I'll post another story or two when my muse bites me again. (i feel one bubbling up even now.)

that was really good Gregory. It was a good read.

now we all need to get in a story like that :P

I'm sure our Great and Powerful Storyteller will get around to it.  (shruggs) I can wait a bit longer, if need be. :)

If I was in that, I've been a Lich and raised an army of my undead soldiers to tossle the amsses into slavery under my glorious booming voice!!

Ahem, yes I would've liked that.

"I see DEAD PEOPLE!  And it's ME!!"

Second story:   A little less "transform-y", but here it is for your perusal.



I walked into work a full fifteen minutes early that day, the first time ever. I really liked my job at Boston Comics, but it usually took almost an hour to get across town by car.   I had caught every light exactly right today, though, and even found a good parking space.  Usually that was bad luck, but I had a good feeling about today.  I walked in, seeing only a couple of customers.  It would get much busier later, I knew, during the big event.

I saw Michael, the store manager, arguing with Jeffrey, the head cashier.  I only caught the last half before they stopped and greeted me.  Something about "Who's gonna do it, your mother?" Jeffrey started saying "What about my mother?"  When Michael held up a hand to shush him, still looking at me.  Jeffrey did a double take, looking at me, then Michael, then back at me, then he seemed to realize something.  Crap, I thought, did they figure out that I'd been sneaking out back issues of the adult comic "Xenophile" home to read after my shifts?  I tried to think of a good excuse for employee theft, even employee "borrowing", when Michael said, in a careful voice Gregory, how would you like to earn.... 300 dollars today?
I stared at him, my mouth hanging open slightly.  That was not what he'd expected.
Um...... maybe?

Michael looked around the store, seeing the only customer left wander out.  He walked to the door and locked it, turning the "Back in five minutes" sign over.
He came back to where the Jeff and I were standing.  He looked at Jeff, who shrugged, and sighed and looked back at me.

She-Hulk cancelled.

I looked at him blankly for a second, then it clicked.  Oh, crap!  You gotta be kidding me!
This was the "big event".  A mini comic book convention here in the store, with several local artists and writers, plus a few actors dressed at superheroes.
We had the obligatory Wolverine, the guy with the metal claws and bad attitude, Superman, or at least a guy with a black cowlick and a Superman costume, and She-hulk.   The first two were a dime a dozen, seen in every comic booky type event.  There were always guys willing to dress up in superhero costumes.  What was rare were women willing to do it, especially athletic women who were willing to wear the skimpy costumes of the typical female superhero.  The Mini-Con was expected to draw a good number of customers, new and old, but it was generally understood that since the writers and artists were only local talent, the main draw was the buxom woman who was willing to strut her stuff as the amazonian She-Hulk.

I thought furiously, looking at the clock behind the counter.  It was 10:00AM. Only two hours until the Con.  What could be done to replace herMaybe it won't be so bad?  The con is only one day.  Even if the fans are a bit bummed, it's not like they'll just go away, right?

Michael rolled his eyes at me.  Dammit, Gregory, it doesn't matter if they "don't go away"!  If they come here and don't get what they came for, our store will look stupid and we'll lose credibility with our core fan base!
Either we produce She-Hulk, or we get set back ten years of work in this town. It's that simple.

Can we hire some...

He shook his head vigorously.  Jeffrey and I have been calling modeling agencies, acting agencies, and even escort services.  Nobody has anyone available, unless they're some anorexic 12 year old. Unless you know a woman who's over six feet tall, there's only one option left.
I thought furiously.  My old girlfriend's roommate was 5'11", but she was home for the summer.  I sighed and shrugged.  What's the option?

Michael seemed to chew his words over for a moment.  It's you, Gregory.

Me!?!  What, are you high, Mike?  He hated being called Mike, but my surprise had made me forget that.   He chose to ignore it.

Look, Gregory, the Con is in two hours.  We've exhausted all options except the three of us.  I'm a fat tub of goo.  Jeffrey is a skinny midget.   That leaves you.  Mike was exaggerating, at least a little.  Mike was certainly overweight, at least 400 lbs, and Jeff probably didn't top 130.  Neither was taller than 5'6".  Still though....
How am I going to do this?
Michael put his hands up, diplomatically.  Well, didn't you say that you dressed as a woman for Halloween one year?

I looked at him incredulously. That was three years and....well, thirty pounds ago.  And, I had my old girlfriend to help me.  AND, I only fooled a couple of people for a couple of minutes.

Well, Gregory, we may have that covered.  Jeffrey, why don't you and Gregory go for a walk?  It was more of a request from the boss then a suggestion.
Confused, I followed Jeff out to his old SUV.  Get in, Greg, let's go for a ride.
"Go for a ride?"  What, are you in the mafia now? I was just glad that he didn't share Mike's obsession with formal names.   I got in, intensely curious,but trusting my friend.
You've never been to my apartment, have you, Greg?
I shrugged as he pulled away from the curb.  You've never invited me.
Jeff sighed and nodded, somewhat embarrassed.  That's because my living situation is kind of.... unique.  You see, I live in a four bedroom high rise apartment, but I only use one room, so I get a break on rent.  Also my roommate is someone that most people wouldn't want to room with.  His name is Victor, though he's normally called Victoria.

Victor's a....
Jeff nodded, his eyes on the road.  Yes, a drag queen and celebrity impersonator.  He practices all the time.  He's actually pretty good. 

You know, maybe Victor...
Jeffrey laughed. Victor's away in Provincetown for the week, doing daily shows, and he'd NEVER get involved with something like a comic convention anyway.  However, I've accidentally seen him get ready for his shows often enough that I can handle it.
"Accidentally"? I asked, eyebrows raised.
Alright!!! Alright!!!  Not just .. "accidentally".  When I'm late on the rent, Victor lets me have extensions if I help him clean and organize his drag stuff.  And.... well, sometimes I have to help him..  get dressed.  Jeff had his eyes locked on the road, unable to face me.
Wow.  I can't imagine how hard it had been to admit that, even if it was to save his job.  I looked at him. Don't worry about it, Jeff.  I'd have done the same thing.  Let's just get this over with.  Hopefully you can make me a "pretty" as Victoria is.
He looked at me and smiled, letting out the breath he'd been holding.  He nodded.

