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Literate, plotted RPs, smut also welcome (Male for Any)

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RaidenTheRipper

RaidenTheRipper

Star
Joined
Dec 15, 2011
Location
Blackridge
Realities, Dreams, and Nightmares
RaidenTheRipper's Request for Roleplays​
Currently Craving: Fallout (fan), Warframe (fan), or Blackridge (original)
Note: Currently burned out on M/M roleplays, unless you can give me a damned compelling plotline or character. This applies literally ONLY to M/M. All other pairings, no matter what, are still good.
  1. About me
  2. Plots and roleplay ideas
  3. Fetishes and Kinks
  4. Sample writing
  5. Characters
Alright. To hell with it, I'm making another request thread.


About Me
​

A simplified version of the below.
  • Call me Raiden, Ripper, or anything you wish.
  • Older than 18, younger than 30. That's what you get, sorry.
  • Don't post here, please. I like having the thread to myself.
  • Contact me via PMs. I roleplay in Threads, Skype, PMs, IMs, and just about everything. Email's shaky, but I'll do it if you convince me.
  • Pansexual, willing to write with anyone of any gender, lack thereof, or persuasion.
  • Seven years RPing, but I've been writing little stories since I was a small child.
  • I've played a lot of ideas, and I'm open to anything.
  • I can either base plots off characters, or characters off of plots.
  • I play almost entirely males, but I'll play others if you've got a phenomenal plotline.
  • I play assertive characters, regardless of whether I'm 'dominant' or not.
  • I play third-person and in the present tense, but I can adjust if you need.
  • I'm a student and a bit flaky. If I lose interest in a roleplay, I'll try for a couple days to rekindle interest, and then PM you.
  • Feel free to PM and nag me if I fail to post or something. I fuck up sometimes.
  • I often swear out of character (regardless of its utility). However, slurs and offensive terms will not be part of my vocabulary, and if I unknowingly say something, TELL me and make sure I fix it. In-character, it depends on my role and the situation.
  • I fuck up sometimes. Can't stress this enough. Tell me, and I'll fix it.
  • I write instantly, with minimal editing. If I make a mistake, I'll fix it.
  • IF I MAKE A MISTAKE, I WILL FIX IT.
  • No, seriously. I can't stress this enough. I don't get offended, just tell me.
  • Worth adding: I might sometimes go some time before replying, EVEN IF I HAVE INTEREST. This is due to my school and work, and not really something I can help. I love roleplaying, but life does come first. I will however, reply eventually.


I'm Raiden, as the ever so lovely bit of text right to the left reads. My age, personally, doesn't much matter. I'm old enough to be on here, old enough to vote, and young enough to not have kids yet, and still be in college. I'm a guy (both biologically and mentally), I'm (in the completely wrong way to use the terms, but oh, well), heterosexual, but panromantic. And what I'm trying to say here is that while I don't ogle anyone but women in real life, I have no problem with romantic connections to ANYONE. Literally, anyone. Male, female, transgendered, nongendered, genderqueer, or any other term to be used (I'm not knocking them, I'm simply not experienced with many titles). I'll play with you, play with you, and write with you.

In terms of my writing, in seven or so years, I've done a damned lot. I've improved myself by far from where I was, and both scrapped and improved characters, as well as scrapping and improving ideas for the stories I write, whether with or without my partners. I won't promise a specific post length, but I can manage anything from 1-2 lines (for dull RPs, or those devoted entirely to sex, or those which neither of us has an interest in, but which we're doing to pass the time) to an ungodly number of paragraphs. My longest post of all time was somewhere around five pages long in microsoft word. Granted, it included the character's backstory and most of the plot setup for a VERY involved roleplay... but still. At least two pages were the character and the character alone.

I've played most concepts, but I'm always open to more. I like smut plenty, though it's not required. If you give me a lot of smut in one RP, though, it might die out. Not from lack of enjoyment, but eventually, there's only so far that can take us.

I both create characters for roleplays and use my old stand-bys, and I both enjoy working on an idea with my partner and using an old idea one of us has.

I can play male characters relatively well, and am comfortable with them. I can play females or female-identifying people or creatures... with a bit of discomfort, but I can play them. I can play gender-neutral beings with a fair bit of joy... but I'll often slip into a gendered pronoun, because I'm just like that. But, bear in mind, I've never really been comfortable playing a non-male identifying character. I'm simply not the kind of writer where I can enjoy it, unfortunately.

I write in third-person, in the present tense. I know this puts off a lot of people, but I promise you, it's not that bad. I don't, personally, mind not matching my partner's tense, but if you REALLY need me to? I can try to swap to past tense. It's just not how I learned to write fiction. (Something along the lines of 'if it's in the past, it's already happened, and it's not really as interesting as it happening and unfolding right in front of you. Same reason I've never been into history classes.)

I'm human, and I make mistakes. I might do something you don't like, I might forget a roleplay, I might lose interest or lose the PM. Let me know. I won't be angry, and I'll remedy the situation, even if that means editing a post, which I don't mind doing, as much as many people seem to resent it here.

I write off the top of my head. I don't make outlines, I don't revise, and I don't edit except for correcting spelling as I go. I might repeat myself once in a while, I might make an erroneous statement, but please, just let me know and I'll fix it.

If you're still with me after all that? Bravo, and thank you. It's not necessary, but it's a little helpful for us to know each other. Go down a bit, to find my ideas for RPs.
 
RE: Realities, Dreams, and Nightmares (Male for Any)

Sample Plots and Ideas
Or: Look at all the rambling!​

Original Ideas:
  1. Apocalyptic Concepts
    • Subtypes
      • Disaster or Calamity
        • I give Disasters their own category because, quite frankly, they're notably different. There is no-one to blame, there is no responsibility. People and infrastructure alike have been wiped from the map, swallowed whole by the earth, or burned into ruins. I've never gotten to have a good one of these, but the best, I think, would revolve around survivors competing for resources and territory.
      • Plague
        • For this, my biggest idea is Steven King's The Stand. People have been wiped away by a plague, and only a small number have survived, perhaps one in a hundred, or even less. (King's figure is 99.4% lethality) Like Disaster apocalypses, Plagued apocalypses focus around resources... except that the infrastructure of the region is untouched except by disrepair and neglect. Struggles for not just food and water and land, but also for power plants and skilled technicians will define this type.
      • Nuclear
        • Nuclear apocalypses are in many ways the most terrible of the genre, and the best. With so many years of fear ingrained into the minds of the world, nuclear war is a terrible, terrible doom. At the same time, however, reference material is abundant. Nuke apocalypses can range from taking place during the nuclear winter, to after the fallout has settled, and even mid-bombardment, as people flee into the shelters they believe will protect them.
      • War
        • War-based apocalypses can be both fun and tedious. Set most often after a colossal struggle, they have relatively little population loss, but MASSIVE infrastructure damage. People compete for food and water alike, and looting and violence will be widespread, but often mediated by a government which has not collapsed. It's an ideal way to play out social dissent and revolution themes.
      • Zombie
        • Ah, yes, zombies. My bread and butter, I save the best for last. Zombies, whether fast or slow, are a wonderful way to mix the real and the fantastical. No matter how hard you try, you will never find a way for the infected or the dead to be realistically able to do what these roleplays do... but that's part of the fun. I'm a massive zombie nerd, and though my personally created infected aren't properly the living dead, it's the best categorical title. I include in this grouping everything from the classic, shambling dead, to the more specialized 'infected' of things like Left 4 Dead and Dead Island.
    • Pairings
      • Survivor x Survivor
      • [ZOMBIE] Survivor x Intelligent Infected
      • [WAR] Soldier x Survivor
      • [NUCLEAR] Soldier/Survivor x Survivor
      • [PLAGUE] Doctor, Soldier, or Survivor x Doctor, Soldier, or Survivor
      • [CALAMITY] Aid Worker x Survivor
  2. Fantasy Concepts
    • Concepts I'm interested in:
      • Modern Fantasy
        • Set in modern-day/contemporary settings, modern fantasy blends the fantastical and reality. For examples, my "Bonded", "Chained", and "Dead" ideas below can embody this.
      • Historical Fantasy
        • Set in premodern settings in our own world. These can intertwine with real political/social events, or merely use them as a backdrop. "Bonded" works well here, as well.
      • Future/Fantasy
        • Set in a futuristic world, utilizing a mixture of science and magic. This is similar to the RPG "Shadowrun", as well as, I am sure, other settings. Its main attraction for me lies in 'technomagic', fusing the two concepts.
      • High/Alternate World Fantasy
        • Generic fantasy, similar to Tolkien and others of his kind, "High" or "Alternate World" fantasy exists in a world and time separate from our own, and the setting is entirely fabricated. "Amaera" is my example of this, though "Bonded" also works here.
    • Pairings
      • Soldier/warrior x Mage
      • Human x Nonhuman
      • Nonhuman x Nonhuman
      • Infinitely many others- Suggest some!
  3. Modern or Realistic Concepts
    • Any setting which doesn't include fantastical aspects can be grouped into this. While there's not much to this that I can list, it includes slice of life, war, romance, and other roleplays, as well as being an easy base for most non-plotted, smutty RPs.
  4. Science Fiction Concepts
    • Any setting which involves postmodern settings or advanced technology fits in here. Anything that the world might make, but hasn't yet (And to hell with the concept of 'speculative fiction' versus 'science fiction') can be formed into these RPs, though the more extreme the innovation, the better the plot concept. "A matter of Profit" fits into this category.
  5. Other Concepts
    • I'm blank. There's obviously other things we could do, but I'm too fried in the brain to really think of much. Feel free to suggest whatever you want!
  6. Smut-based Concepts
    • To be honest, Smut doesn't really deserve its own category. However, given that I don't keep smut and plot separate very well if there's too much of the former, it's getting one. I'll do just about any pairing, so just suggest something, and chances are I'll be up for doing it with you. ^^

Fandom Ideas:
Whoo, there's... a lot of these. This is just about everything I'm familiar enough with to play, with a slight idea of things, or more!

