Bork Lazer

Wal Quest - Interactive Post Apocalyptic Quest

Second post is out. Keep in mind that this time you must vote for both choices this time. You may notice a write-in option. Keep in mind that when you propose a write-in action, it must be agreed upon by other voters in the thread in order to be considered.

Wal Quest - Interactive Post Apocalyptic Quest

[2] - “ Far from home, samurai? We’ll know who to look for if someone finds a headless body in town. Next! ”

[1] - “ Why would you travel to a backwater hole such as this, tron? Next!”

[1] - “ Don’t let your pet beast cause any trouble in town and we’ll get along just fine. Next!”

---

Narrowing your eyes at his flippant comment, you wait for him to sign off the rest of your papers. You swipe the package off the counter as you make your way towards the exit. Well, you would have but your hips bang into the turnstile. You push but it doesn’t budge. Sighing, you lean your shoulder into it until the rusty metal creaks and finally gives way, making you stumble as it allows you past.

A hideous smell breaks your line of thought, the eye-watering smog of burnt plastic and rubber leaving you gagging and coughing. You wipe away the tears and spot the source. A large inferno on one of the guard posts on the eastern entrance. You hear one guard rushing past you shout out something about “ Damned nevergrow!”. He whistles and a ten man group rushed behind him in formation, armed to the brim with grill gloves. The bright glow flickers and wavers in your entranced eyes, melting the acrylic into a bubbling froth. The embers whip wildly back and forth like kites under an air conditioned wind. The dance of orange and red is not new to you. It is something you are familiar with, the burning. It was inescapable during the Black Friday.

Memories rush forth like people’s craft was smote to ruins, all your efforts to protect and fight for your clan gone in a single war. You unclasp the honour badge from the sling that held your scabbard, the symbol that you dedicated your life towards in your hand. You saw………

Choose what you see.

[X] - A splintered shield lanced through by two color pencils in a criss cross.

You were a retainer of Clan Faber-Castell, one of the five founding clans of the Stationary Shogunate. As such, they wield considerable military and political power, having incorporated the territories of many minor clans in order to maintain their dominance. They are especially famous for their use of their pencil yaris, sharpening their wooden implements to a deadly degree.

[X] - An origami pinwheel flower.

You are a retainer of the Sakura Family. Sakura do not possess the army of samurai that most clans have but they are one of the very few clans that supply the Stationary Shogunate with their invaluable knowledge of Origami, the art of paper smithing that is considered legendary by other Departments in the Wal.

[X] - A paper crane folded out of sheet metal in a pool of black.

You are a mercenary of the decadent Crane and Co Clan. Although not a founding clan of the Stationary Shogunate, they are the most richest and preside over trade with other neighbouring departments. They favor the use of metallic stationary over the traditional paper stationary that most other clans use, believing that the Department’s strict adherence to tradition will be their downfall.

[X] - Smears of bright cherry pink awkwardly shaped into a smiley face.

You are what remains of Clan Smiggle. The smallest of the minor clans, what they make up for in size is their unquenchable optimism and code of justice that makes them a parallel of the Cereai. They are one of the many clans that favoured intervention of the Stationary Shogunate in the affairs of other more impoverished Departments. Shame that their approach led to their extinction in the last Black Friday. Now, the clans future rests on your shoulders.

Shaking your head, your eyes wander over something else in the distance. The namesake of the settlement looms over you, a humongous mass of detritus and artifacts from all corners of the Wal. The tales you heard from wanderers on your journey as well as your Sensei did not do it justice. The pile rested in a massive gyre rent in the superstructure of the Wal, cratered in the floor. Stockers floated errantly overhead like a cloud of flies over a dead body. You watch one to your right, floating just low enough to be visible. Your body freezes instinctively, even as you tell yourself that you and the rest of the settlement are far away from the Stockers senses, enough that it won’t trigger a security alert. It stops near the periphery of the pile, chute unfolding from its square belly. It only takes a second for the gush of expired garbage to unload before the stocker becomes a speck in the distance.

Enough fooling about. You have a package to deliver and the sooner you can get out of here, the better. The meeting place that your client provided was on the 2nd row of a Shelf downtown. You begin at a brisk pace, your sandals plodding in the trash littered ground. You settle at a pace that’s slow enough not to bring any attention onto enough but still fast enough to meet the demands of your schedule.

