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Paint it Orange; Age of Colonization Roleplay Thread
Topic Started: Aug 25 2010, 01:04 PM (487 Views)
East Anarx
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Anarchitect

Paint it Orange
Age of Colonization Roleplay


Age of Colonization Information Thread
Age of Colonization OOC Thread

Tristan da Cunha
 
The game can commence effective immediately...

Amsterdam, 1557

It rained mercilessly, multitudinous drops forming in rivulets and streams on the cobbled stone road, eventually making their way into the harbor and out into the North Sea. A robed and hooded figure stood alone on a pier. Before her, a galleon emerged from the sheets of water falling from the sky.

Hagbard Celine, his huge orange beard dripping wet, walked down the gang-plank towards the waiting woman on the dock. "I have come through with my side of the bargain." He said, before spitting into the water.

Kehara Jund held out a bag of doubloons to Hagbard. He judged them by weight in his hands before shouting something incomprehensible at the ship's waiting crew.

Kehara watched as a dozen men unloaded five crates, one by one, and hauled them to her nearby carriage. She piled in after them and the driver set off. It would be a long ride back to Antwerp, but now she had her guns, though much use they would be if she tried using them in this weather. Fifty arquebuses, (or was it arquebi?) of "Nipponese manufacture," or so Hagbard had claimed. And of course plenty of powder, ball, and shot, if only she could keep it dry...
Edited by East Anarx, Aug 27 2010, 02:42 PM.
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Tristan da Cunha
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Science and Industry
A man dressed in the latest Italian dandy fashion observed the transaction on the pier from a hidden location through a brass speculum. The dandy's intense, smallpox-marred expression was not as gay as his dress. When the transaction was completed he stepped from his hidden location and waved his hand in some pre-appointed signal; men appeared from the crowds to confront the orange bearded seadog. "After the car!" shouted the dandy, and other men on horseback obeyed, seemingly appearing out of nowhere but now in full pursuit of the young woman, armor and weapons clanging with the rhythm of horse's gallop.

OOC: Environments, events, and characters are entirely open ended in RP; for example- you can post that the pursuers are blasted to smithereens with gunpowder if you so choose, and you can specify that the pursuers do not find out the identity of the pursued.
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New Harumf
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Bloodthirsty Unicorn
Jesus Rodriguez rode with haste, neck and neck with the others chasing the wagon full of crates. His armor weighed him down heavily but he had faith in his steed's stamina and strength. Yes, he answered the posted notice asking for volunteers for a "special" mission - asking for men with their own arms, and yes, he was to get paid when this mission was over, money he needed desperately to escape from the small hovel he lived in, but deep down he couldn't help but wonder who he was working for, and what was their "game". They were gaining on the wagon, and would soon overtake it.
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Aelius
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Norman Warlord
Marcus Van De Mirn sat in his upper office, overlooking the city of Antwerp. While his sons below set to his carpenter business, he looked out towards the port and his small trading fleet. His entire life, he longed for the great adventure of the sea. The New World seemed open to him, if only he had ships that could make the journey. The company that he was involved with allowed him to get some money based in the trade of Baltic cod, but he would need a more significant amount of wealth to become the seafaring trader and adventurer he longed to be.
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East Anarx
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Anarchitect

As soon as Hagbard noticed the cavalry pursue the carriage and the group of men approaching him, he let out a mighty, wordless, battle-roar. He drew his cutlass and stood on the gang-plank, preparing to meet these new foes. He held the high ground, and the gang-plank was only wide enough for one man to stand on safely, so anyone attempting to storm his ship would have to come up at him one-by-one. His crew heard the roar and rushed to their stations at windows of the galleon, armed with muskets of various make and quality.

Kehara heard Hagbard's roar over the thundering hooves and pouring rain, and she turned to look out the rear window of the carriage. Pursuers on horseback, at least five of them, and they were gaining on her. She turned back to the crates, and took a crowbar to the first one. Inside gleamed shiny new guns and neat little water-resistant loading kits, all marked with an undecipherable oriental symbol. She grabbed one and began loading it carefully, then held it up to her shoulder and aimed out the rear window at the nearest pursuer.

BOOM!

