Decadent

Above the Wastes - A Mad Max RP with airships

I too am having technical difficulties with Discord, but I think it's a great idea for an RP! Reminds me of one of my favorite childhood books, Airborn. I've got years of airship fantasies rattling around in my brain.

Black Powder Arcana

Dakota Crow

Name: Dakota Crow

Age: 28

Description: A morose Apache without a family who lives a quiet fruitless life of self-punishment for his actions of the past, with the tendency to become manic around fire.

Appearance: Dakota is an Apache, as is apparent by his olive skin, coarse black hair that falls down to his shoulders, and eyes so brown they seem tinged with gray. There is a fierce, yet miserable look about Dakota. His skin is stretched tight over his skull, emphasizing an already broad forehead, cheekbones, and jaw. He stands tall at 6’3, but generally carries himself in an unhappy slump, rounding his shoulders and letting his arms hang low. His body is lean and hard, and before their deaths his tribemates had nicknamed him “butte” because they joked the spirits of the wind had chiseled his wiry body like they carved out the massive rocks in the desert. Dakota does not dress in the traditional clothing of his tribe anymore. Instead he has adopted the attire of the white man. He typically wears a pair of brown or tan chaps, a breezy white cotton shirt tucked in neatly, and a black cowboy hat with a single gray feather that is threaded once flatly against the brim.

Bio:
Living day by day. Growing and thriving under the arid sun. Enjoying his family, his tribe. Learning not just English from his intelligent father, but crafts valued by both Apache and White Man. Dakota enjoyed his life, all up until the point that he killed everyone he knew and loved.

His obsession.

Dakota played with fire. If anyone knew, they would say he was obsessed. They would say he was a maniac. Whether he was cradling a small ember in the palm of his hand (embracing the blister of pain that came with it), or setting blaze to a dry thicket that expanded for dozens of acres (something he’d done more than once), he was fascinated by it. It’s warmth, it’s light, it’s constant hunger. Dakota related to the fire on every level. He even loved it. Eventually it consumed him, like it does everything else; he couldn’t bear to part with it. Every time the flame went out, he too would feel extinguished. At least, until the next time he got to reignite.

The ritual was inside of their largest tee-pee. To celebrate and thank the spirits for a good harvest, the entire tribe packed inside to perform a twelve hour sweat. Nearing the end, when the humidity was at it’s worst, the entire tribe close to breaking their mescalito enchantment, and when the fire was running at it’s lowest, was when it happened.

Dakota didn’t want to see the flame go out. He couldn’t bear the ensuing darkness or the chill that followed. He’d just been passed the vat of mescaline, and a long draught of it increased his mind numbing fear of losing the fire. There was one more log by the fire pit. He reached for it when his father, the eldest member of the tribe, grabbed his arm. He had a look in his eyes. Disappointment, and fear.

In that second, Dakota was aware that his father knew, and his own fear spiked even further. He pulled away from his father, who tightened his grip. Dakota tried to throw the log into the fire. Somewhere in the struggle the vat of mescaline tipped.

The oil seeped down towards the pit, and the brightest most beautiful flame Dakota had ever seen erupted within the teepee.

It had left him unscathed. It reduced the teepee to cinders, and the bodies to ashes, but the fire had spared him. The beast had chosen not to bite the hand that fed it. He sat for hours under the moonlight and among the smoldering remains until the last flickering flame died. When he stood, he realized he was not alone.

There was a man; or something that resembled a man. The thing wore all black, and stood tall amid the smoke, he seemed to bask in the fumes. Dakota thought it must’ve been the mescalito, but the man’s eyes shined yellow, like the front light on a distant train. His face was shrouded in darkness. The moonlight didn’t seem to touch him.

“You now live a cursed life, Dakota Crow. Only one path can lead you to peace.”

In the months and years that followed that fateful night, Dakota left his Apache heritage behind, and joined in with settlers’ society. He carried his curse with him wherever he went, and never stuck around in any town for too long. Three years had passed since the loss of his tribe when he came across Ulysses. The man in black, and the words he had spoken that night never strayed far from Dakota’s thoughts. Upon cresting a mesa and first catching sight of Ulysses, Dakota had lit a match and heard the fire speak. “Path to Peace” This is where he is today.

