Jump to content

Indigo

Members
  • Content Count

    175
  • Joined

  • Last visited

Community Reputation

0 Neutral

About Indigo

  • Rank
    Friendly Neighbourhood Asian
  • Birthday 01/18/1999
  1. [align=center]110. The Emerald Plains None to match it’s beauty My motherland so dear 129. Mountains covered green Winter comes with valleys white The world is pristine 206. Indigo Pages Written in wisdom of blue The sea deep and clear 347. Autumn festival Music and children playing Under the bright moon 522. The city of Guo Large stone walls and metal gates The people are safe[/align] [align=right]Extract from the “Anthology of Haikus Volume 1” from Ming School of Fine Arts, written by the various scholars and translated by Thomas Hector from the Faculty of Oriental Studies, Gravia University. The haiku’s “5-7-5” syllable structure symbolised balance and order through the use of prime numbers, something which the people of the Emerald Plains hold dear to. Poems 0 - 99 referred to the various myths spread by the people. 100 - 199 described various scenes of nature; 200 - 299 talks about the revered Indigo Scrolls in the religion of Qing; 300 - 399 describes festivals; 400 - 499 chronicles wars; 500 - 599 notes down provinces in the Emerald Plains and their respective cities. [/align]
  2. [align=center]There once was a man dressed in red, gold and black Who walked from the East with a small rugged sack A sword on one hand, a bow on his back And a thin silver chain around his old neck. In the summers one day, he came to our land A golden great horizon covered with sand The vultures soared with wings spread grand The scars of Khal-Ra, on us weakened they brand. We told him of the horrors, how he should not stay For the mongrels spawned North kept us as prey Under the tyranny of the blade, the little with pay For the dreaded mercy of Mogah al-Khey. The man gave a nod, and a weary light smile And sat down his things by the Great Nile Lifted his sword and proclaimed his guile And swore an oath to destroy the bile He made a small inn where he began To brew the potions that will mend Our warriors of old that guarded our land Against the tyranny together we band Through three score years we made our stand Fighting the hordes of the Northern clans Though many lost we were strong to stand Following the sword of the Eastern man The night of Au, it was our last Our final charge against al-Khey’s best The cunning of the Stranger brought us to his nest Where the scorned beast died from an arrow to his neck The Stranger had left the next new dawn When we won our long deserved peace Leaving for yonder with a sack by his back An adventure to sate, was his own fate. Now children you may wonder, who this man may be A sword on one hand, a bow on his back Whose legend grew so bright, but his name known by none But if I can tell you, he’s called Uncle Kwan [/align] Ballad No. 42, written by the great poet of the Go Dynasty, Long Ren. Inspired from “Tales of Western Sands - A Collection of Folk stories from the Sha Province"
  3. The trees sway gently to the breeze of frigid air coming from the western peaks. The jungles are still, silent. The dull green bushes and grass stirring with the moving air as though to hush the lands back into sleep. A pair of Compsognathuses scurry down the pristine sands, chirping as they basked themselves under the bright sun. The lizards cried again as they felt the chilling winds brush past their scales. The both of them nimbly ran back into the safety of nature, curling themselves underneath the shade of a large tree for warmth and comfort. Another large gust of wind whooshed past the trees, and the orange-brownish leaves glided along with the gale, gently taken from the frail branches they were on as they crackled softly. They floated in the air freely, then gently falling onto the unmoving fields of the Sanctuary, joining the dead darkening leaves that rested on the ground. Yet another gentle breeze blew past the Sanctuary, and the fallen leaves floated up from the earth for a moment, yet silently settling down again, scattered and apart. Mason gently pushes the door open and with the broom in his hand, steadily sweeps the dust off the stone floor and outside the house. His eyes focused on the ground, making sure that he did not miss any speck of dirt. The man nods, confirming that his work has been done and leaves the broom leaning against the wall beside him. He closes the door shut, and walks back to the main room of the small house. Closing the second door behind him, the man turns to open the windows. Mason takes a deep breath in as he lets the crisp air into the room. The soldier’s face suddenly tenses. He steps to the side and grabs the barrel of his sniper rifle leaned against the wall next to the couch. He points the rifle out of the window and leans the side of his face against the steel body of the gun, his eyes squinting as he looks into the glass scope of the weapon. Moments later, the man heaves a sigh of relief as he places the rifle back where he took it. "No activity. No armoured men on fliers. Nothing." Mason slips off his gloves