About the game:
Characters A and B are in two parallel-ish worlds that could be vastly different; the players will build their worlds, including creatures/people, politics, lore, everything, to their fancies. Rifts, aka portals, have been spawning more and more recently, sparsely introducing new and remarkable creatures and people into the other world that are unable to return, sparking interest amongst select groups who believe these incredible tales. However, no one else except for a handful of special weirdos, including the main chars, are able to see or sense the portals, and therefore do something about it.
General plot outline:
Act 1: We do our thing.
Act 2: We accidentally meet.
Act 3: A world is destroyed, a world is saved.
Act 4: Conclusion.
I'm more than happy to consider and work with your plot ideas. I'd like to plan arcs out.
About me:
My main character will be a female with a supporting cast of various genders and kind. I'm not looking for romance; this RP is my baby that I'm using (work hard) to practise world building, creativity and writing, so I'm not fussed about who I play with and you can be rest assured I am committed. I am aiming for about 1000 words per post, at least once a week, up to twice a week. I would like to expect the same of you. I am very open to and appreciative of constructive criticism (although I'm not the sort to review yours unless you ask for it).
I can be found through PM. Communication is key. I'm cool to post via PM or on the board.
Please send me a few of your RP samples.
My RP samples:
The ceiling had new cracks. The grey plaster found itself a few long scratches of black, one of them merged into a messily boarded up window that leaked twilight through. Eventide bode danger outside of the village, and safety within generally; while he couldn’t hear the street noise, the bar downstairs bustled with wanton drunks. Maybe they’re the reason why my home is falling apart, he thought sardonically. Scott looked to his left for the unlabelled vodka bottle on the bedside table: it was near empty and he swigged the rest of it lying down. It tingled down his throat and warmed his belly. He sighed from the pleasant sensation spreading through his limbs and dropped the bottle clinking into other empty bottles on the floor, hidden by the bed and unseeable from the door. Three, he noted with a glance down at the glassy pile amid food scraps and was grimly aware he had consumed half a litre more of alcohol this time to cure a similar amount of radiation sickness than before. Scott felt like a rickety old man getting out of bed; his muscles burned with soreness and his joints felt like they creaked, so it was with fragile, careful movements that he clothed and shod himself. There was a pool of dried vomit on the concrete floor by his feet and he was strikingly reminded of the vicious retching from last night. Ignoring it, he shuffled over to a shabby cabinet, within which was a lone metal container engraved with the tri-foil symbol. The polished alloy, strong and durable, measured six cubic inch and had housed a Kolobok for a good amount of time before he sold it to the highest bidder. Now, the artifact Meat Chunk rested in the protective casing, an accidental find that had severely risked both his and the boy’s lives a few days ago. He wondered if the wide-eyed kid was still alive. Scott picked up the box which was cool to the touch and placed it in his rucksack.
Sophie was following Kiny in dread; it felt like a nightmare. Her limbs moved urgently of their own accord, taking her through the eery corridors filled with the rumbling of crunched gravel their shoes made, her eyes darted from left to right at the bloodied young faces visible beneath the fallen debris. “It’s not him…. It’s not him…” Kiny walked forth, pausing only briefly and intermittently; in these moments of hesitation, Sophie felt a terrible fear that he was going to announce that he had found her brother, broken and twisted, unmoving like all of the uniformed children she had seen; and when he passed onward, a flare of relief, and a tinge of shame at her selfishness, assuaged her that he could still be alive. Jacob was a smart boy, a straight-A student, and loved God. Sophie remembered his ingenuity at hide-and-seek, oftentimes he would laugh at her when she had to give up her search for his hiding spot. He was a fast runner: the trophies he had won decorated their room. She clung onto the idea that when the disaster had struck, he had the quick thinking to dash into a safe space and hide until help came. ”Kiny’s wrong. He saw the wrong boy.” A vivid memory presented itself, as they trekked through the wreckage, of when she had come to take an ill Jacob home. She walked through a corridor marked by colourful posters on the walls and bright faced students bustling to their next class. Jacob looked decidedly pale as he stood, with his bag, by the classroom door with his teacher. He smiled at her approach, sniffling from the flu. She had come to take him home now and he would be fine. They stopped in a silent classroom. The teacher had been conducting a lesson at the head of the room and she lay crushed under structural elements; dozens of children joined her fate. Kiny went to a particular body, obstructed from view where Sophie stood near the door, and knelt down. Sophie saw his hand reach out to confirm his suspicions while feeling like her heart was in her throat; she was petrified, but a spark of hope spurred her on - ”It’s not him,” - when she saw the mop of brown hair and his glassy eyes and the cruel blow to his head. She had never seen him so still. “Cause of death…. Death… instantaneously.” She didn’t hear the rest of his words. She didn’t know that she had wailed, and the keening echoed down the hallway. She couldn’t see clearly from the tears that endlessly welled up and ran down her face. Her breath was choked and came in gasps; a horrific pain had ruptured and razed through her. Wracked by