Games:
Left 4 Dead
Bastion
The Elder Scrolls
Final Fantasy XIV
Borderlands 1/2
Risk Of Rain
Metro
Saint's Row
Sanctum 1/2
Binary Domain
Dead Island
Fallout
Mass Effect
Sengoku Basara / 戦国BASARA
Dragon's Dogma
Warframe
Far Cry 3/4


Animation:

Gravity Falls: All characters aged up.
  • Dipper / Mabel
    • No Shorts: A terrible fire strikes the twins' home, and as a result, Dipper's arms, legs, and chest are badly scarred. This only makes his anxiety and self-esteem worse. Soos, Wendy, and even Stan look at him with pity. But Mabel's the one who doesn't.
    • Triplets: An AU where the twins are triplets, with another boy named Tyrone in the mix.
    • Divorce: The twins' parents split up, and as a result, the only time they see one another at all is during their summers.
    • Weekend Ruse: Mabel comes to visit Dipper at college, and pretends to be his girlfriend, only for it to become real, inside the lies.
    • Forgotten: Mabel's memories of dipper are wiped due to use of the Society of the Blind Eyes' ray, and she winds up hopelessly attracted to him, without realizing he's her brother. (feigned OR real)
    • Potions: Years later, Mabel finds the Love God's old potion, and, figuring it has to be expired, drinks it as a joke. Except it still works, and she rushes Dipper.
    • Broken: After losing the mystery shack to Gideon, something inside of Stan snaps, and rather than fighting back, he just sends the kids home. Years later, with Journal #3 still in hand, the twins return, only to find Gravity Falls a shell of its former self. The supernatural is no longer even trying to hide, and instead rampages through the streets.
  • Dipper / Wendy
  • Bipper / Mabel
  • F!Dipper / Mabel
  • Younger Stan / Any
  • Younger McGucket / Any
The Devil is a Part-Timer!
Sword Art Online
Bleach
I Can't Understand What My Husband is Saying!
 
RE: Realities, Dreams, and Nightmares (Male for Any)

Kinks and Fetishes
Or: To spice up your sex life, shove a jalapeno up your ass.​

I'm... not actually that much of a kink, really. I'm not saying I only enjoy missionary position, in the dark, with my eyes closed, to a woman/man/person I'm married to. Not by any means. I'm just not really... all that into anything. I'm not really against anything either, though. There are things I enjoy, and things I don't, of course, but nothing is really essential for me to enjoy a roleplay. I've got a list, here, but no real promises that it's going to be interesting. I'd make an F-list, but there's not much point.

  1. Favorite
    • Consensual Roleplays
    • Performing cunnilingus
  2. Enjoyable
    • Multiple penetration in non-damaging scenarios.
    • Furries. I love them, but they're not really anything I need or even necessarily want. I just love the artwork done of anthropomorphic beings.
  3. Non-negotiable, I will not do
    • Hard rape and non-con. If you ask me for this, I will decline.
    • One-sided pleasure/experience. Both parties have to be involved.
    • Scat. Aside from the visceral aversion to feces, there's the sanitary problem.
    • Snuff. I have no interest in killing my sexual partner, or sexualizing/romanticizing death.
  4. Negotiable, I may do if you MUST have it.
    • Watersports. I don't care for it, but if it's a favorite of yours, then we can incorporate it.
    • Transformations which I must control. I've recently had to do this, and while it was a fun mental exercise, I can't get myself to enjoy it at all.
    • Bestiality. I like having thoughts and a mind. Playing an animal isn't fun for me.
    • GM/DM Roleplays. I don't really care that much about doing these... but it has to be with an active partner who doesn't make me do ALL the work.
 
RE: Realities, Dreams, and Nightmares (Male for Any)

Sample Writing
Or: Good lord I'm inconsistent.​
Here, you'll find my sample posts. For starters, I've recently been ranging between three paragraphs and ten, and even longer. For posts in a roleplay, three or so paragraphs. For smut roleplays? One or two paragraphs.


A post-apocalyptic starter. Written for my close friend. Includes the plot set-up. Warning, includes somewhat graphic violence against a zombie, and it's long as HELL.
As the end of the year came and went, there was little change. A few disturbances in the world, here and there. Stirrings of war - though one can hardly claim that to be a surprise, really. One day, however, a few scientists looked outside, at the shining, blue sky, and thought, "Oh, what a lovely day. Perfect visibility for us to test a weapon, don't you think?"

And so (and who can blame them?) they decided to do so. A nifty little bioweapon, targeted quite literally at the minds of the populace, with a few prisoners from prisons and wars across the war strapped into the testing room. A viral agent dispersed into the facility through the air ducts... and then the faintest crack in the plexiglas of the viewing window. The subjects, with the largest dose, went symptomatic first. Writhing and screaming, scrabbling at the tables, bleeding from eyes and ears until they fell down dead.

The men within the viewing room, by contrast, took weeks. Just a few viral particles in their blood, enough to breed and make them contagious, mutating and reaching an equalibrium. Infecting everyone in the facility. Infecting their family. And their family's friends, and all their families, spreading on planes and boats and trains and buses, the outbreak spreading bit by bit by bit. Nothing to worry about, until there was. Nothing to fret over, until the moment the end came. Not all at once, by any means. The scientists who worked on the virus in the facility went first, and the purge of nuclear flames, meant to stop its spread, erased them, their notes, and the facility from the map, creating what would be deemed the 'dead man's mile', smack in the middle of Arizona's Mojave desert.

Other cities went into panic, days and weeks later. Vegas, the closest civic center, went up in flames, quite literally, when their quarantine barrier began to break down, and a firebombing was ordered to contain the disease. Nevermind that it was already spreading elsewhere-this simply couldn't be so widespread.

Well, it was, quite obviously, and, unsurprisingly, as much as society claimed to be 'ready' for a zombie apocalypse, it simply wasn't. Oh, certainly, people who had played video games and knew the concept fared a bit better... but only, really, if they were in enough shape to survive and use that knowledge.

The military fared better, marginally, than fiction suggested it would. Retreating strategically, taking in refugees, telling people to defend themselves, that they would wait for the infection to subside, for all the symptomatic to go out, before they began pushing back.

Everyone knew what zombies were, and what they could do. To aim for the head (and eventually, this became practically gospel, even once the 'dead' were more widely understood to be still-living, and thus still-bleeding-to-death-capable from a shot to the limbs.

But nevertheless, it just. Kept. Happening. City after city after city. Last stand after last stand after last stand. Death after death after death. Holding out, knowing someone would hear the gunshots, and come to help... and then both stranded and savior dying.

Grief and misery and loss unending, spreading across the globe. Oh, some regions fared better. The US, with its widespread gun-ownership, fared fairly well. The UK, with dense populations, low gun ownership, and widespread healthcare, fared far worse. The infected had a hotbed to spread in - the hospitals. Not everyone died, of course, they could escape and flee. India, with some of the densest population in the world, was nearly completely lost.

Japan, insular and self-contained, quarantined itself, and fared fairly well. Enough discipline to keep themselves under control, and enough government and social control to hunt down the infected. They still fell, of course... but not as quickly, or as violently. China, with dense population and social controls, still fell. Even the most severe of crackdowns cannot prevent the spread of a disease, when half your soldiers are already sick. South Korea, wary and prepared, kept much of the infection out, managing to self-police and keep order. The north simply vanished off the map. Either genocide brought the end, in an attempt at purging the sick... or the infection simply swept them over too quickly.

Most of mainland Europe, with such broad, easy transit, spread the infection quickly, and fared... around as well as the UK, simply with less chance for exodus than the island nation. The nations called 'third-world', the undeveloped and the poor... those with little immigration, were sometimes untouched, though no nation truly escaped. Much of the middle east, with UN peacekeeping, fell to a series of nuclear exchanges... though thankfully, they were limited, and only a few launched at other nations that had fallen to the plague, which automated systems and human holdouts managed to ward off.

But, perhaps, that is beyond the scope of things. Back in the US, a few hundred miles from the test site, a man picks his way through the shadows of an alley, brown-black eyes flicking around him. Almost scrawny in his build, narrow across the shoulders, and looking practically starved, he's a figure of poverty, in any other time. Here and now, though, he's a healthy citizen of the United States, in his natural habitat. He's nearly naked, bare to the waist, the pus-filled blisters on his arms hinting at the IVs that had been anchored there days before. Violent in his movements, paranoid, twitchy, he opens the cover of a dumpster, rifling through its contents, looking for food... before the lid is slammed down on his head, a squeal escaping the creature before a gun is pressed against the plastic, just where its head should be, and the trigger pulled, the silencer making the raucous report little more than a cough.

The bearer of the weapon adjusts his coat, letting the infected slide out of the dumpster to crumple on the ground, and nudges it with his boot. Nothing worth taking from the wretch, really. But oh well. One less to barrel down the streets screaming at him for his entrails. He holsters his pistol, and steps over the corpse, peering out of the alleyway. Blue eyes half-revealed by his hood, hoodie's sleeves stained with blood and dirt, jeans filthy with the same mixture, and boots splattered just the same, he makes for another fairly typical picture of modern America as he sets out at a jog down the street, pulling an axe from his belt, and hefting it, the weapon having been specifically made for the military... and looted off the corpse of a soldier he'd found. The same goes for the pistol, and for the rifle that's slung across his back. Eight weeks from going into boot camp, this had hit... and he's been relying on the little bit his dad taught him about guns and surviving in the wilderness since. Not that all of it applies, exactly... but books filled in the rest. Bits and pieces of knowledge cobbled together with pragmatism and common sense and critical thinking.