and his chest piece. The plates of metal clanking lightly as he nonchalantly tossed them onto the couch. A strong gust of wind came blowing into the room and the man could feel the ends of his hairs stand from the cold. He immediately closes the windows shut, not wanting the place to get any colder. The man’s face tensed again, looking down at the cold stone floor in front of him. A feeling of restlessness and worry filling up in his heart. Mason shook his head and sighed, feeling as though a little bit of that emotion was let out from his chest. He blinks a couple of times and turns his head back to the bed, giving a tight lipped smile. “Time to get you clean.” The man walks over and pulls a small tub of water from underneath the bed, a damp cloth hanging from the rim. Mason takes a couple of steps to the side of the bed. Nieve’s eyes were shut, her body laid on the mattress. Her arms down to the side of her torso and her legs straight and parallel to one another as her toes pointed up to the ceiling. He shifted the blanket covering her to the side of the bed, then taking a knee down on the floor, picking up the cloth and dipping it in the tub. Mason takes the soaking wet cloth out of the water and tightly twists it, wringing it dry. Spreading it out on his palm, the man leaned in to the woman’s sleeping body and began wiping her clean. He gently adjusted her to a sitting position, slipping his hand under her shirt, wiping her chest and her back with the cloth, then steadily laying her body back down again. He would drip and wring the cloth dry again, soaked with cool water, and cleaned the rest of her as she laid in bed. When he was done, he took the ends of the quilt and cover it over Nieve’s body. Carrying the tub on one hand, he steadily walked over to the window, opening it and throwing the water out before swiftly closing the window. Mason placed the empty tub down on the floor and shifted it to the corner with his foot. He would then after go out to the Sanctuary to get a fresh batch of water for her next bath. It was a routine for him at this point. Through all of that, she would still be sound asleep. The man could see her chest slowly rise and fall with each breath she took in her reverie. He would occasionally hold two fingers close to her nostrils, feeling the warm air that rushed in and out of them. He would then proceed to gently take her wrist and place his fingers on them, feeling the steady rhythm of her pulse flow through her vein. He did this twice in the morning, another four more times through the afternoon, and seven more throughout the night till the sun rose. Each day. Just to make sure. She is fine - breathing, beating, living. Yet he knows that she is not - still, silent, asleep. The man sighs and paces around the room. He walks over to the desk next to the sofa. His fingers placed on the pieces of paper scattered on the table, his weary, anxious eyes tracing the details as he did every so often for the past many days. A wrinkled smudged drawing block of boxes and numbers - measurements for the home he was going to build for the both of them. Another was a couple of loose pages with paragraphs on them. He took to doing a bit of writing - he was bored. A light smile emerged from the man’s face as his eyes met the loving face on the single page. The contour, details, everything he loved about her drawn with a crude piece of charcoal. He probably spent about two, or three days working on it, and it isn’t the most accurate, but it kept him occupied and he loved it. Of course, he had to draw out that her eyes are open. His eyes traced by the table as he usually did every other moment. Mason sighed and shook his head, clenching his jaw in hopelessness and defeat. He flipped through every single crude journal and file, meticulously analysing each page of her research. Reading and re-reading each passage she wrote in English, and wracking his brains trying to guess the multitude of Spanish that filled the papers. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. No grass or flower or chemistry could wake her up. Nothing that she researched about in the island talked about this sleep that she is in, let alone a cure for it. The man glanced over and spotted the white piece of chalk sitting at the edge of the table. Mason sighed, gritting his teeth and keeping his lips tightly closed. He takes the chalk and walks over to a corner on the wall beside the fireplace. He glanced over, counting the number of lines he had drawn. Mason places the edge of the chalk and marks the wall with a short vertical line down. There were forty-five lines. Now there are forty-six. Mason stares blankly at the wall for a moment, then turning over to place the chalk back on the table. He tightly squeezes his eyes shut, feeling an irritable sting at the corner of them. He blinks a couple of times, letting that irritation fade as his tired gaze stays fixated on nothing. He slept for short periods when he really needed to rest. He would always wake himself up in fear that the moment he closed his eyes, he would sink into that same damned sleep like half the lands, then