We didn't talk again until we walked into the apartment.  It made my studio in Revere look like a homeless shelter.  Fancy furniture and artwork were everywhere.  We went straight to one of the bedrooms.  I could see why Jeff only got one room.  Of the four bedrooms, one was Victor's, one was a sewing room and one looked like a celebrity dressing room, complete with huge make-up table and thirty feet of closet space.  Jeff's room was little more than a utility room.  We entered the room.  Jeff went straight to a chest of drawers opening it and pulling out undergarments, some I didn't actually recognize.  The king sized four posted bed was filled with sequined pillows and stuffed animals.

Jeff turned to me, smiling sheepishly.   I don't know how to say any of this subtly, so I'll just say it.   Go ahead and go into the bathroom and shave.  Everything.
I looked at him for a second to see if he was kidding.  He wasn't.  I remembered having to shave all over when my girlfriend dressed me in drag during college.

The bathroom was better then a Vegas luxery suite, obviously used by someone who shaved everywhere.  I grabbed some hair remover and lathered up.

Thirty uncomfortable minutes later, I walked out in a towel.  Jeff was stacking up several jars of green body makeup.  He looked at me and smirked.
Go ahead and drop the towel.  I've told you my greatest secrets, the least you can do is not worry about yours.   You'll need to wear this, to keep "little greg" from showing.  He handed me a leather thong.  I took it, blushing deeply.  My hairless legs felt breezy and oddly smooth as I walked over and took it.
Alright, Jeff, let's get this over with.
Back in the seventies, Marvel comics realized that they were a bunch of immature man-children who've ignored the presence of female comic readers.  In desperation, they invented several female superheroes.  Most, sadly were just female versions of popular make heroes, but one of them stuck.  The Incredible Hulk's cousin Jennifer, needed a blood transfusion.  Bruce Banner, the Hulk's alter ego, gave it to her, and, in true comic book logic, she gained similar powers, although, as a "hot chick", she never became a mindless monster, just
a seven foot green skinned babe who could lift a car.

So, an hour later, I was She-Hulk.  First, Jeff applied the green make-up everywhere.  And I do mean everywhere.  Needless to say, there was little conversation except him telling me what to do.  After that, he applied adhesive to my chest, to which he secured two large, heavy fake breasts.  I almost tipped over from the sudden weight.  Then he laced me into a black corset, taking almost twenty agonizing minutes.  I wanted to see myself, perversely curious, but Jeff, like a true artist, insisted on making me wait until he was done.  He led me over to the make up chair, turning it around so I was facing away from the mirror.  I couldn't help but rub my hands up and down my trim waist as I walked.  My moderate belly had been pushed in and up, making my waist smaller than it'd ever been, at least since I was a kid.
As I sat down, Jeff got out a pair of black thigh high boots.  Seeing my look, Jeff shrugged. You need to be taller, and "She-Hulk" wouldn't wear flats.  He then started working the boots onto my legs, after helping me put on some nylon socks (he said it was to prevent chafing).  As I looked down on him, kneeling on the floor, putting the boots on my long legs, I actually started feeling more like a woman, especially since my view gave my a good view of my new green cleavage.  I blinked at my new chest.  My... breasts seemed huge, at least from my angle.  Finished, Jeff got out a make-up kit and went to work on my face.  The green skin makeup made a good "base" coating, but he also added long fancy eye-lashes, black lipstick and darker green eye shadow.  Then, he put a long black wig on my head, securing it with something.  I wondered how many times he'd done this for his roommate.  While I was thinking about this, he said Finished! and spun my chair around.

It's a common cliche that when someone gets a "make over", they look in silent awe at the results.  I'm embarrassed to admit it, but that's exactly what happened.  I blinked, my long lashes fluttering, as I looked at the, I had to admit, beautiful, green skinned woman that I saw in the mirror.  My mouth opened and closed a few times as I looked at the stranger in front of me.

Yeah, I lost a bet with Victor one time, and had to let him do this to me.  I was speechless too.  I glanced at Jeff out of the corner of my eye, wondering if he meant to say that out loud.   Alright, "She-Hulk", now stand up.

Nodding dumbly, I stood up.   And promptly tipped over.  Expecting it, Jeff caught me, though his face got squished into my new fake boobs. Embarrassed, I teetered to my feet, suddenly six inches taller.  I thought that some boots with a little heel would fit the character but there were almost stilletoes.  Wobbling, I began practicing my walk.  Jeff kept giving my advice to be "sexy", but I was going to settle for "standing".  He also had me practice speaking from my throat for a softer, girlier voice.   I argued that a woman who could lift a car would hardly be expected to talk like a Playboy centerfold, but he shook his head, insisting that anything that seemed "manly" would be one step closer to giving me away.

That, of course, was the gaping flaw in the plan.  If the fan-boys realized that the hot super-babe was actually a dude, it would probably be worse for the store than if we'd done nothing.  While I was wondering if maybe we should do the latter, he applied fake red fingernails and a choker.  It felt funny on my throat, but Jeff insisted, saying that while my Adam's apple was hardly noticable, "hardly" was hardly enough.

We walked to his car, carrying on a conversation as She-Hulk would with her "handler" which was Jeff's official job at the convention.  I seemed to almost glide along on my heels, having mastered stepping more like a women, my heavy fake breasts swaying under the LBD, what women, and probably Victor too, refered to as a "little black dress".  The silky garment was sleeveless, going to mid-thigh and showing more cleavage than the Grand Canyon.

My long hair bounced off my bare shoulders, as my green arms swung in time with my rounded hips.  I practiced crossing and uncrossing my legs on the ride back to the store, as well as smiling seductively in the mirror.  I felt a bit foolish, but also, oddly invigorated.  I wasn't Greg anymore, random store clerk, I was a celebrity, and one that most of the guys in the store would be checking out to the point of rudeness.  I walked into the comic store, faking a self-confidence that I'd never felt in my life, but that was second nature to the She-Hulk.

