1x1?

[shadow_claw]

Since most of the rp's I'm involved in are currently either dead or dying, I'm looking to do a couple 1x1's. I have a few stipulations:

 

-Fully Literate

-Ocs, story-based, most preferably

- das it

 

Hook me up if anyone is interested. I'm fun to write with, I promise.

[padfoot]

Raises hand slowly*

I don't really have any ideas but we can colab something

[Zeditha]

I'm up for something if you wanna do a 1x2

If it has anything to do with dragons, winged people, or foxes, count me in.

[shadow_claw]

I have a few plots rolling in my head at the moment:

 

-manhunt: one character is hunting down another. Motive is flexible. Doesn't necessarily have to be violent.

- possessed: a character is plauged by a ghost/ demon. They're looking to rid themself of their spectre.

- Secrets: a group of characters are trapped. The key to their escape are their darkest secrets.

 

That's all I have right now :/

 

They're generic on purpose so it's easier to build upon.

 

[padfoot]

I sorta have an idea on the possessed one but I defiantly have an idea on the manhunt one.

[shadow_claw]

Throw it out there; let's see what sticks.

[padfoot]

well the possession on im still not entirely sure. Something like the possessed character get help from the badass reverend or priest or wizard or whatever.

 

Now for the manhunt one. Character(s?) wake up in a forest setting with an house arrest anklet locked to their ankle. If more charaters are present. Nearby, another unconscious person lyes with an identicall anklet. Upon exploration, you find that the anklets beep simultaneously when you reach a certain distance apart. you are being hunted by a man with a gun.

[shadow_claw]

Oooh your idea sounds so rad. It'd be like a cooperative Most Dangerous Game?

 

I'm super down for that.

[padfoot]

Yes, that's exactly what I was imagining.

I only request that I am the Hunter.

OR we can each play a hunter and a prey.

[shadow_claw]

Nah, you can be the hunter. I can play a runner pretty well >:]

 

Sheets are next, I guess.

 

Username:

Name:

Age:

Gender:

Appearance:

Personality:

History:

Other:

 

Am I missing anything?

[padfoot]

Username:padfoot

Name: Man with a Gun (He'll get a name later)

Age:25-30

Gender:male

Appearance: The man with a Gun is average height (About 6 foot) with broad shoulders and is built to push tractors. He has the appearance to have been sleeping in the woods for at least a week. A grizzled beard and tired looking bags under his eyes make him appear to be much older than he is. He wears a green and black flannel with a pair of dirty kakies. His boots look like new, the only imperfetion if the ring of caked mud around the edges. The Man with a Gun travels with a bolt action Weatherby Vanguard slung over his shoulder(When he is not using it). A faded blue nylon backpack holds the little supplies he needs to survive in the woods.

Personality: Rp'ed. I want to write in 3rd person before his name is revealed)

History: Rp'ed

Other: Hunter.

Edited October 26, 2016 by padfoot

[shadow_claw]

whoo, took a while to find a character you know little about.

 

Username: shadow_claw

Name: Niamh Aonghus

Age: 36

Gender: Female

Appearance: Niamh is generally average in height standards, but is built sturdy. Her square shoulders and barrel chest make her seem much shorter than she actually is, however. Her skin is on the pale side and is dotted with freckles. Niamh's wild brown hair is always tied up into a neat bun, for when it isn't, it's all over the place. Her usual clothes are casual but appropriate; a button-up shirt and dark jeans are her go-to.

 

Other than this, Niamh has many a scar. A long, deep scar running from the top of her cheekbone to the bottom of her jaw. Silver-pink, like most scars, it seems to have healed very poorly. It mars her round face, causing the left side of her face to sink in slightly. Scars nick her hands and arms as well, just as savage. A few chunks are missing from some fingers. Her left index finger is down to the first knuckle.

Personality: Niamh has always been a spirited individual. Stubborn and fiery, she hasn't been one to have many friends. When not in a mood, she's a bit of an ice queen. Silent and pensive, those haunting pale eyes of hers seem to pierce through the soul.

History: Rp'd.

Other: The only thing on her person is a multi-purpose knife.

