GROUP RP PLOTTING [U/C] Remnants of Prophecy

[natterjack]

Sun Aug 05, 2012 7:48 pm
` ｃａｒｎａｌ-ｎｏｍｓ }
-- owned by MistakenSanctuary&Tacitlover --
— ღplot —
Imagine you're running. Always running, it seems; from a mysterious figure. Masculine, cloaked in black and equipped with gnashing, salivating mandibles. Rows of acicular ivories. Like something from a nightmare. Ultimately of slender, emaciated
stature; yet from a distance it appears that ribbons of stygian substance stream from his thin shoulders and the gaunt angles of his frame. Fourteen years ago, you were born. On a stormy, lightning-stricken night. A strange baby. Born with a quiet and docile disposition — and a birthmark that, supposedly, is shared by exactly six others like you. All given birth to in the same year, in the same month. They call you remnants. Living, breathing artifacts. Sought after. It's a curse, yes. There's six of you. Three girls and three boys. Shortly after being born, you were more or less forced to become familiar with one another. And so you became playmates. At seven, you became friends. At eleven, you became blood-siblings.

And now, at fourteen, you're a family. And on the run. Why? is most likely the question you're asking. The answer: Because you have something the Abigor wants. No one knows what that is, exactly — of course there's
been speculation, but nothing confirmed - but what they do know is you are the remnants, the artifacts, and you're quite wanted, with so much bounty upon your pretty little heads . .

