Spayce Race

[The Wooster]

Although the RP forum here is awesome I think we're missing a good old fashioned, non-liscenced, co-operative story so I thought I'd step in to fill the gap. This will be a very casual RP experience with a focus on storytelling, humour and sharp dialogue. Combat will be a rarity and it'll be your wits and your wit that gets through the game's trials. There's no need to make a character profile or anything just get writing. PM me if you have any questions.
Ladies and Gentlemen. May I present to you.... Spayce Race!

The year is 1467 AU (Amino Ugg) and the world prospers. As the every nation is swept by the greatest technological revolution ever seen, no continent is more blessed than Greater Frogmouth.
Humans and Orks, once arch enemies, have been brought together in an uneasy truce. United not by steel. Not by gold. But by steam.
Both the Kingdom of Forevria (originally named by Empress Olivia who was famous for her lack of subtly, that and her habit of bathing in her own urine) and the Orkish People's Union quickly realised that victory over the other would be decided not by who could hit the other over the head with a rock the quickest (which greatly disappointed the Orks as they have a certain natural advantage when it comes to these things) but by who could develop the best locomotive carriage or the most efficient flying machine. Killing your enemy, raping his women and subjugating his people is one thing, but if you really want to embarrass someone, you make him buy your brand of trouser press.
But all is not well in Greater Frogmouth. Though on the surface, peace reigns, underneath dark deeds are afoot (or afeet, there are more than one of them). Both the Kingdom of Forevria and the OPU has set their sights on the greatest achievement imaginable, the final frontier. Space.
It's the ultimate race for the ultimate bragging rights and both sides will stop at nothing. The Spayce Race is on.

A little bit about Greater Frogmouth

Greater Frogmouth is one of the largest continents on the planet. Second only, ironically, to Lesser Frogmouth, (but most sensible people agree Lesser Frogmouth doesn't count because it's mainly snow and ice and populated entirely by creatures with far too many teeth and people who don't speak the right language) It's a generally temperate place. It's main export used to be potatoes but now, thanks to the great industrial revolution, it's now oven chips.
The continent's west coat is split into two, roughly equal (with the emphasis on rough. Wars have been fought over errant hedges) parts. The kingdom rules the north west segment while the OPU claims the south west. The two nation's capitals (Tonage and Blokgrok respectively) are connected to each other via the great railway, which stops in many towns in between. The border between the two countries is constantly manned by armed guards (who presumably take part in the biggest staring competition ever on a daily basis) and although members of both species can travel into each country at will it isn't recommended unless said traveler has a taste for merciless beatings.

The east side of the continent is mostly farmland with the occasional mountain strewn about the place to liven things up. It's largely accepted that even if the eastern regions weren't overrun with bandits and cannibal tribes, there'd be nothing there to see anyway.


A little bit about the people (and peoples)

Humans

Humans are, let's face it, everywhere. They breed like rabbits, then they eat all the rabbits, then they breed some more. While not the hardiest of creatures (they are, when you think about it, disconcertingly squishy) their large numbers and pure self serving ruthlessness have made them the most successful species on the planet.
While Forevria is technically a kingdom it isn't ruled by the Royal family. The current monarch King Charlesworth is known less for his wise rule and more for residing in a part of the genepool so shallow babies would have trouble drowning in it. The nation is controlled by one of two political parties. The values party, who believe in letting industry do whatever it pleases, putting their own welfare above everything else, antagonising the poor and most importantly, that they're the people who deserve to be in charge. The other party is the Libertine party, who agree on all of those points except the last one. No one actually knows which party is in charge.


Orks

Orks aren't, as was previously believed, naturally stupid. They're actually quite clever. Unfortunately being born with skin as tough as leather, jaws that can bite through sheet metal and nice, big, muscular forearms (which are perfect for say... lifting rocks. Then throwing rocks. At people) means they generally didn't 'have' to do much thinking. When the various wars with the humans (there were three wars, known respectively as 'the great war', 'the totally great war' and the '"I don't know. It was ok I guess" war') nearly drove them to extinction the Orks had to stop thinking with their forearms. It turns so bad they weren't so bad at it and it quickly became apparent that the Ork's had a natural affinity for mechanics.
The Ork's traditionally relied on a tribal system of government which ensured the strongest and most vicious Orks were in charge. After deciding such a system was old fashioned and not representative of the needs and wants of the modern Ork, they replaced the tribal system with a method of government so complex no one really understands how it works. Thus ensuring their leaders are now not only the strongest and most vicious, but also the most cunning. So far they seem satisfied with the system.

