DR_TRAPEZOID

Dungeon Keepers

Ifrit didn't hesitate to follow his orders, galloping off. Though heavy smoke shielded him from the suns hateful glare, as dimmed as it was, the light still hurt when rays bled through, burning away at his obsidian skin. As he sped across the hills, propelled by his powerful muscles, a thick trail of smog was left, the dark tendrils slowly spreading their grasp across the land.

His feet scorched the earth as he ran, fury in his eyes. He let out a deep roar as he approached the razed town. Though nothing unordinary was visible to the naked eye, a deep whiff revealed all that Ifrit needed to know. Masking their scent beneath the smoke of fires that burned the houses were men that stunk of poverty and treachery. Yes, Ifrit would take pleasure in making these men pay for their crimes. He thought for a moment. What had these men done to deserve he wrath? He hadn't paid much mind to his orders past 'kill'.

Surely enough, as he approached the looters, he could hear screams as they fled, tripping over their own feet in fear. A deep inhuman noise filled their ears, as close to laughter as Ifrit had gotten. Before those brave enough to move could make it ten feet, their eyes and throats were filled with a smoke that almost aggressively tore at their insides, bringing them to their knees. Within mere moments of the smog filling their eyes, a dark claw cut through it, ending the suffering with a quick slash across the throat. Those who tried to hide we're not met with such mercy.

Like sheep, he herded the last living dozen or so men into a circle made of their fallen brethren. As they cowered, Ifrit let out a massive roar, causing them to simply cower even more. The massive monster stared down at the disgusting cowards below him, waiting expectantly for them to run, and they did not fail to deliver. Though Ifrit felt a deep need to kill them as they ran, he could feel Shaiges orders lingering in his mind- he was not ready to disobey a direct order from his master.

Ifrit was satisfied with his work, a quick walk around proved his methods were effective at removing those stupid enough to intrude on his masters territory. He looked up to the sky, now obscured by a thick pillar of black smoke that had made its journey slowly skyward, obscuring the sun from view. Perfect. Now the patrols will know just where to find me. Ifrit thought to himself, as he slowly staked towards the forest, where he could hide. The trail of smoke that followed him made for a nice little trail of breadcrumbs- though these breadcrumbs did not lead to a candy house.

A Town on the Edge of Nowhere

Sorry for such a crap first post. I've had a lot on my plate lately, and haven't had too much time for RPing.

A Town on the Edge of Nowhere

Benjamin snapped awake, as a heavy buzzing filled his ears, penetrating deep into his bones. It wasn't long before the buzz was accompanied by a light tune, one of his favorite songs. Groaning a bit, he sat up, reluctantly answering the phone. "Yeah, Johnny?" He muttered, disgruntled at the rude awakening. "Now isn't the best time. If you couldn't tell, I'm not exactly on the stick right now... Can it wait.?" He asked, laying back down, his head heavily thudding down on the pillow. In the background, he could hear some muffled talking- that usually meant that there was a meeting he was supposed to be in.

"Yeah. Ben. We've got some pretty important business going on right now. Pull your lazy ass out of bed, and be a little bit useful." The man responded, his tone clearly unhappy.

"Hey, nosebleed, its my day off. I think you can make it though one meeting without me. At least lemme refuel, and I'll hit you up again later." He could hear Johnny starting to protest, but hung up before he could actually let out more than a sentence. Benny let out a loud yawn, stretching out as he stood up. After he shook off the initial tiredness, he quickly took a shower before getting dressed, putting on his favorite white and black checkered suit. As he shuffled some of his things around the small hotel room, sprucing the place up a bit, he looked up to see Flush staring at him, in the doorway. The... thing looked as creepy as ever, shadow drenching the trench coat clad man. Benny thought he might be able to see a few extra limbs, but for whatever reason, he could never focus on Flush.

"Ah, don't look at me like that, buddy. You know I deserve some time off. Anyways, what is that stick-in-the-mud going to do? Fire me from my own company?" He asked the dark figure, not expecting any real response. "Don't let me rattle your cage. Let's get some grub." He said, walking out past Flush, to head down to the dining room, where he had spent quite a bit of his time during his stay in Rainey.

Having been there for a couple of weeks now, Ben was able to find his way down with no problems, not really paying much attention to anything on his way. Every now and again he would look behind him, to see Flush standing there, watching over him. Though at first Flush had been very shy, never appearing in public, He was now fine with being seen by an errant passerby or two- he still wasn't a fan of massive crowds, though. Occasionally, someone would notice him, and make a scene about it, but more often than not, people were too busy going on with their usual business to actually care about Flush's presence.

