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 | Rage of the SeaIn a world where the airplane was never invented, space travel is unheard of, and military organizations battle for control of the world's oceans, one man and his fleet of luxury cruise ships attempt to survive pirate raids, harsh military dictatorship, and the unpredictable nature of the oceans of the world. One choice could mean the difference between fortune, glory, and fame, or a quick trip to Davy Jone's Locker. |
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Description: The year is 2036. The airplane was never invented. Apparently DaVinci accidentally set fire to the sketches of his "flying machine" and could not be bothered to remember what exactly it looked like. He was far too busy being a ninja turtle. The Wright Brothers got hit by a bus or something, and so the world's greatest minds eventually became fed up with trying to be like birds and opted instead to be more like whales. After all, who the hell wants to fly anyway when there is plenty of ocean to go around? Theodore Roosevelt is currently reigning supreme in his 15th re-election despite a crippling heart attack taking away the use of his legs, but he can still kick ass and take names. Realizing the untapped market nestling within the world's oceans, the president of all presidents set about claiming as much of the land under the sea he could throw his awesome mustache at. According to him, owning the ocean floor meant you owned everything on top of it, and that includes the water. Go figure. Russia and China, being typical whiny bitches because Teddy always gets the best ideas before they do, didn't really like that at all and decided to engage the United States of America in a war for the territory. It's commonly referred to as The Water War, or even more commonly as "Are we really fighting over this shit?" Naturally America won the war, but with diminishing returns. A great number of Americans opposed the war, and decided to break away from the USA and move to a barren wasteland (also known as Canada) to start their own civilization. They call themselves the "Tribals" and typically keep to themselves despite a recent surge of raids along the borders, in which five border patrol guards were killed in the combat. Having been defeated, China and Russia were overturned in a military coup by a group referring to themselves as "The Berserkers" and now both countries have become veritable cess pools of chaos, violence, and the biggest drug ring in human history. Displaced citizens of both countries have taken to the seas, some opting for piracy, and others working aboard the booming cruise ship industry. Americans have also taken to the seas in search of glory, some also resorting to piracy for the sheer thrill, excitement, and prospect of riches beyond one's imagination. Having taken control of most of the world's oceans, President Roosevelt has boosted the economy by stimulating the cruise ship industry, and the American public has taken to it like a moth to the flame. This is where the story begins. Vice Admiral Benson Rage IV and his fleet of cruise ships, The Infinite Rage, have become the bees knees as far as luxury cruise ships go, but rumors of Rage's questionable punishment for unruly passengers has marred his reputation a bit. A recent surge in pirate attacks has the population wary of booking travel during the summer seasons when the piracy is at its peak, but this has yet to put a dent or stagger the booming industry. Rage is also pretty well known for his effective dealings with pirates via his huge ass pike through their captain's head, and so one can feel typically safe when booking a stay on his flagship, the SS Fury which he personally oversees. ORGANIZATIONS AND CLANSThe Tribals - This clan has situated itself firmly within the expansive forests of Canada, and is more often than not a peace loving civilization. Recent attacks on the American/Canadian border however have called their intentions into question, but all contact with the Furion, the unknown leader of the Tribals, has lately proven impossible even for President Roosevelt. The Tribals live off the land mostly, but have begun to rely on alternate sources of energy for modern conveniences such as electricity. Wind turbines have been spotted dotting the countryside bordering the forests where the Tribals' capital city, Gwenvere, is located, and so one can assume that most of their generated power comes from the wind. The Tribals typically keep to themselves, and live only to further their own existence and follow the will of the Furion. Sacrifices to the land and the Furion have been rumored, but sources cannot say what exactly is sacrificed. The Berserkers - Quite opposite both in location and in