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

Given how its been quite a while since there's been an IC post, can we forgo the posting order? Y'know, just to move things along?


I'm sorry. I've been dealing with work and fever along with making preparations for college.

Sure, it seems like the best thing to do now is to forgo the posting order.

You can post if you want to.



War. War never changes.

Neolithic cavemen murdered each other out of cold blood like the tales of Cain and Abel of old. Napoleon led the French in a ensuing battle against the entirety of Europe. Hitler and the Axis Powers were the catalyst of the biggest war that hit the 20th century.

Power. Riches. Hatred. Greed. These wars all stem from these vices of humanity.

Yet, the same vices that caused these wars led to the downfall of humanity. In the 21st Century, the Resource Wars happened. International treaties became forfeit. Sovereignty ruled over cooperation. Everything was squandered on the next deposit of oil or a underground vein of uranium. Peace became an illusion, a distant afterthought. Countries fell apart. Wars tore the environment asunder.

Until humanity really, finally did it. Nobody knows who pressed the button first. In October, 2077, on the precipice of humanity's technological advancement, the horrors of Nagasaki and Hiroshima became world-wide. Oceans boiled into great empty deserts. The land became blighted and uninhabitable. The skies fizzled away as spears of atomic fire rained down and cleansed the world.

A quiet darkness reigned over several years. But humanity is stubborn. Humanity does not give up so easily to a event like this.

Over thousands of lives were spared, thanks to the works of Vault-Tec and their underground proprietary state of the art underground fallout shelters, havens from the hell of the wastes. These inhabitants set out once those great cog doors opened, establishing villages, laws, fledgling settlements on the husk of the old world.

As the decades passed, what had been the American southwest united beneath the flag of the New California Republic, dedicated to old world values of democracy, and the rule of law. As the Republic grew, so did its needs. Scouts spread east, seeking territory and wealth, in the dry and merciless expanse of the Mojave Desert. They returned with tales of a city – New Vegas – untouched by the warheads that had scorched the rest of the world, and a great wall spanning the Colorado River. The NCR mobilized its army and sent it east to occupy the Hoover Dam, and restore it to working condition.

But across the Colorado, another society had arisen under a different flag. A vast army of slaves, forged in the conquest of 86 tribes: Caesar's Legion.

Four years have passed since the Republic held the Dam – just barely – against the Legion's onslaught. The Legion did not retreat. Across the river, the Legion gathers strength… campfires burn, training drums beat, and it is only a matter of time before they cross the Colorado again.

Through it all, the New Vegas Strip has remained open for business under the control of its mysterious owner, the enigmatic Mr. House, and his army of rehabilitated tribals, and police robots.

The deadlock between the three factions has been unshakable. Until as of late. A single man, the Courier, is the wildcard that shapes the fate of the Mojave forever. Rising from the grave, without a nickle to his name, the Courier walked his road to the end like all other wasteland legends. The 87 tribes of Arizona were singlehandedly defeated under his boot, Caesar's vision of a old-world empire shattered by a 50 calibre bullet to the skull. New Vegas is made a city of no gods and no masters, unlike what Robert Edwin House wanted.

In time, Hoover Dam became a part of his deck as well. A single man out-thinks and out-maneuvers entire armies and legions of soldiers as the NCR is forced to stop its imperialistic expansion. Momentarily, of course. The Bear is enraged. Enraged at how its long-fought reward has been reaped from its paws. It brings all of its strength on New Vegas and while the Courier is a master of deception, the numbers of the NCR are too much for him to handle.

The Courier dissipates into history and time itself, with only his open grave to mark his absence.

This nightmare hasn't reached its end yet. It is merely the beginning of the end of the Mojave.

The NCR, by chance or sheer luck, happens upon the Sierra Madre and its foul technology. Using the Lucky 38 as a proving grounds for its revolutionary technologies, NCR scientists experiment with the haze of death known as the Cloud and the vile ghosts of the casino. The NCR's heart blackens, their experiments breaking what little humanity has left, as they struggle to replicate technologies that are beyond their grasp. Meanwhile, dust storms begin to flood in, the brother of war taking his ride to the west, Pestilence. The Bear is undaunted by the possibility, ignoring its presence.

The dominoes begin to fall. The Cloud is let loose onto New Vegas and Freeside. The descent into chaos and anarchy begins. Martial law occurs. Rebellions and uprisings happen. The standard traits of the downfall of civilization. Eventually, the situation is uncontainable. Mass droves of civilians manage to escape Vegas before the great, unblemished city falls into disrepair and destruction. The Mojave is in critical condition. Then, an unimaginable dust storm, the wrath of the wasteland itself, plunges a knife into the patient's chest. The heart-monitor falters.

