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Strude

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Post: 55465063_1 created on Tue, 27 Oct 2009 05:48:53 +0000
Posted: Tue, 27 Oct 2009 05:48:53 +0000

Established on Sat Jul 11, 2009 6:46 pm. Current owner is Strude
[Total Users | 87 and counting] [Total Posts | 14,766 and counting]
Graphics & Formatting By, Strude

▼ #INTRODUCTION
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Amalgamation Syndrome (AS) is a private seasoned roleplayers guild. Where the linear rubik cube like world that is Barton Town/OOC does not exist. We're what roleplaying is really about; we're casual, we have fun times, and there is no ball 'n' chain. Amalgamation Syndrome also has heart, we take the game as seriously as it needs to be taken. The players in the guild have pride in their writing, we take care to give what we expect; skill without stressing the little things, and most importantly we have fun playing a game so many have lost sight of!

If that was too poetic for you, then here is the shorthand version. Amalgamation Syndrome is a roleplay guild where you can enjoy real role playing, in the paragraph style, without the 'beat your head on your keyboard' kinds of silly requirements and rules!

In addition to this, Amalgamation Syndrome strives to keep a active member base. Meaning, that though, our numbers are not huge. Our guild is an active community, and those members in our guild take time to actively roleplay, and talk OOC in the many OOC & Non-roleplay related threads around the guild.

The crew of Amalgamation Syndrome, also work hard to keep the guild active, preforming bi-monthly checks of players, and constant maintenance (from organizing sub-forums, announcing new: roleplays, and players. The crew pay close attention to those RP's still seeking members, and try hard to draw attention to those RP's. As well as, making know upcoming RP's, and other actives that occur around the guild.) Via Guild Announcements the crew of Amalgamation Syndrome, keep guild members constantly updated. Members of Amalgamation Syndrome know that their guild is being run by able and dedicated hands.

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▼ #HOW TO JOIN
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Joining is very simple, there are no forms or lists of requirements. Joining is open to anyone. Simply follow the steps listed and everything should be good!

1] Click the main banner at the top of this post, and head to the guild main page.
2] There you will find our join instructions.

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▼ #AMALGAMATION SYNDROME CREW
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Amalgamation Syndrome, has an active crew of 3 lovely ladies. The guild has a mule account as well, managed by the crew.

Strude

e d e n - s o n g

Adara Wolfe

Amalgamation Syndrome

Normally we have a crew of four players, recently one of our beloved crew members had to step down. Real life caught up to her, and online became less of a priority. I would like to commend KillerQueen Bash for being awesome, and she will be back as a crew member if life calms down.

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▼ #GUILD SUB-FORUMS
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Amalgamation Syndrome has a total of 5 active sub-forums plus the guilds main forum (totaling 6 forums), 4 guild maintenance sub-forums, and 2 large (roleplay related) project sub-forums.

Maintenance Sub-forums

Active Sub-forums

Large Project Sub-forums

Strude

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Post: 55465063_2 created on Tue, 27 Oct 2009 05:49:46 +0000
Posted: Tue, 27 Oct 2009 05:49:46 +0000

▼ #ROLEPLAY SNEAK PEEK
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The following role players are the top 3 role plays in the guild. Each sporting a life span of 2-5 months. These RP's are the pride and joy of several guild members, and we want to share a peek at our world. There are several other RP's in the guild, don't get us wrong, but these are some of our veteran RP's.

ATTENTION: Please do not assume that our entire guild posts like this. These are longer post, and we do have role plays where the posts are not as long. So do not let your assumptions ruin a chance to join a guild of good role players.

THESE ARE JUST SOME OF OUR FAVORITE POSTS FROM THREE OF THE GUILDS 11 GROUP ROLEPLAYS. Chosen because they show how well our guild members write, and how dynamic our roleplay stories are.