You take a right turn, past a street of roving Samplers, all grinning hungrily and wearing sandwich boards with slogans such as “ FREE TWINKIE KEBABS” and “ BUY NEW QUINT-A BATTERIES”. Unfortunately, you seem to have stumbled onto a large mass of people, huddled together as if they were weathering the cold. They were paying attention to a man on a stage, preaching brazenly to the crowd. He was dressed in the blue and yellow polo shirts and jeans that the Pre-Fall employees used to wear, his mannequin features contorted in a cold homely grin. Around his neck was a long sash woven from a dozen old ties but the most identifying feature of his character was the yellow smiley face on his face, the lines carved messily with a knife.

“ Refund your debts! Refund your debts before Smiley, my friends, and he will greet you at the Gates of Sliding with everlasting discounts!” The crowd was possessed, hanging onto every one of his words, before repeating “ Refund our debts” along with him. You roll your eyes. Great. A priest of the Smiling One. You thought your clan had wiped out those maniacs already. It seemed those lunatics were hardy like the blessed Nokias of the Electronics Department. No matter how many times you killed them, they always managed to put themselves back together at the end.

However, you’re not part of a clan anymore. You’re strictly here on business. Before you can walk away, one of their followers runs into you excitedly. He’s young, at the age where you’re smart enough to believe you’re independent and dumb enough to be impressionable. He’s adorned in the same uniform as the priest onstage.

“ You there, friend! Smiley blesses you with low prices! Please accept this as a token of his favor!”

He lifts out an old coupon punched through the top with a pipe cleaner, forming a makeshift necklace. It’s old and crunched up. You can read out the musty letters of ‘90 PERCENT OFF’ on the scratched surface.

Choose your action.

[X] - Accept the gift.

[X] - Politely refuse his gift.

[X] - Write in

Wal Quest - Interactive Post Apocalyptic Quest

Voting will close in 5 hours so anyone looking to participate in the quest should post as soon as possible!

Wal Quest - Interactive Post Apocalyptic Quest

Da Rulez

1) This is a quest. In order to participate, vote for an action in the OOC thread. This is done by copy-pasting the options you want to do from the IC into your post. For example, if there is an option in the IC post called "Eat Butter", simply post in the OOC thread the command below.

[X] - Eat butter.

2) There will be some write-in options depending on the situation. Write-in options essentially allow you to put forth your own action outside of the options the DM has provided for you.

3) Obey all of RPGO's rules.

4) Votes will be tallied up after a 48-72 hour period where the option with the most amount of votes gets picked.

5) Have fun.

Wal Quest - Interactive Post Apocalyptic Quest

Praise Be To Smiley, For He Protects Us

Praise Be to The Wal, For It Shelters Us

Praise Be To The Great Sam, For He Guides Us

The Wal is All, For We Are the Wal

The 20th Sermon of the Holy Wal Brochure

Location: The Information Desk , Bargain Bin

“Next!”

Finally, after what seems like hours of waiting, you’re at the top of the line. Your legs are pounding with fatigue, joints clicking together audibly from the long shopping trip you've endured. You know that the paved steps you walk are consecrated with the blood of a hundred aislers who were not as lucky as you were. Hopefully, the payment will make up for all the pain you’ve suffered on this journey. The double layered cardboard thrums uncomfortably in your arms, making it all the more tempting to open it up and find out exactly what the hell your client asked you to ferry all the way from the Triple Bleach Mop Up.

“Next!”

You step forth, the wide-shouldered guards letting you pass. The package clangs on top of the cherry red plastic counter. The inspector, a matchstick thin man wearing an oversized Sports Jersey, gives you the stink eye and examines the documents you pass over to him.

“ Hmmm…..” The border inspector takes a closer look at you, eyes squinted. “ You’re a strange sight around here. Not like these other aislers, aren’t you?”

He makes one single comment as he rifles through your identity pamphlets, making only one cursory comment.

Choose one of the four backgrounds below.

[X] - “ Don’t let your pet beast cause any trouble in town and we’ll get along just fine. Next!”

You are a Pet-Master of Pets and Animals. Beside you is your ever-faithful Pet, a loyal beast that you have held a strong bond with ever since you were born. Many denizens of the Wal look down upon you partly due to stigmatisation of those in the Pets Departments as feral, uncivilized monsters.

