Werewolf: Wild West
The Sept of Good Intentions/Sept of Extremely Prejudicial Termination
(S.E.P.T.)/Technocratic Enforcer Unit 03
Characters:
English Bob, the Ahroun (latterly English Roberta)
Billy, the other Ahroun
Thomas, the Galliard/latterly possessed by the Weaver
Julian Verne, the Ragabash
Rudi von Gribblefaust, the other Ragabash
Jonothan Fitzwarren, the Philodox.
I offer no excuses for the fact we were easily the most dangerous and
most useless pack Gaia ever watched over. I offer no excuses for
anything contained herein. No one would believe it. This is, however,
the campaign when the Verne dynasty finally gets its own verb - "To
Vernify", meaning to castrate. Poor sods have no luck.
I'm debating whether to make the Fitzwarrens my little lineage, as
Beaker has with the Vernes and Luke with the von Gribblefausts (I'm
looking forward fo Gribblefaustus the Exalt). We'll see.
"Male or female?"
"Yes."
...while using a dildo...
SUBTLE would be the magical wedgie of permanence.
"He's minus his balls!"
"What, AGAIN?"
Strudel MUST PAY!
Ooh, double botch. You smell OF lemons.
"I botch shapeshifting to wolf."
"...Ya gotta make him a bunny. Come on."
What is that, gamma-irradiated cock damage?
...partners in spanking arrested...
Hey Bob! You're dead!
The most electrifying move in Gaia protection - the Crinos Elbow!
LOOK! A GIANT ELF! *runs*
In fairness, I meant to say "elk."
I'm a werewolf of impotence.
"I'd like to keep my pants, please."
"I'll think about it."
A laminated totem? Waterproof AND wipe-clean!
French, German, and Irish... dear God we're the scum of the earth.
Drink or lupus? I hate these tricky choices.
Oh, I could tell you stories, but a true gentleman never tells. But
then again, I'm no gentleman. D'ye see the philosophical bind I'm in
here?
Holy sperm damage!
I shall tell the rest of this story in INTERPRETATIVE FUCK.
"So, English Bob, where you from?"
"...Carmarthen..."
...so premature it's decorated her mirror...
Start a nuclear war! In the - Garou bar, Garou bar, Garou bar!
"We were perfectly balanced! On the table, like, not mentally."
Umbral piss has odd properties.
He's been blooded now. Well, not blooded. Whiskied.
Oh, dear Christ, it's the spirit of bad novelty records.
Now y'see why t'Irish are t'more civilised nation... damn English ha'
no surnames.
FEEL THE CELT!
Combat the Wyrm in all its forms - even the dead ones.
Gentlemen! We must rescue our fuckhead!
Go Go Gadget Go Go Dancer!
Oh, great. Let's hope the big monster gets toothache.
So it takes I-just-fell-on-me-arse-like-a-muppet damage?
...zombie Riverdance...
What are you talking about? Why do you think we killed those frogs?
Give me liberty or give me a cheeseburger!
Oh, for the love of God - Dr Freud shoot this man!
"I put on my hat."
"But no shirt?"
"...HAT."
The kiss of arousal failed on Castrato-Boy. I'm stunned.
She-Bitch went bye-bye.
I have a knife; it has an eyesocket. It's fucked.
We look manly. Except you. You look dogly.
Quickly, to the Batshed!
I believe that's a 'yearh, FUCK' attack.
OK, pigeon, your delivery address is 'to whom it may concern.' Go!
...I was testing the acoustic properties of the village in case I
decide to turn it into a giant harmonica.
...the Platonic Concept of French, you are...
After you're done with that, can you invent the Thunderhawk Gunship?
(NOTE: In the end, the bugger did build the SHIELD helicarrier.)
This is either very adventurous, or very stupid. Knowing how much I pay
him, I think I know which.
DAGS, DAGS, DAGS, DAGS, DAGS!
"They'll probably realise I'm a storyteller by-"
"The fact you won't shut up?"
I have the world's first gerbil-powered welding torch!
Goebbels-I-Don't-Recognise...
There's no such fucking thing, you syphillitic prat!
Right. Operation We-Don't-Know-English-Bob has begun.
You're still not in Kansas. You're so thoroughly in Arkansas it ain't
even funny.
