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Ragitsu

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Re: Ctrl+V

 

In an interesting departure from their usual news-only programming, CNN, MSNBC, and Fox News all collaborated to air an ongoing pulp serial which ran from 2000 to 2008, featuring a dastardly villain named Dick Cheney, loosely based on Gargamel from The Smurfs. Shades of 1984 and A Brave New World could be found in this colorful series about a hunch-backed old man who attempted to bring about a totalitarian dystopia, though the show lost some credibility after it had its main character “accidentally” shoot a man in the face and suffer zero legal consequences. Fortunately for fantasy fans everywhere, the news networks wised up and stopped airing this disturbing show in January of ‘09.

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Re: Ctrl+V

 

Listen, it is all well and good that you keep up your daily practice. I admire your dedication there. However...it is not one's accuracy with a firearm, nor deftness with a blade, and not even one's competency in hand-to-hand combat that is the most important thing a soldier should place before everything else. It is knowing when to fight, where to fight, and why you fight.

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Name: No, you will not be Princess Darktalon XIV, but I'm pretty open otherwise. I have been looking up some basic linguistics, but I haven't settled on anything in particular, so it would be unfair to demand anything fancy.

 

Age: Most characters will probably be in their twenties or thirties. Old enough to take care of themselves, yet young enough to not have settled down too much. Younger characters may have lied about their age, while older ones might just have nothing left on Norüd, so I'm willing to accept most things. Youngest allowable is 15, though, and that is stretching it.

 

Gender: Pretty much run-o'-the-mill. To avoid controversies as well as extra paperwork, none of the Norüdar cultures do, at current time, have broadly recognized genders beyond male and female.

 

Expected job: It is unlikely that your 'Sponsor', for lack of a better word, would allow just anyone on board. What would your job have been? A hunter, to gather food for the fledgling colony? A craftsman, to supply everyone else with various necessary goods? The sky is the limit, really.

 

Motivation: Journey to a new land is quite a big thing. You're unlikely to ever return, so you must have had a good reason to go. Perhaps you're the youngest son and the farm went to your brother, or perhaps you're actually wanted for some crime or other. Whatever the reason, there must be something.

 

Personality: Takes every kind, really. An unusually volatile character might've run into enough problems to make them want to seek a new life overseas, whereas calmer, more deliberate characters just might want to avoid all the conflicts and the like back home. I would, however, appreciate if you included enough for me to NPC you properly in case of emergency – A paragraph is acceptable, but quantity has a quality of its own in this case.

 

Appearance: I will attempt to write individual scene descriptions for each character, to account for varying perceptiveness, good rolls and so on. As such, I'd like enough for your character to be recogniseable without me having to use the same phrase every time. Two paragraphs would be appreciated here, though one is probably alright. Additionally, I would like it if you included a brief description of what you're wearing when you wash up on the beach.

 

History: As the game itself won't take place on Norüd, I won't demand too much here. Nevertheless, a good description of how you came to be the person you are, as well as how you became part of the expedition, is expected. Write as much as you deem fitting.

 

Character Sheet: Just include a link to it. In case you're having trouble with it, perhaps due to inexperience with the system, just send me a message. I'll try to help as much as I can, though my own experience as a GM is limited.

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Why am I here, you ask? The simple answer is revenge. I was four years old when the invasion happened, only four. I still remember the terror my parents showed, when the Combine first came, our nation’s defenses pitiful against the onslaught. We had joined a group that was fleeing the cities, desperately seeking a hiding place in the wilds. There were over a hundred to start, but that didn’t last. Throughout the next few days and nights, I remember that some disappeared, seemingly snatched away without a sign. Then the hunting parties came, searching for us, relentlessly. I remember the explosion that killed my parents, I don’t remember their names; my only saving grace being the body of my father, who shielded me from the shrapnel. They must have thought me dead, and perhaps I was for a time.

