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whiskeysoul
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I'm not dead either! Unfortunately I am drowning in schoolwork and also away from home this weekend, so I'll try my best to reply sometime next week. Apologies.
Teknopathetic said
Oh, goodness.Don't over-exert yourself! Mentally or otherwise, of course.
Posted! And thankya. I sort of had to rush my post a bit due to people yelling at me to get off the computer, but I digress. I hope it gives some opportunity for interaction and such, and that I didn't misinterpret anything. If not, do let me know and I'll alter it as soon as I log back in.
PR-451's memory was a bitch. No, really. 'Memory' was a whore who, seemingly, had been used and battered to the extent that she lay there, limp, twitching, never again able to properly function. The first explanation that emerged was that he had, somehow, sustained a type of blunt force trauma - but then there'd be an enormous, evidential crack in his skull. And he'd be dead. Or was he? Technology was amazing in this day and age - it could be capable of some magick-y shit. But, the mental image he received from imagining Memory as a svelte female admirer did give him a kind of sick satisfaction, the same kind of satisfaction the generous slathering of blood and rust outside his personal shithole so very kindly bequeathed. Oh yeah.
He dragged one foot in front of the other very deliberately, the legs of his unflattering jumpsuit far too long, oversized and brushing irritatingly at his heels. His thoughts having drifted momentarily, his ever-present companion eventually convinced him to return to the objective at hand.
Medbay, jackass.
"I'm goin', I'm goin'. Don't get your panties in a bunch." muttered Craig, dirt-caked nails scratching at a spot behind his ear. Nervous tic? Nervous tic. The machine-eyes, man. Watch for the machine-eyes. Right. The machine-eyes. Them. All of them tiny watchers, making up his own personal fan club. Yeah, they wanted to take him out, stick needles and things into places. Bright lights and immaculate, sterilized walls and floors. It made him nauseous, stomach churning with violent abandon. Now then, the medbay. The image in his head appeared like someone had deliberately planted it there. Someone, or something. But it was there, and it was helpful, and he reminded himself he could shiv the responsible party later. There was a time and place for everything.
Elevator, vents, ladder.
Elevator, vents, ladder.
Elevator, vents lad - would he just pick one and get it done with? That was what Jim wanted to know.
Elevator didn't seem like an entirely safe bet. Who knew - the doors could close and the lights would pop and flicker and then bzzt - gone. He'd violently jab all the buttons in a garbled panic as the oxygen slowly drained out, poisoning himself with his own desperate expulsions of carbon dioxide. Oh, that was certainly not a good way to kick the proverbial bucket, no-siree. It was an obvious trap; one those spy-monkeys hoped he was stupid enough to waltz merrily into. He wasn't going to do it and give them an excuse to recline in their big swivel chairs, giggling maniacally at their towering mosaic of screens.
Vents. That sounded somewhat better. Somewhat. But then again they could've rigged the vents. Or put things inside the vents. Or maybe he'd crawl and crawl and end up on the wrong end, where all that awaited him was a steep and direct plummet into the waiting, whirring blades of an environmental control fan and end up chunks of Craig-Jim mix sprayed every-fucking-where. Then the air would smell like gore and that would be a mighty huge inconvenience to anyone else who inhabited this place. No one liked eau de eviscerated corpse.
That left ladder - hell, ladder seemed plausible enough and - wait. Hang on juuust a sec. A message. Glancing toward his friendly techpad, he scanned the words briefly and felt his brows arch in intrigue. Font. Yeah, way to pick an alias, buddy. There was some mention of contraband; he didn't know what for or what the heck it even looked like. But he liked the word 'contraband' - it was a word dear and close to his heart. He didn't trust this 'Font'. He didn't trust anyone save for himself and handy-dandy Jim. But if there was one thing he was sure of over not trusting people, it was that he really, really wanted to know what the fuck was going on - and if 'Font' said he could help, then maybe he should pay him a visit - visit his drop-box or whatever crap he meant. Reaching the medbay meant a trip through the mazeworks after all. And if 'Font' turned out to be anything less than a happy fluke, he could always kill him. But make sure he ain't one of 'em bots first. Ah, the dangers of barreling headfirst into the unknown.
