Pepperm1nts said
They're wearing spaceship costumes for ween.
I see what you did there, well played!
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11 yrs ago
The fishes aint biting like they used to.
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Of Steam and Ambition - A Steampunk Nation Roleplay - Interested Check
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Nation Interest Checks
I see what you did there, well played!
In
Highly Intelligent Escapee Lab Animals? With ZOMBIES!?
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12 yrs ago
Forum: General Interest Checks
Robeatics said
Lookin' good. I've decided on a momma bear and little fawn duo, just because.
Thanks man. Still got a few things to cover, such as "the human presence", and animal infighting/pvp, but we're getting there.
I will also be creating a second type of species sheet, covering "spliced" animals.
With regards to players having multiple animals, what do you think we should set the limit as? Or shouldn't there be one altogether? I don't mind so much myself, just fishing for opinions.
In
Highly Intelligent Escapee Lab Animals? With ZOMBIES!?
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12 yrs ago
Forum: General Interest Checks
Here's the OOC in its current beta. I've changed the opening post of this interest thread to it aswell.
RP Summary
In Kingdom Animalia: Bleak Dawn, you take on the role of a genetically and bionically altered lab animal, set free during a zombie apocalypse. Blessed with heightened intelligence, your creature is smart, and is able to see the world around them with human-level perception.
The RP begins with the players outside of their former prison: the United States Biological Weapons Initiative Headquarters, in downtown Washington, D.C. At this stage in the zombie apocalypse, mankind has broken down; their governments and militaries toppled by the deadly nanotech virus that turns its victims into undead flesh eating nightmares.
Non-humans are immune to this virus, but not to the ravenous hordes of zombies that roam the streets looking for food. You must therefore survive in this world, utilising your animal’s natural and alterted attributes to its advantage in defying the one threat your human overseers could not stand against. Escape the city, find what remains of your own kind, and maybe, maybe one day your distant offspring will becall the rise of their peoples.
Intro
Dr. Kyle Benjamin
Senior Biological and Nanotechnology Director
U.S.B.W.I Headquarters
Washington, D.C
29/10/2056 17:53
-- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
If you’re reading this, then you’re standing over the body of mankind’s murderer. Judge my pathetic, shrivelled form as you will, such trivia is beyond me now. Just know that what I did was not intentional, and indeed, I aspired to gift the world with a cure to all diseases, all suffering.
To say that I did not achieve would be unfair. Alzheimer’s, cancer, HIV, TB – I beat them all. Using advances in nanotechnology, spearheaded by my brilliance, I was able to reverse engineer all of humanity’s deadliest killers. Where cancer sought to spread, my specially created viruses sought to contain. When HIV compromised the immune system, then my self-engineered bacteria took the place of the white blood cells, destroying anything it was not programmed to recognise… I could go on, but my accomplishments should be well documented, apocalypse be damned.
If you are here searching for a cure, then I assure you, there is none. The Nano Virus is just too damned smart, and the microscopic AI I programmed it with – though primitive – is able to adapt and adjust to everything we throw at it. I have tried everything, and perhaps given more time, I may have found a way to undo my perfect child, my perfect virus. Alas, it is not to be.
The President is dead. Congress is dead. The Senate is dead. There is no more government, no more military… just piles of rubble, smouldering from our futile attempts to quite literally blow NV773 from the Earth. Suffice to say, the bombs, as you no doubt have realised, fail-
Oh God, great God, I can hear them. They’re in the facility – they’ve managed to crush the doors under the weight of their endless masses! Oh, oh no I will not, I will not become one of them. Never. My creation will not claim its master, to walk in its mindless ranks, a parody and an insult to his former being. No. I will die here, by my own hand, that much power I still hold.
A final act of nobility, testament to my good nature; I am releasing test subjects A17 through to Y29. I am setting them free; they have the minds, the chance to create a new world. The virus cannot touch them, it was never programmed to overcome non-humans. They are all my second child, the cutting edge of genetic and bionic research. Such splendid be-
They are here. Outside the door, I can hear them. Moaning, shrieking, thudding. Baying for my blood, though their dead flesh is beyond the need for sustenance. I am sorry, so sorry. 9 billion souls will curse me from the gates of Heaven, as God sends me down to Hell. It is no more than I deserve, for trying to master a world of infinite complexity.
Releasing test subjects. Opening interior bulkheads, deactivating security measures. Run, run my children, be free, be free and prosper; upon the ruins of our decimated civilisation, arise a new and do not relent to our folly.
