[a / b / c / d / e / f / g / gif / h / hr / k / m / o / p / r / s / t / u / v / vg / w / wg] [i / ic] [r9k] [cm / hm / y] [3 / adv / an / cgl / ck / co / diy / fa / fit / hc / int / jp / lit / mlp / mu / n / po / pol / sci / soc / sp / tg / toy / trv / tv / vp / x] [rs] [status / ? / @] [Settings] [Home]
Settings   Home
/tg/ - Traditional Games

File: 1358686510661.png-(8 KB, 300x300, 008.png)
8 KB
So, /tg/ I'm incredibly fascinated by Lady Gaga's claim to fame.

This got me thinking on a system where all players are pop-star wannabes trying to get famous.

A stat called "Desperation" increases over time, which, if it exceeds a certain threshold, turns your character insane.

To prevent your character from going insane, they need to get "Fame" by performing in concerts or using skills, etc.

The use of skills increase your desperation, so you should only really use them if you're sure the Fame you receive would exceed the Desperation you get from it.

Skills would range from increasing the fame output by a certain percent, or reducing your opponents' fame output.

The goal is to be the last star aspirant left sane.

> "The goal is to be the last star aspirant left sane."

So....there are odds that the character can lose in character creation?
>> "The goal is to be the last star aspirant left sane."
It would be awesome if the madness they experience is something Lovecraftian.
Or, if the madness actually allows them to see the true face of reality. Which is full of Cthulhu. And worse.
> Miss Gaga, why are you screaming again?

That would explain the meat dress.
And the more famous you get, the more of reality you get to see.
So, you have to start either drinking, doing drugs or going insane in order to cope with what you see.
The real world goes away when you hide inside your own mind.

She was obviously chosen as the avatar of the "Mother Monster". Said old god is now using her as a mouthpiece
this starts to sound a little like Dont Rest Your Head. also, it sounds awesome.
That would explain the over-stressed sexual themes of dance, costume, and lyrics. Even her name, Gaga, could just be a bastardization of the cultist chant, ia ia!

All hail Shub-Niggurath, the Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young and her herald, Lady iaia.
So, it goes something like this:
> Get famous.
> Because you're now famous, you begin seeing monsters and weird shit.
> Desperation (and madness) increases.
> To deal with desperation, you need to get more famous.
> You get more famous.
> Congratulations, now you see more weird shit.
> Repeat from step one.
Rara a a a romaromama Ga Ga ulala!
Maybe she's a little crazy to begin with and the DESIRE to be famous is really a desire to be popular and surrounded by others, a need for protection. Unfortunately, she's become so popular that she's now received the notice of undesirables and must maintain her entourage, security, and constant moves (touring) to stay a step ahead, creating a downward spiral that will surely result in failure, addiction, overdose, and death. All she can do is continue to succeed to keep those dogs at bay, for at least another tour.
Perhaps a way to deal with those things is to publish songs with subliminal messages (prayers to the Old Ones)?
You know, distribute the madness?

It does seem kinda odd that the reaction to fame makes you see weird shit, is to become more famous, but it could be that gathering a following means you can chuck one of them to the mad things to stave off total insanity. It would explain why some stars seem to last forever and some burn out quickly: it all depends on whether you're willing to sacrifice the odd fan or 2 to appease the thing whose attention is now focused on you.

It might also explain why there were so many bands made artificially back in the 90s: the record producers were actually trying to study the effect in question, and thus trying to recreate it.

>captcha: scientific whensap
>This thread
Do it yourself, mang.

I'll probably do a deranged adept NPC form my urban Mage: the Ascension game.
from the ideas you're putting here, I mean.
I know it's weird, I mostly went with OP's mechanics.

Perhaps the pop-stars were targeted as messengers of the great Ones?
You know, they have influence, followers, money, they would be perfect for spreading the faith.
So, they drew the attention of something bad, and now they have to deal with it.
> Publishing mind-washing songs (Macarena doomed millions).
> Destroying themselves in order to cope with what they know and what they've done (and attract more followers).
> Acting weird or engaging in scandals to draw more followers less they be consumed and so on.

