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Most Recent Posts
Heh heh. Things got busy for you too hunh? Yeah, we had a store inventory process and that kept me busy for the last couple of weeks. Every single item in an entire grocery store needed to be counted so that we could transition to a new computer system... (Which, horribly, still uses aspects of the twenty year old computer system in some sort of freakish Frankenstein-ish monstrosity).
Tamara had recently returned from the Crucible, the virtual reality simulator in which guardians trained by engaging in mock combat with one another. Such was a grueling experience and realistic in every detail. Even the greatest guardians went down from time to time and the violent experience of being "reset" wasn't something easily endured. It was partly why the Crucible bore its name. It was a realm in which they slowly burned away weakness and forged one into mighty warriors.
Lowering her hood she gazed out at city, the last city, spread out beneath her. Behind her and to the left, the Cryptarch or, at least, one of his acolytes was standing at a stall like a common merchant at the local market. She was a tall woman, lithe and sinuous. She moved like a panther. She possessed long crimson hair that pooled down into her lowered hood like it was filling a basket. Turning about, she strode towards the Vanguards and then changed direction towards the shipyards, moving silently by nature. One leg was sheathed in steel plating, the other was entirely bare. At her back was her trusty scout rifle, held in place due to a magnetic sling.
"I don't like leaving behind our jump ship," the small metallic floating hedgehog that was her ghost said, "f things go wrong and one of the team takes off in the shuttle what happens to the rest of us?"
"We are guardians my neurotic little friend," Tamara replied, "We do not abandon one another like the Fallen do."
"Guardians are still human," the small ball countered, "Have you read the surviving accounts of the Collapse? How the humans trampled each other in their haste to escape?"
"Those weren't Guardians," the huntress argued, "They weren't trained to defend themselves. It was the Golden Age. They hadn't seen a war in centuries."
"I'm just saying. I don't like having only one exit strategy. You guardians are far too sure of yourselves, so brash, so chaotic. We ghosts are like to make strategize."
"Yes. Yes. I know this argument. You want me being more patient and not rushing in. Have I ever gotten us into something we couldn't handle?"
"There's always a first time and that often ends up being the last too. Hold on... I'm receiving the transmit lockon."
As they entered the hangar bays past the Cryptarch the small ghost detected the carrier signal of the jumpship for the mission. The transmits were handy things, used to dematerialize weapons and equipment and even cargo. In this case they were relatively short ranged teleporters. While they were blocked by any solid mass they did allow a jumpship to insert or pickup a guardian with a simple flyby making their ability to implement surgical strikes akin to legendary. Locking onto that signal Tamara's ghost sent the confirmation that resulted in them being transported aboard in a shimmering column of light.
Lowering her hood she gazed out at city, the last city, spread out beneath her. Behind her and to the left, the Cryptarch or, at least, one of his acolytes was standing at a stall like a common merchant at the local market. She was a tall woman, lithe and sinuous. She moved like a panther. She possessed long crimson hair that pooled down into her lowered hood like it was filling a basket. Turning about, she strode towards the Vanguards and then changed direction towards the shipyards, moving silently by nature. One leg was sheathed in steel plating, the other was entirely bare. At her back was her trusty scout rifle, held in place due to a magnetic sling.
"I don't like leaving behind our jump ship," the small metallic floating hedgehog that was her ghost said, "f things go wrong and one of the team takes off in the shuttle what happens to the rest of us?"
"We are guardians my neurotic little friend," Tamara replied, "We do not abandon one another like the Fallen do."
"Guardians are still human," the small ball countered, "Have you read the surviving accounts of the Collapse? How the humans trampled each other in their haste to escape?"
"Those weren't Guardians," the huntress argued, "They weren't trained to defend themselves. It was the Golden Age. They hadn't seen a war in centuries."
"I'm just saying. I don't like having only one exit strategy. You guardians are far too sure of yourselves, so brash, so chaotic. We ghosts are like to make strategize."
"Yes. Yes. I know this argument. You want me being more patient and not rushing in. Have I ever gotten us into something we couldn't handle?"
"There's always a first time and that often ends up being the last too. Hold on... I'm receiving the transmit lockon."
