The Island of Savagery. (Open to all.)

[Clarence Alexander]

     Mm'kay. I'm starting a free quest open to all. A mysterious fog has coated all of Zi. Nothing can be seen, and all radio transmissions are fried. Through a totally random and unexplainable turn of events a number of Zoids and their pilots, regardless if they were together at the time, have been transported to an unknown island in the center of the ocean.  Due to the properties of the Island of Savagery, pilots and Zoids alike will find themselves more aggressive than usual. One will also find that any projectile of any kind will never meet their mark; instead, all will surge upwardss, due to the odd magnetic field that surrounds the beaches. Upon waking up on the island, the fog will clear, allowing for emergency transmission signals to be launched, but it will take at least 7 days for the signal to be triangulated and a carrier to come for your Zoid.

     So, to sum it up. You and (Hopefully) a bunch of other pilots are trapped on an island, and you're all marginally pissed off. Projectiles in any form wont hit, meaning if any fighting is to be done, it's through melee. If you're Zoid is forced to have a System Freeze, in any case, the emergency transmission will launch, regardless, though one will find that after one day's time, their Zoid will be repaired fully, though with subtle "scars" where the repairs took place, in the form of odd, black tendrils etched into the metal.

     To re-sum it up, since I seem to not be able to stop explaining myself further... 7 days. Days are to be concluded by pilots. I ask them to please keep a counter at the top of their post. Everybody will start on Day 1.  Within two days of one pilot escaping, everybody else will be rescued as well. You cannot attack somebody that is not in your day. I.E. If somebody is on Day 1 and you are on Day 2, you cannot attack, or otherwise engage them in conversation. If anybody has questions or comments, feel free to PM me.

Okay, attempting again to clarify things. Seven days is estimated amount of time. If anybody sets off their transmission, please explicitly note this in your post. It's seven days from the first transmission. I may change this if it seems this will lag on forever, which is the last thing I want. I want as many people, in an organized manner to join, which is why I'm attempting to implement this system of time. I may edit this post f somebody sets off the transmission, to alert everybody to it, as well as in the top of my posts.

If anybody can think of anything I could add to clear it up, please, please, PLEASE, PM me. I would like this to be as successful as possible, as I see that good, detailed, and relatively fast moving RP's help bring in new people.

[Clarence Alexander]

CLiX Day 1     


     The male slept, dreaming disturbed dreams filled with bloodshed and gore. He twitched in the seat of his cockpit, his fists clenching and relaxing, subtle grunts issuing from his mouth. He shifted, an arm striking out, as if to punch, and his fist collided with cockpit glass. The teen wasn't nearly as pissed as his nature would allow: he was usually carefree and joking.

"GOD DAMNIT THAT HURTS!"

    A flurry of curses issued from his mouth as Ihara slowly awoke. The Zoid shifted, though the ranting teen didn't notice, too intent on cursing out the cockpit window, and loosed a mighty roar.  The dense vegetation of the tropical jungle variety surrounded them seemed to quake with the pure contempt of the roar.

"This jungle look is pissing me off..."

     He snatched the controls, his fingers slipping to the primary trigger. Loud booms echoed through the island vegetation as he fired off round after round from the Lightning Beam Cannon, until a message popped up on the commscreen, warning him of overuse of the weapon. He frowned, raising the middle finger of his right hand, flipping off the warning.

     Smug, he turned to look at the destruction he had caused... or lack thereof. Nothing was hit. Not even singed! Where had his shots went?! Though he didn't know, every shot, about 12 or so, had launched nearly straight up after they launched from the cannon, effectively shooting flares into the sky. He cursed, and struck the dash, warranting a low growl from Ihara.

"Hush, you."

     Jamming the controls forwards, he urged her into first a sprint, and then into max speed, depending on superior agility to weave through the trees. The Zoid moved with low, ground covering leaps, shooting between trees like they were slalom poles.

     Soon he emerged from the dense jungle, and found himself on a long stretch of beach, with densely compacted sand, though a Zoid could still sink a bit into it. He reckoned that all it would do to Ihara is slow down acceleration. He blinked, pivoting Ihara to the left, before jamming the controls forward once more, Zoid and pilot sprinting down the beach at full blast.


Day One is still in effect for CLiX

[Drake Jay]

DAY ONE

Eyes rolling around and wondering where the hell he had been transported, Drake looked at his hands and noticed two untouched bottles of whisky. He took a sip from the right bottle, then the left, curious if there were any differences in taste, soon realizing that all alcohol tasted the same to him.

“Bloody oath was I lucky to have picked these babies up, but how the hell did I get in this god forsaken joint? Geez…didn’t think I had that much to drink already.”

Moving forward to examine the state of things, he continued to work his way through the bottles not thinking about the consequences after they were finished. The retired pilot walked clumsily, his eyes half shut and his speech impaired. It was actually a blessing being transported as he had all the space to work with as opposed to a confined tavern where he was likely to encounter and provoke numerous brawls. Then, the unthinkable happened… his precious babies were emptied.

“Oh no, what do I bloody do?” His eyes were rolling and he twirled like a ballerina. His world spun vigorously as he vomited and fell side to side, picking himself up each time. “Someone…anyone…get me a whisky!” Drake was losing the plot. To think he was once a decorated and world renowned captain, it was sad to see the person he had become, a good for nothing lowlife whose aspirations was to see how much he could scull. It was a steep contrast and a travesty to all those that knew him.

“I hate this shit!” he scorned. He threw the left bottle in the distance and broke the other against a tree. If someone had been there, they would’ve surely been glassed. Unholstering the pistol on his back, he pulled the trigger and was shocked at the results. The rounds shot were nowhere to be seen as they traveled upwards. What the bloody hell? Do the gods hate me this much? Screw them! In the midst of all his commotion, he commenced running in a confused and unbalances state and within second, BANG! And no, it was not the sound of a gun firing to end his life.

With his body on the ground, his scruffy face and war-torn clothes remained in place, a visible red bruise quickly swelled up emerged and his unrest ended immediately. He had run straight into a tree and could not even react to the pain, knocked out cold.

DAY TWO AROUND THE CORNER.
(We'll see how things play out before I decide to end the day)