Red7VII

The Red Hoods: Initiates

GM post delayed a day. Buddy had an impromptu birthday party.

Name change request

Is there a possibility of changing back to one's original name (not that i am requesting that now, jist asking)

The Red Hoods: Genesis

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The Red Hoods: Initiates

Finlay Dougal

Finlay Dougal

Veteran Hood - Red

Accented Voice
Aggressive Attitude
Scars on Face and Arms
Expert Fighter
Enjoys a drink or two

NPC - Recurring Character

The Red Hoods: Genesis

GENESIS

The Red Hoods is a series of RPs that I plan on doing surrounding the mythos of the Little Red Riding Hood. It's a reimagining centered around the idea that after the Little Red Riding Hood had her encounter with the Big Bad Wolf, she founded The Red Hoods, a private monster-fighting organization that protects the people of the land and are licensed to do whatever is necessary to achieve their goal. They are above all local law and are living nightmares for the things that go bump in the night.

The Red Hoods: Initiates is a large group RP that has already kicked off, which will be exploring the concept of The Red Hoods and how this organization and this new universe works.

The story of the Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf was all just a fable. Or at least a some of it was.

You live in a world were monsters exist. Vampires, Demons, Witches, Werewolves... There are creatures that bump in the night and only one defense against them. The Red Hoods. Founded by the infamous Red Riding Hood, Blanchette Rouge, the Red Hoods is a privately owned military organization comprised of people of various backgrounds and special talents that stand up to those monsters. Technology is still behind. While firearms exist, they're a rarity. Most people use sharpened metal to solve their differences. Automobiles don't exist. Horse, Donkeys, Oxen... These are your Ford, Chevy and Dodges. A medieval setting, but not one that has to be historically accurate.

You are an initiate. Untested, unproven. You wear a yellow hood, announcing that you're a rookie. As you grow with the company, you may eventually earn your red hood, making you a badass of supernatural proportion.

The original pitch for The Red Hoods: Initiates

The Red Hoods: Genesis is an idea that I want to explore with just one other person, preferably a female. The goal of this RP is to tell what exactly happened back in the day when there was just one Red Hood. The original. The Little Red Riding Hood known as Blanchette Rouge when she was a teenager before anyone addressed her as Commander.

Events and lore from this RP will directly affect the sequel RPs that are in the works. Because of that, I would like to keep this as a 1x1 instead of a group effort.

If this is something that would interest you, please let me know. Looking for a Female, 18+, please, as there may be mature content. There will certainly be cussing, graphic gore, and other such things. There will likely be romantic elements as well.

It should also be noted that this will not be a First come, First served recruiting process. I really want to jive with my partner on this so please don't hesitate to apply, even if this thread has been sitting for a while. I'll let you all know when the position has been filled for sure.

DBZ: The Sagas of The Z Warrior

X-Men: The New Era

Drake “D” Edwards

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Interaction/Mentions: @c3p-0h@Damo021@Almalthia | Location: Avalon

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"Another, please," Drake asked, leaning on the bar. The bartender gave an uneasy nod before executing the request. Soon, Drake's hand held a glass containing vodka and Red Bull. Super buzzed and energetic. That's what he was going for. He turned his body and leaned the opposite way, his back now to the bar while his front faced the dance floor. He saw several familiar faces, but wasn't quite ready to be sociable. Maybe after one more...

Just then, a foreign voice entered his head. Shock set in. He hadn't heard a voice in his head for a while now, but this one was different than before. This one spoke in full sentences and the tone was uniquely docile. "Seek love and passion, and go forth... with my prayer."

Can you hear what I am saying, Drake mentally asked, unsure if that was how this was supposed to work. His answer came in the form of silence. Drake shook his head, as if he'd be able to shake the confusion off of him, before tending to his drink some more. As he looked around the room, his eyes fell upon Aya quite a ways away in a booth. He was tempted to go make conversation but their relationship was fragile and he wasn't sure he had the mental fortitude to avoid any faux pas. He also saw Cleo, with whom he was far less nervous about speaking to. She was already used to his drunken ramblings. There were also some faces that he didn't recognize immediately, but it wasn't too surprising. He had been a bit of a fly on the wall, lately, as oppose to the social butterfly he once was.

"Fuck it," he said audibly to himself. Time to get social. He stood up and started walking toward the booths. Just as he'd taken his first few steps, he saw Aya stand up with a look of concern painted across her face. He followed her gaze, his eyes falling on Uná and a very, very pale man in a white suit. Holy shit, a vampire, he thought with amazement and disbelief. That dude is definitely going to suck her blood! Panic started setting in as he patted himself down, trying to take inventory. No crosses or holy water. Fire can kill vampires, right? Drake looked at his own hand, the image of it slightly doubling. Uh oh. Definitely drunk. Probably shouldn't drink and burn. Especially not in a crowded place.

