The Shimmering: Western/Fantasy? (Predators & Disruptor needed)

[Oreo]

LINK TO OOC THREAD

THE SHIMMERING

In the beginning...there was lawlessness. Science and technology had manipulated subspace and eventually developed a means to harness arcane magic. Crime was rising with no foreseeable solution until the decision came to create 'the Wall'. All criminals were cast outside to fend for themselves. As the generations passed, and time took it's toll, the descendants of both the Kingdom and the Wastelanders changed. The great technology that has so enslaved the people of the Kingdom to it's comforts, is but a byproduct of the Shimmering. Those living within the Wall were overcome by their superior power. The citizens debauched, inclined to frivolity, living the life of luxury that led them down the inevitable road to corruption. While outside in the Wastelands, the struggle to survive created a sturdy people that were a law unto themselves.

In the present...The land of Escorral is a divided. There is the Shining Kingdom, ruled by the powerful inhabitants of the Shimmering, and there is the land without called The Waste. The two worlds are divided by the Wall, a massive construction whose length is closely monitored. Those in the waste outside the Kingdom are forced to live without technology. Only the traders who were birthed within the walls are allowed to leave and enter. This strict control has forced the population of the waste into perpetual poverty and inferiority. However they have something that exists nowhere within the kingdom. Rare even in the Wastelands are those who hold a secret talent. These rare individuals are the one thing the Kingdom fears, they are the Slingers. With the power provided by means of the Wall the Slingers have a unique skill. A Slinger can drop a group of men to the ground with only a flick of his wrist, and the speed of his fingers. Some say that this is only the least of the powers of the gunslingers, but in truth even all but the best of these men and women know the truth, and they would never reveal it.

Fearing an uprising against the Wall, the Shimmering began training an elite force. These individuals are the Towers finest, who step outside the walls to hunt the Slingers. These highly trained men an women are the only ones known to have the ability to take down a Slinger. They are the Predators.

The Shining Kingdom: The Shimmering is that which gives us our light. The men and women who reside within the walls as a majority believe they can do no wrong. They are the pampered and wealthy citizens of an empire who gives them freedom to do as they please. The people of the land are controlled by the comfort giving technology of the Shimmering. They never hunger nor want for water. They are given beds and homes, gifted with comforts beyond the imaginations of the Wastelanders.

The Wastelands: The major town, Redemption, is in an area call 'the Green'. It is the central hub for the inhabitants of the Wastelands. It is the one fertile spot, an oasis of sorts. However, you may dream up as many outposts and small towns you wish to create.

The Disruptors: These are the ones who have entered the Shimmering tower, and the exited through the burning wall. They wield the power of the Shimmering, a power only the masters truly understand. They learn the art of arcane magic through experimentation and practice. Their entire lives are spent in training for the sole purpose of gaining enough arcane power to rule the Shimmering Kingdom.  No one outside the Disruptors are certain how the Shimmering works. All that is known is they spread the flicker from inside of them, distorting all that it touches. What effect it renders is unknown until it is used, not always does the disruptor have complete control of the effect. Only the knowledge that it will cause harm or aid him in some way, and that his purpose will be met if he is strong enough. Disruptors live in the Tower under the highest security.

The Predators:Those who venture outside the Wall are called Predators. These are the ones trained to harness the arcane magic for the sole purpose of combat. From the time of their birth they are trained rigorously to become fighters against the Slingers. Their speed and skill with a blade is unparalleled. They are fiercely loyal to the Tower.

Slingers: These are the practitioners of the perfected skill, the ultimate art. The talent as it is collectively known among the gunslingers is the ability of speed and accuracy. It is said that a Slinger is born with the seeds of the ability, and that upon contact with a firearm they realize their talent, subconsciously if not consciously. Taking up the gun they roam the lands, the talent coming with age and practice. It is the Slingers alone who have the ability to breach the wall, but for now they are loners. It would take the lot of them to bring down that which keeps them in poverty. They are secretive and rarely reveal their ability.

For the Player: Realism has flown out the window with this roleplay. A gunslinger can duel with a gun as another would fence with a sword. Deflecting bullets with the weapon, performing exotic tricks with perfection. The  Predators and other Slingers are the only others who can compete with them in this way. When a Slinger reaches his/her pinnacle of talent very little but a master Disruptor or another Slinger could confront one head on.

The weapons: In the Wastelands all weapons are generally Old Western level or lower. Water and even food are sometimes hard to come by, and the general feel is western.
The technology of the Kingdom is generally more well improved. They live in high comfort. Food and water is manufactured from base elements. There are none who lack any creature comfort. They do not however have weapons any more advanced in technology than that of the Wastelanders, and sometimes less in the eyes of the Slingers. Their only means to fight is the arcane magic hoarded by the Disruptors.
Steam trains run from the Wall to several settlements in the Wastelands providing meager food supplies and transportation. All other aspects of the Wastelands is a duplicate of the American west circa 1850's - 1880's. Though clothing may vary slightly due to the Kingdoms influence.


