NationStates Jolt Archive

I've devoted a fair bit of time and effort of creativity in developing my nationstate, including RPing and advancing my military and economy congruently.

I am looking for some nationstates run by those with a modicum of skill in storytelling and plot developing. This requires one to pay more than a passing attention to spelling and grammar. This "leet" or whatever the hell it is called, is the worst thing to happen to the English language (and literacy) in a very long time and is not only discouraged but ignored.

My personal criteria here relate to creativity and clarity of expression - not necessarily how old your nationstate is. But I refuse to RP with those whose creative extent is something like: "i nook ur comunicashinz in to glass with my (insert ridiculous technology here). then i kick ur ass with my trewps! roar!!!"

So please, anyone who can write and who cares to put some effort into their RPing...post here. Or telegram me.

I'll consider joining, any chance I could know a little about what you plan in your RP?

That is, of course, if you consider me a good RPer....

Same as Falastur. And I like l337. But only to make fun of.

I've done a few pretty good RPs

http://www.livejournal.com/users/lazrus_armagedn/46215.html

I'm a very avid writer/reader and a strong supporter of literacy and articulation. My friends will agree with me on this, as i call them on their stupid slang all the time. I'm in.

I'd like to know what the RP is going to be about before I think about joining.

I may be interested. What sort of role-play did you have in mind?

Count me in, writing is my passion...I have three books in various stages of completion on my computer, and have been wanting to devote some time to a truly good RP.

I like RPing. I'm not the best at it, but I try. Of course, I get ignored a lot because I'm an older nation on NS, and people don't like to lose. So they make of ridiculous weapons, and then when I still beat them, they say I'm godmodding. Makes me mad, I have to say.

I am looking for some nationstates run by those with a modicum of skill in storytelling and plot developing. This requires one to pay more than a passing attention to spelling and grammar. This "leet" or whatever the hell it is called, is the worst thing to happen to the English language (and literacy) in a very long time and is not only discouraged but ignored.

Many a good RPer, including me, has RPed in this (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=103594) epic horror adventure, found here (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=103594).

That's http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=103594

Look for Nanakaland there (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=103594) and consider his posts.

i offer to join but most people will have a go at me about my grammer and spellings tho i cant help it.

If you read through and decided that you do actually qualify, that's a good sign that you may be right. There's going to be some spelling issues, I understand. The fewer the better, and an honest effort eill not go unpunished. :wink:

The main focus is that one takes the time and makes the effort to RP with some clarity and creativity. I thank you all for your replies and interest - as to topic, anything worth writing about will do. Government operation, socioeconomics, diplomacy, military/covert operations...whatever. So long as is quality work.

Perhaps we could form some sort of "Quality RP" group and RP amongst ourselves. This would in no way restrict outside RPing. That would be an egregious suggestion to begin with, and any extra RPing is good practice. Keeps the pencil sharp, as it were.

One idea I have is to possibly devise some central characters, maybe introduce our nationstates and its character through prose. Not novels, mind you. Just a continuing series of loosely related short works. As an example, I will post here some of my previous work.


Cheers!

I am a pretty good writer and am very creative. If you need an idea for an RP, we could use this one i was thinking of that is to be a bit like the Matrix combined with a bit of Paycheck with a little bit of The Fast and the Furious thrown in.

as to topic, anything worth writing about will do. Government operation, socioeconomics, diplomacy, military/covert operations...whatever. So long as is quality work.

I like this, these topics are deffinetly something where we can really develop some good and really learned characters.

I'd like to join in this. Evidence of previous RPing can be found here (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=93977&highlight=) and here (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=92514&highlight=). Sounds like a good idea...

Deep inside the Obsidian Circle, the military headquarters of the Dominion of Thakan Dar, a tall officer approached a non-descript and unguarded door. Waving his ID card in front of the scanner, Lieutenant Second Rank Shae Getheron waited for the door to open.
The room appeared to be a large office decorated primarily in Thakan black. In the centre was a large desk and behind it was the only person Getheron would ever admit to being afraid of.
Tekesh Lothaer looked up from the computer screen, fixing Getheron with a piercing, one-eyed gaze. The other eye was covered by a patch the colour of dried blood, affixed with three screws embedded in the bone around Lothaer's socket. Getheron got the distinct feeling, as he always did in Lothaer's presence, that that gaze had him weighed and measured, and found barely adequate.
"You have a report, lef-tenant?" The rank was pronounced after the fashion of the British Commonwealth.
"Yes, General. From the Black Wraiths, operating inside Kholint. They confirm receipt of ten thousand CR-04 rifles."
"Traceable?" Lothaer's gravelly voice carried a rising menace, promising great suffering for an unfavourable response.
Getheron swallowed in spite of himself. "No, sir. The weapons were routed through some of the more, shall we say, anarchic nationstates. Our support will not be traced without alerting us to the effort, an effort we will squash."
Lothaer returned his gaze to his computer effectively dismissing Getheron. The lieutenant was more than amenable to taking the opportunity to leave.
Once back in the corridor, safely on his way back to the upper levels, Getheron's fear abated and his ambition reasserted itself. He had once hoped to work closely with the formidable General Lothaer, to benefit from Lothaer's knowledge and experience. Now, Getheron hoped to one day supplant him. Such was an accepted method of advancement in the Thakan Dar Forces. But that concern was for another day; today, Getheron needed to coordinate the placement of more special forces operatives from the Thakan army into Kholint. A Wraith supply depot had been raided and punishment had to be meted out. Perhaps the messy destruction of a few public buildings in the capital would be sufficient to send the message to the Kholint leader - his time in office was over and his succession was overdue.

