[Dust on the Dunes] (Western/Sci-Fi RP) INTEREST CHECK

[Acid]

After a two year hiatus, I returned to what I consider my magnum opus RP. Initially, the story began as an extremely noncanon fanfic, but evolved into something else and I figured why not turn it into an RP? I'm looking for a group of very dedicated writers, cowgirls, misfits and adventurers who are able to handle a short, but somewhat complex RP.

[Dust on the Dunes]

The dust settles and the dunes dissipate, although the Drifters feel nothing but discontent. The same star of adventure once sought by the Drifters shines luminously no more.

The smoke of adventure and exploration was clearing just as the gunpowder settled. The wasteland was becoming more and more serene, day by day and every Drifter knew it. Most of Filgaia had been mapped and the Wasteland lost its appeal and danger.

But that was all about to change...

[The Genre]: Western, Light Romance, Light Sci-Fi  .
[The Writing Level]: Advanced
[The Inspiration]: Wild Arms, Spaghetti Western movies, Dark Tower series, Die Hard
[The Players]: 4-6 Slots.
.Acid


[The World]:

"Filgaia is a paradise of green and blue, a jade field as far as one travels. With water of a sapphire hue that sparkles like a gemstone from far off."

This is but an ancient legend of the Filgaia, preserved in the mind of our elders. It is simply a memory of a time, supposedly long ago, when the planet was bountiful and shimmering; the land is long since dried up and growing even meager amounts of produce for food is impossible without two green thumbs. Nowadays, Filgaia is what we call the Wasteland, a dry lifeless desert.

The soil, now stagnant from ages of unintentional neglect, is unable to produce a harvest any longer. Crystal waters are now replaced with the Sandsea, a deadly expanse of sand that separates the continents of Filgaia. The environment is rapidly deteriorating, and the cause is unknown.

[The Drifters]:

Drifters come in every shape, size and flavor. Nonetheless, there are no “good” and “bad” Drifters; instead, they each set out into the Wasteland to fulfill their own personal goals. Some do it for survival, some do it for fame and money, and others for the thrill. Those that do it for the money or as a job often specialize in tomb raiding, grave looting and exterminating monsters. Some are even thieves or bandits and rob other Drifters throughout the badlands. 
   
Drifters venture across the vast lands of Filgaia searching for fortune and adventure. Amidst the desert lie cities erected from rock and scavenged wood. Towns that a few call home provide rest and solitude for the many travelers of the barren Wasteland.
Tales of mystic relics that harness unmatched powers spread across the land. While some view the items as treasure, others have deciphered a secret bringing unlimited power.

However, some have substantially nobler goals. Some Drifters set out into the lonely Wasteland to learn about the history of Filgaia. Could these seemingly ruffian wanderers hold the key to discovering, and perhaps reversing, the cause of the derelict state in which Filgaia is?

[The Story]:

Chapter 1: Birds of Passage

The Sheriff paced back and forth across the creaky wooden floorboards of his station. A look, more anxious than nervous, appeared embedded into his eyes. His fingers instinctively traced his gun holster and then moved down the sleek barrel of his revolver.

His badge read “A. Williams” and was barely legible. The writing looked worn with age in addition to being dust-covered.

"6:30 already?..."

The man took a drag of his cigarette and looked out the small window towards the town of Happy Alex, his birthplace and the town which he protected. In this town, this man was both the law and the order.

“Where the hell are all of ‘em? Can’t trust youngsters with anythin’ these days. They better show their asses,” he muttered to himself.

He took a final pull of the cigarette and threw it on the wooden floor. The Sheriff stopped pacing around the Lone Star, a decrepit, small shack that doubled as both the town’s sheriff’s office and as his place of residence. The man picked up his mug and held the glass to his lips. The cool beer was beyond refreshing, but most of all it calmed the man’s nerves. He set the glass down and peered out of the small window once more. Overjoyed, he saw a large group of people advancing towards his “office,” traveling in what looked one wide mass.

The group was curiously diverse, some young, some old. Some appeared well-kempt, perhaps even exuding an aura of apparent affluence. Others wore run-down or tattered clothes. Most of these travelers were on horses, treading into the town slowly, although a select foolish few seemed to have made the journey on foot.

“Here it goes. Better meet ‘em out,” the Sheriff’s gaze broke from the mob and he went outside to greet them.

The group and the man walked steadily towards each other. The Sheriff stopped a few feet outside of the Lone Star and waited until the group started to gather in front. An air of concern and uncertainty made the mood tense. Some of the younger-looking ruffians gossiped and whispered amongst themselves, while the older generation within the group just smirked at them, knowing something revolutionary was about to take place right before their very eyes.

