NationStates Jolt Archive

I'm looking to start a terrorist attack RP. I want an organization that RPs well and slightly evil. I'll post some background info here, use your imaginations as to what you want to do. Nations under 100 million are not welcome without an audition.

http://www2.freepichosting.com/Images/421509692/0.jpg
The Burnsian Desert

Background -- In the beginning of TBD, it was ruled by a evil dictator until June 10, 2004 when he was captured by Mac Gonzo, a rebel leader. The democracy was formed.

On June 11, 2004, an embassy in TBD was bombed by Wexico. This unleashed a great and horrible war with TROUSRS. This war led to the killing of over 8 million people. Only a few thousand were left in the country. The Queendom emerged from the rubble.

Another significant event was a war with Communist Louisiana and IDF over an attack on a TBD submarine in international waters.

During various terror attacks and other misfortunes, Dr_Twist extorted a large amount of territory from TBD. Der Auftrag bought a large piece of land as well.

Climate: Arid near Highfather and most of the surrounding areas, tropical to temperate on the Isle of the Bay of Pigs, Mediterranean near Goul'd Garnish, and subarctic in the mountains.

Ethnic Groups: Native Burnsian 24.5%, Dr_Twistian 17%, White 15%, African-Burnsian 14.5%, Hispanic 9%, Der Aufragian 8%, Neo 6%, Other 6%

Religions: Queenism, Roman Catholic, Islam, Judaism, Lutheran

Spoken Languages: Burnsian, Latin, English, Neo-Business

Misc.: Due to TBD's rich history in alcohol and narcotic production, most native Burnsians have a high tolerance for toxins.

Please post a snippet of RP for me to evaluate here. Thank you for participating! :)

((OOC: Here's a sample of my work.))

Edemskoi saw the figure on the hill move, as if in pain. His decoy had worked. He looked around. The Azeris were still. No, one was moving slightly. It was Asaf. Edemskoi crawled over to him as his blood soaked the ground. Asaf gasped slowly and was overtaken by a spasm. Then he lay still, a bullethole in his head. Edemskoi reached into the man's pockets and removed a wallet and some papers. He then picked up an Ak-47 on the ground next to Asaf's corpse. Edemskoi let out a growl. This was not the way for a man to die, hunted like an animal in the desert. His eyes glared. The night was still, but there was a thundering in the Generian's heart as rage boiled over inside him. Edemskoi got up and darted back at an angle towards the attacker, his movements quick, careful, deliberate. This was not how a man fought. Unbeknownst to the murderer there was now another man who wanted blood in the cold, cold, Azeri night.

Edemskoi stalked through the rocks, watching the shadow that had taken the life of his newfound brother. The moves were predictable, exactly as Edemskoi had hoped. The figure began moving towards the corpses, in pursuit of the one escapee. Edemskoi closed in behind. The man's head darted, sensing something, and then turned back to its prey, however the hunter's prey was behind him now. Edemskoi moved along a small ridge, parallel the other man. The first man approached the bodies, bending to check for footprints. Edemskoi tensed, readying himself. The man stood up, sniffing the cold night air, trying to pick up a scent. Edemskoi sprung, landing a few feet behind the man.

