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Adrian

Papa Bear
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High Fantasy, Low Fantasy, Sci-Fi, Cyberpunk, Horror, LGBT+, Steampunk, Comedy, Post-apocalyptic, 80s, Thriller, Modern, Romance, Tragedy, Drama, Space Opera, Political Intrigue, Coming of Age
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Furry, Yaoi, Anime
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Altered mAtter_



ic

   unstoppable now - the phantoms
 

Adrian

Papa Bear
Original poster
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Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays
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A Few Posts A Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
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Give-No-Fucks, Adept, Advanced
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Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Aggressive
Favorite Genres
High Fantasy, Low Fantasy, Sci-Fi, Cyberpunk, Horror, LGBT+, Steampunk, Comedy, Post-apocalyptic, 80s, Thriller, Modern, Romance, Tragedy, Drama, Space Opera, Political Intrigue, Coming of Age
Genre You DON'T Like
Furry, Yaoi, Anime
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Abel
Orbitron


1
PART I.

It has been several months since Oceania's victory, several months since Eurasia's troops retreated back into the shadows. The enemy has been silent. Some anticipate another war to break out soon, others claim Eurasia will soon give themselves up. In the meantime, Oceania is left to entertain itself. The Arena has been opened again: a grand dome-less amphitheater that can hold thousands upon thousands of spectators upon tiers of concrete. In the middle, an elaborate maze of a battlefield: intricate pathways walled high, with secret passages beneath the ground in which feral beasts lie in wait.

Today, the soldiers will train here in purview of the public, as they often do in times like these where entertainment is scarce. Oceania shall fight the enslaved Eurasians once more, for the masses are hungry for blood. And blood shall be spilt, although no deaths are expected to occur. On either end of the arena, the gates open and the fight begins. The bets have been made. The banners are risen.

The objective is simple: survive.

  LIVING LEGEND - CLUB DANGER​
 
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Red Thunder

A Warrior in a Garden
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A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
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Adept, Advanced, Prestige
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Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Both/Either
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, SciFi, Modern, Magical
The Kodiak

It wouldn’t be fair.

The Kodiak stood ready, his carbon fiber augments flexing as he brought his focus to bear. If he’d have had his druthers, he’d be standing here in his fatigues, staring through the bars of the gate ahead, eager to see how he’d progressed in his training. Rather, to see what he’d retained from his years in the war. They were still awkward, his augments, though they moved with almost a more natural feeling than his birth arms ever did. Maybe it was the smoothness, the instantaneous response of synthetic muscle to direct and push synthetic bone. His natural arms had some small imperceptible delay that he’d have otherwise never noticed.

No, these cybernetic enhancements were exactly that in nearly every way that counted, and they had frustratingly not seen use during the War. Lt. Colonel Curtis Merriam, the Kodiak himself, sat out Eurasia’s final retreat into obscurity, all because some damn magic assassin had-

Like a runner judge’s pistol, the gates swung open to unleash the restrained. The Kodiak leapt forward, seeking an opponent worth the effort of testing himself on, and not giving one damn about the entertainment-starved masses that sought out a substitute for the advertised and all-too-soon concluded War. His medals shown brightly on his uniform, his costume by which his fans could recognize him easily; he was required to wear it. The audience wanted a blood bath; there was sure to be retribution in the ratings that he chose to not wear his iconic Battle Enhancements, the massive power arms his superiors had advertised so aggressively. Curtis had opted out, thinking them unfair.

But the blood starved masses didn’t give two shits about fair.
 
