Server is starting to die out again.

It was never really growing again in the first place. The Castle brought about a dozen and a half people to the Outlands, but you have to keep in mind that this was during an event. As we return to normally scheduled programming, the number of people will begin to even itself out again. There is more activity than before though.

Quote from: tdabamf1 on July 31, 2012, 02:32:39 AM

why is one of your characters a vampire

In char-backstory something with cell mumbo-jumbo, I am thinking either cell-growth mutation or mistreated disease lead to some strange side-effect

I.E. He nor anyone else doesn't have a fucking clue and it just sounds cool on paper lol

Quote from: Toxilium on July 26, 2012, 04:39:34 AM

Quote from: Cookiesofamerica on July 26, 2012, 03:24:06 AM

Samantha Holgate

Hangs around the Castle usually|Gives anyone that comes in wine and grapes|Friendly|Husband died during fight in a similar place of Ineu Pass|Former leader of a refugee group.

Unit 864/Andrew Van Ort

A lax unit who likes to make fun of apex, time to time|Nickname is Dolly|Teases 619 from time to time|Swears usually to lower ranking units, but doesn't really do in front of his superiors|Dislikes when none of his units are ready to participate in projects.|71813's former friend(SeC can't have friends lol)|A veterean (7 months of active service) Unit.|During his 04 and 'croot days, was 031's toy.|Cloned| Doesn't ask questions that are hard to explain|Likes to throw grenades during combat training|Use to have a Golden Lego brick|First division was apex then to GRID|Was bad at breaching during his 'croot days.|When enraged, which doesn't really happen can last almost 6 days depending what caused his enragement.|If you fuck up when he is mad he will throw you across the room.|Can lift over 600 pounds without augments during his deceased life and 600 pounds during his augmented and clone years|777 and 060 are mad at him for killing 377|Looks up to 270 when in the need of help|Doesn't really like punishing units for smaller mistakes unless the unit has the IQ of 50|Back when he was an 03, he would be mad at all the citizens and shit.|Has been mugged twice|'fended a unit off from a vortigaunt, has been hurt in the process.|Doesn't like one of the UED units due to making fun of his division in a bad-kind of way.|Investigating behavior problems within his division|Once in a while pop culture Ref. come out of his mouth in similar situations of movies.

56294
During stasis, he likes to read about how partied like systems worked, which was best for the union and what not.|He speaks casually to Civil administrators when needed to|Has a personality|Lacks of a nickname|Somewhat friendly to William House.|More talkative as an OTA unit than others.

Holy Wall of Text, Book 3, Chapter 1.

Thou shalt not make holy walls of text.

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Post Auto-Merged: July 26, 2012, 04:41:30 AM

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Quote from: Justin Bieber on July 26, 2012, 03:44:51 AM

Real Name: Jamison Carney
She became a Doctor in the field of surgery. She is strong, intelligent, and does not take shit from most people.

What specialization? Also can you say that you are an indapandant woman and dont take sheit from no man?

I only put a wall of text is because 864 has been a very old and long-developed character.

These are character facts, little minute (i.e. useless) tidbits of info about your character, not a biography.

Sorry for the delay. I've been preoccupied with helping out at the Castle event. Lot's to do! Anywho, without further ado, here are the first two chapters. I'd like to thank Old Greg (Greg Castles player) for help providing character insight and writing the skeleton of what you see in the Greg chapter 1.

If you want it in Word form for easier reading, PM me.


