BurningCold

S t i l l A l i v e

This seems like a really cool concept, if I might ask a few questions?

While the concept and premise is interesting, how much direction are players going to be given? I find that without at least some input from the GM, RPs tend to fizzle out quickly.
To clarify, what are the exact differences between Fully Automated AI and Hybrid AI?

The Elder Scrolls: Oblivion - Crimson Skies

As the daedra poured into the room, snarling and scraping as they went, Adamiir had what he believed to be a stroke of genius. It really wasn’t every day that such good fortune was made so readily available. Indeed, to be quite accurate, this kind of fortune was likely centuries old, if ever it existed at all. Looking at nobody in particular, a wide smile began to slowly creep its way onto Adamiir’s face. Quite an unsightly thing indeed. Fixing his gaze on the largest churl in the room, a hulking, cruel looking behemoth, Adamiir took a single step forward. The churl took a step back. The manic smile only widened as the breton took another step forward, before strolling towards the dremora at a leisurely pace. The churl found itself momentarily glued to place, as combat erupted around it. When the skinny monster showed no signs of stopping its advance, the churl dropped its weapon in fright and fled out of the room, into the hallway it arrived from.

“My companions,” Adamiir called out as he began to sprint after the churl. “I will return-” And then no longer could the group hear him, his voice growing fainter as he sped away from the melee. Veeza spared no glance for the eccentric breton, though part of him was starting to regret having saved the spellcaster. Mad or cowardly, his absence in the current fight was all the same. Veeza shook his head, snorting, choosing instead to turn his attention to the problems he could still do something about. Namely, the scamp that had gotten between him and the demonic mage he’d been initially targeting. Already he was feeling the costs of this exchange, the scamps claws unfortunately proficient at finding the little gaps between the pieces of his armor. Snorting again, forked tongue slipping from his mouth to lick the blood from a split on his lip, Veeza and the scamp clashed together once more.

Seizing the scamp’s neck with both hands, Veeza lifted the creature off the ground, and began to squeeze. A hellish shriek ripped from the scamp’s throat as it began to thrash about, to no significant effect. Then, there was a loud crack, and Veeza dropped the corpse to the ground, breathing heavily.

Adamiir looked down at the naked dremora before him thoughtfully. Getting the big red corpse out of its armor had been a frustratingly arduous process, but at last it was done. Sparing a glance for the steel knife that had found itself embedded in the back of the churl’s neck at the start of this process, the shiny thing still coated in a thick, blackish red bile, Adamiir knelt down close to the corpse. Positioning the knife over the dremora’s heart, he began to work, humming softly.

Devil's Runners

Glassy eyed, rarely blinking, mouth parted slightly, and hands folded across his chest, Flamel lay. His mind, however, flew. It wandered from place to place, attention flitting uncontrollably, as if everything the world had and still offered was unworthy of its attention. It went to the post, and it saw its body begin to smoke, then burst into flame. It saw the first person Konstantin killed, before the world went to hell. It saw the blood pooling around him, never stopping, filling the room and threatening to drown him. It saw Rue, toiling over the chemistry bench. Konstantin walking over, inquiring as to her progress, trying a smile, and not having it come out quite right. His mind barely had time to see Rue’s lips start to form a reply before drifting away. It saw Klaus and Kian, talking weapons again. Two of the three, maybe four people Konstantin could consider close to a friend. It saw Konstantin resting on a couch, sleeve rolled up, easing a syringe close to a vein, eyes locked onto Sidney’s back. Waiting for her to turn around with a harsh glare, or a more vocal form of disapproval. The mind wandered away once again, and found itself staring out of Flamel’s eyes.

A thin trickle of air escaping from his mouth as he sighed, Flamel began to drum his fingers atop his chest, eyes still fixated on the ceiling, wide open. Whirlwind, another specialty of Flamel’s, was nothing like its meeker counterpart, Breeze. While the latter numbed the senses, and one’s mental faculties at higher dosages, Whirlwind was a far more intense experience. Flamel began to massage his eyes gently, shifting into a sitting position. He looked around in mild surprise as a loud clang of steel bounced around the compound, his ears as uncoordinated as the rest of his body.

"Wake up you lazy bunch. We've got work to do! You have 5 minutes to get ready for briefing." Flamel sighed once more, and hurriedly donned what little of his gear he wasn’t already wearing. Hood down and mask hanging loosely around the neck, Flamel tumbled out from behind the dividers that blocked his personal space from view.

