This site makes extensive use of JavaScript.
Please enable JavaScript in your browser.
Live
PTR
10.2.7
PTR
10.2.6
Beta
Fallout Azeroth (Open RP)
Post Reply
Return to board index
Post by
oneforthemoney
Name:
Richard Keeper
Location:
Scorchlands(Elwynn), Goldshire Ruins
The world had been green, once.
This, Richard Keeper remembered.
He stood on the rail of the Nether as it hummed through blistering skies the colour of fire. The azerite engine within thumped with power, occasional arc of magic spitting across the deck and patchwork hull of the much-abused ship. The rocky landscape rolled away below. Dry. Wasted. Elwynn. It was called Elwynn. He had to keep remembering that. Too hard to call it what it was. The Scorchlands. He lifted his head, his metal mask rasping with its rebreather, his grey duster billowing in the wind that stirred the hard packed earth below. His hair was brown and cropped short, stirring in the air.
In the distance he could just see the hollowed shell of what had once been Stormwind. The walls were billowed out, the crater hammered deep into the earth. Magic crackled through the air, ion storms making the air even out there taste like copper. Rifts into oblivion rippled, crackling and yawning. A vast gulf through which the horrors came forth.
There were many Rifts, of course. The mana bombs exploding across Azeroth had torn reality like poor tissue paper, opening the way to horrors of arcane monstrosities and the horrors of the void. So many killed in those first days. Hundreds of thousands, the world shattered. Governments toppled, kingdoms ruined.
No one knew which had used them first, Horde, or Alliance. But use them they had. The first took out Stormwind, then Orgrimmar. So many others after that, cities shattered into hollow shells.
The screaming grew louder. Tanith paused as he crested a ridge, looking down. Goldshire’s ruin lay below, the empty buildings like corpses left to dry in the beating sun. The trees that once surrounded the town skeletons of twisted, crystallized wood.
The Rift howled in the middle of town. A small one, compared to Stormwind’s own. But sealable. Richard watched it carefully. Some rifts were known to arc out. Certainly the larger ones. Hopefully this one was still small enough not to.
“Slow and steady!” he called, his voice crackling through his mask. The pilot, Tevia, nodded. She adjusted the wheel, her arms stitched with white tattoos like lightning bolts, her helmet drawn low and goggles tight over her eyes. The Nether was one of the few airships still running, and that was getting harder. It had never been easy getting parts. Doubly so these days when so much had been lost to the Azerite and rifts. Two heavy propellors thrummed as the Nether hovered above the ruins. Richard slammed down a lever. With a rusty squeal a ladder clattered down to dangle over the crystallized earth. He swung himself around.
“Carefully, Captain!” Tevia called.
“Just be ready to fly!” Richard shouted over the thump of the engine and the crackle of the rift below. Grabbing the ladder with one hand, the other he drew his heavy Lightforge pistol, he slowly started down.
Work to do.
Post by
oneforthemoney
Fallout Azeroth everyone!
Been a while since we had a new RP and I just bought New Vegas, so I figured what the hell. As you might have noticed the idea is the world has gone to hell in a handbasket and that’s unfortunate. Azerite infused mana bombs have turned Azeroth into largely a wasteland of blasted landscape and twisting Rifts from which horrors spring forth. Orgrimmar and Stormwind have been destroyed and replaced by twisted buildings and a howling rift into the twisting nether. Factions are gone, most armies are, and there are only a few things even remotely close to civilization left.
The setting is twenty years after the mana bombs fell. The worst is over, the recovery began, so to speak. And a new balance of power exists.
Here’s a basic run down of what’s what.
Eastern Kingdoms:
Stranglethorn:
Largely intact, untouched by the mana bombs. The trolls have waxed strong as the world struggles to rebuild, re-establishing their empire in Zul’Gurub. Led by their new king, Zalazin, their warriors control nearly the whole jungle, pressing against Booty Bay and its beleaguered goblin defenders.
Duskwood:
Caught between the chaotic realms of magic of Deadwind and now Elwynn, horrors stalk the forest, the barrier between the world in the dream broken, allowing the emerald to spill into reality. Nightmare walk the waking world, but not only that, as a number of worgen have returned to the region and seek to heal the rift from the former emerald portal before it spills beyond the borders, while also making it their new home.