One learns from adversity. And the occasional custard pie to the face.
And some running around screaming.
Oompa-Loompas are going to rape you for that.
...because Pasteur had a mighty cock. (This meme will be back, kiddies!
Play along at home!)
Yes, there's a "bun" in his "oven".
He's getting in touch with someone else's inner canine.
You KNOW when you've been Vernified.
"I'm only half insane."
"Which half?"
"...The one with the brain?"
Oh sweet Jesus I'm an arms dealer to the fae.
"Back in England, I had dignity."
"Repeatedly; it was his dog's name."
Hey, prehistoric bling. Nice.
...not the bad regret, more that spanking kind o' regret.
Bob, do you have a brain, Bob?
...Is he now a h4wt chixx0r?
...Because mystic power has healed you and given you tits.
So English Roberta over there...
...or he could just want the magic knife to cut his toenails, I forgot
to ask...
I will attempt to bore you into submission. Yes, you. An agent of
mundanity. I'll bloody win as well.
My eejit-sense is tingling.
Wow. This is worse than the last one. Which I thought was the pinnacle
of uselessness.
Let us not go to Crinos, it is a silly place.
"You can still call me Bob."
"Maybe that's true, but you're still getting called Titboy."
We all have our choices in life; somewhat bizarrely, you chose the
titty fairy.
*sings* Oh, I've been a psychotic for many long years
An' I've spent all me money on whiskey and beer...
This appears to be something I call Polymorphic Logarhythmic
Orthological Transmutation, or as I abbreviate it, P.L.O.T.
I sniff the passages!
This is Albrecht. He's the bigger one that I've put on gerbil steroids.
Never assume the position!
My God, Mrs Goggins, you're dead! Now how will Postman Pat get the mail?
Standard complement of limbs?
Right. One of my arms is gone. Fantastic.
...Crinos Draven, if you will.
Whisky Tango Foxtrot?
Ah! You speak Irish!
Tell Albrecht to stand down; we have an alternate light source.
I have a Tesla coil set to flaccid anus, my friend...
"No enema?"
"No."
"Not even a little one?"
No! Pull its anal hair, that'll distract it!
Anyway, yeah. He now looks like Gorbachev. If Gorbachev was Crinos.
It dies through shock and blood loss, and the fact that it hasn't got a
head helps too.
If you could, try to get statuefied in a heroic position rather than,
y'know, on the shitter. This has to look good in my hallway.
Candygram for Tumnus?
Note to self: Queen Mab is in fact Brujah, to judge by her mastery of
Temporis. Further note: Fuck.
I know a cock when I see one.
The HUYD: The Head Up Yours Display.
Your partner, and I mean that in an intensely sexual fashion, is a
genius.
I dodge the inevitable shower of vomit.
Temptation to piss on the rest of the party from the air... rising...
Gerbils on a large scale lead to the Third Reich.
I figure while he's playing Xena: Warrior Princess he should look the
part.
If the power armour has eyebrows, one of them raises.
Try the mighty cock line, it might work!
(To a Weaver spirit) This robot body will make you feel like you have a
MIGHTY COCK.
We're here to be diplomatic. With extreme prejudice.
...Well, I think we can call this campaign derailed.
I point my mighty cock at them and fire my load. Bloody dragons.
Oh, this isn't a high explosive round. It's far more amusing than that.
...I gave the rocket pack to the pulp fanboy...
You're playing testicular pinata?
Hi Ho, keep that bloody silver away from me!
We're fucked. New deity?
Would all passengers please ensure that their seats are returned to the
upright position and guns are cocked, locked and ready to rock? Thank
you.
I believe the calculations are correct. If not, we're going to crash
into the mountain anyway...
Use your mighty cock, Verne, it's our only hope!
There now follows an intercontinental ballistic werewolf.
...More than twenty non-Euclidean tons!
I like this plan. It has a less than average chance of working.
If you build it, they will die.
You are now flying Sex God Airlines.
The man who stole fire from the gods, built a flamethrower, and burned
their fucking house down.
Mmm... Fae-licious.
It's the Gribblemobile!
You're lucky I shaved off those extra few inches for ergonomics and a
new codpiece.
Oh, sweet Christ, we're in Lewis Carroll's wet dreams.
Well, I have respect for MY genitals.