dungeon panic

Joseph Christiansen Secret/Cult Ending Manuscript

I went digging through the Level 18 gibberish and sorted out all the dialogue into a manageable manuscript if anyone is interested in reading this secret wild ride. None of the dialogue is labeled so I did my best to interpret who was saying what so any mistakes are my bad. It took a few hours to put together but I felt like some people would like more than just a summary so here is the full text:

MC will be short for Main Character or your player.

** edit 07/26/17: minor text fixes, better formatting, the insertion of more images (courtesy of purpledragon42) , and insert of a working readmore **

Level 18- Joseph Bad Ending or True Ending ( Who knows? )

This appears to take place after MC and Joseph Christiansen engage in sex in the yacht, except you don’t wake up to what you expect. This takes place in Cult_Dungeon1.

(Photo Credits: Game Grumps)

START: You’re A Monster

MC:

Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaawn. What time is it? Must have been asleep for ages. I wonder what will happen now that Mary is gone? What about Joseph’s kids? And how will Amanda feel about all this? That’s what matters… . Well, we all have each other. I guess time will tell, right? Better get up and greet the day.

Am I tied up?! What the hell?! How did I get here? What’s going on?! Joseph? Anybody?

You’re probably just dreaming. Why would there be a… Don’t panic… . a dungeon. An evil dungeon. Why would there be an evil dungeon here? This can’t be real. Maybe I had too much Twilight Rouge. I’m dreaming, or something.

???:

Oh, I guarantee this is real.

Keep reading

8

It was only a matter of time before Dark Dungeons surfaced on this feed.

The ultimate Dungeons & Dragons opposition text, this 1984 religious comic by the infamous Jack Chick is a shrill, inaccurate attempt to stoke moral panic about roleplaying games. For anyone who has ever glanced at a D&D book, it is idiotic but, thanks in part to Chick’s distinctive style and the story’s sheer outrageousness, it’s also kind of…awesome?

We begin at the game table surround by teens, presided over by a (vampy) older woman named Ms. Frost in the role of Dungeon Master. Marcie gets her thief, Black Leaf (maybe one of the best names for a thief I’ve ever encountered?) killed and is exiled from the group. Meanwhile, Debbie’s cleric, Elfstar, gets to 8th level and the DM invites her to join a witch’s coven where she learns real magic. Later, Marcie, distraught over getting Black Leaf killed, commits suicide. This leads Debbie to a crisis of conscience and, from there, into the arms of an unspecified Christian church. The pastor drives off Debbie’s demons and together, they burn all her D&D books. The end!

I don’t know about you, but I wish my high school DM looked like Ms. Frost…

10

Marksandrec’s Super Dooper Popcorn Party #190

(Strix is the only one who sees the scary thing in the distance. Although Diath is suspicious.) (Dialogue from The Nightmare Before Christmas.)

@groove-patrol “Can you do a determined Diath in 8?”

“I’ve already been through enough emotional pain. Nothing hurts more than that…So there’s no way you can truly hurt me anymore!”

I thought about this too much for my own good holy heck

ANyways here he is!

He’s going to need all the determination now to get through Barovia again :’D

The Truth About Dungeons & Dragons is what I like to call an “opposition text.” First published in 1991, well after the fever pitch of anti-D&D hysteria had died down, Joan Hacke Robie’s book is exactly the kind of stubborn, ill-informed hold out you think it is.

It is absolutely word a couple bucks if you see it at a used bookstore. What we have is a brief history of the game, followed by an explanation of how it is played (which is full of errors and mischaracterizations). Then Robie lays out the case for how the game is anti-Christian because it encourages witchcraft and presents good and evil as being on even footing. Then we get a gloss of fear-mongering controversies like the Egbert case and Pat Pulling’s BADD (I’ll cover those eventually).

The best parts are when Robie presents her “evidence.” She describes Elric throwing devil horns in a Deities and Demigods illustration (it is more of an ‘I love you’ sign), erroneously describes the types of dragons (there’s only four – red, black, white and brass, with brass being the worst) and claims there are 11 types of prostitutes available in the game (honestly, your guess is as good as mine). The final chapter, in which Robie argues back and forth with a teenaged dungeon master, is preposterous and worth the entire price of the book.

