BunnyBoiVeena
of the Sunless Sea
- tl;dr I do multiple OC male and female characters, as much writing as you want, various genres, skeleton plots. Skip tabs that don't apply to you. What I'm Looking For: Getting back into RPing
I'm pretty versatile when it comes to roleplaying. That said, I'm versatile in the genres I do. Fantasy, Sci-fi, Cyberpunk, modern, horror, romance, action, a lot more. I'm a bonafide renaissance roleplayer so if you've got an idea, I'm more than eager to hear it out, shoot my own ideas towards that idea and build something together! Or we can just go with the flow with one or the other. The one thing I'm not versatile about is romances. If it doesn't feel right, it may ruin my flow altogether. I can play multiple characters.
My mindset for roleplaying is that these are characters, and just that. What I want is and shall not reflect what they do and what they are as people. I won't create some grand scheme that involves characters doing certain things to go along a certain plot. I always just lay down some type of skeleton plot and go off from there. Whether we build more onto it or just go is entirely up to you.
I post a minimum of a five sentence paragraph and if you ask for a maximum, you're not going to get one. I can post as much or as little as you want me to. I guarantee it. If you ask for a word count minimum, I will go on a word counter to make sure I meet your prerequisite. I will work with and for anyone that puts the time and effort into this art. However, as much as roleplaying is an art, to each their own and I respect this. Others escape with roleplaying, and sometimes, I do as well.
If there's anything we can or should talk about, then by all means, let's talk! If you want small talk or just casual conversation on the side, then by all means, let's go for it! Although, I humbly request separate PMs for RP and OOC chats. It's easier to follow for me and I utterly appreciate organization. As seen from this thread. Much organization. And for future reference, yes. This will and is copy pasted into any PMs concerning RPs. As you can see, I'm A Very Lazy Man. - If you want to mix any of my plots with ideas of your own, feel free to do so. If you want me to play Canon characters only, I recommend to move on. I am not limited to what I've posted on this thread in terms of plots, characters, or pairings. If its an idea based on the genres I've listed, I'm more than willing to listen. If its not part of the genres I've listed, hook me onto it and I'll listen.
This can be quite a bit to read. This is why I'm going to say that if the tab doesn't have your preferred genre, don't read it. Also, just because its not emphasized* does not mean I'm not interested.
Broader spectrums of themes I can also do are:
Fantasy (low or high), medieval, sci-fi, space opera, modern.
Example pairings of each--and I'm not restricted to--are:
Escort + Royalty/Nobility (Fantasy and/or medieval)
Human + Nonhuman (fantasy/sci-fi)
Space Captain + Space Pirate (space opera/sci-fi)
A list of Slice of Life RPs.
- "Greetings and welcome to-"
I took off the glasses. Suddenly the world was quiet. Are these... cursed? Against my better judgement, I put them back on.
"I would appreciate it if you didn't interrupt--"
I removed them again and then looked around. I'm alone, there shouldn't be anyone talking. It... seems... harmless.
"I am the world's first Natural Intelligence system. In other words, I'm a hyperadvanced artificial intelligence designed to make the user happy. Now that you've heard what I've had to say, allow me to confirm one fact. No. These glasses are not cursed. Now, is there anything I can assist you with?"
I'm not sure if it was by chance or if it was on purpose, but I found these pair of glasses in my bag one day. I didn't see who but someone must have placed it there. But after a few days, I've begun to realize... these glasses are far too convenient to let go.
- "Greetings and welcome to-"
- Sand and rust. Grass and tree. A long time has passed since the end. Heat-fire. Ocean-tide. People rise and fall amidst the new world dangers. The old world ages and decays. Tribes grow and fester, towns thrive and grow. Outlaws and bandits roam in packs. There is only one law that exists: The law of the mighty and there are many judges.
The Xipetilla
A tribe whose strength lies in their mass numbers and ingenuity of low-tech crafts. Even amidst a battle of iron and powder, their ability to strike from shadow is just as frightening as their ability to overwhelm their foes. They feast on those they deem strong, believing that survival of the fittest lay in the meat of the worthy. Ritualistic cannibals that enslave all who are unfortunate enough to survive their encounters. The captured are not given enough to eat and it becomes apparent that one must steal from the less fortunate to survive.
Despite this, the Xipetilla are not so craven as to descend into raving cannibalism. Those that dine without rhyme or reason are not only exiled, but branded for all to see. Many expect a village of such a tribe to be in a state of anarchy, but it is not so. Citizens, natural or converted, obey the laws of civility. They trade and barter with one another in good faith. Order and peace is upheld by rite of combat. The winner is given a reward decided by a judge who will base it upon the winner's desires and the loser's determination.
