DR_TRAPEZOID

Ashes, ashes, we all fall down...

The OoC is up! http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/30265/posts/ooc

So, as my last three (and only three) RP's have been train wrecks, I can't help myself but think that I'm just bad at coming up with ideas. BUT THAT WON'T STOP ME.

So, in essence, I plan on making this a dark toned RP, in a medieval setting. No, not elves and dwarves medieval, I mean dark ages-throwing piss into the streets-medieval.

Those of you who know far too many useless facts know that the nursery rhyme alluded to in the title is actually singing about the black plague.
Ring-a-round the rosie,
A pocket full of posies,
Ashes! Ashes!
We all fall down!
In this RP, I would have a group of survivors trying to survive the seeming apocalypse. Rather than zombies or mutants, you would face off against sick peasants as they begged for help.

I don't know, what do you guys think?

A random idea i had...

I'm interested, but it would be noteworthy that I have less attention span than a goldfish, and my interest can fade quickly. Hopefully I can latch onto this one.

Dungeon Keepers

*blushes* Thanks. I spent a lot of time on him.

If I had to guess something came up for AT IRL.

Dungeon Keepers

Vragas the imp continued the angry chatter that he had kept up his entire journey. His muscles ached, as he neared his masters kingdom, with his prize in tow. The massive hairy beast had not been easy to drag across the tundra, but he knew that his work would be rewarded. So, he proudly presented his work to the ogre standing guard at the front gate, who easily hefted the dead beast over his shoulder, and trudged slowly towards the masters dungeon heart, Vragas slouching alongside.

As they neared the room, they expected to be stopped by Stamrad, but instead were met with something they had not expected in the least. Stamrad was present, but stood far behind, sorting through a pile of rotting corpses. Stamrad looked up for a moment, before going back to his work, allowing Viktor to deal with the dead beast.

However, it was not Viktor that confronted Vragas in the hall. Instead, the imp was met by a creature seeming to have sprung from some form of drug fueled nightmare. The skeleton shivered, creating a chattering noise. The stiff bones clanged against the metal sleeve that encased his right arm. The bones no longer retained the ivory sheen that they once had, now a deep black. The black did not reflect, instead it seemed to absorb all nearby light, giving it an eerie feeling.

Atop the creatures shoulders sat no skull, in its place was a simple helmet of metal, slightly masking the magical glow emanating from deep inside. It tilted it's head as it gazed upon the ogre and imp, confused by the creatures. In its metal sheathed arm it held a spear, which it raised as if to strike. As it raised the crude spike of metal, the thin arm shook uncontrollably.

Before he could bring down his arm to strike, an iron hand reached out, snagging the skeletons hand. Viktor sighed deeply, before speaking in a rather disappointed tone. [i]"No, my child. These are your friends."[/b] He said, forcing the skeleton to lower his spear. Viktor, not letting go of the monsters hand, led him to the summoning room, where Stamrad had moved the other 30 bodies.

Viktor was soon standing proudly before a squad of 30 skeletons, with one by his side. These were a deadly force, capable of striking out with terrifying speed. Though the warriors were weak, with bones easily shattered, they had been coated with an enchanted mix of the black powder, making them even more lethal in death.

Vragas looked curiously at these creations, talking in his strange chatter. One of the skeletons looked down at him, responding in what wasn't as much of a voice as it was a hollow whispering. The skeleton was a bit confused. At this point, he knew nothing but following orders, so was confused when Vragas asked him his name. "Naaaame...?" Asked the skeleton, searching his scarce amount of memories. "I... am... Hydl..." He said, a slight hiss in his voice, as the name came to him.

"Vragas... I am Vragas." Said the imp, a gleeful tone in his voice. Hydl reached down to the imp, gently patting the gray creatures head. "Frieeeend?" Asked the echoed voice, slowly lifting Vragas to eye level. Vragas nodded, a giggle slipping out through his mask. The Hydl quickly put Vragas down when Viktor shot them a confused look.

Viktor, ignoring the strange happenings, looked down upon Vragas. "I have been told that you brought me good news, young one. What have you found?" He asked, having already sent the ogre to leave the dead animal in the Dungeon heart. Vragas looked up at his master, having almost forgot how imposing he was in person. With a bit of hesitation, Vragas began to speak up, before going with Viktor to look at the fresh kill.