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▼ #AMBER WOOD
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Players: Strude, Telemachn, sleepingrebels, phiiilex, Rixaka the Fallen, Getto-Kunoichi
Summary: Amber Wood is high end, aristocratic, trading estate run and owned by a wealthy individual named Roswell Curt. This estate is used for the safe and legal profit gaining technique of human trade. A trade that spans many planets and for many years, each year ringing in more and more cash for the lucky entrepreneur. However, Amber Wood though famous for it's business is also the next target of a malicious team of "freedom fighters" as they so eloquently call themselves. They are ex-slaves themselves freed by an anonymous man. Who now sets them out on missions to help those so unfortunate to be wrangled and forced into the legal slave trade rings, where life ain't as pretty as the aristocrats make it out to be.
Sample Post From the RP: The character Alexis Chevalier, Runal Dwin’raheal & Nuon Dwin’raheal.

phiiilex

“Alexis…” – crackle – “there…damn…”

Instinctively tapping the earpiece in an amateur attempt to “fix” the reception, the redhead continued with his current self-assigned task of following the siblings. Even though some people would consider aborting the mission, Alexis wasn’t ready to call it quits. There was still time to salvage the siblings’ mess and, who knows, maybe they can still secure the ship? “…hell…there now” – crackle – “…later…hear me!?”

Wincing at the loudness of the other man’s voice (really, there wasn’t a need to yell. Yelling didn’t make reception any better), Alexis pressed the talk button, having already reached his daily limit of “Gray’s Stupid Self” (for some reason, the two just didn’t get along). “Hey, dumbass, talking loudly, for the record, doesn’t make your voice any prettier to listen to, so, kindly shut the ******** up, please and thank you.”

But just as he was about to continue with his (whispered) rant, something caught his attention. The ship’s interior had changed, it was barer and more rustic looking – more mechanical in its design. Pipes lined the walls, stretching from floor to ceiling and mismatched metal tiles covered everything else. They were definitely heading to a lower section of the ship – lower than Alexis had ever intended to travel. Pressing another button the headset (this one “pinging” his location for his allies), the redhead drew for his second pistol.

“Damn, they’re heavy,” one of the henchmen grunted, shifting the weight of Jed as he walked, not bothering to worry about whether or not it was comfortable for the brunette. “Dumbshit, y’think there’s more onboard?”

His partner shook his head, “Nah, if they ‘ad more, we’d be out thar fightin’ wid’em an’ not carryin’ them bodies to da cella.’”

There was a chuckle and silence resumed, but Alexis, who had heard the entire conversation paused. Something wasn’t right – something about… But not wanting to lose sight of the siblings, the redhead carried on, brows furrowed as he tried to figure out what his subconscious was so hung-up about. Something about what was said was…off…

And it was as he took another left turn (these two really seemed to like their left) that he noticed the pair making their way to yet another set of stairs.

‘Lowest levels of the ship houses the boiler rooms and…’

All colors drained from his face as his memory kicked in, supplying him the information he least wanted to know. “Captive Cells. They’re being taken to the Captive Cells in the lower section.”

Without realizing it, Alexis had reported the status of his exact location and, indirectly, informed the entire crew (his crew, naturally) the fate that awaited the siblings. Unconsciously, the redhead took an instinctive step backwards. This was becoming too much and the risks – the odds stacked against this rescue mission – wasn’t something he was willing to gamble with. Who know who else was onboard and who had already been alerted to the presence of rebels? Just because the two henchmen were dumbasses to the core didn’t mean everyone was and it would be just their luck to be sharing a ship with some of the most notorious traders alive.

And, just as he was preparing to restate the current situation, movement from the front caught his attention. Standing beside the two was a man with raven-black hair and ivory-pale skin. An obnoxiously large headpiece obscured half his face, but even with all the accessories hanging in the way, Alexis easily recognized the profile. Runal Dwin’raheal is the man responsible for more slave crimes than any other individual with the exception of, perhaps, his insane (as Alexis was inclined to believe) twin brother and, of course, the lead man himself.

“These are the two intruders?” It was a little deeper than Alexis had imagined, but, otherwise, just as bone chilling. The stouter of the two henchmen nodded, made an inaudible comment before proceeding down the steps, now followed by Runal.

Still trembling (not that he had been aware of this at the time), Alexis reached for his headpiece and, in a shaky voice, broadcasted, “Change of plans, guys. We’re going to meet at the rendezvous point – stat! We’re gonna abort the mission.”

