Broken Doll RP Interest/Sign Up
 

She couldn’t tell which direction she was headed. Years of travel over vast and trackless wastes had given her a keen sense of direction, and yet these subterranean tunnels had slowly eroded even that well honed skill into uselessness, as her sanity ebbed in concert.

Her clothes were ragged and insufficient to the task of holding in warmth, her slender body shivered involuntarily, threatening to consume it’s meager supplies of energy through sheer force of unwanted vibration. She stumbled forward, or backward, she didn’t know anymore, she only knew that to stop was to cease to be, and life had become a goal in and of itself.

Shadows flickered out of synch with the dim halogen lights above, splashes in the antiquated muck some distances away alerted her to another’s presence. Fear gripped her innards, her body tightening in impotent anticipation, whatever awaited could not be outrun, could not be beaten down, could not be escaped, she could only remain motionless against the rough beaten walls, still her breathing and pray It passed.

It shuffled forward, slow yet purposeful, an awkward gait apparent in the uneven rhythm of it’s dragged footsteps. A cripple perhaps, perhaps she was running from shadows, maybe she could make it down the upcoming tunnel before it caught her, maybe there was hope.

Hope, the word stung her all ready shaken resolve, the sleepless days that ran seamlessly into nights had only been the most recent trauma. She’d spent months in that cell, victim to it’s whims. She’d forgotten the urge to speak, forgotten that words could mean anything more than a precursor or epilogue to anguish. She had been broken so many times there was no hope of putting the pieces back together. But hope, hope had been forgotten long ago, and to have it come screaming back to her addled mind was too much.

Her skeletal, calloused fingers scraped idly against a protruding pipe, hanging limply from the earthen wall behind her. It was hard, and strong, solid, all the things she was not. Her delicate hand closed around it, pulling it free with a tug so vicious it would have surprised her if she still had the capacity for such things. The earth which had encased it crumbled away, sending small echoes down the claustrophobic corridors.

“Ah, it is you. The prettiest one, oh yes! I will have you again, such a joyous feeling.” It said, childish happiness in it’s voice, sick and overly sweet.

She had stopped shivering.

“Now come pretty one, I would not want to damage you any more than I need to…”

She had stopped feeling anything save an invigorating, endless font of rage.

“I can still taste you on my lips… he he!”

The pipe struck soundly against it’s thick skull, misshapen as it was she could not discern whether it had caved in or not, she had no time to inspect in any case, it screamed in agony as another blow struck. She could not stop herself now, it screamed for only a few more seconds as the sound became less resounding, she felt the skull give way and heard the sickly sound of its head being pulped beneath her fury, but she could not stop.

It had stopped feeling anything.

As her arms tired to the point of exhaustion she noted with detached clarity that it had grown brighter. The darkness of her erstwhile catacomb had subsided, the puddle of flesh her captor had become now glowed a strange reddish hue, illuminated by something beyond her immediate capability to comprehend. She was not afraid, only curious now.

It burst into flames and smoldered quietly on the cave floor.

Behind her more footsteps approached, rapid and regular, shod in boots and carrying unknown people.

They were people, weren’t they?

She turned to face the newcomers, her weapon, gore spattered and slightly dented, ready in a strange approximation of a samurai’s stance. Her vision blurred and darkened as she saw the first of them come into view. Neatly pressed uniforms and pistols, what were they called?

Police?

Was she safe? What was safe?

Her vision filled in with nothingness as she fell limply to the floor. No more pain, no more fear, a broken doll strewn carelessly across the floor…


I'm starting a comic series, and I figured I'd do an RP based around the same setting just for kicks.

The setting is modern day, with a bit of a twist. Your character will be a member of an FBI subdivision known as API, aberrant phenomena investigation division. Your job is to investigate certain classes of crime and disturbance that fall outside the general public's purview, things that people find distasteful and unsettling to contemplate.

