The People's Republic of Adanac (A role playing game)

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Schme
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Postby Schme » Thu Aug 18, 2005 5:37 pm

Just A Bill wrote:I don't think I will be continuing. My life just got a lot more busy. Good luck.


Right then. See you around.

Yes, I do indeed intend to continue the game, and if you'd like to join, please, by all means, feel free, but I warn you I say that it is a slow running game in all the greatest sincerity.
"One death is a tragedy, a million is just statistics."
Joseph Stalin
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Fleegle
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Postby Fleegle » Thu Aug 18, 2005 7:01 pm

Rob's workday started at 8:30. Ron woke up around 10. He groaned a long drawn out groan as his heavy eyes gazed at the alarm clock.
"Well, it's too late now, guess I'll just have to take the day off." he thought to himself.
He stumbled to the bathroom and urinated, almost hitting the toilet seat in his half-awake stupor. He stooped over the sink and looked lazily into the mirror, scratching at the shadowy overnight whiskers.
The man staring back at him was but a shade. Life had held so much promise in his younger years, but at the age of 27 he was sure that opportunity had dried up. Stuck in a dead-end job, no significant future in sight. Rob mulled over what life could have been.

Rob grabbed a half empty bag of tortilla chips as he wandered into the main area of his bachelor apartment, picking away at the broken bits. He plopped himself down in front of the TV and resolved to spend the rest of the day there.

Around noon, the television program he was watching (a particularly dull daytime talk show) abruptly vanished, to be replaced by an alarmingly loud special news bulletin. A talking head appeared but no voice was heard, for a much louder sound had suddenly broken in. The entire apartment began to rumble violently. An ornate vase (given to him by his now-deceased grandmother) fell off the shelf and smashed into pieces. The rickety cart on which the TV sat seemed to hop rapidly across the room towards Rob. He leapt off the couch as the TV toppled off the cart toward him.

As he leapt, the couch tipped over with the weight of the TV on it, and the leg he was using for leverage slipped sideways. Rob fell flat on his face and lost consciousness.

Rob awoke with an unpleasant taste in his mouth. The air around him had changed; he was clearly outside. He pushed himself off the ground, realizing that he had been lying in some dust near a pile of newspapers.
He spat and wiped at his mouth, but could not get rid of the gritty taste.

Rob stumbled to his feet and took in his surroundings. On first noticing he was outside, he had thought that, somehow, he had been thrown clear of his apartment during the earthquake, though he was not sure how it had happened. All his windows had been closed, and his balcony was also closed in. Besides, he was not sure how he would have been able to fall 3 storeys and come away basically unscathed. Perhaps someone had rescued him when he lost consciousness and dragged him outside. But why had that person left him in an alleyway?

He did not recognize the particular alley, but recognized the cityscape beyond it. But something had changed. the buildings seemed to have gotten older. He chalked this up to the earthquake, but the damage seemed old, like it had happened hundreds of years ago. He remembered seeing the old buildings when he had visitted Greece as a boy. They reminded him of those buildings in their decrepitude.

Something much worse than a simple earthquake had happened. He recalled the threats made just yesterday by that nutbar group, the Neo-Riceists. He did not doubt they had been responsible for the current situation. So this was it, nuclear holocaust then? It was too much for Rob to handle all at once. He still doubted himself and his surroundings, nothing was clear. A rush of thoughts, conflicting emotions came at him from all directions. And a headache on top of that! He stumbled out of the alleyway, wincing as the noonday sun fell upon his pupils.
Schme
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Postby Schme » Thu Aug 18, 2005 7:23 pm

(This for West. I will be right with you, Fleegle.

By the way, I'll have time for this next week more, as I shan't be doing anything then.)
"One death is a tragedy, a million is just statistics."

Joseph Stalin
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Varrius
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Postby Varrius » Fri Aug 19, 2005 6:21 am

Having long silver hair and a good face Varrius has and always will be a ladies man, having a new girlfriend practically everyweek, he nevertheless can be charming and a gentleman. Varrius is 5"11 and has a well built, if not muscular body, he is currently unemployed but that does not affect him as he is heir to a large sum of money left by his parents and lives in a very exclusive Belair house by himself or with any girls he happens to bring home. At the moment Varrius is simply wearing a pair of jeans and his vans trainers, he was not wearing much at the time of the 'earthquake'.

Varrius rolled over rubbing his eyes, he had another headache. Thinking it because he had consumed a large amount of alchohol yesterday he remembers that he hadnt, he had simply spent a 'quiet' night in with his new girlfriend Jess. Feeling the hard floor on his back he opens his eyes to look around, he remembers falling asleep on the sofa with her in his arms, he must of fell off.