The door is giving way. I must depart. Farewell. Mother, father, pitty me. Your son has caus-
I love you Sarah. How different things may have been, if I had listened to you and took that job in Mumbai. Oh, so man-
--------- DATA LOSS ----------
The last testament of Dr. Kyle Benjamin, Father of NV773.
Washington, D.C Post NV773
Washington was one of the United States’ last cities to succumb to NV773, and bears the marks to show it. Countless bodies of the dead litter the streets, shot down by the city’s defending forces in the apocalypse’s closing days. Tanks and other armoured vehicles stand abandoned, having been surrounded, and their occupants choosing to take their own lives rather than be eaten by their former comrades.
Entire sections of the city are in flames, a poignant reminder that even with his huge arsenal of weapons, Man was unable to beat this killer virus.
Rubble, abandoned cars and blood-soaked blockades clog the roads. Shops are empty, the result of looting and panic buying. Gardens are overgrown, neglected by their walking dead owners. Power stations have failed, along with water works and sewage systems. The former Seat of the World, is an empty, lifeless husk; melting away under the spreading and uncontested flames.
Zombies
As the U.S 2nd Infantry Division, the last surviving combat unit in North America, made their stand in the grounds of the White House, there were four known types of NV773 ‘carriers’ at the time. However, the virus was always mutating, perfecting, and it is possible that the longer the victims remain active, then the more likely they will evolve. Below are the four main types of carriers encountered by Mankind.
Shamblers
Newly infected. The virus first kills, and then reanimates humans in the space of minutes. They are vulnerable in this form, as their deceased body undergoes changes to free it from rigor mortis. They are slow, and walk like drunks, but their strength should not be underestimated. If they grab hold of you, then it’ll take the cunning of a fox, or the heft of a bear to slip free.
Runners
Second stage. This form of carrier is still clumsy, like its predecessor, but it moves much faster. They never tire, never stop, and they’re extremely fast. However, they’re also stupid, and putting a barrier between yourself and them is often enough to destroy the threat outright.
They will more than likely bite, punch and kick you than attempt to grapple, such is the extent of their berserker state.
Burrowers
Third stage. Sprint capable, and their hands have evolved into long, spindly claws. They like to dig into the earth, hiding, watching and waiting. Their eye sight seems to be sub-par, however, but their hearing is top notch. If these guys corner you, stay out of sight – they may lose interest.
Jumpers
Alternative third stage. These guys are runners, but smarter, and they can jump eight feet into the air. Their aggression knows no bounds, and they will gladly pursue their pray off the edge of a cliff. Their coordination is extremely good, surpassing human levels, and so trying to lose them four hundred feet up in the air in a bunch of steel construction girders may not do you much good.
Killing a Carrier
Destroy the brain. That is the only way.
Species Sheet
Species
Choose any real world animal, preferably a vertebrate. I would advise against fish, or other water-based creatures, due to the obvious restrictions placed on them by their dependence on bodies of water. However, if you really want be Jaws, then I guess we can work something out.
I expect you to know the ins and outs of your chosen species. I don’t mean on an expert level, but just enough that you don’t go making any glaring errors regarding their anatomy.
Name
Whether or not your creature starts off with a name is up to you. All animals start with a human-level intelligence by default, but how your chosen species refers to themselves individually is ultimately up to you.
Alternatively, your captors may have given you a name, and your animal has accepted it.
If you don’t want to start with a name, then simply put what you want other players to refer to your animal as. I.e, “Grey Wolf” for a grey wolf.
Age
Leave enough tread on the tyres, because your animal needs to live for a few years at least.
Gender
Male or female? Or both? :O
Physical Description
Ideally a picture if you’ve chosen an obscure species. However, text will suffice if needs be.
Genetic Attribute (Optional)
Your animal was spawned in a test tube, and genetically altered by the greatest minds of science. What were they trying to achieve? An example would be, increased hearing, speed, lifespan, strength, immune system – the list is endless really. Treat this as your animal’s “super power”.
Choose one.
Genetic Defect (If chosen to have a Genetic Attribute)
In giving you your genetic blessing, the scientists also took something from you. What was it?
This is the reverse of ‘Genetic Attribute’, choose something that your animal suffers from. I.e reduced lifespan? Arthritis? Cancer prone? Weak immune system? Weak heart? Infertility? Deafness? Blindness? Something that will present a weakness. Treat this as your animal’s “kryptonite”.
