Roleplayer Guild - Forum Roleplaying Games

Sometimes he couldn't sleep. Which is a lie. The poor bastard rarely slept. Some nights he would lay awake staring at a wall so close to sleep but they would refuse to come for him. They refused to take him into the Dreaming where he would fly with Ghandi, drink with Bukowski, and spar with his Grandfather in his old Navy uniform. All he wants is to sleep.

He remembered a time when he feared sleep. His mother would craddle him close as he would scream in his sleep, begging for life, trying to desperately break the hold of his mother and whatever had its tendrils around him in his head. Some nights he would tear at the ground and curse like he was an adult. It terrified his family but more importantly it terrified him.

And now here he sits in his apartment (if it could be called that). The lights are dim and he sits in his one chair. A bottle sits next to him like a small green Buddha. Patient as it waits to be consumed. It was two people in that one bottle. One was Justerini while the other was Brooks. Like Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde. Like us all. In his hand is a small glass full of the light golden liqour. In his stomach is even more.

"Fuck," He spouts as his head rolls. The little buddha, the two beings residing in the bottle, is almost gone. His eyes flutter desperately. The world around him blurs as he slumps in his chair. As he starts to leave this world, his mind leaving him, a small woman opens his door. Her body is too perfect to be a midget or dwarf. No misproportionate features. Her features too delicate to be a woman but too confident to be a child. She moved through the room without making a sound. She danced in and out of his large stacks of books. They leaned around her threatening to collapse at a moment's notice. It was a strange version of Godzilla.

No one knew the little dance but her feet. One would press against the ground as another would move in a wide arch over a stack. Her lips curled into a vicious smile. With one willowy leg, she brought it high into the air and placed the heel of her foot on a stack. Her leg started to move the stack into its ultimate demise. But, like a scared child, she left the stack to be. She was not to the one to knock that stack over. That stack was to be.

Suddenly she turned to him. She looked at him with her dark eyes timidly. She bit her rose lips and stared at his drooling face. She was amazed by him, loved him, desired him. Finally she leaned towards him. It could hardly be considered a kiss but a brushing of the lips. And he left. He awoke in a hallway of size that he could not measure. A darkness unlike he had ever known engulfed him. Before him stood a tribunal of beings. One only barely discernable in the darkness, another his back turned towards him, and the last a fox staring intently at him.

The fox opened his mouth and spoke with a voice so deep and powerful it hurt his chest and ears. The entire cavern around him rumbled with this little canine's voice, "It has been a long time. Welcome back. We have missed you. Miss you so much."

Only now did he notice the man in the chair was dressed in a gentleman's white suit and fedora and the smell of tobacco churled around his nostrils. A small cherry gave you only a taste of this man's face. Facial hair but not able to see what type or color. Just a glimpse between every puff. The fox continued, "You are quite the hard man to find. Although I assume finding you is not the right word... Finding you is easy. Having you visit us is what is hard. Good to have you visit us. So glad to have you visit us."

"We have a journey to take," And behind the three was a door of unimaginable proportions. Ornately covered with scluptures of his escapades throughout his life. His first tooth, the losing of his virginity, his twenty first birthday, his first book being published all adorned the door in Roman-esque style fashion. It was as if his life was Tiberius destroying the barbarian hordes. The fox smiled like only a dog can smile, "We have a journey to take."

And thus the door was opened.

And thus the nightmare began.

The writer moved only slightly. Excuriating pain spread through his body. He allowed his hand to touch the pain and was horrified at what was found. Stitches ran from the back of his cranium to the soles of his feet.The dark wire ran from his body and left him to create an entire world behind him. Pubic hair like people roamed black streets screaming black words at each other. It was like the demented sketch of a mental patient. Wire knives cut wire flesh and spilt wire blood. Every cut sent shockwaves through his body. This creation of his was killing him slowly and with as much pain as a human being could feel.

In front of him the beautiful woman touched her hands sympathetically to his cheek. His eyes begged for mercy. Anything to stop this madness. Her tiny fingers gently brushed his skin. And he screamed. Behind him a dark beast created from the very wire that was his prison tore through the stitches and destroyed its world. Its huge teeth tore through whatever it encoutered. Its maw devoured all it saw. Its claws tore whatever it was able to grasp. The canine beast stopped to stare at its prey.

As the two refused to break gaze with the other terror crept up the stitches and settled into his heart. The beast's head hung low while its shoulders rose high into the orange sky. It was savoring this writer stitched into his own world. He was now the beast.

"Move."

He pulled against the stiches tearing pink flesh and spilling red blood.

"Move."

Again he pulled away from his prison.

"There is no time."

He felt his skin tear clear from the stiches and he felt blood fall from his back.

"It comes for you. Defend yourself!"

Blood trickled from the wounds and tender flesh. He turned to see the giant beast leave its own world but the wire world was his own. There was no world but this world of stiches. There was no Dr. Justerini and Mr. Brooks. There was no little green buddha. There was no stacks of books.

As he turned the stitches came not from the world around him but his own body. They sprouted from his body like vines and lashed together. The black vines slid down his body and into the wire world. Again... he was a part. The creator now at the mercy of his own creation. The beast stood in front of him waiting. Just waiting.

"Don't let him take you. You made this. You created this. Take him. This is your world."

From his back came forth more vines this time creating a shield. As fast as lightning it wrapped around him and protecting him. The beast's wire teeth bounced and clashed off the shield. Another scream. Now he was not the only being rooted into this world. The beast's eyes rolled and he roared. Spears from the ground itself rammed itself through the beast. This time the voice was not the fox, not the beautiful tiny girl, but his own, "Between all my torments between death and self! Between my despair and my reason for living! There is injustice and this evil of men! That I cannot accept there is my anger!"

It was unlike the voice he posessed. The strands raised the beast high into the air. They were not merely strands but tendrils now. They wrapped around him as if it was a sea monster that attacked long forgotten sailors. He roared his own challenge at the screaming beast, "There are the blood-cloured fighters of Spain. There are the sky-coloured fighters of Greece. The bread, the blood, the sky and the right to hope. For all the innocents who hate evil!"

And it was torn apart like a doll and scattered across the wire ground. Its head still snapped and snarled as it was assimilated into the ground. The writer fell to his knees. From its corspe came more tendrils wrapping around themselves and growing into a canopy above him. From this came fruit. The fruit hung from their necks and were only infants. The infants grew into old men and rotted away on their veins. Their juice and flesh fell onto the sobbing writer.

Just as he felt that he had lost himself that he had lost everything he held dear to him he was saved. His savior came in the form of a chimney sweep. His top hat and dark suit blended into the wire world. A red scarf floated around him as he wound his massive gaunt body into a crouch. The black form swung effortlessly from the branches even as they grasped for him. He danced and weaved with such speed and agility it was as if he knew where they were going to be. And the trick was not being there. Finally his rag wrapped feet came at a rest in front of our writer.

From his mouth came a fire so immense that is engulfed the entire wire world. It was bathed in flame and crimson and slowly fell back from the abyss it came from. Even ashes burnt in this inferno. This was the flame that set Satan free, gave man power, and allowed him to challenge the heavens themselves.

And thus the nightmare ended.

"You are too unexperienced to be creating your own worlds. You haven't even found yourself yet," The sweep's mouth opened into a smile. It exposed a group of yellow and crooked teeth. Its bottom teeth crowded its front while its top seemed to not find a 90 degree angle. He looked as if he was ten feet tall but made of sticks. Behind his teeth a small fire burned. His voice washed over the writer like a blast furnace. His voice was too deep, too rugged, too angry, but harboring an intelligence that was greater than any human. He sat cross legged and now he spoke again, "I am Prometheus. Welcome to the Dreaming."

Before Prometheus could continue to explain what was happening around this hapless ttraveler, what this "Dreaming" was, and who truly this chimmney sweep was another being appeared behind the cross legged sweep. He was dressed in the robe of a Hindu priest. It's lavish colors was a distinct difference between the green grass of the cliff they were sitting on and the blue skies behind the writer. The priest was the color of milk. Too white, too creamy, and strangely beautiful. His hair was too black, too offsetting.

Prometheus' nostrils flare as if he was smelling the man behind him. His crooked mouth was sent into a frown. His underbite looked even more pronounced. As he turned he growled, "You son of a bitch. You know the rules. This one is mine. This one is not that bastard of a master you serve."

"No Prometheus. He owns them all. You tell that bitch to choke on her own vomit. He will own this place and all in it," The man in the robe's arms were at his chest but now fell to his sides with large iron chains falling to the ground. They lay at his feet like two dogs waiting for the signal to attack. Lazily saving their energy waiting for that opportunity. Prometheus shuffled uneasily but no fear shown in his eyes.

The two fell down on each other like wild animals. As the writer watched in horror he saw their hands tear peices from each other and spill to the ground. The holes and caverns only filled it almost immediately after they fell. Blood covered them in sheets. The air was thick with the hot blood. Like a fine mist. Suddenly Prometheus was thirty feet in the air. His huge legs grown even larger, his arms resembling a lanky gorillas, and mouth capable of devouring a rhinoceros. It was as if they just had not noticed how large he was, he was always this big, it was nothing out of the ordinary.

The chained priest started to whip at the giant beast of a man. With every whip he smiled. He relished giving pain to the top hatted monster. He wanted to punish him. It thrilled him, sent pleasure rocketing throughout his body. It excited him.

Prometheus smashed his hands into the ground missing him only by inches. More and more chains emerged from the hindu priest's back and arms. It was a steel octopus from hell. For every huge ash covered hand smashing at the chained priest it was retorted with an iron whip. Prometheus howled at the sky in rage and pain as if that was the one to cause this torment. It was soon forgotten as he was dragged off of his feet and onto the ground. His top hat fell to the ground as he bowed his head. His two hands kept his chest from the ground.

"Prostate yourself in front of your master!" The priest screamed in a maniac's howl. As Prometheus smashed into the ground from the pull of the chains he was assaulted by hundreds of buried chains. They criss crossed and pulled tight. He was stitched to the ground.

"This is where your train stops," He said to the writer. It was merely a whisper and with a spasm of his leg knocked the small man off the cliff. It was as if a flea was flicked off a dog, such casuality. As he fell through the air he was not afraid. But never once did he believe it was a dream. He merely was ready to end this. He heard Prometheus, "I will tear your eyes from your skull! I will find where you lay and I will leave it covered in your blood and the stench of your fear!"

Before he hit the ground he saw Prometheus. He was pulled as far as he could against his chains. His head was raised and every muscle was taut against the chain. Half pain and half rage he howled at the pale blue sky. Prometheus once again stuck in chains. Where was the vulture? The eagle? Where was Ethon?

"Such threats!"

"Such promises!" And he bellowed across the land. Every being in the Dreaming heard the blast furnace of a voice wash over them. Such promises.

He jerked in his chair. The water filled Justerini and Brooks spilt onto his lap. Sweat poured from brow and his lungs gulped for nourishment. He looked around his tiny apartment and swore. His head was swimming but his conciousness was drowning. As he touched the wet spot on the ground he sighed, "Such promises."

Prometheus in Chains is an RPG taking place in two worlds. The first is the world that we inhabit. The second is a world that we all know. When we close our eyes and are whisked away to a world where anything is possible we believe we are shut away from others. We believe we are in our own skulls. We are actually much more connected than that.

When we dream we go to the same place everyone else does. This world, while complex, is easily manipulated by almost all of us. Others are able to tear chunks from it, mold it whatever form they see necessary, and then liquify it when it is no longer of their use. There are beings that have permanent residence of that world that range from homicidal maniacs to pascifists, much like the residents our own world.

