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Fangs on the Range

Fangs on the Range

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Vampire and Werewolf showdown in the old West, with Cowpoke stuck in the middle.

748 readers have visited Fangs on the Range since Adrian Shadoan created it.

Introduction

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Stories about the war between Vampires and Werewolves have dated back as far as anyone can remember but no one has ever looked into the lives of a little town called Avery and what was caused there by the ancient war. In the town of Avery people live off the land simply even though at times a few ruff riders come and cause trouble but it doesn't last long because the sheriff is always on just right around the corner. Now it all seems to be changing for the worse with the moving in of the Native American tribes the Simka and the Rasorin who seemed to have brought something dark with them.

Rules:
No godmoding that should be a given
stick to the time period, 1847 is the year so we all know.
Have fun and what not.
Romance is allowed but past heavy petting take it to the p.m.
People can die, vampires and werewolves can die to no true immortals.


Races:

Vampires- They have super senses, sunlight is instant death, crucifix's do not harm them and they definetly don't fucking sparkle nor are they emo dirty hobo's like a certain Mr. Patterson. Can harness at least one elemental ability.

Werewolves- Also have Super senses, are at full power on nights when the moon is visible in the sky, silver bullets and anything silver will kill them but it must get past their skin. Simply touching it will not send them in convulsions, they may revert between human, wolf, and man-like wolf. Can harness at least one elemental ability.

Humans- Cowboys, Cowgirls, Native Americans (They are attached to the earth and most despise the Cow peoples, two different tribes the Simka worship bats and the Rasorin worship Wolves, leaving the Cow poke in the middle. Some Rasorin have been known to become Vampires like wise with the Simka and becoming Were's) The Human race is not gifted with elemental abilties instead they are gifted with pyschic abilites not all though.

Profile Skeleton:

Appearance: (Real pictures they don't have to be in the time period I know it's tough finding pictures like that)
Name:
Age/Actual Age:
Sex/Sexuality:
Ability:
Weapon/s:
Personality: (Can be described in three words)
History: (Birth, Death, Rebirth you get the deal)
Likes:
Dislikes:
(Two of each)

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The GM of this roleplay hasn't created any rules! You can do whatever you like!

The Story So Far... Write a Post » as written by 4 authors

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The day had come to an end as the young sheriff strolled down the street soon the moon would hand up in the air and the creatures of the night would stir. Shaking the man was every night he would cower in the town sheriff's office and wait for screams in the night, then he would bravely track them down and take out what ever was causing the problem. The evening's in Avery were ever growing eerie, they used to be calm and quiet but not anymore not since the local tribes started waging war against one another. Quivering with anticipation and fear Allen took his winchester from the saddle of his three year old Mustang, Lash his best friend and valued partner. With a steady hand he held it up sighting in a bottle sitting on a post three hundred yards away. He put his left hand up to his mouth and licked the tip of his thumb and then rubbed it on the tip of his winchester it made it easier to catch glints in the dark, aiming up he shot the bottle through the middle it cracked and fell to the ground. A woman from a door hollered out to him, "Sheriff James, please my children play out here if you could just take it to the prarie I would really appreciate it", she asked him glaring at him from behind her screen door. Allen nodded to her and walked towards the Sheriff's office, "Sorry Mam won't happen again", he said tilting his hat towards her as he continued back towards the door.

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Felicity May sat up straighter on the Quarter Horse, her eyes squinting into the fading sunlight. Just on the horizon she could make out a town, dark and dusty on the vast plain. Felicity looked down at her equine, the gelding snorting softly and lowering his muzzle to sniff at the underbrush. She pat his bay neck before looking back at the little town of Avery once more.
The latter town she had "visited" was seemingly larger and busier than the town of Avery. It was full of all kinds of shops and markets, with many people in many high places, and not to mention gossiping women. For that reason, Felicity had not stayed long. She had taken what she needed and left quickly.
With a sharp kick to the geldings side, they advanced forwards at a quick pace. In the saddle pack, slung over the back of the saddle, was some of Felicity's belongings, including her trusted firing arm. Clothes and little food took up space as well as a large wad of bills and valuables.
A smiled formed on Felicity's face as Avery came into better view. Avery was a sentimental town; it was where she had grown up. Just south of the Avery laid her fathers farm, which she wondered if it was still standing.
By the time she had made it into the safety of Avery, the sun and slipped far behind the mountains. Perfect. Looking down at her hands, Felicity made sure that it had not burned, and dismounted, leading the horse though Avery, shop by shop.

