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2 mos ago
Current So I'm pursuing a PhD in Philosophy (Ethics, specifically) and meanwhile I can't for the life of me make any quick choice when it comes to coffee. Am I fighting an uphill battle here?
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6 mos ago
Hooray for upcoming surprise CT Scan! :/
8 mos ago
Did someone say Disturbed?
5 likes
8 mos ago
"...You haven't changed at all, Snake."
9 mos ago
Underwent cavity repair yesterday and woke up to blood pouring out of my nose and mouth at irregular intervals. Ain't life grand?
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Bio

Heyo! Just your friendly neighborhood Disturbed Spec here. Avid Roleplay addict, writer, reader and gamer who owns for baby birds (because honestly why not?) I look forward to creating amazing memories with you all on this site! Cheers!

Most Recent Posts



Location: En route to Blackwater

Interactions: Closed [TEMP]

'Come on... Just a few more minutes, and then I'm in Blackwater. The Law can't do anything outside of their province.'

Butch screamed as Nora kicked him mildly again. "Faster! Follow the trail to Blackwater- I'll keep them off of us!" Nora shouted just loud enough for the Arabian horse to hear over the blowing wind. Barring any other interaction, it would've seemed borderline surreal that a horse could comprehend Human instruction, must less know exactly what it was supposed to do in all the chaos. Yet the Arabian horse generally displayed a very high intelligence, and Butch knew exactly what Nora was telling him. Breaking into a galloping sprint down the trail, Nora kept her left hand secured to the horn of the saddle, while her right reached for a Schofield revolver- they were going too fast for her to be able to utilize her Lichfield. Turning around to look back at the fading visage of the locomotive, Nora's silent predictions were confirmed as the familiar blue-clad men on horseback began to gallop after her; albeit at a slower pace as they favored Andalusians.

She really wanted to avoid killing these men, and she quickly holstered her Revolver and returned her gaze ahead of her. They weren't her target- hell, they were just doing their job. Nonetheless, her record kept by the State of Lemonye would almost certainly end in her up at the gallows without trial if she was caught. She couldn't afford either possibility. As Butch kept following the trail, Nora heard a sharp 'CRACK!' behind her as a signature white line flew past her and into the ground just meters ahead of her; the dirt detonating into a miniature cloud as the bullet embedded itself into the dusty soil. 'Just a bit more...' As if her internal pleas were answered, she could very faintly hear the sounds of the posse breaking away as she saw the town of Blackwater up ahead. A grin overcame her face as she sighed in relief, steering her horse over to the Saloon and stopping at a hitch post. She leaned down and patted Butch on the underside of his neck, reaching into her satchel and giving the horse a handful of hay to graze on as she disembarked her stallion. Throwing the reigns over Butch's head to secure to the post, she straightened herself out and casually walked on in to the Saloon.

Nora walked in cooly, hearing some version of Ragtime being played on the piano as she approached the bartender. Tipping the man a dollar and fifty cents, she softly said "Mule Skinner." The Bartender nodded, and reached behind the counter to prepare her a drink made of whiskey and blackberry liquor. Nora was thankful that the glasses serving the beverages were small, otherwise she might not leave here on two feet. As the barman was tending to her drinks, Nora took the time to glance around the establishment. Blackwater's Saloon was nothing too fancy compared to those in Saint Denis or some parts of New Hanover. An assemblage of grizzled, weathered characters sat around tables, some alone or in pairs or groups playing Poker if they wern't shotgunning drinks. It's not like Nora wanted to stop here- this place had a seedy undertone that she wasn't particularly fond of.

"Ma'am, yer Mule Skinnah'." The Bartender said with a slight smile as he handed her the drink. His eyes lingered on hers as she fought the urge to reach over the counter and slap the pervish grin off his face. Tipping her hat down and sipping her drink, she turned her gaze down to the mesmerizing oakwood groves etched into the countertop. She had just raided a Cornwall train, ransacked it for documents and killed all its members... What the hell was going to be her next move?