How he was talked into actually leading this operation was beyond Shae Getheron. No. That was not entirely true. It was that bastard Lothaer and his blood-freezing stare. Now, Getheron found himself promoted to Lieutenant First Rank, in charge of the Black Wraiths - Thakan Dar's special operations unit - for Operation Asp.
"Black Team is in position now, sir," said the sergeant looking through the night-vision binoculars, crouched next to him.
Getheron peeked over the hill as if to confirm this with his own eyes. At a distance of five hundred metres, trying to pick out details with the unaided eye was an exercise in futility, but Getheron did not want to give his fire team partner the impression that he was actually trusted.
"It's about time," Getheron snarled. "Signal Red Team to take aim at these coordinates."
Getheron doled the numbers out, one by one, ensuring that they were understood by having Red Team repeat them back. Once they were confirmed, Getheron began slithering down the hill they were situated on, not waiting for the sergeant.
"Where to, lef-tenant?" Getheron's partner asked in a nearly inaudible whisper at his shoulder; he had caught up most efficiently and was pacing Getheron. Ignoring the man, Getheron led them swiftly through the grounds, utilizing the trees for cover. A patrol chopper sent them into the shadows twice along the way, but it was loud enough that they had plenty of time to conceal themselves once they had heard it. When they reached their destination, Getheron signalled for a halt.
"Assemble the rifle, Sergeant."
"Yes, sir."
Taking the headset from his partner, Getheron settled into position. The sergeant finished his assembly work and assumed a prone firing position as Getheron commanded readiness acknowledgments from his teams one last time. He checked his chrono.
"Red Team, stand by to fire."
Around a corner leading into the ruler's residence came a line of Hummers and SUVs - the Kholinti ruler's motorcade. The third Hummer came into view.
"Now!" Getheron barked into the headset. From somewhere in the garden near the front entrance came a volley of RPG fire. The SUV in front of the third Hummer and the the two vehicles behind it exploded in a shower of metal and fire, effectively blockading the target vehicle. The follow-up small arms fire from Black Team peppered the Hummer, drawing out the soldiers inside. Exactly as predicted.
Reinforcements formed up from the following vehicles and moved into the garden with alarming alacrity to extinguish the assault. One soldier, dressed in Kholinti army officer combat fatigues, emerged from the Hummer and opened fire in the direction of Black Team, using the door for cover.
Visible through the flaming wreckage of the vehicle in front of the Hummer, and through the now-open door, was the Kholinti ruler.
Getheron gave his partner the order to fire.

*Sighs with appreciation at reading some good RPing for a change...*

Very nice. Is this an example of previous work or the start of a new RP?

This is previous work, but I will include it as history in any future writing. Shae Getheron is my central character and whatever happens, he will almost always be involved somehow. My writings will primarily follow Getheron and his exploits.

*lines up the volley*

*extends arms*

*bump*

I am not joining, but thank you for cursing that damned internet slang language. I agree wholeheartedly.

Tremalkier would be glad to enter such a contest of writing skill. However, we must note that many nations that will enter something under such a heading are truly nations worthy of nothing more than a solid boot to the back. However, you must remember that your nation is young, so be careful in what kind of RP you decide. If you do something like an espionage attempt, you may be tragically saddened when you realize that the nation your attempting to enter uses electro-receptors inserted into ones bloodstream to show citizenship, and so when you pass a detector and you suddenly are captured...well...nobodies fault but your own for going up against somebody more developed.

Tremalkier:

For the first part, this is not a contest, but a request for those who have a modicum of skill in writing to make themselves known so that I might have a better understanding of who I would prefer to RP with. I would disagree with the kick in the ass, though. That's seems a touch cynical. :wink:

For the second part, please allow that I am intelligent enough not to simply invade a nation 1) without the necessary Intelligence performed, 2) like a power-gaming twink, and 3) without a reasonably justifiable cause.

