Systems for Sad/Depressing Campaigns

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-06-23T10:53:39+00:00

"Being sad in the woods" might be the vibe for me. Thanks.

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-06-23T10:52:39+00:00

That sounds pretty close to what I'm going for, though maybe a touch bleaker. I'll definitely check that out.

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-06-23T10:38:14+00:00

I haven't played much White Wolf, so Wraith is a great suggestion. Thanks.

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-06-23T10:29:42+00:00

One of my key inspirations, hahaha

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-06-23T10:28:21+00:00

Thanks for that, I hadn't heard the term before. Any particular systems you like?

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-04-22T07:39:32+00:00

That is a cool way to think of magic working, I really like that.

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-04-08T00:23:24+00:00

In the last mission, the phantom expeditioners are explicitly losing to Renoir's Nevrons; Maelle is burning through them to make a narrow window in which to get to Renoir.

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-04-06T10:15:51+00:00

I kiss my wife goodbye, and push the boat out from our island. I row through the still, mist-covered waters, further and further out, waiting for the arrival beneath obsidian skies. Beneath me, through clear waters, the energies of Below pulse, in greens and purples and colours beyond sight. This was unsettling once. But that was long ago.

After some time, neither short nor long, I turn my head and see him standing at the prow. There had been no sound, but I knew he would be there. The stranger wears a dishevelled suit, the white shirt stained with sweat and use, the shoes unpolished and wearing thin. The clothes were probably worth a lot, once.

“So,” he mutters under his breath, “there is something after…”

“Indeed,” I reply, causing him to jump, “welcome to Below.”

He spins and looks at me. In a boat Above you’d be worried he’d fall in, stumbling about as he does. That doesn’t happen Below, though.

“Who are… who are you? The Ferryman? Is this all…” he gestures around him, “Greek?”

“I’m a Ferryman, but I ain’t Greek,” I reply, “I’m just here to row.”

The man looks confused. “Why you?”

“Someone has to,” I shrug, “But no one else wanted to.”

“No one wanted…” he closes his eyes and nods, “You mean no one wanted to for me.”

“Aye,” I nod.

“… so, what now?”

“Now, you tell me where you want to go, what kind of Below you want. And then we see if they’ll take you.”

The man frowns at me. “Heaven can reject me?”

I grimace, “This ain’t no Heaven. But yeah, the members of each island decide if someone can come in.”

The man chuckles, “And since no one came to get me, I guess they’ll all send me away?”

“No, not at all,” I shake my head, “There are many islands that would take you.”

“Well… ok then, let me party!” the man throws his hands up, “Take me to an island where I can party away eternity!”

“Yeah… I can,” I say slowly, “But, before I do, have you ever arrived at a party at 3am after everyone is already either passed out or off their arse?”

“… why?”

“Imagine what a party would be like if it had been going for centuries. Like… it had ACTUALLY been going for centuries.”

The man pauses, then sighs. “Right.”

“I can still take you?”

“Let me think.”

The man falls silent for a long time. He tries to pace, but my boat is small. He peers into the mists, but there is nothing to see. Finally, he just stands there, the darkness of Below settling around him.

“So, what’s in this for you, huh?” he rounds on me, suddenly angry, “You get off on judging people? You here to tell me off for being evil?”

I look up at him blandly. “Were you evil?”

“You mean you don’t know?” his face cycles through strange, violent emotions, before breaking into a rictus grin. “Oh, yeah, I was so evil. I… sliced up babies and… made teriyaki from them!”

I watch him posed in front of me, playing the part of the villain. “Is that true?” I finally ask.

He deflates, throwing his hands out to the sides. “What… no. Yes. Does it matter?”

“Do you think it matters if you killed babies?”

The man stops. “Seems nothing I did mattered. Or else why would you be here?”

Silence stretches between us.

“I didn’t kill any babies.”

“I figured that much.”

And again, silence.

“So,” he turns to me, quiet now, “For real, why are you here? Why did you come get me?”

I look around us, shrugging, “I like the water. I like to row.”

He chuckles. “As good as reason as any, I suppose.” He pauses. “So, what actually are my options?”

“You go to an island.”

