[DnD] GW URBX: 20! EVERYONE IS EXPLODE

After MIT's Cosmology Lab Project #8490 (Codename: Dog Exploder) went badly haywire, all possible divergent timelines collapsed, reducing a multiverse of infinite complexity into a single universe that was, let's be fair, still pretty goddamn ridiculous. Things got pretty crazy for a while as people got used to living alongside martians, elves, machine intelligences, and the occasional hungry shoggoth. Hell, even the basic rules of life started getting a little fuzzy: magic is an actual thing now instead of a trick for children's birthdays, and the various deities worshipped by the various populations of the new Earth* were quick to make evident their very real and direct interest in mortal affairs.

But things settled down in due time. People can get used to anything, given a century or four. Eventually many of the old nations reassembled themselves in a rough facsimile of their original shapes, based more on a sort of general reckoning than any particular reliance on the old maps. Some cultures grabbed a little more territory than others. Case in point: the Merkins, whose government claims authority over nearly half the land in the western hemisphere, a sprawling land they call "Usa" (Oo-sah).

Usa's sheer breadth is one of the keys to its continued survival: the wild variety of climates and the utter vastness of the empty places has done more than any military to fend off foreign invasion. Indeed, over 50,000 Qinshi golem shock troops are thought to be lost inside the midwestern desert to this day, their geolocators hopelessly clogged by sand and dust.

But there are downsides to holding this much territory. You need a lot of hands to secure it. There are still thousands of places in Usa, particularly in the old metropolises, where "civilized" Merkins fear to tread. Labyrinthine complexes of steel and stone, hardened underground bunkers, all the sprawling constructions of cultures that had more money than sense. The worst creatures of the former multiverse took up residence in these dangerous lairs, defying an overstretched military to force them out and reclaim technological treasures and secrets of the old worlds.

That's where you come in.



It was only in your grandparent's generation that the eggheads figured out how the omnipresent screenboxes worked, and the nature of television programming progressed much as it did in the old days. In Lost Angles they've recently hit on the incredible new idea of "reality" programming: real people humiliating themselves on camera, with more than a little selective editing. What better to capitalize on than the suicidal new "extreme sport" so popular with the 14-30 demo, something the kids called "Urban Exploration": bust into a ruined old world construction, take some pictures, and then get the hell out before the resident ork clan or sapient slime mold caught wind of the intrusion.

The idea of a professional Urbexer is more than a little absurd, but if such a thing exists, you're it. A collusion between government and the entertainment industry has plucked dozens of the most promising young talents off the streets and into tailored jumpsuits festooned with corporate logos. Officially, you and your squad are the sword's point that will vanquish the darkness and reclaim Usa's past glories. Unofficially, an URBX squad is lucky to last a full season, and that with casualties. Very few will openly admit they tune in to watch the gory deaths of the brave and stupid, but the discs emblazoned with the cheery TOTAL WIPEOUT! slogan sell the best by far.

URBX sites were first referred to as "dungeons" by all-dwarf squad Bearded Fury in Season 5, and the terminology was adapted swiftly by the fans and then, grudgingly, by the producers. The "Ruin Ref", a C-list celebrity who (officially) does nothing more than observe squads, direct camera drones, and provide color commentary, became a much more sought-after position after being retitled "DJ": Dungeon Judge.

(The widening pool of aspiring Dungeon Judges is also attributable to the increasing acceptability of DJs tampering with the pre-existing site environment. Of course, they all deny it.)

This is URBX, the biggest sport of the 2530s. You and your squad have proven yourselves in the not-for-broadcast Brass League, where the swords are foam, the dragons are papier-mâché, and the rewards are sometimes as impressive as a comped meal for two at Das Burgermeister. But it's a good place to network: all the biggest URBX sponsors keep an eye on Brass events, looking for the next face to put on the side of a cereal box.

