Content of the article: "In need of voice talent (pre-recorded) for my campaign! How’s your Christopher Walken?"
My friends and I take turns DMing, and I'm up tomorrow night. I've put well over 100 hours into planning this campaign, and I'm insanely excited.
However: Our "mission explainer" character is modeled after Christopher Walken, and my Walken impression is awful. I'm looking for someone(s) who would enjoy recording themselves doing their best Walken version of the following three monologues. You can DM me… or post your renditions right here in this thread for fun and admiration!
If I get multiple good submissions, I'll happily use a different contributor for each separate monologue. (Gender irrelevant. I'm just looking for memorable delivery.)
Note that the pronunciation of "Mermolomalarian" (Mer-ma-lom-ah-lair-ee-an) is intentionally difficult, as a running joke. Every time time players mispronounce it, they'll be offending the Merfolk.
Monologue 1: The Mission
Some of you may be aware of this war between the Mermolomalarian Merfolk, and the Birdpeople of the Rok Dove Isles. The Rok Dove Isles are right smack in the middle of the Mermolomalarian Sea. And you’d think all these people — these fish and these birds — could get along, given that you got one side in the water and the other side living in nests, flyin’ around — eating the occasional fish, maybe, but bird’s gotta eat, right?
Anyway. “Birdpeople”… I don’t know why they call themselves that. They’re literal birds! Giant parakeets, pigeons, doves, roks, and whatnot. All spread across these Isles. I know actual “bird people”. They live in houses like you and me. Not nests. So why these nest-heads gotta call themselves “people” I don’t know.
Probably a good thing I’m in shipping for a living, not diplomacy.
So this war they’ve been having. It’s gone on now for over two thousand years. And… it’s over. They found some kinda sky genius. By “sky genius” I don’t mean he’s a bird. He’s a man, a Dwarf, who studies the sky. A celestial mapmaker. And apparently he’s managed to show all these birds and these fish that all this time, they’ve been worshipping the same gods under different names, and… well I guess it’s poetic, but then, I’m not religious. I do like fish. Have to, really, in this line of work.
Speaking of which. This Emperor of the Merfolk, he’s an old friend of mine. Don’t look so surprised. Your man Huxley, he gets around. Lived an interesting life. Not that you mooks ever show any interest. So, this Emperor. Emperor Quinas, of the Mermolomalarian Merfolk, he’s asked me to bring this stellar cartographer — this Klancy, to the Moonlit Isle, so’s they can have this big celebration, to commemorate their newfound peace and prosperity. Very moving.
So. Here’s a map.
To get this Klancy, you’ll need to take a ride out to Hesa, in Oceanfall Bay, with a stop at The Oyster, along the way. Hesa’s one of the only Merfolk cities that isn’t way the fuck under the ocean. Good place to entertain a Dwarven mapmaker, I guess. The Oyster — that’s just a big rock. But you need to stop there to check in with the Merfolk security forces. Red tape. Then, after you get into Oceanfall Bay, to get to Hesa, you’ll need to pass through the Mergate. Otherwise, you’ll set off all kinds of alarms, and the Merfolk will think you’re an invasion force. Or maybe some pirates, down on their luck in a 20 foot longboat. Either way, they won’t take kindly to you blowing past their security gate during such a sensitive political period.
And let me tell you… that Mergate, it’s no joke. It detects hostile thoughts about His Imperial Fishiness. That’s right: If you got anything negative in mind, Merfolk-wise, the Mergate can sense it, and boom: Alarms going off, angry fish soldiers on your ass; the works.
You do not want an electrified trident pressed up against any part of you, let alone the parts of you they like to aim for. Something about the humanoid anatomy the Merfolk either fail to understand… or understand perfectly. I don’t know which, but anyway… when you go through the Gate, try to think happy thoughts.
And. Do I have to spell it out? If any of you got a beef with the Merfolk, now’s a good time to back out of this assignment. Khalid, I’m looking at you.
I tell ya… Khalid. Man swabs decks for six months, thinks he’s the goddamn Holy Saint of Ocean Glory.
That said, there’s a bonus of 500 gold pieces in it for each of you that gets this done. These diplomatic missions, you know, they pay dividends, and contrary to what Khalid would have you believe, I do like to share the wealth.
And the toys.
