STATUS:
Personally Mahz deserves a real round of applause. It takes a real hustler mindset to have the Casual RP section scrabed by 2000 AI bots each day and say it's a sign the site is coming back!
1 yr ago
Current
Personally Mahz deserves a real round of applause. It takes a real hustler mindset to have the Casual RP section scrabed by 2000 AI bots each day and say it's a sign the site is coming back!
3
likes
2 yrs ago
Casual RP has wayyy too many guests looking at it to not be constantly be scraped by AI.
1
like
2 yrs ago
You ever want to RP, then you look at the sidebar at the New section and see "1x1 Master/Slave Stepsister MxF" and go, "Actually, I'm good. I don't wanna RP anymore."?
11
likes
5 yrs ago
Oh quit being such a joyless sob. And respond to my 1x1 DMs, dammit. you really complain that nobody wants your 1x1s and you ignore me. harry potter and the audacity of this bitch, ya'll
22
likes
5 yrs ago
Vrei să pleci, dar nu mă, nu mă iei Nu mă, nu mă iei, nu mă, nu mă, nu mă iei
She stood over the finale of this escapade with a hunch -- it was the best her posture would do, for every time she attempted a straighter posture did Katerina feel as though there was somehow a more supermassive weight thrust unto her body. The beast, seared and incinerated its brown feathers to a soot-coal black, lay on its side along the moonlit ruddy Earth. Pigment of dying flames, cast off from the smoldering cinders before them, dashed specks of luminescence, caught in the feathers-gaps. With every heaving, slow breath the griffon made, its embers - latched on like scorching leeches - ignited a dying little flame from which its scorching wound burrowed itself deeper with every fading breath.
Katerina wanted to do something. Something. A gorgeous animal before her dying by her own hand, after an epic battle, where the Witch-Knight burned a whole fortress-side to cinders. And now here she was, wanting to help. Her wants were cut with a perfect gesture, more perfect than Serenity's throw. The hatchet whistled along its whirling path, the head spiraling in little orange circles like a spinning fire cantrip. Nothing escaped her. Not even a grimace or cringe. Hatred, grief, and acceptance, all in only a few minutes.
She barely held herself up: Katerina felt exhausted, stiff in mind, like a haze set into her mind and barely, iratingly, maddeningly seeped from a crack in the back of her head that just felt like even rupturing her skull wide open would be a welcome relief. Her muscles felt quaked, ripping and searing; Her robes, more than a little singed. Even a modest pack the likes of her worn to battle felt like a whole person clawing atop her, kicking, heaving, shoving, tearing her down until the half-elf would force to crawl from the weight of her own exhaustion.
The Witch-Knight -- oh...how she hated that name...and how many times she would have to hear it, and see it, and speak it, and know that that is the title by which she is and will be...
That Witch-Knight had seen and felt and done all of these things, these terrible things, and with nary some strength inside her, clawed out a secret reserve, like she always had: Like her wells of energy she plucked within her like cigarettes from her case...and spoke softly to Serenity:
"Aye." She made out. Katerina paused. The Witch-Dame didn't bother to look Serenity in the eye. "Good kill."
Her voice was beat, soft. Like she was holding back tears; Proud, painful tears, in a cracked slipping voice that constrained within her every last bit of strength in and out of that woman would do anything not to confess just this weakness. Not a comrade. Not to a friend. To none. Not even if she were to know it herself.
Katerina made one final, exhausted mental note: She'd need to go see her Regular after this.
Looks like there's some solid interest so far! I have midterms today, so i'll give it another day to garner some more interest -- expect an OOC thread to go up Saturday.
"A stranger? Here? In Hōnshu-kuo? You've chosen a terrible time to come here."
"These are dangerous days...the Crimslings roam the Wilds -- That is their kingdom, and They rule it as if They are kings..."
"And what goes out to the Wilds nary come back -- and those that do...They are terrible things."
"Go, now."
"If the Beasts will not take you, the Kanbu will."
The world has become a small place -- so intimate, and all the more terrifying. What remains of mankind huddles together, scattered in the Arks: Entrenched hovels, platformed acropoli -- massive stakes of steel and concrete which pierce into the veins of the Earth. Each Ark is a colossal continuum of underground metropolis upon sprawling slum upon industrial park hath seen it blossom into a spoiled metallic onion. They are the collections of days long past, each one cradling the people of the world.
This is Honshu. It is known by many names -- to it's colonial overlords, past and progeny, it is Hâncheau, The Pearl of the East, and Dominion to Ardagne: Le Régime Éclairé. To those who have lived and toiled their blood away until they fainted white, it is Hōnshu-kuo. On their maps, The Dominion is a single entity: Honshu, in truth, was -- and still is -- a country of systemic irregularities: Administrative, legal, judicial, and ecclesiastic divisions and prerogatives frequently overlapped, while the Ardic nobility struggled to maintain their rights in the matters of local government and justice. All the while, the Samurai clans of Honshu met their fate, either as gravestones or as eager collaborators to the Régime Noveau.
But even this is but a tenuous connection: With The Fray receded, the powers which stay standing squabble over the remnants. Mayors and chieftains, like bickering children, argue over the responsibilities -- who shall re-tether the elektralines, who shall give the most men to scout the wilds, who shall fire their furnaces and forges the longest, who shall contribute the more food-stock: And who shall receive the lions share. Alliances formed in the fires of battle have grown brittle and cold, and the relations that kept the Dominion through peril for centuries is now poised to crumble at the seams. The Arks are all beset by bickering from within and beasts from without.