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Mars Walker

Not all who wander are lost, but I sure am.
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Speed of Light, Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day
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Pretty much..all day. My job requires me to sit at a computer all day. Schedule is usually pretty flexible.
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Intermediate, Adept
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Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Female
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I'm fine with doing both
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High Fantasy-themed things are my sweet-spot. I'm ALWAYS a sucker for Steampunk and Sci-fi, as well as modern rp's here and there.
Genre You DON'T Like
High-school settings grate against my nerves like nails on a chalkboard. Furry rp's are a no-go for me.
P A R A G O N

Osla's carbon-fiber foot tapped impatiently on the ground, and she twirled her battlestaff in one hand, her eyes set intensely on the citizen-filled amphitheater outside the bars she stood behind. She was excited to be back in business, as she had spent every waking moment of the past several months pulling herself together after her accident, and training her new legs to be better than her old ones were. Osla owed quite a bit of her success at recovery to the Kodiak, and while she would never admit it to anyone other than Curtis himself, she was incredibly thankful for the occasional training sessions they'd had.

Paragon let a small grin creep it's way into her intense expression as she leaned forwards and changed her position to a more prepared one. This staged battle for the citizens was what she viewed to be her one chance at redeeming herself after having such an unfortunate accident on the real battlefield so soon after having joined the fray. She wanted to be quick, fast, and impressive. She waned to show off her state of the art carbon-fiber prosthetic legs, and most of all, she wanted to prove that she was still a pure battle machine.

Osla was going to put every ounce of training and skill she had to use, and she would accept nothing short of soaring success, and the moment the gates opened, she launched herself with extra speed and force into the arena, ready to pour every ounce of her being into doing her absolute best.
 

Cresion Breezes

Professional Key Shaker
DONATING MEMBER
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Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
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One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
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Afternoons to midnight-ish (EST)
Writing Levels
Give-No-Fucks, Intermediate, Adept, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Androgynous
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
It depends on the plot really, and what needs to be done.
Favorite Genres
Scifi, Phychological, Genrally weird stuff, fantasy is cool, modern fantasy is also cool.
Major Mono Display
Abel
Orbitron


GENESIS

"Meissa, offense mode please."

Orion sat upon his hovering drones, holographic operating screens casted around him fluttered rapidly with various data. He had to check the system one more time, maybe redefine the coverage area, it would be terrible if any onlookers became the victim of Meissa's auto-tracking. Betelgeuse hovered nearby, constantly break and rearranging, small sparkles of plasma occasionally flickered. One could say that it seems the small intricate machines felt just as anxious as their creator.

In reality, one could say that they are. It has been eight months and two weeks since the young engineer was gravely wounded, five months and three weeks since he was able to walk, two months and one week since he was discharged from the infirmary. Those machines acted as extensions for his sickly bedridden form for so long, it began to feel as if they've received life as well. Orion didn't belong here, or at least he believed so. Perhaps his ability to call down death and destruction from the sky brought some public admiration, but in the end, he was just a coward who hides behind his technology.

Despite this, he has decided to participate in this ochlocratie parade on his own terms. It was a place where he could not only test Meissa's abilities, but also teach the system with real combat info. As the gates opened the young man winced a bit, the noise and dust felt blistering on his mind as the crowd and other contestants excited themselves. Orion tailed at the back of the crowd, though half a dozen circular drones rushed out behind him, elegantly curving through the crowd.

  LOL DIDN'T PREPARE A SONG​
 
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Kuno

Django Jane
DONATING MEMBER
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No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
I'm fine doing both. However, while I am ok with being the passive player, it would be nice if the aggressive player took suggestions from me every once in a while.
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Sci fi, Romance, Historical, Modern, Supernatural
Genre You DON'T Like
School life
GHOST WALKER

Time drew out like a blade for Taum.

Somewhere beneath the thousands of seated spectators, in the very bowels of The Arena, the ex-Eurasian soldier stood in quiet contemplation before the gates into the pit. An eerie sense of calm settled over him. Perhaps it stemmed from a deeper understanding of what was about to take place and his role in it. He’d known, even when the others hadn’t.

They would never win. The crowds would not stand for it. Their masters called it training, but what they wanted was bloodshed, a gaudy re-enactment of Oceania’s crushing defeat of Eurasia in the final battle. He and his cohorts would serve as sacrificial lambs to satisfy Oceania’s need for entertainment, regardless of the cost. Regardless of the price they'd already paid, the things Oceania had already stripped from them, from him. His home, his country, his wife, his family, his son, his dearest son--!