Also, perhaps the various publishing houses are actually competing churches?
So, in order to survive the cutthroat world that is pop-Cthulhu, they have to move around, tour the world, have entourages as >>22694873 suggested?
They don't only have to deal with the beast (literal) on their back, but to be careful around other pop-stars, their followers and so on.
File: 1358693562005.jpg-(9 KB, 246x245, 1231768734462.jpg)
9 KB
Lovecraft -did- mention that the Old Ones send images to artists, amongst others. It almost makes sense that those artists who draw the most attention to themselves become beacons for their influence.

>YFW you realize why some of Asia's best poets were also highly trained warriors
File: 1358693583402.jpg-(11 KB, 272x185, victims.jpg)
11 KB
... or *willingly* fall, and slowly turn every tour into a recruitment drive for their cult.

A neat early plot arc could easily involve the PCs unwittingly going on tour with a fallen band, trying to avoid being sucked into the other band's cult and getting a good sense of what's at stake.

On another note, any game in which you play pop singers trying to stave off Lovecraftian madness needs to be able to include Madonna, perhaps as a BBEG.
Cher, Madonna and Gaga as the uber-fiend. Not fiends, FIEND. ONE.

Also, I'd love it if the ICP were the good guys.
They operate in the open, no one takes them seriously, so no Lovecraftian horror would care for them.
And they use their connections and mind-washed followers to hunt down some Eldtrich thing.
Maybe their references to "rednecks" are just an allusion to hunting Deep Ones or ghouls.
Maybe Faygo is some sort of mind-control fluid?
Or anti-mind-control fluid. Coke/Pepsi have been long over-run.
Sure, why the hell not.
I thought that the ICP uses Faygo to mind wash their followers (and also as a mind-shield against the Old Ones) to aid them in their battle against the Eldritch Horrors.
It would also be nice if, in the end, they only furthered the goals of some other abomination, and all their efforts were in vain.
I'm running down twisting hotel corridors and my feet refuse to move. I'm wearing the 8" heeled boots from the Grammy's and something hungry is plodding after me, "bomp bomp bomp". It's dark but I know what it is; it is made of ichor and eyes, darkness and hunger. It wants something from me but it's bubbulations of forced speech cause
me to vomit the spinach quiche I had for dinner and my nose starts to run with blood. I turn a corner and run into another hotel wall, blocking my escape. I can hear it nearly upon me as I collapse to the floor in terror "bomp bomp bomp".

... and it's the same dream again. My heart starts to slow until I hear the same "bomp bomp bomp" from the next room. I reach for the pistol on my nightstand as I hear
a slide and click as the door to my hotel room opens and my manager, Big Rob, enters the room with some coffee and looks me over. "Glad you got some sleep, you've been looking the worse for wear lately." he says as he flashes that half-smile that's signed so many young girls with promises they'd turn out just like me.

He's right though. I get up to look in the full-length mirror and I'm a mess. It's more than just the smeared makeup, bits of glitter, and the bruise on my shoulder; I'm getting older and the drugs I use to cope aren't helping either. The sleep helped but it's the make-up artists that make me beautiful,
and they've had to work harder and harder to make me so. I frown at the wreck I've become, envied by most, and Big Rob misinterprets as usual.

"Gaga, I'm sorry but they didn't have french vanilla chai today. I gave that barissta a piece of my mind but you'll have to settle on a skinny caramel machiatto instead."
I take it just to keep my hands busy as Big Rob starts going over the itinerary for today. Apparently we're in Chicago. I thought it was still Boston. I have a show tonight at 8, stadium crowd, decent openers. I need to be there 5 hours earlier to get my makeup and costumes prepped. It's a pain in the ass but it'll
be worth it. No-one can get to me in that maelstrom of gossip, nail polish, and hairspray; and for those 5 hours, I'll be content.

But the concert. Surrounded by thousands of fans all cheering my name and singing along, it should be orgasmic. Except they're not all fans. That teenage girl with the hollow mouth and vacant eyes, she wasn't singing along at all, just quietly chanting to herself. That man with the two young daughters, his stares of hatred spoke volumes while they laughed and cried with delight. That woman in the business suit just last week, front row. She sat and stared while the crowd raged around her, just watching. They're not even trying to hide anymore; they want me to know they're there, always watching.
Big Rob looks nervous in the silence as I reflect and I can tell something is bothering him. "There were a couple of rowdy fans last night. Mike somehow got pushed unto a vase when they came off of the elevator and knocked him out cold. He's in the hospital while they do a few x-rays on his arm and let him rest. We're gonna be a little short on security until he's able to get out of there. Tom and John stopped them from getting any further, not that they knew which room you'd be in. Don't worry, we'll find out who on the staff leaked your floor." He flashes that half-smile again before adding, "oh, don't forget those radio contest winners will need a meet-and-greet after the show. It shouldn't take very long, you'll get a few hours sleep, and it'll be on to the next show."