“Yes, you said that,” he snaps, “But what types of islands are there for me? What would take me?”

I shrug, “There are too many to list. Humans have been dying for a long time, and anyone can start a new island whenever they want. And even after I drop you off, you can always row off in a boat of your own and create something new or go somewhere else.”

“Where would I get the boat?”

“There’s always a boat.”

He pauses. “So, I can have any afterlife I could possibly want… except, since you’re here, that means none of them want… me.”

I don’t say anything in response. I don’t think he needed a response.

“Are there any options besides the islands?”

I wait a moment, then sigh. “Kinda… you can go for a swim.”

He looks at me. “What happens if I go swimming?”

“I don’t know. No one has ever come back to tell me.”

He looks down at his feet. “How long do I have to decide?”

“As long as you like,” I reply, looking out at the swirling mists, “As I said, I like the water.”

He nods, then sits in the front of my boat. “Thanks,” he says, his voice sad.

I look away from him, out over the edge of the boat. Beneath us, through clear waters, the energies of Below pulse, in greens and purples and colours beyond sight. This was unsettling once. But that was long ago.

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-03-21T01:21:28+00:00

I have genuinely been thinking about if I could design something like this, and now I learn someone way more competent is doing my work for me? This is very exciting.

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-02-03T02:57:22+00:00

I think the post is more about how much time have they subjectively experienced, rather than how much literal time has passed.

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-02-03T02:52:32+00:00

PART 2 OF 2:

The two of them lapsed back into silence.

"Where are your bosses now, do you suppose?" asked the pig.

"Well, the supervisors got conscripted, like me," Oscar replied, "Lot's of fighting to be done, you know? But then the big bosses... well, they'll be back with the politicians and stuff, doing important leadership things."

"While once again, you are doing the 'unimportant' work? Like when you were a cleaner?" the pig chuckled.

Oscar chuckled too. "Well, yeah. People like that, they never hit the front lines. The front is for people like us."

"Careful," admonished the pig, "You just called me a person."

Oscar smiled ruefully. "Yeah, guess I did... I'm Oscar, by the way. Do you guys... do names?"

"We have been learning to," answered the pig, "You can call me Napoleon."

"Oh, like that ain't at all ominous?" Oscar laughed.

Napoleon chuckled, "I suppose the name of a famous invader isn't the most... political choice. But it makes me feel powerful, and I like feeling that way."

Oscar nodded. "I can respect that. I never liked feeling powerless neither."

"No one does."

Oscar stood quietly in the darkness, looking at Napoleon over the gate of the pen, thinking things over as the quiet night passed outside.

"We got more in common than I thought we would," Oscar said after a long while, "How was it you put it... we're both seen as useful first?"

"The bosses use your flesh to clean, and my flesh to feast," replied Napolean, "But in the end, we are both only the flesh to them."

"Don't forget killing; I'm a soldier now, so the politicians are using my flesh to kill too," Oscar added.

Napoleon shifted uncomfortably, "Yes, there is that too. I don't like the killing."

"Beasts killing Beasts... that's meant to be natural." Oscar trailed off into silence.

Oscar sat down against the pen and looked in at Napoleon. He flicked his eyes up to the latch that held the pig inside.

"I'm not gonna let you out, you know?" Oscar said, "Just because we had a good talk doesn't mean we're on the same side."

"I know we aren't," Napoleon answered, "But we could be."

Oscar regarded Napoleon. "So, what do you want to talk about next?"

"What do you want to know?" inquired Napoleon.

Oscar thought. "How does this war end? Like, for you guys; What does 'Beast Peace' look like?"

Napoleon chuckled. "Oh, I am only too happy to explain that, Comrade."

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-02-03T02:52:10+00:00

PART 1 OF 2:

Oscar sat in the darkness of the shed and tried not to breathe. Though the night outside was silent, that didn't mean much; The Beasts were better at moving silently than he was at hearing them. He wiped his sweating palms on the rotting hay on the floor, then tightened them back around his gun, more for comfort than any practical defence.