It doesn't take long for him to reach his 'home', a small warehouse that he's used the boxes in to seal the doors, and blockade the windows. He's got a bed made from three mattresses and half a dozen blankets to ward off the cold inside one of the spare crates, and a small kitchen in another of them, the smoke from which he has guided up through a small chimney he made from scrap metal, and into an adjoining crate, that then lets the small wisps of heat vapor, and occasional fumes, out of one of the large windows, through a hole no more than two feet wide, and covered with steel mesh.

Not much food, right now... but canned goods are still, well, good, and so is soda, bottled water, and other foods. Milk, not so much, but the canned and dried variety's okay. So's concentrated/condensed milk, and once water's added it's... unpleasant, but doable. He's getting the nutrients he needs, even when it's meant boiling the meat blood and drinking it - which was godawful, but he's getting the minerals and amino acids and all that junk.

He settles in on his bed, and runs a hand through his hair. "So." he says to himself, looking at his filthy clothing, and then slowly stripping out of it. "The quarantine wall's still all the way up, but there's nobody manning it. But there's infected everywhere, now." he says, sighing as he pulls the filthy shirt off his head, and then swearing as he rips the fabric, having caught it on the siding of the box. "Well... shit." he says, and tosses it out of the box into a small dumpster, the one not for compost, and then goes rifling through his belongings, stripped to the skin now... and eventually comes up with new clothing, dressing himself back up quickly, and then tugging the clothes back into place. A little loose, but comfortable enough.

Post for a fantasy RP here on BlueMoon with the lovely Chariot.
Once... Once he was a good man. Once, Black Morgause had been able to hold his head high, and state that he was a good man. Virtuous and just, skilled in society and word. Once. Until the day he... offended Cyron Damaskus. Sitting, when he should have been standing, when the man's cat came into the room where he had been speaking with other members of the court. He had been on visitation, from another kingdom, trying to make a name for himself, perhaps to earn a wife amongst the nobility.
Instead, the madking ordered him imprisoned, and his fellow nobles executed... on the grounds that the cat had been sitting in his lap, and so he had at least shown some respect.

Prison was... informative. Titles were nothing, all that mattered was the strength of one's arm and the ability to keep oneself safe. And then, the sale to the Temple. His time with Jaemie in her training, and then his bonding to her. The realization that he did, in fact, still have some soul in himself, that he did still have something that made him human.

And then the sheer dread as he heard of their summons, hiding himself inside the armor the Temple granted him, to serve as a guard to her. Hiding behind the anonymity and the facelessness... except, the King had asked to see his face, hear his name... and then had completely been without words. No recognition. Nothing.

And then the war. The war, the endless war. Death and killing and laying waste. The politics were... interesting. Seeing how the Temple allowed their power to be abused in this way, wondering how they could do so... except he was simply too busy. Assassination attempts, on the 'demon witch'. Taking the pain from her wounds as his own, and knowing that it isn't in reverse... knowing that he can feel the grating of an arrow in her flesh atop that of the cuts, the wounds, the burns and broken bones... but that she can not feel the same.

Keeping her alive, keeping her safe. Ten years, since he was sold into the bowels of the Temple. Ten years since that smiling young man had been pressed into shackles. Twenty-seven now, six feet tall and an inch, muscle and scars across his entire form, a massive broadsword hanging at his side. A general in his own right, if he'd served in any other army. Leading charge after charge, cutting men down as they tried to rip Jaemie apart. And rarely even uttering a sound, a word. The armor he was given shattering from a lance taking him in the chest, and a new suit replacing it, covering over the scars and bandages that never quite have time to heal.

He can feel the awe that surrounds them both, the admiration from the soldiers who she commands... many of them younger, many older. All of them revering the young mage and her servant. Whispers of lust toward her, and then words refuting it, that she must be attached to her... knight. Hah. As if he has such a title. Little more than a living shield for her to channel her magic through.

As he marches through the camp, wiping off blood from his gauntlets-a captured deserter had needed execution, and there was no reason to appoint a new one, after the old had taken a spear through the chest a week ago, when a raid hit their camp. So he did it himself.

He lifts the tentflap, reaching up and pulling his helmet free as he does, and bows his head to Jaemie. "Ma'am." he says quietly, eyes flicking downward in respect. His face is broad, but not ugly, square-jawed and strong, with a quintet of scars across it, from some odd war-beast one of the nations had sicced upon them, its claws catching him clear across the face... what, four years ago, now? An x-shape across his throat, from an attacker, the slashed neck barely slowing him as he killed the man with his bare hands, sword broken, and then headed back to Jaemie, being healed... and then trudging back out into the fray, ignoring the pain in his body. Scarred as much as she is, on every part of him. Where her nose is crooked, his is straight, with a divot taken out of the center, from the claw-marks across his face, and his jaw hangs slightly lower on the left side... a war-hammer to the face, if memory serves, knocking him sideways and keeping him even more mute until it mended.

"I heard there are new orders. Does the king wish us to move on from here, then?" he asks, eyes still downcast... and then gradually sweeping up, fixing on her face. "You know the men are ill. Sick and wounded. We need reinforcements and medicines if we are to continue, and men to carry the wounded home." he reports, voice low, almost robotic, and exhausted as he sinks into a chair, starting to slowly unbuckle his armor, hissing quietly as the armor scrapes over one of his newer wounds, unhealed as of yet. But no reason to waste magic on it, when there are so many others wounded worse.

Post/starter for an offsite roleplay.
Cold. Very cold. He feels... sluggish. Not himself. The rage is... dampened, somehow. Dulled down and hidden. Lights around him, as his eyes open, skin splitting to reveal them as he takes stock of his surroundings, 'clothes' shredding themselves as his flesh strains against his confines. A cage. Tight and binding, restricting his movement. Cameras at each corner, and a screen on the wall before him as the cage shudders, and then falls aside, letting him heave himself upright.
Blood and flesh quiver into place as he stands, eyes closing, and then opening on the slowly-forming face. His hand reaches upwards, and rips the shard of metal from his flesh, freeing space within his skull for his brain to reform.

By the time he's repaired himself, the figure on the screen is halfway through a spiel about how he's being forced to work (In milder terms, granted, but coercion is coercion, whatever the name), and to make something of himself. They know what he is, know his name, his family, his friends (though he has none, so it must be a generic message), and know his crimes. The former don't matter. The latter... somewhat. Most people dislike the idea of slaughtering an entire group of people for the fun of it.

"So. Do I have to say "Agent" to talk to a representative, or something of the sort? Or do I just sign on the dotted line so you don't kill me?" he asks, the voice summoned forth from his chest booming in the small space, raw and dark with his rage. "Or do I just wait for you to come and try to kill me? Good luck with that, by the way." he adds, waving a hand absently. And, a moment later, a slot pops open in the wall, revealing a drawer containing a sheaf of papers, a pen, and a thumbprint scanner.

"Or that works, I suppose." he adds, shrugging absently, glowering at the camera... and then pressing his finger down on the pad. It beeps twice, and then, surprisingly enough, the draw flips like a beartrap, severing his hand, and making the male stagger back in surprise, before lifting the stump to eye it. No longer bleeding, even. Oh, well.

His free hand signs with a flourish and then shoves the drawer, severed hand atop the metal and all, back into the wall. Even then, the stump has begun to reform, and he yawns quietly, covering his face with the stump. "I'm waaaaaiting." he sing-songs, smiling faintly and beginning to pace in a circle around the cell, humming a quiet tune.
Smut Post: Foreplay.
Jaexx grins at her up her body, knowing that she can't see him, but not really caring. Perfect. No way for her to guess at what's coming, no way for her to try to jerk away, or tense up in anticipation. Perfect. His tongue finds her slit, teasing at her, testing her. With the difference in their body temperatures... it's disconcerting... but still wonderful. He grins again, and his tongue slides into her, teasing at her entrance, testing her, probing. Very deliberately, he arches it, finding her g-spot, and pressing lightly. He feels, more then seeing or hearing, her reaction, and chuckles, sending light vibrations through her. "Have you had a man before, Eira?" he asks, nipping again at her thigh, his fingers coming to her womanhood, and spreading her gently, stroking her with his fingers, building a slow burn with them, not letting her relax, but giving her just enough mental room to answer his question
Smut Post: Tentacle sex.
Jaexx smiles again at her, and keeps nipping at her throat. "Yes, Eira?" he breathes into her ear, caressing her cheek with a hand, and continuing to pump his three appendages in and out of her, twisting them around inside her, caressing her walls with them, feeling how she bucks and writhes with pleasure. "Do you want more from me, then?" he breathes, squeezing her breasts with the appendages that grasp them, coils of flesh wrapped around each, with a broad, warm mouth enveloping the tips, tinier orifices kissing and licking and biting on the soft skin as they are kneaded.
Another tip presses against her rear, and he smiles at her, before it joins the other within her, the two intertwining and fucking her, purposefully stretching her hole out just a bit. "You enjoy being claimed like this, then?" he breathes into her ear, letting his cock within her alter, becoming a tentacle just like the others, all, and the dozens more that simply laze upon the bed and wrap her up, joining with his body at around waist height. "You like being claimed by me, my little vampire?"
 