Jon   

   I am a hopelessly inquisitive man. My name is Jon Samuels and I am a writer, philanthropist, theoretical physicist, politician, but above all I am the epitome Man. I am an artist, a Renaissance Man, during an age where art is irrelevant. I am the ruler of a Kingdom, but I do not wish the title of King nor God. Such a title alienates my people, all of whom are my friends, family, my children. I take care of them because no one else would nor do I believe anyone has the skill. Our family lives in Precinct-3, our Kingdom, a private sanctuary that I have made to exist in symbiosis with the Union. Before me, this place was an unruly slum, plagued with hedonism and child pornography and exploitation. Now it is under my arms. The Union celebrates nor condemns my achievement, they simply allow us to be.
   "Jon, everything is ready for you," says Chandra Hassan, my young assistant. She stands across from me by the yellowed brick of the train station walls, a grin across her face. Her parents were aid workers during the battle of Mogadishu, serving under the Afghan Army Corps. Those rich brown eyes have seen more horrors before the Seven Hour War than after.
   "Thank you, Chandra. I will be ready shortly," I reply while closing my diary and folding it into my back pocket. I stand, place out my arms and she slides them into either sleeve of my tanned trench coat.
   She is a good-looking, thin woman. The layers of stun baton marks that dot her dark skin are worn like badges, a matter of pride for a City Forty-Five veteran. A loyal compatriot and smart girl who knows how to order those who want to seem larger than they truly are. Deep pockets line her eyes, a mirror of the life she has seen. From refugee camp to camp, witnessing the worst of human terror. Raised an stout Sunni woman, clinging her burqa to her head hoping to shut out the horrors of the camps. Her mother comforted her with stories of their arid homeland, life in Kabul among three million identical faces she would never see. After the War, Chandra was forced to choose between her faith and her life. She stuck with the latter, but kept the ancient beliefs of equality and honor alive.
   Chandra finishes putting my coat on, as I recite phrases from my speech, "The stage is all prepared, everyone gathered. All we need now is a great leader to step up and marvel us," she says with a grin. I smile, giving her a gentle pat on the cheek before we depart.
   The lobby in the train station is filled with the citizen blues waiting for their freeze-dried, machine-dispensed nonsense. They glare at us as we pass. Civil Protection choose to ignore us, but they have already tagged our movement before leaving the station.
   Outside in the Plaza, the air is heavy with a scorching layer of humidity as Summer approaches in the coming weeks. My nose tightens to the blanket of invisible pollutants emitted by the endless cycle of industry our City Forty-Five is well renowned for. Scanners fly overhead, emitting their bird-like chirps as they snap their bulbous white lights in the eyes of pedestrians. In the middle of the Plaza sits an erected stone monument from the old wars, it's purpose lost, merely serving as a citizen bill post. To the corner of my eye is the looming Nexus, a metallic construct of alien design and origin. Sharp, contoured lines and the ceaseless gaze of Civil Protection outside it's titanium steps contrast the post-World War II era architecture decorating the Plaza's edge. A truly hideous work.
   "Ah, the line is not as long tonight," chirps Chandra, "I wouldn't want you to be late, Mr. Jon." She speaks of the Precinct-3 checkpoint. A low-lying barricade stretching across the cobblestone street. Two Civil Protection officers stand on either side of the only visible door through the rib-like barrier wall, their superior officers sounding orders through hidden radios of anti-citizen activity and ration distribution. We pass through, they do not bother to frisk me nor my companion.
   "Tell 032 I send my regards," I tell the shorter of the two officers, before strolling through my Kingdom's Gatehouse.
   "It feels good to be home," Chandra remarks as we pass into my Kingdom. The Kingdom of Jon, Precinct-3.
   "Yes, it does. Now, I have a speech to deliver my dear Chandra," we enter the dimly-lit tunnel, down the snaking concrete tomb.

