Avatar of BangoSkank

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Recent Statuses

2 mos ago
Current Star Wars Persistent World, that was a thing that was sort of a thing. Kind of.
5 mos ago
LongSword is objectively the best main. Objectively.
8 mos ago
The ones from Calle are usually monthly. I tried to start another one a few years back.
1 like
8 mos ago
If you feel like you need help no shame in going out there and getting it. Take care of yourself.
4 likes
8 mos ago
I think you can develop a flair. A personal style. Words and phrases you like. That's why I don't get using Grammarly for word suggestions.
5 likes

Bio

I be Bango.

Most Recent Posts

That's the idea, monthly short story contest with the prompt chosen by the winner of the previous contest.
Space Gladiators
Oh yeah, well my pastor could play electric guitar!
Zombie RPs always seem so easy but it's hard to make them last
@Andreyich

Hit me up if you want to actually launch one sometime.

I played the hell out of the old West Coast ones and Tactics.

California, Nevada, Arizona, Oregon, and then a little bit in Florida.

Had an RP I ran twice set in Florida, before F3 came out, about the Eastern BoS invading a semi-built up Florida in their search to gather up technology and hunt down a certain bit of rumored tech.

We could probably come up with something.
Any particular sort of Fallout shit?

I used to do a ton of Fallout RPs



If Thiago bites it I'll replace him with a female Halfling. A wee little pirate lass.
Red Dog




Aliases (if any): Rojo Perro / The Walking Man
Allegiance (if any): The Crow
Occupation: Brave

Physical Attributes:
Red Dog is unusually tall and large for a Native American. He wears his long hair braided and generally hung over one shoulder or the other. Sharp cruel eyes, that move quickly. In general he moves slowly and deliberately, with a long lazy gait, until he wants to move quickly.

Sex/Gender: Male
Race/Ethnicity: Crow Tribe
Age: 30s
Build: Tall and Large
Distinguishing Features:
Unusually Large, Long Black Hair, Painted Face (often heavily, often Red or Black), wears a tattered and bloody Confederate coat, sometimes with scalps sewn into it.

Mental Attributes:
Red Dog is quite deliberate and persistent. He hunts his prey unerringly following them for hours, days, or weeks until they slip up and he claims their lives. Once he commits to a course of action he will see it through regardless of the consequences.

Positive Trait/Negative Trait

+ Faithful
+ Confident
+ Persistent
- Merciless
- Stubborn
- Bloodthirsty

Education (if any): Raised half among the Crow tribe and half among Christian Settler schools, he can read and speak English and several Native American languages.
Likes: Righting Wrongs, Hunting traitors, the freedom of the great wide open
Dislikes: Encroaching civilization, manifest destiny, Christianization

Notes:
Red Dog is based on an antagonist character from a Deadlands one sheet I read once. He is not particularly fond of the Union or Confederate soldiers though he particularly dislikes the Union as they separated him from his family. He doesn't have the "Old Ways" trait that would prevent him from using modern (in the time period) weapons and technology, and indeed he uses those weapons to seek vengeance for the wrongs committed against his people. I've got a few Shamanic powers in mind for him, but primarily the use of animals to monitor and hunt.

Important Life Moments: Red Dog was taken from his family and tribe and placed to live amongst Christian settlers by Union troops seeking to save his soul. He learned to read and speak English there and he learned about the strange teachings of Christianity and how they used it to justify taking land. Later in life Confederates came to town and attacked the settlement, amid the violence he found his chance to escape. Union killing Confederates, Confederates killing Union, his people being shot by both out of fear that they might join one group or the other, then finally he opened up and gained his freedom. His complete freedom for the first time in his life.
He returned to his tribe, and found that by combining the teachings of his people and his understanding of the Christians a new world was available to explore, and to become lost in.

Special/Supernatural Abilities (if any): Shaman

Supporting Characters (if any): Animal Spirits and Familiars

Signature Weapons/Items:
A Bone Hatchet, a Cavalryman's Revolver and Rifle, a skinning blade.
A rosary inside a medicine bag with some bones, feathers, and other components.


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Two voices on the line, two different sides of the country.

"He just left with the box, met a few of my guys and he seems ok, he's trying [*buzzing noise*]. He's definitely trying."
"What does he know?"
"Doesn't seem like he knows much, been in the ice and all, but one thing, we have to look in to one thing. And I mean right now. We talked a little, about coming back. The ship that picked him up out of the drink, it was the Ishii. They had him [*buzzing noise*]."
"Fuck."
"Yeah."
"Did he know the significance?"
"No, didn't seem like he did. But-"
"Yeah. I know."
"He's not ready for this shit [*buzzing noise*]. It's a different world, it's so goddamned different from what we knew and he-"
"Don't tell him shit."
"I don't like it. I don't like keeping secrets from him. He deserves better than that."
"Deserve doesn't have shit to do with it."
"He's going to start asking questions. [*buzzing noise*] isn't the type to just go along, you know that, and I can't lie to him. Not to him."
"We will deal with that when we come to it."
"Listen, I can't lie to him. I can decide not to tell him things, to protect him I can do that, but I can't lie to him."

The line went silent for a moment.

"[*buzzing noise*] is an idealist in a less than ideal world. We don't deal with the world as we would like it to be, we deal with what we have. What we have right now is a big shit sandwich and we're all going to have to take a bite. You tell him there is work to be done. A soldier's work. There's a place here for him still, but if he starts digging too fast."
"What? What if he does?"
"We will deal with that when we come to it, if we come to it. For now we manage him. Surface answers. Let him figure things out organically, slowly. We control the pace."




San Francisco, California
January 1st 1968



I walked back to my apartment a little over an hour into the year. It had been good for me. We shared some stories, shared a beer. I wore my Captain America Smile. It's always strange to me to hear how similar but how different our experiences were. Stranger still to hear how people perceived me, mostly still do. Those feelings, the way people imagine Captain America to be, have only grown stronger in these last decades.

It's like I died 20 years ago, yet some version of me became immortal.

There was Captain America and there was Steven Rogers. Captain America was a propaganda poster, a figment, a smiling face, and Steven Rogers was a young man in the 1940s who dreamed of being a cartoonist and ended up a soldier. Both of them were dead but I was still around. Twenty Five years old in 1968. Built like a brick shit house, pardon my French, walking through the streets of San Francisco on New Years Eve feeling sorry for myself and feeling guilty for feeling sorry for myself when so many of my brothers were dead.

I ran through a list of names as I walked. Not knowing where to go or what to do. That list grows so long. I knew it was longer than I realized. Common sense told me it had grown considerably longer while I was a popsicle. I felt tears running down my cheeks, but slowly and sparsely, stubborn. I fought them back but it was a losing fight. I was a mess. Survivor's guilt, maybe, but naming it didn't change anything. Dum Dum helped, I knew I wasn't alone. I knew I had a purpose, or at least there was a purpose Dum Dum envisioned for me, but I felt this great pressure pushing down on me.

Dum Dum he wanted me out there, wanted me building a new life, leading the future. All I wanted was to sleep. I knew it then but would never admit it, I wanted to return to the ice. To where Bucky was smiling that goofy smile, Peggy was shooting me those eyes of hers, Dum Dum was right there at my side backing my every play. All my other brothers, we were young and we were doing the right thing. The life of Steve Rogers instead of whoever the fuck I was now.

I kept walking, I made it back home, and I climbed in to bed. I'd won the war tonight. I was still kicking. Tomorrow would be another battle. At least I had my shield back.
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