Parts available:

ARCANE MASTER: Shihong/Daebora Stillwater

DISRUPTORS: Ruling mage class in the kingdom
1) Ridcully/Zargaran Replacement needed
2) Douma/Sati

PREDATORS: Blade/arcane wielders that hunt the Slingers
1) Oreo/Mara
2) Requiem/Jeddiah Stone
3) Pinyon/Coal new Predator needed
4) Elunari/Velvet

SLINGERS: Gun/arcane wielders that want to destroy the Wall
1) Gunslinger/The Kid
2) Corinthi/Clay
3) Imogen/Lorraine West


ORDINARY CHARACTERS: Traders, Barmaids, Madams, Kingdom Citizens, etc. Unlimited:
1) Saloon/Inn Keeper: Precious/Mathilda 'Tillie' White

Shia

RULES

• You may play a gunslinger, but no higher than a recognized gunslinger. Basically you should not have perfected your abilities, this happens during the course of the RP.


• If you want other special abilities or magic you may post them for approval. Or pm me about them.


• No killing off other characters without permission from their player.


• You may bring in a new character at any time if you agree to letting your character to be killed.


• You may use NPCs, or have more than one character.


• Please, for courtesy sake, allow everyone time to make their posts, this doesn't have to run like
  an el train on the expressway.

SAMPLE BIO (you don't have to provide pictures, it's just my personal preference):

THE SHIMMERING

Character Name: Mara
Gender: Female
Age: 25


(Altered from a Luis Royo Sketch)

Appearance:Mara is of average height for a woman, about 5'6". Neither fat nor thin she has a sleek, lithe appearance. Regular endurance training has given her a muscular form, but she still manages to look feminine. She keeps her thin long brown hair pinned to the back of her head, except for the few stray wisps that seem to always fall loose. Below her rather ordinary nose, are full rose red lips, that seldom smile or frown. Her rich brown doe shaped eyes appear slow and sometimes vacant, but they miss nothing. Her skin is on the tanned side, yet her cheeks still manage to look rosy. She wears a Granda style Goucho hat. Her chest is covered in a black halter top, leaving her midriff bare. While her well toned legs are covered in brown stretch pants, and knee high moccasins. Over all this she wears a brown Doc Holiday coat with a gathered waist in the back. On her hands are thin, fingerless, doeskin gloves. In her right moccasin, she keeps a stiletto for throwing. A James Black/Musso pattern S-guard bowie knife is strapped tightly to her left thigh. On her right arm is the tattooed insignia of the Shimmering. She keeps her Ronin blade in a sheath strapped to her lower back.



Personality: Singularity of purpose, determination, she seems cool and in control, but is burning with deep seated emotions. She turns these emotions into the power and speed that is her trade mark. Bred for hatred of the slingers, she has a distaste for everything in the Wasteland.

Faction/Ranking: The Shinning Kingdom /Predator - Slinger

Equipment: James Black/ Mussou pattern S-guard Bowie knife, Stiletto, Customised (S-guard) Ronin blade
Later: Pistol Custom-Engraved Gold-Plated Exhibition Colt Bisley Frontier Six-Shooter Single Action .44 Caliber


Abilities/Skills/Style: Her skill is speed, endurance, and agility. She is accurate in her throwing skills, and her close quarter fighting is deadly. Her style is trickery, the hand is quicker than the eye, what you think you see isn't necessarily so.

Short History: Twenty-five years ago, a lone trader arrived at the Tower of the Shinning. in his arms a small squalling bundle.
The men dickered, but the trader would not back down. His word was his bond. This girl child was the offspring of a Slinger. He spat on the ground and cursed. The price was met. The Tower had a way to beat the Gunslingers. They would raise her here, and set her against her own. Mara was the first, the bold new idea. Her every waking hour spent in training, till none in the Tower could stand against her. Her hand to hand combat skills outshone the best the Tower had to offer. Her speed and agility kept her from all harm. She was taught the depravity of the Slingers, how they intended to destroy the Shinning Kingdom. An finally she was trained in how to walk among them. How to talk like them, act like them, how to 'be' one of them. Now here in the present she is being sent out among them, to spy, to learn and to kill.

-----

Mara tipped her Goucho hat back slightly, as she watched the life drain from the old mans eyes. The blood dripped from her Ronin blade and the wound on his neck. It wasn't huge and gaping as some amateur might have made, but perfectly calculated to hit his jugular. The red stain continued to seep into the hot sand and disappear, as if his life were not worth remembering. For her it wasn't, he was just another gunslinger. His words meant nothing to her. With a shocked look on his face, he had fallen to the ground muttering as he gasped for life, "You look just like your mother."