RE: Realities, Dreams, and Nightmares (Male for Any)

Characters I often use
Or: The lovely freaks who live within my head.​


Name: Lysander
Race: Artificial Intelligence

Name: Jaexx Kiske
Race: Fer'an (Shapeshifter)
Age: 28
Personality: Caustic humor and violence define Jaexx. Highly vengeful, typically unstable.

Name: James DeMarke
Race: Human (Infected with the Griever Strain of the Blackridge Virus)
Age: 25+
Personality: Calm and collected, typically humorous. If roused, violent and unpredictable.

Name: Styxx DeMarke
Race: Human (Infected with the Blitzer Strain of the Blackridge Virus)
Age: 18+
Personality: Paranoid, borderline schizophrenia in some plots. Loyal once he trusts you.

Name: Black Morgause
Race: Human
Age: Variable
Personality: Loyal and stalwart. Often brusque in nature, sometimes naive or single-minded.

Name: Jakob Krasse
Race: Anthropomorphic Fox (Fox Furry)
Age: Mid-twenties.
Personality: Sarcastic but kind. Relatively fun-loving, but often a bit quick to the draw in relationships.

Name: Jonathan Black/Jonathan Kinless
Race: Human, Vampire, or Hybrid
Age: 29
Personality: Loyal, guardianship-minded. Bitter and reluctant to divulge personal details, typically best used as the guardsman or soldier in plots involving such.
 
RE: Realities, Dreams, and Nightmares (Male for Any)

More detailed plots
Or: I talk WAY TOO FUCKING MUCH.​
If interested about any of these plots, PM me! I've got extra details and even some plots that I can give you if these ramblings catch your eye.

Blackridge, 2018.
A Post-apocalyptic 'zombie' plot.
What I want: Fear and apocalypse. The end is here, and everyone knows it. It's not a thing that's going to pass. There isn't any rescue, there isn't any way out. You just have to keep alive and keep save, and pray that nothing too hard to kill finds you.
The end came, and it was my fault. This is not an exaggeration. It is not an apology, confession, lamentation, or anything else you might like to call it. Just fact. The world around you now is my fault. I let the virus go. I let them use it. I just wanted to make her proud.
-Gareth Demonakos (b. 1982 - d. 2026)

By 2018, the world had reached a balance once more. War had ended, the US rebuilt, Europe rebuilt, even Asia was on its way. Four years of hell, with nuclear death a fraction of a hair away, left the world weary.

And so, when a curious drug called Demex was revealed, it's creators decided to change the target market entirely. No longer would it be for the soldiers, sent into battle to die for their country, but it would be for the family, the veterans, and all. A way to let them recover from the chemicals that still burned the air, and to turn attentions from personal illness to the national effort.

Almost patriotic, if not for their profit.

Demex promised, and delivered, a better life. Free from cancer, free from illness, free even from those pandemics and disorders- no more MS, no more AIDS, no more Alzheimer's, Parkinson's, or even autism. No more allergies, even.

Perfection, for the neat price of $4,997.86... After insurance. A "generous" deal, but not exactly affordable to anyone.

And so, we have the 'ERA'. Former soldiers and activists alike, protesting the withholding of such a miracle... And then taking matters into their own hands. Edge Riders Anonymous stole and aerosolized over 100 kilograms of the drug, then sprayed it in every major city in the US. A nice little bit of biological terrorism (or activism, depending on who you talk to), that, while well intentioned, would prove to be a death blow.

The virus spread within weeks, infecting every corner of the world, working its way into the flesh and bone of everyone alive. It was a blessing, for many. The long-term wards of hospitals closed down, releasing millions who recovered from cancerous lesions, or other seemingly intractable conditions. The national death rate dropped by nearly half, disease nearly nullified. A golden age seemed sure to come, for the survivors of the third great war. And yet, it never came.

A worker in New York, clearing out the bowels of the city, cleansing it of the biological weapons which plagued it in the latter days of the war, had a crack in his gas mask. Not enough for him to even notice. Not enough to give him a lethal dose, or even for his blood tests to turn anything up.

But enough to let just a handful of toxins in, enough to confuse Demex's viruses. Inside an hour, he breathed poison to all those around him, infecting them. And then they passed it on. Inside a day, his eyes lost all their color, turning a dull pinkish shade, then darkening to a bloody red. In a week, the cravings started, for fresh, raw meat, and plenty of it. In a month, he and all of his coworkers were chewing on strands of torn flesh, happily eating their families while their brains regressed.

Of course, not everyone believed in these tales. "Zombies" in New York? Preposterous. And even if there were some bioweapon, as many feared, the city was redesigned, when it was rebuilt, to allow for easy quarantine and control.

Yet, somehow, it spread. Even when New York was leveled with a bomb, scorched flat to the earth, somehow, some poor soul escaped, and spread the infection.

It appeared next in Blackridge, California, the home of the firm which had engineered Demex... but nothing was provable, of course. Nothing provable that the Triteon Corporation had deliberately procured the virus, and experimented on it for... quality control.

Nothing provable that they brought the end.

The virus spread, relentlessly and effortlessly. Incubation periods varied, strains mutated, became inactive. For months, the US once more committed a war against, this time against its own, ailing populace... until it was overwhelmed. And still, somehow, the virus spread. To Europe. To Asia. To Australia. To each and every corner of the globe but the most insular, hidden communities. It spread until the world grew silent again.


Blackridge, 2033
What I want: Veteran zombie slayers, the experienced and inured, those who have spent a lifetime surviving, and the ways in which these half-people, knowing nothing but how to kill, interact.
Fifteen years have passed since the advent of Demex. The world's population, at more than seven billion at the start of the war, fallen to five billion, in the deadliest conflict ever seen, fell yet more in the years following the Virus' spread.

By late 2018, nearly three-quarters of the population of the planet became infected with the virus. Of those three-quarters, ninety percent lost their sanity, and began attempting to kill and devour the healthy and one another to sate their hunger. Of the remaining population, sane and alive, 97.5% were, over the course of the following decade, devoured.

Now, the population stands at around four hundred thousand million, scattered across the face of the earth, at times banding together and at times killing one another, as suited to their fancies.

Of those four hundred million, five million live within the former United States. And of those, half were born within or after the time of the third world war. All they have known is warfare and misery, and so, after all, who can blame them for staying so scattered?


The World of Amaera
What I want:
Without posting the entirety of my long, drawn out ramblings upon Amaera, let us stand with this. It is a fantasy setting, akin to most others, of my own creation. It involves several races of my own design, as well as a few of popular note such as Orcs, Dwarves, and Elves. If we play in this world, you can guarantee that it'll have my full attention and interest, and I'll gladly introduce you to the nature of it as much as you want. I know it sounds fairly stupid, but believe me, I've put as much work into this as blackridge... I just don't have a plot, yet. Only setting.


Welcome to the Wastes
What I want: Survivalism and violence, coupled with unnatural forces and the supernatural.
Modelled after Fallout, this idea revolves around the Nuclear Apocalypse... save that after this end, a new beginning came. Supernatural beings, previously hidden, had no more reason to hide themselves away. Vampires, Werefolk, et cetera, all came up into the dim of the nuclear winter, and into the wastelands after it faded, and all made a life for themselves.


Chained
What I want: Relationship dynamic. Resentment and fear and manipulation, as well as xenophobia.
In a world with any number of supernatural beings forced into acknowledgement, vampires, demons, fae, and all, the solution was a relatively simple one. Each and every one of these individuals will be chained to a human 'handler', and these pairs will be made to live within sequestered 'sanctuary' cities. Unfortunately, not all of the 'handlers' chose this job. Many were forced into the program, or simply abducted and awoken tied to their bonded (quite literally, with a chain reinforced with magics keeping them together). Likewise, the inhuman were given a choice: Obey this order, or be hunted and die.


Bonded
What I want: The relationship dynamic, and/or competition with an ancient vampire who scorns the laws that so tightly bind the rest of the culture.
Vampires are, and have been for a very long time, real. However, unlike most expect, they cannot feed from humans, and instead must feed from one another. While a bite from a vampire will turn a human to one of them, it will not nourish the being, until the transformation is complete. Once it is, however, the two are bound by the laws of the vampire community, the 'council', to not turn another until their bonded dies, and to not ever expose their nature. However, a few, ancient beings, outdating this council, scorn the rules, and do as they please, turning and murdering in the name of boredom.


The Job
What I want: Partnership and puzzle-solving. The RP is going to revolve around either two abducted agents, or one agent and their handler, and the two's relationship and dynamic will be what defines this.
Based upon a friend's idea, this revolves around the concept of a Company abducting remarkable individuals, blackmailing them, and forcing them to work as agents for their ends. Their missions are obscure and seemingly pointless, leading to little more than waste of life and chaos, but there is a method to the Company's madness, and if one can discern it, they are promised not only freedom, but more money than they could dream of, and an opportunity to join the upper echelons of the agency, and aid their cause. Though not all are precisely enthusiastic about this.


The Bottom of the Dark
What I want: Terror. Pure and simple, this is about fear of the dark. How that feeling on the back of your neck is real now, and that when your flashlight finally dies, it's not just fear anymore, it's reality, a demon breathing down your neck.
A voice stirs you from your sleep. Your body aches, down to the very bones, like you've been beaten to within an inch of your life. Ahead of you, you can hear a voice, calling, urging you onwards. Beside you, the groans of others, likewise awakened. Behind you, the growling of beasts. "Come on! Come on, they're coming! Get up, get moving! Run! We need to run!" the voice pleads, and screams come from behind you, a warm slap against the back of your neck. You try to open your eyes, but there is nothing. No light, nothing. Breath rasps against the back of your neck, and you run.

