Fallout: Dawn of "New Mobius" [4 RPers MAX]

Storyline

Planet Mobius. Once a place of peace and prosperity, where all living things could simply forget all of their troubles and kick back and relax, the nice sunset providing a perfect view always, the orange skies at dusk and dawn, the occasional tinted cloud in the sky, the gentle howl of the wind coming cool off the surface of the sparkling water, all whilst laying back on an amazingly carved bridge strung together by thick ropes, or the soft grass which provided energy to those at the bottom of the food chain. And all of this was just in one "zone". On Mobius, everything was in place and perfect all of the time. Some considered it to be a dream; a paradise that was never really meant to be discovered by anyone, heaven, life after death if you like.

Unfortunately, the peace never lasted forever. The time came when an evil mastermind scientist, beholding a jaw-dropping IQ of 300, and the knowledge of how to make a robotic army using tiny animals to make them work, struck Mobius, attempting to take over the entire world.

No-one saw it coming. He succeeded.

Eventually the time came when the Mobians started to rebel. However, this was a long lost chance as the scientist was always sitting inside of a large watchtower scattered with monitors to view every zone in perfect high definition, causing all Mobians to be spotted by the madman, arrested, and then put through the painful conversion between Mobian and free willed... to cold hearted robot... it was useless since all of the zones were being monitored. At least, most zones were being monitored. The Great Forest was the only place on the whole map that hadn't yet been discovered by any of the dictator's minions. In turn, this was where most of the forced to refuge Mobians hid. Among those Mobians was one of the bravest Mobians that ever lived; Sonic the Hedgehog. Faster than lightning, and strong in many ways others wouldn't understand. He spent his kid years doing pranks, and imagining himself stopping the scientist. Years later, turns out that's exactly what he was doing. The mad scientist labelled himself as Doctor Robotnik, the "greatest scientific genius in the world", yet Sonic and the rest all came up with the name. "Eggman" due to how bloated he seemed, or "Robuttnik" simply to anger the tyrant.

After many months of planning, many years of raiding cargo holds for supplies, and plenty of growing up and getting serious... the Mobians were ready for their secondary assault on Robotnik.

The secondary assault was bloody, nerve shattering, all of those horrific terms that people take from dictionaries couldn't describe what happened. The Mobians won the fight after six consecutive days of cross fire, death, explosions, blood spill, pain, tears, and pretty much hell. Robotnik was forced out of his fortress by Sonic, but little was known about the captain's quarters at the time. Robotnik made for an escape pod, and closed the door. Sonic sprinted after him but was too late. A second late. Not even that. He pounded on the glass and the evil scientist took a moment to glare at the hedgehog. "If I can't have Mobius... then no-one can. I hate you hedgehog." He ejected the pod, and pressed a button within. What happened next was... dark. Every single last factory that his robots had constructed, every last hide-out, and his base began to shake. Sonic and friends fled the area faster than the speed of sound and took cover preparing for the worst... before quickly taking shelter underground, being the best option. Mobius was a resourceful planet at the time, so they quickly took as much as they could down there, and blocked the cave-like area off with a solid steel door which came from the old base in Mobotropolis. The factories exploded into bits, sending bits of scraps everywhere, and nuclear fallout scattered the lands.

The Mobians managed to survive underground for many years, a full generation passing, before they had to leave their little hide away spot... they should've stayed inside to be honest. The whole of Mobius was no longer paradise nor heaven. It had undergone a dramatic change from heaven to hell.

The Mobians headed to the ruins of Mobotropolis, and inhabited there since there was plenty of resources in the area, and it provided great shelter from the burning heat of the now intensified sun during the day, and the freezing cold of the night. The sky was never orange, nor blue anymore. It was always a dark gray, since there were just clouds of toxic gases above now. The sky was impossible to see. So much for paradise...

And so begins the tale of "New Mobius"... The Great Forest's population was not the last on the planet, in fact, there were many more locations that were hidden, yet not as important. Many that survived the blasts did so underground, yet there were some that managed to survive outside either due to being extremely lucky, or able to absorb nuclear energy without getting radiation sickness.

There are some that weren't lucky however... and they have in turn, transformed into demonic beings, mutated, looking nothing like a Mobian ever should... beware.


Rules

1) You must post at LEAST a paragraph a post if you join.
2) This RP is turn based, do not post unless it's your turn.
3) God modding is strictly prohibited; doing so will award you a strike, three means you're out.
4) Powers are allowed, but they must be dramatically toned down or you will not be accepted.
5) Do not meta-game any information. This basically means knowing something in character that you really shouldn't be able to know.
6) Fear role play please. Your character can't be a fearless madman that smirks in the face of say, a death claw.
7) Do not magically find a gigantic gun that can destroy everything. Yes, I know this is based on Fallout, but be realistic.
8) The Emeralds DO exist, but don't say you have them.
9) Food is never pure unless it's from Mobotropolis. Keep your radiation sickness level in mind.


Applications

Name:
Age:
Species:
Powers:
Weaknesses:
Resources:
Weapons:
Clothing:

Example

Name: Nathan "Darkness" Archemedis.
Age: 15.
Species: Mobian (Wolf).
Powers: Control over negative energy; Used rarely as it induces hallucinations and headaches. Heat resistance; Able to withstand much more heat than most Mobians. Chaos Powers; Really weak unless fully hydrated, drains energy too.
Weaknesses: Can't swim; The water being irradiated and all too doesn't help the fact that he'd drown in any water so long as it's deep.
Resources: Planks of wood, ruined backpack, water bottle, several packets of potato chips, and a couple of cans of beans.
Weapons: Rusty combat knife; Not going to last much longer, but provides protection against what could be out there.
Clothing: A dusty, ripped trench coat with a broken zip that remains permanently opened, filthy trousers with rips at the bottom and knees, spiked bottom boots, and a sheathe for the combat knife.

Name: Daunting Strike
Age: 38
Species: Scorpion
Alignment: Good
Powers: No powers, she just has a venomous tail which causes the body to react slower, and cause fatigue for a few hours. Not lethal, but makes combat very difficult of one is stung.
Weaknesses: Emotionally, Daunting does not like to fail. If she has an objective, she will succeed or die trying, in fear of failure. Of course, that has caused her to suffer severe wounds when she almost said 'hello' to Death in a raider camp. Didn't end well, and she walks with a slight limp. Slight. She hates showing even the slightest bit of weakness. Of course, when you take every single thing head-on, you're bound to get bullets to the face. Or the kneecap. Hence the limping.
Resources: Med-X. About 5 of the chem, and she's addicted to the pain-numbing abilities. A few stimpacks, by that I mean two. Finally, a single Rad-Away. She's currently trying to find some water. Specifically not radioactive.
Weapons: Her main weapon is a sledgehammer, named 'Mercy'. Her second? A kitchen knife. She has no long-range weapons.
Trained in: Melee weapons, Repair, Speech.
Clothing: Leather Armor. Provides decent protection for most of her body, and is the only decent thing she's managed to scavenge from a camp up north. Her weapons are carried on her back, and she's very protective over them. Unfortunately, that's all she has, and she can't really carry much. Except for Med-X. That takes top-priority.
Current objective: Scavenge an Egg-Co factory for a rumored schematic for a flame sword - code name: Blaze.

---

Name: 'Ranger'
Age: Unknown. Apparently he was alive before the war.
Species: Currently a dragon wearing blue, glowing armor. It's been said he has been multiple species before in the past, but the armor stays the same.
Alignment: Very good
Powers: Due to being a dragon, he can breathe flames from his mouth. The armor seems to influence it, making the flames an ethereal blue.
Weaknesses: The body seems... frail. Like, so frail he seems to have trouble moving half the time. That's why the dragon stays in the Freedom News broadcast tower.
Resources: Ranger does not travel in the wastes. He is, instead, the 'light in the darkness' and speaks to an audience all over the wasteland from the FNB tower. Not many get to meet him, due to it being a heavily guarded mass of concrete jutting into the nuclear sky.
Weapons: He carries single plasma pistol in a hostel, where his clothes are not covered by the strange, hypnotic armor.
Trained in: Speech, Barter, Energy Weapons.
Clothing: A green and blue dragon, the clothing it wears slightly torn from time and not being attended to. What's most important is the armor - it covers most of the body, and seems to give off an eeiree blue light, as if it's not truely from this realm. The armor seems to draw more attention than the actual appearance of the dragon.
Current Objective: Deliver news across the Wasteland. Like always.

Name: Raphael Hall
Age: 27
Species: Fire Salamander
Powers: Multiplication; Though technically not limited to numbers, he has to mentally sustain his clones at all times. Therefore, if he has more than three copies of himself at once (including his main body), it becomes harder for each to do more complex actions. The more clones he has, the more difficult it is for him to control them all. One of him will always be the real 'original' him, which will retain wounds and injuries incurred upon him - he will not be wounded by damage to the clones, but he WILL still feel the pain. Sometimes if he's over-stimulated in any way, he may lose focus of which bodies are partaking in which actions and get the wires crossed slightly.
Weaknesses: Raph is something of a thrill-seeker - to an extent where it's detrimental to his health. If he sees something he thinks will be 'fun' and 'dangerous' he'll go for it, regardless of risks involved. Similarly, he's quite a showman. He likes to entertain, to do things in an unnecesarily fantastical manner, which can commonly come back to bite him. Most importantly of all, whilst he has used weapons and martial arts in the past, every experience he's had with it has been almost entirely recreational - he has no real experience of actual confrontation. He's more an escape artist than a fighter.
Resources: A large number of bottle caps and lockpicks, small amount of food and drink supplies, a couple of stealth-boys, and a couple of stimpacks.
Weapons: Somewhere in the region of 10 smokebombs.
Clothing: Seems to wear some rather tattered noble-wear. This includes a long gown of sorts, which he uses to hide his smoke-bombs and similar supplies inside.

Both are accepted. Tank may begin since she requested personally to do so.

Applications are now CLOSED

((COPY-PASTE POWERS ACTIVATE))

---

"Hellooooooo wastelanders! Ranger here, your voice in these dark and dreary times! Now Ranger here knows what you're all thinking: 'Why hasn't this all-powerful, all-knowing DJ of the wastes told us exactly what's been going on throughout the past few days? What the hell happened?'. Now he's awfully sorry, heroes, but this DJ's been dealing with... technical difficulties. And by 'technical difficulties', he means there's been an attack on the FNB tower. That's right, children, the Metal Beasts decided to take a bite of ol' Ranger here."

The radio buzzed, the voice of this strange yet charismatic individual echoing throughout the steel walls of Black Knothole's bar: One Last Drink. It was a rather large place, considering Black Knothole itself was very small in comparison to, say Station Square to the West or Dingo City to the South-East. You see, the town of Knothole was hit first by one of the explosions from the many factories which shook the each so long ago, and this massive outlet of energy caused the once-thriving forest town of Knothole to rot and decay into a black, dead ruin. A black, dead ruin which, over time from survivors, turned into a small settlement reinforced with steel plates as a barrier against the terrifying, mindless raiders creeping throughout the South Island. Inside this steel mini-fortress was, well, more steel. Black Knothole was no longer built on the lush of trees, no, but rather on metal and hard work. Various platforms, leading upwards, led to higher ground, though the platforms didn't exactly look... sturdy. Several small shacks were built to house residents, or what little there were. Roughly a population of fifty? Wasn't the greatest number for a town.

"Just to clarify, heroes, if you ain't seen a Metal Beast before, consider yourselves lucky. For all those who live either under a rock or in a ProwerTech Vault, Ranger supposes he'll have to explain to all you lucky, lucky bastards out there..."

On the ground of the town were two most important things - a place to heal and a place to drink. Now our story with this hero begins in 'One Last Drink', a bar known for giving a little too much booze for a little to few caps. People didn't really know why prices were cheaper than the rest of the wasteland, most just assumed the staff were nice. Others, the more suspicious, paranoid types, stayed away from the place, believing it was where the 'staff' pick-pocketed drunk souls too busy getting another to notice their caps and ammo missing. If you ignored those rumours, and the greedy grins some people gave to others wishing to drink, you could find it a pretty nice bar!

"Now these metal malicious monstrosities ain't the type of creature to maim you instantly, no no. These things are cruel, deadly and smart. They say these hellish contraptions were built before the war by ol' Warlord Robotnik, and were used to attempt to slay the famous Blue Blur himself, so of course you gotta know by now these things mean serious business. Originally it started with only a few, but once the wasteland settled to be livable, apparently these beasts used spare parts laying about to multiply themselves by the hundreds. Hundreds, heroes."

Daunting Strike sat at a table, her face pressed firmly into the wood as she listened to the radio buzzing in the air, a groan escaping her lips. Now, Daunting was a large girl. Not in the weight sense, but she was well built. Very well built. Her leather armor clung tightly around her brown body, though from the scrapes and occasional nicker of material, the defensive wear had clearly seen better days and was currently starting to become damaged from the battles she had fought throughout the past few days. Few days. She had to find something better, perhaps combat armor, and fast before she was waltzing around the wastes in her underwear. What a way to attract raiders to the party, hm? Daunt's unnaturally white hair lolled across her face, covering her eyes as she groaned a second time, only to huff once in an attempt to remove that strand of hair. It returned back to its original position: Failure. Now, in such a drunken state, you'd think Daunting here would be suspectable to those four rumours floating about in hushed whispers, yet her venomous scorpion tail hovered in the air, and no-one would dare come near in fear for a deadly sting. The arachnid's pincers reached out and grabbed the empty bottle of whisky, and brought it to her lips, attempting to get a few more drops from a source which was sucked dry of liquid.

"Those bastard red-eyed machines are filled not only with weapons which can turn you to ash with an unlucky hit and claws which slash through armor, but can also move at incredible speeds. Though above all that, you know what's the most dickish thing about them? Metal Beasts can summon a black shield to protect themselves from all sorts of attack. In the Wasteland, if you look into those glowing red eyes of a Metal Beast, consider yourself dead. They'll give no mercy to us poor living souls."

The scorpion's head lifted from the table ever so slightly. She'd heard of these things before, but never seen one in action. She'd looted the bodies of scavengers with horrific injuries only something artificial could make, and always wondered why there was ash scattered across the floor. The woman shuddered, slamming the depressing empty bottle back onto the table. Her bones felt weak, and she could sense the throbbing pain coursing through her kneecap starting to creep up like a buzz bomber. Which was, needless to say, very noisy and very obvious. Looked like her last Buffout was starting to fade from her system. Great.

"So remember, heroes. If you see a blue blur heading towards you at high speeds, it ain't the Hero of Mobius..."

With a low growl, the jet black wolf sat on a stool in the bar that was made 'oh so famous' by this Ranger fellow. With a look of agitation, he looked at the radio which was blasting like crazy, showing no signs of turning off or anything. The thing that mainly angered him was the fact that there was a huge group of people surrounding the radio and listening to every word like it was a gospel. He sighed deeply, before glancing around the bar, finally looking back to his drink. He was going to be careful about this. He paid one cap for a small portion of alcohol... Small? Really? It's a bloody pint! He thought to himself, before taking a few sips.

"Does that Ranger guy REALLY speak out to you all THAT much?" He said at last. "His advice is good, but it don't mean you have to put the fucking thing on full volume and crowd around it like kids surrounding a teacher." He spat, glaring at them, receiving glares back. Oh they were NOT pleased with that.

The wolf rolled his eyes, and continued to drink his beverage, before noticing someone beside him was passed out and slumped onto the counter. "Raghhh..." He said to himself, before catching something in the corner of his eye. "..." A 10mm. Awesome. He looked left and right across the bar, and quickly snagged the pistol. The mobian that was passed out had little to no idea that his 10mm was now in his hands. The wolf simply checked the condition, and found it to be okay, before sliding his drink over to someone randomly beside him. "Go nuts." He got up and took his leave, walking outside into the ruined town. Today was going to be a long day, that was something he knew for certain. All these rumors about Metal Beasts and that bullshit put him on the edge, but he knew he was perfectly safe in this haven. Haven... more like fucking shit hole express. He continued to wander slowly around the town... oblivious to anything going on around him really.

Outside the drunken hovel, weaving in and out, between buildings, people, and the metal struts holding everything together, was a rather unusual man. Against the greys and browns of the city metal, and the dulled browns of the leathered armours displayed against the townspeople, he was like a dashing spot of colour. Yellow patterns danced across his black scales, presenting him as a sort of abstract design skimming it's way around.

His clothing was no less flamboyant. Whilst most people of the city wore practical armours and clothes, he wore a memory of aristocratic age - expensive red gown, worn over noblewear from a long-gone past. Admittedly it wasn't in perfect condition... the cloak was frayed, with a share of burn marks and dirt dulling the colours. Still, the presence of colours at all made him stand out among the crowd.

It made him seem rich. It made him reek of wealth.

It made him seem like a target.

Just like he wanted.

You see, Raphael, whilst appearing quite the charismatic aristocrat, was a lot like the rougher people of this city. He was a lot like the disillusioned strangers. A lot like the toughened adventurers. A lot like the pickpocket who currently had his hand in Raph's pocket, as if he didn't know. It was just perfect.

Because the thing about those rich gowns is they had a LOT of pockets - many of which hidden away. So whilst the li'l pickpocket thought he was smoothly nipping into a pocket full of caps, all he was gonna get out in the end was whatever lint had gathered it's way into that pocket. And what he would not notice, as indeed, those who are so confident in their craft commonly do not, is that at the exact same time Raph was slipping his own hands into pickpocket's pockets, and claiming a lovely little set of caps he had so confidently taken before.

Funny how karma works out.

