Show Posts

This section allows you to view all posts made by this member. Note that you can only see posts made in areas you currently have access to.


Topics - Forrest

Pages: [1]
1
Corporations, Organizations, And Groups / The Vesuvian Syndicate
« on: December 09, 2016, 06:04:25 am »
Company Name: The Vesuvian Syndicate

Intent: It varies from executive to executive, but money, power, and hedonism are common themes.

Location: Gomorr, an enormous world of frigid temperatures and toxic, barren landscapes. The ground is almost solely made up of gray clay, and there's no water to freeze in the cold. However, a sizable spot on the planet is occupied by a massive city residing within an artificial atmosphere. Within, dizzyingly gargantuan skyscrapers and office buildings house multiple armies' worth of the Syndicate's employees and underbosses, constantly at work to get ahead in business. At the center of Gomorr City, surrounded by colossal walls always manned by a sizable force of the Syndicate's best soldiers, is another, smaller settlement, composed of Utopian gardens, elegant Victorian mansions, and sickening pleasure dens. Golgoth, home to the Inner Circle, is a place ripped straight from twisted power fantasies everywhere.

Affiliation: Everybody deals with the Vesuvian Syndicate at one point or another, and nobody enjoys it.

Worth: 600 trillion credits yearly from legal business ventures the universe over, and a truly incalculable, mind-bendingly colossal amount of generated wealth from the Syndicate's illegal and morally questionable, off-the-record business dealings.

Description and History:
Money talks, bullshit walks, friend. And if the boys and girls within the Vesuvian Syndicate have one thing, it's money.

Now, you don't become one of the richest organizations in the known universe by playing softball and making friends. The Syndicate's not a business; they're an intergalactic mafia, a soulless, despicable grouping of the worst humanity has to offer given free reign of the stars. They're everywhere, and they deal in everything. Pharmaceuticals, weaponry, starships, military hardware, personal devices. Narcotics, human trafficking, blackmail, political espionage, wholesale murder, and economized genocide, in a few past situations. If you want something, they have it, and they're selling, as long as you can pay.

The Syndicate itself was founded back on Terra, around when this whole "intergalactic colonization" thing started up and humanity began meeting races and peoples besides themselves. Nobody knows who founded it; the policy of record-burning and memory-wiping oh-so popular within the organization's seen to that. At first, things started innocently enough. Military equipment, some satisfactory cosmic exploration vessels, the works. But pretty soon, people could tell what kind of business it was growing up into. Opium dens, popping up on moons. Imported miners, drugged and shanghaied away to colonial worlds. Military prototype mechs and experimental weaponry showing up and being tested on both sides in backwater conflicts. Things only ramped up from there, and with the passage of time and the expansion of humanity, the Syndicate grew up into the big, bad, evil-doing organization it is today.

The Vesuvian Syndicate is evil, but so far, nobody can stop it. They play rough, and they don't stop until you couldn't possibly start again. They'll buy your home planet and turn it into an industrial wasteland. They'll jettison your family into the sun of a solar system you haven't even heard of, even the cousins. They'll ruin you, they'll ruin everyone who's ever glanced at you, and they'll ruin everything that's ever had a conscious thought concerning everyone who's ever glanced at you.

They don't move pieces on the chess board, they bulldoze the building you're playing chess in. Better wear a hard hat.


Okay, got the basics down! I'll be writing up products, planets, and people related to this little business once I get some more time.

2
General Discussion / [AMA] (Probably) Last, But (Probably) Not Least
« on: September 30, 2016, 05:51:08 am »
Ask away, you soulless, twisted bastards.

3
Rec Room / [RP] Sky Full of Venom: Blood and Mold (BAAAR FIIIGHT!)
« on: February 15, 2016, 10:40:08 pm »
Humans take so many things for granted. Fresh air. Clean water. Food that isn't raw meat freshly cut from a bloodied corpse. Well, we did take these things for granted. Before the bombs, and the gas, and the war drove us down. Before the sky was venom and the ground was hot and acidic. Now, it's the opposite. We don't take these things for granted, we lie, steal, and kill for them. For the smallest commodity, the largest of sins. Funny how the world works. Some kinda ironic justice for destroying it, maybe? As they say, karma's a bitch.

But enough with the deep stuff, you probably wanna remember what's going on. Well, all those wars in the olden days (around 2030-something) really took a toll on this earth.....especially after the mass gassing and nuclear cluster bombing. In fact, those things decimated it. You're going topside? Unless you have a mask, and are covered head to toe in something thick, either your lungs melt, or your skin and anything external first. Doesn't really matter which, you still die.

People do anything to survive in the tunnels. Foraging the strange new plants, hunting the awful creatures birthed in these events, or selling anything they can make, like weapons, armor, food, even drugs. Others....well, others take these things. By force, or just plain being sneaky. That's been getting more and more popular the more desperate people down here get, it's sad to say. That's why people these days band into little communities. Protection, force in numbers, all that.

So, here you are. Shitty little station by the tracks, getting by on trading anything you can to passing mercs and caravans. Not a glamorous life, but not the worst either. You're lucky, at least. But things have been getting worse. People on the outskirts going missing, hogs and chickens stolen, yadda yadda, bad news all around. Something big's happening soon, for better or for worse, and you have a feeling you're gonna be part of it, whether you like it or not.


So, an improved version of my previous RP, Beneath the Crust, almost, with a bit less Metro and a bit more something else that I dunno. I'm getting better with GMing and scheduling, if I do say so myself, and have a bit more faith in this one.

Sheet
Code: [Select]
[b]Name:[/b]
[b]Race:[/b] (Mutants are a thing. Just specify what type you are, if any.)
[b]Age:[/b]
[b]Gender:[/b]
[b]Appearance:[/b]
[b]Clothing/Armor:[/b] (No full body Kevlar or scrap plate mail yet, just basic things.)
[b]Weapons:[/b] (Maximum of one ranged and one melee. Firearms are always improvised/homemade, no brands here.)
[b]Other Items:[/b]
[b]Occupation:[/b] (Gives me an idea of what your character is good at)
[b]Skills:[/b] [] [] []
[b]Traits:[/b] [color=green] [] [] [/color] [color=red] [] [] [/color]
[b]Brief Backstory:[/b] (Just a general idea of what has happened to them.)