Remembering the events just before he fell asleep he tries to work out what the anchorman on the emergancy announcement was trying to tell everyone, then finnally he remembers the sudden shaking of the ground beneath his feet and how he and Jess and hugged each other in fear.

Blinking his eyes Varrius notices that he is not after all on the floor but in an alleyway, he sees glowing lighrs above his head and sheilds his eyes to them. Its just the entrance to some aort of nightclub.

"How the hell did I get here" he wonders to himself before staggering to his feet, using the wall for balance.[/code][/i]
Schme
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Postby Schme » Sat Aug 20, 2005 12:06 am

Oh, wow, I am sorry, West! I entirely forgot to actually post what I wrote! Sincerest apologies. All shall be responded too tonight, however.

But don't quit, or I shall pepper you with idle threats.


This for West.




The library had quieted down a great deal now, and seemed to be at what the proper volume for a library would be. The only sounds were the stacking of shelves, the droning and gushing of the teachers, a few whispered conversations, and a very large man reading a nursery rhyme to his little toddler daughter (whose grasp of English was at about the same level as her fathers.) as his infant son crawled around under a table.

The two women at the desk continued there insesent chatter, and the soldier had fallen off his chair and drifted into a light slumber, lying on top of his machine gun in what must have been a very uncomfortable posistion.

Outside the library, two young men sat on a crumbling curb with what looked like pop cans in their hands. One was instructing the other on how he was too consume it.

“Nah, nah, man.” He said, putting his hand on the others forearm. “Gotta let the air get too it first.”

“The air? Ah.” The second one seemed to be taken aback by the complexity that his friend put into drinking a simple canned beverage. “Ey’, what kind of wine is this anyways?”

On the other side of the street, a man was screaming at the top of his lungs and smashing his foot against the wall in a childlike tantrum. Getting closer, an empty and cooled off crack pipe lay on the concrete beside a filthy sack beside him. He soon gave up and crumpled over, holding his head in his hands and sobbing.

On the other side of the darkened building, four teenaged children we’re cooperating to complete a spray painted phrase that implied a great deal of loathing and contempt for the police, to say the least, in very large yellow letters. Although looking fresher than much of the other writing of the school, it did look like that, in not much time, it too would become obscured by the vast amounts of public expression on the wall. Behind them, a boombox threw out a garbled mixture of generic drumbeat and guitar chords.

Upon questioning, they informed that the building was a school, although it was now closed down, because, as one eloquently put it “Tha jackass PM is waiting for the Chinese to bail ‘em out. Don’ chu listen ‘a the radio, guy?”

The group also had with them a twenty four pack of bottles full of what looked too be highly alcoholic fruit juice, (half of it gone) and many menthol cigarettes, both of which were offered to John in modest quantity.
"One death is a tragedy, a million is just statistics."

Joseph Stalin
Schme
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Postby Schme » Sat Aug 20, 2005 12:11 am

By the way, very nicely done Fleegle. You must have done this before.

You aswell, Varius. Very nice. Easy too work when people write so well.

Be with you in a moment.
"One death is a tragedy, a million is just statistics."

Joseph Stalin
Schme
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Postby Schme » Sat Aug 20, 2005 4:23 am

(This for everyone. I really hate to say, and I know is supposed to be finding out inside of the game, but if you’ve read some of the back posts, I think everyone is just knowing that the streets of the place city are not so full of cars as most modern city streets are today. Think India. It will just be easier that cleared up.)

(This for Fleegle. By the way, I am sorry, but seem too have confused myself. Is your character named Ron or Rob?)

The reeking alleyway was small, filthy and dank, and was in between two three story concrete tenements, identical in design and look, with iron bars on the windows of the first floors. The street was about a block long, and was lined with the same tenement buildings on both sides, with the exception of one, which had a store on the first floor with a big blue sign printed in a number of languages saying “Government General Store”.

The street was paved, although how long ago was anyone’s guess. The road was crumbling, and large pieces of concrete were dislodged and lay about the street haphazardly.

At the end of the street in both directions was an intersection, beyond which was another street built very much the same as the one Ron was in. This continued for as for as could be seen from his current position.

