TrippyNightmare

Star Wars: Days of Ruin

A small team of imperial soldiers face the brutal reality of the fall of Endor.

D A Y S O F R U I N

_{P R E M I S E}

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Was it worth it?

Signing up to die on some godforsaken planet with no only little fuzzy monsters coming to kill you - oh and a pissed of rebellion too. Did you hear about Alderaan right? Well, this is revenge for that you could say. I coulden't believe my eyes, it blew up and shook the planet and put me in another reality. I was on the wrong side of history all along, I coulden't take it back not after all I had to done I needed to escape this god damned planet. The fleet was leaving, and not everyone was going to make it.

I don't know if I'll make it.

The outpost was secure, one of the more secluded ones that the rebellion wasn't too focused on getting - I mean it was on their radar and they will come soon. The are clearing the planet of hold outs, one by one taking out bunker by bunker. Yet there's something that keeps me tethered to this old chain that is the empire, I hate to say it while I want to flee and run away into a life of hiding I simply cannot. There is intelligence here that would benefit our comrades, save their lives in the new fleeting age of tomorrow.

We have to get it to them, hope is a fickle thing I never believed in - but hope is the only thing that will save the Empire now.



_{T H E G I S T}

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Hello and welcome to Days of Ruin, an epic star wars RP where you play as a group of sad little impies stuck on Endor once the death star get's kaboomed. Will you escape to the fleet and get off Endor or succumb to the rebellion and the evil Ewoks? Not everything is as it seems here, and what is this war-shifting intelligence do you possess that will simply change the course of the now-favored rebellion victory? Intrigue, awesome pew pew laser scenes, player choice and more in this star wars romp.

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖 - Cyberpunk Political Intrigue Roleplay

Johnny had been accompanying the Pirate Queen and fellow P-Lackey 'Kay' up to the suite where all the big wigs were. The sight of augments on some of the people simply had his stomach turning, he forgot he was the only puritan in the room. He could feel his future children running around in a VR park, cyber psychosis free-living long healthy and natural lives. A 'Tannhauser Gate' cigarette hanged in his mouth as he lit it with a sad-looking zippo, entering the fray of political minds, deception and bloodthirsty killers. The PMCs showing up in mass and force were not to be expected, while the uneducated will think they are there for protection there are more roles a merc can play that doesn't show up on the media-screens. He knew first hand.

While everyone was so interesting, all these quirky power Mongols vying for one city he coulden't help but lay his eyes on Lott who was caught up in the middle of it all. After exhaling from a long drag he keyed back into the real, Lott speaking about the PMCs in her customer service, PR rep brain-fuck jamble. "They aren't here for just protection." He said ashing a bit of the Gate from the end of the tobacco stick, the ash hit the floor disintegrating - a sign of what's to come. "There are ulterior motives, obviously my dearest Ramona your average sheeple wouldn't see it. Thankfully us P's aren't your traditional submissive wage-slave."

He removed a small holocaller and entered a contact, a young woman's face appeared as it shot up in it's 3D glory in front of him as it exploded from the small holocaller. "Hi Johnny, what can I do for you?" The young woman chirped, obviously one of Lovecraft's legal lackeys. "I need you to dig up manifests, reports and everything you can on our esteemed PMCs in town. Go file an access to information request at the old townhall courthouse." The woman looked away from the holocaller, maybe she was taking notes? "Gotcha!" She said before she killed the called.

"My gravediggers are now in the process of digesting as much information as they can legally, yes - legally obtain regarding these groups. While we appreciate your modesty Ramona, sometimes you need a third-party contractor to look at it for you. If we feel like it, maybe we'll let the city know what these mercs are really employed for. I just hope our hand isn't forced." By this time the Tannhauser Gate had been smoked, killed! He flicked the butt out of his fingers as he began to follow the Pirate Queen - after her saucy little exit.