Elwynn:
Caught in the epicenter of the blast, Elwynn has been torn apart, the once verdant landscape reduced to a ragged strip of desert and crystallized ruin. The city of Stormwind has been torn apart, a massive howling rift forming in the ruins, twisting and mutating anything caught in its vicinity. Renamed the Scorchlands, it’s a monstrous badlands spilling its horrors into the lands adjacent.
Westfall:
In the aftermath of Stormwind, Westfall has become the last great cradle of human civilization. Its farmlands have weathered the storm well enough, but it is a harsh land, ruled over by the great keep on Sentinel Hill, guarding against the menaces unleashed by rifts bursting across the landscape.
Redridge
: Cut off from the rest of the south and east by Elwynn’s rifts, Redridge has become its own kingdom, its people battleworn and hardy. Lakeshire has become Lakewood, one of the few major arid areas left on Azeroth. Taking hold of the former Stonewatch, they guard their northern border grimly, their rangers some of the best, and frequently contesting the horrors the rifts spill out.
Burning Steppes/Searing Gorge:
The Burning Steppes have been largely untouched by the horrors of the mana bombs, mainly due to no one wanting to be there. But since Ironforge was sealed, it has become the major center of Dwarven commerce, running lines of rail across the landscape. The Dark Irons, forced from their isolation, have become wary caretakers of their region, supplied with food from Redridge, it is an industrial powerhouse of the region, though increasingly insular. Rumors say something has awoken in the deeps beneath Blackrock, in the molten core. Stirred to life by the detonation of the mana bombs. Who can say? For the Dark Iron have sealed the depths, though war parties have been seen frequently heading through the deep gates. And rarely have they returned.
Khaz Modan:
The dwarves of Ironforge survived the blasts that sundered the landscape. Barely. Sealing Ironforge, the mana bomb dropped upon the mountain failed to penetrate, but worse was done. A massive rift had torn the air around the mountain, sealing the dwarves within their mountain home. With the tram running only into the horrors spewing out of Stormwind, the dwarves have remained locked away, trapped in a tomb of their own invention as the Rifts tear across the landscape, held back only by the steadfast technological ingenuity of the gnomes of Gnomeragan, whose scientific expertise has enabled the world to recover from the worst of the mana bombs and the chaos of magic inflicted on the world.
Wetlands:
The wetlands have become a second home of the dwarven people. Their settlements there have risen in importance dramatically, not the least due to the presence of the Stonewall Dam, whose ability to generate electricity has made them a potent force in the post apocalyptic world. The damp landscape has grown more flooded due to the running of the dam, Menethil now a powerful port, blazing with electric lights and filled with the palaces of the wealthy, while lines of electric lights are sent sprawling in every direction through the gloomy marshlands.
Twilight Highlands:
The Highlands, torn apart by the Twilight, have suffered yet another horror. The dropping of a mana bomb on the area has twisted the landscape yet further, and from vast pits, horrors claw forth from the broken earth. The Wildhammers have been driven back, sealing shut their former cursed home of Grim Batol, holding the pass against the monsters who would invade the new homeland of their brethren. A vast wall has been constructed, manned day and night, electric lamps panning across the twisted no man’s lands, artillery pounding day and night against the ever encroaching old one hordes.
Former Lordaeron:
The Battle for the Undercity took its grim toll. Every region around the once powerful underground kingdom of the forsaken has been poisoned by the Forsaken’s retreat, even before the mana bombs fell. The toxic landscape is filled with horrific abominations of the former forsaken, the walking dead and worse as the rifts interact with the stain of the Forsaken’s blight. Worst of it is in the land around the once Undercity. The deep cavern city of Sylvanas’s undead has been blasted to nothing but a massive crater under the most potent mana bomb created. The pit filled with water from the nearby lake, the remains of the Undercity rising from the waters like grey bones, blasted and destroyed. Irradiated undead wander the landscape, twisted by the power of the rifts. A horrific place, but one rich in potential for the foolish or brave enough to try their hand in it.
