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whats your characters backstory?


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My DUDE be killin and stealin since he was riding around in his carage...by the time he was 4 he realized there was more to life and decided to start trying "new" things. After glitching a few million...maybe like 20 he realized that there wasn't more to life than just killin and stealin and went back to doing what ever the hell he wanted and having a good time because money was no longer an issue for him and he could just focus his time on having a good time...not grinding all day.


He also tried to start life as a new person. But, quickly realized it wasn't a new life he was starting...just a new identity he could use to take advantage of all the low level idiots.

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My story:

My character was so shaken up from his early life, he's told me stories how he couldn't "log in to the servers of life" when he was born, that he's gone bald and lowered himself to selling and manufacturing crystal methamphetamine. Also, he-- pfft hahaha nothing like making fun of R* and making TV show references in one post

Edited by Camsterguy
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For quite some time (A few days ago when I read the Roleplay topics) I've been curious to how people actually roleplay on this game. When I look at the topics they do seem very restricted. Sometimes when I'm rolling through Los Santos and driving on the pavement (Yes, to kill people) I imagine the chaos being much worse in my head and that gives me a few laughs, is this roleplaying?


Ps. If I was to do this, my character would be an escaped lunatic from an English Asylum. Upon escaping, he flew to Los Santos somehow to begin a criminal empire. He proceeds to rob, steal, maim and set fire to corpses.


I do play this game like a complete nutter, burning people and their vehicles when they come within proximity of me but I suppose we all do!


Oh another ps. The reason he would be from an English Asylum is because I am English and I would forget to do other accents.

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My character was born in 1980 in East Los Santos, originally a high ranking member of the Vago's after the events of GTA San Andreas the drug market was open in Los Santos. The Mexican drug cartels hired him to distribute cocaine and collect and collect taxes on other gangs. After excepting a job and eliminating Cesar Viapando in a hit after he refused to pay taxes (which also took the life Kendl Johnson) he engaged in all out war with the Grove Street Families. Though grove street was a thorn in his side for a time he eventually decided to make a deal with the ballers to create an alliance in order to take out grove street once and for all. Offering the ballers the GSF territory and the best price on the most pure uncut cocaine ever to hit this side of the border. The Vago's and Baller's launched an all out war on grove street and successfully eliminated them. Taking Carl and Sweet as hostages they endured torture until they were beheaded. There bodies hung dangling from the the old grove street bridge with the letters KKC cut into there bodies. This was the rise of the Kilo Kings Cartel. Their heads were never recovered but word is they were sent to Mexico to show proof of eliminating the "problem". No longer a member of the Vago's he enlisted high ranking members of all the major gangs in LS to work for him. Though many feared and loathed him he has the best prices and best quality product in the city and had no choice to work for him. Also the fact they would more then likely end up dead for refusing to cooperate was a large factor. Establishing a pipeline through all of GTA he set up rings in vice city and distributed through the Spanish Lords in liberty city.

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My character spent his childhood in North Yankton with his auntie and uncle, since their poor so my character didn't go to school and instead helping his uncle out by driving back and forth from the town to certain locations to transport logs. His experience driving on snowy and slippery terrain made him very good at driving combined wth his natural reflexes. After a while his uncle and auntie died from old age, he became pressured of not having money and sick of doing his uncle's job.


One day, he snapped and decided he's going to make money, llegally or not. He started looking for jobs and thats how he met Lamar since he promised good money. He went to LS to get over his uncle and auntie deaths and start a new life as a small time getaway driver.

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For quite some time (A few days ago when I read the Roleplay topics) I've been curious to how people actually roleplay on this game. When I look at the topics they do seem very restricted. Sometimes when I'm rolling through Los Santos and driving on the pavement (Yes, to kill people) I imagine the chaos being much worse in my head and that gives me a few laughs, is this roleplaying?


Ps. If I was to do this, my character would be an escaped lunatic from an English Asylum. Upon escaping, he flew to Los Santos somehow to begin a criminal empire. He proceeds to rob, steal, maim and set fire to corpses.


I do play this game like a complete nutter, burning people and their vehicles when they come within proximity of me but I suppose we all do!