Next week you and your squad jump into the lethal Copper League. Copper is mostly small-scale ruins, sometimes just a mansion, and location scouts have done their best to... well, location scouts return from Copper sites, which is a pretty good sign. You haven't been briefed on your exact destination yet, but you've heard you'll be in the loving hands of freshman DJ High Noon. New DJs often sport a lower body count, but haven't adopted an iconic style yet (for example, anyone facing DJ Cold Fusion knows to pack their parka).

Pow-wow with your squad, pack whatever you need to pack, and catch the vertibird. Oh, and remember to say your goodbyes, finalize your will, all the standard disclaimers. You did read the release form, right?

*See also: Terra, Dirt, Mudball, Life's Egg, Our Place, Greenhome, Factory Prime


What Have I Become?

You're a resident of Post-8490 Earth, which means your genetic relationship to Pre-8490 humanity (or elfkind, or orcbrood) is tenuous at best.

First, you have a Race, your species, whatever turned up after Ma & Pa got real friendly. Maybe you're the scion of a long bloodline of dwarves, or maybe you're some reptilian thing that fell into some industrial waste and started getting ambitious.

Second, you have a Class, your particular set of skills and talents that make you more likely than Joe Average to survive an URBXpedition. Maybe you were the star quarterback in high school, and you still hit like a truck. Maybe you're a conniving little jerk who specializes in lying to those few people you aren't about to shank. Maybe you've got a direct line to Nucleon, God Of Excessively Large Explosions (and he always picks up).

Third, you have a Mutation, a weird genetic quirk that's yours and yours alone. Maybe you can outrun a vertibird. Maybe you're on fire all the time. Maybe you're just really, really big.

You pick your own race and class. I'll roll for mutations. Because that's funny.

Then you Reskin to your own satisfaction or just to have things make a little sense. For example, a Halfling with the "Giant" mutation is just big for a halfling, albeit possessed of a disproportionate amount of muscle mass.

Then you need a Name. This includes your character's real name, and also their stage name. URBX fans don't care about "Mark Miller", but "Mark 'The Mauler' Miller" sells t-shirts.

After that, decide on your Team Captain, your Team Name, and your Team Sponsors, 3-5 fictional corporate entities who have invested in your team's theoretical survival and success. Mark "The Mauler" Miller (Giant Human Barbarian) is sponsored by an energy drink, a pharmaceutical company, and a fleet of rental trucks. Your sponsors will provide you with some gear for your URBXpeditions, with the understanding that you pimp their goods for the camera a bit.

"Those gnolls went down easy... but not as easy as smooth, refreshing Dark Tower Ale."

On the slim chance you came into this thread without knowing the class and race options for D&D 4E, just tell me what sort of thing (and any sort of thing will do) your URBXplorer is and what he or she used to do for a living before deciding organized suicide was more profitable, and I'll slap a suitable race and class on them. Easy-peasy.

Jam it back in, in the dark.

This is the most awesome setting.

Most amazing jew boots

Alright, my character is ready but I haven't had time to do a proper write up yet. Or rather, I did, and then when I hit POST it said something about a certificate expiring and vanished, so here is the crux of it.

Name: Esperansita "The Suck Queen" Mamara

Race: Vryloka

Class: Blood Mage Warlock Vamipire (how the fuck is this a class again?)

Favored attributes: Constitution, Charisma

Least favored attribute: Intelligence

Sponsors: Jolly Polly's feminine hygiene essentials, Plaster Master Adhesive Stoppy-Bleedies, The "We Make Syringes" Syringe Company, and Spatula City

Weapons: Some sorta Whip and a T-shirt Cannon

Backstory to come soon!

This thing is sticky, and I don't like it. I don't appreciate it.

Real name: Koven Lowrunner Okolokanu

Stage name: Sven "The Debt Collector" Callahan

Race: Goliath

Class: Barbarian

Sponsors: Lunar Zenith Low Orbital Greenhouses Inc., Kennedy & Sons Attorneys, Iron Grip Hand Tools Ltd.