the Syndicate team, then the Banshou Sanctuary, and now her. Mason walks over to the side of the bed and observes Nieve’s sleeping face. He knelt down and gave her a light kiss on the cheek. He missed it. The sight of her shifting in bed and murmuring to herself as the creaking of the door roused her from her sleep. The morning view of her snoring away as he woke up beside her, and her nose wrinkling as he kissed her good morning on the forehead, waking from the sensation of his lips. Her raspy voice fresh in the dawn as she smiled at him and greeted him and said ‘I love you’. He missed it. All of it. He was hoping a miracle will happen and that she will wake up now. She didn’t. The man heaved a sigh and hung his head low. His heart was heavy, the anxiety and depression already weighing him down, sinking him. Mason closed his eyes and tears filled up the moment his eyelids were shut, overflowing and streaming down his face. He tried to stay silent, but the desperation made it hard, and his voice escaped him. The only sounds in the room were her silent breathing, and his soft cries. He hated it. He hated waiting and hoping, but he will wait every single day just to finally see her open her eyes, jump out of bed and into his embrace. He couldn’t care if Jack and May and their dogs were still roaming free and alive. She is his strength and his purpose, and he is nothing without her. Mason planted both his elbows on the bed and held Nieve’s hand up to his forehead. He squeezed her palm gently, curling her fingers over his hand. Mason closed his eyes and began reciting a mantra. The most basic prayer to Buddha that Ah Mah taught him as a kid during his weekly visits to the temple. Mason grit his teeth, chanting the sanskrit under his breath and in between sobs. He never believed in miracles, the 'power of prayer' and all that bullshit, but at this point he will do anything. Anything for her. His mind was filled with the good times and the bad, the passionate and the passive. Every moment he spent laughing, crying, and loving her. “Please wake up." Due to the lack of time as the holidays close in and the school year beginning soon, and me being in another country thus having really crappy Internet, I'll be unable to come on the server and roleplay till after the New Year starts. As such, I would be putting a hold on writing for The Indigo Chronicles and RP'ing Indigo till I return back home and find time again. As such, I'll like to thank everyone who has helped mould the character's journey and his story. I thank everyone who has made my first time RP'ing in this community such a fun and eye-opening one! I'll also like to thank the people who have been closely following this story and making my writing journey such an enjoyable one! This will not be the end for Indigo story. Not yet. Now, go and enjoy your holidays! Spend time with your family or something! Eat pudding, or whatever it is called. Christmas markets yay! Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year!
  4. This is kind of late at this point of time, but I will address this nonetheless. There can be modifications to the personality of Mason "Indigo" Wu Zhi Qing should you wish to include a figure similar to him in whichever backstories you are writing. However, at no point should the actual character, his name and his history be used as he is too tied to the real world which the current storyline is set in, and therefore makes no sense to use him for future seasons which introduce an entirely new universe. Likewise, I will not be bringing back this character for future seasons. Thank you.
  5. The warm dimmed rays of the underground sun shone down on the shoreline in the cavern, almost like a single lamp hanging in the darkness. The lush trees that grew away from the sands and towards the walls of the large cave swayed and rustled occasionally as short gusts of wind came blowing from the exits. The waters right at the center of the enormous chamber stay still, yet with little ripples as coelacanths and manta rays float up to the surface, then diving back down to the deep effortlessly. Indigo sits on the sands, knees up and tucked to his chest with his feet planted down on the ground. His eyes slowly traced a straight horizontal line across the view in front of him, absorbing it slowly. He then turned his gaze up to face that unnatural sun floating in the middle of the cavern ceiling, still remembering the time he was so amazed at the place when he first visited it. “The first time I visited here… Kira, Sara, Vic, and myself. Went through the cave entrance from the Southern Jungles, down past this ruined wall, down some stream, and some ice crystal path spiralling downwards. Kira had been going on and on about visiting the place and the four of us all set ourselves up for the trip.” The man smiled lightly to himself. The four of them were standing by the shoreline facing the jungles from their little island where the Syndicate first set themselves up. Indigo still remembered the team - excited and eager as they stood by their newly tamed mounts. Indigo remembered stroking the mane of his large stag