It's a small unit, and woefully underfunded. The higher ups only have sketchy evidence at best to even warrant it's existence. But the evidence is growing, and something moves behind the eyes of the consensus, something wholly unknowable by the sane mind, and utterly terrifying.

Thet titular character is Ezra, her mind has been split by an exposure to pain, mental trauma and things beyond even those heinous experiences. She no longer feels directly, appearing only as a detached and broken woman, a broken doll who's strings are pulled by the remants of her true self and a terrible revenant of vengeance born from her anguish. She is the closes link you have to the darker secrets of the world, and a devastating weapon against them.

If this sounds interesting to you, draw up a character sheet using the following template.

Name: What other people call you, which typically corresponds with what you call yourself. Remember, these are people living in modern society, feel free to use ethnic names (especially if you're character is culturally attached to something other than mainstream America) but don't give me any "Ringo Darkblade" bullshit, or I'll laugh and point.

Age: how long you've been hanging around da erfs. Remember that old people have brittle hips!

Appearance: in general, what your character looks like, as well as his typical manner of dress. Suits are de rigeur for work however, and tactical gear of course.

Occupation: I'd assume most of you will work for the FBI under the API, however this is a VERY diverse organization and employs many different types from around the world. Mystics, shamans, soothsayers and what have yous. Feel free to do some research on mystic lineages and come up with something unique, or just be your average run of the mill Quantico grad with a hankering for justice, whatever floats your boat, but remember that the FBI doesn't make a habit of hiring useless people, and Jimmy Joe the worlds greatest short order cook probably isn't going to have much to do fighting ghoulies and ghosties.

Biography/History: Who your character is, what drives her and how she got to be who she is. Feel free to be as precise or general as necessary. But give me and everyone else something to work with.

OK, that's it. Hope you guys are interested.

(There has been a surprising lack of RPs set in modern society. Count me in.)

Hrmmm... under construction for now.

Err, that's not really going to work. It's too campy, really misses the point of the RP. Your character can be a good musician sure, and play his isntrument to cheer people up, but it won't have any sort of supernatural effect and he'd have to have a real reason to be doing what he's doing.

This isn't DnD in other words, think more contemporary occupations, like a computer analyst, terrorism investigation specialist, or witch doctor...

heh, I think you get what I mean.

Here is an example Character to give a better feel for what I'm looking for.

Name: Ibi Mongba
Age: 24
Appearance: Tall, slender and dark skinned, he shaves his head bald and tends to wear various brightly colored hats.

Occupation: Subject Matter Expert: South African tribal mysticism. Witch Doctor (Called a Sangoma), in other words, with a Masters degree in tribal studies.

Biography/History: Ibi grew up in South Africa, his father was a shop owner in one of the poorer areas. His grandfather had been Sangoma, and much respected in the community until his untimely demise when Ibi was 6 years old. Ibi's father was brought up in the same traditions, but had rejected open acceptance of his own father's shamanistic ways. Despite that, he'd paid attention when the old man taught him how to channel the ancestors, or how to read the bones. When his arm was pulled, Ibi's father would perform the rituals as his father before him, but only begrudgingly.

Young Ibi was an intellectual powerhouse, his voracious appetite for knowledge seemingly boundless, and tragic due to his location. His father worked tirelessly to save up enough money for his son to attend a proper educational institutes, and with the lucky acceptance of a few scholarships and grants Ibi was able to attend university.

He excelled in the physical sciences, showing great aptitude for physics, both theoretical and applied. He was an engineering major until his third year, in which he experienced a life altering occurence.

Not to go into too much depth, but Ibi ended up conversing with the spirit of his dead Grandfather, and the crotchety old bastard was none too happy with the way things were going. He told young Ibi a great many things, not the least of which was a portent of danger for more than just Ibi and his family. The young man decided to devote his studies to the old ways then, and to seek out the nexus of these ghost-spoken troubles in America.