Bionic Attribute (Optional)
Maybe whilst those scientists were messing around with your DNA, they hatched plans to alter you through more direct means?
Examples: Ocular implants for seeing in the dark/seeing further, hearing implants for increased sound detection, bone supports for increased strength and resilience – a pace maker for those dastardly times you get cattle prodded?
Choose one.
Bionic Side Effect (If chosen to have Bionic Attribute)
Those artificial, foreign objects implanted in your animal’s body are causing grief. What problem do they pose?
Examples: Prone to infection, tendency to interfere with senses, constant pain, body vulnerable at area of implant, vulnerable to electrical interference etc.
History
What history? You're an animal, bred for experiments and locked in a cage for your entire life. Time slowly passed you by, as you observed your tormentors through steel bars; watching, waiting for the day you could rip their throats from them... or maybe you just really wanted that steak they kept dangling over you.
In Kingdom Animalia: Bleak Dawn, you take on the role of a genetically and bionically altered lab animal, set free during a zombie apocalypse. Blessed with heightened intelligence, your creature is smart, and is able to see the world around them with human-level perception.
The RP begins with the players outside of their former prison: the United States Biological Weapons Initiative Headquarters, in downtown Washington, D.C. At this stage in the zombie apocalypse, mankind has broken down; their governments and militaries toppled by the deadly nanotech virus that turns its victims into undead flesh eating nightmares.
Non-humans are immune to this virus, but not to the ravenous hordes of zombies that roam the streets looking for food. You must therefore survive in this world, utilising your animal’s natural and alterted attributes to its advantage in defying the one threat your human overseers could not stand against. Escape the city, find what remains of your own kind, and maybe, maybe one day your distant offspring will becall the rise of their peoples.
Dr. Kyle Benjamin
Senior Biological and Nanotechnology Director
U.S.B.W.I Headquarters
Washington, D.C
29/10/2056 17:53
-- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
If you’re reading this, then you’re standing over the body of mankind’s murderer. Judge my pathetic, shrivelled form as you will, such trivia is beyond me now. Just know that what I did was not intentional, and indeed, I aspired to gift the world with a cure to all diseases, all suffering.
To say that I did not achieve would be unfair. Alzheimer’s, cancer, HIV, TB – I beat them all. Using advances in nanotechnology, spearheaded by my brilliance, I was able to reverse engineer all of humanity’s deadliest killers. Where cancer sought to spread, my specially created viruses sought to contain. When HIV compromised the immune system, then my self-engineered bacteria took the place of the white blood cells, destroying anything it was not programmed to recognise… I could go on, but my accomplishments should be well documented, apocalypse be damned.
If you are here searching for a cure, then I assure you, there is none. The Nano Virus is just too damned smart, and the microscopic AI I programmed it with – though primitive – is able to adapt and adjust to everything we throw at it. I have tried everything, and perhaps given more time, I may have found a way to undo my perfect child, my perfect virus. Alas, it is not to be.
The President is dead. Congress is dead. The Senate is dead. There is no more government, no more military… just piles of rubble, smouldering from our futile attempts to quite literally blow NV773 from the Earth. Suffice to say, the bombs, as you no doubt have realised, fail-
Oh God, great God, I can hear them. They’re in the facility – they’ve managed to crush the doors under the weight of their endless masses! Oh, oh no I will not, I will not become one of them. Never. My creation will not claim its master, to walk in its mindless ranks, a parody and an insult to his former being. No. I will die here, by my own hand, that much power I still hold.
A final act of nobility, testament to my good nature; I am releasing test subjects A17 through to Y29. I am setting them free; they have the minds, the chance to create a new world. The virus cannot touch them, it was never programmed to overcome non-humans. They are all my second child, the cutting edge of genetic and bionic research. Such splendid be-
They are here. Outside the door, I can hear them. Moaning, shrieking, thudding. Baying for my blood, though their dead flesh is beyond the need for sustenance. I am sorry, so sorry. 9 billion souls will curse me from the gates of Heaven, as God sends me down to Hell. It is no more than I deserve, for trying to master a world of infinite complexity.
Releasing test subjects. Opening interior bulkheads, deactivating security measures. Run, run my children, be free, be free and prosper; upon the ruins of our decimated civilisation, arise a new and do not relent to our folly.