The ringing in Kehara's ears seemed to go on forever, and smoke billowed from the windows. Finally her head and the air cleared and she could survey the damage she had done.
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New Harumf
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Bloodthirsty Unicorn
Jesus saw the flash, then heard the dull "thud" as the ball hit his helmet. Luckily, it waswn't a squyare-on hit, but it had enough force to de-horse him. He hit the ground with a thud, and everything went black. He was unconsious, but his helm had saved his life.
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East Anarx
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Anarchitect

The flash and cloud of smoke had startled some of the other horses, bucking their riders, but two of the bastards were still on Kehara's tail and gaining. She had loaded a single ball last time, but decided to use a load of smaller shot this time. After meticulously pouring the powder and loading the shot, she turned back to the window, aimed, and fired. As the smoke cleared, Kehara could see that both of the horses had taken damage and their riders could no longer give chase.

Antwerp

The storm had since passed through the city by the time Kehara arrived, but dirty puddles remained in potholes in the streets and sidewalks. The first rays of morning sunlight were peeking over the horizon, casting long shadows from the east. Her carriage pulled up to the back of the church, where her cohorts unloaded the cargo and took it downstairs. Within minutes, she had freshened up, changed into a modest and plain-looking dress, and planted her ass on one of the uncomfortable church pews, awaiting the minister to begin his sermon. Usually, the congregation was few more than five or six people, mostly fellow conspirators but occasionally a new outside visitor or two. It was a play that was well-scripted, and all the actors knew their parts.
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Menhad
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ET2(IDW)
Friedrich had successfully followed the cart, though he was not working with the other men. He had jumped rooftop to rooftop, and managed to keep his eyes on the carriage. He watched as men unload the carriage and watched the young women head inside the church. He climbed down the building he was standing on and slipped through the front door, and sat in the back.

His sword was hidden in his large coat, but he gripped it tightly, for he felt that this was no ordinary church. It was too empty, and the fact that men unloaded crates into the back of it made the whole thing put him on edge. But he mastered his emotions, a skill that served him well in a Spanish prison, and proceeded to watch the few people.
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Al Araam
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Demigod of Death & Inactivity

Melech Feininger carefully checked the massive, six-inch thick ledger for the third time that evening. The wiry, curly-haired man was more attached to his books than he was to any other person or thing in the world. Perhaps he had no choice but to obsess over them. After all, his entire existence was contained within those dog-eared pages. His money-lending business was his life. He nodded in satisfaction as he finished reading the final column of figures, closed the massive ledger, locked it in the top drawer of his massive desk, and blew out the candles that lit his workspace.

The sun had already dipped below the horizon as Melech left his office and stepped into the streets of Brielle. The paved street running the half mile to the harbor on the New Maas River. Normally, Melech would avoid the area around the docks, but tonight the promise of a tidy profit tugged him fiercely toward a seedy establishment near the port, the Dark Horse Tavern. Swinging the unlit lantern at his side, Melech headed down the gently sloping drive toward the harbor. He knew his way around the middling-sized town by heart, so his concentration on matters of doubloons, risk, rewards, interest, and profits never wavered.
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East Anarx
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Anarchitect

The service was excruciatingly boring. The preacher droned on in his terribly monotonous voice, reading obscure and pointless scripture. He was lost somewhere in Leviticus, from what Kehara could tell. Far more interesting to her was discretely surveying the day's new visitors. Besides herself, the six co-conspirators scattered amongst the pews and the minister at the pulpit, Kehara counted two strange faces. It was not unusual to have outside visitors, and occasionally if judged worthy they might be given the opportunity to join the true congregation.

The stranger with the heavy coat sat in the very back row of pews. Even from the front, Kehara could smell the foul sweaty stench of the man. His breathing seemed to suggest an ever-so-slight shortness of breath, as one might have after light exercise. She chanced a sideways glance in his direction but his face betrayed no glimpse of his emotional state.

The other stranger sat near the back also, but he was obviously bored to death and not at all subtle about it. He yawned, rolled his eyes, shifted his substantial weight on the creaking pews.

Both men were rather large, well-muscled, and looked like the thuggish type. Kehara wondered what their motivations were for coming here. Might they be working together? That they both just randomly stopped in this dreary Sunday morning to be spiritually fulfilled, to drink at the well of salvation as it were, seemed unlikely. Anything was possible, though.

Suddenly, she realized that the preacher was in the middle of a prayer, and so she bowed her head and said a few sacrileges under her breath and then "Amen."

The sermon was over, apparently, as the preacher, an old and withered-looking fellow, limped away from the pulpit like a wounded animal and disappeared through a back door. Her fellow conspirators were making their way casually towards the front door, (as if to leave the church and go about their respective business,) and towards the silent strangers.
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