A moderately packed crowed of people filled the street from end too end, some having backed into the alleyway as they’d run out of room. Almost all of them were young Chinese and white men, in their late teens too mid twenties, although there were a small sprinkling of older and younger ages, aswell as other races and members of the finer sex. They all seemed to be in some way affiliated, partly judging from the symbol that reappeared over and over among them. Many wore black or white armbands with a very odd code of arms, that being a white or black background, with two large "C"s in each corner, one green and one red. Above the bottom right corner was the picture of a tree. In the middle was a golden crown, heavy set with jewels, with a large sword coming in behind it. To the left of this was the two dimensional picture of a gray wolf. Many wore black or white T-shirts with the same thing on them.

The crowd’s attention was focused on a small group, heavily emblemed with the code of arms, that was concentrated around a short white bus parked on the opposite side of the street from Ron. On top of the bus was a man moderately tall white man with graying brown hair, a pencil thin mustache and a hint of eastern European accent, wearing a blue police uniform with the exception of a cap, with all the usual police equipment. His entourage surrounding the bus, although not looking at all like official police officers, were armed with steel police truncheons.
The officer on top of the bus seemed to be giving a speech, which the people on the street found profoundly interesting.

“…….Cannot let the subversive elements stand in the way of our nation’s prosperity! We cannot allow them too hamper us in our path too true and pure unity! We must redouble our efforts, and fight them on every front. Under the guidance of our good Prime Minister and his majesty the king, we must continue our battle against those people and things who would attempt to destroy and undo the people’s labour.” As he said this, he gestured wildly with his hands, so as too further emphasize his words.

“This, my friends, is the hardest battle of all, as our enemies are among us, among our people and embedded in our culture. Our neighbors, our friends, acquaintances, loved ones, any and all have the potential to become and be misguided, to work against their own people and for the good of the revolutions. We cannot let personal feelings get in the way of what is best for the people. Should someone stray from the path, you must help them too see the light, help them learn of their wrongfulness. No exceptions can be afforded. It is essential too report and subversive activity too the authorities, too take action against those who would fight the good of the nation. Not only is this your own good, nor only for the good of the concerned, not even just for the good of the person themselves, but also, and mostly, for the good of the people as a whole. Yes, this is the greatest battle, as it is not only without us, among our people, in the minds of the counter-revolutionaries, but in our culture, and in ourselves.”

The policeman was now staring at the sky dreamily with watery eyes, seemingly overcome with emotion. Then, raising his fist in the air quiet suddenly, he looked back out towards the crowd and yelled, with a voice that echoed all down the street “Long live the dominion! God save the king!”

A cheer went through the crowd, not a cheer of reverence, but more of a cheer of encouragement and agreement. With that, the man in the police uniform hopped down off the top of the short bus and turned to one of his entourage to begin conversing about something. The crowd then became looser, with some people leaving on there own or in groups to whatever business or other, but with most dropping into conversation with friends or people around them, these conversations being mainly in English and Mandarin.



(This for Varriuss.)
The reeking alleyway was small, filthy and dank, and was in between two three story concrete tenements, identical in design and look, with iron bars on the windows of the first floors. The street was about a block long, and was lined with the same tenement buildings on both sides, with the exception of one, which had a store on the first floor with a big blue sign printed in a number of languages saying “Government General Store”. Another irregularity was a building, about as large as two tenements, in the center of the block, directly opposite from the alleyway. Its windows were painted black, and it had large green neon lettering over the double doored entrance which read “The Smoke Jar”.

The street was paved, although how long ago was anyone’s guess. The road was crumbling, and large pieces of concrete were dislodged and lay about the street haphazardly.

At the end of the street in both directions was an intersection, beyond which was another street built very much the same as the one Varrius was in. This continued for as for as could be seen from his current position.

From the people on the street walking in both directions, either too work or too their tenement homes, one could tell that it was a mostly white neighborhood.

A scene seemed to be taking place outside the nightclub (to spite the fact that it was bright daylight outside.). Three hummers, with what looked to be police sirens on top of them, painted blue and white, and with the letters “GRC” painted in black paint on the sides, were parked in the middle of the street.

About thirty men were on the scene, coming in and out of the nightclub, or standing on the street doing one thing or the other. About ten of the men were wearing blue police uniforms and had police equipment much like normal police officers, with the exception that all but three had Uzi’s strapped over their shoulders. The rest were young men in their mid teens to mid twenties, all wearing black and white armbands and T-shirts with an odd coat of arms on them, that being a white or black background, with two large "C"s in each corner, one green and one red. Above the bottom right corner was the picture of a tree. In the middle was a golden crown, heavy set with jewels, with a large sword coming in behind it. To the left of this was the two dimensional picture of a gray wolf. Some of these young men were armed with various makeshift weapons, such as axes, sledgehammers, cudgels, boards, and the like.

