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- BlueBravado 11 yrs ago
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bump-bump bump *symbol crash*
I have returned after a lot of class and not a lot of fun. so... bump?
A group of high school kids formulate a suicide pact with a macabre twist; they will kill each other in a game. Everyone writes their name on a single piece of paper and signs in blood, for blood. Each one is given a dagger and on the designated day the game starts.
Each on gets a torn piece of the paper with someone else name on it, which they must carry. They seek and attempt to kill that person before they are killed in the fatal circle. Then they take their victims name and continue. Only one will die a winner.
This may be more of an arena-type event but that depends on the inclination of it's guests to make drama and dialogue, plus alliances and such.
I also see a few issues: metagaming (when people use things they know instead of what their character knows to play) could hinder secrecy. That can be fixed with posting to a third party moderator (yours truly).
People don't like to die. though that shouldn't matter when participating in a suicide pact. It could be moderated or players might just straight-up outsmart each other. I will make sure you're small environment is detailed. I also enjoy the fact that this story has an ultimate end, you don't see that very often!
Each on gets a torn piece of the paper with someone else name on it, which they must carry. They seek and attempt to kill that person before they are killed in the fatal circle. Then they take their victims name and continue. Only one will die a winner.
This may be more of an arena-type event but that depends on the inclination of it's guests to make drama and dialogue, plus alliances and such.
I also see a few issues: metagaming (when people use things they know instead of what their character knows to play) could hinder secrecy. That can be fixed with posting to a third party moderator (yours truly).
People don't like to die. though that shouldn't matter when participating in a suicide pact. It could be moderated or players might just straight-up outsmart each other. I will make sure you're small environment is detailed. I also enjoy the fact that this story has an ultimate end, you don't see that very often!
A decrepit semblance of a samurai limped down one of the streets of the crypt, it's body rattled with a hollow noise and its faulty action was closer to a marionette puppet than that of a warrior. If those brutes in the Yomi district would have been more prone to questioning, Trist might have been able to explain why he was lurking in the walls and shadows of their conspicuous gathering. He could've saved this quite interesting set of armor from anymore damage or wear, and he scorned himself for it now. Now it was barely being held together, causing his ridiculous gait, and the katana was left pinning some ghoul to the building through some still-intact ribs. The only benefit being a few new sharp collectibles rattling inside him. The ultimate result was a successful night. He remained unrecognized, as well as his client.
Sounds of familiar music and happy rambling reached out into the dark street just like the eerie light that escaped the doorway. Those sounds and smells were of a time he did not usually partake in as a spirit, which left him feeling bored as he glanced at headless minstrels, and even a headless juggler! Vania wasn't a far walk, even without the weightless norm that Trist had grown slightly more fond of. Just slightly. Not enough to trade for his old self. Never enough. Shaking off the thought, and almost his entire helmet, Trist looked forward to hanging this heavily-mustached mask on his wall. Next he was looking down, thanks to a leg lost unexpectedly. Fed up, he picked himself up and sat against a wall just around the corner of an alley, then detached from the hulk of metal hugging its own leg, and without a head.
Trist wasn't the mischievous type, but something compelled him. Maybe it was to break away from the constant and crushing solemnity of his job. Maybe he was answering the prayer of a rather unenthused pygmy. Maybe he just wanted a good laugh. He entered the tavern with little the notice that having silent steps and partial transparence brings. As nonchalantly as possible, he floated up and kept his back to the ceiling, eyed the barren shoulders of the skeleton under him, and dropped the helm for his empty cervical spine to catch. A prankster would've taken his leave, but Trist just glided onto an empty stool where the music was louder than the banter.
Sounds of familiar music and happy rambling reached out into the dark street just like the eerie light that escaped the doorway. Those sounds and smells were of a time he did not usually partake in as a spirit, which left him feeling bored as he glanced at headless minstrels, and even a headless juggler! Vania wasn't a far walk, even without the weightless norm that Trist had grown slightly more fond of. Just slightly. Not enough to trade for his old self. Never enough. Shaking off the thought, and almost his entire helmet, Trist looked forward to hanging this heavily-mustached mask on his wall. Next he was looking down, thanks to a leg lost unexpectedly. Fed up, he picked himself up and sat against a wall just around the corner of an alley, then detached from the hulk of metal hugging its own leg, and without a head.
Trist wasn't the mischievous type, but something compelled him. Maybe it was to break away from the constant and crushing solemnity of his job. Maybe he was answering the prayer of a rather unenthused pygmy. Maybe he just wanted a good laugh. He entered the tavern with little the notice that having silent steps and partial transparence brings. As nonchalantly as possible, he floated up and kept his back to the ceiling, eyed the barren shoulders of the skeleton under him, and dropped the helm for his empty cervical spine to catch. A prankster would've taken his leave, but Trist just glided onto an empty stool where the music was louder than the banter.
I seem to have been overlooked at the bottom of the first page. I would hate to miss out on the fun.
alright! I didn't miss the interest train! can't wait for the OOC!
Name: Trist Malis Bain
Species: Ghost
Gender: Male
Age: 200 (looks 18)
Occupation: Arsonist, Bookworm, exorcist (ironically), gambler, haunter-of-things, spy
Personality: Trist is a brooder, a thinker, a listener, and an otherwise observant fellow. His ego does not compel him to be the life of a party or to confront the rather attractive vampire or she-witch across the way. His humility does not make him a introvert though, as he is very inquisitive. His curiosity can sometimes leave his manners behind. At his best, he is a benevolent and brave partner in creating an amazing underworld. At his worst, he is a conniving and passive sociopath with no sympathy or remorse.
Bio: In life, Trist lived a commoner's life in the rustic south of France. When war enveloped Europe, He participated in a quickly smothered rebellion that saw no bright future. He died without ever being laid to rest, respectfully, in the heavy fires of man's rage. Though he died nameless, he set fire to everything in his wake after finding his comrades dead before him, and likes to think he did -at least- something in his short life. When he went from wandering a wasteland of a home to falling the great distance into the necropolis below, He set out to embrace his existence again.
Trist essentially needs nothing to survive anymore, and finds himself feeling a little more whole when he can feel the weight of presence in the physical plane. He inhabits an inconspicuous and small manor at the very edge of Vania. He finds the more well off are often in need of his services and more welcome to reimbursing him in the strangely necessary ways.
Stuff you often carry: To his dismay, Trist has no ability to remain in or possess anything with a tangible form. His ethereal appearance, in full, is of a man in only ragged cloth trousers that fray just below the knees. Instead, he takes to inanimate objects that are often humanoid for the comfort of belonging. One true-to-the-myth habit of his is to pick up knick-knacks along the way out of embrace of the physical realm and leaving them randomly displaced wherever and whenever he is no longer a part of it.
Type of magic, if any: As well as in the habit of ghostly possession and poltergeist-like telekinesis, Trist has adopted an affinity for fire. His pyromancy is not very powerful and generally only used to burn up any hollow body/object he wishes to discard.
Anything else? The smell of sulfur, smoke, or burning-or-burnt wood brings a smile to Trist's face without fail.
I would, but it looks like I will be temporarily inactive. maybe in two months I can come back with a more refined summary/intro and get the hype I want. Until then!
I am terribly sorry and sad that this almost got going. It is my fault. There is just to much going on for me to handle a universe let alone the other roleplays I WAS participating in. Most likely, I will be very inactive for the next two months. But maybe I will bring the idea back with avengeance. Again, my apologies. Happy travels~~~
:D
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