Now, it is a kingdom with no monarch -- a colony with no overlord. It is a confused and broken land, its image and identity long shattered and dusted to the winds of time which ground it all to grain in the sands of time.
The task before the good Hunters, banded in blood in their Kanbu, remains as steadfast as it was at its inception, even amidst this tumult.
The Crimson Tide must be stopped. The beasts within it felled, their bodies burned and scattered to the winds. Scientific samples collected. Fields and forests razed to contain its flow. And from this broken mirror, its pieces scattered before this ancient Earth, do what you must to gather the pieces, scraping them into some semblance of a whole, before the will to do so fades.
So what's this about needing a GM? I'm going to be honest. I'm a really busy guy -- I got college, rugby, and work to deal with. This idea itself was based off of another earlier RP idea with a similar premise that didn't get far because of the same thing. I think it'd really work best if there was someone else to really help take the reins, ideally several other people who are as really into it as everyone else in the group is!
What is this RP about? In this Late Fantasy world, there was once ago a grave threat from a mysterious force that humans could only sense as a thick, crimson mist. The Tide transformed men and creatures into terrible, twisted beasts, and wrought terrible carnage upon the world. Only with the great efforts of The Hunters did the tide of the miasma stem, but the two have fought one another to a vicious and brutal standstill. As one of the hunters, you must fight the monsters when they appear, and find more information about where they come from and most effective ways to rid of them.
What are hunters and kanbu? What do they do? From ragtag, raggedy militiamen to professional scientists and accomplished fighters, hunters are a motley bunch. In the most open-ended sense of the word, kanbu are any organized band assembled (ostensibly) to take on the threat of the Crimson Tide. Kanbu vary greatly in organization, discipline, equipment, and size.
Kanbu are -- for better or worse -- closely intertwined with the politicking that goes on within the Arks. Often employed by large merchants and influential aristocrats to protect their property and allies, Kanbu take after their samurai clan ancestors, operating somewhere between law enforcement and gangs-for-hire. Vicious rivalries exist between Kanbu and their various allies, often escalating into threats, arson, and open violence.
Where will the RP take place? What's the setting? The RP will take place in the Dominion of Hâncheau (Honshu or Hōnshu-kuo), mostly containing the Ark of Sainte-Azélie (Honshu: Ayahara).
The setting is Middle-High Fantasy -- somewhere between the lines of steampunk and urban fantasy, with generous dashes of noir. Think something sort of similar to Yharnam, or Ghibli films even. Check out some more in the lore tabs if you want more specific examples.
Is the focus of the RP more on combat or the characters? I'd like to think that we would have a seamless mix between the two. Ideally, I would enjoy something close to a 60/40 mix from Characters:Combat, as the tonal themes I was drawing inspiration from here were mostly noir horror and various dark fantasy anime such as Claymore and Attack on Titan. If you really want, you can think of it as RWBY, but like, not written by two inexperienced nerds who ship their self-inserts with their 17 year old OCs!
- The Dominion was established over a long period of time, pieced together from bit-by-bit assemblies of the various shoguns, merchant houses, and warlord states across Honshu. Originally it was under the direct supervision of the Société de Négoce Oriental d'Ardagne (abv. "SNOA") before being transferred to the control of a government-regulated board of Oversees Departments of Ardagne. - Most of the incorporation into the Dominion were done through a series of coercion tactics, intimidation, espionage, nepotism, bribery, and when all else failed direct military action. Ardagne often played local rivalries against one another to maintain systems of power and to give local pre-existing authorities a direct stake in the well-being of the colonial regime. - This means that unlike most Ardelais colonies, Honshu maintained a degree of quasi-independence, and still maintained its local traditional monarchy -- although under direct supervision of the Colonial Authority. - A majority of Honshu's modern infrastructure is strictly colonial in nature: Its industries were owned by Ardelais capitalists, Honshu children were taught in Ardelais schools, where they were taught the Ardelais tongue and the indigenous Honshu language was modified and revised to use a Western-styled, alphabet-based script. Though most of these institutions are barely kept afloat in even the best of Arks, their influence is felt throughout all of Honshu even to this day.
Tasked with fighting the most vicious denizens of The Wilds, the Hunter's work is never complete. Although the Dominion is home to all manner of artisan's shops which constitute the hunter's arsenal, materials to produce the most modern of weapons are scarce, and the knowledge soon turning into ritual than rationality. Firearm ammunition is a labourious essential to produce, and remains uncommon outside of large marketplaces.
The respirator is undoubtedly the most invaluable tool in the Hunter's toolkit -- If a Hunter were to be ambushed, and they could either take their weapon or their respirator before their escape, all but the dead would choose the respirator. Respirators are large devices, composed of a mouthpiece connected to a filtered hose which connects to a larger air tank which is straddled either across the hunter's back or their abdomen via a harness. Additional filters and hoses are essential on longer expeditions. Most Hunters choose to decorate their respirators, adorning them with painted designs or good luck charms.
Goggles and fully-enveloped hoods are common additional pieces of protective wear, preventing stray winds from blowing Crimson Tide into their eyes and ears.