Arathi Highlands:
It’s almost ironic that the home of the Arathi people, so savaged and ground down, should now see a second rise under their new lords, the Knights of the Ebon Blade. It was a shock the day the hovering fortress of the Ebon Hold came over Stromgarde. The undead knights poured out, purging the city of Syndicate and ogre, claiming it with their cold banners. A haven, they declared it. But more, a fortress. The city rises again, built under the guidance of the Nightlord, a mysterious figure. More a fortress brotherhood than nation, the Ebon Lands are patrolled by death knights, who give little quarter, enforcing grim justice. Though relieved, the people and refugees who flood the Ebond Lands cannot help but wonder at the reasoning behind the Ebon Blade’s actions, and just what the grim knighthood plans.
Gilneas:
The Greymane wall, once fallen, rises again. A bulwark against the horrors of what had once been Lordaeron. But the Gilneans did not come out unscathed. Though small, a mana bomb was dropped on the capital, blasting the major city. But Gilneas City survives, by day its citizens going about, their powerful worgen frames proving resistant to much of the mana bombs poisonous influence. But at night, as the alarms wail, every man, woman and child retreats, as the phantoms of the dead wander the streets, clawing for the living. A city of phantoms in every sense of the word as the dream bleeds into reality, only banished in the light of day, when the world regains its normalcy, and its citizens can go about their business once more.
Elven Lands:
If Lor’themar thought his people safe, he was soon proven wrong. The Lightwell, fount of his people’s magic, has been rocked by the horrific magics unleashed by the mana bombs. Where once they withered, now they grow monstrously powerful, swollen with magic until their very skin cracks and fissures. Many have gone mad from the sudden influx of power, and the elves have taken to binding themselves against their sacred fountains, regulating their influx of mana as they seek to live their lives. But there are those who refuse. Those who grow in strength in the former homeland of Darkhan, and who wage a terrible civil war upon their brethren, warring with arcane machineries and monsters against the blood elves and their cousins.
Northrend:
Northrend has always had to contend with horrors, but the detonation of the mana bombs have done worse. The Nexus pulses with power, tearing apart huge chunks of the landscape as it fluctuates to try and regain balance over Azeroth’s tumultuous leylines, forming on the roof of the world the largest Rift in all Azeroth. Dragons gather, but find their power, once fading, surging again. The northern realms have become thick with the flights of these new broods. Proto drakes evolved, egg clutches revived. A new homeland for dragon kind, with Alexstrasza the remaining Queen, ruling over the scattered flights with grim certainty as she seeks to understand the new place of her kind in the world, even as she dwells on dark tidings coming from the north, where in the former halls of the Lich King, things once forgotten stir in Icecrown once again.
Post by
oneforthemoney
Kalimdor:
Realms of the Night Elves:
Teldrassil burned, felwood twisted even further under the weight of a mana bomb, the night elves are beleaguered but surviving grimly. The access to the dream has emboldened them, turning the once wounded woodlands rich and verdant, spilling out of rifts opened across the landscape. No more do tall trees brood over quiet glades. Hyjal blooms once more, larger than ever. More potent! Its roots spill across the mountains, dipping into poisonous felwood and Ashenvale. Darkshore and the charred trunk of its once sister tree. The Night Elves now wield the power of the dream, many among them mad, seeking to bring back Azeroth to what it once was, using rifts to summon the power of the dream into the waking world, spilling forth bloated roots and forests.
Azuremyst:
The Exodar survived the mana bomb dropped upon it, the mighty spaceship built to withstand greater forces. But the land around it has grown corrupted. A vast, seething place of arcane horrors and jagged crystal shapes. The draenei despaired of the destruction, but they are a hardy people. Realizing they could never return their landscape to what it was, they now study the stony wash of their lands, seeking to instead understand and, perhaps, even use the new azerite stones to their own benefit.
Durotar:
The Horde had been the first to use the mana bomb, under the mad leadership of Garrosh Hellscream. This time, they have felt the full brunt of its horrific power. Orgrimmar is no more. The once proud capital torn to pieces, little more than a vast, screaming rift of crackling magic and crystallized stone. Only those poor survivors of the initial blast remain. Horrifically twisted things that once were orcs, clawing across the landscape, seeking an end to their pain as horrors from the rifts crawl out, wailing under the twisting fissure in space that is the great rift. Only the Darkspear survive, clinging to the southern peninsula, assailed by the monsters unleashed on the one they called warchief, monsters who seek to drive the trolls into the sea.