Other: Since that fateful night, Dakota has had a strange relationship with fire. Anytime he’s near a flame, big or small, it becomes a manifestation of his dead tribe. They’re not particularly happy with Dakota, but neither do they hate him. The tribe can influence the world in a variety of ways through an open flame. They can cause it to immediately extinguish, something they did to Dakota on many cold nights during his three years as a nomad. They can grow it and spread it if there’s available fuel nearby. They can speak through the flames to him. And once, when he came across a burning stagecoach, the fire spat out his father, who followed Dakota for over a mile, clubbing the back of his head and spitting insults. Dakota presumed he’d finally disappeared because the fire at the stagecoach had gone out. He has accepted being cursed, and carries matches with him wherever he goes. He considers it his penance, and the tribe eagerly agrees with him.

Black Powder Arcana

I like the idea of this one! Working on a CS now. Can the glowy-eyed man in black evil guy make a guest appearance in my character's history? I'm still piddling around with ideas here, but my character will essentially be a Native American who's responsible for the deaths of his entire tribe, and is now quite literally haunted by their spirits.

Shadows in the Dread City- A Cyberpunk RolePlay

Mike stepped off the hover-train and into the terminal. Osi-Corp had built a train system to link the many districts of Arcadia during it’s first few years of explosive growth. The hover-train had been envisoned as the golden standard in easing transportation problems that are so common in mega-cities. Now, years later, the hover-train system is more akin to a mosquito. It carries the vagrants, criminals, the worst of Arcadia, and makes sure that every district gets infected by it.

The terminal in Ghajotia was, in Mike’s opinion, one of the least hospitable dwellings on Mars. Because it had become just that: a dwelling. Hundreds of impoverished who couldn’t afford shelter had set up cardboard or cloth huts against the slick concrete walls of the dying terminal. Most of the terminal was blanketed in twilight, with a few dozen small pockets of light coming from old halogen light bulbs of the that could still emit some photons. It seemed the well lit areas were valuable real estate, cardboard homes clustered around them like tiny neighborhoods. The almost metallic odor of Trance weighed heavily in the darker areas. Mike hurried through as quickly as he could.

He finally rounded a corner. A security checkpoint lay between him and a set of stairs that led up towards the neon glow of Arcadia’s skyline. Since Osi-Corp did technically still run the hover-train, they charged an incredibly small fee for usage. The point wasn’t the fee, but the checkpoints. Users of the hover-train had to pass through a security gate and present their badge to be scanned. Osi-Corp didn’t care about the tiny sum they earned from this transaction, it was their method of monitoring Arcadia’s lowest class. The people who couldn’t afford to not take the hover-train or live in the terminals. Mike didn’t care about being tracked. He’d spent years making sure that Osi-Corp had a bogus profile on him, and often made a point of riding the hover-train to scrupulous locations around Arcadia just to further this cause. Today’s destination however, had been planned.

He joined a line and listened to a machine accept each person as they presented their badges. Most had their badge logged on an implanted chip somwhere in their body, like their wrists or palms.

Beep!

Beep!

When Mike stood in front of the machine, he held out a worn plastic badge. The machine hesitated, not liking such an ancient piece of technology, but it begrudgingly let him pass with a Bereeep!

After climbing the stairs and emerging onto the street, Mike was finally in Ghajotia. For some reason, the dislapidated slum reminded him of the beehives he used to see back home, in a time so long ago that it felt like a previous life. Small tight alleys honeycombed in and out of the large housing complexes that seemed to buzz with constant noise. It was hard to believe that Osi-Corp had long ago constructed this district with relief in mind. Just like they did with the hover-train. Or with Mike’s old home.

He stood on the street in disgust of everything humanity had become when a rattle of gunfire in a nearby warehouse roused him. Gunfire was a common occurrence here, but it still reminded Mike to get moving and to stay alert. The entire district was a breeding ground for the likes of the Nazyashi, or the Black Brethren, whom Mike knew had a particularly large presence here. It was also the reason why he had to go stomping around in one of the most dangerous parts of the city.

