Sep 172010
 

We have our winners!  Congrats to Darqstar who walked away with a nice free T-shirt and some zombie PDFs!

How would you like a free, zombie themed T-shirt featuring original artwork?  Who wouldn’t, right?  Now’s your chance to compete for one in a cut-throat battle!  I’m giving away one official World of Aruneus T-shirt to one official winner.   Because it’s Friday and we all deserve some fun, and because Mondays often come far too soon after Fridays, I’ll start the contest today and the winner will be picked Monday morning!

What would you do with this shirt?  Well, you could wear it for starters.  If there did happen to be a zombie apocalypse while you had it on, and you were killed and then reanimated, it would be kind of meta, which these days seems cool.  Also, if you spill ketchup on your Aruneus zombie shirt, chances are no one will notice.  Same goes for BBQ sauce, but probably not mustard.

What will this shirt look like? It’s black, short sleeved and has this guy on it:

In addition to the T-shirt, I’ll also throw in the Aruneus PDFs – everything you need to introduce Contagion Infected Human Zombies and Orcs into your Pathfinder RPG campaign, as well as a few other Pathfinder based PDFs I’ve created.

How do you get a chance to win it?  Simple.  In the comments, just describe your best zombie kill to date.  Even if you haven’t actually killed any zombies you can use a bit of creative license to describe what you think the best zombie kill would be.  Something along the lines of “Hit the zombie in the head with a crowbar, where he tumbled off the cargo crane into the harbor and was eaten by a passing Great White.  The zombie then clawed and chewed it’s way out of the shark and I had to shoot it in the head with a spear gun.”  But not that one, because I just wrote that.

This time, the winner will not be randomly picked.  I’ll be picking the comment that tickles my fancy most.

Here are the rules:

  • If you write for TC, you can’t enter this contest.
  • To win, you must be within the boarders of the US. Sorry folks in other countries, this time I have to keep it local.
  • There can be only one.  And I shall pick that one and in entering you agree to abide by my decision, even if you are not the one.
  • The contest starts right now and ends Monday morning at 7am EST.  All entries received after that will not be considered.
  • Your entries must be more than 2 words and less than 450.

Good luck, I’m looking forward to reading your entries!

[tags]contest, aruneus, rpg, role playing games, pathfinder, t-shirt[/tags]

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About Ben

I'm a geek. A nerd, a dweeb, whatever. Yes I owned garb, yes I still own medieval weaponry. And yeah, I could kick your butt in Mechwarrior the CCG. I love video games, role playing games, tactical board games and all forms of speculative fiction. I will never berate someone for wanting to be a Jedi and take everything Gary Gygax ever wrote as gospel. Well, all of this but that last bit.

  16 Responses to “Friday Flash Contest! Win yourself an official World of Aruneus T-shirt and the Aruneus PDFs!”

  1. Hit the zombie in the head with a crowbar, where he tumbled off the cargo crane into the harbor and was eaten by a passing Great White. The zombie then clawed and chewed it’s way out of the shark and I had to shoot it in the head with a spear gun.

    Because I’m already getting a shirt and I have the PDF’s. But I wanted to enter anyway.

  2. Throw a Zombie into a Wood Mulcher. Short, sweet and terribly bloody.

  3. [...] This post was mentioned on Twitter by Nick Nundahl, Sewicked and Troll in the Corner, Troll in the Corner. Troll in the Corner said: Friday Flash Contest! Win yourself an official World of Aruneus Zombie T-shirt and the Aruneus PDFs!  ( http://bit.ly/c2cjOu ) #rpg #zombie [...]

  4. I’m not eligible, but I had a player character once pull the brilliant Shaun of the Dead “act like a zombie and they won’t notice you” gag. He was an Eberron Changeling that shape-shifted into a rotten version of himself and staggered past the zombie only to attack it from behind its back. Granted, 3.5 D&D didn’t allow him to get a sneak attack, but it was still cool.

  5. I give a smirk as I fire my last shell into the stinking undead scum’s head. Its brains and blood make a lovely abstract illustration on the egg-white wall behind it; Jackson Pollock would be proud. The barrel of my M4 steams the cold moisture about it, as the corpse drops to its knees, a spray of blood still spilling out from its decapitated neck. The limp form leans back slightly, and the spray is just powerful enough to propel the chest forward, laying chest first and sprawled outward.

  6. That’s pretty awesome, Nundahl. I haven’t played Pathfinder yet, but will be joining a campaign on Tuesday and I hope to destroy some stinking undead scum.

    Blunt objects are always my favorites for killing Zombies. Bats, clubs and shovels. Realistically though you’re going to want to stay farther away than arms reach, which is why I’d like a barret 50 cal sniper rifle.

  7. My best? I was once holed up in a garden shed with nothing but a giant bag of wood chips, 20 paperclips and a battery powered circular saw. I rigged the wood saw with the paperclips to create what may still be the worlds only high-powered woodchip gun.

    That did in those stinking undead scum.