"The beasts travel in pack. Big pack... not far north. Moving at us. Very strong, tough skin. Not smart. Big scary leader-thing, bloody horns." Stuttered Vragas, speaking in a manner that his master could understand. "Perfect. You have earned your place in our ranks, and you shall receive rewards beyond your imagination, all in due time. Now go, enjoy peace and rest, for you have earned it." Viktor said to the imp, dismissing him. He then turned to the matter at hand, namely the animal on his desk. A vision ran through his head, one of the perfect soldier. So, Viktor went to work, knowing that his top priority was expanding his army.

Status

3rd Minon: 8/8

Location: His castle, North-West of Altearx
Dungeon: A small stone castle, armed with a summoning room, barracks, Heart, and prison.
Minions: 3 Imps, 9 Humanoid husks, 16 Ogres, 30 Skeletons, and Stamrad, the armored general.
Resources: Seemingly endless supply of stone, large amounts of steel, and a large vein of coal dust.

Compendium Update: Skeletons-
Skeletons sporting pure black bones, and a single arm augmented with metal. These creatures are designed to strike quickly with their spears. Though weak, they combust upon death, making them lethal in close quarters.

Generation - inFamous RP

As Grease neared the MoNH, he skidded to a stop, clumsily slamming into a car. He didn't want to use his powers noticeably when he got closer, in case the Syndicate had this place under surveillance. A bit paranoid, he pulled his hat down over his head, forcing the lid to cast a dark shadow, concealing his face, even though very few people actually knew his face. However, the news had reported about him, an inFamous asphalt conduit who wore a leather jacket and black hat. His clothes would probably give him away even more than his face.

Disregarding that, he went through the process of acquiring entry into the museum, and began to search for anything overly suspicious. Nothing much, a few conduits were scattered around the blanks that milled aimlessly through the place. Grease took a moment to wonder if anyone actually enjoyed going to museums, or if they simply went to seem cultured. Grease sure as hell didn't get the point of it all.

Nothing actually stood out. He really didn't understand what kind of plan the Syndicate could have cooked up with this place. Their goal couldn't simply be to kill, could it? With the amount of conduits milling around, that plan would be grounded almost instantly. As he thought, tar subconsciously pooled beneath his feet.

---

Pain grimaced, getting nowhere with sobering up Jen. He didn't have enough energy. Hell, he barley had enough dopamine in his own brain to keep himself from going completely numb. He grumbled to himself, before muttering something about conduits, apple juice, and the pope. He turned away from Jen, still muttering a bit under his breath.

He did also take into his mind the fact that the Reapers had living space. It appeared that Scorn was on his side in this whole matter, and he might need a place to hide out. After all, he probably wouldn't be let back in his old hotel, not after the whole murder business... But now was not the time for that. Now, there was business to take care of.

As he left 'The Cinder', he made his way to the nearest gas station, where he purchased another bottle of apple juice, which he chugged the contents of on the way to the MoNH. As he walked, schemes ran through his mind, nasty plots bouncing around in his head. He knew that he couldn't fully trust any of the conduits he had met today, so he had to be prepared. In the long run, he decided that he really wouldn't mind sacrificing any of those conduits to the Syndicate, to benefit himself. He chuckled at that notion, it brought a bit of joy to him.

Dungeon Keepers

Fire crackled through the forest, trees charring under the sheer heat. Cinders spread through the undergrowth like a festering plague. Thuds echoed around as trees crashed to the ground, allowing the fire to speed through the forest at an even more accelerated pace. Strange aromas filled the air, various herbs and plants burning, like the scent of a monastery filled with far too much incense.

Through the bushes and grass darted tight packs of various fauna, each seeking to escape the burning fire around them, trampling those who moved too slowly. In the scorched earth lay the blackened corpses of those who were trampled or caught by the flame, seeming to maliciously seek out life itself, feeding off of the flesh and blood of innocents.

Though the destruction wrought was seemingly widespread, the fire tapered out almost as instantly as it blazed up. The fire sprung up around the skeletal beast. Ifrit seemed to command the attention of the flames, as they danced around his feet, almost as if they were worshiping him, never straying too far from their god. Behind him laid smoking carnage, charred trees snapped like twigs beneath the colossal beast.

However, among the corpses and wreckage, stood a single man, seemingly unfazed by the fire and flames. The man wore formal robes that whipped around his lean figure. A smirk laid across his unblemished face, masking the deep sense of horror that laid deep inside his stomach. In his hands was an elegantly crafted staff, intricate designs swirling up the base, tipped with a crystal.

The man closed his eyes in concentration, muttering various incantations under his breath. As he spoke, the wind picked up, swirling quickly in a tight circle around him. Soon his muttered chant rose in a crescendo, and he began screaming out words in a long forgotten language. The crystal tipped staff began to glow with the sheer energy that he was gathering, swirls of indigo light extending out, like the tentacles of an octopus, greedily reaching out for the kill.

