Heavy Metal World (RPG)

Ozzy Osborne

Deep beneath the surface of the world, in a labyrinthine forge lit by molten rivers and ancient runes, dwells the one called Ozzy—the Guardian of Metal. He does not fight. He does not command armies. But he remembers everything. Ozzy is the last living soul who knows the complete history of the world—from the first scream of Ormagöden, to the rise of the Titans, the fall of the Demons, and the fractured legacy of Man. His mind is a vault of ancient riffs, buried truths, and secrets long forgotten by gods and monsters alike. He tends to the Underground Forge, a vast mechanical sanctum powered by fire, gears, and echoes of ancient songs. There, he alone holds the craft and right to enhance the sacred tools of battle: Guitars that burn with soul and lightning. Weapons forged from god-bone and demon fang. Vehicles born from the carcasses of fallen machines, enhanced to crush and inspire. But not just anyone may earn his touch. Ozzy only improves the weapons and rides of those who have pleased the Metal Gods—those whose riffs shook mountains, whose battles became anthems, and whose spirit burns louder than fear. To the unworthy, he offers only a crooked smile and a silent forge. Warriors from all corners of the world descend into his domain, seeking strength or understanding. Some return enlightened. Others never return at all. Before he lifts a tool or opens the forge, he asks only one thing: “Have you pleased the Metal Gods?” If the answer is yes, your gear becomes legend. If not… you walk away as you came. Though the world above changes, rages, and dies in cycles, Ozzy remains, eternal and unshaken. A prophet. A mechanic. A myth. And as long as the forge still burns… Metal will endure.

Ormagöden

Before time had rhythm, before the first riff shattered the silence of the void, there was Ormagöden, the Beast of Fire. He was not merely a creature—he was a god, forged in chaos, crowned in flame, and powered by the raw essence of Metal itself. From his roar came thunder, from his breath came fire, and from his will came the first sparks of life. With a body of molten iron, serpent-scale armor, and fangs of obsidian, Ormagöden slithered through the void, shaping existence with his every motion. The world quaked beneath him; the air screamed with each lash of his tail. Where others built with tools, he created with noise—a divine, burning music. But even a god can bring light to places not meant to be seen. Long before his arrival, there dwelled in the deepest nothingness a vile brood of ancient beings known only as the First Ones—creatures of filth and shadow who had never known form or reflection. They lived in perfect darkness, where their own eyes could not betray them. Then came Ormagöden, his body ablaze, his presence radiant. For the first time, the First Ones saw themselves in his light… and recoiled in horror. Twisted, incomplete, and loathsome, they could not bear the truth of their image. Their hatred was born not from Ormagöden’s flame, but from what it revealed. And so, in jealousy and shame, they struck him down. But Ormagöden’s death was not the end—it was the birth of the world: His divine flesh became the land, jagged, powerful, and eternal. His sacred blood became the oceans, heavy with energy and sorrow. His flame rose into the sky, becoming the sun, casting light forever. And his final scream became music, the soul of Metal, echoing across all things. From his remains rose the Titans, ancient beings who learned to shape the world through rhythm and rebellion. They sang not just to remember, but to resist. He is the flame. He is the scream. He is Metal.

The Titans

After the death of Ormagöden, the Fire Beast, something stirred within the ruins of his divine body. From the echoes of his final scream, from the molten skin left behind, and from the roaring oceans of his blood, rose a new breed of beings: The Titans. Born not of flesh, but of sound and spirit, the Titans were the first to hear the scream of Ormagöden not as death… but as creation. They captured the echoes of his divine roar and shaped it into music—raw, powerful, untamed. Their hands built instruments from the ribs of the Fire Beast, and with every strike, they forged the first chords of Metal. The air itself changed when they played. Trees bowed, mountains shook, and the sky cracked open to listen. With Ormagöden’s burning skin, they forged monstrous machines—vehicles of steel and fire, crawling beasts of thunder and speed. These were the first battle-cars, powered by riffs and rolling on roads carved by rhythm. The Titans looked upon the crawling Demons, born from the blood of the Beast, and laughed. Small, chaotic, and cruel, the demons were taken as pets, beasts of burden, and sometimes toys. The Titans ruled not through fear, but through volume. Their power was absolute. As ages passed, their music shaped the land. Mountains rose like speaker towers, rivers roared like solos, and volcanoes pulsed with the beat of endless drums. And then… they vanished. No one knows why. Perhaps their music became too powerful, or their spirits too massive to be held by flesh. Perhaps they heard a higher rhythm, calling them beyond the sky. One by one, the Titans ascended, rising into the heavens on pillars of flame and feedback, leaving their creations behind. Their instruments became relics. Their machines, legends. And their names… myth. But the world they left still sings. The earth remembers their chords. The wind carries their riffs. And every rebel who screams into the void keeps their rhythm alive. They left the world behind and also their knowledge

