<div align="center">Interest Check (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=134004.0)<br/>IC Topic (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=134184.0)<br/><br/><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;"><strong>[</strong><strong>Dust on the Dunes</strong><strong>]</strong></span><br/>(http://wildarms.webs.com/drifters.png)<br/><br/>The dust settles and the dunes dissipate, although the Drifters feel nothing but discontent. The same star of adventure once sought by the Drifters shines luminously no more. <br/> <br/>The smoke of adventure and exploration was clearing just as the gunpowder settled. The wasteland was becoming more and more serene, day by day and every Drifter knew it. Most of Filgaia had been mapped and the Wasteland lost its appeal and danger.<br/> <br/><em>But that was all about to change... </em></div><br/><hr/><hr/><strong>[The Genre]</strong>: Western, Light Romance, Light Sci-Fi  .<br/><strong>[The Writing Level]</strong>: Advanced<br/><strong>[The Inspiration]</strong>: Wild Arms, Spaghetti Western movies, Dark Tower series, Die Hard<br/><strong>[The Players]</strong>: 4-6 Slots.<br/><strong>.Acid (Amos Williams) </strong><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">   Name: Amos Williams<br/>   Age: 32<br/>   Gender: Male <br/>   Orientation: Bi-Curious<br/>   Height: 5'10"<br/>   Weight: 130lbs<br/>   ARM:  Mjolnir Mark Y-UF88 (Winchester Rifle)<br/>   Tools: [Bread Crumbs] Marks areas Amos has visited, ensuring he doesn’t get lost.<br/>   Appearance: (http://i41.tinypic.com/18lx6a.png)<br/><br/>From head to toe, Amos was the quintessential cowboy, although he wasn’t particularly striking or memorable. On his head wore a light-gray ten-gallon hat that veiled a small portion of his face. Underneath his hat, his auburn hair was becoming charred and slowly graying. The “salt and pepper” was thoroughly spread out over his head.  However, his gradually graying hair was not due to age, but rather stress. <br/><br/>•   <strong>Personality:</strong> Amos Williams has a relatively ambiguous, yet distinguished personality. <br/>As evidenced by his style of dress, Amos is a minimalist of sorts; he is extremely carefree when it comes to personal vices and troubles; although he lets the troubles of the world bother him. <br/><br/>In addition, he also has a genuine interest in astronomy. Amos, an avid stargazer, loves observing every aspect of nature and the serenity of natural life. In this sense, he is quite the romantic. When Amos is not patrolling his town of Happy Alex, or killing off the beasts that plague the area around his town, he can be found working on his ARM or reading mechanical and astronomy manuals.<br/>Although Amos is very carefree and may seem to have his head in the clouds at times (or in his case the stars,) he is not at all vapid, but instead is a very shrewd man. His family was very affluent at one time, but Amos tries his best not to judge individuals based on class differences. <br/><br/>Regardless of the affluence of Amos's family, he was not brought up as a spoiled child. Although he led a privileged childhood, his father, who was also once the Sheriff of Happy Alex, instilled good morals into Amos.<br/><br/>He is calm and collected when presented with a challenge or confrontation. Although he is somewhat low-maintenance and passive in some areas of life, he is a genuinely compassionate, friendly and personable individual who will not hesitate to help those in need, regardless of whether or not he likes them. Amos has been described as lazy, but this is simply because he isn't easily inspired and finds many things a waste of time such as washing the dishes or making his bed. <br/><br/>Sherriff Williams, as he’s sometimes called, is often authoritative and quick to pick up the slack of others, even when insecure about his abilities. His job assures that being decisive is a prerequisite, as he wastes no time in making a decision or assuming the role of leader, if nobody else steps forth to do so. He secretly gets some degree of satisfaction in having people follow him and listen to what he preaches, but Amos also appreciates the support of others. <br/><br/>Amos Williams is not all that different from your average Joe in that he enjoys the simple things in life, in addition to being somewhat lazy (although Amos would disagree) and a bit of a slob. But don’t let his over-passiveness be misconstrued as having a timid demeanor; Amos is not afraid to have all eyes on him and has no qualms about speaking to a large group of people. Often those who exert confidence and authority are the people of whose words we take heed. With his educational and professional background, Amos has the smarts and wherewithal to take control when needed. <br/><br/><br/>•   <strong>Writing Sample:</strong><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">In the quaint, almost indiscernible, township of Novam, life seems to stand still. The humble countryside town gets very few visitors throughout the year and when they do, the whole town is in a ruckus and scrambles to acquire information about this new visitor. But on this dreary Autumn night, the whole town is in a ruckus to fend themselves from a horde of new visitors. The town hasn't seen this many visitors in decades, but the citizens of Novam are much too busy hacking and slashing to find out anything about their "visitors." <br/><br/>A loud crunch noise is heard - the sound of wood collapsing. A group of robed men in black garb have breached the city wall and are pouring in like water from a faucet, into the town of Novam. <br/><br/>"Fall back! Everyone move towards the town square! Fall back!" a young General called to his soldiers.