(Gravedigger - Legal lackey, a junior lawyer sometimes - usually does shitty legal work for their overlords like Johnny. In this case, filing request for files and diseminating everything they can. Gravedigger derives from this occupation is so dangerous or laborious whichever you want to believe, it just fucking kills you. )

Following her to the elevator, he began to process the sear amount of information and jumble spewed in that exchange. His reptile brain struggled, however, he prided that he would never be cyber-sick so let his damn brain work. He hit his head a few times with a couple small palm strikes. He felt like he was in a sense of danger, something happened - maybe back in the room? It was too late they were at the suite, Johnny's hands gripped onto something cold - steel? A handgun grip that was sleeping under his suit, maybe he wouldn't have to pull it out after all.

Bogeys! - Air Combat Drama [OPEN]

yo we still here but we movin slow like MAPLE SYRUP

exams be comin so ima take it slow then go BAM BAM BAM

so dont leave uwu

(jk i have u all in ym discord muahahah)

Dead Presidents

K i guess it was a short term rp unless u people come back i will put this on hiatu

Dead Presidents

U people alive >;B?

False Motives [OPEN]

K so ik u all have been waiting (frothing at the mouth) and we had some trollboos who abandoned us ;*( but the show is getting on the road. I will do a jc post soon and assign u poopy partners. K? K!

Bogeys! - Air Combat Drama [OPEN]

I'll try to post soon.

False Motives [OPEN]

CS

_{Sammy Sharpe
◄ 42 ▎ MALE ▎ 6"0 ►}

_{P R O F I L E}

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The former EOD Staff Sergeant Samuel Sharpe is a pale shadow of his former self, half consumed by paranoia and fear, the remaining half kept from decay and destruction by nothing more than the breadth of a hair and the abuse of copious chemical stimulants; now known primarily as Sharp for the quickness of his mind and the nature of afflicted existence, stripped down to a ragged edge from the person he used to be. Even his bed is practically wrapped in tripwires - a holdover from the days where a smartly placed claymore was all that came between his life and a knife at night. In spite of all this, however, Samuel is still a genuinely bright and intelligent man, educated too. He thinks quickly and sees more than he lets on, drawing conclusions and working with them like a flash of lightning, sifting lies from truth and connecting the dots of the plot behind the plot. Apart from that, there is only the rare turn of compassion or generosity to show you that Samuel Sharpe still exists as anything other than a legal name. Sharp alone is who he is now.

The ex-trooper sports a tall and wiry athletic build, standing at about 6"0, bound with deceptively dense muscle and sinew. His hair is dense, thick, and untidy, dotted with streaks of grey and white. His eyes seem to dart constantly between any company he keeps, the door of the room they're in, and his own gun. The left side of his face and head is peppered with streaks and dots of scar tissue from a fragmentation grenade explosion at medium range some years ago. His left arm bears a Vlhakian Armed Forces division tattoo, complete with regiment name, rank and serial number, and medical identifier - to be specific, the original insignia is a kite shield of green and white, bearing a black sword crossed with a black hammer in front of it, all upon a field of cross-hatching. It used to glow thanks to implanted NanoLEDs, but no longer, as the entire design has been crossed out with a pair of scars inflicted with a kitchen knife. The term 'EOD' is still identifiable, however. His right arm is also tattooed with a full sleeve of cultural design, utterly covered with the intricate interlocking branches of an oak tree in an old Antrean ethnic design. In minute text between some of the branches text in a dead, celtic-esque language can be seen. Even Sharp doesn't know what it says. The area around his ID tag has been mutilated during several tampering attempts, and is now a mangled mess of purplish scar tissue that he is barely able to hide with makeup during his brief trips into the city.