For hours and hours, you run, tripping over the bodies of those who fall ahead of you, caught up in a stampede of feet. People are taken, from behind you, from beside you. Claws catch at your clothes, tearing them, but you evade them. Hours of running, to exhaustion and misery, and still those things pursue, blood drying on your body from their previous victims. Still, others are beside you, but your eyes must be sealed shut, because nothing, not even the light of the stars- and you can feel the wind on your skin, it must be outside, wherever you are- nothing reaches your eyes.

Nothing, until at last, in the distance, a dim crimson light comes to your eyes- the light of an alarm, a warning light. One of the old bunkers, something in your mind tells you, not your own thought, but a distant notice. An old bunker from the war.

A press of bodies around you as you struggle to get in, to find a way into the door, even as there are still more taken from behind you, and finally, you can see faces, human faces, young and old and tired, not the fittest, but those with the greatest will to continue. You can hear the things behind you, but turning your head, nothing is there. Nothing, not even a refraction of light, beyond the dim glow of the lamp. Like the world cuts off with a knife just after ten, fifteen feet.

Nothing, except you can hear the things out there. Hear them feasting, devouring.

"In! In! They can't pass the light, you need to all get in!"


The Darkest Day and the Brightest Night
What I want: Conflicting ideologies. The Knights want justice, but have fallen to depravity in the process. The Paladins want to preserve the rule of law, but are defending monstrous people in the process, who care little for them or the Knights.
Dominus City. Home, originally, to a pair of corporations which hurled themselves at one another in every field, from biotechnology to nuclear energy.
Tritecorp, the older of the two companies, one day developed a drug which was christened the Z product, and distributed it cheaply. The testing spread through the city, and lasted nearly a year.
As the trials were ending, the Product reacted differently. It caused dementia, illness, insanity of all kinds, and warped the bodies of the patients, making them into creatures more suited to legends.
When a man named Jakob Dellare spoke out, swathed in bandages from the illness he had suffered, naming TriteCorp for the culprit, they struck out at him. A hitman killed his family in the night, leaving them for him to discover. Set his home ablaze with him in it.
Dellare was driven mad by the loss, and called for his supporters to avenge the act. In hordes, the panicked, resentful people swarmed the headquarters of TriteCorp, only to be rebuffed by another, equally large group of citizens.
The mob faltered, frightened by the numbers, until one of the citizens guarding of the building hurled a rock, striking Dellare in the eye and blinding him.
The citizens surged forward, and hundreds died as the changes manifested themselves further, brought on by fear and rage.

It has been two years since that day, and Dellare has disappeared, replaced as the leader of the protesters by a man who calls himself Blint. The city has been sealed by an invention of TriteCorp's rival, Schow-Gen Technologies, a field which instantly kills any human being attempting to cross it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Those who held to an ideal of order and morality followed a former employee of TriteCorp. The bright intentions of the Paladins, as they were nicknamed, existed at first only to keep their counterparts under control. This later turned into an drive for annihilation of the other side. Many fear the effects that withdrawal from the Product would have upon them, only fighting to preserve their own lives. They have cleared a complex around the TriteCorp tower that they have named the Layer Yard, and now use it as their base of operations. They control the whole of the Uptown and Financial districts
The paladins believed that the only way to solve this problem was to destroy it. The Product gave the Paladins what they view as gifts, regardless of their true impact. With their feathered wings, soft white eyes, and an inspiring and mystical presence, they are ready to cleanse the filth from their city, to protect the innocent, and preserve the rule of law.

Those who followed the want for vengeance followed Blint, a man hell bent on revenging himself on TriteCorp. They do not fear death, or even the suffering of being denied a monthy dose of the product. Many fight for the vengeance and the chance to prevent this incident reoccuring, but just as many are in the fight only to inflict suffering. Despite their cruelty, the city remains intact, if a shadow of its former self.
They control the Downtown and Industrial districts. The Industrial district has been repurposed, and now is now home solely to the Shadow Knights and the citizens who work to aid them. Their base, such as it is, is a desiccated skyscraper, called the Citadel.
The changes inflicted upon their bodies were no more or less severe than those upon the paladins, but the Knights did not favor the changes as the paladins did. Their bodies warped by the product, their bloodstained fangs gleaming crimson, and with the leathered wings of Blint beating a hellish tattoo upon the sky, the knights hurl themselves against the Paladins, caring nothing for their losses. The betrayers, the liars, will pay for their sins.


The List
What I want: Cat and mouse. One of us playing an experimental subject, the other a bounty hunter or agent, and toying with one another/trying to escape. I want it to be fun and dangerous and intricate.
On an unspecified date, in an unspecified location, approximately two years ago, there was not an alarm. There was certainly not a breach of security. And there most assuredly was not an escape of twelve remarkable individuals from within this location.

The reasons for this nonexistent incident are unknown. These individuals would have no reason to leave the location, if such a thing had occured, of course, and there is most certainly no way to discover those reasons. These remarkable test subjects, if they had escaped, would most certainly be pursued, though directly involving the agency which may or may not run this facility would be sloppy, at best. Intermediaries, hired mercenaries or private eyes, would be the best choice.

Assuming, of course, that such a prison break had occured. Which it most certainly did not.


It's a matter of profit
What I want: Civil war. It's nasty and it's unpleasant, but I want to emphasize the conflicting ideologies and beliefs here. That's what I'm excited about with this.
Two companies have, for the last ten years, been working their way throughout the society of the US. One, the Pacific Institute for Biomechanical Augmentation, located in the Silicon Valley, pioneered the concept of technological bodily augmentations, replacing injured body parts with identical modifications, and creating prosthetics and cybernetics for those who are not injured. The other, the New York society for Biological Modification, located upon the east coast, delved more deeply into the concept of genetic engineering and biological manipulations, trying to achieve the same ends as the other, through more 'natural' means.
As business competition became tougher, the two factions began a series of propaganda campaigns. The idea of sullying one's body with machines, replacing the natural, healthy parts, makes you less human. It makes you further from God's image, and it is pride to change one's body so, without true need. Altering one's genes is tampering with His work. It is taking God's work into your own hands. Soon enough, political parties have formed, the Mechanical Prosthesis Party and the Biological Augmentation Party. The MPP and BAP soon overshadow previous parties, and directly compete for the support of the people. Machinists and Geneticists now directly compete on the streets and in the media, a mass migration forms, Machinists westwards and Geneticists eastwards, and tensions rise further and further... until extremism rears its ugly head. A plague bomb is detonated within a coastal California community, killing close to 100,000... and then months later in retaliation, a biomechanical plague of nanites is released upon Chicago, devastating infrastructure for miles and killing close to 250,000...


Hunting
What I want: Combat and fun and creative characters. Your player chose to be on the show, or they're a survivor- What's their life like and how do they cope with being surrounded by the living dead, and having been so for close to a decade?
So. You've decided to pay attention, then?
Good. Because what you learn here doesn't just affect you right now, it will keep you upright and sane through your entire life, so long as you listen.

Seven years ago, a virus dubbed Kura, closely related to Kuru, and the ever-deadly Creutzfeldt–Jakob syndrome, emerged in the general populace. At first, it was mild, no more severe than a common cold. After a few months, mostly everyone in North America had caught it and fought it off. Then it spread. First to South America. Then Europe. Et cetera. Within a year, the entire world was suffering from it. And it's symptoms began growing worse. Those who originally contracted it sickened and became bedridden, their bodies spasming violently and constantly. After this, they would enter a coma-like state and, after a day, expire.
The period of reanimation takes between seven and forty-eight hours, depending on the physiology of the subject and the severity of the changes. After that, the 'deceased' becomes active and hostile, save for a few cases. These zombies, for that is what they are, still inhabit most of our world. A few scattered pockets of civilization exist, of course, but are always under siege by hundreds, or even millions of these monstrosities. We do not have enough weaponry to retaliate and break free, nor the methods to evacuate. All we can do is stay in communication with other 'safe zones', and hope to god that those of the living still out there, and even the infected that didn't go insane, can find their way to us.

However, that's not why we're here.
Last year, as the safe zone here became completely self-sufficient, a group began a broadcast known simply as 'Hunting'. This show is frowned upon by many, but it's only undertaken by some, and they accept the risk.
The hunters are individuals who are let out into an infested area after being taken out by an armored car, and left to find their way back. They are given weapons and enough supplies to allow them to last a week without scavenging, as well as a drone equipped with a camera that records their activities, and broadcasts them over the airwaves, to entertain the masses still safe and sound in the cleared cities.
The Hunters must work their way home, avoiding or battling hordes of zombies and any humans that might stand in their way. Fortunately, there are some survivors along the way, in isolated communities that can assist them, and help them back to their reward.
 
