Torn (RP Game)

Calabrese (real name Shirley Prima Dante Calabrese) is a NPC in Torn City who serves as both a Loan Shark and a mission giver. He has a maximum life of 5,500,000 and wears the Loan Shark honor bar. His profile can be visited here: DUKE

Duke plays several roles within Torn City. As the city's Loan Shark, he can lend players up to $2 billion, provided certain requirements are met. He also offers missions, and when he is not in the hospital, players can attack him for loot.

Occasionally, Duke participates in seasonal forum events and interacts with the community.

His profile lists his rank as Supergood Loanshark.

Hey there! I'm George McGuffin, but some folks call me “Hard Luck George” due to my unique talents in losin’. Been hangin' around Torn for quite some time, diggin' through trash and lookin’ for treasure! I keep it light-hearted and always tryin’ to find the silver linings, even when I’m sittin’ on a park bench munchin’ on a questionable sandwich...well, let me tell ya, I’m just a friendly face that’s been hangin’ around here for decades, always tryin’ to lend a hand. I got my start shufflin’ folks to jobs and shops, all while munchin’ on half a sandwich. Personality-wise, I’m upbeat and ready for anything, even if my luck’s usually takin’ a snooze! I guess you can say I’m like that old gear in the gym, might be rusty, but I still get the job done! Oh and I help newbies like you to give some advice and tips to survive in this forsaken city!

And it is here where the city known as Torn resides at present. Nobody knows its original name, the records having been expunged from the history books after a series of bloody events any nation would care to forget. Since this place was ripped with bare hands from the convulsing body of a tormented nation, Torn seems as good a label as any. And while it stands strong today thanks to the leadership of the mononymous Chedburn, Torn remains perpetually teetering on the precipice of chaos thanks to a combination of unhinged citizens and sheer good fortune.

But nothing lasts forever, least of all luck.

Nowhere else in the world will you find bazaar owners willing to trade with someone who beat them to a pulp two days ago. In no other city would it be possible for violent thugs from rival gangs to work side by side at a gentlemen's strip club. And yet somehow here it works, with Torn's economy now more stable than ever thanks to an uneasy alliance between crime, corporations and community.

To augment this newly found prosperity, Chedburn minted Torn's first independent currency, The Torn City Dollars, to enable fairer trade. But despite Torn's newfound wealth, this commercial venture was not without its problems, and the lack of public consultation regarding the TCD's introduction has led to an inconsistent pricing structure still in place today.

The reasons for this situation shall be discussed in a separate chronicle, but as with every problem in Torn, the path of culpability leads you to the door of our most unscrupulous citizens. Yet rather than forlornly attempting to remove a criminal element which other cities would consider distasteful, Chedburn's unique form of casual governance merely provides Torn's populace with choice. It is up to the individual to choose to be a brute or a businessman. It is up to the public whether to seek help from a professional or a punk. It is up to you, a citizen, to decide how low Torn will force you to go.

Thanks to this Torn City now enjoys a fragile balance. Priests and pill poppers, criminals and cops; they all break bread together. Nobody could call it peace, but it's the best Torn can do. Despite the ongoing violence, people still manage to go about their daily lives; they work, they play, they get married, all the while knowing a brutal end could be waiting right around the corner. Drugs are rife of course, but in a place like this, you need a bump just to ride out the day.

Despite never holding an official position, Chedburn is often referred to as Torn's Mayor or President - titles he is known to reject. Whether he sees himself as a moral guardian or benevolent influence is something you'd have to ask him yourself, but this notoriously private individual rarely has time to respond to such queries.

One of the biggest mysteries surrounding Torn's elusive messiah is why he insists on appointing Mayors and Presidents to work beneath him, despite their powers and duties being effectively less than zero. What's more, these impotent politicians are often shot dead not long into their tenure by Torn's criminal factions, as are visiting diplomats and leaders from foreign shores. Organised crimes pay well for those willing to wipe out a political figure, and it is speculated that Chedburn invites his enemies to these positions knowing full well their eventual fate.

The one aspect of Chedburn's personality of which we can be certain is that he wishes to make Torn a fairer and more equal place. Chedburn famously intervened in the city's stock market to reduce the disparity between rich and poor; one of many acts which gained him the approval of the city's socialists, while drawing the ire of those who had hoped to make bundles of cash in secret before anyone noticed.

Something Chedburn has never sought to change is Torn's inclination towards scumbaggery. Wherever he came from, it seems he fully understands just how much Torn's people love to be bastards. While Chedburn was attempting to reform the financial district, he simultaneously passed an edict that made scamming entirely legal, and it is this blend of moral bankruptcy and warped community spirit which makes the Chedburn-led Torn City truly unique.