Eyes locked carefully on Loki as he staggered forward, he called out to her. “Morning Ashur, I mean, Loki. Good morning Loki. Is what I mean.” Peering at Loki’s wristwatch, his eyes narrowed. “What time is it? Hard to make out from this distance.” Flamel coughed, once. “I mean, to be fair. Fair to me, that is. To be fair to me, most things are hard to make out right now.”

Devil's Runners

@SilverDawnAn interesting perspective. You bring up a lot of good points. Any advice so that I can become as well spoken as you?

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Devil's Runners

@6slyboy6 Well, as I told you before, I'm sticking around as long as this RP does.

Devil's Runners

"Flamel"

"Flamel"



"Do you ever wonder how much gasoline it would take to cover the entire planet in flames? I'm still working out the logistics."

Name: Konstantin Prohászka

Nickname: Flamel

Age: 22

Behind the Mask

Konstantin stands at five foot nine, on the shorter side for males, but not egregiously short. He’s a skinny fellow with a bit of tone to his body, but no significant muscle buildup.

Personality:

Ⅰ Morbid- Corpses and carnage, the thin red line that tails behind a carefully guided knife, crimson spreads over blank canvases. It’s all so… intoxicating.
Ⅱ Anxious- Everyone frets over some things… some fret over everything.
Ⅲ Compassionate- Friends are rare commodities, real friends are the most precious of gems.

Background:
Let me tell you a story… alright? I don’t ever want to do this again. So. Listen closely. Or, read, I suppose. Read closely? Right. So. It was just me and my mother at the start, before the crazy shit started to go down. Not that my whole life wasn’t full of crazy shit from the start. Here’s some context about my relationship with my mother, and my phobia. I’ve got a disease called Porphyria cutanea tarda. Basically, sunlight messes me up. Fucks up my skin. She’d tie me to a post outside during the day, if I did something she wasn’t a fan of. Yeah. I didn’t grow up in a nice part of town. Nowadays, nothing is really that nice, and towns barely exist anymore. Still, nobody looks at me funny when I walk around outside in full protective gear. Nobody tries to tie me to a post.

Anyways. Despite being a bitch of a mother, Csenge knew how to sell her shit. That shit being drugs. It’s the stupidest thing, I swear. She discovered I had a natural knack for chemistry, a genuine interest in the stuff. So she’s making this fucking kid brew her drugs for her, and then she’s selling them off as her own. That’s so nuts, isn’t it? She didn’t leave me much time to socialize with other people, or have any time to myself. We must always have a surplus available, she said. Always hovering over me. Watching me.

The drugs I could almost handle. I’m enabling addictions that already exist, I would tell myself. I’m not really hurting anyone that wouldn’t have gotten their fix elsewhere. Plus, it helps keep a roof over my head. But then, it’s not just drugs. She wants me to try making other stuff. Dangerous things. More dangerous than drugs, anyways. Higher risk, she said. Higher reward, she said. Lots of buyers. Turns out I couldn’t help myself, I was too damn good at my job. Now I won’t lie. There was always a tingle of excitement when I was working. Always a feeling of perverse curiosity. I wondered who was going to be using the product, and who would be receiving it.

I got out of that shithole eventually. Chemistry scholarship. I know, hilarious. I did my best to be a good student, maths and sciences came easy to me, and the rest was simple enough. About three good years at college before everything started going to shit. It all went weird during a break, which was convenient. I started going back to work for Csenge during long breaks after my first year. This time I was getting paid. That was how I developed an addiction to my own shit, and how she kept getting me to come back.

Well, neither of us were terribly stupid, we knew we had to get to somewhere safe. So I injected her with like five syringes of some homebrew shit she was trying to make while I was away, and made off with whatever I could carry. That’s how I survived, and how she didn’t.

Different times now. Working with the Devil’s Runners, I mostly stick to cooking up weapons, with a bit of fun stuff on the side. I share, whenever anyone asks. Not that they do. Can’t even say that here, that’d make me a bad dealer. They call me Flamel. Humor isn’t dead yet. Well, these people are alright. I’ve got no idea how I’ve stuck with them this long. No idea how long it’s going to last either.