No. He couldn't think like that now. Taum pressed closer to the bars, tense. His hand rested on the blade strapped to his thigh.

He’d learned enough of the enemy to know how to play their game. His strategy was set straight in his mind: to give the people a good fight, lasting as long as he could. When the chips were down, he would take himself out of the melee with or without the aid of his rival. Cowardly, perhaps, but a self-sustaining option. Honor was a commodity he could no longer afford, and he did not intend on being broken again just to curb the mob’s insatiable bloodlust. Let another fool take the heroic route. Taum would live to fight another day.

Like a giant maw, the gates to hell swung open, much to the roaring excitement of the crowd. Taum propelled himself forward before he could question it, sticking close to the towering walls of the maze.
 

Adrian

Papa Bear
Original poster
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays
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A Few Posts A Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
Writing Levels
Give-No-Fucks, Adept, Advanced
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Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Aggressive
Favorite Genres
High Fantasy, Low Fantasy, Sci-Fi, Cyberpunk, Horror, LGBT+, Steampunk, Comedy, Post-apocalyptic, 80s, Thriller, Modern, Romance, Tragedy, Drama, Space Opera, Political Intrigue, Coming of Age
Genre You DON'T Like
Furry, Yaoi, Anime
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BUBBLEGUM

Barbara had been anticipating this, and it showed. Every inch of her, down to the last cuticle, was a spectacle for the crowd. It was perhaps not the most battle-friendly, but it caught the eye. And that was exactly what she wanted. Today, she was to make her debut, and it was clear from the look on her face that it had not yet known the horrors of war. This girl, dressed in the bare minimum, was not here for the blood thirst, but for the fame.

With one grand gesture, she waved to the spectators seated up high. Then, she smiled. As if she were about to start a concert--not a war--and the spectators were her dearest fans. She blew them a kiss for good measure. If this didn't gain her a following overnight, she didn't know what would.


// oceAniA

There was a screech that ground the ears, and the floor beneath them started vibrating. The walls moved inch by grueling inch, so that new pathways began to form themselves in front of them. But there was no way to pass through. For in their midst were now six feral lions; in the beasts' eyes, a hunger that meant gruesome outcomes if they were not careful. But the lions were not the predators here. This was just for show. A warm-up. Something to keep the crowd mildly entertained with bloodshed while the real prey remained on the other side of the battlefield.

And who didn't want a lion's head, decapitated by their favorite Oceanian hero, for a souvenir?

The first lion leapt.

Mars Walker Mars Walker Cresion Breezes Cresion Breezes Red Thunder Red Thunder @Vinn


// eurAsiA

They were not so lucky. The walls had yet to move on their end, but several small square holes revealed themselves on the walls instead. Through these holes, poison-infused bullets came sputtering out: an antique weapon, but there were plenty of them--enough to surround the few Eurasians caught in the middle--and they had one purpose: to urge the Eurasians closer to the heart of the battlefield.

Metal screeched against metal as the gates to the arena closed, sealing their doom.

Kuno Kuno
 

Red Thunder

A Warrior in a Garden
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Both/Either
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The Kodiak​

Boots pounded the coliseum floor, a cacophony to match the cheers of the crowd. The heroes of the Oceanian Miliary surged forward, seeking their provided opponents. Seeking a reason to keep fighting. Combat was their trade; war their pastime. Few of them knew anything else. Where then would they go without this charade? It provided the people an outlet for their desire for violence and blood, to be sure, but it gave Oceania's soldiers a reason to be. To enact violence. To keep one's body and mind honed.

With great strides, Curtis crossed the plane of the gateway, entering the coliseum. Somewhere within were the Eurasians conscripts, forced to fight against their oppressors, and his arm servos whined in anticipation.

Or maybe it was the pathways being opened. Walls shifted, revealing a rather more pressing issue than Eurasians. Curtis pulled up hard at the sight of the lions, blinking in hesitation; he couldn't recall the game master introducing wildlife before.