In later years, Chedburn established the committee to ward off accusations that he had established a dictatorship. But even with a band of respected community leaders there to keep him in check, everyone knew that the power to guide the city lay in his hands alone. To consolidate this authority, Chedburn set up his own security services with wide-ranging powers over the population. These individuals, hand-selected by Chedburn himself, have the ability to silence or remove members of the public as they see fit. They act as the moral guardians of Torn in lieu of an effective police force, with their primary function being to exist as a bulwark against the organised groups who would seek to control the city once more - hence their acronym:

Secure Torn Against Forceful Factions, or STAFF.

It is widely believed that Chedburn came up with the acronym first and made sense of it later.

Admittance to these gilded positions is left to the discretion of Chedburn, with only those who can prove their past commitment to the city allowed to exert influence on its future. Most of Torn seems happy with this situation. This is their way, it is the people's way, and even the most depraved rotters know such an arrangement represents Torn's last hope for survival.

The Torn of two decades ago is vastly different from the city it has become today. While criminal factions remain influential, they have nothing on the feral swarms of old. And even though Torn's underworld activities would be a stain on most cities, here, the people somehow make it work.

Torn's necessary divorce from the rest of the country proved to be her saving grace. Without the jurisdiction to mete out its own unique method of punishment and appoint citizen leaders, the city would have consumed itself long ago. American values cannot be applied here, and so, as with everything in Torn, a grubby compromise had to be found.

In 2003 the young upstart known as Chedburn took it upon himself to guide and reform several areas of the city, despite nobody knowing much about his motives or background. Since Torn was on the brink of disaster and he was the only capable person not addicted to narcotics, everyone just kinda went along with it. And it's a good job they did, for it was through Chedburn's guidance that Torn finally found its feet after years of staggering around blackout drunk.

When the lines between crime and pastime became blurred, it was Chedburn who decreed which laws we should follow. When Torn began to run out of cash having overspent on gratuitous vanity projects, it was Chedburn who developed the Donator House to protect Torn from taxation. Whenever a problem needed a solution, Chedburn was there with several. As a result, this mysterious outsider became the de facto source of leadership for all areas of Torn City life.

This person could not wield the power of a President or Prime Minister, but nor could they lead in spirit alone. The city needed someone who would take charge not through force or flawed democracy, but by earning the trust of the people. Many attempted to fulfil this role by leading community projects and proposing public initiatives, but when all was said and done, there was one candidate who stood head and shoulders above the rest; one citizen who took it upon himself to slowly repair the damage inflicted on Torn City after years of neglect.

Chedburn.

After the children were gone, Torn's citizens rose up in response to this atrocity. Nobody knows if any one person inspired them - if there was a figurehead his or her name remains elusive - but when mob leaders were executed in the street by their own men the city knew it had turned a corner. Here there was to be no idealistic revolution, no cleansing the city of sinners or a great criminal purge. This leopard couldn't change its spots, not overnight, not ever; but something had to give.

Thankfully it did. The people took control, forming their own courts, their own political machinery and their own idea of society. Democracy wouldn't work in a place like this, so in lieu of politicians, Torn's people formed into Factions based on their individual needs and beliefs. These organisations resembled a hybrid of worker cooperative and criminal enterprise, with each having its own idea of how Torn City should be run.

These factions eventually banded together to form a unified leadership group known as The Council. This was a sound idea in principle, but soon the city's strongest Factions began to strongarm their weaker counterparts and wield an inordinate amount of power over the city. Before long they became a law unto themselves, committing the kind of daily atrocities which made the Council no different to the mob it sought to replace. Factions waged war over minor administrative issues, and their leaders soon realised Torn was in danger of lurching backwards over the cliff-edge it had just dragged itself over. This rare moment of self-awareness led to the realisation that Torn needed a leader. An impartial citizen whose mind would be unbiased, whose judgements were their own and who could steer this city towards a better place.

Enter stage right: The Mafia. With Torn's politicians and police having abandoned this sinking ship as fast as their trotters could carry them, it was the mobs who sought to fill the power vacuum in their stead. Little did they know that Torn had become ungovernable, and even hardened criminals were shocked at the brutalities they witnessed on a daily basis. As rival gangs fought over control of the city, its people suffered appallingly from death, disease and degradation. And when you've got nothing much to live for, the prospect of sleeping with the fishes seems positively relaxing.

But the mobs lost their power as soon as they had acquired it. Ordinary men and women began to fight back against the Mafia, caring not whether they would live to see the result. Everyone knew that Torn was a live grenade that could go off at any moment; their only hope was that there would be enough corpses to muffle the explosion.

The tipping point came when a vicious mob confrontation ended with the tragic deaths of a group of innocent bystanders – twelve of them, all children, all gunned down in broad daylight while making their way to school. The birth-rate in Torn has always been abnormally low, and the few kids we had were like gold dust. To see these precious young lives snuffed out was an event which would never be forgotten, but nor would you find anyone keen to speak of it again.

