The Chosen Undead
Member
"The Foreseas"
(DISCLAIMER: I will not be on terribly frequently, however I should be able to check in one to two hours every day, and preferably more over the weekend.)
South Foreseas, California. Gorgeous to an outsider, and gorgeous to some insiders. But the rest? To the rest, South Foreseas is a volatile cauldron of crime, violence and hatred. The city started as a modest collection of small neighborhoods closing in on a local pub, a fine but modest brick hexagon of liquor, television and commerce. The inhabitants of this primitive town quickly became regulars since the other nearest inebriated townhouse was a few dozen miles away and the alcohol was swell enough to enjoy anyway. Hardly anything ever happened there in the city, save for the occasional bar rustle. But that shit changed, didn't it?
Y'see, the sprawling metropolitan it used to be was conceived the day a young early twenty-something bloke hit the tavern, got himself a couple drinks and chatted with his best friend. They were both poor. And no, not the kind of poor because you don't have the latest X-Box 2.0, and not the kind of poor where you skip lunch to save on a dwindling pantry. This kid was eat-dirt-for-breakfast-poor. But you couldn't tell, what with the decent cloth he wore and the stylish, if plastic, watch he stared into ceaselessly when in doubt. He had recently found an abandoned cannabis herb plantation, cleverly disguised into a field of stuck dog stalks. With a sip of his lager, he said to his friend; "Do you know what I just found?".
It quickly grew from then on. His business, I mean. The drug trade was practically non-existent, despite the fact most of South Foreseas' earliest inhabitants were... Let's say the morally challenged, trying to start a new life. They almost did too. This kid began to sell dope to various customers through his newest "friend", a thin-brained dumbass nicknamed "Jitter", because he was high all the time. His family didn't care for this business, but they certainly did care about the slips of money coming into the household. Soon enough, his mother and father began renting an apartment together with his financial aid, and so did he. The law was little more then a few fat dickwads caring more about strippers than criminals led by a doctrine imported from the local city. Needless to say, they weren't very effective. And so he flourished.
Fast-forward about a decade and the kid was now a man, almost in his mid-thirties. By now he had a small mansion, a couple luxury cars and himself a pretty wife with a diamond ring whom majored in politics and finances, mayor of the city. This kid now raked in continuous streams of hundreds like the Mississippi River. Cocaine, weed, meth, XTC, K-2, he controlled it all. No longer did he work through a single crack-head, rather he siphoned cash through underbosses, grunts, dealers and a sizeable portion of California's addicts. And although he didn't control the following, he had strong links to the sheriff along with some lascivious milf whom controlled the prostitution chain with as strong a fist as the kid's. South Foreseas was now respected as being as large as Hollywood, in all aspects of being. Just more... Interesting.
Soon enough, he became only wealthier as he and his wife, now governor of the state, had a child. This lil' shit was the heir in training. Although young, this kid's kid grew to be just as crooked and criminalistic as their father. The police was led by a corrupt chief, the entire department penetrated by the thick roots of the boss' influence, and prostitution, the other major activity, was flourishing with his blessing. South Foreseas by now was an Eiffel-sized tower of cards, nail-bitingly precarious yet blissfully profitable. And then a wind blew.
Soon enough, the president himself took notice of the city's volatile and unkempt crime rates. Addicts were all over the streets, and the few innocents left were eradicated as they either fell to the clutches of the Boss, or had their throats slit for another hit of crack. Prostitutes were dying out by now as an infamous outbreak of AIDS and other STDs scoured across the city, inflicting dozens of thousands and usually proving fatal. The police just quit, a contract, salary and title all that remained of their occupation. While the Boss, now with graying hair and dashed lines upon his face, was now getting immeasurable lump sums of cash due to the recent anarchy, he rubbed his head with a frustrated holler as he knew his criminal empire was going to fall apart if he didn't do anything. And so he took prioritized action. His wife ran for a senator's chair, and with a few pulleys and puppets, she inevitably won. The Boss now had direct access to America's government itself. But that wasn't enough, oh no. Quickly, he discreetly contracted the business of the surrounding cities, usually either by persuasion of a mutual benefit or coercion of "elimination". Although South Foreseas was a mess by now, he had all of California's underground activity in his hands. But as he realised what he had accomplished, a vicious ambition grew.
