Chronicler and Stonetooth Present: Mayhem in Spittoonstone
CHRONICLER AND STONETOOTH BOTH PROUDLY PRESENT:
MAYHEM IN SPITTOONSTONE WELCOME TO SPITTOONSTONE!!! Spittoonstone is a town built not too far away from the now freed Mongo River. The town was once a mere Ranch owned by a small family of Meep Wranglers. Once these pioneers got their greedy hands on full gold, they've managed to build their small ranch into what Spittoonstone is today. A hopeful Community of (hopefully) hopeful folks. However, as a general rule of life on Oddworld, peace comes with an extra package of bitter badness. Quite recently there has been a growing number of Outlaws, Bandits, and Hustlers that are now causing total Mayhem in the town, plunging the hope of the innocent townsfolk into a darkened fear ...... Spittoonstone is basically your stereotypical Old Western Town in ol' dusty deserts and forests. Its inhabitants are mainly farmers, ranchers, hicks, and your occaisonal gunman. The main areas of interest (so far) is The Salloon and the Sherrif's Office. There will be those who choose to live peacefully within the town---and those who wish to bring mayhem to it---Which side shall recieve Spittoonstone's Pride? Rules: 1. All basic RPG Rules apply to this RPG as well http://www.oddworldforums.net/showthread.php?t=15073 Read em' well if you're new to the RPing gig 2. You may have up to three characters. No more. 3. you may only post three times per day. 4. This isn't a rule as much as it's a bonus. Your character(s) will be able to live in their own house or lodge. the design of their home is obviously as they choose. --------------------------------------------------- Okay then. I have three important roles that should be assigned to a character for this RPG. These roles might not be needed, but are still big nonetheless. Any person may choose ONE single role to assign to their character. To make it simple: THREE seperate Users must slect one of the THREE roles. One individual person cannot make three characters for all roles. It's just something to make things more .... spread out I guess .... Deputy Sherrif - taken by Mucnh's Master Bartender - taken by Zozo the Zilufret Gang Leader - taken by Stonetooth ALL ROLES ARE NOW TAKEN ..... THAT IS ALL .... the Deputy Sherrif is the Sherrif's right hand man (My character's the sherrif). He/She basically has nearly as much powers given to the top Sherrif himself as an Authority. The main Authority "Homebase" is the Sherrif's Office. A relatively small building with a large jail cell. The building has an old antenna tv, an old Fone, and a coffee table with chairs. The Bartneder has the big job. Whoever is bartender gets to name the Salloon and obviously run the place. The bartender may also choose opening/closing hours and may hire other characters to work in the Salloon. The Gang Leader has the role of leading any other 'evil' characters in whatever illegal actions they take. Whoever is the first one to post that they wish to be a role, that role is officially taken down from here. --------------------------------------------------- Here are my characters. Name: Whyte Urp Species: Glukkon Age: 39 (Earth Years) Gender: Male Appearance: Glukkon with sleek yellow eyes. Whyte is different from most other gluks. Whyte actually payed for surgery to give him a pair of robotic legs. therefore, he actually uses his arms now while his robotic legs do the walkin'. He wears black poncho and a black hat. He doesn't wear shoes on his robotic feeat becuz .... his 'toes' are too pointy and serated .... Occupation (If any): Sherrif of spittoonstone Personality: Generally calm and steady. He has a natural love for the law and protects it with his own pride. He's not up for fights, but he'd join in a brawl to protect others. He sucks at ANY card game (from Poker to Goldfish) but reluctantly plays anyways. Whyte goes through occaisonal depressions from the death of his fiance .... Equipment: Aside from his black poncho and hat. Whyte's robot legs can be considered equipment as it allows him a faster speed than most Gluks. Whyte also keeps a small pistol under his poncho History: Whyte was once a bussiness gluk. he had power, some fame, and some fortune. But one day, it all turned around when a gang of loose cannon fiends killed his fiance and brutally gutted his belly. After that experience, Whyte generally lost control of his mind and has decided to pay a doctor most of his money .... for Robotic Legs--normally considered a disgrace to most Gluks--Whyte planned on using his robot limbs to chase down his attackers and get revenge .... which he did. Since then, he moved to Spittoonstone, a normally calm town to lead a closer to nature life. Name: Kelpy Species: Paramite Age: 5 (Earth Years) Gender: female Appearance: Like any common Paramite Personality: Kelpy has a major love in her heart. One she shares with her master, Whyte Urp. Occupation: Sherrif Whyte Urp's Pet Equipment: ...... Paramite things History: A Paramite that was abandoned from her pack in adolescence. She used to notoriously steal and eat many Meeps and steal foods from Spittoonstone's denizens. Whyte Urp managed to hunt her down, but then bonded with her. They are now the best of friends. THE RPG STARTS AS SOON AS WE GET ATLEAST THREE PARTICIPANTS. |
I of course will be the gang leader sense i helped! haha. :D
name: Cannabal Mort species: outlaw boss age: 20 gender: male appearance: he is exactly six feet tall, and his skin is a dark-brown color personality: he's a crazy man. he doesn't like to be messed with, and snaps just like that equipment: he uses many diffrent types of knifes and guns, wears big black boots, looks like Looten Duke's body type, and has a face mask over his mouth, with small holes in it. history: Cannabal Mort is known for what he has done: he ate one of his outlaws, suppousedly boiled him and spiced him up. No one was there to see, but Mort always clams that it had happen, and he will do the same to whoever opposes him. and his second in command... name: Kert species: outlaw sleg herder age: 16 gender: male appearance: he has many scars from where his slegs have bit him, has a light brown skin color personality: he is a tough guy, never crying ( in public), and never complains equipment: he has a backpack for all of his equipment, metal leeshes, two pistols, and a dark purple jacket history: not much is known, except that he is currently in a gang and is one of the bosses sergeants, sence he is one of the rare outlaws who has the mastery of controling slegs |
OOC: Can I roleplay a drunk bartender? :DCan I? Can I? Huh? Huh?