<br/><br/>The group hesitated leaving the bodies of their fallen comrades there, but quickly made up their minds as the advance of the robed men continued. The last remaining fortunate soldiers sprinted to Ye Olde Ale, a pub-inn which on any given night was a place for cameradarie, but tonight it is a haven for the soldiers. <br/><br/>"Barricade the door! Stop them from getting in," a young Cleric shouted to his allies by the door. <br/><br/>The soldiers grabbed an oak wood plank and sealed the door shut. Thudding and pounding could be heard on the other side as the hinges of the door trembled. As the robed men gathered and coalesced outside of the inn, everyone's mind began to race. For now, they were in a sanctuary, but the small militia had barricaded themselves indoors with absolutely no supplies. <br/><br/>The young Cleric looked towards his friends, an Archer, Warrior and Sorceress, with a look of desperation.<br/><br/>"What shall we do?" the Cleric asked his friends. "We can't stay in here forever..."<br/><br/>"Sounds like a good idea, Kallen," Set replied.<br/><br/>He quickly scanned the room for anything that might potentially help his party, but found nothing. He did, however, see many of his wounded comrades, doubled over in pain on the floor. Although his curative magic was weak, it would provide some temporary relief to the soldiers and it was Set Palais's duty to keep their morale up. <br/><br/>"Uggggh," groaned a wounded soulder. He winced painfully and grinded his teeth as he clutched his stomach - a prominent wound was seeping blood steadily and the infantryman was going pale. <br/><br/>Set only knew basic curative magic and it wouldn't do much to alleviate the man's wounds, but he had to try. <br/><br/>"Step aside, I'm a Cleric." Set commanded, and the remaining soldiers that were huddled around their wounded comrade moved away.<br/><br/>"This won't mend your wound fully, friend, but hopefully it will help you feel better," the Cleric informed the soldier of his intention to "operate" on him. Set closed his eyes, hovered his palms a few inches away from the soldier's wound and concentrated. Pretty soon, a group of faint blue light, in the shape of orbs, began to emanate from Set's palms and spread out over the wound. The dim sky-blue lights suddenly brightened for a split second, first once, then two more times. Set opened his eyes and spoke: "How's that? Hopefully that mended your wound somewhat, comrade." <br/><br/>"Th-that...was amazing. Thank you! I feel magnitudes better and I think you stopped the bleeding," the soldier caressed his wound to ascertain the state it was in and was shocked to find that his skin had regrown over it and a scab was beginning to form. He stood up energetically as if to say "look, I'm fine," however when he stood, realized that there was still some minor pain in the area, but nothing a military man wouldn't be able to tough out. "Sire, I've no pain at all! Thank you," the soldier lied as if trying to appease the Cleric for his deed. Set's fellow soldiers, seemingly distracted from the onslaught of enemies outside of the pub, watched Set's healing magic work and their spirits seemed higher - almost as if a weight was lifted.</div></div></div></div><br/><strong>.Iridum248 (Arisa Thornton)</strong><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">•   Name: Arisa Thornton<br/>•   Age : 23<br/>•   Gender: Female<br/>•   Orientation: Heterosexual. <br/>•   Height: 5'9"<br/>•   Weight: 130 pounds<br/>•   Appearance:<br/>(http://dl.dropbox.com/u/8073552/afternoon.jpg)<br/><br/>•   ARM: DOG-1 (Russian 12.5mm Revolver, fires 32-gauge shotgun shells.)<br/>•   Tools: [Thespian's Guise] - Shaped like a lady's compact, this cunning device allows the user to alter her appearance in cosmetic ways. Arisa prefers to use it to change her hair and eye colour, as according to her tastes...But it can also be used to camouflage the user, with little mess. (It's most effective when the user stands perfectly still.)<br/><br/>•   Personality: Arisa's a thrillseeker, an adventuress - She's wandered the dusty trails for years, now, looking for that one big score. She's really in it for the delight of seeing new things, and meeting new people; Rather mischievous in her own right, she's hardly a 'proper' girl, drifting from town to town and ruin to ruin, with nary a worry. Perpetually short of coin, she's usually cooling her heels from spending her money as fast as she makes it, which has left her more-or-less perpetually travelling...After all, a taste for the the high life doesn't come cheap.  <br/><br/>While she's rather flighty (and hedonistic!) in person, she's reliable enough when hitting the trail - After all, there's a time for everything, and staying focused through the rough patches means you're more likely to appreciate the good times more. So far, she's survived through a combination of luck, charm and low cunning - But her finances are running low again, and it seems like a new expedition is in the offering...