LancerDancer

Fallout: Generals of the Yakima Republic | A Cooperative Military NRP

Sorry guys, It's going to have to wait until tomorrow. My employer has seen fit that I write up loads of meeting minutes, without pay and in my own time, because they're a bunch of c*nts. Gonna do a real nasty rush job, fuck em. If I have any time left, I'll get the next turn up but if not, then tomorrow should be a definite.

Fallout: Generals of the Yakima Republic | A Cooperative Military NRP

LordZell said
When will you be updating the turn?

Tomorrow. I was giving people time to tie up loose ends, but I think I've maybe been a tad generous.

This war of ours.

Name: Jugo Pisk

Age: 21

Description: Lanky build, stands around 5'9. Tanned looking, with scruffy black hair and a bushy black beard. Wears bloodied bandages around his eyes, initially. His clothes are a dirty assortment of denim and leather.

Bio: Until six months ago, Jugo was your average healthy young man. Though the war raged around his home, and his place of work, he carried on his life with the steadfast enthusiasm so often found in youth. He had plenty of close calls in this time, from market bombings to stray artillery fire, but always felt that "what will be, will be". Needless to say, it took more than a trigger happy military, and a gung-ho rebel crusade to get his spirits down.

That was, until a Government jet bombed his home, killing his family and causing severe damage to his face. Blinded from the attack, and left without family, he haunts the ruins of Pogoren as a starving spectre. He relies on the good will of others for his survival, but is gradually learning to teach himself to survive alone, despite his crippling disability.

Former job: Factory Worker

Stuff brought along: Cane crafted from a broom handle, 25 grams of Golden Virginia.

Misc: Though still coming to terms with his blindness, Jugo has learnt the importance of utilising his other senses to bridge the sensory shortfall. He makes for a good lookout, because he can readily pick up odd sounds more so than his peers whose eyes still work.

---

Name: Emanuel Gabor

Age: 47

Description: Emanuel is a small man, with a podgy build. His hair has balded on top, though black frizz covers the sides of his head. He shaves when he can, but is often fronting salt and pepper stubble. He wears a tattered brown suit, with matching loathers.

Bio: Emanuel was a second hand car salesman with a thousand dodgy sales under his belt. He was never known as an honest trader, and more than once, he found himself on the receiving end of a few angry fists as a result. Still, his cousin was a lawyer, and his medical bills were always covered - and then some - during these little disputes with clients.

When the rebels rolled into town, Emanuel's car lot was turned into a tank depot. They promised to compensate him, but such funds never came. Not to worry! He had himself a sweet little penthouse just down the road, where the towels smelt of lavender, and the call girls of cheap perfume. He decided he'd hunker down there when he heard the military were turning up to oust the rebels from the city.

Six months and a hundred inconveniences later, Emanuel counts himself amongst the thousands who are without shelter, food and water. He scavenges from the city's ruins, sometimes to the loss of others, and sometimes to their benefit. Like many, he does what he can to survive, takes when he has to, and gives when his conscience demands it.

Former job: Second Hand Car Salesman

Stuff brought along: Crowbar, six pack of Heinz beans, broken handgun.

Misc: Far from his physical best, Emanuel finds running a chore. Not that this has ever impeded him. "Let the snipers shoot the eager," he often says, "I'll go when they're out of bullets, or watching those dying on the ground."

Fallout: Generals of the Yakima Republic | A Cooperative Military NRP

My former RP, Legions: Rise of Rome, on which this RP is semi-based, had a similar thing.

Before I convene the military council, I would like to see t he Unification War at its end. So like, by turn 2 or 3.

The New Empires

Sorry Feigling, I will get to your guys, but I had to take a quick detour first. Next post.

The New Empires

Adjutor Insula

The Templar

Templar Gombas left the Council of Sorrow more angry than sad. Madness!

Or so it seemed to him, that the Order of Adjutor would so willingly proclaim the Lord Defender their King. KING! Surely their minds had gone to madness, and their bowels to water, if they were so sacrilegious as to throw down Faran's teachings and appoint a man with a forbidden title.

Fear gives men wings, this was known, but such brash insanity?