Please paste this sheet onto your post to get it started.

4
Creative Endeavors / Beneath a Scorching Sun [Post Apocalyptic Story!]
« on: September 24, 2015, 12:21:16 am »
        Sand. Brown, gritty sand, as far as the eye could see. Completely unremarkable. No change whatsoever, no difference between the swirling little blots of dirt and dust and grime pirouetting about in front of my face. My head hurt. It hurt bad. It wasn't a soft pain, it wasn't a sharp, recent jab of agony. It was a dull, thudding pain, synced with my heartbeat. Every pressure-filled beat of lifeblood in my chest sent a wave of discomfort straight to my brain. I had no idea how long I had been walking, and something inside told me I was going to die.
 
        Sand. The same grain of sand blowing about in front of me, thousands of times over. Dull pain in my head. Numb everywhere else.
 
        The something inside was right. I was going to die. I rolled this thought around in my mind, before pictures clouded my vision.
 
        I remember standing in a cavernous room earlier. I remember standing tall and strong and defiant with my fists raised in a dark, foreboding dungeon of a room. Sheet metal for walls, sheet metal for the ceiling, sheet metal for the floor. Corroded and rusty and pocked full of little holes that let the barest hint of sunlight through. Big doors of the stuff hooked up to chains, wooden levers placed beside them. I couldn't remember why I was there, and I couldn't remember how I got there.
 
        I remember others in the room. Sickly. Ravenous and gaunt, crazed looks in their eyes. They were dressed in scraps of leather and burlap, with cloth wrapped about their faces and dark goggles with cracked lenses. They looked like demons. Like banshees. Apparitions from Hell. I remember standing there, in that room, my fists raised, with the same feeling that I was about to die. I couldn't remember what happened next, but since I was here, walking, dying, feeling my very being fade away, I guess I hadn't.
 
        Again came the pulsing drone of torment, and again the flashing pictures came into my mind.
 
        The first of the awful beings sprinted forward. It was lean and limber, the goggled creature mirroring my brawling stance. I remember being better than it. It pivoted of its dominant foot, came forward with its fist raised just behind its head. All the warning in the world. No surprise to his blow, no feint, just a simple attack. Simple attacks toward skilled fighters get people killed.
 
        I caught the creature's gloved fist in my hand and wrenched backward. Pulled it with me, slammed its gut into my knee. The demon doubled over, hissed, rasped. I whipped my other hand, my left, up. Smashed my elbow into the back of its head. The thing's thin cloth hood did nothing to protect it. I felt the skull cave in beneath the sharp ridge of bone in my arm. Heard the thud of a dead body hit the floor. One down, two to go.
       
        The others hesitated. Looked this way, looked that. Made eye contact with each other, and nodded. They came as a pair. One on my right, one on my left. Neither of them looked like they had any intentions of backing down, or showing restraint, so I didn't feel a pressing need to, either.
 
        They charged. Boots clanged on the sheet metal floor as two hellish figures came to end my life. I wouldn't let them. Not in a million years. The one on the right was a little faster. It brought its leg up, kicked forward hard, aiming for my midsection. Presumably, to knock me down. When a solo fighter against a pair goes down, he doesn't get back up. So I brought my hands up, hunched over, steadied myself, and caught his boot without doing anything but knocking the wind from my lungs. The thing on the left was approaching, preparing its own move, so I quickly swept my leg and caught the current one's foot from the side. Knocked it on its back with another thud, gave myself time.
 
        The third one came like the first, and I treated it in kind. Caught the fist, but I didn't wrench back. I wrenched up. Held the fingers, brought my other hand to its wrist, wrenched up, and bent the bone of that thing's wrist the way no wrist is supposed to bend. I heard another shriek, another rasping, demonic hiss, and felt the creature uselessly batting my shoulder with its other arm. I kicked its leg hard enough to knock it to the floor just as the other one tried to stand.
 
        Spun around on my left foot, bent my right knee back, and sent my boot sailing through the air. It made solid contact with the being's goggled face. I heard a lens crack, felt a cheekbone collapse, and saw the figure do a full three-sixty roll on the floor from the force of the blow. It wasn't moving.
 
        The one on the floor was rolling around with its broken wrist. Its other hand was shoved into the pocket of its jacket. I took two steps towards it, not remembering what I was gonna do. Things were slowing down, my mind was picking out bits of details from the memory. I saw the desperate look behind those goggles, the will to live, or at least the will to hurt those who opposed them. I remember tensing the muscles in my leg again, prepping myself to lift my foot and bring it down, to strike out, to stomp the life from this aggressor and send whatever it was back to wherever it came from.
 
        I remember the monster's hand coming back out from its pocket. Things were moving glacially now. Every movement was hyper detailed. My foot was three feet off the ground, moving with the force of a freight train. My cleated boot was accelerating downwards, heading straight for the creature's ribcage, ready to crunch into the fragile bone and crunch and crush and stomp and kill. The creature's hand was rising, something clutched tightly in its fingers. Something vaguely spherical-no, oval-shaped. With little ridges and grooves and a looped protrusion at the top. I couldn't stop my foot, no matter how much I wanted to. The past was the past.
 
        The gloved fingers of the apparition from hell caught in the little loop, and pulled the thing at the top of the object clean off. The little.....pin chittered and clanked on the floor, my eyes centered on it. My boot crashed into the figure's torso with a crack like no other. As expected, I felt ribs collapse inward and saw all kinds of pain on the downed thing's face. Its grip failed it, and its arm involuntarily whipped up. It hurled that little oval thing up into the air. It spun and spun and rose and rose, hitting the ceiling of the little building and leaving a dent in the top. Then, it started to fall.
 