</div></div><br/><strong>.Flightzeit (Maude Dresner)</strong><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body"><strong>Name:</strong> Maude Dresner <br/>Age : 25<br/>Gender: Female<br/>Orientation: Bisexual <br/>Height: 5"4<br/>Weight: 125 pounds<br/><br/>Appearance:<br/>(http://i256.photobucket.com/albums/hh164/stripedstockings/hey.jpg)<br/><br/><strong>Personality:</strong> Maude Dresner, at the heart of everything, is the average child of an average family in the desert west. Her family did not wish to get involved in any sort of shady business such as saloons, started the smallest of inns. Maude, being the child of a business-owning family, grew up in happy content helping her parents with guests even to the point in which she was expecting to take over the inn when her parents aged. Yet, life seemed to have other plans for young Maude. Late one evening, the Dresner's inn had the most interesting of guests – a dirtied young man with a tired look on his face. Barely able to stand, upon entering the inn, the man sat down defeated in a chair and handed Maude's parents a small pouch of jewels. <br/><br/>Never had she been so intrigued by a guest. His scruffy appearance spoke of experiences she would never get working at an inn. His money spoke of wealth that Maude would never be able to comprehend if she stayed in her small town. And his gun, though stealthily hidden, spoke of a power Maude yearned for. <br/><br/>Reaching the age of 18, Maude left her home for adventures that called for her. Despite facing many dangers – robbers, con men, animals, and a variety of other things one stumbles upon in the wild wasteland – Maude continued her travels. Constantly, she took up odd  jobs to earn enough money to take her to the next place (and, when a thing such as that did not succeed, she was never above tricking some rich fat cat into playing a game of cards with her to win some extra money through less-than-fair ways). When she was not taking up odd jobs, Maude explored caverns and empty spaces on maps – collecting forgotten treasures along the way. <br/><br/>Thus, Maude's life as a drifter was established. A once-restrained woman who escaped her family's dull existence in search of knowledge, wealth, and power she would never acquire working at an inn.<br/><br/>Writing Sample: <div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">Upon searching for the right word to describe her mood, Agathe Leclerc could only come up with one word: annoyance. She was a woman of science and waiting around for some dandy was not how she wanted to spend her day. There was simply too much to think about for her to just wait. The hazel eyes that adorned her porcelain face could not focus on the small dining table in front of her or the food laid out in spirals and patterns. The room around Agathe was beautiful – complex tapestries of days long passed hung from ceiling and exquisite art was placed across the wall. But, it did not matter. Agathe's mind was thinking about her newly successful experiment. <br/><br/>So many months ago, the lithe redhead had decided that she would attempt an experiment scoffed at by by mainstream science. Agathe wished to reanimate a corpse – or rather, she wished to bring someone back from the dead. Books upon books on the subject claimed that such a feat was impossible, yet Agathe would not take that as an answer. And thus she began to work. Hours upon hours, the scientist worked. The experiments funded by the man she would be meeting with today, Agathe needed to do nothing else but focus on her work. There were so many mistakes, so many mishaps, so many bodies and corpses wasted. Eventually there was victory. Only two nights ago had Agathe brought The Creature to life. She had proved herself smarter than the male scientists before her, and she was proved that a human could be as resourceful as a phoenix – capable of rebirth and to live a life once again alight. <br/><br/>Now the creature was quietly locked up in the depth's of the castle's basement, awaiting Agathe's return. Part of her felt guilt. How could she leave the poor creature – without a clue as to how he got there – locked up? Yet, Agathe knew there was very little she could do. If the creature ran around the castle, he would surely frighten the servants. The last thing the scientist needed was for a crowd of servants to run away from the castle and start spreading rumors as to what was happening. <br/><br/>Because of this Agathe was alone in awaiting her financial sponsor, and she had shooed away the servants upon her arrival so that she could discuss the experiment in private. Part of her was thrilled at telling him the newest development. Yet, part of her still found herself annoyed by him and by her own experiment's financial dependence on him. In her own form of defiance, Agathe refused to wear the petticoat and skirt assigned to her gender. Rather, she wore men's pants and a tight, red blouse. As if to laugh in the face of expectations. And, oh did Agathe hope that such an outfit would surprise the man, cause him to think twice about the mousey scientist that occupied his castle's basement. This combined with the news of the monster's creation was something that Agathe was all too ready to discuss with the hopes of shocking the man.<br/><br/>While waiting, her idle thoughts began to get the best of her. Part of her wondered of the monster, if he was safe. She had not once – except to bathe and sleep – left the monster's side. She hoped with all hope that he was still okay, that he wasn't making a disaster of her laboratory. The thoughts began to shift back to her financier, and a gut fear filled her stomach. What if attempted to make the creature public? What if, upon reaching such an amazing goal, Agathe was kicked to the curb?<br/><br/>Attempting to shudder such negative thoughts away, Agathe lazily took a bite of a cracker at the dining table. The grandfather clock carefully sitting next to a one of the castle's stone walls displayed a time of 10:05. “Of course he's late,” Agathe mumbled to herself as she laid back in the chair and closed her eyes, “Stupid, stupid people.”