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| At World's End (OOC and sign-ups) | |
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| Topic Started: October 29 2008, 06:50 AM (43 Views) | |
| DJAtomika | October 29 2008, 06:50 AM Post #1 |
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The Story : It all began in 2010, with the first Three-State Nuclear Plan set into motion, large sums of money were spent on turning a plot of land into a giant nuclear power plant for the entire USA. Their technology was based on the concept of the first atomic bomb, multiplied tenfold and its infinite power stored and then transferred all throughout the United States. For a time, the Plan paid off, with the Western part of the US being powered by the first Plan, the Northern, Southern and Eastern areas being powered by their own Three-State Nuclear Plants. The amount of power generated was great, in fact, TOO great to be kept inside the plants. And then, in June 2060, it happened. It started with a containment breach in the Western plant, situated at the borders of Nevada, Utah and Idaho. The breach was a tiny one, ignored by the staff working there, deemed to be "insignificant". This insignificant little breach soon turned out to be disastrous. The breach, left to smoulder and wreck havoc with the building's structural integrity, turned into what was known as "The End". The breach compromised the building's integrity and led to a catastrophic meltdown, which ended in the plant being blown up from the inside, scattering nuclear fallout all over the West Side of the US, the worst hit being the Three-States, Idaho, Utah and Nevada. The US Government panicked, and began the immediate shutdown of the three remaining Plants. However, the damage was already done. The explosion caused a chain reaction, resulting in the remaining three plants to blow before they could be fully evacuated. The fallout devastated the entire USA, most parts of Canada and some of South America. Since the plants blew during a 14 day period, the President of the USA evacuated the citizens into nuclear waste proof bunkers, a few located in every state. However, these bunkers could only hold so many people. When they were full, or people started getting selfish, the rest of the populace were locked out. When the fallout hit, many didn't stand a chance. Their flesh was literally dissolved from their bones, and they died where they stood, pounding on the bunker doors, or fleeing in the streets. Those that were not immediately killed by the radioactive fallout were either reduced to gibbering wrecks, doomed to hospital beds and constant drips, or affected by the waste in such a way that all their wants, needs and desires were cut out except one : the need to spill blood. These affected people were affectionately dubbed "psychos" by the remaining populace. Also, due to the waste, there wasn't any effective electricity or power to speak of. Technology was trashed, and people reverted to the old days when there wasn't technology. Feudal systems were set up between states and villages were brought up in the ruins of old cities. Except for one group of citizens. These citizens were the country's smartest men and women, brought from all throughout the USA and stuffed into a bunker. After the fallout, circa 2116 AD, these men and women used whatever machines and tech they had left, and constructed makeshift power, from which they set Burneton, a military faction that lay claim to the whole of the Western and Northern USA. Now, in the year 2256, Burneton controls practically the whole of the USA, with a small pocket of resistance left in the East Coast, stretching from Washington, going through Oregon and California, and ending in Arizona. These resistance fighters called themselves 'The Movement', and they are expanding their territory through to the West, in an effort to remove Burneton and restore glory and power, literally, to the USA. Currently, three types of people roam the deserted streets, alleyways and sidewalks of the USA : Type #1 : The Psychos These are the bloodthirsty populace that mostly inhabit the USA now. The fallout affected their genetic structure, removing everything except the lust for blood. They roam mostly in groups, having retained the herd instinct like when man first evolved. Type #2 : The Mutants These are the people that have been partially affected by the fallout. Again, their genetic structure has been affected, but instead of turning these people into bloodthirsty savages, their outer appearances have been changed, as well as certain aspects of their body, both physical and mental. Some of these people still retain their sanity, working with The Movement to take down Burneton. Others went crazy following the mutations that gripped their poor bodies, and they now stalk the streets, like the Psychos, except that they still have human-like movements to them. They retained their knowledge and the ability to speak, but other than that, they are psychos. Type #3 : The Humans These are ordinary humans, armed with weapons obtained from any military based survivors and the remnants of the US Army. Some of these humans, like the Mutants, have certain aspects of their physical and mental states altered by the fallout. Most of the humans and sane mutants are holed up in the West Coast, fighting for both their lives and the lives of others as they make their meticulous journey eastwards to the origin of Burneton, Washington DC. This didn't work in a forum I co-owned, so I'm moving here to see whether I get any sort of response. This has got to be the most complicated RP I've worked on for a while. Character sheet :
