December 29, 2015

From “Winter Transmigration” by Ari Penfield-Cuff

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Allison Kramer was a very unlucky person.

After a bruising day as the highest woman on the corporate ladder working at a world leading agribusiness company, she found out more than she bargained for. Which was saying something, considering she had bargained for a lot–stock options, a 402(L), a company car.

But, nevertheless, after cutting through a blind alley to get to the parking garage, Allison got herself super-duper murdered.

“I bet you don’t remember me,” said the disheveled figure who confronted her with a .32. “You fired me last month. to my face. Like it was nothing.”

“Carl Winterschmidt,” Allison said. “I didn’t fire you like it was nothing. You were embezzling, and not only did I not have youo arrested, I gave you a fruit bouquet from Edible Arrangements.”

“And it fed my family for two days!” Carl cried. “After the fruit ran out, so did my wife! You die now!”

Allison barely felt the .32 ACP bullets slice through her. There was a rushing sound at her ears, the world went black, and…

…he came to holding a smoking Walther PPK, looking down over a murdered corporate lady.

“Damn,” Allison said, throwing away his gun. Not again.”

For the 27th or 37th time since her first death in 2007, Allison had gotten transmigrated again. For some reason, maybe a gypsy curse that had been insufficiently advertised, every time she died she took over the body of whoever had killed her.

The problem was, her bad luck meant she keept dying.

There was the time she was walking down a corridor and the janitor forgot to leave out the wet floor sign after he’d mopped up and then she slipped, smashed her skull on the edge of a cabinet, and died. She’d been the janitor for a year until he died in a hit and run scooter accident.

Then there was the time she got stuck under the ice saving a child from a frozen lake and woke up as a Tammy Cubbins, age 5. Or the time she got her throat torn out by a puppy, followed by three months of being a puppy followed by a further eleven of working at a “no-kill” animal shelter.

Allison sighed, and walked into traffic. Maybe she could get run over by a cool rich socialite and wake up as a cool, rich socialite with a cool, rich socialite car.

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December 28, 2015

From “God and Guaifenesin” by Finnie Gause

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The doctor was flug against the wall by a dripping green tentacle. The great mass of infectious goo, issuing forth from every orifice the child posessed, had reached the stage of its evolution in which it was big and bad enough to meet violence with violence.

Rushing to his side, the parents helped him to his feet. “What can we do now?”

“Your child needs….a Mucinexorcism,” the doctor said in a painful wheeze. “Get me…the Mucinexorcist.”

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December 26, 2015

From “CC PhageAdvantage™” by Cleared Customs

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Consumers are dumb, stupid, panicky animals. They are irrational, spurning data in favor of gut instinct and gut instinct in favor of data. Trying to change their behavior results, often as not, in unfounded rumors that your precious product causes testicular shrinkage or hyperactivity or cancer. What’s more, it’s expensive to change consumer behaviors, with a sustained campaign of misinformation being an essential component and plenty of competitors with their own misinformation.

But then we here at Cleared Customs (a division of GesteCo) had a much better idea: why not simply modify the customers themselves? It’s cheaper, simpler, and most importantly foolproof. We are therefore pleased to offer, on a trial basis in select cities, our new CC PhageAdvantage™ system. By releasing swarms of nanoscale delivery devices, we can alter the fundamental DNA of consumers and affect their purchasing behaviors, lifestyle, and physical form.

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December 25, 2015

From “S’aan T’Klaz” by Harold N. Engstrom

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Excerpted from the Ruins & Rogues Creature Compendium, incorporating materials from the Sorcerers & Sabers Interverse Guide

S’aan T’Klaz
Frequency: Unique
Size/Type: Medium Undead (Fundamental Continuum of Frost, Primary Continuum, Evil Continuum)
Hit Dice: 10d10+10 (404 hp)
Initiative: +04
Speed: 04 ft.
Armor Class: 040
Base Attack/Grapple: +040/+040
Attack: Chilling touch +8 melee (40d04+04)
Space/Reach: 04 ft./04 ft.
Special Attacks: Blizzard, Summon Reigndayr, Jellify, Levitation, Regeneration, Summon Delf
Special Qualities: Telepathy (1000 ft.), Sleepken
Saves: Fort +040, Ref +040, Will +040
Abilities: Str 20, Dex 25, Con 30, Int 21, Wis 30, Cha 04
Skills: Listen +040, Spot +040
Environment: Fundamental Continuum of Frost, Primary Continuum, Evil Continuum
Organization: Unique
Challenge Rating: 040
Treasure: Class A
Alignment: Neutral evil
Advancement: 040 HD
Description:

The vile lich S’aan T’Klaz was once a powerful dual-class cleric/mage whose quest for immortality was originally fueled by a need to advance the cause of good through judging the wicked. Eventually, this judgment turned to destruction, and while S’aan T’Klaz still rewards those he judges to be good, his standards and definitions are such that nearly all living, thinking beings are adjudged evil and destroyed if they approach him.

S’aan T’Klaz remains a powerful spellcaster and cleric, casting spells at the 20th level of mastery without the need for material components. His personal abilities, usable once per day at will, include Blizzard, a blinding whirlwind of snow and ice that causes 2d10 damage per round for 5 rounds and requires a save vs. blindness; Summon Reigndayr, which will unleash a single battle-ready reigndayr (q.v.); Jellify, which will reduce a single target to a bowlful of gel; Levitation, which will allow S’aan T’Klaz to move himself vertically by laying a finger next to his gaping nasal cavity; Regeneration, as a lich of equivalent level; Summon Delf, which will unleash 1d4 battle ready death-elves (q.v.); Telepathy, as the spell, which allows S’aan T’Klaz to know if targets have been good or evil; and Sleepken, a unique power which allows him to determine the wakefulness of any being within 1000 miles.

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December 23, 2015

From “A Statement By Oxford Biotech Pharma” by Anonymous

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Oxford Biotechnology Pharmaceuticals, a division of GesteCo Corporation, responded with a public statement today about local complaints with its controversial “Garden of Life” biodome on the 7th-17th floors of their new corporate headquarters in Cronus Beach, FL.

“Oxford Biotech Pharma is commited to innovation, and our commitment is the entire reason behind the Garden of Life facility,” said spokeswoman Miriam Nethersole. “While we can’t, for patent and trademark reasons, disclose exactly what kind of genetic chimeras are afoot in our facility, the public should know that they are peaceful and entirely neccessary for our continued development programs.”

After the statement, Ms. Nethersole took questions from the assembled news media. “No, we do not have any comment at this time about a half-panther, half-boa constrictor hybrid,” she said in response to a question about an incident last month where a Cronus Beach resident blamed such a creature for the disappearence of 17 cats. “And if we did, Oxford Biotech Pharma would assure you that any such creature would subsist on small ground rodents and birds, not cats which it would consider cannibalism.”

When faced with a question about the mysterious mauling death of Alfred Nudelmayer, Ms. Nethersole deferred. “Our operation has been certified organic and gluten-free by the administration, from whom we have recieved generous matching startup funds,” she said. “If the sort of carnivorous horror that would crave a retired deli owner from Queens were a byproduct of this consideration for the environment and the president’s faith in us–and that’s not an admission–we would, of course, be saddened. But wouldn’t it truly be the dream of every deli owner, be they retired or active-duty, be they from Queens or from the Bronx, to give life to scientific inquiry with their gruesome shredding death?”

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December 22, 2015

From “The Silent Era of Radio” by Astrid Leoni

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Of course, most enthusiasts of classic radio recall the glory days of the medium in the 1930s, and some may even have a soft spot for the rough-and-tumble early broadcasting of the 1920s. But the earliest era in broadcasting, the silent era of radio, is still largely neglected.

Silent radio broadcasts began out of an Edison company shed in New Jersey circa 1894–the exact date is slightly controversial. But the happy coincidence of a microphone left open during a mime show that was being recorded on phonograph led the Edison engineers to realize that there was market potential for silent radio. The first regularly scheduled silent radio show, the Jolly Follies, would follow. An adaptation of a popular Newark mummery, Jolly Follies was broadcast live, with intertitles, over the Edison company radio transmitter. The lack of sound meant that the carrier wave could be far less powerful and reach a much larger audience, and soon the few families that could afford radio sets were crowded around them every day at 5:45 for the Follies.