I thank you for your interest!

I'm in! *Kicks back with a thing of popcorn to read the introductions*

1)By contest I did not mean a competition. It was a figurative use of the word.

2) It was a standard issue warning to a n00b. Don't get involved with some of the big boys, or you'll get burned. Nothing personal

Back when I was using my first nation (which is long dead by now), I saved some "big boys" butt because he was relying on sheer force of numbers against a smaller but technologically advanced nation. I don't pick fights but I win those that I do get involved in.

Fair enough.

If anyone is willing to submit a prosaic introduction of their nation, potentially through the eyes of a central character, I encourage and welcome it. Mine, I will post sometime tomorrow. We can ascertain where our nations stand relative to each other and work out an appropriate RP from there.

If you're lacking the skill, please refrain from submitting. For your own sake. You leave yourself open to judgment and ridicule by others, and nobody enjoys being slagged.

Everyone else: I eagerly await your submissions!

Sounds fun.

I am interested in joining. Thakan Dar, my credentials are easy for you to find, as we've RPed together before in the Farfanugen war. I can also provide a few other examples if needed. I have plenty of established, long-running characters that continue from story to story.

I'll post a nation description later.

Stanley Ipkiss sat with a sigh. In front of him, sitting high on the desk, lay three stacks of folders. The Prime Minister let he head flow backwards and his body recline in the office chair.

It was not a hansome room. There were no hardwood floors, no silk curtines or beautiful paintings; only cold concrete and steel with a few rugs thrown here and there, to keep the room from feeling too much like a prison, and his desk/chair combo, the wonderful black leather chair being the only consession to comfort.

Again, Ipkiss looked at the files. Three piles of problems. Three stacks of situations. Three

"Prime Minister?" A voice came from the quietly opening door.

"Yes Thompson?" he replied.

Sarah Thompson, his secretary, walked in with another folder in hand.

"We have the latest updates from the Elven Situation."

Stanley slumped in his chair.

"Stick it with the others." he said, waving in the general direction of the biggest pile.

IMPERIAL DEFENCE BUREAU, PORT ROYAL, ROYCELANDIA

Commander Jack Sword looked at the enormous pile of papers on his desk, and sighd once again.

His well-appointed office was replete with souvenirs and artefacts from all areas of Roycelandia's history- the Suit of Armour worn by Sir Brian the Trivial at the battle of Kingstowne Mewes in 1342, the Crossbow used by Nicholas of Cobalt to assassinate Archbishop Robert the Blessed in 1403, and the very first firearm manufactured in Roycelandia, a muzzle-loading arquebus presented to King David The Wise in 1451.

Maps from WWII adorned the wall, along with a video screen charting the ever-changing geopolitical climate in the world, and, of course, a map circa 1945 showing Roycelandia's former Empire. Most of it had been lost under the reign of King James the Indecisive, who had suffered a most unfortunate hunting "accident" and was succeeded by His Imperial Majesty King Royce I, a powerful, wise, and intelligent man who seeks to reclaim Roycelandia's former Empire. Contrary to popular belief, he was named after the country, not the other way around.

King Royce I is very popular with the people- he enjoys almost fanatical support from them, took time to listen to their complaints, and appeals to them as an ordinary person, like themselves. People who disagree have been known to vanish from their homes in the dead of night, but these are rarely people that anyone cared about, and on the few occaisons that they were, His Majesty invariably won over a doubting populace.


In the years since he rose to Power, Roycelandia has re-established one of it's lost colonies in Southern Africa (much to the chagrin of the Natives who, somewhat spuriously, claim they were there first), as well as also setting up a Protectorate in Yatonsa. Further colonies are planned, and the economy just keeps growing and growing.

Commander Sword looked out the window of his office in the Imperial Palace, situated on the beautiful waterfront in the Nation's capital, Port Royal. It was time for the daily Changing of The Guard, and as he watched the red-coated, white pith helmeted troops parade with their MK III SMLE rifles, bayonets glinting in the sun, his mind wandered back 26 years, to a Jungle full of enemies...

He had been a lowly soldier in the Imperial Guard, stationed in Southern Africa. They had been good years- he had a young wife, good friends, and not a care in the world.

All that had come crashing down rapidly as the Rebel Leader Derek Ignomo had started his campaign of lies and hate to get the Roycelandians out of "their" country. Didn't those ungrateful savages realise that without Roycelandia, they would still be living in mud huts and hunting Water Buffaloe with sharpened sticks?