It was a tragedy that almost broke a city, and in response Torn's people evacuated their few remaining youths away until the chaos subsided. It never did, and to this day the presence of infants and young teens is prohibited in Torn City, with those who reside here doing so illicitly.

Nobody can agree on which if any one event led to the fateful decision by Congress to renounce all claims to the Neutral Territory. Based on reports from the time, it could have been for any number of reasons. All we know is that it was pushed through hastily and the decision was unanimously accepted among most everyday Americans who were more than happy to wash the nation's hands clean of Torn's filth.

With this domestic crisis having taken place during the height of the Cold War, it is unsurprising that it flew under the radar of the international community. The US Government was not keen to reveal such a dirty little secret amid rising tensions with the Soviet Union, mostly out of fear that the unhinged people of Torn might be susceptible to their overtures. If Cuba's cosy relationship with the Russians was a thorn in their side, the prospect of a communist-aligned Torn would have been a sickle to Uncle Sam's face. And so, with the rest of the world preoccupied preparing for nuclear holocaust, the city and its people were left to their own devices.

The newly independent Torn City was despondent at first, but it didn't mope for long. After the initial malaise lifted Torn celebrated its freedom with a period of violence like nothing before. Its people were feral, its neighbours' doors shut and its problems were its own. With no hope and no future, even the most calm-tempered turned paranoid and volatile. Any semblance of society was obliterated within weeks. The feeling in the air was palpable; Torn was about to explode. I'd describe it as like a powder keg, but since Torn folk keep gunpowder in their pockets not barrels, this metaphor may be lost on most.

Rather than proving a deterrent, the prospect of jail time seemed almost aspirational to some. The stable door was locked long after the horse had bolted, emigrated and died of old age on a farm upstate.

And so, with Torn's grubby mitts threatening to tarnish the stars and bars with a protest as dirty as one could ever imagine, the American people made their choice.

Amputate.

Given that this occurred during the 1930s, and that crack cocaine wasn't available until the 1980s, the crack to which this advert refers was of an altogether more libidinous variety.

So, as the rest of the nation placed further restrictions upon these dangerous industries, Torn responded by loosening the belt even more, until its trousers dangled well below an acceptable level. Torn's tempting array of narcotics and nookie made it a magnet for those seeking to indulge their vices. The loners, the oddballs, the unhinged and the immoral all pitched up for a night in Torn City to satiate a myriad of tawdry desires. And unfortunately for her inhabitants, theirs was no passing visit.

This influx of immoral newcomers seemed to spark off a new era of lawlessness among the natives as if it were a dormant gene awakened from decades of suppression. Fights took place every hour of the day on every street in the city. Drugs were traded and taken in front of impotent officials. The entire city felt like it was home to one never-ending riot, and there was little the law could do to intervene.

Having welcomed their new underhand underclass with open arms in the name of profit, the Police no longer held respect in the eyes of Torn's people. You can't turn a blind eye to crime and expect anything less than contempt in return, and this disdain was shared by both the American people and their representatives in Congress. Martial law was declared; it didn't work. Troops moved in to restore order; they failed miserably.

So, in an attempt to starve out Torn's criminal community once and for all, a series of brutal cuts were made to the city's federal funding. These measures only served to exacerbate the problem, though, driving a permanent wedge between the people of Torn and America. Hastily written laws were reintroduced locally in an attempt to curtail the mayhem, but it was too late. Respect for authority was dead.

The East Texas Regulator Moderator War fought between 1839 and 1844 stemmed directly from the anarchic situation in the old Neutral Ground. When Texas was accepted into the United States in 1845, the territory seemed to calm down a little. Homes were built, a clinic too, and the first signs of modern infrastructure began to develop. While chaos and disorder continued to stain the landscape, some folks made a concerted effort to turn this into a distinctly ordinary place.

An ordinary place it almost became, as while the criminal element remained, the end of the 19th Century saw emerging coastal townships begin to attract ordinary people who had ordinary jobs and lived perfectly ordinary lives. Some people ran dance halls; others ran crime rings. Some sought solace in the arms of a priest; others looked for salvation between the thighs of a prostitute. It was, like any community, home to both good and evil - albeit tipped slightly in favour of the latter. Then, with the era of prohibition, the balance shifted further. This little chunk of Americana started to turn very sour indeed.

The trouble began when a group of entrepreneurial underworld hustlers took advantage of the nationwide alcohol ban by starting up an illicit booze trade. In Torn, like much of America, speakeasies were tolerated so long as they were quiet. But here the laws were so rarely applied that one could set up shop outside the Police Station and receive no more than a sideways glance and a knowing wink.

This lax attitude toward alcoholic excess attracted visitors from all over the country, swelling the settlement's population to that of a city. Sadly, when the Prohibition era ended, so too, did the flow of money. Torn needed a new gimmick, a fresh vice; something like booze but twice as indecent. Drugs, weapons and gambling soon took the place of the liquor trade, and all three began to flourish out in the open. One notoriously brazen tourist brochure demonstrated as much by advertising Torn.