        I remember being unable to move. Years and years of fast acting and quick thinking that kept me alive, but now, that exact moment, I couldn't move a muscle. I stood there, unable to act, to flee, my boot firmly planted on the chest of the figure on the floor, its dead comrades surrounding us. The little oval impacted the floor a foot above the fallen being's head, bounced once, bounced twice, and settled. The world was frozen. Unmoving. Waiting.
 
        Then the world was on fire. There was a flash of light brighter than imagining, a wave of concussive force followed by little stinging bits of something. I was thrown back by the sheer power. The demon below me had been blown apart. I flew back a full ten feet. The demon flew all over the room. I remember falling in slow motion. I couldn't feel any part of my body. Everything after that blast of ridiculous heat and force felt cold and slow in comparison. My back hit the wall, and my head whipped up and dented the rusty steel behind me. My broken form slid to the floor, and little drops of crimson drained from my body and onto the metal. Then, all was black.
 
        Up until now. Now, everything was brown. Brown and identical and endless and empty. My head hurt. My head hurt bad, and I didn't know anything besides what I had just seen. Not a thing. I tried to think as I walked, tried to well up memories and recall anything, but it was all for nothing. My legs kept moving, kept walking forward. I couldn't stop them, but I didn't know where they wanted to go.

        My head hurt bad. Everything was sand. And I was going to die.



Trying a little something. Kindly tell me whether or not you're interested in something like this. Pointers and tips are welcome.

Kinda based on Mad Max. Sort of. Maybe some Cata elements later. Maybe some Fallout. Maybe a whole lot of things. Not sure where I'm going with it.

5
Rec Room / Blood And Glory [Qualifying Round!] [Always Open]
« on: September 13, 2015, 04:29:54 pm »
Okay. Okay. Okay okay okay. Fuck it. I can't do stories. I can't do detailed plots. I get bored with them and flip out and don't update and then they die.

SO FUCK IT.

HAVE AN RP. YOU WON'T TALK, YOU WON'T MEET PEOPLE, YOU'LL JUST KILL THINGS IN A POST APOCALYPTIC ARENA. YEAH. HAVE FUN I GUESS.

Code: [Select]
[b]Name+STAGE NAME:
Age:
Gender:
Appearance:
Personality:
Traits:
Skills:[/b]

ANY QUESTIONS WILL BE ANSWERED. IF YOU HAVE ANY SPECIAL REQUESTS, PM ME WITH WHAT YOU WANT YOUR STARTING WEAPON TO BE, OTHERWISE IT'S RANDOM. THINGS'LL GET MORE INTERESTING THE MORE ROUNDS YOU SURVIVE.

6
Rec Room / All That's Left [Settlement Suggestion!]
« on: August 30, 2015, 04:15:23 pm »
The cryocells open with a hiss, and the sleepers awaken slowly. Bouts of amnesia and panic subside as the memories return. Memories of what happened, why they were in there. In their minds, they think it's all blown over. It's all safe again. But one of them checks the cryocells, and panic is renewed. It's only been five years. Weren't these things set to two hundred? What could've happened? Whatever the case, all is not well. The world feels.....wrong. The air is cold and the sun feels distant. The wind carries whispers and menace, and it dawns on those present that they're all that's left of what used to be.

What are they supposed to do now?


Base
A large asphalt parking lot with a two-story warehouse in the center. The basement holds the cryocells, the first floor holds living quarters, and the second floor holds supplies. It feels dark and uninviting. The whole location is surrounded by a high wire fence, topped with rusty razor wire.
Tags: [Moderate Defendability] [Adequate Space] [Remote Location]


Units
35 General Populace | [Basic Utility Unit] [Unspecialized] [Skittish]
15 Handy Populace | [Basic Utility Unit] [Fabrication] [Repair]
10 Learned Populace | [Basic Utility Unit] [Science] [Chemistry]
10 Gruff Populace | [Basic Utility Unit] [Heavy Labor] [Melee]
15 Watchmen | [Basic Combat Unit] [Recon] [Firearms]


Supplies
10 units of ammunition
20 units of scrap metal
150 units of food (MREs, canned food, bottled water)
10 units of basic chemical components
15 units of weapon components (parts, gunpowder, etc.)


Action Suggestions
Investigate your surroundings?

I'm gonna add more detail in the future updates. Basically, keep these people alive through the apocalypse. There's gonna be a sense of mystery, you never really know what happened to the world. Just suggest what you want certain units to do. Creative ideas are allowed, basically, whatever a group of 85 moderately capable people could do. So yeah. Suggest.

7
The Bar / Paxus Krax
« on: August 20, 2015, 12:28:09 am »
NAME: Paxus Krax
FACTION: Xerxes Industries
RANK: 'Fixer' (Bodyguard, hitman, general footsoldier, all in one. Something needs doing, he can do it, provided he's paid.)
SPECIES: Human (Technically. Heavily modified.)
AGE: 30-something???
SEX: Male
HEIGHT: 6'5
WEIGHT: 230 lbs.
EYES: Red, as is common with albinos.
HAIR: Completely hairless.
SKIN: Stark white.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES (Required: 2 Weaknesses Minimum) :
+Battle Hardened: Paxus is no stranger to blood being spilled. He doesn't bat an eye at atrocities the likes of which none have ever seen, and he doesn't particularly mind committing them, either.
+Reputation: Mr. Krax isn't your run-of-the-mill merc running around for chump change. He's a designated fixer of Xerxes Industries, and one of their more popular ones, too. People know what he's capable of, so whatever he says, most knowledgeable folks know to listen.
-Reputation: With the perks of being a savage butcher, however, come the downsides. Authorities all over the galaxy have file after file listed on Paxus, and despite the fact no real hard evidence is there, most officers of any military look at him with extreme suspicion. Those with a grudge against XI also have it out for Krax.
-Unsettling: His appearance tends to put people off real quick. Negotiating is hard.


APPEARANCE:
Paxus Krax is not a subtle man when it comes to appearances. He's a hulking albino, tall, heavy, and intimidating. His teeth are filed to points, his eyes are blood red, and his very stare has something unsettling about it. His armor is stained with the remnants of old battles, his chest, arms, legs, and face are covered in old scars, and strangely enough, there's not a trace of hair on him.