[X] - “ Why would you travel to a backwater hole such as this, tron? Next!”

You are an acolyte of the enigmatic Tronic Temple, otherwise known by the rest of the Wal as trons. Trons are cyber-enhanced technophilic analogues and rival the Books Department in terms of their academic prestige. You have studied all your life to understand the technological wonders of the Wal and guarded these secrets dogmatically. Many raiders would be keen to use your knowledge of the inner workings of the Wal for their own advantage.

[X] - “ Far from home, samurai? We’ll know who to look for if someone finds a headless body in town. Next! ”

You are a wandering paper ronin of the Stationary Shogunate. Your clan that you owed your allegiance was wiped out during the last battle between your nation and the Clothing Dynasties. Clad in an unbreakable suit of paper mache, your combat skills with your office utensil of choice is second to none and your will is indomitable as stainless steel. Most inhabitants of the Wal find you completely unbearable due to your antiquated sense of honor.

[X] - “ Oh my - it's - I didn't expect one of you - I mean, I'm just the biggest. MayIhaveyourautograph,please? May Sam bless you with discounts on your travels, sir knight. Next! ”

You are a Cereai, a religious paladin of balanced diet and honorable nutrition. Your kind is known using their hardened blades of sugar and holy powers blessed onto you by your Mascot of worship to help the innocent, nourish the obese and maintain dietary harmony in the Wal. Most Cereai are known throughout the Wal for their feats of altruism and so, you will always be harassed by passersby for help.

One Universe: World Of Heroes - A Marvel & DC Comics RPG

This feels like I'm pussing out too early but I feel like at the moment, I'm not coming up with any thing for this RP. Along with the fact that university work is coming down on my head like a meteor swarm and it's safe to say that I no longer feel comfortable pursuing Static anymore.

It was fun while I tried but I don't think I can keep it up. Sorry for disappointing anyone.

Straits of Steel (A South East Asian Cyberpunk Thriller)

Hey guys, I'm not giving up on this RP yet. I know most of you are busy but I'm still looking for one or two more posts before I move onto the next scene.

@Opposition@silvermist1116@vietmyke@Shiva

Please tell me whether or not you all are still interested so I can make a decision on whether or not I need to do a new interest check to recruit more new posters for the RP.

NEOTOKYO - Cyberfuture RP [Now with underground political chaos!]

One Universe: World Of Heroes - A Marvel & DC Comics RPG

The first thing he smells is the damp air, flecked with sea salt. No, not here, not again. Standing on the ports of Paris Island. Two words being repeated at him over and over against the backdrop of a stolen generation chanting on the beach.

“ Shoot him!”

It’s not the sight of blood that scares Virgil. Violence is a constant of Dakota that you have to get used to. That’s what everyone, from his neighbours to his math teachers to the old janitor who used to clean his locker every afternoon, tells him. He doesn’t agree.

The gun trembles in his hand. He’s not scared of the blood.

It’s how easy it is to use it. The lack of effort. That all it takes is a squeeze of a trigger to kill. The mechanical nature of it which makes him queasy.

“ Shoot him, Virgil!”

“ I can’t.” He drops the gun, tossing it away. “ I can’t.” He keeps saying it until his throat grows hoarse.

Chaos suddenly erupts around him. The sound of the gun is distinct above the rage of 250 high schoolers. They parts like a panicked herd of animals, the choppy beat of helicopter blades above cawing like ravens. All Virgil can do is choke on the fog and fall deep into the cold water. He is burning and one question comes to his mind.

How did it all go wrong so fast?

---

The sound of swearing and a fist clanging wildly against metal awoke Virgil from his daydream. He lifted his head up from his crossed arms that were laid on the bar.

“ KZZZZTTTT - well, that’s what I’m tellin’ ya, Rubberband. It’s crazy how shit turned sideways this week. They’re already blockading the I-80 to Dakota ‘cause of this shit at Paris Island - KZZZZZZZZTTTTTTT”

Dakota City was entering the cusp of winter now, windows frosted white and the sky tinged a dour grey. He’d been patrolling non-step for several hours along Hemingway’s Port Trail before taking a turn on 42nd Malcolm to recharge at Grant’s.

