The Source of All Nothing that Ever Wasn't
(Remember these? I got sucked in again.)
You open one of the 996 boxes on this floor and find...
Five tons of flax.
144 cans with can-of-nuts-style pull-to-open rings, labeled "WHUP-ASS" in a variety of cheerful colors. Opening one causes all hell to break loose; everyone in sight other than the opener is pummeled senseless by invisible blunt instruments.
A jewelry box of unadorned dark wood, with the interior lined with red velvet. A piece of paper lists the box's contents as one ring of invisibility, though nothing at all is visible. Further examination will reveal a permanently invisible ring in the box; it does nothing when worn.
A glass container labeled "Irony." The lid of the container is locked with a small gold lock. No amount of force can break the glass or the lock. Inside the container is a small gold key.
Absolutely nothing. In fact, you have located a black, inky deposit of pure lack. Nothing is in it - it may actually be the source of all the nothing that ever wasn't.
A recent edition of the New York Times with a banner headline declaring "Professional Wrestling Fixed! Senate to Launch Investigation."
A human skull that recites Hamlet's famous soliloquy. After a few minutes, it mumbles for a moment, before demanding, "LINE!"
A black-furred pug-dog. If questioned, he refuses to give away any information other than his name, rank and serial number. He speaks with an upper-class British accent. If the dog is shown anything with the all-seeing pyramid symbol, he will immediately shriek "The Hun! The Hun! I must warn Her Majesty!" and bolt for the nearest exit. Note: I like this one because if I opened the box, depending on what I was wearing, he would bolt the secocond he saw me.)
One of the Secret Masters' wallets. They'll be grateful to have it back. Whether or not you want their brand of gratitude, well...
A delicious looking pound cake that always weighs a pound, no matter how much is torn off and eaten.
How could anyone throw THIS away? It's...
A dog with bees in it's mouth, so that when it barks it shoots bees at you.
A fine selection of Chocolate-Covered Mayonaisse Balls, some Reese's Tuna Cups, and a Better Holmes and Watson's recipe for anchovy milkshakes.
A large Type computer printout, which if read will with rappiditty conwince yu for shawk and alarum tag suelli Sh'tlok bathz Cippeoeoli lubb lubb C'thulu u chebbak gyre and gymbol freely in the slime of elder creation! Now! To THE PUMPS!!!
A titanium carrot(named Gertrude). By holding it in front of any person will cause them to do whatever you will on promise that they get the carrot after completing the task. After completion of the task, the bearer is mysteriously obligated to give the carrot to the assigned task-worker.
The holy brail: any who are blind, and can read it will be granted everlasting good breath.
A large soft plastic shaker of "Smokeless Baby Powder." It greatly reduces the inherent smoke and fouling associated with normal baby powder, making fully automatic babies possible.
A small, silver whistle. When blown, it creates a pocket of 'anti-time' for a brief second around the user, allowing him/her to avoid a melee hit or a missile weapon.
A metal surface, with many 4"x1" slots, a dial, and a lever. This 23-slice toaster burns a pyramid with an eye into both sides of every slice.
A paperclip bent into an impossible shape.
Ow! You got a splinter.
A thick marker. If used to write a number on an object, that object, no matter how tough or brittle, can then be broken by a sledgehammer into as many distinct pieces as the number written. Similarly, it can be used to draw a line to indicate exactly where you want an item to break.
A toy monkey, the kind that bangs cymbals together. It has an easily located on/off switch and functions perfectly. There seems to be no wind up key or place to insert a battery. Cutting the monkey open reveals nothing but cheap stuffing and disconnected wires leading from the switch.
-----
I'd love to run a Cyberpunk style game about the Warehouse. It would be the most confusing, trippy game ever. Warehouse 23, the RPG.
Ask the players which character role they'd like to play: reluctant hero, stern mentor, loyal sidekick, love interest. Any more players can be other typical character types.