  8. Zombies have infiltrated our safe house, a large Kellogg’s facility. Much zombie destruction is had, but eventually ammunition is depleted. The primary escape group is on the ground floor while I use the few remaining rifle rounds we have to snipe and cover their escape from a catwalk above.

    A zombie which had been burnt to a crisp (but not deanimated) in a recent flamethrower experiment blocks their path. I pull an Indiana Jones and swing across on a chain and double kick him into the still operational line. The press which cuts the pre-packaged rice-crispy treats turns everything below his upper torso into wriggling squares of zombie flesh.

    He’s still crawling towards us, with the advanced speed of the assembly line carrying him now on his nubs. The aforementioned fire damage has sealed all of his head orifices closed.

    I jab the industrial marshmallow injector into one ear and release the flow..

    cranial explosion by marshmallow fluff.

  9. Dear Stinking Undead Scum,
    *BZZZZZZZ**BZZZZZZZ*
    *CHUGGACHUGGACHUGGA*
    *BZZREWWWBZZREWW*
    *CHAINSAW SOUNDS*
    *BZZZZZ**ZZZZZZZZZ*
    Your friend always,
    Chainsaw

  10. When I was at GenCon, I played a game of Pathfinder where the party was tracking down after (what turned out to be) a group of vampires who had turned a bunch of the local townsfolk into mohrgs.

    We eventually tracked them down to a cavern of some sort (it might have been an abandoned church or watchtower or something; it’s been a while since GenCon), and noticed that a light coming out of the well there, along with a terribly unpleasant smell (turned out to be some rotting townsfolk down there). We look down the well, and we see a pair mohrgs climbing up the well’s bucket rope. Given that we’d taken a beating from them earlier (we didn’t actually have a cleric going into this), everyone starts getting ready to attack them when they pop out of the well.

    I’m sitting here thinking, “Wait, isn’t there a smarter way to do this?” For whatever reason, the cavalier I had was reasonably smart, so I figured it would be best to do something practical with him. It gets to be my turn, and I calmly say “I get ready to cut the rope when they almost reach the top.”

    Apparently, this well was something like 40-50 feet deep, and with a great big pile of unmentionable waste at the bottom, and one of the mohrgs took enough damage on the way down to die outright. The other mohrg, who was fairly badly damaged (I’m assuming) didn’t last much longer, as the wizard blew him up with the fireball that the wizard had prepared for the day.

    We sit there, the brief encounter already over, and laugh at this for a few minutes; the DM, who apparently had run this game a couple times that weekend, commented that this had never happened before in one of his games, and found it hilarious.

    My, feeling slightly buffed up by the whole thing, commented “Alright, lets go make sure those stinking undead scum are dead, and get our treasure.”

    We eventually found and killed the vampires, and got a great deal of gold and treasure out of the experience, and I got a really good game under my belt for that week, but I honestly have to say that the brief encounter with the mohrgs was the most fun I’ve had with D&D, short of the time I played a shapechanging anti-rapist. But that’s another story entirely.

  11. We faced off against some zombies wearing armor and great helms. One of my comrades hit upon the brilliant idea of knocking their helms askew so they couldn’t see. The GM being one to reward clever ideas, said okay, and we used a variant of a grab attack to do so. Pretty soon we had the zombies flailing around and sometimes hitting each other. It was the most fun I’ve had with a simple zombie encounter.

    Later we fought some better equipped and better armored zombies with similar helms. We tried the same thing only to find that these zombies were somewhat intelligent enough to right their helms and kick our butts.

  12. I come upon a lonely crypt, it’s entrance agape before me as the rotting stench of diseased flesh wafts out, as pungent and noticeable as well cooked eggs in the morning.

    Diary Entry:
    Our land has been plagued by the undead for months, Farmers, killed; sons, killed; parents…killed. I was hired on by the king to rid the land of it’s infestation, I’m killing them for two reasons. One: The pay is good, fifteen-hundred gold coins, it’ll last me a bit. Two: I hate the undead, always have, always will, damn things ate my father…not that I ever cared for the abusive bastard.

    As I descend into the crypt, the scent grows stronger, making the plunge into this barely tolerable hell-hole even worse. I hear a “gentle”, if it can be called that, groaning, growing louder, a heavy metal door stands before me. I brandish my sword, aglow with an ichor that gives off light.

    I open the door, and as it swings open, clanging against the wall as it opens, I see the crypt sprawling out before me, hundreds, thousands of the living dead, all corpses from the last great plague…reanimated, this was someone’s handiwork, but it was neither the time, nor the place to worry about it…all of those shambling mounds of flesh…were looking straight at me. “Fuck, it’s gonna be a long night”

    As the swath of necrotic flesh came eagerly toward me, I cleaved the first group of them with my sword, and as the cleave led into my battle stance, I muttered to myself, “I pity them, the stinking, undead scum”.

    (Didn’t realize on my other comment that this was the one based on description)

  13. The stinking zombie scum chased me into a meat packing plant, where hunter quickly turned to prey. As it launched itself at my face, I rolled back and flipped him into a sausage grinder. Who new zombiewurst could be so delicious?

