Post Apocalyptic Western: Episode 2

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Alotak

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May 14, 2008
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Turn:
Outside the 'Rat and Rotgut' a Manhole cover slid open, the sewers while completly flooded still stood in most of the area. Alotak pulled himself out, the muddy water dripping of him onto the street, his gills sealing as he took a breath into his lungs.
"So this is the place" he said, waveing to the girls on the balcony.

He had heard that a weapon had been unearthed, or as the some rumour told him there was a flying machine of old one of the things of legend, the Metal Phoenix. He shuddered, remembering how his grand father had passed down the stories of the howling over head and the flashes in the distance.
Alotak walked into the tavern and glanced around, drunkards staggered around people were drinking themselves into the dirt.
He ordered a glass of water, standing next to an old man takeing whisky shots. He drank the water, paid and walked outside, he lowered himself into the Water But and fell alseep in the luke warm water.
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Well well so it begins, i hope you dont mind me adding gills i thought it would be ok as you said they were ocean dwellers
 

killer8531

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Jun 24, 2008
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turn: Striker had noticed the other man sit beside him he smelled something horrible coming from the same man and notices his webbed fingers. he took a second glance at the man, he smelled like he had been rolling around in filth. he contemplated yelling at the man but instead gave a grunt of dissatisfaction and ordered another drink. the man left shortly after and striker resumed thinking of his old village.

[spoiler/]the reason for the smell was that you where just in the sewer if you want me to edit this i will[/spoiler]
 

Conqueror Kenny

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Jan 14, 2008
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Quote this and you will see what you have to put
two turns already? It's only meant to be one turn per Pedros next turn posts
 

killer8531

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Jun 24, 2008
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[spoiler/] you have the right idea just put "[spioler/]what you want to write[/spioler]" spelling spoiler correctly[/spoiler]
 

LewsTherin

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Jun 22, 2008
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A distant rumble on the horizon, like the roaring of a far-off beast. A large dust cloud approaches the town of Purgatory's Gate, at its head a white motorbike. The bike slows to a halt at the edge of the ruins, and its rider looks over the settlement, a despotic skeleton of the city's former glory...

The rider eases his bike into careful motion. He rolls down the street, his gaze passing over every person, and passing on as they quickly look away. He takes a longer glance at the women on the balcony, who shout catcalls and suggestions. Disregarding them, he continues on, it was not their promises that called him here. No, there are greater prizes here. Smiling slightly to himself, he stops the bike in front of a seedy looking tavern, The Rat and Rotgut. With stern glance from is cold blue eyes and a suggestive pulling back of his black leather jacket to reveal to six-guns, his silent statement makes not a few unwashed vagabonds take their eyes off of his motorbike.

All activity in the bar ceases as the double swing doors are thrown wide. A gently breeze pushes a lock of shoulder length blonde hair into his eyes, which he shakes out of his way. He slowly strides towards the bar with a slight limp in his left leg. He approaches the barkeep, who was busily polishing glasses. He clears his throat to get the barkeeps attention. The barkeeps starts, and pushes his dirty spectacles back onto his nose, giving him a distinctly ratlike appearance. The traveler smirks slightly at this, as he slaps a coin on the bar.

"Whiskey"

"of course, right away."
The barkeep hurriedly pulls a glass from under the bar and fills it.
"May i ask your name?"

The traveller's icy stare meets the bartender, who quickly drops his gaze.

"I didn't mean to pry, but-"

"Roland. Roland Graves."

Drink in hand, Roland settles at a table, alone at the back of the tavern. He looks about the bar, filled with village drunks and other, much cleaner, travellers. Again, he lays a hand on one pistol, and they look away.

Roland half smiles to himself. These pretenders and drunkards most likely have gotten word of the prize as well. They'd better stay out of his way.

That, boys and girls, is how to make an entrance
 

PedroSteckecilo

Mexican Fugitive
Feb 7, 2008
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Just so everyone knows. This is the time I usually leave work, which is where I do most of my Forum Posting. I'll be sure to check the forum during my off hours, but I can't garauntee I'll post anything. Where I am it's 4:20 PM right now...
 