Oh another ps. The reason he would be from an English Asylum is because I am English and I would forget to do other accents.

that's all roleplay is..just be the character..how he would act or even what he would say in such a situation.

One of my characters is a silent assassin, so I play with that in mind..being sneaky and stuff.

My original Revoemag got deleted so I made a new character...named him Midnyt..he's a black gangster...so now I play him as such..screaming at the cashier to give me the dough...random drive bys because that's the way he rolls..and if I'm in the mood I may even rap for all those on the mic.

Edited by Revoemag
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My character is Nykyrian, a former Merryweather operative who was disavowed after turning on his own team when sent to wipe out an entire family. Escaping the ensuing bloodbath, he fled Liberty City to Los Santos, where he uses an old contact of his to disrupt Merryweather's operations. His former handler sometimes helps by dispatching other agents on Merryweather's sh*tlist to help him take on the people who used to employ him.


Some see him as an angel of death, while his enemies see him as a death-dealing devil walking on the earth.

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To troll this thread would be like shooting fish in a barrel. Also, I don't have time. Enjoy guys, enjoy.

Edited by liambear88
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came up, got deleted by God


Came back, started glitching, got rich


now im in bad sport and theres a tank in my garage..


And tommy vercetti is my cousin

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Joe Marston only vaguely recalls his early years in the Western Border states and the gruesome slaughtering of his clinically insane father, Thomas. The fog clears, however, when remembering his nightmarish adolescent life in the sulky, harsh avenues of Broker in Liberty City.

Joe, the second youngest of five boys, was a reserved young man despite his harsh upbringing and the never-ending series of jarring events that pierced the all-too-rare placidness of family life in the slums of LC.


But when Joe discovered the truth of his ancestors and the curse that followed his bloodline, he delved into the same lifestyle that killed his father and kept the Marston family afloat but misfortunate.


His mother, Jane, was an affectionate but dysfunctional parent. Joe knew of her career as an exotic dancer from the start, and this didn't dampen his ambition to one day write novels...until age 16, when he put the pieces together to uncover the truth about her risky and humiliating endeavors.

Joe was writing one of his surprisingly well articulated essays for English class when he craved a cigarette. Though his oldest brothers shamelessly filled the apartment with distinct aromas of pipes, bongs and hand-rolled tobacco spliffs, Jane took issue with Joe's nasty habit of sneaking one or two of her 100's on a near daily basis. Joe had always been conflicted by this -- did she expect more of him? Was she concerned? Or was she merely annoyed by the thievery (usually covered up crudely) of her own addiction?


Joe creeped his way into his mother's bedroom, a keen eye set on spotting an open pack or carton to relinquish his craving. He could find nothing. Did she catch on? Am I done doing this? He picked his way through his mother's belongings, but what he found -- an uncapped, empty tube of Astroglide -- immediately ceased his hunt.


Unmonitored school lunch breaks brought conversations of drugs, sex, and mischievous doings for Joe. During one of these blunt side bars, a fellow student claimed his sister to be whore, as he detailed an anecdote about finding a tube of said lubricant hidden in her walk-in closet. He explained that Astroglide was commonly used by prostitutes and porn stars to ease the painful burden of anal sex.


This revelation by Joe led to a string of questionable acts. He grew increasingly defiant of his mother and all authority. He took after the antics of his older siblings. He became yet another troubled, directionless young man in the Marston bloodline.


Jane died of AIDS when Joe was 21, and still dependent on her support. He mourned for months in the apartment; secluded, depressed, guilt-ridden. One by one, the frail threads that held his life together began to snap. The gas went off. The unpaid electricity and water bills piled up, resulting in a seemingly eternal darkness. Joe and his brothers were kicked out of the apartment and left homeless. They were too old to reach out for support, and they were too stubborn to join the city shelter. Their misdoings became their means of being, but they could barely afford to live.


They planned a heist, one that would end their neediness, support them for years: The Bank of Liberty. Either the Marston curse or bloodline would end with this job. The coup de gras, or the Three Leaf Clover.


They went prepared but would leave destined for nothing. The curse spread its unforgiving wings. They arrived at the bank during an ongoing heist. Law enforcement prevented the boys from ever gracing the same streets as the unknown and timely robbers, who would escape the heat with the massive score -- one that the Marston boys coveted desperately. The police were foiled, and needed a scapegoat. They pursued the innocent brothers.