Your average hunter is outfitted with a variety of tools from which they perform their duties: Every Hunter has a firearm and some mêlée of their choosing. A single, well-placed rifle round to the eye-socket or heart can put down even the most fell of beast, and will at least wound them enough to be injured with proper coordination or trapping. Most beasts can easily shake off shots to non-vital parts and sport thick layers of fat, muscle, and bone to boot -- coupled with the scarcity of ammunition, and the need for a mêlée weapon becomes clear.
Rifles and shot-guns make up the majority of a primary ranged weapon for a hunter. The most common weapon in the Dominion was the Lévesque Modèle 91, a five-shot bolt-action rifle with handy characteristics and a flat-headed 8mm bullet. Revolvers were equally prized, as some hunters preferred the rapid shots of the hand-gun in their off-hand while utilizing a mêlée weapon in their dominant hand.
Mêlée weapons take a good number of forms: Swords of the Hunter are typically either of a native uchigatana make, or are swords of Ardic design -- typically these are either a heavy-bladed, single-edged cavalry sabre, or a thinner, harder-tipped estoc meant for thrusting. Perhaps more novice or less-affluent hunters prefer simple, blunt clubs, ranging from impromptu maces to work hammers.
Other tools vary considerably from Hunter to Hunter. Some prefer caltrops or bolas to incapacitate the blood-beasts, while others use incendiary Molotov Cocktails to stave away the beasts, whom possess an instinctual fear of fire.
Science and technology in this setting is roughly equatable to that found in the 1900s of our world. Elektralines and telegrammes adorn the Arks, though selective and spotty in service, powered by the might of magic and machine.
- It's magic. I ain't gotta explain shit.
- Honshu, known to the Colonists as Hâncheau and the locals as Hōnshu-kuo, is a mountainous island-nation, isolated from the rest of the world. - It was a colony in the days before the Fray and the Great War, and that colonial influence lingers still across it even as wider humanity seems to have crumbled. - Ships from elsewhere in the world are very rare, and those that do seldom have anything to offer in terms of substantial knowledge of either the greater world's on-goings nor what happened that caused the rise of the Crimson Tide. They typically contain merchants or refugees, disdained to see that little here is different from the outside world, but carry with them a common trend that Arks seem to be nonexistent elsewhere.
- Nobody is quite sure what the origin of the Crimson Tide is. - Several theories exist that explain its conception, such as: -- The curse of an ancient Honshu god, who has come to reap the bounty stolen from him long ago -- Divine punishment from God upon man's hubris in the Great War -- A mining accident which opened up a pocket of the noxious gas, rumoured to be from the depths of the Earth -- A freak industrial waste accident, which over time fused and compounded to create the Mist -- A new "superweapon" made to win the Great War which backfired.
- The Crimson always seems to spread out in like a thick blanket, meaning that it is densest along the ground and dissipates higher. Staying in The Crimson leaves a thick, paste-like orange residue that is difficult to remove. - When exposed to The Crimson, plants change their pigmentation, seeping a thick, redish-orange pus, hardening like sap over time. - Animals seem to rot in the presence of The Crimson, their bodies turning from viscera to thick pustules that seep into hard, chitinous exoskeletons which constantly weep the the miasma of The Crimson. - Symptoms of Crimson Blight can vary immensely depending on depth of exposure. Common minor symptoms are nausea, vomiting, chest pain, and coughing. Severe symptoms include asphyxiation, hallucinations, confusion, loss of motor skills, and localized necrosis. Terminal symptoms include widespread necrosis reddish-purple in complexion, psychosis, loss of speech, and eventually stroke-like symptoms. Terminal Crimson Blight cases near-always result in death, and even survivors are typically comatose and bedridden for weeks after. - Within the Tide is life, in the form of disfigured monsters. Some are quadrupedal, others are bipedal. Some are bestial in shape, while others almost humanoid. These monsters have been called Crimslings, or Blood-beasts. Oddly, some of the beasts seem to speak a pidgin language of their own, constituted of mangled words combined with bestial howls. - Transformation into a Blood-beast happens in several stages, and it is a painful process. Most victims go mad far before their true transformation, and by their full development into a Crimsling they have long been rendered unrecognizable.
- Large megacities made of colossal pycrete beams, cobbled together on top of one another. - Each Ark is virtually its own self-regulating city-state. Theoretically they owe service to the Dominion, like a feudal structure: In practice, this seldom occurs. - Although stemmed in the old laws of the Ardic colonial system, law and order is very loose.
First the Western Capital of Honshu's Khiba Dynasty, then the colonial capital of the Dominion, Sainte-Azélie remains as perhaps the largest Ark on Honshu, and undoubtedly its most important. Situated deep within the Ark along the foot of Mount Ame, The Empress has grown erratic and increasingly unpredictable in her old age, and spends near every waking moment isolated in The Ivory Palace. She remains as an important spiritual figurehead to the Honshu locals, although the Throne's true political power has long been withered to the stem. The main city centre has long been restructured and paved over, replaced with colonial-styled double-wide avenues and colonial Art Nouveau-styled architecture. Other noteworthy landmarks include the Kagito Forum, a sprawling open-air marketplace, the Junchiro Opera House, and the Verdant Fortress.
