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Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by Sofaking Fancy
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Sofaking Fancy Three Owls in a Trench Coat

Member Seen 6 yrs ago
LEVEL: High Casual GENRE: Fandon, Post-Apoc, Scifi STATUS: Recruiting



“Why hello my dearest compatriots. Welcome to Magnolia Ranch.” You find yourself in an old-timey plantation with updates that have kept it current but only just. You stand in a lobby made of pristine wooden floors, wooden walls, and numerous paintings hanging on the wall alongside a set of massive stairs leading to the next level. Several of these paintings are of a flower you’ve never seen before. You assume this is what magnolias looked like. Prewar light fixtures, power cables stretching from them and into discreet holes in the wall, and the soft hum of an unseen generator, reminds you that even if you’re in the midst of someone far richer than yourself--your benefactor’s pockets weren’t endless. And that’s probably why he hired the lot of you. You look around. This was an odd group.

Perched at the center of the balcony is a man dressed quite finely with graying black hair, spectacles, and an intense mustache. He looks down at the group with a smile. “My, my, I didn’t think my offer would ever bring such spirited adventurers my way.” You didn’t just show up, you’d been vetted for this mission. You were then transported from Shreve’s Port via brahmin caravan, which was stuffed to the gills with Governor Cassom’s armed guard. You had to say the ride was scenic, which was nearly unheard of in the Swamplands.

You traveled through a “tunnel” of old, gnarled trees. One of the guards told you this used to be a pecan orchard. He looked very smug about that knowledge. There were large fields on either side of you for quite some time. Razorgrain and tato were the largest crops, but there was this odd purple vine that you’d never seen before. You know these farmlands help supply the Northern Province, one of the Five Great Counties of Louisiana. You were welcomed by Governor Stanley Cassom, the Governor of this county. Large buildings surrounded the plantation proper, they looked like they were recently constructed, formed from cannibalized pieces and parts from PreWar structure. Robots, ghouls, and humans circled around them and gave you looks as you entered the property. The grass was green here and obviously fake. Plastic, pink birds littered the lawn along with small, brightly colored benches. Men dressed in fancy suits with pieces of metal armor led you to the large, bright blue front door.

So, here you were--in the employment of Governor Cassom. He drummed his fingers across the banister, through surveying you all. “I have a most thrilling prospect for you. I need a package delivered to the President of Louisiana, Jean-Napoleon Arceneaux in case you are too low a class to know his proper name. And I need it to reach there unharmed and without tampering. Can I ask that of you? I mean the package is quite large. It’ll require a sizeable caravan, which I will provide. I’ll also be lending you my daughter, as she has the means and knowledge to open the package.” He then laughed, as if what he said was the slightest bit humorous. “And if you think of doing anything funny or vile to her, I’ve hired the best protection. An ex-Brotherhood something... He came highly recommended.” You felt as if he’s the sort of person that throws caps at issues and fails to learn anything about it.

“But before I get ahead of myself, let me lay down the rules.” He cleared his throat. “If you try to disturb the package. It will explode. If you don’t deliver it within a month, it’ll explode. And more so, my daughter has a means of making it explode if she finds herself in a perilous situation. And the explosion is very large and very nasty. Don’t think you can just run from it.” He smiled. “But once you reach the Big Easy, you will get the second half of your payment--a thousand caps. You can leave without any other thought on the thing. I promise you, it’s easy money.” He nodded. “And to sweeten the pot, with my daughter in tow, you’ll have access to the other Governor’s houses and resources--well with the exception of the Traitor’s.” His eyes narrowed, lips turning down. But only for a moment, as they bubbled back into his saccharine smile from before. “Meaning, all you have to worry about are the bandits, silverfish, mirelurks, super mutants, and various death traps between here and there. You all look like seasoned adventurers. You can handle it.” He clapped his hand down on the banister. The guards around you rocked back on their heels and held their guns a little tighter. “So, do you accept?”



This roleplay is set in the Fallout Universe, 2291. Down on your luck, career mercenary, or looking for an easy and well-paying job, you hear about an offer from the Governor of the Northern Province himself. Possibly thinking it a joke, or truly interested, you ask around. That leads to the Governor’s men at your doorstep. You’re thoroughly questioned and you prove your array of skills. After that, you come into the employ of Governor Cassom, and that’s where our RP begins.

Please keep in mind that this is a bubble RP. The events from the previous Fallouts do not matter here, because Louisiana is so far away. That being said, there will be asides and mentions here and there, but they will be more of a wink and a nod than a “you have to know canon” references. This is for players that are very new to the Fallout Universe or have never played before.

The plot of the roleplay is that you are to take the caravan from the northernmost top of Louisiana and down to the most southern area. This trip will send you through the majority of the state. While you are tethered to the caravan, in a sense, you will have the option to investigate various places and people. This trip is to get you acclimated to how the state of Louisiana is run. There is a lore section down below of things you should know before jumping in, as some of the factions and mutations are different here due to the geography and political structure.

Also know that this caravan mission is only about 25% of the actual roleplay. What’s afterwards? You’ll just have to find out.
Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by Sofaking Fancy
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Sofaking Fancy Three Owls in a Trench Coat

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⚜️THE NORTHERN PROVINCE
Capitol: Shreve’s Port
Governor: Stanley Cassom
Basic Information:
Most of Northern Louisiana is flat farmland. It has a few waterways, but it lacks the swamps of its Southern brethren. Most of the citizens make their money off of hunting, river-bound trading, or farming. The wildlife is more normal here than the rest of the state, and the ground is capable of growing a variety of vegetables. Shreve’s Port is a massive trading post with more northern states, and as such is only beaten by the Big Easy in imports and exports. It’s a dilapidated metropolis but heavily trafficked. Governor Stanley Cassom runs his territory fairly but loosely. He’s well-liked, but there’s a deep criminal underground. He has enforcement in a mixture of robots, military-oriented ghouls, and a constant influx of humans looking for an easier life.The Northern Province is the only one of the five territories without its own militia.

⚜️CENTERLAND
Capitol: Alexandria
Governor: Argenon Beauregard
Basic Information:
If the Northern Province was rich with plains, Centerland is with trees. Though long since dead from the Great War, there are so many and they’re so tightly wound together--many a person has lost their life here. Though, there is a tale of a massive tree in the middle of the Centerland’s great forest, one that harbors plantlife and clean water. There’s also talk about the ForestClaw, much like the DeathClaw, but instead made from the wood. Alexandria is much smaller than Shreve’s Port but it does have a tight community. Their economy mostly has to do with carpentry, crafts, and life-saving herbs. They even craft their own holistic stimpaks. The people are happy here, and there’s no mention of crime. Actually, there’s eerily no mention. If the Northern Provinces lean heavy into the old-timey Southern aesthetic, Centerland sticks to its roots of painful 2077. Rumors are that Governor Argenon Beauregard is a delightful man, and he will see anyone that wishes to visit him at the Green Ranches. They are not as posh as the other sections. But, he does try. Centerland’s militia is called the Longleaf Alliance. There doesn’t seem to be many of them, but they all seem to be highly trained. They’re also fond of green berets and little pins with gold leaves on them.

⚜️ACADIANA
Capitol: Lafayette
Governor: Governor Madeline DeBourges
Basic Information:
Acadiana is mostly uninhabited swamplands and the prime home to the silverfish. This has made the people of Acadiana very skilled hunters and very immune to loss and depression. Yet, in that, they’ve become stronger. Home to the largest Brotherhood of Steel complex in their state, Acadiana never thirsts for protection--and much less for technology. They’ve created complex pulley systems and built most of their newer structures in the dense trees above swampland. Lafayette is built on top of the PreWar city as it flooded many many years ago. It’s a booming metropolis and easy to reach from land. Honestly, most of Acadiana is like that. It was also home to the only vault in Louisiana, Vault 76, until five years ago when it was blown up by the Brotherhood of Steel. Governor Madeline DeBourges doesn’t take visitors. Instead, Elder Armand Dechard tends to most of the visitors in Arcandiana.

⚜️THE GREAT ORLEANS
Capitol: The Big Easy
Governor: President Jean-Napoleon Arceneaux
Basic Information:
A metropolis of business, advanced technology, trading, and weapons. Unlike Acadiana, Great Orleans overcame their flooding issues with the rise in pump technology, which keeps their city free of ocean and swamp water. It also purifies it and redistributes it back to the population--wink nod, that’s how they’re so rich. They’re also one of the largest exporters and importers in the state and probably the entire Gulf Commonwealth. While they are the smallest of the territories, they have a dense population of educated, well-bred humans. And while Great Orleans is open to people, the Big Easy itself requires a thorough check of one’s person or a writ allowing them in. Great Orleans also has a radigators, mirelurks, and silverfish problem. Yet, unlike Arcadiana, these are dealt with via a paramilitary organization known as the Saints. They are personally run by Jean-Napoleon Arceneaux’s wife, Marie-Annie Arceneaux. Unlike Centerland, people know why crime is eerily quiet. President Jean-Napolean Arceneaux rules with an iron fist and removes all obstacles in front of him. But he’s a fair ruler, and he doesn’t do things without cause. Most of the population of Great Orleans--hell, the state--like him quite a bit. He’s insanely charismatic and relatable.