As the Templar descended the stairs from the meeting house, he found his carriage waiting, but raised an eye at the twenty or so Sword Brothers circling it in a loose phalanx.

"Problems?" He asked to no one in particular.

One of the Sword Brothers grunted, "since the Matron Scribe's unlawful killing, all vote eligible members of the Adjutor Order are assigned a tripple guard."

Gombas rolled his eyes, "I'm an old man. If winter doesn't get me this year, then a Karkarth dagger will the next. It's irrelevant. I dismiss you."

The Sword Brother shook his head. "Can't do, my Lord Templar. King's orders. Says he wants you all safe and sound."

"Watched and silent, more like," Gombas shot back.

Now, Templar Gombas was an old man. All Templars were. To achieve his title, one had to serve twenty-five years in an Order branch, and then be honourably transferred to another, where they had to serve twenty-five years more. Well, Templar Gombas was sixty three years old, and his silver tonsure - no maintience required - his foamy white beard and his leathery skin demanded somehow immense respect. But his guard would have none of it.

"Forgive me, Lord Templar, but I cannt allow you to slight the King," the Sword Brother said.

"Ballocks," Gombas spat, "your name, soldier."

The Sword Brother hesitated before answering. "Thomas Stillwater."

"Well," Gombas grunted, "are you aware of what a dictator is, Master Stillwater?"

"I-"

"Or how about a war monger?"

"My Lo-"

"Murderer perhaps?" Gombas finished. He did not bother to give the young man time to respond, and he brushed past him to clamber into the carriage. "Take me to the Lord Defender's residence."

"He is not there, Lord," the subdued Sword Brother uttered.

"Good," Gombas smiled.

***

Marcus' residence was built to the man's stature. Large, angular, dull but somehow intimidating. As if someone had just dropped one giant brick in the middle of Love. It had taken four days to arrive there, and Templar Gombas had not allowed he nor his guard more than an hour's rest a night. He was tired, but he was sustained by his faith in Faran. King Faran, who after he wiped out an entire peoples, realised he was no hero - no, he was a monster. King Faran, who had tried to build a better world.

"So long as I still draw breath, perhaps what was, can still be," Gombas muttered, as the carraige came to a standstill.

Two guards helped him down, and three of the now defunct Order Guard met him from the house. They were grim men, unshaven and smelling foul.

"I'm here to see the Lady Aticus, if you will," Gombas said to the Order Guard, all smiles and wrinkles as he was.

"She is unwell, I'm afraid Lord Templar. Perhaps another time," one of them replied, fingering a sharp dagger at his waist.

Templar Gombas was... well, he was a Templar. If he wanted to see the Lady, then only she herself could refuse him. He'd done enough for his country to earn that right. He went to move past them, but their spears crossed his path. "Return to your home, Templar. You'll find nothing here."

"You deny me?" he asked incredulously. He tried again to get past them, but this time they relented.

He walked past the bland gardens, the bulky water features, the statue of Marcus' father, and pushed aside the front door with strength not befitting his build. Then he disappeared inside, and did not emerge for some time.

The New Empires

I'll post. I have no qualms about posting so "soon" after my last. Truth be told, love telling mah story.

Wont be long.

Survival in war.

Would there be pre-set locations for players to explore? Or would they be free to roam the city and make things up as they go?

Survival in war.

Maybe keep it a fictional city, set in an Eastern European environment. You know, just so we don't risk upsetting someone. It'll also stop wiki-warriors from trying to ego-dominate people who aren't familiar with the exact details of a real life crisis.

I think an Eastern European setting is ideal. Something in the West is just too... unbelievable, because we're as stable as a well pitched tent. <--- that's not an invite for someone to fill the OOC up with "On the contrary dear boy" responses. A Middle Eastern setting would be fine too, but it really doesn't matter. I think the struggles of civilians in civil wars are mirrored wherever the fighting is taking place.

Survival in war.

We got someone's attention.

Just went ahead and bought the game, because who needs food, right? Well, the guys in my hideout actually. It's an addictive purchase, that's for sure. Kind of like Zomboid, but side on, and the zombies sometimes savage you with AK-47s, and sometimes you need to murder zombies who are attempting to sexually assault someone. It's a dark, gritty litttle gem, that's for sure.