(“Pssst, is that the guy?)
(“Yeah, I think so. He’s supposed to be real famous around these parts or something. Heard one of the geezer Drifters talking about him.”)
(“Hey is that the guy who’s leading this?”)
("Apparently.")
("Seriously? Isn't this guy supposed to be 30 or something...? He looks ancient.")

“Shut your mouth, pup. This man is thrice the Drifter you can ever hope to be,” one of the older men on a sandy-colored steed retorted acidly.

The Sheriff kept his composure cool and confident, and then scanned the group that had coalesced in front of him. Soon a voice screamed with glee, the origin seemed to resonate from the center of the crowd…

“AMOS! Amoooos!” The voice was clearly female and every head among the crowd turned to the source of the obnoxious holler. A young woman, barely out of adolescence, ran for the Sheriff and the ocean of people cleared to both sides to let the woman through.

The woman wore a corset-like, russet, midriff garment, which began just below her collar and fell to her navel. The garment indicated that this Drifter girl was probably older and more mature than she appeared. This was certainly not the apparel of a young girl.

A champagne-colored decorative bow was tied on the front of her top, in addition to a miniskirt, which only grazed her upper thighs. Her hair was sleek and straw-like of a goldenrod shade.

Noticeably beautiful, her come-hither looks were met with the prying and staring eyes of the men in the crowd. A few whistles and calls came from some of the adolescent guys (and a few of the older perverts) in the mob. 

The woman nearly tackled the Sheriff, but ran to him with open arms and embraced him warmly. “Easy there! Here, let me have a look at you.” The girl was considerably shorter than Amos, and he tilted her head up to face him.

“Carol Lynn! By the Guardians! Can it be you? Looks like someone grew up,” Amos embraced the girl sincerely.

“I hope you mean me. It’s been too long Amos. Imagine my surprise when I learned my dear childhood friend was having this grand Drifter get-together and yet I received no invite,” Carol Lynn teased her friend then joined the crowd once more.

The orange sun harbored no mercy and shone down on the now increasingly impatient and hot crowd. The Sheriff wiped a bead of perspiration from his forehead and tilted his ten-gallon hat back, so as to get a better glimpse of the crowd, before clearing his throat to break the momentary silence.

“Ahem…erm…welcome to Happy Alex, my distinguished guests, friends, and fellow Drifters.” A few older men clapped for a short moment. The man who scolded the younger Drifters hopped off his horse which let out a soft neigh.

“To my friends, I welcome you back and to those of y’all who I’ve never met, I go by Sheriff Amos Williams. There’s a reason each and every one of you are here today and that’s because you made a name for yourself in this lawless Wasteland. Your keen ability to survive in Filgaia’s Wasteland does not go unnoticed and some of y’all may be even more popular than you’re aware,” this small ego boost seemed to pique the curiosity of the people and they listened more intently to this well-spoken orator.

“I may not look like much now, but I too was a Drifter a while back. I come to you my friends, and y’all youngins, under the gravest of circumstances. Filgaia is changin’, slowly but surely and I know y’all can feel it too.”

“Changing how ?” questioned one of the Drifters in the front.
“Changin’ for the worse. That’s how. This minimalistic, barren desert is getting’ hotter and drier day by day. Don’t tell me y’all can’t see the change happenin’ right before your very eyes. I ask those of you who have spread your wings, is this the same Filgaia you knew a year ago…Five years ago? Ten years ago? You can’t deny this; the land is growin’ stagnant. Everyone should be aski—
“Ain’t nobody disagreeing with ya, geezer. You’d have to be a novice Driftah, or live in a bubble, not to notice it,” another rude younger Drifter interrupted Amos’s speech.

“The question he meant to ask was: what does this have to do with us?” The older Drifter riding the brown horse was growing weary of these younger pups, nipping them back as he redirected the conversation back to Amos. The Sherrif was grateful for the older man’s presence and authoritative scorn at the younger Drifters.

“Of course. I was gettin’ to that. How many of you have been to the village of Rabask, in the eastern plateaus?” Only a few hands in the crowd rose and the Drifters that had never been were immediately humbled and subdued, if only for the moment.

“The Rabaskian people tell of a Filgaia that is unlike the one today, a legend passed down among the priest lineage in their village. It tells of a land of green and blue, a planet that was bountiful with life, plants and water. Back when I spread my wings as a Drifter, I heard this legend once from a shaman in Rabask Village. It foretold of a Filgaia with 2 paths, one that led to the gradual decline and destruction of our planet…and the other of the people coming together to restore the planet. Now, for the reason I went to such lengths to gather all of you from all corners of the Wasteland. How would you guys like to see this dream become a reality? How would y’all like to restore this damned Wasteland to its former glory?”

