EchoicChamber

A Truly "Gifted" Life (Ignore post count)

@RumikoOhara Approved!

A Truly "Gifted" Life (Ignore post count)

@RumikoOhara Mmm, I got you. As long as you don't abuse the power or anything, then it should be fine.

A Truly "Gifted" Life (Ignore post count)

@RumikoOhara Bunny’s Powers have a really interesting premise! c: Could I ask what her weaknesses are, though? Her powers are fairly strong, and that’s fine so long as there’s stuff to balance that out.

A Truly "Gifted" Life (Ignore post count)

@RumikoOhara Glad to have caught your interest! c: Don’t feel pressured to read all the posts at once before joining or anything, cause I know it’s a lot so far. We’d be more than happy to offer a quick summary if necessary!

When it Comes to RP Advertising...

@NuttsnBolts That makes sense. I was just concerned because I wasn't sure why it wanted me to log in, so I didn't want to take the risk. If it's just to kind of ascertain that I'm not a bot or anything, then there's no problem with that.

Thanks for all y'all's input! I'll go ahead and use the methods you guys have suggested to revitalize interest, although rebooting the RP entirely will probably be more of a last resort than anything. c:

When it Comes to RP Advertising...

@SleepingSilence I'm a bit hesitant about using the site Discord cause it prompts me to log in with my account directly into the RPG site, but I think I might give it a go once I'm back on my home computer. c:

@HueMan Mmmm, I got you. I think I'll go ahead and do that, then. Thank you a bunch!

When it Comes to RP Advertising...

Where do y'all feel would be the best place to do so?
I've got an ongoing roleplay that I'm really enjoying, A Truly "Gifted" Life. It's a bit slow, but it's steady, so I'm thinking that soon I might try combing the site for more prospective joiners. Thing is, I'm not really sure where I would do this, haha. The Interest Check section is more geared towards garnering interest towards an RP that hasn't started yet, and I'm not sure if it would fit in this section. Advertising is sometimes done in the side bar from what I've seen (and done once), but I don't want to be a nuisance about it or anything.

So, what are y'all's thoughts on the matter? c:

A Truly "Gifted" Life (Ignore post count)

Ranch House

Bellataire went on, raving about respect and freedom, life and power. Dawn kept an ear open to the man as she helped Drake limp inside, but for the most part, her attentions were more focused on the unsteady body propped up against hers. Her lips pursed into a thin line as she lead him to one of the couches- one that didn’t directly face where Rei sprawled, mangled as she was- and laid him onto the cushions as gently as possible. “We aren’t going to leave you, Drake. We will find a way out of this. Alright?” Dawn rested a hand on Drake’s shoulder, smiling in a way that she hoped would reassure him. Would convince him that everything might come out fine- not perfect, but fine- in the end, like they always did.

Her smile waned as Drake brought up the prisoner, visibly struggling to get the words out, and her eyes widened with blatant concern as he doubled over, pain etched deep into his face. Dawn didn’t need her Gift to see that Drake was fading fast- the nullification snuffing out whatever it was inside him that kept him moving. She caught Drake’s arm again, holding it fast for a moment. “I’ll head up and see what I can right now. Don’t push yourself.” With that, she stepped away, eyes grim as she ascended the steps into the attic.

The smell was vile- just as bad, if not worse, as the one that had been trapped in the cellar. Dawn kept her head down as she entered, but she could still quite easily see the full extent of the damage inflicted on the prisoner from where she stood. The stained, grimy shirt, the way he slumped against his restraints, how…broken he seemed. Much like his basement counterpart, he was teetering on the edge of death. Unlike her, there was little they could do for him in the short amount of time they had.

Taking in shallow lungfuls of the attic’s air, Dawn glanced about, looking for a place to conceal the man from the hungry eyes of the slavers. There was little furniture within the room, aside from a few boxes of old knick knacks and worm-eaten chairs that were far too small to feasibly hide a body. There were a few tarps scattered across the floor, too- evidently used for painting years back- but she couldn’t exactly just toss one over the prisoner and call it a day.

The options were beginning to look slim at best when she caught sight of a distinctly malformed section of the already-unfinished wall. The panel jutted out at the slightest of angles, showing nothing but inky black behind it. Bracing herself, Dawn went over to the prisoner, carefully untying the knot that kept him bound to the attic’s support before winding her arms beneath his.

“If you can hear me,” she began, dragging him to the unfinished wall, “then I’m sorry about this.” The wound in his gut probably wouldn’t be closing anytime soon, so she attempted to go as carefully as possible, prying the panel open with her foot before sliding him into the dark. She stopped once he was fully out of sight, loosely binding his hands again before leaving the makeshift compartment. Dawn pushed the gap shut again, and, once finished, stepped back to appraise her work. It wasn’t a perfect job, but unless they knew what to look for, it would be hard to catch. With that done, Dawn turned to leave the attic, wringing her hands as she descended.