ARMS AND ARMOR:
It comes with the territory. Paxus is a man who appreciates devices used to kill other men, and more so than most. At any given time, he's armed to the teeth, and more weapons are always waiting for him in his cargo bay. A bit fickle, Paxus changes up what he uses all the time, but he sticks with setups that work for longer periods.

Paxus wears a set of Xerxes Industries Second Skin, a light jumpsuit-based armor that provides some protection against most forms of damage while also leaving its wearer limber. He dons a thick, old-fashioned leather overcoat above this, glossy black and covered in pockets. His face is normally covered by a black gas mask, an intimidating, bulky thing, decorated with a large white handprint. Standard fingerless gloves and heavy boots make up the rest of his armor.

Weapons, however, are where Paxus shines. A large bracelet on his right wrist is, in fact, actually a devious little weapon. Loaded with compact steel spheres, the magnetically-powered device fires its small projectiles silently, with the power of an older .45 ACP bullet. A collection of small disks in his overcoat's pocket are reserved for troublesome opponents; when thrown, they seek out a target and latch on, before administering an electric shock on par with that of a stun gun. If it doesn't knock them out, they're typically easily dispatched by Krax soon after.

On his other wrist, in another small bracelet-launcher, a small 'clip' of darts contains a deadly venom concocted by some corps. Nicknamed 'Ana,' it's a refined pathogen that seeks out and triggers mast cells to quickly cause severe anaphylactic shock. In other words, a body-wide allergic reaction, resulting in lungs shutting down and blood pressure dropping. A vibrotanto, the spruced up cousin of its mundane counterpart, rests in a sheath on his hip. When a button on the handle is clicked, the blade vibrates fantastically fast, resulting in an almost hacksaw-like ability to chop objects and people apart.

 
BIOGRAPHY:
[Coming soon]

SHIP:
Flenser: Paxus' personal little killer-ship. Flenser is a cannibalized mining vessel, a hardy, bulky thing, meant for a small crew of asteroid miners, reinforced with various mods here and there and outfitted with weapons. Despite its industrial grade armor, it's still faster than most fighters and frigates, owing to its small size. Flenser has four rooms; the control center, a blocky cube full of consoles and steering mechanisms, sleeping quarters, a meager storage facility, and something of a commons room, complete with tables and booth seats for breaks.

The ship is painted the color of old rust, the name painted messily in crimson along both sides. Thanks to some jury rigged mods, a few weapons line the ship here and there. Below the control cubicle, on either side of the ship's hull, is a pair of XI Mag-Cannons, long guns that fire a magnetically-ejected torpedo of dense metal to punch holes in lightly armored ships. Scores of ion batteries line the ship's sides. When activated, these cells send waves of raw plasma jettisoning off into space, creating a pulse on either side of Flenser. It's relatively short-range, but packs a real punch.

 
KILLS:
Post the names of the PC characters (characters role-played by real people) that your character has killed. If possible, include a link to the thread in which your character killed him/her.


---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
ROLE-PLAYS:
Post the links and the titles to all of your characters Role-Plays. To make things easier, post the link and name here as soon as you enter the Role-Play thread.

8
Datastore 1187 / Xerxes Industries
« on: August 19, 2015, 11:37:57 pm »
Company Name: Xerxes Industries
Intent: Money, power, and everything that comes with it.
Location: Zox, a tiny, industrialized-beyond-belief planet far from....anywhere, really.
Affiliation: Themselves. Xerxes Industries doesn't form alliances.
Worth: Hard to accurately say. Somewhere around 400 trillion credits in their annual business, but this doesn't include the fantastically huge amount of contraband and shady dealing XI is mixed up in.


Description & History
When someone says the words 'cutthroat business' or 'shady dealings,' anybody who knows anything instantly thinks of Xerxes Industries. They've been operating a long time; longer than a lot of other corps, and it's plain to see why. Xerxes Industries doesn't compete; they steamroll. They're a merciless bully of a conglomerate, and when a smaller corp gets in the way of their dealings, every single employee of that organization better be ready for one helluva bad year.

XI deals in a lot of products. They're a pharmaceutical company, an arms manufacturer, and they even come out with a mech or two once in a while. Thing is, they're not the best in any one field, but at Xerxes Industries, quantity over quality is the name of the game. Flood the market and bombard your competitors with fabricated lawsuits, fraudulent employees, double agents and any number of other complications, and you've won before you've really started. So, XI comes out with all sorts of dubiously-constructed products, a few of which can be considered decent, depending on what's available.

Xerxes Industries was founded a few generations ago, by a man nobody can really recall. Records in the company are completely erased every few years, and employees are always coming and going, so nobody has actually been able to find out exactly who started this despicable business. To preserve his or her safety, the existing CEO is only referred to as, fittingly, Xerxes. They're not named in any business dealings, everything is handled by cutthroat underbosses and leering, smooth-talking executives.

The planet XI is based on, Zox, is a pitiful hellhole of industrial expansion. The sun doesn't exist to those living there; it's a distant memory, something you tell your children actually exists behind all that smog and toxic powder. Since agriculture is impossible, food is shipped to the planet from other, more habitable worlds where XI has a presence. It's populated entirely by workers and their families, who, despite claims by XI, are basically also workers. The populace of about ten million is constantly slavering at their machines to pump out every single product XI produces at lightning speed.

[Details about products incoming later]

 

9
Rec Room / SomeRP (THROWBACK TIME)
« on: August 04, 2015, 09:42:56 pm »
        Two weeks. It's been about two weeks since the world, as you knew it, ended. None of you are entirely sure what happened, exactly, the bus rolled up and soldiers hustled you inside before anyone really knew what was going on. Glimpses through the thick barred windows gave you a vague idea, however. The sky itself looked like it was tearing open; a massive storm of unfathomable proportions was building up as far as the eye could see, roiling with unstable energy akin to multicolored lightning. The bus was deathly quiet, and every armed escort aboard had a grim look on their face.