The Roycelandians had no real experience fighting in Africa- it was too hot, their guns rotted and rusted in the humid conditions, tropical diseases took their toll, and in the end a combination of internal dissent, weak leadership, and guerrilla warfare caused Roycelandia to pull out of Africa.

All over the world, the story was repeated. Sword was promoted as he gallantly fought to hold onto Roycelandia's crumbling Empire.

The final straw was a raid in The Pacific by members of the vicious Fuqawi Tribe, who killed his wife and most of his squad before being beaten off by air support that arrived 10 minutes too late.

Ever since, Commander Sword has dreamed of a new Empire for Roycelanda, bringing peace, prosperity, and civilisation to all.

His Majesty approves of Sword's Imperial Ambitions, and the two of them stage regular planning meetings to decide how to further their political and economic aims...

Commander Sword was jerked out of his reverie by the sound of the phone ringing. Shaking off the memories, albeit temporarily, he reached for the phone and picked it up.

"Sword here. What's happening?"

**************************************************

In case you hadn't gathered, I'm interested in joining this RP, if that's OK with everyone...

This "leet" or whatever the hell it is called, is the worst thing to happen to the English language (and literacy) in a very long time and is not only discouraged but ignored

You got that right!

---Post deleted by NationStates Moderators---

**DELETED**

---Post deleted by NationStates Moderators---

You may want to consider working with me if you want. I havnt RPed many wars, but i am still good at it. I more often only RP a singal Character in a storyline, evolving my character to a high point. Moreover, i detest n00bs and 1337 AND i have decent grammar. Sort of.

Hey, I would like to join, if perhaps in just some small part.
I am currently RPing my nation in the middle of a war, and near total internal breakdown, but I am sure I could work something into this thing as I am a good story teller.
However, I am truck driver in RL, and been awhile out of school, so my grammar is poor, and so is my spelling(compared to when I was in school).
I also refuse to pre-write my 'lines' or spell check as I believe you loose spontaneity.
I can promise to hold my own with the creative aspects though, and I am anything but a godmod.
Oh, what is leet?

**DELETED**

---Post deleted by NationStates Moderators---

no on tv i like to look at naked animals. and your mum. and me. and you. all together and lubed up HARRR

For all you know man, his mother could be 70 and smell like dead fish.

As the founder of Role Play University, I can vouch for Henleaze Avenue as being a great story teller, and a fine RPer.

Cheers,
W.

---Post deleted by NationStates Moderators---

**DELETED**

---Post deleted by NationStates Moderators---

ATTN: Thakan Dar

If you look for the Smolny Civil War thread and the War on Tnemrot you'll find my RP'ing. I too am a writer on the side and take RP'ing very seriously and would enjoy RP'ing with someone who at least has respect for the RP in general and hates 1337!

The morning fog was thick that morning over the capital. The Emperor awoke to the sound of a telephone ringing and immediately answered it, "Hello?" he was groggy. "What do you want Johnson?" Johnson, Lieutenant General Steve Johnson, was the leader of the 2nd Black Operations unit, CIA Task Force Thunder. "Yes what about Abdul Ahmend Bin Halazar?" The Emperor instantly woke up to full attention. "He did what! Call the meeting!"

The Emperor jumped out of bed and dressed himself. Five minutes later, he was in the main meeting room and staring at the faces of six other men, all from his Black Operations Division of his military. They were as tired as he was.

"Gentlemen you have caught Abdul Ahmend Bin Halazar?" The Emperor yawned and two others repeated.

"Yes sir!" LTG. Johnson stood and smiled.

"Good. What has he said for himself?"

"The usual rhetoric sir but we suspect that they were planning an attack within the week."

"What of Johnson?" He leaned back.

"Sir they were planning on releasing a biotoxin into the water stream."

"Thwart these plans men."

... and it can go on from there.

Well then, I'm glad that the thread for decent role playing and story telling has already begun to crumble into a sad case of twelve year olds typing what they heard on bevis and buthead. (job well done in eliminating him)

As far as my writing, my main problem is with spelling in that sometimes I think I lapse into a form of dyslexia and just write things backwards without even realizing it. Anyways its late and I dont want to attempt writing a good introduction story for my nation when I'm this loopy.

Attempt at forming a story around one of my major/minor characters it eventually dwindled down into a partial rp and finally just a last post to place the character in another situation not sure if it will help or hurt as a glimpse of writing http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?p=1740275&highlight=#1740275

Post from another thread:

Of Punishment

It burned, oh God did it burn. He had seen cows branded hundreds of times in the past yet he couldnt imagine the pain of it, until now. They didn't even need to press the iron rod to his back to make his body involintarily shake with pain, and that made them smile. The glowing rod pressed into his back modling with his skin and fat until nearly being entirely engulfed into his body. Slight puffs of smoke escaped from the folds in his back, folds that had kept him warm in the chilly night but now added to the torture. One could barely count to one after placing the branding rod to his back before the unfortunate soul cried out like a child, only serving to further the delight of the men who did this for a living.