PedroSteckecilo

Mexican Fugitive
Feb 7, 2008
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conqueror Kenny said:
Quote this and you will see what you have to put
two turns already? It's only meant to be one turn per Pedros next turn posts
I'd like to observe the rule as much as possible, but it's not AS big a deal when theres no combat going on, as I said, feel free to simply play in character and chat, just don't fight or try to advance the story when I haven't posted, otherwise things might collapse into chaos ...
 

Khedive Rex

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Jun 1, 2008
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TURN:
"Well, here I am" thought Bartelby as he pulled thoughtfully into town on The Bike. "The only question left is, where's here?" Bartelby didn't make it a habit to look too carefully while he was running away. When the time finally came to make a hasty retreat (it always did) sitting around and wondering whether it was wiser to head east or west is one of the most effective ways to increase the lead content of your blood. Even escaping at full speed, his pursuer still managed a shot gun blast to his right thigh. The wound bled heartily and stung whenever Bartelby moved. It inspired a sense of injustice in him. All he had tried to do was steal a few thousand dollars to support the rebellion; this was surely unfair retaliation.

Bartelby was off the bike now and limping toward the nearest dwelling, suddenly much more aware of the agony caused by the gun shot, and his need to treat it before he lost any more blood. Bartelby was aware of himself crashing through a set of doors into what looked, and most particularly smelled, like a seedy bar. The cheap kind, that was good. Bartelby heard himself shout "I'm about to go uncouscious! Wound! Right leg!" He didn't know who he was shouting this to but, there were people there. A lot of people actually, at this point quite a few were staring at him shocked or perplexed, the mediocre pianist in the corner had even stopped playing for a moment. He had an Audience. He heard himself say quieter, lamely "Death to the Federation." Bartelby was then aware of a sort of dull thud which was him hitting the ground. Bartelby was then aware of nothing.

A sufficiently dramatic opening? No, I haven't killed my character in the first post. He's just unconcious. I probably have only about another hour before I go offline give or take. I'm fighting off sleep at the moment.
 

LewsTherin

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Jun 22, 2008
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Roland looks over at the wounded man, collapsed at the door. He considers helping him for a oment, then goes back to his drink.
 

Heliros

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May 30, 2008
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I know that the game has already started, and that everyone has set into the mood, but this seems so interesting that I just had to try anyways. Could there still be a tiny chance for me to participate in this Rp? I ask knowing fully well that it has already started and I fully expect the answer no, in big red furry letters.

Name: Rick (Lisa) Valor

Occupation: Healer/Artist

Description:
Dying is an mindshattering experience. Most peoples stay dead after the first time due to this.
Rick has a problem though. He can't stay dead, but he dosn't know about that.
After Rick's body has completely deteriorated after a fatal incident,
it respawns in in a secluded place usually after about 1-68 years
(Depending on outside circumstances. If shot in the head, for example,
Rick's body has sometimes been known to raise again merely 16 months later,
due to the lack of need to deconstruct and reconstruct his physiology, much. If he died
due to, let's say an atomic explotion however, his 'soul' would need time to sort out the
background interferance, removing stray particles and such, prolonging his recovery time.
Also, if no secluded spot can be found, his soul will wait untill one is available. If the whole planet was covered in infrastructure, and every area was monitored, it is quite possible that he wouldn't appear on that planet again. This is most unlikely however. I mean seriously, every single spot on the planet?)
After it has done so, Rick's body is usually fit for living again merely a few days later.
Due to the strange nature of the powers involved, Rick cannot remember anything of his previous life but his name(s),
but he often retains some of the knowlege and skills aquired during said life. This has led to a tremendeous buildup
of specialiced knowlege and cunning, due partially to the fact that he has a nack for understanding the human body,
and his musical affinity, and mostly due to that he carries over knowlege from life to life, loosing some, but gaining more than he looses, over time. This tends to lead to him picking up either a career in music, medicine or both.
Another strange quirk about his situation is that he switches gender after each death.