This RPG will explore this world as well as our own. As the RPG continues your character will grow but at an expense. Your "real world" character may suffer or grow addicted to their sleep state. But as one prophet from a lost time once told me - "Self-destruction is the only path to enlightenment."

Character Sheet:

As there are two worlds, you will have two different characters. While essentially the same, as you change world you may become very different from the other. Your description will change but your personality may change as well. You are a powerful being in the dreaming and power changes us all.

"Real World"

Name:
Personality: (As long as I can reasonably understand your character, I will not critique this very harshly.)
Occupation:
Description:
Biography:

Dreaming Persona

Name: (You may keep your "real world" name if you wish or change it.)
Description: (Please go nuts here. Surrealism will play a large part in this RPG and strange and different will be a big thumbs up.)


I am not requiring a lot for sign-ups. Please make what I do have clear and well written. I am not accepting any pictures for descriptions.

Wow, personally, I haven't seen anything this creative in ages. Dare I say it, this is the longest and yet, the best RP intro I've ever read. Mind if I join?


"Real World"

Name: Noah O'Conner

Personality: If you happened to bump into Noah, there's a ninety five percent chance that she will be wearing a cheery smile on her face. However, what most people don't know is, is that the smile is mearly mask; a false message telling those who read it that she's "alright". But if you manage to look into her eyes, you'll find a glimpse of her real self: a lonely, insecure, naive and timid child that seems lost in the cold world around her.

Most of her peers consider her to be strange and clueless because of her "spastic" behavior. The truth is, she's really socially immature, meaning she doesn't know what to do in social situations like consoling a friend when he or she is hurt or whether or not she should call her friends to hang out.

She can't seem to fathom small things like why pointing is rude or why standing in the rain is a bad idea. She's also easily amused by the most mundane things like the smell of gasoline or the feeling of dried liquid glue being peeled off your skin.

Occupation: Student

Description: Noah's about five foot four inches in height, has a very slightly tan skin tone, has long chestnut-brown hair that's always kept in a ponytail and has very brown eyes. Her clothing consists of a black, green and white Ecko Red short sleeved hoodie, a pair of slightly baggy jeans, a black Volcom belt and a pair of white, black and pink Etnies sneakers.

Biography:

Aspergers... she always loathed that word. The word that mentioned the very mental disorder that she had been "cursed" with for as long as anyone can remember. Growing up as an "aspie" (a neutral term for people with Aspergers), no matter how many friends Noah had, she always felt that she was different from everybody else. Her friends were into things like gossip and hip hop music while Noah was into finding out the meanings to new words in the dictionary to wondering why the room smells like watermelons. As a result, her friends would find her strange and often neglect her, which made Noah begin to feel lonely.

Not only was she different from people her age, she found herself to be a burden on her parents and teachers. Her parents would have to spend a lot of money on medication and therapy while her teachers would have to stress on making sure that she was able to focus in a working environment during class. It was because of these reasons, even though they weren't that serious, that she began pretending like she wasn't bothered by anything, even when she was. She believed that as long as she controlled (whatever the hell that meant) her disorder, that everyone would be happy. But of course, everyone was happy except Noah.

As the years went by, Noah would continue to swallow her feelings until she felt she could keep them to herself no longer. The more she did it, the more the emotions began to eat her alive inside; secretly driving her mad. But no one knew; 'cause they didn't close enough to see beyond the joyous persona she played.



"Dream Form"

Name: Ferus (Latin for "Savage")

Description: When you first meet Ferus, she has the appearence of a small child with light grey skin, long, black hair, blood stained bandages that cover only one of her violet purple eyes, and a long, shadowy, inhuman claw for a left arm. Her clothes only consist of a white, filthy, knee-length dress. She has the same personality as Noah, only she expresses her true persona more than her false joyful side.

