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2 yrs ago
Current Auld Lang Syne, everybody. roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
3 yrs ago
Vote in my new quest, Mirage, a RP quest set in the far, far future roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
4 yrs ago
Kink-Shaming. Kink-Shaming Never Changes.
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4 yrs ago
roleplayerguild.com/posts/5… Vote for Dead in Depression. The mechanics of the quest have now been posted!
4 yrs ago
Voting is open until the end of the week! Please come and vote! - roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
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Bio





ROLEPLAY BUCKET LIST
- Walmart Apocalypse Roleplay
- Nightmare Gas Station
- Underrail/Fallout/Post Apocalyptic Roleplay. Codename: Clausterclysm
- Anthromorphic Grimdark Animal Fantasy Roleplay. Codename: Fallowbrook.
- Eldritch Abomination Garfield Roleplay. Codename: Lasagna.
- Infinite IKEA Roleplay. Codename: God Morgon
- Roleplayerguild High School RP. Codename: Highschool Roleplay
- Cyberpunk South East Asia RP. Codename: Straits of Malacca. [CURRENTLY HAPPENING]


CURRENT PROJECTS

- FRAYED TAPESTRY - AN EPIC FANTASY RP (WIP)
- THE LAST DEPRESSION - A RED MARKETS QUEST/PLAY BY POST RP (UNDECIDED)

Most Recent Posts

@Bork Lazer Is it to late to join in?


Nope. Feel free to join in.
https://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/195296-last-chance-a-star-wars-rebel-cell-rp/ooc

Link to the CS and OOC is now up. Please feel free to submit your character sheets there in the thread.

@Letter Bee @Passable Writer @Athol @Lord Shaxx @Mr Mixman @Theyra



LAST CHANCE

A Star Wars RP

In a galaxy far, far away, your story, however small, did happen. Though you played a small part, you played a part nonetheless in the final picture and sometimes, that is all that we can hope for in the end.

It is a story about the age of the Empire.

From the core worlds to the vast reaches of the Outer Rim, the Galactic Empire continues to spread its insidious influence. More and more systems, crushed by the threat of military intervention and economic sanction, reluctantly agree to imperial administration and rule. The tide of its vast bureaucratic fist is so overwhelming, so all-encompassing, that the suffering of millions of souls is hidden by a mask of surrender. Imperial rule is inevitable. That is what the Empire demands.

It is a story about the rise of the Rebellion.

From a senator on Coruscant to a starship scrapper on Nimea II, the Rebellion is made up of a thousand struggles that tell the same tale. More and more people, sick of the Empire's lies and atrocities, rise up against imperial oppression and fear. The sparks of the Rebellion are small and scattered that it is almost hard to glance in the darkness. Yet, it must shoulder on for the dream of a brighter future. That is what the Rebellion fights for.

That is what the Rebels fight for.

It is a story about you.

You joined the Rebellion. Whether out of choice or necessity, that does not matter. You joined because there is no other recourse. This rebel cell is shit. The rations are crap. You barely get any sleep at night but you have nowhere else to go because you are desperate to be free from the yoke of Imperial rule.

That is why you take this last chance.










@Bork Lazer, can I be a financier?


Sure, but it depends on the route you take. You either have to be an Outer Rim smuggler, the head of a wealthy corporation or a Senator to finance a rebel cell.

I'm not going to enforce what background your financier have to be but just keep in mind that I will doubt the capability of your character to finance a Rebel cell if they were a simple back alley spice dealer.
Interesting. Any chance I can play an Imperial? Bring some opposition to the party?


Unfortunately, no. You cannot play as an Imperial.

In light of all the interest in this thread, I'm in the process of creating a more formal OOC thread. Please let me know if you all have any further questions.









