NationStates Jolt Archive

It was another sunny day in New Krytan. The holiday season meant tourists, and the city welcomed them. The massive metropolis of over two hundred million citizens of Xanthal was bustling. It was the last weekend of the month, and that meant that people were spending their hard-earned cash.

OOC: Stick in a character, official or not! Enjoy the sights and sounds! Wander about the city (or travel to other Xanthalian cities)! Enjoy yourself! The only rule is not to cause more than five deaths in your time here and not to severely disrupt the nation at large! Come on in!

OOC: This RP has been closed until some of the people currently playing in it are done. I don't RP well trying to track ten different conversations.

OOC: A guy pops out of a building, shoots five people and leaves. :lol:

Sorry. Could not resist.

OOC: Stick around! With a different character though. Unless you want to RP running from the police.

The smelly old vagrant stumbles down a busy street, his thoughts a rush and his clothing ashamble. He'd made eighty dollars on the block and after paying Poppy Cholo, the grandfather of Xanthal's crack game, had decided to treat himself to a nine dollar bottle of wine and maybe pass out in the street somewhere. It looked to be a fine night in New Krytan.

Citizens avoid the disusting man with sour looks. A policewoman eyes him suspiciously.

Here we are. In the here and now, as an old friend used to say, and say he did, each time we met. Here, teetering about four thousand feet above the New Krystan skyline, we come to Now. Floating down, we slowly begin to understand where we begin, and life as you know it….stops.
Life, a creation. Something made by people purposely and accidentally. Something slowly and meticulously crafted, to suit ones needs or desires. Something almost undefinable.
Why doesn’t it communicate with us? Why doesn’t it tell us why it investigates murder and mayhem?
Why it encourages cruelty and perversion? Why should it? We don’t discuss politics with a cow or open diplomatic relations with a hen, for they are things that we own. They are things that exist to be harvested…
…as we too, exist to be harvested.
Here we slowly move, through the fields, the suburban areas, because none of them really concern us at this point, we’re going to move right along, past the ball-fields, the cropped grass, flaky painted bleachers stand alone, devoid of all life, as they should be. Quite funny, inanimate objects are left alone, as we are not, because we can think for ourselves.
We make the downtown area, and slow…
…almost to a halt, until I see myself.


When you’re spat on by the Abblah, your future is tarnished. You become his unwitting agent. You bear his shadow. I am a Psi-Stalker. I see the future. I see the probability lines shooting marvelously out on his agents, such as this man walking in front of me. If this man lives he will lead our nation in alliance with the coming abomination…
…if he lives.
I follow him into the alleys and when I move toward him he turns,

“Who are you?”, he cries. “What do you want?”

I laugh and retort,

“You’re guilty. You must die.”
I’m grabbing hold of this man’s lapels with one hand, and pulling my fiber-wire from my inner coat pocket with the other. During all of this, he is babbling on and on.

“You’re mad! wh-whatever you think I’ve done, I haven’t.”

“I know,” I say. “But you will.”

As I strangle him, he claims his innocence, I quickly intensify the pressure and silence him in a fraction of a second. His mouth opens, and his body tenses, then jaw slacking, he falls to the ground, his throat already swollen and face still contorted with his last painful moments still showing, almost like an expression of surprise.
No one is innocent. No one. Except me.

This is how I spend my nights: Dog barks, cats meow and I hunt shadows. Don’t question me, question the cosmos. I could be mad- if I am the world’s in trouble..
…and if I’m not, the world’s in trouble.

The old russian airplane of "Aerolineas Nacionales Bovinas" (National Bovine Airlines) landed with an awful noise on New Krytan's airport.
The airplane, proterty of Hell Bovines' only national carrier, was almost empty, as Hell Bovines, except from a few adventurers, weren't fond of travelling.

Tiago Bluehorns was a hell bovine or a "2 metre-tall sentient cow walking on its hinds". He looked through the window with excitement. At last he had arrived here, at Xanthal.
With a joyful smile he stood up and, carrying his small metallic case, got out of the plane. Usually Hell Bovines like to travel to friendly places with pre-arranged safe tours, but Tiago was not an average Hell Bovine, he was an adventurer, a cow that liked to live life to the extreme. (to hell bovinian extremes, at least)

As he walked through the streets torwards the Xanthal Black Pearl Hotel, a small one-star hotel in the suburbs, people looked at him strangely and got out of his way, as an enourmous, cigar-smoking, talking, robe-wearing cow is not a common sight anywhere, except of course in Hell Bovines and perhaps in other NHU members.

He arrived to the small, dirty hotel, so small that it was almost invisible to other people who passed in front of it. As a citizen with an intachable good conduct, Tiago could have asked the socialist government to pay him a luxurious first class hotel, but Tiago was an adventurer and he wanted to experiment what was to live withing another culture. Also, he didn't want any government behind his back, so that he could also fulfill a small plan he had on his mind.
He entered the shady hotel and ordered a room to a nervous xanthalian, who couldn't believe what his eyes were seeing....