Letting go of the talk button, the redhead gave the set of stairs one last glance (as if trying to decide whether or not to reconsider his decision of abortion). “I’m sorry, Jed and Asphodel, but…please don’t think poorly of me.” With a quick bow (as if they could see or hear him), the man turned and left, his heart still pounding with every step he took.

But the further he ran (the more distance he put between him and that wretched place on the lower deck), the heavier his guilt was for having left the siblings to their fate. But, if he were honest with himself, he would say that the further he ran, the more relieved he felt.

And what a cost that relief came at.

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“Aktajhá!!!(1)”

Cursing at the sudden alarms (and general ruckus onboard), the brunette angrily rose to his feet, running a hand through short, choppy raven locks in an attempt to compose himself (although, honestly, he might as well have just forgone such action). This day was quickly going from bad to worse. Grumbling underneath his breath, he grabbed his coat and headed out the door, already having made up his mind to kill the first b*****d that looked at him wrong.

“Lord Nuon” – stopping at the address and internally debating whether or not he’d slit the messenger’s throat for having an unusually high-pitched voice, and, for the record, that is a completely legit reason to kill someone – “there are intruders onboard the ship.”

‘Well, no s**t, Sherlock,’ the man thought wryly as he waited impatiently for the blonde to finish. If he killed another subordinate, Delilah might actually kill him. But, then again, her worth didn’t compare to his – did it? “So?”

“Um…well, they’ve been apprehended and they’re being taken to the Cellar…”

Without waiting for the man to finish (what was the point? He was just going to stutter uselessly anyway), Nuon quickly began his one-man search party for his brother, excitement already dragging a grin onto his face. If they were being sent to the Cellar then it meant fun, it meant the day was finally starting to look up. It meant this trip hadn't been a complete waste of time.

Chuckling, the bespectacled man, descended down another flight of stairs, passing Delilah on his way (and, obviously, not bothering to acknowledge her presence. Even if they were both of mix-descent, she was on a lower social rung, a much lower social rung as he was always so kind to point out to her).

“Dégile(2), where are you, brother!?”

(1) Damn it!!!
(2) God

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There was an explosion – one that sent tremors throughout the ship – followed by the hurried shouts of commands. Furrowing his brow in slight annoyance (really, Runal hated unnecessary noises the most), the brunette made his way towards the commotion. Even though he was quite far from the center of the blast and, consequently, the yelling, he could hear everything perfectly fine. Apparently, there were two trespassers onboard and – ah, Delilah had arrived.

Feeling as if he was no longer needed to oversee the cleanup, he, promptly, turned on his heels, ready to return his attention to the scrolls he had been examining earlier. Even if he had to oversee this graceless operation (it was actually his first time onboard such a ship), it didn’t mean he had to occupy his time with equally graceless activities.There was better use of his time.

Readjusting his headpiece (if only there was some way to make it lighter) and tending to an itch near the scar (even if he could no longer see out of that eye, the scar itched mercilessly and, in some cases, even caused him pain), the brunette paused, realizing the fact that just because they had caught two intruders did not mean they had caught all the intruders. Straightening, the man moved quickly about the ship, making his way towards the lower decks as fast as his body allowed. If there were more onboard, they would, most definitely, seek to rescue their comrades and, knowing the protocols of the operation, the two captives will be brought to the cellars - most likely to holding cells where other slaves can see. If the others chose to be noble heroes, they will be killed for their valiant efforts. What a romantic way to die…

And while Runal wouldn’t say that he shared Nuon’s “passion” for torture (or any such baseless entertainment), he wasn’t necessarily above it. After all, survival of the fittest, right?

Just as he was about to take the last flight of stairs to the cellar, he met up with the captives (unsurprisingly, unconscious) and the ones tending to them (that is if you could call the haphazard way they carried them "tending").

“Are these the two intruders?”

“Aye, Lord Runal. Capt’n Delilah ‘as said we’re ta bring’em ta da holdin’ cell and ta fix’em right,” one of them answered.