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The wolf slowly trotted up to the city's limits. Her black fur glistened in the light of the full moon. She was bigger than most wolves, and her canines were more pronounced. She sniffed around the gates a few times, the putrid smell of vampire assaulting her nose. She growled, and ran into the shadows behind the saloon.

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The young native warrior stood poised a top a hillside his eyes scanning the city below.

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Val was thinking about attcking when suddenly she cought the scent of something else. Werewolf! Her instinct screamed. It had been a while since she had seen another of her kind that she froze. Should she go to the wolf, or finish the vampire? Finaly, curiosity got the better of her and she trotted off to find this other wolf.

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#, as written by Athame
He walked into town with his head down and his coat flapping at his legs in the early evening breeze. His hair hung in clumps around his shoulders, matted that way with dirt from burrowing into the earth of the prairie to hide from the suns rays. Most of the dirt from his clothes had fallen away while he walked but it clung to his fingers and skin.

Tristan paused leaning against the outside of the general store as he scanned the main street of this new place, taking the lay of the land. He raised his head and sniffed a lung full of air, centuries of practice allowing him to separate the various scents that permeated the dusk. He grimaced. Not only could he smell his own kind (almost sickly sweet smell, leaving a metallic tang on the back of his throat as if he’d run his tongue across his gun), but also there was something more troubling. The wolves also had a presence here (musky yet fresh, they each seemed to smell like they’d been running full pelt through a forest to him, like nature had put a mark on each). Tan knew that he could handle a single wolf, at least his age made it more likely. A young one more likely still. Of course the problem would be that you rarely came up against one, and he knew the damage a pack of Werewolves could do to even the most powerful Vampire.

While he thought his well-practiced fingers had pinched a stub of tobacco from his pouch and were rolling it shut. He coughed once to work some saliva into his parched tongue and licked the paper to seal it, then clamped it between his lips. He clicked his fingers to send a spark across its tip and inhaled the acrid smoke, holding for as second then blowing it out in a great cloud.

Well, if nothing else this town would be interesting. The storyteller in him wanted to see what would happen, and the predator in him could already smell the blood. He shook his head slightly and a layer of dust fell across his shoulders, amazed that the same players could fight over the same places again and again and the humans overall were still none the wiser. He almost convinced himself that he envied them.

He’d drunk his fill of blood from the creatures of the prairie before he arrived to make sure he was at his strongest, but a new thirst now came to his mind. He started walking to the brightly lit saloon.

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Once again, anew scent made Valetea hesitate. Her mind uttered one word: Vampire! However, more time spent sniffing out the creature out told her that this one was old. Very old. Going up against him head on would be a bad idea. So, she decided on a different approach. She was glad that it wasn't a full moon as she slowly reverted back to her human form of a tall, black-haired, sleek young woman of twenty-four. A very alluring figure, she could bring almost any man that she wanted to their knees, and that usually included vampires. It was a tactic she had used many times. Her saphire blue eyes wandered over to the saloon. She walked over, confidently. It was something that made her stick out more. A confident woman walking alone at night? Unheard of in these parts.

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#, as written by Athame
Tan stopped in his tracks and twisted his head to see the source of the soft footsteps that were approaching, leaving an arc of tobacco smoke in the air as he turned. The young woman walking into the pool of light spilling from the saloon had the scent of the Wolf all over her. Tans body tensed and his senses went into overdrive. He tilted his head, listening for the distinctive sound of a pack approaching. Nothing. No claws scratching at the ground, no growling or heaving breaths, no new scents. This one appeared to be alone. He kept his head tilted as his eyes scanned her form, lithe and raven-haired as she emerged from the night. Her eyes were so blue they reminded him of the war paint of his tribe so many centuries ago, and he had to shake himself to avoid the sudden reverie that threatened to overtake him. There was a lot of confidence in this woman, and while obviously attractive that either made her stupid (which Tan very much doubted, he hadn’t lived so long by misjudging potential threats) or dangerous, despite the lack of overt attack.

