In this RPG… (http://slithytoves.sytes.net/~dave/rpggen/)
The PCs are freelance evangelicals from beyond space and time who, with only the love in their hearts, fight disease for electrum pieces in the Renaissance.
“A lot of your problems would be solved, your Holiness, if you just accepted this Luther dude’s suggestions, loved Jesus, and rebuilt this aqueduct line… but hey, we’re only the hired help.”
The PCs are streetwise bodybuilders employed in Santa’s Workshop who, with a casual disregard for human life, fight serial killers for secrets man was not meant to know in the distant past.
“Santa doesn’t care about naughty vs. nice, kid. He’s more about the soul-destroyingly evil vs. reasonably self-interested.”
The PCs are delightfully cute animatronic statues of Presidents in a Saturday-morning cartoon who, with a megabyte modem, fight Stalin for more wealth than you could imagine…and they’re all out of bubble gum!
“Stalin’s got the drop on us this week. He got extra allowance, and he bought all the fireballs at the candy store.”
The PCs are excitable rabbis in the path of a tornado who, with crossbows, fight disease for guns and butter in a dark future.
“What does Rabbi Gamaliel have to say about trafe in the Apocalypse, anyway?”
The PCs are stereotypical rappers enjoying a day at the beach who, with a knockout dance routine, fight drug lords for no apparent reason during the English Restoration.
“Sir, either you draw thy sword and show me your moves, or I and my fellows will skewer thee where you stand, and leave your corpses for the Cornwall tide.”
The PCs are preteen teenagers brought together by fate who, with ten-thousand screaming warrior monks, fight drug dealers for supremacy as soon as they get their homework done.
“Man, isn’t last period ever going to end? We have to put the smackdown on the seventh street gang with our fists of fury, and Mom isn’t going to be happy if we miss dinner.”
The PCs are famous media whores from beyond space and time who, with their winning smiles, fight each other for money in fin-de-siecle Vienna.
“Dr. Freud… this is Zaphod. Zaphod, this is Dr. Freud.”