, and you can bring 'em back for a reward. 

Mo'Lake is, like, this legendary place where three great roads crossed in the old days, a place of culture and learning, a great place of industry and trade.  The problem with all those roads is, somebody came down one of them with the Monkey Pox and they all went crazy about 7 years ago.  Somebody ought to clean that place out.

Pillz is deep in the bad old city, it's this hill with all these old hospital buildings on it.  Supposedly the Monkey Pox came from there, but who knows?  It's nothing but medical cults and scavengers now.  You hear an ambulance coming, just hide and don't come out for a while. 

The Center.  There are actually two Centers in Old Seattle, one up north with more people and rocketships and metal men and stuff, a place to barter or get fixed up.  Then there's the real Center, in the no-go-zone, the one with the Needle.  You can see it glowing at night from most parts of town.  It's the holiest place in town, they say, but why do the pilgrims always die?
Title: Re: In which we vomit forth apocalyptica
Post by: benhimself on October 29, 2010, 10:04:23 AM
(With belated thanks to Joe Beason)

A large dog's skeleton, picked clean, covered in butterfly cocoons.