[padfoot]

78:00

 

Niamh Aonghus Is laying on her side in the middle of a small clearing. The morning sun filters through the pine canopy in organic spots on the ground. Rough pine trunks and low underbrush mens visibility is good. In the clearing, Niamh is resting on a soft bed of pine needles and surrounded by small tuffs of wilfflowers. Due northm hanging from a tree is a small black bag. Barely big enough to be a camera bag, it contained three MREs, a half liter of water, a compass, and a mylar blanket. While the supplies are few, they are worth their weith in god to Niamh, she just doesn't know it.

 

There are no foot prints on the ground, no visiable trails leading to the clearing, or and discernible landmarks in the immediate area. The weather is chilly but is warming with the rising sun. It is berrzeless and the sky is void of clouds.

 

As the woman stirred as the sedatives begin to loosen their grip on her mind, she drags her left leg up towards her chest. Attached to her ankle is a black plastic bracer, not unlike one someone on house arrest would wear. Ingraved into the plastic on the inner part of th ring are the words; DO NOT TOUCH. The message seems to be etched with laser percision. Somewhere within the confinds of the shackle there is a blinking red light blinking with the calm rhythm of a human heart.

[shadow_claw]

As the haze of sedatives began to fade, Niamh slowly began to become aware of her sureoundings. What began as slow, easy movements sped up considerably the longer she was awake. The gentle hand on her left ankle tightened its grip as she gave it a hard shake. The anklet rattled, but otherwise remained on.

 

Jerking into a sitting position, her wild mop of hair spilled into her face and down her shoulders. Somewhere along her trip to this unknown location, her hair band seemed to gave been lost. No matter. Other than this and the anklet, not much had changed. Pine needles clung to her face and other exposed skin, sticking out of sheer will.

 

Sweeping all her hair into her hands, the woman twisted her hair into a bun. With no hair bands in sight, she snapped off two twigs and pierced them through her thick coil of hair.

 

There. Much better. Satisfied with her makeshift work, Niamh climbed to her feet and searched her body. Hidden on her left thigh was a knife. Hm. It seems as if whoever moved her hadn't checked her for weapons. Or perhaps they had. She didn't know.

 

Now here was the real question: where was she? How had she ended up here? The fog from her previous conscious moments still jadn't lifted. Niamh rose slowly, dizzy from whatever was fading from her veins. Something awful had happened. That much she knew. But what was it?

[padfoot]

77:15

 

The Man with the Gun stirs his pot of boiling water that sits balanced on two logs over a small fire. The Man scoops out a glob of reheated grits to his lips and eats. chewing thoughtfullly and without savour, The man mentally prepared for his day. When he woke up this morning anc checked the black plastic collar locked around his neck, the clock that once read 78 was begining to count down. He was unsure what this meant but he assumed it was not good. There was a reason that whoever trapped him here gave him a gun and he was afraid it had something to do with the collar's timer. He was on day four of his forced camping trip and it was begining to take it's toll. His back was stiff from sleeping on the ground, his feet ached from the constant travel and he desperatly wanted a shower.

 

The man with the gun stomped out his fire anc kicked the lose soil over the embers. H had packed up his meager camp and was ready to head out. The only clue he had to his purpose out here in the woods was a small note explaining his goal and a scrawled note written on his inner theigh that simply said, GO NORTH. IT was written in his handwritting but he couldnt remember writing it or what it meant. He had a feeling in his gut that he should trust it though. The Man with the Gun checked his compass to confirm that he was in fact traveling north and headed through the trees.

[shadow_claw]

Niamh took in her surroundings slowly, carefully. The knife tumbled elegantly in her left hand, weaving between fingers with a practiced smoothness. The knife brought peace of mind. Even if he days of scrapping fights had long since faded behind her, it felt much safer to have a weapon.

 

Pale eyes locked on a dark shape in the distance. Whatever it was hung from a low treebranch. Perhaps a wasp nest? Curious, she began to walk towards the shape. It was only about ten meters away, so it was no problem to reach. Vauge shapes became detailed putlines and a rough texture. Soon, she was able to see the whole thing in detail.

 

A tiny black backpack hung carelessly from a tree. It was like someone left it there in quite the hurry. All Niamh had to do to wrestle it down was stand on her tip toes. Soon, she was rifling through the limited interior of the bag to see its contents.

