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venenum-cadaverinus · 3 days

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#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #virtual photography #baldur's gate #my game screenshots #regulus mortuus #my gameplay #astarion ancunin #gale #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios

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oldpedro · 2 months

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Minha história com RPG e como moldou minha adolescência (ENGLISH AT THE END)

Minha história com RPG de mesa começou a cerca de 19-20 anos atrás quando comecei a conversar sobre com um amigo de transporte escolar onde ele comentou que seu tio jogava um "jogo de tabuleiro com magos, cavaleiros e dragões". Com o tempo fizemos certa amizade e um dia fui até a casa dele, o tio dele estava jogando Age of Empires 2, eu já conhecia o jogo e jogava um outro RTS na época que se chamava Tzar: O Peso da Coroa (Tzar: The Burden of the Crown) que foi o que consegui encontrar na época de mais parecido (e hoje até prefiro) com AoE, mas enfim estou me perdendo no assunto...

Nesse dia entre uma brincadeira e outra ali correndo pela casa e pelo quintal encontramos as xeróx do livro do jogador da 3E de D&D lendo aquilo sem entender nada das regras mas entendendo tudo do lúdico foi como se minha mente tivesse explodido, tentamos emular uma sessão ali em dois mas foi um completo fracasso, ainda assim eu estava decidido a conhecer mais a respeito desse mundo recém descoberto.

Morando em cidade pequena (na época ainda menor do que hoje que está totalmente abarrotada de pessoas) pra ter acesso a uma livraria que tivesse algo diferente de Paulo Coelho (nada contra, até gosto), livros espíritas e auto ajuda eu tinha que ir até a cidade do lado onde havia uma livraria dentro de um shopping lá eu procurei sobre RPG pela primeira vez, porém sem referência alguma apenas escolhi um livro pela capa e lá estava ele... Me apaixonei de primeira, uma pena ter perdido esse livro com o tempo, adoraria ter ele comigo até hoje.

(Capa da Terceira Edição de GURPS versão gringa)

Claro que GURPS não é lá o melhor sistema para uma criança de 12 anos se aventurar em aprender RPG mas teve de ser assim eu não tinha mais nada além disso e ficava "persuadindo" amigos incautos a testar e era ÓBVIO que eu era um mestre no mínimo terrível. Após alguns anos desistindo de tudo e já mais interessado em música ali pelos meus 13 anos conheci uma loja de discos que o dono por algum motivo simpatizou comigo e começou a me mostrar diversas bandas de Thrash e Heavy metal o que me levou um ano depois pro New Metal junto de uns amigos e mais pra frente pro Punk e Hardcore.

Essa rapazeadinha que curtia um New metal também jogava RPG e foi ai que eu voltei a buscar mais e mais coisas relacionadas com o hobbie, o porém era que eles todos jogavam em sua maioria apenas 3D&T o que supria minha necessidade mas... Não era o que eu queria, afinal eu tinha lido GURPS eu sabia que existia mais do que aquilo podia me oferecer e no fim das contas isso me levou diretamente pro Daemon o que foi maravilhoso, joguei tudo que podia em Daemon mas sem nunca me arriscar a mestrar algo que me nutria bastante insegurança até pelo menos uns 10-11 anos atrás quando comecei a mestrar.

(Ian MacKaye - Minor Threat, foto por Tiffany Pruitt)

Cada vez mais envolvido com a contra cultura, movimentos de ação direta, criação de zines e afins por conta de toda minha aproximação com o rolê punk e agora com a internet um pouco mais difundida eu ao mesmo tempo que baixava gigas e gigas de bandas japonesas e finlandesas do mais puro suco de música ruim (que eu amo) eu também começava a me aprofundar mais no meu nunca jogado GURPS ali descobri todo tipo de suplemento, li postagens de forums sobre o sistema e passei a entender melhor o RPG como um todo e ai topei com o famigerado GURPS cyberpunk e dali pra frente minha relação da contra cultura com o RPG passou a fazer cada vez mais sentido e se esbarravam de diversas formas. Assim meu amor pelo RPG e pelo Punk/Hardcore nasceu e cresceu em simbiose e hoje é parte integral de quem eu sou.

No fim das contas eu falei, falei e não disse nada... Acho que o que eu quis dizer com tudo isso é que eu sempre quis ter um zine/blog de RPG onde eu pudesse expor um pouco sobre mim e sobre como o hobbie se relaciona com as minhas vivências.

Um salve a toda ralé, a todos que se rastejam, aos comedores de lixo e os moradores dos becos, a escória de erguerá!

Boa semana e boa aventura a todos!

ENGLISH HERE \/

My story with tabletop RPG began about 19-20 years ago when I started talking about it with a friend from school bus who mentioned that his uncle played "some kind of tabletop game with wizards, knights and dragons". Over time, we developed a certain friendship, and one day I went to his house; his uncle was playing Age of Empires 2. I already knew the game and played another RTS at the time called Tzar: The Burden of the Crown, which was the closest thing I could find back then (and even now I prefer it) to AoE, but anyway, I'm getting off topic...

On that day, between one tag game and another, running around the house and the backyard, we found photocopies of the Player's Handbook for D&D 3E. Reading it without understanding any of the rules but grasping everything about the fantasy was like my mind had exploded. We tried to emulate a session there, just the two of us, but it was a complete failure. Still, I was determined to learn more about this newly discovered world.

Living in a small town (back then, even smaller than it is now, completely overcrowded) to access a bookstore that had something different from Paulo Coelho (nothing against him, I even like his work), spiritual books, and motivational coach shit, I had to go to a nearby city where there was a bookstore inside a mall. I searched about RPG for the first time, but with no reference I simply chose a book by its cover, and there it was... I fell in love at first sight. It's a shame I lost that book over time; I would love to still have it with me today.

(GURPS 3rd Edition Cover - not mine)

Of course GURPS wasn't exactly the best system for a 12-year-old to dive into learning RPGs, but it had to be that way because I didn't have anything else, and I was constantly "persuading" unsuspecting friends to try it out, and it was OBVIOUS that I was, at the very least, a terrible GM. After a few years of giving up on everything and becoming more interested in music around the age of 13, I stumbled upon a record store where, for some reason, the owner took a liking to me and started showing me various Thrash and Heavy Metal bands, which led me a year later to New Metal with some friends, and later on to Punk and Hardcore.

The group of friends who were into New Metal also played RPGs, and that's when I started searching for more and more things related to the hobby. However, the problem was that they mostly played 3D&T, which fulfilled my needs to some extent but... it wasn't what I wanted. After all, I had read GURPS; I knew there was more out there than what that system could offer me. In the end, this led me straight to Daemon, which was wonderful. I played everything I could in Daemon, but I never dared to GM anything, as it filled me with a lot of insecurity until at least 10-11 years ago when i start DMing.

(Ian MacKaye - Minor Threat, picture by Tiffany Pruitt)

Increasingly involved in counterculture, direct action movements, zine creation, and the like due to my proximity to the punk scene and now with the internet a bit more widespread, I found myself simultaneously downloading gigabytes of Japanese and Finnish bands, the purest essence of "bad" music (which I love), while also delving deeper into my never-played GURPS. There, I discovered all sorts of supplements, read forum posts about the system, and began to understand RPGs as a whole better. That's when I stumbled upon the infamous GURPS Cyberpunk, and from then on, my relationship between counterculture and RPGs began to make more and more sense, intersecting in various ways. Thus, my love for RPGs and Punk/Hardcore was born and grew symbiotically, becoming an integral part of who I am today.

In the end, I've talked and talked, but I haven't said anything... I guess what I wanted to convey through all this is that I've always wanted to have a RPG zine/blog where I could share a bit about myself and how the hobby relates to my experiences.

A salute to all the rabble, to all those who crawl, to the garbage eaters and alley dwellers, the scum will rise up! Have a great week and happy adventure to all!

#rpg #role playing games #punk rock #punk #hardcore punk #d&d #old dragon #regulus mortuus #dungeons and dragons #osr #old school

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queefy-5-layer-burrito · 19 days

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Not sure if it’s really finished so much as I’m tired of working on it. The eternal question. Anyway, look at my wife.

Reference photo by @venenum-cadaverinus https://www.tumblr.com/venenum-cadaverinus/736315185575444480

#bg3 #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #my art #bg3 art #astarion art #bg3 fan art #digital portrait #digital art

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diiirrt · 7 months

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Masterslist ~

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FanFics ~

L’ennemi - Theseus Scamander

Amaire - Fred Weasley

Jus Drein Jus Daun - Bellamy Blake

Error - Peter Pan OUAT

Teach - Theodore Nott

Cryptis - Daemon Targaryen

Zaldrīzes- Aemond Targaryen/Jacearys Velaryon

End of a beginning - Regulus Black

Desire - JJ Maybank

Manaka- Tom Riddle

Mortuus Vivus - Carl Grimes

OneShots ~ (Working in Progress)

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confunduis · 6 years

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mortuus est, et periit.

featuring: sirius and regulus black. setting: a clearing in the woods surrounding the muggle park near grimmauld place, where the black brothers used to play as children. word count: 1345 !! requested by: anonymous.

a/n: i may have ( unintentionally ) broken my own heart with this piece. but just . spirit-regulus and sirius give me so many feels ?!?!?!?! i regret nothing.

Arms draped over the long stretch of mahogany bar, chin resting against the dark, scuffed wood, Sirius locked bleary, red-rimmed eyes with his own disheveled reflection in the mirror hanging directly above the display of numerous, name-brand bottles situated behind the bar ( advertising all manner of muggle drink, none of which was strong enough to stave off the seemingly bottomless well of emotion threatening to pull him down, down, down—into the abyss of mental turmoil and self-castigation. )

His baby brother—his little Reggie, with his beseeching, dark brown eyes and shy, hopeful smile—was...gone.

Without a trace, his body missing.

Assumed dead.

A mystery the aurors, his alleged comrades-in-arms, had endeavored to solve with all the earnestness of a group who simply hated to leave things unfinished—and given his brother’s alleged ties to that genocidal maniac who fashioned himself the dark lord of change, it was obvious where their resolve had originated from. But it hadn’t been long before they’d decided to blow the whistle on their hunt for answers...after claiming their limited resources had to be put to better use, of course.

But Sirius wasn’t stupid.

He knew why they’d begged off after a measly seven days, and if Regulus had been anyone else, he wouldn’t have blamed them for it. Why work yourself to the bone for an alleged death eater? What was the point?

Merlin, he wanted to rail against the injustice of it all.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t right.

Regulus had been eighteen.

Just eighteen. Too damn young to carelessly end up in a pile of missing persons reports on someone’s cluttered desk.

Of course, Reggie wasn’t the first to go missing these past two years...nor would he be the last. Objectively, he understood that. This was war. People were bound to get hurt—or worse.

But no amount of logic could ease the blistering ache in his chest or the painful dryness of his throat.

It hurt to think of his brother as one of the lost ( hurt so bloody much that his stomach churned at the very thought of never laying eyes on Regulus again, his eyes burning with suppressed tears. What right did he have to cry, though? He’d ignored the younger boy throughout most of their adolescent years, missing so many opportunities to make up with him—to assume the role of protective, older brother as he’d promised all those years ago...before obligation, jealousy and rebelliousness had torn them apart.

And now it was too late. )

“Fuck,” he muttered into the cacophony of voices, enthusiastic shouts, and jeers echoing through the bar.

Obnoxious twats.

Dropping his gaze to the counter, the self-acclaimed marauder bit the inside of his lip—hard enough to raise welts but not nearly hard enough to keep the more...creative expletives from slipping free.

No longer could he stand to look himself in the eye, knowing what he did.

That maybe if he’d paid closer attention to Reggie, he would’ve seen it...seen what their mother was doing by filling his head with her pureblood elitism bullshite.

That maybe if he’d kept a closer eye on him—looked out for him as he’d done when they were children—he’d be here, alive, today.

