Kingfisher

Fallout: Capital Graveyard

Synthetia 52 was quick to make her way to her objective, moving swiftly through the desolate immensity of the Capital Graveyard. Rubble and debris littered the streets; huge chunks of charred rock and twisted metal strewn across grimy stone roads.

She spotted the pair from her vantage point in the crumbled ruins of an old office building, gazing down at them from the fifth floor.

One of them was most certainly Enclave, but there was a woman with him who didn’t seem to quite fit the bill. They were slinking about the broken carcass of a Vertibird, visible to her through a gaping hole in the building opposite.

The Android gazed down the sights of her modified assault rifle. She could probably line up a clear shot, but there was no way her rounds would puncture the trooper’s power armor quickly enough, and then she’d be completely exposed.

“Skin burning…brain melting. It hurts to remember.” A deep, thick voice boomed through the cracked plaster walls, prompting Synthetia to quickly whir around.

A huge shadow, reflecting some sort of lumbering beast covered in rippling muscle, fell upon the doorway, as heavy plodding footsteps came thundering towards her.

Synthetia darting across the room sliding into cover behind the tattered remains of an old support beam, as the brutish taint-ridden face of a Super Mutant came snarling and snapping into view.

The immense goliath plodded slowly into the room, its bestial form clad in motley scraps of metal armour, sniffing frantically at the air like it had some sort of incurable cold.

The Android gently unsheathed her Shock Sword, wrapping her hand delicately around its hilt as she ever-so-slowly pulled it free from its scabbard.

The Super Mutant trudged past her support beam, a giant Super-Sledge fastened to his back by straps and buckles.

Synthetia darted out from cover, leaping forwards and plunging the energised steel into its muscular back. The beast let out a howling roar as the blade pierced its tough hide, its arms flailing about wildly as scores of electricity burrowed beneath his flesh.

One monstrous hand shot backwards, gripping hold of the Android and hurling her through the air. She just about managed to tear the shock sword from the creatures back before she was sent tumbling down, down, down, out of the gaping tear in the side of the building. Synthetia felt the world whizz by, concrete and rubble tumbling past, as she went flying towards the wreckage of the Vertibird which lay bellow, and the pair who were scavenging through it.

She landed with a powerful ‘CRASH!’ smashing into the side of the flaming transport, before rolling limply onto the cold stone floor.

Love Crime [Dystopian Thriller]

Suspect #3 Played by Kingfisher

Age: 18

Physical description: Suspect #3 is a big, broad-hipped young woman, with a flabby stomach and thick legs. She is large breasted, and her milk-pale skin has a moonlit quality to it. She has full lips, and a double-chin creeps at the bottom of her plump face. She garbs herself in scant yet dark attire, wearing form-hugging fishnets and tight black tank tops.

Her blonde hair is streaked with black highlights, and dark mascara runs beneath her emerald green eyes.

Beyond Civilisations Grasp... - A Rogue Trader (WH40K) RP (ON HIATUS, closed for now.)

Between a rock and a hard fist.

Nisvillia could have sworn she felt something brush past her, some shimmering flicker of movement fluttering at the corner of her eye, but it was gone with such speed and grace that she dismissed it as a light breeze drifting in through the broken window.

The sprawling streets beyond the Broken Exhaust were unnervingly quiet as the young woman made her way outside, her enormous hips swaying back and forth with each waddle-like step. House lights flickered dimly amidst the thick smear of darkness, whilst the crude steely domes and spires of Outpost 57 rose stoically upwards, scrapping away at the cathedral-like immensity of the station’s metallic celling.

The ever-present hum of machinery groaned and grunted in routine agony, accompanied by the clinical stench of polished metal which wafted clumsily through the gothic architecture.

The odd shambling figure strode past Nisvillia on her walk, but for the most past the clanking streets and sidewalks of the ‘nicer’ part of town seemed to be refreshingly quiet.

The Wicked Mob, as they had become known, were not one of the more infamous gangs amidst the unruly rabble of Outpost 57; if anything they were one of the least famous, such was the design of their operations. They were a relatively small, unassuming, cabal of pushers and information brokers, working out of back-alleys and corner stores. But they had one thing which made them very, very valuable to Nisvillia Blissponis: The Catwalk.