Oilmongers
Some say the Oilmongers originate from cartels with private oil reserves, others corporate elitists or deserters who used their knowledge of oil reserves. Regardless, these blackthumbs have a monopoly in and of vehicles. Despite their name, oil is kept in reserve for the use of the high ranking individuals. Otherwise, they utilize solar cells and wind power to charge their mass-produced vehicles. Although, quake in fear if it is decided that oil is to be used in battle. Their reserve of it is high and glorious, and the machines that use it more so.
Often seen as brutally honest and easily bribed, those with assets often make their way peacefully in life. Those without struggle to make ends meet or end up in a never-ending cycle of debt and extortion. Their Rigtowns are easy targets to scout but difficult fortresses to besiege. Designed as star citadels, its near impossible to breakthrough the hot oil traps and electric fencing without proper siege equipment.
The Enforcers
Self-proclaimed lawbringers, they are as unified as cracks in an ill-maintained road. Every district has its own jurisdiction, its own way of dealing with 'criminals' and its own way of identifying criminals. Perhaps one would be lucky to find a holier-than-thou crusader of the law or unlucky to find one. Either way, expect nothing from the Enforcers unless your interests align with theirs. You don't want their interests to be in you and yours.
Unlike the rest of the wasteland, the Enforcers are the best equipped when it comes to infantry. Without the fuel from the Oilmongers, their armored transports and vehicles are little less than display. Be wary of a lightly equipped Enforcer, as that only means that there is an outpost within operating distance. A heavily equipped one is just as dangerous as that only means their interested in making an outpost that much closer.
- "You ask me if I'm a Ranger, then I'll tell you that this star means yes. If you ask me whether or not I'm okay with following orders from the NCR, then I'll ask you a question in turn: You want me to wait for Sergeant Think-A-Lot talk to Lieutenant Ask-Armchair-General so that I can get the permit to put a bullet in the eyes of the Legion crucifying conscripts? Or would you rather I just do what I've been doing before the Unification Treaty?"
Born and bred in the year 2256, border-born between Arizona and Nevada, Rakka Mordeaux grew up in the protective arms of the Desert Rangers. Taught how to survive off the land, learned how to gut animal and man when the bullets ran empty, Rakka--like many others--did what they could to make the Wastes just one person safer, one day longer. Growing up, he was always with someone watching his back. Be it the mother that taught him how to shoot, or the pa that drilled him to fight, or the members of Team November which kept the communities it guarded safe.
As he grew older, he began to notice the shift in scenery as he seemed to move closer and closer to the West. By the time he was sixteen, he began to fully understand what it meant to be Caesar's Legion. All of the East seemed to be under its banner, everyone subjugated by its red flag. Despite its training, despite its superior tactics, the sheer number of Caesar's Legion could not be stopped. Finally, in the year 2271, the Desert Rangers were assimilated into the NCR. But by the time the treaty came, there were no more familiar faces around him as he was the last remaining member of Team November.
The youth had difficulty, and still does, with the chain of command and hierarchy of the NCR military. While he was hard-pressed to follow procedure, none could deny his effectiveness. In the end, he resumed the title of Ranger under the new NCR regime after proving he could stalk his prey and eliminate any and all threats that ever came his way. He earned the moniker "Whisperwind" when, prior to his Ranger status, his post was attacked while he was out hunting for food, wanting something fresh and not tinned. Following the ambushers take their new-found slaves back to a small camp, Rakka silently killed the sentries with his knife before assuming the disguise of a legionary. It wasn't until the wardens dragging out their prey for entertainment were gunshots finally heard.
"Anyone station who sees Rakka the first time, they think he's a fresh conscript or some new guy that doesn't know the word discipline. After the first day, it just becomes word of mouth that he's either done a night raid... or he's getting yelled at by the CO for ghosting people in the middle of the night. Either way, you don't find him when you need him. You find him only after you realize he's already done his job. Or your at the tail end of being stalked." - "Don't matter if its pre-war or built yesterday. If it's bits and bobs, it'll be fixed good as new. Shit, give me something that's broken and I'll make something new out of it. If I can touch it with a wrench, I can do it. And no. Feelings are intangible. I can't fix what I can't touch. And no. I don't touch people so I can't fix em. People are the one thing you can't dismember and put back together. And no, cybernetics and robot arms doesn't mean you put em back together. You just said 'Let me add B to A, and that'll add up to A squared.'"