        After a lengthy drive out of town, watching your world fall apart, the bus approached a sizable concrete building, resembling a warehouse. The block of a shelter lacked windows, and the doors were heavy steel objects inlaid with slots of bulletproof glass. You were ushered out of the vehicle, told to stay within the shelter until more military help arrived, and left there. It's been two weeks, and not a single soldier has been seen since. The refugee center, as you believe it's called, is enormous, but the food stores were somewhat under stocked. Despite the fact that only a handful of you arrived, you're already almost out. You haven't been outside since they dropped you off, but you have a sinking feeling that setting out into the new world is inevitable.


Code: [Select]
[u]sheet[/u]
[color=white]Name: (These two weeks have been quiet among the survivors. Names are likely the only things to have been shared.)
Appearance: (A general description, clothes not included.)
Profession: (No soldiers, sadly, they'd be off fighting the crazies falling from the sky.)
Clothes: (It's doubtful you'd be wearing anything like armor at the moment.)
Weapons/Tools: (No guns yet, guys. Most melee thangs are fine, 'long as it sorta makes sense.[/color]
[color=red]Negative Traits: (You can have as many positives as negatives. Try and make them things that could actually affect you.)[/color]
[color=limegreen]Positive Traits: (You can use any from Cata, but go crazy, make some up if you want. Minor bionics included, maybe a mutation or two if you can explain why your character has it.)[/color]
[color=white]Small Backstory:(Kinda optional. You can choose to reveal it through narrative if you so choose.)[/color]

Alrighty, here it is! SIMPLE. VERY, VERY SIMPLE. Trust me, it'll get a lot more detailed and entertaining in later updates, I'm just giving you a basic rundown of what's happening. Knowing all of us, we sorta all know what's happening anyways. Sheets being accepted tonight and tomorrow, guessing that's when the updates'll start up as well.

10
Rec Room / SomeRP OOC!
« on: August 04, 2015, 04:09:36 am »
Alright, jeez, I just got back, and I'm already overthinking everything. I wrote six paragraphs of a story that I then deleted before posting because I wasn't feeling it, and was about to make a very, very detailed interest check for three different ideas I was having, but then realized that trying to make up a detailed setting and plot on the fly was sure to end in disaster, especially if it's me we're talking about. So, I had a better idea. I'ma get back to my roots first. Get back in the GMing groove with a simple, fun premise that most of us know, you get the idea.

So, here's something. A simple combat, dialogue, and quest oriented game based off all the old Cataclysm spin off roleplays we did back in the Rec Room. There's gonna be lotsa fighting, lotsa zombies, lotsa scavenging, and lotsa character interaction. Like the Highway, like the Kittsap (I think that's how you spell it?) Chronicles, like D.E.A.D., and all the other fun apocalyptic RPs with a simple concept we used to do. Near-future tech, bionics, mutagen, the works. I really just wanna start off with something easy before I try convoluted science fiction/fantasy plots that take a lot of work and time.

So, scavenging, shooting people in the face, fightin' zombies and stayin' alive. Hopefully we all still love that idea? Just say whether or not you'd actually wanna play, and if, let's say, at least four people do, I'll write up character sheets and an intro.

11
Creative Endeavors / The Right to Live ('Lil flashback to Cata)
« on: May 14, 2015, 03:29:04 am »
The Right to Live
Heya! So, whatever, school is still a thing. Thus, I can't devote the time that I wanna to the Rec Room. However, I'm still hankering for some STORY and EMOTION and CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT and all that crap. Muh writin' needs be outta control. So yeah, I think I'll take a crack at another little story I've been trying to think up. Trying to make characters seem more.....real, human, there, all that. Maybe git gud at trying to splice things together a little more. And, of course, I'ma try and make it entertaining for all y'all readers!

WARNING STUFF [I KNOW YOU GUYS DON'T CARE I'M JUST SAYING]
-Blood and gore, descriptive violence, etc.
-Language (IF THIS ****ING **** **** **** CENSOR THING GOES AWAY)
->Implying ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
-Might be some disturbing/torture-y/almost but never actually rape-y scenes. It is the apocalypse, those'd really only be to make you hate someone, and I won't really every say much.


So with any randomness outta the way, let's get started, shall we?


Major General Raymond Wilson Ewell stalked through the brush, the cold night air permeating his very being. He had heard the winters of this god-forsaken place were something, but he'd never imagined it was this bad. Ewell had found a relatively large patch of hardy, bristled bushes that led straight to the perimeter of the hostiles' camp, and the General was never one to forgo the tactical advantage of surprise. His rifle was clasped steadily in his arms, beneath Ewell's prone form as he wormed his way through the thick leaves, inch by inch. He could feel the polished wooden handle of his kukri pressing against the bone in his hip, the brass knob that topped it off getting a little uncomfortable the further he went. He could deal with discomfort, as long as it was worth it in the end.

The perimeter was deathly quiet. The Major General knew this didn't mean he was in the clear. He was far too smart for that. No, he was a man who knew how to trust his instincts, and right now, the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end. He surveyed his surroundings. Bushes on all sides, no visibility, no chances of detection from there. The base was a skeleton of a compound, simply a gathering of small, sheet metal buildings. A taller, tower-like structure had been built up nearer to him than the smaller buildings. It was an ugly thing, all recycled piping and solder, with a rickety, plywood crow's nest. Nothing fancy, to say the least. But Ewell was a cautious man. As cautious as they come. And he knew that no enemy was to be underestimated.

That's when he saw it. A thin red line, streaking out across the freezing cold plain, dancing among the scrub and low rocks. It led all the way back up to the tower's crow's nest. Of course. A sniper. Just what he needed. Ewell wasted no time. Just as the beam veered in the other direction, the sniper obviously starting to scan to his left, Ewell began a slow creep forward, silently emerging from the brush.......

That's when a loud, angry, shout sounded behind me, and a hand clamped on my shoulder. My headset flew off as I yelped, jumping into the air and mashing randomly on my controller. Major General Ewell abruptly stood up from my crazed motions, starting off at a solid sprint from the pressure of my thumb on the joystick. The thin red line centered on his chest and fired, burying a virtual .308 in the torso of my character. A grunt escaped his lips, and he stumbled back into the brush, collapsing onto a bed of sharp leaves. My screen lit up with two familiar words: YOU DIED.

