New roleplay idear ( i dont have a name yet :S)

Status
Not open for further replies.
M

Metzer

First time out of the vault
hi to all the Rpers out on the forums. ok i haven't ever lead a roleplay before but i've had an idear about one for fallout for a little while now. i haven't seen any others like it really but then i haven't really search :P. ok so i have created this thread to drum up some interest in my RP well if there is any and i will also answer questions about the roleplay here to. ok so now im gona tell you about my idear.

I was always fascinated with New Reno in Fallout 2 the way the city never gave a chance to any of its inhabitants to survive long in its dog eat dog world. for me it perfectly symbolizes the world of the post nuclear war. So one day it struck me that mabe i should make a rp about new reno or new reno based and here is what my idear is.

The Rp if you haven't alreadys guessed will be set in new reno, and based around the surrounding area. it happens approximately 20 years after Fallout 2 and alot of changes have happened in the town of New Reno. the 4 ganges are no longer there they have been wiped out by each other. in its place are young hopefuls fighting for domination over the New Reno Streets. My character will be on of these hopeful gang Leaders and the rolePlay will folo him and hi gang through there stuggle in the world of Fallout.

Please fell free to ask me any questions you may have about the RP.

Here is some background story for you to get a general idear about the events that have happened in New Reno in the past.

The crowd of burly men walked across the street into the many slums of New Reno. the place was now full of jet addicts and drug dealers. New Reno really had become worse after the Salvatore's had been snuffed out 3 years ago. Atleast they helped keep some order on the streets around the bar, but now the Bishops family were free to feed the streets of Reno its self destructing addiction "Jet". The man in the center of the group was Tommy Bishop the newly appointed Don of the bishop family. he had a cocky nature about him and would never listen to any advice. he was the kind of guy that thought he knew it all. the men surrounding him Scaned the area ahead for danger, until they arrived at a large warehouse some way outside of New Reno.

the men had arrived to complete a rather large drug deal that would make them all alot of mojney if all went well. the Warehouse had seen better days but then so had most of the building in Reno. the Huge rusty metal doors slide open letting out a piercing screech. as the group entered the dim warehouse they approached a man sitting at a large wooden talbe in the center of the room. beside him were a few heavily armoured guards and they suspected that many more were hidden around the room to jump out and attack at the sign of anything going wrong. Tommy bounded towards the table slamming his palms down on it making dust lead of the edges.

Tommy said" so you go the Jet?"
The man replayed " yea i got the Jet do you have the money we agreed on?"
" yea i got the money although if you ask me it is way to much for the stuff were buying." tommy snarled at the man he was hoping to get a last minute price reduction to make even more money.
" do you have a problem with the price then Tommy? if so i suggest you take you motley crew and crawl back the the whole you came from" the man rose from his seat looming over tommy agresivly/

At this point tommy's boys knew something was gone go wrong tommy was never good at swallowing his tonge when he had been insulted. the all readied there weapons to mow down any attackers, as soon as they cocked the guns a deadly crossfire rang around the warehouse smashing into there group. 2 of the guards were killed instantly blood pouring out of there heavy wounds. the remaining bishop's returned fire but in vain they couldn't even see were the fire was coming from and the sound of bullets hitting the sides of the ware house rang out. after a few minutes the gang had been completely killed including Tommy.

the last of the New Reno 4 had been killed and the time for new gangs to rise up and try to tame the beast that is New Reno has come. will you take up this challenge?
 
"...Hit."
The man sat at the table, wearing an all-black prewar suit, incredibly clean for it's age. A pair of silver tinted glasses covered his eyes. A card was flipped to him. He placed a gloved hand on the card then pulled it to him. He looked at the dealer, not minding the other players. The other players showed their hands, a 19, a 16, 18, and a 20. The suited man played his hand, two tens and an ace. He picked up his chips, and went to cash out.