How in the hell would he know who her mother was, let alone what she looked like? No way had he ever been in the Shimmering. He knew nothing but dirt and squalor. The sooner his kind were gone the better. Normally she didn't touch guns, it was against the rules. This time she was tempted, this one was different. It was a work of art. It was gold, etched with beautiful designs of a forgotten past. Without hesitation, she cleaned her knife on his clothes, and slipped it into the sheath at her lower back. She was going to walk away, but in the end she couldn't leave the gun. With a shaky hand she grabbed it, an tugged till it slid from his lifeless grip.  She half expected a  shock or bolt of lightening from the sky. The weight of it did feel good in the palm of her hand. Not understanding why, she felt compelled to take his holster and bandoliers. Admiring the gold etched picture she reluctantly set it back on the ground. In minutes she had adorned herself with the gun and had layered the bandoliers across her chest.

As she turned to leave, she kicked a bit of sand in his face, "Rest in peace, old man." She left him there for the coyotes and vultures. Heading due south she made her way back to the tracks. Two hours later and she was waiting, butt on the rails, but there was no vibration of a train coming anytime soon. She pulled out the small flask of prime whiskey from the Tower. Her one perk, her one reward. The burn as it eased down her throat cleansed the dust from parched membranes. One swig per slinger dead. The flask was half empty. She shoved it back in the breast pocket of her Doc Holiday coat, and pulled the brim of her hat down to cut the glare of the sun. "Well, I'll be damned. What kind of fool walks the tracks this far out in the desert besides me?"  No one walks from the sea, ever, it's suicide. Even she took the train most of the way out here. Not certain just what or who to expect, she slipped the stiletto from her moccasin to her right hand.

[Corinthi]

*grins and snugs the Oreo*

Mark me down for a Slinger, my favorite cookie. I'll work up a bio over the weekend. I luvs me some Westerns, mix in magic and gun kata? Why not?

Could you post up an example bio?

I think I'll call my gunslinger Clay.

[Shia]

It would be nice to play an 'ordinary' character :) in the Wasteland, the closest to my heart is the wife of a man who tries to do everything to make people's life there a bit easier /there are so less married couple/couple with children being played, what a pity ;)/. I usually move blind female characters and you can also find my on/off-s in my signature - please, read it before PM me :P thanx :))

[Requiem]

This sounds great!  Sign me up for a Predator!  I'll work up a little more background on my character over the weekend also, but right now the name Jeddiah Stone is coming to mind.

[Oreo]

@Corinthi, Bio provided

@Shia, I have seen your writing and O/O's before ;) I love your blind characters. added.

@Requiem, added to the list

[Requiem]

Jeddiah Stone
Gender: Male
Age: 36

Appearance: Jeddiah might have been pretty in another life, but twenty years of trackin' Slingers 'cross the Waste has put far too many scars and lines in his leathery skin to call him pampered.  He's a half breed of some sort, mostly white with a little bit of native blood in him, with long dark hair that doesn't see a brush too often.  His left eye is gone, nothing more than an empty socket surrounded by ragged scar tissue.  His good eye is brown and intense, with the kind of gaze men would call steely.  He is tall and borders on the thin side, though his wiry form is solid and belies a strength most wouldn't assume present.  He fancies a dark brown duster, cut in the militia style, with a bright red baldric shouldered that holds a saber with a curving hilt.  A dark cloth wraps around his forehead and over the ruins of his left eye, and he adopts a wide brimmed brown stetson to keep the sun out of the good one.  At his waist off another belt is an old machete, it's hilt wrapped in cracked leather and worn with age and dirt.  Under the duster he tends to dress in rugged buckskin trousers and a button up flannel shirt, and almost moccasin-like boots that carry steel tips on the end and heels.  His arms are covered in buckskin gloves that end in thick leather bracers, each holding three short throwing knives.  On the back of his belt, under his coat, hang two wicked tomahawks on sling braces, ready to be pulled at a moments notice.
Personality:  It's hard to take the measure of a man who aint quick to boast.  Most people on the Wastes call him Preacher Stone, as the only thing they really see him do other than hunt is pray.  He takes his pleasure in saloons, but usually sits alone, the look in his good eye enough to chase away the curious.  Some orphans in town call him Father Stone.  They claim he is a nice man, someone that brings treats when he passes through and makes sure no one is hurting them.  When he is given to speak, Stone has a gruff voice that gets right to the point.  When he's "asking" people about recent Slinger activities, the storm the dwells within him breaks out, threatening to tear down any defense that would keep him from his target with an elemental fury.  A couple of women at the houses that have lain with him have called him gentle, though they'd rather die than admit it.  Most assume that he'd come back to show them just how ornery he could be.
Faction: The Shimmering Kingdom/ Predator (And some say Preacher)
Equipment: Calvary saber, machete, two tomahawks, six throwing knives, punch dagger (Concealed in belt), two stilettos (in each boot), two sets of handcuffs, zippo-style lighter.
Abilities/Skills: Stone has been doing this for a while, and it shows.  His speed with his sword is almost uncanny, and his accuracy with his throwing weapons is easily the match of any normal-trained gunman, though is put to shame by a Slinger.  His attacks are brutal, meant to maim an opponent to slow them before taking kill shots.  For all his speed and skill though, he is fairly direct.  He doesn't feint often and relies on extremely powerful, straightforward attacks until he focuses the power that Predators are renowned for.
Short History: Almost four decades ago, a group of pilgrims crossing the Waste were set upon by bandits.  The survivors, and there weren't many, ran like hell and picked up what and who they could.  They told the lawmen back in Redemption that it was the work of a Slinger.  One of the survivors was a babe, a squalling kid desperate for his now-dead mother.  A passing Predator took pity on the child, taking him back with him to the Shimmering Kingdom and raising the boy as his own.  When Ezekial Stone, Jeddiah's adopted father, was killed Jeddiah spent six months hunting the Slinger that took him.  In the end, the boy came back with the bastard's gun, though the Slinger had taken his eye.  Jeddiah hates Slingers with such passion that he won't even use a firearms, and has studied hard to learn tricks and tactics to take away the advantage of a gunman.  He is a god-fearing man, and holds religion close.  He has been known to call out bits of scripture and demand penance from his prey, giving him the nickname "Preacher Stone".  Given his roots, he has a soft spot for children, especially orphans.  The machete he carries belonged to Ezekial, and he only pulls it to hunt a Slinger with.  To hunt anyone lesser with it would be disrespectful.