As they entered the hangar bays past the Cryptarch the small ghost detected the carrier signal of the jumpship for the mission. The transmits were handy things, used to dematerialize weapons and equipment and even cargo. In this case they were relatively short ranged teleporters. While they were blocked by any solid mass they did allow a jumpship to insert or pickup a guardian with a simple flyby making their ability to implement surgical strikes akin to legendary. Locking onto that signal Tamara's ghost sent the confirmation that resulted in them being transported aboard in a shimmering column of light.
Carlos emerged from the pilots cabin of the police patrol boat. Surprisingly, he suddenly seemed more nervous now than he had when he was under fire at the prison. He was sliding his purple beanie cap around his head, as if not at all comfortable with how it fitted or how it was positioned. He was like a young boy in the presence of his idol, unable to concentrate on anything, his own body ready to betray him.
Not wanting to attract attention he began unbuttoning the brilliant orange jumpsuit, pulling it down around his waist to reveal a panther like body honed at the gym and a number of tattoos on shoulders and arms. He tied the arms of the jumpsuit around his waist and pretended they were nothing more than something a construction worker would wear so that the blazing orange motorists were unable to ignore.
It was remarkable how the wealthy easily ignored things they neither understood or saw as beneath them. Carlos waved at a pair of young women prancing about on their yacht, openly flirting so as to draw attention away from the woman he'd helped escape from prison. She, after all, couldn't peel away his top as readily as he did.
Not wanting to attract attention he began unbuttoning the brilliant orange jumpsuit, pulling it down around his waist to reveal a panther like body honed at the gym and a number of tattoos on shoulders and arms. He tied the arms of the jumpsuit around his waist and pretended they were nothing more than something a construction worker would wear so that the blazing orange motorists were unable to ignore.
It was remarkable how the wealthy easily ignored things they neither understood or saw as beneath them. Carlos waved at a pair of young women prancing about on their yacht, openly flirting so as to draw attention away from the woman he'd helped escape from prison. She, after all, couldn't peel away his top as readily as he did.
There, that should do.
Tamara Riley
Race: Human
Sex: Female
Class: Hunter
Bio: Tamara was born in the great golden age. She beheld grand space elevators, grand arcologies and a thousand other marvels with her own two eyes. Unfortunately, that isn't to imply she understands how they work. One may know how to operate a car, or that a stasis field is generated via a Kedrian field coil but the basics principles for such things are beyond her. After all, a person of the twentieth century may know how to build a car but without knowing how to create steel, process oil into gasoline and a hundred other details all that knowledge is useless.
One thing Tamara is good with that translates into the modern age is her ability to handle computers. It's just a shame that her ghost, or rather any ghost, being an artificial intelligence derived from an alien god like entity, can accomplish a lifetime's worth of programming in a few moments.
Tamara first awakened in the recent age when a ghost found her. She'd been lying for a hundred years, her skeleton protected from the elements by the materials of her car, when her ghost found her. She remembers racing for the Cosmodrome, invading aliens buzzing through the skies in their starships, dropping from clawed appendages and killing all that they could. Tamara remembers the one that landed on her hood, and promptly emptied her skull with a bolt of superheated plasma. Her ghost tried putting it all back but her memories are fractured and incomplete. Not everything could be salvaged her ghost claimed but given the fact she was not alone in the car where she awakened she sometimes wonders if that is actually true, if her ghost obliging omitted restoring many aspects of who she was.
Secondary Skills: Computers,
Race: Human
Sex: Female
Class: Hunter
Bio: Tamara was born in the great golden age. She beheld grand space elevators, grand arcologies and a thousand other marvels with her own two eyes. Unfortunately, that isn't to imply she understands how they work. One may know how to operate a car, or that a stasis field is generated via a Kedrian field coil but the basics principles for such things are beyond her. After all, a person of the twentieth century may know how to build a car but without knowing how to create steel, process oil into gasoline and a hundred other details all that knowledge is useless.
One thing Tamara is good with that translates into the modern age is her ability to handle computers. It's just a shame that her ghost, or rather any ghost, being an artificial intelligence derived from an alien god like entity, can accomplish a lifetime's worth of programming in a few moments.