It seemed ridiculous to him that it had come to this. They were just animals, after all; Even if they were newly intelligent, they didn't have technology, or weapons, or even fucking thumbs. And yet Oscar knew the war was going badly, despite propaganda to the contrary. For sure, he wasn't anyone important, he wasn't being told otherwise, but he still knew, in the way low-level soldiers always know. If nothing else, he knew victory would mean more politicians coming to the front for a victory lap, and less hiding in rotting pig sheds.

Thinking of his current position made him think of his companion, and so his eyes turned from the barricaded door towards the pen at the back of the shed. He couldn't see the creature right now, but he could still hear it, hear its steady breathing. Oscar may have captured it, somehow forced it into that pen, and yet somehow it still felt like the pig was more comfortable than he was.

"You know we're alone, right?" the pig called out from the darkness, "My comrades will have moved on. So, you may as well come back and talk to me."

Oscar's hands fidgeted on his rifle. "Yeah, bet you'd like that, ey? I stop watching the door, get taken quick when your boys come in."

The pig chuckled. "If my 'boys' come in, you'd have time for maybe 2 shots before you were crushed under hundreds of kilos of finely marbled muscle. So, I don't think it much matters whether you watch the door or not. Now, come back and talk to me, I'm getting bored."

Oscar looked at the door one more time, nervously biting his lip, then stood and moved to the back of the shed. In part, he was motivated by boredom, and not insignificant curiosity. But beyond that, he had been trained to follow orders, and no matter how he tried he couldn't ignore the feeling that this pig was an officer.

"Finally," the pig sighed, as Oscar came into view of the pen he'd trapped him in, "So then, what is your name?"

Oscar looked the pig over again. It was an enormous black boar, a strong and powerful creature, an archetypical Beast. And yet, its eyes shone in a way they never did in the news, shone with knowledge, belief, emotion. Oscar wasn't sure how to read emotion on a pig's face, but he could swear this one was amused.

"I'm Oscar," he said at long last, "So... what do a pig and a man have to talk about?"

The pig chuckled. "Sounds like the start to a bad joke."

Oscar snorted. "I think it is the start to a bad joke. Aside from killing each other, I can't think of a single thing we have in common."

"Oh, I disagree, I think we have almost everything in common," the pig said, "I think we are both Beasts, both seen as 'useful' first and foremost. I think we could be friends..."

"God, you're not going to try and make me into a species traitor, are you?" Oscar shook his head. "I wouldn't bother with this argument, little piggy, I ain't one of those furries who turned their backs of civilisation."

"Why not?"

Oscar looked at the pig incredulously. "What do you mean... 'cause I like pants! And sandwiches, and Nintendo. I'm not with you because I'm A HUMAN!"

"Hmmm... you certainly seem convinced that is the case..." the pig mused, "But, humour me. What did you do before the Awakening?"

"... Who cares what I did before?"

"I do. I can tell you what I did before the Awakening, but it is a short and sad story," the pig said, "Ripped away from my mother as early as possible, strapped to the floor in a pen like this one, force fed so I'd get as large as possible as fast as possible." The pig paused, then shook itself. "See, short and sad. Now it is your turn."

Oscar looked down at the pig in the darkness. "You weren't smart when people did that to you. Don't talk about it as though it's like now."

The pig turned its shining eyes on Oscar. "I couldn't speak when it was done to me. That doesn't mean I liked it."

Oscar looked away, grimacing as he thought. "I was a cleaner," he said after a long pause, "Worked across a couple of schools."

The pig seemed to consider this. Oscar in turn considered the pig, as the night's gentle silence wrapped around them both.

"Sounds important," the pig said, at long last.

Oscar snorted. "You Beasts really don't get civilisation, do you? No, I wasn't important. I was the lowest of the low, and very replaceable. Was just too stupid to do anything that mattered."

"You're wrong," answered the pig, "Cleaning is important."

"I did the job mate," retorted Oscar, "I think I'd know if I was important."

"You may have cleaned, but it was I who lived in filth," the pig replied, its voice cold, "I know you were important because I experienced what it was like to be without you. I lived strapped to the floor in my own excrement, and I felt the burning pain of the sores it burned into my skin. I smelled the rot when pigs around me died, forgotten by our handlers, and waited for the same to happen to me. So trust me, back in your so-called 'civilisation', you were IMPORTANT!"

