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Roleplay Starters and RPC's
My starter's and their Character images. Still in progress.
War Prize
Kaylie panted, her heart racing as she fled, running for her life. Her clothing was torn, and filthy, her long hair matted badly. Her dog tags jingled around her neck, and she gripped them tightly, silencing them. She kept running until she had lost the men chasing her. Bounty hunters, hired to capture all of the soldiers in the White Horse Resistance, which she belonged to.

A combat medic, fighting for her country's freedom against Abrasiav, a powerful country who captured and owned slaves, believed in it, reveled in it. The more slaves you had, the more powerful and important you were. She would never willingly become a part of their country, she would fight to her death.

Kaylie fell to her knees, her sides heaving, her brow covered with sweat. She hugged herself tightly, shaking. She had lost her gun, ammo, and medic supplies a long while ago. Most of her until was destroyed in an explosion, one that she had created. But it had taken out a good portion of the enemy, and slowed their advance into the center of Courianne, her country, her home. The unit had agreed, knowing it would be suicide, and she pressed the button, and listened to them scream as they died, burning in agony. The sounds still haunted her every second.

She laid back in the leaves, too tired to move. All she had left was a knife, and her small canteen, which was almost empty. She needed to refill it soon, or die. Her eyes shut, and she slid into a light sleep, plagued by her nightmares from the explosion. She awoke the the snapping of a twig, and leapt to her feet, unsheathing her hunting knife, glancing around in the darkness. Her adrenaline started to rush, her heart pounded, and she glanced around, and was taken down. She struggled, but the knife was taken away, and another was held to her throat. She snarled, and stiffened, felt shackles covering her wrists, snapping shut. A bag covered her head, and she struggled, until she fell into a deep unconsciousness.

Kaylie awoke to the sounds of groaning people, and a sharp pain as she was tossed on the ground. She moved, only to feel a boot press against her head. "Unless you want your skull crushed, I wouldn't move if I were you." Her heart knotted, and Kaylie froze, closing her eyes. She felt her tags being ripped from her neck, and the man chuckled. She doesn't go with this cargo. I'll bring her to the auction. She isn't anything special, but will make a nice addition for someone unwilling to spend a lot.

She was dragged into a van, thrown into the back, and shut in. She felt it start up, and begin to move. The motion lulled her to sleep, and finally she awoke, being carried into an operating room. She panicked, and began to scream and thrash. They were going to put the implant in her. A mask covered her face, and soon she slid back into a drowsy state, and soon was asleep again. She awoke in a small cell, groomed, her long hair tied back in a braid, no longer matted, her skin clean, makeup on her, and dressed in a skimpy, dancer's outfit, with wrist cuffs that jingled.

She was led by a man holding a gun, down a hall, and told to kneel on a table. He slid a cushion beneath her knees, and began to ask her what her age, name, rank, and position in the Resistance was. "Kaylie Merchezna. Twenty two. Field medic." The man wrote everything down in a small book, that he placed before her, and then soon after a woman strode over. She glared at Kaylie, her lips forming a tight smile. "You are related to Phillip Merchezna? The demolitions expert?" Kaylie nodded once. "Yes. My uncle taught me his specialty. I destroyed your army's advance into Courianne by destroying your tanks, and units sleeping quarters." The woman's eyebrow raised. "You were the one who created the Serucil Disaster? My my my... This changes a lot." The woman lifted her book, and began scribbling furiously in it, smiling brightly. She then placed it down, and left. Other slaves, some Kaylie recognized, were led in. They were all soldiers, high ranking ones, leaders in the Resistance. Her stomach twisted. They weren't at any auction, they were being sold as war prizes, slaves that were conquered in war.

Kaylie bit her lower lip, and the lights dimmed around them, except for over each slave. Over them the light grew bright and hot, allowing many different people to come and see the slaves up close, but for them to not be able to see who was looking at buying them. Each bidder would put a price into the book, as well as their name, and if a bidding war ensued, they would turn it to a live bid for that particular slave. Only about eight or nine people opened her book that she could tell. Kaylie knelt there for hours, her arms suspended over her head by a chain, her muscles aching. When would this end? Finally the lights dimmed, and open bidding ensued.

~~ABOUT~~


Courianne gets into a war. It's a free country, allowing the citizens to do as they please. Abrasiav is one that revels in slavery. My girl is a combat medic, who runs when her unit is destroyed in a battle. She is the niece to a weapons specialist who is high on the enemy's army list to capture. She is sold, as a war trophy, and bid on.
She is bid on by a man, one of the four Lords of Abrasiav, a very large political figure, who is very wealthy, and powerful. He used to be an assassin in the guild (which is allowed there, a highly looked upon)

He takes my character and tries to break her, but finds it challenging, seeing as how she is stubborn, and leads it on from there. She might escape further on, and lead him on a chase.

This is not meant to really be a love, or romantic roleplay, but something a lot harsher. He tries many different techniques to break her mind, switches from cruel and merciless to caring and tender, to mess with her head. He wants to break her, and turn her into his pet, to control utterly and learn everything she knows. But she is stubborn and resilient, finding hope in small places, and undoes any of his progress. She is not meant to be a pleasure slave, but a trophy to lead around on a leash, and flaunt at any gathering or social event. She is meant to become nothing but a trophy, and dehumanized.





 
 
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