Background: In a nutshell, was sent down from the mountains to learn the secrets of dwarven crafting. Weapons and tools gotta get made somehow, and everyone knows all the best stuff comes from New Dwarf City. He was chosen as, being part plant, his tribe didn't have to spare any food to send along on his journey due to the wonders of photosynthesis. Anyway, he got a little sidetracked, had an unfortunate run-in with a moderately-sized crime syndicate, and ended up having to pay off a sizable debt incurred through accidental property destruction. Rather than just kill him, the organization decided that he'd be of more use being put to work, and for a time he collected gambling debts on behalf of his employers. Killing him also proved more difficult than expected due to his penchant to bud new limbs after their removal.

After paying his way out of servitude, he got to thinking about how his tribe's chief may not have been entirely accurate in his prediction that dwarves would be immediately forthcoming with their metallurgical secrets. As Sven pondered how to make this seem like a more appealing transaction, he saw a television commercial starring an URBX star, the Masked Disemboweler. Now, Sven wasn't a genius, but he could put two and two together. The dwarves could surely be swayed by a celebrity! Sven changed his name to protect his tribe from the attention that would follow his inevitable success and fame, and signed up. Soon, he would return to the mountains with the dwarven secrets and he would earn the loftiest and most impressive of honorifics his people had ever known.

I am a dolphin, do you want me on your body?

This sounds like a fucking awesome nerdfest, so I'll see what I can come up with.

I was speaking idiomatically.

I keep trying to put this together, but i don't have the old 4E stuff kicking around right now (i think it's on my portable hard drive somewhere, but i've got too many papers to write at the moment to go looking for it). I can't remember whether the idea i wanted to use is legitimate or not, so i'll just put down what i have for now and see where it ends up.

Name: (undecided)

Race: Elf (part dragon? Idea in my head was basically an elf with scales)

Class: ... Swordmage? (i wanna shoot magic bullets)

Weapons: Revolver for shooting, greaves for kicking

Sponsors: (also a blank. i'm terrible at this.)

Background: (will add later)


So basically i have a rough idea of what i want to do and no time to figure out how it will actually work.

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

Hawk, if you want to be a pistolero then Swordmage might not be your best choice. Swordmages are overwhelmingly melee-driven as I remember. Maybe something like a Warlock, Sorcerer, Ranger?

Originally Posted by Axelrod :gauntletcheck: Axelrod

Sponsors: Says team, but you have individual sponsors in your example. Did you want those as well?

I guess everybody can just provide their own sponsors and then they can all collectively be the team sponsors. Wear more logos than NASCAR, drink your potions with the labels facing out.

FELIPE NO

Me me me me me me me!

I wanna be a Tiefling Avenger. Name of Ayatollah "Fuck the infidels" Murderson, aka the Brown Devil.

Weapons - Big, fuck off shiny sword and a suicide bomb vest.

Sponsors - Crazy Ahmed's Bomb Emporium (Putting the Fun into Fundamentalism), Honest Abdhul's Prayer Mat Bargain Warehouse (We Meccha you want to pray all day), Cillit Bang Cleaning Products (Guaranteed to remove those incriminating gunpowder residues).

Likes - Very organised religion.

Dislikes - Women, pretty much everything else. Especially women.

Backstory - The end product of the last remnants of an ancient religion getting a lot more than they bargained for when praying for destruction for their ancient enemies, shortly after the actual Armageddon. Murderson insists on converting everyone to his own brand of extremist religion although he does tend to make up the tennets as he goes along and converting often involves a lot of killing. Convinced that tv fame will help him convert a lot more people a lot quicker although whether he means the tv audience or the rest of his team is anyone's guess.

Most amazing jew boots

Name: KICKPUNCH "Happy Flower" CRUSHDICK

Race: Cyborg Dinosaur

Class: Samurai Cowboy

Weapons: Katanas, Submachine guns, LASER EYES. (Heavy Melee/Light Ranged)

Sponsors: Frank's Discount Decanters. GR?M WONDERFUL JUICES (from concentrate). Malboro BAD BREATH Cigarettes.

Looks like:



Reskin to come after you roll mutation.