Sainte-Azélie is untypical from most Arks -- it is a sprawling, massive arcology which spans into sprawling spires that plunge upwards to the deepest of cavernous crevices from which whole avenues are carved. Near all housing in Sainte-Azélie is in one of its innumerate danchi: Massive tenament complexes with sparse decorations and few luxuries. Homes in danchi are often merged together, situating sometimes three or four families or tenants into one unit, which is often divided using curtains and wooden prop dividers. All denizens of the unit share the same kitchen and living space, and typically do not contain more than 4 total bedrooms. Bathing and laundry are communal, shared by all tenants on the same floor. Privacy in a danchi is a luxury ill-afforded to most as a general rule.
With the Crimson having claimed so much land to The Wilds, agriculture must be relegated to only the most compatible, utilitarian endeavour. The average Ark-located farm is multi-stacked, aquaponic venture, encompassing a fish farmery on top of a bed of waterbogged plants, similar in appearance a bog. Asparagus, carrots, rice, mushrooms, and kelp form the bulk of most plant-based staples, while crickets, crayfish, and snakefish are the most common meat sources.
Geniune meat as we know it is a luxury: Most land is simply unsuitable for the growth of large livestock such as cows or pigs, and foraging about in the Wilds is an escapade only left to the most cautious or daring of scavengers. The meat of the blood-beasts is tough and stringy, often foul of taste and even stronger of odor, though a select few butchers can make it at least palatable with enough seasoning and curing. Most protein comes in the form of Kiel -- a mass-produced pressed cake made from combining kelp paste mashed with some easily-farmable protein stock: Typically crickets or crayfish. Kiel has a mild flavor and is rich in protein, and is usually used as meat is in cooking, although its blocky, crumbly texture doesn't make the best for all recipes.
Crime and seedy behaviour is a simple fact of life in any Ark, and Sainte-Azélie stands as no exception. Gambling halls, bars, brothels, and various other "social clubs" adorn street corners and receive widespread patronage deep into the hours of the night. Protected by gangs and Kanbu in exchange for money, goods, or services, fights for territory are an unfortunately common sight in Sainte-Azélie. Conventional wisdom is to make one's self appear innocuous (or as armed) as possible as to deter potential muggings.
- General term for space largely made savage by the corrupting influence of the Crimson Tide. - The Wilds formed from continuous exposure to the Crimson Tide. It seems to even distort the world around it, enveloping a red haze when inside it and discolouring all within its influence into a shade or orange or red. - Areas are converted into Wilds very slowly, the Tide is slow to move across to higher areas. - It is currently unknown if the Wilds can be de-contaminated, even if the source of the Tide is completely removed from the area. The process is speculated to take years, even decades. - It can, however, be stemmed with some clever engineering.
As she lowered her hands and dropped her gesture, the Witch-Knight slumped forwards, stammering as she barely caught herself as the whole weight of her body -- armour and all. The incendiary delight above her lightened, turning forth into a swirl of embers almost with Cecilia's apt words cutting the maelstrom to a marisque tourbillion. Embers hummed around her in a dervicious dance, each passing rotation amplifying the exhausted demeanour to the half-elven dame. Katerina clearly grew visibly fatigued from the battle, growing into panting chants as she maintained her magics, the cyclone and her allies' ward. She held an instinctive, uttering hymn to her swaying movements, even as she was about to collapse, route and pressed into her mind.
"Eh? That's a bit too much fire don't ya think, Katerina!?"
And finally, as the words from Cecilia's comments registered unto her, her cigarette dropped from her mouth. A dead, heavy croak from Katerina beckoned her answer:
"No -- Not hardly."
She dipped into a lower position, scanning around the battlefield before her -- every gale-winded pass the mighty griffon made brazened a heat wave unto her back and front, drenching her in blankets of dust and sweat like blasts from the desert winds. The Lady could feel the embers sear into her back with every rancorous pass and daring dive. But, there were some larger affairs at play than whatever were to come of their two-pronged threats. Her friends would need much more than just her, as well.
Her heels dug into the dark earth before her, dropping into a heavy incantation. The embers which surrounded her joined to her cantar, growing in their dance as they conjoined and converged to her instruction. With a heavy wave of her arm, a blanket of molten flame blanketed above them, a drape of fire covering over their heads like a great tarp over a firetrap. And with any hope, blast the damnable beast into little more than a well-seared dinner worthy of the post-battle feast.
She had just gotten done folding up her cigarette container -- Katerina didn't even have time to shake her head in disapproval. Hurriedly, she moved alongside the forward advance: Serenity, Lein, and their little motley crew, cigarette alight as she made her way forth.
"Ugh, bloody fuck!" the witch-knight groaned, half-mumbling her words. Puffs of smoke fumed with frustration out of every word. "Cannae fetch up a bloody plan before we go an' storm tae' bloody castle?!"
Her ears perked up at Lein and Serenity's regards, calling for just her specialty. With two armoured fingers, Katerina plucked her cigarette from her mouth, resting it in the in-between of tranquility and fire -- elegance and burnt ends. The sorceress nodded back to her compatriot, dropping into a wider stance.
"Aye. I ken i'm able."