OOC: Great RP idea! If there's anything I need to know about your nation or anything I'm RP-ing wrong, please tell me.

Ta-TING
Ta-TING
Ta-TING
Ta-TING

His footfalls echoed throughout the alleyway, like a knife through the silence. His Mirrorshades looked unremarkable, until you saw the small black lead running from the right side of the 'shades and vanishing down the collar of his shirt.

He wore a black duster of indeterminate material, CF Weave in actuality, but the chances of anybody around these parts knowing exactly what that was, were equivalent to null.

He wore black. It was more of a habit than a concious choice, really. A skintight black shirt showed his muscles off to excellent effect, but that was just gravy, as the saying went. Black tactical combat pants, of the type favored by tactical special forces imitators everywhere, and a pair of combat boots, completed the ensemble.

The odd thing was, unlike your average imitator, the clothing fit him. And well it should, as he wasn't imitating anybody. He was Major Severian Stark, and he was on vacation. Of course, the habits that had grown out of too many years of service to count, were still evident.

Concealed by his duster, was a belt-knife, eight inches of carbonite steel, with a five inch hilt, balanced for throwing. His trousers were bloused, and well they should be. He had been a Drop Commando. A member of the elite Seraphim Divisions.

He had been the best, before he'd gotten tapped to transfer to The Temple. Now, he was something else. Something that the man in him wished with all his being, that he'd never have to be.

Sev viewed the world in shades of blue and white, his Mirrorshades were built to act as a HUD, and to act as an EI device. Sev smiled absently, and subvocalized a command.

"Booster, Straight Optical."

The thermal overlay cut out, revealing a normal world, full of normal colors. It was good to see, in a way. It showed Sev that he was still Revenian, sortof. Sev was a Halfling, he was descended from an Ascended, directly in his case.

Sev stepped into an alleyway, and walked along, his hands in his pockets. He whistled a few bars of a song he'd heard in a bar the night before, and he seemed oblivious to the world. Of course, a trained individual would know that that was a common telltale of a Spook. They -always- looked innocent, oblivious, unknowing. They weren't.

Sev's muscles tightened and his ears perked. He felt the movement, the faint vibrations transmitted through the pavement to his feet. He knew that somebody was following him, and that that somebody was exactly one meter behind him.

The muscles in Sev's feet uncoiled explosively, and he shot straight upwards. Sev was from Northfell, a 2g standard world. Thusly, he was that much more effective.

Sev arced his body backwards, his twin hand-weapons had appeared in his hands. It was a neat trick, and one that he would never reveal. He could be standing before you naked, and he could still have those hand weapons on him. Nobody was sure how he did it, hell, nobody was even sure if Sev knew how he did it, but he did it.

His right hand held a RASP APSP, currently loaded with a ten-round of darts, each with a payload of paralytic agent, and set to fire them at subsonic speeds. The APSP was an advanced variable-speed linear accelerator.

In his left, was his own custom-built Dart Shooter. Carrying a fifteen round of darts with a payload of the same paralytic agent, and firing them at subsonic speeds. The Dart Shooter was more capable than the APSP, but the APSP was more flexible than the Dart Shooter.

He used them both.

The -THW-THWWP- of his hand weapons firing was not the sound of the weapons discharging, it was the very quiet sound of two darts hitting flesh. Which they did. They transferred their loads, and the man behind him found himself unable to move.

Sev turned and collected his darts, pocketing them. His hand-weapons had already vanished to whereabouts unknown.

Major Severian 'Sev' Stark, RASP, continued along. He sang as he walked, and he it was as if the events of a few seconds ago had never happened.

"...and I've always sort of missed her..."
----
http://www.freewebs.com/revenia/SeverianAvatar.JPG
Major His Lordship Severian Stark
Lord Camarant
Revenian Agent, Special Purpose.

OOC: This is splitting into different times of day. Oh well, I can do that.

Nazguul: A shadowy figure appears behind the man who had committed the murder, hidden by the mist. "A dangerous act to commit in Xanthal's capital. How many have you killed this way?"

Hell Bovines: The innkeeper eyes him suspiciously. "I've only heard of your kind in school. Hells Bovines is where you're from, eh? Well, I won't welcome you to Xanthal... What's the point?" He hands the cow a key. "Can you even use a normal bed?"

Revenia: A Xanthalian policeman calls out from the street, looking down the rows of buildings. "Hey you! Halt!" He jogs quickly towards the Major.

He stared into his glass. Empty. He didn't care. He didn't see that it was empty. he saw on the faces of the children...the dead children.....