So, when Ben reached the dining room to see the small group of people, he was very surprised to see Flush vanish, hiding farther away, through a window. "Ah, don't be such a pooper. There ain't more than ten people in here. You know you love the coffee here!." Ben said, louder than he had meant to. He turned away from Flush for just a second, to give him time to come back, but was disappointed to see him staying put, watching from a distance. "Fine, be like that, you germ." Ben muttered, turning away from the window. He walked over to grab some food, ending up with nothing more than an apple. He looked at the rather crowded congregation currently clustered at the table, and considered sitting with them. After all, the group was so mismatched, it was more likely than not that they had just met.

His better judgement took hold, and he took a seat at an empty table, though still close to the others. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on drew him to the group. After taking a sip of some nondescript liquid from a flask he carried with him, he shot one last glance at flush through the window. "You sure you want to stay out there? I'm sure we can find some nice cool corner for you to stare at people in." He asked, again a bit louder than he wanted to, considering how close he was to the others.

Fallout: The Post-Nuclear Role-playing Game

Hey, sorry this took me so long. I've had some stuff going on IRL.

Name:
Thomas K. Baha

Gender:
Male

Race:
Ghoul

Background:
Born not too long before the nukes were dropped, Thomas was only 25 when they hit near his hometown. His life had been rather unordinary. Growing up in the small town of Casper, Wyoming, most of his time had been spent hunting, as was most people's pastime. His small home had a bit of a makeshift nuclear shelter, a large underground concrete room, per the request of his paranoid fiancée. Surprisingly enough, they did manage to get some use out of it.

Though technically she was still only his girlfriend, Thomas had planned to propose just before they had been forced to retreat to their shelter. He thought that they would make it through the bombing, and they could make it to a more romantic time, but lady luck wasn't on his side. Though he managed to get away alive, albeit ghoul-ified, Thomas' girlfriend was fried, thanks to the terrible quality of their shelter. This broke him, in a way. He never was quite his old self, but he still keeps his engagement ring on a ball chain on his neck, for reasons that even he isn't quite sure of.

For the first few years of his survival in the post-apocalyptic wasteland, Thomas was violent and aggressive, shooting people on sight on principle. He wasn't going to take any chances of getting robbed. Though at first he was a bit of a shoddy shooter, and burned through stimpacks like nobody's business, he gained quite a bit of skill, soon becoming infamous for his sharpshooting.

As he ran around the wasteland, he began taking unsavory jobs from unsavory people. In doing this, he built up a reputation with the NCR, and not the kind you want to have. He had quite a bounty over his head, and there were plenty of mercs in the Mojave willing to do the NCR's dirty work. It wasn't long before he had been brought in, and the NCR was more than happy to execute him. However, thanks to some heavy handed plot convenience, The Legion struck their camp, and hard. Thomas was spared, thanks to some favors he had paid The Legion in the past.

Still unable to settle down anywhere, thanks to his unfortunate visage, he continued to roam the Mojave, a bit easier on his trigger. For a brief period of time, he associated with the Brotherhood of Steel- he had a bit of a knack for energy weapons, and the power suits were a convenient mask for his ghoul-ish disposition. It didn't last long, and he soon left, thanks to some differences he had with the others.

In an attempt to lay low and stay out of trouble, Thomas settled down in a small town by the name of Jaynestown, just a few days trip south of Vegas. There, he did manage to lay low for awhile, as the town had a rather large population of ghouls. However, he soon got caught up in a racket selling Jet, which was rather frowned upon. It wasn't long before he was kicked out of the town, which wasn't too good for his morale.

Unsure of what to do at that point, he headed up to Las Vegas, why not just gamble away the rest of his life? Rather than losing all of his money as he would've thought happen, he actually struck some riches, at which point he retired from his gambling career, quitting while he was ahead. Despite his rolling in caps, when he found work with the Crimson Caravan Company, he took it eagerly. It would be nice to get back to his old life of fighting his way across the wasteland.

Personality:
Like most ghouls, he is rather cynical about his condition, and has a certain apathy towards smooth-skins. Still, he tolerates them if he has to. He has, over the years, become far more calm, conducting himself in a rather business-like manner, but he has a short temper, and tends to burst out in angry fits. He doesn't like to talk about himself, or his past. He is a bit paranoid, as he has made quite a few enemies in the past.

S-- 3
P-- 7
E-- 4
C-- 1
I-- 7
A-- 8
L-- 10

A Town on the Edge of Nowhere

Well, this is looking to be a wonderful congregation of schizophrenics we have.

Fallout Tabletop?

Yes, please. It's been awhile since I've been in a good tabletop. Count me in.

A Town on the Edge of Nowhere

Awesome, thanks. Glad to be here, this has quite a bit of potential.

A Town on the Edge of Nowhere

Honestly Poly, I might as well be stalking you.

