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1. Rules
2. Story
3. Us
4. Index
5. Join



1. Rules
No harassing
No spamming
No Godmoding
Romance is accepted and, in fact, encouraged
Please keep your responses literate
Keep swearing down to a minimal level
Keep it PG, please
Stay in character. If you speak out of character, use brackets.
And no, NO bumping


2. Story
The year is 2406 A.D. Mankind fled Earth when a vastly superior alien force attacked about three hundred years ago. Using a new and experimental type of Warp Technology, humanity was thrown across time and space where they eventually emerged in an unknown system. As far as anyone knows, Earth is gone. No one knows where it is and many attempts have been made to find it, none have returned. So mankind made a new home, found dozens of planets and satellites that were habitable or made them habitable.
Unfortunatley, this new system was not as dead as was first believed. Several alien races were discovered within the first 50 years of exploration. Of all of them, one proved to be a danger to all free life in the galaxy. They were known as the Tragents. The aliens had established peace within their entire race and believed that it was their job to rule over all others. Many fell, but humanity held fast, and thus began the Man-Tragent Wars.
For nearly 250 years War has raged, as governments collide and technologies clash, before a cease-fire finally came. Now, the Confederation (the primary government of the human race) has fallen under the control of a ruthless, warmongering dictator. General Hammond. His actions almost began a civil war and the domain of man nearly split. Among those that fought against the evil tyrant's power were a small group known as Foundation. Most of the group was killed, but a few remain. Today, they live as outlaws, using crime to undermine and hinder the General's plans.

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3. Us
You may enter the world of Black Desert as any type of character you wish. The main story will deal with a small band of Foundation survivors who live on a small Scepter class cargo ship called the Splinter. User Image - Blocked by "Display Image" Settings. Click to show.
In it, you'll join the crew and help pull off small crimes to cripple General Hammond's plans. All the while, staying out of the grip of agents who'll stop at nothing to destroy you.
Or join as a secret operative, bent on catching the Foundation insurrectionists.
Be a rebel. Be an assassin. Choose your side. And prepare to be a predator, or prepare to be the hunted.

(You can be an alien if you wish, supply an image of what you look like in the appearence part of your character profile. You can make up any information you'd like. I've only supplied a brief setting, so throw in your own ideas too. Heros, villains, and romantic roles are all welcome and appreciated.)
((Don't be turned away by the depth of the explinations, this isn't a real series or anything, I made it all up. You can use your own creativity to merge yourself into this rp world.))

4. Index
Main Planets:
Axylon (Tragent homeworld)
Belacrux (human/Gerian world)
Genesis (human, capital world of the Confederacy)
Geria (Gerian homeworld)
Inarius (Tragent world, enslaved)
Mia (human, one of the few Foundation friendly worlds, secret location)
Reghhart II (Vander homeworld)

Races:
Gerian - alien, human ally
Hulosian - Tragent workers
Human - Confederation
Inacs - Tragent slaves
Tragent - Tragent Empire
Vander - Neutral

Terms:
Biomechanoid - a 'life form' as such which contains both mechaninical and biological components to it and is able to reproduce both without intentional aid from an external source
Black - common term for space
Black Desert - term for space
Boat - term for a starship
Confed - short for Confederation or Confederate
Dilaxen - galactic currency
Ebon Sea - another term for space
Foundation - a small faction that rebelled against General Hammond's campaign. They claim to hold on to the founding principles of the Confederation and that Hammond could destroy all that humanity has stood for.
Founder - another term for a Foundationist
Grounder - person who lives on a planet
Lax - short for Dilaxen, see above
Op - an operative, agent of the Confederacy
Old Earth - a term for Earth, mankind's origin
Reb - a term for a Foundation survivor (usually derrogative)
Rider - person who lives in a starship
Rock - planet
Rock-Rider - another term for a person who lives on a planet
Sailor - another term for a person who lives on a ship
Trag - Tragents


5. Join
To enter in, just post a character profile including the information:
[Name: ]
[Appearence: ]
[Background: ]
[Faction: ]
[Weapon: ]
[Skills: ]

(PM me if you have any questions or comments. Tell your friends about us!) ((Any ideas you want to share. PM me, I'm constantly editing this introduction and adding new terms and such.))