Tamara first awakened in the recent age when a ghost found her. She'd been lying for a hundred years, her skeleton protected from the elements by the materials of her car, when her ghost found her. She remembers racing for the Cosmodrome, invading aliens buzzing through the skies in their starships, dropping from clawed appendages and killing all that they could. Tamara remembers the one that landed on her hood, and promptly emptied her skull with a bolt of superheated plasma. Her ghost tried putting it all back but her memories are fractured and incomplete. Not everything could be salvaged her ghost claimed but given the fact she was not alone in the car where she awakened she sometimes wonders if that is actually true, if her ghost obliging omitted restoring many aspects of who she was.
Secondary Skills: Computers,
Saraswati found her vision swaying where she sat in the bar. A very good sign she'd had too much to drink. It was, however, the best way to forget how hopeless the situation was that she was in -and what the hell, it wasn't like you had to worry about the long term effects. Here it was just a status effect that wore off after time. Swaying, she made her way back to the inn where she had a room. The sun had become uncomfortably high, and more importantly, uncomfortably bright. She winced and looked away, shielding her eyes.
Finally, she ascended the stairs, waving at the innkeeper as she passed. She often asked herself why she did that. He wasn't a real person, had only a handful of scripted lines that mostly serve to prompt interfaces. She asked herself and did it anyways. Grumbling and rubbing her forehead and temples, shifting her olive hued skin around her skull she quietly entered her room and promptly fell atop the bed.
Finally, she ascended the stairs, waving at the innkeeper as she passed. She often asked herself why she did that. He wasn't a real person, had only a handful of scripted lines that mostly serve to prompt interfaces. She asked herself and did it anyways. Grumbling and rubbing her forehead and temples, shifting her olive hued skin around her skull she quietly entered her room and promptly fell atop the bed.
Running swiftly, bare feet slapping at the bare earth, Nyala leapt into the air with both swords aloft. She held them like a smaller person would a pair of daggers with points down. She assailed the giant's back with the blades, impaling them in his back like climber's pitons, as if she were going to scale the flesh like one would a mountain face of stone. Slamming hard against his back she clung on for dear life, letting her own weight provide the cutting force on the blades, dragging them ever downwards.
Screaming loudly, a ululating cry that resounded through the standing trees, Nyala hauled hard on one of the blades, drawing one out in a sluice of crimson blood like a river falling over a cliff.
"Die Jotunn!" she screamed, her very lungs aching with the expulsion, "Die!"
Then another warrior joined the fray and she was falling forwards. No, the Cyclops was falling forwards. She braced herself, placing her knee against it's back and when it landed she was on top as the other warrior smote it in the head.
Screaming loudly, a ululating cry that resounded through the standing trees, Nyala hauled hard on one of the blades, drawing one out in a sluice of crimson blood like a river falling over a cliff.
"Die Jotunn!" she screamed, her very lungs aching with the expulsion, "Die!"
Then another warrior joined the fray and she was falling forwards. No, the Cyclops was falling forwards. She braced herself, placing her knee against it's back and when it landed she was on top as the other warrior smote it in the head.
Dang it! Now I have to put some time into creating a Hunter to ensure I get the character in my head right. *grrrr* I've been focusing on my warlock.
Ah well, it's a good excuse to play more :)
Additionally, how do you want to handle revivification, both in and out of darkness zones? The game is really confusing in that regard.
Ah well, it's a good excuse to play more :)
Additionally, how do you want to handle revivification, both in and out of darkness zones? The game is really confusing in that regard.
An element of mystery is established through prose and tone more than anything. How one carries him or herself, for example establishing a certain amount of reticence or a propensity towards jabbering constantly while saying nothing of import, will do more to create mystery than merely withholding information.
I would argue everyone is "capable of that", for not every sheet needs be a masterpiece, a few sentences of tbings you think important help define your ability to roleplay. Sure he may be dark and brooding but maybe it's because he lost a child... this presents the possibility of an arching internal pain when a child runs up to him at the local village. Such things are not burdens, they are tools.
I would argue everyone is "capable of that", for not every sheet needs be a masterpiece, a few sentences of tbings you think important help define your ability to roleplay. Sure he may be dark and brooding but maybe it's because he lost a child... this presents the possibility of an arching internal pain when a child runs up to him at the local village. Such things are not burdens, they are tools.
I vote nay on anyone or anything that lists "TBR" or other similar phrases. One of my pet peeves.
Even when I was planning on playing a newly logged on newb at level one I had a couple paragraphs.
Even when I was planning on playing a newly logged on newb at level one I had a couple paragraphs.
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