WickedCadrach

Hardcore band

It might be clearer in future if we just use little OOC comments at the bottom when we want to trigger whatever our lovely GM is waiting on us for. That way there's no ambiguity. Like, in my head, approaching the manor is interacting with it, but that might not be how others interpret that.

Inoria nods in respectful understanding. She assumes the affliction is something to do with the curse, and she feels a pang of sympathy for their host. The covered furniture and disuse of the house contrasts so much with the lovely garden that it sets a twinge of sorrow in her chest. As the servant warns about loud noises, Inoria looks back to Grom. She gestures with the flat of her palm to the dragging maul and mouths: pick it up. Looking to Fel and the sweet pet weasel of hers, Inoria takes heart at the simple affection between them and steadies herself for whatever they'll see in Lady Syndra's chambers. (Inoria ready to enter)

I'm ready. I hesitated because I wanted to give @DreamsnThings a chance in case she wanted to add anything more to the opening meeting.

Inoria stooped, a sweetly pained grin on her face as she attempted to catch the gifts Grom turned out from his much larger palms. As some of the coins, sticky with the fruits' juices, fell between her fingers, she made small apologetic noises. "Oh! Th-thank you, Grom. I, um, accept your gift to the Lady of Love with, oops, gratitude." With a quick look around, Inoria settled the offering on a marble park bench, pulling a white handkerchief from her pack and folding it over into a practiced bundle that looked smooth and pretty as a present. Cinching the cloth with a loose ribbon from her prayer book, Inoria deposited it into her pack, silently reminding herself to deal with it before the fruit began to turn. As her new companions looked on, Inoria made a small show of pouring water from a skin tied to her pack to wash her hands, wiping away the juices clinging to her delicate fingers. And once finished, she extracted a glass vial from her robes, geometric and topped with a round stopper that caught the morning light. As she opened it, the sweet, inviting scent of perfume filled the air, and she placed a single drop on each wrist of her freshly washed hands before replacing the bottle. "Well, it has been a pleasure meeting you. I'm going to head to the manor now," she said, somewhat nervously. There would be no avoiding it. They were all arrived at the same time and would all be presented to the Lady Syndra together. Inoria only hoped the somewhat disreputable appearance of her two new companions wouldn't affect her own chances at being accepted into the Lady's service. (ready to head into manor)

Not Guilty. Though, I do my best to only pay for one at a time. If I want something different, one has to get canceled first. The next person can play a musical instrument.

drug ring

I can see why. She seems like a very cool person. Whelp, in the meantime, I've got my notifications on. Fingers crossed.

May be obvious from my posting, but if more interest perks up, I am in.

True. The game mechanics do feel like they give a lot of the tone-setting power to the GM/Groundskeeper, which I suppose is as good a place as you could want to keep it. You know, maybe part of why I leapt to being overly cautious here is because of that real violence the story of Bluebeard is conjuring. Like you said, it's delicate. Because while the game is surreal and uses gothic horror to tell a ghost story, the spirits of the dead brides and servants are almost stand-ins for the specters of real women taken by violence (physical or otherwise) and the people around them too powerless or terrified to help when they could have (or at worst, complacent and active accomplices to that violence). I think part of my trepidation is just that skydiving feeling. No matter how good the system and parachute is, you feel that quailing sensation because you're about to jump out of a fucking plane. Ultimately, the game taps into powerful themes, and it makes perfect sense to be a little nervous approaching it. (Geez, I'm chewing my keyboard today. And it occurs to me that I may be pontificating these ideas a bit here because I just read Let's Go Play at the Adams' recently, and that book fucked me up)

tl;dr: Yes, I think that would work fantastically. I have concerns that may be unfounded. I think you have a good point. I would certainly write things here that I would hesitate to say aloud to the group I was pretending to be a Ninja Turtle with the week before. And holy cow, we have some talented storytellers around here that I confidently believe could tell an amazing story in the system. On the other side of the coin—and I may be giving too little credit or showing my ignorance here, so bear with me—but it might be a trap to try and play this sort of game from an erp context? Because in BBB, the sex and violence isn't 'the point,' per se. It's a means of exploring the Bride's sexual self-determination, her fears, and other themes in those veins. And intention feels like it matters a lot to the quality of game you'd get out of this. I'll use myself to hopefully explain what I mean. I have red tags for torture, watersports, and a few other things in my RP preferences. They aren't there because I can't stomach them under 'any' circumstances, but because when I'm looking specifically for erotic RP partners, those aren't ideas that get me aroused. I don't seek them out 'for their own sake'. However, this game is extremely evocative and intrigues me, and from a symbolic, narrative-driven perspective, I would be comfortable including scene beats that play off those concepts. So what happens if a group has people coming from different sides of that perspective divide? Myself, writing body horror because it evokes more grounded trauma and hopefully gets us tapping into these themes, and another writer who really enjoys the aesthetics of gore and can enjoy the description purely as an end in itself. Again, I may be totally off the mark here. That's my initial take, and I whole-heartedly concede that I tend to overthink and spin my wheels when a topic is interesting to me.