Mike was trying to direct the chaos of the mini-con, but stopped when he saw me.  His eyes got as big as saucers.  That was a good sign.  Pete, the other part-time clerk, saw me from behind the register and yelled to the crowd:
Now, join me in welcoming our final guest-star: The Sensational She-Hulk!
Pete looked at me, smiling broadly.  Just like I told the others, ma'am, anything you need, just ask.  I'm exist to serve.  He said it jokingly, but there was an edge to it as he seemed to lick his lips nervously.
Holy moley, I thought to myself, he has no idea it's me "in here".  Mike hadn't told him.  Pete was such a lousy liar, the boss probably figured that he couldn't help but give me away.  So, for the next couple of hours, my co-worker will assume that I'm a real She-Hulk impersonator, and a real woman.  I cringed a little, inwardly.  This should prove interesting, in the Chinese curse kind of way.
"Superman" and "Wolverine" were also checking me out.  I had a sudden attack of "woman's intuition" that told me that many of the pictures over the afternoon would involve a lot of close contact.  I knew that there was something I was forgetting about conventions when I agreed to do this.

I looked down at Jeff.  He patted me on the small of my corsetted back and said Alright, "Shulkie", it's showtime!


Taking a deep breath, at least as deep as I could, I walked forward, smiling for "my" fans.

I guess that was more "disguise" than transformation, but I wanted to go for a realistic (well, kind of) transformation story.  One that could have happened without magic or aliens.  Don't worry, though, I've got another one cooking, one that is more supernatural.

Nah, I don't like diguise ones. More TF, less cosmetics.

And zombies, musn't forget the zombies...

(grins) It's always about the undead with you, eh?

Alright, let me see what I can come up with.

I read a comic about spirit exchange once. Someone dies and is put in the body of someone else.

I have a character in another game like that.  A lawyer who was murdered, like Patrick Swazey in Ghost.  He possessed a coma patient in order to move around again, and got stuck there.

So we're looking for a scenario with spirit possession and zombies?  How about zombie possession?  :)

(laughs)  Well, I'm not.  At least not specifically.  But I have another story idea that I'll jot down.  It might be more what the "dead guy" fans have in mind.  Just give me a second........

hmm

I can't say the turning into a zombie would be my cup of tea(though I did say I'll try anything once, so I shall)

Gregory I'll say again good story I can't wait for the next one.


and on to a serious question.

will these senarios go on such that only one will be played at a given time, or will the transformation senario continue until no one wants to play anymore(possibly with a story added in) with new stories constantly starting?

I'm hoping the latter, I just want to make sure that it's not going to be a random collection of transformation and nothing else to expand after that.

To be honest, I'm not sure what's happening either.  I'm hoping for a GM who'll lead the game and direct us, but I can improvise if this is meant to be more player driven.   I haven't heard what our Benevolent GM has in mind yet.

Also, the story is in the works.  I write slower than a turtle with a charley horse, but I'll get it done tonight, I believe.

cool

In reply to various Players:

At any given time there will be several different Scenarios for players to participate in. Each Scenario will typically be set up with as:

Introduction -> Trigger -> Transformation -> Consequences/Conclusion

Each section will be as long or as short as the players desire and it'll be up to the players when they think that the Scenario has reached its proper conclusion, or they wish to continue on longer. As one ends or reaches a point where a character believes they have reached their conclusion, new ones will begin.

I was aiming to have a story and plot(s?) that subtly (or in some cases not so much) links the different Scenarios together that will be revealed as the game progresses.

I am aiming for equal amounts GM and Player-driven story, where both can help each other to develop the story. I will certainly lead the game and direct the story and plot, but this is the sort of game that can benefit greatly from the Player's interactions with it.

---

On another note, I was thinking of beginning with several different Scenarios.

One of the Scenarios is one of Gregory's suggestions and fitting considering what we are actually doing. It also allows a wide variety to different TF Types. It wouldn't be quite the same as his story, however, just with the same theme:

Role-playing game come to life (TF to Characters)
- Possible TF Types include: Chronological, Gender, Monster, Mythological, Super Powers

Who would be interested in a Scenario like this (so I know who to gear other Scenario(s) towards)?

---

Nice stories by the way Gregory (even though I'm not much of a fan of 'disguise TFs' myself)!
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:12, Sun 22 Mar 2009.

As I said before I'm good for any and all.

but this is peticularly interesting to me, because I'm had plenty of daydreams like that when I've been bored :P

I would love to join it, ST.   Sorry that we were wandering around here lost and whining.   We certainly didn't mean to doubt that you were on the case.  (grin)

Your format sounds good.  I'd certainly be able to use my imagination and inituative (limited though they might be) to add to a story and help develope my character, as long as you as GM are there to guide us.

The game idea is one of my favorites, as I've mentioned.  Whatever you need from us, don't hesitate to ask.

We were huddled in the deserted house.  The soldiers were coming soon.  We still didn't even know, really, what was going on.
It had started innocently enough.  My ex-girlfriend, Lori, had asked me to help her move from her parent's basement on Long Island to a new place in upstate New York, outside of White Plains.  I was wondering, quite selfishly, if there was to be a special "reward" for helping her move to a nice, private house in the isolated woods.  True to my luck with love, there wasn't.  I managed, barely to control my reaction to seeing the rest of the crew, which included not only her friend Amy, but Mitch, her new boyfriend, a status the man made sure to, ever so subtly, comment on whenever we were alone and out of earshot of the girls.   Since I wasn't enough of a jerk to walk away just because there would be no sex that weekend (Amy was cute, but had mentioned before that I wasn't anywhere near her type), I gritted my teeth and helped, watching my old girlfriend, being PDAed by her new one.  I'm pretty sure that molesting Lori in from me actually excited the arrogant jackass.

Then, after getting her moved in, we heard the sirens.  Turning on the car radios (no cable service yet) we heard reports of soldiers taking over Albany, and moving onto New York City.    We were in disbelief, trying to make sense of it.  Who could have, and would have been able to do this.   Russians?  Chinese?  Canadians?

Lori, a bit of a drama queen to begin with, ran to her car to drive back to Long Island to check on her parents, after she got no phone service.  I had to wrestle her away, trying to reason with her that if the reports were true, there was an army between her and her parents and that her parents were probably very happy that she was all the way up here.  Mitch, of course, took her side, I suspect just to annoy me and get in better with his hysterical girlfriend.  We argued for several minutes until Amy (who'd wisely stayed out of it) yelled out in alarm.