The door is giving way. I must depart. Farewell. Mother, father, pitty me. Your son has caus-
I love you Sarah. How different things may have been, if I had listened to you and took that job in Mumbai. Oh, so man-
--------- DATA LOSS ----------
The last testament of Dr. Kyle Benjamin, Father of NV773.
Washington was one of the United States’ last cities to succumb to NV773, and bears the marks to show it. Countless bodies of the dead litter the streets, shot down by the city’s defending forces in the apocalypse’s closing days. Tanks and other armoured vehicles stand abandoned, having been surrounded, and their occupants choosing to take their own lives rather than be eaten by their former comrades.
Entire sections of the city are in flames, a poignant reminder that even with his huge arsenal of weapons, Man was unable to beat this killer virus.
Rubble, abandoned cars and blood-soaked blockades clog the roads. Shops are empty, the result of looting and panic buying. Gardens are overgrown, neglected by their walking dead owners. Power stations have failed, along with water works and sewage systems. The former Seat of the World, is an empty, lifeless husk; melting away under the spreading and uncontested flames.
As the U.S 2nd Infantry Division, the last surviving combat unit in North America, made their stand in the grounds of the White House, there were four known types of NV773 ‘carriers’ at the time. However, the virus was always mutating, perfecting, and it is possible that the longer the victims remain active, then the more likely they will evolve. Below are the four main types of carriers encountered by Mankind.
Shamblers
Newly infected. The virus first kills, and then reanimates humans in the space of minutes. They are vulnerable in this form, as their deceased body undergoes changes to free it from rigor mortis. They are slow, and walk like drunks, but their strength should not be underestimated. If they grab hold of you, then it’ll take the cunning of a fox, or the heft of a bear to slip free.
Runners
Second stage. This form of carrier is still clumsy, like its predecessor, but it moves much faster. They never tire, never stop, and they’re extremely fast. However, they’re also stupid, and putting a barrier between yourself and them is often enough to destroy the threat outright.
They will more than likely bite, punch and kick you than attempt to grapple, such is the extent of their berserker state.
Burrowers
Third stage. Sprint capable, and their hands have evolved into long, spindly claws. They like to dig into the earth, hiding, watching and waiting. Their eye sight seems to be sub-par, however, but their hearing is top notch. If these guys corner you, stay out of sight – they may lose interest.
Jumpers
Alternative third stage. These guys are runners, but smarter, and they can jump eight feet into the air. Their aggression knows no bounds, and they will gladly pursue their pray off the edge of a cliff. Their coordination is extremely good, surpassing human levels, and so trying to lose them four hundred feet up in the air in a bunch of steel construction girders may not do you much good.
Killing a Carrier
Destroy the brain. That is the only way.
I expect you to know the ins and outs of your chosen species. I don’t mean on an expert level, but just enough that you don’t go making any glaring errors regarding their anatomy.
Alternatively, your captors may have given you a name, and your animal has accepted it.
If you don’t want to start with a name, then simply put what you want other players to refer to your animal as. I.e, “Grey Wolf” for a grey wolf.
Choose one.
This is the reverse of ‘Genetic Attribute’, choose something that your animal suffers from. I.e reduced lifespan? Arthritis? Cancer prone? Weak immune system? Weak heart? Infertility? Deafness? Blindness? Something that will present a weakness. Treat this as your animal’s “kryptonite”.
Examples: Ocular implants for seeing in the dark/seeing further, hearing implants for increased sound detection, bone supports for increased strength and resilience – a pace maker for those dastardly times you get cattle prodded?
Choose one.
Examples: Prone to infection, tendency to interfere with senses, constant pain, body vulnerable at area of implant, vulnerable to electrical interference etc.
In
Highly Intelligent Escapee Lab Animals? With ZOMBIES!?
→
12 yrs ago
Forum: General Interest Checks
Bunnita said
Ooohhh... can't wait to see it all fancied up and ready to go!!! ;DShould we post charries here or wait till we see the full OOC, Hamster?
I'm working on the OOC now, so I'd wait for that :)
Steven Briggs was having a bad day.
The steering controls of his orbital drop pod had shorted on him halfway to the target zone, leaving him totally powerless over his direction of descent. Furthermore, as the land below him grew bigger, he couldn't help but notice there was a whole Covenant welcome party waiting for him.
He didn't have much faith in pitting his M7 SMG against droves of Grunts and their Brute overseers, not when they had two plasma tanks trawling around behind them. Then again, even without those purple mammoths pounding him into dust, a single Brute would probably be enough to tear his spine from his back.
