Malkalack, The Dramatist

Member Since


Last Activity

1/21/2017 1:05 PM

EXP Points


Post Count


Storygame Count


Duel Stats

19 wins / 24 losses


Notorious Marauder



"I'll kill your fuckin dog"

-- Natalie Portman

Trophies Earned

Earning 100 Points Earning 500 Points


Take control of Samuel, a young man thrust into a world of bloodthirsty creatures of the night, howling beasts cursed by the moon, horrifying demons and worse. This is our entry for Bucky's 2016 Halloween Contest. Enjoy!
Dark World
Farmer Joe
Every day, after you get home from the fields, you force your wife to make you dinner, beat the hell out of her, tell your son he's going to go to Hell and lock your daughter up like the sinful whore she is before showering the manure off your fat self. It's a simple routine, but it works. Ever since you inherited "Graemare Farms" from your father, who inherited it from his father, who inherited it from his father (who was cast out of the family for fucking his cousin) you've enjoyed your life, like the pathetic degenerate you are. But lately, things have been going wrong. These damned things called "furries" keep showing up. What's worse, is that they eat (and molest) your livestock! Can you manage driving off the furries, while keeping your family in their appropriately repressed positions? Find out, in Farmer Joe...
Green Places
Reserving title for upcoming WH40K series.
Literally just took this title to spite Steve
Mars Alpha
"It is the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor of Mankind has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the master of mankind by the will of the gods and master of a million worlds by the might of His inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the vast Imperium of Man for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day so that He may never truly die.Yet even in His deathless state, the Emperor continues His eternal vigilance. Mighty battlefleets cross the daemon-infested miasma of the Warp, the only route between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomican, the psychic manifestation of the Emperor's will. Vast armies give battle in His name on uncounted worlds. Greatest amongst His soldiers are the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines, bio-engineered super-warriors. Their comrades in arms are legion: the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defence forces, the ever-vigilant Inquisition and the Tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus to name only a few. But for all their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat to humanity from aliens, heretics, mutants -- and far, far worse. To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruelest and most bloody regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be relearned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods."
Servus non Habet Personum
Bucky's contest rigmarole.
Some Disintegrations
You were a lowlife. A scumbag. A scruffy-looking nerfherder. That is, before you started taking contracts. It started out small; selling deathsticks and breaking legs. Then, you made enough to get yourself a ship, and your criminal enterprises took on a much grander scale. Armed with a hyper-drive, you could reach the furthest fringes of the Outer Rim, bringing back debtors and fraudsters. Eventually, this turned to contract killing and bounty hunting. Alas, all good things must come to an end. Following a brief firefight, you were apprehended by the Imperial Port Authority, and stored in a maximum security facility on the hell-planet Dathomir for a period of six years. Now, things have changed, and you've been given a lucky break. You've been set free, and instructed that you are to apprehend a valuable artifact from a private collector, which is of particular significance to Imperial interests. . If you succeed, you'll be given back your freedom. If you fail, you'll be too dead to care. At the start of Some Disintegrations, you are preparing your assault on the facility. As usual, what happens next is up to you...
World of Destruction
Punk-rock apocalypse.