9

Min Hyuk has just offered to his bodyguard that he will hire bodyguards to protect HIM AND HER! Does he even realize that he pretty much admitted to Bong Soon that the real reason why he keeps employing her is because he wants her to stay by his side and likes to be with her?! Awww, the way he fails to hide his smiles when she promises to protecting him!

AND NOW MIN HYUK BASICALLY FINDS HIMSELF IN CHARGE OF BONG SOON’S SPECIAL WITNESS PROTECTION PROGRAM! LOL! I bet this wasn’t what he meant when he suggested to GD to enroll her into one. But he doesn’t seem too reluctant TO LET HER JOIN HIS WITNESS PROTECTION PROGRAM! And why not, his house is the perfect safe house with it’s own dungeon/panic room and security system the SK police could only dream of, plus he even told GD that nothing will happen to BS as long as she stays with him.

The best thing is that this all started when MH asked BS to become his own bodyguard, only for HIM TO BASICALLY BECOME THE HEAD OF HER SECURITY! I love this amazing show so freaking much!

4

Dungeons and Dragons, The Devil’s Board Game,

The granddaddy of all role playing board games, Dungeons and Dragons is perhaps also the most popular and important RPG in gaming history.  Introduced in 1974, D&D quickly became a hit game among youngsters, teens, and college aged gamers.  By 1980 it was the most popular game board game, with an estimated 3 million players and 750,000 copies being sold annually.  

Like all things new, it wasn’t unusual for D&D to earn the suspicion of older generations.  Many people thought the D&D was a corrupting influence on American youth, blaming the game for moral decline and leading to psychological illness.  Then in 1979 the disappearance of a college student named James Dallas Egbert III fanned the flames into a roaring inferno.

Egbert was a student of Michigan State University, and a troubled teen who was being forced by his overly controlling parents into a career he did not want to pursue.  On the night August 15th, 1979 Egbert disappeared after entering a steam tunnel.  A large search was conducted but the boy was never found.  His parents blamed his disappearance on his favorite game; Dungeons and Dragons, claiming that in a fit of D&D induced mania their son had a psychological break from reality and went off on a real life D&D adventure.  The story made national headlines, and faster than the roll of a dice the evils of D&D spread across the country.  As it turned out Egbert had entered the tunnels to commit suicide, but instead ran away to become an oil worker in Louisiana.  He was discovered several months later and forced to resume his education by his parents. He committed suicide a year later.

The truth behind Egbert’s disappearance did little to stem the tide of anti-D&D sentiment, especially when the cause was taken up by the growing Christian Conservative movement.  Soon preachers and televangelists such as Billy Graham, Pat Robertson, Oral Roberts, and Jerry Falwell were railing against the board game at the pulpit.  Fundamentalist Christians accused the game of having satanic influence, encouraging occultism, black magic, and witchcraft.  Christian groups decried the game as an instrument of the devil and a propagator of evil among the nation’s youth, causing murder and suicide. 

Reaction against D&D was far from rational.  Christian Groups often successfully pressured schools and colleges into banning the game. A few successful groups even convinced local government officials to adopt ordinances forbidding the game within their boroughs or towns.  Inspired by MADD (Mothers Against Drunk Driving), a woman named Patricia Pulling founded BADD (Bothered By Dungeons & Dragons) with the aim of banning the board game everywhere, and if that couldn’t be done, then suing the game into bankruptcy.  Other groups raised money from donors, bought as many D&D sets with it as possible, and destroyed them in large bonfires.

Dungeons & Dragons was not the only victim, but a host of other 80’s icons such as the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Care Bears, Transformers, GI Joe, and many others faced similar accusations of satanic influence and evil.  In fact, the whole country was awash in a moral and religious panic over occultism and devil worship.  The subject became the focus of every talk show on TV.  The corporation Proctor & Gamble was accused of being a satanic company due to its centuries old logo, while rumors abounded that it’s president donated much of the company’s profits to The Church of Satan.  Hundreds of childcare workers were imprisoned on the charge of child abuse based on the claim that they had conducted “satanic rituals” on the children.  Many of the kids were toddlers, who were dragged into interrogation rooms and shouted at by detectives until they broke down and admitted to being the victims of weird satanic abuse. BADD head Patricia Pulling made the claim that 8% of the American population were satanists, which at the time amounted to around 20 million people.  When questioned by a reporter where she came up with that number, she claimed that 4% of teens and 4% of adults were satanists, hence 8%.  There was even a ridiculous claim parroted by the media that around 1 million people a year were murdered in occult human sacrifice rituals.  