⚜️FLORIDA PARISHES
Capitol: Hammond
Governor: Traitor Rose Pemberton
Basic Information:
The Florida Parishes have managed to go to war with the Great Orleans, and vis-a-vis the entire state of Louisiana. No one knows how this happened, just that one day the king asked for Rose Pemberton’s head. Currently, the border between Great Orleans and Acadiana is closed to the Florida Parishes. It’s been that way for a few years now. What is known about them is that they have abundant farmlands and lack a lot of the problems that the swampier areas face. They do, unfortunately, have more super mutants than most--and with the loss of the Brotherhood of Steel, it’s unknown the current state of things. They’re home to farmers and refugees from other states that seek some sort of stability. Before the war, they were a massive melting pot of different species and people from different places. And they’re the only place in Louisiana that has three functioning military bases. Beyond the Brotherhood of Steel, they’re the only ones with vertibirds, keeping themselves well armed all of the time. They also have their own militia, the Pine Pioneers. Though the name sounds cute, they’re filled with trained soldiers and well-oiled weapons. People would speak highly of Rose Pemberton before the exile and the subsequent war. No one really knows why it started, but according to the President, she committed a grave and unspeakable atrocity.

⚜️VAULT 76
Louisiana's only vault, well only known vault, and the place responsible for the silverfish. If the west coast had its centers for FEV (Forced Evolutionary Virus) that created the supermutants, the South has their FEV which created the silverfish. In an attempt to create a race that could live in the water and be prime soldiers that moved through the swampland undetected, the people of Vault 76 were used as test subjects while only a small group of scientists tended to the experiment. As one can imagine, that went awry and the silverfish took over and escaped. Much like their super mutant counterpart, they are sterile, leading them to kidnap humans and take them to Vault 76. This ended five years ago when the Brotherhood of Steel was able to infiltrate it and blow it up--leading to the death of many of its members.



⚜️SILVERFISH
If the supermutants are known for being giant, hulking monsters, then the silverfish are quiet, dextrous creatures that are rarely ever seen. They are still humanoid in appearance, but their bodies are a deep gray and they sport many fins and webbed feet and fingers. They have sharp claws, capable of gouging and slitting quite easily. Their heads resemble an anglerfish in the way their eyes are small and dark, and most of their face is a zigzag of sharp, flesh-rending teeth. They are also capable of unhinging their jaws and devouring prey whole. Which wouldn’t be terrifying for humans, if it wasn’t discovered that Silverfish can grow to be as large as cars or houses. Even if the swamp wasn’t irradiated, it’s highly discouraged to swim in there or take a small, motorless boat. They’re smarter than supermutants, which is seen in their trap building, as they are capable of luring prey in by creating a fake situation in which someone needs help. Still, they aren’t capable of speech or thoughts beyond survival. They’ve long since stopped being human.

⚜️RADIGATORS
Alligators that have been mutated into brahmin sized beasts capable of plowing through structures and devouring entire herds of said brahmin. They are huge, tumor covered, and vicious. They also solely stay to the swamplands and don’t venture much beyond them. It is rumored that silverfish hunt them for food on occasion, and that’s the only reason they haven’t managed to destroy swampy territories like Acadiana and Greater Orleans. But there are other rumors that the silverfish are breeding them and cultivating them for a takeover on land. Who knows. What is known is that one cannot outrun one, they can just pray to outgun them.

⚜️FOREST CLAW
No one really knows if this creature exists or not, and if it does, how it came into existence. What is rumored is the fact that it’s a mixture of a deathclaw and plantlife. Possibly created to have natural camouflage in heavily wooded areas, no one can really pinpoint why it was created other than to terrorize people. The only known proof that forest claws exist, is that occasionally a person will wander into the woods and discover a body hanging from a spiderweb-like construction of vines and wood, and their abdomens having burst from some sort of insane plantlife that had been embedded into them. That plantlife is untouched by radiation and fully alive. Many believe the forest claw is doing this to help restart the ecosystem. Doesn’t stop it from being terrifying as hell.



⚜️BROTHERHOOD OF STEEL
This chapter was founded by the Eastern branch of the BoS. So, as such, they’re a little more relaxed when it comes to recruitment and sharing of technology. That being said, the previous Elder was very strict when it came to the dissemination of information, which led to a general distrust by the populace. Elder Armand Dechard has been trying hard to win back the populace, but with little progress. The BoS’s numbers are low here, given that recruitment methods have gone poorly here, and many of their members die before they can produce heirs to their position. Fortunately, to make up for that they have a wealth of technology and information that other chapters of their order do not have. Before the destruction of Vault 76, they were able to raid it and procure a lot of Pre War schematics and literature. The BoS are also helpful in the area by scouting, raiding silverfish nests, and guarding Governor-Sanctioned caravans.

⚜️SWAMP DOGS
A group of raiders that have actually become a legitimate thread in the swamplands. Their numbers grow almost daily and somehow they’ve managed to get a hold of updated equipment and new-ish weapons. It is believed that they have a permanent base somewhere in Centerland or Acadiana, as a lot of that land goes unused and undiscovered. They’re led by an enigmatic man who only calls himself Charming Charlie. Oddly, enough one of their few altruistic moves is taking in orphaned children of the swamplands.

⚜️THE GOSPEL OF MIKE
Religion can get fairly radical down here in the swamplands, but there’s nothing so unbelievable yet tangible as the Gospel of Mike. Mike is a telepathic dog capable of starting fires with his mind. You may scoff at this, but many a skeptic have gone to see Mike and been changed by what they’ve seen there. The Brotherhood leaves the entire faction alone--proving it to be false would have a small army at their door, and they don’t want to think about the ramifications if it’s true. Mike was there before the bombs dropped, and a human to hear the tale of it. And he swore he died, but he was reborn in this land many many years later in this form, but gifted with powers given to him from the Great Beyond. It goes on like that for a while. One shouldn’t cross them. They’re fanatical to the point of being sadistic, and if you believe the rumors a dog can light you on fire with his mind.

⚜️THE CURIOSITY GANG
Probably the oddest of the large, well-known factions, the Curiosity Gang manages to beat out the Brotherhood for most destructive, yet most helpful. A mixture of para-militia, intellectuals, and people who just honestly want to figure out “what the front door” is going on, they roam the swamplands in search of information about the Pre War times. They’ll go to great lengths to find it, and in their pursuit, they may have destroyed a settlement or two. They didn't mean to, promise. The Curiosity Gang makes their home in Centerland, in Alexandria proper. The Governor doesn’t pay them much mind as they do invite tourists to visit them. They have a museum set up there. The means in which they managed to gather the information presented there is questionable, but the content is not. Just don’t touch the displays. No. Seriously. You will be shot.

Hidden 7 yrs ago → 7 yrs ago Post by Sofaking Fancy
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Sofaking Fancy Three Owls in a Trench Coat

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⚜️You will NOT BE a dick. In general you will work well with others and try your best to be a decent human being. Please report anyone being a dick to me, and try not to be one yourself.

⚜️ No Mary Sues/Gary Stues./Jerry Mews/Stew Stues/Bobby Sues/etc. I will not allow characters that are overused, bland, and otherwise uninteresting to play with. Oh no your entire house burned down, your family is dead, and you were a slave for a while, but you don't really have PTSD and you are gorgeous and everyone loves you? Oh. And you're the chosen one too? Yeah. No. None of that. I don't mind tropes because tropes happen. I have more than I should in the plot of this RP alone. But what I don't appreciate is the perfect person with the tragic backstory and all the powers. Also, no edgelords. Just. Take your dark lifestyle and emo haircut elsewhere.

⚜️ No Meta Knowledge/God Modding. If you know something that your character doesn't know, don't let them know it. Do not control other people's characters without asking. Do not auto-hit, or make an action that avoids all consequences. Be mindful of the things you do, and if you have a question, you can always ask.

⚜️ The quality of your posts should be readable, flow well, and not have any jilted action or dialogue that doesn't make any sense to the context of the RP. A few typos are fine. I'm bound to make mistakes as well. Hell, I'm known for posting drunk sometimes. Probably drunk now. But please bring your best quality to the table. As far as quantity goes, just make sure your post covers what needs to be covered. No need to get too long, and definitely don't get too short. An RP buddy once said: "like a skirt: short enough to be enticing but long enough to cover all the important parts."

⚜️ Romance is fine, I actually encourage building bonds with your fellow characters, but no smut.

⚜️ If you have any questions. ANY AT ALL. Please do not hesitate to contact me or someone else on the staff (assuming I get a staff). There are no stupid questions. Well, there are, but I highly doubt you'll be asking "What are butts?" "How... cat?" "Do I need to type for this RP?"

⚜️ You have three days to respond once it hits your turn. I'm not saying you have to respond every three days, but that you need to respond within three days when it's your turn to post. Let me know if you cannot get a response in, and you will be skipped. If you fail to let me know, you're allowed three turns of unresponsiveness, before your character is removed (probably violently) from the scene. If you do let me know, you're allowed five consecutive turns before you're removed from the scene (non-violently, as you were polite.)