Standing at roughly 1.7 meters, with thick, short-cut black hair, a thick goatee and a clearly western apperance,
Rick has what could mostly be described as an average body.
He survives in the world by tagging along with others, helping out and lending
his skills to highest bidder.

Motivation: Rick is motivated by three things. Compassion, Music, and laughter. His confidence soars as he
helps others, and likewise shatters if he is put into a situation that he cannot change or be useful in.
A family person at heart, Rick enjoys being around large groups of peoples, and quickly feels lonely if put by himself.

Personality: Rick is a generally happy and carefree person. This is mainly due to
the fact that he cannot remember anything about his past, and therefore
has nothing to brood over. He seems very unserious and zany at first
glance, and this opinion often sticks. It is very rare for anyone to find Rick in
anything else than a happy mood, with a few uplifting words at his lips.

Underneath that zany exterior lies a very shrewd diplomat however,
and Rick can almost always talk his way out of, well, mostly anything.

Finding yourself butt-naked in an unfamiliar spot, with
no recollection of who you are, or how you got there, you have to
deal with the trauma somehow. Rick does so by joking it away.
"Why can't I remember anything? No matter. Wheeeee!"
It dosn't help any that you feel that you should be adressed by two different names either.
"Rick!"
"..."
"RICK!"
"wha? Oh me? I thought you were talking to someone else"
"It's just the two of us here"
"Oh."

Allegiances: Se motivation. Compassion, Music and laugher is the key to Rick's wellbeing.

Fighting Style: If pressed against the wall, with no other opinion, Rick falls back onto a
well honed style of fighting, wich he calls "KyiZU", or "Kick-you-in-groin-zu" wich basically focuses on
placing his foot in the general groin area of his opponent, in a variety of ways, whilst screaming or shouting.
If this fails however,he resorts to a sharp survival knife that he keeps strapped to his leg, underneath his pants.
Having taken the Hippocratic oath in a large amount of lives has claimed it's toll however, and Rick
only very relunctantly claims another life.


Skills and Abilities: Medicine, Herbalism, Climbing, Persuasion, Charisma, Swimming, Woodcrafting, singing/playing instruments, golfing.
Although unbeknownst to him, Rick is also fluent in a very large amount of languages.

Deficiencies: Gunslinging, lockpicking, building/repairing/dismantling Electronics, Being serious.
Rick has never been one to negotiate well with guns. Put one in his hands, and he is just as likely to shoot himself in the foot, kill the neighbours cat,
ruin your car, spill your drink, insult your wife and start a war, at the same time, as he is to actually hit anything.
Although he has lived as a semisuccessfull thief in one of his previous lives, Rick handles lockpicks like he handles guns. Extremely bad.
Rick is pretty sawy when it comes to USING electronical equipment, but anything else than that and he will most likely blow something up.
It probadly goes without saying, but being silly is also one of his major flaws, and nothing short of the dramatic death of a friend or a loved one will shut him up.

Equipment:
Rick carries around with him a backpack, wich he usually has filled to the brim with herbs, medicine and tools of his trade, along with a flute and some basic provisions.
He realises that the medecine alone makes his backpack worth ten times his life, so he guards it furiously.
Strapped to his left leg, he carries a survival knife, wich he managed to persuade a wandering tradesman to give him during the early days of his most recent reincarnation.
Other than that, he has nothing more than the clothing on his back, wich consists of a pair of shoes, socks, underwear, worn light brown pants, a darkish shirt and a bluish jacket.
 

Dcarty745

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Mar 12, 2008
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TURN:

Though he thought to himself he shouldn't be doing this, Carty went to aid the fallen man. He proceeded to pour his bottle on the man's face.
Thats what he meant by "aid". "Your welcome" , he grumbled, and walked over to his stool and sat...
 

ThePoodonkis

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Apr 22, 2008
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TURN:
Chris Thompson ran into the town looking for a spot to lay low for awhile.
He had been spotted by Federation soldiers, and with a price on his head he couldn't risk whether or not he'd be recognized.
He proceeded to enter the saloon and jumped behind the bar, pistol in hand just to be safe...
not very dramatic, but I'm no author
 

PedroSteckecilo

Mexican Fugitive
Feb 7, 2008
6,732
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Heliros said:
I know that the game has already started, and that everyone has set into the mood, but this seems so interseting that I just had to try anyways. Could there still be a tiny chance for me to participate in this Rp? I ask knowing fully well that it has already started and I fully expect the answer no, in big red furry letters.
We have just started so I don't really have a problem with it, I just hope I'm not getting in over my head, we're at what, 12 now?
 