Not Guilty. Never have owned a motorcycle. Once upon a time, I thought one of those sleek, sexy sports bikes would be amazing - I just never got around to justifying a vehicle I could only use 'sometimes'. The next poster has never been on a motorcycle.

I have the PDF and played a game of Dread once where the host borrowed from BBB rather than teach us a new game. Unfortunately, I've never had the right group to play. The hardcover does look beautiful, but the digital version on DriveThruRPG isn't bad (and it's on discount right now). The guidance and play examples the book gives are haunting. My take is that the initial story and context is solid horror on its own, but as narrow as it sounds, it really gives space to explore so much more about being in an uncertain and dangerous situation where the power imbalance is staggering. You can't kill Bluebeard (he's not even really present). You may escape, with difficulty. But the journey itself pushes you to figure out who you are (as the Bride), what poisons you willingly drink and which are too noxious: how much you'll compromise—how many pieces of yourself you'll give up or cut off, how many you'll break in order to defy him (or love him). It is an incredibly intriguing concept for a game.

This was a tricky one, because the existing options felt like they covered the intuitive avenues. But I had fun chasing out the threads a bit (Always loved a good CYOA ). -- Opening -> SciFi World -> ... -- (context from SciFi World) A door hisses open, and a figure in a dark uniform steps inside. Their face is partially obscured by a visor, the flickering light reflecting off its surface. They glance at the monitors beside your bed, then turn their gaze to you. Your head throbs. Pieces of memory float just out of reach, fragments of something that should make sense, but doesn’t. Before you can answer, the figure taps a small device at their wrist. A holographic display flickers to life, casting a faint glow across the sterile walls. They skim through a list of data, nodding slightly. A distant alarm blares, red warning lights flashing through the corridor beyond the open door. Something is happening. "Welcome back." They pause, considering you for a moment. Then, they say... - If they say, "The station has nearly finished adjusting life support to host the xeno consulate, Madam Ambassador. May I suggest attaching your visor and rebreather?,” click here The cool respect in the faceless figure’s tone reflexively draws you up from the spartan bed, your chin lifting as some instinct tells you to mask the pain throbbing inside your skull—to show no weakness. Rising, the synthetic fibers of a slim, midnight-black dress wrap you from wrists to ankles, sliding over your skin as smoothly as clean oil. Circuit patterns in a glossier shade of black give texture to the regally imposing garment, providing a field for the star-and-dove badge at your breast to stand against: a silent reminder of your office and authority as an ambassador of the United Worlds. Ambassador? No, that doesn’t seem right. You’re a student…aren’t you? You were in Morocco—the pit. You were falling. And yet—you also remember taking the oath under New Terra’s pale blue sky, the cold of long months between the stars with little more than a translator comm and your loyal guard. You swallow, trying to take a steadying breath while the station’s life-support warnings continue to blare, underscoring the fractious sparking of your warring memories. “Ambassador, please,” the figure in the dark uniform repeats through the fish-eyed reflection of the visor covering his face, holding up a transparent version of the same apparatus. Despite the chill in his professional voice, you detect a hint of concern as you take the visor. Your hands adjust the clips by muscle memory, a part of you having done this hundreds of times before. With your nod of assent, the guard leads you out into the station’s central corridor. The smell of the visor’s rebreather filtering the processed air into sterile neutrality is reassuring… familiar. Finally, the hallway running lights give way to more generous solar lamps that throw your shadow to the ceiling of the station’s plasteel corridor as you approach the round vac-sealed portal into the meeting room. Each ringing step against the metal floor sends images, like individual chips of a mosaic, that form in your mind as you begin to recall who you are meeting with... - If you recall the dark claws and black chitinous body of the Xenifoe, click here - If you recall the graceful femininity and coiled head-tentacles of the Anirias, click here - If you recall the elaborate battle paint and braids of the stoic, four-armed Sparcoitus, click here - If you recall the luminous black eyes, teardrop heads, and thin bodies of the Zeta Grays, click here

No worries! Thank you very much

I was poking around (think I might have something to submit), but it looks like the Challenge page is locked.

Giving a nervous smile in reply to the dwarf's comment about her 'not looking the wilderness type', Inoria pushed a lock of hair back behind her narrow, leaf-blade ear. Had she overdressed? She'd wanted to impress Syndra by arriving in her temple robes and looking her best, but would it better show her commitment to have come looking ready for hard travel? What if she thought Inoria too soft for the journey and revoked her invitation? Inoria's slim neck pulsed as she swallowed, speaking a little hesitantly after. "Um, yes, well... I hope that my other skills make up for what I lack in bush-craft, master dwarf." As she turned to listen to Fel though, Inoria's lips curled back into a wholesome smile, her eyes scrunching as one white sleeve came up to cover her mouth in a suppressed giggle that dispelled her anxiety. The rabbit-like woman's energetic way of speaking—as well as the unexpected appearance of her adorable weasel friend—had disarmed Inoria so much that she found herself nodding along in agreement almost instantly. "You're quite right," she said. "Baldur's Gate, and the world itself, is the more lovely for its variety." As she said the words, Inoria forced herself to consider the dwarf beside them once more. Yes, in some ways he was savage and crude. His barbarism was clear in his speech and affectations. Yet, there was beauty in the strength of his arms, the intricacy of his tattoos. However, she did not physically turn to look at him again, content with the mere theoretical appreciation of some of his attributes. Much of one's devotion to the Lady of Love comprised of these sorts of exercises: contemplation and meditation to find the beautiful in the coarse and unrefined. Remembering suddenly that Fel had asked her a question, Inoria smoothed her robe and gave a short bow to her. "I am no lady. Though, I'm of Val'Beacent blood, my father gave me to the temple of Sune as a young girl. Please, call me Inoria." She would like to have introduced the dwarf beside her as well—it would have been the polite and proper thing to do in the circumstance—but to her shame, Inoria had not asked his name yet. So, she joined Fel in looking to the third member of their little trio with silent expectation.

The garden was glorious. Well kept, its trees bore beautiful, glistening fruit, and the fragrant earthy scent of enriched soil mingled with the mix of heady herbals and nearly odorless coastal greenery. Inoria had taken a brief pause to take in the loveliness, to settle her mind and practice her introduction a final few times when the dwarf had tromped through. She heard his heavy footfalls first, gracelessly stomping with the rushing cadence of a march. A guard? Looking his way, Inoria threw the idea out immediately. Shirtless, covered in tattoos and marks of previous fights, he looked like a brigand. His beard was shorn too, and Inoria tried to recall if that was a mark of dishonor in this region. Dwarven beards were among their loveliest features—particularly when they were braided and oiled. Seeing this one so rudely dressed, still bearing the soil of the road on his body, she wondered if he weren't some highwayman or mercenary. His muscled body certainly looked capable of violence—among other things. Her musings were soon cut off though, as he snatched one of the ripe fruits and began to champ away. Inoria felt herself flinch. She'd grown used to coarse men on her voyage south, but something about the way he grabbed the fruit, eating without once admiring its shine or the tree it had come from—Inoria could feel his mere presence souring her mood once more. Nevertheless, as he approached, she gave a faint bow. It was only polite. "Sir, this is the garden of the Lady Syndra Silvane," Inoria said pleasantly, the poetic lilt in her refined voice pregnant with expectation, the subtext clearly reading: Are you sure you're in the right place? Before he could answer though, a second figure spoke, and Inoria blinked in surprise that she'd not seen her approach. Doing a double-take as the emerald-eyed woman asked if she were in the right place, Inoria couldn't help but stare. She was harengon, rabbit-folk, in a black tail-coat—and lovely at that. "I suppose it depends on where you're going," Inoria answered with a bit more warmth in her words. "This is Lady Syndra Silvane's garden. I'm going up to introduce myself and join the expedition she's announced. Are you also joining?" Inoria asked hopefully. Before hearing her answer though, Inoria gave a light laugh and said, "I'm sorry. I'm Inoria. Inoria Val'Beacent."

Not guilty. I make my own pita, tortillas, and buns, but I haven't taken the plunge to try pasta. The next person spent at least a year vegetarian or vegan.

Guidance counselor

Guilty. Am I good at it? No. Have I even been skiing in the last few years? No. But I only have happy memories of going and would leap at the chance to go again. Next poster owns a dedicated backscratcher (this may or may not be the original intent of the object)

Not Guilty. I'm wrapped in a blanket, sipping tea, and trying to decide if my throat will calm down in time to run an RPG tonight or if I should go ahead and cancel. The next poster has no games installed on their phone.

once more

That is my understanding.

Gotcha. I assumed an upper city estate like Syndra's would have a gate guard to keep the riff-raff from wandering in. But I can edit if there's no one barring our entrance into the outer garden.