Silent radio also produced a number of phonograph discs for home listening, the most popular being a Follies competitor out of Philadelphia, the Quiet Riot. The disc, A Bully Day for Quiet Riot, sold 300,000 copies–close to one for every phonograph in circulation at the time. In a 1904 report, the New York Herald predicted that silent radio would soon overtake minstrel shows as the number one entertainment phenomena of the new century. Sadly, it was not to be.

Despite the wide popular embrace of silent radio, radio talkies had been under development since the beginning. Edison put out a radio show with a Morse code soundtrack as early as 1898, and by 1905 many silent radio shows were including sections with sound. Morse code, semaphore, smoke signals…the earliest non-silent radio shows experimented with them all before hitting on the formula so familiar today.

In turn, this spelled disaster for the established silent radio shows and stars of the earlier era. The Jolly Follies mummers spoke with heavy Slavonian accents, and the show faded in popularity despite an attempt to produce it with an all-new cast. The last episode was broadcast in 1919. Quiet Riot ended even sooner; its successor, Noisy Boys, was off the air by 1917. Stories about destitute former silent radio stars were a fixture of 1930s broadcast journalism, and due to the live nature of silent radio broadcasts, few were preserved for posterity–accounting in large part for their modern-day obscurity.

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December 19, 2015

From “Hopewell Public Library Releases Images of Pre-1923 Ghost Hunters” by the Hopewell Democrat-Tribune

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…while most readers are familiar with the media-savvy ghost hunting concerns that emerged during the boom in the early 1980s, and to a lesser extent the mid 1970s, very few people realize that ghost hunting as a profession has its roots in the early 20th century.

“These photographs, advertisements, schematics, and other materials are essential to understanding the early history of ghost hunting, which not many people know was centered in Michigan,” said project director Amanda Hughenckiz of the HPL. “Most people think of ghost hunting pre-1970 as nonsense with nets, and we aim to debunk that.”

Key items from the collection include photographs of an early horse-drawn neutron spirit-catching beam from 1904, a picture of a ghost hunt at a spiritualist going wrong that resulted in 3 poltergiests being captured and frozen in ice (a method that ghost hunters did not learn was ineffective at preventing further hauntings until 1947).

Inspired by this.

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December 16, 2015

From “The Grand Duchy of Noodland” by Ari Penfield-Cuff

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Atsui Mojiretsu was a chef at Mentoshi Noodle City, the most prestigious noodletorium in Kyoto. Locals, gaijin, and visiting dignitaries alike would often go out of their way to stop by Mentoshi Noodle City for a sample of the famous lo mein, the gourmet ramen, the spaghetti al dente, the linguini al perfecto.

But even though Mojiretsu was second only to Alto Chef Ōmugi, he was not–and indeed could not be–satisfied with his culinary creations. Mojiretsu was dissatisfied with his spaghetti in particular, and would feverishly cook and recook it whenever he had a spare moment.

In time, Mojiretsu’s obsession was too much and he was fired from Mentoshi Noodle City with regret. And yet he still cooked and cooked, brushing off those who said he made too much spaghetti. Eventually, his small home was filled to the brim with noodles and Mojiretsu was not heard from again.

Some years later, census takers entered the Mojiretsu home to find that he had made so much spaghetti that the giant mass of pasta was almost large enough to be officially classified as its own state. Entering it, they found vast rolling spaghetti plains and impenetrable fortresses of al dente noodlery.

And all throughout the noodly land there were great tales of the mysterious man who had come from they knew not where to become the king of the new spaghetti country.

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December 15, 2015

From “Krane Wupinkov, Half-Orc Bard” by Axton Wales

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Krane Wupinkov was born in 10,165 to Olga Wupinkov, one of the legendary 100 Concubines of House Vorona.

That noble and ancient House maintained the Great Harem as a breeding stock of the purest human stains as a bulwark against future uncertainties. The wry had often noted that Duke Vorona was always assumed to be of the highest stock himself, which given the curious habits of some of the Dukes, was not beyond question. The 117th Duke, reigning at the time of Krane’s birth, was notorious for converting part of the lush family estate into a gigantic Zen garden that he would spend hours raking each day.

Perhaps this is why Olga took up with an Orc of the Duke’s Own Green Host. The Host had served House Vorona loyally for many years, with their traditional lands and way of life safeguarded in exchange for military service. Needless to say, despite the 117th Duke’s proclivities, the birth of a half-orc child in the Great Harem was the cause of no end of scandal, and Olga promptly found herself dismissed.

Returning to her former station, that of the lowliest peasant, with her son, Olga found it very difficult to make ends meet. Krane therefore fell in early with the gangs of street toughs in the Voronan capital of Olengrad. His considerable strength and cunning made him rather successful as a cutpurse, cuthroat, and cut-rate street performer. Though Olga wished for her son to go into the priesthood, he instead was noticed by Manyfingers McGee of the Olengrad Fortune Guild and trained as an assassin.

Krane asserted to his mother that this was functionally the same as the priesthood because in both cases he was bringing bad men closer to their maker.

As an assassin, Krane was very successful, able to use his unmistakably Orcish appearance to lull adversaries into underestimating him. He racked up over 100 successful kills but was increasingly distant from the profession. Olga’s stories of the rich and easy life available to nobles inspired him to begin using his earnings to try and make himself presentable in polite society.

Thus, despite his thick Olengrad Rus accent and massive 6’5″ frame, Krane poured his money into lessons on etiquette, dancing, and performing. Specifically, he trained under the legendary heavy metal performer Deejay Singh in the arts of the electric mandolin. Heavy metal was, after all, the traditional music of the Green Host. Armed with an electric mandolin, Krane set out to buy his way into high society as a half-Orc bard.

Wearing the finest clothes and trying to practice his manners, Krane is nevertheless on the blunt side and apt to resort to stabbing as a frustrated expedient. He is also completely mercenary, looking out only for himself and possibly his mother, though he will warble a heavy metal ballad on his electric for the right price.

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December 11, 2015

From “Simulation Terminated” by Bernard S. Roberts

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“Taos, I hereby declare an emergency in Chandrakant’s cabin. An emergency wrapped up in a security breach wrapped up in a total vacuum. It really sucks. Give me access via override.”

“NO!” Jai shouted. “Taos, override the override! Captain’s direct orders!”

“I am sorry, sir, but I must comply.” The door opened with a slight rush of air as the pressure equalized, revealing Myassa clutching a hull brace that was dented in on one end. Her features, dark but delicate, were contorted in anger. The jet-black combat hijab scarf she always wore only accentuated the effect, like a Halloween wreath.

“Myassa, wait!” Jai cried. “Just a second! You don’t understand!” The Vyaeh were almost within range of the missile strike that would knock debris out of orbit and rain megatons of ice and rock upon them.

“I understand all right, Chandrakant.” Myassa strode up to Jai, batted aside his feeble attempt to stop her, and pulled the power cable that connected his game system to the ship’s central power supply.

“NOOOO!” Jai wailed. He grabbed the screen and watched as the afterimage of his battlecruiser faded to black, all his progress in Fleet Simulator: Great Campaigns lost. “I was about to turn the tide at the Battle of the Inner Belt! I had them!”

Myassa smirked, and tossed the power cord into Jai’s lap. “At first I thought it was cute that you think your little toy starships are as important as the real one you’re supposed to be captaining. But that was about six months ago. Taos?”

“Five months, thirteen days, seventeen hours, forty minutes, fifty-seven seconds, and-”

“Right, that’s enough.” Myassa fixed Jai with the full force of her best grimace. “I sent you a text message a week ago about this.”

“I…I’m a little behind on my messages,” said Jai, his tone mournful over the sudden and irretrievable loss of his imaginary ship.

“Then start checking them,” said Myassa. “It’s not hard. You know what is hard? Making the necessary preparations for landing without your permission!”

“But…well, once there are so many messages…so many unread messages…it just gets intimidating, you know?” said Jai, raising his hands. “It’s just easier not to deal with it.”

“Easier for you, maybe,” Myassa said. “Why didn’t you respond to any of my calls? I thought something might be wrong with the shipboard server until Taos ran every diagnostic in the book twice.”

“I didn’t get any calls,” said Jai. “Maybe you were sending them to the wrong place? Maybe there was a hardware failure?”

“On a ship with four people aboard? When the only way to get a hardware failure is to scoop out your communications implant with a melon baller?” Myassa spat. “You’ve been deliberately ignoring me. Or blocking me. I’m not sure which is worse.”

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