As the tendrils began wrapping around the bones of Ifrit, the fires around him began to die down. Confused, the beast turned, surprised by something so insignificantly small actually harming him. The massive beast lowered his head, taking a deep whiff of the air. One thought ran through the beasts mind, something he hadn't thought of for awhile now- 'Magic!'

A deep growl emanated from the throat of Ifrit, anger boiling through his bones. "MAGIC. MAGIC. YOU CANNOT HARM ME WITH MAGIC. YOU SHALL FEAR MY WRATH. I AM DEATH. I AM FIRE. I AM IFRIT, THE LAST SCION OF THE INFERNAL KING. YOU SHALL BOW TO MY MIGHT!" He shouted, words mangled by years of not speaking.

As he finished his rant, so to speak, he used what strength he could muster under his magical shackles, and released a billowing wave of white hot flame, bathing the young wizard in what should've been pure death. As smoke engulfed the poor man, the tendrils of blue magic slunk away, shattering into seemingly nonexistent shards.

Ifrit stared down at his work, his skull somehow contorting into what seemed like a grin. However, the skull returned to it's previous brittle state as the smoke cleared, revealing that the wizard had survived, staggering beneath a shield of magic. This seemed to enrage the beast even further, which was not a good thing, considering that he was no longer shackled.

However, the young wizard was far from done fighting. He had been sent to extinguish a simple fire, and had been met with this beast? For the young man, it was seemingly a dream some true. It was finally his chance to make his parents proud, make everyone proud. So, without hesitation, he began to cast another spell, this one to finish off the monster.

Needless to say, his hopes and dreams were dashed for the split second that he had before Ifrits jaws crunched down on the man, splintering the skull of the wizard between his jagged teeth. A pleasant sensation ran through his bones, magic running through the fiery body of Ifrit. His fire raged even brighter, consuming the soul of the man.

Ifrit stood tall, contented by the transpired events, not noticing that the wizard has left a sigil burning on his skull, a warding spell, one that would make it child's play for any experienced wizard to take down the fiery beast. However, still none the wiser, Ifrit trotted onwards, sniffing out magic in the air, going to his impending doom, thinking one thing. "KILL. KILL. KILL."

Generation - inFamous RP

I think right now we're going to the NHM to scout, staying undercover, correct me if I'm wrong.

Dungeon Keepers

Yay, now I don't have to feel awkward about posting so close to myself...

Dungeon Keepers

I still feel that Shaige would be the best fit for my rogue being, because reasons. I suppose I'll try to do something with him while you figure that all out.

Generation - inFamous RP

Grease didn't have to be told twice, he was already gone, blazing towards the Natural History Museum, leaving a trail of tar in his wake. He knew that he ought to listen to the other conduit, with the suit, but he didn't really care enough to wait. Before he left, he slapped a wad of cash down on the bar, saying a simple "Keep the change."

---

Pain grimaced, having already expended far too much of his power and energy. He shot another look at the drunk sand girl, sighing. "I suppose that's fair, in all honesty." He said, referring to the comment that he should take care of Jen getting home. He shook his head, a bit dissapointed by the groups overall lack of reasoning that the ragtag group sported.

"I suppose that if we're truly going to risk our lives and powers on a simple Hail Mary attempt, we might as well get it over with..." Pain said, seeing all of the people leaving to go to the Natural History Museum. He ignored the pain that centered behind his eyes, a clear indication to him that his power had been expended too quickly.

Pain noticed the look he received from one of the conduits, a woman who he didn't know. It was clear that she didn't like him shooting down her plan. "Take it easy, we're still going to the Museum in your little suicide run. We just won't murder anyone. Yet." He said, a friendly smile on his face, thinly veiling an angry expression.

He had to take a moment to fully acknowledge what Scorn had done in a matter of seconds, but when he did take in the information, he knew that there was quite a bit of potential. A horrifying shadow conduit, leading a gang, supposedly someone who was extremely... well, insane, to put it simply, was already a valuable asset. However, finding out that she had a short temper, and a soft spot centering on her real name, Chloe? That was priceless.

Before he even thought about leaving, he took the advice of one of the conduits, and turned to Jen. "Listen now, I'm going to attempt to help you." He said to her. "We all know that you're drunk, and we can't afford to deal with that. Now, if I'm going to help you, you can't resist, you have to let me do my work." He said slowly, as if he were talking to an angry animal. He peered deep into her eyes, attempting to disperse the dopamine in her brain, knowing very well that if even the slightest thing interrupted him in the delicate process, he would be in a world of pain.