- Pronouns
- He/Him
I'll take plus ten to national action bart is on. Might come in handy down the line.... plus honestly can't think of question ~
A Hellfish flys again! ( a Simpsons X DVV CK2 Quest)
- Thread starter Ranger65
- Start date
I think I'll go with the +10 to attacking Burns' Base. With that I think we'll be not too badly off there.
- Location
- Three feet to the left
- Pronouns
- He/They
+20 to attacking Burns, even before we sabotage him? Oh, he's gonna get it this time!
We can invite Mona to dance on his grave! It'll be very romantic!
We can invite Mona to dance on his grave! It'll be very romantic!
If my math is right we're currently rolling that action with a +98 modifier. It's going to come down to the personal combat rolls, but I don't hate our odds of getting at least something out of it.
- Location
- Three feet to the left
- Pronouns
- He/They
I request to see the math there, because that's crazy. Is it the hillbillies?
25 (Abe Martial)+21 (Wilhelm Martial)+2 (Loyalty)+10 (Hillbilly Militia)+10 (Grandpa To Springfield)+10 (Springfield Police)+10 (You Watch My Back)+10 (Burns Negaverse 3)=Roll+98 vs DC 100
Admittedly I'm assuming that Grandpa to Springfield activities, but it'd make sense to me since by storming the bunker we're acting to protect our family from the Burns 6.
- Location
- Three feet to the left
- Pronouns
- He/They
So, I'm assuming we're gonna come away with at least one of the 6. What are we actually going to do with them once we have them? We can't kill any of them while the zombie problem is happening, you just know they'll revive.
I mean, we do have that shiny new prison. I'm sure we can find a cell for them all.
- Location
- Three feet to the left
- Pronouns
- He/They
I want Smithers and Burns on opposite ends of the prison. No taking chances.
Yeah, most of them can be shipped off to the Prison and if we're really afraid of them collaborating in there we can probably send them to different prisons or something.
If we take them out this turn the elementary student they just recruited will probably get off with the slap on the wrist. Since they haven't even done anything yet. Or they can act like they didn't know what was going on, due to well being a elementary schooler. Some therapy or some suspension. Juvie at most obviously.
- Location
- Three feet to the left
- Pronouns
- He/They
I mean.... there's plenty of room in the prison. And it can totally hold an elementary student.
Just saying.
He Who Guards The Gates (canon!)
- Location
- Fall, or somewhere close to it
He Who Guards The Gates
Hunter stood at the gates of the Springfield cemetery, eyes narrowed, gripping his staff tightly. The wind howled through the iron bars as the moon bathed the rows of tombstones in an eerie, silvery glow. Behind the gate, the earth stirred, and Hunter could hear the soft groaning of the undead that had risen from their graves. His mission was clear: block off all access to the cemetery and keep these zombies contained, no matter the cost.
"Keep the undead in, keep the townsfolk out." Abe Simpson's words echoed in his mind. Hunter had known what the task would entail but there really was something about this job… something he couldn't shake.
The zombies unnerved him.
They were too similar to Grimwalkers. Created from death, from magic—only these were not bound to one purpose or crafted with the care (or cruelty) that Belos had once shown. These were raw, shambling husks, raised by some bizarre force in this new world he'd found himself in. Springfield's brand of chaos was unlike anything on the Boiling Isles, but the sight of creatures that shouldn't exist walking among the living had a way of crossing all boundaries.
Hunter took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "They're just zombies," he muttered under his breath, attempting to dismiss his unease. "Not Grimwalkers. They're nothing like me." But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, the way their hollow eyes stared, the way their bodies moved like marionettes on invisible strings—he couldn't help but feel a strange kinship with them. Grimwalkers, after all, weren't much different. Soulless shells made for a purpose.
The first time he'd seen them crawl out of their graves, it had shaken him to his core. He'd thought of Flapjack, of the life he was just starting to build. Of how easily it could have been him, one of these empty creatures, if he'd stayed under Belos' thumb. His fingers tightened around the staff. No, he wasn't like them. He'd broken free. He had friends now. A new purpose.
From behind, he heard footsteps. Turning, Hunter saw Abe Simpson hobbling toward him, grumbling under his breath about "whippersnappers" and "back in my day, zombies knew how to stay buried."