Inspiration: To get an idea of where I am putting together Stone's personality from, think a little bit of the duty-bound side of Malcolm Reynolds (Firefly and Serenity), especially from Serenity when he went to war.  He has the walk and fearsome presence of Gabriel (Christopher Walken) in The Prophecy, combined with that almost weary countenance of Clint Eastwood in The Unforgiven.  His fighting style is very much like Dante from Devil May Cry.  If this doesn't fit, or you need me to make some alterations to what is there, please let me know!

[Sabby]

...Dude... do want. *paws the screen longingly* can I pway? pweasy pwease? *looks up at Oreo with big, pitiable eyes*

[Oreo]

Sabby send or post, a sample or profile ;) I'll let you know. It looks like there is going to be some seriously good writing here. Let me know if you can deal ;)

[Gunslinger]

Character Name:  The Gunslinger aka The Kid from the desert, The Gun Guy, The Kid
Gender: Male
Age: 22
History:

Little is known about this man and no one even knows his given name. He appeared in one of the lawless towns on the edge of the desert at the age of 14. When he was 15 he made his living by fixing things, this gave him several nick names: The Kid from the desert or the Kid. Later, he made money selling drugs (painkillers and uppers). He had little trouble taking these illegal goods from desert bandits and whenever anyone attempted to rob him, they were never heard from again. He quickly gained fame in town as The ‘Gun Guy’ by working in an illegal gun store modifying and fixing weapons. His work with weapons made him love pistols and he liked to think about the person who invented such a weapon. He was curios who would be more evil, the inventor of the gun or the inventor of the knife.

Soon he became the town’s guy to go to for injuries; he knew some first aid and could help people. Most people however didn’t trust his help. He was too young; he was making money of addicts and creating deadly weapons. He could sense that the town didn’t want him around, but needed his skills because it attracted right business. At the age of 22 he is still called the Kid by most of the townspeople who know him but he doesn’t linger around too long. Living in solitude day by day in the desert wastes, coming back in town for a few days to sell his goods, leaving for weeks not to be heard from; was how he now lived. The townspeople were suspicions when he would show up with new scars or new clothes, but no one ever said anything because they knew what happened to his drug competition.


Personality:
Even though most townspeople fear him, the few that know his true personality are the merchants he trades with and some orphan children. He greets only a few with a warm smile; sometimes he sells some of his things with low prices to people in need. One old merchant passing through town asked him “Kid, you’re not a bad guy, why do you make everyone believe you are?” The gunslinger grinned and answered “It is safer to be feared, than loved.”

There is one thing that the gunslinger hates, truly hates, and that is the wall. He hates the wall and everything it stands for; to him it is the symbol of the younger generation not seeing the vision of the older.


Appearance:
Stands at about 6 feet, his skin gives of the color of bronze, generally keeps his dark hair long.
Equipment:
Carries 3 Revolvers with him, two on each side of his belt, and one on his belly. Has a sharp skinning knife in his boot and plenty of bullet filled bandoliers across his chest. His body hidden under his brown duster coat, and a large bag hangs over his shoulder filled with vials of painkillers, medicine and a few surprises he cooked up himself.