That's when we saw them.  Tanks.   Tanks and troop transports riding through White Plains, NY.    It was like a bad dream.  Then, I saw that they were American tanks and transports.   I tried to calm everyone down, reasoning that this must be a rescue effort or at least a mobilization to stop whoever the enemy was, but stopped when the soldiers jumped out of the transports and started rounding people up, shooting anyone who resisted.  We all froze.  Mitch looked venomously at me, as if my reassuring talk before made it my fault that American soldiers were doing this.  A loudspeaker demanded the surrender of everyone, at once, or "extreme measures would be taken".  We all dithered, not sure what to do next, when a soldier decided it for us.

A little girl, previously playing on the sidewalk, screamed for her mother and started to run away.  The soldier shot her in the back.   Mitch, Amy, and I froze in shock.  Lori screamed and then started yelling curses on the soldier that would blister the ears of a pimp.  He looked at her, emotionlessly and shot at her.   The bullet missed her by inches, which stopped her tirade fairly quickly.  As one, we turned and ran.  There were tanks and armored vehicles on both ends of the streets, so our cars were useless.  Lori ran back into the house, possibly under the delusion that her new home would protect her.  Having no other options, we followed.

As we entered the house, I yelled for everyone to go out the back, to try to lose ourselves in the woods surrounding White Plains.   I was ignored as Lori kept climbing more and more stairs.   The others followed, either mindlessly or with the assumption that she knew what she was doing.  She ended up at the top floor, moving a portrait, which had a hidden switch.  She pulled it and a trapdoor opened in the ceiling.  A rope ladder fell out.  She started climbing.    The other two looked at each other.   Lori was like that, just when you assumed that she'd lost her crap, you find that she'd had a plan all along.

At the top was a low but spacious attic.    Piles of dusty books, boxes and bottles surrounded us.   It's a hidden room that was used during prohibition, or in the Underground Railroad.  My realtor didn't know which.  All I knew was "yay! cool hidden room!" and possibly some cool and valuable antiques.   Now, though, we can hide here until the soldiers go away.

As she pulled up the rope and closed the door, Mitch shook his head.  But, these are AMERICAN soldiers.  We just can't run away, can we?

I was eager to give my opinion, especially since it differed from Mitch.  No, Lori's right.  Something is majorly screwy here.  I mean, seriously, an American soldier that shoots a little girl in the back?  Are you kidding me!  I make as many jokes as anyone about how hard up the army is these days for recruits, but.....  come on, here.  There's something REALLY wrong with this picture.

Amy nodded vigorously.  Yeah, Greg's got a point.  I know that there are always bad people who find their way into the military, but this goes beyond that.
Mitch actually seemed to want to argue the point, probably just to not be wrong, but shrugged and looked darkly at me.
Alright then, BRAINIAC.  So what do we do now?

It was obvious that he wanted to catch me off guard with that question, so I'd stammer and look stupid.  Unfortunately for him, I'd been thinking about it already.
Here's my idea: As quietly as we can, look around the room for weapons, anything we can use to defend ourselves.
There's a tiny window up here, but it's too small to escape, so that's out.
The soldiers saw us come in here, so it's a safe bet that they'll follow.  If we can, we'll stay here and hopefully they'll assume that we ran out the back and into the woods.  If not, we have to assume that they'll find us eventually, so we'll either have to try to catch them off-guard with whatever we can find. 
I  sighed.  If they come in force, though, we may have to surrender, but given what happened to little "Susie" out there, I'd like to avoid trusting these guys to follow the Geneva Convention with us.

Sullenly, Mitch shrugged and went back to looking around the attic with everyone else.  What the hell did she SEE in this jackhole?   I shook my head and picked up some vintage liquer bottles.  Probably worth some cash, but also possible weapons.

It was Amy that found the Book.

Blowing the dust off it, she gasped, and then started coughing.  I went to her side, more to try to help her be quiet, than anything else.   It was then that I saw that the Book was glowing.   Recovering, she saw it too and dropped the book. I caught it.  It was really old, with no markings on the outside.  I opened it, Mitch and Lori drawing nearer once they saw the glow, both of them curious but understandably nervous.

Opening the Book, I read to myself, skimming, then looked up at them.   It's.... magic. I said simply.

Mitch rolled his eyes and grabbed the book, which Lori promptly grabbed from him.   Reading it, she nodded, a little fearfully, but struck with awe.

Greg is right.  See, even the words are glowing.  And, I know in my heart that the language is Latin, but I can read it like it was my own handwriting.   

I let her read.  I was her book now, technically.  Mitch seemed to consider taking it from her, but reconsidered.

Looking up at us, she spoke, her eyes narrowed with grudging acceptance of the impossible thing she held before her.

It's called 'The Tome of the Veil".  It's a magic book that can summon a group of supernatural champions to defend the land when evil is abroad.   All we have to do is speak the magic and the Four Champions of the Veil will be summoned.

The fact that Lori normally doesn't speak that formally spoke volumes about how awed she was.    I was about to say something smart-ass about using fairy tales as weapons when I heard movement downstairs.  The soldiers were climbing the stairs.
Looking around the room at the other options for weapons, which seemed to include old bottles, dusty books and fragile antiques, I sighed in exasperation and shrugged.
What the hell, Lori, go ahead and do it.  We've got trigger happy soldiers in the house looking for us.   What could it hurt, at this point?

Taking a deep breath (well, not too deep, or she'd start coughing too), Lori began to read:

Evil now walks upon our land.
We say now, this will not stand.
Beyond the Veil we reach for aid.
Let the forces of Darkness be dismayed.


At first, nothing happened.   I said quietly Wow.  That was a really crappy poem.
Lori was about to shush me when the Book seemed to explode in light and smoke, shining like a lantern on all of us.  It was then that we Understood.

It had happened long ago.  Perhaps during the first World War, perhaps during the Middle Ages, perhaps during the founding of the Egyptian Empire, we had no way of knowing.   We understood, though, that during various points in history, the forces of darkness, REAL forces of darkness, moved through the land, trying to take over or subvert the people to its evil will.  Whenever this happened, The Book of The Veil would allow itself to be found, choosing Champions and gifting them with elements of the supernatural, then sending them out to battle the Darkness.   Whether we liked it or not, WE were those champions.

It was over in an instant, though it seemed to last forever.  The light had gone out.  We were in darkness.    Lori was screaming, yelling at someone to "Stop yelling at me!"  I tried to find her, but my body felt numb and clumbsy.  Amy was trying to speak, but her voice was dreamy and distracted.   Before I could find her, the trapdoor opened and a harsh voice yelled up:  Come down here, quickly and quietly, or you'll be shot as deserters!