New Vegas is no longer a jewel anymore.

Cannibals, survivors and tribals of all manner ravage and scavenge for scraps of what's left of New Vegas. Ulysses prophecy comes true as the population of Tunnelers, native to the Divide, begin to spread their wings into the Mojave, killing almost all of the natural fauna and flora.There is no good and evil in the Mojave anymore. Only the will to survive and how far you're willing to go to live another day.

The Mojave Wasteland is now known formally in the NCR as the Dust Bowl. Fitting.

Where are you in all of this?

You are not a vault dweller. Neither are you the chosen one of some village. Nor a lone wanderer of the wastes. Or the sole survivor of a vault.

You are a person. Trying to make it desperately out of the Dust Bowl before you become part of its ash pile. Along with another person for the ride.

Good luck trying not to kill each other.




What is Ashes to Ashes; Dust to Dust


Ashes to Ashes; Dust to Dust is a Fallout AU that is designed to be less fun and more serious than the canon itself. It's an experiment in the trope, Gone Horribly Wrong, and then some more.

The dynamics of what would be a usual Fallout text-to-text RP have been changed. You are not looking to wander the wasteland or change the shape of the world itself. You are just someone trying to live another day in the Dust Bowl and escape its cage. Food and water is scarce. Ammunition, weaponry and armor are cobbled out of whatever you find in the streets. It is a regular common practice in the Dust Bowl to eat each other. Shoot-on-Sight is regarded as perfectly understandable.

It's basically Fallout without the wacky, post-apocalyptic elements.


Partner Requirements


1. The Roleplaying Partner must have an understanding of basic Fallout Lore and must be willing to world-build the Dust Bowl with me.

2. I am looking for a RP partner who is detailed, literate and extremely advanced. For comparison, I can write about 4 to 10 paragraphs when I am in an extremely good mood. I want a partner who can match that speed. Remember! Quality over quantity but description is sexy.

3. I want a partner who can post once per week, at the minimum. Daily would be much more better.

4. I want someone who wants to geniunely have fun with me.

5. Also, send a PM to me complete with what you are comfortable with and what you are not along with a writing sample.


Miscellaneous Things


- This is not a romantic RP. There are no pairings and so forth. No MxM, FxF or MxF. However, I am only willing to play male roles. I can multi-role any gender, however.

- Character sheets will be required and asked for.

- I would prefer a little bit of OOC chat and pre-plotting before we begin this RP.


And so..., I cast my die into the wind.


Pairings and Plots (Up for Grabs)


East-Coast Traveller x Dust Bowl Survivor/Lone Wanderer x Courier
(Essentially, a traveller from the east coast/The Lone Wanderer gets ambushed by raiders or tribals when going to the Mojave and wakes up in the midst of their camp. Fortunately, a Dust Bowl Survivor/The Courier saves them from being eaten alive or worst and they must do whatever it takes to survive together.)


NCR Soldier x Mercenary

(A NCR Soldier and a mercenary are assigned together to scour the Dust Bowl for the last remnants of the NCR's technology and scour for data from the Lucky 38 labs.)
@The Bork Lazer Could we maybe skip to the next person since the posting order isn't super relevant at this phase of the story?


<Snipped quote by Innue>

Seconded.

Its been over a week now...


Okay, then.

Sorry, @Sisyphus but it is my best regards until then for this RP to continue onwards so we'll be skipping your post.

@Kymera, sorry about the late notice but you can post now if you still want to.
@everyone:

So what sort of story elements would you guys like to see in this roleplay?
So far, is there a goal you have in mind for your character aside from the usual fare of "...to be the very best like no one ever was"?
Perhaps some inter-character conflicts?


Goal in mind for this story is the point of exploring the concept of ' to be the very best like no one ever was' and how worth that is to you the player. Whether victory and glory in the eyes of public is worth sacrifice or not. But other than that, the main goal for my character is for him, like his dad, to see through the divisions between the Rangers and the Trainers and realise that things aren't so black and white.

Also, man, @Sisyphus, waiting for you.
Is the posting order necessary at the moment?

I don't know...
Maybe its just me, but while it seems fair to use for exploration or combat scenes, it seems like an awkward restriction to impose on scenes that are just dialogue (like now).