His child was in their own early twenties by now, and constantly hung out at the pub that started it all, in the heart of town, more corrupt and toxic than a polluted lake shat on by the mayoral oligarchs. The Boss' wife was still strong in her governmental influence, now running a second term. The criminal trade of the entire west coast of America was under that kid's control like a modern Rome, and he had to be vigilant against any slights or to keep such power from going to his head. His child was now a sort of left-hand underboss, showing exceptional skill despite their young age, and they enjoyed showering themselves in the proverbial gold. South Foreseas itself however, was now comparable to a zombie apocalypse ground-zero, absolutely infested with the worst of the worst. Thriving drug dealers were replaced by meth-head junkies, swanky brothels were swapped with skinny crack whores, and a firm yet corrupt police force was booted out by... Well... The national fucking guard.
"THE NATIONAL FUCKING GUARD?!" The kid shouted as South Foreseas was clamped onto by the paramilitary, and quarantined as if an Ebola outbreak had occurred. His business was still insanely well, considering almost half of America was under his direct or indirect influence by now. But the militarization of South Foreseas was a bad omen. If America herself took military action against the kid, such bad shit would happen that he would probably be dead and another recession outing the U.S. for good. And so... He disappeared at the age of seventy. Just like that. Not even his wife or kid or best friend, now criminal ruler of the Midwest knew about it. A single authentic note was placed, leaving control over the kid's vast illegal territory to his child. The local guard was puzzled by this, yet expected it. With a nod, they decided to turn back to the crime country, understanding with a grudge that if they chased after him now, chances are, all they'd have done would be wiped. Before, they would've committed all-out war on half of America to wipe his ass out. But now they had a new plan.
A mere year later and the kid's wife and child quickly took the reigns of this big-guns chariot. His wife was now the motherfucking Vice President and his single offspring was officially head of the game. South Foreseas was officially locked down and declared a military outpost. A pretty fuckin' over-sized outpost, at that. North Foreseas, an aptly named and relatively obscure city nestled right above the South was now South Foreseas in the making, complete with drugs, prostitutes and corrupt policemen. The kid's kid, current boss of the empire took hold there, since the origin point of it all was hotter than the Sun's core by then. As the original Boss' wife campaigned for presidency of America and the mid-thirty-something new Boss grew both territory and hatred (mostly for the guard), the military encampment of South Foreseas was now planning for action, making the War on Drugs a goddamned blockbuster.
The second civil war was about to begin. And not even I could escape it.
----------------------------------------------------------
FACTIONS
South Foreseas Guard: These guys are a bunch of rugged no-jokes. Directly funded and trained by the national military, they're more of an active battalion out in the field versus a special subsidiary group of the national guard. The entire reason for these guy's existence is to wipe out the criminal majesty spread over across half of America. Operating in the defunct South Foreseas, they generally live in loaned foreclosed homes. The character must live in South Foreseas, versus North Foreseas.
The Empire: The Empire is the legendary network of crime covering the western hemisphere of the land of the free. Perhaps you're a lawyer. You can help them out in court. Perhaps you're a nurse. You can put that unconscious unfortunate into an... Unnaturally deep sleep. Maybe you're a policeman. They could also use someone to frame that one meddling vigilante. People from all walks of life may become one with the Empire.
North Foreseas: A basic citizen(?), without ties to either the Empire nor the military. Sometimes ordinary is best.
----------------------------------------------------------
CHARACTER SHEET
Name:
Age:
Gender: (Male or female or hermaphroditic depending on character's genitals)
Perceived gender: (What gender the character portrays themself as)
Orientation:
Faction:
Occupation:
Eyes:
Hair:
General face:
Height:
Weight:
Body figure:
Ethnicity & skin color:
Talent:
Weakness: (Every two talents requires one weakness)
Starting equipment: (Make it reasonably low, no rocket-launchers or exo-skeletons)
Personality: (Optional, if filled out make it at least three sentences.)
Background: (Required, at least three sentences)
----------------------------------------------------------
SETTING
Area: North Foreseas (all characters save the guard live in North Foreseas, the latter living in South Foreseas.)