 

Survival supplies? she pondered. Niamh's face creased with concern as she neatly tucked everything away. Everything but the bottle of water and compass. However long she had been unconscious had to have been a good while, for she was parched.

[padfoot]

The man with the gun walked on, steady and unyeilding. His backpack's straps dug into his collarbone, cutting deeper with each heavy footfall. He was unsure where he was going, except that it was north, but he knew what he must do. The note left with him when he came too had very clear, very brief instructions what would happen when the timer started.

 

After a good amount of progress in the seemingly infinite forest, The man with the gun stopped for a rest. He dropped his bag heavily by a tree and propped his gun against it. He took a long swing from his canteen.

 

BEEPbeep

 

The man with the gun nearly choked when the silence of the woods was interupted by a digital tone.

 

BEEPbeep

 

It was close too. Or perhaps far and very loud?It was difficult. The man with the gun stood silent, straining to hear the next tone.

 

BEEPbeep

 

The man with the gun had his hands on his rifle before the second beep. He rose it up to his shoulder and clicked off the safety. He waited. 10 seconds. 20 seconds. 45 seconds. a minute. The tone did not sound again. The man with the gun lowered his gun to it's resting place and walked to retrive his dropped canteen. It was lucky the cap was on or-

 

BEEPbeep

 

He paused and stepped back to get his rifle. The sound stopped again. He walked to his canteen again.

 

BEEPbeep

 

He froze. the beeping continued at a steady pace Almost like a heart beet he noted. the man with the gun rocked back and forth on he feet, findng that the half of the clearing with his bag did not beep, and the other half did. He pulled out his compass and checked the direction. West. The way he saw it, his collar was being made to beep like that when he got closer to...something. It was off his ordinary Northward path and started west, his collar beepbeeping all the while.

 

Almost a mile and a half away, Niamh, anklet begins to beep. Hers has a slightly uneven tone where each BEEPbeep comes at slightly different rates.

[shadow_claw]

Niamh uncapped the half litre of water and brought it to her lips. As soon as she began to swallow, however, she was startled by a noise.

 

BEEPbeep

 

The woman choked, spitting water everywhere in her startled state. A long, heavy cough racked her body as she worked to clear her airway. By the time her brief moment of panic subsided, the forest was once again silent. Niamh screwed the cap back on her water bottle, choosing this time to return it to the little bag.

 

Pale eyes now drifted to the compass. She was facing North now, but that didn't really say much. At all. Where the hell was she? How had she arrived here? Who the hell dropped her off in some godforsaken forest?

 

BEEPbeep

 

Although startled by the sound, Niamh only jumped. That noise. It had come from...her anklet? Yes, that had to be it. Pausing to roll up her slacks on her left leg, she eyed the plastic accessory suspisciously. She had to be sure. Before all else, she had to know where this noise was coming from.

 

Nothing. At least, not for about thirty seconds. Then the noise, fleeting and mechanical, sounded from a small speaker in the anklet.

 

BEEPbeep

 

What was that supposed to mean? Was it some weird form of sonar, and her dumb little cuff was picking it up? Not likely. She knew little of house arrest anklets, but they tracked location, right?

 

That had to be what it was doing.

 

Niamh shouldered her bag once more, this time intent on moving. That anklet either wanted-or didn't want-her to go somewhere. So here was a real puzzler:

 

Was she supposed to follow or run from the sound?

[padfoot]

75:04

 

At this time, the beeping stopped in The Man WIth a Gun's black collar. As did the Man With a Gun. Change meant something, it had to. He was standing in the middle of a small clearing withs tuffts for wild flowers poking up through the pine straw, reaching for the valuable sulight they needed to survive. Something about a particular patch caught his attention. This patch of small white flowers were curshed. in the center. The stems fanning out from a oval divit in the bed. The Man With the Gun poked the crushed mound with his boot and studied the shape. There was a footprint.

"There's a person out here. Realitivly close I assume or at least was. The Man with a Gun looked in the direction of his previous travels, contemplated, and ontinued on. When he reached the edge of the clearing, however, the beeping began again. The Man stopped for several seconds, one foot in the clearing and one foot out. After several more seconds, the beeping stopped. THe Man with a Gun looked back over his shoulder at the crushed flowers, shook his head, and kept walking.