⚜️ Please let me know when you are too busy to RP. I get it. I have a life, job, responsibilities, etc. So, if you are having a rough week, month, or whatever, let me know. I am more than happy to work with you.

⚜️ When performing an action, do not write what comes after it. For instance: you shoot at a villain. Please don't say it kills them. I'm the one that decides that. Or that you are hacking a system and are successful. Once again, it's up for me to decide that. That being said, if it stunts your post, you can always ask me in the OOC or PM (I don’t recommend the discord chat). I understand not wanting to have a very short post where nothing is done. Think of this as playing DnD or the like. I'm the DM, I tell you when things are successful.

⚜️ Do not argue with me about the result. There's either a) a story reason you can't do this b) whatever you're doing something to is more powerful c) you don't have the skills for it (i.e. you have a strength of 4 and are attempting to pick up a car.) I have reasons for doing what I'm doing. I assure you. I'm not doing it to make you look bad. Also place a little fleur-de-lise somewhere in your sheet so I know you've read and accepted this.

⚜️ As always, perform actions and participate in dialogue in a way that makes sense for your character. If you are acting inconsistent with your character, I will call you out on it. I understand there's character growth, or you figure that this character's funnier than you first anticipated, but there's also creating a pacifist and having him murder 10 people without consequence. Seriously. I've seen this shit.

⚜️ Also. Any and every rule is subject to change, and I'm allowed to add or remove rules as I see fit. I'll usually let you know.



⚜️Here is your CS and a not-so-brief guideline on how to fill it out. When finished with your CS, please place it in the OOC. You’re only allowed to place it in the “Characters” tab if/when you’re accepted.


⚜️To get this sheet, you're going to have to go to this page CLICK and hit "Raw" or "Quote". Sorry, this is the only way for you to get the working code, as the code function ignores images and line breaks.

Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by Sofaking Fancy
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Sofaking Fancy Three Owls in a Trench Coat

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NAME
Name
AGE
Age
GENDER
Gender
SPECIES
Species
HOMETOWN
Hometown
FACTION
Faction or if Factionless, write N/A



Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.



TYPE Write your Four Letter Type Here
SPECTATOR'S REACTION
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.

S P E C I A L



TRAIT
C/P the Trait from The gDoc
SKILLS
Combat Skill
C/P the Skill from The gDoc; Delete if Unused
Active Skill(s)
C/P the Skill(s) from The gDoc; Delete if Unused
Passive Skill(s)
C/P the Skill(s) from The gDoc; Delete if Unused
PERK
Put Your Perk Here

STRENGTHS
  • Name: Brief Descriptor
  • Name: Brief Descriptor
  • Name: Brief Descriptor

WEAKNESSES
  • Name: Brief Descriptor
  • Name: Brief Descriptor
  • Name: Brief Descriptor



WEAPONS
Name: Brief Descriptor; C/P if needed
ARMOR
Name: Brief Descriptor
CHEMICALS
  • Enter
  • As
  • Many
  • As
  • Needed
MISCELLANEOUS
Name: Brief Descriptor; C/P if needed



Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.



Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.



Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.



If you have it. You can have a whole list if you want. Remove this if you don't.

Hidden 7 yrs ago → 7 yrs ago Post by Sofaking Fancy
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Sofaking Fancy Three Owls in a Trench Coat

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NAME
The Soldier
AGE
32
GENDER
Male
SPECIES
Human
HOMETOWN
Lafayette
FACTION
N/A



When looking at Soldier, one would see a person that had truly experienced the world and its cruelty. He stands a head taller than most, with broad shoulders, and thick muscle cording through him. He doesn't look like the sort that would jump out of the way of an incoming onslaught. No, he looks more like that type to fight it. He's strong-armed, broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, and has a healthy middle that shows that his past few years have taken to drinking. He wears a mixture of combat armor, it's shiny and steel, on his chest, forearms, and thighs. One can assume there's some on his back, but it's hidden by his large green jacket with fur trim around the collar. The other pieces that cover him are dark brown leather. He wears clunky combat boots that have mismatched laces from wear. A holster goes over his chest that holds his huge, customized sledgehammer. He also has an old Pre War revolver on his hip that seems to barely get any use.

The first thing one might notice about the man is the massive burn scar down the right side of his face. His ear no longer a prominent feature, he tries to keep it hidden with bandage and gauze when he can. Unfortunately, he can not camouflage his entire scaring. Yet, past his neck, he does hide it with bandages, gloves, and clothing. His blond hair is cut close to his head and usually disheveled. His brows are strong and offset his pale blue eyes. He has a strong nose that has probably been punched in a few too many times. Full lips are always twisted into a frown.

Soldier only ever crosses his arms or holds his weapon. He's not the sort to have a stance that isn't defensive. Ask him about something, and he'll roll his eyes. Try to talk to him, and you'll get a dismissive grunt. Actually, have to work next to him, and you'll find out how much he dislikes anything that isn't combat.



TYPE ESTP
SPECTATOR'S REACTION
He tries his best not to be very approachable. If anything, he might go out of his way to seem like that. It seems intentional and not a defense mechanism. When spoken too, he's insanely dismissive. Also, I believe he once punched a guy for touching his hammer. Yet, there's something about the way he stares at his surroundings and hte people around him that make me feel as if a fight broke out, he'd know what to do.

9 2 8 4 7 3 7


TRAIT
Bruiser: You're slow but you are powerful. Your punches can knock someone’s lights out. You won’t hit them fast, but you’ll hit them well. Hopefully, you have the Strength for that.
SKILLS
Combat Skill
Melee Weapons: Using non-ranged weapons in hand-to-hand, or melee, combat. Knives, sledgehammers, spears, clubs and so on.
Passive Skill(s)
Danger Sense: You’re aware that something is about to go down via body language or actual language. You have a jump all dangerous situations.
PERK
Brotherhood of Steel Training: Soldier has had years of military training under his belt and the knowledge that comes with the Brotherhood. He unfortunately also has their racism and idealism.

STRENGTHS
  • Literal Strength: He's built himself up to the point that he's a practical juggernaut when it comes to strength-based combat.
  • Resiliant: Soldier's going to have to take more than a few hits to go down.
  • Looks Dumb, but Isn't: He has a deceptive intelligence hidden behind his eyes. People think he's an idiotic brute. Far from it.

WEAKNESSES
  • Debilitating Injury: Soldier's right ear effectively doesn't work. He also can't touch or feel with the right side of his body. He has bad tinnitus that can sometimes keep him from hearing someone approach.
  • Slow Moving: He's big, strong, and can take a punch. What he isn't about to do is avoid an attack. Or at least that's what he tells himself. It might because he's not very agile.
  • Less Charismatic than a Supermutant: Soldier has a way with words, an assaulting way with them.



WEAPONS
Crushy McCrushface: A huge, modified sledgehammer. One side is blunt and made for crushing, and the other side has been curved into a nasty spike. It's also a lot heaver than other sledgehammers. It's been weighted so that when it's in motion, it's in motion.
Dad's Revolver: An old PreWar revolver. It has a sight on it, but it isn't an overly complicated one. Soldier uses it for when people think it's a great idea to run away from him.
ARMOR
Customized Combat Armor: Cannibalized pieces of Brotherhood armor along with basic combat armor, make up this amalgamation of protection. It's accented by a nice, green jacket with fur.
CHEMICALS
  • 2 Stimpaks
  • 3 Pyschos
  • 1 Mentat
  • 1 Water
MISCELLANEOUS
Silverfish Tooth Necklace: It's old and well worn. When Soldier doesn't think anyone is looking, he rubs it.



"You alright?" a voice erupted through the shiny darkness. Soldier's head felt like someone had slid an icepick into it--more than once. His vision was blurred and shiny around the edges, and the light hurt when he tried to open them. His hearing was broken up in the squealing of tinnitus.

"Who--uh--face?" he managed to groan out. Placing his hands on either side of him, he was aware with his left hand, that he was on a cushioned piece of furniture. He tried to push himself upwards, and his muscles thought that was hilarious.

"No," a hand, soft and warm, pressed against his chest. "Lay down." There were sounds of them standing and rifling through something.

A soft sigh slid from their lips. "I don't know who you pissed off, but if you had not been a figher--they'd killed you."

He brought his hand to his chest and found himself without his shirt. While he may not have been able to piece the night together entirely, he knew that he'd at least been wearing his clothes. Curious, and not quite ready to open his eyes yet, he reached down. Oh good, he still had his pants on.

"I just treated the obvious injuries," the voice joked. "So, who did you fight?"

The memory came back like cap being forcefully inserted into his nostril. "Ghouls. Melty faced sons-of-bitches."

A dissenting 'tsk' left the voice's lips. "I was wondering what half that burnt off tattoo was. It makes sense now. Brotherhood?"

He waved his hand in the air. "Not anymore."

There was a soft tap of feet, and he felt the person lean in close. Their breath was warm. "I know why you left," they said in a sing-song voice. "Your humanity isn't as intact as you like to think it is. And that's perfect for us.."