Name: Wolvie Age: Twenty-something methinks. Species: Wolvark. Gender: Mans. Appearence: Your average male wolvark in casual boots, an old cap with the rim facing forward and dungarees. Some little pinprick scars run up his arms, usually hidden by sleeves. Personality: Nice with a squeaky voice, but is a major wuss. Can't really get into any gunfights, and will turn desperate when it comes to his addictions, even surpassing some of his moral standards to steal for drug or beer money. Occupation: Bartender. Is a bit notorious for getting drunk on the job. Has a gun hidden behind and under the bar, but is unfamiliar with it since gunshot sounds and general violence scare him, sooo...Gets bad at his job and makes for useless security:p. Equipment: A gun behind the bar, the clothes on his back and the needles and pills in his pockets. History: (No idea how wolvark's actually breed but I'll assume its normal like clakkers) WARNING: EMO PAST IS EMO. MARY SUUEEZZZ His dad's involvement with a notorius small gang of wolvark's who saw themselves as pretty hard worried his young mother sick. When the young wolvark Wendy got pregnant, push came to shove and the father-to-be left them. Feeling scorned, the leader had him killed off. Fours years later, they slain his mother too out of some kind of sadistic dominance, but Wolvie managed to get away when she pushed him through a window. He met a teenage male wolvark in an old shack in the woods, and the boy raised him. He grew up watching a black and white tv on an old sofa, seeing him as a big brother figure. After he was shot by wolvarks, Wolvie found himself alone with a house too vandalized to live in. /Present daaayyyy The guilt and grief from losing people in life took its toll, and he turned to drink and drugs to escape it. It started off mildy, such as knocking back soulstorm brew and chill pills to numb it out, but then he began moving on to some strong stuff certain outlaws gave out which was less then legal by clakker standards. Debt ran up, he had to sell some of his old possesions but clung to the particularly sentimental ones. When he had no home or moolah to pay the big boys back, he took what he had in a bag on a stick and bolted for it. He came to find Spittoonstone, and took the bartender job out of its simplicity and desperation. Nowadays he sleeps behind the bar like the homeless bum he is, not letting on to his employer (?) or customers that he pretty much lives there and feeds off opples and 'free' beer. TL;DR: Homeless druggie and alcoholic bartender wimpy wolvark that lives behind the bar. |
OOC: Right, I would have made a character to take up the Deputy Sheriff job, but... no, just can't do it. So instead is alright if I make a farmer/ beekeeper?
Name: Maltar Lartz Species: Clakker Age: 23 Gender: Male Appearance: Lartz has the same basic build of any clakker, the only unique feature on him is that he often wheres most of his bee suit, minus the gloves and hat. Occupation: Farmer/ Beekeeper (grow opples, supplies wax and honey to the town). Personality: Generally unconcerned about others, or the state off the town, just as long as he can sell his crops and/ or honey. He is rather laid back and not caring about any event, so long as it's not dealing with him or his property. Lartz likes his job, seeing as he doesn't do much, just go out and tend to the apiaries or trees, which is the way he prefers to live his life. And while he does have brief moments of insight, for the most part is full of himself, easily scared, and unintelligent. Equipment: Yeah, he doesn't really have anything on him, but he does have a musket in his house. History: "They always wanted my stuff, I could see it their beady little eyes, always hungry for whatever they might be able to take from me, but now... But now they have to pay me for what I have, now I can make money off of their greed. Taking up my uncles honey ranch, after that cyborg squid become sheriff (I mean he's a squid). Every thing's fine now, though I wish my uncle hadn't built this house so close to one of the main roads." - Maltar Lartz journal after moving to the road side apiary & farm (located a little way from the main part of town [no one wants bees flying around next to their house]). |
(The RPG Begins! Gang Leader and Bartender roles are now taken! All we need next is a Deputy Sherrif)
Skimming over a sea of dry sand were twirls of dust and dirt, dancing like gypsies caught in a mystical trance. Guided by the helpful winds and a force of freedom, a rogue tumbleweed made its way into a nearby town. The town of Spittoonstone. The tumbleweed stopped dead in the center of town .... waiting for something in the silence of the morning ...... The lone plant was then pushed by the winds to exit this town. Continueing its long journey. The sun was just barely rising. The desert seemed dark brown with the sprinkles of darker green tangly plants and the sky was like a giant black canvas with paintings of pink fluffy blotches as clouds. Dividing these two forceful elements was the golden horizon, inevitably birthed from the rising sun. As we gain a closer look into the seemingly empty ghost town, we see a strange dark figure standing outside of the Sherrif's Office ....... Whyte Urp is back in bussiness. The Sherrif Glukkon intently looked up at the sky with magesterialized beauty in his yellow eyes. He looked over behind himself, his little Paramite friend Kelpy, came running by to his side. She licked one of Whyte's hands and snuggled nearby her master's cold steel legs. Whyte gently patted her on the head and looked back at the godly sky. Another day is arriving in Spittoonstone ..... |
OOC: ZOMG New RP? But do you have an RP licence, Chronicler?