Though Briggs did have plenty of faith in the Lord Above.
"Get me out of this Jesus, and I promise I wont ever gamble at cards again," he muttered to himself, as he braced for the inevitable impact.
Something struck the drop pod, sending the grizzled Medic off at a sharp sideways angle. The world shot past below him, but it also grew nearer; the controls, perhaps awakened by whatever had hit his pod, lurched to life.
"DANGER, DANGER, DANGER, FATAL TRAJECTORY DETECTED," boomed the feminine voice of Briggs' very own angel of death.
"No shi- I mean, yeah, thanks," replied Briggs, trying to keep his brain from blacking out on him as the pod rocketed across the landscape.
Men were screaming all around. Rifles were blazing at an increasing rate, physically shaking the ground below his aching back. A shadowy figure stood over him, looking down, shouting something.
"What?"
"I said, are you OKAY!?"
Briggs dragged himself up. His body ached at inch-long intervals, and his head felt like it had gotten the worst of a sledge hammer's rage.
"Where am I?" He asked, wiping his eyes in an attempt to clear the blurriness.
"New Mombasa, Sir."
"Sir? Who's in charge here?"
"You are, Sir."
Briggs' vision finally focused, along with his muffled hearing, and he found himself staring at the young, sombre face of a woman. He couldn't see any rank insignia on her, and so presumed she was a Private with either the Army or the UNSCMC.
"Where's my helmet, Private?" He asked, gauging his surroundings. She handed it to him in short order. "Thank you kindly. I don't suppose you've seen the rest of my flock, have you?"
"They scattered around grid H-17," she replied; she flinched as a plasma bolt exploded some yards away.
"Where are we?" he asked, kneeling down to retrieve his M7.
"G-17 sir, a click west," she said, showing him the geographical display on her tablet.
"Ooh-rah," Briggs said with a smile. "Get the men ready, we're moving out on my command."
The steering controls of his orbital drop pod had shorted on him halfway to the target zone, leaving him totally powerless over his direction of descent. Furthermore, as the land below him grew bigger, he couldn't help but notice there was a whole Covenant welcome party waiting for him.
He didn't have much faith in pitting his M7 SMG against droves of Grunts and their Brute overseers, not when they had two plasma tanks trawling around behind them. Then again, even without those purple mammoths pounding him into dust, a single Brute would probably be enough to tear his spine from his back.
Though Briggs did have plenty of faith in the Lord Above.
"Get me out of this Jesus, and I promise I wont ever gamble at cards again," he muttered to himself, as he braced for the inevitable impact.
Something struck the drop pod, sending the grizzled Medic off at a sharp sideways angle. The world shot past below him, but it also grew nearer; the controls, perhaps awakened by whatever had hit his pod, lurched to life.
"DANGER, DANGER, DANGER, FATAL TRAJECTORY DETECTED," boomed the feminine voice of Briggs' very own angel of death.
"No shi- I mean, yeah, thanks," replied Briggs, trying to keep his brain from blacking out on him as the pod rocketed across the landscape.
Men were screaming all around. Rifles were blazing at an increasing rate, physically shaking the ground below his aching back. A shadowy figure stood over him, looking down, shouting something.
"What?"
"I said, are you OKAY!?"
Briggs dragged himself up. His body ached at inch-long intervals, and his head felt like it had gotten the worst of a sledge hammer's rage.
"Where am I?" He asked, wiping his eyes in an attempt to clear the blurriness.
"New Mombasa, Sir."
"Sir? Who's in charge here?"
"You are, Sir."
Briggs' vision finally focused, along with his muffled hearing, and he found himself staring at the young, sombre face of a woman. He couldn't see any rank insignia on her, and so presumed she was a Private with either the Army or the UNSCMC.
"Where's my helmet, Private?" He asked, gauging his surroundings. She handed it to him in short order. "Thank you kindly. I don't suppose you've seen the rest of my flock, have you?"
"They scattered around grid H-17," she replied; she flinched as a plasma bolt exploded some yards away.
"Where are we?" he asked, kneeling down to retrieve his M7.
"G-17 sir, a click west," she said, showing him the geographical display on her tablet.
"Ooh-rah," Briggs said with a smile. "Get the men ready, we're moving out on my command."
Providing you're all happy to have a shot at Thrandel, the players going after him may fast forward to nightfall. As they wont be mingling with Neph and her lot, I don't think the time shift will break anything.