A motley crowd of adversaries littered the palisades before her. Cecilia and the entire whole lot of them had already been doing numbers on them, breaking them apart -- but they had will to them. Discipline, too, to boot. As Katerina begun her incendiary hymn, the faint fume of the cigarette ignited to life, then from that smoldering effluvium roared into a blaze. It grew in size, with every passage and hypnotic word, the fireball held in Katerina's hand roared larger and higher, swirling in size, spiraling into a vortex as flame enveloped her. The poor souls in front of her saw the firestorm in conjuration -- the wisest of the lot broke from their formation, scattering to the sides as they dove and flung themselves out of the way. The lesser of the pack stood with their shields up, propping together something resembling a phalanx defence.
Katerina delivered one last chanson -- and the firestorm rushed from her hands unto the front. A controlled pillar of fire burst the ranks and beams before them, smelting them all into a homogeneous pyrolithic smog. The entrance made little time wasting itself away before the inferno, melting away to an entrance usable by her allies. Katerina seemed steady to control the great conflagration, consciously controlling every swirl and fire-gale from the twitches of her fingertips like the conductor of an orchestra. Her fiery sonatra raised itself carefully above, allowing her friends and allies entrance -- from her unflinchingly uncomfortable expression, Katerina urged them all to move quickly, wondering to herself just how long she could maintain this great firestorm.
"Gefreiter - we are very firmly in the "finding out" part of history."
"From first to last, we have fucked up in every god-damned conceivable metric of modern warfare. I do not mince words. We have underestimated the treachery of these worlds, the tenacity of their people, and the will to fight on behalf of our enemy, our leadership. "
The world has become a small place -- so intimate, and all the more terrifying. What remains of mankind huddles together, scattered in the Arks: Entrenched hovels, platformed acropoli -- massive stakes of steel and concrete which pierce into the veins of the Earth. Each Ark is a colossal continuum of underground metropolis upon sprawling slum upon industrial park hath seen it blossom into a spoiled metallic onion. They are the collections of days long past, each one cradling the people of the world.
This is Honshu. It is known by many names -- to it's colonial overlords, past and progeny, it is Hâncheau, The Pearl of the East, and Dominion to Ardagne: Le Régime Éclairé. To those who have lived and toiled their blood away until they fainted white, it is Hōnshu-kuo. On their maps, The Dominion is a single entity: Honshu, in truth, was -- and still is -- a country of systemic irregularities: Administrative, legal, judicial, and ecclesiastic divisions and prerogatives frequently overlapped, while the Ardic nobility struggled to maintain their rights in the matters of local government and justice. All the while, the Samurai clans of Honshu met their fate, either as gravestones or as eager collaborators to the Régime Noveau.
But even this is but a tenuous connection: With The Fray receded, the powers which stay standing squabble over the remnants. Mayors and chieftains, like bickering children, argue over the responsibilities -- who shall re-tether the elektralines, who shall give the most men to scout the wilds, who shall fire their furnaces and forges the longest, who shall contribute the more food-stock: And who shall receive the lions share. Alliances formed in the fires of battle have grown brittle and cold, and the relations that kept the Dominion through peril for centuries is now poised to crumble at the seams. The Arks are all beset by bickering from within and beasts from without.
Now, it is a kingdom with no monarch -- a colony with no overlord. It is a confused and broken land, its image and identity long shattered and dusted to the winds of time which ground it all to grain in the sands of time.
The task before the good Hunters, banded in blood in their Kanbu, remains as steadfast as it was at its inception, even amidst this tumult.
The Crimson Tide must be stopped. The beasts within it felled, their bodies burned and scattered to the winds. Scientific samples collected. Fields and forests razed to contain its flow. And from this broken mirror, its pieces scattered before this ancient Earth, do what you must to gather the pieces, scraping them into some semblance of a whole, before the will to do so fades.
Hello, everyone. It's been an awful long time since I've been anything resembling active on here. Life has come and gone and gotten super hectic and settled down, then there and back again. I think I've finally settled on an idea I've had for a while, and I'd love to sit down and get a good group together for some good ol-fashioned mecha.
What is this RP about? In this Late Fantasy world, there was once ago a grave threat from a mysterious force that humans could only sense as a thick, crimson mist. The Tide transformed men and creatures into terrible, twisted beasts, and wrought terrible carnage upon the world. Only with the great efforts of The Hunters did the tide of the miasma stem, but the two have fought one another to a vicious and brutal standstill. As one of the hunters, you must fight the monsters when they appear, and find more information about where they come from and most effective ways to rid of them.
What are hunters and kanbu? What do they do? From ragtag, raggedy militiamen to professional scientists and accomplished fighters, hunters are a motley bunch. In the most open-ended sense of the word, kanbu are any organized band assembled (ostensibly) to take on the threat of the Crimson Tide. Kanbu vary greatly in organization, discipline, equipment, and size.
Kanbu are -- for better or worse -- closely intertwined with the politicking that goes on within the Arks. Often employed by large merchants and influential aristocrats to protect their property and allies, Kanbu take after their samurai clan ancestors, operating somewhere between law enforcement and gangs-for-hire. Vicious rivalries exist between Kanbu and their various allies, often escalating into threats, arson, and open violence.
Where will the RP take place? What's the setting? Space. It sucks.
Is the focus of the RP more on combat or the characters? I'd like to think that we would have a seamless mix between the two. Ideally, I would enjoy something close to a 60/40 mix from Characters:Combat, as the tonal themes I was drawing inspiration from here were mostly noir horror and various dark fantasy anime such as Claymore and Attack on Titan. If you really want, you can think of it as RWBY, but like, not written by two inexperienced nerds who ship their self-inserts with their 17 year old OCs!