Composed of secret tunnels, spirals, and walkways, the catwalk ran through the slums and sewers of Outpost 57, allowing the mob to move stealthily back and forth through its industrial enormity, almost completely undetected.

Pushing herself uncomfortably behind a neon billboard, it was one such walkway which Nisvillia found herself on now, plodding down a foggy tunnel of cracked stone and rusted metal. ‘Claustrophobic’ was the first word which sprung to mind as the young woman heaved herself down the winding passageway, very much aware of how much space her great big bulging body was occupying inside the stony tunnel.

A hingeless metal door, featureless in every sense, slid away with a slick whoosh as Nisvillia approached, opening up into the safe haven beyond. Huffing, puffing, and red in the face, Nisvillia squeezed inelegantly into the chamber, her forehead thick with glistening sweat.

“You’re awfully late,” Thermatus scolded in his mocking voice, leaning back on a steel support beam.

“You wouldn’t believe the traffic.” Nisvillia panted.

Thermatus was a lithe, spikey-haired skeleton of a man, dressed in clothes which hung loosely off of his frail form. He had a certain cool charisma to his slick smile, and just so happened to be Nisvillia’s primary contact within the Wicked Mob.

“Your mooks with you?” he smirked, casting a glance over her shoulder.

“They didn’t make it.”

“That’s a crying shame.”

Nisvillia stepped slowly into the chamber, dabbing at a particularly prominent bloodstained which had spread across her jacket collar. The room in which they stood was unbearably cramped, adorned with only a few crooked metal pillars, and the winding passageways which extended out of either end.

“What news have you got for me?” She asked eventually, batting some ginger hair out of her eyes.

“Dear oh dear, haven’t we been keeping our finger on the pulse?!” Thermatus exclaimed with a smug grin “Jigandi’s calling in the big guns, Little Lady .” He smirked “looks like we’re having ourselves a man hunt.”

“Who’s the target?” She asked, narrowing her eyes.

“My little birds would have me believe that he’s the former bodyguard of some governor, but I’m having some trouble getting confirmation on that end.”

“How’s he managed to upset the Fist?”

“Word on the street is he managed to pick off a whole bunch of them. Lady Almano ain’t too happy about it.”

Nisvillia paused for a moment, considering her options. “The response won’t be instant, even those savages in the Bloodied Fist will take some time to assemble the cavalry.”

She looked Thermatus over, taking in his skinny frame.

“Put out a transmission, on a specialised frequency,” she instructed him “I need to reach out to likeminded individuals. Which one of these tunnels leads to The Loft?”

The Loft was a discreet club nestled in the uppermost reaches of Outpost 57. It was small and unassuming, serving some of the best food and drinks on the Station, and Nisvillia was in the gradual process of replacing the staff with her hired guns.

“Take the one behind me then hug the left,” Thermatus said dryly.

“Sweet.” She replied “Tell any would-be glory seekers to meet me there. I’ll have my people set up a perimeter and reinforce it, giving us somewhere to hold up when the guns start rattling. Let the rest of the Crew know that they’re welcome to join me if they’d rather not be short a head by the time the sun comes up.”

“You’ve got some balls, Blissponis.” Thermatus frowned “You really think you can go up against the Slum Lord?”

“It’ll be the poor sods who hear my broadcast that go up against the Slum Lord,” She shrugged “I’ll just be the one who gets all of the credit. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m tired of smelling like dead waitress, and I want to change into something more comfortable.”

With that she pushed past him, squeezing her obese form through another far-too-tight door, and wobbling off into the twisted tunnels and walkways of the Catwalk.

Fallout: Capital Graveyard

ehh weekend was fine... the week was terrible and I feel like writing posts tonight. Since things are going too slow in Rivet city, I'm thinking of going for an adventure in the wastelands that okey?

@rivaan

Yeah that should be fine. I'm really sorry to hear that your weeks been shitty, has everything cleared up now?

