Steve (extract from rpgsoca mailing list):We got HOL rulebook, we got Buttery Wholesomeness. So we're going to run a game, and if you want to play you damn well better be there by 1 because we ain't gonna take no whining snivelling 'Sorry I'm late my car keys got eaten by a Wastit' shit because we don't have TIME. SO BE THERE YOU GOD-DAMNED MUTHA FUCKIN-...
Andie (extract from rpgsoca mailing list):HOL will be arriving in Oxford. Not literally of course, HOL being a planet, but you know what I mean. To give you some sort of a clue about the kind of game HOL is, the letters stand for Human Occupied Landfill. There is the Confederation of Worlds, a large group of planets with names like Cozee IV, Jackson V and the disco planet Travolta IV. Then there are the boundary worlds.
Then more light years than you can imagine away from that there is HOL. People who commit crimes (varying from bad dancing on Travolta IV to owning far too many big guns for any other planet.) get sent to HOL.
The players of this wonderful game play the criminal, big gun obsessed, insane but otherwise perfectly normal inhabitants of the planet. Also sharing the planet are the Wastems, small, cute, furry, edible and everywhere. Except the ones which are vicious killers with great maws of teeth (Wastits) but otherwise identical. There are the Sodomy bikers (description really not needed) and the wonderful Diaper swamps.
You can think of a character in advance but it's not necessary if you would prefer to wait and see the book. There will be the wonderful 'Steve and Andie HOL character creation system' (TM) which will provide opportunities for completely (well sort of actually partly) random characters as well as those carefully planned.
Extracts from the wonderful 'Steve and Andie HOL character creation system' (TM):1 kudo to roll on a chart (once per chart only), except Mollusk and Doughnut, which are free, and Totem which is different. You have to buy at least one chart roll. No, you can’t see the charts in advance, you scabby min/maxing munchkin frog.
2 kudos for a really cool gadget like biggish gun, biggish armour, groovy vehicle (Flash Rogers jetpack, teeny tank), power groverr.
3 kudos for a really really cool gadget like a fuck-off gun, people’s medium sized star fighter, big armour, porcupine armour, light cutlass.
You get the idea.
You also get 4 cool gadgets for free.
Pass the HM a drink/some food/a large wad of cash.
You lose: Congratulations! You have won our exciting star prize! A luxury one-way pleasure cruise for one to a mystery destination. Good night, and thanks for playing wheeeeeeeel of torture!
4: Who knew that ritual sacrifice of barnyard animals was illegal? Aversion therapy left you with an unreasonable fear of cows (must make a nuts test if one is seen) and a kinda fuzzy warm feeling.
6: Those were the droids they were looking for.
8: What could be better than a relaxing day’s fishing, followed by three months on the run from imperial troops because apparently that was Lord High Inquisitor Morty’s private lake? All sorts of things, actually, but at least you caught 2d6 Swedish fish (each heals 1d6 levels damage when eaten) and a guppy.
10: You are the avatar of your totem. Double all positive stat bonuses, and take on the physical attributes of the animal. You are transported to HOL for unlicensed anthropomorphic personification.
11: Arrested for unlawful heroics in a public place (section 23764, clause 372), you are summarily executed. It then transpires that you are possessed of DC immortality ... you do not die, but return in a later issue with longer hair. In desperation, the authorities transport you to HOL. Your hair is already 3d6 inches long.
12: After ten years smuggling unstable explosive enzymes, radioactive mutagens, unapproved literature and balloon animals, doing the kessel run in under 25 yards, shouting at princesses with whom you are inevitably going to sleep, deciding at the last moment not to abandon the rebellion after all, having a large fuzzy copilot called ‘screwy’ and being an all-round nice guy, you are booked for 153 counts of double parking. Operate starship and chew gum at the same time 4, decipher languages and mumbled cooing sounds 3, shooting kinda laser pistol sized guns 4. You get a starship (in orbit, minus jumpslug, but with a really really bored fuzzball).
