Character Roleplays discussion

Around 4 years ago, Zoey, Lynx, & I discussed starting a version 2 of the Last of Us rp. To generate interest in this Group, here 'tis.

Intro, as written by Winterfae back in Jan. 2013: Here's some background as I understand it:

Earth has become a winter wasteland. Technology is almost medieval in New London, unless you are wealthy and live in the fortifed Central Castles, in which case you might have running water, electricity, and guns. (The first ring of castles, the Council's citadel, is off-limits apparently for the beginning RP plot). There has been a war betwixt robots and humans. The Old Ones, as the sentient robots are called, have captured most metal sources themselves and have somehow conquered the elements and live outside the city, in abandoned ruins which are, they say, protected by a force field. The remaining human population lives in a circular formation of castles, all connected by an underground tunnel network. The further you go from the center, the more desolate, poor, and dangerous the area becomes. For those sheltering in the lower castles or beyond, the only weapons are bows and arrows or sword from scrap metal.

As for my charrie, Don: Her name is really Dawn, but she has disguised herself as a boy and goes by Don, short for Donovan. She is also an orphan, ever since her Mum died when she was 5. She's a street urchin who scrapes by as a junk-collector and does other odd jobs.

Don scampered over the dirty snow, strands of hair sticking greasily to her marble-white cheeks. A leather bag thumped against her shoulder, rattling each time it did so. Don allowed herself a half-smirk. The haul was good today; her bag was nearly full of precious scrap metal. She might get a decent meal today.

Slowing down, she kicked at the frozen earth, uncovering a rusted point. Kneeling, she pried the thing loose from where it had been buried. It was tiny, about the size of her index finger, too tiny to be sold, but Don pocketed it, pleased. Mayhaps she could fiddle with it later, make something out of it. What she really needed for her latest project were some gears, but she had yet to get a hold of any.

Rising, her breath steaming in the crisp air, she noted the sun's position in the sky. It was about time to return to the Lower Castles. Turning, she scrambled over a high snow drift and, tucking her chin into her patched jacket to protect herself from the bitter gusts of wind, started heading back. Just as she ducked into a dank alley, only a couple minutes from her destination, a weak mewl stopped her short. Don peered around suspiciously.

She waited, motionless, and the sound repeated itself, only feebler this time. Dropping her bag of scrap to the ground, Don approached the dim corner from which the sound had come. Blinking, she waited for her eyes to adjust. A small, lean figure met her eyes. It was a starved cat, shivering against the wall. Blood welled up from its forepaw, which was stuck in a metal trap. Bright red dots bled into the snow, a stark contrast of color in the otherwise white-and gray world.

Don hissed in sympathy, and reached out to free the poor creature. Then, sensing a human prescence, the cat jerked its head around and quailed.

Don leapt back as if she had been stung, an involuntary cry escaping her lips.

The cat had one wide, frightened yellow eye. The other was an unnatural bulge of metal from which gleamed a red, intelligent light. An . . . An Old One? Don was confused. She regarded the machines with hate, but never had she heard of a cyborg, much less a cat-cyborg. What was this thing?!

The creature uttered another pitiful mew. This time Don could make out from the shadows that while most of it was covered in fur and looked like a cat should, one side of its face, its left foreleg, and its left hindleg were constructed out of silvery metal, now dull. It was beautiful craftmanship, she had to admit, the metal plates rippling in harmony, hinges working smoothly where natural bone-and-flesh joints should be.

Again, a pained cry, and Don felt her heart soften. Cyborg or not, the cat was hurt and bleeding. No Old One bled red blood.

Carefully she neared the animal and slid one gloved hand over its muzzle to prevent from being bit. The creature offered no resistance, blinking its one yellow eye. Don examined the steep trap, then pried it loose with some difficulty. As soon as it was free, the half-metal cat attended to its injured paw with many licks.

Rising, Don picked up her bag and started towards the Lower Castles. Behind her came a patter of light footsteps crunching in the snow.

"Oh no. No, I don't think so." She turned to scowl at the small cat. "Don't you dare follow, you hideous, starved, metallic thing. I have enough on my hands. Go. Get on with you!" The animal paused, then started nuzzling its head against one of Don's snow boots. "Oh, for the Brave Men's sakes."

Don headed home with a bag full of scrap metal and arms full of a purring cat cyborg, grumbling to herself all the way.

As she passed through the alley, she neared an abandoned warehouse, but steered clear, knowing that there had been some recent robot activity there. She wanted to get home in one piece, thank you.