 

[Anarchemitis]

"This is the greatest undersea epic, ever filmed." quipped
Parklie Weasletoy
-20 years Old
-Average Build, naught taller than a person 6'3 or equivalent
-Human Male (Or at least resembles it)
-Knows more about Rocket Engines than you or I will ever know
-Knows less about women or Politics than electrons know of gravity
.............................................................................................................................-or sheep
Parklie, or Parks as commonly referred to as 'Parks' remarked at the Jellyfish in the aquarium tank, as the Royal Film Committee continued to record the establishment and Fish for future reference, or whatever Film people needed footage of an Aquarium for.
"So as I was saying, it could easily be done using the Grablestein's Cable mechanic to create a Weasletoy Vacuum Thrust Splitnok, which would only neces-"
"Look sir, we're just a Film crew. We don't ever get in contact with the Royal Science Division or the Space Corps. We have seven other exhibits to film yet today and you certainly are not helping. Good Day." Interrupted the cameraman. Looking quite cut down and defeated intentionally, Parks walked out of the aquarium, starting back towards his machine shop on the dreary industrial quarter of the Capital.
"Bother. I can never get to one of these space people! If only I could talk to someone whom I could help..."

 

[Lucas113]

EDIT: Scratch all that, see below.

 

[GenHellspawn]

Spoiler

Maybe it was meant to filter out idiots, but I have no clue what I just read.

 

[Ultrajoe]

Spoiler

Maybe it was meant to filter out idiots, but I have no clue what I just read.

Your kidding right?

Glad to see you finally posted it up Doctor, Lets see if i can't have some fun. I'll compose a little opener in word, picks up more mistakes than my eyes. Nothing more than 3 pages i promise.

 

[The Wooster]

Storyline Post. Important

In a dimly lit room with no windows and only one door, Mr Blackhammer leaned forward and gazed at the blurry pictographs on the desk. It certainly wasn't his desk, as Mr Blackhammer had never been here and the desk couldn't 'technically' belong to anyone as it 'technically' didn't exist.
"Hmmmm" he said as he examined the black and white pictures with a magnifying lens he certainly didn't own and had certainly never seen before "They've really come on quite far haven't they?"
The smaller gentleman behind Mr Blackhammer, who was the kind of gentleman who stood behind other gentlemen for very specific reasons, usually involving sharp and/or heavy objects(in fact, he wasn't really a gentleman at all), let out a yelp as the much larger gentleman behind him explained, in the universal language of violence, that it was not a rhetorical question.
"I wouldn't rightly know Mr Skullcrusher sir" squeaked the smaller gentleman as fingers dug into his neck "but they all sounded very excited about it"
Mr Blackhammer winced. He was usually very creative with his pseudonyms and he was known for the occasionally bit of black humour but Mr Skullcrusher was not one of his better choices. He must have been quite ill at the time.
The pictograph was fascinating. Not just because it was a wonderful new technology very few people knew about it but because of what it depicted. Who would have thought that in a few thousand years a bunch of monkeys, who were so prone to accidents and random diseases, could have built such a thing? The rocket ship was a huge thing, far bigger than the nearest Orkish prototype and, if young Mr Fargo the thief was to be believed, it shone like silver. While Mr Blackhammer appreciated things that did their job without looking fancy, like knives, poisons and washing machines, he also understood that sometimes the most efficient machine isn't the best machine, sometimes it's the shiniest machine that wins. The Orkish rocket prototypes, as he recalled, were brown.
"Where is the rocket now?"
"Still at Cherry fields as far as I know Mr Blackhammer sir"
"For how long?"
"I honestly don't know sir" Mr Fargo said in a small voice.
"Do you know deceptively perhaps? Haha"
Mr Fargo winced. Mr Blackhammer had a laugh like a bear trap. Not the kind of insane laughter of a man who'd lower a person into a shark pit with a sportingly slow pulley system but the kind of polite laughter you wouldn't hear at dinner parties because you're too busy being garroted to death in a back alley somewhere. Sometimes Mr Fargo almost fell sorry for Mr Blackhammer's sense of humour, attached, as it was, to Mr Blackhammer.
"No. Sir" replied Mr Fargo carefully.
"Ah well" Mr Blackhammer said cheerfully "you may go"
Mr Fargo breathed out a sigh of relief that could have launched a sailboat.
"Thank you Sir."
And then, because Mr Fargo was, when you got down to it, not a very bright Ork, he asked a superfluous question.
"Um about my Payment Sir? I was promised-"
"Ah yes. Of course" Mr Blackhammer cut him off "Jeremy If you would be so kind."
There was a sound, someone hitting a melon with a hammer. Then something wet seeped onto the carpet. Mr Blackhammer would have been annoyed about that indeed if the carpet belonged to him, or if indeed it existed at all.