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Name: Lazarus "Laz" Marshall
Appearence: With his dark hair and eyes, Marshall is a mysterious character. The way he carries himself reveals a sorrowful disposition. He's the kind of man who prefers to keep a level head, meaning that he never smokes or drinks, which is odd for a man who has suffered so much heartache. Because of this, his presence eminates a unique apperence of strength of will. Marshall likes his cargo pants and long coat to conceal his sidearms.
Background:Lazarus never knew his parents, he grew up in an orphanage on Genesis. After leaving the orphanage at 16 he joined the military. While he was in service he became the pilot of a small CONFED carrier transporting troops, supplies, and even prisoners. When on the planet Eras, Marshall came into posession of a POW, a young FOUNDATION woman named Rachel. His mission was to deport her to Genesis for trial and possible execution. However, while en route to their destination, Lazarus began to fall in love with her. When they stopped on Desta to refuel, Rachel managed to show him the devastation the CONFED caused in a battle there long ago. The young pilot was quickly persuaded to join the FOUNDATION insurrectionists.
Three years later, Lazarus and Rachel were married and continued to aid the FOUNDATION in the war effort. However, during a routine scouting mission on Eisis, Rachel's company came under attack. The young Mrs. Marshall went MIA (missing in action) that day and was presumed dead. Her body was never found.
For the past year Lazarus has seached, hoping that somewhere his love still lives. Now twenty-six years old, he works as a gunhand and pilot, always moving, always searching. Then, two months ago, he recieved word that Rachel was alive and being held prisoner. He bought a ship, Splinter, and only needs a crew before he can go retrieve her.
Faction: Foundationist (Reb)
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Weapon: Marshall prefers handguns over any other firearm. He totes dual semi-automatic pistols and carries a scout knife in his boot.
Skills: During his years as a FOUNDATIONIST, Lazarus learned to be an exceptional marksman. Although, he flew during the war, his piloting skills are limited. Due to the fact that he only piloted a carrier ship he does not posess much evasive skills. Respect is important to Marshall and his loyalties go to those who've earned his admiration.

Versatile Tycoon

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((I just may join this))

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[Name: ] Rachel Marshall, also issued number 129
[Appearence: ] Rather a slender women, mostly due to lack of nurishment while in "holding", otherwise she would be normal with curves. Once vibrant crimson hair has faded to almost completely ivory, some sort of injection has caused most of her pigments to vanish from her body, including her skin, but still has yet to effect her emerald eyes which contrast greatly to her otherwise ghostly appearance. Tall for her young age of twenty-three, some saying around 5' 11" if not taller, nobody has really tried or wanted to messure her since her company came under seize. Pale lips which were once in a constant smile, now has faded to a grim expression, revealing how much pain she had truely suffered during the time spent in captivity. Fortunately they did not take her clothes from her, giving her some sort of comfort in the twisted facility. Still she is gowned in the same uniform as the day she was taken, a form fitting ebony suit, some sort of slippery material, with hidden pockets that have come to sight in only extreme moments of pain, several images falling out of a man and what she presumed to be herself on them.
[Background: ] Only glimpses flash occasionally through her mind, knowing only fuzzy images other then faces or voices. Many of her commrades had fallen during the attack on their company, only twelve being captured. Like animals they are tested, see which chemicals makes their skin sizzle, or to inject them with foreign substances to observe what exactly effects the human body.
[Faction: ] Foundation, remembering only because it is imprinted in teal letters on her forearm.
[Weapon: ] All weapons were stripped from the company during captivity.
[Skills: ] The injections have left her with enhanced reflexes, which may be a minor improvement from her pre-captivity fighting skills. Everyday though, she seems to improve, dodging the bullets with ease, like a mouse in a maze searching for food...

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I step out of the large vessel, gravel crunching beneath my boots. Across from me is the small town. Mia, the last Foundation-friendly world. It looks deserted, but like any underworld community, it lives just beneath nottice. I cross the terrain, the crimson sun glowing hotly above my head. Reaching a large building, I push open the door.
Inside, the strong scent of dirt and booze hits my nose. Working my way to a table in the back corner, I seat myself. Survivors weren't the friendliest folk around, but hopefully I could find a few sailors on this rock. All I needed were a few good hands. I couldn't attempt a rescue all on my own, I needed help.
Glancing at the faces, I search for someone who catches my interest. Someone who looks like they can do the job. At least one of these Reb's oughtta be able to do it. I know that I can't pay much, but I'd give anything for her. For Rachel. Besides, the thrill of causing touble to the Confed was more than enough for any true Reb.
I go through the list in my head one more time. I need: a pilot, gunhands, a doctor/nurse, engineer, and... I think that's it. Other than anyone else who can help.

