conworlds.info

[Fetus Commander]

I don't know how many people here read www.cracked.com, but it's basically a kind of internet magazine where contributors post funny or entertaining articles about random stupid bullshit. It's addictive, and i always find that i get linked there and wind up reading the linked article, plus like 9 other ones that are linked to it.

Example: http://www.cracked.com/article_18389_the-5-most-widely-believed-wwii-facts-that-are-bullshit.html

I had made a suggestion on the "What Are You Thinking" thread that we make similar articles about our conworlds. The good thing about cracked.com that i've found is that almost all the articles link to other interesting stuff, so even though the article has self-contained humor, you usually wind up clicking randomly on a lot of things that can be inspiring or weird or whatever. I'm pretty sure at least a few of the ideas in my conworld have come from off-links to wikipedia found on Cracked.

So here's my basic idea: write a Cracked style article about your conworld. It doesn't have to be a TC of the one above, or any article, but it should be similar in structure. Try to aim for fun, over-the-top levity, or amusement, as opposed to authoritative or historical tones. Most cracked "points" (the numbers, like, say #6) are around 400-700 words or shorter, so it doesn't have to be long. Your list should go in Descending order, as they are lists of the "Top" whatever. So the "bang" should go at #1, while you start high and countdown.

Finish up one of your points and post it here. So if you wanted to do an article called "6 Fucking Awesome Species From Zambu (And Why They're Scary)", just post point 6 so there's not much immediate wall to break through. Once someone else posts, post another point, or even start a new article if you so desire. Mark this thread up with comments, and remember to link to some of your material in the articles

edit: if you want to do the same ghetto centering i did with images, use:

[ color =#DEE3E7]centercentercentercentercentercentercentercentercentercentercentercenter[ /color ] if you're a "blue post"

or

[color =#EFEFEF]centercentercentercentercentercentercentercentercentercentercentercenter[ /color ] for a "grey post"

with no spaces

I figured i'd add some formatting to make reading a bit easier/more interesting
_________________

“Learning would forever spoil the best slave in the world…it would forever unfit him to be a slave." -Hugh Auld

[Fetus Commander]

5 Melkrin Party Schools (That You Don’t Want To Go To)

If you’re from Old Earth, you might not think dictatorships know how to rock and roll. You’re wrong.

Now, if you’re from melkrin, chances are you’re not reading any of this. Likely because you’re illiterate, and can't afford a computer. But if you could read, you’d probably agree that the typical melkrinite is down to jive well into the night. And nowhere is the Party more beboppin', the State more altered, and the truth serum more free-flowing than in melkrin’s institutions of higher reeducation.

But are you wacky enough to pull an all-nighter with the future cogs of authoritarianism? Ready to mosh your jackboots in a pit filled with the stateless enemies of Government?

Read on!

centercentercentercentercentercentercentercentercentercenter#5. The Oratory at Wenilhane

centercentercentercentercentercentercentercentercentercentercentercenter
centercentercentercentercentercentercentercentercentercenterWard Churchill, probably not licensed to party at The Oratory

Are you a gay male of Native American ancestry, living roughly in the 35th Century AD? Are you down with the divine right of kings? Do you want to tamper with the universe? If so, you’ll probably be right at home in Wenilhane’s premier state university.

The Oratory, centerpiece of Fuir-Nim’s Cooperative Logic apparatus, resides in the High Government province of Wenilhane. It's been described by some alumni as "A fine shithole," placing it in a kind of Poison Ivy League among other mucky-muck melkrin colleges.

The prestigious faculty includes writers and other “degenerate artists,” imprisoned and forced to reside as ‘professerfs,’ transcribing their works into forms usable by the fictional-industrial complex. Like listening to deranged artniks ramble? Good. You’ll spend your days combing through those ramblings until you’ve got something that you can use to persuade the angels to rewrite parts of the cosmos. Welcome to 4+ years at The Oratory!