demeanor, the recent military coupe within China and Russia has brought forth this cutthroat band of murderers, psychopaths, and serial killers. There is no established leadership per say, but there seems to be a silent agreement to all members when it comes to causing as much chaos and destruction as possible. A Bersker can be identified by the crimson colored scarves they wear, the intricate symbols carved into their flesh with rusty nails, and their certainly unpleasant demeanor when it comes to interacting with all other organisms that isn't within their fold. The Berserkers currently control the Indian Ocean and all docks bordering the body of water. Avoid all contact, if possible. If not, suicide would be your best option. The United States of America Despite civil unrest in the country, it has become the most powerful and rich civilization in the world, but as a result has also become the envy of many terrorist groups. The government functions as more of a monarchy with President Theodore Roosevelt calling all the shots, enacting the laws, and controlling the powerful military. To ensure constant surveillance and control of the seas, the President appointed an elite group of engineers, architects, and scientists to construct "city ships" which are more or less floating military bases that are used to patrol the oceans and seas in order to maintain borders and eliminate pirates. Many of these city ships also function as portable oil rigs, and the military presence in the Pacific has ensured successful off shore drilling for the USA. The United States currently controls Mexico and the top half of South America. Several regions in Canada have also fallen under its militaristic power, but the Tribals resistance and guerrilla tactics as well as a stretched military have impeded any further expansion efforts. TECHNOLOGY Oil and steam comprise the main resources used in technology. There is no world wide web, cellphones, or a universal television network. It is all encrypted channels monitored heavily and produced by the government. There are several pirate networks used on the seas since monitoring and securing these channels is a bit harder on the ocean, but anyone caught transmitting information or anti-government sentiments is dealt with as harshly as possible. Most firearms used out in the sea are powered by steam because the guns are cheaper to mass produce, and actually function better when used in open environments. The logistics behind the design is that ammunition uses 'steam capsules'. These are basically bullets with compressed air that are shot into the airtight chamber of the gun when the trigger is pulled, and the hammer shatters the capsule. The compressed air pushes the bullet out of the barrel, and dead people is pretty much the end result. Melee weapons still play a very effective and important role on pirate ships considering they are far more intimidating, very useful in close quarters combat, and typically much more accurate considering there isn't very many places you can go when you're on a ship being chased by pirates out in the middle of the ocean. Another drawback to guns is that the inner mechanisms can overheat when used constantly for extended periods of times, and can even backfire on the gunman, causing some pretty nasty injuries. A typical strategy is to use a gun to close the distance between you and your opponent, and if they aren't dead already, stabby stab! If you have any questions about certain technology you'd like implemented, feel free to shoot me a PM. I've already had a request for steam powered roller blades and steam powered hover boards from one user, which I am going to allow because that is just awesome!
Recent Thread Activity
Rage of the Sea(Go To Thread)Misfortune. That was all Wesley felt when three armed people burst out of nowhere, weapons drawn, speaking of business. He heard the word business and immediately thought back to the man that had hired him to kill the damn mayor...what was his name? Oh to hell with it, he'd rather forget them all anyway. Then another thought passed his mind. He gets ambushed on three different sides by people he had no idea about and it just so happens to be that they're all hostile. Either Jero's Town is getting good at this or he has more than a few enemies. John Thomas III. That was the mayor's name. It's funny how reverse psychology works on yourself even when you don't want it to. He then thought of something that may help his current situation. He holstered his empty flintlock and put his hands on his hips. "Well dayum! I've been chasin' down this rogue byitch," He gestures to Benson. "Fer not even an hour fer the murderin' o' some big-shot mayor and they already hired new guns?" He bellowed in a completely authentic southern drawl.