Location: Near Eris Field - En route to Blackwater

Interactions: Closed [INTRODUCTION POST]

She’d rehearsed this a million times. Done it almost a quarter of times. Now she was doing it again, and this time, she was going solo. She couldn’t fuck this up.

The Levictus Cornwall branded locomotive had just left Emerald Station minutes earlier, and between the crisp chirping of crickets and gentle sway of trees in the dawn breeze, a low rumble vibrated from the train tracks- signaling that the vehicle was on its way and fast approaching. At this rate, she had a few minutes to spare and prepare her assault from behind a lone tree; her figure perched atop a muscular shadowy quadruped. Giving her repeater and akimbo revolvers a once-over, she glanced out to the direction of the ever-louder growing rumble and fixated her bandana to her head; obscuring her mouth and nose from view. Sweat tinged the back of her hands as she sighed sharply. As nervous as she was, she was confident that Felix would shine his luck down on her during the skirmish. The plan was simple: Board the caboose, clear security, neutralize the conductor, stop the train, and ransack the everliving shit out of it for those documents. She could try to sell them off to a rival company, but that would probably just start a corporate war in that Godforsaken town. She didn’t take solace in thriving off unorganized chaos like the others did. Otherwise, she may as well have been an O’Driscoll with a rope around her neck.

The rumbling grew notably louder, and she could see the smokestack billowing steadily in the horizon; streaking across the sky like a fat-fingered black paintbrush. Her Arabian horse, Butch, stirred and neighed lightly- prompting a soft shushing coo from the outlaw as she reached down and gently patted her trusted companion. A mere reflection of comfort for them both before the bullets started flying. The train in all of its glory finally made its debut appearance as Nora peered around the tree, silently marveling at such a technological feat of construction that she was going to bring to a screaming halt. Alone, without her mentor beside her. She hoped that Felix would be smiling down on her through the heist, and she briefly glanced by to the pink-orange clouds and placed her hand over her heart. With a bellowing loud call of the train whistle signaling a quarter-mile approach into Saint Denis, it was time to get going.

“Start the clock.” She once heard Felix say before a robbery in Lemonye. As the train blew past her, she whipped the reigns and tapped the underbelly of her Butch with the back of her spurs and shouted, “Hyahh!” With a rearing war cry, the Arabian bolted out from behind the tree as she steered her stallion to tail behind the caboose a few meters away, then pick up the pace into a galloping sprint. As she got closer, she immediately took note that the guards stationed at the back weren’t at the balcony of the caboose. Most likely inside, this meant she already knew she had the upper hand. Matching Butch’s breathing as she prepared herself to engage, Nora brought the horse right to the side of the train’s caboose as she swung her legs out from the stirrups, stood on her horse, turned toward the balcony, and kicked herself off in a midair leap. Reaching her hands out in front of her, she successfully grappled the metallic bars as her body slammed into the side with a light grunt. Butch peeled away into the distance, and Nora pulled herself up and into the back balcony of the cabin. Quickly, she ducked behind the right side opening leading into the caboose, and whistled once. She heard a light startle, a mutter of a voice, and fast approaching footsteps as she readied her knife in her left hand, and one Schofield in her right. As predicted, the guard stepped into the doorway as Nora lunged out from the side into a deadly uppercut; impaling the wide-eyed, young looking guard in the bottom palate of his mouth; burying the blade up to the hilt as the force lifted his body up off the ground, releasing a sputtering cough of red mist. Nora leaned out from the door and made her way into the lobby as she leveled the Schofield at the reacting second guard and fired off two shots in his direction. One bullet embedded itself into his shoulder with a sickening ‘THWACK’, causing the guard to stumble back and fire off a retaliatory shot. Unfortunately, the intended bullet for Nora was intercepted by the impaled guard’s back, who let out a wet gagging screech as the bullet found its way into his spinal column. Firing off another round at the guard who’d fallen on his back, the bullet embedded itself in the man’s forehead as his dome snapped back, body hitting the floor. Turning her head to the guard still on her knife, she executed a downward yank and freed the knife from its Human imprisonment; leaving the man collapsed and bleeding out on the wooden floor beside her. Flicking the blood off of her knife and wiping the rest on the dying man’s coat, Nora sheathed both her blade and the revolver before reaching behind her to retrieve her repeater.