"How's it going, kid?" Abe asked, squinting at the barred gate. "We don't need a brain-eating incident. Got enough people here losing their minds as it is."
Hunter straightened. "Everything's under control. I've reinforced the gates and set up a perimeter. No one is getting in and no zombies are getting out."
Abe nodded, satisfied. "Good, good. If those shambling corpses get loose, it'll be hell. Worse than election year."
Hunter couldn't help but smirk at the old man's gruff humor, but his focus never wavered. The gate rattled slightly as a bony hand reached through the bars. Hunter's eyes locked onto it, and for a moment, the grotesque movement reminded him of the puppetry Belos used to control him and others.
"Why do they keep coming back?" he whispered, almost to himself.
"Eh, it's Springfield. Weird stuff happens all the time," Abe said, leaning on his cane. "Could be the cursed donuts, could be radioactive goo, could just be Tuesday. Best not to think about it."
Hunter nodded, though the gnawing sense of dread didn't fade. He had to focus on his task. Protect the town. Keep the monsters contained. Maybe this job was the distraction he needed, but the eerie familiarity of the zombies was eating at him.
Mr. Simpson left as Hunter watched the undead, their shuffling mindless movements, and something inside him stirred. What if that had been his fate? What if, instead of finding freedom, he had been left to wander the world, lost and empty like them? It chilled him more than the sight of the zombies themselves.
With a deep breath, Hunter pushed the thought away. He wasn't one of them. He had his own mind, his own choices. He'd broken free of Belos. This was just another challenge, another enemy to face.
But as the night wore on and the cemetery filled with more restless dead, Hunter couldn't shake the feeling that the lines between him and these zombies were thinner than he wanted to admit.
The gate rattled again, but Hunter stood firm, dedicated, no matter what ghosts of his past tried to surface. "I'm not like you," he whispered, as much to himself as to the creatures beyond the bars. "Not anymore."
But even as the words left his lips, Hunter knew he wasn't trying to convince the mindless undead in front of him.
He was trying to convince himself.
AN- Poor Hunter, even in this omake I was trying to write to support you, you can't escape the self doubt.
Hunter stood at the gates of the Springfield cemetery, eyes narrowed, gripping his staff tightly. The wind howled through the iron bars as the moon bathed the rows of tombstones in an eerie, silvery glow. Behind the gate, the earth stirred, and Hunter could hear the soft groaning of the undead that had risen from their graves. His mission was clear: block off all access to the cemetery and keep these zombies contained, no matter the cost.
"Keep the undead in, keep the townsfolk out." Abe Simpson's words echoed in his mind. Hunter had known what the task would entail but there really was something about this job… something he couldn't shake.
The zombies unnerved him.
They were too similar to Grimwalkers. Created from death, from magic—only these were not bound to one purpose or crafted with the care (or cruelty) that Belos had once shown. These were raw, shambling husks, raised by some bizarre force in this new world he'd found himself in. Springfield's brand of chaos was unlike anything on the Boiling Isles, but the sight of creatures that shouldn't exist walking among the living had a way of crossing all boundaries.
Hunter took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "They're just zombies," he muttered under his breath, attempting to dismiss his unease. "Not Grimwalkers. They're nothing like me." But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, the way their hollow eyes stared, the way their bodies moved like marionettes on invisible strings—he couldn't help but feel a strange kinship with them. Grimwalkers, after all, weren't much different. Soulless shells made for a purpose.
The first time he'd seen them crawl out of their graves, it had shaken him to his core. He'd thought of Flapjack, of the life he was just starting to build. Of how easily it could have been him, one of these empty creatures, if he'd stayed under Belos' thumb. His fingers tightened around the staff. No, he wasn't like them. He'd broken free. He had friends now. A new purpose.
From behind, he heard footsteps. Turning, Hunter saw Abe Simpson hobbling toward him, grumbling under his breath about "whippersnappers" and "back in my day, zombies knew how to stay buried."
"How's it going, kid?" Abe asked, squinting at the barred gate. "We don't need a brain-eating incident. Got enough people here losing their minds as it is."
Hunter straightened. "Everything's under control. I've reinforced the gates and set up a perimeter. No one is getting in and no zombies are getting out."
Abe nodded, satisfied. "Good, good. If those shambling corpses get loose, it'll be hell. Worse than election year."