It was no secret that the Black Brethren and their leader, Aurora Baines, have been hot on the trail of the Golden Disk. Mike was furious with himself that they would find a lead on the Disk before he would. He’d spent years haunting after it, and considered his investigative abilities to be second to none. Now, what he wanted almost as badly as he wanted the disk, was to know how. Half the city was erupting because a map had set her on the path to the disk, but Mike wanted to know who had given Aurora Baines the information she needed, and how this person had it. He knew that in her posession, the Golden Disk would be virtually untouchable. But if he could trace its’ origins and learn more about it...Who knew what useful knowledge he might discover?

Of course, this would mean a meeting with them, and the only thing more dangerous than a meeting with the Black Brethren is an unscheduled one.

Mike pulled his jacket tighter around him as an acidic drizzle began to fall out of the hazy atmosphere above him, and marched further into Ghajotia.

Shadows in the Dread City- A Cyberpunk RolePlay

Mike Knowles

Name: Mike Knowles

Gender: Male

Age: 42

Appearance: Mike is a rugged, ugly son of a bitch. Looking at him, one can imagine what kind of hideous creatures humans of the past must have been before science became advanced enough that being ugly became a choice. His face is wrinkled beyond his years, and his unkempt graying hair comes down just far enough to shade his permanently bloodshot eyes and a nose that has been broken probably a dozen times over the decades. He is not tall, standing at only 5'10, and weighs close to two hundred pounds; though very little of it is fat. He has no cybernetic enhancements, but is missing his left leg. In it's place is an old 20th century tech prosthetic, that is simply a titanium limb and foot with a series of spring shock absorbers.

Bio: Mike grew up in relative paradise. He grew up on Earth in a nature preserve, where there were trees, grass, and occasionally he'd glimpse a blue sky. He was raised the old fashioned way, by a mom and pop who believed in traditionalism. By the age of thirteen he was coming to realize how dark humanity had become outside of his small paradise. Mega cities had slowly but surely taken land from the nature reserve over the years, taking away the grass and trees and the rare blue skies. At fifteen, The preserve was down to nothing but Mike's home. He and his family were being suffocated by progress. When they were told their land had been seized and that they were to vacate, his parents had snapped. Mike's dad was killed fighting back. Authorities took Mike to a local shelter. He was later told that his mother died in the demolition of the house, protecting his father's body.

The trauma of losing his home and family shaped the Mike that now searches for the golden disk on Mars. After years of assimilation and adjustment to humanity's progress, he still finds himself a low-tech man in a high-tech world. His strange understanding of both worlds led him to performing odd jobs, sometimes criminal and sometimes not. He grew up learning that there were many advantages to being raised the old fashioned way on Earth. He was resilient, knew how to take some dirt to the eye. He found he possessed deep levels of critical thinking in the face of adversity that most people had abandoned in favor of technological help.

At the age of 37, he heard rumors that Arcadia's Disk was on Mars. He knew that if he got his hands on the disk, he could finally show humanity what they had lost in their journey for technological progress. He could avenge his parents. He could shut down Os-Net. Mike found a smuggling ship to take him from Earth to Mars (During this trip, he learned they planned to enslave him and use him a cheap labor. He made it to Mars alive, but lost his leg in the conflict.). Now on Mars, he spends his days seeking the map. He often affiliates himself with the Militia to help further his goals, as they tend to relate to his beliefs the most. He is not a member, but will work closely with them on jobs that require his expertise.

Other: Mike's arsenal is as antiquated as he is. He carries a Glock 19 in a shoulder holster, and four spare magazines in a separate shoulder holster. Tucked low into his waistband at the small of his back he keeps a smaller pistol, a Ruger LCP (compact .380). Besides a standard pocket knife, the only other weapon Mike has is an explosive device hidden in a false compartment in the knee cap of his prosthetic leg. Back in the old days on Earth, this explosive device was known as a fragmentation grenade.