Yeah, first time I noticed that in such a heavy-dialogue scene during my experiences of GM'ing. The thing is that posting orders, for me, usually make for a more ordered RP but then, you get into that whole rail-roaded nonsense. Non-posting orders or free-for-alls are generally something I have very little experience with and can generally result in the whole RP being incomprhensible and since I didn't intend for this to be a pure sandbox, well, FFA doesn't work well with a non-sandbox, plot RP.

Still, I'll take your idea into consideration, @BurningDaisies. I'll think about removing the posting order if the RP festers for too long without posts. Still, there is a plot and it has to be moved along without being drenched in the tide of conversations and so forth.

FYI, @Sisyphus, you're posting next in IC,still at home as of this moment.
@Sisyphus
@VidyaParamia
@Kymera
@BurningDaisies
I will be currently away from home for the next two days or so. I will not be online on RoleplayerGuild until then.

Until then, please ask any questions you have to me . Remember, your opinion matters!

(=0=)


Two things are infinite


(=0=)



Hushed whispers were left under his wake. The constant calls for an autograph or some sort of memorabilia derived from his own hands trailed behind him. For the average un-educated person who has been living underneath an Golem for the entirety of the last 70 years, they would find the image of the veritable crowd of sycophants and adolescent trainers following an old, hoary man wearing the attire of a classy nonagenarian to be somewhat 'strange'.

Samuel Gerald Oak wishes that were the case. As he tiredly scribbles down his signature and panders to the requests of meaningless, trivial photography, he briefly wishes for a semblance of normality, yet, the Oak line seems to abhor the very concept itself.

He has wished always to be referred to as 'normal'. He muses to himself, during a spot of tea or signing yet another one of the thousands of research papers sent to him for review, that the odds of that ever happening in his life-time will never see the light of day. He is, of course, Professor Oak, head of all poke-scientific endeavors within the Indigo Provincial Government, revolutionary poke-technology engineer, a political boogeyman, former Grand Champion of the Indigo Pokemon League along with a thousand titles derived from a combination of social reverence and complete, utter pants-shitting terror.

The number of responsibilities that the Indigo League expects him to uphold is no less grand than the amount of titles he hold. Legislative bills come under his review, government scientific consultation is his hobby, giving permission for uses of psychic divining and distortion dunking on blacklisted prisoners is merely an annoyance for him and he tangles with all manners of politicians on a daily basis.

Despite all of this, he is not over-worked. Merely stressed, as any person put under his situation would be.

Today, he has only one responsibility. One of his few rare work-breaks it would seem. His responsibility today is to supervise the proceedings of the Graduation Ceremony and to give the usual speeches of 'equal opportunity for every trainer' and the merits of effort, hard-work and everything associated with it.

Suddenly, the crowd then disperses like a flock of Pidgeys as a trio of men and women alike come through, dressed smart in power suits and the definition of being well-organised to the point of perfection. A regimented posture along with the leader of the trio holding up an badge that would send shivers down the spine of any Indigo citizen. A.C.E. The director had been so thoughtful to sent him an entourage of agents, stating that it was for his own 'personal protection' during the graduation ceremony. He scoffed at this.

Pure utter poppycock.

Gareth, his own personal former-Championship Dragonite, would have been enough to deter anyone from attempting an assassination attempt on him. The director had sent them to keep an eye on him. Everyone was an asset to A.C.E and they couldn't handle any piece that was rebellious to them on their jingoistic, nationalistic, clandestine chessboard of an organisation. Nevertheless, he was grateful for the relief of social pressure they provided. He and the group of agents share a nod before he continues to walk towards the entrance to the secret underground series of tunnels that led to the Amphitheater. The agents blend back into the crowd of party-goers and tourists, eerily becoming invisible to sight in a manner of seconds. It was as expected of any security service that operated in Kantonese waters. A.C.E doesn't scare him as it did back in his days of youth.

Still, he found himself gripping the miniaturized poke-ball underneath his lab-coat more harder than usual.



(=0=)


The universe and human stupidity


(=0=)



Slate


Willis noticed for the first time that some people were beginning to congregate near his own space of peace and quiet serenity. He would have made for it if it wasn't for the fact that it seemed that every space except his own designated one underneath the marble arch of the underground hall was filled to the brim with trainers. Noisy, rampant, social trainers like a herd of cawing Wingulls. Fuck. Well, at the very least, they seem to have desired the same thing as he did. Distance away from the cacophany of noise that was beginning to grate on his nerves. Oh, for god's sake, when would they begin the damn ceremony?