"The black and pink kind."
He set the gold coins down on the counter, picking up the carton of cigarettes and walking out the door. He kneeled down as he took off his backpack. He opened the carton, taking out a pack then placed the carton in his backpack.
He stood, lighting one of the cigarettes, leaning against the nearest wall. Something caught his eye. Some pathetic man, obviously a jet burnout. He sighed, taking a drag of his cigarette watching the man. The man then started towards him.
"Hey man, spare a dollar?"
"No."
"I'm just looking for some money for some food."
"I've heard that so many times. Maybe you'd have money if you sold it instead of taking it all."
"Man... What are you talking about?"
"Don't play stupid with me. Get the fuck out of here."
"Just a dollar, man."
The suited man reached to his hip, pulling a long revolver from the concealment of his jacket, his thumb pulling back the hammer, "I don't repeat myself."
"Okay man, okay. I don't want any trouble."
The burnout walked away slowly. The suited man pressed the cylinder release on the gun, pulled the trigger, flicked the cylinder back into the revolver and replaced it back in it's holster.
Just another normal day in New Reno. Even though the gangs were gone, it was still corrupt. Some form of excitement would present itself. And it seemed to be coming his way.
"You seem like a sensible man."
"Most times. You have a sensible offer. Make it short, and if you plan to make money, make it good."
It was clearly a pimp, or the equivalent in these times. He smirked, waving a hand toward him. A pretty girl, shoulder-length black hair, blue eyes, wearing a black short dress, and a slave collar around her neck. The pimp looked to her, "Her name's Annie. She's 100% clean, and she loves it."
The suited man ashed his cigarette, "How much?"
"Let's say... 200 per night. 1,700 and she's all yours."
"Is she really worth that much?"
"Every single dollar."
The suited man eyed the girl, "1,350."
"She's a great girl. At 1,700 she's a bargain."
"1,400."
"Alright, alright. How about 1,550."
"1,400. With all the casinos around here you could flip that into over 3,000."
The pimp thought for a second, "You drive a hard bargain, sir. But like I said, you are a sensible man."
"Most times."
"1,400 it is."
The man took off his backpack, then handed the pimp a large bag. He slipped his backpack on, then the pimp left. Annie stepped to him, "You don't seem like the kind of person who would be into hookers."
"I'm not, it just breaks my heart to see a pretty girl like you being treated like nothing more than merchandise."
"Well... That's all I am..."
"No. You're a person like me, and everyone else. You deserve to be free and enjoy the world... Enjoy what's left of the world like everyone else."
"... So does that mean you're taking off my collar?"
"Annie, I didn't pay 1,400 dollars just for a fuzzy feeling on the inside for doing something good for someone else. I'm obviously going to fuck your brains out. Then we'll see where it goes from there."
There was a silence between the two, then Annie spoke, "...Then what name should I yell when you're on top of me?"
"Skytzoe's fine."
 
Eddie stood in the front foyer of Hoyts Palace Casino, a small pyramid of ammo cans at his feet. He hated working the afternoon crowd, nobody ever bought a thing until after five when the liquor loosened up their purses a bit.

" 'Ollow points! Goin' fast! Extra stoppin' power! Ten'll get ya twenty!"

The rounds were bad and most of the people walking through knew it. He found a whole crate in a sub basement of a burnt out way station a couple miles out of town. They were wet, maybe one in five would fire, but lately everyone seems to need a weapon, and the most of the addicts didn't know the first thing about firearms.

He'd be able to move the lot of them by the end of the week, have to, to be able pay his "insurance" for the month. But that was the price of business, especially for a ghoul. He couldn't complain, business was booming, the city was a battlefield and everyone was looking for better ammo, upgrades, custom jobs, repairs. And weapons seemed to be the one thing people didn't mind buying from a ghoul.

"Come on paley, don't get caught with yer pants around yer ankles!"

He hated working the crowds, it was degrading. Used to be an Aircraft Technician, but that was before, before the bombs fell and everything went to hell. Now he got by pushing soft merchandise and making repairs. Wouldn't be half bad if those high and mighty bastards downtown let him open a shop, but he couldn't complain, didn't expect to even be alive 150+ years later, what a trip that turned out to be.

"Ten'll get ya twenty! Get 'em while there hot! Weekend's comin fast, stock up if ya wanna see Mondy!"

He hated working the crowds . . .
 