RE: Realities, Dreams, and Nightmares (Male for Any)

Details on Blackridge
Or: Zombies. Or, well, not really zombies in the technical sense.
I mean, it's as good a title as any, but some people get finicky.
Fuck, whatever.
A00​


A timeline of the Plague:
2018, April: World War 3 officially ends, due to a treaty between the Russian Federation and the US. Over the course of the war, roughly 2.2 billion individuals were killed, due to heavy use of chemical and biological weapons, as well as limited nuclear exchanges, which were quickly annuled, by rogue factions within the US and Russia. Reconstruction, already begun during the war, of New York, which was annihilated in a biological attack just after the beginning of the war, continues apace, as does reconstruction elsewhere. In the wake of domestic attacks, much of the US has become more heavily built and security-minded. Patriotism has flown to unheard-of levels, and, surprisingly, there is little dissent, due to savvy wartime decisionmaking and a relatively stable economy.
2018, May: DEMEX, a product initially put into development as a countermeasure for use by troops in chemical weapons zones, is instead offered on the civilian market. Unfortunately, its prohibitive cost means few can acquire the retrovirus injection, and so it remains unused. After a short time, a rogue group, known as Edge Riders Anonymous, made up partially of ex-military and partially of civilian elements, hijacks a shipment of Demex, and uses an aerosol dispersement system, akin to that used in the New York attack four years prior, to spread the virus over a dozen major cities in the US. Shortly after, the group is forcibly disbanded by government action. Their efforts are successful, however, and the treatment, highly infectious due to its nature, spreads across both the US and the world.
2018, July: A worker in the bowels of New York, while aiding the efforts to clean the areas affected by the biological weapon, which has still not been completely eradicated, cracks his mask, becoming infected by the agent. By the end of the month, the ruins of New York were once again diseased, with those infected by the new strain of Demex tearing their ways through quarantine teams, clawing at the city walls... and then wiped from the map with a thermobaric bombing run, sterilizing every last inch of the city, leaving nothing but charred, warped girders and ash in their wake.
2018, August: Another outbreak of the modified strain occurs in Blackridge, California, and spreads within days to LA, San Fransisco, and San Diego, infecting airport passengers. The airlines carry these diseased individuals across the nation, and the pandemic truly begins, as international flights and refugees leave the nation, infecting country after country.
2018, October: The President of the US, along with the vast majority of Washington, DC, is lost to the plague, though confirmation of death is never established. The virus is now truly pandemic, and global.


The Nature of the Plague
The Plague began as a retrovirus medication, intended to cure diseases and bolster the immune system in the wake of the heavy use of biological and chemical agents during WWIII. When a particularly virulent engineered pathogen from the war came into contact with the original virus, both mutated and partially combined, resulting in an infection which heightened the immune system and the body's healing processes, while also interfering with the activity of the frontal lobe, producing enhanced aggression and breakdown of rational thought in the infected. While not 'dead', the infected are believed to be mostly incurable, though the existence of non-feral infected suggests this may be only a matter of the proper procedures.


Types of Infected
  1. Archetype I: Passive Infection
    • Sufferers of Archetype I have no visible signs of infection. In these cases, the Plague works as it was originally intended, and does not, in any way, negatively affect the user. That is to say, Arch. I infected are simply humans with bolstered immune systems, and cannot infect others except with their own archetype, though they may become Arch IV via mutation if exposed to certain biological or chemical agents, such as the original sufferer.
  2. Archetype II
    • Modified Passive Infection: These individuals, while not as heavily altered as Arch III or IV infected, exhibit minor alterations. These include, but are not completely limited to, the following:
      • Enhanced Reflexes and Sight (Blitzer)
      • Enhanced Strength (Mauler)
      • Enhanced Bone Density (Creeper)
  3. Archetype III
    • Revenant Infection, or Non-Feral Active Infection: These individuals are those who retained their sanity despite the infection process, but have retained the mutations which the virus inflicted upon them. They are often as mentally stable and socially conscious as any other human being, save for what behaviors are socially ingrained into them by the bias of others.
      • Strains of Arch III infection include: Jackals, Reapers, Trackers, Howlers, Stalkers, Skulkers, Twitchers, Puppeteers, Grafters, Prowlers, Drifters, Hybrids, Grievers, and Prowlers.
  4. Archetype IV
    • Ghoul Infection, or Feral Active Infection: These are the classic sufferers of the Plague's effect. Mutated into various forms and reduced to an animalistic mindset by the effects of the disease, the Infected, or Ghouls, known by various names throughout the world, retain a degree of reasoning, as well as social behaviors, limited primarily to those of their own strain of infection. Ghouls can eat, sleep, breathe, and drink, and, indeed, should do so for their own health. Additionally, Ghouls can breed, and interbreed with other strains, just as they often group up in mixed packs.
      • Strains of Arch IV infection include: Menials, Sleepers, Blitzers, Creepers, Jackals, Reapers, Trackers, Howlers, Stalkers, Skulkers, Twitchers, Puppeteers, Grafters, Prowlers, Maulers, Drifters, and Gluttons.
  5. Archetype V
    • Nonhuman Infection Forms, or Post-Infection Beasts: The Infection is not limited to human carriers. A variety of animals can carry the infection, whether mammalian, amphibian, reptilian, avian, or otherwise. Plants are not affected by the virus, but have shown signs of adaptation to ward off the grazing of hardier and more dangerous herbivore species. Likewise, not all animals have become infected; but those that have have rapidly adapted to the enhanced competition and predation. Therefore they are to be included in this category because of the effect, however indirect, which the Plague has had upon them.


History & Lore(For 2033 Setting, or any long-term setting)
  • The Griever
    • While there are five grievers in the US, a form of infected renowned for its vicious potential and unstoppable nature, there is a single Griever who is feared above all else. While all Grievers experience a darkening of the sclera of their eyes, this Griever is unique in that his irises have changed to a silver color. Responsible for single-handedly cutting a swathe from Blackridge, CA to the ruins of New York and back, for wiping out an entire battalion of surviving military who had turned rogue and to banditry, and for the deaths of perhaps millions of infected within the US, this Griever has been imprinted into the minds of the majority of the world that still communicates. The remainder, isolated as they are, may still see the graffiti scrawled across countless buildings and walls across the nation, hounding the Griever's steps, though whether they taunt him or warn against his presence to others, few know. Fear the Griever. Grieve with him. The Griever Cometh. He is the Bringer of the End. The Griever Will End All. Poems scrawled in spray-paint, accompanied with a religious tone, half-worshipping, half-condemning... and always accompanied by a single, black-and-white eye, mimicking and mocking the Griever's own.
  • Gateholm
    • A large community situated in the midwestern US, Gateholm is perpetually under siege, but due to its position within an old gated community, and upon a large, nearly inaccessible plateau, the community still thrives, using an old mine to reach past the besieging swarm, and allow travelers into their walls. It is known for being particularly brutal upon crimes, but is the safest place, currently, in the US, with any breach of its walls nearly instantly remedied. Two grievers, named Grace and Marcois, live in the city, and though they are not part of the elected government, they are immensely trusted and popular.
  • Blackridge
    • The effective beginning of the infection, Blackridge was the site from which the pandemic truly spread, and due to an attempted 'purge' similar to that in New York, half the city is burnt to a cinder, and is commonly referred to as The Char. The corporate edifice of TriteCorp tower still stands, but is populated by a lone, possibly insane individual, who uses a sniper rifle and traps to keep a large swathe of the city depopulated of infected and bandits alike. It has been rumored that he trades on occasion, but opening dialogue may be substantially difficult.
  • New York Ruins
    • The true beginning of the infection, the ruins of New York are nearly abandoned; being populated only by a few infected, and quite a lot of ash and dust.
  • The LHC
    • The "Liberty for Humanity Coalition" is a conglomeration of former military which established itself on the east coast, primarily taking residence in Washington, D.C. While the capitol served a significant morale purpose, the large number of infected resulted in a halving of the Coalition's numbers, and the lack of supplies has meant that most of the remainder works agriculturally to help the organization sustain itself. However, the LHC's safe zone is, in fact, only relatively safe, given the sporadic incursions of infected.
  • The Dead Man's Mile
    • A region of Arizona which used to be Las Vegas, the city was wiped off the map in a thermonuclear explosion, partway through the war. In the aftermath, despite the hot-zone nature of the site, a facility for bioweapons research was established, with much of the site treated to help bring down its irradiated nature, though the levels remain dangerous. The facility itself is still intact, though mostly uninhabited, and heavily secured.
  • The Harbinger
    • An unknown individual has barricaded himself within the Dead Man's Mile facility. Given the hazardous nature of the site, little else is known, but weeks before his entrance, an individual of the Harbinger strain of infection visited a nearby community, purchased with barter and trade a variety of odd supplies, and then vanished. Most agree that it is likely that this individual is the one occupying the facility, as his purchased components included various medical tools.
  • The Madman
    • A mostly guessed-at individual, the 'madman' is believed to be the author of the Griever graffiti. A few sightings of the man have been reported, describing him as a 'tall, lanky, creepy-as-hell' individual, who bolts as soon as he is seen, often babbling scripture as he flees, and while he works, disconnected from the messages he writes.
  • Colonel Farel
    • Formerly an advisor to the LHC, Farel recently took power from the civilian council in a coup, and has been aggressively expanding territory, as well as pursuing personal grudges against other safe zones. Despite his despotism, Farel keeps his people safe, and is currently sending scouting parties to find other regions to repopulate, as a 'backup' for in case the safe zone falls.
 
RE: Realities, Dreams, and Nightmares (Male for Any)

Details on Amaera
Or: A fantasy setting of my very own.
Or: the shapeshifters wanna kill everyone!
A01​

Amaera is the name of an original fantasy setting of my own design. Within this world, there are eleven regions/nations, each home to its own race of beings, though migration of species has occurred throughout history. Amaera's two main continents, Lachesa and Clotha, are home to ten of these regions, while the third, separated continent, Atropa, is a region of its own.

The nations of this world are as follows:
  • The Haln Federation/The Haln Wilds:
    Home to the Haln, a race of beings with a lower body akin to a predatory feline, and a humanoid upper body, similar in concept to centaurs. Located throughout the eastern third of Lachesa.
  • The Kingdom of Prandicia:
    Home to the bulk of Humans, and centrally located in the northern continent of Lachesa. Prandica is hugely economically powerful, through a trade agreement with Raithan and Gran, but internal squabbles and a rivalry with Haln along the western border have prevented expansionism.
  • The Lanthus Tundra:
    Home to the Lant, a race of beings created by sorcery and wild magics, which are a blend of human and animal traits, their appearance, form, and degree of mixture random and indeterminable by lineage. The Lanthus Tundra occupies the upper regions of Lachesa.
  • The Gran Isles:
    Home to a race of semiaquatic lizard-folk, Gran is a nation of self-sufficiency, located in the sea to the south of Prandicia. With storms and tumultuous waves common, the Galnun have long been restricted to the sea, and as a result, their own homes and affairs are conducted beneath the waves. On the isles which they use for external business, and for setting up certain tasks such as food preservation and production of certain goods, their structures are hardily-built, with an eye towards resilience to the waves and storms of their home.
  • The Kingdoms of Nzulncheft:
    A series of nations embedded within the Nzulncheft mountain range, this area is home to the Dwarves, and borders the Lant Tundra and Prandicia on the Eastern flank.
  • The Underdark:
    Not technically a nation, the Underdark refers to the series of caverns which underlie the Nzulncheft mountains, inhabited by a feral, insectile humanoids, of which there are many subtypes.
  • The Sov'aci Empire / The Ja'ani Desert:
    An immense desert which lies beyond the Nzulncheft mountains, and is home to the Fer'an, a race of shape-shifting beings. The Desert encompasses nearly half of Lachesa, and stretches southward to join the two continents of Lachesa and Clotha together, though mountain ranges make travel across this land-bridge nearly impossible.
  • Salya / The Shattered Plains:
    Another region affected by wild magic, Salya is home to the Salyin, a race of 'animated statues', who both form semi-spontaneously from the rock of the region, and are born naturally from parents. Salya lies directly east of Ja'ani, and encompasses the entire eastern coast of Lachesa, though it is also bordered by a sheer mountain range.
  • The Kingdom of Raithan:
    An immense, forested region which occupies the central bulk of Clotha, Raithan is home to the Mera, a long-lived race of humanoids, renowned for their grace, intelligence, and beauty. Raithan is immensely wealthy and militarily powerful, a result of fending off Cael rebellions and raids, as well as dealing with the natural beasts of the forests, in which a variety of creatures brood, both sapient and not.
  • The Cael Lowlands / Caelda:
    Adjacent to Raithan, and butting against the mountain ranges which separate Ja'ani from the bulk of Clotha, the Cael Lowlands are unforgiving and wild, and home to a race of resilient, strong humanoids, the Cael. Cael are broadly built and powerful, but viewed as ignorant and violent by the Mera, and kept oppressed half by force, and half by economic subjugation.
  • The Wasted Lands / Shevea:
    The third region tainted by magic, the 'wasted' lands are apparently inhospitable to life and existence, and are scorned by the Mera in most dealings for being without value, despite being just along their western flank, occupying a quarter of the continent. In reality, the magics around the region cause all information, memory, and even writing to be slowly erased from memory, except to those who have been exposed for long periods. The Sheve who live here are pale-skinned and dark-haired, typically taller even than the Mera, and, despite their magical effects, are relatively stable and calm, with the bulk of criminal Sheve having been raised in other nations.
  • Atropa / The Sunderer's Heart / The Black Lands:
    With the highest concentration of wild magic, Atropa, the third continent, is thankfully separated from the other two by a large ocean. With wild flora and fauna, and a race of violent, capricious humanoids, oft called demons by other races, Atropa is inimical to outside life, but, thankfully, the race of indigenous beings, the Ressa'kael, are apathetic to expansion, content to war amongst themselves.

The Races, outlined in more detail:
  • Humans:
    Your average, run-of-the-mill humans. The most numerous race, save for perhaps the Nzun, they occupy the plains and hills of Prandicia, and are a strong economic force throughout the known world. They exist in enclaves in nearly every nation, but are less common outside their homeland's borders. Appearances vary from region to region, and human colonies in other regions of the world often have their own traits.
  • Haln:
    Ancestral foes of Prandicia, with a history stretching back millennia of raids, violence, and warfare, the Haln are a strong and imposing race. Ten feet at the shoulder, Haln have a humanoid head, arms, and torso, fused at the waist to a massive beast's body. The beast's half is furred in colors which vary across individuals, possessing six, sharp-taloned legs, with broad wolf-like paws, and a canine tail. Their upper halves are typically darker in color than your average human, with heavy musculature, dark hair, and keen, deeply-set eyes. Their ears are pronounced, while their noses are often partially flattened-looking, and both their teeth and nails upon their hands are sharpened as a beast's. They are somewhat barbaric and nomadic as a culture, though areas of Haln, referred to as the Federation, have become more sedentary and civic-oriented, while outlying regions are less so.
  • Galnun:
    A race of semiaquatic, reptilian humanoids, the Galnun are, unlike the Lant, an entirely natural race. Adapted to living between surface and water, Galnun are often described as a cross between human and lizard. Displaying horns, spines, and frills on their heads and bodies, as well as a broadly varying distribution of scale colors, Galnun are shorter than humans by a bit, but not particularly significantly.
  • Lant:
    A result of magical experimentation by mages thousands of years ago, the Lant are descended from a population of test subjects which escaped the 'Atraxi Isles', a northerly grouping of isles which was, and is, home to a group of clandestine mages. With the wild magic of their home region, and their own unstable natures, Lant vary between not only their appearance, though it is always a mixture of animal and human traits, but also in their physical blend of traits, though all retain a level of rational thought, tempered with animal instinct, as well as their short lifespan, often as brief as thirty years.
  • Dwarves:
    Short and stocky beings, dwarves are often theorized to be an offshoot of humanity, but were in fact created (or grew on their own) separately. Averaging at four and a half feet, if that, Dwarves are sturdily built and patient-minded, with a long lifespan matching their ambitious projects of stoneworking.
  • Nzun / Nzuln:
    A race of humanoid insects, the Nzun are unrelated to the Lant, save for that the Atraxi mages may have been attempting to emulate them and the Galnun. With a dozen subtype 'castes' of Nzun, they range from the intelligence of a dog to genius-level, with lifespans, individual identity, magic affinity, and size varying just as widely.
  • Fer'an:
    A shape-shifting race which occupies the Ja'ani Desert, the Fer'an are simultaneously the most advanced of the races, technologically, and the most backward. With little need for medicine, writing, or even particularly language, due to the genetic, pheromonal, and mental carriage and transfer of information, the Fer'an nevertheless are incredibly skilled engineers, builders, and craftsmen, though their preferred mediums of work are flesh and bone, a fact based upon their lack of a belief in any god, and their intricate, instinctual knowledge of their own biology. Fer'an can consume the flesh of both animals and sentient beings, and increase both size and knowledge in this way.
  • Salyin:
    Anathema to the Fer'an, yet neighboring them, the Salyin, in contrast to the other race, are entirely unliving and stone. Despite having minimal contact with other races, the Salyin vary in form from human to dwarven to Cael, and feature examples of every race, simply in the form of a living, thinking, breathing, and eating stone. Their entire homeland is made from stone, from plants to animals to the Salyin themselves, and functions, apart from the lack of biological matter, identical to any other region. Few Salyin reach the other nations, due to the geographic barriers, but an enclave of them live in the capitol of Prandicia, serving as advisors to stonemasons.
  • Cael:
    A race of brutish-looking humanoids, the Cael are the most broadly-built and muscular of all races. Able to out-compete even the strongest Salyin or Haln, the Cael, despite a history of tribal warfare, have been forced into peace by the Mera. Standing nearly as tall as the Mera, with skin-tones varying from brown to green to grey and all through earth colors, Cael have pronounced lower canines, and often feature a stooped posture, though this is not universal.
  • Mera:
    Long-lived, graceful, beautiful, and prideful, the Mera believe themselves to be perfect, as a culture. With warfare, art, and day-to-day life intermixed, the Mera are 'all-rounders' in culture, their violence and oppression of the Cael, and their constant vigil against the creatures of the wilds, serving to make them militarily strong, yet their culture and tranquil society persist despite this.
  • Sheve:
    Pale-skinned and dark-haired, the Sheve are immensely tall and as long-lived as the Mera. While fairly normal in their homelands, the Sheve are imbued with a natural magic which causes all who view or interact with them to gradually forget them, save other Sheve or inhabitants of the region, or those with particularly strong wills or magic. Sheve are entirely self-sufficient, out of necessity, and are rarely seen outside their borders.
  • Ressa'kael:
    Tall, black-skinned, and white-eyed, the Ressa'kael live for violence. With little culture beyond raiding and hunting, these individuals are systemic sociopaths, and will brutally attack and kill any intruders to their territory.
 
Details on Godless
Or: Broken souls and shattered lands
A03​

Godless is a roleplay idea of a former partner of mine, Chariot. While we only played for a short time, I have had a persistent fascination with the concept of this world, and have developed a wide idea of what, exactly, the specifics of it are.

Godless takes place in a world, time, and existence of its own. Central to this world (I simply call it Deorum - Latin for "of the Gods" - Chariot never told me any name she had.) is the "Temple of Scalla" a gorgeous temple located in the northmost regions of Deorum, atop Mount Styr. The temple serves as a training ground for newly recruited mages, and a prison for those will become the source of power for said recruits.

Some of the 'graduates' of scalla are tasked with recruting magic-sensitive individuals from various regions. While rare, they're not unheard of, and 'stray' magic users, those who did not attend the Temple for training, are not only considered outcasts worthy of death by the temple for their dangerous abilities, but also tend to die at a relatively young age due to the risk of drawing directly on one's soul to power spellcraft.