_{D A Y S - G O N E}

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To sum it up, nice and concise like, Sammy was born in the heart of Vlhakia, a pure, hot blooded Vlhakian boy. His early life was comfortable, if not wealthy or extravagant, and while he did not quite want for nothing it was certainly true that his needs were met - at least until the beginning of the Antrean war of secession from the empire, and the subsequent crash of the economy. When he was 20, his older brother joined the army, and when he was 21 he followed. They were put in separate regiments, but often occupied the same bases - his brother was going through the officer selection process for a mechanised battle group, and he had delved instead into combat engineering, which meant their specialisms complemented each other. They were reasonably well paid, and their food and lodging was taken care of by the general service corps, which put them at an advantage over their gradually more and more poverty-stricken countrymen - so ultimately, life was actually pretty good.

Life stayed pretty good for a while, as they gradually got educated in the art of warfare, and their nationalistic indoctrination reached its final stages.

Then they went to war. It was their job to suppress the growing Antrean rebellion before they were forced to acknowledge their independence, and in this endeavour they were doomed to fail. Antrea is a resource rich region, and the locals knew the landscape better than them. There were ambushes left and right, sneak attacks in the dead of night by Antrean commando units, throats being cut and bombs being set along the roads for their convoys. Sharp came a few centimetres from death more than a few times during the doomed campaign, and every time he did it stripped a little more of the man he'd used to be away from him. It got worse and worse, his mind becoming more and more twisted and convoluted by the stress of war, until eventually his brothers in arms began firing on civilians too.

To be perfectly fair, the Antreans were committing perfidy by using plainclothes commandos. That was a war crime.

But they weren't just killing suspects, they were killing everyone. Eventually Sharp would find out - long after the war was over - that his and his brother's detachment had been literally the most criminal element of the Vlhakian military during that conflict. Mass graves. Lynchings. Firing squads. Eventually it didn't matter who they were killing, they just needed a way to hurt Antrea, to get revenge on them for the hell they were going through.

Sharp found himself staring at an entire family, hanged from lamp posts in a shitty little backwater town, at two in the morning.

He couldn't do it any more.

He went around the battalion's vehicles and he rigged their fuel lines to dump uncontrollably into the engine when the engines were revved, and then he unhooked the safeties on the weapons caches. The moment they were turned on, the moment they tried to run another civilian down, the trucks, the APCs, the tanks - they would set their own fuel tanks alight, burn, and then light off their own magazines and explode.

Nobody asked him a single question while he did it. Nobody bothered. He was Vlhakian, he was a ranking NCO, he was the little brother of the most popular Captain in the company.

The one mistake he made was in trying to warn his brother, to get him out of there before it happened.

When he did, his brother initially didn't believe him - but then when he did, he flew into a rage and tried to kill him, driven mad by the grief of war, by the sheer bereavement of learning that his own brother was a traitor. If Sharp hadn't fought back, he'd have been hanged the very next day, with the next group of innocents. Instead, he did, and slew his own brother.

The struggle was loud enough that an alarm was raised, and as his brother lay clutching at the knife wound in his chest, staring incredulously at Sharp and mouthing the words 'fucking traitor' over and over and over and over and over again, the first explosions went off.

The detachment was later registered as destroyed. Many of the men were listed as KIA - and Sharp was listed as MIA.

On his way out of their camp, he got caught by a piece of shrapnel, and was set to bleed to death before he made it anywhere - but instead, he found himself in the arms of an Antrean guerilla who had already been planning to attack the camp. Rather than killing him outright, the guerilla took him in and nursed him back to health - initially so that he could be interrogated properly, but when he found out what Sharp had done, so that he could genuinely recover. The compassion the guerilla showed him, the traditions he was taught, the justice he saw in the Antrean system...

Years later, as an unofficial resident of Antrea, and an employee of the 43rd Precinct, he would disfigure his regimental tattoo and get it redone in Old Antrean in the man's honour.

_{M E M O R I E S}

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_{T H O U G H T S}

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@Bazmund

Hey sorry for the silence, been really busy. Accepted boi move him over if you're still intrested :P

Bogeys! - Air Combat Drama [OPEN]

Busy week but i'll work on something.

Pro Patria Mori - A Tale of Sailships and Muskets II

Hai can I play?