Willis pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing out as the clamor of noises continued to annoy the goddamn hell out of him. He leaned further backwards against the wall, a permanent scowl begining to form on his face as he assessed his surroundings. There was only one trainer currently and thankfully, she seemed to be more engrossed with reading her letters than interacting with him. Good. The only thing notable about her was the heat she was packing in the form of one of the largest and most robust species currently within the room right now. There were the standard elemental trios of specially bred League starter mon, mon caught off the routes, the odd Pinsir and a room that was mostly full of the indigenous species of Kanto. The Ranger in Willis couldn't help fill in the details as he stared at the beast for a while longer, averting its ornery gaze at most times.

Tauros. Packs of them were common out in the Frontier, their herds numbered only in the dozens but they more then made up with it with their sheer, awesome power. A fully grown male bull Tauros was a Delta-3 species. Capable of tangling with most indigenous species within the Viridian Frontier without a scratch and its thick skin allowed it to just outright ignore most physical attacks. Coupled with meter long horns that could gore through flesh and bone and you had yourself a threat that could take down a unprepared Ranger. One Tauros was bad. Four and five needed a full squad of Vets to shred through. They were just as notorious as the Nidoking Packs in terms of 'the list of things that had the potential to fuck over anything that wasn't a Blackhat'. Fortunately, they weren't as hostile to humans as the Nidos nor were they blitzing pests like the Beedrill. Their mating seasons were slow-moving and unlike most species of the Para-Kingdom, they were generally non-hostile to humans. They had the general standard rule of ' If you leave us alone, we'll leave you alone.'

Willis could respect that. Tauros were the only species in the Viridian that the Rangers didn't need to cull regularly on a daily basis.

In terms of battling strength, Tauros were solid at the beginning. A solid core to build a expansive and varied team around. They could crush most Novice-Ranked Battles without a scratch and if a trainer was careful enough not to let them suffer from a career ending injury and trained their mon well, a good, healthy Tauros was viable in Major-Ranked competitions. His respect bumped up several notches when he noticed that the damn mammal was allowing her to sit on him like a couch. Anyone else who would have attempted that on a Tauros would have been stuck in the infirmary bay for a week or so. Her physicality was also impressive for someone who hadn't been in the-

"I still sometimes get flashes where I think I can see"

Willis snapped his head to the front, the soft female voice knocking him out of his reverie as he recovered from the unexpected surprise. A pair of women were currently standing in front of him, their appearances contrasting one another greatly. One of them was a woman who was the definition of physically imposing and a nose that you didn't want to tweak casually. From her stance and her apparel, a professional military or security career was written all over her like an open book. The women lingered behind the smaller, more petite women in front of her, keeping close proximity to her as if she...needed to be guarded? Why the hell would she needed to guarded? Was she royalty of some sort? It wasn't like her blank glaze to his shoulder meant that she was b-

Oh. Damn. Willis came to the realization sooner than later as the pair introduced themselves, the taller woman of the pair still giving him a death-glare that made him shift uncomfortably. God, he could only imagine what hell that bodyguard went through for her blind ward.

"Song Lin and Song Qiao, and my Eevee."

Willis replied back after a long pause, gulping slightly as he uttered out a hasty introduction of his own, making sure to not inquire about the medical condition of the girl in front of him. That would have been rude.

" Uh, Willis Ashton. Call me Slate if you want to."

A pause. For a minute or so. Willis scratched the undersides of his jacket before he tried to assuage his own curiosity before he was rudely interrupted by a formal voice.

" So, uh....., no offense but are you b-"

"Ashlynn Ivy. Charmed to make the acquaintance of my fellow trainers-to-be."

Piss. That was a fruity as hell tinge of Vermillion (motherfucking MILITARY) in that accent and he could sense 'high-class reprobate' when he heard it. Willis turned his eyes to yet another new arrival. Waif-like in appearance and her clothing reeked of the latest fashion trends. Her hair was cut in a measured bowl-cut and her face had an assured confidence to it, as if she thought the Indigo Plateau was going to be no sweat. Willis didn't like to assume as it made an ass out of himself and everyone around him but something about the woman just didn't rub straight with him. Willis replied back quickly to her introduction in a dead-pan voice as he raised one solitary eyebrow towards her. He raised a hand towards her to shake hers. While he was tempted to yell out obscenities against her Vermillion background, as all sane Rangers did, he was a Trainer now. There was a semblance of common sense in her cordial manner of socialization and while he despised it, he couldn't let biases get the better hang of him now.