She froze in her tracks upon passing one of the windows. Outside was the sight of numerous men prowling about the house, weapons in hand.

How long had they been there without them knowing?

Outside, she could hear a woman- the assistant Hel attacked before the smoke went up. Another quick glance told Dawn that she was still very much wounded from the incident, and that, unlike her companions, she was completely unarmed. That garnered a sort of respect. While her association with the slavers didn’t make her a moral paragon, her apparent attempt to resolve things was admirable. If it wasn’t a trick, that was.

Dawn was about to reply when she caught sight of the other side of the fog. There, the man who was once Fen had pinned Toby down, in a way that seemed less than friendly. Especially given his new apparent loyalty to the slavers. Her teeth clenched, and she moved closer to the window, voice raised to catch the attention of their unwelcome guests.

“We aren’t looking for a fight,” she called. “And I’m sure that we can resolve things without one. Just let our friend go, first. Then we can talk.”

The head slaver, Bellataire, did have a point about one thing. He had lodged himself securely in a place of power from the very moment he arrived. The chances of a full-out brawl working in their favor were very low. Dawn didn’t want to think about what would happen if he ignored her request, or, even worse, sent his men after them all anyway.

At the moment, words were the best weapon she had at her disposal.

A Truly "Gifted" Life (Ignore post count)

Ranch House

The presence of the tank’s guns prompted Pierrot to draw a few steps back, hands raised, palms held open. “Easy there,” he said, breezily. “I’m sure we can work out-”
Whatever it was that Pierrot was hoping they could “work out” went unsaid as the sudden blast of an explosive shook the ground beneath all their feet. He stumbled, eyes widening in genuine alarm for a moment before he masked it, clicking his tongue and laughing. “Nevermind, then. That’s fine, too.”

It wouldn’t have been much of a surprise if Bellataire’s job offer had nabbed him his fair share of employees- especially if he wasn’t just lying through his teeth about the whole company (and given the fact he had a tank and a damn nuke at his disposal, it seemed likely that he really, really wasn’t). To your average ashlander, one suffering the ache of an empty belly and the constant slap of the elements in their face, his offer must’ve seemed like a godsend. Given the man’s ego, he probably encouraged the idea. However, the Wanderers weren’t necessarily your average ashlander. Percival and his family even more so. There was only one Founder-slash-ex Leader of Liberty roaming the ash, and now, only two children of said Founder. The price on their heads to Lib and Eru alike would likely be astronomical, and that wasn’t exactly a flattering thing.

Combine that with the fact that several of their members were dying as a result of Bellataire just showing his mug, and the offer lost a pretty huge chunk of its appeal. Toby and Drake seemed pretty against the idea too, even if Mister Not-Fen had already started kissing the feet of the slaver. The assistant popping out of Bellataire’s tank earned an idle glance from Pierrot, as did the folders gathered up in her arms, but not much else. He was pretty happy being unemployed, really.

He did a double take, however, at the organic tearing of flesh, and the scream that followed. Hel had sunk part of a bench right through the lady’s arm. Both disturbing, and mildly impressive, to be honest. But mostly disturbing. And then the mercenary guy was shouting for them to cover their eyes, and, doing so, he immediately came to hear the frantic screams of Hel- screams that gradually grew distant.

If this was another person come to take her back to Erubesco, Pierrot would be about ready to eat his shoe.

Eyes snapping back open, Pierrot sank into the mist, chasing down the voice with no other idea as to where to go. The bomb had left him disoriented, and finding the house now would likely just lead him to stumble around like a man blind. Which he was. Coughing, Pierrot eventually broke through to the scene of Spire sinking his blade into the back of the mercenary, the mercenary being incredibly pissed at this development, and Hel looking generally spooked out of his wits. Pierrot gave another cough- both to clear his lungs and to draw the attention of the little group- then let his hands fall to his sides.

“You do realize good ol’John there is gonna be more likely to let ‘er rip now that you pulled that little stunt, right? And that slavers aren’t vampires? Cause, you know, he could just,” with middle and pointer finger, Pierrot mimed a man strolling along his other palm, “stroll in through the door? Or break a window? Shoot through the walls?”

A fact that Pierrot was keenly aware of, what with his dad and sister still hiding within. His anger tinted the far end of his words in spite of himself, and the panic more so. Patting down the front of his coat, Pierrot looked to Spire, jerking his thumb in the direction of the house. Or where he remembered it being, at least.

“Guy’s still gotta point, though. Should probably make a move for it before we all get churned into a fine puree.” The noise was faint, but he could hear the sound of footsteps around them. A lot of them.

Pierrot’s hand dropped to the deck in his pocket, but it was only out of habit. Fancy gear went a lot farther than his cards would, sad to say.

A Truly "Gifted" Life (Ignore post count)

@LordofthePies Damn, sorry to hear that, dude. I wish you the best of luck in your future roleplays!