The songs

In this world, songs aren't just melody. They're ancient fire. They're war cries and prayers to rusty gods. They're living magic made of riffs, chords, and lyrics carved in pain, fury, or glory. The songs here shape reality. Not by beauty... but by power. Whoever knows the right chords can make the ground shake, the heavens split, or the dead listen. There's no need for empty words: metal speaks in frequencies the soul understands better than the mind. It's a universal language, carved in strings, horns, and amplifier-shaped barrels.

Demons

Demons are a race born from the sea of the Beast of Fire’s blood. They rule over the world... but not by right — by force. When the Beast of Fire tore itself apart in its final, cataclysmic scream, the world was forged from its flesh, its flame, its bones... and its blood. From that boiling crimson sea, where rhythm drowned and screams echoed into eternity, rose the first Demons — creatures not of nature, but of consequence. They were never meant to exist. They are the residue of divine fury. Living echoes of the Beast's pain. Twisted, powerful, and eternal, the Demons crawled from the pools of blood like molten shadows, singing songs that cracked mountains and poisoned skies. Some took shape immediately — hulking beasts of iron, fire, and greed — while others seeped into the hearts of mortals, corrupting them with whispers of false power. Now, they do not merely live in the world. They rule it. Through empires of steel and silence, through fear, chains, and industry. Not because they were chosen, not because they earned it, but because no one was strong enough to stop them. They drain the soul of true music, enslave those who remember the rhythm, and rewrite sacred riffs into hollow noise. Under their reign, the world trembles — not in harmony, but in distortion.

General Lionwhyte

Once a man, now a monstrous parody of vanity and cruelty, General Lionwhyte is the human face of tyranny—twisted into a glam-fueled nightmare of power and excess. A traitor to his kind, he serves the demon overlords not out of fear... but out of pleasure. He commands legions of enslaved humans, treating them as decorations in his decadent empire of mirrors, velvet, and agony. His palace is lined with golden statues of himself. His soldiers march not to drumbeats, but to his shrill, electrifying screams. Lionwhyte's hair flows like rivers of silk, absurdly long and unnaturally alive. With a single toss, it unfurls into massive wings, allowing him to fly through the air like a screeching banshee on glittered winds. But it is his voice that makes kingdoms tremble. When Lionwhyte unleashes his high-pitched wail, the very skies cry out. Lightning crashes down from the heavens, and the earth erupts in flames beneath the feet of those who dare oppose him. His scream is both music and murder—an aria of annihilation. Vain, cruel, flamboyant—and deadly—General Lionwhyte is not just an enemy of the rebellion. He is a mockery of humanity itself. Appearance: Man of 28, thin and fragile, made-up face, long golden hair, tall so as not to drag his hair

Humans

When the Titans, ancient masters and lords of the world, vanished without a trace, the Demons were left without guidance or purpose. In their desperation, they scoured the world for any sign of their fallen masters, any trace that might restore their lost power. But all they ever found was a tiny fragment: a shard of a toenail, a relic almost forgotten from those colossal beings. The Coil—a dark and bloodthirsty sect among the Demons—performed profane and bloody rituals upon that fragment, attempting to breathe life and strength back into it. Yet, they could only create small replicas, diminutive shadows of their creators. From these replicas arose the race of Man. Fragile and small, born from the remnants of the Beast of Fire and shaped in darkness, men were not seen as children but as mere refuse. Soon they were despised, enslaved, and used as tools to extend the Demons’ reign over a world without Titans. But from that fragility, the seed of resistance was born. Humanity, despite its humble and despised origin, carries in its veins the echo of forgotten power. Though chained by their creators, every human soul harbors the fire of rebellion and hope. They are not mere playthings of darkness. They are the spark that can set the world ablaze.