There was no time for assessment. Powerful limbs pushed the feline forward, with claws extended and fangs glistening, and it leapt for them. Quick as thinking, Curtis shifted his path to intercept. He turned clockwise, presenting the beast his left side as he pulled back good right arm. Then, as the lion's arc brought it back down toward Earth, Curtis attacked. Hips leading the turn, his fist shot forward, a veritable cannonball. Feline bones crunched beneath the impact, and its trajectory shifted left. It rolled to the ground, the left side of its face a mess of mangled red tissue and shattered white bone.

Smiling grimly, the Lieutenant Colonel resumed a fighting stance. He had an opponent, something against which to test his abilities and upgrades. So far, things were looking good. But the lion stood again, savage red fury replacing the blinding white pain in its eyes. The animals were likely genetically enhanced themselves, Curtis mused as he began slowly picking his way around the field, and a single blow would probably not serve to put it down. As if you confirm, the lion stood, if shakily, and bared a blood-filled maw.
 

Cresion Breezes

Professional Key Shaker
DONATING MEMBER
Roleplay Invitations
Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
Afternoons to midnight-ish (EST)
Writing Levels
Give-No-Fucks, Intermediate, Adept, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Androgynous
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
It depends on the plot really, and what needs to be done.
Favorite Genres
Scifi, Phychological, Genrally weird stuff, fantasy is cool, modern fantasy is also cool.
GENESIS​



The world has gone silent as the uproar of the audience and Oceania soldiers were reduced to nothing but a muffled static, an auditory illusion at best. Frenzied combatants soon spread out across the arena, a puffy dusty cloud of noise that stretched itself across every conceivable corner of the world, that was the war. The dusty clouds were blistering; they blinded eyes; they scorched throats; they destroyed nations, and most importantly: they destroyed sentience. The willingness to think, and to bear hopes, all blurred, all washed away by an invincible dust bunny.

"Meissa, launch mode please." Quiet words drowned out by chaos, but enough to get the message across. Somewhere above, beyond the stratosphere and well beyond where anyone in the arena would bother looking, machines whirl and hum. Though just like how no one can hear you scream, no one can hear a two thousand miles long death ray powering up in space either.

Orion blinked twice at the gates when the opened. Those aren't people. It was his reasonable first thought as several large Felidae looking creatures began roaming, some pouching and tearing at the humans on the scene. The behaviors indicated that they were no normal animals, maybe it was an experiment or a eugenics thing, even simpler would be a test of some new drug. Whatever they were it was probably the result of someone with too much power getting too ambitious, 'you're a scientist, not a God.' But Oceania didn't have Gods, it had soldiers.

It wasn't long before some of the creatures circling the edges of the arena were reduced to some musky pieces of fur and flesh, though even in that form they stood. Foul, grotesque, but most importantly, undead. It appears that they withstand impact quite well, any normal creature would have gotten their spine crushed by an impact over one hundred thousand newtons, as Lieutenant Colonial Merriam's encounter helpfully showed. The young scientist crossed his arms and gazed around the field again, a little irritated that some animal can beat out these state of the art weaponry, more irritated that they can beat out things that he made.

Of course, just because something resists impacts doesn't mean it will resist heat and pressure. A triangular piece broke off of it's larger compartment and floated near its creator, Orion started at it a bit before it launched away: with a light flick of the wrist, the piece accelerated into one of the mangled creature's flesh, wedging itself into the mess of flesh and bone. The beast didn't notice, of course.

"Meissa, guided launch, radius 3 feet will do." The triangular piece fizzled with light slightly. The creature was enraged more and more as it regained its balance, preparing to pouch for another human. It never got a chance to, as before it knew anything it was engulfed by a burning ray of fire and plasma. A heat wave radiated from where the beam landed, Orion pushed forward through the warm winds to examine the results. The pile of once squirming blood and fur was now an ashy dark grey, it is hard to tell that the dusty pile was once a living being.​
 
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