  14. I approached our holdout about a hour till dusk. I had been picked to forage this week. I found very little, soon we’ll have to move on. As I got closer, I saw the cellar door was open. It’s never, but, unless, “Oh no”. The dead found us again. Scared I entered the brick house, I was over taken with nausea. Swallowing it down. I turned and saw a scene that I’ll try hard to forget. Two zombies were devouring someone that I couldn’t even recognize. Taking a few shots at the mindless ghouls, they fell. Then I fired a round into their victim. I walked past them, I tried to yell out, “Any…*cough* Anyone hear me!?”. I paused. Nothing. I screamed one last time, “Get out, this house will burn”. I heard a noise from the basement. Cautiously I went down the steps to investigate. With a flashlight I could see where they broke in. I saw two more bodies. My heart was beating so hard my chest began to ache. Panicked, I looked around and saw no movement. I stepped backwards towards the corpses. When I took an other step back, my boot landed on it’s hand. I heard it’s knuckles cracking and breaking, I lost it. Heaved over I vomited for all I was worth. Distracted, I was oblivious to the awakening zombie with an injured hand. It’s teeth sank deep into my left leg. DAMMIT! I knew better. I spun around unloading my pistol into it, and the other body.

    Vision blurry, mind foggy. Must set the house ablaze. I dumped some fuel oil on the stairs and lit them. I climbed out of the cellar to see the evening sky. My breath became shallow, moments of clarity were fleeting. I clenched my grenade necklace, pulled the pin and held the grenade tightly to my chest. Legs twitching I had to sit before they went limp and died on me. I sat down under a tree, watching the house burn. I felt weak, it would not be much longer. I said a prayer to an empty sky. My hand went numb, as a bright light took me over.

  15. I was walking through the alley, regular Friday night, buzzed, but not disoriented, a little scared, but only that I wouldn’t be able to find my car. It had been a really long night. I had gotten up from a nap and got a call to be at St. Michael’s bar ASAP. And that we were going to get so drunk we’d piss our pants. I wasn’t planning on doing that, on account of me not wanting to puke in my bed then waking up the next morning, well, covered in puke. So I chugged a Red Bull for some unneeded, and pretty unlikely energy. I drove to the bar, around 7:00 I think, and walked in. My buddies were in there taking shots, so I just ordered a beer. There were some chicken wings to, so I ate a couple, sparing the celery for someone else who wanted to puke. After I got the beer I drank it, leading to a very weird feeling caused by chugging a Red Bull merely 15 minutes ago. I then took a shot, only because if I didn’t I would be heckled the rest of the night. I then went to the restroom to puke. I really hate vodka. I decided to leave after that, cause they were going to go to the strip club, and I didn’t want any of that. So here we are. walking in the alley. Feeling like God knows what, and the taste of puke in my mouth. Then I see some guy… just standing there. He wasn’t swaying, so I knew he wasn’t drunk. He was just fixating on something. I had a bad feeling that something was me, but I could only see his outline, so I wasn’t sure. I walked up to him, put my hand on his shoulder, and asked him if he was okay. He turned his head immediately. His face was… was… rotting. I could smell him. He smelt like a dead pig sitting in the back of a van during a Louisville summer. I almost puked… I was disgusted. He then tried to bite me. I stepped back. He grabbed me, his hands felt like gravel, really sticky gravel. I pushed him off and tried to keep him pinned while I scanned the area for weapons (by this time I was pretty sure what this was). And there it was, a garbage can. I quickly got away and grabbed the bin. I emptied it and shoved it on him. I then pushed him on to the busy street. He stood there, unaware of his surroundings, and waited. Then, a car, splattered the zombie all over the street. Exactly as I had planned.

  16. Sixty-two. Sixty-two days on the run with Maggie, hiding where we could from that ever-present shambling hoard. We’d found each other a little over two months back: me passing through the blessedly empty two-bit town, her tucked away in the sporting goods store like an npc in a zombie video game. We’d united our efforts and had admittedly been better off for it. I didn’t even know how I’d be able to get along without her at this point, what with everything we’d been through.

    It looked like this was about the end, though. Apparently mom had been correct and I had in fact been raised in a barn. In the previous night’s fevered search for shelter, we’d forgotten to lock the fucking door before passing into an exhausted sleep.

    I woke to the shuffling scrapes of One of Them, the metallic twinge of adrenaline already present in my veins as the mind caught up with the body. It had already managed its way into the room, and was only about five feet away from our makeshift cot in the corner. This wasn’t good. Luckily, of two things I was certain: Maggie would be lying next to me, my sweet, loyal companion, and that she’d be ready to rock. I grabbed her and swung her about, feeling her familiar curves in my hands, her perfect weight in my arms. One second to aim (a glancing blow is as helpful as a total miss), and a thunderous report shook the small room. Both of Maggie’s barrels had done a fine job of reducing the stinking undead scum’s head into paint. I reloaded and gathered our things. From the look of the pale blue sky it was almost morning and time to move anyway.

    Sixty-two days together on the run, and now, thanks to Maggie, it’d be sixty-three.

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