At that exact moment, on the other side of the continent, a very similar conversation took place, with very similar results.

 

[GenHellspawn]

Spoiler

Maybe it was meant to filter out idiots, but I have no clue what I just read.

Your kidding right?

Glad to see you finally posted it up Doctor, Lets see if i can't have some fun. I'll compose a little opener in word, picks up more mistakes than my eyes. Nothing more than 3 pages i promise.

No. From what I understood, it's another generic medieval fantasy story but with more silly sounding names for everything.

 

[The Wooster]

Spoiler

Maybe it was meant to filter out idiots, but I have no clue what I just read.

Your kidding right?

Glad to see you finally posted it up Doctor, Lets see if i can't have some fun. I'll compose a little opener in word, picks up more mistakes than my eyes. Nothing more than 3 pages i promise.

No. From what I understood, it's another generic medieval fantasy story but with more silly sounding names for everything.

Which is why you decided to spam my topic?

Mods. Could I get a cleanup please?

 

[GenHellspawn]

Spoiler

Maybe it was meant to filter out idiots, but I have no clue what I just read.

Your kidding right?

Glad to see you finally posted it up Doctor, Lets see if i can't have some fun. I'll compose a little opener in word, picks up more mistakes than my eyes. Nothing more than 3 pages i promise.

No. From what I understood, it's another generic medieval fantasy story but with more silly sounding names for everything.

Which is why you decided to spam my topic?

Mods. Could I get a cleanup please?

Maybe you could try actually explaining your RP a little better.

 

[Ultrajoe]

"Gentlemen, we stand upon a precipice!" Said the Ork on the podium. "One where we will quest forth into territory unknown to find the perils of the void in all it's glory!"

The assembled listeners glared. One tossed a half-brick, which the Ork dodged nimbly and ignored. "When are we getting paid, you bastard?" Said the owner of the Ballistic Masonry. This was accompanied by much nodding and agreement. Another member of the crowd, easily impressionable, lobbed a roofing tile.

"My brothers!" Said the Ork, rubbing his head from where the spinning rectangle had made contact. "We stand upon a damn precipice, There are more pressing concerns than the mere financial!" He yelled. He did an awkward standing jump to evade the rather improbable presence of an airborne anvil (A team effort by the previous two assailants and two new chaps in it for the fun.)

"To you maybe, you overweight sack of shit! But it's been 2 weeks and all we've had from you are promises and more work! Then three days ago you bloody well change the damn plans!" The ringleader jeered "Now it's complete we want to be payed, damnit!"

The bruised Ork glanced at the contraption behind him. All jutting thrusters and crude, stubby wings. It was rather spherical now, after three days of hurridly changed plans. "The changes were necessary to accommodate a dynamic and shifting workspace"

Brows tightened, that many big words was an affront to decent hardworking folk. One of them spoke up; "You mean changing conditions? I got a clause on changing conditions. It's when things change... the conditions... they change" He beamed proudly, his wife had bought him a thesaurus for his birthday, it had been great in the way of bedding and toilet paper, and in the meantime he had learned many new words. "It's in my policy"

The ringleader turned. "Changing conditions? You mean like when conditions change so that we're gonna stove your bloody head in?" he shouted, before looking around confused.

The foreman was gone. A greenish figure could be seen fleeing over a distant hill. It turned back to the rabble "Its... Exactly.... Like... That..." He bellowed, barely able to be heard over a steaming hiss and fizzle. The stubby rocket was shaking, sparks emanating from every orifice.