Barrens:
The Barrens has become a place of war once more. Refugees fleeing the ruined landscape of Durotar and its screaming rifts and craters naturally gravitated towards the orcish heartland. But there, the clans of the orcish nation fractured once more, blame thrown around regarding the use of the devastating weapons. Clans regathered, and under their banners, from the fortresses of towering steel and twisted stone, the orcish bands battle one another for supremacy and resources, the elders of their clans shaking their heads with the grim memory of Outland. But no dark portal stands to save the orcish peoples this time, and the home they have made must be stayed. Only Ratchet remains independent, a fortress of fortified steel and wary goblin guns, and the one reliable port and neutral ground in the devastating conflict zone.
Aszuna
: Aszuna has faired as well as can be expected, bordering the dream sprawled wilds to the east, and the scarred, blasted hellscape of what was once Orgrimmar to the south. The goblins hastily made claim to the region, but their wealth accounts for little. Now, save some far flung communities and fortified towns, Aszuna is a war zone as the empowered night elves and the horrors spawned from the fallout of the mana bomb each seek claim over the ruined lands.
Stonetalon:
Some have thrived with the detonation of the mana bombs. Once confined to the twists of the ravines and hollows of Stonetalon, the harpies now claim the whole of the region as their own. Ruling under the united banner from the vast rookeries of Stoneclaw, the harpies jealously guard their new high homes, venturing from the protection of the palatial towers and crags only to claim slaves and supplies, sweeping from the sky and retreating with their plunder to the high crags before organized resistance can be gathered. Ruled by the high matriarch of Aviana herself, the harpies are ruled by the Matriarch council, a collection of their highest queens, who stand only under the ancient and their goddess.
Desolace/Mulgore:
Near an entire generation of tauren died when the mana bombs fell. Those who survived found that death may have been preferable. The cliffs that once divided Mulgore from barren Desolace have fallen, and from the ragged landscape, their ancestral foes, the centaurs, raid. The beleaguered survivors have found themselves assailed by the horsemen, and without their old allies, the tauren fight a desperate battle against the rejuvenated clans, the once fertile plains of mulgore torn apart by rifts. Desolace, untouched by the mana bombs, booms, the centaur clans returning to their warring ways, slaughtering and raiding, now strengthened by necromantic shamans whose dark arts invites yet more war and bloodshed for their dark rituals.
Feralas:
The power of the Highborn grows even as their brethren do. While their druidic kin spread rifts and empowered by the might of the dream, the Highborne, from their thrones in Dire Maul, grow mighty. The ogre tribes, once their foes, now are shackled, enslaved by the Highborne’s arcane might, building their elven masters new palaces across the wilds. Legions under the heels of their elven masters, the Highborn have raised themselves to even greater heights, their ogre slave soldiers tightening their fist on the lands around them, building tall spired cities from which they might rule haughtily over a civilization of slaves.
Dustwallow Marsh:
Dustwallow is Dustwallow. No one goes there, the irradiation from the detonation of the first mana bomb over Theramore warning all away. All, but the black dragons, who have ensconced themselves in the ancient caves of Onyxia, and whose flight grows strong once more. Broken free from the control of the old gods by the tearing power of the Rifts, they now brood over their place in the world, feeling the earth suffer under the tearing might of the rifts, and wondering what place they have now.
Tanaris:
The bronze flight has observed the shattering of the world with mild interest from their homes. They muse on it abstractly, for little has changed in Tanaris. The caverns work still, and only Gadgetzan growing larger has really garnered their interest. The goblin city now blazes with life and light, a capital of gambling, debauchery and anything one can like. A glittering crown hiding the rot of the world and the corruption of the crime families. The dragons watch this, seeing the great city shine even in the deepest nights, spotlights training across the skies and crude skyscrapes rising jaggedly into the horizon. Watch, and shake their heads at the strangeness of mortals.