</div></div></div></div><br/><strong>.TheHangedMan (Crimson)</strong><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">•   Name: Crimson<br/>•   Age : Appears to be in his twenties<br/>•   Gender: Male<br/>•   Orientation: Straight<br/>•   Height: 5'10<br/>•   Weight: 200 lbs.<br/>•   Appearance: Crimson gets his name from the the dark red, leather (with cloth hood) cloak he wears, at almost all times.  It keeps the dust off of him, and the material provides some decent protection from monsters.  Underneath the cloak, he wears a very old, worn out, and only half-working kevlar vest. He also wears leather pants, and thick soled traveling boots that are steel-toed and have small, unlit LEDs along the side of them.<br/><br/>•   ARM:  Infiltrator (The base weapon is an MP5SD4; however, it has been heavily modified, and includes a fully integrated advanced silencer, fixed butt stock with recoil dampener, and forward pistol grip. Uses a 45 round expanded magazine)<br/>•   Tools: Jumper Boots. When activated, they allow the person to spring up to ten feet upwards into the air.<br/><br/><br/> <br/>• Personality: Crimson is driven by a greed of a sort; the greed for knowledge. He often takes on tasks that involve braving ruins, because he can learn much from them. He is generally a decent person, though he has a quick temper when it comes to people that are naive, or holier-then-thou. He can be downright cruel to those who antagonize or betray him. Usually calm, and logic oriented, but again, is easily provoked into an emotional response when people act "stupid" (in a non-logical manner). Although somewhat young, he is beginning to be known for his reliability and tenacity. <br/><br/>• WRITING SAMPLE: <div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">An explosion? He thinks that might be the last thing that happened before he blacked out. His vision faded in and out, in and out, and tried to focus on the man--was it a man?-- that was trying to pull him up to his feet, telling him to be steady and take it easy, though all Crimson could hear was some distant, droning noise that made no sense. <br/><br/>Green... hair? Yeah, this guy's hair was green. What in the hell caused that? He shook his head a bit, and tried to focus in on the bespectacled man that was still talking.  "...Alright?" came the man, with the first clear word he could make sense of.<br/><br/>"No. I'm not alright. My head is pounding." Crimson stumbled away from the man for a few steps, only to find a table to rest against; the dizziness had gone, but his legs felt like jelly. He could swear he could feel them jiggling around, and boneless, though the feeling would pass soon.<br/><br/>He didn't know where he was; or who he was with. Hell, what was the last thing he could recall? Screams, and shouts, and gunshots. Fire, and smoke, and darkness. A dreamless sleep. "You should take it steady, you know. You've been through quite the ordeal."<br/><br/>"You're telling me." Something raced across his mind, a figment of a memory; something completely intangible, but which he reached out and tried to grasp at anyway, only succeeding marginally in doing so. "My things. I need my gear."<br/><br/>The green haired man was willing to oblige, and eventually, Crimson found himself with ARM and armor, that seemed to be far too old. The two chattered, as they slowly made their way out of the facility, and tried to put together just what in the hell it was that had happened, and what it was that he would do now.</div></div></div></div><br/><strong>.Headlights (Caleb Barker)</strong><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">Name: Caleb Barker, but known to many drifters by different titles: "Doc", "Professor", "Colonel", and "The Chinaman"<br/>Age: 45<br/>Gender: Male<br/>Orientation: Straight<br/>Height: 5'11"<br/>Weight: 165<br/><br/>Appearance: Shoulder length black hair, extremely pale white skin, calloused and scarred hands and arms. With fingers ground down to weathered bone and a permanent encrusting of dense black stubble, Caleb is not really a looker. Under extremely bulky clothing he is surprisingly lean. On one arm he has what some claim are ancient Oriental markings: in fact, they are dust tattoos from when he was on a chain gang; his thin, slitted eyes also give him an Oriental look, but their dark blue irises suggest this is misleading. He usually speaks only through the corner of his mouth and has twitchy mannerisms, almost scuttling like a crab. He always wears too many clothes, even in the desert heat, including a long black coat that conceals his arm, and has dusty military decorations on his shirt front. Many of his clothes were obviously once expensive, but are now dusty and frayed. The only item of clothing that looks new and well cared for are his boots, which always seem well polished and clean: those who look closer might notice, however, that it seems like he actually acquires an entirely new set of boots every few days.<br/><br/>ARM: Colt M1878 double action revolver<br/>Tools: Small satchel containing medical equipment (but see notes)<br/><br/>Personality: A drifter of some repute who is rumoured to be a doctor, former Army officer, university professor, and many other things, Caleb is in fact only one thing, a scavenger. Every item of his clothing and every personal possession has been looted, mostly from the dead. He has a medical satchel slung over his shoulder, but the only items in it he really knows how to use are anti-venoms. He is incredibly vague and secretive about his past to cover, allowing people to believe that he really is a doctor, an Oriental, or whatever wild fantasy is being shared by the drifters today.