I let this sink in as I sip my scalding hot skinny caramel machiatto. I wonder if they'll kill me tonight.
Holy shit, awesome.
Please continue, noble writefriend.
What about not using the Old Ones?
I know, Lovecraft's cool and everything, but there are other forms of madness. Maybe let them alienate everyone with an ideal the strife to be, blocking out all other things.
Or, you know, just making up our own Old Ones.

Sage for nonconstructive criticism
Maybe they become Old Ones if they get mad / popular enough?
Like the Changelings eventually becoming True Fae in Changeling: The Lost?
Forgot to add, if we do this famous-turning-into-Cthulhu thing, we need to make Elvis and Shakespeare some Old Ones.
And Hitler.
If you become popular (or famous enough, doesn't matter for what) you turn into an Eldritch horror.
Yeah, this is a nice idea.
Maybe you become a kind of platonic ideal, with the power over your purview, which in turn clouds/liberates your judgement.
I'd go with madness - you begin to think only in the context of the thing you're famous for.
For example, if you're famous for scandals, you only think about making scandals, and eventually become unable to think about anything else.
The same goes with murder, singing and everything else.
Update! We have a rough set of rules done.

The rules so far.


Sample character
Nice, I'll check it out now.
Did you go with the suggestions from the thread?
Any questions? Feedback? Critique?
Shouldn't becoming an internet meme actually hurt your Ego more than a small tabloid article?
Well, the Media Exposure table is just there to give you a rough idea of how many people know about your fuckup. It's a combination of both the internet and mainstream media. But feel free to suggest any changes you see fit.
On a tangential note, anyone read Stephen King's "They got one hell of a band"?
File: 1358725533655.jpg-(8 KB, 201x251, The Dancer in White.jpg)
8 KB
Peeking in as the Dial 0 thread is a mite slow right now. I approve of this thread and will watch it for inspiration.

Though I am pleased at the portrayal of Lady Gaga as the Lovecraftian force she truly is, I am also surprised at the lack of the Dancer in White.
Well the tabloids are temporary, aren't they? Eventually, they'll have to change the subject.
Memes, on the other hand, die out slower.
> Dancer In White
Well, we got ourselves a new horror.

Epic Sax Guy could easily be a messenger for something else.
Also, Psy and Gangnam Style.
Hm. Good point. I think we can fix that with an additional roll to see how long it's talked about or something. It's still in alpha stage, so anything goes.
He'd be probably an endgame boss if you start a feud with him.
Daisy Dix
Gender-unspecified synthpop "superstar" (more than 100 total likes between four YouTube songs!)

Ego: 28
Popularity: 13
Exposure: 2
Insanity: 3
$260 in my checking account

Sweet 2
Edgy 8
Catchy 7
Rhythmic 3
Flashy 8
Modest 2

Star powers:
Trap-fap potential: Most of the user comments are about doing things with my mouth. Besides singing.

Incognito: I'm nearly unrecognizable without my wigs, makeup and outfits.

Samefag booster club: A dedicated fan with multiple accounts is always near a computer to "defend" me from criticism.
File: 1358733642773.jpg-(72 KB, 574x357, 1270442251768.jpg)
72 KB
Rolled 18, 1, 5, 4, 17 = 45

Making characters now? Sure, why not.

>Rolling Ego, Popularity, and Exposure.
Rolled 1

Okay, so we got...
Ego: 24 (kinda mellow, but not suicidal yet)
Popularity: 4 (ouch)
Exposure: 17 (working hard, but not getting anywhere)

Which brings my starting cash to... oh... a whopping $980 in my checking account. Must be a hell of a saver since my career ain't going anywhere yet.

>Rolling for starting Insanity.
Rolled 8

Really fucking mellow. A mere Insanity of 1. Perhaps some very naive dreams of stardom, but still rather grounded.

Now, Stats.

7 Sweet / Edgy 3
Very homey with my message, though I am experimenting with a more aggressive approach to my personality.

5 Catchy / Rhythmic 5
I have no idea where to go with my music. Perhaps I tried to try a little bit of both, but with little success thus far.