Greg

   I did not enjoy the luxury of a train ride into the city like other blues did, not that I was like other blues. Then again, I wasn't exactly similar to a blue in any way. In fact, if I had been whisked away to another time period some might call me a Holocaust survivor. Heh, I guess we're all holocaust survivors. The thought only stuck in my mind for a moment before I was brutally ripped back into reality. It was the sun. It won't allow me to think under its piercing, hazy gaze, taunting me like a hanging demon in the sky, hiding behind it's impenetrable wall of smog. It wasn't particularly hot, but that damned sun! It steals your energy, never returns it. It allows us to live on this planet, but mocks us from a hundred million miles away. I hate the fucking sun.
   My attention drifted back to the pack of emaciated zombies I was marching with. "More of a collective stumble, than a march," I thought.
The group seemed to drift aimlessly in a direction, any direction. I gasped, pulling in a ragged breath as panic shook my body momentarily. My eyes darted around looking for a recognizable face, all I found were the emotionless and broken faces of those who had suffered as I had.
   "I'm going to die here. They will pull me to the side and BLAM! Just like that, my brain across the scorched pavement."
   "Hey, I'm behind you. Keep going asshole."
   The words eased my panic and I was momentarily filled with the greatest happiness I could remember having. The voice meant I was not alone, that I was not lost. I did not bother responding to the angel behind me, I did not have the energy. I simply shook my head slowly as to acknowledge his presence. The happiness left me, the sun once pulling me back to its reality, my punishment.
   Our group came to a hill the color of burnt flesh and we began to climb. Someone next to me muttered something which caught my attention. In fact, when I raised my head I noticed everyone around me slowly drifting their attention to the sky.
   "Rain!" someone in the crowd choked out.
   The violet, heavy clouds seemed to hover just on the other side of the hill, inviting us to get away from the sun. A spark of urgency seemed to spread through the group who had long ago given up on the concept of relief. The blasted faces around me seemed to come alive, a few muttered words went around. We were no longer a dead, mindless people, marching through the River Acheron.
   As we crested the hill and gathered at the top, our optimism was plucked by the sky. The violent clouds were not clouds of rain, but of smog that hovered over a city that was caught in an eternal darkness. Silence overcame us as a few cried out desperate pleas in agony at that omnipotent jester in the sky.
   "Keep moving!"
   The most piercing of fears gripped me for a moment. I had forgotten that even here, even on this march, I was still under their constant watch. Our dozen masked ferrymen through the wastes, our Charon. The pack slowly picked up their speed as we began to move once more. After a few minutes of marching, loud cracks rang out in the distance behind us. Myself and a few others around me turned to find the bodies of almost a dozen of our fellow damned lying piled on the top of the hill we just passed. The Overwatch officers who had executed them were quickly marching down the hill to catch up with the group. I turned my attention back towards the front. We damned had begun to relinquish to the hailing sun. Not even a pyre nor word will be shed for those dead, but a feast for the foolish crows who still linger here.
   After what seemed like an eternity, we arrived closer to the outskirts of the city, the smog now looming ominously overhead. We were now walking parallel to a railroad that lead into the city. The razor train came quietly from behind, I didn't notice it at first. Then it surged past me, the jet of air it created almost knocking me to the ground. In tow came another train, this one older, more human. Ancient by Combine standards. I looked up at it and momentarily saw the same dead faces peering out of the windows back at me, the lost ones on the burnt hill. They all look the same to me; despairing, bored, lost. What did the blues think of us as they passed? A decomposing lot of freaks, outcasts, criminals, rebels, anti-citizens, pedophiles and queers?
   Finally, we had arrived at our destination, City Forty-Five. The Ferrymen dropped us off at the train station, before turning and sailing back out into the Underworld to escort the virgin damned.
   "Keep going asshole," I mumbled to myself.

Good guide, +1 support.

My main tiff is when people constantly insist on putting "attempts" in everything. If you're a good writer or able to read, you should notice that there are other ways to say this.

Player Section

Steam Name: mrsmiley92 username (Uncel dolan Steam Friends)
Age: 20
How long have you been Roleplaying? (can be any game): 10 years
How long have you been playing Serious GMod RP?: 4 years

Character Section

Authorization(s):
+ Sub-surgeon medical experience
+ Former Resistance member


Name: Amanda Whitley
Age: 31-33
Gender: Female
Affiliation: Resistance

Write a detailed in-canon back-story how your character obtained these authorizations.
[[For the sake of this story, I'm going to assume 2016 takes place about 10-12 years after the Seven Hour War. I know for a fact in your canon it takes place 1 year after the Resonance Cascade, but bear with me for the story's sake, else I'm voiding 3.5 years of character development.]]

Amanda grew up as an only child on a small farm near Winnipeg, Manitoba to an Anglican family. Her mother was a part-time veterinarian's assistant who primarily helped farm animals around their community. Occasionally, she would bring Amanda along with her to visit these sick animals and sparked her interest in saving lives. Flash-forward to high school graduation, Amanda decides to apply for a degree in Journalism at the University of Manitoba. After a year in the program, she decides it doesn't suit her and her parents recommend the nursing program. Amanda applies for the Faculty of Nursing during the summer and is accepted. It is a four-year program ( http://umanitoba.ca/faculties/nursing/ ).

