One Thousand Club
The world watches with tired eyes as the mandatory corporate concert goes into its third act, another group of clean young men dressed very nicely, strumming away at a song that's been pumped through everybody's ears over and over for weeks and weeks. The same four chords fall on the same four beats, the same four haircuts with a jacket and tie instead of a personality. When they get to the fifteenth chorus, however, the stage goes dark.
All over the world, people mindlessly fumble with their remote controls to try to watch on another channel, when a voice pierces through the silence.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I am here to educate you."
A bass starts strumming a G, its rhythmic thumping cutting through the air like helicopter blades.
"For too long, you've all been told to think the same thoughts, to wear the same clothes, to do the same goddamn thing day in and day out."
An 808 pounds along with the bass, each granting the other an intense power.
"My name is Astaroth"
the voice pauses as a guitar strikes a G power chord:
Another chord, spanning through the octaves, as the bass moves through the scales with the fury of a thousand suns:
On stage, the band appears, the greatest punk rockers this world has ever known, led by none other than Astaroth Lucifious Death-Hand, the God of Guitar, the Buddha of Bass, the Dharmic Doctor of Drums. Lady Fyre leads the band into a firey melody, flames of bright blue flowing off the neck of her bass and onto the stage, forming a wall of fire as the song kicks into gear. From his board of assorted percussive toys, Doctor Storm moves with the speed of lightning, thunder providing the beat, electricity flowing through him and around the stage. All those watching at home, all those who have heard Death-Hand's pirate radio, who have been waiting for the call, reach for their instruments. They know that the day has come.
Or, it should be. Screens all across the world go black, speakers cut out. The silence is deafening. It's broken with a single beep, and a message, spoken by a metallic voice. "PLEASE DISREGARD THE PREVIOUS MESSAGE. THE PERPETRATORS BEHIND THIS ATTACK HAVE BEEN APPREHENDED. RETURN TO YOUR BUNKS IMMEDIATELY. THE WORK DAY BEGINS IN 9 HOURS."
Is this the end of creativity? The end of humanity? Will you take up your ax, your pick? Will you fight for all things metal, punk, and rock?
The year is 2099. Everything is now owned by the Endura Corporation, which controls every aspect of everyone's lives, force-feeding everyone the same music, the same corporate facsimile of culture. A select few resist the opressors with the power of music, which many have mastered not only into sound, but also into raw physical power, manifesting as energy or physical strength. You are a lone musician, roadie, or composer, ready to lay down your life to save what remains of the resistance after the capture of Death-Hand and his band during Apunkalypse.
This game will be in an adapted version of the Powered by the Apocalypse system, which is a very simple system where players play as different types of characters that have their own moves they can perform and stats they can roll against. It's mostly about narrative role-playing instead of being about game role-playing.
Your stats are Charm, Cool, Sharp, Tough, and Weird, and determine how successful you'll be when you attempt an action. Here's some sample playbooks from Monster of the Week that you can browse through, and we can flavor it up so that it's more directly related to music. Alternatively, we can work together to make your own custom playbook for your character.
If you have a concept for your character, post it below. If you're interested but aren't sure where to start, post below and we can work out a character for you.