A sound I knew all too well piped up from behind me, stinging my ears after the numbing of the gaming headset.

"C'mon, you little introvert! We've got a whole week left until spring break ends, and you're not gonna spend it huddled in here with your virtual boyfriend the General!" Kate's voice jeered, followed by her usual laugh. Mouth closed, trying to hold it in and sound serious.

A small, angry smile was visible on my face. "Jeez, least I have a boyfriend, Kate. Can you match up to that?" I mocked back, folding my arms across my chest and turning to the side, my back to her.

She punched my shoulder, hard, but not angrily. I turned around, reaching over the back of my couch, and shoved her. She caught my arm as I fell back, using the fact that I weigh next to nothing to pull me over. Two minutes of flailing and general friendly stupidity later, I was sprawled out on the floor, with a shoe planted on my chest.

"Say it."

"Fine, you psycho. Uncle. There."

I spat up at her, trying to hide my grin. She helped me up, and we walked out of my living room to the door. The house was silent; my parents were both working, and my bro and sis, Matt and Angie, were at violin practice. Mom and Dad were always busy. Dad was a lawyer, Mom was the dean of medicine at the local bigwig care center. The whole busy thing was good, I knew that. It meant we were well off. We could afford things like video games and violins, or the newer RivTech products. But on days like this, our house sure felt....empty.

Kate opened the door, skipping outside. She skipped a lot, and I always made fun of her for it. She was a little over a year older than me, almost seventeen, but she acted like a twelve year old all the time. I followed, stopping at the doorway to squeeze my shoes on. It was hot out, the sun burning up in the sky and scorching our dreary little neighborhood. I was feeling it a lot worse than Kate; the only clean clothes I could find were a long sleeved shirt and black pants.

"Why'd you have to drag me out here, anyways? Got any bright ideas? This entire town is dead for excitement." I complained, blowing a stray hair out from over my eye. I needed a visit to the barber soon.

"Pffft, come on, Marc. Quit 'yer whining! There's plenty we can do!"

"Yeah? Name something. One thing."

"Alright, I've got a game called 'Shut Up, You Don't Have Anything Better To Do."

I grumbled, thinking of how close I was to leading the boards in Jungle Fever. Three more close-range takedowns, damn it! Alas, I knew if I went back in to play games, Kate'd bother me about it for days. So, I followed. She skipped about a foot ahead of me as we made our way down the sidewalk. Nobody was on the street. Nobody was visible in the windows of the bright little houses we passed by. Those stupid pastel posters about the new automated police forces stuck to telephone poles. I forgot how creepy this place could be when you were out and about during work hours......

That's when Kate stopped. A foot ahead of me, with my mind drifting. I kept going, lightly bumping into her and snapping out of my surveillance. She didn't seem to acknowledge it.

"Hey, come on, speed up before I change my mind about coming, I don't have all day!" I said, smiling as I made my way around her. Kate was looking forwards and up, her vision seemingly on the horizon. A perplexed, stunned look was plastered on her normally lucid features. I let curiosity take over and took a gander in the direction she was looking. I immediately wished I hadn't.

Because Kate wasn't looking at the sky. Namely, because......well, there was no sky. Not at the moment. Right there, smack in the middle of where you would expect perfect little high-class small town clouds, there was a gaping hole in the air. It wasn't impossibly far up. Not above where the clouds would be. It was hovering, a few hundred feet above the center of our town. The perimeter of the area it was covering probably began a few blocks ahead of us.

I didn't know what I was expecting for the first few seconds. Sure, this was scary, unnatural, all that, but, looking back, I never really knew what this meant. I didn't think this was a real turning point in my life. Some crazy scientific thing, maybe a new natural disaster of some kind, but.....it didn't feel dangerous. It looked like a tranquil, unmoving celestial body, somehow suspended above a dreary little suburban community. I couldn't tell what Kate was thinking, and I wasn't looking at her face.I was gazing right at the rip in the cosmos before me.

And that's when it all started, really. The edges of that awful.....portal, they, they sort of.....fluttered. Shivered. The whole thing moved like the surface of a pond, disturbed by a pebble, for a few seconds. I felt a little panic set in, and both Kate and I instinctively backed up, unsure of what to do. That's when the surface of the thing in the sky rippled downwards. Not like a pond being disturbed by something going in. Like a sheet, over a hole, with something pushing out.

*****

That's always when I wake up, and wake up I did. A choking sound, between that of a cough and a scream, made its way from my throat as I sat straight up in my cot, drenched in a cold sweat. The dark, concrete room of our shelter echoed with the noise. I heard a snore of protest further down the room, but nothing else. Good, hadn't woken anyone up, at least. It had been a whole year, and I still had the damn dreams.....

"Still having the dreams, huh, Marc?" Her voice came from my left, on a cot about five feet away. Kate was whispering. No sense in waking the others.

I paused for a little, staring into the dark."Doubt I'll ever stop. Only thing I've kept the past year. Lost everything but the nightmares." I muttered back, my eyes fixated on a random spot of blackness.

"Aw, come on, you've still got your watch! And the......uh, your shoes!" Kate's voice was upbeat in her attempt to cheer me up, and the desperation of it was almost working. Another tiny smile found its way to my lips.

"Well, thank God I can still tell time and hop like Jordan. That'll sure save my life someday."

"That's the spirit! Come on, let's get up early. Pax probably wants those traps out in the woods checked fast, something might try and take our dinner." I heard her slowly worming outta her sleeping bag, then the clatter of her shoes as she pulled them on.

I nodded, even though I knew she couldn't see the gesture. Quietly crumpled the crinkly emergency blanket I was using, and set in on the floor next to my little cot. After a little stretch, I heaved my legs over the side, onto the floor. Felt around with my feet until I found my shoes, and put them on. Kate was already standing, and I pushed myself up, taking a few wobbly steps towards the big door of our little safe house.