Only a few hands in the crowd rose and the Drifters that had never been were immediately humbled and subdued, if only for the moment.Only a few hands in the crowd rose and the Drifters that had never been were immediately humbled and subdued, if only for the moment. Only a few hands in the crowd rose and the Drifters that had never been were immediately humbled and subdued, if only for the moment.

Everyone knew this was a rhetorical question and they simply listened intently. Amos knew what he wanted to say to this group long before they even answered his invitation.

“I’m probably way in over my head here and I’m clingin’ to a small glimmerin’ star of hope, but it’s worth tryin’. If the legends told to me by the Shamannes of Rabask are true, we can restore Filgaia. I don’t know about y’all, but I’d like to try.”

“You do realize some of us came from hundreds of miles away, just to answer your invitation? This is the so called ‘big news’ we were waiting for? Some half-assed altruistic attempt at saving the world?” one of the Drifters showed his disdain for the idea and its clear lack of a slightly more “measurable” reward. The cold whip of his disapproval stung Amos, but he continued on with his spiel.

Only a few of the Drifters were optimistic enough to believe there might be an alternative to the Filgaia they see before them and yet, for some strange reason, in the back of everyone's minds, they could vaguely envision a Filgaia that seemed to almost exist elsewhere outside of their heads. It seemed almost tangible; as if it existed at one point in time. Would it really be possible to turn this dusty planet into a paradise?

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not asking you to do this for free. There’s some organization that’s hirin’ gunslingers from all over to go into some ruins they excavated. They’re willin’ to pay y’all guys well if y’all help out. I spoke with the organization’s leader and informed him I may be able to provide some skilled Drifters that would further the organization’s goal…This is our chance. The fate of Filgaia lies in the hands and ARMs of y’all younger Drifters. Now is the time to lift our planet from the quicksands of decline.”

His words trailed off towards the crowd pleadingly and for what seemed like minutes, nobody said anything. Then one lone man opened his mouth.

“If they’re paying, I’m your man. I’m in,” one of the Drifters stepped in. The band of Drifters laughed in agreement before erupting in rowdy applause and cheer. The gunslingers hooted.
"You know I'm in, Amos." Carol Lynn added.
"Then our path is clear guys, our next destination is the WEDO Base."
"We do?" one of the Drifters questioned.
"WEDO. It's the name of an organization that's hirin' Drifters. They'll explain everythin'. If y'all gunslingers still aren't fully sold on this idea, come along for the ride anyway and see if the bounty the organization offers you is worth your time."

With hope in Amos's heart, and curiosity in the Drifters', they set up camp in the dusty town of Happy Alex. They needed their rest and strength for tomorrow morning they would set course for the WEDO Base.

Feel free to ask any questions relating to the RP or story.

[TheHangedOne]

I'm interested in this.

[Headlights]

I'm interested. Does Happy Alex have any other established residents, or are you just looking for people to play drifters?

[flightzeit]

If you are looking for interest, you've got it. Not only do I love Wild Arms, I do love a good Western.

[Acid]

I'm interested. Does Happy Alex have any other established residents, or are you just looking for people to play drifters?

The town absolutely has non-Drifters, but in all likelihood they won't be of any significance to the storyline. The RP will focus around the pilgrimage and journey the Drifters take, but once I post the Character Sheet for people to fill out, I believe that it will provide all the options for a varied and unique character.

[Sarah Morgan]

Thanks to Acid for bringing this ad to my attention, first of all.  The concept sounds interesting, but I'm not sure I can play the gun-toting and outlaw-ish type well, but I'll definitely be following the story along.  It's actually a funny coincidence that I'm in the middle of reading the Dark Tower books at the moment, currently in book 4.  Though I don't think I'd be able to play this type of character convincingly, although that could just be my lack of confidence talking, I'll ask a general question anyway.  Is this game set in the future, or in an alternate universe type Western era?

[TheHangedOne]

You wouldn't necessarily need to play an outlaw. Some Drifters are actually very heroic; at least, in Wild Arms, which is the only setting mentioned I'm well versed in.

Since he used the term Filgaia, and a few bits and bobs from the story, it seems like it's set directly in the Wild Arms world. Which means that it's more like an alternate universe, rather than the future.

Of course, it's not my game, I'm just a potential player. Don't mean to be overstepping my boundaries, if I am, just trying to help.

[Acid]

Fill this out for those of you who are interested in joining.

Character Sheet

Code Select Expand

Character Sheet
   Name:
   Age :
   Gender:
   Orientation:
   Height:
   Weight:
   Appearance: (Photo/Picture)
   ARM:  (Gun Name and Gun type/model.)
   Tools: (1)
Example:
Boomerang: Capable of hitting objects from afar and triggering traps from a distance.