2 Flashy / Modest 8
I don't have the bankroll for flash, nor the will to be flashy yet. Perhaps as more Edginess comes out, so will the Flashiness.
So, you got a shy, cute girl trying to show off her musical talents (perhaps with some hip-hop plus violins)?
Rolled 9

Star Powers, huh? Well, since they're based on my musical style and personality, so let's work on that first.

I'm thinking someone who's started out in the country tradition, but has been wanting to go the route of the more pop-like singers and bands out there. (Catchy/Rhythmic being equal, high Sweet and Modest.)

"Country Boy in a Big City": I find it difficult to fit in with the music establishment, but retain a certain charm about me which allows me to more easily score ONE gig with a newly-met organizer. If I fail the gig though, the news spreads like wildfire and makes this ability much harder to use down the road.

"Lullaby on the Farm": The name of my biggest hit (if you can call it a 'hit', that is. It's popular with the mom crowd, with its slow rhythm and smooth vocals. Playing this song at a show with a large number of middle-aged and older women in the audience allows me to net a slightly larger amount of Cash than normal.

"Milk Drinker": Quite simply, I drink milk instead of alcohol. It reminds me of home and calms me down somewhat. It also allows me to reroll my Episode coverage once per session/campaign/whatever-the-GM-wants-to-use, using the lesser of the rolls.

Not what I was going for, but I giggled.
If you search for "Lady Gaga" and "illuminati" on google you'll get some interesting results.
After reading the second power, I read the third as "Milf Drinker"...
File: 1358735345167.jpg-(41 KB, 495x373, mom_jeans1.jpg)
41 KB
Rolled 5

Maybe get Edgy enough and it would become that?
>mom jeans commercial
>didn't even need to read the filename
You walk down some filthy street after your first gig with a bus ticket in your hand.

So far, you've mostly played at little kids birthday parties, hired by their moms for the day, and this was going to be your chance at something greater.
But... It seems you blew it. You posted some videos on YouTube, placed some posters around the town to promote the event, but only a couple people came.
Mostly tweens who came for the great star of the show, some local pretty boy, who couldn't hit a note even if his life depended on it.
Besides, hip-hop and violins? What the hell were you thinking? It's your fault, not his, you dumb piece of shit.

You let out a sigh and take a sip of the chocolate milk you bought from some store a while ago. Milk always reminds you of home, back when things were simpler.

Well, it's not so bad - some guys asked you to join their band. The manager offered you to stay as a waitress and assistant.
Oh, who are you kidding, you're a failure. You need to go home, settle in your mom's florist shop and spend the last of your days there, wallowing in misery.

You finally notice that the street is eerily empty - no cars, no people, the windows are all closed...
A weak wind blows, throwing some garbage around, making the only sound you can hear.

Wait. Did that... Did that pavement brick just glow?
File: 1358736190980.gif-(1.99 MB, 237x178, 1290372519431.gif)
1.99 MB
Rolled 6

Dammit, stop remembering my dice...
What about the Beatles?
You're just seeing things. No way a brick could glow.
You're tired, and who knows what those guys were smoking - maybe you got high by inhaling some of that smoke?

You hear something. Footsteps?
And... something else. You can't really place the finger on it, but it sounds like...
A bass line?

You turn around, trying to see what's making that noise.

Yeah. You're high. You're hearing and seeing things.
You should better hurry to that bus stop, you need to get home, call mum, tell her we blew it and that we're coming home.
Boy, are your parents going to be disappointed. And angry. Their little girl, on her first trip to the big city got high! What are the neighbors going to think?

Yeah, you can hear synths too.
That concert really did a number on you.

You slowly begin walking forward. You need to get to that bus stop, pronto.

And then, you see him.
Some guy, dressed completely in white, standing on a glowing brick.
The 4channer in me wants to make all sorts of jokes about Yoko Ono being a cultist and Chapman trying to save humanity, but honestly I love John Lennon so much I can't really bring myself to actually follow through on them, even for the sake of /tg/ original content.
I thought he was a dude.

>Country Boy
Oh, crap, you're right.
Maybe we're really effeminate?

Anyway, I went with that cute-shy-girl thing from before.
I'll delete the post and correct the mistake, gimme a second.
Or should I keep this?
I think it's worth keeping.
>Their little boy, on his first trip to the big city got high! What are the neighbors going to think?