Now, at the age of 24 Ibi finds himself in the employ of a shadowed organization trying desperately to unearth secrets which were ancient before the inception of it's very nation. Ibi appreciates the strange irony of the organizations dependence on ostensibly outdated concepts, and works hard to prove that the old ways are more relevant than most would assume.

I was only going by the examples you gave. Guess I'll have it under construction for now.

I'm going to work up a PC, while I point and laugh... For just a little while.

cool beans, and you can just erase the old post and post a new one when you're ready, no real need for a space saver y'know?

and here's some more information!

The organization is based out of Seattle, in a nondescript government building. They maintain ties with the local FBI field office of course, but also have direct lines to the FBI headquarters in Virginia, as well as a certain "panic line" to the commander in chief himself.

By the way, my fake president is a democrat named Neels Brownsmith, and he is a 46 year old African American baptist from Houston Texas. Because I said so.

The unit is staffed byt a little over 100 people, most of whom are clerical workers, data technicians, and other such boring things. There is an executive branch consisting of the department head, Jules Heming, and his secretary Michael Glaustein. There's an investigative branch, which your character might very well be a part of, and a "reaction squad" of hardcore bad asses. Of course, all the members are still tactical assets and anyone could find themselves holding a shotgun and staring down something mind bendingly horrifying.

Ezra is technically a member of the reaction squad, though she is seldom seen in the office headquarters. Where she lives, what she does and who she does it with are a general mystery to the rank and file, which includes you!

The year is 2012, cars don't fly just yet and everyone is still an asshole. More to come as I get inspired.

Name: Gottfried Emmerich

Age: 32

Appearance: 6'2", wavy brown hair to his shoulders, blue eyes, a white button shirt and black pants.

Occupation: Professional Vampire Hunter.

Biography/History: Gottfried's great-great-grandfather, Lukas, was a member of a team of investigators who first discovered the secret society of vampires in the late 1800's. His great-grandfather, Johannes, became the secret hero of World War I when he killed Dracula and stopped the vampire outbreak. His grandfather, Nikolas, stopped World War II when he staked Hitler (who was also a vampire) and put his body in an iron coffin to sink to the bottom of the ocean. His father, Eddy, was also a great vampire hunter; so great, in fact, that World Wars III and IV never happened. Eddy was the one to inform his son of the world's secret history, and when Eddy died of "drug overdose and mercury poisoning" (clearly vampire plot) when Gottfried was only 15, it was Gottfried's duty to carry on his family's legacy and become a great vampire hunter. He was recently released from an insane asylum as per FBI request, not because he knew what he was talking about, but because he had just the right kind of mindset for dealing with the supernatural.

Bosolai: no, ha ha.

man, I must be really inarticulate or something.

I keep trying to get this point across, but it feels like nobody is listening.

Vampire hunter... maybe but fucking vampire Hitler? Come on buddy, work with me a little more here.

To be pefectly concise: I may be a bit off the wall in the way I describe thing, which may sound funny (because I mean to be funny) but the mood of this RP is definitely mroe gritty realism with a hint of spooky than it is fucking Vampire Hitler.

ha ha, I'm not mad or anything, I just like using the F word for some reason.

So lets think serious here for a minute folks, and give it another go!

No, that "secret history" crap isn't real. His father was on drugs most of the time and had a top hat laced with a bit too much mercury, and he told it to a young Gottfried who believed it all (and probably has a wee bit of mercury poisoning, too). Gottfried has a mindset where spooky stuff makes him ready to hunt the stuff down, not get all scaredsies. And Gottfried's little bit of crazy makes him for an unreliable narrative point of view.

still, there's no way they'd hire an insane delusional. It's too gimmicky. This isn't "highly unlikely anime-esque rag tag band of misfits that somehow save the world" it's a group of talented professionals being tasked with confronting things no one else wants to.

in real life, crazy people don't get cool jobs, mainly they just search for clothing in dumpsters. Unless they get a gig on the Mickey Mouse club and a boob job...