However, half-way through her final term, the Seven Hour War takes place and the Whitley's are placed in Winnipeg under Combine rule. Shortly later, her father is taken away by Civil Protection when refusing to comply to a search order. Amanda is then separated from her mother, whom is moved to a different city. Amanda, now alone, struggles to deal with her situation in the Combine-occupied Winnipeg and thus begins helping a local Church assist in aiding the sick. This time at the Church re-kindled her faith which was struggling over the past few months. The Combine shutdown the Church clinic and detain the pastor, whom is presumably executed in the Nexus. Amanda along with the other nurses and doctors are relocated to other cities around the world. Amanda is shipped across the ocean to City Eighteen (TnB's old city before City .

[[From here on, everything was done IC over the course of 3.5 OOC and 4-5 IC years.]]

Several years pass and Amanda is slowly beginning to succumb to her depression. She has nearly given up on her faith and has very few 'friends' in the city during this time. She is working as a street cleaner during this time in Precinct-1. Being the only woman in her cleaning crew, she was subject to ongoing sexual harassment. Amanda learns to ignore it and even retort in some instances, shaping this mid-20 year old into the toughened, cynical person she will eventually become. Amanda happened upon a lucky stroke of fate one night while drinking herself into a stupor at an underground pub in Precinct-13. She befriended a man named Rodger who was apart of C-18's Resistance. This man saw Amanda as a woman desperate to leave the city and someone who could help provide medical expertise. After about six months, Rodger along with several other Resistance members, escorts a group of about a dozen civilians into the Outlands. Though rusty after 5 years, Amanda quickly re-learned what she had known before through several medical journals and books provided at the Outlands clinic. These books were outdated, but Amanda quickly remembered her old skills and applied herself to assisting the sick and wounded Resistance members and refugees.

After a year in the Resistance camps, Amanda, now 30, had developed a romantic attachment to a Resistance soldier nicknamed 'Onyx.' He introduced her to the higher ranking members of the Resistance, including then-commander (lol, I know) Rex Lee and his second-in-command, Katherine Craft. It was during this time that Amanda received the nickname 'Ruby' from Onyx based on the vibrant colour of her hair and "inner fire she possesses." During a mass Combine raid of her Resistance camp, Onyx, Lee and several other members of the Resistance were detained. After a month of waiting, news from one of their inner-city mirrors had revealed these members all executed or deported. This sparked a deep depression that nearly resulted in a suicide by Amanda. She knew the Resistance still needed her medical help, thus she knew her purpose was greater than her own selfish needs. Nevertheless, she remained cold, ignoring her friends attempts to help.

Sometime later, Amanda had received orders of deportation to City Eight, which was located somewhere in Japan. She complied, hoping the change would be positive. Craft gave her orders to meet up with the Resistance group in City Eight somehow and inform them that others exist around the world who also resist the Combine authority. However, Amanda soon learned the Resistance effort in City Eight was broken and in shambles. One of the cell leaders, Bill Smauz, worked with Amanda to try and strengthen the resistance effort. Though very reluctant, Smauz and Ruby developed a romantic attachment during this time.

Although their efforts were going well, the CCA caught wind of a resurgence of resistance effort in the city. Amanda, Smauz and many other members of the resistance were arrested and detained in the Nexus. Over a month of grueling detainment awaited them. After thirty days, they were separated into three groups by chance. Group A, which included Bill Smauz, was immediately gunned down in front of the other two groups. Group B was led off and their fate was unknown (presumably to be detained indefinitely or deported). Amanda's Group C was led to a large prison cell, where inside the only noticeable thing was a screwdriver. The door was locked and they were given no food or water. For nearly 48 hours, all members of the group sat around in silence, each one slowly breaking in their own right. Amanda used her absolute hatred of the Combine for murdering Smauz before her eyes to focus her diminishing energy. Her focus allowed her to survive the first attempt as one of the members of the group murdered two others with the screwdriver. He aimed at Amanda next, but she and the other woman remaining overpowered and killed him. The other woman was now in possession of the screwdriver and Amanda knew they would only release one survivor. By some act of God, the Civil Administrator happened to be visiting on this day and ordered Civil Protection to stand down. Upon opening their cell door, the woman with the screwdriver charged at the jailer, stabbing him through the shoulder. He shortly followed up on this by planting a bullet into her forehead. Amanda was released, having been the only survivor (other than Group B presumably).