How they Party:

Like American Gladiators? Hate women? Love chattel slavery? Well, you’ll feel right at home in the Oratory’s Greek life.

Unbridled access to slaves has created what’s become a favored fraternity hazing rite at the school: Free LARP. In this derivative of Live Action Role Play, slaves stand in for monsters or fantasy creatures- a positive affront to the real monsters and fantasy creatures who attend the school in small numbers- after being haphazardly released into the abandoned bomb shelter underneath the school by a Slavemaster. I guess the D&D reference isn’t necessary, since the guy is an actual slave master. Enter an armed band of fraternity apps, for a night of hazing and possible dismemberment. Exit the shrieking ghost of Frederick Douglass.

Of course, releasing several dozen armed slaves beneath a college campus is a little dangerous, and the administration looks down on such shenanigans. But hey, it’s college- fuck the (fascist) authority!

Why It Might Suck:

centercentercentercentercentercentercentercentercentercentercentercenter
centercentercentercentercentercentercentercentercentercentercenterThis guy was not a Free LARP player

If your fraternity has a Greek Council that is particularly draconian (or particularly rich, as many slave owners tend to be), it’s very possible you’ll get the odds stacked against you. You might encounter some dick willing to throw like 100 of his strongest slaves against you. And that would suck, because you might die.

Also, like many Grognardly RPG circles, the status of women is a little dicey here. Fuir-Nim has State-mandated homosexuality for a reason, albeit not a sane or logical one. You see, the ideological beliefs of Lord Nim relegate women to, err, chattel. Thus, women make up most of the aforementioned slaves. It’s a bro-only thing.

But while bromance may be great for getting pickup games of hacky sack going, you might get burnt at The Oratory if you’re one of those college dudes going to school for the ‘tang. Burnt with a hot poker. Hmm, no that sounds like a gay pun. You might get... flogged... with a leather strap? Well, what I’m getting at here is that it’s against the law. Think 1984. Or uhh wait, are the 80’s too gay?
_________________

“Learning would forever spoil the best slave in the world…it would forever unfit him to be a slave." -Hugh Auld

[Blake]

6 Of The Baddest Demons In The Solar-System (And Why You Don't Want To Meet Them In A Dark Alley).

If you've been living under a rock (or in gravi-stasis) for the past 200 years, you might be a bit irreverent to the authority of demonic gods; this could be a fatal mistake.

But if you were on Earth in the high time of the digital collapse, you know enough to mind your P's and Q's around the darker realms of metaphysics and its masters.

Are you ready to peek into the maddeningly surreal? Brave enough to learn about something which the mere knowledge thereof could just as easily doom you as save you?

Read on!

centercentercentercentercentercentercentercentercentercenter#6. The Fate-Mangler


Do you have something important to do? Particularly an important appointment or life event upcoming in the near-future? Something *so* important, it means more to you than life itself?

If so, you may not appreciate what the Fate-Mangler has in store for you.

The fate mangler sends omens of death, which promise that death will occur mere moments before an important event comes to fruition-- unless that event is abandoned and the subject does a couple small favors to the fate-mangler.

The fate-mangler is in effect running a well-oiled pyramid scheme, and feeding off of the discord it sews- and in the process, never even has to talk to anybody, act upon the world in a perceptible way, or reveal itself at all.

So, you walked out on the love of your life on the day of your wedding- and instead? That banana peel you had to drop off at the third aisle of the grocery store at 4:15, three inches to the right of the cosmo-flakes?

That was somebody else's demise; one who didn't give proper respect to the demonic god, and master of chaos- the Fate-Mangler.
_________________
I never disallow civil discussion, and I don't even have the authority to if I wanted to (which I don't want to). If discussion were made impossible just because of a contrary stance, nobody would ever discuss anything. Don't let my disagreement, however strong, stop you from speaking your minds.

[Leo]

That was harder than I imagined. Did I write it for the people of Arbei or the forum readers who don't know much, if any, about Osara? What kind of ironic pictures or links could I use that would not reference to elements too particular to the real world? I appreciate Fetus Cmdr and Blake's posts even more knowing how difficult it is, even if I probably missed some of their references.