A sudden light blinded me, before my eyes adjusted to the gasoline lantern Kate had lit up. She was in a heavy brown coat, her tan face smiling next to the dim glow of the lantern.

"Alright, try and keep up, loser! Dunno what horrors this world'll hold next and all, right?"

Yeah. Sure, like we hadn't already seen it all, huh?


Thoughts? Good? Okay? Bad? Crap? God awful trash? Share what you think!   

12
When All Seems Lost
July 4, 2758, broadcast of Ulysses Knox, High Chancellor of The Unified Planetary Regime, twelve weeks ago...

The screen lights up with crystal clarity, illuminating the dim room that makes up the recreational area of your station. Previously chattering about, messing around with the pool table or the pinball machine in the corner, your comrades all fall silent, unanimously turning to the diminutive television. While it is an antique these days, obviously far past its prime, you have no problem scanning the scene.

It's a view of the UPN's High Court, the tall desks arranged in their usual meticulous positions. Chancellor Knox's podium is situated in the middle of the room, and 'Humanity's Last Hope', as his electoral committee referred to him as, begins speaking as soon as he's on air, his powerful, no-nonsense voice ringing through the ancient speakers.


"Ahem. Citizens. Soldiers. Men, women, and all who listen, as you may very well be aware of, we, as a people, are on our last leg. The hardships we've faced previously have been great. The First Contact War. The arrival of the Masked Legion. The Great Harvest of 2665, and even the uprising of Pox, thirty years ago. These, we faced as a unified people. A stark bulwark to those that threatened us. And, as we have before, we faced Perdition as a strong force, one to be reckoned with, and one to be feared, and rightly so. Well, I, Ulysses Knox, am here to tell you: that still isn't enough to save us."

It is with these words that every man and woman in the room well and truly falls silent. An unnatural hush falls over everyone, the only noise audible being the light static emitted by the screen of your old television. Chancellor Knox lets his proclamation sink in, his aged, tired face staring solemnly into the camera. He closes his eyes for a moment, taking in a breath.

"Which is why, we, the High Council, have formulated what we believe is the key to our very survival. As you all know, Perdition opened a tear in the very fabric of our universe. The Horde spilled out of this very entrance, bringing with it a tide of death and desolation that left exactly twenty-seven-point-nine percent of humans alive, and reduced the size of the Unified Planetary Regime to ten planets. For the past decade, every scientist worth his salt has been working for this very moment, as, three days ago, we've found the answer. The origin of The Horde. Those responsible for Perdition, and, if we don't do something, the would-be erasers of the entire human race."

The crowd in the room has slowly moved forward, and before you know it, you and your unit are crowded around the tiny box, wordlessly staring into the screen and awaiting answers.

"So, with my power as High Chancellor, I am relocating 50,000 of our bravest soldiers to the Type A First Class Destroyer, Dante's Inferno. These men and women, for all intents and purposes...."

The Chancellor has to stop here, his breath ragged.

"Are our last hope. They will pilot the Inferno into the suppurating wound the Horde tore into our universe, take the battle to them, and detonate a destructive device the likes of which have never been seen, or we, humans, our entire race, will be wiped out within two years. Those selected for this mission will be notified shortly. High Chancellor Ulysses Knox, signing off. May we find salvation in these dark times."

The unnatural quiet in the room remains for a full thirty seconds after the broadcast ends and the cheap XXX film someone had playing earlier resumes with a high-volume vengeance. Nervous looks are traded, and whispered questions hissed to any nearby. Before anyone can truly realize the severity of this broadcast, a quiet knock stuns you all back into silence. Turning your heads to the door, the whole unit is treated to the site of a small young man, wearing a blue beret classical of Regime messengers, standing at the door nervously. He has a small, red slip of paper in his hand, and curiously, his gaze is fixed directly on......you?

Now...

Four weeks. Four weeks since you've entered the so-called Hell that tore open our universe a decade ago. And through these four weeks, jack **** has happened. The engineering department sees more action aboard this rust bucket. You've been drilled, trained, and educated to handle everything the scientists could cover back on Terra, and so far, nothing's happened. You're still not even sure what one of these......'demons' looks like. Whatever. All that matters is you keep this place safe 'till the ship gets close enough to blast these ****ers back to whatever plane they came from.

Sheet!
Name: (Add a rank, if you feel like it, the severity of this mission means most don't stick to the traditional lingo.)
Gender:
Preliminary Physical Report: (General appearance. Denote positive physical traits with green, and negative ones with red.)
'Psych Report: (General personality, any abnormalities, phobias, and such. Denote positive mental traits with green, and negatives with red.)
'Class': (What your soldier handles aboard the ship. All are combat roles of some kind, remember.)
Background: (Whatever you really want. Most lore before this is subject to change, make up events, wars, and other things freely, as long as they don't change the general idea.)


'Classes!'
1. First Response
-Job Description: First Responders are fast, no-nonsense recon troops. The second a possible anomalous presence or hostile life form is detected on the ship, they're the first rushing to the scene, sprinting through the halls, nimbly leaping over obstacles and swinging through the Inferno like crazed parkour artists trained to kill. While their job is mainly to report on said threats, if pressed, they are allowed to respond with whatever force they deem necessary, though a First Responder's equipment is dedicated to speed, not combat.

-Free Traits: All First Responders are unnaturally skilled at recognizing potential threats, and, obviously, are trained to the peak of physical condition. They have limitless stamina, and seemingly superhuman perception.

-Drawbacks: A First Responder dies much faster than other classes when hit. Their armor, designed for speed and ease of movement, is notorious for ripping like paper when push comes to shove, and most rely on dodging to save themselves.

-Class Armor: The Partisan Arms Second Skin serves as the default armor for this class. A thin jumpsuit of synthesized fibers, it offers the barest of protection against knives and low-caliber bullets, while letting a First Responder move and jump like no other protective garment.