Drake's eyes began darting back and forth, trying to think fast. "AYA!" he shouted, competing with the insanely loud house music. "DO YOU HAVE GARLIC?!" But she didn't react or even look. He was too far away. Drake huffed, frustrated, and started forward again, trying to close the gap.

A menacing laugh erupted from the club and Drake stopped dead in his tracks. Suddenly, something hit Drake from behind, sending him airborne. He fell in a tumble, knocking over several patrons in the process. As he laid sprawled out on the dancefloor, he turned his body to look back at what assaulted him and beheld a monstrosity. Ohshitohshitohshit! Gunfire could be heard as people started unloading clips into this thing. It didn't look like the monster in his own mind, though. This one was different. He looked back to check on Aya who was now in a sprint to get out of the club, along with a sea of other people. Someone threw a wooden barstool at the creature and the thing destroyed it with a slap, sending pieces scattering. One of the splintered legs skidded over to where Drake was laying. His eyes widened with excitement as he grabbed for it. You're fucked now, vampire! He pulled himself to his feet and stashed the stake in his back pocket before losing his balance and nearly falling again. Holding his hands out like a man on a tight rope, he regained his equilibrium and surveyed the room.

It was either time to leave or time to fight. He looked around at all who was left as he contemplated the decision, the grotesque beast just a few paces away from him.

The Red Hoods: Initiates

Mentions/Interactions: @ZAVAZggg@Argetlam350@NorthernKraken

“Go on, then!” shouted Finlay Dougal, his accent giving away his highland roots. The scars on his face and arm told all who beheld him that he'd been wearing the hood for quite a while now. His crimson cape flowed in the wind as he marched and shouted at the men and women between him and the rest of the Red Guard. It was initiation day and he found himself tasked with escorting the lot of candidates who faced indoctrination or death.

Carriage after carriage continued to unload and the obligated group of initiates were herded together to finish the rest of the trek on foot. They followed along the dirt path that led to the draw bridge of the famous Red Hood Keep. The castle looked as solid and stubborn as a mountain, built with utility in mind rather than luxury. Located in the south central portion of Duncaster, the keep was a knife in a bed of flowers, the rest of the central province being built to exemplify the epitome of extravagance.

Other initiates with intentions to pledge of their own free will also began arriving and making their way in passed those who were sentenced to join. Finlay made sure to study each face that passed him.

“Ay! You there,” he shouted toward an armored figure that stood close to the head of the pack, wearing thick hood. “We don' have all mornin'” Finlay scolded, clicking on his consonances. “Move yer arse! And you,” he began, turning his attention toward a fair-haired middle aged man. “Don't you fuckin' eyeball me, Yella, or I'll snatch it right from yer socket!”

As the sea of people and hooded guards walked across the drawbridge and into the keep, they were immediately led to a great hall decorated with red banners. A crimson carpet was laid out across the stone floor that led to a small stage. In the middle of that stage stood a woman adorned in armor accented with silver, red and gold. To her right was an incredibly imposing figure covered in a black hooded cloak, the face shrouded in shadow. To the left was another armored figure in just silver and red with a cardinal cape draped down his backside. He was slightly taller than the woman, but a dwarf compared to the figure in black.

Those who had already earned their red hoods also gathered en masse to see the new recruits. They were like wolves staring down rabbits. Each of them had killed countless unholy monstrosities and now they looked on as these people fresh off the street assumed they had what it takes. To Finlay, it was laughable. As the last of the recruits entered the hall, Finlay pointed his index finger into the air and began swinging it around as if he had a lasso. “Lock 'er up!” he shouted out. In response, the sound of the drawbridge raising echoed through the keep. With everyone secure and inside, the Red Guard became a little more relaxed. All the Hoods moved and lined the perimeter of the room allowing the new recruits to populate the middle. There was nervous chatter among them as the woman in the middle appeared to be taking her time to address the crowd.

As Finlay moved toward the back of the room, he bumped into a young man with a scar that ran down his left arm violently enough that it caused him to take offense. “Watch it, dobber!” he snarled.

The Red Hoods: Initiates

“Pass the porridge, boy,” barked a rotund, hairy faced man as he sat at the head of a roughly finished wooden table, surrounded by a younger, skinnier version of himself and a woman who's face was wrinkled with stress and age. His son complied, grabbing a bowl full of warm porridge and offering it up to his father. “You're gonna need to take the horses to town tomorrow,” he said as he grabbed the bowl and served himself. “Take 'em to the smith. Get 'em shoe'd.”