Sitting on the curb under the watchful eyes of the officers were a few handcuffed men in their mid thirties, all looking very upset, with expression of utter dismay on their faces.

Several women who were obviously prostitutes were talking to two officers, the women looking very uneasy.

The officers and youths were bustling in and out of the building, carrying a multitude of things outside. Liquor, indiscriminate wooden crates, garbage bags full of things, lab equipment, among other things. Much of this they weighed, before setting it aside in a pile, or loading it into one of the hummers.

Great commotion could be heard from inside, smashing and banging sounds resonating out into the street.
"One death is a tragedy, a million is just statistics."

Joseph Stalin
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Varrius
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Postby Varrius » Sat Aug 20, 2005 8:53 am

Looking around in the alley, Varrius is dismayed to see that Jess in nowhere to be seen, squashing his disapointment Varrius watches the scene unfold outside.

Deciding to avoid the police Varrius heads towards the general store, hoping he could buy some clothes with the little money he has in his jean pockets.
Schme
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Postby Schme » Sat Aug 20, 2005 4:37 pm

The store looked much like a seven eleven, with an open counter, which had bars over it that could be taken down or pushed into the roof.

There were a number of metal shelves going about twenty feet back, and at the back of the room there were a number of refrigerators built into the wall.

Security mirrors were in each corners, and a security camera overlooked the counter, behind which were many cigarettes, lighters, and other such things. In a space above the cigarette shelf, there was a poster of a man standing in front of an apocalyptic background, his eyes looking skyward in a hazy trance, and his fist raised firmly in the air as though shaking it as some hated entity. Underneath the picture, in large white letters, it read "REMEMBER".

Bright overhead lights lit up the store.

On a rather odd touch, the store carried things like bags of sugar, flour, bread, meat, tea, and a number of other things that most people would otherwise get at a supermarket. It did indeed live up to the name of general store.

Apart from that, it was essentially a normal convenience store.



The counter was deserted, as was the rest of the store besides two people who were sitting opposite each other in folding chairs near the door, hunched over a small wooden stool playing cards. One was an old grey haired white man, who did not look as though he’d shaved in some time. He wore a red and yellow shirt, along with a nametag, and was smoking a small wooden pipe. The other was a much younger white man, with black hair knotted in a single long intricate braid that went down behind his neck. He wore a black uniform which looked too be that of a soldiers, and had most of the usual equipement one would expect a soldier too have, along with the added item of a steel truncheon. Beside him, leaning up against his chair was a fully automatic machinegun, and on the floor was a black beret which matched his uniform. They both turned too look at Varriuss as he entered.

The old man then got to his feet. “Need anything?” he asked, looking anxious to return to his card game.
"One death is a tragedy, a million is just statistics."

Joseph Stalin
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Fleegle
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Postby Fleegle » Sat Aug 20, 2005 5:23 pm

Rob had thus far gone unnoticed. He leaned against the wall in a kind of shock. This day was just getting weirder and weirder. "God save the King?" he thought, "Since when was it King?".
Rob felt nervous around what he could only describe as some sort of "People's army". It reminded him of some of the films he had seen about Nazi and Stalinist propaganda when he was a student, but it also shared certain properies with Sunday-morning evangelical programs on TV. He decided it would be most prudent to remain unnoticed, and edged along slowly towards the General Store.
Upon stepping into the store, Rob felt that he had made a big mistake. He immediately saw the portrait of the man in the 3/4 pose, a very recognizable propaganda technique. The old man behind the counter had noticed Rob walk in, and several people dressed like the majority of people outside turned to look at the stranger in their midst. There was nothing he could do now to avoid attention. He felt like a deer in the headlights, standing, staring, not knowing what to do or say.
Last edited by Fleegle on Sat Aug 20, 2005 6:19 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Schme
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Postby Schme » Sat Aug 20, 2005 5:54 pm

(Oh, I apologize, I was sort of unclear now that I read back. It is not the same store or street, but the streets and the stores and really near exactly the same, except that the street on which Varriuss is on has a nightclub. I’m sorry about that. The identical descriptions are just to show that the two streets you are on are built the same. The stores, however, are also built and staffed the same, much like the one West was in earlier, with a clerk and a fully armed soldier.)

A few of the men who had been on the street, (this known by they’re emblemed clothing)milled about the store, talking and some taking things to buy, but very much taking there time.

The clerk, an old and bald white man, smiled at Rob as he came through the door. He wore a red and yellow shirt with a nametag on it, and stood very high above all others in the store, looking to be near seven feet tall. “Let me guess, a pack of smokes, eh?”