Along with these spyglasses, I’m lending you what my gnomish artificer friend in Riparian calls an “outboard graviturgic energy agitator”. I don’t pretend to understand how it works. What I do know is, it makes the boat move through water like a goddamn dolphin high on orcish helldust.
Hopefully, you won’t need it. But there’s about a dozen different factions of the Birdpeople — these birds, they’re so political, you wouldn’t think it, but they are — so there are these bird factions that don’t wanna see this war come to an end, and it’s possible they might try to prevent you from delivering this cartographer back here for his ride to the party.
Did I mention the 500 gold pieces?
Take this outboard agitator, stick it on the butt end of Boat 4, head to The Oyster, check in with security. Then head for Oceanfall Bay, sail through the Mergate — remember, no bad thoughts as you go through, or you’ll end up with an electric trident up your ass. Then, make landfall anywhere on the shore, near Hesa. There’s some kinda fishy entourage, supposed to meet you there.
The Mergate itself is easy to spot. It’s two giant Merfolk statues, waste deep in saltwater, eyeing each other like gladiators about to eat some oysters together. (Don’t repeat that joke — oysters are sacred to the Merfolk.)
Meet this entourage, pick up this cartographer. And get back here with him. Here, take the map. You can figure out the rest.
Monologue 2: Khalid’s Eulogy
We’re gathered here today to note the passing of a member of my crew. Khalid, from Boat 4.
You know… when they find sailors, dead ones, lost at sea, most times, they’ve been dead a good four or five days. Takes a long time to find a drowned man. These ocean currents, you know?
Falling off the boat… not a good way to go.
They find you with your penis hanging out of your pants, usually. It’s because, when a man goes to pee off the side of the boat, he thinks “I don’t gotta lash myself to the railing here. I’m just having a piss. Piss takes thirty seconds.” (A woman takes two minutes to piss, man takes thirty seconds.) So he thinks “I’m just having a piss, no need to tie myself up with this rope they give me.” So he starts to piss, without that lifeline.
Next thing he knows, along comes this wave. A “rogue wave”, it’s called. It’s a big wave, a rogue wave. Bigger than this man’s life. He just doesn’t know it yet. It hits him, mid-piss, and he’s in the water, just like that. Can’t swim. Sailors… they’re terrible swimmers. That’s why they like boats.
Anyway, so they find this guy, bloated and green and full of holes — fish bites, days later, floating in the ocean, with his dick hanging out, like bait, for the fish, you know?
Anyway. I didn’t like Khalid. That was no secret. He had no love for me, either, the greedy bastard. If you liked him, well… Somebody else say something. I gotta piss.
Monologue 3: Bird, Interrupted
All done grieving? Frankly, I don’t have the luxury of caring. I’ll level with you mooks: On the one hand, my gut says, you botched the situation en route to Hesa. A touch like a blacksmith, where a surgical hand was needed.
Then again, I acknowledge: I wasn’t there. More importantly, for now, this Klancy. He apparently likes you. And since the one thing these birdpeople and these fish can agree on is that they like HIM… that means I still like you. Officially. So good job. Officially.
Here’s your bonuses, 500 each, as promised. I’ll see to it that Khalid’s bonus goes to his daughter, at the University. Keep the spyglasses, and for now, keep the outboard agitator. You’ll be taking Klancy to the Moonlit Isle, tonight, for the big celebration. You won’t need the map for this one. It’s that island we been anchored next to since we got here.
The King of the Roks — that’s “Rok” spelled R-O-K, big-ass birds from the Nosebleed Mountains or something, is presenting Emperor Quinas, my old Merfolk pal, with a gift befitting the end of a 2000 year beef. I’m not sure what kinda gift a bird gives to fish, but whatever. Golden egg, maybe? Whatever it is, security’s gonna be tight as a sea urchin’s asshole.
All the bird and fish dignitaries will be there, except apparently the Pigeon Queen. Some kinda drama there. Suspicions about who was responsible for the Oceanfall Bay incident. The way the Doves and the Parakeets tell it, this Pigeon Queen, whose name I can’t pronounce, was the last holdout during negotiations. She—
You five! You lucked out. Safest place to be right now is on that island, and you’ve still got the fastest boat. Same plan as before, but now I want it done yesterday. Get Klancy on that boat and get him under a solid roof on that island. Maybe I’ll see you again. MOVE!
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