Top Five Reasons why Mages Die Young or Live Unhappy in Arbei

So you wish real real hard to become a mage's apprentice, and a hero in the eyes of your village's bumpkins? Think twice. Ever considered a second whether the grave look of those fabulous masters of skills might not be due to the overwhelming strength of superior enlightenment?

Reason #5: It looked more fun when you were a kid

Playing the mage, pretending you could have any branch bow down so you can pick the best fruits, that the fiercest animals were your faithful friends and you were about to save the kingdom from the imminent danger, all that was great and easy. You hadn't seen much of the world then.

If you train hard and you're lucky, you'll end up a war mage garrisoned in the duchy of Adakri and within the first year you'll die a quick and gruesome death in the claws of the Roksa who are, to put it mildly, tenfold stronger mages than us poor Ebeis, and would overwhelm us in a night if they weren't that quarrelsome and disorganized. Pray you don't survive the attack and remain insane with the infamous scorpion fever for the rest of your life, running naked in the desert trying to catch mice between thumb and index.

The next, less fortunate post is at the border to Siwi territory. You will bore yourself to death in endless watches in the cold wind because the Siwi have long understood they should undermine the kingdom from within rather than engaging into random skirmishes. Once in a while you might see some Siwi girl playing the succubus which will provide you with a much needed diversion from reality but will leave you with a traitor's mindset that will get noticed sooner or later. Mage jails are the most uncomfortable place in the world.

But the worst that can happen to you is working at the court of some illiterate baron that has no clue about magic and treats you like a freak. Being a messenger promises you sleepless nights and bleak days, chronical headaches and appetite disorder. Round the clock on the watch for the weak message that crosses the Aika, for the dirty smell of the spies tapping on the flow, you will age faster and learn to hate everybody and yourself, and will long to turn a renegade mage starving in the woods.

If you're a girl, flee to the Queendom of Arostos at once, as your life and death as a mage will be -somewhat- more enjoyable than in Arbei. This is undeniably true if you're from the principality of Armon, where there is no such thing as a female mage, only witches to burn at the stake. If you're a boy from Armon, consider fleeing to Skaisal or Balkis, since in your "land of true magic" -as your princes like to call it- the princes like to be the sole owners of magic, and even the male mages end up on the stake more often than political stability demands.
_________________
I was Kinetiq in a past life. Here is my world: Osara (reloaded)

[Fetus Commander]

lovin' these so far

I like the idea of Fate being predatory, as that's an unusual way to resolve all the paradoxes surrounding fate/predestination/etc. What favors do you do for it to make it leave you alone though?

That's a nice view into the magehood Leo, and i like the idea of an article trying to steer people away from magery as "just another shit job". A lot of details about your world woven in there too. Burning dudes at the stake is <3

I hadn't really thought of whether i wanted to do my article from "my" point of view, or from someone in the setting. I wound up skewing more towards my POV and the real world references (which are fine on this thread if you want to use them), but for my conworld that usually fits.

Keep it up guys, and remember- it's cool to hot link your own stuff from here, or wherever too
_________________

“Learning would forever spoil the best slave in the world…it would forever unfit him to be a slave." -Hugh Auld

[Fonori]

5 Reasons why you don't mess with the Xala Golag

The Xala, the Cloned Xala, those big flying lizards from Jed? Yeah, they say over and over they'd rather just destroy their portals and ignore a world than try to wage a war, but don't let that pacifist rhetoric fool you, if you mess with one of their security, or with one of the other ones where a security dude can see you, you WILL be out of commission for a bit and probably be dead.

Reason #5 Natural Weapons

Forget about those fancy blasters and forcefields and shit. In a real fight, Xala hardly even use those. No, your real problem is a whole lot more basic, and a whole lot harder to take away.

I'm talking about talons, claws, beak. A Xala's talons have three-inch claws at the tip of each digit, that'll leave a mark for sure. Not only that, one digit has a hooked claw like what you see on a velociraptor, they catch you with that and you are gutted, plain and simple. Add to that three smaller claws at the bend of each wing and you got a mess of sharp, pointy objects ready to tear you apart.

Next, talk about the beak. A Xala's beak is powerful enough to break your bones and tear your body in half -- literally. And if they're kind enough to let you live with a bite, their mouths are full of nasty alien bacteria that your immune system hasn't seen in its worst nightmares. You wonder why they're breath smells? Take that smell as a warning -- mess with me and you will die a slow, painful death being eaten away from the inside, by genetically engineered pathogens that will do exactly what they are intended to do.

As if that wasn't enough, all Xala are trained in a sort of self-defense martial art that uses all these weapons. The security guys get extra training -- making them sort of like Tony Jaa only with claws, a bone-breaking jaw and -- don't forget -- frikkin' WINGS. More on that below ...

[Blake]

[Fetus Commander]

Oh yeah hur dur, the pyramid scheme is a pyramid of omen-droppers; i just reread it, and your new example made it click.

But yeah, the lowest points on the list are the most extreme. So #1 should be a fuckin doozy.

[Rorschach]

6 Epic FAILs That Changed Galactic History

We living, sophont beings are, of course, far from perfect. When it comes to the big stuff, we try to make things go as perfectly as possible. And, you know, we have to. When the lives of 4.9 trillion sentient beings are at stake, as they are in the First Ten Nations, one snafu could mean all-out war (especially when the Five Prime rear their ugly heads, or what passes for their ugly heads anyway). Below, we give you six epic FAILs that, for better or worse, changed the course of galactic history.

#6: Long-Distance FAIL

Background:

This one is actually from a long time ago, much before humans had even come into contact with the FTN. This is from so long ago, the First Ten Nations were only the First Four Nations--the D'Sari, the !Bungg, the Sons of Angels, and the Architects. Heck, Juomes Tarquin wasn't even born yet. This one just goes to show that a universe without the Five Prime can still be a sucky place.

What happened:

The Sons of Angels were conducting weapons tests in orbit around the first planet in their home system. They were trying on a ship-mounted particle beam for size, planning on using it to rain relativistic death down on hapless cities from orbit. (For those of you that don't know, a particle beam is just what it sounds like--a beam of tiny particles accelerated to ungodly fractions of the speed of light.) However, their technicians sucked, and one of the test platforms began to sway wildly, shooting off its near-light-speed projectiles as it did so. Now, we shouldn't have to remind you of this, but we're going to anyway: There is next to zero friction in space. Throw a baseball, and barring it hitting something or getting sucked into a gravity well, it'll go on forever. This was painfully learned when, several minutes later, a cargo freighter was hit with the emitted beam orbiting around the fourth planet. The ship would have been damaged enough, but the habitat section got hit, and, as you ought to know if you made it beyond the first grade, the Sons of Angels live under sixty atmospheres of pressure. You can fill in the rest.

Why it changed history:

It was this demonstration of the destructiveness of particle-beam-based weapons at long distances that finally got works pushed through the FTN to get them banned from use, a ban which has remained in place for thousands of years and which has been a [understatment]rare[/understatement] point of agreement between the D'Sari and the Five Prime. Theoretically, an errant shot could be fatal even at fifty-thousand light-years. Nobody really had thought too much about it up until this unfortunate incident. Now we know better.

[Leo]

Wake up the show? I'm preparing Reason #4 (Demons are not a metaphor)
_________________
I was Kinetiq in a past life. Here is my world: Osara (reloaded)

[Nugan]

How did I miss this? Oh well.

6 Shitty Jobs (Made Shittier By A Magical Fantasy Universe)



centercentercentercentercentercentercentercentercentercenter#6. Trench Warfare

The Shitty Job:

The First World War was not fun times. Mustard gas. No Man's Land. Hundreds of thousands of casualties to gain a few feet of territory. Not to mention the glorious life-affirming adventures to be had living in a damp ditch in mud up to your ankles with two hundred other men while being shelled by an enemy you will probably die before you ever see. Oh, and dank, muddy pits crammed with soldiers? Microorganisms say, "Fuck yeah!" So not only would you have to try to sleep at night between a hand dug latrine and the skeletal remains of your friend Billy, but you'll have to do it while listening to a man with severe dysentery empty his bowels five feet away while composing proto-modernist poetry.

So how could it be worse?

Necromany.

Wait, whut?

Think about it. You're a world power with a near infinite treasury to piss away in battle. In fact, it's more cost effective to invest in perpetual warfare than to surrender and face decades of reparations and sanctions. Thank Kofi Annan that you'll eventually run out of soldiers who are alive, willing, or able to fight. Oh wait, you live in a ridiculous magical fantasy world? Fuck, zombies.

Suddenly with the help of the unit's personal necromancer, your tour need not end in that body bag. No, a little handwavium and you're back fighting again, and again, and again. Oh well, at least now you don't have to worry about disease or gas attacks, right? No, but instead there are carrion beetles and uncontrollable gas buildup inside your intestinal tract. And that vague hope to return home after the war is over? Well, forget it. You're state property now. You're less the infantryman and more the horse. Only there's an incentive to provide care for horses.

Well, at least with an undead army of renewable soldiers the war will be over pretty quick, right? What, you think the other guys don't have necromancers too?
_________________

[Blake]

centercentercentercentercentercentercentercentercentercenter#5. The Avamnus


On the first day, the receptionist and company security forget who you are, and it takes half an hour to get in late for work. When you get home, the dog goes crazy, and has to be put outside.

On the second day, your co-workers and boss don't know who you are either, but you are in the computer system, so they figure you were transferred in from another office, and let you work anyway- when you get to your cubicle, it has been cleaned out of your personal effects. When you finally get home, your neighbors don't know who you are, and your children have forgotten your name.

On the third day, you can't get into work at all. Your favourite fast food place has even mysteriously dropped your order from its system. When you come home, your wife calls the police, having no idea who you are. That night you try to get a hotel room, and find out that there's no record of your credit cards or the I.D.s you hold, which are confiscated as the authorities are called. You spend the night in jail.

On the fourth day, the police who arrested you can't figure out who you are, or how you got into the cell; your holding cell mates have no recollection either. They begin processing you for release, and then seem to forget. You sit there all day, handcuffed, and nobody notices you. You call out to people, and get not response. Tripping people gets you noticed for less than a minute. Eventually you're unlocked to be processed, but the person processing you forgets you before you get to the room, and you leave the building unnoticed.

On the fifth day you make it home, and your family doesn't seem to notice you. You wait on the couch, and sleep in the bed with your wife, and nobody knows that you're there- seeing, but not being seen.

Over the weeks and months ahead, you become increasingly aggressive and violent, attempting to get their attentions for instances at a time until you snap and kill them all, or break down and give up.

At this point, the grace and forgiveness of amnesia is granted, and the story ends in coma of the thinking mind-- while two more stories begin, as the Avamnus grows another head in your lost body, and chooses two more subjects.

The Avamnus may seem more frightening than the fate-mangler, but it does have one weakness; it expresses itself through its heads, which are physical forms.

All one must do is kill the head that is following one around, and one is freed of the Avamnus. Unfortunately, one is generally incapable of noticing the head, which is expressing the very feature the Avamnus ultimately curses one with.
_________________
I never disallow civil discussion, and I don't even have the authority to if I wanted to (which I don't want to). If discussion were made impossible just because of a contrary stance, nobody would ever discuss anything. Don't let my disagreement, however strong, stop you from speaking your minds.

[bloodb4roses]

[Nugan]

[Leo]

The game's getting more and more thrilling. Great writing guys, each in his style.
I'm a bit late for my #4. Working on it.
_________________
I was Kinetiq in a past life. Here is my world: Osara (reloaded)

[Foolster41]

The ideas of relations between different races seems to keep popping up in my mind, so here's mine for Salthans. Actually I'm not sure about what the last 2 will be.

