Foxxie

Bleak Tide: The Scrapsea

@Smoke With Me, sorry for the delay in getting back to you, but Mary Elizabeth is good to go. I'll add her to the characters tab soon as I'm off mobile.

Superheroics 101

I'm pumped to be a part of this group, guys! This is shaping up to be an incredible bunch of misfits budding heroes.

Superheroics 101

Cody Guilford, AKA Skillshot

Name: Cody Guilford

Persona: Skillshot

Appearance: Tall, slim, and built like a modern day cowboy, complete with a light dusting of tan over his skin and an enviably rugged five o'clock shadow. His blonde hair tends towards the greasy side, his clothes border on disheveled, and he isn't much a fan of tight shirt collars or ties. Cody likes to be free to pursue his ambitions and his devil may care outward appearance really conveys it to a tee.

Age: 28

Archetype: Gifted

Power Set: Sphere Manipulation

1. Projectiles: Cody can create small balls of energy and scatter them, in a process similar to casting marbles. He can so far not produce a ball much larger than his fist, and even that takes more time than he'd like. He sticks to pinball-sized ones and relies on his accuracy and wits when using them, rather than attempting a brute force approach. He imagines they hurt when they hit, but the force at which he flings them means they don't get near close to bullet speed.

2. Force Fields: The biggest sphere Cody can make is what he likes to call a force field. For now, it's a rather thin shield and it wouldn't stand up against an explosion, more than likely, but it takes the brunt of physical attacks well and is big enough for one person. He usually uses it for himself, but it can be projected to nearby (very nearby) allies and objects. It's not instantaneous, so it's not much use for defending against surprise attacks. Cody has often wondered if the round, solid field could be propelled like one of his own weaponized spheres. He imagines that'd be fun.

Origin Story: Cody has always been in the business of disappointment. He was a kid who wasted all of his quarters at the pinball machines in every single arcade and pizza joint in town. His name was all over the city, in the form of initials: COG. Yeah, his initials spelled cog. Cody Owen Guilford. Nobody really seemed to care. Pinball was a dead art as far as most were concerned. People didn't understand the fascination he had with it. He played marbles, too, to better understand the physics of a collision. Marble hits a marble, the force changes direction, same principle applied to those trick banana bumpers on that one machine he hadn't mastered. He spent his teenage years practicing what he was best at.

He chose not to go to college. Not because he didn't want to, but because he really couldn't afford it and his grades weren't good enough to get him a scholarship. His parents were dirt broke at that time in his life, and he'd never been one for saving. Truth be told, he wasn't that heartbroken. Being told to fit into a mold like the universities wanted you to would be quite a drag.

Funnily enough, he decided to take some time and enlist in the army. It'd get him paid, it was steady work that provided a change of scenery, and he'd always been a pretty athletic guy, so he thought he'd be cut out perfectly for the work. Turns out, the structure was good for him. Basic training hadn't shown him to particularly strong in any one area, and he seemed more interested in how the weapons and humvees were made rather than using them. So, he was shipped off to mechanical training and became a weapons mechanic, hanging around the various bases he was shipped to, making repairs to guns and double checking the explosives. He shuffled across the US, served a few months abroad to quell a civil war (which the army quickly withdrew from), finally ending up in Germany and England for two years a piece. It was during his combat tour that he discovered he could erect an odd, spherical shield around himself. It was also then that the army decided they no longer needed him out there. He elected to stay on in England for a few years more, having become quite enamored of the weather and having grown fond of his coworkers. They never accidentally discharged bullets at him. It was a welcome change.

He returned to American soil at the age of twenty-six, settling back into Dodgeville after several years of feeling productive and having a job. He'd seen enough of combat to know that he could never risk going back, potentially having to be a real soldier. Cody was back to being aimless. He fixed cars now. It was there that he met Jamie, and he eventually moved in with him and revealed to the fellow young man that he had some sort of power. With Jamie's guidance, Cody began to test out various aspects of the power. He riddled the wall of their bedroom with pockmarks and Jamie didn't even seem to mind. Or he never said. Cody couldn't be sure. Even the mornings after they had sex, he still could never really read what his roommate had on his mind.