Silithus:
Something has woken beneath the sands. The Azerite crystals, once so greedily coveted, are now scorned, locked in a twisting horrors of rifts that scatter across the hive riddled sands. Few dare it, venturing into the mana blasted landscape from the Seething Shore, overlooked by the mighty Silithid ruins that buzz with new activity. A hive of piratical and smuggling efforts, the once heart of the Black Empire beats with evil again, and only the truly brave, or truly stupid, venture in.
Pandaria:
Possibly the greatest tragedy during the conflict came when mana bombs fell on the pandaren homeland. No one is entirely sure what happened. Once more, the deep mists enwrap the pandaren landscape. The continent has not vanished, but any who venture into the swallowing mists do not return. Has the island been destroyed? Lost in time? Or has the mana bombs done something worse to the once great land? Something that none have escaped from? Who can say…
Post by
oneforthemoney
Major Tech:
Gnomish:
Gnomish inventions have flooded the gap between the scattered survivors of the mana bombs blasts. Guns are common, along with plasma devices and trams lain across the scattered wastelands. Mostly utilized by dwarves and their northern allies, occasionally traded to others, though the expertise in the devices often prevents it from venturing too far out.
Goblin:
The technology collected during the battle against the Iron Horde has seen a second life after the blast of the mana bombs. With magic’s volatility following the blasts, the brutal, straightforward machinery of the former Iron Horde is frequently employed not only by orcs, but other less technically minded people where materials are scarce but ingenuity less so. Mainly employed in Kalimdor and the former human kingdoms.
Magic:
Never before has magic been as powerful as it is now. With the rifts tearing apart reality, warping and mutating those caught, to wield magic is to try and light a cigarette with a flamethrower. Only the truly skilled and gifted dare, for though wild, if controlled, magic has never had the potency it has now, allowing those few sorcerers skilled enough to wield it to control untold reservoirs of power and arcane might.
Rift Runners:
It has been a curious fact of the Rifts that some are attuned to them. Perhaps the radiation of the mana bombs explosions changed them somehow, but some have awaken the ability to shut rifts without the expensive technology used by major centers. These scattered Rift Runners, trained with runic magic to seal the rifts, are a varied, adventurous breed who can withstand the potency of the rifts without suffering corruption, and are therefore always in high demand to venture into the dark depths of the tortured landscapes.
Rifts:
The mana bombs not only devastated the landscapes. They also caused great tears in reality known as rifts. Gaps through which raw mana and the twisting nether spill out of incessantly, twisting the life around it with the sudden gorging of chaotic energies. Rifts can open near anywhere and are difficult to seal again, the largest rifts are where the major mana bombs were dropped, and sealing them is merely a stop gap measure against what often seems an endless tide of horrors.
Azerite:
Once thought a tool for the mightiest of wars, azerite now serves as a desperate fuel source in the maddened future. What was Azeroth’s doom may be its salvation as the blood of the planet itself fuels the machines and engines which the races eke out a living upon a world much changed.
Post by
Sparkbolt
Character: Ana Greyfang
Location: Goldshire Ruins
Deep in the ship away from prying eyes of the crew Ana worked in her small laboratory. The woman kept her black hair pulled back into a ponytail as red eyes scanned the samples she’s collected during her journey with Richard and his crew. She swore as she watched another vial of blood turn black under her watch as she added a flake of Azerite to the vial. She started to write everything down when she felt the ship come to a halt and she looked up. Reliesing they someone was heading towards the surface she rushed from her tiny lab and up the stairs her lab coat flapping in the wind behind her.
Post by
oneforthemoney
Name:
Richard Keeper
Location:
Scorchlands(Elwynn), Goldshire Ruins
Richard hit the ground, dust puffing up around his feet. He straightened slowly, lightpistol in hand. The lenses of his mask ticked and crackled, feeding information through of the surroundings. One of Arana's devices, one of many.
He lifted his pistol as he slowly moved forward. Blue light raced down the threads engraved in the barrles, powering it with arcane might. Though Light and Shadow magic was far more reliable in the hectic lands where rifts spat and twisted regular arcane magic, he hadn't skill in either, leaving him with the arcane bullets. And, of course, a few incindiary ones.