4 Salthan Stereotypes and why they're crap
During the years of the war in the human countries (including the human country that was SUPPOSED to be the Salthan allies) it was common to see "scale-face" performers dress as Salthans and present the very stereotypical idea of what Salthans were like. Some may argue that, at least in the countries who were at war against the Salthans it was a war and it is common practice to ridicule ones enemies during war times, but that isn't really justification for rascist behavior.

4.) Salthans Hisssss...


Thattt's "Entertainment"?

Of courssse becaussse their reptilian, it's assumed they must sssound like thisss like a sssnake. Even though Lizardfolk have evolved from reptiless, not ssnakes. (Ok, I'm done with that). Additionaly, anyone who's actually heard a Salthan will know this in an instant. Yes, the letter "S" is common in the Salthan language, but it's just as common in the common human trade language. [1]

3.)Ice water, snow or below freezing water will kill a Salthan instantly.

For some reason there is the idea that a Salthan will simply melt away like the wicked witch of the west with nothing but a bucket of cold water.


"I'm melting! meeelting!"

This is an instant fail for a few reasons. First of all, Salthans have a tradition of dipping their children in very cold water as a part of coming of age ceremonies and so the fact that there are Salthans over the age of 10 proves that this is bunk. Also, the fact that this was never even considered during the lengthy and violent war that lasted nearly a century would be another hint that this this is bunk.


Would be standard issue weapon.

[1] With apologies to TV Tropes.com
_________________
"You don't have a soul, you are a soul. You have a body." - C. S. Lewis
The Bikaesh Foundaiton
Lawful Neutral

[Tharivious]

The Top Six Planar Powers and Why They'll Kill You For Serving Them
So you think you've got it all. A cushy job in the temple, telling people what to do because you were told everything you needed to know by that distant voice that came through the rippling portal in the mirror kept locked away upstairs. Well, that cushy job isn't all its cracked up to be. Here's to the top six worst bosses you could possibly ask for.

#6: Niargard, the Warlord of Destruction
We always heard growing up that you should respect other people's property. You should never break something that isn't yours, and if you do, you should offer to have it replaced. Let's face facts, though, people. Breaking things is fun, and it's even more fun when you didn't buy it in the first place and dont have to pay for it. You get a certain sense of visceral satisfaction when you just go ahead and smash something against the wall, or the floor, or a window...


...or someone's head.

Niargard tells us that we're just groovy for enjoying that sense of satisfaction. Destruction is a perfectly natural impulse, and we're entitled to pursuing it. Hell, possessions are temporary anyhow, you can't take it with you when you die, why should someone elses shit be more important to you than yours?


It may be temporary, but you can still look like a badass on the way out.

Why it sucks to work for him:
You know that whole "Their shit doesn't matter, smash it anyway!" thing? Guess what: your shit falls into that same category to all of your coworkers, family, friends, and the rest of the congregation. Sure, you can go around snapping canes and breaking plates, but don't think for one second that you'll get any sympathy from them when your fancy jewelry gets smashed with a hammer.


The Bishop Don Magic Juan is a high ranking figure for a reason, folks. His bling blinds anyone that would harm it.

It gets worse. Not only do your worldly possessions amount to roughly handfuls of dirt to everyone around you, but your life is about equal to a handful of pebbles. If you get uppity about losing your favorite tea cozy at the church fundraiser, don't be surprised when your boss punches you right in your face, then stabs you with the knitting needle you made it with for being a little bitch.