The two lived comfortably for a little over a year, with Cody picking up the spare quarters around the garage to brush up his skills at his old hobby at the only pinball machine left in the city. Unfortunately, it was in the seediest part of the already dismal city, and it always took him forever to get home. Jamie offered to pick him up one night, and when Cody got in the car with him, he was struck by a feeling. He couldn't pinpoint it. Sirens wailed in front of them and a van, one, he later found out, that was being driven by some bankrobbers, appeared seemingly out of nowhere and rammed into them. Cody tried to put up a force field for them, but it only managed to cover himself. Jamie died almost instantly in the head-on collision, and Cody stopped showing up for work. Stopped being seen almost entirely.

He was afraid of his powers. Frankly, he was kinda afraid of everything. But now, he thinks the city might have a use for someone like him. Someone who shoots energy marbles and is only really good at playing pinball, killing his lovers, and using a wrench. He feels like he owes it to Jamie, and, honestly, he was running out of places to find pocket change. Cody doesn't want to be a vigilante, one who broods and sulks and monologues. The death of Jamie still weighs on him, sure, but he is constantly reminded that it's his memories of the city and his desire for freedom to follow his own path that truly spurred him down this road.

Superheroics 101

My CS should be done for you, soon, Hellis.

Just hold on D:

Sacred Arms: a Tale of Heroes

Boop!

@Hellis

Also a boop, for lack of a CS at the moment.

Superheroics 101

My interest goes here.

My CS will not.

The Scrapsea (Think Borderlands meets the seven seas)

http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/90873-bleak-tide-the-scrapsea/ooc

OOC is up, and thanks for all of your interest.

Bleak Tide: The Scrapsea

"Only a fool would believe he knows the deep from just what he sees on the surface."

The Scrapsea, as this world is so lovingly called, is comprised mainly of water and scattered archipelagos. The vast majority of residents live on a worryingly small number of islands, and other brave souls have struck out on ships to form colonies amidst the waves. Centrally located amidst the isles churns a vicious whirlpool, one comprised of near-black water and seething foam, and it kicks up a thick, dark fog that has polluted all the land in its immediate vicinity, slowly making its way to the corners of the globe. This phenomenon, known as "bleak tide", has had a poisonous effect on everything in its path. Once thriving port towns have crumbled and become home to shambling abominations wrought from organic creatures that have succumbed to the fog's toxic influence. The oceans now ripple with the tail strokes of enormous sea beasts and nigh uncrossable storms go hand in hand with the bleak tide. Little is known about its origin, and though its effects are quite clear, cures seem impossible, and side effects range from physical corrosion to mental debilitation and insanity. Often, they come in pairs, leading to the hordes of psycho raiders who inhabit the innermost islands with their twisted forms. In rare cases, small doses of dark water have been known to be almost beneficial. Some manage to escape with just the right amount of insanity, enough to make them fearless in the face of danger and seemingly able to disregard the laws of physics in battle, using weapons seemingly much too large for themselves and moving in such a way that any sane person would assume might paralyze them. Others showcase abilities akin to what the old books might even call "magic", though the exact extent of these stories is questioned heavily. Brutes with the ability to hurl fireballs, as told by drunken privateers? Not the most compelling proof.

With such a virulent and inexplicable plague as the bleak tide, spreading day by day as it were, the Scrapsea's society has evolved to mirror its surroundings. Any settlements that manage to blossom into towns or semblances of cities are full of hardened sailors, scrappy pickpockets, crooked gamblers, ruthless mercenaries, and, of course, off-kilter treasure hunters. Sure, the world's gone to hell, but that doesn't mean that there's not still valuable out there to hunt down. As more and more islands succumb to the tide and fog, the number of reports of riches and artifacts that were swallowed along with them steadily increases. Plus, with land slowly becoming a precious resource, treasure hunting presents itself as a viable employment opportunity for those who wish to set up a home in one of those ship colonies.

