Farcry11

((Nah, not at all))

((WE NEED MOAR))

Name: Jacques Clermont Age: 28 Physical Description: Slender and toned, with close-cropped black hair and a neatly shaved goatee. He stands at the average height of 5 feet 8 inches, and is quite agile. His face appears warm and friendly, but his eyes are cold and calculating. He usually wears a navy blue cloak, plain greenish breeches and shirt, fine leather boots and a swordsman's belt, with a fine steel rapier strapped to it. He almost always wears a brown scarf around his neck. Home Fiefdom: France Profession: Exiled Lordling. Backstory: Born to the famous Archknight and Lord, Adrien Clermont, Jacques led a privileged childhood. He learned swordsmanship from his father's master at arms, and could maneuver about the riverlands as well as any Archknight. He also learned his letters and numbers, and was not only athletic but scholarly. His exceptional upbringing, however, led him to arrogance and vanity, as well as a hot temper. At the age of twenty-four he killed a commoner from whom he had perceived an insult. His father, appalled at his actions, banished him from his household and disowned him. Jacques left in disgrace, anger and revenge in his heart. He vowed to return someday and claim his birthright- and intended to bring his own army with him. After four years of wandering, he's ended up in Vasiliberg, looking for mercenaries...

Hey hey. This was one of my more successful RP threads on the old forums, and I want to bring it back. Here goes! Three hundred years ago, humanity's destructive nature finally got the better of them. In a fiery hellstorm, nuclear war was enacted across the globe, scorching radiation blasting the earth and leaving only... The Valley. Located somewhere in Central Europe, this is where a hundred thousand survivors fled. A massive valley, picturesque, fertile, with freshwater rivers, dark forests, and rolling fields. With the humans came livestock- horses, sheep, cows, pigs- and a wide variety of crops. All was well in the beginning. Farms and homesteads, and even a village or three popped up as the world outside fell to ruin. Some of the more courageous men and women of the valley set out after the fallout faded, and some returned with disturbing stories of barbaric, cannibalistic tribes and monstrous mutants. Some never came back at all... Over time, society (and technology) in the valley regressed, becoming akin to the feudalistic Dark Ages of medieval Europe. 150 years in, the three major ethnic groups of the valley- the French, the Germans, and the Russians, split apart in a bloody civil war. The eventual division of land left each faction- now referring to themselves as fiefdoms- with about 1/3 of the Valley each. The Russians claimed the Northern forest lands, the French claimed the central riverlands, and the Germans claimed the bountiful southern fieldlands. Now, the three fiefdoms live in a tumultuous peace, each one not really trusting of the other two. Some people speak of war on the horizon, but there are even more disturbing rumors of the barbarian tribes grouping together and marshaling a force to take the Valley by force. In this uncertain, unsafe world, you live. Who will you be? The Fiefdoms The Fiefdom of France Ruled by the Marquis du Alexandre, who is famously kind and generous, this fiefdom is nestled in the riverlands. It's capital city is Neuf Paris, a city of about 58,000 people. Ten other towns and villages dot the riverlands, most of them prosperous and content. The main military force of this fiefdom consists of Archknights, soldiers that wield both swords and bows, and move as quickly on land as they do in their canoes. This fiefdom's main exports are a variety of fish, and the occasional stash of pearls. They have a few low-yield iron mines. It is rumored that the fiefdom's greatest minds are working towards inventing some form of firearm... The banner of the Fiefdom of France is a golden fish emblazoned on blue and white checkers. The Fiefdom of Germany Ruled by High-Count Alarick, a famous drunkard and fierce warrior. He is married to the Lady Agathe, one of the most beautiful women in the Valley. The capital city is Neu Berlin, a fortress-city with about 60,000 inhabitants. There are about twelve other villages scattered about the plains, most of which have agricultural purposes. The main force of the German military is the much feared Wolf Cavalry, lightning quick horse-mounted lancers. The main exports of the fiefdom are a myriad amount of grains, as well as gold and steel from the scattered mines. Rumors have been going around that the High-Count is planning to make a land grab in the Fiefdom of France. The banner of the Fiefdom of Germany is a silver wolf emblazoned on grey and red vertical stripes. The Fiefdom of Russia Ruled by the famously vicious Tsar Vasili, an accomplished warrior and hunter of great cruelty. The capital city is named Vasiliberg. It is a settlement of about 45,000 people, ringed by a gigantic log-and stone wall. There are about five other small villages throughout the vast forests of this fiefdom. There is no established military- rather, most citizens are well versed in the ways of the spear and the longbow. Among the forest trees, the citizen-soldiers are deadly to adversaries. The Russians are sometimes subject to raids by the barbaric Tribesmen, who come in at the Northern mouth of the valley to rape, pillage and murder. These incursions have hardened the Russians against the outside world. They have few exports except for furs, meat and crude iron. As of late, a rumor has been circulating that Tsar Vasili is sending scouts out in to the wastes beyond the Valley in search of items of great power. The banner of the Fiefdom of Russia is a black bear emblazoned on white and green quarters. "Marks of the Devil" (optional character traits) Due to some of the lingering radiation from the fallout managing to penetrate the Valley's relative safety, it's only natural that some children are born with slight mutations. Surprisingly, most of these have been somewhat benign, almost akin to some kind of evolution- but the medieval society of