Time at start: The May of 2019.
Format: Players will state the action of their characters in whatever perspective they please except second-person. I will debunk rolls if deemed necessary.
----------------------------------------------------------
RULES & GUIDELINES
In this roleplay, what I say goes. No unruly disruptions of my law. I will attempt my damnedest to bring you a quality, reasonable and fulfilling roleplay experience. If you think something that I added, subtracted or otherwise modified in the roleplay or am treating a character out of jurisdiction then give me a sensual explanation why it was so. I plan on officially ending this versus having a forever on-going play or a play with a gaping hole, and I will most likely make a second part if this becomes successful. I will write the ultimate end-game ending (including all the characters) probably myself. As per the usual, no godmodding, metagaming, and no goddamn sob-stories for backgrounds. Having a character with sad and sorrowful origins is fine (and maybe even expected given the atmosphere of the roleplay), but nothing over-excessive and you better have a damn good reason for dead parents or whatever.
Also. Acceptance of each and every character will be at my own discretion. Generally, if you follow the rules of the sheet, fill it wholly and without making a Mary/Gary Stu/Sue, you will be accepted. If you are wondering, the current boss of The Empire IS available as a character, along with the commander of the South Foreseas Guard. So is the Vice President. The original boss however, the "kid", is not. You can create as many characters as you wish, just be sure you know you can keep up with them.
Finally, my own expectancies of the roleplayers and the roleplay itself. If you join, I will not accept one-liners. The only exception of this is WITHIN dialogue. Three sentences to one paragraph is preferred, although two sentences is the minimum and two paragraphs is the debatable maximum. I believe we'd all want to actually read something interesting from you, but we don't need a novel in a novel. Literacy merit will also be judged and you may get unspecified bonuses for being a good sport and a good author (nothing OP, just trivial stuff like writing your own ending or some shit like that).
Remember, if you have an inquiry about the roleplay or some instruction, then ask. If I'm available, then I may just answer it. If its a testosterone-fueled caps-locked rage post, politely leave the area. If its sensible, then I will most likely relieve your confusion and/or frustration.
Go make some gangsters now.
(DISCLAIMER: I will not be on terribly frequently, however I should be able to check in one to two hours every day, and preferably more over the weekend.)
South Foreseas, California. Gorgeous to an outsider, and gorgeous to some insiders. But the rest? To the rest, South Foreseas is a volatile cauldron of crime, violence and hatred. The city started as a modest collection of small neighborhoods closing in on a local pub, a fine but modest brick hexagon of liquor, television and commerce. The inhabitants of this primitive town quickly became regulars since the other nearest inebriated townhouse was a few dozen miles away and the alcohol was swell enough to enjoy anyway. Hardly anything ever happened there in the city, save for the occasional bar rustle. But that shit changed, didn't it?
Y'see, the sprawling metropolitan it used to be was conceived the day a young early twenty-something bloke hit the tavern, got himself a couple drinks and chatted with his best friend. They were both poor. And no, not the kind of poor because you don't have the latest X-Box 2.0, and not the kind of poor where you skip lunch to save on a dwindling pantry. This kid was eat-dirt-for-breakfast-poor. But you couldn't tell, what with the decent cloth he wore and the stylish, if plastic, watch he stared into ceaselessly when in doubt. He had recently found an abandoned cannabis herb plantation, cleverly disguised into a field of stuck dog stalks. With a sip of his lager, he said to his friend; "Do you know what I just found?".
It quickly grew from then on. His business, I mean. The drug trade was practically non-existent, despite the fact most of South Foreseas' earliest inhabitants were... Let's say the morally challenged, trying to start a new life. They almost did too. This kid began to sell dope to various customers through his newest "friend", a thin-brained dumbass nicknamed "Jitter", because he was high all the time. His family didn't care for this business, but they certainly did care about the slips of money coming into the household. Soon enough, his mother and father began renting an apartment together with his financial aid, and so did he. The law was little more then a few fat dickwads caring more about strippers than criminals led by a doctrine imported from the local city. Needless to say, they weren't very effective. And so he flourished.
