Sorry - thought we were doing a posting order and were waiting for Lugia, Evanist, AbysmalDemon, etc. etc?
Ordure Member
Exposition Extraordinaire
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Pokemon Mystery Dungeons: Stargate [Mid-High Casual] Accepting!
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8 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
@Letter Bee
Yup - think I'll have to close the doors on this one. Ah, well - might try again in the future.
Yup - think I'll have to close the doors on this one. Ah, well - might try again in the future.
Sorry for the delay on some posts - just waiting for Ulstermann to make the ending post.
@Letter Bee
The man would continue his brisk, quickly-paced walk down the cobblestones streets of the outpost - ducking in between the few straggling adventurers, each heavy footfall practically causing the ground to quake. It was evident that the massive man was trying to act inconspicuous with his quiet and shadowy getup, but his stature didn't help much. The wide-brimmed fedora was constantly flipping and stretching, tightly wrapped on his large head and for the most part, disguising it - only occasionally revealing a flash of rotten yellow or green. The man would eventually coming to a sudden halt, coming face to face with yet another disgusting building - a massive, rocky building, scorched by nuclear fire and ignored by the reconstruction, a large and flat wooden door in between them. The man would reach into his dark trench coat pocket - fumbling, his gloves stretched to their very limit, and pulling out a key no smaller than his fingernail.
"This is the way to the.. base, so to say." He said, his voice low and gruff - almost primitive in tone. "You or your body guards spill the beans on this, and we spill your brains on pavement."
The man, eventually giving up with the key, simply threw it to the ground. With a mighty heave and grunt, he kicked down the door, his trench coat billowing around him as dust and mildew came forth, immediately filling the nostrils of Par and his accompaniment. The man entered the room, brushing off his coat and looking around. "It's still the same piece of shit as always." He grunted. He turned around and bent over, his entire body only visible through small shifts in the darkness around them. The man twisted off something metallic and dirty on the ground, and with a heavy and angry thrust, he ripped it free, sending a sewer plate crashing into the wall behind him and flying out. The man shrugged and pointed to the hole in the ground. "Base is in there. Complain about the smell, and you'll get a bullet to the brain. Complain about the darkness, and you get a bullet to the brain. Complain about the food, and you get a bullet to the brain. Got it?"
As Par Rapids descended down the steel rungs carved into the vertical stone tunnel, he'd be accompanied by the mountain of a man lurking above him, managing his way down with much difficulty and scraping against the walls, cursing constantly. If he looked up, he would get a glimpse of only darkness in the trench coat. As he stepped down the rungs, landing on the ground, he'd wait a moment - and the trench coated man would suddenly drop straight from the top, landing on his feet with agility. "Here it is, kid." The trench coat said, waving to the scene before him. "Get used to it." The Revolutionary Headquarters were located in no where other than the pre-war Orleans Sewer system, infamous for it's wide and expansive reach throughout the entirety of Orleans. The whole place looked like a noir-esque city with splashes of color - dark and ridged carvings, neon signs, revolutionaries briskly walking back and forth.
"Come with me, Rapids." The trench coated man said, walking forth down the sewer's rounded tunnels. As Par Rapids continued forth, with his body guards accompanying him, he would notice it was very much like an old pre-war city at night. The only light were the ones emanating from within the variety of sewer rooms, neon signs advertising weapons or food caches, and the occasional street light pillaged from above. Revolutionary troops were active in the sewer, wandering it armed with their body armor and occasionally helmets, their eery red lights glowing and revealing banners of dust hanging in the air. The smell was undeniably disgusting - in fact, the weaker minded would most likely pass out at the scent of it. The sewer tunnels branched off randomly, curved, and twisted, but for the most part, it was inhabited by likeminded Revolutionary troops - excusing the occasional fenced off area with wood and metal, the only glimpse ahead being pure darkness.
"If you enjoy being ripped apart by ferals, strangled by Basilisks, or literally obliterated into shreds by the Sawteeth, then you can continue ahead into the darkness." The trench coated man growled. He'd continue until eventually stopping, waving to a small door-less entrance into the room. It was a damp, moldy room, a few wooden chairs scattered about, and a table with a glass of liquor and a radio. "This is your room. Go around the base, try to buy some things from the people for the battle. Don't do something stupid."