the Valley shuns and fears all those who they see as "marked by the devil". Many "Marked Ones" are killed by their parents at birth, and the few that live tend to keep their special traits secret. Some may also use their "Marks" to get ahead in certain areas of life. Some of the more common Marks are... Diabolus Visus "The Devil's Sight". This Mark makes itself known through the strange coloration of the bearer's eyes: they lack pupils, and their irises are usually strange colors, such as milky blue or pale green. The Sight allows the bearer to see in the dark as though it were the day, and they may also see farther than most men- but their eyes are quite sensitive to light as a result of this increased perception. Because of this, many bearers of The Sight disguise themselves as blind folk, usually monks or beggars, with a cloth headband covering their eyes- removing the band when their environment is more hospitable. Bearers of The Sight often find lucrative work in the field of espionage. A common epithet used in regards to bearers of The Sight is "Gawker". Pulmones Draconis "The Leviathan's Lungs". This Mark makes itself known by the presence of fully functional gills upon the lower neck of the bearer. The Lungs allow the bearer to breathe underwater just as well as they would on dry land, and bearers also tend to have improved swimming ability. Due to the very obvious nature of this Mark, most bearers choose to wear a certain item that will cover their neck, such as a scarf or cravat. Bearers of The Lungs tend to be exceptional scouts and rangers. Common epithets used in regards to bearers of The Lungs are: "Toad", "Frog", "Fish", and "Newt". Ursus Cordis "The Bear's Heart". This Mark makes itself known by the rapid and incredible growth of the bearer, as well as increased muscular development and hair growth. A child born with The Heart will often be the size of a 5 year old at age 1, and the size of a fully grown adult by age 12. By the time they stop maturing around age 17, bearers usually average around 7 feet tall and tend to weigh in at over 300 pounds. Accelerated hair growth also means that all male bearers tend to sport massive beards, and unusual amounts of body hair. Female bearers don't grow beards (or chest hair, obviously), but are still quite hairy by anyone's standards. Highly increased muscular development means that bearers of The Heart are gifted with superhuman strength and speed. This mark, unlike most others, is effectively impossible to hide- but this usually matters little, as bearers of The Heart are valued as warriors by the aristocracy of the Valley, and are rarely trifled with. This acceptance, strength, and impressive size comes with a few costs, however- the massive size of a bearer's body puts heavy strain on their heart, making defects likely and often lowering life expectancy by at least 30 years. High agility and maneuverability is also made impossible. Common epithets used in regards to bearers of The Heart are: "Bear", "Beast", "Troll", and "Ogre". Lupus est Cupiditas "The Wolf's Greed". This Mark makes itself known by the uncanny slimness and musculature of the bearer's arms and legs, as well as the unnatural length and sharpness of their canines. Bearers of The Greed tend towards slimness, and due to the unnatural musculature of their limbs, run faster than any man has a right to. They're also strangely adept at running on all fours, and can reach even higher speeds when doing so. Some bearers have also been known to use their teeth to horrifying effect in combat, biting off fingers or tearing out throats with relative ease. The most obvious indicator of the Mark being their noticeably long canines, most bearers of The Greed tend to cover their mouths with a scarf or bandanna, or simply refrain from talking or otherwise opening their mouth often. The natural slimness of bearers means that they're somewhat weak and flimsy, and thus they don't make great warriors or laborers. If a bearer does fight, they tend to use weapons capitalizing on their speed- daggers and knives, light spears, or truncheons/blackjacks. Many bearers excel at being messengers, pickpockets, or hired killers. Common epithets used in regards to bearers of The Greed are: "Dog", "Sticklegs", and "Cannibal". Other Marks are known to exist, but they are usually less remarkable in their benefits and less common. ((If you want to give your character a Mark, be aware of the benefits and consequences and RP appropriately. It's also suggested that you don't directly state the existence of the Mark in their description/backstory, and let it's presence be known through storytelling instead. Unless you chose The Bear's Heart because you're insecure about your height. Then, hue.)) The Story Begins (And Extra Notes) When the story begins, all our characters are in or around an inn known as The Sick Bear in Vasiliberg, the capital of the Fiefdom of Russia. The inn is a real shithole, with watered-down drinks, gamy food, and rarely cleaned floors and furniture- but it's a place where one might meet many unorthodox people. Whether you're here by choice or chance, one thing is certain- the next chapter of your life begins now... I have a general idea for the course of the story, and while you're all allowed to go your own way, I encourage you all to be associated in some form or another with the main "group". If everything goes well, we'll travel throughout the Valley, engage in wars and political intrigue, and maybe even die horribly. To help achieve this goal, I reserve the right to streamline RP somewhat by initiating time jumps/travel sequences, and making very minor decisions in regards to the actions of other players (as in, stating in my post that "so and so stands there/goes over there/sits down/so on and so forth" so we don't have to wait for them to make a post about doing so), though I won't make any major decisions without player consent. If you want to dispute any decision I make, send me a PM and we'll work it out. Now, without further ado: Character Sheet Name: Age: Physical Description: Home Fiefdom: Profession: (hunter, soldier, petty lordling, etc) Backstory:

Hey hey. Just got the urge to do some good ol' creative writing, and I figured the idea I had wouldn't fit in any of the current story categories we have here. This story (possibly multiple stories in the future) focuses on the Earth of the Aurora universe (assuming we stick with the "earth asploded but is still habitable" thing. Lorepeeps, don't ride on my ass, because this is some creative licence n' shit), and the trials / adventures of Arthur Dufort, a so called "Enforcer" who polices the wartorn Chicago Megacity Region (or CMR for short). I might also post some drawings of things from the story. Here goes! Urban warfare. It's an old term, old as hell, what with the practice dating back to about 600 years ago- but back then, things were different. Wars were waged country to country, in cities far away, places with names you couldn't pronounce, with people you didn't really care about caught in the crossfire. People read stories on their phones and their computers and their tablets every day about how such-and-such-stan was bombed, or a city was taken, or retaken, or taken again. Happened so much that they skimmed it right over, right up until the day everything changed. Right up until the day where urban warfare was staring 'em right in the face. Then they couldn't skim over it, they couldn't not care, and they couldn't shy away. They had nowhere to go. And that's when they, when the entire human race, really started to understand the old adage: War is hell. But if war is hell, urban warfare is the ninth fucking circle. When you fight in a field, hell, even a forest or the mountains, the situation is simplified. You can apply your ol' tried and true tactics, get the lay of the land, have a goddamn plan. Even if you're fighting in the jungle, knee deep in mud and blood, you can still just burn the fucking trees away with napalm and roast all the bastards in there. But urban warfare is different. The rules are changed, hell, the rules don't exist anymore. The enemy can be behind you, above you, under you, surrounding you on all sides. Every step you take could trigger a booby trap or bring you into a sniper's sights. When you fight in the streets, there is no confidence, no safety in tactics or numbers. You are a fly, a bug, constantly at risk of being squashed unless you keep moving. For every area you hope to take, you must secure the buildings. For every building you hope to take, you must secure the rooms. And to secure the rooms, you have to go in there, go through each one, and clear it out. There could be enemies. There could be a bomb. There could be a weak roof ready to collapse on you. When you participate in urban warfare, you become accustomed to that feeling that something's not right, that you're about to die, that bad, bad feeling in the pit of your stomach. And after a while it's just part of you. Now imagine if a disproportionate amount of the Earth was covered by massive urban sprawls, still damaged by the Great War. Imagine if they were so big, that armed gangs could control areas the size of states, even small countries. Imagine if it was still someone's duty to try and make these massive swathes of blood, dirt, and shit at least somewhat lawful and safe. Imagine if you were one of those people, one of the few remaining people who felt some goddamn obligation to the innocent people of this broken planet, an obligation to keep them safe, keep them alive to see another day, maybe another week. And imagine that what you had to do to fulfill that obligation was to participate in a war, an urban war, an un-winnable, ever-changing battle. Visualize that for about 5 minutes. And then you'll be a little closer to understanding what the term "urban warfare" means today. - Art's Journal, entry #248, 11/18/56 I finished writing and snapped the journal shut, running my hands across the worn leather cover before depositing it into my jacket pocket. I rose from my seat on a somewhat comfortable chunk of rubble, stretching for a moment before checking my WristDeck. The small oval screen of the device was flashing red and blue, and when I tapped it, that same old message came up: "Crime Occuring in Assigned Sector". I sighed wearily, then tapped the screen again. A new message flashed: "Armed Robbery Occurring at: Corner of Henley and Maynard". I frowned. That was ten miles west of me, deep in Ax-Gang territory. Enforcers weren't welcome, and if you went in, you most likely weren't coming out, unless the 'bangers sent your mutilated corpse back to Enforcer HQ with poorly-spelled insults carved all over it. But I wasn't some two-bit rookie. I'd been on the beat for 10 years, answered thousands of calls. Of the 10,000 Enforcers in the CMR, I was one of the best. So