It's also a flame for the proverbial moths that others might just call nutjobs. If they had been talented combatants, they'd already be making fortunes as mercenaries and assassins for the petty and corrupt citizens who actually have resources to spare. If they were smart, they'd be searching for cures alongside a well-known but woefully misunderstood group of scientists and brainiacs who call themselves The Symposium. Hell, if they had any common sense at all, they'd just try to make a living on solid land like humans are supposed to do.

Instead, you found yourself part of a crew, and one that doesn't even pretend to keep up the pretenses of only being in the business until they find a place to settle down. No, you're in it for the adventure as much as you're in it for the money. Very few people survive being close to the black tide while retaining sanity enough to tell about it. You want to get filthy rich and maybe, just maybe, you're curious about all that impending doom crap that the crazy-eyed bartender told you about before he cut you off for never paying your tab. Maybe you're a little more heroic than that and you want to confront the beasts of the deep to make the Scrapsea a safer place for those around you.

No matter your motivation, you've found yourself on a ship with quite the ragtag crew, and you're about to embark on a journey that takes you far from anything you've ever known.

___________________________________________________________________

Besides fantasy, which this RP obviously fits, I'm also listing it as Steampunk, because I figure that's where the level of technology will end up. There will be some sorts of tech scattered around the worlds, but it won't function quite like you'd expect, hence classing it all under steampunk best I can. One big influence, in terms of magic and technology for this game, is One Piece and a few other anime, but don't worry if anime isn't your cup of tea. Borderlands, Sunless Sea, and many other RPGs and games have also been an influence. Be as realistic or animu as you want, really. The world is quite ridiculous at its core, borrowing both from absurd, dark humor and also deeply serious plots as the story goes along.

The World

The Scrapsea contains just over a hundred islands, the largest and most populous among them known as Rutherford, which is located in the northeast and dotted with long mountain ranges and rocky cliffs. Rutherford's generally high elevation gives it some access to quality fresh air, and good vantage points to warn against any attacks from raiders. The vast majority of the landed populace now resides in Rutherford thanks to its defensible build and the fact that it's still the furthest of all islands from the effects of the bleak tide. Rutherford isn't known for its ports, thanks to sleep ocean-side embankments, but the group of islands known as the Hackneyed Chain that lay before it contain several famous harbors and bountiful trading posts.

The islands in this chain, or Rutherford itself, are the most likely places of origin for your characters, but you are allowed to hail from anywhere. As for names of other locales, I do have ideas, but if someone finds themselves wanting to name and add a little bit of depth to a yet-unnamed location, I'll take it into consideration. This is collaborative, after all.

Magic and Modifiers

In this world, magic and powers are a direct result of becoming "stained", some would say, by the bleak tide. The most common type of power granted by the tide saps sanity in exchange for enhanced strength and speed, though other physical effects, such as drastic hardening of skin, claw formation, and even extra limbs have been reported. Prolonged exposure puts these people past the point of reason, but there are those who have come away with just a "bit" of sea fever and reaped the benefits.

Those who have previously untapped magical potential and are exposed to the bleak tides become capable of spellcraft. The exact limits and implications of these powers are yet unknown, seeing as most who acquire them were foolhardy sailors who are only ever gonna use them to blow shit up. However, as the opposite of sea fever, it has an adverse effect on the user's body. Every magic user has a large mark on their body, similar to a burn, rash, or large scar, which some have reported feeling intense pain from when over-exhaustion sets in, especially due to magic use. The vast majority of magic users become much physically weaker after discovering the gift, some have lost some of their senses because of it, others now cannot walk, and still others' entire bodies were covered in the mark of magic, leaving them in intense pain on more occasions then they'd like to count. But hey, at least you can blow stuff up! Probably!