We seem to have lost a few, but that just means I'll condense the game abit, so I think we'll manage okay.

Well I forsee a few lonely posts on my part since most other action in the wastes is taking place far from Rivet city at present xD
Here is a thought though, since my char is an android and her face hasn't been changed, isn't there a chance that maybe if the commonwealth sents search parties for missing androids they may recognize her?

@rivaan

Yeah that's entirely possible. Synthetia and her can have I run in at some point if you'd like.

Dunwall [A Dishonored Roleplay]

<Snipped quote by CutUp>

Right, just wondering about the others. I'm waiting for people to establish their IC (you're fine) before I can have the shit go down.

@Wade Wilson

Oh, were you waiting on anything from me?

Beyond Civilisations Grasp... - A Rogue Trader (WH40K) RP (ON HIATUS, closed for now.)

The Broken Exhaust

"Is everything here to your satisfact-"

The chirpy blonde waitress's heart-shaped face exploded in a chunky blast of gooey matter and dark red blood, splattering the group in gore. She swayed slightly, her mouth still lolled open, before toppling forwards into the booth like some graceful dancer, slumping down onto the smoothe wooden table with a rather dainty 'THUD'.

The bar erupted suddenly into a frantic whir of panic and confusion, with customers clambering to get out left, right, and centre.

For the two ex-guardsmen, the world began to move in slow motion, as their eyes traced the laser beam's point of origin to the Shark-toothed man with the telltale gun crouching down in a booth on the other side of the room.

Little Fletcher sprung into action, leaping out of his seat and yanking his Bolter Pistol out of its leather holster, letting off a quick hailstorm of bullets with the squeeze of its trigger.

A thundering of self-propelled explosive shells rattled through the air, tearing into the booth with ravenous frenzy. The assassin dived backwards, narrowly avoiding the exploding furniture, as he tumbled artfully onto the floor.

Big Fletcher rolled out of their booth with militaristic precision, letting off an armour-frying beams from his lasgun as he took cover behind a pillar.

Everything was moving considerably faster for Nisvillia, who suddenly found herself splattered in bits of waitress, and very much alone in her booth. She let out a frustrated hiss, staring down at her designer attire.

"They got brains on my -FUCKING- jacket!"

The assassin popped up from his bundled position on the floor, aiming his lasgun squarely at Nisvillia, but a sudden crackle of smouldering laser soon set him darting for cover, leaping across the room and rolling down behind the counter.

Little Fletcher fired off another three-shot-burst of shells, which shrieked across the room and bit through the soft wooden counter, sending splinters flying all over the bar.

The assassin just about managed to duck down beneath the roaring gunfire, bullets smashing into the drinks cabinet behind him, sending jagged shards raining down upon him in a downpour of glass as he crouched beneath the explosive assult.

Nisvillia squeezed herself awkwardly out of the booth as the thundering of the firefight wailed in her ears, having to suck in her enormous gut somewhat as she heaved herself uncomfortably between the table. The room had become unbearably hot, and her thighs were chaffing together as she pulled her scoped laspistol out of its pocket in her jacket, lamenting the fact that she'd probably have a new set of rashes to tend to later that day.

Ejecting an empty clip, Little Fletcher holstered his defunct bolter, before drawing his serrated combat knife, and padding cautiously towards the counter.

Big Fletcher, shooting Little Fletcher a silent nod, aimed his lasgun where they'd last seen the assassin duck down, ready to melt him into so much fried goo when he next popped back up.

Little Fletcher took one more calculated step forwards, then suddenly the assassin came hurtling over the counter in a berserk blur of speed, clutching a steak knife in his scarred hand. The Shark-toothed thug battered Little Fletcher's fist down before he could raise it, and in a furry-driven flash of steel his steak knife had slashed straight through the giant man's jugular, sending hot blood pitter-pattering across the counter.

Big Fletcher let our a feral snarl from across the room, rapidly squeezing the trigger of his lasgun and sending a searing blast of crackling energy flying through the bar. The shark-toothed assassin firmly spun Little Fletcher into the path of the projectile, and the laser ripped through his body armour, melting padding and skin alike in an agonizing torrent of scolding blue flame.

Blood bubbled in Little Fletcher's mouth, his eyes rolling back into his head, and with a sharp push his humongous corpse dropped to the floor, a pool of dark red spilling out at he crashed down with a heavy 'THUNK!'

Big Fletcher adjusted his aim, but the assassin was quicker; firing off a blast of laser with a swift squeeze of the weapon's trigger. Scorching energy smashed into Big Fletcher's chest, blowing a hole straight through his tanned flesh. A muffle d gasp oozed out of his lips, and then the ex-guardsman collapsed in a bloody heap on the floor.

KRSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSH!

A stream of laser from Nisvilia's scopped-pistol hissed through the air, blowing out the back of Ralph the Shark's feral likeness. A dark red smear splattered across the floor, and then the assassin fell to the ground for the finale time.

The young woman stood alone in the suddenly silent bar, the flabby mass of her obese body splattered with dark blood. Her breathing had become raspy and jagged, with her boulder-like belly rising and falling with each staggered wheeze.

"Fuck me, I need a drink."

Love Crime [Dystopian Thriller]

Suspect #2 Played by freedomliveson

Age: 38

Physical description:

Suspect #2's ash brown hair and green eyes had always carried an air of sophistication to them, the man being referred to possessing a "classic" look. Those "classic" looks, however, have been mired with stress lines on his forehead and three scars on his right cheek from an encounter he refuses to talk about. His broad shouldered frame can usually be seen sauntering on the outskirts of Scorch city, clothed in dark blue jeans scavenged from a home up north and a short sleeved t-shirt, both of which covered by a beige duster that flows in the wind.

Love Crime [Dystopian Thriller]

Suspect #1 Played by Wade Wilson

Age: 35

Appearance:

Suspect #1 stands at 6'2" with a weight of 181 lbs. He has defined cheekbones, brow ridges, and a defined jaw. He appears more dominant than most, though probably due to his thick muscles. His legs are
visibly strong and stout, and his chest sports a tight six-pack. It is incredibly apparent of his peak physical condition.

His attire mainly consists of that of Italian origin, with very smart yet casual-looking clothes that compliment his beard and slick, black, wavy hair. The average colour schemes are a soft navy blue, white, many shades of brown and a dark grey.

Love Crime [Dystopian Thriller]

OOC is now up! roleplayerguild.com/topics/86174-love-..

Love Crime [Dystopian Thriller]

Love Crime

Atmospheric Music

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e5f8dMw_Zz4

In the year 2075, an untamed pandemic sweeps across the globe, tearing through the very foundations of life itself. ‘The Rot’, as this plague would come to be known, brings humanity to its knees, and the threat of total and utter extinction becomes very real indeed. The Rot’s insatiable hunger could no longer contain itself, and the lethal virus collapsed under its own feral weight, leaving a world of ashes and dust behind.

Humanity endured, as it always has, and the flags of the old world were adopted under new mantles and titles. The same crippling vices still fester within the hearts of mankind, and greed and corruption are just as prominent now as they ever were; with The Rot having revealed man’s true colours. Monsters have arisen from the darkness, and it is these monsters, and their tyrannical dominions, that control the world.

Our story takes place in Scorch City, a ruined husk of concrete and rubble within the desolate wasteland of what was once the southern states of America. The New Confederacy imposes brutal martial law on Scorch’s citizens, and sadistic drug kingpins dominate the streets. Crooked officials, corrupt soldiers, and redneck crackheads litter the sidewalks and back alleys of Scorch City, and brothels and drug dens line the street corners. The Confederacy enforces what flimsy law there is to be found within Scorch, but they have little patience for criminals, and most transgressions are met with fatal consequences.

The Scorch City Peacekeeper Department (SCPD) serve as both an armed militia and a police force, but more often than not they are mere pawns of some unseen crime boss, lurking about in the shadows.

One hot summer evening, a working girl by the name of Joanna Calhoun is found dead in her apartment in downtown Scorch City. No more than a day later, a gun-for-hire called Hugh Blackwood turns up on the sidewalk, his head caved in. The one thing connecting these two individuals is a history with the infamous Bloody Razor gang, a history which they had both tried to shake off. But the Bloody Razor are a cruel and merciless lot, who don’t appreciate their members walking out on them.
Guerrilla warfare breaks out between the Razor and the SCPD. Car Bombs erupt in great showers or orange and red, snipers pick off unsuspecting passers-by from their nests in the ruins of skyscrapers, and bodies litter the streets.
As blood stains the gutters, Grand Peacekeeper Billy Zimmerman appoints disgraced detective John Horrigan to uncover exactly what’s transpired within Scorch City, and to shed light upon the fates which have befallen Joanna Calhoun and Hugh Blackwood.

Persons of interest

Joanna Calhoun

A prostitute with ties to the Bloody Razor, Joanna left the gang to try and find a better life, but she was simply swallowed up and spat out by Scorch City, like so many before her. During her teenaged years she was something of a black widow, having multiple disingenuous relationships with several men, but her playful and dominative days are long since over, and the cool charms of the sweet seductress gave way to the grim hard-hearted demeanour of a woman who has forsaken all hope in humanity.

Hugh Blackwood

Blackwood was a street-level hitman, who was practically raised by the Bloody Razor. He came from a broken home, as so many in this dystopic time do, and was frequently abused by his father. Hugh was prone to fits of rage, and his fiery temper got him into many difficult situations. He was forced to leave the Bloody Razor when he killed fellow gang member and former lover Susan Cavanaugh, and his old gang mates have been out to get him ever since.

Billy Zimmerman

The Grand Peacekeeper of Scorch City, Billy Zimmerman is one of the few ‘good’ cops left. Appearing on the scene a few years ago, Zimmerman rose quickly through the ranks of the SCPD, and was instrumental in destroying the Disciples of Armageddon, one of Scorch City’s most powerful gangs. He’s struggling desperately to stay above water, and to keep the Peacekeepers from falling completely to corruption, and he believes that removing the Bloody Razor is the best way to achieve his objective.

Alfred Graham

The vicious leader of the Bloody Razor, Graham is truly a force to be reckoned with. Wanted for the murder of his brother Richard, and his ex-girlfriend Katherine Miller, Alfred is as ruthless and twisted as they come. Graham has stayed off of Zimmerman’s radar until recently, with the Grand Peacekeeper being more focused on larger threats, but as all-out war rages through the streets of Scorch City, it seems that a climatic showdown between the two titans is all but certain.

John Horrigan

Once the rising star of the Scorch City Peacekeepers, Horrigan’s career took a turn for the worse, and his once spotless reputation became soured. After perusing a case without sufficient evidence, it looks like John has achieved all he can within the ranks of the Peacekeepers. Assigned to Joanna Blackwood’s case, Horrigan seeks to redeem himself in both the eyes of his peers, and of Scorch City itself.

Out of character

Love Crime is a dystopian crime thriller, set in the ruins of the Deep South in the aftermath of an apocalyptic disaster. Players can choose to take on the role of any original character within Scorch City, with the one connecting feature being that they are somehow a suspect in the murder of Blackwood and Calhoun.

I’m trying something a little different with Character Sheets, having drawn inspiration from Wade Willson’s excellent RP ‘The Kindnapping’. Those who wish to apply for the game are to PM me their character sheets, which will contain a name, physical description, and background of the character. If accepted, I will then post the physical description alone to the CS tab, and leave the other details anonymous, to be discovered throughout the course of the game.

Whilst the game will have a sandbox setting, and players are free to get up to their own devices within Scorch City, the over-arching murder mystery will be the driving force behind Love Crime’s progression.

Character Sheet

Just to reiterate; Please do-not post these to the OOC. Please PM them to me for approval.

Name: (Fairly self-explanatory)

Age: (Dito)

Physical description: (A paragraph or so detailing your charter's appearance. Can be accompanied by a picture.)

Bio: (A description of your character's back-story, and how they got to where they are now)

Other: (Any withstanding details you'd like me to be aware of)