Before I could stop myself, I yelled back.  Deserters from what? My voice sounded rough and hollow, like I'd just woken up.  I staggered to my feet, my legs feeling leaden.  I was feeling almost disconnected from my body.  It wasn't a good feeling.  Lori seemed to be coming out of what ever freak-out she'd been in, and yelled out to Mitch.
Mitch, you're what?  Oh God!!  No, you can't be!

Lori, what's going on?  Mitch can't be what? I couldn't  hear him.  I assumed that he was lying near her, perhaps whispering something.    A mean-spirited thought crossed my mind that maybe the doofus was dead,  but I shook it off.  despite being a dink, he certainly didn't deserve death.  And right now, frankly, we needed all the help we could get.

Very well!  You have brought this on yourselves.  From the light coming through the trapdoor, I saw something being thrown into the attic.  A grenade.

I've never been a really brave person.  My "combat" experience was limited to high school wrestling and getting my ass kicked in second grade.  I usually feel a bit panicked in any sort of confrontation, especially one where violence is a possibility.  This time, I felt strangely calm.  I caught the grenade in mid-air and tossed it back down the trapdoor.  It exploded, but not with concussion, but with gas, possibly tear gas.   The soldiers started hacking and coughing, but one made it to the top.  Calmly, though I still marveled inwardly that I was so calm, I strode over and kicked him in the face.  He fell down, but grabbed my leg and pulled me down with him.   As I went through the hole, my chest banged against the side, and I fell the seven feet down on top of him.  Perhaps it was the adrenaline, but I felt no pain.  I sprang to my feet, grabbing the rifle of the nearest coughing soldier (they'd been cocky, it seemed and neglected to wear gas masks).  I wasn't sure where the safety for the automatic rifle was, of the top of my head, so I turned it and swung it like a baseball bat.  He went down in a shower of blood and teeth.   On the backswing, I caught another as he tried to aim his gun mid-cough.  The impact knocked him into the wall so hard that he richochetted off and landed ten feet down the hallway.

I marveled at him, lying there.  I was raised on a farm, and was used to being one of the strongest guys in the room, as long as those guys weren't actually athletes or anything, but I knew I wasn't that strong.  I looked around in time to see a rifle go off.  I felt the impact in my chest, sort of.  I looked down in disbelief, at the seeping blood in the center of my favorite t-shirts.  I was dead, shot in the chest.  I looked at the grinning, wheezing soldier.  Another soldier was standing, trying to shake off the gas.  We all stared at each other for a couple of more seconds before we seemed to realize at the same time that I hadn't fallen down, like a proper dead person.  He raised his rifle as I readied myself to spring, but the other soldier beat us to the punch and fired.  At the first soldier.   I stopped mid-lunge as the first soldier, as was proper etiquette, fell down dead after being shot in the chest.  I looked at my new friend in wonderment and suspicion.  Between coughs and sniffles, the man wheezed out something that sounded like "mitch" and pointed to his chest.

I shook my head.  Was he waying that he was a friend of Mitch's?  It was a coincidence that strained the imagination, but it was kinda turning into that kind of day.  He also pointed to me, coughing, and then pointed to the gas, mouthing. "why?"
I looked around at the gas, not sure what he'd meant.   Then it occured to me.  I wasn't coughing.  I thought about it for a second, and realized that I wasn't even breathing.  Holy Jeebus on a Crutch!  I was dead!  Had the first soldier's bullet done it?  No, I hadn't been effected by the gas the whole time.   I had been dead since leaving the attic.  That damned Book!

Suddenly, the soldier that had been shot stood up.  I looked in surprise, and Mitch's friend raised his rifle, but Amy's voice came from up in the attic.
It's alright, boys.  He's with me.
The two of us hesitated, as the obviously dead soldier slung his rifle and went to the rope ladder and, without apparent instruction, helped Amy, and a somewhat more reluctant Lori, down from the attic.    The gas had dissapated enough that it did little more that stink up Lori's house at this point.

Now that the immediate crisis was over, we could feel the rest of the Book's knowledge sink in:
There were four Champions from Beyond The Veil;  The Body, The Spirit, The Mind, and The Heart.

I was the Body.  Literally.  I was a dead body.  I had become, essentially, an intelligent zombie, stronger than ten men and virtually unkillable.
Mitch was the Spirit.  His physical body was gone, leaving behind a ghost that wasn't affected by the physical world, but could possess humans at will.
Amy was the Mind.  She would command the dead, like puppets.
Lori was the Heart.  She could sense the supernatural, read psychic traces, and see ghosts, which is how she still saw Mitch.

We were the Champions From Beyond the Veil.  One of the goofier names I'd ever heard, but a pretty impressive force.

Lori interrupted our epiphany.
They're being controlled.  The soldiers.  I'm not  sure how, yet, but I can tell that there's something influencing them. 

I shrugged. It felt different with dead shoulders.  Well, then, let's go find out who's doing it.  It seems to be our "destiny".


===========================>



I have a little more to that story, but I'll stop here for now, as I've got to go offline for a bit.  Perhaps later tonight I'll do the second part.

Hmm, don't really like that one too much.
I always hate the stereotypical 'heroes/champions of light battling the forces of evil'

I like the stories where the heroes are pretty much idiots.

I understand.  I'm going for "human" heroes, not neccessarily idiots, but let's see what my muse pokes me with for part two.

"The Champions From Beyond The Veil" I said quietly.  It sounded really stupid out loud.  Like a bad joke.  What wasn't a joke was the fact that it was true.  Chosen by The Book to be its champions to fight the forces of darkness, which is what seems to have taken over the US Army.  Or, at least a crapload of army guys in New York that were currently taking over White Plains, were the four of us were standing, coming to terms with our "destiny".

I, your hero, Greg, was The Body, a living (for lack of a better word) zombie, stronger than any normal human, and seemingly unkillable, if the bullet hole in my chest is any indication.

My ex-girlfriend, Lori, was The Heart, an empath for the supernatural, able to detect supernatural influence, ghosts and the like.
Which was helpful to hear her new boyfriend, Mitch (seriously, don't get me started).