Skytzoe stood against the railing of the balcony, only wearing a pair of pants. He held a champagne glass in his hand.
His torso was covered with scars of all shapes and sizes, the most numerous being small and circular. He hooked the back of the labret, which was above the left side of his upper lip with his teeth before taking a sip and releasing the labret. He knew he shouldn't have been there. He should be back in Lost Hills, or more rather, around that area. His eyes shifted as he heard footsteps to his side. He set his eyes on the city again, taking a sip from his glass, "So, what now?"
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. I'm not sure where to go or what to do."
"I guess you can stay with me until I leave."
"When's that?"
"Day after Tomorrow."
"Can I come with you?"
"I wouldn't suggest it."
"Why not?"
Skytzoe took a sip from his glass again, then looked down at the empty glass, "The answer is as simple as looking at me."
 
Marshall sat on the edge of the dumpster, smoking from his illicit joint, on the backside of Hoyt's Casino. His blood-shot eyes pondered down the alleyway, trash and debris littering the aisle. It was quiet, most of the homeless were out trying to score and left the usual hangout spot was left desolate. Marshall was lucky to of found some pot, though it only made him hungrier but he was used to that. He had no food, no money. But he had a knife.

He slid a shiv that he made from an ice-pick, a piece of wood and some wire and duct tape holding it together, from his pants pocket. He continued to the entrance of the alley, flicking the roach and concealing the shiv in his closed palm.

"Game Time."
 
He opened his backpack and began looking through it. The carton of cigarettes, large amounts of pre-war narcotics, grenades, a clear plastic box containing several folded bandanas of different colours, leather pouches that jingled. Then, he pulled out a cardboard box and opened it. He dropped the box, two .500 magnum rounds falling out as he looked through his backpack again. He pulled out another box and checked. He sighed, "27."
"27 what?"
"Rounds."
"...For what?"
"Total. Stay here, I need to go shopping."


The street vendors were getting on his nerves, trying to pass off .45 ACP as .454 Cassul, and .50 AE as .500 Magnum. He could almost swear that the vendors knew less about their merchandise than any first-time buyer. He put a cigarette between his lips and lit it. He heard a raspy voice, "Ten'll get ya twenty!"
He turned to the ghoul and walked, "I'll pay you triple of what you're asking if you have .500 mag and .454 Cassull."
 
Marshall stood diligent as he scanned the boulevard for fish, a dozen passerbys but none of them seemed worth his time. They all carried rags for clothes, just like him.

The casino guards stood outfront, checking the list and letting regulars in. The poor and beggars were turned away after an extensive wait in line. It was a good night and almost twenty were in line. But those were off limits, Marshall could rob anybody not involved with the casino, if he did, he'd be shot dead. But if he robbed anybody not of the casino's financial concern, they didn't give two shits.

As he was fixated on that mention, he noticed a very out-of place gentleman. A gentleman was someone of higher status, and their suit said so. Marshall crept beside the side wall, peering his head to watch. He was haggling with Eddie, who was always trying to pitch his goods. The man's focus was preoccupied with his businesss. Marshall took off toward the casino's foyer...

He lowered his head as he came close, only to pull his shiv to the mans throat as he lunged behind him, tugging his other arm around the mans head and exposing his neck.

"Gimme your fuckin' money.. EVERYTHING YOU GOT! Or I'm gonna slit ya right here!", Marshall whispered softly into the mans ear.

"Don't even bust a move brother, twitch and your leakin' red!"
 
"I'll pay you triple of what you're asking if you have .500 mag and .454 Cassull."

Eddie turned to see who was addressing him. He could tell right away the man not only knew what he was talking about but could probably afford it, more importantly he could put a big hole in Eddie if he tried to give him dud rounds.

"What makes ya think I got any'em cannon rounds?"

He bent down and took one of the cans from the bottom of the pile, shook it, set it back down, picked up another, shook it, set it down and opened the lid. He pulled out a ratty yellow stocking and looked inside.

"Ehh I got 10 mags, maybe 7 a which'll actually go off, and 4 uh the casulls but I'm almost sure er duds, if ya give me a hour I kin getch ya a dozen a each, maybe more if yer lucky, I gotta run back ta . . ."

He trailed off as he looked up at the man in the suit and saw the filthy urchin lining himself up for a run. stupid bastard sure knew how to pick them. Before Eddie could say anything or even point he was on the man.