All the more reason to keep those needles sterilized...
_________________
Veghinix Wiki
Halls of Infernus Wiki
Fiction and Illustration gallery

[Rorschach]

6 Epic FAILs That Changed Galactic History

#5: Russian FAIL

Background:

This is much more recent--about seven hundred years ago. Anyway, before the Period of Eurasian Succession and the rise of the Tuva, the Ural States, and all the little token republics that you all know and love west of the Urals, there was a rather large and obnoxious stash of hard alcoh--er, country called "Russia". Russia historically was the main contender with the United States for dominance in just about anything except electronics and mass-manufacturing (which went to Japan and a now-defunct has-been country called China). Anyway, the US had just come out with a Thurgood-class military spacecraft, the most advanced vehicle up until that time (although now it's more outdated than the Attum-Smasherz). Not to be outdone and fully aware of how their influence had been being steadily eroded, the Russians raced to complete their own military spacecraft.

What happened:

The craft (codenamed "хорошенький", which is Russian for "pretty" and also "colossal failure waiting to happen") was horribly designed. A rush job, the wiring was horrible, the heat rejection was awful, and the weapons management simply abysmal. While making a highly publicized test, something overheated in the engine section of the ship, and this initiated an epic failure of the engine. What followed was a double explosion: The back end of the ship folded first, then the weapons, which, as mentioned before, were inadequately housed. The result of the most expensive fireworks display ever to grace the skies of human space was a planet-sized egg on Russia's face.

Why it changed history:

This effectively ended Russia's major influence on a humanity-wide appreciable scale. In the aftermath of hearings, firings, and killings, Russia started to finger-point and squabble within itself. Soon, constituent parts of the country began to break away. There was no centrally unifying agent, and within two and a half centuries, the Russian rump state was limited to the contiguous segment that was on the European continent. Sixty years later, even that had degenerated into a bunch of micro-states, somewhat harkening back to the times of feudalism in some places. The modern countries that we are all aware of evolved in their stead. Also, with Russia out of the way, the United States (and pretty much everybody else who was capable) gained greater control over space and the associated policies, which, as you all know, led to today.
_________________
[Insert witty and/or profound saying here]

Lawful Neutral
Economic Left/Right: 2.12
Social Libertarian/Authoritarian: 1.49

[thedukeofnuke]

I've not posted on this board for ages. Here seems like a good place to post

4 Ideal Places To Live (That Really Aren’t)

#4: Zemẽ (Meduzís)

Or Jeméin, as those crazy foreigners call it.

If you were going to live somewhere in Meduzís, you’d probably choose Zemẽ. It’s right by the sea, within spitting distance of some really nice beaches; it’s surrounded by beautiful green farmland producing all the beer and cider you can drink; and unlike Kes-Meduzís, breathing the air for more than five minutes won’t give you cancer.

What’s so bad about it?

If you knew any history at all you wouldn’t need to ask that question. But we’ll fill you in anyway. Back in 2259 – just 53 years ago, for those of you who can’t do sums – the king of Radrakut decided to wage glorious war against Srayet.
“So what?” you might say. Well, they ended up capturing Zemẽ. Some years later Tsanomai went all angry about Meduzian missionaries thousands of miles away in Tsenprait and the whole thing ended up with a trade embargo. And Tsanomai started importing all its coal from Radrakut.
“So what?” you might say. Well, the Meduzian government didn’t like them finding ways round the embargo, so in 2284 they captured Radrakut’s most important port besides Tumáchema. Which just so happened to be Zemẽ.

As a result of this, of course, Zemẽ has a rich and diverse cultural heritage. And is full of militant groups trying to return the city to Radrakut. Or Srayet. Or whatever. No matter how beautiful and picturesque a city is, it’s hard to appreciate it properly when there are well-heeled terrorist cells making daily attempts to blow up your apartment, or your favourite tavern, or the tram you take to work in the morning. It’s generally suspected that there are people high up in the Radrakan government shipping mortars and kegs of gunpowder to a lot of these jokers, but there’s no real evidence because people who find any real evidence tend to end up at the bottom of the harbour.


A common sight in downtown Zemẽ.

For the less affluent, rioting is a popular sport. Any window below the third storey is guaranteed to get a brick through it sooner or later, and the same applies to your teeth. And if you can afford to buy a carriage, it’ll get overturned and set on fire within a week of you buying it.

