Roleplay man, roleplay man, does whatever a roleplay can. Does he write? Not at all. He brings plots to a stall, look out... He’s a fucking ghost.
18
likes
7 yrs ago
I hate websites that tell you an email is wrong whilst you're trying to type it out. CALM YOUR TITS, I'VE NOT PUT IN THE FUCKING @ ADDRESS YET, NO SHIT IT'S NOT VALID.
16
likes
7 yrs ago
Does anyone else see a word spelt totally correctly and think 'that can't be fucking right, I've messed something up.'
23
likes
8 yrs ago
When life gives you lemons, don’t make lemonade. Make life take the lemons back! Get mad! I don’t want your damn lemons, what the hell am I supposed to do with these? Demand to see life’s manager!
The doors swung open. Staggering through, clearly in pain even with their face visible was an average sized figure wearing an all-encompassing sci-fi looking suit. Although the suit itself was sleek and mostly uniform it was covered in bandoliers, pouches, satchels and holsters. The figure would pause at the entrance, look around a big, before inclining their head as if in acceptance of their new situation. "Been a long while since I've accidentally gone through a wormhole, gotta say." Reaching up, they would crack their neck through their helmet and move their way towards the bar, leaning on chairbacks and pausing once or twice to get their breath back. It was only when they had pulled a chair out and sat down would they finally press a button on their suit, and after an almost imperceptible rustling noise, they would sigh, their muscles visibly relaxing.
"Well ain't this place a picture? All nice and pretty and cozy. Wayward Stool, eh? Well, ain't that a name and a half. Sounds like you're designed to be takin' in souls flung about. Never mind that though." The figure slowly removed their gloves, which had strange formations around the fingers and on certain spots in the palm. Their skin was tan and their hands decidedly human, something that was only further confirmed when they reached up and with a hiss disengaged their helmet.
A pretty, short-haired woman with a peculiar looking Lichtenburg figure shaped scar stretching across the left side of her face and down towards her neck. "Tell me, do y'alls do food? I could do with something to eat to be right honest wit'cha. A drink'd be lovely too... How 'bout a milkshake? Vanilla, and then if you got it a bit of bourbon'll make it just peachy."
From the estate, movement could be heard. From their perch, the assassins could see a practical sea of yellow and black uniforms shifting behind the high walls as soldiers moved about. They looked like bumblebees; in colouration and in purpose, a swarming mass of armed drones responding to a threat to the hive. The doors of the estate would groan and begin to whine open; just enough for a single figure to emerge. Heavy carapace armour was swaddled by an oversized greatcoat, and from their scarred face and breasful of medals, it was clear that whoever this person was, they were no rookie enforcer. "Hail there, lapdogs of the bitch." His voice was deep and booming, carrying clear across.
"Gun me down like a dog, and my last dying breath will be spent laughing as your face is melted off, so why don't we both pretend to be reasonable individuals and par-ley?" He pronounced every word in a thick, scummish hiver accent. Sweeping his greatcoat back, a tremendous handcannon sat at his hip, the man's hand holding his coat back to allow him to draw the gun without interference if needed. "Hoi, look at that too. Another bitch, sent here from another world to fuck our affairs over." He spat on the floor. "Here's the long and short. I know your type, lawmen. There ain't no inquisitor up there, just some judge, and you've decided you want to crack this hive like a nut. We won't letcha. The legitimate authority of this planet now lives here, and you can either fuck off now, or do it after your teeth've been staved in with lead."
The manufactory was located deep within the hive; built over a thousandfold times. As the ebony robed figures stalked closer to the location they had been inexorably marching towards it, they would find it surrounded by a number of heavily-armed individuals, and judging by the lack of robes in kind (and the rather too human look of them) these were not fellow priests. Indeed, no sooner had they come into view of the building had the Magos received a familiar feeling datapackage; the size and 'weight' of which indicated it to be a private communication by another techpriest.
Glory to you, Servants of the Omnissiah. We are beseiged. Our foundry carries within it weapons blessed by the machine spirit, rending and glorious. Our military might is weak. We fear not the harshest of gazes- come, probe us for heresy.
The entire transmission had taken less than the average human's reaction time to be commmunicated.
"I know-" Hera cut herself off and reached up to her face as Parasha staggered into view. She would lift up the sleek-fitting glasses on her face and scrutinise them, eyes unblinking for a good fifteen or so seconds, before finally letting her eyewear slip back down and turning her head back towards her henchman. She moved her head like a predator did; the rest of her body stock still so as to not alert her prey to her intentions. "I know not the name. Refer to it by the callsign 'Gravestone.'" Her lips had pursed into a frown, and then her hands would snap up to her chest. Interlocked thumbs, widespread palms pressed against her chest. The sign of the Aquila. "Go with the Emperor in your souls."