Do not tell the Hero anything about the game, except the following: he is a Joe Everyman who works the front security desk in a large skyscraper. It can be a hotel, apartment building, some big buisiness, or even just a Warehouse. He has never been anywhere else in the building except his boss's office down the hall, the dining hall, the bathroom, and the Warehouse in the basement. He makes minimum wage. People only rarely come in and out, including the other players, but mostly Suits. It is the Hero's job to check authorization of people entering.
His other responsibility is to sign for incoming mail. Packages arrive regularly in boxes of ever size, and he must see that they are put away in the Warehouse that exists in the underground levels of the building. With the exception of the occasional odd character or unique package, life is normal and boring.
The Hero has no mysterious or tragic past, and no special abilities outside of normal human range, with the possible exception of being very perceptive. He does not know anything about the other characters except that they must work for the same company. The GM will never help the Hero with hints in any way, in or out of the game.
Everyone but the Hero can have access to normal cyberpunk abilities, such as augmentations, martial arts, or psychic skill. The other characters will have more information, some more than others. The players will be Strongly Advised to protect their secrets and discouraged from sharing information in any way, especially with the Hero. Each player will be told pieces of the following:
-- The building is under the control of some Illuminati-type group of your choice: a branch of government, a cult, any secret organization with an Ordinary Front. One must be Authorized to do just about anything within the org, and there are Dire Consequences for rule-breaking, even if the rules are seemingly nonsensical. You are not told any more than you need to know.
-- One of the characters is an Inquisitorial type - the other characters do not know who it is. This character must be fed by the DM in secret, with changing objectives and information. There may be more than one Inquisitor in the group, but they do not have to have the same information, and may be of different rank.
-- At least one character must be told that he needs to protect the Hero at all costs, but it must also be implied that the Hero is somehow dangerous or Knows Too Much.
-- There is Something that wishes to destroy/take over the organization. It may be another Secret Org (cult, govn't, mob), or aliens, monsters, Old Ones, Outsiders. Or it can be more than one Something. How much each player is told is up to the GM.
-- The other characters can choose whether or not to tell the others of their status within the Org. They should hold whichever positions are appropriate for the type of Org they're in - spies, special ops, priests, engineers, bad ass accountants.
-- The other characters can choose any alligence they wish, even those opposing their Org. They may try to work against the group, or manipulate the group to do other things. Each character does carry appropriate identification that designates them as an Org member (a card, tattoo, implant, etc).
-- The key of the plot is the Warehouse is below the building. The Hero is the only one with authorization to be in the Warehouse (though the others do have the option of rule breaking). The party may use whatever they find there, particularly the Hero, since he has no other abilities. The GM will pick objects at random from the Warehouse, though they can weed out stuff if they wish. (Touching a toaster that sends you back to the Jurassic period may not be appropriate for the game, for example.)
Most important to the game is the pervading sense of paranoia and paradox. At any time the GM can decide that any previous background information the characters know is untrue, a coverup, or misinformation. This includes everything, even which organization they work for, which enemies they are fighting, and what the party's objective is.
Each step forward can be a step back. They can turn out to all be serving an opposing organization, or summoning demons to destroy the world. Or they can all turn out to be serving different masters. Or they can really turn out to be Heroes.
The Setting can be any city type at any time from now forward - the Hero can live in turn-of-the-millenia New York, or in a 40k-like Hive World, anything that can be tweeked for appropriate conspiratorial paranoia.
Daily plots can include everything from direct frontal assaults on the Warehouse to sneaky complex plans involving NPCs, to totally asinine things like "Deliver this letter to 123 5th Street, Do Not Open, fnord". The GM must also not tell the players exactly what an object does, unless that character has some way to figure it out.
(So it's kind of like INWO crossed with Call of Cthullu, I guess? I never played CoC, so I'm not sure.)
The biggest problem is that you wouldn't be able to propose the game to anyone, because they'd already know the plot.
-----
I just found a box with "A brand-new copy of Hello Kitty 40,000.". GG, Warehouse 23.
You open one of the 996 boxes on this floor and find...
Five tons of flax.
144 cans with can-of-nuts-style pull-to-open rings, labeled "WHUP-ASS" in a variety of cheerful colors. Opening one causes all hell to break loose; everyone in sight other than the opener is pummeled senseless by invisible blunt instruments.
A jewelry box of unadorned dark wood, with the interior lined with red velvet. A piece of paper lists the box's contents as one ring of invisibility, though nothing at all is visible. Further examination will reveal a permanently invisible ring in the box; it does nothing when worn.
A glass container labeled "Irony." The lid of the container is locked with a small gold lock. No amount of force can break the glass or the lock. Inside the container is a small gold key.
Absolutely nothing. In fact, you have located a black, inky deposit of pure lack. Nothing is in it - it may actually be the source of all the nothing that ever wasn't.
A recent edition of the New York Times with a banner headline declaring "Professional Wrestling Fixed! Senate to Launch Investigation."
A human skull that recites Hamlet's famous soliloquy. After a few minutes, it mumbles for a moment, before demanding, "LINE!"
A black-furred pug-dog. If questioned, he refuses to give away any information other than his name, rank and serial number. He speaks with an upper-class British accent. If the dog is shown anything with the all-seeing pyramid symbol, he will immediately shriek "The Hun! The Hun! I must warn Her Majesty!" and bolt for the nearest exit. Note: I like this one because if I opened the box, depending on what I was wearing, he would bolt the secocond he saw me.)
One of the Secret Masters' wallets. They'll be grateful to have it back. Whether or not you want their brand of gratitude, well...
A delicious looking pound cake that always weighs a pound, no matter how much is torn off and eaten.
How could anyone throw THIS away? It's...
A dog with bees in it's mouth, so that when it barks it shoots bees at you.
A fine selection of Chocolate-Covered Mayonaisse Balls, some Reese's Tuna Cups, and a Better Holmes and Watson's recipe for anchovy milkshakes.
A large Type computer printout, which if read will with rappiditty conwince yu for shawk and alarum tag suelli Sh'tlok bathz Cippeoeoli lubb lubb C'thulu u chebbak gyre and gymbol freely in the slime of elder creation! Now! To THE PUMPS!!!
A titanium carrot(named Gertrude). By holding it in front of any person will cause them to do whatever you will on promise that they get the carrot after completing the task. After completion of the task, the bearer is mysteriously obligated to give the carrot to the assigned task-worker.
The holy brail: any who are blind, and can read it will be granted everlasting good breath.
A large soft plastic shaker of "Smokeless Baby Powder." It greatly reduces the inherent smoke and fouling associated with normal baby powder, making fully automatic babies possible.
A small, silver whistle. When blown, it creates a pocket of 'anti-time' for a brief second around the user, allowing him/her to avoid a melee hit or a missile weapon.
A metal surface, with many 4"x1" slots, a dial, and a lever. This 23-slice toaster burns a pyramid with an eye into both sides of every slice.
A paperclip bent into an impossible shape.
Ow! You got a splinter.
A thick marker. If used to write a number on an object, that object, no matter how tough or brittle, can then be broken by a sledgehammer into as many distinct pieces as the number written. Similarly, it can be used to draw a line to indicate exactly where you want an item to break.
A toy monkey, the kind that bangs cymbals together. It has an easily located on/off switch and functions perfectly. There seems to be no wind up key or place to insert a battery. Cutting the monkey open reveals nothing but cheap stuffing and disconnected wires leading from the switch.
-----
I'd love to run a Cyberpunk style game about the Warehouse. It would be the most confusing, trippy game ever. Warehouse 23, the RPG.
Ask the players which character role they'd like to play: reluctant hero, stern mentor, loyal sidekick, love interest. Any more players can be other typical character types.