Backstory: RAAAUAUGAHGAHGH was once enjoying a nice peaceful day. Chillin, maxin', relaxin' all cool. Eating some herbivores outside the school, when a couple of time portals, who were up to no good, started making trouble in his neighbourhood.

He got in one little time warp and his mom got scared, said you're going to the future to live in "Bull Err".

Arriving in the future in the year seven thousand or eight, he looked at the portal and "GALKJHAHAG-GATOR". He looked at his kingdom, he was finally there, to eat all the thrones as the prince of Bull Err.

...only problem being that "Bull Err" turned out to be a place where any Taurus who made a major mistake in life was sent to atone for their sins. Suddenly transported to ANGRY COW PRISON was not RAAAUAUGAHGAHGH's idea of a good time. Even though he ate over 30 cows that day, constantly getting gored in the chest was not a lot of fun.

Luckily he was saved by a wandering cigarette salesman. A cigarette salesman who introduced him to the wonderful world of smoking. Of course, Malboro cigarettes are not that good for you. One puff and RAAAUAUGAHGAHGH found himself silenced, confused, blinded, poisoned and turned into a little imp like creature.

To survive, he was partially REBUILT AS A ROBOT. And given a brain slightly larger than a walnut. (But only slightly).

He took the name KICKPUNCH CRUSHDICK, once he learned what crushing and dicks were. His allegiance to the cigarette company, who built him better, stronger, and faster than before, is why he's such an upstanding and loyal team member to this day.

How ya doing, buddy?

LET'S ROLLING MUTATIONS

Rychord, in addition to being a vampire blood wizard you are also... an Empath. Not sure if being a really empathetic vampire is super creepy or just hilarious. (Is Blood Mage even a thing? Gotta update my CBLoader, fuck)

Edit: Blood Mage does not appear to be a thing, what am I missing

Skills, your cyborg dinosaur is also some kind of Feline. Good luck sorting THAT out.

Shin's demon terrorist has eight Octopoid arms, the better to smite infidels with.

Hawkeye's elf not only has some kind of skin disorder but also an unfortunate case of chronic Magnetism.

Diss' Goliath Barbarian is a Plant. That's easy enough I guess. Nothing wrong with the classics.

So uh reskin as necessary and convene on your team name & etc.

Skills had some questions about the system last night so I figured I'd clarify some shit. We're using 4E race/class but this is still a Gamma World game with all the unfair random bullshit that implies. Gamma World gives you a guaranteed 18/16 in your primary/secondary origin's ability score, so in this case we'll treat your class as your primary origin. Some classes are a little fuzzy on what their primary is but in most cases it's clear. Then add your race bonuses on top of that, so you might start with a 20 in something possibly? GW also has a shorter skill list than 4E core, which means some of your racial skill bonuses might not make sense anymore. Probably gonna mash the skills lists together since Mechanics is a neat thing to have but making knowledge checks go under "Conspiracy" is sort of goofy. I'll sort it one way or another.

Some classes (like Warlords or Clerics) aren't quite as useful in a ruleset where everyone isn't sitting on 20 healing surges, I'll compensate for that somehow if it comes up.

Generally don't sperg out too much about mechanical details! Okay!

There's nowhere I can't reach.

Oh. My bad. Blood Mage is actually a paragon path for a wizard, not a class. I just did a real quick search for class lists and saw that and thought it would be a perfect fit.

A wizard with low intelligence is pretty stupid though so Warlock it is I guess. I could have picked Vampire as my class but I think that may just be a bit retarded considering that a Vryloka is basically a vampire already.

This thing is sticky, and I don't like it. I don't appreciate it.

4 Dice Rolls *Non Primary 4

KICKPUNCH also has steel whiskers forged by the elves of Gondolin that glow blue in the presence of orcs and goblins.

He also likes to rub up against your leg and show you his anus.

I am a dolphin, do you want me on your body?

Originally Posted by i am good at jokes

I could have picked Vampire as my class but I think that may just be a bit retarded considering that a Vryloka is basically a vampire already.