Soldier opened his eyes, the glare of light gave him pause. He looked around in the room. It was a run down doctor's office. His armor sat on the side of the bed, along with his weapons and belongings. Suddenly, a form was in the doorway. "Who left my door open?" the man asked, his voice not the one that Soldier had heard before. "Oh good, you're up." The smiled. "Was someone in here?"

Soldier shook his head.



Grave Digger by Blues Saraceno

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NAME
Roxanne 'Rocket' Cassom
AGE
24
GENDER
Female
SPECIES
Human
HOMETOWN
Magnolia Ranch
FACTION
Political Heirarchy



If "curious" had a sentient form it would be Roxanne Cassom. No matter where you are, or what you are doing, you'll see her tinkering with something, reading something, or generally annoying various people about their various curiosities. She's a short woman, but not lithe and dainty as her title might imply. While her strength isn't made for hitting, she can haul and lift and move. It's apparent that she's put more hours into finagling with equipment than into the finer graces. Not to say she doesn't have charisma, it's just of her own making.

Her hair is usually pulled up and sloppily placed atop her head, and her lips askew in a wild grin. She looks much younger than she is, which is unfortunate when she tries to get people to take her seriously. She has wide honey eyes and a face covered in freckles. Most of the time she also has a smudge or two from the mechanical things she enjoys working on. Much to her father's chagrin, she doesn't wear the finer things. She's prone to thick, long shirts that swallow her frame, hide pants, a large jacket with a hood, leather gloves, and boots. She also always has a pair of welder's goggles on her head. Of course, for the mission she's about to embark on, she's been clothed in the finest of combat armor--though don't tell her father, she still brought along her favorite red hoodie and her goggles.

One doesn't need an invitation to talk to Rocket. She'll probably start talking to them instead, or she'll entirely ignore them for something she's found more interesting than conversation. She's a bit of toggle like that.



TYPE ENFJ
SPECTATOR'S REACTION
It's hard to tell if Rocket actually likes someone or likes an aspect about them that makes them interesting. Her interest comes and goes like the tide. One moment, she's speaking rapidly about the interesting gun on your waist, and then the next she's done examining it and taken to doodling it down in her notebook. She's not rude, but she's not naive either. She wide-eyed and bushy-tailed, but she always curious and touching things. Sometimes, those things might be dangerous. In forced social situations, she's quite civil and practical. Someday, she might be a good leader.

5 5 3 7 8 7 5



TRAIT
Good Natured: You're a generally friendly person and are hesitant to employ violence to solve problems. Your help others. However, when your actions seem to harm others, specifically in combat, you often stand in your own way by doing less damage and racking less kills.
SKILLS
Active Skills
Repair: The fixing of broken equipment, machinery and electronics and also the reprogrammaning of robots.
Science: Covers a variety of hi-technology skills, such as computers, biology, physics and geology.
PERK
Fathers in High Places: As Governor Cassom's favorite child, Rocket has the wonderful gift of getting away with a lot just by her name and face alone. She also may have quite a bit of caps for bribery. It may be risky putting her up front, but it may pay off. Who knows who the governor has influenced.

STRENGTHS
  • Curiosity Can't Kill: Rocket is always into something--everything. As such, she's an encyclopedia of both helpful and useless information. She's able to deduce things at a quicker pace than some, but she's far from a computer in that regard.
  • Armored Cats: Rocket's expertise are robots. She loves them. If you run across a robot, expect her to run at it and then duck if it's hostile. She's pretty good at making them love her, though
  • With Death Lasers: Being the brunt of her brothers' ire, made her quite good at getting out of tough situations by wriggling her way from their grasp or leaping out of a building or just running. So, oddly enough, that's a real life skill that'll definitely come in handy.

WEAKNESSES
  • But Curiosity Can Kill: On the other side of that coin, Rocket can and has gotten herself into trouble by being too inquisitive. She can run into situations unprepared or insult someone who could kill her quickly and efficiently.
  • a Sheltered Woman: Rocket is not naive. She knows she hasn't seen the world for what it is. But at the same time, she hasn't seen the world for what it is. She doesn't know how a lot of things work, and as such, she's bound to make mistakes others could easily avoid.
  • With no Combat Skills: Rocket can't attack anyone, and she can't defend herself.



WEAPONS
Top of the Line Laser Gun: Her Father gave her a laser gun with a sight on it and a few modifications to make it fire quick and fast. Someone should probably take it away from her.
ARMOR
Top of the Line Combat Armor: Thick, green armor that's over the top of her "adventure wear", nicer clothing that her father thought might help her make friends. Over that, though, she still wears her red hoodie and has attached her welding goggles to her helmet.
CHEMICALS
  • 3 Stimpaks
  • 2 Nukacoloa (to share with a new friend if she makes one)
  • 1 Radaway
MISCELLANEOUS
A Switch to the Bomb: *waggles finger* Not going to find out what that looks like.
Handy Dandy Unbreakable Lockpick: Of her own design, may actually be breakable.



Rocket tossed her brother's, Sampson, underwear halfway across the room as she rummaged through his things. "Ew, Sam, seriously." She was looking for her homemade lockpick. Her brother thought it might be amusing, the night before she was to leave on her big mission, to steal and hide several things that she needed. The last of these things was her lockpick. Older than her, Sampson shouldn't have even been attempting these childish things. He was currently courting some politician's daughter and was looking into purchasing a house of his own. Yet, here he was, tormenting her one last time before she left.

Exasperated, she just pulled the drawer out and tipped it onto the floor. There was a metallic clack against the wood flooring that told her she'd found it. Upon pocketing the lockpick, she heard voices. Oh no. She'd looted the room too heavily to hide what she'd done, and so she needed to get out of there--fast. Unhinging the windows, she jumped through them, landing on the balcony outside. She slowly shut them, hoping that her brother wouldn't notice they were unlocked.

The door opened. "I can't believe he'd trust her over me. I'm the eldest," Sampson said, probably to their other sibling, George."What the hell. Ugh! Roxanne must have figured out I stole her shit. She didn't have to leave my room like this." Oh, yes she did. She smirked.

"Calm down," George said, the youngest. "She'll be out of our hair tomorrow, and you can continue your plans on being the next Governor."

Rocket rolled her eyes. He'd pry that position from her cold, dead fingers. She was about to sneak away when Sam started talking again. "Do you believe the rumors?"

"What rumors?" George asked, his voice getting louder. Rocket pressed herself against the side of the house so hopefully, he wouldn't see her.

"About what's in the caravan." There was a noisy thump of Sam plopping down on the bed.

"Dad's had that on lockdown."

"I know, but I used some of Roxanne's gadgets to hack one of this Mister Handys." Oh, he sounded so assured of himself. He'd never been able to do that without her tech. "Whatever is in there... is alive."

That caught Rocket's attention. She straightened up only to hit her head on the windowsill. It made a low, but obvious noise. SHe heard Sam stand up, and George rush to the window. She quickly got away from the window and lept to the next balcony over. It was for their grandmother. She'd apologize later.

Rocket laid flat on the balcony as both her brothers stuck their heads out and looked around. She didn't make a sound. She didn't even try to breathe--which was easy considering what she'd just heard. Even with her face flat on the balcony's floor, she could still see the silhouette of the caravan in the pale moonlight. What was in there...



Familiar by Agnest Obel

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Name
Adra SonSauhl

Age
30

Gender
Female

Race
Orc

Appearance
At immediate glance one would know that she is an orc, there is nothing in her visage that hides it. Her green skin, hiding dark teals in the right light, her feral nose, and long tusks rising up from full lips were indications of her heritage. Her eyes, a deep lavender in color, were a bit more dainty but she usually narrowed them and quirked a black brow. Her features were strong but not unpleasing. Her pointed ears contained various pieces of metal jewelry that she created and worked into them. Currently, her long black hair is pulled away from her face and plaited, interwoven pieces of jewelry and metal accenting it. If one knew of orcish traditions, they'd know that was the hairstyle of one in mourning.

Her build may not be the tallest, but what she doesn't have in height, she has in stature. She's a statuesque woman with thick chorded muscles that shine through even in her bulky plate armor. Still, her feminine curves are not swallowed up by her musculature, if anything they're more accented because of it. Her armor is of an older orcish design, painted a rose color and with numerous scratches and gouges throughout. The metal collar is high and has well-taken-care-of fur around its top, coming right underneath Adra's jaw. She wears a shield on her back that is a mixture of a dulled silver and a soft gold. The design is interesting and aesthetically pleasing. If anyone knew of orcish customs, they'd know that was two family symbols interwoven--it was a marriage symbol. Her warhammer rests on her back holster. It's massive and made of a thick silver-ish metal. There are numerous, decorative filagrees across it, but one end has a square block of pure metal, the downswing on it unstoppable. And the pommel is a sharp, twisted blade.

On Adra's hip is a small blade, and treated leather pouch that holds a book, a quill, and ink. It is so she can document her journey. She shouldn't be a scholar without it. One might note that the bookmark is a thin silver chain with a well-worn ring looped through it.

Personality
Adra can be summarized as independent, fierce, and regal--with a tinge of loudness to throw those descriptors off kilter. She is happiest when she is moving, and the world around her is as it should be. This might ordain her a bit of a control freak, but it’s a little different than that. She’s content to clean messes, no matter how they come, but she refuses to sit idly by and watch them pile up.While knowledge and instruction are very important to her, being told what to do chafes her in the worst of ways.