Sylas de Luca. Give him a watch, and he'll dismantle it just to see how it works. Give him an laser pistol, and he'll see how much it can overclock before combusting. Give him a reason to field test it, and he won't even say no. Tell him to talk to someone on an emotional level, and you've made a mistake. He can shoot a laser rifle, a fusion blaster. Give him power armor and he can scorch the broad side of a barn with a smiley face. The odd one in the family only because even though he became a Knight, he spent more time in the labs than out doing a patrol.
Only because being out on patrol was less time spent reaching out to the community. While he was no saint, the bunker needed things that technology couldn't always provide. Fresh food, supplies and medicines for local fauna, necessities that the post-war environment couldn't easily replace. Fixing the local's water purifiers, tuning their radios. It was a waste of resources to use pre-war medication instead of a local antivenom, waste of supplies if the locals had extra food but no way of preserving it. It was a 'pragmatic' trade that kept the bunker that much more bearable.
However, when an epidemic spreads, its so easy to shut the outside world. For the town, for the bunker. It was us or them. One had the food, the other had technology. Whether it was hysteria or panic, it sparked a conflict that would see Sylas changed forever. It was nothing more than an armed mob. They weren't trained. They weren't supplied with militarized weaponry. Just scraps that could barely puncture through power armor. Yet all it takes was the one lucky shot to pierce through the unprotected areas of armor. One shot to ignite a massacre.
They were scared, frightened. They only wanted help. Yet when they were denied, they responded with violence. Junk rifles, junk pistols that would work against the lightly armored raiders. A lucky shot that saw blood but no lasting damage. A shot that would never happen again as the response was quick and the finality quicker. Sylas was no stranger to death. After all, one pulse grenade could fry him in his power armor if he wasn't careful of raiders who knew a thing or two. Plagued with guilt, Sylas de Luca went on his final patrol, never to return to the bunker.
Far from home, Sylas makes a living as both a repairman and as a part of the local militia. While his power armor is still functional, it is no longer of the militarized make. Having to create his own armor platings to replace ones that have been lost to damage or time, it now resembles that of a medieval knight capable of withstanding even rifle fire, requiring a high caliber of armor piercing round to pierce its custom patching. While not as protective as its pre-war counterparts, which is a rarity to begin with, its comparable to early T-series protection. Let alone Sylas' prized possession that he kept from his Brotherhood. A multi-core gatling laser that is a far cry from its usual counterparts. A vicious hulk of custom built weaponry whose fire rate and fire power will make any rue the day it should come to light. - "All I've known in life is... well, whatever comes to town. I don't ask for much but... this can't be all there is. I ain't saying I'm looking for an adventure that'll make my ma and da proud. I don't wanna be somebody, but I don't wanna be a nobody. I'm done farming, I'm done keeping coyotes and roaches off my family farm. I may not do much, but I'll work hard. I want to see more of the world, not just hear about it from some caravaner that I'll never see again."
Raised in a small town of no glory, Canis Levenon was a hard-working farmhand. Knew how to make a tourniquet in case a scorpion bit the wrong way, knew boiling water was a good way to clean it. The biggest thing he held for a firearm was a varmint rifle and the biggest hunt he claimed was a radroach nibbling away at the cornfield. Knew what it meant to keep a house clean, keep his stomach full, keep the thirst away. Knew what was valuable to keep him afloat for the next day. Though, he ain't no prodigy.
When he wasn't conversing with the other boys and girls that he could count on his fingers, he was reading magazines. Not the tabloids or the Meet New Peoples. The Grognaks, Astoundingly Awesome Tales. The comics that made him wonder what life was like outside the little town he knew as home. He never explored beyond the horizon, never knew what was around the river bend.
Still, he couldn't complain because there was nothing to complain about. Sure, the work was tedious but he was fed. Aye, the heat of day and the cold of night was uncomfortable, but he could survive. When it was time to work, he worked. When it was break, his head was in the clouds. He once thought of joining one of the caravans that passed by, but with nothing but a varmint rifle, he knew he would just be deadweight.
Perhaps one day, something or someone will come along and change his life.
- "You ask me if I'm a Ranger, then I'll tell you that this star means yes. If you ask me whether or not I'm okay with following orders from the NCR, then I'll ask you a question in turn: You want me to wait for Sergeant Think-A-Lot talk to Lieutenant Ask-Armchair-General so that I can get the permit to put a bullet in the eyes of the Legion crucifying conscripts? Or would you rather I just do what I've been doing before the Unification Treaty?"