The war on D&D and the satanic panic ended in the 1990’s when a number of scientific organizations debunked the rumors.  Among them were studies by Centers for Disease Control and the American Association of Suicidology which found that D&D had nothing to do with murder, suicide, or anti-social behavior.  Regardless the stigma is still held by a few.  In 2013, 700 Club leader Rev. Pat Robertson claimed on national TV that D&D, Harry Potter, and other “demonic games” was the source of teen suicide.

youtube.com
Dungeons & Dragons: Satanic Panic | Retro Report | The New York Times
Dungeons & Dragons, introduced in 1974 attracted millions of players, along with accusations by some religious figures that the game fostered demon worship a...

I found this really interesting little documentary and had to share it!  It really shows how far D&D has come since it’s creation. I’m glad the stigma of D&D is starting to melt away and people can see the benefits.

rarelyrelevantramblings  asked:

What's your favourite RPG related memory?

After thinking it over for a bit, I’m going to have to go with the conversation that finally got me to try RPGs.  You see, I was raised in the midst of the anti-Dungeons & Dragons moral panic that spread “Dark Dungeons” and similar rhetoric like wildfire.  Growing up, I thought D&D had something to do with Satanic rituals and chicken sacrifices.

I remember once in high school desperately pleading with one of my friends for the sake of their soul to not get into D&D.  Yeah, that was me.  Sorry.

So fast forward a few years, and I’m in college trying to make friends.  I’ve found a group of Christians that are into the nerdier things in life, and we talk about comic books and heroclix and Star Wars.  One of them says he’s starting up a Star Wars “campaign,” and I ask what that means.  The other says, “Oh you know, a campaign.  as in, roleplaying campaigns…RPGs?  You know, like Dungeons and Dragons?”  Now THAT phrase I knew.  D&D means robed figures and blood-scented candles.  I asked, “Wait, you play D&D?”  They both smile real big and say, “Oh yeah!  it’s a lot of fun!”

Now, at this moment, we are still in the actual foyer of the church, having just finished a worship service.  One of these guys was actually a singer in the worship band, yet here they are, talking about their weekend seance plans like it’s no big deal.  They look at me waiting for some sort of response, but I’m just sort of dumbfounded trying to figure out what to say. Finally I stammer out…

“I… thought you said you loved Jesus?”

Now I will say up until now, this story is more about me being lame than it is a good RPG-related story. But what makes it my favorite story is what happened next. It would not have been entirely unfair if either of them had said something about lightening up and pulling the stick out of my @$$.  They would have even been well within their rights to reprimand me for being judgemental and condescending.  But they didn’t do either of those things.

They just looked at each other for a second, and then started laughing.

They laughed and laughed and laughed.  

The GM finally said, “Let me guess, you’re expecting pentagrams and hallucinogenic drugs?”  Realizing I was on the outside of some sort of in-joke, I just sort of grinned sheepishly.  They explained to me that RPGs were just a means of communal storytelling.  They said the rules and the stories weren’t any creepier or more evil than the people playing them.  And they invited me to just come watch them play.    I did, and I met some great guys who I played with and am still really good friends with to this day.  I also met some creepy guys that reinforced the fact that RPGs weren’t necessarily safe, but it taught me that it all depends on who you play with and what kind of game you want to play.  And that’s how I learned the truth about RPGs.

i don’t know that anyone else will find this story amusing, except maybe other Christians who had similar baggage about RPGs to unpack.  But it is a moment I am grateful for, as it greatly impacted the kind of player, and the kind of Christian, I’ve grown up to be.

Use Your Words

Sam imagine requested by anon! “Omg omg omg okay soooo how about a Sam imagine where they both like each other and they get shy around each other and dean’s the only one who can see it and he makes them talk about it and stuff and ajdndjd” This one was selected from the fossilized requests back in the Jurassic period of the old blog, so hopefully our masked minion can see this! Fingers crossed. This imagine has been edited for reposting to add a few details, but it’s a more recent piece and needed less work than older imagines. IT LOOKS REALLY LONG BECAUSE THERE’S A LOT OF PARAGRAPH BREAKS FOR DIALOGUE. Hope you like it! 