They now openly laughed and took to jabbing and prodding his layers of skin with the scalding piece of metal, until his entire back was blistered. To them there was nothing funnier than a blubbering fat man, and they would have continued in their little pleasures if not for their supervisor interviening.

"Enough, he has paid for his offense according to the law." Standing in the corner the famous Vladislov The Hun Minch, removed his wire framed glasses and waved the torturers away. It wasnt that he felt sympathy for the load of blubber lying on the table, the man had commited a crime and he was punished acording to the articles, it was just his job to make sure they didnt go too far on any one individual. Vladislov the Hun now leaned over and dangled a roast turkey leg in front of the crying man: "Have you learned your lesson now? This was your second offense and you have gotten off easy, stealing food from the mouths of your bretheren is your sin, the third time will be the last time so hope that there isnt a third time." Vladislov stood up and dropped the turkey leg to the floor, and before leaving he turned his head slightly for one last glimps at the pathetic wad of a human still quivering and weeping. In contempt his eyes squinted and the end of his mouth turned up into a sneer.

-----------------------

Shane McFarlan sat on the hard ground, legs tucked hard against his chest and head placed firmly down against his knees. The boy cried and the rest of the world went on, oblivious to his presence next to the stall. The tears soon soaked the leathery pants that had been pieced together from every bit of scrap that he could find.

Past him they walked, the privilaged and unprivilaged alike, none stopping to see why the thirteen year old boy was crying on the sidewalk; they knew him and knew what he was, and therefore didnt care for him. They would look at his face and not cringe in disgust or pity, but they would smile and know that he got his just rewards.

Shane couldn't smell, he couldn't take a deep breath and smell the aroma of the fresh baked pies in the stall next to him, nor the roasting nuts across the street, nor the flowers on his other side. He loosened his legs from his body and quickly wipped the tears away, and felt his nose. Or the bandaged stump where his nose used to be, the pain that erupted from the casual graze told him that it wasnt healed and Shane quickly moved his hand away and stood up. He couln't help it that he was a thief, that he had to steal in order to survive with his only home being the street.

Sure he was aware of the consequences of his actions, stealing from the community of their brotherhood was strickly forbidden and this time he had gotten caught. He was a well known multiple offender and as the articles decreed he was to have an ear or his nose cut off. The more benevolent prison keepers would see mercy and go for an ear however, he lived in Capitol City and that meant he was under the jurisdiction of Vladislov the hun Minch who always went for the nose. Pride and arrogance again swirled in his stomach and Shane put on his usual fearfull face and went back to his trade.

-----------------

"As you can see Captiol City is a thriving hotbed of our society Mr. Minister. Six point two million all living together as one community, certianly the largest city in all of Jiggady. And in Jiggady each city has something completly different to offer, owning to the freedoms we have and the completly different societies from island to island." jiggady smiled proudly as he lead the foriegn minister down the street. As they walked by everyone stopped to wave and wish good morning to the supreme chief of state, their unanimously elected leader.

"I must say jiggady, that I was first comming here with a great deal of aprehension on my shoulders. I know the old history of your islands, being a haven for pirates in the heyday of their existance. And I knew that when you rose up, being the desendant of such a famous pirate lord, the people would embrace this herratige. Yet what you have shown me proves the multiculturism of your nation, I mean the people varry from city to city as much as the architecture varies from Roman, to Renecansse to Arabian."

They walked down the street, a part of the tour that jiggady had been taking the minister on since his arrival. "Yes, we do embrace our past as can be seen in some of the manner of dress and speach, and our national flag. Yet piracy is such a crude form of behaviour in the present day that we know better than to indulge in; lest we loose face in the international community. Which I am hopping that we can open up to with your presence here, we can certianly benefit from the trade and the tourism. Jiggady is truly a beatiful tropical nation, free from the pride that many other nations have in wanting to exert force in war and in politics. We on the other hand take pride in peace, and preserving our nation and her laws."

As they walked through the crowded streets without care, the minister felt a slight brush over his backside. He was sure that it was just a bumb from a passerby in this tight and narrow street, yet he unconciously reached for his back pocket to pat his wallet.

Shane giggled in delight as he hunched over his findings, barely even two steps away from the mark. This foriegner had a fat wad of a wallet, certianly the biggest score ever for the street urchin. Who cared if there were strict laws against such behaviour, it paid off so well.