Do not tell the Hero anything about the game, except the following: he is a Joe Everyman who works the front security desk in a large skyscraper. It can be a hotel, apartment building, some big buisiness, or even just a Warehouse. He has never been anywhere else in the building except his boss's office down the hall, the dining hall, the bathroom, and the Warehouse in the basement. He makes minimum wage. People only rarely come in and out, including the other players, but mostly Suits. It is the Hero's job to check authorization of people entering.
His other responsibility is to sign for incoming mail. Packages arrive regularly in boxes of ever size, and he must see that they are put away in the Warehouse that exists in the underground levels of the building. With the exception of the occasional odd character or unique package, life is normal and boring.
The Hero has no mysterious or tragic past, and no special abilities outside of normal human range, with the possible exception of being very perceptive. He does not know anything about the other characters except that they must work for the same company. The GM will never help the Hero with hints in any way, in or out of the game.
Everyone but the Hero can have access to normal cyberpunk abilities, such as augmentations, martial arts, or psychic skill. The other characters will have more information, some more than others. The players will be Strongly Advised to protect their secrets and discouraged from sharing information in any way, especially with the Hero. Each player will be told pieces of the following:
-- The building is under the control of some Illuminati-type group of your choice: a branch of government, a cult, any secret organization with an Ordinary Front. One must be Authorized to do just about anything within the org, and there are Dire Consequences for rule-breaking, even if the rules are seemingly nonsensical. You are not told any more than you need to know.
-- One of the characters is an Inquisitorial type - the other characters do not know who it is. This character must be fed by the DM in secret, with changing objectives and information. There may be more than one Inquisitor in the group, but they do not have to have the same information, and may be of different rank.
-- At least one character must be told that he needs to protect the Hero at all costs, but it must also be implied that the Hero is somehow dangerous or Knows Too Much.
-- There is Something that wishes to destroy/take over the organization. It may be another Secret Org (cult, govn't, mob), or aliens, monsters, Old Ones, Outsiders. Or it can be more than one Something. How much each player is told is up to the GM.
-- The other characters can choose whether or not to tell the others of their status within the Org. They should hold whichever positions are appropriate for the type of Org they're in - spies, special ops, priests, engineers, bad ass accountants.
-- The other characters can choose any alligence they wish, even those opposing their Org. They may try to work against the group, or manipulate the group to do other things. Each character does carry appropriate identification that designates them as an Org member (a card, tattoo, implant, etc).
-- The key of the plot is the Warehouse is below the building. The Hero is the only one with authorization to be in the Warehouse (though the others do have the option of rule breaking). The party may use whatever they find there, particularly the Hero, since he has no other abilities. The GM will pick objects at random from the Warehouse, though they can weed out stuff if they wish. (Touching a toaster that sends you back to the Jurassic period may not be appropriate for the game, for example.)
Most important to the game is the pervading sense of paranoia and paradox. At any time the GM can decide that any previous background information the characters know is untrue, a coverup, or misinformation. This includes everything, even which organization they work for, which enemies they are fighting, and what the party's objective is.
Each step forward can be a step back. They can turn out to all be serving an opposing organization, or summoning demons to destroy the world. Or they can all turn out to be serving different masters. Or they can really turn out to be Heroes.
The Setting can be any city type at any time from now forward - the Hero can live in turn-of-the-millenia New York, or in a 40k-like Hive World, anything that can be tweeked for appropriate conspiratorial paranoia.
Daily plots can include everything from direct frontal assaults on the Warehouse to sneaky complex plans involving NPCs, to totally asinine things like "Deliver this letter to 123 5th Street, Do Not Open, fnord". The GM must also not tell the players exactly what an object does, unless that character has some way to figure it out.
(So it's kind of like INWO crossed with Call of Cthullu, I guess? I never played CoC, so I'm not sure.)
The biggest problem is that you wouldn't be able to propose the game to anyone, because they'd already know the plot.
-----
I just found a box with "A brand-new copy of Hello Kitty 40,000.". GG, Warehouse 23.