He'd used the ladder. Getting downstairs was easier than he thought, though Font's mention of 'patrol' and 'one of you' didn't sound like good news. Even though PR-451 couldn't remember shit, he at least knew that his mind reacted adversely to even the slightest mention of law enforcement. Additionally, he didn't like he'd abandoned his rat's nest of a room up there. But what the hell, right? He noted a collapsed roof panel some paces off, slipping past it and being greeted by what appeared to be a mind-boggling array of paths leading to various sectors. Security hub, or medbay first? He flipped a coin in his head, then turned to Jim for confirmation.
Medbay. Don't be fickle.
And so Craig headed northward. The medbay neared, and so did the strange person he'd seen on his techpad - a woman, by the looks of it. Well now, he liked girls and he liked to think girls liked him too. And that, to him, was taking significantly less risk than crashing the security hub first. He trusted no one, but that didn't mean he couldn't attempt to manipulate. In his approach he heard the distinct droning of a mechanical voice, but couldn't make out the words. Pressing his spine up against an adjacent wall, he gripped his gun with renewed purpose and attempted to peek over the side, catching only spindly robotic spider-legs and flailing crab-pincers.
Watch them machines.
He waited.
He dragged one foot in front of the other very deliberately, the legs of his unflattering jumpsuit far too long, oversized and brushing irritatingly at his heels. His thoughts having drifted momentarily, his ever-present companion eventually convinced him to return to the objective at hand.
Medbay, jackass.
"I'm goin', I'm goin'. Don't get your panties in a bunch." muttered Craig, dirt-caked nails scratching at a spot behind his ear. Nervous tic? Nervous tic. The machine-eyes, man. Watch for the machine-eyes. Right. The machine-eyes. Them. All of them tiny watchers, making up his own personal fan club. Yeah, they wanted to take him out, stick needles and things into places. Bright lights and immaculate, sterilized walls and floors. It made him nauseous, stomach churning with violent abandon. Now then, the medbay. The image in his head appeared like someone had deliberately planted it there. Someone, or something. But it was there, and it was helpful, and he reminded himself he could shiv the responsible party later. There was a time and place for everything.
Elevator, vents, ladder.
Elevator, vents, ladder.
Elevator, vents lad - would he just pick one and get it done with? That was what Jim wanted to know.
Elevator didn't seem like an entirely safe bet. Who knew - the doors could close and the lights would pop and flicker and then bzzt - gone. He'd violently jab all the buttons in a garbled panic as the oxygen slowly drained out, poisoning himself with his own desperate expulsions of carbon dioxide. Oh, that was certainly not a good way to kick the proverbial bucket, no-siree. It was an obvious trap; one those spy-monkeys hoped he was stupid enough to waltz merrily into. He wasn't going to do it and give them an excuse to recline in their big swivel chairs, giggling maniacally at their towering mosaic of screens.
Vents. That sounded somewhat better. Somewhat. But then again they could've rigged the vents. Or put things inside the vents. Or maybe he'd crawl and crawl and end up on the wrong end, where all that awaited him was a steep and direct plummet into the waiting, whirring blades of an environmental control fan and end up chunks of Craig-Jim mix sprayed every-fucking-where. Then the air would smell like gore and that would be a mighty huge inconvenience to anyone else who inhabited this place. No one liked eau de eviscerated corpse.
That left ladder - hell, ladder seemed plausible enough and - wait. Hang on juuust a sec. A message. Glancing toward his friendly techpad, he scanned the words briefly and felt his brows arch in intrigue. Font. Yeah, way to pick an alias, buddy. There was some mention of contraband; he didn't know what for or what the heck it even looked like. But he liked the word 'contraband' - it was a word dear and close to his heart. He didn't trust this 'Font'. He didn't trust anyone save for himself and handy-dandy Jim. But if there was one thing he was sure of over not trusting people, it was that he really, really wanted to know what the fuck was going on - and if 'Font' said he could help, then maybe he should pay him a visit - visit his drop-box or whatever crap he meant. Reaching the medbay meant a trip through the mazeworks after all. And if 'Font' turned out to be anything less than a happy fluke, he could always kill him. But make sure he ain't one of 'em bots first. Ah, the dangers of barreling headfirst into the unknown.