A loud snore alerted Rob to the presence of a black uniformed and fully armed soldier sitting asleep in a folding chair. He looked to be in his mid thirties, and had distinctly southern Chinese features. On the ground beside him stood an empty bottle of vodka, and it looked as though it had all been consumed by him, as his breath smelled as though it could be set alight with the greatest of ease.
"One death is a tragedy, a million is just statistics."

Joseph Stalin
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Fleegle
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Postby Fleegle » Sat Aug 20, 2005 6:16 pm

"Uhh, yeah, that's right." Rob said to the old man, not really knowing what he was saying. He did know that he did not want to seem the odd man out, though there was in actual fact very little he could do about that.
He edged toward the counter and tried to look around without seeming too green. He looked nervously at the young man sleeping and the assault rifle beside him. Rob had never seen such a huge gun in such a setting before, and it made him very uncomfortable.
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Varrius
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Postby Varrius » Sat Aug 20, 2005 7:00 pm

Wondering what the poster needed him to remmeber Varrius turned to the man and smiled in embarrasment.
"I dont know how I got here but I woke up in an alleyway, what I need as i'm sure you can see is a Tee-Shirt, do you sell them here?"

Looking around the room Varrius searcher for any other possible threats other than the soldier.
"...and uh.. also could you tell me where exactly I am because i'm sure my girlfriend would be missing me by now."
Schme
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Postby Schme » Sun Aug 21, 2005 3:52 am

(Fleegle this is for.)

The old man smiled broader and laughed happily. “Haha! See! I’m not so behind the times!”

Seeing Rob’s uneasiness at the presence of the passed out soldier, the clerk took on a reassuring tone. “Oh, c’mon man, we all need a little something to get us through the day from time to time. He’s really very good at what he does. One time, even smoked two idiot punks who came in here totting gats. Idiots thought they were a match for his North Star, well, let me tell you, they we’re sadly mistaken, too say the very least, haha!”

All the brand names of the cigarettes were unfamiliar and strange. “Not from around here, eh?” said the clerk, and seemed to have already decided that he wasn’t, as he did not wait for an answer, rather he turned around and grabbed a pack of the cigarettes from the rack and tossed it onto the counter. The brand name read “Monarch” and was packaged in a white and yellow box. It looked like a very normal pack of cigarettes, with the salifane wrapping and the surgeon general warning. “These smokes are popular among this crowd.” He said, gesturing to the shop patrons.

“Ey’ comrade! Let me get those for you! On me, my friend, on me!” said a voice with a hint of Quebec accent from behind Rob. It came from a very large and bulky white man, with very greasy brown hair, who wore a loose grey t-shirt which did not quite conceal his copious bulk. The man smiled as he put some very odd looking bill along with some foreign looking coins on the table. The clerk took the money and slid the change back too the man. In the meantime, the large man’s attention had shifted over to Rob. “Some speech, eh?”




(Varriuss.)

“Ohhhh.....” moaned the clerk, rolling his eyes in exasperation, as the soldier took on an expression of disapproval. “Idiot dopehead guy! That’s what you get, eh? She’s probably in a lot of trouble now, if you guys spent the whole night outside and you blacked out! Poor girl! Man, couldn’t you at least go to a shelter? You can drug yourself up there! Ohhh!”

The man then lost his patronizing tone and took on one of concern. “Right, you in Petertown, on the Westside, right? This is street Q 19. You know you in Petertown, eh?” He said the name Petertown much like one would say Chinatown or the Russian District, as though it were a place within somewhere rather than it’s own municipality. “Oh boy…Umm, well, your girlfriend, you’d better report her missing then. Go to the police. There’s some cops outside, by good luck, man, should talk to them, and don’t lie son! That’s what I’d do.”

The soldier nodded solemnly. “Yeah man. Go right away. I could help you, but the police, they are better to go too then me for this.”

The clerk rubbed the stubble on his chin for a moment, thinking. “Right, right, you will need a shirt. Just a second.”

He walked over to a vending machine and inserted several coins into the slot and then pushed a button, and out tumbled a plastic tube. He ripped open the tube and pulled out a navy blue t-shirt that was just a bit too big for Varriuss. He then tossed it too Varriuss. “Here.” He said. “Now get goin’.”
"One death is a tragedy, a million is just statistics."

Joseph Stalin
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Varrius
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Postby Varrius » Sun Aug 21, 2005 6:37 am

"but we nev-" Varrius started before deciding it would be best to take the mans advice in some way.

Walking outside the shop he approaced the police and asked "Do you know the way to the Airport?, just I need to get back home, to England"

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