Glancing over at the bodies – were they even alive anymore? – Runal quietly instructed, “When you’ve taken care of their injuries, please bring them to the isolation chambers – one for each.”

Nodding in understanding (as if they could really refuse him), the two headed down the stairs, but as Runal was about to descend, a rather unusual sound caught his attention. Looking behind him, the brunette saw nothing out of the ordinary. The passageway was empty and, as far as his defected sight could tell, there was nothing there.

Narrowing his eye in suspicion (not that it did him much good), the man stood a while longer, wondering if it really had been his imagination. Eventually, he shrugged it off and headed below – it was probably nothing more than the ship making its usual tinkering noises.

No more than a few minutes later, Runal spotted the two men from earlier heading in his direction, the intruders still looking as if death had not left them. And, in a sense, it hasn’t – has it?

“Leave the keys with me and tell Lady Delilah you have relocated the intruders.” Pocketing the thinly shaped metal, Runal watched as the two dropped the (were they siblings?) captives into the rooms before heading back the way they came, presumably to carry out their new orders. And, as he sat there, facing the two locked doors, he wondered how long it would take for the “others” to arrive – if there were, indeed, others. Then again, if they had planned to hijack the ship, there had to be more than just two, right?

“Jed?”

Startled by the sudden noise (despite it having been nothing more than a mere whisper, Runal heard it as clearly as if it had been spoken regularly), the brunette stood, surprised that the woman had waken up so early. If anything, he had expected her to be dead or, at the very least, unconscious for another day or two. Apparently, she’s a “tough one.”

Turning the key, he pushed the steel door open, cringing a little as it creaked. She was a mess, lying on the floor with her clothes ruined and face swollen from the blast. But if Runal felt pity or sympathy, nothing showed on his face. In fact, there was no expression and his eye (only one was visible) watched her impassively.

“You woke sooner than I had imagined, are you coherent?”

His voice, much like his expression, was empty and cold – lifeless, one might say. And, aside from the slight northern accent, there was nothing to say that he wasn’t a well-built robot feigning a human presence. But, then again, can you really say that Runal was merely human?

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▼ #ARDENT
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Players: e d e n - s o n g, Derloffle, Kolloposa, Dorian Raker, Ryo Sho Shen, Dust_In_Darkness, Nautch, Adara Wolfe
Summary: The reign of the Wizards has ended and the world looks forward to a new era of science and progress. It is this time that a Tyrisian scientist has come to be aware of a strange and powerful mineral far to the west, in the newly independent nation of Kerria. Able to fuel an empire and advance civilization decades, it's the most sought-after treasure of it's time. Determined to study this mineral, the scientist has decided to hire an airship and it's crew and finance an expedition across the sea to find it. Politics, greed, mutiny and danger await the crew.
Sample Post From the RP: The character Belo Galtar

Derloffle

Belo was drunk. Had been since half past. She had no recollection of ever turning down the covers of the bed she'd paid begrudgingly for and the innkeeper was having very little of her belligerence while she refuted the fee. While she hadn't had enough hard liquor to reduce to a impossible mess, she was still sloshed to the point where her judgment suffered from absences here and there. She'd gathered her belongings into a tattered rucksack and hauled them into the lobby, making a great show of her insistence to leave immediately and acquire her full deposit. Though fully dressed, her attire added little to her credibility. The cap that usually tamed her pale hair had turned askew, revealing an embarrassing assortment of unwashed cowlicks. Her white blouse had once been arranged in a provocative fashion as she had attempted to woo herself a few free drinks at the pub the night before, but the shirt had ceased revealing an ample bust and had shifted sideways, draping down her shoulder to display the metal arm she had tried in vain to disguise. The keeper maintained his eye contact for the most part, but his gaze kept drifting from her mis-laced boots to the perpetually spinning gears that tiered down her limb into the fluffy mess of her belled sleeve.

"Now, I ain't one for brutalizing the lady folk, but missus, you're tempting me real good now," the innkeeper warned, exasperation slipping into his tone.

But Belo would have none of it and couldn't find an appropriate response in her repertoire of retorts. Instead, she found herself spilling colorful curse words until they turned to insults.