he rode to the caves. It was such an accomplishment to tame him. Surprisingly, they bumped into Nieve too down the shoreline, back when she was on her own. The group invited her to come and the five of them travelled together. They sat down by the shore of the cave, shared food and scary stories over a warm campfire. The man chuckled silently to himself, then clenched his jaw in bitterness as he sunk his head. That was the Syndicate, back when it was simple, and easy. “What did I even come here for… Oh. I wanted a couple of drinks in Angus’s pub. Thought I could have a bit of a change in scenery since I spend a lot of time in the Seaview Tavern. I flew around a couple of times, calling out Angus and Granny Ama around their place. No response.” Fucking hell. He can’t even remember what he came down to the cavern for, since it was so out of the way for just drinks. Though, what was more worrying was that Angus and Ama didn't respond to his calls. The man hasn’t heard from them in a while, and he hasn’t heard them now. Indigo shook his head, thinking probably their radio was spoilt, or the signal didn’t work underground, or they are just asleep. At the same time though, he wouldn’t go so out of the way for a couple of drinks. Indigo sighed - He would. The Seaview Tavern is not safe anymore. “Recently after that hit on the bunker, May and her entourage have been coming over the place. They have been demanding we open the Tavern for them. Serve them drinks and food. The bastard Jack has been coming in as well, demanding we give them entertainment and all that. I gave it to them, served them food and drinks. Sang them a song too. They brought dragged all sorts of people in, even when I didn’t want them to. The second time they came over, the main gate was blown open, because Noah didn’t have the key to the Tavern.” Indigo felt threatened. He knew this was madness. Danger was just screaming at his face. HIs enemies blowing up his home on one day, and the next day coming in and eating and drinking like nothing ever happened. Yet the soldier held his hands up and gave them what they wanted, again. He wanted to survive and not land the Syndicate in danger, for his sake and the rest of his friends, but yet at the sight of something that is just so wrong he can’t hold his weapon up against those bloody cunts. Angel came by a couple of nights back, demanding weapons from the soldier and telling him that he was going on his own to take them out. The whole lot of them. Indigo readily gave some of the Syndicate’s arms to him, following the list of weapons and equipment that Angel demanded. He wouldn’t send the man to fight the enemy on his on, but he did just right there and then. He told himself that he and his allies were not ready for this, but even if they were would he still dare to make the first strike? Marcus came down to the Tavern after, gave the soldier a reality check. Indigo clenched his fist and grit his teeth in frustration. He knows. He bloody fucking knows, that he’ll need to fight his own battle some day because the people who are daring enough to shoot down the enemy are all long gone. The Syndicate is all fucking ready to fight for what they believe in, what the team believes in, ready to defend everyone he cares for and loves. He just can’t figure out - Why the bloody fuck is he holding back?! That is the Syndicate now, and it is all because of him.
  6. Indigo sits down in front of the empty campfire, staring at it wearily. Tired, the man’s gaze watches the charred wood stacked on top of one another. Thin lines of smoke snaked out of the burnt cracks and trailed up, disappearing into the air. The soldier stays quiet, seated on a small log planted horizontally on the dirt. The man tight-lipped, watched the ember shards settle down on the coal, glowing dimly before it faded away into the blackness. The air was cold, and Indigo could feel it biting his body underneath the armour. He heaved a sigh of annoyance, slipping out of his gloves and holding his open palms out to the burnt wood. “This is useless. The fire has long been cold, and wet too. No point even starting it again here.” The soldier sighs and slips his gloves back on, feeling a chilled edge on his skin as he touched its’ cold metal surface. Going back to the bunker and warming himself there seemed like the most logical thing to do. He shook his head. He did not want to go back there. Not now at least, even though Schmitt had spent the entire day repairing the roof the rogues tried crashing through and doubled the defences on it. He just did not have the heart for it. Indigo got up and walked around. Soon after returning back with a few pieces of dry wood for the fire. Silent, the man placed them on the blackened dirt. He sat down back at his spot and unsheathed his blade. The sword was pointed towards the wood, the tip of it dipping into the dirt. Indigo picked up a hunting knife he had on him and steadily placed the blade against the sharp edge of the sword. He tightens his grip on both weapons and holds his position, letting his mind recount other events to keep him calm. “Stranger, or Henry after