Keanumoreira

One doesn't simply lose at life.

Abdul was taken back a bit by what Sivari had said, but she had a point. For reasons he still didn't understand, they were in this together. He looked at her as she spoke, which was with confidence and sagacity. She didn't believe herself to be a leader, but despite considering her argument, Abdul felt that of everyone in the group, she was the most capable. It's hard to disagree with sound reasoning, so the Argonian said nothing; he only nodded and hoped that the others would listen.

Noticing that things had taken a sudden turn, Abdul attempted to contain the situation. "No, stop! Artago, don't be an idiot. We have no idea who we're dealing with in Dragonsearch. Do you want the entire damn drauger army storming down that hill? And Tordin, if you climb the balcony, you're sure to attract attention. Don't you think that they'd guard where they least expected to be attacked? No one in their right mind would just storm in; they'd take the back door. These people are being enslaved. Why in Oblivion would they report us? If anything, we should rally them on our side. We should get them to fight for us." He turned to Sivari, "Look, the old man saw something in you, something powerful, something unique. That makes you the leader of this group. Please, talk some sense into them!"

Abdul briefly smiled beneath his hood, unsure of what to say; compliments were rare. He was reminded of a young Argonian he had met shortly after his escape from the Brotherhood. She accompanied him on his travels throughout Tamriel late in his childhood, seeking adventure and mischief. They voyaged to Morrowind, Elseweyr, Valenwood...all but Skyrim, as Argonians didn't much like the cold (indeed, these past few days have been difficult). She was young, she was beautiful, and most of all, she was full of life, a vibrant soul that Abdul admired very much. And it was strange...for somehow, in someway, this Khajiit, this...Sivari, reminded him very much of his dearest friend. His eyes turned to the steps leading up to the plaza. He turned back and nodded, "I'm ready when you are Sivari."

Name: Mel Pinkerton Gender: Johnny Nationality: American Age: 42 Personality: Industrious and driven with a passion for machinery. Introverted, but a natural leader; follows his instincts and his heart. Specialty: Robotics and rocketry History: Never married, believing that love was for the ignorant who lacked a strong sense of self-worth. He’s a self-made man, building himself up from the dirt and founding one of the world’s leading corporations in robotics and groundbreaking technology. Mel was requested by NASA for his innovations in rocket propulsion, but refused the invitation when his ideas on extraplanetary colonization were deemed “too radical” by modern standards. Sickened by American law and its censorship on the individual, Mel contemplated on leaving the country for a society that valued ingenuity. Discovery: Mel heard rumors about a man named Mark Meltzer who was investigating the kidnapping of innocent girls all around the world, and of his search for “true rapture”. Believing that a higher society existed among the human race, Mel set out to find it, learning of the ghostly “Frozen Triangle” west of Iceland. Mel braved the icy waves, infamous for its stories of mysterious disappearances. Despite the odds, he found the lighthouse, the gateway to his utopia.

Hello everyone! This is the first time I have posted anything in the Roleplaying section, so here's to hoping that it goes well! The story revolves around the dawn of the reconstruction efforts of the city of Rapture. To those who are unfamiliar with the story of Bioshock, please refer to this link (it doesn't take long to read): http://bioshock.wikia.com/wiki/Rapture Here's a summary :) : 1975, Beneath the Atlantic Ocean: Twenty-four years have passed since the inauguration ceremony held in honor of the metropolis of Rapture, a city free of law and god. Much has changed since 1951: Mayor and industrial magnate, Andrew Ryan, has been murdered, and the destructive teachings of Sofia Lamb's "social experiment" have long died away. Their was a time when this city was all too beautiful, a true testimony to the triumph of the individual. But it was the self that saw its demise. The best and brightest built this city, and the best and brightest tore it down. But the time has come to rebuild, and the splicers can't do it alone; Rapture is in dire need of a hero, someone who will lead them to prosperity. And how the worthy have flocked! Mark Meltzer wasn't the only one who solved Lutwidge's riddles: others have followed the clues to what lies beneath the sea... Rules: 1. NO GODMODDING! If you are unfamiliar with godmodding, you can find it under the roleplaying rules. 2. Please respect other players; that should go without saying. 3. I have a story planned, but if you want to contribute something or if you have general concerns or questions, I'm more than happy to answer through a private message. 4. All characters MUST be human. No Big Daddies or Big Sisters (you gotta draw the line somewhere), but you can be a little sister if you want to (note, you cannot use plasmids or offer any Adam, but you can wield weapons) 5. Two plasmids per character, so choose wisely! 6. You can have any weapon you choose, but please don't overdo it; your character shouldn't be invincible 7. The story begins in the Lighthouse; please allow me to post first so that I can get things rolling. In the meantime, spice up your character as much as you can! 8. Follow this character outline and remember to have fun! : Name: Are you a Betty or a Johnny? : We're talking about Gender Nationality: Age (No younger than ten, please): Personality: Specialty (what's your trade?): History (this is where you should get creative! WHY is your character worthy of Rapture, the city built for the ablest minds of the planet? Make it interesting and have fun with it!) : Discovery (This wasn't an accident; many have stumbled onto the lighthouse on the surface and didn't live to tell about it. They never made it below! You're better than that! You used your wit to find this place. So tell us: why were you different? Why did you survive?): After the party: If you join after the meeting in the lighthouse, just make an introduction in the city. The same rules apply!