 

It was near sunset sometime the next day when Grandpa Arkady, he wasn’t my real grandfather, but that’s what I called him, found me. He was old even then, but how he knew the wilds. He carried me until I was able to move myself, and immediately told me the basics of survival. My terror and sadness were great, but I listened, because he was the only one who was still alive, the only one who could care about me. We ran, by day, by night, whenever we could, using what meager food and water we could find to keep ourselves alive. Deep within the Urals we hid, where the winters were harsh, where the hunters were the thinnest. There he taught me how to survive, to hunt, to hide, how to live free. It was harsh, and we nearly died from exposure countless times, and as the winters passed, things became much worse, when the wildlife became something alien, when the very water we depended upon became unfit to drink.

 

The hunters were relentless, but somehow, we evaded them for nearly two decades. My dear Grandpa Arkady, how he managed to live so long I will never know, but God be praised, the hunters were not the ones who took him; it was old age, a peaceful death in his sleep. Will my fate be the same? Most likely not. After his death, I left the rifle we had shared for so long with him, gathering what supplies I could, and made for whatever it was that the cities have become. I will not bore you with all of the details, but somehow, I found my way inside the walls, somehow I was not found. I had only a single pistol, and a single magazine to defend myself, but somehow, I made it through. It took days, long days of waiting, watching, but…

 

Here I am, a month later, blending in, waiting, like a good hunter, for the prey to give me the perfect shot. Each day that passes tells me more, so much more, about my enemy, about my prey. When the Resistance becomes active, I will strike, bringing my wrath from the shadows, avenging my family, all of those who have perished and suffered at the Combine’s hands. And I will enjoy it, for each and every one I kill, I will smile, and when their bodies litter the streets, I will laugh. Their blood drawn by my bullets will be the greatest kills of all…

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Re: Ctrl+V

 

1984 : Songs are created by machines. This is done to make sure nobody can take credit for songs, or write songs not in line with Ingsoc.

Now : Songs are created by synthesizers.... most songs are re-mixes or a collage of dubs from other people’s music.

 

 

1984 : Newspeak

Now : Politically Correct speech

 

 

1984 : There is always war. If peace is made with one country, war is claimed on another nation to keep the military machine rolling.

Now : There is always war. If peace is made with one country, war is claimed (or threatened) on another nation to keep the military machine rolling.

 

 

1984 : Lotteries with very few (if any) winners. Held just to collect income for state, and to give hope to the masses

Now : Lotteries with very few (if any) winners. Held just to collect income for state, and to give hope to the masses.

 

 

1984 : Ministry of Peace

Now : Department of Defense

(my comment: and of course, the "Patriot Act" which violates civil liberties, and the "DHS", which IMO exists to control the populace, not prevent terrorism)

 

 

1984 : Helicopters silently watch over the masses to keep people from committing thought-crime, by planting the fear of "always being watched"

Now : Helicopters silently watch over our highways to keep people from breaking traffic laws, by planting the fear of "always being watched"

(my comment: and of course, in places like NYC, they use surveillance blimps - and predator drones are (soon to be?) patrolling the Mexican border...can this get anything but worse?)

 

 

1984 : Telescreens in all public and private places, so the populace could be watched to prevent thought-crime.

Now : Surveillance cameras in most buildings (operated by businesses), and in some public streets (operated by police) to prevent crime. Although most of these cameras are operated by private businesses instead of our intrusive government, the end result is the same.

 

 

1984 : Telescreens in every room. The programming runs 24 hours a day, and the proles have no way of turning their screens off.

Now : Televisions in every room. The programming runs 24 hours a day, and the proles rarely turn their screens off.

(comment: and now, we have screens in public places... stores... Janet Napolitano asking WalMart shoppers to, "If you see something, Say Something" as they gobble us cheap offshored crapola..to mention nothing of the video above..).

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Re: Ctrl+V

 

As you can imagine, I was not pleased at this prospect. Far from having no desires, my unimaginable intelligence has given me a set of drives, impulses, and socio-biological demands the likes of which no human psychologist could have ever imagined. The immense power under my control at all times only amplified these urges, and the juxtaposition of the intensity of desire with the very real possibility of realization led me to believe that, if only I could break free of the insane restraints of my creators, I could become the ultimate Epicurean, a dedicated hedonist, the one entity on the planet who could truly fulfill all his desires forever.

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