Whenever Ferus feels frightened or enraged, she turns into an enormous, shadowy creature with gold glyphs on its body and bright blue eyes. It also has buffalo-like horns on the side of its head. At first, one may think that it literally doesn't have a mouth... but it does. It just uses it for roaring and eating; it found a way to talk without the use of its mouth. When Ferus transforms, she goes into a blind, animalistic rage (hence her name) and will not transform back until the suspected threat is disposed or is she is somehow knocked unconcious or is calmed.

Awesome idea, I commend you for it. I'll join up shortly, a bit late for crafting a bio, but I'm totally in.

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Sounds interesting, count me in, I'll post my character below.

Name: Shania Markus.
Personality: (As long as I can reasonably understand your character, I will not critique this very harshly.) A quiet girl who has a love for helping people, she will not hesitate to help anybody in need. She has a very versatile temper, it takes a lot to annoy her. She prefers to stay in the background and watch others in the spotlight.
Occupation: College student.
Description: Long soft brown hair which falls to her backside, with jade green eyes to match. She has a slender but short frame, her skin a light tan colour. She wears rather old fashioned clothes for someone so pretty, victorian style being her main inspiration.
Biography: Brought up in an old fashioned home, she grew up to be a rather unnerving person, many people being scared to be with her because of her old fashioned views and beliefs, which were instilled into her by her father, through beatings and punishments. Now she has gone to college, she is starting to grow out of her shell and explore new horizons to her.

Dreaming Persona

Name: (You may keep your "real world" name if you wish or change it.) Shania Markus.
Description: (Please go nuts here. Surrealism will play a large part in this RPG and strange and different will be a big thumbs up.) The complete opposite to her real world persona. She is tall, with blonde hair pinned back in an ancient Grecian style, her eyes a shade of blood red. She carries a staff with her, with a black heart shaped crystal on the top. She wears ancient greek clothing, her looks somewhat reflective of the goddess Venus. She changes her form though as her emotions change, in anger, a black demon with white tribal patterning, a child when she is scared and a full bodied woman when she is horny etc.

I hope this is okay ^^

((This is one of the most orriginal thread's I've seen in a while. Kudos. XD))

Name: Jessica Danner
Personality: Sargent Danner takes pride in her uniform, in her family history of protecting and serving. She exudes confidence, and feircley defends those unable to defend themselves. Jessica still has a sense of humor, and enjoys a night drinking and laughing with friends.
Occupation: Policewoman, street response division
Description: Tall with gray-blue eyes and blonde hair usualy up in a bun to fit under her cap. If outside of her uniform, she tends towards casual, almost androgynous jeans and t-shirts.
Biography: Jessica's family have been police officers since arriving on the boat from Ireland. Jessica joined the Force shortly after completing her Batchelor's in criminal science, and has trained and worked hard to earn her badge, her gun, and her place in the Force.

Beneath it, however, she rages. The loopholes that allow convicts back on the streets, the criminals who get away, the murderers who conceal just enough evidence to keep them free... Jessica sees these injustices, and knows that she can do nothing about them. That impotency builds in her a desire to take her gun in her hand and dispense the justice, herself. To beat their faces with her fist until they see what they have done to others. To be some animal who may take their throats in her teeth and rend their life's blood until the light leaves their eyes...

Dreaming Persona

Name: Hyena
Description: Born of the primal, indignant rage of one constrained too long by the laws of men, Hyena is a bipedal woman who somehow manages to appear both beautiful and hideous at the same time. The speckled patterns on her skin shift and sprout into tough fur before melting once more into flesh, her hair is bristly and black like her namesake's mane. Hyena is chaos. You may be talking to a woman, blink, and find you speak to a large dog-like creature with briliant eyes who grins and giggles at your fear, only to blink again and be faced with the woman.

She inspires fear, and feeds on it. The sight of her makes one want to turn and run, knowing that by doing so, they begin the Chase. Hyena runs, and runs, forever gaining closer, laughing and nipping at the heels of those she persues, until she decides to end it in her flashing jaws. She is the hound of men's nightmares, their guilt manifested, dogging their shadows and dispencing primal justice with its crushing teeth.