He'd used the ladder. Getting downstairs was easier than he thought, though Font's mention of 'patrol' and 'one of you' didn't sound like good news. Even though PR-451 couldn't remember shit, he at least knew that his mind reacted adversely to even the slightest mention of law enforcement. Additionally, he didn't like he'd abandoned his rat's nest of a room up there. But what the hell, right? He noted a collapsed roof panel some paces off, slipping past it and being greeted by what appeared to be a mind-boggling array of paths leading to various sectors. Security hub, or medbay first? He flipped a coin in his head, then turned to Jim for confirmation.
Medbay. Don't be fickle.
And so Craig headed northward. The medbay neared, and so did the strange person he'd seen on his techpad - a woman, by the looks of it. Well now, he liked girls and he liked to think girls liked him too. And that, to him, was taking significantly less risk than crashing the security hub first. He trusted no one, but that didn't mean he couldn't attempt to manipulate. In his approach he heard the distinct droning of a mechanical voice, but couldn't make out the words. Pressing his spine up against an adjacent wall, he gripped his gun with renewed purpose and attempted to peek over the side, catching only spindly robotic spider-legs and flailing crab-pincers.
Watch them machines.
He waited.
I'll try my best to get a post in tomorrow after classes; suddenly coming down with a flu isn't pleasant at all. :(
Just to clarify - where is the 'runner' from the message? Is there a specific place he can be found or will he find PR-451? Sorry if I missed anything, I just woke up from a nap and am somewhat bleary.
Teknopathetic said
I wholeheartedly approve of your avatar change but it will not help your chances of survival.
Luckily, you don't feel pain. At any rate, you don't have a way to communicate that you feel pain.
...yep, I am prepared for a horrific death, possibly by acid lake.
He does indeed.
Also, augh, restringing guitars is a nightmare.
Also, augh, restringing guitars is a nightmare.
Currently closed, found someone. Thank you!
Aaand I'm back with yet another interest check, this time for a gritty, medieval/fantasy-style adventure.
But, basic things first:
1. I'm female IRL, but am capable of playing both male and female characters. NPCs will appear as needed, likely shared between us both.
2. As for pairings, I'm comfortable with both MxF and MxM.
3. Expect dark and mature themes - this goes for violence/gore, profanity and romance, so I'm looking for someone 18+.
4. This will be done through PMs.
5. If you can help contribute to the lore/throw in plot twists, I will likely love you forever.
6. Advanced, to me, means quality over quantity. I honestly don't care if you give me two paragraphs or ten as long as the writing's good.
7. I have a life and life is about to get real busy, so I might not be able to post every day. However, I will try my best to at least make once a week. If I cannot meet this deadline, I will let you know. Please do the same.
8. If you want to drop for any reason, tell me. Please. I'll understand.
9. No damsel-in-distress/overly submissive type characters. This goes for both genders. I want your character to stand as an equal to mine.
Plot:
At the realm’s beginning, the three creators looked upon man as a reflection of themselves – good and incorruptible. Until one amongst them fell – Aejas grew tired of his siblings’ love for the humans, and so set out determined to prove that darkness had taken root within the hearts of man. He succeeded – and all too well. Instead of realizing their mistake, the remaining two creators turned on their brother, blaming him for man’s fall and casting him down. In his hatred he seethed, transforming into a monstrous echo of his former self. In his rage the world opened, swallowing him into the nothingness below; there, he formed a world of his own malevolent design, a world which would become known as the Black Chasm where the souls of evil men were doomed eternally to serve Aejas’s cruel whims.