Fast-forward about a decade and the kid was now a man, almost in his mid-thirties. By now he had a small mansion, a couple luxury cars and himself a pretty wife with a diamond ring whom majored in politics and finances, mayor of the city. This kid now raked in continuous streams of hundreds like the Mississippi River. Cocaine, weed, meth, XTC, K-2, he controlled it all. No longer did he work through a single crack-head, rather he siphoned cash through underbosses, grunts, dealers and a sizeable portion of California's addicts. And although he didn't control the following, he had strong links to the sheriff along with some lascivious milf whom controlled the prostitution chain with as strong a fist as the kid's. South Foreseas was now respected as being as large as Hollywood, in all aspects of being. Just more... Interesting.
Soon enough, he became only wealthier as he and his wife, now governor of the state, had a child. This lil' shit was the heir in training. Although young, this kid's kid grew to be just as crooked and criminalistic as their father. The police was led by a corrupt chief, the entire department penetrated by the thick roots of the boss' influence, and prostitution, the other major activity, was flourishing with his blessing. South Foreseas by now was an Eiffel-sized tower of cards, nail-bitingly precarious yet blissfully profitable. And then a wind blew.
Soon enough, the president himself took notice of the city's volatile and unkempt crime rates. Addicts were all over the streets, and the few innocents left were eradicated as they either fell to the clutches of the Boss, or had their throats slit for another hit of crack. Prostitutes were dying out by now as an infamous outbreak of AIDS and other STDs scoured across the city, inflicting dozens of thousands and usually proving fatal. The police just quit, a contract, salary and title all that remained of their occupation. While the Boss, now with graying hair and dashed lines upon his face, was now getting immeasurable lump sums of cash due to the recent anarchy, he rubbed his head with a frustrated holler as he knew his criminal empire was going to fall apart if he didn't do anything. And so he took prioritized action. His wife ran for a senator's chair, and with a few pulleys and puppets, she inevitably won. The Boss now had direct access to America's government itself. But that wasn't enough, oh no. Quickly, he discreetly contracted the business of the surrounding cities, usually either by persuasion of a mutual benefit or coercion of "elimination". Although South Foreseas was a mess by now, he had all of California's underground activity in his hands. But as he realised what he had accomplished, a vicious ambition grew.
His child was in their own early twenties by now, and constantly hung out at the pub that started it all, in the heart of town, more corrupt and toxic than a polluted lake shat on by the mayoral oligarchs. The Boss' wife was still strong in her governmental influence, now running a second term. The criminal trade of the entire west coast of America was under that kid's control like a modern Rome, and he had to be vigilant against any slights or to keep such power from going to his head. His child was now a sort of left-hand underboss, showing exceptional skill despite their young age, and they enjoyed showering themselves in the proverbial gold. South Foreseas itself however, was now comparable to a zombie apocalypse ground-zero, absolutely infested with the worst of the worst. Thriving drug dealers were replaced by meth-head junkies, swanky brothels were swapped with skinny crack whores, and a firm yet corrupt police force was booted out by... Well... The national fucking guard.
"THE NATIONAL FUCKING GUARD?!" The kid shouted as South Foreseas was clamped onto by the paramilitary, and quarantined as if an Ebola outbreak had occurred. His business was still insanely well, considering almost half of America was under his direct or indirect influence by now. But the militarization of South Foreseas was a bad omen. If America herself took military action against the kid, such bad shit would happen that he would probably be dead and another recession outing the U.S. for good. And so... He disappeared at the age of seventy. Just like that. Not even his wife or kid or best friend, now criminal ruler of the Midwest knew about it. A single authentic note was placed, leaving control over the kid's vast illegal territory to his child. The local guard was puzzled by this, yet expected it. With a nod, they decided to turn back to the crime country, understanding with a grudge that if they chased after him now, chances are, all they'd have done would be wiped. Before, they would've committed all-out war on half of America to wipe his ass out. But now they had a new plan.
A mere year later and the kid's wife and child quickly took the reigns of this big-guns chariot. His wife was now the motherfucking Vice President and his single offspring was officially head of the game. South Foreseas was officially locked down and declared a military outpost. A pretty fuckin' over-sized outpost, at that. North Foreseas, an aptly named and relatively obscure city nestled right above the South was now South Foreseas in the making, complete with drugs, prostitutes and corrupt policemen. The kid's kid, current boss of the empire took hold there, since the origin point of it all was hotter than the Sun's core by then. As the original Boss' wife campaigned for presidency of America and the mid-thirty-something new Boss grew both territory and hatred (mostly for the guard), the military encampment of South Foreseas was now planning for action, making the War on Drugs a goddamned blockbuster.