I uttered in to the WristDeck, "Call taken", donned my helmet, climbed on to my motorcycle, and zipped west down the cracked, empty streets. The rumbling vibration of the old Thunderdome '08 model always put me at ease, for some reason- the bike had seen me through some hard times, and never let me down. I patted the sawn-off strapped to the front of my jacket for assurance as I crossed the line in to AG territory, keeping an eye out for any 'banger activity. As I got deeper in to the neighborhood, the streets began to fill up more and more with citizens, until the sidewalks were completely full. Some civilians looked up from whatever they were doing as I passed, some staring apathetically, some shouting insults, and maybe one or two smiling a little bit. Finally, I rounded the corner on to Henley and stopped the bike. Down the street, at the corner, I could see the robbery in progress- five Ax-Gangers were dragging entire crates of booze out of a GinCo liquor store, tossing the loot into their pickup truck. The manager stood at the doorway, his face pale, watching helplessly as his goods were pilfered by the hatchet-toting goons. I frowned a moment, then spoke in to my WristDeck: "Call answered. Five suspects spotted. Nonlethal force will be attempted." The device pinged, logging my report, and I tapped small button on the side- the loudspeaker function. My voice rang out down the street. "Attention, suspects." The bangers stopped dead in their tracks, one dropping a crate of beer, and looked down the street to where I sat on my bike. "I am issuing you an order as a CMR Enforcer to stand down for processing. Resistance will be met with lethal force. You have ten seconds to comply." I drew the sawn-off with my free hand, and held it at my side, waiting for a response. They all stared me down, their tattooed, scarred faces growing more and more derisive as the usual Enforcer speech progressed. When I finished, one of them spat, screamed something in Gutter, and buried his hatchet in the manager's head. I narrowed my eyes as the man slumped to the ground lifelessly, and raised the Deck to my mouth again. "Resistance noted. Engaging lethal force." I revved up the engine and flew down the street towards the howling 'bangers, raising my shotgun and taking aim as they started to run towards me, hatchets held high. When I was within ten feet of the nearest suspect, I fired, and he flew black in a spray of blood. I ripped past his body, and spied a hatchet swinging through the air towards me. I ducked, hugging my body against the bike and narrowly dodging the attack. The rest of the gangers jumped out of my way, and I hit the breaks, skidding to a stop at the intersection. I raised my shotgun again as my assailants regrouped and spread out in a semicircle, shaking their hatchets and growling through their teeth. I picked out the biggest one, and fired again, tearing off his lower jaw and sending him flying back. I holstered the gun and jumped off my bike as the others charged, and drew my own special weapon- the length of chain coiled around my waist. I swung it out in an arc, the chain extending to full length and cracking the nearest attacker across the face, sending rotten teeth flying out of his mouth. I immediately swung it back around, smashing the already dazed man in the head and knocking him out for the count. I rolled towards his insensate body, snatching up his hatchet and burying the head in the stomach of the ganger charging towards me, before bringing his head down on my knee and crushing his skull. As his lifeless body hit the ground, the last one seemed to realize he was outmatched and dropped his hatchet, falling to his knees. He raised his hands, screaming something in Gutter. I looked down at him, my chain clutched in my hands- his eyes were full of fear, where only minutes before they'd been overflowing with bravado and cruelty. Ten years ago I might have stopped there, detained him, and sent him to be processed. But now I knew better- he had his chance, and he threw it away. I raised my chain, spinning it faster and faster as he screamed louder and louder in his unintelligible street-speak. I could hear it cut through the air as I sent it on it's fatal arc... Five minutes later, after the shakes had subsided, I climbed on to my bike and raised my Deck. "5 suspects neutralized after violating injuction 578B. Victim killed during the robbery. Cleanup crew requested." The Deck pinged, and I checked the time- it was getting on towards sunset, and the night streets of the CMR were no place for an Enforcer. I took one last look at the carnage, then revved up the Thunderdome and sped away towards HQ. Another street, another day- all I could do was keep trying.