Recent Posts

Being Inactive on 1/20/2017 11:44:43 PM
you should start by virtue signaling loudly that 'ell win them over
[FORUMS] Reading Corner Deletion? on 1/20/2017 10:47:42 PM
I'm glad that we have a batch of passive-agressive shitposts from displaced FGlings who want to bring down the site with them.
Inauguration Day on 1/20/2017 4:46:12 PM Don't be a pretentious twat while also being wrong.
Inauguration Day on 1/20/2017 3:53:33 PM
By the time Fallout arrives Ireland is already as bad as a nuclear wasteland, thanks to the Resource Wars absolutely wrecking the UK's shit. After the war, it's bad enough that Colin Moriarty and Cait's family were willing to cross hte ocean to get away from it.
Inauguration Day on 1/20/2017 3:38:30 PM
Yeah, even FEV would be better than chancing it in one of those death traps E: Except you lose your dick so that would kinda suck
Inauguration Day on 1/20/2017 3:30:49 PM
Vault-Tec is for people who enjoy being anally probed
Dark City (collaborative content) on 1/19/2017 10:25:34 PM
If you want to become a Thrice Dead Man, the first step is to have malice and greed in your heart; granted, that’s not difficult in a city where almost everyone wears the proverbial manacles of poverty. Most people with a full stomach and a waterproof ceiling won’t willingly commit murder for coin, but, as a wise man once said, desperate times call for desperate measures. The second step is to let one buy you a drink. How do they contact you? Why do they contact you? How do they even know who you are? I’ve no idea, but every now and then they’ll decide on a particularly nasty rapscallion and take him out for a night on the town. Immediately, you’ll know who you’re dealing with; the gunshot wound to the chin is a dead giveaway. If you really want to go through with it, drink what he offers you. It really doesn’t matter what it is, or what rundown pub he buys it for you at. Once that swill hits your throat, you’re a goner. If you imagine a hundred thousand hot peppers, on fire, in your throat, you won’t be too far off. “You bastard! This is poisoned!” you may very well declare, much to the horror of the other patrons. It doesn’t really matter what you say, because you’re collapsing to the floor, at that point. His face — a malformed mass of webbed scar tissue and smugness — will be the last thing you see… Before you wake up, and hey, you’re onto step three. You’ll be bound to the chair, naked as the day you were born. You may be wondering if it isn’t just the Midtown Mafia up to no good, but it’s definitely not those goons. With a bit of intuition, you’ll quickly realize that you’re in an old warehouse, somewhere in the now-defunct Manufacturing District. More of those scarred-face bastards will be there to greet you. One of them will likely be holding a notepad, and the other will be holding a rusty old pry bar. Just so you're not surprised, he’ll use that to pop your kneecaps out. It’s about as painful as it sounds. While he does that, Notepad Man will ask you all sorts of invasive questions. He asks you questions that could be anything from “Do you want to fuck your mother?”, “Have you ever killed a man?”, to “Do you or a family member have a history of Chronic Fatigue?” The questions don’t matter, so much as the answers. Be snappy about it, and you’ll do just fine. Remember, the excruciating pain is just in your mind, and in twenty minutes it won’t matter anyway. If the interview goes well, expect Pry Bar to shove the pointy end right in your gullet. Don’t worry, it will all be over soon. Everything gets dark, you see your great grandmother off in the distance, and then you’ll wake up again. This time you’ll be free, and thankfully your family jewels will be covered. You’ll be in one of those absurdly frilly beds that those rich ladies used to sleep in, before everything went to shit. Across the room, on a wooden footstool will be Ezekiel, Chosen of the Craven Ones. Don’t let the name fool you, he’s the picture of a gentlemen. You two will have a long conversation, I expect. You’ll talk about everything from the afterlife to “Hey, why did your goons pry my legs off?” Speaking of those legs, you’ll be pleased to find them happily attached to your body. When you’re done talking, he’ll toss you a flintlock from somewhere in his peacoat, and tell you to do what needs to be done. You may want to shoot Ezekiel, and be done with it. That’s an awful idea, trust me. The correct answer is to blow your own brains about. What’s that? Yes, you’ll be Thrice Dead at that point. Aren’t you an astute one? Listen, you’ve already shanked a couple people, and probably made some decent money doing it. If you want to step up your career as a leg breaker and hitman, that’s the best way to go about it. Bah, you ask too many questions! Here, let’s step out of the cold and I’ll buy you a drink.
Dark City (collaborative content) on 1/19/2017 8:47:15 PM
oh, this is lovely. Thanks BZ
The Weekly Review - Edition 29 on 1/17/2017 9:43:47 PM
You don't, because then you have to insert HTML tags into the text box. Ford is a stinkyhead don't listen to him
Apparently, a -fake- Motivational Thread on 1/17/2017 9:42:57 PM
Memorizing is easy if you do it right. Break the speech up into small chunks and memorize them in sequence. While you're reviewing, make sure to read it out loud for flow; what sounds good in your head doesn't necessarily translate to clear, understandable speech. Remember it's okay to make pauses every now and then; the worst thing you can do is speak too fast and blurt everything out.