<br/><br/>Caleb tends to travel with others by day, but slink off to sleep alone at night. He is pathologically distrustful, and earns a similar lack of trust by taking any object he desires. If confronted by someone rightly or wrongly accusing him of stealing from them he will fight with a fury belying his relative lack of bulk, but will use his sidearm or other weapons only as an absolute last resort. He is a decent, but not particularly accomplished, shot, and does not actively seek out fights.<br/><br/>In fact, the core of his moral ambiguity is that he hates violence and will be helpful to those he sees in trouble, sometimes stopping by drifter families with children to share food and water, or even occasionally parting with a treasured item. However, once someone has died, he has no problem stripping them of everything they owned and held dear in life. His hoarding of objects exceeds that which he needs to stay alive: sometimes he is so laden down he has to slow down.<br/><br/>Because drifter camps and settlements often try to keep him on as a camp doctor, and he knows he will be discovered, he rarely stays in once place, constantly moving on. As such, various rumours about him are never actively rebutted, and by the time his deceptions and thefts are known, he has already moved on. It is possible other drifter characters will have heard of him, but only in vague and generalised terms.<br/><br/>He is friendly to anyone he thinks poses no threat, obsequious to those he sees a chance of stealing from, kind to those with families or children, or the sick or injured or weak, but standoffish and aloof around anyone who asks any questions. He constantly avoids direct eye contact and if pressed for answers will usually back out and leave.<br/><br/>Caleb's motivation for joining the quest is twofold: firstly, he cannot resist the allure of the potential for plunder, although he is as yet undecided about how much of that he will be willing to share with those who go along with them; secondly, he is no longer a young man, and the drifting lifestyle is wearing on him. A big haul might enable him to settle down somewhere, and put his scavenging days behind him.<br/></div></div><br/><strong>LovesReading2 (Nicolette Austin)</strong><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">Name:  Nicolette Danielle Austin /  Goes by Nic or Nicky<br/>Age : 21<br/>Gender: Female<br/>Orientation: straight<br/>Height: 5’7”<br/>Weight: 123 pounds<br/>ARM:  Heckler &amp; Koch USP Match - 9x19mm<br/><br/>Tools: <em>Bullwhip:</em> used not only for self defence but also to navigate tricky landscapes, such as using it as a rope in order to swing over wide moats or caverns. Not to mention a handy thing to have when in the need to subdue a man, should the need to tie him to a tree naked take her fancy. <br/><br/><strong>Personality:</strong><br/>Nicky can come across as being cold when in fact she is simply reserved, erring on cautious when it comes to others . She doesn't feel the need to say much in order to get her point across. Her clear blue eyes are extremely expressive, often revealing her true feelings without the need for a war of words; one cold glare often does the trick. When she does speak, she does so with a soft feminine voice, in direct contrast with the image she portrays. Her temper is quick to boil (especially if someone uses her full name), often resulting in a slash of her sharp tongue. Her figure is quite eye catching, leaving no uncertainty in the minds of the opposite sex that she is all woman, regardless to her crude behavior.  Her body language often takes on a few of the more masculine traits, such as sitting with her legs open and spitting as she works on keeping the blades of her knifes sharp.  Her role as quiet observer however, helps her learn more about the others without having to reveal information about herself as she is very secretive about her past.<br/><br/>She will work well with others when properly motivated, and is capable of keeping up with her fellow Drifters, sharing her load of the work without complaint. Nicky is dependable, and capable of following orders (even if she doesn't think it's the correct path, she will go along with the leader out of respect). Her long term goal is to get the planet back to its former glory, returning to her hometown and family farm, in order to work the land as generations of her family had done before her. <br/><br/>Growing up on a farm with her parents and two brothers, they were a hard working, down to earth people. They took great pride in their produce, offering the best in their area for fresh fruits and vegetables. As the planet began to change, so did the families ability produce its offerings, greatly resulting in the dilapidation of their family home and farm. It took a great toll on the family, splitting it at its core. Furthering the downfall of her family was the death of Nic’s mother and older brother. Unable to afford the medical attention required, Susan Austin died of an aggressive virus that ravaged her body and spread to Joshua Austin, the oldest of the Austin children.  Concerned for his family, Victor Austin took his remaining family and headed south, hoping to meet up with family. On the way they came across a group of Drifters.  