This is where you’re able to be a bit creative or humorous with your character.  That being said, remember to keep this primary
thought in mind; how exactly can you use your Tool in your travels to further yourself as a Drifter and help you overcome the many
traps and treacheries of Filgaia’s ruins? There are virtually limitless possibilities when it comes to Tool choices, but a good Tool
should be something that is:

-Portable and Compact (i.e. not a rocket launcher.)
-Not overpowered (Something that demolishes an entire ruin or stops time.)
-Useful in only dire or particular situations (See next bullet)
-An extension of the Drifter, just like his ARM, rather than his focus point
or trademark. Your Drifter should not be known for his spectacular grapple-hooking prowess.


• Personality: How do they get along with other members of the organization
and other Drifters in general? Are they confrontational or friendly? Vapid or determined?
What are they driven by? (Greed? Money? Adventure? Etc.)

• WRITING SAMPLE: (Optional and should be pre-written.) Your writing sample may help
convince me to pick your character sheet over someone else's, but it's mostly just to get
an idea of your writing style and conceptualization.

Thanks to Acid for bringing this ad to my attention, first of all.  The concept sounds interesting, but I'm not sure I can play the gun-toting and outlaw-ish type well, but I'll definitely be following the story along.  It's actually a funny coincidence that I'm in the middle of reading the Dark Tower books at the moment, currently in book 4.  Though I don't think I'd be able to play this type of character convincingly, although that could just be my lack of confidence talking, I'll ask a general question anyway.  Is this game set in the future, or in an alternate universe type Western era?

Drifters and Outlaws aren't necessarily the same thing. Not all Drifters are roaming outlaws. Many are more along the lines of field archaeologists, explorers and researchers. The RP is going to be set in a psuedo-fantasy, alternate universe, Western with some Wild Arms and Dark Tower fandom references and borrowed ideas and whatnot.

[TheHangedOne]

This is a work-in-progress for now.

•   Name: Crimson
•   Age : Appears to be in his twenties
•   Gender: Male
•   Orientation: Straight
•   Height: 5'10
•   Weight: 200 lbs.
•   Appearance: Crimson gets his name from the the dark red, leather (with cloth hood) cloak he wears, at almost all times.  It keeps the dust off of him, and the material provides some decent protection from monsters.  Underneath the cloak, he wears a very old, worn out, and only half-working kevlar vest. He also wears leather pants, and thick soled traveling boots that are steel-toed and have small, unlit LEDs along the side of them.

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide

•   ARM:  Infiltrator (The base weapon is an MP5SD4; however, it has been heavily modified, and includes a fully integrated advanced silencer, fixed butt stock with recoil dampener, and forward pistol grip. Uses a 45 round expanded magazine)
•   Tools: Jumper Boots. When activated, they allow the person to spring up to ten feet upwards into the air.



• Personality: Crimson is driven by a greed of a sort; the greed for knowledge. He often takes on tasks that involve braving ruins, because he can learn much from them. He is generally a decent person, though he has a quick temper when it comes to people that are naive, or holier-then-thou. He can be downright cruel to those who antagonize or betray him. Usually calm, and logic oriented, but again, is easily provoked into an emotional response when people act "stupid" (in a non-logical manner). Although somewhat young, he is beginning to be known for his reliability and tenacity.

• WRITING SAMPLE: An explosion? He thinks that might be the last thing that happened before he blacked out. His vision faded in and out, in and out, and tried to focus on the man--was it a man?-- that was trying to pull him up to his feet, telling him to be steady and take it easy, though all Crimson could hear was some distant, droning noise that made no sense.

Green... hair? Yeah, this guy's hair was green. What in the hell caused that? He shook his head a bit, and tried to focus in on the bespectacled man that was still talking.  "...Alright?" came the man, with the first clear word he could make sense of.

"No. I'm not alright. My head is pounding." Crimson stumbled away from the man for a few steps, only to find a table to rest against; the dizziness had gone, but his legs felt like jelly. He could swear he could feel them jiggling around, and boneless, though the feeling would pass soon.

He didn't know where he was; or who he was with. Hell, what was the last thing he could recall? Screams, and shouts, and gunshots. Fire, and smoke, and darkness. A dreamless sleep. "You should take it steady, you know. You've been through quite the ordeal."

"You're telling me." Something raced across his mind, a figment of a memory; something completely intangible, but which he reached out and tried to grasp at anyway, only succeeding marginally in doing so. "My things. I need my gear."

The green haired man was willing to oblige, and eventually, Crimson found himself with ARM and armor, that seemed to be far too old. The two chattered, as they slowly made their way out of the facility, and tried to put together just what in the hell it was that had happened, and what it was that he would do now.