"...And your mum, the loose git that she was, losing her bits all over the place. Don' even know who your baker is, do ya?" Belo slurred over the harder consonants as a wave of unpleasant sensations crashed over her. The downside to indulging in a drunken escape was that it always had to end, and typically with the worst possible timing. Vision sharpened and words became clearer, but she paid for the renewed senses with a swelling headache and uncomfortably dry mouth. She had hoped to time her binge just right so that she might just make it back to the Ardent and be able to sleep away the first few hours of their lukewarm reunion. Her anger, however, had not abated and she was preparing herself for a counter attack. Much to her surprise, the keep simply wiped his hands on his apron and shook his head and retreated back to the counter, retrieving the strewn cloth as he resumed his morning rituals. Unsure as to why he had relented so swiftly, she continued to prod at him and tempted fate all the more.

"You... you hear me? I'm calling your mother a whore."

The keeper sighed and barked in reply, "Sod off, will you? Here, take it..." he reached below for the cash box and gathered her bills, flinging the currency across the floor, "Take your money and go. I know who you are, so let's just get past this, all right? Have yourself a nice day and don't ever come back here again."

That soured her mood almost immediately. Her face fell as though someone had just denied her a fantastic treat and she went about picking up her change, grumbling all the while as the headache took control. Belo could practically hear her conscious' mocking voice, mourning lost morals while she pissed away whatever positive reputation she still had in this harbor town. She gathered her things and left without a second glance at the innkeeper, pocketing her funds while she passed the threshold and reacquainted herself with the sun. It was a bloody miserable encounter as blue eyes withered under the light. The door did hit her in the a** on the way out and she staggered forward with an awkward flail paired with an unforeseen belch. A passing gaggle of schoolgirls giggled in unison and Belo didn't bother to cast them the dirt glance she'd mastered. The horrified gasp that followed, however, warranted a gander. Her eyes widened as the glint of metal caught her eye; the countless plates of her arm. She scrambled to pull up her sleeve as she hurried down the thoroughfare, eyes on the Airship docks and nothing else. She'd recollected herself and claimed some composure, but her stomach was waging war against her, retaliating against the whiskey she'd downed without a meal to accompany it. Belo, though thankfully odorless, was in an unsightly state. She'd been on edge since she began her fleeting shore leave and the only thing that truly comforted her was the knowledge that she had kept her will entirely bridled...while sober.

The Ardent came into view quickly and she prepared to board again with a sigh. She held nothing against the ship or crew in particular, but she was on the verge of exhaustion thanks to her rate of employment. This should have meant an increase cash flow, but she always found herself stinted in the end and on the wrong side of the Vast Sea. Belo hauled her things up the gangway and made her way to the bridge. She figured she could at least make her presence known and then disappear back into the hull to recover from the short-lived celebration. A stiff back and kinked neck assured her that she hadn't, in fact, slept in that bed...but there was a suspicious blank spot in her memory of the evening's festivities that she couldn't make heads or tails of. More likely than not, she had called it an evening on some poor b*****d's yard. Belo appeared in the doorway, eyes drifting from Cain to Cas, then the arrow...in due time.

"Evening, all... er morning. Whatever. Bugger it...Nice arrow, you've got there, Cain. Lovely." Well, she felt that about fulfilled her quota for small talk while recovering from intoxication. Details be damned. She was fairly certain she'd be made aware of the circumstances some time later. Preferably after an eight hour nap. "I'll be down below. Don't bother none unless it's an emergency of apocalyptic proportions... or a chaser. I'm about to lose my head right now," she groaned, turning from the helm without any proper goodbyes as she stumbled towards the galley, suddenly overcome with the need for water and brandy at the same time. She rued the inevitable moment when her power would become necessary. The fluke of nature and science, a matter-mover uninhibited by the limits of man. It was all well and good for those witness to the magic, but for her... she'd just as soon floss with piano wire. She retreated, muttering all the while, her lips spilling forth oaths vile enough to make even the saltiest of sailors blush.

