Extract weed from hippie remains. Fashion hippie-bone bong.
[Svaank] You search the corpse many times over, but each time you fail completely to gather anything remotely narcotic.
[Tiir] As you pull some of its bones out, you turn away to look at some distracting object in a nearby room. Turning back, all of the hippy's bones have been forced back into its body. It climbs to its feet and glares at you with gray eyes. It grabs you by the shoulders and breaks your neck by bashing you with its head. It shoves your somewhat mangled corpse to the ground and flips you off.
Flip off angels, escape from afterlife, get resurrected.
[Zindz] The angels do not take kindly to your rude fucking gesture. Before you even so much as think about the potential for escape, they walk into you holding torches and burn you to the ground. Over and over.
Paint a picture of everything: the greatest picture ever made.
[Zindz+Svaank=Marnd] You paint for hours on end, working hard to display your champion of an idea on the canvas. You put all this effort into your art, and none into basic human needs. You could have died of sleep deprivation, starvation, dehydration, or any other similar cause. For now, assume dehydration. Your corpse is buried, shot, and burned in that order as people from my timeline flood in and know what you did. At least you made a nice painting. Guess what? It sold for one fucking dollar. Good job.
Build a land battleship.
[Stor] Wow... that is...
pitiful. It can't move, is full of holes, and you can't even fit inside it. It's a useless piece of shit. Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
MAGIC MISSILE.
[Dun] At what? You wasted a perfectly good five. I guess it'll be at yourself. You shoot yourself with just the right amount of power to die.
Use my alphabetical knowledge to shame everyone else.
[Svaank] You know an alphabet of 26 letters? Fuck you and your useless knowledge. Learn the alphabet of Kestvoshorik. It has 53 letters, you miserable little prick.
Ask TARDIS to come and help me!
>Summone the TARDIS around me
>Go to where GWG is at.
>Send him where he wants to go.
>Transform the president into...something else.
[Dun] Tardis summoned.
[Tiir] However, you go not to where GWG is, but to a dark, psychotic place. Your choice though, Hell, a Dwarven Fortress, or a plane that represents my mind entirely.
Give self +6!
[Stor] Six divided by three is two, but six divided in half is three. If three represents something roughly half as good as five, six being too much, then you should get three. You didn't specify what +3 you get, though, so I guess I should give you three news shivs in your gut.
SHLNKSHSSTSKLTCHHuh. Begin selling crack to gain gangsta' income and resources.
[Dun] You get to be the only person here with a reasonably happy ending. Everything goes perfectly. And I hate your un-shivved guts for it.
NPCs:
Fuck NPCs.
Harry Baldman: Dead of broken neck, killed by reanimated hippy.
TopHat: Cursed to burn to the ground infinitely.
Xantalos: Dead of dehydration, buried, shot, burned. Best piece of art sold for one dollar.
Doomblade187: A failure at mechanics and engineering.
LordSlowPoke: Dead of own magic missile.
Persus13: Insulted, hopefully.
GWG: Still needs help.
ZtG: Needs to choose a hellscape to go to.
Thecard: Bleeding out from three shivs in his gut.
TCM: Selling crack to gangsters.
New GM: Persus13
Author
Topic: ROLL TO GM (Read 34709 times)