Cocking the lever back and raising it toward the front door out of the caboose, she could hear footsteps fast approaching to intercept the obvious intruder. Firing a shot toward the door, the bullet splintered into the wood as a grunting scream was heard from the other side. Cracking the lever back and chambering her second shot, she charged the door and reared up her right leg into a powerful front kick. The wooden door swung backward and into the face of the hapless third guard as he and two others stumbled back and onto the floor of the storage coach. Snapping her aim to the trio in utter silence, she lowered the barrel of her rifle into the direction of the men and fired three more times, each bullet hitting their mark and nestling themselves comfortably into the center mass of each man. As they lay dying, she stepped over them and slung her repeater across her back as she reached for both her Schofield revolvers; scanning the area in front of her as quickly pressed her left hand to her right to assist it in opening the chamber, ejecting the spent cartridges, and reloading the remaining three shots of the righthand Schofield. ‘Six bullets, twelve targets each.’ It became clear to her that a rifle was not needed until she spent all of her revolver bullets, and that she could make do with just fine. Charging the front door of the storage coach, her eyes widened as the door burst open before she could get to it; knocking her to floor with a startled yelp as a burly Irishman entered the carriage.

On her back with the strongman giving a baritone grunting laugh, the massive behemoth-looking dude scoffed and piped up. “Oi, now this is qual’ity craic. Lil’ pathetic woman tryin’ ta take us on? Lassie, get back in tha’ kitch’n fer someone gets hurt, aye?” Already recovered and quickly backing up, she got into a combat-ready stance and paced herself before the Irishman charged her with a loud cry of his own. Swinging her body violently to the right and extending her right leg sideways into a twirling roundhouse, the risky move paid off as her foot connected with the man’s head as a blood-curdling shout from the man signaled an injury. Upon regaining her stability, she briefly caught a glimpse of the damage she’d done. Her spurs had horizontally gashed across the lefthand side of the Irishman’s face in a violent tear; taking out his left eye as a stream of crimson was the only thing seen seeping out and down a closed shut pair of lids. The scene was short-lived as the man charged her in an adrenaline-fueled fury; tacking her to the floor on top of him and straddling her to the floor in a pin as he landed a firm right punch to the side of her jaw. Her vision flashed white with splotches of red and gray as her head was violently jerked to the left from the kinetic force absorbed by the impact. Reflexive tears welled up in her eyes and clouded her vision before a blinding anger took over as she reached for her right revolver and had her hand promptly pinned to the floor as the Irishman lifted his spare hand in her face and wagged his index finger in a taunt. Big mistake. Reaching for her left holster, the Irishman’s eyes widened as his own foolishness moments before she’d drawn her revolver and promptly blown his left temple into his right side brains in a close-quarters headshot.