heartache, she fell to her knees in a heap as if life was sucked out of her. The toy car rolled out of her pocket to land beside her in a plink. She would have not spared it a second glance if she had not recalled the disappearance of Ben under the rubble. His body could not be honoured. The boy virtually vanished along with all memories of him, save for the toy, which Sophie pocketed with renewed will. Jacob needed her for one final task; and she needed the solace of knowing he was safe, with dignity, and that there was a place she could visit for respite from time to time. She gathered what strength remained, focused by the intention of interring him as best as she could, and weakly got up. The stranger, who had been with them a while, removed Jacob and carried him in his arms. Sophie startled. “No! Please, I will take him!” She closed his eyes, then held him from the acquiescing man. His head lolled in the cradle of her arms and his limbs hung over the edge. It was as if he was in a deep slumber, deeper than any she had been accustomed to, when she would bring him to bed from his study table. She knew it was pointless to try and wake him. A sob broke out from her throat and many more followed as she walked through the quiet corridors carrying her dead brother. There was a stout, magnificent tree that guarded the front gate, and Jacob would always be under its generous foliage after school waiting for Sophie on her way from work. It was a lovely sight for her to see him play with his friends or sit under the lush canopy. His tiny hand waved in the distance, his face beaming at her arrival. She gently laid him on the ground in a shaded spot by the trunk and caressed his ashen face, his cheek was still warm; she wiped away the thick blood on his forehead with her hand. She adjusted his disarrayed clothing as she would tucking him into bed, then kissed him softly. Sophie searched and retrieved a piece of broken post to loosen the ground and roof tile to scoop out the earth. She was used to hard work and she didn’t care if Kiny or the man was helping her. It wasn’t long before a small plot was hollowed, consecrated by drops of his sister’s tears. She laid him to rest and stroking his hair for the last time, soothed in a lullaby he loved, “Day is done little one, close your eyes now sweet dreamer. Every star is an angel watching over you tonight.” “I love you Jacob. Be with Jesus and I’ll meet you soon.” After a few seconds of mustering up her courage, Sophie scattered the first handful of earth over his legs and quickly, biting the bullet, she covered him in a mound; and broke down over the child buried in the grave.
“I am Agent Vee.” The name sounded hollow in the bathroom. There was no etymology, no personal history to her randomly selected letter of a name; only the present, nondescript sound, a tool of convenience, signified who she was to outsiders. The woman gazed with cool blue eyes. Her dark and thick hair that usually ran down the mid of her back was held up in a simple bun not a strand out of place, her faint make up smoothed over any blemish. She wore a standard, tailored MIB suit that complimented her trim figure, a pair of sunglasses and a slim wallet were in the breast pocket. She was unsmiling, her demeanour a ward against intimacy, and she was exactly how she wanted herself to look. Vee went out of the warm humid bathroom and into the rest of her small apartment. The news on the outdated TV droned on about the latest happenings in the living room. She switched it off, put on the sensible black shoes given as a part of her uniform, and took one last look around the unremarkable, dingy place. It was clean and neat after she had moved in a few days ago and spent her time post graduation scrubbing away the years of built up grime in the MIB owned residence. Nothing essential was amiss but it was a far cry from the penthouse she had worked hard for and lived in before this life. Vee was allowed to carry over few possessions: there was the short, filled bookshelf by the rundown couch, a modest portrait, done in watercolour, of a garden landscape that lightened the living room and some of her favourite articles of fashion in the wardrobe. She made sure the door to her home was locked. * * The MIB building looked camouflaged in the industrial neighbourhood. Vee pushed past the front door into a large open warehouse devoid of anything save the chubby security guard seated on his chair in the middle of the room. Upon closer inspection, easily dismissed as a trick of the light, his translucent tentacles dangled over the chair out of the back of his untucked shirt, shimmering in hues of various colours caught in the sunlight. “Good morning, David,” Vee greeted as she walked to the lift on the far side, behind the guard who smiled and was watching her, the clapping sounds of her shoes on the concrete floor loud in the air. She took deep breaths to clear her mind of surface thoughts the Zshwi could pick up on, much like how a human could read obvious body language. “Good morning to you too, Agent Vee.” His voice was indistinguishable from a normal man’s; then, telepathically, in what sounded exactly like her own voice in her head, he said, I hope you have a lovely first day. Thank you. “How’s your shift going?” “The usual sittin’ ‘ere,” David replied, and in her mind, he chuckled. Lots of nervous newbies this morning, lots of things to read, and they don’t all keep it tight to their chest like you do, Doctor. “Have fun with that.” Don’t fry anybody’s brains out. I’ll have to unscramble them. The telepathic alien laughed at the psychologist’s dry joke. Vee pressed the only button for the lift whose steel doors opened immediately and stepped inside. She removed her wallet and scanned her ID on the panel. The screen brought up a photo of her with her name “Agent V”, green-lit it and beeped in approval. The lift doors closed the view of David waving a tentacle at her that stretched up from behind his back.