" Charmed as well, Miss Ivy. Name's Willis Ashton. Sorry but I was just in the middle of a conversati-"

“Well aren’t you a cheery lot? Ya know the exams are over right? No need t’look like any of the Proctors are gonna be yellin’ at ya for another couple of weeks.”

OH, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, DID ARCEUS HAVE A VENDETTA AGAINST HIM?

“Name’s Rhode, and this festering lump of scales is Kye.”

“Char!”


Willis gave a lazy introduction of his own, letting go of Ashlynn's hand as he waved towards the new arrival.

" Hey. Name's Willis. Thanks for dropping all in so suddenly."

Blinking his eyes tiredly, the sudden introductions were beginning to wear on his nerves as he looked towards the third individual to come to what was supposed to be his happy place. His safe sanctum where he could rest in peace. The individual was dressed like a rebel teenage hoodlum, a jacket with charred spots all over, the most likely suspect being the psuedo-dragon starter of Kanto sitting on his shoulder. A mischevious grin seemed to be plastered to the man's face, never losing excitement. There were several tattoos inscribed on his lean and muscled forearms, laid bare for the world to see. Most notable was the dragon-tattoo. Didn't match the typical designs of the Blackthorn Clan but judging from the pseudo-dragon type on his shoulder, this Rhode was most likely related to a family of dragon breeders of some sort.
One could only hypothesize. Willis signed out loud, a grunt of frustration as he replied to Rhode's question, the man's voice insufferably peppy with enthusiasm.

" Any idea when they’ll get tired of keepin’ us penned up?"

" They'll announce when the ceremony begins when the ceremony begins, man. They're supposedly sending an Alakazam to pick up one of the guest speakers, most likely Youngster Joey this year, and Professor Oak should be-"

Aw, crap. Willis picked Thrush's pot out of the ground as Rhode's Charmander was placed onto the ground, his Oddish slightly annoyed as vines began to unravel out of the dirt, clawing around Willis's arms. Willis took a tube-like whistle out of his pocket, blow as a low-pitched tune came out. The vines stopped before creeping back inside the soil. Willis signed as he scooted Thrush's pot away from the proximity of the Charmander, giving a apologetic glance towards the people around him.

" Sorry about that. My Oddish is from Waterloo. He's not too receptive towards noise and he gets riled up. Shit happens when he gets riled up."

Shit in the form of a gaseous toxic pollen dispersal with multiple agents that simultaneously caused internal bleeding, dissolved organs inside out and septic shock all one package. Waterloo were some crazy bastards.

The current subject on his mind was the amount of trainers that were beginning to concentrate on his own location was somewhat distressing. While it would be hypocritical and arrogant for him to say that he was uncomfortable of damn 'civvies' since he was dishonorably discharged from the Ranger Corps, he wasn't all that fond of socialization with trainers around him. During his short tenure as a Ranger, he was astounded by the stupidity of some of the trainers that he'd managed to encounter on routes, ones that attempted to stray from the protected areas of Viridian Forest into the Frontier to get a catch of some higher-tier pedigree monsters for competition or due to simple, stupid curiosity. The Frontier was shelved off from civilization by large, fuck-off Route Walls for a reason. To protect you from the big, scary monsters that could kill you in a thousand different ways. The things that he saw behind the Route Walls were infinitely more scary than the menagerie of Ratatas, Pidgies, Pikachus and roving critters that were found in the tall grass prairies around most settlements.

So, the question was still present. Why did he become a trainer in the first place if he was fiercely opposed to the very idea before? A reviled Ranger trying to pass for a bog-standard trainer. The reason behind his decision still eluded him.

A announcement rushed out of the speakers in answer to Rhodes question as Willis scratched the leaves of his Oddish, trying to calm the jittery plant down.

" Attention, all trainers. We are sorry for the wait but the ceremony approximately begins in about 15 minutes. Please make sure that your pokemon are stored in your poke-balls by then and that you are prepared for the activities of the ceremony. Until then, please enjoy the mandatory refreshments available in the hall."

Willis spoke sardonically towards Rhode once he was sure that Thrush was calm and ready, leaning back once against the marble wall as he scratched and tousled his hair.

" Looks like there's your answer, Rhode. Now..."

Willis yawned as he took out a canteen of water, sipping and parching his thirst before screwing back on the cap. He then grunted to himself sarcastically as he put the canteen back into his own pocket.

" I'm a man with one arm....I'm stuck with a bunch of goddamn civvies and I'm a Ranger trying to be a Trainer....and everyone's introducing themselves to me all of a sudden. "

15 minutes of more socialization with motherfucking civvies.