After spending time with them, and enjoying a taste of freedom that life had to offer, Nic decided to stay with the Drifters, joining their band of adventurers  in search of others in need of help rather than continuing south with her father and remaining sibling. <br/><br/><br/>WRITING SAMPLE: <br/><br/>http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=127677.msg5937073#msg5937073 (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=127677.msg5937073#msg5937073)<br/>http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=107025.msg5953347#msg5953347 (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=107025.msg5953347#msg5953347)<br/>http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=100024.msg4342477#msg4342477 (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=100024.msg4342477#msg4342477)<br/>http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=110474.msg5951992#msg5951992 (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=110474.msg5951992#msg5951992)</div></div><br/><hr/><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><strong>[The World]</strong>:</span><br/><br/><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">Filgaia is the name of the world in which we live. It is a virtually lifeless desert: the land is long dried up and growing even meager amounts of produce for food is impossible without two green thumbs.<br/> <br/>The population of Filgaia is very sparse, with only a few small towns scattered between the endless expanse of dirt. Towns typically only reach a few dozen families. The people are surviving, but barely thriving. Many are afraid to leave their towns for fear of what lies beyond. If the harsh Wasteland doesn't get you, the beasts will.<br/> <br/>The main mode of transportation is the surprisingly efficient system of railroads and trains throughout Filgaia. However, those who are more financially-strapped, traverse the Wasteland on horseback. Only a few dare to trek the land on foot. Even the most hardened Drifters would advise against going out on foot. The only people that have any reason to wander outside the sanctity of their villages and homes are Drifters and a few determined merchants with enough bravado to ignore the risks in exchange for money.  <br/> <br/>Technology in Filgaia is at a standstill. Since the advent of the train and sandship, technology has not progressed at all. Due to people being unable to leave their towns,, information takes a long time to travel between places. The Wasteland is treacherous and the monsters just add to the fear of leaving the safety of the various villages and towns in which the population of Filgaia resides.</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><br/><hr/><hr/><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><strong>[The Drifters]</strong>:</span><br/><br/><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">Drifters come in every shape, size and flavor. Nonetheless, there are no “good” and “bad” Drifters; instead, they each set out into the Wasteland to fulfill their own personal goals. Some do it for fame, some do it for money, and others for the thrill. Those that do it for the money or as a job often specialize in tomb raiding, grave looting and exterminating monsters. Some are even thieves or bandits and rob other Drifters throughout the badlands.      <br/><br/>Drifters venture across the vast lands of Filgaia searching for fortune and adventure. Amidst the desert lie cities erected from rock and scavenged wood. Towns that a few call home provide rest and solitude for the many travelers of the barren Wasteland.<br/>Tales of mystic relics that harness unmatched powers spread across the land. While some view the items as treasure, others have deciphered a secret bringing unlimited power.<br/><br/>However, some have substantially nobler goals. Some Drifters set out into the lonely Wasteland to learn about the history of Filgaia. Could these seemingly ruffian wanderers hold the key to discovering, and perhaps reversing, the cause of the derelict state of Filgaia? </blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><br/><hr/><hr/><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><strong>[ARMs]</strong>:</span><br/><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">(http://wildarms.webs.com/arms.png) literally stands for "Ancient Relic Machines." A weapon born of a demon and of a machine, essentially a gun. This monstrosity of engineering requires more than just bullets to wield. ARMs are half-organic and half-machine guns which form symbiotic relationships with their owners. They require incredible concentration to shoot properly and it is said that no two ARMs are the same. Drifters always name their ARMs. There are dozens of models of ARMs; some are modeled after machine guns, some after handguns, others after shotguns. There's virtually no limit of make and model of ARMs out there.<br/><hr/><br/><strong>Gella:</strong> The currency of Filgaia. Although some people who employ Drifters for their various skills pay in materials from which ARMs can be made, or even ancient artifacts, most prefer to simply pay the Drifters in Gella.<br/><br/><strong>Wasteland:</strong> The once lush land of Filgaia (according to Rabaskian Legend) which has since dried up and become nothing but rock and sand.<br/><br/><strong>Drifter:</strong> Someone who traverses the Wasteland in search of gold, fame, or knowledge. (See the Drifters section for more info.)<br/><br/><hr/><hr/><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><strong>[The Story]</strong>:</span><br/><br/><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_alternate_quote">The Sheriff paced back and forth across the creaky wooden floorboards of his station. A look, more anxious than nervous, appeared embedded into his eyes. His fingers instinctively traced his gun holster and then moved down the sleek barrel of his revolver.<br/><br/>His badge read “A. Williams” and was barely legible. The writing looked worn with age in addition to being dust-covered.<br/> <br/>"6:30 already?..."