I don't like it, especially in a "survival" RP when everything works out for the characters. I want there to be an element of randomness, and a possibility of failure.
Plot will be pretty typical, and I'll need three things:
Adequate interest, a Co-GM and a relatively simple RPG system. I have a rough one in my head that I'll lay out when I get home, and if anyone has experience with dice systems, they can critique it.
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Tom Morhaime - The Florence - Tony Teixeira
They hadn't broken a law all day, aside from maybe a few traffic violations. This little group of bikers had just been out for a leisurely afternoon ride. So why was this screw following them? Tom wasn't sure anyone else noticed, but when the pack roared up to the Florence and they all turned their bikes to face the street and back their wheels against the curb, he saw that same car waltz on over and park nearby.
He took off his helmet(carbon fiber, full face, only the best) and dumped it unceremoniously on the seat of his bike, and walked into the bar, stripping his gloves off as he went. He threw the doors open and just barely caught sight of Tony walking out the back door.
"Hey, Tone, hold up." He jogged through the bar and caught up to him, threw an arm over his shoulder and said in an undertone. "Where's Mr. McCray? I think we were followed coming back."
They hadn't broken a law all day, aside from maybe a few traffic violations. This little group of bikers had just been out for a leisurely afternoon ride. So why was this screw following them? Tom wasn't sure anyone else noticed, but when the pack roared up to the Florence and they all turned their bikes to face the street and back their wheels against the curb, he saw that same car waltz on over and park nearby.
He took off his helmet(carbon fiber, full face, only the best) and dumped it unceremoniously on the seat of his bike, and walked into the bar, stripping his gloves off as he went. He threw the doors open and just barely caught sight of Tony walking out the back door.
"Hey, Tone, hold up." He jogged through the bar and caught up to him, threw an arm over his shoulder and said in an undertone. "Where's Mr. McCray? I think we were followed coming back."
"Of course, those two troublemakers." Though neither had gotten into anything too crazy since the first day, White had never quite shaken the idea that they were likely to start fights. "I'll see what I can do, but don't let those two drag you into anything you should be doing."
~~~
The next month and a half passed very differently for each of the trio. Rather than petering out towards the mid-year break, as Richard had grown to expect, the work load at school seemed to increase with no end in sight. Richard started to feel a little stretched thin, with OWL level schoolwork and the Society for Creative Research both demanding heavily on his time and attention.
Sitting in for Caelum's painting sessions became the icing on the cake. He even suspected it was messing with his head, as by mid-November he had begun experiencing a recurring dream where he was the painting, looking out from his weird two dimensional world. He wasn't even sure how his mind had developed the imagery, and when he woke up he found he could barely even imagine what it had been like.
By the fifteenth of December, his grades had started to slip a little, and he found himself having to practice his spells a little harder to get them down, and he found himself practicing vanishing while Cae painted him in the last SCR meeting before break.
"Try not to capture too much scowling," Richard told her wearily, as he put down his wand in favor of a book. It was yet another of Clowers' texts. He was an unfortunately prolific writer.
~~~
The next month and a half passed very differently for each of the trio. Rather than petering out towards the mid-year break, as Richard had grown to expect, the work load at school seemed to increase with no end in sight. Richard started to feel a little stretched thin, with OWL level schoolwork and the Society for Creative Research both demanding heavily on his time and attention.
Sitting in for Caelum's painting sessions became the icing on the cake. He even suspected it was messing with his head, as by mid-November he had begun experiencing a recurring dream where he was the painting, looking out from his weird two dimensional world. He wasn't even sure how his mind had developed the imagery, and when he woke up he found he could barely even imagine what it had been like.
By the fifteenth of December, his grades had started to slip a little, and he found himself having to practice his spells a little harder to get them down, and he found himself practicing vanishing while Cae painted him in the last SCR meeting before break.
"Try not to capture too much scowling," Richard told her wearily, as he put down his wand in favor of a book. It was yet another of Clowers' texts. He was an unfortunately prolific writer.
Ignore post. Clipboard trouble.
CS moved to first page.
Name: Thomas Morhaime
Age: 26
Personality : Loyal to the club, but burdened with a surprisingly liberal viewpoint, for a gun nut biker. Not a coward, but has historically felt insecure, and sought defense mechanisms. First guns, then the club. Being with the Angels, and wearing the patch, makes him feel safe and protected.
Has a "new is better" attitude. On the one hand, he doesn't fall for nostalgia traps(using outdated equipment because of style or personal meaning) but on the other, it took a while to convince him of the virtues of carburetors over fuel injectors for motorcycles.
Gang: Fallen Angels
Brief Bio: Thomas was bullied a lot when he was younger, and he took to guns(with his ex-marine father helping push him along) as a defense mechanism. when he got older, he got a job in a pawn shop, and paid special attention to the guns coming in. His self learned expertise helped earn the shop a bit more money, and it became known to specialize in guns.
It was a dirty gun coming into the shop that planted the seed that eventually led Thomas to break bad. Someone came into the shop, looking to sell their piece to make some extra cash. He recognized it very quickly as being less than legit, but rather than call the cops like he was legally required to, he paid the customer for it out of pocket and kept it. The pawn shop was a crap job, and he knew he could make a lot more on the dirtier side of the gun dealing industry. He tracked the dirty gun down to the Fallen Angels, and approached them about joining. He became a prospect, and did what he had to do to earn his patch and get in on the gun business.
I am interested.
In
From the ashes ((An anthro-optional post apocalyptic rp))
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Interest Checks
How far along is it, and how long has it been inactive?
"Over holiday?" he asked, in a musing voice. "In Canada?" White stared at her intensely for a moment. He finally spoke up, "I'm glad you thought to ask me now, so that I can brew the potion ahead of time. May I ask what led to this trip?"
"Uh, what?" Richard said as she hugged him. "What, like impersonation?" He called after her as she walked off, "I don't do impressions, River!"
"I don't know what that was about," he said when she had gone, "If she sees something we don't she should just fucking say it. I don't need more cryptic hints in my life."
~~~
Professor White was at his desk, John the Raven was standing on the desk, eating little bits of bacon off of White's breakfast plate. He looked up from his uneaten food and put his fork down.
"Of course," he said by way of greeting, "You have a headache." It wasn't a question, he pointed to his own head, "Right about here. There's nothing I can do about it, should go away within the day." When she didn't immediately go away he looked back up at her, "Is there something else on your mind?"
"I don't know what that was about," he said when she had gone, "If she sees something we don't she should just fucking say it. I don't need more cryptic hints in my life."
~~~
Professor White was at his desk, John the Raven was standing on the desk, eating little bits of bacon off of White's breakfast plate. He looked up from his uneaten food and put his fork down.
"Of course," he said by way of greeting, "You have a headache." It wasn't a question, he pointed to his own head, "Right about here. There's nothing I can do about it, should go away within the day." When she didn't immediately go away he looked back up at her, "Is there something else on your mind?"
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