Name: Shaskee Species: Chronicler (male) Age: 41 (human equivalent) Appearance: A plumper than average Chronicler. He wears a red patterned waistcoat with an unbuttoned brown and white-frilled cowboy's jacket over the top, and a low brimmed brown fedora on his head. A monocle trails from his waistcoat top pocket and he wears spurred cowboy-type boots. Personality: Shaskee is a very studious Chronicler, like most. He takes a great interest in law, facts and figures and property/real estate, and enjoys supervising things. His great maths brain also makes him a keen gambler, as he is adept at counting cards. Very materialistic. Intelligent but not at all street smart, he fancies himself a philosopher but isn't very good at explaining himself. Secretly likes to pretend he is a great gunslinger and outlaw hero, but only when he's had a few to drink. Equipment: His satchel, which contains amongst other items: papers, maps, vittles, a pack of playing cards, a stopwatch, compass, needles and thread, writing materials, an abacus and protractor. He also has a miniature electroshocker for protection. Occupation: Deputy Sheriff (if possible). Doesn't do much in the way of active policing, more an observer and planner. Name: Sheamus Species: Clakker (male) Age: 28 (human equivalent) Appearance: Your basic Clakker. Wears a lumberjack's top with rolled up sleeves, and dungarees with braces. Personality: Sheamus is a total alcoholic. Opple Cider, good ol' Soulstorm Brew, any kind of inebriant. The tavern is both his favourite place in the world and at times his home, if he is too drunk to stagger back to his run-down bedsit. Could've been a big-time Meetle Farmer in the green country, but never moved away from the town and found a liking for drink instead. Very friendly and social, but not very bright and not the Clakker to go to for serious contemplative advice. When drunk, he likes to sing. A lot. Very loudly. And very badly. Equipment: Doesn't carry much on him, but he has a banjo that he's trying to learn to play, and a harmonica that, as he has a beak rather than lips, is useless to him. Back at his bedsit he has a couple of basic DIY tools to serve for his oddjobsmanship. Occupation: Loiterer, drunkard and general odd-job-man. Has no real job or trade, but always willing to lend a hand for Moolah or drink. |
Out of Coffee: Joining. ^^
Name: Lou “Longshot” Wood Race: Wolvark Gender: Female Age: Late thirties. Occupation: She claims that she's an exterminator, which usually involves her chasing after chippunks with a shovel. Other than that she's outta the job. Appearance: Relatively short and squat female wolvark, with loose overalls, an off-pink shirt and an old straw hat. She has brown eyes and normal skin. She looks decent. Personality: Lou tends to act perky and upbeat, like an overly-friendly neighbor who’s always baking you cookies and leaving them on your doorstep. However, she has been known to snap, going from ‘mother hen’ status to ‘spiteful bitch' who will never let a grudge go, ever. Despite that she's pretty much kind and motherly. She has an affinity towards steef hunting, and even though she claims that they’ve all died, a little piece of her still believes that they’re alive. Equiptment: She doesn’t carry much on her, just her wallet with some loose change and a semi-automatic flintlock pistol that she keeps in the pocket of her overalls. For’ safety.’ History: Lou was a pretty good steef hunter back in the day, dragging in enough cash to look after her eleven nieces that she’d oh-so-inconveniently inherited after her older sister died. After all the steef vanished, Lou was forced to send her family away to different places where they could still be supported. Ever since then she’s been alone. Pet: She has an old hunting sleg named Woozer from back in the good ol' days. He's pretty old and useless now, and smells like a dead animal, but he's obedient. Lou views him as her only remaining family. Other: Lou lives in a little cottage out in the wilderness about a half a mile away from Spittoonstone. She travels to the town frequently just so she can be with other people. She’s been lonely since her nieces left. |
OOC: He does have a licence, I've seen one of his past RPGs. And yay, I remember the aunt with eleven kids from somewheres 8D.
IC Behind the bar It was a nice old bar, he had to admit. Swinging saloon doors and all. He opened his beady little eyes with a groan, noticing how dim sunlight was settling through the dusty window. Another day, another chance to get some money and either feed himself or live off that psychedelic drug. ...IF he could find any outlaws that so happened to have it and not shoot you on sight for coming near them. He forced himself to his stubby little legs, rolling up his old tartan blanket and placed that under the old wooden bar, beside his unused shotgun. Had been his brother's. Two gunshots were enough for him to hear, he'd never be able to use it he reckoned but at least it gave a false feeling of safety. Back to work. He sighed, his old dungarees and shirt not washed in days, and began scrubbing the bar idly with an old tattered cloth, swivelling his beady little eyes to the door every now and then. Perhaps a clean bar would attract customers. Perhaps if he didn't drink all the alcohol, they'd buy it and he could finally get his fix he hadn't had in more than a week. |
Out of coffee:
So I guess we just start then? IC: The sun still rose slowly, just barely casting light over the dusty canyons and stray, imposing cacti. The elongated shadows fell over a little wooden cabin tucked snugly against the rocks. The cabin wasn't anything to look at; years of its one dozen previous occupants running in and out of it had worn through it quickly. But now, it was home to just two people- a wolvark and her sleg. "C'mon Woozer!" Lou called, throwing open the door and trotting down the wooden steps of her cabin. 'Woozer', the aging sleg that was Lou's only living reminent of her steef hunting days, snorted and stood up from where he'd been lying in the dust. His colors were more saturated from age than that of the adverage sleg. The two feathery horns on the back of his head were ripped in places, and drooped down around his face. Woozer barked and padded over to Lou's side, limping slightly on his left leg. Lou threw a hand over her eyebrow, squinting through the morning sun. Farther down the canyon rested the town of Spittoonstone, her current destination. She had no reason to be there other than the fact that she felt the need to socialize. "Lets go Wooz'," she chirped, rubbing Woozer affectionately on the head before trotting down the dirt road, heading towards town. Woozer kept up with her at a surprisingly good pace; despite being old, he was still strong. Lou kept him healthy on a diet of raw eggs, which did wonders for his muscles, but didn't help his breath at all. "First we're gonna give a big ol' hello to the sherrif," Lou recited as though her pet could understand. "Then we can check out the pub and see who's around- I heard they got some new fella runnin' the place, we can give him a big warm welcome, can't we baby?" Woozer wheezed in response. They continued their pace down the winding road, shaded by the canyon walls. They started passing farms and windmills as they jogged, each settlement fenced off from the rest. "After all that," Lou shrugged, "we can do whatever you want to do, Wooz'." It didn't take long for them to reach the town. Lou stretched with a sigh while Woozer flopped down in the dirt, his tounge rolling over his jaws. Out of Coffee: I'll just leave it at that until other people start posting. |
ooc: For the benefit of Munches Master...
I heartily endorse this RPG! (And both it's creators have licences based on experience on other forums. Chronicler has created and led an RPG on OWF before, which is why his name comes first :p). Just a heads up to everyone, Stonetooth did co-create this RPG and so has authority to enforce the RPG Rules in this thread, as well as Chronicler. |
OOC: Ah, good. I was fine about the RPG, just worried that you might get all "No Licence!!"-y and lock the thread in a torrent of abused power. Like with that post I made in the Mork thread. :D
IC: Sheamus tumbled off his sparse bed in his inn. "Mornin' already? Oh Add'damn it." He staggered t6o his feet and pulled on his clothes, before looking at his clock. "Looks ab'at time fah the inn ta be open. Early drinkie." He shuffled out of his bedsit towards the tavern. ~~~~~~~~~~~ Shaskee sat up from his bed over the Sheriff's Office. He pulled on his uniform and gear, and briefly admired his cowboy-esque apparel in the mirror. He pulled on his fedora and picked up his satchel before walking downstairs. He saw Whyte Urp and walked over to him, tapping him on the shoulder. "Morning sir. Nothing to be getting on with yet, I assume?" |
IC
Cannabal Mort slept quietly whilst his second in command, Kert, ordered around all of the other outlaws. "Now you guys listen up! Sence Cannabal is asleep, i'm in charge. Got it? Good. Now, you two will guard the place and the rest of you, do whatever the hell ya want, except mess with the boss while he sleeps! Remember what happened to the last one who did that? Yeah, that's what I thought. Now i'm going to town, gonna get me some beer. hehe." Kert said, as he pulled a hood over himself, and headed off to town, leaving the strictly ordered outlaws alone with the boss. Whenever he got into the town, he pulled his hood tighter over himself, pushing his two pistols deep into his jacket. He dropped his pack near a tree, and left it there.He noticed the bar, he grinned and went in, eager for some alcohol. He entered, and sat down at a table, expecting someone to come over and get his drink. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Cannabal Mort woke up grumpy, and looked around. Seems Kert went out for a drink, he thought to himself. He looked around at who he left in charge. The dumbest outlaws were running around acting like fools, and the smart ones were sitting quietly, guarding the place or playing cards. "Now what the hell is going on here?" he screamed to the idiotic outlaws, who stumbled whenever they noticed he awoke. "Didn't Kert tell you no running around or disturbing me, odd dummit! Your lucky i'm feelin' nice, so I won't eat the lot of ya' for dinner! Now get back to your work, and DON'T ANGER ME!" he roared, as the outlaws scuried away to work. He walked out of the hide out with two of his outlaws, the best workers, and examined there residence. "Not bad, not bad. Y'all need to fix those holes, don't want no one sneakin' in to disturb meh', do yah?" They nodded and went off to working, getting some stolen tools and some scrap wood and getting to work. It was gonna' be a good day, he thought to himself. |
Whyte breathed in a gust of fresh air with pleasure. It was indeed a beautiful morning. The Gluk Sherrif's peace was suddenly broken up by a familiar voice. "Morning sir. Nothing to be getting on with yet, I assume?" It was Shaskee the Chronicler. The deputy sherrif and also the only other real authority of the town. "Mornin' yourself Shaskee. Not much goin' on. Just watchin' this beauty of a sun." Whyte said in his low voice. The Glukkon looked down at his Paramite friend Kelpy. She lightly barked at her master to rub her head again, which Whyte was more than happy to do. "Well Shaskee you old coot. Got any plans today?" Whyte was saying this as his marble yellow eyes were secretly scanning out a shady figure walking into the Salloon .....
|
Name: Umber
Species: Steef Age: 20 Gender:male Apereance: four legged and a light dusty brown.short shaggy hair with no horns and small ears.stringy compared to the usual steef and four legged like most.he wares over alls and a dusty white button up farmer shirt.some times wares a small cow boy hat. Personality: he is intelligent and has no tolerance for violence and has been known to go beastly on those who are, he is calm and qiute , full of wisdom. Equipment: he rarely uses wepons but has been known to use his blunderbuss rifle, he will also punch,stomp,kick, and headbutt any who get close enough. History: he was a cowardly steef meant to guard the grubbs but ran away.he took a hobbie for growing crops and became an opple farmer for the town.h lives in a rickety farm at the outer feilds of spittoonstone.he has been chased by outlaws for his head and large bounty that comes with it.... awsome idea guys great work ! IC Umber woke up with a haggard look on his face.he threw off his covers with a sigh and buttoned on his shirt and grabbed a pitch fork.he clobbered his hooves on the floor boards to the front door. outside he picked a opple and munched on it as he leaned on his pitch fork.he looked out into the sunset "another days of hard work." he said grimly he looked back to the canyons he took when he first got here. hoping no outlaws would come and ruin his life a second time. |
Lou scanned the town spread out in front of her, found who she was looking for, smiled enthusiastically, and jogged over. Her 'friendly neighbor' instincts kicked in.
"Howdy Sherrif Whyte!" the she-wolvark chirped. "Pardon me, can I call ya Whyte? Or do ya prefer Urp?" Woozer slobbered as he circled his master's legs protectively. |
Odd prodigy, the problem with your character is that you haven't said his legs are hidden. If they're not, everyone is gonna assume he's a steef and start shooting him for moneys, they see steef as animals and their heads are pretty much like gold in this setting. Slap on a pair of pants or at least avoid all outlaws and Lou:p.
Miiigght add another character later, for now I post at teh school where Warcraft doesn't distract me. IC Da bar Scrub, scrub, scrub went the tattered old cloth. He raised his tired beady eyes and widened them like marbles. "Oh - oh - oh - EEEE! OUTLAAAWS!" He girl-screamed, whimpering and diving under the old wooden bar/desk. He slowly raised his head, shaking like a leaf. Well, he wasn't moving...Didn't look like he had any guns, so - "Well howdyyyy!" He laughed nervously, his voice sounding like it hadn't broken yet. "Can I go get you anything? Opple cider? We're out 'a SoulStorm brew an' water soooo..." He smiled and blinked at him innocently. Yes, rather than whip out his gun and tell the clearly outlaw-shaped man to stuff it, he'd suck up and not risk a painful bullet to his purply skin. |
IC
"Get me some Opple Sider.." Kert said, looking around. "And you best not spread the word to the sheriff that i'm here, you understand? Or we may have a, situation, on our hands. got that?" he finished. As he waited for the man's reply, he slammed a couple moolah bucks onto the table. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Mort clapped his hand on one of his outlaws back, almost smacking him down onto the ground. "Goodjob, now that we got the place repaired, we should have no problem. Now git!" he said, and the outlaw ran off into the old building. He wandered around a table with two of his "elite" outlaws, where on the map they had a scribbled drawing of the area, the town, and any other buildings that were near it. They had X's on buildings that they had already destroyed, and O's on buildings that were not destroyed yet. "Now, boys, ya'll now why I called the two of ya here, right?" "Yes boss." They said in unison. "Good then. So, whenever the time comes for the Raid, Your divisions will be ready then, i'm assuming?" They nodded again. "Alright then, get out of my office! Tell the guys to get a-trainin' for the next few days, but keep it quiet now." He commanded, and they nodded, running out. He looked out of his broken glass window as he saw the two elites ordering around the others. |
In the baaaar, the might baaar...
"Y - yes sir..." The wuss squeaked to Kert, nodding and swallowing hard. "W - welcome to the The Bittersweet Opple..." Ignoring the fact he was meant to serve at the bar, he obediently put a glass under the machine's nozzle for Opple cider, the fizzy liquid making a loud hissing sound as it shot into the glass, filling it up to the brim. He quickly darted over, some of the fruity alcohol running down the old glass' side, and plonked it on the circular table. He quickly scooped up the money, stuffing it in his pocket and darting his beady eyes. He took a deep breath, slowly tugging a small snuzi syringe from his pocket. Inside was an oddly psychedellicly-coloured fluid, carrying an oddly chemical smell. The thing was about quarter full. He cleared his throat, holding it within view. "Umm...If you have any Chill pills, or...Stronger stuff, like..." He was sweating like Lee Evans in a sauna now, trembling before the outlaw. They weren't the nicest of folk, obviously. Best to not get in their way and suck up a little rather than go firing bullets, he reckoned. It wasn't his job to deal with them, anyhow... OOC: I'll add this character in later:p. Dunno if 'The Bittersweet Opple' is a bad name or not, sooo...Any better suggestions and I'll edit the name. Name: Wilma Wendy Wally Wolvington. Usually called 'Weirdy' for being herself. Species: Wolvark. Just a normal green colour. Age: Twenty-somethings. Looks a bit older. Gender: Female. Dundundunnnnn. Appearence: Posseses an average wolvark figure, with no particularly feminine traits. Wears ragged, old, brown skirted-dungarees with tan-coloured pants and aged black boots that have lost their shine and gained tears and stains. She wears an old string necklace of bottlecaps, browned old teeth and a dull clakker feather. She continually adds old tidbits to this. Her eyes are a little larger, but particuarly white with small pupils like she's staring at you widely. From the dirt staining her clothes and warm sweatyness of her skin, it doesnt look like she's washed in a while. Carries an old brown blanket around with her, usually folded up and tucked into a large side pocket. Her old frilly white socks are stained brownish and greyed by the dirt now, her big toe poking through. Occupation: None. Resident homeless bum and local weirdo. Personality: Is usually quiet and content-looking, almost always with some sort of smile on her face, be it a calm one, wide-eyed eyed and ecstatic or gritting her teeth with narrowed eyes. She tends to engage in a lot of odd behaviours, be it eating leaves off a tree for substenance, running with an odd galloping motion like a steef or opening plastic packets with her teeth. She will do most things she wants, regardless of how many funny looks clakkers give her. She has a bit of a spoilt side, and may glare darkly if she doesn't agree with something. Equipment: Blanket: check, necklace: check, rusty bottle opener: check. History: Wilma takes after her father's name Wallace, and has a second middle name since her mother couldn't decide which aunt to name her after. She lived in a rundown little shack with both parents, whose arguing and attempts at therapy drove her mad but was otherwise a little educated and happy. She couldn't help acting on impulse with her strange behaviours, and didn't see the point in being normal just to please others she wasn't fussed about. In her young adult years, she had an argument brought up about her unchanging behaviours and not moving out, so she shot her dad. Unable to stand the look on her mother's face and the screaming, she opened fire until she got her in the head. She quickly gathered what she could, ditching the gun and leaving the rest of the Wolvington family to pick up the pieces and not know what happened. Present day She ran away to Spittoonstone, where she's lived for a year and sold most of her things for food, just one set of clothes remaining. So far, no one's came after her with a murder charge, she gets her water and food from opples and leaves, and is usually seen sleeping on the dusty roadside with a blanket or running around making steef noises. |
IC
Kert sipped from his Opple cider and after he placed it back down, he began to talk. "You know what, as long as you don't tell the sheriff about our lil' encounter here, you'll get all these." he dropped a handfull of chill pills on the table, and headed towards the door after finishing his opple cider. "What an addict..." he muttered as he walked out. He stopped for awhile while he was in town, and went to the Gun and ammo store to get some more ammo, and was about to leave but noticed from afar that the sheriff was staring at him from his building. He gave a quick glance towards it, and got to his job. He sat under a small shady tree where he had dropped his pack earlier whenever he came there in the morning, and began to smoke a cigar. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Mort looked at all of his assembled outlaws, some short, some tall, some weak, some strong. "Now listen up, lads, i'll be takin' four of you lucky bastards (along with Kert) to one of the local citizens homes, so we can get us some loot. Now..." he pointed at two, a pair of shooters. "You two... and You two aswell." He pointed at a nailer and a cutter. "Now, we'll be headin' off at night. Kert'll meet up with us from the town, and then we'll go to the house." He showed them a map, and pointed to a house, about a dozen miles from the town of Spittoonstone. OOC Here is where I add in another character. Name: Billy-Ray species: Clakker age: 18 gender: male appearance: short and plump, he's a bit bald on the top of his head personality: nice and welcoming, he befriends most who come and visit him equipment: he has a shotgun, wears overalls, and wears a black cap on his head history: Not always living near Spittoonstone, he came there after the town that he used to live in was burnt down, and he found a old semi-destroyed shack, and made it his residence. back IC Billy-Ray rocked back in his chair on the porch, eating corn, looking out at where the land and sky met. "Someday, someday....I'll find it.." he muttered, and went back inside after throwing what was left of the corn behind him... |
OOC:I think I shall join this with my recycled character from Chronicler's other RPG. That is if you can still join.
Name: Garit Species:Slig Gender: Male Age: 12 if measured by Human Years. Posistion: Sort of a stowaway. Personality: Quiet by slig standards and very fast with his pickaxe. He doesn't like to be seen and since he's younger than most working sligs he is much faster than most other sligs as well as being more naive and stupid. While he is young, he doesn't hesitate in killing when the situation asks for it. He's reluctant when it comes to shooting other sligs. He takes no pity on challengers however, especially when there are wagers. Appearance: Garit mostly wears a very large round hat that he tends to bend over his face. His only other cloth is a dusty vest. He has no noticeable differences other than his much brighter visor. Equipment: A large pistol that he keeps in a leather-like holster. A smaller than average pickaxe, and also a little shovel. History: Born from the clutches of Skillya like any other slig. Hatched while Skillya was in an incredibly bad mood he was almost killed by his own mother. He had enough sense to escape and so he started life. Travelling and trying to survive he ended up in the Western section of the Mudos. Moving from Hoss' mining facility (See Oddworld: Mining expirence for an idea about what happened) to Spittoonstone where he could live a less criminal life than he had had at Hoss' mine. IC: Garit opened an eye. How long had he been asleep? Lifting up his hat to see the sun he realized that it was well into the morning. Garit slowly got to his feet, stretched his arms and walked out of his current home: A couple of rocks clustered together. Again, as he did every morning, he pondered if this was worth it. Was it really worthwhile to hide in all kinds of places from an invisible foe? Was it not much smarter to buy a proper house with whatever he had left rather than sleep on hard dirt? As he mused, he looked down from the small hill he stood upon. It didn't look like very many were out and about yet. Deciding he had better get some kind of food before too many people were out, he walked down into town. Looking at the signs he saw "The Bittersweet Opple". 'Maybe there's something edible in there.' He thought as he made towards it. |
OOC nah i know about that thats why he is so isolated from everyone and on the outskirts of town and always running away.i thought it mix things up a bit but if its a problem ill happily change it ...just PM me about it or post it here. sorry and thanx for the heads up.
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Shaskee turned to the newcomer.
"Hello there Lou. What brings you here?" He looked back to Whyte. "Oh, the usual. Balance the books, check the list of still lose criminals, go over the crime reports, and then this evening head down to The Opple for a few rounds of cards. You? ~~~~~~~~~~~~ Sheamus ambled down the street. He saw some unknown figure walk out of the Opple and he entered the tavern himself. He walked ot the bar and sat down at a stool, helping himself to some nuts from the peanut bowl. "Ma usual Wolvie. Need any work a-doin' round here nows?" |
OOC: 'Cannabal' is spelt Cannibal, unless its typical outlaw typo-names you're aiming for:p.
Bar-bar-barry-bar He quickly scooped up the pills eagerly, dropping some and having to pick them up as she stuffed his pockets. He didn't listen much to what he said, something about keeping quiet. He'd do that just fine and dandy, after all, he had his precious pills. He hid the syringe away in his pocket, popped two pills then turned to see that alcoholic clakker (Sheamus). He sighed quietly, walking back behind the bar and towards the machine. At times that guy lived there as much as he did. He could recall drunkenly singing with him...Only Wolvie was high at the time as well and had danced on a table. He winced over at that poor, circular table sitting in a corner. That had been a nasty hangover and a knock to the head to wake up to. He shrugged his shoulders, and got what the clakker asked. A loud hissing from the nozzle on the large keg, and he was back with a near-full glass of Opple cider. The whole room was made of dark old wood, some aged and flaking paintings of important-looking clakkers on the wall, even one depicting a steef hunt. The glass windows and beer glasses were all dulled and faded, having lost their shine from years of use and washing. He was new to owning the place, could of been decades old for all he reckoned. "'ere you go, Sheamus..." He rubbed a beady eye tiredly, sliding the glass across to him. It was either the pills or sleeping on the hardwood floor getting to him. Money was getting tight. No more Sekto Springs bottled water, SoulStorm brew was all but gone...Just left the cider and other less famous alcoholic beverages really. Hopefully the place wouldn't go bankrupt or something. Nevermind the fact it had clearly been around a while like some kind of much-loved antique, he needed the money and was still so poor he lived there. "Suppose I could use security should any more outlaws show up, a couple of those cute lil' waitresses you see in them dresses..." He chuckled as he scrubbed at a dusty wall, trying to make the place look nicer. "Think you'd need ta be sober on the job though." He said with irony. |
ooc Yes, that's exactly what I was aiming for zozo. He's the badest outlaw and he spells his name wrong 'couse he's the BOSS fool. haha.
anyways... IC Kert blew a circle of smoke from his mouth and chuckled, watching as the people headed into The Bittersweet Opple. As he continued to wait for his signal, he heard a growl coming from his pack. He took out two medium sized cages that had slegs in them. One was a light red sleg, and the other was a old dark purple sleg, probably a few years older than the other. He threw in some small snacks to the creatures and put them back in his pack. As he saw a small chippunk run by a yell a couple of "unwanted" words at him, he threw a rock at it and picked it up. "Darn thing..." he muttered. "Here slegies! I got's ya' some dinner!" he pulled out the cages and taunted them with the unconscious thing, and stuffed it into one of the cages, and then put the two slegs back into his pack, not wanting to see the killing of the "innocent" creature. He heard a muffled scream from his pack and silence. After the brief encounter with the chippunk, Kert wandered if The Bittersweet Opple had any rooms or somethin' for him to wait at till dark. Even though he would prefer to wait here for night, he figured that it woudln't be a good idea to enter and started heading towards the exit of Spittoonstone with his pack, and then throwing his wasted cigar on the ground. (sorry chronicler, lol) |
OOC: Stonetooth, it's still very early in the mornin' for the RPG. The sun is just hardly rising at the moment. What do you mean it's getting dark? Can you err, edit your post? To make it not late in the day? I don't think killing one Chippunk takes a whole day's work.