To explain why Torn was abandoned by the American people, we must first paint a picture of what this city was like before its decay into complete moral turpitude. By all accounts, this was never a particularly pleasant place, and what would later become Torn City is first mentioned in the early 1800s as a series of temporary shacks where outlaws could safely do business. By safely, we mean that criminal activities could be conducted away from the prying eyes of Johnny Law - Torn has never been "safe" in any sense of the word.

This outpost could be found in the middle of the Neutral Ground between Spanish Texas and the state of Louisiana - the latter having just been purchased by the Americans. The Neutral Ground remained outside the jurisdiction of both Spain and the US from 1806 to 1821, until the Adams-Onis Treaty recognised America's claim. Throughout its fifteen years of neutrality, this territory bore witness to all manner of lawlessness, with thieves, murderers and con men seeking refuge here to avoid the attention of the Spanish and United States military.

Expeditions from both nations were repeatedly sent into the area to expel these outlaws, but time and time again, the reprobates returned. Even after Adams-Onis came into effect and the Americans took possession, this place continued to provide trouble for law enforcement on both sides of the border. Brothels, smugglers, and bootleggers had all set up shop in the Neutral Ground long, long ago; some fancy-pants piece of paper wasn't going to change a thing.

The United States re-took possession of the Neutral Ground just a few decades later when it annexed the Republic of Texas, but while it remains within the continental US territory geographically, this region and its inhabitants were expelled from the Union once more at some point during the mid 20th Century. This event left a wound on both city and nation. Torn's ousting was and is one of the most shameful acts in American history, with many keen to forget how quickly Uncle Sam disowned his most disappointing child.

By the time it came to vote on Torn's expulsion, the people of the United States had long tired of hearing stories about "neutral folk" making trouble. The city's reputation became so toxic that neighbouring states would bar entry to her citizens. And so, as with any diseased limb, Torn was brutally cut off from the rest of the country, surgically removed with devastating precision and left to rot for the vultures to feed off.

These days the legend of Torn has become just that, a legend. A place of such unbelievable barbarity it rivals the most hellish realms mankind has ever dreamt of. Most outsiders know nothing about the true nature of the city, and those who do are content to pretend it simply no longer exists - like racism, or a set of lace panties found in a husband's glovebox.

Only recently have stories of this isolated community begun to take hold in the outside world, and even then, such reports were dismissed as conspiratorial nonsense believed only by those who spend too much time in their mother's basement. But how did this happen? What did the people of Torn do to deserve being shunned by their countrymen?

To say that Torn was ever founded is inaccurate, as this implies any forethought took place before its construction. It would be more accurate to say that Torn festered from the wretched remains of a failed metropolis, like gangrene in an open wound, as an otherwise healthy nation became gravely weakened by the toxic inhabitants of one lonely forgotten place.

Thought to reside somewhere along the coast of Louisiana and Texas, confirmation of Torn's precise location is known but difficult to come by, with the authorities none too keen to direct anyone towards this city of vicious moral reprobates. Ask around, and most people won't know where you're talking about. And even if they do, they certainly won't help you get there.

The legend of Jeffery Torn establishing this settlement was a ruse conjured up to explain the unexplainable; a series of untruths used to disguise Torn's true beginnings from a naive populace eager to believe it was ever home to something good. This city was never good. It is, has and always will be a place where the dregs of society congregate. A magnet for filth, a hovel repellant to those with even a shred of morality.

Torn is twinned in spirit with San Pedro Sula, Maturin and Distrito Central as if it were their bastard brother. Ostracised like North Korea and shunned more than Raqqa, you'll find Torn City on maps and charts if you search hard enough. But only the morbidly curious ever try, and only the brave dare visit.

The Chronicles you are about to read have been compiled over several decades by a group of historians who wish to remain unknown. Our motives may have been suspect, our minds addled by narcotics, but our goal was simple; to find answers to some of the most intriguing questions about our little corner of the world. Where is Torn City? How did it come to exist? Who is the mysterious Chedburn? And why are toilet rolls so expensive?

And yet, as you shall see if you read on, these Chronicles leave us with few resolutions and more uncertainty than if we hadn't bothered at all. This muddled record of the city's history can be partially attributed to the state in which it was compiled, but it is also due to how much of Torn's lore consists of hearsay, rumors and conjecture. There are scant historical records to speak of and even fewer clear memories upon which to draw thanks to our people's penchant for inebriating substances. Therefore, we present the history of Torn City to you with the following caveat:

Not everything you read here may be true, but our lies tell a story more accurate than facts ever could

The signatures of Torn City's anonymous chroniclers, who are now considerably less anonymous.