His hands touched fabric, and as they press harder to feel for the hard wallet they felt nothing more than the skin of his rear. Turning to his host quizically he said casually, "Huh, I seem to have misplaced my wallet oh well."

cont...

jiggady halted their movement right there and scaned the sea of people they had waded through, with the flick of a hand their guard escort fanned out searching the crowd. "Probably nothing, yet like our pirate ancestors of old we dont take kindly to theft amongst our bretheren. And since you are a guest in our nation, this protection encompases you as well." jiggady turned to adress his friend, who was obvioulsy impressed with this fact.

They brought him forward, kicking and squirming as they always did when they knew they were caught. Shane struggled uselessly against the grip of the men who tossed him down without care in front of the foriegner whose wallet he knew gripped, he knew it was useless to run so he sat there contemplating his fate.

"Ahh, it appears we have a celebrity in our presence." Mocked jiggady as he instantly recognized the well known theif. "Young Mr. McFarlan, who never learns his lesson and has his nose to prove of that. You should by know be well aware of the punishment process boy, and know that you are caught as a multiple offendor; there shall be no light sentances for you this time. Vladislov Minch will have fun with you." jiggady nodded his head and the guards dragged him off to some private quarters where he would be dealt with.

"Thankyou my friend, I am indebted for your aid. What is to become of the thief?"

"No thanks are needed, we are merely trying to preserve our great nation from such uglyness as crime. Mr. McFarlan has been caught stealing multiple times, he was put in jail, he had his nose removed, but this time he will recieve no light punishment. His hands shall be removed, well depending on the mood of prison warden he will either have one or both removed. But surely you can see how we have cut down on crime through our punishment, and I assure you that any other citizens in Jiggady from your nation will be protected under the same laws, and will have nothing to fear from Shane McFarlan."

"Well, I'm happy about that Mr. Chief of State."

---------------

The water dripped in the room, he was sure that it was done on purpose to annoy the prisoners. Yet that was the last thing on his mind, as the young eyes of Shane McFarlan looked at Vladislov the Hun with total fear.

The tall dark man stood above him, his face expressionless as he waved the knife about. Mocking words were not necessary, these two knew each other well enough.

"You know the laws, they served our ancestors well and they serve us well. You were in and out of jail many times, as per the hummanitarian clauses, you had your nose or ear cut off as the law states; and now that you persist in breaking it you will have your hand removed. And I shall only take one because I want you to steal again, because the next time I get to hang you."

One fluid motion was all it took for the knife heated in the kiln. Vladislov enjoyed the screams, and smiled as he bent down to pick up the hand and add it to the wall.

Punishment was punishment.

OOC:First, the mods are fast.
http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=104489&highlight=

http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=102002&highlight=

Those are the threads of Active RP for the War I am in.
It is my first RP on NS.

OOC:First, the mods are fast.
http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=104489&highlight=

http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=102002&highlight=

Those are the threads of Active RP for the War I am in.
It is my first RP on NS.

Hats off to the mods. I just started eidting my above post and he wasn't ex-nation then but now he is lol!!!

I am interested in this friendly competition as well. My own personal RP thread unfortunately fizzled after it was hijacked, but I am certain that you will agree that my RP skills are second-to-none.

Can you hear me?

Yes, yes I can.

Good. Can you see this? A picture filled the other woman's mind.

I... yes! I can!

Send it back to me. A perfect replica of the pastoral image sent appeared in the first sender's mind. Very good, Isolda. We are done.

Forty-two year old Maria Yohanneson opened her eyes and smiled a little, flexing her muscles as she came out of the communication trance. She heard pounding feet in the hallway outside the small room she was in, and then seventeen year old Isolda Hilmar raced into the room, her eyes sparkling.

"I did it! Finally!"

"Yes, yes you did," Maria smiled. "You are almost ready to be a telepath."

"Thank you, Maria." Isolda beamed. At the elder woman's request, all of her students called her by her first name. "So may I go for a while? I ummm..."

"Have a date," Maria finished for her with a chuckle. "Go ahead Isolda. No more lessons for today. How is your boyfriend?"

"Great," Isolda sighed happily. "He loves me so much. I can sense it," she added with a wink. Maria just chuckled and nodded, dismissing the teenager.

Maria turned to walk back to her desk. The room was a simple but elegant place, with wood-paneled walls, soft blue carpet, and a simple but sturdy wooden desk, with Maria's chair in front of it. Maria filled out the daily report on Isolda, noting how fast she was improving. As she wrote, she idly wondered if Isolda's lover would propose to her soon. As the Glorious Humanity age of adulthood was sixteen, Isolda and her boyfriend were technically old enough to marry, and they certainly seemed to be headed in that direction.