All players start off in San Francisco, California, as the MA (Movement Army) journey across the USA to fight Burneton in Washington D.C. Post your character here. Mine : Name: John 'DJ' King Gender: Male Age: 32 Faction: The Movement Type: #2 Height: 1.76 metres Weight: 55 kilos Appearance: Upper body Head and neck Brown, scruffy hair. Auburn coloured eyes. Snout and pointed ears, like that of a wolf. Two gold rings through his right ear. Silver chain with a crucifix around his neck. Scar running from left eyebrow to chin. Torso and arms Grey tanktop. Bullet-proof vest, courtesy of dead FBI agent. Black leather cut-off gloves. Big and strong arms. Fingernails neatly cut. Can extend into claws at will. Small diamond ring on right ring finger. Left arm has scar from elbow to palm. Right arm has a red and black striped exercise band on upper arm. Lower body Legs and feet Black denim jeans. Black combat boots. Wolf tail. Equipment: A Calico 960A Submachine gun, fitted with extra underbarrel grenade launcher and flashlight. It uses 9mm Parabellum armour-piercing rounds. He also uses two SIG-Sauer P226 9mm pistols, clipped to his gunbelt. Biography: He used to stay in a suburban home in Idaho. His dad died during a police raid on a drug dealer's den when he was 5, dad got shot by the dealer twice in the chest. His mum was so sorrowful that when John was 10, his mum hung herself. Because of these two incidents, John's mental health is a little unstable, but he still persisted in making a living. He graduated from college and began his career as a DJ when he was 23. He was successful for a time, travelling to popular clubs around the world to host wild parties, but when the fallout hit, his DJ life spiralled downwards. Clubs started closing down, people began to lose interest in wild parties (and die, thus losing their interest, and everything else, for that matter), and thus, John quit his career as a DJ. He joined the military (what was left of it), in hopes to find his true calling, but after 3 and a half years in the army, John left with three of his favourite guns (for safety reasons, he still supplies as a reason to why he took the weapons). Now, another half a year (and one fateful encounter with an infected wolf) later, he roams the deserted streets, searching for a way out of the nightmare that is San Francisco. RP Sample: DJ held up the two SIG-Sauer P226 9mm pistols that made up his entire arsenal. Crouched behind a rock, with deadly Giant Spiders behind him, this wasn't entirely a good situation, he thought. In front of the rock, three giant spiders pattered around on their spindly legs, venom dripping from their fangs, legs clicking solidly on the stone floor below them. Well, its now or never. thought DJ. Swinging up and around, DJ brought his pistols to bear on the first and nearest spider. 'Eat this, you eight-legged freaks.' DJ muttered as he pulled the triggers. The hammers in the pistols dropped, activating a starter that ignited the gunpower in the 9mm armor-piercing bullet, sending the bullet spiralling through the barrel and out the muzzle at an alarming speed, accompanied by a deafening crack. The bullets sped towards their target, wavering slightly in the wind. Then they struck the spider with deadly force, ripping through carapace and innards and out of the other end of the spider, leaving sprays of goo in their wake. DJ pulled the triggers four times, two for each pistol. Four armor-piercing slugs tore through the spider, sending it flying off the face of the cliff. The other two spiders turned towards the source of the disturbance and, jaws clicking madly, rushed towards their prey. Hmph. You're not getting the better of me. Advanced reflexes told DJ to jump back split seconds before one of the spiders spat a stream of acidic spit, hitting the patch of ground where he once stood and dissolving the rock. His shoes bit into the rock, stopping him from sliding further. Pulling the triggers twice more, once for each pistol, DJ took out the second spider, taking out its head in a spray of purple blood and brains in the process. The last spider shot a web-like substance from its mouth, wrapping around DJ. Shoot. Didn't expect this to happen. Wriggling around, DJ managed to holster his pistols in the gunbelt on his waist. Then, with a flex of a muscle, five razor sharp claws sprung out from where his fingernails used to be. Try this on for size. DJ pulled his arm up, pointing his hand upwards. The claws cut through the strands of fibre like a hot knife through butter. Then, lunging towards the spider, DJ raked his claws along one side of the spider, tearing a long and bloody gash in its side. Its organs and bloods gushed out through the gash, leaving the spider as nothing but an empty carapace. Hmph. Not worth my time. Saying so, DJ withdrew his claws and walked back down the cliffside path. Where he would go, nobody knows. I know the RP sample understates my literary skill, some of you know then. This was the page that I took from the same forum that I co-own. Edited by DJAtomika, February 11 2009, 10:30 AM.
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| Tessandra | November 1 2008, 11:21 AM Post #2 |
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Name: Tessandra Fenake Gender: Female Age: 24 Faction: The Movement Type: #2 Height: 5'5 Weight: nine stone Appearance:  Equipment: two daggers, rope, a big brown rucksack full of camping gear. She has custom knuckle dusters that can have blades and spikes attached to them. She has a crossbow that can be adapted to fire any type of narrow projectile. Biography: Tessandra lived as a gypsy until she was 18, when she did a couple of courses at a college; survival techniques and youth work training. She got a job working with disenchanted youths and taking them on camping trips. Her nomadic life brought her many friends, but sadly, most of them died. Since the End she stole a horse, named Fenake (Fen-ache) and changed her last name too. She is quite aggressive as this world has hardened her. Her gypsy life taught her how to fight, and not to trust. RP Sample: "Halt Fenake.". Tessandra tugged on the reins and the horse came to a stop. They were overlooking a dusty valley, with balding patches of grass and gnarled trees. A small stream ran down the centre. The horse was restless. Tessandra new why. The land was poisoned. But there was no alternative. She urged the horse down into the bowl of the valley. She let Fenake drink, and went to collect some sticks to make a fire. Soon, she had a reasonable source of heat, and set some water to boil. She pulled out some dried roots and vegetables, and put them in a little cauldron, propping it above the fire with some iron rods that unfolded to make a stand. She threw in a sprinkle of spice and let the broth cook. She hadn't seen a soul in days, although psychos were becoming less and less frequent. She was heading for the Movement's headquarters, only to join up with them and move back out into the poisoned chaos, in search of those... tyrants. Fenake, having drunk her fill, nibbled what grass she could find. Tess scanned the horizon apprehensively, and after a while took out some flat, dry bread, breaking it into bits and dropping it in the broth. When it was ready, she put a cloth in her lap and ate directly from the cauldron with a wooden spoon. A strange life this... but Tessandra was suited to it. Provided she had her crossbow on hand... |
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