The orc is intellectual. She doesn’t speak barbarically, especially considering that her race is far removed from those times, and she doesn’t wield her physical mass in conversation. She’s more than content to break one down with words. Though, no one should say she doesn’t enjoy a good ole fashion beating.

Adra can be sweet, but it isn’t as accessible as it once was. Her heart is very buried, and if one starts digging, they’ll reach a part of her that is very new and very bitter.

Background
To hear tell of it, Adra’s parents loathed each other. In public forums, the marketplace, or even a street corner their words would be bolstered by vitriol and accusation. For many years, and well into her adulthood, Adra would hear of her parents' distaste for one another--yet she knew that not to be true. They loved each other very deeply and very differently. They were competitive, constantly striving to do better than the other and as such, they grew as intellectuals and sometimes unfortunate thrill seekers.

Adra’s childhood was peppered with mild bits of insanity. Her mother was a folk hero, of sorts. She’d traveled, she’d fought, she’d learned, and she’d hauled home a fair share of interesting trinkets. Her father was quite the opposite. He tended to the household, and he crafted. Adra still remembers him discussing how one can find the beauty in anything. The man had a skill with metal, maybe not as a weaponsmith, but he’d create things that were fascinating and useful. Eventually, he’d be enlisted along with a blacksmith to take to weapons, as there was a sweep of interest in orcish design. So, between the two, Adra never wanted for much, but she never knew wealth and privilege.

As she grew older, her father would teach her to read, write, to research, and inevitably to craft. Adra took a far more intense interest in weaponsmithing and armor working than her father would have liked, but she was his only child and as such allowed her to pursue interests. At least she had interests, he mused. Times, when her mother would come home, would be erratic for the family. At first, Adra would just squirrel away and read, but as she became older she actually tried to broker peace between her parents. It sometimes worked and it sometimes didn’t. Though no matter the calm or chaos in her household, when her mother returned she’d teach her daughter how to fight. She viewed it as a necessity if Adra was to grow up among other orcs, some taking to the old ways. Yet, Adra didn’t care for the wonton way that orcs enjoyed throwing themselves into fights. She wanted structure, but a structure that would allow for her strength to shine through. There had to be something--

One day, she was in the commons working on her stance with a practice dummy, an orc slightly older than herself sidled up next to her and offered to help. She shot him a look before grabbing his arm and giving it a firm twist--nothing broke, but he did offer a quick apology. She admitted to needing help, but she was far from any damsel that needed to be coached like a child. He agreed, backing away and babying his arm. Yet he didn’t leave, instead he instructed her from afar, adding a ‘m’lady’ to the end of every sentence. Adra would hide her smile at this, and he’d try not to laugh at how silly this entire situation was. His name was Garthan, and he’d be Adra’s greatest strength and greatest weakness.

A few years later, Adra was to be wed. Not one to babble excessively and flit around, she actually buried herself in the creation of a shield to mark their two families coming together. Her father would hide away, tending to a weapon which she would wield much later. Garthan would be content to sit in the corner as Adra’s family took the lead on the entire preparation. Once again, standing away and only giving advice when prompted. He was never really heeded, but that’s what he loved about her. She was her own person. They were wed a day before Garthan headed out to fight with the Scorned. They needed the best, and he was among the top ranking orc warriors. Adra might have also had that position if she'd ever pledged herself to the art of war.

Adra had never suffered. She’d always worked hard and achieved. So, the day that the Sorned pulled her husband away was the day that she felt she had to work harder. He’d return, she’d think. And she would have achieved so much by then. She’d be an accomplished warrior and a scholar. They’d already be writing books about her, building monuments, and she’d have to shoo away swooning orcs. It was a wonderful fantasy, and she worked so hard to achieve it.

Time passed and in the pit of her stomach, she knew the truth. It would come to her on a rainy day. There were no happy endings in war--she should have known that. She’d read so much, much more than orcs usually did. Yet, a broken, bloodied sword laid at her doorstep felt like a reality she wasn’t prepared to handle. And, honestly, she didn’t.

Shrugging on her mother’s old, rose-colored armor, the shield that Adra had constructed, and the warhammer her father had forged for her wedding day--Adra left. She’d heard tell of the Emperor needing adventurers to head to the Ebony Mountain. She’d go there. She’d cut a path so straight and clean, people would sing songs about it.

Combat Abilities
⚘ Orc Strength
Adra is naturally strong, her bloodline insisting upon it. Yet, the years she spent with Garthan and the subsequent ones without him led her to build it up. This is both in resilience and in sheer attacking power. Her crafting skills have also given her a heads up on lifting, pulling, and pushing. As such, she may be slower than other races, but all she needs is to get a hit in.

⚘ Battlemaster
Years of training have left her with a variety of stances in which she can use to push herself forward, pull herself back, shield her allies, or be that immovable object between a foe and their goal. She knows numerous stances, and she picks up new ones when she fights her opponents. And if the stance is known to her, she can fathom how her opponent will attack and the best way to parry it. She also has two primary fighting stances: one with her shield, and holding her warhammer in a choke, wielding it as if it was a normal sized one, and the other is shrugging off her shield and gripping the warhammer low, allowing for devastating and ranged swings.

⚘ Craftsman
Adra didn’t sit around in her adulthood, just learning at whimsy and practicing whenever she felt like that. She worked alongside her father in his workshop. She enjoys function over form and avoids emblazoning gems or stones into her work, but she will inlay some filigree that could also serve as a cutting edge.


Artifact of Dramoria
ARTIFACT


Motive
Altruism, she’ll say. She isn’t the sort to let the world end around her as she sits and twiddles her thumbs. Partially, it’s for glory. She did grow up in the shadow of her fame-seeking mother. Secretly, it’s for revenge, or it’s suicide. It is hard to tell.

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Name: Benjamin Obadiah Babbage
Title: Professor
Moniker: Inquisitive Researcher
Age: 32
Race: Human

Appearance:

Professor Benjamin Babbage is as stuffy as his name would imply. Of average height, the professor doesn’t cut a striking silhouette among his peers and colleagues. He does sport a rather dashing mustache that is tended to with the utmost care and consideration. His black hair is a bit shaggy but above the collar, parted on the side and paired with short sideburns—a bit of a departure from what is considered stylish, but, as many speculate, is due to the considerable effort he puts into his mustache. He might be silvering on the sides, rather young for it actually, but the temples of his glasses and tendency for hats makes it hard to tell. The professor has dim gray eyes and a noble nose, meaning that it’s a prominent feature on his face.

He dresses well, and while it is mostly utilitarian he does enjoy his odd splashes of color. Usually, he adorns himself in a black or gray sack coat, top button fastened while a bright waistcoat—complete with a pocket watch—shows itself. And this choice might come from years of scholarly endeavors where he sat more than he walked. Those choices showing themselves in the roundness of his middle. Though the professor had taken to sports at a younger age, so he’s not entirely without musculature—so says the professor, but we've seen him, and he's failry rotund. From there, his outfit doesn’t take any more consideration to be unique.

The professor enjoys standing with his feet apart and his lips set in an inquisitive twist. He usually is touching whatever he’s researching. But when his hands are by his person, they cross over his broad chest, gently stroke his mustache, or fiddle with his spectacles. In social situations, he talks with his hands if he’s enjoying himself, and if he’s not, he places them on his hips. He has very telling body language.

Primary Attribute: Watchful
Secondary Attribute: Persuasive

Connections:
The Masters: “I wouldn’t be a scholar if I didn’t exhaust all my possible resources, and the Masters are a rare and grand one. I don’t overstay my welcome, neither do I prod where one does not need prodding. But I have spoken in long berths with Mr. Wine and Mr. Pages.”
Bohemians: “They think of themselves as the forward innovators of our time when they’re actually petulant children living off the money of their parents.” He adjusts his bowtie. “Do not give me that look, I’m not being hypocritical. I’ve established my own income, and I’ve actually contributed to society.”
Constables: “If you ask me, they could do a better job of keeping the urchins from swarming me like the dirty pestilence they are. But I have no qualm with them.”
Criminals: “I am a man of importance and intellect. I gather my information from reputable sources.”
Hell: “I may have gotten drunk a few times and gladly tittered along with them, but I don’t deal much with Devils. I like my soul where it is.” He pauses and strokes his mustache. “Wherever that is.”
Revolutionaries: “A group of unorganized heathen gyrating in agonizing ineptitude. The Masters are an infinite fount of information. Would you so readily scrape away knowledge and wisdom?”
Rubbery Men: Benjamin considers it for a moment but doesn’t say anything. When asked about it again, he shrugs. “I have no quarrel with them. Though, from a scholar’s standpoint, I have so many questions. Unfortunately, they don’t have the means to answer.”
High Society: “I was born into low nobility. While I tend just fine in Society, High Society is not somewhere I shine from a noble’s standpoint. Though, I have been called to many intellectual parlors to discuss the Fourth City as a professor.” He looks proud and gives a sly smirk.
Church: “My eldest brother is a clergyman, and I attend regular service.” Benjamin looks like he has something else to say about the subject, but he remains quiet.
Docks: “I’ve taken a few trips across the zee for research purposes. That being said, I do not have a jovial rapport with the docks men and zailors.”
The Great Game: “I do not participate or have interest in the Great Game. But I’m not so daft as to not know that I’ve not been silently maneuvered within it.”
Tomb Colonies: Benjamin leans back, apparently having many a tale to regale about them. Unfortunately, he’s been asked to condense it. “I’ve used them as many a source in my research. They’re wise, intelligent, and a great resource. I respect them, and I don’t quite understand the vitriol set against them. Then again, if we based our interest and fondness upon appearances, I’m afraid we’d be led by daft lunatics.”
Urchins: “They’ve stolen my pocket watch five times. Jokes on them, after the second one was fenced, I’ve only purchased ones that are barely worth a penny.”