And we should replace it with vampire. We never get to play vampire.

It's not really much of a feature, though. It's a place where 3-4 people go to splash and giggle and dilly dally around in swimsuits. A bigger holodeck would be far more preferable. Actually, might make a thread just for that idea.

I think a bigger holo deck (the size of the holodeck + fitness room combined) would offer more RP opportunities than the two seperate rooms. Imagine a big holodeck grass field with medieval swords and armor. Maximum LARP.

Also: "I'm gonna make him an offerrr he can't rrrefuse."

But lower durability. Also if they get emagged they can do a sonic bark which functions like a flashbang. Brutal.

Mebbe u need buy

Oh fuck, the original Rusty is back... The memories... So painful... Pedobear floors... A thousand years of darkness...

Is kill. School got busy.

I like to think that somewhere, there's a NanoTrasen Research station called the Borealis. And it's the exact opposite of the clusterfuck that is our station. Medbay is mostly manned by heterosexual males who wash their hands before surgery, don't make death threats, and never fuck in the patient rooms. There are Uneth that have learned to function like people, and no longer walk around mentioning how much taller and cooler and deadlier than everyone else they are. There are also female Uneth. No one says snide shit to each other on the radio, and in fact, people get along quite well. Heads never give unreasonable orders, and subordinates don't talk back. Security has a PTSD Recoverers group meeting twice a month, helping many security officers through the pain their terrible secret pasts have laden them with. The chaplain is quiet, a moderate Buddhist, and willing to give counsel to everyone onboard. He also routinely makes sandwiches to give to the engineers for their hard work. Everyone has received counseling sessions about racial acceptance. There are no racists on board due to this. People with stutters are given help that allows them to overcome their speech impediment. Many employees leave the Borealis stutter-free. The Captain is a kind, brown-haired women in her 50s, who is never to busy to sit down and discuss any number of things with whoever stops by the office. She also makes hot chocolate and cookies for guests to enjoy. The bar only serves non-alcoholic drinks to recovering alcoholics. The shotgun has been replaced with a stack of self-help books. The singularity has been scrapped, and a Green engine has been set up which runs entirely off of plant matter. The botanist supplies plants to engineering regularly. Ambrosia Vulgaris has been legalized onboard. Station happiness increased by 90%. Abusive coworkers are fired immediately. Everyone gets a free hug upon arrival. Post more attributes of this place. Because I want to dream, damnit.