“Hey, buddy,” an irritated voice cut in, but Sirius ignored it, having decided not to bother acknowledging the annoying bartender’s presence until he pointedly cleared his throat a couple times. Only then did he lift his head to stare mulishly at the bartender, whose pierced eyebrow was raised in expectation. And maybe a little disgruntlement. “You going to order anything or what?”

“Or what,” he bit out, pushing himself away from the bar with a grimace, feeling strangely lethargic and heavy. Like he hadn’t moved in days, maybe even weeks.

“Suit yourself.” The man gave a nonchalant shrug, before turning his attention elsewhere. Which was just fine with Sirius. He didn’t want or need the attention, anyway. He just wanted to forget...everything, at least for a little while. And since noisy muggle bars weren’t doing it for him, he’d have to find another way.

With a grunt and one last lackadaisical wave at the bartender, who wasn’t even looking in his direction, he stumbled out of the bar and into the crisp night air, acting for all the world as if he was drunk when, in reality, he was as sober as he’d ever been—the first time in ages.

But Merlin, he wished he wasn’t ( seriously desperately wished he could drown his sorrows at the bottom of a firewhiskey barrel. )

It might have made his trip from point a to point b slightly less difficult. Slightly less...frustrating and depressing. But somehow, some way—and with hours to kill—he found himself standing in the middle of a familiar clearing, the sounds of rustling birch leaves and swaying grass bringing a bittersweet smile to his lips.

“Why?” He whispered, gazing up at the canopy of stars overlooking the world, an endless stretch of darkness strewed with speckles of milky white. “Why’d you do it, Reggie? Why’d you give your life for something so...so..?” What—trivial? Ludicrous?

Did it even matter at this point?

No.

He was gone.

End of story.

“Stupid, stupid boy,” Sirius croaked, forcing the words through a throat that had grown painfully dry and uncomfortably tight as poignant memories of a childhood spent avoiding their harpy of a mother with only one another for company kicked up a fuss, reminding him of a bond he’d nearly forgotten in the hectic, chaotic aftermath of his escape—the precious bond of brotherhood.

I’m sorry, Siri.

A sob caught in his throat, and he clenched his fists against his sides, his knuckles whitening under the strain of his grief. It was so powerful that it nearly bowled him over, invisible fingers squeezing his heart until it felt as though all the air had been wrung from his lungs.

“Me too, Reggie.” Me too.

Regulus Black gazed sadly at his brother, fingers twitching as he watched the once proud man fall apart; heart-wrenching sobs filled the meadow, raw and desolate and filled with so much pain that if he hadn’t already given his life for a worthy cause—the utter destruction of a dark lord—he very well might have buckled under the weight of Sirius’s grief, very nearly overwhelmed by the onslaught of despair that washed over him like a tidal wave, strong enough to drag him under and more than intense enough to assimilate with the regret and heartache he was forced to weather through every day.

“Siri,” he whispered, his tone melancholic as he took a step forward, hand extended as if wanting to comfort the brokenhearted man. “Please don’t cry.” His fingers, silvery and translucent in death, slid through his brother’s trembling shoulder. Disappointed, he slowly lowered his hand to his side and turned his dejected gaze toward the narrow brook that had, once upon a time, been the focal point of their childish whims, when nothing had mattered except for the fun to be had in one another’s company.

And look at us now.

His family—their House—was truly lost now.

But the worst part of it all had nothing to do with familial responsibilities.

It was this missed opportunity to reconcile with his rebellious older brother that caused him the most pain...that burned like bile in the back of a throat that no longer functioned as it should.

Because, contrary to popular belief, the afterlife wasn’t the perfect anesthetic to pain so many muggles hailed it as.

In fact, depending on the situation, sometimes it hurt more.

Just as it did now.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, falling to his knees at Sirius’s side, his own grief leaving tear-tracks on his cheeks, small, crystalline tracks that blended into the paleness of his skin. “I’m so sorry, Siri.”

Sorry I was weak...Sorry I couldn’t be more like you.