Joe's oldest brother, riding in the passenger seat of the getaway Patriot, went out in a blaze of glory. He shot first and last from the speeding vehicle, only to be shot multiple times in the chest and thrown to the concrete from his seat like a lifeless fish out of water. The remaining four escaped the sights of the police for a brief moment, all exiting the Patriot and agreeing to flee separately. Joe has yet to learn the fate of his three presumably alive siblings.


Joe left Liberty the night of the dubious misfortune and spent five nomadic years working under crime boss lackeys, impeached politicians and Burger Shot managers with massive overhead. Rarely did he speak in these years, repressing the haunted accounts of his family.


Though his talents became renowned, Joe never returned to the crime capital of the world. He settled for its bastard stepchild, Los Santos, to find permanent residence and a steady climate of profitable criminal activities.

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My original character got deleted, so I incorporated him into the story since my character inherited his bank account

My character, Mac was a small time car theif in Liberty City. He spent a few years moving from one rathole apartment to another, taking and losing various crap jobs. During a stint as a short order cook in Alderny he got an in working as a deliver driver for a chemicals company, using the job to scout out hot cars and score easy marks. This eventually escalated into full on breaking an entering and he left the company, picking up various other off the books jobs from pizza delivery to cab driver. During this time he got caught up in the illegal racing scene and started making bad bets.

With mounting debt and a lack of steady work, he was forced to find alternative means of income. For starters, he fell in with a group of stick up artists, knocking over small time liqour stores. Eventually the need for money was so pressing he struck out from the group, taking his own scores aimed at large vehicle shipments and ripping of containers at the Liberty City docks.

One particular score finally tipped the scales against him. A worker on the dock he paid off tipped him to shipment of high class cars leaving the LC port headed for sunny Los Santos. It was supposed to be an easy score, his guy on the inside would lose the container that was supposed to be shipped out in the stacks and tag another container with the original's ID. The next part was equally simple, Mac would enter the docks with forged ID in a truck to load the hot container on and escape to a waiting garage before anyone on the dock knew what was happening. And it was all going great.

But what Mac didn't know, was that this shipment of cars was being used to smuggle components used to cook high grade meth out of Liberty, to Los Santos, and eventually to Blaine County's thriving meth business. Overseeing this shipment was an up and comer in Los Santos who'd entered into a strained relationship with a crazed meth dealer in Blaine County and was supervising the transfer of the meth'd up cars.

When this representative went to check the merchandise the night before the shipments left, the same night Mac was stealing the container, the deal went south. By the time Mac arrived at the docks the representative had tracked his inside man through the Dock's Union schedule and tortured the location of the crate out of him. Mac arrived in time to find his score being scooped up by an intruder, an intruder who'd been tipped of to his arrival and wasn't looking to leave any witnesses.

He opened fire on Mac as he pulled up with the truck he'd intended to use for the heist, Mac shielded himself from the shattering windshield and the headrest of the passenger seat next to him exploded in burning leather and cotton. He instinctively hit the gas and in his desperate effort to escape he clipped a stack of containers and flipped the truck into another stack, knocking them over. Inside the cab, Mac was shocked to be alive and hungry to stay that way, crawling from the leaking wreckage of the truck and hiding behind a fallen container. He was pursued by a wounded representative, who had been struck by a falling container, but had limped to the crash to finish the job. As he approached, the truck exploded, blinding the representative long enough for Mac to put two bullets in his chest.

The representative fell, and Mac slumped to the ground as clouds rolled in and thunder roared in the skies. By the time he was able to pull himself to his feet it had started to rain and he could hear sirens approaching. He could see one of the containers he had knocked over was his prize, the contents spilled like a drug pinada. A quick glance at the leaking chemicals and the smell from the cars told him the whole story. Mac knew if the cops got here and found him he'd be pinned for the body, the meth fixings, and the wreck. But still, he lingered long enough to frisk the representatives corpse, lifting his wallet, a plane ticket, and a key to a heavy duty lock with a "Hijack" kingring. He pocketed the spoils and fled the scene, stealing a car from a parking lot and finding an alley to hunker down in.