Farcrai backs up to the edge of the observer area, looking around frantically as his guards are cut down. The sheer indignity of this- to be killed by a pit fighter, a traitorous brother- someone who had killed their own sister. He gritted his teeth before Hive spoke. "End my suffering, you say? You're mistaken, bastard- I was always the better fighter. You'll die here today, and face the judgement of the gods." Farcrai leaned down, swiftly picking up a broadsword that has belonged to one of his guards. He held it at the ready, spitting towards his brother's feet. "Come, come and die."

Lord Farcrai watches from his seat of honor in the arena's private booth, open to the air. He's attended by multiple servants, who bring him fine wine and delectable food. He takes a grape from the plate nearest to him and pops it in to his mouth, looking down at the pit fighter and smiling cruelly. "This is better than what you deserve for trying to betray me," he said to himself quietly, and sipped from his wine chalice as the fight went on. One of the guards attending him frowned, realizing that an open booth was not the safest place to be when a fire breather was the subject of the fight.

Oh god, that's perfect.

I wasn't crazy about it when I played a couple years back, but it looks like it's received a lot of work and tons of improvements have been made. Will consider getting it.

Here's an idea for some new meeting places: At my private school, we have two little rooms called "conference rooms". Their purpose is essentially to provide students with a private place to work/talk/read/whatever. They're pretty useful, giving you a place to go when you need to chill out. There's unused space on our station. Every major hall can have a little conference room, 2X3 perhaps, with a table and two chairs, plus wooden/carpeted floors. Would give people cozy little places to hang out, gamble with cards or dice , and maybe even make some new friends.

A PlayStation 4. Also, a pair of earbuds because mine are broken and I'm broke.

Here goes... Deck the halls with blood of baldy, Fa la la la la la la la la. 'Tis the season for great folly, Fa la la la la la la la la. Fill the sprayer, drain the fueltank, Fa la la la la la la la la. Burn the monkeys, grab a big shank, Fa la la la la la la la la. See the honking clown before us, Fa la la la la la la la la. Harmbaton and brig him more-us Fa la la la la la la la la. Follow me in griefy measure, Fa la la la la la la la la. While I sing of ERP's pleasure, Fa la la la la la la la la. Now the secborg's shooting lasers, Fa la la la la la la la la. Hit the floor and fire your tasers! Fa la la la la la la la la. Laughing, ganking, all together, Fa la la la la la la la la. Heedless of bans and the weather, Fa la la la la la la la la!

G-G-G-GODLIKE

This is amazing. But I have an idea to make it even more in-depth. Thin Crust Heretics. They're followers of GPSP that assert that thin-crust pizza is the only pizza truly favored by the Great One. They despise all those that swear by the "deep dish" and, in an act of defiance, choose to end their religious statements with "thin crust" instead. The movement has also been known to call jihads upon those that offend them, though they are usually very short and end in an extremely comical manner. Praise thin crust.

My two confirmed ops are Red King (Peter Thrushwood) who was in the story, and Punished Revenant (Leonin Smythe), who I believe Stein also ran a mission with. Good writing, by the way! Also, just realized that Stein is basically a way more verbal Driver from Drive. "I'm a getaway driver. I don't carry an SMG, I don't sit and wait while you're planting the nuke, I drive."

Oh shit, that's kawaii.