Mitch was The Spirit, reduced to a ghostly presence, unseen or heard by any living thing (except Lori), but with the ability to possess other, corporeal humans.

The last member of our Abhorsome Foursome (like that?  thought of it myself) was Lori's (and, to an extent, my) friend Amy, who had become The Mind, becoming a necromancer, having control over the dead.

=======================

When last we left our heroes.....


So, here we were.  Giving "super powers", apparently to help save the world from whatever had subverted the US Army.  Our powers?  Different aspects of Death.
Ew.

We had just beat up two and killed one soldier after they'd tried to gas us (I didn't seem to breath, so I had had a nice edge in the ensuing fight).  Mitch had "possessed" the fourth soldier.

Well, fellow "Ghost Busters", shall we go save the world! I said to my fellow perversions of the Laws of Nature.   I turned and walked down the hall and stepped onto the stairs.

And was promptly shot.  In the chest.  Again.

In our understandable confusion with out new "situation" we'd assumed that the four soldiers by the enterance to the attic where we'd hidden were the only ones. Obviously, some had run downstairs when I'd managed to toss the tear gas granaded back out at them.   In other words, the soldiers were being controlled, but they were still soldiers; they weren't stupid.   Unlike us.

I staggered back.  Lori screamed and rushed to me.  While the evil, selfish child in me was gratified to see Mitch's girlfriend rushing to my side, I waved at her frantically to stay put so she wouldn't get her ass shot off.  Again, I should have been terrified, but I wasn't.  I was just annoyed.  Then again, as a dead guy, I didn't actually have adrenal glands anymore.  There was a serious down side to this, I just knew it, but I'd worry about it later.

Amy's dead pet soldier stepped forward and opened fire, as did "Mitch".  I had no idea that he knew about guns.  Maybe he was able to fake it since he was in a soldier's body.  Maybe I shouldn't mouth off so much to him in the future.

I should have stayed behind, let the people who weren't us do the shooting and and the getting shot, but I was feeling a bit cocky.  I ran to the top of the stairs as "our" soldiers opened fire, inadvertantly providing cover for me.  Taking them two at a time, I rushed down, seeing two soldiers left, the other two  dead on the living room floor.  I saw one of them poking his head up, and threw a body block into the recliner he'd been behind.  I'd meant to just knock him off balance, but I'd underestimated my new strength.  The crunching sound of his body getting crushed between the chair and the wall was a sound I knew I'd never forget.  The last soldier looked shocked, but stood to fire on me.  He was cut to ribbons by the other two soldiers in the room, whom Amy had apparently "converted".
I keep saving your ample ass, big boy!   Try not to make this a habit, 'kay?  The petite, freckled blonde swept by us, like a queen walking past her subjects.  Come along, boys, we've got work to do.

All four of the soldiers stood up (the one I'd squished was a little wobbly on his feet) and followed her out of the room.  Three more followed down the stairs.

I was seriously confused.  Little Amy, who is racked with guilt when she couldn't buy something from a telemarketer, who cries when she sees a dead mouse in an alley, was apparently raising soldiers from the dead and was leading their mutilated corpses to do their bidding.  Stunned, I shook my head and looked back upstairs to where Lori and "Mitch" still were.  I ran back up, assuming that Amy wouldn't have left them if they weren't ok, but I was suddenly paranoid about the "new" Amy.

Lori was fine, but Mitch wasn't.  His borrowed body was riddled with bullets, bleeding out onto the hall carpet.  Lori was holding the soldiers hand.
I thought it wouldn't hurt.  You know, since it wasn't me.  But... it does.  It... oh god!

I watched his suffering with a look of incredulity. Mitch, dude, just let go of the body.  Hell, you can get another one, you know.

Mitch, and Lori, gave me a dirty look.  She had tears in her eyes.  Easy for you to say, you ass!  You can't die now.  This is the only body he has!  Of course he doesn't want to let it go. 
As usual, she only made limited sense when she was upset, but I got the gist.  As strange and freakish as my body was, at least I had one.  I can see how hard it would be to go back to being a bodyless spirit, unable to touch your girlfriend.
I still thought he was a dick, but I couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

Hating myself for it, I sighed and said: Alright, Mitch, if you need a body, go ahead and....... use mine.
Lori and the dying soldier looked up at me, him being even more surprised than me at the offer.

I saw his body relax as it died.  It was the latest horrifying experience in a long line of them that day.  I felt a smothering presense I tried to relax and go with it, letting Mitch do whatever juju he did, but it was like suffocating (an ironic experience for me, certainly).  I shook like I was coming up for "air".  Lori rushed over to me.  Mitch, are you ok?  How do you feel?

I shook my head, partly because I felt guilty lying to her, and partly because I assumed that Mitch could see us.  No, it's still me.  I don't know what happened. 

She looked confused, then looking around, she smiled, apparently seeing Mitch again.  She looked serious for a moment, obviously listening to him, then looked accusingly at me.  He says you wouldn't let him in.

I didn't know what to say. I shrugged helplessly.  Obviously I wasn't overly enthusiastic about the idea, but I'd made the offer in good faith.  Don't look at me!  I tried.  It just didn't take, I guess.

She looked up to the right, assumably at Mitch, then back at me.  It was obvious that she didn't believe me.  Shrugging she walked by me.
I was about to grab her and tell her again that I'm not so petty that I'd lie to her, when Amy's voice came from the living room.
Hey, if you guys are done with crying over the mess, I'm bored and want to leave!

Lori and I just looked at each other.  What the CRAP was going on with Amy.  Lori had told me how it had taken five separate pep talks to get her to complain to a roommate about smoking in the shared bathroom.   Should I be happy for her, or scared for us?  Shaking her head, Lori simply  walked down the stairs.  Looking up to where Mitch was a second ago, I said: I'm not sure if you're still here, Mitch, but do us all a favor and watch Amy ok?  I'm.....  I didn't know how to finish the sentence, so I didn't, simply walking down the stairs after Lori.


There was work to do.  Hopefully we were up to it.

When the dead guy that had been Mitch a moment ago got to his blood-soaked feet and began following me, a mental chill went through me.

Here's part two of my own Dungeons and Dragons story.

"When we last left our heroes......"

================================================


The four of us looked at each other, stuck for what to do next, exactly.