STAR WARS

INTERLUDE: LAST CHANCE

IT IS A TIME OF DESPAIR.
THE GALACTIC EMPIRE CONTINUES ITS SPREAD THROUGHOUT THE RIM
AS SECTORS TREMBLE

-KZZZZTTTT-State your emergency -KZZZZZTTTTTT-

UNDER ITS IRON FIST
POCKETS OF INSURGENT ACTIVITY

-KZZZZZTTT- This is Cell 14, requesting assistance. Sustaining heavy losses - KZZZZZTTTTT

REMAIN SCATTERED IN THE OUTER RIM
IN THE SESWANNA, ONE CREW AIMS TO
FIGHT- KZZZTTTT - KZZZTTT - FIGHT - FIGHT- FIGHT

-KZZZZTTT- Last Chance reporting. If the Empire wants trouble, we'll give them some. - KZZZZTTTTTT







THE BASICS


1. The game takes place on 4 BBY, 4 years before the battle of Yavin and is set during the events of Andor and Star Wars: Rebels.

2. The game takes place in the Sarsanna Sector, a Outer Rim sector that acts as a major hyperspace intersection hub for the Rimma Trade Route and the Hydian Way. During the era of the Republic, it was a notable haven for piracy, illegal trafficking and weapons manufacturing. In the years following the collapse of the Republic, the sector quickly flocked to the Empire as civilized worlds sought militaristic law and order, much to their regret. The sector now acts as a forward operating waypoint for Imperial expansion through the Mid and Outer Rim.

3. Last Chance is a known rebel cell that is wanted by the ISB. It is notorious amongst rebel cells for their high rates of casualty, their often suicidal operations and the fact their cells are usually composed of criminal elements too extreme and loathsome for other rebel cells to consider cooperating with.

CHARACTER RULES


1. This is not a story centered on Jedi. This is a story centered on your run of the mill rebel scum. Please don't make any Force sensitive characters. Likewise, don't make Mandalorians or any other super special type of character without a good reason. This story is not about them.

2. Characters can be human or non-human but don't make them some kind of EU race like the Yuzhann Vong or a extremely rare species like Yoda's species. We'll be drawing from canon in terms of what kind of races you can make.

3. Your character can be a new recruit of the Rebel cell or a veteran. It doesn't really matter. It's up to you.

GAME RULES


1. Respect All Players

Treat everyone with kindness and maturity.OOC (Out of Character) conflicts should never affect IC (In Character) interactions.

2. No Godmodding

Don’t control other people’s characters, their actions, thoughts, or outcomes without their permission.

3. Be Active and Communicative

Try to post regularly. If you’ll be absent, let others know.

Don’t ghost—if you're not feeling it anymore, communicate so your character can exit gracefully.

4. Consent and Boundaries

Avoid writing content that could be uncomfortable or triggering for others without clear warnings and prior consent.

Fade-to-black for mature or violent content when appropriate.

5. No Discord server. Yet.




Please communicate your interest below. Obviously, some major details are missing but I kind of just want to gauge interest for the concept of this story at the moment.
The vampire is a creature of habit.

That was a lesson Hannibal taught him on his first proper hunt. That even monsters still had their routines. If vampires only cared about devouring humankind in the most efficient way possible, most of the country would be overrun in a couple of months by hordes of ghouls and newly Turned. No, instead, they had peeves and wonts about how they went about it. Traditions and rituals were passed down from each new generation of vampire and with every passing century, as humanity progressed, so did their palette. The Nosferati had entire ‘vinyards’ dedicated to fermenting blood into red wine. The Adze preferred congealing the blood into curds. The Yuki Onna adopted the tradition of ikizukiri - drinking humans slowly while they were still alive.

It was that singular characteristic, that weakness which had been exploited by better vampire slayers than him for centuries. So, when the trail led to yet another fishmonger this month, Eric almost could feel Hannibal berating him mentally for not spotting the obvious yet again and believing that vampires were more rational than they actually were.

It was the break of afternoon in New Orleans, when the sun began to nest in the Pontchartrain. Its orange rays bled down the dappled surface, the skyline bruised a hazy violet. It was at this hour when the French Quarter started to become alive, beating with the rhythm of jazz and dance - the oxygen of the Orient pumping and flowing through the streets from Chalamette to Jefferson. Yet, for where the music could not be heard, it casted shadows of silence across the Mississippi, where the brown waters bubbled and festered as it always had throughout the course of its thousand mile journey. And in that silence dwelled the coming night: ravenous in its zest for life.