Abdul observed the guards as they approached the gates of Whiterun. They were ominously stoic, their eyes devoid of any soul that their bodies may have once possessed. The stench of the dead could be sensed for miles, but as he had predicted, it was nothing compared to what lied behind those sunken walls. A little girl, timid, fresh cuts on her cheeks and arms, her hair a dirty and matted mess...she approached Abdul almost immediately, tugging on his thawb, "Please sir...please...I'm so hungry. I haven't eaten in days. Our village...long has it struggled to grow even a single grain. When my parents couldn't pay the taxes...please sir, I implore of you, but a coin will keep me alive for at least another day." Abdul was incredibly touched by the waif's story. He knelt down, pulling a money bag out from beneath his robe and bestowing it the orphan. With his hand entwined with hers, he whispered with heartfelt sympathy, "Inside, you will find one-hundred septiems. Go, quickly. Don't allow the others to see what you have". She looked at him with her big, blue eyes, shimmering in what little light blessed this land. And he could see it, there within them...it was gratitude, but it was much more than that...it was hope. She didn't say a word- she didn't have to. The tears rushing down her eyes as she fled down the street, said everything. A serious look came over him as he rose to join his companions, who were unsure of where to proceed. "If I may make a suggestion? It would be unwise for all of us to travel together. An impoverished town like this, flushed with the poor and wanting? We already attract enough attention. I say we split up into twos, no more than threes, and see what we can scrounge up." He turned to Sivari especially, and approached her earnestly, "What do you think?"

Abdul mostly kept to himself during the walk to Whiterun, ignoring whatever it was that the Breton was blabbering on about. The sun wasn't inclined to show itself that day, but he didn't mind; the ominous atmosphere was strangely soothing. They passed by the cryptic ruins of Bleak Falls Barrow which hung on the mountain like a terrible omen. It was fortunate that the road carried them in the opposite direction, for a dungeon that deserted was sure to be trouble. They continued on, winding down the road, following the river on its wayward path. Salmon leaped from the icy currents on their way upstream, the smell of which was offensive to Abdul. It wasn't long before they reached the valley, farmlands unfurling from the walls of Whiterun. Even from where the group was standing, they looked old and appeared to sag. Certainly, they had seen been better days, back when fiercer armies clamored at its gates. Whiterun was silent now, standing in the center of the valley....dark and dying...a hollow shell...a shadow of its former self. Abdul saw some familiarity in this and felt empathetic towards the city. But this was just the face of Whiterun, what it chose to share with the outside world. There was no telling what horrors awaited them inside...

Abdul's incantations were interrupted by the old man and the innkeeper. Keen as any Argonian, his ears twitched by the whispers in the air, "A dragon? The old man is a dragon"? His eyes widened. He was careful not to divulge this to the others, especially the old man, but somehow, Abdul could feel that he already knew. He blended in with the others, his eyes and heart set on Whiterun.

Abdul nodded at the man with gratitude. Turning to follow Tordin as he made his way outside, he directed his words to Sivari, "Do not fear death, Khajiit. It is the only thing we can look forward to." He left his words to linger behind him. Once outside, he stared in the direction of the road that would take them to Whiterun. Ignoring the drama unfolding behind him, he was once again silent. This was crazy, perhaps he was crazy; certainly, he had time to think about it. He gazed down to his bow, renewed by the rage that still boiled within him. "I have never been to this corner of Nirn", thought Abdul, "but I suppose that if my time has come, there would be no better land to perish in." He breathed in the winter air, his scales frigid, "Night Mother...wrap me in your cold embrace. If any mortal woman should sway me, may it be you. If any mortal woman should be so frightening, may it be you. If any mortal woman should steal my breath away, and take me beyond this world, may it be you. If any mortal woman should mourn her child, may it be- mourn me. Wrap me in a sheet, oh loving Mother, and carry me from this land when I die."

Abdul said nothing. He was a man of few words, to be sure, but recent events had left him dumbstruck. He wandered away from the congregation that appeared to be forming around this mysterious stranger, and felt as his mind mingled with memories that have long been locked away... -- The scent of water lingers on the wind, and the leaves of the hist, which grow all around, shake and shutter. You can feel it in the air, like a terrible omen- a great darkness had settled in the soil of the marshland. Hatchlings fall into the arms of their mothers- fear and horror have stricken their faces. The horizon is set ablaze like the sun unto the dawn of a new day, yet, it falls...and still, the land burns brightly. Screaming...turmoil...confusion, what does it all mean? Men, woman, children...they fall in the streets like puppets do unto their strings...the streets are littered, and still, the suffering ensues. Ashes...ashes...smoke and rubble, but mostly...ashes. There is nothing left to remember. -- Abdul had often struggled with this memory through the course of his life, but it had been many moons since he last allowed himself to remember. Anger, such terrible anger, flowed through his veins, and like a torrent flushed with rage, he unleashed his poniard into the wall in front of him. He quickly retrieved it, and aimed it in the direction of the elderly man. "I will accept your quest! Alduin WILL fall by my hand." He rejoined the group, poniard sheathed and bow in hand, "Let's send that bast*rd back from the chasm he clawed his way out of!"

"Well what am I lounging around here for?!" Announced the Lord, leaping from his chair with such a flush of enthusiasm, that he had jettisoned the cup of tea from his lap and into the wall. It had only just occurred to him that such a trunk of jewels and trinkets was a splendid bit of serendipity, for if he could acquire them, he could invest it into a coup d'etat. "This is marvelous! To think, it could all be mine and MINE alone! That "Queen", that blasphemous usurper, is finally going to get what she deserves!" A terrible rush of avarice had overwhelmed his Lord, and before anyone could have a chance to stop him, he burst open the doors of the Library with such imprudence that one of the castle's maids had little time to react before she was thrown onto the floor and rendered unconscious. Such a thing would no doubt entice suspicion, but he ignored the circumstance as if it had never occurred, and promptly removed himself from the residence. Rushing to the coast, he vanished into the forest beneath the evening veil.

I can't post this one since it's too long, but this is the longest published word: Titin It's a chemical name over 1800 words long. Look it up. :wacko:

Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis: A lung disease. :sick: