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Happy belated Halloween, folks! As is tradition on Revival Dawn, we have a Halloween Event going currently. This time, we even have a theme! The participation rewards for this event are substantial, so don't miss this opportunity to write a spooky story!
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Jeremy Filth

Name : Jeremy Filth
Age : 19
Height : 6'2"
Weight : 220lbs
Species : Human
Faction : Marines
Haki Level : 1
Hitpoints (HP) : 150
Attack (ATK) : 100
Defense (DEF) : 95
Reflex (RX) : 110
Willpower (WP) : 100
Level : 10
Experience Points : 1000
Berries Berries : 50,000
Posts : 11
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[Episode] The Rats and the Rookie Empty [Episode] The Rats and the Rookie

on Fri Nov 20, 2020 1:36 pm
Quest Name: The Rats and the Rookie
Quest Category: Episode
Player Participants: Richard Maxwell (-4), Jeremy Filth (+1)
Planned Location(s): Black Drum Island

Summary: Jeremy gets conned into shooting a fake Maxwell by the real Maxwell.

“God this town is boring,” complained Jeremy.

It was just after dawn in Iron Side, the large industrial port town on Black Drum Island that had been named after the Iron Side Shipping Company that had founded it nearly a century ago. It was cold this time of year and the chilly morning fog hadn't lifted from the ground yet but the shipping ports were already busy with merchants and fisherman looking to unload their hauls. Naturally this meant that the shops and taverns around the docks were open as well, eager as they were to help the tired and hungry sailors spend some of last night's earnings.

One tavern in particular, Ahab's Oasis,happened to be popular among the marines who patrolled the docks looking for pirates and inspecting the ships for stowaways or contraband. Reason being that the owner, Rusty Ahab, was a long retired rear admiral who gave discounts to both active and retired marines. For the low ranked marines such as Ensign Jeremy Filth, this was a god send, since marines at his rank were hardly paid much of anything.

Jeremy sat at one of the small wooden tables in the surprisingly well lit tavern looking around at the various bounty posters that littered the metal walls of the joint. Supposedly each one was a pirate that had been brought to justice by the marines that had frequented Ahab's over the years. There were some big names on the walls including some who had been super novas or super veterans once upon a time.

Across from Jeremy was another marine, ensign Terry Wheeler. Terry was a tall, dark haired, lanky fellow with pale skin who wore more eye shadow than any man (and most women for that matter) ever should. Both men were dressed in the standard white and blue marine uniforms with their standard issue riffle laid on the ground next to their chairs. The only differences being that Jeremy had two pistols at his side instead of the standard one, as well as a belt of grenades that he wore across his chest where as Terry had a katana that at least looked like it was higher than average quality. The more flamboyant outfits and eccentric personalities among the marines were generally reserved for the higher ranked officers as they were the only ones who could get away with it.

“I don't know what you're complaining about,” sighed Terry “all we have to do is walk around the docks and, like, look at crates and stuff.”

“That's the problem,” scowled the frustrated Jeremy “they told me when I joined the marines that I'd get to go on adventures and shoot pirates. Instead I'm stuck here, on the same boring-ass island I was born on, stickin' my head in a bunch of fuckin' fish freezers in case somebody shoved some drugs up a tuna's asshole.”

The hot headed young marine took a swig of coffee from the ceramic mug in front of him and it looked as though he was about to continue his tirade but before he could a large seagull carrying a sack of mail flew in through the open window near the entrance. It let out a loud SQUAAAAW and flew across the room before taking perch on the bar at the far end of the tavern. The young woman with curly red hair working behind the counter that morning, one of Rusty's grand children, greeted the bird with a handful of sardines before taking the mail and placing a bit of cash in the empty pouch as payment for the delivery service.

By this point Jeremy, Terry and all the other marines in the tavern had gotten up and were now crowded excitedly around the seagull. Morning mail on this day of the week only meant one thing to the marines stationed on Black Drum Island, brand new bounty posters. Of course only posters for pirates actually believed to be in the South Blue were given out this way. No point in scaring people with pictures of monsters from the Grand Line. Most of the pirates shown in the pile of posters were the usual offenders in this part of the world. Small time criminals with bounties in the 5 million to 8 million range. The only reason they hadn't been captured yet is that they generally didn't cause enough trouble to warrant the World Government or any of the big name bounty hunters going after them. Of course there were outliers with bounties in the upper teens, such as “Rat Face” Frank Barbarossa, a notorious smuggler, who was worth 17.5 million according to his most recent poster, but even he was small scale in the grand scheme of things.

The men continued to rifle through the posters looking for new faces or updated bounties among stack of usual offenders, that is until one poster in particular made all them all stop and stare. “Plague Rat” Richard Maxwell, a notoriously ruthless and cunning supernova with a bounty of 194 million, more than ten times the next highest highest bounty in the South Blue. The low ranked marines that frequented Ahab's Oasis all began to murmur among themselves. Some in fear. Some in excitement. It had to be a mistake right? A misplaced poster? There was no way somebody like him would be found in the Blues. Pirates with bounties like that were all off in the Grand Line trying to become pirate king.