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Sharp sensations pulsated throughout her body, awaking the senses just slightly to reveal how much pain she was truely in. If only she could turn off once more, then it would be all over, to make them believe she had died, perhaps death would be a sanctuary...

"Damn whore, won't get up..."
"Well get it good in there."
Another jab of pain, somesort of needle, that is what Rachel had determined. Not that she could do anything about it. All of them had stopped fighting after the first few days, after two more of the company were slaughtered before them like animals.

Just go back, back into the darkness, it'll all be over then...

Lonely Friend

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[Name: ] Fara Farwolven
[Appearance: ] User Image A slim and athletic build, due to months of extensive training. Curlish brown hair which rests one her shoulders and between her shoulder blades, between the locks of brown are two deep emerald green eyes which seem to register everything which happens around her. She's got a 'normal' figure, meaning she's got curves where they should be and is about average height for a girl her age, twenty-one, about 5"7. Apart for her striking eyes she's got full lips, with a light crimson shade, her expression is often neutral and she rarely ever smiles, or laughs for that matter.
[Background: ] Once a free human, or so she has been told, intercept from a civilian vessel by the Tragent and very nearly slaughtered. At the last moment they decided to use her, she was to become a spy, a Tragent assassin, in return for her life. She saw no chance to flee and valued her life, thus she became a trained Tragent assassin and has been set loose to kill. But doubt and ideas have invested her head and she is much more focused on escaping the Tragent grip.
[Faction: ] Inacs, but unwillingly so and try to find a way out.
[Weapon: ] She's a silent type, carrying mostly effective and stealth weapons; poison, wires and in case of a one-one fight two silenced handguns.
[Skills: ] Tragent training has giving her much more than she could ever dream of, she's stealthy, effective and has highly developed reflexes and enchanted senses

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Catching the eye of the bartender, I wave him over. He rounds the counter and makes his way to my table. A short guy, he looks to be middle-aged. I can't be sure though, the creases on his forhead make him look older. And his facial expression made him look like he had a pair of dirty army socks under his nose wherever he went.
"You, Silas?" I ask him in a low voice as he approaches my table.
"Yeah," he says. "What's it to you?"
"I was told, you know about ships passin' through these parts."
"I do, but I don't go tellin' just anybody. You know what happens to folks who blab?"
Getting the drift, I pull out a wad of Dilaxens and slide it across the table to him. Looking at the wad, his eyes widen slightly. Snatching up the pile, he quickly stashes it in the pocket of his brown apron. Apparently satisfied he looks at me agian. "Whadda'ya wanna know?"
"I know that there's a Confed prisoner transport passing through this sector, I need to know when." I tell him slowly, looking him right in the eye.
"You a Reb?" He asks me cocking a bushy eyebrow.
"Does it make any difference?" I ask him quickly. He hesitates, so I continue. "Do you know, or not?"
The 'tender glances around nervously before answering in a whisper. Although Mia was Foundation friendly, you never know who was listening in. "Oh-four hundred, tomorrow morning. Passes right by us."
"Thanks," I tell him handing him another wad. "Also, I'd like a scotch and water, hold the scotch."

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Name: Jonka Findo
Position: engineer
Appearance: Quite short, about 4' 5", Jonka wears a long jacket that he keeps tools in, old leather gloves with the fingers cut off, and rough foot wraps that wrap up his shins under wooden sandals with rubber coated bottoms. He has reddish-brown hair and brown eyes. What's noticable about him is a set of scars running down both cheeks, and the fact that he is constantly full of pent-up energy, usually tapping his foot or bouncing when not futilely trying to be quiet.
Backround: Jonka grew up on Mia, not quite remembering how he got there, living as a small-time pickpocket until he was caught and taken in by one of his potential victims, who trained him to be a competent mechanic and taught him some close-quarter combat. When his mentor died in an attempted robbery, Jonka was forced to strike out on his own, doing the occasional helpful repair, but mostly resorting to pickpocketing. The owner of the local tavern keeps him on call to help repair the fritzy cooling unit.