7dollarbill

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Apr 3, 2008
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TURN: The figure appeared at the far end of the town, sun to his back. The large siloutte caused a panic in the streets as folks fled into their homes, scooping their children up off the streets as they ran. Bo watched as the vermin scurried before him, it was the same everywhere he went. Windows rattled with each step he took, and his flail made a nerve racking grinding sound as it slid across the ground.

With godlike force the doubledoors to the bar flung open, nearly tearing them off of their hinges. The bar went silent as the behemoth figure knelt down to fit through the door, his very presence in the bar making everything shrink in comparison. He made his way over to the counter, his flail now hanging over his massive shoulders.

"Bo Hungry. Food. Give Bo now!" The beast roared, his deep and belowing voice knocking glasses from tables and making the very walls groan. The bartened, visibly shaking in fear silently gestured back to the kitchen, putting much emphasis on speed. Getting tired of standing Bo grabbed a nearby stole and threw himself on to it. It was a miracle it didn't break as it groaned under his weight.

"Thirsty!" Bo exclaimed as he reached over and ripped a glass out of another patrons hands, before drinking the entire contents. The doors to the kitchen opened as two men emerged carrying a platter full of a large grey paste as tall as a man. As soon as they set it down infront of Bo he began to tear into it with his hands. The sounds of his feeding frenzy filling the entire bar. It took mere minutes for him to polish the entire platter clean. The bartender nervously made his way over and stood infront of Bo. "That'll...that'll be 23.50." He spoke softly, his teeth chattering as he spoke. Bo eyed the man carefuly, nearly sending him into a piss-filled coma. He then reached down deep into his pockets, rumaging around before slapping a handful of nuts and bolts onto the counter.

"Good trade. Yes?"

Well, I'm hoppin of for the night. Feel free to interact with Bo if ya want.
 

Heliros

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May 30, 2008
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As I said, I fully understand if the answer is no, and if it get's to complicated, feel free to drop me out straight away, in favor of a more streamlined experience for everyone else. I'll post my dramatic entrance now :D

ENTRANCE
Rick, sitting at the bar, eyeing everyone else with a slight smile on his face, enjoying the general ambience of the tavern, and the (somewhat) cool feel of the naku cola in his hand. He was weariy from his journey here. Traveling alone never was his thing. Resting his backpack between the bar and his legs, he took a sip of the bottle. Mmmmmmm.

Also, what is the general currency of the world? Bottlecaps? :3

TURN
Following suit with most of the other tavernvisitors, Rick looked at the big hulking man at the bar, and decided that it would be in his best interest to move away. He then turned his attention to the man lying on the floor, quickly grabbed his backpack, and rushed over. A slight puddle of blood had begun to assemble on the floor underneath him, and Rick, not being a man of the biceps himself, called out to the general populance of the bar.
"Hey, could anyone give me a hand here? I need to turn this man over, so that I can get to the wound!"
 

LewsTherin

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Jun 22, 2008
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Roland's attention turns to the newcomer and his plight.

"Why not?" he mutters to himself.

He calmly walks over to the prone figure in the doorway and with a steady kick, flips the man over.

"No charge."

He returns to his table, and his whiskey.
 

Heliros

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May 30, 2008
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Rick gazed, flabbergasted, as the man in the white headband kicks the wounded one in the side, flipping him over, and heads back. He then proceeds to laugh out loud, and keeps laughing as he opens his backpack, pulls out a few tools, and begins to work on the mans leg. He wipes away a few tears of laughter with the flat of his hand as he does.
 

ThePoodonkis

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Apr 22, 2008
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Chris peers over the bar to see what the noise was about and notices a man bleeding on the ground. He decides to try and exit the saloon as quietly as he can.