-Class Armaments: The First Responders have two options for a primary, and two for a secondary.
-[Primary] Partisan Arms 'Obrez,' an exotic throwback carbine renowned for mobility, but criticized for the sporadic directions its beams take.
-[Primary] Rochambeau MAP (Mobile Assault Platform), a light, compact submachine gun, whose manageable bursts, while relatively accurate, are becoming outdated when it comes to damage.
-[Secondary] Partisan Arms Compact Breaching Tool, nicknamed the 'Uninvited Guest.' A small, break-open weapon, the UG fires a large slug of dense metal, designed to punch through consoles or the doors themselves to allow Responders into areas they normally aren't allowed in, but need to enter for security reasons. Pressed into use as a combat weapon, the UG is overkill, through and through, blasting holes through the chests of full grown men in one shot.
-[Secondary] Xerxes Industries Directional Remote Projectile, or DRP. A wrist-mounted console contains a small sphere of synthesized metallic origin. While a Responder operates the console, they can send the sphere rocketing in whichever direction they choose, most often to burrow into whichever target is in sight. (Basically, that whistle arrow from Guardians of the Galaxy, but a little less cool for balance reasons. It'll still tunnel into people pretty easily, but it's prone to malfunction once in a while.)


2. Janitors
-Job Description: Not a duty for the squeamish, the title of 'Janitor' refers to soldiers trusted with the disposal and collection of any alien material and other leftover remnants of battle.....along with the execution or capture of any still alive. Due to how little humans truly know about the so-called 'demons' of the Horde, Janitors come heavily armored in a suit designed for protection against radiation, acid, tainted air, most aspects of physical harm, and concussive force. Thought of as creepy by fellow soldiers, Janitors make no attempt to dissuade this belief, slowly lumbering to haul away dead men and the limbs of demons, their faces invisible beneath the thick, tinted glass of their suits.

-Free Traits: Janitors can stomach sights that'd make seasoned veterans of previous engagements scream, vomit, faint....or all three at the same time. There's no job too horrid or unpleasant for these detached workhorses.

-Drawbacks: Janitors are generally avoided by others, due to their cold reputations as the 'Grim Reapers' of the ship. Antisocial behavior and general......unpleasant demeanors are common.

-Class Armor: The Universal Protection Apparatus, or UPA, is given to all Janitors on the job. A thick, encumbering suit of gray material, bulky like the hazmats of old, with a thick, tinted windshield of a visor, movement and sight are not what the creator made this for. While impregnable to many threats, shooting and running are significantly harder in this suit.

-Class Armaments: Janitors have two options for a primary, and two for a secondary.
-[Primary] Komodo Flechette Launcher, a multipurpose throwback to old-fashioned scatterguns. While the spread decreases range, a number of varieties of sharp metal shrapnel are available, and, while they will be detailed later, include the original, armor-shredding razors, hard-hitting pellets of depleted uranium, and an insanely painful, debatably non-lethal concoction of fiberglass powder.
-[Primary] Grayson Security Ltd. Electroshock Subjugation Platform, or ESP, a large, cattle prod-like weapon, connected to a backpack worn by the Janitor. Any demons found to be alive can be 'non-lethally' captured with this tool. However, settings on the back of the backpack dictate the severity of the shock, from the average stun gun, to twice that of an electric chair.
-[Secondary] Komodo Angry Wasp, a small, revolving, six-shot firearm, carried in one hand. Fires rounds equivalent to those used by older 10 gauge scatterguns, while keeping recoil rather minimal. Many varieties are available, basically, any type of shotgun shell available in the old days.
-[Secondary] Xerxes Industries Hanging Judge, an abnormally huge, rustic-looking revolver, styled like those used by cowboys of the days of old. Behind its simple design, the Hanging Judge is an insanely powerful weapon, firing rounds that tear through the average human like a knife through butter, while giving its user a sense of style. Chosen for Janitors due to its usefulness as a 'finishing' weapon.


3. Human Resources
-Job Description: Even on a ship hurtling through the bowels of Hell, humans are always a problem. The amount of stress and responsibility involved with this mission could crack the toughest of men. For exactly this reason, the 'Human Resources' unit was created. Specifically trained to thwart any and all aboard the ship who could pose a danger to the mission, as well as serving as general enforcers of law, Human Resource troops are in charge of crowd control, detainment, and containment of any rowdy crew members or troops who crack under the pressure.

-Free Traits: All Human Resources are skilled in hand-to-hand combat with anything the size of a human, as well as receiving extensive training in the use of melee weapons.

-Drawbacks: Human Resource troops are less reliable in the face of demons, and while they can, of course, help to fight them, aren't gonna make as much of a difference as others. In addition, some troops despise those of this position, in a way older armies of Earth hated military policemen.

-Class Armor: The Enforcer Suit Mark 300 serves as the combat armor for Human Resource troops. Combining old-age Kevlar with reflective metal plates designed to protect from beam weaponry, along with a sturdy riot helmet, the Enforcer Suit stands up to most physical danger with ease, but doesn't help with radiation, poisoned air, or most chemicals.

-Class Armaments: Human Resources can choose between two primaries, but only one secondary.
-[Primary] Komodo Irritant Thrower, a descendant of the flamethrower, this device, consisting of two wrist-mounted nozzles, connected to a fuel backpack by way of rubber hose, fires dual concentrated streams of a highly powerful irritant compound. Those sprayed are blinded, burned, and, if the solution gets in their mouth, most likely start vomiting, rendering them unable to fight.
-[Primary] Rochambeau Sonic Crowd Control Tool, a newer invention by experimental weapons developer, Rochambeau. This weapon emits a supersonic beam, that, when it strikes a living target, induces feelings of extreme nausea, discomfort, emotional distress, and, after a short time, causes them to pass out. However, the tech is in no way perfect. Longer exposure to the device can result in the liquefaction of those subjected to it.
-[Secondary] Xerxes Industries Tactical Truncheon, a two-foot long, solid bar of new-age materials, with a comfortable rubber grip. Containing a both a stun gun and mace canister within the tip of the cudgel, this makes a formidable weapon to any who would disrupt order on the Inferno.





More classes will be added soon, I've been typing for way too long. Just tell me if you're interested.

Pages: [1]

NOCTIFER IS A FAGGOT