"I'll tell ya right now that aint a good idear yuh damn fool! cant yuh see he's gotta room!?"

He pulled the stun wand from his belt and clicked the trigger and arcing electricity across the terminals.

"Damn it! I finally git a sale and one uh you buggers gotta go ruin it fer me! GIT OFFA MY CLIENTELE!!!"

He shouted in a choked gravely voice as he closed in, raising the wand, though not expecting to make it to them before the man in the suit snapped into action.
 
"Get back ya grimey ghoul or he gets a sliced adam's apple!", Marshall tugged the man backwards, giving some distance between them and the overly brave ghoul merchant.
This time he pushed the shiv into his skin, though not puncturing the gentleman's vulnerable jugular.

"I'm not gonna say it again! Drop all your shit on the ground and walk towards Eddie! NOW!", Marshall, this time, yelling into the man's earlope.
 
He looked out of the corner of his eye, "I don't see much sense in what you're doing, seeing as how many advantages I have over you, especially the ones you actually gave to me. The two options I give you are to walk away, or die on this street corner. So, which one is it gonna be?"
He simply smirked, not moving a bit, contrary to his captor's demands.
 
"Your choice then", Marshall quickly punctured the man's throat and sprinted to the alleyway and headed off into the darkness.
 
His immediate reaction was to place his hand over the wound and press it tight, keeping pressure on it. With his free hand he took the cigarette from his mouth. He moved his hand for a moment to press the burning tip of the cigarette against the puncture. He replaced his hand over his throat. He had stopped most of the bleeding, and thankfully the back of his throat was uninjured. He slid his thumb over the puncture wound and looked to the ghoul, "So, ten mags. Does that men ten mags of five? If so, that's fifty, minus fifteen equals thirty five..."
He began thinking, seeming oblivious to the encounter just happened, save for the finger over the wound. He began talking to himself, "Twenty for ten means 50 cents a round, 50 times three is dollar fifty, dollar fifty times thirty five equals... that's thirty five... thirty five times fifty equals seventeen hundred fifty, move the decimal, that's seventeen fifty... So for the .500 magnum it would be fifty-two fifty... Oh wait... Cents don't exist. Let's say fifty three. And for four five four, since you need to go get them let's say five times, so... Fifty three for the .500 and 30 for the four five four? But I think I'll need more than a dozen four five four. Think you might be able to get me... Let's say... 60 rounds of four five four?"
 
Eddie just watched as the attack concluded and the aggressor ran off. He lowered the baton and switches it off. He looked on speechless as the man tended his wound and then addressed him again as if nothing happened.

"Well uh, I spose I could scrape up about that if yuh gimme a day er so. That sure is a lota ammo, what a ya need all that fer?"

Then after a moment.

"Maybe ya oughta see a doctor er somethin"

Pointing to his own neck.
 
"I guess you could say I travel alot. And what would a doctor do? Give me a stimpack and some bandages, tell me to take it easy? Besides, who else have you met that can do this?"
He took a drag off his cigarette, then uncovered the hole in his throat. He closed his mouth then exhaled the drag, which exited through the hole in his throat. Skytzoe covered the hole back up, "So, ten mags. Five a piece. Fifty. That world normally cost about 25. For me it'll cost 75. Along with the four five four, it would be 135. So, I guess I'll take all ten of the .500, and do you have about... Ten pounds or so of gunpowder?"
 
"I kin get um alright, but you ain't plannin on making any trouble, I gotta ask cause when I'm movin this much lead they're gonna grill me as ta who's buyin. You start shootin this place up, it'll get back to me real quick, and some a these fellas are just lookin fer an excuse to give a ghoul a good trouncin."
 
"I'm not planning any trouble. I'm just planning a trip, back to California. You know how the wastes can be, deathclaws, yao guais, raiders. You don't know how useful a high-caliber handgun can be against those first two."
He took a long drag of his cigarette, exhaling through his nose, "Besides, .500 and four five four are rare commodities. Do you think I'd really waste them on these burnouts and pimps around here? No. I'm not like the Enclave. I won't kill innocent people just for trying to get by. Now, I have a question for you. Can I trust you enough to pay you in advance?"
 
Status
Not open for further replies.
Back
Top