Celack: OOC: I'll just assume your guy's at a bar.
IC: The bartender looked at the foreigner with a questioning expression. The man had been sitting there in silence for almost an hour. "Hey buddy, you want another drink?"

o.o.c. What time frame does this take place in?
I'll write bigger posts when i know because I got two different ideas.

i.c. "Naw i'm fine." Hey looked around and saw Der thris passed out.

o.o.c. What time frame does this take place in?
I'll write bigger posts when i know because I got two different ideas.

i.c. "Naw i'm fine." Hey looked around and saw Der thris passed out.

Flying into the city in a supersonic jet at first class, the very prudent, succesful, and skitso business man enjoyed the beutiful view of the city, then despised its brightness, and finally scratched at the window to get out and experience the bright scene in unpressurized air.

Forty minutes later

"Ah, what a wonderful scent on the air! what is that? is it flowers? why, yes it is! *walks to flower booth, talks to clerk* Sir?, may I have those wonderful white roses there? *pays man* Thankyou!"

The business man quickly rips apart the flowers in disgust once stepping outside

"Well, thats a far fall down to earth, isnt it?" the man commentates staring at the black void down one of many fenced in disposal holes, for trash.
"And it smells horrible!! I dont want to be anywhere near there." the man, Nicholai Prebensen, starts walking off to his very expensive luxury hotel.

(OOC: Sh*te! sorry, you put the thread closed thing after i started typing...)

Hell Bovines: The innkeeper eyes him suspiciously. "I've only heard of your kind in school. Hells Bovines is where you're from, eh? Well, I won't welcome you to Xanthal... What's the point?" He hands the cow a key. "Can you even use a normal bed?"


"Yes, I'm from Hell Bovines and yes, I can use a normal bed, although they are rather uncomfortable.", replied Tiago.
He grabbed the key and added sarcastically: "Thanks for the welcome"

He walked through the destroyed halls and reached his room. He entered, to discover his stay was going to be more adventurous than what he expected. He left his luggage and got out, and started wandering through Xanthal's crowded streets. This country was so similar to Hell Bovines, yet so different.
Xanthalians were friendly people and pollution was almost unexistant, however, everything here looked so modern and cold 8al least compared to Hell Bovines).
As he walked, the people got out of his way. Who could blame them? A walking cow is not a common sight.
As he wandered, he entered in a small bar, where he saw a depressed man with a lost look and a red-haired woman. Appart from them, the bar was desserted.

He sat on a dark corner, ordered a tequila and litted a typical hell bovinian cigar, while he continued thinking about his 'excentric liberation plan' and how would he make it happen.
He sat in a chair in a dark corner and ordered a tequila.

Celack: OOC: This takes place in the mid 34th. century on Aellis V, the capital planet of Xanthal.

The Holy Saints: OOC: There are no trash holes in this city, thank you very much.

Hell Bovines: OOC: Ouch. There are plenty of friendly Xanthalians. It's not polluted, and there are no cars at all! Everyone gets around by public hovertrains and subways. We have little in the way of an industrial sector, and almost no industry at all on Aellis V. Our biggest industry is building starships, and that is done in space. I wouldn't believe much in our nation description. That thing is meant for modern nations. By the way, this is just a fun, unconnected to anything RP. By participating you're not obligated to acknowledge future nations in any other thread.

Hell Bovines: OOC: Ouch. There are plenty of friendly Xanthalians. It's not polluted, and there are no cars at all! Everyone gets around by public hovertrains and subways. We have little in the way of an industrial sector, and almost no industry at all on Aellis V. Our biggest industry is building starships, and that is done in space. I wouldn't believe much in our nation description. That thing is meant for modern nations. By the way, this is just a fun, unconnected to anything RP. By participating you're not obligated to acknowledge future nations in any other thread.

OOC: My mistake! I'm editing the post right now.
Don't worry, I do recognise modern nations, as long as they don't godmod.

Celack: OOC: This takes place in the mid 34th. century on Aellis V, the capital planet of Xanthal.

The Holy Saints: OOC: There are no trash holes in this city, thank you very much.

Hell Bovines: OOC: Ouch. There are plenty of friendly Xanthalians. It's not polluted, and there are no cars at all! Everyone gets around by public hovertrains and subways. We have little in the way of an industrial sector, and almost no industry at all on Aellis V. Our biggest industry is building starships, and that is done in space. I wouldn't believe much in our nation description. That thing is meant for modern nations. By the way, this is just a fun, unconnected to anything RP. By participating you're not obligated to acknowledge future nations in any other thread.

OOC:you realize this guy's skitso and high, right?

The Holy Saints: OOC: Well, continue. I can't think of anything to do with your guy yet since you aren't encountering anyone.

Hell Bovines: The woman moves over to Tiago. "Hey, what's with the look? I don't think I'm familiar with your species."