The kingdoms of Iveros and Heiden have always danced at the edge of open conflict, rivals since the death of the God-King Zaharis, descendent of the creator Taemor. Zaharis once united both kingdoms under the banner of the Ghracian Empire. The Dawn Guard, Ghracian warrior-mages, were famed in their day – supposedly undefeated in battle and who flew in upon the backs of dragons, striking fear into the hearts of their enemies. The guardsmen drove back Zaharis’s most infamous nemesis, the disgraced creator Aejas, and his army of grotesque thralls. Their valiant charge was led by the God-King himself. At the end of the long war, the weakened Zaharis cast Aejas back into the Chasm, breathing his last shortly after.
In what scholars described as the Great Mourning, Taemor and his sister Vannas no longer answered the prayers of men. Humanity was left on its own. Zaharis had but two children – twin sons who fought tooth and nail over the Empire their father left behind. In the end, it was decided that Ghracia would be split in half, forming Iveros to the cold north and Heiden to the warmer south. The Dawn Guard was no longer needed, and so its members were dispersed. And so it was as the years passed, each kingdom trying its hardest to outdo the other.
The story became a myth, told by parents to children.
Taemor’s Wrath, the sword of Zaharis, has always lain in Damas, the capital of Iveros, whilst the armor of Zaharis had its home in Heiden’s capital Asten. On one fateful day, Taemor’s Wrath went missing from the Iveros’s royal treasury. Incensed, the Iverian King Ethuin accused the Heidean King Kaelor of having stolen it. Kaelor denied the charge, and threatened to retaliate should the unwelcome accusations continue. Ethuin did not back down, and soon enough Iveros and Heiden were at war.
(Character A) is an illegitimate child of King Kaelor, leader of Heiden’s secretive Watchers and dedicated to uncovering the truth behind the theft. It is his/her hope that revealing the actual perpetrator would put the bloody war to an end, for at present Iveros appears to be winning. (Character B) is of military caste and one of King Ethuin’s most trusted generals, raised to fight and a veritable force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. Taking a calculated risk, (Character A) goes undercover as an ordinary soldier, defecting from Heiden’s army to that of Iveros’s. At the same time, Heidean Watcher agents infiltrate the Iverian nobility, waiting for the opportunity to strike from within.
In the midst of the war, strange events begin to occur; men speaking of strange creatures emerging from the woods, of men possessed by demons. Aejas rises again, they whispered feverishly. (Character A) eventually tracks down the seemingly crazed former Iverian treasurer, missing and wanted for high treason since the theft. Said treasurer is found wandering the border between both kingdoms, mumbling dementedly about monsters. (Character A) is eventually discovered and caught by (Character B), who is out hunting men whom he/she presumed to have deserted the war effort. This where their tale begins.
In the progression of their quest, they will face the return of an ancient evil, and perhaps herald the rebirth of the fabled Dawn Guard. But can they stop the rising tide of darkness, or is it too late?
So yep, if you're interested, drop me a PM and such.
In your PM, please include:
- Pairing: MxF or MxM? If MxF, do you prefer to play M or F?
- Your preference of character: A or B?
- Any other ideas you might wanna add that will help expand the plot, changes etc. This bit is optional though. Also, character origins are not set in stone, so if you wanna alter anything about a character's background, please include that as well.
Thank ya~
Aaand I'm back with yet another interest check, this time for a gritty, medieval/fantasy-style adventure.
But, basic things first:
1. I'm female IRL, but am capable of playing both male and female characters. NPCs will appear as needed, likely shared between us both.
2. As for pairings, I'm comfortable with both MxF and MxM.
3. Expect dark and mature themes - this goes for violence/gore, profanity and romance, so I'm looking for someone 18+.
4. This will be done through PMs.
5. If you can help contribute to the lore/throw in plot twists, I will likely love you forever.
6. Advanced, to me, means quality over quantity. I honestly don't care if you give me two paragraphs or ten as long as the writing's good.
7. I have a life and life is about to get real busy, so I might not be able to post every day. However, I will try my best to at least make once a week. If I cannot meet this deadline, I will let you know. Please do the same.
8. If you want to drop for any reason, tell me. Please. I'll understand.
9. No damsel-in-distress/overly submissive type characters. This goes for both genders. I want your character to stand as an equal to mine.
Plot:
At the realm’s beginning, the three creators looked upon man as a reflection of themselves – good and incorruptible. Until one amongst them fell – Aejas grew tired of his siblings’ love for the humans, and so set out determined to prove that darkness had taken root within the hearts of man. He succeeded – and all too well. Instead of realizing their mistake, the remaining two creators turned on their brother, blaming him for man’s fall and casting him down. In his hatred he seethed, transforming into a monstrous echo of his former self. In his rage the world opened, swallowing him into the nothingness below; there, he formed a world of his own malevolent design, a world which would become known as the Black Chasm where the souls of evil men were doomed eternally to serve Aejas’s cruel whims.
The kingdoms of Iveros and Heiden have always danced at the edge of open conflict, rivals since the death of the God-King Zaharis, descendent of the creator Taemor. Zaharis once united both kingdoms under the banner of the Ghracian Empire. The Dawn Guard, Ghracian warrior-mages, were famed in their day – supposedly undefeated in battle and who flew in upon the backs of dragons, striking fear into the hearts of their enemies. The guardsmen drove back Zaharis’s most infamous nemesis, the disgraced creator Aejas, and his army of grotesque thralls. Their valiant charge was led by the God-King himself. At the end of the long war, the weakened Zaharis cast Aejas back into the Chasm, breathing his last shortly after.
In what scholars described as the Great Mourning, Taemor and his sister Vannas no longer answered the prayers of men. Humanity was left on its own. Zaharis had but two children – twin sons who fought tooth and nail over the Empire their father left behind. In the end, it was decided that Ghracia would be split in half, forming Iveros to the cold north and Heiden to the warmer south. The Dawn Guard was no longer needed, and so its members were dispersed. And so it was as the years passed, each kingdom trying its hardest to outdo the other.
The story became a myth, told by parents to children.
Taemor’s Wrath, the sword of Zaharis, has always lain in Damas, the capital of Iveros, whilst the armor of Zaharis had its home in Heiden’s capital Asten. On one fateful day, Taemor’s Wrath went missing from the Iveros’s royal treasury. Incensed, the Iverian King Ethuin accused the Heidean King Kaelor of having stolen it. Kaelor denied the charge, and threatened to retaliate should the unwelcome accusations continue. Ethuin did not back down, and soon enough Iveros and Heiden were at war.
(Character A) is an illegitimate child of King Kaelor, leader of Heiden’s secretive Watchers and dedicated to uncovering the truth behind the theft. It is his/her hope that revealing the actual perpetrator would put the bloody war to an end, for at present Iveros appears to be winning. (Character B) is of military caste and one of King Ethuin’s most trusted generals, raised to fight and a veritable force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. Taking a calculated risk, (Character A) goes undercover as an ordinary soldier, defecting from Heiden’s army to that of Iveros’s. At the same time, Heidean Watcher agents infiltrate the Iverian nobility, waiting for the opportunity to strike from within.
In the midst of the war, strange events begin to occur; men speaking of strange creatures emerging from the woods, of men possessed by demons. Aejas rises again, they whispered feverishly. (Character A) eventually tracks down the seemingly crazed former Iverian treasurer, missing and wanted for high treason since the theft. Said treasurer is found wandering the border between both kingdoms, mumbling dementedly about monsters. (Character A) is eventually discovered and caught by (Character B), who is out hunting men whom he/she presumed to have deserted the war effort. This where their tale begins.
In the progression of their quest, they will face the return of an ancient evil, and perhaps herald the rebirth of the fabled Dawn Guard. But can they stop the rising tide of darkness, or is it too late?
So yep, if you're interested, drop me a PM and such.
In your PM, please include:
- Pairing: MxF or MxM? If MxF, do you prefer to play M or F?
- Your preference of character: A or B?
- Any other ideas you might wanna add that will help expand the plot, changes etc. This bit is optional though. Also, character origins are not set in stone, so if you wanna alter anything about a character's background, please include that as well.
Thank ya~
Indeed, I foresee adrenaline-fueled events ahead!
Thank ye. I'm real excited, woot!
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