"First the dayum snahper takes a bad shawt, ah kill 'em to keep mah cover n' all, then a few o' ya'll tar pickin' mercy-naries come awn bah ta sweep in the kill a'fore the town gawrds git to em'?" Wesley obviously had the ones he'd addressed as mercenaries baffled by his thick accent but he now wondered if the trash-mouthed people coming from the hill knew enough to keep their faces shut and let him go free of something that doesn't concern him. That was his mind though and in actuality the mercenaries were here only for Lourin, the spear-weilding bloke, and perhaps Rage. His attempt at being on their side- which he thought were the guards from Jero's Town -was obviously not going to work. Still, he stood proud and tall with his southern persona now guiding his movements. "Ya'll mercy-naries werk quick though, I'll give ya that much." He said as he stepped once towards the leader of the 'mercenaries'. "Aw right now, here's wut we're gon' do." He faced Benson and widened his eyes as to signify a hint. "Ya'll can take 'em back ta town, colle't yer reward, yadayada..." Wesley looks back to the leader of the three person group. "...But me? Mayun, as one peacekeeper ta thuh other...ah don't really like bein' a gawrd as much is ah thought ah would. Could ya'll, like, tell 'em ah died er sum'n?" He lowered his head and mouthed the word 'Please' holding his hands up in a praying position. Posted by: death on parole at 22:30:18, 11/09/10.
| The team moved quickly. Whoever shot the gun wouldn't stay long, and this was so close to their target's location...it had to be him. They would not lose him now.
Somewhere close by, someone yelled a curse. The team stopped in unison. All nodded. Then moved toward that disturbance instead. Weeks without any contact and now people were all around. Cyb licked her lips and took out her pistol.
Taking care to stay concealed within the trees, the Nereids all focused their attention on the men up ahead...and there he was. Their prey. The person they'd sought after for so long. But they remained patient, waiting for the best moment, not wanting to ruin their chance...as if it could be ruined. They could easily shoot Rage through the head and take Lourin now, but a shot would attract attention. The shot that had gone off earlier...how many men might there be? No. Better to err on the side of caution. They stayed silent.
The men really were too easy to track. Tripping over branches? Yelling? Leaving evidence of old camps...it was almost comical. Lourin had to know he'd be followed. So why the lack of caution? Did he know something she didn't?
They followed until Benson met the source of the gunshot. Just one man. Cyb could almost smile. Really, the day was going so well. Her teammates were on full alert, waiting for her to give the signal, knowing exactly what she wanted them to do when it came.
The man with the shotgun started to speak. Something about a village close by. It'd be best to take Lourin now, rather than in the middle of a crowd of villagers. Time to move.
Cyb nodded at her second mate.
The three jumped out of the forest. Cyb went after the man with the gun, assuming him the most dangerous. Her pistol rested on his temple as she watched her crew members aimed their respective weapons at Lourin and Rage.
"Afternoon." Her voice came out raspy, like someone who hadn't spoken in quite some time. "We're not up for playing here. Just business." She knew she needn't say more; Lourin knew someone would come for him, she was sure. And he'd come quietly, if he knew what was good for him.
Posted by: meg at 08:19:33, 11/09/10.
| A cacophony of sounds echoed through the tiny room hidden within a small house, the sea raging beneath it as if hell was about to swallow the sea and all its users. There wasn't much in the room, just a candlestick shifting with the waves. 'So...' the silhouette of a large, well-dressed man shifted through the room, a tiny chair following suit, '...you're planning to go up against the Lord Captain?' Albie's pupil dilated as the figure sat down, his face handsome and sanguine. The flame lit up the face of Captain Striff, one of the Lord Captain's favourites.
The three men quickly stood to attention, Jac's height betraying him in the tiny room. The clonk of Jac's head with the heavy wooden ceiling made Striff chuckle, but only slightly. 'Sit, sit. There's no need for all this. Here there is no rank or status.' Sitting down, Jac massaged his head, feeling the sting of the knock. 'How did you--' Shaun was cut off by Striff's. 'The loyal companions of the former Captain Lourin Brimarch sitting by as the Lord Captain sends his most elite units to find, capture and deliver him to his executioner? I doubt it, Albie,' Striff looked at Albie with his pristine orbs, 'And how I found out where you lot would be. Well, let's just say it was wild guess.'
Silence hung in the air for a few moments as the three men stared at each other. 'What are you planning on doing, boys?' Striff ended the silence with his sarcastic whisper. Albie slammed his palm on the table, shaking the candle, 'We're going after Lourin. We'll find him and get our arses out of this hellhole.' Jac and Shaun nodded to this, their conformity putting causing Striff to chuckle once more.