Will there be a Discord? If there's enough interest, then i'll make a server.
- The Dominion was established over a long period of time, pieced together from bit-by-bit assemblies of the various shoguns, merchant houses, and warlord states across Honshu. Originally it was under the direct supervision of the Société de Négoce Oriental d'Ardagne (abv. "SNOA") before being transferred to the control of a government-regulated board of Oversees Departments of Ardagne. - Most of the incorporation into the Dominion were done through a series of coercion tactics, intimidation, espionage, nepotism, bribery, and when all else failed direct military action. Ardagne often played local rivalries against one another to maintain systems of power and to give local pre-existing authorities a direct stake in the well-being of the colonial regime. - This means that unlike most Ardelais colonies, Honshu maintained a degree of quasi-independence, and still maintained its local traditional monarchy -- although under direct supervision of the Colonial Authority. - A majority of Honshu's modern infrastructure is strictly colonial in nature: Its industries were owned by Ardelais capitalists, Honshu children were taught in Ardelais schools, where they were taught the Ardelais tongue and the indigenous Honshu language was modified and revised to use a Western-styled, alphabet-based script. Though most of these institutions are barely kept afloat in even the best of Arks, their influence is felt throughout all of Honshu even to this day.
Tasked with fighting the most vicious denizens of The Wilds, the Hunter's work is never complete. Although the Dominion is home to all manner of artisan's shops which constitute the hunter's arsenal, materials to produce the most modern of weapons are scarce, and the knowledge soon turning into ritual than rationality. Firearm ammunition is a labourious essential to produce, and remains uncommon outside of large marketplaces.
The respirator is undoubtedly the most invaluable tool in the Hunter's toolkit -- If a Hunter were to be ambushed, and they could either take their weapon or their respirator before their escape, all but the dead would choose the respirator. Respirators are large devices, composed of a mouthpiece connected to a filtered hose which connects to a larger air tank which is straddled either across the hunter's back or their abdomen via a harness. Additional filters and hoses are essential on longer expeditions. Most Hunters choose to decorate their respirators, adorning them with painted designs or good luck charms.
Goggles and fully-enveloped hoods are common additional pieces of protective wear, preventing stray winds from blowing Crimson Tide into their eyes and ears.
Your average hunter is outfitted with a variety of tools from which they perform their duties: Every Hunter has a firearm and some mêlée of their choosing. A single, well-placed rifle round to the eye-socket or heart can put down even the most fell of beast, and will at least wound them enough to be injured with proper coordination or trapping. Most beasts can easily shake off shots to non-vital parts and sport thick layers of fat, muscle, and bone to boot -- coupled with the scarcity of ammunition, and the need for a mêlée weapon becomes clear.
Rifles and shot-guns make up the majority of a primary ranged weapon for a hunter. The most common weapon in the Dominion was the Lévesque Modèle 91, a five-shot bolt-action rifle with handy characteristics and a flat-headed 8mm bullet. Revolvers were equally prized, as some hunters preferred the rapid shots of the hand-gun in their off-hand while utilizing a mêlée weapon in their dominant hand.
Mêlée weapons take a good number of forms: Swords of the Hunter are typically either of a native uchigatana make, or are swords of Ardic design -- typically these are either a heavy-bladed, single-edged cavalry sabre, or a thinner, harder-tipped estoc meant for thrusting. Perhaps more novice or less-affluent hunters prefer simple, blunt clubs, ranging from impromptu maces to work hammers.
Other tools vary considerably from Hunter to Hunter. Some prefer caltrops or bolas to incapacitate the blood-beasts, while others use incendiary Molotov Cocktails to stave away the beasts, whom possess an instinctual fear of fire.
Science and technology in this setting is roughly equatable to that found in the 1900s of our world. Elektralines and telegrammes adorn the Arks, though selective and spotty in service, powered by the might of magic and machine.
- It's magic. I ain't gotta explain shit.
- Honshu, known to the Colonists as Hâncheau and the locals as Hōnshu-kuo, is a mountainous island-nation, isolated from the rest of the world. - It was a colony in the days before the Fray and the Great War, and that colonial influence lingers still across it even as wider humanity seems to have crumbled. - Ships from elsewhere in the world are very rare, and those that do seldom have anything to offer in terms of substantial knowledge of either the greater world's on-goings nor what happened that caused the rise of the Crimson Tide. They typically contain merchants or refugees, disdained to see that little here is different from the outside world, but carry with them a common trend that Arks seem to be nonexistent elsewhere.
- Nobody is quite sure what the origin of the Crimson Tide is. - Several theories exist that explain its conception, such as: -- The curse of an ancient Honshu god, who has come to reap the bounty stolen from him long ago -- Divine punishment from God upon man's hubris in the Great War -- A mining accident which opened up a pocket of the noxious gas, rumoured to be from the depths of the Earth -- A freak industrial waste accident, which over time fused and compounded to create the Mist -- A new "superweapon" made to win the Great War which backfired.