[Loves]

I'm interested. Thanks for the invite Acid.  I returned you PM with a question and a character sheet for your perusal

[Acid]

Here's a handy little PDF file if you want some help choosing your gun: http://www.baneless.com/Books/DnD/D20%20Modern%20Weapons%20Locker.pdf

   Name: Amos Williams
   Age: 32
   Gender: Male
   Orientation: Bi-Curious
   Height: 5'10"
   Weight: 130lbs
   ARM:  Mjolnir Mark Y-UF88 (Winchester Rifle)
   Tools: [Bread Crumbs] Marks areas Amos has visited, ensuring he doesn’t get lost.
   Appearance:

From head to toe, Amos was the quintessential cowboy, although he wasn’t particularly striking or memorable. On his head wore a light-gray ten-gallon hat that veiled a small portion of his face. Underneath his hat, his auburn hair was becoming charred and slowly graying. The “salt and pepper” was thoroughly spread out over his head.  However, his gradually graying hair was not due to age, but rather stress.

•   Personality: Amos Williams has a relatively ambiguous, yet distinguished personality.
As evidenced by his style of dress, Amos is a minimalist of sorts; he is extremely carefree when it comes to personal vices and troubles; although he lets the troubles of the world bother him.

In addition, he also has a genuine interest in astronomy. Amos, an avid stargazer, loves observing every aspect of nature and the serenity of natural life. In this sense, he is quite the romantic. When Amos is not patrolling his town of Happy Alex, or killing off the beasts that plague the area around his town, he can be found working on his ARM or reading mechanical and astronomy manuals.
Although Amos is very carefree and may seem to have his head in the clouds at times (or in his case the stars,) he is not at all vapid, but instead is a very shrewd man. His family was very affluent at one time, but Amos tries his best not to judge individuals based on class differences.

Regardless of the affluence of Amos's family, he was not brought up as a spoiled child. Although he led a privileged childhood, his father, who was also once the Sheriff of Happy Alex, instilled good morals into Amos.

He is calm and collected when presented with a challenge or confrontation. Although he is somewhat low-maintenance and passive in some areas of life, he is a genuinely compassionate, friendly and personable individual who will not hesitate to help those in need, regardless of whether or not he likes them. Amos has been described as lazy, but this is simply because he isn't easily inspired and finds many things a waste of time such as washing the dishes or making his bed.

Sherriff Williams, as he’s sometimes called, is often authoritative and quick to pick up the slack of others, even when insecure about his abilities. His job assures that being decisive is a prerequisite, as he wastes no time in making a decision or assuming the role of leader, if nobody else steps forth to do so. He secretly gets some degree of satisfaction in having people follow him and listen to what he preaches, but Amos also appreciates the support of others.

Amos Williams is not all that different from your average Joe in that he enjoys the simple things in life, in addition to being somewhat lazy (although Amos would disagree) and a bit of a slob. But don’t let his over-passiveness be misconstrued as having a timid demeanor; Amos is not afraid to have all eyes on him and has no qualms about speaking to a large group of people. Often those who exert confidence and authority are the people of whose words we take heed. With his educational and professional background, Amos has the smarts and wherewithal to take control when needed.


•   Writing Sample:

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide

In the quaint, almost indiscernible, township of Novam, life seems to stand still. The humble countryside town gets very few visitors throughout the year and when they do, the whole town is in a ruckus and scrambles to acquire information about this new visitor. But on this dreary Autumn night, the whole town is in a ruckus to fend themselves from a horde of new visitors. The town hasn't seen this many visitors in decades, but the citizens of Novam are much too busy hacking and slashing to find out anything about their "visitors."

A loud crunch noise is heard - the sound of wood collapsing. A group of robed men in black garb have breached the city wall and are pouring in like water from a faucet, into the town of Novam.

"Fall back! Everyone move towards the town square! Fall back!" a young General called to his soldiers.

The group hesitated leaving the bodies of their fallen comrades there, but quickly made up their minds as the advance of the robed men continued. The last remaining fortunate soldiers sprinted to Ye Olde Ale, a pub-inn which on any given night was a place for cameradarie, but tonight it is a haven for the soldiers.

"Barricade the door! Stop them from getting in," a young Cleric shouted to his allies by the door.

The soldiers grabbed an oak wood plank and sealed the door shut. Thudding and pounding could be heard on the other side as the hinges of the door trembled. As the robed men gathered and coalesced outside of the inn, everyone's mind began to race. For now, they were in a sanctuary, but the small militia had barricaded themselves indoors with absolutely no supplies.

The young Cleric looked towards his friends, an Archer, Warrior and Sorceress, with a look of desperation.

"What shall we do?" the Cleric asked his friends. "We can't stay in here forever..."

"Sounds like a good idea, Kallen," Set replied.

He quickly scanned the room for anything that might potentially help his party, but found nothing. He did, however, see many of his wounded comrades, doubled over in pain on the floor. Although his curative magic was weak, it would provide some temporary relief to the soldiers and it was Set Palais's duty to keep their morale up.