This is not the year 2014. This is not America. This is a stygian, desolate wasteland. Consisting of mostly desert, with patches of forestland and humid jungle. Steep mountain peaks and areas purely tundra. The Abigor turned the world, with his taint, into a struggle in itself. Now the question is . . can you survive it? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
— ღRULES —
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This is a literate-advanced roleplay. Meaning I do not want noobs. I don't want beginners. I don't want half-asses. I want the real shit. Since I'm being so blunt [crude], I might as well soften it by saying the magic word; please. Or I'll boot you. In order to play one of the Six, you must offer a sample and a basic information sheet [name, gender, personality, description; how he/she gets along with the other six, his/her opinion on the Abigor, likes and dislikes, other]. Nothing simple. I want a unique, interesting submission, with plenty of ups and downs and curves in between.

~~~~~~~~~~~
—ღOTHER—
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Despite the mention of 'carnal' in the title, this is hardly a romance. More like of the hardcore adventure genre. However- —there is a mention of this, in the Prophecy; In the possibility that the Abigor destroys all mankind in his searching for the Six, it will be on the shoulders of the Six to repopulate the earth. There is a hierachy to the Six. A trinity, if you will.

The 'Alpha' pair;; the firstborn and the secondborn. [which are already reserved for yours truly and MistakenSanctuary].
The 'Beta' pair;; the thirdborn and the fourthborn [open.]
The 'Omega' pair;; the fifthborn and the sixthborn [open.]

In the regard of 'special' powers, each of the Six are endowed with celestial capabilities. No extra strength or such. They're simple able to erect barriers and break them down. As well as being physically bound to their 'partner'. E.g. the firstborn and the secondborn are bound. And so forth. For instance if the firstborn was to be far away, the
secondborn would be able to sense his general location [yes, the firstborn is male].
Firstborn character sheet;;
name// greyson
gender// male
personality//
tolerant, physical, and dominant.
description// yellow eyes, black hair, freckles, and pale skin. five foot eight, emaciated.
-- rest will be added later --
The 'Alpha' pair calls all the shots, often discussing major decisions between themselves before sharing with the others. They also arrange the hunting patrols and such; as well as decide who will take shifts during the night. The 'Beta' pair is relied upon to . . The 'Omega' pair . .
--- It's late. I'm going to finish this soon, most likely tomorrow. Please, do not begin posting character sheets and whatnot immediately. If you'd like to join, then private message me with questions [if any], and reserve your preferred position. //deuces//

 

[natterjack]

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— ღ author's note —

---

Wow. Hard to believe that was me searching almost two years ago. Looking back, comparing my writing then to my writing now .. shit I've become such a pretentious punk .. well, it feels like it's been ages.

Anyway. Hii, darlings. According to my account details, my username is natterjack, and if you want to get into semantics, that's only sort of true. I have many, many names; my titles vary accordingly, depending on the circumstances of the situation, my environment, etc. For instance, when I'm out pimpin', my name's Bonquisha Avocado, and then when I'm with my partner Rowen, I'm every inch the compliant and adaptive Ira James Marie. In "real" life, though, when surrounded by family and "real life" friends, I'm just Lydia and/or Ida, who's probably the least exciting and most ordinary of all my identities, with her nerd glasses and nappy, unruly lion's mane. Nonsensical babble aside, if you're fairly active on the Roleplay Talk boards, then you're probably familiar with me. I'm around most of the time, derping for roleplays and the like.

This is an idea of mine that never quite got off the ground, despite the many daydreams and written plans I put into it. It's been two years and since I like to think I've grown as a writer [as a person I aged backwards, lmfao], I really want to give this a second try. Forget lousy daydreams scrawled via pen and paper — I'm going to invest actual hard work this time, and hopefully I'll stick with things long enough to bleed myself into the pages, so I'll always remember what comes of their compliation, whether it be sugary success or bittersweet failure.
For those of you who don't know, U/C means under construction. Which translates to please don't post here until I give the okay because things aren't even close to coming together yet.

Thanks in advance c:

 

[natterjack]

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– ღ an introduction –

---

You dream and imagine you're running. Always running, it seems, from a mysterious figure. Genderless, neither masculine nor feminine, cloaked in writhing shadows and equipped with gnashing, salivating mandibles, rows of acicular ivories and eyes that glow blood-crimson from within their sockets. It's like something from a nightmare, this thing. Ultimately of slender, emaciated stature; yet from a distance, it would appear that ribbons of stygian substance stream from its thin shoulders and the gaunt angles of its monstrous frame.

Upon returning to the waking world, you find yourself unable to move. Helpless to do anything but listen to the voice that rumbles around you, struck with the sense that purpose is on the horizon, you lay there, staring vacantly upwards into the overhead sky. Had the circumstances been different, you might've found a certain beauty in your own paralysis, the noise of movement stripped away to reveal the world at its barest: minimal and opaque, sublime. And the purpose. It draws closer – you can't see it, but you can feel it. Oh, God, you can feel it, stealing into your bones .. horrible, horrible purpose, but purpose nonetheless.

Deep breaths, you tell yourself. Deep breaths.

What does this have to do with me? You ask wordlessly, trying to keep your voice from trembling and failing miserably.

Shut up, I'm getting there.

Fourteen years ago, you were born, on a stormy, lightning-stricken night. A strange baby, endowed with an unusually quiet and docile disposition — and a birthmark that is shared by exactly five others like you. All six of you were given birth to in the same year as well as in the same month. An anomaly, yes? It would seem so .. unless you know the truth.

Dawn creeps closer, seeping into your periphery on an ominous swell of mottled colors. Your voice is becoming more and more hysterical, as a sense of finalty descends on the evening's atmosphere, tainting the beauty of the stillness. The truth? Wh–what are you talking about? What truth?

They call you remnants.
Living, breathing artifacts.

You're a remnant, darling.

A disbelieving scoff escapes, seemingly of its own accord. Unable to cover your mouth, all you can do is lay there, trying to wish the words back with sheer willpower.

No, I'm not. If only you could pinch yourself.

Oh, but you are, the voice rebutts, chiming musically. You're sought after, child. Met with silence, the voice continues to spin its tale within the confines of your mind.
I won't lie to you. It's a curse, yes. But you're not alone.There's six of you altogether, counting yourself. Three girls and three boys. Shortly after being born, you were more or less forced to become familiar with one another.And so, you became playmates. At seven, you became friends. At eleven, you became blood-siblings. And now, at fourteen, you're a family .. and on the run.

Ice twines through your veins. Why? Why u–us? Why us?Somewhere along the way, a part of you must've started to subconsciously believe, because the us comes all too naturally, nauseatingly easy to utter. You close your eyes, inwardly cursing yourself and trying to tune out the voice, that damned voice. But it goes on anyway, seeming to know that in the end, you just won't be able to stop yourself from listening to the answer.
Because you have something the Abigor wants. No one knows what that is, exactly — of course there's been speculation, but nothing confirmed - but what they do know is you are the remnants, the artifacts, and you're quite wanted, with so much bounty upon your pretty little heads . .