The wind plucked at his jacket as he moved towards the nearest ruin. A former inn, its paint stripped away long ago, blackened crystal crawling over it like some cancerous stone carapace all that kept the place standing.
Post by
Sparkbolt
Character: Ana
Location: Goldshire Ruins
As Ana stepped onto the deck her lab coat shifted and wrapped around her tightly it’s cowl rising till it covered her nose and face. “Dammit he’s supposed to tell me when he’s leaving.” She cursed seeing the ladder defending towards the ground and she was quick to climb over the ledge and slide down the ladder hitting the ground with a soft crunch she sniffed the air once before red eyes locked on the ruins and she darted towards them.
Post by
oneforthemoney
Name:
Richard Keeper
Location:
Scorchlands(Elwynn), Goldshire Ruins
Richard stopped when he heard the thump behind him. He sighed and half turned to watch the young woman storm across the blasted landscape.
Post by
Sparkbolt
Character: Ana
Location: Goldshire Ruins
“Forget something?” She asked approaching him.
Post by
oneforthemoney
Name:
Richard Keeper
Location:
Scorchlands(Elwynn), Goldshire Ruins
"Hello, Ana," Richard sighed. "You shouldn't be out here," he said. "It's not safe."
Post by
Sparkbolt
Character: Ana Greyfang
Location: Goldshire Ruins
“It’s not safe anywhere.” She replied. “And I need to collect more samples for my work.” She explained to him.
Post by
oneforthemoney
Name:
Richard Keeper
Location:
Scorchlands(Elwynn), Goldshire Ruins
"You could have me do it," Richard noted, uncomfortable. He hated having these talks. Ana was far too willful at the worst times. It was one thing to be out among the horrors of the wastes, but to have Ana with him was another thing entirely.
Post by
Sparkbolt
Character: Ana Greyfang
Location: Goldshire Ruins
“While you’re amazing at the mechanics your skill is lacking with biology.” She stops him. “Besides it’s dangerous down here alone and I can handle my own.” She added her eyes a glowing red.
Post by
oneforthemoney
Name:
Richard Keeper
Location:
Scorchlands(Elwynn), Goldshire Ruins
Richard scowled behind his mask, the red lenses glinting back. "...Fine. But first sign of trouble I want you back on the
Nether.
"
Post by
Sparkbolt
Character: Ana
Location: Goldshire Ruins
“As you wish captain.” She bowed her head with a smirk behind her mask.
Post by
oneforthemoney
Name:
Richard Keeper
Location:
Scorchlands(Elwynn), Goldshire Ruins
Richard glared down at her a moment more. Then, whirling so the hem of his coat gusted over the powder he started off back into the ruins.
Post by
Sparkbolt
Character: Ana
Location: Goldshire Ruins
Ana followed silently. As she walked into the ruins she began to scan the ruins occasionally sniffing the air.
Post by
oneforthemoney
Name:
Richard Keeper
Location:
Scorchlands(Elwynn), Goldshire Ruins
Richard pushed in the old door, hearing it squeal on rusted hinges. The inn was a ruin, the hearth spilling crystallized spikes of magic. The wood was aged and weather worn, the tables dusty and dry as old paper. Richard scanned the interior carefully as he moved inside. "Basement," he said. "Should be some azurite ore down there protected from the storm."
Post by
Sparkbolt
Character: Ana
Location: Goldshire Ruins
"Let's get it and go. I want to be out of this place." She said only stopping for a second to gaze at the tables before following again.
Post by
oneforthemoney
Name:
Richard Keeper
Location:
Scorchlands(Elwynn), Goldshire Ruins
Richard nodded. He warily entered the kitchen, the stairs creaking as he descended them. He aimed his gun towards the darkness as he slowly moved down into the cellar.
He stopped near the bottom stair as the glow of his gun flashed, gleaming off crystals jutting from the walls and floors, fairly bursting out of old barrels and the once finely interconnected brickwork. He lowered his gun just a hair, smiling behind his mask at the sight.
"Thought so," he said as he walked down the last steps.
Post Reply
You are not logged in. Please
log in
to post a reply or
register
if you don't already have an account.