"Uggggh," groaned a wounded soulder. He winced painfully and grinded his teeth as he clutched his stomach - a prominent wound was seeping blood steadily and the infantryman was going pale.

Set only knew basic curative magic and it wouldn't do much to alleviate the man's wounds, but he had to try.

"Step aside, I'm a Cleric." Set commanded, and the remaining soldiers that were huddled around their wounded comrade moved away.

"This won't mend your wound fully, friend, but hopefully it will help you feel better," the Cleric informed the soldier of his intention to "operate" on him. Set closed his eyes, hovered his palms a few inches away from the soldier's wound and concentrated. Pretty soon, a group of faint blue light, in the shape of orbs, began to emanate from Set's palms and spread out over the wound. The dim sky-blue lights suddenly brightened for a split second, first once, then two more times. Set opened his eyes and spoke: "How's that? Hopefully that mended your wound somewhat, comrade."

"Th-that...was amazing. Thank you! I feel magnitudes better and I think you stopped the bleeding," the soldier caressed his wound to ascertain the state it was in and was shocked to find that his skin had regrown over it and a scab was beginning to form. He stood up energetically as if to say "look, I'm fine," however when he stood, realized that there was still some minor pain in the area, but nothing a military man wouldn't be able to tough out. "Sire, I've no pain at all! Thank you," the soldier lied as if trying to appease the Cleric for his deed. Set's fellow soldiers, seemingly distracted from the onslaught of enemies outside of the pub, watched Set's healing magic work and their spirits seemed higher - almost as if a weight was lifted.

[BlueEyedBard]

Thanks for the invite! I have a pretty interesting character in mind but I'll need to type him out first. Not sure if he might be going a little too far  :-\ , we will see.

[Acid]

This is a work-in-progress for now.

•   Name: Crimson
•   Age : Appears to be in his twenties
•   Gender: Male
•   Orientation: Straight
•   Height: 5'10
•   Weight: 200 lbs.
•   Appearance: (Photo/Picture)
•   ARM: 
•   Tools: (1)Jumper Boots. When activated, they allow the person to spring up to ten feet upwards into the air.



• Personality: Crimson is driven by a greed of a sort; the greed for knowledge. He often takes on tasks that involve braving ruins, because he can learn much from them. He is generally a decent person, though he has a quick temper when it comes to people that are naive, or holier-then-thou. He can be downright cruel to those who antagonize or betray him. Usually calm, and logic oriented, but again, is easily provoked into an emotional response when people act "stupid" (in a non-logical manner). Although somewhat young, he is beginning to be known for his reliability and tenacity.

• WRITING SAMPLE:

Once more send in their sign up sheets, I'll put up the IC and OOC topics.

I'm interested. Thanks for the invite Acid.  I returned you PM with a question and a character sheet for your perusal

Answered.

Thanks for the invite! I have a pretty interesting character in mind but I'll need to type him out first. Not sure if he might be going a little too far  :-\ , we will see.

As long as your character still fits within the boundaries of realism within the DotD universe, you can make them as wacky or as archetypal as you want.  O8)

[TheHangedOne]

Finished out the character sheet, Acid. Let me know if I need to change anything.

[Jassara Sunn]

You want the spread on here? Or PMed to you?

[Acid]

Either works.  :-)

[SugarAndSpice]

Hey Acid, thanks for showing me this, I'm definately up for this and here's my character :)

Character Sheet
   Name: Sarika
   Age : 20
   Gender: Female
   Orientation: Bi
   Height: 5 Foot 7
   Weight: 10 stone
   Appearance: http://files.g4tv.com/ImageDb3/238883_S/Pioneer-Women-Adventures-in-Red-Dead-Redemption.jpg
Sarika may look like the good little daughter of the local pastor but her clothing advertise against that fact. She dresses like a man, dark trousers, strong boots, a heavey belt around her hips and men's shirts, in plain colours. She also wears a locket under her shirt which contains a picture of her older brother Tane who died at the hands of raiders.
   ARM:  Remington 870 shotgun
   Tools: A set of three ice picks  http://www.msu-underground.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/12/ice-pick.jpg . Useful in close up combat, they can also be used as throwing knives but she doesn't do this unless it is certain she will get them back.

• Personality: On the surface Sarika seems to be driven by an interest in adventure and a need for money. However under this she is driven by a burning desire to revenge the death of her older brother, who was her only family after their parents died of plague. This was the reason that she accepted the invitation from Amos as she thought that in such a big gathering of drifters there would at least be someone who knew the where abouts, or most recent sightings of the men who raided her village.