I had learned of his story. He wanted to meet me to discuss about something. Told me to come over to the Order of the Spectres’ headquarters after the auction at the Sanctuary. The place was Samson’s association after the both of them left the Banshees and the Redwoods entirely. So many things happened as of late, and the meeting had been delayed, but I went over eventually. He passed me a note, in it stating that May and her entourage had attacked the Order under suspicion that it was a Maelstrom base. First it was Kogetsu and the Sanctuary, now the Order, and apparently the Masquerade as well from my word with the Professor... God fucking damn. They are just using Maelstrom’s name to justify whoever they want to attack." "Stranger and I had a long talk and shared stories. Our past, how we got here. Other than her and probably Kira, he knows the full story, as did I about him. He told me Samson has disappeared - gone essentially, and that it was only him left in the Order. I offered him a place in the Syndicate, as I did a long time ago before the both of them left the Redwoods. It was on one condition though." Indigo begins striking the knife against the long blade, aiming towards the pieces of firewood. Sharp, thin screeches emitted from the blades as bright orange sparks flew out from them. The sparks hit the pieces of wood and bounced off them as though it were specks of dirt, hitting the ground and disappearing into nothing. The man struck the blades against each other harder and swifter. More of the burning sparks flying out from the cold steel edges, only to be knocked off from the wood and simmer into the damp earth. “The first one to pull the trigger. Stranger was questioning me on whether we would be the ones the make the first move - to be the ones that strike first. He didn’t want us to be sitting on our asses. Neither did the guys in the Syndicate, or the Sanctuary, or anyone else that hated the violence she and her bloody rogues brought to their doorstep. No one did. I don’t. It’s just that…” The soldier stared at the blades as one struck the other, more sparks flying and bouncing off the wood like it were nothing. The man gripped both the blades tighter and began striking them much harder and faster. Repetitive short metallic screeches could only be heard within the silence of the woods. Indigo grit his teeth, his strikes now fuelled with anger, the sparks scattered off the sword with the likeness of rifle bullets. As they fell to the ground, the man remembered smoke, explosions and fire off one of the roofs of the bunker. He was awoken to loud chatter on the radio, saying that the Syndicate got attacked. He flew over and tried identifying the assailants in the distance. Noah was there trying to fend them off, and Yoluta got caught in the crossfire, injured in the attack. The soldier carried her off to safety with his Pteranodon, only to be followed by Matthew who aimed a bow at him, demanding he go back to the bunker. So he did. He returned to the bunker, greeted by the presence of May and her band of terrorists. They demanded flak leggings which they claimed he agreed to trading them, which Indigo did not, because the team was low on metal, and Schmitt refused to make them after the episode in the Tavern where Jack decided to stir shit with him. They were threatening to blow up the place even more, and the soldier just gave them what they wanted. Not worth putting up a fight then. He was outnumbered seven to one right there. Even it were a fair fight, would he pull out his gun and shoot them? From the day Maelstrom attacked the Radio Tower, to the attack on the Sanctuary, then now. Always trying to find a way out with peace but yet he knew that was never how the rules went in a land filled with trigger happy fuckers. Indigo widened his eyes as he struck the knife strongly against the sword. He felt a sharp, throbbing pain on his thumb as the knife went right across. A bright scatter of sparks flew onto the pieces of wood and landed on them. Just then, small black spots began appearing on the surface and orange flames grew from them. The tiny fires spread, and soon the logs were engulfed in flames. Indigo heaved a sigh of stress as he let go of the blades and sat back down. A small stream of blood dripping from the wound where he slashed his thumb. Pre-emptive strikes and the brutality of war. To be the ones to pull the trigger first and to make sure that they never retaliate. Finding the source of conflict and ripping it from the roots. A rather violent mantra that Indigo would never expect coming from the university professor, but at this point anything is possible. The man stared at the fire, his body soaking in the warmth, but his mind filled with anger. The soldier always wanted no bloodshed, diplomacy and peace, but the more he tried, the more his faith faded. They struck first and this meant that he had to strike back. To fight fire, with fire. To burn, or get burnt. ((Just like to add another reminder that I've been back logging entries again and this was taking place 2-3 weeks before current time. Quite long eh? Still, enjoy the read!))
