Thursday, August 27, 2020

Legends of Gath #51; One Got Wasted and the Other's a Waste

When I was 17 in the summer of 1988 I surfed all day, played D&D all night and was so happy to be alive in sunny San Diego. And now we have...this.

     Not sure about that jar of pickles. The hockey stick does 2d3 against skeletons.

     Speaking of playing, I want to start running Gathisodes on Roll20. No fantasy infused classes this time, just straight up human explorers with a machete and a 9mm with a few rounds in the mag. Very straightforward. 

     We will use White Box and it's various clones as a rule system. No PC death, by the way. You just get KOd and mugged if knocked to 0 hp. The scars you collect will tell a story. I will post some details next time, but these will be short, 30 minute sessions just to scratch the itch. Holler if interested.


  1. Ulric the drunk wastelander will grab his hockey stick and be ready to explore the land 'o Gath. He's itching to take out those 'damn smelliest that took his bobo away, fuck 'em!"

  2. These last few years, I've become a Forever DM, but I think I could fuck with this.

    1. I think it's a therapeutic good time. You get to wade through the wreckage and waste of the United States during election season, er, Gath after a Biblical apocalypse, but it's more fun because sometimes you find a machine gun, get chased by witches and get hammered on vodka you find in abandoned cars. In the US and A it's just non-stop noise and horror. If I could go tomorrow, I think I would.

    2. I feel like we're non-stop noise and horror in the status quo.

  3. Love an Offspring reference, though I haven't listened to one of their CDs in year (still in a box in my garage). I remember them playing a Seattle bar in '93ish...

    When I was 12 or 13 (circa '86) I visited San Diego and thought I would definitely live there when I grew up. I couldn't imagine a cooler place. Almost made me want to join the Navy.

    1. That should say "haven't listened to their CDs in yearS (plural). Like 15-20.

    2. Agreed, San Diego was pretty great in '86. :) I regret leaving pretty much every day.

  4. Replies
    1. Time to get in the '64 Impala and roll deep through the hood!

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  6. The smell of sulfur drifted through the air. I didn't see any of the typical yellow smoke blowing out through a crack in the ground. The street somehow held onto the personalities of the people who had lived there so many years ago. The buildings were crammed next to one another. They shouldering into one another vying for a more room.

    Several skeletons littered the street. A crashed car rested halfway into a house. The wind gusted through picking up a cloud of dust, blinding me temporarily. After the wind expended what energy is had, it grew tired and fell to the ground to slumber once again. The dust cleared. Standing in the doorway, a skellie boy stood holding a firearm of some sort. A rifle I think.

    I didn't move. I listened for more. It was clear how many there were. Luckily they were noisy. I only heard its boney feet grinding on the debris as it walked. I bent slowly to grab a shard of brick and tossed in the opposite direction.

    Whack. Bam. The sudden noise caused the skellie boy to spin around and shoulder his rifle. I heard the click, click of the trigger, but no bang bang of the bullet.

    I grabbed a handful of baseball cards I'd found in the pockets of a small skellie days ago. Pictures of baseball players dressed in different colors. Numbers on the back. They were held together to a stretchy band that snapped when I tried to free the pictures.

    I took cautious steps toward the rifle wielding skellie boy. My foot caught the side of a broken board that cause a noise loud enough to bring the rifle bearing on me. I held up my hands.

    Click. Click.

    I presented the baseball cards. Showed the skellie boy the colorful side of the pictures. The rifle lowered for a moment. Then returned to its shoulder. I stretched out my hand with one of more colorful cards. A man with a broad smile with a large mustache wore bright blue and white clothes as he held a baseball out.

    The skellie boy stepped forward and snatched the card from my hand. He lowered his rifle as he looked at the card. It's boney fingers traced the card. I held out the rest of the cards. The skellie boy took the remaining cards and placed his rifle on the ground. The skellie boy sat on a chunk of concrete and looked on the front of cards and then flipped each one over to look at the numbers.

    I took a moment to look into the car. I found a black, collapsible umbrella in the passenger door. The truck had popped open during the crash and in the back was a jar of vlasic. I'd never seen them before. Strange things. Someone took a lot of care to preserve a bunch of petrified turds. I left them behind.

    I turned to check on the skellie boy before I left. It remained on the chunk of concrete flipping through the cards. He handled each one with care. The rifle lay on the ground forgotten.

    1. Masterful, my friend. You really got me with this one. Tonight is the start of Rosh Hashanah, the beginning of the high holidays culminating with Yom Kuppur, the day of atonement. The Cleric with no name brings deliverance to Gath, sometimes with a weapon and more often with a generous act of kindness. Those baseball cards...brilliant. Just brilliant.

  7. I felt the need to do another write up for the Priest with No Name. Looked back in your blog to find an entry I missed.