- The Crimson always seems to spread out in like a thick blanket, meaning that it is densest along the ground and dissipates higher. Staying in The Crimson leaves a thick, paste-like orange residue that is difficult to remove. - When exposed to The Crimson, plants change their pigmentation, seeping a thick, redish-orange pus, hardening like sap over time. - Animals seem to rot in the presence of The Crimson, their bodies turning from viscera to thick pustules that seep into hard, chitinous exoskeletons which constantly weep the the miasma of The Crimson. - Symptoms of Crimson Blight can vary immensely depending on depth of exposure. Common minor symptoms are nausea, vomiting, chest pain, and coughing. Severe symptoms include asphyxiation, hallucinations, confusion, loss of motor skills, and localized necrosis. Terminal symptoms include widespread necrosis reddish-purple in complexion, psychosis, loss of speech, and eventually stroke-like symptoms. Terminal Crimson Blight cases near-always result in death, and even survivors are typically comatose and bedridden for weeks after. - Within the Tide is life, in the form of disfigured monsters. Some are quadrupedal, others are bipedal. Some are bestial in shape, while others almost humanoid. These monsters have been called Crimslings, or Blood-beasts. Oddly, some of the beasts seem to speak a pidgin language of their own, constituted of mangled words combined with bestial howls. - Transformation into a Blood-beast happens in several stages, and it is a painful process. Most victims go mad far before their true transformation, and by their full development into a Crimsling they have long been rendered unrecognizable.
- Large megacities made of colossal pycrete beams, cobbled together on top of one another. - Each Ark is virtually its own self-regulating city-state. Theoretically they owe service to the Dominion, like a feudal structure: In practice, this seldom occurs. - Although stemmed in the old laws of the Ardic colonial system, law and order is very loose.
First the Western Capital of Honshu's Khiba Dynasty, then the colonial capital of the Dominion, Sainte-Azélie remains as perhaps the largest Ark on Honshu, and undoubtedly its most important. Situated deep within the Ark along the foot of Mount Ame, The Empress has grown erratic and increasingly unpredictable in her old age, and spends near every waking moment isolated in The Ivory Palace. She remains as an important spiritual figurehead to the Honshu locals, although the Throne's true political power has long been withered to the stem. The main city centre has long been restructured and paved over, replaced with colonial-styled double-wide avenues and colonial Art Nouveau-styled architecture. Other noteworthy landmarks include the Kagito Forum, a sprawling open-air marketplace, the Junchiro Opera House, and the Verdant Fortress.
Sainte-Azélie is untypical from most Arks -- it is a sprawling, massive arcology which spans into sprawling spires that plunge upwards to the deepest of cavernous crevices from which whole avenues are carved. Near all housing in Sainte-Azélie is in one of its innumerate danchi: Massive tenament complexes with sparse decorations and few luxuries. Homes in danchi are often merged together, situating sometimes three or four families or tenants into one unit, which is often divided using curtains and wooden prop dividers. All denizens of the unit share the same kitchen and living space, and typically do not contain more than 4 total bedrooms. Bathing and laundry are communal, shared by all tenants on the same floor. Privacy in a danchi is a luxury ill-afforded to most as a general rule.
With the Crimson having claimed so much land to The Wilds, agriculture must be relegated to only the most compatible, utilitarian endeavour. The average Ark-located farm is multi-stacked, aquaponic venture, encompassing a fish farmery on top of a bed of waterbogged plants, similar in appearance a bog. Asparagus, carrots, rice, mushrooms, and kelp form the bulk of most plant-based staples, while crickets, crayfish, and snakefish are the most common meat sources.
Geniune meat as we know it is a luxury: Most land is simply unsuitable for the growth of large livestock such as cows or pigs, and foraging about in the Wilds is an escapade only left to the most cautious or daring of scavengers. The meat of the blood-beasts is tough and stringy, often foul of taste and even stronger of odor, though a select few butchers can make it at least palatable with enough seasoning and curing. Most protein comes in the form of Kiel -- a mass-produced pressed cake made from combining kelp paste mashed with some easily-farmable protein stock: Typically crickets or crayfish. Kiel has a mild flavor and is rich in protein, and is usually used as meat is in cooking, although its blocky, crumbly texture doesn't make the best for all recipes.
Crime and seedy behaviour is a simple fact of life in any Ark, and Sainte-Azélie stands as no exception. Gambling halls, bars, brothels, and various other "social clubs" adorn street corners and receive widespread patronage deep into the hours of the night. Protected by gangs and Kanbu in exchange for money, goods, or services, fights for territory are an unfortunately common sight in Sainte-Azélie. Conventional wisdom is to make one's self appear innocuous (or as armed) as possible as to deter potential muggings.
- General term for space largely made savage by the corrupting influence of the Crimson Tide. - The Wilds formed from continuous exposure to the Crimson Tide. It seems to even distort the world around it, enveloping a red haze when inside it and discolouring all within its influence into a shade or orange or red. - Areas are converted into Wilds very slowly, the Tide is slow to move across to higher areas. - It is currently unknown if the Wilds can be de-contaminated, even if the source of the Tide is completely removed from the area. The process is speculated to take years, even decades. - It can, however, be stemmed with some clever engineering.