Background:
Benjamin Babbage was a child born with an unfortunate alliteration, that polite society nodded and accepted, and everyone else—with a thinking head on their shoulders—snorted at. He was born into nobility, but nothing of note. His family the social equivalent of that cousin you know nothing about, and so you buy gloves for them on their birthday. So, as such, his family does not just get by on being noble, they have careers and positions within society. Though, these positions are ones of clout. Many of the Babbages have taken to be clergymen. Benjamin’s eldest brother among them. Benjamin, on the other hand, was gifted with a great and grand need to be smarter than everyone else.

As such his fascination for the Fourth City, and not moving for long periods of time, bloomed at a young age, leading him to attend University—Summerset College of course, as he is not learning alongside upstarts and radicals. He’s participated in numerous archeological digs, but only ever funded three as his pockets are not infinite and sometimes half full of candies. From that he produced fine literature about the architecture and layout of the city, and from conversations with Tomb Colonists and zailors that have seen Khanate, he also wrote of their culture. Those immense books, possibly too dense to be door stops as one would never get their door closed again, never brought up anything groundbreaking but they did become a resource for many researchers to cite. And if one stacked the volumes up chronologically, they’d have a nice footrest. Though, the one thing they do offer is intricate drawings of places, things, and people. Benjamin, in another life, would have made quite the artist. In this one, he’s a stuffy intellectual that teaches and sometimes gets charcoal on his favorite white waistcoat.

As someone who usually tosses letters for various noble galas, Benjamin paused at one. He opened it up only to discover he’d been invited to a masquerade ball. With his parents leaning on him harder for marriage, as his brother wasn’t about to take up a wife and a family name, he accepted. Anything to get them be silent. Knowledge was his only lover, a thought he had in quiet and chuckled about.
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Race: Human
Sex: Male
Age: 34
Profile: Soldier
DOB: 2151 CE
Homeworld: Earth

Appearance:
Clyff is built like a brick shithouse and probably just about as attractive. He’s a tall man, but not overly so, standing above six foot. But that’s not the physical attribute that would make him stand out in a crowd. He’s broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, with muscular arms and a stout middle. It’s more than apparent that he doesn’t keep to military routine as tight as others would have. Drinking and genetics have led him to being stockier and paunchier than his other teammates. Or at least that is what he tells himself, it’s definitely genetics. Genetics that have been tampered with by the Alliance. His natural affinity to gain mass easier left him a mixture of muscle and girth.

He has red hair--naturally a ginger--that is cut short on the sides and longer on the top. He styles it because he only has to run his hands through it in the morning. Pale green eyes sit underneath a strong brow, but the more eye-catching attribute is his nose. It probably, at one point time, wouldn’t be so prominent, but it’s been broken so many times that scarring, on the skin and into the cartilage, is more than evident. Strong jaw, usually peppered with a five o’clock shadow that doesn’t seem to go away or get any longer, compliment his handsome lips. They’re usually drawn into a shit-eating grin. He has another scar across them, and a piece of his right ear is missing. There’s a couple of staples in the earlobe.

His attire is that of the Andromeda Initiative Military uniform when he’s on duty. He usually leaves the collar unbuttoned, only to frantically snap it into place when he needs to. It is obvious, considering the way he stands and the grimace on his face, he’d rather be dressed in anything else. Hell, he’d probably be more comfortable in the buff or wearing an asari dress. On off days, he’s fond of t-shirts, loose-fitting pants, combat boots, and usually some tasteless button-up with said buttons unbuttoned.

Background:
Clyfford Ward was an accident between Ciara Brennan, a first-generation Irish American, and a man that Clyff would only ever know as ”your father” said will all the aggression and disdain two words could muster. He was the product of a night of drunken awkwardness between Ciara and a man that she met at the bar. She’d been celebrating because her architecture firm had landed a large deal, and she was to head it. Surprisingly, Clyff’s father did stick around for awhile. Ciara was thankful, but only for a short time. The night of Clyff’s birth, the man stumbled into the operating room drunk and disorderly. A brief argument ignited about the spelling of Clyff’s name. What was supposed to be Clifford ended up as Clyff.

They formed a nuclear family for a short period of time before everything became as nuclear as one might imagine. One evening, when Clyff was about three, he suddenly had half-twin-sisters that were about the same age him. On that night, their family grew and shrunk like the ebb of a wave. If Clyff ever asked about his father, his mother stared long into her son’s eyes and told him that he currently lived under the bridge, wrapped in a tarp. She never let him verify that.

Clyff knew very little about the discovery of alien ruins or a Mass Relay, as he was young and all these things compiled before and after his birth. He may have been told about it, but he never remembered it. So, when he was six, the idea of aliens--far beyond the human’s comfortable space--became something he could easily accept as the norm. He still remembers snippets of news reports, and the words “First Contact War.” They became the event that his life anchored on.

Sometime after that, his mother remarried. Nelson Ward was a very good man. He was an officer in the military, and while he would disappear for long stints, the warmth he emanated when he was home would make it feel like he never left. Nelson Ward adopted Clyff and his half-twin-sisters Rebecca and Anna. His mother would have three more children with Nelson. Those children would never be as tight as him and Anna and Rebecca were. Still, James, Kyle, and Ryan were family. And like any family with a male-heavy population, they fought. Clyff would always win. It was an odd thing he was proud about.

Clyff was not the best student, but he did excel in sports and math. The latter being a surprise to his Algebra teacher when he misspelled “algerbra” but managed to get the bonus question right that she usually asked her older students to handle. He was pushed to apply for some scholarships regarding his talent in advanced math, but he enlisted in the Alliance--like Nelson Ward, a man he truly came to respect.

In 2169 he joined the Alliance. He wasn’t a prodigy, and he, unfortunately, was reprimanded more than his fair share. While Clyff didn’t have a horrible childhood, he was quite the spitfire--a trait his mother assured him that came from his biological father, even if she could hold grudges for a small eternity. Clyff didn’t excel enough for someone to consider raising his rank and recommending him to special programs, but he was trained in demolitions and breaching. A man that enjoyed running into situations and tearing things up--in a way that sometimes spurted a wild laugh--was a certain niche that needed to be filled.

Clyff’s training had him handle riot and hostage situations where he had to get in, suppress hostiles, save people, and get out with them unharmed. By no means a negotiator, he became talented at handling demolitions learning where weak points were in buildings, vehicles, ships, and other structures. This was especially helpful considering how volatile the galaxy was. When a lot of the aliens looked at humans, they saw the aggressors. They didn’t see those that were thrust accidentally into the theater of battle. So, as such, he figured he had to return that aggression. That only reaffirmed his mindset when the Skyllian Blitz happened. He heard about it, far away and not able to be deployed to help due to the situation.

Eventually, in 2177, he was promoted to Service Chief and given his own squad. There Clyff and his team showed up anywhere that needed help. One of his teammates was adamant about code names. So, they all participated in giving them to each other. Clyff received "Red Dog" as his. He agreed to it. Red was the color anger, and dogs were very loyal creatures. He never got the joke.

Shortly thereafter, he ended up in the Citadel, during leave. Rebecca and Anna had shown up to not only see their big brother, by a few months, but they’d also been chosen to study abroad by a corporation--one that Clyff didn’t pay attention to the name of--to learn more about alien culture and technology. So, he ferried them around. One night they ended up at a club. His sisters, being wide-eyed and excited about the experience, drummed up a conversation with a Blue Sun mercenary, unknowingly. Clyff was not paying attention, having run into an old friend from boot camp. Things turned quite hostile with the mercenary, as his advances were rebuffed by the sisters. That led to him trying to pressure them. Clyff butted in immediately. Not really a man for words, he punched the mercenary. That caused half of the club to stand up. Drunk, and very disorderly, he challenged them all to a fight. It was fair to say, for all the training and pent-up anger he had, he ended up in the infirmary.

It was there that he met Isabella Espinoza. She was a doctor tending to him. He’d had his arm broken, his nose broken, and gotten a rather nasty concussion. She berated him, saying that he could have lost his life. High on pain medication, he just winked at her--with both eyes--and said that he was more man than anyone could handle. Isabella rolled her eyes. She informed him had it not been for his friend, who was a high-ranking Alliance officer, he’d probably be dead. As time went on, and he was on less and less pain medication, Clyff managed to reign in his hair-trigger gruffness and became somewhat romantic.

Maybe Isabella enjoyed them somewhat handsome and dumb, or maybe he was actually quite dashing. The story changed with the person telling it. They ended up married within a year, a child on the way. It might have been a shotgun wedding, but it was nothing like his father. Clyff truly cared for his wife and child--Sofía Ward. Still, being in enlisted in the Alliance, he wasn’t always around for his family.

In 2178, he participated in the Alliance’s retaliation again the batarians on the Torfan moon. Considering the massive underground structure, knowledge of breaching and proper demolitions were helpful. It was a bloody, nasty battle, and he lost a few of his squad. Something that he'd remember on quiet days or in his sleep. He also ended up being caught up in an explosion that forced him and his team to withdraw. To this day, his ear still hasn’t managed to heal and he suffers from brief moments of tinnitus. He was more fortunate than many. That gave him a promotion to Gunnery Chief.

In 2182, Isabella Espinoza-Ward died. Stabbed to death by a patient she was attempting to sedate. The species and the makeup of the perpetrator was never given to him, but he was assured that it was not a human. Clyff was pulled back to the Citadel almost immediately. He was given a formal position there to take care of his daughter. It was mostly sitting at a desk or instructing various Alliance factions. It was boring. Still, it is what he and his daughter needed.

In 2183, the Citadel was attacked. Clyff and Sofía managed to find shelter and survive, but among all the turmoil and death--an ultimatum was made in Clyff’s head. He was tired of this.

So, in 2184 he signed up for the Andromeda Initiative. His experience, rank, and specializations were reviewed. Given his impeccable, though not entirely agreeable, service in the Alliance military, he was given a place on the Nexus ship. His daughter was also allowed admission, though she was placed on the human ark. Assured there would be a brief gap between their awakening from cyro, Clyff agreed. Anything would be better than this galaxy. He had to protect his daughter at all costs. It might be hard, but at least it would be away from the political conflict of the Milky Way. He said goodbye to his mother, step-father, and his siblings. Sofía's grandparents were no longer in the picture. So, he didn't have anyone else contesting his decision. Unfortunately, Isabella had been disavowed by them due to her beliefs. Clyff never knew if it was due to religion, medicine, sexuality, or otherwise. He just knew that. Sofía was fine with the cryo. She was actually elated to see the future. Clyff was scared, but he also knew that chances of survival were better.

When he was awoken to deal with Sloane Kelly and the others that rebelled, he heard that the human ark hadn't made it yet. Every day he thought about Sofía, and every day he rubbed the old-fashion, Earth locket she had given him. It had a picture of his daughter and his late wife in it. When the Hyperion Ark with humans showed up, Clyff became elated. That was quickly snuffed out, though, as the insufficient support systems of the Nexus meant his daughter couldn't be released from cyro.

So, his reasoning for joining APEX was simple, to help stabilize enough living areas so the entirety of Hyperion can be unfrozen, and so he could see his daughter again.

Personality:
Clyff is about as agreeable as sandpaper across the skin. He’s the sort that acts impulsively first and then tries to soak up the repercussions later. Blunt, honest, and to the point--he’s never one to mince words. While many might appreciate honesty, it is the sort that is given with a shot of vinegar. He doesn’t try to play to people’s needs or emotions.

Still, he sometimes channels his father and can be a bit of a swarthy braggart. This is usually greeted with eye-rolling or gagging noises. Some people might find him charismatic, but honestly only due to the fact that his hard-headed idiocy leaks through the cracks with his dumb lines and a sly smile. And also because his positive personality traits are worth hanging around for.

Clyff will stand between those that he cares about and danger any day of the week. He’ll throw himself into battle, and beat the ever-living-shit out of anyone that bad mouths someone he cares about. He’ll also show up for your drunk, depressed call. He might call you an idiot, but he’ll make sure you’ll to head to bed with a better opinion of yourself. He’s also that guy you see at parties that bring their own fifth and finishes it in a night, not dying from it.

He’s the worst sort of person if you don’t know him, but he can be a genuine friend.

As a marine, he’s quick to throw himself into the fray. He’ll lead the marching order to protect others. His answer to most things is a gun, but only if they deserve it. If you point a gun at him, he’ll do the same to you. He loves explosions probably a bit too much, but he isn’t overly crazy with them. Mildly crazy--maybe. He wants to get in, do his job, and get out.

If he's underneath the command of someone, he's very verbose about what is going on. Still, he has enough military training to know when to shut up and go.

Reason for being awoken from Cryo (Specific jobs, skills, and Initiative Application):
Considering that one of Clyff’s major skills is riot suppression, he was brought in when the aggressions escalated, and Sloane Kelly led a team against the Nexus hierarchy.

Equipment:
Armor:
Jormangund Technology Heavy Hazard Armor


Weapon:
M-22 Eviscerator


M-15 Vindicator


Grenade

Powers:
    Fortification
    Proximity Grenade
    Incendiary Ammo
    Carnage
    Adrenaline Rush
    Concussive Shot
Font Colour: Marigold-ish; #B77600
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Name: Barda Smith
Alias: Big Barda
Age: 31
Personality: Stern, Disciplined, Stubborn, Poised, Unimpressible
Archetype: Alien

Powers:
Superhuman Strength: Can lift a car, can probably stop a tank, and can definitely punch someone into next week—or any variation thereof. She can’t lift a building, or course correct a jumbo jet. She can use it to jump particularly high to emulate low-level flying, but gravity is a cruel mistress.
Enhanced Durability: She’s not invulnerable, but she can take a hit. Blunt force is going to have to hit hard to affect her, and she can shrug off low-caliber bullets and most basic human weaponry.
Veteran Fighter: She knows how to fight as she’s been trained since she was a child. Not everything is throwing herself into the fray, well some of it is, and hoping for the best. She plans her attacks out and does her best to target weaknesses. She's also a top class swordswoman, even if her "sword" is a diminutive rod.
Mega Rod: A near-indestructible mace capable of shooting out concussive blasts. There’s a steep cooling period between each blast, meaning with the length of battles, she’ll probably only able to get one out.

Weaknesses:
Not Invulnerable: For someone that’s primarily a frontline fighter, she’s going to be eating a lot of damage. Her insides are not as tough as her outsides—and things will break down. She can be drowned, poisoned, irradiated and crushed. High-caliber bullets can also pierce her skin. Alien, mystical, supernatural, hyper-engineered blades can cut her. Also, enough pointed energy will burn through her.
Mega Rod: As this is her prime weapon, if it is knocked from her hand in battle—she’ll have to rely on hand-to-hand combat. And while a seasoned veteran, opponents with more complex fighting styles will have advantage over her. She’s quite good at grappling, but if she can’t get someone in her hold—then what’s the point.
Slow: Barda is tall, heavy, and clad in armor. Her reaction time to things is going to be slowed down by her size and gear. She’s more likely to take an attack than to dodge it—which doesn’t help when it comes to accruing damage.
PTSD: Having been put into war since she was basically a child, Barda has not come out one-hundred percent intact. She can be felled by a panic attack in situations that reflect when she was at her most vulnerable in combat. Or if she becomes overly frustrated.
Can’t Fly: Not really a weakness, just an inconvenience.

Appearance:
Standing at seven-feet, it’s hard to imagine something you would notice first if not her height. Maybe next would be her musculature, heavy and well-defined, an absolute terror to sleeves and the shoulders of clothing. Her skin is darker, but she’s ethnically ambiguous—as one would imagine from someone who didn’t grow up on Earth. Her black hair is thick and long, but she wears close to her head, not really having the patience or time to deal with stray locks interfering with her vision. Her nose is prominent—hooked and is only offset by the sweet curve of her deep colored eyes. Her lips are full but constantly twisted into an unimpressed smirk. Her body language says it all, arms crossed over chest, hip cocked to the side, and her foot tapping with impatience as humans ho-hum around her.

Outside of her armor, she’s fond of wife beaters, pants, and boots. Though not really one to dress up, she does like bits of gold jewelry and has a few piercings— pity the poor chump who had to do that. She’ll wear jackets if the weather accounts for it, but for the most part, her arms—and all their scars—are on display.

In her armor, she stands like a golden knight—hair twisted into an ornate and non-bulky headpiece. There’s not overly special about the armor beyond its alien designs and flare for red and blue woven into it. It’s bound to break down before she does, but it does add some oomph to her punches and allows her to take a little more damage than if she was unarmored.

Character Evolution:
This feels entirely tropey, but I would like for the character to gain empathy and sympathy. As it stands, she’s never reached her emotional core, in steep contrast with her comic book iteration. So, gaining understanding and acceptance is the largest evolution. A rivalry would be interesting, I think, as she takes her experience and expertise probably a bit too seriously. Romance? Well. As long as it happens naturally. And definitely, always, shenanigans.

BRIEF Bio:
Being a genetically-engineered super soldier whose sheer existence is to go into wars, is not where Barda likes to begin her story. But it is where the story begins. Waking up cold and alone in a vessel that wreaked of quietness and a deep-seeded hate, her mind thumped with thoughts of battle and a blood thirstiness for war. These were not thoughts that she placed there herself, she realized. It was a realization that not many of her sisters would ever have, and it would define her decision to leave.