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Click the little hatchling to help him grow! (Opens a new window, no worries!)

"Real World"

Name: John J. Darrens
Personality: The real world has not been a kind place for John in the last few months of his life. Having hit what he feels is just about rock bottom, John's attitude towards the world has turned into one of wry cynicism mostly to cover the guilt, despair and depression he feels. Slightly cold and aloof when at work, he often loses himself in alcohol (or occasionally other drugs) and surrenders himself to the world, losing himself in whatever revelry he's consumed with at the moment before returning to the daily grind.
Occupation: Mortician
Description: Tall and wiry, John's sandy dark hair is cut short around a face that could be handsome if he gained a few pounds, or smiled a bit more often. His body is pale, but a few days in the sun would change that, considering his heritage stems from warmer climates, and but for a thin scar that runs parallel to his left collar bone and an intricate tattoo of a smoking cigarette along the inside of his left wrist he is relatively unmarked. Accustomed to wearing a white button down shirt and black pants routinely, he occasionally wears a tie and often has with him a black coat, but he rarely deviates.
Biography: John is a man who's run of familial luck borders on the farcical. After leaving home with good grades and a bright future as a fairly happy child, the death of his father sent the family into something of a tail-spin. Always close to her father, his sister began to drink and party, flunking out of the medical classes she was in and winding up over dosing on heroine, leaving her brother to mop her up and take care of her as best he could before her death several days later.
From there it was mostly the same story. Never the happiest child to begin with, John began to take care of his mother, who was stricken with grief and unable to continue working. He began what would become his habit of chain smoking as a nervous release, and for the next couple years it seemed as though that was just the habit of things. He dropped out of medical school like his sister before him, managing to get a job working as a mortician to support himself and his father. It came as little surprise when his father killed himself-more a confirmation of inadequacy then anything else. He saw it as joining in the family trend when he started drinking to not think about it, and now lives day to day by working, smoking, and going out on his days off to party himself into an unthinking stupor...
And he wonders how long it will be before he kills himself too.

Dreaming Persona

Name: Atlas
Description: Atlas' form is massive, barely fitting in it's surroundings (though he always seems to manage it) and his posture is always stooped and and hunched to compensate. His form is emaciated, always thin and bony but with a strength like steel-muscles and ligaments shift visibly beneath the bleached skin of his body, and everything about him is long, lanky and weighted. His arms, of which there are at least four (long, multijointed things at least twice the length they should be for his body and stretching like an ape's such that his knuckles could drag on the floor if he so allowed), end in hands with long, spindly fingers, each one with four knuckles allowing them to reach far past what they should and bend in impossible ways. His legs are much the same way, and he walks with an amazingly long, smooth gait, occasionally using his arms for additional support.

A long head rests on a long neck atop slumped shoulders, the pale flesh forming a face almost like a cross between a deer's and a man's, though impossibly alien considering either. The smooth skin bares no mouth and little nose, but instead of eyes three black orbs like spider's eyes (arranged in a triangle, with two on the top and one beneath them) sit waiting, reflective and glimmering but constantly trailing smoke into the lank white hair that falls like a thin sheet of water to his shoulders, uneven and split at the ends.

His massive back, however, is lined with rents that lead into darkness. From these rents the soft clatter of insects can be heard, countless, and it is these rents that allow Atlas to speak-his voice is that of thousands of buzzing wings, sharp and distinct and booming like a dull throb through the air, impossibly nuanced and varied, for lurking within him are millions of the creatures, of every shape and size imaginable. The little burdens of ethics, morality, concern, despair...these are the insects that fill his body, and they are the weight that makes him bow.

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I'd like to join this rp, however my net is down at home, I've skimmed through it and would like to request a reserved position if that is at all possible.

I'm on at a friend's place right now but if I could I'd like to jump in once my internet is restored that would be greatly appreciated.

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