az/fuark rpg party slobs/wg/gas

Fuark
i love thinking about weight gain having very video gamey effects like changing a character's stats and stuff...
sure your speed and strength plummet as you turn into an immobile blob that can't lift a sword, but the absurd defense and hp increase make it a viable build

azure
speed down, speech down, constitution up, stamina down
gaining the 'wet' debuff even in dry weather whenever they try to use mobility abilities

Fuark
tanks fattening up as much as possible to literally be bigger shields for the team
drawing aggro with their constant belching and gorging on food items to heal the damage they're taking

azure
party management consisting of figuring out how to keep them moving long enough to get to the end of the dungeon before they collapse into a winded sweaty heap
the healer's job shifts from health restoration to full-time face-stuffing to help them

Fuark
any attempts to go unnoticed are completely ruined by the constant heavy breathing, wheezing, and gas
brought on by overstuffed guts that are inevitable in a dungeon crawl that's only lasted an agonizing 30 minutes

azure
30 long minutes of having to waddle forward in armor barely able to stay clapsed over her quaking, doughy bulk
sweating and wheezing from the pressure and chugging low-level hp restoratives just so she can shove more into her mouth instead of topping off with "just" one high-level meal

Fuark
it's a struggle but she can at least *pretend* all the extra blubber provides some sort of defensive advantage
whereas the poor rogue would love to not have her attempts at sneaking about tharwted by her own obtrusive bulk or an errant fart thanks to her bloated mess of a stomach that just comes with staying in the party

azure
its bad enough being downwind from such a sloshing, sweaty mass of exertion and body heat and staggering waddling indulgence
let alone when that starts rubbing off on all the compatriots forced to rub against such a massive blubberball tankwhale just to get her through snug dungeon corridors

Fuark
the constant rumbling of stomachs and heaving, room-shaking impact of each lumbering, waddling step echoing throughout the dungeon
combining with the constant repulsive smell and occasionally doing everyone a favor by unintentionally tricking would-be encounters into prematurely retreating
thinking some massive creature is stalking the halls looking for something to eat (which isn't entirely wrong)

azure
the only reason any of these girls can be considered "just" fat and not critically, staggeringly obese is that some of them still have to perform some level of physical exertion
the smallest "just" a waddling, double-wide swordslady who still manages to be dwarfed by their rogue, their mage
and especially their door-clogging, room-fumigating, treasury-depletingly-insatiable tank, slick torso squeezed and squashed and bulging between the straps of her creaking, stained armor

Fuark
at a point it's become questionable whether the tank earns her role of defending the party by attracting attention and shrugging off attacks like one would expect
or if it's because her ever-present, unbearable musk, that the rest of the party has already gone nose-blind to, disorients everything they fight so much to keep them from even attacking in the first place

azure
the other girls long since learned to chastise her and try to get her to hold her gas in
partly because even they struggle to stay behind her when shes ripping wet, rippling, cheek-wobbling eruptions
and partly because having her try and not-so-subtly squeeze one out for the sake of her poor overfed churning apron of a gut is one of their best options for getting initiative against anything with a sense of smell or dignity

Fuark
at least battle is as good a time as any to really let off some pressure, everyone taking advantage of the opportunity as much as possible in the moment subtlety isn't a concern

azure
its rare for her to end a big battle and not be leaned forward onto her weapon
huffing and groaning and trying to air out her sweat-soaked hair and clothes
surrounded by her own lingering fumes and feeling her blobby, double-rolled stomach groan and rumble now that it isnt quite as filled to the brim with hot caustic winds

Fuark
as if everyone's slow movement wasn't already the primary culprit for every outing's absurdly slow pacing, each battle of even moderate length has to be followed by a brief snack (i.e. an entire meal)

azure
if anybody complains about her weight, she can at least shoot back that her party is full of talented culinarians
but that's also mostly because its less taxing on their funds to just cook for her instead of buying
and their wallets are already stretched thinner than her undergarments thanks to how much armor and clothes they collectively go through, between the constant slow bulging growth and nigh-unwashable sweat stains

Fuark
armor always breaking off at the the *worst* possible moments
the absurd gluttony and constant gorging of her heaving, insatiable gut are one thing
but she never gets used to one last inhale of her overtaxed lungs causing her belts to snap and her food-stained plate to fall to the floor, her oversized lump of a belly at least appreciating the extra breathing room

azure
its astounding that she somehow looks even *fatter* without the armor, the straps and belts sinking into her blubbery excess giving way to such prominent sagging curves and spreading, wobbling shapes
gut hanging over her burst pants as those sweat-soaked lovehandles and siderolls stretch out her underclothes
content to guzzle and glut until she's having trouble staying on her feet and her already sizable tanker of a tummy is pushed out enough to make it clear nobody on her party has the constitution to stuffed and squash her back into platemail

Fuark
her overflowing lard serving at least as a momentary meat shield in place of actual armor until everyone decides to return back to town
and let her deflate her food and gas filled stomach back down to a size that can hopefully be crammed into a freshly-fitted suit of armor

azure
a long night of sprawling out in a tavern bed, snoring and lazing in a heap and letting out constant, bed-rumbling bouts of flatulence without even stirring
followed by a morning spent with less showering and more reloading on greasy breakfast meals and standing in front of a mirror as her party members try to physically dress her
peeling off those damp rumpled underclothes and helping squeeze her into something at least a little presentable for such a quaking, blobby, continually gassy whale of a girl

Fuark
woe be to anyone with a nose unfortunate enough to happen to walk past one of the rooms they're renting out
let alone the one that they're all gassing up simultaneously, a sweaty, greasy mass of food-stained flab and lard

azure
a troupe of girls so collectively rank and gluttonous they can easily clear out even populated taverns on the nights where they're all overworked and starving and sharing the biggest table the establishment has to offer
putting all their pilfered riches and bounty profits towards trying to satiate each other, only to finish most evenings each stuffed and gurgling and groaning with every attempt at a waddling step
hips and guts squashing into fat arms and flabby rears, belts shamelessly undone and tops smudged with almost as much food as they are warm greasy sweat

Fuark
it's a toss-up how many actually make it back to their rooms or slowly collapse into a food coma on the spot
the staff having no ability to move them even if they were willing to put up with the overbearing smell of their unwashed folds in the first place.

azure
it turns out that having a massive slobby overfed girl snoring away and belching and farting up a storm in her sleep isnt exactly the best centerpiece for a tavern
but any patrons can at least call themselves lucky she's still dressed in her thick adventuring gear, and not garbed thinly enough that they have to put up with the pure, unfiltered sounds and smells of her enormous figure
flabby rolls and dimpled thighs and asscheeks and doughblob arms on full display as she gurgles away more food than the average party needs in a night