“Yes, father.” The tone in his voice was devoid of any joy. The majority of his life thus far consisted of errands, chores and manual labor. He had no siblings to play with and they lived too far into the country to have any neighbors close by. Just as the older man settled his plate, he set the bowl down and grabbed a spoon. In the distance, the sound of a dog barking echoed through the night. All three of them reacted subtly, recognizing the call.

“God forsaken mutt,” grumbled the patriarch, his face contorting with frustration. The family dog was notorious for causing a ruckus. When the boy found him, his father hesitantly agreed to let him keep it, but that was before all the barking. Day, night, it didn't matter. That dog had no trouble finding something offensive at any given time.

“How is the food?” asked the woman, gingerly, attempting to distract her husband.

“Well I haven't eaten the food, have I?” he shot back with a healthy dose of condescension. “Boy,” he said, turning his attention back to his son. “Go shut that thing up. This is the last time. Next time I shut it up. Permanently.” The boy nodded and excused himself from the table. The dog's parking became more frenzied, adding to the older man's irritation. As the boy opened the door to their humble home, the cool night air swept in, sending a small chill up his spine. He stepped outside, closing the door behind him, and set off into the distance where he could hear the dog's woofing. Meanwhile, his father just sat there in his chair, looking at his food with disgust while the canine's infernal yapping polluted his ears.

“I swear it, Gwen, I'm going to kill that fucking thing,” he declared to his wife without even looking up. She placed a consolatory hand on her husband's shoulder, unsure of what to actually say to appease him. “I shouldn't have ever let the boy keep it. I told you it'd be a problem, but you said-” His rant was suddenly interrupted by an immediate and violent yelp from outside followed by complete quiet. The man turned his attention to the closed door and looked at it in shock for a moment before turning back to his wife, his expression slowly changing to excitement. “He fucking did it!” He couldn't contain a hearty laugh before repeating himself. “I'll be damned, the boy fucking did it! It's about time his nuts dropped.” With a smile that spread from ear to ear, the man took a spoonful of the porridge and shoved it into his mouth. He ate it and stared up toward the ceiling, reveling in the newfound silence.

“Do you like it, dear?” the woman asked with even more caution than before.

“HA! I love it!” he bellowed back. “My boy's becoming a man. Maybe I'll give him some extra coin tomorrow to spend in town.” He nodded to himself, seemingly satisfied with this new resolution, before returning to his food. He and his wife ate the rest of their meal in glorious silence. As he let his spoon fall to the table, the man looked to the front door again. The boy hadn't returned, yet. “What the hell is taking him so long,” he asked rhetorically, his annoyance apparent.

“He may be upset,” his wife offered. The man scoffed and stood up, clearly harboring no respect for anyone who would mourn such an annoying little creature. The man marched to the door and flung it open before stomping outside.

“Boy! You better not be sobbing like a pansy!” The only sounds he heard back were from the nocturnal insects hidden in the grass. The man huffed and began to advance further into the night. As he did, he could slowly start to make out a figure in the distance that appeared to be hunched over. “Boy!” But there was no reaction. The man's temperature began to rise with anger as he marched forward more. He looked on as the young man's shoulders moved and shook slowly. His eyes then drifted a little to the right where they fell on the body of the dog. At first, disappointment struck the man. The boy really was crying over the dead beast. But then that disappointment turned to bewilderment. The dog's body was nearly torn in half. It's entire midsection was gone except for the spine and some broken ribs that were peaking out through flaps of cavernous flesh. “Boy... what in God's name have you done...?” As if hearing the man for the first time, the figure stood up with a start before turning to face the man.

Horror. Absolute horror filled the man's entire being as he bore witness to a being that looked human, but had teeth that were ever-bared because it's lips had long rotted off. It's eyes, of which it only had one, was glazed over, making it look as though there hadn't existed a pupil. Its mouth and cheeks were painted crimson and in its hand, his gripped a tuft of hair to the violently severed head belonging to his son.

The man's eyes were as wide as they could go, his face taking on the complexion of a cherry. “Y-you! You damned thing!” Favoring his rage over his common sense, the man began to move toward the vile creature, intending to settle this on his own. But he froze when he saw the others...

The Others

From between the trees, more of them slowly shuffled out, their bodies contorted unnaturally as they moved at a snail's pace. The man's heart rate was going faster than it ever had before as he clumsily backpedaled and ran back toward the house. Once he made it inside, he slammed the door shut and, between pants, told his wife “We have to go. NOW!”

“Where's Brian?”

“There is no Brian anymore,” the man said, his eyes tearing up. “The things... The dead are walking. We have to go. W-we've got to warn the town, the L-lord. Oh, G-god. We need to take up arms. We need to defend ourselves. We need... we need...”

INITIATES

The Red Hoods: Initiates

Sorry, I got behind, but it's the weekend again! I'll get this thing rolling!