The man stiffened and toppled to the right as Nora scrambled backward and used the momentum to get the body off of her. Taking a moment to recover herself, she picked her hat up off the floor and continued onward into the train. For the past three cabins, she was perplexed to discover that no-one else was safeguarding the train. Security was lax on this transport and most likely diverted elsewhere, which filled Nora with a sneaking suspicion. As she approached the engine carriage, she stacked up against the door and entered the cabin. Empty. Stepping one foot in, she was blindsided by the conductor as he yelled at the top of his lungs and tackle-slammed her into the narrow wall of the cabin. The sweaty man who attacked her had waited in an ambush; pale face perspiring violently as the surprisingly agile skinny man threw a righthand jab into her solar plexus; knocking the wind out of her with a drawn out grunting gasp as he grabbed her by the torso and threw her back against the furnace. The Devil’s tongue caressed against her flesh as the searing heat licked her skin; the metallic housing of the furnace beginning to heat up her back rather uncomfortably as she struggled for breaths in the rapidly humidifying compartment. Another haymaker from the man, this time to the woman’s stomach. Bile rose in her throat, and Nora fought the urge to vomit as she dropped her left Schofield, grabbed his left hand by the elbow and shoved it underneath her armpit right into the metal furnace wall. A light sizzling was heard as the man’s eyes widened as he screamed in pain, struggling to free his pinned hand as she took this opportunity to free her right hand from her weapon to shove the man back against the wall. Now reaching out to tackle him and reversing their roles, Nora proceeded to take the man quickly by the right shoulder with one hand and lean forward into an aggressive shove- right to the opening orange maw of the furnace.

The man virtually flew into it; skin erupting and cooking like a steak as the most ungodly howl permeated the compartment. Reaching down and out to grab her weapons, she leveled the twin Revolvers point-blank at the man’s back and fired the remaining eleven shots into the exposed body, silencing him for good. Holstering her revolver, she pulled the break handle as the devices engaged into the wheels; causing a sudden stop as the train screamed against the railroad in a flurry of orange sparks. She quickly moved back to the first storage coach and quickly began rummaging through chests, boxes and crates. Finding a small safe in one, she frantically placed the box to her ear as she tried the combination hurriedly; hearing a series of clicks as the mechanism disengaged and freed the metal door from the assembly. Therein laid a stack of papers, most likely holding value of some nature as she took the contents out from the safe. Rolling them up to tuck into her field satchel, she finally allowed herself to glance up out of the nearest wide-brimmed window- only to freeze in place. The train had stopped a couple hundred yards away from Saint Denis station, and she could see the familiar blue coats of lawmen on horseback make their way toward the locomotive. God-damn it all. Nora quickly darted toward the back of the caboose and let out a sharp whistle; attracting the attention of both her horse and the hearing of the closest lawman. Butch arrived first, and Nora wasted zero time in jumping from the balcony onto her horse as she quickly kicked the horse’s side and yelled, “Let’s go!” Butch screamed obediently, and broke into a breakneck sprint away from Saint Denis and the train. She heard the telltale whistle of alerted lawmen, and kept going as fast as she could even if the occasional bullet landed in the dirt in front of her. She wasn’t out of trouble yet; she wasn’t until she made it into Blackwater.
I was all somber and giving out mini-grievances with those we have lost, and then I go to the next page and see this. Spit out my coffee and set off my asthma you crazies.
If Nora is accepted, she'll be heading from Saint Denis to Blackwater. Would anyone like to discuss potential meetups if they're going to be in that location?
This is actually one game I don't think I can beat simply because I refuse to see Morgan die. They pulled a fast one with Marston, but that was different yet felt all the same. Arthur's character is all too relatable for me, and I feel like there are logical plotholes that the player should have at least been able to fill in for his character. Doesn't feel right playing 45 hours of the game as Morgan and the remaining 15 as Marston.
@idlehands Not at the moment, but I thought I'd at least get a feel for portraying how they operate regards if getting accepted/denied.
Wrote my intro up and promptly turned Nora into a Jane Wick. It finna be gory lads.
Why thank you, @idlehands! You're too kind. I can't wait to interact with everyone here as well! As for @RedVII - Now I know the Van Der Linde gang does exist, and although a cameo is a possibility, if it is, Nora might give Micah a piece of her mind. Y'know, just... resolving a little OOC grievances of mine if that's at all possible. >:D As for 'Lemoneye'... I took one look at the map and went, "Awww shit." I'll have the corrections done within the next few minutes.
(Heyo! Can't wait to get started on this lovely RP!)

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