"What's he mean by that?" Asked the Thesaurus owner, as the Ork dived for cover behind a rise on the hill. Some of the more mechanically apt members of the work crew were also running.

------

Mr Hrod Stoneapple, AKA Groat Hamhammer, AKA Nudd Ironfist, AKA Bodds Loneraven, AKA The worlds most unsuccessful master conman, felt the blast even from behind the hillock. It removed his eyebrows and the lower half of his trousers in a dramatic fireball and thwump of rushing air.

It wasn't his fault he had to blow up the work site, he was in fact a rather good liar. He was just, unfortunately, also horrifically unlucky, and wildly inept. He once tried to con a retirement home out of their savings by making them invest in a random patent he had bought for an old boot off a drunk. He was thirty miles away laughing with a small sack of gold before he found out that the old ladies of the Foagies Fortress had made millions off the improved turbine technology, and hired a rather unpleasant man with a club to thank him for them.

He trudged, blackened, away from the site of his most recent failed venture. It was going to be simple! build a rocket, offload it halfway to a desperate engineer and sit high and mighty on the profits! He was reflecting that maybe he should have known something about rocketeering before he started construction, when an anvil fell from the sky onto his toes, a half-brick onto his face, and a roofing tile onto the back of his head.

When he wakes up in 4 hours, a dog will have pee'd on his face, a gang of children will have stolen the anvil, and he will still be the worlds most unsuccessful master conman.

 

[Anarchemitis]

Parks walked about the industrial quarter, dwarfed by large factories, smoke stacks, small locomotives transporting this or that or other on the narrow gauge trolley tracks, heedless of small people and dogs, and people who were obviously more important or stronger than little Weasletoy.
Residing in-between the Avery Anvil Factory and Thompson & Thomson Patented Thing Crushers Manufacturer was Parklies' small warehouse [sup]Weasletoy Licensed Machinist[/sup]. With a swikt and a clack, Parks opened and closed the door of his minor modest enterprise. Still with no clients after waiting at the counter for about three-quarters of an hour, he retired to the back of the shop to continue work on his promising but unanimously unknown invention; the wondrous Weasletoy Vacuum Thrust Splitnok [WVTS], or "Wuvitz" as Parks colloquially refereed to it.
It resembled a small smooth gray cylinder about seven konks long and weighing about as much as a dog would if it recently had a large meal. The invention although anonymous to the world was a marvel indeed, producing amazing amounts of thrust simply burning "super-magnetronic darkwater", or "oil" as Parks colloquially refereed to it, for something about the same size as a dog if it recently had a large meal. Continuously writing more and more scribbles onto the blackboard sitting quite comfortably in front of the stove-heater and behind the Wuvitz on its stand, Parks revised this or that, nut and bolt and welding point made the device theoretically more compact and more powerful. He had yet to test his current iteration, the mark XXVI, as according to the comfortable blackboard, the outside container walls would not be able to hold the pressure of oil. Such patented Enhanced Steel existed that would make the Wuvits a remarkable and easily reproducible fixture to any Stellar venture, but the stark and trite Avery Anvil Factory employers and retailers would only peddle their steel and product wholesale to the Orkish People'sWorkers Union in the south, and verily had no care for
"Meddling little upstarts!" Exclaimed Mr. Blutsnot, the executive of Wholesale Management & Whatnot of the Anvil Factory, in a huff as he departed Parks presence and the factory of Anvils.
"But sir-"
"[sup]upstarts![/sup]" he said again, still walking away.
So many times had this exact happenstance dogged Parks from other corporations, caring nothing for Scientific venture or small men with big ideas and no money. The city central tower clock struck six and it began to rain tauntingly over the bleak scene. So many times, ever so patiently had Parks applied, and resumééd and waited for the opportunity for a small bit of the steel he needed, for an investor he required, interest, resources, anything! to make the plight of his successful failure devoid of failure.
"Dong." Said the distant clock.
A small trolley rumbled by, although Parks in his peripheral vision perceived it as a dog a proceeded to kick it, sending him hopping backwards on one foot like a lunatic in muffled curses and pain.
Altogether forgetting to flip the outside side to 'closed', defeated thrice in one day earning him a net gain of negative 10 nips for the Aquarium tickets and a stubbed toe, he limped back into his shop and up to the loft where his bed resided.