Generally cooperative and courteous Sarika has become mistrustful of strangers as when she first set out to avenge her brother a man she told about her story sent her off with false infomation with the intention to steal her belongings. This encounter left her with only the clothes she was wearing, her locket and the ice picks, which she had already concealed on her body, since then she has been close guarded with her past and true reasons for becoming a drifter.

Despite this however Sarika does have a strong sense of loyalty, if she makes a promise she will fulfill it and expcts the same of others, she will get angry if anyone questions the worth of her word. She tends to shun younger drifters if she is in a group as she wants to learn from the experiences of older drifters.

Writing Sample:

Sarika pushed open the doors of the Jackbird Inn and walked inside. Her dark eyes surveyed the room with a glance, simple laypout of wooden chairs around a few tables, only half a dozen customers all men who looked about twice her age. She walked to the bar, her shot gun bound to her back where she could easily reach for it if need be.
"Whiskey please"
Sarika was more than aware of the odd looks she got from the barmaid and the regulars, this was obviously a town that was not used to female drifters at least not ones like herself. She brushed a strand of her copper hair from her eyes and slid a coin over the bar as her drink arrived.
"Thanks"
She sipped at the drink, feeling the liquid burn the side of her throat, she grimaced wondering why she still drank this drink even though no where ever served a good batch. She supposed it was for the memories, before the raid when Tane had snuck a bottle of Daddy's whiskey out to the field and they had timidly drunk it together. They had both been sick that night and both punished but it hadn't really mattered.

The sound of male laughter and the doors swinging open jerked her from her reverie. She kept her eyes on her glass and her ears open for infomation. There were three of them, all clearly hopped up on the fact they had guns on their belts and money in their pockets.
"Three of the usual darling"
"And a little extra if you can manage"
They guffawed together, Sarika rolled her eyes.
"You here about that village?"
"Westlex?"
"yeah, completely razed to the ground, professional debt hunters I heard"
"Like the ones sniffing round here last winter?"
"Same ones apparently, five guys on white horses"
Sarika's eyes widened and she turned to look at the men and asked,
"Where's Westlex?"

The ringleader of the three was momentarily stunned at the brash delivery of the question. Then he realised that she was a woman. He smirked at her and walked over to her making use of his six foot three bulk. She scowled as he brought his face down towards her "And what do I get if I tell you, Doll" His friends chortled. Suddenly his eyes bulged with fear, Sarika's ice pick was digging into his stomach, her eyes told him eloquently enough what would happen if her refused to tell her.
"It's five miles south of here" She withdrew the knife and smiled,
"Much obliged gentlemen" She downed the remains of her drink and left the inn.

She mounted her grey horse "Yah" They were off once more on the trail of the five white horses.

[Acid]

More male signups and characters plz, I don't know if I can handle all these cowgirls by myself!   8-)

[SugarAndSpice]

Lols I'm sure you'd like to try though Acid ;) Is there anything you want added to her profile?
I don't usually play male characters but if it gets to the point where you need it I'm willing to try :)

[Kevben Battleheart]

I was a fan of the Wild Arms Games, never actually beat any of them lol, but loved them all the same. I'll try to see if I can scare something up for a character.

[Acid]

Lols I'm sure you'd like to try though Acid ;) Is there anything you want added to her profile?
I don't usually play male characters but if it gets to the point where you need it I'm willing to try :)

Getting a few more signups in PMs, so I'll probably have enough males. Ideally I want an even ratio of males to females, but it's not that big of a deal.

I was a fan of the Wild Arms Games, never actually beat any of them lol, but loved them all the same. I'll try to see if I can scare something up for a character.

Go for it. I'll await your CS.  O8)

[Headlights]

Character Sheet

• Name: Caleb Barker, but known to many drifters by different titles: "Doc", "Professor", "Colonel", and "The Chinaman"
• Age: 45
• Gender: Male
• Orientation: Straight
• Height: 5'11"
• Weight: 165
• Appearance: Shoulder length black hair, extremely pale white skin, calloused and scarred hands and arms. With fingers ground down to weathered bone and a permanent encrusting of dense black stubble, Caleb is not really a looker. Under extremely bulky clothing he is surprisingly lean. On one arm he has what some claim are ancient Oriental markings: in fact, they are dust tattoos from when he was on a chain gang; his thin, slitted eyes also give him an Oriental look, but their dark blue irises suggest this is misleading. He usually speaks only through the corner of his mouth and has twitchy mannerisms, almost scuttling like a crab. He always wears too many clothes, even in the desert heat, including a long black coat that conceals his arm, and has dusty military decorations on his shirt front. Many of his clothes were obviously once expensive, but are now dusty and frayed. The only item of clothing that looks new and well cared for are his boots, which always seem well polished and clean: those who look closer might notice, however, that it seems like he actually acquires an entirely new set of boots every few days.
• ARM: Colt M1878 double action revolver
• Tools: Small satchel containing medical equipment (but see notes)
• Personality: A drifter of some repute who is rumoured to be a doctor, former Army officer, university professor, and many other things, Caleb is in fact only one thing, a scavenger. Every item of his clothing and every personal possession has been looted, mostly from the dead. He has a medical satchel slung over his shoulder, but the only items in it he really knows how to use are anti-venoms. He is incredibly vague and secretive about his past to cover, allowing people to believe that he really is a doctor, an Oriental, or whatever wild fantasy is being shared by the drifters today.
  