[Ridcully]

Have a look at him, if you dare.
Watch his grey hair dance with the wind, as he stands on the roof of the Tower. Take a closer look, but beware, for he does not like being watched. In his right hand, he holds the Blue Wand as softly as a lover.
Can you feel it? Can you feel the arcane magic running through his body, melting into the Wand? Can you see how the Wand begins to glow, and how the darkness of the night pulls back, as if even the purest darkness fears him.

And maybe it does, for good reason.
He is the Disruptor who can read the old books, and knows about their mysteries. He has read about the Prophecy, and here, out in the dark, on his own, he thinks about it. Every thought of him causing an emotion, may it be evil, may it be good, causes the Wand to glow in the dark.

Can you see yourself in the crystal ball he is holding? For all who look at it, it is nothing but a mirror. But...is it? Few have dared to stare at it, and what has stared back at them was - them, and in a way, it wasn't. It was their appearance, but not their eyes. The eyes of whatever stared back had a mind of their own, and they watched you when you looked at the crystal ball. They watched you closely, and they might make you feel watched to the core.

They say that once, when Zargaran the Disruptor was young, a man tried to kill him. It was a legend, but isn't there a groin of truth in any legend? They say that the man shot at him, when Zargaran was standing with his back towards him. But the bullet, this little piece of metal bringing death, stopped in midair. Can you imagine the look on the attackers face? Zargaran, this young Zargaran had only raised the Crystal Ball. And the attacker - was he a gunslinger? some say so, some say so - had fallen to the ground. But in the reflection of the crystal ball, the figure of the man had still been standing tall - screaming in pain, with endless terror on his face.

Can you hear him? He is praying, or so it seems. But who does he believe in? What does he believe in? What can this Disruptor who seems unbreakable fear as a power?

Can you smell it? The air has changed. It's the Shimmering inside of him. Sometimes, when he meditates, sometimes, when he prays, he won't control it. And it will shine through, and you can smell it in the air, this smell of a decade of ages shining from inside of him.

Can you see him well? Can you see the hate in his eyes, the hate for all beings around him except one? Can you see the distant look of a man who has surpassed all human inside of him, except for this one feeling, this one weakness he allows himself to have...?

And tell me, finally, can you feel it? Can you feel that he wants you dead? That to him you're nothing but an ant, a mere small stone under his feet on his path to perfection? I am sure you can, and if you do, step back. Zargaran does not care for your life. Because after all, you're not part of The Shimmering, and in this his only interest lies...

No. There is one person he still takes interest in. But she is gone, and out here in the dark, when the Blue Wand threatens the darkness of the night to pull back, he looks out for her. Do step back, and do not disturb him.

[Corinthi]

Character Name: Clay, jus' Clay
Gender: Male
Age: 26

Appearance:
Clay is a big, burly sonuvagun with a chest as broad as a barn, square jaw, and feet almost too big to find boots for. He stands darn near 7 feet tall with long, messy brown hair, green eyes, and a shy smile. Half the time you'll find him without a shirt, just working in his jeans and boots. Based on the scars across his chest and back, he's had a rough life with at least three gunshot scars and two long gashes marring his tanned flesh. When not workin', he wears a simple cotton tunic left unlaced at the neck, and an old, tattered duster that was made by stitchin two different dusters together to make one big enough for him.

Clay is often considered a bit slow. He moves slowly and deliberately, as if he's worried that he might break the world around him, and he doesn't tend to talk a whole lot, being shy and not, apparently having much to say. Between his size, shyness, and deliberateness, don't take much for folks to think he's touched in the head.

Personality:
'Course, Clay ain't touched in the head. He's just cautious. His pa raised him to be respectful, well mannered, and mindful of others. He was taught to be careful, 'cause with his size and strength, it don't take much clumsiness to hurt someone or break something. And, Clay had a secret. Despite his size, he's fast. Faster than a rattlesnake, because he was born a 'slinger. His pa knew, being one himself, and taught Clay to respect life and hard work, long before the boy ever fired a gun. He's slow to anger, but once his fuse is lit, look out. The man had a lot of rage hidden deep down in his guts, and if that rage ignites, it'll be destructive.

Faction/Ranking: The Wastelands - Slinger - Deputy of Redemption

Equipment:
While dressed, Clay always wears a gun belt around his waist with a old, battered, single action revolver on his side. The gun's nothing much to look at, in fact, it looks like it's sooner backfire than anything else, but it fires straight and true and is carefully maintained by Clay. He also carries a large hunting knife on his hip, but more as a tool than a weapon. No one's ever seen him draw his knife in anger, or at least, no one's lived to tell the tale. Generally, Clay uses whatever's handy and has a personal preference for axe handles. More than a few drunks have been clubbed unconscious after getting unruly by the big deputy.