Once she had finished the salute, she took a step back and allowed the retinue to slowly filter into the torpedo. Once they had done so, she slid the hatch shut herself and pressed a finger to the commsbead in her ear. "Prep torpedo for launch into Gravestone." Inside the spartan tube, there were several of the form-fitting voidsuits that the retinue had been promised, well-cared for and with air tanks provided too. Three hours of oxygen, and then rebreathers to ensure that those three hours could last for closer to three days. As they donned them, the entire structure shuddered, the autoloader carrying it from the loading bays to the missile tubes.
"Prepare for torpedo launch. T-10 seconds." The torpedo tube locked shut behind the craft with a resounding clunk.
"T-9 seconds."
"T-8 seconds."
"T-7 seconds."
"T-6 seconds."
"T-5 seconds."
"Alright, get this over with." The voice that crackled through their ears was Hera's now.
"Launch expidated. May the Machine Spirit carry you true." A deafening explosion came from the rear of the craft as the initial boosters ignited. With g-forces that could easily render a man unconcious, the craft shook to life, and the crew inside were catapulted quite forcefully into the unknown.
Siobhan had been going slowly but surely crazy. She had a particular itch that tended to crop up whenver she hadn't had a chance to wander for more than a week or two, and it had been significantly longer than that that she had been cooped up in Goodnight for. The itch had gone from an easy-to-dismiss little irritation to a full-blown rash at the back of her mind, her toes twitching when she lay down to sleep, her hair longing to be whipped by the wind as she drove away from this place. It would have been intolerable, had her recent migrane-related issues not been cleared up recently.
That being said though, the atmosphere of the mall was oppressive to say the least. Although she hadn't actually ended up in a fight, she had had to cut her losses more than once, and as it turned out, her powers were tricky to practise. Her teleportation? Easy enough, and she had gotten better at controlling the aftereffects of one too many blinks. Her glamours? Also not impossible... But the others were unethical at best and lethally dangerous at worst, and she had eventually had to concede that field experience was the safest way to go about learning her limts when it came to them.
She listened to the spiel impartially and impassively... But then came the question, and her answer soon after. "Yes." Nothing else was needed. It was simple, it was direct, and it captured all her feelings in three marvellous letters. Oui. Si. Olur. Chai. She knew a lot of ways to say it, and none changed the meaning too much. Seemed like most of her companions were of a similar mindset.
"Oh no, she..." The man would turn around and look at the figure on stage, who was, in turn, staring at him, her eyes wide.
"Scheiße. I knew you were a liability." Turning to look at the last two of the soldier's stands being surpressed by Miss Murder's revolvers, then at the rapidly-increasing number of people gunning for her, her stand only barely deflecting the latest round of projectiles. The woman would feel the sting of something jabbing into her, her stand rushing towards her body in defence, and as Tarras' stand began its lethal work, Through The Barricade would yank it out and hurl it across the room, just as the user desperately scrambled for the piano. Reaching in side, she tugged at something, hard, and then hurled a stickgrenade at the resistance fighters as hard as she could, turning and sprinting out of a rear door in the same moment.
"She is definitely a Nazi." Till would nod to himself, and as the grenade landed at his feet, reaper would turn and yell out its stand cry one last time. DIE! Its fist would come down onto the grenade at its users feet shattering the fragile metal casing and 'defusing' the device (as much as it could be defused when you were simply punching it very hard.)
A company's a creature that's trying to survive; it's gotta claw and bite unless it wants to be eaten up by something bigger.
- Eliza Thornbrook, CEO of the now defunct Armitage United
The year is 2098, and the world looks very different to what it did at the start of the century. Although large economic depressions were not new phenomenons, in 2029, the "Great Collapse" occurred; a total meltdown of the global economic order, with currencies falling apart in a domino effect that left billions jobless, savings eradicated and homes repossessed on a mass scale. Bread lines snaked across cities, infrastructure crumbled without the finances to maintain them, and protests raged in streets. Protests became riots, became all out civil insurrection, and with people left jobless and with nothing else to lose, governments fell like wheat to a scythe.
In the power vacuum left behind in the Great Collapse, corporations found themselves free of the regulations which bound them and quickly took the place of governments. Although many started as simple enforcers of law and order, the most successful would rapidly grow into massive, powerful, multinational megacorporations with no one to oppose them but each other. Some masqueraded behind the names and iconography of dead nations to legitimise themselves, carrying out a charade of democracy and freedom, whilst many openly flaunted their new, authoritarian rules. Although some saw the rise of these new forces as a return to law and order, others have called this new era the rise of "Capitalism Incarnate" and do not believe that any good can come from those who care only for their bottom line. Regardless, the one point everyone agrees on is that megacorporations run things very, very differently than former governments.
Credit to @ClocktowerEchos for laying the groundwork for this RP
Welcome to the world of Conglomerate. Inspired by classic cyberpunk, the show Incorporated and dystopian fiction such as Judge Dredd and Make Room! Make Room/Soylent Green, this is a dystopian near-future pessimistic look at what could come. The first thing to keep in mind is that there will be no number crunching. You won't be figuring out tax rates, purchasing x product for y amount to sell at z amount. If you were looking for a stat heavy NRP, this isn't the game for you. Equally, if you're a free market libertarian, this probably also isn't the game for you unless you're very much OK with your political philosophy being taken to its most damaging extreme.
Instead of crunching numbers, the goal of this RP is to expand the influence of your company, be that through mergers, acquisitions, hostile takeovers (the code form for 'open war with another company,') and more. Profits will be abstracted; maybe key resources go through shortages, or new supplies of goods are found in unexpected places. Maybe seditious elements are rabble rousing in order to undermine your authority. In the end any scheme you can think of, be they legal chicanery, underhanded tactics or straight up illegal can be used by and against every player, as long as you give me the go-ahead first.
One major difference I would like to point is that while this will be based on NRPs, it will not strictly follow NRP guidelines. First off, it’s obviously more character-based as most of the action will be done through the leaders of these corporations and their staff; CEOs, CFOs, secretaries, bodyguards, managers, researchers and whatever other employees you can think of, up to and including corporate wage slaves with no clue of what elaborate chess moves are going on behind the screen. Secondly, although security forces will be a part of this RP, open warfare is bad for business, and is thus to be avoided unless you're playing an organisation simultaneously aggressive enough to launch a war and bull-headed enough to haemorrhage support and profit whilst doing so. Lastly, you're playing a company, not a government, and thus have entirely different priorities than in your regular nation RPs.
I have also included the 18+ tag because this RP will include mature themes. Megacorporations generally tend to deal in the sex industries, handle drugs, have a monopoly on violence, and your CEOs are rich enough to do pretty much whatever they want. That being said, follow site rules and respect your fellow players; nobody wants to be swept up in your weirdness.
In terms of technology and the state of the world, technology has been stagnating for about thirty or forty years between our time and when the RP begins at the end of the century. Climate change, mass economic collapse, famines, plagues and resource shortages all took their toll, and thus things aren't quite as advanced as they could be. Runaway Kessler Syndrome has caused space to become near-unusable for the near future without a serious rethink of interstellar spacefaring, and although the megacorps have led to some massive tech breakthroughs, the world can often seem a little schizophrenic at times.
True AI doesn't exist, but artificial learning algorithms have made leaps and bounds; moon colonies don't exist, but biodomes can support human populations in the tens of thousands on the open seas. You won't see anyone walking around with an entirely synthetic body, but replacement limbs, be they mechanical or vat grown, are becoming more and more common as the price drops. If you're in doubt as for the tech level I'm going for, feel free to ask and clarify.
(Note, remove the . from the .hr to make those tags work.)
(Full/Formal Company Name)
(Slogan/Motto)
[.hr][.hr]
Common Name
(Common/Unofficial names)
Origins
(History, should include what they were pre-collapse and how they took power. Feel free to list any business relations and subsidiary companies in here if you feel like collabing with other player.)
Leadership
(Self-explanatory, how is your megacorporation run? Is it run like a traditional business with CEO and board of directors and stuff, use something modified like all power is given to the CEO or whatever or is there some semblance of a national government involved? Do you play government and have rigged elections and play games of faux democracy or are you open about how things really are?)
Major Industries/Brands/Subsidiaries
(Pick up to four industries that your company specializes in and then choose one of the four to be your "original industry". Also put the effect that it would have next to it if you so wish. Remember that every company is a conglomerate, and thus runs everything needed to sustain a state, so every country has subsidiaries for medicine, infrastructure, etc. This is merely your specialities.)
Company Culture
(Basically the culture of your corporate state and its business and social policies as well as its modus operandi and ethics or lack thereof. Could also put in how you present your company to the public over how it’s actually done.)
Security Detail
(Your "military" more or less only reskinned for PR reasons. More akin to professional soldiers than the friendly mall security of the early 21st century, they act as both your soldiers police force and are armed and outfitted accordingly.
(Common Everyday Name)
(Quote/Motto)
[.hr][.hr]
General Information
(Full legal name, age, sex, birthday, all the basic fixings of a person.)
History
(Basic biography of your character like where they were born, education, introduction into the business and maybe some achievements. People who are in power are often put in there by nepotism or even family blood line in some cases; people working their way up are not uncommon but to get to the very top is rare and requires a certain type of character.)
Personality
(How your character acts and also how they're perceived publicly or privately which can be quite different depending on the person. You can also include and likes/dislikes they have or any savoury or unsavoury behaviours they engage in. It’s not uncommon to have either ruthless or crafty leaders in this day and age given the circumstance of the times, some have likened it to natural selection or survival of the fittest.)
Appearance
(A written appearance of your character like their physical appearance and maybe what kind of fashion they're often seen in. This is optional if you have a character picture.)
Relations
(Self explanatory, does your character have any friends/enemies/rivals/lovers? Include family here though, at least a spouse and children.)
Use this to stake your claims over territory. Note that there will be a number of NPC nations to mix things up- Texas, North Mexico, Greenland, Denmark, the Netherlands China's Eastern Seaboard, Korea and Japan are all off limits.
Member
datadogie
Silent Showers
Noctis
LightningLynx89
ClocktowerEchos
Metadude
ButtsnBalls