The man would continue his brisk, quickly-paced walk down the cobblestones streets of the outpost - ducking in between the few straggling adventurers, each heavy footfall practically causing the ground to quake. It was evident that the massive man was trying to act inconspicuous with his quiet and shadowy getup, but his stature didn't help much. The wide-brimmed fedora was constantly flipping and stretching, tightly wrapped on his large head and for the most part, disguising it - only occasionally revealing a flash of rotten yellow or green. The man would eventually coming to a sudden halt, coming face to face with yet another disgusting building - a massive, rocky building, scorched by nuclear fire and ignored by the reconstruction, a large and flat wooden door in between them. The man would reach into his dark trench coat pocket - fumbling, his gloves stretched to their very limit, and pulling out a key no smaller than his fingernail.
"This is the way to the.. base, so to say." He said, his voice low and gruff - almost primitive in tone. "You or your body guards spill the beans on this, and we spill your brains on pavement."
The man, eventually giving up with the key, simply threw it to the ground. With a mighty heave and grunt, he kicked down the door, his trench coat billowing around him as dust and mildew came forth, immediately filling the nostrils of Par and his accompaniment. The man entered the room, brushing off his coat and looking around. "It's still the same piece of shit as always." He grunted. He turned around and bent over, his entire body only visible through small shifts in the darkness around them. The man twisted off something metallic and dirty on the ground, and with a heavy and angry thrust, he ripped it free, sending a sewer plate crashing into the wall behind him and flying out. The man shrugged and pointed to the hole in the ground. "Base is in there. Complain about the smell, and you'll get a bullet to the brain. Complain about the darkness, and you get a bullet to the brain. Complain about the food, and you get a bullet to the brain. Got it?"
As Par Rapids descended down the steel rungs carved into the vertical stone tunnel, he'd be accompanied by the mountain of a man lurking above him, managing his way down with much difficulty and scraping against the walls, cursing constantly. If he looked up, he would get a glimpse of only darkness in the trench coat. As he stepped down the rungs, landing on the ground, he'd wait a moment - and the trench coated man would suddenly drop straight from the top, landing on his feet with agility. "Here it is, kid." The trench coat said, waving to the scene before him. "Get used to it." The Revolutionary Headquarters were located in no where other than the pre-war Orleans Sewer system, infamous for it's wide and expansive reach throughout the entirety of Orleans. The whole place looked like a noir-esque city with splashes of color - dark and ridged carvings, neon signs, revolutionaries briskly walking back and forth.
"Come with me, Rapids." The trench coated man said, walking forth down the sewer's rounded tunnels. As Par Rapids continued forth, with his body guards accompanying him, he would notice it was very much like an old pre-war city at night. The only light were the ones emanating from within the variety of sewer rooms, neon signs advertising weapons or food caches, and the occasional street light pillaged from above. Revolutionary troops were active in the sewer, wandering it armed with their body armor and occasionally helmets, their eery red lights glowing and revealing banners of dust hanging in the air. The smell was undeniably disgusting - in fact, the weaker minded would most likely pass out at the scent of it. The sewer tunnels branched off randomly, curved, and twisted, but for the most part, it was inhabited by likeminded Revolutionary troops - excusing the occasional fenced off area with wood and metal, the only glimpse ahead being pure darkness.
"If you enjoy being ripped apart by ferals, strangled by Basilisks, or literally obliterated into shreds by the Sawteeth, then you can continue ahead into the darkness." The trench coated man growled. He'd continue until eventually stopping, waving to a small door-less entrance into the room. It was a damp, moldy room, a few wooden chairs scattered about, and a table with a glass of liquor and a radio. "This is your room. Go around the base, try to buy some things from the people for the battle. Don't do something stupid."
@Letter Bee
As Par Rapids exited the Wolfe Bar, joyous to finally escape the tight, dirty confines - only to step into the late, navy blue tinged afternoon, the Trading Outpost of Orleans winding to a far slower and quieter pace than the eager and exciting morning that had been happening several hours earlier in the crisp autumn morning. The few traders and adventurers out and about appeared to be more along the lines of the far shadier type - underhanded dealers and dirty explorers looking to make some quick caps off of some poor sap in the streets or through a bad deal in the light of a hazy gas lamp. As he stood there, his bodyguards flanking him, eager to get to the French Revolution base of operations - he would realize that he really didn't know how to access the base of operations for the revolution. As he pondered, a trench-coated mountain of a man would walk up to him - easily taller than both of his guards, his coat tightly wrapped around his body.
"You're Par Rapids, eh? Skinner than I'd thought you'd be." The man said, his face hidden under a thick, wide-brim grey fedora, shadowed. "Well then, come along. Time to get you to the base."