Grant’s was one of Dakota City’s beating hearts. Its weathered brick walls, amber windows and marbled floors were ossified into the urban concrete of the city like fossils. Virgil still found it hard to believe that Morrison Grant had turned 84 years old last week. He looked barely a day past 50. Every time he went into the diner before the Paris Island incident, Grant was always there, serving coffee, his signature griddle cakes and overeasies.

It was now disturbingly empty on a Monday afternoon where at least half of the tables would be filled and a line of hungry customers would be waiting outside. Dust sat on the linoleum seats. Ceiling fans chattered. Now, it was only him and Grant.

“ You alright there, son?” The diner owner stopped wiping a dish and looked at him with slight concern “ It’s not wise to come out all this way, Kilowatt Kid, especially now that DCPD’s keeping an eye out for you. ”

“What and miss the chance to meet my biggest fans?” Virgil groused sarcastically before taking a sip of his latte. The familiar rush of caffeine tingles through his fingertips. Absorbing juice from a generator couldn’t beat the taste of Grant’s black brews. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a document left on top of the cafe counter while Grant has his back turned to him, rifling for something in the cupboard. He leans over to look at it. He makes out two words - Eviction - and - Warning - before a leathery hand snatched it away from his prying eyes.

“ What was that?”

“ Nothing you need to concern yourself with, son.” The old man signed as Virgil gave him a glare of disbelief. “ You don’t need to fight every battle, son. There’s some things you can’t put in cuffs.”

“ You’re not closing down, are y-?”

“ Relax, son. It hasn’t come to that yet.” Grant chuckled before frowning. “ But, with the rates the city council’s been pushing, I’ve been diving into my retirement savings to stick around.” He looked wistfully at the old grandfather clock that sat in the corner of the restaurant and gave a little laugh. “ I’ve been living on borrowed time anyway. Everyone I knew moved out of this neighborhood and every customer I wave to and smile at is a stranger to me.” His grip on the dish towel grows tighter and Virgil sees his eyes almost become hollow. “ I gave Dakota everything I had, yet, this is how I get repaid.”

His dark expression washes away in a moment’s notice, replaced with a worn smile. “ That’s enough from me. You want a refill?”

“ Nah, man.” Virgil shook his head. “ Just give me a mocha to go - ”

The front door banged open, the bell knocked off its hinge as Virgil heard the click of receivers. Dumbass 1, 2 and 3 had decided to ruin his afternoon break by robbing a nearly empty cafe. Great. The ski masks were fitted loosely over their heads. Hell, the one standing to the right had decided his get up wasn’t intimidating enough and decided to wear a pair of bright neon scuba goggles to complete the ensemble. The one in the front of the trio waved his pistol in the air like a conductor's baton.

“ Everyone, get your wallets - “ He choked on his last words as he looked wide-eyed at Grant and Virgil who were staring daggers at him. His feet began straying backwards, stumbling slightly, as the fluorescent lights quavered above him. “ I’ll just - uh - well -”

“ How long will it take?” Virgil asked Grant calmly.

“ About two to three minutes.” Grant spoke nonchalantly. “ Don’t make too much of a mess.”

Virgil slipped off the counter stool and let a spark lazily click between his fingers. The robbers looked between themselves, holding onto their guns like life buoys, unsure of what to do next.

“ So……...” Virgil slowly drawled. “ Which one of you wants to pay for my coffee?”

One Universe: World Of Heroes - A Marvel & DC Comics RPG

THE DAKOTA TRIBUNE

NEW MAYOR PROMISES CRACKDOWN ON METAHUMAN GANGS - NEW BANG BABY VIGILANTE ON THE RISE

September 20th, 2019 - By Augustus Freeman

As tensions continue to rise between law enforcement and metahuman rights protestors, mayor-elect Thomasin Jefferson criticized the movement during an live interview with Dakota National, dismissing the allegations made towards her as nothing more than “ irrational tomfoolery.”