  Caleb tends to travel with others by day, but slink off to sleep alone at night. He is pathologically distrustful, and earns a similar lack of trust by taking any object he desires. If confronted by someone rightly or wrongly accusing him of stealing from them he will fight with a fury belying his relative lack of bulk, but will use his sidearm or other weapons only as an absolute last resort. He is a decent, but not particularly accomplished, shot, and does not actively seek out fights.
  
  In fact, the core of his moral ambiguity is that he hates violence and will be helpful to those he sees in trouble, sometimes stopping by drifter families with children to share food and water, or even occasionally parting with a treasured item. However, once someone has died, he has no problem stripping them of everything they owned and held dear in life. His hoarding of objects exceeds that which he needs to stay alive: sometimes he is so laden down he has to slow down.
  
  Because drifter camps and settlements often try to keep him on as a camp doctor, and he knows he will be discovered, he rarely stays in once place, constantly moving on. As such, various rumours about him are never actively rebutted, and by the time his deceptions and thefts are known, he has already moved on. It is possible other drifter characters will have heard of him, but only in vague and generalised terms.
  
  He is friendly to anyone he thinks poses no threat, obsequious to those he sees a chance of stealing from, kind to those with families or children, or the sick or injured or weak, but standoffish and aloof around anyone who asks any questions. He constantly avoids direct eye contact and if pressed for answers will usually back out and leave.
  
  Caleb's motivation for joining the quest is twofold: firstly, he cannot resist the allure of the potential for plunder, although he is as yet undecided about how much of that he will be willing to share with those who go along with them; secondly, he is no longer a young man, and the drifting lifestyle is wearing on him. A big haul might enable him to settle down somewhere, and put his scavenging days behind him.

Question: This is a weird one, but I like to know the sound of things for cadence purposes. So, how is "WEDO" pronounced? Is it "We-Do"? "Weedo"? "Weddo"?

[kingmaster1]

   Name:Marcus  Lerron
   Age : 30-ish
   Gender: male
   Orientation: straight
   Height: 6'5"
   Weight: 200-250
   ARM: RM-93 (12 gauge)
   Tools: broadsword

   Appearance: short brown hair. His body is well built but long scars decorate all over him. He has long tattoos going down his right arm and a few dotting his back. He wears mostly black, but with some armor he managed to come by. A metal plate covers his chest that is covered by a black cloak he wears to keep the dust off him. He carries a celtic pocket watch with him and the chain always dangles from his pocket. He wears thick, black boots that are worn out and breaking from overuse. The only non black piece of clothing he wears are the blood red gloves that he always wears. A broadsword is tightly strapped to his back with a leather belt.

   personality: Marcus doesn't do much for conversation or interaction, he's not a social person. All he wants to do is get a drink and a woman for a night. He prides himself on being a gentleman and holding that title whenever he can. His only fault, in this life style that has taken the land is that, no matter what, he can't hit a woman. He's paid a price for this fault a few times already but can't bring himself to get past it.

Traveling in a group is the most intelligent thing to do, to him at least. But he has trouble finding people he can ever trust with a duty as important as helping him survive. He will always offer protection to someone in need. If someone is mistreating a lady or another man he will step in and set things right and offer them a drink afterwards.He is polite enough to those he meets, especially women.

He was trained in swordsmanship from his family, in a special art that only was taught to his bloodline. The broadsword he carries with him has been passed down from generation to generation and is more important than his own life and it has seen the blood of hundreds of people shower it's blade as they die.

The one thing Marcus wants to do is continue his family heritage and make sure their honor doesn't die with him.He will join the quest if, for no other reason, than to score some pay and maybe meet a nice girl or two.

*hopefully this is good, thanks for the invite Acid  ;D

[Acid]

APPROVED CHARACTERS
-Acid (obviously)
-Iridum248
-Flightzeit
-theHangedMan
-Headlights
-Lovesreading2



Here's the OOC and IC you guys have been waiting for. :)

OOC: https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=134186.0
IC: https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=134184.0

Still have 1 spot open. PM me your CS or post it in the OOC now.

[Imogen]

I'd be interested in creating another male role if there's a spot open.