He’d been tracking a pack of new arrivals for a month now - ten to twenty strong. They’d made their presence on the westside of Uptown, far away from the territories of other sects and the CBD where the NOPD strutted around like flamingos. The scent of the Great Lakes was smeared all over them - alpine smog and the dewy aroma of pine needles that followed in their wake. He pegged them as Krieger - maybe an Anchorite but most Anchorites preferred to stay in their wheat fields and little prariers. He had been watching them for the last few days, under the disguise of plain sight and from a fair distance as they skittered from the Garden District to the Quarter, playing themselves off as tourists. Eventually, that led him to where he was standing right now.

The Trawler was a squat olive drab block in a sparsely populated neighbourhood that was accommodated by overdebted university students and old-timers who were too fond of the past to move on. There was only a single pane of glass for the average onlooker to look at the product inside. Styrofoam boxes laid in an undignified pile near the front door with an overflowing trash bin as its neighbour, bones and fish guts attracting a horde of flies.

The bell jingled, alerting the shopkeeper who was busy wiping the counter with a stained dish cloth as Eric entered the shop.

“ Hey, buddy. Store’s closed. If you have an order, you’ll have to pick it up tomorrow.“ The fishmonger slapped his hand on the counter loudly to catch his attention. Eric ignored it, continuing to parse throughout the store, stopping to look at the rows of redfish and perch that were on display on beds of ice. “ You right in the head, man? If you don’t leave here now, I’m going to have to call the cops on you.”

Eric turned around and lowered his shades to take a better look. He took a look at the plastic name tag on his apron, with “Barry” written in flowery cursive.

“ So, Barry.....” Eric drawled as he walked closer towards Barry who was shrinking with each step he took. “ Would you believe me if I said this was a surprise inspection?”

Barry’s right shoulder shifted, warily reaching his left hand somewhere under the counter. He signed. It always seemed how things always seemed to end in his line of business.

“ Damn. That’s a shame.”

In one swift practiced motion, Barry pulled out the Mossenberg from underneath the register, barrel swiveling towards him. Were he dealing with any common human, the fishmonger would have put him in the morgue by now. Unfortunately for him, dhampir reflexes meant that the shopkeeper was moving like molasses. Eric shot his hand forward towards where Barry gripped the shotgun by the stock and jammed his thumb between the trigger and the index finger. The barrel was aimed at Eric’s forehead but all the fishmonger could feel was his index finger pushing down on the trigger uselessly. Eric ripped itout of the fishmonger’s hand and tossed it away, sending it clattering to the floor. The fishmonger’s face was now paper-white, his body frozen like a statue and paralyzed in fear.

“ I- I - have my rights! I don't know - “

“ Don’t say another word.” Eric lifted the collar of the butcher’s smock upwards to reveal his neck. It was thick, succulent with flowing, rich blood that just begged to be - Eric paused and shook his head as he mustered his concentration, turning his neck to the other side. His nostrils flared in disgust when he saw a cherry-red brand on his collarbone.

“ Now, listen here and listen good, familiar.” He hissed with contempt, the tips of his canines reflected in the fishmonger’s eyes. “ You’re going to walk out of this shop and call emergency services 30 minutes from now. If you dare call the police after I let you go, I will take this shotgun and ram it so far up your ass that you’ll go through puberty again, do I make myself clear?”

“ I had no - you can’t - They’ll hunt me down.” The fishmonger blubbered, eyes fidgeting anxiously. “ They’ll kill me. My master - URK!”

His speech stopped mid-way courtesy of a steel vice grip around his throat . The vampire slayer lifted him up a inch of the ground, his feet dangling uselessly in the air.

“ Only thing you gotta worry ‘bout is me hunting your sorry ass down.” He continued on, impassive to how Barry’s face was slowly becoming more red by the second. “ Now, you promise to not associate yourself with any unholy heathens from now on?”

“ Urgh.”

“ You promise to not seek out immortality through immoral means?”

“ Urghuh.”

“ You promise to pray to your lord and savior, Jesus Christ?”

“ Urgh?”

“ Nah, I’m just shitting you with the last one.” The fishmonger was then unceremoniously dropped to the ground. As he laid on the ground, heaving for precious air, Eric craned his neck down towards him and looked at him as if he were an insect.

“Now, scram. I’ve got work to do. ”
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