Lore

Incoming

CS Template

Name:
Age:
Sex:
Appearance: Image and text is always preferred, or text only. Please don't just dump an image without saying anything about it.
Place of Birth:

Status: Tainted or Clean, meaning, a fully "normal" human being without any of that bleak tide nonsense going on (clean) or either a sea fever mutant or magic user (tainted).

Weapon: You can't go out there unarmed... unless your thing is boxing and grappling, in which case, go right ahead. Keep in mind that there are guns in this setting, but they're old timey pistols at best. Also, keep in mind, that if you want to go a bit absurd on this, go right ahead. You wanna use a ship's wheel as a weapon? I'd like to see you write that out, so yes.

Biography: A mix of who this person is and how they decided to do the unthinkable and charge headfirst into danger with a bunch of strangers.

Skills: You give your character two custom skills. This will include stuff like weapon proficiency, good with herbs, spells (if applicable), side effects of their bleak tide exposure that's actually useful, navigational skills, or even something kinda strange if you want. I'll be approving the customs, so think about functionality. As for the weapon already registered above, that weapon is already granted as mastered by your character, so use this skills slot for sidearms that you don't want to suck with, if you want sidearms at all.

How to be a Superhero 101 (supervillainy 101 Univese; See Details!)

I'm definitely interested, especially since this means we might be brushing shoulders with the budding villains in your other RP.

Spirit Hunters ( Darog x Foxxie)

Yunosuke couldn't help but to be impressed. Two yokai powers complete with their own fancy names. He quickly thought about his own gift and wondered why he hadn't given it a name. It was like a superpower, after all, and every hero had to name his signature attack. He paused that train of thought for a second. So long as I don't get any ideas about calling out my signature attack names in battle, like those dumbass shonen heroes.

Any lingering thoughts he had about having to trademark his one-man smoke machine ability were quickly dispelled when Miko took up the initiative and dragged him away. He resisted, with every fiber of his being, the impulse to waggle his eyebrows and wolf whistle. The whistling was suppressed, the dancing pervert brows, however, could not be contained.

He was surprised to hear that her concerns were about Hattori, of all things. Yunosuke sighed and gently pulled his arm free, scratching the back of his head, "He really ain't that bad, I have to admit that. He's arrogant, though, and he's been putting his fancy shoes in his mouth so far all day by saying stupid shot before he realizes how bad it sounds." Admittedly, he could overlook that. He'd met some rich humans with the same problem and they turned out alright once they looked past the sheltered little Fabergé eggshells they liked to dwell in. Maybe Hattori would come around. Hearing that he turned down A-rank just to be a little guy filled him with conflicting emotions. The guy wanted to prove himself on his own merits, and that was cool of him, but at the same time, he felt that passing up such an honor was kind of stupid. After all, if someone were to give you the chance to sign for the major league right away, why would you turn it down to be a triple-a batboy?

Must be a power play. He must know he's good enough to climb up to A sooner or later. Or maybe, he glanced at his partner, rolled his eyes for even thinking this, and conceded, Maybe he's not a piss-for-brains yokai after all.

Hearing Miko laugh brought a smile to his face and he set his hands back in his pockets, offering her his elbow so they could walk back all chummy-like. He chuckled, before getting back into Hattori and Daigo's hearing range, "Even if I end up being Hattori's buddy, I'm always gonna want to show him up. That makes us rivals. His ego is as good as crushed."

Not long after being reunited, Yunosuke was certain he heard something that sounded like a scream. Not one of those horror movie, shrill lady screams, but definitely a male's voice calling out. It wouldn't have been able to travel very far, but gauging how close they were to their mark, it wouldn't have to.

"D'you think...?" the punk couldn't get the rest of the words out to the yokai. He was too excited. Well, nervous, too. He was man enough to admit that. He turned to Miko and Daigo and gave a reassuring thumbs up, "It's probably just some guy who dropped a crate on his foot. But if it's our big bad, wish us luck!"