The mystifying and horrifying scenes all at once which were the sight of the bandit slaughter before Katerina gave her an odd reminiscence. She was primarily trained in life magic - healing - and that, as she had come to expect was the bulk of her duties. For all love of life and liberty that was so cherished among the Iron Rose Knights, the half-elf flashed back in time in her head at the sight of these things. She remembered the blood-soaked battlefields, the men, pale in face, weak in eyes, faintly trembling outstretched hands up, murmuring a final hopeful prayer to Goddess or one last love declaration to a beloved now widowed. Katerina saw it all before her once again, but this time, in negative. There were traitors, thieves, renegades, and rogues, and at the same time wished to utter strangers to let them know their final thoughts. Katerina found oddity in the sincerity of it all that persisted in her mind, like a deep mist that gathered in the bogs of the valley.
And soon before her, the knightess-in-waiting broke her muse: "Dame Katerina, how fares Sir Rickert's charge? Will he live to see another dawn?"
Katerina's muse snapped back to the present, her gaze making a disenchanted turn as Serenity posed her query. There unto her was presented the so-honourable cohort of Sir Rickert. He lay there before her, so illucid -- stiff in body, slow of mind. Upon his faint stammering display was matched with the departing lives of the turncoats around them, the knights accelerating their wounds to fatality. She did not understand the Knights she had called brothers and sisters in arms: She had seen them show untold kindness and utter brutality within swift transition, as if stanza of an orchestra raising to climax. Wasn't this so funny? We had killed so many who lay wounded or dying, and now yet another comes with queer of injury, and Katerina was now asked to save him.
Katerina hummed, narrowing her eyes and motioning, and with telekinesis softly laid the man down. As he was steadied into an auspicious position, Katerina removed her gloves, The blood was well along staining his plate, though it'd stayed mostly along his upper body. Not much splatter. She looked into his gashes, removing his coif and cloth. She lightly hymned, whispering into a steady chant as she presided over him. A faint light grew around his exposed flesh, where it grew a deep purple that spread like dye in water. Blood grew clots and gashes around his neck, and as his body lay growing bruised and broken, the good fellow sputtered out in weak coughing fits. Katerina sighed in relief at the sign of even this meek display of life.
"Lovely, isnae too coarse." she answered. Her breathy response was practically a sigh of thankfulness made unto voice, "The lad will be fine, but I ken he'll need proper bedtime. Bonnie man will be in and oot of bed for a few months, but he'll make it."
The banter from ahead caught her ear, even as she attended to the wounded before her. Interrogations had proven successful -- no doubt due to the apt displays of horror about them, and clear signs of their fates all on parade, and the Iron Roses had deciphered the details of the upcoming bandit's fortress. Fusillades and fantastic beasts were the name of their game. Katerina remembered: They were all too-common features of so many impromptu fortresses in the War, and so fitting it was that they would have refurbished so many to use now.
"I need a bloody cigarette..."
The witch-knight shook her head, adjusting her mage's hood and coif beneath it into a neater position, then reached back down to her little baroque case, opening it with a pop audible even through the commotion. She popped a single cigarette into her mouth, covering the light wind with her curled fingers and palm, then closed her eyes as a faint flame conjured from her fingertips. A faint, smokey tartness flooded the winds around her as the little cigarette flared to life.
Katerina gestured back at her sister-in-arms, patiently awaiting their next orders: Her cigarette case was open, posed for Serenity to take one. She should probably save these for herself...but what the hell, she thought.
Katerina spotted something out in the middle of the road -- a man, his blood nearly bursting as he barely limped to his side weakly. She looked over him, the old fellow barely seeming to keep it together, blood bursting from his stomach, and a crimson, enfeebled hand which had long been coloured white was now awash in his own ichor. From how he struggled, it seemed like he possessed just enough strength to maintain what was left of his consciousness -- and even that would wither to nothing soon.
Her accomplices on the other hand, a bit more acute to their surroundings than Katerina made haste to the treelines around them. One -- the blonde, Serenity, she knew -- barked orders, calling for cover and formation. And before the good Captain could reach out to call forth her proclamations, soon was the tide of battle crashing down before her.
Well, first things first, Katerina would need to perform the chief of her duties -- there far too much foliage here for any serious offense, and without knowing the position of any more hostages nor assailants, Katerina dismissed any notion of serious offense. A stray lightning bolt could very well set a tree on fire even if it strayed ever slightly from its target -- a fire spell, the entire canopy ablaze in seconds. Softly whispering a few words, she knelt down before the injured old man, looking up for a moment, and sensing her assailants in danger, turned her head back down -- first unto him, then unto her belt pouch.
She summoned a card from her deck, Katerina snapping it out from the purple mist from which it came. It hovers gently over her extended palm, swirling in its magic mist.
The Queen of Graves glided majestically above her hand. Her cold stare piously lords over her band of knights, for the domain of life and death is her sovereign. Katerina nods. A small smile she exchanges with the Queen.
"Aye, we're in luck."
Katerina, floating the card above, murmured, falling into a deep, whispered enchantment. Energy rushed around her, a dismal wind blowing in her presence as it nearly blasted those around her like a gale tore down a sapling. She posed her fingertips front and skyward, and with a fierce posturing, cast upwards. An aetheric essence flowed upwards, like water gushing from a rupturing old dam, as blasts of flowing magic conjoined with rock-solid vapours swirled around her, they soon flowed off to her allies, coating them in its protective magical veil. Feelings of strength soon surge as the ward envelops around her comrades, wary sinew springing to life and gashes staunched over to life-affirming flesh.
Neziul
Dancer
Marlowe