The man turned in shock to catch the wraith rising slowly in a patch of clear moonlight. The ghost wore a long black coat, had lengthy dark hair, and wore a pair of dark sunglasses. The creature's skin shone brightly in the natural light. The sniper reached for a sidearm, but before his arm was halfway there, the phantom was on top of him, the rifle knocked aside and the sidearm in his hand. The sniper lay shivering on the cold sand staring at the creature, who grew taller in the shadow. As the beast approached, the moonlight seemed to follow him, continuing to bathe him in a fluorescent glow. No matter how bright the light was, however, his features never seemed to discern themselves. A bead of sweat ran down the sniper's forehead in the cold air. He whimpered something that sounded like a prayer as the luminescent shadow glided closer. When it stood towering above him it began to move its face towards his. The beast's face was right in front of the sniper's now, and yet he still could not make out the features. A hand made entirely of night reached up tot he being's face and removed the dark sunglasses. At this moment the man's face was as clear as day, the steely eyes piercing the soul of the murderer. The white face opened its red lips and exhaled a cloud of steam, hot in the bitter cold air. The face held up a small steel cross and began to say a prayer. Although he spoke clear as day, Ruslan heard none of the words. The face reached into its pocket and revealed an ornat wooden handle. It flipped a switch and a blade sprang out with a flash. The sniper looked at his face in the blade, and beheld pure terror, but not on the face of one of his victims. This time on his own figure. The ghost's shadowy hand shot out and grabbed the hand of its victim. A tremor shot through Ruslin's body. The knife flew through the air, and a finger lay on the sandy ground, the blood spreading through the palpable moonlight. The sniper let out a sound quickly, not quite a scream. The ghost did the same to the rest of the man's fingers, the knife flashing quickly here and there. Then it moved up his hands and arms, slicing deep wounds and eternally scarring the flesh. The knife moved higher, to his ear. With one quick motion, his ear joined the limbs on the Azeri sand. The knife moved again, poised on his forehead above his nose. It moved down, slicing the nose in two. More slices across the cheeks and forehead. More scarring. The knife bypassed the man's eyes. They would serve as windows for the man to see the reactions of people towards his deformity. The wraith tore open the man's shirt and with smooth strokes, as if with a brush he wrote this simply:

"Принесите Заверителя"

Into the shadows he vanished, the wraith. Into the pure, darkest night, over the border into Russia, Leaving the man to his plight.

OOC: I won't use terrorists, I'll use the Mafia from my Island :rolleyes:

Mikhail Politvach, he was a targeted man. He also had much influence on Parliament. He led the way towards less restrictions on business. Of course the Hardliners were mad. But they couldn't kill him, it'd be too much of a contreversy. And since the press was state owned anything that could be used against them would be printed. So they decided to hire professionals... they decided to go see the Mob...

A man in a trenchcoat, he wore sunglasses, his height was of average build. It was night in the Port City of Roska. There were seagulls gulling everywhere, of course they could still be caught. But the Mob wasn't afraid they paid off the cops. The man entered the small building on the docks. Inside was dark, lit by one light bulb, 50 watts, it was hanging from the ceiling. Inside were three men, one man sitting on a chair, the other two were next to him on each side, they each were disguised by the darkness. The man in the trenchcoat took out an envelope, inside it contained 10,000R. Will you help me? The man said. He had a heavy Russian accent, obviously he was a hardliner... the man in the middle, the one sitting down sat up. Of course... of course we will help you, but if we're caught we're pinning it on you He said in a lighter Russian accent. The man in trenchcoat nods. Of course of course.

One of the men, he was to the right of the man in the middle. He stepped out of the building, very slowly, the seagulls were still doing their music. He walked up to a Buick 1989 model. It was black, just like it should be. He started driving off into the quiet roads, at night, at night because there will be a murder...

OOC: Meh to be continued >.<

Evaluating... looking very nice, both of you...

OOC: I'm continuing it.

The Black Buick drove through the empty night streets. It was quiet, it always was quiet at night. Was this normal for a city? Does it matter? There was going to be a murder, and the less eyewitnesses the better.

The car, going throught the night roads, using the streetlights as a guide drove slowly towards the neighborhood. There were a few cops on the beat, armed with a Colt .45 they were. They had a nice badge too, a shiny badge, but they were dirty cops as they say. The few clean cops left on the force were shot, either by the Mob or by the Cops themselves.

The car slowly pulled over the house. The victim, Mikhail, had no family. But he did live in a large house, of course. Party members were always rewarded with better houses then the other Parties. If you were real loyal you get a mansion. A hypocrosy of our glorious socialist nation. Of course, there's corruption in everything, but C'est la Vie...

The man came out, he had a nice suit, a rarity even for those in power. It must've been hand sown, maybe he had a wife, maybe he went into a tailor, who knows, but he had money. He went over to his trunk, inside was an AK-47, no silencer of course. But why have a silencer? The cops won't hear or see it. Of course. He walked over to the house, slamming down the door with his nice shoe.

The victim was awake, on the radio was playing "Don't Break my Heart". It was quite an irony I say. The murderer started running to the living room, he pointed the gun at the victim. The room was well lit, it was middle class, of course. The victim, an overweight old man in his 50s, started panicking. He said in his heavy Russian accent. Don't kill me! Please God help! The radio was blasting the song, the murderer pulled the trigger, BANG BANG BANG, the man was dead. The murderer smrked Another kill another paycheck He said.

OOC: To be continued, gotta dump the body >.<

I've got a much larger nation (Free Listening) of about 1.4 billion which I'd use as my terrorist organisation, and as for work... here goes nothing.

-

A single car made it's way through the emptied streets. A black, squat looking limo. The car appeared even flatter from the bird's eye view. Anthony Wesselsky tightened his grip around the grip on his MSG90A1.

Senator Manuel Vergara was entirely oblivious of Alexei's rigging of the situation. Down on the ground, Vergara heaved himself out of the limo and onto the concrete sidewalk outside the wearhouse. Inside, Alexei had Vergara's sister at gunpoint.

A few sharp knocks on the steel door to the compound echoed sharply up the empty streets, startling Wesselsky. He shook his head slightly, and reached into his coat pocket and removed a pack of Diazepam. He popped a few pills into his mouth, and looked down. Two of Alexei's body gaurds had opened the steel door and let Vergara in. Looking around briefly, they closed off the entrance and headed inside. Outside, two of Vergara's personal gaurds were standing uneasily up against a wall, gripping their AK-74's close to their persona.

Wesselsky rested his sniper down a bit. The likelihood that the bomb decals Vergara could provide were useful were slim to null... maybe that was why he was assigned his post. Of course, it wouldn't matter. Be they worthless or not, there were plenty more senators with young children, money, and governmental affiliations. Pull the heart strings, win the game. In no time, the local government would be overthrown. Next stop would be the entire country's. And then the installment, and that beautiful token titled Victory was there.

Victory didn't matter much, anyways. Wesselsky was in this for the pay. 50,000 USD on a senator speaks success. Alexei Popov on the ground, on the other hand, was just a f*cking sadist.

Fifteen minutes later, Vergara emerged from the compound, shaken but looking satisfied, with his daughter standing next to him. He thanked Alexei who was standing by the door way, sneering. Wesselsky cocked his head to the side, looking through the scope. Cross hairs were centered, thunder cracked the air. The girl, still shaken from the whole encounter, screamed sharply as her father's head ripped apart against the pavement and warehouse wall, exposing a significant portion of skull and brain. At signal from the gunshot, Alexei and his gaurds raised their Uzis in a flash and cut down the scared girl and two gaurds.

Wesselsky started to disassemble his rifle and slip it into the brief case. As he did so, the radio rang through.

"Anthony, it's Alexei. We've got the schematics for the time-delay, but the bastard short-changed us. Parliamentary house tomorrow. I need you to do a test run with these new designs. You game?"

"Definitely. Get Pöhl on engineering. Provide me the details back in the warehouse?"

"Affirmative, mate."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah, I need you to watch Steinhauser. I heard there's a leak in our command, and I want it plugged. Could spoil the whole attack on the presidential suite we have next month."

"That it?"

"Yeah. Over and out."

-

More coming tomorrow possibly.

I have chosen... drumroll...

GENERIC EMPIRE!!

For their passonate use of brotherhood, revenge, and gore! You will receive a $100,000,000,000 check as well as your instructions in a telegram! Thank you for all who participated, as compensation you each get $10,000,000,000.

OOC: I'd like to try out for this RP TBD. And you remember me don't you TBD? We did that Shivan Invasion RP a couple of months ago.

Yeah, I remember. You were good, but sorry, I already picked. :( It's gotten started already... http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=342018

I also need a terrorist organization, someone who preferably RP's well. I need something to bring atlantis to realize that the world isnt a buncha nice people anymore...i decided to post here so i dont have to make another topic.

Telegram me Modern Atlantis.

Skibereen is a hot bed of internal strife currently(stupid move of forums made me loose me thread.)
With several "Warlord" factions who base their differnces on things as varied as ethinicity, politics, national affiliation, and religion.
Skibereen has open door poicy on refugees so that has created a large amount of diversity which only fragmented the society.
So I am sure I can find one my ORginazations that would see reason to attack you.