<br/><br/>The man took a drag of his cigarette and looked out the small window towards the town of Happy Alex, his birthplace and the town which he protected. In this town, this man was both the law and the order. <br/><br/>“Where the hell are all of ‘em? Can’t trust youngsters with anythin’ these days. They better show their asses,” he muttered to himself.<br/><br/>He took a final pull of the cigarette and threw it on the wooden floor. The Sheriff stopped pacing around the Lone Star, a decrepit, small shack that doubled as both the town’s sheriff’s office and as his place of residence. The man picked up his mug and held the glass to his lips. The cool beer was beyond refreshing, but most of all it calmed the man’s nerves. He set the glass down and peered out of the small window once more. Overjoyed, he saw a large group of people advancing towards his “office,” traveling in what looked one wide mass.<br/><br/>The group was curiously diverse, some young, some old. Some appeared well-kempt, perhaps even exuding an aura of apparent affluence. Others wore run-down or tattered clothes. Most of these travelers were on horses, treading into the town slowly, although a select foolish few seemed to have made the journey on foot.<br/><br/>“Here it goes. Better meet ‘em out,” the Sheriff’s gaze broke from the mob and he went outside to greet them.<br/><br/>“Where the hell are all of ‘em? Can’t trust youngsters with anythin’ these days. They better show their asses,” he muttered to himself. <br/><br/>The group and the man walked steadily towards each other. The Sheriff stopped a few feet outside of the Lone Star and waited until the group started to gather in front. An air of concern and uncertainty made the mood tense. Some of the younger-looking ruffians gossiped and whispered amongst themselves, while the older generation within the group just smirked at them, knowing something revolutionary was about to take place right before their very eyes.<br/><br/>(“Pssst, is that the guy?)<br/>(“Yeah, I think so. He’s supposed to be real famous around these parts or something. Heard one of the geezer Drifters talking about him.”)<br/>(“Hey is that the guy who’s leading this?”)<br/>("Apparently.")<br/>("Seriously? Isn't this guy supposed to be 30 or something...? He looks ancient.")<br/><br/>“Shut your mouth, pup. This man is thrice the Drifter you can ever hope to be,” one of the older men on a sandy-colored, brown steed retorted acidly.<br/><br/>The Sheriff kept his composure cool and confident, and then scanned the group that had coalesced in front of him. Soon a voice screamed with glee, the origin seemed to resonate from the center of the crowd…<br/><br/><br/>“AMOS! Amoooos!” The voice was clearly female and every head among the crowd turned to the source of the obnoxious holler.<br/> A young woman, barely out of adolescence, ran for the Sheriff and the ocean of people cleared to both sides to let the woman through. <br/><br/>She wore a corset-like, russet, midriff garment, which began just below her collar and fell to her navel. The garment indicated that this Drifter girl was probably older and more mature than she appeared. This was <em>certainly</em> not the apparel of a young girl. <br/>A champagne-colored decorative bow was tied on the front of her top, in addition to a miniskirt, which only grazed her upper thighs. Her hair was sleek and straw-like of a goldenrod shade.<br/><br/>Noticeably beautiful, her come-hither looks were met with the prying and staring eyes of the men in the crowd. A few whistles and calls came from some of the adolescent guys (and a few of the older perverts) in the mob.<br/>  <br/>The woman nearly tackled the Sheriff, but ran to him with open arms and embraced him warmly.<br/><br/>“Easy there! Here, let me have a look at you.” The girl was considerably shorter than Amos, and he tilted her head up to face him.<br/>“Carol Lynn! By the Guardians! Can it be you? Looks like someone grew up,” Amos embraced the girl sincerely, it was apparent their relationship was strictly platonic.<br/><br/>“I hope you mean me. It’s been too long Amos. Imagine my surprise when I learned my dear childhood friend was having this grand Drifter get-together and yet I received no invite,” Carol Lynn teased her friend then joined the crowd once more.<br/><br/>The orange sun harbored no mercy and shone down on the now increasingly impatient and hot crowd. The Sheriff wiped a bead of perspiration from his forehead and tilted his ten-gallon hat back, so as to get a better glimpse of the crowd, before clearing his throat to break the momentary silence. <br/><br/>“Ahem…erm…welcome to Happy Alex, my distinguished guests, friends, and fellow Drifters.” A few older men clapped for a short moment. The man who scolded the younger Drifters hopped off his horse which let out a soft neigh.<br/><br/>“To my friends, I welcome you back and to those of y’all who I’ve never met, I go by Sheriff Amos Williams. There’s a reason each and every one of you are here today and that’s because you made a name for yourself in this lawless Wasteland. Your keen ability to survive in Filgaia’s Wasteland does not go unnoticed and some of y’all may be even more popular than you’re aware,” this small ego boost seemed to pique the curiosity of the people and they listened more intently to this well-spoken orator. <br/><br/>“I may not look like much now, but I too was a Drifter a while back. I come to you my friends, and y’all youngins, under the gravest of circumstances. Filgaia is changin’, slowly but surely and I know y’all can feel it too.”