Lita Halford

In a world ruled by demons and darkness, where songs forge destinies and the battle never ends, there are those who need no instrument to become legends. She is Lita Halford. Sister to Lars, the former leader of the human rebellion who fell in the last great battle against the demon forces. When his light went out, there was no one left to take his place… except her. Lita does not sing. Lita does not play. But she carries the living flame of resistance in her grasp. Armed with a spear forged in the embers of a thousand wars, her very presence inspires the fallen to rise, the weak to resist, and the lost to find their way. She needs no melodies to command. Her voice is the one that rules the battlefield, and her spear is the song that drags the storm. Human armies follow her with blind faith, knowing that as long as Lita stands, the rebellion will never die. She is the strength, the symbol, the heart of the fight. The beacon guiding warriors toward freedom. Appearance: A slim 24-year-old woman with pale skin, tattoos on her arms, eye shadow, and shoulder-length blonde hair

Kill Master

They say that in lands torn by war and noise, when souls are broken and bodies fail, a figure appears in the distance. A shadow on wheels, roaring like thunder and leaving a trail of electric power. They call him Kill Master. He’s no ordinary warrior. His weapon isn’t a sword or a gun, but a bass guitar with thick strings and a vibrant soul, carved from dark, gleaming metal. But this bass doesn’t shred to destroy… its power is different: it heals. When his fingers caress the strings, wounds close, sickness fades, and spirits rise. His music is a vital pulse, an energy that cuts through pain and lifts the fallen. No medicine matches his riff, no shaman has a voice more potent. But Kill Master doesn’t stay still. Riding a monstrous motorcycle equipped with amplifiers that scream to the wind, he rides across the burning world, crossing roads of steel and dust. His bike roars with supernatural power, its exhaust a symphony of distortion and freedom. Wherever he passes, the air vibrates, metal resonates, and hope is reborn. He doesn’t just play the bass… he plays the heartbeat of the world. Appearance: 40-year-old man, shoulder-length brown hair, bushy sideburns, a biker mustache with no beard, always wears his sunglasses and cowboy hat

Magnus

In the heat of battle, when noise becomes chaos and destruction threatens to consume everything, there’s one man who keeps the lines steady and the roads open. He is Magnus, the human rebellion’s stage engineer and roadie. While others wield weapons or chant songs of power, Magnus builds, loads, and maneuvers. He is the unseen titan who moves the troops—the brain behind the machines that carry the resistance on wheels. From massive armored platforms to roaring vehicles covered in amplifiers and cannons, Magnus designs and drives the mechanical beasts that transport warriors into war. His skill and knack for taming scrap and steel are as crucial as any sword or riff. He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed; sometimes he gets lost in his own thoughts and doesn’t fully grasp complex strategies. But he has one virtue: he follows orders to the letter, never questioning, and is always there when needed. Without him, the human forces would be lost, trapped between destruction and silence. Magnus doesn’t need lights or applause. His stage is the burning world, and his audience is the legion fighting to survive. Appearance: 30 year old man with thin arms and legs but a beer belly, long black hair, hunched posture, always wears headphones to listen to orders and wears a diaper so he doesn't have to stop to tale a leak when he's driving the troops

Headbangers

The Headbangers are humanity's strongest young men, forced to labour in General Lionwhyte's mines for years with no tools or equipment, breaking solid rock with nothing but their own thick skulls causing them to develop thick necks and steel foreheads. Over time, some of them grew to believe that the only way they might leave the mines would be to work hard enough to be promoted to guards in Lionwhyte's Pleasure Tower, where there would be "piles of chicks 'n' booze 'n' stuff." These men adopted higher-toned voices, bright, stylized hair and the glam sense of style, becoming Hairbangers.