Hunter couldn't help but smirk at the old man's gruff humor, but his focus never wavered. The gate rattled slightly as a bony hand reached through the bars. Hunter's eyes locked onto it, and for a moment, the grotesque movement reminded him of the puppetry Belos used to control him and others.
"Why do they keep coming back?" he whispered, almost to himself.
"Eh, it's Springfield. Weird stuff happens all the time," Abe said, leaning on his cane. "Could be the cursed donuts, could be radioactive goo, could just be Tuesday. Best not to think about it."
Hunter nodded, though the gnawing sense of dread didn't fade. He had to focus on his task. Protect the town. Keep the monsters contained. Maybe this job was the distraction he needed, but the eerie familiarity of the zombies was eating at him.
Mr. Simpson left as Hunter watched the undead, their shuffling mindless movements, and something inside him stirred. What if that had been his fate? What if, instead of finding freedom, he had been left to wander the world, lost and empty like them? It chilled him more than the sight of the zombies themselves.
With a deep breath, Hunter pushed the thought away. He wasn't one of them. He had his own mind, his own choices. He'd broken free of Belos. This was just another challenge, another enemy to face.
But as the night wore on and the cemetery filled with more restless dead, Hunter couldn't shake the feeling that the lines between him and these zombies were thinner than he wanted to admit.
The gate rattled again, but Hunter stood firm, dedicated, no matter what ghosts of his past tried to surface. "I'm not like you," he whispered, as much to himself as to the creatures beyond the bars. "Not anymore."
But even as the words left his lips, Hunter knew he wasn't trying to convince the mindless undead in front of him.
He was trying to convince himself.
AN- Poor Hunter, even in this omake I was trying to write to support you, you can't escape the self doubt.
MrWealthman
Filthy Capitalist
- Location
- Deep in the piles of cash.
I wonder what the solutions to zombie problem are there's the classic kill em all, maybe we could make them more like the kaiser or just cut the strings controlling them hmm questions questions.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Just as a heads up, you guys don't have quite an idea yet of how tough or easy it would be to kill zombies like Kaiser.
Frink didn't get much out of studying him and Kaiser did do some testing (he had some workers shoot him with bullets, which were ineffective, ran an obstacle course without tiring if I believe correctly, and shrug off easily punches from Mike Tyson) and took to drinking rat poison from Flanders house which didn't have any effect to him, but really likes the taste.
Kaiser hasn't found something. That could actually hurt him in any considerable way, heck he didn't take any damage from the 2 fights you guys were involved in the Kamp (that's most cause of the dice than from anything).
Zombies could be as tough as the Kaiser, or he could be an outlier and be stronger than the rest, oooor he could be weaker than the norm. Who knows?
Hope you guys actually manage to succeed the necromancy action this turn, was worried you guys wouldn't get that done soon enough.
- Location
- Three feet to the left
- Pronouns
- He/They
Who's got some zombie omakes in them? Might want to boost that....
- Location
- Fall, or somewhere close to it
I already posted mine, but that's absolutely more of a Hunter and containing the zombies one than a necromancy one. The only other one in the can right now is the line forming outside Burns HQ to kick his ass.
Edit: If anyone has suggestions for the line btw, would love to hear them.
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- Location
- Three feet to the left
- Pronouns
- He/They
Have them argue about what song they should have play while the attack happens.
- Location
- Nice try
Frankly I am more worried about the human zombies than the animal ones, specially the undead cowboys that probabky are roaming around the cemetery.
Wait, Syndrome handed the Birthday Bandit to the police right after catching him in the Springfield junkyard. Thus it would have been the Springfield police handling that part. Then the Bandit died on route to jail. Wouldn't that mean he would have been buried then in the Springfield cemetery, the one with the zombie problem?
Are we going to have Zombie Birthday Bandit?
MrWealthman
Filthy Capitalist
- Location
- Deep in the piles of cash.
I feel like that would be a big thing and our gracious hosts wouldn't neglect to mention birthday bandit coming back right?
- Pronouns
- Female
I apologize because it was kind of unclear, but no, a few days passed before Syndrome handed BB over lol
- Location
- Three feet to the left
- Pronouns
- He/They
He had to take his time and have fun before giving him up to "be taken to jail".
A dead clown is no laughing matter.
- Location
- Three feet to the left
- Pronouns
- He/They
Dead serious, it is!