He forced his coiled muscles to relax, his mouth curled up at the sides and he couldn’t stop a chuckle from echoing in the back of his throat for a moment. He was however careful to keep his fangs concealed behind his lower lip; it didn’t pay to antagonise a wolf. But in spite of any oncoming danger he always loved these moments, when a mundane setting suddenly shifts into sharp relief and your senses are truly alive. He flicked his cigarette on the ground and crushed it beneath his boot heel. He thought about what he'd been thinking to himself moments ago about this town being interesting, and knew he hadn't been wrong. He decided to see where this would go.

He glanced over his shoulder into the Saloon, it was a largely open space yet cluttered enough with tables and chairs to negate any advantage either he or the wolf could call their own, and there were enough drunks inside to make a confrontation there in front of them unlikely. Guess work of course, but worth taking into consideration. Fixing his sharp green eyes again on the woman he reached his hand slowly to his right and opened the saloon doors, gesturing an invitation inside with his left.

“Drink?” he said with an eyebrow raised.

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Her saphire eyes peirced his, showing that whether he thought he was or not, he wasn't hiding anything from her. "My my. This seems unheard of, Mister. But since you were so kind as to offer, perhaps I'll take you up on that." A grin spred across her mouth, a cold, cruel one. After so many years the Wolf had left its mark upon her face, her eyes being shaped more like her true being than a humans'. With both beings knowing what the other was, mortal enemies steped into a saloon together, both waiting to see where this would end up.

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#, as written by Athame
Tan followed the woman onto the creaking floorboards of the saloon. His trained eyes noting how comfortable she was in her skin, or should that be skins? This one wasn’t a newcomer to the bite of the wolf, but as with all of her kind he couldn’t place her true age. He noted there was none of the hush in the saloon that he usually expected when walking into a bar in this new country. He guessed either the woman was well known or the people of this town were used to strangers. Maybe a little of both, he surmised, and he wasn’t really sure which he’d have preferred.

“Two fingers” he said to the grizzled barman, who looked fairly animal like himself but was strangely all human. The man slapped two small glasses on the sticky counter but as he went to pour Tan took the bottle from his hands, dropping enough coin on the counter to cover that and a good deal more. Tan picked the drinks up in one hand and took them over to a table in a secluded corner by a stand up piano that looked like it had never been played, and beckoned the woman over. It all appeared so normal he couldn’t keep the smile from his face. He knocked back the first of many shots.

“See I reckon a few of these may be in order,” raising the glass in a half toast. His voice, while deep, was a smooth as a stream over flat stones. “Doubt there’s enough whiskey in this here town to touch my constitution, and I’ve know a few fellows of your persuasion could drink me under this table.” He leaned back in his chair, amazed how at ease he felt in these strange new surroundings and with unusual company. Pubs was a pub anywhere in the world he supposed, and the thought made him let out a laugh.

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"So, what seems to be your name, Stranger?" Valetea smiled a white-toothed grin at him, downing her own shot. Something in the back of her mind was telling her that this was out of the ordinary, and to be wary, but something else was telling her to go with it. Vampire or not, good company was hard to come by these days, and an odd, peacful calm had settled between the two. For now, even though thety both knew what the other was, they would keep their claws sheathed. To Valetea, this was rather amusung.

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#, as written by Athame
"Names Tristan Cadeyrn, now there's a name that used to mean something. Especially among the wolves in the old country way back when." he said with his fingers working on rolling another cigarette as he spoke. Seeing as they oddly seemed to be attracting no attention he touched his right index finger to it's tip and it flared into life. He inhaled deeply and curled his lips to exhale the smoke to his side, he never took his eyes off of hers. Reaching across the table to refill the two shot glasses he continued;

"Folk call me Tan. Course here and nows what counts, as always. A strange little town filled with  Skin Shifters and Blood Drinkers and there's still humans left alive. So would you have an idea what the story is, Miss...?"

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Val grinned. "I thought I recognized you...there are some of us who still remember you, Tan..." Her eyes flickered from their liquid silver to a flash of green. "I am one of them...my name is Valetea. And I do know the story..."

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Character Portrait: Roza Brown
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Tristan Cadeyrn

Aged and battle hardened amongst the Celts of Britain.

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Native American of the Simka.

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Roza Brown

Native American of the Simka.

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Tristan Cadeyrn

Aged and battle hardened amongst the Celts of Britain.

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Character Portrait: Tristan Cadeyrn
Tristan Cadeyrn

Aged and battle hardened amongst the Celts of Britain.

Character Portrait: Roza Brown
Roza Brown

Native American of the Simka.


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Most recent OOC posts in Fangs on the Range

Re: [OOC] Fangs on the Range

Oh and by the way, Cypher. You probably shoudn't talk to the GM like that. Just because a time period is set doesn't mean it has to be that strict. Good god, if you're THAT obsessed with it, just go and make your own god-damned roleplay and fuck out of this one. Yeah, you're pissing me off if you haven't noticed.

Re: [OOC] Fangs on the Range

Well excuse me cypher for not knowing my guns. give me a break. its not THAT important

Re: [OOC] Fangs on the Range

Nope, everything else fits the timeline. I was confused at the pistol, at first, until I poked around and found the Colt Pocket Percussion revolver, which stemmed a potential verbal assault.

Re: [OOC] Fangs on the Range

Wow. That post was really hard to read considering all the f-words in it.
But anyways, I must admit, I was wrong. Yes, the Revolver was manufactured in 1862, the minor detail I passed was the date of the role play. Character changed, well, character weaponed changed.
As MilkHoney said, I'm more familiar with Victorian Era, yadda yadda yadda. More fits me. So anything else I left out/missed/whatever please tell. :)

Re: [OOC] Fangs on the Range

Okay, I hate to be a double posting ninny combined with a historical snobbish asshole, but I just have to point this out.

1) WHY THE FUCK IS EVERYONE OBSESSED WITH KATANAS. FOR FUCKSAKES, REALLY. Barring the fact that most people in this era couldn't afford trans-oceanic travel, especially not just some Joe Average from the midwest, this was an era in Japan's history where foreigners were barely allowed to land on their soil, let alone actually buy their stuff. Also, this wasn't a period where the katana was readily available for international trade and travel. Logically, the only place to get one would be off of a samurai, which would cause problems. Seriously. Lose the fucking katana and get a period appropriate weapon. For example, a cavalry sabre.

2) Shaodan, you said that the roleplay was set in 1847. So that means no Winchester repeaters. Good god, you set the time period, and you didn't even research the weapons produced in it... As a matter of fact, most weapons that people commonly place in the old west (Colt Navy revolvers, Colt SAA revolvers, Winchester & Henry repeating rifles) weren't produced until the 1860s-1870s, during the Civil War.

3) TwiliDragon, what the fuck. Just...

What.

The.

Fuck.

SHOTGUNS AREN'T CHAMBERED IN BULLET CALIBRES. A ".47 Shotgun" doesn't exist. Hell, there isn't even such a thing as a .47-calibre bullet. Shotguns are chambered in "gauges". As in 8-gauge, 10-gauge, 12-gauge, et cetera.

4) Simplicity, the only revolver produced by Remington Arms wasn't conceptualised until 1858, and wasn't actually manufactured until 1862.

Re: [OOC] Fangs on the Range

I'm thinking they're doing their best to keep their whole "bloodthirsty supernatural maniac" thing a secret. Which, in the past (City of Sin), hasn't ended well.

But as a general trend, yes, ranchers weren't fond of Native Americans, and were more than likely to answer rustlers and bandits with violence.

Re: [OOC] Fangs on the Range

Thank you Cypher, that's certainly a generous offer. I'm more familiar with mid to late Victorian and Edwardian, so I'd appreciate anyone who can reign me in from jumping a decade into the future.

I'm on the fence too, but I figure if I don't have fun, there is an easy fix: drop it. And while a roleplay may seem overdone or generic or unoriginal, the characters make it different each time. We are responsible for those characters, thus, it is really up to each of us to make it an unique and enjoyable experience. Cypher, why don't you join anyway?

From my knowledge of ranchers, there would be open hostility toward the Native American tribes and a rifle ready to handle predation on the cows. I find it hard to believe there could be supernatural-predators and ranchers in the same community. Correction. I find it hard to believe they could be in the same community without tearing each others throats out and zeroing the town population with a complete massacre. But I'll see how it falls out.

Re: [OOC] Fangs on the Range

I'm still on the fence about joining this game, as it's basically looking like City of Sin in the Wild, Wild West. However, I am somewhat well-studied in that time period and the Old West in general, so if you need a consultant I'll be on hand.

[OOC] Fangs on the Range

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