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▼ #DEAD GOD
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Players: e d e n - s o n g, Mintea Drops, Adara Wolfe, Rialla, Rixaka the Fallen, Kolloposa, Dust_In_Darkness, Dorian Raker
Summary: The Priest-King and the cult of the sun god Loegir rule the city of Seboet with an iron fist, using manipulation, trickery and violence to enforce their rule. But the heretics are rising, and the faithful of the city are beginning to act.
Sample Post From the RP: The character Nila "Sally" Sarita

Kolloposa

Sally held her breath as she passed by the doorway to a shanty house. It was one of the many one-room alcoves that lined this street where she was currently staying, but the foul odor coming from it rivaled the smell of death. She couldn’t even bring herself to toss a glance inside and see if it really was death. Disease was such a problem this far out among the living. Festering corpses only made the problem worse and if someone had died in there, they were both a contagion and occupying a possible home for another poor soul that needed shelter. This thought made her pause a few rooms down and look over her shoulder. People were avoiding the room as well but no one seemed to want to check inside. Horrible really. Should she go back and look? Did she even want to? It was a shame cremation was foreign to these people. The amount of plots left to bury the dead would dwindle away until there wasn’t enough. Sally didn’t even think about going back and performing the act herself, she’d never heard of it growing up. Everyone was buried. She'd even seen one poor man go so completely insane he ate his wife's foot before she was buried. Dear Loegir, she hated this place.

She climbed up a pile of crates and sat down on the roof of the nearest building. She didn’t have time to find a better place for a bit of secrecy so getting out of direct vision would have to do for now. Her fingers pulled at the knot of her make-shift headband, loosening it just enough to remove a small slip of paper. It had directions to the leader’s hideout. Poor man had to change residences so often he was a nomad without really going anywhere. She wasn’t very good at remembering where he was staying without him up and moving at a moment’s notice. It kept him out here though and not in the crooked hands of the government so she brushed up on what little navigation skills she had to keep track. The night prior, she had scribbled out a map with charcoal to use. After carefully going over the path again, she pulled a match from her top and lit the paper. She had taken to wrapping scarves over her usual top because the folds that it made hid small items against her flat chest easier. Her old method was putting them in her shoe but after one had fallen out while she was walking, the paranoia that it would be traced back to her made her change tactics. Burning the paper was simply a precaution and an enjoyment. Sally couldn’t help but smile as she held the small scrap between her fingers and watched it vanish right before her eyes. Her fingertips throbbed a bit from when the fire had reached them, but her body was already used to it and the pain went away quickly.

While the rooftops remained close together, Sally traveled that way. The crowds in the street were getting thicker as people came out of hiding in anticipation of the festival. There wasn’t even a guarantee they would be able to see anything over the massive amount of people that would surround the main roads later today. Still, their enthusiasm was appreciated since it brightened her mood. She just didn’t want to have to fight her way through so many bodies and possibly be late to her little meeting that morning. She had a reputation for showing up late, but it was usually do to either her own inattentiveness or bodily harm. Since neither of those was in play today, she had no excuses and would try her hardest to actually show up when expected.

She managed to get pretty far before having to climb back down where no one would look and work her way back into the throng of slum-life. She stuck near buildings and kept her head low. Every so often she would see a wanted poster with the leader’s face on it and a small part of her courage would whine like fear for a moment. She had a hard time not picturing her own face on a wanted poster one day. Sure, he was dangerous for being smart, ambitious, and the catalyst to this little rebel group. He alone was a bigger threat than she could ever be by herself but she was still the fire girl for him and that was bad enough.

Sally ducked into a doorway and mentally went over the map she’d drawn for herself earlier. The place should be around here somewhere. Probably off the main street she was on. She ducked into one of the many alleyways that led deeper into the residential areas and started scanning doorways. Finally, she found where she was going. She didn’t even bother knocking or checking to see if she was followed. Strange behavior warranted checking out by guards. Acting like she was going home simply told them she was going home.

The room was dark, stray light filtering in from the lone window in a far corner of the room. Sally walked over to where a man was sitting and set her hand on a notebook beside him. “How’s the sun treating us today?” she asked casually.

Strude

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