  7. The soldier sits down silently in front of the desk in the common lounge. He places his hand on one side of the blank piece of fibre-paper whilst propping his elbow on the other, his fingers twirling around a wooden pencil. He stares at the empty surface, deep in thought. The man then sighs in slight frustration and leans back on his seat, looking up at the spacious stone ceiling up above. “Fucking hell… Who am I kidding? I’m no damn architect. How the hell do I design just a simple house?! How in the bloody name of Christ did Kufufami and Schmitt even do it?!” Indigo shakes his head. The Syndicate have been busy as of late. Kufufami, Balar and Schmitt have built up a nice lodging for everyone in the team. This was especially after the newest arrival and the only female in the group, Yoluta, have been complaining about the constant pranking from the blacksmith and the assassin trainee. The man frowns - he knows that the whole lot of them are playful, but they ought to give someone like Yoluta more space, since she is the only female around. At the same time though, the Egyptian needed to loosen up a bit. The man smirked, bending his head over to look out to the distance. His eyes looking around aimlessly at the scenery in front of him. He remembered the first time he had heard the woman’s name. It was when the soldier was first visiting Marcus and Sirena over at Southend Bay. He wanted to bring over some gifts to the couple, as well as discuss some issues that have been arising around the lands as of late. He vaguely recalled some issue with a man named Thomas and that he had feelings for the Egyptian. She didn’t take it lightly and shut him out of his home, which afterwards Indigo had to give him some sort of talk about giving women space. He wasn’t that good in the whole ‘counselling’ thing, but he tried. “Yoluta, and Thomas. I spotted the Tavern doors open strangely enough when we were not operating. The people who only had access to the main gate were members of the team. I went in out of curiosity and I found the both of them talking alone. Announced my presence as soon as I figured they were done. The Egyptian was startled to say the least. Jesus Christ… The moment Thomas left, Yoluta made me swear to never tell about this to anyone, especially Kufufami. I naturally agreed.” The man grinned and looked back down on the empty paper in front of him. He picks up the pencil from the side of the table and begins tracing out a large clean rectangular box on it. Deep in thought, he then traces out a couple smaller boxes around the corners, leaving a blank space between the lines for doors. There would have been a nice long space left in between the rooms like some sort of hall. Probably a nice spacious kitchen at the end, or would he have it connected to the lounge area like Marcus’s home? He wanted a small place, not like the large apartment down the shore where Sara once lived, or this luxury penthouse on a hill… Indigo heaves a soft sigh as he places the pencil down again. He could feel the tips of his fingers slightly sore from all the sketching. The soldier smiles, feeling some sort of accomplishment as he looked at the floor plan that he had drawn for himself. He would probably have to change it again, the measurements and everything, just like how he experimented with his recipes. A nice garden out back to grow vegetables would be nice, and a stable too for the animals. He nodded and smiled. It really came by naturally. ‘Naturally' was the word. Indigo stood up from his seat and raised his arms in the air, stretching his back. Relaxed, the man drops both his limbs down to the side and walked to the side facing the Redwoods. He opens the window and takes a deep breath as he braces himself for the sudden gush of wind coming into the place. The soldier looks out, admiring the gentle swaying of the trees to the calm breeze. Amongst the cacophony of the fauna roaming the woods, he could pick out the steady crashing of the large waterfalls in the distance. He closed his eyes and focused on that sound. “Yoluta came up to me not long after that entire thing in the tavern. She said she was feeling a bit troubled. Found out that she had feelings for Thomas but yet was not sure what to think of the man since he disappeared for a while and came back afterwards. She had also been with Professor Hastings surprisingly enough, though I wasn’t sure where that led to. The Professor was more of the solitary sort if I remember. Again, I wasn’t good in solving people’s ‘problems’, but I talked to her, and she told me she felt much better then.” Mason smirked to himself as he reminded himself of the conversation again, just as he was listening to the water falling and crashing against the rocks. The waterfalls, he told her, and how they naturally flowed from the top of the hills then streaming down and out to the ocean, the cycle repeating itself again. He told her that love flowed naturally, just like the waterfalls, and that it only took time before she would find the one for her. Just like how he had found her. The man never thought much about how it came about, but it did, and he enjoyed every fleeting moment being with her. The man chuckled silently to himself and hummed blissfully, placing his elbows on the edge of the window leaning in. His heart then sank as he remembered how the night went. The both of them shared their past, their darkest moments, and how they got to this hell of a place. He went through a life alone and soon after dead, but she went through the greatest torture of losing her son. He remembered both of their tears falling onto each other, their hearts tensing as they listened and lived through each other’s pain. The warmth in each other’s arms serving as the only form of solace in the world before that is filled with sadness, and a world now that is filled with insanity. The man’s heart fluttered as he opened his eyes and gently shut the window, walking towards the desk where he was sitting and folded the paper into a small square, tucking the floor plan under his chest piece. With every step came desperation, the same desperation that night as he pulled her close to him and kissed her with a passion he had never felt before. Mason walked straight out of the place and got on his Pteranodon, ready to return back to the Sanctuary. The cold winds beat on his face, but the soldier remembered that the air was hot. The both of them trembling as he breathed down on her bare skin, perspiring from tropical airs of the Southern Jungles and their own. The two of them holding and feeling each other as though it were the last time they would be together. Mason felt alive that night, as did Nieve, in a world where everything they knew before was probably dead, including themselves. He swore to himself silently - The both of them will be alive, and he will do whatever it takes to make sure of that. Tugging onto the harness, the Pteranodon spread its wings and jettisoned itself off from the hill. The soldier felt the air breezing past him as he soared, and he smiled. Their love and their lives flowed through each other that night. Naturally. Just like a waterfall.