His clothing is also reminiscent of older days. Mike will typically wear a faded pair of jeans or khakis, graphic tee representing long forgotten relics like the Rolling Stones, Star Wars, or Reagan & Bush campaign ads. Though Mike will never be without his leather jacket. He likes leather jackets.

Hi! This is my first attempt at joining a roleplay (and my first post ever). I hope I've done everything correctly and that I'm posting this in the right forum, but let me know if there are any obvious mistakes or improvements to be made! I dabble often in writing so I believe I can catch on quick to how things are done around here. I really like the idea behind this one; can't wait to get started!

Shadows in the Dread City- A Cyberpunk RolePlay

Mike Knowles

Name: Mike Knowles

Gender: Male

Age: 42

Appearance: Mike is a rugged, ugly son of a bitch. Looking at him, one can imagine what kind of hideous creatures humans of the past must have been before science became advanced enough that being ugly became a choice. His face is wrinkled beyond his years, and his unkempt graying hair comes down just far enough to shade his permanently bloodshot eyes and a nose that has been broken probably a dozen times over the decades. He is not tall, standing at only 5'10, and weighs close to two hundred pounds; though very little of it is fat. He has no cybernetic enhancements, but is missing his left leg. In it's place is an old 20th century tech prosthetic, that is simply a titanium limb and foot with a series of spring shock absorbers.

Bio: Mike grew up in relative paradise. He grew up on Earth in a nature preserve, where there were trees, grass, and occasionally he'd glimpse a blue sky. He was raised the old fashioned way, by a mom and pop who believed in traditionalism. By the age of thirteen he was coming to realize how dark humanity had become outside of his small paradise. Mega cities had slowly but surely taken land from the nature reserve over the years, taking away the grass and trees and the rare blue skies. At fifteen, The preserve was down to nothing but Mike's home. He and his family were being suffocated by progress. When they were told their land had been seized and that they were to vacate, his parents had snapped. Mike's dad was killed fighting back. Authorities took Mike to a local shelter. He was later told that his mother died in the demolition of the house, protecting his father's body.

The trauma of losing his home and family shaped the Mike that now searches for the golden disk on Mars. After years of assimilation and adjustment to humanity's progress, he still finds himself a low-tech man in a high-tech world. His strange understanding of both worlds led him to performing odd jobs, sometimes criminal and sometimes not. He grew up learning that there were many advantages to being raised the old fashioned way on Earth. He was resilient, knew how to take some dirt to the eye. He found he possessed deep levels of critical thinking in the face of adversity that most people had abandoned in favor of technological help.

At the age of 37, he heard rumors that Arcadia's Disk was on Mars. He knew that if he got his hands on the disk, he could finally show humanity what they had lost in their journey for technological progress. He could avenge his parents. He could shut down Os-Net. Mike found a smuggling ship to take him from Earth to Mars (During this trip, he learned they planned to enslave him and use him a cheap labor. He made it to Mars alive, but lost his leg in the conflict.). Now on Mars, he spends his days seeking the map. He often affiliates himself with the Militia to help further his goals, as they tend to relate to his beliefs the most. He is not a member, but will work closely with them on jobs that require his expertise.

Other: Mike's arsenal is as antiquated as he is. He carries a Glock 19 in a shoulder holster, and four spare magazines in a separate shoulder holster. Tucked low into his waistband at the small of his back he keeps a smaller pistol, a Ruger LCP (compact .380). Besides a standard pocket knife, the only other weapon Mike has is an explosive device hidden in a false compartment in the knee cap of his prosthetic leg. Back in the old days on Earth, this explosive device was known as a fragmentation grenade.

His clothing is also reminiscent of older days. Mike will typically wear a faded pair of jeans or khakis, graphic tee representing long forgotten relics like the Rolling Stones, Star Wars, or Reagan & Bush campaign ads. Though Mike will never be without his leather jacket. He likes leather jackets.

Hi! This is my first attempt at joining a roleplay (and my first post ever). I hope I've done everything correctly and that I'm posting this in the right forum, but let me know if there are any obvious mistakes or improvements to be made! I dabble often in writing so I believe I can catch on quick to how things are done around here. I really like the idea behind this one; can't wait to get started!