Name:
Benjamin J. Eldridge

Appearance:
By any standards, Benjamin can be considered average. Neither his height nor weight stands out, and though he is not loaded with muscle, he has some meat on his bones. His Caucasian skin is drsped tight over his prominent facial features, his chiseled jaw and sharp nose some of the more defining features. He has a scar across his forehead, something of a sore subject with him. Lack of sleep has given his eyes a permanently sunken look, though there is usually some energy behind it. He commonly dresses well, in at least a button up shirt and vest, if not wearing a full suit. His favorite suit, and most common attire is a white and black checked suit, with a light blue dress shirt, and navy blue tie.

Gender:
Male

Age:
32

Occupation:
Once tied up in business that he would rather not bring up in front of any stray ears, he now rests on a thick cushion of cash. He does not solely rely on these funds, but he could easily live off of it for quite a few years, should he need to. He actually runs a private security business, albeit a new one.

Place of Residence:
Las Vegas, Nevada

Bio:
Born into Las Vegas, Ben has had an interesting life. His father was always running around on 'errands', and his mother commonly left him with a sitter while she walked the streets at night. Ben had learned to be independent early on, simply to adapt to the loneliness. He began to thrive off of it, though he did often end up hanging around the wrong crowd, getting into trouble early on with his hooligan-like behavior.

His father had wanted Benny to get into something athletic, but Benny never picked up on that kind of stuff. He had been an intellectual from birth. Not exactly your human calculator intellect, more like politician intellect. When he wanted things done, they got done. This made him quite popular as he grew up, especially with the... Less than savory groups that he had a tendency to spend time with. Still, what did you expect from a kid who's parents were gone half of the time? Surely, it was their fault entirely.

It was his sixteenth birthday when Ben saw his father, for the first time in what had seemed like months. Though the reunion was unexpected, Ben had been hoping for more than a severed head. This was not the best time in his life, and the police taking his mother in for prostitution didn't help much either. For the past few years, he had been staying with one sitter, who insisted on Ben staying with her. He didn't really mind all that much- after all, she had basically been his family while his father was off on his business trips, and his mother was shamelessly 'buying groceries'.

But, soon enough, Ben grew distant, working on his own devices. His company only getting worse, Ben managed to end up in the right place at the right time. One of his crew was talking about some low life he had knocked over- ran a casino, and operated a nice little 'lemonade stand' out the back. The guy had been bragging about how he made a fortune off of some big boss by the name of Eldridge. Not a sentence further, and Ben was out the door, a gun loaded with vengeance at his hip. Before he got far, he was stopped. His mates didn't like him walking into a death trap like that. Wait, they said. We'll roll through his joint tactically, take him out in the crossfire, they said.

The night Ben put a bullet between the eyes of his fathers killer, something else, much bigger happened. He didn't notice at first, but eventually, the man followed too close. At first glance, no one would think much of the man. He seemed normal enough. A bit tall, wearing a long trenchcoat and a fedora, not exactly too uncommon on the streets of Vegas. But this man... There was something about him that you can't exactly describe. Some oddity about him that makes you uneasy, the kind that makes people lock their car doors as they pass by.

Though Ben tried his best to simply ignore it for the first month, he soon realized how harmless the thing was, and took to talking to it as it walked with him across the shady streets. One day, relaxing in his apartment, Ben saw the strange man make up the courage to actually come into the living area with him, rather than just watching him through a window. Ben made some conversation, knowing that he would be met with nothing but eerie silence. He was surprised to see the thing accept his offer when he extended a drink to the figure. That night, Ben came up with the brilliant idea of starting his security business, use it to corrupt the casinos of Vegas, but have it under the benevolent guise of avenging his father. He them accepted his strange visitor as more than harmless- it was his good luck charm.

It was his security business- Eldrige Enterprises- that brought him to Rainey. He had to go through the town to get to a meeting but had quite awhile that he had to stay before he was scheduled to make his exit.

Stalker-
Name:
Affectionately referred to as 'Flush' by Ben, though he has called him a variety of other names based around gambling, such as Jack, House, Ace, and even Lucky, once.

Appearance:
At first glance, Flush appears to be a normal man, of above average height. He is clothed in a long brown trenchcoat, as well as a fedora of the same shade. It seems that no matter what lighting he is in his face will always remain shrouded by shadow. Closer inspection will reveal a variety of oddities with him, some not always appearing- Excess limbs, growing and shrinking in height, flickering out of view every few seconds, a sense of nausea in the viewer, as well as shadows drenching the area around him, regardless of the amount of light exposure. No matter how you look at him, be it an errant glance or a long stare, there is always some indescribable quality about him that causes unease. Though this sense of insecurity is powerful at first, extended exposure instead gives qualities of overconfidence.

Jason and the Argonauts

If you still have room, I would love to join the party!

Fallout - Atomic Winter

~Consider me interested. I was in another Fallout RP, but no one knew what they were doing, so it fell to pieces.