The man turned around and briskly continued down the cobbled street.
As Par Rapids exited the Wolfe Bar, joyous to finally escape the tight, dirty confines - only to step into the late, navy blue tinged afternoon, the Trading Outpost of Orleans winding to a far slower and quieter pace than the eager and exciting morning that had been happening several hours earlier in the crisp autumn morning. The few traders and adventurers out and about appeared to be more along the lines of the far shadier type - underhanded dealers and dirty explorers looking to make some quick caps off of some poor sap in the streets or through a bad deal in the light of a hazy gas lamp. As he stood there, his bodyguards flanking him, eager to get to the French Revolution base of operations - he would realize that he really didn't know how to access the base of operations for the revolution. As he pondered, a trench-coated mountain of a man would walk up to him - easily taller than both of his guards, his coat tightly wrapped around his body.
"You're Par Rapids, eh? Skinner than I'd thought you'd be." The man said, his face hidden under a thick, wide-brim grey fedora, shadowed. "Well then, come along. Time to get you to the base."
The man turned around and briskly continued down the cobbled street.
Nice! Expect a post relatively soon.
@Letter Bee
Oh, nah - thought we were just waiting on Ulstermann and Tuxedo Fox before I begin a time skip, but I could try to make a post to get you to the main revolutionist base before the whole thing.
- think you could edit your post to add Letter Bee exiting the Wolfe Bar?
Oh, nah - thought we were just waiting on Ulstermann and Tuxedo Fox before I begin a time skip, but I could try to make a post to get you to the main revolutionist base before the whole thing.
- think you could edit your post to add Letter Bee exiting the Wolfe Bar?
@Letter Bee
SECONDARY QUEST - THE DOGS OF DIJON STREET
[LK 5] "Ah, underground entry? Why, we have - LOCATION REDACTED - ha-ha, just kidding, sir. I'm not at clearance level to say anything. In fact - I know exactly where most of our defense is. The royal scientists have no idea how to override something as complicated as a synth, sir!" The skeletal synth said, giving an artificial chuckle as he brushed off his suit, straightening his posture. "I just say "REDACTED" to throw off newcomers - they always think a synth is no more than an automaton. Goodbye, sir! Hope you enjoyed the tour of our wonderful facility."
With that, the skeletal synth trotted off - most likely, to trick another poor sap into following along with his whole "malfunctioning" robot routine that he so liked to do - leaving Par Rapids amongst a sea of sensibly dressed and sophisticate bankers, with waxed and whisked mustaches and polished clogs. The likes of two protectrons would notice him in the ocean of nobles, and began to lumber forth, sputtering the same, old repeated phrase - "PROTECT. AND. SERVE." as they would both edge him out of the bank, using their rather powerful servo arms and bulky body to essentially shove Par out of the bank - obviously taking notice to his less than banker appearance and almost still stance. The skeletal synth would give a small wave goodbye as Par Rapids was shoved out of the bank, leaving him standing there in the busy cobbled streets of the Savreaux District, the skeletal synth artificially laughing behind his bank.
SECONDARY QUEST - THE DOGS OF DIJON STREET
[LK 5] "Ah, underground entry? Why, we have - LOCATION REDACTED - ha-ha, just kidding, sir. I'm not at clearance level to say anything. In fact - I know exactly where most of our defense is. The royal scientists have no idea how to override something as complicated as a synth, sir!" The skeletal synth said, giving an artificial chuckle as he brushed off his suit, straightening his posture. "I just say "REDACTED" to throw off newcomers - they always think a synth is no more than an automaton. Goodbye, sir! Hope you enjoyed the tour of our wonderful facility."
With that, the skeletal synth trotted off - most likely, to trick another poor sap into following along with his whole "malfunctioning" robot routine that he so liked to do - leaving Par Rapids amongst a sea of sensibly dressed and sophisticate bankers, with waxed and whisked mustaches and polished clogs. The likes of two protectrons would notice him in the ocean of nobles, and began to lumber forth, sputtering the same, old repeated phrase - "PROTECT. AND. SERVE." as they would both edge him out of the bank, using their rather powerful servo arms and bulky body to essentially shove Par out of the bank - obviously taking notice to his less than banker appearance and almost still stance. The skeletal synth would give a small wave goodbye as Par Rapids was shoved out of the bank, leaving him standing there in the busy cobbled streets of the Savreaux District, the skeletal synth artificially laughing behind his bank.
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