Maria envied them. She had never married, despite being a very attractive woman. Before President Mark Albert had authorized massive amounts of funding to explore psychic phenomena she had been a clinical psychologist with an incredible ability to empathize with her patients. After the Psi Corps was formally founded, Maria had tested, and discovered that her gift was more than just reading faces. She had been an Empath, and over the last five years had trained her mind heavily until now she qualified as a full-blown Telepath. Now, she instructed new recruits like Isolda in how to harness their minds to do the same things. In eight short years, the Psi Corps had gone from a research iniative to an amazing new branch of Glorious Humanity's quest for the peak of human potential. Many of Maria's students already were outstripping her when they finished training. Isolda, for instance, had managed to go from Empath to Telepath in only one year, accomplising very easily what Maria had had to struggle and beat her mind to do at first.

Where will we be twenty years from now? How much more is there to explore before we are as strong as we can be? Maria actually thought that they would never reach the ceiling. With Psi Corps members now marrying and producing children that would likely be even more gifted than their parents, the possibilities seemed limitless. Isolda's boyfriend had tested as a Telekinetic, able to move objects with his mind, and though he was not very strong, he was improving. The Telekinetics too were making leaps and bounds, having gone in the same eight years from spoon-bending tricks to being able to work in concert to lift incredibly heavy objects. With Glorious Humanity reaching for space, there was talk that the strongest Telekinetics might be assigned to assist in launching spaceships and constucting space platforms. Two great thrusts into new frontiers, happening side by side... it was an exciting time to live in.

Maria finished writing her report and set it aside. She'd give it to the Telepath Monitors later, the people who watched and kept records of the meteoric advancement of those learning to communicate with their minds. For now, Maria leaned back in her chair and thought about the future.

[OOC: Isolda is a continuing character from another RP, Maria is a new one that I intend to do a lot with later. If anyone really wants it, I can put up a more definitive history, but I thought it would be better right now to give a taste of where GH is headed, rather than where it's been.]

Thank you to Wolfish for the endorsement :D ... I've done quite a bit of RPing work on the Role Play Universty forums, but unfortunately I think you have to be a member to read the forums. I'll post some extracts up here at some point. My nation (Henleaze Avenue) isn't currently a nation that I RP with - I am building a military for it and beginning to use it for RPing, but currently I am far more character-oriented. If we begin an RP, would it be possible for me to RP a single character or group of characters, rather than a nation? It's just that any and all information on my nation will have to be improvised on the spot and therefore may not be as good/accurate as it could be.

It was 3 am in New Étaples, and death moved through the night. Formless shadows flickered and slid along rooftops, over walls, ever climbing and gaining height. A pile of rubbish burned on a low rooftop, and the faint glimmer of light outlined a silhouette hung with oddly shaped bundles. It moved with silent grace, slipping between the unidentifiable mounds that littered these rooftop walks, using grapples where gaps between buildings were too large to leap or climb.

La Tour de Corbeaux, the tallest building in New Étaples. Bastard offspring of numerous styles, the fingers of brick and iron clawed into the darkened sky overlooking L'Artère, the main road of the city. And on the uppermost point, more fingers - but this time they were human, and grasping the edge of the parapet next to a grappling hook.
She flowed over the edge of the wall like oil on silk, carrying the case slung on her back with no apparent effort. Behind her, a metallic click-click came from the grappling hook as it wound in the fine climbing cord. Below, L'Artère was free of traffic, floodlit and surrounded by Gardiens de la Paix. Preparation for the state visit had begun some time ago, and now the Gardiens made sure that all the careful diplomacy and deals that had been struck to bring the Directeur here would not go to waste. Security had been intense, but she had found her way - she always did.

A quick glance over the edge of the tower revealed what she had been looking for. An alcove, perhaps a window long bricked-up and forgotten, facing the road. First Commandment - never outline oneself against the skyline. At night she was safe but in the glaring light of day she would stand out, easy pickings for the Gardien snipers. The alcove would be her perch, a hiding place from which the attack would come.

She opened the case and laid out the rifle, still in its component parts. The Holy Trinity - barrel, body and stock. The single bullet was placed beside them, starlight gleaming on the intricate engravings around the tip. Beside these she placed the holy oils and the secondary instruments of her Sacrament. Lips moved, barely seen in the darkness, chanting sacred mantras and invocations while fingers moved in age-old patterns, applying the perfumed oils with stiff black brushes. The movements had the effortless familiarity of ritual. Then, finally, the bullet polished, oiled and placed by the muzzle in readiness for the dawn. She crossed her legs in the waiting stance and closed her eyes, preparing to meditate.