OK, had my first gig. Almost got killed by the crowd (literally), but luckily for me the show was so terrifying that the crowd's self-mutilating reactions made them think I was cool.

British people are weird.

You're a riot.
Was he there? You don't think so.
He just... kinda... appeared.
Man, are you fucked.

He begins moving towards you.
Not walking but... dancing? Is he dancing?
His moves are hypnotic, everything he touches lightens up, the music (you're pretty sure it's music) is getting louder...

Is he singing?

The fuck was that? What the fuck is going on?
Why can't you move?

"OOOOOOOH!" he screams, throwing his arm at you, and a strong gust of wind throws you back.
You expect to land on your ass, but instead you fall on a bed.

What the fuck? A bed? When did this came here?

The guy in white is still moving (dancing?) towards you. And behind him...
People? A whole lot of them. They appear familiar...
It's the guys from the gig!

You try to shout, to move, to do anything to get their attention to help you.
Nothing happens.
You can't move.
You can't talk.
You can only watch.

They step into the light, and you can finally clearly see them.
They are dirty, their clothes torn, their faces lifeless...

They come closer and join the guy in white in his dancing.
At least my songs aren't all covers!

They're not so much covers as they are religious expression, Cox.
Damn right it is.

Anyway, you guys, I have to bail.
I hope my first writefag attempt was tolerable.
Thanks for contributing!

Didn't even give the guy a name before he...


His name was Billy Gene.
I actually ran a Baali in OWoD based on a similar premise. They gain power by repeating, or getting others to repeat, specific syllables that are mystically bastardized versions of the true names of Elder Gods. The game was set in the 1970's. My character was a recording executive.

Oo EE OO Ah Ah, Ting Tang. Walla walla Bing Bang.
...My fuckin' sides.
...makes a disturbing amount of sense
File: 1358756930577.jpg-(344 KB, 1500x1500, 1358723920846.jpg)
344 KB
Rolled 12, 3, 5, 4, 12 = 36

Let's do this shit.

>Rolling for Ego, Exposure, Popularity.
Rolled 5

20 Ego, bordering into that depression.
Popularity of 4
Exposure of 12, nobody cares about me outside of my home-town.

Starting cash of 480, I'm a poor mother fucker.

Rolling for Insanity.
Actually, 12 means you're known in the indie circuit and little elsewhere.
Why else was it so damned catchy back in the day? Why has it lasted so long when other, better songs have been forgotten? It is an eldritch abomination. A corruption of a monster's power, further fueling another monster. And the fact that the Chipmunks sing it to kids? That just doubles the evil.
No, the chipmunks are another evil entirely. So it's more like evil squared.
Oh, God, my sides.
Bump. This is pretty interesting...
Wait. Do we have to make pop-stars only?
Because making Tila Tequila an avatar of SDT should be our top priority.
>first time rollan dice
If that's the case, someone's gotta roll up the Kardashians, the Jersey Shore crew, and all the other nitwits of pop culture, not just of music.

It can only end one of two ways. Glorious. Or God-awful.


in the email field.

I remember a bunch of memes popping around 12/21, regarding the Mayan calender and a Nostradamus or Revelations prediction about a messenger of the horse from the land of the sun reaching a height never seen before, and how it meant Psy (a singer who's main dance was "the horse dance" and came from a country who's name literally translated to "Land of the Sun") was going to be the first person to reach a billion hits on youtube.

It could make for a fun campaign if you actually tied in an "end of the world" feature to that and the PCs were trying to boost their own online-focused fame and gain a billion hits first in an attempt to stop him. Or ruin his career in a way to make people stop listening to him.

Delete Post [File Only] Password
[a / b / c / d / e / f / g / gif / h / hr / k / m / o / p / r / s / t / u / v / vg / w / wg] [i / ic] [r9k] [cm / hm / y] [3 / adv / an / cgl / ck / co / diy / fa / fit / hc / int / jp / lit / mlp / mu / n / po / pol / sci / soc / sp / tg / toy / trv / tv / vp / wsg / x] [rs] [status / q / @] [Settings] [Home]
[Disable Mobile View / Use Desktop Site]

[Enable Mobile View / Use Mobile Site]

- futaba + yotsuba -
All trademarks and copyrights on this page are owned by their respective parties. Images uploaded are the responsibility of the Poster. Comments are owned by the Poster.