Mundhir nodded at Kylmi, "you may be right... though I have witnessed a dozen brazen lunatics becall the will of false Gods in my time. I am Duranar's Chosen, he has spoken to me through the Prophet of Truth. With his blessing, whatever evil opposes us will never be great enough to overcome me."
As he finished speaking, he heard, more than felt, the familiar heavy drumming of his heart. The organ was beleaguered, sick, decaying; wrecked by the Ice Venom from over a week ago. For a moment his strength faltered, and he became visibly pained, but then rallied against it.
He looked at Tarwin, and smiled. "Me and you are of similar minds, young Tarwin. Though I have a slight more to add."
As if on que, Hazim knelt down, pulled a rolled piece of paper from his tunic, and opened it up over his knee. Mundhir walked over to him, and patted his finger on various places.
"This is the surrounds of Baalor," Mundhir said. "The ruins are here, Thrandel is there, and we're... we're here."
"The Elves have no love of night fighting," grunted Hazim.
Mundhir nodded. "We wait til darkness falls. I will lead my Mamaluks, my strength upholding, into a skirmish against the Mad Prince. With his forces distracted, and he no doubt seeking the safety of the rear, he will be vulnerable. However, you must leave, and you must leave now, if you are to position yourselves correctly prior to nightfall."
"I will go with them," Hazim said. "Been wanting to get at that Elderborn bastard for longer than I care to remember."
"As you will, my friend," replied Mundhir. "Anyway, take this map, and go. The Mad Prince's confidence has blinded his mind, and he has deployed no scouts that my soldiers have seen. You should have an easy time slipping away unnoticed, but just in case, I will have my men drill all afternoon in full view of the Elderborn host. That should draw away any unwanted attention from you, to me."
As he finished speaking, he heard, more than felt, the familiar heavy drumming of his heart. The organ was beleaguered, sick, decaying; wrecked by the Ice Venom from over a week ago. For a moment his strength faltered, and he became visibly pained, but then rallied against it.
He looked at Tarwin, and smiled. "Me and you are of similar minds, young Tarwin. Though I have a slight more to add."
As if on que, Hazim knelt down, pulled a rolled piece of paper from his tunic, and opened it up over his knee. Mundhir walked over to him, and patted his finger on various places.
"This is the surrounds of Baalor," Mundhir said. "The ruins are here, Thrandel is there, and we're... we're here."
"The Elves have no love of night fighting," grunted Hazim.
Mundhir nodded. "We wait til darkness falls. I will lead my Mamaluks, my strength upholding, into a skirmish against the Mad Prince. With his forces distracted, and he no doubt seeking the safety of the rear, he will be vulnerable. However, you must leave, and you must leave now, if you are to position yourselves correctly prior to nightfall."
"I will go with them," Hazim said. "Been wanting to get at that Elderborn bastard for longer than I care to remember."
"As you will, my friend," replied Mundhir. "Anyway, take this map, and go. The Mad Prince's confidence has blinded his mind, and he has deployed no scouts that my soldiers have seen. You should have an easy time slipping away unnoticed, but just in case, I will have my men drill all afternoon in full view of the Elderborn host. That should draw away any unwanted attention from you, to me."
In
Of Steam and Ambition - A Steampunk Nation Roleplay - Interested Check
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Nation Interest Checks
Tatsua Aiisen said
That is a good point, especially since it would be awkward if I put Goug somewhere and it turned out it was right next to a huge expansionist kingdom.
Yeah. I mean whatever Rare wants to do, I'm cool with, but in my NRPs I used to draw a whole bunch of empty countries on the map, and then let players choose them. Countries that weren't taken, were considered NPCs.
Not bludgeoning anyone with my way of lifE PRAY TO JESUS YO but it's still something I'd like some clarification on.
EDIT: I'm going to sound like a butt plug, and I accept the consequences, but it seems to me that Rare has been largely absent from this whole thing... though seems real active elsewhere. Show us some love matey, we need direction.
In
Of Steam and Ambition - A Steampunk Nation Roleplay - Interested Check
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Nation Interest Checks
My nation's planned borders, any objections?
On the subject of nation borders, shouldn't there be like... a pre-set territorial allotment, that players just choose? I only ask because how do we know where NPC nations are, and how big they are?
On the subject of nation borders, shouldn't there be like... a pre-set territorial allotment, that players just choose? I only ask because how do we know where NPC nations are, and how big they are?
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