Abilities/Skills/Style:
Odds are that in any given room, Clay's gonna be the strongest and toughest guy there. He's known for his strength and if a wagon breaks a wheel, people will come find him to help lift it up to do repairs, without even bothering to unload the damn thing. He's a beast in close combat, but doesn't have any real formal training, just excellent instincts, incredible physical gifts, and experience honed from breaking up bar fights.

As a Slinger, his skills are formidable, although perhaps not as honed as a man who tries to live by his guns. Clay has sworn only to resort to his gun if he has no other choice. In his mind, you draw a gun when you want another person dead, and he's not a murderous sort.

Short History:
Clay's mother, who died giving birth to the huge baby, was a Slinger who'd fallen in love with a dirt farmer in a little outpost about two weeks ride south of Salvation. His pa knew his mother's bloody history, and could see her green eyes in little baby Clay's face. Suspecting the boy was a born Slinger, he raised him to work with his hands, to take advantage of his strength doing honest labor. And he also kept all gun away from Clay, teaching him that guns could only destroy. 'You can't birth a calf or plant beans with a pistol, boy.'

Clay was a good natured boy, who soaked it all in and grew like a weed. By 13, he was the biggest man in the town, and by 17 was engaged to a sweet little girl. Whenever they'd go courting, he'd hold her tiny hand in his and wonder how anything could be so delicate and perfect.

Then, the raiders came. The peaceful outpost tried to put up a fight, but they were shot, beaten, and burned. Clay himself was shot three times and slashed with a saber before falling down. The following morning, after they'd raped, pillaged, and killed almost everyone in town, one of the raiders noticed Clay dragging himself across the bloody mud toward a fallen rifle. 'Would you look at that shit? Big dum' sonuvabitch is still alive.' The raiders gathered up and began taunting Clay. 'Better hurry up, boy. You're bleedin' faster 'n your crawling.' They took pot shots at the dirt around him, trying to scare him, but he just kept crawling, dragging himself forward with the one arm that still worked right.

'Shee-it... I'm getting bored. After all that, boy deserves to die with a gun in his hand. Get ready.' The raiders all took aim as their leader took a revolver off his belt and tossed it over toward Clay. They were all intent on gunning the young man down when he grabbed the weapon, their idea of a noble death or something. Imagine thier surprise when Clay rolled onto his side, snatched the pistol neatly out of the air, and drilled all six of those murderin' bastards right between the eyes.

Revenge didn't bring back his father or fiance' though, and as tears streaked across his muddy cheeks, Clay closed his eyes and laid down to die.

Not that fate was ready for him to pack in jus' yet. A traveling salesman came into town later that day, drawn by all the smoke, and found Clay still breathing... just. Taking pity on the man, he used some Shining Kingdom medicines to nurse Clay back to health, then took him to Salvation so he could find a new home.

And he has. Clay's built himself a nice little shack on the outskirts of town, and works as manual labor for whomever wants to pay him most of the time, and as a Deputy for the sheriff when he's needed. It's a quiet life, but a good enough one. Probably not as good as the life that had been stolen from him, but like his pa would say when he'd ask about his mother, 'Boy, ain't no point in starin' at the past. You play the cards your dealt and make the best of things. It's what she would have wanted for you.'

[Shia]

Hi again ;) :)

I know it's high time for characters being posted but as I in this game would like to play somebody's wife I'd wait till the time when one of the writers who's interested in this idea PM me :P ;) Because in this case I think the best is to create our characters in co-writing.

And if it doesn't happen... then it's OK too ;). But as recently I have created more than one single characters who are just into a new relationship, now I'd like to try something else as well. /Not something at the edge of devorce of course! :P :)))/


Nice stuff to read /as well/, folks, keep up the good work ;) :)

[Corinthi]

Shia, I don't see Clay as married, but if you'd like to play a girl he's sweet on and perhaps has been courting for a while, I'd be game on working out details. Up to you though. I'm sure someone will come along looking for a wife.

[Requiem]

I'm in the same boat with Jeddiah; at this point in his life, he really isn't the marrying kind.

[Shia]

Hey guys, that's really kind of you :) but I think, yes I'm gonna wait for a while ;) Not for a 'white horse' but definitely for something inspiring.
But thanX again ;) :)

[Imogen]

I am interested in this one :-) Is there room for another slinger? I'll happily draw up a calamity jane to join the gang

[Requiem]

Hey guys, that's really kind of you :) but I think, yes I'm gonna wait for a while ;) Not for a 'white horse' but definitely for something inspiring.
But thanX again ;) :)

I'm sorry, I wish I could be more accommodating for you :(  Well, I could, I would just need to change Jeddiah around a whole lot.

[Shia]

Oh, thanks a lot :)
But I think nobody has to 'change things around a whole lot', it's group roleplaying and everybody can find "the person" sooner or later ;) and it's just good this way :)

[Oreo]

Imogen, Absolutely there is room for another. By all means submit a profile. I don't plan to get this underway before monday.

[Imogen]

Lovely, I'll have one up on Sunday then!

[Crovonovin]

Due to the nature of this position, this Bio is being kept intentionally vague.  For now it is enough to begin the story, but I will be writing up a more in-depth history for you later, Oreo, so that we might discuss or refine it.

Daebora Stillwater
Gender: Female
Age:  Unknown

Appearance: For someone traveling the Wastes, Daebora is a singularly unique individual.  She sports finery of the utmost quality, as normally expected of a noble within the Shimmering, yet its design is more reminiscent of a maid's uniform, complete with apron.  Even in the midst of a dust storm it seems completely spotless, save for a few old bloodstains in the fabric.

Her hair is a rather odd silver grey that flows about her skull like molten lead, and it has the peculiar tendency to remain abnormally still even in heavy winds.  Her face has a deathly pallor about it, with cold blue lips and shadowed eyes that give her the appearance of one recently deceased.  Daebora has a habit of staring directly into the eyes of whoever holds her interest the most at any given time, which becomes all the more unnerving when one notices that she never blinks.[/right]

Personality:

Distant would be a polite way of putting it.  Daebora seems nearly alien in many aspects.  Her speech seems oddly stilted and, though her grasp of the English language is impeccable, she tends to place stress on the wrong syllables or make awkward pauses in the middle of words.

By contrast, she also happens to be a rather amiable and extroverted individual.  She has no qualms about greeting others, no matter who they might be.  Though her eyes reveal none of her possible intentions, one might get the feeling that they were being analyzed in a terrible intrusive fashion.

Faction: No Official Affiliation

Equipment: The only extraneous thing on Daebora's person at any time is the massive shard of thick, bloodstained glass that she wields in her right hand.  Though blood pools about her palm, there is no apparent wound in the flesh.

Abilities/Skills: Unknown

Short History:

Despite its harshness, word travels fast in the Wastes, on the tongues of cargo-laden caravans and dehydrated wanderers.  The first reported sighting of Miss Stillwater was precisely three months ago in the dusty settlement of Hitchton, a hardy little place clinging to a tapped water well like a tick to a vein.  She came out of a particularly grueling dust storm, seemingly unperturbed by the howling winds and cutting grains of sand.

She made her way to the local tavern, whose inhabitants had barricaded themselves inside to hide from the suffocating air.  They would not allow her inside, with good reason.  It is said that the very moment she was denied entry, the winds ceased and the dust settled with such immediacy that it took several minutes for the citizens of Hitchton to realize it had ended.

The woman remained only for ten minutes, announcing plainly that she was looking for Slingers.  The men within took her for a Predator, and not a soul among them answered.  At least one later said, when properly inebriated, that remaining silent was useless: the way she stared at them, it was as though her eyes were boring into their very souls.

Similar tales have spread from other places, from Parched Gulch in the Eastern Reaches, to Little Harthing to the North.  Over time her inquiries became far more subtle, and she ceased to announce her intent outright.  Regardless of this, whispers remain of the Untouched Maid of the Wastes, whose search has thus far been in vain.

[precious]

Character Name: Mathilda 'Tillie'  White
Gender: Female. 
Age: 27. 

Appearance:
Tillie is well over the halfway mark between feet  5 and 6, at least with those stacked-heel shoes she so often wears, and it's highly unlikely that she'll be caught vertical without them on, and probable that she'll be wearing the things should you be so lucky as to catch her horizontal, as well.  As for her weight, well, corsetry is -so- misleading, these days...but suffice it to say that though she may be of an avian and 'soiled' nature, her appetite is not quite so peckish as the nickname might imply.  She's voluptuous. 

The style of her hair is ever changing, though most usually the thick curls are swept up in some elaborate fashion or other.  The color, however, is always the same; a rich espresso brown, lit naturally with reds and golds, a color that does all the more to make the pale of her skin seem more creamy.  Her eyes are green, muddled somewhere between the sharpness of a new leaf and the richness of emeralds.  It has been jokingly (surely!) mentioned that her eyes are the exact color of the thing she likes most:  greenbacks. 

Personality:
Tillie is a go-getter; you'd have to be to have built the sort of empire she's sitting on at her age.  Despite the talk about how ruthless she can be, somewhere insider her is the real, soft, feminine heart she's locked away.  ...Supposedly.  Tillie is an entertainer, and a superb hostess.  The woman is quick with a laugh, with a dirty joke, and free with the hooch when it suits her purposes.  This, of course, only applies to those who have not crossed her.  Tillie is not known for dealing out second chances. 

Faction/Ranking:  Proprietress of the Paradise Theater and Hotel in Redemption. 

Equipment:
Feminine wiles?  Several fine whalebone corsets?  There's the distinct possibility that somewhere in all of the folds and ruffles of her vestments she's stashed a weapon or two, most likely a blade of some sort and a derringer for her own personal safety.  Behind the bar, always within easy reach, there's a shotgun that has yet to lose a fight. 

Abilities/Skills/Style:
She's a pretty good shot, when she needs to be.  She's also sly, and silver-tongued; all of the things a good businesswoman strives to be. 

Short History:   
While it's true that she inherited the property and the saloon itself, the gumption and sweat that it took to turn the joint from swill to champagne (in her mind, at least?) was purely her own.  At first, there was the bar, a small stage, a few tables in the back for gambling.  A demand necessitated, there were more shows, and more girls, and a more intimate business sprang up.  Thus, the hotel was born (and not much else, not on -her- watch). 

[Oreo]

Awesome Shihong, Precious and Corinthi. I am trying to find someone to play the second Disruptor. I don't really want to start with out one. Hopefully a female for drama.

[Imogen]

Lorraine West
Gender: Female
Age: 27

Appearance:
Tomboyish in stature, with long legs and slender hips, Lorraine possesses a swift, lithe charm that vibrates in her smile and porcelain blue eyes. Sun-bleached blonde hair falls to just over her shoulders in generous curls, and is most often held back with a classy ribbon that matches her choice of dress for that day or night. Her often feminine clothing is offset by a gun belt circling the slender waist, two guns darkly contrasting the soft cloth folds of her skirt.

Personality:
Quick to joke, quick to laugh, an easy going demeanour that has made her a popular table host in Redemption. Skilled and honest when she can afford to be, Lorraine’s reputation is spotless and she prefers to keep it that way. Arguments are solved with jokes, a smile or a shrug and the inevitable advice to “take it easy”, accompanied by a smile. There is little that ruffles the young woman’s feathers, but once her anger is sparked, retaliation is harsh, and forgiveness rare.

Faction: Wastelands / Redemption / Slinger

Equipment: a rifle, two revolvers, a derringer, two stiletto’s, cigarillo case + lighter, playing cards

Abilities/Skills:
Lorraine is a card shark, swift fingers work their magic, shuffling and dealing with uncanny speed. She has a memory to match, knowing the cards, knowing the game, knowing the faces. She can stack a deck to near any desired order, a talent she uses to deal with dishonest players of lesser allure.

As a slinger, she possesses the formidable skills of her kind, talents that have been honed and trained over the years although she tends to avoid public display of her talent – preferring the relative fame of a pretty, if addicted card player over the deadlier renown of a slinger..

Short History:
When a daughter of merchants is born with talent, there’s bound to be trouble. And if her name were to be brought up by inconsiderate guests, her parents would exclaim she’d been trouble enough indeed and change the subject.

From an early age, Lorraine had been drawn to games, chess and cards, whist and later … poker. She took to the game like a duck to water, and found the cards irresistible companions. She trained day and night, and soon was found playing cards with her father’s business associates. Her skills earned her some coin, and her father some sour grapes from sore losers. After a long talk, heart to heart, between mother and daughter, Lorraine was told why her behaviour harmed her father’s business, and Lorrained had nodded and smiled, moving her game to the saloon, where she played with whoever dared to give her game. A scandal ensued, and forced with a choice between their wayward child and their business relations, Mr and Mrs West made the only choice that’d give Lorraine a chance for happiness… They closed their doors for her and publicly denounced the young player.

Forced to the road, Lorraine found she enjoyed travel. No one sane could enjoy the desert storms, the heat, the bugs, the scorching sun and the unreliable company, but each new town was another discovery, another challenge where she could test her skills against new players.

It was fun. It was wild, it was crazy and free, and of course it could never last.

The invitation from Rancher Wallace had been an unexpected honour. In a pool of twenty-four, she was the only female player. Professionals amongst each other, she was treated with all courtesy; all attention was focused on the grand game they’d play that night. Thousands of dollars at stake, and the last one standing would take it all!

She’d played, joked and tapped ashes off her cigarillo when the night was drawing to an end and only a handful of players were left. They chatted and talked about the hands when the doors were thrown open and armed men poured into the room. Shots echoed through the festive room, after the first salvo the game had turned into a bloodbath.

Mr Wallace drew his gun. A second later, a red flower blossomed on his chest. Lorraine dove after the gun when it fell. She was going to die… And nothing mattered anymore but that she would die with dignity. She didn’t have a plan. Unsure even if she would shoot herself or attempt a shot at the bandits, Lorraine grabbed the gun. Her fingers closed around it with a caress only her cards had known. She raised the weapon, and by the time she lowered the smoking barrel, the room was silent.

((pictures to be added later, let me know if changes are needed!))

[Ridcully]

Some very detailed and impressive characters that you guys bring up here - can't wait to make your slingers life hell as the bad guy  ;D (*playfully touches the Crystal Ball)