112 more posts in this thread. [Missing image file: rat coke.png]
>TSR. And the woman that owned it was like a trust fund baby and she got this company for like, I believe you know, a couple hundred grand from Gary Gygax because he spent it on some coke binge or something – as the story goes. I can’t validate if that would casbe true or not. But that’s how the story goes. So she picked it up, and when I went in to her and I came up with this whole thing, when we did the script for example, she was like, ‘I want to make toys.’ I’m like, ‘Lady, your audience doesn’t want to buy toys. That’s not who the D&D audience is. You gotta make a different film.’ She didn’t care.
>And what happened was, you know, long story short, you know. I got, you know, Jim Cameron to agree to do it at one point in 93. She sits at the Bel Air Hotel Restaurant [with Cameron], she folds her arms, she looks at him and says – its 93 – she says, ‘What are your qualifications to direct this film?’ I was like, ‘OK, Jim, please don’t kill me right now. I know about your temper, please don’t do it. Ok.’
Did Gygax really lose TSR because of coke binges?
221 more posts in this thread. [Missing image file: BattleOfVirginiaCapes.jpg]
The 5th of September, 1781. It's your eleventh birthday. No party for, not yet at least. You awake to sailor's shouts, the noise of creaking timbers, the rattle of iron, and the sloshing of sea waves. You roll out of your hammock, groaning, while men dash past you this way and that.
You're a good luck charm. "Shouldn't have lived," your father loves telling you, always smiling at your antics. Your mother always scolds him for saying that, worried that you'll take it as an insult, that you'll think your father doesn't want you alive. Your mother shouldn't worry. Your father is always quick to explain it.
"Umbilical wrapped around your throat, blue in the face- fate wanted you dead, but you didn't take none of it," a soft cuff on the cheek, "You wanted to live. And live you did."
You've gotten a little sick of that story, but you appreciate how much your father dotes on you. Well, doting on you, and putting you in to absurd danger.
"Ships spotted, ships spotted! Get everything tied down, get those cannons out!"
You're a good luck charm. Your father has you on a warship right now. On the other side of the Atlantic, far from home, and about to go in to battle.
>[ ] Go find your father, the noble captain.
>[ ] Go find your father, the hard working quartermaster.
>[ ] Go find your father, the rugged lieutenant of the marines.
>[ ] Other.
Concept thread; insane, weird and strange ideas
8 more posts in this thread. [Missing image file: 1373839574973.jpg]
Greetings, salutations, and welcoming phrases. I have commenced to work, not play, on something that is quite not normal I say.
So show me madness, show me strange and terrifying craziness.
And also, has anyone seen where the Dormouse is hiding?
Translation: we share pictures of anything weird, freaky, insane, or people just losing their freaking minds. While pitching ideas for strange or creepy things.
Alternatively, suggest must-see material for inspiration, like Wonderland, Poe, Lovecraft and the like. Time of creation of said work does not matter, it's however weird or freaky it is.
Bioweapon Quest 16
196 more posts in this thread. [Missing image file: BioweaponQuest.jpg]
>Previous threads can be found here: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Bioweapon%20Quest
>Welcome to Bioweapon quest, a game which is (mostly) about small scale tactical combat, and getting deadlier.
>Don't be afraid to jump in if you are new!
You are a creature of simple desires. You desire to eat things. With every delicious thing you eat you grow, morph and change.
You are currently fighting. Your opponant is strong. The human stands easily a head taller then all the other humans you have met. His muscles have proven strong, when he knocked you out of a leap with his fist, then shoved you across the room. Despite his formidible natural power, he has no protection. No scales nor thick hide, and his adorned armor is merely a few pieces of thin fabric that don't even cover his heart or stomach. His boots of toughened dead creatures squeak when he walks.
He is currently talking to your creator, who is watching your fight intently from the monitors that adorn one wall. More important to your senses is the weapon he wields. It looks like a phaser, or even a firearm, but there is something strange about it. It looks Delicious. Between metal plates, you make out what appears to be an eye, staring at you.