- Sand and rust. Grass and tree. A long time has passed since the end. Heat-fire. Ocean-tide. People rise and fall amidst the new world dangers. The old world ages and decays. Tribes grow and fester, towns thrive and grow. Outlaws and bandits roam in packs. There is only one law that exists: The law of the mighty and there are many judges.
- Honestly, not gonna put much here because I feel like its self explanatory at this point. A Final Fantasy XIV RP. The setting enough is fine. The plots we can talk about and throw ideas around like crazy. I normally would say Canon x Canon. But I will never say no to Y'shtola.
- Pretty sure what this is will be self-explanatory
I'm looking for OC x OC content and plots. Some characters I'm willing to play are:
Sylas de Luca - Downgraded and Happy
"Just once in my life, I'd like to be able to, you know... live without eyes in the back of my head, you know? Seems fun. And leisurely pleasant. Instead, I'm stuck with my head in the gutter after running from one side of the country to the other, hoping this shit show of a city is the right amount of calm. Funnily enough, this city is so fucked that living with eyes in the back of my head is both fun and pleasant."
Anyone could tell this next-to-nothing face wasn't from the likes of the gang-infested violence of Heywood or the wandering deserts that stretched beyond the Bad Lands. If 'finer cloth' meant selling his soul to break ICE and tearing things apart to build them differently, well, then yes. He's from the finer cloth of Corpo greed. Still, a few days at a ripper paid in hard cash and he was as good as clean. Clean as anyone could get running away from Big Corpo staring down anyone's back. Clean enough to hang around the Afterlife with a reputation as a gig-crashing scavver. The hired kind. The kind that works a gig in exchange for creds, or a hefty discount if cyberware trade is involved.
Ares Mechanicus. A small, family-owned Corp with big ambitions. That's where he used to work, though he doesn't explain further than that. Dealt in military-grade ICE and cyberware. Existed before the DataKrash, where it competed with the likes of NetWatch and MiliTech. However, Ares Mechanicus couldn't survive after the cataclysmic event and struggled to make its name known. It's only recent headlines have been that of a plane crash which killed seven of eight members of the family and that MiliTech's acquisition of the company has been put on hold due to a corruption of Ares' data assets. Word at the Afterlife? Sylas is sporting preem Ares tech. Word at the Afterlife is: Whatever he has... it stuff that he makes.
He's a ripper in more ways than one: He'll fix you up, set you straight. Or he'll rip your cyberware from you just by looking at you. You want to roll with someone whose got some street cred and skin in the game? Sylas is your man.
Carolus Ekelhert - Losing It All
"Family was--is--everything. Family will be there when you take a fall. You'll be there for family when they need you. Except... well... When you don't got one, then you don't have much of anything at all. I ain't looking for a new one. And I sure as hell ain't going to the old one. There's nothing to go back to."
Crusaders. A small nomad family. Though, not by religious means, though share some parallels. They were bodyguards, accepting jobs as protectors of convoys, both civilian and corporate alike, but mostly civilian. People that wanted to go to Atlanta, people that just wanted to go sight seeing for who knows why. Still, regardless, they were well-known enough to be what people thought of when it came to 'an affordable choice of transportation.' Between risking the dangers of the open season of the desert and scavvers waiting to pull the trigger for a piecemeal, what better way to get those out of mind than by accepting a convoy on the Crusader express?
One day, he just rode into Night City. Broken down car, much like his soul. The eyes of a dead man who had nothing to lose and nothing to gain. Could have been confused as a Raffen, if it weren't for the patch on his arm. 'Crusaders'. Though, much of his car and himself was covered in blood. Entirely not of his own. The Crusaders are gone, he said. No one left but him, and the lucky shit gonks in his passenger seats. The entire convoy hit by Raffen. Had it been up to him, if it was just his car and him alone, he would have stayed along with the rest of them. For now, he's a resident of the Aldecaldos. Whatever the Aldecaldos needed doing, he'd volunteer. Though it was quite clear--without purpose, his own pilgrimage to finding peace was as good as a grain of sand in the desert. Minuscule and bare. Lacking heat and amount capable of being turned into a gem.
He only knows one thing. Who or what attacked his convoy were far too well equipped to be just the common rabble of the land. They weren't as guided as a corp could be. So they must have stolen something big and something heavy. Something they would be using for a long time. And he's doing anything he can to scrape by and make it through tomorrow. Because today, today he has one thing on his mind.
Getting cybered up in the City of Dreams. And his dream is crushing the gonks that ended his family.
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