<br/>“Changing how ?” questioned one of the Drifters in the front. <br/><br/>“Changin’ for the worse. That’s how. This minimalistic, barren desert is getting’ hotter and drier day by day. Don’t tell me y’all can’t see the change happenin’ right before your very eyes. I ask those of you who have spread your wings, is this the same Filgaia you knew a year ago…Five years ago? Ten years ago? You can’t deny this; the land is growin’ stagnant. Everyone should be aski—<br/>“Ain’t nobody disagreeing with ya, geezer. You’d have to be a novice Driftah, or live in a bubble, not to notice it,” another rude younger Drifter interrupted Amos’s speech.<br/><br/>“The question he meant to ask was: what does this have to do with us?” The older Drifter with the brown horse was growing weary of these younger pups, nipping them back as he redirected the conversation back to Amos. The Sherrif was grateful for the older man’s presence and authoritative scorn at the younger Drifters.<br/><br/>“Of course. I was gettin’ to that. How many of you have been to the village of Rabask, in the eastern plateaus?” Only a few hands in the crowd rose and the Drifters that had never been were immediately humbled and subdued, if only for the moment.<br/><br/>“The Rabaskian people tell of a Filgaia that is unlike the one today, a legend passed down among the priest lineage in their village. It tells of a land of green and blue, a planet that was bountiful with life, plants and water. Back when I spread my wings as a Drifter, I heard this legend once from a shaman in Rabask Village. It foretold of a Filgaia with 2 paths, one that led to the gradual decline and destruction of our planet…and the other of the people coming together to restore the planet. Now, for the reason I went to such lengths to gather all of you from all corners of the Wasteland. How would you guys like to see this dream become a reality? How would y’all like to restore this damned Wasteland to its former glory?”<br/><br/>Only a few hands in the crowd rose and the Drifters that had never been were immediately humbled and subdued, if only for the moment.Only a few hands in the crowd rose and the Drifters that had never been were immediately humbled and subdued, if only for the moment.Only a few hands in the crowd rose and the Drifters that had never been were immediately humbled and subdued, if only for the moment. <br/><br/>Everyone knew this was a rhetorical question and they simply listened intently. Amos knew what he wanted to say to this group long before they even answered his invitation.<br/><br/>“I’m probably way in over my head here and I’m clingin’ to a small glimmerin’ star of hope, but it’s worth tryin’. If the legends told to me by the Shaman are true, we can restore Filgaia. I don’t know about y’all, but I’d like to try.” <br/>“You do realize some of us came from hundreds of miles away, just to answer your invitation? This is the so called ‘big news’ we were waiting for? Some half-assed altruistic attempt at saving the world?” one of the Drifters showed his disdain for the idea and its clear lack of a slightly more “measurable” reward. The cold whip of his disapproval stung Amos, but he continued on with his spiel. <br/><br/>Only a few of the Drifters were optimistic enough to believe there might be an alternative to the Filgaia they see before them and yet, for some strange reason, in the back of everyone's minds, they could vaguely envision a Filgaia that seemed to almost exist elsewhere outside of their heads. It seemed almost tangible; as if it existed at one point in time. <br/>Would it really be possible to turn this dusty planet into a paradise? <br/><br/>“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not asking you to do this for free. There’s some organization that’s hirin’ gunslingers from all over to go into some ruins they excavated. They’re willin’ to pay y’all guys well if y’all help out. I spoke with the organization’s leader and told him I may be able to provide him with some skilled Drifters that would further the organization’s goal…This is our chance. The fate of Filgaia lies in the hands and ARMs of y’all younger Drifters. Now is the time to lift our planet from the quicksands of decline.” His words trailed off towards the crowd pleadingly and for what seemed like a few minutes, nobody said anything. Then one lone man opened his mouth.<br/><br/>“If they’re paying, I’m your man. I’m in,” one of the Drifters stepped in. The band of Drifters laughed in agreement before erupting in rowdy applause and cheer. The gunslingers hooted.<br/><br/>"You know I'm in, Amos." Carol Lynn added.<br/><br/>"Then our path is clear guys, our next destination is the WEDO Base."<br/><br/>"We do?" one of the Drifters questioned.<br/>"WEDO. It's the name of an organization that's hirin' Drifters. They'll explain everythin'. If y'all gunslingers still aren't fully sold on this idea, come along for the ride anyway and see if the bounty the organization offers you is worth your time."<br/><br/>With hope in Amos's heart, and curiosity in the Drifters', they set up camp in the dusty town of Happy Alex. They needed their rest and strength for tomorrow morning they would set course for the WEDO Base.</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><br/><hr/><hr/><br/>As always, feel free to ask any questions relating to the RP or story or anything else. <br/><br/><br/><hr/><hr/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><strong>[The Rules]</strong>:</span><br/>1. Post regularly (once every other day/48 hours) and if you are having difficulty formulating an IC post, PM me or post in here and I'll gladly help you out.<br/><hr/><hr/><br/>Your opening post should begin where the story leaves off at the mass gathering of Drifters in Happy Alex. </blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div>