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Weapons: His primary weapons are his trusty pistol (kept in a leg holster rather than a hip one) and C-37 ChargeBow (like a crossbow, but it uses a polarized magnetic firing system to increase power and accuracy, which he can carry slung across his back, and a belt full of bolt packets). Jonka uses a number of throwing knives that he keeps in various places on his body.
Faction: Currently neutral, though favoring the Foundationists
Skills: Jonka is quite good with hands and knives in close-quarters combat and is very fast. While only a moderately fast draw, he's quite accurate with his C-37 With his light fingers, Jonka is well-suited for pickpocketing. His small size also allows him to reach parts in machinery that are difficult for other mechanics. Jonka loves to crawl inside an engine compartment to tinker with small modifications, as he is a first-rate engineer.

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Oh-four hundred, I repeat in my mind. I look down at the time piece embedded into my glove. Just past eightteen hundred hours. About ten hours. Plenty of time, I hope.
The bartender interrupts my thoughts when he sets a tall water glass down on my table. He walks away without a word. Picking it up, I take a sip. It's warm and tastes like it came from a dirty tap. Replacing it on the table, I return to my thoughts. So, nine hours to find some people, get in the air, and wait for the transport to pass. I'll never get a chance like this again. Even if I don't find anyone who can help me, I'd probably do the job anyway. I think. An icy sensation runs through my chest as I think about it.
Turning my attention back to the inhabitants, I search the faces again...

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Splinter

Status:Landed
Location: Mia

Roster:
Captain: Lazarus Marshall
Pilot: Fara Farwolven
Engineer: Jonka Findo
Gunhand(s): Lazarus Marshall, Fara Farwolven,
Doctor/Nurse: vacant

Mission: Aquire crew by oh-three hundred tomorrow for a rescue attempt on a prisoner transport vessel.

Lonely Friend

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Fara looked into the bar, her eyes sweeping across the many faces inside and registering their every move. Rumour told her of a new-ling amongst the faces and she spotted him with ease, one drowned in thoughts, not one the watch. One had to be new to let his guard down in there, of all places.

She approached him from behind, her lips a thin line, but her eyes hinted of little sparkles in them, as she drew nearer she took in enough points of information from the stranger to classify him. Cargo-pants, meaning to blend with the masses and a sign of a shipowner and pilot, no doubt the one just docked. A long trench coat; probably to conceal any weaponry he carried, a man on a mission by the looks of him, judged by the cloudiness in his eyes and the water.

As she walked up to the counter and stopped next to him her hands brushed his coat, ~two semi-auto's,~ she thought to herself as she felt the weapons through the fabric, ~a married man,~ she smirked lightly, ~without the wife, an easy target to infiltrate~

"Silas, one water, clean tap," she told the barkeeper, "So, I heard you arrive in a vacant vessel, stranger," she said, looking over her shoulder at Lazarus.

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A voice startles me from my thoughts. I have to restrain myself from jumping; keeping myself calm at all times, like I learned in piloting school. Damn. I curse at myself for letting my guard down.
Looking to my side, I see a young woman with flashing eyes peering at me. She looks likes a normal girl but something about the way she carries herself, I can't quite put my finger on it, seems odd. She'd said something and it was now registering in my head. I silently curse myself again for being so oblivious. Usually I'm very aware of my surroundings.
"Yeah," I tell her. How long has she been watching me? "I just got here. Why?"

Lonely Friend

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"Vacant ships tend to stay docked," she casually remarked as she took her fresh water from Silas, "Thank you, my friend," she said to the barkeeper and took a sip from the water, "and their captain tend to be looking for a crew," she continued to speak to Lazarus over her shoulder in a casual tone.

If she was able to get on board the vessel she had accomplished two things; one being that she had successfully infiltrated a human ship and could function like the spy she was trained to be, and on top of that she would have access to a transport off of the planet and perhaps away from the grip of her 'masters'.

"So, what will it be, stranger"

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A grin spreads across my lips and I turn my head to face the bar.

"Direct," I say without looking at her. "Aren't you?" The question was: could she be trusted? I doubt that she has anything to do with the Confederation. More likely, she's nothing but a thief looking for a little excitement.

"You don't even know that you should be talkin' to me. I could be bad news." I don't want to scare her or anything. But maybe I can see how tough she is. I need a crew, one way or another.

" 'Sides, I'm not so sure I'm your man," I tell her, facing her again. Her bright green eyes flashing. "I've got my own reasons for doin' what I do. And the Confed don't take too kindly to it. So, unless you're looking to become a hunted woman, I'd suggest you run along."
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