In a ritual which occurs every Blue Moon (upon a second full moon within a month, which occurs roughly every 2-3 years), the prisoners, those who survived their imprisonment and labor, are brought from the catacombs within the mountain, to be bonded to a mage. In this ritual, called the Cull, the prisoner's soul is ripped in half. Those who are not sufficiently strong or healthy die instantly, while some survive for a short time. When a survivor is found, a recruit is put through much the same process, and their severed halves of souls are combined in each, creating a strong bond between the two.

After this process, magic becomes far simpler and easier for the mage, while the bondite, the former prisoner, typically survives the process and receives due to the bond a greatly increased physical strength and resilience. In rare cases, the prisoner dies, typically severely damaging the mind of the bonded mage. Said mages can sometimes be stable, but often go rampant if not controlled, violently assaulting all near them that they can reach with magic.

Once a magus and bondite are linked, their training resumes significantly. The Bondite is pardoned for whatever crimes sent them to Scalla in the first place, in exchange for servitude and obedience to their mage. During the next 2-3 years, essentially until the next Blue Moon, the two remain and are trained (oftentimes brutally) in their given fields. Mages gain a far more powerful control of their magic, and are responsible simultaneously for training the 'first-rank' mages who arrive just after each cull, and then for performing the cull at the end of their second cycle. At the same time, bondites are expected to work as servants and porters for their mages, while also learning a skill useful to their mage. Many are trained in combat, some in medicine, others in tactics, and still other disciplines exist.

At the end of their second Blue Moon cycle, the mage and their bondite is dealt with in one of three ways. Firstly, they may be sent across the world to serve in the courts and armies of various monarchs, in order to "maintain order". Secondly, they may be maintained as teachers of second-tier and first-tier students. Thirdly, they may be disposed of if displaying little to no promise, often executed directly by the leaders of the Temple.

The Bond: The bond itself is a complex procedure which requires exquisite skill on the behalf of the mage who performs the Cull ritual. The two individual's souls are sundered in half and exchanged, leaving half of each soul in each body. As a result of this, an excess of energy begins flowing from each severed half of the souls. Most of this energy is retained, allowing the subjects to survive, and not wither as typically half-souled individuals do. However, the surplus which is gained from the intermingling of the souls is directed to different purposes. For Mages, it fuels their spells, nearly infinitely, though the magus can overstrain or kill themself in the process of using too powerful of spells for a prolonged period.

For Bondites, this energy is primarily tied to a self-sustaining spell. Bondites are able to be magically compelled to any task which the mage desires, disciplined with mental pain, and even forced to self-punish, should the mage be cruel enough. The remainder of the energy serves to create a mental link, which causes each to feel the other's pain and emotions, though this connection is far more severe for the bondite, multiplying the mage's pain twofold, and dimmed for the mage, who is only capable of feeling the other's pain beyond a dull buzz if the bondite is being actively tortured.

The small trickle of energy which is available after this serves to boost the strength, resilience, healing, and general physicality of the bondite. Many of these individuals can survive wounds which would kill normal individuals, and are known to heal a near-mortal wound inside of a week, dozens of times faster than normal individuals can. Severed limbs and missing organs will not regrow, but most other injuries will mend far quicker than normal.

A few mage-bondite pairs are capable of directly sensing one another's thoughts beyond vague emotions, though this is uncommon and generally regarded as a mistake or misstep on the behalf of the Cull's ritualist.

Godless
Concept:
The Temple of Scalla was rumored to be the most beautiful creation in all the world. With the elegant towers that glowed emerald in the sun as it stood defiantly on the top of Mount Styr, where howling winds and beasts roamed. The temple was also a prison, though that was far less known...

The mages on the world, ever faithful in their neutrality to the nations that grow and inevitably die, held within their walls various chattel from the dungeons all over the world. Most would die in the freezing walls of their barracks. Some would survive long enough to achieve freedom in The Cull.

The Cull, a ritual that took place every blue moon*, would allow the apprentices of the various mages to form a "bond" with one of the prisoners, and thus move from apprentice to Magus and complete their training. These bonds are of utmost importance as it shifts the cost of magical energy from the mage, to the bonded. However, it is also the sickest form of cruelty that any race has devised.

In forming the bond, the souls of each person rip in two, causing many to die in the process. Those who survive are sent to various kingdoms all over the realm appointed as advisers to kings and queens.
 
Details on Bright Nights
Or: Yay, ethical grey areas!.
A04​

This setting (previously referred to as Darkest Day and Brightest Night) takes place in a city/region/nation/world in which a drug (or negotiable other event) has caused severe alterations, transforming human beings into myriad forms of nearly-supernatural creatures. While some were transformed into graceful, almost angelic creatures, others experienced a change into far less... socially acceptable forms.

While the initial efforts to force accountability onto the ones responsible were peaceful, the assassination and bribery of protestors eventually caused a severe escalation into violent rioting.

In the aftermath of this civil war, which decimated a large portion of the affected region, two factions have emerged. One, officially called the Paranormal Alliance Detection and Investigation Agency, or "PALADIN", was formed as a way to utilize altered citizens to keep the second faction in check, thusly upholding rule of law and enforcing order.

The second faction, a civilian 'militia' calling itself "KNIGHTS", standing for nothing at all, has despite the severe attacks and attempts at forcing it to disband or submit, only gained power in the time since its establishment. The Knights seek to bring to justice the agents within both the government and private sector which were responsible for the approval, distribution, and attempted coverup of the mutative Z-Product.

P.A.L.A.D.I.N.
A newly formed semi-autonomous armed forces created solely from individuals affected by mutations. PALADIN exists, officially, as a peacekeeping force designed to combat the terrorist activities of KNIGHTS. Unofficially, the agency is criticized as being authoritarian, overly zealous, and outright corrupt, keeping a tight lid upon all metahuman activities, and preventing any attempts by KNIGHTS to persecute the distributors of the Product. Many "officers" of PALADIN abuse their power, oftentimes egregiously.

KNIGHTS
Formed in the weeks following the establishment of PALADIN, the Knights profess to seek justice "For the mutilation, assassination, and subjugation of both metahuman and human citizens by the governmental and private agencies responsible for the distribution of the Z-Product." While the core leadership may genuinely have these ideals, the fact of the matter is that an appreciable amount of the "foot soldiers" of KNIGHTS are little more than criminals working for the newest street gang, fighting over vials of Product to distribute to metahumans, as well as more mundane drugs.

The Z-Product, or the Product
Developed as a means to enable better health in humans, and released as a flu-shot supplement, the Product was, initially, a colossal hit with the public. Nearly 40% of the population volunteered for exposure, while various nonprofit organizations provided injections to various low-income cities and regions. Unfortunately, the Product was severely unstable, and produced severe mutations in those who took it. A small percentage of patients (roughly 2%) did not experience these changes, but the vast majority were subject to hours or days of crippling agony, accompanied by fevers, severe hallucination, and weakness. At the end of this period, the patients were severely altered, into a variety of forms.
The product itself, while acknowledged by the vast majority of the world to have been a mistake, is still produced (albeit in smaller quantities) and shipped to various overseas customers, ostensibly for use in emergency situations, though it is believed that certain countries utilize the drug for the creation of "super-soldiers". In the event of injection by an already mutated metahuman, however, the Product acts entirely differently. Metahumans experience intense and long-lasting (roughly 3-4 hours long) euphoria and amplification of their abilities. However, repeated use of the Product is invariably addictive, while side-effects of repeated use include memory loss, immune system shutdown, and insanity. The drug is highly sought-after by both PALADIN and KNIGHTS for use or destruction, with PALADIN permitting small rations for field and combat officers, while KNIGHTS officially condemns its use, ordering destruction of all caches and shipments captured.
 
Details on Hunting
Or: Why the hell did you volunteer for this?
A05​

While much of humanity is safe within walled cities, the shambling dead still roam the earth in overpowering numbers. Devoid of the excess of the old world, the new entertainment is the sole reality show of this new age: Hunting for Home. Designed to emulate the early years of the infection, the show expels a "lucky" group of ten randomly selected survivors or volunteers from a given safe zone, and tasks them with travelling to one of the other three cities. Given only enough supplies for one week, for a journey that will take them months or years, the Hunters are followed by robotic drones which record every moment of their lives from outset to success or grisly dismemberment. Back home and in every city, the citizens bet on the results, scrambling for a chance at better living, while the survivors of the show are offered a choice: Advance from the squalor of the slums to a middle-class life, here in their home city and alone, or make the trek back, and earn the highest honors and social position for them and their entire family or up to 10 other individuals.
 
Details on Warframe Fandom
Or: Amnesiac Space Ninjas. No, really, that's basically what the game's about.
A06​

Warframe is a game that I absolutely love love love. Even though my computer can barely run anything anymore, I try really damned hard to play it. My main ideas for this typically revolve around the Tenno being sent in and out of missions, in a sort of campaign/vignette style.

As for the characters I play, I have two. For those who like the idea of Tenno being able canonically to swap between Warframes, my character Jastes is a former Loki who grew interested in the tales of the original Valkyr, and worked to make male-wearable version of the suit for himself. Unfortunately, the surge of power which was required to get the suit onto him also fried not only his memories of the Old War and most history, but the bulk of his experience since awakening into the new era.

The other is for those who don't want Tenno swapping frames at all. Kaede is a Nekros, discovered aboard an Orokin Derelict which housed a Lephantis manifestation. After the creature was killed, his cryopod was found frozen in the underbelly of the ship, and thawed out. When he woke, he still believed it to be the Old War.
 
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