The second civil war was about to begin. And not even I could escape it.
----------------------------------------------------------
FACTIONS
South Foreseas Guard: These guys are a bunch of rugged no-jokes. Directly funded and trained by the national military, they're more of an active battalion out in the field versus a special subsidiary group of the national guard. The entire reason for these guy's existence is to wipe out the criminal majesty spread over across half of America. Operating in the defunct South Foreseas, they generally live in loaned foreclosed homes. The character must live in South Foreseas, versus North Foreseas.
The Empire: The Empire is the legendary network of crime covering the western hemisphere of the land of the free. Perhaps you're a lawyer. You can help them out in court. Perhaps you're a nurse. You can put that unconscious unfortunate into an... Unnaturally deep sleep. Maybe you're a policeman. They could also use someone to frame that one meddling vigilante. People from all walks of life may become one with the Empire.
North Foreseas: A basic citizen(?), without ties to either the Empire nor the military. Sometimes ordinary is best.
----------------------------------------------------------
CHARACTER SHEET
Name:
Age:
Gender: (Male or female or hermaphroditic depending on character's genitals)
Perceived gender: (What gender the character portrays themself as)
Orientation:
Faction:
Occupation:
Eyes:
Hair:
General face:
Height:
Weight:
Body figure:
Ethnicity & skin color:
Talent:
Weakness: (Every two talents requires one weakness)
Starting equipment: (Make it reasonably low, no rocket-launchers or exo-skeletons)
Personality: (Optional, if filled out make it at least three sentences.)
Background: (Required, at least three sentences)
----------------------------------------------------------
SETTING
Area: North Foreseas (all characters save the guard live in North Foreseas, the latter living in South Foreseas.)
Time at start: The May of 2019.
Format: Players will state the action of their characters in whatever perspective they please except second-person. I will debunk rolls if deemed necessary.
----------------------------------------------------------
RULES & GUIDELINES
In this roleplay, what I say goes. No unruly disruptions of my law. I will attempt my damnedest to bring you a quality, reasonable and fulfilling roleplay experience. If you think something that I added, subtracted or otherwise modified in the roleplay or am treating a character out of jurisdiction then give me a sensual explanation why it was so. I plan on officially ending this versus having a forever on-going play or a play with a gaping hole, and I will most likely make a second part if this becomes successful. I will write the ultimate end-game ending (including all the characters) probably myself. As per the usual, no godmodding, metagaming, and no goddamn sob-stories for backgrounds. Having a character with sad and sorrowful origins is fine (and maybe even expected given the atmosphere of the roleplay), but nothing over-excessive and you better have a damn good reason for dead parents or whatever.
Also. Acceptance of each and every character will be at my own discretion. Generally, if you follow the rules of the sheet, fill it wholly and without making a Mary/Gary Stu/Sue, you will be accepted. If you are wondering, the current boss of The Empire IS available as a character, along with the commander of the South Foreseas Guard. So is the Vice President. The original boss however, the "kid", is not. You can create as many characters as you wish, just be sure you know you can keep up with them.
Finally, my own expectancies of the roleplayers and the roleplay itself. If you join, I will not accept one-liners. The only exception of this is WITHIN dialogue. Three sentences to one paragraph is preferred, although two sentences is the minimum and two paragraphs is the debatable maximum. I believe we'd all want to actually read something interesting from you, but we don't need a novel in a novel. Literacy merit will also be judged and you may get unspecified bonuses for being a good sport and a good author (nothing OP, just trivial stuff like writing your own ending or some shit like that).
Remember, if you have an inquiry about the roleplay or some instruction, then ask. If I'm available, then I may just answer it. If its a testosterone-fueled caps-locked rage post, politely leave the area. If its sensible, then I will most likely relieve your confusion and/or frustration.
Go make some gangsters now.
Last edited by a moderator:
