Shadow Worlds RP

[TatersAndTots]

((Yea new rp!!))

Okay then, this will be different...

For starters: I need normal everyday characters. This is also modern. Imagination is a major requirement! I dont wanna see retards and mechanics in this!!!!! I need children and artists and scientists! Then... the fun will start :ninja::ninja::ninja:

((Ill post more ASAP))

[LaytoRest]

Any sort of build? Template? Anything?

[Rageon]

Any sort of build? Template? Anything?

He'll post more ASAP..Stupid, stupid..:rolleyes:

[TatersAndTots]

((Yea duh huh stoooopid ASAP... jk jk jk jk!))


Templete:

Name: durr hurr

Age: durr hurr

Height/Weight: durr hurr

Bio: little blurb of life story n crap

Description: what ya look like durr hurr

Occupation: not necessarily a job but things like school too

Pastimes: This is important! Here you put the creative aspects of your character. As I said, creativity is a must!!!!

Inventory: This ain't no shoot-em up so i dont wanna see weapons!

PLUS anyhting else ya wanna add


((People have asked for more direction in the story, so im adding two things: i will probably implement a fast-forward and this))

GOAL: Survive long enought to discover the secrets of the Shadow World and return to reality. Or not if you choose...



Gregory Wilson

20

6'0"/ 165

Bio: Lives in suburbs outside of Philidelphia. Cashier the local Sports Outlet. Parents are divorced, both married and alive. Has one sister: in high school.

Description: Tall, lanky fellow. Itailian descent gives him a skin color slightly above vampire-pale. Moderate acne still left over from his teenage years. Wearing a cheap WallMart red t-shirt and pale blue jeans, also WallMart.

Occupation: Cashier durr hurr

Inventory: IPhone, Pen, Notebook (small hand-sized one), Wallet ==> 230$ cash, credit card, debit card, bussines cards, etc, keys to house and car

Pastimes: Greg loves to write stories. He loves to forum rp the best actually. (( O= )) He is very talented with writing. He also love to read fiction. His favorites are science fiction and fantasy. When he watches televsion, he watches a combination of comedy and educational shows, focusing on history and military.


Greg helps lug some sports supplies into the back of the store. It is a small place, and Gali, his boss, pays extra if Greg helps with unloading. Greg closes his eyes and grunts as he lifts the box.

Greg notices two things immedietly. First, he is not carrying anything anymore. Secondly, although it was about eight in the morning, it is as dark as twilight through his eyelids. Greg opens his eyes and sees prefectly green grass. Greg is still in the hunched positon he was using to lift the box. He stops and looks forward. A totally empty expanse of flat blackness spreads in all directions. Only a circular patch of grass, about 20 yards in diameter, is different. The grass is flat as well. Greg cannot tell whether or not the lands curves down like on a planet, but some internal feeling tells him it does not.

Greg sits down and observes for a few minutes before he gets the urge to explore. He walks to the edge of the circle and reaches a hand out. Greg yelps in suprise as an invisible wall blocks his hand. Greg sits confused until his phone chirps a tone. Greg reads a text message, from someone named "The Maker"

Greeting Greg. Yes, I know your name. Welcome to the Shadow World. MY domain. You have noticed that you are trapped in that little space of yours. You should also know that without food or water, you will die. But dont fear! The secret to your survival is the magic of the Shadow World. In your imagination.

Greg sits down and thinks. After who knows how long, he begins to be thristy. He thinks about water. Cool, delicious water. It is in a glass, crystal clear, with two ice cubes. Greg silently pictures it in front of him. Greg stares blankly as a small section of the grass, directly in front of him, turns into the black emptiness. It seems to belch black smoke that slowly rises. Only a few inches from the ground, it stops and condenses slowly. As he gapes, it forms a glass of water! He grabs it ans examines it. Some spills, it is ice cold. Greg takes a sip. Cool and refreshing. Now full of inspiration, Greg now thinks about a rock. Just some random rock. He conentrates on the image. Quickly, much quicker than the water, a rock forms from the smoke. Greg smiles and uses his newfound powers to make a sandwich. Greg eats happily as he thinks of the possibilities...

[Rageon]

Name: Jon Van Atton

Age: 17

Height/Weight: 190 cm, 89 kg.

Bio: Born in Charlottesville, where from he moved to Washington at the age of six, where he went to school and there he now lives..Simple as it.

Description: Bald, green eyes. Has a little goaty beard - Typical wears a baret, scot-squared shirt and long slightly ruined shorts.

Occupation:School student, studying computer and language.

Pastimes: Jon makes his time go with going to school basicly, and then nerding at his computer. Other than that, he reads alot of books typically about the old military reigns(ex. U.S.S.R, the old mongolian regime of d00m, etc. etc), and when there is nothing much left to do, he studies pens. Yes, A pen.

Inventory: Two different pens, a writing block, school books and a wallet with nothing inside. And a laptop.

** ** ** **


Jon was pulling up his school books, as he did every day, checking if he had the right with him. Different Languages of the World, check. Java Software, check. Jon thought to himself. Hes mom running in and out of the kitchen, it being early morning. Jon always went up early, so he could open the library as his job perscripted in the morning, wait for the next colleague to come and take over when he had to go to school.
Soon Jon was at his way to the library, the clock being 8AM. Soon opening the door, it swung open and hit Jon in the heard. Everything went black in a few seconds, when he then woke up on a grassy plain. Lying down in a few minutes to reorient, he rose slowly. Not seeing where he was, having no idea. Opening his bag slowly, he pulled out his laptop.

[TatersAndTots]

Height/Weight: 190 cm, 89 kg.



:bang: damn metric system conversions!! :bang:

xP

[Rageon]

(( The metric system iz da beshtz! ))

[LaytoRest]

Name: Alex deGuzman

Age: 16

Height: 5'3'' Weight: 122lb.

Bio: Born in Florence, SC, of Filipino orient, he moved around town a few times before settling down in the area of Coward. He goes to high school and is a junior.

Description: Long shaggy black hair with dark brown eyes. Has a small mustache and wears mainly black clothes. He has on a t-shirt with a monkey on it and a pair of Tripp shorts recently bought from Hottopic.com.

Occupation: High school student; Plans on working at gamestop.

Pastimes: Plays a lot of computer games. In general he's a geek and has a slightly higher intelligence than those around him. He's an introvert and goes "WHUTTHEFHUCKBERSERK" when people touch him. He likes to talk about dead babies and makes jokes of Helen Keller with his friends.

Inventory: A sharpie, medic bookbag, schoolbooks, journal, writing tools, a bottle of water, wallet with no money, and his visored beanie. Oh, and coughdrops.



It's around eight'o'clock and Alex is walking up to the school side-entrance like he always does. He has a person walking behind him. As he gets up to the door he puts his hand on the handle to pull the door open when the person behind him kicks a small rock/pebble and it hits him on the back of his right calf. He quickly shuts his eyes to subdue the sting of the pain. As if darkness fell he saw, through his eyelids, the dark get a little more darker. He instantly felt a warm breeze flush over him, a sudden change from the cold weather he was just in. As he felt the breeze a sudden burst of light nearly blinds him through his eyelids and he squeezes his eyes even tighter. He then proceeds to open his eyes to face whatever just happened to him.

"What the hell?" Alex says, as he stares in amazement at his surroundings. He then drops his bookbag and bends down to touch the grass. Making sure he isn't dreaming or high, he then sits down and ponders.

"Alex!" A voice from nowhere says. The voice is not male or female. It's a sort of live concious like Gods voice, or something similar. "WHOA!" Alex exclaims as he shoots back to a standing position. "Who was that?" He asks. "Alex, do not be afraid, for I am The Maker. I see that you have just arrived in my domain, the Shadow World. Do not fear, my friend, for you, and the others, will be attended to soon," the voice tells. "The others?" Alex asks as he starts looking around him. He looks to the left and sees only a grassy plain, and swiftly turns around. Out to the distance he sees a man sitting down with, what seems to be, an item of food in his hand, and seems to be eating it. "Hey you!" He shouts as he runs towards the man.

[TatersAndTots]

Skip forwards one week

Greg sits expresionless, his hands around his knees. All he does is make things. Random things, whatever he thinks about. Within the first few hours he learns that he can erase anyhting he makes as easily as he creates. And after a bathroom break, he realizes that he can change himself. Greg knows what kind of havoc he could cause so he refuses to mess with himself.

The darkness is bad. It drains him. Greg silently wishes for light, just a little bit, when he yells out. He has gotten another text from The Maker. It says simply: a gift

The smoke reforms into a hard black ball, about the size of his head. It hums softly and on touch, Greg is zapped violently. Greg stares wide-eyed until a small thought creates a lightbulb. He touches it to the orb and is blinded as it lights up! Greg smiles and begins to create some more things...

Skip forwards one month

Greg sits in the chair and practices. He forms a randoms object. THis one is a sculpture full of random turns, curves and shapes. It is as large as a car. This is the only form of entertainment in the light of the power device he was given. Greg is startled as he gets a third message. "A gift for my guest. Something to help with those harder creations." On the table Greg is at appears a little device. About the size and shape as a large digital writing tablet. It has what looks like an LCD screen. He touches it and it light up. It simply says "Templets". Greg presses it and sees a massive list. It is a touch screen, he notices, as he scolls. One button stands out from the rest: "Intelligent Life"...

Skip forwards two months

Greg watches the ants slowly rip apart the cookie in amazment. HE smiles as he grabs his Create-a-Screen, as he calls it, and taps some buttons. He goes through a large list of things, size, shape, colour, defects or characteristics, etc, until he hits "create". He gets the familiar feeling that the 'Screen gives him. He feels himself lose control of his mind as the image of what he creates takes form. An anteater appears and eats the ants. Greg laughs.

Skip forwards four months

Greg wakes up again in a much smaller field. It is only large enough to fill his body. Greg panicks but notices that he can move outside the edge of the grass. He also notices that all his things like his 'Screen and phone are with him. The ground outside is slippery, like glass. Greg eats an apple as he surveys the area. Still the empty black everywhere. He jumps when he hears a voice. A human voice...

[LaytoRest]

[One question: Is that where we/I come in or are you working on that?]

[TatersAndTots]

((yea i wanted my character to have some experience b4 the others arrive))

Greg sees a man running towards him. "Holy Shi-... HEY!" he screams and waves at him.

((For all who join: you must LEARN to use your powers. Dont join and suddenly know everything. I also do not want a voicefor The Maker yet plz. It helps to make it cryptic and wierd if there is no talking and it has to find other ways to communicate :)))

[DER_julu]

name: randolph brekowski aka "brek"
age: 32
height/weight: 1,74m / 76kg
occupation: author, former musician and concept artist.
description: bald, with a constant 3-day-stubble everywhere on his head. brown eyes that sit deep in his face, and recently deep shadowy rings around his eyes. looks weary, tired, but restless. his left eyelid is twitching from time to time. wears green army trousers, 1 size too large for him. a plain black shirt, plain black pullover, and black hiking shoes.
bio: former baseplayer and singer of "the jeffrey dahmer taste experience", a semi-famous avantegarde-noise-band which never made it above a few thousand copies of their lp's in the nineties. moved to santa monica recently, where he lives in the suburbs in a small, cheap house that looks like rubbish. has published one novel so far, called "where the ants go to die", a "weird and wild ride in the mind of an anarchist", as the cover says. not widely known, but sold enough to have some money left. suffers from writers block, which is why he moved from leeds (gb) to santa monica. recently, he started to suffer from desorientation, headaches and nausea, which worries him a lot.
pasttimes: writing and rewriting parts of his new book. wandering around aimlessly, looking for creative input, and drinking a lot. picking fights whenever they occur, because somehow the rush helps with his headaches. counting numbers on carplates to see if they somehow add up to 79, or 16. which he believes they always do, somehow.
equipment: 2 packets of cigarettes; lighter; 40$ in cash; notebook with text-scribbles; a pencil; sunglasses; keys; pocket knife; a few unpaid bills he forgot in his pants;

[DER_julu]

7:54am; the click of the door echoes in brek's head as the door to the examination room falls shut. he focusses on his breath, steady, in, out, in, out. he can still smell the booze on his shirt, on his breath. what a night. somewhere around 3am he managed to walk into some guy who had some problem with his anger management, and who lost it. went at him like a madman, all arms and fists and blows and kicks. and who somehow managed to put brek down with a single hit at the chest. nausea, head spinning, he remembered going down, and slowly losing consciousness. big black, big cut. when he woke up, he was in a hospital in a flimsy, green dressing gown. getting up made his head spin and hurt. and before he got his feet out of the bed a doctor came, friendly smile, concerned. professional. gave him the brief description of his current status, doomed him. in the short version, brek simply signed his leave, and got out as fast as he could. 1 hour since he got up, and his live was totally in ruins. steady now. in. out. in. out. brek got out his notebook, and without thinking he scribbled a huge smilie on the last page, with a crack in his head. and went to find a taxi.

7:59am: "away" he told the driver, as he got into the cab. "somewhere, dunno. just get me outta here." brek sighed. didn't matter where he went, he wouldn't be able to run away. it would be there, right in his veins, in his brain stem, everywhere, eating and prospering. spreading. like the darkness. he looked out as the cab crossed the bridge, and suddenly he knew what to do. with a bang, not with a whimper, as the poem said. he leaned forward, until he could be sure the cabbie would hear him over the radio, and told him to get to the nearest drug store. everything would be allright, he knew it. with a bang. and he smiled, to avoid weeping, and leaned back, closed his eyes. every sound surrounding him loud and clear, every sensation as pure as if felt for the first time. the cracking radio, the whistling of the driver, the tires on the asphalt, the vibration of the motor. the ticking of his wristwatch. click.

8am: echoed in his brain, a short, black, deep feeling of absolute nausea, and then...

fresh air, smelling of grass and humidity. the feeling of wet grass beneath him. absolute blackness instead of bright sunlight through his closed eyelids. and the headaches were back. slowly, brek opened his eyes. blinked. softly rolling hills, green grass, clear sky. absolute darkness, not even the moon or a single star to be seen, though the sky was without a cloud. he shook his head to clear away the headache, moistened his head with his fingers, and got out his notebook, for reasons he didn't quite understand. by the flare of the lighter he browsed the pages, feeling fear welling up deep inside him. completely empty, every scribble gone, the work of months, all but the grinning mad smily with the crack in his head. and a message in a curvy handwriting, on the first page.
"a gift. in times of despair and loneliness, one needs a friend, though it might manifest itself in various ways." fear, and curiousity. he felt a pressure behind his left eye, but the headache slowly subsided, and so he got up and did what he had so often recently - he wandered aimlessly, looking for things to come, wondering if this halluzinations where the next symptoms, or what it was he had gotten himself into...

(sorry if the grammar ain't always perfect, english isn't my primary language, and i haven't written anything in 3rd form for ages...

question: the powers manifest themself only as the power of creation, or are we free to choose ? nothing wildly overpowered, of course ^^)

[TatersAndTots]

((The power is of creation as well as changing stuff. I mean like water to wine and lead to gold n shizz like that.))