You dragged your knuckles over your eyelid, attempting to crush the exhaustion from your head by weak, just-risen force, your feet shuffling along the polished wooden floorboards towards the Men of Letters kitchen. For a bunker, the place was well-furnished, and one thousand times more comfortable than the dingy motel rooms of your past. A long night of nothing but research weighed heavily on your shoulders, forcing you to question this so-called comfort you had raved about, your body alight with flares of aching pain, joints protesting any and every movement from minor to major, as you stumbled through the hallways. What little sleep you had managed, an hour at the most, now clouded your vision with a foggy haze, each tedious blink only worsening the special effects playing out before you. Every instinct urged you towards slumber, but your mind recognized the need for your presence behind the phones. Garth would be checking in today to rattle off the names of the jobs his network had completed, hunters lost, hunters gained, any angelic behavior (what with Heaven busted and all), and he’d be all brimstone if you missed his call. Garth may seem sweet to the eye, but he was capable of a reprimanding even Bobby Singer would be proud of. Hence, you scuffled on, socks snagging every five steps on the slits between pine boards, causing near fatal teetering. By some miracle, you managed to arrive in the kitchen unscathed, making a beeline towards the gleaming coffee machine, the shining metal appliance seducing you with promises of artificial energy and instantaneous awareness. Before you reached the counter, a hand had angled your body towards the owner, your vision sharpening immediately, eyes pinpointing the kindred hazel eyes staring down at you from their impossible height, irises catching fragments of fluorescent light, shattering gold shards through to his pupils. He grinned, his hand smoothing down your bare arm, ignoring your goosebumps out of courtesy or complete ignorance, his free hand extending a steaming mug of something strong towards your chest.

“Morning,” he smiled, his hand dropping as your fingers curled around the porcelain, the surface of the mug burning into your skin as if you’d pressed your palms to an August blacktop. He ducked his head, dimples pocketing his cheeks as he took a cautious step away form you. You felt a tentative smile tug at the corners of your mouth, delirious from lack of sleep and intoxicated by his presence. You returned the greeting after what seemed like a century, Sam moving to sit down at the modest table, motioning for you to join him. You shuffled to your seat, watching Sam’s hands as he leafed carefully through packets of parchment, eyes flickering between the elderly scrolls and the modern paper printouts of missing civilians. “Garth said he’d call for you today, didn’t he?” he asked, eyes lifting to dissect your face, watching for… something, you had no idea what, your lips parting as a stream of boiling caffeine roared down your throat. You nodded, dropping your gaze to the smiling victims you assumed were already dead, their black and white portraits situated above columns of weepy quotations from hysterical relatives. “You two get on… well,” he murmured, his voice unsure. You nodded, cracking a smile. Garth had been the one to haul you into this lifestyle, saving you from one of his more… how would you put it… traditional lycanthrope cousins. Wolves would be wolves, but Garth had enough hunter in him to sweep you away from the danger. He had dropped you off with the Winchesters a few months back, but you remained in touch outside of your profession. Sam seemed to deflate. You took another swig of coffee as the sound of heavy boots drifted towards the kitchen, Dean strolling in behind you. You didn’t bother turning your head, hearing Dean’s grunted salutation, your hands skimming past the younger brother’s to drag a photograph closer, Sam’s fingers inching towards yours. Suddenly, a sigh erupted behind you, all aggravation and lack of patience. You turned in time to see Dean storm off, shaking his head to display his frustration, emerald eyes rolling back in his head like a Hollywood portrayal of demonic possession. You shot Sam a questioning glance, to which he stared back with rosy cheeks. It looked like you were sharing your sleep deprivation with another member of the household, only Crankypants Winchester had a habit of lashing out where you would tip over.

Moments later, a curse rang through the stagnant bunker air, your hands sloshing coffee over the young victim’s forehead, the noise startling you. Dean’s voice, torn and agitated as all Hell, was screaming of urgency, beckoned both you and Sam to the dungeon. Limbs ablaze with borrowed vigor (you had the coffee to thank for that), you bolted from the kitchen, Sam hot on your tail, winding around the library’s tables as you sprinted for the dungeon. You found that panic aided in your balancing act, overwhelming your fatigued in-coordination. Your feet padded to a halt, eyes scanning the shadows for the man who had so frighteningly called for your assistance, finding… nothing. Nothing but murky darkness and spotless steel cabinets. Sam stumbled to a stop behind you, his voice nervously calling for his brother, his head turning towards the exit, his feet suddenly rushing towards the door. Your own face turned in time to see the leaden filing cabinets slamming closed, Sam’s hands slapping against the metal mere seconds after the makeshift cage doors had clicked into place, Dean’s laughter bouncing from the steel.