The rain pounded on the roof of his car as he settled in, it was cold. The car he'd boosted didn't have working air conditioning and the gas light had come on. He had no cash, he had debts he was counting on this botched score to settle. Without much hope he thumbed open the dead man's wallet, a few hundred dollars, might as well been pennies. Next he inspected the key, noticing the back of the ring was stamped with a Los Santos address. Los Santos, the destination of the ticket he had lifted along with the wallet. Sunny, warm, distant Los Santos. Mac flipped his phone open, a few months back he'd made friends with a gang banger in LS on a Car Boosting Life Invader Group. The boy Lamar, was always running his mouth about what a honey pot LS was, inviting people to come join his criminal enterprises. Mac glanced up from the ticket at the rear view mirror of the car, catching his own reflection. He looked run down and felt worse. Lamar's Life Invader page loaded on his iFruit, it was last years model, and the screen had cracked in the car crash.

Five days later, he was stepping out of a junker one of Lamar's "boys" had provided him with. He was pissed. For all Lamar's talk, Los Santos was turning out to be as much of a dead end as Liberty for him. Lamar had put him in contact with the under ground street racing scene and a local car import/export business man, which provided a trickle of income. But no where near enough. He was homeless, living out of a hunk of crap car, working small time crimes. Knocking over stores, boosting cars. The weather was better, but not much else. And the cops here seemed even more aggressive then Liberty's Finest.

There was one final mystery left for him, however. He held the dead representatives keys in his hand as he exited the car. It'd taken him his entire time thus far in Los Santos to track down what he suspected to be the lock to go with his key. A run down storage garage under an overpass. It was a bad part of town, cramped between other similar lots of crappy garages. Mac was feeling resigned to many more nights in the back of a Karin Futo and many more days of leg cramps as he unlocked the garage and opened the door. He glanced over his shoulder as he stepped in, feeling for the light switch, then closing the door.

It was a crappy garage, for sure. Filthy floor, dust everywhere. A beat up old laptop left on a counter. But sitting in the garage was a gorgeous red Hijack Khamelion Limited Collector's Edition Electric Sports car. A luxury ride that Mac was already regretting he wouldn't get to enjoy. With Simeon's help he could flip a car like this for a pretty penny, maybe get a room or shack somewhere in town, somewhere with running water. He checked inside the car, finding the keys. In the passenger seat, he found a .50 caliber hand gun fitted with a silencer and a Bullpup shotgun. Great improvements over the rusty old piece Lamar had given him when he landed. Underneath the guns was a duffle bag. Mac slung it over his lap, surprised by the weight, and unzipped it and his mouth fell open. He reached in the bag and pulled out a stack of hundreds, in disbelief. There were many more, to the tune of about $300,000 in total. It was the out he was looking for. The nest egg to get him on his feet in Los Santos. He suddenly felt relived and exhausted for the first time in days, weeks maybe. His mind was brimming with possibilities, with this money he could stay in the garage for a few days and find himself a nice place, nicer then any place he'd live before, and still have a cool $50k or more to throw around and find more work with. For the first time in his life he wasn't beholden to debts and wasn't gonna have to hustle just to get through another day. He wanted to chase this feeling

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After a spot of bother with Satanists in Milton Keynes my character decided to put his new found firearm skills and disregard for driving etiquette to use, and made the move to the land of the free to carry on where he left off.

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Mine is pretty much me...I somehow managed to get the damn guy to look like me, so...yeah...His backstory is that he grew up in broker, Liberty city, met a couple of drug dealers back in high school and ended up creating a gang in liberty city back in 2008 called the square and weird...Who...ride in serranos and golfcarts. And then they moved to Los Santos in 2012. and currently sell meth out of a taco truck.

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My character is gay, and came to SA to perv on the hot bikers in leather pants with the arse cut out. His goal is to perform fellatio on a thousand blokes, chop their knobs off and keep in jars on his mantle.

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My character is gay, and came to SA to perv on the hot bikers in leather pants with the arse cut out. His goal is to perform fellatio on a thousand blokes, chop their knobs off and keep in jars on his mantle.


Does he get bonus RP for swallowing?

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