Daybreak. The sun clawed its way above the horizon, sending pale shafts of light wavering through the smog that crouched above the streets of New Étaples. They glinted on the bullet as delicately capable hands loaded it into the now-assembled gun, snapping the breech shut and checking the action. An observer would have been intrigued by the lack of any targeting sight on the gun, and the patterns and symbols that wound along the barrel. She swung down into the alcove as the sun banished the last shadows, holding the gun close. L'Artère was laid out before her, figures of the Gardiens like scurrying ants, oblivious to the angel of death above that held their lives in slim black-gloved hands.

She ran through the kill in her mind. In an hour, she would slip into the trance state, focusing her mind and expelling all extraneous thoughts. She would become one with the gun, with the bullet. As the convoy appeared the final prayers would be whispered, the final blessings administered to the bullet. A breath taken, half-released and held, waiting. Then would come the reason for her existence, the reason for these elaborate rituals and arcane mantras. The shot would be fired. From nearly three miles away the bullet would be launched. She would have her eyes closed as she squeezed the trigger, knowing that the prayers, the blessings, the Sacrament of her faith would guide the bullet down. Down past the crowds, present even at this early hour, past the watchful ranks of security with their stun batons and riot shields, through the supposedly bulletproof glass of the Directeur's windshield and into his skull.

A faint smile touched her lips. The practice of one's faith and its Sacraments was a duty, as she well knew. But nothing in the Book said she could not enjoy doing her duty. Today was a good day for someone else to die. She looked at her timepiece, and watched the seconds pass. Soon it would be time.

OOC: Random little extract from RP Uni... I've been thinking of expanding this into a full-blown story, so if you like I could give more detail and incorporate this. Or...

OOC: ...there is my happy-happy fun-fun main character, Rynehart/Jarboe. A little bit of background can be found here (pic warning) (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=95326&start=0&postdays=0&postorder=asc&highlight=) but the character has evolved and changed since that was written. He's still basically the same though. Below is an example of what Jarboe will usually be found doing. Link to this (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=93977&highlight=) for the story of Jarboe and Rynehart so far.

IC: Jarboe flung the twisted chandelier from him to see the roof come down in a thunder of dust and rubble, blocking the route Justinian had taken. He howled, a sound of pure anger and frustration that tore through the corridors and made the score of guards creeping towards the room halt and stare at each other wide-eyed.

Jarboe hurled himself at the wreckage, stabbing and hacking at the debris with the frenzy of a predator foiled at the pounce. Iron and stone shuddered at his blows, but even through the rage clouding his mind it was clear that the pile would take too long to move. He spun round, preparing to look for another route to the command area.

Jarboe and Rynehart were greeted by the trembling mouths of twenty lasrifles. Twenty pairs of terrified eyes locked onto the nightmare sculpture that stood in the centre of the room, teeth bared in a hellish grin below the screaming eyes. Silence hung like a dropped glass, waiting to fall and shatter. The moment stretched, finespun wires of tension reaching breaking point...

... until Jarboe moved, curving like a whiplash across the room. Lasrifle barrels followed, flickering rays dancing and playing over the shattered door and debris-strewn floor. They lent a cheery red glow to the room, and threw crimson higlights on the muzzles of the guns and the edged surface of Jarboe's hide - bloody portents of the massacre to come. He slid twining between around over under the lethal beams with the grace of a dancer, back and forth almost mockingly before the guardsmen. Then, shockingly fast, Jarboe leapt across the room towards the men. The thirty feet of air in front of him turned almost instantaneously into a corridor framed by beams of light as the troops sought to shoot him out of the air. Laser fire hissed into his torso and limbs leaving bubbling scorch marks only a few shades blacker than his skin, but the thick hide shifted as he flew, mending the damage and absorbing the blows.

Then he was among them, an avenger sent by some higher power to punish the guilty for their sins. The soldiers had fought demons before, and knew them to be evil, ruthless creatures. But they were beings that one could deal with, that one could understand. They schemed and planned and thought in predictable, near-human ways. But this... this thing was utterly alien. They could not fathom its thoughts, its desires or motivations. All they knew was this swift and soon-ended orgy of death and blood, comrades exsanguinated before their eyes as they died impaled on spears of bone, slaughtered by this unholy monstrosity. What plane of Hell had exhaled this creature none knew, but it had to be purified and the dark flame extinguished. The call went out for reinforcements, even as Jarboe tore the comms-man in half and stood in the reddened room basking in the scent of death.

I'd like to invite good writers, story-tellers, and RPers to this thread.

http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=112882

Cheers,
W.