Amanda continued to live on, shoving her latest experience under a cloud of emotional baggage. She worked at the CWU briefly, then was a shopkeeper's assistant. During this time she barely spoke and was a general loner. A former mirror from City Eighteen arrived one day by train and met with Amanda. He informed her that Craft and the others had gone into hiding and that Amanda should try to re-locate cities in order to avoid an inquiry. This mirror disappeared shortly after giving Amanda this information, who contacted an old ally with connections to the CCA. Giving nearly all of her tokens and possessions to him as payment, she managed to take the next train, which happened to be going to City Forty-Five.

The rest is history. Amanda came across a certain establishment in Precinct-3 while looking for a place to drown herself in a night's drinking. She befriended the staff and was put in charge of raising and running a back-room clinic. What she will do now, only roleplay can tell.

What will these authorizations give your character in regards to perks or defects?
Perks
+ Able to treat minor injuries (cuts, scrapes, bruises, etc.)
+ Able to treat some major injuries (stabbings, gunshots, broken bones, some very basic surgery)
+ Able to use biogel, scalpels, stitches, etc.
+ Able to perform other miscellaneous nursing tasks
+ Very adapt at working under extreme pressure
+ In-field knowledge makes her adaptable and more knowledgeable than most nurses (somewhere in between doctor and nurse level of medical knowledge)

Defects
- Not able to perform complex surgery (heart, respiratory, brain, etc.)
- Sometimes carries medical supplies, some of which is contraband and easily found
- Unofficial medical clinics are unauthorized by the CCA and grounds for detainment/worse
- Nearly all her experience is in-field with Resistance, dirty instruments and ad-hoc clinics, which may lead her to make life-threatening mistakes
- She is not as experienced as a full-fledged doctor and I will not RP as such
- Cynicism and hatred towards CCA may result in her not helping certain people, namely loyalists, CCA, etc. on a case by case basis
- I have been doing medical RP for over 3 years, but people still get on my nerves sometimes if they don't know what they're doing or complain I'm taking a long time

What do you plan to do with these perks/defects?
I will use this authorization to //officially// run the clinic. Until now I was running it on my own accord, but did not realize an authorization was required. If Amanda enters the Outlands with the rest of the Castle, she will be using her expertise there to assist the sick and wounded. As she is the only one in the Castle with any medical experience, her role is vital in keeping it going.

Will anyone else need these auths? (If so, list OOC and IC name(s))
No

Which server does this apply for?
Both

Extra Notes (optional):
As I said, I have been running the clinic for about a week now. I was informed just today that I required an auth and am sorry for unknowingly circumventing server policy.

Regarding the retreveal of biogel. GOLD donators or anyone with v flags can spawn shipments of biogel from their buisness menu. Hence where they're getting it from.

Also, you do need authorizations via an authorization app to have medical experience.

Right, I shall jump on that then. How do you stop people from performing it anyway? Everyone and their mother who I ask if they can help me IC at the clinic says they went to medical school. They then either fail at medical RP or don't give a plausible explaination of where they trained.

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Quote from: tdabamf1 on July 22, 2012, 12:48:50 PM

How the fuck did you guys get biogel in the first place?

I would ask for the same.. If Roven's CWU char had got it... how did he get. Because the only who is able to get medical supplies are the Med-tier members WITH AN AUTH TO PREFORM MEDICIAL EXPERIENCE.

Don't know, don't care. All I know is we get crate shipments of biogel every 4-5 days or so. Greg is the one who deals with suppliers, all I do is run the clinic. Also, pretty sure you don't need AN AUTH TO PERFORM MEDICAL EXPERIENCE, whatever that means in proper English.

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