-Me, Konstantin Prohászka, Flamel

Pros:

Ⅰ Swift and Sneaky- Silent as the grave, fast as the wind
Ⅱ Chemist- Double, double toil and trouble…
Ⅲ Pitcher’s Arm- ...something wicked this way comes

Quirks:

Ⅰ Cowardly- When faced with fight or flight, what would you do? Would you stand your ground? Would you run like hell? Why? For some people it’s a reflex. An instinct. Asking a man like that why he flees is like asking a bird why it flies.
Ⅱ Heliophobia- Some people are afraid of spiders. Some are afraid of vegetables. A flaming ball in the sky is hardly absurd.

Habits:

Ⅰ Chem Addict- Addiction isn’t so silent or insidious a killer as you might think. Some would attest that it gives them new life.
Ⅱ Fidgety- Twitch. Twitch. Tap tap tap. Shuffle. Shuffle shuffle. Tap tap. Twitch.

Equipment:

Ⅰ Gas Mask- Everyone has one. Not everyone has one like Konstantin’s. Though nothing special, it’s rigged up to administer trace amounts of a vaporous drug Konstantin dubbed “Breeze” -due to its numbing effects on brain and body, essentially allowing the consumer to “float” for a time- when needed.
Ⅱ Flare Gun- Fires signal flares. Generally useful in dark places.
Ⅲ The Fun Bag- A custom tailored satchel designed to store chemical weaponry. Corrosive acid that can eat through flesh and other delightful features that burn, maim, or otherwise dismember can be found within. Carefully padded in order to avoid any unpleasant accidents. Worn over the shoulder, also clips onto Konstantin’s coat for added security.
Ⅳ Switchblade- Good for surprise attacks and torture.
Ⅴ Waster’s Rags- A sturdy, albeit thrown together mess of cloth and leather that offers protection from the elements and mild blunt trauma, and is the only thing allowing Konstantin to be outside during daylight hours. Lots of pockets.

Relationships:

Ⅰ Loki- "Pretty girl. Mean, too, like you'd never believe. You should see her in a fight though. More beautiful than anything I'd ever seen. Her, and her art."
Ⅱ Speed- "It's nice to know that someone out there cares to watch your back. Also, not that I'd ever break my confidentiality rule... but Speed likes to try new things. We hang out sometimes."
Ⅲ Newt- "I like her more than I'd admit. Not terribly respectful, but who else am I going to talk chemistry with? Working on a project with her, it feels nice. Usually. Pretty too."
Ⅳ Teach- "I don't really think he likes me. Most times when he opens his mouth it's criticism. I don't really think I like him either."
Ⅴ Boomer- "While I commend her talent with explosives, she doesn't seem to have a high opinion of me. I can't bring myself to dislike an artist like her though. So I'll admire from the sidelines."
Ⅵ Deadeye- "He's nice. Really nice, actually. He doesn't pick on me. He doesn't treat me like I'm any more or less than what I am."
Ⅶ Doc- "I've got a lot of scars on my body. Some are from him, most are from myself. So no harm done there. You'd think that was a pun, but if I need serious treatment from him I make sure I'm high as a kite. No harm done."
Ⅷ Vadri- "It's strange that she doesn't have a nickname. I always thought it was compulsory, and then she showed up. Well, showed up and survived. I should say though, she's nice."
Ⅸ Grim- "I was there when we found him. I'm not saying I want anything bad to happen to him. I'm not. But it would have been okay to leave him where we found him. It would have been okay if I had the chance to carve him a few new wounds. I was going to, you know. I found him first. Then the others found me. Maybe Newt saw my intent. Maybe Loki. Maybe everyone else too. Not him though, thank God."

Devil's Runners

@6slyboy6 Do the Runners have any sort of central base? Mobile or stationary?

Devil's Runners

@6slyboy6 As I suspected, it makes sense. Might I PM you the concept I had for my character? As I'm not certain if it'll still work given the enlightening context.

Devil's Runners

@6slyboy6 Isn't it possible that our Runner came from offworld and joined up to help? Maybe trade some physical fortitude and experience for higher tech, maybe more specialized roles? Unless of course it's a balancing concern as to why certain gear isn't allowed.

EDIT: Or is it that outside help is impossible due to the events that lead to the planet's desecration in the first place?

Devil's Runners

This seems pretty neat. I've only got three RPs currently and my interest in writing has increased triple fold recently. Got room for another? @6slyboy6