  8. Oi! Thanks for the referral Angel LOL
  9. Award nominated for: Best RP Story Player/s Nominated: @"loonyrun" (Nieve) Link to profile/tribe thread: http://www.arkrp.com/DNLRP/thread-7515.html Reason for nomination: The player here, in my opinion, has created a story that pays attention to so much detail in the backstory, going the full length to dig through pieces of actual history to craft something that is believable in the character. A very well thought out backstory, the player is able to establish a deep world for the character which gives so much history and depth to her. Also, the player strives to portray and develop very human elements in the character whist battling with internal struggles that are beyond the character which drives the very essence of her RP. Not only that, but the narrative of this character in her written stories has drastically improved since her previous character, Robin, being able to explore emotion in the character in great depth through her text. To me, this character stands out as unique - a noble and powerful tale about the struggles of a mother rife in a land of dinosaurs and people going insane. Give an example: The link above should showcase the amazing journey of this character and serve as more than enough evidence for my nomination. Any other media or such you'd like to provide: None. Award nominated for: Best event (Non-staff) Player/s Nominated: The Masquerade, Banshou Link to profile/tribe thread: All Hallow's Eve Ball - http://www.arkrp.com/DNLRP/thread-8253.html , Banshou Sanctuary Grand Tour - http://www.arkrp.com/DNLRP/thread-8347.html Reason for nomination: These two events really do have an interesting and unique air in them, contrasting greatly to the entire tense mood of surviving in a hostile environment. These events really do help create the atmosphere of a welcoming community coming together and having fun in ARK RP. Also, it's always great to take a break from shooting dinosaurs and building bases to have a beer and socialise! Give an example: I have been to both events myself and I have to say that they are planned well and really did create a memorable experience for me! Any other media or such you'd like to provide: None.
  10. Mason was laying down on the couch facing the TV. There was some show that was playing on Channel 5, it was something like “Grey’s Anatomy”… Some American serial drama that he wasn’t interested in. The teenager took the remote controller he placed on one of the arm rests and pressed a button, switching to a cooking channel. The boy smiled as he sat up from his position. It was Ramsey, his favourite cook, demonstrating how to grill a nice rump steak. Mason grinned as he watched the chef deftly drizzled the olive oil around the heated pan and set the slab of seasoned meat sizzling on the metal. It was noon and the bright tropical sun was shining through the window panel of the balcony, the light rustle of the trees outside the apartment block as a breeze rushed through them. Mason nodded to himself with satisfaction and heaved a sigh of relief. He had finished his final practical exam for his third year culinary arts module. That and reading week was done along with his tests and assignments for his business and marketing modules. He has all the credits he needs to promote himself for his final year, and he’s going to be meeting his internship mates for a night of drinking. Mason smiled. The summer holidays were kicking in soon, parents are not around and he has the whole place to himself. He could get used to this. Suddenly, a cellphone ring broke his train of thought. The teenager looked around, recognising that it was his phone. Mason got off the sofa and went over to the dining table at the back where he had placed it and took it. It was some foreign number. Mason raised an eyebrow and swiped up with his thumb, answering the call. “Hello? Who is this?” “Hello there. Is this Mason Wu Zhi Qing?” The teenager furrowed his eyebrows. A clearly educated man with a Middle Eastern accent on the other end of the line. Knows his full name for some reason. Not sure whether this was some Nigerian Prince scam call. “Yes I am. What is the issue?” “Are you the son of Margaret Tan Wui Lee and Daniel Wu Hock Chye?” There was something off. This man knows his parents too. His dad went over to Doha to deal with equity stocks in oil. Mom naturally tagged along with him, having a couple days of holiday to tour the place while Dad is on business. They argued over the phone and Mason was glad they left honestly. Always out on trips here and there… Mason noted the man’s hesitation in his voice. Something is not right. “Umm… Yes. Sorry sir but who is this on the line?” “This is the Embassy of the Republic of Singapore in Doha sir. I have called to inform you about your parents’ situation here.” Mason was in disbelief. What kind of bloody situation is he talking about?! The teenager walks over to the couch and grabs the remote control, tuning in to Channel News Asia on the TV. He could not believe his fucking eyes. “Sir I regret to be the bearer of bad news. Your parents - “ Mason stares blankly at the screen of the television. The plastic from