So she left the bar, and perhaps lacking in buffout wasn't the best thing to do, since she could feel her bones weaken ever so slightly. Then again, neither was trying to storm into a Buzz Bomber nest, within an abandoned garage, alone with nothing but Mercy, her trusted sledgehammer, while drunk out of her mind and high on Psycho. Oh, there was nothing bad about it at first, and of course her drunken mind convinced herself it was a brilliant idea, but by the gods did it hurt afterwards. Thank you Med-X! All she remembered was a lot of buzzing, a lot of wounds, a lot of hits of sledgehammer against metal and... that was really it. It was mainly a big blur of violence.

Then again, once the madness-inducing chem wore off and after taking another dosage of Med-X, she did manage to have a good look around the nest. Abandoned garages were always the greatest of things, usually because they had some sort of schematic involved. That one didn't, and Daunting wasn't very happy with that. Though it did make up for it by revealing locations of several projects on a terminal (what a praise of luck it didn't require hacking!). One in particular caught her eye, which was in a factory.

A factory which would require trekking through much, much radiated water and probably death-filled death creatures of death-ness.

But, at the same time, that project was a fucking flame sword. Apparently it was named 'Blaze'. If that was supposed to be a pun, it was terrible and they should feel terrible. Either way, an army of Metal Beasts couldn't stop her from getting that beauty.

But crossing an ocean of radiated water was an impossibility. Daunting was never a good swimmer you see, and there was no way around it. She had to find some way of travel, such as a boat. Perhaps there was a pier around that area? Hopefully, otherwise she'd have to learn how to swim very quickly. And before that! The journey to the edge of this area would require half a day's travel! Travelling that far, crossing deadly waters and entering unknown territory into an Egg-Co factory of all places? She needed help for that, as much as she hated to admit it. The armored arachnid didn't fancy grasping that sword only in the afterlife.

Though perhaps getting sober was the best thing right now. And getting more Buffout. Alcohol plus weakened bones equaled no adventures for this scorpion. So instead, she lifted her head slowly (wow did she have such a headache) and looked around. There was a black, gothic wolf and... one in particular looked out of place, the type to be in that... that... tower which she couldn't remember the name of. That hoity-toity tower which hated ghouls. Judgmental dicks. Was he? So of course, in her drunken stupor, the arachnid flailed her arm to the side, tapped the salamander on the shoulder, and rather calmly asked:

"Are you a judgmental dick?"

=BUMP=

((Burn, it was your turn the entire time XP))

((No idea how to respond, so... I'll just assume you were talking to Darkness I guess? :v))

The wolf sighed deeply, continuing his travels throughout the town, yawning tiredly. The wasteland sure as hell got to you. He glanced towards the 10mm pistol once again, and sighed. Ammunition was apparently really low. Wait, did he already check? Hell if he knew, he couldn't remember very well, oddly enough.

And a sudden sharp tensing of the muscles as the wolf was suddenly targeted by someone. Asking him if he was a judgemental dick? Wait what. Where did you even come from... "...Does it REALLY matter that fucking much to you, that you have to ask every random person you see?" ¬¬ Yep, totally a social person.

"It means th'woooorrrld," she replied in a drunken drawl, strolling over to the wolf and wrapping a firm arm around his neck, pulling him close, a heavy grin spread across her face which practically screamed 'hello how are you' and 'you're not getting out of this easily, big boy', "Y'gotta learn t'know who t'trust, y'know? Ain't gonna let some twat fart wander about heeere, no no!" The scorpion paused just for a moment, pitch black eyes glazed out as if thinking, before focusing on him once more and drawing her mouth close to his, the heavy stench of liquor in her breath.

She placed a pincer onto his lips as she craned her neck around to face him, blinking a few times as if confused on who she was talking to. "Shh, shhhhhh, shhh now. Dun' speak. Gotta look at y'. Make sure y'ain't some prissy-wissy floofy high tier twat from th'bigshot tower, uhm? Never replied, did ya?" The wanderer squinted her eyes hard, really hard, in fact they closed shut. "Mmmmm no I dun' think y'are. Ain't no raider or a douchebag blubberface or whatever. I d'nno."

She finally removed her pincer from his lips, tapping the claws together as she rubbed her cheek against his own. No doubt Mr Wolfenstien was the most awkward of people right now, "Soft face, mm, makes me wanna take y't'bed with me an' snuggle right up. But nah, gotta go on a mission yup," she tapped her forehead, "Searchin' fer a sword! Gonna be fab. Biiig adventure. Lotta fun. Just gotsta stocks up on me meds and sober up. Gonna die but whatever it's gonna be a hell of a time, right?"

No she still didn't release her grip on the wolf's shoulder. Nor did she stop rubbing her cheek against his.