'How do you plan on getting to Canada anyway? On Shaun's rickety boat? You'll never reach there in time,' Striff poke at Albie, causing Albie's choler to rise. 'We will get there! Even if it means stealing the Lord Captain's bloody ship! I will not allow you or anyone to stop me from completing my mission!' The heavy laugh of another man scared the three men, prompting them to draw their weapons. 'We're on your side, Albie,' the group turned looked out the door to find Lord Piper and Olsaa' peering into the tiny room.
'To quote Lourin: "As brother's we begin; as brother's we end..." Posted by: KyojoKen at 06:23:05, 11/05/10.
| A thousand knives stabbing her face awoke Ashling. She gasped, taking in a mouthful of ice cold water that burned her lungs like fire, causing her to choke violently and beg for breath. Her eyelids fluttering, she jumped, immediately flinching as she felt the suffocating pain in her stomach. The sick feeling of blood running down her body made her shiver and gag--he had cut too deep. He might have hit an organ. She could die from this. She probably was going to die from this...That bastard. She was still tied up, still being tortured, and, apparently, still being questioned. Obviously she had passed out from the gash in her stomach, which explains the wake-up call her face received. The same disgusting man was standing before her, a scowl on his face--as if her passing out had been an immense inconvenience for him. She let out a shaky breath, pain radiating from her slit stomach to every extremity of her body. She was almost resentful of her lack of knowledge--this torture was becoming positively unbearable.
Upon realizing she was awake, the man grinned a scornful, psychotic grin that chilled Ashling's soul. As he held up the knife, her blood reflected off of it, making it almost beautiful in an unearthly, surreal sort of way. He slowly twisted it around in his hand, evidence that he was quite accustomed to wielding the blade, and said in that gravely voice, "So you say you don't know anything. I do not believe you, miss, and I plan on getting everything I want out of you..." He paused, then added, "Everything." His eyes lazily made their over her bloody body, making rage and fear and hatred congeal within her gut. "However," he added, "It seems I've pushed you a tad too far. I shouldn't have cut so deep into your midsection--You'll have to visit the doctor, so he can patch you up and you don't die of blood loss. Or a punctured organ. But don't worry, I'll take care of you after he examines you. Don't you worry at all."
More bile rose within her throat as a few guards came in with a make-shift gurney and, surprisingly, laid her on it rather gently, minimizing the pain seeping through her veins. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see the people's gazes drilling into her as she passed cell after cell of "criminals" and "enemies of the state." Eventually, she was deposited in the medical ward, where a wiry man wearing a bloody apron proceeded to examine, stitch, and bandage her stomach, successfully staunching the bleeding and confirming that no organs had been injured. Just then, shouts erupted from the hallway, and screams of pain echoed off the cell bars. Rushing in, a guard screamed at the doctor, ordering him out so he could take a look at the victims of the fight that had broken out. With a glance to Ashling, the doctor said, "Yes yes, I can go, but someone must stay and watch her. She can't escape." The guard nodded, calling down the hall for his partner, and shifted out of the way for the doctor to exit.
Ashling took a shuddering breath and closed her eyes once more, listening to the shuffling and soft voices down the hall. The guards stood stationed just outside the door and spoke quietly, barely within earshot. Either way, she wasn't very interested in what they had to say. She was busy resigning herself to the fate she had here, drugged and injured and alone. She was lost in the world of her dreadful future when a name cut through her train of thought--What were the guards talking about?
She shifted around so she faced the door, then strained her ears to pick up the rest of the conversation.
"Yeah, apparently there was some kind of seismic activity in Russia--real serious shit. I head Captain talking about it. They're thinking it's Berserkers, like they thought. We got some people in there, but they haven't heard much. Just somethin' about this awesome weapon they're building, but I don't buy it. They're not that smart, just brutal."
"But how does that tie into Benson Rage? I don't get it, he was just some dude with a ship, I thought."
