Ozmic
Whiskered Writer
- How often do you visit RP Nation? When are you usually online, and for how long? This information will help the GMs whenever it's time to split the players up into groups, as we like to try and sort people by how often they post.
I plan to visit RPN as much as I can, but time is limited due to work during the week, and travel during the weekends. I'm usually online after 5 pm CT during the weekdays (Wednesday a little later 6-7pm), and Sundays after 5pm.
I will try to post likely one-two times a week, more as time allows.
- What sort of characters do you like to create and play? Having an idea of what you enjoy will help the GMs assist you in getting settled in Aegis.
I generally play older characters, male, and gruff. Most of my characters have been rather reserved for a time until they get to know and trust others, then open up.
They're not usually linked to a specific moral code, but are good people by their own code which isn't always in line with what's legal, but more with what is right.
- What are you hoping to get out of this roleplay? Obviously we're unable to meet everyone's expectations, but knowing what players are looking forward to the most helps us prioritize different aspects of the plot.
I am hoping to expand my skills in larger group roleplay and interact with multiple players I've not met or not interacted with for a time. I also hope this roleplay reignites the passion I once had for roleplaying here before my last hiatus.
Also, as with all my roleplays, I hope to learn from the other writers through their posting and improve on my own writing skills through practice.
- Include a sample of previous roleplay posts. Aegis is a detailed roleplay, and players here pride themselves on well-written posts, thoughtful character interactions, and enthusiastic worldbuilding. Incoming players are screened for their writing skills (mostly punctuation, spelling, and grammar).
From:
The East smelled like death.
A man crouched at the edge of an alleyway between two crumbling buildings, head moving back and forth down Vandon Avenue. Thick black sunglasses flashed in the murky sunlight and a hand wrapped in a dirty bandage slid them down. Emerald eyes sparkling almost gold in the sunlight, the orbs darted down one side of the street and then the other. Breath hissed from behind the half-gas mask that laid over his mouth in quick, precise notes.
Nothing. No one.
Giving a relieved sigh, he stood at a light crouch and holstered his pistol, moving across the desolated ruins of a road and to the other side of broken buildings to where one of his 'camps' was set up behind a rotting dumpster. Taking one more glance, he tugged down the respirator and scavenged through a hidden side pack he'd left there weeks ago, taking a few rations from it and a bottle of water and placing them around his form. The rations in his front pack, the water in a makeshift holster on the side.
Continuing forward carefully, he took an older MRE from a side pouch and eyed it. Chicken stew. He huffed a bit of air through his nose and pushed the sunglasses over his eyes again, quickening his pace at the scraping of rubble. Cocking an ear to the side, he went deathly still and listened.
Next block over. Scuffling of gravel. Shoes, not boots, slipping. Probably dragging one leg.
Replacing the respirator over a frown, he moved slowly and quietly away from the noise, placing the MRE back into its pouch and re-arming himself with a curved knife as he slunk forward to the next block and into one of the warehouses there.
Warehouse 6, Valparaso Street.
Home. Or what counted as one on his side of The Divide
Scooting an old piece of wood over the entrance, he secured the place as best he could these days - with stealth. It wasn't much, as homes went, but it suited him just swell. There were a few busted windows, but the doors were covered and the roof was in tact. He could keep safe from the elements - better than his last safehouse. A fitting cave, for a lone Wolf.
He made a fire quickly and pocketed his flint, sunglasses and hung up his respirator and coat. Pouring some water into a fairly clean pan, he waiting for it to heat but didn't have time to let it come to a boil. Plopping the ready-to-eat meal bag into the water, he moved away to let it heat for a minute or two and used some of the water to clean his face and arms. He smelled like smoke and ashes, wrinkling his nose at the acrid stench.
"Have to find soap soon," he grunted to the empty building as he scrubbed at his tanned flesh, dirty water falling from the muscled flesh of his arms and dripping from the ragged beard on his face. He didn't bother with his dreadlocks for now, pulling them back into a half-assed ponytail that hung over the back of his neck like frayed rope.
Wiping his hands and tossing the rag into a corner, he moved back to the meal and set the pot of water aside to cool, opening the pouch with his teeth, nearly drooling on the floor as he let the 'meal' cool for a second before slurping at it quickly. It had been over a day since he'd eaten anything. The deliveries had been more important. He'd need the payments when they came, cutting it almost too close this time from his routine.
Sloppy.
Stopping for a breath, he wiped his mouth with the back of his gloved left hand and went rigid. Shouting near The Divide, then voices closer to him in the street.
Kneeling down, he set the MRE by his boot and crawled forward toward a window. The shout had come from the wall, probably one of the mercs stationed there, but the chattering outside was a group of older men, lead by a tattooed woman with a sword and shaved head.
Ravagers - The Minerva Kin. FUCK.
Leaving his coat, he grabbed his respirator and glasses and slid them on, heading outside through another hole in the wall and into the side-alley. He had to lead them away, but they were heading toward the walls...? What were they planning?
As he moved, another sound pierced his ears. Clumsy walking, trash being knocked aside. Stumbling. 'What now?!' he though, moving around the back of a building and peering around the corner to the new sound. The untrained sound.
There was a woman there, golden hair shimmering in the sun, just fumbling forward aimlessly through the rabble of the alley and back toward the street. Lowering his glasses, he studied her with widening eyes. She was clean, too clean to be from his side of The Divide. A Westerner? Here?
She was moving right toward the street where the Ravagers were strutting along. It was almost too perfect. She'd be their distraction. All he had to do was watch and wait. She'd run, they'd chase, and his home would be safe.
All it costed was a life, right? Just the life of this unnamed girl to save the home of Kincade Raimes - the Wolf of East Verdelen.
"Shit," he sighed and darted forward quickly, coming up behind her and wrapping a gloved left hand over her mouth and a right hand across her body.
"Don't say a word and just back up, slowly," he whispered plainly and carefully in hushed baritone. "If they see you, we're both as good as dead."
What a senseless way to start the day. Every instinct was telling him to run, leave her, let her lead them away.
Though Kincade Raimes was the Wolf... he hadn't let the East turn him into a monster just yet.