Don’t forget, too, that the police are a bit edgy as well. Of course, these are the police in Meduzís’ most dangerous city, so they’re armed with some pretty heavy weaponry. It should give you some idea of the situation that they’re the nation’s only police department to use frickin’ sabres for crowd control. How good are you at resisting arrest? Not that good.


Ok, how good are you at resisting strangulation?
_________________
Live and let fry

[thedukeofnuke]

#3: High plains (Maraubon)

The glamour of the frontier is pretty well ingrained everywhere in the Valley. Every kid growing up out in the sticks in Mardosayo or upcountry Jaireche has heard of the heroes of the high plains – Īthāski, Fiseizáres, and the rest – and wants to grow up just like them. These days Maraubon looks like a pretty appealing place to move to, with plenty of open space, the promise of wealth and opportunity, and even free land grants from the government of Ushenshe. You can simply much go out there and set up a farm or a cattle ranch anywhere you want – as long as somebody isn’t there already.

What’s so bad about it?

Somebody is there already. Quite a few people, actually.
The Kingdom of Ushenshe makes free land grants are for a reason, and it’s not altruism. (Altruism in Ushenshe? Pull the other one, it's got bells on.) It’s because they want to clear the current occupants out to make room for lots of good, hard-working, faithful, and obedient citizens. Said current occupants are less than thrilled.


Your friendly neighbourhood nomad raiders.

The main native group out there are the Hartíre, who are known for their traditions of leatherworking, horsemanship, and beating the crap out of anyone who trespasses on their tribal lands. Their great-great-great-great-whatever grandfathers brought down Maraneibi and they haven’t exactly gone soft since then. Even for experienced settlers they cause major headaches by galloping out of the distance, killing off anyone who’s outside, burning down the buildings and killing off anyone who’s inside, looting and/or raping anything that’s left, then galloping back into the distance.

Did we mention that they pack jezails with three times the range of your little pistol?

Now, said settlers have been observing these tactics for generations. In a surprisingly large number of cases the response has been “Shit, that looks awesome! Maybe I should do some looting, raping and burning too!” So maybe you won’t get killed by some filthy heathen, but instead by a God-fearing Ushenshan. Not that it makes much difference. And of course, there will be other ranchers who are just very keen to keep you off their land – and maybe off your land too, with the help of some “hired guns”.

Oh, and in case you thought setting up a farm out there would be easy...


Pretty much all of Maraubon looks like this. Inviting, isn’t it?
_________________
Live and let fry

[Tharivious]

#5: Scyllja, Freysia, and Tellest: The Trinity of Temptation
So that's all pretty obvious, right? A violent and destructive leader will get you killed, or at least badly beaten. But, surely, working for three beautiful women who encourage all manner of promiscuous activities from their followers can't go wrong, right?


And the scenery is nice, to boot!

Just picture it, you get to spend your days surrounded by nothing but naked flesh and an endless variety of possible sexual encounters -- and it's all free. Actually, you get paid to live this lifestyle. Not only that, but you've got a convenient hookup with a medical staff that can cure any pesky venereal diseases you catch along the way.


Syphilis? More like syphi-less!

Why it sucks to work for them:
Well, aside from the aforementioned venereal diseases? The job smells. Let's face it, sex has a certain. . . aroma associated with it. When your job involves spending half of the day overseeing and tending to the participants of said orgies, you're breathing in a whole lot of sex-stank. Hours upon hours, bodies upon bodies worth. A veritable cocktail of. . . well, you get it.


See what I did there?

And what if you've got hangups about what you will or won't do on the job? Good luck with that. If you're a manly man that doesn't want Big John from down the road popping your anal cherry, but Big John comes around and thinks you're cute, you'd best believe it's in your job description to keep your customer happy. Even if that means succumbing to undesired surprise buttsecks.
_________________
Veghinix Wiki
Halls of Infernus Wiki
Fiction and Illustration gallery