“ I do not hate these protestors. I pity them. The liberal media has deluded them into becoming hateful extremists without a shred of reason or empathy.The metahuman threat is here and it is present. These so-called Bang Babies are actively disrupting our way of life and pose a danger to all our fellow Dakotans. As your mayor, I will not let these metahumans or their misguided supporters turn this great city into their personal playground. Therefore, I will be introducing new measures to give our law enforcement greater powers to combat this threat. “

These statements are reflective of the promises to voters that Mayor Jefferson made during his campaign for office in February. Earlier this week, Mayor Jefferson introduced strict martial law orders in an attempt to contain the spread of contaminants from the Paris Island Exclusion Zone.

Robert Hawkins, the owner of Freeman Community Center, spoke out visibly whilst attending a public protest at Dakota Town Hall.

“ We are living through the worst economic recession this city has faced. I see homeless preschoolers walking by Hemingway. Rents are becoming more absurd. Drugs are flooding our neighborhoods. Just last week, the Daily Planet reported that what happened in the bay two weeks ago was one of the worst environmental disasters this country has ever experienced in the last 40 years. Yet, how does our mayor assure the public? He wants to wage a war that doesn’t need to happen.”

As public officials attempt to make sense of this crisis, others try to solve it through unconventional means. Reports of the metahuman vigilante, Static, are on the rise with more than a dozen arrests attributed to his activities. DCPD Chief Hartley issued an official warning to the vigilante during a press conference on current metahuman activity in Dakota City.

“ I don’t care what his intentions are. As far as I’m concerned, he’s interfering with the ability of law enforcement and is proving uncooperative so far. I have only one word for Static. Cease immediately or we will be forced to escalate.”

[cont on Page 9]

---

“ Get a load of this, Rich.” Virgil’s temple pulses with a headache as he scrolls through the newspage. “ Uncooperative? Last night, they were getting ready to cuff me while I was stopping some guy from cracking open an ATM! ”

“ Stop whining.” A nasally voice replied back. “ You’re lucky that you’re here speaking to me instead of sitting inside a cell.”

Virgil lifted up the hem of his shirt and looked down at the purple splotches lining his belly. He was more than lucky. The police could take their non-lethal and shove it up their asses. He took the pack of ice off the table and rested it against his stomach, wincing as the chill subsided the throbbing pain.

“ How’s the new costume that I made working out for you?”

“ That we made.” Virgil said haughtily. “ I gave a few pointers on the aesthetic.”

“ Right. I’m the one who made sure you don’t become a walking fire hazard everytime you shit out lightning.”

“ Wouldn’t mind it being more bulletproof, though.” Virgil moved the ice pack and hissed at the stab of pain, biting his tongue to make sure it wasn’t too loud. “ Cops are getting more trigger happy these days. ”

“ My allowance doesn’t compensate for kevlar plating. As for the fuzz, you’re just going to have to be more careful around them. ”

“ Careful? They shouldn’t even be allowed to do things like this in the first place.”

“ Tough talk coming from the vigilante.”

“ Which one of us gassed a bunch of middle schoolers first?”

Richie stayed quiet for a while before speaking back up, this time more softly.

“ Look, V. I get what you’re trying to do but… this is just the way things are nowadays. Look on the bright side. It could be a lot worse.”

“ It could be a lot better.” Virgil retorted back. He clicked the mouse and the news site disappeared from view. “ Are you still on top of that thing we discussed ‘bout?”

“ Well, trawling through hundreds of shipping manifests isn’t what I’d imagine doing for you for a Monday evening.” There was an audible sign on the other side of the line. “ But if it makes you happy…..”

“ I’ll pay you back with a midnight showing of Destructer Man IV. Swear on my soul. “

“ The things I do for you….” Richie grumbled “ Fine. Make it the front row. We’re also getting caramel popcorn.”

Virgil stuck out a tongue in disgust. He didn’t know how the hell Richie could consume the stuff. Maybe he was from another planet.

“ Deal.”

The line shut off and Virgil laxed back on his recliner, stretching out his arms. It was 10 pm and Dakota’s winter was in full force, even when his heater was on and chugging on electricity like a competitive eater. The wind howled relentlessly outside through the boroughs, the last autumn leaves dancing in the gales. Virgil just stared up at the ceiling all the while, ice pack glued to his gut.

What to do now?

He looked at the yellow goggles hanging off the open drawer. He lifted his arm over it, fingers splayed out, charge pooling in his palm. They snapped off with a rubbery twang and flew towards his open hand as if guided on invisible strings. He caught them and wriggled them over his forehead.

Time to go back to work.