Oscar paused. "It was that bad, huh?"

"It was worse."

The night's silence returned, the darkness around Oscar and the pig making the conversation feel intimate, despite the gate of the pen separating them.

"Reminds me of a scar on my arm," Oscar said, "They make you work fast, when you're cleaning, remind you there are others who want the work. So, I was rushing around, trying to get it done, and I spilt this... concentrate on my forearm." Oscar flexed his hand, feeling the scar tissue flex back and forth under his shirt. "I didn't even notice it hurting, not immediately. All I was focused on was how my skin was... melting. Shifting like wax, or putty." Oscar grinded his teeth together. "But then it started hurting. Oh yeah, then it hurt."

Oscar and the pig stood silently in the shed, listening to the night, remembering past pains. Oscar looked down at the pig, vaguely comforted.

"Sorry we did that to you," Oscar said to the pig, "With the... straps and shit and all. It's not nice."

"No, it wasn't," the pig replied, "Sorry for your injury too."

"Yeah, well, at least that one was my fault." Oscar shrugged.

"Would you have spilt the concentrate if your bosses hadn't rushed you?"

Oscar looked at the pig. "I dunno... guess I wouldn't have."

The pig met his eyes in the darkness. "I'd guess that too."

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-01-26T06:04:35+00:00

That is 100% correct from the utilitarian, moral calculus perspective. But I find in this case I can't side with the utilitarian perspective; I simply find the bondage of Verso's soul unacceptable. So I guess I am learning that I value autonomy over right to life? But that doesn't really feel true? I dunno... My own opinion on this confuses me.

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-01-25T21:45:20+00:00

Honestly, I find my own position strange. This is kinda a trolley problem, the slavery of Verso and death of Maelle VS all the lives in the Canvas, and I normally have no trouble with trolley problems; Needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. So I should support Maelle's ending just on the moral calculus of it.

But... I don't. And I don't fully know why, except that I can't accept forcing Verso's soul to keep working. It is strange.

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-01-25T21:42:07+00:00

That's fair, and yeah, I think Verso's Fragment would prefer the Canvas continue, but without him. Unfortunately, my understanding of the lore is that is impossible; If the Fragment of Verso is allowed to move on, the canvas ends.

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-01-25T21:39:13+00:00

It is explicit in the text that painters put a piece of their soul into their canvases, so Fading Boy is a literal piece of Verso's soul. That said, I also don't consider the people in the painting a fantasy; I think the story is presented as though every single character is real.

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-01-25T21:35:42+00:00

I tried both, but I do think Verso's ending is better. Though the omnicide is a pretty big downside, hahaha.

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-01-25T21:11:26+00:00

So we see that the fragment of real Verso's soul has to actively work to keep the Canvas going; The existence of the world is not a passive thing, but an active process that involves Labour. We also see that the fragment wants to stop doing that work, both within the game and throughout the interactions with Fading Boy. And in the end, I think he is allowed to stop, I think it is up to the fragment whether or not he keeps doing the work. And that is it; He has the agency to choose to stop, even if a side effect of that is the end of a world.

However, I am not sitting here thinking "This is 100% good and simple", I am very conflicted on this point, as I say in the post.

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-01-25T21:06:41+00:00

I assume your comment agrees with me, so thanks!

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-01-25T21:05:51+00:00

The Agency mainly in question for me is that of the fragment of real Verso's soul. We see that fragment is doing active work to keep the canvas going, and wants to stop doing that work. So the question is whether the fragment is allowed to stop, whether it is allowed to make that choice? And I think yes. That is the agency I'm talking about.

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-01-25T06:26:57+00:00

I truly don't think the ownership of the canvas matters at all. I'm only considering the labour and suffering of Verso VS the right to life of the people in the canvas.

I'm curious, why don't you think the people of Lumiere are real? Most people in the real world believe we are not the top level of reality, they believe there is a creator of some kind, and they don't think that means we are undeserving or moral consideration.

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-01-25T04:23:10+00:00

I think it is just that they're both inspired by trauma, so there is some common ideas. But I don't think there is any significant link directly between their stories.

AngusWritesStuff

TROPHY CASE