"Ah, no, Rage is legit. Not sure how he's involved with the weapon, though. Not that it matters. After that giant ass wave thing, Rage's body was never recovered. He probably got into the woods, but you know how dangerous they are around here. I bet that son of a bitch died. There were some rumors about it, at any rate. Lieutenant Jones said he thought he saw his body being eaten by a bear down south."
"Why didn't he stick around and find out?"
"What the fuck, Greg, would YOU stick around a big ass Grizzly eating?"
Ashling didn't hear the rest of their conversation--her heart had stopped beating. Rage...dead? In the wilderness? That couldn't be, he wasn't like that...He was smarter than that. He was quick and had the survival instincts of an animal. Of anyone she knew, he alone could easily survive in the Canadian wilderness...Right? Shit, he was dead. Her Rage...was dead. And she couldn't breath. Posted by: Jamee at 18:25:57, 10/31/10.
| Wesley was surprised to hear another voice, so much so that he ignored the most vile cursing he'd ever heard in his life-And he'd been raised with sailors!-And in one swift motion hit the stock of the shotgun to make it swing around the edge of the rock and into the air. After the shotgun had finished two rotations in mid-air he was already on his feet, turned around, holding his stone platter in his left hand and reaching to catch the shotgun deftly in his right with the motion of a bitch slap to the body of the gun. He was only interrupted by MORE CURSING, what else, and simply achieved smacking the gun into the fire which made the body heat up, which made the bullets heat up, which caused a series of extremely deafening BLOWs to echo through what seemed like every single hill in Canada right after this new professional cusser had demanded to see Wesley's buddies.
Mr. Morting was not one to be scared lightly but seven bullets flying everywhere around him were enough to scare a shark. He was a prime example of this fact hiding behind his big stone stool in the fetal position, chicken on the ground, loudly, but in a calm voice proclaiming "SHIT. SHIT. SHIT." Every time a shell would expend itself into the forest randomly. Once the epic shootout of the fire and nothing else in particular concluded there were no more rounds left in the shotgun and Wesley was deaf in his left ear from the close proximity to the wild rounds. He stood, dusted himself off, struck as noble a pose he could after cowering like plankton from a whale and stated in a voice that was obviously stressed beyond all hell "Hello, I am Wes-" He was interrupted by the sound of a sniper round that whizzed by his head close enough that he could feel wind and slammed itself into the side of the blade of Benson's switch-axe making a dent that would fit the contour of half a finger rather snugly.
Wesley made quick calculations in his head of where he'd felt the breeze of the round and where it ended up lodged an inch into steel and before he even knew it himself he'd quick-drew his flintlock and fired a seemingly random shot into the woods. It seemed random until a heaping human-shaped mass of leaves fell from the middle limbs of a tree 100 or so feet off from the camp site into more branches and stayed there hanging as the rifle he'd used kept falling to reach the ground. The rifle had a very odd look to it the way the stock looked almost like a piston for steam power. As wesley reloaded his pistol he checked the area to make sure no more interruptions would occur. Finally as he began to talk again "I am Wesley Mort-" The chamber of the shotgun exploded from hot air pressure but instead of acknowledging it he simply began again in a louder voice. "I am Wesley Morting of Jero's Town. It's a pleasure to meet another face besides my own that wishes not for me dead." He waited.....looked behind him, did a double-take behind him, then swung his arms up in relief breathing out the words "What? Nothing else?" Into the open air as if testing some unspoken law of nature that everything in the world was meant simply to interrupt his thoughts. He blew a bang of fallen hair out of his eyes then eyed the new person in his camp site noticing one other fellow with a spear trotting down the hill towards him as well. "I don't suppose you are meaning Jero's Town?" He asked Benson. "If you go by there, don't tell them I'm out here. Oh yes! They also have a fair smithy to repair that...um..." He gestures to the switch-axe in a contemplative manner then places his hands on his hips squinting at it. "Mm-blade!" He forced out in desperation of being politically correct. Posted by: death on parole at 22:21:23, 10/29/10.
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