the phone clacks on the floor as he drops it in complete shock. Flashing images of sirens, fire, the remains of a charred vehicle, and all out chaos on the streets. The headlines underneath the rolling clips screaming “Car Bombing Accident in Downtown Doha. 5 killed, 7 injured.” Men and women were crying in the streets, shouting hysterically. A mother holding an infant child in her arms sobbing into the microphones of the reporters in arabic. Another image of men in turbans standing in sand dunes waving black flags and yelling in a foreign language he had come to hate, claiming responsibility for the attacks. One more small headline zoomed past his eyes, scarring it in his memory. “Middle-aged Singaporean couple among 5 killed in Doha attacks.” Mason was overcome with grief and shock. His heart clenching and warping at the news hit him. The voice of the different reporters becoming blurrier and faded. The images fresh and glaring in his eyes. The alarms of paramedics, police cars, and the screaming jarring his head. It faded, slowly, painfully. His vision getting darker but the burning heat of anger and the crippling chill of sorrow infused in his very being. Darker, smaller, lonelier, then black. Mason hurriedly pushes himself off from the bed, quick and shallow breaths from his shock. The man feels cold sweat running down on his entire upper body, drops of it dripping down from his temples. The man blinks a few times, completely disoriented from the entire dream. His breaths become much deeper as his heart slowly calms down. Indigo was distraught, and glances around the place hysterically. He calms down, realising he is back at Nieve’s place. The man raises his hand and wipes the sweat off his face. He heaves a sigh of frustration. He thought he got over this when he arrived on this strange place, when he thought life as he knew it in the previous world is over. Was it grief, or was it guilt, or both? He knew that he shouldn’t have argued with his parents that night before they flew off. He shouldn’t have yelled at them, and said “I don’t care”. He shouldn’t. Mason glances to his side. Nieve was sleeping blissfully, unaware of his nightmare - a memory of his own. He laid down beside her and slipped his arms over and around her waist, looking at her sleeping face. His parents didn’t survive through it, and he was too late to tell them, to say his final goodbyes. Will the both of them make it through? Will it be too late? Mason thought he is too weak. Too weak to stand up for himself. No pride left to fight for himself and his family. Nieve told him that he is strong. Strong to see that peace is a better option than violence. Strong to not pull out a damn gun every chance he gets. Strong to keep the calm in the storm, for everyone. The soldier traces out a couple of characters on Nieve’s skin with the tip of his finger, and slowly begins to fall into deep sleep again. “志” - To be determined, have will, a sense of purpose “清” - To be clear, fair and upright He remembered Ah Mah gave him his Chinese name. She wanted him to grow up having a strong will and determination, yet to be fair and have the clarity of mind. Mason’s purpose is strong and clear - to protect the ones he love and to bring peace to the lands. To survive through all odds with her and finally return home, together. He will be strong.
  11. Thank you Kogetsu! Well, can't be too sure about that Will need to see how Indy is coping lol.
  12. Ditto. I have to say that it is very far fetched to claim someone is meta-gaming. I also think that claiming that Lyall stole Oviraptor eggs for the sole reason of taming Megalosauruses is also quite a long stretch. However, I am sure that there is a way to move on forward from this.
  13. I can understand what you mean on that regard, because it seems as though the amount of demands attackers are willing to make are dependent on the number of tribes present in one base raid. If that is the case, I'll like to clarify that there is one demand for one base raid as a consequence regardless of numbers of parties present, and that 12 items are referring to the amount of items that the entire party of raiders are able to obtain from the one base raid. Thank you!
  14. Alright. This is the point I am trying to make, that such things can potentially be power gamed if not put check and balance into things. The raids that I am describing here are technically like what you have suggested which one big raid by three tribes given that they are entitled to make one demand per tribe. Players can potentially be overwhelmed by the amount of demands that they are given and thus leave a bad taste in the victims' mouths. The scenario with thieves is something I never considered. Thank you for bringing that up! Yes I completely understand that the scenario I have described here is completely exaggerated and such things won't happen in a community provided players observe basic rules in roleplay. However, the point is to recognise the potential dangers into implementing such a rule and ensuring that such scenarios enjoyable for both parties, which is why I mentioned earlier that communication is absolutely key.
×
×
  • Create New...