It had been a normal Saturday night for our gaming group.  We'd gathered at our usual spot, the suburban home of Brad, one of the players, to be told by Jimmy, our hyperactive DM, that he was putting our old game on hold for a new game where we could play monsters, instead of the usual humans, elves and dwarves.  I was dissappointed, but in true gamer adaptability, I quickly, like my fellow players, got intrigued by the concept of playing one of the creatures that we usually fought as heroes.

We quickly got into it and chose our new characters.  Jimmy even had what seemed like a cool little ritual he did involving getting us to write our characters in ink from special quills he got from some shop.  He made a show of actually burning the quills after we were finished.  Brad wasn't thrilled with that, but as the newest member of the group, he didn't want to make waves. Then when the quills caught fire, the smoke filled the room and we all passed out.  When we awoke, hours later, we found that we'd become our monsterous characters.

Alex, our resident brainy uber-nerd/rules lawyer, had chosen a beholder.  It was basically an armored sphere of armored flesh about the size of a beachball, with a huge toothy mouth, an enormous cental eye, and 8 eye stalks, all of which can use a different magic power. It was one of the most powerful, and creepy things in the Monster Manual.  When I'd first seen him, a ball of eyes and teeth, hovering over the dining room table, I'd almost wet myself.  I'd seen pictures of the freakish things for years, but to see one in person was truly terrifying.  Unfortunately, the effect on Alex's personality was immediate, too.  He was always a bit of an elitist snob and intellectual bully, and now he was playing a monster with enhanced intelligence.  It made him more of a dick than usual, quite honestly.

Steven, our youngest member (he was a freshman in high school, while we were all college graduates), had, of course, chosen a Red Dragon.  As the name of the game implies, dragons were the premier monster.  I hadn't even considered them, because they were so immensely powerful that, despite assurances that we could be ANYTHING in the book, Jimmy would nix anything like it.  I was like chosing to play the god of war, or something.  Steven's transformation seemed to work, though.  Unfortunately for him, Jimmy (or whoever, or rather, whatever, was responsible for this) let him become a dragon, apparently deciding that if he was a young, immature dragon, that it would balance the power out.
That was the catch, of course.  We had character levels in various classes, like wizard or thief, to a certain amount, which we sort of "exchanged" for monster levels.  The more powerful the monster, the less character levels we got for wizard spells, fighter skills, and so forth.  Alex's beholder must have had only a level or two, as beholders had so much inate magical power, and poor Steven's dragon was so inherrantly powerful that his dragon was barely out of the egg.  It was a red dragon, alright, but was barely bigger than a greyhound and couldn't even speak.  He seemed to have retained at least his normal intelligence, but since dragons are so much smarter than anyone else, I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised.

Then there was Brad.  Surprisingly, the still-macho ex-jock chose a female character.  Specifically a dark elf, or drow.  He had several reasons, of course.  In the Drow society, women ran everything, so a male drow was a second class citizen, akin to a woman in Middle Ages.  Granted, our monster characters probably wouldn't have cared, but it was a natural assumption that a female drow was the better choice for a character than a male, game-wise.  In real life, however.... well, let's just say that while the new Brad was certainly the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen in a very long time, his wife Janet would probably not see the humor.  Brad, more than even the speechless Steven, was kicking himself for his choice, now that it had transcended the normal awkward "dude role-playing a hot chick" phase that most male gamers go through.

It was almost funny really.  Brad's "wardrobe malfunction" was almost a "there but for the grace of God, go I" situation for the rest of us.  Anyone of us could have chosen a female character.  Most of us had done it before.   There was a stereotype that male gamers have trouble playing a female character that isn't, well, a stereotype.   Granted, most of our male characters were stereotypes, or at least archetypes, but when we play a kind of person radically different, like a different sex or race, it gets more profound, if not insulting.
This, ironically, was Brad's first attempt at a female character.

Steven had never tried it, having the tragically normal teenage-boy homophobic reaction, thinking that playing a "girl" made him look gay.  The rest of us had played female characters, either as players or as extra characters when we ran games, and I had to admit we'd had limited success in doing women justice.

Jimmy, despite his creativity and intelligence, couldn't seem to play a women who wasn't drop-dead gorgeous and at least a little slutty.  His "women" would sleep with anyone in the game, on a constant basis.  They were also almost always bisexual.

Alex was the other extreme.  All his female characters were mostly man-hating rape victems, out to hurt any other man they came across.  They were sexually repressed to the point of being asexual.

I'd like to think that my own female characters were better, but perhaps I was just fooling myself.  I tried to model them after women I'd known, either friends, relatives, or past girlfriends.  Still, the backstory of a number of them were stories of "trying to make it in a man's world, against all odds".   I didn't have the traumatized characters of Alex, or Jimmy's "girls gone wild", but my characters were all, more often then not, victems of one kind or another.
I also remember, to my chagrin, that the picture I drew of my first female character, when I was Steven's age, was a hot blonde paladin named Nicole that had breasts that were, individually, as big as her head.  I normally keep all my old gaming stuff for sentimental reasons, but "Nicole" didn't make the cut.

Which brings the recap to my "character".  I went for useful abilities, not the powerhouses that Alex and Steven picked.  I chose a Doppleganger.  They were telepathic shape-shifters, capable of becoming literaly anyone and infiltrating anywhere.  I always thought they would be cool to play, but we hadn't had one in the game as a bad guy in many, many years.  Frankly, as villians, we'd found that they were only really good as infiltrating the group of players and trying to murder them one by one.  As you can imagine, the novelty of this tactic grows thin for players very quickly.    The strange part of my transformation into this ultimate spy is that I didn't even realize it at first.  During the stress of the change, I apparently changed instinctively into my most comfortable form, which was my "human" one, not the skinny, gray alien looking creature that was the doppleganger's natural form.   I wouldn't even have known what I'd become if Alex's beholder hadn't shined his "anti-magic" eyebeam on me, canceling my magical shapeshifting.  I hate to say it, but it was also very telling about my attitude towards female characters that my first real shapechange besides my "original" form, was to become Angelina Jolie, in full red carpet glory and glamour.