“This is like...stupid...or something,” said Terry with an eye roll. “There's like no way a supernova would be caught dead in a place like this.”

“But,” smiled Jeremy his fingers now twitching with excitement “what if it's for real?”
[Episode] The Rats and the Rookie Vk6odI4

Name : Richard Maxwell
Epithet : Plague Rat
Age : 47
Height : 6'0" / 183 cm
Weight : 160 lbs. / 73 kg
Species : Human
Faction : Pirate
World Position : Supernova
Crew : --
Ship : --
Crew Position : --
Haki Level : 2
Hitpoints (HP) : 200
Attack (ATK) : 300
Defense (DEF) : 500
Reflex (RX) : 600
Willpower (WP) : 200
Level : 68
Experience Points : 6845
Bounty : 194,000,000
Shop Discount : -10%
Berries Berries : 365,005,000
Posts : 113
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[Episode] The Rats and the Rookie Empty Re: [Episode] The Rats and the Rookie

on Sat Nov 21, 2020 11:05 am
They said that good news travels slowly, while bad news has wings. Well, today that saying was quite literal. The local mailbird was making its rounds. After visiting the popular tavern of Ahab’s Oasis and a couple of other locations along the way, it stopped at a quaint, little inn at the other end of the town. The Golden Leaf, as the lovingly carved sign declared, was a place of modest dignity. Two floors and barely big enough to house half a dozen people, it nevertheless had its loyal customers. Tasteful wooden paneling and furniture imported from an island nation quite far away created a cozy experience. Downstairs there was even a small cafe right next to the reception and the kitchen. Not a bar though, heavens no. Rather, the scent of fresh tea drifted in the air.

At the front desk, a healthily round man with a thick, white sweater and an exceptionally well-groomed moustache paid for the latest paper. He adjusted his thick reading glasses and started browsing the pages while humming a dignified tune. Nearby, another man was sitting at a lonely table. His only companions were a cup of tea and a brown suitcase that seemed far too big for someone so scrawny. Fittingly, he was dressed in a fine, chocolate-brown suit, silk no doubt. A thick, black winter coat rested on the back of his chair. Between sips of tea, he busily jotted down something on a small pocket journal.

Upon coming across the bounty posters, the rotund inn-keeper recoiled. “Oh dear...” His eyes widened and stiff upper lip nearly wavered, but he caught himself. Right then. Steady on. He cleared his throat and turned to the only other person present. “It says here a criminal by the name of Richard Maxwell has been spotted in the South Blue.” However, the thin man didn’t even look up from his notes. The name didn’t get much of a reaction. “Never heard of him. A dangerous fellow, I take it?” His calm indifference was apparent.

Still rather shaken beneath the stoic face, the innkeeper nodded and shifted his stare back onto the poster. He had been hoping that he misread, but no. “Quite so, I’m afraid. Just listen to all these crimes... Theft, Fraud, Blackmail, Smuggling... And that’s hardly a half of it. A bounty of 194 million too. Right rotten to the core, he is.” Finally the gentleman guest lifted his attention from the notes and offered some comforting words alongside a friendly smile. “Ah, my dear friend, you fret too much. I’m sure it’s just a misprint, an extra zero or three. Why would that kind of man even come here?” When he put it like that, the rotund man found himself wanting to agree. “I do hope you’re right...” Eager to distract himself, he hoisted a teapot.

“Right then, enough of that. More tea?”


Beneath the smile, the crook was quietly cursing his rotten luck. Of course the latest paper had to appear today. Such perfect timing. As usual, the paper and its problematic additions were printed full of lies and slander. He had never in his life blackmailed anyone. Weeell, unless you insisted on counting that one tiny incident back in... Hrm, alright then. Fair enough. Fortunately the people in charge of snapping pictures for the posters weren’t always exactly competent. Not only did his photo have most of his face obscured, but it also made him look rather... fat. Definitely bulkier than in real life. Hm, maybe the camera did indeed add ten pounds...

After enjoying one more cup of delicious warmth, the gentleman headed off into the chilly morning fog. Not even a whisper of wind stirred the white curtain. He rummaged through his pocket and produced a carton of cancer in a convenient stick form. A lighter’s flame flickered, once, twice, before wisps of smoke started rising. He took a deep, ponderous drag. In hindsight, coming to a marine infested island to lay low may not have been the smartest move. It had felt clever at the time though. ‘The last thing they’ll expect’ kind of thing, see? Letting out a hazy sigh, he turned towards the docks. No point in regretting it now. He had an appointment with a local smuggler, whose name escaped him at the moment. They were supposed to meet behind an abandoned warehouse in about thirty minutes. Better to be early than late.

Wanted Dead or Alive: Richard 'Plague Rat' Maxwell
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