5: You were a frog, but instead of a princess were only kissed by the third daughter of a minor baronet. Her husband was less than entirely pleased with the bills from the mental asylum for curing his beloved of amphibiophilia, and employed a crack team of lawyers to pass them on to you as quickly as possible. They find an applicable sub-clause every 2d6 days and send a billco ... bailiff-o-matic to collect 1d6x100 chits or any spare bodily organs you happen to have.
7: Son of a bitch.
8: Against all gynaecological probability, you were born in the saddle, on NOMAD VI, the trails of ponies trotting across the wind-blasted steppes planet. Operate/train pony 4, dramatic entry 3, a pony (hull 3 / mod not big / speedosity 15 / turnableness +3 / eats carrots like you wouldn’t believe).
11: Born into the media. Maw and paw (double dash, she says. Et, she says. I ask you. I’ll type what I bloody well type, and she can live with it) were both anchors for the local imperial news relay full stop. (there, look). As a child, you were bed in treachery, nursed in diplomacy and lulled to sleep in hypocrisy ... soon a star yourself. Make friends and influence people skill cluster at 4, mouth +2, crickets love you. Well, they spend a lot of time around you at least.
1: Swim, on account of being an octopus not a snail, and therefore free to roam unburdened by cumbersome shells through the seaways of... ah. Sorry. The seaways of HOL are so thick with toxins as to resemble the results of a collision between a ‘my first discovery of chemistry and global genocide kit’, an interstellar dump ship hauling waste from Smogg IV, the polluted planet, and a bowl of treacle. Suffocate if lucky; die in hellish agony if not.
2: Move before getting stepped on.
3: Approach local mollusk protection racket bearing a gore-x rotary tenderiser and bladecaster, and ask if they aren’t suddenly in need of a little protection themselves, hmm?
4: Declare jihad on garlic butter. And Frenchmen. AND certain black ink.
5: Apply for a promotion to lobster.
6: Make a rulesmastery+greymatta roll to observe that page 24 of the rulebook, when viewed in the light of the footnote to page 1845 of buttery wholesomeness and section 27 of the hamster manual clearly indicates that I could only successfully be turned into a mollusk on a roll of 23 or more on the all-encompassing general chart that can be applied to everything (except for the stuff we had to make other charts for). Roll a you lose, and get turned into a particularly stupid mollusk that other mollusks think is thick and slow and boring.
7: Inform the HOLmeister that tiggers, perl, the current plot and in particular that last NPC are all things so wonderful as to inspire belief in a higher power, and comment that the higher power, if extant, is surely not very much higher than the HM (if indeed anything else can be so high), and fervently hope that the grace of god pool is not yet empty.
8. Get hit over the head by a walrus and be a very silly flat thing.
You Lose: In an unfortunate biogenetic engineering accident, you were permanently grafted to a pushbike. The bike automatically regrows if damaged, but detached parts shrivel to nothing immediately. HOLs atmosphere has caused the bike to rust completely solid. Hull 6 / Moderately not big / Speedosity 0 / turnableness n/a / -3 to feets.
3: Heavy warhorse called Blossom. Hull 10 / Mod not big / speedosity 20 / turnableness +4 / needs food, water, air to operate.
5: Yugo. Affordable, economical, sensible, crap. Hull 2/not big enough/speedosity 60 /turnableness 4.
6: Harling-Darritson gooper-slide. Big touring bike thing. Hull 8 / mod not big / speedosity 80 / turnableness +1.
7: Ax-67 bestial thing. A man’s vehicle. Tough, looks great, weapons available, handles like a double decker bus. Hull 15 / somehow quite hittable / 64 / 0.
You Lose: Hole. You suck.
3: Custard. You suck.
4: Tungsten reinforced steel. You have no teeth, and therefore cannot help but suck.
5: Deep-fried Wastem. You rebel you.
6: Iced. Small children regard you warily with suspicions of deviancy.
7: Vanilla. Boring. You might as well be a sea cuke.
8: Apple. Your pseudo-avante-guard posturing impresses nobody.
9: Butterscotch. Mmm... butterscotch... sticky.
10: Dunked in coffee. Beware. Sugar and caffeine is a dangerous mix.
11: Jam. Cool.
12: Chocolate: way cool.