So, there we were.  Jimmy had somehow dissappeared.  Given what the four of us looked like, I don't think that saying that it was "magic" would be considered too radical a theory.  We were apparently stuck, with no explanation and no way to change back.  Being creatures with magic powers has always been the dream of many gamers.  In real life..... it has some serious limitations.   One of those limitations reared its ugly head when Steven's mother called and said that it was past his curfew and he needed to return home NOW!  The little dragon gave a mournful lizardy squeak and looked scared.  Of lesser importance on the crisis meter, if only slightly, was what the rest of us were going to do when we were needed back at our jobs, or worse, when Brad's wife came home to find a beautiful dark-skinned elven lass in her bed, sleeping on her husband's side.  Granted, Alex the beholder seemed totally unconcerned about the situation and just kept flying slowly around the room, but the rest of us were basically freaking out.


I spoke first. Alright, first emergency first.  How do we change Steven back before we take him back to his parents?

Brad the elf-maiden seemed to pull "herself" together with great effort.  Ok, well, Greg, since you and I are the only ones with hands, why don't we search through Jimmy's stuff?  Maybe there's a clue there.

I nodded.  I should have thought of that.  It shouldn't matter that I was the more "senior gamer" then Brad, of course, especially since this certainly wasn't a game anymore, but I was embarrassed that he came up with the solution first.  Granted, maybe it was my gamer instincts that prevented me, as the DM notes were sacred, and going through them was like the ultimate form of cheating.

We started sorting through the notes, finding little of consequence.  It seemed that our old game had been about to take a strange turn, with our characters being betrayed by the kingdom that hired us.  It was funny how that radical plot twist, normally something that would have been such a big deal, seemed so inconsequential now.  As I moved the notes that we'd gone through over to one side, I happened to look down at Brad.  This gave me an odd feeling for several reasons.  Brad was the tallest of us, or had been, anyway.  His 6'3" was several inches above me, the next tallest.  Perhaps a part of me had always been a little jealous and bitter about his usurping my place as tallest gamer, as useless and worthless as the acolade was.  Whatever the reason, it made it even weirder to know that I was now a good foot taller than his new form.  Granted, I suppose I could have shapechanged into something several feet shorter or even taller, but I was staying in my normal form for now.  Actually, seeing me in my normal form seemed to have an almost calming effect on Brad, though I would have guessed the opposite.

Also, even though Brad's appearance wasn't nearly as freakish as Alex's beholder, it was a bit unnerving to suddenly be that close (we were inches apart as we sorted through paper work) to a "real" dark elf.  Brad was, I hate to say, breathtaking.  His skin wasn't the dark brown of African-Americans, but a true black, like obsidian, so dark that there was almost a purplish hue.  Her almond shaped eyes were amazingly exotic, and were more so up close, seeming to emphasize her very alien form.  I was staring in fascination until she looked at me suddenly, eyes narrowed in annoyance.

Are you looking at my.... my... bosom?  She asked.

I wanted to laugh at a grown man (sort of, anyway) and ex-football player, refering to breasts as a "bosom".  I didn't though, not wanting to make him madder than I had to.

No, no.  No, honestly!  I was staring at your face.
I chuckled at the thought of how many times we had probably all, including Brad, used that same line on a woman when caught admiring her chest.
I'm serious, Brad.  Being this close to a "real" drow elf is... just so .... surreal.  I can't get over how different you and the rest of us look.
I realized my faux pas immediately, as I was the only one who didn't have to look different, but Brad ignored it, chosing to be reassured that her gamer buddy wasn't scoping him out.  Nodding, she went back to work.
I started to join her but was stopped by a thought.  I actually hadn't looked at Brad's new "bosom".  I was always trying to avoid to be rude to women, but I liked boobs.  I really, really liked them.  Even at the risk of pissing off my friend, I should have at least peeked.  Waiting until Brad was reading something, I actually did look.
Nothing.  I felt nothing. No lust or even my normal fascination.  Nothing.
I might have been due to Brad being a man, but somehow I doubted it.  It was as if I had no attaction what so ever for her.  Granted, elven breasts weren't huge, so Brad was built like the rare supermodel who hadn't yet gotten implants, but it should have stirred something.
Holy crap.  Were dopplegangers all .... gay?
As the thought crossed my mind, I tried to dismiss it, realizing the probable truth.  It wasn't that I wasn't into Brad's new body because she had been a man or that I wasn't into girls. It was because I was only into ... other dopplegangers.  I thought about lots of women, even the aforementioned Angelina, but got similar feelings of.... nothing.  Like they were very attractive animals, like cattle or dogs.  I even tried to picture a naked man.  Thankfully, the same reaction.  It seemed that dopplegangers were only attracted to others of their kind, or else no one.  To be honest, I didn't even know how the creatues reproduced. It occured to me that since there were no others of my kind, I couldn't even be sure about being attracted to them, either.  It was seriously depressing.

I was brought back to the present by a small dark hand, snapping delicate fingers in my face.

Dammit, Greg!  You're the last one of us who should be freaking out, here!   You can still look human, for God's sake! 

Putting my hands up apologetically, I nodded to her.
I wasn't freaking out, just distracted by ... everything.  Sorry, I'll focus.  What's left?

I started to reach for more papers when she stopped me.

Don't bother, I'm finished.  There's nothing here.  Nuts!  How are we going to get Steven back before his parents call the cops on us, or something?

I was at a loss for ideas when Alex started guffawing in that hacking, grating laugh he'd developed at a beholder.
The answer's obvious, you morons!  If we can't get the real Steven back at the moment, then all we need to do is make another one to buy some time.

I knew what he was talking about instantly.
Me?  You want ME to become Steven?

He cackled at us.
Me?  I don't want anything, Greggie!  I'm just suggesting it so the idiot humans are put at ease, in case you care about that kind of thing.

"The humans"?  Was he serious about that?  I was assuming that he was kidding, or at least I hoped so.  It was a chilling thought if he wasn't.


=========================

I meant to do more on this story in part II than recap, but now I'm exhausted and don't want to accidentally erase what I have.   I'll post this and try for part III soon.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:40, Sun 05 Apr 2009.

If I was a lich, a simple 'rip skeletons out of parent's bodies' spell could've fixed the whole mess out easily.

I would like to play something akin to this. Not from a tabletop game, we're already doing that. I mean like 'Oh hey guys look what I (bought/found/stole), a wierd (Book/Stick/Cube/Scroll/Evil McMuffin) that has wierd writing on it, I wonder what it does when I (Say/Chant/Recite/Push This Button)?' type scenario.