You could go ex-vryloka revenant, and just be a vampire that used to be a vampire instead of a vampire vampire.

Edit: the new issue of Dragon will let you be the vampire ghost of a zombie that used to be a vampire

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4 Dice Rolls *probability providers!

Looks like a ranger is probably actually my best bet - i'll have to drop the magic idea, but at least i'll be able to hit something. So my core attributes will be... Strength and Dexterity? I think?

Anyway, Skills rolled dice for something so i guess i will too!

Also - controllable magnetism? Or just the "oh look my bus fare is attached to my feet how fortunate" kind?

Name: Rufus Thorolfsson

Character background: Rufus was a street kid who learned a) how to use a slingshot and b) enough about anatomy to make every shot count. The thing about being magnetic is that the other kids are always coming to you for lunch money - if not because they want yours, then because if they lost theirs it probably found its way to you somehow. Except you obviously stole it, because no one (accidentally) picks up money that's not theirs.

During a brief stint with the police force, Rufus was found to be immensely good at detecting weapons on arrested criminals. He was discharged following an unfortunate incident involving a suspect who had hidden an elven-made gun in his pants. The thing about elven made guns is they're made entirely out of magically strengthened wood - except for the firing pin, for some reason. Since his discharge Rufus has been unable to find another job, and has floated around surviving off loose change (he tries not to get any from beggar's cups, but sometimes he doesn't catch it). Rufus hopes to make enough money to buy his own little plot of land in a forest, where he can finally be free of the endless clinking of coins attaching themselves to his feet.

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

You can still say they're magic bullets. If you want your ranger powers flagged as Arcane, I am down.

FELIPE NO

Aww yeah. Fire bullets, Lightning bullets, all the best kinds (probably not many ice bullets, though - what's the point in shooting a guy if you're just going to numb away the pain anyway?)

What, you don't want my bikini-clad body?

4 Dice Rolls *Keep

Eight arms? In which case make that melee weapon Eight fuck off great shiny swords. Also the reason Murderson is so angry is that before being summoned by the crazy bastard remnants of Al Quaida, he was actually Vishnu and forcibly crossing religions like that tends to mess with a person's head.

Jam it back in, in the dark.

If you haven't started building the character yet, I guess I'll go full retard and play a Vryloka Vampire.

Constitution will be replaced by dexterity for my favored attributes, in that case.

There's nowhere I can't reach.

We need a team name.

How about Loosely Affiliated Brotherhood of Individual Adventurers.

I'm all about the acronyms.

This thing is sticky, and I don't like it. I don't appreciate it.

On that note, there's also:

Super
Heroes
In
Need of

Serious
Units of
Castles,
Krona, and
Strumpets

I am a dolphin, do you want me on your body?

How about:

Champion Armoured Ninjas And Dinosaurs And Esoteric Assorted Teammates Sporting Big-Ass, Lady Loving Schlongs

How ya doing, buddy?

That one works too.

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

So Pang, i'm not sure whether Rufus magnetic enough to bend bullets when he's not trying to, but chances are he'll also want to carry some kind of wood/carbon fiber composite shield or something. I might actually need to use the cover mechanic in this game for once.

Rufus' stage name will be "Overwatch". (part of me tells me that's a thing, but the other part of me tells me that that is a terrible word and should be cleansed with unending fire)

Man, i'm just thinking about all of the cool stuff a magnetic dude could do in a gunfight. Hopefully Pang lets me pull half this stuff off.

FELIPE NO

Y'all gonna be the Pink Pony Platoon in a minute here.

Got two sheets done: "The Debt Collector" "Happy Flower"

Will get to work on the rest after I kick SAUS into gear. Just wanted to reassure that I'm getting shit ready.

(Still laughin' at Skills and his carefully-assembled hybrid mess that I promptly threw down three flights of houseruled stairs)

How ya doing, buddy?

Mad props on the sponsorship logos and tie-in gear.

Jam it back in, in the dark.