“This isn’t funny, Dean!” Sam exclaimed, voice grating through the air like gravel, his anger tangible, dancing over your tongue. Sour. Dean only laughed louder, his hand patting the free end of the blockade as he peals of victorious laughter died off.

“That’s it, Sammy, use your words. But don’t talk to me; Y/n’s in there with you… and neither of you are coming out until you’ve sorted things through,” Dean stated, voice harsh, irritated. Sam inquired, rather bitterly, as to what the two of you could possibly have to discuss. “Look, guys, I’ve had it up to here with your platonic, friendly bullshit. It’s disgusting… if I felt like watching ”The Notebook" all day every day, I’d rent the damn DVD. If this is the only way to get you two to stop giving each other sheep eyes and talk, so be it. Figure something out before I bleach my brain, would you?” Sam tipped his head back, fist colliding with metal thrice before he spat a string of rather strong language, even for a hunter. Dean responded with a gentle pat to his end of the cabinets. “That’s it, kiddo, let it out. You’re headed in the right direction,” A phone rang in the library, Dean whistling one low, happy note. “And that’d be Garth. I’ll just let him know that you’re… otherwise engaged. I’m sure he won’t mind too much, will he? Y/n?” Dean sleazed, his footfall growing distant as he walked towards the phone. “Hey, Garth. Yeah, it’s Dean…. no, she can’t come to the phone. They’re sorting their shit.” The conversation continued on in this fashion, Dean’s voice fading as he paced further away fro the dungeon, the two hunters speaking as if every other word was code for something else. It was every shade of frustrating in the spectrum. Sam hung his head, his fingers running through his hair as he inhaled deeply, calming himself. Your every nerve was a live wire, your face prickling with a nervous, embarrassed, most likely garish blush. Sam turned to face you, his hands on his hips, lips pressed in a thin line. His eyes projected apologies, brows knitted with shared humiliation.

“Look, I’m sorry if this is uncomfortable for you. I know you’re with Garth and all, so I get it if you don’t want to… you know, talk,” he whispered, dropping his gaze to the floor before bringing his eyes back to yours. You snorted, his head tilting in confusion.

“You thought I was with Garth? God, no! He’s getting married, Sam! Regardless, we’re just friends. He saved my life, I like the guy.” You crossed your arms, watching a subconscious smile break across Sam’s face as he laughed, pulling a hand through his stubble, his eyes closing as his body shook.

“You’re not with Garth…” he stumbled, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. He took a shaky inhale, his chest rising visibly. “Look, Y/n, I might as well get it all out. You and I both know that Dean’s not gonna unlock the door until I try,” his eyes met yours, hardened by his nervousness, burning with the expression you so longed to see painting his face. “I like you. Ever since you got here… I mean, you’re beautiful, obviously, and you know your way around a hand gun. That’s pretty impressive… I mean, you’re pretty impressive,” He grinned, tucking his hands into the back pocket of his jeans. “I’m not sure if you’re feeling the same way, but we’ll have to at least pretend if we want to eat at all today, so…” he trailed off, his jaw clenching. You smiled, crossing the lines of the devil’s trap floor to stand beside him, your nose filling with the delicate scent of his cologne and sleep and coffee and… Sam.

“I don’t have to pretend,” You admitted, watching Sam’s smile widen, the room still with silence. After a moment, he lowered his lips to yours, your body molding to his as his mouth pulled yours to his. The kiss itself was quick, Sam pulling away before his passions got the best of him, the air splitting with a quiet suction sound, your head spinning like a top on steroids. The cabinet doors squealed open, Dean smacking his hands together, rubbing the callouses together, victory adorning his features like warpaint. Sam sighed, his hand diving to your back, guiding you back to your coffees as Dean whooped behind you, Garth’s electronic voice shouting congratulations through Dean’s cellphone, both you and Sam sporting identical crimson stains across your cheeks.