It was hard to say if she was ever a baby, but she was a child. One that was rigorously trained from the moment she existed till she reached an age that she could be useful in battle. Every day she’d only see the inside of the sleek metal warship that ripped through space and challenged planets. She’d dream of what was outside. What the smell of air was. The taste of anything but her own blood and the odd paste that was fed to her on a daily basis. Wind? Earth? It was all she ever wanted. She quickly learned that dream was stupid.

Her first battle thrust her into a nightmare of a planet, dark and bleak with corpses strewn around like dead leaves. She hesitated, only for a moment, until the voice in the back of her head screamed: go! She didn’t know how many she killed that day—week, month, she was unsure—but she remembered cleaning herself and her armor—viscous blood hung on in clotted balls. These days went on for what felt like an eternity. An eternity of slowly climbing the ranks, of slowly leading her own team into the disaster that was their lives.

On a fateful day, less so for her team, they were decimated—purely and truly. Believed to be dead, Barda was left nearly crushed under the bodies of her sisters. When she pulled herself free, she stood there, alone, on a dead planet. For a second, she thought she was crying, but warm blood just streamed down her face. She understood the concept of crying, she’d seen her enemies do it. But, she was unable to feel it. There was something she was poignantly aware of though—pain and freedom in equal measure.

Barda won’t bore you with the story of how she survived and eventually exited the planet. But she will tsk under her breath about those poor smugglers. Eventually, she made her way to Earth. The ship was in shambles, along with her patience, as she brought it to the surface of the planet—in some open field. Poor field mice, but the humans were fine. She’d like to tell you that’s how she ended up where she was today. Unfortunately, it was a bit trickier than that. There was a whole bureaucratic process and rigorous interrogation she had go through to get her citizenship on a planet that she landed on. Earthers were not quite fond of people just showing up.

To be entirely honest, Barda had no interest in becoming a hero. She actually managed to live a few years in quietness until trouble rumbled to the surface in the form of a mugger. He pressed the gun to her back and demanded her money. She turned, and he threatened her again. Without really blinking, she ripped the gun from his hands and punched him into a wall. It was then that little voice in the back of her head started up again. It almost made her giddy with excitement. Muggers escalated to metahumans, then to murder robots, and then alien parasites, and then into an actual life of heroism. Tabloids referred to her as “Big Barda” which was rude—beyond rude, actually. She couldn’t help it if humans were so much smaller than she was. But it stuck as her moniker even if she lets out a long, furious sigh about it.

Notes:
- Owns lots of cats. Refuses to be called a “cat lady.”
- Works a gym part time, teaching basic cardio and strength building fighting styles, and trying not to crush her clients
- Lives in a suburb. Has attempted a casserole once.
- Enjoys talent competitions on the television, and doesn’t understand why elimination is not more violent.
- Has attempted to go on dates. Has never not been bored by them.
- Fails to understand the concept of “hobbies.”

Sample Post:
Battles were always waged on theaters of emotional and physical conquest. Sometimes the ringing in her ears would come back. Soft, like a bird call and then escalating into a shrill siren that consumed her entire psyche. It only came in moments of intense frustration or vulnerability. It’d been a long time since she’d had one of these attacks, her breath hitching in her lungs, and her eyes stinging. She’d had them during intense battles on Earth, and now in a hardware store.

The man in the blue vest kept asking her to clarify. “Do you mean this screw?” He held up one that was immensely smaller than what she needed.
“Longer,” she said, widening her fingers.
He went back to the bin and rummaged about, attempting to locate what she was looking for. He grabbed another one and held it up. “This one?”
“No.” Her voice was getting a bit loud with a low growl tapered to the end of it. “Are you listening? That’s the wrong hex. I’m trying to fix my faucet, not install drywall.” The fact that that knowledge bubbled to the top of her mind with the ease of how to snap a man’s neck was off-putting. But she did have a house now—a house with a leaky faucet.

The man sighed and went back to the bin for the fifth time. He started speaking under his breath as if she wasn’t close enough to hear him. It was a bit piecemeal, the growing static in the back of her head attempting to eclipse her ears. But she knew he’d uttered “bitch.”
Without a pause, she grabbed him by his blue vest and hoisted him upwards. He went limp, a shrill noise escaping from his lips—or maybe that was in her head—or maybe both. She pulled him up to meet his eyes. “What did you just call me?” she asked.
“Beautiful l-l-l-lady?” His voice hitched.
“No.”
“Y-y-you can’t do this. I’ll call security.”
“And you can explain to them about your level of incompetence and disrespect.” She leaned in. “I’ve squashed an entire person underneath my boot when I wasn’t angry. Would you like to see what happens when I am angry?”
The man vehemently shook his head.
“Good,” she said, dropping him. He landed in a puddle of shivering and more whining. “And you know what, I’m just going to buy a new faucet. I’ve grown tired of this place.”

With the awkward exchange of purchasing a piece of metal to siphon water for a swipe of a flimsy, plastic card—she’d broken nearly forty of them—Barda was the proud owner of a new faucet. As she passed the threshold of the store, exiting it to get back into her car, she suddenly wasn’t outside. No, she was back inside. But inside where?

It was quiet in there and empty. “Why is Earth like this? Why do the mundane and fantastical happen in such wide berths?” She exhaled, holding onto her sack as she wasn’t about to go back to the hardware store. Barda had no idea where she was. This was not a place familiar to her, and it wasn’t the sort she’d seen in a magazine or on the distraction box—television. “I demand to know who is responsible for this and ask that you undo it. I have a faucet to fix, and I’d rather not come back to an underwater kitchen. If I do…” She said into the void. Something tingled in the back of her mind. It wasn’t the growing anxiety of earlier, no, it was her intuition. There was something wrong about this place—very wrong.

She walked down the hall, figuring there was no other way than forward and made a turn. On high alert, she slowly rounded the corner. There was nothing there. Not even dust motes peppered the air. She walked further forward and gripped her bag with an intense focus. She didn’t have her Mega-Rod here, and damn if it wouldn’t be useful.

Finally in all that silence, except for her breathing, she entered an open room. It was there she realized where she’d been transported to, given all the trappings and a sign dictating where this was. This was the Justice League’s HQ. Her brows fell, and she exhaled. “This makes perfect sense,” she said—her voice deadpan and disgruntled.
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Well, good day to you, total and complete strangers. Welcome to my thread. As you can imagine this is themed around one and one fandom only, Mass Effect Dragon Age.I've unfortunately gotten lost AO3, and that has spurred a need like no other for a RP set in this universe. Please note, this will be entirely filled with OCs, alternate timelines, and possibly some content that isn't as romanticized as you think. Please read through all of this before hitting me up. Now onto the show~


Rules for Adventuring

There's nothing in here that is any different than the usual, but make sure that everything is copacetic. I won't be entirely inflexible with these, but I will not do what is listed under the "refuses to do" section.
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WHAT THIS RP IS ABOUT


YE OLDE BASICS


THINGS I ENJOY


THINGS I REFUSE TO DO


HOW TO CONTACT ME FOR RP


-- ♛ --
Disclaimer: If you are not interested in RPing the Dragon Age world, but would like RP something very similar, at least in character concept and dark fantasy worlds, feel free to message me as well. I figured this was the easiest way to get this RP off the ground, and I lose people during world-building (I can get intense with it.) But I'm game for possibly working that out.


The Story Thus Far

Here's where the history section is. It's meant to be brief, but to touch on things that will be prevalent in this RP. Please remember this is an AU that has loose ties to the main story. This is so we can make our own story.
-- ♛ --



I would like to tell you that heroes go on in greatness. I would like to tell you that they do not pause, that they do not slow, and they do not lose their valor, power, and comrades. I would like to tell you that. But time doesn't know exactly how to handle heroes. They peak and then they wane into obscurity. As long as they do not rear their head again in betrayal, anger or darkness, we remember the last great thing they do--we remember what they looked like in their youth and their victory. What we do not remember is what happens afterward. How the cost of a decision, that seemed so important at the time, settles on them. How they sink into the folds of a history book, only to be spoken of story or song.


♛ THE WARDEN


♛ THE CHAMPION


♛ THE INQUISITOR


-- ♛ --
Please make note not to click on the tab if you have not played the game or finished out the DLC, as some of the plots (one in particular) deal with an end scene that I don't want to be ruined for you.


The Characters

Here is where the characters are, and a brief blurb about whatever you wish to bring into the story. My characters' stories happen after the Inquisition, meaning some characters have aged, while others are younger (I tried to represent that in my portraits.) They'll exist in their own timeline separate from one another. Different variations of one of these characters dying and disappearing may happen in other storylines than their own. The current year is 9:45, 15 years after the Fifth Blight started.
-- ♛ --



♛ WARDEN COUSLAND


♛ CHAMPION HAWKE


♛ INQUISITOR LAVELLAN


♛ YOUR CHARACTER


-- ♛ --
While I'll look into a few things, I'm not negotiating the entire character for you. Just keep that in mind.
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