He would take a bout into the Viridian Frontier than deal with this crap.



(=0=)



Blackhat (The Black Berets)- The Blackhats are the Kantonese Ranger Corps specialized mon extermination division. Each member is equipped with a arsenal of mon-derived firepower ludicrous enough to destroy entire towns and civilizations, with each member standard pokemon being a Waterloo Genetically Modified Gyarados. There are currently 10 Blackhat Teams, currently situated in each Kantonese Province with each team specialized to deal with certain threats in their location such as ghost-slaying, anti-psionics, extreme prejudice against Titan-Class pokemon and so forth. There are currently 150 members split between in the Blackhat Division and they are currently responsible for most of Kanto living under safe harbor.


Distortion Dunking- An illegal method of torture which involves exposing the victim to the effects of the Distortion, typically with the assistance of a dark-type or a ghost type. The psyche of the victim is typically rendered beyond repair after prolonged periods of distortion-dunking, which contributes to the controversial nature of the method. The method is kept under tight locks with A.C.E and several other agencies such as Interpol denying its use in their investigations. There are several leaks about its existence with public groups outcrying its continued use and multiple regions around the world. No attempt has been made by the Indigo Provincial Government to halt use of distortion-dunking.


The Frontier- The Frontier is a term designated to the large expanses of unclaimed land filled with populations of wild mon beyond the Route Walls and the Hades Swathe, a 200 meter long trench filled to the brim with explosives and pikes to deter any hostile mon. The Frontier exists as a compromise for mankind's security so that wild pokemon and mankind are able to co-exist without pokemon swarming city centers for food and survival.


Youngster Joey-A roaming Major-Ranked 'Youngster' Trainer famous for exclusively using Ratatas and Raticates only in his reportaire. He is unable to go to the Indigo League Finals due to the simple fact that Ratatas and Raticates aren't worth shbang at Championship-Level but he has received wide-scale media recognition for his achievements.


Arceus- The claims of Arceus, the so-called God of all Creation, has been hotly contested between the scientific community and the religious community for centuries. While the ultimate scientific consenseus is that there is no such pokemon as Arceus. The Cult of Arceus mostly is concentrated in the region of Sinnoh with attempts to go abroad to Kanto being unsuccessful due to the efforts of the Mew Cult and the Legendary Birds Cult.



(=0=)



Indigo Regional Government Para-Kingdom Index:(004)- Charmander

Basic Characteristics: Fire Type, Dragon Type sub-traits (EDIT: Dragon Type Rating removed after addendum on type relation during ICPS Conference, changed to sub-trait for more accurate representation of species), bipedal with reptilian physiology, Carnivore, red-orange coloration with cream-colored belly, continuous flame on end of tail to act as excess methane gas removal, avg height: 2 ft, avg weight: 8.5 kg, world record height: 3 feet, world record height: 39.4 kg.

Description: Charmanders are one of the exclusive members of the Kantonese Standard Starter Trio, along with Squirtle and Bulbasaur, commonly used as an expensive beginning starter mon for trainers due to reliability and exponential growth rate in terms of battle power. There has been a common mistake in members not of and of the scientific community to associate the Charmander Line with the Dragon-Type Line. Due to genetic differences between the Charmander and most species in the dragon family along with several behavioral differences, it is more scientifically accurate to consider a Charmander a pure Fire-Type rather than a Dragon Type. The evolution cycle of the Charmander is the longest out of any mon, resulting in most trainers seeking Charmeleons or Charmanders that are near evolution stage or buying genetically modified Charmanders with growth therapy modifications from Chimera Industries.

Nickname: The Lizard Pokemon, candle-raptors, false-wyrms.

"-In other words, Channel Indigo One reports that one scientist during the ICPS conference, comments that the changing of the Charmander lines typing from a dual fire/dragon type to a singular fire type was equivalent to the demotion of Pluto from a planet to a dwarf planet...."

(G.M Note: Phew, was that a doozy. If you have any problem with the way I played this scenario out, please comment in the OOC so I can make considerations towards changes that would improve the quality of my post)

Aw right, time to prep another multi-paragraphed GM RESPONSE!

Let's DO THIS!
Designated posting order appears to be

Me
@Innue
@Sisyphus
@Kymera
@VidyaParamia
@BurningDaisies

I will be gone again next week to visit my grandma in the highlands so BurningDaisies, you have all the time next week to formulate your reply.

This is an advanced RP so take your time. But don't take too much time until it becomes over-expired.
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