IC: Whyte looked over at a recognizable face coming by. "You can call me Sherrif. Just Sherrif. But you can call me Whyte or just Urp if'n you'd like that." The Glukkon Sherrif tipped his pitch black hat to the lady Wolvark. "It's a mighty fine mornin' aint it Miss Lou?" Whyte looked at the sun. It had more magesterial power over Spittoonstone than any authority or outlaw. "Well. Anyways. I just plan on spendin' more of my time over in the Bittersweet Opple. Few drinks, patrol town, the usual." Whyte's Paramite pet Kelpy repetetively panted as she stared over at the wheezing Sleg, Woozer. She crawled over by Woozer and curiously snifffed him. Probably to just see what the Sleg had eaten ...... Whyte's eyes stopped scanning the shady figure, who seemed to have disappeared from the town anyway. |
Out of Coffee: I feel like I should be talking out of character but I have nothing to say. ;__;
IC: Lou grinned over at Shaskee, bobbing up and down on her toes. "Well howdy there Shaskee! Didn't see you just standin' there." She clapped her hands together. "I really got nothin' to do around here, figured i'd just stop in and see what everybodys' been up to." Lou tilted her head in the Sherrif's direction, then looked up at the sky almost on impulse. "Hey, you're right! Sun's out again." She purred. "Aw hell, that means another scorchin' hot day in ol' Spittoonstone. Thank Odd for the pub, aleast its nice an' cool in there." Lou looked over at the pub in question. "Say, they got some new fella runnin' the joint, don't they?" Woozer stared at the paramite that had dared to get closer. Suddenly he let out a loud bark, stumbled back a few paces, tripped, and found himself flat on his back, kicking his legs uselessly in the air. Lou glared down at her animal. "Woozer! Play nicely, ya stupid animal!" |
OOC:... I second Mooshy.
IC: Garit was near the Bittersweet Opple now. Looking through a window he realized it was a bar or something. It seemed uncrowded for the time. The only two he could see was a wolvark and a clakker. After all it was still early in the day. Tilting his hat down to cover his face, he then walked into the bar. His assumpiations proved correct, as he sat down wondering what to get. There was only a wolvark behind the bar and a clakker over by a table. 'What do they even serve in this town?' Deciding it might be a good idea to ask, he opened his mouth to speak. "What's on the menu?" He asked from his table off in the corner. |
Whyte refrained from laughing. It's just a sure as hell funny sight to see little Woozer tip over like a dead tree. ".....Bad Kelpy.....Bad Paramite...." Kelpy scuddled towards the tipped over sleg. She sniffed at him again. Her empty belly rumbled like a Sea Rex biting its own tail. The fine smell of eggs was caught within the scents of Woozer. Kelpy then licked Woozer on his forehead while he was still down, perhaps out of friendship, perhaps out of taste. Who knows in the mind of Kelpy. She trotted over to her master and begged for a meal.
"Aaah. Kelpy. I fed ya last night. That should hold up in yer belly til' afternoon." Whyte said in a gruff growl. "Since Rupture Farms was destroyed by those terrorists, I just plan on hunting fer food now." Whyte explained. "Well then. Shall we go to the Bittersweet Opple? give the new guy a friendly welcomin'?" |
Umber was done for now watering the crops, and making shure no bola mite were eating the crops.he slipped inside his lodge and put away his pitch fork. he looked down towards the center of town where the bitter opple was.he remember of a new guy and the sheriff " better say hi, or sumtin." he said with a depressed sigh "hope no bullets go fying when i come in." he said to himself.
he grabbed his hat and walked down the dusty road towards the bitter opple.once he reached the town he crossed by the sheriff.he looked away not wanting to attract attention to himself.he pushed the shuter doors open and clombered through with his hooves and leaned on the bar, "could i gets a cup of honey mead ?" he asked "i'll a be takin a seat over there." he said pointing to a booth in front of a window.he sat down and the wooden table's scratches were noticable in the dusty air with he morningsun shining through hoping he be getting his drink soon... |
OOC five days till christmas. Yay! Getting the oddworld inhabitants first 10 years book. :D
IC Kert decided to go back to the hideout, figuring it would be best to stay with Mort until they raided the house. So after about twenty or thirty minutes of walking, he finally arrived. He pushed through the door, and headed to Mort's office. Whenever he entered, he saw the assembled group: Mort, two shooters, a nailer, and a cutter. "This who we taken to the house?" he grumbled. "Yeah, you see any problem with it, Kert? I don't." said Mort in a threatening voice. "No, i'm just askin', boss." he stammered. "Good then. We'll be off at night. As for you four, get to training." Demanded Mort. They gave a quick nod and left the office. "Now, you and me have some plans to discuss...." -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Billy-Ray, tired of sitting alone at his home, decided to check into the local town. Spittoonstone, he beleived it was called? Ah, whatever. Aslong as they are friendly and have a good bar, all will be well. So after triple locking his door, he went off to Spittoonstone, and, upon arrival, looked around. He saw the sheriff's office, and some place called "The Bittersweet Opple" he figured that would be the bar, knowing that bar's usually have strange names. So he entered and let out a loud "Howdy ever'one!" and plopped down in a seat. |