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    1. Beach Burrito 9 yrs ago

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Driving up interest for a fantasy themed, no-holds-bared, high-octane racing RP. Players would take on the role of the titular Sorceracers (sorcerers that race) and vie for first place in the coveted Planesway Invitational--a race that threads its way through several hostile planes of existence. Competitors are free to form up at the starting line in whatever they like: GoGolems, steam rods, LOCO-motives, you name it, no rules save 'finish first' to adhere to. Essentially it's combat racing.

Contestants are vetted from all corners of the multi-verse; having each earned the right to race by winning their region's 'King's Crown"-- a grueling long distance rally raid. Yet 'winning' the King's Crown means different things to different people, some worlds hold a good, clean race where a champion emerges based on skill, others devolve into a running destruction derby that ends long before the finish line. Either way the players secured themselves a chance at the most coveted title in all of racing.

Throughout the RP racer position will be determined by a simple, fair system. I think of a number between 1-10 and players guess it, then get shuffled along based on how close they were. I highly encourage you all to come up with interesting reasons why you'd drop a spot/gain a lead and likewise suggest collaboration.

CS's will be a little different than you're used to. While yes, they will have the standard:

Name:
Age:
Species:
Gender:

The bulk of information will be contained in a vignette. In other words what you race, why you race and some of highlights is presented as if 'broadcast' to the billions of viewers watching at home via an announcer that's likely never met you. Expect this to be heavily influenced by any sponsors you might have and boil your character down to a marketable quantity (A racing persona if you will) If anything is egregiously false you DON'T have to inform you fellow RPers, since short of personal history they'd only know you by reputation--merely send me a PM that contains the bare bones truth.

And before anyone asks haste scrolls take the place of 'nitro boosts' popularized in movies and television, and--by rule of cool--they're not read, but burned to release their magic.

Thoughts? Interest?

Good job guys!
Glad to see this didn't go the way of the dinos, loved the post Terminal.
Posted, with a big thanks to Flagg for the collab.
Half Face shoved his way to the corner tower which had, in the space of just a few brief hours, become the haunt of the witch. Tuskers rushing to their stations gave the mutilated commander a wide berth as he forced his way through the over-crowded castle, but whatever deference they showed him, they showed it doubly around the crone's chambers. A recruit in his cups had once joked that old Ten Braid shared Half Face's tent, since he was the only tusker in the Company ugly enough to have her. Rumor was, the recruit'd vomited blood and maggots for a week afterwards, and had died bent over in the mud, skin all pale and twitching with worms. That was the last time the footsloggers made any jokes.

Half Face ducked through a narrow portal into the room where the witch was working, his lidless eye swiveling grotesquely as he surveyed the scene. It was a charnel house. Xozu was collecting corpses from the recent battle, it seemed, though for what purpose the devils alone knew.

Xozu was as ever an orc apart from the rushing footfalls of pikes, spikes and blades, the old crone prescribing to her own indolent pace as she shuffled from one fallen defender to the next within the confines of her cluttered den. It was hard to tell if she'd chosen the chamber for it's inherent decrepitude or merely poisoned it with her presence, the stale air thick with cobwebs.

"Neophyte" she lulled at the long-expected war chief, voice creaky and cold as she greeted him. The witch's eyes were even less obliging, pinned to the nearby corpse in bleak appraisal.

"The pinkskins betrayed us, just as you said they would." Half Face said, the right side of his mouth curled in a frown, "They're marching on us now; they'll storm us by nightfall."

Ten-Braid had merely raised a hand at this, signaling either a keen sense that he had said his peace or she had heard her fill.

"Dung rarely cools before the flies gather." she'd tut indignantly, leveraging apart a rictus frown set in stark relief across a dead man's mouth. "Let them." crooned the withered hag, bowing at the waist to ply a deep embrace upon the lifeless levyman.

Straightening she passed his tongue unceremoniously into a waiting bowl and thumbed away the evidence of her act "In the end they'll just eat shit."

"Aye," replied Half Face "It'll be a pretty piece of work, though."

"Surely you did not rush up all these steps just to tell what I already know, Neophyte."

"No. These bunny women... Radush is keepin' awful mum." said Half Face, watching as the hag cut out yet another corpses' tongue,

"Better to ask what the girl's worth is to the pretender Ren Arad. It is Orenth blood that warms that thirsty throne, and he hasn't a drop to be wrung. Why would this man suffer allies such as we?"

Half Face's right eye narrowed, and he stayed quiet a moment, head cocked to one side, as though listening for something.

"What're the tongues for?" he asked at length, changing the subject.

"What are all tongues for?" she answered, smiling the sort of smile that only showed teeth. "Away with you now Neophyte, concern yourself with your own tongue awhile. You've yet to wag it at Eye-Drinker, I see from the ugly glint in your eye."

With that she waved him away like an odor that had lingered too long, barking a prediction at his back "That you will return after the sun sinks and banners rise portents gravely for our assailants. As do the twelve arrows you will bring me."

Half Face snorted and turned away, his tattered cloak and furs billowing out behind him as he went. Outside, he grabbed the nearest porter by the lapels.

"Ch-Chief?" asked the stunned tusker, green skin draining under the commander's unblinking glare.

"The old bitch wants arrows." Half Face snarled, jerking one taloned thumb at the witch's tower, "So get them."
Probably underestimated how far orcish bows can shoot. I'd imagine their siege line receded a bit after that first reminder.
Siege engines are broken down for transport so they can be reassembled on the battlefield, requiring time and number of workers. We probably have enough time to risk an exposed charge, assemble our own equipment or dig in for the defense. Mind if they start hurling rocks over the wall it won't matter how much armor we're wearing...
It's a verbal jab at her feeling he's inherited the worst halves of his heritage--joking at the fact that the Sultan had at least personally decimated a tribe, cowed the survivors to his will and forced an heir into Grolan's mother.
Got my opinions half did. Let me know what you all think. Also, unrelated fun-fact: A small tusk is called a tush, like the little ones on female elephants.

Oh Drat! Looks like I was a minute late. Shucks.

Good luck with the IC everyone. I'll be reading.
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